#legolas x gimli
I just finished my last request in my inbox AND just submitted my very last school assignment for the year. Which means summer break! Which means… drumroll please!
Requests are open!
Send in anything you wish as long as it adheres to my rules!!
Tagging @moonheartsposts cause I know you wanted to request something!
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I wasn’t going to do any more behind-the-scenes ficlets, but @deheerkonijn enabled me this morning by sending me an adorable picture of Orlando Bloom holding Brett Beattie (Gimli’s scale double)’s hand while he got his Fellowship tattoo (see the pic in this article, which is really worth reading), and it’s REALLY sweet, and... you don’t need to twist my arm all that much, okay?
For the record: I don’t ship real people, but I do ship the characters, and if the real people playing the characters are in a pose that tender, when I insert the characters into that pose it will be in a shippy way.
Also... Gimli can not have a superhuman pain tolerance. As a little treat for me. :)
“I see now why you insisted on privacy,” Legolas remarked.
“Do you?” He needn’t sound so smug about it, but the needle was tracing its way over Gimli’s hip again and he gritted his teeth against the spike of pain, unable to release any of his desired remonstrations. He could not bring himself to look, but he could imagine the raised redness of the skin, like a burn.
Every time he had this done, the pain came as a surprise.
Beside him, a smile was playing over Legolas’s lips. He was not so altruistic, then, as to refrain from indulging in a friend’s misery. “I had been led to believe,” he said lightly, “that dwarves’ tolerance for pain was nearly beyond comprehension. That their skin was like leather, near impervious to any wound or prick” –
“You know that is not true,” Gimli grunted, and was gratified at least by Legolas’s ensuing blush. He could still rattle the elf’s composure, then, even lying on his side as the mannish tattoo artist traced carefully – far too carefully! – over his hip with his inked needle. Perhaps it was the man’s hand, lacking the confident speed of a dwarf who had mastered the craft, his hesitancy drawing out the fire over Gimli’s skin –
If his friends from home were here, they would roar with laughter at that excuse. No, every time he convinced himself it would be different, and every time it was just the same.
“I suppose not,” Legolas conceded. “Else you would not need those thick-soled boots in the forest, or that coat of mail.”
“You know that is not what I meant,” Gimli began. Perhaps Legolas might flaunt the lightness of his feet, but some others preferred to feel more sure-footed when prancing about in the forest. And anyway, he had not spoken of the touch of pebbles beneath his feet but Legolas’s light fingers on his skin, making him shiver with every caress –
“No,” Legolas said, and now his eyes danced. “But perhaps it is. Perhaps that is the reason you wrap yourself in layers of metal and leather – to hide the flesh beneath. Perhaps that is the reason . . .” He lifted Gimli’s hand from the pad on which he lay and traced a gentle circle over his wrist – right in the spot where his own inking had been completed earlier, which he had sat through with hardly a blink.
Gimli’s skin was nowhere near so impervious: even the touch of Legolas’s bow-callused finger tingled. A shiver ran through him and he bit back a sigh.
“Hold still,” said the man above him, his gloved hand tightening on Gimli’s hip. That touch, stiff and unfamiliar, felt like the intrusive fingers of some strange creature, and Gimli scowled – then grimaced as the needle sent another wave of spikes rippling through him.
“My apologies,” murmured Legolas, but he did not release Gimli’s hand. He clasped it between his own, instead, bowing his head to bring his lips to Gimli’s fingers. “The more do I admire the canvas of your body, then, so dearly was each design won,” he said. The motion of his lips felt like a blessing, cool water to soothe the burn in Gimli’s hip. “They say that it is not tolerance of pain that is to be admired, but persistence through it. Your dedication to beauty must be beyond question.”
Dearly won, indeed. The memory of the pain dulled after each inking was completed, but Gimli could still remember the process of each one – how carefully he had chosen each design before finally sitting for the drawing, long and thoughtful conversations with each artist who would make his skin their canvas. And though this man was no dwarven artist, this design had been no less carefully chosen – Frodo’s design, a drawing for each of them to remember the trials they had undergone for love of one another and for Middle-earth. And though the process pained him now, Gimli would be glad of it when it had ended, as he was glad of every other mark his body bore.
“It is, indeed,” he said in response. “Each mark has a tale, each tale a beloved memory. Would you like to hear them?”
“I would.” Legolas lifted his head from their joined hands, but did not release his clasp. His eyes fixed on Gimli – even seen thus, sideways from his reclined position through a haze of pain, Gimli could recognize their intensity: the way Legolas stared at you, the way he listened as though he had forgotten all the rest of the world existed. “Tell me each one. I want to know every story etched upon your skin.”
Perhaps he meant it; perhaps he merely meant to distract Gimli from the pain of the process. Either way, Gimli stared into his dark eyes and felt himself submerged in cool water – to drown the flame of the pain. “Of course,” he said. “Then let us begin.”
