nixi

anonymous asked:

Do you have any info on sirens? I was going to do some writing involving sirens. Doing research a lot of sites describe them as women who lure by song. Can they be male? do they lure people in other ways like maybe by simply talking?

Noekken, by Theodor S. Kittelsen, 1904


Sirens are a narrow category of a much wider genre of mythical beings, the water spirits.

As depicted by Theodor Kittelsen in the art above, the Neck, Noekken, or Nakki, is a water spirit that also lured unsuspecting humans into a watery grave, mainly through enchanting music. This wasn’t the only way of luring people into the water, though, as there are variants on this myth. The Brook Horse was a spirit that wandered around brooks and convinced people to get onto it’s back, once mounted, the horse plunged itself into the water of the brook, taking whoever was on it’s back with it. This usually targeted children, as these were mostly tales to scare children into behaving.

The German Nixie was an example of the generic mermaid, much like a siren of Greek mythology. The females took the form of a human, with the lower-half of a fish, and lured people into drowning with a haunting song. The males, however, could shapeshift into any form they like. (Shapeshifting was a recurring theme among water spirits, the Neck was capable of changing form as well.)

It is important to use these resources as guidelines. You don’t have to abide by tropes, you can use them in ways no others have. A merman who tricks people into the water with his silver tongue? So be it! There are no rules as to what is allowed to be written. By putting your own twist on otherwise generic fantasy tropes, your writing will be memorable and unique.

I hope that helps.

- The Artificer

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Is there a creature you’d like to see documented? Suggest a spook.

wanna thank Ashlee aka Blackash for doing this com of me wearing my recent blm outfit. . I went blonde this time because I didnt want my usual pink hair to blend with the outfit. We decided to make the collar smaller because I hate the original collar covering half my face. Yoshi P needs to hire me as glamour expert for girls lol. please visit her tumblr site http://blackash.tumblr.com. Ash is truly amazing. Thank you so much @blackash for doing this for me, you are fantastic.

LoS Part 1: Snippets from Tumblr

From tumblr:

1.  “Actually, it’s short for Maximum Lightwood,” said Magnus. “As in the most amount of Lightwood you can have.”

2.  Far below them the world spun by, a patchwork of summer-gold fields, green hills, and luminous, winding rivers of blue and green. It was beautiful, but Julian could not take his eyes off his brother. So this is the Wild Hunt, he thought. This freedom, this expanse, this ferocity of joy. For the first time, he understood how and why Mark’s choice to stay with his family might not be an easy one. For the first time he thought in wonder of how much his brother must love him after all, to consider giving up the sky for his sake.

3. And even odder, when Mark and Kieran had come into the library, Kieran had gone immediately over to Max and picked him up, delighted by his blue skin and his tiny horns.Max had stuck his hand into Kieran’s wavy hair and pulled. Kieran had just laughed. “That’s right, it changes color, little nixie-like warlock,” he said. “Look.” And his hair went from blue-black to blue in an instant. Max giggled.“I didn’t know you could do that on purpose,” said Mark, who had always thought of Kieran’s hair as a reflection of his moods, uncontrollable as the tides.“You don’t know a lot of things about me, Mark Blackthorn,” Kieran said, setting Max down.Alec and Magnus had exchanged a look at that, the sort of look that made Mark feel as if they had reached a silent and agreed-upon consensus …

4.  “You’re going to have to learn to live with it,” Jules said. “Even if it horrifies you, Emma. Even if it makes you sick. Just like I’m going to have to live with whatever other boyfriends you have, because we are forever no matter how, Emma, no matter what you want to call what we have, we will always be us.”

5. They threw their weapons down and hurled themselves toward the row of horses, one after the other — Livvy leapt at Julian, throwing her arms around his neck. Mark flung himself from his horse and landed to find himself being hugged tightly by Dru and Tavvy. Ty came more quietly, but with the same incandescent happiness on his face. He waited for Livvy to be done nearly strangling her brother and then stepped in to take Julian’s hands.And Julian, who Kit had always thought of as an almost frightening model of control and distance, grabbed his brother and yanked him close, his hands twisting in the back of Ty’s shirt. His eyes were shut, and Kit had to look away.He had never had anyone but his father, and he was sure beyond any words that his father had never loved him like that.

