issit a birb?

I post when tired and/or emotional and it shows

[frightfullytreeish]

no nuance you have to decide

would jeeves have succumbed to the one ring?

no, he would diminish and go into the west and remain a valet

yes, he can't resist such power (burn bertie's ugliest trousers)

the ring has no effect on him, tom bombadil style

Voting ended onApr 5

[frightfullytreeish]

4 days left in the most important 'thoughts had just before going to sleep' poll I've ever made

[foxofninetales]

"Well, Jeeves," I said, "That seems to be that."

"A consummation greatly desired," Jeeves agreed.

"The forces of darkness vanquished, the rightful king upon his throne, and all that. And, even more importantly, Tuppy Glossop disengaged from that horsy female and returned to the bosom of my cousin Angela."

"Indeed, sir."

"Rather a shock running into the Reverend Aubry Upjohn riding that fell beast, what?"

"I though you displayed great alacrity in relocating to that ditch in the nick of time, sir."

Far below us, the molten lava did a rather spirited impersonation of boiling soup. I mopped the p. off the b. with a handkerchief I'd improvised from an orc loincloth. I had been to some deuced uncomfortable country estates in my time, don't you know, but at least there one had been able to toddle downstairs and pour oneself a quick W. and S. as needed to stiffen the sinews. Galadriel's Buck-U-Uppo was excellent at vitalizing the limbs to forge on the last dreadful mile and all that, but it lacked the comfort that speaks to the soul.

I contemplated the glowing river. "Redirecting the army of Aunts to that Isengard place was a stroke of brilliance, I thought."

"You are too kind, sir."

"Still, all things must end, as they say. Travel is broadening to the mind and all, but it is past time to attend the call of heart and home. Among other considerations, I think something took residence inside this mithril shirt somewhere around the Morgul Vale and has been wandering about biting hither and thither ever since, and I am filled with the desire to strip it off and do battle with the blighted thing."

"Understandable, sir."

"I heard rather a good one the other day: Sing hey! for the bath at close of day that washes the weary mud away! -and by Jove if I don't think they were on to something, Jeeves."

"It is undeniably felicitous to be surrounded by the comforts of home," he assented, and yet I couldn't escape a certain sense of firmness about his gaze.

I sighed, for I knew what he wanted. Well, I mean, I'm all for taking a firm stance and not being trodden on in one's own home and all, but as far as rallying around to save the young master goes, none could have rallied more greatly than Jeeves. If a little firmness was the price I had to pay, well, so be it.

Slowly I undid the old school tie from around my neck. It was harder work than one would have thought; as if it could hear what was rattling around in the old brain, the ring that was threaded on it put in a last surge of effort in the gleaming and enticement department, filling my mind with heady visions: Freddie Widgeon gnashing his teeth as I sank yet another dart into the bullseye, Aunt Agatha wreathed in tears and begging my forgiveness for ever having misjudged me, Jeeves gazing admiringly as I displayed my newest waistcoat for his edification…

It was the last that broke the spell. Cursed objects of all-consuming power were all well and good in their sphere, but there were limits, don't you know? And yet I hesitated. "You don't think I could slip it on and just have a quick total domination of the world before I toddle around to the Drones for a stiff one?"

Jeeves gave a gentle cough of reproof. "I think you will find it for the best, sir."

It was a wrench, but one could not deny the man had earned it. With a heavy hand, I held the ring out to him. "Take it, then. You will know what do with it, I'm sure."

He took it from me with the sort of shimmer that showed he was exceptionally gratified. "Thank you, sir."

I watched as the ring fell from his hand into the depths below. It hit the lava and rested there for a moment before slowly sinking beneath the glowing surface, and as they caught fire I almost felt that the Old Etonian colors glowed brighter in approval. That Wooster, they seemed to say: not much in the brains department, but he gets the job done.

Outside, there came a hideous wailing as of something ages old abruptly losing the power which bound it to this mortal plain and all that, which I took as our signal to leg it down the nearest drainpipe before things got sticky. The road goes ever on and on, what? Yet I paused there, at the end of all things, because some things have to be said.

