#Imrahil

[s-u-w-i]

Seven more! Hehehe 🕷🕸 Probably the last few from LOTR (if I'm not tempted to draw Ghân-buri-Ghân, I may be) but because I'm continuing this project till Easter I'll draw few guys from Hobbit and Silmarillion in the days left. Also, I’ve decided I'll be selling the originals after I finish all the drawings. But if there is any character you'd like to have in particular you can start reserving them now. By messaging me here or on [email protected] :^)

Shelob, Wormtongue and King of the Dead are left from this bunch!

The size of the drawings is A6 and prices from 50 to 80USD (shipping included). Also as last year with the dog drawings this year too - all the earnings will be sent to charities. Thank you! 🌿

Rest of the characters are here and here and here and here!

#my art #illustration #ink #traditional art #character design #tolkien #lotr #theoden #shelob #treebeard #fangorn #lobelia sackville baggins #grima wormtongue #imrahil #king of the dead

[tolkienosaurus]

#tolkien #lord of the rings #lotr #lord of the rings movies #gamling #helms deep #imrahil #cirdan #tom bombadil

[frodo-with-glasses]

“YOU COULDN’T HAVE TOLD ME THAT EARLIER??”

- Eomer, probably

#eomer #eomer of rohan #imrahil #lord of the rings #lotr #my art #fig tree au #i don’t have a design for imrahil so ‘generic gondor dude with dark hair’ is all you’re gonna get LOL #houses of healing (for meg)

[emyn-arnens]

For Charity

Minas Tirith hosts its first-ever Charity Auction for Widows and Orphans of the War. Some of the participants are less enthusiastic than others. Feat. Boromir, Faramir, Éomer, Aragorn, Éowyn, Lothíriel, and Imrahil, with a side of Eothiriel. 2k. Also on AO3. I was inspired by @emilybeemartin's art of Boromir in a wet shirt and @hobbitwrangler's tags on the post, and this happened.

Boromir picked up the shirt laid out upon his bed. It was a flimsy white thing, hardly worthy of being called a shirt. And it was, according to Faramir, explicitly required. With a long-suffering sigh, Boromir pulled the shirt over his head. For charity, he reminded himself.

He looked down at himself. Every inch of his skin showed through the shirt. He might as well not be wearing a shirt.

As he left his room, Boromir refused to look in the looking glass that hung upon the wall.

Catching sight of Faramir turning down the corridor, Boromir raced to catch up. “You must do everything you can to ensure that Éomer wins,” Boromir said, falling into stride with his brother.

Faramir turned and laid his hand on Boromir's shoulder, smiling broadly. “Dear brother, the outcome is in the hands of the crowd. Do not expect to get special privileges from me merely because I am your brother. I have only a small role in the event as it is.” 

Boromir groaned.

With a chuckle, Faramir clapped Boromir on the shoulder and started off down the hallway again. “But fear not!” Faramir said over his shoulder. “Éowyn and I have plans set in place.”

“What sort of plans?” Boromir called after him.

“You will see,” Faramir said evasively. Boromir could hear the laughter in his voice.

Not for the first time, Boromir wondered if it might have been better to have fallen in battle than to deal with Faramir and Éowyn’s machinations.

The sky above the Pelennor was grey and sunless. A fine mist of rain fell over the field, where brightly colored tents and canopies dotted the ground around the outer wall of the city in anticipation of Minas Tirith’s inaugural charity auction for the widows and orphans of the war. Many of the onlookers gathered underneath the tents, little deterred by the weather. From the conversations Boromir caught as he walked by, it sounded as if they were already placing their bets.

Éomer beckoned Boromir to join him near the stage. He had rolled up the sleeves of his own flimsy shirt, revealing his forearms. Beads of water clung to his hair, and his shirt, stuck to his skin from the misty rain, left little to the imagination.

A glance at his own shirt told Boromir that he looked much the same. Blast this auction.

“Why are we doing this again, Éomer?” Boromir grumbled.

“It’s for charity,” Éomer said without looking at him. His gaze was fixed to the right, where Éowyn and Lothíriel sat beneath a canopy, reclining upon cushions and eating from a bowl they shared between them. “It’s for widows and orphans.” Éomer turned with unnecessary force, sending his hair fanning about his shoulders—Boromir suspected for Lothíriel’s benefit, for she and Éowyn watched them with great interest—as he turned to face Boromir.

