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baileybeez · 2 months

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My Top Ten Favorite Bumbleby Moments (My Opinion Obviously)

10. All Fight Scenes

I know I'm technically cheating on this one but whenever these two fight, I know I'm in for a good time. And all of them have been superb. These two are in sync without even communicating with each other. They know each other's abilities and know how to work together well in combat.

9. We're Protecting Each Other

This was a 'you had to be there' moment. It was insane. Even knowing these two would eventually confront Adam, the way they did it blew my mind. I loved seeing these two stand up together to confront Adam and become each other's strength's. They had each other's backs in this moment and were going to do it together.

8. We Were There For Each Other

This moment lived in my head rent free for months after the episode came out. They held hands before this to comfort each other during stressful times. Like Blake reaching out to apologize to Yang when she lost her arm and Blake reaching out when Yang's hand started to shake because of Adam. But this time, Yang reached for Blake in a moment of peace. After everything that happened, she forgave Blake and accepted her after everything they went through together. And all she wanted to do was just hold her hand again.

7. Volume 8 Reunion

The amount of gushing I and many others did during this moment was crazy. We were starved for Bumbleby interactions in Volume 8, especially after Volume 7 did so many with them both. After 24 hours of craziness, the two are at peace once again. Blake at first is worried since they did separate missions Yang might be mad that they didn't work together. But all Yang did to reassure her was smile and the two touched foreheads and later embraced each other. It was such a sweet moment.

6. Date Night

Volume 7 had so many good little bee moments that were adorable and I'm a sucker for fluff. Blake getting her new hair and Yang struggling to compliment it, the selfie, Blake falling asleep on Yang's lap with Yang holding her etc. But the two going to a club and off handedly mentioning they're gonna ignore Team FNKI just to have their own fun. You two can just call it a date, we won't judge lol. With Yang trying to teach Blake how to dance and Blake struggling to learn while laughing. I love how whenever Yang cracks a joke, she looks at Blake because she wants to make sure she see's Blake laughing. Not to mention Nora's comments later in the episode.

"Blake and Yang are off doing they're own thing again."

"Friends huh? Just friends?"

"Two people who have gone through that much? I think there's more going on."

And I will forever be mad RT didn't show us them at their date.

5. The Burning Candle

Ya'll this was the spark that ignited the ship. Not only is the Burning Candle just a great episode but it's an amazing moment for Blake and Yang. We get to see these two open up and communicate their wants and desires. With Yang telling Blake about her past and trying to help Blake so she doesn't push herself too far. And then of course at the end Yang gives her that wink and says 'I'll save you a dance'. Then we later see the two dancing. It was also the first time we saw Blake laughing and happy and it was all because of Yang. Yang who just asked for a dance in return for helping Blake and opening up about her past. I was sold on this ship when this episode came out.

4. How Disarming ~

The gay in my brain would not stop buzzing at this moment. It's amazing seeing how much Blake was the one openly flirting and initiating playful touch. There's a great post by @wixhing0nastar going over Blake's body language throughout the volumes. How a lot of the times Blake is more closed off in her posture, like how she holds herself. But here, she's leaning into to Yang's space and just playfully nudging her. She's not holding back. Also I swear I could hear Blake purr when she said 'How disarming'. Like my breath got caught in my throat. And then when Weiss said 'About time'. I knew this volume had to be the one where they finally get together.

3. Volume 9 Reunion

This is my favorite reunion of Bumbleby. Especially since we had to wait for so long for these two to be reunited. Blake was distraught last volume as she failed to save Yang and thought Yang died in front of her. Yang who had always been there to help her and fight by her side. And the first thing Blake does when she gets a free chance is to tackle hug Yang and hug her tightly. Softly whispering Yang in both disbelief and joy. And Yang simply holds her to reassure her like she did in Volume 8. Honestly, if Weiss and Ruby weren't there they would have probably stayed like that for hours lol.

2. I'm Not Gonna Break My Promise

This used to be my favorite Bumbleby moment of all time and for good reason. Blake and Yang had killed Adam. The first thing Blake does is weep and fall to her knees. She's gone through so much and much of it had to do with him. Her torment of him is over and the person she once knew was dead. And Yang wordlessly just holds her and lets Blake cry. Blake finally gets out that she won't break her promise and swears it. Earlier Adam had mockingly told Yang that Blake made a promise to him once and that she didn't follow through with it. And even earlier in the volume Blake had promised to be there if they faced him. Yang has seen Blake stood by her words with her actions. And just reassures Blake she knows Blake won't break her promise. No more words are exchanged as the two just hold each other and Blake just cries more.

The Confession and Kiss

Was anyone really surprised? I know I wasn't. I loved the number 2 moment on my list so much. But I knew as soon as we got the confession and kiss scene it would more than likely take my top spot. It was all a matter of how it was executed and it was done spectacularly. There's many essays and write ups on why this scene was so good so I apologize if I don't add much to the conversation.

But Blake and Yang are stuck in a punderstorm and are trying to figure out how to get out. With them eventually figuring out they need to say things about each other they've never said before. At this point the two have only really said cute things to each other and then Blake comes out with.

'I think....you're an extraordinary person.'

Honest to god I was already getting emotional from just that as Blake goes in some more. Talking about how Yang does what she says, she brightens others around her and is always brave even when she's scared. The looks and the song Worthy playing in the background only add to how monumental this moment was for me. With Yang talking about how she liked how Blake wasn't intimidated by her even back when they didn't get along. She also talks about how Blake doesn't give up on people even when other people hurt her and she never gives up because she knows what matters to her. Blake has tried to help others and has sometimes failed but she has tried to push through despite labeling herself as a coward. But Yang see's a person always trying to do what's best for the people she loves.

Then we get this moment.

These are my favorite expressions of the whole scene. It's so wholesome, pure and full of love in every detail. At this point the two know what needs to be said but Yang is at first hesitant and the bridge between them widens. Blake asks if Yang thought of something then didn't say it and Yang is so bashful as she is realizing she needs to say those three words. But Yang is scared, she compares it to a cliff and if she goes through with it she'll fall. I've always headcannoed that Yang's greatest fear is letting those she loves down. And that ties into how she fell at Beacon and fell in Volume 8. It can also tie to her with the aftermath of Mercury and feeling she let her team down. She's scared she won't be good enough and will lose it all. It also similarly ties into her abandonment issues.

But Blake points out, they're already falling. Their emotions aren't going to go away just because they're scared. They're already worried for each other when they're fighting to save the world and two thought they were dead last volume. With Blake thinking Yang died and she failed to save her. So Blake encourages Yang gently by telling her to say it.

And after a heavy sigh, Yang confesses with Blake jumping in before she can finish as the two say I love you. The bridge that separated them is gone and they're together. They look at each other with blushing cheeks with Worthy playing in the background. They pull into each other, Blake slowly smiling as they get closer and kiss each other. White lilies sprout from under them as the while lily symbolizes rebirth and rejuvenation of the soul. The flowers are also used at weddings and can also mean purity. It's such a perfect flower to fit this perfect this scene.

