#the barbarism we're up against

[stevieschrodinger]

TW for Eddie getting hurt (but he's okay). And Human Trafficking.

Link to part Two

Steve leans against Carol's desk, "here are your messages, I fobbed off the Times interview - they're going to email you their questions instead." He's listening to Carol, but he's watching, frowning.

There's a man in his office.

"Lunch call with the Singapore office is on. Your suite for the gala is back from the dry cleaners, it's in your bathroom."

"Right, the gala," Steve answers absently. It's a corner office, lots of glass, so it's impossible to miss the man in his office. The man who is calmly, right now, looking at the framed photo Steve has of his parents. It's basically a prop, Steve never got on with them, but that is not the point. Some random guy is touching Steve's shit.

"And my nine thirty?"

"Had to move it, don't worry, they were fine about it."

"Right," Carol's leaning over the desk now, watching the man right along with Steve, "I assume that's why you had to cancel my nine thirty."

"Uh hu," she's tapping her nails on the top of the desk, and she's so fucking infuriating, if she wasn't so fucking good at her job Steve would have booted her years ago.

"You're going to make me ask aren't you??

Carol gives him a massive shit eating grin, "ask what, sir?"

"Jesus fucking christ," Steve sighs, "who is that in my office."

"Not sure," Carol shrugs, grinning because she's pleased she's being such a dick, "security brought him up," she leans over the desk, whispering like she's imparting a secret, "pretty sure they said something that sounded like FBI."

And then she sits down, tapping at her computer and painting her nails or doing whatever it is she does all day. Harassing mail boys, probably. God she's like a fucking shark, but that what Steve gets, he wanted a competent secretary, what he got was a fucking guard dog.

Steve's not complaining. He'd been weary of hiring a female Alpha and then shoving her behind a desk, but it turns out Carol is terrifyingly efficient and fucking fearless, so it's kind of a win win.

Steve stares at the man in his office for a second longer, trying to figure out what the fuck he's done. he wonders if he's somehow accidentally committed major tax fraud, or something. He's pretty sure he hasn't, but the panic spiral is sitting there, looking inviting, anyway.

Steve goes into his office, and the man turns. He's tall, well built, kind of portly with age, maybe, but Steve still wouldn't fuck with the guy. He's not wearing blockers of any sort, so Steve's office now smells of strange, uninvited, Alpha. Great.

"Jim Hopper," he says, extending his hand, "FBI."

"Steve Harrington," Steve replies, even though he's certain it's pointless, this guy knows exactly who he is.

The guy is already producing paperwork as Steve takes his seat on the other side of his desk, "standard non disclosure, Mr. Harrington."

Steve gives it a once over, he's signed enough of these, and been involved with the legal team enough, that he feels confident enough. He signs it, knowing he won't get any answers until he does.

"I'll get right to it, time is tight. I've been working to dismantle an Omega trade ring for nearly eighteen months now. We're almost ready to move, teams are in place, inks drying on the warrants, cells are all picked out."

Steve nods, okay. He knew Omega trade was a thing, a barbaric, highly illegal thing. Human trafficking of the worst form, he gestures for Hopper to continue.

"If we go in now, we will likely get a few of the higher ups, we'll rescue approximately two dozen Omega, it'll be a success." Steve goes to speak, wondering what the fuck this has to do with him, Hopper waves him down, "we've been here before; I've made this mistake once before. If we don't get the people at the top, this thing will grow back in a years time. I want them all."

Steve gets that. His head is spinning a little. He knows things like this go on, you see about it on the news, but it does sound a bit...like a spy movie.

Hopper puts a photograph on Steve's desk, "you know this man?"

And Steve does. They're not what Steve would call friends; more of a good tempered rivalry. And yeah, Steve had Daddy's money, but Tommy had his Daddy's company. They came up at the same time, went after the same deals. Move in the same circles, Steve's known him for years. Steve's disliked him for years, "you're not suggesting Tommy Hagan is...the head of some sort of, human slavery outfit?" Knowing how ruthless Tommy can be, how questionable his methods are...Steve's still struggling to see him as...this.

"I'm not suggesting it. I'm telling you as fact. You've known him a long time, and we have to move fast. The charity gala tonight, you'll both be there."

"Right, sure, but I don't exactly see what I can do about this."

"Hagan moves the...high end product. Very exclusive, very expensive. They keep them at a ranch, just out of state," and that's kind of uncomfortable, because Steve's been to the ranch for a business lunch, so he knows exactly the place Hopper is talking about. And, jesus, Steve had thought at the time Tommy had a lot of Omega staff. A lot of really well behaved Omega staff - at the time, Steve thought Tommy was just being his usual dick self. Just showing off wealth. Fuck, if some of those Omega were actually, like, prisoners- "drop a hint to Hagan, tonight. Tell him you're getting itchy, fancy yourself an Omega. A traditional one, timid. Say whatever you need to say, get yourself an invite out there."

Steve takes a deep breath, nodding. He can do that. He can play that; he might have to wear blockers, his opinion of Tommy is in the gutter on a good day, never-mind this.

"That's all you need?"

Hopper shifts forward in his chair, "look, you're ideal. On the periphery, you've known each other a long time, but not well. He knows exactly the kind of clout you have, your bank balance, you're the perfect person to do this."

It's not hard to find information on Steve Harrington, he's thirty first on the Forbes 100 list, but clearly Hopper, at the very least, has taken notice.

"How do you know I'm not already involved?"

Hopper snorts, "kid. We know. Also, you just asked me that question, and your balls ain't that brassy."

Steve can't deny it, he shrugs, "so, what else?"

"Get an invite. Go there wearing a wire. Meet Tommy, pick an Omega. You'll be trusted; we will fit a listening device. Hagan's wriggled out of this sort of thing before; evidence like that, there'll be no court in the country that won't convict him."

Steve feels awkward. He knows there's a device on him somewhere; Hopper had taken his phone for ten minutes, and brought it back with a different suit jacket for him to wear.

That had been at half five this morning, standing on Steve's back porch. And as he pulls into the ranch, he has the air con on full blast because fucking hell, he's sweaty when he's nervous.

Hopper had made this sound easy; the ranch is pretty safe. Only a couple of armed guards. Plus, he's Steve Harrington; you can't just disappear a guy like Steve.

Hopper had sounded so certain, the cherry of his cigarette bright in the pre dawn mist. He'd even slapped Steve's shoulder, told him he was saving lives. Steve had felt like a fucking super hero for about twenty minutes, until reality and fucking nerves had swamped him.

But here he is, walking up the front steps to the ranch house, Tommy Hagan grinning big, "hope you brought the black card," Tommy jokes as they bro hug.

Because that's not creepy.

Tommy had given Steve a smirk at the Gala last night, was confident he had exactly what Steve was looking for. Knew, for the right price, exactly what would scratch Steve's itch. Not like he was talking about real fucking human beings or anything.

Steve's real glad he went thick on the blockers; he's certain Tommy would be choking on the scent of his disgust by now.

They bring them in during lunch. Steve sitting, eating fucking cornbread and home made slaw and he just can't. He nibbles, feeling sick with nerves. Tommy doesn't even seem to notice. Steve can't help but stare at him, someone he's known most of his life and now...he's been revealed as something vile and subhuman. Steve has to work hard to keep the disgust off his face.

Something that gets even more difficult when the Omega are brought it and lined up, all wearing the same diaphanous nightdresses regardless of gender. Every single one of them could be a contender for the most beautiful thing Steve's ever seen. Every single one of them could be a model, or something.

They're lined up in height order; the last one in, the tallest, a male Omega. He's limping.

He's leaving bloody footprints on the fancy parquet flooring.

Tommy must catch Steve's face, "the unruly ones need to be disciplined, and that one is more...difficult than most. Refuses to learn. And we don't want to damage the product anywhere that'll be visible, obviously."

Steve has to breathe through his nose so he doesn't throw up. All the Omega are wearing blockers; probably because the scent of Omega distress would be so off putting.

Tommy waves a hand, "get him out of here, he's bleeding on the rug," and the Omega winces, as he turns. he's got lots of shiny dark curls. Everything about all the Omega is pristine, perfectly maintained hair, nails, flawless skin. The smear of blood on his ankle is even more stark for it, and Steve can't help but stare as the Omega gamely takes what looks like a very painful, shuffling step away again.

"Him," Steve says before he can stop himself, "I want him."

The Omega turns back, looking at Steve with huge, beautiful brown eyes. He's hopeful and fearful all at once, and it tears Steve up inside. He wants to buy all of them, get all of them out of here, but knows he can't. If he does anything to raise suspicion he could fuck the whole thing.

At least he has Hopper's word that the rest of them will be out of here by the end of today.

Tommy scoffs, "Steve, come on, have a proper look. Don't pick that one. Get a pretty one."

Steve wants to swear at Tommy because they're all fucking pretty, ridiculously so, "no, he'll do."

"Oh," Tommy laughs, "I get it, just gonna' wreck him anyway, right? That's fair, can always get another," and he's laughing again and suddenly Steve is dragged into a very detailed conversation about how to move funds - from where and to where, which Steve does. It's an amount of money that under any other circumstances would make Steve's eyes water - but in the face of a human being in pain, Steve doesn't even blink.

It doesn't feel like Steve takes a breath until he's on the interstate, the Omega curled up on the seat next to him. No possessions, no clothes, no bag.

Nothing.

And that had gutted Steve as much as anything else.

"Look, uh, hey, you have a name?"

"Eddie," the Omega answers quietly.

"Right. Eddie. So. This is...well it's going to sound a bit wild but...I'm kind of here for the FBI. I mean. I don't work for them, or anything, but...I was...asked, I guess, to get evidence. So don't worry about everyone else, they're getting rescued later so. That's. A thing, I guess?"

Eddie's just blinking at him.

"Yea. Yeah, I guess that's a lot to take in. But we can talk about it...later? Do you have family? Like, shit, do you have somewhere to go? I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to actually like...buy, a person. Couldn't leave you there though."

"I've...I've got an uncle. Haven't seen him for years. I don't...know."

"Right, right okay. We can talk to Hopper about it," Steve spots a drive through, "you hungry?"

Eddie turns and sees the McDonald's, "oh fuck me yes," he breathes with such vehemence that Steve laughs, "I haven't left the ranch for two years, and they never let us eat anything like that, it's bad for our skin. Plus, we have to stay thin and pretty."

That kills Steve's laughter stone dead.

Hopper rubs at his forehead, "you were not supposed to buy a human being."

"I know but-" Steve turns, Eddie standing behind him, which on it's own makes Steve wince. Eddie's barefoot on the asphalt, half hidden behind Steve, still wearing nothing but that scrap of white fabric. It's now a little smeared with the fry grease Eddie had shamelessly wiped off his fingers. Steve hands over his phone and the suite jacket.

Hopper waves him off, "you did good."

Hopper does something to the back of Steve's phone, peeling something away from it, before giving it back, "somewhere I can take you kid? Any family?"

"I only have an uncle, but I don't...it's been years, I haven't seen him since I was little."

Hopper rubs is hand over his face, the rasp of stubble loud, before he lights another cigarette, "I'll have to find you a motel somewhere while we figure this out."

"He can stay with me." Steve's volunteering before he can really think it though, "I've got...a lot of space," he trails off. He did just rescue this Omega after all, he's not just going to abandon him to be alone somewhere. Somewhere that might not even be safe for a lone Omega.

Hopper raises an eyebrow at Eddie, Eddie shrugs, "not like I've had any better offers lately."

Hopper snorts, but he hands over a business card, "this is highly unorthodox, but...I don't care. I've got bigger things to worry about. Text me any details the kid can give you on the uncle. I'll be in touch."

And then Hopper just...drives away. It's maybe an hour and a half drive back from here, since Steve had to go out of his way for this clandestine meeting in an abandoned car lot.

"So is there anything you...want? Need?"

Eddie seems to think about it for a second, plucking at his nightshirt, "I mean, I don't have any cash, obviously, and I heard how much money you shelled out- I mean, do you think you can comp me from the FBI? Man, you didn't even get a receipt for me."

Steve starts laughing first, then Eddie joins in.

At Eddie's request they get milkshakes on the way home.

[matan4il]

My grandparents were all Holocaust survivors. A large part of my family was murdered in that genocide. I chose to deal with the family trauma by becoming an educator on this subject. I give tours, lectures and workshops on the Holocaust, on antisemitism and on Jewish history.

Intellectually, I'm perfectly aware of how the massacre that Hamas perpetrated is NOT like what the Nazis did. More Jews were murdered over the course of just two days in Babi Yar (33,771 men, women and children), which is just one Nazi shooting pit out of almost two thousand, than during the entire Israeli-Arab conflict. Even after the carnage brought on by Hamas, this is still true. The Nazis were far more systematic (which eventually made them turn industrial) in carrying out the genocide of the Jews than Hamas has been. There's no comparison in terms of scale and industrialization.

And yet emotionally, I can't help but be hit by the similarities in terms of the immediate brutality of the murderers and the experiences of the Jewish victims. Because I am listening to the testimonies and some are so eerily similar to my research, I simply can't process how these are from recent days, not 80 years ago.

Jewish kids hiding from their would be murderers, scared to make a sound for fear of being discovered and killed.

Jewish families completely wiped out.

Jews asking themselves how did they survive and the person next to them did not.

Jewish people executed in droves, their bodies piled up.

Jews begging to be spared, to no avail.

Jewish women raped, most of them then killed.

Jewish babies executed in barbaric ways.

Jews being burned, some after being murdered, some while alive.

Jewish communities devastated. Take kibbutz Be'eri for example. It was founded before the State of Israel. Despite many terrorist attacks, it has continued to thrive in Israel's south. A small, close knit agricultural community. Over 100 people (at least) have been slaughtered there. Homes were destroyed. Everything the kibbutz's economy was based on was laid to waste, too. Be'eri has become synonymous with the worst of the carnage. IDK how they'll build their lives again after the war is over. IDK if they can. A community of almost 80 years, quite likely gone.

