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merilles · 2 months

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being a "special guest" of the dark lord pretty much guarantees a terrible fate

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squirrelwrangler · 1 year

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When Faelindis and Faron arrived in Gil-galad’s court, the reunion that they forgot to expect was with that of the Dowager High Noldor Queen. Not that anyone officially referred to her as such, just as King Ereinion Gil-galad only ever called her Aunt and never Mother, as he never addressed Círdan with a familial title. If anyone called her Queen, it was due to her husband’s reign as King of Nargothrond, of which the lady had never been physically present inside that city during the years when her husband held the crown as regent or king. Princess Eregiel of Tol Sirion was how she styled herself, the daughter of the lesser branch of Sindarin high nobility, the faithful and loving wife of Prince Orodreth, the mother of Finduilas, and the cousin of Meril of Mithrim, Princess of Northern Beleriand and mother to her dearest nephew, Ereinion.

Eregiel was a difficult woman to ignore, with a smile as bright as Laurelin and the stature as well. To describe her as a tall woman would shadow the truth. She towered. Unlike her relative by marriage (on both sides by the circuitous family ties that a hobbit would delight in), Lady Galadriel, if one were to call Lady Eregiel a man-maiden it would be to highlight not just her height but the breadth of shoulder and thickness of waist and the incredible strength of her arms. Said strength was used to pull Faelindis and Faron into deep bone-crushing hugs as Eregiel wept to see her daughter’s friends once more. Her voice, high-pitched and girlish, welcomed them not with court formality but with the casualness that was her nature, as if centuries had not changed from the halcyon years when Faelindis was but the steward’s daughter of a key outpost in a greater kingdom. When she embraced Faron, her first words were to remark on how skinny this new husband was and that he must endeavor to cook more food for himself and her new bride. Stock phrases forged in the Star-dark, as cultural as wrapping lembas in beech leaves instead of chestnut, to which Eregiel meant not to touch upon the rare nerve of their suffering in captivity. Nor did she intend the embarrassment as Faelindis informed her that the wedding had not yet occurred, planned on their return from Lindon. The shortness of their visit came as news to Eregiel, a disappointment that only showed in her large expressive eyes. “Then I have time to bequeath you gifts,” Eregiel recovered brightly, her hands swallowing Faelindis’s. “My nephew spoils me, and his gratitude towards your escort is well-recalled,” she added towards Faron.

“It was nothing, the lightest duty,” Faron murmured. “Too great a fuss for someone that he barely interacted with as a child.”

“And those that remain from his childhood are few,” Eregiel said.

#flash ficlet #don't worry faron and faelindis #this sequel fic still doesn't have an overarching plot but now that i have inspiration for Eregiel it's starting to flesh out more #silm fic #my fic #eregiel #silmarillion ocs #textual ghosts #2nd Age (but not Valinor for once)

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thepinkseat-askthemoonbunny · 2 years

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Winter Can Be Kind

@tolkienocweek Day 3- Gaps and Ghosts.

Hey guys, we're back with another one! Instead of artwork today, I've decided to go with poetry since the textual ghost I've decided to tackle is Maglor's wife/mystery spouse (imagined here as his husband, Ringwë or better known to fam and friends as Ringo. His name means “frost” so that’s where I got the idea from)

This is one of the first poems Mags ever wrote for him while they were courting and since an artist is their own worst critic, he thought it was super cheesy and horrible but Ringo adored it and kept it for the rest of his life.

"Winter's cruel!" I hear them cry

As Hríve's icy breath doth sigh

It dims the sun, children can't run

Night too soon cloaks the sky.

The snow is deep and cold and thick

And makes the greenest walk-trails slick

Frost coats the lakes and kills the corn

And leaves the farmer's face forlorn

When winter falls, we must retire

To our mulled wine and our fire

It is an ancient written rule

Stay far from Winter, he is cruel.

No cold have I found in his sighs

Nor in his gentle frost-pale eyes

That shine like ice swirls on the glass

In a face that's warm and brown as brass

For what cause should I have despair

In Winter's lovely night-dark hair?

Because it cloaks light from the Trees?

I'd never cared much for heartsease.

