Silentslaughter - Outsider By Choice. - Tumblr Blog

Okay but, why do I love this?

I am so extremely fond of the idea that at some point time passes so fleetingly and fast and has no meaning whatsoever for maglor anymore (after everyone has died/left him) that he can lay or sit somewhere for years and years without moving and plants and stuff just grow over and around him

Sketch dumping with my hobbit oc 😁

Smoking outside when it’s windy is always risky business. Is my hair going to blow into the flame? Are my reflexes quick enough to move before it happens? Is it going to stop me? Absolutely not.

Fall vibes are always so bittersweet with a touch of melancholy.

Thinking more about Elwing as a Doriath diaspora cultural figure. Her portrayals in Mirkwood and the rest of the Sindar kingdoms are… weird? In a different way than Numenor weird and Noldor weird. She’s their girlish martyr, the last gasp of a dying kingdom, hounded by Evil till her untimely end. She’s their little angel, she’s their sweet saintly victim, she’s permanently a princess and never a queen.

Instead of focusing on the cliffside a lot of their iconography focuses on her flight from Doriath. The Mirkwood version of a Madonna and child is a Noble Guard (ideally styled to look like the local king) holding baby Elwing-con-Silmaril, still against a wooded background but both looking to the side, as if worried about pursuers.

Half the time images of her have her as a 10-13 year old circa the Cliff Incident. It’s not that they don’t know she was a grown up technically (some of them remember her!) but they have collectively lost track of peredhil aging. She was only in her thirties! That’s elf preadolescence so emotionally they go, “ah, baby.”

In line with that their narratives…. slide around the fact that she was married with kids. Elrond and Elros are an inconvenient roadblock, because they grew up and made big complicated choices and founded countries and don’t really have close Sindarin relatives left to visit with. Elwing is all Sindar in comparison.

When she does get an accurate age the Sirion confrontation gets imbued with the same uncomfy sexual overtones bouncing around the Leithian. The word despoil should not be abused like that.

Some very strange interpretations of her choice to stay an elf! “She did it because she loves us best,” babe, I think it came down to her lack of living human-adjacent parents.

At least a few takes where she doesn’t go to Valinor at all but stays in the form of a bird and wanders the earth. There’s a reason the swans in Mirkwood’s underground lakes are so adored.

Children’s stories where the day is saved by a mysterious white bird helping the protagonist. Little dolls with dark hair and white stone necklaces and wings on their back. “Blow a kiss to the sky and Princess Elwing will frighten away the spiders under the bed.” Legolas was raised in the third age so his fairy tales are more modern but Celebrian? Absolutely grew up leaving bird food out for Princess Elwing. A bit awkward to admit that you tried to feed your mother-in-law sunflower seeds once.

Elrond would complain but it’s not like the historians in Lindon and Eregion are any better, even with him next door to fact check. “Noble matron Elwing leaves a letter imploring the Feanorians to take care of her sons before she takes flight to Valinor?” What’s wrong with you people. He’s going to claw someone’s eyes out.

We should be friends.

— Jay Vespertine (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

I somehow imagined Oropher just before the battle of Dagorlad, rising bis sword and encouraging his soldiers with a rousing battle cry, not knowing that it would be his last fight… Cuio vae, Oropher!

I also liked the idea of Thranduil wearing the silver crown in honour of his father on the battlefields in the future ❤️

deviantart.com

Orophers Battlecry by x-Artanis-x on DeviantArt

Orophers Battlecry by x-Artanis-x on DeviantArt

Oropher and Thranduil’s last moment.

A really really really rough sketch.

homegirl luthien & the Best Boy

reminder that my ko-fi is up, if u feel inclined to visit it! :)

Oscar Droege - Birch Trees in a Storm (1930)

Elrond had never said as much, but he had always thought that the story of Beren and Luthien falling into such a sturdy love at first sight was a little unbelievable.

He quietly held that skepticism until the Second Age, when, tired and grieving just after the war with Sauron, he turned a corner and saw several things at once.

There sat an elven-maid in silvered armor spattered with mud. Her silver hair, released from her helm, tumbled down in sweat-darkened clumps. Her sword lay bare across her lap, the cleaning cloth (half-covered in dark orc blood) discarded in favor of a lifted hand, upon which rested a songbird trilling its melody. The lady was smiling, looking upon the bird, and the smile did not lift the weariness from her face, but rested alongside it.

"Oh," Elrond thought.

The unmistakable stench of blood hung in the air. A scent all too familiar to someone who had survived far too many tragedies for one lifetime. A sticky, salty sweetness that clung to the breeze and set every one of his senses on edge. Silent as a spectre, he moved through the trees, eager to set his own sights on the anomaly the locals had described to him. Surely they had been mistaken in their verbal depiction. The creature of which they described sounded like something out of an ancient tale deriving from ages past. A great hulking, warm-blooded beast with fur as black as night, possessing sharp claws and shimmering eyes. It was likely a bear. Some were still foolish enough to wander into the dark, infested woods in search of food. Winter was fast approaching, and the great scavengers were getting desperate to eat their fill. The insectoids would not think twice about taking down a creature as large as a bear, but not for the sake of consumption. An animal that large was too big to carry up to their webs, and over the years they had learned not to spend too much time on the ground.

As the smell became stronger, he was immediately able to pick out two distinct aromas. One he knew well. The fragarence of the spiders had a sickly, venamous stench, but the others he could not so easily identify. As he crept closer, his keen eyes picked up on something large and dark in the exact clearing the small band of Southland hunters had described to him. He drew his blade and kneeled down low to the ground, inching closer and closer until he could gain a clear view.

