#Middle Earth Club

[undergroundrockpress]

1968 calendar designed by The Monk for Middle Earth Club, London.

[nighttimepatrons]

I know you wanted me to stay But I can't ignore these crazy visions of Alqualondë

[strawberri-draws]

Me when assassins r in a classroom (and are all in middle school)

[eruscreaminginthedistance]

OMG guess who's going to see Blind Guardian play live for the first time ever next year!! Been a fan for 11 years but never got to see them in person but now they're finally playing in the UK for the first time since about 2016 get hype!!

[christinetheblackdragon]

Gandalf and Radagast

[abardnamedreginald]

i have a uh hc that waffle house has existed longer than middle earth

[local-redhead-bookworm]

Something about how for most of Middle Earth’s history, the Elves that escaped from Morgoth or Sauron’s imprisonment were turned away and abandoned because their kin were so busy being afraid that the escapees were sleeper agents that would turn on them, which led to most of those escaped Elves either dying or being recaptured…

Maedhros, who was tortured for years and spent his entire life being driven by his trauma. Maeglin, whose father was so abusive that he and his mother fled for their own safety, who was still treated like an outcast and was mistrusted because of his heritage. Rog, who was tormented and whose only name we know of means “demon.” And now Adar, one of the first Elves-turned-Uruk ever, who still fights so hard to honor both his Elvish heritage and the needs of the Uruks, who is instead threatened with watching them die before he is killed slowly and painfully… yeah, I have some beef with the First and Second Age Elves.

[suttonite]

is it safe to say… that the more i think about it… the more i hate steven and taylor together.

[asexualjedi]

Me when I’m asked if I want to join a journal. A few days after I submit my memo for the moot court try out and still have to do oral arguments the next month and having to give a response by Friday. Like truly I was like haha I won’t get in or if I do I’ll be able to choose the stuff all at once and see what I think I can do.

[paapango]

Yeah, I lived with a guy who did the colour grading on LoTR when it was being filmed. Every single colour in the original is deliberate. Hours, days and weeks of work went into making Rivendell glow with soft Autumnal golds, and the mountains have the chilly blue/green of glacier melt. And now it looks like a generic dentist office landscape print.

I am in love w the way pre 2000s films have that hazy feel to them. hd honestly kills the vibe

[leaslichoma]

Apparently in China peach wood (Along with the rest of the plant) is believed to have properties that repel evil spirits, a little similar to silver in European legends or iron for both European fae and West Asian/Middle eastern Jinn. Taoists sometimes keep swords made of peach wood because of this. This made me realize something. If you took a peach wood stick, and attached studs to it of both silver and iron you'd end up with a club or staff (or mace, flail etc.) that would have the weaknesses of many kinds of supernatural creatures while still retaining effectiveness as a normal weapon (peach is a hardwood and silver's poor edge retention doesn't matter for studs). You could even keep adding new stud materials to get something ridiculous that affects over 120 catalogued folkloric monsters. Since you just need a few little studs you could even get some really expensive materials like meteoric iron (a thumb tip sized meteorite can still cost like 10-20 bucks I think). I could somewhat feasibly make a weapon that affects every monster ever thought to walk the earth, from vampires and werewolves to jinn and jiangshi and even mankind.

[comatosebunny09]

carpe noctem [ conflict ] | sylus

— summary: whatever they have is cosmic. which is why you quietly bow out, thinking you never stood a chance. — cw: reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, assassin!reader, obligatory club scene, alcohol consumption, unrequited feelings, jealousy, sisterly love, self-loathing, suggestive, stream of conciousness, not proofread, mdni — notes: thank you for reading! [ part 1 | part 3 ] — now playing: bad girls like you - tobii

—of course, by unwinding, you assumed Ms. Hunter meant the celebratory clink of whiskey glasses together, with something murky and vicious sloshing around inside. Something to take the edge off, to dull your senses, and to assuage the ache in your muscles where the painkillers couldn’t.