And there you have it, my top ten Bumbleby moments. There were lots of moments to choose from and so many of the ones I love unfortunately didn't make it on this list. So here are some honorable mentions down below.

#bumbleby #rwby #sapphic #rwby bumbleby #rwby volume 9 #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #blake x yang #greenlight volume 10 #THIS IS ALL MY OPINION

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lovesickry · 9 months

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- let the light in.

┈⋆⭒ lando norris x rival femdriver!reader [2.3k] ┈⋆⭒ prologue !

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ find all parts here! ˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ contains: swearing .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ a/n: this is an enemies/rivals to lovers and I am so incredibly excited to write this so here's the prologue. :)

2022 season, driver for Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula 1 team.

You hadn't had a problem with Lando Norris. You weren't friends by any means but you used to smile at him, give him a pat on the back when he did well on the weekend. You used to scoff at some of his sly jokes he made to reporters. You used to be polite acquaintances. That was until the moment you saw something in him you despised. Something that you saw as unforgivable.

-MIAMI GRAND PRIX 2022

You were on pole.

You were actually on pole.

For the first time in your career you had taken pole.

The feeling was something incomparable to just about anything you’d ever experienced.

Stepping out of the car, having everyone congratulate you as you beamed, walking to the media pen for post-qualifying interviews smiling like an idiot. It was your first pole in your career and it warranted something to talk about. Though it had taken years for the interviewers to not comment on your gender, you relished in the fact that not a single interview today had asked about how it felt to have long hair or if it was uncomfortable wearing a racing suit and also having tits. Or how it felt that your competitors would always have a “biological advantage”. There was not one single comment made even similar to the quietly yet blatantly sexist comments you were so used to receiving and combatting. These interviews as pleasant as they were remained about the car, about the race and about the track. Things you loved to talk about when people actually listened. You look back at Carlos and Charles and they both whisper congratulations mid-interview. Miami definitely wasn't your favourite, the track was alright but what you hated the most (nevermind sounding stuck up) were the fans or atleast some of them. You'd already had too many shit experiences with middle aged white men telling you that Mercedes was a team purely for “show” or that they shouldn't make formula one a “political” sport. Are you fucking joking?

On the other hand, all the women you met were lovely, telling you how proud they were, how amazing you were. But all the men, oh they would either compliment you or insult you, both were equally uncomfortable experiences. Nevertheless, it was something you’ve sadly gotten used to and something you refused to dwell on this weekend. Your pace was superb, you had got pole after all and the idea that a win was in the books was one that kept you awake that night. Although needing the sleep just as bad.

The morning brought a wave of heavily suspected nerves, your hands were shaking annoyingly and you kept having to hide the fact from the cameras, so as to not make a story out of it, something that you inwardly (and outwardly) despised journalists about. Their ability to stick their nose in things so clearly marked “Keep Out!” You'd already seen about seven articles this year, making up some bogus story about how you and charles were secretly dating or some weird romantic trope, getting all these photos of friendly interactions and marking it up to PR interactions and we were secretly dating. It was funny actually, the lengths people would go to just to somehow justify their hate for you. At Least if you were dating a driver they could say you were only in the sport because, oh how did Christian Horner put it. “The drivers are good looking.” Which is exactly why you’d made sure to stay strictly friends with every single one, dating completely and totally outside the Formula 1 fucked up family circle.

As the media commitments finally wrapped up and you did the final interviews before being let go to prepare for the race you bumped into Alex, you admired him as a driver and he was always kind to you, he wished you good luck and congratulated you on your first pole before excusing himself to be escorted to the Williams garage. As you said, you were friendly with most of the drivers. You reach your drivers room and let out a sigh of relief seeing your physio standing there already. You do some quick warmups, stretches exercises before she asks if anything is hurting. You mention a point in your lower back in which she focuses on and does a few different methods on relieving some of the pain before you need to get in the car. You weigh in and settle into the car, brain fuzzed and hands though not shaking were sweaty and your heart was beating so loud you thought you might die, the sound feeling as though it was echoing around your helmet. Checking through the last thing with the engineers, suddenly you were alone on the track, open track ahead of you for the first time, you were starting alongside Max, who you knew was heavily tarnishing your chance of a win, but there was still the hope for a better start and better strategy. Maybe just maybe you could keep him behind?

Formation lap, returning back to your places, you were doing what you were taught, think of nothing, think of nothing, close the door, close the door. Close the door. Breath, you dont dare to blink as you watch the lights one by one before they all go off. Zooming off into the first corner your mind is blank as you like it and you are focused. You’re aware of your jaw tensing as you keep max behind going into turn 8. Your engineer is giving you lap by lap updates but its not helping as you push and push to keep him barely 1.2 seconds behind. You managed the pace but you noticed going into lap 23 that the rear tires were sliding, feeling it through turn 14 and 15 as you glimpsed max in your mirrors just as you swerved slightly. You were still in the lead however and feeling confident enough that pitting know and losing places would just mean others pitting later. You mention on the radio about the rears and they tell you to watch the tire deg for a few more laps and then they’ll bring you in. you reply in a quick yes before racking your brain on how the fuck youre going to handle these for another “few” laps. Not surprisingly max overtakes you on the next lap at turn 10 and you immediately opt to pit. You exit the pit lane acutely aware of the position you will come out in. P10, great. The tires took what felt like years to finally heat up and for you to actually start gaining positions but once you gained one, it all fell into place. The undercut had worked as everyone stopped to pit for fresh tires you gained time and on the 38th lap you’d found yourself right back in p2, comfortably looking at the rear wing of max verstappen who was yet to pit as he started on the hard not the mediums. But, you figured he'd be feeling the rears go soon and you could just wait it out but also, as you were reminded by your race engineer: manage paceand defend behind. Going into the 39th lap you watched as verstappen pulled into the pit lane and your jaw for the first time in nearly 40 laps, relaxed. If you could just keep the tires until the end this was yours. Your engineer alerted you that max had come out in p11 and although he was on mediums, it would still take him what they estimated to be 12 laps to reach the top pack again. Currently you were driving steady, your gaze was forward and you remained ahead by 2.3 seconds, an honourable lead but you could always push. The straights seemed to test the car more as Charles gained 0.8 in the straight but lost that same time almost immediately in the corners. Going into lap 49 your engineer alerted of the gap between you and p2,3,4 and 5. It was only 3 seconds. fuck , fuck fuck. Verstappen was still climbing and you were still losing grip with 8 laps left could you seriously make these shitty tires last, your questioned was answered as you grazed the wall coming out of turn 2, your rear tires simply giving out as you righted the car.

“Did you just see that?”