Foreign reporters who had been to kibbutz Kfar Azza all talked about the eerie silence and the stench of death rising from the bodies. Eerie silence is exactly how visitors to the sites of the shooting pits describe those places, while the allied soldiers who liberated the Nazi camps talked about the stench of death there.

Some of the reactions to this massacre also remind me of the Holocaust. Even though the Nazis, the murderers themselves, documented their extermination of Jews, there are those who deny the Holocaust happened, painting the Jews as liars. Similarly, even though Hamas documented themselves, and released the footage themselves, there are people going around denying the atrocities, painting the Jews as liars.

Then there's the justification of the mass murder of Jews by insinuating they brought it on themselves... Back in 1943, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, aware of the plight of Jews under the Nazis, told government officials in Allied-liberated North Africa that the number of local Jews in various professions “should be definitely limited” so as to “eliminate the specific and understandable complaints which the Germans bore towards the Jews in Germany.” Understandable complaints. Understandable complaints of Germans against Jews. Roosevelt, the liberal president, said that while Jews were being exterminated by the Germans. In the same manner, we're seeing people justifying the murder of Jews at the hands of Hamas, even though it's a known antisemitic terrorist organization which has repeatedly called for the murder of all Jews in the world. According to the Simon Wiesenthal Center, a reportedly Hamas affiliated Imam declared, "If the Zionist state were to move to the other end of the Mediterranean, our war would not be over, for the enemy is the Jew.

And while I stand by my statement that the scale is nothing alike, the carnage that took place in Israel IS the biggest massacre of Jews since the end of the Holocaust. Not even during Israel's Independence War and some of the massacres of Jews that happened during it (like the Kfar Etzion massacre) were this many Jews murdered during a single day.

Just like so many were silent back then as Jews were being both killed for being Jewish AND blamed for their own murder, many are silent now as well. Don't get me wrong, there are A LOT of amazing people who reached out to their Jewish friends, who showed they care, who took to the streets, who held vigils for the massacre's victims! Many heads of state also condemned this vicious attack. But I'm looking at Tumblr specifically, and it is FULL of posts justifying Hamas' slaughter of Jews. They're being reblogged everywhere, spread in every fandom. People who claim to stand for social justice feel absolutely no shame sharing such de-humanizing posts on their blogs. And what do we do? Are we calling them out? Do we make it clear that it is morally unacceptable to blame Jews for their own murder? Do we unfollow these bloggers, so that at least the dropping numbers send out the message that it is unacceptable to justify the massacre of innocent people?

TLDR:

This massacre is not like the Holocaust, but the cruel antisemitism that motivated it is the same. Let's not let antisemitism thrive here. Please do what you can (whatever that is) to stand for what's right.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[miseries-mistress]

TEMPTATION OF THE UNATTAINABLE | CAPTAIN REX

GIF by kamino-coruscant

Synopsis: You found yourself in the training room on one of your rare days off, not with your lightsaber or the Force but with a blaster. The unfamiliar black, sleek metal was heavy in your hands as if death itself weighed on the trigger. You didn't practice with such a weapon; too barbaric for your tastes, but after a comment Fives made, you wanted to prove him wrong. Blame it on your pride, but you were determined to land a hit on the droids, only, Rex finds you before you can do so. 

Warnings: female reader, innuendos, flirting, teasing, fluff. W/C: 1838

Notes: i've had this in my drafts for two months now, i finally finished it and edited it (repost)

star wars masterlist

"You know, I'm surprised the great general can't shoot a blaster." You lower the training blaster, looking over your shoulder at Rex entering the training room, his bucket tucked snugly under his arm, still in full armor.  

"Can it, Rex," you snap, and he only chuckles in reply. You turn away from him, adjusting your stance as you raise the blaster in steady hands. Anticipating recoil this time, you shoot. It nearly misses the center of the training droid's head, and you sigh. 

"You look like you're struggling over there," he comments half-heartedly, leaning against the durasteel wall. You spin on your heels, narrowing your eyes at the infamous captain. 

"Rex," you snarl in a warning he does not head but instead strokes your fury with bated breath.

"What? Need some help?" he taunts, and you have half a mind to give him a little push with the Force if it means silencing his snarky attitude that he seems to have only with you. Admittedly, you admire him to a point beyond the relationship of captain and general, but that attitude...you could do without it.

"You know the answer to that." There's that edge in your words, the threat behind them that Rex can't help but stroke. He doesn't know why your bite to every teasing remark riles him as much as it does, but it's addictive the way you push back, makes him feel alive, and he can't get enough of it. 

"I want to hear you say it."

"Sadistic piece of shit," you growl, glaring at him. 

"Now, that's no way to talk to your captain, especially since you are in such dire need of assistance." Dealing with Anakin's ego is better than this, you think sourly.

"You're an asshole."

"So I've been told."

You huff, rolling your eyes as you stare at his satisfied features. You muster up all the scraps of pride you have left, salvaging what you can before you give in. "Please help me, captain." 

His eyes sparkle with pride at his accomplishment. "See, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" 

"I hate you," you mutter defeatedly as he approaches you. You feel him behind you so close you can feel his force signature radiating off him like an aura of warmth as he takes his place at your back.

"No, you don't."

Kriff, has his voice always sounded so attractive? It was so smooth and oh-so delightful, you're sure you could never get enough of it.

"May I, general?" 

"Just call me by my name, captain, since we're past professionalism at this point," you reply sarcastically, and Rex fights off the temptation to grin, opting for a more teasing tone. 

"You as well." 

He steps forward, so his armored chest is pressed flush to your back, and the chill from the plastoid seeps into your Jedi robes. You can feel every divot and curve grating against your attire and pushing into your spine, sending an aching pressure through your body. 

His gloved hand slides over your waist, and you freeze at the contact, your body stiffening in his firm grasp. 

"This okay?" he asks, his tone mixed with mischief? Lust? You couldn't tell. His mouth is close enough to your ear that you can feel his warm breath fanning over the shell of it. 

Your mouth dries at his words, and you lick your lips, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. "Y-yeah."

Rex takes your breathless voice as a sign to continue, silently relishing his ability to make you stutter because Maker knows how long he's waited for an opportunity or excuse like this to touch you. To render that pretty mouth of yours speechless, even if it's to help with your poor aim. 

His foot slides your feet to the side so they are parallel with your shoulders, and your mind wanders to where else he might spread your legs– Focus, you internally reprimand yourself for letting your thoughts descend into something so vulgar and indecent. You're a Jedi, for fucks sake, and even though you've long since abandoned the rule on attachment, it was entirely unprofessional for you to think of your captain this way. 

"Knees bent mesh'la," Rex instructs, his breath ghosting over the column of your neck before he pauses, his body growing taut. There are a couple of beats of silence where Rex can feel his heart hammering out of his chest. You don't react, at least not visibly, to the nickname, and he internally grumbles at his slip-up. He doesn't focus on it too much, considering you don't seem to understand the meaning of the word, but he chastises himself for his lack of restraint for letting something as crucial as that slip from his typically tight lips.  

You chose not to say anything about his sudden discomfort despite your curiosity but instead concentrate on his nickname. Mesh'la. It ran off his tongue like honey, sweet with a hint of something more. It obviously was Mando'a; as far as you knew, every clone spoke a bit of it. However, you never imagined it would be spoken to you, especially by the man you so readily esteem, so what did it mean?

"Oh, right, sorry," you trip over your words as you bend your knees to his will. You feel Rex's arm leave your waist as he shadows you, enveloping his body impossibly closer to yours. His gloved hand runs over your skin, working out the rifle's position to the target droids. He's focused. You can tell that much by how his hands remain steady and focused like he is in his nature. 

It's the familiarity of the weapon, the ease of it, that helps distract Rex from how close he is to you. Every movement he's made in the last five minutes has been driven by the singular purpose of being closer to you, and there was no way in karking hell that Rex would fumble and let this prime opportunity slip away from him. No way in hell.

"Right there, grip it a little tighter, atta girl." You swallow the growing lump in your throat as a shiver runs down the length of your spine at the utter husk in his voice. It's a low, seductive rumble, so chilling yet inviting, as his lips hover a hair's breadth away from your neck, where your pulse is frantically thundering under your skin. You try, you really do, to push out the thoughts of his soft lips caressing your skin in a gentle kiss, peppering your flesh with his devotion. Instead, you feel your face seethe with heat that engulfs your cheeks and rises all the way to the tips of your ears. Shyness is now muddled with arousal, rendering you unable to form a single strand of thoughts to combat your mounting embarrassment. You can almost feel the stupid smug smirk on his lips as his hands tighten their hold on your waist.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" Bastard. Stupid bastard knows what he's doing to you, yet his advances won't push past the edge of flirtation. No matter how much his mocking remarks and smug rejoinders irk you, you want him– need him- to take a leap off the edge. It's something you yearn for down to your very being for him to cross that path of no return. Relinquishing your friendship would either be the end of it or the start of something new. The risk was high, it always was, but one of you had to make a choice, walk away or pursue the tension rising like a raging storm through your love-struck heart. 

You are desperate from the hope he provides you that all of his teasing amounts to something, that he is not playing with your emotions in a game of his ego. It's not in Rex's nature to be so misleading, which inclines you to believe he does share that same sentiment as you, but what do you know when it comes to romance? Your entire life has been spent in a temple with people who would rather die than form an attachment forbidden by the code. You know nothing about your feelings besides how to hide them.

"Shut it, Rex," you grumble, and he chuckles, the sound gravelly and enticing to your lust-plagued mind. His hand scours over your hips, his deft fingers running over the area in a teasing motion. Yet, for all the concentration you render as a Jedi, it proves fruitless. Rex notices your slight tremble and eases you with a gentle whisper, "don't be so nervous."

How are you not supposed to be nervous when he's flirting with repreive? 

"Now, see your target?" You force yourself to nod, not trusting your lips to form intelligible words. He moves slightly to your side, removing his right hand from yours. It appears that he forgoes his teasing for instruction, now focused on what he was initially set out to do, but the way he grasps your hips, pulling them back ever so slightly into his cod-piece, you are inclined to believe otherwise.  

"Finger on the trigger," he orders, and your body obeys before you have time to think, waiting for your captain's following directive. "There 'ya go. Whenever you're ready."

There's a second of hesitation while you gather your thoughts before you pull the trigger. Rex is luckily behind you and holds you steady at the minuscule jerk the gun gives off. The blast bolt pierces the target, black scarring around the marred hole made on the bullseye. You look back at Rex to find him already staring at you with a brazen simper, his arms crossed over his chest. 

"You did good, sweetheart, for a Jedi." You huff and shake your head, taking a last look at your shot before back at him. His arrogance begins to fade into something genuine, and it's impossible to tear your eyes away from his; to let go of the shift in the Force between you two. 

Neither of you cared to address the atmosphere you had created in that short instance, and for right now, you don't wish to sour the mood with the taste of reality. Yet, nothing felt as perfect as staring into those bright amber eyes, reflecting a future you could only crave.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Yoni Kempinski

"It's offensive, but the real damage is that it is making it harder for Israel to recover the hostages and win the war, because of the Hamas strategy. They know they can't defeat Israel militarily, so what they're saying is, ‘okay, we just committed this incredible act of barbarity. We're the darlings of the terrorist world. Now can we survive? We're not going to survive if Israel completes this war. The only way we can survive is if America stops Israel from completing the war. So right now they've got a few battalions left in Rafah and they've got their leadership still intact. So now they're watching Biden and they're saying to themselves ‘this guy's going to stop Israel, and if this guy stops Israel, we're going to survive. We don't have to pay that high a price to survive. The price of the hostages goes up and the risk of a bad outcome goes up. No one's paying attention to Biden more than Hamas and he's sending them exactly the wrong signals.”

On the shift between the initial hugs that Israel received, people in Israel were really moved and impressed by President Biden, by the hugs from the US, Blinkin coming here, saying ‘you guys are not alone,’ there was a feeling that the US is really with us, Ambassador Friedman says that he was not surprised, because “I never thought that Biden was really in charge of this. I think that at some level he does have an affection for the state of Israel, but that gives way entirely to his desperation to be reelected in 2024. So, as the politics start to move away from Israel and they always do, I mean every single battle that Israel's been involved with, when they're attack on the first day or two, they get some sympathy. It always changes, assuming that it would be the same thing here, I wasn't surprised. I am disappointed at how abrupt and how extensive the turning has been on Israel. In particular this idea of trying to create a distinction between Netanyahu and the people of Israel. Israel and America have very close relationships and I wouldn't say that there has been no meddling going on over the last 50 years, because it's such a close relationship. Everybody's interested in everybody else's politics, but this sets a new standard. This idea of going after the elected leader of the state of Israel in a war has really set a new low. It really undermines Israel. I don’t think it’s a policy or Biden’s style. It’s all political, because I think he's looking at this and saying, ‘I don't want to turn on Israel. I still have a lot of centrist Democrat voters, who like Israel, but most of them, especially on the left, don't like Netanyahu, so I can thread this needle by being really, really tough on Netanyahu, but by saying, ‘but of course I love the Jewish people and I love the State of Israel.’ I think that's a political calculation. I think he got together with his people and said, ‘all right, how do I work this thing out? How do I support Israel, but keep my voters? If it was just a political calculation under normal circumstances, politics is a very complicated and sometimes a dirty game. But during a war, when Bibi is trying to defend this country against the greatest threat it's had, maybe in its entire history, it’s really inappropriate.”

[autumnslance]

paladin talk derived- what would you have liked to see as ul'dah paladins or knights? aesthetics, oaths, lore, other stuff?

I've said before in my old post comparing various jobs (PLD, DRK) with the Oaths of 5e D&D that as they are, the Sultansworn fit the "Oath of the Crown" due to being primarily focused on their role as the Sultana's guards; they are there to be old school historical knightly guardians of the ruling family and their palace.

