hobbitwrangler

[hobbitwrangler]

NEVER KILL YOURSELF . SOMETHING LESBIAN MIGHT HAPPEN TO YOU SOON .

[hobbitwrangler]

i know it's hard. but i so firmly believe the strongest antidote to loneliness is reaching out first. and continuing to reach out. again and again and again. excise any scrap of shame you hold about being the person who texts first or pitches the plan or asks to get lunch. everyone is tired and busy and struggling. and afraid of feeling unwanted and unimportant. don't let the people you love feel that way. reach out first. don't be a ghost in your own life.

[hobbitwrangler]

Was curious how far Ithaca was from troy today while listening to epic the musical and rereading the illiad and I found this map

I think odysseus would have been better just to walk😭

[hobbitwrangler]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @eilinelsghost and @frodothefair (thank you both!) and am actually getting something out on the day called for in the title!

Here’s a tiny scrap of canonical Dúnhere and his OC wife Lithcynd, who (fingers crossed) will be done for Tolkien OC Week later this month. Those who have listened to me blather about Lithcynd over the months know I think she organized the Muster of Rohan and has big Lady With a Clipboard energy.

Even as a child, she’d had an unusual intensity about her. She was always in motion, much to her minders’ chagrin, and she exhausted her elders with endless streams of questions on nearly any subject. She loved a game — anything that offered a chance to win — and was known to immediately and perhaps aggressively demand a rematch on the rare occasion that she lost. But she held herself to punishingly high standards even when no competition was to be found. Simply put, if she was going to do something, she would do it with excellence. It was a trait she’d been born with, though she shared it with neither her father, who was notoriously shiftless, or her mother, a timid woman who spent much of her life seemingly mortified by her daughter’s ambition and self assurance. Lithcynd can be a bit much, her mother would say by way of introduction, a preemptive apology offered to newcomers along with a nervous smile. But Lithcynd had never really understood the criticism. Much what? She was curious, confident, full of ideas and opinions, yes, but those hardly sounded like faults to her. And fortunately, Dúnhere had never seen them as faults either.

He had returned, mid-muster, at the head of a column of bedraggled riders, what remained of his éored after the disaster at the Fords. His shield, decorated with the bright emblem of the House of Hild, was broken and bloodstained, and his left arm was tied up in an improvised sling. But he was in good spirits as always and never more so than when his eyes landed on her at the entrance to the lower camp. He had cracked a grin at the outrageous tumult all around her, the hammering and shouting and clanging of metal in the midst of what was usually a quiet mountain meadow. I see you’ve been busy, he’d laughed, gently brushing aside each of her persistent attempts to get a closer look at his injured arm.

I always fail at tagging people, either being unsure who’s been recently tagged already or feeling nervous about tagging people I don’t know that well. How about @eurydices-dreams @nycterisg @emmathefanficgal @fishing4stars ???

[hobbitwrangler]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks to @sallysavestheday for tagging me to share a bit of a current WIP! Here's another bit from Atandil 23:

That morning they had waited till Arien crested the hills before beginning their descent, so Balan might be sure of his footing on the Serpent’s Stair—the coiling road that cut forwards and backwards down the sheer face of the Andram’s gorge—and even then he had shuffled forward with a dubious caution that reminded Finrod of the silkworm returning to its perch. They had progressed only one turn of the stair before he dismounted and shifted in against the cliff, one hand gripping Elmorë’s reigns and the other palm pressed against the rock face. It’s high enough already without adding the horse. I’ll trust to my own feet. When they reached the midpoint of the cliff, however, his apprehension had given way and he swore under his breath as the road opened out before them, wide archways springing up behind the falls where they poured over an outcropping in the rock. There were two great pillars on either side of the opening—stout, bearded cadhadrim with arms lifted easily above their heads, as though bearing the weight of the precipice was of little consequence to them. Balan had lingered at the entrance in fascination, studying the carvings as the others passed him by. He had seemed almost a graven image himself with his face upturned and shining in lamplight, and Finrod had paused to watch him in wonder. And there amidst the roaring passage, he found himself consumed by a desire to set Bëor’s visage too in stone, to make of him a monolith that would stand against the years—even as he was now, etched before him in the pale-blue of the Guard’s lanterns, lips parted and a boyish awe spilling over his features. Then Balan had turned through the haze of Sirion’s spray and swung once more onto Elmorë’s back. He had smiled when he met the king’s eye. Nay, he was warmth and movement, flesh and no relic to be cut in granite. Fear was the craftsman who sought to imprison within a single moment. Love's work was in living memory.