The distance was not so great and the drizzle of rain not so thick that Boromir could not see the way that Lothíriel’s gaze followed Éomer appreciatively. She and Éowyn bent their heads together and whispered furtively.

“I am not certain the widows are here solely for the charitable donations they are about to receive,'' Boromir said, for indeed many of the widows, gathered next to the stage so that donors might see those they were assisting, looked upon Éomer, Boromir, and the other men of Rohan and Gondor assembled near the stage with open admiration and many a wandering glance.

“All the better for them.” Éomer grinned.

Boromir picked at his shirt. The fabric only clung to his skin even more. “Must these be so thin?”

Footsteps sounded behind them. “You have stayed in fine form, my friend,” said the king’s voice, tinged with laughter. Aragorn stepped into view and thumped Boromir on the back. “I am certain the widows are appreciative.” He clasped Boromir’s shoulders firmly and looked him up and down. His lips twitched with barely contained laughter. “Very appreciative, indeed.”

Boromir crossed his arms and bit his tongue.

“You should stand that way on the stage,” Éomer put in. “It’s very flattering.”

Boromir quickly uncrossed his arms.

Aragorn laughed. “Good luck, my friends.” He bade them farewell and went to join Arwen.

Imrahil’s voice rang out over the fields, bidding the onlookers welcome and laying out the rules of the auction. The crowd was to bid upon who they thought was the most handsome of the men of the Mark and of Gondor, and all proceeds would go to the widows and orphans. “And the prize of this auction,” Imrahil said, pausing for effect, “is a kiss from the man who has received the highest bid. He shall bestow it upon the willing recipient of his choosing.”

Boromir heard more than one sigh from the direction of the audience.

Boromir had already decided that if he were to win, he would bestow the honor upon Beregond’s young daughter, Míriel, who was starstruck by her Uncle Boromir and Uncle Faramir. (Beregond and his wife, Idhres, had chastised her many times for calling the princes thus, but Boromir did not mind.) The rules, after all, did not state the nature of the promised kiss. A kiss upon the forehead or hand was still a kiss.

Faramir stood behind the stage, directing the men into a single line. He had declined to participate on the grounds of being a married man.

Would that Boromir had such an excuse. Bachelorhood had its disadvantages.

Imrahil introduced the first man, one of Éomer’s former Éored, if Boromir was not mistaken, though ahead of him Éomer seemed not to notice. Members of the audience shouted bids, and Imrahil recorded the highest in his ledger.

The bidding continued on in a drone of voices. Boromir paid no mind to it.

Éomer stomped impatiently and tugged at the low neck of his shirt. He turned to Boromir. “How do I look?” If Boromir did not know Éomer so well, he might have said that his friend seemed nervous. But Éomer had never been one to fear.

“Wet. Nearly shirtless.” The mist had turned to a light rain by now, and their shirts had become entirely translucent. Boromir pushed his dripping hair from his face.

“Do you think—” Éomer was cut off by Faramir gesturing for him to ascend the steps to the stage.

Boromir waved Éomer away. “Go. Take all of the bids for me.”

Éomer climbed the stairs, and Imrahil announced him. “And now, the King of the Mark! Who will bid upon this paragon of Rohirric—”

“Virility!” The shout came from the direction of Éomer’s guardsmen, who nudged each other and laughed, saluting their king with their steins of ale.

“Virtue,” Imrahil finished drily, though Boromir knew the man well enough to recognize the slight twitch in his lips that belied his humor.

The men of Rohan booed good-naturedly.

“Do I have a bid for Éomer King?” Imrahil called.

“We will bid!” several voices shouted. 

Boromir squinted through the rain. Three men were standing up in the middle of the crowd—his cousins. That meant trouble.

“What is your bid?” asked Imrahil, sounding suddenly weary.

“Two hundred castars,” Amrothos said. Only a prince’s purse—or several, as it were—could bear to part with such a sum. And it was, to Boromir’s dim recollection of the morning’s bidding, the highest bid that had been named yet.

“Does anyone have a higher bid?”

Silence fell over the onlookers.

Imrahil sighed. “Very well. Bring your money to the collection table to be counted.” He noted the sum in his ledger.

Faramir gestured for Boromir to climb the stairs to the stage. Clearly biting back laughter, he patted Boromir’s shoulder. “Good luck.”

“I have no desire for good fortune,” Boromir groused.

