Rise Up, Oh Heart, For There is Another Battle to Win

sroloc--elbisivni asked: OKAY BUT THE REAL QUESTION IS what does the marriage look like from the side of the elves when they realize "man our weird cheesy prince actually landed quite a catch"

It’s a VERY SLOW realization on all parts okay, I can tell you that.

Well.  No.  That’s not quite true.  It takes about three weeks for the dwarves to realize that Legolas is actually…nice.  Which is weird.  Like, he’s an elf.  Elves are not nice.  Elves are dicks (there are a few people who make this generalization in Gimli’s hearing and he gets very defensive of the Lady of Lorien and also of his favorite asshole elf), but more to the point, elves are serious.  And Legolas…is not.  Sure, he can pull it together when he needs to and comport himself like a stiff unsmiling statue, but Gimli stubbornly drags him to Durin’s Day and blatantly ignores every disapproving eye as he teaches Legolas one of the old circle dances.

And like.  There’s no rules that say only dwarves can know the circle dances, not like Khuzdul (”Better not tell them about that yet, amrâlime,” Gimli says, grinning up at Legolas), but there’s sort of an expectation.  And Legolas picks it up quickly but the circle dances are all stomping feet and clapping hands and smiles and laughter and shouting, and it’s just WRONG to see an elf doing that.  It’s weird.  It’s so weird that everyone in Erebor is too in shock to actually protest.  But it does do wonders for proving that Legolas, while kind of an asshole (”’I am going to find the sun,’ remember that?” Gimli asks, arching an eyebrow, and Legolas smirks), is also kind of a puppy.

But the elves.  The ELVES.  Listen.

Listen.

I have many elves I adore with my whole heart, including but not limited to:

• The Lady Galadriel, the Eldritch Being of Light Middle-Earth Needs
• The Lord Celeborn, her loving house husband
  
• Elrond, who has survived approximately one billion horror movies and deserves a goddamn Rest
• Arwen Undomiel, the love of my life who I will defend with my last breath
• Elladan and Elrohir, her brothers who probably don’t give Aragorn a shovel-talk so much as “good luck buddy if you fuck up she’ll end you”
• Lindir, Elrond’s steward who, wow, puts up with so much
• Celebrimbor, the previous elf who had a dwarf buddy and who was also probably considered very weird because he liked smith-work

But the majority of the elves who see Gimli and Legolas wandering around largely respond with “Oh dear Eru Legolas we know you’re weird but you’re going to marry THAT” and Legloas kind of fidgets and their eyes get really big and they go “YOU ALREADY MARRIED THAT?”  (Fun fact: Tolkien elves get married by having sex, the ceremony of a wedding is entirely decorative, and they can tell from the way someone walks if they’re married or not.  And also elf hypermonogamy is a thing, which is 200% my jam.)  And then Legolas gets really angry and protective because HOW DARE YOU INSULT GIMLI, ONE OF THE NINE WALKERS, WARRIOR OF EREBOR.  And Gimli pinches the bridge of his nose and wonders if elf wine is really as strong as Legolas claims it is, and, if so, how much it would take to get him drunk.  But I digress.

It takes the elves a while to figure out that Gimli is, by dwarvish standards, the Ultimate Catch, is my point here.

Years.  It takes a couple years.  Maybe two.  Three.  For the really dense and/or bigoted ones, it might take a decade or more.  

Thranduil gets hate mail, basically, before he understands why he’s getting the hate mail other than the fact that He Is An Elf.  It’s mostly to the tune of “CONTROL YOUR OFFSPRING” and Thranduil sighs and slugs back another goblet of wine (”My Lord, it’s not even noon,” reinstated-as-captain Tauriel says, very flat, and Thranduil glares blearily at her and holds out his goblet because children marrying dwarves justifies many things) because he wishes he had that option.

And then there’s a diplomatic negotiation that comprises the Greenwood and Erebor nobility, and it’s the first time Erebor dwarves have been peacefully invited to Eryn Lasgalen in…ever, maybe.  Certainly in living memory.  And of course Legolas and Gimli are expected to be there, not just because they’re a symbol of the new intensely awkward truce, but also because they have an incredible amount of status themselves by this point–Legolas is a prince and Gimli is Lord of Aglarond, two of the Nine Walkers and the Three Hunters, warriors of renown from the Battle of the Black Gate, trusted advisers and dear friends of the King of Gondor and Arnor…

And there’s Legolas, dressed in silks and an elegant cloak and a crown and a dwarvish clasp in his hair and a cloakpin from the Lady of Lorien herself, and all of Eryn Lasgalen pats themselves on the back because hey, their weird prince did grow up pretty well even if his taste in life partners leaves something to be desired.  

