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#land Wights
lailoken · 3 months
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Greetings.
I was wondering how might one begin to attempt to heal the land and befriend the local land and river wights? If you cannot speak on this topic, I completely understand.
I also was wondering if you have any rites that help combat the winter drops/ and or the feeling of loneliness. I'm not trying to seek medical advice, I am merely looking for something that might ease the emotional pain just a bit.
Thank you, and may you be well this Solstice.
Hello there, and well-wishes to you this Solstice season, as well.
A fairly basic way that one can begin to familiarize themselves with the spirits of the land, while also helping to heal that land, is to spend time in nature doing selfless service—such as cleaning up litter. If one does this mindfully for long enough—especially if they pray, meditate, or engage in other similar activities while doing so—I think it likely that the spirits of the land will begin to reveal themselves in their own ways, and at their own paces.
Making offerings to the land doesn't hurt either, but be thoughtful about when and how you do this, depending on what you feel can be reasonably expected of you long-term.
As for your second inquiry, I'm sorry to say that I don't know of any such rituals or rites, though one might well exist. I do hope, however, that if you end up needing it, you can make use of whatever medical assistance is available to you. Best of luck to you with the situation, whatever the case may be.
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"An old woman was going to wash her clothes on a Sunday morning. She placed her washing pot next to a large rock and set to work. After a while, she needed to change the water; she took the pot and poured the [still quite] hot water out on the ground [close by]. She finished her laundry and started doing [her] other chores, and she didn't notice anything. It became evening, and she went to bed and slept well all night.
But in the morning, as she was getting up, she felt a terrible pain in her face - half of her face was dark blue and covered in blisters. The old woman got very scared, because she realized that she had accidentally scalded a vätte¹ with her hot laundry water. Vättarna² are, as is [commonly] known, little earth spirits that usually appear in the shape of little toads.
They called for a wise old woman³. This woman went from house to house, begging for money - one and a half styver⁴ was called "halvannan peng⁵" - and she should get nine of those.
It wouldn't be acceptable for her to receive the money by any other means than begging. When she had collected the money, she sent the sick old woman out to acquire milk from a cow that was completely red.
Now when the milk had been collected, an offering was made to the king⁶ of vättarna. A hole was dug next to the rock where the woman had done her laundry, and the money and milk was thrown into [the hole]. Then the sick [old woman] had to remain indoors for nine days, and she wasn't allowed to show her face to anyone [that was human].
After nine days, the sick [old woman] was feeling a lot better, and after she had bought lampante olive oil for twelve shillings⁷ and used it to moisturize her face, she soon made a full recovery."
- sägen from Tving, Blekinge, as told by Ebbe Schön in Svenska sägner
¹ land wight
² land wights
³ one of the kloka; a practitioner of traditional folk medicine
⁴ a coin of low value
⁵ lit. "one and a half coin"
⁶ Ebbe Schön notes that the king might have been added to the sägen by the person recording it, but that the description of the offering is consistent with how traditional folk medicine was practiced. He writes "The curing [ritual] is, like so often within folk medicine, complicated - [because] this will make it more potent. The number nine, that is three times the magical number three, seems to be of vital importance in this ritual. "
⁷ Swedish shillings, skilling
Bonus: pictures of (some of) the traditional cow breeds that originate from Blekinge/southern Sweden:
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Ringamålako (Ringamåla cow)
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Granemålako (Granemåla cow)
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Rödkulla (red polled cow)
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ourthirteenthclock · 5 months
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Recently moved and finally have my altars set up and it all feels that much more like home 🖤🖤
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handmade--ghost · 2 years
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easily top 10 most satisfying writing things is when a character just does something completely unprompted
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izartn · 1 month
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What's good about KnH is (besides its main char and bc of Maomao) the way it manages the power dynamics and what life was as a woman without falling into utter pessimism and powerlessness or full romanticism; which is a reason I usually avoid like the plague historical/pseudo-historical fiction with female leads.
Usually I'd be super skeeved out by the power Jinshi has over Maomao but the way the series presents both of them, their personalities and their agency (limited as it is for Maomao but it's there and it counts very much) it brings out all the best and interesting parts. I trust this series to get twisty with them bc it establishes so well Maomao own character and understanding of her situation and the ways Jinshi can and does or doesn't take advantage of his power over her.
Like. It's presented as a problematic element, but also unavoidable given their social situation and the world they live in, so I can trust given everything else this show has done when solving the mysteries and presenting us the situations of other women, that the romance will be treated with that same weight.
Honestly if you've read over what I like to read/watch in my tumblr you'll notice that twisty and even toxic/unhealthy dynamics are very much within my favorites, but it needs to be told in a certain way. And I'm much more difficult to satisfy when talking about het romance.
So to watch KnH, notice it's primarily about Maomao life and the various misteries/medicines/palace intrigue and the romance is playing second fiddle riffing on all the themes presented on the plot? And it's complex, and plays with messy power dynamics of gender and class, but never loses Maomao her personhood? Wow.
Also. Jinshi is so BL chara coded omg XD like, he's very clearly based on a kind of shojo ML prototype (hello tamaki suoh!) but it also pulls from BL in his case (nothing to do with their romances but I think of Yan Xiaohan re:his relationship with the imperial power, from Golden Terrace lol)
And yet his romance with Maomao wouldnt work near as well for what is trying to say if they weren't a man and woman (which I love in their case, is what has me fascinated). Yes~! Get into the meat of how fraught it is for a man and a woman to be together when the man has so much power over her. Get into it!!!!
He's so so messy and fun as a chara too. Sheltered and not at the same time, you really notice all the things he misses by way of his privilege of being a noble born man (and specifically royalty, last ep (19) left that very clear he was doing a ritual probably by proxy for the emperor and also bay exchanges people. Maomao noticed and buried that thought far far below her subconscious but we all now who he is lol). Like. The way he fumbles and ends up essentially harassing Maomao at the start sometimes, which is both played for comedic effect and also upsetting. Mmm.
Like I said, I like complexity.
Also that part when he buys Maomao contract and he goes to collect her and she's all dolled up, and the clear implication by everybody but our mains (who clearly prefer to live in willfully blind land although for Jinshi I think the subtext of what he's doing lands when he sees her) is that in any other case she'd be his concubine/side-wife. It's not their situation wight now, and she's put to work as a live-in maid and apothecary and put to study (he wants her to assist him in politics lol I love that, but also he's so so lonely) but it's very much what the palace rumor mill says.
LIKE. I love the messiness! It could go soooo badly, but it also could not and there's Maomao living at the edge bc despite herself and what she says, she wants more from life, but also as she says the rear palace isn't all that different from the high class brothels and ugh. That tension. She has to depend on the favor of a man as a women of low class but she also could lose her head! GAH. And then there's feels involved! Aaagh.
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notthesomefather · 3 months
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The Basic Structure of a Ritual
The following is the basic format for a ritual as used by the Godsring. It is not set in stone and can be adapted at your discretion.
Hallowing
The purpose of a hallowing rite is to set aside a sacred space and time for the ritual, to put all participants in a proper mental, spiritual, and physical state for the ritual, and to announce to all nearby wights that a ritual is about to take place. Here is one example:
May the Gods guide us, may our Oaths keep us, May our Deeds free us, may our Ancestors aid us always, May the Gods banish from this Land and Wood all Ill and Wrong, Hallow this Stead, and shield it from all baneful Wights, Let the Gods’ Blessings be upon our Heads!
Ritual
This is the part of the ritual where any desired invocations and prayers are included, as well as any participatory activity for group or public rituals. This is very open, and can be as simple or as extensive as you like.
Offering
The typical offering consists of four components: Grain, Salt, Bread, and a Libation. Additional offerings specific to certain beings or purposes may be used. Conversely, fewer offerings may be given, such as water only. As each offering is placed in its respective vessel, these words are said:
With this grain, we offer you sustenance. With this salt, we offer you wealth. With this bread, we offer you our labor. With this libation, we offer you pleasure.
Closing
The closing of the ritual is usually spoken while pouring the libation offering into the main vessel. The traditional closing used by the Godsring is as follows:
From the Gods to the Earth to us; From us to the Earth to the Gods. A gift has been given; May it be well received.
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blackopals-world · 7 months
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Pen to Paper
Writer!femYuu and NRC students
(+Grampa Trein)
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Yuu didn't have much to offer this world. There wasn't much she was good at. All she had were loose stories she vaguely remembered from her old world. She just wanted to remember that world. (Bare with me. I'm trying to convey this as best as I can with a kind of meta subject)
Trein made his assignment easy for the week. Just write about an interesting event from their homeland.
