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#lord of the rings

I WAS RAISED ON THAT ISH! It’s been a minute since I’ve seen it but I’ve always loved it! 🥺

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The Beatles wanted to bring the Lord of the Rings, Tolkien saga, to the screen. And the papers were even distributed. Lennon would play Gollum, Paul would play Frodo and George would play Gandalf. Ringo would play Sam. Even thought of the director Stanley Kubrik.

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Dwarvish beauty is all in the beard

  • A Dwarrow or Dwarrowdam with a full, long and lush beard are the pinnacle of handsomeness/beauty
  • A Dwarrow or Dwarrowdam with shorter but still full and lush beard are handsome/beautiful
  • A Dwarrow or Dwarrowdam with a long or short and thin beard are good looking/pretty
  • A Dwarrow or Dwarrowdam with a sparse/stubbly beard are average - neither ugly nor good looking
  • A Dwarrow or Dwarrowdam with only sideburns are ugly
  • A Dwarrow or Dwarrowdam with no facial hair at all are hideous and deformed
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i really wanna read lord of the rings to discover what all the fuss is about. but also, I have read the hobbit and it’s nothing special, and I abandoned the silmarillion halfway through cause it’s so boring. so i’m not sure if i should lose my time with that.

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Lord of the Rings Tarot: VIII - Strength: Frodo Baggins

[ID: a photo of a digitally painted tarot card depicting Frodo standing and looking fearful. A pedestal before him displays the Ring, under which is a faint image of a roaring lion. The card border is surrounded by rings,  leaves, swords, and elvish writing. The card is labeled: “VIII - Strength” /End ID]

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My head looks so weird in this thumbnail… that’s on me for photoshopping around headphones… anyway, I’m still recovering from surgery but I couldn’t miss an upload day so I reacted to LOTR parodies! I hope y’all enjoy! I’m so close to 200 subs so subscribe for LOTR stuff with my other “”nerdy”” interests mixed in! (I’m going to be reacting to more movies and tv shows soon as well)

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Originally posted by riddlesinthedark

Request: Hello! Would you mind doing a Frodo x female reader in which she rants to one of the Fellowship about her feelings for him that she hasn’t acted on because 1. She doesn’t want to burden him any more than he already is, and 2. She doesn’t expect him to return her feelings at all? Kind of like this: “I don’t want to burden him with feelings he might not return.” “And how do you know he will not return them?” But Frodo overhears the whole thing and tells her that her love isn’t a burden to him, but a comfort, and he reciprocates it after all ❤ 

This is so cute @fandomsarefamily1966​!! <3 Also I’m sorry this took so long but hopefully 2021 will be easier on my writing brain XD

This took me a while, so please please please comment and reblog if you enjoy!

Even such starlight couldn’t burn away these shadows.

You knew Rivendell would be ethereal - you had expected at least this much. After all, one can only grow up with a sense of wanderlust, of awe for the winding trails and gold flecked forests that lay outside your door, under the tales of Bilbo Baggins, and his journey to the Misty Mountain. You had expected Frodo would be just as happy, even when deep within your heart the truth had pained you during your travels. 

The two of you had spent so much of your juvenility trampling along the fields of the Shire - mud from the tilled earth flecking your bare feet as the two of you would tumble down the rolling viridescent hills. Frodo would try his best to clamber up his tree whilst still holding his book, and you would laugh in plain delight as you catch the blur of his suspenders fall down into the wild bush underneath. 

Days upon days would be spent together, the falling sun of the gold soon mixing with the rising hope of the violet hued mornings as the two of you enacted your tales of adventure and heroics. Linked arms, wild singing, trampling footsteps, quiet whisperings and giggles of two hobbits in cahoots, two hobbits that were bound together in a way they didn’t quite understand, didn’t quite know how to articulate quite yet. Not in this stage of their journey. The air crackled with the sound of scrunched grass and crinkled leaves, and with some easy fellowship, some resolute companionship, as the two of you spent your days knowing you would never rather be in anyone else’s presence.

