Showing posts tagged drawing
Look who the cameras caught. Well, of course we all knew he’d be on that barge … View high resolution

Look who the cameras caught. Well, of course we all knew he’d be on that barge …

My contributions to next year’s “Beyond Bree” Tolkien Calendar, which is going to feature the bad guys of Tolkien’s legendarium.

The watercolour “The Death of Isildur” is part of a series illustrating the story “The Disaster of the Gladden Fields” from Unfinished Tales and was painted in 2007.

The four drawings are recent. They are based on The Lord of the Rings and are entitled:

  • “Sméagol and the Ring”
  • “The Watcher”
  • “Uruk-Hai”
  • “Shelob”
Happy Towel/Wear the Lilac-Day. View high resolution

Happy Towel/Wear the Lilac-Day.

Three days late, but here’s a little something for Hamish’s birthday: “Reading time” (and also for valeria2067 to make work and the in-laws more bearable). View high resolution

Three days late, but here’s a little something for Hamish’s birthday: “Reading time”

(and also for valeria2067 to make work and the in-laws more bearable).

missilemuse: khorazir: “Sherlock after the Fall: Breaking” 12th in my series. Originally, I had planned to draw “Breaking” along the lines of “breaking and entering”. But several sketches later I found I couln’t come up with a satisfying composition for depicting Sherlock in a burglar-like capacity. And then the idea hit me that “breaking” could mean something else entirely. That’s when things turned angsty. missilemuse: She had dark blonde hair and blue eyes. The kind of homely face that would feature on adverts for detergents or baby diapers. Mundane, commonplace…Boring!. But John was smiling… the kind of smile that reached his irises and made them appear bluer, which crinkled the corners of his eyes and was dangerously contagious. Sherlock had never been able to resist smiling in reply when he had worn that grin. Even now, when it felt like invisible pins and needles were digging into his skin, when he felt the onslaught of an emotion he couldn’t name but which threatened to swallow him whole; he couldn’t help but smile in greeting through the tears pooling in his eyes… …before he reached the last picture in the stack of surveillance photographs which showed John slipping a ring on her finger. He gasped involuntarily and a very physical ache shot through his chest making him drop the pictures as he curled up on himself, clutching his chest. Broken rib…he reminded himself. That’s all! He didn’t remember the last time he had truly cried, perhaps when he was still a child. He refused to start now. He took slow breaths to calm himself, even when each intake of breath was pure stabbing agony. He welcomed the pain. It dulled the other kind of pain that threatened to drown him, the dull, empty ache which had no point of origin. He didn’t know what organ it was that had been hurt. He didn’t know how he was going to set it right, didn’t even know if he could. But he understood that this was his punishment, his penance and he would take it. John had never hesitated to follow him until the very ‘end’. It was his turn now. If he had tortured John with his fake death, the suffering he was now enduring was far greater. John, being  foremost the stoic and strong soldier had made his peace with Sherlock’s death and was moving on. And Sherlock was trapped in his own lie- helpless, insubstantial, like a ghost, seeing everything but able to do nothing. I’ll burn the heart out of you. Sherlock had thought that Jim had failed. That he had stopped him. He had never been more wrong. Oh, this is beautiful. Thanks so much. View high resolution

missilemuse:

khorazir:

“Sherlock after the Fall: Breaking”

12th in my series. Originally, I had planned to draw “Breaking” along the lines of “breaking and entering”. But several sketches later I found I couln’t come up with a satisfying composition for depicting Sherlock in a burglar-like capacity. And then the idea hit me that “breaking” could mean something else entirely. That’s when things turned angsty.

missilemuse:

She had dark blonde hair and blue eyes. The kind of homely face that would feature on adverts for detergents or baby diapers. Mundane, commonplace…Boring!.

But John was smiling… the kind of smile that reached his irises and made them appear bluer, which crinkled the corners of his eyes and was dangerously contagious. Sherlock had never been able to resist smiling in reply when he had worn that grin.

Even now, when it felt like invisible pins and needles were digging into his skin, when he felt the onslaught of an emotion he couldn’t name but which threatened to swallow him whole; he couldn’t help but smile in greeting through the tears pooling in his eyes…

…before he reached the last picture in the stack of surveillance photographs which showed John slipping a ring on her finger.

He gasped involuntarily and a very physical ache shot through his chest making him drop the pictures as he curled up on himself, clutching his chest. Broken rib…he reminded himself. That’s all!

He didn’t remember the last time he had truly cried, perhaps when he was still a child. He refused to start now. He took slow breaths to calm himself, even when each intake of breath was pure stabbing agony.

He welcomed the pain. It dulled the other kind of pain that threatened to drown him, the dull, empty ache which had no point of origin. He didn’t know what organ it was that had been hurt. He didn’t know how he was going to set it right, didn’t even know if he could.

But he understood that this was his punishment, his penance and he would take it. John had never hesitated to follow him until the very ‘end’. It was his turn now. If he had tortured John with his fake death, the suffering he was now enduring was far greater. John, being  foremost the stoic and strong soldier had made his peace with Sherlock’s death and was moving on. And Sherlock was trapped in his own lie- helpless, insubstantial, like a ghost, seeing everything but able to do nothing.

I’ll burn the heart out of you.

Sherlock had thought that Jim had failed. That he had stopped him.

