#doegredmain

mutuals send me a 🌠 and i’ll tell you three things i associate you with

Having your dinner paid THROUGH BETRAYAL while you go to the toilet, but also good moral support when I decide to eat spicy.

Great hair but also like, terrible puns and trying to convince you to buy darker shades of lipstick.

What other character(s) could you see me roleplay as?

Y’all are determined to call me out this evening. 

The stranger’s face is indeed fair and speaks of nobility, the one given by more than blood, gold, and pride. In some odd way he’s almost reminded of a young Turukàno. A sharp lance of pain stings his chest at the memories that such a thought brings, yet he dispels them. Had not been for the man’s features, that remind Maedhros faintly of Bor’s people he might be one of the Edain. The white robes he wears are touched on the brim by fine embroidery and the sword he bears, even though its metal shines pristine, is clearly more well cared for than unused. This man might be weary, but is most definitely unafraid of him for good reasons.

While Hanguang-Jun speaks Maedhros concentrates as much on the smells carried by the wind as on his words. Still the breeze speaks of mountain air and something akin to the aromatic resin Bor’s people burnt during their rituals, albeit more refined. There is no sign of the sweetish decay that might accompany one touched by Morgoth or Thauron. Not that those are he only ones he should be wary of, as the last battle showed all too well.

Smiling faintly, more for politeness than to make this stranger at ease, Maedhros inclines his head once more. “A star shines on the hour of our meeting, Hanguang-Jun of the Gusu Lan Sect. Forgive me if I have mispronounced your name but, as you understood, I am indeed a stranger in this land. My name is Maedhros of the house of Fëanor.”

The words ‘Lord of Himring’ are almost on his tongue and they taste of bile as he swallows them. Despite his relaxed expression the Noldo’s eyes are  focused on any flicker of expression or awareness that might show in Hanguang-Jun’s gaze. If this is an enemy of his it would mean that he is not far from Ossiriand and what is left of his people.

“I seek to reunite with my people in Ossiriand.” It would be unwise to let this stranger know how utterly lost he truly is.

What he assumes to be the other’s greeting is surprisingly warm in the intent of the words and he finds that so far this first meeting is well-met. The other man is well mannered and composed, and though he does not return the smile he dips his head in acknowledgement and acceptance of the other man’s words. 

“Maedhros, of the house of Fëanor.” Lan Wangji echoes the names, slowly and awkwardly, testing its unfamiliarity on his tongue. “Pardon me for the same. I do not recognize the origin of your name or your affiliation,” he adds, looking at the other man squarely in the eyes. Did the sunlight catch in his grey eyes? There is a brightness there that gives him pause, but he cannot give it more thought at this time. After all, it seemed there was more he was about to say, before considering otherwise. He does not press the matter - it is sometimes safer to allow strangers to keep their secrets. 

Maedhros before him is sharp-eyed and observant. It is not often Lan Wangji feels as though he is being examined just as much as he inspects others. It would have been unnerving, if he perceived any measure of threat - but as it stands, only an abundance of caution is present between them now. Such discretion was commonplace, and Lan Wangji is coolly comfortable in such situations. Though he is curious to know where this man is from, and where Ossiriand was.

“Unless it goes under a different name, there is no region of Ossiriand on any map I have come across.” This complicated things. Though he is not obligated to assist individuals who were lost on the roads, he can not abide by the fact that lost persons often met an ill fate when the darkness came. Though Maedhros could undoubtedly handle any trouble that came his way, he had no map or direction. 

Classic ask meme, send me more guys

14. If the sacred chickens won’t eat, what should we do with them?

send me 🔥 for an unpopular opinion

Per grande disappunto dei padani, i toscani non sono terroni. Ma, anche magari per disappunto dei terroni, i toscani non sono del nord.

He sometimes thought he had not known true rest since the day that moon had risen; and certainly he had not since the coming of the sun.

Tired, he was so damnably tired, though never yet would he admit such a thing aloud. But tomorrow they would make an end to it at last. Tomorrow they would take back the stone which had been stolen, tomorrow they would begin at last to fulfill the Oath and do honor to their father’s memory. Tomorrow they would bathe in blood to the neck. Kinslayers they were called, but the blood they’d shed was the blood of no kin of theirs! Craven, pallid things, hiding in the shadows of the forest while others fought and died to throw back the shadows that would swallow these lands! No, tomorrow they would shed the blood of betrayers and of thieves, the blood of creeping vermin. Dark, they named him. Red, they called him. Why not live up to those names in the end?

He would shatter for once and for an ending all the peace this place had once known.

A flicker crossed the field of his vision, passing between his eyes and the moon and his fingers closed around the haft of the war-axe that lay ever at hand; but released when he recognized his brother.

“Does it drive you as it does me, brother?” Caranthir asked, abrupt and blunt as ever he had been. “Our Oath? How it burns in me, how it crawls beneath my flesh! Sometimes I look down at mine own arms and expect to see the words moving there, flowing through my veins in place of blood. Tomorrow we will make an ending to it; or begin to, at the least.”

DEATHLESS || accepting

“You are scarred. You are lonely. You are changed.”

There is no hint of pity in her voice, for he needs none.Wishes none, she thinks further. Deserves none, she knows also. He is acreature of pride and of pain commingled, a being from an elder time; and for all the fellness of his eye, he is muchnow diminished by a world which has moved on. He is scarred, and itgoes beneath his skin to warp and change his spirit also, to darken and stain that which was once bright. 

Was he alwaysselfish? Was he always cruel? Perhaps he was; wild things are always selfish,always cruel, and there is no denying the wild light which rises at times intohis fire-filled eyes.