#drew it in April so it's not like I have any excuse for the winter vibes except third sem shuake is my fave

[onehundredfallenpetals]

Third semester, my beloved

Dialogue for anyone struggling to read it:

Akechi: For Maruki, which do you think wins? The people hoping the trains are still running in the snow, or the people hoping to be "stranded" with their crush? He can't do both, after all.

Akira: Stranded would for me, probably

Akechi: I hope you think of a better way of asking to come home with me, Akira

[jojo-schmo]

Another batch of Forgotten Land Roleswap asks!

Look under the cut for answers and a behind the scenes sketch page! ;D

Thank you for the kind words!

Meta Knight doesn't have Mouthful-mode in my particular AU- Combo-mode is more Sworn Partner-flavored which is I why I went with it. But also for some reason I literally cannot bring myself to draw Meta consuming automobiles and vending machines. Too wild of a concept for me! But if anyone reading this is capable of doing so, I welcome the possibility HAHA

I had to hold onto this ask for a while because you gave me some really good food for thought! As of now I don't have plans to swap any of them since they don't play a big part in the comic but if I get struck by divine inspiration, I'll have you to thank for putting the idea in my head!

Stubborn knight!! I think he's so used to being self-sufficient that he dislikes being "coddled" by others and prefers to take things into his own hands. This is actually something the comic will explore down the line! I've interpreted some other possible reasons why he's so stubborn about this but it will have to be revealed in the future ;)

Aww thank you!! I'm glad you like his design, I put plenty of love into it! Maybe this is a good excuse for me to share the page I designed him on and some of the backstory behind it:

The above were my very first Roleswap drawings back in April 2022! It was born purely out of my desire to see a badass Bandee boss fight and I had just finished the Forgotten Land game. I started at the top and ended up with the designs at the bottom right- with a few additional changes these became the final versions! I wanted him to have more of an Awoofy silhouette since I figured they're a great equivalent to Popstar's Waddle Dees!

An AU creation fun fact: I initially just swapped Bandee and Dedede! I drew the above that same month- this is supposed to be the cutscene before the Winter Horns boss where the big reveal happened! Kirby was P1 and Dedede was P2. I didn't even create Roleswap Elfilis yet!

But the more I explored the possibilities, the more roles I swapped. It took me like another month to actually have the Sworn Partners be the "playable" characters, shuffle the Beast Pack around, and finish the rest of the swaps.

That was a long-winded way of saying, thanks for liking Roleswap Bandee!! I owe the little Awoofy Dee a lot because without him I wouldn't be having a blast making this AU!!

Ahh thank you so very much!! Combo moves were so fun to make haha. I love some good teamwork.

And yes, I love writing their dynamic too! I figured if they already understood each other perfectly at the beginning of the story, it would be kinda boring. Don't get me wrong, they are already pretty close in the beginning- enough to tease and be prickly idiots with each other while still maintaining that respect between them! :P But they are going to have some nice opportunities to get to know each other better, build even more trust, and reach a deeper understanding~! <3

Oooh! Interesting theory~ *whistles a non spoilery-tune*

These are more comments than questions but I still wanted to share them! Ya'll make me laugh!

If you've made it this far, I leave you with a tag from @what-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me on Pages 31-32. It made me laugh until I choked. xD

Thank you all for continuing to brighten my inbox and feed with your great questions and comments!

[trb-reacts]

The Raven Boys, Chapter 14

“When is Mom’s birthday?” Helen asked. Gansey was simultaneously pleased to hear her voice and annoyed to be bothered by something so trivial. For the most part, he and his sister got along well; Gansey siblings were a rare and complicated species, and they didn’t have to pretend to be something they weren’t around each other.

Umm, excuse you, Gansey. How dare you call your mom’s birthday trivial?? Also, I’m a little amused but glad to see that not all of my rich people stereotypes are coming up here. I expected all the siblings to be very cold with them *eyes at the Lynch brothers*, but that’s not the case and Gansey’s family seems pretty close with each other for most part? 

