#bleu asks

[bleuflowerfields]

I am Ahmed from Gaza. My right hand was amputated in the war, and my children were injured. Help me so that I can escape. The bombing is pursuing us. Help me by donating a little and republishing the link.

https://gofund.me/b4d9068c

boosting this post so that you and your family can leave gaza safely. i also pray that you can heal your arm and that your children can recover from their injuries 🙏

ahmed and his family are around 40% away from reaching their goal! they need $18k in total to evacuate to Egypt :) even 5 dollars can make a difference and they’re getting close to their goal.

the link is in the ask!

[kari-go]

Can you explain the tales of misfit au?

adghrkjxe sorry for answering this so late

You know those zodiac heroes aus? it's kinda like that

There are 9 heroes - 3 second layers and 6 third layers.

I'm not telling you who's who, it's pretty easy to guess (mostly because I already posted like half of them lol)

[thelordofgifs]

Congrats on the milestone! How about Maglor or Maedhros and jewellery, from the worldbuilding prompt list?

Digging up this old prompt for @maedhrosmaglorweek day 3! Have both of them.

"You will jingle as you walk," says Maedhros, "they will hear you coming for miles."

Maglor laughs, and tosses his head so that the dangling silver earrings chime. "A poor minstrel I will make, if my jewellery plays more music than I! No, Nelyo, these will not do." He removes them carefully, and lays them aside in the growing pile of precious metal heaped upon the side-table.

Maedhros, sitting cross-legged on the stone floor of his chambers in Himring, watches him with a faint little frown. "You must choose something," he says; "you cannot go to the feast dressed as plainly as a Vanya monk."

"My songbird's voice is adornment enough," Maglor says blithely, "and anyhow I did not come here to pick out my own gems. We must make some progress on deciding what to bring as gifts."

From the chest Maedhros draws out a long string of pearls, meant to be draped three times around the neck for the full effect. A souvenir from a summer Maglor spent in Alqualondë, long before the light of the Trees went out, or indeed before their father took it into his mind to preserve it. Maglor chose the pearls himself, going up and down a hundred beachside stalls to pick out those most perfectly round and white, and had Finrod his cousin teach him how to string them on a thread of silk before presenting them to Maedhros. How lovely they had looked set against his brother's fair skin; they had seemed almost to glow.

"These – these stones," Maedhros says, hesitant, "we could gift them to the envoys of the Sindar, perhaps."

Maglor swallows. "They are pearls, Nelyo," he says, keeping his voice light. Maedhros blinks at him, and he explains, "They come from the sea, from oysters. We used to get them from the Teleri." He pauses, and then, when Maedhros still looks bewildered, adds, "I do not think it good politics to gift them to the kin of those we slaughtered, whether or not they know of it."

Maedhros' face darkens. "You are right – Nolofinwë's host will murmur to see them, besides." He gives the pearls another troubled look and then sets them aside.

No use, Maglor has learned, in dwelling on these missing spaces in his brother's memory. They frustrate Maedhros enough as it is: and it is nothing personal, Maglor knows, that he has forgotten the pearls were a gift from Maglor. Their Enemy has taken from Maedhros things far more precious than the recollection of a trinket. It does not sting, that Maedhros does not remember.

Maedhros has turned his attention back to the chest before him. These are all his personal jewels, salvaged from their father's house in Tirion in the brief hours they had to pack before setting out on their ill-fated march. In the years of his captivity Maglor would indulge himself, sometimes, and open the chest, and admire the treasure within as though he were yet a fanciful child trying on his brother's baubles; and he would tell himself that he would hear Maedhros' laughing voice at the door any moment now, saying, Are you going through my things again, little magpie?

Maedhros does not much like to wear jewellery, these days. He says that it chafes against his skin, and on darker days that it puts him in mind of chains; occasionally he will consent to Maglor pinning back his hair with a bejewelled clip, or to an unobtrusive pair of earrings, but all his fine gold necklaces and ornate jewel-encrusted bracelets are useless now.

"Too few gemstones," he says now with a frown; "they were more marvellous than the metalwork, and would be better received."

Maglor thinks with some regret of a fine set of rubies his father had made him for his two hundredth begetting-day. Like all the house of Fëanor's best jewels, they were locked in the vault at Formenos, and stolen by Morgoth when he ransacked it.