A club was the last place you expected to be after blowing an arms dealer and his men halfway to hell. 

Then again, you’re not complaining, swathed in the subdued glow of red strobe lights and fog. You’re in your element, surrounded by sweat-slicked bodies and people just trying to feel. 

The club reminds you of Lux, minus the cheap upholstery and subpar drinks. You’re at least 1,000 miles from Linkon, settled on some floating oasis in the middle of glistening aqua waters. You’ve barely had time to enjoy yourself, your trio hitting the ground running as soon as Sylus’ jet touched earth. You’ll be leaving in the morning, swept back into the lonely, glacial abyss of the N109.

So you dance like tomorrow isn’t promised. Like you’re performing onstage, garnering the lust and envy of those around you. You always do, the art of seduction practically ingrained in your DNA after using it to your advantage for so long. Years of luring men to their demise inhabit every sway of your hips, every roll of your body, every sultry curl of your lips.

Besides, being here is also a nice little distraction from the cacophony of your mind, replaced by good music thudding beneath your feet, and your cheeks aching with a tipsy smile. You grab the hunter’s hips. Bring her closer until your chests collide, and she’s wide-eyed with parted lips, unsure of what to do with her hands. 

“Relax,” you soothe, your voice slurry as you encourage her to sway. To loosen up. She’s stiff at first but catches your drift, letting you control her with a wonky grin as her wrists cross behind your neck. That’s more like it. 

You fed her a few drinks to ease her nerves—it was her idea to come here. And after the three of you cleaned up and rested at the hotel, she suggested it over dinner. You and Sylus traded looks, your faces bearing different degrees of amusement. Ms. Hunter babe isn’t much of a social butterfly, but the pair of you relented, figuring you could use the diversion.

You’re playing up her allure. Whispering praise against her bangs, encouraging her to release her inner sexy. 

He’s been watching her from the VIP section since you dragged her to the dance floor. Scarlet eyes peeling through the smog, tuned to her every move. You wish it were you he eyed like that, but you shove those green-eyed thoughts onto the backburner, dancing, grinding, laughing. Losing yourself to the music. You’re on a mission to get her boned tonight. Living vicariously through her, knowing that it’ll never be you he beds. At least one of you can end the night on a good note. 

The song slides into something sultry. Ms. Hunter slips out of your grip, a giggling mess, stumbling towards the red velour couch where Sylus sits. You watch her plop down beside him, the cocktails slackening her grace. You can’t make out what they’re saying when he angles closer to hand her a drink. But he’s wearing that customary tilt to his lips, sweeping some hair behind her ear, where he eases in to murmur something against the shell of it. Whatever he’s on about, it makes her laugh, and she playfully smacks the devastating stretch of skin peaking through the slit of his silky button-down. 

Your lips twitch, smile falters. Everything around you morphs into a Gaussian blur, the music muddled as what’s left of your senses home into the scene. You swallow against the swell of feelings burbling up when Sylus pulls her closer, a long arm slung around soft shoulders. They exchange a look before the hunter glances up, shaking you from your trance. She raises her glass to you in a quiet toast. As if to convey, I’m alright in case you were wondering. Of course, she is. Why wouldn’t she be when he handles her like glass, the fondness in his eyes as palpable as the bitterness scorching your throat?

Sylus’ gaze tracks to yours. You offer a quiet smirk with a tilted brow, tamping down your envy. Wearing that playful front once more, turning back towards the dance floor.

At least your plan is working, you muse, swallowed up by the crowd of writhing limbs and lust. She’s definitely going to get some tonight if the idle stir of his eyes whilst he painted a triangle between her lashes and lips is any gauge. You did your job. Well at that.

So why do you feel so shitty?

A virile arm snakes about your waist, siphoning your breath as it drags you against a hardened body. You tuck your inhibitions away as the stranger who grabbed you grins, dark hair sweeping over manicured brows. You let him guide you into a slow wind, grateful for the save.

