#my own interpretation of a siren

[tagzpite]

Siren Odysseus concept sketches !!

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.8k

Summary: 'Rule 27: It’s a poor choice to help a hare at high noon, but it will certainly appreciate you if you do.'

WARNING for some descriptions of violence

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

You’d first set foot on The Rose Queen when you were the tender age of eleven. Or, well, something close to that. It wasn’t like most peasant orphans were taught numbers, let alone how to interpret calendars well enough to mark the passing of years.

It was the first ship you’d ever seen up close—sleek, and salt-stained, and creaking beneath your toes. The Boy King at its helm had turned his nose up at you in his too big coat, with his too big boots and tricorn hat that kept slipping down over his eyes. It was a ragtag crew that you’d wandered into, made of nothing but runaways and street rats. The ship itself was just as unusual and fresh-faced. It was built in a very impractical sort of way, with hallways that led to nowhere and portholes that opened up into endless seas of shadow where you could tumble down, down, down for hours and never see an end (or so you’d been warned). There were paintings on the walls, all off-centered and hanging on crooked nails that wobbled with every dip in the waves. The masts and rails were stained a deep, bloody red, in honor of its title. And no matter how the raging winds and waves battered at those petals, your Captain would have you out there the next morning to paint them anew. The Rose Queen was the finest pirate ship in all the ocean, and you only half-said that out of personal bias.

The vessel of the Silver Songbirds was… not like that.

It was grand, certainly. But there was a barren cleanliness to it that didn’t feel lived in. Sure, Riddle’d had you literally scrubbing stains out of the deck with a toothbrush and pot of turpentine, but this was different. Sterile, rather than squeaky. The wood planks didn’t whine with a weary, seaworthy groan beneath your feet that you could feel through the heel of your boots—as if to reassure you it was there. The air smelled of salt, sure, and you could see a group of gulls circling overhead, but the whole of it felt… empty. Lonely.

The black haired man led you to a small, private room in the ship’s hull. That alone was strange. You’d been sharing quarters for the whole of your seafaring career. This new little suite of yours had a bed, and white paint on the walls, and a porthole for a window. He gently coaxed you into sitting at the foot of the mattress and readjusted the coat resting along your shoulders. His smile was soft, kind. The sort of warm, pretty expression that you could read about in a love poem.

You remembered your Siren’s vicious, pointed smirk—red, and haughty, and sharp enough to cut glass—and fought a pang of something you absolutely refused to put a name to.

When you blinked back into focus, his lips were moving in a slow, steady flow and you focused your best on the shape of them. It was hard, with how placid his expression was—with how little there was to make out of anything he was attempting to get across. And whether it be your furrowed brow or a sudden memory that oh right, you’d told him your ears worked as well as a three-legged horse pulling a one-wheeled cart, he startled into silence. His face twisted up with chagrin, and he offered you an apologetic smile with round, pink cheeks.

He fumbled around in his pockets for a piece of paper and scribbled out a hasty note to press into your palms.

‘My name is Neige Leblanche, and I’ll be taking care of you for this journey.’

You paused, fingers worrying at the sides of the neat, square bit of parchment. It felt right to offer your own name in return. That would be the polite thing, surely. But you paused, throat tight with uncertainty and a prickling, unpleasant sort of heat. Because you’d never even told your Siren your name, had you? Not even once.

And beneath that sudden, sour gut punch was something else.

‘Rule 116, your name is not a number, but it is your value. Do not offer it to any whose own interests are undue.’

The first time Ace had found himself with a wanted poster (‘Ugly,’ he’d complained, bitter. ‘How am I supposed to hook any tail with this? I look like a mutant potato. This stupid portrait is worse than prison.’), Riddle had taken your handwritten Book of Rules and underlined that one thrice over. You hadn’t thought much of it until you’d had to cut a hangman’s noose from around your idiot, foxy friend’s throat—the handiwork of the tavern folk he’d been boasting to only an afternoon before. And then it had made sense. Ace had survived (with a new, grand tale of woe that he liked to repeat ad nauseum until you wished you’d left him strung up), but the lesson had remained.

Carefully you swallowed the words resting on your tongue and offered a polite-ish nod in their place.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you. For saving me.”

Neige shook his head in a panicked sort of rush, hands waving back and forth with a clear ‘none of that! None of that!’ before reaching back into his pockets to search for another note.

‘It was my honor,’ he wrote, words jumbled and sloppy in his haste. ‘It’s the duty of all officers to help those in need.’

Your brow pinched. Officer? Officer of what?

Your Siren had called these Songbirds dangerous. ‘Not safe’ written into the sand over and over again with his curled claws. You didn’t know much of mainland politics and other such nonsense, but maybe there was some sort of… Siren Hunting Order? Soldiers of the King sent out to scour the seas and keep them safe for a host of weary, would-be-merman-meals? That would make sense. It would make a lot of sense, actually.

Another note was pressed into your hands.

‘How did you end up stranded on that island?’

Islet, you wanted to correct petulantly. Riddle would have. Your Siren would have.

You opened your mouth and hesitated. Telling Nigel, or Nergal, or whatever his name was that your ship had been besieged by a pod of ravenous mers (and one fair-faced asshole who you already missed far, far too—) was as good as serving them up on a silver platter, wasn’t it? Siren hunters probably traded information like how pirates traded maps or merchants traded gold. And you’d be damned if your loose tongue was what led to your friend companion co-strandee’s family being hunted for sport just after he’d finally managed to make his way home again.

So you stiffened your upper lip and turned to look your savior in the eye.

“I fell overboard,” you said, firm. “Because I’m an idiot.”

He blinked, startled, and you could recognize the spluttered ‘…oh’ shaping his lips.

He handed you another scribbled bit of parchment, gaze averted and awkward.

‘I’m sorry.’

“Never apologize to the half-wit for whatever fallacy of their own led to them falling into the pit,” you recited naturally, and Nigel startled. His doe eyes went round with confusion and he tilted his head at you like a curious hound. Nothing intimidating, more like some kind of fluffy cocker spaniel or primped up lapdog staring up at you with too-long-lashes and too-few-thoughts.

You shrugged.

“Just a rule I was supposed to follow,” you shrugged off. You offered a slanted grin. “Though when you’re the idiot in question, it can be pretty hard to avoid.”

Neville smiled at you with a soft sort of laugh that you swore you could feel dancing along your skin.

Another note.

‘I’ll be back in a bit. Please enjoy the amenities here and get some rest. If you need anything, let us know and I’ll get it sorted personally.’

You dipped your chin in thanks and collapsed back against the small, flat mattress in the corner. It was soft, sturdy, probably good for your back and all that nonsense. The sheets were crisp and white, and they rubbed blandly at your weary hide. You could smell the lingering, sharp fragrance of some kind of tacky soap in the cotton. Totally not unpleasant at all. Theoretically, it should have actually been the best bed you’d ever slept in. But a part of you missed swaying back and forth in a net hammock, and an even bigger part missed plopping down in the sand with the heat of a crackling fire at your front and the even steadier warmth of the long, curling, press of gemstone scales at your back.

You flopped over onto your side and stared at the empty, carefully manicured surface of the desk opposite you and wished more than anything that you’d brought your shell.

.

.

The room was cold when you next woke, and you shivered into the jacket Neige had draped along your shoulders (because it was ‘Neige.’ It had been signed on the bottom of the note he’d left you that morning alongside your breakfast. Which was stupid. The dumbest name you’d ever heard). The starched fabric of it all wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was better than shivering through the chilly ocean mists that were seeping in through the porthole.

You burrowed into the swathe of white and blue wool like a rabbit in a hole, and then winced in irritation when another of those stupid, gaudy pins dug into your cheek.

You plucked the first from its place—the duo of silver songbirds. It really was quite pretty, despite the ominous undertones and all. Two, graceful, delicate sets of feathered wings arching up into the sky—forever frozen in a dance to the clouds. You dropped it into the little, dark crevice between your bed and the wall. Good riddance.

Next came a crest that was familiar in a distant sort of way—a memory that tickled that back of your brain from days long past. You hadn’t noticed it before, what with the echoes of ‘not safe, not safe, not safe’ blaring in your head like an alarm, but it was just as neatly polished as the birds pinned above. It was diamond shaped, the edges embossed in twining lines like the cut of a rope. At its head sat a strange sort of crown, with the arches and more familiar pointed designs replaced by the billowing arcs of sails.  All of that gallantry surrounded a pair of rearing stallions—hooves crossed along a golden edged sword and circled with blue ivy.

You twisted it between your fingers, watching the metal glint in the low light. You hadn’t set foot in proper society since Riddle had let your young, dumb self abscond into the ocean all those years ago. You could hardly remember the flag of our home country, let alone the specifics.

You frowned and the edges of the badge pricked at your fingers.

You dropped this one behind the bed too, with a petulant flick of your wrist to make sure it really stuck.

.

.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around more often, there’s some business I’ve been having to take care of.’

You handed the note back with a shrug.

“It’s no bother.”

Neige offered an apologetic grimace nonetheless and another of those smiles that looked a bit too sweet to be real.

‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’

You bristled before you could help it, thoughts spiraling away to harpoons, and nets, and hunting parties. And then you settled your shoulders into a polite, easy line and offered one of your own too-put-together smiles in return.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, you saved me after all.”

Neige smiled again, easy and comfortable, and pressed another slip of parchment into your palms.

‘Where were you headed? When you fell overboard?’

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck you with a barbed cactus branch dipped in—

Ahem.

You cleared your throat in a way that was surely a Very Normal Person Thing To Do, and tried to ignore the fact that he was so brazenly attempting to map out his plan of attack—to pinpoint the route that the sirens had been chasing and run after it like hounds tracking a fresh scent. Which, to be fair, sirens were a scourge on the seas. Hundreds upon hundreds of good men and women had been lost to their crooning songs and wickedly sharp teeth. They were vicious, often cruel, and so much stronger than any mortal sailor that of course the world above would fear them. You’d been very much of the same opinion until only quite recently, and now—now you just couldn’t.

“I don’t know where we were going,” you lied, and Neige’s brow pinched in a dour, rejected kind of way. “But,” you tried, sprinkling in a touch of truth to make the lie go down easier, “I know we were coming from Port o'Bliss.”

He nodded, that uncongenial expression slipping off his face as easily as it’d settled there.

He rattled off something quick and bubbly, and you pointedly arched a brow. The brunette blushed bright pink and hastily scrabbled for another bit of paper.

‘Thank you for being so helpful. I know it can’t be easy.’

Your neutral expression froze on your face and when you smiled it felt more like a polite bearing of teeth. Did he know? Could he see right through you? Or worse, was he getting all the answers he wanted from you either way, no matter how you tried to coat it in a veneer of misdirection.

“Sure thing.”

He handed you another note, this time for his pocket. Crumpled and soft, the ink a bit smeared along the curling letters.

‘It’s a poor choice to help a heron at high noon,’ it said, ‘but it will certainly appreciate you if you do. So my thanks to you.’

Something settled in your gut at the familiarity, something deceptively warm and homey.

“It’s a hare,” you said, without much thought. “Not a heron.”

Neige nodded with a polite, smiling mumble that looked like another apology, and then left you to your own devices.

That night, a veritable feast was delivered to your tiny, white-walled cabin. A grand spread of food fit for a king. There was roasted fowl, pools of thick, spiced gravies, mountains of vegetables that you’d never even seen before. And tarts. So many colorful, fruity tarts that were so sweet they almost made your tongue curl.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked as Neige took a seat at your desk to nibble at the meal alongside you—a cloth napkin folded neatly across his nap and a clear glass flute for wine placed a bit precariously by his elbow.

He smiled, honey warm, and offered you another note.

‘For helping the hare.’

.

.

Neige didn’t come to visit you the next morning, and his absence had the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end.

You paced and paced around your cube of a barrack. It was maybe four steps from one end to the next, but the constant bumping your toes against the wall was better than just sitting there doing nothing. The worst part was the silence. Not the one in your head. Yes, yes, you were more than used to that. On and on, yada yada. But the silence of the ship. The Rose Queen had always felt like a living thing, a great, wooden beast with a pulse you could feel thrumming beneath your toes, your palms. All you had to do was lay a hand against its side and you could feel the rumble of the tide beyond, the rushing footsteps of sailors sprinting about to meet one of Riddle’s orders or other, the thump of heavy, wet mop heads smacking the deck overhead. It was quiet, but it wasn’t quiet. This ship? No matter how you laid against the boards or pressed flat to the walls, there was nothing. And it made you feel like you were trapped aboard a vessel full of ghosts.

The sun had long begun to set by the time Neige returned, and by then you were nothing but a livewire of nerves.

Had they found him? Your Siren? Was he there somewhere, just a few floors above—strung up like a fish in a net? Caught and displayed like a fine trophy? Or had they killed him outright? Had they found his pod? Had he put up a fight? Had he—

A piece of rolled parchment was held out for you to take, a satin blue ribbon tied along its belly. Neige’s soft, brown gaze was glued to the floor and you snatched the paper from his hands like a rabid cat and tore it open. You could barely keep your eyes steady to read it all—fine, pointed print done up in a neat hand.

‘—danger to those who venture—'

‘—for the safety of the people—’

‘—therefore, the decision has been made—'

‘—with the greatest consideration—’

‘—with immediate effect—'

‘—we have declared the extermination of—'

“You can’t!” you wailed, and Neige’s doe eyes darted up to yours and immediately away once more in guilt. “He’s—he’s not bad. I swear! I know how things look—and—and I know he’s not—that’s he’s a—but you can’t—”

Neige’s wavering stared jumped back to you in open surprise, and you saw his lips twitch on one word—delicate brows pinching in question.

‘He?’

You frowned and fought the urge to stomp your feet. Because, okay, fine. Sure, you were arguing tooth and nail for someone whose name you maybe didn’t even know. Someone who had swum away from your stupidly sentimental ass with all the power and grace of a beast fit to rule the depths of the oceans while you could barely flounder at its surface. And sure, sirens killed people and ate them. But this one was—he was special, and you’d be damned if you let some primped up fishermen try to reel him in on a hook just because he’d maybe eaten a few people. And—

There was a hand on your shoulder, and Neige was staring down at you with an expression not dissimilar to that of a parent about to tell their child that the cat had got out and met a terrible, squishy end beneath the wheels of your neighbor’s carriage. He sighed, dark lashes brushing along his cheeks, and then reached out with his other hand to tap a finger between your collar bones.

“What?” you snapped, and he tapped again. “Me? What about me?”

He paused, gaze meeting yours with a pointed sort of melancholy.

Oh.

Oh.

You remembered the pins you’d dropped behind your bed, one by one. You remembered the strange coat of arms crowned with golden sails and bearing a great, shining sword. Something regal, something imperial that a commoner like you would have only caught fleeting glimpses of in parades, and marches, and war calls.

Something like, say, Pyroxene’s Royal Naval Fleet.

You glanced down at the parchment again, crumpled between your fists, and smoothed it out into something legible beneath your fingers. You reread the text with careful focus.

‘For the Crime of Piracy’ it said. Right at the tippity top. In red ink.

“…ah,” you blinked. “That makes a lot more sense.”

.

.

You were to walk the plank on the ‘morrow.

Which honestly, you hadn’t even thought was really a Thing—walking the plank, argh. Fiddly dee and a yo-ho-ho. That sort of storybook nonsense. The parables that parents passed onto their children to try and scare them away from a life of villainy. Real pirates were put to the rack, or hanged in the town squares to scare the adults away from doing the same.

But you supposed it was practical, at least. Blood was hard to scrub out of wooden decks, so beheading would have been a bit of a mess. Bullets were best to be conserved out on the high seas where stocks were already low, and honestly, your body would just have to be thrown overboard anyways before it stunk up the barracks. So, like, doing it all in one would be quite efficient. You could appreciate that. 

Your hands would be bound at your back and you’d be given three breaths, three steps, and then you’d be tumbling down into the waves below. Claimed by the waters that you’d patrolled for so many years now. Fitting, honestly. Riddle would be proud (beneath the raging, spitting indignation of you being caught at all, but that was another matter). At least you wouldn’t be going out from food poisoning or something mundane like that, so that was a win. And who knew. Maybe your Siren would find you again when you were nestled to rest in some seabed not too far from here, and he could finally make a meal of your dumb ass yet. Happy endings abound.

You wondered idly at the dual branches of fate you’d wandered along in these past weeks, and if it would have been better to hide away when you’d first seen those sails on the horizon. To keep to the little, crescent island you’d found yourself on and slowly starved to death. Alone, abandoned, and sitting in a forever stillness worse than any silence you’d known before.  Forever staring out over the horizon for a glance of amethyst fins that you knew you’d never see again.

If given the choice between the two, you’d take the plank.

.

Neige brought you another feast that night, and you gorged on it merrily. 

When he nervously kept piling your plate with choice cuts after choice cuts, gaze diverted to the floor and looking like a kicked puppy dog with its tail between its legs, you rolled your eyes and swatted at his fingers.

“Unclench yourself,” you huffed, and he puffed up stuttery and pink in horror. “It’s not the end of the world. You’re just doing your job, right? If we’d met under different circumstances I bet I would have shot you first. So, really. All’s fair.”

He worried his lower lip between his teeth, guilt still swimming heavy and warm in those doe eyes of his.

He said something under his breath, something that you’d bet even if your ears were working at full capacity you wouldn’t have been able to parse out. He leaned forward to scrawl a note on the napkin beside your plate.

‘You’re happier now? After all this? I don’t get it.’

You reached out to pat him merrily on the shoulder, more a smack smack smack then anything really pleasant. He could see him fighting a wince with all the trembling sort of bravery of a field mouse. Poor dear. What was the Royal Navy thinking? Hiring on someone who looked like they belonged on an advert for rouge and sweets. This was the last face a pirate was expected to jeer into? This one? Really? It was a wonder this little, squirrely man hadn’t keeled over the first time someone spat on his boots.

“It’s a poor choice to help the fish at high noon,” you said around a mouthful of crumbs. “But it’s my choice. And I’m happy to do it.”

“Fish?” you saw him mouth, brow pinched, and you batted at his shoulder again before reaching for another of those too-sweet tarts.

.

.

There was a whole procession for your execution. With speeches. Which even with the slowly encroaching panic worming into your guts, you couldn’t help but think was at least a little funny.  

The whole crew was lined up in solemn formation, listening stalwartly to some judge, or high ranking officer, or whatever rattle off who even knew what. Your crimes? A homily? The lunch menu? Fuck if you had any clue. And you were the one being fed to the sharks. There had to be some joke hidden in here, right? The scoundrel pirate who could never be tried, simply because they couldn’t hear their own sentencing. You wouldn’t even know when to stand up and shout ‘I object!’ It would probably be pretty funny, right? If you just did that out of nowhere. And what was the worst that could happen? Oh, no. A fine. Please, sir. Add it to the list of debts I owe from beyond my watery grave. Amen.

A hand at your lower back gave you a gentle nudge forward and you shifted against the ropes binding your wrists. They were nicer than your own stores aboard the Rose Queen. Not nearly as itchy, the fibers neat and clearly expensive. Neige stepped up beside you and offered you a look that was likely meant to be kind, but your growing nerves had started to eat through your willingness to play friendly. You could feel the weight of the crew around you, even if you couldn’t hear them. The creak of the deck beneath your toes as they shifted about, the way their bulk must have been shielding you from the worst of the wind. Unlike with your own mismatched family of castaways, their presence wasn’t reassuring. And you kept your eyes locked forward and away from the field of sharp gazes eating into your hide.

The plank was narrow, and immediately you were fighting the urge to sway on your toes. Having your hands bound at your rear only made it worse. It threw off the whole of your center of gravity and had you feeling dizzy and seasick.

You took one breath, stuttery, and one step. The wood whined beneath your heels in a vibration you could feel all the way up to your knees.

Another breath, another step. You could feel the salt soaked board starting to bend now. Clearly it wasn’t meant to support much of anything, let alone a whole person. And for some reason the idea of it breaking beneath you was so much worse than taking that last step all on your own. A sudden plunge that was out of your control. It had your heart hammering in your throat and cold nausea bubbling in your belly.

You looked down. You didn’t want to, but it was like your gaze was a weighted, magnetic thing. Pulled down into the salty depths below. The water looked rougher than it had a moment ago, or maybe you were just really starting to panic. You could see the white froth of the wake breaking against the ship’s hull. It churned like the start of a storm, which was really, terribly inconvenient. Seeing as it’d been so still and calm just a few minutes before. And, y’know, the fact that you had to fall into that mess of sharp peaks and rocking waves. You swore you could see dark shapes flitting about just beneath the surface, a flash of grey, or maybe green. It was hard to tell, with the brightness of the early morning sun in your eyes.