But Yuu didn't know much about this world and while it might have been interesting stories within it she could help that she had no connection to it. She felt it when she thought about her world. Or worlds to be exact.
She had asked Trein to help her due to her lack of knowledge.
"I simply asked for you to write about the lands you come from. If you come from another world it's all the more reason to write about it." rein said gently. He could probably see how much the assignment troubled her.
Yuu wondered what her classmate would think about her home and her old life. Still, she decided to write.
It was hard to explain but she started where she began.
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In a land, in a kingdom, in a city, in the heavens. This was where she was born. In the land of gates, Halos.
The floating city was the center of the many realms that bordered it, it was also called the Nexus. It was a given that it's people were called "Travelers", those who dedicate their lives to seeing worlds unknown.
The young girl loved her home and never wished to leave. Even though she watched her friends come and go, she couldn't bear to.
But staying had a cost. Unlike the others, she never gained abilities bestowed on them as rewards for journeying into the unknown. She didn't even have wings to fly like the others.
One day she was given no choice but to leave. Life in Halos was becoming dangerous. To escape she was forced to jump through a gate and sent to another realm.
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Trein skimmed the pages again. Was that it? That's not even a full story.
"Miss Yuu. You put alot of thought into this I'm sure but this isn't even a complete story." Trein only glared skeptical when Yuu smiled meekly.
"Well that's the thing. This story is called "The unfinished ballad" it's one of the first stories of my people. It's also the first story children learn." Yuu shyly rubbed the back of her head as she spoke. She knew this story the most considering how popular it was.
"It's supposed to be unfinished then? What kind of story is that? Not to be rude but I've never heard of something like that." Trein had seen many things but never heard of a culture like that. It certainly sounded like another world.
"Yeah, some stories are left unfished for a reason. One, to remind people that not everything has a conclusion, and two, so that we can write our own endings. For thousands of years, my people have rewritten and remained the story and what happened next. Everyone has their own version." Yuu reasoned. She had never thought of it as strange. This world was different so they had different ideas.
Trein while he understood still wasn't satisfied. He let it go regardless but encouraged Yuu to tell her stories regardless.
Though he wondered if her story was true or a fairy tale.
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"And Molly turned to the giant after she crossed the bridge the wight of a single hair and yelled. Oh, and Molly could yell!" Yuu took in a deep breath. "Never more churl, I'll come to Spain! I've come and I've bested you thrice."
All the children cheered as Yuu waved her hands around.
"The giant still angry at the little thief shook his fat fist and yelled, 'I'll get you Molly Whoopy! Never you terry here again or I swear I'll eat you from tips to toes'!" The children jeered and laughed at Yuu giant voice.
A little later story time was over and the kids had left the library. Yuu dusted off the chalkboard that had read "Tales from the Other World: Damsels causing Distress." It was her biweekly presentation of stories from her homeland.
As she cleaned up her props she heard a shifting behind her. When she looked up it was a few of her classmates "Rook, Kalim, and Cater" an unexpected but understandable combination. They hung out apparently. The strange part was why they were here. They weren't exactly library types nor had kids to take here.
"You didn't think I'd find you here huh freashie?" Cater teased holding up his phone to show her the library's magicam promotional post with her in the picture.
"How did you manage to find this place?" Yuu asked sheepishly.
"I'm very good at finding you." Rook smiled wryly.
"I just tagged along," Kalim added.
"And now that I posted your adorable little show everyone will know!" Cater teased holding his phone up to show her.
Yuu flushed in embarrassment. Everyone would see her talking in silly voices and waving puppets around.
"Carter you should ask to post stuff like that." Yuu's nose crinkled in frustration.
"That's not fair. The library has videos of all your shows, why can't I?" Carter argued.
"That's different, it's for the kids who can't come to all the shows. Besides no one at school could find them unless they already knew about it but everyone knows your socials." Yuu crossed her arms.
"Yuu. It's time to go." A voice interrupted.
Trein stood behind the group with Lucius trotting behind him. He had been the one to help Yuu set up the show with the library after Yuu expressed an interest in telling stories. It was after she started staying with Trein and babysitting for his granddaughters.
"Oh, sorry. I need to grab my props and I'll be right there."yuu said before waving goodbye. "Can we stop at Ana's bakery before we get home?"
"Only if you don't give any to Lucius. Even if he begs." Trein warned.
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The video circulated over the weekend. Almost everyone in school had seen at least one of the storytime videos. Everyone wanted to hear more about this world with stories they had never heard. Each story had a preface about the region and the history of its origin and even if unintentional it was educational.
Next week's show was "Over the Hills and Through the Woods"
Yuu held her breath when she realized how big the crowd was with families faces watching.
She pretended not to notice Ortho sitting up front with the kids who sat criss-cross applesauce on the colorful paymat.
Riddle also sat close to the front since the rules stated that the shortest goes to the first. The parent usually hung back at the tables so no to get in the way.
Even Leona was present though he appeared to not really care along with Ruggie. Jack on the other hand was laser-focused on Yuu as she moved her props. Perhaps he knew that the first story was "The Wolf".
"Gather around children and listen to my tale, of a little girl who walked through the woods," Yuu said mysteriously as the lights dimmed on queue. "Stories about children getting in trouble then they wonder beyond their yard are common across the world and it's no different in mine. But today's tale comes from a storyteller I once met."
Yuu tapped a button and suddenly music began to play.
The music was light and festive like a carnival.
"It was the folktale festival held in town and everyone young and old was there to share and tell their tales. From encounters with kings to meeting the fea everyone had a story." At the fea line the dragon and bat fea perked up a bit.
"I was eager to hear a certain teller and was running late because I just had to get the last turkey leg before anyone else got it. Unfortunately the crowd was so big and not even a mouse could squeeze by." She emphasized the word by squishing her cheeks.
The teens in the crowd wouldn't admit it but one of the reasons they were there was seeing how cute Yuu was when she acted for the show. From the funny voices to exaggerated movements.
"There was only one path that cut through the grass but the sign said no walking on the grass. And well I didn't walk. I dashed. But soon enough I learned how important rules are. Just like someone else in our first story." With that Yuu picked up a small basket and inside was a a red scarf. She wrapped it on her head and began .
"Once there was a girl from a village of people who only wore fine red clothes. Scarfs, hats, coats and hoods. The little girl was packing her bag to visit her grandmother who lived in the woods but her mother pulled her by her hood. The mother wore a beautiful scarlet scarf that she never removed and told her daughter. Don't travel in the woods after dark. The wolf will snatch you by the head and nothing will be left. But Red shook her head. I won't mom I promise. It's still light and I will be quick." Yuu clicked her tongue and the crowd knew what to expect next.
"You see Red didn't believe in the wolf. A wolf hadn't attacked in many years and certainly not during the girl's lifetime. So she had no fear but she didn't want to worry her mother. And off she was. Over the hill and through the woods to grandmother's house she went, but as she went further the woods got darker and quieter. Until she could only hear the sound of blood in her ears and her own heartbeat. As if time had chosen to spite her and rush forward the sun was setting faster. And faster. " the story had begun to take a darker turn and everyone was on edge. "But the night was lovely. She smelled moonlit flowers and hopped over bubbling streams. The air was crisp. Fireflies dotted the air. She wondered why her family hated the night so. What beauty it held."
"The shadows grew longer and the moon had taken the sun's place. And yet she heard nothing. Not even the snap of a twig. The bath grew longer and twisted unfamiliarly. Yet the girl was enchanted. What fun! What adventure! Then she heard it. Breathing. Like puffs of air on her neck. Hot like the lick of flames. Red didn't stop walking knowing that hesitation meant death." Yuu paused.
The audience stared in breathless expectation. Trying to figure out what comes next. Does the girl die? Does she live?
" Then it was gone. The air was cool and all was calm. Then she saw the hazy light of a little cottage in the woods and she ran to the door that opened to a kind old woman in a red scarf. She called to her grandmother and they hugged. They ate dinner and Red washed up for the night. And as she lay and bed she spoke. What a night I had. I traveled through the woods at night and there was no wolf this time. I knew that it was nothing. But as she turned to sleep a shadow in her window spoke. It's red piercing eyes gaping maw open in a sneer." Yuu held a breath before continuing in a deep voice "Oh, but you must travel through those woods again and again... said a shadow at the window... and you must be lucky to avoid the wolf every time... But the wolf... the wolf only needs enough luck to find you once."
The room was silent. The children looked on in shock, fear and amazement. Parents nodded along in amusement knowing a good scare could stop their child from doing something wrong.
