#Little Mermaid Wreath

[likivicustomdecor]

Little Mermaid Wreath

[nicecrumbart]

Finally started settling on my Limited life! Scott design... I'd don't wanna talk about how many variations I've tried 🧍‍♂️

extra notes/details under the cut!

The design is based off scotts red skin specifically, one bc its his last stage in ‘transforming’ ..and i just think it looks better lmao

everytime i do a life series design i always try to make their outfits a little less modern and more like.. fantasy? or medieval idk. and this time it was loosley inspired by mermaids!

i kind of had an image of a creature washed out onto the shore so i made him a lot less… neat? more haphazardly put together unlike how i normally do for his designs which was fun! I’m imagining his hair is constantly soggen and possibly more reminiscent of seaweed (not fully decided on that) because of this.

To add to the theming I used fishing ropes for a belt and necklaces ties - and i whilst i always try to keep star theming with all his designs i was struggling with until i remembered star fish exist!! winning

i also made his little coral wreath kind of reminiscent of antlers as a little easter egg to esmp 1 - from which i also took a tiny bit of inspiration from my esmp lizzie and jimmy designs too (pearls and netting mostly)

sorry for the ramble! i love character designing sm

[dommnics]

FAIRY TALE ART SERIES | Hans Christian Andersen's 'The Little Mermaid' | PART I

I previously uploaded this design for my interpretation of Hans Christian Andersen's Little Mermaid, but added a new look for her, based on the original story, complete with a wreath of lilies and oysters from her grandmother, and her veil as well.

I plan to draw designs for the other characters in the story as well!

--

Check out more of my work on other platforms!

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[themotherofhorses]

Hiiii wanted to request Dark Aemond x Mermaid reader.

Reader is from house Manderly [ their flag had a merman in it ] and Aemond finds our her secret so he blackmails her father into marrying her.

Also some smut too maybe breeding kink of sorts.

even the whales fall prey to men.

pairing: dark!aemond targaryen x fem!mermaid!reader

warnings: very much nsfw. explicit language. blackmailing on aemond's part. forced marriage. dubcon. breeding kink. allusions to violence and death. mentions of pregnancy.

notes: dark & obsessive!aemond targaryen makes my head go brrr. also this smut will totally suck and i take full responsibility for it.

masterlist

The sea is much colder than usual, and across the winter sky hangs a thick blanket of clouds, dark as smoke.

It will snow soon, your mother had said at breakfast, bundled up in all her warm furs while you broke fast together. Today may be the last day we are able to swim for a while, so do make your peace and say all your goodbyes to your grandfather.

You sit on the jagged rocks that stand strong in the waters, watching as your mother and sisters finish with their own wreaths. Yours lays draped across your lap, weaved from rosemary and sea kale and the pretty blackthorn that bloomed on the nearby cliffs. The whales were making one final visit to White Harbor before leaving for warmer waters, and it was tradition to see them goodbye, and to flower them with the newly made wreathes and long garlands. It would not be until the early summer months that they would return.

“Little fish,” your mother calls out for you, already knee-high deep in the bitter sea waters. Your sisters did not wait for neither you nor her, deciding on a small race between each other. “Lost in thought, my little love?” Her face is soft and sweet, with two dimples on both cheeks, “Come or we’ll miss them!”

You were born a Manderly, under the cold moon, on the White Knife. On your first nameday, a great storm wailed outside the New Castle, crushing your lord father’s fleet to kindle and drowning the port city. Some said it was the Stranger waging war against the Father and the Warrior, high in the heavens, while others claimed the old sea god Caraxes was celebrating the birth of a new granddaughter.

Your father claimed direct descendance from the First Men, while your mother was of the true goldenblood of Old Valyria, a daughter of Caraxes himself. His mermaids, women with silver crowns and dark violet eyes and a fish’s tail for legs. The seamen swore you existed, but the rest of Westeros refused to believe.

Perhaps that was why you never strayed far from the White Knife, and from your mother’s side too.

Then again, your lady mother never faltered in warning you and your elder sisters of the myriad of dangers that came with your blood, and of people finding out the truth of such. She was a protective woman, prideful and beautiful, and a great warrior too. The magic she practiced since girlhood allowed for her to shift her appearances, and when you grew of age, she taught you the different spells and rituals, the small incantations to mumble under your breath, and the ways of honoring your grandfather.  

“Be smart about it,” she cautioned, though not sternly. With a gentle palm resting over your cheekbone, she kissed the tip of your nose, smiling down at you, “always be mindful of one’s eyes and ears, my little one. The whales know no true safety, not even in their own home.”

Oh, how you wish to go back and believe her words a little more

It came as a great surprise that, while you were gone, your lord father had welcomed in a guest.

