#Hobbit-TheHobbit

[dortnumara]

En çok okunan kitaplar hangileri?

En çok okunan kitaplar hangileri? Kitaplar, insanlık tarihinin en önemli ve etkili iletişim araçlarından biridir. Yıllar boyunca, birçok kitap milyonlarca kopya satarak okuyucuların ilgisini çekti. İnsanların ilgisini çeken ve en çok okunan kitaplar, genellikle çeşitli kategorilere ayrılır ve bu kategoriler arasında romanlar, kurgu, klasikler, bilim, tarih ve kişisel gelişim gibi başlıklar bulunur. Romanlar, genellikle insanların duygusal bağ kurduğu ve hikayelerin derinliklerine daldığı popüler kitaplar arasındadır. Örneğin, J.K. Rowling'in Harry Potter serisi, J.R.R. Tolkien'in Yüzüklerin Efendisi üçlemesi ve George Orwell'in 1984'ü gibi eserler, milyonlarca okuyucunun favorisi haline gelmiştir. Kurgu ve fantezi türündeki kitaplar, okuyucuları fantastik dünyalara götürür ve hayal güçlerini genişletmelerini sağlar. Bu türün önde gelen eserleri arasında Jules Verne'in Dünyanın Merkezine Seyahat, C.S. Lewis'in Narnia Günlükleri ve Suzanne Collins'in Açlık Oyunları serisi bulunur. Klasikler, zamanla önemini koruyan ve birçok kuşak tarafından okunan kitaplardır. William Shakespeare'in eserleri, Jane Austen'in romanları ve Charles Dickens'ın Oliver Twist'i gibi klasikler, edebi değerleriyle bilinir ve geniş bir okuyucu kitlesine hitap eder. Bilim kitapları, insanlığın bilgi birikimine katkıda bulunan ve merak uyandıran kitaplar arasındadır. Stephen Hawking'in Evrenin Kısa Tarihi, Carl Sagan'ın Kozmos'u ve Yuval Noah Harari'nin Sapiens'i gibi eserler, okuyucuları evrenin derinliklerine götürerek bilimsel bir yolculuğa çıkarır. Tarih kitapları, geçmişe ilgi duyan ve dünyanın farklı dönemlerini anlamak isteyen okuyucular için önemlidir. Jared Diamond'ın Tüfek, Mikrop ve Çelik'i, Eric Hobsbawm'ın Sanayi ve İmparatorluk'u ve Yuval Noah Harari'nin 21. Yüzyıl İçin 21 Dersi gibi eserler, tarihi olayları ve süreçleri derinlemesine ele alır. Kişisel gelişim kitapları, bireylerin potansiyellerini keşfetmelerine ve daha iyi bir yaşam sürmelerine yardımcı olur. Dale Carnegie'nin İnsanları Etkileme Sanatı, Napoleon Hill'in Düşün ve Zengin Ol ve Eckhart Tolle'un Şimdi'nin Gücü gibi eserler, okuyuculara ilham verir ve değişim için motivasyon sağlar.

En çok okunan kitaplar hangileri?

En çok okunan kitaplar hangileri? En çok okunan kitaplar genellikle insanların ilgi alanlarına, meraklarına ve ihtiyaçlarına hitap eden çeşitli türlerdeki eserlerden oluşur. Bu kitaplar, okuyucuları eğlendirirken aynı zamanda onları düşündürür, bilgilendirir ve ilham verir. Her okuyucunun zevkine ve tercihlerine göre farklı kitaplar popülerlik kazanabilir, bu nedenle en çok okunan kitaplar listesi zamanla değişebilir. Sizin için en çok okunan kitapları lsiteliyoruz... İki Şehrin Hikâyesi - A Tale of Two Cities

