Have A Flash Bastard As An Apology I'm So RRY 

derailed

my first attempt on Sketchbook Express - female Sauron in battle. original design by reforgedmairon.

les mis au / the walking dead

several years ago, a zombie outbreak occurred and the world fell into irreparable shambles. almost all communications were shut down and since then many have lost hope of ever contacting loved ones. to survive, most people have broken up into small groups, but hostilities run deeply between survivors as they search out whatever supplies remain. jean valjean, after surviving the initial wave of chaos encounters a girl named cosette wandering the streets with a shotgun resting on her shoulder. because cosette had lost her mother recently and valjean also had no family left to speak of, the two decide to travel together at least until they find somewhere safe. they eventually run into enjolras and his unkempt group of survivors who have been scraping by in a small section of the city they have barricaded off. gavroche scouts out supplies, enjolras tries to make the difficult decisions for the group, and grantaire sits around with a shotgun and a bottle of whiskey. javert is a part of the remaining military force that exists in a heavily guarded base outside of the city limits. the military has attempted to “aid” the survivors behind the barricade, but it has long been suspected among the survivors that their true intentions are to line them up against a wall and shoot them, so they have not given an inch. it doesn’t matter so much in the end, because everyone is a carrier of the virus, and no matter how you die, you turn.

Many thanks to @perplexingly for giving us permission to use her gorgeous piece of art of Mithrellas and Nimrodel in our banner. ♥

Femslash February is coming, and Silmladylove is playing Fanworks Drabbletag! 

We’re playing what now?

Fanworks Drabbletag! It’s easy and a lot of fun - all you need to do pick a prompt from the list we’ll be compiling, and answer it, earning the right to send prompts of your own for others to fill. Drabbletag usually is a writing challenge, but we’ve decided to expand it to other types of fanworks - edits, fanmixes, art, fic or meta, and anything else, provided it won’t take too much time and effort (unless you want it to, of course). 

Are there any rules that I should keep in mind?

Not a lot of them! You don’t have to sign up anywhere, we’re keeping things informal and voluntary. For starters, you’re allowed to send in a “free” prompt to get the challenge moving (and sending prompts, either starters or earned ones, does not require you to create any fills), and once you’ve got around to filling, you can earn the right to send in more prompts depending on the length of your fill: 

Up to 250 words/5 songs/a 3-picture edit/a sketch: one prompt. Up to 500 words/10 songs/a 5-picture edit/a clean sketch: two prompts. Up to and above 1000 words/15 songs/a 9-picture edit/a finished piece of art: three prompts.

Of course all prompts and fills should be Tolkien femslash from any point of the Legendarium, featuring female canon characters (rather than Rule 63′d male characters), OFCs, and/or characters of indeterminate gender like Elemmírë or Malbeth who are sometimes read as female by fandom. Please tag your fills as #sll drabbletag so we can find and reblog them for everyone to see - and most of all, have fun! The challenge will be open for prompts for all of February, and if there are fills you only finish after Femslash February ends, please send them in regardless.

We’ll open for starter prompts on January 27th and you can begin sending in fills on February 1st. If you have any questions, please send us an ask and we’ll try our best to help!

“you mocked me once, never do it again!” she cried, furious. “i died that day! and you can die too, for all i care!” she shoved him, and he tumbled down the steep slope.

“as you wish!” he called after her.

“westley?” she said -- and stared at the masked man, hurtling downwards. his voice had been familiar, yes, but it was only with the familiar words that she recognized him.

how could her westley have said such horrible things to her?

“why did you say those things?” she shouted down to him, after he had landed.

“what?”

“why did you say all those awful, cruel things to me?”

he stared up at her, a little black figure, and buttercup felt sad for the first time since humperdinck had proposed to her. the blankness of loss was one thing. the cruelty of a loved one was different, and somehow sharper.

“why did you agree to marry humperdinck?” he called. “i told you i would come back!”

“you were dead!”

“death cannot stop true love! it can only delay it for a while.”

