#advanced language learning strategies

[mylanguageclasses]

Language Learning Plateaus: Why They Happen & How to Overcome Them

Imagine this: You’ve spent months learning Italian. You’ve mastered greetings, ordered cappuccinos with confidence, and even navigated a conversation about your favorite films. But suddenly, your progress grinds to a halt. New vocabulary feels elusive, grammar rules confuse you, and every conversation feels like running a mental marathon. This is the language learning plateau—a phase where…

[meelsport]

Exploring the Benefits of AI SEO Tools for Your Website

AI SEO tools are transforming the way we approach search engine optimization. In today’s fast-paced digital world, leveraging AI SEO tools can give your website a significant edge over the competition. These advanced tools use artificial intelligence to enhance various aspects of SEO, making it easier for your content to rank higher on search engine results pages (SERPs). Let’s dive into how AI…

[mommykye]

All demands

young!Ambessa Medarda x pregnant!wife!reader

summary: Ambessa gives into her wife’s demands

warnings: you guessed it, smut. ambessa’s has a dick

request are open

masterlist

The estate of Ambessa stood as a testament to power and refined brutality. Hewn from massive blocks of stark white and deep black marble, the imposing structure dominated the surrounding landscape, a physical manifestation of the formidable woman who resided within its walls. Even under the muted, overcast sky that perpetually seemed to hang over Noxus, the polished surfaces gleamed, the contrasting colors a deliberate and meaningful choice made years prior by Y/N. It was her subtle, constant reminder of the intricate balance she perceived within her wife – a dance between ruthless strength and unexpected tenderness.

Inside, the cool, echoing halls stretched into seemingly endless perspectives, the silence broken only by the soft, almost imperceptible padding of Y/N's bare feet against the smooth, unyielding floor. Despite the advanced stage of her pregnancy, the five-month swell preceding her like a proud banner, she moved with a fluid grace that spoke of her royal upbringing. At twenty-eight, Y/N possessed a maturity and poise that both complemented and subtly contrasted Ambessa’s own intense, almost volatile energy.

She found her wife in the strategy room, a chamber that hummed with the silent language of war and conquest. Massive maps, depicting conquered territories and potential battlefields in intricate detail, were spread across a colossal table of polished stone. Flanking this table were intricately carved chairs of polished darkwood, silent witnesses to countless hours of planning and deliberation. Ambessa, a towering figure even when seated, was hunched over a particularly detailed map of a volatile border region, her brow furrowed in the deep lines of intense concentration. A single, focused beam of light pierced through a narrow aperture in the high ceiling, illuminating the scene below like a macabre yet captivating painting, highlighting the stark angles of Ambessa’s face and the unforgiving lines of the maps.

Ambessa exuded a raw, untamed power, a force of nature barely contained by the stone and mortar of the room. She was a study in contrasts, a paradox of brutal efficiency and unexpected depths. Her face, often stern and unyielding, softened almost imperceptibly as she sensed Y/N's presence, a subtle shift that only Y/N had learned to recognize. Her golden eyes, usually sharp and assessing, held a fleeting flicker of warmth, a private ember lit only for her wife. Her powerful frame, honed from years spent on the battlefield and in rigorous training, was still, yet it emanated an aura of controlled strength, a coiled tension that spoke of her readiness for any challenge. She looked every bit the Noxian warlord, a woman who commanded respect and fear in equal measure. Her hair, the color of midnight, was pulled back from her face in a tight, intricate braid, revealing the strong lines of her jaw and the high, sharp planes of her cheekbones. She wore simple, functional clothing: dark, plain tunic, practical attire for a life spent navigating both the complexities of the war room inside their home and, as Y/N knew with intimate familiarity, the passionate entanglements of their shared bedchamber.

