#surly wench

[bakedbakermom]

here's a blast from the fandom past. anyone else remember "keeper lists"? like pretty much everything, it started in the x-files fandom, and it was essentially calling virtual dibs on a scene, line, or... whatever. there was a list maintained on the official x-files forum (back when every show had its own full site including a forum for fan discussion). totally fan-run. it was part of your "sig" or signature.

for example, i was the proud keeper of the bodies under the floorboards from How the Ghosts Stole Christmas. others were things like "mulder's pretty eyelashes" or "the chip in scully's neck" or "krycek's leather jacket."

i wonder if there's an archive of that list somewhere.

from fanlore:

A lot of people have posted on the X-Files MB asking "What is a Keeper?" Well, Keepership is about Virtual Ownership. Let's say you really loved the episode Tunguska, especially the way Mulder kept beating on Krycek. So you think to yourself, "I just loved the way Mulder beat on that rat b*stard, Krycek, throughout the episode. I wish there was some way to express that every time I post on the MB without being a pest about it or getting really effusive." A Keepership allows you to do just that. If you become a Keeper, you can add to your signature: "Keeper of ......" I'm sure you've seen lines of text following someone's sig that read something like, "Keeper of: Mulder's cell phone, Scully's tattoo and Krycek's sexy gaze." Or "Keeper of Mulder & Scully's silent exchanges" or "Skinner's Surliness." It's that simple, and yet it conveys so much. It tells everyone just what you love about the X-Files or its characters; it tells something about you - your personality or your sense of humor; and lastly it shows your pride in being connected to the show, if only virtually. Anyone can be a Keeper - Keeperships transcend gender or race, religion or nationality. In fact, JellyMulder and I, amokeh, are the perfect example of how disparate two Keepers can be: JellyMulder is a teenager from England and an intellifinishipper while I am a 30-something American, devoted Wench to the SPG and a Noromo. Cool, huh? So it doesn't matter what your background is. Keeperships are for everyone.

(there are days i weep for the old delphi forum guys)

[astoryisaloveaffair]

My Mercenary Bold - Part 2: Off the Deep End

Pairing: Pero Tovar x Mermaid!Fem!Reader

*race and weight inclusive, see moodboard <3*

Read on A03

Spotify Playlist

Chapter Summary: Pero decides if he should try to see you again, damn the consequences

Word Count: 6,500K

Rating: Explicit, 18+

*If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature and explicit themes and kinks. Additionally, you understand and acknowledge warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story*

Chapter Warnings: scary, mentions of mermaids eating people, blood, cussing, SPOOKY & CREEPY, fingering, teratophilia (monster fucking)

A/N: I rise from the dead for five seconds to post this update! Finally! I’m gonna be honest, this only got done because 3/4 was already written before I went AWOL. I’m going on vacation and hopefully reset. No beta, we live and die like Oberyn Martell <3 M.

Suggested Song: “Shallow” cover by Fleurie & Tommee Profitt

*mermaid credits: Mermaid Skye

The next morning Pero woke early, calling for a maid to bring him a bucket of water and a mirror so he could finally shave. He used his dagger despite protestation from the maid, a buxom wench that easily would have pleased him in the past. He had no interest in her now. 

After bringing a bucket for William to do the same, the two head up the steep hills of Positano in the direction of the Franzese Winery, the potential job they were told of in the pub the previous evening.

The main house was set up on the crest of the hill, overlooking the sea and the town below. A long, tiring dirt road leading up to a moderately sized house, surrounded by a remarkable amount of acres of grape vines. Set off to the side of the main house were three more smaller buildings, presumably where the storage and cellars were.  

Pero and Will made their way to the front of the main house, pausing when they saw an older looking woman walking through one of the closest plots, periodically checking plants as she went. They wait patiently so as not to scare her, it would not do to frighten a woman alone, and she notices them as she ambles closer.

“Buongiorno!” [Hello!] She sang, a hand raised and a brilliant smile on her face. She was a handsome woman with a beautiful voice, hearty and round with long white hair braided into a sloppy crown on her head covered by an ill-fitting bonnet, sparkling eyes that reminded Pero of the ocean and a healthy blush on her cheeks from the sun. “What can I do for you, good sirs?”

Will steps forward, knowing never to trust Tovar and his surly attitude to make a good first impression. “Good day. My friend and I have unfortunately landed far astray from where we intended to travel, and we are out of coin for the remaining journey. We asked around town, someone in the pub suggested we come up here. He said you might have some work?”

She smirks, rolling back on her heels as she crosses her sun-tanned arms. Then, she calls out a name, so loud and bellowing that it startles Will. “Denis!” She looks back at the pair of men. “I am calling my brother, he will want to meet you before we decide.”

Will hears Pero grumbling behind him and turns abruptly to glare just as a thin older man wanders around from the back of the house. 

“Denis, these men were inquiring about work.” She clues him in, the two of them looking Will and Pero conspiratorially. 

“Where are you from?”

Will takes the lead once again. “I am from Ireland, and my friend here is from Spain. We are mercenaries for hire, and we had journeyed far East and are trying to make our way home. We set sail to Naples but there was a storm and our ship wrecked. We came ashore here.”

“Very lucky you did not die. Many have died in that sea.” Lady Franzese says. She did not sound surprised at all to Pero, and he found that odd “Were there no other survivors?”

Will shook his head. 

“You must be very strong to have found your way to shore. A blessing from God, surely.” Says Mr. Franzese.

“We had help.” 

Everyone’s eyes snapped to Pero, who had been so quiet until now. Will glares at him again. 

“I am sorry, my friend got his head knocked a bit and is still confused on what happened. We are very lucky to have survived. We are still trying to make it to Naples and then back home, but we no longer have the money to do so. It is doubtful anyone needs our help fighting their enemies, but this is work we are surely capable of doing. We are strong and used to hard work, little sleep, and we keep to ourselves. I assure you, you will not be sorry.”

The older brother and sister whisper to each other, then invite WIll and Pero to get acquainted with the property while they decide. 

The farm is beautiful, and Will takes his time taking in every single part of it, but Pero only settles himself on the crest of the hill, looking in the direction of the cove where he met you. He can’t stop thinking about you, even after last night’s dream, his mind comes back to you no matter how hard he tries to push it away.

He’s not an idiot. He’s heard tales of sirens and mermaids, all beautiful creatures capable of hypnotizing an unassuming man and dragging him to his doom. That certainly was true of the creature in his dream. But he did not feel the same way about you.

You had been scared of him. You’d had plenty of time that you could have put him in a spell, it would have been so easy. But you didn’t. You had sat with him and simply looked upon his face, allowing him to touch your hand. All the power and fear you could instill was not shown until you felt threatened, and instead of attacking, you fled. He was a warrior, he knew what a defensive action was and what wasn’t.

But he was still unsure. He remembers how you cupped his face, how you began humming to him and it made him feel a little fuzzy. Not out of control, but more relaxed. You’d closed your eyes and moved closer to him and…it felt like…maybe you were going to kiss him. His heart is hammering in his chest so hard that when he hears his name he jumps and almost rolls down the hill. He turns to Will with a glare. 

“Sorry. I didn’t realize you were…lost in your thoughts. Come. They’re going to take us on. They want to show us around.”

Their quarters are attached to the back of the cellar, it was a cozy but clean room with two beds on opposite walls, both filled with sweet smelling hay. It would do for the time they would be here, and the Franzeses leave the two mercenaries alone to get settled before supper. 

A heavier sleeper than Pero, William takes the bed furthest from the door, as usual, and Pero settles himself onto the bed nearest to it, ripping his boots off with a sigh and stashing the last weapons he had under the mattress and his dagger under his pillow.

