#cannot stop linsing

[monichailatte]

in my eliza mclamb salt circle era and thriving

[sercphs]

I am forcibly putting a party hat on Naans and giving them tasty treats

[linsethalassa]

Time moves differently beneath the sea. Linse is not sure how old he is, how many seasons he has lost as year after year blend into an endless cycle of life, death, and sex. He remembers large ships, white sails, skies that were as clear and bright as the waters beneath them. He remembers when magic was alive, the day it disappeared, and when it returned again. But mostly he remembers a feeling of wanting more.

Sirens had watched with interest, this great undertaking of people building a home at the bottom of their sea. Many times before mankind had ventured beneath the waves, searching for answers to questions they were too afraid to ask. But this? This was new.

Once again, prey was daring to not only step on their shores but to sink beneath the surface themselves. Attempting to escape the poisonous air above, little did they know they were surrounding themselves with the endless hunger of the predators of the deep. In those early years of colonizing the dome, it was a wonder that enough transport ships even made it to dock beneath the waves and safely deliver new citizens to Caelestis. The sirens were starving, and ruthless, feasting at the unexpected gift from gods they had long thought dead.

But to Linse, this was an opportunity.

Here was his more.

He dragged himself ashore, taking on a human form for the first time in his life, and absconding with a group of newcomers seeking salvation beneath the waves. Once arriving in the pristine sterility of the Caelestis processing units, it was impossible to hide what he was. Which was exactly what he had intended.

Though voiceless, the siren pressed to make his proposal known, and once it was understood it spread through the ranks of Caelestis government like wildfire. If all of their technology and their magic could supply the sirens with food, they would stop attacking the ships, would stop sabotaging the fragile structure that supported life beneath the concrete dome. And Linse? He would be an ambassador for the sirens, a silent watcher, ensuring that the people beneath the sea held up their end of the deal and kept his kind fed and thriving.

In the meantime, here was a whole new world for him to explore. So many peoples, so many new sights and sensations to be experienced. It was all much, much more interesting than the endless blue sea outside.

In his true form, Linse’s tail is black, metallic scales fading through charcoal grey as they wrap around to his front where they shift to a pearly white to match his skin. His claws and hands and fins are black, as if dipped in ash and smudged up to the elbow. When he shifts into his human form, this black coloration of his hands and nails remains to a lesser extent, mainly restricted to his fingers and smudged like bruising up the back of his hands.

The siren doesn’t smile to show his teeth, only ever shows them if he is surprised into silent laughter, is forced to be aggressive or defensive, or if his temper is triggered.

Linse is a very quiet personality, gentle and introspective. He is inquisitive, always interested in observing new things and expanding his experiences. Friendship doesn’t come easily to him. While he is friendly to most, he is still a predator at heart. There have been select few people whose social or emotional value to him have surpassed their prospective nutritional value.

Even when he sheds his skin to walk on land, Linse retains the heightened senses that serve him well underwater. Everything on dry land is so different however, and after a lifetime of using his senses purely to survive, he now takes joy luxuriating in using those same senses to experience the dry world around him. Displayed on the walls of his home are an array of objects that fascinate his senses, in one way or another. Some of them alight his sense of touch, like a scrap of heavily embroidered tapestry or a silver comb decorated with intricate filigree. There is a small vial of perfume, the scent of which he cannot place, but that seems to resonate through him and send a shiver of warmth down his spine. Many of the shelves are laden with glimmering crystals or prisms of glass, their cold facets intriguing to his fingertips, the light they cast a feast for his eyes. There is a small stone so black that it seems to be a hole cut in the very universe, where it sits alone on a shelf by his bedside.  

He loves the sound of fire, something that before coming to Caelestis he was only ever able to experience when swimming amongst the burning wreckage of ships, searching for doomed sailors to feed his kin. In his home he indulges this affinity with wooden wicked candles that softly crackle as they fill the air with the scent of smoke and beeswax.

With heightened hearing comes unfortunate sensitivities. Certain sounds like electronic feedback are extra irritating to him, and can drive him to aggression when exposed to them for lengths of time. Because of this, his home is carefully soundproofed and completely without electricity. He uses a small, traditional ice chest to keep his meat cold, and once weekly picks up both his meat and the ice from a lab in Caelestis. Used to living in the low light deep beneath the waves, Linse needs very little light to see by, an open window or single candle often enough for him to read by.

Linse wears soft clothes and cool colors that remind him of the sea. While home he prefers very loose clothing, if he even wears clothing at all. While dancing, he dresses in sheer silks that drape around him, strategically bound to his body with golden pins and bands to preserve a semblance of modesty. Only a semblance however, since the sheerness of the fabric leaves little to guesswork.

