sallysavestheday

Shiro Kasamatsu, Kasuganoi. The deer in the meadow of Kasuga shrine in Nara, 

Gannet Diving necklace by Rie Taniguchi

Shirô Kasamatsu

Shiodoki

Tidal Pull - Antonia Tyz Peeples

American , b. 1957 -

“weight of a mythic past”

<3 <3 <3

6. fic you love about a rare character, ship, or legendarium setting. this ~almost~ feels like cheating since russingon is The most popular ship in the fandom, but the Fingon/Fingon's wife/Maedhros triad is so good to me and especially when @vefanyar writes them with her Alphangil in A Sindarin Lady of the North series. if you like to suffer, I recommend Fractures. if you REALLY like to suffer (post-Battle of Unnumbered Tears), I recommend In His Absence. yes I think maedhros is gay but also he should still have sex with women.

A fabulous blackened and gilt Gorget bearing the collar of the Order of the Golden Fleece made for King Philip II of Spain, attributed to Kolman Helmschmid,

Weight: 2.9 lbs/1310 g

Fic by @eilinelsghost; Art by @anerea-lantiria For @tolkienrsb 2023

Fic Rating: T; Art Rating: G Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Anárion & Elendil, Finrod/Bëor, Hiril/Hathaldir, Hiril & Rían, Hiril & Beleth, Andreth/Aegnor, Andreth & Adanel, Bëor & Belen, Belen & Finrod, Belen & Baran, Bëor & Baran Characters: Anárion, Bëor, Finrod, Silmariën, Hiril, Hathaldir, Rían, Beleth, Andreth, Adanel, Aegnor, Belen, Baran Word Count: 16,914

In Nargothrond in the First Age, Bëor wrote down the oral tradition of his people to pass on to his younger son, Belen. Throughout the rest of that age and the next, his descendants preserve this book through grief and joy, war and cataclysm, from the highlands of Dorthonion to the fall of Númenor, and reencounter the mythology of their people in the ongoing dance of memory and immortality.

Atanatári: (Quenya) The Fathers of Men Issë: (Quenya) Knowledge, Lore

"Belen [was the] second son of Bëor the Old, to whom the wisdom of Bëor (for Bëor himself had been one of the wise) was chiefly transmitted." - Introductory notes to the "Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth," Morgoth's Ring, page 306

not tagged </3 but this is more of the Helcaraxë cannibalism fic! I may cut this part out because as I go on it makes less sense in fic, but I do kinda love it so I wanted to share it somewhere. here, my scarabs, and feast! (no pun intended)

If you had asked her a hundred years hence, five hundred years, a thousand, three—ages gone by unrecoverable—who it is was, what name the Elf carried. The one who she had let worm its way between her teeth, slipping down past the ridges of her tongue, tunneling and burrowing itself down her throat and into her stomach. Further—through her intestines and finally out into the cold waters they all walked above. Changed, modified past recognition, transformed irreversibly and consumed further than just eaten. If you had asked her—who? I think she would not know. She would have spent those ages—the kind that splinter open when prodded like the soft sponge head of a mushroom, all spores and gills made for containing and then filtering out—tucking it away, feasting on it until there was nothing left to fathom. Who? I…I can’t remember. It was so long ago. Too long ago. But then again maybe she would remember. Ilsiliem. A Vanyar, or rather a Vanyar and Noldor mixed, pressed together and rolled like dough so that he was both sweet and fiery and contemplative; and among first to rally to Fingolfin’s side. He had hair like sea-glass, a misty kind of silver, sun and moon trapped within—of course we did not know of the sun and moon then, so I should say instead it was like star seed and golden flowers, breathing onto his scalp. I remember he liked to read. The only one to pack books among his blades, and to keep them fresh, hidden from the cold and wet. I remember that night he remarked on the cold—but we all did. We all did. It was ten days, and he was kept alone in his tent with no fire; and then I did not wish to remember his name or the way it tasted after his time on the spit.