#OR he could be an angry vengeful creature twisted by his own creation - an actual CHARACTER

[leupagus]

Say what you will about Martin's writing style (and I've said plenty) but I do think he's got the White Walkers' mythos worked out for a future book and IT WOULD HAVE BEEN SO NICE IF THE SHOWRUNNERS HAD DONE 1/100TH OF THAT WORK SETTING THEM UP

Gus: I am mad all over again that there was absolutely zero explanation given as to why/how the Night King operates or how his powers work or why he chose now to attack or ANYTHING ELSE

Gus: on the plus side it means I get to make up a whole subplot that, not to brag, I'm comfortable saying is at least as good as anything D&D could've made up IF THEY HAD EVER EVEN BOTHERED

Gus: but like - okay so craster's infant sons get sacrificed to the Night King, who them magics them into White Walkers as babies

Mardia: Yep yep

Gus: so does that mean there's a white walker nursery

Mardia: Omg

Gus: do they have to change diapers

Mardia: LOOOOOOOL

Gus: is there a white walker daycare center

Gus: how does the night king TEACH his lil adopted monster babies

Gus: is there like storytime around the - well not fire

Gus: does the Night King remember what it was like to sit around a fire?

Gus: does he miss being a human and all his rage at the spell the Children of the Forest put on him to kill the First Men has curdled his brain?

Gus: what was he DOING for like 8 millennia, just hanging out?

Gus: did he get really good at ice fishing?

Gus: DO THEY EAT?

Gus: where the fuck do they get their snazzy outfits from

Gus: are there white walker tailors

Gus: what's the currency situation

Mardia: Lololololololol

Gus: I'M JUST SAYING

[balkanmermaid]

Here’s a bit of a novel I have been working on for 4 years! It’s one of my favourite parts, quite emotionally charged and I feel proud of it. Fair warning, however: it has a triggering part where there is much talk about death and, specifically, the wish to take one’s life. I have tried to write it in a positive light, of course, and make the story about the desire to save and protect someone with such wishes. If this topic is uncomfortable for you, feel free to not read this. The story is still under construction, so I may end up not including this scene at all. I will be posting more (and more relaxed) parts of my writing soon!

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“I’ve got a… bit of an odd request, if I may put it that way.”

“Yeah?” I peer up at him curiously, looking into his eyes. Something in them as if strikes a string inside me, a string that I have known only one person to have struck before. A string which I cannot quite hear the melody of. A string whose melody I cannot recognise. Who is he? And what the hell does he want from me?

“I want something that will kill me easily.” My lips part to speak, but no sound escapes them. My heart trembles inside my chest the way a butterfly’s wings do when it lands on top of a flower. My breath catches in my lungs, and my throat runs dry; it feels like I’ve eaten sand and not a cupcake and a chocolate and a slice of pizza. He can’t have said that. He didn’t say that. I didn’t hear that right. I can’t have. I can’t. No, no, no, no, no. I refuse to believe my ears.

“I can’t keep living the way I do.” He cannot look me in the eyes anymore. Is he ashamed of what he has said, or terrified, or can he simply not accept the truth? What could that man’s story be? The shock his words have filled me with feels like lead in my veins, weighing my entire body down like a coat made of all the dead dreams I have killed, all the hopes I have buried, all the sighs I have held back, all the tears I have forbidden myself to cry. My soul twists and turns inside me; my heart aches.

“I have done one too many things, for which I cannot forgive myself.” At last, it’s green on blue again - I am looking into his eyes. His soul is standing there before me, now naked, wounded, writhing, hurt. Begging for release. Beckoning a deed I cannot do. Trying to seduce me to commit a crime I will never even consider. His fate is a story trying to write itself to the end, to put the full stop at the end of the sentence already. And I have the pen.

And I want to put it down.

Sure, my temper is quite short. I get angry very easily. Sometimes, I get too angry, and when that happens, I turn vengeful, and whoever gets in my way with the littlest thing prompts my imagination to fill itself with murder and blood. I often yell when frustrated, or cry.

But I have never consciously hurt anyone, let alone kill. No. The only life I have power over is my own, and even my own life is not something I can call entirely mine, as it is entangled with the fates of so many. And I will never, ever hurt anyone with ill intention. I have promised myself to think twice before acting and saying things, even if I sometimes fail to do so.

For one, it’s simply not worth it, getting pissed off about things that will, in the long run, matter far too little to be considered. And for another, there are far better ways to solve a problem between you and someone else than those involving physical - or mental - bruises.