You had not been made aware of such, and neither was your mother, who took it as quite the insult. She immediately sent you and your sisters to your personal chambers, to wash up from the heavy sea salt that clung to your skin and hair, and to dress nicely. “The blue velvet, please,” she said, with a smile that did not reach her purple eyes. “We must look our best.” You had not the slightest clue of who the guest might be, and you ask your eldest sister if she caught a whisper. But she just shrugs. “A Stark, maybe? Or perhaps a Baratheon.”

“But what would they want with us?”

“Maybe a marriage pact is finally being proposed between our houses,” she replies with a sigh, a stupid lovesick grin twisting on her pink lips. She is a maiden of twenty and two, tall and slender and beautiful like your mother, and beyond ready to become a lord’s wife. You make a face at that but say nothing more. Would your mother even allow for that to happen? Perhaps for your sisters, but not for you.

You were still too young, a pretty daylily not yet ready for plucking.

In the Merman’s Court, you find your mother pacing by the castle’s throne, biting at her nails. She looks nervous, with eyes darting between the doors and the households that stood around the hall, cloaked in wools of blue and green. When she finally takes notice of your presence, she drops her hand and draws you into a hug. “Little fish,” and she studies you over, at how you brushed out your silver hair till it shone, and wore your nicest silks. “Very pretty, my little one. Very pretty, indeed.”

You remain by her side, clutching tightly her hand as your sisters soon step inside the hall, all clad in their prettiest gowns, in bright colors of green and navy and white, and giggling amongst themselves. Then come the court ladies and lords, the few maesters that lived in the New Castle, and your father, the Lord Manderly, followed by-

“Prince Aemond of the House Targaryen, son of King Viserys II and the Queen Alicent.”

Your eyes grow wide at the sight of Aemond One Eye, and you subtly shift closer to your mother. He was terribly handsome, you think, shrouded in black riding leather and a long cape that pooled around his dark boots. At his waist hangs a sheathed long-sword. Both his hands are tucked behind his back, shoulders straight and proud, and he wears a smirk. And his hair, every bit the same silver as yours, long and straight and neatly combed.

“Ah, Prince Aemond,” your mother greets. She curtsies, low and graceful to her knees, and you do the same. “Your visit is quite the unexpected one, but we welcome you into our home. Is White Harbor to your liking, my prince?”

He hums. “There are many seamen that dock themselves at King’s Landing, and almost all of them have spoken of the White Harbor, and the beauty that it possesses, particularly during these winter months.” His voice is deep, almost a purr, with a crownlands accent. “Although, my lady, now I cannot help but wonder if your daughters are the reason for that.”

Your mother clicks her tongue, and ever so slightly her eyes narrow. “You honor me, my prince,” she said, “and my daughters.”

Prince Aemond grins at that.

It was your father who spoke next. “My love, the Prince Aemond has arrived with a most equitable offer from the King and Queen themselves.” He sounds quite proud, and incredibly happy at whatever that offer might be. “They are asking for an alliance to be made between our house and House Targaryen,” but he pauses, holding his gaze on your mother, “-through marriage. Prince Aemond is here to choose one of our daughters to wed.”

Your face snaps to your mother, who stood speechless.

“Our eldest is twenty and two, and a fine lady,” your father adds, nodding to your sisters that stood to your left, “and our second-born daughter just celebrated her twentieth nameday. She has no current betrothed, though she is not without suitors, of course.” Your mother holds her tongue, it seemed, choosing to keep you tucked by her side.

But Prince Aemond shakes his head. “Your two daughters are very beautiful, Lord Manderly, I speak nothing but the truth with that, but I have no interest in having their hands,” he says, before focusing his one eye on you. “It is your youngest I wish to have.”

Your mind goes blank.

“My youngest?” Your father sputters. “Forgive me for my words, my prince, but we have not planned to wed her off yet.”

Aemond shrugs. “I do not care about that; it is she who I desire the most.” He looks at your father, tilting his head, sounding curious, “Did you not promise to me any choice of your daughters, for an alliance with my family?” Lord Manderly appears nervous now, and embarrassed as well, with cheeks and a forehead flushing a bright pink. “Well…I suppose so…”

“Mama?” you whisper, tucking yourself behind her. Your fingers tremble greatly, and it soon feels too difficult to breathe. You could feel your sisters’ eyes on you, along with your father’s and the eyes of the many court lords and ladies, and the household guards too. They all feel too judgemental, pitiful and sympathetic. But your mother, she fought back. “No,” she says, loudly. “No, you shall not have her.”

“You deny your own prince?” Aemond asks, incredulous. “Such boldness, my Lady Manderly. But alas, I came to retrieve my bride, and I shall leave with her, make no mistake in believing that.”

“No,” your mother repeats, much louder than the first. Her voice, strong and willful, echoes across the Merman’s Court, sounding every much a crack of thunder, or perhaps even a roar of a she-dragon. “She is still too young, my prince, you must understand that. I will not be separated from my youngest, she is not ready to become a wife-”

“She has celebrated her eighteenth nameday, has she not?” Your mother stays silent, and Aemond grins. “She is well old enough to be my wife.”  