“Yes we did” “What can I do? I'm losing grip”

“Norris is .9 behind”

“Yeah alright thanks”

No help, cool. But now norris was behind, what happened to Charles. Aw what the fuck these tires were shit and the only hope was the brief 5 laps, however they seemed to be stretching out hopelessly as you locked up again and again. It was nearly undriveable approaching the 54th lap.

“Norris is .7 behind, he has been advised to overtake”

You don’t bother to respond, you’re trying to figure out how the fuck to still win this race, focusing all your will power into defense now as the McLaren inches dangerously closer to your rear wing. You’re cautious as you follow the racing line through turn 11, but your brain clocks out the minute that you glance in the mirror and see Lando Norris’ wheel impossibly close to yours as he attempts an overtake on the outside. You pray for no contact and it's futile, all the fucking effort you put in and the tire management was all fucking useless, because thanks to Lando Norris and his bullshit strategy and sheer fucking selfishness he hits your rear wheel sending you into straight into the barrier. What should’ve been your first win in formula one was made into a fucking joke as you watched the McLaren drive off unopposed. There were simply no words to describe the sheer anger you felt, your jaw tensed again, your teeth fucking shook and suddenly you wanted to cry. You knew you shouldn't.

Reminding yourself of where you were, you lifted your head up, being met with the red and yellow of the barrier.

“Are you okay?”

You have nothing to say, afraid your voice might break or you'll scream. You reach out and lift yourself out of the car.

Nothing could've prepared you for the red that filled your vision as you watched Lando Norris lift up that first place trophy that should've been yours.

Of course you were jealous but you weren't just that. You were fucking furious. Not only had he crashed into you, ruining your race. He had blamed it all on you, in a post race interview he said-

"yeah, no. I mean I don't think anyone is to blame but I also think she was in a position where she should have let me by and when she braked late she sent her wheel into mine."

A fucking lie. nobody is to blame? maybe the person who actually hit your fucking wheel maybe, the person trying to steal my fucking racing line maybe? There was no fucking consoling you as you made your way as quietly as you could to the McLaren garage, at least hoping for an apology. You spot him talking to Carlos and you go over, initially only facing Carlos, congratulating him on his points before turning to Lando, who is standing there with a smug look on your face. You want to punch him.

"I'm sorry about how your race ended Dylan, I really thought you had this one" Carlos sounded genuine and he rubbed your shoulder while he said it. It was a nice thing to say but you were acutely aware of Lando's presence.

"Thanks Carlos" I nod

"sorry but do you think I could speak to Lando alone please?"

he nods and walks off as Lando outwardly groans, you turn towards him and wait. For anything.

"Nothing? Really?"

he raises his eyebrows "What?"

Your nostrils flare and you swallow as you try to fathom this.

"No fucking apology Norris?" its not the most polite thing, but its the most polite things on a list of things to say to him.

he pouts his lips jokingly and then pops his lips.

"Nup."

That's it, something in your brain fizzles over, you're as angry as you can contain and you just stand there stoic looking at his smug fucking face as he holds what should've been your trophy. There is a bitter taste in your mouth as you smile out of sheer disbelief, an unnerving smile before leaning forward to whisper in his ear.

"I didn't brake late and you fucking know it"

You ignored the way his lips twitched into a kind of twisted smile or the way he went to respond before you walked away.

As you walk away from him your breathing is shallow and fast, he doesn’t try and argue with you and you are still fuming as you reach the hotel and try to sleep. Ending up on the treadmill, running until you couldn't be angry anymore but the minute you stopped it all came flooding back, blood on fire again and you were back in those fucking barriers. Your jaw tensed, you would never ever look in the direction of Lando fucking Norris again.

#source: cafekitsune #f1 #f1 fic #lando norris #f1 x reader #f1 x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfic #lando norris enemies to lovers #lando norris smut #lando norris angst

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edenfenixblogs · 5 months

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hey, gentile here. just came across this post of yours and, first of all- it's SUPERB. it showed me a perspective on being a jewish ally that i really wouldn't ever have considered by myself, made me more confident in my choice to put combating jew-hatred above the friendships I've recently lost, and gave me a really useful direction on where to go as an ally to jewish people onwards. that being said, there's a few details about it I'd like to press you about, if it's not too much trouble.

this point is probably worthy of an eyeroll as i'm a culturally christian atheist (making a concious effort to not be *that* kind of atheist), but: when you refer to G-d as the creator of all things, you stress that that includes evil- but that, in so doing, G-d is not evil themself. now, I'm asking this with the express purpose of you correcting me, so: why does this G-d- as a G-d fundamentally distinct from the Christian conception of God as a Super-Mega-Ultra-Perfect God Who Can Do No Wrong Ever- create evil? i, personally, have been led to believe by @/spacelazarwolf that it is simply because G-d, too, makes mistakes just like any human being, but the way you worded it in this paragraph (which I've included as a screenshot below) had me interpret G-d creating evil as a concious, intentional action. did i just not read it correctly? and, if i didn't, then is the reason G-d creates evil part of this central struggle you went in detail into in the same paragraph, and as such, a very individual part of Jewish belief that no two jews agree on? and if that is so, would you be comfortable with sharing your version of it?

a few paragraphs after that one, you dedicated many words to make it absolutely crystal clear that, in the process of unlearning and combating jew-hatred in the society around me, i should, in spite of the vitriol that they propagate, love the former friends i lost to antisemitism. how- and *why* should i love the people who, on an early october 8th morning, actively celebrated the news of a massacre of Israeli civilians? who mocked- and still mock- the survivors and the families of hostages? who wield the memory of the holocaust as a baton against Jewish people's right to self defense? who deify terror groups who are up to their necks in atrocities? who make an active effort to spit on the face of *reality?* How could i possibly look at the face of a friend who chose allegiance to a terrorist group she did not even know existed four months ago over me- who she had actively interacted with for much longer?

would you rather we called ourselves "gentiles" or "goyim?" I've been calling myself a gentile for the longest time because i see jamming a word from a language i don't speak at all in an otherwise english sentence to be disrespectful and constitute appropriation, but you and other jumblr blogs have given me the impression that that is not the case. furthermore- i believe it was @/bambahalva who pointed out the usage of the word "gentile" in antisemitic segregation policies.

that is all- i hope this message finds you well. oh, yeah one more thing- what do you think of The Forward news network? i came across them by chance and next thing i knew I'd gotten into their newsletter.

WARNING: I HAVE FINISHED WRITING THIS AND IT'S LONGER THAN I EXPECTED AND ALSO MORE JEWISH THAN I EXPECTED LOL! I have done the most Jewish possible thing I could do and answered all of your questions with questions. I'm sorrryyyyyy! This is what happens when you grow up surrounded by rabbis and future rabbis! LMAOO

Oooh! What a good ask! I love this ask. OK, so! Let's go in order.

First of all, thank you so much for your kind words. And thanking you for backing your words with the action of prioritizing kindness over hatred. It matters. More than I can ever explain. Thank you.