Oath of the Crown The Oath of the Crown is sworn to the ideals of civilization, be it the spirit of a nation, fealty to a sovereign, or service to a deity of law and rulership. The paladins who swear this oath dedicate themselves to serving society and, in particular, the laws that hold society together. These paladins are the watchful guardians on the walls, standing against the chaotic tides of barbarism that threaten to tear down all that civilization has built, and are commonly known as guardians, exemplars, or sentinels. Often, paladins who swear this oath are members of an order of knighthood in service to a nation or sovereign, and undergo their oath as part of their admission to the order's ranks.

So if we're sticking to fantasy style paladins with a hint of history nerding from the writers, this sort of thing suits them, really.

And honestly, what lore we get in ARR isn't bad; the quest story around it is boring, but the concepts, tenets, oaths, history? It could still work. Throw out the HW "job stones vying for dominance" nonsense, and again, don't forget they exist past the starting zone, and it'd be fine! The Sultansworn should be more a part of the messy politics of Ul'dah and involved in some of the central events, especially those in and around the palace and dealing with the Sultana. Where does the order fall during all these events? How many are actually loyal to Nanamo and Papashan? How many are swayed by the Syndicate and allow events to happen? We don't know, and that's one of my issues in how the story unfolded.

Cuz the Sultansworn that are locked to their positions like at the doors to the Fragrant Chamber, it's just...business as usual. And some of it is the shorthand, truncated allowance for story in a MMO environment, but a lot of it also feels like an oversight when plotting out events like a full on coup that puts the Sultana's life on the line and her personal guard are nowhere to be seen.

So where's the storyline about dealing with the fallout of ARR, of the Sultansworn picking up the pieces and rooting out traitors...OR, since we had an Ul'dah paladin story in ARR (mediocre as it is), then give us the Ishgardian one in HW to compare/contrast. Then, let them come together in the Stormblood chain (maybe still have it be a tournament), as the two different paladin orders from two different nations duke it out and eventually come to an accord on how they're more similar than they first appeared and want the same things in the end: the safety and security of their peoples and Eorzea as a whole.

As for aesthetics, the short answer: Dhalmekia in FF16 does a better job at invoking the culture and military (with an elite guardian order to boot) of a desert nation in their clothing/armor and weapons.

However, in original and rebuilt FF14 that's now over a decade old...

The armor we get for the AFs are lacking in religious iconography, but still feel very "traditional Fantasy Pan-European Holy Knight via video game physics" you'll find in any other RPG, either video or tabletop. This includes the first set, which is what we get from our Sultansworn trainer, even if the Player is a "Free Paladin". Like the Valor chest piece almost works in its underlying construction, but they throw that style of tabard and the ridic shoulder pads on top, and those gloves and boots. And a crown instead.

Several of the ARR AFs are taken from earlier games for their iconic looks, and I am not certain if I am missing other historical references in those gearsets, or if it's all simply rendering iconic game gear from earlier FFs into something that works in 14.

Part of the trouble to is all of the common outfits in ARR are, for the most part, real generic tunics, robes, and pants for everyone regardless of region. There's very little change in appearance for outfits across the realm regardless of whether one is in South Thanalan, La Noscea, or Coerthas. And looking at what 1.x material there is, it was pretty much the same. We have various turbans in game since ARR, but I'd like something a little less "generic fantasy armor" and acknowledging other forms...that we don't really get to see until we get some Eastern-themed outfits in HW, and then especially in Stormblood. For the most part, it's either full plate or chain. We've also had curved swords (scimitars, sabers) for awhile, why not make something like that, with a round shield, more the uniform of the Sultansworn, instead of a straight blade and kite shield?

I have a Watcher paladin in a D&D game where I ended up looking into Turkish folk styles and Earlier Ottoman armors for her gear. I've also recently (and this is going a little more into the Caucasus) gotten into traditional Georgian clothes, with the chokha worn by their soldiers developed from earlier century kaftans, as they sat at a crossroads of the trade routes.

Here is an unrolled thread about Crusade history (had to auto-translate) with some art and photographic examples of different periods and regions. Even when the historical Faris (from the idea of Furusiyya, which was a knightly code and concept in Arabic medieval times and like chivalry and knights in the West, started with who had horses) wore more metal armor, it was different from traditional European styles. But given the strictures on styles in 1.x and through 2.0, that really wasn't feasible.

For a huge part, I'm just real done with Pan-West-European fantasy, especially when a token effort is made to add varied regions, but it ends being just that: tokenism, and the rest doesn't take into account the actual environment they've created (which is why I say if you're going to make just another Euro-flavored knight order, stick them in the Euro-flavored knight zone). CU3's gotten better about that over time, especially as they've gotten more budget, more people, and better technology. Development marches on, but it really makes the gaps in early game noticeable, and I kinda hope (but don't expect) for some subtle swap outs and revisions to the generic early gear everyone in ARR zones are currently stuck with.

[je-brille-dans-la-nuit]

Watching Star Trek TOS and loving it! Sex pollen!!

The Return of the Archons

Jim Spock shenanigans shenanigans it was ok enough.

Gotta say I'm all for criticism of organized religion

.

Space Seed

So I met Khan (not the Benedict Cumberbatch whitewashed version)! The episode was good, lots of good dialogue, a solid plot and an uncertain ending (kofkof uncertain for them).

The toxic masculinity vibes were off the charts though:

First, I'm not commenting on McGivers instantly falling for the hyper masculine guy, accepting his abusive behaviour and choosing to stay with him; because if I do, I'll get mad. But you know, it's terrible and I hate it.

Then the admiration for Khan, "the best and most dangerous of the tyrants" expressed by Scotty, Bones and Jim. Sigh. Of course it's all three of them, the only one out being Spock ("Illogical"). We're supposed to take away that it's because he doesn't feel the human/manly appeal of courage, ambition, greatness or whatever. Honestly not even IC? (sorry but I don't want to picture Jim and Bones as real life fans of Napoleon lmao they are the worst)

SPOCK: Gentlemen, this romanticism about a ruthless dictator is KIRK: Mister Spock, we humans have a streak of barbarism in us. Appalling, but there, nevertheless. SCOTT: There were no massacres under his rule. SPOCK: And as little freedom. MCCOY: No wars until he was attacked. SPOCK: Gentlemen.

You tell them Spock!

MCCOY: Well, either choke me or cut my throat. Make up your mind.

Instant classic

MCCOY: Well, there aren't any regulations against romance, Jim.

Duly noted!

Jim thinking he and the bridge crew were dying and recommending commendations in his log? Him being in the decompression chamber being murdered? I was on the verge of tears then

jsbfjhe i'm sorry i can't take it seriously this shot is so funny

SPOCK: Surprised to see you Captain, though pleased. JIM: I'm a little pleased myself

they're so dumb (lovingly)

SPOCK: It would be interesting, Captain, to return to that world in a hundred years and to learn what crop has sprung from the seed you planted today. KIRK: Yes, Mister Spock, it would indeed.

.

A Taste of Armageddon

Wow the plot's heavy but powerful. The whole episode is dark but hopeful ending! (plus pissed off Jim is v sexy)

Death, destruction, disease, horror. That's what war is all about, Anan. That's what makes it a thing to be avoided. You've made it neat and painless. So neat and painless, you've had no reason to stop it. And you've had it for five hundred years. 

I've given you back the horrors of war. 

Ending a 500-year war is just one of many things Captain Kirk does!

And of course:

SPOCK: Captain, you almost make me believe in luck. KIRK: Why, Mister Spock, you almost make me believe in miracles.

I love them ._.

.

This Side of Paradise

OMG OMG IT'S HAPPENING THIS IS NOT A DRILL!! SEX POLLEN!!!

The perfect mix of fun and tension in this episode! Loved it!

Jim's confusion at Spock is everything. When he says "Spock" - clears his throat - "Mr Spock"

Jim being his dramaqueen self "In effect, I am marooned here."

Jim's immunity is his sense of duty what a goody two-shoes (affectionate)

The idea that anger/strong emotion is necessary ties up nicely to The Enemy within

Then the scene... You know which one... Did I have to pause because Jim was being so mean to Spock it was a bit much to watch? maybe!!

SPOCK: You did that to me deliberately. KIRK: Believe me, Mister Spock, it was painful in more ways than one.

My heart!

SPOCK: Captain. Striking a fellow officer is a court martial offence. KIRK: Well, if we're both in the Brig, who's going to build the subsonic transmitter? SPOCK: That is quite logical, Captain.

Sooo dumb <3

The scene between Layla and Spock was lovely too!

MCCOY: Well, that's the second time man's been thrown out of paradise. KIRK: No, no, Bones. This time we walked out on our own. Maybe we weren't meant for paradise. Maybe we were meant to fight our way through. Struggle, claw our way up, scratch for every inch of the way. 

This after the reference to Milton two eps ago! Yes! Yes to all of this!!!

[grandhotelabyss]

The substack on "seperating the art from the artist" was interesting. But one detail lead me to a question - childrens books.

I know it was mostly used to mock people who don't want to engadge with anything "icky" as the demographic probably likes to say, but still.

So the question is, should books for kids be squeaky clean, be these gardens of eden were no evil shows its head, till they grow into the maturity which will let them confront the barbarity of literature vis a vis reality?

One could already use this as a segway to argue the opposite - that with the amount of adults not being able to deal with literature going against their provincal pseudo-morals, children should be "trained" from young age to not be like that - the point of childhood is paradoxically to grow out of it, even if many dont want to.

But on the other hand, and this may reveal myself to be the object of the previous high-nosed snot shower:

I kinda do feel "icky" when I think about all these kids books that try to be "hehe, I'm gonna show kids the real world!"

Like that Matilda author, forgot his name, I remember a year ago there was some fake drama about censorship which ofcourse was stupid but still

I do feel some kind of spite, that irony, that want to be subversive that goes against the idealised view of childhood.

Or maybe my realistic view - with all the cruelty and unavoidable misery - but that wants me to say, "why expose them to more of it?"

Because intuition tells me that those "edgy" childrens book have a simmilar ethos as a teenaged kid trying to teach a todler swear words, or to do a roman salute or whatever, this corrupting of the innocent for the sake of it.

But maybe this whole ramble is just the result of a Lacanian wish to crawl back into the vomb, my lile of Preussler's books just a want to become the little ghost who just can fly around in his eternal castle never growing up.

Still ofcourse I get that it is absurd to rant against Matilda with all the childrens media going way further in many ways and the fact that even I as a young child easily acceseed stuff I wasnt supossed to.

So maybe I answerred my own question - maybe there shouldnt even be childrens books in the first place, just books that are more and less apropriate for younger and yet younger kids.

(Also they should burn all those obviously on porpuse braindead picture books, you know the type lol)

Yes, as I discussed here, I didn't really read children's books unless made to and don't find it to be all that appealing a category. People thought comic books were like children's books, so I was happily reading Grant Morrison's occult phantasmagoria, Frank Miller's post-apocalyptic reactionary satire, and Alan Moore's Freudian traumatology of the archetypes at the age of five and six—and I wouldn't have it any other way. Anyway, the writers who shifted children's books out of their moralizing paradigm and into neo-modernist aesthetic integrity in the late 19th century tended to be either quasi-pedophiles like Carroll and Barrie or figures like Potter rather deliberately trying to expose children to the tooth-and-claw realities polite society otherwise evaded. Children's primordial innocence was a useful historical construct, the slowly evolving joint work of Christianity and the Enlightenment, and we are rightly suspicious of those who would tamper too much with it today; but it was a historical construct, it has produced its own return-of-the-repressed shadow (it's likely generated as much pedophilia as it's ever discouraged by inventing the taboo to be profaned), and it has been carried to unconscionable extremes of life-aversion and anti-intellectualism in our time (e.g., the "brain" doesn't "finish" till age 25 or whatever other ridiculous scientific myth of permanent incapacity we're supposed to believe based on the latest spate of fake "studies" these days). People are probably just people at any age from the onset of consciousness forward—I am aware of no great shift in the core of my identity since about the age of five and never thought of myself as a child—and, because there is alas no protecting everyone from everything in the end, they should at least be armed with knowledge and cultivation at the earliest possible moment.

[heroes-of-the-new-world]

Illustration by sakura_rose12

Izuku's stomach churned. There was enough sake in that gourd to get twenty people drunk. Yet he downed it like it was water.

"Nnnngh… We're being watched, Maria." he growled, setting the gourd down.

Izuku's heart stopped. 'Black Maria…'

"Watched, my lord?" Black Maria made a show of looking around. "There's only us here. No one would dare intrude."

"It's something…small, weak," Kaido mused. "I can't quite place it."

Izuku was frozen stiff as he moved out of sight in the vent, floating so as to not make a sound; as he remembered what Yamato had told him. The Observation Haki, that let him sense all around him.

But why could Kaido sense him! He meant Kaido no harm! He had no intent to fight! And Kaido had drunk enough sake to get the JMSDF plastered! How could he still sense him!?

"Rats perhaps, my lord?" suggested Black Maria. Fortunately, she did not sound particularly concerned. "We could have Who's Who provide some cats."

"There are others here… in their lounges," rumbled Kaido. "I know them. But this one…no, not one… but many.."

"Many presences, my lord?" For all her courtesan manner, Black Maria still managed to sound dubious. "Perhaps men tending to the pipes? Or filling in the crawlspaces?"

"A single rat, but not alone," Kaido went on, as if she had not spoken. "Nine of them…"

Izuku almost cried out. Nine of them? Did that mean he could sense the Vestiges? Could Haki sense even the dead? He can't hear the vestiges… but he can sense the fear.

They knew as well. They were as silent as he. Even they who went up against and spoke back to All for One… were paralyzed in fear.

He felt his sense beginning to boil. His heart rate being the only thing he can hear outside of Kaido's lair.

It was deafening.

"A possum, perhaps," commented Black Maria. "They carry their young on their backs, or so I hear."

"Maybe…" the large man slurred, acknowledging her suggestions for the first time.

Izuku was terrified. Only once, long ago, had he been quite so afraid as this. That time in Kamino Ward, with All for One.

