seanbeansimp59

[seanbeansimp59]

one of my favorite things about FOTR is poor Boromir looking SO confused in about 50% of the scenes he’s in.

and I mean it makes sense, poor dude had no idea what he was getting into when he rolled up to Rivendell. And all of a sudden it’s like hobbits? what’s a hobbit? dwarves? elves? there’s a wizard too?! and this scruffy sweaty guy is the king???

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I feel the need to repost this picture because UGH LOOK AT HIM

Look at that smile!!!!!

That is the most gorgeous lovely happy smile I’ve ever seen!!! Like when a writer describes someone as “beaming,” THIS is what I picture.

I saw this picture and instantly fell even more in love lmao

[seanbeansimp59]

This is correct and also Boromir erasure thank u

Every new generation of girls at some point as a child or teen must watch Lord of the rings so they can fall in love with Aragorn and Legolas.

Also faramir and Eomer too

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Alec Trevelyan

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Sharpe’s Sword (1995)

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Tolkien Week day 5: Favorite outfit- Boromir

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Y’all I just rewatched Sharpe’s Rifles while wine drunk and holy LORD.

I highly recommend this.

I need to start writing my Sharpe fic as of yesterday oh my god. You guys are gonna love Sammie.

So yeah, if you ever have a night to yourself, grab a bottle of your favorite wine, take a hot shower, and watch Sharpe. You’ll thank me later.

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Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Boromir x OC - Relationship Additional Tags: My First Fanfic, I'm So Excited Summary:

The Traveler escapes from the gloom and horror of Mordor into a world of glaring sunlight and fresh air. Lost and bewildered, she begins to place some distance between her and the looming walls, navigating through an endless sea of shifting rocks and sandy flats. Finally, she stumbles upon the smoldering ruins of Osgiliath, where a man clad in iron armor rescues her from pursuing Orcs. This is their story--a story of love and loss, of fire and friendship, and a story untold by the world, for how could a Steward's son love a wandering vagabond?

Hello Fellow Simps! 

I have finally uploaded another chapter of The Traveler, something I haven’t done since July. It took me a while and a lot of headaches, but it’s finally up! In this chapter, we finally meet Boromir for the first time, so feel free to check it out if you’d like! Your support means a lot to me. 

Much love,

Your Simp

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I wanted to share this beauty with all of you.

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If you want to donate somewhere to help out people in Ukraine but are unsure which charities are legitimate, both Charity Navigator and NPR have lists of vetted charities. Links below:

Charity Navigator

NPR

I personally donated to the CARE Ukraine Crisis Fund which provides immediate aid and recovery, food, water, hygiene kits, psychosocial support, and cash assistance, primarily for women, girls, families, and elderly people.

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Update

Hello fellow Simps!

First off, I'm soooo sorry I haven't been active recently! Like I said a while back, I've started up classes at a community college, and it's taking a lot of energy out of me.

In addition to that, I've had a sudden severe health struggle come out of nowhere and I'm now temporarily disabled to the point of where I have to use a cane to walk. I also have severe fatigue spells that render me completely useless for anywhere from 2-30 minutes at a time, so that's been fun. All of this happened over the span of two weeks and I've been completely thrown for a loop. I even went to the hospital and the doctors had no idea what was wrong with me, so I'm still completely in the dark about where this came from. Like I said, one day I could walk just fine, and the next I was having to use a cane to get around the house. It's been extremely stressful and I'm pretty anxious about it.

That being said, I'm on a temporary leave of absence from work due to these issues, and I only have three classes to worry about. My hope is that I'll be able to channel some of my extra free time into writing more of the stories I'm working on for you. I know there are a lot of requests and unfinished drabbles that I've wanted to finish, so hopefully with the extra time, I'll be able to get some of my stories out to everyone! I miss writing about everyone's favorite Yorkshire madlad, and I'm hoping to make some headway with my stories over the next week or so.

Anyway, thanks for reading if you made it this far! I love all of you very dearly and I can't wait to be back in the wacky world of Mr. Bean! I'll be seeing you soon, ya bastards!

Much love,

Your Simp

[seanbeansimp59]

You approach to pet the cat.

It looks into your soul with twin blinking pixels.

“Not even God can save you now.”

You decide not to pet the cat.

Cat from The Lord Of The Rings Online

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Good God, OP, this is magical (literally)

Three of swords

For my fellow Boromir stan, @scyllas-revenge .It's not completely what you've requested (must be the meds I'm taking, lol. :) ) , but some hints are there. I hope you like it, anyway.

Here we go!

Three of swords

“A silver for your future, my fearless lord.”

Each note of your voice gives birth to yet another reckless thought.

The lot of you are a new fad at this place. An entertainment, begged out of his father by the ever-bored court ladies. Leashed by the grim husbands at a grim fortress, they regard your ragged flamboyance wistfully, like a could-have-been.

