#bird cannibalism is something.. LOLL

[visual-raven]

Nah even chickens love how they taste

Differences in taste

[sassyfrassboss]

Sirena, my little mermaid” (who is afraid of the ocean)

Yeah of course she calls her so called friend something with connotations of creatures, beasts, monsters, sexualisation, halfbreeds, murder etc.

When Serena has had genuine issues with people calling her a monster, inhumane, beast etc. due to her gender, race/ethnicity and body.

She really does hate Serena and calling her something when Serena apparently has a known fear of oceans and the sea is cruel

This is interesting too… Others connect the name to σειρά (seirá, "rope, cord") and εἴρω (eírō, "to tie, join, fasten"), resulting in the meaning "binder, entangler",[better source needed] i.e. one who binds or entangles through magic song. This could be connected to the famous scene of Odysseus being bound to the mast of his ship, in order to resist their song… basically saying that Serena lured and snared Alexis through bad means.

In early Greek art, the sirens were generally represented as large birds with women's heads, bird feathers and scaly feet. Later depictions shifted to show sirens with human upper bodies and bird legs, with or without wings. Sirens are often used as a synonym for mermaids, and portrayed with upper human bodies and fish tails.

And in the Anglo-Latin catalogue Liber Monstrorum (early 8th century AD), where it says that sirens were "sea-girls... with the body of a maiden, but have scaly fishes' tails.” However, the Fabulae of Hyginus (64 BC–17 AD) has Demeter cursing the sirens for failing to intervene in the abduction of Persephone. According to Hyginus, Sirens were fated to live only until the mortals who heard their songs were able to pass by them.

Hera, queen of the gods, persuaded the sirens to enter a singing contest with the Muses. The Muses won the competition and then plucked out all of the sirens' feathers and made crowns out of them. Out of their anguish from losing the competition, writes Stephanus of Byzantium, the sirens turned white and fell into the sea at Aptera ("featherless"), where they formed the islands in the bay that were called Leukai ("the white ones", modern Souda). Some post-Homeric authors state that the sirens were fated to die if someone heard their singing and escaped them, and that after Odysseus passed by they therefore flung themselves into the water and perished.

In his notebooks, Leonardo da Vinci wrote, "The siren sings so sweetly that she lulls the mariners to sleep; then she climbs upon the ships and kills the sleeping mariners."

Statues of sirens in a funerary context are attested since the classical era, in mainland Greece, as well as Asia Minor and Magna Graecia. The so-called "Siren of Canosa"—Canosa di Puglia is a site in Apulia that was part of Magna Graecia—was said to accompany the dead among grave goods in a burial.

Classical scholar Walter Copland Perry (1814–1911) observed: "Their song, though irresistibly sweet, was no less sad than sweet, and lapped both body and soul in a fatal lethargy, the forerunner of death and corruption."

The term "siren song" refers to an appeal that is hard to resist but that, if heeded, will lead to a bad conclusion. Later writers have implied that the sirens were cannibals, based on Circe's description of them "lolling there in their meadow, round them heaps of corpses rotting away, rags of skin shriveling on their bones."

By the fourth century, when pagan beliefs were overtaken by Christianity, the belief in literal sirens was discouraged. Although Saint Jerome, who produced the Latin Vulgate version of the bible, used the word sirens to translate Hebrew tannīm ("jackals") in the Book of Isaiah 13:22, and also to translate a word for "owls" in the Book of Jeremiah 50:39, this was explained by Ambrose to be a mere symbol or allegory for worldly temptations, and not an endorsement of the Greek myth.

They [the Greeks] imagine that "there were three sirens, part virgins, part birds," with wings and claws. "One of them sang, another played the flute, the third the lyre. They drew sailors, decoyed by song, to shipwreck. According to the truth, however, they were prostitutes who led travelers down to poverty and were said to impose shipwreck on them." They had wings and claws because Love flies and wounds. They are said to have stayed in the waves because a wave created Venus.

