#thanks arwen ^^

[theladyeowyn]

You shall live to see these days renewed. And no more despair.

requested by @the-mawp

[shirefantasies]

Hey, babes!

Honestly I have brain rot for the idea of the ‘woman of the group does sexy dance to help mission’ trope and like LOTR boys. I also have brain rot for them hearing her sing ‘I Wanna Make Love To You’ by Etta James.

Anyway can I request the elves reactions to reader do a sexy burlesque/strip style dance? Like they in the audience and how they’d react.

By elves I mean: Elrond, Lindir, Thranduil, Legolas, Haldir and Arwen

OK I’M YELLING (I went ahead n threw our girl Galadriel in there cuz gotta catch em all right? 😁) there’s not really a mission lol but hope this does it justice! My latest D&D session the other night ended with burlesque performance so this feels like the perfect time to post this hehe

The Elves Reacting to F!Reader’s Burlesque Performance

Warnings: suggestive obviously 😆

Thranduil

Sure, he knew you’d all but been dared to set foot upon the stage, but something in your resolute expression and the long robe you wore had Thranduil’s eyebrows raising. Nary did he expect the way your hand shot out, grabbing the pole the moment the lights dimmed, or the way your robe dropped, revealing the lowest-cut, highest-slit dress he’d ever seen you in. Breath hitching, he watched as a long wave of fabric draped between your gorgeous legs, which wrapped around the pole as you climbed it. Eyes darkening as you spun, he could hardly help imagining what, or whom, else they could wind around so, and if he would ever be so blessed to see the confident air overtaking you again…

Legolas

Frowning, Legolas disappeared further into the gathering crowd. Gimli was the one who’d dared him to attend the show, telling him he was sure no pointy-ear could handle it. How could it be so, simply a performance? The crowd looked far too eager for you to be putting them into any sort of- oh. You emerged onto the stage, forearms and down covered with feathers like the wings of a great bird. Your legs were almost entirely bare, skirt minimal and bodice little more than a corset. Twirling and pirouetting into poses the woodland prince could only describe as suggestive, you beamed innocently at the crowd and hid behind your feathers, lashes fluttering. Another performer emerged behind you, hands on your waist and fingers deftly loosening your corset… Gripping the arms of his seat tighter, Legolas leaned in, a yearning in his own fingers readily accepting his friend’s latest challenge.

Haldir

A dancer you were. That was a known fact whispered among those familiar with you, often calling you something of a knife-dancer. Curiosity got the better of Haldir when scandal colored whispers of your performance right outside the woods. Was it dangerous, perhaps? Pride flowed into the little smile of anticipation he wore as fast-paced music filled the room and flames were snuffed, leading you to slide gracefully into the dim. Crouching, you crawled to the edge of the stage with a bloodthirsty grin that sent shivers down Haldir’s spine. Flicks of your wrists revealed your famed blades, which you twirled, tossed, and dragged gently along the length of your tongue. Brows raising, he found himself leaning forward with new interest. What sort of dance was- Coherent thought ceased immediately when you tossed your blades, caught them, and began slicing away at purposefully shoddy seams upon your outfit, revealing more and more until the elf was on the edge of his seat…

Galadriel

Hearing of a new form of entertainment served only to pique Galadriel’s curiosity and draw her from her frequent solitude. After all, if it was making her people happy… She did not expect to see a lone performer upon a platform, elaborately feathered fans covering most of her figure, but there you were. Clad all in white, at least from what she could see near your feet, you slowly closed the fans. The long swaths of fabric that hung near the ground begun only at your hips, the expanse of your legs utterly bare as you extended them, moving gracefully across the stage as your fans accentuated every curve and undulation of your body. Jerking, you rotated, hips swiveling as you happened to face the Lady of Lórien, and watching you through her lashes Galadriel felt a devilish smile rise to her lips. She saw exactly why there had been such a buzz…

Lindir

There had been talk of you giving a performance of some kind, but all Lindir had been able to retrieve on the subject was that he should quite like to be in the audience, so with a light heart he shuffled into the crowd, pleased to be quite close to the stage set up for you. Perhaps you’d learned a new instrument under his nose and wishes to surprise him with a performance! Perhaps- You slunk to the center clad in, oh dear, quite a sheer skirt. Feeling a rush of heat to his face, he tried to focus upon the swell of music, largely successful until you ripped your top off, hips swinging lower as your layers thinned and thinned… You froze momentarily, wearing little more than your corset, and made direct eye contact with Lindir, whose eyes widened and body felt quite faint. Slowly, deliberately, you took up your dance once more, grinning at him as you began unlacing the back of your garment. His hands shot up, half-covering his face, but he couldn’t help himself peeking again and again.

