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lairofsentinel · 2 days ago

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Since this user's posts seem to have been deleted in previous opportunities I copy-paste their words here because they express exactly what I feel about this game. Dragon Age has died, unfortunately.

I'm a big time Dragon Age lover and have enjoyed every game in the series. Personally, I think Inquisition is the best in the series. And I was excited for Veilguard right up until I actually began playing it. Now, I want to clear things up at the start as to what I look for and believe makes a good Dragon Age game. To start, I DON'T CARE ABOUT COMBAT. I. Do. Not. Care.

You can make it Origins tactical. DA2 fast tactical. DAI hybrid. God of War action, I don't care. Dragon Age has always had combat that was...fine. A nice distraction and breakup in between the bits I actually care about: narrative ROLEPLAYING, story, characters, and exploration. I don't give a crap how great the combat is if the narrative roleplaying and writing are poor, I'm not playing BioWare titles for amazing gameplay. I am here for the story, the characters, and the roleplaying. Truth is, for a time I considered DATV's combat to be the best in the series.

And this is why I feel the game is a terrible Dragon Age, because it lacks or fails to respect those elements concerned with narrative roleplaying, story, characters, and exploration. Now, in many reviews and online videos you'll hear some reference often to the drop in writing quality. And a lot of time people will incorrectly say that the writing with the characters is to "modern" or "Marvel quippy" or not "dark" enough. I think these people are wrong, they recognize there is a drop in writing quality from previous games but aren't able to articulate why that is.

Dragon Age has never adopted any sort of faux medieval speech and vocabulary (though we'll get into this more later). This is a series that used "epic fail" as a thing someone uttered in the very first game. It's always had anachronistic dialogue and banter. So why is it such a drop then? Why is it considered poor? Simple. This is a game that does not believe in the world it has setup for over a decade. It does not believe in or engage properly with its own world and lore. I mean, look no further than the title "The Veilguard" a phrase that is never uttered by anyone in our group, and further proof it was a last minute marketing change. Compare to Inquisition where the title is apparent from the start in the game and has actual meaning.

You see, characters in DATV do not feel or react to events the way they should based on the lore. Why is no one constantly asking what the hell the Inquisitor is doing? The Inquisitor is kind of a BIG DEAL when it comes to Solas and Elven Gods, my Inquisitor drank from the WELL OF SORROWS! So why are we sitting around thinking at the start, "hmm lemme think who I can contact who might know more." The Herald of Andraste! They know more Rook, the guy that is technically your boss. The Inquisitor! Who else have you been working for this entire time? Who do you think told Varric to recruit you?!

But even removing the Inquisitor, the Elven Gods being real and also near synonymous with the old Tevinter Gods is kind of a BIG DEAL. It was only a theory fans crafted long ago that slowly revealed itself to be true. And it completely upends known religious dogma on all sides. Yet, why aren't people we meet going through a massive existential crisis? For instance, the Veil Jumpers we initially meet were presumably told off-screen about Fen'Harel, and are seemingly cool with this massive knowledge alone. But then we talk about those two other Gods being released and they're like, "well, shit those two aren't good." As if they have any clue if the fables about those Gods are real when we previously just upended everything they thought about the Dreadwolf! Why are you acting like this is another Tuesday?! Your entire religion is wrong. In that same conversation, Strife notes "Solas might be a bastard, but compared to the Evunaris? Let's just say they weren't know for being kind rulers."

My brother in Anduril, what are you talking about! Elven religion teaches that Elgar'nan was so beloved by the Earth that it "the land brought forth great birds and beasts of sky and forest, and all manner of wonderful green things." And that he fought the jealous Sun that tried to burn the land and all beasts away. Custom says that he and Mythal, "created the world as we know it" after defeating the Sun. He is literally described as one of the "good" Gods. WHY ARE YOU ASSUMING HE IS EVIL! It's like finding out Satan is real, but not as evil as have come to believe and then being told Jesus Christ is back and a devout Christian going, "well shit, that can't be good." WHAT?!

The same goes for Andraste and the Chant of Light, it took me 30 hours of playing before ONE character mentioned Andraste and the implications with the Chant and it was never brought up again. Our entire party is seemingly made up of unphased atheists. Now compare to something like Inquisition which explored this aspect HARD and was amazing for it. You'd get into great debates with religious figures and party members about the implications of Corypheus actually being a Tevinter Magister of old. And you'd talk about what it means towards the religious dogma preached and how much is true. And these intense political and religious discussions are present in every previous game, and not confined to a single conversation with one party member where it is seemingly resolved.

These conversations do not happen in DATV because there is no depth to the writing or engagement with the world. The Elven Gods are evil and need to be stopped. That's it. We don't need to think about the implications this has on Dalish customs and religion. Fuck it, all the Dalish are going to still wear their Vallaslin slave brand tattoos. Let's forget about Trespasser implying Solas was removing them from followers coming to join him. Let's even forget they were likely all told at this point that they are slave brands, nope still going to wear them yet speak blasphemy with every sentence against our Gods. No one cares about Andraste or The Maker or the Chant. Big deal if these Elven Gods contradict the overwhelming majority religion in Thedas. Not a single party member has religious or cultural objections to killing the Elven Gods; not a problem. Not one single elf wants to join Solas in tearing down The Veil and getting immortality again?

Again, let's forget about Trespasser setting up Solas gathering MANY Elven followers from Dalish clans who would be super inclined to join him after experiencing CENTURIES of discrimination and slavery by humans. The better question is what Elves wouldn't join Solas at the start? And what Elves wouldn't look at the other two Gods and go, "meh, maybe we should give them a try. They can't be worse than humans, right?" In DA2 you had elves joining The Qun to escape the discrimination of humans, but not ONE ELF wants to join Solas or Elgar'nan? Those Ancient Elves in the Temple of Mythal? I guess they all died, right?

This extends to EVERY single element of Dragon Age that previously had depth to it, it now has been completely removed. Those murdering Antivan Crows? Oh, they're just good Italian Mob Family that protect their city. Tevinter? Yes, it has poor people, but we're trying to do better. Oh, slavery? No, no we don't show that here. The Qun? The what now? No, they are all Antaam now, and so that means they are all generic evil warlords. No, they don't even attempt to follow their own hardcore view of The Qun like when Templars split from the Chantry, they're just warlords now that like plunder. Dwarves and their rigid Caste society? We don't do that here. Elves and racism across Thedas? Elves used to experience racism? News to me, what's a Shemlen? Never heard of that term, we like all humans. Pirates? That is insensitive, we are Lords of Fortune and we are sure to return any cultural artifacts found to their rightful owners; it belongs in a museum after all. The fucking Fade and spirits? Wait, you mean its different than generic fantasy spirit world? I'm sorry, that's too complicated here.

This either intentional disregard of the lore or plain ignorance also extends to environmental design. The asset reuse from Inquisition is particularly hilarious and must speak to the developers not having time after the switch from MP. Why are the same statues found in Val Royeaux in DAI also in Tevinter and Antiva? Why are those stupid Fen'Harel Wolf statues EVERYWHERE? Even in the catacombs of other Elven Gods! There are no statues of Elgar'nan or Ghilan'nain. Nothing for June or Anduril. Dirthamen. Falon'Din. Nothing. No, the only Gods that seem to get statues are coincidentally the ones who already had assets created for DAI or past titles that could be reused. Hmmm.

This continues into character designs too, why do the Veiljumpers and Shadow Dragons all dress richly? They are supposed to be poor as fuck. There's a codex entry about Veiljumpers finding a lost cache of old ancient elven armor and weapons and so boom they all get to dress like High Elven Lords and not the dirty, poor, wandering Dalish clans they are supposed to come from. Why do this? There isn't even an attempt to explaining why the Shadow Dragons, an organization supposed to be secretive, has branded clothing in bright rich colors and fabrics for all members. Naturally, it must be incredibly difficult for Tevinter authorities to not identify them.

This lack of depth and verisimilitude, naturally, affects all the characters. Because in this game you cannot roleplay and you cannot ask questions. In Dragon Age Inquisition, once you started the game, you could immediately interrogate Varric about what happened to every DA2 character despite the Inquisitor never meeting them, you know because it respects its players. You could speak to shop keepers, blacksmiths, your horse master. You could interrogate every single person to learn more about them and the world. The same goes for your player character in DA2 and Origins. You show in Denermin and find yourself knee deep in a quest to help Wade the Blacksmith craft the perfect armor. Here you can't actually speak to a single shopkeeper to ask questions and get some lore bits. You can't ask party members questions about their background, religious beliefs, upbringing, their factions, etc. You can't ask any returning characters any questions either about what they've been doing. Enter a brand new area? Great, you're not asking anyone questions about this never before seen place.

How does a lost Dwarven thaig survive every single blight? How are their immortal lichs in Neverra? How long has that been a thing? Why haven't they told anyone about the Elven gods or any other knowledge they've accumulated in an immortal lifespan? If immortality is so "easy" why can't Solas just do that to restore the Elves? Why are the Venatori, Tevinter Supremacists, following Elven Gods? Wouldn't that be a major identity crisis? Why would Antaam, who still preach the Qun, follow an Elven God that speaks blasphemy with ever breadth? Sshhhh, no questions. You get what is directly told to you and that's it, no follow-up questions.

Party members do not conflict with each other or interrogate each other's beliefs which is why their banter feels inconsequential and meaningless. Lucanis is a assassin, he kills people for money. The same organization that marked Zevran for death for failing a contract. The same one that took him as a kid and trained him to murder, often brutally, for coin. And yet no one really seems to care. He's just a nice Italian assassin from a nice assassin organization. Who cares. Let's instead talk about cooking, at length. Harding, a devout follower of Andraste, has no qualms with Elven Gods wreaking havoc on known religion. We get one conversation you can tell her to believe what she wants, and that's the end of that debate. Bellara also gets about two whole conversations about the conflict concerning her Gods wreaking havoc, both easily resolved. We don't need to think about any larger implications or doubt her loyalty when the Elven pantheon are seeking to restore her people that have been discriminated against since forever. Emmerich, a necromancer of Neverra, apparently has no religious belief. A codex entry even states that those of the Mourn Watch don't know where the soul goes after death. They don't like to think about it. Buddy, Mortalitasi belief is literally that our souls return to the Void alongside The Maker, but to keep balance a exchange must be wrought with The Fade to allow a spirit to house the now empty vessel. How do you not know the religion and customs of your own faction and land? This man has a whole quest line about funerary rights, yet not ONCE mentions religion and what he believes happens after death?! Sshhhh, no questions. No thinking.

Hey, remember The Fade? Remember how mages go to dream there every night. Remember how The Black City is always visible there? No? Well, we don't either. You won't see The Black City in The Fade. You might see it in The Crossroads in a closed off section, even though it is NOT The Fade. Oh, we're going to have you physically enter The Fade in multiple quest lines and no one will think it's a big deal. No, you still can't see The Black City. Now, The Fade is reduced to nothing more than your generic fantasy spirit world. It has none of the previous rules and lore that bound it before. Demons can bind to non-mages and we won't attempt to explain it. Solas fucks with The Veil and not a single mage notices a change in their dreams when they sleep at night. No biggie.

Lastly, let's return at last to the actual minutiae of writing. I stated at the start the writing isn't bad because of Marvel quippiness, which the series has always had. I was partly lying. Yes, the series has always had anachronistic dialogue. It has had meme language in its own previous titles. But, it was just that, a small joke here and there. For the most part the series actually tried to use it's own sort of "older" speech patterns. I think a perfect example has to do with Taash, she eventually finds her own identity and declares she is proudly "non-binary." Literally stating, "so, I'm non-binary." I have no issue with this sort of inclusivity in Dragon Age, it's what the series is known for. Yet, why does that sound wrong? Simple, it's far too anachronistic. It doesn't belong in Dragon Age. In Inquisition, Dorian let's us know he's gay. But he doesn't say, "I'm gay!" or "I'm a homosexual" those terms would not exist in his world. Instead he says, "I prefer the company of men."

And it's these little subtle changes in writing that makes it feel all the more different. We went from "I once ventured in to The Fade to serve the Old Gods of Tevinter in person. I found there only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. Now I shall return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world gone wrong. Pray that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the Gods. And it was empty."

To: "Well, shit. That can't be good."

So, what do we have when all is said and done? Well, we have a decent generic fantasy action game. An intentional attempt by the developers to remove every edge from the world of Dragon Age in place of a very simple, easy to understand world with not much depth beyond what you see. You don't need to think, just play and have fun. This is beyond turning a MP game into a SP game, which so blatantly obvious in this game. DA2 was developed in 16 months, but is carried strong by its writing. You see, nothing prevented them from just acknowledging their own world they created. It costs very little to write around what already exists. Even if you can't make no assets or redesign the world. Writing is cheap and having characters voice these elements is not as costly as a redesign. No, they chose to remove the edge in every element because this was design intentionally for the masses with easy to understand world and zero depth.

But I wanted to play Dragon Age. I wanted to get into intense religious debates with party members as known lore is completely upended. I wanted to debate Elvish clans deciding to join Solas or the other Gods due to their treatment by human society. I wanted to debate the ethics of necromancy with the Mortalitasi of Neverra's Crypts. I wanted to engage in intense debating with Solas on the ethics of his goal. I wanted to see Tevinter react to a real push for anti-slavery and actually see the slavery in the slave capital of the world. I wanted to butt heads with the Antivan Crows and call them out for the murderers they are. I wanted to see the Black Divine and debate the Chant of Light with them. I wanted to speak to the Archon of Tevinter and see how he felt about the Venatori's past efforts in Inquisition. Hey, what happened to Meredith Reborn in Kirkwall and her idol and Red Templar worshipers? Forget about it.

We got none of this. I got a game that is pretty much disrespectful of its own world. I waited 10 years for this? Why even bother if this is the result? They may as well have just killed every previous character we ever knew, including Solas, offscreen and started anew with this game. Because as a Dragon Age game and sequel, it's terrible and no returning character is how they should be.

And when we get to the ending, that's pretty much what they did. Everything you did in all the past games? Well, that was pointless. Everyone is probably dead. King Alistair. Gaspard. Celene. King Bhelen. The Arl of Redcliffe. The Divine. The Circle of Magi. The Templars. The Seekers. Everything, everyone, and every organization that existed in the South is likely dead and destroyed. And now Dragon Age can become what they wanted, a generic fantasy IP.

But I just wanted to play Dragon Age.

#dragon age #dragon age critical #dragon age spoilers #I finished this game... and now just mourn the end of a fantasy world that was so much and now is nothing

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xclowniex · 1 day ago

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Thoughts on whereserpentswalk? I know they're controversial on jumblr and you seem trustworthy

Tagging them as whilst I will answer, I don't like talking behind peoples backs. I also did reach out to get the okay to post as it does deal with someone's identity. @whereserpentswalk

I'm not sure 100% why they're considered controversial as I have never heard of them before. I'm like 90% sure this is in reference to them being a pagan jew aka ethnically jewish and religiously pagan.

Because Judaism is an ethnoreligion, the topic of being ethnically jewish but not practicing judaism and instead another religion is a complicated and nuanced one. Each jew has their own opinion on this, two jews 3 opinions type deal.

Obviously, if you worship or idolize any deity or similar category, besides Hashem, you are not longer practicing judaism. They do not claim to be practicing judaism, so I and hopefully everyone else should have no issue with that specific bit.

In regards to whether or not they can still call themselves jewish.

Overall, I don't really care? Like there are so many other intracommunity topics which matter more than this in my own opinion.

The only thing which doesn't fall into this are messianic jews, because whilst a lot are lead to believe they are ethnically jewish, most aren't. And the religion wasn't started by jews. Like jews didn't start believing in Jesus and that's how it came about. It was started by non ethnically jewish Christians who decided they were the real jews, which is where the misleading of messianics as a whole being ethnically comes from. I'm sure there are messianics who have jewish blood as nothing is impossible when it comes to types of people believing in a certain religion, but the majority of messiancs do not have jewish blood.

But whereserpantswalk is pagan not messianic so like again, doesn't fall into that.

I'm going to be speaking very general here and not directed at whereserpantswalk.

Like besides messianic jews being the exception, I don't super care.

I myself dabbled in paganism when I was a teen and exploring religion. I don't really talk about it much not because I dislike paganism or think it's bad or anything. I just had religious psychosis surronding it as I am a diagnosed schizo so don't really like to talk about that point of my life online mainly for my safety as some people may use it to try to trigger an episode.

Drawing from my own experiences from that time which I am willing to share, my jewish culture was still important. I grew up orthodox and that doesn't all just go away. Same thing if you grow up reform.

I still participated in secular versions of the Jewish holidays. I still held Jewish values. I still did things certain ways because I was raised jewish, and that doesn't really just go away.

To give like a definitive answer, if someone born Jewish and converts out of Judaism, gets rid of all ties to Jewish culture, including secular Jewish culture. Because Judaism is an ethno religion, I personally don't see any point in continuing to refer to yourself as Jewish. It is a tribe. If you turn your back on the tribe completely and cut all ties, then you are no longer part of the tribe. If you still keep some connection then to me personally I do see a point in calling yourself ethnically jewish as you are still connected to the tribe.

Overall, I don't really care. Like I know I've said this a bazillion times already. The majority of jews are either religious or secular. I see no point in kicking up a fuss about a tiny group of jews.

I believe in inclusive judaism, where people with varying attachment to the tribe are welcome as long as they have some or want a connection to the tribe and convert properly.

This isn't like some hard, set in stone opinion I have. There are more important topics at hand right now like genuine jew fakers than someone with jewish blood who practices paganism.

#jumblr #jewblr #judaism #jew #jewish

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corralinesage · 3 days ago

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Child of September (2/?)

18+ Mature content, pure smut

I hope you guys enjoy this update!! The master list is linked in the title<3

Chapter 2: Capturing memories

You adjusted the thick blanket that covered your shoulders, moving your body enough to get your blood circulation going again after sitting on the couch for most of the cozy afternoon. You glanced at the window, noticing that the autumnal gloom of the clouds had subsided just enough to allow rays of golden sunlight to push through for just a moment before the sun would disappear fully behind the horizon. The apartment smelled like chai, thanks to Natasha who had been in and out of the kitchen ever since breakfast to warm herself up with cups of tea. You were sitting on the living room couch with your sketchbook in your arms, squinting at a questionable drawing of a street view, for once having deliberately chosen to draw something other than people. You hated the black and white sketch, the perspective possibly a little bit off because you lacked a reference and had pulled the image out of your imagination, which had a tendency to never end well. There was a reason why you mostly focused on figure studies and portraits. They were just much more interesting than anything else, especially when you had a live model roaming around your apartment like she owned the place.

“Love, come here”, you called, flipping a new page and closing the book with one of your markers between the covers, tossing it to the side when Natasha walked in, wearing an entire outfit from your closet, although it was far from anything presentable. She noted how much dimmer the lighting was in the room, switching on a reading light on her way to the couch to spare your eyes from excessive strain.

“What is it?” She asked, your eyes studying your favorite pair of sweatpants that Natasha was donning with one of your ribbed tank tops and an oversized, knit cardigan.

“You have your entire closet littered around my bedroom and this is what you wear?” You questioned in disbelief, gesturing for her to come closer.

“It’s what’s most comfortable”, she stated in all seriousness, smiling softly to herself. She straddled your lap when you pulled her down onto the couch, her arms going around your neck as she sank into your embrace.

“Mm, yeah”, you huffed in amusement, slightly distracted by her presence despite the atrocious outfit she had on. Your lips found hers, first pressing down casually in a chaste kiss, but as an idea struck your mind you allowed the kiss to deepen, parting your lips, your tongue brushing against the seam of her lips. She hummed into the kiss, pleased by the sudden course of action you were taking, arching herself closer to you as her cheeks started to flush a soft pink. You had been drawing for hours, spending your day off planning the next assignment that you had been given for the following week, which, truth be told, Natasha wasn’t entirely too fond of when she would've rather had you all to herself. You ran your hands down her sides, sliding them under the waistband of her sweats, your fingers sinking into the bare skin of her behind as you gave her a firm squeeze. She gasped into your mouth, her hips rolling gently into your lap as if she was merely adjusting her position, the touch of her tongue growing just a bit more demanding. You switched angles, bringing your hands back up to her shoulders, unwrapping her arms from your neck to push the cardigan off her. Natasha didn’t protest at all when her top was next to go, leaning back down to kiss you once the garment was off, her nipples hardening in the cool temperature of the room. She stood up for a moment to kick off her pants, revealing a pair of underwear that was most likely yours as well. Natasha ignored the questioning raise of your brow as she sat back down. She felt warm under the touch of your hands as you caressed her back softly, sighing into her mouth from how good she felt against you. There was a brief moment where you had to choose whether to carry out your plan or not, Natasha’s warm, naked body more than inviting, steering you further and further away from your initial intentions. But eventually, you pulled away, both of you panting softly, a playful smirk on Natasha’s lips. Maybe it was finally her turn for some attention. She eyed you for a moment, her fingers playing with a necklace you were wearing.