Jack liked that story, alot. In fact the Savanaclaws found the story to be something worth hearing and hilarious. Leona would have liked it better if the girl got eaten.
Riddle liked the lesson most.
Floyd and Jade also liked it and compared it to the "Wolf eel" a mer version of the tale. It was far more bloody.
"That's why you must listen to rules my dears. Something I learned as well. When I tried to cross the grass as I dashed and scampered. But every step didn't get me any closer to the tent I wanted to go to. It was as if I was going in circles as I heard the singing from the music tent I felt like I had just passed. Suddenly I saw myself walking toward a different tent a bright red one with yellow trim, green ropes, and blue stakes in the ground that was on the grass. I didn't realize it at first but as I sat down for the show everyone else in the tent was not people like me. They had bright colorful hair, hooves, horns, wings, and other non-human traits. I was in fact among the fae. Not totally uncommon in my realm but usually the stuff of storytellers only. Hardly unusual here but the fae of my realm are different from yours plus that's hardly the most unusual people I've met. I once got invited to a banquet of demons and angels just to settle an argument but that's another tale. I stayed and listened to their stories as they welcomed me. We laughed, danced, and shared more tales still. When it was time to leave I said my goodbyes and left the tent. And the festival grounds were empty even though it would be three more days until was over. I should have known better than to party with the fae when I had plans. I never got to listen to the storyteller I wanted to meet. That's another reason we follow the rules." Yuu said finishing the first round of stories.
The crowd laughed seeing that Yuu was more concerned about missing an event then being trapped with the fae.
Another reason to come to these shows is Yuu's personal stories were so wild. No one knew if they were true or not. If you asked she'd say the same thing "Truth is stranger then fiction."
(I finally freed it from my drafts after months. And I swear my dyslexia is getting worse.)
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goodqueenaly · 1 month
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I’ve never come up with an entirely perfect working theory on Coldhands, but the one I lean toward most is that Coldhands is - somehow - an “ordinary” wight (to the extent the word can be used) whom Bloodraven has skinchanged into, effectively taking over from the Others' control of him, and is using as his agent, so to speak, outside the cave of the children of the forest. Whether or not this sort of skinchanging is even possible, I have no idea - but I gravitate toward this idea because I could see Bloodraven using, and justifying the use of, such a being to achieve his ends. As a wight, Coldhands would presumably raise no suspicions among other wights, and perhaps not the Others either - a useful cover for one who had to travel across many hostile miles between the Wall and the cave (and indeed, when Coldhands shows up to save Sam and Gilly, there doesn't seem to be any indication that the wights are going to attack him). Supernatural agents serving as his spies or as part of his spy network is of course nothing new for Bloodraven, given his actions in his political life: even if the stories Dunk remembers that Bloodraven “could change his face, put on the likeness of a one-eyed dog, even turn into a mist” and command “gaunt gray wolves [to hunt] down his foes” and “carrion crows [to spy] for him and [whisper] secrets in his ear” were not all completely true (though some, I think, undoubtedly were), Bloodraven was certainly willing to use a glamour to disguise himself as a hedge knight at the tourney at Whitewalls. From fabricating an identity, and face, to garb himself as another person, Bloodraven has, perhaps, progressed to taking over another person (or at least, their body) entirely, projecting himself into the world as he no longer physically can. 
More to the point, I like the way that Coldhands as a skinchanged wight controlled by Bloodraven might in a way represent Bloodraven himself (beyond merely serving as his agent). Like Bloodraven, Coldhands is a Night’s Watch ranger, both complete with tattered old blacks that once reflected their Night's Watch membership, seemingly dead “long ago” but in fact alive (or as much as either can be deemed alive, anyway). Coldhands is, like Bloodraven, a figure both sustained and bound by supernatural power. As Bloodraven has “lived beyond his mortal span” thanks to the weirwoods’ magic, so Coldhands, though killed long before his encounters with Sam and Bran, walks and talks like a living being; however, just as Brynden is fated sooner rather than later to “[go] into the trees” completely, to remain permanently in the cave and join that lineage of greenseers on their weirwood seats, so Coldhands is restricted to the wilds beyond the Wall, permitted neither to cross the Wall’s boundaries nor to enter the children’s warded cave. Coldhands no more hesitates to serve Bran, the Reeds, and Hodor the physical flesh of Night’s Watch deserters, despite the horror of cannibalism, than Bloodraven hesitated to serve Daeron II and Aegon V, metaphorically, the flesh of Daemon Blackfyre and his sons and Aenys Blackfyre, respectively, despite the proscriptions against kinslaying and violating guest right (albeit perhaps with some personal qualms for Bloodraven to the former). In the sort of amusing twist Bloodraven himself might appreciate, the man who once spoke with the king’s voice as Hand now perhaps almost literally has another speak with his voice while he himself sits on a mystical throne. Too, as Bloodraven had once appeared to Dunk looking like “a living corpse” as the former rode through King’s Landing, so now a real living corpse, just as pale, would represent Bloodraven as he rode across the lands beyond the Wall. 
What I like about this idea as well is the way in which it adds to the nuance and ethical questions surrounding Bloodraven and the magic he uses. To be clear, I think Bloodraven does care about saving the world: the literally superhuman effort put in to shepherding Bran to becoming his greenseer successor is I believe indicative of this aim. Nevertheless, by skinchanging into a raised wight, Bloodraven may be approaching something close to the rather more nefarious magic employed by the Others; if the very evil of the Others is in their enslaving the reanimated dead for the purposes of destruction, how moral or immoral is Bloodraven’s similar use of a wight, albeit for ultimately positive (or intended to be positive) ends? This potential willingness to take over a human body through magical means, with all the accompanying implications for and discussions on the morality of the actor in question, echoes not only in Varamyr’s disturbing Prologue (with his attempts to seize Thistle) but even in the otherwise very sympathetic Bran and his forcible takeover of Hodor, especially in non-survival or unintentional situations. Obviously, I do not think Bran is malicious or evil, much less on the level of monstrous Varamyr, but I do think the author wants readers to recognize the horror implicit here - through the Others, through these circumstances with Bran, and through, perhaps, Bloodraven’s control of Coldhands (hence the chilling self-identification of Coldhands as “your monster, Brandon Stark). 
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House, Cowes, Isle of Wight
1957
James Gowan and James Stirling
Images from Drawing Matters
Modernism Beyond Metro-Land
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cosmic--dandelion · 6 months
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So how did we get from this
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Dedicated to his Worshippers, George Frederic Watt (1817-1904)
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To this?
A brief history of Mammon
Addendum Because We Can't Have Nice Things: this essay is in no way meant to be a "critique", criticism, or personal attack against Helluva Boss/Hazbin Hotel/Vivziepop as I am, in fact, a big fan of all three! I actually loved the newest episode and Mammon as a character. Seeing him in motion, I think he looks damned near perfect as a modern take on the King of Greed. I wrote this ONLY for educational purposes.
Mammon is a Chaldee (the Semantic language of ancient Chaldeans, the people of a small Mesopotamian country who were later absorbed by the Babylonians) or Syriac word meaning "wealth" or "riches".
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The Worship of Mammon, Evelyn De Morgan (1909)
He is best remembered from the Sermon on the Mount from Mathew 6: 24 (King James version): “No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.”
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Some scholars believe Mammon might have been loosely based on Dīs Pater, originally a Roman God of mineral wealth and fertile lands who was later merged with the chthonic deities of the underworld Pluto and Orcus (because minerals come from underground). Pluto was depicted in the Divine Comedy as "wolflike demon of wealth"; wolves in the medieval times were symbols of greed. Others think he might have been an ancient Syrian god, though no trace of his cult or temples exists.
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Mammon transformed over time from an abstract concept to major demon. This is thanks to later philosophers and theologians such as Saint Gregory of Nyssa, a third century Byzantine scholar, Archbishop of Constantinople John Chrysostom, and Peter Lombard, bishop of Paris from 1159 to 1160. His book of Four Books of Sentences (Sententiarum libri IV) was the standard theological text of the Middle Ages.
Mammon was assigned the sin of greed according to the Peter Binsfield classification of demons.
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John Milton of Paradise Lost fame imaged him as a fallen angel. He is described as being stooped over (literally the "least erected" of Lucifer's demonic host) because he always has his eyes downward looking for gold and would rather use Hell's resources to finance his lavish lifestyle than wage war against Heaven.