It’s better for them not to know what someone like you regards them as. Not like it’s possible for them to ever guess it.

You’re a good pretender.

Your new request brings him back to where you’re standing before him boldly, with your hand stretched out palm upwards, and your expression certain rather than hopeful. He cannot but admire your pluck. The rest of your companions prefer to pester Faramir, which is about as useless, but obviously not as scary.

You are a fighter. He knows one, when he sees one.

The coin has seen better days, but so have your garb and his aspiration to impress whomever there is.

You take the offering with a dignified nod, utterly spoiled with that tiny flower of a smile, dancing in the corner of your lips.

He has been watching it bloom and hide again for well over a fortnight now, since the very first time you bought yourself out of trouble with it, when he caught you imitating the Ruling Steward in front of a group of giggling maidens - perfectly, if rudely.

You are a talent.

“I won’t bite,” you say, as the coin disappears somewhere in the folds of your fringed skirt.

The thick Harad accent rubs Boromir the wrong way, but your tone smoothes it out. It’s lulling and sweet like dark honey, trickling down the gnarled bark of a wild bees’ abode and concealing the ugliness of it. A useful tool for your profession, or rather lack of such.

He nearly regrets he can’t take it in good faith.

I won’t bite. He can surely voice the same promise.

And then please himself by breaking it.

“The coin,” you go on, unaware of the images he’s nursing, like a bloody amorous youth, “I won’t bite it. You won’t deceive me.”

Boromir almost laughs at the idea of being a trustworthy patron.

The bunch of you…

“Did your cards tell you that?” asks he derisively.

“No,” your voice falls to a teasing undertone, “Your eyes did.”

You are a temptation.

He can’t imagine himself pretending there hasn’t been a score of those, who paid you to play this game with them.

What he can imagine is what the Steward will have to say, if his firstborn adds to that score.

There may be magic, running through your veins, but his ones are filled with bitter poison.

“My future,” demands he, “Or my coin back.”

A tattered deck springs into your palm, like it was always there. Your fingers run along the side of it blindly to suddenly stop and pull out a card, so random that he jeers at the absurdity of it.

You lend it a passing look, but hesitate before showing it to him.

A rare heart would survive a whole three of swords, thrust through it so cruelly.

The blood is dripping down the painted blades, its colour the one his arms were dipped in elbow-high too many times.

“Am I to die?” inquires Boromir, forcing his lips into a smirk of contempt, “Am I to live, but with a wounded heart?”

You do not share his strained mirth.

“You are to make a mistake,” you say without a smile, “And you are to be judged for it. But it won’t be your fault.”

For a reason inexplicable, you take his alleged misfortune personally. You’re no longer coy or alluring, and yet this concern of yours deep-scratches him against the heart, like it’s the only thing he’s ever desired to get from you.

You are a prize.

“And what mistake, I pray you?”

“You don’t ask more than once,” the deck vanishes between your hands as nimbly as it showed itself in them, “The cards are getting angry. Forgive me, good sir, I must go.”

It costs Boromir no scruples to catch you at the elbow and stop you from fleeing his company.

“No,” he speaks calmly, “Can you ride?”

The general reputation of men serves him a good favour. He knows that he won’t fall as low as to hurt you, should you still wish to run. That he will release you and be a kind one next time.

But you have been taught otherwise.

“If there’s a horse,” you utter, not a drop of life in your voice.

“Then get one,” orders he, “I know you can.”

Your raise your eyes at him, and he sees himself through them with all the hard clarity – a leech in knight’s armor, about to abuse his position and all that’s noble.

And now it’s he who smiles, at himself, at your fears, at this unthinkable infatuation.

The Valar must have missed a sound laugh, and he was the one who caught their eye at an ill hour.

“Don’t be afraid,” urges he softly, “I’ll see you in the grove, three hours from now. If you will.”

A century passes before you nod your surrender.

The poison blends with liquid light, when your hand moves up carefully and you touch his face - a fleeting sensation, more tickling than pleasant, but he can have it. As a token of what more is waiting for him.

He doesn’t detain you this time, and you’re gone in a breath, leaving him wondering what the other two swords his heart is meant to let through itself are.

Because you are…

…a mistake.

[seanbeansimp59]

sorry for what i said when i was under the control of the cursed amulet :/

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i talk a lot about mens tits but please know that this blog is also in support of mens ass, mens thighs, mens tummies, and mens waists/hips

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“And seated a little apart was a tall man with a fair and noble face, dark-haired and grey-eyed, proud and stern of glance.”

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Oh, I thought they were doing a low-budget Boromir and Lurtz cosplay where Lurtz feels bad and takes Boromir to the hospital after one arrow