The meal was even more delicious than the pub, another strong bowl of seafood stew but with fresh bread and the best wine Pero has ever drank. Spending time with the brother and sister is more pleasant than Pero thought it would be. They are a jovial pair with a brusque manner and plenty of stories to tell from their long lives, intrigued about his and William’s story without being nosy, and Pero is surprised to find himself enjoying their company and slipping into a state of ease. They talk late into the night, and Pero is pleasantly drunk when he collapses into bed. He can’t remember the last time he felt comfortable enough to do so.

The next morning he wakes with William bright and early, settling themselves on the stone fence before the main house for direction. He might be gruff and quiet, but Pero was always punctual, and when he intended to do something he committed himself completely. They spent the morning following around Denis as he tended to the fields, showing them the methods they used to nurture, weed, nourish, and harvest the vines. It became clear how the pair could need help, the amount of fields they had to do alone was overwhelming. Pero couldn’t imagine the two of them having to do this alone. He asks about it during lunch, launching Marena into a detailed outline of how they rotate which field is worked on which day, and how now that they were here it would be worked in the future.

After lunch, Marena brings the two men into one of the buildings they had noticed the day before, which ends up being the fermentation cellar. She shows them the different areas for freshly picked but not sorted grapes, then picked and sorted, as well as several massive barrels filled with grapes for crushing, some for red and some for white. The men spent the rest of the day here, learning what to look for when sorting the fruit and the best way to extract the juice (by foot!). That was Pero’s favorite part.

From there, William and Pero were shown the fermentation, clarification, and bottling processes, ending the day in the storage cellar used for aging the final product before selling. Early evening was left for their own devices, and they were given the option to join for supper or see to themselves. They chose to dine with the siblings. The food Marena made was too good to pass up, and the company was excellent. 

But after supper, once again, Pero found himself at the crest of the hill, his eyes gazing longingly in the direction of your hidden cave lagoon.

The next week settles the two men into their new routine, waking with the sun to tend to whichever field was next in rotation, followed by assisting Denis and Marena in bottling preparations. They each found what they enjoyed or were good at, and Will was happy to leave Pero to stomp on grapes to his heart's content while he helped ferment the results. Occasionally they would go down to the village in the evenings, together or separate, but most of the time they continued dining with the Franzeses. They went to bed every night exhausted and sore, but content and feeling fulfilled.

They learned much of the older siblings, born of a French father who had found himself in the village by chance and ended up staying when he fell for a local, a beautiful woman who loved the sea and couldn’t bear to be taken away from it. So he stayed for her, building a business and raising their children together. Pero noticed that Will had seemed very taken with the story.

And every single night, Pero would perch on his lookout until it was so dark he couldn’t see anything, let alone a hint of you in the ocean from so far away. William learned to leave him alone and not ask questions as Pero preferred to not speak about it.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was a yearning he’d never felt so strongly, incomparable to the pull of a favored whore or willing bedmate he’d had on the road. He felt like his chest was collapsing in on itself more as each day passed without seeing you again.

He made it two weeks. Two weeks until he made a great show about how tired he was, waiting patiently for Will’s heavy snores and the lights of the main house to be blown out before getting up once more and creeping into the yard. He paused near the stone gate, turning back to make sure no one had heard or seen him.

He’s surprised at how easy it is to find his way back towards the cave. The stars are bright, his lantern is steady, and the moon is three quarters full, but the night’s still dark. Yet it seems like his feet just know where to go. 

He takes extra care as he enters the switchback path that leads down to the cliff edge he’d almost fallen from before, holding his lantern arm straight in front of him for balance, other hand gripping the dirt and rock of the hill as he shimmies along. The sound of the soft waves below him tells him what would happen should he misstep.

He stumbles at the end, his heart almost flying out of his mouth as he trips over some rubble and dives forward, thankfully landing on the grass of the cliff's edge. He curses, gathering his wits back and righting his lantern before entering the cave.

The going is slow, he can’t see anything, and there is no moonglow or star shine to even light a bit of his way. He’s more careful than before, reaching his foot out farther than his normal gait at every step to see if there’s any rocks or boulders in the way to trip on. After what feels like hours, he finally sees the soft and barely visible glow of blue from deeper in the cavern.

He hopes it’s you.

In excitement he trips and stumbles once again, his free hand flinging out against the walls of the cavern to catch himself so he doesn’t bash his brains out upon the rock floor, but his grip on one side lands awkwardly. His palm slides forward against something sharp and he feels a piercing burn as his palm slices open on the wall. 

When he gains his footing he kneels, holding the lantern against his palm. His hand is bleeding profusely, but the cut is not too deep. He quickly slices a piece of his undertunic and ties it tight to staunch the flow, only looking back up to the pool when he’s done.

You aren’t there. The blue-ish glow was from the water itself and the moon shining in from the cracks in the ceiling above. Pero sighs in disappointment, crawling forward towards the edge of the water, lifting his lantern out to try and see if you’re hiding behind something.

“Sirena?” He whispers into the dark. But the only noise he hears is the barely audible sound of the ocean water meeting the rocks. He pauses, realizing if you did come and he was wrong about you, he would be defenseless. He sets the lantern down on the ground beside his leg, pulling his dagger out with his dominant hand.

He waits for a long time, softly calling, wishing for you in the case you were telepathic and could hear him from where you were. Just before he’s about to give up and go back to the winery, something urges him to reach out his hand, slipping it into the cool water as if he could summon you to his palm.

He immediately regrets it, forgetting about the cut on his hand and the salty ocean water stings like a thousand little knives all over the surface of his skin. But before he can withdraw, a scaled hand with sharp, pointed nails bursts out of the water and grabs his wrist. He gasps, falling back on his arse as he tries to force the mystery hand to release him. He can feel the water and blood dripping down his wrist and onto the hand, the salt water having cleaned the injury and re-opening it, and he panics when he realizes he’s probably about to be eaten.

The hand does let go, and he scoots backwards as two hands emerge from the water and grasp the rocks, heaving you up and onto the rock floor. 

He recognizes you instantly and moves towards you. “Sirena!”

You hiss softly, grabbing his wrist and pulling him close, his nose almost bumps into yours and he can see the translucent glitter of your skin sparkling in the moonlight. You push him back and pull his bloody hand in front of his face. “You go!” Your eyes are wide and look like the night sky and he doesn’t understand. 

“Sirena, I-” You shake your head, dropping his hand and pushing him back forcefully on the chest. “What are–”

“We EAT. They EAT!” You point again to his hand, and then back to the water. “YOU LEAVE! Be SAFE!” You look absolutely terrified, and as you grimace he sees the flash of your long pointed teeth. And it clicks. 

Those are the teeth of creatures that eat meat. Ripping, tearing, shredding. 

There’s more mermaids. They’re hunters. And he just put his bloody palm in the water.

“Fuck.” He scrambles up, snatching his dagger and lantern as he backs out of the cave. Before he leaves, he whispers to you. “Sirena, what of you?”

Your blue lips tremble. “You leave. You safe. Go!” With that, you leap back into the pool with a massive splash, turning quickly and putting your hands over where your ears should be. You pat them repeatedly. He doesn’t understand what you’re saying. “No.” You pat your ears several times again and repeat yourself. “No. Okay?”

Your attention is pulled away from him, and you look back towards the water with concern, disappearing from view without another word. Pero turns to run out of the cavern, miraculously not falling at all the entire way out to the cliffside.