Y/N leaned against the heavy stone doorframe, her arms crossed beneath her burgeoning breasts, observing her wife for a long moment. She knew this room intimately, knew the intricate details of the maps, knew the brilliant, ruthless strategic mind that worked tirelessly behind those intense eyes. But more importantly, she knew the woman beneath the warlord, the woman who, for the past decade, had been her wife, her lover, her anchor in the often-turbulent seas of Noxian politics. Their shared history stretched back to a chance encounter during a delicate diplomatic mission years ago, a clash of wills that had unexpectedly and fiercely blossomed into an enduring love, a bond forged in mutual respect and undeniable passion.

Y/N had been immediately drawn to Ambessa's unwavering conviction, her fierce loyalty, and the barely leashed passion that simmered beneath her formidable exterior. Ambessa, in turn, had been captivated by Y/N's regal bearing, her sharp intellect that could dissect political intricacies with effortless grace, and the surprising vulnerability she occasionally allowed to surface, a fleeting glimpse behind the carefully constructed walls that she herself had conquered to earn a blissful life.

"You'll strain your eyes in this light," Y/N said, her voice a low, melodious drawl that broke the heavy silence of the room. It was a voice that had once commanded audiences, swayed councils with its persuasive cadence, but now, it held a unique intimacy, a silken thread woven into the rich tapestry of their shared life, reserved almost exclusively for Ambessa.

Ambessa glanced up, her sharp expression shifting almost imperceptibly from focused concentration to something softer, something that bordered on a rare and cherished amusement. "And you'll strain your back, standing there. Come, wife." She gestured to the chair beside her, the one usually reserved for her most trusted advisors, a silent yet profound acknowledgment of Y/N's pivotal role in her life, both personally and politically.

Y/N pushed herself off the doorframe, her movements still fluid and deliberate despite the gentle yet undeniable sway of her pregnant form. She walked towards the massive table, her bare feet making no sound on the polished floor. She reached Ambessa and, instead of taking the offered seat, she settled onto Ambessa's lap, facing her. The weight of her, the solid curve of her belly pressing intimately against Ambessa's chest, was a familiar and welcome sensation, a tangible connection that grounded them both.

Ambessa's dark eyebrows rose slightly, a silent question in their sharp arch, but she didn't protest. This was Y/N. This was how she was, especially now, with the heightened emotions and insistent desires that seemed to accompany the burgeoning life within her. Ambessa found a certain possessive satisfaction in Y/N's unwavering need for her, a primal pull that mirrored her own fierce devotion.

"Is that wise?" Ambessa asked, her voice a low rumble that vibrated against Y/N's back. "With the precious thing you carry?" Her large, calloused hand instinctively went to Y/N's rounded stomach, her touch gentle, a stark contrast to the brutal strength of her warrior's hands.

Y/N snorted softly, a sound that was both elegant and utterly irreverent. "I'm hardly made of glass, Ambessa. And I'm certainly not an invalid." She shifted slightly, adjusting her position so she was more comfortable, her hands resting on Ambessa's broad shoulders, her fingers digging lightly into the hard leather of her armor. Her eyes, dilated into the color of a stormy sea just before a tempest, locked onto Ambessa's. "Besides, I have a need."

Ambessa's gaze darkened, a slow, possessive burn igniting within their depths. "A need?" The single word was laced with a possessive curiosity, a hint of anticipation.

Y/N's lips curved into a sultry smile, a flash of the regal power that still resided within her, a power that Ambessa found endlessly alluring. "A very specific need. One that only you can satisfy." Her voice was a husky whisper, laced with a demanding edge that would have sent lesser beings scrambling for cover. But Ambessa was not a lesser being. She was Ambessa Medarda, and this woman, this demanding, pregnant woman, was her wife. And she found it exhilarating. The inherent power dynamic in their relationship, the constant push and pull of dominance and submission, was a source of intense and mutual pleasure, a silent language they both understood intimately.