And you’re utterly oblivious to red eyes scrutinizing the stranger’s hand as it splays against the space between your shoulder blades.

—

It’s quiet on the executive floor of the hotel. Then again, it’s a quarter to 2 AM, and you’re sure everyone occupying these rooms is sound asleep. So, you shush your hunter friend for the umpteenth time, stumbling beside her as she giggles drunkenly into your ear. 

You can’t help the crack of a smile, her arm slung about your shoulder as you guide her towards her room, and she throws her head back, singing something that makes her voice crack and you wince. 

“Quiet,” you chide, your intermingled voices bouncing off the walls. You must be quite the sight. Two barefoot beauties stumbling down the hall, trying to make sense of the world. 

The embossed letters of her room pan into view. She laughs as you cautiously frisk her for the keycard after propping her against the door. She’s a little worse for wear. You feel bad, having overdone it with the cocktails. Not your fault you could hold your liquor a little better than she could. So when Sylus left you to close out some “business,” as he so cryptically put it, it was up to you to ensure Ms. Hunter made it back to her room without a hair out of place. 

So much for her getting laid tonight. 

Finally, you procure the card. You swipe it, taking the hunter by the waist before she barrels in. Instinctively, her arms snake around your neck, and she stumbles into you, nearly knocking you off kilter. She’s all sloppy-grinned, the alcohol on her breath pushed into your nostrils. She blinks sluggishly at you, and you bite back a laugh. Never would you have imagined seeing Ms. Hunter, all prim and pretty and carefully constructed, looking like this. 

“You’re pretty, you know that?” she breathes, tapping your nose. You scoff, maneuvering yourself to herd her into her room. She carries on spewing nonsense as the pair of you toddle beneath the dim lighting of the room’s entryway. The king-sized bed slides into focus. You let her fall onto the mattress, steadying her before she can slide off. Her hair falls onto her face, a new onslaught of laughter dribbling from her lips.

You kneel to grab her ankles, almost losing your footing yourself. You might not be as trashed as she is, but you’re still a little loose-limbed. A little tipsy, teetering on that slurry edge, having tamped down your inebriation to play big sister. 

“You’re gorgeous,” she continues when you stand, positioning her legs on the bed as comfortably as you can. 

You tuck her beneath the heavy blanket, ignoring her nonsensical talk. Scoop dark tresses away from her face, beholding red-speckled cheeks and swollen lips. It’s no wonder Sylus fell for her. She’s a marvel, girl next door pretty. The heroine of a romcom, where you’re a sex symbol, molded to be used and envied rather than exalted. 

Ms. Hunter teeters in and out of sobriety, sleep beckoning to her with its ghostly croon. Before you depart, she speaks to you again, her voice abrasive with exhaustion.

“The prettiest girl around. No one could keep their eyes off you, not even Sylus. He was practically drooling. You see that?”

You stiffen, your hand closed around the glacial brass of the door handle. You cock your head towards your shoulder, something warm flushing over your skin. She talks a lot for someone under the influence. But it’s as if she’s read the inner turmoil coloring your mind, not like you do the best of jobs masking your feelings.

It wasn’t me he was drooling over, you want to say. It never would be. He’s too swept up in her. Their history, their past. You’re merely an afterthought in the grand scheme of things. Something disposable. Something pretty to further his agenda. Even if he was looking, it was probably to ensure you weren’t getting into trouble. 

He’d have a hell of a time finding someone on short notice to fill your shoes. His pretty little femme fatale. It just so happens you’re unconsciously grooming your replacement, treating her more like an ally than a rival.

You wait until her breaths even out. Until she’s sunken below the depths of unconsciousness before you slip out of her room, your chest heavy as if weighed down by an anvil and a bitter twist to your lips.