Italian poet Dante Alighieri depicts a siren in Canto 19 of Purgatorio, the second canticle of the Divine Comedy. Here, the pilgrim dreams of a female that is described as "stuttering, cross-eyed, and crooked on her feet, with stunted hands, and pallid in color." It is not until the pilgrim "gazes" upon her that she is turned desirable and is revealed by herself to be a siren

Damn girl! I should have hired you to write my college essays!

This again is one of the main issues I have with Meghan. She never thinks before she speaks.

[altarsburning]

sirens in greek mythology are made of flesh and feather, much like birds in some form. in other cultures, the words siren and mermaid have become somewhat interchangeable. 

the term "siren song" refers to an appeal that is hard to resist but that, if heeded, will lead to a bad conclusion. later writers have implied that the sirens were cannibals, based on circe's description of them "lolling there in their meadow, round them heaps of corpses rotting away, rags of skin shriveling on their bones." 

they are manic creatures like the sphinx with whom they have much in common, knowing both the past and the future. their song takes effect at midday, in a windless calm. the end of that song is death. that the sailors' flesh is rotting away, suggests it has not been eaten. it has been suggested that, with their feathers stolen, their divine nature kept them alive, but unable to provide food for their visitors, who starved to death by refusing to leave.

in his notebooks, leonardo da vinci wrote, "the siren sings so sweetly that she lulls the mariners to sleep; then she climbs upon the ships and kills the sleeping mariners." 

on this blog, mermaids are exactly what they are: mermaids. some are killers of men, some are not. just like humans, there are variations of who they are and how they behave. some have the ability to enchant humans with their voice, some don’t.

however, on this blog, sirens are creatures rare — they were once human, usually women, who were killed or murdered, and their remains dumped into the ocean as means of concealment of crime. their resurrections into something else entirely is a gift of the ocean — in maeve’s case, she was given the body of a shark and the power of it, as recompense for the manner in which she died. 

maeve was an irish girl who fell in love with a sailor, who smuggled her aboard his ship bound for home. when he realized too late that he could not afford a mistress and a wife, he strangled the girl one night aboard the ship when they were top side and alone. the last thing she saw was his face as his hands were around her neck, and  he dumped her body over the side. there was no one to mourn or miss her, as she sank into the black depths. the sea took pity on her, and brought her back to life as one of it’s own. the sea gave her the tail of a powerful shark, the webbed fingers to ease her through the waters, gills on her neck to breath, and teeth to rend and rip flesh. 

sirens are creatures who seek revenge. they use their songs to make the men on board ships fall asleep, or crash their vessels into rocks. some sirens are cannibalistic and will eat the men, and others just let their bodies rot on the rocks, or use them to feet sharks and fish in the oceans. they want to take out their pain on the men who wronged them. in a way, they are not that much different from the banshees who exist on land. 

maeve is a siren, not a mermaid. she may or may not kill those she comes across. she cannot exist on land, she does not have human legs, nor the abilitiy to produce them, without the help of strong magic. 

[maidenoftime-ffxiv]

.|the rumor mill

“Adventurers, Hunters, Trappers - Beware! White Witch of the Forest Stealing Denizens Away!”

 “It has come to the attention of us at the Shroudling Post the rumors which surround a certain creature living at the edge of the Sylphlands. Of course, many of our readers and residents of the Black Shroud and Gridania alike have likely heard such rumors before, but with the sudden influx of new adventurers venturing out into the forest, we view it as our duty to provide fresh warnings against the dangers within.

 There have been several reports of a creature that takes the shape of a young Elezen woman - no older than her late teens or early twenties - with long auburn hair and glowing white skin luring lost men and women towards a ramshackle cottage via the use of song. Through interviews with family members and investigation, it has come to our attention that these people have never been seen again. Please take extreme caution if venturing out towards the Sylphlands and consider plugging one’s ears with cotton to avoid the forest siren’s song. 

 “Though we have no firm evidence that she uses these people to cook with--”

“...it is believed that is one such use the creature has for lost adventurers, according to Eastern mythology. Gods, do people actually believe this rubbish?”

 Juliette scoffed as she held the newspaper above her face, legs and head dangling out of a hammock strung up between two mossy trees. She popped up into a sitting position and looked to the fawn grazing at grass, slowly blinking its big brown eyes at the huffing young woman.

