Latest Posts by penelopes-poppies - Page 8

Y’all should check out Four Seasons Landscaping’s facebook. They keep posting memes and it’s hilarious

The Silmarillion but it’s narrated like a football game with play by play commentary done by Rúmil and Pengolodh.

Word Count: 1781 words

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth

Characters: Elrond Peredhel, Elros Tar-Minyatur, Maglor | Makalaure, Maedhros | Maitimo

Additional Tags: One-Shot Collection, Non-Linear Narrative, Elrond-centric, Maglor-centric, Character Study, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone Needs a Hug, let Elrond not lose anyone 2k20

Summary: Scenes of the kidnap family through Elrond and Elros’ childhood, featuring difficult questions, buried feelings, and the fragile hope of a happy ending.

Can also be read below the cut

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Fact: Lúthien mostly uses her magic through music, as a possible nod to the Ainulindale; the power of this music was enough to move the heart of Mandos himself

Fact: Arwen is often compared to Lúthien in LOTR and the Professor, to the point where it's stated that "in her the likeness of Lúthien walked in Arda once more" or something, not an exact quote

Fact: The Silmarillion does not, as far as I can tell with my bad reading comp. skills, state directly that Elrond never saw Maglor again during the Second and Third ages

Fact: Maglor was also one of the best musicians in Middle-Earth and, given his epithet "the mighty singer" could very well have possessed similar song magic to Lúthien's

Perfectly reasonable conclusion: Maglor drops by Rivendell; finds Arwen, who inherited Lúthien's gift of music; proceeds to become some incomprehensible combination of music tutor, magical teacher and disaster weird uncle to her; and sticks around for her and Elrond. There are emotional father-son reunions. There are inside jokes like "don't let the TWINS near that WATERFALL!!". Neither Maglor nor Arwen ever has to be lonely again. I continue to procrastinate on the fic.

content creators: please, please create IDs for your content. Obviously many of us are willing to create them for you, but you are the one who is best able to communicate the message of your image through text, because you created it. ATLA is a show with a blind character and so many of the modern aus I’ve seen have toph using a screenreader…which yeah! that’s what she’d do!…but many of you don’t seem to be able to make the connection that irl people might need ids for their screenreaders?

You ever get like five different ideas from angst but none of them is long enough to stand on its own and so you just make Frankenangst? Yeah

Warnings: character death, description of injuries

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Also how can Arthur Conan Doyle write a character like Irene Adler 1891 and have her 1. Outsmart Sherlock Holmes and get away with it and 2. Be in no way a damsel or love interest to Sherlock.. But every modern retelling not only has her be a sexual /love interest character but she is posed as being very very smart… But never smart enough to just outwit him, get away with it and move on? Women can be smart, sure, but no one is allowed to be smarter than Sherlock.

It’s been over 120 years and Irene is, at her best, never as decently treated as the original.

thinking about Jet, as I often do, and thinking about how bryke really thought not only that vilifying the only organized resistance to the Fire Nation was a good idea, but also that making that resistance a group of mostly kids and teenagers and still painting them as horrible monsters was a good idea. We really don’t talk enough about how Jet is treated like an adult in the show. And to an extent, all of the kids in ATLA are doing things that they’re too young to do, but pretty much all of them except for Jet have their emotions and backstory explored. Jet gets one line about the Fire Nation killing his family. One line. He’s shown to be this mature, autonomous figure, a leader, taking care of a bunch of other people, and the show goes out of its way to make him both unlikeable and totally responsible for his actions in a way that a character like Azula (who is exactly as old as Jet) isn’t. I was thinking about this post, which talks about the little girl and how that draws on an old racist trope that depicts people of color violently resisting oppression as child-killers and makes real the “what about the women and children?” hypothetical, and it honestly just turns my stomach that bryke used another child to paint this group of mostly children as evil. The little girl gets to be a little girl and is protected, and her protection is used as justification for vilifying Jet. Jet and the rest of the Freedom Fighters don’t get to be kids. They don’t get to be good or morally ambiguous or even just naive. They already had their innocence robbed from them when the Fire Nation took their families from them, and bryke, instead of exploring them as the children they are, makes them out to be just as bad and just as culpable, if not more culpable, than adults who actively participated in imperialism (like Jeong Jeong and Iroh.) And then Jet’s “redemption arc” is him, the only Brown Freedom Fighter, dying violently for the cause. I don’t know, man, writing this post is making me cry, but Jet deserved so much better than that. Jet deserved to be a kid, and he had that taken from him both within the narrative when the Fire Nation burned down his village, and outside the narrative by Bryan and Michael. 