(Except for the dad, of course, who threatened to remove Gansey from inheriting anything if he gets below a B)

But, yeah, I’m just glad that there’s at least some healthy sibling relationships around here. 

“You’re the wedding planner,” Gansey said as a dog ripped out of nowhere. It barked furiously, trying to bite the Camaro’s tires.

Lol, I don’t know why with the way this is written, I’m beginning to think that Gansey’s car tires is made of rich people leather and that’s why the dog all of sudden just raised its head, went idk STEAK! and just ripped outta nowhere towards Gansey’s car tires. Also I’m amused because I just recall Gansey’s car is named the Pig, I think, which… makes sense why the dog is going after it?

Helen did not need to be anything. She didn’t have careers, she had hobbies that involved other people’s lives.

Oh, now that definitely sounds more like a rich person thing. She didn’t have careers, she had a fortune of old money to live off of. Oh wait, that’s not what it said? I think that’s just my bitterness towards these rich families coming out. Gee, how does Adam ever stand them?

Also, She didn’t have careers, she had hobbies that involved other people’s live, sounds like such a bored married housewife would nothing to do thing, like, uh, I have nothing to do ever since I don’t work, so let’s just gossip and try to backseat drive your life. 

In all honesty, I like Helen so far. The first thing she really called about is to ask about her mother’s birthday, which while shows that she does not remember, she at least cares?? And Gansey likes her, which is a nice vote of confidence in my book *just eyes at Ronan, my nonsecret fav in the book, and Adam, the sweetheart*. Yeah, so I don’t know why I’m kinda lowkey roasting her. I think I just don’t like too many hints of Old Money and Rich People, since I’m poor. 

A lab mix tied in front of the first house bayed dolorously as he passed. The other dog continued to worry at his tires, a snarl ascending with the engine note.

Why does it seem like there’s so many dogs in this neighborhood, though I do very much love dogs. 

Three kids in sleeveless shirts stood in one of the yards shooting milk jugs with BB guns; they shouted Hey, Hollywood! and affably aimed guns at the Pig’s tires. They pretended to hold phones by their ears. Gansey felt a peculiar stab at the three of them, their camaraderie, their belonging, products of their surroundings. He wasn’t sure if it was pity or envy. Everywhere was dust.

Oh, there was something about this scene. Three again, after the reading with Blue and Whelk last time, three kids. Gansey felt a peculiar stab at the three of them, their camaraderie, their belonging, products of their surroundings. Like, it sounds very much like envy, except Gansey does have kinda these things among the raven boys. The only issue is that, well, life is never as simple for Gansey or the raven boys as it could be for these three random kids, since life is always complicated when old money and a circle of influential family is involved. 

Also, just the ending of this paragraph. Everywhere was dust. Gansey couldn’t see clearly, just which one is which, envy and pity swirling together? Or was it a matter of showing how low these kids are compared to Gansey and his background, little specks that means nothing in the end, even if they have more - their camaraderie, their belonging, products of their surroundings - than Gansey thinks he can ever have. 

“I’m going to see a friend.” “The mean one, or the white trash one?” “Helen.” She replied, “Sorry. I meant Captain Frigid or Trailer-Park Boy.”

I would say that I’m not sure if I should be amused or offended, but that would be a lie. I’m offended. Is this prejudice against people who’s not born into the same rich background as them? I’m very happy that my mind knew what was up and was roasting her even before this line came up. 

Also, I think it’s kinda obvious by now, but Noah really isn’t actually part of the group. People refer to the boys as Gansey&Ronan&Adam. Noah is making very few appearances. 

“Dad calls them worse things,” Helen said.

I’m sorry, darling, but that’s really no excuse. You can think for yourself, can’t you, instead of pointing fingers and saying, Well, as least I’m not as mean as him!

Somehow seeing his parents always reminded him of how little he’d accomplished, how similar he and Helen were, how many red ties he owned, how he was slowly growing up to be everything Ronan was afraid of becoming.

