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i think this elf's in love.

this was just a quick light study but I still think it turned quite cute.

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More Dwobbit Frodo! This time it’s baby Frodo with his adad! I was given on discord the idea dwarves wearing baby wraps to carry their babies with them and I loved it so much I just knew I had to draw Thorin carrying Frodo in one. In the first one Frodos maybe 1 years old? His crazy amount of hair is explained by his dwarven genes lmfaoo. In the second one he’s maybe a few months old. Anyway- I love the trope of a tough guy with a small babe, that’s literally them.

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Maedhros/Maglor (Tolkien) Characters: Maedhros (Tolkien), Maglor (Tolkien) Additional Tags: Sibling Incest, First Age of Arda (Tolkien), Dagor Bragollach, right before the Bragollach actually, Angst, Light Angst, i'm so shit with summaries im sorry Summary:

Maedhros dreams of fire but cannot recall what it was about.

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AWWWWW lil elrond with his missing flowers! It'd be funny if he or Elros sneeze too hard and all their flowers came out or if they were allergic to their own flowers lol

Hahahaa I can definitely see that happening! Little petals sprinkling around whenever the twins sneeze XD Or maybe a big flower explosion!

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by Rin丘丘

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In beleriand:

Caranthir since forever having a grumpy face

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E² using M&M's lack of Edain knowledge to their advantage

Elros: if Edain don't get dessert before dinner, we get very very sick

Maglor: that doesn't sound right but I don't know enough about Edain biology to dispute it. Here you go

....they catch on pretty quickly

Elrond: it is beneficial to our development to be elevated for an extended period of time!

Maedhros: just say you want to ride on my shoulders

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Of Fëanor and his sons . . . .

Choose two to protect you.

The rest are trying to kill you.

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Here's a little eldritch doodle dump featuring the Gondolin crowd! Something tempted me to draw Hurin and Huor with Turgon, which turned into a whole thing of their first meeting with the king to their last meeting at the Nirnaeth :''') The beautiful Glorthelion designs are by @ecthelioffd! <333

This was my first time designing eldritch Idril and Maeglin; Idril incorporates some Vanyar fashion into her layers, which I imagine are very frilly loll So when I finally get around to designing the Vanyar, they'll have lots of pretty frills and lace! hahaa

Hurin's kiss is also inspired by last year's Scribbles & Drabbles, where @misst1ff wrote a lovely fic of Hurin and Turgon based on Sir Gawain! They mentioned in the comments how it'd be nice for Turgon to get a final kiss before Huor dies andHurin is captured, and I really wanted to draw it, so here it is T_T

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maedhros, elros, elrond

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Thranduil and Legolas by 妖怪-蜗牛.

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Maedhros walking back into camp bruised, bitten, scratched, and bloody: you should see the other guy

Fingon walking in after not 2 seconds later covered in kiss marks: 😊

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crablor tshirt beta

Wanted to get an idea for sizing and how it fits

Halfway there guys!

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What I need right now is Elrond, after the third age, finding Maglor and taking care of him, insisting that yes, he is his father, that he should live with him, comforting him, and even insisting that he should sail with him to Valinor where his parents and brothers wait for him and everyone is happy and nothing hurt. 

A surprise gift for @playing-with-inks​ because we both are having some stressful weeks and she needs something soft as well.

(Love, I’m sorry, I’m not good at writing stories, I hope this is enough)

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cleaning up an old drabble for @maedhrosmaglorweek :)

His brother’s hair is brittle, entirely without shine. Once there had been ringlets, fine waves—unruly, certainly, but full of life, or mischief. All that remains of them is matted lumps, hard under his fingers in places where knots have formed around grains of sand. There seems nothing to do but to cut it off, to slide a knife close to his skull and leave behind only the rabbit-soft roots, to hope there is enough left of Maglor for more to grow. 

I cut my hair, Maedhros remembers, I cut my hair after the cliff, and thou hadst wept. Though that had been less mess. Thirty years—and even then, Maedhros had dragged his fingers through his hair for the first half of them, had managed to keep a braid fastened for some while even upon the Thangorodrim. He had been upset at the thinness of it, and the breakage around the ends, the unevenness where he had bit it. It had seemed better to start fresh. 

He had it cut before his brothers had any word of him. It was a thoughtless thing; another tiny consideration in the million tiny considerations that accompany one’s return from the dead. 

But Maglor had thought it the work of the enemy. When he learned it was not, he had cried. I would have sewn thread into thy braid, he had said then, to keep it thick. I would have evened out the edges. I would have shaped it, if thou hadst waited. 

“Dost thou wish that I salvage it?” Maedhros asks, reaching to touch a limp dark lock hanging over Maglor’s cheekbone. 

Maglor shrugs. His voice is whisper-faint, weightless. “I do not care,” he says. 

Maedhros pours oil into a bowl. Works it over his comb. 

Begins to work on the end of the lock closest to Maglor’s cheekbone.