#lotr whump

[generic-whumper]

Frodo doing what he does best, getting stabbed by a Nazgûl 😏

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Don't think he was the *first*, but he was the first character I actively imagined in Whumpee scenarios; Aragorn from Lord of the Rings.

There are a lot of Whumpy moments across the films, but specifically;

THIS battle and it's aftermath in particular:

Plus the honorary 'Hottest Door Opening In The History Of Film' mention;

The injuries. The blood and grime. The exhaustion. 10/10

My favorite moment though? Definitely when he falls unconscious whilst grabbing/holding the Palantíri to save Pippin;

I still use that trope of magic item sapping all their energy/knocking them unconscious to this day.

I am quite decidedly still 100% a massive fan of Aragorn Whump to this day, I fully think it was my Whumpy awakening tbf...

(Also @aceofwhump at it again with the phenomimal Whump gifs damn!)

Idk if this question has been asked before but whatever

What was your first exposure to whump in (modern?) media?

Doesn’t have to be modern, could be from like- the Bible or something

Be it be a tv series, book series, movie, comic or whatever else!

My first probably the Original Charmed Series, Season 1 Episode 5; Dream Sorcerer

RAHHHH IT WAS SO GOOD SNCKWJCWJDW (I haven’t watched the original in years though, so maybe it isn’t as good as I remember- but still)

To describe it: one of the main characters (Prue) is taunted and stalked by a dream sorcerer who attacks women who he feels have scorned him (rejecting his advances), by torturing them in their dreams, then killing them in them as well. (Can go one for multiple nights if the women fight back enough) but them Prue ends up killing him, so it’s all good

The whump was sooo goodddd literally get chills thinking about it

[eerieechos]

‘Curufin got burns on his arms from holding onto Fëanor as he fucking exploded’ is a revolutionary god tier idea that I am subscribing to for the rest of my life

[delicatewhumps]

rb this and put in the tags the first time you got whumperflies

[friendship-ditch]

Whumptober Day 31 - Asking for Help

Platonic Aragorn x Fem!Reader ✼

Summary: Aragorn hits his head and has no choice but to ask the nearest person for help.

Warnings/Notes: I'M DONE! WHUMPTOBER COMPLETED HELL YEAHHHH

Word Count: 1356

 Aragorn had never been the best at taking care of himself. Ever. It was always ‘make sure everyone else is alright,’ then tend to his own wounds. More often than not this ended up with him in a worse situation than before; see: ignoring injuries until they get infected, nearly bleeding to death, and about 25 other accounts.

  That was the case once more.

  He didn’t remember hitting his head too hard in the skirmish in the woods… but apparently he had. He’d been flanked by orcs unexpectedly and upon realizing there was no way he could kill them all, took the risk and jumped into the river.

  Perhaps it was there that he hit his head. The water was ferocious, fighting to keep him like quick sand and nearly drowning him in the rough rapids. He would’ve likely drowned had he not managed to kick off a rock and float to shore, but he was rather woozy at the time and still couldn’t recall the exact details.

  All he knew was that he woke up, drenched and cold, on the shore of… somewhere he couldn’t quite recognize.

  The rocks beneath his bleeding head were a foul pillow to his aching body. He felt frozen to the bone, limbs jolting with shivers. He tried to sit up but was overcome by a wave of dizziness so he lowered himself back onto the ground with a grunt. He must’ve hit his head harder than he thought.

  It took a few moments of contemplation, and a lot of pain, but eventually Aragorn managed to sit up. His world spun even faster and he squeezed his eyes shut, lifting a hand to his forehead. It came away slightly stained with blood.

  Eventually Aragorn managed to stand. He was already not the most precise walker due to various wounds to his ankles and legs over the years, but now every step he took was uncalculated and clumsy. He’d be lucky if he made it a mile from the water before collapsing… but what other choice did he have?

  It was either wander in search of shelter and help, or give in and die. The latter wasn’t the most enticing, so he forced himself to walk despite the pain and dizziness. 

  Beneath him the ground changed from gravel and rocks to rough dirt and roots. He had to step carefully. It was a struggle, though. If it were not for the thick woods he was walking through and the stumps he caught himself on, he would be face down once more.

  After an hour or so of wandering Aragorn began to feel just… worse. The injury on his head was pounding as though someone was hammering a nail into his skull. It stopped bleeding long ago but during his trek he managed to stumble and bash it against a tree, starting the bleeding once more. His whole body felt warm, unnaturally warm against the chill of the coming night. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d caught a fever in his weakened state but he tried not to think about it because there was nothing he could do.