He skids to a halt, placing his lantern on the ground haphazardly as he leans over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. His heart is racing and he kneels, trying to beat the vertigo coursing through his system. When the swirling stops, he lowers himself fully to the ground on his belly, shuffling forward to be able to look over the cliffside into the dark ocean crashing against the edge below him. He hopes to see you, and for a moment his heart soars as he sees the soft glow of multiple blue lights shining from beneath the surface. But…the lights are coming from the wrong way, and then there are more, and more, and even more beyond that so it looks like the whole ocean is lit up. There were too many lights for just you.

“Mierda…” He whispers to himself, pushing himself away from the edge as they came closer faster than he ever could have imagined, rolling to his feet and grabbing his lantern to traverse the little path, shimmying the same way back as he came. 

And then he heard it.

[the mermaid’s song]

At first it sounded like a woman sighing in the breeze, cresting into a chorus of song so haunting it sent shivers up Pero’s spine. There were no words, just a trilling harmony that grew so loud Pero would be shocked if the village hadn’t heard it, so loud his head was buzzing and he couldn’t hear anything else but the beauty of it. He halts in his steps, closing his eyes as he grows confused and his nerves start tingling.

It builds quickly, a swelling of euphoria from the tips of his fingers and toes shooting through his nerves and veins until they slam into his chest. His knees almost buckle and he instantly becomes hard as the cliff he’s clinging to, a long whine releasing from his lips as he is overwhelmed with such a need, he can’t think about anything other than relieving it.

He presses his back to the cliff, his feet sliding forward slightly on the thin path but he doesn’t even notice as he reaches down to take himself in hand, squeezing and pulling at the throbbing bulge there. He’s about to rip his laces apart and shove his pants down when he hears the soft call, slightly familiar, sweeter than honey. 

It’s unintelligible but not, calling his name, but he can’t actually hear his name called. Regardless, his feet move of his own accord, he couldn’t stop them even if he tried. He pushes himself off the cliff wall and turns, intending to head back the way he came, back to the beautiful woman calling for him, who needs him so desperately he won’t even consider denying her.

He walks right off the side of the cliff in a haze, barely missing jutting rock pieces that could have impaled him, and he doesn’t even feel the chill of the water when he drops into it. He turns to swim towards his woman, only going a few feet when out of the shadows of the murky water, a blob forms, coming fast and close. At the last moment, it swerves and whizzes past him, but grabs him by the arm and yanks him behind it. He’s so out of it he can’t even feel the pain of his shoulder almost dislocating.

He struggles, it is the complete opposite way he wants to go! He has to follow the sounds, he has to be together with the one calling his name. But the creature holding him is too strong, it tugs him down and around the cliff face, aiming straight for the shore of Positano. It hugs the cliffside, using the overhang above to keep to the shadows as it approaches the shore without slowing down at all. The inertia carries it through with the aid of a wave, flinging it forward as it beaches itself further up in the sand. 

It pulls Pero up to sit and grabs his face with slimy hands, forcing him to look at it. He can’t register it, can’t even process what he’s seeing before him because the voice calling him is so fucking loud it actually is painful. He winces in pain, folding in on himself because it feels like his head might explode. He’s so cold, violently shaking, but not from the ocean. It makes him almost cry out, but the slimy hand clamps itself over his mouth.

“No.” A voice hisses. “SHHhh!”

He can’t recognize it’s you, can’t realize what he’s doing at all. You flip him onto his back as the ocean crashes against your tail, pinning him to the ground as he struggles.

“Man. No. Shhh.” You coo but it doesn’t work, even though the sounds of your sisters are fading away. His trembling intensifies and you sigh, knowing you have no choice. You tilt your head down pressing your cheek to his as you sing as soft as you can right into his ear. He soothes immediately and shifts his focus to you with wild eyes, his arms wrapping around you and touching you everywhere, large cold hands up your sides, to the sides of your breasts. You can feel how he is reacting to you.

You sing to him until your sisters are gone, holding him close as he mindlessly kneads your chest and licking and nipping at your breasts. When you end your song it doesn’t take long for him to recover, the tension in his body releases against you, his eyelids lower in a more natural position, his heart rate slowing. You stay with him until he finally notices you, your tail flipping absently in the surf.

“Sirena?”

You hum, looking back down into his eyes as you lay beside him. He looks different, the blackness around his mouth is gone revealing white skin from chill. You find that you like how he looks without it. 

You sit up, releasing him to cover your pointed ears with both hands, patting your ears several times for emphasis, staring at him with wide eyes. You point to the ocean, remaining patient as you try to communicate with him. 

“Cover your ears.” He whispers beside you, and you can tell he understands now, the dawning on his expression barely visible in the dark. “Sirena…you save me again.” He touches your arm hesitantly, then cups it with his palm and slides down to your hand which he grasps inside his own. “Thank you.”

You don’t know what he’s saying but you feel it, and he scoots forward in the wet sand to get close to you once again. He slowly reaches to take your chin between his fingers and meet his eyes. 

He finally has the chance to see you up close, take you in as long as he wants. You were eerie, yes, but he also found you to be the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen, land or sea. Wide eyes with an odd shaped pupil, jutting cheekbones and the longest eyelashes he’d ever seen.

The spell breaks and you jerk your head out of his hand, rolling to pull yourself back to the ocean.“No no, please, let me.” And then you are up in his arms, your own naturally falling around his neck. You softly thread your long pointed fingernails through his salty hair. Your tail trails on the ground as he takes you down the wet sand and wades into the water until it’s at his hips, but he just can’t let go of you yet. “Sirena…I…I wish to see you again. I do no want to say goodbye.” His arms tighten and you press your cheek to his chest. 

After several bittersweet moments he finally releases you with a sigh. You plop back into the water with a splash. He laughs, and he looks so beautiful to you, the way that smile lights up his face. You want to see it more. You point in the direction of the cave. “You go.”

“Go…go…again? Go back to that place, si?”

You tilt your head, pointing once more. “Go.”

He cups your face. “Bueno, Sirena. Till next time.” He pulls away, and you take one more look at him before diving under the next wave and disappearing.

He doesn’t realize until you’re gone that he has no idea how to call for you.

Sopping wet, Pero walks in silence down the main street of town, turning away from the cobblestones and onto the dirt road that leads farther up the hillside to more homes, less wealthy merchants, and farms. Everything at the winery had remained as it was when he left, no one had noticed his absence.

He sighs, heading to his own quarters and slides through the door quietly, immediately pulling off his drenched tunic and breeches and reaching for a new one that the Franzese’s had loaned him. He crawls into bed with a groan, already feeling the soreness from his ordeal spreading across his muscles.

Up in the main house, Marena turns from the darkened window and slides back into bed with a smile on her face.

The next day can’t go by fast enough for Pero. He finds himself having to pause and try to calm himself multiple times during his work to keep from rushing through and making mistakes. He barely comprehends what he’s doing and the moment everyone has gone to bed, he throws the quilt off him and all but races to your cave.

But when he gets there, he has no idea what to do. How does he summon a mermaid? And not any mermaid, just you? He racks his brain for stories and legends he may have heard throughout his life for some means to call you to him, but he recalls nothing, and he finally opts to just sit on the rocky floor and wait for you. He’ll wait all night if he has to.

After about an hour, his back is tired and his muscles are sore. He’s not a patient man and he feels himself growing frustrated. But he won’t give up waiting. You said you’d be here. Pero pulls a knee up to his chest, resting his cheek against his knee while he waits, drifting in and out of sleep. 

A soft bubbling rouses him, but when he looks up he sees nothing, no disturbance in the water, and he can only see about a foot down into the dark depths. But he hears the sound again, so he leans over the water, praying for that beautiful blue glow from your fins.