But there was no All Might this time, no fellow heroes and friends like Todoroki and Yaoyozoru to stand with him, to help him fight. Even then, his objective was to save Kacchan, not fight the Symbol of Evil.

He was utterly alone. Only the wall, and the pipe, separated him from Kaido; the Demon King of this living hell.

Izuku's mind ran wild, as his old nightmares returned; his horrified imaginings, and the memories the Vestiges had shown him in their combined mutual state of mind numbing terror.

Their memories of the world before, the world of chaos and darkness, as humanity lashed out in blind terror at the strange new power growing in its midst. Countless lives had been lost or ruined, cruelty piled upon injustice a thousand times a thousand times. Cities had burned, nations torn themselves apart, never to recover. Human civilization had fallen to the very edge of utter ruin.

Yes, Kaido was like those times. As if that era of destruction, chaos, barbarism and madness had been fused into a living form.

Kaido would have fitted right in. He would have made that world his own. No petty dictator, no Villain, and no Hero could have stopped him. Even One for All could not have stopped him. He would have made Japan his Onigashima..

No. Not Japan. A shadow king like All for One might have settled for Japan, but not Kaido.

The world would have been his sandbox. To create, change, and destroy as the mood took him.

He felt so cold. His soul shrank, his body faltered. His hands going to his hair as he tried to breathe. Reality seemed to fade around him, sinking into a morass of cold, black despair.

There was no power that could oppose that thing. Even One for All would not be enough! He was no match!

"It's annoying."

The sense began to flare.

The quakes. The quakes of his footsteps. The shuffling of metal that was Hassaikai being taken up from the floor, the surprised gasps and groans from the other courtesans.

He could sense it. It was only a shape in the low light, a shadow darkening the vent several meters ahead of Izuku, but he could feel that great and terrible presence, moving slowly towards him. It was… choking him. His head was beginning to burn.

Those horrible slitted yellow eyes bearing at his spot.

"The vermin…" the monster continued, "They're still here."

"Maybe it's paralyzed in fear, my lord."

"Maybe so…but it's irritating."

This was it. He was doomed. If he tried to flee, then Kaido would sense him, and rouse the entire island against him. If he didn't, then he would have to face Kaido himself.

He flees, he is almost certainly dead and the plan ruined.

He fights, he is certainly dead.

The vestiges were silent. No doubt paralyzed with the same fear as he.

With the same realization too.

"Come back to bed my lord. It's only a possum."

"Bwuh… *hic*, it'll give the newcomers something to do. And I… fancy having a window here."

Izuku heard the gust as Kaido drew back his club. He wanted to howl, to flee, to run and cower somewhere small and dark. His Danger Sense was blazing so hard he thought his head would split into two; his brain pounding with his heart inside his small, fragile body.

He was so scared. He couldn't move, or scream, or breathe.

He couldn't breathe!

Izuku clutched at himself, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't do it. He wasn't strong enough. He was nowhere near strong enough. He was going to die! He was going to die alone in this place, alone and unremembered! He was going to…

Someone…

ANYONE!

[Chapter 14, Heroes of the New World by Zaru]

[fierceawakening]

So I'm thinking about this whole phenomenon I'm seeing where people are going "What Hamas did is fine because resisting occupation is always messy and we've tried being polite," as if "slaughtering kids and taking civilians hostage" is "being impolite" or something. (The Geneva Convention: A White Thing For Dumb White People, Apparently.)

And maybe I'm wildly overgeneralizing from my own weird experiences, but I suspect part of the reason people are easily swayed to think of "obvious war crimes" as "a little messy" even if they don't see themselves as at all antisemitic might be

When I was a wee Fiercelet in the 1980's, the messaging people like me who are neither personally connected to Israel or Palestine in any way was that Israel Is Obviously Good. The reason given for this is that there were "no other democracies" in the Middle East. Israel was described as this one bright spot of civilization amid some weird Zone of Barbarism, and the Zone of Barbarism wanted to kill them. This wasn't explained in any detail at all, just presented kind of in the way We're Democracy and They're Communism was about the USSR at the time.

The other thing I recall people talking about was Judeo-Christian Values. I know now from constant gripes from Jumblr that this is Not Actually A Thing, but at the time I was too young to really question it. And it fit with the narrative that there were People Relevantly Like Us, The Enlightened United States, in some benighted Nondemocracy Zone.

The Nondemocracy was in some vague way tied to these evil people bedeviling our enlightened ally due to their Being Religious Badly, and only once they somehow saw the light of Democracy could they find a way to Be Religious Nicely, at which point we could call it Judeochristoislamic Values and have a big party ig.

All of which is a long winded way to say it utterly shocked me when I got to college and pro-intifada groups started saying sound bites to me like "Israel has tanks; Gaza has rocks. They're killing people with tanks just for throwing rocks. If your family had been killed by tanks, wouldn't you throw rocks too?" (I am not saying I'm sure this is accurate; I now suspect at least some spin. But this is what other students your age set up a table at a fair and tell you.)

Hearing that throws the whole narrative about how we're supposed to love Israel because they're uniquely lacking in barbarism into the trash very quickly.

And that I think is why it's very easy to convince left-leaning white USians that Israel is settler colonialist and deserves whatever it gets. Because white college students are already beginning to see that while democracy is good, the jingoism we're sold about how we're better than anyone else is wild exaggeration built on an unavoidably racist base.

So when someone says "the only reason you think Hamas are terrorists is because they're brown and you've been told they're antidemocratic," it's very easy to go "huh. Maybe so," even if you don't buy into obvious antisemitic conspiracy theories or anything else like that.

Which is why it's so important to have all the facts about what everyone is actually doing, and consider them against the backdrop of what you think just war is.

[kenobster]

can you explain the appeal of these ship polls to me?

genuinely asking bc i really don’t get why they happen so often or why people take them seriously. it feels like all they do is breed conflict.

what makes everyone feel so strongly about the winners, especially if it doesn’t actually represent the true popularity of the ship? (not that popularity matters bc if it’s fun then it’s fun and everyone is entitled to their feelings and opinions)

not mad or trying to be mean, i genuinely want to understand bc im bad with social cues and at reading people. what is it about them that you like? <3

so like this is actually super funny to me lol because everything you just described has been EXACTLY how I feel about sports (especially regarding American football fans in the United States). I've actually joked a couple times already about how (thanks to this poll) I finally understand what the big deal about the Superbowl is. In fact, over the last week, I've felt a kinship with overworked cashiers who use their fifteen-minute breaks to check the score throughout the day. Every time one of the previous polls taken an unexpected swerve, please picture me jumping up and down and hollering at my computer like I'm some middle-aged white dad yelling at some referee. 😆

My state has two college football teams, both with avid fanbases, and people get SO up-in-arms about it. Even after finding out I have no interest in sports, people have threatened to commit bodily harm against me if they ever catch me wearing merch of the wrong side's team. To be honest, I'm with you — I've always found that kind of attitude to be super aggressive and needlessly rude. Unfortunately.... 😖(insert my walk of shame lol) I have recently acquired an understanding of the psychology behind it....

In other words, I think your confusion is very similar to my confusion about sports. Sports fans, especially in my state, always seem like they would really consider it a dealbreaker if I wear the wrong merch or that they would really punch me in the face if I show support for the wrong team (which does happen to people at some sports games, but I think it's a minority of sports fans who would ever do that). Most of the time, if you get upset by jokes like that, the other person will drop the act and reassure you. But sports fans will never admit they're kidding. 🙄

Anyway, with that context, I think you first must untangle the phrase "people take [shipping polls] so seriously." The truth is that we're not taking it seriously, but, like sports fans, our humor and social cues are probably difficult to read. Especially for someone not "in on the joke," we might look like we're all upset and riled up. We might say things that sound serious and aggressive. But inwardly, we're actually all laughing about it. None of us really care about the results, we're just here to have a good time playfully arguing our sides.

You're probably still wondering why anyone would find enjoyment out of this, so I think it will help if you re-contextualize it into a framework more familiar... Why do people enjoy roller coasters when the purpose of a roller coaster is to trigger your body into a fight-flight response? Why do people watch horror movies or go into haunted houses when the purpose of them is to scare the shit out of people? Why do people enjoy watching or listening to true crime drama when the stories showcase the most barbaric and cruel forms of human nature? Why do people read AITA threads on Reddit, even though they often depict the wildest examples of abuse/toxicity/etc. in human relationships?

It's because all of those examples allow a person to experience stress/terror/anger/etc. in a way that is safe. Roller coasters don't actually kill you. Horror movies have a pause button. Scary things in haunted houses are the work of prop designers and actors. True crime media and AITA threads involve stories that are happening to other people, not you. Similarly, in shipping polls, I think people enjoy having a safe way to channel their feelings about fandom rivalries in a way that is mostly harmless.

Whatever the reason for our enjoyment, however, I think once you realize that none of us actually care about the results, everything else starts to click into place. But here's some answers to your other questions:

Why do we care about the results when they're never accurate? Because we never cared about the results in the first place, hahaha. We care about what's funny. We care about what makes for the juiciest drama. (I mean, think of how funny it was when that final bracket on the Best Star Wars Character poll resulted in victory for Sebulba instead of Obi-Wan! Lmao!) In short, accuracy is boring. Bribing, cheating, and begging in order to skew results is hilarious.

Why are we so mean and hostile to each other? Because we're not actually being mean and hostile to each other.* We're teasing each other. The same way as two best friends might tease each other (example from one friend to another that I literally saw this morning: "oh my god you are SUCH a nerd 😂"). That kind of teasing doesn't work if somebody cares about the subject matter (for example, that joke would NOT be okay if the aforementioned "nerd" had ANY negative feelings about that word). But in the right circumstances, this kind of teasing can feel REALLY good, REALLY fun, and even increase feelings of security within the friendship! In shipping polls, people are probably just exhibiting the communal version of this.**

Why do people care so much about the winners? I don't actually know the answer to this because this is my first time ever enjoying a ship poll, and we haven't gotten there yet. 😅Someone feel free to pitch in.

Why do they happen so often? Probably clout. Beyond that, in order to make a poll, someone has to genuinely be curious about the results. They can theorize, but they can't know what the outcome will be. Not only that, they have to remember that tumblr polls are all fun and games (or else, imagine how incredibly infuriating it would be to see people trolling). People who want accurate results don't use tumblr polls for a reason; they use official surveys instead. In this shipping poll, OP wrote a rule for each round that the results weren't meant to be taken seriously. So I think they enjoy it for the same reasons as we do. That kind of thrill can be addicting lol, and I can see why people would want to recreate it again and again.

In closing, it's been fun, but I don't think another poll like this will similarly compel me. This has just been a one-time thing that I was able to enjoy because of certain circumstances that overlapped with my interests and sense of humor. In truth, I get just as annoyed at the frequency of these polls, and I will likely need a lifelong cooldown after this one concludes. Frankly, if I'd remembered that the final round would be for a week instead of a day, I might have.... well, I might have made different decisions to say the least, lmao.

[*] This is not inclusive of antis. There is no reason to shit on one ship exclusively when there are 5+ other ships in the running. There is especially no reason to threaten the other side with an "electric chair with a built-in guillotine" if they win. That's not fun and games. That's just fucked up.

[**] Because it's a communal version and not a close friendship, it's definitely hard to gauge people's feelings about whether they're okay with being teased. A comment, to one person, might sound like teasing, but, to another, might come across as hurtful and mean. Only intimate friends can really tell the difference (and even they make mistakes). This is definitely unfortunate, but it's kind of a consequence of human behavior in general — not something specific to these kinds of polls imo.

[forcedfamiliarization]

So, apparently in other cities, the word gnome refers to people who're almost dwarf sized? No wonder everyone gets so mad when I catch gnomes here in Thaum, they probably think I'm some kind of serial killer!

Our gnomes are like rats in the shape of tiny people. The feral ones don't really say much, but a few of the ones in the city learned to parrot curse words because that's usually what they hear after they bite someone's toes, or stab them in the arse with a crochet needle.

City ferals like to find little corners and crawlspaces in houses and steal food and stuff from the kitchens, which usually isn't a problem if there's just one, but you can't count on your eyes to know that for sure! They're shockingly good at illusions, so you should leave some flour on your pantry floor to count how many footprints there are. If there's more than one, don't wait! Go to your nearest guild or tavern hunt board immediately!

Gnome catching is actually a really lucrative job for adventurers who're just starting out, because one pair of feral gnomes can swell up to several hundred in a year, and it's not like they're going to stop anytime soon! You also might consider investing in a cat to sniff them out. We're great at seeing through illusions, and might be cheaper in the long term than schlepping downtown to put out quest after quest!

According to Simon, gnomes aren't a problem out in the hill country because they have so many natural predators, like cait sidhe and grimalkins who catch them by the dozens, which probably explains my urges! Come to think of it, those are both feline races from the Hulderwald, so maybe gnomes really were rats that the fae changed to look like little beardy men?

Up north where the skalds and noita come from, they had another solution to gnomes eating their crops and getting into the chicken coops: Domestication! Domesticated gnome breeds like nisse, tomte, and tonttu basically work like tiny little guard dogs to keep the feral gnomes away from gardens, shops, and homes, and there's usually a few gnome buggeries in every city for a good selection!

The main differentiation between domestic and feral gnome breeds is that Domesticated gnomes wear little red hats and tunics instead of letting their twig and bollocks flop about. There's usually a name sewn into the inside brim of their caps, too, kinda like the collars familiars wear!

They're also much smarter. Not only can they understand short sentences, they know that their porridge and safe sleeping place are dependent on playing nice and patrolling the estate with their little forks like tiny personal guards against their barbarous cousins, so they stay on their BEST behavior.

You might have to replace them here and there, though. Since they roam about, it's not uncommon for them to get carried away by birds, or eaten by, say, cat familiars who're too entranced by the prospect of such a well fed little morsel to notice they're not spouting curse words with their dicks out like a lush after the taverns close.

My point in explaining all this is so you understand that I'm doing very important work when I go gnome hunting, so please stop calling the city guards when I show my trophies on the Orblr! Every time they come by the dorms we have to bribe them to go away, and it's getting really expensive!