Our tight-twined fingers, swart and pale

When we have walked the snow strewn trails

Ignites in me a hotter blaze

Than lovely Summer's golden gaze

His crooked smile, as white as rime

Has endeared me to colder climes

Perhaps I'm too swayed by his guile

And am bewitched by Winter's wiles

But in my life I've come to find

That frosty Winter can be kind

#tolkienocweek #textual ghosts #oc...sorta #oc: ringwe ilyannon #maglor's wife #maglor's spouse #tolkien #jrr tolkien #the silmarillion #silmarillion #poetry #freeform poetry

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ladysternchen · 2 years

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One day, very probably, I’ll get the hang on how to use tumblr properly, but it’s not this day.

So in the meantime, I’ll just embaress myself and explain my headcanon. (Ignoring, btw, the nature of Middle-Earth completely)

To business: I don’t even know if I would call her an OC, as she really is a textual ghost, so 🤷🏻‍♀️

She was born at Cuiviénen as the younger sister (probably, may have been a cousin instead) of Lenwë, growing up in the time just after the chaining of Melkor (or so I think, I still have to wrap my head around the canonical timeline of that), when Oromë tried to convince the Elves to leave Middle-Earth, as there were still foul things foraging the woods. Still she would often sneak away without permission and talk to the trees and learn, from early childhood on, of plants that could bring healing. She learned this from the very forest itself and thus became a healer at a very very young age. Her family did not approve of her wanderings (understandably) and she’d get into a lot of trouble for it, which didn’t bother her in the slightest. When weapons became a thing, she mastered archery before nearly anyone else. The very first taste of why wandering the woods might be a bad idea came when she returned one day from an archery competition she’d let the others talk her into to the subdued whispers of her larger family. “Oh, this is horrible. The poor boys!” “What about their youngest? Elmo’s only a baby, after all!” “Have the Quendi ever let their orphans starve?” “No, but there’s more to raising a child than just feeding it!”

Not that that had held her back. She relied on all the sentinent beings warning her, their friend, of any danger. Still, the baby boy who had lost his parents to the hunting Shadows that day stayed in her mind. First there was pity. Then, when Elmo got older and more and more was talked about leaving, there came friendship. She could make him laugh when no one else could break through his fear. And he didn’t warn her against her wanderings, but listened eagerly to her lectures (for which she would be called a know-it-all by the others), his eyes alight with admiration at her skills. And then, slowly, when the Quendi had indeed left the place of their awakening, a tender love grew out of that friendship. She knew long before him, even forsook her family, who left with Lenwë, for that love, a love as yet unanswered. But friends they remained and so she was the first Elmo went to for help (she, after all, could not only talk to the forest but get it to answer in a way that was actually useful) when desperately looking for his oldest brother. That they didn’t find Elwë, I need not explain (the forest simply turned deaf whenever she asked, which was… odd). What they did find, though, was that really, they were meant for each other (she did her very best not to think ‘oh, you’ve noticed at last, beloved?’). The memory of what followed was not one of her fondest. All the chaos and desperation and unease. She hated watching Elmo quarreling with Olwë over what to do, only to later bid him farewell, heartbroken. There was joy in those days too, though, as she bore Elmo a son not long after Olwë had left, whom they called Galadhon for her love of the trees. And then, of course, Elwë indeed returned with the reason for all this, and as much as she wanted to murder her brother-in-law for all the pain he had inflicted upon Elmo (though, admittedly, that would have been counterproductive), she could not help but join the others’ joy, for she knew at once that those two were just as deeply in love as she and Elmo were. What was more, she rather liked Melian from the start and the sisters-in-law quickly became the best of friends. She rejoiced, too, as her nephew Denethor joined them with his people (her kin). Living in paradies lasted long, but not forever. Galadhon, who by that time had married a girl who was also of the Greenelves, as they were now called and father to two sons, fell in the first battle of Beleriand, and the grief just about killed her, the worst being the fact that she couldn’t even bury her beloved son. All she held on to was the knowledge that she would someday see him again, across the seas. The horror of losing her niece a few hundred years later was even worse for that. She could not even imagine what Melian must feel, a being for whom ’not surviving the grief’ was not an option.

And yet, out of Lúthien’s romance had come something beautiful for her as well, as her grandson Galathil’s daughter had married Dior. They had been overjoyed by the news that Nimloth had given birth to twin-sons and she, her daughter-in-law and Galathil’s wife had decided to visit them. A wonderful decision. To be fair, she only realised AFTER she’d come to, utterly bewildered, to the call to Mandos, that perhaps it hadn’t been. She had been the first to be shot from behind, so had no recollection of her death, but the others told her about the ambush in the end.

