@redshoesnblueskies / redshoesnblueskies.tumblr.com
NEW VERSION. :)
Just some of my favorite BTS photos from The Hobbit and LOTR!
THE LORD OF THE RINGS costumes appreciation: ― Arwen’s velvet dress (costume design by Ngila Dickson and Richard Taylor)
I choose a mortal life.
THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE RETURN OF THE KING (2003)
that moment in ep 5x09 when evil gwen approaches arthur and he's now aware that she is evil is so funny. the way he reaches for the letter opener on his desk. what exactly are you gonna do arthur. stab your wife
thinking about arthur and gwen and i think the best part about their relationship for me is the Choice. theyre two people with not alot of agency in their lives, for varying reasons. arthur obviously has a lot more privilege, but has to play a part in order to rule his kingdom properly lest he be seen weak to others and put his people in jeopardy. hes born and raised in one role, to be a prince then a king. he takes it on with pride, but you Know he feels stifled. gwen, on the other hand, is a black servant girl born in a lower class family. she may not have a certain “role” shes required to fill but she still has to work hard to provide for her family and for herself. she has to look and act like a proper lady lest people think shes unfit for her job, she has to be subservient in order to keep her already fragile status. the agency they do have is very limited, not just by society but by their own morals and beliefs. however, despite all of that, they both choose to take a risk with this one thing. they decide to take a risk Together, and they do it for Years!! they wait for YEARS!!! they work hard to be together, to Stay together, and while they may not have been eachothers first loves - they make it last because they Choose to make it last.
personally, thats way more romantic that being destined for eachother. they chose eachother and kept choosing eachother everyday, what else is there to say?
MERLIN | 5x09 “With All My Heart”
Arwen Fest: Day 7 + Free Day.
Merlin: Captain of the Arwen ship.
I saw a post saying that Boromir looked too scruffy in FotR for a Captain of Gondor, and I tried to move on, but I’m hyperfixating. Has anyone ever solo backpacked? I have. By the end, not only did I look like shit, but by day two I was talking to myself. On another occasion I did fourteen days’ backcountry as the lone woman in a group of twelve men, no showers, no deodorant, and brother, by the end of that we were all EXTREMELY feral. You think we looked like heirs to the throne of anywhere? We were thirteen wolverines in ripstop.
My boy Boromir? Spent FOUR MONTHS in the wilderness! Alone! No roads! High floods! His horse died! I’m amazed he showed up to Imladris wearing clothes, let alone with a decent haircut. I’m fully convinced that he left Gondor looking like Richard Sharpe being presented to the Prince Regent in 1813
And then rocked up to Imladris a hundred ten days later like
Some people have been wondering about the raccoon. Listen. Listennn. Don't ask about the raccoon.
But does the racoon survive the Uruk-Hai? Does he curl up on Aragorn's head, or does he go straight to Faramir? Does he bite Denethor?
My friend. My colleague. My brother my captain my king. I too have been pondering this question, and in my mind there can be only one ultimate outcome.
A few months later
All hail the High Warden of Gondor.
Epilogue: It ADORES Faramir.
I’m going to wear this on my head like a raccoon and show everyone
“I can’t find my comb.” “Have you looked?” “Everywhere.” Requested by Anon
I choose a mortal life.
saw my little cousins today and we were talking about my dogs. inspired a little sketch
Arwen got a chihuahua
Legolas. :)
Legolas and Arwen have known each other most of their lives, in the way that only children of Third Age Elvish royalty can—Thranduil hosted midwinter hunts for the White Hart that Elrond was obliged to attend; Rivendell was a summer house, in truth, hidden among the cool mountains, and Legolas spent more than one summer swimming in the Brunien with Elrohir and Elladan. Galadriel makes a point to gather everyone in Lothlorien every few decades, a gesture that is probably intended to foster unity among their kind, but instead serves as an excuse to judge Thranduil’s fashion choices and roll their eyes at Elrond’s drunken rambles about Gil-galad’s prowess in battle.
There was even—briefly, but from all parties—a hope that Legolas and Arwen might wed. Obviously, Arwen is significantly older than Legolas, and though she did not have a crown, exactly, she was Galadriel’s favorite and Elrond’s daughter. But the throne of the Greenwood is considered a lesser seat, besides, and Legolas is a lesser son—even if his brothers were already betrothed, or fighting elsewhere.
They were both Elves, nobility of the Third Age, and it seemed eminently sensible.
Legolas at that time was the Elvish equivalent of a teenager (fewer pimples, more existential crises and bad poetry) while Arwen was in her early twenties (plus several hundred years) and they both hated every second of it.
At that point, neither of them could have told you why. They couldn’t even tell each other why, except in the vaguest, least helpful terms. “It just doesn’t…” Arwen had said, hunching her shoulders. They were sitting on her bed in Rivendell, and Legolas had nodded with probably more fervor than was strictly necessary. “Right!” he’d answered. “Exactly, it’s not—I mean, you’re…! It’s just…”
(She was nice. Arwen had always been nice to him. He liked her, she was very beautiful, and she liked him—he was funny, sort of cruel, unaffected, and had a nice singing voice. But for a race that prized world-ending love, that sang songs of Luthien and Beren, Finwe and Mirel, they were decidedly ill-matched.)
Later, he’d taken her hand. “You can lie,” Legolas had said, and even after, Arwen will remember how kind that was. “You can tell your father that—that we…I don’t mind.”
They’re alone in her room, the both of them cross-legged on her bed, and still she feels nothing except a tepid sort of affection, a gratitude. He’s being kind, of course she’s grateful. She just…wants to feel something, alone in her room, sitting this close to a man. (She’s sung the Lay of Leithian enough times in her father’s halls, that’s what she wants.)
“No,” she tells Legolas, and he smiles when she kisses him on the forehead. “It’s all right. I’ll figure out another way.”
(Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and a Man, comes to the halls of her grandmother like Beren came to Doriath. Holy fucking shit, Arwen writes to Legolas. I didn’t actually think it was real, what the fuck.
“I know exactly what you mean,” Legolas says, decades after, when Arwen sits beside her kingly husband in the halls of Minas Tirith. Legolas’ grey eyes track the passage of Gimli, son of Gloin, across the hall, and Arwen cannot help but loop her arms around the Elf who might have once been her betrothed, and laugh.)