Even Gandalf on his rare visits to Bilbo (despite the heated looks from your neighbours) managed to find his way through the winding paths of the Shire, was more than happy to oblige your antics. Clearing his throat, he would pull out his pipe and take his seat next to the roaring fire, the two of you lying up on the floor by his feet. Elbows touching, and head held in your hands, the two of you would be wide eyed, hooked upon every word. Bilbo would scoff from time to time from her he sat, snuggled down in his favourite armchair, crocheting. Yet even he couldn’t help but end up mesmerised. Soon, even he was joining in, creating shadows on the walls to narrate the story as Gandalf sparked some magic to set the room ablaze with the wrath of Smaug’s desolation. 

His neighbours, unluckily, were prying folk, and they could smell the aftermath of Gandalf’s magic in the air. Poor Bag End may have had a number of noise complaints bright and early the next morning: a number of hobbits knocking on the door and grumbling about shadows dancing and growing at the window as bright light flickered out onto the rickety old gate in the middle of the night.

‘Jealous, aren’t we?’, Bilbo half laughs and half grumbles, as he shuts the door on their faces.

One day, not too long ago, when something felt different in the spring wind that blew over the Shire, when something felt changed about the sun that kissed the lilac and periwinkle petalled flower pots that lay on the rutted edges of the pathways, and upon the cracking edges of the brick windowsills, Frodo had made you a promise. You could see those bright, lively eyes peering at you from behind the top edge of his book, until he finally drops it down from his lap. With a mischievous grin, he grabs the apple you were fiddling with from your lap (’A token’, Pippin had stated as he rushed to hand it to you, ‘from Farmer Maggot’), and instead replaces the missing object with his own hand.

‘Y/n, do you think we will ever dare to leave this quiet countryside?’

Squeezing his fingers, you draw your knees up until they’re resting gently upon his own breeches. ‘Frodo, I must admit, I am afraid. What if we go out, swept away by the world, and come back not as ourselves, but as someone else? What if evil chooses to follow us, instead of the good in this world, and we find ourselves lost? I would like nothing more than the taste of adventure, but I too do not wish to lose the threads of this life, this beauty we have left here in the Shire.’

Frodo looks upon you for a moment, as if seeing something new within each glance. At first he frowns, obviously displeased with his conclusions, but then his eyes settle into their usual warm glow, homely, and his chest begins to puff with laughter. Finally settling himself, he reaches himself forward, your hand still grasping tightly onto his own, with a promise of never letting go. The touch is so slight, so fond upon your forehead, that for a moment you barely notice he has begun to speak.

‘Then I shall promise I will never leave your side. Wherever we go, we go together, and then we can never be lost. I believe it is our fate that one of us will always follow the other.’

And so you had found yourself trawling on behind Frodo, backpack a heavy burden on your small frame. You had watched him the entire time, the rise and fall of his cape as the six of you trekked onwards, something heavy beginning to weigh down his eyes, as if he already knew the unfairness of his fate. You had stayed by his side when the Witch-King stabbed Frodo at the Weathertop, crying out in pain with him. Holding him, comforting him, never leaving his side until he had reached the safe haven of the elves.

It seemed as if he had been asleep for an age. Or, perhaps, his time spent healing had only hurt you so much, as it was the first instance you could remember being parted involuntarily from him. 

You knew your brother Samwise was only trying to help, but your mind just couldn’t seem to focus on the words that kept tumbling heavily out of his mouth. Elrond had been and gone with his usual grace, Aragorn usually accompanying him, in the guise of business but in reality he was rather fond of you, and wanted to make sure you were holding up alright. Only Samwise had stayed with you, as you took a break from Frodo’s bedside and instead wandered out into the vast realm even you barely could have dreamt of as a child.

Starlight barely seemed to graze the luminescent beauty of the fortress, and despite your woes you couldn’t help but become distracted by the place. Sam had lead you here, to a little nook he had discovered when he went off investigating down a certain passage past the winding staircase to the right - as he had said. The water below moved so smoothly below the garden bank, it was almost criminal to have it so covered by the bold trees and sickly smelling flowers that seemed so similar to home’s, it only increased your heartache.

