#and tolkien ofc

[marzipanladyart]

fluffy Gigolas inspired by @perplexingly's ART AHHHHHH

[irithyllians]

maeglin and idril 🗡️👑

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Finarfin loved all their nephews and nieces I take no argument. They showed it in different ways, but there were never any malicious thoughts towards them.

Any competition they had was between each other (though Finarfin was very much youngest sibling literally cba to deal with his older brothers.)

Fëanor: Always has too much food, used to his kids bringing over their respective favourite cousin for a meal because they were out playing too late and he’s not exactly going to send a child home hungry. As they got older it was because they’d been out and this was the closest place to disappear away to and crash. He’s used to seeing various kids sprawled across the carpet in the living room, waking up with headaches and groans. He’ll never admit it, but he finds it hilarious and enjoys seeing the children happy. If his brothers ask? ‘What do you mean they were out, I’ve had your children here with me all night.’

Fingolfin: One day I’ll stop linking this post but I really like how it turned out so you get to see it again! Fingolfin happily lets them traverse his house, go through his belongings. He’s very much a partner in crime, helping them sneak around, acting as lookout. Pretending not to see a majority of sweet pasties disappear overnight. He lives closest to the busy parts of the city, so it’s not unusual for the kids to get ready at his house if they’re going out anywhere or even preparing for Court. Most of the kids have their own shared room, and they’re full to the brim of everyone’s clothes, jewellery, shoes. Essentially a whole wardrobe. It gets messy, but he loves seeing his house full of life. Even if he could do without the mess Tyeko and Iressë bring in… and the various musicals at 3am. ‘You know we never tire of having you here… but perhaps you could tone down the partying? Just a little?’ He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Finarfin: My guy ofc has his house by the sea which like Fingolfin’s, has many many rooms full to the brim with clothes and jewellery. It’s essentially a home away from home for his niece and nephews, they don’t have to pack because everything’s already there. As youngest uncle and closest in age, he’ll just so happen to tell the kids where to have fun. He had the least pressure on him growing up and knows the best places in Tirion and Alqualondë. Going to Finarfin’s is like going on holiday, he’ll back them up and make sure they can do what they want without worrying about their reputations as princes and princesses. ‘The kids are far too stressed and don’t get to come here often, brothers. Let them have their fun. I’ll take care of them.’

Bonus!

Finwë: The mastermind. The accomplice. The alibi. He has a wild side to him born in Cuivienen and honed over the Great Journey. Court life is too stuffy even for him sometimes, let alone his grandchildren. He’s the one telling them all the wild things he got up to in his youth with a wink at the end subtly telling them how to do things their parents definitely would not approve of. High King Finwë would never! High King Finwë definitely would, and he’s making sure his grandkids get the experience too. He’s the one who gets the parents to leave for weeks at a time and his grandchildren have the time of their lives. ‘My sons, you worry too much! Don’t you trust your father?’

[queerofthedagger]

if i think too much about how elros chose quenya as the language for the royal names and records of númenor I'll need to disappear into the woods to scream for days. like. the implications and weight that carries just make me insane

[h00di3-00023]

∘₊✧ « The most precious treasure » ✧₊∘

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[sakasakiii]

ive had vague concepts for the lords for gondolin floating around my noggin since late 2021, but never really sat down to get em drawn... so during my hiatus i figured i should stop sitting on it after 2917382 years 😴 tho mostly i just wanted to do another relationship chart bc the first three i made in june were! so!! fun!!!

let me know if the text is too hard to read... hopefully it wont be on desktop but ill see what i can do if need be 👍

i had a lot of fun with these batch of concepts so below is an extra comic and a sketch page:

extra 2: just some bonus rough sketches of the lords' possible dynamics w/ others prior to the darkening?? i write fanfiction in my head 25 hours a day bc i forgot how to do so with actual stories HAHAHA

[saessenach]

“You want me to steal something.” It's a translation, not a question.

"Keep your voice down," she hisses and casts another furtive look around the club. "And since you are also looking to procure some fine art, I thought we might align our interests."

Leaning downclose, he whispers in her ear, "What's the score, baby?"

