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velvet4510 · 9 hours

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Maybe I’m reading too much into this, but I really think Gimli’s love for Galadriel and his anger at anyone who doesn’t also think she’s “the fairest in the world” is NOT entirely about physical beauty. It’s much deeper than that.

His feelings for her are not instantaneous, when he lays eyes on her face and hair; what lights the spark is her words. She is polite to him. She opens her mind and heart to him, a dwarf, and shows him respect. And when he humbly asks for a little reminder of her, she gives him triple of what he requested.

That’s what he loves. She’s not at all like any of the Elves he’s previously known and heard about. She sees him and appreciates him for what he is, and he does the same for her. It is her soul that he deems the most beautiful in the world, not just her face and hair. He respects and values her as a person. This is why he is upset when Éomer insults her. He knows she is nothing like what Éomer accuses her of being.

And when Gimli only lets the matter with Éomer go upon learning that Éomer thinks Arwen is the fairest instead, I also think it’s deeper than just superficial, at least on Gimli’s part. (Éomer does show hints of sexism, however benign, but Gimli is utterly chivalrous). Gimli recognizes that Arwen is Galadriel’s granddaughter and the love of Aragorn’s life, both of which are major indicators that she also has good character, as well as outer beauty. If Arwen is related to someone as wonderful as Galadriel, and chosen by someone as dear as Aragorn, then she must be a good candidate in her own right and Éomer must be given a pass, in Gimli’s eyes.

Again, maybe this is too deep. Maybe Tolkien did just intend Gimli and Éomer’s debate as “who’s hotter” and nothing more, but I don’t believe that. Sexism in Tolkien’s work is a different conversation entirely… but I just feel like Tolkien is too rich and thoughtful a writer to be implying that Gimli worships Galadriel only because she’s pretty. I also doubt Galadriel herself would give three hairs to someone who only values her for her physical appearance. That’s what Fëanor was like, not Gimli.

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g-m-kaye · 2 months

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"Éowyn was slender and tall, with a grace and pride that came to her out of the South from Morwen of Lossarnach, whom the Rohirrim had called Steelsheen."

(Appendix A "The House of Eorl")

Éowyn with Shadowfax in the lush meadows of Rohan @megarywrites @sotwk :)

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camileontine · 3 months

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" are you patriotic? " hell yes i am, [unveils flag of rohan that i keep in my closet] !

#lotr #lord of the rings #eomer of rohan #eowyn of rohan #riders of rohan #rohan #aragorn #the two towers #the fellowship of the ring

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undeadlobster · 13 days

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The vast majority of Eomer’s “Men”:

My headcanon is that due to the rural nature of Rohan and its overall decline, a huge number of the Rohirrim were actually women in disguise, not just Eowyn. And that it was an open secret that only the royal line didn’t know about that local lords fielded women riders to bolster their dwindling numbers

#tribute to the horse girls that made LOTR possible #it also explains why Eowyn was able to hide so easily #half the riders were just ladies who thought her disguise game was weak #the other half were dudes who were just used to fighting alongside ladies in drag #the nobles were just idiots lol #lotr #Rohan #eomer of rohan #eowyn of rohan

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ohnonotnow · 3 months

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my library

here's some of the best the hobbit/lotr fanfics I've read cuz they can be quite hard to find and I wanna help

will update the list as I read

Thorin

Smoke, iron and Thorin

Fire and Gold

Learning Khuzdul

Braid of Gold

Thorin being soft

The Beauty of Chance

Those Hands

Misunderstanding

The arrival

A king's crown

Covered In Steam

There's just inches in between us

Thorin after a long day of training with his nephews

In This Moment

Agreement

Symphony of your life

Oh so quiet

Confession

Find Your Way Back

Fili

fili oneshots

Moonrise

The Most Unpleasant, Defective, and Abominable Incident

Stay with me

The Redeemer

Durin's Garage

Restless

Kili

The book keeper

insecurities

The beauty and the Beast

getting back at Kili for teasing

My Treasure

Madly in love

It's in his kiss

Love Bites

Sway With Me

Wood Carvings

Softly. . .