But how do I explain all that to this man here, whose despair is heavier than a mountain?

“And because I cannot earn my own forgiveness, I have decided I do not want to continue living anymore. Therefore, I’m asking you to end my life for me. In a peaceful, legal way. The right way.” There is something in his eyes that makes my heart weigh with sorrow. Is it a plea? Is he begging - is he actually begging me to take his life with a tattoo? Is this the way he wants to go, by getting a killing spell inked in him with the help of a beautiful, yet deadly image?

My shoulders drop, and I feel them. After them comes the sigh from deep inside me, and I try to swallow. My mouth feels even drier than my mind, devoid from thoughts. All the moisture is in my eyes. My hands hang by my sides uselessly, trying to clutch themselves into fists; it doesn’t work, I cannot feel them, they are too weak, I am too weak. I am too weak.

I try to be righteous, to strive for justice, and yet remain compassionate and kind and caring, as much as I can be, towards my closest people and to my clients alike. But now I am failing. I am failing; or, rather,, my feelings are failing me, and probably betraying me, too, showing themselves right across my face, clear as a mountain stream. Not that my client will judge me. I would have just liked to sometimes be able to remain less emotional and act more rationally and think more logically. But I simply care too much. And it all hurts in the end.

“Sorry, what’s your name?” I think I should ask my client that, first. My voice feels weird, as if I haven’t used it in years. My words sound stupid, making my heart revolt against them angrily inside my chest. Maybe I should have thought better before speaking. Maybe the question that just slipped from between my lips should have been worded differently. Maybe I sounded weird. Maybe I should stop being so unsure of myself...

Whatever. I don’t care about what I sound like. The only thing I care about right now is him.

“Varius. Varius Eriksson.”

"Right." It suddenly hits me why I just asked for his name. Now that we are acquainted - accepting that he knew my name before reaching out to me, at least - we are no longer strangers. Now his fate lies right in my hands. And it is up to nobody else but me to do the right thing.

And I can kill him. Of course I can. Although I cannot be sure whether or not it would be legal to murder him, and whether I would get punished for having done so (too bad I am not most knowledgeable of laws), I can still tattoo him.

And whichever option I choose, turning him down and kicking him out of here, or agreeing to tattoo him and then entering the contract that binds our souls until I am done with charging his soul, as well as his body, with magic, the responsibility lies on my shoulders.

I have a choice. 

Or do I? 

I bite my lip.

And then come the whispers.

Rigmor, child, step away from him.

He shall not remain in your life for long.

Just like everyone else whom you mark.

The three Norns are speaking to me. I can hear them inside my head. Some would say that I’m imagining things. That I’ve started hearing voices because of all my worries.

Yet the voices are not wrong at all.

There has only been one to stay, they whisper on to me. I know exactly what they are talking about.

Kieran. Kieran Dirmot has been the only one to stay.

They have sealed our fates together already.

I can understand everything the voices are whispering and hinting at, as if at least a dimension away. They sound like a mere sigh of the wind… and yet I know just who they belong to.

The three Norns.

What do your threads say, sisters? What happens to him? 

The trio emerges slowly around Varius and me, circling us. I do not know if he sees them as well; he does not bat an eye. Either that, or he has decided to stay perfectly calm and composed and show no emotion. And although I can notice, in the reflection in his eyes, that I have done the same, I can feel my heart racing. My nerves are tight like a circus rope.

Can't you follow them? 

My heart skips a beat. The thread. Of course. The trio of fate-predictresses is spinning a never-ending ball of red yarn - yarn that symbolizes life. At some point, they are going to cut it short. It is just then that the person's life is going to be over. Be it a timely death, or an early loss, it is a procedure they repeat for every human, and perhaps even for other living creatures as well.

And they are about to cut Varius Eriksson's thread.

"This is illegal," are the first words that escape me. My voice sounds ethereal, otherworldly, as if it's but a mere echo of what mine used to be. As if it no longer belongs to me, but to a memory of what I used to be.

"It cannot be. It has not been written in the contract." 

The contract is our sacred law, the laws of magic. Magic is a force, it is talent, it is a craft one may master. And as such, there are words meant to guide us lest we lose ourselves in the opportunities it offers. Words. Not laws.

Magic is to be bound by nothing, the first one says, for lest it becomes trapped, whoever possesses it shall relinquish it as quickly as they found themselves enriched by it.