6. “Clary, what are you not telling me?”There was a long silence. Clary looked out toward the dark water, biting her lip. Finally, she spoke. “Jace asked me to marry him.”“Oh!” Emma had already begun opening her arms to hug the other girl when she caught sight of Clary’s expression. She froze. “What’s wrong?”

7. There was a long silence. Magnus sighed. “I have to hand it to you,” he said. “I never thought Jace and Clary would be topped by anyone else in terms of insane, self-destructive decisions, but you all are giving them a run for their money.”“I really had nothing to do with this,” Kieran pointed out stiffly.“I think you will find many poor decisions led you here, my friend,” Magnus said. “All right, you — all of you — wait here. And don’t do anything stupid.”He strode out of the room on long, black-clad legs, swearing under his breath.“He’s getting more and more like Gandalf,” said Emma, watching him go. “I mean, a hot, younger-looking Gandalf, but I keep expecting him to start stroking his long white beard and muttering darkly.

8. There was a commotion atop the pavilion, and a single blast from a horn shattered the murmuring quiet in the clearing. The gentry looked up. A tall figure had appeared beside the throne. He was all in white, salt-white, with a doublet of white silk and gauntlets of white bone. White horns curled from either side of his head, startling against the blackness of his hair. A gold band encircled his forehead.Cristina exhaled. “The King.”Emma could see his profile: it was beautiful. Clear, precise, clean like a drawing of something perfect. Emma couldn’t have described the shape of his eyes or cheekbones or the crook of his mouth, and she lacked Jules’ ability to paint it, but she knew it was uncanny and wonderful and that she would remember the face of the King of the Seelie Court for all of her life.He turned, bringing his face into full view. Emma heard Cristina gasp faintly. The King’s face was divided down the middle. The right side was the face of a handsome young man, luminous with youth and beauty. The left side was an inhuman mask, gray skin tight and leathery over bone, eyesocket empty and black, mottled with red scars.Kieran, bound to the tree, looked once at the monstrous face of his father and turned his head away, his chin dropping, tangled dark hair falling to hide his eyes.

9. When Emma came out into her bedroom, wearing sweatpants and a tank top and rubbing her hair dry with a green towel, she found Mark curled up at the foot of her bed, reading a copy of Alice in Wonderland.He was wearing a pair of cotton pajama bottoms that Emma had bought for three dollars from a vendor on the side of the PCH. He was partial to them as being oddly close in their loose, light material to the sort of trousers he’d worn in Faerie.If it bothered him that they also had a pattern of green shamrocks embroidered with the words GET LUCKY on them, he didn’t show it. He sat up when Emma came in, scrubbing his hands through his hair, and smiled at her.Mark had a smile that could break your heart. It seemed to take up his whole face and brighten his eyes, firing the blue and gold from inside.“A strange evening, forsooth,” he said.Emma put her hands on her hips. “Don’t you forsooth me.”

10. “It can’t last,” Emma said, staring at him, because how could it, when they could never keep what they had? “It’ll break our hearts.”He caught her by the wrist, brought her hand to his chest. Splayed her fingers over his heart. It beat against her palm, like a fist punching its way out of his ribcage. “Break my heart,” he said. “Break it in pieces. I give you permission.”

11. “I have always needed you, Kieran,” Mark said. “I have needed you to live. I’ve always needed you so much, I never had a chance to think about whether we were good for each other or not.”Kieran sat up. “That is honest,” he said, finally. “I cannot fault you there.”

12. Cristina spread her hands apart in bewilderment, and winced. Mark’s expression turned to one of concern.“You’re not in pain?” he said.“No,” she said. “Are you?”“You’re near me,” he said. “There is no reason for me to hurt.”

13.  “I know.” Mark brushed his lips across her forehead. Cristina could feel his heart pounding. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll fix it.”

14.  Kieran sat up rather reluctantly. The waves of his hair had lightened to blue; he turned around, and leaned back against Mark, rather as if they were on horseback and Mark was behind.

