I’m in a bit of an art slump lately but today is the anniversary of me posting my first silm fanart on here so I celebrated it with a quick redraw of it with my current Maglor design (Elrond didn’t really change)
Thank you everyone for welcoming me, having the loveliest words of encouragement and being all talented people with crazy ideas. It’s a pleasure to be in this fandom with you ♡
I think I still prefer this version but it was 100% the by-product of me discovering and testing stuff on procreate ><
I love the idea of the Maiar existing on a wide spectrum of different forms and varieties.
There are Maiar who take on the forms of specific phenomena and might remain dormant or incorporeal when not appearing thus. Maiar might appear as (or leave behind) wisps, colors, smells, emotional or psychological or physical phenomena, flora and fauna, and even geography or dimensional spaces one can enter.
Maiar who take the form of currents or rain clouds or spots of light. Beech trees or climbing ivy or hummingbirds. Shimmering forms that distort space and time, or temporary inhibit the senses of anyone nearby.
They have vastly varying degrees of sentience (or at least what elves would view as sentience) and awareness and communication. Less complex forms can sometimes mean less complex existences, at least in the minds of elves and humans, but there is not a direct correlation.
Some Maia appear to present only aspects of an emotional and autonomous existence, for example appearing fully capable of humor through timing or context but not otherwise able to communicate. Many are mimics. Some can mimic facial expressions but not speech, or the opposite. Some communicate solely through music, through color, or imparting emotions.
Celeborn, Beleriand's most ✨pretty✨ eligible bachelor
(he won't be single for long... Galadriel is on a mission 😏)
I've been playing around with starting a prequel comic to Romance in Rivendell that's basically the start of Celeborn and Galadriel's love story. Celeborn is the prettiest most desirable boy on the block and Galadriel is wooing the heck out of him, and unbeknownst to her, he is wooing her, too. But due to ✨circumstances✨ outside of both of their control, their attempts at courting each other keep missing each other and/or misfiring 😅
idk would anyone even like to Read something like that??
more of your gorgeous Rog please please please ＿|￣|○
Rog is a design opposite to Maeglin. Maeglin covers every inch of his skin because he feels vulnerable and Rog shows a lot of skin because he feels vulnerable. I wanted his design to feel more active and moveable while also being beautiful and showing his statue as a lord and one of the greatest Ñoldor smiths.
Eight, almost nine months before he had left Ost-in-Edhil for the second-to-last time, Annatar had woken up in Tyelpe’s bed. He rarely slept at all, in those days, and he had known by then how dangerous it was for him to sleep there in particular. How it would feel when he woke, the peculiar crawling vulnerability of it, the soft yearning like a cockroach that refuses to be crushed. He had turned to look at Tyelpe, who was curled on his side, head resting on his outstretched arm, mouth open with the soft breath of true sleep. He was shirtless; it had been warm, and the windows open. There had been birds outside. Barn-swallows, feeding their young. He had lay still and wondered if this was what mornings were like for mortals. He had not, at the time, understood how the thought had prickled at his constructed body.
Later that week, he had arranged an accident to kill one of Tyelpe’s apprentices. He hadn't killed many people, those last years especially; the risk of discovery had increased, as his life had become ever more intertwined with Celebrimbor’s, and it was almost never worth it. But he had thought that this death might destabilize Tyelpe, make him doubt his own infallibility, make him acknowledge that the governance and control of his city (their city) was not enough. That even extraordinary people – perhaps especially extraordinary people – could not be trusted with their own destinies. He had been considering, the night before, whether to bring up Tyelpe’s family line, the better to cement that sentiment. He'd decided against it. Tyelpe had always been unpredictable when it came to his family. Sometimes he would rage, sometimes crumble, sometimes turn to stone.
He had told Tyelpe about it, before the end. How he had set up the explosion in Tyelpe’s workshop, and guided her into sparking it off; how he had let his own form melt away when she poured the fatal mixture together, and then reshaped himself injured after the explosion had blown through him. How he had made sure to pull her body from the fire at just the right time, when her eyes had liquefied but her hands were still recognizable. How satisfying he had found Celebrimbor’s horror, when he had arrived half an hour later to find a body covered with a blanket, Annatar weeping, the Gwaith and the city watch together grimly debating how to safely put out the fire. How Celebrimbor’s voice had spiraled up with the smoke of the terrible silver flames he must have known were from his own workshop. “No, no, no!”
He had expected Tyelpe to cry. To say, You had known her all her life, how could you? But Tyelpe, bound to the anvil but not yet broken, had spat at him, and had said, Good, because I always blamed you for it, which had hurt in a way that made no sense at all and that left Annatar disquieted.
i may talk more about this in the future, i have Thoughts for what luthien and beren were thinking when they named their only child (and i believe they knew from then, were determined that, dior would be their only child) but for now - little snippet of my take on the rationale behind dior's name from a wip:
“Dior,” says Lúthien. “‘Successor.’”
Among your people, it is custom for the head of the family to name new children, even more so ones of immediate descent. Your own grandfather, your father’s father, named you. But it would be ill-fitting for you to do so with your daughter’s firstborn, and besides – it was you and Melian who named Lúthien. You want her to do the same with her son.
Dior. You weigh the name. You like it; its short, straight syllables, the hard simplicity. But… ‘successor’? Heir, the recipient of a legacy? Why?
“He will see the completion of one story and the start of another.” Lúthien never takes her eyes from her son’s face. “He will witness the ending that we will not. He will carry us forth, into our future.”
Her voice is somber, hopeful. The air shivers with finality.
snowghoul
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2087