Are a couple of deliciously plump pets really worth getting eaten out of house and home by a bunch of tiny naked men who want to steal your toenails before going back to fucking in your walls like it's the back room of a bathhouse? I think not!

All I ask, from the bottom of my heart, is for a bit of compassion and wizardry solidarity! I need you to understand that my gnome crimes are honest mistakes, and it's okay to let your house gnomes outside once in a while!

Preferably the plump ones. Maybe with a bit of wine first so they're extra slow.

You know, as a sign of trust...

[thefirstknife]

I don't really see a big deal about crushing enemy Ghosts? I mean the game already has us slaughter refugees from a destroyed civilization that have turned to raiding as a means of survival and revenge against the being that abandoned them to destruction and barbarism. And against beings who's only reason they're monsters is because long ago those who made them what they became were lied to and tricked and manipulated into monstrosity. So I mean the game already has us killing enemies forged through tragic origins in uncountable numbers. What's so different about killing a Ghost that's sided with an enemy that would destroy our own if they felt it needed? A major element of the series is that there's so much senseless violence done in the name of survival and in revenge for violence suffered in a cycle of destruction that can be traced back to horrifyingly depressing origins.

True, there's an element of this question with everyone we're killing to be fair. And also like, how to reconcile all of the gameplay stuff with lore and the setting. Something that video games struggle with in general.

I guess the thing with Ghosts is that they're much closer to us? The familiarity and safety that they provide is being shattered every time we attack one. It's always been one of the biggest taboos and crimes in the setting. To kill a Ghost is to do something unspeakable. With our other enemies, we never had that initial feeling of peace and safety with them.

I think there's also a piece of like, unease when it comes to killing a Ghost simply because it chose to pair with someone we see as an enemy. Even in the Dark Age, when Ghosts were raising Warlords and Lightbearers who were genuinely horrible people, killing a Ghost was seen as an awful thing to do. Even when it was done with as much justification as possible, it was still something that made everyone feel bad. Does the Ghost deserve to die because its chosen is someone we see as bad?

And of course, the added issue is that we haven't really tried communicating or establishing any sort of peace with the Lucent Hive. They showed up and we went in guns blazing without a second thought. Our immediate reaction was that the Hive somehow stole the Light. A reasonable assumption! But when we found out they didn't and that this was a conscious choice by the Ghosts, we just... continued.

The main issue, I think, is that Ghosts have always been universally presented as good. Sometimes weird, sometimes confused, sometimes a little violent, but never a direct threat or bad enough to deserve death without question or trial. Hive Ghosts are the first time we actually had to confront the idea that Ghosts are enemies. It's unnerving and new. I wish we got more lore about this specific aspect. Hopefully in the future, especially once Savathun comes back, but I would've loved to see it as we were dealing with it for the first time.

I'd definitely like to hear how other people view this and feel about it!

[midnightsunnyday]

A Grand Admiral's Job Is Never Done (Part Two)

Part One Masterlist

********

*Leviathan, walking and reading over his papers*

Leviathan: budgeting meetings, emails  *sighs* and that was just from this morning. Formalities aside, being here just reminds me of what a total loser I am. I used to be important, you know? Like, I actually led fleets and planned wars and...blew things up! Now I'm just some worthless otaku that not even Vepar takes seriously. "Oh, Grand Admiral Leviathan, to what do we owe the pleasure? I assume your consoles and...animu weren't an adequate substitute for actual naval combat?" Uncultured asshole.

Petty Officer Halphas: ah, good morning, Grand Admiral Leviathan.

Leviathan: (great, not him again. Seriously, I may be a shut-in, but this guy needs to seriously touch grass. I mean, he may look like your typical normie. Could probably make a few friends, get invited to parties, model a few products, and maybe even have a lover if he wanted, but he's so...uncanny. That and he's always talking! To me! Seriously, why is he coming closer? Would it be weird if I just ran away? Made an excuse? Dammit, I've been in my own mind too long! Now I have no choice. Must...force...self...into...social...interaction...) Petty Officer Halphas. Good to see you. Tell me, how are the new recruits this year?

Petty Officer Halphas: *smiles like a creep* do you really want me to answer that question, sir?

Leviathan: I...uh--

Petty Officer Halphas: --because JESUS FUCKING FIRE PISSING CHRIST just what kind of demons are they sending me these days anyway? Just yesterday I had 13 RECRUITS pass out after only spending THREE MINUTES in the GOD DAMN lava pool! THREE MINUTES! And the NEXT DEMON that CRIES to me about having to spend a night in the OBLIVION CHAMBER is getting their legs snapped off and beaten with them! Of course, staring into the face of death is terrifying. THAT'S THE POINT OF THE DAMN CHAMBER.

Leviathan: is...that right? *laughs nervously* Honestly, out of all the POs, I expected you to have the least trouble with...motivation (seriously, why was he promoted)?

Petty Officer Halphas: you would think so. Yet apparently, my training tactics are too "intensive" and "barbaric." Please. You want to talk about hell? My entire division had to trudge through the primordial forests--

Leviathan: --with no water, no food. Just our wits and the beads of sweat between our folds for 30 days, as you've told me more than once (more like 30 times! I can't believe I'm missing the 24-hour TSL movie marathon for this. Life is so unfair).

Petty Officer Halphas: I just don't get it, sir. A thousand years ago, the average demon sailor could kill a man in cold blood and snap off an angel's wings with their bare hands. Now Lord Diavolo is calling for peace and creating an exchange program with ANGELS of all beings and forcing demons to adopt these things called...MORALS. I mean, what are we, HUMANS?

Leviathan: one doesn't need to be human to have a code of honor, Halphas. It does one no favors to spread needless chaos and violence (had to channel my inner Lord Diavolo on that one).

Petty Officer Halphas: no offense, sir, but that's pretty much what demons are. Why go against nature?

Leviathan: maybe Lord Diavolo wants us to know that we're more than just our nature. Maybe all beings, regardless of where and how they came to be, have the ability to change (even if we don't believe it ourselves...).

Petty Officer Halphas: *scoffs* you know, I thought joining Hell's Navy and rising through the ranks would be fun. But everything is so boring now. And since I can't use them to harass the guppies anymore, my beautiful armory full of weapons is doing nothing but gathering dust *sighs* I was definitely born in the wrong era.

Leviathan: (yeah, this dude is definitely warped. Though I can sympathize with the being bored part). Tell me, what is it about war that fascinates you so much?

Petty Officer Halphas: *with an unnerving look in his eyes* everything! The tactics, the artillery, the smell of fear and chaos. The power of being able to control every single piece upon the field, knowing that one wrong move could destroy your entire fleet. The feeling of holding someone's life in your hands and watching it drain from their eyes...

Leviathan: (maybe I should talk to Lord Diavolo about implementing some kind of psychological evaluation checks...)

Petty Officer Halphas: ...mock fights and training sessions just aren't enough. I NEED to experience the real thing! You understand, right, Grand Admiral? After all, you were there! You know what it feels like! What it looks like! You and Captain Vepar. His stories about fighting in the Great War are exhilarating. I only wish I was there to see him during his prime! I bet it was amazing.

Leviathan: ...tell me, Petty Officer Halphas, are you really this much of a heartless moron?

Petty Officer Halphas: what? Grand Admiral--

Leviathan: you have the potential of doing great things, Halphas, yet you're wasting them by being nothing more than an uncaring bastard. Do you really think showing so little value and regard for life including your own is something to aspire to? Is killing and death all you really care for?

Petty Officer Halphas: it's...kind of all I know, sir. Unlike the Devildom, living in one of the nine circles isn't exactly...pleasant.

Leviathan: war isn't a game and your men's lives aren't NPCs. Real war is horrifying, even more than the nine circles. There is no limit to the acts of cruelty one can enact and it comes with heavy sacrifices. More importantly, your men have to trust you to lead them. Tell me, Halphas, do you think anyone would trust you with anything as you are now?

Petty Officer Helphas: ...I'm sorry, Grand Admiral Leviathan. It was never my intention to offend.

Leviathan: I know you look up to Captain Vepar, after all, he's a formidable leader, yet don't let his stories of glory and triumph fool you. There were also many unmentioned failures. I should know...considering I caused most of them.

Petty Officer Halphas: you...you went to battle with Captain Vepar? And lived?

Leviathan: well, you don't have to look THAT shocked. How about this? The next time you meet Captain Vepar, ask him about the battle of Cocytus and the reason why I allowed him to sail away alive (lololol. That one always pisses him off).

Petty Officer Halphas: wow, Grand Admiral Leviathan, I mean...to be honest, I kind of just assumed you were some otaku streaming games on Deviltube all day, but you're way more hardcore than I thought! By the way, did you get my friend request yet? I'm not accusing you of anything, it's just that you probably get so many you didn't see mine. Oh, and my username is DoveofDeath--

Leviathan: --regardless (you little shit) of how you or any of the officers feel about my status, I didn't get this title by playing games all day. I've been leading operations and conducting strategies centuries before you were even a thought. My track record is highly consistent, whether it's taught as part of history or not, there's a reason why I stand as your superior. Do well to remember that.

Petty Officer Halphas: woah. Uh, I mean, yes sir, Grand Admiral Leviathan, sir!

Leviathan: and also...JUST WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK I AM ANYWAY, THE FRIEND YOU DON'T HAVE? SERIOUSLY, DOES EVERY ASSHOLE ON THIS SHIT STAIN OF A BASE HAVE NOTHING TO DO BUT TALK OUT OF THEIR ASS ABOUT GLORY'S PAST AND JERK THEMSELVES OFF TO EVERY HOMICIDAL PSYCHOPATHIC FANTASY THEY HAVE? FOR FUCKS SAKE, JUST GET A HOBBY.

Petty Officer Halphas: um...am I the homicidal psychopath in this situation, sir?

Leviathan: just...go do your job, Halphas. At least prove why you deserve to keep your position here.

Petty Officer Halphas: right, of course, sir. But before that, are you still going to accept my friend request or...

Leviathan: *groans loudly and pulls out his DDD* so it's DoveofDeath, right?

Petty Officer Halphas: *grins* actually, it's DoveofDeath38, sir.

Leviathan: ah, right. There you are. Oh...so you do have a friend's list. A pretty active one, too.

Petty Officer Halphas: oh, yeah. I'm kind of a big deal in the Strings of Battle community, but not as big as you, of course. My girlfriend also watches your channel, too, by the way. You're her favorite Deviltuber!

Leviathan: *grins through the pain* is that so?

*MC and Diavolo, still hiding*

MC: that officer guy is kind of intense, but also kind of lame.

Diavolo: *laughs* Petty Officer Halphas has always had an interesting aura about him, even as a recruit. Though I think it may be time to have a bit of a talk about his...current psychological state.

MC: agreed. But Levi just seems so...assured *pouts* I can't believe that nerd! He's been holding out on me!

Diavolo: let's follow him further, shall we?

******

Petty Officer Halphas

Halphas rose through the ranks quickly, as he's shown quite the competency for battle due to his uncanny ability to identify, equip, and accurately use any and every weapon imaginable (though especially firearms). Even the things that aren't weapons become them in Halphas's grasp.

Yet like Vepar, Halphas is bored with peace, and with no wars to fight, has lost most of his motivation to go any further than his current rank. After hearing and reading stories from wars' past, he waits (impatiently) for the day he can test his skills on the battlefield for real, instead of on his fellow sailors (who are thankfully immortal) and in his favorite war games. Despite having never been in one, Halphas is certain he'd be amazing during battle.

Tends to speak in a hoarse voice due to his smoking habit (though the fact that he's always yelling doesn't help either). In charge of torturing training junior sailors. Really wants to be Leviathan's friend.

Sin: sloth

Likes: quality cigars, architecture, playing video games, bird watching.

Dislikes: boredom, disorganization, cats, sweet things, showing weakness.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Jon XI (Chapter 53)

Apologies for using Karsi as a placeholder. Val wasn't relevant enough to be on the show.

He was not a tall man, Tormund Giantsbane, but the gods had given him a broad chest and massive belly. Mance Rayder had named him Tormund Horn-Blower for the power of his lungs, and was wont to say that Tormund could laugh the snow off mountaintops. In his wroth, his bellows reminded Jon of a mammoth trumpeting.

[...]

Finally, as the shadows of the afternoon grew long outside the tent, Tormund Giantsbane—Tall-Talker, Horn-Blower, and Breaker of Ice, Tormund Thunderfist, Husband to Bears, Mead-King of Ruddy Hall, Speaker to Gods and Father of Hosts—thrust out his hand. "Done then, and may the gods forgive me. There's a hundred mothers never will, I know."

Are we being baited? We're being baited, aren't we?

"If you refuse," Mance Rayder said, "Tormund Giantsbane will sound the Horn of Winter three days hence, at dawn." - Jon X, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon clasped the offered hand. The words of his oath rang through his head. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. And for him a new refrain: I am the guard who opened the gates and let the foe march through. He would have given much and more to know that he was doing the right thing. But he had gone too far to turn back.

This is the price of peace, I pay it willingly. If I look back, I am lost. - Daenerys VIII, ADWD

+.+.+

"Gold for gruel, and boys … a cruel price. Whatever happened to that sweet lad I knew?"

They made him lord commander. "A fair bargain leaves both sides unhappy, I've heard it said. Three days?"

"If I live that long. Some o' my own will spit on me when they hear these terms." Tormund released Jon's hand. "Your crows will grumble too, if I know them. And I ought to. I have killed more o' you black buggers than I can count."

This week on Foils,

Jon negotiates an uneasy peace with those uncivilized, barbaric wildlings.

I hope he doesn't start sulking, and decide to burn everyone alive.

+.+.+

The wildling pulled off the band from his left arm and tossed it at Jon, then did the same with its twin upon his right. "Your first payment. Had those from my father and him from his. Now they're yours, you thieving black bastard."