Suddenly, something explodes out of the water and before he knows it, two arms are wrapping around his chest as he is yanked back down as it sinks underwater again. It doesn’t let go, he is held tight with such strength he doesn’t even need to tread water, and a tinkling giggle sounds in his ear as you push him back from you to look into his face. 

His surly expression immediately breaks, a wide smile and a huff of laughter as he recognizes you. “Sirena!”

You grin back at him, sharp teeth shining with the small amount of light, a soft bubbling coo escaping your lips as you pull him to you again, hugging him close. Pero sighs, an arm cautiously moving to grasp your waist so as not to touch your spiny fins, the other hand cupping the back of your wet hair as he folds you into him. 

“Are you well, mi ángel?” He whispers. He’s already growing cold, he’s only in breeches and his night tunic after all, but he ignores the shivers as he rests his chin on top of your wet hair. His chin rests on something hard and he pulls back, fingering his wet hands through your hair to see that you have tiny little shells and twining wrapped in the braids of your hair.

When he meets your eyes again you’re staring at him with an overeager expression that he finds adorable and sweet. Nothing like the monster in his dream. He opens his mouth to speak to you once more, but stutters as a strong shiver runs from his head to his toes and fingers. “Fuck, Sirena.” He pulls away from you and he sees your face fall as he turns around and heaves himself back up onto the rocks, yanking his sopping wet shirt off and laying it out on the rocks to dry. He motions for you to come join him. 

You pull yourself up shyly, he thinks maybe you are hesitant to stray too far from the edge, so instead he moves back to you. “You need not fear me, Sirena. I would not hurt you.”

But that’s not it at all. He was…you don’t know, you’d never felt this way before looking at someone, a pinching in your chest and a warmth growing near your sex at the sight of his broad form. Rivulets of water drip across the skin and you suddenly feel the desire to want to lick them up and off of him.

Instead, your hand darts out to him, fingers spread, but you pull back when he startles away from you. You consider for a moment singing to him once again, calm him down so you can touch him, even kiss him, but before you push that thought aside his large hand encompasses your wrist, fingers carefully avoiding your sharp arm fins. He tugs your hand back slowly and places it palm flat on his chest. “It is okay, Sirena, you can touch me here.”

You close your eyes and hum, sensing the hearty blood running through his veins, the heartbeat quickening under your scaled hand the only indication he feels any fear at all. It is a lot for him to give you trust, you can sense it immediately. His torso is riddled with scars and circular wounds that have long since healed, similar to the best warriors of your own pod. He was a fighter as well. You trail your fingers from his chest up, following the path of a very large and wide scar rounding over his shoulder to his back, leaving his skin only momentarily before you inspect the scar over his eye. You touch it too, oh so gently, you know your hands and arms are weapons and you don’t wish to startle him. He sighs and closes his eyes at your touch. You run your fingernails through his beard stubble as you take them away from him. You wish you could touch him forever, be adjoined to him always.

But it was impossible. You look down abruptly, trying to stave off the tears burning under your eyelids, but a rough finger pad taps you under the chin, forcing you to meet his eyes once more. 

“Do no be shy, Sirena. You are beautiful.” He reaches out then, mimicking what you did to him so you would understand, careful not to align his hand with your chest. It takes everything in him not to constantly stare at the water running down them, how hard your nipples always are. You were not a whore, it was not right to stare, and for some reason Pero suddenly gave a fuck about that.

He meets your eyes instead. “Can I touch you, mi hermosa criatura?” You simply stare, and he tries to communicate with his eyes his good intentions as he takes your hand in his, turning it so it is palm down in his own. 

Your hand is slightly slimy, scales merging with skin around your wrist and up your arm surrounding your arm fins. The color is impossible to determine, they look like pure opal, able to reflect any color under the sun. They glimmer in the light too, and he slides his thumb over them to feel the texture. They are sharp, but don’t cut him and he continues up your arm to your wrist fins, knowing the spines are capable of being so much longer than they are now.

Pero holds your arm up close to his face to inspect it, an iridescent membrane supported by six spines in an arc when he spreads the fin gently. It reminded him of a ship’s sail, it could be open or closed, used to swim or protect. 

“Quite impressive weapons, Sirena.” He chuckles, letting your arm go. Your eyes are sparkling with mirth and he can see those sharp teeth through your grin. He crosses his arms in an X in front of his chest. “Come, let me see. Let them out.”

You tilt your head and he carries on, mimicking slashing something up until you giggle and push his arms down. He takes your hands in his, holding them in his lap as your fins lift and expand, growing longer the spines are almost a hand long instead of half of one. 

“Que bonita.” He admires. “Now, let me see the back.”

He motions for you to turn around and you do, a shiver running down your flesh as he fingers and caresses a similar but much larger dorsal fin on your back. Finally satisfied again, he turns you back in front of him and cups your shoulders, fingers sliding across shimmering scales.

“Eres magnifico…may I see your lights Sirena…I have dreamed of them most nights since I first saw you.” He motions with his hands once again, it takes a few moments to understand him but once you do you close your eyes, pushing the energy out so the ends of your appendages, pectoral fins, and several more protective spines all the way down to your massive tail fins swirling around in the water.

Pero’s face lights up with the blue glow bathing the entire cavern, completely swallowing the warm light of his small lantern and  you can’t help but smile with him as he instructs you to let him hold your entire tail in his lap to look closer. His hands are large and rough, yet they feel…

The way they slide down the muscles of your body makes you feel a warmth low in your gut start growing, burning stronger and stronger as he continues down, petting and cooing, spreading out your fins and fingering the webbing between them with such care you sigh out in a gasp. 

When you open your eyes again he is sitting and staring at you with such a hunger you would have thought he might eat you, his fingertips sinking into the scales of your tail in a way that should hurt, but only makes you more overcome with the feeling. You hadn’t realized you had moaned.

“Does that…feel good, Sirena?” He husks, sliding his hands back up your tail, the rough backsides of your scales grazing against his palms. You can’t move, your jaw simply drops open as he shimmies closer to you. Hands glide over hips, against your waist, settling neatly on your abdomen. Your heart is racing and you’re panting and you don’t understand why.

His thumbs hesitantly brush against the underside of your breast and you look down at his hands, remembering how he had touched you the day before. He hadn’t meant it, and you were too occupied trying to save him to really register how it felt. But you find that you want him to touch you like that again.

You take his hands in yours and guide them up to your breasts, and he heaves a sigh of arousal as he cups you in his hands, massaging and squeezing until he feels you are receptive enough for him to tease your nipples. When he’s certain you enjoy it, he increases his attentions on them, pinching and rubbing the cold skin, almost cumming in his breeches at how pretty you sound for him. 

He launches forward, his lips fastening to one of your nipples as he continues playing with the other, tongue swirling and nudging and nibbling on the sensitive flesh. You moan loud, the sound echoing off the cavern as you arch your back, presenting yourself more to his groping. Your fingers slide into his still drying hair, gripping it hard to keep him where you want him.

You can feel it happening abruptly, and the moment it does you understand. The little fins below your hips opening and revealing the small slit of your entrance. He was trying to mate with you, peeling you open like a clam and readying you for his seed. And you find that you don’t object to that at all.

But this…is not how it’s supposed to be. When you come of age you must choose your own mate, but you had never once heard of coupling with a human. Yet he instinctively knows, a hand sliding back down your body, fingers searching and searching for something. When he finds it, he slows down and observes you.

You’re a wreck. Overwhelmed and panting, it feels like your brain isn’t even working correctly and it scares you but doesn’t. You don’t know what you’re doing, you’ve never done this before, yet you don’t want to stop…

“If I were to touch you Sirena…would it be here?” His eyes flick upwards as he circles his finger around your sex, gently nudging a fingertip inside. You cry out and he withdraws, making sure you are not in pain. “I am sorry. I…I forgot myself hermosa. Lo siento.”  