Elrond

Housing a troupe of performers was certainly an unusual set of circumstances, but not in the slightest beyond the reach of the great homely house. Indeed, at encouragement from Lindir to let music fill his halls, Elrond acquiesced to a performance, unknowing of the so-called ‘dancers’ who would emerge after the exuberant wind section. In fact, it wasn’t until they called you out that Elrond’s eyes widened, brows expressive as ever as they flexed in great shock. You were lowered down on ropes, sitting with your legs largely bared and swinging. Garments- quite the loose term- of drapery covered the rest of your form, but as you leaned back in your swing, you began twisting, swiveling, removing one veil after another… Elrond found himself looking this way and that, but his eyes could never leave you for long. Feeling his gaze darken and his hands flex, he wondered what he had gotten himself into…

Arwen

How scandalous could it be? Many a friend or even a family member or two had rolled eyes and whispered harshly about your performances, but Arwen was not afraid. No matter what it was said to be, she would experience it for it to be so in her mind. Thus she found herself in the audience of the very subject of contempt, the somewhat smaller ratio of maids to men not lost upon her. A great fount was all Arwen could see at the center of it all, at least until one bare leg slowly arched from its edge. Blinking, Arwen watched as it was followed by another, each of them kicking some water onto the crowd before your hands gripped the other side, flipping over to render most of your body visible. Hanging from the sides, you swiveled your hips, head innocently rested upon your folded arms as if your…ahem…rear end were not moving so. Sitting up, you let go, dropping back into the water with a splash before emerging again and grinningly tossing water on more patrons. Arwen found herself mirroring your expression, following your every motion with interest and a strange sense of elation.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @kilibaggins @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin | Reply/Ask/Message to join 🥰

[tealviscaria]

I saw @thelien-art 's DTIYS and thought that their Arwen looked absolutely beautiful, so I decided to give it a go myself :)

I'm pretty proud of the result, though I prefer the original face much more than the one I drew :D

[ha-bloody-ha]

My big project for Season 17. This pattern is what you find when you search on “Edwardian cardigan.” It’s by Kathy Merrick, it’s nine different colours of fingering weight yarn, and it took me most of the summer.

YES I MADE A SWEATER FOR MARGARET BRACKENREID AAAAAH

(Also Arwen is one of the nicest people I’ve met. Total honour to knit for her.)

[runawaymun]

Happy pride! For the pride requests (only if you want!), maybe lesbian Arwen/bi transfem butch Aragorn please? Thank you! Wishing you an amazing June!

It's been 84 years since I last posted a pride request but here! I finally have another one done!

[the-quiet-fire-of-defiance]

Melian and her Descendants as Native Aotearoa Birds

For day 4 @tolkienofcolourweek

A detailed image description is at the bottom of this post but I've listed the characters and their matching birds below.

Melian: hūia. A sacred bird, often considered to be one of the most beautiful birds in Aotearoa. Their feathers were traditionally only worn by people of high status.

Hūia were forest songbirds who paired for life and were utterly devoted to their partners. The pairs would fly and hunt together, caressing each other with their bills, singing duets back and forth. Often when a hūia died, its partner would die of grief a few days later (typically due to failing to eat or drink).

There was a sharp decline in the numbers of hūia after the arrival of European settlers in the 1840s. By the early 20th century, they had disappeared from our forests forever.

Lúthien: tūī. The most talented of our songbirds, a stunningly beautiful creature with iridescent blue-black feathers. Their double voicebox allows them to mimic almost any sound, including human speech. They often sing all day long.

Tūī are messengers to the gods. In Māori culture we might compliment a singer by saying that they have korokoro tūī, the throat of a tūī.

Also I'm feral about this quote:

Farmer and ornithologist Herbert Guthrie-Smith, writing in the early 20th century, observed of a female tui singing on the nest (tui are the only bird in the world to sing on the nest): “We were close to her, yet she sang as if her song could have no ending, as if the world was too full of the ecstasy of life for wrong and rapine to exist. The sun was shining above the flowing river, the leaves green, of every shape and shade; her great love had cast out fear.”

(Source)

Díor: kōtare, aka the sacred kingfisher. (Yes, okay, this is partially a joke about Dior being a sacred king.) Although kōtare are native to Aotearoa, they're also found in other countries. Most Eastern Polynesian cultures, including many Māori iwi, believe that kōtare have power over the ocean and waves.

Kōtare can sit motionless for hours while waiting for their prey, watching with perfect stillness. For this reason, a person who is alertly watching for enemies is sometimes compared to a kōtare.

Elured and Elurin: tara iti, aka fairy terns.

For Māori, terns in general are associated with people of high status. Tara iti are the smallest species of tern in Aotearoa, weighing in at about 70 grams (or 2.5 ounces). They're also our rarest breeding bird. Sadly, there are only about 40 individuals left.

Elwing: kōtuku - I expanded on this in another post

Elrond and Elros: North Island kōkako and South Island kōkako (respectively). Kōkako are blue-grey songbirds who often have a similar call to tūī, although with a slightly less extensive range of sounds. They love to sing duets; in fact, they sing the longest known duets of any bird in the world.

The North Island and South Island kōkakō are closely related but distinct sub-species. Although the North Island kōkako has been the subject of a successful conservation campaign, the South Island kōkako is considered possibly extinct. (The last two reliable sightings were in 2007 and 1967.) However, some people who walk the remote tracks of the South Island swear they've heard its song.

Elladan and Elrohir: tīeke, aka the North and South Island saddlebacks. The two species are very difficult to tell apart for all but the most trained eyes. They're close relatives of kōkako and hūia.

Tīeke are notoriously fearless. In Māori culture, they're guardians and guides.

Arwen: Chatham Islands tūī. While these birds look extremely alike to mainland tūī, they sing a very different song.

(Since this bird is from the Chatham Islands, the Arwen faceclaim is a Moriori woman. Moriori are the indigenous people of the Chathams.)

Image description below cut due to length.