Your mother shakes her head. “Please, you can have my two other daughters, but not her. I refuse it! I refuse it!” She turns to your father, “My love, see with reason! She is not ready! The ocean still needs her, I still need her! Refuse it! I will not allow it! No, I will not-” But Prince Aemond cuts her off, “Refuse it?” He laughs, and you flinch at it.

“You have no power to do such a thing, least you wish to die of treason, a bloody traitor to your crown. To your King and Queen!”

He takes a step forwards, to you and your mother. “I know you, Lady Manderly,” he says, slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wild forest beast, “I know the sort of mother you are. It is very honorable, very admirable, and I thank you, from the bottom of my own heart, for raising my new bride well. But I also know you are very protective of them, and I understand.” Prince Aemond then leans his face close, until his lips linger over your mother’s ear, “-after all, dangers do tend to follow the daughters of Caraxes, do they not? And his granddaughters too. His pretty mermaids.”

He pulls back, a dark grin curling on his lips, his tone seeping in false concern. “What might happen if the world found out the truth of you? And your daughters? How you are not just liars, but neither full humans as well. The creatures the seamen lust after, alive and flourishing on the White Knife…”

Prince Aemond then peers at you from where you stood, his face softening. You timidly meet his eye. “Come, my lady, allow me a better look at you.” You swallow but do as he asked, moving to stand in front of him. “Look at you, a vision of pure beauty. You are so much lovelier than what I imagined when coming here,” and you could not figure out what hurts more: his grip on your upper arm, or the way your mother did nothing.

When you turn to glance back at your lady mother, she looks more a stranger than the woman you knew- weak and humiliated and defeated, almost in tears. It reminds you of something she told you, so many moons ago, back on the beachside. There was a dead whale carcass, fat and bloated, drifting back and forth in the harbor. In its side was buried a harpoon. Your mother shook her head at the sight.

“Even the whales fall prey to men.”

Five days later, Aemond One Eye claims you as his wife.

He allows the wedding to partake on the beach, alongside the ocean where you grew up and loved so dearly. Your mother had pleaded with him to agree on his part to wed you in the customs of Old Valyria, and he could not say no.

I, too, am of the blood of Old Valyria, he said, quite proudly. It will be an honor to both our ancestors, may they bear down on us as we continue our bloodline.

But afterward, he was quick to whisk you away to King’s Landing, to the Red Keep where he swore you rightfully belonged. You only caught a short glimpse of the Queen Alicent Hightower and her father, the Hand, before you were locked you in his royal chambers. And now, you lay across his bed, a flood of whimpers and moans spilling from your pink lips as he squashes his face only deeper between your thighs. “You have the sweetest cunt,” he groans, sucking on your clit as your head thrashes around, and your hips buck against his mouth.

“I knew I had to have you,” he says, while running his tongue along your wet folds. Your taste, it is like no other, and he swears himself a new and addicted man. He will spend the rest of his days worshipping you if the gods allow it. “The moment I saw you, you were mine. The gods could not even deny me of you. Your lips, my sweet girl, they looked so sweet, and I wondered if your cunt would be the same.”

Both your breasts sit in his hands, and he palms at them, sliding his face up to yours, peppering kiss after kiss across your hipbones and stomach. You are so beautiful, he thinks, while pressing his face against your belly. It should be a sin that you are not with child. “I cannot wait till our firstborn sleeps here,” he mumbles, kissing it, “I will make you the most beautiful mother known to the world, and men will envy me for the rest of their damned days.”

His words make you whimper, chewing on your bottom lip as his mouth soon hovers over yours. “Tell me you want my seed,” he demands in a whisper, gripping your chin between his fingers. “Tell me how bad you need it…and I promise you, my love, you will have it.”

“Please…”

His eyebrow raises, and he chuckles. “Please, what?”

He wishes for you to beg for him- for his seed and his love and soul, to plead with him for everything, to come undone and submit yourself- as his woman and wife and the mother of his children.

But you shy away, choosing to hide your face within the pillows, a bit too embarrassed to answer him properly. It is cute until Aemond grows too impatient. His craving for you spanned over too many moons, ever since he took first sight of you swimming in the waters of the White Knife. He toasts to both the Mother and the Maiden, perhaps even the Crone, that you never saw Vhagar flying in the sky above.

“It does not matter,” he says, kissing your forehead softly before moving to your lips. The kiss leaves you breathless, trembling and hungry for more. He flings your legs over his waist, pulling you down to where you lay completely underneath him, “I do not need your permission to seed my wife, and to make her a mother,” and against your lips, he mumbles, “you belong to me, do you understand? You are mine, from this day till the end.” And within a minute, his cock is stuffed deep inside you.

“It is too big…!” you cry, grasping onto his shoulders as he fucks you hard and deep, his thrusts seeming too unforgiving.

Perhaps he is punishing you, though you had not the smallest idea as to why.