Oh, intriguing. How little he has accomplished. Low self-esteem or just the idea that his value depends on how much he has accomplished, though I understand that in this case, it probably came from his upbringing. How much red ties, I’m not sure what that means. I think I’m mostly intrigued by how he was slowly growing up to be everything Ronan was afraid of becoming, mostly because I’m wondering if Gansey is also afraid of becoming that rich white guy as well. And just, also, the idea that Ronan is afraid instead of hate, as though Ronan thinks his potential to be what he doesn’t want to be is very much there to turn potential to reality. 

Fat, shiny carpenter bees swooped at his head, distracted from their work of destroying the stairs.

Bees… destroys stairs????

The idea that you had to pay for the beauty in Henrietta should have occurred to him before then, but it hadn’t. No matter how many times Adam told him he was foolish about money, he couldn’t seem to get any wiser about it.

Oh, Gansey, everything is paid in money, but you use it as easily as breathing. For some people, money is paid in breaths, in time, in huffs of breaths of toil and hours worked to accumulate for so little. 

There is no spring here, Gansey realized, and the thought was unexpectedly grim.

This is a profound line, but I’m mostly thinking about how it’s April and still it feels like fucking winter. No spring indeed for me, this year. Metaphorically applies too, since this year sucks for me so far. 

Adam’s knees bent as if he were going to scoot himself out from under the car, but then he didn’t. 

Gansey knew what this meant, this failure to immediately come out from beneath the car, and anger and guilt drew his chest tight. The most frustrating thing about the Adam situation was that Gansey couldn’t control it. Not a single piece of it. 

Oh, Adam. I don’t know if I want Adam to not come out because he doesn’t want Gansey to see that he is beat up for being caught after trying to sneak out, or because Adam is angry at Gansey. The former because Adam being so considerate just breaks my heart and the latter because I think Adam is the type to, in a very non-hyperbolic way, kill himself trying to help those he care about and I really want Adam to be able to… not exactly stand up for himself because Gansey doesn’t really bully Adam so much as ask him for stuff despite knowing it would be difficult for Adam, but at least be able to say no and be able to put himself before others on some occasions. 

A bruise spread over his cheekbone, red and swelling as a galaxy. A darker one snaked over the bridge of his nose.

</3 oh, Adam.

“And what about when Glendower takes you away from Henrietta?” Gansey couldn’t say it wouldn’t happen. “You come with.”

Oh, and Adam says his faith in Gansey’s dream is incomplete. When he says, though I supposed it is incomplete, at least in Gansey. Adam didn’t think Gansey would take him with him. 

Rags to riches isn’t a story anyone wants to hear until after it’s done. 

Too true, too heartbreaking. Everyone wants to hear a ‘I preserve, worked hard and I succeeded, it paid off’. Who wants to hear a ‘and I’m still trying, with no success in sight’? 

But it was a story that was hard to finish when Adam had missed school yet again. There was no happy ending without passing grades.

Don’t be so real, guys. Reality is setting in and this is not what I signed up for when I started reading this book. 

And this was an uneasy place to be, because Gansey knew it took a lot for Adam to accept his reasons for chasing Glendower. Adam had plenty of reasons to be indifferent about Gansey’s nebulous anxiety, his questioning of why the universe had chosen him to be born to affluent parents, wondering if there was some greater purpose that he was alive.

The poor are sad they’re poor, Adam had once mused, and turns out the rich are sad they’re rich. 

Sigh, the grass is always greener on the other side and I can imagine how much it sucks for Adam to see everything he ever wanted be in every other person’s hand, not because they earned it but because they were born with it. They have everything Adam ever wanted and still, they want more. 

And Ronan had said, Hey, I’m rich, and it doesn’t bother me.

Except ‘growing up to be everything Ronan was afraid of becoming’, yeah, being rich doesn’t bother Ronan. 

Success meant nothing to Adam if he hadn’t done it for himself.

I’m so proud of my son rn but also like, goddamnit Adam, let them help you a little. You don’t have to use connections for everything, but use the connection to get an opportunity to prove yourself, would you?