"And what need is that, my demanding one?" Ambessa asked, her voice a low growl that resonated deep within Y/N, stirring a familiar heat in her core. Her hands settled on Y/N's hips, her strong fingers tracing the curve of her swollen belly, a silent acknowledgment of the life they had created together, a life that now amplified Y/N’s desires.

Y/N leaned closer, her breath warm against Ambessa's face, carrying the faint, exotic scent of the tea she favored, a fragrance that Ambessa had come to associate with her. "I need you, Ambessa. I need you inside me. Now." The directness of the request, the complete lack of preamble or coyness, was a deliberate act, a testament to the raw intimacy and uninhibited passion they shared. The sheer audacity of it, even in the relative privacy of their own estate, sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated desire through Ambessa. It was this very quality – this fearless, unapologetic desire – that had captivated her from the moment their paths had crossed. Y/N had never been one to shy away from what she wanted, even when what she wanted was the formidable Ambessa Medarda.

"Now?" Ambessa echoed, her voice a dangerous purr, her grip tightening slightly on Y/N's hips. "Here? On the strategy table?" The thought was undeniably arousing, the forbidden juxtaposition of war and intimacy, of strategic planning and raw, primal desire, a potent combination that resonated with the core of her being, a thrilling transgression against the very order she often imposed.

Y/N's smile widened, a predatory gleam in her stormy eyes. "The table is large. And sturdy. Much like its owner." She jokes, trailing a hand down Ambessa's chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric, the steady beat of her wife's heart quickening beneath her touch. "And the thought of you, taking me here, surrounded by your maps, your plans, the idea of being caught, it excites me." Her eyes gleamed with a primal hunger, a reflection of the deep, almost visceral connection they shared, a bond that transcended the battlefield and the intricate dance of Noxian politics. Pregnancy had amplified her desires, stripping away any lingering pretense of demureness. She was raw, demanding, and utterly irresistible in her newfound intensity.

Ambessa's control, always there, wavered precariously. The intoxicating combination of Y/N's scent – a heady mix of exotic perfumes and the subtle, musky undertones of arousal – her nearness, the warm weight of her in her lap, and the sheer eroticism of the request was almost overwhelming, threatening to shatter the carefully constructed walls of her composure. The strategic maps, the very symbols of her power and ambition, suddenly seemed insignificant, mere parchment and ink compared to the vibrant, demanding woman in her arms.

"You are…insatiable," Ambessa murmured, her voice thick with burgeoning desire, her thumb tracing the delicate curve of Y/N's jawline, a possessive caress.

"Only for you," Y/N purred back, her fingers now playing with the edge of Ambessa's collar, her touch both possessive and exquisitely provocative. "And the babe. The babe wants its mother happy." She knew how to manipulate Ambessa, how to crack the littlest of pressure points, continue on their growing family, into the tapestry of her desires, a subtle yet effective leverage.

Ambessa knew, with a certainty that resonated deep within her, that Y/N was using the pregnancy, using the innocent babe, to get exactly what she wanted. And, truth be told, she didn't care in the slightest. The thought of Y/N, carrying their child, craving her with such unbridled intensity, was a potent aphrodisiac, a constant reminder of the deep and unbreakable bond they shared, a testament to the love that lay beneath the surface of their often-brutal world.

"And what if I were to say no?" Ambessa challenged, her voice low and husky, a playful edge to her tone, though the heat in her eyes betrayed her true desire.

Y/N's smile turned predatory, a flash of sharp teeth beneath her full lips. "You wouldn't." It wasn't a question, not even a hint of doubt. It was a statement of absolute fact, born of years of shared intimacy and a profound understanding of her wife's deepest desires. Y/N knew the fire that burned beneath Ambessa's controlled exterior, the fierce passion that Ambessa rarely unleashed on anyone but her. She knew that Ambessa was as utterly enthralled by her as she was by Ambessa. And she was right. Ambessa wouldn't say no. Not when Y/N looked at her like that, her stormy eyes blazing with unadulterated need, her body radiating a palpable heat. Not when the thought of possessing her, of filling her, right here, right now, was so utterly compelling, so deliciously forbidden.