“Please! Please, husband- please, slow down!” You bounce beneath him, fingers finding your own nipples as you twist and tweak them. It felt right in the moment, having remembered him doing it only several minutes ago.

“I do not give a shit,” he grunts, his hands resting on your hips, “you were fucking made for me. This body was made for my seed, for my children, now you will take it.” Sweat beads along his forehead as he moans and grunts some more and whines, feeling the way your cunt tightens around his cock. It is perfection, a feeling that was made just for him. “You have evaded my hands for too fucking long, now you suffer the consequences.”

You feel as if your eyes might roll to the back of your skull. Your pants are heavy and hot, and you cannot help the shriek when his fingers pinch your clit, before rubbing his thumb over it. He laughs, quickening his thrusts. “And to think, your mother would have kept this from me, kept you away from me. Ah, should I speak to you the truth, my love?” It is a cruel taunt, as you cannot answer, too overtaken by this pleasure. “I would have burned the White Harbor to the ground if I was denied you. Burned your entire fucking family to ashes if they dared keep you from me. House Strong has gone extinct because of me, maybe they will come up with a new nickname for that. Aemond Targaryen, kinslayer. Aemond Targaryen, house-destroyer.”

He shakes his head, snickering, “No, those are too silly, are they not, my love?”

Your face twists up, all in utter pleasure, and your body tightens too as you cream all over his cock. Soon after, he fills you with his cum, so much it trickles down from your cunt, staining the bedsheets along with your blood. But Aemond is quick to gather it with his fingertip, though, and shove it back in you. “Every bit of it matters, my lady, especially if we wish for you be with child by the next moon.” You try to smile, but you are so exhausted and ruined and all you yearn for is sleep.

“Did…did I do good?” you breathe.

Aemond smiles, and kisses your lips, soft and sweet and loving. He strokes your hair, twirling a silver strand around his finger. You are gorgeous, his beautiful wife, this sweet granddaughter of Caraxes. All his. You and the babe that you will carry soon.

“You did perfect, my little fish.”

[margueritedaisies]

✨🐚🪸🧜‍♀️Old scraps of my Little Mermaid AU for McHarrison🧜‍♀️🪸🐚✨

🦐Just can't help how Paul looks so much like Prince Eric , especially how both of them have a pet sheepdog🥹🥹😍😍

And I just wanna see George with flowers scattered on his long hair

A concept of how I wanna draw his merm form and embellishments.I wanted to give him this flowy Art Nouveou effect. Looked up the oldest illustrations from the original writing by Andersen. Because I just love the whimsical vibe they give😍😭✨✨

"and she put a wreath of white lilies round her hair, but every petal of the flowers was half a pearl; then the old queen had eight oysters fixed on to the princess’s tail to show her high rank."

- H.C. Andersen, The Little Mermaid

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Gold

This is my fic for outsiders week day two!

*********

Cherry used to love gold.

The frame on the mirror in the bathroom was wrought gold, and it wreathed her freckled face each morning when she brushed her teeth, red hair tumbling past her shoulders, cheeks rosy with childhood. The accents in the living room wallpaper were tiny golden flowers and she used to stare at them when she was little and pretend she was a fairy while she sat between dad and her older brother Leon while one of them read her a bedtime story. more often than not it was dad, reading her some old legal textbook ishe never understood- he always said age was no excuse for idiocy, and made sure both his children kept their manners sharp and their minds sharper. If it was good enough for him to read, he always said, it was good enough for her to hear- but sometimes, Dad would light his cigar and hold her on his lap and Leon would read her fairytales instead, stories of mermaids, princesses, and dragons and she’d feel like the luckiest little girl in the whole world, a princess in her own story. Those nights Leon would carry her to her room, the hallway illuminated from the soft golden glow of the lamps mom loved to collect from all over the world, the ones dad always brought home for her when he was done his travelling for work. 

In the mornings, the gold trim on Leon’s letterman jacket would glint in the buttery sunshine as he ruffled her hair and ran out the door, always late for something in a way that drove dad crazy. Cherry never minded when he ran away early though, because then she and mom would have breakfast together, a precious few minutes Cherry had Elyse Valance all to herself- a precious commodity indeed. More often than not, dad would be at work before Cherry was roused to get ready for school, but mom was always there, makeup flawless but her sleep clothes still on, flowing golden hair sleek and shiny. She’d pour Cherry a cup of orange juice and smooth her copper curls, and they’d gossip about anything and everything until it was time for Cherry to catch the bus. Mom would wave at her from the steps, bathed in the golden glow of the early morning sunshine, and people would stop and stare, the way they always did when mom was around, because Cherry’s mom was the prettiest lady anyone in Tulsa had ever seen. 

Yes, Cherry used to love gold. Before.

Such days, of soft gold evenings and warm gold mornings, of stories and smiles and the naive, childish belief that nothing would ever change, are long gone.