“You’ve watched too many cop shows.” “I’ve watched the evening news, Adam,”

Nice comeback, Gansey, mostly because i agree with him. This is one sad reality. 

“Why don’t you let Ronan teach you to fight? He’s offered twice now. He means it.”

I did not expect to hear this, but now I’m just so happy and proud. Ronan, wanting Adam to be able to defend himself, and offers to teach him. Ronan, offering twice. I’m so happy. 

“Because then he will kill me.” “I don’t follow.” Adam said, “He has a gun.”

Well, there goes my happiness out the door. Adam’s father sucks the life and happiness outta me and we haven’t actually even met him yet. Jesus. 

Not at the double-wides in the foreground, but past them, to the flat, endless field with its tufts of dry grass. So many things survived here without really living.

But… can I say ‘but they survive.’ Not living, but still, they survive. And if they survive long enough, they can transfer to a better environment where they can thrive. 

“It means I never get to be my own person. If I let you cover for me, then I’m yours. I’m his now, and then I’ll be yours.”

Yes and no. Yes, because I can see where Adam is coming, I really can, but… there’s a difference between receiving some help and owing someone so much that you owe them everything. But at the same time, I don’t think it’s ever about the degree of help Gansey exert, more like the more helpful the help was to Adam, the more Adam feels like he will owe, even if Gansey’s help might really involve an effortless phone call that would get Adam an interview for a job.

Some days, all that grounded him was the knowledge that his and Adam’s friendship existed in a place that money couldn’t influence.

Gansey, I don’t think you could ever say this so long as you and Adam’s social and monetary status is so different. You can probably say this about you and Ronan, but you’re naive if you thought so between you and Adam. 

“You don’t know how it makes people look at me and at you. It’s all they need to know about us. They’ll think I’m your monkey.“

Ouch. Just.. ouch. 

I am only my money. It is all anyone sees, even Adam.

You’re not only your money, Gansey, but that is a huge part of you. Adam is admittedly bothered by the glaring money part of you that stares him in the face all the time. 

“You’re as bad as her. You think you deserve it.”

Who’s her? Adam’s mom?

“Don’t pretend you know,” he said. “Don’t come here and pretend you know anything.” Gansey told himself to walk away. To say nothing else. Then he said, “Don’t pretend you have anything to be proud of, then.”

Oh Gansey, have you ever thought that it is exactly because Adam has nothing to be proud of that he clings onto his pride, the fact  that everything he has is because he earned it, because there is nothing else. He is building from bottom up, and it is true, people only want to hear stories of rag to riches. Would you have said the same, would you have been able to say those words, Gansey, if Adam already became rich?

As soon as he said it, he knew that it wasn’t fair, or even if it had been fair, it wasn’t right. But he wasn’t sorry he’d said it.

I would like to condemn Gansey, but… he is just awfully human, contradictory and acting on emotions and all. I can’t blame him, even if he shouldn’t have said it. The rich have their rich problem, the poor has theirs. 

He imagined coming here one day and finding that Adam wasn’t here, but in the hospital, or worse, that Adam was here, but that something important had been beaten out of him.

His pride or his life, Gansey, because I think you just tried to beat Adam’s pride out of him to save his life. And I’m not sure if that was for the better. 

… okay, I guess I’m not that forgiving towards Gansey. I can relate to Adam better, from one poor person to the other. 

Gansey could see his irises moving underneath the thin skin of his eyelids, a dreamer awake.

a dreamer awake, it said. Oh, this is so heartbreaking. Just… an optimist that had life lessons beaten into it one time too many for him to not turn into a realistic. And real life is that it is hard, it sucks, it’s not fair and not everyone would get what they deserve, even if they try. 

Now Adam looked at Gansey. There was something fierce and chilling in his eyes, an unnamable something that Gansey was always afraid would eventually take over completely. This, he knew, was a compromise, a risky gift that he could choose to reject.

In which Gansey asks for too much and when he learned to stop asking because he realize it costs Adam too much, Adam offers because… he’s Adam and Gansey is his friend. 

