#anyway. like I get it it's funny and they have a lightly antagonistic relationship in ttc so it's funny!!

[rotisseries]

"she met a pinecone's fate" was hysterical the first time around and it's still funny but the longer I think about it the more unsure I actually am about the line

[transgenderer]

the following is a lightly edited transcript of my friends and i discussing the life changing, british lads hit each other with chair

www.yahoo.penis 10/27/2020 [6:54 PM] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R9oZaP-my5E

www.yahoo.penis 10/27/2020 [6:59 PM] i need a team of anthropologists to start studying this video

prominent hentai scholar 10/27/2020 [7:01 PM] my first look at it [7:00 PM] ok [7:00 PM] it takes several techniques [7:00 PM] but the approaches i would use are lacanian and marxist, the marxism is verging into feminism, as masculinity plays a huge part. The masculinity displayed here is almost alien to an american viewpoint. Therein lies the humor for a lot of people. However, the same mechanisms are used in Britain to prove it, like enduring pain and feigning resistance to substances. this is exemplified in how the protagonist takes a final swig and then smashes the bottle and the still smoking (as demonstrated by his shirt wearing compatriot picking it up and taking a hit, which we will come back to later) cigarette onto the ground where he knows he may fall, both of which add a very real threat as consequences for his failure to “endure” at the highest standard. And no one makes him do this! he makes a bet on himself for his own benefit! [7:06 PM] Yet! [7:06 PM] He kisses his friend on the lips seconds before! [7:06 PM] Kinda gay, dog! [7:07 PM] it also affirms that the ritual they’re going through is not actually for dominance (another attribute of american masculinity, and possibly another difference) of any sort- similar to throwing the bottle on the ground, it’s all a voluntary ritual. It’s not a fight, and it’s not training; It’s a chance to show off, that his friend grants him as a favor, a display of mutual affection and trust. Anyway the cameraman is the most american-masculine man there. He doesn’t scavenge and he doesn’t grant anyone any favors, he never attempts to prove himself like the protagonist - but also never fails [7:10 PM] he laughs at them, as if doing this was not just absurd but without motivation. in the new context of the ritual failing, he distances himself from it by acting as a third party [7:11 PM]

whore of sumer 10/27/2020 [7:11 PM] YES

prominent hentai scholar 10/27/2020 [7:12 PM] Well

www.yahoo.penis 10/27/2020 [7:12 PM] YES

prominent hentai scholar 10/27/2020 taking a look at it from another angle [7:13 PM] Class is not the focal point of the video but an omnipresent part of the background. The style some of the young men have - like patroclus and achilles- conspicuously showing their wealth in muscular physique and and noble, well kept hair, like modern hoplites. but some appear like any other young man of their day; we don’t see the cameraman, for instance, and the young man who picks up the cigarette is also the young man who’s dress is least informed by nouveau riche tendencies; either he’s old money and does not see any need to affirm his place in the class hierarchy visually or (far more likely) he’s just an average income dude… and he’s the same actor that scavenges the cigarette. is he deprived of another carton at home, or is he scrounging up some of the honor of the protagonist who just made a huge show of his masculinity? either way he’s both embarrassing and flattering protag [7:18 PM] i think it’s probably the latter option and here’s why [7:19 PM] When the protag collapses, who runs in to steal his thunder? It isn’t that the protag proved it was safe; he collapsed [7:19 PM] he was trying to do him one better. [7:20 PM] i gotta eat dinner. maybe more later

prominent hentai scholar 10/27/2020 [8:00 PM] anyway [8:00 PM] one of the points of the video that give it so much panache - so much drama - is that through his presence shirtguy takes an almost antagonistic role. by receiving the first hit in the second round, he sets up the chair to hit him by the feet instead of by the back. and he doesn’t collapse; he scampers off. yet despite hijacking and doubly outdoing our protagonist, he isn’t the figure the audience cares about. mention of him is like, minimal, when you ask people what they remember about it [8:03 PM] example: this chat [8:04 PM] The thesis of the video is not “men are silly”; it’s not “this guy is pathetic because he couldn’t take getting hit by a chair, watch as someone defeats him”; it’s not “british people are aliens” (although this is a common interpretation, going back to what i said abt this being a different masculinity) [8:12 PM] the thesis is “british lads hit each other with chair”. There is only one lad hitting the others; there is no mutual hitting. But the title is still correct; the video hinges on the mutual nature of the interaction. The two shirtless lads, performative in body and spirit, do art with each other, mostly for proving that they’re Real Men, but clearly this is not all. The modification of the ritual - the kiss - his rescue by his attacker - the speed of this rescue, indicating that there was never any question of if this was for the protagonist’s benefit, just how (he is being a bit silly) - all of it comes to a head in their unconscious replication of the Pieta, a symbol of familial love even after being scorned in torture and death. The chair lad, the metaphorical mary, delivers punishment with the implicit guarantee of affection and care should the protagonist ever be truly hurt, a powerful parallel to motherhood. This is only one level of looking at the relationship hitting each other with a chair performs; the homoeroticism, brothers in battle and in bed, has been mostly forgotten in western culture, but the vestiges of it remain. The cameraman and the shirt lad, intruders, are forgotten, in time; their performance had no allusions to love and death, the two fascinations of any society. [8:15 PM] Despite their attempts to out-masculine the chair lad and the protagonist, without showing any vulnerability, they fail to gain any interest from the audience they didn’t understand or prepare for. This is another reason the video is so compelling; the spontaneous nature of the action suggests the bond between the men is genuine [8:17 PM] Anyway, final words: it’s funny because it’s absurd, and because the visible depth of the emotional interaction going on here under british lads hitting themselves with chairs in an alley is just as absurd as the premise. Something that silly shouldn’t be complex! it’s so weird! and it’s the weirdness that makes it funny [8:24 PM] honestly this could use a lot of polish [8:24 PM] now that im thinking abt it a lot of it is nigh freud tier acontextual [8:25 PM] bc i don’t understand british masculinity [8:25 PM] i also need to devote more time to the feminist angle [8:25 PM] ach

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight ch 5

Gawyn tries his hand at a murder mystery and relationship negotiation, Graendal tries her hand at wolf-hunting, and Moridin is, as ever, a Situation.