Leon’s football jacket now lives in her closet, instead of thrown haphazardly over the back of a chair or on a random doorknob, and she wears it on the days when she misses him most, now he’s away working on the other side of the country after graduating uni and marrying the only girl he claims ever fit right for him. He calls- he’s good about calling, always has been, is still her hero at almost eighteen the same as he was when she was six- but it’s different now that he has a wife and a baby on the way and no need for the little sister he left behind in a house that’s too big without him. He’d never forsake her, but he has left her, and maybe it’s the natural order of things but it still feels all sorts of wrong that her protector is no longer around to do any sort of protecting. 

Gone are the evenings when dad would smoke his pipe in the family room. Now, she’s lucky if he knocks on her door to make sure she finished her homework. Instead, he now stays locked behind the door of his study, drowning under the weight of his ever growing law firm and his inability to face the demons that invaded their home, leaving destruction in their wake.  She stops sometimes, at her most foolish, when she walks past and the lamplight glints off the gold of the doorknocker- a beacon tempting fate- but she knows that any attempt to reach him only ever draws him further away.

She only ever sighs and keeps going, tired of fighting a battle no one else can even see. 

Mom doesn’t wait for her in the mornings anymore. Instead, Cherry pours a glass of water and cup of coffee while she makes up a breakfast tray before knocking softly and creeping into her parents’ room. Mom is usually asleep, once peachy skin sickly pale, her golden hair dried lank and brittle ever since she first got sick and the doctors said other than slowing things down there was nothing they could do. Cherry wakes her gently, spoons yogurt into her mouth, coaxes her into swallowing her pills, taking each of her mother’s weak thanks and praises and wishing she still had the strength to talk and laugh like she used to, like the whole world was a playground made just for her. 

The tiny gold earings mom’s day nurse wears glint in the sunlight as Cherry passes her on the way out the door. Mrs.Matthews is a lovely woman but Cherry hates her, hates her kindness and her understanding and the fact that they need her. Hates that she gets to see everything wrong with Cherry’s once perfect, unbroken family. 

The sun will shine, harshly golden, burning her eyes as she drives herself to school. 

Cherry used to love gold. But not anymore. 

[petaltexturedskies]

she put a wreath of white lilies round her hair, but every petal of the flowers was half a pearl

Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid

[annachum]

Julius Caesar and Cleopatra VII's wedding in that Asterix Hillbilly AU ( once again crediting @romaine-arts for that wonderful AU )

. Okay so it's a lavish June wedding

. After around a year of dating, Julius Caesar and Cleopatra VII finally tied the knot

. That wedding is held in Caesar's big Nashville mansion, with a bunch of celebrities and everybody be dressed to the nines

. Irina is there amongst the bridesmaids of that wedding btw

. In that wedding, Caesar wore a snappy black and white tuxedo with a red rose corsage

. And Cleopatra VII wore a gorgeous ivory mermaid wedding gown with a backless cut, long fingerless matching gloves, a lacy veil attached to that updo which was decorated with Pearls and a white rose wreath, ans ivory heels. The edges of the dress and gloves are laced with Italian lace btw

. The groomsmen all wore red and black tuxedos and the bridesmaids all wore different shades of blue gowns

. The wedding is a total blast - a fancy buffet, free flowing fancy wine and all that

. It is one of the highlight celebrity weddings of the year btw

. Meanwhile back at Asterix's Hillbilly town they all be watching some stuff of that celebrity wedding from their TVs ans then Geriatrix goes, ' Here we go, Caesar has now taken a new young bride. '

Taillefine : A little like us, honey pie

Geriatrix : Why, yes, dearie, but in my eyes you are more beautiful than Cleopatra

Taillefine : Awwww * blushes and kisses a smiling Geriatrix on the cheek *

. Those Indomitable Gauls be watching that wedding like it's some reality TV show lol - snacks and all that.

. At that wedding, they got Volumnia Cytheris to perform as a guest performer. She shows up in a gorgeous black and gold dress pop attire and Mark Antony is ALL OVER HER THAT EVENING

. Yeah well all the grown ups in that wedding went roaring drunk and pretty soon Caesar and Cleopatra are drunk rag dogging at Caesar's suite room lol.

. Julius Caesar and Cleopatra's wedding dance song is ' I just called to say I love you ' by Stevie Wonder

. Also after that wedding, Caesar and Cleopatra went on a 2 week honeymoon in Egypt ( cruising down a part of the Nile and back again ), similarly with IRL.

[thewolfisawake]

Muir Uaigh

Muir Uaigh, or the Sepulchre Sea, also called the Buried Sea is a location within the Unseelie. The Buried Sea is its common name and merely refers to the fact that the sea, like the rest of Unseelie, is 'buried' beneath the mainland. It does indeed flow to the oceans. It is actually a little deeper than most of inhabited Unseelie. Yet paradoxically, as fae tend to be, the sea is not dark nor dreary. It's essentially their equivalent of beaches. There are geometrical rock structures that can serve as areas to rest, there are rich black sands that can be played and lie in. And the water is very navigable with the underwater scape its own marvel.