Adam’s breath stopped audibly. Through the windshield, Gansey met the eyes of Adam’s father.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckafkaslfdjgfkldfj. The price is high, so high. Adam, I know you said you need to return by 10, but please don’t. Please. Move in with Gansey, Ronan and Noah, finish up your college degree, get a good job, be successful, be happy. Don’t go back. 

Aaaand, we’ve come to the end of this chapter. What can I say besides too much had happened and emotions and risks run high. Next stop, back to Blue. 

[ncfan-1]

and never wake

Rían wanders Beleriand alone.

Written for the LLA April 18th, 2015 picture prompt, Broken Sundowns.

[CN/TW: Implied suicidal ideation/suicide, depression, trauma]

------------------------------------------

In the winter, Rían came to the Mithrim Elves, and in the spring, she left them, her mouth painted with slim, brittle smiles, her voice high with too-light notes, her ears full of the wind. She did not strain her ears to listen for the suggestion of Tuor’s cries. Realizing that she wasn’t listening for him filled her chest with something she could not name, but it mattered little, even when it threatened to stop her heart beating. There was little that could be made to matter, these days.

She stared over the desolate gray wilderness, wondering if Orcs would jump out at her from the shadows, or if Gilrin would come tearing after her, trying one last time to convince her not to leave. This was hardly the first time Rían had had to make such a journey, and all the other times, she had been filled with such panic, as had not abated until she reached a safe haven, and each haven seeming less safe than the last. She had thought of nothing but reaching safety when she did not have it. Of living long enough to reach safety.

Now?

Now, there was no such urgency rooted in her breast. Beleriand was more dangerous a place than ever, and Rían felt nothing. She had no particular destination in mind, beyond the faint dream of finding the site of Huor’s death. It occurred to her briefly to try Dor-lómin, to try to convince Morwen and Aerin to flee, but the thought drifted away from her, too tenuous to catch hold of again. Dor-lómin must surely be under occupation by now, and most likely, Rían would never reach them to deliver any pleas.

(They were not like her, too rooted to the place in which they lived to ever think of leaving it. They were stronger than her, Rían supposed, strong enough to weather a storm without bolting, but there was no helping it, now.)

The strength of the Ñoldor and the Edain was broken, and now was the heyday of the Enemy and his Orcs, and Rían felt none of the fear she had known before. No panic, no trepidation or even watchfulness. She walked slowly through the gray wilderness of Mithrim, and did not look back.

-0-0-0-

“The battle will go well, or so we hope.”

Huor was already more solemn a man than his brother—indeed, more solemn a man than most of the Men of the House of Hador. He was good-natured, one of the gentlest men Rían had ever known, but he spoke always with seriousness, and rarely would you hear him laugh. He was rather like his nephew in this—indeed, Huor and Túrin got on famously, perhaps because Huor spoke to the boy just as he spoke to any adult, with complete seriousness.

Though Rían had found that seriousness a touch daunting when they had first met, never before has she thought it laden with worry, or doubt. Now, however…

“But you are not certain,” Rían supplied, reaching out and clasping his hand in hers.

He smiled half-heartedly. “It’s not enough to justify changing our plans, or postponing them. But I… I just feel things, at times.” He stared off into the distance, his eyes glazed and troubled. “And I dislike the idea of leaving you here alone, in your condition.”

At that, Rían couldn’t help but smile. “I’m hardly alone.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “And I think the battle will go well, if you only believe it will.”

-0-0-0-

Rían’s meandering path took her through lands burned during the aftermath of the battle, when the Enemy’s forces, giddy with victory, must have grown enthusiastic in their celebrations. She passed burned farmsteads, broken, blackened shells that shivered in the wind. She passed fields gone fallow, fields burned in the old year that were just now putting up shoots in the new. All the Edain were gone from this place, carried off to Angband as slaves, or killed, perhaps, though Rían saw no bodies.

Neither did Rían see any livestock, nor game animals she could have caught, so the knife the Elves had given her when she left them was put to use digging out and cutting roots from the cold, hard earth. Those she could still find, though not in abundance, and rarely much larger than the length and width of one of her fingers. There was nothing else in this dim, gray world.