İki Şehrin Hikâyesi - A Tale of Two Cities Charles Dickens'ın başyapıtlarından biri olan "İki Şehrin Hikâyesi" veya orijinal adıyla "A Tale of Two Cities", edebi dünyanın önemli eserlerinden biridir. Bu roman, İngiltere ile Fransa arasındaki tarihi ve sosyal çalkantıları, insanların acılarını ve umutlarını anlatan etkileyici bir hikayeyi içerir. Hikaye, 18. yüzyılın başlarında Londra ve Paris arasında geçer. Fransız Devrimi'nin patlak vermesiyle birlikte, her iki şehirde de önemli olaylar meydana gelir. Roman, aristokrasi ile halk arasındaki uçurumu, aşkın gücünü ve insan doğasının karmaşıklığını derinlemesine inceler. Ana karakterlerden biri Charles Darnay'dir, Fransız aristokrasisinden kaçan ve Londra'ya sığınan bir karakterdir. Lucie Manette, doktor Manette'nin kızı olarak hikayeye katılır ve masumiyetiyle okuyucuları etkiler. Sydney Carton ise kararlarının sonuçlarıyla yüzleşen ve sonunda kahramanlık gösteren karmaşık bir karakterdir. Roman, Charles Dickens'ın karakter analizleri, canlı betimlemeler ve derin insanlık teması ile bilinir. Okuyucuları, dönemin atmosferine ve toplumsal dinamiklerine daldırırken, aynı zamanda evrensel değerlere ve insan ruhunun karmaşıklığına da dokunur. "Iki Şehrin Hikâyesi", tarihsel ve duygusal yüküyle birlikte, dilinin zenginliği ve edebi ustalığıyla da öne çıkar. Charles Dickens'ın muhteşem kaleminden çıkan bu eser, okuyucuları geçmişin derinliklerine çeker ve onlara unutulmaz bir yolculuk sunar. Bu nedenle, "İki Şehrin Hikâyesi" sadece bir edebi eser değil, aynı zamanda insanlık tarihine ve insanın iç dünyasına dair bir ayna niteliğindedir. Küçük Prens - Le Petit Prince

Küçük Prens - Le Petit Prince Antoine de Saint-Exupéry'in eşsiz eseri olan "Küçük Prens" veya orijinal adıyla "Le Petit Prince", çocuk edebiyatının ölümsüz başyapıtlarından biridir. Bu küçük kitap, sadece çocukların değil, aynı zamanda yetişkinlerin de kalbini fetheden derin anlamlar barındıran büyüleyici bir hikayedir. "Küçük Prens", yalnız bir pilotun çölde mahsur kaldıktan sonra tanıştığı gizemli bir çocukla olan karşılaşmasını konu alır. Küçük prens, gezegenler arası bir yolculuğa çıkan ve farklı dünyalardaki tuhaf yetişkinleri ziyaret eden bir prenstir. Bu yolculuk boyunca, prensin masalsı hikayesi okuyuculara insan doğasını, arkadaşlığı, sevgiyi ve yaşamın anlamını sorgulatan derin dersler sunar. Kitap, sadece sözleriyle değil, aynı zamanda çizerinin etkileyici çizimleriyle de dikkat çeker. Saint-Exupéry'in kendi çizimleri, hikayenin atmosferini ve duygularını mükemmel bir şekilde yansıtır. Bu sayede, "Küçük Prens" sadece bir hikaye değil, aynı zamanda görsel bir şölen sunar. "Küçük Prens", okuyucularını hayal gücünün sınırlarını zorlamaya ve yaşamın derin anlamlarını keşfetmeye teşvik eder. Her yaş grubundan insanın kalbini dokunan bu eser, zamanın ötesinde bir klasik olarak kabul edilir ve dünya çapında milyonlarca kişiye ilham verir. Bu kıymetli kitap, sadece bir çocuk hikayesi olarak değil, aynı zamanda insanın iç dünyasına dair derin bir yolculuk olarak da görülmelidir. "Küçük Prens", okuyucularını gerçekleri görmeye ve hayatın değerini anlamaya teşvik ederken, aynı zamanda masalsı bir dünyanın kapılarını aralamalarını sağlar. Harry Potter ve Felsefe Taşı - Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

Harry Potter ve Felsefe Taşı - Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone J.K. Rowling'in unutulmaz eseri "Harry Potter ve Felsefe Taşı", edebiyat dünyasında eşsiz bir iz bırakan ve milyonlarca okuyucunun kalbinde özel bir yer edinen bir başyapıttır. Bu büyülü kitap, hem genç hem de yetişkin okuyucular için macera, heyecan ve derin anlamlarla dolu bir dünyaya kapı açar. Hikaye, sıradan bir çocuk olan Harry Potter'ın, on birinci doğum gününde kendisine gönderilen gizemli bir mektupla başlar. Bu mektup, Harry'nin aslında bir büyücü olduğunu ve Hogwarts Cadılık ve Büyücülük Okulu'na davet edildiğini öğrenmesini sağlar. Hogwarts'taki maceralar başladığında, Harry, arkadaşları Hermione Granger ve Ron Weasley ile birlikte okulun gizemli olaylarını araştırmaya koyulur. Kitabın büyülü dünyası, okuyucuları fantastik bir yolculuğa çıkarırken, karakterlerin derinliği ve gelişimi de okuyucuları etkiler. Harry'nin dostluğu, cesareti ve sevgisi, okuyucuların kalplerinde özel bir yer edinirken, Hogwarts'ta yaşanan maceraların heyecanı soluk kesicidir. "Harry Potter ve Felsefe Taşı", yalnızca bir genç yetişkin kitabı olarak değil, aynı zamanda dostluk, cesaret, adalet ve sevgi gibi evrensel temaları işleyen bir başyapıt olarak da kabul edilir. Rowling'in akıcı dili ve yaratıcı evreni, okuyucuları kendine çekerken, kitabın derinlikleri her yaştan insanı etkiler. Bu büyülü kitap, sadece Harry Potter hayranlarını değil, aynı zamanda edebiyat tutkunlarını da kendine çeker. "Harry Potter ve Felsefe Taşı", modern klasikler arasında haklı bir yere sahip olup, sonsuza kadar okunmaya devam edecektir. Hobbit - The Hobbit