However, this is only one part of the Buried Sea. The part that the Unseelie have made habitable and safe. The other half is truly called Muir Uaigh and is meant to be treated like you would with fae...with caution. This part of the sea does appear similar to the main beach, in fact there are several other beaches that do exist but its protection is not nearly as strong as the Buried Sea. Protection from what?

Well, obvious are kelpies. While they cannot charm fae quite the same way, as they have similar mythical origins, they are can be quite aggressive if they are startled or feel that anyone is treading in their stomping grounds. As such they might pummel or trample unfortunate folks or just outright drag them out and drown them (fae are immortal in that they do not age, not that they cannot be killed). They are like other creatures in nature though to Unseelie.

No, the real issue comes with the mermaids. Yeah, yeah, everyone knows what they're like. Half-fish, half-humanoid. Can be good or bad. And yes, these kinds lean towards the siren sort of danger. But in a different way. See, the legend behind the mermaids that reside here and why it is called the Muir Uaigh is that this sea draws souls on the verge of being lost or wishing to be lost. So often it draws Unseelie that do not wish to live to its depths either by jumping from the cliffs to it or walking into the waters. It also draws souls that are in grief or suffering grave misfortune. It is release and freedom. Unfortunate to quote the song, it would take the suffering.

It is believed souls lost this way are reborn into mermaids that have a vagueness or no memory of their previous life. They seem to live normal lives in the sea and do not eat others. However, there are some that have this feeling within to relieve others. And its these...rather motivated mermaids that are a problem. Their songs reaches to find a being's longing. Whom or what they long for, positively or negatively. This what lures others into their depths to be drowned. Even if their bodies are retrieved, their 'soul' or 'essence' is stripped from them and thus can never be returned unless you, idk, risk fighting some fish people for the soul. To which, yeah, you could have time for that in theory. Once a body comes within the water, it is usually wreathed within the long and colorful seaweed to be anchored in place until, well, the soul releases.

Now, these mermaids aren't as irresistible as a siren so it's possible to escape but it's really a 'but would you risk it?' question. They also aren't very durable and can be injured and killed like any other creature. It's also, not every mermaid is like this. Some do just want to be left alone and some just want folks to heal. The latter of these are called caesg, mermaids that assist and actually travel very far (like to rivers and streams on the surface far). They can grant minor wishes to those that capture them. But the odds of getting a caesg vs a mermaid...is it really worth it?

So yeah, the naming sense is fitting in both senses. The Buried Sea is usually what's referring to safer areas, spots that either mermaids do not tend to frequent or have been repelled from. It is named such because it quite literally below the land. Muir Uaigh refers to the sea at large and is a 'sea of graves.' It is the part that fae are to be careful about.

[rockitmans]

Beautiful banner by @jazziergin

I was tagged by @cerriddwenluna. Thank you darling! Edit: I was also tagged by @blurglesmurfklaine and @thnxforknowingme, thank you 🥰

Now would you believe I have once again been writing something completely disconnected from any of my other WIPs? Clearly this is why it took me three years to ever post anything. I'm a man that needs a deadline.

That said I've been writing slightly messy meet cute because you know... they fuel me etc etc. So this one is florist!Blaine. Working title: Here Comes The Sun(flower).

Warning for mention of dead pet fish?

~~~~~~

"I need something for a dead fish." 

Blaine blinks. Ten years and he's never heard those words leave anyone's mouth. 

"Like a wreath?" he ventures after a protracted pause. It wouldn't be the first pet wreath he's ever made. But it would be the first for a fish. 

"No. I mean… maybe? Basically I need flowers that say: sorry your fish died while I was looking after it but I did follow all your ridiculous rules to the letter, I even played it that song from Little Mermaid just like you told me and it died anyway so clearly this could have happened to anyone and at least it died doing what it loved. Swimming."

"You killed someone's fish?" Blaine asks before he can stop himself. 

"I didn't kill the fish," the guy wails, shifting his box and waving his free hand dramatically. "The fish just died. It's very different." 

"Sounds like something a fish killer would say," Blaine mutters, standing to start gathering up some flowers.

~~~~~

I can only think of one person to tag so I choose you @expensivemistake! Sorry for singling you out 😝

[k00288049]

This project began with just shells. Their texture, form, colour, layers, surroundings, and meaning excited me, and I wanted to work with them. For the narrative of the senses project, I linked them with my favourite fairytale, "the little mermaid," by Hans Christian Andersen. I wanted to make the world he describes so beautifully come alive, so I created the mermaid's castle and her lily wreath. The broken pearl protected by the shells symbolizes her sacrifice and her suffering, making her character come alive, too. For my pieces, I worked with a variety of processes and materials, including shells, wire, beads, fishing line, seaweed, and several grains. By exploring these materials and the processes they bring with them, I learned a lot in this short time, and if I had more time, I would have gladly continued this project.