“Then I wish you luck in losing.”

Boromir climbed the stairs to applause from the crowd.

Imrahil smiled warmly at him, then turned to the crowd. “Who will bid upon Gondor’s very own captain?”

Various voices shouted bids, but none reached the sum named by Imrahil’s sons. Boromir breathed a sigh of relief and descended the stairs on the opposite side of the stage, picking out Éomer in the crowd and moving toward him.

Éomer clapped him on the shoulder. “You need not have feared.”

Boromir shook his head, laughing. “My cousins seem intent on your winning. Knowing them, they have contrived some plot.”

Éomer stilled.

Boromir studied him, recalling Faramir’s words that morning. Perhaps his and Éowyn’s plan was connected to whatever Imrahil’s sons had concocted. It would be very unlike his brother, who had never had close friendship with their Dol Amroth cousins, but it was possible.

Éomer’s affection for Lothíriel, and hers for him, were readily apparent to all. Imrahil’s protectiveness of his only daughter was equally apparent and had appeared to be a sticking point in anything coming of their feelings for each other.

Hiding a smile and leaving Éomer to his worries, Boromir turned to watch the rest of the auction. He had had no need to fear, indeed.

The last bid was called, and Imrahil tallied the bids in his ledger. Éomer had grown steadily paler during the rest of the auction, and he now was visibly fidgeting.

“The bids have been tallied!” Imrahil’s voice rang out over the field. “Éomer King received the highest bid. Please come to the stage and make your selection.”

Éomer walked to the stage with all the enthusiasm of a man headed to the gallows. Sudden movement at the front of the audience caught Boromir’s eye. Amrothos and Erchirion had moved to stand in front of something—or someone. 

Boromir glanced at the tent where Éowyn and Lothíriel had been sitting. Lothíriel was gone, and only Éowyn and Faramir stood beneath the tent, whispering to each other.

“Who do you choose, Éomer?” Imrahil said.

Éomer stood before the stage looking far less confident than he had earlier that morning.

“Perhaps our sister?” came a shout from the crowd. Amrothos and Erchirion pushed Lothíriel in front of them.

Éomer froze. Imrahil crossed his arms, visibly displeased.

Boromir bit back a laugh.

“She is very beautiful, do you not think?” Amrothos pushed Lothíriel closer to the stage until she stood an arm’s length away from Éomer.

Éomer appeared to be having difficulty speaking.

Whispers ran through the crowd.

Éomer finally stirred and reached out to take Lothíriel’s hand in his. He bent and quickly kissed her hand, then stepped back.

But Lothíriel did not pull away. Rather, she tugged on Éomer’s hand and drew him closer, then kissed him sweetly upon the lips. Her brothers erupted in hoots and hollers, and the crowd broke out in cheers.

Imrahil’s frown deepened.

Lothíriel stepped away from Éomer, looking only slightly abashed, and mouthed an apology to her father.

Éomer stood like a man knocked over the head.

“That concludes the Charity Auction for Widows and Orphans of the War,” Imrahil said at last, just barely audible over the excitement of the crowd.

Smiling and shaking his head, Boromir stepped away and made his way to Faramir and Éowyn’s tent, where they stood clapping.

Boromir joined them. “Could you not have told me of your plans beforehand?”

“And risk spoiling our plans? Look how happy they are,” Éowyn said. Indeed, Éomer seemed more at ease surrounded by Lothíriel’s eager brothers and bolstered by the cheering of the crowd, and Lothíriel was smiling widely.

“They only needed a little nudge,” Faramir agreed.

“I am surprised you took part in this conspiracy,” Boromir said to his brother.

Faramir wrapped his arm around Éowyn’s waist. “I wish for everyone to have the happiness that I have found. And it was Éowyn and Lothíriel’s plan.” That was less surprising. Éowyn and Lothíriel were fast friends.

Faramir patted Boromir's shoulder. “Did you really believe that I would let you suffer so?”

“Yes,” Boromir said.

Faramir and Éowyn laughed gaily. “It will be your turn next time,” Faramir said with a grin.

Boromir cuffed him.

