Sunday, July 27, 2014

artemisdreaming:

Bill Bate  HERE and HERE

Anonymous said: talk to me about boromir

elenilote:

notbecauseofvictories:

Ten Things About Boromir the Bold That Never Made It Into the Red Book of Westmarch

I. His strongest memory of his mother was the smell of the sea she carried in her hair; how dark and tall she stood, looking towards an east Boromir would ever only long for in her honor.

II. Boromir did not ever doubt that he was loved. He was the first son of Gondor, swaddled in a walled citadel and rocked in Pelennor’s arms. He did not question why his father’s love was like stone, nor why his brother looked to him like he was the highest point of the ramparts. They were a city, and how else was a city to love?

III. For Boromir’s fourteenth year, the master of hounds promised him a pup of his own—One of Huan’s own line, the man swore, As befits a prince. What Boromir received, however, was the runt of that spring’s litter, a wheezing, stumbling thing that Boromir stubbornly nursed with a cheesecloth dipped in milk, then fed meat from his own plate.

Bellas, he called it, and ignored any who dared laugh.

Bellas never grew taller than Boromir’s knees, but she was strong and stubborn and loyal—for three years, Boromir went nowhere without her shadow at his heels. Bellas slept at the end of his bed; waited patiently during Boromir’s lessons; loped after his horse when he went riding.

Boromir was seventeen when Bellas was killed, her neck broken by an orc who had stumbled into their hunting party. She had put herself between her young master and the terrible interloper, and afterwards, Boromir had carried her in his arms all the way back to Minas Tirith.

He buried her beneath a sapling tree on the slope of Mindolliun, and wept where no one could see him.

IV. Faramir looked east, and dreamt of great waves. Boromir watched him, heart heavy in his chest.

V. He had been in love with—well. He never said.

VI. Boromir was ill at ease in Elrond’s house, feeling too rough with travel, and heavy—all of Gondor on his shoulders, the knowledge that Faramir’s fine speech and strange visions might have meant something here, where Boromir, Protector of the City, did not. But he burned when they dismissed Gondor, his fingernails biting into his palms when the strength of Men was so questioned. (He had not seen any Elves come to Osgiliath’s defense, nor heard of any wizard-craft that kept the Corsairs from their brazen pillaging of Langstrand and Belfalas. What had these mighty peoples done to battle back the Shadow in the East except sit in their cool green palaces and speak in riddles?)

VII. He liked the Hobbits best, even after. They reminded him most of his own men, with their stubbornness and light-hearted complaints, their love of food and pipe-smoke and story. Three of them had left behind the whole of their world, to walk into darkness beside just one, and—yes, Boromir could respect such brotherhood.

VIII. (Aragorn remembered when Boromir was only a child, rosy-cheeked and happy to leave his mother’s side, to follow Thorongil around the citadel burbling in some tongue only Denethor and Finduilas could decipher. It was strange to meet the man that child became, to stand at a height with him, to wield a sword at his side, to listen to him speak of peace for Minas Tirith like other men spoke of lovers.

It made Aragorn feel very old, an ache deep in his bones that had not been there before. Careful, he wanted to caution the man, as he had once cautioned the child. Reach too high and you will fall.)

IX. One rainy night, when Boromir was keeping watch over the sleeping Fellowship, he sketched it out in his mind—the streets he would lead Aragorn through, the hidden corners of the palace he would show to Merry and Pippin, the great gates of the city whose craftsmanship he might justly boast of to Gimli. How Minas Tirith, that shining city, would chase the sorrow from the Fellowship’s faces, might shield them, might give them rest.

The rain dripped down his neck, cold, but he was gone to Minas Tirith—This is my home, he imagined himself saying to his companions, his brothers. This is home, may you always be welcome.

X. His last thought was of Faramir.

(Brother, little brother, I—)

oh my heart

Sunday, July 20, 2014
yetibaba:

Tom Bombadil; by Jorge Luis Gariazzo
Thursday, July 17, 2014

Untiled by (liz.rusby)
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
upclosefromafar:

❇
Monday, July 14, 2014

tastefullyoffensive:

Men With Flower Beards [boredpanda]

Previously: Guys With Fancy Female Hairstyles

This is my sexual orientation.