Linse took up a career in exotic dancing, something he can easily do while being mute. As a siren he has higher flexibility and muscle control than the average person, and so can work some crazy poses into his routines. And although he doesn’t have to use his Voice to lure prey, he still likes feeling the power of entrancing men, and does it with his body instead.

While he isn’t much interested in sex during his off months, he is still interested in physical affection of a platonic nature. Sirens are affectionate amongst their choirs.

If he is comfortable with a person, and with a person knowing his boundaries, he may on occasion flirt. There is nothing but a platonic affection or amusement behind it, but he finds that it can sometimes help deepen a bond he might feel with an individual. Bonds which he sometimes takes advantage of when his hormones begin to increase as the spawning season draws near. While he is essentially asexual for most of the year, that all changes when the season is upon him.

Linse has been in the dome for 5 years. Previous seasons he used to migrate back home to the breeding grounds, but the longer he has spent away the less instinctive draw there is. The last 3 years he has had his season at home. He had brought in the occasional partner, but found it wasn’t a positive experience for either of them. He releases a strong pheromone during the season (all sirens do as a way to ensure that everyone is riled up and breeding at the same time), is aggressively ravenous. Hormones, libido, hunger, pheromones all ramp up over the course of a month until spawning happens on full moon of spring/summer transition. Immediately afterward he’s back down to normal Ace. Is very affectionate and nurturing afterwards in a sympathetic flush of hormones that usually would help reform choir bonds. In the past he has found that fostering kittens during this time is a pleasing outlet for these instincts.

He’s fine without a partner, just ends up masturbating a lot in a somewhat unsatisfactory way. Still, it is better than nothing.  

[cuddear]

Endless Reflections | Endlose Spiegelungen

(This story is bilingual. Find it in German below the text - Die Story ist zweisprachig. Die deutsche Version findet ihr weiter unten.)

It's not over until it is. They say the past can't be changed. But isn't the film to be rewritten, the one in your head that keeps you trapped in a loop of endless repetition? Or does that mean I'll be on vacation as long as my mind isn't on work? As long as I don't stop the film of being in idleness in my inner cinema, don't put it in a drawer and archive it. Man and his inner world. A labyrinth. But that is, on some natural foundations, self-developed and built. One lives there alone with oneself, the world reflects on the shimmering walls. All just mirror images. Each angle provides a differently distorted perspective. No one has access. Whoever is inside cannot find out. No one from the outside can actually get in. Only cave segments remain recognizable. Grottoes, debris, a sense of treasure chambers in the dark. Sometimes a light comes on. When the film breaks. In our brain, the film reel is still spinning in the classic way. Celluloid in narrow or wide strips runs behind a lens, individual images run together in a row to form an apparently coherent narrative stream. When the film tears, light breaks through directly, concentrating as a glistening spot on the screen. Seemingly without content. But what kind of content does a chain of strung together images provide us with? They are nothing without our interpretation. And that is where all mistakes begin. --- Es ist nicht vorbei, bis es das ist. Die Vergangenheit lässt sich nicht ändern, heißt es. Aber ist der Film nicht umzuschreiben, der im Kopf, der dich gefangen hält in einer Schleife endloser Wiederholungen? Oder heißt das, ich werde im Urlaub sein, solange ich mich im Kopf nicht auf Arbeit einfinde? Solange ich im inneren Kino den Film vom Sein im Müßiggang nicht stoppe, ihn nicht in eine Schublade lege und archiviere. Der Mensch und seine Innenwelt. Ein Labyrinth. Aber das ist, auf ein paar natürlichen Grundlagen, selbst entwickelt und gebaut. Man lebt dort allein mit sich selbst, an den schimmernden Wänden reflektiert die Welt. Alles nur Spiegelbilder. Jeder Blickwinkel liefert eine anders verzerrte Perspektive. Niemand hat Zugang. Wer drin ist, findet nicht heraus. Von außen kommt niemand tatsächlich herein. Erkennbar bleiben immer nur Höhlensegmente. Grotten, Geröll, die Ahnung von Schatzkammern im Dunkeln. Manchmal scheint ein Licht auf. Wenn der Film reißt. In unserem Gehirn dreht die Filmrolle nämlich noch ganz klassisch. Zelluloid in schmalen oder breiten Streifen läuft hinter einer Linse, Einzelbilder rennen aneinander gereiht zusammen zu einem scheinbar zusammenhängenden Erzählstrom. Wenn der Film reißt, bricht Licht direkt durch, bündelt sich als gleißender Fleck auf der Leinwand. Scheinbar ohne Inhalt. Aber was für einen Inhalt liefert uns denn schon eine Kette aneinander gereihter Bilder? Sie sind nichts ohne unsere Interpretation. Und da beginnen alle Fehler.

[sercphs]

Do you see him? Do you gaze upon him? 

Good.