Found a fic on ao3 that's become my personality for the past like 4 months. "The once and future king" by BattyRae is absolutely amazing and I was obsessed with the little amethyst hair chains!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/63767098 <- go check it out!!!
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Also have been addicted to Heaven Officialâs Blessing so hereâs the art dump of Xie Lian and Hua Cheng! First 3 were drawn like Hua Cheng skipping calligraphy lessons.
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Hi there! After sharing a quick comment thread with @hastyhobbit I had the idea of Glorfindel finding pockets and taking extreme joy in it. He's one of my favorites and deserves pockets and to be happy. Enjoy!
Glorfindel never understood why his husband seemed to love the many sets of formal robes he wore. They were heavy, restricted movement, and worst of all there were no pockets. The golden warrior agreed that they looked nice, and he quite enjoyed seeing Erestor strut around in the beautiful, but often times ridiculous things, he looked amazing in them. Glorfindel on the other hand...would rather fight a balrog (again) than be stuffed into something that had no pockets.
He was a busy man, he had thing to do! Like chase after trainees, or fight orcs, or ride Asfaloth, or carry things! and how was he supposed to do that if his clothes were woefully pocket-less and heavy, Valar forbid that he needed to tuck a pretty rock that matched his love's eyes away if he didn't have pockets! Glorfindel has long since decided that practicality was more important than beauty (minus his hair) and was most often seen in a tunic and trousers rather than robes, Erestor has tried valiantly, much to the amusement of their friends, to get his husband into a set of fine robes, he always fails...they often bicker over the topic before dissolving into giggles.Â
So when he was gifted a formal robe as sign of gratitude by a new seamstress that he had helped guide and get settled when she had gotten lost, he barely held back a grimace of dismay, there was a festival in a few weeks and now that he had a new outfit, he would be unable to escape the dreaded pocket-less nightmare. Erestor was delighted. His husband had thanked the seamstress, then hauled him and the admittedly beautiful robe to Elrond to help style it with jewels and all other sorts of finery, Elrond was equally delighted to help his friend (and watch his friend suffer at the hands of pretty clothes) with the masterpiece of fabric and thread, Glorfindel had resigned himself to be clucked over as the two vain little creatures he called husband and lord draped him in a multitude of jewelry, muttering about "How this would match his hair better." and "Oh! That one! It goes so well with the buttons.â. They even found matching shoes! He already missed his tunic and trousers...and his beloved pockets. He was saved two hours later by his second coming by to beg for help with paperwork and he jumped at the chance and fled for the safety of his office. As he fled Erestor and Elrond share a mischievous grin.Â
"Are we gonna tell him that its Silvan made and therefore, has pockets?"
"Nah. Let him suffer for a bit."
He was miserable, without a bag or pockets he had to leave his things behind in his rooms, and it was only half-way through the celebrations, he had been wearing the dreaded thing off and on for two weeks to get used to it...he missed his ability to store thing on his person. He had reached for his bag many many times and each time he was reminded that he was in a robe, no bags, no place to put his things and in a fit of frustration he shoved his hands down at his side, his hands went through holes on either side of the ridiculous garment...he looked down. Had he ripped it? There where his hands disappeared was a stitched and embroidered pocket...
He sunk his hand deeper, it wasn't a shallow one! It went to mid-thigh! On both sides! He let out a laugh of utter glee and tore off to find his husband. He swerved through people and came to a screeching halt in front of Elrond and Erestor with a grin, the two looked at him like he had lost his mind. He giggled "Look! Look!" he cried and shoved his hands deep into the pockets "It has pockets!" he pulled his hands out and then shoved them back in as if to demonstrate the marvel of pockets on a formal robe "Pockets!!!" he cried with delight. Erestor snorted, unable to help himself in the presence of his ecstatic, giggling blonde (Affectionate) oaf "Indeed it does, Dandelion! I take it you're pleased." the advisor laughed at his husband's antics, Glorfindel nodded excitedly "I can carry my stuff!" he practically squealed, before he pressed a kiss to his husband's cheek and darted off, no doubt to collect the things he had been forced to leave behind in their rooms.
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If you were an Elven citizen of Rivendell, what occupation do you think you would have? Which famous resident there would you be hanging out with?
Happy tolkein reading day! đ
I would definitely be hanging out with Elrond in the healing halls, because I have a good bit of knowledge on medicine and I love books and stuff, I feel like we'd be besties with our dark medical humor. Or I'd be taking my costume and sewing knowledge to make pretty elvish robes (with pockets!) for my favorite characters!
He watched as tawny hair flew behind her like a squirrelâs tail, busy and wild and free. The woman he loved more than life itself, he knew that his soul would forever be bound the tawny haired woman. Her laugh caught the very breath from his lungs and her smile sent a warmth through him that even a blazing fire could never hope to achieve. He hung on every word, every breath, like they were worth more than gold and mithril and silver, her movements when she twirled in the wildflowers outside of their home sparked joy from his very being. She was like a dream, His dream, she was his and he was hers.
The Lord of Rivendell and his Feral lady. That's what their people called them with such fondness, for where he was known for his calming grace and peaceful nature, she was known for the laughing, and the adventure, and the mud trails through the halls. He led their people in knowledge and healing, never really leaving the borders of his realm, a constant comforting presence if you will. Like the moon, a calm light that chases away the dark. She led their people in nature and in song, always leading the hunts and adventures, the dancing and the playing, her presence was like the sun warm and bright and ever changing. Sun and moon they were, and often they could be seen dancing beneath both.Â
They called her The Feral Lady, (for all that she was polite and mannered) because she seemed to be at one with nature, a wildness, in such a way that they say that Yavanna herself had blessed her. There was no better a hunter than the lady of the valley, nor was there ever an elf in the valley more willing to be coved in mud and leaves than she. It was often that the halls had trails of mud from entry to dining as she came back home from amongst the earth. To the new comers she irked them to no end, how could a lord let his wife behave as a wild elfling! but to those that have seen the ages pass from their homes in the valley they looked upon her with fond hearts, for all they knew that under the mud and leaves that she had vowed to make sure no mouth went hungry under her watch, and that her hunts were led with her people in mind.