Hobbit - The Hobbit J.R.R. Tolkien'in eşsiz eseri "Hobbit", fantastik edebiyatın en önemli yapıtlarından biridir ve okuyucuları Orta Dünya'nın büyülü ve heyecan verici bir yolculuğuna çıkarır. Bu epik macera, hem genç hem de yetişkin okuyucular için bir başyapıttır ve yıllar boyunca milyonlarca insanı etkilemeyi başarmıştır. "Hobbit", sıradan bir hobbit olan Bilbo Baggins'in, büyülü bir maceraya atılmasını konu alır. Bir gün, Gandalf adında bir büyücü ve on üç cüce kapısını çalar ve Bilbo'yu efsanevi Erebor Dağı'na doğru bir yolculuğa çıkarmaya ikna ederler. Amacı, ejderha Smaug tarafından ele geçirilen hazine dolu dağı geri almaktır. Bilbo, bu beklenmedik maceraya atılarak birçok tehlikeli yaratıkla, sihirli varlıkla ve zorlu engelle karşı karşıya kalır. Yolda, kendisi hakkında hiç bilmediği cesur bir yan keşfeder ve gerçek bir kahraman olma yolunda adımlar atmaya başlar. Tolkien'in akıcı dili ve yaratıcı dünyası, okuyucuları hikayenin içine çeker ve onları Orta Dünya'nın büyülü atmosferinde kaybolmalarını sağlar. "Hobbit", dostluk, cesaret, macera ve evrensel değerler üzerine derin düşünceler sunar. Ayrıca, Tolkien'in yarattığı karakterlerin derinlikleri ve gelişimi, okuyucuları hikayeye bağlar ve onlara unutulmaz bir okuma deneyimi sunar. "Hobbit", fantastik edebiyatın klasikleri arasında haklı bir yere sahip olup, milyonlarca insanı büyüleyen bir başyapıttır. Orta Dünya'nın büyülü dünyasına adım atmak isteyen herkes için bu kitap, keşfedilmeyi bekleyen bir hazinedir. Kızıl Köşkün Rüyası

Kızıl Köşkün Rüyası "Kızıl Köşkün Rüyası", Çin edebiyatının en saygın eserlerinden biri olarak bilinir ve dünya çapında büyük bir etki bırakmıştır. Bu klasik eser, Qing Hanedanı döneminde, 18. yüzyılda yaşanan tarihi olaylara dayanmaktadır ve "Rüya Romanı" veya "Rüya Anlatısı" olarak da adlandırılmaktadır. Cao Xueqin tarafından kaleme alınan bu önemli eser, zengin bir ailenin yıkımını ve baş karakter Jia Baoyu'nun yaşamını odaklanmaktadır. Kitap, aşk, aile ilişkileri, gelenekler ve toplumsal sınıf gibi temaları işleyerek, aynı zamanda Çin kültürünün derinliklerine de ışık tutmaktadır. Baoyu'nun karmaşık duygusal ilişkileri, diğer karakterlerle etkileşimleri ve toplumsal değişimlerle olan mücadelesi, okuyucuları derin düşüncelere sevk eder. "Kızıl Köşkün Rüyası", okuyucularına Çin'in geçmişine ve kültürel mirasına dair benzersiz bir bakış açısı sunar. Cao Xueqin'in ustalıkla ördüğü bu eser, zengin ayrıntıları, karmaşık karakterleri ve derin duygusal içeriği ile dikkat çeker. Okuyucular, eserin içine çekilirken, Çin'in tarihine ve kültürel zenginliğine derinlemesine bir yolculuğa çıkarlar. "Kızıl Köşkün Rüyası", hem edebi hem de tarihsel açıdan büyük öneme sahip bir eserdir. Çin edebiyatının en önemli yapıtlarından biri olarak kabul edilir ve günümüzde hala değerini koruyan bir kültürel miras parçasıdır. On Kişiydiler - Ten Little Niggers