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They arrived 😍😍😍
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A Peculiar Fellowship (Part Eleven)
Legolas x Reader (Series)
A/N: Haha jk it’s going up at 11 instead of noon! I couldn’t wait any longer. Tada! Please let me know what you would like to see happen next, and feel free to discuss any theories you have! I would love to hear them!
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All around them, the forest creaked and groaned. The wind which whispered through the branches of the trees spoke of dark things, in a tongue that could not be understood. Darkness assailed therein, hiding the four hunters from any semblance of daylight’s touch, and the very air around them cloyed thick and heavy in their lungs.
Gimli swiped at some dark, viscous substance splattered across the low-hanging leaves of some nearby foliage and brought it to his tongue. Dwarves always did investigate with their more tactile senses.
Just as quickly as he tasted it, it passed his lips once more as he spat in disdain.
Legolas and (Y/N) followed Aragorn over a small stream, little more than a crevice in the earth, as the ranger tracked the path of their two Hobbit friends.
Moments later, Aragorn paused, crouching low to more closely examine the earth.
“These are strange tracks,” he murmured. When he did not immediately offer some explanation to the others, they began to search for signs of their own, to give him some time to ponder over what he had found.
(Y/N) surveyed the immediate area, searching for movement amongst the dark trees. She searched deep within herself, hoping to tap into those Elvish senses which Aragorn always called upon Legolas to use in scouting ahead for them.
What slight movements could her keen ears hear? What out of place shadows might her eyes detect?
“The air is so close in here,” Gimli remarked.
(Y/N) did not disagree. The heaviness of the forest crept into her lungs, not so badly as that of Mirkwood, perhaps, but she could tell that Fangorn was similarly ancient, if not more so. The air of Mirkwood brought with it magic and illusion, and a lost sense of self, to those who were not naturally inclined to its power. The air of Fangorn concealed beneath it a sharp bite of… malice.
“This forest is old,” said Legolas. “Very old… Full of memory… and anger.”
His words ought to have unsettled (Y/N), and yet she found that they did not. All Dwarvish sensibility would say that any forest that had the capacity to remember bore ill news indeed. But perhaps some Elvishness had begun to shine through in her at last.
At that very moment, a deep groan echoed through the woods, like the creaking of the ancient oak gates of a fortress. It rose in volume as a breeze picked up in the branches overhead.
“The trees are speaking to each other,” Legolas said, setting an odd feeling in (Y/N)’s bones.
“Gimli!” Aragorn whispered sharply, drawing (Y/N)’s attention to her friend at last.
He held his ax high, as if readying to wield it.
“Lower your ax,” Aragorn ordered.
The moment he did, the voices of the trees calmed.
“They have feelings, my friend,” said Legolas.
(Y/N) found herself intrigued by the notion. She knew of course that all Elves cared for nature in some way: celebrating the stars, hunting with kindness and respect, and other such appreciations. Wood Elves, of course, cared deeply for the forests where they made their homes, but (Y/N) had never had the time to learn the intricacies of their customs, having been occupied with learning all that she ought to already have known at her age.
“The Elves began it,” Legolas continued, “Waking up the trees, teaching them to speak…”
“Talking trees,” Gimli scoffed. “What do trees have to talk about, hm? Except the consistency of squirrel droppings!”
(Y/N) found her mind drawn away from the conversation by something… some presence which lingered close by. Legolas’ hand touched her arm.
“I sense it as well,” he murmured, looking up ahead. “Aragorn, something is out there.”
Aragorn followed Legolas as he stepped forward.
“What do you see?”
(Y/N) saw a flash of a white cloak in her mind, a staff of pale wood and long snowy hair.
“The White Wizard,” she said in a soft breath.
Aragorn looked to her with worry in his eyes.
Legolas nodded. “The White Wizard approaches.”
Silence hung in the heavy air.
“Do not let him speak,” Aragorn cautioned quietly. “He will put a spell on us.”
(Y/N)’s hand found the hilt of her sword.
“We must be quick.”
Following Aragorn’s lead, the other three whirled round at the same moment, turning into a burst of brilliant white light. They rushed to defend themselves, yet found their attacks rendered useless. Gimli’s axe and Legolas’ arrow shattered upon some invisible shield, and Aragorn and (Y/N)’s swords were wrenched from their grasps.
Defenseless, they now could do nothing but await the White Wizard’s judgement.
“You are tracking the footsteps of two young Hobbits,” came a voice from the center of the light, familiar yet strange.
“Where are they?” Aragorn demanded.
“They passed this way, the day before yesterday,” the voice in the light replied. “They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?”
“What have you done with them?” (Y/N) asked sharply.
The light seemed to focus upon her more carefully than before, if possible.
“They have come to no harm by my hand.”
“Who are you?” Aragorn spoke again. “Show yourself!”
The light flared, and then faded, to reveal…
“It cannot be…” said Aragorn breathlessly.
“Forgive me,” Legolas said, kneeling. “I mistook you for Saruman.”
(Y/N) saw before her the face who had guided her father’s Company, the face who had brought Frodo to them and had then been lost to shadow. And yet… it was unmistakably him.
