kitcat22
Hot Chocolate And Scones
Hello There! This is mostly my silmarillion blog but i also enjoy star wars, good omens, asoiaf, DC and moreYou can find my star wars blog at @weepingstars07
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There were quite a few people who absolutely refused to believe Elrond and Elros were who they claimed to be when they first came to Gil-Galad's camp. This led to the rise of several extremely questionable theories on who they really were, from the more mundane– they're just two half-elves the Feanorians found somewhere– to the more... esoteric, like that Maglor had "sung them into existence" to fool the armies of Valinor into letting them steal the Silmarils.
The most popular theory was that Elrond and Elros were actually the children of Maglor and Daeron of Doriath, and that they'd been kept secret for... some reason– look I never said the conspiracy theories made sense. E&E look a lot like Luthien (Luthien and Daeron are siblings with pretty similar features) and a bit like Fingolfin (who looks like Feanor who looks like Maglor), so it's not totally implausible. It would also explain how E&E had Maia powers without being Elwing's kids. And that was just enough information for it to become a completely unkillable rumor. Most of it dies down after E&E show some clearly human traits, like getting sick, but there are still die-hard believers out there. Some genealogies from the early Third Age list Elrond as Daeron and Maglor's child.
Elrond, who's been confronted about his "real parents" several times, is very over it. Gil-Galad thinks it's extremely funny.
#silmarillion#silm headcanons#elrond peredhel#elros tar minyatur#maglor#daeron#daemags#gil galad#kidnap fam
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Maedhros and Maglor.
"pride, jealousy and harp" 😂😂😂
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Kind of want a fic where Biggs Darklighter accidentally reveals early that Obi wan is alive to the rebellion after pointing to the last known photo of General Kenobi and his troops and saying how ‘that guy looks just like old Ben Kenobi, the wizard who lives out in the sand dunes’ without realising the chaos he’s just caused.
#Ahsoka goes through a lot of emotions very quicky at this#obi wan kenobi#biggs darklighter#ben kenobi#star wars#tcw
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All i want is for Maglor to arrive in Aman thinking he can hide away only to find out Elrond released a album on their complicated relationship.
#i just think Elrond deserves to sing bitterly about his love/hate relationship with his kidnapper#and Maglor deserves to listen to it#silmarillion#silm#the silm#maglor#maglor feanorian#elrond#elrond peredhel
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Everytime i see a painting involving a lady with long red hair i just think yep that’s Maitimo during his years as the most prominent muse in Valinor.
I mean this guy was seriously hot in a species of already beautiful people who are known to have a love of great beauty and craftsmanshi. There has to be a lot of artwork in Valinor inspired by him.
A lot of the ones made during the years of the trees make him seem very soft and gentle. The clothes he wears are often flowing and nearly transparent and there is a large focus on his hair. All of the paintings of him seem a little different to each other with artists exclaiming that to fully capture his likeness was impossible.
Feanor’s paintings of his eldest are credited as the most accurate representation. Although he is still stunning, these artworks aren’t as focused on portraying Maitimo’s beauty. Instead they show him more relaxed sitting peacefully or preforming various tasks around their home.
After the darkening and everything that follows, Maitimo isn’t painted nearly as much. In Beleriand, he refuses a portrait not wanting a record of how he has changed. After a while though, maybe in the 3rd or 4th age he becomes a piece of inspiration again but his paintings are noticeably more melancholic and solemn-looking.
It was Finrod who first painted Maitimo scars included, something that caused quite the stir in Tirion. He couldn’t help but think that even if Maedhros had despised his appearance it would be awful to come back to a whole bunch of paintings of someone who looks nothing like you but is clearly meant to be you.
With all of the artworks focused on him or involving him, Maedhros has his own art exhibits and is a popular subject of analysis.
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The babe squirms in Maedhros’ arms reaching a chubby fist out toward his face and grasping at his nose.
Maedhros allows it despite his usual opposition to being touched. This is different, this is his child. He fears it though, that one day Ereinon may sneak up behind him and grab at his ankle and Maedhros will think him an enemy and cut him down. It terrifies him the idea if being responsible for the death of his own son and his son’s other father.
(He has not managed to speak the name since the Nirneath and can barely think it without weeping or screaming. His brothers have taken to avoiding it too, fearful of his reaction)
He presses a kiss to Ereinion’s brow and the watches his son squeal in delight. He wishes he could smile at the sight but he does not have the energy. Smiling has become very hard these days.
Ereinion Gil Galad is not a particularly large baby, as long as Maedhros’ elbow to his knuckles and as heavy as a few solid pillows. That is not to say he wont grow tall and broad. Maedhros himself had been a relatively small infant and though had remained slim and lightly muscled his height was renowned. His son’s skin his dark like Maedhros’ lover’s and his eyes are a deep dark brown. It is clear who he will grow to look like. There is little obvious relation to Maedhros in his face save perhaps the shape of his eyes and the point of his chin. The most obvious sign of his parentage is the shock of silver white hair that is shared by Celegorm and Miriel before him.