Chapter 5: Writings

Gawyn? Must we? Though there’s a Forsaken chapter icon so I hold out some hope for this chapter.

And Sleete’s back, it would seem. And okay Gawyn your description of him is rather detailed and lingers lovingly on his ruggedness, grace, and cheekbones. Maybe you should ask him out and leave Egwene alone.

Oh, I see; we’re doing a murder mystery. Mesaana? Is that you?

“Do you really think you’ll find anything the sisters did not, Trakand?” Chubain asked, folding his arms.

“I’m looking for different things,” Gawyn said

Sorry Gawyn, but I don’t think you’ll find any critical thinking skills beneath that rug. You never know, though! Or maybe it’s hiding that sense of purpose you left behind in Andor?

Jokes aside, I think I know what’s going on here: we’re setting up a murder mystery so that Gawyn can solve it where no one else could and, in doing so, redeem himself in Egwene’s and I suppose theoretically the reader’s eyes as well.

Meh. It feels a little contrived, but that might just be because my patience with Gawyn ran out a book or two ago.

Or maybe because he was actually more interesting to me, in a kind of character-study sense, when he was falling, and I’m just not that interested in watching him rise.

[The guards] weren’t as antagonistic towards [Sleete] as they tended to be towards Gawyn. He still hadn’t figured out why they were like that with him.

Wow, Gawyn, I wonder why that could possibly be. Maybe because Sleete’s a Warder and also doesn’t go about antagonising the Amyrlin Seat and demanding to be let into places and annoying everyone within earshot? And also changing sides several times – and okay, yes, Gawyn picked the ‘right’ side in the end, but from the perspective of the guards… really, Gawyn? You can’t think why they might not like you?

At least he can figure out that this is probably not the Black Ajah’s work.

Why did nobody sense channelling from the places where the women were killed?

So this still fits with it being Mesaana but it reminds me of something that I’ve wondered about a few times: if Mesaana is masquerading as an Aes Sedai, how does no one notice her strength, if she’s not hiding her ability, or the fact that she apparently can’t channel, if she is? Or is it possible to partially mask the ability to channel?

When Egwene had told Gawyn he could visit the scenes of the murders if he wished, he’d asked if he could bring Sleete with him.

Good first date ideas: visit a murder scene!

(To be fair that’s basically the plot of most crime dramas, so)

True, he didn’t know much about gateways yet, and people could reportedly make them hang above the ground so they didn’t cut anything. But why would the Black Ajah care about that?

Because not all villains like to chew scenery? It’s awfully gristly, you know.

Also to avoid leaving evidence and make forensics harder. Come on, Gawyn, you’re going to have to step up your detective game a little bit here.

I am with Gawyn, though, on feeling itchy at the thought of setting up a desk that seats you with your back towards the door. How are you supposed to tab away from the embarrassing fanfic you’re writing on the shared family computer in time when someone can just walk in and see your screen? Clearly this Aes Sedai did not grow up in the early 2000s.

Aes Sedai, for all their cunning, sometimes seemed to have remarkably underdeveloped senses of self-preservation.

Gawyn. Please. No one in this series has a functioning sense of self-preservation, with the possible exception of Moghedien.

“But why kill with a knife?” Gawyn said. All four had been killed that way.

Ah. Not Mesaana, then; sounds more like one of the Seanchan bloodknives has thus far avoided notice or death. So we are setting up a victory for Gawyn. Fine. If we must.

Sleete thus far actually seems better at thinking things through and generally playing the detective game, but no doubt Gawyn’s going to get by on instinct and ‘it just doesn’t feel right’. Yes, I am probably being too hard on him. No I don’t care.

A part of him thought that if he could aid Egwene in this, maybe she would soften towards him. Perhaps forgive him for rescuing her from the Tower during the Seanchan attack.

Well, you’re in luck, Gawyn; that seems to be exactly what this narrative arc is being set up for.

Chubain really doesn’t like him. Shame, Chubain; he thinks you’re handsome.

Insufferable man! Gawyn thought. Does he have to be so dismissive towards me? I should—

No. Gawyn forced himself to keep his temper. Once, that hadn’t been nearly so hard.

Why was Chubain so hostile towards him? Gawyn found himself wondering how his mother would have handled such a man as this.

Character growth!

Seriously, though, this is a step in the right direction for Gawyn. To be able to think past that sense of anger and…entitlement, I suppose. To take a step back and think about the situation from another perspective, and think about how best to handle it, rather than just pressing forward with his first instinct. And to consider the wisdom of others who have experience in dealing with things like this, and learn from them.

Though he segues straight into blind rage over Rand al’Thor, Dragon Reborn and murderer extraordinaire, so we’ve still got a little ways to go.

In his heart, Gawyn wanted to meet al’Thor with sword in hand and ram steel through him

Pretty sure that’s not a euphemism.

Also, Ishamael tried that once. Didn’t work out too well for him. Not sure you’d fare any better.

Light! Gawyn thought as Chubain shot him a hostile glance. He thinks I’m trying to take his position.

The triumph of critical thinking! Okay okay, I give Gawyn a lot of shit, but this is the sort of thing he’s not actually bad at, when he takes half a second to do it. It’s just that for the majority of the last several books he’s been jumping to premature conclusions and acting on them without a second thought, assuming he knows best, refusing to listen to others or consider their perspectives, and trying to play his role as he thinks it should be, rather than as it is.

Gawyn’s reasonably clever and reasonably perceptive and generally reasonably competent; his downfall is that he thought he knew his place in the world, and the world didn’t comply. He was the fairytale prince, the noble hero, brother to a future queen and loyal to his oaths and son of a great nation and he knew how all of that fit together, knew his place in it, understood and embraced it.