She couldn’t name the plants the roots came from. It occurred to Rían, vaguely, that she should have been able to—she had been able to tell at a glance that they were edible. But the names she had known all her life slipped out of her mind, even when they were the names of plants she had tended in her garden in Dor-lómin. It mattered not. She would never have her garden again. The afternoons she had spent there with Aerin and Húrin would never come again. It did not matter at all.

(The nameless thing was in her chest again, battering on her ribs, insisting on being heard. Rían heard it—she could not help but hear it—but she sighed heavily rather than respond. It couldn’t make her respond. Not yet.)

She ate without joy under rock and rain, under twisted, broken tree and under rolling banks of woolen fog. Rían never could pin down the taste of the roots she ate, if they were bitter or sweet, metallic or earthen. They were rough and hard, and it took long, slow chewing to render them a mush that was as ash in her mouth, and felt like a rock in her throat. It satisfied hunger, and no more.

Memory reached back for the dim islands that were Ladros. Of when she had sat down to eat with her family—mother and father, aunt and uncle, Morwen and Beren; even Andreth could at times be persuaded to leave her home and join them. What they had eaten together escaped Rían. Its flavor and aroma, these things were overlaid by the choking smoke that had descended upon Ladros ere they fled. But the savor of companionship, that Rían remembered all too clearly. It cut into her like the edge of a sword when she had to sit out under open sky, alone.

-0-0-0-

Spring had come at last, the trees decked out in their fresh, tender leaves, birds returning home from balmy southern haunts, and the ground thawed enough that you could actually dig into the earth with your hands, rather than fear you’d break your shovel’s blade. Of that, Rían was glad. In winter, it seemed as though all the world was dying. She was grateful for spring to come again, and assure her it was not.

“Now, Lalaith, can you tell me what this animal is?”

Morwen and Húrin needed their children away from their home for a few hours. Being at loose ends, Rían was the first person they would have looked to to mind Túrin and Lalaith, and Rían hardly minded having an excuse to be out of doors for a few hours. With Túrin expressing no desire to play, Rían had taken them to a spot in the copse just outside the settlement, where the grass gave way to a smooth patch of dirt. Rían knew a few ways for them to spend their time.

“Bird!” Lalaith exclaimed, squirming in Rían’s lap and twisting around to look expectantly up at her.

Rían nodded and smiled down at her. “That’s right; it is a bird.” She pointed to the shape she had drawn in the dir. “Can you tell me what kind of bird it is?”

Lalaith turned back to scrutinizing the etching, her face hidden from Rían’s sight by her flaxen curls. The tiny girl had never seen this particular sort of bird before, though she had had it described to her at least once Rían could recall. Hopefully, she would be able to remember the name now; wouldn’t that be something to tell Morwen?

But Túrin, leaning heavily into Rían’s side as he was, seemed ill-pleased with his sister’s progress. “It’s a barn owl,” he muttered. “Isn’t it, Aunt Rían?”

“Shh.” Rían put a finger to her lips in chastisement, and fortunately, Lalaith did not seem to hear.

-0-0-0-

The land was empty. The days and weeks drew slowly by, and the land was empty, but for her. Rían saw no Elves, no Orcs, no Man either of Edain or Incomer stock. Rían scarcely saw any animals, catching sight only of the occasional hart at dawn or twilight, and the skittish things would run from her as though running from a hunter. No birdsong reached Rían’s ears. Even the flow of the water in such streams as she passed seemed muffled in sound. Only she passed through the shadowed land, and met no other traveler.

Perhaps there was no one else left. Perhaps the battle had claimed so many that Rían could wander through empty Beleriand and never find another living soul. Perhaps the forces of the Ñoldor and the Edain had not just been broken, but utterly eradicated, and they had somehow succeeded in doing the same to their enemies. Perhaps she would never see another living person, not as long as she lived.

No one to hinder her.

No one to fill her ears with talk.

No one to hold her in their arms.

No one to stop her.