"I know not how things are done in Doriath," he says, "but in any case the Mithrim Sindar are not over-fond of jewels, much like their Falmari kin. I do not think we need worry that our gifts will seem poor to them; in truth they will know not what to do with them. They wear flowers in their hair oftener than gems."

"It may be different in Doriath," Maedhros argues. "Findaráto says of Menegroth that the very walls are studded with jewels. Perhaps a gift of our own best would go some way towards earning Elwë's favour."

Maglor frowns. "Think you he will come himself, then?"

"Perhaps," says Maedhros, "but even if he does not we must not seem to be ungenerous. Many of those in Nolofinwë's host will be searching for any excuse to name us so." He passes his hand over his eyes, looking tired. Maglor only arrived yesterday, but he has his suspicions about how long his brother had gone without sleep before that. "We must choose presents for them too—"

"You gave Nolofinwë a crown," says Maglor; "surely he will be sated with that!"

The jest makes Maedhros laugh, as it would not coming from any of their other brothers, edged as it would be with resentment or mockery. Maglor is awfully, selfishly glad of that.

"Come here," says Maedhros, "you are distracting me. Help me choose what to give our own kin, at least."

Maglor settles on the floor beside him. "This for Findaráto," he says, picking out a necklace of sapphires that Maedhros never much liked in the first place, "it will go well with his eyes."

Maedhros favours him with a smile. "Well chosen," he says. Then he finds a very fine emerald, set into the front of a copper circlet but easily prised free, and examines it thoughtfully. This, Maglor remembers, is a relic of their father's first experiments with the art of capturing light; it does not shine with a light of its own as do the Silmarils, but catches and magnifies all the daylight coming through the window in a most pleasing manner, reflecting them back in every shade of green imaginable. Maedhros sets it aside, and when Maglor casts him a questioning look blushes and says only, "For Finno."

The next piece Maedhros draws out of the chest is a golden bangle, from Fëanor's filigree phase: the metal worked into the shapes of trees and flowers and leaping horses, studded all over with tiny gems in a multitude of colours. Their father was in a good mood, when he made this, Maglor recalls. The precision of the work appealed to him. Perhaps it was that more than the loveliness of the finished product that made Maedhros fond of it.

"You always liked this one," says Maedhros, his eyes warm now with recollection. "The number of times it turned up on your dressing-table, after I had spent hours searching for it! Here." And he slips the bangle onto Maglor's wrist.

Maglor tenses, forces himself to relax, and takes it off again. "I do not want it," he says, "thank you, Nelyo."

Maedhros blinks at him. "I cannot wear it," he says, "not a bangle, it will be – too tight." He shudders briefly and then masters himself. "You might as well take it, and then someone can have use of it."

You do not want him back, Celegorm spat once; all your mourning is performance only. You are quite content to sit here wearing his crown and playing dress-up with his jewels, in truth.

"I do not want it," Maglor says again.

"Káno," Maedhros says, very gently. He tilts Maglor's chin up to examine his face. "What troubles you?"

But how can Maglor tell him, I am not now the child you knew in Valinor, the little magpie who so loved to be adorned? How can he say, I too was sated with a crown? He cannot unburden himself to Maedhros, who so depends on him to be merry and bright and unruffled. He has lost the right to do so.

"It will get in the way," he says, "when I play my harp." Then he summons up a smile and says, cheerfully, "Five cousins yet to choose gifts for, and then you promised you would let me practice my new Sindarin songs after we dine! We had better hurry." And he turns back to the chest before Maedhros can object.

[regular-gnome]

This is the first time I've asked a question, but first I just wanted to say that I love your art!! I wonder what the archivists' anatomy must be like, do they have organs? or they would be made of some space material or even have a vital core made of a star.

got two very simillar questions very close and one about skin that vanished for some reason from my inbox, so yeah, thanks for that tumblr, but anyway

The way I envision physical form is more of a mimicry of a body than an actual organic entity. Particles of stardust being moved and reshaped by the magic they consist of, sticking together to form an approximation of a mortal body and functioning as an outer shell to protect it. The thing about muscles is that they use relatively little energy compared to the work they do; they mostly need some to contract, tendons working as ropes pulling bones, while reshaping the whole arm to move it I imagine would require much more energy. (Its why as very small kids they are more glowy and "fluid" more reshaping). There isn't much difference between the Collector conjuring a doll in WaD and conjuring a form. With magic suppliying energy there isn't really a need for organs, its just the basic mechanical system to interact with physical world