  His stomach ached and his limbs felt almost too heavy to move. Every step was a struggle on his trembling legs. 

  Then, something came into view. A house of some sorts… a cabin or a cottage, tucked in a small clearing of the trees. Was he hallucinating? He had to have been. There was no way this sanctuary was so perfectly placed just at the end of his strength. A warm glow emanated from the windows, smoke billowing from the chimney. This had to have been a dream.

  With no other option left Aragorn decided to take the chance.

  You were sitting inside your home, tending the fireplace when there was a strange noise at the door. Some sort of a thumping sound, almost like a knock.

  You’d had quite a few strange visitors during your time in the woods, but nothing could have prepared you for this. When you opened the door, you found a half dead, half conscious man slumped at your feet. For a second you wondered if this was a joke but when you bent beside him, he groaned.

  “Help… please…” Aragorn whispered, voice raspy and hoarse. His eyes were closed and he was just barely hanging on. 

  You stared at him for a moment and in the split second he opened his eyes, he stared at you. And then he was gone, chest softly rising with breaths but whatever strength he had was utterly depleted.

  Aragorn woke up on another hard surface. For a minute he wondered if he dreamt it all and was still lying upon the shore. But it wasn’t rocks under his back… it was solid and flat. He reached a hand to touch it. Wood? 

  His eyes weakly fluttered open, then winced at the light. He felt warm, but no longer excruciatingly warm. It was a comfortable temperature. He was inside, on top of a table.

  There was a cold cloth draped over his forehead and a bandage overtop the deep gash. The smell of herbs was in the air, heavily. Where was he?

  “Hey, easy there.” You watched as he tried to sit up, knowing it was no use to try and keep him down. You planted a hand upon his back and eased him into a sitting position. “You’re okay.”

  Aragorn let out a weak groan as the world faintly spun around him, but it was nothing like before. He rubbed his eyes to clear the blurriness and they fell upon you. He could faintly remember your face. “Who are you?”

  “Y/N.” You replied, taking the cloth from his head and dunking it into a cold bowl of water. Then you laid it across his brow once more, soaking up any escaping droplets with a towel. “Who are you?”

  “I am… Aragorn.” He hesitated on whether to refer to himself as Strider or not, but decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. 

  “Well, Aragorn, I’ll tell you now that I’ve never seen someone with a concussion fight so hard. You weren’t close to dying or anything, but you’re stubborn.”

  He let out a weak laugh at that. “Stubborn? I suppose that’s right…”

  “You were feverishly fighting me, not that you remember… that’s probably a good thing.” You tilted your head. “What happened to you? How in the world did you end up here?”

  Aragorn told you what he could remember of his story of the orcs and the river. It hadn’t occurred to him that you were only getting him to talk to distract him from the horrible pain of removing the bandage from his head, but he cried out when you pulled it off. He stared at you like a dog who was rejected a treat, wary and uneasy, but then settled back down. “Ow…” He rubbed his forehead. It wasn’t bleeding.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  You made a soft humming sound and stepped back, observing your work. The gash on his head had begun to heal pretty well for something so makeshift.

  “How does it look?” Aragorn asked hesitantly, a little embarrassed he had to rely on the help of a stranger, but thankful either way.

  You smiled. “Much better. You’ll be just fine with a little rest… as your medic, I cannot let you leave in this state, by the way. At least stay the night.” 

  Surprised, but not about to disagree, Aragorn returned your smile with one of his own. “If you wish.”

  He had a hearty bowl of stew and then took some medicine to help ease the dizziness, which was almost gone anyway. Afterwards you settled him down on the couch beneath a blanket and ordered him to sleep, claiming it would help him heal faster.

  Aragorn was in no position to argue, nor did he really want to. He was safe, warm, and had gotten the help he needed. It wasn’t often that he put his trust into strangers but you’d only given him reasons to do so, so he let himself drift off in your care.

[dopaminetreasurehoard]

It's so interesting to see on AO3 how much the fanfiction landscape for LoTR has changed. There used to be so much whump for Merry and/or Pippin.

A major gap waiting to be filled! There's so many moments in the story good for whump:

Merry is overcome by the Black Breath in Bree

Merry recalling an awful dream while under the enchantment of the Barrow-Wight ("The men of Carn Dûm came upon us at night, and we were worsted. Ah! The spear in my heart...")