Magic is mostly a force of creation, and less one of destruction, the second one follows suit. If it happens so that you must use it to kill, you must be aware of the price you shall have to pay for that later.

You cannot lose magic, is the third and last one. Magic is like energy, like a muscle. You may train it, and the more you do, the stronger it shall become. You may transform it into many things, and you may transfer it from one thing to another, focus it on a certain group of things or on another. But it never truly disappears. And you may awaken it inside yourself even if you seal it away, or have sealed it away, no matter how long for.

And, in this case, I am not ready to pay the price for killing someone. Not this person.

Not now.

Not anyone.

Not ever.

"But you must!" Varius whispers. I can feel him want to scream at me, but he is holding himself back. Almost too hard. Is he another person when with his friends and family? I cannot help but wonder instantly. His voice and face do not betray any of his emotions… but just a single look in his eyes tells me he is ready to put on a play in front of me if that will earn him what he craves. "I have sinned. Rid this wretched earth of me!"

"No." Now my voice drops as well. Just where are my friends when I need them? It seems it's only the two of us out here, me and him. Yeona and Leila have left the tattoo parlour to enjoy their break. And we are alone.

"That will make me a murderer, Varius. Do you understand that?" I walk closer to him, leaning in a little. Usually, dangerous is the last thing people will describe me as. But now I need to be seen as such. I need to be a goddess of just wrath, a protectress, even if angry. I want to scare the sorrow out of him, if I can. Somehow. Or at least try to make him realise what he is about to do. Talk some sense into him. Or scare it into him. Either works.

"I cannot reverse this once I have begun. You must know that." I step away from him to pour myself some lemonade. The cool liquid, with a few cubes of ice, helps me regain calmness. There. Now it's time to get back in the game.

"I know it. I went to a hospital first," he says. His head is hanging towards the floor, as heavy as my heart feels inside my chest, made of stone, of iron, and just as cold. "They absolutely refused to assist me there. Not because it was illegal - it isn't. But they did not acknowledge my previous reincarnations as years of life. I can be euthanised even now. I have done what I thought would be right, and I have erred, too. One too many times. So, please… I'm begging you."

Then he does something I do not expect at all. He goes to his knees in front of me.

"Please, Miss Strid, I'm begging you. Take my life. I know it will be sent somewhere where it belongs better than it does with this broken body."

"Fine. Let it be so." A part of me says it simply because I want him to be done with the theatrics, with the useless drama. Sure, he is going to miss living, or at least a part of him is, and I am sure of that. But then again, it was him who chose to get a symbol inked into his skin so dangerous that he will most likely not be able to escape its power.

I am in my right to refuse to tattoo him - to refuse to take his life. 

But not when the three Norns themselves have judged that he is to die, anyway, I think it will be far better for me to kill him painlessly than to have them decide to make him go through a worse, more painful and horrible death.

And yet, I do not want to do this. 

I never wanted to do something like this, I think as Varius sits down and I prepare myself to begin. But there are things I can do. I do not have to let this happen. There is a way for me to stop this from happening. And I know that. I am sure of it. But what was that way, anyway? 

I can seal my powers, it hits me then. I am in my right to refuse to tattoo someone - and there is nothing written in the contract that states whether or not I should obey any gods or creatures with supernatural powers. I can always seal my powers and lie that I do not have them.

The sealing process takes blood. Blood has to be drawn to seal your magic, and blood has to be drawn to reopen it for use again. Blood, and lots, lots of pain. A price to pay for rejecting, if temporarily, the gift the gods have bestowed you with. A price I am willing to pay.

"I'll be right back in a bit, alright?" Varius nods when I tell him that, and I smile at him before turning away. As I walk up towards the second floor to find the pocket knife we keep in the tool drawer for cutting apart the cardboard boxes that tattoo supplies are delivered in, I feel a cold sweat run over my brow.

But if saving someone is only going to cost me a little blood and some scars, so be it.

Once I am alone in the bathroom, I look at myself in the mirror, then down at the knife in my hands. I set my jaw and frown down at myself. There's a ton of nasty stuff you gotta do on a daily basis if you wanna survive. But it brings a feeling of fulfillment. At least, a little reward for the trouble.

And I will definitely be getting my reward.

[pohocounty]

a list of specific, significant names that Dulu has been referred to over his lifetime / creatures that I believe were actually him, and whose cultural influences I attribute to him   ( fictionally ) :

Impundulu**   --  Pondo, Zulu, Xhosa  --  a birdlike or flying reptilian creature, at times disguised as a charming and seductive man, who serves as the protector of tribal medicine men / witch doctors, holds a known vengeful streak, attacks and eats humans / is vampiric in nature, and is believed to either bring on or exclusively show itself during violent weather storms.  Impundulu is depicted often with the leathery wings of a bat.