On Kişiydiler - Ten Little Niggers "On Kişiydiler", Agatha Christie'nin klasik polisiye eserlerinden biridir ve edebiyat dünyasında önemli bir yere sahiptir. Bu kitap, özellikle polisiye edebiyatı seven okuyucular arasında büyük ilgi görmektedir. Agatha Christie, "On Kişiydiler"de, on farklı kişinin gizemli bir adada bir araya gelmesini ve ardından bu kişilerin tek tek ölümlerini anlatır. Kitap, okuyucuyu hikayenin içine çeken karmaşık bir olay örgüsüne sahiptir ve her ölüm, gerilimi artırır. Katilin kimliği ve işlediği yöntemler hakkında sürekli şüpheler ortaya atılırken, okuyucu da bu gizemi çözmeye çalışır. Agatha Christie'nin ustalığı, karakterlerin derinlikli tasvirleri ve beklenmedik sonuçlarla dolu olan bu kitapta da kendini göstermektedir. "On Kişiydiler", sadece polisiye edebiyatın değil, genel okur kitlesinin de ilgisini çeken bir eserdir. Heyecan verici bir kurgu ve akıcı bir anlatım, okuyucuyu sayfalar arasında adeta bir maceraya sürükler. Sonuç olarak, "On Kişiydiler" Agatha Christie'nin ustalığını ve yaratıcılığını gözler önüne seren unutulmaz bir polisiye eserdir. Kitap, polisiye edebiyatın klasikleri arasında haklı bir üne sahiptir ve okuyucuları merak içinde tutarak son sayfaya kadar sürükleyici bir okuma deneyimi sunar. Kaynak: Wikipedia Dünya çapında en çok satan kitaplar listesi Read the full article

[aris-middleearth]

Roads go ever ever on🏔️

[ridokaasp]

Happy Birthday Bilbo and Frodo! (Thorin celebrates with his family!)

[maumont]

"Lecture au lit"

[nocturnalnella]

“Yours, Always.”

Pairing : Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader.

Warnings : NSFW 🔞 FLUFF 🤍 Pregnancy 🤰

𓇢𓆸

The early spring wind swept gently over the stones of Erebor, whistling low and ancient as it moved through the great halls. Deep in the heart of the mountain, beyond the war rooms and golden vaults, the Queen of Erebor stood in a quiet chamber, staring down at the worn edge of the healer’s parchment.

It was a simple thing, just a few lines scribbled in dwarvish runes but it may as well have been written in starlight. Her breath caught. Confirmed. With child. Strong heartbeat. No sign of ailment. Her hands trembled as she folded the parchment and pressed it to her lips. For a long moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Only feel.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, not wild, dramatic tears. No. These were soft and sacred. The kind that fall in silence when a burden long carried finally lifts. It had been over a year that they have been trying

But month after month passed. And her womb remained quiet. Empty.

At first, Thorin said nothing, only held her tighter. But she could feel it, the shift. The way his touch lingered with reverence tinged by grief. The way he turned away in the mornings with something heavy behind his eyes. He never blamed her. Not once. But she knew. He blamed himself.

He thought it was his curse. The gold sickness. The dragon. The battle. The bloodline.

She had seen it in him. The way his hand curled against his chest late at night, as if he could feel his past rotting beneath the surface. He feared he would never leave behind anything good.

But now… now…

She placed a hand to her belly, still flat beneath her silk robes. Nothing had changed and yet everything had. Their child was here.

Alive.

That evening, she waited for him in their private chambers, tucked behind the royal wing of the mountain. The fire burned low in the hearth, casting gold and amber shadows across the stone walls. She had dismissed her handmaidens early, choosing to prepare herself alone, brushing her hair until it shone, slipping into the deep blue velvet gown Thorin always lingered over when she wore it.

And on the hearthstone, just before the fire, she had placed something small: a carved wooden rattle. It was shaped like a tiny ram, sturdy and detailed — the kind a dwarven father might gift his child for their first nameday. She’d had it commissioned quietly by a craftsman in Dale months ago, just in case. Just in hope. The door opened, and she turned.

Thorin entered, his shoulders already low with fatigue, his crown clasped in one hand, the other lifting to rub the bridge of his nose. He looked weary…battle-weary, meeting-weary, king-weary. But when he saw her, his breath paused, and something softened in his gaze.

“Amrâlimê,” he murmured, stepping forward. “You’re awake late.”

“I was waiting for you.”

He smiled faintly. “A selfish part of me hoped you would be.”

He moved toward her, setting his crown on the nearby table. As always, the moment he entered their chamber, the crown became just gold again. No longer a symbol. Just weight. And he was just Thorin, her husband, not her king.

But when he reached to draw her close, his eyes fell on the small wooden rattle on the hearth.

He stopped. There was a long silence.

“…What is that?” His voice was low, almost careful.

She stepped to his side and took his hand in hers.