The armbands were old gold, solid and heavy, engraved with the ancient runes of the First Men. Tormund Giantsbane had worn them as long as Jon had known him; they had seemed as much a part of him as his beard. "The Braavosi will melt these down for the gold. That seems a shame. Perhaps you ought to keep them."

"No. I'll not have it said that Tormund Thunderfist made the free folk give up their treasures whilst he kept his own."

Speaking of being baited, I continue to be distracted by the ancient runes.

+.+.+

Grief twisted Tormund's face. "Dormund was cut down in the battle for the Wall, and him still half a boy. One o' your king's knights did for him, some bastard all in grey steel with moths upon his shield. I saw the cut, but my boy was dead before I reached him. And Torwynd … it was the cold claimed him. Always sickly, that one. He just up and died one night. The worst o' it, before we ever knew he'd died he rose pale with them blue eyes. Had to see to him m'self. That was hard, Jon." Tears shone in his eyes. 

Richard Horpe is with Stannis, I don't think anything is brewing.

+.+.+

"Dawn, then. Three days from now. The boys first."

"I heard you the first ten times, crow. A man'd think there was no trust between us." He spat. "Boys first, aye. Mammoths go the long way round. You make sure Eastwatch expects them. I'll make sure there's no fighting, nor rushing at your bloody gate. Nice and orderly we'll be, ducklings in a row. And me the mother duck. Har!" Tormund led Jon from his tent.

The mammoths are all at Eastwatch. Pray for Eastwatch.

If the Others do attack Eastwatch, you have a nice little parallel with Daenerys, who's about to go to war with the elephants.

+.+.+

He [Hareth] and Leathers were the only men Jon had brought with him to the parley; any more might have been seen as a sign of fear, and twenty men would have been of no more use than two if Tormund had been intent on blood.

Bruh, you have to create the illusion you're including others in your decision-making process. Even Tywin Lannister did that.

+.+.+

Ghost was the only protection Jon needed; the direwolf could sniff out foes, even those who hid their enmity behind smiles.

Ghost would have followed as well, but as the wolf came padding after them, Jon grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and wrestled him back inside. Borroq might be amongst those gathering at the Shieldhall. The last thing he needed just now was his wolf savaging the skinchanger's boar. - Jon XIII, ADWD

+.+.+

From above came the sudden sound of wings. Mormont's raven flapped from a limb of an old oak to perch upon Jon's saddle. "Corn," it cried. "Corn, corn, corn."

"Did you follow me as well?" Jon reached to shoo the bird away but ended up stroking its feathers. The raven cocked its eye at him. "Snow," it muttered, bobbing its head knowingly. 

Eye, singular.

That ain't no blood raven, that's a Bran raven.

+.+.+

Then Ghost emerged from between two trees, with Val beside him.

They look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

"Have you been trying to steal my wolf?" he asked her.

"Why not? If every woman had a direwolf, men would be much sweeter. Even crows."

Wait a second.

WAIT A SECOND.

What happened ... to Cool Girl's ... grey eyes?

Why ... at this moment ... have they turned ... blue?

Val looked at him with pale grey eyes. - Jon X, ASOS

x

They had crowned her with a simple circlet of dark bronze, yet she looked more regal in bronze than Stannis did in gold. Her eyes were grey and fearless, unflinching. - Jon III, ADWD

See? Grey. She's shapeshifting again.

Something tells me that's not a continuity error.

She was as fair as he'd remembered, slender, full-breasted, graceful even at rest, with high sharp cheekbones and a thick braid of honey-colored hair that fell to her waist. - Jon X, ASOS

x

Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue - Jon XI, ADWD

Something weird is going on here, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

Worse, she was beautiful. - Arya I, AGOT

x

"Your bosom will be as lovely as the queen's," the old woman said as she looped her string around Sansa's chest. "You should not hide it so." - Sansa II, ASOS

x

"I had heard that Lord Littlefinger's daughter was fair of face and full of grace, but no one ever told me that she was a thief." - Alayne I, TWOW

x

Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones - Arya I, AGOT

x

"OH, SWEET SHE WAS, AND PURE, AND FAIR! THE MAID WITH HONEY IN HER HAIR!" - Sansa I, ASOS

x

✨✨✨ Petyr studied her eyes, as if seeing them for the first time. "You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes." - Sansa I, AFFC ✨✨✨

+.+.+

Then Ghost emerged from between two trees, with Val beside him.

They look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

"Have you been trying to steal my wolf?" he asked her.

"Why not? If every woman had a direwolf, men would be much sweeter. Even crows."

It's a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.

Two pairs of hose for her legs, boots that laced up to her knees, heavy leather gloves, and finally a hooded cloak of soft white fox fur.

[...]

He smiled. "I wish you could see yourself, my lady. You are so beautiful. You're crusted over with snow like some little bear cub, but your face is flushed and you can scarcely breathe. How long have you been out here? You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Then Ghost emerged from between two trees, with Val beside him.

They look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

"Have you been trying to steal my wolf?" he asked her.

"Why not? If every woman had a direwolf, men would be much sweeter. Even crows."

It's always there, the truth. We just need to look for it.

"I had heard that Lord Littlefinger's daughter was fair of face and full of grace, but no one ever told me that she was a thief."

"You wrong me, ser. I am no thief!"

Ser Roland placed his hand over his heart. "Then how do you explain this hole in my chest, from where you stole my heart?" - Alayne I, TWOW

+.+.+

Then Ghost emerged from between two trees, with Val beside him.

They look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

"Have you been trying to steal my wolf?" he asked her.

"Why not? If every woman had a direwolf, men would be much sweeter. Even crows."

Why, it's almost as if this "character" (I use that term loosely) is a plot device, who only exists to remind us of other people.

The light of the half-moon turned Val's honey-blond hair a pale silver and left her cheeks as white as snow. She took a deep breath. "The air tastes sweet."

"My tongue is too numb to tell. All I can taste is cold." - Jon VIII, ADWD

Pale silver? Bad. ❌

Dark honey, blue-eyed? Good. ✅

Okay, I'm done.

+.+.+

What had that oaf Axell Florent said of Val? "A nubile girl, not hard to look upon. Good hips, good breasts, well made for whelping children."

+.+.+

All true enough, but the wildling woman was so much more. 

If you have any critical thinking skills whatsoever, this should have prompted nothing more than a laugh.

The joke is he doesn't know anything about Val. The reader doesn't know anything about Val. Val is a blank page dressed in white.

+.+.+

She had proved that by finding Tormund where seasoned rangers of the Watch had failed. She may not be a princess, but she would make a worthy wife for any lord.

Again, the appropriate response is to laugh.

Val would make a dreadful wife for any noble, and the author's going to demonstrate why.

I weep for people who can't see what's going on here.

Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please. - Catelyn VII, ACOK

x

She is good at this, he thought, as he watched her tell Lord Gyles that his cough was sounding better, compliment Elinor Tyrell on her gown, and question Jalabhar Xho about wedding customs in the Summer Isles. His cousin Ser Lancel had been brought down by Ser Kevan, the first time he'd left his sickbed since the battle. He looks ghastly. Lancel's hair had turned white and brittle, and he was thin as a stick. Without his father beside him holding him up, he would surely have collapsed. Yet when Sansa praised his valor and said how good it was to see him getting strong again, both Lancel and Ser Kevan beamed. She would have made Joffrey a good queen and a better wife if he'd had the sense to love her. He wondered if his nephew was capable of loving anyone. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

A poor substitute for the real thing.

King Stannis had plans for Val, he knew; she was the mortar with which he meant to seal the peace between the northmen and the free folk. - Samwell I, AFFC

x

Our alliances in the south may be as solid as Casterly Rock, but there remains the north to win, and the key to the north is Sansa Stark. - Tyrion III, ASOS

Always has been, always will be.

She may not be a princess

Wait for it.

WAIT FOR IT.

+.+.+

But that bridge had been burned a long time ago, and Jon himself had thrown the torch. "Toregg is welcome to her," he announced. "I took a vow."

That's kind of a dick thing to say right in front of her, lol.

+.+.+

"She won't mind. Will you, girl?"

Val patted the long bone knife on her hip. "Lord Crow is welcome to steal into my bed any night he dares. Once he's been gelded, keeping those vows will come much easier for him."

HA HA she's so cool.

+.+.+

As Jon scratched Ghost behind the ear, Toregg brought up Val's horse for her. She still rode the grey garron that Mully had given her the day she left the Wall, a shaggy, stunted thing blind in one eye. As she turned it toward the Wall, she asked, "How fares the little monster?"

+.+.+

"Freedom of the castle you shall have, but I regret to say you must remain a captive. I can promise that you will not be troubled by unwanted visitors, however. My own men guard Hardin's Tower, not the queen's. And Wun Wun sleeps in the entry hall."

Sansa hovered by the door, for once unguarded. The queen had given her freedom of the castle as a reward for being good, yet even so, she was escorted everywhere she went. - Sansa V, AGOT

Shoutout to @please-dot!

+.+.+

Jon saw signs of sickness too. That disquieted him more than he could say. If Tormund's band were starved and sick, what of the thousands who had followed Mother Mole to Hardhome? Cotter Pyke should reach them soon. If the winds were kind, his fleet might well be on its way back to Eastwatch even now, with as many of the free folk as he could cram aboard.

Jon lets the sick pass the Wall.

Now I'm wondering what the author's personal stance was on Daenerys keeping the sick out of Meereen. I didn't think she had much of a choice, but perhaps George disagrees.

+.+.+

"How did you fare with Tormund?" asked Val.

"Ask me a year from now. The hard part still awaits me. The part where I convince mine own to eat this meal I've cooked for them. None of them are going to like the taste, I fear."

"Let me help."

"You have. You brought me Tormund."

"I can do more."

Why not? thought Jon. They are all convinced she is a princess. Val looked the part and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her.

There it is, in all its glory.

A real authentic warrior princess.

Controversial, but I agree with him.

Val is nothing like that other princess in the story.

+.+.+

Why not? thought Jon. They are all convinced she is a princess. Val looked the part and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her.

I'm not finished.

In case Jon's own thoughts weren't enough,

Val is no princess, though. I told him that half a hundred times. - Jon VIII, ADWD

George has basically confirmed Jon is projecting all over this girl.

However, in my own defense, I should note that Dalla was not a "warrior woman" per se. She was from a warrior culture, yes; one that gave women the right, but not the obligation, to be fighters. Ygritte was a warrior woman, as was (most conspicuously) the fearsome Harma Dogshead. Dalla and Val were not. - George R. R. Martin

She is no warrior, she is no princess, and she damn well sure isn't the mortar to the north.

As for Jon's thoughts on willowy creatures in towers,

He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind. - Jon III, AGOT

x

The mare whickered softly as Jon Snow tightened the cinch. "Easy, sweet lady," he said in a soft voice, quieting her with a touch. - Jon IX, AGOT

x

He was not a man you'd expect to speak of maids and wedding nights. So far as Jon knew, Qhorin had spent his whole life in the Watch. Did he ever love a maid or have a wedding? He could not ask. Instead he fanned the fire. When the blaze was all acrackle, he peeled off his stiff gloves to warm his hands, and sighed, wondering if ever a kiss had felt as good. - Jon VIII, ACOK

x

Sometimes she sang in a low husky voice that stirred him. And sometimes by the cookfire when she sat hugging her knees with the flames waking echoes in her red hair, and looked at him, just smiling . . . well, that stirred some things as well. - Jon II, ASOS

x

If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us. - Jon V, ASOS

x

"Then I'd push him in a stream or throw a bucket o' water on him. Anyhow, men shouldn't smell sweet like flowers."

"What's wrong with flowers?" - Jon V, ASOS

x

For a time he dreamed that Ygritte was with him, tending him with gentle hands. - Jon VI, ASOS

x

He watched the child nurse at Gilly's breast, and then he watched Jon watch. Jon is smiling. A sad smile, still, but definitely a smile of sorts. Sam was glad to see it. It is the first time I've seen him smile since I got back. - Samwell IV, ASOS

x

A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow, he thought. You'll dance with me anon. - Jon XII, ADWD

I might take it more seriously if he wasn't such a willowy boy.

+.+.+

"I must inform the queen of this agreement," he said. "You are welcome to come meet her, if you can find it in yourself to bend a knee." It would never do to offend Her Grace before he even opened his mouth.

"May I laugh when I kneel?"

"You may not. This is no game. A river of blood runs between our peoples, old and deep and red. Stannis Baratheon is one of the few who favors admitting wildlings to the realm. I need his queen's support for what I've done."

Val's playful smile died. "You have my word, Lord Snow. I will be a proper wildling princess for your queen."

Oh boy, I can't wait to see how well princess emissary does.

Teach him, author. Show him what happens to 11-year-old girls boys who romanticize pretty princes princesses they don't know.

+.+.+

She is not my queen, he might have said. If truth be told, the day of her departure cannot come too fast for me. And if the gods are good, she will take Melisandre with her.

I know this is about Selyse, but.

+.+.+

"If it please m'lord, the lads were wondering. Will it be peace, m'lord? Or blood and iron?"

"Peace," Jon Snow replied. "Three days hence, Tormund Giantsbane will lead his people through the Wall. As friends, not foes. Some may even swell our ranks, as brothers. It will be for us to make them welcome. Now back to your duties." 

This, plus the conflict between Daenerys and Yunkai being (temporarily) resolved by a peace deal, is another strong indicator the Others will not be stopped with swords or magic.

+.+.+

Bring parchment, quills, and a pot of maester's black to my chambers. Then summon Marsh, Yarwyck, Septon Cellador, Clydas." Cellador would be half-drunk, and Clydas was a poor substitute for a real maester, but they were what he had. Till Sam returns. 

Poor substitutes everywhere you look! What happened to getting more maesters?

"If you ask the Citadel for more maesters . . ."

"I mean to. We'll have need of every one. Aemon Targaryen is not so easily replaced, however." - Jon II, ADWD

Looks like the author is going to pretend it doesn't take years to become a maester. Who needs a 5 year gap?