"No, thank you, Jeeves."

[nellachronism]

THANK YOU for understanding the assignment, bally good work, this.

[chaosaccountant]

@elodieunderglass I suspect you may enjoy this

[elodieunderglass]

Hahahaha; thanks @foxofninetales well done!

[strongermonster]

was visiting a friend who has a farm, and one of the chickens has a home made flared cone on, so i asked what was up with that and she said "that's diesel, and she's suicidal" so obviously i went ??? and she pressed the door lock on her truck fob so the truck beeped, and this dumbass bird SPRINTED full tilt across the garden to shove her head in the tailpipe. she has to be locked up and coned so she doesn't gulp down toxic fumes direct from the pipe for some idiot bird reason. she is obsessed with doing this and has to be locked up any time someone is using a vehicle.

[strongermonster]

i told her i posted about this and she has an update (which i guess content warning for animal harm [the animal did it to it's damn fool self])

she found this out the first time when she auto-started her truck to warm it up before work one below-freezing morning and came out ~5 minutes later to find (the then unnamed) diesel with her head stuffed in the tail pipe hanging limply by her idiot neck and thought that she was dead, ran over and pulled her out, and the chicken went "oh hi! anyways mind if i get back in there?" and did it a-fucking-gain??

best guess is bc she feeds her chickens with a pvc gravity pipe like this

and despite having ~40 other chickens who don't fuck this up, diesel went "food comes from tubes, this is tube, ∴ this is the ~secret~ food hole that the others do not know about. i will be rewarded with golden seed for being the cleverest of them all :)" and is now on 24/7 vehicle related suicide watch. fine line between docile and dumb sometimes.

[strongermonster]

my artists rendition of the morning in question

[zishiyao]

The Light That Was Not Dawn

Mandos had spoken of treason among kin. At Losgar, Fingolfin saw the prophecy take fire.

[frodosrings]

give elrond a break challenge failed

[what-even-is-thiss]

There’s this thing that happens where I keep a bottle of whiskey in the house that I don’t use very often because I just don’t drink very often.

And then someone looks in the liquor cabinet one day and says “why do we have whiskey? Who drinks whiskey?” and then I say “it’s mine. It’s so I can make whiskey sours.”

And then because my close friends and family only drink wine and beer and don’t know what a cocktail is they then ask “What’s a whiskey sour?” and I say “It’s simple syrup, whiskey, and lemon juice on ice”

Then they say “What does that taste like?” and I say “Kind of like gross lemonade but in a good way. I could make you one if you like.” and then they say “No thanks I don’t really do cocktails”

And then two months later the exact same thing happens again with the exact same person because they have forgotten every part of that exchange.

But see, this somehow happens with both every member of my household and every person who visits us regularly and sometimes even with one time guests.

So I have this exact exchange like once or twice a week realistically and tbh I think it’s starting to drive me insane how literally nobody in my life can hold the knowledge of what a whiskey sour is in their brain for longer than three seconds.

[what-even-is-thiss]

I’m caught in a very specific time loop but only in regards to how I use whiskey.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Well SOMEBODY can remember what a whiskey sour is

[fata-vocant]

medieval backstreet boys: you are… my friar

[thestenchofcheeseandregrets]

the one... dear squire

[sconesfortea]

RIP Anthony Stewart Head (1954 - 2026)

[inthehouseoffinwe]

An Age Long Gone again to Come

Maglor Wanders

And wanders.

And wanders.

In the Blessed lands, Fingolfin, last of his House, walks out of Mandos’ gates with his older brother. Reconciled at last.

Maglor keeps wandering.

Finwë returns amongst the Eldar. Finarfin, the golden king who kept Aman running for Ages upon Ages, who elves of all kinds claim as theirs, bows before his father. His father does not let him. The Eldar of Cuivienen watch with pride as Finwë bows before his youngest. His strongest. His heir.

But Maglor does not know this. He wanders still.

