Team Stark, Team Targaryen, Team Black, Team Green, whatever. I'm on Team Let Shireen Have Nice things
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Sansa's horse's name was Ninny; he had one blue eye and one brown, which Northerners thought was lucky.
"More likely means he's deaf in one ear," Father remarked. Ninny's ears, which seemed to hear well enough, flattened and he nipped at Father's horse. (If it had a name, Father either hadn't asked or didn't want to tell her, since he'd ignored her question when they'd first mounted.)
"I think he feels insulted, Your Grace," Sansa remarked, pulling Ninny's head back around and settling her arms more comfortably around Shireen's waist. She'd been kind to let Shireen ride with her, since most of the Northern horses were needed to carry two or even three soldiers apiece, along with whatever equipment they could drag out of the snows. Mother and Lady Melisandre had chosen to ride two of the surviving Southern horses, but Mother had said there wasn't room on hers for both of them.
So instead of riding in the back of the train, Shireen was next to Father near the front, just behind the beautiful banners that snapped and curled in the breeze. It was still bitterly cold, but Sansa's cloak was warm wrapped round them both and she had even brought a pair of Northern boots for Shireen, with the fur thickly lined on the inside. Only the right side of her face was chilled, tears pricking at her eye. Sansa said they would make camp late tomorrow at this pace; her stormseer had promised them blue skies and clear nights. Shireen had hoped this would make Father — not happy, since she had only rarely seen him so, and never since Uncle Robert had died — but less unhappy.
Instead, it had turned him surly, the sort he only got when he had been frightened about something. He had been like this once when she had gone sailing with Devan in his little skiff and it had capsized, sending them laughing into the calm waters of the western bay. They had managed to swim toward land, pushing the hull of the boat before them, and had found Father and Ser Davos wading out to retrieve them. Davos helped Devan drag the boat in, laughing all the while, but Father had picked her up and carried her to shore, holding her so tightly she could feel her bones creak. "Get to your rooms and change," he'd ordered, all but dropping her to the stony beach, and for the rest of the day had scowled and muttered whenever she'd spoken.
She could not think why he was acting this way now, but she had long since given up trying to coax him out of his sulks the way she could Ser Davos. Instead she asked Sansa more questions — about the Wolfswood, where she and her army had hidden themselves, and about the Goldgrass Coldblood horses that Northerners rode.
"Not just Goldgrasses," said Sansa. "The mountain clans breed and ride their Breakstone Garrons, which are even better than the Coldbloods when it comes to surviving the winters. They're more like goats than horses — they eat like goats, too," she added with a wrinkle to her nose. "The other day, a Garron managed to open Lord Flint's saddlebags and ate his linen smallclothes."
Shireen covered her mouth to hold in her giggle, but Father had dropped behind them to speak with Davos a few lengths behind. "Was Lord Flint very cross?"
"Oh, yes, but you can't throw a horse into the stocks, even if he does eat your underthings."
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If my mom sees a significant amount of blood she gets lightheaded, and has fainted on some occasions. Once it happened when we were kids, I wasn't there to witness it but I heard the story from my dad. Basically my brothers, around 7 or 8 at the time, were playing outside while my mom was making their lunch, and she accidentally cut her finger. It wasn't anything serious, but it drew a fair bit of blood and she passed out. My dad saw this and rushed over, but he didn't really know what to do so he just sort of started slapping her to wake her up (not recommended, but he had no idea and panicked)
At that exact moment my brothers both came in from playing, and all they saw was our mom unconscious on the floor and our dad slapping her. So, like, without even saying a word to each other they both just INSTANTLY start whaling on him, like, full blown attack mode to defend our mom. Which obviously didn't help the situation, but she did wake up and everything was fine.
Now our dad says that he's actually really glad they attacked him over what they thought was going on, because it means he raised good boys. And I still think that's true, they're very good boys.
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i think it's so fun that "damn" is such a casual curse word now that it's basically become divorced completely from its original meaning. like oops i dropped my phone, time to invoke the wrath of god about it in the most mildly annoyed tone of voice imaginable.
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My sort of maybe embarrassing “late to the game” thing I’m learning now is how to tell if oil has gone bad.
I feel like most other foods have obvious visual tells like mold or they end up smelling foul and obviously bad. But I was googling about oil and the internet says “if it smells like crayons, it’s bad” which would not have been my first guess. And I tested it out on my somewhat old sesame oil and was like “by god, I would describe this as smelling like crayons”
Anyway protip if your old oil smells kinda like crayons it’s probably no good 🖍️
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Are you a student who is unable to donate to Palestine, but still want ways to show your support?
Me too! Unfortunately, searching up ways for students who can't drive, spend money, or drop school for a week to show solidarity for Palestine just comes up with "centrist" (if not blatantly pro-israel) articles for teachers telling them how to stay neutral during discussions with students. So! Here are some ways that I've thought of to bring pro palestine sentiment into your school and community! You are more than encouraged to add on any ideas of your own!
Wear shirts, pins, or anything outwardly pro palestine. If you can't find something, make it.
Email your representatives. Email Congress. Email the White House, or whatever your country's equivalent would be. Let the people in charge know you want a ceasefire
Talk to your local library about holding an educational night about the genocide, and/or about Palestinian culture.
Talk to your peers. Find people who share your views. Create a fuss together.
Talk to your teachers about it. Having an authority figure on your side could make things so much easier for you.
Make stickers, posters, pamphlets, etc to put up around your school, town/city, anywhere you can.
Educate yourself on anti-palestine talking points and how to refute them in a calm and logical manner. (Palestinian Toolkit is a great website for that)
Speak up! It's fucking scary, but if you can, don't let people's bigotry go unchecked. (You can use knowledge from the last point to make it easier to talk)
But also, know when to give up. It sucks, but not everyone is worth wasting your time debating. Some people won't change their mind no matter what.
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