He thinks of the loremasters that will forever theorise about what dainty, sindarin maiden could have seduced their high king and bore a child with his face and her hair. Maedhros’ heart hurts and his eyes sting. His own son will never know him and he will never know his son.
‘He would be disgusted if he did know you’ says the biting voice in his head. ‘ A kinslayer, a failure of a king, a failure of a general, practically an orc’
‘It is for the best’ says the other voice that is softer but just as cutting. ‘This is the only way to ensure his protection, if he stays he will only be dragged down by you’
They are both true of course but the pain in his heart only grows.
He will never see his son grow, will never watch him learn to walk, will never help him with his studies, will never introduce him at court.
He will be nothing more than the bastard of a cousin that killed the boy’s father.
The knock on the door stirs him from his thoughts. Celegorm stands at the door, more solemn than Maedhros had ever seen him in Aman, with Amrod standing more nervously behind him.
‘Are you ready?’ Asks Celegorm as though this was something he could ever feel ready for.
‘If you need more time…’ his youngest brother adds on quietly but Maedhros made his decision a long time ago. He cannot, will not cast doom upon his own child.
He kisses Ereinion once more on the brow and before allowing his brothers to take the child from his arms.
‘Goodbye my little star’ he thinks as the door shuts and the tears drip down his face.
#silmarillion#silm#the silm#silmarillion writing#silm writing#maedhros#fingon#celegorm#amrod#ereinion gil galad#gil galad#russingon as gil galads dads#russingon
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Ok i’ve read a few codywan fics of sad desert hermit obi wan going back in time and trying to fix things but what i really wanna read is longish haired teenage obi wan going to the future where all his friends are dead and supposedly he is too.
Obi wan only lasts a few weeks before he ends up imprisoned by inquisitors, because good as he is, obi wan hasn’t a clue whats going on.
The food is rubbish and the torture isn’t great but at least he gets to meet a nice torguta lady during his escape.
Is ahsoka freaked out at having her grandmaster alive and now younger than her? Yes, yes she is but she ends up taking him back to the rebel base where a lot of very surprised people are waiting including one completely devastated commander Cody.
Having Obi wan back would be a dream come true for him normally but there is a difference between adult Obi wan who Cody was completely in love with and teenage Obi Wan who is forced to live with the knowledge that he is the survivor of a genocide.
Cody is almost happy that his Obi Wan is dead because he doesn’t think he could ever have looked him in the eye again.
Obviously nothing can happen between the two of them since Obi wan is like 16 and Cody is physically and mentally like 60 but theres a lot of guilt and regret on Cody’s part and a lot of confused pining on Obi Wan’s.
He has no clue why his romantic interests have changed from passionate blonde teenage girl to a depressed elderly man who tries to avoid him while also maintaining strangely long eye contact and honestly he’s not sure he wants to know.
There is a lot of guilt involved in trying to send Obi Wan back in time. Because they have to do it. Obi Wan Kenobi is an important historical figure and taking him out of the time stream could have disastrous consequences. They hope that he can change the past for the better, knowing what he knows now but there is a chance he won’t remember any of it and they are sending him back in time just for his own battalion to murder him.
Meanwhile Sad Desert Hermit Obi wan is getting really weird vibes from the force.
#there are probably a few other members of the 212th sitting around the base stewing in their regret#star wars#sw#the clone wars#tcw#obi wan kenobi#commander cody#codywan#ahsoka#ahsoka tano#time travel#star wars time travel
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the prince and princess of dragonstone in aegon's garden
belated valentine's day post... it's my blog, i get to make sappy art of one of the most tragic couples in asoiaf. i maintain that there was a sweet spot, once they got used to each other's oddnesses and before everything went to shit, when they were happy.
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nerdanel and fëanáro doodle
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Ok i get that Danny Phantom is some ghost teen superhero thing but like… why is he so popular? No hate, I’ve never watched the show, just genuinely curious
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Thinking about the fic i want to write about a gang of elves in early Lindon who are all healers or healers in training and are trying to establish mental health and psychology as a respected branch of healing.
This is post war of wrath, kinslayings etc and there are a lot of very traumatised elves in Beleriand but because they haven’t really had much time in between world destroying events to relax the idea of ptsd, anxiety and therapy hasn’t really come about beyond ‘that guy was tortured and is now a totally new person’ and ‘that lady’s entire family were murdered by orcs and now she wont leave her house’.
Right now the gang in question consists of
A respected young sindarin healer who was a child when Doriath fell and suffers from Ptsd while also being the main carer for his father who is also severely traumatised.
A med student from Nargathrond. She was a house wife but decided to try her hand and medicine after becoming bored with her life especially as her wife drifts away from her.
An established healer and medical author from Tirion who followed the Feanorians and is filled with a confusing mixture of shame, grief, pride and righteousness
And probably more people i havent thought of along with some Elrond cameos as he’s the one that ends up funding them.
This fic shows the development of Lindon and the turmoil among the different factions of elves that are now trying to live together while recovering from everything that happened.
If anyone has any questions or ideas about this fic idea feel free to ask i could use some writing motivation.
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There is a crib in the topmost tower of Himring.