No one was poking at your back, urging you forward, which you thought was quite odd. You’d been taking your sweet ol’ time sauntering to your demise. You’d assumed they’d have less patience for a pirate with cold feet. Instead, the world around you was just silent and still. Shifting with the raging waves below, but empty and quiet as a tomb for all you knew otherwise.

You took your last breath, your last step.

And then the ship lurched and you were plummeting towards the water. The dissonance between having something beneath your feet—no matter how frail—and then nothing was jarring, and it had you gasping on impulse. Hair whipping at your cheeks and lungs squeezing tight as the air screamed past your throat. It felt like you were drowning before you even hit the water.

When you did finally crash into the waves, it hurt. You’d always been a fairly proficient swimmer, but whether it be the mind numbing panic or the ropes binding you tight, tight, tight, you just started to sink. The salt stung like an open wound, and the water was cold. Frigid. Like being tossed into the jagged side of a glacier. You at least had the sense not to gulp down a mouthful of water out of reflex, but that didn’t make things much better.

You screwed your eyes shut, bubbles frothing at your nose, and tried to find that peace that you’d clung to all night long. A life for a life, one catch for another. No one was going to miss you anyways. And if you had to meet the reaper some way, then of all the ends the universe could have spun for you, at least this one had some meaning to it.

You sighed into the darkness, soft, but when your lips parted next around what should have been a mouthful of icy saltwater, all you could taste was air.

Your eyes shot open in the gloom to a mess of familiar golds and purples that you’d thought you’d never see again.

Your Siren pulled back, bubbles curling from the edge of his lips into a soft stream of warmth between the two of you. Nestling as deep as a full breath all the way in the tightest corners of your lungs. You could feel the dip of his claws as he settled his hands at your shoulders—keeping you in place. And immediately you shrieked and flailed in your bindings.

“You—!”

You promptly choked on another mouthful of sea water and your Siren wailed—all that molten fondness in those lovely amethyst eyes of his sharpening into familiar, pissy exasperation from one second to the next. He dragged your face back to his, slotting his mouth against yours and pushing more air into your lungs. You leaned into it before you could help yourself. Half for the whole oxygen thing, and half, because, well—

When he pulled away this time he smacked a hand over your mouth with a sneer, his thumb and index finger hooked upward to pinch at your nose. He jabbed a claw in your face with a clear ‘stay put’ and immediately went to work cutting through the bindings twined along your arms. The ropes fell away beneath his talons like butter to a hot blade, and he fretfully ran his palms up and down your limbs—looking for any stray bits of netting like a compulsion. Once he seemed certain that you’d been properly freed from your ties, he hauled you up against his chest in a grip that had you losing all the air in your lungs all over again. You could feel the cool jut of the sea glass around his neck pressing into your collar, and he buried his head down into your throat until you didn’t know where he ended and you began. The frills of his tail fluttered in the water, and the bulk of those twining strands curled up and around your legs like a barnacle.

He was warm. Warmer than you’d been expecting, for a creature who spent his life patrolling the darkest depths of the ocean. It wasn’t the same sort of heat that would beat off a human’s hide, but it was more comforting than any you’d ever known. You burrowed down against his shoulder, nose scrunching against the side of his neck and the fins at his ears brushing your temple. You could feel his claws flexing at your sides, feel the shift of his scales against your skin. And just as your lungs were starting to burn, he ducked forward to pull you into another kiss—filling your chest with wonderful, wonderful oxygen all over again.

You blinked blearily past the sting of salt in your eyes and he scrubbed a thumb against your cheek.

Now that those high, wonderful, heart bursting emotions were settling back into something manageable beneath your ribs, you took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. Because you’d sent him on his way, hadn’t you? Waved him off with well wishes and a hope for his happiness. And all that aside, how had he even managed to find you—

Bubbles streamed from your nose as that newest shared breath began to run dry, and your Siren hooked an arm around your waist to propel you upwards.

You crested the surface with a gasp, paddling instinctively against the churning wake. When all that did was leave you smack, smack, smacking at your Siren’s chest like a flailing toddler, he hissed—a spitting, pissy thing you could feel on the breeze—and hauled you back up against him. Just like he had all those times you’d swum together in your cove. You forced yourself to settle, bobbing gently against the tide as he kept you both aloft.

Once your body had managed to catch up with your brain to realize that it was, in fact, not drowning, all of the adrenaline rushed out of you like a broken spicket. You slumped against the Siren’s chest, fuzzy headed and dizzy. Because he’d saved you. Which made no sense in the least. But you’d almost died, and he’d saved you—

Your gaze drifted back up to the ship from which you’d only so recently taken your Cannonball of Doom and startled.

There was blood everywhere.

Staining the railings, splashed along the low flying flags, dripping along the deck. A macabre mess of gore and claw marks gutting the once grand vessel like a beached whale. Some of the crew still seemed to be hanging onto the life rafts, others were taking running leaps into the water like they were under compulsion—eyes glazed over and distant. There was a prickling all along your skin, something twisting familiar and strange in your gut, and oh. Oh.

One of the grander looking officers (the one who had been giving your pre-execution speech, perhaps? He looked similar enough) was shouting something from his place at the bow of one of the life rafts—arm extended in a grand show of valor and sword glinting into the light of the morning. And then a great, emerald siren was rearing over the side of that tiny vessel with a sharp grin on his face and sharper talons on display. The officer was dragged overboard, and the siren’s tail came down on the guardrails with a force that had the wood splintering and the already haphazard little boat rock, rock, rocking until it caught on a high wave and capsized.

You could see the flash of colorful scales and the tips of even brighter fins all around. Cresting above the water just long enough to grab hold of another wailing victim and drag them down to the depths. There was enough blood in the water that you could smell it. Acrid and copper against the ocean’s already sharp, salty musk. And sure, you were a pirate. You’d been in raids, you’d seen death. Plenty of it. But this. Well. It was unfamiliar. In a strange, detached sort of way. These assholes had chucked you overboard, after all. So you only really had a teensy, tiny pinch of sympathy for the fact that being eaten alive probably hurt like a sonofabitch.

It was more strange, you supposed, to be at the center of a sirens’ hunt and not be the one facing down the angry, bitey end.

You kicked in the water, nose scrunching when the red tide lapped against your chin.

“This isn’t going to attract sharks, is it?”

Because if you were saved from drowning at the hands of a royal militia only to wind up as a fish’s dinner, you would be terribly annoyed.

Your Siren rolled his eyes at you, like you were just the most ridiculous and stupid creature in all of creation. And then he made a languid swipe of his large, fully-healed tail and began to swim away from the literal bloodbath he and his pod had wrought. With you and all your silly, fragile humanness in tow.

It was far too relaxing, being pulled along against his side. The gentle rocking of his tail beneath you as he swam at the surface—always ensuring to keep your head above the water as he did so. You could feel your eyes starting to dip, feel a yawn cracking along your lips. Maybe it was just the adrenaline crash hitting, or maybe it was the relief that you hadn’t even wanted to address. He’d come back. For you.

The earless pirate who never seemed to do much but stumble into one conundrum after another. Who had only annoyed him at best and shorn his fins to shredded, useless bits at worst. Who had thrown shells at his head and only nicked him a little when you cut the ropes from his hide.

Who had made him human foods with fire and taught him your language in a messy scrawl of sand and snark. Who swam with him in the bay and twined a necklace of shining, purple sea glass around his neck. Who braided his hair, and laughed at his pouting, and—

There was a rough roll of surf that splashed in your face and you spluttered against the white froth.

The Siren paused and beat his tail against the deeper waters, propping you upright as you hacked and fretfully patting at your back. You could see his mouth moving as he mumbled something, brow pinched, and stared back at him with your own wobbly frown—confused.

“Why did you come back?” you asked, and the Siren’s brows jumped up into his hairline. He looked startled, genuinely. And that only had you even more befuddled. “And how did you even find me?”

This time when he huffed, there was a subtle sort of irritation there that you’d learn to recognize well.

He was pouting.

Something brushed against your fingers in the water, soft and fleeting. You glanced down just in time to catch a blur of lavender flitting nervously below the choppy waves, never dipping close enough again to touch, but looking hesitant to keep much further either.

The Siren followed your gaze only to narrow his eyes, pointed teeth bared as he swatted at the poor, round, little octopus with his tail. A clear shoo, shoo if you’d ever seen one. The octopus squeaked, sending bubbles spiraling in all directions, and frantically looped out of the way of the mer’s petulant tantrum. You whacked him right back, indignant on your teeny friend’s behalf. Because—!

“You followed me,” you burbled, and the little octopus spun in a fretful circle. If you didn’t know better, you’d say the poor, little dear was wringing its hands. Your Siren bared his teeth and smacked out again. “Hey! Don’t be an ass! He saved me,” you argued, and your bitch of a merman just snapped his fangs in your face like a feral cat.

You gawked.

“No way. You can’t be annoyed that you were beat out by a baby, purple octopus the size of an orange.”

He huffed and turned up his nose, and you burst out into laughter for the first time since you’d watched him swim out of your cove all those days ago.

You laughed and laughed until tears were beading at the corners of your eyes, and your Siren was grumbling in complaint and pinching your sides with his curved claws. There wasn’t real malevolence in that stern glare of his, though—just more of the prickly, teasing sort of snide side eye he’d given you in your latter weeks together. Fondness, you realized. That’s what was softening it all. The same sort of warmth you held for him.

Your favorite, pissy, preening, self-righteous goldfish.

You snorted into his shoulder, still shaking on giggles, and you could feel his sigh against your temple. You burrowed down against his side, feeling his fins brush along your hips as he kept the both of you afloat.

“Thanks,” you said, soft. “For coming back.”

You were expecting another melodramatic sigh, another plaintive roll of the eyes. Instead, his fingers came up to twine with yours and tugged your hand to rest against the pendant at his throat. You blinked, confused, and he just curled your palm around that little, sand-smoothed piece of glass.

You arched a brow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

This time he did roll his eyes at you, and when he spoke he mouthed the word dramatic and wide so he was sure that you could see it.

‘Moron.’

You whined in complaint and smacked his fingers away. “But I’m your moron.”

Another huff, soft against the nape of your neck. And you could see the barest twitch of a smile on his red lips as he turned back into the tide and continued his trek home.

.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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[aphrodeiities]

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔴𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔫

⟶ before i get into this post, the celebrities/influencers i add are not in order "of the most beautiful" and if there's a celebrity i left out then they were purposely left out because i wanted to get use twelve women.

⟶ on the other hand, this post can be used as a beauty indicator post :) and if you do not have any of these placements it doesnt take away your beauty :)

PLUS THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE 9,000+ FOLLOWERS IN THE COMMENTS OR IN THE REBLOGS TELL ME WHAT TYPE OF POST YOU WOULD WANT TO SEE :)

⟶ THE DEGREES EXPLAINED IN THIS POST IS AIDED BY JANDUZ ALONG WITH MY OWN RESEARCH.

PAID CHART READINGS

the celebrities/influencers i used to get information were women who were called the most beautiful that include adriana lima, aneglina jolie, audrey hepburn, bella hadid, beyonce, jessica alba, kristina pimenova, madison beer, marilyn monroe, megan fox, monica bellucci and rihanna.

ASCENDANT ⬎

♇ the sign that appeared for the ascendant the most was GEMINI, in my previous posts, i have always noted that Gemini/Mercurial energy can make someone very beautiful, majority of the times it can make someone appear foxy, youthful and can make someone appear "well done" like every features of them being well matched for each other.

the second sign in the ascendant was leo and third was capricorn.

the modality that appeared the most was the cardinal modality while the element that appeared the most was fire.

ASCENDANT ASPECTS ⬎

♇ the ascendant aspect that occurred the most was the ascendant aspecting uranus, it can make someone appear as other-worldly, [or you can say outer worldly and since uranus rules over aliens, beings that are not human it can include mermaids/sirens besides the common idea of an alien].

the second aspect that appeared the most was the ascendant aspecting venus and third was the ascendant aspecting saturn.

ASCENDANT DEGREES ⬎

♇ the degree that appeared the most in the ascendant was the 10° a capricorn degree that can bring structure and perfection to wherever it lands on.

the second degree that occurred the most was the 19°, a libra degree, and the 28°, a cancer degree.

the modality the appeared the most was the cardinal degree, but for the element degree was the water degrees.

SUN ⬎

♇ the sign that appeared the most for the sun was TAURUS, taurus a venusian sign, it is not a surprise it had appeared the most. it being aligned with this celestial planet makes their beauty and essence highlighted and more evident to those around them.

the second sun sign that appeared the most was gemini and the third was libra.

venusian suns appeared the most but for the modality it was mutable suns that appeared the most.

SUN HOUSES ⬎

♇ the house the sun appeared the most in was the 11H, a global and universal planet can be interpreted as being perceived as stunning by everyone around them.

the second house the sun appeared in multiple of times was the 2H and lastly it was the 8H.

modality wise, the houses the sun occurred the most in was cardinal and fixed houses. [1H, 4H, 7H AND 10H FOR CARDINAL]. [2H, 5H, 8H AND 11H FOR FIXED].

SUN ASPECTS ⬎

♇ the sun aspect that occurred the most was the sun aspecting mars, the sun and mars together can make the "sexiness" or you can say steaminess of an individual more prominent in someone.

SUN DEGREES ⬎

♇ the degree that repeated the most for the sun was the 5°, an Leo Degree that can make someone appear as refined and very provocative and steamy.

the second degree was the 13°.

the type of degrees that appeared the most for the sun was the cardinal degree.

MOON ⬎

♇ moving onto moon signs, the sign that repeated within this research was aries, the moon is the face and aries puts fierceness and allure to the celestial planet its aligned with.

the second moon sign that occurred the most was leo and second was libra.

the modality that appeared the most was the fixed moon, [taurus, leo, scorpio and aquarius].

MOON HOUSES ⬎

♇ the house that had the moon in the most was the 6H, it brings the need to want to perfect features, beauty and fashion.

the second house was the 7H and the third was the 12H.

however, the modality houses the moon planet occurred in the most was fixed and mutable houses.

MOON ASPECTS ⬎

♇ the aspect that appeared the most for the moon was the moon aspecting neptune, neptune is a higher octave of venus, the beauty is mesmerising and glamorous, it can make someone appear siren/mermaid-like and outer worldly, the beauty brings people in.

the second aspect that was seen a lot was the moon aspecting mars.

MOON DEGREES ⬎

♇ the degree that repeated the most for the moon was the 15°, a Gemini Degree, that can bring people to follow the way you present yourself beauty wise, and can bring copy-cats and a lot of people speaking about how you look like.

the modality that appeared the most was the fixed degrees in the moon, along with taurus degrees, [2, 14 and 26].

MERCURY [SPECIFICALLY BEING SPOKEN ABOUT] ⬎

♇ the mercury sign that occurred the most was mercury in GEMINI, and the women who have this aspect get spoken about quite a lot, and since this is a beauty indicator post, the mercury and gemini alignment would have people very inquisitive about the individual's essence and could push people to want to copy how they express themselves.

the second sign was taurus and the third one was libra.

the modality that appeared the most was both cardinal and fixed.

MERCURY HOUSES ⬎

♇ the house mercury appeared in the most was the 11H, like i have said the 11H is a global house, specifically socially, could make someone appear as someone who is very youthful and charming adding onto their beauty aura.

the second house that mercury appeared in the most was the 1H and lastly it was the 7H.

the mercury planet mainly appeared in air houses, [3H, 7H and 11H].

MERCURY ASPECTS ⬎

♇ moving onto the idea of aspects, the planet mercury was aligned with the most was mercury aspecting venus, this aspect can make someone appear as absorbing and irresistible.

the second aspect was mercury aspecting jupiter and the third aspect was mercury aspecting neptune.

MERCURY DEGREES ⬎

♇ lastly for mercury, the degree that appeared the most for this planet was the 0°, this degree does not belong to any sign/planet, the degree means that whatever it is in, it's in its truest form, to have the zero degree in mercury implies that the charisma, adolescence and allure is at its highest peak making the kin very bewitching.

the second degree that appeared the most was the 2°, a Taurus/Venus degree.

VENUS ⬎

♇ coming to one of the main properties of the post, venus, the sign that appeared the most throughout this research was ARIES, not a surprise since most iconic beauty icons have this placement. [for example, marilyn monroe, audrey hepburn and elizabeth taylor]. this placement fiercely focuses on the face of an individual and making them appear sensual, erotic and sexy!

the second placement was cancer venus.

VENUS HOUSES ⬎

♇ the house the venusian planet appeared in the most was the 12H, a neptunian house that focuses on glamour and elevating one's beauty. can make someone absorbing and mysterious to be around.

the second house it appeared in the most was the 7H and the third one was the 9H.

the modality houses it appeared in the most was the cardinal houses.

VENUS ASPECTS ⬎

♇ the main aspect that appeared the most was venus aspecting uranus, it makes someone have really ethereal and unique beauty.

next was venus aspecting jupiter and the last one was venus aspecting the midheaven.

VENUS DEGREES ⬎

♇ finally, for the degrees, the number that i saw the most was the 12°, the pisces degree, like i have said in previous sentences, piscean essence can bring glamour and heightened beauty to wherever it lands on, and it landing on venus makes the person seem alluring and stunning with how they look and display themselves.

the second degree that appeared the most was the 28°, a cancer degree.

for modality, it was the mutable degrees that appeared the most.

MARS ⬎

♇ with mars, the sign that appeared the most was LEO, mars is the planet of "sexiness" or you could say strong allure, with leo being aligned with this fiery planet, it brings out the glam and light shining attraction an individual can carry and array. it wants people around them to know "hey im sexy and you should see it" lmao.

the second sign that occurred the most was taurus.

MARS HOUSES ⬎

♇ within my research i have noticed that the houses mars appeared in the most was the 6H, as i have spoken before, the 6H brings wanting to have perfection with whatever planets lands in it, and to have mars there implies the 6H wanted to perfect the fiery and erotic essence the fiery planet brings.

the second house it appeared in was the 9H and third was the 12H.

the modality houses that appeared the most was evidently mutable houses.

MARS ASPECTS ⬎

♇ when it comes to aspects, the planet mars was aligned with the most was the amplifier planet, jupiter, making it easy for people to express their sensuality and steaminess to the point that it is in your face.

the mars aspect that came in second was mars aspecting uranus, but from most of the research i've done, all the results had mars aspecting outer planets, just jupiter and uranus occurred the most.

MARS DEGREES ⬎

♇ coming to the topic of degrees, the i number saw the most was the 10°, the capricorn degree can make someone very mesmerising and beautiful as like virgo, it can bring perfection and structure to the theme it is stuck with. its brings a mature appeal that is hard to look away from.

on the other hand, the modality within the degree that came the most was fixed degrees.

NEPTUNE ⬎

♇ neptune being a higher octave of venus entails the seductive and siren-like beauty someone holds, the sign that appeared the most with neptune was the sign SAGITTARIUS, the sagittarius sign amplifying the glamorous beauty an individual has and makes it easier for people to admire and idolise them.

the second sign that occurred the most was capricorn and the third sign was leo.

NEPTUNE HOUSES ⬎

the house neptune appeared in the most was the 9H, like i have said for the sagittarius neptune, it expands the beauty and delicacy of someone's appearance and. due to this, people would easily follow and glorify them.

it had also appeared in fire houses, [1H, 5H AND 9H] the most.

and the modality the planet neptune occurred in the most was mutable houses, [3H, 6H, 9H and 12H].

NEPTUNE ASPECTS ⬎

♇ onto the aspects a huge number of these individuals i have researched had their neptune aspecting pluto, as i have said numerous of times, neptune is a strong beauty planet and it being paired with pluto intensifies their attraction which gains them masses of influence over people. their beauty and charm appears as inviting and risqué.

the second aspect that i saw the most was neptune aspecting mercury while the last one was neptune aspecting saturn.

NEPTUNE DEGREES ⬎

♇ once again the degree that was with the planet the most was a capricorn degree, but this time it was the 22°, this degree bringing mature-like sensual and provocative nature to someone's physical features. can make them easily scouted by the industry.

the second degree that made an appearance the most was the 24°.

though for the modality it was both cardinal and mutable degrees that i saw the most.