+.+.+

He turned to Val. "My lady. With me, if you please."

"The crow commands, the captive must obey." Her tone was playful. 

x

They made their way toward the King's Tower, along fresh-shoveled pathways between mounds of dirty snow. "I have heard it said that your queen has a great dark beard."

Jon knew he should not smile, but he did.

x

Commanding them was Ser Patrek of King's Mountain, clad in his knightly raiment of white and blue and silver, his cloak a spatter of five-pointed stars. When presented to Val, the knight sank to one knee to kiss her glove. "You are even lovelier than I was told, princess," he declared. "The queen has told me much and more of your beauty."

"How odd, when she has never seen me." Val patted Ser Patrek on the head. "Up with you now, ser kneeler. Up, up." She sounded as if she were talking to a dog.

It was all that Jon could do not to laugh. 

+.+.+

When presented to Val, the knight sank to one knee to kiss her glove. "You are even lovelier than I was told, princess," he declared. "The queen has told me much and more of your beauty."

"How odd, when she has never seen me."

Not to be outdone, the pimply knight hopped up and said, "Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms." It might have been a sweeter courtesy had he not addressed it to her chest.

"And have you seen all those maids yourself, ser?" Alayne asked him. "You are young to be so widely travelled." - Alayne I, TWOW

Shoutout to @please-dot!

+.+.+

They found Her Grace sewing by the fire, whilst her fool danced about to music only he could hear, the cowbells on his antlers clanging. "The crow, the crow," Patchface cried when he saw Jon. "Under the sea the crows are white as snow, I know, I know, oh, oh, oh."

If under the sea is still code for death, then I believe that's more evidence of Jon warging inside Ghost.

+.+.+

There was no sign of Lady Melisandre. For that much Jon was grateful. 

Lol.

+.+.+

"Your Grace." He took a knee. Val did likewise.

Wow, impressive. Let's see your curtsy, princess blue-blood.

+.+.+

"Are you the wildling princess?" Shireen asked Val.

"Some call me that," said Val. "My sister was wife to Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall. She died giving him a son."

I'm sorry, don't the kneelers call you that?

+.+.+

"I'm a princess too," Shireen announced, "but I never had a sister. I used to have a cousin once, before he sailed away. He was just a bastard, but I liked him."

"Honestly, Shireen," her mother said. "I am sure the lord commander did not come to hear about Robert's by-blows. Patchface, be a good fool and take the princess to her room."

The bells on his hat rang. "Away, away," the fool sang. "Come with me beneath the sea, away, away, away." He took the little princess by one hand and drew her from the room, skipping.

Hey, princess Sansa has a bastard cousin she's fond of too.

Please don't take Shireen beneath the sea. Please?

+.+.+

Jon said, "Your Grace, the leader of the free folk has agreed to my terms."

Queen Selyse gave the tiniest of nods. "It was ever my lord husband's wish to grant sanctuary to these savage peoples. So long as they keep the king's peace and the king's laws, they are welcome in our realm." She pursed her lips. "I am told they have more giants with them."

Yes, that was definitely something Stannis genuinely cared about.

Melisandre nodded solemnly, as if she had taken his words to heart, but this Weeper did not matter. None of his free folk mattered. They were a lost people, a doomed people, destined to vanish from the earth, as the children of the forest had vanished. - Melisandre I, ADWD

+.+.+

She pursed her lips. "I am told they have more giants with them." Val answered. "Almost two hundred of them, Your Grace. And more than eighty mammoths."

The queen shuddered. "Dreadful creatures." Jon could not tell if she was speaking of the mammoths or the giants. "Though such beasts might be useful to my lord husband in his battles."

There's two hundred giants, and eighty mammoths?

Probably not for long.

"Though such beasts might be useful to my lord husband in his battles."

I hate these people.

+.+.+

Selyse sniffed. "If you say so. No doubt you know about such things. Where do you mean to settle these wildlings? Surely Mole's Town is not large enough to contain … how many are they?" "Four thousand, Your Grace. They will help us garrison our abandoned castles, the better to defend the Wall."

Numbers update! Four thousand wildlings are passing the Wall.

Most of them are not fighting men, and won't factor into the battle for Winterfell.

+.+.+

"I see you have considered all this carefully, Lord Snow. I am sure King Stannis will be pleased when he returns triumphant from his battle."

Lol, k.

You know what I would do if I triumphantly won back Winterfell, and secured a kingdom to my cause?

Burn my daughter alive to celebrate.

+.+.+

"Of course," the queen went on, "the wildlings must first acknowledge Stannis as their king and R'hllor as their god."

And here we are, face-to-face in the narrow passage. "Your Grace, forgive me. Those were not the terms that we agreed to."

The queen's face hardened. "A grievous oversight." What faint traces of warmth her voice had held vanished all at once.

Don't worry, Jon's a seasoned veteran when it comes to tense matters like this. He's got this under contr-

+.+.+

"Free folk do not kneel," Val told her.

"Then they must be knelt," the queen declared.

"Do that, Your Grace, and we will rise again at the first chance," Val promised. "Rise with blades in hand."

The queen's lips tightened, and her chin gave a small quiver. "You are insolent. I suppose that is only to be expected of a wildling. We must find you a husband who can teach you courtesy." 

Damn, you fucking suck at this, princess diplomacy.

+.+.+

"Your Grace." Jon knelt again. This time Val did not join him. "I am sorry my actions have displeased you. I did as I thought best. Do I have your leave to go?"

I would have liked to see him reflect on what a dumbass princess fumble is, but I understand I can't have everything.

Or maybe I can ...

+.+.+

Once outside and well away from the queen's men, Val gave vent to her wroth. "You lied about her beard. That one has more hair on her chin than I have between my legs. And the daughter … her face …"

"Greyscale."

"The grey death is what we call it."

"It is not always mortal in children."

"North of the Wall it is. Hemlock is a sure cure, but a pillow or a blade will work as well. If I had given birth to that poor child, I would have given her the gift of mercy long ago."

Oh no, what's happening? Say it ain't so, princess filicide.

Surely you wouldn't kill your own child if it was unnecessary.

The curse was oft seen in children, especially in damp, cold climes. The afflicted flesh stiffened, calcified, and cracked, though the dwarf had read that greyscale's progress could be stayed by limes, mustard poultices, and scalding-hot baths (the maesters said) or by prayer, sacrifice, and fasting (the septons insisted). Then the disease passed, leaving its young victims disfigured but alive. Maesters and septons alike agreed that children marked by greyscale could never be touched by the rarer mortal form of the affliction, nor by its terrible swift cousin, the grey plague. - Tyrion V, ADWD

You should keep going, princess merciful. Nothing turns Jon on more than talk of killing kids.

+.+.+

This was a Val that Jon had never seen before. "Princess Shireen is the queen's only child."

A little too much wildling in that wildling, huh?

You've never seen any part of Val before, you banana.

+.+.+

"I pity both of them. The child is not clean."

DON'T STOP GEORGE. LEARN HIM.

+.+.+

"If Stannis wins his war, Shireen will stand as heir to the Iron Throne."

"Then I pity your Seven Kingdoms."

+.+.+

"The maesters say greyscale is not—"

"The maesters may believe what they wish. Ask a woods witch if you would know the truth. The grey death sleeps, only to wake again. The child is not clean!"

"She seems a sweet girl. You cannot know—"

"I can. You know nothing, Jon Snow." Val seized his arm. "I want the monster out of there. Him and his wet nurses. You cannot leave them in that same tower as the dead girl."

Jon shook her hand away. "She is not dead."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

+.+.+

"She is. Her mother cannot see it. Nor you, it seems. Yet death is there." She walked away from him, stopped, turned back. "I brought you Tormund Giantsbane. Bring me my monster."

Bring princess maternal the monster. She's great with children.

Death is certainly there for Shireen, but not for the reasons Val believes.

While we're on the topic of mercy killing kids, would you like to know who you're supposed to be thinking about while this conversation is taking place? ("Then I pity your Seven Kingdoms.")

"He could end his torment," Jaime said. "I would, if it were my son. It would be a mercy." - Tyrion I, AGOT

x

"Oh, don't be absurd." Cersei closed the window. "Yes, I hoped the boy would die. So did you. Even Robert thought that would have been for the best. 'We kill our horses when they break a leg, and our dogs when they go blind, but we are too weak to give the same mercy to crippled children,' he told me. He was blind himself at the time, from drink." - Jaime IX, ASOS

Yeah, this girl is totally Jon's happy ending.

+.+.+

"If I can, I will."

"Do. You owe me a debt, Jon Snow."

Jon watched her stride away. She is wrong. She must be wrong. Greyscale is not so deadly as she claims, not in children.

Shireen is fine, she's had greyscale for 11 years now.

Let's wait and see if that not deadly disease is used to justify a horrific act.

Ask a woods witch if you would know the truth. The grey death sleeps, only to wake again.

+.+.+

At four hundred feet the wind had teeth, and tore at his black cloak so it slapped noisily at the iron bars. At seven hundred it cut right through him. The Wall is mine, Jon reminded himself as the winchmen were swinging in the cage, for two more days, at least.

Close. It's yours for about another week, then you can say goodbye.

+.+.+

Both wore woolen hoods pulled down over their heads, so nothing could be seen of their faces but their eyes, but he knew Ty by the tangled rope of greasy black hair falling down his back and Owen by the sausage stuffed into the scabbard at his hip. He might have known them anyway, just by the way they stood. A good lord must know his men, his father had once told him and Robb, back at Winterfell.

I wish you'd do a better job at knowing Bowen Marsh.

+.+.+

Jon walked to the edge of the Wall and gazed down upon the killing ground where Mance Rayder's host had died. He wondered where Mance was now. Did he ever find you, little sister? Or were you just a ploy he used so I would set him free?

We're still trying to figure that one out, Jon.

+.+.+

It had been so long since he had last seen Arya. What would she look like now? Would he even know her? Arya Underfoot. Her face was always dirty. Would she still have that little sword he'd had Mikken forge for her? Stick them with the pointy end, he'd told her. Wisdom for her wedding night if half of what he heard of Ramsay Snow was true. Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl.

Arya Stark, still very much a child in the eyes of Jon Snow.

Unrelated, but did you know Shireen and Arya are the exact same age? I bet Jon knows.

+.+.+

Jon Snow flexed the fingers of his sword hand, remembering all he'd lost. Sam, you sweet fat fool, you played me a cruel jape when you made me lord commander. A lord commander has no friends.

+.+.+

Jon pointed at the lights of their campfires. "There they are. Four thousand, Tormund claims."

"Three thousand, I make them, by the fires." Bowen Marsh lived for counts and measures. "More than twice that number at Hardhome with the woods witch, we are told. And Ser Denys writes of great camps in the mountains beyond the Shadow Tower …"

Scratch that, three thousand wildings are passing the Wall. More than six thousand are at Hardhome.

Many more are in the mountains beyond the Shadow Tower. Do we know what's happening at the Shadow Tower?

+.+.+

Jon did not deny it. "Tormund says the Weeper means to try the Bridge of Skulls again."

The Old Pomegranate touched his scar. He had gotten it defending the Bridge of Skulls the last time the Weeping Man had tried to cut his way across the Gorge. "Surely the lord commander cannot mean to allow that … that demon through as well?"

"Not gladly." Jon had not forgotten the heads the Weeping Man had left him, with bloody holes where their eyes had been. Black Jack Bulwer, Hairy Hal, Garth Greyfeather. I cannot avenge them, but I will not forget their names. "But yes, my lord, him as well. We cannot pick and choose amongst the free folk, saying this one may pass, this one may not. Peace means peace for all."

[...]

"How many rangers has the Weeper killed?" asked Othell Yarwyck. "How many women has he raped or killed or stolen?"

"Three of mine own ilk," said Old Flint. "And he blinds the girls he does not take."

Similar to Daenerys and her peace deal, Jon's forced to swallow an especially difficult pill.

I'm not smart enough to tell you what should have happened.

+.+.+

"You need not trust a man to use him." Else how could I make use of all of you? "We need the Weeper, and others like him. Who knows the wild better than a wildling? Who knows our foes better than a man who has fought them?"

That's kind of unfair. They haven't done anything. Yet.

+.+.+

"Brothers should not squabble," Septon Cellador said. "Let us kneel and pray to the Crone to light our way to wisdom."

George mocking "thoughts and prayers" before it became a thing.

+.+.+

"Lord Snow," said The Norrey, "where do you mean to put these wildlings o' yours? Not on my lands, I hope."

"Aye," declared Old Flint. "You want them in the Gift, that's your folly, but see they don't wander off or I'll send you back their heads. Winter is nigh, I want no more mouths to feed."

I think it was paramount he involve these two in the negotiations.

The Night's Watch relies on the support of noble houses, especially northern houses.

+.+.+

"The wildlings will remain upon the Wall," Jon assured them. "Most will be housed in one of our abandoned castles." The Watch now had garrisons at Icemark, Long Barrow, Sable Hall, Greyguard, and Deep Lake, all badly undermanned, but ten castles still stood empty and abandoned. "Men with wives and children, all orphan girls and any orphan boys below the age of ten, old women, widowed mothers, any woman who does not care to fight. The spearwives we'll send to Long Barrow to join their sisters, single men to the other forts we've reopened. Those who take the black will remain here, or be posted to Eastwatch or the Shadow Tower. Tormund will take Oakenshield as his seat, to keep him close at hand."

Tormund Oakenshield. Can someone tell me if Thorin Oakenshield ever blows a horn?

I'm not sure these castles survive the Wall falling. They have to go somewhere else.

You want them in the Gift, that's your folly

+.+.+

Bowen Marsh sighed. "If they do not slay us with their swords, they will do so with their mouths. Pray, how does the lord commander propose to feed Tormund and his thousands?"

Jon had anticipated that question. "Through Eastwatch. We will bring in food by ship, as much as might be required. From the riverlands and the stormlands and the Vale of Arryn, from Dorne and the Reach, across the narrow sea from the Free Cities."