Only this isn’t his story, and the world went ‘nope, fuck you’ and he’s spent the last several books scrambling to find his footing and not quite understanding that the world isn’t reading from the same script he was handed at age four.

(I think I’ve said elsewhere that it’s like he’s reading, say, Romeo’s lines in a production of The Tempest, and not understanding why nothing makes sense).

Gawyn could have been First Prince of the Sword—should have been First Prince of the Sword—leader of Andor’s armies and protector of the Queen.

And yet, you’re not. How lightly you take that broken oath, Gawyn.

Also, he thinks that makes it laughable that he would want Chubain’s position, but let’s continue to look at it from someone else’s perspective. The man who should have been First Prince of the Sword for some reason isn’t, and you have no idea why, and now he’s here doing some kind of independent investigation and trying to talk to the Amyrlin at every opportunity, having deserted an opposing force that he was commanding. Wouldn’t you be a little confused as to what he actually wants? He clearly doesn’t want the role you assumed he’d hold, so who’s to say he doesn’t want yours?

To give him credit, though, he handles the ensuing conversation with Chubain rather well. Keeps his temper, makes it clear without shaming Chubain that he’s not interested in usurping his role, and thanks Chubain graciously as a way of basically saying ‘I submit to your authority here, or at least I will recognise it and not challenge it’. Well done.

“I don’t think this is the work of the Black Ajah,” Gawyn said. “I think it might be a Grey Man, or some other kind of assassin.”

Yeah I think you’re actually right. Or close, anyway. My money’s on Bloodknives.

Especially now that Sleete’s found a scrap of black silk. What is this, Cluedo?

“I think this is more proof. I mean, it seems odd that nobody has actually seen these Black sisters. We’re making a lot of assumptions.”

Since when has that ever stopped you?

Egwene’s clearly still giving Gawyn something of the cold shoulder, and Gawyn’s being somewhat petulant about it and no, Gawyn, letting Hattori bond you in order to make Egwene jealous is probably not a wise move, but you know that.

It had not been easy to decide to give up Andor—not to mention the Younglings—for her. Yet she still refused to bond him.

Yeah, funny thing about choosing to make sacrifices for someone: if they haven’t asked it of you, it doesn’t actually entitle you to anything in return. A measure of respect or thanks, perhaps, but beyond that, they were your choices, Gawyn, and that’s kind of the point here.

Silviana’s clearly running interference for Egwene, telling Gawyn to wait while she writes a letter which probably means trying to teach him patience and what it actually means to date the Amyrlin.

Egwene saw him. She kept her face Aes Sedai serene—she’d grown good at that so quickly—and he found himself feeling awkward.

Good. You should.

Gawyn’s pursuit of Egwene just makes me want to hit my head against a wall repeatedly, in no small part because I’ve been on the receiving end of something similar and it is Not Fun.

Then again Egwene actually likes Gawyn, which… Egwene you could do so much better. But fine. Sure. Whatever. Sigh.

“Burn me, Egwene. Do you have to show me the Amyrlin every time we speak? Once in a while, can’t I see Egwene?”

“I show you the Amyrlin,” Egwene said, “because you refuse to accept her. Once you do so, perhaps we can move beyond that.”

YES. DRAG HIM.

But, my delight in this aside, this is exactly the point Gawyn needs to get through his head. She is the Amyrlin, and he has to actually understand that, and right now he still… doesn’t. I mean okay, being in a relationship with someone like a head of state is probably not exactly easy, but this is important water to be able to navigate. She is the Amyrlin, and he has to understand that sometimes that’s who she needs to be, and that he doesn’t get to ignore that just because he also knows Egwene. He needs to understand where those boundaries are between Egwene and Amyrlin, public and private, lines he can cross and lines he can’t, and when and how and where. Is that fair? Eh, maybe, maybe not. But it’s the reality, and if he can’t deal with it then maybe dating the Amyrlin Seat is not for him.

“Light! You’ve learned to talk like one of them.”

“That’s because I am one of them,” she said.

He still doesn’t get it. This isn’t just an act she’s putting on for fun, or something she can drop whenever she pleases. He doesn’t get all-hours access to Egwene al’Vere of Emond’s Field, because her role means she can’t be that all the time. She isn’t just that anymore. That’s what she’s trying to tell him here: just as Rand is both himself and Lews Therin, shepherd and Dragon Reborn, both and not separate, she is Egwene al’Vere the girl he first met but also the Amyrlin Seat, innkeeper’s daughter and Aes Sedai. That’s a part of her now, not just decoration (and not a distinct personality she can toggle on and off).

Gawyn sees her as playing a role, when in reality she is that role. And you know what they say: if you love someone you have to accept them for who they are. Or something like that. I wouldn’t know.

“I accept you,” Gawyn said. “I do, Egwene.”

Oh, if saying it made it so.

“But isn’t it important to have people who know you for yourself and not the title?”

Yes. Critically so. But you’re still missing a key part of that: it’s important to have people who know her for herself, but who also understand the title, and understand the necessity of it, and what it means for her.

Like Nynaeve and Elayne: they accept her authority as Amyrlin, and know that when she gives them commands as Amrylin to Aes Sedai, it doesn’t impinge on their friendship. And they also know that there are times to be her friend, and times not to be.

It’s about balance: the point of having people who know her for herself is to have an anchor, a steadying force. But Gawyn doesn’t see the balance; he’s just looking at a single part of her and trying to make that into the whole.

And again: it’s not easy! This is not going to be a simple relationship to navigate! But it’s not going to work if he can’t respect her day job that actually demands quite a lot of her and is sort of a little bit important and sometimes means he’s going to have to take a step back and let her be Amyrlin.

Right now, though, he’s still acting as if… as if he knows better. Which has kind of been the tone of their relationship all along, and is probably part of why it grates on me so much. He listens when he wants to, but as soon as he thinks he knows better he just ignores her. And so even this point he makes comes across as a form of entitlement: ‘play at Amyrlin, but I Know Better, so you should keep me around’.