You know, it's funny. People ask me a lot of questions about i/p that they think will have simple and straightforward answers that just don't. And I end up writing a lot of essays because of this. The questions you wrote me seem like they should be complex, but feel relatively straightforward to me.

Now, to your first bullet point: I don't know. I truly do not know. I think that G-d is fundamentally just...G-d, and in so being, G-d is truly unknowable to me. I think many Jews have many different interpretations on why G-d creates evil. I'm no rabbi, but one of my BFFs is and so is her mother and great grandfather. That doesn't give me any kind of authority. It just means I've spent a lot of time thinking about theological questions like this. As for my perspective, I'm a progressive/reform Jew, not a humanistic Jew. I do actually believe in G-d, but I vibe with the community philosophies of Humanistic Judaism a lot. So that's the perspective I'm coming from here:

I'm not a particular fan of the Book of Job, because I think it gets twisted and interpreted in Christian ways more than most Hebrew books and it can too easily be twisted into a "Don't question G-d, because G-d is perfect" narrative that I find to be fundamentally at odds with how I practice Judaism. Also, it's just a very sad story about how a good and kind man lost everything, and it makes me sad to think about. HOWEVER, that traditional "Don't question G-d" narrative is not how I learned to think about that book. The way I learned it, I believe the Book of Job describes this issue most explicitly. After Job loses everything he holds dear and talks to all his friends and begs again and again "Why? Why did G-d do this to me? Why would G-d do this to me when I'm a good person?" And basically G-d hears everyone answering for G-d with various reasons, "Maybe you were bad." "Maybe you should make an offering" Maybe this. Maybe that. And eventually G-d responds from within a storm (paraphrased of course) 'Why the fuck do you think it's your business to know? I made the whole universe! I made everything you see. I made the world that gave you your family in your first place. Why do you think you get to question my motives?'

The way I always interpreted that is: I don't fricking know! It's not really my business. What am I gonna do? Stop G-d? How does my knowing why G-d creates evil help anything? It doesn't mean we don't question G-d. It means we should instead focus on what we CAN control. I can't make 10/7/2023 not happen any more than I could stop The Holocaust or form an ocean. That's divine business, not human business. What I CAN do is make the world better now. What use is it challenging things that we cannot change? Things that are in the past? What's the point of asking why bad things happen when we can instead focus on stopping more bad things from happening. G-d named us his people when Abraham fought with G-d to stop the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. Abraham repeatedly asked, "But are you sure? But what if there are 100 good people? 50 good people? 10 good people?" And G-d kept responding, basically, 'I mean, there aren't. I know this cuz of how I'm G-d and know all the things. But knock yourself out looking.' My interpretation of this was that G-d doesn't get mad when we do our utmost to help our fellow human beings. G-d gets mad when we waste our energy that we could be using to help our fellow man to instead be angry and rage futilely against the past. I say this as someone with PTSD as someone who attempted to stop a tragedy from occuring and failed and can never understand why. What informs my trauma and what makes it so hard to get past isn't that G-d allowed it to happen. It's that people did. It's that I begged for help before it happened--over and over and over to dozens of adults in various positions of authority in order to prevent this terrible thing from happening (no, I will not now or ever disclose what that thing is). And all the people who could have helped failed me, and now two people are dead. Because someone did an evil, evil thing. And a bunch of other people let it happen. I'm not mad at G-d. I'm mad at people. And yet, I also know that hating people and finding reasons to dismiss them and despise them is what leads to more tragedies like that happening. So, despite my rage, truly the only thing to do is to love people. It's the only that helps. It's the only thing that repairs the world. It's the only thing that we can control. So, in short, my answer to "Why does G-d create evil?" is "Why should I spend my valuable time on earth trying to answer that question when, instead, I can spend that same exact amount of time asking millions of people, 'How can I help? What's wrong, and how can I help make any part of it better?'?" We don't need to understand G-d to make the world a better place. I'm fine leaving G-d stuff to G-d and spending my time on the human stuff.

Now, your second bullet point. Love their souls. You don't have to love what they've done. But they are human beings, as are we all. I think this can also easily be twisted into the Christian framework of "Hate the sin, love the sinner," but that's not what I mean at all. People's evil deeds are a part of them. They need to take responsibility. There is no divine absolution for crimes that people do unto each other in Judaism. If you harm a person, G-d cannot forgive you for that. Only the person or people you harmed can forgive you. And to a certain degree, we are all defined by our actions toward others. And so, no. I do not forgive the terrorists who woke up and decided to kill a bunch of Israelis and Israeli-adjacent humans. I do not forgive those who celebrate the deaths of Israelis because of some misguided sense of justice. I do not forgive the people who continue to send me hatred and death threats day after day after day after day. And I do not love the parts of them that did and do those horrible, unforgivable things. But my goodness. They were babies once. They either had parents who love(d) them, which is so sad, because they have this life of love and they chose instead to fill it with so much hate. Or they didn't have any parents or loved ones or anyone to guide them and, my goodness. That is so sad. How terrifying and alone that must feel. Maybe they have friends and family who love them and are instead wasting their precious time on this planet directing their energy at raging against me and 15 million other Jews they've never met. Or maybe they don't have anyone who loves them and they think that hating me and harming me will bring them some sense of purpose and joy. What a horrid way to live.

My Grandpa died last year. I have a wonderful family for whom I'm very grateful, and I even have good memories with my Grandpa. But he was not a good person. He came from an abusive home, and weaponized that abuse on his loved ones until he drove them all away. He was a narcissist. Not in the pop psychology sense. But in the actual clinical sense. He ruined every relationship that ever mattered to him--personal and professional. And in the end, because of his own actions, he died alone. He had pushed everyone so far (often with legal threats and action) that when he died, he laid on a slab for weeks because nobody could figure out who to call, because he had no one left. (For reference, Jewish burials are supposed to happen rather quickly and two weeks is...not good.) He was the only person in his generation who was not born in Israel--my family on his side has lived in Israel since looooong before even the British Mandate and he was the only person in his family born and raised in the US. As far as we can tell, the family on that side has been in Israel for as long as Jews have existed. He was religious. And while I've never been to Israel or met any of my family there, he did go. And he kept in touch with his relatives there before driving them away too. He was a wealthy man, but convinced himself that everyone only wanted him for his money and then decided to horde it instead. He left nothing to his children or to me. He left all his money in an endowment to his university--a place that uses that money to fund anti-Israel organizations now. He died alone, without his family that lived nearby, and with a legacy that will now cause active harm to the family that lived far away. He could have died surrounded by the loved ones from around the world who wanted nothing more than to be near him and loved by him. His story is a tragedy. The story of every person who chooses hatred over love is a tragedy. The story of someone who woke up and chose to murder others or to delight in the death of others is a tragedy. I love the soul in the center of these people. I loved my grandfather. I could not be around him. I cannot forgive some of the things he said and did. But I love the person he could have been. I love the part of him that gave me some good memories. I love the family he gave to me.