#also featuring questionable depictions of auctions for the sake of shipping #this is quite possibly the most ridiculous thing i've ever written #enjoy #lotr #boromir #faramir #eomer #eowyn #lothiriel #imrahil #aragorn #my fic

[velvet4510]

#sorry i haven’t read the hobbit as much as the other books #so i’m kinda behind on good dwarf trios #lotr #jrr tolkien #lotr books #lord of the rings #the silmarillion #the hobbit #lotr poll #tolkien legendarium #first age #third age #beren and luthien #huan #frodo x sam x rosie #aragorn #legolas #gimli #thorin oakenshield #fili and kili #merry and pippin #treebeard #boromir #faramir #eomer #imrahil #gollum #gandalf #elrond #galadriel

[echo-bleu]

"Amroth for Gondor!" they cried. "Amroth to Faramir!"

Imrahil of Dol Amroth and Gandalf fighting the Nazgûl to bring a wounded Faramir back to Minas Tirith.

#lord of the rings #lotr #the lord of the rings #tolkien #tolkien fanart #lotr fanart #lotr books #the return of the king #faramir #imrahil of dol amroth #imrahil #gandalf #fanart #echo's drawings #i started this back in april i think #i didn't have the skills to finish it then #i'm happy to see the progress! #blood cw #injury cw

[wonderstruckoctopus]

Lord of the Rings Husband Quiz

I made yet another Tolkien quiz.

Which Lord of the Rings man would you marry?

#lord of the rings #lotr #husband #soulmate #uquizes #the hobbit #men #aragorn #eomer #imrahil #boromir #faramir #bard

[emilybeemartin]

do you have feelings about Cool Uncle Imrahil of Dol Amroth? (i love your work)

Honestly I don't have any headcanons about Imrahil, though he's in some of my old sketchbooks. I never thought much about his personality, but I do like the idea of him doting on Boromir and Faramir after Finduilas' death, and possibly having a strained relationship with Denethor on the perception that she wasn't happy in Minas Tirith. I always found it funny that Imrahil is the fix-it guy from Pelennor onward--like, who's going to save Faramir? Who's going to patch up the defenses? Who's going to notice Eowyn? Who's going to rule the city in the interim? Better make it Imrahil!

#imrahil #lotr #rotk #tolkien

[themoonlily]

How Éomer and Lothíriel's wedding probably went

Éowyn: storms in a month before the wedding and arranges the whole thing, is somehow prepared for and does resolve a dozen various crises behind the scenes while the bride and the bride-groom remain oblivious

Amrothos: annoying pranks during the stag night; is the cause of at least one or two crises, Éothain locks him up in a cupboard somewhere in Meduseld

Elphir and/or Erchirion: a lot of threats aimed at the bride-groom that are progressively less and less veiled; be good to her or else...!

Arwen: emotional support for the bride, the bride-groom, and occasionally father of the bride; will hold the bride-groom's hand to keep him calm

Aragorn: the Dad Friend who will give good advice and maybe help to adjust some piece of clothing just before ceremony; is instrumental to resolving at least a few crises behind the scenes

Éothain: will help to arrange a quick getaway when guests get annoying and has several cupboards ready to act as cells; shares a lot of embarrassing stories but also secretly cries during the ceremony

Faramir: makes a toast everyone will talk about for years to come; will hold the bride's hand to help with the nerves

Imrahil: is happy he doesn't need to deal with the incessant pining anymore; has not had a day off since last year and he is going to just enjoy this, thank you very much

#Éomer #Eomer #Lothiriel #Lothíriel #Éowyn #Amrothos #Elphir #Erchirion #Arwen #Aragorn #Éothain #Faramir #Imrahil #headcanon #text #Éothiriel #eomer x lothiriel

[heckofabecca]

A wedding portrait of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and his (deceased) wife, Lady Gilmith, from my Lothíriel-centric story Far From The Swan-road and the sequel Beneath Golden Eaves (both on AO3).

#lothíriel #imrahil #dol amroth #tolkien oc #tolkien art #gondor #far from the swan-road

[anghraine]

Back to clearing out drafts of things I'm not going to finish: this scrap is from the third of August, 2013:

-

"I think it would be for the best, my lord," Faramir said, clearly picking his words with care, "if I remain in Rohan when the rest of our people return home."

Aragorn considered him. Nothing about the other man's demeanour spoke of the besotted lover; indeed he looked very much as Aragorn imagined he had when he spoke of Gandalf to Ecthelion. His air was entirely that of a councillor about to offer disagreeable advice. 

Suppressing a sigh, Aragorn said, "I am not sure I understand you."