You sigh, your body slumping slightly as he pulls you to him and cradles you in his arms. 

“I know you can no understand me well. Did I hurt you? Did I scare you?”

“No.”

“Bueno.”

You spend the next two hours in his arms against his bare chest as he cards his fingers through your hair, listening to him speak even though you only understand a few things until you pull away from him with no warning and slide back into the water.

“Oh. You must go?” Pero feels his heart drop into his stomach, only to swoop back up as you slap your hand on the rocks. 

“Go.” You point your fingertip to the cave floor, then gesture around you at the walls. “You go.”

He smiles, pointing to the ground as well. “Here?”

You blink rapidly, your lips twisting as you say the word. “Here.”

He nods. “Yes. Here. I go here tomorrow.”

He gives your hand one more squeeze before you dive back beneath the water.

Pero spends the next few weeks visiting you every evening. He teaches you his name, tells you about his life, holds you close and the two of you often simply lie on the floor of the cave in silence staring into each other’s eyes.

He never tries to touch you again. Two weeks pass full of frustration until tonight, when you take matters into your own hands out of desperation, grabbing his hand and firmly pressing it onto your breast. 

You’ve never felt anything like what he does for you tonight.

--

He smiles as he heads back to the winery, his head so in the clouds thinking about the way you moved, the sounds you made as he made you cum around his fingers, he doesn’t even see Marena until he all but slams into her. 

“Come.” She snips. “We must talk. Now.”

-----------

Post A/N: Hopefully the descriptions of all her fins make sense, if not, here is an idea! Her tail is the color you want it to be <3

[arsnovacadenza]

[Nobukicho] Now That You See Me

Rating: M

Warnings: BL, accidental voyeurism, intentional exhibitionism (?) on Kicho's part, Canon Divergence

"Well, now. Is that everyone? Good. Let's start the meeting," Hideyoshi nodded as Masamune and Mitsuhide finally entered the room. "Ieyasu, you go first."

But..... "Wait. Are we starting without Nobunaga?" Mai raised her hand. Indeed, their boss was nowhere to be seen. The dais had been empty when she first walked in and stayed that way until the last of the vassals poured in. "Am I missing a memo or something?"

"Perceptive as always," Mitsuhide said with a smirk. "I believe our little friend Ranmaru here has the answers."

Mai turned to her young friend. His expression remained placid, although she could tell something was gnawing at the rose-haired youth from how he toyed with the ends of his sleeve.

How odd that Mitsuhide decided to egg on Ranmaru. The chatelaine thought. Hasn't Ranmaru been trying to avoid Nobunaga? It's like he did something to upset the big guy.

"Well?" All eyes were trained on the young page now.

"No clue," Ranmaru finally spoke, eyes clouded with something Mai couldn't name until his signature coquettish smirk returned. "I believe you'd know more about his whereabouts than I do, Lord Mitsuhide."

Mitsuhide, seemingly pleased with Ranmaru's answer, signaled to Hideyoshi to carry on. "A question for another time."

Still frowning, Mai noticed that another person was seemingly absent from the room. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen Kicho around either."

"Don't sweat it," Ieyasu quipped before Mitsunari could get a single word out of his open mouth. "He's probably busy tending to Lord Nobunaga's gun barrel or something.

Hideyoshi clapped his hands and Mai lost her chance to ask the surly warlord what he meant.

.

Whatever you do, don't let your sight wander.

Ranmaru knew he was quickly running out of time. Since the return of Nobunaga's right-hand man, the spy failed to worm his way into Nobunaga's good graces or reserve an audience with the Demon King. Kicho moved back into his old quarters —just a few steps away from the stairs leading to Lord Nobunaga's —and ended Mai's solitary visits to the tenshu.

Not that it stopped Ranmaru from going that afternoon. Thank heavens the servants allowed me to carry his lunch in their stead.

But the old cook's behavior didn't sit well with Ranmaru. "Daring to go up when Lord Kicho is bedridden, boy? You know better than to just tiptoe out of his room when he's got the hearing of a demon. He's sure to skin you alive," the old man shook his head. "I'll be praying for yer return."

Why should I care about the old meanie when I'm after Nobunaga? Ranmaru scowled as he closed the sliding door to the tenshu. Kicho, thank the Heavens, had not caught or yelled at him as the page (very loudly) climbed the stairs to his master's empty bedroom.

He nearly slipped on the final step down when he heard a loud bang come from the direction of Kicho's room. I thought it had been empty? Why's the door open? 

Ranmaru dared himself to slowly walk toward the gap, not at all prepared for what he'd see.

It was the large expanse of a man's back —Nobunaga's, he quickly realized —sweaty and hunched over another, more lithe form. A pair of pale arms snaked around the warlord's thick neck to drag him down. His partner let out a long, breathy moan as their lover (seemingly) rained kisses down their throat. It took seconds for Ranmaru to realize that Nobunaga wasn't sneaking a wench inside his vassal's room and bedding her like he owned the place.

Because it was the "sick" vassal himself panting under him, flushed and smiling when Nobunaga pulled him back and hoisted him over his lap. The pair were almost entirely naked, save from the pool of white and black fabrics crumpled under their form.

Ranmaru's heart almost stopped when storm-gray eyes met bright, chartreuse ones. 

Kicho slowly, brazenly ran his arms down Nobunaga's back before enveloping him like vines to a rock. He didn't blink or break eye contact as he pressed bleeding lips along the side of the Nobunaga's neck and marked him. Ranmaru was a butterfly caught in a spider's web. And yet, he couldn't turn away as Kicho grabbed a fistful of Nobunaga's hair, demanding his lord return the gesture. There was no anger, no shame, nothing but visible triumph on Kichou's face as he let Nobunaga manhandle him to his desire.

And yet.

Who ruled this split-second world; this constricting silence?

Feeling his heart ready to burst, Ranmaru ran away, tail tucked firmly between his legs.

.

Nobunaga didn't think it was worth commenting on why Kicho left the door slightly ajar. Nobody dared to come near the tenshu unless invited, and servants knew better than to breach Kicho's space nearby after the latter's attendant announced that his lord was ill.

Still, it piqued his interest. "Did you simply forget to close the door? I thought you were afraid of someone accidentally walking in on us."

Green eyes narrowed in amusement.

"It's not like you ever cared about us getting caught when you're the one feeling a little frisky," Kicho smiled. "Besides, are you so afraid of word being spread that you're laying with your me?"

Nobunaga moved closer, hands warm on where his lover's skin bruised. "Nonsense," he smirked. "I'd announce you to the world you belong to me if necessary."

Kichou chuckled. It wasn't all he needed for an answer, but he was satisfied nonetheless. "That you should," he whispered before claiming another searing kiss from Nobunaga. "And there'd be no other."

.

Now that you see me

I'll make it so you won't waste even a blink.

.......

Author's note: Poor Ranmaru

Also, in case you wondered what my inspiration was, look up 'baro soljikhan geoya' and join me in Gaeul jail.

[hoodoverhollywood]

Nerdlesque: The Full Frontier.... Baddies Ball!

Surly Wench Pub 424 N. Fourth Ave., Tucson Downtown / 4th Ave / University 882-0009 4 articles

[keicordelle]

An Arrangement of Convenience, Ch. 1

Fandom: FFXIV Rating: E Pairing: Estimeric Word Count: 3.2k Tags: Pre-Canon, Temple Knights Days, Friends with Benefits, First Time Together, Awkwardness, Relationship Discussions, Establishing Boundaries, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Consent, Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, POV First Person, POV Aymeric de Borel

Summary: Before they were the Lord Commander and the Azure Dragoon, they were Temple Knights. Before they were lovers, they were friends. Before their feelings grew into something more, they came together when there were no other options, in an arrangement established entirely out of convenience and mutual attraction.