A series of paired images. Each pair has one bird and one faceclaim. All of the faceclaims, except for Arwen, are Māori.

1: Hūia and Melian. The hūia is a black bird with an orange wattle, long curved beak, and white at the end of its tail feathers. Melian is a dignified woman with light brown skin, brown hair, and a traditional chin tattoo. She wears traditional clothing and a pounamu (greenstone) ornament around her neck.

2: tūī and Luthien. The tūī is in flight. The light has caught its wings and tail feathers, making them look a vivid blue. Luthien is a light-skinned (but distinctly Māori) woman with long dark hair. She wears a black dress and a pounamu necklace.

3: a kōtare and Dior. The kōtare is a blue/black bird with a white neck and underside. It's in flight, carrying something in its mouth. Dior has dark brown skin and facial tattoos that mark him as someone of high rank. He wears a carved bone ornament in his hair, a pounamu necklace, and a traditional feather cloak.

4: tara iti and Elured and Elurin. The tara iti is visible from behind, its white wings spread, either landing or taking off. Elured and Elurin are infants swaddled in blankets side by side.

5: Kōtuku and Elwing. The kōtuku is a gorgeous white bird with a long neck and stilt-like legs. This one standing on a tuft of grass surrounded by water, looking down at its reflection. Elwing is a light-skinned, dark haired pregnant woman wearing a white cloak and cradling her stomach.

6: North Island kōkako (kōkako o Te Ika a Māui) and Elrond. The kōkako is a blue-grey bird with a black beak and blue wattle. The Elromd faceclaim is Alex Aiono (Ngati Porou, Samoa), a man with light brown skin and dark curly hair. In this photo he's shirtless, holding a flower and facing the righthand side of the image.

7: South Island kōkako (kōkako o Te Waipounamu) and Elros. The kōkako looks very similar to the bird above except for its orange wattle. The Elros faceclaim is also Alex Aiono, but in this image he's standing on a beach in front of the sea, smiling.

8: North Island saddleback (tīeke o Te Ika a Māui) and Elladan. The tīeke is a medium sized bird with a red wattle and mixed black/red-orange plumage. My Elladan faceclaim is Jordi Webber (Te Atiawa, Ngāti Toa, Te Arawa, Ngāti Raukawa, Ngāti Maniapoto). He's a young man with pale brown skin, wavy black hair, and grey eyes.

9: South Island saddleback (tīeke o Te Waipounamu) and Elrohir. He is also represented by Jordi Webber.

10: Chatham Islands tūī (tūī o Rēkohu) and Arwen. This tūī is sitting on a flax plant, but it looks very similar to the tūī photo from earlier. It has blue-black plumage, a white tuft at its throat and orange pollen on its head. The Arwen faceclaim is a smiling Moriori woman in front of trees. She has long brown hair, light brown skin and a white dress.]

[gaiussleechtank]

A while back I was writing a one-shot based on the deleted scene where Arthur gives Merlin his mother's sigil and how it basically means proposing or stuff like medieval wise.

But I watched the episode (3x01) that the scene was from and I noticed something something that just broke me a bit.

This is the episode before Lancelot dies - I havent watched Merlin in ages so bare with me - but from just watching that episode I felt so bad for lancelot.

Like, the scene where the knights are heading off to defeat the dorocha, gwens there to say goodbye to them all and when she comes to Lancelot it's no romantic send off between lovers with Gwen hoping that she'll see him again. No, she's asking him to look after Arthur. And God's you can see it in his face that he's hurt by it that she hasn't considered his safety.

And again, the knights have set up camp the night or so before facing off the dorocha, and him and Merlin are collecting wood, Merlin talks about protecting Arthur and his destiny to the Prince/regent. Once again you see lancelot's heart break, because Arthur means the most to Merlin. Not Lancelot who knows his secret.

I don't think Lancelot sacrificed himself to the veil because he's noble to the kingdom or loyal to Arthur.

It was because he knew that his death would hurt the two people he loves the most less than it would if Arthur was the one who died.

[castelled-away]

I love it whenever Arthur looks up annoyed from under his eyebrows bc I get immediately reminded of Gwen‘s up-beat sunshine personality and face. and I’m like. they balance each other out so nicely <3

[glorfindel-of-imladris]

Glorfindel and Erestor | The Wedding of King Elessar and Arwen Evenstar

@glorfindelweek Day 4: Celebrations, Romance

"Upon the very Eve of Midsummer, when the sky was blue as sapphire and white stars opened in the East, but the West was still golden, and the air was cool and fragrant, the riders came down the North-way to the gates of Minas Tirith. First rode Elrohir and Elladan with a banner of silver, and then came Glorfindel and Erestor and all the household of Rivendell..." (The Return of the King)

[sesamenom]

you said we could bother you... ever consider transfem maglor?

hm, I don't really have much in the way of gender/orientation headcanons for most elves, but I feel like if anything I see him more as the "I have bigger problems and also a sword" brand of agender, if that makes sense?

[kylobith]

LotR Week - Day 7 (17th Dec) - Happy 20th anniversary to The Return of the King!

free prompt

Word count: 2,155

Like every year, it is movie night and everybody participates in one way or another.