It was not the first time. Faramir was often clear and precise, but not always, and seemed to expect Aragorn in particular to wring meaning out of even cryptic statements.

Apart from this quirk, Aragorn understood him quite well. In fact, he'd formed a reasonable estimation of Faramir's character before he set foot in Minas Tirith, thanks to Imrahil.

As they'd made their way through the stinking battlefield, the city rising pristine before them, Aragorn had asked the Prince if he knew where the most seriously wounded might be found.

"They will be in the Houses of Healing," said Imrahil slowly. "My sister-son—"

Aragorn remembered Boromir speaking of a younger brother, his affection and concern unmistakable. And that was the brother to whom the summons to Rivendell had been sent first. He would now be Denethor's heir, playing an even greater part in Gondor's affairs than in Boromir's descriptions. There must be a reason for all this—it did not seem likely that he was another Boromir. Perhaps he favoured Denethor more than his brother had, or perhaps Finduilas and Imrahil. Aragorn could only hope for the latter. 

Belatedly, he realized that Imrahil had not simply paused mid-sentence but stopped altogether, his smooth voice breaking.

"The Lord Faramir, I believe?" Aragorn immediately saw the pain in Imrahil's stiff nod. "He is in the Houses? Has he been injured?"

"Faramir led the defence of Osgiliath and the Rammas Echor against the Witch-king of Angmar," said Imrahil.

Angmar. "What happened?"

The Prince hesitated. "He has great strength of mind, and chanced to inherit abilities from both Denethor's house and mine. Boromir was the mightier warrior, and the most admired man in Gondor, but Faramir had—has—a way with everyone he met." He shook his head, a ghost of a smile at his mouth. "To see him is to love him, and not only for his kin. Men and beasts alike will follow him anywhere." The lines of Imrahil's expression, briefly softened, drew tight and anxious once more. "Forgive me. I digress."

"With reason, I think," said Aragorn, hardly one to condemn a grieving uncle, even if he had not been the Prince of Dol Amroth, and even if he had praised his sister-son without purpose. 

Imrahil nodded, exhaling on a sigh. "His men followed him that day into the Shadow. For a time, he was able to hold his soldiers and their mounts steady, and he judged it necessary to remain with them to the end. But he was weary before he ever rode out, and it had been over a day, with little rest, when we last spoke."

"It would have been a great enough task for a man well-rested," said Aragorn, frowning. A dim picture was beginning to coalesce in his mind, but something was wrong with it. Many things were wrong with it. As they headed towards the city, he said, "It would have been great enough for an Elf-lord, against such an enemy. Why did he not rest beforehand?"

He was familiar with that kind of exertion, though that particular form was not one he favoured. He looked ahead at Minas Tirith, thinking of how many must be ill or dying. Soon he would be called upon to cast as wide a net as he could, pitting his will against the Black Breath. But it was a battle he could and would win.

"Faramir had slept a little," said Imrahil. "But five Nazgûl had pursued him and three or four others from Osgiliath; I did not see it myself, but I was told that he rode back when his companions were unhorsed, and one of the foul beasts actually stooped down on him. It was Mithrandir who saved him then."

Aragorn almost halted, more startled at this than anything else.

"This sister-son of yours confronted five Nazgûl?"

He could easily imagine Boromir doing it. Even the Denethor of Thorongil's day—but still. One was quite bad enough.

Imrahil looked at him. "Would you have done any different, lord?"

"No," said Aragorn. "Yet he was lucky to survive that alone, never mind the battle itself."

"He always has been. His men believe his life is charmed, by the Valar or—" He shrugged. "If so, his good fortune ran out in the end. He fell in the retreat across the Pelennor, when he was pierced by a Southron arrow. I carried him myself to the Houses of Healing. There he has lain in a fever ever since. I cannot think it only the wound."

"If he was contending with Ringwraiths the day before," Aragorn said, "then a stray arrow would be the least of his troubles. Yet it would leave him far more vulnerable to the Black Breath of the Nazgûl, all the more with his will spent." He looked sharply at Imrahil. "That would be enough. But there is more, I think?"

Imrahil sighed. But then he told him the whole story, as far as he knew it: told him of the always troubled relationship between Denethor and his gentle, willful younger son, turned colder with Boromir's absence and death, of Faramir's return from Osgiliath and Denethor's displeasure that Faramir had permitted strangers to pass freely through Ithilien.