For the bluish patches on the skin, it's where the magic seeps through. That's why they get darker and cover more area as they get older, having more magic at their disposal. Shapes are sort of souvenirs from the time as shapless magical creature mimicked the things around them, be it a bright star or a nearby planet they formed close to. As for why it's the color it is, it's just the color celestial magic takes in that form

Froooom a more design point of view, it looked better to have a bluish hue to me, and it's a element to distinguish between characters and keep them looking like family since drawing faces is tricky. And I do like the body horror aspect of unorganic creatures trying to mimic living

[peppermint-rat]

I just remembered that one of my Sunday school teachers said that football was going to outer darkness and I'm really not sure how a sport could go to Super Turbo Mormon Hell but I'm inclined to agree

[bear-do-well]

Someone: *mentions Tintin*

Me: "did you know that Tintin is Belgian and we call him Kuifje in Dutch?"

(Tintin is the original French name tho so technically more correct?)

didn't the french also make asterix? and those cartoons "once upon a time"? why are they the cartoon suppliers of europe??

[emyn-arnens]

For the five sentence meme if you're still taking those: "There was obvious tension in Faramir's posture."

This one got away from me! I've been ruminating a lot lately about Faramir's and Aragorn's disparate visions for Gondor, and it all spilled out here. (Five sentences game.)

There was obvious tension in Faramir's posture as he read the letter the messenger had delivered to the door of their chambers, apologizing for the lateness of the hour.

Éowyn put down the comb she had been brushing her hair with, troubled by the disquiet she read in Faramir's face. “Is something the matter?” Though the light in their chambers was dim, for the hour was indeed late, she could still discern the king's seal on the back of the letter.

“Aragorn intends to press farther into Rhûn,” Faramir said, refolding the letter, “to quell the Easterlings there and reclaim Gondor’s territory of old around the Sea of Rhûn. He wishes to hold a council and hear his lords’ minds on the matter.”

Éowyn rose to join him, and he handed the letter to her. “You think the campaign ill-advised,” she said after reading the missive. She studied him: A line of worry scored his brow, and tension drew the lines of his body tight.

“Even when Gondor had control of those lands, they were tenuously held, and Gondor has not now the power or population it did in those days to hold the land with a great force of men,” Faramir said, moving to his desk to collect a map and spread it out across their bed. “The Sea of Rhûn and the lands just to the east of it marked the farthest eastern border of Gondor during the days of warring and expansion.” Éowyn watched as he drew with his forefinger an outline of the border on the map.

“Such far-flung borders were hard bought, and Gondor has paid dearly for doing so, for it was Gondor’s own roads of old in the South and East that the Haradrim used to hasten their armies to the Pelennor and that the Wainriders used to invade Gondor many years ago. I fear that in doing this, it would merely repeat the follies of the past and weaken Gondor—if not now, then in many years hence. I would not have our children or our children’s children suffer from a needless conquest that will only breed future trouble.”

“But that is not the only reason that this troubles you,” Éowyn said, placing her hand on his forearm so that he turned to look at her. Worry pinched at his brow, and she longed to smooth the lines of concern away with her thumb. “It is the war and conquest itself that is the chief matter. It is not what you wished for Gondor—to be a mistress of slaves, to be feared. And that seems now a certainty.”

They had spoken of such things before, when the early campaigns in the South and East had seemed less routs than conquests, and Faramir had feared that Minas Tirith was to become the cruel mistress of broken lands and peoples. But the campaigns had drawn to an end soon after, and Aragorn had looked to rebuilding other parts of his realm, and it seemed such fears had been dispelled.

“It is not what I wished for Gondor,” Faramir said. Sorrow hollowed his words.

Éowyn drew him nearer and took his hands in hers. “What will you do?” 

“I will do my duty. I will speak my mind at the council, and if I can, I will speak to Aragorn in private and seek to dissuade him from this course. But if he will not be swayed, and if the council is of the king’s mood, I will govern as Steward while he is away. But I will not do it gladly.”

Grieved by his words, Éowyn took him in her arms, and he leaned wearily against her, pressing his forehead to hers. 

