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Vascarl

@vascarl

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Recently (on Sunday) learnt how to crochet a granny square. Decided yesterday that making a granny square blanket is a great way to work though our handspun stash. I don't have a size goal for the blanket, but I recognise that I should probably slow down.

#fiber crafts#crochet#hand spinning#yarn stash#my crafts
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blue-sunshine-mauve-morning
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charlataninred

Love how tumblr has its own folk stories. Yeah the God of Arepo we’ve all heard the story and we all still cry about it. Yeah that one about the woman locked up for centuries finally getting free. That one about the witch who would marry anyone who could get her house key from her cat and it’s revealed she IS the cat after the narrator befriends the cat.

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meraarts

Might I add:

The defeat of the wizard who made people choose how they’d be to be executed

The woman who raised the changeling alongside her biological child

The human who died of radiation poisoning after repairing the spaceship

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eater-of-hopes-and-dreams

The adventures of a space roomba

Cinderella finding Araura (and falling in love)

I don’t know a snappy description but the my nemesis cynthia story certainly lives in my head

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blitzlowin
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charlataninred

I am in love with you /p

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the-thread-of-the-infinite

What about the one with the princess locked in a tower learning to become a wizard? That’s lived in my mind for years and I haven’t seen it in a long time

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death-of-the-endless
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death-of-the-endless
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knottahooker
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mixiethespacepanda

What about the kids in the orphanage who all have prophecies and they’re all named hope?

#writing#tumblr stuff
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raphaerolo

ok but what if- what if they kissed in front of a pretty darn detailed mural, like have we thought it through thoroughly enough?? cuz like... what if there were tigers.

this comes from mine and @anaclastic-azurite 's surfer/bananawan codywan au which you can read here

mural without the giant obstruction below the cut

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kaysoncoffee
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thestuffedalligator

When I was a very tiny child my mom was in a local production of The Reluctant Resurrection of Sherlock Holmes, a play where Arthur Conan Doyle is hired to investigate a murder at a haunted house with Sherlock Holmes, a figment of Doyle’s imagination that only he can see and hear. Doyle very sincerely believes that the house is haunted, and Holmes thinks that Doyle is a moron

I was too young to appreciate this concept when I was a child, now that I’m older it’s the best concept for a play I’ve ever heard in my life.

#writing
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queerofthedagger
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writing-is-a-martial-art

The divine right of kings but it's a curse

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writing-is-a-martial-art

You will wear the crown, you have no choice, the spikes growing on your head have a metal sheen to them and coalesce into a mock halo. You will command, for your voice is a terrible thing, you are a terrible thing. You will be just, and you will be fair, for any grievances you cause to your people scar your body and leave lasting pain and false promises sizzle on your tongue like hot oil. Your god is watching and it won't forget what your ancestor did and it won't let you go

#writing
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queerofthedagger
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thelien-art

Lúthien Tinúviel

"-for Lúthien was the most beautiful of all the Children of Ilúvatar. Blue was her raiment as the unclouded heaven, but her eyes were grey as the starlit evening; her mantle was sewn with golden flowers, but her hair was dark as the shadows of twilight."

The Silmarillion - J.R.R. Tolkien

#tolkien#fanart
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vascarl

So, the singles are spun. That only took three weeks.

And my adventures with chain plying and progressing.

What took me a week and a half to spin took an evening to ply. Skill wise I definitely a long way to go but I feel like it's improving rapidly.

42g, 142m chain plyed. The first half is somewhat over spun.

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vascarl

The warp is black three ply from Bendigo.

I am very happy with how the pattern is turning out.

#fiber crafts#weaving#my crafts
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notbecauseofvictories
Anonymous asked:

AU where Faramir went to Rivendell instead of Boromir?

