Russingon my beloved russingon, although I'm not entirely satisfied with the drawing🫠

Enjolras

Credit: https://enjolrassuggestions.tumblr.com/post/185371430682/now-is-the-time-to-rouse-the-people-and-fire-up

Combeferre

Credit: https://pilferingapples.tumblr.com/post/185383921757/410-the-5th-of-june-1832-locations-part-2

Courfeyrac

Credit: https://idledee.tumblr.com/post/161464367143/a-happy-barricade-day-to-everyone-but-especially

Joly

Credit: https://queersunflowers.tumblr.com/post/185378343899/oh-shit-its-june-5th

Jehan

Credit: https://provemelovely.tumblr.com/post/185378984919/happy-not-so-happy-barricade-day-here-is-a

Bossuet

Credit: https://quixotix.tumblr.com/post/185379664111/me-has-the-first-of-several-hugely-life

Feuilly

Credit: https://grantaire-the-drunken-artist.tumblr.com/post/185327501947/half-of-me-on-june-1-pride-month-yay-the

Bahorel

Credit: https://exaire.tumblr.com/post/161457274094/we-built-a-barricade-there-were-300-tricolour

Grantaire

Credit: https://argentavis.tumblr.com/post/185378895231/when-you-havent-thought-about-les-mis-for-a-while

Bonus: Marius

Elwing based on @androgynouscoffeeruins design! (thenytheowl on both insta and tiktok)

Variations and unedited drawing under the cut

Not colored version because I don't know

Long time no Fingon !!!!

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another one of my ‘i cut this out of something a while ago for reasons idk but i like it a lot and it can be read perfectly well as a standalone vignette so i’m going to share it anyway’ little scraps, featuring Elrond’s Very Normal little monologue about his past to Arwen in the Fourth Age, after she asked him why he couldn’t stay at least a little longer. enjoy/suffer! 😈

Animals run on whatever fuel you give them, Maglor had told me once, salt-spattered and half-drunk upon a remote peninsular beach, even though a Noldor prince and the three kinslayings jingling on his belt was probably the last person to take advice from in this area. Which is to say, he continued, that if you choose to give your donkey a diet exclusively made up of cheese, changing who feeds the thing doesn't stop it from spewing shite.

You know that I wish to sail to Aman, to my Celebrían, your mother. I need not waste words on the obvious. But nobody ever asks why I wish to sail from Middle Earth, why I refuse to watch the dawn of this new Age. Here is my answer. Because I am a child of war. Because my parents were displaced thrice. Because when my first war ended, I found that my brother had chosen to die, and when this one ended, found that you have chosen the same. I am almost seven thousand years old, Arwen. Living through history and remaining intact requires defenses that time often undermines. Eventually, one realises their existence is mere endurance wearing the face of resistance. There are so many cruelties that function through simple persistence, through outlasting your capacity to keep fighting them off.

Do you understand me? I cannot survive another dawn. I cannot stay in this gleaming white city and this wondrous new world and my radiant grandson, because six thousand years ago, my birthplace was burned to the ground. The hardest thing for a child raised in the wreckage of war is to see intact what might one day be destroyed. Second only to seeing someone else’s future take the shape your past should have taken, knowing that their future would never be shaped as it is if your past wasn’t shaped as it was.

Redraw of the picture below the cut. About two years later, more focus on shadows and poses.