Merry and Pippin's ordeal with the uruk hai on the way to Isenguard

Pippin's encounter with the Palantir

Merry ill with the Black Breath on the Pelannor Fields and in the House of Healing

If anyone has recs, please send them. I've been digging around trying to find some in AO3 but have only found a small number.

I will probably write something to fill the void.

[frodothefair]

꧁ Chapter 14 - The Return ꧂

READ ON AO3┃READ FROM THE BEGINNING

SUMMARY : Lothíriel of Dol Amroth marries Éomer King of Rohan, but she despises her new home, with its unfamiliar landscape and customs. She seeks to escape the only way she knows how, but when her plans go awry, she finds redemption in a place she never expected.

CHAPTER SUMMARY : Éomer and Lothíriel reunite after his return, but amid the joy, doubt and hesitation persist.

PAIRING : Éomer / Lothíriel RATING : M┃WORD COUNT : 8.5 k chapter, 93 k total THEMES : arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, angst, whump, mental illness WARNINGS: suicide, medical procedures, medical trauma, violence, death. Overall, the depictions of the above themes are not too graphic. Certain chapters spicy.

ALSO, CHECK OUT THE FANART BY @lonicera-edulis !!!

PREVIEW :

“Lothíriel! My love! There you are!”

His face was glowing with the joy of a thousand meetings, and as he lifted her up, he covered her face with kisses – on the cheeks, the lips, the eyes – and as he pulled away to gaze at her, his own eyes were incomparable: a golden fire radiating with them, and his childishly wide-set cheeks were laughing, as if he had heard the best sort of news and the funniest joke in a single moment.

“Oh, by Béma, I was starting to worry, my Lothíriel,” he exclaimed, pausing in his embraces, “I had nearly thought that you did not wish to see me – or do the Dol Amrotheans always take so long to bathe, being a people of the water?”

TAGS : @konartiste @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @emmathefanficgal @dilettantefeminist

[greenflower21]

Everyone give me your best hurt/comfort Aragorn fics please and thank you

[comfort-questing]

the one legitimate complaint I can manage to scrape up for The War of the Rohirrim is that I really could have used 1-2 less deaths and 1-2 more after-action healing dramas but isn't that like.... my opinion on most everything I watch.

(unironically though it is SO GOOD. kind and sad and beautiful and dark and scary and grim and hopeful. going to watch it again this week heh.)

-crow

[spinnenpfote6]

I previously thought I might be weird and kind of a little sadist for writing a Frodo Baggins one-shot where he is violated and abused but looking around on AO3 this seems to be a fairly common and beloved theme in LOTR fanfics

So I guess torturing a cute little creature with big sad eyes is very popular and we all have the same kind of depravity going on

(But thinking about it, LOTR itself is a Frodo whump story so I guess as fans we're just the more extreme version of that)

He's just too perfect to NOT be used for this type of fanfic

[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot #29

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: implied past non-con

Elliot tucked another shirt into his bag. Master Ambrose had told him to pack enough for two days, but Elliot added an extra set of clothes just in case.

He hefted the luggage bag off his bed; and truthfully it wasn’t that heavy. Months ago he would have struggled with it, but not now.

He glanced out his window, down at Ambrose hitching the horse to the cart.

It wasn’t Ambrose’s horse; instead borrowed from Mr. Michael Tallow (who owned a wheat farm).

Ambrose looked to be nearly finished, which meant it was time to go. 

Elliot picked up his coin-pouch. Ambrose had said he should make a bank account to keep his money safe, and Elliot wasn’t going to argue. 

It was cold out, but the snow on the ground was gone. Instead, icy mud made the ground soft and wet. His boots made the mud squelch with every step.

Mr. Tallow’s horse looked at him with big brown eyes as he approached, and Elliot avoided the animal to put his bag in the cart.

Elliot didn’t know much about horses; just that they were big and kind of scary.

“Elliot, this is Billy,” said Ambrose, petting the horse’s face. “She’ll be taking us to Sunside, and then to Lakeview.”

Billy snorted suddenly, and Elliot flinched. 

“Technically her name is Willamina, but I like Billy for short. What do you think?”

“It’s nice.”

Ambrose must have sensed his discomfort. “She’s really gentle, if you want to pet her,” he said, voice soft and calm.