"The Venus of Valinor."

Galadriel and Halbrand in @thecoziestbean 's delightful The Venus of Valinor , an AU based on one of my all-time comfort films, which I've been devouring over the past couple of days! Thank you for a wonderful read 🫶

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

the grey pilgrim!!

[meadhalfempty]

Summary: He returns wounded and she is called to aid.

A/N: I imagine Adar being extremely touch-starved and desperate for kindness but he sees himself as grotesque and undeserving. He had literally been distorted into something else by Morgoth; a creature made of pure light was snuffed out and morphed into a conduit for darkness. We can still see some light within him, reaching out for hope. So, I wondered what it would be like for him to battle that internal demon and let someone prove that he is worthy of feeling beautiful and adored.

The doors opened with one loud and booming echo, all heads turning in concern. He was doubled over, grabbing his chest and his left arm was limp to match the way that he stumbled across the threshold.

“Clear the room!” she demanded and the few others that were waiting for his return, quickly scampered out the door. “What happened?" she ran to his side, his weight falling into her, clumsily. She helped him walk the distance to the daybed near the fireplace.

"Elves," he carefully sat and braced for discomfort as she began to hastily pull at the straps of his breastplate. His eyes clenched shut, the release of pressure from around his body sending a sharp pain throughout.

"Elves?" she sighed, assessing the extent of his wounds. Poking and prodding. "When are you going to give this up?"

"When I can manage to keep everyone fed." He closed his eyes, breathing through the burn in his shoulder.

"We will all certainly starve if you die doing something foolish," she shook her head and left his side to put the kettle over the fire. “As foolish as getting too deep into elvish territory."

"That is where the big game is, the meat." He was tired of justifying this venture. It had been months since any of them had a full meal, one of more than a few scraps of root vegetables and molded breads. He did all that he could, traveling most of the days with the hunters to find anything larger than a hare but nothing grew in the plains they were currently settling in. Perhaps he was unwise to travel so far north towards Elvin territory but he was reaching wits’ end.

"We will find food, my Lord. Something will change." She hurriedly grabbed the cleanest bowl at hand and began to crush the herbs from her pocket, a pungent, sweet scent being released into the air.

He sat strained, trying not to look at the arrow that was still protruding from his body. It had come from behind in an ambush, slicing through his muscle with ease. A warm knife to butter. He never saw it coming but it sent him to his knees when it did. He drew a sharp breath and rubbed at one leg, then the other.

“Can you breathe?” she asked while waiting for the damned water to heat.

He nodded but felt his ribs ache with each deep breath. Nothing broken, just sore.

“How many were there?”

“Stop trying to distract me,” he shook his head, “but, how long must I sit like this?”

“You know this works better when the water is hot.”

He groaned and looked away, “just do it.”

She grabbed a clean cloth and took the kettle off the fire, pouring the water into the bowl of herbs. The cloth soaking, she returned to his side, “ready?”

The responding nod was reluctant but he could wait no longer. He sat up as straight as he could and braced himself - a pull and a snap and the shaft was broken. She paused, giving him a moment to take another deep breath then a quick pull down and out of his chest. She immediately pressed the sodden cloth to the oozing wound through his shirt. This was the worst part. He’d rather have ten arrows removed at once than endure this pain even one time. The warm water sizzling and boiling his blood. The burn of the herbs working to seal off the skin. Fire though his veins. He breathed through it.

“That should do for a moment,” she placed the cloth back in the bowl, the water clouding black. She gestured for him to lean so she could get his shirt removed and out of the way.

"You must give up this idea. It's too dangerous," she warned for what seemed like the umpteenth time and helped him undress, "they will not understand if something were to happen, if you left and did not return."

"No, they would not understand if I were to fail," he breathed through the sting of his wounded skin stretching as he lifted his arms, "but if I could just bring back food.”

Ringing the cloth again, her fingers black with his blood, she could not understand why he persisted in putting himself in danger. She could not fathom the burden of keeping the entirety of the Uruk’s, plus some, protected and well. Imagining the weight he must carry day-to-day, heavied her heart. She wished she could do more than just, again, press a dampened cloth to his skin and watch him writhe in pain.