Sam busies himself in the kitchen, wearing his apron over his clothes, tidying up while his stew cooks on the stove so there would be little clutter left to clean up once the evening has been enjoyed. Éowyn offered her help but was kindly distracted by Aragorn and Faramir at once, who suggested that she prepare the plates of snacks instead. So, happy to be included anyway, she stands at the little table set up in the corner of the kitchen and lays out cubes of cheese and other finger food on several plates, planting little sword-shaped picks into them so nobody would pick the food with their own fingers. Blissfully captivated by her task, a wide grin upon her face, she ignores the hidden high-five that her husband and the man she once thought she loved share in her back.

Counting the seats to ensure that everybody has the perfect and comfortable spot for them, Frodo clicks his tongue and rearranges some of the chairs. As Merry crosses the room to bring clean hand towels for the bathroom, he halts him and asks him to bring another chair from the library once he is done hanging the towels beside the sink.

Standing atop a stepladder — although she hardly needs it — Arwen hangs fairy lights above the windows, asking Pippin whether they are straight enough before taping them, with the Hobbit cutting off strips and handing them to her. Once every window is ornamented, she climbs down the ladder and folds it, letting Pippin carry it back to the closet in the corridor. Then, she hastens to put candles in their holders all over the place for the perfect atmosphere.

Sitting on the only rocking chair they could put their hands on, Gandalf smokes his pipe with a wide grin. Everybody agreed that he should sit down and enjoy his night, and he planned to do exactly that. He observes the lively house buzzing with activity with a smile, content to see everyone working together to make this movie night unforgettable, as always. While Aragorn brings the plates over to the table once Éowyn is done preparing them, the old wizard keeps his staff in hand, glaring at Pippin every time that he comes too close to them. He will not have him steal any of the delicacies before the night has even started, thank you very much.

Merry returns to the kitchen after adding the chair requested by Frodo to the living room.

‘Towels are up, Sam,’ he says, burying his hands in his pockets. ‘What can I do next?’

‘I think we should be alright by now,’ the cooking Hobbit replied, stirring the stew with a satisfied grin. ‘Have you swept the hallway too?’

‘As requested, yes. By the way, why are you cooking a stew for movie night? I doubt anyone will feel like eating that.’

‘Nonsense! Every night is good for stew. You’re just jealous you can’t cook one as delicious as this one. Oh, by the way, are the ales ready?’

Merry thinks for a moment and nods.

‘They are, but I will add some to the fridge just to be safe.’

‘Thanks.’

The doorbell rings, heralding the first guest’s arrival. Faramir opens the door and instantly opened his arms to embrace his older brother.

‘Welcome, Boromir,’ he chimes, patting his back. ‘You are the first one to arrive!’

‘Éowyn threatened to slit my throat if I arrived late, so I did not have much of a choice.’

‘Ah, you know how she gets. Come in, let me take your coat.’

As Faramir hangs Boromir’s coat on the rack and closes the door, Boromir waves at the company, holding up a pack of fresh ales. Merry takes the cans from him, enthusiastically greeting him and showing him to Frodo, who guides him to his assigned seat. The newcomer sits down and begins to chatter with Gandalf, exchanging pleasantries and catching up with each other.

Soon after, Legolas and Gimli arrive, all smiles and hand in hand. Their cloaks are gracefully taken by Faramir once more, and they step inside the living room.

‘I brought Lembas bread,’ Legolas announces with pride, placing the leaf he has wrapped them in on the table along with the other snacks.

‘A whole Elvish culinary culture, yet it is always Lembas bread he brings to everything,’ Gimli groans behind his boyfriend’s back to Boromir.

Éowyn throws a glance at the clock on the wall and grunts.

‘They are late. Unbelievable.’

‘That is quite alright,’ Gandalf laughs. ‘The Rohirrim are never late, nor are they early.’

‘Yes, yes, they arrive precisely when they mean to, I have heard that before.’

‘No. They are terrible when it comes to time management.’

The old wizard’s playful remark triggers a chuckle from Éowyn, enabling her to relax after having insisted for days that everybody come on time for the film. She warned them and yet they do not bother respecting the time given to them. It is their loss, she thinks to herself. There is nothing more that she can do.

Sam peeks into the living room to ensure that everything is in order. Taking off his oven mittens, he admires everybody’s work with glee.

‘Well, I see that we are still missing four people. Ah, well, they are all supposed to bring something, so… You can already have a nibble, but do not go overboard. Especially you, Merry and Pippin!’

‘We would not dare!’

‘Don’t worry, Sam,’ Gandalf reassures the busy Hobbit, ‘I am keeping an eye on them.’

Sam nods and disappears into the kitchen again. At the same time, another guest announces their arrival through the ringing of the doorbell. When Faramir answers it, Arwen gasps with joy and trots up to her father to embrace him.

‘Ada!’

Elrond grins and lifts his daughter as he presses a kiss to her temple.

‘I apologise for the delay, little star,’ he says, gently patting her cheek. ‘Somebody parked their horse in the worst way possible outside.’

Before Faramir can close the door after the Elven lord, somebody pushes it open, nearly sending it crashing against his nose.

‘Sorry, sorry, I’m here! Rang at the wrong house.’

Out of breath and his golden hair dishevelled, Éomer has no coat to hand to his brother-in-law. The latter, however, instantly leans in to whisper to him.

‘Steer clear of your sister if you want to make it out of here alive.’

‘Ah, let her skin me. Not the first time.’