Tagging @thelordofgifs, @that-angry-noldo, @hobbitwrangler, @emyn-arnens, and @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras if you have any snippets you'd like to share!

[hobbitwrangler]

Foundation 1x08 The Missing Piece I can't explain it, but I know that you have a soul. But the one who forces you to do this, who so cruelly tests your faith and your loyalty, he… he is a soulless man.

[hobbitwrangler]

Regarding your recent tag… anything you’d be willing to share about your current writing project? Some of us will be excited to read. 😉

so I think -- I THINK -- there's a juicy AU where Boromir succeeds in what he tried to do at the end of FotR and the words have just been falling out about it in a way that almost never happens for me. It's not ready to start posting and I don't even have a title yet buuut:

They looked at each other for a moment, unspeaking.

“I know already what you would say,” said Boromir at last. “And you know already how I would answer.”

“Do I?” asked Aragorn quietly.

Boromir breathed. “You are a noble man, my friend,” he said. “I know in your heart of hearts you understand why I have chosen this path. And I know your duty compels you to try to hold me back from it.” He paused. “So I will make it easier for you, if I can.”

Aragorn said nothing. He watched Boromir with hard eyes.

Frodo was still standing silent and motionless a few paces away. Boromir looked down at him and sighed. “Go to Aragorn, Frodo Baggins,” he said. “Farewell.”

The halfling turned obediently and shuffled, like a sleepwalker, back to Aragorn.

“Take him back to Lothlórien,” said Boromir, raising his eyes to Aragorn. “Take him to those who can help him heal. The madness will leave him once he is out of reach of what I took from him.”

“And when the madness comes for you?” asked Aragorn.

Anger, sudden and hot, surged up in Boromir's lungs. He let out a little breath of mirthless laughter and looked down for a moment. “I am a man of Gondor,” he said. “Do you think I would not sacrifice far more to see her people safe? That is what you have never understood, Aragorn of the North. Aragorn of Rivendell.”

Aragorn’s eyes went cold. He laid his hand on Frodo's shoulder and reached out for Sam. Slowly, the others began to draw closer to him as well, opening clear space between Boromir and the Fellowship – just as he had foreseen.

“You will not follow me,” Boromir said, holding Aragorn's eyes. “You will not hinder me. You will not come near Minas Tirith, not while I bear Isildur’s Ring.”

He saw the command settle on the man he had followed. He saw his teeth bare, his head thrown back as if in pain; he saw the shudder pass through his body. He saw the ragged breath he drew as the compulsion sank home.

“It was never Isildur's Ring,” Aragorn said at last, and he opened his eyes to look directly at Boromir once more.

[hobbitwrangler]

Cain and Abel

joseph telushkin // Cain and Abel, Orazio Riminaldi // Silvina Ocampo tr. by Jason Weiss, Inscriptions Cain Read in Abel’s Eyes // unknown // Famous Blue Raincoat, Leonard Cohen

[hobbitwrangler]

do you guys remember “kick his ass baby i got yo flower”

[hobbitwrangler]

AIMEE GIBBS and MAEVE WILEY in SEX EDUCATION (2019-2023)

[hobbitwrangler]

Elwing, Nerdanel and Melian.

[hobbitwrangler]

[hobbitwrangler]

Rogue One (2016)

[hobbitwrangler]

Tulkas

[hobbitwrangler]

Character Illustration of Luthien for #characterdesignchallenge #LOTR in January 2021.

[hobbitwrangler]

Triptych of Varda, Nienna and Estë

[hobbitwrangler]

TOLKIEN WEEK 2022 | DAY 8: FAVORITE MOTIF ⇢ THE ROAD

“That sounds like a bit of old Bilbo’s rhyming,” said Pippin. “Or is it one of your imitations? It does not sound altogether encouraging.”

“I don’t know,” said Frodo. “It came to me then, as if I was making it up; but I may have heard it long ago. Certainly it reminds me very much of Bilbo in the last years, before he went away. He used often to say there was only one Road; that it was like a great river: its springs were at every doorstep, and every path was its tributary. ‘It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,’ he used to say. ‘You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to. Do you realize that this is the very path that goes through Mirkwood, and that if you let it, it might take you to the Lonely Mountain or even further and to worse places?’ He used to say that on the path outside the front door at Bag End, especially after he had been out for a long walk.”