(Also, how much does he really know her for herself? For one thing they never actually spent much time together, and for another he continually underestimates her, questions her judgement, sides against her because he doesn’t realise she’s not just a helpless child caught up in politics…I could go on).

Anyway. Point being: you still have to accept the title.

Her face softened. “You aren’t ready yet, Gawyn. I’m sorry.”

He set his jaw. Don’t overreact, he told himself. “Very well. Then, about the assassinations.”

Okay, credit where it’s due: this is exactly the right response.

Because this is, in effect, treating her like the Amyrlin. This is listening to her, much as he doesn’t like what he hears. Rather than pushing back again with hollow claims of accepting her, rather than saying ‘I am too ready’, he accepts, however grudgingly, the chastisement and also the framing of the conversation. She is speaking to him as Amyrlin, and so he pushes everything else aside and responds in kind.

Which is exactly the point she’s been trying to make, so… we’ll go ahead and call it progress.

And now he’s rewarded narratively by getting to make a point she apparently hasn’t considered: that there aren’t enough Warders given they’re heading into the Last Battle.

“The choosing and keeping of a Warder is a very personal and intimate decision. No woman should be forced to it.”

“Well,” Gawyn said, refusing to be intimidated, “the choice to go to war is very ‘personal’ and ‘intimate’ as well—yet all across the land, men are called into it. Sometimes, feelings aren’t as important as survival.”

I have…very mixed feelings on this particular argument, and kind of don’t want to go into that right now because I know a can of worms when I see one, but it sets my teeth on edge a bit.

I also don’t want Gawyn to get to score any points right now just because he managed to react the right way one time, but I can accept that this is, in fact, petty of me.

Egwene is less petty than I am and says she’ll consider it.

And I have to say, the two of them are actually navigating this whole conversation rather well. Gawyn’s trying his best to interact with her as the Amyrlin Seat, and Egwene, probably because of that, is answering his questions as much as she can. They’re establishing a working relationship, basically; they can work on their personal one next.

“You’re keeping secrets,” he said. “Not just from me. From the entire Tower.”

“Secrets are needed sometimes, Gawyn.”

“Can’t you trust me with them?” He hesitated. “I’m worried that the assassin will come for you, Egwene.”

Okay that’s toeing the line a bit, but again, he at least asks for her trust here now, rather than demanding it. Expresses his concerns, but in a way that feels more like open communication than like ‘I know best’.

And that earns him a measure of that trust, moments later:

“One of the Forsaken is in the White Tower.”

True, but I actually think Egwene is perhaps mistaken about her being the assassin. Which again annoys me because I’m petty and don’t want Gawyn to be right where she’s wrong, but hey at least I acknowledge it, right?

Point being, Gawyn, that you have to earn the trust you’re asking for, but you’re on the right track, and so you get a part of it.

And she even explains a bit of why she’s keeping it secret. This is the most openly and honestly these two have communicated with each other in… uh… ever. Round of applause.

Light, a Forsaken in the Tower seemed more plausible than Egwene being the Amyrlin Seat!

Damn it Gawyn, you were doing so well. This is the kind of thinking you need to train yourself out of. This is exactly what Egwene is referring to when she says you don’t accept her as Amyrlin. Yes, she was an unlikely appointee to that seat. Yes, she’s young and wasn’t even Aes Sedai when she was raised. Yes, it’s hard to believe. But you need to get past that now, because this just comes across as… incredibly condescending, honestly.

“For now, there is something I need of you.”

“If it is within my power, Egwene.” He took a step towards her. “You know that.”

“Is that so?” she asked dryly. “Very well. I want you to stop guarding my door at night.”

“What? Egwene, no!”

She shook her head. “You see? Your first reaction is to challenge me.”

“It  is the duty of a Warder to offer challenge, in private, where his Aes Sedai is concerned!” Hammar had taught him that.

“You are not my Warder, Gawyn.”

That brought him up short.

YES. GOOD.

It is… a rather excellent demonstration of her point. They’ve made some progress here, but this… she makes an open request and he immediately promises anything in his power. But then, Gawyn’s made other promises before, and doesn’t exactly have a perfect track record of keeping them, when it comes down to it.

What he means is: ‘if it is within my power, and if I want to’.

His challenging of her request is almost secondary; the real issue here is that he says one thing (‘if it is within my power’) but immediately shows that he doesn’t actually mean it. Just as he says he accepts her as Amyrlin, but when it comes down to it, he still doesn’t. And that’s the part that erodes trust; that’s the part that means he’s not ready.

A challenge to that request—or perhaps a question as to why she’s asking it—is not completely out of line here. Like, leaving aside the question of whether or not Egwene needs a guard, or of whether he should get to guard her door when she hasn’t actually asked him to, if he hadn’t promised blindly to do whatever she asks, it would be more or less fair to ask why, before agreeing.

But he doesn’t. He makes that empty promise—so like his empty words that he does accept her as Amyrlin, really, I swear—and then immediately goes back on it. Shows that he’ll only actually listen to her when it suits him, and that he still thinks he’s free to do whatever the fuck he wants when he thinks He Knows Better. That he doesn’t actually trust her, or listen to her, when he doesn’t want to.

Turns out Egwene is literally setting herself up as bait, hence not wanting a guard. And again, challenging her on that is, I think, fair. It’s a pretty big risk! It is arguably kind of reckless! And that’s the sort of thing he could and should be able to do as someone who (supposedly) knows her as more than just Amyrlin: say ‘are you sure’ and ‘I don’t like this’.

That’s not the problem. The problem is that he doesn’t approach it that way at all: he approaches it with a blank-cheque promise that he then pulls back as soon as he realises what she’s actually asking, because in his view he only needs to listen to her when he wants to.

It's not a good look, Gawyn.

“Exposing myself is only one of my plans—and you are right, it is dangerous. But my precautions have been extensive.”

“I don’t like it at all.”

“Your approval is not required.” She eyed him. “You will have to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” he said.

“All I ask is that you show it for once.”