“I did not understand what it was that I saw,” she said, also kneeling beside Legolas. “For I also believed that you were he…”
“I am Saruman,” said the White Wizard. “Or rather, Saruman as he should have been.”
Gimli had knelt as well, yet Aragorn remained standing, his face painted with disbelief.
“Through fire and water,” the Wizard confirmed. “From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth. Until at last, I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Darkness took me… and I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead… and every day was as long as a life age of the Earth. But it was not the end… I felt life in me again. I’ve been sent back, until my task is done.”
“Gandalf?” the old man mused. “Yes, that was what they used to call me… Gandalf the Grey. That was my name.” He drew himself up, with more authority than before. “I am Gandalf the White. And I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide.”
He looked upon each of them, his face radiating fondness and fatherly love.
“Come now,” he said, “We must act quickly.”
With that, he moved past them, hurrying back the way they had come.
“What about Merry and Pippin?” (Y/N) asked, wasting no time in following the Wizard. “Where are they now?”
“I sent them off with Treebeard, the Ent,” Gandalf replied, picking his way through the underbrush. “He shall see them home.”
“You know as well as I that they shall not abide by that,” she replied. “Frodo is family to them. They will be determined to aid him.”
Gandalf simply nodded. “Yes… As much as I wish to keep them safe, I fear the both of them still have parts to play…” Shaking his head, he continued on. “One stage of your journey is over, another begins. We must travel to Edoras with all speed.”
“Edoras?” Gimli asked. “That is no short distance!”
“You forget, we have horses now,” (Y/N) reminded him, “Thanks to Lord Éomer.”
“Nevertheless,” Gimli countered, “It is a journey indeed.”
“And we hear of trouble in Rohan,” said Aragorn as they walked. “It goes ill with the king.”
“Some sickness of the mind,” (Y/N) added, recalling the pain in Éomer’s eyes. “Perhaps similar to what affected my father.”
Gandalf turned piteous eyes upon her. “Yes, and it will not be easily cured…”
“Then we have run all this way for nothing?” Gimli declared, irritation seeping into his tone. “When we have not even laid eyes on those poor Hobbits?”
“It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn,” Gandalf said, turning to face him. “A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains.”
“In one thing you have not changed, dear friend,” Aragorn mused. “You still speak in riddles.”
Gandalf chuckled. “A thing is about to happen that has not happened since the Elder Days. The Ents are going to wake up… and find that they are strong.”
“Strong?” Gimli asked, turning a nervous gaze upon the woods. “Oh, that’s good…”
“So stop your fretting, Master Dwarf!” Gandalf declared, before turning and marching on once more. “Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact, they are far safer than you are about to be!”
“It’s alright, Gimli, we are headed away from these woods now.”
“Aye,” he muttered, eyeing the retreating form of the Wizard. “This new Gandalf is more grumpy than the old one…”
The small group reached the treeline, Gimli breaking into the clear plain with a sigh of relief.
Gandalf motioned (Y/N) close to speak with her.
“Come, child,” he said, as he donned the old gray cloak once more.
“Yes Gandalf? What is it you need of me?”
He drew her closer whilst the others readied the horses once more.
“You are growing in strength, my dear,” he said, speaking in a low tone. “The things which you perceive grow more precise, more potent by the hour. Your power is destined to follow in the footsteps of your grandmother.”
(Y/N) drew back in surprise.
“What?” Though she had heard him clearly, his words seemed to pass over her understanding, like water in a stream.
“Yes indeed,” Gandalf said, “You must learn to focus your efforts, for I fear the warnings you provide may be the key victory or defeat on some occasion, soon drawing near.”
“Even though I am not Galadriel’s kin by blood?” she asked, her voice sounding hollow to her own ears in her disbelief. She’d had senses about things, of course, on that journey so long ago, and recently too, yet she had given no thought to it.
“Blood is of no significance in this matter,” said Gandalf. “All that matters is the strength of your own character, and the love you find your strength in, blood or not. Your father Elrond is likewise gifted, do not discount these things. But I warn you, do not let yourself become overwhelmed by these things. Take heart in the strength of those you love. Remember Galadriel, remember Elrond.” In his eyes, (Y/N) almost thought she saw a touch of mischief. “Remember those in this very Fellowship. Find your strength in bonds of brotherhood and trust. Now at the darkest hour, we all must play our parts.”
She nodded once, steeling herself. It had not been a shocking revelation, for she had begun to suspect some time ago that she were possessed of some such Elvish magic. But to know that the fates of others might depend upon her quick mastery of such a gift did add trouble to her heart.
Gandalf clasped her shoulder once more before turning and whistling a ringing call across the plains. Mere moments later, a horse the color of fresh-fallen show, purer white than even the gelding that Legolas rode, thundered towards them at an unbelievable pace.
“That is one of the Mearas,” Legolas said in awe, “Unless my eyes are cheated by some spell…”
“Shadowfax,” Gandalf said with a smile as the horse drew near. “He is the Lord of all Horses… and has been my friend through many dangers.”