“Go kneel on the other end of the couch and stay still”, you whispered quietly, the command seeming to linger in the narrow gap between your faces, Natasha blinking her eyes almost comically, doing a double take at your request. She looked at you for a moment, not used to being ordered around in bed but out of curiosity she did as told, moving to the opposite end of the couch where she knelt down, facing you. “Lift your arms up and arch your back”, you instructed her, Natasha giving you a disappointed frown as you pulled your sketchbook back onto your lap.

“What? I have to pose again? Then why did you kiss me?” She whined halfheartedly, following your silent instructions, moving her knees to the right and tilting her chin down. She had been through it before and possessed a vague idea of what you were looking for.

“It gives your cheeks some color”, you smirked, watching her roll her eyes, her blushed skin turning a shade darker. Considering the way you had met for the first time, you were confident that she didn’t mind it. Natasha liked posing for you, loved it. Sometimes she even asked for it. Although, you had a feeling that it had less to do with your art and more to do with your intense eyes on her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll make it up to you. You just stay still”, you promised, leaning back a bit as you looked at her through only one of your eyes, using your pencil to map out the length and width of her body before starting your sketch with loose lines to figure out the correct proportions.

“You know you always do this”, she mused, staying still as a statue. “You make me pose for you until my nipples fall off from the cold and then you have sex with me”, she argued, her voice carrying a hint of amusement that she tried to hide, making you chortle out a laugh, your eyes returning to her body again. “Here’s an idea. Let’s just have sex like regular people”, she said teasingly, her smile widening when your gazes met. You grinned at her, finding it hard to contain your joy whenever she joked around with you.

“Or you can be the best, most beautiful girlfriend in the world and let me do this without you whining like a big baby”, you retorted, biting your lip as you paused for a moment just to look at the arches of her body, focusing on the lights and shadows, your eyes inevitably returning to her perky nipples. You felt your cheeks heat, maybe you shouldn’t have turned yourself on before starting such a tedious task, but as Natasha eventually quietened down you found it easier to ignore the tickle of warmth in your lower abdomen. She focused fully on you as you worked, much like when she had first met you, the situation sharing many similarities with that specific memory.

You continued to sketch her onto the paper, your pencil capturing every little curve and dent of her knees, shading in the muscles of her thighs before moving higher to define the two spheres on the paper to look more like her breasts. You left her underwear out of the drawing, shading in the space between her legs, biting down on your lip, the urge to be between those muscular thighs washing over you. God, you just wanted to abandon the sketchbook and fall into her embrace, but you kept going because you needed the drawing for an oil pastel piece that you were planning on doing with your new set that you had gotten a few days prior. It had an impressive range of shades, and you were bursting at the seams to finally try them out. You could’ve drawn something else with them, but you just wanted it to be Natasha because you loved her color palette more than anything else, already picturing the way you would capture her ivory skin and auburn hair. You desperately needed to get out of your head before it was too late, your underwear damp enough already. The silence was not helping your overactive and imaginative mind, allowing you the room to recall how good it felt to be sandwiched between those thighs of hers.

“Your hips have such a nice shape to them”, you mumbled, defining the outline of the sketch, following precisely the curve of her waist. The comment might have been odd to someone else, but Natasha had always loved how observant you were with her, intrigued by the way you saw the world around you in different shapes and colors. Your eyes moved to her body again to recheck that the lines of her armpit and bicep were accurate to reality.

“Thank you”, she hummed, smiling softly, your words warming her heart.

“I think you have the prettiest belly button I’ve ever seen”, you continued, Natasha chuckling quietly.

“How many have you seen?” She inquired curiously, trying to distract herself from your heated stare that only seemed to intensify.

“I’ve seen enough and none of them come even close to yours”, you answered, voice laden with amusement. You continued to shade in parts of her body, paying special attention to her curves to make them look every bit as soft and enticing as they were to your eye, using your finger to blend some of the shading to make it appear less harsh, your other hand searching for an eraser so you could fix the angle of the arm that was farther back.

“What do you like about me the most?” She asked quietly, your eyes snapping up to see her face, your lips stretching into a smile. She was so adorable it made your body physically ache.

“Your personality”, you replied honestly, Natasha rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m super cool, but physically. Why do you like to draw me so much?” She asked, genuinely curious about what you saw in her. You sighed heavily, pausing for a moment to think, your eyes remaining on her.

“What I like most about drawing you is you. I love this”, you explained, gesturing your hand between you. “I love that I get to just look at you and draw what I see, capture the moment”, you hummed, Natasha’s smile softening. “If you didn’t know this yet, you’re gorgeous, and who doesn’t like to look at gorgeous things?” You asked rhetorically, smirking her way as you went back to the drawing.

“What do you see in the drawings?” She asked, continuing her method of distraction despite it bringing her no relief whatsoever from the ache between her legs.

“I see glimpses into the past, moments in time. Every piece of my art has a memory or memories attached to it and when I look at the things I’ve created they always bring me back into the moment of creation”, you replied, realizing that it was the very reason you liked to draw and paint her so much.

“I’m in all those memories”, she whispered in mild awe, finally understanding another piece of you that suddenly made so much sense. You nodded your head, thinking back to the dozens of pieces you had made of her over the years you had spent together.

“You’re in all those memories”, you echoed fondly, knowing that that very moment was forever going to be in the sketch that sat on your lap. There was an elongated moment of silence where Natasha just looked at you as you traced the lines of her neck muscles and added some volume to her hair by coloring some of it in before she spoke again.

“I really wanna know, what’s your favorite part of my body”, she asked, eager to know because she knew what her favorite was when it came to you.

“I like so many things about you, little details, stuff others wouldn’t think twice about”, you chuckled, not sure how to decide a favorite out of them all.

“What details?” She inquired immediately, clearly curious about the way you perceived her.

“Well”, you started awkwardly, feeling like she was going to find your answer weird. “I love the way your bottom front teeth are crooked. The right one in the middle is more in the front than the rest. It’s cute”, you hummed, hiding your face from her by deciding that the sketch needed a little more of your attention.

“You need to spend less time in my mouth”, she chuckled, unable to hold in her laughter.

“See, I knew you’d think it’s weird”, you whined, shooting her a look.

“No, no. I love it”, she protested immediately, urging you to keep going. “What else?”

“I love it when you lift your arm to the side and the muscles of your shoulder and chest stick out and if the lighting is right, they look even more defined. It’s really attractive”, you whispered quietly, feeling your cheeks heat. “And I like the way your collarbones and the notch between them frame your chest, very elegant”, you commented, smiling to yourself as you dragged the pencil over said part of her body. “There are these couple little freckles on your left boob. They’re light brown, really subtle. They look like constellations”, you chuckled, Natasha glancing down to look at her chest, suddenly not sure if she had noticed such a thing. “Oh, and that scar on your lower back, the one I said looked like a heart”, you added, reminded of the burn mark Natasha hadn’t even known existed until you pointed it out. You paused for a moment before continuing. “This is so weird.” You cringed at what you were about to say but carried on regardless of it. “I love the way the cartilage in your nose kind of cinches in right before the tip of your nose and it gives it this roundness that’s super cute. And I can’t forget the tiny nose bump, or the way your Cupid’s bow dents right above your lip.” There were too many things, too many parts of her that all deserved your undivided attention. Natasha hid her surprise, impressed by the tiny details that you picked up on when you really studied her as thoroughly as possible. Her gaze was very fond as she looked at you, clearly able to see the way you felt about what you had said, felt about her, realizing just how much the smaller details meant to you, and just how much time you spent staring at her.

“So, which one is your favorite?” She asked softly, so eager to know.

“I don’t wanna say”, you whined, looking up at her with a small wince on your face.

“It’s the teeth, isn’t it?” She smirked, able to see that she was right from your expression.

“I don’t know why!” You groaned defensively. “It’s just cute.” Your tone turned into a quiet, little grumble as you brought your hand over your face to hide from her mirthful eyes.

“All I was looking for was something along the lines of tits or ass, but you really went all in”, she teased, hearing you laugh even louder.

“Stop it! It’s supposed to be endearing”, you moaned, chucking your eraser at her to make her stop teasing you. She allowed it to smack her in the arm, the eraser bouncing under the coffee table. “What’s your favorite then?” You asked bitterly, although you could never actually be upset by her.

“I like your neck”, she hummed, rubbing her lips together as she glanced away, remembering just how good it felt to kiss down your throat or suckle the pulse point under your jaw. She loved to smell your neck, your skin often carrying the scent of your perfume that enhanced your own fragrance. She also liked to nuzzle her face into the crook of your neck especially when you were warm and cozy in bed or when she came home from a long day of work and was finally able to sink into your embrace. She thought about gliding her tongue over your throat, a flush of heat rushing to her cheeks at the mental image that made her stomach lurch.

“I thought it’d be ass. You look like an ass girl.” You smirked playfully, deciding to get some payback.

“Well, maybe if you had an ass to like.” Oh, she looked so cocky, your jaw falling open as you gasped at the severity of such accusations.

“You’re gonna regret that.” You shot her a warning look, moving the sketchbook off your lap, Natasha perking up immediately to see if she was going to be granted the permission to move. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m just gonna get my oil pastels. Sit tight, Nattypoo.” You stood up, allowing your hand to brush over her stomach and chest, avoiding her breasts as you walked past her into your room. She dropped her pose, moving her arms and back a bit to relieve the ache of her muscles, rolling her shoulders to make them relax as a sigh escaped her. You returned with the oil pastels, sitting down and grabbing a couple of shades you thought would work the best. Natasha lifted her arms back up, but you shook your head, glancing up at her. “You can drop the pose. I’m done with the sketch. I’ll just create the color palette quickly and I’m done”, you hummed in concentration, skimming your fingers over the set of crayons.

You studied the shades of the shadows on her body, mixing burnt sienna and yellow ochre together, using richer browns to deepen the color for the darkest parts. You colored in small squares around the sketch, mapping where each color would go. You chose three different shades of brown for her hair, mixing a bit more crimson with burnt sienna to give it an auburn hue. You inched a bit closer to her on the couch, occasionally lifting the sketchbook up to see how good your color matching skills were before going back to mixing your shades.

“Do you have any weird things you like about me?” You asked as the silence seemed to stretch on and on, feeling the need to keep Natasha entertained for just a little longer. You weren’t expecting anything special since your eyes were trained to look at the world through a different lens, but you wanted to know regardless.

“I like the shape of your lips”, she replied, smiling a bit as she looked at your face, itching to touch you.

“I don’t think that’s weird.” You chuckled, glancing at her impossibly green eyes that lingered on you, Natasha observing any details she could find.

“Okay, well how about this? I like the shape of your nails, both fingers and toes”, she offered, immediately making you smile.

“I think that’s a step closer.” The smile lingered on your face as Natasha continued to think of what exactly she liked about you.

“This should do it, I think”, she started with a small smile on her lips. “I like the way your underwear hugs you so perfectly, the way it accentuates your hips and thighs.” Her voice was low, and she spoke in a quiet, intimate way, almost coming off as dreamy. “I love your pelvis. I love everything about it. The shape, the softness of your skin, the space below your navel. You know where the skin is soft and it’s perfect for biting on your way down.” Her lips curved into a knowing smirk. “I love every dip and curve…” She trailed off, her eyes fixed on you in a blank stare as if deep inside her head. You felt warmth pool in said part of your body, a fluttering feeling more than present in your lower abdomen.

“I like your hands a lot. They’re very capable”, she mused, continuing to voice out her thoughts as she watched the way you held seven crayons in one hand as if holding cigarettes, the other hand coloring the paper. “I like you”, she whispered softly, a tender smile on her face.

“I like you too”, you hummed in amusement, Natasha feeling her chest flutter at your words that felt somehow very intimate even though you verbally expressed your love for the other on a regular basis. You looked at her and then you looked at the paper, your eyes moving down to her chest and nipples that were leaning more toward purple than the rosy pink you desired. She looked a little pale, the blush from earlier no longer anywhere in sight. You scooched beside her, dropping the crayons onto the book, your hands cupping her cheeks and pulling her into a heated kiss. Your touch was very passionate and took Natasha by slight surprise, her brain needing a moment to process the situation so she could react accordingly. She leaned forward, taking your advance as a sign that she was allowed to move around more, eager to touch you and feel your warmth against her cold body. You opened your mouth wider, deepening the kiss, suddenly feeling desperate for her, your moans muffled by her lips. You pulled away, trailing hasty kisses down her chest to find her breasts, your crayons rolling off the book before it slid off your lap and thudded to the carpet below.

Natasha gasped at the way your teeth scraped over her nipple, your lips wrapping around the hardened bud firmly, your face pressing into the softness of her breast. You allowed your hands to find her waist, skimming your fingers over the area, squeezing her hips. When you heard the soft purr come deep from her throat you knew you were a goner, your lips pulling away from her now flushed bud that was a gorgeous shade of rose pink, a color that you adored for its depth and nuance. You switched over to the other side, your dominant hand sliding between her parted knees and up to the apex of her thighs.

“You ruined my underwear”, you noted between kisses, your fingertips feeling around the warm fabric that was damp from her arousal. She merely chuckled, trying to press herself closer to your touch.

“Oops.” She smirked, the playful tone causing heat to rush down to the lower half of your body, her teasing eyes telling you she wasn’t sorry in the slightest. You rose back up to her face, capturing her in another searing kiss, not resisting her at all when she started to lean forward, guiding you to lie down on the couch, finally freeing her aching knees from their bent position and crawling over you. “Mm, you’re so hot”, she whispered against your lips, her heavy breath fanning over your chin. “The way you look at me”, she continued, kissing you again, her soft body pressing into your own, your hands caressing her back, really feeling the weight of her on top. Your heart thudded in your chest, your skin growing warm, blood rushing up your neck and down between your legs as her tongue dipped into your mouth. “You’re concentrated, in your own world”, she panted lightly, her hungry mouth moving to your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses to the underside of your jaw, her tongue licking sloppily over your skin. “It’s so sexy”, she groaned, her voice low, giving it a soft rasp. You brought your hands up, cupping her cheeks to bring her face to face with you, a wide, excited grin spreading onto your lips at her words. She rolled her hips against yours, pressing the warmth of her core into your thin leggings as if to show you exactly what you did to her. Your lower body tingled sharply, your hands moving to her round buttocks to pull her closer, a soft grunt falling from your lips.

“Talk about sexy”, you hummed teasingly, smoothing your hands over the perfect roundness of her backside, giving her a proper squeeze, a quiet moan escaping Natasha. She leaned back into a kiss, immediately capturing your lips with her own, moving her hips again to intensify the pressure between her legs.

“We have got to get you out of these damn clothes”, she grumbled, displeased when the collar of your shirt wouldn’t give in anymore than it already was.

“Mm, let me sit up for you”, you chuckled, pulling your lips free from the suction of her mouth. She helped you upright, her hands immediately sliding under your long sleeve shirt, nearly tearing it off your body, a joyous laugh resonating in the living room when she shoved you back down onto the cushions, crawling back enough to pull off your underwear and leggings in one go before removing her ruined panties as well.

Once you were fully bare for her, she climbed back over you, sinking into your body as her lips searched fervently for yours, needy for your touch. You bucked your hips against hers, feeling the way her short hairs brushed over your pelvis, your moan muffled by her mouth as your tongues brushed together, desperate to deepen the kiss. Her rushed breaths puffed against your skin, her warmth and proximity making you feel almost feverish. Your hands were greedy, tugging on her flesh to bring her impossibly close, guiding the movement of her hips as she ground into you. She let out a strangled grunt when she found enough friction, the movement of her body becoming rougher, her sex pressing into your skin. It was all so sudden, so passionate, so wonderfully thrilling that all you could do was take it as it was. She kissed you harder, more desperately, the touch of her lips bruising, teeth biting into your lower lip until it slid out of her grasp. She didn’t give you time to catch your breath before her lips were back on yours again, unable to stay away. You brought your fingers to her folds, coating them in her slick before rubbing them lazily against her. It made Natasha practically shiver on top of you. She let out a hum, drawing her lower lip between her teeth as her eyelids fluttered shut, her reaction to your touch sending a jolt of electricity down your spine. Her lips parted in a soft gasp when your fingers found her entrance, slipping inside with ease. She let out a pleased hum, pushing her hips down on you to bring herself closer to your hand in an attempt to make you go deeper.

“Mmh, fuck”, she moaned, her back arching as she ground down, feeling insatiable, your fingers unable to reach the depths she desired. “More”, she whispered, lifting her hips up enough to easily allow you to add another finger. She was so warm, the heat of her wet core making your stomach lurch as you pumped your fingers in and out, feeling the sensitive skin inside, your fingertips skimming over the roughness of her walls in the exact spots she liked it. Natasha moaned, slowly starting to match the rhythm you had set for her, bouncing lightly on top of you, mind more than focused on the way your fingers rubbed at her entrance with each thrust, the way your palm pressed up against her clit. Your other hand found her waist, sliding up her bare back to bring her down so you could kiss her, but you spoke before your lips connected.

“This is what I want to capture in my art”, you mumbled, finding her lips in a wet, hungry kiss that left Natasha breathless. “This is what I remember when I look at my work”, you whispered between feverish kisses, your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen. You kissed down her neck, pleased to feel her arch her back enough to bring her chest into your reach. You cupped her breast with your free hand, massaging it lightly before bringing your mouth to the soft, inviting skin, your tongue poking out to lick over her nipple.

“All drawings of me are filled with dirty memories”, she chuckled, feeling you smirk against her breast.

“Maybe”, you huffed in amusement, biting down on her flesh a bit teasingly as you curled your fingers inside her. Natasha’s eyes squeezed shut as she muffled a groan.

“No wonder you love ‘em so much”, she mused, struggling to talk as your thumb found her clit.

“I want to taste you”, you murmured against her chest, slowly pulling your fingers out of her, gaining Natasha’s attention immediately. She looked down at you, her face flushed from desire, lips a rough pink that you only ever saw on her during sex. “I want to make you feel good”, you added in a slightly pleading tone, hoping to make up for all the time she had spent posing. Natasha smirked, excited by the change in your tone.

“How much do you want it?” She asked in a mild challenge, setting tone for the intimate moment between you, looking to hear you beg.

“More than anything else”, you assured her, gazing up at her through your lashes. You could see from her face that she was feeling playful that night.

“How… much?” She asked in a low croon as she leaned closer to you, her lips hovering over your own. You knew what she was after, your fuzzy mind unable to do anything but oblige her.

“Please”, you nearly whispered, attempting to connect your lips, but Natasha pulled back.

“What do you want, malyshka?” She asked softly, her tone a little teasing because she knew you struggled voicing out your desires sometimes.

“I want your pussy.” Your tone was mellow, tinted by a hint of shame, your cheeks heating violently at your words.

“What do you want with it?” She continued, your breath feeling shallow as you felt your body push out more slick to smear into the insides of your thighs.

“I want… I want to give you head”, you said hesitantly, trying to go around the matter to avoid the humiliation of actually saying what you wanted.

“And how would you do it?” She hummed, dropping her mouth to the side of your neck, slowly kissing you with firm pressure, her lips sucking on your skin to mark you as she waited for your response.

“How would I give head?” You asked in confusion, feeling her nod against your neck.

“You and I both know what you really want”, she hummed, sinking her teeth into your flesh, biting down enough to make it sting.

“I want to bury my face between your legs”, you whispered breathlessly, your back arching off the cushions the lower her mouth went.

“You can say it, detka”, she chuckled, a sense of encouragement in her slightly demeaning tone.

“I wanna be smothered by you.” You were unable to look her in the eyes, your body on overdrive from arousal. All you wanted was to please her, you wanted her to use you for her own pleasure. You wanted nothing more than to be consumed by her.

“By my what?” She prompted again, earning a little groan from you.

“Your pussy”, you moaned in defeat, her teeth sinking into your shoulder.

“Mm, such a good girl”, she murmured, trailing kisses down your naked chest to find your nipple. She sucked on it harshly, her soft moan muffled by your breast. You felt your chest flutter with pleasure both from her touch as well as her words, your head feeling rather light, spinning with desire. “Are you gonna be good for me?” She asked softly as she pulled away, finding your doting eyes. You nodded, starting to sit up to change your position, but she made you halt. “Are you?” She pressed on, wanting you to use your words.

“Yes, Natasha, the best”, you promised her, Natasha smirking at you knowingly.