ASTEROID BELLA ⬎

♇ the sign that i saw appear with asteroid bella the most was CAPRICORN, capricorn beauty has always been underestimated, it brings clean, structured and daring beauty to a person. and due to this many of them get assigned to modelling companies because of how regal they look.

the sign element that appeared the most was earth signs being paired with bella.

though for the modality two have occurred the most and it was both cardinal and mutable degrees.

BELLA HOUSES ⬎

♇ the house asteroid bella was found in the most was the 3H, bringing in youthful and buoyant beauty to someone, and because of this sometimes they carry the child-like and humorous essence mermaids have in film.

the second house bella was in the most was the 12H.

and for modality the houses bella was found in the most was mutable houses.

BELLA ASPECTS ⬎

♇ the aspect i saw in their chart the most was bella aspecting jupiter, it makes someone look very elven and fairy like, and sometimes it can make someone have this soft physical attraction. can give someone goddess-like beauty.

the second aspect that appeared the most was bella aspecting venus and the third one to follow was bella aspecting mars.

BELLA DEGREES ⬎

♇ the degree i saw display itself the most was the 24°, a pisces degree that can boost someone's physical attraction. can make someone have this siren-like allure that causes other people to be mesmerised of them.

for the modality mutable degrees with there for bella was there the most.

for the element, i noticed it was water degrees that occurred the most.

OTHER CALCULATIONS ⬎

⟶ the top three sign dominance that appeared in people's charts for this research was [we all have 3 dominant signs] ⬎

leo.

scorpio.

aquarius.

⟶ the top three dominant planets that appeared in people's charts for this research was [we all have 3 dominant planets] ⬎

moon.

mercury.

saturn.

⟶ the signs that occurred the most in the big six was ⬎

aries

gemini

libra

⟶ the top three degrees that appeared the most was ⬎

9.

10.

28.

⟶ the 2 degree and the 13 degree running up as the fourth and fifth.

this is the end of the post, thank you so much for reaching to this point :)

masterlist

PAID CHART READINGS

pluto

♇

[trancylovecraft]

Hello Girlie! I saw that your requests are open (even with the hiatus, take care of yourself:3) so, I wanted to know if it's okay if I make my own? From Yandere Lucifer Morningstar's general headcanons(from Hazbin Hotel), perhaps the reader could take Eve's place, being the "first sinner" or/and converted demon like Lilith.

If you're already maxed out with Requests, that's fine! I will order in another time, take all the time you need❤️You can ignore this if that's the case

(HAZBIN) YANDERE! LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR x EVE! READER: Headcannons

RECEIPT ✂- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

BARISTA'S NOTE: HEYYYY GIRLIE!!! THANKS SO MUCH!! i love that u requested him cause he's one of my favourites (i had a lot of fun with this req, LOVE THE CONCEPT) and would be if it wasn't for Carmilla :]. FANDOM: Hazbin Hotel

Thank you for ordering!

Come again soon!

Lucifer Morningstar! King of Hell, King of Pride and one goofy motherfucker!

Also a dangerous yandere to have.

I headcannon Lucifer as a Desperate, Possessive, Protective and Worshiping yandere.

Desperate in the way that Lucifer is just so lonely. Even when he did have something with Lilith in the beginning (They never got married in this scenario), It never felt connected. Even as the ugly duckling amongst the angels, He loves you because maybe.. Just maybe, You think like him, Maybe you love him. And he NEEDS you to love him too.

Possessive in the way that this ties into his Desperation, So enamoured and focused on getting you to love him that he's bitter towards anyone who you even glance at. You're his, Lucifer gets antsy if you even look another persons way (God forbid, Adams.). You should look at him, Listen to him and his ideas.

Protective in the way that he's terrified of losing you. You're still only mortal, And if you die then you'll fall into hell (If not, Heaven) and even Lucifer knows that's no place for you to be! You're too good for a place like that, He needs to make sure you'll be fine with him down there.. Especially with all the sinners running about.

And finally, Worshiping in the way that he just adores you. I mean, Come on. You're gorgeous, Intelligent, Curious, Brave and everything else he could ever want! How could he not worship you so?

So to establish you as an Eve! Reader, We're gonna go off my interpretation of Eve since we haven't seen her in the show yet.

You are you, Created from Adams left rib while the actual Eve was created from Adam's right.

God made both you and Eve to give Adam a choice of wife, Whichever one he chose would stand at his side for all of eternity. However the one that he didn't choose..

Well, You weren't quite sure what would happen to them, But you knew that you didn't want it to be you.

Eve was made beautiful, She was made pure and orderly. In other words, Eve was subserviant. Though you loved her like a sister, She was very much unlike you..

You on the other hand was made intelligent, Curious of the natural world and adventurous to the last letter. You craved knowledge, You craved to experiment.

In other words you were messy, Subserviant not to man but to your carnal desire to learn. But both you and your sister knew very well of what happened to Adam's first wife, So you knew that you had to go along with it all.

Lucifer came across you one day when he gazed upon the garden of Eden. He was startstruck when he saw you bathe within one of Eden's many springs, Washing your body on your lonesome while humming some original symphonic tune.

Lucifer was lured to you by your song, Him being an avid musician was not immune to your call. But he was even more entranced once he saw you in person, Your body only a silhouette in the fireflies that danced around you.

Of course by now he had been banished, So he watched you in the form of a snake in a tree.

Lucifer thought you were stunning at first sight, Watching as you bathed yourself in springwater and sing your siren's song. And he felt awkward, Nervous to approach you especially after his banishment.

So that's all he did, He just watched.

But that changed once you turned you caught eye of him too, Pausing your bath once you saw the pretty white snake hanging from the tree just a bit away from your spring.

Sure, Eden has a lot of animals, Snakes included but you've never seen one with such gorgeous white scales like this one. So you're curious, Beginning to churn your way through the waist-deep waters towards him.

Lucifer instantly starts panicking, You're actually approaching him?! As much as he does want to talk to you, He certainly hasn't gained the courage yet!

You make your way over and finally reach him with a small smile on your face, Reaching your arms out you bring the snake into your hands with suprising ease. You look at it closely, Smiling.

"Hello there.. How'd you get all the way out here?"

Lucifer near melts in your hands once he hears your spoken voice, Just as angelic as your singing. He can barely do anything in your hold, A warm, Passionate feeling starting to burst inside of him

"..I- Erm-"

You squeak, Dropping the snake onto the ground like you had touched hot coals. You weave back in the water, Staring dead at the coiling snake. It had spoken, Human language.

You ask who he was, Shocked once Lucifer speaks up and stammers while telling you that he was an Angel. He apologises profusely, Saying sorry for intruding on your bath.

You calm down once you find out he's an Angel, One of the good guys, Right? You hadn't met many angels, And its not like you had any experience of deception anyways.

Besides, His mannerisms were rather charming despite how awkward they sounded. You giggled as you apologised for dropping him, Reaching down to pick him up once more.

Lucifer and you talked for the entire night, Too enraptured in conversation for either of you to sleep.

He talked about the stars, The seas and the sands. How he himself had saw their creation and marveled at their beauty. You listened intently, Soaking it all in while your eyes gleamed at him like the stars under the night sky. Lucifer took pride, His stammers getting less frequent as he went on.

He also spoke of his ideas, His plans for the future and his vision for humanity. And you actually listened, You agreed, You suggested and spoke of your own ideas and he agreed in full. Wide eyed, Almost as if you read his mind.

And in that moment, You were just.. Perfect.

He had to leave once your sister came looking for you, Not wanting to be seen by her. Unfortunately he hadn't told you his name, But he supposed it was better like that so it wouldn't be known that he, Lucifer had been meddling in human affairs once more.

But he came back, He had to, You gave him such a good feeling. It was like you knew him, Like you agreed with him and accepted him as he was.

He couldn't give that up, No, He needed to come back.

And he did, For the next few weeks he returned to you at night when you were alone. In the form of a snake, One easily able to hide his presence. He spoke to you, Always excitedly hurrying once he had a new idea or invention he wanted to show you.

And you listened, You always did. He listened too, Once you told him of your situation with Adam. You lamented how much you just wanted to explore, To not be tied down by the weight of a husband.

Lucifer sympathised with you once you told him you had no choice, That Adam needed to marry you or you'd be tossed away like leftovers.

Lucifer started to bring you artefacts, Things you asked for and ones you wanted to study. Lucifer always stammered once you kissed the top of his head, If he was in his humanoid form he would be red from head to toe, Something he was glad you could not see.

He took you around the garden, Showing you the highs and the lows of this place. He showed you the rivers and the fields, The mountains and the valleys. Everywhere you could possibly go, Including the border of the gardens.

You thought he was funny, His jokes always brought a hearty laugh out of you. Lucifer always made an effort to tell more in your presence.

Lucifer wishes he was in his humanoid form so he could play his violin for you. Your voice is so beautiful and you sing to him every night, He wishes he could do the same for you.

You affectionately refer to him as simply just "My Angel" since you have a personal belief that he was sent to guide you. Lucifer doesn't correct you despite your beliefs, It gets him more praise that he desperately craves anyways.

Whenever you were away however, He still kept a close eye on you. Especially when you were around that sleaze of a man, Adam. Lucifer didn't like Adam, Especially after he had met you.

He watched as Adam was free to put an arm around your shoulders, Eve having the other. The way Adam boasted about himself, How he kept loudly asking which one of you should be his wife.

You didn't like Adam, But you needed to be wed so you weren't thrown away. So you kept tossing your hair like Eve always did, Laughed at his stupid jokes and leaned just a bit closer into him.

And it made Lucifer furious.

It boiled up in him like a stewing pot. Couldn't he see that he was making you uncomfortable? Couldn't he see that he wasn't good enough for you? Lucifer doesn't blame you, But hell, Does he wish you looked his way.

He wanted to save you from this, Get you away from Adam so that he can have you all to himself you can be happy! That glint in your eyes is gone, He needs you to get it back.

But Lucifer can't do anything. With the close eyes of the angels above watching them, There's no way he could do anything too drastic. As much as he wants to help, As much as he wants to snap Adams neck with his own bare hands. There's not much he can do..

But Lucifer is sure that once Adam chooses Eve, He'll be there to pick you up and sweep you down into hell where he can finally show his true form to you entirely.

He's sure of it.

But one day he had gotten distracted, You were with Adam so he hadn't been present at the time. But when he went to look back, Watch over you like he usually does.. He stops.

Eve is sobbing on her knees, Full on wails as Adam tenderly holds your hands. Lucifer realises what had happened by the look of uncertainty on your face, The way you looked at Eve with sympathy and fear.

Adam had chosen you.

Lucifer is shocked, He's pulling out clumps pf hair and slinging curses. Its unlike him, He sounded like a wild animal. He was so sure that Adam, As shallow as he was, Would choose the blonde beauty of Eve.

But he had chosen you, Not being as shallow as he had thought. Adam tells all the angels that he has officially chosen you, That you would be his wife. His chosen to be wed.

Lucifer can barely hold back anymore as he starts breaking down in an anguished rage. How could this happen? Aren't you gonna object to this? What about him, Did your time with him mean nothing?

But you just nodded slowly, Agreeing to be his wife.

It takes Lilith to calm him down, Rushing to his side as he starts hyperventilating, Trying not to break anything more. She speaks to him, Tells him of another way he can get you back.

And its a good idea.

You're wandering in the garden once more, Searching for your sister after she ran off sobbing. She'd be tossed out of the garden, You don't want that, You love her so you need to find her to see if there's a solution for everybody.

But you find your way to a deeper part of the garden, Where you were forbidden to go. You didn't even realise until you reached a clearing, Finally spotting the massive tree in the middle, Higher than all the rest with beautifully ripe fruit hanging from them.

You realise your mistake, You go to turn around but before you do you hear the voice of your friend, The angel.

You spot Lucifer coming down from the branches, Beckoning you over with that same excited voice, The one that you trusted with your life. And despite all of your instincts yelling no, You go towards him.

He greets you as cheery as ever, Slithering down from the branches yet he still kept a good distance. You tell him that you didn't mean to wander this far into forbidden land, Thinking that he was The Angel sent to bring you back.

Lucifer just shrugs it off though, Telling you that it's no big deal. You raise a brow before he beckons you forward, Congratulating you on your marriage to Adam that went by quicker than it should have.

You thank him nervously but tell him you have to go, But before you can leave he calls you back, Informing you that he came here to give you an engagement present. Something of his own making, Something he had worked really hard on..

You still trust him but the twisting feeling in your stomach gets worse once he presents to you a ruby red apple from behind the tree. Your eyes light up at it however, It was the most gorgeous apple you had ever seen. No blemishes or freckle out of place.

It was mesmerizing like a hypnotists watch, Your eyes kept on the carmine shine. You didn't even notice the gleeful giggling coming from Lucifer, Like a little girl on her birthday about to open her first present.

You took the apple into your hands once offered and despite all your better judgement, You placed it upon your lips before taking a bite into its skin. You chew, It's sweet, So sweet. It was the most sugary taste your tongue had held, Yet the pungency of the sour aftertaste came like a storm surge.

You snap out of it, Watching as the ruby red apple in your hand starts to rot away in record time. Mould and maggots already starting to fester, You scream and drop it to the ground, But by the time it hits it had already withered to the core.

You feel weird, You feel horrid. Suddenly you become aware of your naked form, Instantly rushing to cover your parts you start to yell at Lucifer, Begging him to tell you what you had done, What that apple really was. What spell had he put you under to take a bite of that thing? How stupid you were-!

But you snap your head up and the snake was no more, Instead a man with ivory skin and rosy cheeks. Platinum blonde hair slicked back with the most giddy grin you had ever seen on anyone before. Your eyes widen, And suddenly the knowledge of who you've been talking to hits you like a freight train.

He tries to talk to you but he can't get a word in. You scream, You cry, You wail. Accusing him with his own name, Lucifer. You start to hyperventilate, Backing away with him with a horrid stomach ache while storms brew in the sky above.

Lucifer tells you that its okay! He's found a way for you to get out of your marriage, He just tells you to listen to him and that it will be okay!

But you don't, A sudden chill runs through Eden and you know in your core that its not just you who has felt the consequences of your actions. Storms brew, Critters around you start to get violent. You yell and scream once he comes close, Trying to bring you into embrace.

Lucifer is taken aback, This isn't how he imagined it. You were suppose to listen to him, Like you always did. But instead you just kept wailing and wailing calling him a monster, The devil that he was.

You're suppose to listen to him, Him. To his ideas, To his words, To anything that he says. So why aren't you lending him an ear now?! He just doesn't get it.

Wings sprout from his back, An arm lunges around your waist and constricts around you like the snake that he was. You can't struggle in his hold, His power too strong as he raises you both into the air with the flap of his wings.

The storms are high, Dark clouds above and winds so whipping it could cause lacerations. Lucifer tells you that you're coming down with him now, That you will be siphoned away to hell with him forever.

Lucifer thinks your just overreacting, And hey! He's been there too and its not like he's actually angry at you, No, Just at the people around you. He knows you'll understand why he's doing this, That's why he tells you what he had done to your sister.

You go deathly silent once he tells you he's got Eve as collateral, When he explains with that same awkward yet now manic demeanour that you were so use to before. He says that he won't hesitate to take her out if that's what it'll take for you to listen, All while smiling like this is an everyday affair.

You and your sister had always had a rocky relationship, Especially since you were put in competition with each other from day one. But you loved her and she loved you, You cared for each other when you could despite your frequent quarrels.

So you had no choice but to agree, A smile lights up on Lucifer's face as he places a chaste yet stomach churning kiss upon your lips. It's nasty, Disgusting. You're still sobbing profusely as your altitude drops, Your climate becoming much hotter and humid.

You feel your body contorting, Mutilating itself. Breaking down and building back up into a wretched caricature of your former self. Horns, Talons, Features of creatures you hadn't even seen before coming upon you.

You scream through the pain, But Lucifer keeps a hand firmly placed on the back of your head. Cold comfort in your new inferno as he tells you how excited he is to finally have you with him full time.

You barely listen, Your body was not yours anymore, It didn't look as such. So how could you listen to his giddy ramblings? The ones you so loved to listen to before..

You shut the eyes your new body had melded, Falling into the darkness of your mind.

Desperately hoping that this was all a dream while the devil caressed your cheek.

[meo-eiru]

I kinda like the small yet big detail in the game, like I'm sure myself and some other people were expecting a wholesome dating sim that would also get quite spicy (FROM HOW WE KNOW MERU)

And we all just kinda got kicked in the butt, like Starling being too hot to be true yet so terrifying at the same time, but not the terrifying kind that we know, like Micah or Silas etc

More like the type that makes you forget that he still is more a siren than a merman, like he successfully managed to lure in the whole community with his hot ass😭😭and then we get backstabbed by him munching our fingers off as if they're some carrots, like as a simple lunch snack-💀💀

Or in the other ending where it's basically simply Mae dying and getting turned into a possession and probably just another body to fill up with tongues

From my interpretation, Starling doesn't really have that kind of romantic interest in Mae, but she kinda thought it could go into that direction, but then got stabbed in the back like that😭😭(probs everyone who played it, thought like Mae there too kinda💀so we all got the betrayal🙁)

And you guys did a really good job in simply catching us all off guard in most scenes, it's it's beautifully written and drawn, I love that game so much!!!

Spoilers for the game

Honestly maybe Sel would give a different answer but I do think Starling likes Maelyn. Due to his past and what he has now become his way of showing it is probably different, but for Starling I don't think Maelyn is just another body for storing tongues. If that was the case he wouldn't have went out of his way to clean her body up, find a wedding dress and "marry" her in his own makeshift way.

He probably didn't even view it as a betrayal. Because until the very end Starling was making sure the no longer breathing Maelyn could be comfortable in her pearl necklace.

For the writing style, probably Sel writing the story played a big part in this.

Sel and I have very similar tastes in a lot of things, on levels I myself can't believe sometimes. But we do have a different style at how we depict similar concepts.

I love presenting dark stories on a silver platter. Prettied up with the most delicious icings and shiniest sprinkles. I like my stories and characters to look beautiful. Enjoy them while thinking you're just having whimsy adventures only to realize you're done for once you truly look. Like Silas. It's easy to make fun of him, forget the things he is capable of doing as you're too busy enjoying his silliness. He feels safe, a gentle giant who loves and takes care of you.

But he's still a man who has forced himself on you not only physically but also mentally. Trapped and limited you beyond belief. No electricity, no internet, no contact with anyone other than him. Only talking to him, only feeling him, only knowing him, only consuming him. A beautiful and sweet man no human mind can handle for more than a few weeks.

But Sel, from what I've seen, is a bit different. She doesn't shy away from showing the darkness and scariness of the stories she makes. Before you even know it you'll be facing concepts you didn't think could be possible.

And not only that, she hides so much under every word she uses. Often times the things she places in front of you are not even the scariest parts. The more you read and the more you decipher they get deeper.

I'm frankly a big fan of the things she writes. They often leave me flabbergasted (and mortified, she knows what I mean) but they are also so so fun. So scary yet beautifully poetic.

I know she doesn't like being under the spotlight that much. But ever since I met her and saw her stories I wanted more people to get the chance to see and appreciate them the way they deserved. I think they are truly special, and they make me want to do my best to illustrate them in the perfect way possible.

Honestly I'm not sure if I'm good enough at it, but if it helps the stories reach more people I'm happy with it.

I don't know if she'll read this post so that's why I'm being sappy like this but I genuinely hope you guys like her stories like I do. And I hope both you and I can see more and more of it.

[verinarin]

I need to repost this since the tags didn’t work T-T, but omg thankuu sm for asking and I love you (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵), anyways since you didn't specify on fluff/smut this would fully be fluff but I will make a full on smut on this specific trope lololol

spicy fluff | Someone flirted with you on his exhibition, he does not take your friendliness kindly

You're currently stuck in between a whiny Rafael and a wall, his breath warms your neck as he rests his arms beside your shoulders, leaning down to hold intense eye contact with you while caging your body like a prey, "Miss bodyguard, you're my bodyguard right ?" he voice softens but there's a distinct emphasis on the word 'my bodyguard’

“Yes Rafayel, I'm your bodyguard." you sigh as you try to make sense of how this happened in the first place, you were idly chitchatting with a person who was admiring Rafael's painting at the exhibition.

