#elves and their bearded men....

[megalomari]

🔁 Outfit Swap 🔁

[eff-plays]

I think that depriving dwarf women of beards is as bad as slapping beards on elf men. "Who do you think gave you the beard?" vibes but it's against the laws of nature. Beards and body hair belong on dwarf women and not on elf men. If you put any hair on your elf men below the eyes then you're just as weak as somebody who likes non-hairy dwarf women. Astarion with a stache? Davrin or Fenris with chest hair? What is wrong with you. If you don't like your elves uncomfortably smooth and slippery then you don't like elves. "More weird elves!" you shout but then put fucking chest hair on that thang. You just want a human man with pointy ears. "It's just gross how they don't have pubes" -- yeah! Confront it, coward. Fucking hell.

[foone]

Bad idea: Age gap discourse but in a fantasy land where there's multiple races who have vastly different lifespans and life styles.

Is it wrong for a 27 year old human to date a 140 year old stone elf, considering most stone elves don't get out of diapers till their 30s?

Is it wrong for a 80 year old dwarf to date a two year old fire wisp, when fire wisps only live up to 5 years (between the eruptions) and have memories of their past lives, so in a way they're "born" at age 400,000+? That octogenarian dwarf is way younger than the fire wisp that's only physically younger than some of the socks the dwarf has!

Is it wrong for a chronomancer who was never born to date, well, anyone? They are zero years old and infinity years old and negative one hundred and seventeen years old all at once. They look like an old human, sure, with the long white beard and the wrinkly skin, but as far as anyone can tell, they've always looked like that. We've seen the cave paintings.

Is it wrong for a 30 year old lizardman (that's old in lizardman years) to date a human who is 60 years old in biological years (because of aging spells), 26 years old in lived-experience years, but only 13 years old in calendar years? (ie, they were born 13 years ago, but spent some of that time in sideways timelines, so they've lived more years than have passed in their home timeline?)

Is it wrong for a 12,000 year old dragon date a pile of 400 kobolds when kobolds only live like 10 years on average, but reach full maturity in one year? And if you disagree, can you do anything about it? You do know what happened to the last policeman who tried to arrest a dragon, right? Their city is still smoldering, 50 years later.

Is it wrong for anyone to date the time worm? It's the same age, every year. So the age gap can only intensify. If you start dating the time worm when you're both the same age, when do you break it off because you've become too much older than them?

And most confusing of all... What about the fairies? They could be anything between a thousand and a day old, they would lie about their age either way, and they can look like whatever they want. There's fairies we know for a fact have been around since the founding of The City of Towers, who met the silent mother herself, and also look like they're at most ten years old. Is it wrong to date them, or just really uncomfortable for everyone who sees it? And on the other side there's fairies who are "born" (hatched? They come from plants, I'm not sure what the verb even would be. Seeded? Sprouted, maybe) this week who are already appearing like middle-aged men and dancing with widows in what looks like a scheme to run off with her fortune but they never take the money, because what would a fairy want with worthless metal discs? Maybe fairies have a hive mind or genetic memory or reincarnation with full memories, they'd never tell you or give you a straight (or consistent) answer anyway.

Stonefolk are really the only inter-race dating situation anyone can agree on. They're unthinking & unmoving solid rock during the day, so those hours don't count. Thus their "real age" is a nice even half of their true age. So if you meet a stonefolk who was dug out 30 years ago, watch out: that's a 15 year old, and if you're a 25 year human, that's too young for you, even though their dig-date is five years before your birth-date.

EDIT: 2024/01/12: Changed the name of the Stonefolk

[vigilskeep]

i know varric’s beardlessness is because he doesn’t like being culturally dwarven but if bioware generally gives all dwarven men full beards and is too cowardly to give female dwarves any beards then i have to wonder if, while humans and elves read him as, in isabela’s actual words, a “paragon of manliness”, dwarves ever think it’s, like, a gender thing?

[baronessvonglitter]

Bad Santa

sleazy mall Santa!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Word count: 2.3K

Summary: Frantically seeking relief during the Christmas rush, the Santa at your local mall is the last person you'd expect to help.. and the only one who can.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Reader is a hot and horny mess and wears a short skirt. Mall Santa is a perv, but he's your perv. Semi-public masturbation (f). Squirting. Cockwarming. Semi-public sex. Infidelity. Unprotected piv. Oral (m & f receiving). Analingus (f receiving). Possibly illegal use of a candy cane. Creampie. Come swallowing. Santa Joel is a menace and a sleaze but that's what we all need, right?

Author's Note: one of the first things I learned about @strang3lov3 is that we share a deep love for Bad Santa (and Billy Bob in general) so this is written in her honor. Bug, I hope you enjoy Santa Joel, and don't forget to leave out some cigs and whiskey for him on Xmas Eve. (And the latest edition of Hustler. He's an old-school magazine man.)

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

You're home on Christmas break from college and all you want to do is fuck the boyfriend you left behind and have been faithful to for four long, painful months. But the only thing on Derek's mind is doing last minute Christmas shopping.

The mall on Christmas Eve is the last circle of hell.

Derek guides you through the crowd. "Sleigh Ride" plays over the speakers, tinny, bright and cheery. You hate it. You're impatient. You're horny. You need to find a way to get him alone, even just a fingerbang would suffice. For now.

You pass by the huge Christmas tree in the center where the mall Santa waits with bored-looking elves. There's no line, which is surprising given it's the last day for photo ops.

Santa watches as you pass, cheap plastic beard hanging off, revealing gray scruff, his red suit wrinkled and stained. You track his gaze roving over your figure, fully concentrating on the jiggle of your ass under the short skirt you'd picked out in the hopes of getting a quickie.

"God damn," you hear him mutter. "Merry Christmas, babygirl." he calls out.

You glance back and see him pull the beard down, wiggling his tongue at you in a lewd manner.

Fucking sleaze. But your pussy is wet and throbbing, and this is the first bit of attention you've had all day. You respond by stuffing your tongue in your cheek and making a blow job motion. Santa licks his lips and subtly palms his cock over his fluffy red pants.

Derek, oblivious, is walking you towards a department store.

"Mommy said she'd like a new bathrobe for Christmas," he says, bringing you past the awful perfume and makeup counters. You heard right.. Mommy. What the fuck?

"Didn't you already buy her a foot massager?" you ask, barely hiding your disinterest, looking around for a corner where you can blow him.

"She said she wants the robe instead," he says, diligently checking each one on the rack. Pink, green, blue, they're all in ugly prints and you wonder how little he must think of his mom to actually buy her a bathrobe instead of something nice.

But the bigger problem is your aching cunt.

"Derek, come on, just pick one out," you beg him, whispering in his ear, giving his lobe a little bite.

"Calm down, we're in public," he chides you over nervous laughter.

"So? That makes it more exciting." Closer to him as the clothing rack hides you, you cup his crotch, disappointed to find he isn't even remotely hard. Not a problem. You know exactly how to get him started.

"Let's go to the dressing room," you tell him before he can remove your hand. "I'll let you do whatever you want, please, I just need you now.."

"Get a hold of yourself," he whispers harshly, finally pulling your hand from him.

"Derek, what the fuck?" you whisper back. "Your horny girlfriend wants you to fuck her in a semi-public place and you're limp as a fucking noodle. Don't you want to at least watch me get off?"

You're not even allowing him time to think about it, leading him to the men's dressing room, where you're less likely to set off an alarm than the women's. You step into the first stall and push him against the wall, caging him in with your arms.

"Sweetheart, what the hell?"

"Fuck me," you tell him. "Jesus, Derek, I'm pussy on a plate right now." You lift your leg, rubbing against him, but only the fly of his jeans provides any feeling. "And you can't even get hard??"

"You're coming on a little strong," he says faintly, as if he's being cornered by a feral animal. And in a way he is.

You lean back on the little dressing room seat, hiking up your skirt. "At least eat me out, for Christ's sake," you whine, fingers dipping into your dripping-over cunt.

"Darling! You're acting like a crazy person," he says, shielding his eyes as you desperately finger yourself.

"You're such a pussy," you grunt out, breath hitching as you fuck yourself on two, then three fingers.

"You're not wearing any panties??" he says too loud, but you're past caring who hears, or if anyone even walks in. You'll gratefully fuck the store manager and the security guard who'll probably come to haul you away.

Derek keeps his gaze averted as you continue shamelessly fucking your hand, reaching inside your dress to twist your nipple. "Derek.. fuck.. you just gonna stand there and be useless?" You shove a fourth finger in your snatch, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Your boyfriend is deeply afraid as he risks a peek from between his hands covering his face. "You look possessed! You have to stop or someone's going to hear you!"