The wood it is made of is polished and has elegant designs carves into it, small birds taking flight, flowers blossoming, the stars and the two trees all engraved. It truly is a fine piece, Feanor would have nothing less for his first child.
This was not the first time Fingon had seen it. He had first laid eyes upon it after being shoved into a storage closet in Feanor and Nerdanel’s townhouse in central Tirion after Maitimo’s parents had returned early from their date. The second time it had been in use by a small infant Tyelpe who was swaddled in blankets and pillows and attempted to pull on Fingon’s braids.
Seeing the crib again was would not be all that unusual. It was a family heirloom dearly held in his half uncle’s heart, it made sense it would be taken to Middle Earth.
Except that instead of being in an old storage room collecting dust or even in Tyelpe’s possession, as the youngest member of the House of Feanor, the Crib stood tall and beautiful against the wall in the small room connected to Maedhros’ bed chambers.
He walks closer to it, slowly and carefully as though something terrible may by hiding in it. Something terrible may indeed be hiding in it if Fingon’s suspicions are correct. Rarely is the truth kind but Fingon must know. He must know. It does not matter that the very thought causes his heart to seize in pain and his stomach to shift uneasily. He came here to Himring, the only part of Beleriand to not sink to the depths of the ocean, on a mission and he will not leave until he has the answers he seeks.
The small room, no, the nursery, has been very well preserved despite its age and the thick grey dust that makes a sheet over every object. Tapestries hang from the walls depicting scenes from fairytales that Fingon remembers being read in his own youth. The windows are tall and the curtains are light and flowing. Inside the crib are several different toys, a large fabric horse with actual horse hair sewn on it. A bunny with long ears one of which stand ramrod straight and the other which flops forward. A wooden figurine that looks a lot like Feanor. There are blankets too, rich luxurious things likely worth a fortune on their own in the war torn age of their making. It is the red blanket with a name embroidered in gold that attracts his attention the most.
Ereinion Gil-galad.
Any doubt is cast from his mind and Fingon falls forward onto his knees with a cry.
He had not believed the rumours at first, had thought the boy king a liar and a fraud had wanted to confront him as soon as he was released from Mandos but the gossips had been right. Gil Galad was his son.
Not only his son though. He pictured Maedhros, miserable and grieving, watching in the mirror as his stomach grew round with a child neither of them had expected. His eyes stung with tears that would not fall.
He had a child. He had a child. He had a child.
And his child had been dead for millennia.
The tears fell.
#silmarillion#The silm#the silmarillion#silm#fingon#maedhros#ereinion gil galad#gil galad#russingon as gil galads dads#russingon#trans maedros
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“All his court were cast down in slumber, and all the fires faded and were quenched; but the Silmarils in the crown on Morgoth's head blazed forth suddenly with a radiance of white flame; and the burden of that crown and of the jewels bowed down his head, as though the world were set upon it, laden with a weight of care, of fear, and of desire, that even the will of Morgoth could not support. Then Lúthien catching up her winged robe sprang into the air, and her voice came dropping down like rain into pools, profound and dark. She cast her cloak before his eyes, and set upon him a dream, dark as the outer Void where once he walked alone.”
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Thomas Wayne Poster doodle
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Avari cities whose entire populace all faded thousands of years ago.
The gates are open, yet you know you are watched as you walk in.
Surely that is the sound of a bustling marketplace around the bend? But no, you reach the square and its empty of life. The stalls are open, but none sell food.
You take a wooden knickknack from one stall. As you walk away you feel— thiefthiefshameguiltyguiltyTHIEF
You double back and leave a coin. The pressure fades.
On the counter of the inn is a mug of fresh beer, waiting for you. You leave a coin. No, two coins. This was generous.
You sit at an empty table and do not feel alone. You can almost hear the bawdy singing and smell the roasting pork.
The ale tastes like the farm in the dells where you danced with your husband in the wheat fields and kissed him below the endless stars and the bedroom where you promised your eternal soul to his and the floorboards he cut himself that you buried his empty shell under and the green door you closed behind you for the last time as you set out for something new and the eastward breeze that sometimes carries his voice out of the Uttermost West and the answers you’ll never give him
You were never married. You’re not thirsty anymore.
As you lie down in an empty room, nothing wishes you peaceful dreams.
You wake up. The bed is a mound of dirt. The inn is dust. The marketplace is stones and overgrowth. The gate is closed. The walls about it are gone.
In what might have been the rot of the stall you visited, no copper gleams. You take the toy you purchased from your pocket. The paint is still unchipped.
You leave through what might have been a watchtower, once. Remember, you do not hear it say.
#this is so awesome#the avari fascinate me endlessly#like…what if half your population went off to a magical wonderland#and you didn’t#why would you when it would mean abandoning your homeland?#besides the magical beings promised to get rid of the monsters for you#except they didn’t and now your being hunted down again#silmarillion#silmarillion writing#avari
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this episode aired in 1992
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“To the mix I have also added a few pure fantasy constructs — the elaborately shaped "beast" helms worn by Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane, and a few other champions of note, wrought in the shape of maned lions, snarling dogs, or what have you.”
me and the boys and our epic impractical furry helms
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