Aymeric knows full well he's not the only man in the world attracted to other men, but he never expected his best friend to reveal that not only is he aware of Aymeric's preferences, but he shares them. When Estinien proposes that they might find pleasure with each other when the need arises, the offer seems to come straight out of Aymeric's fantasies. If they could maintain such an arrangement without ruining their friendship, it would be everything he'd ever dreamed of... But if they couldn't, he risked losing the only friend he'd ever had who saw him as more than a novelty. Because once he said yes, one way or another, everything was sure to change.

-

The heat of the fire sank into my bones, the scent of cooking meat making my stomach clutch painfully with hunger. Only a week stationed out in the far reaches of the Coerthas Western Highlands, with three more yet to go, and already the scant rations and the chill wind of imminent winter coming down from the mountains ate at my sanity. This was a test of some sort, I was certain, meant to force me from the ranks of the Temple Knights, or perhaps merely another attempt to punish me for the circumstances of my birth. Our new commander was a bitter man from House Durendaire who seemed to hate me for no other reason than that, and no amount of proof that I was skilled in my own right let him see past the shadow of my father.

At least I'm suffering in good company. I dropped down next to Estinien, offering the surly dragoon a hunk of hard bread while we waited for the meat to cook, a dozen yalms back from the rest of our group. Despite his standoffish exterior, we'd grown friendly in the past year, and I came to look forward to any assignment where he was part of the unit. He was surprisingly kind and gentle beneath all the blood and smoke he shrouded himself in, and that he had taken to seeking me out as often as I did him served as steadfast reassurance that I wasn't merely pestering him with my attention. Any longer, at least.

He passed me his flask of spiced wine, and I swallowed a mouthful, relishing the burst of flavor across my tongue. When at last the meat was ready, we ate in companionable silence, more interested in stuffing our faces with the only fresh meat we'd seen in a week than rehashing the day's skirmish. Estinien vanished shortly after, likely to hone his body and his lance, as was his wont. Some days I would join him, but the ache in my side from a particularly vicious blow across the ribs earlier today convinced me that perhaps I should rest tonight instead.

I fell back in with the rest of our squad, chatting about nothing and grinning along with them as they joked about tavern wenches and what they'd rather be doing with their nights. Though the topic of conversation appealed little and less to me, you would not have guessed it by my expression; I found it to be of the utmost importance to maintain a good relationship with my fellow soldiers, and if that meant agreeing that the Vimaroix girl was blossoming into quite the beauty, then so be it.

No matter that I did not understand what these men saw in a woman that so intrigued them. Never had the thought of soft breasts excited me, and I could look on the women at the bathhouse without so much as a twitch in response, unlike most of my peers. I'd much rather watch the roll of sweat down the column of a man's spine, the thin trail of hair that disappeared into the waist of his trousers, the flex of his forearm on his weapon…

-

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[willaux]

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[stormyleighblog]

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[you-remind-me-of-the-babe]

For the writing prompt asks: “You never believe me! If I told you right now that I love you, would you even believe me?”

Thank you for the prompt!

Here's a magical coffee shop AU ❤️

A Prickly Disposition

Rating: T, Word Count: 1900

You’d think holding a conversation with a 200 year old vampire would be fascinating, but Basilton Pitch isn’t the type to regale you with compelling stories of his past.

He’s one of the regulars at Mummer’s Cafe, which caters to magical beings of various sorts. Basilton has a habit of coming in on most weekdays, bright and early. He orders a mocha breve, sits by the fire and reads or writes in his notebook.

Simon Snow usually ends up being the one to serve him, as the other employees find him surly. Simon rather likes him, prickly disposition and all, and has taken it on as his personal mission to find a way past Basilton’s walls. He always greets him with a warm smile and tells him stories while he fills his drink order. And he never seems to be fazed when Basilton merely grunts one or two word responses as he takes his drink and retreats to his corner next to the hearth.

“You’re wasting your time,” Penny tells him when there’s a lull in their shift. “Ebb says he’s been coming here for years and never talks much to anyone.” But Simon only hears the challenge in these words.

Occasionally, Simon will try bringing him samples of scones, claiming to be working on new recipes, and that he is looking for feedback.

Basilton relents, and usually makes his opinions brief.

“Too sweet,” he says, when Simon asks him to sample one with chocolate chips.

“Too sweet?” Simon says incredulously. “You order the sweetest drink I’ve ever heard of every morning!”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I like everything to be sweet,” he replies. Simon laughs and tries to ask him his thoughts on alternate flavors but Basilton already has his nose in his book and pretends not to hear him.

“Can you blame him for being antisocial with Mages?” Penny asks. “Vampires were persecuted and forced to live in hiding for years. They’ve only recently been granted civil rights, and for older vampires like him, it’s not so easy to just forgive and forget.” Simon gazes over at the vampire, dark hair falling forward as he bends down towards his notebook. He looks as if he’s the same age as Simon, and it boggles his mind a bit when he tries to think about all the life Basilton has lived. Simon’s heart aches just thinking about it. No one could live that long without experiencing loss and loneliness. He resolves to try harder to break down the vampire’s defenses.

The following week, Simon decides to try asking Basilton questions about himself. Maybe he simply would rather someone took an interest in him instead of trying to talk his ear off.

“How’s your book?” Simon asks, as he pours Basilton his drink.

“Riveting,” Basilton replies in a voice that sounds like it’s anything but.

“What’s it about?” Simon hands him his drink and wipes his hand on a towel draped over his shoulder.

“Pirates,” he replies. Simon can see as much from the picture on the cover of the book.

“Is it a romance novel?” he asks, tilting his head to get a better look at the muscular swashbuckler with his arm around the waist of a busty wench.

Basilton frowns and takes his drink without answering.

The next day, Basilton returns to the counter moments after taking his drink to sit at his normal corner.

“Someone left their book on my seat,” he says, depositing a shiny hardback near the register.

“It’s for you!” Simon calls, as Basilton starts to walk away. He pauses, then turns back.

“What?”

“It’s one of my favorites, I thought you might like it,” Simon says, feeling a bit nervous under the vampire’s stare. Basilton looks back at the picture on the cover. Two men on a ship are fighting with swords, but the playful smirks on their faces indicate they aren’t adversaries.

“It’s a queer romance,” Simon explains, “and it’s got a really interesting mystery plot line. Plus, it’s really character driven, which is something I like in books.”

Basilton’s brow furrows. “How did you know I was queer?”

“I didn’t,” Simon says. “But I am, which is one of the reasons I was drawn to it. But honestly I recommend it to anyone who’ll listen.” He smiles at Basilton, who takes another step towards the counter. After staring at the cover for a moment longer, he reaches out hesitantly and takes the book.

“Sour cherry,” he says.

“Huh?”

“You should try sour cherries in your next scone recipe,” he says, heading back to his table. Simon grins as he watches him settle in his chair, the glow of the fire lighting up his face.

Simon isn’t exactly sure when the mission turned from merely trying to be friendly with the vampire to actively working up the courage to ask him on a date. He thinks the book was perhaps the thing that shifted everything. It still took a while for Basilton to open up, but gradually Simon found him engaging more, talking about what he was reading or asking Simon for more book recommendations. Eventually, Simon began to sit with Basilton during his breaks, bringing a sour cherry scone for each of them (which had become quite popular at the cafe after Simon took the suggestion into consideration).