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In Edmund Spenser's 16th long poem, The Faerie Queene, Mammon is a “uncouth, salvage, and uncivile wight” who sets up his cave of riches right next to the entrance to the underworld. Subtle, huh? He tries to tempt Sir Guyon, the protagonist of Book II, with all his fabulous wealth, arguing that he could use it for good. (This is a religious-moral-political allegory about temperance, so you can guess how well that went.) He shows up again in Jacques de Plancy's Dictionnaire Infernal as Hell's ambassador to England. Yes, really.
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Just like in Biblical times, reformists used Mammon as a symbol of exploitation and unfettered capitalism during the industrial age.
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Fun fact: Mr. Burns lives at the corner of Croesus and Mammon street.
So how does Vivziepop's version compare to the historical Mammon? I dunno, he hasn't appeared in the show yet. It's not my favorite design, but I like the fact that half the fandom was expecting him to be the Big Bad of Helluva Boss, and he's a just big heckin' chonk who sort of looks like a demented Dr. Suess character crossed with a demonic air freshener. It's a silly design for a silly dude, but he could be more dangerous than he looks...
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vorsdany · 1 year
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Dying Flames
Daenerys Targaryen x inferni!reader
Words : ±7k
Summary : As the war unfolds, Daenerys and her Commander struggles to keep their relationship from falling apart.
Warnings : language, violence, deaths??
A/N : I miss my girl dany so much y’all don’t even understand so here’s a lil something. Happy reading!!
ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ
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The cold stung on her skin, little prickles of ice pricking on her already rosy cheeks, her lips turning a shade lighter and she could feel it going numb from the harsh winds brushing against her face. At times like this, Daenerys only longed for the warmth of your touch, comforting like no other. She felt it was what she needed most at the moment, for if she was to drag this rescue out any longer, she might never have the chance to feel your lips again from being frozen into ice. Despite being naturally hot – your words, not hers – she had found herself too dependent on you as a heat source in the colder nights.
If only Jon Snow hadn’t decided to play the hero instead of getting on the damn dragon, they wouldn’t have to stand in the middle of the blizzard far longer than intended. Their plan was to find and bring in one, and there they were, thousands of Wights surrounding them; it was either their plan to attract them had gone too well, or it’d gone terribly wrong. Daenerys settled on the former, just a little too well they’d got more than expected, seeing they were all scrambling for their lives. She could see her breaths in the air, could feel the ice cracking from the fire her children rained upon them.
It took only a moment. Her gaze lingered for a moment longer on Jon Snow, seeing him fight with recklessness; brave, but stalling them towards safety. It happened only in a blink, then her head snapped towards the sky because of the shrieking sound only a dragon could make rang throughout the ice field. There was a figure falling along with him, shooting fire at the spear that had lodged itself through Viserion’s neck in hope of melting it. All eyes were trailed on it, moving in sync as they watched them fall, the figure clutching onto the dragon’s wing upon landing, screams of grief so gut-wrenching they’d felt as if they were the ones speared through the heart.
Daenerys felt her heart break; Viserion, her boy, dying on ice, in a foreign place, fighting a war that wasn’t his to fight, a war that hadn’t even started yet. She only watched as Rhaegal dived after his brother, wishing to save him only to realize it was too late. But instead of shooting back into the freezing air, his claws snatched you from Viserion’s side, despite the screams of protests and the death grip to pry his scaly feet off your body, trying to break free of his hold.
The Khaleesi sat in silence on Drogon’s back as he flew, and when the men she rescued climbed off the giant creature, she made no move to step down, only directed the dragon upwards, welcoming the air as it bit against her wet cheeks, letting it freeze up her heart in the process.
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“He’s with him. Your dragon.” Out of all things she’d expected to hear when she finally arrived at Winterfell, this – Jon’s brother telling her that her son, her Viserion, was with the Night King – wasn’t one of them. Her fist balled up, missing the usual grounding squeeze you’d give her in dire times. She did not know how to react, too caught up in her head and the next thing she knew, she sat in a hall, facing the high lords of Winterfell, planning the upcoming course of action. Half of the plan passed her mind, by the seven hells, she couldn’t even gather her thoughts right. How was she to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms when she was easily distracted?
A cocky, armored man showed her the way to her chambers, making snide comments about a foreign ruler, how she “whored” her way into getting their King to bend the knee. Luckily, Missandei was right by her side, offering an arm to loop with hers as they walked so Daenerys didn’t pay him any mind. Grey Worm strutted frigidly to her side once she reached the door, assuming he was to take post to guard her for the night. “Would you fetch Y/N for me, please?” Before he could answer, the Northern man spoke up. “The red witch? Wonder if she was as good in the bedroom as they said she was in the pleasure house.” Missandei glared at the man with her mouth agape, the Unsullied looked ready to cut out the man’s tongue and Daenerys.. she was frozen in place, face paling and jaw clenched as the notion planted itself in her brain.
“I’ll get her for you.” He gave no courtesy or regarded her as the Queen, but Daenerys was too preoccupied to even stop her hand from slamming the door close on their faces. She sat on the hard, undoubtedly uncomfortable bed, and waited.
Wait, she did. For two long hours, wondering where you could’ve been, if you’d simply refused to see her out of shame, of guilt; it’d been that way since they came back from the Wall, neither doing anything to sought the other out, leading to a downhill course of their relationship. Before Daenerys could dive deeper – as if she could, with the amount of thinking she’d been doing lately – a knock sounded from the wooden door, opening only a crack for you to slip in.
“You called for me, your Grace?” You looked as beautiful as the day she named you commander of her Queensguard, and as stunning as the night you’d slipped into her room the same way, though Daenerys could feel this night would end rather differently from the one she remembered. Your hair was braided down your back, as a sign of victories you had won for her and one of devotion to her. Your red dressings never failed to disappoint; a well sewn symbol of her house sigil on your left shoulder, and the trail of burning fire cascading down to your sleeves, leaving a protruding gold that shines in the dark.
Only, they were stained with a red substance. If Daenerys didn’t know any better, she would pass it down as water splashing on your red uniform, but she did. Her eyes never left the crimson coating your fingers; when it did, you offered her a tight smile, communicating through your gazes and it was then that she understood – the armored man went too far, and now he was a man no more. A ghost, perhaps. Dead, for sure. It was possible you were the one who went too far, but Daenerys wouldn’t put it past him to act much improper as he was in her presence. He certainly lived to deserve whatever punishment you’d decided upon him.
“Killing a man of our host’s wouldn’t be very warm of us now, would it?” Your eyes found hers without remorse, though it lacked the usual humor when she used to interrogate you on your ‘small’ crimes. “Just like you believed such insolence as my visit to a pleasure house?” Without her knowledge, you had buried yourself in a pile of books – histories, prophecies, anything on dragons – until one of the Starks came to your aid. Brandon, was it? You’d stumbled upon something called the three-eyed raven, though the theory wasn’t proven true until he settled himself next to you. He told you of the past, the events unfolded on the other side of the world as he sat in his chair on Winterfell, yet he spoke nothing of the future. You wondered of what you’d done to acquire such knowledge, not expecting the young man to dump it on the commander of the Queensguard – the same Queen his people were refusing to acknowledge with all their might.
“It was hardly unbelievable.” Neither of you knew how to respond to her answer, only stared at each other for a long while as you contemplated your next words. You remembered the times you laid together, cold nights spent in a tangle of sheets, her company keeping you from awaiting nightmares soon as you dare close an eye. The silver Queen – your Queen knew of your habits; learning languages with Missandei had led to reading sessions, training the guards and lending them lessons as well as attending beside Daenerys on important matters. She should’ve known better than to accuse you of spending your first days in a foreign place by going someplace as low as a pleasure house.
Your conversation with Bran Stark was shoved into the back of your mind; there were more pressing matters at hand, like the hostile stance she bore when you entered, the closed off and rigid expression you wore as you met her eyes for the first time since.. the accident. There was no Darnerys and her Blaze, only the Queen and her general.
“You asked for me, what for?” Straight to the point, Daenerys thought. Just like her commander always were, cutting their meetings and discussions with Lords alike short, sealing a deal under the hour if you willed it enough. Something tinged in her chest as it registered in her mind that you considered her a stranger, only a matter to be solved.
“Is it such a letdown that I simply wanted your company?” You doubted she did. Her first words were to patronize you, speaking of your doings like they were treason; which they were, but that was not the point, because if she did desire your company, she would’ve sought you out many weeks ago.