15. Kieran shook his head. “I cannot do it,” he said.“Kier —“ Mark began angrily, but Kieran had his head down, like a beaten dog. His hair fell, sweat-tangled, into his face, and his shirt and the waist of his breeches were soaked in blood. “You’re bleeding again. I thought you said you were healing?”“I thought I was,” Kieran said softly. “Mark, leave me here —“A hand touched Mark’s shoulder. Cristina. She had put her knife away. She looked at him, levelly. “I’ll help you get him over the wall.”

16. “Not one of my best,” said Magnus, to Kieran. “I apologize — I’m not a big fan of your father’s.”“My father does not have fans.” Kieran leaned against the edge of the table. “He has subjects. And enemies.”“And sons.”“His sons are his enemies,” said Kieran, without inflection.

i. Kids playing hooky early morning, I am the pain relief pills they hide under their tongue and spit out under the couch cushions when their mother shuts the screen door. I am the first time you skin your knee, in the rain whispering nixie weaved revenge spells down your yellow coat and your red boots (the first time you really know you are alone). I am the hand stand on the sidewalk when your elbow buckles in like lame horses fall to the canyon mouth, you are just a child. You can fly, turn invisible, speak to animals, walk through walls. Rustling, do you hear it? Yanking the baby teeth from their pink beds.

ii. You crumble under the weight of a naked black sky, feeling something skittering on your skin. Something wicked and naive. Like a spider egg. You get a mouthful of broken teeth, and lay frying sunny side up on the summer asphalt.

iii. Tonight you’re gonna learn how to fall, then get back up again. Tonight you are gonna know what it is to be exhausted. Are you okay when you fall off your daydream and end up on your back? Your eyes are red where they used to be white.

iv. you have been chewing your will to live with the aching wisdom teeth you desperately need to get pulled. you have been softening it with your saliva, but it’s 11 pm, and it’s stale now, and it tangles into your rapunzel locks in your sleep and finally gives you an excuse to cut all your hair off.

v. Last week your dentist asked if anything was bothering you, and you almost told him about the small tooth you think is growing between your tricuspids, pushing everything out of place, sending you on the verge of sonic tears and crawling on the bathroom floor with no idea where your phone is, and something out of control, and poison, and odontalgia, and dysthymia, and forgetting the Latin roots, and ripped out pages of a book that was supposed to tell you how to get back home and. how long do you think I can hold my breath before I look like a blueberry, and it is, in me, and the throbbing red bump at the base of your sternum and how you tried to cut it off but you were too scared of what was underneath, and dandelion seeds of reasons why you should just stay here until somebody forgets you even showed up heaving out of your mouth and into a McDonalds bag, and the feeling at 13 in the bathroom stall after swim practice shaking like coffee on an empty stomach pulling out the first tampon you ever put inside, and your wet thighs, and the warm dirty smell.

Gargle, spit. You say no. Nothing really.

vi. you should get gold fillings. then all you have to do is flash a smile and no one will fuck with you.

vii. Four months until graduation we are not wasting time, but we eat it too fast and end up vomiting on the highway. On the swing, wood chip splinters, and agitation like termite fever beneath my skin. It’s not that I think the zombie apocalypse would be cool, but I could do all the things I do right now without getting sideways glances in the convenience store, or being told I’m depressed like it’s such a problem, or being treated like the splattered milk gallon on the dairy aisle linoleum. Everybody stepping back and maneuvering their shopping carts around the fresh disaster, and staring, and looking away, and ignoring what they don’t want to deal with. And not wanting the blame.

viii. I’m not depressed. It’s just winter.

ix. Is this the last weekend before the first blood? I’m not gonna do my homework anyway.

x. I’m not depressed. My brother took me into the car with the light fixture wires hanging from the ceiling like your wet hair from shower tiles. we zoomed down with Apollo laughing in the backseat and egged the big white houses in Beverly Hills and pretended like we were still the strawberry jam kids on concrete playing hopscotch, living in sandcastles, eating mudpies. Like we were not hotboxing, and taking pictures of half healed things under the band aid, and always ready to put our hands up when we hear sirens, and microwaving earthworms. And growing up too fast.

I’m not depressed. But I’m not coming back this time either.

xi. It’s a haunted Sunday in the home your parents left to rot, and the black mold spores bleeding down the buttermilk wallpaper are causing you to do unadvisable backbends. And somehow years later I am still the grocery list you are always throwing in the trash with the candy wrappers.

—  6. graduation cometh