Every So Often I Think That I Really Need To Get Back To Writing Because I Really Enjoyed Writing And,

my sister said to me that she doesn’t think Azula would’ve killed Aang if not to bring Zuko home, and that made me realize something very interesting.

Azula doesn’t have a reason to want to capture Aang.

Not anymore than the rest of the Fire Nation. She wasn’t ordered to, but she was ordered to bring Zuko (and Iroh) home. Which she does, by killing Aang and giving Zuko the credit.

And you know what’s interesting? During the main four interactions Azula has with Aang during the second season, she sends Mai and Ty Lee away. She leaves them to fight Katara and Sokka, she leaves them to chase the bison she knows doesn’t have the Avatar, she fights him solo on the Drill and she leaves them to guard a bear and an empty throne while she takes on the Avatar in the catacombs.

She separates herself from them to fight Aang four different times.

From anyone else, it could be a pride thing. But Azula has shown on multiple occasions that she does not value pride above all else. She is insanely strategic, and she’s fine with making it look like someone else is winning if it means she has the upperhand. She admits when she needs help, hence having Mai and Ty Lee in the first place and Zuko in Ba Sing Se. She even apologizes to Ty Lee that one time. Azula does not value pride over results.

She doesn’t celebrate prematurely, either— during the Drill episode, she’s practically the only one who isn’t celebrating the victory. Azula doesn’t celebrate a victory until it’s final. Whereas Iroh in his flashback, a prideful man, had been boasting about burning Ba Sing Se to the ground.

Pride. It’s the food of the wise man, but the liquor of the fool.

It’s as if Azula is trying to capture/eliminate Aang specifically just to give Zuko the credit. The lack of witnesses, the way she seems to pursue the mission as a personal one. She intends to bring Zuko back to the Fire Nation as Ozai requested, but she intends to bring him back her way and get him unbanished.

[ID: screenshot of part of a Craigslist ad. Text reads, "Make/manufacturer: Mama Goat

"Model name/number: Baby

"Size/dimensions: small"

End ID.]

saw this on a craigslist ad for baby goats

@helimir brought up such a great point in her tags on this post

The topic of the glory of failure in Tolkien's work is a very interesting one.

In fact, most endeavors end up in failure.

Whether it's Frodo failing to complete his mission, Smeagol failing to free himself of the ring & Gollum, Boromir failing to save the hobbits (or Gondor), the Noldor failing to defeat Melkor, Fëanor & the Fëanorians failing to take their revenge and (for most of them) their Silmarils, Maedhros failing to escape his doom, Fingolfin failing to defeat Melkor, the whole Nirnaeth, etc...

They all fail. But the failure is so epic. So spectacular, there is such a grandeur, such valor & prowess, such tragic beauty, such tales, dare I say, such grace to their failure that could never be found in victory.

They're all still hailed as heroes. (Or at worst, tragic fallen heroes or anti-heroes.)

Whether it's Frodo managing to keep his soul if not his peace & happiness & old life for the mercy & pity & kindness he once showed, whether it's Smeagol unintentionally destroying what destroyed him & saving Frodo's soul, Boromir regaining his honor, Fingolfin leaving a lasting scar on Melkor, Maedhros' true nature finally showing itself after so long in his last moment & expressing such deep shame & regret by killing himself when the Silmarils judged him evil, Maglor's good nature shining through even in his worst moments when he decided to raise the half-elven twins & passed down the best of himself still remained to him to them & them growing up to become such great people, & eventually his good nature showing shame & regret by condemning himself to be forever separated from people & singing songs of regret...as @helimir beautifully expressed, if it's not outright a redemption arc, it at least feels like it. Their struggles mattered, but even more than that, their struggles were what mattered.

Even in things like Nirnaeth that were nothing but catastrophes, they're such beautiful, epic, spectacular catastrophes.

Really, how many endeavors truly result in success?

They made an effort, & therefore, they left an impact. & for that, they went down in history. If not as heroes then at least as tragic figures.

They dreamed, they hoped, they willed, they fought, they tried, they were here.

& that mattered.

zuko and sokka can be friends

AITA for trying to get back at someone who double-crossed me?

I (ageless, existed before time, F) had a deal with a skeevy guy (also ageless, though not as much as me, M), and it went sour. I want to preface this by saying that none of what I did was technically illegal, just morally questionable if you're of a certain disposition- I most definitely wasn't what anyone had in mind when writing laws. And a girl has to eat.