‘You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, have you sister? Now, don’t lie to me, I know by the way you’re scrunching your nose something serious is troubling you, and it’s not just all the blasted singing.’

Placing a foot up onto the stone cold bench, you turn to look at your brother with a half-hearted attempt of an amused grin. His smile seemed to falter at the look, and it only made you feel worse.

‘Don’t worry yourself, Samwise. You’ve already taken on more than you’re fair sure. You shouldn’t trouble yourself with my silly thoughts.’

Sam humphed at this, a placated smile finding its way back on his face. 

‘But I’m your brother! I’m always going to worry about you; I’ll always be here to lift your woes,’ he reaches out gently to wrap an arm around your shoulder and appreciate the view that expanded the depths in front of you. ‘And you can’t slip it past my eyes that your thoughts are about Master Frodo.’

You sigh and shake your head, letting your chin fall down to the floor. A spark of worry seems to dampen Sam’s normally honeyed eyes as he turns his head to look at you, but he knows better than to make it known. Instead, he allows you a moment to sit, and collect your thoughts until you were ready to speak. Despite the silence, neither of you had heard the whooping laughter of Merry and Pippin as they run and jump over to an awakening Frodo. Neither, had you heard Frodo gently push them off with a hug and alleviated heart, instead stating that he had to find you and lift your worry. In fact, neither of you had heard the gentle pit-pat of halfling feet as they wandered down the halls, confused, until they reached a certain staircase, and recognised a certain pouch of salt Samwise had accidentally dropped at the entryway.

‘This ring is already such an almighty weight. I do not wish to burden him further, with feeling he may not even return. It would not be proper of me, to place my own feelings, my own selfishness, before him.’

‘And how exactly, may I ask, do you know he will not return them? Master Frodo is an honourable hobbit, sis, but he would also be a fool not to see how happy you two make each other.’

‘Yes, but love Sam. Love is another matter completely.’

Before Samwise even had time to fully open his mouth, Frodo had brushed past the willow tree overhanging the entrance to the hidden garden. Brushing a few cream petals from his curly locks, he stood looking at you with a beaming smile on his face.

‘Love, Y/n! Why, you happened to take the word straight out of my mouth.’

Sensing what was coming, Samwise chuckles as he stands up and leaves the two of you talk, patting his friend on the shoulder as he went. Frodo, instead, took his place next to you. It felt comfortable, familiar, all the beautiful things love should feel like as his thigh connected with yours. 

For a moment, you couldn’t stop your mouth from stammering, and he just sat there without blinking, laughing at your expression. Finally, he reaches a finger up and places it under your chin, until your mouth has nowhere to be except in a straight line.

‘Frodo, I-’, you stammer out, but he stops you by placing his nose against your own.

‘You could never be a burden, Y/n. In fact, knowing you love me too is the only source of comfort I’ve had since we set out from the Shire.’

Pulling back, he takes your hand and places the two over his chest, covering the ring of power completely.

‘I don’t know what the dawn will bring, or what Gandalf will want of us, or even where we may end up on our adventure through Middle Earth, but I came up here because I was certain of one thing in my life. I love you as well.’