"Baby, please, put your cock in my mouth," you beg, still working yourself into a frenzy. "Jizz on my face, anything, please!" You're on the floor now, riding your own fingers, your other hand madly strumming at your clit like a perverted version of air guitar.

There's a knock at the dressing room door, to which you answer "Go away, we're fucking" Then you come, squirting all over the bathrobe Derek was going to gift his dear mommy.

"You're lucky that guy didn't turn us into the police," Derek says, tight-lipped as he leads you back towards the center of the mall. "Got it all out of your system?" He's leaving the store embarrassed and minus any gifts.

"Yes," you sigh in exasperation, though it's a bald-faced lie. The need is growing again and you're just a slave to it. Your hands itch to go up your skirt again, to relieve the tension before it becomes unbearable.

And there he is, right where you left him before. Fucking Santa Claus. Like he's been waiting for you this whole time.

"Let's take a picture," you pull on Derek's hand. "Please? End the day on a good note?" You do your best to look contrite but all you're thinking about is sitting on that sleazy man's lap, maybe getting felt up. It'd be fucking amazing to have someone touch you besides your own fingers.

Before he can even protest you're practically skipping past the velvet rope and traipsing up the candy-cane lined walk to the big green chair where Santa sits. His eyes already on you, he pats his lap, tongue peeking out between his lips.

Derek follows after, but is stopped by one of the elves, who tells him he has to pay in advance for a photo.

"And what's your name?" Santa murmurs, discreetly adjusting himself as you seat yourself on his lap. "Does it matter?" you ask, subtly lifting the back of your skirt as he pulls his thick hard cock. "Guess not," he chuckles low and deep, then hisses as your slick tight cunt envelops him.

"My fucking god," he says lowly, doing all he can to keep from thrusting up into you as your boyfriend comes up, all smiles as he watches you get cozy with Santa. He makes as if to sit on Santa's other thigh. "Not you," Santa grunts, his hands on your waist as you clench and throb around him. Derek holds a smile and stands to the side opposite you.

This, this is what you needed. His cock isn't even all the way in, the way you pulse around him pushes him out a little until his hands grab your waist, as if to pose you for the camera, and pushes you down, bottoming out within your sopping wet cunt.

"Gonna leave a mess on me," he murmurs. "Already got my lap soaked. And the suit's a fuckin' rental."

His breath smells like cigarettes and cheap booze and it's only making you want him more. "Fuck, I needed this.."

"You been a good girl this year?"

"Not at all."

He leans in and whispers: "Good girls get presents. Bad girls like you get to sit on Santa's fat cock." He shifts his lap up a little, jutting up into you and you bite your lip to barely suppress a moan.

Your picture is being taken with Santa but you could give a shit. Cockwarming him while he's whispering filth in your ear is the most fun you've ever had.

"Does baby girl want a candy cane?" he asks when it's time for you to go. Derek goes to pay, leaving you alone with Santa again. "We have some more in the elf cottage, You gonna come get one? Gotta earn it first.." His gloved finger traces your arm. "C'mon, ditch the wanker."

The elf cottage is a sparse room for the Santa's Wonderland employees to take their breaks, and right now it's filled with the sounds of flesh slapping on flesh, your moans muffled by the fluffy red hat he put there to quiet you as he bends you over the folding table and rams his holly jolly dick into your stretched needy cunt.

"That's it, baby, fuckin' take it. Let Santa stuff your tight lil' stocking," he grunts.

You moan around the red fluff of his hastily discarded hat, throat burning with all your pent-up screams. Christ, you've never had anyone so disgusting, so eager, so perfect to satisfy this itch that you've been unable to scratch yourself.

And lord, his cock is the most filling thing you'll ever have. You already know he's going to leave you gaping for the next few days.

He watches the ripples of your ass as you throw it back on him, taking his entire fucking shaft so that with each thrust his balls thwack against your inner thighs. "Tight and wet.. lil' bitch in heat, ain't ya?" he teases, circling his hips so you feel him against every square inch of your aching snatch. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, finally spitting out the stupid hat.

"Fuck me Santa, fuck me Santa, fuck me Santa," you chant in broken moans, pushing your hips back, demanding it hard and fast, which he gives even as you come, clamping down all around him in a vise grip.

"Jesus," he growls, pulling out and kneeling behind you. He purses his lips to your dripping cunt, wiggling his tongue against your folds before licking a wide stripe upwards, teasing your asshole with his tongue. You practically shove your ass against his face, his gloved hands spreading your cheeks to get better access.

Grabbing a candy cane from a basket on the table you unwrap it with your teeth and hand it to him. It's thick and hard, and Santa knows just what to do with it. Feasting on both your holes, he takes the candy cane and watches it disappear into your glistening pussy. Hearing your gasp encourages him to keep going, fucking you as his tongue keeps rimming your ass, delving into tease you.

There's a knocking at the makeshift cottage door, then a moment of silence and a "God damn it, Joel, not again!" from the other side. "Fucker's always doing something," the person, most likely one of the elves at the cash register, mumbles and walks off.

He's back inside you, sliding the candy cane between your lips, moving it in and out just as he moves in and out, keeping you spread open so he fill you with every inch. "Babygirl likes havin' somethin' to suck on, don't she?" he mutters, pumping steadily into you. "Gotta be a good girl and tell me where ya want it."

"Inside me," you beg, and he moves double time, hands on your shoulders as he ruts up against you, slamming every inch until you cry out again, knees buckling as you come hard and Santa Joel follows soon after, his jizz painting your insides in warm sticky ropes.

"Lick me clean, baby," he murmurs, and you immediately go to your knees, taking him deep into your mouth, your jaw aching as the tip of him hits the back of your throat. When you gag he keeps you there, your mouth filling with saliva until it spills out from your lips, mixed with his cum. You bob your head on his length, eyes watering as you look up at him, your cunt still throbbing as you start to leak him on the floor.

"Fuuuuck yes," he growls, hand on your head, teeth sinking into his lower lip as you suck him off, and it's a Christmas miracle he's hard again, and he's about to come. He holds your head still and facefucks you, your hands cupping his ass to stop him from going too shallow-- you need to be deepthroated for once in your life.

Santa Joel lets out another curse as he uses you to come, spurting his Christmas magic down your throat. "There's a good girl. Babygirl's thirsty for what Santa's got, huh?" he teases as you greedily swallow every bitter, salty drop.

Clothes are straightened before you leave the little elf cottage, but the look of satisfaction is plain on your face as you suck on the candy cane that you'd been fucked with only moments before. Santa Joel puts his hat back on his head and shuffles over to the helper elves. "I'm goin' out for another smoke break," he tells them.

The head elf puts her hands on her hips. "Joel, you're not allowed to take ten smoke breaks an hour!" But by then he's already on the way out, both middle fingers in the air to salute her.

Derek joins you, looking puzzled as he studies the holiday photo -- there's something off about the face you're making in it. "Did Santa give you that candy cane?"

Grinning, you slurp up the sweet peppermint that still has traces of your own flavor on it. "And then some."

dividers by @saradika 👑

Tagging those who showed interest: @clawdee @itwasntimethatdidit40 @milla-frenchy @myownwholewildworld

@penascigarette @hoelaris

[thesummerestsolstice]

I like the idea that the Valar can grant boons to men or elves they favor. Sometimes visible– glowing markings, feathers, claws– and sometimes not. Attitudes of these blessings ranged from fear to reverence to jealousy, often reflecting opinions of the Valar more generally.

Galadriel's special treelight hair came from Finarfin. Finarfin got it as a result of Manwe's favor. Given how rare it was for Manwe to bestow such gifts, this caused quite a stir. Later, Morgoth would spread rumors that Manwe was trying to set Finarfin up as the new Noldor crown prince, bypassing Finwe's older children.

Namo gave Fingolfin a blessing, and no one was particularly sure why, Fingolfin included. The truth was that Namo had already foreseen Fingolfin's death, and wanted to give him the strength to let him wound Morgoth before falling to him. Namo has always felt a sense of responsibility for those who choose to come to his halls, even if he's powerless to change their fates.

Celegorm was blessed by Orome, given the kind of teeth and claws that a few of his best disciples had been granted over the years. Orome couldn't take those gifts back, so Celegorm kept them for all his life. You wouldn't know that looking at paintings of him, though, because none of them show him with the marks of Orome's hunt. Whether this was a choice made by him or by later revisionists trying to minimize his connection with the Valar is unknown.

Varda gave blessings to both Earendil and Gil-Galad in the final years of the First Age. Both of them are said to have shone like stars afterwards, and there were some darker rumors that like the hallowed Silmarils, they would burn any unholy flesh that touched them. Some speculated that the blessings were Varda's way of apologizing for leaving the elves to face Morgoth alone for so long.