“I only wondered, how had it be so when you could have the King in North’s company?” Fighting the urge to roll your eyes at her displeased look, you took a seat on the benches at the foot of her bed – appearing harmless and relaxed, though Daenerys knew better than to assume such things. “He is an important subject of mine, it’s only for-” “The sake of the Throne, I know.” It is not the throne, she used to tell you, yet she remained silent as you both battled your own thoughts. “Viserion..” Your ears twitched at the mention of his name, unsure whether you should feel sadness and guilt, for the failure as a rider, or relief, for the name that rolled of her tongue. “He’s still alive.” You eyed her in disbelief, as if she’d grown another head by telling you such nonsense.
Daenerys watched your face contort into a series of emotions, noticing the flicker of golden red in your eyes as you seemed to lose yourself in your head. “He isn’t.” Brandon Stark informed her otherwise, though she couldn’t expect he’d find it in himself to tell you as well.
“Bran Stark told me-” “He’s dead, Daenerys. He might be breathing down the wall in the north but there isn’t a single thread of life in his body. He’s dead.”
The Silver Queen was stunned, to say the least. The air was eerie and she could see your eyes glazed over with unshed tears, your jaw clenching as you held yourself from breaking down in front of her; Daenerys had never felt a wall so thick and tall as the one building between the two of you, separating you in a swift pace.
“He’s just like them, Daenerys. The Wights, a living corpse.” Taking a cautious step towards you, she enclosed your hands in hers, encasing the cold with her warm ones. For a fleeting moment, you’d hoped her to say those words, to assure that you weren’t at fault, to forgive you, but they never came.
“He will be avenged.” With what? By whom? Yet the words rolled off your lips before you could make a conscious decision to stop them, and still, a spark of understanding light up in those violet orbs. No one could comprehend her loss of a son, much less her dragon, but she knew you did and would do anything in order to ease the grief that settled in her heart. Daenerys thought the world cruel, and was proven right; just as she had thought you were acting upon her best interest, and just as it was on the wrong perception.
Her silence only led you to believe that she, indeed, blamed you for it, for failing to save him, failed as his rider, failed her.
It all melted away the moment her lips touched yours, and her bed smelled like ash, felt like smoke of dragonfire that burned on your skin.
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“We don’t have enough troops, and certainly will not survive a controlled dragon.”
“We have two dragons, don’t we?” It was always the same stubbornness; you decided if this war doesn’t kill them all, their stupidity will. As only the commander of the Queensguard, you didn’t have much say in strategies – your only duty in meetings were to stand on guard beside the Queen, a sort of cupbearer that doesn’t bear any cups; except maybe a bunch of cups of thoughts and opinions that does nothing but raise the heat of the discussion.
All you were hearing about were fruitless arguments and obvious conclusions of disadvantages being made, the vile and defensive statements making it clear that you weren’t welcome here. She wasn’t welcome here, in the North. You wouldn’t mind riding away out of this forsaken part of the Seven Kingdoms, actually, but Daenerys seemed to have better plans; to gain the North on her side as she took the Iron Throne. Even Missandei would admit that despite being the one being lent help, the people sure had a funny way of showing their gratitude. Daenerys had never been patient in making plans and battle strategies, but she did have exceptional advisors and not to mention three dragons.
“You don’t suppose we could skip breakfast, do you?” The North’s air was unforgiving; relentlessly cold, though you did love the constant blush it gave to her cheeks, a contrast against her pale skin and silver hair. Daenerys’ lips quirked up, nudging you with her foot without giving you any verbal response. You hadn’t seen the dragons since arriving, and you decided it was for good reason; the Khaleesi hadn’t mentioned how they were doing to you, or how they were faring in the snowy setting. Though you understood the hesitance, it hurt nonetheless. Maybe more than it should have.
“It would be an interesting tale; The Queen and her Commander, missing in the north.” It was a force of habit, making jokes about running away together, leaving the raging war behind, and it was almost a natural response for her to laugh, or chuckle, at least. None of those sounds left her throat, so the stomping of your feet halted into a stop, brows furrowing. “Is something wrong?” Daenerys almost cried at the mindless question, the piled-up fear and anger so close to boiling off the top, exhaustion of an unending journey seeping into her bones. No, nothing is going wrong, except that everything had gone to shit and Daenerys had no idea how to stop it.
She had lost one of her dragons, the other injured, and the cold wasn’t helping her at all. You had always been of assistance, yet lately you hadn’t been to her. She’d noticed it, how you strayed away from her day and night, with others present or without; when she went to make a snide comment about entitled and stupid men, you weren’t on her side, ready to fuel her statement with a gossip you’d managed to gather by eavesdropping on the streets.
She’d missed your continuous hovering, wishing for it to be the way it was – before dragonstone, before the north, before one of the dragons died, before you failed to save him. Never would she had thought that you were distancing yourself away from her for another reason other than for much needed space, yet there you were, hovering around everybody else but her. Any sane person with eyes would expect her to lash out while on her final straw, to go ‘mad’ like her late father, and slapping her to reality would be a possible solution you could think of. What you didn’t expect, was for the rage to come in the form of tears.
Oh. Now this was new. Without thinking it over, your arms were wide opened and she stepped right into your embrace, the weight of her head falling on your shoulder a reassuring reminder of her trust. Perhaps it had never faltered, that it was your own selfishness clouding your senses, or perhaps she had learned to give in to her heart again, to present it whole onto your hands, hoping you might hold it dear and close to your own. With her body attached to yours, Daenerys felt her breathing match the one she heard and felt, her worries and tension on her shoulders melting just by the barest of touches you landed on her skin. You swayed lightly from left to right, your fingers caressing her neatly braided hair with care, the other hand rubbing her back. Here, there was no Queen nor Commander, only two lovers lost in a foreign and cold world; and despite the world that’s falling apart, they were still grasping onto the last threads of hope their broken love could find.
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“Oh, come on, Daenerys! We will not have our army march towards their deaths in attempting to win against the dead.” Again, it was the same, repeated and stupid argument that had you clawing at each other’s throats. The north people had been less than concerned of what became of both the Dothraki and Unsullied in the battle to come, and more than demanding of the safety of their fighters.
“Our army? This is my army, and so it is my call. Do not forget your place.” Any rational person would’ve seen the red lights that came of the island of snow, of its hostile stares and judgmental looks, yet Daenerys was doing everything in her to pretend that it was non-existent. “I refuse to send the army on a suicide mission.” Her eyes flashed dangerously before they hardened, any form of vulnerability from the day before gone like it was never there. “Then I command you to lead them. Your Queen demands it, and her decision is final.”
The room quietened, as silent as it could be with only the two of you occupying it. A pregnant pause filled the air instead, the clenches and scrapes of your hands against the hilt of a dagger hidden beneath the robe on your side was the only thing grounding you. In this moment, you couldn’t help but wish Daenerys would let down her guards for once, to hear and consider your insights regarding the alliance that was close to never coming to with the north.
Her last statement was enough of a dismissal, but you made no move to walk away, signaling that the conversation was not yet done – contrary to what Daenerys believed to be, as she turned on her heels to leave the room instead; and the already broken love fractured even more, because when had it become so suffocating for her to stay in the same room as you? You could still feel her fuming from her discussion with the Lords of the North, followed by the session with her Hand, though you only trusted the man as far as he could throw you. No one could blame her for the resolve she held, however, for what are the words of a Queensguard compared to the Hand of the Queen?
“And what of Viserion?” She stopped in her tracks, frozen at the mere mention of her lost dragon. None had even the nerve to talk or console her about it, only your brief promise of his avengement. “You cannot expect them to run into his deadly fire, can you?” Her jaw clenched, a passing look of doubt crossing her face. “What of his brothers? Are you expecting them to fight each other as well? You can’t put them-”
“Then I suppose you would have no problem killing him,” A pause. “Again.” You took a step back unconsciously, as if you had been punched right in the guts as you stared at the back of her head unbelievably. ‘What are you implying?’ The question replayed in your head but never came out of your mouth, for you already knew the answer and couldn’t bring yourself to challenge for the different ways she could put it.
“May your plan comes nicely to work, Your Grace.” You hindered not the.. suggestion that she appointed, choosing to ignore the stabbing pain on your chest and to swallow down the bile rising in your throat. Wasting no more time in her bitter presence, you rushed out, paying no mind to the call of your name behind you.
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Throughout her life, Daenerys had watched numerous impossible events unfold before her eyes, had witnessed people destroy each other for the sake of their own greed, had been at the end of the blade held by said people. Never in her mind, had she expected herself to be the bearer of the sword. Greed.. was it? For the throne, but was it not her birthright she was fighting for? For the people’s approval, their love, but was it not their choice to choose their ruler? You’d dismissed her on the matter time and time again – that she was lending them help; not just any, but dragons and armies to their Lord’s cause, and it was only customs that they respect Daenerys Targaryen as their Queen.
