kiddos
(for @greenleafisawarriorname haha)
styofa doing anything
No title available

shark vs the universe

blake kathryn
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
No title available

No title available

Janaina Medeiros
almost home

No title available
Claire Keane
sheepfilms
DEAR READER
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

⁂

roma★
KIROKAZE
Jules of Nature
Keni

PR's Tumblrdome
seen from Brazil
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Singapore

seen from United States

seen from France
seen from Spain
seen from Malaysia

seen from Italy
seen from United States

seen from Australia

seen from Italy

seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Argentina

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
@innerv0ice
kiddos
(for @greenleafisawarriorname haha)
Costume Porn + Women Warriors/Women in Armor
#ahsokatano #leiaorgana #lukeskywalker #starwars
This. Is. GORGEOUS.
Leia’s dress looks exactly like Padme’s in AOTC and it’s killing me
Elrond and Elros hiding from the Feanorians, after witnessing the third kinslaying.
fictober prompt #8: “I know you do.”
There had not been elves openly in Minas Tirith in much longer than the city’s living memory, and their presence seemed to strike many of the people of Gondor as just as much a sign of the vanquishing of the Dark that had for so long seemed it must consume them all, as was the shattering of orcish armies, or the restoration of the monarchy.
Elrond’s people and especially Elrond himself had been very patient with them, of course—“let them have the joy of if while they may,” Erestor had told Aragorn when he sought to apologize for how ceaselessly the elves found themselves importuned on streetcorners by Men as guileless as Samwise Gamgee, and some a little less so. But today Elrond had been very little in evidence—he was not lord here, to have any role in making decisions and setting people to order, and Aragorn feared he might have little heart for the general festivity.
The wedding was today, and too soon after it Arwen’s father must depart to the West and never see her more, for the strength he had expended these last three thousand years had left him weary almost beyond recovering, with the waning-away of the Ring he had used to reach beyond what should have been his limits for so long.
Elladan and Elrohir meant to linger, but the first knowing sundering of the bride from all her kin forever still loomed, and leant a bittersweetness to the joy of the occasion.
It was only the same one that touched every joy of the new Age, every hope and new-built thing flavored at least a little with the passing-away of the world as it had been, but deeper and more personal because what was lost to the king and queen of Gondor was not simply the beauty and glory of a former time but the love and company of those dear to them. And there was no doubt in Aragorn’s mind that whatever pain it caused him could only be a flicker of what it was to Arwen, who had lived so long believing that she need never be wholly parted from those she loved, as long as the world should last.
The king of Gondor found Elrond in the library, standing near Faramir’s preferred chair and paging through a dusty history not a fraction his own age, that dealt with the affairs of his youth. It was less inaccurate than it might have been. The Dunedain did try their best to hold onto the past.
“Thank you for the copies of your library,” Aragorn said, lingering in the doorway—it was a princely gift, for Elrond was the greatest loremaster of Middle-Earth, and had been for some time. The new books had not yet been shelved, for a major expansion of the library was required to make space for them. Fortunately, this was precisely the sort of task he could entrust to his steward.
Elrond dismissed this reiteration. “I would have given you more of the originals,” he said. “But new copies should last longer.” The elvish skill at making things to last preserved their books for a very long time, but eventually ink would fade and parchment crack. That Elrond was concerned that his gifts would still be usable in two thousand years was a gesture of faith in the kingdom now being rebuilt.
Aragorn planned to have a great many more copies made, and circulated, of everything of value—the preservation of memory, though none remained who could tell the tales as they had lived them, was to be one of the foremost duties of the leaders of Men, he felt, in the Age to come when there would be no one else to rely upon, to remember for them.
Elrond set the book aside on the nearby lectern, still open, and Aragorn could see it dealt almost entirely with the founding of Numenor—a matter of great personal interest both to Gondor and to Elrond Peredhel, though for somewhat different reasons.
Tar-Minyatur, read the top of the page in heavily embellished script, and it was suddenly in his thought that Elrond had not been reading the book at all.
It was in silence the recently-crowned king came in, and closed the door behind, and crossed the stone floor to bring him closer to his foster-father. They knew one another well enough to have spent much time in silence together, for there was not always need for words.