Sunday, July 13, 2014

wakannai:

Bûche de Noël

I have a new-found appreciation of this cake. It hadn’t really occurred to me before because I had only seen very simple versions, so many years ago. The existence of meringue mushrooms has changed my life. Must make.

Saturday, July 12, 2014
the-full-grohac:

SWEET POTATOES BAKED IN COCONUT CURRY
2 sweet potatoes
4 tbsp oil 
1- 3/4 cup coconut milk
1/4 cup marinara sauce
1 tsp cumin powder
1 tsp garam masala 
1 tsp red chilli flakes (optional)
1 cup water
salt to taste
Preheat over to 325F
Wash the sweet potatoes, wipe them dry and slice the sweet potatoes in a mandolin slicer or  with a knife. Arrange it in a pan.
Drizzle salt and 2 tbsp oil on the sweet potatoes.
In a sauce pan heat the rest of the oil, add the coconut milk, marinara sauce, masala, water, salt and bring to boil. Preserve half of the sauce/gravy. Pour the other half  over the sweet potato skillet evenly. Bake in over for 60 min or till the sweet potatoes are cooked.
When you serve, pour the left over gravy/sauce over the sweet potatoes and serve.
(via Tumeric n’ Spice)

the-full-grohac:

SWEET POTATOES BAKED IN COCONUT CURRY

2 sweet potatoes

4 tbsp oil 

1- 3/4 cup coconut milk

1/4 cup marinara sauce

1 tsp cumin powder

1 tsp garam masala 

1 tsp red chilli flakes (optional)

1 cup water

salt to taste

Preheat over to 325F

Wash the sweet potatoes, wipe them dry and slice the sweet potatoes in a mandolin slicer or  with a knife. Arrange it in a pan.

Drizzle salt and 2 tbsp oil on the sweet potatoes.

In a sauce pan heat the rest of the oil, add the coconut milk, marinara sauce, masala, water, salt and bring to boil. Preserve half of the sauce/gravy. Pour the other half  over the sweet potato skillet evenly. Bake in over for 60 min or till the sweet potatoes are cooked.

When you serve, pour the left over gravy/sauce over the sweet potatoes and serve.

(via Tumeric n’ Spice)

Saturday, May 31, 2014
kevinruss:

Angeles National Forest, CaliforniaMay 2014

kevinruss:

Angeles National Forest, California
May 2014

Friday, May 30, 2014

Sansa Stark in “The Mountain and the Viper” (s04e08) [x]

Sansa Stark in “The Mountain and the Viper” (s04e08) [x]

(Source: nymerosarianne)

likeafieldmouse:

Andrew Wyeth - Airborne (1996)

likeafieldmouse:

Andrew Wyeth - Airborne (1996)

anthonymtr:

The Lord of the Rings Trilogy by Marko Manev, http://markomanev.com/

Tuesday, May 27, 2014
jennathings:

matociquala:

totalefinsternis:

missingscore:

athena-the-elusive:

“The Archer of the Rose” by Donato Giancola. Very heroic piece, on an epic scale. Illustrators have tended to get a bad  reputation as not being “true artists” as the subject of their work is “confined” by their text. I disagree. I have never read the series for which this artwork was commissioned, but it speaks to me as surely as if I knew that indomitable woman with the bow. The picture exists in itself. That’s true art.

This is so beautiful.

Ah this guy is incredible. He always goes to Dragon*Con and for the past 2 years I’ve been meaning to make it to his panel, but I never get the chance :(

Always. Reblog. Donato.

I had the honor to be this man’s student, and I don’t think there are enough people who appreciate the level of craft he lives and breathes.

jennathings:

matociquala:

totalefinsternis:

missingscore:

athena-the-elusive:

“The Archer of the Rose” by Donato Giancola. Very heroic piece, on an epic scale. Illustrators have tended to get a bad  reputation as not being “true artists” as the subject of their work is “confined” by their text. I disagree. I have never read the series for which this artwork was commissioned, but it speaks to me as surely as if I knew that indomitable woman with the bow. The picture exists in itself. That’s true art.

This is so beautiful.

Ah this guy is incredible. He always goes to Dragon*Con and for the past 2 years I’ve been meaning to make it to his panel, but I never get the chance :(

Always. Reblog. Donato.

I had the honor to be this man’s student, and I don’t think there are enough people who appreciate the level of craft he lives and breathes.