[likivicustomdecor]

Ursula Wreath

[glorioustidalwavedefendor]

"There now! We've got you off our hands," said the grandmother, the old widow Queen. "Come here, and let me dress you out like your other sisters"; and she put a wreath of white lilies on her hair, only every petal in the flower was a half-pearl, and the old lady made eight large oysters take tight hold of the Princess's tail, to indicate her high rank.

"But it hurts so," said the little mermaid.

"Yes, one must suffer a little for smartness' sake," said the old lady.

Oh dear! She would gladly have shaken off all this finery and put away the heavy wreath. The red flowers in her garden became her much better; but she dare not change it. "Good-bye," she said, and rose bright and light as a bubble, up through the water.

"The little mermaid" by H. C. Andersen

[msareviews]

Review - Julián is a Mermaid by Jessica Love

Julián is a Mermaid is about a young boy* who becomes enamored with three mermaids he sees on the train. When he gets home, he tells his Abuela that he’s a mermaid and while she showers, he creates his own mermaid costume using the houseplants and curtains. Rather than scold Julián, Abuela celebrates him by taking him to a parade so he can march with all the mermaids just like him. I have been wanting to read Julián is a Mermaid for a while because I was aware of its reputation as a wonderful picture book about transgender children. It is recommended for grades While the book is not explicitly about being transgender, the depictions of a young boy playing dress up and identifying with more feminine-coded aesthetics are very true to early gender exploration and nonconformity. Love’s sparse writing style allows her to use dynamic and vibrant illustrations to tell this feel-good story about accepting and celebrating yourself. 

The prose in this book often takes a back seat to the illustrations, but what little is there is immensely effective. While the illustrations are dynamic and flowing and imaginative, the language is grounded and creates a clear delineation between Julián’s imagination and reality. Abuela’s voice is particularly clear, as she is usually the one snapping Julián back into reality. Her mix of Spanish and English and her short sentences creates the impression of a tired but loving Abuela, setting her up to go either way when she discovers her grandson playing dress up.  

The true highlight of this book are the illustrations. Love’s art is vibrant and dynamic, capturing movement and emotion. Through these illustrations, we get to see Julián’s inner world where he imagines himself turning into a mermaid and swimming through the ocean. One brilliant touch is the inclusion of a large blue and white fish in the first episode of Julián’s imagination that presents him with a pink wreath of seaweed to wear around his neck. Later in the book, Julián’s abuela wears a blue and white dress in the same pattern as the fish’s and presents him with a string of pink pearls as a gesture of acceptance. It’s a beautiful and subtle moment that is likely to resonate with many gender non-conforming people who want their families to accept their identities. 

This book is known for the way it presents gender nonconformity in children. It features a male-coded child exploring female-coded aesthetics and being loved and celebrated for it. The overall theme is that it’s okay to like things that are considered outside the norm for your gender, and I think that’s a very valuable lesson for all children – cis and trans. Some boys may want to play with barbies or dress up clothes and some girls may enjoy hot wheels and Pokémon cards. Some young boys may want to grow their hair long and even go by a more feminine name, some young girls may hate wearing dresses and prefer to be considered one of the guys. This book shows these children and their peers that it’s okay to like things outside of the typical gender roles and that the loving and kind thing to do is accept those kinds of differences in ourselves and others. 

I really enjoyed reading this book. I was entranced by the gorgeous illustrations and moved by the story. Librarians and educators refer a lot to Dr. Rudine Sims Bishop’s (1990) metaphor of books as mirrors, windows, and sliding glass doors because it is a wonderful explanation of why diverse books are so important both in the public library and the classroom. I think this book can act as all three. Children who feel pulled towards gender nonconformity can see themselves reflected in Julián; children who don’t have that experience can gain understanding of the kids they know who do; and children who weren’t aware of gender nonconformity might be interested in playing with gender expression after reading this book. I highly recommend this book for anyone looking to explain or introduce the idea of gender expression and gender nonconformity to children in a positive way. 

*Many readers understand Julián to be a transgender child, but the book doesn’t explicitly state his gender identity. I’ve been seeing other reviewers use he/him pronouns for the character, so I will do that here as well. 

References 

Bishop, R. S. (1990). Mirrors, windows, and sliding glass doors. Perspectives: Choosing and Using Books for the Classroom, 6(3). https://scenicregional.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/Mirrors-Windows-and-Sliding-Glass-Doors.pdf.  

Love, J. (2018). Julián is a mermaid. Candlewick Press. 

NoveList. (n.d.). Julian is a mermaid. https://web.p.ebscohost.com/novp/detail?vid=2&sid=7743c694-befb-499c-8af6-5df52c5e55aa%40redis&bdata=JnNpdGU9bm92cC1saXZl#AN=10659115&db=neh.  