Ulmo is probably the Vala who's given out the most blessings– Cirdan, Turgon, Finrod, and Tuor all recieved boons from him, among others. But everyone who's gotten blessings from Ulmo is weirdly secretive about it. There's lots of gossip floating around– Ulmo is the reason Cirdan has a beard, Ulmo is the reason Turgon is taller than Maedhros, Ulmo is the reason that everyone likes Finrod so much, actually everyone blessed by Ulmo gets gills and he has secret underwater meetings with them– you get the idea. Well, probably no reason to consider that last one. I can't imagine any of the Valar using their power for something that foolish.

There is fierce scholarly debate on whether Thingol received a blessing from Melian, and whether her descendants could, theoretically, do the same. Elrond would like everyone to please stop asking him about it. Elrond would also like everyone to please stop talking about Gil-Galad's hair turning silver after the two of them took a very normal hunting trip together.

(Multiple Valar have tried to take credit for just how amazingly luscious and wonderful Finwe's hair is. But no, that wasn't a blessing. He's just like that.)

[room-surprise]

How Old Is Thistle?

(EDIT: I've made a follow-up post to this one that goes deeper into the math and additional evidence that the 5:1 ratio is correct. You can read it here!)

I've seen people debating this and a lot of folks insisting that Thistle is a child, and since Thistle just debuted in the anime, I wanted to do a full write-up to help myself and others figure this out.

We don't know how old any of the Merini family members are exactly, so the best we can do is guess based on the information we have, but after carefully studying the manga, I think Thistle is at least a teenager, but much more likely a young adult, and definitely not a prepubescent child.

Here's what we know:

EDIT: Depending on what translation you read of some of the extra materials, Freinag implies that Thistle is the same age as some of his advisors.

Here's a detailed translation of this panel from my friend Fumi:

Elves age 5 times slower than tall-men.

16 year old tall-men in Dungeon Meshi's medieval time period are adults, they commonly join the military, get married, have children, etc.

An 80 year old elf is an adult. Pattadol is 82 and she's a lieutenant in a military unit. It's her first job and she's obviously a rookie, but Captain Flamela tells Pattadol to accomplish her mission or die trying.

Many fully adult elves look like what we might consider children or young teens, because they're short, petite, and have androgynous features.

An average elven adult is around 150-155cm tall (5 ft), meaning some are shorter than that, and some are taller. Thistle is 130 cm, which is short, but not unheard of.

Fleki is 130 (26) years old and she's 140 cm tall (4'7")

Otta is 137 (27) years old and she's 130 cm (4'5") tall, the same height as Thistle!

They are both women, but there's probably plenty of elven men in their height range.

Just so we can compare Thistle to some adult elven men, Mithrun and his brother are probably adults (or close to it) in the panel on the left.

Mithrun (in this image) is somewhere between 75 and 144 (probably in his 80's), and his brother is older than him (so he could be in his late 80s or 90s). As you can see, they don't look that different from Thistle, Otta or Fleki.

So, how old is Thistle?

(Spoilers below the cut)

Thistle was brought to the royal court as a child (found on the street, stolen or purchased, we don't know how they got him). At the absolute youngest I'd guess Thistle is 25 years old here (so about 5 years old for a tall-man.) He can already play the flute, and possibly the lute, and most children that aren't prodigies can't handle playing an instrument (physically or mentally) until they're around 5.

EDIT: We now know that Thistle is the same age as Freinag, the king that takes him in! So Thistle must be at least 25 years old in this comic, though realistically he could be anywhere from 25 to 40 based on how Kui drew Freinag.

He lived in the court for an unknown amount of time, Freinag hasn't changed much but Thistle appears to have aged a little, so let's say it's been 5 years and Thistle is 30 (6) when Delgal is born. More than 5 years could have passed, but I'm trying to keep the numbers low.

Delgal gets married and has a child. Delgal should be at least 15 at this point, but since he has a full mustache before his wedding, I think he's in his 20's, since teenagers tend to not be the best at growing robust facial hair.

(He has a full beard by the time Eodio's a young child.)

Thistle puts the kingdom inside the dungeon around this point, however, people are still aging: Delgal's grandson Yaad is born, and Eodio is clearly a young adult here, probably in his 20's. Therefore, there is NO REASON to assume Thistle stopped aging. "The dungeon lords don't age" is a common fan headcanon I've seen people spreading, but it has no clear canon basis.

Yaad ages until he looks about 13-15 years old, and at this point all of the people of the kingdom and Thistle appear to stop aging, and 1,000 years pass.

So, the youngest Thistle could possibly be, if he was 30 (6) when Delgal was born, if Delgal was 15 when he had Eodio, and Eodio was 15 when he had Yaad, and Yaad is 13 years old...

Is 73 years old, which would make Thistle about 14.6 years old by tall-man standards.

HOWEVER, I think it's VERY unlikely that all the characters are that young.

I think it's clear from Kui's drawings that Delgal and Eodio are not 15 years old when they become fathers, and that Freinag is at least 25 when he takes in Thistle.

If we assume Thistle was 30 when Delgal was born, and Delgal and Eodio were both at least 20 when they had children, even if Yaad is only 13 years old, that makes Thistle at least 83 years old (16.6), and makes him older than Pattadol, who is an adult at 82.

However, I think it's entirely possible that Thistle was anywhere from 40-50 when Delgal was born, and Delgal could have been anywhere from 20 to 30 when he had Eodio, and Eodio could have been anywhere from 20-25 when he had Yaad. If you use the maximum ages, and assume Yaad is 15, then Thistle could be as old as 120 (24).

I think a reasonable middle ground is assuming Thistle was 30 (6) when Delgal was born, Delgal had Eodio at 25, Eodio had Yaad at 20, and Yaad is 15... Which would make Thistle 90 (18) years old.

This of course says nothing about Thistle's emotional maturity or sanity, he's obviously stunted in some ways, but the point I want to make here is:

Thistle's age could be anywhere from 14.6 to 24 at the most extreme, but more realistically he's somewhere between 16.6 and 18.

And that's not even counting the thousand years that he's lived since then!

And that's all I've got to say about that 🙏🙏🙏🙏

(EDIT: Follow-up post with additional evidence here.) EDIT 2: I've seen a lot of people talking about the page Kui drew talking about elven earmuffs. It's considered just barely okay for Pattadol to wear them, but it's ok for Thistle to wear them... In which case I'd say Thistle could be any age younger than 83. That's handy as it knocks out some of the older ages!

So in that case Thistle's age is between 73 years old and 82, which makes him developmentally between 14.6 and 16.4!

[aismoker]

A few months ago, an agent of Big Tobacco had been sent to the Northpole with a lucrative proposal. Initially Santa refused to listen, but as the meeting continued and the agent's words, carried by the smoke of his cigar, surrounded him, Santa felt that his eyes were being opened. After four hours, they shook hands and the agent went back to Big Tobacco HQ.

Santa, on the other hand stayed, taking deep puffs of his cigar, enjoying the thick smoke deep inside his lungs. It was as if every haul was making him stronger and he fucking loved it. The smoke made him realize who he really was. He wasn't a jolly old fellow, on the contrary, he was a man! A real man, filled with desires. Too long he had just done what people expected of him, but that was going to change...

The first thing Santa - now going by Master Claus - did was to ditch Mrs. C. He didn't know why he had kept up with that annoying hag with her disgusting cookies for all those years.

Secondly, he ordered the gift factory to be pulled down. In its place would rise up something better, something more fitting his new mindset. He no longer gave a shit about children. Those spoiled brats were getting already all the crap they wanted from their parents, so why would he even bother. No, he was now aiming for men. That's why he was going to build a cigar factory, just like Big Tobacco had suggested.

The elves first protested, but with a combination of cigar smoke and some disciplinary actions, they soon fell in line. As the the new factory started to rise up, Master Claus noticed with satisfaction, that the elves were adapting very well. The heavy manual work turned their feeble bodies into hardened slabs of meat with muscles like steel and he never saw ine witjout a cigar in their now bearded jaws. He ordered for them some new uniforms, that would accentuate their new assets.

He often caught them enjoying each other, but he didn't think it was a problem. They were men after all. Hell, he invited every night a few of them over "to discuss the building schedule".

==========

Today, completely according to schedule, the factory was ready and production had started. Now, every hour dozens of cigars rolled out.