Sweet like nectar

A Shot in the Dark

Beorn

Early Mornings

Beorn takes care of you when you're injured

Linger

Legolas

Watcher of Wanderers

The Innocence of Brutality

Blessing

Sensitive

Being best friends with Legolas

Hazy Memories

Spellbound

Thranduil

Bookworm

Relax

Best friends father

Fascination

Flower On My Skin

To Meet Under the Stars

Passenger Princess

Autumn Thunderstorm

I Could Love You With My Eyes Closed

Haldir

Gentle Dark

Lindir

My Heart Is In Your Hands

Moonlight

Just a Little Help

Warriors Great Tales

The Fountain

Return to Me

Èomer

Burnt Bread

A Helping Hand

Wildest Dreams

Falling In Love With A Librarian

SFW alphabet

Happiness

A Roll in the Hay

Blessing

Turning Points

More characters

various characters oneshots

Imagine: elves having highly sensitive ears and you finding out by accidently touching them.

Journey to Erebor

Hair braiding

Elves + Braiding

What Type of Kisser is Each LoTR Character?

The Hobbit Characters + Physical Affection (Suggestive Version)

A Headcanon For Each Member of Thorin’s Company

Cuddling With Thorin's Company

Imagine some of the elves of Middle Earth find out how easy it is to make you (a human staying in Rivendell) blush and become aroused.

The LOTR characters reacting to a modern reader

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forheksed · 5 months

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I randomly drop 2 sketch portraits of Eomer and 5 min lotr landscape sketches and disappear for months again

#lotr fanart #lord of the rings #eomer #lotr #lotr shitpost #my art #fanart #eomer of rohan

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artbyleav · 4 days

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“Then hope unlooked-for came so suddenly to Eomer's heart, and with it the bite of care and fear renewed, that he said no more, but turned and went swiftly from the hall.”

The challenge is now complete! It was really fun and I am happy it ‘forced’ me to draw new characters. Eomer won the poll so he got to complete the collection ✨

#my art #I am hella sick so sorry for the no posts the last week #six fanarts #lord of the rings #fanart #lotr fanart #eomer #eomer of rohan #the two towers #riders of rohan

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deny3verything · 1 year

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imagine being eomer. you’re out hunting with the guys when three randos seemingly materialize from thin air, and then procede to tell you that

a) garden gnomes are actually real (and they are personal friends with at least 2)

b) they had passed through the “cursed forest,” and the “monsters” there are actually so cool that one guy is about to physically fight you for disrespecting slender man

c) two of your good family friends have died tragically

d) one guy pulls out the actual nemean lion skin and declares himself to be the descendant of hercules, with indisputable proof right there in front of you

and so naturally, not only do you believe the three insane strangers you just met in the middle of nowhere, but you also give them your police friend’s cop car, ONLY under the condition that they bring it back!!! because otherwise you will probably be actually killed lol byee. what a normal day

#i tried not to make this post too american but it was hard when all my first thoughts were like ‘the bayonet of george washington’#as if that’s equivalent in the slightest #but the point is he is such a himbo but this is completely unprecedented #like what would you do if spider-man turned up and asked you for help? you gotta help him right?#no one would ever fucking believe you and you’re in unbelievable trouble but!! it’s spider-man!!! like you can’t not #eomer #eomer of rohan #eomer eadig #lotr #lord of the rings #lotr two towers #two towers #aragorn #gimli #legolas #i thought this was funny please give me notes for funny

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whiteladyofithilien · 4 months

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Okay here to talk Eowyn and how the slights and disrespect she gets are more annoying than listening to Gollum talk to himself all day...