No, we do not all need to love or forgive those who have wronged us or terrorized us or murdered our loved ones. But that is different from mourning a human soul. From loving the potential of a human soul to do good in the world, and mourning the loss of that soul and its potential. Every human being--every single one no matter what they have done in their lives--has the potential to create goodness and make the world a better place. Every moment of every single day is a new chance to meet that challenge and do our best. Sure, not all of us have it in us to try our best every single moment. Sometimes life is hard and we're sad and tired and hungry and angry. And that's ok, because we have tomorrow, and an hour from now, and a minute from now. But the moment someone chooses to take action and decides that action should be to cause another harm or celebrate the harm that was caused? That's a tragedy. And when a life is extinguished, that is a life that loses its potential to try again and do better. We shouldn't love people because we deem them worthy of love. We should love people because they are people. And so are we. And how wonderful is that? I could choose to hate them. It would be so easy! But why should I do that? What do I gain? What do they gain? And isn't it so wonderful that I chose to love instead? And isn't it so wonderful that you can, too?

As for your final bullet point: I have no preference. I say goyim cuz it's easier for me. Goy/gentile/non-Jew are all fine to me. I have some icky feelings about the word gentile for a variety of linguistic reasons I won't bore you with. But some other people don't like when non-Jews appropriate Yiddish words. Others (including me) find it wonderful when non-Jews call themselves goyim. All my closest non-Jewish people call themselves goyim, including my sister! Non-jew is the most neutral in English and least likely to offend anyone. But it still separates Jews as an other whereas "goy" is a way to distinguishing yourself from Jews while also being an acknowledgment of our culture. As far as I'm concerned as long as a goy is being a goy (ally, positive) rather than a goy (derogatory) I don't mind that they call themselves goyim. LOL! Idk, friend. Do what makes you happy! What do you prefer?!

Regarding The Forward news network: They are a reliable Left-Center source with a high credibility and reporting rating and only one failed fact check in the past five years for which they issued a correction. I would consider them a reliable source. They cover legitimate issues of people who support Palestinan self-determination ostensibly being punished for their stances. They publish Op-eds critical of Netanyahu, who is terrible. And they address how antisemitism is harming diaspora Jews. They seem to consistently emphasize the humanity of everyone, which you can tell based on the rest of my post is very important to me, but they also avoid over-editorializing on news that is not in the Op-Ed section. I'll never endorse any source as perfect or guaranteed to be free of problems or harm or bad takes, but they do seem to make a genuine effort to be factual, clear, and wholly truthful. Note: I highly recommend that everyone installs the Media Bias/Fact Check extension on their web browsers. Get in the habit of checking and evaluating sources critically. It's a skill that will serve you your whole life.

@clawdia-houyhnhnm I hope this helps. And thank you for your thoughtful ask and commitment to intercultural understanding. <3

#ask me stuff #clawdia-houyhnhnm #leftist antisemitism #antisemitism #jewish muslim solidarity #jewish goyim solidarity #Judaism #jewish culture #jumblr #how to help #allyship #media literacy

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mightymizora · 7 months

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Hey @prideofthegate you wanted me to convince you to play Pillars of Eternity and I don't have much time to write about everything I like, so Pillars Pals, please feel free to jump on with this!

But here are just some of the things I love about it.

First thing is the writing. God the WRITING. It's SO good and rich, with just the right amount of influences from other CRPGs like Baldur's Gate and Neverwinter Nights whilst also building such a rich and enjoyable lore straight off the bat. It's a bit lore dense but...

It has a BRILLIANT codex system where you highlight words and it tells you all about it. Which means the writing doesn't feel too expositional.

The voice acting is SUPERB pretty much across the board. The characters, despite being a handful of avatars and text lines, feel so well rounded and are all really unique. They don't just slot into character archetypes like a lot of CRPGs of this scale. Even the characters you hate are just so perfectly written and performed. Theres no romance in the first game, but there is in the second.

The design is also so cool, especially of the God characters you meet.

The music is absolutely beautiful, and fully orchestrally rendered.

The combat is well judged, and offers a challenge if you like that sort of thing. Even on easy I found there was a lot of tactical choice to be made.

And finally the community is small but excellent. I think, and this is a bit elitist maybe but I'm gonna say it, a game that demands a certain commitment to the lore, to reading, to critical thinking ends up attracting some of the best thinkers and makers I've met in fandom space. We are small, but we are mighty.

One thing I would say which is a bit annoying is that the second game is MUCH more accessible, but it spoils the monumentally cool twist in the first game so I'd really recommend just sticking with the first and letting it sink in slowly. It's a bit of a slow burn (I think I didn't really realise I was hooked until about ten hours in, when I started exploring past the Dyrwood) but once you're in man, you're in!

#pillars of eternity #poe

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tremendouskoalachild · 22 days

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in hades 1 you are trying to do the forbidden thing of leaving the underworld, and its various security forces are doing their duty by preventing you from doing that. (except for the temple region where you're kinda just clearing out a rat infestation. and the satyrs who i'm pretty sure are now implied to have brought back Chronos or contributed to it.)

hades 2 is different - somehow both equally more and less personal, and varied. the only security you encounter in the underworld is in the last region (and ironically includes the satyrs now), and also the doggy at its entrance.

the first boss is specifically there to test you, not interested in others who might go through the area. the second boss fight isn't even with dedicated combatants, and it's hilarious you managed to start this insane beef with a band. the final boss doesn't care what your problem is, you just literally burst into his room and start shit.

the surface? Heracles doesn't even bother with the first boss, and the cyclops doesn't care about the war. he'll just hinder you because it helps him sleep. the second and for now final boss flew all the way out there just to beat you up, and doesn't care about the big picture whatsoever. fucking superb i can't wait what the third surface boss fight's gonna be. what is their problem i wonder

#hades 2 #hades 2 spoilers #that's two bosses who wouldn't even be there if you weren't passing through #and three bosses who kinda live there and have an unrelated day job. but they'll put it on hold to fuck you up #plus the doggo

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huramuna · 4 months

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banshee's lament - chapter 4.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

a/n: this chapter might be a bit slower. it's building some things up and i wanted to brush up on my combat writing. it's a bit scuffed but i hope you enjoy! aemond is kind of feral in this chapter.

wordcount: 4.2k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, my terrible, terrible combat writing

story playlist

‘Little wolf spider’ Helaena had called her. She remembered Helaena’s incessant facts about them specifically– why, of all things, did she remember that? She remembered Helaena citing that they were excellent hunters with superb eyesight. They did not spin webs, most being wanderers without permanent homes.

It almost made her want to laugh. It truly described her well, didn’t it? Besides the eyesight part… and the hunting part– she was indeed, a little wolf spider– doomed to be alone and not able to make her own home, a rolling stone amongst the waves that threatened to drown her.