The guy made some silly jokes which made you laugh and then all of a sudden Rafael whisked you away to the closet filled with canvases and other works of his, "So if you're my bodyguard why didn't you stay beside me, what if some crazy stalker tackles me to the ground?!" he frowns, it took you quite the mental strength nor to laugh in front of his face

It is clear as day that it's not your work ethic that he's questioning, but rather the fact that you were idly talking with someone else, he's jealous

"Well I don't think someone is going to tackle you to the ground princess, I already did a thorough background check on all of your guests." you chuckle, his face turns into a pinkish hue as he mumbles a curse

But something didn't feel right, you could see a mischievous glint reflecting from his eyes. He leans in closer, way too close that you can feel his soft lips against your neck,

"Well that doesn't change the fact that you should've been by my side during the exhibition." he mumbles against your neck, you can feel his sentences forming a silent spell on your neck, like a siren his voice lingers in your ear, guiding you to meet his wants

You want to move away but before you can he gripped your wrist and pins it over your head while his other hand holds your waist tight, keeping you in place, "Miss bodyguard I think you need repay the for the lost time by indulging me, I don't pay cheap money for your service y'know ? he whispers beside your ear, you body shudders at the electrifying feeling

"Rafayel, are you jealous ?" you ask teasingly, he scoffs before dragging your body closer to his own, your chest presses against his before he replies, "What do you think?, it's open for interpretation,"

"I think that you're jealous and you're trying to mark my skin before letting me out so the guy from earlier would back down," you deduce as much, he seems to be pleased with your answer,

"Well I know you're a smart one Miss bodyguard, but the question I'd like to ask is would you let me be childish enough to mark your skin with my love just because I'm jealous" he asks as he kisses the side of your neck

"Yes you can, but promise me you won't do it too hard," you huff which he replies with a chuckle of his own "Can't promise you that, sorry." he smirks against your skin before latching his teeth on the poor skin

Well let's just say you have freshly tinted purple marks on y while standing beside him who's conversing with his guest, how embarrassing !

[morgana-ren]

Throwing out the idea that Astarion furiously masturbates over your sleeping body while he drinks your blood. Your blood is the first he’s ever drank in 200 years, it also dosn’t help that you keep being so nice to him. He can’t help it.

I am sorta back after months of medical troubles and I am announcing it in my normal fashion: with a reprehensible smut piece.

Warning: Extreme sexual content, vulgar language, thoughts of noncon, references to noncon, semi-dark Astarion, things that could be interpreted as sexual violence and regular violence, blood and the works.

The skulking has him feeling like more of a lowly rat than usual. He slinks quietly through the fauna like a cat stalking a canary, sneaking across the camp where he has made his own nest, his eyes darting about at every slight flicker of light and every unexpected noise. His comrades-in-arms sleep peacefully, strewn about the ground and various makeshift tents, blissfully unaware that a monster lurks within their midsts, and he fully intends to keep it that way.

As dastardly and lowly as he feels, an unknown feeling courses through him. Something that leaves him feeling strong– predatory. The weak blood of rodents and livestock thrums through his veins, every synapse sparking alive, the string and sinew of his body singing to his limbs in anticipation. Anxiety sends his thoughts racing, and yet, he is giddy as a child with mischief on the mind.

A long-denied truth demands acknowledgement, and so he finally acknowledges it. He is vampire. And he is hunting. 

Even a spawn possesses fangs sharp enough to rend flesh from bone and claws of steel, honed to a fine point. His senses so keen that he is aware of the deer that scamper in the forest and the birds coupled away in the branches of trees on the outskirts of the meadow. The pulsing of blood that rings a siren’s song in his ears, awakening the long-dead glands nestled alongside his teeth.

He finds that, for once, he is not the victim in the arrangement. No, he isn't. In fact, he is the horror, looming over his vulnerable and slumbering mark, their body entirely at his mercy— His right to his to sink deep fang and claw and anything else he might deem fit, helpless to stop him. For once, his true self shines through in the dim firelight of camp, and he is not the Astarion he has been browbeaten into seeing himself as. He is not unmolded clay, ready to be shaped at will by clutching hands and eager thoughts. He is not malleable and he shall not bend. 

He is not Astarion the spawn; Astarion the mongrel; Astarion the Honeypot; Astarion the tool to be used and discarded. He is not the meek, or the charming, or whatever else his prey finds need of. He is power and gluttonous greed incarnate. He is the prowling shadow over the unsuspecting sweet and he will take what he needs. 

He is Astarion the Vampire– and he is ravenous.

The gentle toe-tip-toe through the grass to where his prey lies ignorant, sleeping so terribly peacefully, his silken shoes making nary a sound as he creeps ever closer. Feet light as air, graceful as a swan. Even the wind seems to disregard his presence, passing over him with hardly a fuss through his silver curls.

They suspect not a thing. Even the warrioress Lae’zel, her sharpened senses whetted like a blade, keeps her eyes sheathed shut, her breath even and her body unmoving. There is no cry of anger or protest as he approaches the clutch of blankets where you have made your rest, leering over your slumbering form, feeling all parts pure need as he observes.

Saliva slicks his ivory teeth like a slavering mutt, his hands almost shaking as he kneels on bended knee to witness the gently pulsing column of your exposed throat. It calls to him, sings to his senses, and every ounce of his being begs him to shred hungrily into his meal like a carnivore– like a beaten animal starved of nourishment. Like a dog offered scraps of offal.

But he is not an animal, and you are useful to him yet. He is dignified, but more than that, he is in control of himself. He is in control of his words and actions, and for one time in his all-too-long life, he will not yield to the whims of another, even the dark voice in the back of his mind that urges him to rip and tear and maul like the wretched thing he is. 

No, his first meal will not be one of viscera and terror and screaming, even as the idea appeals to the baser parts of him. It shall be quiet and quick as a rogue in the night, and though he would expect disappointment from the revelation, he finds that this moment shared privately with himself and only himself is something he intends to treasure. 

He has named you for his mark for this most special of occasions. Even as he knows you likely wouldn’t feel honored by such a thing, he feels a quiet sense of pride on your behalf. You are his first taste of true life. A place of high honor in the triumvirate of freedom:

His first glimpse of the sun; his first venture into the world; his first true meal. 

Gentle as a lover, he kneels over you, teeth bared, scarlet eyes flashing in the firelight. A calm hand on your shoulder to steady you, the other splayed across the grass to anchor himself. His fingers quake in both eagerness and anxiety, his hearing hypersensitive to every rustle and sigh that does not belong to the chorus of nature in the evening hours. He has committed himself to this, but to be caught is to condemn himself red-handed to the stake– a fate he’d rather avoid. 

As he leans, his teeth gliding gently across delicate, slightly dampened skin, he believes it worth the risk. 

The tang of sweat and flesh hits his taste buds as he softly glides his tongue across the pulse-point of your throat. He licks where he intends to find his feast, savoring the flavor of his intended prey. Many times he had caught himself staring, wondering what it might be like; what you might be like, and he fully intends to satiate the curiosity that had been building in his brain for weeks on end.

As he indulges himself in the thought, he finds he can no longer wait. He tells himself he cannot stall– cannot draw this out as he might’ve liked to– but the nagging churning in his gut rings above all else. He is starved and he must sate it. He does not join in the argument between the two warring forces in his mind, and instead resorts to pure instinct to settle the matter. 

His fangs dimple tender flesh at first, and then, soft as a whisper, sink inside. Lifeblood floods his mouth like a symphony of rapture, the taste of ecstasy on his tongue, and his lips clamp like a viper on your throat, eager and yearning for more. It is as liquid fire as it slides down his throat, your soft whimpering spurring in tandem with the  glory that branches through his every quivering limb and sets his mind alight. His eyes, vigilant at first, now flutter shut, allowing himself to fall into the velvet-cloaked abyss.

The thousand-year fog lifts from his brain as he drinks and for the first time since breath still filled his lungs, he feels right. 

Raw strength almost seems to inflate his lean muscle, plucking a harpsichord on his tendons. The pounding drum of your rabbiting heart beneath your ribs plays in tandem with the rush of blood in his ears. The deafening cacophony of the cold, miserable years is blasted away and finally stitches together in unison with an ethereal orchestra of utter intoxication. A preternaturally beautiful song that lulls him into the first sense of peace he has felt in years– perhaps that he has ever felt. A tune he shall never forget for as long as he lives.

His senses soar so high that he swears, beneath the deafening chorus of euphoria, he can hear the revelry as far as Baldur’s Gate. In his mind’s eye, the unsuspecting citizens of the Jewel are celebrating the birth of a new man born under the silvery spears of moonlight miles away. These many long years, he has been truly dead, and only now, he is resurrected in the swaddling shroud of blood and dark. He has been truly reborn. At one with himself at last, he thinks. At one with you. 

The blood falls easily down his throat, pooling warmly in his gut in glorious fulfillment. The delirium tendrils outward, gently coaxing bliss and promise where it caresses. His legs buckle, pale cheeks hot and flushed, some unknown sensation taking hold like a fist as he suckles and refusing to relinquish the iron grip. The low of his abdomen tingles, drawing in life like a vacuum to a place once desolate and lifeless. 

It is a feeling he cannot place at first. Something dusted and forgotten and placed far and away in his mind, out of reach. And yet, as the delectable warmth floods every inch of his body anew, he experiences it as plainly as when his heart still beat in his chest and youth was as inevitable as the rising sun. The needle-thin hairs of his body stand on end, palms beginning to sweat against your shoulder. A primal need swells in his stomach, a gentle throbbing between his thighs that translates into pain as he strains against the leather of his breeches. 

Arousal. 

Desire bleeds into itself, separate colors swirling together to become one enthralling splash on the rapacious canvas of his brain. The scalding hot bliss of the feed and the tiny, breathy mewls of your still-sleeping form. You have given him what he so desperately coveted, and now, it seems, his nature demands he take more– everything you hold dear in its entirety offered up at the altar of his superior strength and cunning and existence. 

The inherent eroticism of feeding is not lost on him, but it has never held any meaning until this moment. Lust is a cruel stranger that he has opted to spurn. Something wielded against him as a weapon– a barbed whip that has flogged and scarred him into conditioned disgust. It is unfamiliar at first, and yet it screams now with the same familiarity as every other function and twice as demanding. 

Pale lashes flutter open, doubled vision focusing in almost too sharply on your strained features: the soft furrow of your brow, the scrunch of your still-closed eyes, the soft pout of your petal-pink lips, slick with moisture from your unconscious whines of pain. He has noticed you, yes, in the way another might notice a dagger or a halberd or a stocky shield to wield. Your appearance is just one in a long line of defenses he intended to harvest for his own gain, and yet now, as he hazily stares at the shadow of your profile that flickers in the flames, he feels the unmistakable curl and coil of a different kind of need. 

Something steely clamps onto his consciousness beyond the haze of unreason. He cannot. That is too far, and something distant and shrill in his mind knows it. As desperate as he is to crawl atop and mount you, leaving you breathless and hoarse in his wake, he cannot. Some things can never be forgiven, and he has already crossed that line for his own well-being. Ravaging you as you lie vulnerable and helpless– trusting– serves no purpose in keeping him alive.

He tells himself this, his suckling receding to a temperate drawl, laving tongue and teeth across the puncture wounds. The baser parts of him cry protest, the pulsing becoming more insistent with each passing second, until it leaves him knock-kneed and clutching at the grass for purchase against the cresting tide of want. All variety of debased scenarios fly through his mind, each one more debauched than the last. 

Control and lust, two things unfamiliar with each other before now due to the cruel nature of his existence, fold in perfectly as one and sharpen into a vengeful blade he craves to use. How he longs to leave a wound as deep as the one he carries day after day, unrelenting and open as the day it was wrought. He wants to lash out, to strike, to take as he pleases as the world has taken so from him–

A wound not meant for you, he must remind himself through the hot-pink haze, even as it defies him. 

No. It is a line he will not cross. He is a monster, but he is a monster of a different breed. You have given him everything, even as you do not know it. More pragmatically, he will not give his life for one brief, violent encounter of forcefully obliged desire. He is worth more than such vile things, he tells himself, and strangely, he finds as he ponders it, so too are you. 

He repeats it in his head as a mantra, over and over, practically yelling it over the tidal wave of instinctual impulse that threatens to drag him undertow. He is his own man, and he shall not be controlled ever again; not by Cazador, and certainly not by the more wretched pieces of himself, even as they screech and claw at the cell where he has locked them away, howling their dreadful, unspeakable demands.

It does not abate. The insistent pulse of blood that brings long forgotten life to his appetite, the mortifyingly genuine urge that begs him to touch you, feel you, taste you in the ways he has not craved in eons. It frightens him, and yet, even as he longs to pull himself away, to run and run and run into the darkness where neither you nor this horrible need can find him, he does not. He sits still as a marble statue, almost as if carved in some grotesque form of this heinous moment captured in one rotten, eternal exhibit: half atop your sleeping body, clutching and panting in need, and half splayed absurdly in the dirt, straining and desperately trying to conceal his shame from some invisible force that mocks him.

He cannot have you. Even as he yearns and craves it with a fire that singes and burns his overactive nerves and imagination, he cannot. Yet, his body will not relent, demanding release from the torment that plagues both his mind and his nethers in equal form, paralyzing him in a dangerous inactivity. You won’t awaken– he has taken too much and your weakness is apparent– but the others might and he must act. Compromise is a risk he cannot take–

And still he must. 

And so, even as he should withdraw and return to the pitiful, empty loneliness of his tent, he does not. Instead, he realigns himself, as quiet and swift as the wind, still half-perched over you, but with a newly freed hand to his disposal for a contemptible purpose. It snakes the length of his torso to the waist of his breeches, his dexterous fingers undoing the laces with desperate speed and agility, his expression equal parts humiliation, shame, and anxious desire. He slides the waistband down enough that his long-neglected cock springs free, his muscles bracing and tensed as his newly blood-warmed flesh is chilled in the cool night air. Pinprick pores betray his discomfort at the crisp evening gale, but the rest of himself is otherwise occupied, consumed by his present task. 

One of his sharply tipped fangs worries at the swell of his plush lower lip as he wiggles his pants further down, both internally cursing and praising the newly unlocked spectrum of his vampiric grace that make such conspicuous actions effortless and reticent. Even as he is agile and practiced, each urgent movement feels fluid and natural. Silent as the grave and insignificant against the sounds of nature that envelop their surroundings. He does not fumble or falter, smooth as satin and with steely resolve as his palm finds his shaft and a shiver runs the length of his spine, settling readily in his abdomen.

In his previous encounters, he could put himself into working order, but nothing like this. It was a job– something that must be done, no matter how distasteful or degrading. What he feels now, it’s almost foreign to him; his cock strangely hot and pulsing with a heartbeat of its own. Heavy as sin in his hand and just as demanding, just as cruel in its insistence. Stiff and throbbing, a compass point dogged and unrelenting as it seeks to nestle between your wet, silky thighs and burrow there. It shrieks in his head, unsatisfied and wailing at his refusal to acquiesce. 

He ignores it, testing with one brusque stroke with his palm. It twitches, pleasure blooming upward through his gut even at the slightest of contact. Again, he tightens his fingers around his girth, pumping slowly as the sepulcher where he had locked away all dead semblance of lustful craving and fervor comes to life once more. As he thumbs the top, he feels the thin, sticky fluid leak from the tip, betraying his eagerness even as he pretends composure– as much composure as he can pretend in this unbelievably humiliating debacle. 

He will have to worry about that later. 

His eyes sweep over your face once more, peaceful now that his teeth no longer injure your tender neck. Your lips slightly agape, eyelashes fluttering softly as you sweetly dream once more. He imagines how different it might look if he were to uncage his urges– to allow himself the forbidden pleasure of sinking himself inside of you twice in one night. How your eyes might fly open in horror, your lips ready to shriek, little fists balled in defense, only to gasp as he pushes his length between your splayed thighs, enveloping himself in your tight, wet heat. White-hot. Exquisite. Immaculate.

The companions are gone– no, they don’t exist. It is only you and him now, you sprawled beneath him, half shock and half horror, and he– the predator that has stalked you from the shadows, the vampire in the night– taking as he pleases, as is his right. He feels your velvet walls flutter around him, trying to adjust to the cruel new thickness bullying inside them, squeezing him in the most delicious way. Your mouth is still open in a wordless cry as he plunges his tongue between your teeth, tasting a different part of you now, swallowing the desperate sounds you begin to make. 

His cock throbs against the calloused flesh of his palm as he strokes himself, teeth gritting to quiet the noise that bubbles in his throat from the blossoming pleasure that takes root and begins to grow rapidly out of control. The fantasy plays in perfect form in his head, and it almost feels real as he gathers the precum in the crook of his thumb and slicks it over the shaft with firm fingers, pretending it’s your body that wets and grips him.

You would fight and struggle– he knows you would– but you are nothing in the face of his sheer strength and dominance. Pinned by the deceptively strong muscle of his lean body, you have no choice but to follow his lead, thighs forced wider to accommodate his narrow hips, back pressed firmly against the ground by his weight. Your tits, warm and soft beneath the thin fabric of your nightshirt and begging to be squeezed, squashed against him with the frantic rise and fall of your chest.

The squeal his first thrust would rip from you would be heavenly. High-pitched and pathetic, and yet almost drowned out by the equally sweet clench of your body around his. So tight that it almost aches him, unaccustomed to the intrusion and compelled to yield to him, moulding itself to the shape of him inside of you. He slides out slow, almost callous and so terribly casual in his malice, making you feel every inch of him drag against the supple walls of your cunt before slamming in again, vicious in his impact. Your body jumps beneath him from the force, whining into his mouth. Your blunt nails digging into his arms and tearing at his frigid, stone flesh. It is futile– he can barely even feel it, and the slight sting he can is laced with pleasure and the reminder that you are at his mercy now.

He is panting, breath coming in ragged staccato bursts even as it is unnecessary to him. Pure instinct has a hold of him now, his hand working in unfailing rhythm between his thighs as he loses himself in the vision. Your injury weeps ever so slightly, and he cannot help the flick of his tongue along the twin-pocked bitemarks, leaving a thinly shining trail of blood-streaked saliva in his wake. He aches to touch you; to slip the delicate sleeve of your nightwear down and indulge himself in the softness of your body. 

He is not so subtle in his mind. He simply tears the garment, ripping it from your body with terrible ease. One hand busies itself with containing yours above your head, squeezing at the wrist to keep you captive even as you thrash, the other luckier still as it gropes and pinches your breast. Warm in his hand, he can feel your pulse skyrocketing in fear or perhaps excitement– whichever suits him most– as he reels back and cants his hips forward again. 

His hips slap against your thighs with bruising strength, your body beginning to respond to his in kind. He feels your wetness slick over his cock and lubricate his next few thrusts, heightening his pleasure. You mewl against his tongue, body arching into his, perhaps against your own will, fingers flexing and furling fruitlessly in his grasp. He settles into rhythm, cruel but precise, hips grinding with every punctuating impetus. It takes an absurd amount of mental discipline not to simply take you in furious, animalistic fashion as he longs, but he manages through the impulse, lower body moving in circular rhythm, his pelvic bone stimulating you with each contact. 

Your panicked breaths become heaving pants, flittering eyes glazing over and becoming heavy, the muscles that are pulled so tautly in defense waver and eventually flop, accepting your defeat at his hands. Perhaps you are betrayed and hurt and hateful, but you desire him. He is beautiful in the moonlight, pale as a ghost but alive and burning with unhinged need and that same fire kindles between your legs and winds and winds tighter like a top before the spin. He releases your swollen, puffy lips only for his fangs to find your throat and your cry is desperate and howling, your blood sweeter than the finest wine as it touches his tongue. 

You cannot formulate words– neither of encouragement nor protest– as he fucks you relentlessly into the ground, helping himself to your body and your blood. Only nasally, frantic cries can make it past your throat, your hands grasping at him, pleading and desperate. He hooks your thigh around his waist, fingers digging into the flesh with bruising strength, and you clamp it there, almost as if clinging to him for purchase as he bucks and snaps, snarling like a beast perched to pounce.

You are helpless and small and defenseless and vulnerable in the face of him, and he is strong and virile and predatory and fearsome. He has no need of your protection; he is the ruthless power of the night and the fear the lurks in the dark. He ravages you with no regard to the future, knowing only that he holds it in his palm, and if he wants you, he shall take you. He does not walk in shadow and skulk in fear, but boldly in the open, the world and you ripe for the plucking. 