Before you can make your grand escape to your room to nurse your impending hangover, a familiar voice curls around the vowels of your name. Of course, he would have a room across from hers, and it is with bitter realization you look up at him from the floor, schooling your expression into one of indifference. 

Sylus leans against the doorframe, so very massive in comparison to it. You try to ignore what the playful cant to his lips does to you. How his pretty, scarlet-spun eyes dance when he studies you. Ignore how the tendons in his neck flex when he swallows, how his Adam’s apple bobs. The slither of tanned skin stretched over his pectorals calls to you. Your fingers twitch at your side with the need to touch. You stifle the feeling, barring your gaze from slinking lower. He’s devastating, and you don’t trust yourself not to make a move you’ll later regret right now.

“How is she?” he asks, the husky grit of his voice furling in your chest. Your heart sinks. Of course, he wouldn’t ask about you. You’re a big girl, more than capable of fending for yourself. To inquire about your status would be an insult according to him. You square your shoulders, sighing with that infuriatingly artificial smile to your lips.

“Hammered, but she’ll survive. She’s sleeping it off now.”

He snorts, shifting his weight between his feet. “Of course. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to go out after the day we had.”

You nod, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—your pulse thrumming in your ears. Your throat constricting. You toy with your fingers, taking this time to dismiss yourself before you spout out some nonsense.

“Gonna go get some sleep myself. See you in the morning, bossman.”

“Need some help getting back to your room?”

You peer at him from your shoulder, eyes slightly widened, mouth open, working around words that refuse to come. Something indiscernible lurks in his gaze. It’s as if he’s searching. Looking for something, though you’re sure you’re mistaken. 

“I’m alright,” you say with a sticky laugh, starting down the hall towards your room. All the while, your nerves scream through your inebriation, and you squint when you reach the door around the corner, inwardly admonishing yourself for turning him down. 

A delusional part of you believes there was more to his offer than what was presented at surface level. But you were too stuck in your head to read between the lines. After all, Sylus would never settle for someone like you. Not when you’re mere costume jewelry in comparison to uncut gems. 

You throw yourself against the bed once you’re inside your room. Peer up at the ceiling, studying its texture until your vision slides into a vignette around the corners, and then you drift into the violet embrace of sleep, deciding to deal with this new swirl of feelings later.

preface | masterlist | rising action

[christinetheblackdragon]

Saruman and Gandalf

The Two Wizard

[lale-txt]

Kuroo looks at you like you’re magic. Leaning in the doorframe with his arms crossed, watching you brush your teeth, still drowsy from your alarm going off only a few minutes ago.

He doesn’t care that you’re wearing the same oversized shirt of his for the third day in the row because the moving box with yours is buried somewhere you don’t remember. You’ve long given up on finding a pair of pants. The flat is a mess and so are you, your thoughts as scattered as your shared belongings on the floor. It’s bittersweet, moving out of this flat that you’ve lived in together for so many years. 

Your first home. 

These walls have seen everything–your Nekoma volleyball club jackets on the wall, the "we're really just good friends and roommates" cuddles on the couch late at night, the clumsy and drunk confessions in the kitchen, the needy open-mouth kisses against his bedroom door. You both fell in love here and never stopped doing so, a love so big and ever-growing till it didn’t fit into this small apartment anymore.

"You're beautiful," Kuroo mutters and wraps his arms around your middle from behind, pressing a kiss against the side of your neck. He lingers with his eyes closed, taking in your warmth and the familiar scent of your skin. It was his idea, getting a house outside of the city. Somewhere you can breathe, he said. He doesn’t mind the commute, he’d walk till the end of earth if it meant coming back home to you. 

Calm. Kuroo makes you feel calm.

It’s as if he turns down the volume of your own thoughts till they’re nothing but white noise, all with a simple hug. In his arms, you found safety and a deep belonging, like you’re molded to fit in there. Kuroo and you, you and Kuroo. You’re your own person but you’re also his, and when he kisses you it’s like the sun and the moon are colliding in an otherworldly unison.