Stupid orcs, she thought.

#fanfic #headcanon #headcanon explained #Elmo’s wife #elmo #doriath #eglador #cuivienen #galadhon #textual ghosts #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion

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who-needs-words · 2 years

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I’m going a little feral over the textual ghosts in Tolkien’s works.

On one hand- oh my god the sexism dear lord

On the other, such a big sandbox to play around in

#eli rambles #might fuck around #and write something for Tolkien who knows #textual ghosts #Tolkien #Silmarillion #once again I have no idea how to tag #yes this started cause Tolkien OC week has me thinking about minor forgotten and discarded characters #also yes this is about Tindómiel and Lalwen

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ghuleeh · 6 months

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⭒Ghost(b.c.) matching bios 👻

- ℭirice 💀

I can feel the thunder that's breaking in your heart... 𔘓

... I can see through the scars inside you

- Respite On The Spitalfields

I'll be the shadow...

...You'll be the light ᮫۟ 𝅄

- Mary On A Cross

If you choose to run away with me...

...I will tickle you internally ♡

- Call Me Little Sunshine

You will never walk alone...

...You can always reach me

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theworldisquietheretooquiet · 10 months

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For the five lines ask, 'Finduilas' mother had been the one to teach her how to wield the spear', please?

Finduilas' mother had been the one to teach her how to wield the spear.

Finduilas had learnt with her old weapon, from when she had been a march-warden of Doriath – “Though I got little use out of it, in the close forests; hopefully you will find better pursuits for it, my dear.”

And she had, even when everything changed, her home, her people, the ground beneath her feet, her very name; the spear and her skill with it had remained the same.

Some well-intentioned weapon smiths from Eregion had tried to replace it once, early Second Age, when Elven-kind had had nothing better to do and clear enough memories still, that they spent their days creating beautiful arms.

“It is a fine piece of craft, for the Sindar, my king, but I believe it has no historical significance; the name carved into it is someone I have never heard of.”

Finduilas had traced the cirth of her mother’s name, and had looked up at the smith and said, “I will keep this spear, it is older than the Sun, and it belonged to someone I loved.”

#thank you!! :)#always love to write about my girl #the painful experience of realising your mother turned into a textual ghost #fanfic #children of hurin #silmarillion #finduilas #gil galad #fin galad #my post #tag game

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drsilverfish · 1 year

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Sex, Bugs and Drugs - Insect Aliens and The Winchesters

The Winchesters of course is a relatively PG show, we’d probably label it (thus far) “mild drug references” (to weed), “light kissing”, and “some horror”.

However, the fact it is inhabited by insect aliens (the Akrida) invites musing on other insect-alien narratives and their resonances within the show.

“This is Mugwump, he specialises in sexual ambivalence” (Cronenberg, Naked Lunch, 1991):

“We are all insects, groping towards something terrible or divine”

Phillip K. Dick The Man in the High Castle.

The prominent reference to Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five in 1x01 Pilot, alerts us to the qualities of that narrative which may be relevant here; aliens (in Slaughterhouse Five, the Tralfamadorians), the impermanence of death (Tralfamadorians see space/time with non-linearity, in four dimensions, so just because you are dead at one point in time isn’t an “end of the road” moment for them) non-linear narrative, an unreliable narrator, the presence of the author/narrator in the story). All interesting resonances, regarding Narrator-Dean.

The aliens in The Winchesters, the “cricket” Akrida, are able to possess human bodies, seemingly shapeshifting to look like humans in doing so, and they mind-control humans by pushing a stinger into their brain-stem. This kind of insect mind-control/ body-horror/ body-penetration, really made me think about Cronenberg’s film Naked Lunch (1991).

Naked Lunch is based on William Burrough’s (1959) novel of that name (which is already semi-autobiographical) mixed in with events in Burrough’s own life. Burroughs of course, was a Beat Generation author, as well as being queer and a drug addict. His novel is very much not PG.

Cronenberg’s film captures Burrough’s atmosphere of queer desire mixed with self-loathing/ internalised homophobia, very well. Remember, Burroughs was writing in 1959; everyone queer had internalised homophobia, that’s why we needed to develop a Pride narrative for ourselves.

This queer desire/ queer horror is evident in the giant bug with a talking asshole on its back. It asks Bill, the main character (Burroughs’ avatar) to rub some of the yellow bug podwer on its “lips” (the rim of the asshole) and makes obscene noises of pleasure when Bill obliges:

What the heck does that have to do with The Winchesters, you ask?