It seemed your words had now turned on you. Maybe she took it too deep into heart; fighting to earn their acceptance while discarding other matters that should’ve been attended to. Urgency had came to bite everyone’s ass as of late, and time wasn’t something Daenerys had to muse on the what if’s – though still she stood under the tree that barely caught the snow as it fell and made a crown on her head, dwelling on ways to make amends with the commander of her Queensguard. The dragons were restless, just as their mother was; whether it was from the cold, the upcoming war, the loss of Viserion, or the lack of a certain person, Daenerys did not know.
“You shan’t coat yourself in the snow, Daenerys. If you wish to die freezing, now is not the time.” It hadn’t registered to her that she couldn’t feel her cheeks, or lips, or her entire face, for that matter, yet she felt warm all over when it was your eyes she found behind her, a thick coat in hand as you stomped through the snow towards her. You draped it over her shoulders and sighed, patting away excess flakes that stuck themselves to her clothes, dampening them in the process. Had it been anyone else, Daenerys would’ve shoved them away and made sure they watch themselves and know their place.
Her hand reached towards you on instinct, ridding your hair of white spots and brushing your skin unintentionally. The temperature of her hand made you flinch, a frown taking hold of your features as you finished tying up the coat to her dress. Just as she made to pull away, you took her hands and rubbed them together, hoping to warm them up. It was as if the argument never happened, and Daenerys never admitted your role in the death of her dragon, like she did not imply that you were at fault for it.
“Come, let’s go back inside.” It was but a whisper, and after a moment of blowing hot air to her warm her frozen fingers, you decided to not stay in the cold any longer. All Daenerys wanted was to curl up against your side, wrapped in your arms while you radiated warmth to keep away the cold. But the door clicked closed as soon as she was settled, and she was left alone once more, the lingering anticipation for the battle to come keeping her from sleep.
She wished she could take back her words, wished to tell you that you mustn’t risk yourself to fight a dead dragon on her foolish command, to confess that she regretted those words as soon as they left her mouth.
Alas, she didn’t get the chance to see you until the battle bell rang, while she mounted Drogon with a heart hammering against her chest, eyes never straying from the dragon on the opposite side, gliding in forced and strained moves towards them. Fire spread on the front lines, no question coming from you, lightning up the dark night and calling the war to life.
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The fight was long, tiresome. Despite all the fire burning and valyrian steel penetrating the Wights, the war was cold on her skin. No amount of heat from dragonfire could warm them up, as if the winter was settling in for real this time, and it had no intention of leaving; Winter has came. But only people who was coward enough to believe that it would be the end of them – winter was here, and so was summer, her summer, weaving through the field and making the enemies cower away from her flames like ants against fire.
At some point, you’d manage to climb on Rhaegal after he’d abandoned Jon to fight on the ground. Only the Gods know how you’d managed it, or how the dragon had let it happen; though it all made sense when he flew head first towards his late brother who was nothing but a shell of wings and fire that didn’t belong to him. Daenerys held her breath, fully expecting the fight that was bound to happen, yet all Rhaegal did was turn drastically an inch before he could crash into the other dragon. His tail snapped and swished wildly, shoving the Night King off of Viserion, sending him tumbling down without anything to stop the fall. The Wight Dragon was without rider now, and so were Rhaegal once more, your figure missing from his back.
He was unfazed, though, as he kept on frying up the lines of soldiers beneath, holding it steady for their army to gain advantage. Daenerys hadn’t time to dwell on your position, roars and screeches from the dragons as well as the shouts and yells from the war calling to her attention urgently. For a moment, they seemed to be thinning in numbers, though Daenerys couldn’t tell which was the winning side, and had hoped that they were the one having the upper hand. She could barely catch her breath as the next thing she knew, she was on the ground, surrounded by dead creatures crawling after her, a sword swinging madly in her hands.
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The warm, moist scales against your hands was not what you felt when you took hold of Viserion. It was naïve, to expect him to stay the same after death, even though he looked years away from life. The comforting thorns on your palms were now ice cold, sharp and biting on your skin, making your hold falter before bracing it and tightening your grip. What you had in mind was not going to work with him flying, yet your mind supplied no ideas on how to get him on ground. Unlike what used to be easy, riding the current Viserion proved to be harder as he didn’t align with his rider anymore; instead controlled and restricted by a monster that haunts your dreams.
He snapped his head to the side, showing resistance on the small weight on his shoulder, as if biting off an itch he couldn’t quite get rid of. Distracted, he didn’t see Drogon coming from the other side of him, inevitably crashing into his body and tearing open his wing, yet he made no sound as he tumbled for the land. Your vision blurred from the tears gathered in your eyes; was it from the pain in your chest, or the harsh air blowing as you fell, you didn’t know. Even without his rider, he roared and blowed blue, cold fire in every direction, only barely missing your hair as you clutched him tightly.
“Fire can burn them, but not the King, nor his dragon.” Bran had told you a prophecy, of what he’d seen through words he considered simple, yet took you weeks to understand even half of it. “Dragons wield fire inside them, but not the King.” What was the purpose of telling you these things if he didn’t intend to elaborate on them? You’d long figured out of the Night ‘King’ he spoke of, but what of the meaning of it? For all you knew, he was only reciting the obvious facts. “The dragon will remain.”
But as you finally touched the soil, solid and slippery on your feet, the rumbles of his breath ghosting against your neck, you’d felt a fire reaching out, calling, screaming to be freed, to be released of chains binding it down. His previous dark eyes was bright blue, empty as they stared straight into yours and everything clicked into place. With no hesitation, your palms were laid flat against his scales and his eyes slammed shut, a sound so high-pitched, wrapped in pain and agony escaped from the back of his throat. To anyone else, it might seem like a dying dragon, wailing on its last breath; and they had assumed so, for they were too busy fighting for their lives to see the human-sized form torched in luminous flame underneath its wing.
When the Night King fell, everyone halted and breathed a sigh of relief, some chanting in victory, some falling to their knees and wept for the fallen. Daenerys only had one thing in mind, and that was the dragon who’d miraculously returned to his normal colour and a broken figure laying unconscious, hidden beneath his torn wing.
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The battle had been won, though they were not cheering her name. Daenerys couldn’t care less of their words, not when her commander laid unmoving in a sickbed, showing no signs of life except for the persistent heartbeats underneath her fingertips as she held tightly onto your hand. Brandon Stark had even visited once, eyes void of any sympathy or regret, only studying your unchanging state for some time before strolling out of the room without uttering a single word.
Daenerys understood that you’d confided with him upon arriving, had known that you knew something that had never been told to anyone else, not even your Queen. Had he hold a role in leading you into the condition you were in now, or had he simply felt troubled for a friend? An urge to snap bubbled up inside her at the thought of you considering Bran a friend deserving of your trust, and she was just a Queen you had to obey and follow. Once she had been the former, too, and she failed to pinpoint when it started to change.
She was forced to put the siege of King’s Landing on hold, seeing as her army was without a commander and even though Grey Worm had taken the lead for the time being, he was also quite hesitant of accepting orders of attack without you. Daenerys had opted to tend to Viserion instead of being couped up in your chambers, brainstorming ways to get the dragon to eat and recover. Winterfell wasn’t the best place for it, but there was no possible way to move him somewhere warmer, so they were left with no choice but to nurse his health here. Not even his brothers could coax him out of the fast he insisted on having, refusing any kinds of animals they’ve caught for him.
Daenerys’ mind wandered to Viserion as each hour passed, and that was where it had been for the past three, sitting around a table on yet another council meeting, discussing matters on the future of the Seven Kingdoms. The Silver Queen stood firm on her resolve that no plans would be concluded without the Commander to legalize it, leaving them frustrated and impatient at the ridiculous rule. It did not last long, however.
The first thing Daenerys did when she heard of your consciousness, she had walked faster than she ever did to your rooms only to find it empty. Second, was slamming your door so hard it almost fell off its hinges, glaring daggers at your wide-eyed, curious face. Not only had you left your bed the moment you woke up, but you’d also had the audacity to find someone else before her. Apparently, you’d gone around asking everyone for Bran Stark, claiming you had an important matter to discuss with him. And apparently, although the thought alone was enough to send Daenerys reeling, she couldn’t help the relief that flooded her body to find you standing and moving about, so the next thing she did was pull you into an embrace.
