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Welcome to my art blog.
You may also find an occasional fic or two.
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angel(s) falling from Heaven.

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Thank you!!!

I’m just churning out so much crap art lately, aren’t I?

I should probably wait until I have the patience for decent art…

Ok I’ll stop now.

Inspired by this hilarious message I found in my inbox this morning:


@largerthanlifeus: You win the internet!

- - -

【A Hobbit-Sherlock crossover crack-fic to explain the pic:】

Bilbo Baggins of Bag End had always been a respectable hobbit who minded his own business and led a quiet life. He ate five meals a day (seven when he was particularly hungry, as hobbits are known to get), smoked pipeweed as well as any other hobbit in the Shire, and got on surprisingly well with most of his neighbors. He was an all around well-liked hobbit and whenever young hobbits in their mischievous tweens needed lecturing, Bilbo would always be held up as an exemplar of proper hobbit behavior.


Unbeknownst to his fellow hobbits, however, Bilbo had begun to feel quite peculiar of late. He was visited by the strangest dreams at night, dreams of Big Folk the likes of which he had never heard of or seen. One man in particular seemed to be at the center of all his dreams—A tall, thin, pale man, with tousled black curls, keen blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and an angular nose. He wore a long dark coat, the collar of which he had a habit of flipping up (a habit that Bilbo found exceedingly and inexplicably annoying), and a blue scarf. This man addressed Bilbo as “Jaawwn,” a name which the hobbit was altogether unfamiliar with and yet felt oddly comfortable to assume.   


One day, as Bilbo was taking an afternoon stroll through his garden, he heard a rustling in one of his berry bushes followed by a frustrated snort and squeal. Quite alarmed, the hobbit had half a mind to run and call for help, for hobbits are not fond of strange, unexplained things. But before he could decide what to do, a fat pink foot wriggled out of the bush, followed by another pink foot and another aggravated squeal.               


“Why it’s a pig!” Bilbo cried in surprise and amusement, “Of all the things that could happen to a hobbit on this side of the Brandywine, a pig stuck in a berry bush!”               


He hurried over to the bush and freed the poor creature from its unlikely trap. The pig sniffed his savior gratefully with his wet snout and gave a happy, watery snort.               

“Well be off then, you foolish thing,” Bilbo said, merrily, and with that he turned to go back into his hole.               


But the hobbit had not taken more than four steps before he felt the familiar wet snout pressed up against his left leg. With several unsuccessful shoos, Bilbo continued up the garden path towards his hole and, quickly opening his door, attempted to lock the pig out. Much squealing and snorting ensued. After an hour or so, the hobbit had no choice but let the insistent creature in.               


“If you make a mess of my beloved hole, I will throw you out no matter how much you snort or squeal, Mister Pig,” Bilbo said, resolutely. In his heart of hearts, though, he had already taken a curious liking to this berry-bush pig.               


Within a few days, however, this pig proved to be an incorrigibly inconsiderate guest. It had a strange habit of bringing in dead animals, especially dismembered parts of dead animals, and left them lying in the most inconvenient of places. It also had a love for milk, which was quite odd for a pig, and its insatiable appetite forced Bilbo to have to buy milk almost once a day.               


“Why am I always the one who gets the milk?” the hobbit sometimes asked indignantly, but all he ever received in response was a wet, amused snort.               


And yet, despite all the trouble that Mister Pig caused, Bilbo had grown quite fond of him and had even knitted a scarf for him—a nice blue scarf, though why the color seemed to matter so much, the hobbit did not know.               


The Sackville Bagginses had come by shortly after Bilbo had first stumbled upon Mister Pig and had inquired, quite rudely, if Bilbo had taken their pig. The pig was apparently to be roasted for Lucille’s upcoming birthday.               


“No I have not taken your pig or any pig for that matter!” Bilbo said irritably, “Unlike you lot, the Bagginses of Bag End do not, have not, and will never be thieves of any sort! Good day.”              


And with that, he shut the door quite firmly in his cousins’ faces.  


The next day and the day after and still the day after that, the Sackville Bagginses came back, asking the same question and receiving the same answer from Bilbo. No matter how much they strained their eyes at each visit, they could not see anything stirring in Bag End, and after a week of persistent badgering, the Sackville Bagginses gave up their search for the lost pig.               


“Well that’s that!” Bilbo said, triumphantly. The pig, clad in his blue scarf, waddled over and rubbed his wet snout affectionately against Bilbo’s leg. It snorted two happy, damp snorts and then let out the most curious squeal… A squeal that sounded vaguely like “Jaawwn.”  


A week later, the pig disappeared, leaving only a few muddy footprints by the front door that seemed to spell the letters “S.H.” The very next day, a tall, old wizard clad all in grey arrived in the Shire.               


“Would you like to accompany me on an adventure?” he asked. “There is a dragon who very much wishes to see you.”


Lol. Don’t scrutinize the art or fic too much… both are half-assed cause I’m especially lazy today.

I present to you…

Molly Hooper, Shieldmaiden of Baker Street.

"The one who counted."

She’s disguised in the robes of the enemy.

Everytime I rewatch The Return of the King I get all these feels, and the Eowyn feels are among the greatest (up there with all those hobbit feels). I’ve watched the trilogy at least 20 times now (for each movie) and I still cry. Every. Fucking. Time.

Lord of the Sherlock.

In which Sherlock comes back as Cumbersmaug and traumatizes Hobbit!Freeman (the Rogaine didn’t help). Smaug Holmes then returns to the Lonely Mountains with an injured tail and broken heart, but instead of forgiving Bilbo Watson, he nurses his grief into hatred and quadruple chins. He begins to pillage towns and amass riches to fill the growing emptiness in his heart. When Bilbo Watson finds Smaug Holmes again, it is too late. Buried in a thousand chins, raving maniacally to himself about “not having any friends,” Smaug Holmes can no longer be saved. Bilbo Watson is forced to slay Smaug Holmes and for the rest of his abnormally long hobbit days, he can never forgive himself.

(Lol what is wrong with me?? I’m on a crack art high or something. This was supposed to be somewhat serious at first then I got to panel 4 and it all went out the window. I CAN’T SHIP THIS WITH A STRAIGHT FACE DAMMIT!)

Click here for hi-res.

What even.

God’s prank on Sherlock and John? 

Brain dead and in need of breakfast atm. I’ll stop churning out crap art and go eat something now.

Maybe you guys will find this amusing.

(click to enlarge slightly… should be legible)