“No taste of food, no feel of water, no sound of wind, no memory of tree or grass or flower, no image of moon or star are left to me. I am naked in the dark, Sam, and there is no veil between me and the wheel of fire. I begin to see it even with my waking eyes, and all else fades.” 

It is useless to meet revenge with revenge: it will heal nothing.


Oh haaiii it’s another Merlin piece — I can’t help but feel a bit guilty! It’s simple with Merlin cos I’m in the fandom, but with other shows, I have to mull over the character until I find something that I can latch onto and use to make the piece memorable. But I think I’ve finally got something! *fist pump* For next week. Meanwhile, let me tell you about how Merlin came to be the silent guardian of Camelot…

After the Battle of Camlann, Merlin disappears into the woods without a trace. When Aithusa finds him, he is slumped against a fallen oak with vines and leaves growing over and around his still body. His eyes have lost their blue from having to live off of magic while slowly losing his humanity in the process*, and his hair has long turned snow white from grief. But slowly, determinedly… Aithusa nurses Merlin back to health, and together they look after each other and Camelot.

Since then, travelers passing though the woods would tell of a strange ball of blue light, or the small raven that lead them back to the right path. There are stories of a funny old man who offers food and shelter for the night, and his hovel that disappears at sunrise. There is the boy that magically appears out of nowhere, who would keep children calm and entertained with clever little tricks until their parents came for them. Even rarer are the encounters with a croaky old woman whose remedies never failed to aid those truly in need of them.

Merlin lets the rumors spread far and wide because they help in their cause. Already bandits and mercenaries dare not come near Emrys’ woods. "For the enemies of Camelot, there are only curses and imminent demise.” To this day, legend tells of the Ghost Guardian and his Dragon of Mistforever roaming the woods, always watching, waiting for the return of the Once and Future King.

*You can thank Demi for this wonderfully depressing mental image! \o/


Creatures of Middle-Earth


Bilbo, Thorin, Dís, Fili, Kili - family sleeping picture (..uhuh well..more like me drawing stupid things >< )

this picture is for all the amazing Hobbit-fanfictions writers :3 


Ore Mountains - Germany (von Meyer Felix)

“Don’t bro where I can’t follow”

MANwise Gamgee to BROdo Baggins (via thelilnan)

Arya Stark Appreciation Week - Day 6: Favorite Scene

"Who taught you that shite? The greatest swordsman who ever lived. Syrio Forel, the First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos.


A humble Hobbit home, taken in Hobbiton, New Zealand.

on kindness


Right, so, first and foremost: y’all should know that this is about as close as I ever get to an angry screed! But it’s an angry screed in the name of positivity, so that’s something, right? 

Here’s the deal: today I saw a post—a series of posts, in fact—positing that the overall quality of the work available at the Ao3 was decreasing, and arguing that there had been at one point a mission of “quality control” at that archive (which, for the record, there never was). I am not linking to those posts, because more capable and knowledgeable people than I have already responded to them, and because, at the end of the day, those posts aren’t really what this post is about. The post is about the increase I’ve seen in comments like this, about the folks I see mocking “badfic,” about the sense of betrayal people seem to feel if a piece of fanfiction is not up to their individual standards, about the rather shocking volume of people who seem to have come to the conclusion that fandom exists for their personal pleasure. Which, don’t get me wrong—fandom does exist for the pleasure of fans. But it’s a collective thing, with each individual contributing to the whole, and the degree to which that knowledge seems to have slipped—along with the remembrance of the fact that every handle represents a living, breathing human being whose importance is not hinged on the quality of their fanworks—is starting to freak me out. 

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Mist and shadow; cloud and shade.
All shall fade. All shall… fade.