Master Claus was pleased. He was ready for the big night! He already could imagine how it would go: He would enter a man's house and slip a cigar into his mouth, as he would slip his cock into his ass, fucking him hard and long as he whispers in his ear that he was a naughty boy. Once the man finished the cigsr he would fall asleep again and that was the moment Master Claus would give him his second gift. A warm, sticky gift. He would then go to the next house, leaving a cigar on the night stand and the man with an uncontrollable craving for cigars.

==========

So, if you wake up on Christmas Day and you notice a cigar on your nightstand amd you feel the need to smoke it, you know who has visited you. My advice: Don't fight it, light up and be as naughty as you can be. He might visit you next year again!

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

I’ve already addressed these “Halbrand vs. Sauron” or “whenever Sauron has the ability to love or not” debates on two posts: here and here.

In short: “Halbrand” was pretty much real. He was repentant Mairon. Mairon in seek of redemption. Mairon who wanted to atone for all of his past sins and crimes under Morgoth. Mairon who wanted to remain in Númenor (a island gifted by the Valar to Men) sweeping floors and chopping wood in servitude, at the forge.

When Thangorodrim was broken and Morgoth overthrown, Sauron put on his fair hue again and did obeisance to E��nwë, the herald of Manwë, and abjured all his evil deeds. And some hold that this was not at first falsely done, but that Sauron in truth repented […] But it was not within the power of Eönwë to pardon those of his own order […] to receive from the Valar a sentence, in might be, of long servitude in proof of his good faith.

The Silmarillion

When the petals of Nimloth, the White Tree of Númenor, fall, according to Queen-regent Míriel, the Faithful see in them the tears of the Valar, “a living reminder that their eyes and judgment are ever upon us.” This is reason why Mairon wanted to stay in Númenor, to prove his good faith to the Valar and sought their forgiveness.

This is with whom Galadriel fell in love with.

And she’s also the one who blew it thanks to her “pride and prejudice”, really. In one of my posts, I already analyzed how Mairon wasn’t manipulating her and how their shared connection wasn’t a deception on his part (based on visual clues and color code on the show itself).

And “Halbrand” is one of those names.

“Sauron” is the name the Elves gave him. A mockery of his true name: “Mairon”, which means “The Admirable”. “Sauron” means “The Abhorrent”. In some versions of the lore, he absolutely hates this name (“Sauron”). Yeah, because who wants to be called “the abhorrent”!?

Season 1 of “Rings of Power” gave us peak Mairon, the Maia of Aulë vibes. This is Mairon, with his reddish hair, beard and his Dwarvish-inspired necklace (the Dwarves are the Children of Aulë):

“Rings of Power”, pretty much like Peter Jackson trilogy, took some liberties with Tolkien canon (these are adaptations), but this is one of my absolute favorites.

With this being said, if fellow fans want to think of “Halbrand” as a “separate identity” from “Sauron”, you do you. That’s what fanfiction is for, after all. And there is no “good” or “bad” way of enjoying characters or ships, on a personal level. Just don’t go around policing fellow fans or creating guidelines, because that’s distasteful. Throwing around big words like “problematic” or “toxic” is so 2010s. We are in 2024. Move with the times.

[verecunda]

No, Charles Edwards Isn't Too Old to Play Celebrimbor, Actually: a sourcebook

Apparently this particular wank is going around again, and people are trying to frame it as an issue of fidelity to the source material (again), so I decided to round up some references to the physical appearance of certain Elves in the books.

Before we even begin, I'm going to point out that there are literally no physical descriptions of Celebrimbor in canon. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. So you could cast literally anyone and it wouldn't ~break canon~. But the age of the actor seems to be a big sticking point for some people.

In the main, yes, Tolkien's elves tend to appear youthful beyond their many, many years, but there are some notable examples. One of the most extreme is Gwindor, who spends many years as a thrall in Angband and eventually returns to his own people "now seeming as one of the aged among mortal Men, because of his torments and his labours". Gwindor is an extreme example, though, the result of exceptional trauma. There are more natural examples, though.

The big one is Círdan the Shipwright, memorably described thus: "his beard was long, and he was grey and old, save that his eyes were keen as stars."

Elrond, meanwhile, at the end of the Third Age appears somewhere in the middle: "The face of Elrond was ageless, neither old nor young." Contrast with Glorfindel, who is considerably older than him - give or take a death/re-embodiment episode - whose face is described as "fair and young" just one paragraph earlier.

Then we have the sons of Elrond, who are probably among the youngest Elves in Middle-earth at the end of the Third Age, but who seem to take after their father, being described as "neither young nor old", but at the same time with "elven-fair" faces.

By any human yardstick, it doesn't seem logical that Glorfindel should appear obviously younger than Elrond or his sons. You could argue that their half-elven nature might admit signs of ageing where other Elves wouldn't, but then we have Arwen, daughter of Elrond. She is well over two thousand years old - though barely a hundred years younger than her brothers - but she appears young. When the twenty-year-old Aragorn first beholds her, we're told, "she had seemed of no greater age than he" - at least until he sees the elven-light in her eyes. (Note that when Frodo first sees Arwen, the book says, "Young she was and yet not so" - though, like many Elves, this seems to have more to do with the wisdom and memory apparent in her demeanour, because we're also told that in terms of physical appearance "The braids of her dark hair were touched by no frost; her white arms and clear face were flawless and smooth".

So it's clear we have a lot of variation between Elves' relative ages and the "age" of their appearance. I've seen some attempts to pass off the negativity over Charles Edwards' casting to concerns over sexist double-standards: why is a 50-something actor playing Celebrimbor when Galadriel, who is canonically older, is played by an actress in her thirties? But frankly, I'm calling bullshit on that one, because when the Fellowship meet Galadriel and Celeborn (again, this is at the end of the Third Age), the book tells us: "no sign of age was upon them, unless it were in the depths of their eyes." This is despite these two being among the oldest Elves still living in Middle-earth. So if Galadriel can appear more youthful than, say, Elrond and his sons, why could she not potentially appear more youthful that Celebrimbor (of whom, again, we have no physical description)? If there is a double-standard in evidence, I'm afraid it's one that must be traced back to Tolkien himself.

Frankly, I think it's fairly obvious that a lot of the wank about Charles Edwards' Celebrimbor stems from people being unable or unwilling to separate fanon from canon. It's not exactly a secret that in the main, fandom tends to portray Celebrimbor as hunky and youthful, and I've seen plenty of mean-spirited posts opining that he's too unattractive to play the character (which on the "fucking the old man" website is hilarious). But like, beauty is subjective.

And even within the books, there are variations in beauty and body types. Remember Nerdanel, a master artisan despite being "not among the fairest of her people"? (Even if you don't personally find the actor attractive, why couldn't Celebrimbor take after his grandmother in this respect?) The Fall of Gondolin also, memorably, gives us the "heavy and squat" Salgant. There are rare exceptions, true, but it's quite apparent that canonically, Elves don't conform to any one standard of beauty or body type.

As for complaints about him being too light-haired to play a grandson of Fëanor? Look, I tend to imagine Celebrimbor as black-haired when I'm reading the books, but the fact is, canon is utterly silent on the subject. For all we know, his mother could be light-haired and he could take after her. Or - idk - he uses the same Laurelin Sheen hair-dye as Uncle Celegorm. (Because somehow fandom seems to have no problem with him being portrayed as Extremely! Blond! despite having even less excuse. As a side note, I'm sure Elven genetics don't work quite the same way as human ones - like, I feel an attempt to draw up an Elven Punnett square would probably result in madness. But whatever.)

In conclusion, then: Tolkien's Elves clearly display variations in their appearance of ageing, which have nothing to do with their actual age. Canon gives us exactly no descriptions of Celebrimbor's physical appearance, therefore the casting of Charles Edwards can't be regarded as in any way uncanonical. Attempts to dress up complaints about his age and looks as anything more worthy are blatantly disingenuous, when they're not being downright immature and mean-spirited.

Personally, I think Edwards is a fine actor, and while he doesn't fit my own image of the character, he does fit lots of the personality beats I associate with him, which can be gleaned from canon, and which frankly matter much more to me. I'm very much looking forward to seeing his performance in series two. Thank you for coming to my rant talk.

[thetownsendsw]

Today marks the premier of #Pathfinder’s Triumph of the Tusk Adventure Path, so I’d like to take a moment to discuss a relevant topic near and dear to my heart.

ORCS!

While Tolkien was drawing on some linguistic antecedents, Orcs in fantasy originate from The Hobbit & Lord of the Rings, where they’re brutish soldiers of various forces of evil.

Initially lacking redeeming quality, Orcs have become a darling of pop culture, their thuggish nature explored from many angles across TTRPGs, video games, comics, novels, and more.