Sometimes, however, there was.
“You still miss him, don’t you,” Aragorn asked, voice soft and all but penitent. They had never spoken of this so directly. “Even now. My ancestor—your brother, Elros.”
Elrond flicked his fingers as though he could chase the subject away. Drily, “It does neither of us good, I think, to remind me of the detail that my daughter is marrying my nephew.”
Somewhat surprisingly, Aragorn’s face gained a smile. “You can’t throw me off like that, Elrond! Your great-grandfather Turgon was Galadriel’s first cousin, and your great-great-grandfather Thingol Celeborn’s second, twice removed.”
Elrond laughed. “I should have expected you would know that!”
“You did set my childhood curriculum.”
“One rather has to know how everyone was related, to make any real sense of the histories of the First Age,” replied Elrond. “And yes, you’re quite right, by any reasonable measure Celebrían and I are much closer kin than you are to Arwen. Though I believe,” he added, dry again, “you sought out that information about Celeborn specifically. That he is a kinsman of Elu Thingol is relevant to his role in the world since the Second Age, but the precise degree…”
“I did consult a genealogy,” Aragorn admitted freely.
“The hobbits would approve.”
Aragorn Elessar grinned, because they would. There was something so comfortingly predictable about hobbits, once you had gotten to know them—for all they had been the unexpected arrow on whose shot had turned the whole War of the Ring, that was as much due to their general obscurity as their hidden virtues, and it was pleasant to be able to rely on things like the fact that nearly any hobbit would take a great, friendly, critical, and vaguely proprietary interest in anyone’s family tree.
He had spent several hours once with Bilbo Baggins, years ago, reviewing some of the complexities of his own, and come away feeling he possessed an honestly better understanding of his lineage than he had had before. Hobbits had a certain eye for detail that could breathe life into someone who was otherwise merely a name and collection of lines on a page.
His smile faded. “You do still grieve,” he said, though Elrond had deflected the question once already. He would hardly have another chance to ask, and for a moment his chest seemed it would burst with a lifetime of things left unsaid for another day. A day he had naively supposed would always come, as long as he lived.
Elrond let go a breath. He looked no older than he ever had, most of his venerable years conveyed only in a certain solemn majesty, and yet time seemed in some inexplicable way to have caught up with him, as it had with Bilbo when he let go the One. A weariness clung to him even as he laughed or sang, and not one untutored soul in Gondor had mistaken him for one of Arwen’s brothers, as used to happen from time to time with mortal guests at Imladris. “Always.”
Aragorn had always known this, it seemed, and yet it pressed upon him to hear it aloud as a fact. “That seems hard.” A hard fate to bear, a hard choice to have been faced with so long ago. Elves might expect to be reunited in the West, Men might hope to see their lost ones in whatever came to them beyond death, but for the peredhel there was the certain promise of parting, and nothing more. Not while Arda lasted.
“It was the price of my own choice as much as of his.” Elrond turned to face Aragorn fully at last, and said with an unearned kindness, “I have never blamed him for it.”
Aragorn’s chest weighed heavy with words he had not spoken. “I am sorry,” he said.
Elrond’s face was troubled, yet very still. “Are you?” he asked softly.
“Not…that I love, or am loved. I could never regret that,” Aragorn said, and some of the trouble faded from Elrond’s brow. “But that our happiness together should come at such pain to you, who have granted me such kindness always, and of whom I can say no ill and whom I would never wish sorrow…this grieves me. I wish there were any other path, where none I loved might bear a burden.”
“That is not a road a king may walk,” Elrond told his foster-son, and sighed. “Indeed I do not think it is a road one in ten thousand among the living may even hope to find. It is well, Estel. If it is forgiveness you seek, you have it. Arwen’s path was always her own to choose, and I can bear this. I am practiced at partings. Always there has been at least one whom I waited to see again, beyond the breaking of the world.”
Aragorn’s tears had begun to flow just after Elrond called him by his childhood name, and now at these final words he nearly leapt forward across the small space left between them, and drew Elrond close against his breast.
They were of a height, for Aragorn Elessar was in form very like his ancestor Elros Tar-Minyatur, but he had ducked his head as he embraced the only father he had ever known, and so Elrond’s tears fell into his dark hair as he returned the gesture in a whisper of silken sleeves.
“I am sorry,” repeated the young king, who was not so young—years older than Elros had been when he chose the same destiny, and old enough by the count of ordinary Men that his grandchildren might have children of their own.