“I didn’t kill him this time.” It took a beat or two for it to sink in, her stomach churning at the reminder of her words days ago. Daenerys shook her head, “No, no,” Your lips were pressed into a thin line as you avoided her gaze, surely believing her less than when she said the opposite. “You never did.” A long breath in, followed by a heavy sigh left your lips this time. Surely, she was only saying that because he was alive now, albeit less than he was before the war, but still very much lively. At least, that was what she and everyone else had thought.
“There is a price to be paid.” You were aware of it now, the meaning behind his prophecy. It only left Daenerys confused from the small quotation of it, but you seemed unwilling to share it.
It felt like a knife was stabbed into her heart when you pulled away from her grip even as she held on tighter, your persistence only tightening as you took a few steps away as if her touch burned your very skin. “A price has been paid.” You stared straight at her, yet Daenerys couldn’t recognize the eyes she used to adore.
You walked past her to the door. She didn’t stop you.
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The North gained their independence that night, and a feast had been assembled the day after, as a celebration and a farewell, seeing the Targaryen Queen would be leaving the North in the morrow and heading to King’s Landing. For once, the atmosphere was not hostile, instead filled with grateful folks and well wishes – they even called her the Dragon Queen; and it was a relief to hear it said with adoration and not with venom in their tones.
Sansa Stark stood in her magnificent dress, a crown sitting atop her head. “In this day, I would like to honour our people, men and women who fought with us, bled and killed for us, for without their bravery, there wouldn’t have been a victory to be celebrated today.” Cheers erupted across the hall, chatters and yells of triumph filling the air. Daenerys only smiled to herself, her eyes darting to your place by her side more than once, gauging your reaction every few seconds. “In addition,” The crowd quietened, “We toast to Daenerys Targaryen. Without her, we would not be here today, alive and breathing. For that I am thankful, and as I and my small council has decided, we will aid her in taking the Iron Throne as we support her claim as an ally, and as a neighbouring kingdom.” To Daenerys’ and everyone’s surprise, the crowd brightened up again, despite the announcement that they would have to aid in yet another war – it appeared that nothing could dampen their mood for the time being.
After the hall emptied at the end of the night – or early morning, Daenerys had approached Sansa, you tailing behind her and stealing a glance at the young man sitting on his special chair, the far-away look etched on his face as per usual.
“Thank you, Sansa. I would surely miss your grand feasts as I part.” Your eyebrow quirked up at the friendly exchange happening upon your very eyes, the lack of titles as they talked was definitely strange to witness. “I do regret to say that my dragon, Viserion, would have to sit out the battle, as he’s not well enough to take flight yet.” You held your breath at the mention of the dragon, picking on your fingers behind your back as you wished to run away from the discussion.
“He can fly.” Heads snapped towards Bran, whose gaze were directed at you alone. Your eyes widened at his suggestion and you shook your head rapidly, panic settling in your chest. “No. I am not doing it.”
“Do what?” It was Daenerys this time, puzzled as the two seemingly held a mental argument with their eyes.
“You haven’t told her?”
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“You can warg into Viserion? Why haven’t you told me?” Once again, you were in your rooms alone with Daenerys, the door slamming shut behind you as loud as it did days ago. Her eyes narrowed at your hesitance, the pent up anger and impatience bubbling inside her in a series of emotions, sending her into a frenzy as she paced back and forth before the door. “How could you keep something this massive a secret? You do realize that he wasn’t doing well, don’t you? You don’t suppose telling me could’ve helped? Now is not the time to keep quiet on important matters.” The Queen rambled on, upset and hurt by your distrust and betrayal. “But I suppose Bran was the more deserving of the truth now, wasn’t he? I-”
“It’s not natural, Daenerys!” Her mouth snapped shut at your interruption, and only then did she realize the redness in your eyes, trying your hardest to keep yourself from losing control – though it was usually to keep your fire contained, you reminded yourself there was nothing to hold onto anymore.
“None of this is natural. The fire, his resurrection, nothing makes sense. Bran was the one who told me, not otherwise. It was all I could do when I was asleep, and instead of dreams, I see from the eyes of a fucking dragon!”
Unknowingly, you’d moved and stood so close in front of Daenerys as you talked that she could feel your breath on her lips. You shoved your finger on her collarbone, fury and exhaustion in your voice, “You asked me to kill him.” She could hear the crack in your tone, the amount of effort you put into holding yourself together like none she’d seen before.
“That was not your intention when you touched him, was it?” For the umpteenth time, you jumped away from her and squeezed your eyes shut, rubbing your face frustratingly. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Still, she failed to understand how warging into a dragon was being defined as something bad.
“I don’t see how it’s a bad thing-” She tried to reason, “The fire is gone.” Her breath hitched in her throat, unbelieving towards your admission. For the longest of times, she had found comfort in your warmth, the truth that no one else knew of, the fire you hold in the palm of your hands. Perhaps she felt guilty over the loss, but she’d never comprehend the pain of losing a part of your soul, the core of your very being. Still, you hid it from her, keeping the pain to yourself as you continued leading her army and giving counsels.
“Now, is not the time to mourn, nor is it the time to discuss-”
“If it involves my dragon, then yes, it is the time-”
“That’s all you care about, isn’t it?!” Your voice raised as your heart beats harder against your ribs that they hurt, tears now falling down your cheeks with no way of stopping them. “He is dead, Daenerys. Remember what happened to your Khal? I paid the price myself and it still wasn’t enough. There is no use warging into a dead dragon, why won’t you understand?!” Never had you raised your tone even a smidge whilst arguing, yet this time proved to be an exception. As realization settled in, Daenerys felt her heart drop into her stomach, the thought alone making her feel sick – yet she still found the strength to wrap her arms around your trashing figure, feeling her cheeks wet as she grieved once more.
You had let her hold onto hope while facing the reality alone, and now, you still carried the burden of guilt for failing your Queen yet again. The dragon could fly, Daenerys later learned, but just as he was with the Night King, a shell of a weapon; you refused to betray him so. His body was burned and his ashes carried in a locket around his mother’s neck, the pyre lit by his own brothers. You did not attend it, hiding away behind cold walls you could no longer heat up.
Daenerys walked through the hallways, observing the parting of her army as half of them had started to leave to set up camp for the journey ahead. A commotion was heard from her chambers and her steps quickened, a furrow in her brows as she sent a look to Grey Worm. He only shared a glance with Missandei worriedly, before stepping away from the door to create an opening for the Queen.
Inside, she saw your figure, dressed in the armors of her Queensguard, straight and tense back facing the door. From her place, Daenerys concluded the sword you held tightly in your hand, thrusted towards a handmaiden someone had appointed to assist in cleaning up the room – said maid was shaking badly that to a stranger, it might seem like she was having a seizure of sorts.
Daenerys called out your name, and only then did you shoulders loosen, but she couldn’t stop the gasp that left her mouth as you turned around, in search of her gaze.
Instead of the normal round, dark orbs she expected – golden, cat-like eyes that oddly resembled spheres identical to Viserion’s stared back at her. No, not a cat.. it was a dragon.
∵※∵
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lailoken · 8 months
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Land-Wights Devotional Garland (SOLD)
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This set of devotional beads was inspired by the tutelary spirits, often known as the Land Wights.
It was constructed from alternating Moss Agate rondelle beads and handmade Hazel Wood beads, with a single bead of Jasperized Wood at its center. On one end is secured a small Hagstone discovered in a local creek, and on the other end is secured a fragment of Antique Bronzework, which was auspiciousy discovered, buried in the earth, before being cleaned and oiled. Upon assembly, the entire piece was then suffumigated with a smoke of wild-foraged Oakmoss, Sorrel, and Mint.
This piece measures approximately 19 inches/48 centimeters long, and all connecting rings and pins are made from silver-plated steel. It is being sold for $55 + Shipping, so if interested, free free to message me on tumblr or purchase it directly through my webshop.
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I'm going to Sweden for a trip in two weeks, do you have any advice on how I can introduce myself to the land wights there/be on good terms with them as I explore the country?
Sounds exciting!
I do have plenty of advice for you, but bear in mind that I'm just one person, and that my way is not the only way. There are many ways of establishing good relations with the land wights.
Personally, I like to thank the local spirits and beings for accepting me and hosting me on their land. You don't need to make a big deal out of it - just be polite.
I also like to give the land wights offerings when I'm entering into a new area/region, or before/after crossing a natural border - rivers, lakes, oceans, ridges, mountains, large forests etc. I would probably say something like "Thank you for accepting me onto your land. Please accept this gift as a token of my appreciation/friendship," make the offering, and sit in silence and observe the surroundings for a while. I would also pay attention to any immediate signs or tydor. You don't have to do any of this if you don't want to.