 “It’s as if these people have never heard of hermits before,” she told the fawn, shaking the newspaper a little before casting a glance down at it. “...Don’t tell Uncle I have this. He’ll be livid if he found out I’m reading their rumors again.” 

 The girl sprung lightly to her bare feet, toes sinking into the soft, cool earth. Long skirts brushed against her ankles as she moved to one of the trees that held her hammock and nestled the newspaper within a small hole in the side of the bark, where she had hidden the rest of her contraband articles. A squirrel sitting atop the pile peered at her as she did, chomping on an acorn and watching the Elezen girl.

 “Don’t look at me like that,” Juliette sighed. “Just keep them safe for me for now, okay? If anything happens to me, this is all evidence that the people of the Twelveswood did it. Superstitions... Ridiculous.” 

 “Juliette!”

 A man’s voice boomed out through the trees, always loud and carrying. The young woman turned on a heel and hurriedly grabbed her shawl from the hammock, tying it tight around her shoulders. The little cottage was in sight, of course - it was rare for her to be allowed to leave its sight. As she trotted back towards it, she wove her way to the side to see the Ishgardian knight wiping his brow and holding an axe, a pile of freshly chopped wood to the side. It was cold that evening, so much so that one could see their own breath in the air.

 “Ah. There you are. Grandmother is looking for you. Did you gather the mushrooms she asked you to get for dinner?”

 “The mushrooms,” Juliette repeated blankly. 

Raphael sighed and put his axe into the stump he used to chop the wood, peeling off his gloves as he gave the girl a flat, tired look.

“Right! Yes. Yes, of course. The mushrooms! I have them. Of course I do.”

 Reaching down, she stretched out the pockets of her dress for him to peer inside, beaming. The man glanced down and couldn’t help but to laugh a little at the overflow of brown mushrooms she had stuffed within. Juliette patted her pockets lightly and nodded firmly.

 “You are a vexing little fae at times,” he told her affectionately, reaching down to ruffle up her hair. “Hurry along, then. And wash your feet in the basin outside before you go in! They’re black with dirt!”

 “’Tis but the color of my soul!” the girl howled, cackling as she ran into the house, leaving the man shaking his head at her and smiling despite himself.

 “...She reads too much. Silly little mustard seed.”

 “Grandmother!” Juliette called as she ventured within the cottage. 

 Overhead hung all manner of herbs and flora to dry them, and the room was warm with the fireplace roaring and the scent of cooking. The old wooden floors creaked as they were walked upon, and a variety of strange and charming knick knacks alike lined shelves and sat upon windowsills and tables. One wall of the main room was entirely devoted to books, from floor to ceiling, some spilling out onto the old but tidy carpet and piled upon the arms of chairs with the stuffing starting to come out of the upholstery. 

 Juliette wove her way through the familiar clutter and padded her way to the kitchen, where pots were boiling upon the stove and spoons were stirring themselves within. A little frog stood on two legs wearing a red hat, holding open a large cookbook for the little old woman in front of a cauldron that was being lit from beneath, the flames moving in time with the idle movements of the wand in her wizened little hand. 

 “There you are, child. You found the mushrooms, I trust?”

 Grandmother Andete peered at Juliette over a pair of half-moon spectacles, sharp green eyes observing the Elezen girl dancing into her kitchen. Her long white hair was pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, rings and bracelets jingling and adorning her hands and wrists. Her long dress, made of silk, nearly resembled a nightdress in its style, and the Moogle slippers upon her feet did not help the old woman’s case. 

 “Of course,” came the reply, punctuated with a kiss upon the woman’s cheek. “There’s even more there this time of year than there was last. The elementals must be pleased about something.” 

 “Likely the fact that this area isn’t being bothered by troublesome people looking to be heroes. I’m assuming you saw the article in the newspaper this morning,” Andete added, raising her eyebrows as she watched the girl chopping up the mushrooms, the latter offering a quiet huff. 

 “They’re all too superstitious for their own good. I can’t even sing by the riverbanks without being accused of being a cannibal. It’s very tiring, Grandmother. What’s so odd about us? Why must I stay here all of the time?”