The four hunters all offered a polite bow to the Mearas.
“Now, let us ride for Rohan… and whatever evil may await us therein.”
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Fandom: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Hobbit - All Media Types, Taylor Swift (Musician)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf, Bard the Bowman/Thranduil, the barduil is in the background, Aragorn | Estel & Legolas Greenleaf, Legolas Greenleaf & Thranduil
Characters: Legolas Greenleaf, Gimli (Son of Glóin), Thranduil (Tolkien), Aragorn | Estel, Gandalf | Mithrandir, Tauriel (Hobbit Movies), Original Characters, Azog (Tolkien)
Additional Tags: lesbian gigolas, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, did I mention they're lesbians!, Album: Fearless (Taylor Swift), Inspired by Music, Friends to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Getting Together, Compulsory Heterosexuality, First Kiss, be gay do crimes (you'll see), Good Parent Thranduil, fashion designer thranduil
Series: Part 2 of under a swift sunrise
Legolas saw her before she saw Legolas.
It was hard to miss the way her red hair danced like a flame in the breeze and the way her metallic blue dress sparkled against her skin, even through the crowd mingling in the room, even through the deepening dusk. She stood on tiptoe with her forearms braced against the balcony rail and her back to Legolas and the party, a plastic cup and a cigarette held in one hand. She lifted the cup and cigarette, considered them, then closed her lips around the cigarette.
Flushing with indignation, Legolas pushed through skirts and suit jackets to make her way onto the balcony.
“No smoking in the house, please,” said Legolas.
The girl turned to look at Legolas and blew a cloud of acrid smoke at her. “I’m not inside the house, though.”
A lesbian Gigolas retelling set in high school and inspired by the album "Fearless." Although this is part of my Taylor Swift series, there's no need to read the previous Bagginshield fic in the series as they take place in separate universes!
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Fellowship Preferences- Falling in Love
Request: How’s about falling in love preferences for Tolkien with Boromir, Faramir, Legolas, Merry, and whoever else you like (and Thorin and Thranduil if you do Hobbit too 😬)
Hi! Thank you for waiting so long!
Part 2 with miscellaneous Tolkien characters (LOTR + TH) is here
Aragon needs time before he lets you in- falling in love is a slow and careful journey, though the ranger is kind to you the whole time. It starts with a genuine friendship, then deeper trust: shared laughter and hidden smiles, his hand brushing against yours, until, without words, you know that you are utterly enamored and he is too.
It’s obvious to you the second Boromir falls in love- he wears his heart on his sleeve, and he’s confident enough to confess his feelings to you quickly. He’s honest and hopeful, but patient. Boromir would want you to be truthful, too, even if his affections aren’t reciprocated. But he’s overjoyed when they are- he’d kiss you, if you’re willing, or at least leave a peck on the back of your hand. Boromir is passionate, nearly overwhelmingly so, and he’ll sing your praises to everyone he knows- but it just goes to show how much and how deeply he loves you.
Legolas smiles when he sees you the first time- it’s barely there, and his gaze is fleeting, but the corners of his mouth tug upwards. He doesn’t say anything to you then, but it’s still a memorable first impression. And, from that moment on, you start to fall for each other, in quiet, stolen evenings looking up at the sky, reading poetry to each other, or sitting silently and just enjoying each other’s company. The depth of your bond is something that goes unspoken until Legolas kisses you for the first time- but that simple action is instantly proof of your commitment to one another.
You fall for Gimli’s heart- underneath the beard and the occasional gruffness is a kind, compassionate man who impresses you with his virtue. Gimli makes you laugh harder than anyone else can, and he causes you to see the world from a more nuanced point of view. He’d be very open about his affections for you, albeit surprisingly shy when initially confessing them. But, he’d make clear that he’s yours- together, you’re a team, so long as you have each other’s hearts.
Before you even meet Merry, you know of his ability to make others laugh. He proves his reputation true within minutes of your first encounter, but you soon find that Merry’s heart is underappreciated. He’s fiercely loyal and intelligent in an unassuming way. But it is laughter that makes you understand you want to be with him forever. He makes some witty comment and the humor that follows jolts you in realization that you cannot live without Merry- not without his heart nor the joy he brings you.
You know you’ve fallen for Pippin when you understand how much more there is to him than an immature boy with a penchant for mischief. Like Merry, he’s well known for making other’s laugh, but it its your patience and willingness to truly get to know Pippin that brings you close together. He appreciates your understanding, and this is what makes his own affections clear to him. There is more to Pippin than most others see- his loyalty, his heart, his empathy- and these traits are what you love him for.
Initially, you’re aware of Frodo as someone reserved and shy- and this remains true until he is fully comfortable around you. Still, even before that point, you are surprised by how much you value his company and input. Frodo is aware of things most other’s don’t consider, which means he perceives you like nobody else does- he sees the best in you and isn’t afraid to reassure you of your best qualities. And, once you truly know Frodo, you’re enamored by his compassion and kindness, and you realize you never want to be without him, this steady light in your life.
