Middle Earth - Tumblr Posts
I've started sculpting this Thranduil with intention to go as much stylised as possible... But apparently this is all I'm capable of 😑 Before deliver me heavy critique, keep in mind pls that I'm hard surface modeler, not character artist 🙄 And I'm not myself when I see section "chromatic aberration" in post process options xD
Headcanon that Harry Potter wizard/witch can go into fictional worlds and ends up changing them all in the most simple of ways like going to Middle Earth and teaching them how to use gunpowder to make a bomb to blow up Isengard/the armies of Uruk-hai or like going to New York a week before the attack of the Chitauri and telling them a nuke to a mothership will stop a war.
So I watched all three Hobbit movies and it was Incredible. I just can't describe my feelings.
how much of a dork do you have to be to put your heart and soul into acting out the hobbit
(/hj/lh)
if a pretty lady was saving me from certain death i would look like that too
the desolation of smaug 2:11:14
Sometimes I tear up and my hair raises on end (in goosebumps, in an awed, pleasant way) when I think about how the life of one man, J.R.R. Tolkien, and his desire to write and share with the world all the lessons he'd learn, all his beliefs and faith in love, to hope in uncertain times, to healing, that he weaved all this beautiful tales bigger then himself, timeless and true, that would outlast his dying breath and breathe ever after for him, in his name, has touched so many. Continues to.
Sometimes I think about how, almost 100 years later, hundreds of millions of us, countless people, are still learning from his life's work, are still touched and moved by his art, are creating and carrying on his legacy, imbued in our own life experiences;
Sometimes I think about how our stories for his world evolve as our world evolves, will always. Sometimes I think about the power of his heart, of his loving intentions, that he has healed so many people and I think about how he's just a regular guy.
J.R.R. Tolkien was just a regular human being. For all the wonder that he created and shared, in spirit he is truly no different then you or me. He had a calling and he answered to it, and we all are born with that same great potential, if only we have intention, if only we act on that intention, and if only we act in love.
No matter the form, create. That's Tolkien's biggest takeaway for me. To just create, create because you can't not, create because your are driven to, because it fulfills you, releases you. Because it touches you and moves you, because it makes you happy, makes you feel. We are all born creators of our own stories, and we are all born equal in capability to be great authors, and craft beautiful ones.
going absolutely hogshit feral over Thranduil being a loved and popular king. like he parties with his subjects and they love it. he’s like the Cool Dad Of Mirkwood. little kids give him flowers and he tucks them gently into his crown. birds land on his crown. his soldiers and subjects love him. he may seem isolationist, cold, feral and strange to outsiders but to his subjects. he’s a Father Figure
Ahhh I'm on awe
Lord of the Stars by Jake Bartok (not the official name)
The Lord of the Rings × Star Wars
The Jackdaw was skillful, cunning, and wise,
And to the Snake, he told pretty lies.
“Swear allegiance to me and take what you desire!”
Yet fate would prove the Jackdaw a liar.
For better or worse, the two were bound together
Both conniving and plotting, birds of a feather.
The Jackdaw gave orders, the Snake obeyed.
His country and king, the Snake betrayed.
Yet the day came quick when the Snake was exposed.
The Jackdaw no longer went unopposed.
The two were cast out and forced to wander,
To lands far away, over rivers and yonder.
The Jackdaw was angry, bitter, and lost,
And to the poor Snake, this came at a cost.
Beaten and cursed, forced to crawl and squirm,
The Jackdaw laughed, “You are no Snake but a Worm!”
Such cruel taunts would be the Jackdaw’s last mistake,
As he was struck down not by the fangs of a worm-
But of a Snake!
he is going to kill somebody NOW (probably himself) yes, this is golden eyeliner over the bruises under the eyes
not really canonical scene, but i couldn't resist
Melkor should be a twink (or at least more twink than Sauron) and you're ready for this conversation
/it isn't really good in drawing twinks but hopes that you get the idea/
I'M TOTALLY NORMAL ABOUT SAURON'S HAIR BEING TIED IN A BOW-KNOT
sure, totally normal
else one sketch portrait of Grima just because i'm procrastinating although I have an exam tomorrow
well, i coloured piece from previous post
but what if i'll make griomer canon in my CK3 playthrough with Middle-Earth mod...
I'm a mix of hogwarts and neverland myself :)))
-,’ types of people ,’-
hogwarts: bloody noses, always trying their best, warm sunsets, late summer nights, sharing secrets, messy hair, movie nights, stargazing, wanting to explore the world, standing up for friends, dogs, loud laughs, fuzzy sweaters
narnia: pale white snow, red cheeks, hot tea, fantasy stories, neat notes, big scarves, early morning walks, soft smiles, cute coffee shops, calming energy, cold hands, friendly eyes, wanting to learn more, astronomy geeks
middle earth: ancient souls, coffee, old bookshelves, history nerds, loves mythology, feels at home in the forest, always up for an adventure, oversized hoodies, high grades, striving to be the best version of themselves, cats
neverland: believes in fate, doesn’t care about opinions, flower fields, standing up for what’s right, honey, photography, amazed by the universe, kind souls, often lost in their own thoughts, friendliness, loves the stars, artistic
I’m getting lots of Lord of the Rings vibes.
Oneshot for Day 1 of #lotrweek on tumblr
Prompt: memory | history | home
This oneshot is inspired by these lines from Seeds of the White Tree by @GreenScholarTales :
"When she had first come to him in Minas Tirith, Aragorn discovered his bride to be both joyful and restless. No longer was the elvish reverie enough for her to fully replenish herself, but neither did a human's sleep come easily. It had taken time, and many long nights spent lying awake in Aragorn's arms after he nodded off before she learned to sleep and dream as he did."