I like how some of Finwë’s kids possess a gram or two of chill (Finarfin got his as a wedding present) but his grandchildren are all 0 chill nightmare children, all 14+ of them. One or two are chill-passing, The Arafinweans, Turgon, and Maedhros can appear to be grownups in the right light, but then you back them into a corner and it’s Kinslaying, Werewolf Biting, Standing At The Top Of Your Tower As The City Falls time. Even Galadriel mostly manages to be self-aware about her tragic case of congenital Shakespeare villianitis. Her greatest achievement is pulling back from the brink of bad choice central.

The Sindar in particular seem to fall into the narrative trap of, “well Fëanor’s boys are horrible demons but their cousins are surely fine,” and then, whoops, the crazy was right next to them the whole time! Just waiting for a dumb stunt to pull! You can’t escape the belated curse that Finwë’s insatiable lust called down. It just took a generation or so to really kick in.

Westron names that are Anglicized instead of translated 

Bilba - Bilbo 

Bophîn = Boffin

Bunga = Bungo

Tûk = Took

Westron names that are translated instead of Anglicized 

Banazîr/Ban= Samwise/Sam

Galbasi = Gamgee

Hamanullas = Lobelia

Hlothran = Cotton

Kalimac/Kali = Mariadoc/Merry

Labingi = Baggins

Maura = Frodo

Ranugad = Hamfast

Razanur/Razar = Peregrin/Pippin 

Zilbirâpha = Butterburr

A combination of the two

Brandagamba = Brandybuck 

[ID: a four panel comic featuring Katara and Aang.

First panel: Katara looks offscreen, presumably at Zuko, and asks, “Is it just me or is Zuko kind of... attractive?” Aang, who is standing farther back, whips around and gasps.

Second panel: Aang, looking as though he is about to go into full lecture/gossip mode, says, “I’m so glad you brought this up.”

Third panel: “Because I’ve been waiting to talk about this,” he continues,

Fourth panel: “for a HOT minute.” Yes, that is a pun. He produces a list on a piece of paper taller than him that is entitled “Every Attractive Thing Zuko’s Ever Done.” Its entries include “be born, save me, save me in mask, look at me, join our group, ask me to stop using fire nation slang, laugh at my joke.” There are at least 7,898 items on the list, but it is obvious that there are many more.

The caption states, “The list is miles long.”

End ID.]

The list is miles long

[ID: what looks to be a watercolor painting of Aragorn and Gollum at some point during their journey to Mirkwood. It is nighttime, and dotted white stars are visible in the black sky. The ground, patches of sparse vegetation, and low distant mountains are shaded in burnt sienna, other warm browns, and black. Gollum is crouched with his back to the viewer, grasping tensely at his head. A thin rope is tied about his neck, the other end of which is held by Aragorn, who is facing the viewer and watching his prisoner. Aragorn is clothed in a long brown tunic and a long dark green cloak with the hood up. He carries his bow and full quiver on his back; if he has a sword it is not easily visible.

End ID.]