There are many things to love about Sam- it’s easy to fall in love with him. You feel safe and happy with him, totally content to share the world and see it through his eyes. Sam’s true heart and genuine compassion draw you to him, and you realize he feels the same way when you catch him grinning at you, eyes looking lost. The expression causes your own face to flush and you know- you’re both totally smitten.
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Tumblr pride prompt: "favorite lgbt ship"
Me: [listing all of them like Yakko Warner reciting the nations of the world]
I have too many and I can't just sit here and list them all.
I'll just say with my current hyperfixation I'm so in love with Bagginshield. It's perfection. I'm such a sucker for the "Thorin survives and moves to the Shire to have a quiet life with Bilbo, where they frequently look after Frodo or adopt him, until they grow old and retire" genre of fanfic. Samfro and Gigolas are also good.
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Pride Challenge: Day 15
My favorite LGBT+ ship...
Can I say Legolas x Gimli??
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Troy stood leaning against the breastwork upon the wall. Abed sat above on the parapet, fingering his bow, and peering out into the gloom.
"This is more to my liking," said Troy, stamping on the stones. "Ever my heart rises as we draw near the mountains. There is good rock here. This country has tough bones. I felt them in my feet as we came up from the dike. Give me a year and a hundred of my kin and I would make this a place that armies would break upon like water."
"I do not doubt it," said Abed. "But you are a dwarf, and dwarves are strange folk. I do not like this place, and I shall like it no more by the light of day. But you comfort me, Troy, and I am glad to have you standing nigh with your stout legs and your hard axe. I wish there were more of your kin among us. But even more would I give for a hundred good archers of Mirkwood. We shall need them. The Rohirrim have good bowmen after their fashion, but there are too few here, too few."
"It is dark for archery," said Troy. "Indeed it is time for sleep. Sleep! I feel the need of it, as never I thought any dwarf could. Riding is tiring work. Yet my axe is restless in my hand. Give me a row of orc-necks and room to swing and all weariness will fall from me!"
troy and abed in fangorn forest // troy and abed at helm’s deep
credits: unknown; unknown; dyke&dean journal; the two towers by jrr tolkien
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"I do not think the wood feels evil, whatever tales may say," said Abed. He stood under the eaves of the forest, stooping forward, as if he were listening, and peering with wide eyes into the shadows. "No, it is not evil; or what evil is in it is far away. I catch only the faintest echoes of dark places where the hearts of the trees are black. There is no malice near us; but there is watchfulness, and anger."
"Well, it has no cause to be angry with me," said Troy. "I have done it no harm."
"That is just as well," said Abed. "But nonetheless it has suffered harm. There is something happening inside, or going to happen. Do you not feel the tenseness? It takes my breath."
"I feel the air is stuffy," said the Dwarf. "This wood is lighter than Mirkwood, but it is musty and shabby."
"It is old, very old," said the Elf. "So old that almost I feel young again, as I have not felt since I journeyed with you children. It is old and full of memory. I could have been happy here, if I had come in days of peace."
"I dare say you could," snorted Troy. "You are a Wood-elf, anyway, though Elves of any kind are strange folk. Yet you comfort me. Where you go, I will go. But keep your bow ready to hand, and I will keep my axe loose in my belt. Not for use on trees," he added hastily, looking up at the tree under which they stood. I do not wish to meet that old man at unawares without an argument ready to hand, that is all. Let us go!"
troy and abed in fangorn forest // troy and abed at helm's deep
credits: hanule on flickr; medievalgodsends on etsy; unknown; the two towers by jrr tolkien
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Okay, so I just got another idea for a potential fanfic, and I wanted to get some ideas and thoughts for it.
I've talked before about the Hobbits with a Strong S/O, but what about all the Lotr and The Hobbit Character with a s/o who's supernaturally strong. Like, can lift 1000 pounds and fling someone across the room like a frisbee kinda strong. Maybe she was granted that power by a God or something, so she's just got really impressive muscles and is super inhumanly strong.
Can you imagine how they'd all react to that?
Like maybe, in the Mines of Moria or the Stone Giants scene, a boulder or some debris falls on someone, but she just catches it, lifts the 5 ton rock above her head, looks down at the person about to be crushed like "You might want to move" and then just flings it a hundred feet away. Can you just imagine the look on their faces?? Merry and Pippin would have a lot of fun with that, I'm sure, as would Fili and Kili. The hobbits would probably have her lift them like weights. 🤣
@lady-latte, @moony-artnstuff, @simbxlmyne, @lothloriien, @beenovel, @thewhiteladyofrohan, @iwenttomordor, @claraofthepen, what do you all think? I think this would be hilarious, and have a lot of potential for character dynamics
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The Butterfly Effect-Where It All Begins
(I apologize, It’s a bit rewritten after my blog got deleted. Sorry!)
You had come to the renaissance festival for your friends birthday. Your friend having brought you for their birthday.