And then there’s the life partner in question, several steps behind Legolas because they’re representing their homelands rather than their marriage and this is Eryn Lasgalen and Legolas is still the King’s son.  And Gimli is dressed in the finery of a dwarf lord, with a crown on his red curls and his beard braided intricately and gold clasps in his hair, with the Lady’s clasp on his cloak and the lines of his tattoos and scars clear on his bare arms, with a finely-worded compliment on his tongue for even Thranduil himself and a laugh that lightens the sky–

“Yavanna save me,” mutters one of Thranduil’s entourage.  “I want one.”

proserpine-in-phases:

roachpatrol:

i really, really hope that whenever we actually get to space for real, like past mars, the universe turns out to be exactly as goddamn weird as we have all been expecting all this time. like, space whales past jupiter. palaces of methane ice on pluto. old gods lurking around in the asteroid belt. the ghost of ancient vengeful alien sailors crewing their ghost ships in eternal loops through the oort cloud and sirens off alpha centauri. in a hundred years i want one of my great grandkids to unfurl a holographic map, and look at the little notation hovering a hundred light years past vega that says here there be dragons (no really) and smile, and set sail. 

look i am already in the car with the keys in the ignition i am so here for this

(via slyrider)

ialreadyreadthatfanfic:

Since you can’t add comments underneath chat posts, I’m making a whole new post for @cadesama‘s tags underneath that “give me your hairdryer” incorrect quote:

#star wars#i actually like the idea that anakin’s idea of civilians is 100% formed by padme#you’re not carrying a blaster bail? what?#do you need to go and change clothes before the mission bail? riyo?#no judgment #just bafflement

Because this made me crave an Anakin/Padme/Bail team up in the worst way. Imagine all three of them send on some diplomatic mission that goes south. Padme and Anakin instantly enter into Battle Couple mode, with Bail trailing bewildered after them.

Anakin, readying his lightsaber: We’ve got a problem, better take out your blasters.

Bail: What?

Padme: *takes out her blaster*

Bail: What?

Anakin, confused: Bail, did you forget your blaster?

Bail: I don’t take a blaster to a peaceful negotiations!

Padme, taking out a second blaster: Don’t worry, you can borrow mine.

Bail, now equipped with a blaster: What??

(via thefreakwiththewings)

How I broke my 6th Graders Today

slyrider:

drumandmirror:

Student: “Miss, my little brother in your 4th grader class says you speak seven languages. Is that true?”

Me: “Yes.”

Student: “He says you speak Mongolian. Is that true?”

Me: “Yes.”

Student: “Can you say something”

Me: *explains, in Mongolian, that although I speak Mongolian, being that this is an English school, I am supposed to teach classes in English, so I have to speak English, sorry*

Collective Students: “Wow! Amazing!!!” *cheering*

One student slowly raises hand: “Miss, does that mean that you can…understand us when we speak Mongolian?”

Me: *Slowly leans over desk and puts on an evil grin. Single nod*

All students: *Terrified screaming*

@words-writ-in-starlight

Anonymous asked: But what if like exchanging different foods is how you get married on ALL desert planets in the Star Wars universe? Who does Anakin accidentally marry? Who does Shmi accidentally marry? Who does Luke accidentally marry?

est-ambitiosa:

suzukiblu:

Anakin and Padmé have literally been married since they were nine and fourteen; he’s VERY confused when she insists they have to get married AGAIN, but maybe that’s a Naboo thing?  

-

“I’m sorry, I thought–you’re not already married, are you?” Cliegg asks worriedly, and Shmi gets a brief, wistful look on her face, thinking of a long-ago dinner table and the long, long-gone man who’d eaten her food and taken her Ani to a better life, who’d left her an empty house and half a box of rations from some far-off planet she will never see. 

“No, he … he’s passed on, now,” she replies quietly. “And anyway, it wasn’t his people’s way.” 

-

“Um,” Luke says, turning bright red. Lando gives him a puzzled look in return, wagging the mug of space hot chocolate he’s holding out to him. 

“Yes or no, kid?” he asks, raising a pointed eyebrow. 

“Yes!” Luke blurts, then looks horrified at himself, grabs the hot chocolate, and leaves. He comes back twenty minutes later with a triumphant, glowing expression and a bottle of Lando’s favorite space wine, which–odd, kind of, but Lando is NOT complaining. 

@words-writ-in-starlight

this seems like something you’d like 

Anonymous asked: prompt: B, ship: E/R. Also I am reading things we lost in the fire and it's wonderful! Thank you for sharing!

2: At my worst, I worry you’ll realize you deserve better.  At my best, I worry you won’t. (I’ve never been better.)  

Modern AU motherfuckers. Behold, I have written fluff.  And thank you so much, I’m so glad you’re liking ‘things we lost in the fire,’ <3

Grantaire tugged at the cuff of his blazer, trying to resist the urge to pick at his outfit with nervous fingers.  Eponine and Bahorel had selected it for him, and although Bahorel wasn’t particularly menacing, Eponine had a key to Grantaire’s apartment, a Sharpie, a switchblade, and even odds on using either one—he wasn’t in a rush to disobey her. So, nice jeans, a graphic t-shirt, and a blazer it was.  It didn’t mask the fact that he still looked semi-exhausted, but Cosette had informed him, in her sweetest and most anxiety-reducing tone, that as long as he wore a thin layer of stubble, he looked much more the lovelorn artist than the over-caffeinated grad student.