Before his sister stumbles upon him and scolds him, the Rohir opens a box of store-bought doughnuts and puts it on the table, compromising on a spot with Elrond, who has come with some Elven pastries for everyone to enjoy. Since some of the guests have already started to eat, they already pick something to nibble on. Aragorn lifts one of the swords carrying a piece of cheese, but before he can tuck it between his teeth, Arwen snatches it and holds it up teasingly.

‘Hey, that’s mine!’ he laughs, taking her by the waist.

‘If you want it, come and claim it.’

‘Mh. I could retrieve it by force, but it is not this day.’

And so, she throws the cheese into her mouth, giggling as Aragorn comes to place a tender kiss upon her rosy lips. Meanwhile, Frodo starts gathering the guests and showing them to their assigned seats and chairs, explaining his choice but allowing them to switch at any time. Pippin walks around asking what everybody wants to drink, acting like a waiter while Merry fetches the beverages that his cousin requests.

Théoden arrives shortly after, carrying the best wines that Rohan has to offer. Éowyn takes him by the hand and leads him to a comfortable armchair, while Pippin comes to tend to him, offering him something to eat. The king of Rohan decides to share a bottle of wine with Elrond and Gandalf as they watch Frodo pacing up and down.

‘There is something missing. But I forgot what it is.’

‘Some actual Elven food, maybe?’ Gimli grunts, eyeing Legolas before following Merry to help him carry a large cool box to the living room, so every drink will be easy to reach.

As Frodo regards Legolas quizzically, the latter whispers:

‘Have you learnt nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves?’

‘But it is the eleventh event in a row that you bring Lembas bread.’

‘It is consistent food, does not require a lot of preparation, does not take up much space… It is the perfect choice.’

The Hobbit nods with a dubitative expression, before patting him in the back. He circles around the table and observes the decoration again, the coats on the rack, the seats he has assigned on his list… Oh. There is one vacant, with no name assigned to it.

Behind him, Sam claps his hands and everyone hurries off to their seat. Boromir sits on the end of the couch beside his brother, playfully rubbing his knuckles against Faramir’s scalp, holding him in a gentle headlock and laughing. Éowyn sits next to her husband and pats the space next to her to invite Éomer to join them.

Éomer grumbles and sits down with his arms crossed.

‘You two lovebirds better not snog the entire time,’ he groans. ‘It is sickening.’

‘Oh, shush.’

The three elders sit around each other, while the four Hobbits plan to sit on cushions on the floor, preferring the cosiness of the set-up to the mismatched chairs. On the right side, Gimli and Legolas sit beside each other, with the dwarf discreetly biting a piece of Lembas bread that he will never admit to having consumed to Legolas, who reclines into his chair with a cup of wine in his hand. Next to them, Aragorn and Arwen take their seats, bringing them closer together so they can cuddle while watching the film.

Sam serves everyone a small cauldron-shaped bowl of stew, much to their surprise, but nobody criticises the choice. They all gladly devour the beef, potatoes and vegetables while Pippin makes the (very) questionable choice to alternate between a spoonful of the sauce and a lick at a ring pop on his finger. While he tastes the candy, a screech resonates against the window from outside.

Two wide blue eyes ogle the Hobbit’s treat.

‘Preciousss?’

Before anybody has time to react, Faramir closes the blinds in Sméagol’s face.

Frodo is still confused. He counts everything on the table again, the number of seats that he planned for. There is still somebody and something missing.

When the doorbell rings, Frodo rushes to welcome the last guest. All smiles and carrying two wide salad bowls full of popcorn, a young man with long, dark blond hair appears.

‘Hi, sorry that I am late.’

‘Théodred!’

Éomer is beyond relieved to see his cousin at the door. He makes some more space between himself and his sister for him to sit.

‘There is no movie night without popcorn,’ Merry coos. ‘Alright, I believe that everyone’s here and we have all the snacks in the world!’

‘Indeed,’ Sam grins. ‘Everybody sit down.’

Théodred hugs his father and bypasses the Hobbit, careful not to step on them as he walks past them on his way to the couch. He settles between his two adoptive siblings and gladly accepts wine from Sam.

‘I am glad that you are here,’ Éomer whispers to him. ‘That way I won’t have to see Éowyn and Fari making out the whole time.’

‘Don’t be an arse, ‘Mer,’ Théodred sighs without even casting a glance in his direction, watching Aragorn switch on the TV and browse a whole catalogue of films until he finds the right one.

Sam switches off the light before sitting down, plunging the living room into darkness, if not for the many candles and fairy lights carefully laid out by Arwen. Aragorn selects the film and it starts to play.

‘Ah, The Return of the King!’ Legolas exclaims joyfully. ‘Excellent choice.’

‘I can’t wait to see Boromir die again!’ Pippin cackles, earning a loud ‘Hey!’ from the concerned party.

Merry leans closer, munching one of Elrond’s pastries.

‘It’s not in that one, Pip.’

‘Oh.’

As the title screen appears, Arwen leans on her elbows, resting her chin in the palms of her hands and staring fondly at the television.

‘Twenty years. Can you believe it?’

‘Time flies, that is for sure,’ Théoden grins, raising his glass before sipping his wine.

‘Unbelievable,’ Gimli scoffs, realising how long it has been since it all happened. ‘Do you think that there is someone out there who enjoys our adventures as much as we did?’

There is a long moment of silence, only disturbed by the film’s music. Frodo crosses his arms with a sullen expression.