People who act like Aragorn dislikes/disdains her just because he doesn't return her romantic feelings are living in that incel mindset that women can only be admired as matrons or sexual objects. Aragorn the king of wholesome masculinity admires the heck out of Eowyn. Refers to her as the fairest thing in Rohan. He values her friendship and her place as a fundamental bullwark of her people.

People who act like she's somehow pathetic because she falls for someone who doesn't return her affection are not living in reality. They're lost in some Hollywood/porn centric view of romance where women are always sexually desired and if they aren't well then something is wrong with them. Faramir very clearly lays out what happened. She who had been treated rather like a utility in her household meets the last and greatest of the men of Numenor. Truly a man above all others. And of course she's bedazzled. Then there's the fact that he seems to truly see her (albeit on his side just platonic admiration and desire for friendship) and she matters and of course for someone who has been sidelined to tending to her aging uncle this draws her in. There's no fault on Aragorn but as any girl whose femininity and/or personhood has gone largely ignored will tell you it can be quite heady when someone actually notices you as a whole person, femininity included.

And finally her moment with the Witch-King being stolen from her like she did nothing. Ignores all these facts

1. Merry wouldn't have been there to stab him if not for her

2. It's very clearly a dual credit thing both in the passage and in the appendix footnotes

3. Nothing explicitly says that without Merry and his barrow-blade that she couldn't kill the witch-king. She's not a man while Merry is not a Man. The whole thing was based off of an elven prophecy which prophecies seldom are straightforward in their wording and don't even always come true (ask Treebeard) so there's nothing conclusive to say that her jamming a sword in his face wouldn't have done the trick with or without Merry. His role is certainly important because if nothing else prophecy or no he did distract the Witch-King with his blow allowing Eowyn to press an advantage but absolutely nothing there discredits her accomplishment in slaying the Witch-King of Angmar and people trying to act like Merry "made it easy for her" need to shove a barrow-blade where the sun don't shine

Small note here too. People who want to criticize her cooking are wrong in multiple aspects.

A. That's only in the films and a deleted scene at that.

B. It's sexist as hell to base a woman's merit off of her cooking skills. You go hamstring an oliphant and make a souffle then anonymous dudebro hating on Eowyn

C. If you think Eowyn's only accomplishments are "masculine" she does have a great talent with "feminine arts" as in she's a healer and gardener in Ithilien and by virtue of her spouse she's a freaking princess given Faramir is the Prince of Ithilien

So in conclusion if you want to diss Eowyn for any of the above mentioned off base arguments you can kiss Gollum's scrawny arse

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kiritella · 5 months

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You know, I recognize that I have second lead syndrome, but seriously, it is getting out of hand.

Eomer of Rohan is not even the second lead, or the third, or the fourth, like...there are 9 REALLY great guys, and then I'm like...

"No, I want that odd ball. Gimmie the weirdo horse man. I want that one."

ugh.

#ellatalks #lord of the rings #lotr #eomer of rohan #eomer #eomer x reader #eomer x lothiriel #emoer x you #eomer x y/n #tolkien #the lord of the rings #tlotr #lord of the rings x reader #lotr x reader #tlotr x reader

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gloomwitchwrites · 4 months

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Burnt Bread

Éomer x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: fluff, physical & emotional hurt/comfort, family issues, established relationship, alcohol

Word Count: 2.4k

After being left to fend for yourself in your father's bakery, you end up making a massive mistake that earns his ire. Fleeing, you find comfort with the one person who you're utterly safe with.

A/N: Dedicated to @firelightinferno

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

“I’m leaving. Watch the shop.”

You glance up from the sticky dough beneath your hands and find your father near the door. He sways on his feet slightly as he attempts to tug on his coat. “I’m leaving” is just another way of telling you that he’s off to drink, and by the look and smell of him, he’s already started for the day.

It wasn’t always like this, and it’s only become worse over the years. Following your mother’s death, your father’s reliance on mead has become a crutch, a vessel for his loneliness. It doesn’t matter that you are alive and here for him.