“It’s for you,” she whispered. “For… us.”

His brow furrowed as he stared down at the rattle. And then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, she watched the meaning begin to dawn. He turned to her sharply, eyes scanning her face, desperate, almost afraid to hope.

She gave the smallest nod, her fingers tightening around his. “I’m with child, Thorin.”

A beat. Then another.

He didn’t speak. He simply… stood. Frozen. As if the world had stopped spinning. His lips parted, but no sound came out. And then, suddenly. His knees buckled. Not to the ground, not entirely but just enough. He sat back against the nearest chair like the wind had been knocked from him. One hand went to his chest, the other gripped hers like an anchor.

His eyes were wide, shining with something she’d only seen once before, when he awoke in the aftermath of the Battle of Five Armies and realized he was alive, and she was beside him.

“…Truly?” His voice cracked. “You… You carry our child?”

“I do,” she whispered, sinking to her knees before him. “The healer confirmed it this morning. It’s early, but they said the signs are strong. They said…they said everything looks as it should.”

His mouth trembled. He drew in a breath that sounded like it hurt, the kind of breath someone takes after surviving something that should have broken them.

Then, without a word, he wrapped his arms around her crushing, reverent, fierce.

She let herself fall into him, arms around his broad shoulders, his beard brushing her cheek as he buried his face in the curve of her neck. And then…gods — she felt it. He was crying. Not loudly. Not shaking. But the tears were there, hot and silent against her skin.

For all the battles Thorin Oakenshield had fought, for Erebor, for his people, for his crown. None had cost him more than this quiet war he never spoke of. This battle fought in prayer and silence, in the aching hush of a chamber where no child stirred. Until now.

“I thought…” he whispered, barely audible, “I feared I would never give you this.”

She leaned back just enough to touch his face. “You’ve given me everything, Thorin. Everything. Even if this day had never come, I would still call myself the luckiest of queens.”

He shook his head but he was smiling now, brokenly, like someone trying to piece their joy back together.

“I wanted to give you a legacy,” he murmured. “A home. A child. Something of me… that was not war or grief.”

She pressed her forehead to his. “Then you’ve done just that.”

For a long while, they stayed there, wrapped in firelight and silence, the mountain quiet around them. And then Thorin pulled back. Still on his knees, he reached for the hem of her gown and lifted it with slow, reverent hands, just enough to bare her lower belly.

He placed both hands against her skin.

His palms were calloused, rough from battle but warm. Steady. They cradled her softly, thumbs brushing along the curve of her abdomen. Then he bent forward and pressed his forehead to her belly.

And he began to speak. Low, guttural words, deep and ancient. Khuzdul.

The secret language of the dwarves. The language of stone and oath and blood. A language never spoken lightly. She didn’t understand the words, not fully, but she felt them. Blessings. Vows. A promise to their child.

A promise to protect. To guide. To love. To shield. To never let them feel unloved or unwanted or less than whole. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were burning with something raw and sacred.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss, not to her lips, not to her cheek but to the very center of her belly. When he looked up, his voice was thick.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For not giving up on hope. Even when I did.”

She cupped his face. “It was always you, Thorin. Even in the waiting. Even in the silence. You were still… enough.”

He pulled her into his lap then, cradling her as if she were already carrying the weight of the world. And maybe she was. But in his arms, that weight was not a burden, it was glory. As the fire burned low, they stayed there.

Thorin with one hand splayed protectively across her stomach. His other tangled with hers.

And when they eventually climbed into bed, he curled around her from behind, head pressed gently to the curve of her back, one hand never leaving her middle.

She heard him whisper something into the dark.

She couldn’t make out the words just the tone.

Softer than stone. Warmer than gold.

And when she fell asleep that night, she did so wrapped in the arms of a king, carrying the child of a man who had once feared he would never be worthy of such joy. But he was. Oh, he was.

𓇢𓆸

5 months later…

⸻

The nursery was nearly finished.

Warm afternoon light spilled through the carved arch of the stone window, catching on the tapestries that lined the walls, deep sapphire blue, embroidered with silver trees and mountain peaks. Thorin had insisted on only the finest dwarven craftsmanship, though she had teased that their child wouldn’t care if the cradle was carved from gold or goat wood, so long as it held them safely. Still, Thorin had carved the cradle himself.

Each evening for the past month, after council meetings and royal decrees and his endless responsibilities as king, he would retreat to the workshop, not as Oakenshield, not as ruler of Erebor, but as a husband and a father-to-be. His callused hands worked with reverence and care, shaping the mountain’s heartwood into something beautiful. The headboard was adorned with a mountain range, and nestled in the center, a small starburst symbol. Her family’s crest. His way of saying: this child is ours. Not just of my blood. Of yours.

