Whenever Hagrid finally decides to retire as Care of Magical Creatures professor you can bet your last knut that Charlie Weasley flies back to England the following week excitedly waving his resume and recommendation letters from no less than two Scamanders and the Minister of Magic, Hermione Granger.

I’m pretty sure he would also have recommendation letters from Rubeus Hagrid, the retiring professor, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and a very confusing one from Puddlemere United player, Oliver Wood, saying that he was one of the best Seekers he had ever seen.

Not to mention the fact that he flies back to England not on a broomstick or any other normal form of transportation, but landing on the Hogwarts grounds on the back of the largest dragon anyone has ever seen.

Reblogging again for that last addition. 

Charlie: *glides in on a dragon* HELLO HIRE ME

Everyone: What the fuck

Ron: (in the background, mortified) this is normal

Not just any large dragon, either. A huge Norwegian Ridgeback that immediately curls itself around Hagrid’s Hut once Charlie dismounts. And it purrs when Hagrid dodders out of his hut to see what’s going on.

Norbert sneezes some sparks into Hagrid’s beard for old time sake. Hagrid bursts into joyful sobs. “He remembers his mummy! After all these years!”

Charlie: Her name is Norberta, actually. She has had like three clutches of babies-

Hagrid: I´M A GRANDMA?!

Sméagol comes up with three possible titles to use once he gets the ring back. These are:

Which one do you think is best? Which would you use as a ruler over Middle Earth, while having fresh fish served to you ever day?

💯 Husbands.

If you can’t think of anything to say about a fic, writers also like to know:

- what time it is

- how long you’ve been reading

- how many chapters you’ve covered in the last 24 hours

- what you were late for because you were reading

- the woeful few hours you have left to sleep

- the emotional outbreaks you’re experiencing

- the inappropriate place you’re having said outbreak

- the general public’s reaction to your outbreak

- how much phone battery you have left

I’ve had the joy of quite a few of these comments! I love them!

I love counsil in Mithrim because it gave me laughing Maedhros and this:

wow we really did develop a global communication network and then fuck it up that badly huh

@aegor-bamfsteel

Maedhros the tall

Maedhros laughed saying: 'A king is he that can hold his own or else his title is vain. Thingol does but grant us lands where his power does not run. Indeed Doriath alone would be his realm this day but for the coming of the Noldor.Therefore in Doriath let him reign and be glad that he has the sons of Finwe for his neighbours not the Orcs of Morgoth that we found.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion

Dark Tolkien

All those who wander are lost

me: ugh i hate clichés

the plot: and then they find out that the character everyone thought had died holding off the enemy forces after helping the heroes escape was actually captured by the villain and has been alive this whole time

me, crying: omg they were alive the whole time

the plot: but it turns out they were tortured and brainwashed or mind controlled by the villain to forget their friends and see them as the enemy, so now their friends are forced to fight them in a tense and heartbreaking battle where both sides knows each other's fighting styles and weaknesses but are nonetheless unequally matched because only one of them is fighting to kill

me: *leaning forward excitedly* go on

the plot: unable to hold their brainwashed friend back indefinitely without having to hurt them, the hero chooses to throw their weapon aside in a last-ditch attempt to snap them out of it, saying something like "i know you're still in there somewhere. you can fight this" or "you would never hurt me" or repeating a joke or catchphrase they both shared through their tears and despite their injuries, tenderly cupping their friends' cheek with their free hand as they pin them to the ground and draw back in preparation to make the killing blow

me: *physically gripping the edge of my seat*

the plot: something in their expression changes, recognition and horror and self-loathing filling the blankness, but their face quickly hardens again and they bring their weapon down on the person they love as the villain laughs - only to change the direction of their attack at the last moment and deal the villain a mortal wound while they're exposed

me:

“No weapon forged by mortal hands can slay me!” hits you with a rock

Do robots count as mortal? If not you could also use a car

Wait…very few weapons are forged by hand these days. Just use a damn gun

#or one of those-mall swords “No weapon forged by mortal hands can slay me” “This is a 30 dollar wallhanger from the flea market, it’s about as far from forged by hand as it gets” 

People, please remember to download patches and updates for your prophecies and curses. This is what happens when you don’t.

The MacBeth Prophecy Glitch is insidious

You know that troublesome problem of how Sauron ended up back in Middle-Earth with the One Ring despite having been drowned in the Downfall of Numenor? I have a theory.

The body just straight-up died, which was unexpected. Normally that sort of thing would be inconvenient and mildly traumatic - Luthien threatened him with it, an Age of the world ago, and he was eager to avoid it - but not insurmountable. He’s made himself new forms dozens of times. But this time, there’s a problem. The body has the Ring, and with it the greater part of his power. One of those unforeseen consequences that comes with binding yourself to matter!

So I propose that Sauron essentially possessed himself, and dragged his own waterlogged corpse back to Middle-Earth. (He doesn’t want to talk about it. It was unpleasant. Not nearly so unpleasant, though, as when he tried making himself a new form, and discovered his new limitations.)