That’s pretty much it. It’s easy to say ‘I trust you’ or ‘I accept you’ or ‘anything within my power’. But those words have to mean something, and unfortunately he’s shown that they don’t. And so in this case she needs to see that he can obey her as Amyrlin, because this is a plan she is making as Amyrlin.

And Gawyn, you’d probably be better able to protect her if you demonstrated that trust once in a while, because then she’d know she can let you in on her plans without worrying about you going rogue and doing something against them. Then she’d know she can actually rely on you. Then your challenges – if you’re no longer challenging everything she says – would probably carry more weight, because she’d know they’re not just coming from a place of ‘I know better and I’m not listening’.

Well. They’ll get there. Maybe.

***

Over to Egwene now, which means I have to deal with the fact that she does actually like him and feels emotions and things when he’s around. Why, Egwene? Why?

That passion of his was entrancing

Trust me, it’s vastly overrated.

And it was important that she have people she could rely upon to contradict her, in private. People who knew her as Egwene, rather than the Amyrlin.

But Gawyn was too loose, too untrusting, yet.

That’s kind of what I was getting at. Because it is sort of ironic: he wants to be let into her confidence and be able to protect her and challenge her—and they’re both right that she needs people to do that! But she has to be able to trust him, and has to know that he understands her and her role, in order for him to be able to do that in a meaningful way. She has to know that it’s not just him refusing to listen, or not understanding what her role as Amyrlin actually demands of her. And has to know that she can trust his judgement when it comes down to it, and weigh up how he feels for her as Egwene vs what she needs as Amyrlin.

She looked over her letter to the new King of Tear, explaining that Rand was threatening to break the seals. Her plan to stop him would depend on her gathering support from people he trusted.

Ha. Speaking of trust. I am certain the placement of this is entirely intentional.

I’m still rather uneasy about this, but I also think there’s a decent chance that it’s not so far from what Rand actually expects or even wants. Because even if her intention right now is to ‘stop’ him, if she can get all the rulers behind her and get everyone to the right place at the right time…

But it could also go so badly. I have a feeling this is going to be one of those razor-edge kinds of moments, where the world hangs in the balance and the thing that will tip it one way or another is whether or not Egwene and Rand can in the end trust one another.

***

Oh hey it’s Graendal! Is this my reward for putting up with Gawyn? (For a certain definition of ‘putting up with’…)

Poor Graendal, having to make due with a mere cavern, in which she’s still managing to lounge on a silk chaise. I weep for you, really, I do.

Moridin stood inside his black stone palace.

YES! GOOD! MORIDIN!

Er. I mean. Oh no, scary, evil, bad. Listen, I love him.

“Aran’gar is dead, lost to us—and after the Great Lord transmigrated her soul the last time. One might think you are making a habit of this sort of thing, Graendal.”

THE CHOSEN DWINDLE, DEMANDRED. BECAUSE GRAENDAL FOUND A SNIPER RIFLE.

Anyway, whatever Moridin is here for, it’s not to play Graendal’s games. Sorry, Graendal; you’re good but he’s kind of… quite literally operating on an entirely different level here.

He’s a bit more…direct here than he usually is, and I can’t tell if that’s just Sanderson or if it’s because he’s bored of these petty games he has to play with the others and impatient with them and it’s time to move things into position for the ending so he doesn’t have time to deal with their bullshit. Probably a bit of both.

“Moridin, don’t you see? How will Lews Therin react to what he has done? Destroying an entire fortress, a miniature city of its own, with hundreds of occupants? Killing innocents to reach his goal? Will that sit easily within him?”

Moridin hesitated. No, he had not considered that.

But I wonder: did he?

Graendal is…not wrong, here, in what Natrin’s Barrow very nearly did to Rand. Did do, really; he was so close to the edge there at the end, repressing everything because if he allowed himself to feel the reality of it, it would break him. And so it drove him, ultimately, to Dragonmount, and nearly to destroying the world.

Graendal and Semirhage did their parts very, very well in that regard, even if Graendal is er… playing up how intentional it was on her side. It’s just that, at the last, Rand understood something deeper.

But how much of that whole process did Moridin himself feel? He and Rand are linked, after all, and I’m all but certain some of his existential despair crossed that link to Rand, so could he feel Rand’s suppression of emotions, and his anger and despair and everything else that threatened to overwhelm him? (Or is Moridin all too familiar with that, or simply too practiced at his own form of apathy, to even feel it as a difference?)

‘He must know pain of heart’, Moridin said; I don’t think he is as naïve here as Graendal seems to believe.

And still, I have to wonder if he felt anything, anything at all, of Rand’s remembrance of hope on Dragonmount. Or if, as the Betrayer of Hope, that is too far lost to him.

She could vaguely remember what it had been like, taking those first few steps towards the Shadow. Had she ever felt that foolish pain? Yes, unfortunately.

DAMN IT you can’t just TEASE me with things like this! That’s rude! It’s unfair! I need this story now! This is where I live! Turning points and the pain of them and your logic destroyed you, didn’t it and crossing thresholds that lead too far and losing yourself along the way but reforging something else until that loss no longer hurts and and and

But others of them had taken different paths to the Shadow, including Ishamael.

YOUR LOGIC DESTROYED YOU, DIDN’T IT.

CALLED FOR THE DESTRUCTION OF EVERYTHING.

BETRAYER OF HOPE.

(Did you betray hope or did it betray you).

I’m fine.

She could see the memories, so distant, in Moridin’s eyes. Once, she had not been sure who this man was, but now she was. The face was different, but the soul the same. Yes, he knew exactly what al’Thor was feeling.

Yeah. That. He… very much does, I think, and maybe even more so than you realise. (But if he can know the anguish why can he not know the hope—).

Also the face was different, but the soul the same is pretty and reminds me of men wear many names, many faces; different faces yet always the same man except that in this context there’s a sadness to it: as if that soul, that self, is something he cannot escape. Which, of course, seems to be exactly what Moridin himself believes: that so long as the Wheel turns, this is his fate. To be the Betrayer, the Shadow’s Champion, the one whose role is always to fight, always to oppose, and always to fall. The one for whom there is no hope except nothingness, and so that is his goal.