(If you're planning on making any offerings outside/in nature, look up Allemansrätten. Naturvårdsverket also has a bunch of useful information [in English] about local rules and regulations.)
It is polite to offer the land wights a sip of your drink. This is usually done whenever you're outside/in a place where the drink can seep into the ground (= not a modern floor). Some people always do this, but they usually go outside to do so. Some pour it into the sink. In some regions, it's very important that you tell the land wights that the drink you're pouring is intended as an offering to them (before you start pouring). Since failing to do so when it's needed is really bad, (and since doing so when it isn't needed doesn't cause any harm), it's probably safer to always inform the land wights about what you're doing. Say something like "Here's one for you," and then pour a small amount of the drink onto the ground. These drink offerings aren't mandatory, but I recommend doing them.
Now we get to the really important stuff: how to avoid pissing them off. My general advice is to treat your surroundings with respect. Don't break stuff or move stuff around for no good reason. Warn the land wights before pouring out liquid. This is done by yelling something like "watch out." If the liquid is hot, you should probably warn them about this too. Yell something like "Watch out! Hot [water]!!" Similarly, you should always warn them before you pee on the ground. (A simple "watch out" will do.) Basically, warn them before doing anything that may cause them harm. Avoid polluting places, don't litter, don't make yourself a nuisance. Warning the land wights is mandatory if you want to be on good terms with them.
If you're visiting Skåne/southern Sweden, avoid peeing on elderberry bushes. You also shouldn't break their branches or disturb them in other ways. (Picking their flowers or berries is fine though.)
If you for some reason want to use Swedish when you're warning the land wights, here are some suggestions:
Akta! ('Be careful!')
Se upp! ('Watch out!')
Akta! Varmt! ('Be careful! Hot!')
(Using similar phrases in your own native language is perfectly acceptable, as long as they're clear and concise.)
This is all I could think of off the top of my head. Perhaps my followers have more helpful tips and advice?
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As the season changes, the days grow shorter and a chillsome bite hangs in the night air.
Our hearts yearn for the comfort of hardy foods. Autumn is the season of soup, simmering pots, and harvest.
We pour back into ourselves, rejuvenating our tired bodies. We thank the Ancestors, wights, and Gods for the bounty of the year. We welcome abundance and fertility into our home, land, and body.
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emyn-arnens · 5 months
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It’s spooky season! In honor of the season, I’ve put together a rec list of some of my favorite LOTR and Silm horror fics. So curl up with a warm drink, tuck in…and maybe leave the lights on. 😉 Please leave a kudos and comment if you enjoy!
A Hidden Hunt in Hollow Dells by Zdenka (T, Petty-dwarves, 100 words):
The Dwarves of the great cities tell tales of the Elvenfolk to frighten their children, but the Petty-Dwarves know the tales are true.
A Treatise on the Origin of Dragons by Piyo13 (T, Sauron, 2.9k):
"A Treatise on the Origin of Dragons, recorded by Mairon" In which Mairon conducts a scientific experiment, and Orcs aren't the only form of corrupted Elf to have ever graced Middle Earth.
autumn fruits with me prevail by Anonymous (T, Thranduil, ~200 words):
On his head he wore a crown of berries and red leaves, for the autumn was come again.
cold be sleep under stone by Feanoriel (NR, Ar-Pharazôn, ~600 words, character death):
Under the barrow, a dead man dreams.
consuming by simaetha (T, Khamûl & Sauron, 1k):
...For one of the hungry Houseless, if it is admitted to the friendship of the Living, may seek to eject the fëa from its body; and in the contest for mastery the body may be gravely injured, even if it be not wrested from its rightful inhabitant. Or the Houseless may plead for shelter, and if it is admitted, then it will seek to enslave its host and use both his will and his body for its own purposes. It is said that Sauron did these things, and taught his followers how to achieve them. - Laws and Customs Among the Eldar
Heed No Nightly Noises by Marta (M, 4.7k, Pippin, Merry, Barrow-wights, Lalia Took, and OMC, minor character death):
"The hobbits sprang to their feet in alarm, and ran to the western rim. They found that they were upon an island in the fog. Even as they looked out in dismay towards the setting sun, it sank before their eyes into a white sea, and a cold grey shadow sprang up in the East behind. The fog rolled up to the walls and rose above them, and as it mounted it bent over their heads until it became a roof: they were shut in a hall of mist whose central pillar was the standing stone. "They felt as if a trap was closing about them; but they did not quite lose heart. " (from The Lord of the Rings, "Fog on the Barrow-Downs")
lengthen the night and shorten the day by kimaracretak (G, Lalaith, ~100 words, character death):
Death cannot take Lalaith from the river.
nights so frozen by simaetha (G, Varda, Lúthien, and OCs, ~900 words):
Varda: Star-Queen, Kindler, Sublime, Ever-white. Every angel is terrifying. - Rilke
Nine Fingers by Prackspoor (G, Frodo & Sam & Merry & Pippin, 6.3k):
On their way home from Minas Tirith, the Hobbits have a strange encounter on the outskirts of the Barrow-downs...
only the sleep eternal / in an eternal night by simaetha (T, Shelob, ~700 words):
“The world is a terrible place,” you tell the small creature, kindly. 
The Snaring of Gorlim by Zdenka (T, Gorlim/Eilinel, 1.4k, character death):
Gorlim searches for Eilinel.
This Will I Do by amyfortuna (NR, Míriel Þerindë & Ungoliant, ~800 words, character death):
Míriel makes a deal with Ungoliant, and she'll see it through, no matter the sacrifice.
Too Bright for Mortal Lands by amyfortuna (T, Beren/Lúthien, Díor/Nimloth, 1k, character death):
"...The wise have said that the Silmaril hastened their end; for the flame of the beauty of Lúthien as she wore it was too bright for mortal lands."
Watcher Of/In the Woods by ncfan (T, Andreth, 2.4k):
"Outside, the world was changing." Andreth, in the time following the Dagor Bragollach.
With Both Hands by crackinthecup (T, Morgoth & Ungoliant, 1.5k):
“This is my domain, Dark One,” Ungoliant said, and her body was revealed in the light of Melkor’s gaze, dark and heavy and sagging, splayed across her webs like a hole through the fabric of the world. She dwarfed Melkor by her sheer size. “Our ties were broken long ago. You promised that I would feed to my heart’s content and beyond, yet I was hungry then, and I am hungry still. Begone! I owe you nothing.” It is said in the Silmarillion that Melkor went to Avathar to seek out Ungoliant and plot his revenge with her. This is the story of their meeting.
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thenorthsource · 1 year
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"Do you sing?" Gilly rearranged her furs, and she moved the babe from one breast to the other.
Sam blushed. "I . . . I know some songs. When I was little I liked to sing. [...] but my lord father never liked me to.”
Sam remembered the last time he'd sung the song with his mother, to lull baby Dickon to sleep. [...]
Gilly's babe had gone to sleep. He was such a tiny thing, and so quiet that Sam feared for him. He didn't even have a name. […]
He wondered what his father would say if he could see him now. I killed one of the Others, my lord, he imagined saying. I stabbed him with an obsidian dagger, and my Sworn Brothers call me Sam the Slayer now. But even in his fancies, Lord Randyll only scowled, disbelieving.
[…]
Clumsily, Sam sank to his knees. "Old gods, hear my prayer. The Seven were my father's gods but I said my words to you when I joined the Watch. Help us now. I fear we might be lost. We're hungry too, and so cold. I don't know what gods I believe in now, but . . . please, if you're there, help us. Gilly has a little son." That was all that he could think to say. The dusk was deepening, the leaves of the weirwood rustling softly, waving like a thousand blood-red hands.
[…]
Sam made a whimpery sound. "It's not fair . . ."
“Fair." The raven landed on his shoulder. "Fair, far, fear." It flapped its wings, and screamed along with Gilly. The wights were almost on her. He heard the dark red leaves of the weirwood rustling, whispering to one another in a tongue he did not know. The starlight itself seemed to stir, and all around them the trees groaned and creaked. […]
“Go," said the bird on his shoulder. "Go, go, go."
Sam ran, puffs of frost exploding from his mouth. All around him the wights flailed at the black wings and sharp beaks that assailed them, falling in an eerie silence with never a grunt nor cry. But the ravens ignored Sam. He took Gilly by the hand and pulled her away from the weirwood. "We have to go."
“But where?" Gilly hurried after him, holding her baby.
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