A call comes from Námo, calling the House of Finwë to welcome their most broken member. The one Morgoth feared to challenge until he had Dragons and Balrogs in swathes, yet still he could not breach the Frozen Mountain. Maedhros stumbles out into his parents’ arms, the rest of his family not far behind. He looks upon them in wonder. For Maedhros Fëanorion spent much of his life keeping his people together, and he would not heal until they were whole again, feuds left in the past. Finarfin welcomes his nephew and clothes him in white and gold. Places a golden circlet on copper curls, a small grin as he promises it’s just symbolic. The responsibility of High King remains his Uncle’s.

Maglor does not know this either.

Endless song flows from his lips, a power that sinks into the ocean itself.

Makalaurë died in the exile to Formenos. Kanafinwë when his voice could not sway his brother form Morgoth’s trap. Maglor when his brother fell. He goes by other names these days, names that once had meaning but now fall like ash from a tongue that still lisps on instinct. To call his existence lonely is to call a raindrop an ocean, but Maglor does not dwell on this. He cannot afford to.

This punishment is only just. A small dose of suffering for all the blood shed by his hand. He does not hear the ocean’s call any more, nor the water’s pleas for his return. Ossë and Uinen sing from their domains, Ulmo sends crashing waves and clear blue seas, but nothing penetrates the song of the last son of Fëanor still on these shores.

Nothing can stop his wandering. Nor heal the tears trails carved into his skin.

Nor erase footsteps marking the sands a bloody red.

Across the sea, Maedhros grows restless. Finwë waits by the Halls. Fëanor finds no peace in his forge or his home. The rest of Finwë’s house take turns to watch the seas. The boat never comes. The Valar have no answer.

It’s Miriel who bears the message, her latest tapestry disturbing even her Patron’s husband. More shade than elf, she guides the House of Finwë to the edge of the Gates of Mandos where a Maia waits with her work. A delicate weaving in terrible detail revealing a hollow face scarred with tears, a grotesque, blackened hand still dripping blood, and blistered feet walking, walking, walking-

“He does not hear our calls…” the Maia whispers. “He will not come home.”

Maedhros weeps inconsolably at the state of his dearest brother. Fingon declares he will walk across the Helcaraxë again if need be to bring his errant cousin back, Finrod threatens to tear apart any Maia who dares keep Maglor stuck to those shores. Fingolfin grabs his brother as he collapses.

And Finwë turns heel. A fire in his eyes, lips twisted in a furious sneer. He leaps onto his horse and rides to the Mahanaxar, spirit brighter than his sons’ when they chased Morgoth. Fingolfin tries to stop him. Fëanor begs him not to fall to rage as he once did. Finarfin remains silent. He cannot turn away from his lost nephew’s hollow form.

The gates to the Ring of Doom are open. Before Finwë can utter a word, Námo speaks a single word.

“Yes.”

Thorondur sweeps over Manwë’s shoulders to Finwë’s side. The former King does not so much as acknowledge him.

“I will bring him home myself in the ships I once used to cross the sea to this land.”

It’s a bold claim. But one that cannot be denied.

“I will come with you.”

Three voices speak at once, echoing in the chamber. Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Finarfin stand sure and steady against the weight of the Valar’s gazes.

“Why?” The Doomsman asks.

“He is my son. I raised him. And I cursed him to this fate. His suffering rests on me.”

“He is my son. I abandoned him, I fell to grief and did not protect him in my brother’s stead as promised. His loneliness rests on me.”

“He is my son. I turned away from him. He knows not my open arms will welcome him to this new world. His fear rests on me.”

A small smile plays about Námo’s lips.

“Then join your father in this endeavour, Sons of Finwë, and take with you these words: The time of enduring pain has ended. Makalaurë atoned long ago, he need not punish himself longer.”

“He has paid more than any of his family, with sword, blood, and song.” Nienna’s whisper swirls around them, answering their unasked questions. “We would have brought him home many Ages ago if we could. But the Valar have meddled enough in the lives of the Eldar, and we would not force him to our choices again.”