Now, standing in the room beside that cradle, she ran her fingers along the smooth edge. Her belly curved softly beneath her linen dress, round and full now, unmistakably housing the new life growing within her.

She felt it — not just the pressure, the movement, but the presence. Their baby moved often now, especially when Thorin spoke. It was as if the child already knew the sound of his voice. She smiled faintly and pressed her hand against her belly.

“You’ve no idea how loved you already are, little one.”

Behind her, the door creaked open.

She didn’t need to turn to know it was Thorin. She could feel him, the quiet weight of his gaze, the shift in the air when he entered a room. He was always composed in public, ever the king, but the moment they were alone… his guard dropped.

“Amrâlimê,” he murmured.

She turned, and her breath caught.

He was still dressed in his formal tunic, but the crown was gone. His dark hair was half-loosened from its braids, and there was a faint dusting of sawdust on his sleeves. His eyes… gods, his eyes were fixed on her belly like he was seeing her for the first time.

“You’ve grown,” he said softly.

She arched a brow. “I’m aware.”

He stepped forward slowly, his gaze trailing upward from her belly to her breasts, which had grown heavier with the pregnancy, full and round beneath the soft fabric of her dress. She saw it then, the way his jaw tightened, the way his breath hitched. The heat in his gaze.

“I meant… you look radiant,” he said, voice a little rough.

She tilted her head, stepping closer. “Do I?”

He reached for her waist, hands cradling either side of her belly as he bent to press a kiss to it. The gesture had become second nature now, he greeted their child before he greeted her, most days.

But when he straightened, his eyes lingered.

“Do you know what I think every time I look at you?” he said, voice low.

She raised an eyebrow, teasing. “That I’ve turned into a waddling mountain goat?”

He chuckled — but only barely. His eyes darkened.

“I think… this is what the gods meant to give me. Not gold. Not glory. This.”

His hands slid up, gently, reverent — until they cupped her breasts. She gasped, a little surprised, a little breathless. He brushed his thumbs across the peaks through the linen, and she moaned softly. Her nipples were more sensitive these days, sometimes painfully so. But Thorin’s touch was patient, worshipful.

“You’re softer,” he whispered, leaning in to nuzzle her neck. “Glowing. Full of life. You are more beautiful than I have ever seen you, and I… I can barely look at you without wanting to fall to my knees.”

Her hands gripped his tunic. “Then do it.”

And he did.

Thorin knelt before her like a knight before his queen hands on her hips, eyes lifted with something that bordered on reverence. He pressed his forehead to the swell of her belly and exhaled, as though steadying himself. Then, slowly, his hands slid up her thighs beneath the hem of her dress.

“Thorin—” she whispered, voice shaking.

“You are mine,” he said, looking up at her. “And I will worship every inch of you. Especially now, when you carry the legacy I prayed I would never be cursed to lose.”

She let him guide her backward, walking her slowly to the bed that had been placed in the nursery. He stood only long enough to shrug off his tunic and shirt, revealing the muscle-sculpted form she loved. All strength and scar and hunger.

Then he joined her on the bed, kneeling above her, pulling her dress up and over her head until she lay bare beneath him. He froze. And stared.

She shifted slightly, suddenly self-conscious. “I know I’ve changed. I know my body is—”

“You are perfect.”

He said it like it was law.

Then he bent his head and wrapped his mouth around one swollen breast. She cried out softly, her hands flying to his hair. He suckled her gently, slowly, his tongue teasing her nipple in lazy circles while one hand slid down between her thighs. Her body arched as his fingers found her.

He groaned, deep and low. “You’re so ready for me, my queen.”

“Then take me,” she whispered. “I need you.”

He didn’t need telling twice. He positioned himself above her, nudging her legs apart with gentle pressure. One hand cradled the back of her thigh, lifting her slightly to avoid pressing too much weight against her belly. He slid into her with a groan so guttural it made her thighs shake.

She gasped, he still stretched her, filled her, claimed her completely. And now, with the fullness of her body, the sensitivity of her skin, it felt like more.

He moved slowly at first, reverent, almost achingly tender.

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” he whispered. “Mine… carrying my child. My heart, my queen, my future.”

She pulled him closer, wrapping her legs around his hips, her fingers digging into his back.

“I was always yours,” she whispered. “Even before this. Always.”

He kissed her then, not hard, not rushed, but deep and warm and wet. Their tongues tangled as he rocked into her, the rhythm steady and unhurried. Every motion was an act of devotion, every breath shared like a vow. She whimpered beneath him, the pressure building, the fire coiling tighter and tighter within her.

“Thorin, I’m… I—”

“I feel it,” he breathed. “You’re close.”

He slid one hand between them, his fingers finding her clit, circling gently — just enough. She came with a soft cry, her body trembling around him.