He cannot help it. His hand is not enough. Ecstasy builds in his apex, building and bubbling at his fantasy, but he needs to feel. The hand not currently stroking himself in frantic need finds a way under the loose opening of your shirt, defying his mental mantra. The curve of your breast coaxes his skin, swelling and warm against his flesh as his insubordinate fingers find their way lower and lower under your blouse. Your nipple peaks as he gently rolls it in his careful, ghostlike fingertips, squeezing at your chest with an inhuman tenderness that only has him craving harder, more– 

Your cries would come in unison with his own, yours wailing and pathetic and squealing, and his rugged and husky and snarling. You would bare yourself to him– all of you– acquiescing to his unrelenting power. He would take you there, on the ground like an animal how he pleased and for as long as he pleased. Now you are the clay for him to shape and play with and use as he pleases, existing only for him and his wants. Your blood is in no short supply, and he sups and dines as he pleases while he uses your body to pleasure his cock and the baser parts of himself that have reignited inside of your core. You are powerless to fight him, so you give yourself over completely to him, debasing yourself for him, crawling for him, needing him. 

You’d beg for him, body and soul, so eager and ready. Desperate and pathetic. He’d fuck you until your whines became higher and higher, eventually spilling into the night in humiliating urgency as you came undone beneath him. Your legs quivering and shaking, senses gone and inhibition nonexistent. Your fluttering walls would tighten and squeeze and damn near strangle him, the absurd sound of your wetness utterly mortifying if you had your wits about you, but music to his ears. 

Harder and faster with no regard for your overstimulated crooning, he’d take you, working himself to his peak, almost rabid in his unhinged, disjointed movements. His rhythm would fail, becoming more convulsive and urgent with every plunge of his hips. He’d chase his end inside of you, the blissful heat of your body, the cadence of your moans, and snug, velveteen swaddling of your sopping cunt the closest taste of the divines he’ll ever have– that he’ll ever want. 

He’d cum inside of you, burying himself so deep that he’d be certain you could taste it. It would spill out of you as he milked himself to completion with your pliant body, heaving against your bloody neck, a hand in your hair to rip your head back and drag down against him. Bruised inside and out in the shape of him, his hands, his teeth, his cock all leaving their permanent mark. It won’t heal, it won’t ever heal, he’ll make sure of it–

It’s his– it’s his– it’s all for him and no one else. Not even the Gods could wrestle this away from him. There isn’t a force in the planes that could pry him from atop you– you belong to him, your body, your mind, your tongue, your taste, your cunt–

His cock throbs furiously in his hand, gritted pants and strangled noises escaping his throat. It is only through sheer supernatural ability that he is able to withdraw his hand from your shirt and catch himself before he slumps completely atop you, no doubt waking you with the force of it. The ecstasy spills over, unfettered bliss exploding outward from his core and sparking fire throughout every inch of his body. His eyes roll backward, head slooping forward as he works his pulsing cock, every last ounce of self-control in his ancient body holding back a howling cry. 

He spills into his palm, carelessly covering his shaft in the sticky, gossamer fluid as he milks clean the very last remnants of pleasure from himself with the fervor of a man starved of it. His toes curl in his shoes, teeth gritting to the point of pain as he withholds a sigh of euphoria. His extremities tingle as his body sags, muscles exhausted and screaming from the exertion, and he almost collapses as it fades from him as quickly as it approached, still singing beautiful contentment somewhere deep inside of him.

Sagging completely into the dirt, he lies there, bare and open to the sky: Hand defiled and dripping with the seed of his shame, sweat wetting the delicate white curls behind his ears, breeches pulled cleanly to his akimbo knees. It takes a moment for the world to settle into his foggy brain once more, but shame cuts as cleanly as a knife as the clouds of desire split and the light of reality once again illuminates the situation. 

Frantic fear takes hold of his stomach, and his head swivels towards where you sleep, calmed only by the fact that you still sleep soundly with no inkling or inclination as to what he has just done. As he glances around, the rest of the camp is equally unaware, each person neatly in their place, unmoving and unalert. His secret is his and no one elses.

He allows himself a few moments to catch the breath he does not need, wiping the evidence of the encounter into the grass with a sense of disgust and indignity as he does. He feels remarkable– alive for the first time in centuries– and yet it is marred by the yoke of scandal he feels having been bested by such an absurd thing. Overwhelming desire he has not felt since he was a young, handsome elf brimming with potential and swarming with suitors, back when his chest still beat with blood and his skin was flushed and warm rather than pale and pallor. 

It’s unfamiliar to him, and he bares his teeth at the thought. Sex is something filthy and cursed– and yet it didn’t feel so in the moment. Even now, his fingertips tingle at the thought of your puckered peak gently caressed, the soft sound of your sighs, the vulnerability you show him. He’d barely touched you and yet you sent his senses alight like a bonfire. The taste of you still lingers on his tongue, and he cannot help but savor it. As he hikes the band of his pants back up his hips, he feels shame, yes, but also something different. Something oceans away from the helpless misery he usually feels after the degrading act. 

He feels at peace. He feels satisfaction. He feels right. He does not feel debased, but empowered– almost giggly as a schoolboy at the wrongness of it all.

He chose this. For the first time he can remember, he chose this. He took control and his pleasure did not come at his own expense. It came at yours, yes, but he doesn’t like to make a habit of grappling with fragile, banal things such as morality. He is a libertine, and where he finds pleasure, he shall take it, because he knows all too well what it is to be starved of it and all that makes life worth living. 

Besides, you seem fine. Sleeping deep as a babe in the cradle, none the wiser. As he sits right and dabs potion at the wounds at your neck so as to not leave a trace of his crime, he allows himself one quiet, satisfied sigh. It disconcerts him that as he studies your slumbering body and slack face, he feels pinpricks in his core once again, whispering remnants of that desire that had unhinged him so before, but he will have to unpack that later. 

He is no fool. Something has changed, and it isn’t the strength that flows through him free as a fountain that was once clogged and stunted, nor the heightened attunement of his mind to damn near everything around him to the point of absurdity. He feels right for the first time with the blood he has stolen away with, and smug at getting away with something so risky as he often does, but more than that. 

He is a vampire fully satisfied in more ways than one, and the fulfillment and delight he feels overrides the shame and wrestles it into the quiet. 

You are something to him, though he isn’t sure what. He had not questioned why he’d picked you before, but the question begs itself now. He does not allow himself the indulgence of touching you once more. He doesn’t taste you or feel your skin. He only withdraws as silently as he came, backing off and away from the light of the fire that burns low, dying embers spitting against charred, ashen logs, his shadow stretching long before disappearing into the dark of the night. 

As he moves back to his tent, he stalks the shadows, but he does so with head held high, back straight as a bow, graceful and the very picture of pride. There’s an unmistakable grin on his reddened lips and a flush to his face not wholly attributed to the blood that now courses through him. Pieces of himself unlocked after so many years of servitude. He feels himself again, and the world feels his oyster once more. What your role is in that world, he doesn’t know yet. 

But he has a feeling he’ll figure it out soon enough.

[kokomyass]

Can I ask a request for genshin characters? Can you do one where the guys find out your a siren or mermaid? Like they know you have a secert but they find out by accident.

Maybe with diluc, wriothesley, kaeya, xaio, or Arlecchino and the children maybe.

Thanks. I love your work alot. ❤️❤️❤️❤️

I can't wait for any update you have 🥰

heyy pookie!!! I'm so happy you came back with some characters because I LURVE this request!!

thank you so much for reading my works and im glad you like it!! 🪻💜

i have never written anything like this before and I haven't read it so I hope I interpret it correctly <3

Genshin Headcannons ☆ Genshin characters find out you are a mermaid

Genshin x Fem!Reader

Genre: ☁️

Trigger warnings ⚠️: none!!

featuring: Diluc, Wriothesley, Kaeya

synopsis: in which the genshin boys find out about your little secret...

Notes: you are married to Diluc, you are Neuvillette's daughter in Wriothesley's one and you are a Knight in Kaeya's one 🪻

Diluc

You and your husband, Diluc, were on a leisurely walk around the Dawn Winery.

You hadn't been able to spend much time together since Diluc had been busy with work matters and as much as he wanted to spend some quality time with you one thing or another seemed to prevent that from happening.

On his side, things like business trips, calls and paperwork stopped him from relaxing with you.

However...on your side, the odd secret that you were keeping stopped you from wanting to go out.

Of course, with Diluc being your husband and all, he noticed how odd it was for you to not want to go out at all, but blamed it on the hormones, so when you wanted to go out all of a sudden when you were both free, he didn't think anything of it, other than a chance to spend some romantic and peaceful time together.

"The weather's is so lovely, no?" you say breaking the comfortable silence between you and Diluc.

"Very much so my dear, it's nice to finally be able to go out with you." Diluc looks down at you smiling softly.

You chuckle nervously as you swing your entwined hands back and forth.

"Of course!! Everyone has been so busy recently, huh...."

Diluc looks down at you once again but this time with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, yes I have been busy, but I thought you had plenty of free time." Diluc had caught you red handed as you sweatdropped.

You didn't know what to say as you flung your arms about trying to remove any suspicions Diluc may have had.

"You see honey, I am busy....but in my own- AGHH!!"

Just as you were about to give some wack ass excuses you weren't paying attention to your footpath (something you said you would DEFINITELY do) and tripped over a rock, falling into the nearby lake.

"Y/N!!! Are you okay?!" Diluc rushed to your aid jumping in the water with no hesitation despite your desperate pleas for him not to.

As he lifted you from the water his face contorted with confusion.

He held your mermaid tail in his hands, with hues of fiery red, each scale reflecting the flickering glow of the underwater sun. It moved with a sinuous grace, leaving trails of crimson in its wake, as if the ocean itself were aflame with passion.

"Diluc....I can explain-"

"Is this why you were hesitant to go out? I don't see why it should be something you want to hide? It is so elegant and beautiful, darling...."

Diluc seemed unfazed by what you thought would be a horrible shock.

"So you aren't mad...or anything?" you mumble looking away embarrassed.

"Of course not although, I'm rather annoyed all this stopped you from wanting to go out with me."

"I'm sorryyyy!!" You wrap your arms around Diluc's neck as he carries you back to the Dawn Winery slowly placing a gentle kiss on your wet forehead.

Wriothesley

"Y/N, I'm going to need you to go down to the Fortress once again."

Neuvillette (your father) often sent you down to the Fortress of Meropide to help out the staff down there- especially Wriothesley, and as much as you LOVED seeing Wriothesley, he knew you hated it because of how damp it was, for MANY reasons.

"But Dad! You know how risky it is....I've been going there so much lately." You wined whilst pouting hoping that was enough to convince Neuvillette to let you stay.

"I thought you loved spending time with the Duke, since you always come back looking all lovesick." Neuvillette smirked as he kept on writing on his documents whilst you got all flustered stomping off to go to the Fortress.

Everytime you went there you looked like you were going scuba diving and although the first few times everyone was caught off guard they seemed to be used to it.

Time Skip

"Hey Wrio! Guess who sent me down here again...." your strolled into the Duke's office casually as he looked up from his work smiling.

"None other than the Iudex, I assume. What did you do to make him hate you so much?" Wriothesley asked crossing his arms raising an eyebrow, not knowing the Iudex is actually your father.

"Eh...who knows...doesn't matter..."

You skipped up the steps and to your dismay, just as you reached the top step you tripped and landed on your face on the damp floor.

Now, in any other circumstances this would've been fine...but you weren't wearing much protective gear because you were in such a hurry, so when you grew a mermaid tail out of nowhere you felt extremely regretful.

"Y/N! Are you oka-" he stopped what he was saying as his jaw hung open.

All you could do was stare into Wriothesley's wide eyes of shock as the longest 5 seconds of your life went by.

Your tail was a delicate shade of light blue, reminiscent of the clearest summer sky reflected in tranquil waters. Quite pretty if you did say so yourself~

"....I can't believe my own crush is seeing me like this..." you mumbled looking to the ground hoping Wriothesley didn't hear.

"Crush? On me?," Wriothesley let out a hearty laugh, "Here I was thinking about asking you out on a date, but hearing that makes my job 10 times easier."

Amidst your embarrassment you felt overjoyed at the fact Wriothesley reciprocated your feelings.

"So...you aren't put off by my mermaid tail?"

Wriothesley shrugged his shoulders, "Why would I be? I've definitely seen worse and it's so glamorous."

You got so flustered at Wriothesley's compliments that you forgot you were on the floor and unable to move.

"Hey Wrio, do you mind helping me off the floor?" you asked sweatdropping.

Wriothesley laughed once again before picking you up bridal style and walking you to a chair. You rested your head on his chest before perking up to look up at him.

"Oh by the way...now would be a good time to say...Neuvillette is my dad."

He stopped in his steps, and looked down at you, "You know, that makes everything much more explicable for some reasons."

You both shared a warm laugh as you wrapped you arms around him giving him a tight hug.

Kaeya

"Y/N and Kaeya, all I need from you two today is to get rid of some treasure hoarders in Windrise....and other than that you are free to go."

"Would you look at that Y/N, it's our lucky day!~" Kaeya chuckled softly guiding you out of the Acting Grand Masters office.

You were both members of the Knight of Favonius, although you were just a normal Knight and Kaeya was the Cavalry Captain.

Even though you were ranked differently you were frequently going on missions together since you were not only romantically compatible but very compatible in battle.

"Treasure Hoarders are the easiest to fight....today will be a breeze, maybe we can go on a cute date afterwards?"

You cling to Kaeya's arm jokingly begging him to go on a date with you. Kaeya pulls out some water to drink as you stiffen hoping he doesn't get it it contact with you so some....bad...things don't happen. You slowly unwind your arms from Kaeya's and hope he doesn't notice this small action.

"Of course sweetheart, I never refuse a date with you." he bends down and places a soft kiss on you nose, walking off humming as you end up having to jog up to him.

Time Skip

You make it to Windrise, and the Treasure Hoarders seem to be dumber than others because you sneak up right behind them and they don't notice.

"Why hello there fellow people, and what do we have here?" The smirk in Kaeya's voice was so evident and the Treasure Hoarders whipped their heads round preparing for a fight.

Unfortunately for them they got taken down by both of you pretty quickly.

You and Kaeya high-five like you always do after a battle.

"That was an easy battle wasn't it?" Kaeya said as you began to walk back.

"It's always easy when it's the two of us." Kaeya smirks. You started laughing and completely unbeknownst to you a baby hydro slime was jumping up to you.

Before you knew it you got hit by the cute baby hydro slime and miraculously your mermaid tail formed. It was swirled with the deep, mysterious allure of navy blue, a bit like that of the midnight sky.

"Y/N!" Kaeya whipped his head as fast as he could losing his laid-back attitude in a second.

However, when he turned to see a baby hydro slime jumping on you with a mermaid tail he couldn't help but let out the most hearty laugh of all.

"Kaeya! Instead of standing there laughing, help me out!!"

Kaeya helped you after 30 seconds of laughing at you suffering.

He held you in his hands as he tried to find somewhere to sit so your tail would wear off. You sat in silence whilst Kaeya got some shut eye.

"...So you aren't shocked or anything?" you asked genuinely confused. You thought he would be flabbergasted.

"Haha! I knew all along sweetheart."

~•☆•~~•☆•~~•☆•~~•☆•~~•☆•~~•☆•~~•☆•~

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED AS USUAL I HAVE NOT PROOF READ AND I WROTE THIS HALF AWAKE. LOVE YALL MWAHHHHH 💜🪻💜🪻💜🪻

[odesofmeddea]

trying on an argument why sam and dean were in factual canonical enmeshment: their bond presumes the absence of nuclear family or any long-term partner in the lives of either; the very formulation of this rigid condition - me or her, - is telling, overtly so, how their relationships are rooted bog-deep in the belief in its crucial self-sufficiency. the bond between related people devoid of such an incestuous tilt generally endorses that a relative builds and commits to a family of his own and puts not a stipulation of choice. that is, ‘it is fine if my brother marries - how and why would that affect our connection?’ - is not fine with sam and dean. if it was so, sam would've kept dating ruby, amelia, etc., etc., without dean putting him under the exigency of picking, without the uncontrollable invasion of his sexual and general privacy by dean (‘did you have sex with her? first madison then ruby now cara then lilith’, dean eavesdropping on sam's calls and going through his phone, or interrogating him concerning his whereabouts, if there's a woman he doesn't know about), and, moreover, without sam feeling an unspelt obligation of either concealing (why, right?) or rescinding these side hook-ups. oh, also it's him or benny. same with lisa, who knew the fact of her secondariness when competing with sam and that the existence of one naturally excluded that of the other. why can't they all be a big family performing roles socially allotted to them?.. because sam fills in all the roles. because dean and sam want to live in one room and they brush their teeth together and share one car and invariably solve cases together and own a dog and coparent jack and even their afterlife is a shared homoheaven bereft of other love interests. where a woman is to put herself between, in what inextant interstice? ultimately she is reduced to a blur in the background while sammy raises his kid, dean ii, and she is not addressed, not once, in the script, her only definition is of a nemo-womb sam cohabits with to conceive a replica of dean he can nurture as a solace during his lifelong premeditation of reunion with his brother, his nóstos - this is an awful lot of all women and possible partners of have been and to be. one would say that's rather too much. were sam and dean a girl and a boy conforming to gender binarism & heteronormativity the ambiguity of their relation would've been acknowledged more widely, the incestuous codependency interpreted more obscene. but since they're not and also are very uneasy with the innuendo (‘the most troubling question is why they keep assuming we're gay? - we're just brothers!’), it's very convenient to diminish it to just a strong fraternal love. which it is. but not only that.

the potentiality of erotic subtext inside of their greedy proximity seems scary and stupid and is eschewed by both - how are they to subvert and subsume their relationship into non-brother categorization when it's just their life, just the only thing they've known, being this close? still, the only affairs permitted are the ones that are treated as and are simple, emotionally untethered one-night-stands because sam and dean are not sexually available to each other. nor they're resolute into directly consummating their relationship - the need to is either lacking or suppressed and is to be interpreted variously because covert incest is not primarily about coition but miscellanea of things, more often than not of un/subconscious genesis and procession. sam and dean know their relationship is bonkers. they don't necessarily have to know or admit they're a couple. what else they know, though, is they can't have sex. they cannot consciously translate their enmeshment into overt eroticism. that's why the siren episode is titled ‘sex and violence’ - there the mutual violence unleashed onto each other (along with the symbolic penetration through knife and breaking of the door) serves as a surrogate for sex. that, along with impulsive hugs, is the only form of lingering physical contact they usually have. but the yearning, although not experienced in one concreteness, compensates and provides for itself in a safer realm of sam and dean's emotional spaces. they can't have sex but they can fall into possession of each other's feelings. that's why once the personal attachment to anyone else is developed it is construed as betrayal by either. if you need another person, if you feel something for them that you're supposed to feel only with me (intimacy, trust, love, loyalty, belonging) - that's when you abandon me because we can't coexist with others.