"And this food will be paid for … how, if I may ask?"

With gold, from the Iron Bank of Braavos, Jon might have replied. Instead he said, "I have agreed that the free folk may keep their furs and pelts. They will need those for warmth when winter comes. All other wealth they must surrender. Gold and silver, amber, gemstones, carvings, anything of value. We will ship it all across the narrow sea to be sold in the Free Cities."

"All the wealth o' the wildlings," said The Norrey. "That should buy you a bushel o' barleycorn. Two bushels, might be."

SAY THAT. TELL THEM.

Like, almost every insurrection happens because of food scarcity in this series. Please tell them you have money to buy food.

+.+.+

"Lord Commander, why not demand that the wildlings give up their arms as well?" asked Clydas.

Leathers laughed at that. "You want the free folk to fight beside you against the common foe. How are we to do that without arms? Would you have us throw snowballs at the wights? Or will you give us sticks to hit them with?"

The arms most wildlings carry are little more than sticks, thought Jon. 

SAY THE QUIET PART OUT LOUD.

+.+.+

"Tormund has given me his oath. He will serve with us until the spring. The Weeper and their other captains will swear the same or we will not let them pass."

Old Flint shook his head. "They will betray us."

"The Weeper's word is worthless," said Othell Yarwyck.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think we get another update on the Weeper in this book. I don't think he's passed the Wall.

+.+.+

"The gods of the North, since before this Wall was raised," said Jon. "Those are the gods that Tormund swore by. He will keep his word. I know him, as I knew Mance Rayder. I marched with them for a time, you may recall."

"I had not forgotten," said the Lord Steward.

No, thought Jon, I did not think you had.

What possessed him to bring that up?

+.+.+

"It is not their children who concern us. We fear the fathers, not the sons."

"As do I. So I insisted upon hostages." I am not the trusting fool you take me for … nor am I half wildling, no matter what you believe. "One hundred boys between the ages of eight and sixteen. A son from each of their chiefs and captains, the rest chosen by lot. The boys will serve as pages and squires, freeing our own men for other duties. Some may choose to take the black one day. Queerer things have happened. The rest will stand hostage for the loyalty of their sires."

The northmen glanced at one another. "Hostages," mused The Norrey. "Tormund has agreed to this?"

It was that, or watch his people die. "My blood price, he called it," said Jon Snow, "but he will pay."

Maybe lead with this next time.

Can't say I'm a big fan of child hostages.

We're going to hope this doesn't go to hell once Jon's killed. If I had to guess, I'd say the Meereen hostages both sides hold are in a lot greater danger.

+.+.+

"None but them whose sires displeased the Kings o' Winter," said The Norrey. "Those came home shorter by a head. So you tell me, boy … if these wildling friends o' yours prove false, do you have the belly to do what needs be done?"

Ask Janos Slynt. "Tormund Giantsbane knows better than to try me. I may seem a green boy in your eyes, Lord Norrey, but I am still a son of Eddard Stark."

Janos Slynt wasn't an innocent child, tough guy.

+.+.+

Marsh flushed a deeper shade of red. "The lord commander must pardon my bluntness, but I have no softer way to say this. What you propose is nothing less than treason. For eight thousand years the men of the Night's Watch have stood upon the Wall and fought these wildlings. Now you mean to let them pass, to shelter them in our castles, to feed them and clothe them and teach them how to fight. Lord Snow, must I remind you? You swore an oath."

"I know what I swore." Jon said the words. "I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. Were those the same words you said when you took your vows?"

"They were. As the lord commander knows."

"Are you certain that I have not forgotten some? The ones about the king and his laws, and how we must defend every foot of his land and cling to each ruined castle? How does that part go?" Jon waited for an answer. None came. "I am the shield that guards the realms of men. Those are the words. So tell me, my lord—what are these wildlings, if not men?"

Bowen Marsh opened his mouth. No words came out. A flush crept up his neck.

That's a great point, but I wouldn't have been so sassy about it.

To be fair, I know what happens.

+.+.+

Outside the day was bright and cloudless. The sun had returned to the sky after a fortnight's absence, and to the south the Wall rose blue-white and glittering. There was a saying Jon had heard from the older men at Castle Black: the Wall has more moods than Mad King Aerys, they'd say, or sometimes, the Wall has more moods than a woman. On cloudy days it looked to be white rock. On moonless nights it was as black as coal. In snowstorms it seemed carved of snow. But on days like this, there was no mistaking it for anything but ice. On days like this the Wall shimmered bright as a septon's crystal, every crack and crevasse limned by sunlight, as frozen rainbows danced and died behind translucent ripples. On days like this the Wall was beautiful.

x

Jon Snow turned away. The last light of the sun had begun to fade. He watched the cracks along the Wall go from red to grey to black, from streaks of fire to rivers of black ice. Down below, Lady Melisandre would be lighting her nightfire and chanting, Lord of Light, defend us, for the night is dark and full of terrors.

The beginning and end of the chapter. The Wall is doing symbolism again.

+.+.+

"Winter is coming," Jon said at last, breaking the awkward silence, "and with it the white walkers. The Wall is where we stop them. The Wall was made to stop them … but the Wall must be manned. This discussion is at an end. We have much to do before the gate is opened. Tormund and his people will need to be fed and clothed and housed. Some are sick and will need nursing. Those will fall to you, Clydas. Save as many as you can."

[...]

"Lord Bowen, you shall collect the tolls. The gold and silver, the amber, the torques and armbands and necklaces. Sort it all, count it, see that it reaches Eastwatch safely."

"Yes, Lord Snow," said Bowen Marsh.

And Jon thought, "Ice," she said, "and daggers in the dark. Blood frozen red and hard, and naked steel." His sword hand flexed. The wind was rising.

What's the point of remembering those words if you're not going to do anything about it?

Final thoughts:

Often imitated, never duplicated.

That's what happens when you expect a cheap knockoff to do the job of a real princess.

-> return to menu <-

[dariusult]

FFXIV Write Day 19- Taken

"Call it in, Pardus. We've secured the target."

Kanromaru was tossed into the back of a small dzo-drawn wagon with a dull thud, being handled with the sort of disregard one would have for rotten produce. The young Auri boy struggled and squirmed mightily against his bindings to no avail, they held fast against his kicking and thrashing.

The only thing that the young noble's exertions did manage to earn him was the scorn of his captors. "Shut that kid up." A tall, dark-haired Garlean soldier walking at the front of the wagon said curtly. Judging by his voice, Kanromaru could tell he'd been the one who spoke earlier as well. This one was the man giving orders.

A hand roughly grabbed Kanromaru's shoulder and rolled him over, a stern looking Miqo'te man with brown hair cropped short, and a trio of matching scars running across his forehead and onto his scalp, as though a beast had clawed his head, crouched over the boy and stared down at him with a steely gaze. The young Raen recognized this soldier from when he'd been snatched away from Darius. He looked down at Kanromaru with an expression that gave away no indication of what he might've been thinking, offering only a quick warning. "I tied those binds myself, don't waste your energy."

"Called it in." A third voice joined in as a large lumbering figure fell into step alongside the wagon. A Hrothgar man with a dull gray coat dappled with black spots, his mane neatly slicked back between his ears. He cast a quick glance down at Kanromaru, giving the Au Ra a brief look directly at his face. The Hrothgar's most notable feature was a nasty looking scar running across the left side of his muzzle, splitting his lip. He noticed Kanromaru's gaze but didn't seem to care as he looked back towards the soldier walking at the front of the wagon. "Yoshimoto is waiting up ahead with the mage."

"Tch." A clicked tongue from somewhere on the other side of the wagon matched the disdain with which the Hrothgar had uttered the word 'mage'. "We're actually going through with this?"

"We've been put at the Watatsumi clan's disposal." The Hrothgar's voice rumbled a response. "Whatever orders Yoshimoto gives us, we follow."

"Some of us prefer to think for ourselves, Vadim." The other voice snipped back. "And sacrificing a child for some primitive religious ritual? It's downright barbaric."

Kanromaru's eyes widened at the mention of a ritual sacrifice. Being the only child at hand, it was fairly obvious who they were talking about. He began kicking and thrashing again, shouting angrily through the gag wrapping his mouth.

"Hold here." The soldier at the front of the cart said, causing the whole formation to cease moving as the wheels ground to a halt. He then slowly turned around, revealing a pair of crimson eyes and a face that bore more than a passing resemblance to Darius. He reached into the wagon and grabbed Kanromaru by the back of his yukata, yanking him up so that their eyes were level. The two stared at each other in silence for a moment. Then the soldier broke the silence, coldly uttering. "No one's coming to save you." He paused, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "But if you behave yourself, maybe I'll get you out of this."

"Oh, by the way, Pilus." The Miqo'te in the wagon spoke up. "Your brother was with him."

"WHAT!?" The red-eyed soldier's attention snapped to the Miqo'te.

"I assume he was hired as a bodyguard for the target." The Miqo'te elaborated.

The soldier stared at the Miqo'te in silence, a frown creasing his features. "And? Did you kill him?"

Despite the death glare he was receiving from his commanding officer, the Miqo'te was unperturbed. "Securing the target was my only objective."

A long awkward pause hung in the air between the two legionnaires, Kanromaru silently glancing between one and then the other as the two men stared at each other. The commanding officer's frown slowly deepening into a full-on scowl as he broke the silence. "You mean to tell me you encountered my brother as an enemy in the field, and then just let him live?"

The Miqo'te's stoic manner finally cracked as his brow furrowed ever so slightly. "Do our orders include cleaning up your familial issues, pilus?"

"That's enough, Azah'to." The Hrothgar, recently identified as Vadim interjected, putting himself between the two soldiers, causing Kanromaru to be unceremoniously dropped back into the wagon with a thud. "We still have our primary objective to achieve, anything else can come later."

"I'm actually really curious, Cyrus." The mysterious fourth soldier that Kanromaru hadn't been able to see before stepped up to the edge of the wagon and leaned over, eyeing the black-haired soldier who was now identified as 'Cyrus'. This soldier was a pure blooded Garlean, or at least to Kanromaru's understanding, what a pure blooded Garlean was supposed to look like. A pale, lanky man with dirty blond hair, an unshaven face, and something that looked like a small pearl sitting right in the middle of his forehead. His manner was much less professional than the other soldiers as he cast an inquisitive glance across the wagon. "What is your brother even doing in Hingashi?"

"I have no idea." Cyrus replied flatly. "But he's as good as dead."

"Mmrf!" Kanromaru angrily exclaimed through the cloth gagging his mouth, having finally had enough of just sitting and listening to these men sent to deliver him to his death. All eyes simultaneously fell on the small Auri boy laying in the wagon, glaring angrily at the Garlean soldiers surrounding him.

Cyrus slowly reached down and pulled Kanromaru back up into a sitting position, casting a cold gaze onto the young lord, regarding him with a chilling amount of disdain. "What did I tell you about behaving yourself?"

Kanromaru felt the urge to quail under Cyrus's gaze nearly overwhelm him, but with no way of retreating, he stood his ground (figuratively), glaring back into the soldier's eyes defiantly.

"Well look at you." Cyrus said coolly, his expression unchanging. "I suppose futile resistance runs in the family." The Soldier shoved the young Raen boy back into the wagon. "Your brother Kojuro was the same. Didn't save him from me. Your little brother and sister..." He stared down at Kanromaru, eyes wide but utterly devoid of feeling. "Didn't escape either."

By this point Kanromaru was shouting again, thrashing against his bindings as he tried to rise up at least onto his knees, but Cyrus reached down and grabbed the front of the boy's Yukata, slamming him down onto his back. "If you think my coward of a brother is coming to save you... You're sorely mistaken. But make no mistake, little lordling. In time, I'll kill him too."

Cyrus released his grip on the stunned Au Ra and took his place back at the front of the wagon, signaling with his hand for the rest of the unit to resume marching. "We're wasting time. Let's get a move on."

The rest of the men silently fell into position, only Azah'to sparing a moment to glare at the back of Cyrus's head as the Miqo'te sat down in the wagon, resting what appeared to be a Garlean-made rifle on his shoulder.

Kanromaru needed to find a way out of this situation, but it was already feeling beyond hopeless. His only chance was whether or not the Eorzeans he'd met would actually come find him. Cyrus was sure they wouldn't, but Kanromaru had offered to pay them—that had to count for something, right?

[kendrixtermina]

Israel and the US are creating hate & resentment against themselves that will linger for decades

I read recently that Jews in Turkey are careful not to leave the house each time Israel does something fucked up, cause they fear getting targeted.

& this is why: Israel claims to do these horrid act in accordance with & in the name of their religion, even putting the symbol on their flag (just as Spanish Conquistadores burned central american codices in the name of "christianity" and how the Nazis had "god with us" written on their belts )

Like I'm not at all excusing or justifying the targetting of unrelated randos, but in terms of cause & effect, the governments of Israel & the USA are creating resentment and it will be random people that pay for it.

Of course, this serves those in power just fine cause they can use it as a justification for more violence. Netanyahu won't get harassed in the street, random Turkish Jews will. Biden won't get his face burned when someone throws a molotov into an American embassy again, random Americans will.

Now I can't speak for Jews as I am not a Jew (though I see many saying that this murder doesn't represent their values) but the useless greedy leaders that we have in the west sure don't represent me or my values.

We were supposed to care about individual freedom, rationality & progress; These crimes are the most draconian, insane & barbaric shit I have ever laid my eyeballs on.

I think a whole lot of this 'terrorist' or 'antisemite' rhetoric just serves to strip rationality away, like a bad parent who says his children are just "being difficult" when he hurts their feelings. "They hate us cause they hate us" or worse yet "they hate us because we're good"

So ppl never-ever-ever think about if maybe the resentment has a CAUSE. That doesn't mean every action based on it is justified or constructive (or even that the cause is valid or rational), but how can you understand the problem or solve it without knowing its cause?

And of course, if they just "hate us cause they hate us", then it gets easy to justify doing away with "they" since there is no rational cause for resentment that can be remedied.