“I will leave this here with you,” she set the bowl on the dining table. “Clean it once more when it opens up again, then it should be alright for the evening. I will return tonight to check on it.”

“I know.” He looked up at her, eyes heavy with exhaustion but full of gratitude. She always took care of him. Despite her obligation to be looking after the other ill, she was always at his side when he needed her. She was not even the principal healer. She was still learning and honing her craft. But for nearly a year, she was the only one he would call when he returned wounded or found himself in need of medicines. Even for something as small as a pulled muscle that would not seem to ease, he called for her to find a way to fix the smallest of ailments. If only just as a reason to be near her.

She never questioned. And never did she dare admit that she would wait anxiously for his call. His voice in the winds would always make her heart jump in her chest and she would all but sprint to his side.

“I will get Glûg to help you to bed.”

“You are here,” he mustered a tired grin, “or are you otherwise busy?”

She smirked, “cheeky.” She wrapped her arms around his body and helped him stand, trying not to dwell on the feeling of his body pressed to hers. His bare skin on her fingers. Despite the numerous scars and brands, scrapes and burns, his skin was soft and tender. And the constant smoke in the air clung to his skin, embedded in his hair. He always smelled of cedar ash.

His weight teetered into her again, hardly having the strength to stand and he caught himself on her shoulder. Dizziness was taking him over, the room spinning faster than his feet could to carry him across the room. He sturdyed himself on the doorframe of his chamber, pausing to regain balance, “I’ve got you,” he heard her whisper.

“Thank you,” he should have let his eyes fall shut as soon as his head hit the mattress but he found himself just staring. Watching. She left the room and came back with the bowl, setting it beside his bed. 

“You need to rest,” she gently wiped a stray bit of blood from his wound.

“You know I cannot sleep after such excitement,” he fought to keep his eyes open. He did not want her to leave. He just lay there watching her watch him. He knew the look in her eye was not just of concern, he had seen it before and basked in it. Laying there without layers of armor and shirts and at her mercy…it was a selfish excuse but the only justified time that he could let her stare like this. The only time he let her count the scars and burns and past wounds.

She longed to reach out and touch him. For him to tell her that it was alright to do so, “please touch me” is all she wished to hear.

“Sleep,” she finally brought her thoughts back to the now, “I shall return later.” His reply was a mere heavy blink. She gave him one last smile of content, he was going to sleep well, and left with a soft close of the chamber door.

He let out a deep sigh, his eyes finally closing and he cursed the skies for this feeling. The feeling that if he were to never return from a “foolish” quest, he would never get to be in her presence again. He would never again be able to smell her on the winds… Oh, the way her hair smelled after she would bathe in the far corner of the land. That one spring that seemed untouched by the fires and ash, still green with those pink, sweet flowers and bitter blossoms. He wondered if that was where she was headed, now. If she was going to rest her body in the warm waters, wash away her daily troubles. Did she think of him, as he did of her when he was alone? Did she wonder how he tasted? Did she imagine him further undressed and in the waters? Did she imagine his hands on her skin and -

He stopped himself before his mind wandered too far. He was too tired to think of such things now. He rolled to his side, wincing a bit at the dull sting of his wound beginning to seep black again. He wished she had not left so soon, she could be here touching him still. Tending. Healing. Caring for. 

Why could he not just ask - tell her - no, asking is kinder. Ask her... what? What would he ask? 

Do you love me?

Abrupt and insane, absolutely not. He sat up with a low growl, his body aching and begging for relief. He reached for the bowl and dampened the new cloth she had left, the sting as severe as ever. He looked down at his marked chest,

Could you love me?

His body that was unduly aged and wrecked, made him himself reject his own reflection at the best of times. He was tired. Worn. Detached and aloof. He did not know anything other than solitude and desolation.

Is there any chance that you could find it in your heart to...?

No. His words were seldom so soft-spoken, she would think he was being cruel and insulting. He was more tenacious than that. He would not confess his feelings with words, he would walk into the room and demand. Take what he wanted. What he needed, he would have. She would simply have to accept that he loved her and live with whatever came next.