(x)

Frodo Laid a Geas (and other invisible magic)

This was so obvious when I realized it, but I think most people miss it, because we’re so desensitized by D&D-style magic with immediate, visibly, flashy effects, rather than more subtle and invisible forces of magic. When Gollum attacks Frodo on the slopes of Mount Doom, Frodo has the chance to kill him, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says:

Frodo: Go! And if you ever lay hands on me again, you yourself shall be cast into the Fire!

Frodo’s not just talking shit here. He is literally, magically laying a curse. He’s holding the One Ring in his hands as he says it; even Sam, with no magic powers of his own, can sense that some powerful mojo is being laid down. Frodo put a curse on Gollum: if you try to take the Ring again, you’ll be cast into the Fire.

Five pages later, Gollum tries to take the Ring again. And that’s exactly what happens. Frodo’s geas takes effect and Gollum eats lava.

On further reflection:

All the other people in the franchise who were offered the Ring declined to take it because they were wise enough to know that if they used its power – and the pressure to do so would be too great – they would be subject to its corruption.

Frodo uses the power of the Ring to lay a geas, and then five minutes later at the volcano’s edge, succumbs to its corruption. The Ring has gotten to him and he can no longer give it up. Because he used its power.

On further further reflection: I’d have to read the section again, but I recall that after throwing Gollum off and laying the geas, Sam observes that Frodo seems suddenly filled with energy again when previously he had been close to dead of fatigue. He hikes up the mountain so fast he leaves Sam behind – and doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s left him behind. 

Could he have been drawing on the Ring’s power at this point in the story? At this point in the story we’re relying on Sam’s narration, and Sam doesn’t know what’s going on in Frodo’s head, so it’s hard to say for sure. Having used it once, after spending so long holding out against it, was that the breach in the dam?

Which means that the moment that Frodo succumbs to temptation is not the moment at the volcano – it was already too late by then. The moment he is taken by temptation was when he used the power of the Ring to repel Gollum.

If so, this ties in neatly with discussions I’ve seen about how Tolkien subscribes to a “not even once” view of good and evil – that in many other works it’s acceptable to do a small evil in service of a greater good, but in Lord of the Rings that always  fails.

Re-reading Fellowship of the Rings, and I got to this passage in Lorien:

In other words:

Frodo asks Galadriel, herself carrying a Ring of Power, “Could I, hypothetically, use the power of the One Ring to do something magical aside from turning invisible?” and Galadriel replies, “Yes, hypothetically, you totally could, assuming the magic you want to do involves laying compulsions on others, but I strongly recommend against it, because it would fuck up your brain.”

This was in the first book. At the end of the third book Frodo uses the Ring to fuck Gollum up, forcing him to throw himself into lava if he disobeys Frodo’s commands.

Talk about a chekov’s gun.

Got to this point in my re-read and uh. This was a lot  less subtle than I remembered it.

…

Yeah.

Interestingly, I feel that there is another layer to this, and that is Frodo’s mercy (mirroring “the pity of Bilbo” which Gandalf said would prove significant) at play, tangled up in his use of the Ring and the chain of events that would play out.

Frodo is sparing Gollum’s life here, and shaping that into his curse. He is only cursing Gollum—can only curse Gollum—as an effect of this mercy; if Gollum were dead, he could not be cursed by Frodo or the Ring; his survival makes the curse possible and serves as payment for the curse: they are in effect making a bargain here, wherein Golllum’s life and his sentence of dying in the Fires of Doom should he take the Ring again are as one, a package deal, which Gollum “accepts” by retreating with his life.

Then, once Frodo comes to Mount Doom, he cannot cast the ring into the fires; the Ring has him in thrall, since he has used it. Now into the picture again comes Gollum, whose greed for the Ring has surpassed his love of his own life—even having been cursed with death should he touch it again, he craves it and demands it for himself, taking it from Frodo by force.

Thus we see the Ring’s power divided against itself—it has defeated both Frodo and Gollum, and its defeat of Gollum inspires Gollum to fight Frodo for it, invoking the curse. And thus Sauron, who has it, now, by virtue of both its erstwhile Bearers falling under its (and therefore its Lord’s) sway, is cheated out of it by the effects of Frodo’s act of mercy.

Frodo spared Gollum, and used the Ring’s power to set a curse, and when Frodo faltered, it was Gollum whom he spared who took the Ring from him and invoked that curse, falling into the Fires of Doom and, due to the same greed that defeated Frodo, taking the Ring with him.

If there had been no sparing Gollum, there would have been no curse, and Frodo would have had the task Isildur failed at—destroying the (beautiful, useful, lovely ring)—set before him alone, and he may have succeeded, or he may have failed, or he may have tarried too long in the struggle for Sauron’s destruction to come in a timely fashion, or the resolution and the Ring’s destruction may have hurt him far beyond the loss of a finger.