Anyway, I'll back it up for context. He'd been formerly estranged from his family (also ageless) who moved across the ocean to make a nice gated community after he wrecked their first home and made his own dark abode there, which they were fine with until Children entered the equation. Not my deal, personally, but to each their own. In fairness, that lot are pretty caring (gross), so it makes sense that they'd go far for these kids, saying he'd be a bad influence. Not my business, either, but I will say that they were right.

He reunited with them after they dragged him to their place, and said that he was sorry, which they accepted and let him have free run of it. This is when he contacted me and asked if I'd help him do a job, and he promised me anything I wanted in return. I didn't take him at his word, of course, but even what I'd be able to get on my own would have been a sweet deal. His sister-in-law (selfish) has these two insane trees, that only grow there, and I wanted to get my hands on them. I'm a fiend for fruit, and syrup, you see, but there was no way for me to get in alone. I'd had my eye on the place for a while, and I knew I needed help to get in. So I agreed to be a distraction while he did his thing.

I held up my part of the deal; I was what some might call hangry, and none of his useless family managed to stop me. I marched right up to those trees and had myself a perfect fruit course. Meat and wine provided by the kids who'd thought they could stop me, it was a full charcuterie. They saw my side of it eventually. Anyway, after all that, I was bloated but still hungry- you try starving for millennia and see how you like it-, but it was time to make our escape, and for me to get my payment. The guy shows up at the rendezvous spot and we get away clean. Turns out he'd gotten what he wanted, and offered me payment from that. The usual, a bunch of gemstones, which I take for myself as a snack, and then three beautiful jewels. Three- and when I say beautiful, I mean they're the best things I've seen in my entire life. So I told him, you know what, I'll take those as payment. To be honest, I could've gone for all three, but I figured I'd start small. And he didn't want to give it to me, which is bullshit, because he said I could have anything. Anything means anything.

Anyway, he refused and I never got them. Seriously, it was close; I almost had him beat and wrapped up for later before he called his friends to ambush me and escape like a coward. Whatever, I made him pay for that at least, he cried like a baby.

I don't feel bad about it, I think I'm in the right here, but I was telling my kids this and it's all "mom, what's wrong with you, how could you do that to him" and "mom, seriously?" and "mom, where's dad, did you eat him too?", which seems unreasonable to me. So I thought I'd ask on here.

Tl;dr- this guy tried to cheat me and I attempted to eat him, AITA?0

Hyphens, en Dashes and em Dashes

Oh- and let’s not forget the minus sign, that thing on your keyboard that can be misused as any one of the above! 

It took me a long time to understand the differences. 

The minus sign                         (-)

The hyphen                               (-)

The en dash                              (–)

The em dash                            (—)

Visually, not much in it, is there?  

But oh what a difference the length makes! 

The minus sign is a mathematical symbol. That’s it. Don’t misuse it for anything else.

The hyphen is used to join two elements to form a compound word, like  self-restraint. Numbers between twenty-one and ninety-nine should also be hyphenated when they’re spelled out. Sherlock Holmes-Watson or John Watson-Holmes (interesting to know which one wins in the battle). You should also use a hyphen in a compound modifier before a noun, as in The Crossed Keys Inn was a dog-friendly pub.

The shorter en dash  is used when describing ranges and with the meaning “to” in phrases like “Dover–Calais crossing.” It applies to ranges of numbers, such as times, page numbers, or scores (I’ll schedule you from 4:30–5:00). That said, outside of formally printed documents, it is increasingly being replaced with a hyphen, so if you miss this one, Sherlock won’t hang you for it. 

The longer em dash (—) is about as wide as the letter M (duh, now I get why it’s called this). It’s used to separate extra information or mark a break in a sentence.  An em dash is most often used to indicate a pause in a sentence. It’s stronger than a comma, but weaker than a period or semicolon. 

You can use a pair of em dashes to draw special attention to parenthetical information, as in

Sherlock—who was wearing the same purple shirt of sex—entered the room carrying his violin..

You can use a single em dash to add explanatory or amplifying information, especially when the information is surprising:

I opened the door and there she stood—Eurus, my long lost sister.

Em dashes can also signal a sudden interruption, particularly in dialogue:

“Wait! I forgot to tell you—” The door slammed shut between us and I missed whatever John was trying to say.