No, he could not. The last thing he would ever want to do is make her feel as if she was owed, indebted to him. Even her being in the lands at all, was on her own declaration. He offered for her to leave and she chose to stay.

She chose to stay with him. For him.

He tossed the soiled rag to the floor and let his body fall back into the bed. He would sleep until his dreams of her in the warm springs would wake him.

[pastelsugar6w6]

The sensuality behind Elves undoing each other's braids. It's essentially foreplay to them (in the right context). Taking apart plaits piece by piece and setting aside jewelry to leave their partner bare for their eyes only. Running fingers through their hair like silk and pulling them in by it 😫

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

see i think. i do think melkor would act sensual and seductive and feign interest in people to manipulate them, even becoming sincerely fond of some of them on some level. but on a truly emotional level, i see him as only ever invested in his relationship with manwe. feanor getting angry upon realizing his deception and telling him to go to hell? "damn it! things could have gone so much smoother. well i guess i have to bash his dad's head in and take the silmarils by force now." sauron renouncing his actions as melkor's servant and turning his back on his ways after determining that melkor's actions were only ever detrimental to his own goals? "ugh, i put work into his corruption! i made him my principal lieutenant! this is how he repays me after all the favor i showed him? that little twat." he's irritated and pissed off, but not truly upset. if anyone has seen sinbad legend of the seven seas, i imagine that melkor in his dealings with the beings he corrupts is very like eris in her dealings with sinbad; the whole "you're cute. but you're not that cute." when it comes to manwe though... when his relationship with manwe takes a hit, when his relationship with manwe is threatened, when manwe refuses him, he becomes frustrated and resentful and furious. it should be so easy. they're brothers. they're the same thought of their father split in two. they were made together and they belong together. so why won't manwe, the being that's most like him in all of creation, side with him? why won't manwe join him? everything would be as it's meant to be if his brother would just see things his way

[azaisya]

Curufinnnnn

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Rings of Power is a vibe tbh. Entirely accurate? Ofc not. Kinda hard when you’re covering stuff spread over 2000 years min. But it’s still great and a super fun way to bring my family into Pre-Lotr stuff.

S1 took a while to grow on me but S2 was amazing. Loved it.

[fistfuloflightning]

goldberry? 🌱🪷🌿

  O slender as a willow-wand! O clearer than clear water!      O reed by the living pool! Fair River-daughter!      O spring-time and summer-time, and spring again after!      O wind on the waterfall, and the leaves’ laughter!’

[astral-aromance]

Controversial Silmpost time

I don't blame Elwing for not returning the Silmaril. She was really nothing more than a child. I also can't really blame Dior for the same reason (though he is more complicated, because if he was a mannish child and not half-elven because of Luthien's Choice, he was fully grown at 34). But Thingol and Luthien? Oh yes. Yes, I blame them.

They knew damn well what would happen eventually, Luthien even experienced the Fëanorians at their worst 1st hand, almost getting forced into a marriage all for the sake of the Silmarils. She knew that they'd do ANYTHING, even to their own friend and cousin, because she saw it. They even tried to kill her and Beren. They knew the story of Alqualondë. They knew. But they willingly kept that thing around their family, their *children* even knowing full well that it would likely be the death of them. Heck, Luthien, and Beren aged and died prematurely because of the presence of that thing, and she yet still gave it to her young son with small children while knowing that the Girdle was gone.

Of course, the Fëanorians had no right to do what they did, that goes without saying. But Thingol, Luthien, and Beren really should have known better. Anti-Fëanorian or Anti-Sindar, there is simply no denying that the Elders of the royal line of Doriath played a huge role in the decimation of the kingdom and Sirion later.

They are certainly not blameless in the whole thing. It's more like a 75% vs 25% thing rather than 50/50, but certainly not negligible enough to be glossed over or ignored.

In the end, my question is just... If you know that a fire will eventually kill you if you don't turn off the stove, despite it having been very difficult to light it, why would you deliberately leave it on, even if the fire warned you multiple times that you should turn it off?

[sadtimo]

Maitimo is cut off in Tumblr's thumbnail for the #mairanya tag because of course he is!

Same energy as this...