And it’s so close to Rand’s thoughts, there on Dragonmount just before that moment of epiphany. Why keep fighting, if all it means is another fight? What does it matter? It will only demand his soul and his self and his life over and over, and the Light’s victory only means another battle and the Shadow’s victory means annihilation so why even try?

Rand, in the end, has love and enough light to draw him back. The hint of a promise of a future that will come, even if he does not live to see it this time around. He has something – though he has had to struggle to see it – that he is fighting for. What is Moridin (Ishamael, Elan) fighting for? What does he have left to fight for? Nothing – for him there is nothing but darkness and despair and perhaps, if he is lucky, the nothingness of oblivion. For him there is no promise – and perhaps not even a memory – of Light. This is how he sees it, this is his role, and he does not see an alternative.

And so once again I have to wonder if he felt anything at all when Rand stood on Dragonmount and remembered the hope that Elan once betrayed. Perhaps not.

Sorry. I just. This is where I live and Moridin is a Situation for me and we all just have to accept that.

Anyway, Moridin may or may not be able to communicate – or at least be communicated to – directly by the Great Lord, so that’s a thing.

And Graendal’s going after Perrin now. Everyone’s set on a Perrin Aybara collision course this book, it would seem. Better get your levelling up done quickly, Perrin; she’s not exactly an easy opponent.

“He’s important,” Graendal said. “The prophecies—”

“I know the prophecies,” Moridin said softly.

Oh, and how. Knows them, knows—or certainly knows what he believes to be—his own role in them. And sees in them no way out, except the annihilation of everything.

Moridin’s not too confident in Graendal’s ability to take down Perrin.

And also has an entire storage unit full of objects of Power. That’s…interesting and terrifying, and I am keeping careful track of the mentioned inventory.

A dreamspike? That sounds…ominous, and also very much like something suited to a Perrin-centric storyline. So that should be fun.

It also comes with a very clear warning to not use it against Moridin or the others, and I’d recommend sticking to that advice, Graendal, because he will destroy you.

Then again, if he gets his way and you all achieve your victory, that will destroy you too. So, you know. Six of one, half a dozen of the other.

Oh and Slayer as well! Buy one object of power, get one wildcard villain free!

That voice of his… it sounded, just faintly, like that of the Great Lord.

Are his eyes on fire yet though?

But it would seem both Champions have well and truly been chosen, and invested with their power now. Rand can make crops grow with a thought and warp the air to light around him and hold a room in thrall; Moridin can speak with and almost as the Great Lord and wield the True Power and orchestrate annihilation.

“If you do succeed, the Great Lord will be pleased. Very pleased. That which has been granted you in sparseness will be heaped upon you in glory.”

She licked her dry lips. In front of her, Moridin’s expression grew distant.

Distant as those promises are empty, for I don’t think there will be any rewards or glory in the aftermath of a true success for the Great Lord. All that will remain is chaos, forever. And still, none of the Chosen but Moridin seem to quite…get that. Selfishness, Verin said, and it blinds them here.

(Which is not to say Moridin is free of that selfishness; I just think what he wants is…different).

Oh hey dark prophecies.

“They have long been known to me,” Moridin said softly, still studying the book. “But not to many others, not even the Chosen. The women and men who spoke these were isolated and held alone. The Light must never know of these words. We know of their prophecies, but they will never know all of ours.”

(But what do these prophecies say of you, Moridin? Or what do they demand?)

Interesting to have these referenced now, though, especially when we don’t actually get any of the actual text of them. Where do these come from? Are the like the Prophecies of the Light: true, but not always in the way they seem to mean, and not a guarantee but merely a possibility?

“But this…” she said, rereading the passage. “This says Aybara will die!”

“There can be many interpretations of any prophecy,” Moridin said. “But yes. This Foretelling promises that Aybara will die by our hand.”

Hm. Which of course immediately makes me think it absolutely does not promise that, but it’s a little annoying to have this as a kind of… supposed-to-be-ominous foreshadowing without actually having anything of the wording there to pick apart and see what it might really mean. That’s where the fun of a lot of the other prophecies and fortellings and viewings lies: in knowing it doesn’t always mean what the characters think it does, and trying to look at it from another angle.

Whereas here, all I can really say is ‘okay Perrin’s probably not going to die by their hand’ but I don’t get to have any reasoning or justification or ‘oh, maybe it means this’ other than ‘that doesn’t feel like where the story is going’.

Meh, oh well.

Next (ToM ch 6) Previous (ToM ch 4)

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

Avatar: The Last Airbender episode 2x01 .*:･ﾟ★

Aang has a scary dream about himself being scary. The Avatar state is indeed a weird thing. The kid also technically just slaughtered an army. It must weight a bit on the conscience of a kid that doesn’t even eat meat.

They’re headed to Omashu, where Aang is supposed to train in earthbending with King Bumi.

As usual, Uncle Iroh is a mood.

Uncle Iroh is trying to indirectly convince Zuko to relax (and also informs us they’ve spent a few very shitty weeks, so at this point Zuko should be, according to very scientific and accurate calculations, at Bad Day #3mil), but it’s the anniversary of when he was banished. “I want my father not to think I’m worthless” nooo bby we’ll just punch him in his stupid face and everything will be fine.

The pinkish and grayish visual of the scene - the cherry blossoms, the pink and gray clothes they’re wearing, with little, non-bright red - immediately signals us that they’re more and more distant from the Fire Nation. They’re no longer clad in Fire Nations reds, and the place they’re staying at is a much lighter, less violent color.

“Why would he banish you if he didn’t care ......uh that came out wrong didn’t it” :’)

Azula’s ship is unnecessarily fancy. Girl, chill.

They receive a very warm welcome at the earth kingdom city that is their first stop, but the general is more in a hurry than the gang’s plan allows. Understandably, he wants to end the daily loss of soldiers as soon as possible. You can’t blame him. Aang also knows that.

Oooh Azula can produce lightning. Insert Palpatine joke here. I hope the Fire Lord also has that power, because that would be funny, given his voice actor and all...