“Get on the floor”, she hummed almost dismissively, guiding you to kneel down on the living room carpet before positioning herself to face the back of the couch, her backside level with your face. Her skin was silky smooth, the shade of ivory carrying a hint of warmth as the blood rushed quicker beneath it. She was gorgeous, her skin reminding you of marble, every dip and curve on her body itching to be touched as if you would have been carving a sculpture, molding a piece of clay. She was soft and pliable, flexible, but firm, oh-so unyielding and compelling. You couldn’t have looked away had you tried to. You brought your hands to her hips, immediately pressing your lips down on her toned back, placing soft kisses across the small of her back as your hands smoothed over her hips and the curve of her buttocks. She leaned forward to find some support from the couch backrest so she could relax into your touch, pushing her hips back to give you more than an ample view of her soaked sex.

“Fuck”, you sighed under your breath, your hands smoothing over her perfectly rounded glutes as you took in the sight before you, eyes lingering on her pink folds, the shade deep and rich from stimulation. Natasha felt a flush of warmth go through her as she imagined the look on your face, more than glad to know that you liked what you were seeing. You trailed your lips down to her backside, leaving behind wet, open-mouthed kisses until you reached her buttocks, massaging them with your hands, spreading her open for you. “You look so perfect”, you murmured, bringing your mouth back down on her, biting the fullness of her curves to truly feel her in every way possible, a slight hiss coming from Natasha. “I should paint you from this angle.” It wasn’t entirely a joke despite the hint of humor in your tone, your eyes roaming all over the arch of her back and the way her muscles undulated beneath her pale skin as you slowly inched your mouth closer to her sex. You could practically feel her warmth against your face, smell her scent, her wetness more than inviting, her throbbing body begging you to touch her. Natasha’s breath hitched, her response threatening to die down in her throat from the level of anticipation she felt.

“Good luck trying not to get distracted”, she scoffed after composing herself, parting her knees a bit wider and tilting her pelvis to give you better access. You chuckled at her words, unable to hold yourself off for any longer. You wanted her so badly, so badly your entire body was buzzing. You gripped her hips, pulling her cheeks apart to spread her open for you, your mouth finding her warmth on its own. You licked up the arousal that was gathered at her entrance, your tongue pressing into her with firm pressure, hands pulling her closer to your face. You heard Natasha grunt, clearly swallowing down her moan as she gripped the couch cushions hard enough to hurt them. The sound made you smile against her, forcing you to pull away a bit to gather yourself, your smile only widening when Natasha pushed back, searching for your touch.

“Patience”, you said teasingly, Natasha whipping her head around to look at you, giving you a warning look that quickly turned into an amused one.

“Yeah, uh-huh.” It was mocking. You both knew who was in control. She straightened herself slightly more upright to be able to reach you better, her hand sliding to the back of your head, gently pulling you back between her legs. You let out a small laugh, Natasha’s eyes rolling to the back of her head from the vibration. You opened your mouth wide, lapping at her core with enthusiasm, her hand remaining at the back of your head to make sure you stayed where she wanted you. It made you giddy, so unbelievably excited, your abdomen swarming with fresh butterflies, the apex of your thighs throbbing with want as you coated your face with her arousal. You nuzzled into her scent, working your tongue against her just the way she liked it, Natasha’s hips starting to push back to meet the rhythm of the pressure and friction you were providing her, clearly searching for more. You let out a small moan, trying to press yourself even closer to her, licking a wide stripe up her sex, but you knew it wouldn’t be enough, your lips finding her clit, wrapping around the nerves in a firm suction. Natasha let out a low moan, the kind that groped the very bottom of your stomach, a jolt of thrill going through you as her grip tightened at the back of your head. She ground down on your face, searching for more pressure, quiet panting coming from her, her back arching as much as her body would allow it to, muscles starting to cramp in anticipation, but just when you thought you had brought her to the edge, she pulled away from you, letting go of you. She turned sideways on the couch, her flushed face coming into your view, cheeks dusted a sheer shade of rose, lips as pink as they could get. Now that was something for you to paint.

“Come, krasotka, I want to sit on that pretty face of yours”, she said softly between labored exhales, her hand reaching for your arm to guide you to lie down on the couch for her. “I want to see you when I come.” You tried to hide your smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth and the burst of excitement consuming your chest, but you failed, grinning like a fool as you climbed onto the couch, sliding beneath Natasha as she encased your head with her knees. She leaned back a bit, sitting down onto your chest, her left hand coming up to your face, brushing aside some of your hair before caressing your face affectionately. “Such a gorgeous girl I got”, she hummed, obsessed with the admiring look in your eyes, your hands smoothing up her thighs, caressing her hips and waist rather automatically. “So pretty.” Her voice was nothing but a quiet croon, a pleased smirk finding her lips when she felt you attempt to tug her closer to you. She loved how eager you were, how devoted you were to the craft. “And apparently impatient too.” She let out a soft chuckle, warmth filling her chest at the shy smile on your face. “You wanna make me come?” She asked in that low voice of hers, still caressing your features with her fingertips.

“Mhm, please.” Was all you managed to get out, giving her hips another tug.

“What was that?” She was jeering, looking to have a bit of fun with you before she would begin to lose her composure to the throbbing pleasure between her legs.

“Please, Natasha.”

“Please what, darling?” She wiped her thumb across the curve of your lower lip, smiling softly.

“Let me make you come.” You tugged at her hips again, the mere sight of her above you making your heart race unbearably fast. “Please, Natasha.” Her smile widened.

“Come where?” Oh, what a little shit. You almost wanted to groan from frustration.

“Come on my face.” She acquired a pleased look onto her face, yet she still feigned her uncertainty and made it seem like she was mulling the matter over in her head. Your nails dug into the flesh of her hips when you felt her arousal wet the skin on your chest. You felt dizzy from desire, impatient and restless. You were so hungry for her, the longing pull in your chest becoming unbearable. “Please, Natasha. Let me make you come on my face.” Her smile turned into a pleased grin.

“I knew you had it in you. I’m no mind reader”, she reminded you. The smug look on her face was not helping you with your predicament in the slightest. She was pushing all the right buttons to turn you into a whiny, miserable, yet desire-crazed mess. “Go ahead, baby.” She chuckled at your enthusiasm as she lowered herself onto your face, your mouth opening automatically for her. Natasha’s thighs trembled slightly as she held herself up to avoid being too rough, her body throbbing with the need to grind down on your velvety tongue, eager to chase after her postponed orgasm. She sighed in relief when you kissed her sloppily, your lips sucking softly on her sensitive skin, your tongue only barely brushing over her clit before you opened your mouth again to fit as much of her into your mouth as possible, burying yourself into her warmth. Natasha’s back arched, hips rolling against your tongue, a small whimper falling from her lips at how incredibly satisfying it felt to be touched, her hand finding the couch backrest again for some support. You could tell she was trying to be careful, keeping most of her weight off you, nearly hovering over you, but you knew you could take her, and she knew too, she simply needed to be reminded of that. You smoothed your hands up her thighs, caressing her gently as you swirled your tongue over her folds, rapidly building her pleasure back up to its peak. You gripped her hips rather roughly, hugging her lower half as you yanked her whole body weight down on you, Natasha gasping at the increase in pressure, her eyes fluttering open to see you, finding you looking up at her with encouragement and adoration. Her stomach lurched at the sight of you eating her out like you were starved, her composure starting to waver the closer she got to her high.

“Not too rough, is it?” She asked you, out of breath, your wandering hands making it harder for her to concentrate as they trailed up her middle, cupping her full breasts.

“No”, you mumbled incoherently, Natasha hissing at the sensation, her hips jerking forward on their own. She couldn’t hold herself off for any longer, giving into the inviting warmth of your mouth, allowing your hands to guide the movement of her hips as she rode your face. The way her lithe body rolled against you reminded you of ocean waves, her breasts bouncing enticingly with each jolt of her hips. Your jaw was growing tired, your tongue feeling thick in your mouth, but you were determined enough to get her off to keep going. You couldn’t breathe properly, but you barely even noticed, mesmerized by her quiet, desperate moans and her sculpture-like body that only seemed to look even better from your angle that accentuated her curves. The brief idea of making a miniature sculpture of her entered your mind, your wandering hands already memorizing the way her body felt beneath your touch.

“F-fuck”, Natasha moaned, the sound coming out reserved, like she hadn’t quite been able to contain it. She spread her knees wider, smothering your face with her sex, gasping for air as her clit pressed against your nose time and time again, her tense hips snapping erratically into your mouth, her orgasm reaching her with such intensity she could do nothing but tremble. She tried to swallow down the high-pitched whines that pushed up her throat, but they slipped out with each hasty exhale she let out, waves of pleasure crashing through her. You could feel her core pulse against your mouth, her body pushing out more of her arousal to smear over your sticky face. You conformed into the movements of her body, your hands on her waist, holding her gently as she used your mouth to prolong her pleasure.

She let out a long groan when the pleasure finally subsided, turning into a soft buzz that made her body relax as the warmth settled into her muscles and made her want to sink right into your embrace. Her eyes met yours, gaze hazy from the euphoria she had just experienced, her mind fuzzy, longing for your attention. You licked up her folds gently, earning a sigh from Natasha as she slowly eased her weight off your face and lay down on her back over your body, unable to support herself for any longer. The room was filled with your labored exhales as you both caught your breaths, collecting yourselves to be able to speak and move again. Her odd position and the quiet, unanimous puffing made you chuckle, your head lifting off the cushions to reach the apex of her thighs. You kissed her sex gently, moving your mouth to her inner thigh, biting her lightly before suckling the soft flesh hard enough to leave a mark, your fingertips smoothing over her body in a soothing caress, going up her sides and to her chest, your arms eventually wrapping around her lower half in a hug.

“Fuck me”, Natasha sighed in exhaustion, carefully sitting back up and climbing off your body. Her comment made you laugh, an intense blush creeping up your neck to warm your cheeks. You loved it when she was impressed with you, whenever you managed to please her exceptionally well. Natasha looked down at you as you slowly sat up, her lips pursing slightly as she fought the smile on her face, her stomach doing a flip from seeing your flushed appearance.

“You took me so well, detka.” Her tone was praising, her hands automatically fixing up your hair a bit in a caring gesture. She sat down beside you, her hand cupping your cheek to bring you closer, so she could plant her lips on yours. Your knees opened to the sides to allow her closer to you as she deepened the kiss, her lips parting. “Mmh, you’re such a good girl”, she whispered against your lips, the touch of her hands so delicate on your face. You could do nothing but smile, your heart fluttering from the praise you received. She held you close for a moment longer before pulling away, reaching down to the floor to find her shirt, bringing it up to wipe your face clean from the mixture of saliva and come that lingered on your skin. It made you chuckle, a bright smile finding Natasha’s lips. “You’re so beautiful”, she hummed, holding you almost delicately, a stark contrast to the way she had fucked your face just a moment ago. You actually felt a bit sore, but you didn’t mind it in the slightest because the way she looked at you made your head fuzzy from affection as well as lust.

“So are you”, you hummed with a small smirk on your face. “I got inspired again”, you chuckled, Natasha’s brow arching in curiosity, waiting for you to elaborate. “I want to make a sculpture of you.”

“A sculpture?”

“Yes. You’re my muse”, you said playfully, Natasha looking away to hide the small grin on her lips. “I want you in every single piece of art I make”, you hummed, Natasha’s eyes finding your own.

“You’re incredible”, she praised, her hand finding your waist, sliding down to the top of your thigh, stroking the smooth skin there idly, itching to dip her fingers down between your legs.

“Will you pose for me again?” You asked her softly, even though you knew that she would. You didn’t even have to ask.

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that”, she chuckled lowly. “I could never refuse this kind of treatment”, she mused brightly, noticing your hips shift a bit as you tried to ignore the ache in your lower abdomen. Your eyes dropped down to your lap as Natasha’s hand moved to your damp inner thigh to feel the wetness that you had smeared all over yourself by squeezing your thighs together. She gave you a look, a knowing smirk donning her lips. “I think it’s time you get some attention yourself”, Natasha hummed in a low, sensual tone, leaning closer to your ear, kissing your neck gently. “What does my pretty baby want?” She whispered, shivers going down your spine as your forearms broke out in goosebumps. “You can ask for anything at all.” All you got out was a quiet moan, your body feeling so heavy. You just wanted closer to her, you wanted to feel her lips on your neck, you wanted her to mark you, to make sure everyone knew that you were hers. It was ridiculous. You were so far gone, and she hadn’t even touched you. She kissed down your neck, her tongue poking out to caress your skin as she placed open-mouthed kisses over the column of your throat and the underside of your jaw, occasionally nipping you. “What do you want?” She asked again between kisses, moving closer to your mouth. You couldn’t speak, far too focused on her plump lips that finally reached your own. Your moan was muffled by her mouth, your hand searching for hers, guiding it between your legs.

You desperately needed to find relief from the relentless pressure that was making you almost feverish with want. You kissed her harder, brushing your tongue against her own, Natasha opening her mouth wider to deepen the kiss. Her right hand rose up to your neck, fingertips mindlessly caressing the sensitive skin there before her hand found purchase on the side of your neck, thumb stroking softly over the column of your throat. It made your head spin, Natasha swallowing each small, airy moan you let out, her left hand tracing the shape of your folds languidly. Your hips jerked slightly when she tapped your clit with faint pressure, your hands coming up to cup her cheeks, pulling her closer to you, Natasha finding herself back on top of you in no time as you slumped down onto the cushions. She let out a small chuckle, pleased to feel your bare skin against her own as she settled over you, her hips pressing her hand against your core, offering you enough pressure to make you dizzy. She leaned back in to kiss you, the movement of her mouth slow and sensual, her wet tongue brushing only briefly over your lips before she sucked on your top lip delicately. Her breath was sweet and warm, her scent still heavy on your lips and chin, a waft of her perfume mixing with the smell of her arousal. You allowed your hands to sink into her loose curls, tousling up her hair as your fingers scratched gently over her scalp. You couldn’t get enough of her, your body screaming for more of her attention.

Your hips bucked up, searching for her hand, your walls fluttering expectantly. You couldn’t take any more teasing, any more kissing. You needed relief from the numbing tingle in your lower body, your dominant hand leaving her hair to find her hand. Natasha eased herself off your body a bit, her arm braced against the couch cushions to put a few inches between your bodies, allowing you to guide her hand where you wanted it. Arousal shot through you like a bolt of lightning as you took in her flexed abs and the tensed muscles of her shoulder and arm, your mind so incredibly greedy for her. She was too beautiful, too attractive, prompting you to forget about your own pleasure, your hands caressing her waist before rounding to her back and sliding up, feeling the impressive muscles there.

“What?” Natasha asked quietly, a small smirk on her face as she tried to decipher what was going on in your mind.

“You’re so sexy, mesmerizing really”, you whispered, grinning up at her, Natasha rolling her eyes. “Mmh, how are you so attractive?” You moaned, caressing her body, your hands sliding down her front. “I’m obsessed”, you admitted, Natasha chuckling softly.

“I know you are, malyshka”, she crooned, thinking back to all the paintings and drawings you had of her. It was rather obvious to her and everyone else just how obsessed you were with her. You scrunched your nose in mild embarrassment, but the expression was wiped away from your face the second you felt her fingers press over your clit. Your eyes fluttered shut as your chin tilted up, Natasha taking the opportunity to press kisses on your jaw and neck. “You’re so wet. Oh, wow”, she chuckled, her fingers slipping inside in one go. The sensation made you gasp, your hips shifting restlessly, begging for her to move, but she pulled out completely instead, bringing her soaked fingers between you. “Almost too wet”, she smirked teasingly, licking up the slick that clung to her digits. “Fuck”, she whispered, unable to hide her smirk. “This might get messy”, she mused, warmth flushing your cheeks as you took in the sight of Natasha sucking on the tip of her index finger like you were the most delicious delicacy she had been graced with.

“Oh, we shouldn’t be on the couch”, you lamented halfheartedly, Natasha smirking brightly.

“Fuck the couch”, she murmured, kissing down to your breasts as she slowly pulled away from you, kneeling down between your parted thighs. You giggled at her comment, adjusting your position on the cushions, finding a pillow for your head. Natasha grabbed the pair of sweats off the floor, placing the fabric beneath your hips to protect the couch, despite her initial indifference.

“I love you”, you whispered playfully, touched by the fact that she knew you well enough not to mess up your perfect couch.

“I love you too”, she hummed, pressing a kiss on your knee, her gaze dropping down to your glistening sex, hand moving between your legs on its own accord. She bit your thigh gently, her thumb caressing your folds, clearly appreciating how beautiful you looked splayed out for her. You felt your walls clench, the cool air of the living room offering some relief to your heated skin, but it wasn’t enough. She rubbed slow circles over your clit, a soft whine coming from you purely out of desperation. You needed so much more than the gentle touch of her thumb. You tried to press yourself closer to her, wiggling your hips a bit, but it offered you no relief. You grabbed her hand, appreciative of the muscles and veins of her forearm, biting down on your lower lip as you watched the way the blue and green veins bulged out the slightest bit. You guided her fingers to your entrance, Natasha’s gaze shifting automatically to see your face as she slowly slid her fingers inside, filling you up. Your mouth parted in a silent gasp, your eyelids fluttering shut, the grip on her wrist tightening as you immediately started to pump her hand into you, so desperate for more stimulation. She kissed your knee again, clearly missing your lips as she curled her fingers inside you, feeling around your sensitive walls, any movement of her hand causing a jolt of pure lust to go through you. You needed more.

As if fully aware of the thoughts flying inside your head, Natasha brought her thumb to your clit, pressing down on it as she began to move her hand a bit more. She leaned over your body, kissing your lips before going down your neck, her fingers going as deep as they could. Your eyes closed at the pleasure that stirred inside you, hips bucking into her hand impatiently as you tried your best to focus on the way her perfect lips kissed down your collarbones and found your breasts, sucking on the silky flesh before finding your sensitive nipple. The touch of her mouth was much more gentle, slow and sensual, whereas her hand was growing rougher by the second. You heard the loud squelching you were making but you didn’t care, the sound only spurring your arousal on. Your body was so heated, on such overdrive that you felt helpless.

“Natasha”, you moaned quietly, feeling like you were going to burst if she didn’t fuck you harder. She only smiled against your breast, opening her mouth again, her teeth sinking into flesh in a gentle bite. It made your mind blank, your clit throbbing with the need to be touched properly.

“Say it again”, she murmured, her tongue licking over the swell of your breast. She let out a small moan, her left hand stilling as she poured all her focus on the softness of your heaving chest.

“Natasha”, you whined, the sound of your pleading voice making Natasha’s head spin. You groaned quietly, squirming beneath her. “Please.” You moved your hand back between your legs, starting to rub hasty circles over your clit to make the unbearable burn more manageable. She tutted you softly, pulling away from your perfect breasts.

“Let me”, she hummed, kissing down your abdomen, her teeth dragging over the space below your navel, placing gentle bites here and there whenever she couldn’t resist it. Her warm mouth moved across your heated skin and down to the apex of your thighs. You took in a ragged breath when her lips peppered firm, wet kisses over your pubic bone, her teeth scraping over the sensitive area before she finally replaced your fingers with her plump lips. You could have cried from relief, her tongue massaging your clit without any further teasing. The air left your lungs as she moved her left hand inside you, setting a steady pace that would build up your release in no time. You were burning up, your lungs feeling weak with each hasty exhale you let out, a moan escaping you here and there, your head feeling light and airy in the midst of all the pleasure you were feeling.

“Natasha”, you panted, trying your best to communicate to her that you needed her to bring you over the edge or you were going to lose it. Your hand found her left one, your nails sinking into her wrist as you tried to make her go fast, go harder. You let out a deeper moan, a real one, allowing yourself to let go for just a second to hopefully appeal to Natasha’s generous side. You knew she couldn’t resist you, not when you sounded like you were falling apart, like you wanted nothing but her attention, and her attention only. “Oh, Nat-” You moaned in desperation, your back arching, her mouth remaining relentlessly on your sensitive sex. You wouldn’t be able to take it for a second longer. You yearned for her. You needed her to push you over the edge. You needed her so badly. “Mmh, please”, you whimpered, feeling Natasha lose her composure for a moment, her mouth twitching slightly in a smile that threatened to overtake her entire face.

She took a brief moment to rub her lips together, adjusting the angle of her head before bringing her mouth back down to your core, suckling your flesh, flicking her tongue roughly over your clit, the stimulus hitting every single nerve in your body with such intensity you could do nothing but conform to her touch, your back arching, hips bucking into her hand and mouth. Your muscles cramped, toes curling from pleasure, hands searching for something to grip to contain the intensity of what you felt. You couldn’t hear, you couldn’t see, you could only feel. She was everywhere. The coil in your lower abdomen only tightened, becoming unbearable in the matter of a couple seconds, your body hot and sweaty, more than ready for release, and then it hit you full force, the pressure releasing in a sudden orgasm that finally allowed your body to relax. Your walls clamped down on Natasha’s fingers, making sure she stayed inside you as your body writhed in pleasure, waves of warmth swallowing you from head to toe. You held your breath, focusing every ounce of your attention on your orgasm, your release more than satisfactory, especially because it was a result of Natasha’s efforts. She pulled her fingers out of you as gently as she had put them in, flattening her tongue over your folds as she cleaned up the excessive amount of slick your body was producing. You heard and felt her chuckle, the sensation making your body jolt. You responded to it with a small huff, your eyes remaining shut as you reveled in the comfort of your release, feeling your body sink into the softness of the couch, your arms welcoming Natasha into your embrace on their own accord. You got your face full of her hair, its scent hitting your nose in the most intoxicating way, a smile spreading onto your lips. You inhaled the sweet smell, heady with its familiarity and safety. You hugged her close to your chest, overwhelmed by everything that you were feeling, Natasha snuggling into your breasts, pleased to be pressed up against you.

