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Good mornin’!

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He mad!

Mad Manwë is mad

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Galadriel and Olorin (finally) in Valinor after the war of the ring.

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@lovelytimes1​ Fuck yis!

well to be fair melkor never leaves his house anyway

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More Fellowship of the Ring podcast headers

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Soon, Master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves. Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone! This, my friend, is the home of my cousin Balin. And they call it a mine. A mine!

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YES! YES! YES!!!!

Thorin Oakenshield

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Loves Les Mis!

ᴰᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵉᵃʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ˢᶦⁿᵍ

ᴸᵒˢᵗ ᶦⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵛᵃˡˡᵉʸ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᶦᵍʰᵗ

ᴵᵗ ᶦˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵘˢᶦᶜ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ

ᵂʰᵒ ᵃʳᵉ ᶜˡᶦᵐᵇᶦⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᶦᵍʰᵗ

ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳᵉᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵃʳᵗʰ

ᵀʰᵉʳᵉ ᶦˢ ᵃ flame that never dies.

Even the darkest night will end And the sun will rise.

They will live again in freedom In the garden of the Lord. They will walk behind the plow-share They will put away the sword. The chain will be broken And all men will have their reward!

Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me? Somewhere beyond the Barricade Is there a world you long to see? Do you hear the people sing? Say, do you hear the distant drums? It is the future that they bring When tomorrow comes! Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me? Somewhere beyond the Barricade Is there a world you long to see? Do you hear the people sing? Say, do you hear the distant drums? It is the future that they bring When tomorrow comes… Tomorrow comes!

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Groans at the bad pun!  Must add more to my Tolkien-themed mug, tea, and coffee-related collection. 

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Everyone's doing the six fanarts meme and I'm sitting here like, all my art is fanart lmao

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How the Fëanorians deal with loss

Fëanor fights it. He refuses to acknowledge it, because acknowledging it makes it real, and it isn’t. He runs away from it and charges at it with equal ferocity. His mother might be gone, but Fëanor will never lose her as long as he keeps her memory alive. His father might’ve died, but Fëanor will never lose him as long as he himself still lives, because he is his father’s mirror image. Fëanor fights loss at every turn, because it is the thing he’s most afraid of and as long as he keeps fighting, it will never drag him down. He dies, but it doesn’t matter, for he has left his mark on the world. His body will be gone, but his legacy will never be lost. Being alive in people’s memories is the only life worth living.

Maedhros accepts it. He hates the feeling of loss with a passion, but it has become a part of him. As if to make up for the loss of his hand. He carries that pain with him wherever he goes. The guilt, the gut-wrenching nausea of knowing that everyone he’s ever loved will die eventually, because they’re all cursed, lays heavy on his spirit. Sometimes it becomes too much to bear, and he rages, and curses the world and the Valar and Eru himself, and he screams until his throat goes numb. And he moves on. Because it doesn’t change a thing. He could run away from it all he likes, but it doesn’t bring his loved ones back, and it doesn’t help protect the ones still left alive. Loss is a part of Maedhros as much as his visible scars are.

Maglor ignores it. He goes through the motions of life and acts like he’s unbothered. He smiles, but the smile never reaches his eyes. He keeps silent and moves on with a grace none of his brothers can muster, not even Maedhros. But inside he’s cold. He’s angry, broken, scared. He will never admit any of that to anyone, so his opponents on the battlefield are the ones who bear the brunt of his inner turmoil. They, and his harp. During the day he plays what is expected of him. The ballads, the great songs of glorious battles, of heroes and villains, life and death. He leaves his loss for the nights. At night he cracks, his mask of cold grace breaks away. At night he plays his best pieces. The laments he plays into the early hours of the morning to relieve the unbearable ache in his heart. They never really do, so Maglor goes silent and moves on.

Celegorn rages at it. He screams and curses and fights anyone who gets in his way. People learn to stay out of his way. Even his brothers. He hates it when people try to comfort him. He doesn’t need comfort. He isn’t sad. He’s angry and needs something to work his anger out on. Celegorm is always angry. He hides it well most of the time, but sometimes he explodes. When he does he gets himself out of people’s ways. He goes out into the wild on his own and doesn’t return for days on end. When he finally does return his hair is a mess, twigs and mud everywhere, his clothes are torn and dirty, he doesn’t speak for a while. Whether that is because he doesn’t want to or because he has forgotten how to is anyone’s guess. Sometimes he’s gone for weeks instead, but none of his brothers ever worry. It’s just how he is. Celegorm loses, gets lost, then finds his way home.

Caranthir laughs at it. He scoffs and turns his back. He will not let it hold him down. He has better things to do with his time than mourn. Taxes don’t collect themselves; treaties need the signatures of both parties; trade requires the same. Unlike those, life doesn’t bargain. It’s really quite simple and refreshing. Life only pays and collects what’s due. So he smiles his brilliant smile, collects his payment, pays in kind, and moves along. He’s called the dark and has a temper to match, but never because of anything he’s lost. His sense of humour is the best of all his brothers. He can laugh at anything. Even his own misfortune. He laughs and gets dressed in his impeccably cleaned and pressed, expensive clothing, and moves along to sign another treaty. If occasionally Caranthir does show up to the council table with dark rings under his red-rimmed eyes then no one bats an eye.

Curufin uses it. His loss is but a thing that makes him stronger. He grows with it and lets it teach him what it will. His pain is but a momentary thing. An annoying ache that leaves him hollow for a while, and then takes him to heights as yet unknown. He thinks he’ll fall, sometimes. He thinks a time will come when he has climbed so high the only way is down. But until then he’ll use his losses as the stepping stones that lead him to the top. Even if every single of those steps tears at his heart, cries out for him to stop. You’re hurting me. Forget me not. Please stay! He moves along, and every time a silent tear escapes that he can’t stop, he takes it and he crafts it into something else. A thing of beauty, a necklace or a bracelet, or a dagger with sharp edges he can stab into the backs of anyone who gets in his way on his silent stairwell to the top. Curufin’s loss makes him stronger. He does not forget, but he cannot stay.

The twins are loss personified. One is already lost, the other remains behind to feel the loss forever. 

Nerdanel cries. She cries when she first loses them, and then each time she feels that aching hole within her soul grow larger. She cries each time she feels that one of them is gone for real.

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8 trapped, 9 bored

Your board has kept me from being bored @halethkickass​

Tag Yourself in Quarantine: Silmarillion Edition

None of the images are mine. All credit to their respective authors: Elena Kukanova, SpicedWineFanfic, Kapriss, Jenny Dolfen, and Kimberly.

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Where most would see a compass star, I will only ever see

The Star of Feanor!

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Bonus scene where Legolas almost gets drunk.

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Oh to be a troll married to a hobbit in the shire. - Troll

oh to be a dwarf married to a hobbit lady in the shire

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yiss! 

I thought we could all do with a Turin in this trying time