Jokes aside, that’s quite terrifying and makes me think that Katara is absolutely not an option to fight her. I suppose the lightning thingie works as electricity and water is not a good way to counteract it.

Ooh. Aang accepts the general’s plan to go straight against the Fire Lord. Well, there’s two seasons to go so it’s not going to go like that.

They try caffeine first. Mmm. No. Also no. Also no.

What the fuck, Azula, that’s so cruel. They sure know how to write a terrible person, uh. I mean, she’d had like five minutes of screentime and she is established as someone whose guts we hate. And again, it’s interesting that the villains have a personal relationship with Zuko (and increasingly so). The story basically as a dual protagonist, one of which is antagonistic to the other but despite that he’s the good guy we root for against the actual villain. It’s a very clever narrative structure because you don’t often find something like that. Obviously, the two things we want - Aang to succeed and Zuko to be happy - are not contradictory, and we can tell there’s only one way to have the latter also happen.

Anyway Lady Palpatine’s trick even creates conflict between Zuko and Uncle Iroh, but Zuko is so happy when his uncle follows him :’) Uncle Iroh can tell that the best course of action is to be there and protect him, which he will need.

Aang admits he can only achieve the Avatar state when he’s in genuine danger... which, well. What exactly where you expecting, sweetheart.

It’s a good thing Aang is 12 because you don’t get more agile than that after that age.

I suppose this is another episode structured on a parallel between Aang and Zuko - Aang gets tricked into going into the Avatar state through Katara being supposedly in danger, which is what he cares about the most; Zuko gets tricked into getting into a trap through the fake promise of home and being back together with his family again, which is what he cares about the most. Neither is something we didn’t know, but the season premiere firmly re-establishes their character motivations and priorities.

Azula is terrifying although I think that Zuko might not be in fact in his best shape right now. He’s been through a bit of a lot.

Aang learns that the Avatar state isn’t something to be taken lightly, and the earth kingdom soldiers also do.

Zuko and Iroh now know their connection to their nation has been severed, and cut their hair. The Fire Nation doesn’t want them, and this is a moment of mourning of their identities. They need to become someone else, and say goodbye to who they were before and what they believed in.

[essiefreds]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18,  Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22

Word Count: 2150

Tagged: @hotemotionalmess, @justtolkienabout, @uservalkyrie, @writing-for-a-chance, @hufflepeople, @alexfayer, @guaibi, @cptnrogerssteve​,  @wolfarrowepz

“And love’s just a bubble if you don’t take the trouble to make it...” Steve trailed off in his singing, frowning sideways at you. “That song’s actually… kinda raunchy, isn’t it?”

You smiled. “If you think too hard about it.”

He had enjoyed Walk the Line. Not so much the fact that Johnny Cash became addicted to drugs, or the fact that he was an asshole, but he did appreciate June Carter’s work to turn him sober. He did not think that they should have gotten together at the end, however, and the two of you had argued for hours on the topic. Neither of you had won.

However, since he’d watched the movie, he had grown an obsession with the songs that were featured in it, and he would not stop singing them. It was incredibly endearing, although if you had to hear him sing Folsom Prison Blues one more time, you might hit him.

“Y’know, there’s more to his songs than the ones that were in the movie,” you reminded him.

He paused in his business of packing up the things that had been brought to your room in the hospital wing. “Sure, but the songs in the movie are the good ones, right?”

“I guess,” you sighed, not really able to argue with his logic.

Currently, the two of you were gathering all of your things together in order to be transported back to your apartment in New York. The topic of Steve returning to New York as well hadn’t really risen, since you’d first discussed it, so you really had no idea where he was in the process of planning his own move.

You were grateful for his help, however, because you really had brought a lot of your things to D.C., and there was no way you’d be able to handle them all yourself, considering your shoulder still did not have its full range of movement.

In fact, the doctor who had treated you was uncertain if that range would ever return to you. You’d been in the hospital wing for almost a month, and, despite daily physical therapy, your arm just… did not want to cooperate. You had control of your hand, and your elbow, but your shoulder did not rotate the way it was supposed to, nor could you lift your arm over your head.

It was upsetting, obviously. Not only was it your dominant arm, but you’d never before broken a bone, or sprained anything, so you’d never experienced this sort of limited range. It was stressful, and sometimes, you’d forget, and try to move your arm a way that it no longer could, and the pain was just…

Well, it was no good.

A sling was currently resting over your opposite shoulder, supporting your arm so that you would not be tempted to move it. It was getting in the way, more than anything, but you weren’t in pain, so you supposed it was doing its job.

However, that meant that Steve was doing most of the packing, while you sort of offered him directions, which made you feel useless.

“Sing with me,” Steve suggested, placing another book in a bag, and abruptly pulling you from your thoughts.

“No thanks.”

“C’mon. We can sing something less suggestive.” He paused, and then smiled to himself, and started to sing:

“Go away from my window Leave at your own chosen speed I’m not the one you want, babe I’m not the one you need.”

You shook your head at him. “I’m not singing with you.”

“Please?”

You glanced at him, saw the expression on his face. It was the one that you’d learned that you couldn’t say no to, and you regretted looking at him.

“Dang it, you and that face,” you sighed. “All right, then, let’s… let’s sing the damn song.”

Steve grinned, and together, you continued onto the next verse of the song:

“You say you’re looking for someone Who’s never weak, but always strong To protect you and defend you Whether you are right or wrong Someone to open each and every door.

“But it ain’t me, babe No, no, no, it ain’t me, babe It ain’t me you’re looking for, babe.”

“All right, that’s it,” you said, shaking your head. “The song is too antagonistic for me.”

“Not to mention that it is absolutely not true,” Steve agreed.

“Oh, God, please don’t say you’d die for me,” you sighed, cradling your forehead in one hand. “It is… much too early in the relationship for that.”

Steve looked over at you in surprise. “Is that… is that not a romantic thing anymore?”