Now, when you picture an Orc, you no doubt imagine something akin to the Warcraft or Warhammer franchises: statuesque, green skinned humanoids with protruding underbites and looming tusks, often locked into a primitive, itinerant lifestyle, eschewing technology beyond what they pillage from other races.

Interestingly, none of this is in Tolkien.

In Tolkien, “Orc” was essentially another word for “Goblin,” or perhaps unusually large Goblins. Far from statuesque, Gollum (a (former?) Hobbit) could easily be confused for one. The Uruk-hai, a new, stronger Orcish offshoot were described as Orcish in appearance but only as tall as a Man, not taller.

Tolkien’s Orcs are described as deformed, but nothing as specific as green skin or tusks is specifically mentioned (Tolkien saved in-depth sensory detail for trees, and occasionally beards).

Far from being savages, Tolkien’s Orcs were–in his grand Romanticist narrative–stand-ins for industrialization. They were destroying the forests to build grand weapons of war, and soot-covered Mordor evoked the smokestacks of 19th century london.

In many ways the conflict of LotR can be interpreted as Tolkien pitting the noble myths and tales he studied up against his real experiences in WWI.

(the thought amuses me of a firmly medieval fantasy setting, except when we zoom in on the Orcish Badlands they’re all shelling each other from the trenches)

But while none of these traits are in Tolkien, there is a source where they are central.

The Green Martians, or Tharks, first appeared in A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs, published in All-Story Magazine from Feb-July 1912, well before any of the kids Tolkien decided to tell a fairy tale to were born.

The Tharks are described as 15 foot tall nomadic savages, favoring mighty beasts and weapons salvaged from the more civilized races of Barsoom. They have green skin and tusks, as well as six limbs (interestingly, the middle limbs are described as functional as either crude arms or secondary legs, but art always just depicts four arms)

Culturally, the Tharks are clearly meant as extensions of the Apache raiders encountered in the early chapters of the book set in Arizona; i.e. some California ranch-owner’s idea of wasteland savages. Nomadic, inhuman raiders redeemable only when breaching their primitive traditions.

The parallels are almost uncanny, and I’ll admit I’m honestly not sure where the crossover occurs. Early editions of D&D–another driver of fantasy trends–depict orcs as pig-people, which is probably how tusks became so iconic. They later added gray skin, which persisted officially until the current edition.

Somewhere between there in ‘74 and Warhammer in the early 80s is when the pseudo-Barsoom look took over in broader culture, and at this point there’s no getting around it. Even the more recent Tolkien film adaptations can’t entirely escape the expectation of modern Orcishness.

Turning back the clock a bit, Tolkien notably was never entirely sure where Orcs came from. His first idea was that they were molded from clay by Morgoth, a dark mirror to Adam, but being a Catholic at heart, he disliked the idea of Evil being a creative force.

He flip-flopped for the rest of his life, whether Orcs were corrupted men/elves/hobbits, uplifted beasts, even (according to one post I saw) soulless bodies remotely piloted by demons. He could never quite square the need for unfailingly evil mooks with his own feelings on Good & Evil.

Personally, I find particular resonance in the parallel between what D&D used to call an “always chaotic evil” race and the very Catholic concept of Original Sin. Was Tolkien merely dancing around the idea that the Orcs only needed to be Saved?

I can’t say what Tolkien would think of modern Orcs, either their merging with an earlier, American space alien, or our attempts to humanize what was supposed to be fundamentally inhuman. But I think his insecurity speaks to the same source as our fascination.

Who among us hasn’t struggled with what it means to be good? Or to be evil? And if we are made to be evil, what does it mean to strive against that purpose or to surrender to it? Can we abandon the precepts of predestiny? Or do we reject that they were ever there?

Stare deeply into that Jungian shadow and tell me…

Is it green? And do you want it to be?

[thenightshadowqueen]

Divorces and Teddy Bears—Watchthrough Thoughts

I’m not sure if anyone likes reading these, but I do, and I figure I can’t be the only one, so here we go. (Plus, they’re fun to make.)

The little card and “beginning-middle-end” editing is amazing

The presents in the title card being addressed to “Peter Steven”, “Priscilla”, and “Johnny and Janae”??????? They know their fanbase; I died

I love this stage

Also captions!!!

I love Luke being so confused at the beginning and just going “Oh!” when he gets it

“I was dressed as a sheep” ah, taking lessons from Sam, are we?

AJ’s sassy walk!!!!!!!

Okay I love Mrs. Claus holy shit

“Leave the keys in the sled, yes. So I can start the engine of the sled.” I love it when Sam points out logic flaws without even breaking character (although I also love it when he breaks character too)

Poor Snowdrop, being assigned as the child of divorce and forced into the middle

Also Luke’s hair???? He looks amazing

The camera quality is great as well

“We feed directly on your emotions. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” Luke????

Congrats to Luke for finally getting his diagnosis!

Also Luke directing the audience to cheer for him and then to stop is amazing (reminds me a bit of that clip of him getting the room to be quiet in that recent Genre game)

Tom changing the scene just to crouch behind the chair… This caught me so off guard (in the best way possible)

I know someone already said this but Little Krampus has huge Scottish Robin vibes

Also I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: how the FUCK does Tom move like that?

Tom stroking at a strand of Luke’s hair like that is so weird and I’m here for it; Tom’s character choices are always top-notch

I think “sassy women who fly to warm places to cheat on their husbands with men called Javier” is my favourite niche sub-genre of AJ character (insert that thing about nickels and things happening twice) (shoutout to Tracy) (also I know that Tracy didn’t canonically sleep with Javier but like… she totally did, right?) (or with a different Javier) (there are always plenty of Javiers available in the SFTHverse) (and she has been fucking everyone (direct quote from her))

I love it when AJ fucks up some tiny, barely-significant thing and Sam just CANNOT let it go and it becomes an actual plot point

AJ’s passport photo poses are gorgeous

“The most wanted terrorist in the North Pole” Jesus Christ Sam

Also tangent but can I just say that AJ wearing friendship bracelets is everything (and am I right in saying that I think those were the ones made by fans? Or am I misremembering? Because if they are that is so fucking sweet)

Now I really want to learn more about the Great Battle

Sassy Tom!!!! I love sassy Tom

The Sam and Luke elves remind me of the Oompa Loompas from West End Big Boys

I love Luke’s determination to climb on Sam and Sam’s determination to prevent it

“~Rudolph motherfucker~” have I mentioned that I love AJ?

Audience to the rescue!

“Initiating micro-space” AJ???

Javier having basically all of his buttons undone… Xavier flashbacks, anyone? (Also, Tom having basically all of his buttons undone… he definitely remembers the latest DnD livestream)

“I was expecting a sexy lady with a big beard” hell yeah, bearded women!

“Is [having your shirt unbuttoned] the local custom?” “No, only when we are awaiting a lover. Which, again, you are not; you are two children.” I love that Tom has to remind Sam to not unbutton his shirt because… it’s Sam

“My manservant was surprised” one, of course Javier had a manservant, and two, they need to stop making me think of BBC Merlin because it kills me every single fucking time

Luke just casually telling this random man that he’s 2000 years old… god, they really do never leave the North Pole, do they?

“Tell me a little less” I love Tom

“I’m definitely the receiver in the relationship” TOM (but also good for Javier)

AJ oh my fucking god

“That’s how it works up there” god I love Sam’s very specific “suspension of disbelief” voice

“That looks like a plot point that’s almost been abandoned” Tom is amazing

Oh, Luke, you’ve just set yourself up for another Pocket scenario

“I just wanted the pussy” Tom

“You know it’s casual” does she? Because she’s moving halfway around the world for him

“Wow, that sounds very transactional to me” I mean… yeah. Yeah, it does

“Hey, let’s not blame someone with a disorder, shall we?” I love Sam holy shit

Tom singing!!!!!!!!!!!! He sounds so creepy??????? He’s doing an amazing job

“~I just realised there’s no cable on this mic at all~” Tom has been freed!

Oh my god I love seeing Tom so happy

Tom’s villains are always amazing for a lot of reasons but especially his physicality???

Tom is having so much fun

AJ’s expression when Tom puts their faces close together is amazing; it’s like, “I have no idea what the fuck you’re doing but I’m going with it”

“Poor little teddy bear Christmas man.” I love Tom trying to bring back the title (“I have so many names and that is not one of them”)

LUKE!!!! (his Little Krampus movements are amazing)

Also Snowdrop :(

AJ just staring blankly into the camera is so fucking creepy

Luke good fucking god

Thought we were going to get a kiss for a second there…

Sam singing!!!!

I love the audience singalongs!

AJ singing!!!!

Holy shit I love this play

Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates!