Interestingly, there is no firm rule about spaces around the em dash (either word—word or word — word). It’s a matter of style. Whichever style you choose, use it consistently throughout your document.

The em dash is a relatively artistic punctuation mark, compared to the more technical hyphen and en dash, both of which need to be used accurately in legal contracts, for example. 

I've always followed this saying: hope for the best, but expect the worst.

So many people hear that, and they immediately assume I'm an extreme pessimist. Or they'll think that that saying is what makes me so depressed. It makes me extremely frustrated because I don't expect the worst in a "life sucks and the world hates me" kind of way.

I struggle when things go wrong, especially when it catches me off guard. Unexpected bad things can trigger big, out of control emotions, and for my autism (and cptsd) that's hard to deal with. It can lead to things being more traumatic than they need to be if I'm not prepared for the bad outcome. The whole situation feels out of control, and I don't always have a good sense of clarity when I'm having intense emotions or a meltdown, which makes my own response feel out of my control.

So, I try and expect and prepare for the worst. I talk myself through what I will do if something doesn't go the way I want. I make guesses on how I will feel, and talk myself through those emotions before they've ever even come up. I make plans on what my next steps will be, even if those next steps are simply time to recover from disappointment. All the while, I still am hoping for the best. I want things to go well, I want to succeed. I hold my breath, cross my fingers, and wish for things to turn out well.

Nobody ever understands this. I'm not trying to be a pessimist, I'm trying to accommodate for myself and make my life easier, to make my life happier. Life, by chance, is going to disappoint sometimes. I don't want to be blindsided and thrown into a tailspin. I want to be able to sit with myself and process, and move on. And I don't know why people can't understand that.

this looks like love

~ This was Beleg’s knife. It was more beautiful than any knife he had seen before, the blade covered with intricate designs of leaves and stars and the crossings of rivers and trees.

‘This looks like love,’ his father would have said. He said that about beautiful things wrought with care: knives and swords, baskets, shawls, quilts, jackets. His broken harp. Túrin still didn’t know what it meant. Not entirely. ~

***

Túrin woke to find himself alone. Beleg’s bed was made up, so were the others'. He got up and washed. He was close enough to Menegroth that there was no real danger if he did not run off alone. He drank sweet water and ate lingonberries and cheese and bread.

Beleg had not woken him early, so he would not study to hunt that day. Beleg had let him rest. Perhaps Beleg had gone to hunt without him. Túrin stepped out onto the small porch of the cabin in his nightshirt.

There Beleg sat, making arrows.

‘You’re awake,’ he said. Túrin nodded. He sat cross legged beside Beleg and stared at the sun. It was midday.

‘I slept a long time.’

‘You were tired.’

Túrin nodded again. He bounced his fingers on the bruises on his knees. He liked how his fingers felt as they bounced off his skin. Beleg did not ask him why he did it or call him strange. Túrin swept his hands up and down, turning his hands in the air, so that his fingers came down first facing his knees and then turned from them, again and again.

‘Do I go back to Menegroth today?’ he asked. He reached for mint leaves from the ground and pressed three into his mouth.

‘No,’ Beleg said. Túrin turned his face up to the sun.

‘When then?’

‘In two days.’

‘And then you will go far afield?’ Túrin said. ‘For all the winter?’ He let his hands fly again, bouncing off his knees. He chewed the mint leaves and swallowed their taste.

‘Not for all the winter, I don’t think,’ Beleg answered. ‘I would miss you.’

Túrin stopped bouncing his hands to pick mint leaves for Beleg. He handed them to him. Beleg took them and nodded his thanks. He ate them and kept making arrows.

‘Do you want to speak of which you dreamt?’ Beleg asked.

‘No,’ Túrin said. He waved his hand, letting it spin at his wrist. ‘I think everyone was dead. I was dead.’

Beleg patted Túrin’s knee gently. Túrin brushed the spot when Beleg had pulled his hair back. He didn’t like the lingering touch that seemed to tingle on his skin, even from those he loved. He tried to do it when Beleg wasn’t looking. He had brushed off his father’s touches and kisses. Sometimes he let his mother’s stay, but it agitated him to have a part of his skin even a little wet or a bit different from the rest. He didn’t know why being touched left an impression of the touch on his skin, but it did. He had asked Beleg if he could feel a touch after it was gone. Beleg had said yes, but he hadn’t been bothered by it.