“So the Valar have spoken.”

Manwë dips his head to the party of four as the gates burst open to reveal the rest of the family.

(But Maglor does not know any of this, either.

He hides his feet in the sand and his hand in his cloak, and listens to a little blonde haired girl singing to the birds, trilling a tune of friendship when they flee from her waving arms. Her giggles as they return brings a small smile to his face. He can afford this moment, he will not burden her with his pain.)

The three sons and their father prepare for the journey. Maedhros tries desperately to join them, threatening to follow if they don’t allow it, and Fëanor takes him aside. Some truths must be faced. It took him far too long to realise that.

“Makalaurë hallucinates you, Nelyafinwë.”

The words, soft but blunt, bring his eldest to a standstill. Maedhros is smart, and he knows his little brother well. Perhaps best of all. His face crumples as he falls to his father’s feet.

“Atya please- please. I have to make this right.”

Fëanor drops down and clutches his son to his chest, closing his eyes in grief.

“There will be time for that, my son. But first I ask you to consider who you truly wish to console. Laurë? Or yourself?”

It’s cruel. He knows it’s cruel. The furious gaze as his eldest pulls back is almost enough to make him regret the words.

But Fëanor also knows Maedhros’ ardour burns even more fiercely than his own, and it can blind him to nuances. The singleminded determination as he pursues what he believes to be right and rouses a crowd to follow is an admirable skill, but it does not allow him to see every outcome. Or even fully understand his own intentions. It’s why he and Maglor were always such a good team.

When Maedhros loosens his grip, fury turning to grim acceptance, Fëanor drops a kiss on his head and helps his son to his feet.

“I will bring our songbird home, little one. And you will make the necessary preparations for his recovery upon arrival.”

His other sons relax. Fëanor almost smiles. As if he’d forget his eldest needs something to keep busy with lest he fall to his own mind. ‘He’s far too much like his father,’ Nerdanel says.

She isn’t wrong.

They both burned in the end.

——

Across the courtyard, Fingolfin asks his eldest to keep a close eye on Maedhros as Finarfin passes orders to his own: Empty the harbour they arrive at. Keep details quiet. Let the people know the sons of Finwë go united on this trip, and they will return shortly.

Finwë doesn’t speak to anyone.

His gaze remains distant but even as he methodically straps knives and small daggers to his person, all concealed under layers of fabrics. Instead of his kingly attire or even the white robes of Mandos, he wears simple brown garb. His hair is decorated only with silver and gold threads, half up with two thick braids on either side of his head.

All in all he looks more like he’s going to war than retrieving a lost child. Then again, perhaps that’s more accurate than anyone wants to admit.

Makalaurë was stubborn, but could be reasoned with. Kanafinwë was powerful, but soft hearted. Maglor was unreadable and changed as easily as the tides. It made him hard to pin down, and even harder to bring to your side if he wasn’t fully convinced of your idea.

A trait Finwë had once dearly admired in his Míriel.

“Father,” Arafinwë calls over the gathering wind. “We are ready.”

Finwë spares a smile for his youngest, then returns to even determination.

They ride hard for several days, stopping only when the horses need rest. All are quiet. Olwë waits for them by the harbour when they arrive, and he too is silent as he guides them to a well furnished swan ship. Someone must have told him… or perhaps he recognises the steely look in his friend’s eyes. Before they set off, he nods:

“Tell your grandson his songs are missed.”

Finwë nods once. Sharp and cold. Olwë raises a hand in farewell, and they sail into the mists.

(Maglor stumbles to a cave as rain and wind batters his body. But even as icy ocean waves soak his legs, spraying against his scarred face and cracked lips, he doesn’t stop singing. He’s long used to the salt in his wounds.)

[my-flying-sister]

I love rebloging. It’s the adult equivalent of showing everyone the cool rock I just found.

[homunculus-argument]

Hey people who have several pets, with obvious differences in intelligence levels: How did you figure out that one of them is smarter than the other? What do they do?