The beast definitely wasn't a bear. It looked more like the great cats that roamed the North. Giant, daggertoothed felines. He had never heard tales of a black one. Though he had heard some say that they could be white. The sizable felines could not be tamed, but rumours spoke of those who had learned a way to gain their trust. What one was doing so far south, he would probably never figure out. Like all ancient beasts, even the ones in the North had been hunted to near extinction. For glory, mostly. Fur—sometimes. For the liver that was said to cure those lacking the ability to walk—on occasion. Perhaps it had been forced from its hunting grounds? The last of its kind. Wandering in an aimless search for others, or perhaps simply peace. Maybe that was why he felt responsible for it. It had entered the woods seeking the protection and coverage of the trees, completely ignorant of the terrible things that had recently moved in to call it home.

Using extreme caution, he crept even closer, his footsteps soundless despite the fact that fall was upon them and the forest floor was littered with fallen leaves. The beast was injured, and injured animals were unpredictable. Even the docile grazers that roamed the flatlands in great sprawling herds were known to have a violent streak when faced with death. Though it soon became apparent that the great animal was unconscious. He was nearly close enough to touch it now, and still it hadn't stirred. He could see the softt must have been the spiders' poison that had left it in the predicament it now faced. rise and fall of its chest as it continued to breathe. The wounds it bore looked superficial. It must have been the spiders' poison that had left it in the predicament it now faced.

Thranduil was no healer, though he had picked up a few tricks of the trade along the way. Tangible methods were usually best. Especially when dealing with venom. No skill required. Only knowledge. The small amount of antiserum that rested forgotten at the bottom of his pack would likely be wasted on the creature. There was a great possibility that the beast would attack him the instant it rose from its poison-induced slumber. But it wasn't as though he would ever need it. The air of humans was all over the great cat. A sorcerer's familiar, perhaps? Or maybe even a sorcerer himself? Either way, he wasn't going to allow the thing to die a slow and painful death, only to have its body parts scavenged by humans who had been too cowardly even to simply end its suffering. Was he being driven by curiosity or a pathetic sense of pity that always seemed to strike him at the worst possible moments?

Laying his blade down on the ground beside him, he moved just close enough to place a hand on the creature. He could feel its heartbeat slow and staggering. It did not move. The poison currently coursing through its veins was fast acting. It had not been laying there for long. Delicately, he reached into the bag slung across his shoulders, digging around until he could feel his fingers curl around the tiny glass phial settled at the very bottom. He used his teeth to uncork it and proceeded to spill whatever was left inside into the open flesh wound. Giving the animal a delicate pat on one of its muscled shoulders, he spoke mostly to himself.

"And they say it was curiosity that killed the cat.".

Drawing back his hand and tossing away the now empty bottle, he reretrieved his blade and sat back against the trunk of a centuries-old giant oak. Only time would tell if his efforts had been successful. Laying the sword across his lap, he settled in for the long haul. Watching and waiting, with one hand poised ready on the hilt of his sword, just in case things decided to take a turn for the worst.

What is with the human female compulsion to move in and adopt a pet? Redecorate and pump out children? Why can we not just hang out, tell each other stupid stories, braid each other’s hair and she can give me stitches when the situation calls for it?

I just wanted to see him in different hair styles

Tolkientober day 7: dance

Beren and Lúthien my beloveds

Thranduil and Legolas doodle

This is old drawing😓

King Thranduil x Healer!Reader

Neither tongue nor song of the Eldar could speak of your beauty. At least, that's in the mind of elven king, Thranduil.

When you'd first been brought before him, a refuge, half elven-half human, he'd been dissmissive at best. It wasn't until he'd been injured on a hunt and you'd tended to him with gentle hands that his eye had begun to follow you.

He began to notice the little things. Your kindness, your soft touch, your sweet voice. Now you haunt his mind, in both waking and sleeping he sees you. It most probably will not be long afor he's professed his love.

@lazyjellyfish300 I seem to recall you liking this man...🤔

To me peak Gilgalad son of ??? is the Gilgalad who also has absolutely no clue who his father is. Cirdan call him Scion of Kings once and he decided to roll with it until someone calls him out on it. After all, he doesn’t know, his dad may well be King Fingon? -rod? or something?

He’s playing chicken with the entirety of the remaining House of Finwë and he knows none of them want the crown enough to do anything about it so hes not even trying that hard

Elrond: so you are the son of orodreth of Nargothrond

GilGalad: So i hear

Elrond: you dont look like him

GilGalad: no? Youve met him?

Elrond: well, no

GilGalad:(shrugging) ah pity, Neither have I

Elrond:

Elrond: Maglor said you were Fingon's son

GilGalad: Well, its perfectly possible

Elrond: that weird Maia outside says your no ones son at all

GilGalad: what like ive been around since Cuiviene or that i just spawned into existance

Elrond: No, more like youre just some guy

GilGalad: ah well that is more plausible

Elrond:

GilGalad: okay then i need to finish this letter to Oropher is there anything else?

Elrond: (sighs) No...

considering that thranduil knows intimately what it's like to take up a position of kingship following the abrupt, violent death of the previous ruler who was an elder member of his family, i wonder if he ever thought back to dior...

A question for all the male attracted beings out there— Why do you enjoy it so much when men roll up their sleeves?

Pretty sure I was just overheard speaking massively out of turn. Not that I would refrain from saying it to his face. My life would simply be easier if I didn’t have to.

Fog blanketed fields this morning.