“You’re mmh-” Natasha moaned, pressing her mouth on the side of your breast, kissing the soft skin repeatedly.

“I’m what?” You chuckled, running your fingers lightly down her back.

“Everything”, she hummed, licking a nipple into her mouth. Her words made you smile, eyes fluttering shut at the warmth of her tongue. You turned to your side, sliding Natasha beside you so you would be able to see her face as you cuddled. She looked up at you, smiling softly, her cheeks tinted a soft red, eyes green and bright, as always. You couldn’t pull your gaze off her, your heart squeezing from just how beautiful she was, your smile widening into an excited grin. Sometimes you couldn’t believe that she was yours. She leaned up onto her elbow to be able to kiss you, her sex-swollen lips finding your own. They were so perfectly rosy, so plump, so easy to get lost in. You parted your lips to deepen the kiss, feeling her tongue brush against your own languidly. It was a comforting kind of kiss, one that filled you with love and affection instead of lust and passion.

“I could look at you forever”, you whispered once she pulled away, her eyes flicking between your own for a moment before she leaned down again to place a gentle peck on your lips. You both fell silent after that, the warmth and glow of sex lingering between you, Natasha’s soft body pressed into yours as she caressed your face idly, observing every arch and curve of your features.

“I wish I knew how to paint this”, Natasha whispered, brushing her fingers down the side of your face, wiping away a couple of rogue hairs.

“What?”

“This feeling, you, your face”, she hummed softly, her thumb caressing your lips, eyes fixed on their roundness, enticed by the depth of their color.

“You can”, you assured her, Natasha huffing through her nose.

“I can’t even draw”, she protested, earning a small chuckle from you.

“You don’t need to be able to draw”, you reminded her gently. “You can just use colors, make it abstract”, you explained, looking up at her with a small smile.

“But it won’t capture your beauty”, she said quietly, mildly upset that she wasn’t able to create the way you did.

“Anything you make will be beautiful”, you reasoned, moving your head enough to be able to reach her hand and give it a kiss.

“You’re just saying”, she grumbled with a little pout.

“No. I’m serious. Maybe we should try it out. I know you’ve got an artist in you”, you said teasingly, tickling her side gently, making her smile a shy, little smile.

“You’re so beautiful.” She had a reverent look in her eyes. “I would only ruin your beauty”, she lamented, her fingers never leaving your facial features, finding different ways to caress and pet you. “I ruin things”, she whispered almost silently, halfheartedly, her words nothing but a breath in the stillness of the living room.

“Impossible”, you countered just as softly. “Every piece of art I’ve made has been infinitely better with you involved.” Natasha smiled at that. “You make my world turn, and all that crap.”

“Is that so?” She acquired a bit of humor into her demeanor, amused by your wording.

“Absolutely.” You looked up at her, holding her gaze for a few heartbeats, both of you fully present in the moment. “I mean it, Natasha. You don’t even know how much I mean it.” Her arms tightened around you to make sure you were secure in her embrace. She nuzzled her face into your neck, searching for the warmth of your skin.

“I may not know it, but I feel it.” Her voice was so delicate that it made your heart ache as you held her close, kissing any part of her you could reach, until her skin simply wasn’t enough, your lips craving her own.

“I want kisses”, you mumbled, pulling back, very aware of the tears in your eyes but you didn’t care if she saw them because you felt so safe. She smiled up at you, welcoming you down to kiss her perfect lips. You pecked them once, pulling back to see her face before kissing her firmly again. You loved the feel of her soft lips, the squelch of your mouths, the way your chests pressed together. You loved her. You were obsessed with her, with her soul, her body, her mind. You kissed her again, unable to hide your smile. She held your face so delicately, responding to each and every one of your kisses. You kissed her maybe twenty times. Maybe more. Maybe a hundred times and when you had kissed her for what you thought was the final time, she pulled you back in for another silly, little peck.

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liauditore · 5 months ago

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Equally Invalid

#trafficshipping #smallidarity #<- shipping rlly isn't the main main focus here but it ends on the kiss so I'm scared to tag anything else lol #cw blood #my art #animatic #it's more like. visuals for character analysis thoughts. because this is way more fun for all of us than writing it all out as an essay #I don't expect you guys to. Get it btw or at least not all of it alot of this is very self indulgent and jumps around the timeline #it's like 99% just for me but still. I hope the smallidarity enjoyers of the world can get smth out of it at least lol #very very very happy for ppl to ask abt specific scenes if ur interested ofc #I prefer not to spell out what things mean cus like. It's more fun for me thinking of ppl applying their own thoughts onto my stuff.#but if you ask I will yap forever god bless #if you want you can play a game of spot the jojo reference. and spot the utena reference #ANYWAY YEAH WOO scott and joel content yes yes yes woo!!!!#do they have a duo name like. at all. is that a thing #happy pride everyone

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meamiiikiii · 6 months ago

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5% of a color headcanon.... two versions since b&w emphasizes the dagger more i think but i still like the warm tones ASFSADA

i am not biased towards rainbow daggers whatsoever i promise (lie)

((also friend is streaming now and im there too!! bit more info linked here, its rated mature tho))

#in stars and time #isat #isat siffrin #i think tumblr is chewing on this ah well #its more of a weapon color headcanon than anything else tbh SAFASDA #but its very funny in my mind to refer to this as #insert percent amount of color headcanon here ASDASFA #i do not have many color headcanons tbh???#overall i would say i have like 1.15(ish) color headcanons that are solid in my brain across the cast???#the rainbow dagger has been in my minds eye for a long time #um SPOILERISH talk ahead in tag talk so be warned #i am serious!! turn back now if u dont want SPOILERS!!!#can u imagine if siffrins parents had lovingly crafted that white cloak and helped him pick out the pure black fit when younger #so they could be fashionably black and white like if things were in color or something #but then the first thing siffrin picks out on their own terms is literally the most colorful thing imaginable for the dagger #i do not know if that makes much sense but yeah #it is fun in my minds eye ASDAFA #actually is it ever mentioned where siffrin got the dagger??#was it also passed down????#ik the cloak was for sure from his family #and the pure black fit underneath is up in the air i think #tho if it was a first pass pick from parents #and he continued to pick it again and again after they got older subconsciously or not might be fun to think about #also do not mind the art style shift it might happen again LMAO #probably sparingly tho? who knows!!!#should i link stream in this post??? i dont know???#i feel a lil bad if it isnt related?????#oh well im doing it anyway because friendship :]#honestly did not think i would also have anything to post today but uh oops sorta just happened and it lined up so ASFASDA #anyway tag talk over stream time WOOO and i think i hit tag limit LMAO

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wonder-worker · 4 months ago

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"Administratively, too, [...] queens were considered the legal lords of their landholdings. [...] Grants noted that the queen's officials had administrative autonomy without being subject to the king or anyone else, and evidence of the same assumption can be gleaned from court rolls that were recorded with headings indicating the lord of the manor whose court proceedings were being enrolled. As an example, some court rolls for the manor of Haveringatte-Bower specified that it was the court of [Margaret of Anjou] that was in session, while later rolls recorded Elizabeth Woodville as the lord of the manor court."

-Michele Seah, 'My Lady Queen, the Lord of the Manor': The Economic Roles of Late Medieval Queens", Parergon, Volume 37, Number 2, 2020.

#queenship tag #margaret of anjou #elizabeth woodville #I really appreciated how Seah acknowledged the uneven surviving evidence for her subjects and how that affects her analysis.#It was very brief but it was more than what most historians do so it was very refreshing :)#my post #english history #this is for @ anon who asked if its true that Margaret mostly hosted her own courts while EW mostly stayed with her husband #I'm not sure which (if any) historian has said something like this* but I highly doubt it's true !#We don't really have solid itineraries in place for either queen to make any kind of firm conclusions of the sort #(ie: about their residences or anything else) though I'm sure it would have varied depending on the situation #But either way it's explicitly clear that both Margaret and Elizabeth held their own courts in their own lands on multiple occasions #And we also have evidence of both of them residing with their husbands in regular circumstances #*tbh this is too long to get into right now but this assumption does fit into the few 'revisionist' interpretations of both Margaret and EW #(which imo is just as degrading as her traditional interpretation for the latter) so I wouldn't be surprised if some #historians may have framed their situations in such a way and relied entirely on their own assumptions to do so #Either way as far as I know there is no evidence of any such contrast existing - at least not on a consistent basis.#and the evidence we do have contradicts the assumption #Hope this helps! I figured a proper excerpt from this article would clarify the point better than any direct answer from me <3 #also in case anyone was wondering I *think* the title ('My Lady Queen the Lord of the Manor') was referring to administrative accounts #of EW based on what Seah wrote here - though ofc I'm not sure #queue

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moe-broey · 3 months ago

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Also @ my it takes Sharena to break free from the "Gustav was a good man/Father" Askr family unreliable narrator hivemind. That the Main Reason she can't/doesn't is because it's the One Thing that's protecting her. That's stopping her from having a catastrophic world/life fucking breakdown about it. Heavily influenced by her brother and mother's feelings about it.

There's something else, I think Sharena is specifically protecting herself from too. She was Triandra's sister, too.

#feh #IT ALWAYS COMES BACK TO TRIANDRA. FOR ME. FOR SOME REASON.#ALSO. ALSO. when it comes to 'comparing' what 'is/isn't' abuse. something logically ik you can't/shouldn't do #but like. tri/peony's father's ye olde fairytale villain levels of abuse vs gustav's abuse. which is.#so so. like. like i feel like i could meet someone and they could tell me yeah my dad was [insert every gustav trait here]#like. that's not to say the level of abuse tri/peony endured is impossible or realistic. like. it's just a rarer more horrifying case #that reads like an evil stepparent story ala cinderella.#like sliding scale/ends of a spectrum we have gustav (bad dad you can find anywhere dime a dozen)#to triandra's dad (cinderella stepmom levels of abuse but not entirely out of the realm of reality unfortunately just a rare case)#to sombron (literally actual cartoon levels of evil. which also isn't to dismiss anything but like.#he had a bunch of kids and then forced them to kill each other. and then did whatever he did to veyle. who was Lucky #she was too young to participate in the sibling battle royale to the death brawl.)#idk idk. it's like #back when i used to exist i had friends/peers who would talk about their family situations and #it was like. a frame of reference. that's horrible and outright abusive and i'm so sorry you have to go through that.#meanwhile. my own situation. i always describe it as 'stupid and complicated'.#idk idk. i just think sharena's feelings about gustav are more Loadbearing. than anything else.#and she's also like. she loves her brother so much. looks up to him and is inclined to trust/agree w whatever he says #like sharena obvs still has her own feelings/thoughts. but like. alfonse is also just so important to her.#and then there's henriette. who sharena does actively strive to be like. ect ect #idk idk. this is something other than breadcrumbs intsys gives me moldy bread cuts off the mold and tells me #it's safe to eat and that the mold was never there actually. but i remember. i remember the mold.#sharena #fe triandra

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ssruis · 4 months ago

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Long list of prsk related things I’m working on that may or may not get finished idk I never finish anything and I love abandoning my works

Art:

> several meme redraws (‘I’m not a hater’ ‘I am’, ‘y’know. Nya.’, ‘ok fine I am a homosexual’, ‘we look like a couple’ ‘a couple of bestieees’, heart/thumbs up, ‘sorry *sleeps* sorry *sleeps more* sorry *sleeps more*’)

> redraw of the emunene hug thing

> actually finishing that ruikasa drawing

> niccori rap ending pose ruikasa w live nene reaction

> ruikasa w Barbie movie outfits that im only doing because that one fixer/barbie girl mashup is so inspiring. To me.

> nene looking at ruikasa: tsukasa is so dense idk how he can’t see that rui likes him if someone acted like that around me I’d definitely notice (while emu is clinging to her)

emu having flashbacks of her being even more obvious and nene not noticing: …uh huh! You’re so smart nenechan!

> emu hugging each member of wxs & grading their hugs (every1 gets an A plus)

> tsukasa & rui with the demon core

> wxs fantasy au drawing

> emu emu beam

> at some point I’d like to draw at least a bust for all the characters but. So much effort and so little skill.

> go for it kusanagi (emunene)

> there are several outfits I want to put wxs in but that requires me to study clothing because I am so bad at drawing that

Writing:

> early wxs days emunene focus nene & tsukasa fic where nene is having a category 5 wet cat moment over what to get emu for Valentine’s Day and tsukasa sees this & is like “I’ll teach you how to make chocolates :)” & they bond. because I love rotating the early nene&tsukasa dynamic in my head. actually started this forever ago & still kinda like it so it may get finished. (Shocking)

> tsukasa has glasses ruikasa fic (also started it a while ago but whether or not I’ll finish it depends on nailing down the characterization better)

> soul eater ruikasa fic w background emunene (mostly written but inside of my head which means it’s barely written)

> emu focus wxs fantasy au (partially written in my head but it’s like 30 different fics & id like to know that i can finish something before attempting to wrangle it)

> cpdb/space opera au (would be. Such a long one shot. Again partially written but I want to know I can finish things)

> HMC/several other inspirations ruikasa w background emunene fic (only has barebones framing)

> what I’m choosing to affectionately call “tsukasa & having a weird relationship to romance” fic that’s 1/4 extrapolating from canon & 3/4 projection

> emunene fic where they’re the romantic leads in a musical due to ruikasa meddling

> that one future ruikasa rui&asahi go on a date and rui is forced to confront things abt himself fic that exists in my head (framed out but i started writing the emu&tsukasa companion piece and it became 2000 words which made me realize the entire endeavor would get out of hand and idk if im that motivated to do that. Also was like the first thing i wrote both pjsk wise and fic wise and idk if i still like it that much. Sad bc there was a nene&rui scene i really enjoyed)

> emunene fic w emu & nene eating lunch with rui (started but needs. So much more work.)

> ruikasa fic where an wants to eat lunch w nene but she’s already going to go eat with rui bc tsukasa is sick and an is like i still feel some responsibility to the disciplinary committee and tsukasa being gone means rui is probably up to some truly crazy shit so she tags along and is forced to witness rui acting like tsukasa went off to war. Rui isn’t even up to anything he’s like ‘there’s no point if tsukasa isn’t here 😔’. Requires me to read more vbs stuff to get a good grasp on a though.

> emu + rui or emu + tsukasa fic that’s just deus ex emu towards their feelings. And then whoever she’s talking to forces her to talk abt her own feelings (like wrangling a cat)

> nene fic abt her feeling like she can’t properly convey how much emu means to her & then at the end emu’s like but you do in ur own way

Analysis/long ass posts

> emu + agency/being treated like a child and her relationship to her brothers

> emu and her dream being both motivation and a burden (for this and the above one it’ll probably be easier to wait for ohe on eng)

> tsukasa and his maturity/big brother complex

> emu + tsukasa adhd moments

> a good sekai can’t be made alone (WxS sekai + how emu/nene/rui have some degree of influence albeit minimal) (quotes are all pulled and transcribed im just being lazy abt writing it) (idk i also might decide to add another 2000 words of quotes if i go find the specific things im referencing wrt WLE… Might just do that for emu though because i feel like that goes more unrecognized and nene is more cut and dry/i already talked abt rui and his hang ups I don’t wanna do it again)

> nene wet cat/she’s actually so fucking weird moments

> at some point I want to talk abt the saki+tsukasa mental illness but this would require me to become a saki scholar and that would take so much time. I mean I’ll do it but I’m also lazy.

> nene + rui relationship decay lore crumbs and them not being able to really help each other/encouraging each other to stagnate (at least in the early wxs days)

> emunene momence….

> really long character voice guide for myself that will be very labor intensive. Nobody wants or asked for this I’m just neurotic.

#realistically speaking most of these r not happening. such is life.#more for my own reference than anything else.#mine #how could I forget the rui and tsukasa us method acting being a toxic couple in ikea #my writing #<- for future reference

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waitingforsecretsouls · 2 years ago

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A compilation of Maedhros

What it says on the tin, a collection of all quotes definitely and possibly containing or pertaining to Maedhros in the published Silmarillion and one or two HoME favs for my own reference.

The published Silmarillion:

Of Eldamar and the Princes of the Eldalië

“Fëanor was the mightiest on skill of word and hand, more learned than his brothers; his spirit burned as a flame.”

“The seven sons of Fëanor were Maedhros the tall; Maglor the mighty singer, whose voice was heard far over land and sea; Celegorm the fair, and Caranthir the dark; Curufin the crafty, who inherited most his father’s skill of hand; and the youngest Amrod and Amras, who were twin-brothers alike in mood and face. In later days they were great hunters in the woods of Middle-Earth; and a hunter also was Celegorm, who in Valinor was a friend of Oromë, and often followed the Vala’s horn.”

“There [in the forests] she [Aredhel] was often in the company of the sons of Fëanor, her kin [...].”

“Fëanor and his sons abode seldom in one place for long, but travelled far and wide upon the confines of Valinor, going even to the borders of the Dark and the cold shores of the Outer Sea, seeking the unknown. Often they were guests in the halls of Aulë; but Celegorm went rather to the house of Oromë, and and there he got great knowledge of birds and beasts, and all their tongues he knew.”

Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor

“He [Fëanor] was tall, and fair of face, and masterful, his eyes piercingly bright and his hair raven-dark; in the pursuit of all his purposes eager and steadfast. Few ever changed his courses by counsel, none by force.”

“While still in his early youth he wedded Nerdanel, the daughter of a great smith named Mahtan, among those of the Noldor most dear to Aulë; and of Mahtan he learned much of the making of things in metal and stone. Nerdanel also was firm of will, but more patient than Fëanor, desiring to understand minds rather than to master them, and at first she restrained him when the fire of his heart grew to hot; but his later deeds grieved her and they became estranged. Seven sons she bore to Fëanor; her mood she bequeathed in part to some of them, but not to all.”

“He [Fëanor] lived apart from them, exploring the land of Aman, or busying himself with the knowledge and the crafts in which he delighted.”

Of the Silmarils and the Unrest of the Noldor

“For Fëanor began to love the Silmarils with a greedly love, and grudged the sight of them to any save to his father and his seven sons [...].”

“And Fëanor made a secret force, of which not even Melkor was aware; and there he tempered fell swords for himself and his seven sons, and made tall helms with plumes of red.”

“‘See half-brother!’, he said. ‘This is sharper than thy tongue. Try but once more to usurp my place and the love of my father, and maybe I will rid the Noldor of one who seeks to be the master of thralls.’ These words were heard by many, for the house of Finwë was in the great square beneath the Mindon[...].”

“But Fëanor spoke no word in answer, standing silent before the Valar. Then he turned and left the council, and departed from Valmar. With him into banishment went his seven sons, and northward in Valinor they made a strong place and treasury in the hills; and there at Formenos a multitude of gems were laid in hoard, and weapons also; and the Silmarils were shut in a chamber of iron. Thither also came Finwë the king, because of the love that he bore to Fëanor; and Fingolfin ruled the Noldor in Tirion. Thus the lies of Melkor were made true in seeming, though Fëanor by his own deeds had brought this thing to pass; and the bitterness that Melkor had sown endured, and lived still long afterwards between the sons of Fingolfin and Fëanor.”

Of the Flight of the Noldor

“But even as Nienna mourned, there came messangers from Formenos, and they were Noldor and bore new tidings of evil. For they told how a blind Darkness came northward, and in the midst walked some power for which there was no name, and the Darkness issued from it. But Melkor also was there, and he came to the house of Fëanor, and there he slew Finwë King of the Noldor before his doors, and spilled the first blood in the Blessed Realm; for Finwë alone had not fled from the horror of the Dark. And they told that Melkor had broken the stronghold of Formenos, and taken all the jewels of the Noldor that were hoarded in that place; and the Silmarils were gone.”