Elliot liked it when Master’s voice went all gentle and steady, like Elliot was a cat and Ambrose was coaxing him.

He might find it condescending, if he were a person. Like in the Before Time.

But it was Ambrose, and he loved Elliot. Even though he wasn’t really a person anymore. There was only kindness in his voice, not derision.

“Okay,” he said. Elliot stepped around the cart to Billy, and she flicked her ears.

He hesitated. 

Ambrose gently took his hand and guided him to Billy’s neck.

Her brown coat was rough, and dirty, and very warm.

“See? Nothing to worry about.” 

___________________

The weather was chilly, but Elliot’s winter clothes kept him safe. He worried about Billy for a while, until Ambrose told him she would be warm from pulling the cart, and her breed was hardy.

Still, he was glad to see the looming white mountains brimming with snow pass further and further behind them. 

They ate a packed lunch on the way; sandwiches and a mix of dried fruit and nuts.

The sun came out behind the clouds after a few hours, and Elliot enjoyed the fresh air and sunshine on his face.

Ambrose showed him how to steer, and handed the reins to him. He only managed it for a few minutes before he got too jittery, but Ambrose seemed pleased that he tried.

___________________

It was evening when they got to the inn. It wasn’t one he recognized, but he still shook when they pulled up to the attached stable.

Ambrose and the stablehand talked as Elliot grabbed the luggage.

“Oh, thanks,” said Ambrose as Elliot handed him his bag. 

Elliot didn’t say anything, trailing behind Master on the way inside. 

The inn was busy, which helped soothe his anxiety. A busy innkeeper wouldn't have the time to be cruel.

“Name?” asked the woman at the stand.

“Ambrose, one night, please.”

She nodded, jotting it down. “Double bed, or two singles?”

“Two singles.”

She turned around and took two keys off a hook labeled, ‘six’.

“Here you go,” she said, “room six is on the second floor, and the bar and dining room is that way.”

“Thanks.”

Ambrose handed Elliot one of the keys.

They headed upstairs, and Elliot picked the bed furthest from the door.

“I’m going downstairs to get a drink and some dinner,” said Ambrose. “Do you want to come?”

Elliot shook his head.

“Alright. I could have someone send a plate up for you; is that okay?”

“Oh, um, sure. Thank you.”

Ambrose smiled, and ruffled his hair on his way out. “Of course, sweetheart.”

___________________

Ambrose settled down at the bar. It had been a while since he’d gone out, and he was looking forward to a drink.

“Daiquiri, please.”

The bartender made it quickly, and Ambrose tipped him well as a thank you.

He took his time with his meal, and made sure one was sent up to Ellie.

Ambrose hoped Elliot was alright. He always hoped he was alright.

A woman slid into the seat next him, tall with dark hair.

“Hi,” she said, “far from home?”

“In a way,” he replied, nearing a smile. “How about you?”

“Definitely. Hey, can I buy you a drink?” she asked, tapping the bar next to his almost-empty glass. “I’m Amy, by the way.”

“Ambrose. I’m really flattered, but I’m married.”

“I don’t see a ring,” she smiled. “Are you sure?” 

“I left it at home,” he said truthfully, side-stepping the fact he hadn’t worn his ring in decades. “Can’t be too careful on the road.”

“Mm,” she said, batting her eyelashes. “I see.”

“I don’t think my husband would appreciate infidelity, and considering my assistant and I are sharing a room for a business trip, I’ll really have to pass.”

“Ah, well,” she sighed, “maybe the lady in the corner booth is single.”

Ambrose glanced over at the booth. A redheaded woman sat alone, sipping on a pint.

“I wish you luck, Amy,” he toasted her, with the remains of his daiquiri. He finished his glass, and ordered another as Amy left the bar.

___________________

He swayed upstairs into the room. Ambrose unlocked it in a smooth motion, which told him he wasn’t as tipsy as he felt.

Curse being a lightweight.

He could see the outline of Elliot on his bed, bathed in the moonlight of the window.

“Are you drunk?” asked Ellie, quiet as a mouse.

“No, love. Just tipsy.” His brain was running a little slow, but it caught up to Elliot’s quickly enough.

“I’m not gonna touch you,” he said, sitting on his own assigned bed. He began to toe off his shoes.

“Okay,” said Elliot, and something was wrong.

Something was always wrong, but Ambrose didn’t mind.

Well, he hated that Elliot was suffering, but Elliot was his closest friend, and Ambrose would do anything for him.