‘Enjoy is a bit of an overstatement.’

And here we are, at the end of LotR Week. It has been an amazing challenge to write these short pieces with such vague yet inspiring prompts about our favourite characters and this trilogy that means so much to us for different reasons.

Thank you, @lotr20 and especially @southfarthing, for organising all of that. I'm definitely going to miss this event now that it's done. You have sparked such camaraderie within the fandom, connected strangers and inspired others, and it is nothing short of amazing.

Thank you to all of those who have engaged with my writing in one way or another, who have shared my works and taken the time to not only read them, but comment on them. A special shoutout to @konartiste, @emmanuellececchi, @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras, @sotwk and @meluiloth-of-rivendell for your support. You have made me fall in love with writing all over again and you have made me feel so appreciated and accepted this week! ♥

And, of course, happy anniversary to The Return of the King, a film that moves me beyond belief and that brings me so much comfort when I need it. I wish I had the time to watch it today to celebrate, but unfortunately, time wasn't on my side. So here's this little piece instead!

[thefabledpheasant]

has ANYONE asked about arwen

-rei

Hello friend! Not one person has asked this lol I’m honestly surprised by which ones I haven’t been asked. I know you love this pairing, so I hope you won’t hate me for my opinion of them 🙈

So, Arwen, something I think the show really struggles with is pacing. I love this show, but I felt like that episode where they kiss for the first time was just not the best. Like, I didn’t feel romantic tension during the episode, I felt actual tension lol it felt to me like Gwen really wasn’t all that into him and vice Versa and then they kissed and said maybe they could be together when he’s king and that just felt very out of nowhere to me and very fast.

However, they do have many cute moments. My absolute favorite moment is when Arthur is walking backwards into the lake to get her to follow and he says “with all my heart”. That entire sequence was VERY romantic and sweet and I genuinely loved it. Gwen is good for Arthur in many ways. She’s able to bring out his sweetness very easily. I have no doubt they love each other. But I think my issue also lies with how I perceive Gwen to be very lonely when she actually becomes his queen.

I think my overall opinion of them can be summed up as: great first loves, but not each other’s endgames.

Arwen: 81/100

Feel free to send me ships to rank :)

[fingons-rad-harp]

47, tummy kisses, for babie peredhel of your choice?

kiss prompts!

HOW ABOUT BABIE PEREDHEL X3

Elladan and Elrohir took turns pressing tiny kisses all over their baby sister’s stomach, making her squeal in delight. Arwen waved her small fists at them, grinning at them with a toothless smile as she rolled on her back and belly laughed.

When she rolled back upright, Elladan swooped in and blew a raspberry into her tummy once more, and once more she squealed and rocked onto her back, her laugh the most wonderful sound the boys had ever heard.

“She’s the best thing in the world,” Elrohir said, and Elladan could only nod in response. Sure, he was a little jealous that she could make messes without Ada and Emig getting angry, but she was far too cute for him to hold it against her.

Eventually, Arwen fell asleep, tired out from their play. Elrohir pressed one more kiss to her soft belly, then wrapped her in a blanket and carried her back to their parents.

[philtstone]

if you’re still taking prompts from that list, I’d love to see your take on the nemesis one for any of your modern AUs!

sorry it's not an EXISTING modern au but it is. a modern au. partially inspired by many many many things most significantly a post i literally cannot find again no matter how hard i look... also by anne from anne of green gables. anyway, this is mostly just vibes. and my own salad shirazi opinions. in that order.

In Arwen's house growing up family dinner was always a shared time of day, so it makes her glad that the small apartment her father moved into last year honours the same principle.

“It’s not that he irritates me,” eighteen year old Eowyn, fresh out of her first term of university and with her long gold hair in a tangled braid down her back, is explaining from the dinner table. “I hardly get irritated easily — it’s just that he’s so sweet and friendly all the time, I am sure he’s up to something.”

“Eowyn dear,” says her uncle. His attention is mostly absorbed by the newspaper in front of him. “If you might repeat that first part aloud, and reflect on it a bit.”

Eomer snorts from the sink. Gandalf had tasked him with washing the dishes — he had more or less nothing to contribute to meal making. Eowyn makes a face at him.

“I am good tempered. It’s just no one who’s normal is that nice. Certainly not a man.”

Gandalf, who’s in the midst of a very complex chess game with Arwen’s father, chuckles a bit. 

“Indeed?” Ada asks, with a wry smile. Eowyn blushes.

“Do not tease her, you men,” Arwen says, sweeping in to add hot water to the tea cups. The pale green flats of the fragrant tea leaves sent in express overseas mail by her maternal grandparents swirl in the kettle’s pour. Authentic green tea has a potency Arwen has not found in anything purchased around here. “You know she isn’t talking about you, and anyway, she’s right.” 

While Gandalf says, “Do tell us more, then,” charitably, Arwen returns to the small kitchen island. The rice is coming into its own in the cooker. Rice is always a comfort; it unites across cultures and races. Admittedly to this day Ada will prefer jasmine to basmati, no matter Arwen's own fascination with the latter. She sets about peeling two thick skinned cucumbers and dicing them, along with tomatoes from Mr Bilbo's garden, into a bowl. Then comes the shallot, and its lilac purple skin. Arwen has always loved the colour lilac. She has a nightgown a shade lighter than this onion, which her fiance sighs over dreamily every time it’s taken out.