That’s how you ended up in front of a small shady looking stall. The seller is dressed as a rogue, their hood pulled low to obscure their face. You aren’t even sure how they can see anything like that. You had tried to brush off their advances. They claimed they had the perfect ring for you. You had wanted the one with the dragon curled around a pearl.
Instead they were talking up a thick silver band with topaz butterflies embedded in it. It was obviously waaaayyy out of your price range. You knew they were just trying to make a large sale. Or so you thought.
“Go on try it on!” They beam, holding it out for you. For the briefest moment you saw one of the butterflies flutter its wings. You take a step back in alarm.
You didn’t even get to finish before they’re sliding it onto you middle finger. When did they grab your hand? To your wonder it fits perfectly. The rogue grins as they clap their hands.
“Oh, I knew it wanted you! Not just anyone can wear one of these. It takes someone very very very special,” they chuckle clasping their hands together. You try to pull the ring off only to find it’s become stuck. What the hell? Did they out superglue on it or something?! You gave another sharp tug but the ring didn’t budge.
“Oh, and good luck. You’re going to need it!” They grinned pushing you backwards. You fell, a panicked shout leaving your throat. Your world tilted and you found yourself falling through leaves. Leaves? It wasn’t even fall!
As the orange and black colors swirled around you realized they weren’t leaves at all. They were Monarch butterflies! The persons gleeful cackle was swallowed up amongst the tiny wingbeats. Small rays of light peeked through the mass of butterflies. It almost felt like you were floating. You reached your hand out to tentatively touch on. Your fingers barely brushing against a papery wing.
And just like that they left you. Swirling up into the sky leaving you to free fall to the ground below. You landed with a harsh thud. Pushing yourself upright you met the eyes of someone who shouldn’t exist. That you’d seen in maybe a movie or fan art. Read about in books. But there was no way-
“What the hell was that all about?” They blurted.
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headcanons for a platonic relationship with legolas and gimli
(not my gif)
requested by: @certainlovenacho
a.n: i really enjoyed this idea so i might also write a oneshot of it in the future :) such a cute idea thanks for requesting
after the dissolving of the fellowship, you were initially worried that you would have to go back to your former life as a ranger
all the hobbits desired to go home, aragorn had a whole new life to lead, and gandalf could never be kept in one place for very long
your worries soon evaporated when you found yourself caught up with legolas and gimli
the pair of them had developed a very strong bond during the journey, but you immediately fell in with their antics
"oh come on, lassie, you didn't think that we would let ya go home now, would ya?" gimli would joke, nudging his arm just at your knee
legolas was clearly of the same mind
"the dwarf's right, (y/n), you were a hard woman to find, but even harder is it to let go of you."
that settled things, and the three of you set out to explore the rest of middle earth together
the first step was of course the underground world that gimli had promised to give legolas a tour of
being a ranger yourself, your job had taken you into many interesting places, so you were not off-put by the cramped nature of some of the paths
gimli and yourself would joke at legolas' hesitancy
"come on then elf," gimli would tease, "(y/n) will follow me, and she is no dwarf: are you afraid?"
"come on legolas," you would laugh, "an elven prince wary of a few underground tunnels?"
legolas would mumble something under his breath, but nevertheless would follow you: you had learned already that the two of them would follow you to the ends of the earth
following the visit to helm's deep, as again promised, legolas led the both of you to fangorn forest
the idea of the ents intrigued you, and meeting them in person exceeded your expectations
hearing their voices intimated you to begin with, beings of such large stature
gimli was the most wary among you, holding close his axe to his chest, until both you and legolas suggested that such a weapon in the forest was not the best of ideas
"aye, it's not natural, lassie," gimli would grumble, constantly checking over his shoulder as you waded your way through the forest
"the ents are just as natural as us," legolas would sigh, "perhaps more natural than some of us."
"watch it, elf!"
the teasing was endless, but the bond between you was not easily severed, and the three of you would travel the length and breadth of middle earth together
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So here’s how it is in my mind;
Faramir is a trans bisexual (they/he) in a relationship with Eomer (he/him)
Eowyn is a trans ace lesbian (she/her) and hella gay for Arwen, also a lesbian (she/they)
Then there’s Aragorn (he/they) in a relationship with Boromir (he/him) and both of them are ace (Boromir is sex repulsed, Aragorn has no interest)
Legolas (she/they/xe) is with Gimli (any pronoun is fine unless they tell you not to use it)
Was Merry (they/them) ever married? Idk, doesn’t matter, they’re aro/ace now, but Pippin (he/she) is married and I don’t have any ideas for her aside from his pronouns but whatever
Sam (she/her) is in a poly relationship with Frodo (they/them) and Rosie (she/her) and all their children aaaahhh (holy shit there are so many?? I really love how their daughter Goldilocks married Pippin’s son Faramir, and also how Pippin’s son is named Faramir)
Gandalf is... Gandalf. I think we all know what that means. Gayer than the rainbow of Saruman’s robes.
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This isn’t revised but I want to fill the void in my soul with something so I’m just going to put it up: I finally wrote a third behind-the-scenes movie fic! Now I have one for each installment, which means I might clean them up and put them on the archive for easier reading...one of these days.