After the betrothal announcement dinner and subsequent breakdown of Shera, she stayed in her chambers for a few days, not feeling well enough to socialize, nor see the faces of people that would’ve heard her crying. Cregan visited a few times, bringing her a meal or two and forcing her to bathe– it was agitating her to be forced to do something she loved, something she wished to do alone.

He, thankfully, had maids do the actual washing part– but this still annoyed Shera to bits. She hated being touched, being fretted over by them as they looked upon her like she was lesser, like she wasn’t capable of doing things herself. She felt suffocated in a place that usually brought her peace, simpering tiny whines as they pulled at her hair.

I can do it, I can do it– just let me do it!

She wanted to scream and claw their wandering eyes out, then go and kick Cregan in the balls– this was his fault, his fault–

Finally, the maids left and she felt like a freshly plucked duck, ready to be roasted over the fire. Her skin was red and pink, emanating heat that she could almost see, steam roiling over her overwrought skin.

Moongeist whined at the closed washroom door– they had locked him out, the absolute fiends. She wrapped in a robe, pinning her hair up with a whale bone pin and opened the door.

“Come here, lovey,” she cooed, voice broken and hoarse still. “They locked you out– my poor bubby.” Shera pat his head, descending onto her knees. She was still weak from the emotional turmoil she’d gone through, bleeding into her physical state, but she would need to be bed bound before she would ever forsake Moongeist proper scratches. Her hands glided through his black fur and she pressed her face to him, taking in his familiar scent.

Everyone said he smelled like a dog, but that was simply untrue. He smelled… clean, he smelled like wolf– which was much different than smelling like dog. It was primal and heady, deep and warm like fir trees and pine nettles and all the things that were so synonymous with him. She scratched behind his ears and his leg thumped on the ground.

Cregan returned to her chamber, a plate of something sweet smelling in his hand. He put it down on the dining table. “Are you feeling better today?”

Shera’s mouth pursed into a thin line as she got back to her feet— with Moongeist’s assistance— and meandered to the table. “Define better.” she murmured, inspecting the plate. It was piled high with her favorite treat; sticky honey walnut cakes. Her mouth filled with saliva instantly and her brow raised to Cregan. Perhaps her brother was more considerate than she thought.

“Better as in you’d be able to walk the Keep— Jacaerys and I are going to be skirmishing in the training yard at noon.”

She all but scowled as she pilfered one of the pastries, biting into it without much decorum. It was a messy dessert, designed to be eaten with a fork and knife— but damn that, she would be sticky faced like a honey drunk bear if she pleased! She melded into the flavors, the nostalgia of it tampering her mood. “… I suppose I could watch.”

“He asked for you, you know.”

Shera’s brow raised. ‘He’ could mean a lot of people. “Who?”

“Jacaerys. He asked if you were alright and wished his condolences for your… illness.”

“Is that what we are saying it is now? An illness?” she muttered, taking another bite of the cake. Yes, how diminishing it felt to pass off her fragility of mind as an illness. Of course— how else could it be put? She was surprised that it wasn’t being spread as a ‘malady of woman’, or some other pompous innocuous name for whatever was really wrong with her.

“What would you call it then?”

She made a noncommittal noise and continued eating. After finishing, she let out a sigh. “Thank you for the cakes, Cregan.”

“I didn’t bring them— they were at your chamber door when I came back.”

She tilted her head. “They were just… there?”

“I didn’t even know you liked honey walnut cakes, Shera.”

She clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I’ll be at the yard at noon. I need to get ready, if you please.” she said, the nicest way of putting it. Leave, brother. You’re annoying.

–

Dressed in a lighter garment than usual, she descended the steps carefully. A light blue tulle train flowed behind her, rippling and waving in the breeze like the white capped crests upon the Blackwater. It was different from her normal style of muted, monotone colors— mayhaps it was a way to uplift herself.

It was a lovely blue and green hue, embroidered with filigree patterns. The sleeves were long, accompanied by a sweeping circular decolletage, exposing her soft collarbone and the faintest swell of breast. She had felt so confident leaving her chambers— she even went with a shorter veil than usual, the lace falling just past her jaw.

Walking down the hall, Moongeist nosed her hand to his head, as if to remind her of something. She felt… exposed. A bit too much for her liking. Her fingers glided over her wolf’s soft fur… and she remembered, swiftly turning around to grab her fur stole from her room. “Thank you for reminding me, sweet boy,” she hummed, snuggling into the comforting, familiar fur.

Descending down to the training yard, she fanned herself with an errant hand. Even with less layers than usual and lighter colors, she was still broiling under the sun. Moongeist panted near her, tongue lolled out in silent agreement.

“A parasol might do you well, my lady,” a bored voice drawled. “Your pale complexion does you wonders, but I wonder if you still flay in the sun like as a child.”

“Aegon,” Shera recognized the lazy, tired voice of the eldest child of Alicent. He had been one of her companions back in the day, but also one of her greatest foes– before the incident of course. “I’m surprised to see you outside. I’ve heard you’re solely a creature of the dark now.”

“I am full of surprises, dear Shera,” he caught up to her, looping their arms together all too readily. He had a dopey smile on his face, but it didn’t match the pure exhaustion in his eyes. Dark bags fell under those violet orbs like a dreary storm. “I happen to be coming back from… such nightly activities.”

Moongeist let out a growl as he touched her, but Shera silenced him. She didn’t believe that she had any reason to fear Aegon and thought him almost as pathetic as she. “Very well.”

“I heard about… the dinner. I’m glad I slipped out when I did, I knew it’d be a shit show,” he was fiddling with his rings on his free arm, all while stringing her along to the training yard. “Curious how Aemond said you were a bashed up mess under that veil of yours, and yet– he is challenging your betrothed and your brother to a duel?”

“How do you know that?”

“I have my ways– eyes and ears everywhere.”

“Helaena told you, didn’t she?”

“... mm. Maybe– even so, I don’t think it’s wholly terrible under there, is it?” he peered at her, a single hand lifting her veil to peek underneath.

She promptly slapped his hand away and wrenched herself from his grasp, followed by Moongeist giving a warning snap to the air. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Sleeping off your night, mayhaps?”

“Well– yes,” Aegon backed up, putting his hands in the air in surrender. “I just wanted to catch up. Is that so terrible?”

“Yes.”

He patted down imaginary dust from his doublet, twisting his rings again as they reached the landing to the training yard observation deck. He leaned his head to look out and survey it for a moment before a devilish smirk perked at his mouth once more. “You are going to wish that it was me talking to you soon enough, Shera. Have fun, zokla.” Wolf.

Shera watched him jaunt off with an air of confusion, turning to walk onto the rampart. She saw Jacaerys there already with Cregan, talking and laughing with… Rhaena and Baela. Daemon was there, too, stalking in the background.

Fuck.