She ought to have felt something to accompany these thoughts. Rían supposed she ought to have wept or screamed, rent her clothing or ripped her hair out at the roots. Certainly, that nameless thing inside her was growing louder with each passing day, its howls both ear-splitting and voiceless. But Rían felt weightless, insubstantial, far too light. It was as though someone had scooped out everything inside her that mattered, everything that might have rooted her to the ground, and sewn her skin shut over dry, hollow bones. It did not matter. Her home was occupied by their enemies. All was lost, and it did not matter. She could not bring herself to make it matter.

Rían’s weary feet carried her ever onwards.

-0-0-0-

It was summer in Ladros, and memory failed Rían in most respects but for recollection of golden sunlight shooting through trees, and Morwen walking besides her down a narrow, winding trail.

“A story!” Rían begged her cousin, tugging gently at her pale hand. “Won’t you tell me a story?”

Morwen shook her hand away, but did not frown as she answered, “I haven’t any stories you’d like. Go ask Beren.”

This had not satisfied little Rían, who kept trailing after her cousin, staring imploringly up at her. “But Andreth’s been teaching you stories. You must know more stories than Beren if she’s teaching you.”

Morwen had stopped, and sighed lightly. She went and sat down by a tall tree, and stared expectantly at the younger girl. “Well? Come here, and I’ll tell you a story you’ve not heard before. But only a short one; Mother wants me at home.”

-0-0-0-

Rían had passed into a brown, ruined land many days ago, where she could find no food and hunger clawed at her like a ravening beast, until it too receded and left her only emptiness. There were no trees in this brown land, only the empty expanse, and bitter winds choked with dust assaulted her at all times. Though she clutched her tattered cloak close about her, the wind still beat on her back and shoulders, and the dust clogged in her mouth and nose. It had a foul, bitter taste, and a reek that made Rían’s eyes water whenever she was made to smell it.

All of Beleriand will be like this, soon, she thought to herself, blinking the noisome dust from her eyes. Our Enemy delights in taking all that is good and green and twisting it to be a reflection of his own mind. Morwen said that. When… did she say that…

There’s no one left to stop him.

She slept, when weariness took her, under open sky. There was nothing here that could shelter her—no trees, no burned-out shells of homesteads, no bushes, no rocks or caves. The Moon was hidden from Rían’s sight. The stars were veiled.

One day, something green rose out of the wasteland, an island in a sea of dust.

Rían drew near to it, stood in its shadow, and her breath caught in her throat. It was a hill, a massive green hill, large enough to swallow whole the house of the Lord of Dor-lómin; its shadow drew on seemingly forever. It rose over flatlands, and with one glance, Rían knew what it was.

When so many died at once, graves were not dug for each man that had fallen. They rested together, with the earth their shield from prying eyes. But oh, who had taken the time to make the grave…

(The nameless thing in Rían’s chest went silent, dead silent.)

Here was the last hope of the Edain, crushed, broken, consigned to the earth. Here was the sum of Rían’s life: a green mound in a brown land where her kin had been laid to rest, her husband among them, perhaps, but who could say for sure? They would never fight again. There would be no new day for Men, not now.

Rían collapsed against the mound, sheltered by its shadow, breathing in the smell of the grass. Sweet, so sweet, and yet the noisome stench of the dust was such that she could hardly make it out. She fumbled the knife the Elves had given her in her hands, turning it over and again, wincing at the watery flashes of light that came when the keen blade caught the weak Sun. And when night fell, she let sleep take her.

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Edain—Men of the three houses (the Houses of Bëor, Hador and Haleth) who were faithful to the Elves throughout the First Age; after the War of Wrath they were gifted with the land of Númenor and became known as the Dúnedain; after the Akallabêth they established Arnor and Gondor (singular: Adan) (Sindarin)

[baftalistening]

This was week one of Sketchbook Summer. People seem to have a prompts list for this challenge, but I can’t find it! If you know where it is, please send me a link! Regardless, I am having a lot of fun drawing this week. Some days it has been a challenge to fill the 3.5 pages, but other days I get on a roll and more than make up for it. I did the math, and so long as I complete 24 spreads per week, I will be golden. The thing I find myself noticing the most is the fact that I have to wait for my paint to dry… and even though I’m still in the art-making-mood, I can’t flip to the next page because I need to wait for my paint to dry! Ah, first-world-artist problems, eh? 