For now, though, have a little fic inspired by the behind-the-scenes interview about Orlando Bloom and John Rhys-Davies’s boat capsizing.
“You need not hold it so firmly!”
A hand came down over Legolas’s where he clutched the paddle for the tiny Lórien canoe – so short and flimsy-feeling that he almost feared it would be swept away. He flinched at the touch, and the elf who had leaned over to assist him withdrew, laughing. “Nor need you growl at me so! You will be bathing in the Silverlode if you are not more careful, cousin!”
Legolas set his teeth in his lower lip to hold back from making any comment – either on the teasing or the epithet. He was kin to the elves here, distantly – kin twice over, he supposed, although the few Silvan elves who remained had been long separated from his own kind, and his Sindarin ancestry was scarcely a whisper – but still the familiarity grated on him. He had been treated less as a kinsman than as a curiosity in their sojourn here, and the lighthearted teasing was at odds with his own heart, which –
He did not yearn to stay, not exactly. This wood was not home, not truly, but it – it seemed to whisper to him of the home that his own might have been, had they been graced with the same protection and power. And that whisper awoke newer, darker ones which only grew stronger with each step they took away from the woods, where for a time he had felt so safe and untroubled, wandering the woods with Gimli at his side –
“Please,” cut in a second voice, lower and more resonant than the lilting laughter. Gimli, his feet still firmly planted on the riverbank, eyeing the boat with distrust. “If you can spare us a bath in the Silverlode, I would be most grateful.”
The sound of that voice, the sight of his baleful look, eased some of the tight clench in Legolas’s heart. Here was one who had won the right to tease him over shared struggle and shared understanding, and –
And at least he would not be parting from Gimli now. At least some of the gifts the Golden Wood had given them would remain with him in their travels to come. And at least he bore enough trust in Legolas not to submerge them both, even if no one else here did.
It was enough to allow him to laugh as well, to loosen his clenching grip on his paddle. “I shall do my utmost, Master Gimli,” he promised. “I am accounted a fair enough hand on the oar in my own land; I will endeavor not to disappoint.” But the Silverlode was different from the Forest River – slower, lighter, the current more a suggestion than a command. In the boats at home, a strong hand was needed, a will to match the river itself, and a knowledge of the pockets of safety between ferocious current and sharp rocks. Here, the slightest nudge could send the boat in an unexpected direction.
At least here the consequences of an unexpected bath would not be so severe.
Still, he twitched away from the elf who reached out to adjust his grip, sending his boat drifting out towards the middle of the river. But his reflexes, at least, did not fail him, and he corrected his course quickly with a stroke of the other paddle, bringing his boat sliding back in line behind Aragorn’s.
Aragorn, of course, sat his boat and wielded his paddles with perfect ease. Perhaps he had rowed this river before, or perhaps it was the effortlessness of his perfection. Either way, no elves hovered about him, and his boat bore the Ringbearer.
Boromir, at least, seemed to be having similar troubles – Legolas could console himself that he would not make the worst showing of himself.
And the rhythm of the river was not so hard to understand, not once he had listened to his song, swayed back and forth in his boat to test the balance. “I see,” he said at last, sending his boat out into the middle and then back again, tilting and correcting. It was not like riding a horse, for the river could not hear his own song in return – what did it care who navigated its waters? – but it was a similar balance, a similar self-acquainting with a new rhythm. And the boats of Lórien were well-suited to these waters, flimsy as they seemed. “Do you deem me suitable?”
He did not know to whom he spoke – mockingly, to the elves who would impugn his skill, or teasingly, to Gimli, with an undercurrent of deeper question. Would their friendship last beyond the strange magic of these borders? Would they be able to hold onto the trust they had begun to build, more delicate and more beautiful than these leaflike canoes?
“You’ll do,” Gimli said, and when Legolas reached out a hand to help him from the bank into the boat, he took it.
How was it that such pressure could feel fonder than the light touch of their elven companions? Legolas’s arm trembled as Gimli lifted one foot, bracing himself on Legolas, his weight transferring down his arm and through their grasp as he began to lever himself over the edge; the boat tilted, and Legolas stroked to correct it with his free hand, stabilizing it –
And then something went wrong: a tremor in the grip of their hands or a stumble in Gimli’s balance or a ripple that struck at just the wrong moment – a wobble passed through their joined hands again, a jerk – and Gimli was in the boat, his rear striking the seat with a heavy, uneven thud, a jingle of mail; the boat tilted again and a wall of water rose up, and Legolas had only one paddle in the wrong hand –
For a moment it was as though they were poised on a precipice, watching disaster below but still yet to tumble – and then they went over all at once, sky and river reversing as the boat flipped in a single, irreversible motion, and they were underwater.
In the first instant of submerging, for a moment all Legolas could register was peace. His ears were filled with the burble of the water, his body refreshed by the chill, all sight obscured in a watery blur. The water was deep this close to the bank, he noted, and found some relief in that, for nothing would strike the bottom –
Something would. Gimli’s chain mail. Gimli!