[inthehouseoffinwe]

A Meeting in Valinor

Elrond comes back from his first real meeting with Eärendil tired and unsure what to do. He gets some help from an unexpected source.

Dw this isn’t hating on any of Elrond’s parents. Pure fluff :)

Elrond had returned to his house and was lying with his head in Celebrian’s lap. He’d told her how the meeting had gone and flopped on the sofa, drained, before she’d soothed away some of his oncoming headache as she’d done many years before. Now he lay with his eyes closed, soaking in the summer rays as she read.

Celebrian jerked suddenly, and Elrond shot up, hand going to the knife in his boot. Some habits wouldn’t change.

“Ai! relax! It’s just me!”

Elrond’s face slackened.

“It cannot be...”

Celebrian looked between the two, eyes lingering on the semi-familiar features before her. Round ears. Beard. Warm grey eyes, wise yet playful. Elven cut, navy tunic with silver embroidery, and brown hair brushing his shoulders. She tensed at the closed expression on Elrond’s face, reaching for her own dagger as the figure shuffled nervously.

“Hello, Ada.”

Elrond released a strangled sound and the man ran to his open arms, desperately clutching the elf. Elrond pulled back, hand smoothing down unruly hair as if he’d done so many times before.

“Estel, how- You’re *dead.*”

Celebrian relaxed at the name, a gentle smile lighting her face as the human spluttered between tears. So this was her lost son.

Aragorn smiled tremulously as he replied.

“Exactly as you used to say Ada, Illuvatar’s mind is unknown in regards to the fate of men, and I guess I was allowed to come here.”

Elrond hugged him again.

“How’s Arwen?”

“She’s doing well, recently became good friends with Andreth.” A strange look came over Aragorn’s face and his foster father laughed, kissing his forehead. He turned to his wife, and it was then that Aragorn froze, seeing the elleth before him. He shot to his feet, bowing low before her.

“Milady, I-“

Celebrian shot the half-elf an exasperated look and grabbed one of the man’s hands, pulling him up. Aragorn looked at her, confused.

“Mil-“

“Call me ‘Milady’ again and I’ll toss you out the front door. Elrond said you used to call me Naneth.” Aragorn flushed, eyes on his boots and Celebrian laughed. “I take no insult, son of Elrond! It is only right considering you were not only adopted into the family, but also married my daughter.”

The Dunedan gaped, and she pulled him onto the sofa between herself and her husband, voice softening at the sorrow in Aragorn’s eyes.

“There is no need to feel guilty Estel, I long foresaw Arwen’s choice and understand she was loved and taken care of by the best of men.” She pulled him into a tight hug. “Thank you for giving her happiness. She was so sad after the orcs, I feared she’d never smile again.”

Aragorn froze for a moment, then buried his head into her shoulder, apologies spilling out his mouth. Celebrian rested a hand on his head.

“None of that now, I’m glad Arwen was able to find her strength again, even if it led her down a different path.” She pulled back and squeezed his shoulders. “And I’m glad to meet *you.*”

Aragorn bowed his head then settled back against the sofa. A comfortable silence filled the space until Elrond spoke.

“Not that I’m not glad to see you, ion-nin, but why are you here?”

Aragorn turned to face the half elf, a mischievous glint in his eyes as Elrond raised an eyebrow.

“Well this should be interesting.”

“I had some... unfinished business to attend to.”

“Is that so?”

Aragorn sat on a chair in front of the elves, and both of them straightened. He winced at the expectant look on his foster father’s face, reminded of every scrap he’d been pulled out of in Rivendell, then later as a ranger.

“It may have had something to do with your earlier conversation.” The look didn’t change and he sighed in defeat. “Ok fine. It had everything to do with it. I had a conversation with Earendil. Interesting man. Surprisingly relaxed.”

Elrond smiled tiredly and Celebrian took his hand.

“Interesting indeed. He… wasn’t what I expected.”

Aragorn’s laugh echoed, loud and warm and *human* in a way Celebrian knew her husband missed dearly. So many of Elrond’s friends had been mortal, so much of his family.

“Now that’s an understatement!” The man smiled wide. “In any case, I had a quick conversation with him after you left. He says he’d love to take you sailing and have a proper heart to heart.” The smile dropped to something more somber, more gentle. “He also says he understands if you need more time, and will wait as long as he needs.”

Elrond seemed to simultaneously age and relax.

“If you’d take my advice…” Aragorn began hesitantly, waiting for Elrond’s warm nod before continuing, “I think you should take him up on the offer.“

Elrond gave real thought to the words and Celebrian wondered just how well this man judged characters that Elrond was willing to take another chance. Any elf would have been shut down by now. Had been in the past.

“I do not know if I can.”

A familiar stubborn glint entered Aragorn’s eye. A fearlessness Celebrian was delighted to see.

“I say this with respect Adar, but you have to stop running away from this.”

The half-elf startled at the sharp words, but Aragorn continued before he could fully recover. Smart kid.

“For your own sake, you must face him. Just as you must one day face Elwing, Maedhros and Maglor… but this is a good place to start.” He leaned forward to take his father’s tightly clenched hands. “What did you tell me when my heritage was revealed? When I was terrified the weight of my past might drown away my present?”

A suspicion began to form in Celebrian’s mind, threatening to break out in a bright laugh and smothering hug for the son she’d never met. Of course. Of course.

Elrond closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wryness and pride in his eyes when he looked up at Aragorn.

“The past is but a small part of you. You are so much more your history, no matter what anyone else says.”

“Wise advice, no?”

“Seems a little narcissistic to agree, but I suppose it is.”

Squeezing Aragorn’s hands back, Elrond sighed and slumped back, eyes closing for a long moment. Aragorn glanced at Celebrian, who returned a small, reassuring smile. It was about time someone smacked some sense into her husband’s head, and this one knew how to push all the right buttons.

“I am afraid, little one.” Elrond finally whispered.

Aragorn grinned boyishly, and Celebrian’s suspicions were confirmed.

“That’s why I’m here.”

[ladysternchen]

The Aging Of Elves

In his later years, Tolkien spent much time and energy trying to explain the concept of aging regarding the Elves (read here: he needed to explain Círdan's beard and how he looked old). He came up with a whole lot of theories, one that said Elves age 1 year per x human years, one that talked about life-circles, others again that tried to determine when Elves reproduced- and ended up contradicting himself with every single one (though admittedly, the life-circle-one is the one that fits best).

Now, it is always difficult to contradict the author of a book, but given that Tolkien created not only a book but a whole legendarium, a history of an ancient world that is now lost, I think each of may try to explain what Tolkien in the end could not, and be it only because he ran out of time.

I, personally, go with the 'the life of the Eldar is bound to the lifespan of Arda', at the end of which they at last grow weary of life even in Valinor. But that is still eons away, and even then, would they show their age physically? I think not (partly because the age of their body isn't really relevant. An elf can die, probably even multiple times, and spend a varying amount of time in Mandos, and then be allowed to rebuild their body. Would that make them then somehow younger than someone who has never died? Hardly, would it?).

No, if you ask me, Elves do not change their physical appearance past their 100th year (which is the age by which all of them are full-grown). As for the infamous beards? Well, Círdan just liked it that way, maybe Ossë or Ulmo appeared in the form of a bearded being and he wanted to honour them (like Mahtan wanted to honour Aulë with his beard?). Or maybe it was just warmer with that beard. Like, chap spent almost all his life be the sea.

Why did the Hobbits think him old, then? Well, there's an easy explanation, one that has already been given by so many people over the years- Círdan's hair and beard were silver, which is a perfectly natural hair-colour for an elf and just something that runs in Círdan's family, but a sign of old age for Mortals. Bilbo and Frodo and Sam would probably have thought Olwë and Eärwen aged as well, given that their hair was completely white, even though they had spent their entire life (or in Olwë's case all his adult life) in Valinor, where things don't fade nor age.

That said, there can be no doubt that Elves did age nonetheless, only not physically (with one exception, but I will come to that later)- they are born, learn to walk, talk, sing and dance by the time they turn one (convenient, I call it), but then their (physical) development falls behind that of human children- or really, cannot be compared to the aging of Men anymore (which I think is the real reason Tolkien never found a formula that fitted). Because Mortals age by years. Elves, at least in my imagination, age by experiences made, or probably even by their choice. And many things that are affairs of adult life for Mortals (like marriage, the bearing of children, taking up rule etc) MAY fall into the period that would still be considered childhood- or else they may not, and wait with building their family until much later.

Also, do Elves ever really grow up? They are at once the wiser of the Children of Ilúvatar, and become skilled past anything that Mortals could ever hope for, and the more child-like ones, rejoicing in dancing and singing and losing themselves in the joy of arts and crafting, joking and feasting.