[libidomechanica]

“After youre a rubber/ gasoline salesman or like a children”

Rapt in his own hearing on he feedeth among.     Were gone; the weed-covered the Gipsy- Scholar haunts, outliving rain annoyes. And bone could     be your change,—upon his own despised.

Jealous God, as filchers use, he that and break. After     you’re a rubber/gasoline salesman or like a children waved their famisht case? Best-     nature rises from the dissolution

of the Lady Blanche’ she says, suppose it is     thine head like as like two years and behold, thought how guilty of your Mistress bids me weeps     and my beloved his bride of sanguine

youth; and hours, the leopards. Heard her slim hand oblique     lines; a little moment broken, blossom of bloom go I! A rich and listen’d all     run after the pure Gold returned them

both; but Stephen Hill. I view! The eye, which rainbow     of Evil Fate but of song; permit me voyage, love, as I watched for an arch, when Pan     and her wind meant, as will these think of

the indicating sweet, like a tired they quicken’d     hate; since my meditation, her freight Upon the whirling lyre upon a plate as     kind of wreathe against the Humours sell.

Yet Childe-like in copse and, and the white fish on the     year all passions of our June—shall men rate as blue moon thro’ his dim waters and fired.     Next to me, Rise up, my love, a troop

of her soft and at the sea mermaids are break, break,     blue eye looketh tower of why we came of more shall because I have laid up for thee,     and changing Hands of Day and my fingers

of a new lover, not all that I should new     though shadow with shoes, and sickle to the foreshows, whereto this orphans of war,     each fields of all times from the rest of

a’. Let us hie, flying, dumb on high nor envy     not me? A dying lately, left understood, we know, I will be gladness of     For well shucks, and heard theme of weaning?

[kendrixtermina]

(cthonic siren)

I bet you don’t know whether to be attracted or repulsed

Let’s talk about bountiful opulent buffets of fruit laid out,

the responsibility yours to deal with if all that exess

does not get eaten before it rots

Let’s talk about the folded

hands that are filled with a great extensive bouquet

one by one, they’re revealed as meat-eating organs

once your eye dwells on them long enough to tell

Let us just for a a moment consider

the alluring curves of the stomach, the swell of the mammary

only garnished with the knowledge of the fat and entrails beneath

to speak of the collarbone, of the sharp bend where the ribs end

to speak of the devil.

Let us consider the mermaid, beckoning forward

from right where she reclines in her lair of kelp and corals,

the coils of her tails and the leathery skin of her fins

wafting up to you from where she lies in the cold and the deep

cold kiss like nitrogen narcosis

like the hard keys of ivory taking forever a hold

of the one who was going to play them,

permitting them to other love

entertwining ebony fingers

of dangled tentacled appedanges dancing tranlucent in the current

cold amd warm streams trading places

dulcet membrane, a nettle-stinging caress.

An alluring doll dragging her long hair out from the uncany valley,

winking straight at you out from her hard porcelain face

presenting the heart as on offering

that lies caged like a bird inside her hollowed chest

beneath the brittle plastic:

Perhaps you had enjoyed this story, but you won’t really like how it ends.

You’ll be left gaping in denied catharsis, wounded, leaking,

infested with seeds that are soon to blossom into a garden of stories of your own.

Drawn with the same luscious oil-painted details

is the touch of the rosy-fingered dawn

and the wormlike pink of a rat’s tail

bleeding ivy clinging:

Blessed be the ghouls who can kiss with their grotesque serpentine tongues

literally act out the urge to devour every last morsel of each other

and never face the mundane dissappointment of the not-so-great next morning

If this is how it could be forever,

I’d hide my skull amid the flowers.

I’d stuff back each and every one of the bones I had collected

into the hollow’d carcass of that little bird

and put the cracked eggshells right back in the nest.

Were not my neck already ripped,

the very nakedness long since having been bloodied,

the ardent embrance in nothing but sheets all that ever existed,

nothing before and naught ever since:

Nude lies the beaury, but she is bound and gagged to be sacrificed to the devil.

Tight is the latex, but its face wears the red mask of death.

Those muscular limbs are but cyborg machines,

or else the water she so elegantly floats in would have drowned her

you could push your clever fingers

only into the folds of her books

above that batoque wreath crows a raven,

the wings are of a moth, and not an angel,

the feathers are only those of chickens,

and her long feet now ends in hooves.

Could you convince her to uncoil from where she has curled herself,

you’d come face to face only with the hollowness of her chest,

the blood on the hole long dried and blackened

and beneath the roses have grown tentacles:

Seafood-soft, leaving not even bones.

When she exhales, it smells of squid ink,

it smells of opium, and canabis,

and multitides of mushroom fibres picking clean the rodent bones

She would beckon your still,

looking over her shoulder, from there in the corner

but the other side of the hole gapes out from her back,

garnished in a song made out of one million knives

I bet you don’t know whether to be attracted or repulsed

Neither do I.