“oh! that is easy for you to say!” she cried. “what if you thought i was dead? what would you have done?”

“not gone off and married some princess, that’s for certain!”

“i already told you, i don’t love humperdinck -- and anyway, he would have had me killed if i hadn’t agreed to marry him! would you have rather i died?”

“buttercup --”

“would you have rather i died?”

he paused, and shook his head.

“you knew the sicilian and his gang had kidnapped me. you could have found out why i married humperdinck, couldn’t you?”

“i heard rumors.”

“rumors of what?”

“well, how cruel he is, how his friend count tyrone has a torture chamber ...”

“how could you have thought that i loved him, then?”

“well, i --”

“how,” she continued, even more angry and even more sad, “could you have thought i would love a scheming tyrant like him? do you really think so badly of me?”

“buttercup, i --”

“at least humperdinck has the decency of telling me how horrible he is! but you -- you tell me that you love me, and at the first doubt you turn on me, you call me faithless, you threaten to strike me!”

“humperdinck threatened to chop your head off!” he yelled, indignant. “how can hitting you be even close to as bad?”

“be quiet!” buttercup exploded, and, surprised by such a vehement command, westley obeyed. “i am sick of you telling me what’s good and what’s bad, what’s right and what’s wrong! you have all these pretty words that you use, but none of them means anything! death can’t stop true love -- well, it mustn’t have been very true, if preventing my own death made you stop loving me. or did you ever actually love me at all?”

and for once, westley had no witty, ready-made answer.

john faa and maggie costa is the relationship we should be yammering about. asriel this marisa coulter that. where's the quiet strength, where's the unassuming command, the unflagging respect. where's the actual parental emotion and action instead of the occasional closeup on their face as they sadly contemplate the burden of being responsible for a child and then shirk it immediately. where's the love and tenderness. it's right there. with john faa, king of the western gyptians, and maggie costa, the best mother in the world, holding hands while they take the bolvangar children home. it is Right There.

The Death of Grantaire and Enjolras Et, se tournant vers Enjolras avec douceur, il lui dit: – Permets-tu? Enjolras lui serra la main en souriant. Ce sourire n’était pas achevé que la détonation éclata. Enjolras, traversé de huit coups de feu, resta adossé au mur comme si les balles l’y eussent cloué. Seulement il pencha la tête. Grantaire, foudroyé, s’abattit à ses pieds. Enjolras by me and  Grantaire by @vanille-francaise

I aten’t dead!

messy der Tod from Elisabeth das musical, because I can’t get this out of my head.

on the steps of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain.

reference: (x).

Street rat… turned thief

“A lugubrious being was Montparnasse. Montparnasse was a child; less than twenty years of age, with a handsome face, lips like cherries, charming black hair, the brilliant light of springtime in his eyes; he had all vices and aspired to all crimes.

The digestion of evil aroused in him an appetite for worse. It was the street boy turned pickpocket, and a pickpocket turned garroter. He was genteel, effeminate, graceful, robust, sluggish, ferocious. The rim of his hat was curled up on the left side, in order to make room for a tuft of hair, after the style of 1829. He lived by robbery with violence. His coat was of the best cut, but threadbare. 

Montparnasse was a fashion-plate in misery and given to the commission of murders. The cause of all this youth’s crimes was the desire to be well-dressed. The first grisette who had said to him: “You are handsome!” had cast the stain of darkness into his heart, and had made a Cain of this Abel. Finding that he was handsome, he desired to be elegant: now, the height of elegance is idleness; idleness in a poor man means crime. Few prowlers were so dreaded as Montparnasse. At eighteen, he had already numerous corpses in his past. More than one passer-by lay with outstretched arms in the presence of this wretch, with his face in a pool of blood. Curled, pomaded, with laced waist, the hips of a woman, the bust of a Prussian officer, the murmur of admiration from the boulevard wenches surrounding him, his cravat knowingly tied, a bludgeon in his pocket, a flower in his buttonhole; such was this dandy of the sepulcher.”