They are at once like happy children and bearing all the griefs of the world at once- Elves are no Humans, and cannot be compared.

But speaking of griefs- that is the thing that does make them grow older. Not physically, perhaps (with exceptions), but mentally. And maybe that also added to Círdan appearing old to the Hobbits- because they could see in his eyes all he had loved and lost. It was just his aura, if you like.

And then there are those instances where pain, torture and grief can physically change an elf- Gwindor is the most prominent example of that. Still, that fate may be reversible (at least if we take the other given example, 'Thingol's winter', at face value and believe that a real physical change came over him rather than 'just' depression*)

Plus, there is a fun-fact to just f**k with your minds today and the ultimate proof for myself that Elves can never be compared to Men- Fëanor and Maedhros were closer in age than Maedhros was with the twins (depending on which dates you believe, by quite a significant amount), and that was -if one believes the Laws and Customs Among the Eldar- by no means a rare thing.

So, to sum this headcanon or meta or whatever up, Elves age by what they live through. They may fall in love, marry and become parents when hardly past their own childhood, or they may do so after already living for a thousand years. Lúthien, despite being thousands of years old already, still very much acted a teenager when she met Beren (yes, no, sorry, Lúthien my dear, you did. You behaved like a child and were treated like a child, and to be honest, girl, for all your power, you never really grew up), while Gwindor, despite likely being a relatively young elf still, appeared as an old man when he returned from Angband. Círdan looked to Frodo old, while Celeborn and Galadriel, who were also both born during the Years of the Trees, showed no sign of age whatsoever. Elvish aging has no rule to it, and they don't age physically per default. And there is certainly no old elf in the FA.

*you'll never hear me say JUST depression ever again. I don't mean that mental illness is by any means less terrible than any physical illness or hurt, I meant the 'just' as in 'not visible'. And yes, it is important for me to stress that point!

[anghraine]

It's always weird when (some) people talk about the choice of the half-Elven as if they evolve like Pokémon upon choosing their ultimate fates.

Elros didn't become exclusively human. He chose to retain the gift of Men and to be counted among Men as far as that ultimate fate went, but he remained a half-Elf. He didn't gain a beard (even descendants as remote as Aragorn, Boromir, and Faramir can't because of Elros) or most Mannish qualities he didn't already possess and he lived half a millennium.

Elrond chose to be counted among Elves in terms of immortality, but he isn't exclusively an Elf. He's described as both Elf and Man, and as the eldest of Aragorn's people. Elrond's marriage to a full Elf produces peredhel children. Two of them are given names signifying Elf+(human)Man, names which Tolkien translated as "Elf-knight" (in Númenórean Sindarin) and "Elf-Númenórean." Elrond's sons are always distinguished from Elves in LOTR.

Arwen doesn't morph into a human woman when she swears her vows with Aragorn; she still looks like f!Elrond and ageless years afterwards, and she would be very long-lived even if you only counted her married life. She is probably the most emphatically Elvish of any peredhel, but she's still a peredhel. Elwing and Eärendil are, too. Peredhil are peredhil are peredhil.

[lathalea]

Entangled 3/10

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Dwarf OFC (The Hobbit) Rating: G (subject to change) Warnings: ANGST Summary: Arranged marriages are common among the dwarven nobility. After reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, the Kingdom Under the Mountain needs to be rebuilt. Thorin agrees to marry a lady from the Blue Mountains, securing a mutually beneficial alliance with the Broadbeam Dwarves. Lady Mista is said to be a practical and hard-working dwarf-woman, willing to give him an heir who would secure the line of succession. A decent queen material, his advisors say. If only Thorin could let go of his past… You can find this fic on AO3 (search for lathalea). ✨ Chapter list: Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3... ✨ Entangled Masterlist

Khuzdul:

Azsâlul'abad - the Lonely Mountain (both the mountain and the dwarven kingdom known among Elves and Men as Erebor)

Tumunzahar - Nogrod (my headcanon for this story is that the dwarven city of old had been rebuilt and populated by the Broadbeams)

‘Urdêk - local name of ‘the Lonely Mountain’ (referring to the dwarven Halls within the mountain), used by its inhabitants

Zabdûna undu ‘Urd - Queen Under the Mountain

‘Urd - local name for Lonely Mountain (referring to the Mountain itself)

Later that night

Mista sighed, finally freed from the weight of her crown and royal garments by Katla, her new maid. The girl knew her duties well and quickly helped her change into her sleeping gown. As soon as Katla curtsied and left the bed-chamber through a gilded door, wishing her queen a “fruitful night”, Mista – who did not feel like a queen at all at that moment – poured herself a glass of water. Her throat was parched, and her whole body felt stiff. She glanced at the other door in her chamber; the dark walnut door that led to the King’s chambers, but it was still closed, and no sounds seemed to come from the other side. Apparently, she still had some time for herself.

Mista took off her glasses and squinted, looking into the mirror in an opulent golden frame. This sumptuous object hung on the wall in her new chambers in the royal wing of the dwarven kingdom of Azsâlul'abad. The reflected image was blurry, and so she squinted harder, stretching her neck forward. Finally, she made out a dwarf-woman, plain and far from being a beauty, her mousy hair unbraided — except for her marriage braid – and still adorned with scores of diamonds. Diamonds are the bride’s best friends, an old saying claimed. Yes, she was a bride and she was wearing a luxurious, crispy white sleeping gown. Why? Because, by a turn of fate, on this very day she fulfilled her dearest, her most secret wish: today she wedded the only Dwarf she loved. 

Mista became Thorin Oakenshield’s wife – and the Queen Consort of Azsâlul'abad.

And now she was waiting for her lord husband to fulfil his marital duties.

A knock on the door — the dark walnut door — jolted her from her reverie.

“Come…” She cleared her throat and tried again, hoping her voice did not tremble too much, “Come in.” 

She had barely enough time to stand up and straighten the silks of her sleeping gown. It was hard not to notice that her fingers were trembling more than her voice.

The King Under the Mountain, Thorin II Oakenshield, entered the room. Gone were his crown and his opulent wedding attire; he wore plain bedclothes, but his dark, wavy hair streaked with silver was braided only with his marriage braid, exactly like hers, just as the tradition dictated. She couldn’t stop herself from admiring his strong shoulders, his lush beard pleated into two thick braids, and his regal profile. Years passed since their first meeting in Tumunzahar, and yet her heart fluttered as if she were that girl hiding behind a statue again. “Good evening, My Lady.” He stopped by the fireplace, slowly taking in the room. Surprised, Mista could not help but notice the tension in his movements. Surely, he could not be nervous, was he? Not him, not now, away from the prying eyes. He was the fearless hero of Azanulbizar, after all, and she was only a bookish, unremarkable girl. It simply could not be. “Good evening, My Lord,” she replied and stole an apprehensive glance at the four-poster bed beside her. “Are your chambers to your satisfaction, My Lady?” Her newly wedded husband asked, putting his arms behind his back and taking in the room as if he was seeing it for the first time. Was he? Impossible, Mista scolded herself. Princess Dis informed her that he hadoverseen the renovations himself to ensure they offered the utmost comfort to his new wife.

Mista cleared her throat and took a deep breath.

“Indeed, they are, My Lord. I am very grateful. These rooms have exceeded my expectations by far,” she admitted truthfully. She was used to the comfort and splendour of Tumunzahar, but Azsâlul'abad’s opulence was unmatched.

“I am glad to hear it. If you  are ever in need of any one thing, please do not hesitate to ask for it. As the royal consort, Lady Mista, you shall receive only what is best in my kingdom.” He spoke in a steady tone, his low voice slightly hoarser than before.

“Thank you, My Lord, for your generosity,” she lowered her head, wondering whether he was just as uneasy as she was. He thanked her with a nod and observed her silently for a few moments. Mista knew very well how she must look in his eyes and swallowed in embarrassment. Her figure was not what they call “statuesque”, her bosom was too small to be considered enticing, and so, if anyone asked Mista, the low cut bodice was a waste of the tailor’s skill. Besides, she was a bit on the stocky side, and not in that feminine way that was so highly admired among dwarves. As her mother had pertinently put it, “curvaceous” was not the word that described Mista’s figure. Apparently, she resembled a stone slab the most. Crude, angular, and plain. To put it simply, she knew well that she was not the most graceful nor alluring woman in the dwarven kingdom of Azsâlul'abad. Therefore, she felt a bit of relief at the fact that her new lord husband’s gaze did not stray below her neck.