Túrin looked at the yard. It was green and damp. Mud was spreading though. It must have rained a little when he slept. It was quiet, and it smelt like cold rain. Soon the leaves would change colour.

‘Are we alone?’ Túrin asked.

‘Yes,’ Beleg said. ‘The others left last night. They are needed farther North.’

‘Where you will go.’

‘Yes, where I will go.’

Túrin shoved his bare feet down onto the ground. It was soft enough that they sunk a bit into it. It was cold. The grass tickled his skin. Túrin stood and took a large step into the yard. His foot sunk down again, the ground giving a bit beneath him. He walked the yard around like that, in long strides, watching his feet leave impressions in the wet earth, feeling the cold of it.

He liked that the grass was green and not brown. He liked that the ground was wet and not frozen. He ran back to the porch and stood on it with his muddy feet.

‘Wash up,’ Beleg said. ‘You can’t go inside like that.’

‘I know.’ Túrin stood on his tiptoes to touch the very top of the porch where the two slanted roofs met each other.

Beleg patted his leg. ‘Wash. Then put some clothes on. Thingol and Melian will not be pleased if I bring you home ill.’

Túrin wrinkled his nose but threw some cold water from the rain barrel onto his feet and wiped them clean with a rag. He went back inside and came out dressed and with shoes on.

‘Don’t you look darling,’ Beleg said. Túrin had put this underneath ‘strange things that Elves say to each other and sometimes to you but that don’t need a response’ so he tramped off without a response to pee.

He came back to Beleg after and stared at his muddy footprints on the porch where he had been sitting. Beleg gave him a pointed look. Túrin wiped them up with the same rag and hung it over the side of the rain barrel to dry. He sat down again and took the knife that Beleg gave him.

This was Beleg’s knife. It was more beautiful than any knife he had seen before, the blade covered with intricate designs of leaves and stars and the crossings of rivers and trees.

‘This looks like love,’ his father would have said. He said that about beautiful things wrought with care: knives and swords, baskets, shawls, quilts, jackets. His broken harp. Túrin still didn’t know what it meant. Not entirely.

‘This looks like love,’ he said, for maybe Beleg knew the answer.

Beleg studied him. Beleg’s face was ancient but barely lined. It was his eyes that made it ancient. They were like the night sky and all the stars in it – maybe just as old, or maybe younger, but not enough that it would it matter to Túrin when he thought of the ages of the world.

‘Yes,’ Beleg said. ‘Care is love.’

Túrin said no more.

But I can’t talk about climactic sentences in Tolkien’s works without mentioning what is, in my opinion, one of the best things that has ever been written in the English language.

And in that very moment, away behind in some courtyard of the City, a cock crowed. Shrill and clear he crowed, recking nothing of wizardry or war, welcoming only the morning that in the sky far above the shadows of death was coming with the dawn. And as if in answer there came from far away another note. Horns, horns, horns. In dark Mindolluin’s sides they dimly echoed. Great horns of the North wildly blowing. Rohan had come at last.

This is unparalleled. This gives me chills every time I read it. It may be my favorite quote in all of Tolkien’s works, except that choosing a favorite quote would be an impossible decision to make. It’s so inspiring. It’s so moving. It’s so heroic. And obviously, it’s a moment of pure eucatastrophe. Rohan had come at last.

And the moment that Pippin hears the horns of Rohan:

When the dark shadow at the Gate withdrew Gandalf still sat motionless. But Pippin rose to his feet, as if a great weight had been lifted from him; and he stood listening to the horns, and it seemed to him that they would break his heart with joy. And never in after years could he hear a horn blown in the distance without tears starting in his eyes.

I LOVE LORD OF THE RINGS SO MUCH

At a certain point, it’s just Feanor and Eol remaining unrepentant in Mandos.

Feanor nods along as Eol goes off about: the Valar; people usurping what is his; a disloyal wife who betrayed him by trying to separate him from his son; how, if he did any wrong, it was because his hand was forced by people stealing from him, and that is what caused his family’s deaths!

Immediately after this, Feanor goes to Namo and is like. “Okay. I see it now. I was a prick, my bad.”

Namo is so shocked that his watch on the doors of night falters and that’s why Feanor’s return heralds the end of the world. Not with a bang, but with Feanor apologizing.