notbecauseofvictories answered:
  • Everything turns out okay.
  • That sounds flippant but imagine Denethor sending the right son to do the right job.
  • Faramir goes to the cool green glade of Elrond, where he speaks of dreams and waves, and the elves whisper that the blood of Numenor runs true in the House of Hurin; Boromir spends his time riding like hell between Ithilien and Osgiliath, speaking with men around smoky fires, embracing his captains and saying to them, take heart, gather your strength, these are the times which test a man’s soul and lift it to glory, but we will see dawn come, we will keep Gondor free.
  • Though they are cut from different cloth, this is something Boromir and Faramir have always shared–they are men deserving of leadership, they would be followed under the shadow of the East. Boromir aches for every one of his countrymen cut down, screams his defiance to the orc armies and rallies his arms; Faramir listens to the words of wisdom Aragorn offers, is gentle and kindly with the hobbits, greets Legolas in his mother tongue, offers Master Gimli praise.
  • Wandering with the Fellowship below the empty sky, Faramir looks up at Maethor, the Warrior constellation, and thinks of his brother, prays that he is well, that he is safe, that he is still a little pompous, stilted, honest.
  • Boromir spends another sleepless night playing with the chain at his neck, the small portraits of his mother and brother. (I cannot lose you too, I cannot–come back hale and whole, come back angry and proud and cunning and defiant of our father–)
  • Faramir has never known the weight of all Gondor on his shoulders, and so is not tempted by the power the Ring offers.
  • Boromir has always known the love of his father, and so never bears the scorn of Denethor when Osgiliath must be abandoned as too tenuous a position to hold.
  • The day that Faramir comes striding into the Citadel, a child and wizard at his heels, Boromir cries out with joy as he has not for more years than counting, and they nearly bruise one another with their embrace.
  • “You are almost skeletal, little brother,” Boromir laughs, though it is not true–Faramir looks touched with strangeness and greatness, as one whom the Witch-Queen of Lorien found favor in, whose nobility of form and face had ensnared the heart of the White Princess of Rohan.
  • “And you look at least two-stone heavier, elder brother,” Faramir says, though it is false, Boromir is hollowed out and worn thin, deep shadows beneath his eyes and hunger-starved cheeks; in a glance, Faramir knows he neither eats nor sleeps nor laughs, nor feels–and Faramir, wiser and older than when he left, can see the weight his brother has always carried, and how lightly–all the stone of Minas Tirith on his shoulders, and still–
  • “I have missed you, little brother.”
  • “And I you, elder brother.”
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queerofthedagger
  • Everything turns out okay.
  • That sounds flippant but imagine Denethor sending the right son to do the right job.
  • Faramir goes to the cool green glade of Elrond, where he speaks of dreams and waves, and the elves whisper that the blood of Numenor runs true in the House of Hurin; Boromir spends his time riding like hell between Ithilien and Osgiliath, speaking with men around smoky fires, embracing his captains and saying to them, take heart, gather your strength, these are the times which test a man’s soul and lift it to glory, but we will see dawn come, we will keep Gondor free.
  • Though they are cut from different cloth, this is something Boromir and Faramir have always shared–they are men deserving of leadership, they would be followed under the shadow of the East. Boromir aches for every one of his countrymen cut down, screams his defiance to the orc armies and rallies his arms; Faramir listens to the words of wisdom Aragorn offers, is gentle and kindly with the hobbits, greets Legolas in his mother tongue, offers Master Gimli praise.
  • Wandering with the Fellowship below the empty sky, Faramir looks up at Maethor, the Warrior constellation, and thinks of his brother, prays that he is well, that he is safe, that he is still a little pompous, stilted, honest.
  • Boromir spends another sleepless night playing with the chain at his neck, the small portraits of his mother and brother. (I cannot lose you too, I cannot–come back hale and whole, come back angry and proud and cunning and defiant of our father–)
  • Faramir has never known the weight of all Gondor on his shoulders, and so is not tempted by the power the Ring offers.
  • Boromir has always known the love of his father, and so never bears the scorn of Denethor when Osgiliath must be abandoned as too tenuous a position to hold.
  • The day that Faramir comes striding into the Citadel, a child and wizard at his heels, Boromir cries out with joy as he has not for more years than counting, and they nearly bruise one another with their embrace.
  • “You are almost skeletal, little brother,” Boromir laughs, though it is not true–Faramir looks touched with strangeness and greatness, as one whom the Witch-Queen of Lorien found favor in, whose nobility of form and face had ensnared the heart of the White Princess of Rohan.
  • “And you look at least two-stone heavier, elder brother,” Faramir says, though it is false, Boromir is hollowed out and worn thin, deep shadows beneath his eyes and hunger-starved cheeks; in a glance, Faramir knows he neither eats nor sleeps nor laughs, nor feels–and Faramir, wiser and older than when he left, can see the weight his brother has always carried, and how lightly–all the stone of Minas Tirith on his shoulders, and still–
  • “I have missed you, little brother.”
  • “And I you, elder brother.”
#tolkien#tag later
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