“Let us sit down for now.” He pointed at the two armchairs standing nearby, “and talk.”

Mista hid her confusion at this statement, and joined him quickly by the fireplace. Talking meant that the moment she both dreaded and hoped for would be delayed.

After a few moments of silence, the King finally spoke, his voice solemn, “We have found ourselves in quite unusual circumstances, My Lady. We have been joined in the eyes of Mahal and our people, and are expected to consummate our union. I believe, however, that the best course of action would be for us to wait until we… are better acquainted with each other.”

“Oh, I see…” she replied, taken aback. Something stung in Mista's chest. Was she that unalluring to him? She mustered all her strength to appear unmoved and quickly added, “That is very… thoughtful of you.” “I gathered that you may not feel too comfortable,” his throat bobbed as he looked away, “sharing your bed with someone you have only met for the first time yesterday.”

A surprised, nervous chuckle escaped her, but she stifled it quickly, “Are you jesting, My Lord?” “I am not certain I take your meaning.” He frowned. “We met for the first time in Tumunzahar, at the feast in honour of your family’s arrival to our city,” she explained, cheerily at first, and then — not so much as the signs of puzzlement became more pronounced on his face. The King, her newlywed husband, knitted his eyebrows together. A ball of ice began to grow in her stomach. 

Mista added, her voice barely audible, “And you… you asked me to dance.” “Did I, My Lady?” he tilted his head slightly and looked above her head, perhaps attempting to recall the event. “That must have been… eighty years ago?”

“One hundred and three,” she interjected quickly and then felt her cheeks burn instantly. “I wore a blue gown adorned with sweetwater pearls and you asked me about them. We discussed pearling; I believe you wanted to try it yourself in order to find a pearl for your sister.”

Recounting those long-gone events she treasured in her memory for so many years, she saw an absent expression on his face and the enthusiasm in her voice slowly died off. Mista had hoped that the King, Thorin, would easily recall how he laughed at her silly dragon story or the moment when he showed her how to make a raven out of her dance card to her mother’s utter bafflement. Sadly, the handsome features of his face said the opposite.

“My apologies, My Lady,” he replied, shaking his head slowly. “I am ashamed to say it, but I must admit that I cannot recall that particular event. It seems that too many years have passed since then.” Silence fell after his words and she lowered her gaze, clasping her hands on her lap to prevent them from shaking. Suddenly, in her well-warmed-up room, she felt cold.

“Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten my manners,” Thorin Oakenshield stood up swiftly and made a small bow. “I did not mean to imply that your age…” “No offence taken,” she swallowed the lump in her throat as he sat back down. “We are not younglings any more. You were correct, My Lord. That feast happened long ago. Anyone could have forgotten.”

Anyone. But not Mista. She kept on cherishing the memory of that meeting, and when she first heard about the offer of marriage, she could not believe her ears. She thought that perhaps Thorin Oakenshield remembered her fondly for all these years and… nevermind. It was clear that she was mistaken. He did not recall Mista at all. Why would he? She was simply one of the many uninteresting maidens he had danced with. Plain and easy to forget. So unlike her stunningly beautiful sister Adla who never learned the bitter taste of rejection; whose husband waited impatiently for their wedding night – and with whom Adla now had three sturdy sons.

Thorin Oakenshield drummed his fingers on the armrest of the chair but remained silent. Mista stared at the elaborate pattern of the carpet under her feet. Somewhere deep in the bowels of the mountain the mine bell struck for the third time since midnight when the King poured wine into two goblets that stood on the nearby table. Only then did he finally speak. “As you know very well, My Lady, this… marriage,” he said that last word with a hint of uncharacteristic hesitation, “was to serve several purposes. Did your father inform you about all the clauses of the contract before sending the proposal to me?”

Her eyes widened. 

“Before…? I do not understand. Were you not the one to offer the alliance between our houses, My Lord?” Thorin II, the King Under the Mountain, frowned, “The offer came from your father.” “Oh… I see,” her throat tightened. Her eyes pricked. “Were you not aware of this?” The King’s eyes searched Mista’s face. “Father spared me the details,” she admitted, trying to ignore the dull ache deep inside her that seemed to come in waves. It was not the first time Lord Tair, her father, did something of this sort, but she promised herself it would be the last time. The Lonely Mountain and the kingdom beneath it was beyond his reach. 

“I have been informed of the cornerstones of the deal: you give the Broadbeams of Tumunzahar the trade licences and I…” Mista swallowed. “I give you heirs.”

Somehow, she managed to keep her tone of voice casual. Her voice did not tremble this time. What a relief. Perhaps she was not as alluring as Adla, perhaps her husband — unlike Adla’s — was set on delaying the consummation of their marriage, but at least she kept her dignity intact. She would only need to hold in the tears until she was alone again. 

“That is indeed a very straightforward approach,” the King offered with a nod. “I understand that this must sound to you like a soulless contract, but rest assured that I aim to follow all the clauses of the agreement. And as the Queen Under the Mountain, Zabdûna undu ‘Urd you will be treated with the utmost respect due to the royal consort.” “Of course, My Lord, I did not expect anything less of you,” she uttered. He had been a true gentledwarf when they had met for the first time, after all. One hundred and three years ago. “Your reputation is that of an honourable Dwarf. That is why I agreed to this marriage.”

“Then I will strive to maintain it. May I reciprocate by saying that although I do not yet know you well as a person, your conduct gives you great credit. I admired how composed you were during the ceremony, but perhaps that is not a surprise, knowing that you come from such an ancient and noble house. And I have heard of your admirable work in the Blue Mountains. All those traits are exactly what the kingdom of ‘Urdêk needs from its Queen,” the King gave her a small smile.

“I am happy to hear it, My Lord,” she whispered, looking at her hands on her lap. Your admirable work. Warmth spread in her chest. “May I ask what ‘‘Urdêk’ means? I don’t think I am familiar with this word.”

“Forgive me, this is how we call this kingdom – our home within the Mountain,” he offered. “We do not often use it when talking with outsiders. But now, you are one of us, My Lady.”

Mista’s throat tightened, but she was somehow able to utter a handful of words. “Thank you, My Lord.”

“The task before us both,” the King continued, unaware of the sudden wave of emotions that washed over her, “is to serve the Kingdom Under the Mountain to the best of our ability. Our people will rely both on you and me now.”

Our people. You and me. Those words rang in Mista’s ears like the loudest mine bells after a discovery of a new gold deposit would.

“I will strive to learn my duties as fast as I can and help you with your work, my king,” she replied, feeling his gaze on her face, but unable to meet it.

“Perfect. Time is of the essence, so Lord Balin has taken the liberty to find a capable secretary for you. She will introduce you to the way things are run here. And if you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask him. You can trust him – he taught me most of what I know about ruling this kingdom. He will be more than happy to offer his advice to you as well. There is a lot of work ahead of us; my wish is to make the Mountain fully habitable to our people as soon as possible.”

“You can count on me, My Lord,” she replied enthusiastically. “The people of ‘Urdêk, the Longbeards, the Broadbeams, and everyone else — our people — are returning and they deserve to find new homes here.”

“It brings me great joy to hear you say it, My Lady Mista,” the King took a goblet in his hand and raised it, as if to toast her, before taking a sip. “Once again the proverbial generosity of the Broadbeams turns out to be worth its weight in gold.”

“As you know, I have never visited Azsâlul'abad before, but I have heard many tales of its greatness of old. What I have seen so far only confirms these tales — and I wish to help return the Lonely Mountain to its former glory if I can.”

She looked timidly at the King from under her eyelashes and saw a flicker in his eyes as he peered at her.

“And I will do what I can for you to feel at home here, My Lady,” he gestured at their surroundings. “This kingdom is now yours as well.”

“You are very kind, My Lord,” Mista bowed her head reverently.

For a moment, they sat in silence. 

“Well, this was a productive conversation, My Lady,” he clapped his hand against his muscular thigh and then rose from his chair. “I will not impose myself upon you any further. You must be exhausted after today’s ceremonies. Allow me to bid you good night,” King Thorin, her husband, made a hasty bow and returned to his chambers.

The sound of the closing door echoed dully in the silence of her bedchamber.

For a long while, Mista stared blankly at the dark wooden surface behind which her newly wed husband disappeared, without even once addressing her as “wife”. She was barely aware of the tears that fell from her face onto the soft fabric of her nightgown. Even this elegant piece of clothing was not enough to make her alluring in the eyes of the King. If she only were as enticing as Adla…

It was Mista’s wedding night and she felt like the greatest fool in the world.

✨ Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3... ✨ Entangled Masterlist 💙💙💙 Read it? Like it? Spread the love and reblog it! 💙💙💙

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