“His seven sons leapt straightway to his side and took the selfsame vow together, and red as blood shone their drawn swords in the light of the torches. They swore and oath which none shall break, and none should take, by the name even of Illúvatar, calling the Everlasting Dark upon them if they kept it not; and Manwë they named in witness, and Varda, and the hallowed mountain of Taniquetil, vowing to pursue with vengeance and hatred to the ends of the World Vala, Demon, Elf or Man yet unborn, or any creature, great or small, good or evil, that time should bring forth unto the end of days, whoso should hold or take or keep a Silmaril from their possession. Thus spoke Maedhros and Maglor and Celegorm, Curufin and Caranthir, Amrod and Amras, princes of the Noldor; and many quailed to hear the dread words. For so sworn, good or evil, an oath may not be broken, and it shall pursue oathkeeper and oathbreaker to the world’s end. Fingolfin and Turgon his son therefore spoke against Fëanor, and fierce words awoke, so that once again wrath came near to the edge of swords.”

“At length after long debate Fëanor prevailed, and the greater part of the Noldor there assembled he set aflame with the desire of new things and strange countries. Therefore when Finarfin spoke yet again for heed and delay, a great shout went up: ‘Nay, let us be gone!’ And straightway Fëanor and his sons began to prepare for the marching forth.”

“[...] And thus at the last as two divided hosts the Noldor set forth upon their bitter road. Fëanor and his follwoing were in the van, but the greater host came behind under Fingolfin [...].”

“But Fëanor laughted, and spoke not to the herald, but to the Noldor, saying: ‘ So! Then will this valiant people send forth the heir of their king alone into banishment, with his sons only, and return to their bondage?[...]’“

“Therefore they continued their march; and the House of Fëanor hastened before them along the coast of Elendë; not once did they turn their eyes back to Tirion on the green hill of Túna.”

“Thereupon Fëanor left him, and sat in dark thought beyond the walls of Alqualondë, until his host was assembled. When he judged that his strength was enough, he went to the Haven of the Swans and began to man the ships that were anchored there and take them away by force. But the Teleri withstood him, and cast many of the Noldor into the sea. Then swords were drawn, and a bitter fight was fought upon the ships, and about the lamplit quays and piers of the Haven, and even upon the great arch of its gate. Thrice the people of Fëanor were driven back, and many were slain upon either side; but the vanguard of the Noldor were succoured by Fingon with the foremost of the host of Fingolfin, who coming up found a battle joined and their own kin falling, and rushed in before they rightly knew the cause of the quarrel; some thought indeed that the Teleri had sought to waylway the march of the Noldor at the bidding of the Valar. Thus at last the Teleri were overcome, and a great part of the mariners that dwelt in Alqualondë were wickedly slain. For the Noldor were become fierce and desperate, and the Teleri had less strength, and were armed for the most part only with slender bows. Then the Noldor drew away their white ships and manned their oars as best they might, and rowed them north along the coast. [...] But Uinen wept for the mariners of the Teleri; and the sea rose in wrath against the slayers, so that many of the ships were wrecked and those upon them drowned.[....] Nonetheless the greater part of the Noldor escaped, and when the storm was past they hold on their course, some by ship and some by land[...].”

“’On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they beginn well; and by treason of kin unto kin shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be forever.’“

“Then many quailed; but Fëanor hardened his heart and said; ‘We have sworn, and not lightly. This oath we will keep. We are threatened with many evils, and treason not least; but one thing is not said: that we shall suffer from cowardice, from cravens or the fear of cravens. Therefore I say that we will go on, and this doom I add: the deeds that we shall do shall be the matter of song until the last days of Arda.’“

“But Fëanor, knowing all that was said, took counsel with his sons; and two courses only they saw to escape from Araman and come into Endor: by the straits or by ship. But the Helcaraxë they deemed unpassable, whereas the ships were too few. Many had been lost upon their long journey, and there remained now not enough to bear across all the great host together; yet none were willing to abide upon the western coast while others were ferried first: already the fear of treachery was awake among the Noldor. Therefore it came into the hearts of Fëanor and his sons to seize all the ships and depart suddenly; for they had retained the mastery of the fleet since the battle of the Haven, and it was manned only by those had fought there and were bound to Fëanor. And as though it came at his call, there sprang up a wind from the north-west, and Fëanor slipped away secretly with all whom he deemed true to him, and went aboard, and put out to sea, and left Fingolfin in Araman.[...] But when they were landed, Maedhros the eldest of his sons, and on a time the friend of Fingon ere Morgoth’s lies came between, spoke to Fëanor, saying: ‘Now what ships and rowers will you spare to return, and whom shall they bear hither first? Fingon the valiant?’ [...] Then Maedhros alone stood aside, but Fëanor caused fire to be set to the white ships of the Teleri.”

Of the Return of the Noldor

“Under the cold stars before the rising of the Moon the host of Fëanor went up the long Firth of Drengist that pierced Echoing Hills of Ered Lomin, and passed thus from the shores into the great land of Hithlum; and they came at length to the long lake of Mithrim, and upon its northern shore made their encampement in the region that bore the same name. But the host of Morgoth, aroused by the tumult of Lammoth and the light of the burning at Losgar, came through the passes of Ered Wethrin, the Mountains of Shadow, and assailed Fëanor on a sudden, before his camp was full-wrought or put in defence; and there and the grey fields of Mithrim was fought the Second Battle in the Wars of Beleriand. Dagor-nuin-Giliath it is named, the Battle-under-Stars, for the Moon had not yet risen; and it is renowned in song. The Noldor, outnumbered and taken at unawares, were yet swiftly victorious; for the light of Aman was not yet dimmed in their eyes, and they were strong and swift, and deadly in anger, and their swords were long and terrible. The Orcs fled before them, and they were driven forth from Mithrim with great slaughter, and hunted over the Mountains of Shadow into the great plain of Ard-Galen, that lay northward of Dorthonion. There the armies of Morgoth that had passed south into the vale of Sirion and beleaguered Cirdan in the Havens of the Falas came up to their aid, and were cuaght in their ruin. For Celegorm, Fëanor’s son, having news of them, waylaid them with a part of the Elven-host, and comming down upon them out of the hills near Eithel Sirion drove them into the Fen of Serech. Evil indeed were the tidings that came at last to Angband, and Morgoth was dismayed. Ten days that battle lasted, and from it returned from all the hosts that he had prepred for the conquest of Beleriand no more than a handful of leaves.”

“There he would have perished, had not his sons in that moment come up with force to his aid; and the Balrogs left him, and departed to Angband. Then his sons raised up their father and bore him back to Mithrim. But as they drew near to Eithel Sirion and were upon the upward path to the pass over the mountains, Fëanor bade them halt; for his wounds were mortal, and he knwe that his hour was come. [...] But he cursed the name of Morgoth thrice, and laid it upon his sons to hold to their oath, and to avenge their father.”

“But even in the hour of the death of Fëanor and embassy came to his sons from Morgoth, acknowledging defeat, and offering terms, even to the surrender of a Silmaril. Then Maedhros the tall, the eldest son, persuaded his brothers to feign to treat with Morgoth, and to meet his emissaries at the place appointed; but the Noldor had as little thought of faith as had he. Wherefore each embassy came with greater force than was agreed; but Morgoth sent the more, and there were Balrogs. Maedhros was ambushed, and all his company were slain; but he himself was taken alive by the command of Morgoth, and brought to Angband. Then the brothers of Maedhros drew back, and fortified a great camp in Hithlum; but Morgoth held Maedhros as hostage, and sent word that he would not release him unless the Noldor would forsake their war, returning into the West, or else departing far from Beleriand into the South of the world. But the sons of Fëanor knew that Morgoth would betray them, and would not release Maedhros, whatsoever they might do; and they were constrained also by their oath, and might not for any cause forsake the war against their Enemy. Therefore Morgoth took Maedhros and hung him from the face of a precipe upon Thangorodrim , and he was caught to the rock by the wrist of his right hand in a band of steel.”

“Then the Elves smote upon the gates of Angband, and the challenge of their trumpets shook the towers of Thangorodrim; and Maedhros heard them amid his torment and cried aloud, but his voice was lost in the echoes of the stone.”

“Long before, in the bliss of Valinor, before Morgoth was unchained, or lies came between them, Fingon had been close in friendship to Maedhros; and though he knew not yet that Maedhros had not forgotten him at the burning of the ships, the thought of their ancient friendship stung his heart. Therefore he dared a deed which is justly renowned among the feats of the princes of the Noldor: alone, and without the counsel of any, he set forth in search of Maedhros [...].”

“Thus Fingon found what he sought. For suddenly above him far and faint his song was taken up, and a voice answering called to him. Maedhros it was that sang amid his torment. But Fingon climed to the foot of the precipe where his kinsman hung, and then he could go no further; and he wept when he saw the cruel device of Morgoth. Maedhros therefore, being in anguish and without hope, begged Fingon to shoot him with his bow; and Fingon strung an arrow, and bent his bow. And seeing no better hope he cried to Manwë, saying: ‘O King to whom all birds are dear, speed now this feathered shaft, and recall some pity for the Noldor in their need!’ His prayer was answered swiftly. For Manwë, to whom all birds are dear, and to whom they bring news upon Taniquetil from Middle-Earth, had sent forth the race of Eagles, commanding them to dwell in the crags of the North, and to keep watch upon Morgoth; for Manwë still had pity for the exiled Elves. And the Eagles brought news of much that passed in these days to the sad ears of Manwë. Now, even as Fingon bent his bow, there flew down from the high airs Thorondor, King of Eagles, mightiest of all birds that have ever been, whose outstretched wings spanned thirty fathoms; and staying Fingon’s hand he took him up, and bore him to the face of the rock where Maedhros hung. But Fingon could not release the hell-wrought bond upon his wrist, nor sever it, nor draw it from the stone. Again therefore in his pain Maedhros begged that he would slay him; but Fingon cut off his hand above the wrist, and Thorondor bore them back to Mithrim. There Maedhros in time was healed; for the fire of life was hot within him, such as those possessed who were born and nurtured in Valinor. His body recovered from his torment and became hale, but the shadow of his pain was in his heart; and he lived to wield his sword with his left hand deadlier than his right had been.[...] And the hatred between the houses of Fingolfin and Fëanor was assuaged. For Maedhros begged forgiveness for the desertion at Araman; and he waived his claim to kingship over all the Noldor, saying to Fingolfin: ‘If there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwë, and not the least wise.’ But to this his brothers did not all in their hearts agree. Therefore even as Mandos foretold, the House of Fëanor were called the Dispossessed, because the overlordship passed from it, the elder, to the house of Fingolfin, both in Elende and Beleriand, and because also of the loss of the Silmarils.”

“Now the lords of the Noldor held council in Mithrim, and thither came Angrod out of Doriath, bearing the message of King Thingol. Cold seemed its welcome to the Noldor, and the sons of Fëanor were angered at the words; but Maedhros laughted, saying: ‘A king is he that can hold his own, or else his title is vain. Thingol does but grant us lands where his power does not run. Indeed Doriath alone would be his realm this day, but for the coming of the Noldor. Therefore in Doriath let him reign, and be glad that he has the sons of Finwe for his neighbours, not the orcs of Morgoth that we found. Elsewhere it shall go as seems good to us.’ But Caranthir, who loved not the sons of Finarfin, and was the harshest of the brothers and the most quick to anger, cried aloud: ‘Yea more! Let not the sons of Finarfin run hither and thither with their tales to this Dark Elf in his caves! Who made them our spokesmen to deal with him? And though they be come indeed to Beleriand, let them not so swiftly forget that their father is a lord of the Noldor, though their mother be of other kin.’ Then Angrod was wrathful and went forth from the council. Maedhros indeed rebuked Caranthir; but the greater part of the Noldor, of both followings, hearing his words were troubled in heart, fearing the fell spirit of the sons of Fëanor that it seemed would ever be like to burst forth in rash words of violence. But Maedhros restrained his brothers, and they departed from the council, and and soon afterwards they left Mithrim and went eastward beyond Aros to the wide lands about the Hill of Himring. That region was named thereafter the March of Maedhros; for northwards there was little defence of hill or river against assault from Angband. There Maedhros and his brothers kept watch, gathering all such people as would come to them, and they had few dealings with their kinsfolk westward, save at need. It is said indeed that Maedhros himself devised this plan, to lessen the chance of strife, and because he was very willing that the chief peril of assault should fall upon himself; and he remained for his part in friendship with the houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin, and would come among them at times for common counsel. Yet he also was bound by the oath, though it slept now for a time.”

“Thither came many of the chieftains and people of Fingolfin and Finrod; and of the sons of Fëanor Maedhros and Maglor, with warriors of the eastern March; and there came also great numbers of the Grey-elves, wanderers of the woods of Beleriand and folk of the Havens, with Cirdan, their lord. There came even Green-elves from Ossirirand, the Land of Seven Rivers, far off under the walls of the Blue Mountains; but out of Doriath there came but two messengers, Mablung and Daeron, bearing greetings from the King. At Mereth Aderthad many counsels were taken in good will, and oaths were sworn of league and friendship; and it is told that at this feast the tongue of the Grey-elves was most spoken even by the Noldor, for they learned swiftly the speech of Beleriand, whereas the Sindar were slow to master the tongue of Valinor. The hearts of the Noldor were high and full of hope, and to many among them it seemed that the words of Fëanor had been justified, bidding them seek freedom and fair kingdoms in Middle-Earth; and indeed there followed after long years of peace, while their swords fenced Beleriand from the ruin of Morgoth, and his power was shut behind his gates. In those days there was joy beneath the new Sun and Moon, and all the land was glad; but still the Shadow brooded in the north.”

“Now Morgoth, believing the report of his spies, that the lords of the Noldor were wandering abroad with little thought of war, made trial of the strength and watchfulness of his enemies. Once more, with little warning, his might stirred, and suddenly there were earthquakes in the north, and fire came from fissures in the earth, and the Iron Mountains vomited flame; and Orcs poured forth across the plain of Ard-Galen. Thence they thrust down the pass of Sirion in the west, and in the east they burst through the land of Maglor, in the gap between the hills of Maedhros and the outliers of the Blue Mountains. But Fingolfin and Maedhros were not sleeping, and while others sought out the scattered bands of Orcs that strayed in Beleriand and did great evil they came upon the main host from either side as it was assaulting Dorthonion; and they defeated the servants of Morgoth, and pursuing them across Ard-Galen destroyed them utterly, to the least and last, within sight of Angband’s gates. That was the third great battle of the Wars of Beleriand, and it was named Dagor Aglareb, the Glorious Battle. A victory it was, and yet a warning; and the princes took heed of it, and therafter drew closer their leaguer, and strengthened and ordered their watch, setting the Siege of Angband, which lasted wellnigh four hundred years of the Sun. For a long time after Dagor Aglareb no servant of Morgoth would venture from his gates, for they feared the lords of the Noldor; and Fingolfin boasted that save by treason among themselves Morgoth could never again burst from the leaguer of the Eldar, nor come upon them unawares. Yet the Noldor could not capture Angband, nor could they regain the Silmarils; and war never wholly ceased in all that time of the Siege, for Morgoth devised new evils, and ever and anon he would make trial of his enemies.”

“When nearly one hundred years had run since the Dagor Aglareb, Morgoth endeavoured to take Fingolfin at unawares (for he knew of the vigilance of Maedhros); and he sent forth and army into the white north, and they turned west and again south and came down the coasts to the Firth of Drengist, by the route Fingolfin followed from the Grinding Ice. Thus they would enter into the realm of Hithlum from the west; but they were espied in time, and Fingon fell upon them among the hills at the head of the Firth, and most of the Orcs were driven into the sea. This was not reckoned among the great battles, for the Orcs were not great in number, and only a part of the people of Hithlum fought there. But thereafter there was peace for many years, and no open assault from Angband, for Morgoth perceives now that the Orcs unaided were no match for the Noldor [...].”

“But Morgoth was ill-pleased that Glaurung had disclosed himself oversoon; and after his defeat there was the Long Peace of wellnigh two hundred years. In all that time there were but affrays on the marches, and all Beleriand prospered and grew rich. Behind the guard of their armes in the north, the Noldor built their dwellings and their towers, and many fair things they made in those days, and poems and histories and books of lore.”

Of Beleriand and its Realms

“Thus the realm of Finrod was the greatest by far, though he was the youngest of the great lords of the Noldor, Fingolfin, Fingon and Maedhros, and Finrod Felagund.”

“Of those horses many of their sires came from Valinor, and they were given to Fingolfin by Maedhros in atonement for his losses, for they had been carried by ship to Losgar.”

“East of Dorthonion the marches of Beleriand were most open to attack, and only hills of no great height guarded the vale of Gelion from the north. In that region, upon the March of Maedhros and in the lands behind, dwellt the sons of Fëanor with many people; and their riders passed often over the vast northern plain, Lothlann the wide and empty, east of Ard-Galen, lest Morgoth should attempt any sortie towards East Beleriand. The chief citadel of Maedhros was upon the Hill of Himring, the Ever-Cold; and that was wide-shouldered, bare of trees, and flat upon its summit, surrounded by many lesser hills.[...] Thus the sons of Fëanor under Maedhros were the lords of East Beleriand, but their people were in that time mostly in the north of the land, and southward they rode only to hunt in the greenwoods.”

Of the Noldor in Beleriand

“Then Melian looked in her [Galadriel’s] eyes and said: ‘I believe not that the Noldor came forth as messengers of the Valar, as was said at first; not though they came in the very hour of our need. For the speak never of the Valar, nor have their high lords brought any messenge to Thingol, whether from Manwe, or Ulmo, or even from Olwë the King’s brother, and his own folk that went over the sea. For what cause, Galadriel, were the high people of the Noldor driven forth as exiles from Aman? Or what evil lies on the sons of Fëanor that they are so haughty and so fell? Do I not strike near the truth?’ ‘Near’, said Galadriel, ‘save that we were not driven forth, but came of our own will, and against that of the Valar. And through great peril and in despite of the Valar for this purpose we came: to take vengeance upon Morgoth, and regain what he stole.’“

“But Melian said: ‘Truly for these causes they came; but for others also. Beware of the sons of Fëanor! The shadow of the wrath of the Valar lies upon them; and they have done evil, I perceive, both in Aman and to their own kin. A grief but lulled to sleep lies between the princes of the Noldor.’ And Thingol answered: ‘What is that to me? Of Fëanor I have heard but report, which makes him great indeed. Of his sons I hear little to my pleasure; yet they are likely to prove the deadliest foes of our foe.’ ‘Their swords and their counsel shall have two edges’, said Melian; and afterwards they spoke no more of this matter.”

Of the Coming of Men into the West

“When three hundred years and more were gone since the Noldor came to Beleriand, in the days of the Long Peace, Finrod Felagung lord of Nargothrond jouneyed east of Sirion and went hunting with Maglor and Maedhros, sons of Fëanor. But he wearied of the chase and passed on alone to the mountains of Ered Lindon that he saw shining from afar [...].”

“Fingolfin, as King of all the Noldor, sent messengers of welcome to them; and then many the young and eager men of the Edain went away and took service with the kings and lords of the Eldar.”

“But Amlach repented, saying: ‘ I have now a quarrel of my own with this Master of Lies, which will last to my life’s end’; and he went away north and entered the service of Maedhros.”

“But after a time, the Elf-kings, seeing that it was not good for Elves and Men to dwell mingled together without order, and that Men needed lords of their own kind, set regions apart where Men could live their own lives, and appointed chieftains to hold these lands freely. They were the allies of the Eldar in war, but marched under their own leaders. Yet many of the Edain had delight in the friendship of the Elves, and dwelt among them so long as they had leave; and the young men often took service for a time in the hosts of the kings.”

Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin

“Now Fingolfin, King of the North and High King of the Noldor, seeing that his people were become numerous and strong, and that the Men allied to them were many and valiant, pondered once more an assault upon Angband; for he knew that they lived in danger while the circle of the siege was incomplete, and Morgoth was free to labour in the deep mines, devising what evils none could foretell ere he should reveal them. This counsel was wise according to the measure of his knowledge; for the Noldor did not yet comprehend the fulness of the power of Morgoth, nor understaind that their unaided war upon him was without final hope, whether they hasted or delayed. But because the land was fair and the kingdoms wide, most of the Noldor were content with things as they were, trusting them to last, and slow to beginn an assault in which many must surely perish were it in victory or in defeat. Therefore they were little disposed to hearken to Fingolfin, and the sons of Fëanor at that time least of all. [...] Thus the designs of Fingolfin came to naught, and the land had peace yet for a while.”