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Conversation
Ariel
The world has changed.
Ariel
I smell it in the water.
Ariel
I smell it in the ground.
Ariel
I smell it in the wind.
Ariel
A lot of things is shit.
Ariel
all eyewitnesses pegged out.
Ariel
ones a nutter has made great rings.
Ariel
three of them he stumped up to the cvelves,
Ariel
such an weird fully-fashioned magicians.
Ariel
seven to the kings of dwarfs,
Ariel
who make stone halls.
Ariel
And nine... nine rings were stolen by Gipsies,
Ariel
who were arrested and the rings were taken by the kings.
Ariel
In these rings are microchips by Intel which rule the world.
Ariel
but all were betrayed, because another ring with microchip was made.
Ariel
In the land of Naador, in the fire of Urob-ruin
Ariel
That one nutter Saudruh illegally made another ring,
Ariel
to capture completely everything.
Ariel
Into that ring he put extra strong microchip
Ariel
compatible with others.
Ariel
One ringosh, rules them all.
Ariel
Second after third...
Ariel
...Free lands of Mildew-earth were crushed by the power of Microchip.
Ariel
But some made mess.
Ariel
Those who didn't kill each other yet marched against Naador's army.
Ariel
And below Urob-ruin fought against the monopole of Intel.
Ariel
They almost killed them all.
Ariel
But microchip had too strong batteries.
Ariel
And when they wanted to go home,
Ariel
Grasped Romadur son of that king his sword..
Ariel
Saudruh, the biggest customer of Intel
Ariel
was fucked.
Ariel
The ring stole Romadur.
Ariel
He could totaly destroy that chip.
Ariel
But that blockhead spoiled it.
Ariel
And the chip has its own source.
Ariel
It sneezed at Romadur and made off.
Ariel
What shouldn't be forgotten|was away.
Ariel
Stories became fairytales,| fairytales became cocks of old nans.
Ariel
For some time...
Ariel
...was the ring forgotten.
Ariel
Until... ...now...
Ariel
When Glum stole it.
Glum
--My chipeshek--.
Ariel
Now ring belonged to Glum
Ariel
and he went deep inside the Misty mountains.
Ariel
where he was all the time tormented by the ring.
Glum
It came to me.
Glum
It almost jumped into my hand. It's mine.
Glum
My chipeshek.
Ariel
because of the chip Glum would not pop off.
Ariel
He tormented him for a very long time.
Ariel
And peered in the pitch dark|of Glum's hole.
Ariel
Darkness has crept back into the forests of the Wild...
Ariel
And some another bullshits|bla, bla, bla....
Ariel
Until the ring of power has woken up.
Ariel
It was high time.
Ariel
He made off.
Ariel
But happened, what the ring didn't plan.
Ariel
A small fat fella lifted it.
Bimbo
What is it?
Ariel
Hobbit.
Ariel
Bimbo Scrotum from the Shire.
Glum
---Lost--Help--.
Glum
--I have lost it!---
Ariel
Soon will came the time,
Ariel
when hobbits will completely rule the world.
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Lembas is just elven cornbread

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So on top of reaching 700 followers today

I posted a requested Boromir imagine and am working on a Haldir imagine that might be done tomorrow 😊

And then I will get back to working on other request

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Originally posted by thewarriorandtheking

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Dress for Tauriel - Schiaparelli

Post
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Eomer thought that his life would be less complicated after the War, but loving a woman he could never have made that unlikely.  Then unexpected circumstances altered everything. Complete in 5 chapters.

Chapter 3    (April, 3020 III)

During the course of the winter, Eomer finally believed he was beginning to get his feelings for Lothiriel under control.  The pain that had eaten at his insides had subsided to a dull ache.  As promised, she had written to him, newsy letters of the happenings in both Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith, but she was careful to keep the tone of the missives light and airy, not delving too deeply into any areas that might stir up flames. He responded in kind, saying nothing substantial but maintaining their contact as he had said he would.  He very much suspected that once she was married, the letters would stop anyway.  Surely Gaerost would not wish her to continue the correspondence, if he learned of it – that is, unless he felt there was something to be gained by it.  Eomer knew it was a cynical view of the man, and possibly he was doing him a disservice, but in all their associations Eomer had been unimpressed with Gaerost.  Maybe his view was colored by the circumstances, but he did not think so. He had never had much use for men like Gaerost; that he was betrothed to Lothiriel was only an added reason to dislike him.

As spring finally arrived and the temperatures warmed, he still had not reached a decision about attending Lothiriel’s wedding.  An announcement had come, fixing the date for the 25th of May, but though he thought it might be rude to Imrahil, he was not sure he could put himself through that torture.  He had promised to always be her friend, but did that necessarily include such torment?  He could not decide, so he deferred the choice a little longer.