While you don’t entirely resent him for falling into this state, the frequency of it does worry you. Worse, it’s driving a wedge in your relationship with him. He’s becoming distant and detached. His frequent disappearances leave you alone to take care of the shop and everything that goes along with it. It’s not difficult, and you enjoy the work, but when the shop is busy, you can’t always keep an eye on things.

You’re starting to grow tired of this, and you don’t want to feel resentful of your father. You’ve always loved him, even on the days when he comes home stumbling.

“For how long?” you ask flatly, trying not to sound upset that he’s departing yet again. This is the fifth day in a row your father has left the shop in the morning to drink. You fail, a little indignation creeping into your tone.

Your father hears it because he scowls in your direction. “Don’t know,” he mutters, as he teeters toward the door.

There is no final goodbye or backward glance. The shop door slams shut, and tears begin to form in the lower lids of your eyes. Brushing them away with the back of your hand only dusts your cheeks with floor.

This constant distance is tiring.

Putting all your frustration into kneading the dough on the table, a little bit of that steam begins to cool. Once you’ve had enough, and your arms ache, you cut and shape the dough, setting it aside to rise.

The bell above the door rings as the first customer of the day steps inside. And then it begins.

This is why you miss your father in the mornings. Everyone loves seeing your face. They appreciate your kind smile and helpful attitude. Most days, your father is nursing a hangover and keeps to himself, leaving you to take care of everyone that walks in. But without him, you’ll need to do both.

The front of the shop quickly packs with people. You’re so busy taking orders and wrapping bundles of freshly baked bread, that at first you don’t smell the slight hint of char in the air. It’s only when you finish helping a customer that you catch a whiff of it.

The older woman’s nose crinkles in confusion, and while she says nothing, her reaction gives you pause. Inhaling, you consider the scents in the shop, grouping them into different categories. There’s sugar, butter, and—

Your eyes widen, and then you’re rushing to the large stone oven at the back of the shop. “Oh no. No no no no.” Grabbing the large, wood paddle off the wall, you hurriedly scoop up and toss the bread onto the nearby table.

Some are perfectly toasted but others, like the ones closest to the fire, are charcoal. You slide the paddle in and retrieve a loaf that is entirely on fire. In your surprise, the paddle and bread fall to the floor.

They both clatter loudly and you drop to your knees, using your apron to smother the burning bread. The tears fall easily, and the heat from the apron is hot and irritating, but you put it out. You’re so absorbed in trying to salvage what you can, that you don’t realize where the wide part of the paddle is.

Your hand goes out and connects with it. You jump back with a light cry, cradling your palm. The paddle is wood and not metal, which is some comfort, but your left hand is throbbing.

The bell above the door rings, and you glance up, eyes wide and frightened like a deer.

“What is this?” comes the sneering voice.

Your father is back, and you can smell the sourness from here. He half-sways, half-limps around the counter to where you’re kneeling. His pupils are wide, and he has to lean on the countertop for support. That yellow gaze roams over you, to the burnt bread on the floor, and then back to you again.

“You stupid girl,” he whispers. Then, much louder. “You stupid stupid girl!”

This is the part of him you dislike the most. When he’s deep in his cups, all kindness is gone.

“I’m so sorry, father. We were busy and I didn’t realize—”

“Do you know how much you’ve cost us? This is two dozen loaves.” He picks one up and throws it at your face. His aim is terrible and completely off. All you have to do is bend a bit and it sails right over your head.

“Father—”

“Do you do this to me on purpose?”

“Father. Please—”

“Every day I have to look upon your face and see your mother. A daily reminder that she is gone!”

“Please,” you beg softly, staring down at your hands.

“Get out!”

You bolt up and rush out the door, nearly knocking over an elderly woman about to walk inside. You run and run until you pass through the gates of Edoras, stopping only when you make it to the burial mounds of the kings. You fall to your knees and then onto your back, staring up into the sky.