Behind her Aragorn chops tarragon for the lentils, which are bubbling. He has embraced jasmine rice since childhood. His hair is tied out of his face and just barely escaping the doom of a man bun (Aragorn is too sincere about everything to accidentally look like the smarmiest versions of his countrymen) and he smells of fried onion and rose oil, like he often does when in this place. In matter of fact he smells like this kitchen is decorated: the multiple little knick knacks lining the sil, the old silver, the warm reds of the woven rug in the floor (one of an innumerable number kept in Iverworn’s house), and the cracked old laminate tiling – brown. There is some comfort in the idea that Gilraen's old apartment is still in the family. Only now, Ada has his little shrine in the den which doubles as his study, and a few more photographs have been added to the baby pictures lining the front hallway.

On the other end of the table Gimli and Legolas sort through Bilbo's rock collection while the old man gives running commentary on where he found each one. Arwen’s cousin is being educated on geology in the process. Frodo and Sam and the rest are still at school; Aragorn has volunteered to go pick them up in a half hour.

“This ought to go in the sedimentaries pile, Legolas. You see the distinctive layering – to really know we’d check for carbonate, but I’d say this is a solid limestone.”

“I don’t understand. Many of them have layers. That one with the crystal –”

“Running in parallel. Look, they’ve sedimented. It’s in the name, for Mahal’s sake. The geode, a sedimentary rock? Preposterous.”

“I found that one in Dale you know. It was, oh, twenty years ago or so now — I’d just had a pint with your dad, Gimli – you remember what he was like twenty years ago, wearing those garish red turbans (though they suited him well) – and when we came out on the street there it was by the lamp post, a little lump of a thing. I thought to myself, why, that looks just like Lobelia’s terrible laddoo – you haven’t tried them, but they’re glorified pebbles, with how dry and small she makes them – and then I turned it over and thought, where might a pretty piece of rock like this come from in the middle of such a town? But then, Dale is very metropolitan …“

Absently, Arwen begins humming to herself.

“Won’t someone put on some decent music?”

“Don’t look at us old men, Eomer. Haven’t the youth got a stereo system?”

“Oh, it's all Bluetooth now. Ah — I have your rook there, Elrond.”

“No he hasn’t; that’ll put his queen in jeopardy.”

“Keep your eyes on your lentils, Estel, my own function perfectly well. He’s been doing this since he was a boy.”

“Oh, yes, yes,” says Gandalf, with the wise knowing of someone who was there to witness such behaviour in person.

Between it all, everyone is somehow still managing to listen attentively to Eowyn as she expounds her theories and suspicions.

“He’s asked four times if we could study together after class. Four times. The next major exam we have is worth sixty perfect of the grade and I’m sure he saw me speaking with the professor last week because I was so determined to pass it. No one passes that exam, according to the third years –”

Arwen stirs the lentils and wonders if they ought to take a little bowl to the shrine.

“Perhaps he’s looking for a friend,” says Gandalf philosophically.

“Maybe he’s a creep, like Wormtongue was,” suggests Eomer darkly.

“He’s only starstruck by a girl in the engineering course,” says Bilbo, with a bit of (not unkind) humour in his voice. Then he reaches into his large duffel, which he lugged indoors with Aragorn and Eomer’s help, and extracts a box of fresh sweets for the table. These, Arwen hopes, are better than Lobelia’s – though she is sure they will be much too sweet for her own taste.  

“There are girls in engineering these days, old friend,” Gandalf interjects with a raised eyebrow, but Eowyn is not really paying attention to either of them.

“Last week at lab he gave me a book about zoological diseases I mentioned off hand almost a month ago,” she says with that earnest way she has. “That doesn’t have anything to do with engineering. Do you think he was trying to throw me off my game before our lab quiz?” 

It is very hard to keep a straight face at this inquiry, but Arwen – and many others present – manage it. “Have you considered that he might have just thought you’d like it?” asks Arwen.

“But that’s none of his business,” Eowyn says, as though this was obvious. 

“How did he know you liked it then?” asks her brother, baffled.

“We’ll — I told him,” says Eowyn. She flushes a bit. “But he initiated the conversation. We should have been talking about closed circuits.”

“Or nothing at all, apparently,” says Ada gravely.

“You don’t know him. He’s got a look in his eye. I can just tell.”

“Oh look, I’ve found him on Facebook.” 

And so Legolas has, and they all converge around his smartphone while Eowyn glares defiantly. 

“Faramir, is it? You know, he kind of looks like you, Estel.”

“Yeah – if you were much scrawnier and looked like a dweeby engineering student.”

“They look nothing alike,” says Eowyn hotly, crossing her arms – Arwen cannot help but catch Aragorn’s eye (he looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh, not helped at all by Gandalf, who is looking right at him, and skillfully masking his own merriment besides) “and Aragorn would never be such a — a — a snake, anyway.”

Arwen agrees with this hypothetical assessment, at least. She rummages through the fridge and retrieves the fresh clutch of herbs she needs for her salad.

“But what has he done, Eowyn. The poor boy. There is a bit of dweebishness there, isn’t there … indeed …”

“Look at the last name; isn’t that Denethor’s boy?”

“Oh yes, that would explain it. Engineering? Of all things? I always thought he had a poet's soul when he was a kid.”

“I wonder how they’re doing – haven’t spoken to the man in an age, you know.”