He broke the surface with a great gasp, river water streaming out of his eyes as he blinked them clear, head jerking around frantically to find – there, a bubble where his friend had gone under; the elves of Lórien were reaching for their boat, and he could hear shouting in Westron, but none of it resolved itself into words yet – kicking with his legs to keep himself upright, he plunged his arms into the spot where Gimli had vanished, seized hold of something, and yanked –
He was lighter in the water, but only slightly: the coat of metal he wore dragged him towards the bottom. But it seemed Legolas’s tug was what he had needed: spluttering, Gimli’s head broke the surface and he began to tread water as well, gasping for air as Legolas kicked them to the side where they could haul themselves back ashore.
His body practically thrummed; he did not know whether the chill in his blood was from the water or from the energy rushing through his veins – but finally the roaring in his ears subsided enough that he could hear the others laughing.
The elves of Lórien had fished their boat from the river and pulled it in; luckily, they had not yet loaded it with their packs. They laughed heartily, tossing teasing insults in Silvan Legolas’s way, and he wondered if they had forgotten he could speak their tongue, or if they merely did not care. But he supposed it mattered not, for the Fellowship was laughing at them, too, Aragorn not the least.
But that was of less concern than Gimli. “Are you all right?” he asked his friend, his hands hovering uselessly over Gimli’s sodden hair, his dripping armor. “I did not mean” –
“Suitable, you said!” cried Gimli. “Never have I been so mistaken in my life! Pity the fool Gimli, son of Glóin, for believing a wood-elf familiar with rivers might steer a boat!”
Heat rushed into Legolas’s cheeks all at once – a reminder of their old animosity, that hard-won thread of trust threatening to break. “I do not think I am solely at fault here,” he protested. “Unless it is for thinking you could step into a boat without capsizing it!”
“And this is why we began with a trial.” Aragorn’s words were calm, but he was not succeeding in smothering a smile. “Need we alter the boat arrangements, gentlemen? Or can you handle yourselves henceforth?”
Legolas did not know whether he meant in the boat, or without arguing – but all the heat faded from his temper at the thought of switching boats, of truly betraying that trust and losing that companionship that had become so dear to him. “No,” he said, “I mean – yes. It will not happen again. Do you trust me?”
He addressed the words to Aragorn, but he spoke to Gimli, and his heart leaped into his throat when the dwarf paused – would he say no? Would he insist they change their arrangements? But finally he looked back at Legolas, flushed himself and dripping, but with the same resignation.
“I do,” he said. “Though it may mean my death.” He heaved himself up with a sigh. “Well, if we are to run a trial, let us continue – and hope we may fare better once we are both in the boat.”
“We will,” Legolas said fiercely, and he leaped to his feet as well. He wondered if he had ever meant anything so much. “I promise.”
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hello would any fic readers/writers be available and willing to beta read my lesbian legolas x gimli fic based on fearless the taylor swift album which is the next instalment of my taylor swift lotr fic series? it is going to be over 10k and it’s a high school au please dm me if you’re able!!
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EXT. CAMP, NIGHT
The armies of Rohan have made camp for the night, journeying towards Minas Tirith to lend aid to Gondor. A campfire burns outside a tent. LEGOLAS and GIMLI are sat by the flames.
The hour grows late. Yet Aragorn has not returned.
Let him be, laddie. He has company to keep far more pleasant than yours or mine.
You speak as though you know a secret.
Secret? Ha! ‘Tis no secret that his stride often leads him to stand by Lady Eowyn. And why shouldn’t he? She’s a good match for him. Spirited, strong, humorous. They’ll make a fine pair.
Mind your words; they are false! What of Lady Arwen?!
Arwen, daughter of Elrond! Long have she and Aragorn held an understanding!
Oh, bah! 'Understandings,' a trifle of the past! You said yourself she's sailing away, off to the undying lands with all the rest of the elves.
I said 'mayhaps,' nothing is definite!
What's definite is that the lad could stand to find some happiness, and the same goes for Eowyn! They are good for each other, and I don't want their chances ruined by the ethereal and easily forgotten promises of a ghost in the night!
Lady Arwen does not forget her promises! And neither would Aragorn! They have found a love that surpasses the length of time, that knows not the borders of land nor sea!
She is leaving him to vanish to a mystical island!
Her heart will carry his memory unto the end of days!
GREAT LOT OF GOOD THAT DOES FOR HIM NOW!
Elsewhere in the Camp stands ARAGORN, who is working with the shieldmaiden EOWYN, the two handing out blankets to the soldiers. The sounds of distant fighting begin to carry over on the wind.
Does that not sound like Gimli? I think I can hear the voice of Legolas as well. (AT THE SOUND OF A LOUD CRASH) I wonder, what has happened?
Who can tell? Another lover's quarrel...
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Lan Xichen x Nie Mingjue
Legalos x Gimli
Are living rent free in my heart ❤️
This wholesome content is all I need!!
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