You exhaled. “Uh… it’s… it’s just kind of… I don’t know. I don’t think it’s romantic. Other women, people, I should say, do. It’s a preference, I suppose.”

“Oh.” He frowned down at the book he was holding. “All right. I guess that makes sense.”

You picked up a book of your own, and carried it over to the box that you had designated as the book box. You set it in there, and then took the one he was holding, and did the same with it.

“So,” you began, “have you talked to Fury? About New York?”

Steve nodded. “He said that I’m free to do whatever I like, but SHIELD isn’t going to help with the transition. I expected that, though.”

“Wait, so, they’re not even going to help find you a place to live?” you asked, furrowing your brow. “That’s frustrating.”

He lifted his shoulders, organizing the books that were in the box in a different way. “I can figure it out; it’ll just take a while, that’s all.”

You studied him, your mind whirring. The last thing you wanted to do was leave him here in D.C. while you moved back into your apartment in New York. Who knew when he’d be able to move back himself, especially since he’d have to do all the work of finding a place and getting situation himself, on top of whatever work SHIELD still had him doing?

No, that’s not how this is going to work at all.

“Move in with me.” The words were out of your mouth before you could actually ruminate on the implication of saying them out loud. From the startled look that Steve suddenly turned in your direction, you really should have thought about them first.

“Uh… did you really just… ask me to move in with you?” There was a small smile on his face, but you were almost positive it wasn’t because he thought the situation funny.

“I didn’t really ask, I sort of… told, but… yeah,” you responded, adjusting the strap of your sling. “I mean - it’ll be easier, right? You obviously don’t have to stay, if you don’t want, but it’s just until you find your own place. Unless you want to stay with me. I wouldn’t - I’m not saying that’s completely out of the question. If it was, I wouldn’t even have suggested you move in with me in the first place.”

His expression had shifted. The smile was gone, now. He was studying you, his own eyebrows drawn together. He looked halfway between concerned for you sanity, and like he was actually considering your offer. You hoped that he was leaning more towards one of those things than the other.

“Y/N -”

“Okay, don’t - I have a feeling that I know what you’re going to say, and I really… I know that the suggestion probably made you very uncomfortable, and I apologize for not thinking that through, first, but I really think that things will go a lot smoother, and easier, for you, if you live with me, for a while, until you actually find your footing in this… this new world. I mean, you’re a celebrity again, Rogers, you’re going to need someone watching your back, and if you don’t want that person to be me, then I have no idea who else it could be -”

Your rant was cut off when he kissed you, tugging you as close as he could with his arm around your waist. You leaned into him, into the kiss, savoring it. You wished you had the use of both your arms, so that you could wrap them around his neck, secure yourself to him even more. You had to settle for latching your useable hand around the back of his neck instead, which was pretty good.

Eventually, the kiss had to end, because you needed to breathe, and Steve let his forehead linger against yours, something he often did after a kiss like that. Your eyes met.

“I appreciate the offer,” he said, “really. But I’m afraid that if I move in with you, I’ll never want to leave, and that really won’t help me figure out how to be by myself.”

You made a face. “But the fact that you have me means that you don’t have to be by yourself.”

Steve smiled, and pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I know,” he replied. “Believe me, that makes things ten times easier, knowing that if I absolutely need you, you’re there. But… I’ll never actually be able to adjust if I don’t live on my own, without the support of anyone, at least for a little while.”

You exhaled a breath. He wasn’t going to change his mind. “At least let me stay with you, here, until you figure out where you’re going to live back in New York,” you said.

“Are you going to be able to do that?” Steve asked, sliding his arms tighter around your waist.

You lifted your good shoulder. “Sure. Email and phone calls are possible for reasons like this, not that Stark is going to need much liaising right now, anyway. He’s too busy dealing with the new government department.”

“All right, if you’re sure,” Steve said, and then he returned his forehead to yours. You closed your eyes as the two of you started to sway back and forth. Steve chuckled, lightly. “When you get the full range of your arm back, we’re going to learn how to do dances from my time.”

“Like what?” you queried, a smile lifting the edge of your mouth as you met his gaze.

“I think people liked something called swing,” he answered. You laughed. “What?”

“It just - it’s funny, that’s all.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you sighed, “but sure, we can learn how to swing dance if you want. I think they teach classes on that sort of thing.”

“I think we’d have a good time,” Steve said, and you smiled again.

“I think so, too.”

You moved into Steve’s apartment that SHIELD had provided him with in D.C., and lived there for about a month. During that period, you helped him research real estate in New York, mostly places that were near your own. Most of them were affordable on the salary that he earned from SHIELD, and they were all fairly nice.

“This one looks good,” you said, scrolling through the page that you’d found for an apartment complex four block from your own. “One bedroom, one bathroom, there’s a common space behind the building that people use to garden and do cookouts…”

“There’s an exhibit about me, at the museum?”

You furrowed your brow, first at the screen of your laptop, before turning around in the kitchen table chair you were seated in to face Steve. He was standing at the window, looking out it. After a moment, however, he looked at you.

“Director Fury mentioned it,” he explained.

“Do you mean at the Smithsonian?” He nodded. You lifted your shoulders. “I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been.”

He was silent for a moment, examining the edge of the living room rug. You waited for him to say something more, feeling as though you knew what it would be.

“Would you… would you go with me?” he asked, finally, glancing upwards again.

“Are you sure you’d want to go?” you queried, frowning, and he exhaled.

“I think so. I just… want to see what it is, really, how… how much they know.”

You thought it over. In a way, how would this be any different than him visiting with Agent Carter? The visit with her was probably, in a way, even more extreme. If he’d been able to do that, he’d be able to see an exhibit about himself, about his legacy.

So, you met his eyes. “Sure,” you said. “I’ll go with you. I’d like to see the museum itself, anyway.”

He smiled, a bit, and crossed the space between where you were seated at the kitchen table and the window. He kissed you. “Thank you,” he said, and then he glanced at your laptop. “So, you think this one’s nice?”

“Yes,” you replied, and you turned back to the device. “Let me show you…”