He was pretty sure she’d only said it to make him stop hyperventilating, but it was a nice sentiment.

“R!” Enjolras shouted from down the hall.  “You’re going to be late!”

“Fashionably late is a thing that exists, Apollo,” Grantaire said, giving one more nervous tug to the blazer before he stepped away from the mirror.  “How do I look?” he asked Enjolras, holding out his arms and trying to look Enjolras in the eye instead of letting his gaze wander to a safe corner of the ceiling.  “Ridiculous?”

“Shut up, you look incredible,” Enjolras said.  “And fashionably late may be a thing that exists, but not when you’re going to your own thing.”

“Sure it is,” Grantaire said, dragging his eyes away from the ceiling with difficulty and flicking a glance at Enjolras.  “You really don’t have to come, it’s not a big deal.”

Enjolras shot him a Look and knocked one foot against the floor, not quite a stomp, but enough to make the sole of his shot thud loudly as he plucked pointedly at the lapel of his red coat.  “It’s your first gallery opening.  If you think I’m not going, you have another one coming.”

“It’s not really, Cosette’s father–”

“Don’t care!” Enjolras interrupted, sharp and bright and grinning.  He stepped over and pressed a kiss to the corner of Grantaire’s mouth.  “R, love, it’s going to be fine,” he murmured, taking Grantaire’s hand.  “You didn’t get this because Valjean knows the gallery owner, you got this because your paintings are incredible, and you’re going to go let a bunch of people with a lot of money tell you so.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire breathed, and offered Enjolras a shaky smile.  “I don’t deserve you.”

“I strongly disagree.”

“I know. I hope you never realize you’re wrong,” Grantaire said, and his smile was more earnest this time.

“Are you ready?”

“Never better, Apollo,” Grantaire said, breathless, and let Enjolras steer him out the door.

andhumanslovedstories:

God the degree to which Bail Organa can Get It is honestly very distracting to me right now, and I imagine the Rebellion felt the same considering their vastly improved success rate after he died, which was, don’t get them, a tragedy, a heinous grief that helped fuel them, but also like……have you seen Jimmy Smits. Look at him. Now you can’t think thoughts, and I’m sorry, but now there’s no thinking room. How are you supposed to plan a rebellion

(via skymurdock)

A thought

bullysquadess:

Marinette keeping the pics of Adrien up on her wall becuase she cant bring herself to throw them out, but adding pictures of her other friends as well so it’s less weird. Suddenly it’s Adrien and Alya and Nino and Rose and Kim and everyone at school who’s plastered against her walls. She adds pics of her parents, her neighbors, her Aikido instructor, and all the little kids she babysits. She even asks the regular patrons at the bakery if they’d mind posing for a portrait. (which of course they do because she’d always been so sweet and sunny and who could resist those blue eyes.) 

then one day Adrien gets invited back to her house. maybe to study, maybe for video games, the reason isn’t important. what is important is the fact he climbs up into her room and just marvels at all the friends Marinette has. The sheer volume of people she knows is staggering, he thinks, and he spends a good ten minutes looking at every single picture. 

Some wonderful things to keep in mind for this scenario:

1. Adrien spots himself amongst her collection, and while he’s not-so-lowkey ecstatic over the fact someone cares enough about him to hang his picture on their walls, he’s also a bit glum that the only shots she has are from magazines. everyone else gets candid shots or laughing selfies, things that show their personality, but all his photos are fabricated and retouched. Impersonal. He gently brings this to Marinette’s attention, and suggests she take some new pictures of him. Pictures just for her. (cue Marinette dying)
   
2. Adrien also happens to spot another familiar feline face on the walls, and just barely swallows down his pleased smirk (’cool it, you’re not in costume’) to find a dozen pics of Chat Noir scattered across Marinette’s room. Most of them he recognizes from the Ladyblog, but there’s one or two that seem to be candid captures of him on patrol. (which yeah, should probably freak him out but damn if Marinette’s photography skills dont make him look heroic as fuck under the moonlight.) He asks- very super casually -if she’s a fan, and is not at all emotionally prepared when Marinette launches into a speech about how Chat Noir is one of the most selfless, kind, and underappreciated people in all of Paris, and how he deserves just as much recognition as Ladybug for keeping the city safe. “Everyone needs to remember, his destruction is what balances Ladybug’s creation. Without each other, they’d be nothing,” Marinette prattles on. (Adrien nods mutely, desperately trying and failing not to fall in love.)
3. Speaking of Ladybug… she’s noticeably absent from the walls. When asked about it, Marinette grows vague, saying something about how she’s waiting for the right picture or what not. something unique. something that isnt already on the walls of every Ladybug fan in Paris. ‘Something unique…’ Adrien muses, asking Marinette if he might barrow her camera for the night, ‘I might just be able to do that…’

(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)