Aragorn found and captured Gollum . The Lord of the Rings - The Fellowship of the Ring / J.R.R. Tolkien

I have a lot of Thoughts about the framing of classic fantasy stories that are actual specific published works as Ye Olde Folktales of no particular origin. especially given the most common modern understanding of “original fairytale” as “didactic story intended for children”

(same goes for stories where the most common modern understanding of the story is based on one particular published version)

like. I don’t know. Beauty and the Beast owes a lot of tropes to earlier tales that occupy the nebulous ~folklore~ space we usually assign it to, but the actual story itself is a novel. a full-on fantasy novel intended for adults, with a known author (Gabrielle Suzanne Barbot de Villenueve), published in a definite time and place (1740 France)

the most popular modern version of Cinderella- with the fairy godmother, glass slipper, single ball, and so on -was written in 1697 by Charles Perrault. that’s not the oldest known version of the story, and DEFINITELY not the only one out there, but it’s the one that most informs our cultural ideas about what Cinderella is. in the west and honestly, in most of the world

(luckily most people know by now that The Little Mermaid started life as a story written by a particular author. but it sometimes falls prey to these misconceptions, too)

this is all really hard to articulate, but it just feels weird to say “Beauty and the Beast was meant to teach girls to accept arranged marriage!” when you wouldn’t try to sum up, say, The Fellowship of the Ring so neatly. or “well, in the ORIGINAL Cinderella, birds peck out the stepsisters’ eyes!” when that comes from a version published in 1819- over a century after the version we’re most familiar with today

I think it also takes away important context when analyzing these stories, to completely sever them from the very specific points in history that created them and make them seem the product of a murky, generic Olden Time™ that never existed

if anyone cares, Putin is not officially stepping down. Only news source as far as I can tell that’s reporting that is the NY Post, which is basically a tabloid, and that report is based on a second hand source. Putin had said nothing, and no reputable news orgs have weighed in as of yet

It puzzles me when people cite LOTR as the standard of “simple” or “predictable” or “black and white” fantasy. Because in my copy, the hero fails. Frodo chooses the Ring, and it’s only Gollum’s own desperation for it that inadvertently saves the day. The fate of the world, this whole blood-soaked war, all the millennia-old machinations of elves and gods, comes down to two addicts squabbling over their Precious, and that is precisely and powerfully Tolkien’s point. 

And then the hero goes home, and finds home a smoking desolation, his neighbors turned on one another, that secondary villain no one finished off having destroyed Frodo’s last oasis not even out of evil so much as spite, and then that villain dies pointlessly, and then his killer dies pointlessly. The hero is left not with a cathartic homecoming, the story come full circle in another party; he is left to pick up the pieces of what was and what shall never be again. 

And it’s not enough. The hero cannot heal, and so departs for the fabled western shores in what remains a blunt and bracing metaphor for death (especially given his aged companions). When Sam tells his family, “Well, I’m back” at the very end, it is an earned triumph, but the very fact that someone making it back qualifies as a triumph tells you what kind of story this is: one that is too honest to allow its characters to claim a clean victory over entropy, let alone evil. 

“I can’t recall the taste of food, nor the sound of water, nor the touch of grass. I’m naked in the dark. There’s nothing–no veil between me and the wheel of fire. I can see him with my waking eyes.”

So where’s this silly shallow hippie fever-dream I’ve heard so much about? It sounds like a much lesser story than the one that actually exists.

The Valar as a collective (not necessarily each individual, such as Ulmo) seem to find it difficult to empathize with beings of lesser power than they who are tied to time, especially beings who can be killed and aren’t willing to wait around for millennia for the Valar to come up with a solution when things are bad and people are dying right now. Like op said, they aren’t used to being told, “I don’t agree with any of y’all, and I’m going to pursue this goal my own way, whether y’all like it or not.” They’re not used to having more than two sides to a conflict, and throughout the Silmarillion they consistently underestimate the determination of the Children, especially the Noldor and the Numenoreans. 

So, do the Valar know the elves aren’t  just fleshy-Maiar?

(I’m tired so this might be ramble-y but oh well)

So, Pre-elves the Valar only really interact with Maiar, who basically do whatever they want and are kind of just fancy servants. The only times we actually see a Maia rebel- e.g. Mairon- it’s basically just a switch in who they listen too and not a bid for independence.