[jaybleu25]

Send to 10 other bloggers you think are wonderful. Keep this going to make someone smile! Add a heart so we know how long the chain's been going!❤️🖤💖🤍💚💛💗💙🩶🩵🤍🤎💟💜❣️❤️‍🩹💝🫀💖♥️💘❤️‍🔥💕🩶💜💛🫶💕💖💖💓💞💛♡❤️💙

I don't exactly know what to do here, so I'm just gonna tag people I know that I think are very awesome and wonderful <3

@reesespuffs14 @futureverseninja @akiiame-blog @keakruiser @elmoisherelegit @stardoesart64

You guys are all amazing!! Keep doing what makes you happy, don't let anyone stop you <3

🩵

[lotus-pear]

dawg ur chuuya in ur new pfp do be giving me a stare every time i look at ur blog LMAOO

bro has blue eyes an unsettling gaze and zero rizz ongggg /pos

NO idea what you're talking about, he has the big blue orbs that y/n lusts after in the fics

[a-v-j]

Julia: Bleutooth, I made some homemade truffles for you and just for you. Need a hug, l'il guy? Sorry that the sweets I keep making for you get taken, but I'm making absolutely sure these are for sure going to you.

[bleuflowerfields]

🛑pleas don't scroll ‼️Hi, I hope you are well. My name is Mohammed Atallah, I live with my parents, six sisters, a little girl named Malak and a little boy named Ameer in North Gaza. I created this link to fund a bone graft in my left hand which was shot by an explosive bullet, to rebuild our destroyed home and to evacuate my family from Gaza to a safe place.And donate any amount to safe life .. I will appreciate your help❤️ Can you please help as much as you can . Press all buttons on my wall , I beg you to visit my page, view it, and donate via the link in the bio💔The campaign has been documented @90-ghost Donate and share widely 🆘🆘 Every euros will make a difference 🙏I urge you to donate. Even the smallest amount can make the biggest difference. Not only he needs to evacuate with his family, but he is in dire need for surgery! The IDF has shot his arm with an explosive bullet. Not a regular one. AN EXPLOSIVE ONE. So he needs to get it treated right away! Otherwise, he will get an infection and it may lead to amputation. WE DO NOT WANT THAT TO HAPPEN, DO WE DO?So contribute! Make sure to reblog and share his story if you are unable to do so. Please share on Twitter and tumbler

i hope you're able to get both the surgery that you need for your arm and the funds to leave Gaza with your family, this is something nobody deserves to go through. i personally cannot donate atm, but i hope your campaign gets the exposure it needs.

on that note, please donate if you can! even five euros can make a big difference! they need 82k euros to evacuate, and they're only at around 4k at the moment

link: https://gofund.me/8b2ac999

[junicoins]

I keep cuddling my other plushes to sleep and waking up cuddling my blåhaj

[thelordofgifs]

What are Caretaker burnout notes? 👀

(WIP titles ask game) also for @thescrapwitch!

This is my newest WIP, and probably the one with the best working title! It's a shortish little thing I'll hopefully have ready in time for epistolary week. Concept: Maglor, who is so completely hinged and stable, keeps a little pamphlet of notes on How To Care For Your Traumatised Elder Brother Whom You Abandoned. Featuring entries such as "foods he will eat so you don't fuck up this time, Moryo" and "what to do after a nightmare". I can't share a snippet because I pretty much only have two sentences jotted down so far, but I am excited for this one!

[candycryptids]

I’m sad as hell but I made one of my old DnD OC’s in final fantasy properly because he’s been in 1 (one) screenshot before I really dug my teeth into Customizing and Modding my blorbeans to look like my blorbeans which is great, cos he’s my baby boy baby… he does the gardening…. He’s retired…. He has anxieties….

Anyways here’s Sebastian (Sasha) Orlev he’s from a Curse of Strahd campaign and became my baby boy baby (and also a wereraven, but don’t worry about that, also disregard the carbuncle n minion I’m hanging onto my happiness by my fingernails rn and that’s an emotional support carb in a onesie okay,)

He’s also Keathan’s retainer and Ishi’s [unofficial Gardener].

[wendig0ld]

I already commented this but I should make it an ask lmao

So what do our ghosties think about white defending a crewmate

Confuse ! They are confuse :') ! Maybe there is hope not to lose any more crew ?

[silvyysthings]

03 October 2023 10:30 AM Chanel

I don't know if it's correct?

it's my birthday, haha.

It seems there will be the Chanel show in that date at pwf