And that…was what undid him. He buried himself deep and came with a low, broken growl, spilling into her as if the act itself could root them together forever. When it passed, he didn’t move. He simply held her, both of them panting, his head resting over her heart. Silence wrapped around them like a blanket. Then softly…

“You are the mountain’s heart,” he whispered against her skin. “And this child is our song carved into stone.”

Tears welled in her eyes again. She kissed his temple. “You were always more than a king, Thorin. You were meant to be a father.”

He smiled, tired and dazed and full of wonder.

“I was meant,” he murmured, “to be yours.”

And in that sacred quiet, wrapped in one another’s arms, they slept — king, queen, and the promise of a future dreamed of for far too long.

[wendy1908]

Мені подобається малювати Діс. Шкода що з нею так мало контенту

[erosofthepen]

I remember I made a Dwarven Holiday post with head cannons of all the holidays I think dwarves would have, and I keep thinking about how I came up with Meragel, the Feast of all Feasts.

Like a huge dwarven feast every 25 years where family all travels to the big dwarven kingdom capitals to meet with family and reconnect. Like probably a season long, just an excuse to talk to family and close friends again. Here the new children are introduced, the contracts of wills are officiated, family history is recounted, fashion is peak, marriage contracts are arranged and written, and music, food, and joy take the lead. It's such a great concept for dwarven community.

Dwarven Holiday post

[boozy-dwarf]

Let's applaud the super strength of the elves. Their bodies are unusually strong. Considering that the orcs in the hobbit movies have incredible strength and can use ±300 kg stones as weapons...oh my...

Imagine the strength in those muscles :D

[maxwell1138]

¿What do you think was the main economic activity of the elves of Mirkwood?

We know that they traded with the men of Esgaroth and had enough money to buy goods like wine ¿but where did they get the money? We know that the sylvans weren't really savvy on metallurgy and mining, and it's not on the character of the elves to exploit the resources of the forest, like wood or pelts ¿so what resource do you think they used for trading?

[thatshadowintheuniverse]

so like what if Balin has more ink than his brother Dwalin.

[mmirzasworld]

Is this true about her death?

[truskawaofficial]

I dont like hazbin hotel but i found ts in my gallery💔 Cheers to thorin and thranduil tho

[aris-middleearth]

Erebor🏔️

Designed for silkscreen printing

The composition is inspired by Tolkien’s illustration “The Front Gate”

[articoluminos]

Lothlorien Guardian lotr

[nocturnalnella]

“Bent for The King”

Pairing : Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader.

Warnings : NSFW - language - power dynamics.

𓇢𓆸

You’re fast, but you’re not that fast.

Not when the king is hunting you with murder in his eyes.

You dart down a darkened corridor, laughter bubbling up from your lips, just to taunt him, just to hear the echo of it bounce off stone. You know he’s behind you; you can feel the heat, the fury, the singular focus.

You’re baiting him and you know it. And, gods, it feels good. You turn a corner, slide to a halt, nearly crash into a rack of armor. He’s gaining. You hear the scrape of boots and that low, guttural growl he makes when you’ve truly pissed him off.

You flash him a wicked grin, teeth bared.

“Getting slow in your old age, Oakenshield?”

He rounds the corner and slams his axe into the stone beside your head, just hard enough to make the wall shudder, just close enough that you feel the wind of it whip your hair. His eyes burn, blue and bottomless.

“Keep running your mouth, girl. It’s the only thing you do faster than running away.”

“Oh, I don’t run,” you shoot back, chin tilted up, “I just know how to make a king chase. Is that your secret, Thorin? You like it when a woman gets away?”

He leans in, chest heaving. “I like it when she knows her place.”

He’s close enough you can feel the heat off him, smell the leather and metal, the clean, sweat-and-smoke scent of him. His hand is braced on the wall, trapping you.

“And where’s that?” You don’t back down. “Under your boot? On her knees? Or maybe you just want someone who doesn’t flinch when you get all big and scary?”

“Oh, I don’t want someone who flinches.” His lips twitch, almost a smile. “I want someone who knows how to scream.”

You arch a brow, pressing your luck. “You’re all talk, King. You haven’t managed to catch me yet.”

He grins. Slow, dark, dangerous. “That’s about to change.”

The fight explodes before you even see it coming. You twist, duck under his arm, try to spin away but he’s faster, stronger, years of battle making him unmovable. You jab, he catches your wrist. You kick, he shoves you hard against the wall. The world is nothing but heat and noise and the scrape of armor, his mouth at your ear:

“Is that all you’ve got, little thief?”

You elbow him, make him grunt, but it only drives him wilder. He snatches you by the waist, spins you, pins you against the cold stone, one thigh pressing between your legs. You try to bite him; he laughs , a deep, obscene sound.