Well, in a much more PG way, we have the Ostium, which means, literally, “orifice in the human body”, the Men of Letters’ mystical box/ trans-dimensional portal which can blast the Akrida back to their alien home-world, and Carlos specifically joke-compares it to a sexual body “hole” in 1x07 Reflections:

Lata: “They call it the Ostium.”

Carlos: “Oh. Latin for an opening in the body. What, didn't any of you guys ever go to Sunday School? So is that thing organic? Is it a mouth or...( chuckles ) any other kind of hole?”

Lata: Let's just stick with a mouth, please. https://tvshowtranscripts.ourboard.org/viewtopic.php?f=1550&t=58479

In Naked Lunch, the bug reappears, as a talking typewriter, and asks Bill to type the words “Homosexuality is the best all-around cover an agent ever had...” into it, and again, it makes obscene erotic noises of pleasure as he does so.

Bill reveals his own self-loathing/ ambivalence, telling another character he has a family “curse... I am a homosexual... impossible I am one of those simpering things... a wise old queen... told me I had a duty to live and bear witness..”

Later, as Bill makes out with a woman, a giant centipede alien with a long fleshy appendage (cock) and a human-looking butt slithers out of another typewriter and appears to join their love-making.

The Naked Lunch is a subterranean allusion in The Winchesters’ subtext. It’s not name-checked in the way Slaughterhouse -Five has been, which provides a clearer indication of authorial inter-textuality.

However, there are some interesting resonances; insect to human body-horror penetration (Akrida stinger into the brain-stem) a talking asshole/ a mystical “body hole” portal (the Ostium).

One more, being that in Burrough’s novel, and in Cronenberg’s film, much of the story takes place in “The Interzone”, which is partly an imaginary Morocco and partly Bill’s drug-fulled hallucinatory dream-world, but is, above all, a liminal space, which is symbolically representative of the space queer people in the 1950s inhabited, as “outlawed” subjects.

Narrator-Dean currently inhabits such liminal space himself, also in two senses:

1) We saw him die in 15x20, so he is, apparently, narrating from Heaven, or from the liminal space between dying and rebirth, as Holy Ghost Narrator Dean/ Dean’s soul in the Bardo (the space, as set out in The Tibetan Book of the Dead, between dying and reincarnation).

2) Dean continues to inhabit a liminal space with regard to his queerness in the SPN/ Winchesters narrative. He may be bisexual in a thousand ways in the narrative subtext, and in its (romantic) narrative architecture, but a heterosexual interpretation (they were best friends/ brothers) remains possible.

I bet Dean’s read The Naked Lunch.

#Supernatural #The Winchesters #The Winchesters meta #SPNWin 1x07 #Reflections #The Naked Lunch #Holy Ghost Narrator Dean #Meta-textuality #The Akrida #Robbie Thompson #William Burroughs #David Cronenberg #Dean is bisexual #Still subtext #But subtext is part of narrative

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merilles · 2 months

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the fool's stone

#the title of this piece is inspired by the name of the ring she wears: sapthan (foolstone)#my headcanons for the nine largely come from lotro lore #so your girl here is none other than the blade of lebennin 🗡️✨#tolkien #lord of the rings #lotr #textual ghosts #nazgul #ringwraiths #oc #lotr oc #oc: duvain #my ocs #art #my art #merilles

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pochapal · 6 months

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lrb is probably the funniest way i could have accidentally seen a spoiler-adjacent umineko jpeg. smiling beatrice sprite on a post talking about posthumous pdf conversion...what could she be joyous about

#:)#luckily i'm insane so i already understand beatrice did in fact die and she is in fact already a beautiful pdf #in fact i think this is explicitly and textually her role in the story #because pdf after death is another way of saying 'ghost that only manifests through storytelling'. witch narrative girlies keep winning #idk why she's going ^_^ though. maybe she just got done feasting on the corpses of the ushiromiya family or something idk

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thepinkseat-askthemoonbunny · 2 years

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Some art of Maglor and my OC/his husband Ringo...just wanted these two idiots to be cute together because I am utterly in love with them. Ficlet under the cut.

Kánooooo, you've been plucking at those strings all day." Ringwë's protest was met by a laugh from Kanafinwë, who flashed his husband a bright smile without pausing in his strumming.