She took a deep breath, glancing to the dirt grounds where Aemond was sparring with Criston.

Cregan’s voice echoed in her mind. They’re not your friends, not anymore. She pulled her stole closer to herself, walking forward. I don’t have any friends here. Except for Helaena, it seemed. Steeling her nerves, she made her way to the small congregation. “Brother, Jacaerys,” she greeted first, dipping her head. Cregan seemed jovial and in good spirits– he always was around Jacaerys and vice versa. “Lady Baela, Lady Rhaena.” she spoke then, trying to keep her quivering voice even. They hadn’t spoken since Baela had slashed her eye and attempted to kill her. Shera took in her appearance best she could– she had grown up, as they all had, but especially resembled her mother, Laena. Shera remembers seeing Laena’s portraits in Driftmark– and her statuesque coffin depiction before she was pushed into the sea.

“Shera,” Jacaerys grinned, taking her hand– which she did not offer him– and kissed it. So gallant, so princely. It made her want to vomit. “It’s a lovely day today, isn’t it?”

Yes, it’s a lovely day, stifling hot in the hells. “... it could do with a breeze, mayhaps. But yes, quite nice.” she responded coolly.

“‘Tis my turn to spar Aemond next– apparently he has been here since the crack of dawn with Criston. Do you think he’s getting exhausted yet, my lady?” Jace asked, guiding Shera to her seat and handing her a fan. At least he noticed that she was positively broiling.

She leaned and looked over the rampart to the skirmishing ring, where Aemond kept up his pace. “Since dawn, you say?” she asked, raising a brow as she fanned herself.

Aemond was using a shortsword, which seemed to be his weapon of choice against all others. Ser Criston was wielding a morningstar with spiked barbs around it. Her lone eye was entranced on the prince’s movements as he danced around his teacher, footwork impeccable as if he were simply floating across the dirt, whipping up hardly any dust in his wake. Shera wished she was a bit closer so she could see it better, but his movements didn’t seem to be exhausted in the slightest– he was like grebe skimming over the water, in his element.

Criston raised his morningstar, twirling it before making his advance to the prince, to which Aemond did not move. Move, Aemond. Move! What are you doing? Shera clenched her fist in her lap and leaned forward even farther to try and parse exactly what Aemond’s plan was– certainly not to face a morningstar head on with a simple shortsword? She held her breath as he was within bludgeoning range of the flail, the chains clinking as Criston didn’t waiver– it was like they were in a real fight. Was he about to kill Aemond?

She rose to her feet quickly, startled by what she thought was about to be a murder– only to watch Aemond roll deftly out of the way as the kingsguard’s weapon stuck into the dirt, lodged a few inches in by the heft of his lunge. This was a clear opportunity for Aemond, one he calculated so carefully. He stuck the tip of his shortsword through the links of the flail, keeping it pinned to the ground and hovered a dagger at Ser Cole’s neck with his other hand.

“I yield, my prince.” Criston huffed, bowing his head.

“Very good,” Aemond grinned– but it wasn’t a grin of joy, this seemed to be a recurring theme with Aemond– he smiled but it was nothing of mirth. It was simply a reflex, like a snake opening its jaws to stretch its fangs, one might think it was laughing. “Who’s next?”

Shera realized the kerfuffle she’d made, her hand white knuckled against her chest as she stared at Aemond in abject horror, still not getting past the fact that she had been deathly worried about Aemond– even after the horrible things he had said. If Ser Cole’s flail had met the prince’s head, she would’ve jumped the rampart with Moongeist and mauled that sordid Kingsguard without a second thought.

She blinked, letting out a breath. Where did that come from? She was usually so well versed in her moods, as tumultuous as they could be. But this rage had snuck up on her, her blood boiling slightly. She glanced to her side, Moongeist was up and raring to go, as if sharing her sentiment.

Aemond wiped sweat from his forehead, finally looking to the ramparts. Their eyes met once again and he smirked. Smirked. It wasn’t a reflexive, mirthless smirk either. It was taunting, pompous. “Lady Shera,” he drawled, dislodging his sword from the ground and twirled it with ease, like it was an attachment of his own body. “You are dressed… brightly today.” he walked to the edge of the ring, looking directly up at her.

Shera looked behind her for a moment– the rest of the party was occupied with talking with one another. She pressed her arms on the wall and leaned down. “I am. You are not.”

“When have I ever been?”

“You used to like green.”

“Hm,” he snorted, wiping some errant dirt from his face. “If I were in a tourney, would you cast down your favor to me?”

“I thought you didn’t care for tournaments, my prince.”

“I don’t.” he responded coolly, his eye trained on her so intensely. He was looking at something– did she have something on her face?

She realized quickly the air coming up from under her veil, the shorter one she wore today, and her angle. She was looking… down at him, and the veil stayed in place. He could see her face. He was looking at her, studying her like a book. Shera let out a soft sheepish noise, pushing back from the rampart and sitting back at her seat.

She heard him laugh as he walked away to stow his weapon on the rack and pick another. He was laughing at her– surely because he thought her ugly. Wilting into herself, she adjusted her veil so that she might not have any more mishaps.

“Jacaerys, I believe it’s your turn,” she murmured, fanning herself again, then fanning Moongeist.

“Ah, very good. Wish me luck, my lady.”

“Good luck, Jacaerys.” she hummed. I do wish you don’t get your brains splattered in the pit by Aemond. I am not getting up again.

Cregan clasped Jace on the shoulder with such ferocity he almost knocked the prince over, walking down to the pit with him. Shera rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat.

“So, Lady Stark,” Baela hummed, pulling her seat up next to Shera. Uncomfortably close. “Cregan is your brother, yes?”

“Yes, my lady.” she responded, trying not to sound annoyed.

“Forgive me– you two don’t look much alike, so I was just making sure.”

You cannot even see my face, how do you know we do not look alike? The last time you saw my face, you mauled it. “Cregan takes after our father more than I. I am more like our mother– or so I’ve been told. I’ve not met her.” she fiddled with her fur stole to ease her growing irritation. Add mother issues to the list of things I have wrong with me. Shera’s mother died shortly after her birth– all she knew is that she had copper hair. Their father had put away portraits and any semblance of her existence after– and never remarried.

Baela carefully sidestepped the issue of Shera’s mother, keeping her pressed about Cregan. “My stepmother says that mayhaps after you and Jacaerys are wed, she will propose a betrothal between Cregan and I.”

Oh, of course. Let’s have Winterfell all but indebted to dragons. “I hadn’t heard. Have you been North, my lady?”

“No– but I imagine it cannot be any harsher than the roiling tides of Driftmark.”

Fuck you. “Having been both places– they are very different, Lady Baela,” Shera knew she was being short and not doing well in containing her agitation at this whole situation, being in proximity to her would-be murderer. “The North is harsher than any tide and is not the best climate for everyone. I do not think dragons fair well in the North,” she paused to breathe, her pace of speaking beginning to burn her throat. She was fueled by disconcertment and barely contained anger alone. “... that is what I have heard. Vermax loathes the snow.”