“Denethor you mean?”

“Well, not since the incident with that poor tree in the synagogue’s front yard,” says Gandalf sadly. “You were there Aragorn, you remember –”

“Hmmm,” says Aragorn grimly.

“Well I told you,” interrupts Eowyn. “I haven’t got proof, just suspicions! He’s trying to psych me out of this program. But I tell you – I won’t let him!” 

Arwen wonders if perhaps Eowyn had grown up around sisters, she wouldn’t insist so very hard on sticking it out through a degree she is not really interested in. These ruminations are interrupted by a soft touch at Arwen's waist. “Hm?” she says.

“I’m off to pick up the kids,” Aragorn begins in a low voice (the assembly continues to chatter behind them). She smiles at him, then stops: for reasons unexplained he is suddenly offering her a horrified expression he usually only reserves for conservative Tik Tok mommy vloggers and occasions where Pippin is about to grievously injure himself on the park playset.  “... What are you doing?” he asks.

“Adding the mint,” she says serenely. 

“Fresh?” Like she must be mad.

“Doesn’t it have mint?” 

It is his grandmother's recipe, after all; silly man.

“Dried.”

“Your mother always said it had to be fresh.”

“Fresh dried mint,” he clarifies, gravely.

“Really Estel.”

“Take over the lentils.”

“That was your job — and you’ve got to pick up Frodo and his friends.”

“In ten minutes.”

“You’re going to ruin it. Mr I Can Subsist On A Can Of Beans.”

“I can subsist. That doesn't mean you can add fresh spearmint to a perfectly good salad. It tastes completely wrong.”

“Estel …” But Aragorn has already ducked beneath the counter to reach deep into the recesses of their spice cabinet and retrieve an extremely dusty repurposed jar of dried mint, now cradled in his brown hands. The half-peeled label is for sour cherry preserves, which Arwen is sure no one in this family has bought from a store since they discovered the tree in Ada’s backyard.

“This is hardly fresh,” Arwen says archly.

“I dried it last week,” he says, all innocence. His t-shirt is worn and ratty enough that its low collar shows off her old necklace. She can see the jade flower and her own name etched in the characters of her mothers language at the center.

She sighs. Kisses his cheek; takes the mint. “Go fetch Mr. Bilbo’s wards.”

“They’re going to make a mess of my car,” he says, as if he did not happily volunteer for this task.

“Your car is already a mess, my love.”

So he goes, grinning. Arwen adds the mint to the salad and renters the fray.

“Eowyn,” she says. “Perhaps the next time he asks to study, you might take him up on it. That way you can get close enough to catch him at his awful scheme.”

Eowyn's mouth widens in a ponderous oh, as if she had never thought of this. Arwen pats her shoulder comfortingly.

“Food will be ready in ten minutes,” she says. Ada is smiling at her — a true smile, not without its own edges of memory, but no longer the bittersweet thing of three years ago. Arwen smiles back.

[moonshynecybin]

i don’t have a fic summary but ! lotr au in some way shape or form….. i need to know what our little guys would be doing in middle-earth (except for bezz and cele - i already know in my heart that they’re hobbits frolicking around, causing all sorts of mischief together)

this is my FAVORITE MOVIE. my little hobbit boys.... okay so like literally we MUST. make vale an elf king here right. like he HAS to be. maybe galadrielesque in the sense that he absolutely must play the gandalf role here as well as plot impetus and magical de facto sage of the party that occasionally fucks off to do wizard shit but still really cares about his hobbits (hobbits are all the academy boys sans luca who is also an elf and looks good doing it !). maybe pedrenzo also there to round out the gay ass gimli/legolas dynamic. marc is SO obviously the displaced boy prince of gondor to me... hes human. good with a blade and better with a horse. literally refuses to leave his brother's side...

so in this cele (WHO ELSE) gets left with the one ring and the academy boys plus vale set off on an ADVENTURE to help cast it into the fires of mordor... (bezz would make such a good samwise he loves his friends SOOOOO bad. literally cele voice bez im going alone. bez: of course you are but im coming with you !!!!) along the way they pick up marc, alex, and pedrenzo in rivendell but uh. uh-oh. it looks like im assigning vale a THIRD narrative role here as ARWEN bc him and marc are EX LOVERS who BROKE UP some indiscriminate amount of time ago due to vale attempting to give up his IMMORTALITY. and marc couldnt stomach that but vale couldnt stomach watching him DIE. so the vibes are truly wild the entire trip. especially with pedrenzo there lmao. like literally vale and marc looking at each other across a battlefield marc in polished armor glinting red with blood in the sunshine and vale in fine elf wear not a spot of grime anywhere near him. but still with those fucking sideburns. marc has NEVER!!! taken off the necklace vale gave him and its the brightest thing on the battelfield... the only way vale can make sure he's safe

meanwhile pan to bez carrying cele up a mountain in the most homoerotic way possible... talking about the flowers in the shire and the parties they had as boys... the ale they shared with pecco and mig and luca... wishing they had gotten up the courage to talk about their feelings before this whole mess started...

[essenceofarda]

Ooooo can you please draw Elrond being Soft with his children (or with little Estel, if you prefer)? I just love Elrond so much, I'd love to see some art of him :D

pretend this actually looks like Elrond, I s t r u g g l e d lol

A Daddy Daughter Dance (one of many) 🥹🤗💖