It’s morning, but overcast, the clouds a stormy gray like they’re ready to cry and join you in your sorrow.

There is only one person who could give you comfort, but he is not here. He is gone, expected back today but you’re not sure when. Even if you were to wait for him, you’re in no state to greet him. Éomer should see you happy when he returns, not tear-stained.

No one holds vigil at the burial mounds. This will be your respite. This will be your chance to slow your racing heart and dry your eyes. Once you’re calm, once you’re no longer wishing to flee from this place, you’ll hold vigil at the gates until Éomer arrives. Going back to the shop to face your father is out of the question.

The grass is a soft bed beneath you. Closing your eyes, you press your hands against the earth, splaying your fingers wide, focusing on the individual blades of grass under your palms. This will be your anchor until you can find a bit of peace.

“What are you doing on the ground?”

Your eyes snap open and you turn your head to the right, meeting the amused smile of the man you love.

“Éomer,” you breathe, sitting up to grab at the front of his leather armor. It doesn’t matter that your hands sting, you pull him down onto you wanting his closeness.

His gentle laugh is perfect, and when your mouths meet, everything slips away. Éomer settles between your legs, his forearm resting by your head while his other hand reaches back to grab. He meets bare thigh, and the contact is exactly what you need.

Éomer is real and whole and with you.

The kisses that start with soft excitement quickly become deep and heated. There is a slight harsh bite to his breathing as the two of you presses closer. Your hands slide up to wrap around the back of his neck, but as they crest over the lip of his armor, the tender flesh on your palm screams out.

Hissing, you draw back, clutching at your hand.

Éomer stills and then pulls away from your lips. His head tips downward, glimpsing the burn before you can hide it from view.

“What happened?” he asks, his tone tipping toward concern.

“It’s nothing,” you murmur, as the memory of your father comes roaring back.

“It’s not nothing,” he replies firmly, his brow creasing. “Show me.”

Slowly, you unfurl your fingers, revealing your palm. Of everyone in your life, Éomer is the safest.

Éomer’s mouth forms into a deep frown as he clutches your wrist, drawing your hand closer to his face as he inspects the burn. “Did someone do this to you?”

You shake your head. “No. Just grabbed some hot bread. That’s all.”

Éomer sees right through you. “You’ve been crying.”

“It hurts.”

Éomer sighs, gently guiding your hand down to your chest. When he releases your wrist, Éomer reaches out to trace the backs of his knuckles against your cheekbone. “You can tell me if it was your father.”

When the tears start to accumulate in your eyes again, Éomer leans in and lowers his voice. “Did he hurt you?”

You shake your head. “Not with his fists.”

Éomer’s exhalation is shaky, like he’s trying to calm his own anger. “You’re coming with me.”

“Éomer—”

“You are coming with me,” he repeats. “We will talk, and I will tend to these burns.” When you open your mouth to argue, Éomer shakes his head. “Don’t be stubborn.”

He slowly sits back on his heels and helps you come to sitting. Then he’s on his feet, bringing you with him. Éomer;s horse, Firefoot, grazes nearby.

Éomer’s hands lightly brush away the blades of grass that cling to your skirts. “Would you like to walk or ride back?”

You love Firefoot dearly, but you’d rather take your time arriving to Edoras’ gates. You’re still not calm, and a slow walk with Éomer at your side might just help you find some peace.

“Could we walk?”

He nods. “If that is what you wish.”

Éomer leads Firefoot by the bridle with one hand, and with the other, he clasps yours. He does not push or dig around, but instead moves at the pace you set. Éomer knows your signals without you having to say anything. Instead of inquiring about your father or what happened, he talks about his time away. It gives you a chance to shift mindsets, to focus on him and nothing else.