But by the measure of elves he would be still a child, and he had spent enough of his life amongst elvenkind that he would probably count himself young until his hair grew white with time. “I do regret…”
“I know you do,” said Elrond. “You would not be the man my daughter loves if you did not. But do not let my grief be a shadow on your heart. I am glad for your happiness together, and that is a greater thing than my loss.
“Live wisely and in joy, and wring the fullest measure of sweetness from your count of days. That is all I would ask.” He hesitated over his next words, but then said softly, “I am not Gilraen. I have given those I loved to the Dúnedain before, and it did not break me. I will be well, and you must not fear for me.”
Aragorn’s grasp strengthened, so that it was briefly obvious that under the fine embroidered robes of his new office he had not yet lost the hard, lean shape of a Ranger, and then he withdrew to arm’s length, with only the least undignified catch to his breath. “If ever I am told there has ever been one greater among the Eldar,” he said, a hand still on Elrond’s shoulder, “I shall not believe it.”
Elrond laughed a little, though the tears were still upon his face, and patted the arm reaching out to him. “Some partiality is allowed to family.”
“I would argue it to the foot of Manwe’s throne if need be,” Aragorn said firmly, but his mouth was curling easily, and it was as much joke as oath in earnest.
“I certainly hope there never shall be!” replied Elrond, letting his hand fall, and Aragorn’s after it. “But come, you can waste no more time here in the dust, amongst the relics. Today you wed!”
so on the subject of stolen property, i’ve seen various arguments on this point but it is in fact true that inheriting something from a relative, when you know full well that it was stolen, does not make it yours.
this clearly goes doubly so for powerful magical artifacts, and especially for artifacts which are strongly implied to contain part of their creator’s soul!
you can talk about consequences - maybe the artifact in question has benefits for you, maybe you’re not convinced its rightful owners would use it responsibly - but talking about the consequences doesn’t erase the fact that whatever benefits you think you’re getting are achieved through wrongful means.
which is why i, too, think Frodo should have given the One Ring back to Sauron. thief.
Hahahahaha here comes the law student nerd ready to complicate your wonderful post, op.
(Really this is just pretext for me to study for my property final in a week, so thanks yeah)
Because according to the principles of common property law, the matter of who actually owns title to the One Ring becomes really complicated really fast.
Buckle up babes for the pedantic law lecture no one asked for.
(more under the cut)
Keep reading
Eowyn At the Gates of Meduseld by Michael William Kaluta
Beyond this, consider how these professions might vary depending on who the customers are - nobles, or lower class. Are they good at their job or just scraping by? Do they work with lots of other people or on their own? City or village?
For younger characters:
Apprentice to any of the above
Messenger/runner
Page/squire
Pickpocket
Shop assistant
Student
Looks after younger siblings
(Images all from Wikimedia Commons)
Also consider:
Candlemaker Ferryman Factor (looks after business for an employer in another city) Tiler Cutler Beekeeper Apothecary Interpreter Furrier Moneylender/Banker Winemaker Tinker (small trader who repairs stuff) Nightsoil collector Customs officer Also a bonus for animal related professions: Fowler (supplies game birds for eating) Warrener (catches rabbits on your land for you to eat) Ostler (looks after your horses) Falconer (looks after your falcons) Cocker (looks after your fighting cocks)
I need more fantasy rpg in my life that isn’t d&d-style. I think it’s time for some Sword & Backpack.
100 Jobs for Fantasy Characters (that aren’t knight or peasant)
((long list, so it’s below the cut))
Keep reading
Yes, this is good and important
You wouldn’t think “sugar-baker” (pastry-chef) gave much scope for adventure, but Switzerland had a great reputation for skilled sugar-bakers so a a lot of medieval and Renaissance sugar-bakers were Swiss.
They were freelance, travelling from place to place and being hired to make Impressive Stuff for a banquet here or a feast there, in that Duke’s castle or that Prince’s mansion.
They were also spies. There’s a famously wrong line in the movie “The Third Man”:
“You know what the fellow said – in Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love, they had five hundred years of democracy and peace – and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.”
Not only did Switzerland not produce the cuckoo clock (which came from the Black Forest in Germany) but its principal export during the middle ages and Renaissance was mercenary soldiers, the most feared in Europe. They were called “the Dirty Swiss” because at a time when a standard tactic was to outbid and buy the contract of an opponent’s mercenaries, a contingent of Swiss mercs stayed bought until their job was done.
As for that job, a paraphrase of Kyle Reese’s speech from “The Terminator” could go something like this:.