"In case you've forgotten, coivënya, there's a festival next week that you and I agreed to prepare for."

"Okay?"

"Okay, so I need to finish this song and...ai!" The minstrel's famed nightingale voice turned into the harsh squawk of a parrot in a trice as he felt an uneven weight on his beloved instrument. Káno jerked up his head at a speed which threatened to dislodge the pearl circlet and pins holding his coiffed hair in place, silver-grey eyes burning into bright blue like two miniature suns. Yet Ringwë's earnest smile didn't waver an inch...the playwright grinned like a mischievous toddler as he casually rested his arms on the gleaming harp.

"Ringo! My harp! Get off it, you'll break it...!"

"You have two harps in every room of our house, laurenya. Not to mention the miniature one and the ones I'm sure you still have at your father's. You'll be fine if one gets a little damaged and besides...I'm sure your father or Curvo can fix any ill that may befall it." Káno's glare didn't waver, cheeks turning as scarlet as his robe. "Honestly, I think it's time to diversify your instrument collection a tiny bit." The kiss that Ringo pressed to his palm seemed to calm the Feanorian fire just a tiny bit, and Kanafinwë settled for a pout instead.

“You’re a drama queen.”

“Darling, you married an actor. What did you expect?” Ringo stifled his laugh against Káno’s lips, slender musician’s fingers tangling in thick blue-black curls.

"What of your play?" he whispered against his husband’s mouth.

"Finished the script this morning. Beloved, we're allowed to take a break every once in a while even as artists. I'll be no good to anyone if I repeat my lines until my throat is dryer than Maitimo's excuse for cake..."

"Don't let Nelyo hear you say that." Káno tweaked his husband's nose, a small smile turning up at the corners of his mouth.

"And you'll be no good to anyone if your lovely fingers start bleeding because you've been playing at your harp for another forty straight hours."

Káno's smile grew wider. "So what should I be playing instead, oh impatient one?"

Ringo's mischievous expression suddenly grew wicked, sharp and glittering as the ice for which he was named. "Me."

#fanfic #ficlet #maglor's spouse #maglor's wife #my art #bunny tracks #artblr #silmarillion fanart #silmarillion art #maglor #makalaure #kanafinwe #oc #original characters #oc: ringwe ilyannon #my writing #silm fic #artist shenanigans #textual ghosts

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herbertwest · 5 months

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There's a person in the photo of an abandoned mansion I've been using for an art project, and I don't think they were in the picture yesterday

#of course I find the haunted photograph #please mr ghost I just want to make some cover art #textual abominations

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overthinkingtaleblr · 7 months

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CBF being unable to really take care of Gregory - not in a "I don't like you" way, in a "horribly out of their depth" way

She keeps giving him food that he shouldn't be eating at his age and can only console him when he wakes up at night from his hurt tummy

Ough,, I imagine his declining health would’ve deeply upset the poor creature.. even in situations where it was in some way dangerous to Gregory. Being hapless and trying as much as possible to keep him alive only to be met with sickness or failure has got to be depressing. Might cry. Hopefully won’t.

I normally see CBF as another child-like creature similar in age— at least in thought process and actions— to Gregory, so being the caretaker and the child would be a struggle. Failing older sibling CBF is absolutely a depressing concept, and makes Ghost pushing it away both more… painful, and more rebellious, like a kid trying to find his own way in the world without being coddled. There’s a way that this could be a very interesting idea for a story based around having CBF move on.

Of course, Ghost being scared of CBF likely isn’t just because he wasn’t taken care of back when they lived together. Even if CBF is innocent, there seems to be a deeper-running paranoia that needs to be handled before they can have a conversation about how CBF didn’t know how to take care of a baybe.

#taleblr #johnny ghost #Gregory casket #cardboard friend #taleblr headcanons #i think this is the same anon that sent an ask arguing that nothing textually implied that CBF was dangerous ^^;#hi anon! i hope you’re having fun with your headcanons— as incomparable as it MAY be with my own stuff sometimes the ideas are Really Good #there’s a lot of emotion behind them and a lot of story that could be worked around it #very soft ideas too #something cute or comforting could come from this #or painful #cardboard caretaker headcanons

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finelythreadedsky · 2 years

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#THIS is what im talking about!!!#im not really enjoying propertius but there are a hell of a lot of ghosts in here #mine #fragmentblogging #sort of i guess thats like a. textual transmission tag now #also the loeb footnote format on the website is so terrible

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