Bennu  --  Egyptian  --  a birdlike creature believed to live on top of great stone structures, worshipped similarly to Ra.  it is said to have played a role in the creation of the world, enabling the creative actions of Atum.  Bennu is self-creating and is the likeliest predecessor to the Greek legend of the Phoenix.

Firebird / Phoenix  / Dragon  --  Greek,  European  --  a western iteration of the Egyptian Bennu, wherein the mythos has been twisted into something demonic and self-resurrecting.  the result of racists getting their hands on cultures that did not belong to them and decades of horrific translation error.  only some of it rings true.

Snallygaster / Schneller-Geist   --  German, American  --  a flying reptilian creature with a birdlike snout that opens into tentacles.  it swoops silently from the sky and carries off unsuspecting victims.  the legend was resurrected in the 19th century as a scare-tactic against freed slaves, though curiously enough, it was only the plantation owners that truly seemed to fear the beast.

Quetzalcoatl  --  Aztec  --  one of the most revered gods of ancient Mesoamerica, their Dragon God.  he is the god of wind and wisdom, thought to have organized the cosmos and aided in the creation of mankind.  Quetzalcoatl is a symbol of death and rebirth, strikingly similar to the nature of the phoenix and Bennu.  he is also a war-god, and was honored in battle  +  human sacrifice.

Camezotz / The Death Bat  --  Mayan  --  a powerful god-beast from Xibalba, or Hell, powerful enough to destroy civilizations.  allied with humanity and granted us the knowledge of fire;  however, the recompense demanded was ritual sacrifice  --  human flesh and blood.  in many iterations, Camezotz can live peacefully among humans so long as his needs are accommodated.

Boh’ooo / Baha / Boh'ooonii'eihii / The Thunderbird  --  Plains Indian, Algonquian, Arapaho, Pacific Northwest, American Southwest, East Coast  --  a common creature believed to be responsible for creating thunderstorms.  Baha is a symbol of summer.  he represents power and strength, and is popularly thought to have delivered punishments for a lack of morality among humans.

Tūmatauenga / Tū / The Angry Face  --  Māori  --  the warrior god, treated with the utmost respect and awe, who is commonly believed to be the son of primordial parentage.  all war-parties are dedicated in his honor.  to the Māori, cannibalism is a part of warfare, and references to Tūmatauenga often involve the consumption of human flesh.  he is known for digging holes.  his actions against his own lineage, the slaying of his own brothers, is seen as a predictive reflection for the overall behavior of humankind.  the body of the first warrior to fall in any battle is offered up to Tūmatauenga.

Kūkaʻilimoku / Kū / Kū-ka-ili-moku  --  Hawaiian  --  a feathered war god worshipped under many names, all of which represent subordinate manifestations of its power, notably: god of land-snatching, god of the deep forest, god of the overgrowth, god of the mountain, god of the digging-stick, the supreme one, the supporter of war, the puller-together of the Earth, and of rot / Ku of the Maggot-Dropping Mouth.  rituals invoking Kūkaʻilimoku regularly involved human sacrifice, whereas no other ritual did.  Kūkaʻilimoku was known to manifest as a man-eating creature with teeth like a shark’s.

Altjira / Aljira-Mara  --  Arrernte  --  an eternal being who had no beginning, responsible for dreams, which are thought to be channels through which one may witness God.  Altjira is the supposed creator of the world and humankind, and is depicted as a tall, strong man with dark skin, long fair hair, and legs like a bird.  he is believed to live in the sky.  however, Altjira may be a poorly translated misnomer for the Christian God that was forced onto the Arrernte peoples by missionaries before the research wherein Altjira had been “discovered” was conducted.  it is very possible that Altjira was not a traditional creator-god among the Arrernte.  the creeper, however, was still mistaken for him many times.

there are  …  at least a thousand more names I could put here, this is just a little taste, but yeah.  these all tie into each other, and into the creeper’s lore, in undeniable ways, with many elements of description and methods of worship recurring.

**  --  the creeper still goes by Impundulu / “Dulu” because the Zulu were the first people he truly befriended, and the title they attributed is especially significant to him, in that it has stuck with him despite the gradual erosion of his memory and displacement from his roots.