“Thus begann the fourth of the great battles, Dagor Bragollach, the Battle of Sudden Flame. In the front of that fire came Glaurung the golden, father of dragons, in his full might; and in his trains were Balrogs and behind them came the black armies of the Orcs in multitudes such as the Noldor had never before seen or imagined. And they assaulted the fortresses of the Noldor, and broke the leaguer about Angband, and slew wherever they found them the Noldor and their allies, Grey-elves and Men. Many of the stoutest of the foes of Morgoth were destroyed in the first days of that war, bewildered and dispersed and unable to muster their strength. War ceased not wholly ever again ind Beleriand; but the Battle of the Sudden Flame is held to have ended with the coming of spring, when the onslaught of Morgoth grew less. Thus ended the Siege of Angband; and the foes of Morgoth were scattered and sundered from one another. The most part of the Grey-elves fled south and forsook the northern war; many were received into Doriath, and the kingdom and strength of Thingol grew greater in that time, for the power of Melian the queen was woven about his borders and evil could not yet enter that hidden realm. Others took refuge in the fortresses by the sea, and in Nargothrond; and some fled the land and hid themselves in Ossiriand, or passing the mountains wandered homeless in the wild. And rumour of the war and the breaking of the siege reached the ears of Men in the east of Middle-Earth.[...] For the war had gone ill with the sons of Fëanor, and well nigh all the east marches were taken by assault. The Pass of Aglon was forced, though with great cost to the hosts of Morgoth; and Celegorm and Curufin being defeated fled south and west by the marches of Doriath, and coming at last to Nargothrond sought harbour with Finrod Felagund. [...] Maedhros did deeds of surpassing valour, and the Orcs fled before his face; for since his torment upon Thangorodrim his spirit burned like a white fire within, and he was as one that returns from the dead. Thus the great fortress upon the Hill of Himring could not be taken, and many of the most valiant that remained, both of the people of Dorthonion and of the east marches, rallied there to Maedhros; and for a while he closed once more the Pass of Aglon, so that Orcs could not enter Beleriand by that road. But they overwhelmed he riders of the people of Fëanor upon Lothlann, for Glaurung came thither, and passed though Maglor’s Gap, and destroyed all the land between the arms of the Gelion. nd the Orcs took the fortress upon the west slopes of Mount Rerir, and ravaged all Thargelion, the land of Caranthir; and they defiled Lake Helevorn. Thence they passed over Gelion with fire and terror and came far into East Beleriand. Maglor joined Maedhros upon Himring; but Caranthir fled and joined the remnant of his people to the scattered folk of the hunters, Amrod and Amras, and they retreated and passed Ramdal in the south. Upon Amon Ereb they maintained a watch and some strength of war, and they had aid of the Green-elves; and the Orcs came not into Ossiriand, nor to Taur-in-Duinath and the wilds of the south.”

“Their [the Easterlings] houses were many, and some had greater liking for the Dwarves of the mountains than for the Elves. But Maedhros, knowing the weakness of the Noldor and the Edain, whereas the pits of Angband seemed to hold store inexhaustible and ever-renewed, made alliance with these new-come Men, and gave his friendship to the greatest of their chieftains, Bór and Ulfang. And Morgoth was well content; for this was as he had designed. The sons of Bór were Borlad, Borlach and Borthand; and they followed Maedhros and Maglor, and cheated the hope of Morgoth, and were faithful. The sons of Ulfang the Black were Ulfast, and Ulwarth, and Uldor the accursed; and they followed Caranthir and swore allegiance to him, and proved faithless. There was small love between the Edain and the Easterlings, and they met seldom; for the newcomers abode long in East Beleriand, but Hador’s folk were shut in Hithlum, and Beor’s house was wellnigh destroyed.”

“Therefore he [Morgoth] sent forth ever more spies into Beleriand; but he recalled the main hosts of the Orcs to Angband, for he perceived that he could not yet make a final and victorious battle until he had gathered new strength, and that he had not measured rightly the valour of the Noldor nor the might in arms of the Men that fought beside them. Great though his victory had been in the Bragollach and in the years after, and grievous the harm he had done to his enemies, his own loss had been no less; and though he held Dorthonion and the Pass of Sirion, the Eldar recovering from their first dismay began now to regain what they had lost. Thus Beleriand in the south had had a semblance of peace again for a few brief years; but the forges of Angband were full of labour.”

Of Beren and Luthien

“Yet neither bread nor rest would he [Orodreth] grant to Celegorm and Curufin within his relam, and he swore that there should be little love between Nargothrond and the sons of Fëanor thereafter. ‘Let it be so!’, said Celegorm, and there was a light of menace in his eyes; but Curufin smiled. Then they took horse and rode away like fire, to find if they might their kindred in the east. [...] Northward they rode, for they indended in their haste to pass through Dimbar, and along the north marches of Doriath, seeking the swiftest road to Himring, where Maedhros their brother dwelt; and still they might hope with speed to traverse it, since it lay close to Doriath’s borders, shunning Nan Dungortheb and the distant menace of the Mountains of Terror.”

Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad

“In those days Maedhros, son of Fëanor lifted up his heart, perceiving that Morgoth was not unassailable; for the deeds of Beren and Luthien were sung in many songs throughout Beleriand. Yet Morgoth would destroy them all, one by one, if they could not again unite, and make new league and common council; and he becan those counsels for the raising of the fortunes of the Eldar that are called the Union of Maedhros. Yet the oath of Fëanor and the evil deeds that it had wrought did injury to the design of Maedhros, and he had less aid than should have been. Orodreth would not march forth at the word of any son of Feanor, because of the deeds of Celegorm and Curufin; and the Elves of Nargothrond still trusted to defend their hidden stronghold by secrecy and stealth.[...] From Doriath came little help. For Maedhros and his brothers, being constrained by their oath, had before sent to Thingol and reminded him with haughty words of their claim, summoning him to yield the Silmaril, or become their enemy. Melian counseled him to surrender it, but the words of the sons of Fëanor were proud and threatening, and Thingol was filled with anger[...]. Therefore he sent back the messengers with scornful words. Maedhros made no answer, for he had now begun to devise the league and union of the Elves; but Celegorm and Curufin vowed openly to slay Thingol and destroy his people, if they came victorious from war, and the jewel were not surrendered of free will. [...] But Maedhros had the help of the Naugrim, both both in armed forced and in great stores of weapons; and the smithies of Nogrod and Belegost were busy in those days. And he gathered together again all his brothers and all the people who would follow them; and the Men of Bór and Ulfang were marshalled and trained for war, and they summoned yet more of their kinsfolk out of the East. Moreover in the west Fingon, ever the friend of Maedhros, took counsel with Himring, and in Hithlum the Noldor and the Men of the house of Hador prepared for war. [...] But Maedhros made trial of his strength to soon, ere his plans were full-wrought; and though the Orcs were driven out of all the northward regions of Beleriand, and even Dorthonion was freed for a while, Morgoth was warned of the uprising of the Eldar and the Elf-friends, and took counsel against them. Many spies and workers of treason he sent forth among them, as he was the better able to do now, for the faithless Men of his secret allegiance were yet deep in the secrets of the sons of Fëanor. At length Maedhros, having gathered all the strength that he could of Elves and Men and Dwarves, resolved to assault Angband from east and west; and he purposed to march with his banners displayed in open force over Anfauglith. But when he had drawn forth, as he hoped, the the armies of Morgoth in answer, then Fingon should issue forth from the passes of Hithlum; and thus they thought to take the might of Morgoth as between anvil and hammer, and break it to pieces. [...] On the appointed day, on the morning of Midsummer, the trumpets of the Eldar greeted the rising sun; and in the east was raised the standard of the sons of Fëanor, and in the west the standard of Fingon, High King of the Noldor. [...] A shadow of doubt fell upon Fingon’s heart; and he look eastwards, seeking if he might see with elven-sight the dust of Anfauglith rising beneath the hosts of Maedhros. He knew not that Maedhros was hindered in his setting-forth by the guile of Uldor the accursed, who deceived him with false warnings of assault from Angband.[...] Now Morgoth, who knew much of what was done and designed by his enemies, chose his hour, and trusting in his treacherous servants to hold back Maedhros and prevent the union of his foes he sent a force seeming great (and yet but part of all that he had made ready) towards Hithlum [...].”

“Then hope was renewed in the hearts of the Elves; and in that very time, at the third hour of morning, the trumpest of Maedhros were heard at last coming up from the east, and the banners of the sons of Fëanor assailed the enemy in the rear. Some have said that even then the Eldar might have won the day, had all their hosts proved faithful; for the Orcs wavered, and their onslaught was stayed, and already some were turning to flight. But even as the vanguard of Maedhros came upon the Orcs, Morgoth loosed his last strength, and Angband was emptied. There came wolves, and wolfriders, and there came Balrogs, and dragons, and Glaurung father of dragons. The strength and terror of the Great Worm were now great indeed, and Elves and Men withered before him; and he came between the hosts of Maedhros and Fingon and swept them apart. Yet neither by wolf, nor by Balrog, nor by Dragon, would Morgoth have achieved his end, but fot the treachery of Men. In this hour the plots of Ulfang were revealed. Many of the Easterlings turned and fled, their hearts being filled with lies and fear; but the sons of Ulfang went over suddenly to Morgoth and drove in upon the rear of the sons of Fëanor, and in the confusion that they wrought they came near to the standard of Maedhros. They reaped not the reward that Morgth promised them, for Maglor slew Uldor the accursed, the leader in treason, and the sons of Bór slew Ulfast and Ulwarth ere they themselves were slain. But new strength of evil Men came up that Uldor had summoned and kept hidden in the eastern hills, and the host of Maedhros was assailed now on three sides, and it broke, and was scattered, and fled this way and that. Yet fate saved the sons of Fëanor, and though all were wounded none were slain, for they drew together,a nd gathering a remnant of the Noldor and the Naugrim about them they hewed a way out of the battle and escaped far away towards Mount Dolmed in the east. Last of all the eastern forces to stand firm were the Dwarves of Belegost, and thus they won renown. For the Naugrim withstood fire more hardily than either Elves or Men, and it was their custom moreover to wear great masks in battle hideous to look upon; and those stood them in good stead against the dragons. And but for them Glaurung and his brood would have withered all that was left of the Noldor. But the Naugrim made a circle about him when he assailed them, and even his mighty armour was not full proof against the blows of their great axes; and when in his rage Glaurung turned and struck down Azaghal, Lord of Belegost, and crawled over him, with his last stroke Azaghaö drove a knife into his belly, and so wounded him that he fled the field, and the beasts of Angband in dismay followed after him.”

“The realm of Fingon was no more; and the sons of Fëanor wandered as leaves before the wind. Their arms were scattered, and their league broken; and they took to a wild and woodland life beneath the feat of Ered Lindon, mingling with the Green-elves of Ossiriand, bereft of their power and glory of old.”

“Bur Morgoth sent thither the Easterlings that had served him, denying them the rich lands of Beleriand wich they coveted; and he shut them in Hithlum and forbade them to leave it. Such was the reward he gave them for their treachery to Maedhros: to plunder and harass the old and the women and the children of Hador’s people. [...] The Orcs and the wolves went freely through all the north, and came ever further southward into Beleriand, even as far as Nan-tathren, the Land of Willows, and the borders of Ossiriand, and none were safe in field or wild.”

Of the Ruin of Doriath

“But now the rumour ran among the scattered Elves of Beleriand that Dior Thingol’s heir wore the Nauglamir, and they said: ‘A Silmaril of Fëanor burns again in the woods of Doriath’; and the oath of the sons of Fëanor was waked again from sleep. For while Luthien wore the necklace of the Dwarves no Elf would dare to assail her; but now haring of the renewal of Doriath and of Dior’s pride the seven gathered again from wandering, and they sent to him to claim their own. But Dior returned no answer to the sons of Fëanor; and Celegorm stirred up his brothers to prepare an assault upon Doriath. They came at unawares in the middle of winter, and fought with Dior in the Thousand Caves; and so befell the second slaying of Elf by Elf. There fell Celegorm by Dior’s hand, and there fell Curufin, and dark Caranthir; but Dior was slain also, and Nimloth his wive, and the cruel servants of Celegorm seized his young sons and left them to starve in the forest. Of this Maedhros indeed repented, and sought for them long in the woods of Doriath; but his search was unavailing, and of the fate of Eluréd and Elurín no tale tells. Thus Doriath was destroyed, and never rose again. But the sons of Fëanor gained not what they sought; for a remnant of the people fled before them, and with them was Elwing Dior’s daughter, and they escaped, and bearing with them the Silmaril they came in time to the mouths of the river Sirion by the sea.”

Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath

“Now when first the tidings came to Maedhros that Elwing yet lived, and welt in possession of the Silmaril by the mouths of Sirion, he repenting of the deeds in Doriath withheld his hand. But in time the knowledge of their oath unfulfilled returned to torment him and his brothers, and gathering from their wandering hunting-paths they sent messages to the Havens, of friendship and yet of stern demand. Then Elwing and the people of Sirion would not yield the jewel which Beren had won and Luthien had worn, and for which Dior the fair was slain; and least of all while Earendil their lord was on the sea, for it seemed to them that in the Silmaril lay the healing and the blessing that had come upon their houses and their ships. And so there came to past the last and cruellest of the slayings of Elf by Elf; and that was the third of the great wrongs achieved by the accursed oath. For the sons of Fëanor that yet lived came down suddenly upon the exiles of Gondolin and the remnant of Doriath, and destroyed them. In that battle some of their people stood aside, and some few rebelled and were slain upon the other part, aiding Elwing against their own lords (for such was the sorrow and confusion in the heart of the Eldar in those days); but Maedhros and Maglor won the day, though they alone remained thereafter of the sons of Fëanor, for both Amrod and Amras were slain. Too late the ships of Círdan and Gil-Galad the High King came hasting to the aid of the Elves of Sirion; and Elwing was gone, and her sons. Then such few of the people as did not perish in the assault joined themselves to Gil-Galad, and went with him to Balar; and they told that Elros and Elrond were taken captive, but Elwing with the Silmaril upon her breast had cast herself into the sea. Thus Maedhros and Maglor gained not the jewel [...].”

“And when this new star was seen at evening, Maedhros spoke to Maglor his brother, and he said: ‘ Surely that is a Silmaril that shines now in the West?’ And Maglor anwered: ‘If it be truly the Silmaril which we saw cast into the sea that rises again by the power of the Valar, then let us be glad; for its glory is seen now by many, and is yet secure from all evil.’ Then the Elves looked up, and despaired no longer [...].”

“Then Eönwë as herald of the Elder King summoned the Elves of Beleriand to depart from Middle-Earth. But Maedhros and Maglor would not hearken, and they prepared, though now with weariness and loathing, to attempt in despair the fulfillemnt of their oath; for they would have given battle for the Silmarils, were they withheld, even against the victorious host of Valinor, even though they stood alone against all the world. And they sent a message therefore to Eönwë, bidding him yield up now those jewels which of old Fëanor their father made and Morgoth stole from him. But Eönwë answered that the right to the work of their father, which the sons of Fëanor formerly possessed, had now perished, because of their many and merciless deeds, being blinded by their oath, and most of all because of their slaying of Dior and the assault upon the Havens. The light of the Silmarils should go now into the West, whence it came in the beginning; and to Valinor must Maedhros and Maglor return, and there abide the judgement of the Valar, by whose decree alone would Eönwë yield the jewels from his charge. Then Maglor desired indeed to submit, for his heart was sorrowful, and he said: ‘ The oath says not that we may not bide our time, and it may be that in Valinor all shall be forgiven and forgot, and we shall come into our own in peace.’ But Maedhros answered that if they returned to Aman but the favour of the Valar was withheld from them, then their oath would still remain, but its fulfillment be beyond hope; and he said; ‘Who can tell to what dreadful doom we shall come, if we disobey the Powers in their own land, or purpose ever to bring war again into their holy realm?’ Yet Maglor still held back, saying: ‘If Manwë and Varda themselves deny the fulfillment of an oath to which we named them in witness, is it not made void?’ And Maedhros answered: ‘But how shall our voices reach to Illúvatar beyond the Circles of the World? And by Illúvatar we swore in our madness, and called the Everlasting Darkness upon us if we kept not our word. Who shall release us?’ ‘If none can release us’, said Maglor, ‘then indeed the Everlasting Darkness shall be our lot, whether we keep our oath or break it; but less evil shall we do in the breaking.’ Yet he yielded at last to the will of Maedhros, and they took counsel together how they should lay hands on the Silmarils. And they disguised themselves, and came in the night to the camp of Eönwë, and crept in the place where the Silmarils were guarded; and they slew the guards, and laid hands on the jewels. Then all the camp was raised against them, and they prepared to die, defending themselves until the last. But Eönwë would not permit the slaying of the sons of Fëanor; and departing unfought they fled far away. Each of them took to himself a Silmaril, for they said: ‘Since one is lost to us, and but two remain, and we two alone of our brothers, so it is plain that fate would have us share the heirlooms of our father.’ But the jewel burnt the hand of Maedhros in pain unbearable; and he perceived that it was as Eonwë had said, and that his right thereto had become void, and that the oath was vain. And being in anguish and despair he cast himself into a gaping chasm filed with fire and so ended; and the Silmaril that he bore was taken into the bosom of the Earth.”

Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age

“In that time the last of the Noldor set sail from the Havens and left Middle-Earth forever. And latest of all the Keepers of the Three Rings rode to the sea, and Master Elrond took there the ship that Círdan had made ready. In the twilight of autumn it sailed out Mithlond, until the seas of the Bent World fell away beneath it, and the winds of the round sky troubled it no more, and borne upon the high airs above the mists of the world it passed into the Ancient West, and an end was come for the Eldar of story and of song.”

Index of Names

Maedhros: The eldest son of Fëanor, called the Tall; rescued by Fingon from Thangorodrim; held the Hill of Himring and the lands about; formed the Union of Maedhros that ended in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad; bore one of the Silmarils with him to his death at the end of the First Age.

HoME favs:

Book of Lost Tales II

“Now Maidros, whom Melko maimed, was their leader; and he called to his brethren Maglor and Dinithel, and to Damrod, and to Celegorm, to Cranthor and to Curufin the Crafty, and he said to them how it was now known to him that a Silmaril of those their father Fëanor had made was now the pride and glory of Dior of the southern vales, “and Elwing his daughter bears it witherso she goes-but do you not forget”, said he, “that we swore to have no peace with Melko nor any of his folk, nor with any other of Earth-dwellers that held the Silmarils of Fëanor from us? For what”, said Maidros, “do we suffer exile and wandering and rule over a scant and forgotten folk, if others gather to their hoard the heirlooms that are ours?”

“[….] They planned war upon Dior- and the Eldar cry shame upon them for that deed, the first premeditated war of elfin folk upon elfin folk, whose name otherwise were glorious among the Eldalië for their sufferings.”

War of the Jewels

“’He [Fëanor] gives the green stone to Maidros. [...] The Green Stone of Fëanor given by Maidros to Fingon.’ This can hardly be other than a reference to the Elessar that came in the end to Aragorn.”

Morgoth’s Ring

“But even as she [Nienna] mourned there was the sound of feet hastening in the night. Then through the throng came the sons of Fëanor, flying from the North and they bore new tidings of evil. Maedros spoke for them. “Blood and darkness!’ he cried. ‘Finwë the king is slain and the Silmarils are gone!’ Then Fëanor fell upon his face and lay as one dead until the full tale was told. ‘My lord,’ said Maedros to Manwë, ‘it was the day of the festival but the king was heavy with grief at the departure of my father, a foreboding was on him. He would not go from the house. We were irked by the idleness and silence of the day and we went riding towards the Green Hills. Our faces were Northward but suddenly we were aware that all was growing dim. The light was failing. In dread we turned and rode back in haste, seeing great shadows rise up before us. But even as we drew near to Formenos the darkness came upon us; and in the midst was a blackness like a cloud that enveloped the house of Fëanor.

‘We heard the sound of great blows struck. Out of the clouds we saw a sudden flame of fire. And then there was one piercing cry. But when we urged on our horses they reared and cast us to the ground, and they fled away wild. We lay upon our faces without strength; for suddenly the cloud came on and for a while we were blind. But it passed us and moved away north at great speed. Melkor was there, we do not doubt. But not he alone! Some other power was with him, some huge evil: even as it passed it robbed us of all wit and will.’

‘Darkness and blood! When we could move again we came to the house. There we found the king slain at the door. His head was crushed as with a great mace of iron. We found no others; all had fled and he had stood alone, defiant. That is plain; for his sword lay beside him, twisted and untempered as though by lightning strike. All the house was broken and ravaged. Naught is left. The treasures are empty. The chambers of iron are torn apart. The Silmarils are taken!’ Then suddenly Fëanor rose, and lifting up his hand before Manwe he cursed Melkor, naming him Morgoth, the Black Foe of the World. [...] Then with a cry he ran from the Ring of Doom and fled into the night, distraught; for his father was dearer to him than the Light of Valinor or the peeerless works of his hands[...].. After him Maedros and his bethren went in haste, for they had not known that he was present when Maedros spoke; and now they feared that he might slay himself.”