“Listen, and understand. Those Swiss are out there. They have a contract. They’ll keep to that contract, so they can’t be bargained with and they can’t be reasoned with. They don’t feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And so they don’t have to fight you again next week, next month, next year, they’ll take no prisoners, and they absolutely will not stop, ever, until you break and run or are all dead.”
So where did the sugar-bakers come into this? They moved around the members of society who might want to hire mercenaries, so they were in a position to see rivalries and enmities develop and send back the information that, say, Baron A was about to take a slap at Count B over a land dispute, and would welcome two companies of pikemen and one of arquebusiers at a reasonable rate for two months.
They were also able to report back that Marquess C, currently hiring a company of halberdiers, was throwing lavish parties to impress the king but was behind on his fees and unlikely to get caught up, so the expiry-through-non-payment clause of the halberdiers’ contract would come into effect on the first day of June. Also that Sieur D, the Marquess’s rival, would be more than happy to sign them up and might pay a large bonus if that signing-up happened while the mercs were still under Marquess C’s roof…
None of these noble gentry would be happy to know that the man making éclairs in their kitchen was reporting back their financial and political secrets to a foreign power, but would be happy to learn what else their sugar-baker knew and about whom they knew it. And when they asked, it wouldn’t start with “Please…”
The only reason why the Swiss didn’t conquer large areas of Europe was a lack of unity and trust. Outside Switzerland they were Swiss, but inside Switzerland their loyalty was to their cantons - Zürich, Appenzell, Uri, Bern, Basel etc. – and no fox leaves other foxes to mind their henhouse while they’re away from home.
Are these a few story seeds, perhaps? If so, you’re welcome…
Well, now I have to know: Elros! (Assuming you’re still up for this, of course.)
OK, the headcanons section is going to be pretty easy, but I shall have to watch myself like a hawk to only mention canonical things about him…
favorite thing about them
The fact that he seems to have got All The Family Stuff. He went off to Numenor with the Ring of Barahir, the Axe of Tuor, the Bow of Bregor and Thingol’s sword Aranrúth. Elrond doesn’t seem to have kept any of it!
least favorite thing about them
The fact that we know so little about him! I wish Tolkien had written a debate between Elrond & Elros about their respective choices.
I’d like to know something about his wife, too. And something about the early years of Numenor, apart from the fact that he got a lot of presents. It must have been so STRANGE for him to live in Numenor surrounded by people who had lives perhaps a quarter of the length of his initially, and you feel that to the Edain he must have seemed in some ways more like an Elf than a Man.
favorite line
‘And love grew between them, as little might be thought’
I think this is particularly fascinating when it comes to Elros. There’s lots to explore in terms of Elrond’s relationship with Maglor, of course, but although Elros chose Men and went off into the West, and named his children more obviously for the Valar than Elrond, we are still told that Maglor loved him and he loved Maglor too.
I find it interesting that while Elrond seems to have carefully avoided using a title or becoming a king, Elros had no reservations about that at all, and as well as becoming king of Numenor, he names himself ‘High First-Lord’ and begins the tradition of tagging ‘High’ onto the names of all the Kings. There’s little obviously Feanorian about Elros, but you wonder if he inherited a certain Feanorian pride? I tend to think of him as perhaps closer to Maedhros than Elrond was.
brOTP
Hmm. Elrond seems obvious, but Elros did after all decide to leave Middle-earth and Elrond behind. So, what about Finarfin?
Elros must surely have known him during the War of Wrath, and perhaps he visited Numenor regularly: given how long Elros lived, and that for most of his life Numenor was not in contact with Middle-earth, he must have had friends among the Elves of Aman. And Elros chose Men. That seems like something that Finrod’s dad would be interested in. (Unless, of course, Finrod himself…? The Valar generally seem to be against reborn people leaving Aman twice (except Glorfindel), so I’m not sure about that, but it seems likely that a reborn Finrod would have been over there to have a chat with Elros like a shot if he was allowed to.
(Now I have a mental vision of a slightly embarrassed Amarie turning up on Numenor with an entire notebook of questions that Finrod has begged her to go and ask Elros… :-D )
OTP : it would be his wife if we knew anything about her (though I think from the date of the birth of his first child, she was probably born on Numenor.) But in the absence of even a name, I think I’ll have to go for Unknown.
nOTP : Elrond, Maglor, Maedhros.
A random headcanon