So has anyone except Melkor actually flat out told the Valar No?

Because if not that sort of explains how they have no idea how to deal with the elves.

Specifically the Noldor.

Because the Noldor, even though they are favoured by Aule, strive to create independently and without oversight from the Valar, and it’s with them the Valar screw up the most. Literally most of the problems in the first age would have been less catastrophic if the Valar had just let them leave. No first kinslaying because Olwe could just let the borrow the boats, no Helcaraxe, someone could have slapped Feanor upside the head before he got himself killed ect. But instead the Valar just…thought they’d be listened to when they told them to not go after the guy who murdered their dearly beloved king and stay put in Valinor forever, even when it’s implied Namo already knew Finwe is dead and should probably have told his son as soon as he found out but didn’t and the Valar immediately mourned the loss of the Silmarils rather than the elf who died in a place they promised would be safe.

And not knowing how elves work would kind of explain why they thought Feanor would be okay with Finwe remarrying. No Maiar had ever been unhappy with their decisions, so why would an elf be different?

It also explains the…weirder aspects of LaCE. Because some of LaCE reads like it was invented purely for population control (see sex as an act purely to create children), and that would make sense if it was put down by a race that just didn’t do sex as the ainur are implied to be. And everyone is expected to follow it and be happy, because no-one had ever told the Valar they weren’t.

Any way, idk. I’m probably reading too much into this, and this probably wasn’t articulated very well.

Tl:dr- The Valar got too used to dealing with people that do everything they tell them too and elves don’t like being told what to do Thank You Very Much

Hi, hello, your herbalist!zuko art is the greatest thing ever

herbalist!zuko / spirit and me says thank you! 

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also please consider these, possible hair development through the three seasons. 

just to be sure, credit to @muffinlance​, the dear anon and everyone in the atla fandom who looked at zuko with long hair and runs with the fun!

the hobbits organizing a blindfolded taste test with the fellowship except every single food is potatoes

Part 6 of Tolkien's Women: Aerin

CW: vaguely implied rape, suicide. Basically it's canon compliant.

The revulsion she feels is not for him as a man, for he is fair to behold and not unkind to his servants and thralls. In other circumstances she might have liked him, even. But she was never offered a choice. And so she detests every gift from him, every touch, every word of affection. She resents him for the pretense of a marriage he has forced her to take part in. To her, he will always be the invader, the conqueror, never the loving husband.

At times she envies Morwen. Witch-woman, the invaders call her. They shun her, they go to great lengths to avoid her stern, unflinching gaze. They whisper about her kinsman, Beren, who rose from the grave through the dark sorcery of the elves. Even Brodda fears Morwen, fears what curses she may lay upon him. Every time he passes by her house, he makes signs to ward off evil. Aerin sneers at such behaviour. The only evil in Dor-lómin is the one he has brought with him, the darkness he serves.

Most of all she envies the menfolk of the House of Hador. She envies them their swift deaths at swordpoint, so much more merciful than the slow death of a life in captivity. Many a night she has lain awake in the darkness, clutching her dagger, calculating how many throats she would be able to slit before someone raised the alarm, thinking, would she have time to plunge the dagger into her own heart before they caught her. But there are too many of them, and she knows that her people will pay tenfold in blood for every life she takes. So she plays at being the dutiful wife. She tries to make the most of what influence she has with Brodda. Many a child of the House of Hador makes it through the winter thanks to the food she smuggles to their families. And with every small victory, every tiny act of resistance, she feels a little bit less dead inside.

Until the day Morwen's son strides into Brodda's hall and she is caught in the gaze of those stern, accusing eyes. When he cuts through the guards, when he puts her husband to the sword, every blow is a reprimand for the years spent under the thumb of the enemy. As if he could ever understand restraint in the service of honour and duty.

In the end they are the only two people left in the hall. And Aerin faces him, unflinching, without shame.

"Know this, son of Húrin. Our people will suffer for what you have done here. I hope you learn, before it is too late, to leave more than ashes in your wake."