[mikkeneko]

There are a lot of things that lead me to think my elder cat is unusually intelligent compared to other felis domesticus I have known (understands pointing, can open every door and cabinet in the house except the ones with round knobs or that I added child locks to, understands enough English to know from a phone conversation that a stranger is coming to the house) but in terms of specifically comparing one to the other, there was The Case Of The Mousey Puzzle Box.

When we got our younger cat Skadi, her favorite toy was (still is, but she's calmed down with age) the rattley mouse. She would bring the mouse to be thrown for fetch so many times that not even two human adults in the house could keep up with her. So my partner started making puzzle boxes to put the rattley mouse in that would occupy her for longer.

So, we have a setup: mouse is in the puzzle box, puzzle box is on the floor, younger cat is trying to resolve the puzzle box, elder cat is sitting on the cat tree observing all this. Skadi spends about fifteen minutes trying and failing to get the mouse out of the box. She sticks her paw into the holes. She sticks her nose into the holes. She pushes the box to and fro on the carpet. She meows beseechingly for a human to come solve the problem. Sticks her paws into the holes again.

Finally, she gives up on the puzzle box and wanders over to see if there's any food to be had. As soon as she walks away the elder cat gets up from the cat tree, big stretch, jumps down, walks over to the puzzle box, hooks a paw under the edge and flips the whole thing over, spilling the mouse onto the floor.

Gives the younger cat a look of utter disgust as if to say "That's all you had to do!" and then walks away, utterly uninterested in actually playing with the toy.

[bisexualbaker]

Older cat just subjected to fifteen minutes worth of those horrible mobile game ads where the player is failing really badly to make you want to play.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

[vigilantsycamore]

the "speak friend and enter" scene is kind of like if you were trying to log into someone's wifi and you found a note that said "password: back of the router" but the back of the router was completely illegible and then it turned out that the password was "back of the router"

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

“If I had time travel I’d kill Hitler” “If I had time travel I’d stop my favourite politician getting assassinated” you’re all thinking way too small. If I had time travel I’d stop Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin from dying on the moon due to Soviet sabotage, kicking off the Great Nuclear War and devastating half of the planet.

[stavarosthearcane]

Good Job.

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

#this post gets me every time 

It’s from two days ago fam how many times could there have been

[heroofthreefaces]

do you think no one else has time travel

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Happy one month anniversary to this post that has not allowed me a single day of fucking peace since I made it.

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

#surprise reblog!! 

STOP IT’S BEEN MONTHS. MONTHS!

YOU CAN STOP.

[roach-works]

wow if only you had a time machine

[transdaughterofthesun]

Honestly having reached a billion notes I think it’s safe to say that in the Year of our lord 2041, this is the most popular tumblr post out there.

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

I’m killing your parents before you’re born

[iforgotmyfandom]

:)

[idiototheinternet]

Still here, why’d you hesitate @derinthescarletpescatarian

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Your mum’s ability to hold up under active gunfire was really hot. I’m your dad now.

[lizyarikus]

Isn’t that the plot of Terminator

[anexperimentallife]

Where do you think the plot for Terminator came from?

[what-if-i-just-did]

This is such a classic trainwreck post that has the vibes of a 2014 screenshot posted to Pinterest and then the last addition is just last Tuesday I can’t even

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Imagine how I feel

[mrsjdavis]

POST, LIVE FOREVER!!!!!!

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

It doesn’t have to

[smegorl]

Yes it does.

[type-blaze0]

Of course it has to, it gets a billion notes in 2041

[angels-haven-official]

We all know who needs to be @’d

@hellsite-hall-of-fame

[beardedmrbean]

this sounds like a party to me

[ongoing-catastrophe]

El Higgins will always have a special place in my heart for having the worlds strictest and most generous set of morals and hating it the whole time

[flying-mochis]

J.R.R. Tolkien when he wants to emphasize how cool and smart a character is: and they were very good at learning and creating languages.

[tosquinha]

Then Maedhros alone stood aside

Speed painting practice