Boromirwife - Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

don't remember when a meme made me laugh like this

👁️ @reniadeb 👁️

Kid Aragorn, running around Rivendell:

Elrond: Let me see what you have there :)

Aragorn: A KNIFE

Elrond, running after him: NO!!

Farmers daughter take one 🎥

me with boromir

I looooove ignoring a character's death in the media I like, like what do you mean they're dead no they aren't they are alive and I'm having a cup of tea with them right now :] no I'm not in denial shut up shut up shutupshutupshut

stay kind

you're worth it-very important post!!!

hey angels this is just a quick reminder you're worth it. you deserve to live the life you have always dreamt of. You deserve to love yourself. you deserve to never struggle. you deserve the world heck, you deserve more than that. You are valued. You are wanted. You are loved. You are literally god. You deserve to love yourself.

YOU ARE WORTH IT-say it out loud. Say it again, and again. Say it until you believe it. You deserve your desires. you deserve to be happy. All the shit you have gone through or going through don't define you. they don't hold you back. They don't take away your power. you deserve your desires so give them to yourself. you're the one In control. you're worth it.

You are the daughter of an angelic faerie and an elven king. You have grown up inside the only magical safe-haven of an increasingly apocalyptic land outside. You have wanted for nothing, essentially leading the perfect life, suffering and death playing little role beyond the abstract. Your father will never die, and your mother will never leave, but for tradition you are still crown princess and are educated as such. You love to dance and to sing.

You meet some kind of monster inside your mother's borders, a monster not of her or your making. It stumbled across you, dancing in the forest, bloody and travel-worn and weary and wide-eyed as it stares. You are stronger than it, but you run rather than lunge for the kill. You feel pity, more than fear. And something about him makes the part of you that you inherited from your mother sing.

He tries to follow you, for a year and a day. You are stronger, and faster, and stealthier, and you let him see you sometimes anyways. You are not convinced that he is not a monster, but nor are you convinced that he is.

Spring blooms again to the tune of your song, and you let him get closer than before until you run.

But you hear him speak for the first time. He is a speaker, and perhaps to him you are the monster. You do not run, and you do not kill.

He calls you "Tinuviel"

He calls you nightingale- a little songbird, plain and brown, with a lovely voice. They are your mother's creation, but he does not know this.

He calls you daughter of twilight- perhaps for your skin and eyes and hair, but perhaps because that is when he has seen you most.

He calls you singer- creator of the very fabric of the universe, skilled enough to deserve the title.

You are the most beautiful creature the world will ever see, the daughter of an angel and a king. He does not call you beautiful, or angelic, or princess. He calls you a singer, plain and brown, dark and distant as the approaching night.

He is bloody and travel-worn and weary and wide-eyed as you dare to step closer.

He called you nightingale.

You don't know what to call him, but you hope to find out.

“Nostalgia? No, something else, sometimes an inexplicable sadness.”

— Ingeborg Bachmann, from Word For Word in “Three Paths To The Lake: Stories” [translated by Mary Fran Gilbert]  (via paper-fairy)

you would die before your shades fell

Legolas: * slowly removing heart shaped sunglasses * I beg your fucking pardon