“Keep squirming. You’re only making it worse for yourself.”

You snap your teeth at him, lips curled. “Maybe I want it worse.”

That does it.

He grabs you by the throat—not to hurt, just enough to make your breath stutter, to force your eyes to his.

“You want to be punished?” he growls, voice rough as gravel.

“You want to see what happens when a king gets angry?”

You spit a laugh in his face. “I want to see if you’re as good as your reputation, Oakenshield. Or if all those stories are just that…stories.”

He bares his teeth. “You want stories? I’ll give you something to scream about.”

He shoves your hands above your head, holding both wrists in one iron fist. His other hand comes down, trailing over your throat, your chest, squeezing your tits through your shirt. It’s rough, possessive, greedy. He groans, deep and filthy.

“Fuck, look at you,” he hisses, yanking your shirt open, mouth hot on your neck. “These tits…do you know how many times I’ve thought about bending you over this fucking axe and making you scream my name?”

Your heart pounds, but your voice is steady—just barely. “Big talk for a dwarf who can’t even—”

He cuts you off with a brutal kiss, teeth clashing, his tongue shoving past your lips like he owns your mouth. When he pulls back, your lips are swollen, spit slick.

He lets go of your wrists, just long enough to hook his axe under your thighs and yank you off your feet, pinning you against the wall, your legs spread wide, his body crushing yours.

“Let’s see you run now, girl.”

You glare at him, breathless, desperate not to give him the satisfaction. “Is this how you treat all your enemies?”

“Only the ones I want to ruin,” he snarls. “And you—oh, I’m going to ruin you, sweetheart.”

He uses the haft of the axe to push your skirt up, cold wood against your thighs, sliding it between your legs—obscene, teasing, making you gasp and squirm.

He leans in, mouth at your ear, voice pure filth.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, pressing the length of the haft right against your dripping pussy, grinding it just enough to make you whimper. “That’s nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk. I’m going to fill you so deep you’ll feel me for days. You’re going to beg, and scream, and cry for more, and I’ll still keep going until you forget your own fucking name.”

You shudder, but your defiance flickers—one last spark.

“Promises, promises, King.”

His hand clamps over your mouth.

“You talk too much,” he growls. “But don’t worry. I’ll give you something better to do with that mouth.”

He drops the axe, just enough to free his hands. Then he’s on you, hands everywhere, ripping your clothes, kneading your tits, pinching your nipples until you gasp. He bites at your neck, your shoulder, leaving marks he intends for everyone to see.

His hand finds your cunt, shoves two fingers inside, rough and ruthless.

“Fuck, you’re soaked. Is this what you wanted? All that attitude—just a little slut desperate for a king’s cock?”

You glare at him, lips parted, trying not to moan.

He curls his fingers, thumb on your clit, working you until your hips buck, until your breath comes in ragged, frantic sobs.

“Look at you,” he pants, eyes wild. “So fucking needy. You pretend you’re tough, but your pussy gives you away every time.”

He drags you off the wall, spins you, bends you over the haft of his axe, shoves your face against the cold stone.

His cock is out, thick and angry, slapping against your ass.

“You ready?” he grunts, lining up, head pressed right against your entrance.

“You’re going to take every inch, girl. And you’re going to thank me for it.”

You bite your lip, trying not to whimper but you can’t hide the way your body arches, desperate for him.

He slams in, hard and deep, making you cry out.

He fucks you like he’s claiming you, rough, brutal, every thrust shoving you harder against the axe, your tits mashed against the stone.

He’s filthy, unhinged, words spilling from him like a curse:

“Listen to you. So fucking tight. Your cunt was made for me. Made for a king. I’m going to fill you up so good, you’ll leak down your thighs all day. Every dwarf in this mountain will smell me on you. You want that? Want everyone to know you’re mine?”

You’re sobbing now, desperate, your body shaking. He fucks you mercilessly, hand in your hair, yanking your head back so you can hear every dirty word.

“You’re going to come for me. Right now. I want to feel this pretty pussy squeeze my cock, milk me dry. Do it, come for your king. Come all over my cock, you filthy little slut.”

And you do. Your body convulsing, vision blurring, mouth open in a silent scream as you shatter, your orgasm so intense it hurts. He laughs, low and dark, slamming into you harder, chasing his own release.

“Good girl. Take it. Take every fucking drop.” He comes with a roar, spilling inside you, grinding his hips until you’re sobbing, ruined, unable to move.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder, voice dropping to a low rumble only you can hear.

“If you keep misbehaving, Mrs. Oakenshield, I’ll have to make these punishments a nightly tradition.”

Taglist : @nelswp