•●•●•●•
The memory of smoke still lingered in the air.
It was a pale morning, one of Arwen's favourite kinds. The city of Osgiliath was just about visible, with a combination of distance and morning haze obscuring its ruins. The sun had not quite risen yet, but the sky was light, light blue, with distant clouds a rosy hue that heralded dawn.
Arwen knew the meaning of the rising of a red sun, and shivered, wondering how many of the wounded soldiers had died in the night. The number was decreasing day by day - in fact, for the last few weeks, nobody had died at all, and the remaining wounded were healing, slowly but surely. Even so, the old elvish saying remained in the back of her mind.
She wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and looked to the mountains beyond the fields of Pelennor, still darkened where horses' hooves had trampled blood into the earth, of orcs and men alike; black indentations where the Mûmakil carcasses had been burnt still dotted the landscape.
Last night, Gimli had regaled them all with a song in his deep bass voice about the Misty Mountains, a melody passed down to him from his father about the quest to reclaim Erebor. The Misty Mountains could not be seen from Minas Tirith, but the Ephel Dúath were a good imitation, reminding her of the view of the Misty Mountains from the Hidden Valley - tall grey peaks, blurring into shadow. Gimli's song was a reminder that they were grim, and cold, and very, very dangerous.
Now however, they were at peace. It was a sensation they were not quite used to, Arwen could sense that, but now the mountains slept, knowing the evil they held was banished from this world.
Arwen felt a hand on her shoulder then, and knew without looking that it was Aragorn, leaning back against him even as his free hand slipped around her waist. The easy way in which they slipped into such shows of affection, as in Lothlórien in times of old, was a testament to both the endurance of their love, and relief at its survival into this new world.
"Your hands are cold, meleth-nîn," he noticed, his voice low and warm. Arwen smiled at his concern.
"I have been here for some hours already," she explained. "Sleep eludes me, even now. I feel its pull, but it is such a fleeting thing. I confess, Estel, I am used to a different, darker feeling than mere tiredness - a weariness of the soul, where lying still with my eyes closed, or wandering dreams, would not bring much relief. Now that weariness has vanished - and thank the Valar for it -"
"Thank the Valar for it," Aragorn repeated into her hair, so quietly that she could hardly hear him, even as his arms trembled slightly. The Evenstar had been made anew, but Arwen knew that her husband was still plagued by visions that haunted the darkest corners of his dreams; visions of her life smashing into countless pieces as if it was crystal on a cold marble floor.
"What need do I have to sleep? The Enemy had been defeated, and even the Ephel Dúath radiate a serenity they have not felt in generations. Now my weariness has vanished, and I feel so light, that sleep seems so trivial an occupation."
Aragorn laughed. "You have a great many things to learn, rían-nîn. The mortal body does not function very well when it lacks sleep."
Arwen nodded slowly. "That stands to reason. I went to see Éowyn last night - she has been moved from the houses of healing, you know - and was told she was asleep. I was confused, because Adar always told me that sleep is the greatest healer - why then would she be taken away, if she still needed to heal?"
"He was right," Aragorn said, taking hold of Arwen's hands properly and rubbing them gently within his own. The increased blood flow restored some warmth, and he guided her over to a nearby couch where they sat and observed the view together. "However, you and Éowyn and every woman and man in the world still need to sleep - to be mortally wounded is not a requirement."
Arwen yawned, despite herself, and leaned her head onto Aragorn's shoulder once more, settling into his warm tunic. "What about you, meleth-nîn? You are the king. You need rest at this time more than anyone."
He ran his fingers softly through his wife's hair, the strands as soft as the blossoms of the White Tree even as its jetlike darkness reminded him of the night sky. Even more so when she wore white gems in it, or the queen's diadem, that sparkled like starlight. In his youth he had dreamed up a thousand songs about his lady's hair, or her endless grey eyes, or her soft white skin like silk - more than he cared to remember, as his skills at poetry had improved somewhat since then. Even so, a thousand songs would not be enough to do her justice. To say nothing of her endless patience and wisdom, her kindness and steadfast loyalty, and her love - her love, her love, her love.
To hold her in his arms like this was unbelievable, yet he could think of no other possible reality. Finally, they were together - he was hers and she was his, after a lifetime of patience and despair.
"Estel?" Arwen could tell he was lost in thought. "What of your sleep?"
Aragorn came back to reality slowly, and laughed softly, answering with a question, as he had in the days of their courtship in Lothlórien where they spoke in nothing but riddles and song. "Do you know what home means to a human, a mortal human?"
"Home." Arwen thought about it.
Just then the sun graced the eastern horizon and crept over the balcony rails, slowly and steadily bringing light to the White City. Soon the haze that lingered in the distance would be dispelled; soon the daily work of rebuilding the city would begin. Arwen would find herself in high demand again, surrounded on all sides by men and women who sought her guidance and leadership as their queen. She loved it, being the one these people needed the most, being able to help those in need and provide the support that her people needed in this time of regrowth and renewal.
"Home is where a person feels safe," Aragorn explained. "Safe enough to build a family, safe enough to have a fire and not worry about attracting orcs or other beings of evil with its light. Home is where you feel safe enough to fall into helpless sleep, where you can curl up and rest without fear."
Arwen only half heard him. The edges of her vision were blurry, her head was heavy, and Aragorn's rhythmic stroking of her hair was making her feel very sleepy indeed. It was hypnotic, and would be an almost frightening sensation, were it anybody but Aragorn.
"Then -" just before darkness consumed her entirely - "home for me is with you."
Thus, the newly crowned High Queen of Gondor fell asleep in her husband's arms on the morning of the one-month anniversary of the Fall of Sauron, finally safe in the knowledge that she could be helpless - just for once.
•●•●•●•