She sees the pain in his eyes then, yet knows that he is too young, too blinded by his own sense of earth-shattering importance, too weighed down by pride and doom, to ever turn from the path he has started down. He will burn, and he will make the world burn with him.

But one gift has he given her. With Brodda and his household slain, with everything she has built through her life crumbling around her, duty to her people no longer holds her back. With one last look at the sky, she drops a torch on the oil-doused floor. Aerin stands tall at the chieftain's seat, watching her prison go up in flames, and when the fire reaches for her, she unsheathes her dagger and plunges it straight into her chest. Smoke and darkness cloud her vision, but through it all it seems to her that a piercing light shines through. Aerin sinks to the floor with a smile on her face, free at last.

Anyway, post-canon/resurrected/reborn/survival AU/Halls of Mandos Fëanor is much more interesting to write because that's the cooldown time, that's the time for character development, for consequences, for despair, for moving onwards. Some people are so caught up in their own burning sense of single-minded purpose that they need to burn out before they can even begin to change.

zuko and sokka can be friends

who else in the silm fandom had their worldview on morality, religion, free will, love, loyalty, punishment, redemption, and tragedy profoundly shifted by jirt’s power of words?

I like to imagine that if people from a fantasy world came to our world, they would lose their shit over how TINY our spiders are.

Like. Imagine going to a fantasy world where lions are the size of a bottle cap and occasionally a pride appears on your living room carpet. It would be like that.

Literally obsessed with @damianwaynerocks ‘s post about Zuko meeting Batman, all dialogue is from that. Anyway, here’s Robin!Zuko feat. his blue spirit mask (kind of):

"So, wait," said the thief, topping off the detective's wine glass. "You're saying that your stressful case is catching that hot shot cat burglar that everyone's talking about?"

The detective grimaced, but didn't change the subject. "Yep," they muttered into their Pinot and took a swig. "The celebrity criminal."

This was a triumph. This was their third date and the thief had spent the prior two carefully laying the emotional groundwork leading up to this moment. The detective, as a social partner, was affable and considerate - surprisingly funny even, in a dry, deadpan way - but rigidly guarded about their line of work. The thief had asked the normal questions about jobs and had been expertly deflected with self-deprecating jokes about spreadsheets and paperwork. The thief had been content to wait. The detective was a fundamentally honest person, and the thief trusted the truth would work its way to the surface soon enough.

"But that sounds exciting!" the thief prompted brightly. "I mean, daring heists executed by moonlight! It must be such a nice change from your run-of-the-mill crimes."

"Mostly it's just exhausting," sighed the detective, rubbing their temples. "This perp is such an asshole."

The thief blinked. "Excuse me?"

The detective shook their head, tried to force a smile. "I'm sorry. I've had too much wine. You were saying about your invitation to audition for the Bolshoi -?"

"Oh, forget about me," the thief said quickly. "Please, go on. You're clearly stressed about -"

"Do you know," the detective went on as if they'd never stopped, "the morning guy on Channel Seven had the nerve to call this a victimless crime?"

"Well, the insurance will pay for it," the thief started.

The detective slapped the table. The thief jumped. "What about the people?" the detective exclaimed. A few nearby heads turned in their direction. "Are people supposed to walk into museums and look at what, framed checks on the wall from Lloyds? And meanwhile, these masterworks disappear into the vaults of gangsters and petty criminals, never to be seen again. Because you can be sure," they added, jabbing a finger at the thief, "crooks that steal art have no love for it. They'll destroy it, every lick of paint, if there's the slightest risk to their own skins."

The detective took another deep swallow of red wine. They looked close to tears. The thief awkwardly patted their hand across the table. This was not at all what they'd expected on this little reconnaissance side mission. The detective caught their hand and squeezed it with a grateful look that wrenched something in the thief's upper chest area.

"Now those guys," the detective said thoughtfully. "The criminals with the vaults. Now that seems like a worthy target."

"I... huh?" The thief stared across the table. The detective looked back with those guileless, honest eyes. 

