LOTR & HOBBIT TEXT POSTS

Galadriel rly be out here like: "I lost my dear husband Celeborn to the war against Morgoth."

Meanwhile Celeborn, Maedhros-ing his way through the entire second age, maybe even dangling off a really tall cliff: "Quit telling people I'm dead!"

Galadriel: "Sometimes I can still hear his voice."

Tolkien at the start of the Hobbit: oh I’m going to tell a fun little story for my children about how even the smallest people can make a difference!

Tolkien at the end of the Hobbit, gripping his son’s shoulders intensely: Chris. Christopher. Listen.  Greed will only corrupt you Christopher, it will twist your mind like a poison, like a disease, until you are nothing but a hollow wreck of what you once were.  Also I’ve killed off like half the characters in a battle I don’t even show sorry. 

‘But there, I believe my looks are against me.’ ‘They are – at first sight at any rate,’ laughed Pippin with sudden relief after reading Gandalf ’s letter. 'But handsome is as handsome does, as we say in the Shire; and I daresay we shall all look much the same after lying for days in hedges and ditches.’ 'It would take more than a few days, or weeks, or years, of wandering in the Wild to make you look like Strider,’ he answered. 'And you would die first, unless you are made of sterner stuff than you look to be.’

Honestly, I don’t know what part to highlight about this:

1. The fact that the Shire apparently has a saying about how people look like what they do, implying that they either go by the physiognomy theory of “bad people look bad”, or they accept that people will look like the jobs they do, and it is considered a good thing.

2. Pippin joking that a few days camping will make them look weathered like a guy who has been repetitively described as being the epitome of a wild ranger. It’s kind of sweet, it feels like he has picked up that Strider is self-conscious about his looks and is trying to reassure him in a very Pippin way.

3. Strider taking it completely literally and answering with a very ominous “you’ll die before you look like me, because you need to be stronger than you look to survive what I do”. Dramatic bitch.

4. Strider talking about himself in third person. Dork.

5. Strider completely underestimating hobbits’ resilience. Just because he has been around the Shire for ages it doesn’t mean he can’t fall into the same trap every other character in this falls. No, Strider. They don’t have to be made of sterner stuff to survive what you have survived. You would have to be made of sterner stuff to survive what they can get through.

Every time I think I’m out of my lotr phase I hear the beginning of the bridge of kazhad dum and immediately get thrown back into the trenches

Tom Bombadil rollerskates in backwards to "Dancing Queen," saves a bunch of hobbits from a barrow-wight, throws up two peace signs, and rollerskates away....

Absolutely feral over this oml it crawled under my skin and I fear it is going to stay there for a long while

)some graves love for graves enthusiasts like @nightunite & @grombs-blog <3 :3)

No one breathed too loudly in your court. You made sure of that.

The throne room was a thing of precision- cut glass chandeliers that dripped crystals like frozen tears, walls the color of spilled wine, and floors polished until they reflected the gleam of your wrath. Ministers spoke only when addressed, and courtiers knew better than to linger near the dais, and ladies flicked open their fans in practiced fashion so as not to raise your wrath and displeasure, for you were not kind nor were you warm, and you wore your reputation like a crown sharper than the one on your head.

But the moment the great doors creaked open and he entered, the air shifted.

Philip Graves walked with the quiet arrogance of a man who had never truly known fear- not the way others did. Shadows seemed to coil around his boots like old friends. He bowed as always- graceful, efficient, head low, almost theatrical- but those damned eyes found yours the moment he rose and a grin stretched across his face- even when yours curdled like milk.

“You’re late.” You said, voice cool enough to crack glass.

“Only by a few hours, Queen,” he replied, smiling just enough to test your patience. “And I brought you a gift.”

He held out a velvet pouch, and the court stiffened when the glint of a ring- plucked from some now-dead rebel prince-of-the-people, if you had to guess- shimmered inside. But it wasn’t the token that pleased you, for you had far more fancier rings and jewels.

It was him.

You leaned back, studying him like a particularly fine blade, and thus your finger curled to summon him close. “Come here.”

He obeyed, of course. Philip always obeyed you.

With a casualness that sent ripples of horror through the room, you pulled him to sit on the wide arm of your throne, letting one leg drape lazily over his lap. Your hand curled into his hair, tugging lightly- an unspoken warning and a familiar comfort. You felt him exhale, the only noise to be heard in the dead silence of the throne room.

This was your routine. A dance sharp as the knives he uses.

“My little pet,” you murmured, stroking his jaw with the back of your fingers, your cold rings brushing across his cheeks. “Did you make a mess?”

His lips curled, the barest echo of smug pride. “Nothing that can’t be cleaned up.”

You smiled, slow and dangerous. Ministers looked away. One of them- a particularly vocal noble from the southern isles- looked like he might be sick, but you didn’t care; you wanted them to see. Let them clutch their pearls and avert their eyes, for you and Philip were a sight unmatched.

Let them try to reconcile the brutal head of the infamous Shadow Group with the man now nuzzling into the crook of your neck like a favored pet.

They didn’t understand and they never would, because he was yours. Not just your assassin, not just your hound- yours. And no blade he carried was half as sharp as the softness he reserved only for you.

“You missed me, Queenie.” He said quietly, so only you could hear.

“I don’t miss things, much less belongings.” You replied, but your fingers still curled tighter into his shirt, digging like claws that would not let go.

Liar, he almost said. But he just smiled again for he fancied keeping his silver-tongue, eyes glinting like knives beneath silk.

The court watched, silent and stunned, as their cold, untouchable Queen cradled him with all the tenderness of someone holding a beloved cat.

Let them whisper and let them fear, for you had your throne and you had your blade.

And curled in your lap, purring like a devil in velvet, you had Philip Graves.

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Phillip Graves who makes you into his perfect little wife.

It all started out on a mission in god knows where, it was a simple hostage situation. Get in, free the hostages, get out.

One of the shadows had found you after the majority of the hostages were cleared out and safe. The shadow rang in through the talkie, ‘sir, you might want to come see this one.’

And he was right.

Phillip thought you were such a darling little thing, all vulnerable, beaten and half naked. His heart clenched at the thought of what a pretty thing like you had gone through.

So, he takes you into his arms as uncharacteristically careful as he could, and brings you to safety himself.

He kept tabs on you for months after, he found your medical records, your home address, your place of work- anything he could get his grubby hands on. He called your phone a few days after you’d been released from the hospital, he just wanted to check in on you, that’s all, no need to ask how he got your number or why theres a large bouquet of roses on your front step.

It took far longer than he wished for you to agree to a date with him, but he made damn sure it was worth it. Took you to a fancy restaurant, a late night walk where he draped his blazer over your shoulders.

“This could be a regular thing, honey.”

So, it became that. Every chance he got, he took you out. He bought you pretty dresses, heels, jewelry- anything his sweet girl wanted. Then, he bought you a pretty diamond ring and gave you his last name.

There’s no doubt he refers you and him as the shadows ‘mama and daddy’ in the most unironic way that makes you roll your eyes.

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This is gonna sound terrible, but I have never watched the LOTR movies, I got into the Fandom through books.

So today I'm gonna watch the fellowship, extended

I like how everyone in LotR tumblr is being all euphemistic and vague about their aesthetic complaints with Rings of Power speaking about immersion and how the short hair is ruining the experience instead of just saying what they mean

They made Elrond unfuckable and it sucks