Aragorn almost caught his breath. "Strangers? Of what kind?"

"Halflings, I hear," said Imrahil. "They had some foul weapon of Isildur's—forgive me—which Faramir sent away with them. Denethor agreed it should not be used, but he was furious that Faramir had allowed it to pass into the Dark Land. They quarrelled over that, and then again over the defense of the Rammas Echor. Faramir did not go of his own will but at the command of the Steward.

"I see," said Aragorn. So this man had faced the Ring as well.

#anghraine babbles #anghraine's fic #legendarium blogging #i always figured that aragorn knew about faramir's latest conflict with denethor from imrahil #so this was partly an attempt to write that #i was also going to wind back around into faramir staying in rohan for political as well as personal reasons #fic talk #imrahil #faramir #aragorn #de las bóvedas #long post

[sotwk]

hi, was just wondering whether Imrahil will appear in your Boromir/oc fic? He's one of my faves and I love when he turns up in fics

Hi Anon! Thank you for this question! <3

Short answer: YES! The wonderful Prince Imrahil will play a supporting role in my Boromir x OFC fic, which takes place in the decade before the War of the Ring (3008-3019). It will therefore explore aspects of Boromir's early career as Captain-General, which includes his activities in Dol Amroth and relationships with his mother's side of the family.

A more significant role will be played by Boromir's aunt, Lady Ivriniel, but the gentle, reasonable, Imrahil will serve as sort of a foil to both her and Denethor as they pressure Boromir to fulfill certain obligations according to their preferences.

More detailed answer: I love the noble character of Imrahil as well! I think excluding him from the movies was just as grave as excluding Glorfindel. However, writing him and the Dol Amroth clan into my AU stories makes me a bit anxious. My Boromir and Éomer fics are interconnected, and well... I'm deviating from canon to match Éomer with an OFC rather than Lothíriel. I'm yet not even sure how I'm handling that part.

I haven't made a final decision yet whether to actually have Éomer marry someone other than Lothíriel, but I don't usually defy canon pairings, so potentially cutting that in-law tie between Imrahil and Éomer is giving me (figurative) stress ulcers. I dunno, I guess the "where will this go??" is supposed to be part of the fun?? XD

Anyway, thank you so much for asking and I appreciate you waiting for me to get that Boromir fic moving!

#sotwk answers #anon asks #i have the best anons #boromir #boromir x oc #eomer #eomer x oc #boromir fanfiction #eomer fanfiction #imrahil #dol amroth #lotr #tolkien #sotwk fanfiction #sotwk headcanon

[tolkienosaurus]

#tolkien #lord of the rings #lotr #treebeard #celeborn #galadriel #elrond #halbarad #eomer #imrahil #theoden #aragorn

[frodo-with-glasses]

Long live the Halflings! Praise them with great praise!

#field of cormallen poster #frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #gandalf #aragorn #meriadoc brandybuck #merry #peregrin took #pippin #legolas #gimli #elladan #elrohir #imrahil #eomer #eomer of rohan #lord of the rings #lotr #my art #fig tree au #the sun DID peek out of the clouds for a second today!! so here’s the better-quality picture as promised :-D

[sallysavestheday]

Half-elven Week Drabbles #5

What was all that in RoTK about the beautiful, magical, graceful, glorious Imrahil? Have 100 words of appreciation for the Elvish blood in the Princes of Dol Amroth, for @halfelvenweek.

********

As a child, Imrahil would walk the beaches of Dol Amroth for hours, clambering into every sea-cave and rocky inlet he could find, calling and calling in the Elvish tongues. When the tide was too high for such wanderings, he would plumb the woods, tangling himself in briars, delving into hollows among the fallen trees. The tales provided no happy ending for his foremother: her disappearance was a sad silence in the book of his mind. Mithrellas! he called, seeking her. He wished only to warm and welcome her, to show her that her children had grown gentle and kind.

#halfelvenweek #imrahil #dol amroth #my fics

[dogblessyoutascha]

How to know that your himbo needs to be upgraded to husbimbo STAT.

(Completely self indulgent comic of a scene from my tattoo artist!Eomer AU. He’s trying really hard to prove he’s stepdad material for the four gremlins.)

#dogblessyoutaschart #comic #lotr #eomer #imrahil #modern au #i dunno why i just feel like he'd be the type to go at the closet monster ready to fight even though he probably knows it isn't real