He had never been more wrong.


Oh, this is beautiful. Thanks so much.

(Reblogged from missilemuse)
“Sherlock after the Fall: Writing” 17th in my series. This activity was suggested by several people, so thanks a lot for the idea. For those interested in what Sherlock’s actually writing, here it is: Dear John, yet another letter I’m never going to send. I’ve been hiding in these mountains for two weeks now. The tent has long since stopped being entirely watertight, and I’ve had several close encounters with the local wildlife: monkeys, snakes and spiders. Right now countless moths and other nocturnal insects are fluttering around the tent, drawn by the light of my small lamp. Remember when we had the curiously shaped moth in the kitchen and you tried to catch it because it annoyed you? Well, compared to the insects here it was tiny. View high resolution

“Sherlock after the Fall: Writing”

17th in my series. This activity was suggested by several people, so thanks a lot for the idea. For those interested in what Sherlock’s actually writing, here it is:


Dear John,

yet another letter I’m never going to send. I’ve been hiding in these mountains for two weeks now. The tent has long since stopped being entirely watertight, and I’ve had several close encounters with the local wildlife: monkeys, snakes and spiders. Right now countless moths and other nocturnal insects are fluttering around the tent, drawn by the light of my small lamp. Remember when we had the curiously shaped moth in the kitchen and you tried to catch it because it annoyed you? Well, compared to the insects here it was tiny.

Quick and silly sketch of “Otterman and Hedgehogboy” Because of reasons. :D View high resolution

Quick and silly sketch of “Otterman and Hedgehogboy”

Because of reasons. :D

“Molly, I think I love him.” Another drawing inspired by Let Us Love Nobly by oliviaonthetrain. I’m sad this story is finished now. Sequel, please. View high resolution

“Molly, I think I love him.”

Another drawing inspired by Let Us Love Nobly by oliviaonthetrain. I’m sad this story is finished now. Sequel, please.

A lovely ficlet for of my “Sherlock after the Fall” series. Thank you so much. I look forward to more, and am curious which drawings you are going to pick.khorazir: “Sherlock after the Fall: Disguising” On with the series. This is drawing #9. Eight more to go (as yet), but I may draw some silly crack next, before carrying on with these angsty themes. Don’t hesitate to suggest scenes you’d like to see. missilemuse: Snip… It was unexpected, the jolt he felt as he saw the small curled lock of hair drift to down to the dirty bathroom tiles. Even in the grand scheme of his life, where eating and drinking had only been considered a perfunctory and tiresome requirement of his transport, he was surprised to feel regret as he chipped at the head of keratin tissue which was quite capable of growing back. Snip… He had tried to deleting the memories, they were just pointless distractions at the moment and he couldn’t risk dividing his attention from the hunt. Snip… He had failed of course. Even now, as he closed his eyes, he could feel a callused, gentle hand thread through the tangle, the fingers warm and electric against his scalp activating receptors he hadn’t known he possessed as they tightened proprietarily, the gentleness inexorably replaced by need as he was pulled forward and… NO! His eyes snapped open as reality re-asserted itself. The small mirror reflected the anger etched in every line of his face. He couldn’t allow himself a lapse like that. He thought he had locked it, that one room in his mind-palace. He had sworn to stay away from it. After what he had done, he had forfeited the right to enter. But he was going to earn it back, even if it took the rest of his life. Snip Snip Snip Snip Snip… View high resolution

A lovely ficlet for of my “Sherlock after the Fall” series. Thank you so much. I look forward to more, and am curious which drawings you are going to pick.

khorazir:

“Sherlock after the Fall: Disguising”

On with the series. This is drawing #9. Eight more to go (as yet), but I may draw some silly crack next, before carrying on with these angsty themes. Don’t hesitate to suggest scenes you’d like to see.

missilemuse:

Snip… It was unexpected, the jolt he felt as he saw the small curled lock of hair drift to down to the dirty bathroom tiles. Even in the grand scheme of his life, where eating and drinking had only been considered a perfunctory and tiresome requirement of his transport, he was surprised to feel regret as he chipped at the head of keratin tissue which was quite capable of growing back.

Snip… He had tried to deleting the memories, they were just pointless distractions at the moment and he couldn’t risk dividing his attention from the hunt.

Snip… He had failed of course. Even now, as he closed his eyes, he could feel a callused, gentle hand thread through the tangle, the fingers warm and electric against his scalp activating receptors he hadn’t known he possessed as they tightened proprietarily, the gentleness inexorably replaced by need as he was pulled forward and… NO!

His eyes snapped open as reality re-asserted itself. The small mirror reflected the anger etched in every line of his face. He couldn’t allow himself a lapse like that.

He thought he had locked it, that one room in his mind-palace. He had sworn to stay away from it. After what he had done, he had forfeited the right to enter.

But he was going to earn it back, even if it took the rest of his life.

Snip Snip Snip Snip Snip…


(Reblogged from missilemuse)
“Mordecai rampant”, inspired by Fawsley’s hilarious fic Money’s too tight to mention: John and Sherlock come up with … er … creative ways of earning cash to pay their respective half of the rent. View high resolution

“Mordecai rampant”, inspired by Fawsley’s hilarious fic Money’s too tight to mention: John and Sherlock come up with … er … creative ways of earning cash to pay their respective half of the rent.