Please. Please Im Not Even American And I Need This More Than Air. For Fucksake Please

I HAVE HAD AN EPIPHANY!!!!

because of, you know. the conspiracy theorist phase.

501st as bizarre t shirts

tag yourself im little miss fully developed frontal lobe

Me: that "younger man" vibe tho... Me: *is 18 years old* Me:...right well I guess we have that to look FORWARD to in 20 YEARS TIME

Where does Tom Bombadil fall on this scale?? I want to say directly on top of simps for wife.

Fëanor *dissolves into smoke bc the world couldn't handle him*

Vs

Bilbo Baggins "GOODBYE" *disappears entirely*

Fight!!

The house of Finwe (first gen) as bizarre t shirts

tag yourself I'm Mitskibidi

Extra installment in the bizarre star wars t shirt series:

t-shirt that says ‘I’D RATHER BE DEBASING A CHASTE AND VIRTUOUS KNIGHT RIGHT NOW.’

Colour or no colour? Which is better?

Y'all the worldbuilding is getting intense rn, I'm having so many thoughts, because Elrond is a mosaic of dozens of different people, so many facets and multitudes, and different people see different things in him. People see his starry grey eyes and dark hair and hear his Voice and think of Lúthien, think of Maglor. They see his braids and attribute it to Turgon’s preference for traditional styles rather than that well-known Fëanorian obsession. His gracious courtly manners are from Melian or Idril, though clearly taught by Maedhros, who learned from Finwë. His skills and wisdom and bearing are clearly passed down from any or all of the 20+ different kings, queens, lords and princesses he is associated with. He dances like Lúthien and Idril. He is as courageous as Fingon and Beren and Eärendil, as fierce in battle as Fingolfin and Maedhros and, Eru forbid, Fëanor. He speaks archaic Quenya, just like the Gondolindrim, if only one ignores the Fëanorian accent. His giggle is Elwing’s, birdlike and odd; his laugh is rich and merry like Finwë’s; that half-despairing chuckle is Beren’s; the endearingly awkward titter is Finarfin’s; the exhilarated whoop is Fingon’s; the manic mid-battle cackle is Fëanor through and through. He fights left-handed like Eärendil and Maedhros, plays the harp right-handed like Fingon and Finrod and Maglor; he can write with either hand, producing a spindly scrawl with his left (so like Maedhros, so like Elwing) and authoritative calligraphy with his right (so like Fëanor, so like Thingol). His eyes are the chasm of the heavens - he gets that from Melian - but did Maeglin not also inherit his piercing gaze from Aredhel? He has his father’s jaw and his mother’s hair, or was it Turgon’’s jaw and Finwë’s hair, or maybe those angular bones came from fair Nimloth and the little flick of a curl at his temple from Beren. In certain lights he’s the spitting image of Thingol - or was it Fingolfin? The tilt of his wrist is as bird-like and fragile as Dior’s, as graceful and deliberate as Idril’s. His cheeks dimple when he smiles, just like Fingon, and his eyes crease when his face softens with fondness, just like Tuor, who looks little like Haleth but in moments like this. When he’s concentrating, the furrow of his brow is Thingol’s and the lip between his teeth is Beren’s, who took after Bëor. That eyebrow raise brings to mind 15 different people, all of them dead. One may look at Elrond and see a lost loved one in his profile, until the light shifts just slightly and he becomes the one who killed them, before he turns his head just so and suddenly looks like a complete stranger. Elrond is a Silmaril of ghosts, each facet a memory, love and terror and awe and joy and grief reflected and refracted upon one another again and again, radiant, hypnotic, infinite.

So I made a snickers cheesecake. Except there's no snickers or cheese, and it's not a cake.

And this happened -

My flatmate: Goose, this is great! How did you get the filling so creamy?

Me, recalling the metric fuck ton of cream that went into this diabetic daydream: funny you ask, actually...

Arrogant nihilist overcompensating for massive insecurities? It's more likely than you think!

Orc: man, we're so lost in this blizzard - forget attacking himring, we can't even see himring! Orc: ... wait. Orc: *squints*

They've put a giant eight-pointed star on the fortress on top of the hill overlooking the city. If I squint hard enough, I kind of feel like I'm in Himring (bad picture taken three quarter of the way up the hill, complete with desolate vegetation and thickish moving fog).