Instead, there was Gollum, in thrall to Sauron yet doomed by Frodo, to take from Frodo both the Ring and the burden of destroying it. Frodo, in his mercy-tinged use of the Ring, effectively shifted the impetus behind the Ring’s destruction from himself to the doom laid on Gollum—and Sauron’s hold over Gollum made it a near certainty that the doom would come to pass: Gollum would die, and not surrender the Ring, and thus the Ring would fall with him into the fires of Mount Doom.

And Frodo … like Indiana Jones in the Chapel of the Holy Grail, could avoid falling himself by either a willingness to let go, or the presence of a loved one to hold him back. Or, y’know, Gollum deciding to bite rather than just grab. A few more options here.

I was legitimately thrilled with the overall reception of my costume. I never could’ve imagined that it would make so many people so happy! But I exchanged so many hugs and daps and high fives, it was unreal. I had a lot of really great conversations with people that were just super excited to see some Native representation at the convention. So that part was really special for me, because that was a big part of my own personal inspiration to begin with.

I originally brainstormed this costume in late 2015, but I really started rolling on production this last year, once I committed to this years SDCC… My main goal was to make a Native American variant of a fan-favorite character. I was immediately drawn to Captain America because of everything he symbolizes as basically the poster boy of a nation. To me it was the perfect parallel. And once I visualized the red and white bone breastplate on my abdomen, I knew this was something I had to see through.

A lot of old school leather work with the awl! The majority of the armor was made from a base of 6mm EVA foam with 3 oz deer hide glued over it. The pieces were then stitched together with sinew or leather lace. Using this technique allowed me to form curves and build the necessary bulk of the armor pieces while also getting the suede textures I was looking for. And a whole lot of beading!

—- https://www.instagram.com/hot.glue.burns/

PHOTO: https://www.instagram.com/p/B0FQd_1AKhk/

Quite an experience to live in fear, isn’t it? Blade Runner (1982) | dir. Ridley Scott

R.I.P.  Rutger Hauer

Crowley had time to take in three things when he opened the door to Aziraphale’s bookshop. First, that Hastur had not gotten any less revolting since the last time Crowley had seen him. Second, that their body swapping stunt hadn’t bought anywhere near as much time as he’d expected. Third, that the splash of water flying towards his face was very unlikely to have come from the local duck pond.

Even as he started to recoil, he knew he wouldn’t be fast enough. The worst part, he mused with a sense of detached horror, was that this meant they’d figure it out. It wouldn’t take a genius to put things together, once Crowley was reduced to a puddle of sodden clothes and a wisp of steam. Heaven and Hell would realise they’d pulled some kind of trick.

After he was gone, they’d come for Aziraphale.

Time slowed to a crawl. He twisted, trying to buy time to come up with a way out, to imagine an outcome where the sparkling droplets arcing towards him didn’t catch him across the chest. No time. No options.

He closed his eyes.

I’m sorry, angel.

There was a thunderous roar, a shattering crack, and the overpowering scent of ozone. Gravity tilted the ground out from underneath him… and then stopped.

Crowley’s eyes fluttered open, ears ringing and head spinning.

Aziraphale stood over him. The angel was wrapped around him, holding him up with one arm behind his waist and the other supporting his head. Crowley blinked at him, disoriented. Everything was too bright. White feathers swam in his vision behind the angel’s face.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale breathed, eyes wide with shock and inhumanly blue.

Crowley clawed his way out of the fog of confusion, tightening his grip on the angel’s jacket. Awareness snapped back in. They were in the doorway, Aziraphale’s back to the open door. His wings were out, one curved protectively around Crowley and the other angled to block the door.

Water dripped steadily from the tips of the gleaming feathers, falling to pool on the doorstep.

Crowley’s jaw dropped open. “Angel… how…”

Aziraphale moved the hand behind his head around to cup Crowley’s face. His eyes, still bright with otherworldly intensity, darted over the demon’s face, and his lip trembled.

“I knew it,” crowed Hastur’s voice.

Aziraphale’s face went utterly blank, hardening to marble. Crowley sucked in a breath, startled by the sudden change, but the angel’s fingers stroked over his cheek, soothing and gentle. Aziraphale closed his eyes, and briefly pressed his forehead against Crowley’s.

Then he straightened. And turned.

He took a step towards Hastur, and a surge of chilling ethereal power made Crowley stagger backwards. One step, then another, the angel’s feet struck the ground with the sound of a deafening bell. Invisible power gathered around him, righteous and malevolent, and as he walked onto the street his wings stretched wide.

“I do believe,” he said, voice terrible and vast and almost painful to Crowley’s ears, “you’re at the wrong shop.”

Hastur stared at the angel, at his flaming blue eyes, and crackling power, and the holy water still dripping from his wing.

Then the demon disappeared with a terror-stricken pop.

YOU ONLY KEEP ONE BULL 

(Originally published in Comics For Choice)

And the rest, my darlings, are meat.

Never punched reblog so fast in my life