Can I Share Something That Happened To Me Last Year

Orc: man, we're so lost in this blizzard - forget attacking himring, we can't even see himring! Orc: ... wait. Orc: *squints*

They've put a giant eight-pointed star on the fortress on top of the hill overlooking the city. If I squint hard enough, I kind of feel like I'm in Himring (bad picture taken three quarter of the way up the hill, complete with desolate vegetation and thickish moving fog).

With the braziers long gone cold, the night lies close and heavy, darkness impenetrable. It’s imôr - the deep night. Men call this time the bewitching hour and as Adar gazes on the apparition lying beside him, he can’t help feeling that they might have a point.

The Elvenking’s Herald looks unearthly in Adar’s bed, more like a mirage of grey starlight and hazy shadow than a creature of flesh. It seems there must be some trick of the light at play, one that makes an Uruk out of canvas tent walls and a Maia out of tangled sheets. But despite the guiles of dappled starlight, Elrond’s breath is warm and steady and undeniably real against Adar’s hand as he raises a finger to those sweet lips -

Lips parted and eyes closed in true sleep. Is it his mortal blood that makes him sleep so deeply? Or, like an Elf, has he collapsed into oblivion as his strength runs dry?

What is he - Elf or Man of Maia, all at once or something else entirely? Elrond Peredhel, half Elf, half other, descendent of Lúthien whose shadowy hair and radiant face have ever drawn the eyes of monsters. Kinslayers, Úmaiar… and Adar. Wonderous thing, he thinks. Wonderous, beautiful, hunted thing.

- from the fic I’m writing about Elrond from Adar’s perspective. I promised 5k of fangirling and I intend to deliver. Hang in there!

Y'all the worldbuilding is getting intense rn, I'm having so many thoughts, because Elrond is a mosaic of dozens of different people, so many facets and multitudes, and different people see different things in him. People see his starry grey eyes and dark hair and hear his Voice and think of Lúthien, think of Maglor. They see his braids and attribute it to Turgon’s preference for traditional styles rather than that well-known Fëanorian obsession. His gracious courtly manners are from Melian or Idril, though clearly taught by Maedhros, who learned from Finwë. His skills and wisdom and bearing are clearly passed down from any or all of the 20+ different kings, queens, lords and princesses he is associated with. He dances like Lúthien and Idril. He is as courageous as Fingon and Beren and Eärendil, as fierce in battle as Fingolfin and Maedhros and, Eru forbid, Fëanor. He speaks archaic Quenya, just like the Gondolindrim, if only one ignores the Fëanorian accent. His giggle is Elwing’s, birdlike and odd; his laugh is rich and merry like Finwë’s; that half-despairing chuckle is Beren’s; the endearingly awkward titter is Finarfin’s; the exhilarated whoop is Fingon’s; the manic mid-battle cackle is Fëanor through and through. He fights left-handed like Eärendil and Maedhros, plays the harp right-handed like Fingon and Finrod and Maglor; he can write with either hand, producing a spindly scrawl with his left (so like Maedhros, so like Elwing) and authoritative calligraphy with his right (so like Fëanor, so like Thingol). His eyes are the chasm of the heavens - he gets that from Melian - but did Maeglin not also inherit his piercing gaze from Aredhel? He has his father’s jaw and his mother’s hair, or was it Turgon’’s jaw and Finwë’s hair, or maybe those angular bones came from fair Nimloth and the little flick of a curl at his temple from Beren. In certain lights he’s the spitting image of Thingol - or was it Fingolfin? The tilt of his wrist is as bird-like and fragile as Dior’s, as graceful and deliberate as Idril’s. His cheeks dimple when he smiles, just like Fingon, and his eyes crease when his face softens with fondness, just like Tuor, who looks little like Haleth but in moments like this. When he’s concentrating, the furrow of his brow is Thingol’s and the lip between his teeth is Beren’s, who took after Bëor. That eyebrow raise brings to mind 15 different people, all of them dead. One may look at Elrond and see a lost loved one in his profile, until the light shifts just slightly and he becomes the one who killed them, before he turns his head just so and suddenly looks like a complete stranger. Elrond is a Silmaril of ghosts, each facet a memory, love and terror and awe and joy and grief reflected and refracted upon one another again and again, radiant, hypnotic, infinite.

Padme's handmaidens as bizarre t shirts

the squad is not impressed by anakin

501st as bizarre t shirts

tag yourself im little miss fully developed frontal lobe

Two elves in Cuiviénen, when the world was young.

Without the red text:

Their names are Lalwë & Rayë. They're twins and I have a doc full of notes about their whole life stories that i might share at some point.

the writing isn't a canonical script, just gibberish. I'm using it as an Avari script. It spells: Khintarwe, Khindorwe. Khin means here or now, tar means to stand with connotations of nobility, dor means to dwell or abide, or land, or firmness, and -we is a plural pronoun. In short, it means, here we stand, here we stay. It's the Avari's general response to Oromë's invitation to Valinor: no thanks, Eru put us here and this is where we are meant to be.

The house of Finwe (first gen) as bizarre t shirts

tag yourself I'm Mitskibidi

please. please im not even american and i need this more than air. for fucksake please

musk is going to die in a Tesla explosion in 6 months after sticking his nose where it doesn't belong and we will never get a conclusive answer on whether it was a CIA car bomb or just a normal Tesla malfunction

I see your Padme as a force ghost in her flowing funeral gown with flowers in her hair and i raise you, force ghost Padme in her hospital gown.

Since early childhood Padme has always been painted and decorated and a lot of that comes from Naboo’s culture. But as someone else put it, there’s an intense kind of body horror in a 14 year old girl repeatedly having to change outfits and put on heavy makeup and wigs while her entire planet is under seige.

For that to continue into death feels unfair to her. Let her be in her bloody hospital gown with sweat plastering her hair to her forehead and red swollen eyes, tear tracks down her cheeks. Let her not have to maintain her image after fucking dying. Let her be angry and bitter and want people, want her husband to see her pain.

Let Vader look at his wife’s ghost and see that although she didn’t die directly by his hand, she still suffered and she’s not trying to hide it from anyone.

The house of Feanor family tree feat. bizarre t shirts

tag yourself I'm notice me sin pi