Kuroo laughs softly when you give him a toothpaste kiss on his cheek, the fingers of your free hand tangling in his messy hair as you pull him closer. The other day you had found a white hair in there, his first one. Another tiny milestone shared. You had teased him about it, lovingly, and Kuroo simply pulled you closer and looked at you with all the devotion of the world. Small kisses pressed against your knuckles and the insides of your wrist, his thumb rubbing over the spot where a ring would be a few days after that.

“I don’t mind turning gray and old, as long as it’s with you,” he murmured and something had tugged on your heartstrings when he did.

Kuroo’s love is honest and raw, in a way that never leaves you second-guessing. It’s warm and tender. He makes you feel safe when everything inside of you is falling apart. And when he cradles your heart in his calloused hands you understand what it means to be seen, to be cared for, to be loved.

[monstersholygrail]

How Your Monster Bf Asks You To Be His Valentine

Dragon bf spends all night clearing out part of the woods in front of your shared home cave, carefully swiping down trees with his giant claws. Then when it’s all perfect he uses his fire breath to form a giant heart in the grass. The words ‘Be My Valentine?’ Etched within the heart. He then sets out a whole breakfast picnic feast for you to enjoy together at sunrise.

When the time comes he wakes you up softly and guides you to the edge of your cave, claws hovering over your eyes. His surprise takes your breath away and you waste no time in accepting, jumping straight into his arms and kissing the daylights out of him.

You two honestly can’t even take your hands off of each other as you try and eat your picnic breakfast. Before you know it, Dragon bf is squirting whip cream over your nipples and lapping it up with his long dragon tongue. Kissing and nipping his way down your body, licking up all the sugary goodness along your curves before his tongue dives down between your thighs. He spends so many hours down there you have to hold onto his horns to steady yourself. Bringing you over the edge again and again, making you weak and breathless. Claiming he has to lick up all the food from your plush form, and what greater meal is there than the taste of your release?

Werewolf bf waits eagerly for you to wake up, desperate to show you what he has planned. When you finally do wake up he hands you a note with a clue on it. Each clue leading you to a memorable place you and werewolf bf had sex. And of course, your bf insists you recreate it for this special occasion, leaving you two to rush around town fucking each other silly.

Each orgasm leading you to grow weaker as the closer you get to the end, the harder he ruts into you. The more this goes on the more you start to feel like a dog playing catch. But seeing your boyfriend’s excitement you don’t have the heart to stop.

Eventually you two reach the club where you two had sex for the very first time. You can hear your boyfriend’s tail wagging behind you, the hard thwack echoing out as it bumps into everything in his path. When you walk in the club is empty but there’s a table in the middle of the dance floor and a banner that says ‘Will You Be My Valentine?’

Your heart nearly bursts with happiness as you tell him that of course you will! He lets out a needy whimper and practically attacks you, pouncing on you and pinning you down against the table. He’s sliding his still hard cock back inside you like it’s been seven years since he’s last taken you and not seven minutes. He fucks you so hard, just too damn happy you said yes, that when you hear the table make a suspicious snapping sound, he doesn’t even stop. He simply picks you up and keeps going until you cum all over his knot.

Naga bf suggests a nice romantic game night for the two of you. It’s not something you two always do, so the change in plans was a welcome surprise. Of course, the romance game night quickly turned into a dirty game night. Filled with strip poker that led to passionate lovemaking and they barely got through a third round of twister before your bf was coiling his body around yours and stuff his cocks back into your overstuffed holes.

But he knew he needed to focus once you guys got to charades. It would be hard given the lust burning in your eyes but this was important to him. He holds up three fingers and you guess three words. He then starts using his tail to spell it out. You ask if that’s cheating but he couldn’t care less. Spelling out each letter of ‘Be My Valentine?’ And growing harder as you voice each one.