"I'm just saying," they said, with the slightest drunken slur on their words. "Walking the art out of some budget-strapped public facility is one thing. But emptying out of one of those vaults, liberating all those works of art and returning them to their rightful place before the public..." The detective sighed dreamily. "Now that actually sounds like a daring, hot shot kind of heist."

There was a moment where neither moved, gazing at each other like the lovers they were pretending to be. Then the detective tugged their hand free, stood up with an apologetic smile. "But I'm definitely tipsy," they said. "Let me go splash some water on my face."

When the detective returned from the restroom, the thief was still at the table, watching the waiter clear the plates. By unspoken agreement, they didn't speak until she was well clear.

"So, hypothetically speaking," the thief said finally, running a finger theough a puddle on the tabletop. "How would one go about this vault heist of yours?"

The detective smiled again, nothing drunk or vague about it at all.

Silm Time Travel “prompt”

I use the word “prompt” loosely. This is really just a not-fleshed-out story.

Time travel fic where, instead of Maglor doing the time travel, it’s Maedhros. Let’s say he’s been missing for xyz years and one day just poofs up in the forest with no Silmarill in sight (last thing he remembers is jumping into a chasm of fire). His hand is still burning something fierce but he grabs his sword anyway. Some of his brothers find him and he thinks they’re hallucinations or trying to kill him or something of the sort. He attacks his brothers and the only way they can subdue him is to knock him out.

He wakes up with his mother by his bedside (everyone figured that even not in his right mind, he wouldn’t hurt her. They were right). He’s super confused and she explains what happened and somehow, Maedhros figures out that he time traveled. He insists that he see his father immediately and says it’s very important. When she brings Fëanor in, he tells them that he’s from the future and that the future of the entire world depends on Fëanor not capturing the light of the trees in gemstones. Fëanor decides to put off his plan to do exactly that until he’s sure of whether Maedhros is right or wrong.

After all that, the other Fëanorians come piling in the room. The Ambarussar (about nine in elvish reckoning) are nervous around him and aren’t sure it’s him because of all the scars. Everyone else is horrified by the scars to but are tactful enough to not say anything (only barely in Celegorm’s case). He helps the twins to get over their fear by letting them touch his hand-stump and assuring him that it’s really him. Thus the Silmarills are not made and Maedhros gets to heal.

Over time, he slowly reveals things about his past that explain his behaviors. He’s so vigilant and on edge all the time because he’s been fighting for centuries. He keeps his hair short because having it long brings back bad memories. He doesn’t like being touched, especially by surprise, because of his time in Angband (if you want to know specifically why, go read @outofangband’s stories. They were my inspiration for this bit). He doesn’t tell the littler ones that. They’re only told to ‘make sure your brother can see you before you give him a hug.’ And bit by bit, he heals.

If anyone wants a fic with this, I liked Drag0nst0rm’s Scion of Somebody, Probably on ffn

best Gil-Galad lineage headcanon is that he’s not descended from any of them, he’s a pretender to the throne and that’s why his story keeps changing

Listen up!

You see a post like this? Where OP might hurt/kill themselves? You hit that button that I circled

Hit that.

Click Suicide or Self-harm Concern

Yes.

Fill in the rest of it, and hit submit. The "content you reported" will fill itself in

Tumblr will follow up and help them.

Warning: this is only for mobile. If anyone knows how to do this for desktop, please add it!

This could SAVE SOMEONE'S LIFE.

YOU HAVE NO EXCUSE NOT TO REBLOG THIS.

I DON'T GIVE A FUCK IF IT DOESN'T GO WITH YOUR BLOG'S THEME.

And yes, REBLOG. Liking does no shit at all. This isn't ig.

You reblog, people see it. You don't, people don't see it. This shit's that simple.

This could save someone's life. It's not a joke.

Picture ID for visually impaired people are genuinely good and should be normalized, however we should keep in mind people born blind don't have a single idea what a color is and it's most of the visual ID I've read