“Have you been scared up in the room this whole time, sweetheart?”

“...no,” he said, “Just when you came in.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Elliot huddled smaller on the bed, but didn’t say anything.

Ambrose couldn’t see his face in the dark, but he knew what Elliot looked like when he was scared.

“Could… could I ask why you’re scared of me here, instead of at home?” He didn’t understand why Elliot was so frightened. They shared a bed at home, sometimes, what made sharing a room for a night scarier?

Elliot turned, and Ambrose could see part of his face in the moonbeams.

“I’ve done a lot of things in inns,” he said, shame in his voice. “For food. And sleep. It wasn’t… nice things.”

“People hurt you, and you let them because otherwise you would starve,” Ambrose guessed, and Elliot flinched, burrowing his face into his knees.

“Yeah,” he said, choked up.

“That’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No. It’s their fault for hurting you. They didn’t need to do that. They could have just helped.”

“I dunno.”

Ambrose swallowed thickly. He wasn’t sober enough for this conversation, but he’d do his best.

“Well. I know it isn’t your fault. Can that be enough, for now?”

“Mm,” sniffed Elliot. “I- I think s-so.”

Ambrose hesitated. “Do you want me to come over?”

“No, no, I- could you stay over there? Please? I don’t… I don’t think I want to- to be touched.”

“Okay. That’s fine. I’ll be here, if you need me.”

“...maybe just a hug?”

Ambrose slowly walked over, as not to spook him, and Elliot wrapped his arms around him.

Ambrose gave him a tight squeeze, and Elliot let out a shuddering breath.

“Thank you,” said Ellie, pressing into him. “For not… for not hurting me.”

“Of course, love,” he said, “Of course.”

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings @zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @keepingwhumpwiththekardashians @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone @snakebites-and-ink @astrokea @magdalena-writes @latenightcupsofcoffee @tobiaslut @whumpsoda @loserwithsyle

[eerieechos]

Elrohirrrrr

[friendship-ditch]

Whumptober Day 10 - Slurred Words

Platonic Aragorn x Fem!Reader ✼

Summary: The Palantir's effects on Aragorn

Warnings/Notes: None. This ones super short, sorry. The idea was too good

Word Count: 862

  The Palantir glowed brightly within Aragorn’s tight grip, a dark voice of black speech in the air. Touching it felt like touching lightning. It was both painful and empowering, jolting his body before it suddenly went black.

  Aragorn’s body slumped backwards into your hands, his head lolling to the side. The palantir fell from his hands with a thump. 

  “Woah, hey…!” You caught him before he could hit the ground completely. You shot a worried glance to Gandalf who was far too concerned with Pippin and quickly learned you were on your own.

  Aragorn groaned softly, his eyes fluttering. He was slowly waking once more though he was still rather out of it and uneasy. You carefully lowered his body onto the ground, resting his head on your leg, a hand on his arm.

  “You’re alright…” You murmured, rubbing your thumb in soft circles. He mumbled incoherently in response. You just sighed.

  Eventually his strength returned and he managed to sit up with another weak groan. “Pippin…” Aragorn turned his head from side to side, blurry eyes scanning for any sight of the troubled halfling.

  “Pippin’s okay.” You assured him. You helped him up so he was leaning on one arm, hand on his back. You risked a quick glance in the hobbits direction and then turned back to Aragorn. “What of you?”

  “..’m okay.” Aragorn’s voice was no longer clear, now a slurred mumble of sorts. He lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, still weakened. “A li’le dizzy…”

  “You fool.” Your tone was scolding but laced with concern. You’d never seen a palantir before, nor knew the effect it could have on unsuspecting people. The fact that it turned Aragorn into a boneless heap terrified you. Luckily the powerful stone was now beneath Gandalf’s cape, but you still felt on edge. “That thing could have hurt you.”

  “It did…” Aragorn slurred softly. His physical strength had slowly begun to return but his mind was still incredibly fuzzy and the room spun unsteadily. He wanted to stand to follow the others as they went to speak to Theoden but he couldn’t find his footing.

  You watched as Gandalf and Legolas led the halflings to find the king while you stayed at Aragorn’s side.

  “Would water help?” You asked, rubbing your hand in soft circles over his back. His side was pressed into yours, radiating warmth.

  Aragorn grumbled. “M…maybe.” He whispered hoarsely. “My throat ‘s dry…”

  “Alright.” 