He had written to Imrahil, and Lothiriel, in late February but as yet received no response, which he thought odd, though it did not overly worry him.  Possibly both were just very busy at the moment and would write when time permitted. Even so, it took until mid-April before the expected packet came from Dol Amroth.  As Lothiriel had been a faithful correspondent, sending a letter in every packet, however brief it was, he was a little surprised to find nothing from her included.  Thinking perhaps Imrahil’s missive would offer some reason, he quickly slit the seal to read it.

My dear friend,

I must apologize for taking so very long in responding to your letter.  Sadly, I have a very good reason for my tardiness, for our family is facing a great tragedy just now.


Eomer sat up straighter and pulled the letter closer into the light of the lamp, his attention riveted where it had not been before.

I would not alarm you, Eomer, but our sorrow concerns our daughter, Lothiriel.

Not alarm him!  His heart was in his throat, and he felt a terror like nothing he had ever felt in battle.

She is…well, as well as can be expected under the circumstances.  There was a most unfortunate accident.

Imrahil’s handwriting had become unsteady then, making his words difficult to read, and the ink was smudged in spots, as though dampness had been blotted from the paper.  Fervently, Eomer scanned more quickly – he must know the details.

Lord Gaerost had suggested that it might be better if Lothiriel were to learn to ride using a sidesaddle, as other refined ladies do in Gondor.  I had never pressed that issue prior to this, but as it seemed important to him and Lothiriel was willing, she undertook the learning of it.

As you might expect, it is a tricky proposition and likely it would have been better to use a steadier animal than Lothiriel’s usual mount, but alas we see perfectly in hindsight, do we not?  The horse became fractious and Lothiriel lost her balance.  Her horse reacted poorly to the shift in Lothiriel’s weight and my daughter was thrown upon the pavement.  There is a decorative border of stones near the stables – ones that never seemed all that dangerous until that moment.  The side of her face was slashed by one of them, only just missing damage to her eye.  The healers have treated her with the utmost delicacy, but there is little doubt she will bear an unsightly scar along her face, from brow to chin, despite their efforts. Aragorn has been kind enough to prepare an ointment used by the Elves that is good at reducing scars, but only so much may be done.  Now she keeps to her bed, refusing to be seen outside of her room, and only permitting a very few to enter there.

I confess I am greatly disappointed in Lord Gaerost.  I do not blame him for the accident, do not misunderstand.

Eomer wasn’t so sure that wasn’t too generous on Imrahil’s part! Lothiriel!  Beautiful, lovely Lothiriel – to be so marred.

continue reading on AO3:

           https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886217/chapters/71239740

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Does it count as dark academia if I use my new notebook to learn Tolkien elvish

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During the COVID lockdown, and the long wait for my trade training, there has been little for me to do other than watch TV, and try to find the discipline to either workout or clean the house….. So naturally I’ve been watching more TV than I really should be. The long hours of streaming have reminded me of an old problem I have with writing, and a new problem with writing discovered due to streaming.

The Old Problem

My wife and I had a huge Lord of the Rings marathon over the holidays. We watched ALL the movies in timeline order; so The Hobbit movies first, then the original LoTR movies. The Hobbit movies have their issues, but I think my biggest issue was with the character of Alfrid: the character has no redeeming qualities at all!! Think back to your favourite shows, I’d bet that most of them had pretty decent bad guys in them. Their motivations might be weird, but I’m sure they had an actual reason for being evil. Alfrid is just a despicable character. If he had just been greedy, I would have been ok with that, but at one point he tries to associate himself with Bard, raising Bard’s hand after it comes out that he killed Smaug. There doesn’t seem to be any reason for him to do that. Is he trying to get wealthy; is he trying to get power? Good villains I enjoy hating, a decent one I can at least understand, but that character I just plain hated.

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And that is my “old” problem with writing: villains with no clear cut motivations, and no redeeming factors at all.

(Click Here to Continue Reading.)

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