 “That is a discussion to have between you and your Uncle,” the old woman replied, tutting lightly as she squinted down at the book. “Ah. I’ve used the wrong root. That’s alright... It’ll just be a bit spicy. Hop along, now,” she added, nodding to the frog. He bowed and closed the book before doing as he was told. 

 “Well, now! Doesn’t this all smell delicious?”

 Raphael had come into the cottage after washing up at the basin, a big smile on his lips. He was a handsome man in his mid forties, in a rugged sort of way. His complexion was fair and ruddy, a complement to his dark red hair and bright green eyes. He towered at 6′5″, tall for a Midlander, so much so that he was often confused for a Highlander instead. The man was muscularly built, with a hand as big as Juliette’s face. It was a wonder how he had been born to the tiny Andete, a woman now no taller than four fulms and eleven ilms. 

 “It’ll be ready soon--” Juliette started cheerfully, but she was cut off, gasping at the sudden crack of sharp, searing pain through her head. Her knees buckled, and she grabbed at the counter to no avail. She was falling backwards, but was swiftly caught by the man she called Uncle, his eyes big and concerned.

“Juliette? Lettie? What is it? Is it another--”

 Her eyes had opened, but they were no longer the familiar shade of gray. They had turned to nothing other than pure white, misting silver at either side. The man looked frantically up at his mother, who waved a hand and let the cauldron’s fire burn on its own. 

 “Take her and lay her out upon the couch. It is alright, Raphael -- a minor episode. She’s alright. She’ll come back to us soon. You know the signs of something much bigger,” Andete said, hobbling after the man as he carried the girl out to the sitting room and gingerly placed her upon the bright turquoise couch. Andete reached around him to put a blanket over the girl’s still form, auburn hair over the same shoulder her head was lolling against. 

 “They’re becoming more and more common,” the man said softly, staring down at Juliette. “It’s never been this bad, mother...”

 “We will figure it out. For now, give her a few minutes. She’ll be back to normal shortly. Come-- you needn’t hover. It’s best to give her space in this state. She’ll call for us when she wakes back up.” 

Thunder cracked angrily overhead. Juliette found herself standing in the middle of an unfamiliar forest clearing. Rain was falling heavily, drenching her down to the bone and soaking her hair, but she couldn’t seem to move. Only her head would turn, and her chest felt tight. Something was wrong. Voices were swirling around her, footsteps accompanying them until she could see the group of people walking up the forest path. 

 They were travelers, clearly, with wagons pulled by chocobo loaded with possessions and people alike. Tambourines jingled, lutes played, songs were sung as the group moved by, apparently unable to see the Elezen girl standing stock still in the middle of the pouring rain. At the head of the group was a dark-haired man smoking a pipe, sitting atop his caravan being pulled by a massive yellow bird. Just as he turned his head to address someone within the wagon, an arrow went whizzing past his ear. The tip buried itself into the covering of the wagon, and immediately the cloth burst into flame. 

 Screams replaced song as yet more flaming arrows came to pass and land upon the wagons, setting them ablaze. Juliette tried to cry out, to no avail, and was instead forced to watch the group being attacked. Wild cries had come from the trees, and Keeper after Keeper descended upon the travelers, drawing weapons and chanting spells. Sharp teeth were bared as children wailed, daggers glinting in the faint glow of the moonlight nearly covered completely by heavy, thick rain clouds. A particularly large female Keeper had jumped at the man who had been leading the group, a knife raised above her head--

And then Juliette was being torn from the vision, hurtling back through time at a pace that made her feel as though she was going to be ill. Eyes snapped open, and she found herself panting, staring up at the ceiling with her fingers twitching. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest, and she was acutely aware of a fine layer of perspiration that had settled over her brow. 

  “What... no...” she mumbled weakly. “No... what happened? Where...” 

 Consciousness did not last long. The girl was soon passed out once more, though not to see a vision this time; it was simply exhaustion from traveling to wherever she had just been sent. Uneasy rest came, with Raphael pacing in and out of the sitting room every ten minutes to ensure the girl was alright. 

 I don’t want these anymore, she thought in her semi-conscious state. No more.