  The others in the room had fallen back asleep, mostly. You decided to let the drunken men rest as you slowly helped Aragorn to his feet. “Up, up…” Your arm slung around his waist, feeling his unsteady weight lean into you. His head lolled against your shoulder once more.

  “Dizzy…” He grumbled, voice soft and weak.

  “I know, just hang on…”

  Somewhere along the way to the kitchen Aragorn seemed to catch a wave of strength–or maybe it was fear of being weak–and attempted to walk on his own, which nearly ended with him slumped once again on the floor.

  Eventually you two went inside and you sat him down in one of the chairs, fetching him a glass of water. 

  His fingers collapsed around the cup but he didn’t try to take it from you yet, eyeing it warily. Then he looked up at you. “I’... spill it…”

  “Here.” You grabbed his shaking arm and steadied it long enough for him to take a few stable drinks without sloshing water anywhere. When he finished you set the glass aside and held a cool cloth to his forehead for a little bit. “Are you feeling any better?”

  “I’m… still a litt’e woozy..” Aragorn mumbled, eyes fluttering closed as he relished beneath the cold cloth. He felt as though he was still spinning, the world around him shifting sickeningly from side to side. His mouth felt heavy and thick with cotton. 

  “Do you want to go back to bed?”

  “Don’ know if…  can walk… ‘gain…”

  “Let’s try.”

  Aragorn let out one protesting moan as you stood him back up but fought no further. You half carried him back to where his bedroll was and carefully laid him down on it. Then you sat beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder where you rubbed your thumb in gentle circles.

  “Will… I be better… in the morn..ing?” Aragorn whispered, voice now heavily slurred from both the effects of the Palantir and the exhaustion. “Don’t like… feelin’ like this…”

  “I’m sure you will.” You assured him gently as you tucked him in beneath the blankets. “Right now you just need to get some rest.”

  “Rest…”

  “Yes, rest.” You ruffled his hair before returning your hand to his arm. At just the touch of a magic stone he devolved from a warrior into a young, dizzy boy… who was completely at your mercy for the poor thing could no longer keep his eyes open without feeling woozy enough to be sick. “I’ll take care of you.” You added after a few seconds of silence.

  That seemed to soothe his worries enough for them to all but drift away. Aragorn passed out within moments, head against your leg.

[frodothefair]

READ ON AO3

SUMMARY : Frodo comes back from the war, and finds love and healing with Sam’s sweet younger sister. (J.R.R. Tolkien meets Jane Austen.)

PAIRING : Frodo/Marigold Gamgee (Sam’s sister in canon), Frodo/Sam (secondary) ALSO FEATURING : Rosie Cotton, Merry, Pippin, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, Bilbo, Gaffer, various other Gamgees, and numerous denizens of the Shire. GENRES : hurt/comfort, slow burn romance, sickfic, whump, angst, slice of life WARNINGS : PTSD, certain chapters spicy RATING : M┃WORD COUNT : 210 k A/N : It's here! The editing process is complete, and you can consider this Flowers of Mordor 2.0! Whether you fancy a reread, or are discovering it for the first time, enjoy!

EXCERPT :

“Someone else… better for me? But Mr. Frodo… There isn’t anyone better…" He gave her hands one final squeeze, and drew away, letting his fingers trail over hers for one last, poignant second. “No, there are many who are better, I think,” he said, and looked at his nails – short, and bitten down to the quick. “Somebody healthy, for one.” He looked up – back at her. “Someone you can live a long, full life with. You’re a vibrant young woman, Mari, but you have to understand – if you hitch your wagon to my star, you’re laying yourself down in a coffin.” He gave a short, jagged sigh, and looked away.

@konartiste @dilettantefeminist @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @emmathefanficgal

[what-would-your-blorbo-do]

This poll was submitted to us. If you’d like to send us your own scenario (plus different ways a character might react to said scenario) so we could make a poll for you, feel free to send them to our inbox.

[comfort-questing]

got back from the theater for my second watching and as soon as I put down the second load of mulch and wear out the dogs it's fic time everyone

-crow

the one legitimate complaint I can manage to scrape up for The War of the Rohirrim is that I really could have used 1-2 less deaths and 1-2 more after-action healing dramas but isn't that like.... my opinion on most everything I watch.

(unironically though it is SO GOOD. kind and sad and beautiful and dark and scary and grim and hopeful. going to watch it again this week heh.)

-crow