Shibboleth of Fëanor

“So it came about that to Fëanor the rejection of Þ became a symbol of the rejection of Míriel, and of himself, as her son, as the chief of the Noldor next to Finwë. [...] So Fëanor would call himself ‘Son of Þerindë ’, and when his sons in their childhood asked why their kin in the house of Finwë used s for Þ he answered: ‘Take no heed! We speak as is right, and as King Finwë himself did before he was led astray. We are his heir by right and the elder house. Let them sá-sí, if they can speak no better.’“

“[Maedhros] Nelyafinwë ‘Finwë third’ in succession (Nelyo)“

“Maitimo ‘well-shaped one’: He was of beautiful bodily form. But he, and the youngest, inherited the rare red-brown hair of Nerdanel’s kin. Her father had the epessë of rusco ‘fox’. So Maitimo had as an epessë given by his brothers and other kin Russandol ‘copper-top’.“

“Later, as Fëanor became more and more fell and violent, and rebelled against the Valar, Nerdanel, after long endeavouring to change his mood, became estranged. (Her kin were devoted to Aulë, who counselled her father to take no part in the rebellion. ‘It will in the end only lead Fëanor and al your children to death.’)She retired to her father’s house; but when it became clear that Fëanor and his sons would leave Valinor for ever, she came to him before the host started on its northward march, and begged that Fëanor should leave her the two youngest, the twins, or at least one of them. He replied: ‘Were you a true wife, as you had been till cozened by Aulë, you would keep all of them, for you would come with us. If you desert me, you desert also all of our children. For they are determined to go with their father.’ Then Nerdanel was angry and she answered: ‘You will not keep all of them. One at least will never set foot on Middle-Earth.’ ‘Take your evil omens to the Valar who will delight in them’, said Fëanor. ‘I defy them.’ So they parted.”

“Nerdanel’s father was an ‘Aulendil’ and became a great smith. He loved copper, and set it above gold. His name was [Mahtan], but he was most widely known as Urundil ‘copper-lover’. He usually wore a band of copper about his head. His hair was not as dark or black as was that of most of the Noldor, but brown, and had glints of coppery-red in it. Of Nerdanel’s seven children the oldest, and the twins (a very rare thing among the Eldar) had hair of this kind. The eldest also wore a copper circlet.”

#silm #Maedhros #reference #obviously some of these are only peripheral to Maedhros the individual #and based more on vibes than anything else #subjective selection in some cases yadayada but its for my own reference so thats okay #would have LOVED to add the Azaghal episode but can't find it right now #gosh typing all that out did take me the entire day huh

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starlooove · 7 days ago

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“Big sis general” “uncle Donnie” ok

#btw for future reference I think ppl who were angry at any criticisms were deranged #but I also think ppl who were upset about the two party system going for Jill stein also have no clue what’s going on #oh also final thoughts before I block the election tag till tomorrow lmao #uhm I think ppl who were upset about voting in this system at all should’ve stood on business #bc if we know there’s no such thing as an ethical President I don’t think it’s a pipe dream to green #I think it’s a pipe dream to expect anything different or better #so like I think the real convo is how far are u willing to go #like I have no words for ppl who think mommala will save us #best case scenario she pulls out every stop and reveals she’s been with us all along which. looking at past actions would be a hell of a #switch up #but when it comes to the argument on whether u should or shouldn’t vote #it’s less that and more do you support ur stance beyond the internet #if ur so intent on fixing the system from the inside are u doing more than just voting every four years #what are u doing to stop what happened last time where everyone went behind Biden 1000%#convinced black ppl who were concerned about his racial history to ignore it #and then sat on their asses until the next election #cause that’s been my main concern. that nothing really changed #but flipside if ur refusing to vote what are u doing #like how else are u helping materially is ur protest something controlled organized sending a message or are u too scared to do anything?#and this isn’t hate It’s stream of consciousness #like my opinion has always been do what you do but be honest and smart about it #if ur voting in ur own self interest don’t pretend to care about things we’re seeing you put on the back burner #if you’re not voting at all don’t pretend you’re doing more than exactly what you’re doing #voting is communication and all that and you don’t get to say what you’re saying and what ppl are seeing you say is untrue bc u said so #basically stand on business #I’m just wondering WHAT the business is #and this is not any holier than thou shit I made my choice and these are questions I’m genuinely grappling with myself #I will say that if the same thing happens again you cannot fool me thrice lmao #that post that’s like whatever happens it’s white ppls fault #yeah

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 6 months ago

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for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

#good omens #neil gaiman #sir terry pratchett #good omens show #good omens fandom #good omens mascot #weirdly specific but ok #asmi

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screamingfrenchfries · 10 months ago

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also this is completely useless information to probably a lot of u but i found out that i lie very close to the middle of Feeling and Thinking when it comes to my MBTI but lately i've realized just how disconnected to my feelings i actually am, and that a lot of time when i did the test i was picking what i thought was the "right" answers, and not what i actually thought.. so yeah i think INTP makes a bit more sense 2 me... so yeahh

#literally no one is reading this #idk why i'm even making this post #i guess it is probably more for my own reference than anything else haha #me #cryptposting

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gay-dorito-dust · 7 months ago

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How’d they react to you calling them bro or dude whilst in a pre-established relationship…(platonic/romantic)

Dick: he’s insulted.

Gutted.

He will try to give you the silent treatment for such a shameful thing but ultimately fails as he ends up being the one pawing at you for attention.

‘Do you still like me? Or did you just run out of cute nicknames to call me?’ He’d say one night as your both cuddling in bed together. ‘If it’s the later then I can help you find something, just please spare me and don’t call me dude or bro anymore.’

He’d rather you call him Richard-wait, no he hates that even more because to him you’re not meant to use his fully name, only cutesy nicknames that’d make a grown man sick to his stomach. Nothing else would suffice other than Dickie bird, handsome, babe, hunk, honeybun or anything that wasn’t his name.

He’s go mad or would act delusional and say that everything was fine when everyone could tell that it wasn’t. People who know him have personally came to you and begged you to stop calling him dude/bro because he kept talking their ears off about how his beloved partner is torturing him, which ends up torturing them even more upon hearing about his relationship issues.

Dick would even consult Hayley on what he did wrong, only for Hayley to look at him with those big, big eyes of hers. This was not her level of expertise unfortunately. (Head empty, no thoughts. She can’t do her abc’s guys it’s a real tragedy.)

Jason: ‘I just had my tongue down your throat just now and you had to go and ruin the mood by calling me bro. What the fuck.’ - Jason at some point.

It’s a whole mood killer for him to be honest.

He’s calling you things like chipmunk or sweetheart but here you were calling him dude and bro. He knows for a fact that he’s well and truly out of the friend zone because the shit you’ve done together isn’t platonic in any sort of way.

Thinks Roy had set you up to call him dude or bro behind his back. (He hasn’t)

Jason is petty and will get his own back by referring you as ‘just a really good friend’, ‘buddy o’ mine’ or even worse than both of those; ‘chum.’ 💀

When you go low, Jason was more then willing to go to the depths of fucking hell to the point it had become a game to see who’d call out just how stupid this all was, and at the both of you for ever thinking that this was an excellent idea in the first place.

You’ll probs get punished…I’m just going to leave it there and let your minds guess what that ‘punishment’ was exactly.

Damian:

As much as Damian hates it when you call him Dami, he hates it when you call him dude or bro even more, if that’s even possible.

Damian hates it when you call him dude or bro. He’s not your dude or bro, he’s your partner and he expects no less then darling, my heart or my beloved.

So you calling him dude or bro is more than enough reason for him to give you the silent treatment.

‘Until you learn that I am your partner, I won’t want to be anywhere near you if you’re going to keep calling me your bro or dude. It is a disservice to who I actually am to you.’ He says with a huff and beckons Titus to follow, only for the Great Dane to be left confused as to why his human parents were at a disagreement over something silly.

Also Titus, Ace, Jerry, Alfred the cat, Goliath and BatCow are children of divorce because I said so.

So it’s bests that you apologise while you still can because Damian can hold a grudge unlike any other. Even if you didn’t, you’d still crack first before Damian and quickly put an end to calling him dude/bro.

He just thinks being called a dude/bro when in a pre-established relationship is an insult.

He can take a joke but not when it’s aimed at his relationship. He’s well and truly devoted to his relationship -if we’re to completely ignore the whole being Robin thing- that it might as well be an insult towards him too at this point.

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ja3yun · 3 months ago

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Stretch it Out | P.SH

instructor!sunghoon x ballerina!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, fingering, mirror sex, pet names (sweatheart, good girl), bad ballet references bc idk what i'm talking about, slight mention of self doubt, not proof read, anything else lmk! wc: 7.4k REQ: ballet intructor!sunghoon helping ballerina!reader stretch and you know where the rest leads to 😼 a/n: hi! i took this request and shuffled it around to make it this! hope this is okay anonnie and i am also so sorry for the late posting of it! i've been working on so much lately and with my little break i didn't do much writing. as always, comments, reblogs, and likes are all welcome!

Applause echoes through the spacious studio as one of your fellow dancers finishes receiving her critique from Mrs. Yang. Her routine was strong, though it seems she needs to work on her turnout - something you hadn't noticed. Perhaps it’s because your nerves are clouding your perception; after all, it will be your turn once she's finished.

The Annual Exhibition is less than two months away, and this will be your first time presenting your completed routine for approval in front of an audience - especially Mrs. Yang, who is more than just an instructor to you; she’s your role model, the person you’ve looked up to throughout your entire ballet journey.

Throughout your high school years, you dedicated your evenings and weekends to ballet school, working tirelessly just for the chance to apply to the National University of Arts and audition in front of Mrs. Yang. For months leading up to this moment, you poured everything into perfecting your pliés and pirouettes. Blisters marred your feet, and exhaustion settled deep in your bones, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was proving yourself worthy.

“Y/N, you’re up,” Mrs. Yang’s voice echoes through the studio like a haunting ghost.

Following her words, you get up and shake off any nerves you have, all too aware of the impact performing badly will have; she could cut you from the exhibition or tell you to scrap the routine entirely, and both of those are not an option for you.

Now, as you step forward to take your place at the centre of the studio, the weight of the moment presses down on you. Every muscle is tense with anticipation, and your heart races as you prepare to dance.

The music begins, and you launch into your routine. At first, the nerves are overwhelming - each movement feels too stiff, too calculated. But as you glide into an arabesque and sweep through a series of pirouettes, something shifts. The familiar rhythm of the dance takes over, and your body begins to move almost on its own, flowing through each step with a grace you didn't know you possessed.

You’re hyper-aware of Mrs. Yang’s presence, of her eyes following your every move, but instead of faltering, you find yourself sinking deeper into the performance. Each développé stretches to its fullest extent, each sauté feels lighter than air. Your breathing steadies and the tension in your muscles transforms into power and control.

As you close the final sequence with a grand jeté, landing with a precise yet delicate touch, you can feel the room holding its breath. You finish in a graceful reverence, chest heaving but mind calm. In this moment, all the hours of hard work, the pain, and the sacrifices feel worth it. You've given everything you have.

But as you glance at Mrs. Yang, it doesn’t look like she’s as satisfied with your performance as you are. Her face is stoic, unreadable, but you’ve been in her class long enough to decipher even the subtlest of her expressions. The slight raise of her right eyebrow sends a wave of dread crashing through you. That’s never a good sign. Her eyes cling to you with the intensity of an unwanted gaze, leaving an uncomfortable knot twisting in your stomach.

She remains quiet for a few minutes, the silence stretching unbearably as though she’s gathering her words. When she finally speaks, her tone is clipped, measured. “It’s good, modern, and meets the criteria.”

You brace yourself, knowing that a ‘but’ is coming.

“But,” she continues, and you wince slightly, “you are not sharp enough. I mean seriously, Y/N, how many times do I need to pull you up for this? Do you not want to improve?”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You don’t want to disappoint her. You gave everything you had in that performance, even though it was just a run-through. But it’s clear that it wasn’t enough.

You bow your head, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Yang’s irritation sharpens. “Then for the love of God, can you listen to me this time?” She stands up, her movements precise and deliberate as she walks over to you. Her voice is firm, tinged with exasperation. “This exhibition is crucial to your future career. It’s what sets you apart from the others, and yet you seem to lack such basic skills. Even the first years are forming lines better than you.”

Her words slice through you, each one a reminder of the standards you’ve failed to meet. The sting of her tone is almost unbearable, but you know deep down that it comes from a place of faith. She nitpicks because she sees potential in you, potential she wants to help you realise. Each six-month review she’s had with you, she’s made it clear that she believes you can make it far in this world.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Yang,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Apologise to yourself, not to me.”

A chorus of snickers drifts from the edge of the room. You glance over to see a group of girls, giggling and holding in laughter, their eyes full of condescension. The sound pierces through your already fragile self-belief, making you shrink into yourself, every snicker chipping away at whatever confidence you had left. Doubt begins to creep in, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. You start questioning whether you’re truly cut out for this, whether all the sacrifices you’ve made have been for nothing.

Before you can spiral too deeply into your own thoughts, Mrs. Yang’s fingers press firmly against your cheek, gently but insistently turning your face to meet hers. “You can’t do this on your own, so I’m assigning you a coach.”

“But you are my coach,” you reply, your voice tinged with confusion.

“Yes, but I don’t have time to give you hours of one-on-one training,” she says, rolling her eyes as if that statement should be obvious. She strides back to her seat, preparing to evaluate the next girl in line. “I have someone in mind. They’re very fluid and pointed in their gestures. They should whip you into shape. I’ll book you an out-of-hours studio for the foreseeable.”

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. You stand there, rooted to the spot, unable to fully process what she’s just said. Sure, she’ll still be your instructor during scheduled lessons, but this means that on top of your gruelling 12-hour days, your endless rehearsals, and the constant pressure to perfect every move, you’ll now have to spend extra time with a new coach.

It’s overwhelming. The thought of adding yet another layer of intensity to your already packed schedule makes your head spin. Your body, already pushed to its limits, protests at the idea of even more hours in the studio. Your heart sinks as the reality of the situation sets in. How will you manage it all? How will you balance the expectations of not one but two demanding mentors?

You want to succeed, to rise to the challenge, but a part of you is terrified that you’ll crumble under the weight of it all. The path ahead, already steep and treacherous, has just become even more daunting.

As Mrs. Yang calls out the name of the next dancer, you force yourself to step aside, the familiar sting of exhaustion settling into your bones.

You can only hope that this new coach makes it worth your while.

_____

The long day of classes has left you drained, every muscle aching with the residue of endless rehearsals and critiques. The last thing you want to do is spend more time in the studio, yet here you are, trudging down the empty hallways of the performance centre with your gym bag slung over your shoulder. The familiar scent of rosin and sweat lingers in the air, and you can't help but feel a pang of dread at the thought of more practice. Your mind buzzes with the memory of Mrs. Yang’s words earlier this week, her disappointment, and the pressure of living up to expectations weighing heavily on your shoulders.

As you push open the door to the studio, your eyes fall on an unfamiliar figure - a boy standing with his back to you. He’s tall, strikingly so, with broad shoulders that taper down into a lean, athletic frame. His dark hair is tousled, falling just above the nape of his neck, and he’s dressed in loose joggers and a fitted white tank top that highlights the sinewy lines of his muscles.

You hesitate in the doorway, momentarily taken aback by his presence. The studio had been booked for you, and the last thing you want is a confrontation with a stranger. You clear your throat softly, hoping to catch his attention. “Um, hello?” you say timidly, your voice barely above a whisper. You hope that a gentle approach will encourage him to leave without any fuss.

The boy whips around at the sound of your voice, and your breath catches in your throat. His face is nothing short of breathtaking; sharp, elegant features softened by a small, almost shy smile. His eyes, a deep, captivating brown, seem to sparkle with quiet intensity as he takes in your appearance. For a moment, you’re struck by how impossibly beautiful he is, like a sculptor’s masterpiece brought to life. He seems too perfect, too unreal, and you feel a strange flutter in your chest as you meet his gaze.

“Hi,” he says, his voice smooth and warm, like a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. He’s still studying you, and you can’t help but take the opportunity to do the same, noting every detail of his flawless face - the way his lips curve slightly upwards, the sharpness of his jawline, the softness of his eyes.

You blink, trying to regain your composure. “I don’t mean to be rude,” you start, hoping to keep your tone polite, “but my teacher booked me this room for a few hours.”

He raises an eyebrow, his small smile never fading. “Four hours to be exact, yeah. She also booked you…me.” The confusion must be evident on your face because he adds, “I’m your coach, Sunghoon.”

“You?” The word slips out before you can stop it, and you instantly regret how incredulous you sound. The last thing you want is to offend him, but the shock of the situation has thrown you off balance.

“Yeah, me. Why?” His tone is still light, but there’s a hint of defensiveness in his voice, and that sends you into a mild panic. You quickly shake your head, trying to salvage the situation.

“No, no, I’m not trying to say anything negative,” you stammer, holding up your hands as if to ward off any misunderstanding. “It’s just… I’ve never seen you around the performance centre, let alone the ballet corridor.”

He nods, seeming to understand your confusion. “That’s because you’ll find me in the sports centre.”

You take a moment to size him up, your mind racing as you try to figure out what sport he could possibly play. He’s too lean to be a rugby player, his legs too slender to be a footballer, but he’s tall enough to be a basketball player. You consider the possibility of him being a rower or maybe a gymnast, but nothing quite fits. He’s a mystery, one that piques your curiosity.

As if reading your thoughts, he interrupts your internal questioning. “I’m a figure skater.”

The revelation surprises you, and you can’t help but blurt out, “Oh.” You pause, trying to piece together why a figure skater would be chosen to coach you in ballet. Placing your bag to the side of the room, you turn to him again. “So why are you coaching me?”

“Why can’t I?” he counters, his tone holding a subtle challenge that makes you feel slightly defensive. “Mrs. Yang said you’re having trouble looking elegant and punctuated in your movements. Skaters have the same problem.”

You nod slowly, but a part of you is still sceptical. “But you guys have ice and skates. I have a wooden floor and ballet pumps.”

A laugh escapes his lips before he quickly covers his mouth, a look of apology flashing across his face. “Sorry, it’s just…what does that have to do with anything?”

You frown, still not entirely convinced. “You guys have blades to move you. I have to coordinate my legs to move me. You guys can think about fluidity and movement.”

He crosses his arms, his expression becoming more serious as he regards you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. “Do you know how ridiculous you sound? We have to balance on a tiny blade and have every chance to slip or crash from a jump.”

His words hang in the air, and you suddenly feel a bit foolish for your assumptions. Of course, figure skating requires immense skill and precision - maybe even more so than ballet, given the added challenge of balancing on ice.

“Okay, fair point,” you admit, feeling a bit sheepish. You also hate it when people underestimate the skill and energy it takes to perform ballet, and yet here you are doing it to him about his own sport.

He steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and you find yourself holding your breath under his gaze. “I know you were expecting some ballet genius to help you but our arts are similar. It’s about control, balance, and grace,” he explains. “On the ice, every movement needs to be both powerful and delicate. The same applies to ballet. You need to find that balance between strength and elegance. That’s where I come in.”

You nod slowly, beginning to understand his perspective. The way he speaks, the passion in his voice, makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this might actually work. “And you think you can teach me that?”

“I know I can,” he says confidently, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “If you’re willing to put in the effort, that is.”

There’s a challenge in his words, one that you can’t resist rising to. You’ve always prided yourself on your work ethic, and you’re not about to let anyone doubt your dedication.

“I am,” you reply firmly, meeting his gaze with determination.

Sunghoon starts the session by having you go through your routine. His eyes are sharp, missing nothing as he watches you move across the floor. You’re acutely aware of his presence, the way his gaze seems to weigh on your every step, every turn, every jump. It’s unnerving at first, but you push through the discomfort, focusing on executing each movement with precision.

When you finish, he steps forward, nodding thoughtfully. “You’re good,” he says, and the praise sends a warm flush of satisfaction through you and a blush to your cheeks. “But you’re too tense. You’re overthinking every move, and it shows. Ballet is as much about feeling as it is about technique. You need to let go a little.”

You frown slightly, not entirely sure how to do that. “Let go?”

“Yeah,” he says, moving to stand beside you. “Your muscles are too tight, your movements too calculated. It’s like you’re afraid of making a mistake, so you’re holding back.”

You look down at the floor, his words hitting a little too close to home. You’ve always been afraid of making mistakes, always felt the pressure to be perfect. It’s something that’s been drilled into you since you first started dancing, and it’s hard to shake.

He must sense your hesitation because he steps closer, his voice softening. “Hey,” he says gently, and you look up to find his eyes full of understanding. “I get it. But if you keep holding back, you’re never going to reach your full potential.”

There’s something in his voice that makes you want to trust him, something that makes you feel like maybe he understands you in a way that others don’t. You nod slowly, taking a deep breath as you try to let go of the tension in your body.

“Good,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips. “Now, let’s try something different.”

_____

For two hours straight, you push your body to its limits, executing each movement with precision and determination. Sunghoon’s voice fills the studio, giving you sharp, pointed instructions that you follow without question. But as the minutes tick by, the atmosphere begins to shift. The calm, encouraging demeanour he started with fades, replaced with a growing tension that seems to coil around the two of you, tightening with each correction he makes.