“Well,” Baela kept a smile on her face. “Cregan is handsome, don’t you think?”

“I cannot say, my lady. I don’t really see him in such a manner— I am not a Targaryen, after all.” Shera said back, finally regaining some control in her voice.

She heard Daemon laugh behind her. She fought the urge to turn around and sneer, focusing on the melee happening in the pit. It was well on its way and Jacaerys was… faring. She didn’t know how he was faring, but he wasn’t knocked out yet.

Aemond was circling him like a wolf upon prey– a totally different technique than what he had done with Criston. He had let Criston come to him, rather than facing him head on. It was almost sickly how he was playing with him before the slaughter. There was a dangerous glint in Aemond’s eye that only Shera seemed to catch– did he mean to kill Jace? She remembered a similar glint in his eye when he raised the rock to Jacaerys’ head in the tunnels under Driftmark–

Aemond surged forward and steel met steel, their swords clashing together. Jace had chosen a shortsword as well, parrying his opponent’s thrust– barely. He knocked the white-haired prince back slightly, catching his breath.

Once again, that sickly smile spread across Aemond’s face. “Tired already, Jacaerys? We’ve barely begun!” he continued his walk around his nephew, twirling his sword.

“Hardly, uncle. All you’ve done is dance around me. How about an actual fight, ey?” Jace quipped back.

Shera had to give him credit where it was due. Jace was brazen. Taunting an already unhinged Aemond and being mayhaps a bit stupid– but brazen nonetheless.

“A swordsman knows how to pick his fights and when to wait, doesn’t he?” Aemond’s eye flicked to the ramparts where Daemon was still looming. “Has your stepfather not taught you that?”

“You’re both talking a bit too much for my liking,” Cregan grunted, his hand itching on his own sword, which he had already unsheathed. It was the Stark’s ancestral weapon, a huge greatsword aptly called Ice. Cregan handled it with ease– Shera wouldn’t even be able to lift it. “Go on, Jacaerys.”

“Go on, Jacaerys,” Aemond taunted in a similar tone, his hackles raised. He looked slightly manic in the moment. “Let's see what your stepfather has taught you– if anything. I thought you were supposed to be strong.”

Jacaerys raged forward, spurred by his rising anger. Their swords clashed again with such force that sparks flew from the metal. Aemond thwarted him off, pushing him backwards into the dirt, shrugging his shoulders.

Despite being pushed down, Jace still got up, coming at Aemond again and again, each slash more sloppy than the last, but fueled with spite. His uncle continued to parry him, to push him, to sweep him aside with ease– it was a game to him.

“Keep your attacks focused, Jacaerys,” Cregan commanded. “He’s getting tired, I can see it.”

“I can go all day, Stark!” Aemond barked, his violet eye pierced solely on Cregan now as he thwarted Jacaerys’ heavy-handed blows without even looking at him. “Let’s make a wager, shall we? If your… pup here wins, I’ll personally pay for you and your troops to have a trip to the Silk Street– the best brothel. If I win– I get to take your sister for a ride on my dragon.”

Ah, fuck. Cregan’s hackles rose and he shoved off his fur cape. “Don’t talk about my sister, you beast,” the vein in Cregan’s neck throbbed and Shera knew it would come to blows between the Warden of the North and the One-Eyed prince. “You wouldn’t know a real fight if it hit you in the face.”

“Oh, please– now give me a moment so I can pummel your little pup into the ground and show your sister a real dra–” Aemond’s voice was cut off as Cregan punched him squarely in the face, right in his nose. Blood dripped from his nostrils and he then raised his sword to Cregan. “Fine.”

Their bodies tensed and Jacaerys saw the opportunity to walk away, thoroughly exhausted and not wanting to get in between the two of them.

They were about to clash swords once more in a very real manner and Shera stood up from her chair hastily, opening her mouth to say something– but she was cut off.

“Aemond!” an authoritative voice called from the rampart. It was Otto Hightower, hand of the King– and Aemond’s grandsire. “Forgo your petty spar and meet me in the Tower of the Hand. Promptly.”

The mania in Aemond’s eyes and aura faded, snuffing it out once more– just like his rage at the dinner. “Of course. Good fight, Jacaerys,” he nodded his head to his nephew, then looked to Cregan. “Stark.” he uttered before spitting blood onto the dirt, wiping his bleeding nose with the back of his hand. He didn’t even look at Shera as he ascended the steps and followed his grandsire.

“I notice you did not greet me, Lady Stark,” Daemon hummed as he loomed behind her. “Am I not worthy of your respect?”

“... you were quite far away, Prince Daemon. I simply cannot project my voice that far, forgive me.” she droned, blinking profusely at the turn of events.

“My nephew said he would’ve taken you on a ride upon his dragon– care to enlighten me what that might mean?” he continued, tapping ringed fingers on the stone barrier.

“I presume he would take me on a ride on Vhagar,” she muttered, edging away from Daemon. “He would find it hard to get me upon his beast, even if he won the bet.”

“I’m sure he would. Your brother has a temper when it comes to you, it seems?”

“All men have tempers when it comes to women in their lives, do they not?”

“That’s true.”

“I don’t imagine you would wish your daughter,” she cleared her throat, eyes looking to Baela, who was speaking to Jacaerys off to the side. “To be absconded to the North. Nor do I imagine you’re entirely pleased at the prospect of more Andal blood tainting your line.”

“An apt observation, wolf. Though, I am not sure the North is meant for northerners, either. Some people just do not belong anywhere, it seems.”

Fuck off, old man. “I wish you a good day, prince Daemon.” Shera whispered, bowing her head, careful of her veil placement. She could feel his gaze on her, leering at her, trying to figure out what was beneath.

“Cregan– I am going to lunch with Helaena,” Shera tried to call down, but her voice didn’t project. He was caught up talking very animatedly to Jacaerys and Baela– Rhaena was off to the side, not saying much.

Shera let out an errant puff of agitation and left the training yard. She stopped at her chambers before going to Helaena’s– she took off the errant piece of flowing fabric from her outfit and put it on the desk.

–

Aemond returned to his chambers hours later after being thoroughly chewed out by his grandsire for ‘behavior unbecoming of a prince’. Is this how it felt to be Aegon?

His nose ached and he was sure that northern beast had broken it. It mattered not, it will mend. Most things do in time.

He began to unlace his jerkin as he noticed a piece of cerulean fabric on his desk, pinned with a note.

My favor, for you.

There was no signature to whom had written it, only a crude drawing of a wolf. He rolled his eye, picking up the fabric. It was soft between his calloused fingers and smelled heavily of lavender and rosemary. It smelled of her– he could absorb it even with his broken nose.

A tiny smile perked at his lips for a moment. ‘Twas a real one.

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