He finds that they occasionally fall into a flirty banter, but whenever Simon tries to hint that he’s attracted to him, Basilton always shuts him down.

“You’re quite lovely when you smile,” Simon says.

“You should see me when I show all of my teeth,” he says, cocking an eyebrow.

Simon laughs. “I’m sure you’d still be lovely.”

Basilton frowns at that. “You aren’t supposed to find creatures of the night attractive.”

“You’re not a creature of the night,” Simon says. “You’re an early bird. You’re always here at the crack of dawn.”

Basilton simply changes the subject.

Another time, when Simon tells Basilton how much he enjoys spending time with him, he responds that Simon needs to get more friends. And when Basilton finally lets Simon read the poetry that fills his notebook, he brushes off Simon’s compliments, stating that Simon was just being polite.

“I mean it! They’re really powerful, and I like them a lot.” He’s starting to get tired of Basilton’s constant desire to push him away anytime Simon gets too close.

“I’m your customer, you have to be nice to me.”

“You're more than that, Baz. A lot more,” Simon says quietly.

“I’m not, Simon. And you’d do well to remember that.”

On a Tuesday, Simon decides to make a bolder attempt.

“There’s a poetry reading at the bookstore down the street on Friday. Care to go with me?”

“You don’t want to go with me,” he says, eyes fixed firmly on the fire.

“I very much do want to go with you,” Simon says. “That's why I asked you.”

“I’m not someone you’d want to spend more time with than we already do.” Basilton’s eyes are hard when he meets Simon’s gaze, and Simon has had enough.

“Why do you say things like that?” Simon growls, tugging angrily at his curls. “Whenever I try to tell you how much I like you, how much you mean to me, you never believe me! If I told you right now that I love you, would you believe me?” Simon hadn’t planned on saying that, but once the words left his mouth, he realized that they were true, so there was no point in taking them back.

Basilton is frozen, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. Simon waits for him to say something, because Simon has said quite enough already, thank you.

“Why?” he murmurs, and Simon is barely able to hear it.

“Because I love talking to you about books and hearing you read your poetry. Because every time I eat a cherry scone I think of you and my heart swells. Because your smile makes me blush.” He reaches his hand across the table and sets it on top of his. “Because seeing your grumpy face every morning was the best part of my day long before you let me in.”

Basilton laughs a bit at that, but it sounds as if he’s choking on it, and when he looks up at Simon his eyes are watery.

“I can’t,” he nearly whispers.

Simon closes his fingers around his and tugs gently. “You can.”

Basilton looks as though he might relent for a moment, leaning forward slightly. But then he’s on his feet, bolting towards the door before Simon can blink. Basilton exits the cafe into the pouring rain, leaving his coat on the back of his chair. In an instant, Simon grabs it and runs after him.

Basilton is walking entirely too fast, and Simon is out of breath by the time he reaches him at the corner.

“Baz,” he pants, grasping his blazer and trying to get him to turn around. He does, and Simon is baffled by how he looks even sexier sopping wet.

“You’ll catch a cold, you numpty,” Basilton says, frowning down at him. A drop of rain rolls down his nose and drops to the pavement.

“That sprint will be the death of me,” he says, hands on knees and wheezing from the exertion. He takes a few deep breaths and then stands. He steps forward and holds the coat up to Basilton, reaching his other hand behind him to pull it tight around him. Instead of putting his arms through, Basilton simply grasps the fabric, holding it around him like a blanket. Simon keeps hold of it too, because it forces them to stand close.

Simon runs his finger over his knuckles. “Can’t you give us a chance?” he asks, blinking back the rain on his lashes to focus as he looks up into gray eyes.

“Simon, I…” he pauses, and Simon waits, because he wants to give him the space to find his words. “I’ve been alone for so long. I’m not sure if I know how to do this anymore.” Basilton’s expression is soft, and it only makes Simon want him more.

“We don’t have to have all the answers right now,” he offers. “I just know I want to be with you. More than anything.” Basilton is looking down at Simon’s fingers on his own, and Simon tugs on his coat gently to force him to look at him. “Can I kiss you?” he asks softly. Basilton nods, and he still looks so scared. Simon cranes his neck to reach him, wet lips meeting. He kisses him and Simon feels like he could burn from the inside, despite the freezing rain. Basilton moans slightly, and their tentative kiss suddenly becomes more desperate, tongue and teeth and soggy clothes rubbing up against each other.

When they’ve had their fill they finally pull apart, resting their foreheads together. “So, does this mean you want to be my terrible boyfriend?” Simon asks.

Basilton pulls back. “Let’s start with the poetry reading and see what happens after that.”

Simon takes his hand, walking him back to Mummer’s Cafe. “I think that’s a great plan.”

Basilton grins at him, and Simon, freezing and wet, feels like there’s nowhere he’d rather be.

Prompts from this list

[hoodoverhollywood]

Nerdlesque: The Full Frontier.... Baddies Ball!

Surly Wench Pub 424 N. Fourth Ave., Tucson Downtown / 4th Ave / University 882-0009 1 event 4 articles

[borisbubbles]

ESC 2021 Preshow: 08. France

Barbara Pravi - “Voilà”

Autoqualifier

France going from 3rd last on my ranking / likely last place in the finale to 8th place in the ranking / probably top 3 in the Grand Final. 😍 WHAT A GLOW-UP.

So, “Voilà” is epic, obviously. Yeah I will skip the theatrics, each and every one of you know this song and we all know it’s probably the best French entry in ages. 

Funnily enough, I didn’t care for “Voilà” when I first heard it lmfao. It felt similar to the song Patricia Kaas went to Eurovision with and while “Et s’il faillait le faire” has its fans, I was never one of them. Worse, the internet immediately resorted to refering to “Voilà” as a “masterpiece” which is probably the pretentious statement you can make about Eurovision songs. Guys, it’s an Edith Piaf-inspired tribute act. Calm the eff down. Still, even at this early a stage I was instantly charmed by Barbara’s introspection and pluck even if I didn’t care for the music at first. After all, Barbara was the mastermind behind jesc HITS “Bim bam toi” and “J’imagine” and if she wants to bring a song that puts HER SELF at the forefront, she’s perfectly entitled to do so. About fucking time. On top of that, I thought the ending was sublime, even in studio version. “Why can’t the entire song be like that”, I thought. And then, E:CVQD arrived and Barbara SERVED, OUTSOLD, SLAYED, etc every superlative under the sun. 

So remember when I aired my critique regarding Gjon? “Tout l’Univers” is an “Objectively Strong” composition in that it employs music theory to conjure up a song that sounds impressive on first listen. But behind that academic skill lies virtually nothing of interest. I cannot connect with it beyond a base level because what does it tell me about Gjon or his story? Technique without a heart or a soul is merely pretense. But I suppose it can sound sophisticated to someone who doesn’t know what “sophistication” is. 

Barbara, however. Her personality just SPRINGS FORWARD on an approachable level from the first note. “Voilà”s’s technical expertise and Barbara’s own perfomance talents carry this vibe, this SERVE of personality, through the full three minutes without ever getting boring or tedious and they leave me craving for another listen. ALL OF THESE ARE AMAZING TRAITS IN A EUROVISION SONG. And this is just from the studio version, the live stage show makes it even better. 

So yeah, homeboy’s got his work cut out for him because if this is his competition he’ll have to graft hard for his victory.

NF Corner -  C’est Vous Qui Décidez

In what would become a running theme amidst countries this year, France led the charge in a personal project called #OperationForget2020, in which every trace of last year would be subsequently memory-holed. To acheive this, they revived their NF, gave it a new name and pretended it was ~The First NF of Its Format~ (so basically doing what Lithuania did last year when they rebranded Atranka into PiN).