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Sketches from the Aquarium

More sketches from the aquarium

Pretty leaves

Quick lifedrawing from a dancing video

Sketches from the Zoo

A tree outside the Zoo gift shop

Little girl seen at a park – all the rest from my imagination

Blind contour drawing of Katya

Amy from Veep

Learning about the body from “Draw from your Head”

More body practice

  This has been a busy week, mainly because of teaching. Highlights include: Going a packed aquarium with a group of 50 students while everyone else had the holiday Monday off; taking the same enormous group to the Toronto Zoo and slowly inching our way through “Africa,” baking under the hot sun; and finally, going shopping with 50 teenagers. The life of a teacher is extremely glamorous, no?

Back in April I had signed up for an online course, which now, I am kinda regretting. This course will qualify me to teach Gr. 11 and 12 English, which is good because it will open the door to me getting a job in a high school, but it adds more onto my daily work load than I would like. If anything, I am taking the fact that doing the course work feels like drudgery to be an indicator that  pursuing something more creative is the correct path for me. I am still on the Artists Way, week 8 just finished… and I am more and more confident in my ability to forge a creative life for myself. This online class has also taught me how bad I am at reading online. Does anyone else get that? What I don’t understand is how is it possible that I spent hours and hours of my life reading fan fiction from the ages of 12 to 20, yet give me a work of non fiction, an assignment, a message, and stick it on a screen and POOF, my eyes glide over it and it means nothing. This is why I flip flop about digital books; they’re just harder to read somehow.

This week, I wanted to talk about SemiSkimmedMin. At first, when I saw her videos, I was annoyed by their beauty and her phenomenal art ability. Yes, I was jealous. She was doing everything I wanted to do… and she had a cool British accent to boot! Not fair! Something drew me back to her channel this week, and after I had blinked a few times to clear the jealousy from my eyes, I discovered what a true wealth of knowledge her channel was! I learned so much from her 30 ways to fill a sketchbook videos —and I haven’t even watched them all!

She recommended a great channel for life drawing videos, and had the great idea of going to google street view and drawing landscapes. Duh! How simple, FREE and amazing is that! I’ve been putting off going to life drawing classes for months now, blaming the cost of a class, fitting the class into my schedule, and the fact that all of the classes are just a little bit farther from home than I’d like them to be… and now I don’t have any excuses! I can do them from home on my computer and keep being the homebody I so desperately want to be! I can definitely see doing google street view drawings when it is way too cold to go outside. Shout out to you, Canadian winter! I highly recommend going to check out her channel. I guarantee you will be inspired!

What have I been reading? (in five-ish words or less)

Poking a Dead Frog: Conversations with Today’s Top Comedy Writers by Mike Sacks “Funny people being inspiring. Sth-aaap!”

I highly recommend this book for anyone who loves comedy, television or movies, or is thinking about living a creative life, or entering “show business”

How to be everything: A guide for those who (still) don’t know what they want to be when they grow up – by Emilie Wapnick “Multipotentialite: Hear me roar!”

Draw from your head: A step by step system for drawing the human figure without a model – Doug Jamieson “Yass, teach me how bodies work!”

What have I been watching? (In five-ish words or less)

SemiSkimmedMin “Let me be you, please!”

Labyrinth “I think I need to have watched this as a kid for it to have been good. Bowie’s sexy as hell, though.*”

*Please don’t hate me for not liking this movie. It was just a little too lame for my mindset at the time, maybe? I would love to read some good Labyrinth fanfiction, though… this movie seems ripe for some good stuff! 

Weekly Update: July 2nd-9th This was week one of Sketchbook Summer. People seem to have a prompts list for this challenge, but I can’t find it!