It was their beloved Feral Lady that brought life to their precious Lord, for she was always dragging him from his solitude and paperwork to dance with her and his people, and to remind him of the wonders and beauty of the world. Where he was the tall tree that held firm, she was the vibrant flower that danced in the wind. Their people who have seen the days before her watched as their kind, but distant Lord smiled and laughed more often and as his eyes would brighten when she came home trailing mud with a new herb that he was looking for, their lady brought out the life in him that they had long since thought faded.
It was he who taught her the way of the courts, for all that she was mannered and taught, politics and paperwork was never her craft. It was he who she came home to each night, and it was his arms she found safety in. Their people would watch when her eyes would light up like stars when he brought simple gifts, how she would laugh when he whispered in her ear, and how she softened around him in the quiet evenings. He was the reason for her blooming joy, how he often left flowers or little letters where he knew she would be and how he would sneak an extra of her favorite treat just to see that radiant smile.Â
Often, they were seen curled around each other in the library, content to just be with one another, often they were seen racing through the streets giggling and laughing. They kept each other young in spirit, even in a life so long as theirs. The Feral Lady and her Lord, ever was their love sung of in the Hall of Fire and throughout Middle-Earth. Ever was there the warnings of threatening the Lord of Rivendell, for his Feral lady would get her surely revenge, and if the lady was ever to be threatened...one would surely hope for a quick death.
I'm moving and was getting all of my prop and larp weapons together when the thought hit me. My brother is a chef and has that cloth knife roll for his expensive chef knives. Me being the little sister that I am, had to annoy him just a bit. And sent him this. "My knife roll is bigger than yours"
This is not all of the weapons, just what I could fit in the roll.đ
I imagine that Maedhros hanging on a rock for thirty years got really really good at insulting Sauron and getting under their skin.
Sometimes the insults were so stupid that Sauron was insulted by the sheer lack if intelligence it took to make up the insult.
Maedhros hanging in there like those cute cat posters Maglor kept in his room: Ah ha! If it isn't the Ginger-Snap-of-Death
Sauron: *le gasp* Ok now that's just rude! Seriously youâre the one actually named Copper-Top!!! My hair isn't even ginger! It's the color of fire!
Maedhros: If your hair catches fire, Imma roast marshmallows over you, you glorified campfire.
This ultimately carried on through the ages as Maedhros taught Elrond how to torment a dark lord. This eventually became a tradition in Rivendell where Elrond taught every single one of his children and fosters this as well, and Aragorn Son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor, descendant of Elros (who was unhinged enough to bite the eldest son of Feanor over a brownie) took to this tradition extremely well...
Sauron being an unhinged flaming eyeball making weird bad guy noises: đ đĽâď¸đ
Aragorn, just wants to be done so he can marry his girlfriend: Yes, yes flame, death, suffering, whatever you say oh Great-Shooter-Marble-of-Doom. I hope you get sand in your eye that you can't blink out.Â
Sauron: *sobbing* Maedhros taught you that didn't he.Â
Aragorn grinning: I bet your vision got bad enough that you needed bifocals before thirty.Â
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The Lord of the Thingamajigs. Everything's the same but legolas and frodo and everyone (but boromir, he's the one nerotypical) have ADHD or autism and forget what the ring is called so they all call it the One Thingamajig. Elves are nerodivergent and I will die on that hill. But imagine!
"I lost the Thingamajig! "
"Boromir, give the Thingamajig to Frodo"
"It's the Thingamajig isn't it?"
"The Thingamajig must be cast back into the fires of which it came"
"Bring forth the Thingamajig, Frodo. "
"I would offer you the One Thingamajig."
They also all agree that elvish cloaks are the best because the texture is amazing for those with sensory issues.Â
Frodo: disassociates, hates tomatoes (they're squishy), language nerd, would deeply benefit from noise canceling headphones.
Sam: hyperfixated on gardening, comfort food is potato anything, emotionally attached to frying pan (it has a name).
Pippin: chaos incarnate, makes weird noises.
merry: chaos incarnate, bites.
gimli: crow brain (need I say more).
Legolas: randomly bursts into songs that make no sense whatsoever and is awkwardâ˘ď¸.
Aragorn: boot knife as a fidget toy and most likely had an emo teen faze.
Gandalf: has a big stick and knows way more than he should, likes moths.
Boromir: is normal (nerotypical) and frightened, why did Merry just randomly bite him? What is legolas singing about? Has Gimli really been talking about the chemical makeup of a river rock for the past hour? What is a Thingamajig? What is frodo staring at? Should he be concerned?Â
Elrond: elder millennial, built a valley that no one can find unless he wants them to, knows way more than he should, runs on monster energy drinks and spite.
Sauron: has hyperfixated on ruling the world for literal ages, lost his fidget ring (The Thingamajig) and is losing his mind. Is the organized one that will kill you if you don't put the thing back where you found it.
I have ADHD and do all of these things (including refusing to get rid of the very dead fryingpan because it's my favorite". So either I'm an elf (possible)Â or just a typical nerodivergent, tall, tree hugging human, that wild animals love.
I'm not feeling well so it's not my best but, I had to do one more fanart for âThe Harrowing â by @chthonion its still one of my favorites that lives rent free in my head! I couldnât get the amazing scene of these two meeting after Annatar made it out of the halls, so I had to draw it.