You immediately ask him in return, leading you to both agree at the same time like cheesiest couple that’s graced planet earth. And you should’ve expected the instantly coiling of his tail around your body but you still yelp in surprise and he swallows it with a fierce kiss. He keeps you tightly wrapped up against him as he fucks you through the rest of the night, your game night now long forgotten.

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Wizards

[at unicorn fuck club] Brandon Sanderson: boy, i love being a fantasy writer! Sanderson: and the best part of being a fantasy writer? Sanderson: it's talking about wizards! Terry Goodkind: wizards? did you say wizards?? Goodkind: i LOVE talking about wizards! Sanderson: me TOO!

Sanderson: i mean, why even be a fantasy writer if you don't like wizards? Diane Duane: i write about wizards too! some of them are cats! Tanya Huff: OMG me two!!! Huff: TWINSIES!!!

Sanderson: how about you george? how do you feel about wizards? GRR Martin: well see the saga of fire and ice is based on the historical war of the roses so actually its p realistic Martin: just kidding, of course there's wizards! Goodkind: WIZARDS! Sanderson: WIZARDS! Duane: WIZARDS! Huff: WIZARDS!

Sanderson: you gotta like wizards if you're gonna write fantasy Sanderson: jrrt, how do you feel about wizards? Tolkien: wizards? Tolkien: meh Tolkien: they're okay Sanderson: Goodkind: Martin: Duane: Huff:

Sanderson: tell us about the wizards in middle earth, jirt Tolkien: ugh god Tolkien: why do you always want to know about the wizards Tolkien: i have literally no interest in talking about these wizards Tolkien: when we could be talking about the hobbits sexy sexy feet Tolkien: big hairy stinky feet

Sanderson: c'mon jirt tell us about the wizards Tolkien: ok fine Tolkien: well there's gandalf the gray Tolkien: and saruman the white Tolkien: and umm radagast Tolkien: he's brown

Tolkien: and then there's like Tolkien: ummmm Tolkien: two other guys Sanderson: what're their names? Tolkien: what? oh jeez Tolkien: i gotta come up with TWO more wizard names? Tolkien: god this is intolerable

Sanderson: c'mon jirt you've got us all wondering Sanderson: you can't just say there are these other wizards and not tell us anything about them Tolkien: ugh christ Tolkien: fine Tolkien: they're Tolkien: god i dunno what colors are left Sanderson: there's blue Tolkien: fine that's it they're blue

Sanderson: wait both of them? Tolkien: yeah Sanderson: they're both blue? Tolkien: yeah Sanderson: Sanderson: you know there's a whole rainbow of color options Tolkien: oh my god shut up Tolkien: i am so fucking tired

Sanderson: so there's gandalf the gray, saruman the white, radagast the brown, and two blue guys Tolkien: yeah thats right Sanderson: and the blue guys aren't named Tolkien: nope Sanderson: Sanderson: ok but Tolkien: why do you all care so much about these stupid blue guys Tolkien: just accept it!

Tolkien: just deal with it, you foolish son of a took! Sanderson: Tolkien: you dotard! Naught but a ninnyhammer! Sanderson: [looking at his CTR ring] Now calm down, brandon-diddly-diddly-diddly-doodly, he's doing their best, shodilly-iddly- iddly-diddly. Gotta be nice, hostility-ility-biddly- diddly

Sanderson: if you didn't want to talk about wizards, why'd you even make the blue guys? you could have stopped at 3 Tolkien: i was on the spot, okay? i panicked! Tolkien: you lot with all your wizard pressure! Tolkien: i don't care about wizards!

Tolkien: listen, assholes, i got into fantasy for exactly 3 reasons: Tolkien: sexy hobbit feet Tolkien: feasts Tolkien: and fuckin' tom bombadil! Sanderson: tom bombadil? Tolkien: he's only the most important thing in middle earth! Tolkien: that capering buffoon of a wifeguy holds it all together!!