I feel Elros must have participated in the War of Wrath. Canon says that the Edain were involved in that war. It was 42 years long, and by the end of it Elros was in his fifties. I cannot see a people who have just been involved in a long painful war accepting a king who was adult and had kept out of it. So I think he was the Edain commander, and that by the time they went to Numenor, he had already done a lot of the work in terms of bringing the various Edain groups together.
A song I associate with them
The Skye Boat Song! :-D
for @kingsofnumenor requested headcanon for Elros
”I have no memory of my mother. I never knew her.”
Loyalty that surpasses the stars. I have a lot of feelings about space and Laika Patreon
that is beautiful and soul-destroying.
please look out at the stars and remember our faithful little satellite friend, Laika.
Blind Guardian finished and released an unfinished song that was originally for Nightfall in Middle Earth it’s about the first kinslaying at Alqualondë - listen to it here
7/29/13 - Arafinweans Requested by finarfiniel - sorry that it’s not properly inked and everything, i don’t have much time or energy right now :( Finarfin and Earwen, center stage, with (from left) Aegnor, Angrod, Finrod, Orodreth, and Galadriel in the background. I generally try to avoid drawing armor as I can’t do it properly but I tried my sketchy best here since it wouldn’t feel the same way were they just in travelling clothes or something. yes yes this is a tearjerker and i am not sorry (also i love earwen’s hair)
“Luke!” “Leia!”
To me Luke Skywalker will always be the young man who rushed to the aid of a girl he’d never even met—whose selfless courage and desire to help defined both the beginning of his journey, and its end.
To me Luke Skywalker will always be the character who was disbelieving and angry to learn that the apparent mercenary he’d met was choosing money and self-preservation over the rebellion—the PEOPLE—who needed him. He’ll always be the character to whom it was unthinkable and inexcusable to abandon those in danger, to refuse to fight for what’s right. He’ll always be, “They could use a good pilot like you. You’re turning your back on them.”
In my eyes Luke Skywalker will always be the man risking his life for the cause—for the galaxy—so that others might one day live in freedom and peace. He will always be the pilot, the rebel, the soldier who would not let tyranny stand unopposed.
And to me Luke Skywalker will always be—indisputably—the character who would never forsake his loved ones. Who would never give them up, and never give up on them. He’ll always be the character whose loyalty—to his friends, to his family—was unfaltering. He will always be, “I’ve got to go to them.” Will always be, “They’re my friends. I’ve got to help them.” Always, “And sacrifice Han and Leia?” Always, “That is why I have to go.”
Luke Skywalker will always be hope. Irrevocably and without question, Luke is the very embodiment of it. To me, Luke Skywalker will always be the character who says, “I can’t kill my own father.” The character whose belief in the Light and in humanity is so true and so strong that he saves the galaxy—so powerful that he saves his father’s soul.
Luke Skywalker is “Never! I’ll never turn to the dark side.” He is, at his heart and in my heart, the man who sees so clearly, who understands so completely, that he casts aside his lightsaber rather than fight to save his own life—not because he’s given up or because he’s weak or a coward, but because of his faith—because Luke Skywalker will die sooner than give into hatred. He will lay down his weapon sooner than turn to darkness.
To me, Luke Skywalker will always be this truth. He will always be the hero that realized the TRUE meaning of the Force, who understood what, for all their wisdom and good intentions, his masters did not: that it is love, not detachment, that saves. It is the strength of love, the belief in love, the power of love that saves us. Luke Skywalker will always be this, for me. He will always be this love, this faith where faith seems impossible, and this enduring hope where it seems that all hope has been lost.
And most importantly of all, to me Luke Skywalker will always be not only the character who loved, who hoped, who had faith, but the character whose story tells us—implores us, promises us—that this love is not in vain. That such faith is not foolish. That GOODNESS like that—because to me, Luke Skywalker is and will always be goodness—is not weakness, but strength that overcomes all else. Luke Skywalker is the Light Side. He is the hero we all need to believe can exist—the hero that reality—that war and violence and maliciousness—so cruelly tries to tell us could never be.
That is Luke Skywalker. He is this beacon. Luke is the hope that prevails. The faith that is rewarded. The journey that tells us that love can and will overcome evil even against the most impossible odds. Luke Skywalker is the story that begs us not to give up, that leads us to take a stand against oppression, and hatred, and hopeless darkness—the character who tells us to believe as we all, as human beings, so desperately want to.
To me, no matter what, Luke Skywalker will always be,
“I am a Jedi, like my father before me.”
Elros stimboard
Sources:(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)