[linnienin]

🌛A s t e r o i d ⁕ S a l o m è🌜 ( 5 6 2 ) and the Dance of the Seven Veils

~~~~~~~~~~~ Y o u r ⁕ e n c h a n t i n g ⁕ e n e r g y ~~~~~~~~~~~

An astro walkthrough post following Salomè's steps in the Dance of the Seven Veils through the lens of the Seven Deadly Sins.

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The gifs in this post (excluded the last one) were created by me and are from the movie "Salomè" (1953) with Rita Hayworth

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"Look at the moon! How strange the moon seems! She is like a woman rising from the tomb. She is like a dead woman. You would fancy she was looking for dead things."

"Salomè", Oscar Wilde

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W h o ⁕ i s ⁕ S a l o m è (quick summary of her story):

⁕ Salomè, the princess of Judaea, falls in love with the prophet John The Baptist (i'll refer to him as 'the prophet' to avoid repeating his name too much) and orders to free him from the prison he was held in (for condemning the marriage of Salome's parents, King Herod and his wife Herodias as unlawful)

⁕ The prophet rejects her, but she assures him she will kiss his mouth sooner or later, no matter what.

⁕ Salome's mother in the meantime convinces her daughter to view the prophet as an evil person that deserves to die (alimenting her fresh feeling from the rejection)

⁕ When Salomè is asked by her stepfather king Herod (who lusts over her) to dance she agrees only if she can asks anything in return.

⁕ Once the dance's over, Salomè requests the decapitated head of John the Baptist on a silver plate.

⁕ To the horror of all the partecipants, she finally kisses the mouth of the prophet consumed by her lustful desires.

⁕ King Herod, sickened and shocked, orders her execution.

(this is the William Shakespeare opera version based on the biblical one)

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M y ⁕ i n t e r p r e t a t i o n :

In a birth chart Asteroid Salomè represents:

⁕ Your enchanting power

⁕ How people target your naivety to use your talent

⁕ The extremes you're ready to face in order to get what you want.

⁕ What you want but can't have

⁕ What desires consumes you

I also want to make a quick clarification between asteroid Salomè and Sirene because both are seducing and mesmerizing energies, but imo: Sirene : conscious type of seduction, aim for what they want, in control of their actions , calculated Salomè: unconscious type of seduction, influenced by others in their choices, controlled by their desires, not in control of themselves

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

P o s t ⁕ g u i d e:

I'll go through the steps of the whole Dance and make them into little sections:

⁕ Every section is about one of the Seven Deadly Sins ⁕ Within every section there will be interpretations of different Salomè signs/degrees, depending on which Sins they fall into (in my personal opinion)

Disclaimer: every single sign could fall into every single sin since they're all part of human nature, but one would always prevail on others imo, and this is just my personal take on them.

Enjoy ✨

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

1 s t ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : P R I D E

⁕ Leo Salomè/Salomè at 5°-17°-29° : You enchant with your confidence and talent. Your creativity allows you to shine from within and make a strong impression on people.

⁕ You draw attention to yourself easily, and others envy this, so they target your individuality to trigger the worst out of you. They want to robb you of your 'Main character' type of energy, using your exposition and will to take up space, to their own interest. They feed your ego only to break your mirror into several pieces later, leaving you not recognizing yourself anymore. You'll find yourself becoming riddiculous just to gain that attention again, blending with the masses for validation, but feeling extremely guilty and shameful about it. This is how they trigger your pride. ⁕ You have a great desire to be able to show yourself without getting judged. You want to dive deep into your creative mind and feel accepted and appreciated for your dramatic and showy persona. When people don't understand your needs, you can get arrogant, narcissistic and selfish .

⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓

⁕ Aquarius Salomè/Salomè at 11°-23°: You enchant with your uniqueness and innovation. Your mindblowing perspectives draws people in and out of curiosity, and you release them with more confusion and even more questions, to trap them in getting back to you.

⁕ You know this is your strategy to create multiple connections and dodge your way to the top, but envious people want to stop you from climbing up that ladder. They'll use you and your network for their own interests, but turning their back to you once they get what they want. This is how they trigger your pride. ⁕ When no one truly deeply understand you, your different view and quirky personality, you start to doubt your identity, facing the negative effects of feeling like the black sheep. You lose the courage to stand up for yourself as you isolate from the world with no track of time and completely dissociating from reality. You become inexistent, cause you won't merge with the masses. A great desire to instill change and put reality in discussion burns in you, but if people keep overlooking your ideas, you just explode and can become rebellious, distant and unpredictable.

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

2 n d ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : G R E E D

⁕ Capricorn Salomè/Salomè at 10°-22° : You enchant with your loyalty and perseverance. Your disciplined and committed persona inspire people, but they also get envious of all the accomplishments you've achieved with such resiliency.

⁕ You view life simply and clearly, this is what allows you to be so precise with no hesitation when making important choices. And because this is such a rare quality, people want to robb you of it and use it for themselves and their interests. However, you base your self worth on materialism and achievements and when people don't validate them, you only want to get more to prove yourself. This is how others target your weeknesses and trigger your greed. ⁕ They show you the best of everything to make you feel inferior and in consequence wanting it all. But the truth is you don't need it all to feel complete within. You have a great desire to feel the best and most powerful of all, but because you attach your emotions to the outside and not accept them inside of you out of fear of showing your vulnerabilities, you are therefore not in tune with yourself and you are controlled by the world. You want to become the best version of yourself, but if you don't truly accept your imperfections, you can get dissatisfied, demanding and cold with no way of enjoying life like you envisioned you'd have.

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

3 r d ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : L U S T

⁕ Scorpio Salomè/Salomè at 8°-20° : You enchant with your mystery and intensity. Your enigmatic and independent spirit makes you an extremely interesting character everyone wants to get to know.

⁕ You attract unwanted attention, and you are the center topic of everyone's gossipy chitchat. You are people's dream, and everyone envy your subtle popularity, they all want to get a little sip of you. People view you as a prize they want to conquer to make themselves appear bigger. You have a great desire to form deep and meaningful connections, so you give a chance to others in exploring your hidden and vulnerable side, but all they do is take advantage of your thoughtfulness to feed their curiosity and ego, and once they get what they want, they only come back to you when they need a little refresh. This is how they trigger your lust. ⁕ You hide your emotional side because of past wounds, but your intense feelings still need an outlet or else they'd consume you. You need someone that cherish and care for your complexity and is willing to explore the dark without judgements otherwise you'll become insatiable, unfulfilled and uncontrollable, confusing the real profund emotional depth with a toxic emotionless bond based on superficial desires.

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

4 t h ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : E N V Y

⁕ Virgo Salomè/Salomè at 6°-18° : You enchant with your skills and intelligence. Your analytical mind and organized approach give you the ability to grasp details and process them in an incredible clear and systematic way.

⁕ People envy your critical thinking and your kind, hardworking nature, so they take advantage of your modesty to use your talents for their interests. You take pride in giving yourself to others to help them out, but when this gets to an extreme and hinders you from developing your own identity, you get stuck in a limbo of constant crave for validation and endless comparisons. This is how your envy gets triggered. ⁕ You look at others' freedom and accomplishments, and you feel guilty you haven't reached that level yet, so you blame yourself for your inability and incompetence, believing you'll never get better and so remain stuck in your delusions. You have a great desire to master your talents and get genuine recognition from yourself and others, but when you don't take on this path, you become fussy, critical and judgemental.

⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓

⁕ Gemini Salomè/Salomè at 3°-15°-27°: You enchant with your wit and sarcasm. Your exceptionally curious mind make you jump on every kind of topic with no shame, letting you explore anything and expanding your horizons making you very clever and articulated.

⁕ You excel in debates and are such a social butterfly, you know how to grasp people's attentions with your words. And well, who wouldn't be envious of such a skill? People use your talents by making you feel like you're guiding them and you have the control over the situation, but then you focus too much on the details that you forget the bigger picture, and this includes you forging your own path and understanding what you truly want from life. Those distractions that people throws at you trigger your envy. ⁕ You look up at the people that make decisions and have a clear idea of what they want to do and you feel jealous of their resolution in walking only one path. You overthink so much you'd love to know how to find peace even for just a second, but you get absorbed in the envy, and at your worst you get gossipy, superficial and inconsistent. You have a great desire of knowing yourself fully, being flexible while also find stability within your flexibility. But if you can't look within and stop comparing with others, you'll never know your truth.

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

5 t h ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : G L U T T O N Y

⁕ Libra Salomè/Salomè 7°-19° : You enchant with your charisma and tactfulness. Your cooperative nature and romantic aura enhance your already stunning natural beauty, and people envy this hard core because it appears as you have been blessed with everything by life.

⁕ They take advantage of your agreeable temperament to use you for their interests. So you live your life as a secondary character, always trying to please others but never taking into account your own will. People use this indecisiveness of yours to trigger your gluttony. ⁕ You never feel satisfied because you don't even know what you want. So you only "eat" more because you crave that instant moment of pleasure constantly. As you base your worth from outside sources, you feel empty inside, hence why you keep feeling the need to put things inside you to fill that void. You have a great desire to make the world fair for everyone and form genuine connections between people, but if you can't complete this purpose, you become unbalanced, overly-indulgent and insecure.

⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓

⁕ Taurus Salomè/Salomè at 2°-14°-26° : You enchant with your steadiness and sensuality. Your driven and kind hearted nature allows you to always put your best in everything you focus on, and you're not one to lose your focus easily.

⁕ People envy how firm and determined you are, despite looking very gracious outwardly, you never give up, and this beautiful combo of extremes make you look like a person that possess everything. Others are gonna want to break your peaceful and unshakable nature, taking advantage of your kindness, they're gonna try to use your resiliency for their interests and letting you see how much there is of the world by shifting your focus on the pleasures of life. Soon you're gonna enter the sensual world and you'd never want to go back. This is how they trigger your gluttony. ⁕ Your body craves intimacy and contact, but you've been living in your head, only focusing on possessions denying your sensual side. Now after realizing how food can fill you and make you enjoy the experience, you become addicted to it. The idea of something that doesn't take up space like everything in materialism, but can instead grow you to take up space (eating) makes you feel important and not tie your self worth to outward successes. But it's still making up for your lack of love coming from within, and if you can't feel it you can get stubborn, possessive and self-absorbed.

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

6 t h ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : W R A T H

⁕ Aries Salomè/Salomè at 1°-13°-25° : You enchant with your assertivity and bravery. Your optimistic and dynamic spirit combined with your dominant demeanor allow you to be a great leader.

⁕ You fearlessness and ease in overcoming challenges make people envious of the power you hold. They use your spontaneous and competitive nature to their interests, trying to make fun of you, to slowly make you lose the confidence in yourself and step down the throne you deserve, but you can't stand the view of this injustice (both if made to you or to others).This is how they trigger your wrath. ⁕ You are not afraid to speak up, but after you lose your confidence, your words are spilled out with impulsiveness and aggressiveness, making people afraid of how quick you can lose your temper. You have a great desire to help others realize their potential, and you want to guide them on the tortuous path of life, but if people ignore you and make you feel small, then you become impatient, insensitive and reckless.

⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓

⁕ Sagittarius Salomè/Salomè at 9°-21° : You enchant with your wisdom and open-mindedness. Your free spirit allows you to experience life humbly giving you the ability to transform your mistakes in insightful life lessons.

⁕ You change people's perspectives by elaborating a wide range of informations and putting them in a clear view thanks to your capability of grasping patterns, and others envy this. They want to robb your wisdom, to feel like wise Gods themselves, so they use your knowledge to shut your voice down, triggering your wrath. ⁕ Once you raise your voice and let everyone see this impulsive side of yourself, you can witness people losing interest and trust in you, making you insecure and small, full of existential crisis. You have a great desire to change the world for the best, and to let people see different point of view with your philosophy, but when you are not understood you can turn into a close-minded, highly opinionated and skeptical person.

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

7 t h ⁕ v e i l ⁕ r e v e a l : S L O T H

⁕ Pisces Salomè/Salomè at 12°-24° : You enchant with your vulnerability and spirituality. Your imagination allows you to put yourself in other people's shoes and understand their point of view in an empathetic way.

⁕ Your easygoing and adaptable nature make others envious of you. They take advantage of your compassion by treating you as their personal punching bag, their shoulder to cry on, their victim to sacrifce. They suck all your energy into their personal interests, leaving you completely numb and not giving you space to display your creativity. This is how they trigger your sloth. ⁕ You have a great desire to feel emotions and share them with people that truly understand you, but if people neglect this aspect of yourself, you become lazy, unmotivated and hopeless. The world holds no meaning to you and you'd rather spend time feeling delusional than open up in fear of not being accepted.

⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓

⁕ Cancer Salomè/Salomè at 4°-16°-28° : You enchant with your softness and compassion. Your nurturing and maternal energy makes others feel at home and safe.

⁕ Your incredible intuition knows everyone's needs and your affectionate nature make you want to help everyone just to see a smile on their faces. Unfortunately others can misuse this gift of yours to their interest since they're envious of how perfectly in tune you are with your emotions. When you can sense that all you see are fake smiles, you start to question your ability to heal others and your sensitive side is hightened. This is the perfect moment for those people to strike some offensive words that will make you insecure and want to just disappear from the world. This is how they trigger your sloth. ⁕ You isolate and close yourself in your shell to protect you from further damage. You feel you are unworthy and that you don't bring any value to the world, so you dwell in your sense of guilt and fear, unable to do anything. You have a great desire to make the world a better place, to share your love and emotions with others, to protect those in needs, but if you can't express this side of youself you become pessimistic, moody and manipulative.

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

And you've reached the end! Congrats! And thanks for staying with me ✨

I hope you enjoyed this post and find it helpful in understanding your own Salomè placement 😊

Hope the dance steps were easy to follow too 💃

It took me some time to make cause i wanted to truly dive deep in the meaning of it and not only talk about the magnetizing part, but remember, this is only my interpretation, i'd love to peacefully discuss with you if you disagree with me 👍

I'm kinda tempted to make a post on Salomè through the houses, let me know if you'd love to know more on this asteroid

as always,

I wish you a wonderful day ahead (or night) 😘 and i'll see you in the next post! Yours Linnie 🌛

[agatharkn3ss]

Witch references: Lorelei

As I continue having fun with finding the little references hidden all across Agatha's episodes, I keep finding lots of allusions to stories of alleged witches and women persecutions. They are just too delicious not to share and I wonder if there are any similarities we can draw between these stories and what we are seeing in the show.

In this post I will focus on the legend of Lorelei. I found her reference in episode 2, when Agatha enters her living room. There is a prominent painting on the wall to the left.

After some editing and searching I finally found it! The painting is called "The Lorelei" by Albert Pinkham Ryder.

The painting is based on a poem by Heinrich Heine:

"The Lorelei"

What is it that fills me with sadness And weighs down my spirits like lead? An old story that drives me to madness For I can’t get it out of my head.

Through the gorge, a deep river is flowing; The air cools, soon day will be done; Westwards, the cliff-tops are glowing In the rays of the setting sun.

And then, if you lift your eyes higher. You can pick out a figure up there: Her jewels are shining like fire, And she’s combing her long golden hair.

Her combing is slow and erotic, And so is the flow of her song: The melody’s strangely hypnotic, And her voice is compellingly strong.

The man at the helm gives a shiver As fear strikes his heart like a stone. He’s now blind to the rocks in the river; She transfixes his eyes with her own.

That then is the story’s sad ending. And the helmsman’s as well, I’d surmise; And if anyone’s case needs defending It is the Lorelei’s.

In her legend, Lorelei was accused of being a witch, because men lost their heads because of her. But even the priest was not immune to her charms, so he did not send her to death, but to the monastery. On the way to the monastery, accompanied three knights, she came to a rock above the river Rhine. She begged permission from her companions to look down on the river once more, to see where her beloved who had left her had gone. She threw herself from the rock into the deep, and her three companions jumped after her The cliff has forever retained the echo of its name.

So in folklore, Lorelei became an evil seductress who lives on a large rock above the Rhine River. Much like the sirens of Greek mythology, she beguiles sailors with her singing, luring their ships to destruction.

Lorelei's story is an example of a woman being persecuted for her looks, then turned into a femme fatale character, to suggest she was evil all along.

If you think about it, the archetype of "femme fatale" fits the definition of a witch to the dot - "a beautiful, and seductive woman whose charms ensnare her lovers, often leading them into compromising, deadly traps. Her ability to enchant, entice and hypnotize her victim with a spell was in the earliest stories seen as verging on supernatural; hence, the femme fatale today is still often described as having a power akin to an enchantress, seductress, witch, having power over men. Femmes fatales are typically villainous, or at least morally ambiguous, and always associated with a sense of mystification, and unease."

I will leave it to you for your own interpretations - this could be just an homage to the women's tragic stories throughout the ages. Or maybe Agatha relates to the story because of her own experience. Or that maybe the story has some truth to it and Agatha actually has some connections with the events. It could even be a nod to the character of Rio. Who knows?...

[auncyen]

An Honest Review of Mirabelle, Revolving

-by one acquaintance of the Housemaiden

After being trapped for nearly a year in a country that was slowly freezing in time, a play seemed relaxing, especially one put on in the capital of Poteria, and my traveling companion and I pored over the Sirene's schedule. Mirabelle, Revolving leapt out at us--because its rampant popularity has given it a sprawling dominance over the schedule. Kudos to its cast, who have not let themselves be run ragged; the performance we attended was the last of the week and still high-spirited. The actress portraying Mirabelle gives her all to do the woman justice, as Mirabelle gave her all to save her country. None of my criticism should be interpreted as due to a failing on her part.

But I try not to be overly critical, so before that, I would like to also praise the stage crew and the superb technical effects. The sequence in which Mirabelle encounters people she knew, now frozen in time, is tragically beautiful. The Sirene's revolving stage is used to show her being overcome by memories coming back to her one after the other, and the subtle shading of the lights skillfully shows her falling into despair. My traveling companion was moved to tears. (I do not cry during shows. My Craft type is Paper, but I've been told my heart is Rock.)

I had some acquaintance with Mirabelle, being trapped in Dormont myself as Vaugarde was near freezing; nothing worth bragging over, so I'll spare you the details. I merely know enough to say that the supposed memories weren't entirely accurate, but I do not hold that against the play. To be quite honest, I was shocked that the sentiment was so accurate. Of course, Vallario is well known for crafting emotional scenes. But he had gotten so much wrong about Mirabelle and the other saviors up to that point that a true emotion came as a shock.

To anyone who knew the saviors even briefly, the play is a trainwreck from the first scene. From this point, I will use titles to denote the fictional characters separately from the real people. The play's start is narratively expedient: we open in Jouvente, in the Defenders' headquarters, with the Housemaiden telling the Defenders what happened at her House of Change and the daunting journey she must undertake to defeat the King, ending with a plea for help. Near all look uneasy and turn her away. She leaves in tears, but then one Defender catches up to her and reassures her that she won't be alone with him by her side. Again, narratively expedient: we see the high stakes and are introduced to the two main leads of the play, our brave but anxious heroine and a sensitive, supportive hero. Were the play entirely fictional, and one in the mood for a romance, it would be a promising beginning.

My traveling companion and I had not been expecting a romance, as Mirabelle and Isabeau are dear friends without the slightest interest in courting each other. We nearly walked out after the Defender had several exchanges with his soon-to-be-ex-colleagues that make it clear his beginning motivation is an intense crush on an emotionally vulnerable woman. It is incredibly disrespectful to the real Isabeau, who left the Defenders to follow Mirabelle because helping others was precisely the reason he had joined in the first place, and to Mirabelle, who did not save her country for others to make wild speculation about her love life. What made my traveling companion and I stomach the insipid romance for the next two hours? Morbid curiosity. And we'd already paid.

When the Traveler is first introduced, Vallario seems to partially redeem himself. Odile is a Ka Buan woman, and she is portrayed without the unfortunate stereotypes about Ka Bue that Poterian plays are prone to. (If you are wondering why Poterian-style plays have never caught on there, the first would be that Ka Bue already has its own rich theater tradition; while starkly different from the Poterian style, a Poterian playwright may find them useful to study for that alone. The second reason Poterian-style plays haven't caught on is because the famed Di Cola, much beloved here, is equally reviled there.) The Traveler is not emotionally forthcoming compared to the Vaugardian protagonists, but this is treated as a simple cultural difference tolerated on both sides and not exaggerated into some deceptive tendency. All is well and good until the introduction of the Child.

