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sadsilmarilsoup

Some stuff for @celedrielweek

Partialy inspired by The Kiss by Henry John Stock (the 1894 oil paint version)

soranatus

Lúthien, little lover & elven jocks By Cami | morchlav

nynevefromthelake

little russingon wip

xximmortalkissxx

Aredhel (badass and White Lady of the Noldor) protecting her baby.

egypt-museum

Gold Inlaid Bracelet of King Psusennes I

Third Intermediate Period, 21st Dynasty, reign of Psusennes I, c. 1047-1001 BC. Now in the Egyptian Museum, Cairo. JE 85160

nobrashfestivity

David Muench "Alkali cakes", Death Valley National Park, CA, USA, 1994

eilinelsghost

Tidbit Tuesday

Thanks to @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras for tagging me to share a a WIP snippet. So from the next installment of Atandil:

When Nóm had once attempted to explain this affinity of souls, Balan presumed it was simply that one moved through life with two sets of senses, those innate to the self and those innate to the other they joined. But the actuality of it was something quite different from his anticipation. He did not perceive in double, at least not in the way he conceived of it. This was a chord, not a duet. An added note to the existing senses, a deeper resonance within his own. It was the silk of Nóm’s skin that Balan felt as his lips traveled down to the other’s hips, but there was an elation singing within it, a shivering brightness that arose, he knew somewhere within himself, from the tickle of his beard against that selfsame flesh. And he knew too that it was as much the warmth of his own hunger for this as it was the other’s thrill at the touch of his mouth that called up the sharp gasp, or caused the Nómin's strange, half-holy swears to slip in ragged whispers from the king’s lips. Is this how it’s meant to be? He had murmured the question at some point in the night, Nóm’s head pillowed upon his shoulder with one hand casually tracing patterns along Balan’s chest. The half-felt sense of the other’s perception hummed within him as Nóm’s fingers trailed through the coarse hair and Balan nudged that feeling toward the other’s mind. Or would it be more distinct wert thou joined with one of thine own kind? In truth, I know not. Nóm had drawn one finger along his breastbone with a smile, up over his neck, hovered at the summit of the chin. I’ve never wedded another. He had walked his fingers to Balan’s mouth and traced the bottom lip from end to end, and Balan had shivered with the mingled sensation. But I am happy, I am content. Art thou not?

No pressure tags to @sallysavestheday, @thelordofgifs, @melestasflight, @hobbitwrangler, and @that-angry-noldo if this sounds like fun!

asinoeiv

hiii i’d like to request an ilmarë! i love her and eonwë :3

Her design would be something similar to this. Very glowing, very bright. I still have problems making the difference between Valar and Maiar big enough 🤔 I'd be curious how much I would have to scale up Varda's design to make it work compared to her handmaiden.

asinoeiv

If the suggestion box is still open, Aegnor and Andreth? Do they have the same height difference as Haleth and Caranthir?

Aegnor is as tall as Caranthir and Andreth is a little bit taller than Haleth.

I love them but I have difficulties connecting with them. While I can think of whole scenes and storylines for halenthir I can't do the same for those two. They are concepts and vague narrative ideas for me. For example that they look like a bird of paradise and a pretty little sparrow or that Andreth reminds me of Eurydike from Hadestown.

Andreth generally gives me the vibes of a romantasy protagonist who didn't get her happy ending. Headstrong, incredibly smart, well read and kind of royal then She falls in love with a noble elven warrior who is the younger brother of the guy that watched her grow up 👀.

snototter

Sea emeralds (Chaetomorpha coliformis), a type of green algae, on the coast of Wharekauri, Aotearoa

by Svenja Heesch

saltyseashore

for @tolkiengenweek Day 01: mentorships | Maedhros and Elros

lidoshka

Seven sons of Feanor and the process of drawing them

First I drew them all with the same body and same pose, then started changing it in a way it fit more or less their personalities; they all kidna go in pairs except Caranthir. My beloved goth is always a lone wolf.

look at all the many ways I changed Maglor! he decided to be problematic.

I made the initial lineart first, then added the hair colors cause that was important to me.

Drawing the clothes was fun, my favourite was Celegorm's shoulder armor

fil3t

Then Fëanor ran from the Ring of Doom, and fled into the night; for his father was dearer to him than the Light of Valinor or the peerless works of his hands; and who among sons, of Elves or Men, have held their fathers of greater worth? - The Silmarillion, "Of the Flight of the Noldor"

Tolkien in Color: The House of Finwë (part 3/x) < part 2 || part 4 >

lady-of-ithilien

Mnippet Monday!

Thanks for the tag, @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras! I'm working on chapter 13 of I brought the sun and stars (my farawyn houses of healing longfic!) today, and I am proud of my progress. Here's a little snippet as Faramir reflects on what Éowyn has just revealed to him. It's a little rough, I just wrote it, but I think it came out decently and will really shine once I edit it through.

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Her tale had been harrowing, and though Faramir had surmised much from what he had learned from Merry and the Warden, hearing her tell the unflinching details of all that had happened to her had set a new heaviness upon him. He felt sadness for her, at the suffering she had endured, and also anger that she had been forced to endure it, and beneath all he felt the sting of his own incapacity, for he knew there was little he could do in the present to assuage Éowyn’s hurts or even find justice for them.

He knew not where nor whether this Gríma still walked the earth, whether any arm of reckoning might still be able to reach him; and even if so, if or how Faramir of Gondor might bring that about–

Faramir sucked in a sharp breath. He had pressed too hard in applying the new bandage to the cut on his chest, and it stung keenly. He sighed, directing his mind away from himself, and back to the more pressing matter at hand.

No, there was nothing Faramir could do about Gríma, though it pained him to think that the man might still walk free. All Faramir could do was to show care to Éowyn, and even in that course of action, he knew that she desired no soft words, no expressions of pity.

He thought again to their evening’s work in the pantry, to the way her demeanor had brightened in the presence of company, to her gay description of Meduseld at the height of winter festivities, and he felt his convictions crystallize: the care she most desired was companionship, a steady presence, assurance that her revelations had not changed anything between them, that she had been alone before but she need not be alone now. And Faramir felt the heaviness lift a little, for he knew well how to show care thus.

And now, as he finished dressing his final cut, he turned not to the usual next step in his routine– the tidying of piles upon his table, the arraying of a to-do list for the following morning– but to the pile of fresh tapers. He plucked one, lit it, and began to pen a new letter. Indeed, though the night deepened outside, though the thin crescent moon had long since slid behind Mindolluin, he resolved to work for a few more hours, so that he might have time in the morning to spare for walking in the garden and discussing herb lore and perhaps even a little training at arms.

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tagging: @hobbitwrangler @pearlessar @ffigwit if you have any WIP's you'd like to share <3