INCIDENTALLY, this would also wind up the best NF of the year, pretty much by default because France had the most to win. Even though Barbara was the obvious winner from the instant the songs were revealed, the French had some excellent back-up options in their arsenal. Let’s rummage through them shall we?

LMK - “Magique”

R&B Trap wench <3 “Magique” starts off pretty and cute for fifteen seconds, before whiplashing hard into kick-ass tropical house territory. Her Slovene spirit mothers Raiven and Lea Sirk are so proud of her <3 She definitely deserved much better than the result she got (being NQ with the audience O_O), but lol it’s France, they ain’t NEVER crowning a sexually confident sassy woman, let’s not kid ourselves. 

Céphaz - “On a mangé le soleil”

This Hat God had me at that title. “We have eaten the sun” 😍😍😍😍. More songs should adopt a fatalistic environmental angle by using consumption-related metaphors à la “we’ve devoured out planet :burp:, MOAR”, and then set this suuuuper cynical and depressing text to an upbeat and optimistic soundtrack <3 The “Hey ya” tease of it all. 😍

Amui - “Maeva”

So cheerful it turns a surly cretin such as myself into a blundering mass of uwu. It’s like a nillies Eurovision semi NQ’er suddenly wandered into the set, so derivative and repetitive and tacky but SO fun and happy-go-lucky <3 The entire premise of “Maeva” is basically like: “VISIT FRENCH POLYNESIA, WE ARE THE MOST HOSPITABLE PEOPLE ON THIS EARTH” <333 using this message in the middle of a worldwide viral pandemic <33333333 Normally fun-trash like this would be murdered at first sight by any jury, but whoops “Maeva” turned out a massive televote hit HEHEE 😛 and finished third in the televote despite being last or second last with the jury. Those Tahitian diasporia votes coming through <3

Adriamad - “Allélujah”

TACKY EUROTRASH <3 Lol when I think of it, did I like this NF because it was good or because it was so fun-trash. Anyway, this display of diversity would normally be on my shitlist but it’s honestly SO OTT in its ~People Of The World Of All Colours Are Equal~ message it circles back into funny. The eye gimmick, the hammy choreography, the obnoxious fusion of several cultures into a nondescript ethnotrash hodgepodge, the fucking LYRICS everything is so funny and so entertaining it’s giving me LIFE. 😍 I’d say it deserved better but “Allélujah” stranding in the demifinal (not a typo) is honestly a much, much more satisfying result <3

Predicted Journey - France

Barbara is going on that Mahmood trajectory, I see. Early fave who gets near unanimous critical acclaim, rules solely on top until the other contenders show up and is then put on the backburner because she’s an autoqualifier and therefore isn’t a part of the “who will qualify?” discussions. Then, the rehearsals will happen and everyone will remember “hey, that French chick we almost forgot about is actually REALLY good” allowing her to pick up momentum again, catapulting her into the top five. So it is written, such it shall be.

The question is... Can she win? 

The answer is: yeah, possibly? At this point we have three potential contenders: Gjon for Switzerland and Destiny for Malta are the main rivals and I’d say Barbara has one big advantage over Gjon and Destiny: She already has a great live performance to back up her potential winner status. In fact, Barbara is a fave to win because we know what she’s going to bring in Rotterdam.  Gjon and Destiny could theoretically still bomb if their staging is off (and both are getting theirs done by Sasha Jean-Baptiste, soooooo) and their contenderness is based on things such as hype and expectation. Barbara meanwhile already had her baptism by fire when she competed in E:CQVD, which she handily won.

The problem though is Gjon Muharremaj. For the average eurofan, France and Switzerland have similar entries and it will result in a tug-of-war between which of them has the better song. Either could win this televote bout, and whoever does could beat Malta.. .but that would require Malta to have a disappointing televote result and with each passing day this is starting to look less likely. (Jury results matter less because they’re probably the top 3).  Personally I don’t really have a preference between Barbara OR Destiny as a win for either would push Eurovision in a better direction (A Gjon win though... I am TERRIFIED that may result in a 2022 contest filled with Vincent Bueno’s and Vasils), but if these three are indeed the top three, Barbara’s position is the most secure although she’s probably also the least likely one to actually win. Pray that I’m wrong though and we can all meet at her flat in Montmartre for a covid-proof afterparty. 

Projected placements:

> Grandfinal: 1st-5th (predicted Runner-up)

THE RANKING: 

01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. FRANCE - Barbara Pravi - “Voilà” 09. BULGARIA - Victoria - “Growing up is getting old” 10. LATVIA - Samanta Tina - “The moon is rising” 11. GREECE - Stefania - “Last dance” 12. SWEDEN - Tusse - “Voices” 13. IRELAND - Leslie Roy - “Maps” 14. CROATIA - Albina - “Tick Tock” 15. MOLDOVA - Natalia Gordienko - “Sugar” 16. ITALY - Måneskin - “Zitti e buoni” 17. ALBANIA - Anxhela Peristeri - “Karma” 18. UNITED KINGDOM - James Newman - “Embers” 19. LITHUANIA - The Roop - “Discoteque” 20. ESTONIA - Uku Suviste - “The lucky one” 21. FINLAND - Blind Channel - “Dark side” 22. AZERBAIJAN - Efendi - “Mata Hari” 23. the NETHERLANDS - Jeangu Macrooy - “Birth of a new age” 24. CZECH REPUBLIC - Benny Christo - “Omaga” 25. DENMARK - Fyr og Flamme - “Øve os på hinanden” 26. SLOVENIA - Ana Soklič - “Amen” 27. SWITZERLAND - Gjon’s Tears - “Tout l’Univers” 28. ROMANIA - Roxen - “Amnesia” 29. SERBIA - Huricane - “Loco loco” 30. POLAND - Rafał - “The ride” 31. ISRAEL - Eden Alene - “Set me free” 32. GEORGIA - Tornike Kipiani - “You” 33. PORTUGAL - The Black Mamba - “Love is on my side” 34. SPAIN - Blas Cantó - “Voy a quedarme” 35. NORWAY - Tix - “Fallen Angel” 36. CYPRUS - Elena Tsagrinou - “El Diablo” 37. AUSTRIA - Vincent Bueno - “Amen” 38. NORTH MACEDONIA - Vasil - “Here I stand” 39. GERMANY - Jendrik - “I don’t feel hate”

[stormyleighblog]

So many sincere thanks to give to all that contributed to last night’s out-of-this-stratosphere show, Nitro with The Furys at Surly Wench Pub!✨Starting with our oh-so-talented band, The Furys: Jacob Jakerson, Hank Norush, and George Palenzuela, who absolutely rocked the house all night long, our incredibly beautifully creative and entertaining performers: Bunny Boom Boom, Cha Cha Velour, Desiré d’Amour, Ghoulia, Lela Rose, Matt Finish, Natasha Noir, Sonia Rita, and Taryn Garters (each of you were so amazing!), our splendiferous Stage Kitten SoSo Lovely, Surly Wench Pub’s top-notch staff, wonderfully wizardly Cord Boyd on lights and sound, Greta Von Grimm for running the merch table so smoothly, Glen AZ for taking gorgeous video of our performers, our super-talented photographer Rick Bracht, and of course our bestest and most brilliant host (and Elvis impersonator!) Stephka Von Snatch, and lastly our Surly Wench audience - THANK YOU for supporting local artists and Tucson’s burlesque scene. We can’t do it without you!♥️ Photo by Glen AZ #thefurys #tucsonburlesque #surlywenchpub #surlywenchburlesque #furyssurfband #retrolesque https://www.instagram.com/p/CoQbaniyl7K/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=