The Child themself is passable. I prefer the real Boniface, but the real Boniface isn't a young adult who has to pretend to be a preteen. Some more meat to their emotional performances might have been nice, but apparently the script intended them as a prop to the Traveler's emotional arc as she accepts that she will never be a mother.

If Vallario had even suggested to the real Odile that she wanted motherhood, she would likely have laughed in his face and then conspired to burn this script.

It was a struggle to tolerate this play, let alone enjoy it. The best cast and stage crew cannot save a script that is supposedly based on real people's real struggles and yet has such gaping holes in their characters, filled in with tired cliches. However, there was one hole left unfilled more baffling than any other.

This play is missing one of the Saviors entirely. Perhaps that is a blessing: Siffrin has a love of Poterian plays, and also has so much self-consciousness that knowing a caricature of them was on the stage of one might have been a fatal embarrassment. But I question how Vallario felt ready to write Mirabelle's story without even knowing the number of companions who were traveling with her. Once the Child appeared and my own companion and I realized there was not some odd misprint in the program, there was no second Traveler, the absence was keenly felt. Siffrin was a quiet sort, but they still liked to lighten the mood with a pun. They were heroic, with it being well known they lost half their sight protecting one of their companions. They were dear to the others, and absolutely essential to the King's defeat.

This play can only be recommended if you are able to remind yourself that its resemblance to the real Mirabelle's journey is fleeting and would only pass inspection on a new moon night. Vallario is excellent at crafting fiction, but whether he simply rushed to be the first to stage or had dubious sources, he did not get this right. I believe Odile was considering writing an account of the journey to publish; she might be forced to, now, if other people assume a woman can only care about a child because she wants to be a mother.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

hiii >< I see you're still taking request so maybe can you write about how könig would confort his insecure s/o? not just about her weight but also her ability to do things? like "oh no I'm not good and pretty enough"

I'm going through a hard time right now so it'd help a lot T.T

(also can I slide into your dm? I want to make friend and talk about könig but I'm scared you might be uncomfortable)

Okay so thank you so so much for this ask? It genuinely warms my heart. I had an idea of writing a prompt for König comforting an insecure reader, but I didn’t really know how to start. This really helped! I do not know if I perfectly got what you wanted, but I hope it’s okay? Sometimes I am not very good at interpreting others, I admit. Also, my dms are always open (and I especially like making new friends in this community). I hope to hear from you soon, and I hope you like this story!

So, just under 2.1k words, all soft and sweet. Total fluff. TW for insecurities and self hatred, but it gets talked over. Story below the cut.

Faker

König sat on your bed behind you, watching you with patient eyes. You’d just come home from an outing, and though you had put on an act for others, he could see how it had worn on you. He knew that you couldn’t do it forever, but he didn’t blame you in the slightest. Nobody could do what you tried to do.

 You looked in the mirror, staring with blank eyes at your persecutor.

These hands, they made so many mistakes… These lips have uttered so many lies… These eyes have seen truth and beauty and joy, but now they see nothing but a hollow shell. Who is this empty vessel that stands before you? Did you ever really know who they were?

König stands up and steps forward, gently resting his hands on your shoulders, on the vessel’s shoulders.

“What do you see?” König asked softly, taking one hand to brush away tears you had not noticed.

“I see…” you paused, “Myself.”

König rested his head over you, watching you with his ice blue eyes. They looked at you, tried to hold your gaze, but the cold was too much for you to bear.

“Do you?” he whispered.

You blinked, taking a moment to sniff and recompose your dignity. Tears welled up further, but you held to them tightly, refusing to let them drop. But unfortunately, you are no God, you can defy no calling such as this. Emotions control your very being, and so you cry.

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

König let you cry. It would be cruel to stop you at this point. You tried to fight back, doing your best to build your sandcastle against the ocean, but with every hiccup you suppressed and every sniff you held back, the waves would wash over you again. And eventually, you gave up. You followed the siren’s song and drowned in your sorrows.

“I hate myself,” you finally were able to say.

König pressed a kiss to your temple and dropped his chin to your shoulder, “Why?”

“I… I don’t have enough time to go into all the reasons,” your voice cracked and warbled like a strangled seabird.

“I have time,” König replied.

“I don’t,” you said, your tone cold as the ice that he held in his eyes.

König nodded and wrapped his hands over your shoulders.

“You do not have to explain if you do not want to,” he said, his words like down on your ears, “sometimes, words are not enough.”

“It feels like they’re never enough,” you closed your eyes, unable to endure his watchful eyes any longer.

“When are they ever?” König hummed, “english is not a good language to express yourself, anyways.”

“Is it easier in German?” you asked hopefully.

You could feel König shaking his head, “Nein.”

You sniffled and opened your eyes again. You hated what you saw. You hated the kindness in his cold blue eyes. You hated the hollowness in your warm body more. Ice and fire, freezing and burning. What would be the best way to die? In your own selfish inferno, or would you let the ice of your lover’s touch shock you to reality? Or would that make you numb, too? Was it better to be numb because you had killed your cells through burning yourself alive, or through ice turning your boiling blood into nothing but a muddy sludge through your veins?

“I don’t want to be like this,” you could see yourself frown more than feel it.

“You do not have to be,” König reminded you.

“I don’t know how to change,” you replied dryly.

“Do you have to change to learn to love who you are?” König asked, taking a moment to brush his cheek over yours, water lapping over a sandy beach, “or is there something here worthy of love?”

“I don’t think so,” you muttered and turned to hide your face into his putrid mask, right where you belonged.

“Do you not think you are worthy of love as you are?” he asked.

“Why would I be?” you scrunched your eyes tight, tight enough to hear the water washing through you.

König carefully pried your face away from his mask, kindly not commenting on the mucus you’d left behind. Instead, he gently turned your chin to look back into the mirror. You groaned as he did so and tried to turn back, but such gentle hands became firm as ice.

“Maybe you should try to look at what is worth loving?” he whispered, “just try.”

“What is there to love?” you cried.

“So much,” he told you, “so much.”

You opened your eyes to see yourself. What you saw was worse than before. Red-rimmed eyes, runny nose, flushing skin. You really were a mess, weren’t you? You looked like you’d been drowned and then revived, cursed to walk the earth once more.

König cut off your spiraling thoughts with a piercing, “When I look in this mirror, I see someone who has been hurt for too long.”

“Nobody hurt me,” you protest meekly.

“You did,” his words gored into you like ice picks, “maybe, someone a long time ago said something to you. Maybe you made a mistake and it never left you. I do not know. I do know that whatever led you to think that you are nothing worth loving is wrong. It is not what you are. You are more than the past.”

“How would you know that?” you scoffed meanly.

König shrugged.

“Maybe because I know what it feels like to look in a mirror and see something I do not like.”

You turned and looked at him briefly before he redirected your gaze to the mirror, the ice in his eyes thawing with fear and insecurities you saw within yourself.

“I ask myself, what is there to love? How could anyone care about me? Surely, nobody loves me,” he said, “but I am wrong. There are people who care, they just do not say it out loud. Maybe it is because they are scared.”

“Scared of what?” you asked.

“Scared of being… Ah, what is the word… Scared of being vulnerable, I think,” König shrugged half heartedly, “but I think that vulnerability is how we grow. You cannot be strong by hurting yourself. Strength does not come from nothingness.”

“But you’re so strong,” you sniffled.

“I am strong because I saw my weakness, and I saw something lovable inside. So I worked to make what was lovable more important than what was not,” König replied, “I was afraid, small, and vulnerable. But by being vulnerable, I learned I could grow.”

“So then what does that mean for me?” you asked.

“I think it means that it is okay to hurt, but you can’t let that hurt define how you see yourself,” König hummed.

“What do you mean?” you asked timidly.

“I think that it is easy to think only of weakness. However, there is more to that weakness. I think sometimes, we need to be weak to be strong. You might be weak now,” König lay his head against yours, “and I think you can become strong.”

“As strong as you?” you tried to say playfully, but it came out grating like a gull’s cry.

“You do not need to be as strong as me,” you could see his face soften behind his mask, “you need to be strong enough for yourself. You cannot let anyone else define strength for you.”

“Do I need to be strong to be loved?” you thought aloud.

“Nein,” König’s voice hardened, then softened when he continued, “love is strength itself. To love and to be loved is to be strong. To love yourself is the strongest thing you can do.”

You pursed your lips into a line. Finally, you asked, “So do you love yourself?”

König’s eyes crinkled at the corners, “Sometimes. Sometimes it is hard. Do you not think so?”

You frown, “I don’t know. I haven’t loved myself too much lately.”

“I think you must find something to love in yourself,” König replied, “but that might take searching. You cannot let someone else tell you what is worth loving. I know it is hard, but once you find something, hold onto it. And keep holding on.”

“How can you be so sure that there’s something I can love?” you asked.

“There is always something. Even the blackest hearts can love the soot that coats them,” König mused.

You looked at yourself. You frowned, and then locked your eyes on his.

“What if I can’t find something to love?” you asked nervously.

“Then you must do the hardest thing of all,” König furrowed his brows, “you must fake it. You must tell yourself you love something, even if you do not believe it.”

You scoffed, “But why? That’s so stupid.”

“It is in the beginning,” König admitted, “but it is not stupid always. It gets better, but you have to do it every day. That is the hardest part, you know? Doing it every day. But if you keep doing it, it gets better.”

You look at yourself. Your eyes are not so red, your breathing has steadied. You look a bit better, but you don’t quite know if the word ‘better’ is the word you’d choose.

“So, if I have to lie to myself, what should I lie about?” you ask.

“Well, if it helps, whenever I see myself in a mirror, I smile at myself,” König says, “but I do not always feel it inside. But I keep doing it. I want to get to a point where I can smile in a mirror, and I can feel myself smiling back.”

“How did you decide that?” you asked.

“Everyone likes a good smile, ja?” König chuckled, “so why not have a nice smile? I think your smile is very pretty, ja, but do you?”

You cast your eyes down, looking into the deep abyss of your feet, then replied, “I don’t know.”

“Then maybe that is a place to start. Tell yourself that you have a pretty smile.”

“It sounds so stupid though,” you snort.

“It does sound stupid! But that is why you must do it. And anyways, is it not nice to smile? A smile is a powerful thing,” König smiled under his mask, “it is a tool. You need to care for your tools. So love your smile. It is, if nothing else, a good place to start.”

“And if I trick myself into loving my smile?” you laugh.

“Then find something else to love,” König determined, “there is always more to love, especially with you.”

“You really think there’s always more to love in me?” you shook your head in disbelief.

“I do not think,” König said sternly, “I know. There is a very important difference between those words. You should remember that.”

“Well, I believe you’re being stupid,” you snort.

“Believe what you want, but I will still have my beliefs. And my belief is that you have so much to love,” König wrapped his arms around you in a reassuring hug, “I see so much to love, so much I want to show you about yourself. You are so wonderful. Yet you cannot see that? I do not understand, but I think you think that there is something worth loving in me. And if you can see something worth loving in others, why should there not be something worth loving in you?”

“I don’t know,”  you admitted.

“I think it is silly to say everyone deserves love and then remove yourself from your own statement,” König ducked his head down, “and if nothing else, let me find something in you to love. If nobody else will say it, then let me say that you have so much in you that is worthy of love. All of you is worthy of love. You may not think so, but I love you regardless of whatever you think you are.”

“Even when I do things you don’t like?” you cup his head in one hand.

“Especially when you do things I do not like,” König affirmed, “because to love all of you I must love your flaws. To love someone conditionally like that is to not love at all. So I love all parts of you, regardless of what you may think of those.”

“You’re being too nice,” you dismiss him gently.

“I think ‘too nice’ is not real,” König retorted, “I think that is a stupid thing people say to avoid feeling. I am not afraid of my feelings, and so I am proud to say I love you for you. I just hope that one day, you can love yourself like I love you.”

“You really think I can do that?” you ask.

“I do not think, I believe.

[panicroomsammy]

Throughout the show Sam and Dean are repeatedly confronted with people telling them their relationship is unusual, but this never seems to sink in for them. The canon compliant interpretation is repression and that they have never acted on their more than brotherly feelings for each other, but I have another theory: they started acting on these feelings way too young and can never acknowledge that they act on them because of this. I’m putting it under a cut for containing severely underage sex but I’ve been thinking about this for days and just have to get it out of my system.

You see, when some kinds of relationships start so young that the people in them don’t know what to call it, it can either never be given a name or it can end. I don’t know if there is any relationship in the world that can survive saying out loud “we started having sex when both of our ages were in the single digits and that was really fucked up but do you want to keep doing it.” But Sam and Dean’s relationship cannot end - they are soulmates after all - so they can never say it out loud. It started before there was a word for it so now there never will be a word for it.

It starts when Sam is two or three and Dean is six or seven. They sleep in the same bed - they have practically ever since either of them can remember. Legs wrapped around each other maybe one of them grinds against the other just the wrong way and it feels good and they don’t stop. Maybe it starts with Sam maybe it starts with Dean, it doesn’t matter - it happens. Maybe Dean already has some idea of what’s going on, maybe he’s done this before on his own, but he doesn’t fully grasp that it’s wrong for him to be doing it with another person. Maybe he has the vague feeling that it would be Bad if John found out about this but he can’t put his finger on why - just an internalization of societal norms that he doesn’t understand and never will. It stays this way all through childhood. Humping turns to touching themselves next to each other turns to touching one another directly. When Dean is in middle school there’s some kind of sex ed class and he finds it intriguing - he’s always been interested in sex - but never puts together that what he’s doing with his little brother is sexual. They’re both boys after all and sex is something you do with a woman. When Sam reaches middle school teenage Dean figures it’s his job to teach his little brother about sex. He never stops to consider that it’s something they’ve already been doing. Dean loses his virginity to some girl in high school. As far as he’s concerned it’s the first time he’s had sex with another person - sex requires a pussy, after all. Some time in their teen years they start going farther. It would seem impossible for the denial to continue at this point but it does. They’re just doing this because they’re brothers, because they need to be closer to each other.

Then maybe Sam realizes. Or maybe he doesn’t. If he does, maybe that’s part of why he leaves. It would be impossible for their relationship to continue once one of them accepted that the start of it at least had been messed up. But then Dean shows up and drags Sam away from his normal life. Was Sam ever really capable of normal, of enjoying normal things in normal ways after everything? Maybe Sam never did realize anything. Maybe he was living in his normal life like a dream, never understanding why it never quite felt right. Then he’s back with Dean. Their relationship is so, so much more than just sex-that-isn’t-sex - that’s just what I’m talking about here - so this doesn’t pick back up immediately. There are so many more things to sort out. But then one night they’re just both horny at the same time and they do find themselves exactly where they left off. It still isn’t sex. Sex is something you do with women. Sex isn’t something you do as a kid. They did this as kids, so it isn’t sex.

When the siren says it wants to be their brother because it wants to fall in love, neither of them bats an eye. When Ash tells them they’re soulmates they’re relieved to spend eternity together but not much else. When countless people assume them to be a couple they’re genuinely confused - they’ve just always been this way so they can’t be a couple because couples are people who haven’t always been that way.

[hunxi-after-hours]

hello. no one asked for this but the purpose of this blog is so I can turn my brain upside down, shake it vigorously, and dump out all of my thoughts such that each day I may come closer to my greatest life aspiration (being a himbo) SO. it is now time for me to do a far deeper dive on the production and fight choreography of the 《逆流而上》 performance from season 4 of 《披荆斩棘的哥哥》 / Call Me By Fire than anyone really cares for

still with me? have a drink close by? all right (holds out hand) let's get egregiously deep in the weeds together

BACKGROUND / CONTEXT

《逆流而上》 (something like "Upstream" or "Against the Tide") is all of a four-minute performance by 石凯 Shi Kai, 井胧 Jing Long, and 阿如那 Aruna. combining singing, acting, and some legitimately very good stage combat, the performance presents the narrative of a plucky young upstart gangster (Jing Long), who steals something he probably shouldn't have from a seasoned mob boss (Aruna), and in doing so pulls his friend and maybe gang leader (Shi Kai) into the battle

(where are you getting this plot summary, hunxi? from my brain. unfortunately. because I've watched this performance several dozen times. that is not an exaggeration. this is however simply my interpretation of the performance so Costco container of garlic salt etc etc)

BLOW-BY-BLOW (hah)

aka hold my hand, I am going to walk you through the entire performance

but it's only four minutes! you protest

did I stutter? are you still holding my hand? is now the time to warn you that this post is over five thousand words? well let's get moving then

0:11 - 0:40 Opening

here we are, setting the scene:

jing long's character returns from the street (hear the sirens and street traffic) to their warehouse hideout, carrying a mysterious duffel bag presumably crammed full of whatever he stole from aruna (likely cash, given the lightness of the bag)

glancing over his shoulder, he checks that no one is following him before throwing the bag to his back and skipping his way into the warehouse. he scans (a badge? some other form of RFID?) his way into the front door, swings from an overhead pipe, and slides down the fireman pole to make his entrance onto the stage proper

shi kai's character is established with his feet on the desk, watching security footage and toying with something in his hand (we hear a burst of static and the bleep of a walkie-talkie)

so already! we have learned the following:

jing long reads very much as a cocky young upstart, everyone's little brother who's too hot(headed) and too cocky for his own good

shi kai reads as slightly older, more responsible, more cautious. though he slouches leisurely in his swivel chair, he is still keeping a wary eye on the security footage around the warehouse

in addition, I would like to express my respect and admiration for the costume designers of this piece — note that all of the performers involved in fight choreography (named actors and stuntspeople alike) are dressed in long sleeves, long pants, and sensibly closed-toed shoes. given the physicality of the performance, you'd definitely want clothing that can protect easily-skinned areas like elbows and knees. also, longer (and looser) sleeves and pants can handily hide other padding if needed (e.g. elbow or knee pads, or just extra layers of clothing)

shi kai is dressed in a baggy brown coat over a relatively high-necked black shirt, as well as baggy pants and black leather gloves. the looseness of his outfit leaves much more room for potential padding underneath, which makes sense as the "bruiser" of the two with much more fight choreography. I would dock points for the silly little bandana (what are you wearing that for, your opponent to strangle you with?) but it's a fun accent piece so we'll let it slide on style

jing long is dressed more "stylishly" or roguishly, with a white tank top under a leather jacket that is pushed up to almost his elbows. he also wears full leather gloves, but with holes around the knuckles; so, clearly not a bruiser or someone who punches things with regularity. while the leather jacket is good for protection, it offers much less padding than shi kai's coat. this then comes back to bite jing long, who gets flung to the ground later by aruna and takes a solid moment to recover

0:41 - 1:20 Establishing the Jing Long - Shi Kai Character Relationship

in this sequence, we begin the singing (something that I personally find deeply hilarious is how the lyrics have almost nothing to do with anything that's happening onstage. we could unpack this for a while but for now I get a good laugh out of it), but more importantly, we get into the acting:

as jing long walks across stage toward shi kai, high five-ing shi kai on the way over and spinning him around in his swivel chair, jing long does so with a swagger, evidently proud of his heist

shi kai appears to be more skeptical; as jing long sits on his desk and unzips the bag to show him the spoils, shi kai instead raises his eyebrows and gestures at the security footage, as if to ask "well, were you followed?"

jing long's character rolls his eyes and crosses the stage to the couch, where he flops and sulks about shi kai not being appropriately impressed

shi kai gets up and follows him, and though the lyrics rapped here have nothing to do with the plot beyond general vibe, the moment reads very much like shi kai lecturing jing long about the need for caution and discretion. fascinating moment where shi kai's character is clearly saying something but the words coming out of his mouth are not what he's saying diegetically (except maybe "back off")

jing long is evidently fed up with shi kai's nagging, until they both hear footsteps in the scaffolding overhead — someone has followed jing long back to their hideout

I do love the detail of jing long looking up, directing our gazes to the mooks running through the catwalks. jing long gets up to go deal with them — again, hotheaded youngster — but shi kai pushes him back onto the couch with a pointed look which very much reads as "older brother once again cleaning up after younger brother's impulsive decision"

now that we've done all the set up! let's get punchin'

1:21 - 2:04 Fight Sequence 1 (Catwalk Fight)

in which jing long gets to sit on a couch and do vocal acrobatics while shi kai cleans up his mess

the degree to which this set is almost completely OSHA certified but also Strategically Not OSHA Certified in certain places brings me so much joy and anger, but it's nothing worse than what the original Next to Normal set on Broadway pulled, so I will put my hard hat down

shi kai climbs up the stairs to the upper level of the warehouse, where a bunch of convenient mooks/stuntpeople await him to be mowed down one by one. this sequence is very much reminiscent of platform fighting games

A NOT-SO-BRIEF ASIDE ABOUT STAGE COMBAT: one of the reasons why I absolutely love stage combat is because, done right, it is the biggest inside joke you can pull off in front of a live audience. the audience is convinced that these two characters are Legitimately Trying to Hurt Each Other, but the performers are secretly in on the joke — they are executing a perfectly and exquisitely choreographed movement sequence in which they hoodwink the audience together. for a medium that is premised on hoodwinking the audience together, stage combat is extra fun because the hoodwinking is dialed up to eleven. it's not just convincing the audience of the immediacy and urgency of a fictional world, it's also convincing the audience that you hate each other's guts when secretly you're trying not to break out into a huge grin (or maybe other people are better at staying in character, I was never cut out for acting). it's ALSO making the audience think that serious injury and damage has occurred, when in reality nothing of the kind has happened. it's the wordless trust and synchronicity that your scene partner will be exactly where you both agreed they will be, just as you will do exactly what you promised to do