“Extend more,” he snaps as you move through a series of arabesques. His tone is snappier now, the softness from before replaced with something harsher. “You’re still too stiff.”

You grit your teeth, focusing on stretching every muscle to its fullest, making sure each line is as precise as possible. But no matter how much you try, his dissatisfaction only seems to grow.

“Again,” he commands, his voice laced with frustration. You try to push your discontent down, channelling it into your movements, but the more you try, the more his critiques seem to cut through you.

“You’re losing focus. How are you going to perform on stage if you can’t even manage this in practice?”

The sting of his criticism hits you deep, and you can feel your confidence waver. Are you really that bad? You’re hitting the moves correctly, focusing intently on your lines - the very aspect of the performance Mrs. Yang had criticised you for. You’re doing everything he’s asking, so why is he still so frustrated? Shouldn’t he be pleased that his coaching is starting to take effect?

You execute a pirouette, landing with precision, but the instant your foot touches the ground, Sunghoon’s voice cuts through the air. “No,” he says sharply, shaking his head. “You’re not following through. Where’s the energy? The intention?”

“I’m trying!” The words slip out before you can stop them, frustration bubbling over. Your chest heaves with exertion, and you meet his eyes, desperate for some sign that he understands how hard you’re working, how much you’re giving.

But his expression remains hard, unreadable, and that only fuels the growing tension between you. “Trying isn’t enough,” he snaps back, stepping closer, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You need to do more than just hit the moves. You have to feel them. Right now, you’re just going through the motions. There’s no passion, no fire.”

His words cut deep, and you feel a flare of anger mixed with hurt. “I’m doing exactly what you asked,” you retort, unable to keep the edge out of your voice. “I’m focusing on the lines, on the form. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes,” he says, his frustration palpable, “but you’re missing the point. It’s not just about form; it’s about bringing the movements to life. Right now, you’re nothing more than a marionette, moving because you’re being told to, not because you’re actually feeling the dance.”

The comparison stings and you can feel yourself reaching boiling point. You’ve been working so hard, pushing yourself beyond what you thought you were capable of, and yet here you are, being told that it’s still not enough. A part of you wants to shout at him, to tell him that he doesn’t understand how hard this is, how much pressure you’re under. But instead, you swallow the words, letting the irritation simmer beneath the surface.

Sunghoon’s gaze softens, just a fraction, but it’s enough to make you feel the weight of his expectations even more acutely. “I know you can do better. Mrs. Yang told me you’re one of her best students,” he says, his voice gentler now with the content, though no less intense. “That’s why I’m pushing you. I need you to push yourself. You’ve got so much potential, but something’s holding you back. What is it?”

His question hangs in the air, heavy and probing. For a moment, you’re at a loss for words. Why are you holding back? Is it the fear of failing? Fear that you’ll never be good enough? Or maybe, deep down, you just don’t believe in yourself.

The silence between you stretches, thick with hostility. Sunghoon steps closer, his presence almost overwhelming, the heat radiating off him nearly suffocating. You can feel the intensity of his gaze, a challenge flickering in his eyes, daring you to shatter whatever invisible barrier is restraining you.

He’s so close now that you can see the tight set of his jaw, the way his eyes blaze with a fire that sends a shiver down your spine. The frustration is palpable, a tangible force crackling in the air, making it feel electric, charged with something both exhilarating and frightening.

With a firm but gentle touch, Sunghoon places his hands on your shoulders, turning you to face the mirror. He steps in behind you, closing the space between your bodies. “Look at yourself,” he says, his voice low and resonant. “See how tense you are?” His large hands slide down from your shoulders, tracing the line of your body. “Every muscle is knotted up. You can’t perform at your best unless you loosen up. Stop overthinking. Just…let go.”

Your eyes meet his in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, and in that instant, the world seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you, close enough to feel each other’s breath. Then, almost instinctively, his fingers press into your sides, firm and commanding, gliding up your waist and torso with deliberate slowness. The sensation sends a wave of heat through your body, and your breath catches as he lifts your arms, stretching your upper half with a fluid motion that leaves you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

“Feel this,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the nape of your neck, sending another quake over your body. He holds your wrists above your head with one hand, the other pressing into your lower back, making you hyper-aware of the heat emanating from him. “See how good that feels?”

Using his knuckles, he circles the bottom of your spine, dissolving any knots and doubts from it. You resist the urge to moan but your eyes roll to the back of your head as you push your hips into him, aching for more of his magical touch. Out of all the massages you have ever had, this tiny glimmer of one beats them all.

His breath spreads over your skin, and his fingers tighten slightly around your wrists as he holds you in place. Once you bring your eyes forward, he locks in with yours in the mirror. His piercing stare is intense and your heart quickens, the tension between you crackling like a live wire.

“You like that?” Sunghoon asks, the smirk plastered on his face as he feels you grinding onto his growing boner. He can see you wanting to let go in the reflection of your eyes as well as the neediness in your breaths, giving him all the consent he needs to take this further.

As he releases your wrists, his hand trails down your shoulders and back to meet the other. The heat of his touch seeps through the fabric of your top, firm yet tender. His fingers glide along your spine, coaxing your body to arch into the movement, a soft sigh escaping your lips. His touch is skilled, knowing exactly where to press and where to ease, melting away the tension in your muscles, leaving you pliant under his hands.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispers, the edge in his voice betraying his awareness of the effect he’s having on you. The connection is almost too intense to bear. But you can’t look away, drawn to the magnetic pull between you. He slides his hands over your sides and across your lower abdomen, fingers digging slightly into your muscles, the pressure both soothing and intoxicating as he massages your belly and hips.

You instinctively begin to lower your arms, the proximity making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. But his grip tightens around your waist in warning. “No, keep your arms up, sweetheart,” he says, his tone demanding, the instructor in him resurfacing.

Resting his hand flatly on your stomach, his fingers spread as he pulls you flush against him, your back meeting the solid expanse of his chest. The contact makes you acutely aware of every point where your bodies touch, your heart hammering in your chest as your breath catches. His hands linger at the waistband of your leggings, before slowly, his hands dip down, fingers brushing against your skin, exploring with deliberate, teasing slowness. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through you, your skin tingling under his touch.

His hands move lower, the anticipation building with every inch he covers. You can feel your muscles trembling, your arms still stretched above your head as he asked, but the effort to maintain the position becomes increasingly difficult with every passing second.

His fingers find your folds, slipping between them with an agonising slowness that leaves you gasping. The sensation is overwhelming, your body instinctively moving with his fingers, but he’s quick to remind you of his control. “Keep your arms up, be a good girl and listen,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a quiet authority that leaves no room for disobedience.

The smirk on his face is unmistakable as he watches you struggle to comply, the tension between following his instructions and giving in to the intoxicating pull of his touch almost unbearable. His fingers continue their slow exploration, teasing and tormenting you with a skill that leaves you trembling, your resolve weakening with every passing moment.

Impulse begs you to let your arms fall, to collapse into his embrace, but his gaze holds you in place, that smirk still playing on his lips as he watches you battle with your own desires. The contrast between his command and the sheer pleasure he’s coaxing from your body is dizzying, leaving you on the edge of surrender.

Yet, despite the intense need coursing through you, you force yourself to keep your arms raised, stretching above your head, the effort only adding to the thrill coursing through your veins. His fingers move with deliberate intent now, pressing deeper, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body that make it almost impossible to think, to breathe.

Sunghoon’s fingers expertly play with your pussy, two of them circling your sensitive nub with a maddening precision that leaves you dizzy. “Do you feel how exhausted your arms are?” he asks, his voice tinged with a hint of smugness, as though expecting an answer despite your obvious distraction.

Nodding, you squeeze your eyes shut so tightly that white spots dance behind your lids, a kaleidoscope of fleeting lights against the darkness. The burn in your arms is a sharp contrast to the way your hips instinctively move, undulating in perfect sync with his skilled fingers. It's a delicious torment—the strain in your muscles somehow amplifies the pleasure coiling low in your belly, turning every sensation sharper, more intense.

Suddenly, his lips are on your neck, a gentle press of heat that sends a shiver cascading down your spine, threatening to unravel you completely. The warmth of his mouth on your skin is your undoing, and before you can stop yourself, your arms give way. You collapse forward, hands scrambling to find purchase, seeking him instinctively as if he's the only thing keeping you grounded. Your fingers dig into his arms, nails biting into his skin as you cling to him, desperate for stability in the storm he's unleashed within you.

"See how loose you feel?" His voice is a murmur against your neck, each word a hot, teasing caress. "How your body wants to move on its own, to give in? That’s how your performance should be."

As if to punctuate his point, his fingers slide inside you, the sudden, intimate invasion tearing a sharp gasp from your lips. Your hips buck against his hand, craving more, driven by the need he’s ignited in you. His other arm tightens around your waist, holding you close, anchoring you to him as his fingers continue their relentless rhythm, each stroke designed to push you further, closer to the edge.

The atmosphere around you thickens, every breath heavy with the electric tension between you. The heat radiating from his body seeps into yours, an overwhelming presence that consumes you, making it impossible to think of anything but the here and now. The scent of him - musky, intoxicating - fills your senses, making you feel lightheaded, dizzy with desire. You can feel the hardness of his arousal pressing insistently against your lower back, a solid reminder of his own need, adding fuel to the fire already burning within you.

His pace quickens, fingers plunging deeper, more urgently, more demanding. "Even your pussy is so tight," he murmurs, his tone more observation than criticism. "Do I need to open this up too?"

Your laboured breathing is your only response, mingling with the slick, rhythmic sounds of his hand moving inside you. The coil of pleasure in your core tightens with every thrust, winding tighter and tighter, the pressure building until you feel like you might shatter from the intensity of it.

Your hands clutch at his arm, desperate, seeking something solid to hold onto as your legs threaten to buckle beneath you. His fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot that sends your vision spinning, a raw, needy moan escaping your lips. The feeling of his hard length pressing against you, coupled with the masterful way his fingers work you, has your entire body humming with sensation, alive with the need to surrender to the pleasure he’s offering.

Sunghoon’s mouth returns to your neck, lips brushing over your sensitive skin, his teeth grazing lightly as he sucks, sending another jolt of arousal through you. "That’s it," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, rough command that vibrates through you. "Let go. Feel it. This is how you should be."

His words wrap around you like a spell, breaking down the last of your restraint. Your body moves with his, falling into the rhythm he’s set, lost in the heat and desire pulsing between you. Every stroke, every touch, draws you deeper into the abyss of pleasure, until all you can do is let go and let him guide you.

“Fuck, Sunghoon,” you manage to mewl, your voice trembling, breathless, as you throw your head back, letting it rest against his chest.

A low, rumbling chuckle escapes him, the sound reverberating through you, adding to the fire already blazing in your veins. His lips trail up to your ear, his tongue flicking against your earlobe, a playful, teasing nip that sends another shiver racing down your spine. “That’s it,” he whispers, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and desire. His fingers curl inside you again, hitting that spot that makes your entire body jerk in his hold, another gasp torn from your throat. “You like this, don’t you? You’re such a perfect student, so eager to please.”

All you can do is nod, biting down on your lip to stifle the moans threatening to spill over. He hums appreciatively, his hot breath brushing against your ear, the sensation sending another ripple of pleasure through you. “Good,” he purrs, his voice low and commanding, like the instructor he is. “You’re a quick learner when you want to be. You respond so well to guidance.”

Without warning, his hand shifts, thumb finding your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips jerk involuntarily. Your vision blurs, stars dancing before your eyes as the pleasure crashes over you in waves, each one pulling you deeper into the sensation. His fingers move with expert precision, relentless in their pursuit of your release, pushing you closer and closer to the brink.

In the mirror before you, Sunghoon’s eyes lock onto you, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he relishes in watching the pleasure contort your face. "You’re moving perfectly, not overthinking, just feeling how you should," he murmurs, almost to himself, pride evident in his voice.

Just as you feel yourself teetering on the brink, he slows his movements, dragging out your pleasure, keeping you suspended on the edge. You whimper with need, the desperation in your voice only making him grin wider. His lips brush against your ear, his voice a dark, seductive whisper that sends your brain into orbit. "You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you? Be a good dancer and let go, show me how well you can perform."

It’s not a question; it’s a command. And with one final, skilled stroke, he pushes you over the edge, sending you spiralling into a climax that tears through you, leaving every atom in your body shaking with intensity and your muscles instantly tensing, just to relax once again.

As the tremors subside, you feel his hands shift, fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings. “We’re just getting started,” he murmurs, a hint of something dark and promising in his voice. Slowly, he pulls them down, the fabric dragging against your skin, heightening your sensitivity. “You’re still tight,” he observes, voice low, almost thoughtful. “We need to work on that.”

He positions himself behind you, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the cool air against your bare skin. Pushing his joggers and boxers down to his thighs, he lets his hard cock spring free, your body shielding it from the mirror in front of you, but as he drags it along your folds, you get a sense of the thick, long shaft he is about to impale you with.

His hand moves to your hips, guiding you, adjusting your stance, and your hands find home on the mirror in front of you, fingers splaying across the cool glass. “Arch your back,” he instructs, voice firm yet gentle, as if this were just another rehearsal. “Relax into it…let me in.”

With a measured, almost calculated precision, he enters you, the sensation of him filling you completely making you gasp. In the mirror, your reflection catches your eye, your mouth falling open as you watch him disappear inside you. “Oh god,” you moan, the image of your bodies coming together, the way he stretches you, only intensifying the sensation. “Sunghoon…”

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet, wrapping around you, pulling you deeper into the moment. “Look at yourself,” he commands softly, his breath hot against your ear. “See how your body opens up when you let go? When you stop fighting and just let the movement happen? That’s how you get perfect lines.”

His pace is slow at first, methodical, every thrust a deliberate stroke meant to coax your body into submission. Your eyes lock onto your reflection, the sight of his hips moving against yours, the way your skin flushes with arousal, captivating. “Fuck, your pussy is sensational,” he breathes, a hint of strain in his voice as he pulls back slightly, only to push deeper. “Almost as good as your allegro.”

You let out a broken moan, your gaze flicking between his intense expression in the mirror and the way his muscles are contracting in his arms as he firms his grip on your waist, focusing on pounding into you with fervour. “Sunghoon… more… please…”

Each movement of his hips is like a masterclass, each squeeze from his hands and twitch of his cock only making your body ache for more. “Don’t hold back,” he whispers, his grip on your hips tightening, pulling you closer. “Let your body respond to mine.”

Your eyes widen as he leans forward slightly, the angle allowing you to see more of him in the mirror, his jaw tightening with every thrust. “Feels so good,” you manage to gasp out, your voice breathy, desperate as you push back against him, trying to take him deeper. “Please, don’t stop…”

The mirror reflects the sheen of sweat forming on your skin, the way your body arches into his touch, how every line of your form matches the rhythm he’s set. Your body moves with his, every thrust pushing you closer to that edge again, every word sinking deeper into your mind. His hand slides down your stomach, fingers finding your clit once more, adding that extra layer of stimulation that has your legs shaking. “That’s it,” he coaxes, voice rich with approval. “Give in to it. Let your body move the way it wants to…the way it needs to.”

“Sunghoon… oh, god… I’m gonna-” Your words cut off in a whimper as his pace quickens, the pace he sets becoming more intense, more demanding, each thrust designed to unravel you, to push you past your limits.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs into your neck, his gaze flickering up to meet yours in the mirror, watching how your breath fogs up the glass in front of you and your fingers claw down the flat surface in an attempt to grip onto something tangible. The sight of you coming undone in the reflection only seems to spur him on, his hips snapping against yours with renewed vigour.

“Sunghoon, I-” you try to speak, but the words dissolve into a moan as he thrusts deeper, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur and stars dance before your eyes, the bell of his cock kissing the sensitive spot inside your walls.

“Show me,” he commands, his voice like a conductor’s baton, directing the crescendo. “Show me how beautifully you can fall apart.”

Sunghoon’s arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling your trembling body back against his chest. The new angle allows him to thrust even deeper, the motion sending shockwaves of pleasure through you, each stroke of his cock searing itself into your memory. You feel completely filled by him, the sensation overwhelming as your reflection quakes, your body obeying every demand he silently makes. Your muscles clench around him, and as your head falls back against his shoulder, you cry out his name.

The mirror captures every detail - the flush of your skin, the arch of your back, the way your mouth opens in a silent scream as another intense climax rips through you. This one is even more powerful than the last, leaving you utterly undone, your body shaking in his arms as he holds you steady.

As the waves of pleasure begin to ebb, your eyes lock onto the mirror once more. You see yourself as Sunghoon sees you raw, vulnerable, but also strong, capable of surrendering and finding beauty in letting go. For a moment, all you can see is the perfect dancer he’s crafted, the one who’s learned to trust the rhythm and fall apart beautifully.

Chasing his own release, he begins to buck his hips in a fast, sharp manner, aware that two orgasms on your end could make you extra sensitive. Your pussy milks his cock as he cums deep inside of you, his nails scratching your hips and down your ass, as he moans out your name, chanting it like a hymn during confession.

His chest heaves against your back and he kisses anywhere he can on your neck and shoulders to ground himself in the present, bringing himself down from his high.

As he slowly slides out of you, his arms never leave your body, keeping you close. He gently lowers you to the ground, sitting you down and holding you against him. Your body feels like jelly, completely spent, but his embrace is comforting. He presses soft kisses to the back of your head, his breath warm against your damp skin.

"You did so well, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice tender, full of pride.

You tilt your head back slightly, looking up at him with a small, exhausted smile. "I don’t think I’m supposed to be this relaxed when I perform at the exhibition," you manage to say, a breathless giggle escaping your lips.

Sunghoon chuckles along with you, the sound vibrating through your body where you're pressed against him. He shakes his head, brushing a few strands of hair away from your sweaty face. "No, you should have some feeling in your bones," he agrees, wiping the moisture from your brow with the back of his hand. "But do you see how, when you let yourself do what your body wanted, you felt a million times better?"

You nod, the memory of the intensity still fresh in your mind. "Yeah…I did. It felt different…freer."

"Exactly," he says, his eyes softening as he gazes at you. "That’s how ballet is supposed to be. You can’t bring emotions to an audience if you’re too busy concentrating on getting the next move right."

"But Mrs. Yang always talks about perfection," you counter, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "She says, ‘You need to be perfect to achieve perfection.’ She repeats it all the time."

Sunghoon sighs, a look of understanding crossing his features. "It’s the same for us," he admits, his tone tinged with a mix of disdain and resignation. "Every skate has to be better than the last, or else you’re a failure." His voice carries the weight of someone who’s heard those words too many times, who’s internalised them and yet knows there’s more to the story.

"But perfection isn’t something you learn from a textbook. It’s not something you can force." He pauses, looking down at you, his expression thoughtful. "You need to find your own colour, your own style. That’s where true perfection lies - when it comes from within, not from trying to meet someone else’s standards."

You hold his gaze, the truth in his words sinking in. For years you have tried to live up to Mrs. Yang’s expectation that you lost your real love for the art. Or maybe, not lost the love, but rather buried it under the weight of being perfect.

"But…what if I never find it? My colour."

Sunghoon’s lips curve into a small smile, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over your flushed skin. "To be honest, you’re better than most. You’ve got the skill, the technique, but you’re holding yourself back because you’re so focused on being perfect." His eyes bore into yours, sincere and encouraging. "You need to let your posture breathe, stop worrying about being flawless, and just…dance. That’s what’s holding you back - then you’ll find it."

His words resonate deeply within you, stirring something that’s been buried under layers of self-doubt and external expectations. "So I just need to let go?"

"Exactly," he says, his voice firm but gentle. "Let go, trust yourself, and let your body move the way it’s meant to. Just like we did there."

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight on your shoulders lift just a bit. "I’ll try," you whisper, the words carrying more determination than you thought possible.

Sunghoon smiles, a warmth in his eyes that makes your heart flutter. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a gesture so tender it nearly makes you melt. "That’s all anyone can ask for," he murmurs, his voice reassuring.

You nod, feeling a newfound resolve build within you. As you sink deeper into his embrace, the world around you seems to blur, leaving behind the certainty that you’re ready to let go, to embrace the dancer you’ve always been meant to be.

After a moment of quiet, Sunghoon pulls back slightly, his hands still resting on your hips, grounding you. "How about we get you cleaned up, and then we run through it again?" he suggests, his tone light yet purposeful.

You smile, the idea of starting fresh with this new perspective sparking a sense of excitement in you. "Yeah," you agree, your voice steady. As Sunghoon helps you to your feet and fixes your outfit for you, you feel your heart burst with determination and adoration, both for ballet and the man in front of you.

You’re going to have to thank Mrs. Yang for this by giving the most passionate performance at the exhibition.

Maybe Sunghoon can keep coaching you until then. You do need to work on your flexibility after all…

---

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