Richard Armitage about the reporter’s microphone
The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug premiere in Berlin 9/12 - 2013
So lately I was having those crazy Dark!Erebor AU plot-bunnies. Like, what if Thorin died in BoFA and Bilbo has instantly gone completely bonkers with grief, to the point that he actually summoned something REALLY BAD with his ring and force of will. Thorin is resurrected but it’s not a happy miracle but an act of Necromagic, so the dwarf king isn’t the same person he was before. Same goes for Bilbo who literally sold his soul to bring the dwarf from the dead and the price he must pay is to continue living as a vessel for the Dark Power he evoked. That evil thing is cunning to act discreet enough so nobody notices the difference at first. Thorin is crowned as a King of Erebor and though he manages to revive the kingdom to its former glory, his policy borders on cruel and downright despotic. And not one of his brutal decisions made without the knowledge and lead of the Halfling who follows Thorin like a vicious shadow and instigates him to rule with an iron fist and violently punish everyone who goes against his will.
I’d imagine Thorin chopping heads off while Bilbo, the sneaky fucker, cuts some bitches in dark corners when the insurgent dwarves keep attempting to kill them both or sabotage their ruling.
So, like, Erebor becomes a base of Mordor and biggest threat to whole Middlearth.
lol, i guess i’ll just take my pills and go to sleep K BYE
I have not seen anything as perfectly dark as this in quite a long, long while. Possibly ever. My good lord.
nO YOU BsATARDS WHNY DID YOU LET ME READ THAT HOBBIT/PACIFIC RIM CROSSOVER
oh god i got some pumpkin spice tea down at the hippie organic store because it was a really good deal and i opened it and fuCKIN SHIT IT SMELLS LIKE A PUMPKIN PIE
man sometimes i still get fucking upset about how john porter’s story ended
Okay let me explain you a thing about little inner-city apartments, about little slices of domesticity hewn out of old brick and DIY plaster, filled with rag-tag people that you have assembled as a family unit, with indie music on low and laughter and dwindling bottles of wine. Where the cat is always asleep atop your computer and your best dress and stockings are tossed on the couch and your faulty window opens to a planted box full of herbs and the steamy buzz of the city below. Where take out from your favorite deli awaits you in the fridge and work is only a bus-ride away and hte city comes right up the meet you at night, swilling in with the night wind and tugging at your hair and sweater until you venture out into it. There’s something truly magical about a tiny well-kept apartment filled with treasured people, something more exquisite than anything in the world, I think.
you little fucker