in stage combat, none of the blows actually hit with the level of force they appear to — this is incredibly important in live theater, which is performed night after night for days to weeks to months in a row. the fight choreography must be sustainable. that means no performer can be a hero and say "oh you can hit me for real, I can take it" because the body reacts instinctively and if you know physical contact is coming, it doesn't matter how good of an actor you are, at some point you will not be able to suppress the flinch. also, you have to be onstage doing this again tomorrow, or even tonight, and if it's a blow that will injure or bruise, you can't keep taking damage in the same spot repeatedly and expect to make it through the run

which is to say — stage combat should be safe. it should appear to be violent, feral, unhinged, vicious, whatever the scene needs, but it has to be safe and sustainable. what that also means is that the ferocity of the attack, the damage of the blow, the lethality of the strike depends less on the attacking performer's "strength" and wholly on the "victim" selling the force of the hit. cradling your face after a slap (conveniently hiding that your cheek is not even reddening because there was no contact made). doubling over after a "blow" to the solar plexus to sell that gut-punch. depending on your genre, maybe even doing a gratuitous backflip off a platform if you've been "sent flying." half of stage combat is camp (the other half is knapping)

so! shi kai mows his way through a series of stunt performers, who are really doing the lion's share of convincing the audience that his character is a competent brawler. no shade to shi kai — the man is also singing through much of this sequence

most notably, shi kai is singing as he delivers that flying kick at 1:49. the audio cuts a bit strangely here, which allows you to hear the strain in his voice as he jumps into half of a pull-up and kicks a stuntperson in the chest

if you've gotten way too deep in all the extra behind-the-scenes material for this performance, you'll know that this was a sequence that shi kai really struggled with because the director kept asking him to kick the guy with more force and shi kai felt guilty hitting the stuntperson every time. it wasn't until the stuntperson confirmed that he was wearing chest padding that shi kai finally relaxed and felt like he could put more force into it

most of the choreography has the combatants coming at each other with a big ol' overhand haymaker/icepick attacks (whether with a steel pipe or a closed fist). this is a classic stage combat move, partially because it looks Big and Scary and Impressive, partially because it's extremely impractical in an actual fight: it's slow, utilizes an excessive amount of wind-up, and leaves a huge opening where a fast attacker can dart in for the advantage while your arm is still in the overhead swing, which is what shi kai does with the first stuntperson

I am fairly confident that they are adding additional sound effects for punching, hitting the ground, and later, jing long strangling aruna — partially because I don't think we'd actually be able to pick up those sounds in the general noise of a live performance, but also primarily because they sound, um. somewhat canned

give it up for the professional stuntpeople who are really selling this performance, and also because of how extra they are across the board in "being defeated." I'm specifically calling out the second guy at 1:36 for his little foot twirl when shi kai gives him that head smack, and the last guy at 2:01 for bouncing off the edge of the platform where there is deliberately No OSHA Protective Railing. like my guy you could've just somersaulted onto the mat that's presumably discreetly laid out below, the bounce was completely gratuitous

speaking of moments where you can spot the "seams" of the fight choreography: watch this enough times and you can see how the stuntperson doubles over and waits for shi kai to knock him off the platform from 1:59 - 2:01; the slight pause there is partially hidden by the rapid cuts, but if you watch the stuntperson you can see him holding the position in preparation to be kicked off the platform

2:05 - 2:50 "ARUNA!!!!!!!!!"

time check: we are now two minutes. into a four minute performance. and only now does aruna, our third character, show up, and what an entrance it is. in the performance cut that aired, the editors briefly flash to the greenroom, where the other contestants of the show, watching the performance live, erupt in cheers for aruna's arrival. shouts of "he's coming, he's here!" and "ARUNA!!!!!!!!!" briefly interrupt the performance's audio as the other contestants clap, yell, and rise from their seats in primal enthusiasm. one gets the sense that aruna is not only a fan favorite contestant, but also a cast favorite as well

it is exceedingly difficult to get screenshots of the fight choreography since it all blurs. you will simply have to trust me and watch it

aruna's entrance + first lines are maybe the closest the lyrics actually come to making diegetic sense hhh

aruna's character rolls up with an entire crew, only to wave them off, presumably because he thinks he can take care of these upstarts on his own. to be fair, he's not completely wrong about that

I love the way they did the first moment of eye contact between aruna and jing long; aruna, high up on the catwalk, looking down at jing long on the warehouse floor with a nonzero amount of scorn. jing long, in contrast with his earlier insouciance and general slouchiness on the couch, now sits up, slightly hunched over, with what looks like fear in his eyes. as it turns out, he didn't pull off his heist as cleanly as he thought he had, and now the consequences are coming (literally) to beat his ass (literally)

they also take time to establish the location of shi kai's character, high up on a catwalk on the other side of the stage. this raises the possibility that the earlier mooks he dispatched in Fight Sequence 1 were simply a distraction aruna sent ahead; more importantly, it means that jing long will have to fend for himself against aruna until shi kai gets there

but not to worry! jing long and shi kai's side ALSO has disposable mooks (very hardworking stuntpeople). note that these stuntpeople (unlike the, uh, assorted 小鲜肉 in the background who wear tank tops) are dressed with sensible coverage

aruna one-ups shi kai's initial fight sequence by taking on three people simultaneously, more or less in a melee (they do attack him very politely in sequence. this is choreography after all). the first person he dispatches with a spinning kick, which is tremendously impractical in real life (slow! difficult to aim! not actually more forceful!) but looks cool in choreography

the second person comes at aruna with an openhanded haymaker, which makes it tremendously convenient for aruna to get inside that stuntperson's range, twist him around to feign a joint lock, and use him as both shield and leverage to kick the other two guys (the joint lock is feigned because it's real easy to get injured in a real joint lock. later, the two of them also untwist the "joint lock" to get better and safer leverage on the shoulder throw)

blink and you'll miss it — when the stuntperson hits and breaks the coffee table behind him at 2:46 - 2:47, you can see him briefly check over his shoulder to make sure he's falling where he wants to. I can only hope that the coffee table was pre-broken for the effect

the shoulder throw at 2:48 looks pretty gnarly, but if you slow it down you can see the stuntperson strike the ground feet-first to absorb the impact before pretending to crumple. that being said, the speed and the force of the impact are probably enough to rattle his bones a little

after summarily dispatching the three stuntpeople, aruna points at the bag by jing long's feet and gestures an unimpressed "give it back"

2:51 - 3:26 Fight Sequence 2, Electric Boogaloo (The Showdown)

you know it's a Big Fight Scene when they take a break from singing to do a pure instrumental + fight choreography interlude. after aruna summarily dispatches three stuntpeople and tells jing long to return what he stole, jing long, true to his character, flings the bag at aruna in a "fine, take it!" and goes in for the attack

aruna dodges easily, and as he goes to the side, he picks up a plank of plywood that he swings at jing long

it passes way over jing long's head, because jing long has planted one hand on the ground to slide by underneath

side note: in the behind-the-scenes material, shi kai was the one practicing a sideways knee slide. considering that 1) no knee slide made it into the final choreography, and 2) jing long is the one doing this close approximation here, that makes me wonder if a) jing long and shi kai at any point switched roles, and b) at what point the set was finalized vs. the fight choreography set, because there isn't enough space in the catwalk fight sequence for shi kai to slide safely or practically

but that's neither here nor there

aruna swings at jing long twice, and jing long ducks out of the way both times. props to jing long for making sure he comes back up between swings before ducking again, because otherwise it would make aruna's character look a bit foolish for repeatedly swinging at empty space

on aruna's third swing with the plank, he shatters it against jing long's left side. I'm hoping the plank was either really thin or pre-broken because that is a hefty cloud of dust

jing long then comes at aruna with — you guessed it — a haymaker, which allows aruna to grab him by the entire forearm and sock him in the stomach. this makes jing long double over, conveniently setting them both up for—

the next stunt these two pull involves partnerwork and coordination; aruna falls backwards, dropping his center of gravity to the floor and pulling jing long forward. he then gives jing long a boost with his foot (ah, my bad. "a kick"), which allows jing long to flip over him in a very showy manner

if this was actual combat, aruna would have probably kept hold of jing long's forearm in order to slam him against the floor. but since this is choreography, aruna lets go of jing long's arm, which allows jing long to catch himself on his hands and turn that into a forward somersault

don't be fooled by how far jing long rolls. after the first roll to dispel momentum from the flip, he's doing the rest of the rolls on his own merit

again, the "ferocity" or "strength" of an attack is sold by the "victim," so by lying on the floor for a bit longer and struggling to get up, jing long is selling aruna's fighting prowess. also, even if this is meticulously planned stage combat, the performers are still absolutely getting their bumps and bruises

shi kai enters — somewhat tardy, but I love this entrance because it's so funny. a plywood (?) siding hits the ground with a cloud of dust, presumably bashed in from the force of the two stuntpeople colliding with it, who then fall to the ground as shi kai struts in. the two stuntpeople roll around on the ground as if shi kai just pummeled them into the wall, but in reality the three of them were probably j chilling, waiting for their cue, before the two stuntpeople jumped at the plywood shoulder-first to knock it down for shi kai's entrance

again, stage combat is a huge inside joke! what looks like shi kai kicking ass and taking names as he comes to his lil bro's rescue is actually just the stunt crew going "nah man leave this to us, we'll make you look cool" and shi kai going "oh ok you guys sure?" and them going "yeah!!" and yeeting themselves at the wall

neither here nor there but I love shi kai sprinting across stage to get to aruna. it really builds up the momentum and intensity of the fight. the fact that he does this while spitting "now call me by fire" is. well. pretty fire

aruna's turn to throw a haymaker! shi kai easily ducks under it for the waist tackle, which 1) helps transfer all of his sprinting momentum to twirl the two of them around, and 2) results in a net zero change in positioning. throughout this whole performance, aruna is consistently positioned on stage right (frame left), and shi kai / jing long are consistently on stage left (frame right), just to make "who's on whose side" a bit easier for the viewer to track

aruna even does a fun little jump/flail to dissipate shi kai's momentum, which I find delightful. throw the didis a bone, aruna, they already can't beat you two-on-one

shi kai does a little jump + snap kick, which aruna easily parries with his hands. choreography!

aruna then goes for shi kai's leg to take him to the floor (what's with this choreography characterization. in less than two minutes aruna has gone to the floor at least three times. let the man rest)

I guess in a real fight it might make sense for aruna to use his greater strength and mass to pin his opponents to the floor, but that requires following through and punching their lights out, which he, uh, does not

shi kai's spinning flip is "assisted" by aruna — the quotation marks is because that maneuver requires anchoring one's weight on the leg that aruna's holding, but because shi kai's doing it with that foot elevated, it's much harder than it would've been if shi kai's foot was just on the ground. trust me on this one. it's all about core strength and leverage

much like how aruna politely let go of jing long's arm while flipping him, aruna politely holds shi kai's leg long enough for him to flip as well

they use this moment to briefly split apart and breathe for a second in the choreography

shi kai's turn to throw a haymaker! in an echo of earlier, aruna grabs that arm and puts it into a (very loose) joint lock, and loops his left arm around shi kai's chest in a "headlock." I would like to praise aruna's fight choreography technique here, because he is executing a lovely fake headlock — arm barred across shi kai's collarbones and shoulder, not actually anywhere close to shi kai's throat. likewise, shi kai's free hand is on that arm, which anchors both of them relative to each other and also allows for shi kai to "struggle" without being in danger of dislodging aruna's grip to somewhere more dangerous

aruna then pivots them and "kicks" shi kai onto the couch — either he misplaced his foot or he's really selling it, but that flail does not look very controlled hhh. meanwhile, shi kai finally gets to flop on this very squishy-looking couch, which jing long has been monopolizing for this entire performance. again, it's shi kai's job to sell the force of aruna's kick, so he whiplashes very convincingly onto the cushions

this is also a classic of stage combat: "throw" your opponent into what is actually a soft landing place with very little real force, and let your opponent control the force and direction and theatricality of how they land

aruna, stumbling back from kicking shi kai, has his outstretched arms caught by two of the stuntpeople he laid flat earlier. also another visible "seam," as he essentially backs into their arms so they can catch him

he then flings them off, which is tremendously unrealistic sdlfksdjls but we can cut the man a break, he's been onstage for a minute and a half and that minute was almost entirely fight choreography

side note: you can hear aruna's heavy breathing, which means that they decided to keep his mic on during this fight sequence?? well I hope they turned aruna's mic off shortly after this for the next stunt they're about to pull

the flying kick + punch combo is also tremendously unrealistic (like, way to cancel out the force of your own strikes as you try to go in opposite directions simultaneously), but it looks showy. if you watch carefully, you can see the second stuntperson (who presumably gets socked in the face) do his extremely extra flip while he goes down just a hair late

3:27 - 4:08 (end) Finale

and now it's time for the big finish! I do love the editing on this performance, since no matter who's currently engaged in a beatdown, they'll periodically give shots to the third person so we know where they're positioned. in this case, we saw jing long levering himself back up during the aruna - shi kai showdown and gearing himself up for—

jing long runs at aruna and launches himself into the air to lock his legs around aruna's neck

moment of silence for aruna's neck. and all the rehearsals they had to go through while jing long figured this out

another visible "seam" — as aruna backs up towards the center of the stage, he's subtly checking over his shoulder (the wrong shoulder, likely on purpose so that he can still be taken "off guard" by jing long's attack) and killing a few seconds while jing long gets a running start

to be honest the spinning leg lock just looks fun. probably not for aruna but once they get into position jing long lets his arms go like "wheeeee"

letting his arms go is also important for weight distribution, balance, and lowering himself to the ground once aruna's spun them enough times. hey can someone send a memo to 偶像剧 that this is clearly the superior form of the 公主抱 + 转圈圈 combination

aruna goes to the floor — again — to let them both down and they roll away from each other to disengage. hilariously, at some point in this scuffle, aruna loses a shoe. you can spot it by shi kai's foot in the next shot, and also when aruna stands, facing the didi gang, his right (shoeless) foot is visibly smaller than his left

this manuever also yanks the earpiece out of aruna's ear — at this point I'm just impressed that all of their microphones stayed on their faces

while shi kai helps jing long get to his feet (love that you can hear the unsteadiness in jing long's voice. that doesn't stop him from being exquisitely on key or belting), aruna goes and grabs the duffel

I am also irrationally charmed by how shi kai mirrors aruna's chin-jerk. in my personal postcanon imagination for this stupid four minute performance I like to think that they follow the 不打不相识 rules of friendship, and aruna takes these two chuckleheads under his wing. oh wait that's what already happened in the rehearsals for this performance. anyway

a moment of appreciation for the dynamism of the last shot — in the ringing silence after the last note, aruna hurls the duffel bag behind him with a yell, and the two sides charge at each other as the stage goes dark. this must have been a late add, because their dress rehearsals have the didi gang getting up in aruna's space and surrounding him, and the stage goes to blackout in that stationary image. ending on this clash is such a lovely evocation of movement and further story as both sides throw away the original "goal" of this confrontation (the duffel) for the thrill of the fight

OK SO THAT WAS A LOT OF RAMBLING, NOW WHAT?

you know, I wish I knew what the point of this exercise was too beyond trying to shake all of these thoughts out of my brain. all I know is that I watched this performance a couple of weeks ago and it's now become my entire personality. I think about it multiple times a day. I've watched it so many times I know all the cuts, and maybe most of the choreography by heart

I think there's something about the rawness of this performance — both in a primal, punchin' kind of sense, but the relative lack of artifice. this performance is very much a back-to-theatrical basics; a rare piece that doesn't rely on an overabundance of flashing concert lighting or pyrotechnics to elevate the atmosphere of the song. much like the barebones aesthetic of the set (mostly scaffolding), this performance relies on very little special effects beyond good old-fashioned theater. legitimately, I'm not sure they had many lighting cues beyond "lights up" and "lights out," which is tremendously refreshing to see.

and of course, naturally, I've been obsessed with the fight choreography. hopefully the several thousand words have convinced you that the choreography is well-made and well-crafted within the context of the song and performance and narrative; I think for me, it was the refreshing novelty of seeing actually good fight choreography in cmedia. it's just been. so long?? since I've seen down and dirty fight choreography that hasn't been stylized and slow-moed to hell and back, strung up and strung out on wire work and wind machines. there's also a down-to-earth-ness to the stage combat here — reminiscent of HK gangster flicks, for sure, and their overlap with kung fu action films — from the lack of wild stunts and acrobatics that feels especially appropriate to the presented narrative

and it helps that everyone brought their all to the performance! aruna, shi kai, and jing long's characters all shone through easily, subtly, in embodiments that felt effortless, though jing long would be the first to argue otherwise (he struggled quite a bit, and went to Professional Screen Actor Aruna for advice). and even if the characterizations felt seamless, I loved being able to see the "seams" of the performance; how they put the fight choreography together, the little tells where you can spot the immense amount of work that went into honing this performance into something stage-ready. the effort everyone put into this is palpable, from the shortness of breath to the strained voices and strained back muscles (big mood, jing long). it's the fly on the painting that brings it to life; it's sneaking a peek of the human effort and time and work it took to put this together

I am rapidly running out of words to explain why I love this so much, but to actually explain all of it feels like it would strip away the emotion and render it nothing more and nothing less than appreciation. but there is a healthy mixture of all of that: appreciation, admiration, enthusiasm, knowledge, satisfaction, that makes my deep affection for this performance that much stronger, that makes me stop my workday whenever this comes up in my playlist again to watch it all again, even if I already know every grunt and every thump, every run and every belt by heart

(bows to an empty auditorium) thank you for your time as I yammer on about another niche interest. I'm off to go elevate my watch count into the triple digits (kickflips off stage)

LINKS

纯享 4-minute performance video

full episode (their section begins 41:20 and runs approximately to 1:00:00)

extra reactions from the greenroom

additional rehearsal footage

[vriedi]

my sprunki webshow interpretation takes

the protagonist of the first season is simon. he is followed around up until the last episode of the first season where he is corrupted by black, turning into his horror form.

simon and oren are aliens, foreign to the planet sprunki, arriving in the first episode. the first person they meet is pinki, and oren immediately forms a crush on her. their species is male only, and doesn't have a concept of romance, so simon is confused what love and dating entails until raddy and durple, his first nonalien friends, explain to him what it is. he would say he loves them both then and theyre like ??? ok.

simon is a sort of big brother figure to sky after meeting him. theres a fake film noir episode about him finding skys plush that went missing. idk where he left it tho. i didnt think of that.

wenda is a new resident to the sprunki town and is very snotty, but immediately takes a liking to gray for reasons unknown. she is fond of him despite him being pretty much neutral to her.

garnold and clukr are an old married couple. they build funbot over the course of the series. mr fun computer was their first "child", funbot is the second.

owakcx is an escapee from a mental facility. he hides in vinerias garage for a while and shes just kind of fine with him being there, being very Chill. they become friends over a while and then roommates basically.

brud is an allegory for severe autism. he does not have the capacity to comprehend much or date at all. he is incapable of being corrupted by black.

black is the deity jevin's cult worships. jevin is a lapsed believer, having abandoned the cult somewhat recently, but still holding residual beliefs. black normally is just a entity of pure evil black smoke. black is a representation of the loss of innocence. black is doing this because he gets sadistic joy about causing things pain, like a child that hurts animals for fun.

at some point jevin would be exiled from the town, being blamed for the corruption of mr fun computer (who would get blacks virus first) and tunner goes with him. idk if they return when they are begged to or not.

tunner and jevin would be queerbait, with them always being seen together due to being outcasts from the rest of the town. the word love would only be said in reference to either of them when tunner dies.

season 2 shifts focus to gray, who is hiding, and then it cuts to all the deaths that happen. durple is corrupted at some point either by simon or black and acts as a siren trying to attract people to their death, the knowledge of evil.

brud approaches simon despite being told not to by raddy and simon bites him. he is fine though bc raddy wrestles him off him. but then raddy kills himself out of stress and guilt.

tunner's death is caused by a gunfight duel wenda challenges him to. she threatens to shoot both him and jevin if he refuses. however she cheats, shooting before the countdown ends, and he has no time to react. tunner is not aware he is dying, and thinks he just needs to sleep off a bad headache so he can rematch wenda and win tomorrow, and dies next to jevin.

jevin curses black upon tunners death and black manifests his sprunkoid form, taunting him and eventually reviving all the dead victims from then on and before as zombies who want nothing but to Kill the other sprunkis. the zombies also are heavily influenced by black, not having much of their own minds left, but they can talk to taunt the survivors.

wenda would be brought back to reality by the other survivors finding gray and offering him to her, and when she goes to kill him he would ground her and snap her out of the corruption.

black would be defeated by the survivors finding a tome on how to banish black by summoning an entity of pure good, and this would all revive the zombies from possession but they would still be fucked up in their forms.

credits would have a compilation of the survivors helping the dead ones, and such.