When the two of you are in his private room, Éomer guides you over to the hearth. He lays out a small nest of furs and gently helps you down on them, taking care not to accidentally brush against the burn. Once you’re seated, Éomer moves to a far corner of the room to remove his weapons and a few heavy pieces of armor. Then he comes back to you, sitting beside you in front of the fire.

“Show me your hands.” Reluctantly, you present them. Éomer frowns down at them. “Tell me again your father didn’t do this to you.”

“He didn’t. I promise.”

Éomer sighs heavily and his hands wrap around your wrists. He gently guides your hands closer, inspecting the burn. It’s only on your left hand, and Éomer slowly releases the one that’s fine. “I’ll have someone fetch some ointment for this and bandages.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is. I’ll take care of it.”

You snort and Éomer’s mouth quirks up into a smile. “Think I’m incapable?”

“A strong warrior like you capable of such tenderness?” you tease.

His smile softens. “What about all the times I’ve been tender with you?”

Your cheeks heat with the memory. “Not in that way,” you mutter, trying to hide your embarrassment.

“Would you prefer that as well?”

“Perhaps later,” you breathe, heart quickening in your chest.

Éomer lifts your wrist to his mouth, placing a kiss on the pulse point. “I’ll return shortly.”

When Éomer acquires the correct ointment and bandages, he sets to work. He cleanses his hands, scrubbing his nails and between his fingers before he begins. Then, with purposeful slowness, Éomer lifts the injured hand and begins rubbing the ointment into the surface-level burns. They likely won’t blister but they’ll sting for a week or more.

Once the ointment is applied, he unwraps the bandages, guiding it over and around your hand to keep the ointment in place. He ties off the extra and cuts it off with a clean blade, tucking the little bit left into the wrappings. Éomer is overly cautious but it’s sweet.

He is always so gentle with you.

“You spoil me,” you murmur.

“I enjoy it,” he replies, turning your hand over to double-check his work.

A soft sadness creeps in. “One day you won’t.”

Éomer glances up. “How so?”

You shrug as if the words don’t mean anything. “You’ll marry a princess. She’ll beautiful and fair. The people will love her.”

Éomer shakes his head. “Why would I ever want such a thing when I have one right here.”

“Don’t tease.”

“I’m not.” Éomer kisses your fingers and gently guides your hand to your lap. In a move so delicate it momentarily steals your breath, Éomer cups your cheek and leans in close. “All I ever want. All I ever need. Is right here.”

Éomer stands before the back door of the shop your father owns. He’s still fuming, but not nearly as much as when he saw your hand. For some time, Éomer has wanted to give this man a piece of his mind. You are precious, and more importantly, you don’t deserve his ire.

The man is a drunk, and everyone knows it. Most show him pity because it all started with the death of his wife—your mother. But that was many years ago, and any pity Éomer felt for the man has long since evaporated.

Squaring his shoulders, Éomer pounds on the door like he’s trying to splinter the wood.

You are still in Éomer’s chambers, curled up in the pile of furs he created in front of the fire. You are sacred to him, the woman he wants above all things. One day, you will be his, and will no longer have to answer to your father.

The drunkard swings open the door. “What?” he growls before he realizes who stands before him.

His eyes widen, and he straightens up, smoothing out the rumbled apron. He fumbles over his words and Éomer holds up a single hand, silencing the man.

“I’m not interested in excuses.” Éomer takes a step into the shop, towering over the man. “If I ever see her in tears again because of you, understand that my next visit will be much less pleasant. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.”

Éomer wants to stay more, but he draws back his rage. He nods curtly, and exits, only wanting to return to you.

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

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sotwk · 8 months

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Only slightly majorly obsessed with Eomer's outfit that he wore to King Elessar's coronation. Especially that cape! So regal! <3 I love Rohanese fabric designs, I gotta say. And with Karl Urban as the model, you just can't lose.

#eomer #eomer of rohan #rohan #eomer eadig #rotk #tolkien #lotr costumes #eomer simping disease #karl urban #lotr behind the scenes

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