With a swift, decisive movement that spoke of her inherent strength and unwavering resolve, Ambessa stood, lifting Y/N with her as if she weighed nothing, her powerful muscles belying the delicate nature of her precious cargo. She didn't break eye contact, her dark gaze locked intently on Y/N's, her own desire a tangible force that crackled in the air between them.

"Then let us not waste any more time," Ambessa said, her voice a low growl that sent shivers of anticipation down Y/N's spine. Instead of turning towards the hidden doorway that led to the privacy of their opulent chambers, Ambessa took a deliberate step back, positioning herself firmly between Y/N's legs, the cool, smooth surface of the massive stone table pressing against the backs of Y/N's thighs.

Y/N's breath hitched, a sharp gasp of surprise and burgeoning excitement. She had instinctively expected their usual retreat to the secluded intimacy of their rooms, but this…this was a delicious deviation, a raw and impulsive act that spoke volumes about the intensity of Ambessa's desire, a willingness to transgress the boundaries of their usual rituals.

Ambessa's hands tightened on Y/N's hips, steadying her as she subtly shifted her weight, ensuring her wife's comfort while simultaneously asserting her control. The cool, unyielding surface of the table was a stark and thrilling contrast to the rising heat radiating from their intertwined bodies. The maps, the carefully laid plans of conquest and dominion, were now beneath Y/N, a silent and potent testament to the fact that, in this moment, nothing in the vast Noxian empire held more significance than the fierce and undeniable connection between them.

"Ambessa…" Y/N breathed, her voice laced with a mixture of surprise and rapidly escalating excitement.

"You wanted me now," Ambessa murmured, her gaze dropping momentarily to the gentle swell of Y/N's belly, then rising again to meet her eyes, a possessive gleam in their dark depths. "And I aim to please."

With deliberate, almost ritualistic movements, Ambessa reached down and began to unbuckle the fastenings of her dark clothing, the soft clinking of metal echoing in the heavy silence of the room, each small sound amplifying the growing tension between them. Y/N watched her, her heart pounding a heavy rhythm against her ribs, her own desire intensifying with each passing moment as the warlord began to shed her layers. The controlled exterior was slowly giving way to the passionate lover beneath.

Ambessa’s pants fell to the floor with a soft thud, leaving her in the tunic. Her strong, calloused hands then moved to the hem of Y/N’s flowing gown, the supple fabric offering little resistance to her touch, sending shivers of anticipation dancing across Y/N’s skin. Ambessa slowly pushed the gown upwards, revealing the delicate curve of Y/N’s bare legs, the soft skin flushed with rising desire.

Y/N instinctively wrapped her legs around Ambessa’s waist, pulling her closer, the intimate friction igniting a spark that threatened to consume them both. The feeling of Ambessa’s hard, muscled body pressed intimately against her own, the life within her a soft, precious cushion between them, was intoxicating, a tangible reminder of their shared love and future.

Ambessa’s hands continued their exploration, tracing the delicate curve of Y/N’s thighs, the gentle swell of her hips, her touch both possessive and reverent, acknowledging the beautiful changes that pregnancy had wrought upon Y/N’s body, changes that Ambessa found undeniably alluring, a testament to their shared creation.

"You are magnificent," Ambessa murmured, her voice thick with desire, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of Y/N's neck, sending a jolt of pure sensation through her. "Every curve, every swell…you are breathtaking."

Y/N tilted her head back, allowing Ambessa greater access, her own breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "And you are taking far too long," she whispered, her own impatience growing with each teasing, passing moment. The intoxicating scent of Ambessa, a heady mix of leather and musk and something uniquely her own, filled her senses, further fueling the insistent ache within her.

Ambessa chuckled softly, a low rumble against Y/N’s skin that vibrated through her very core. "Patience, my love. What is worth having is worth savoring." But even as she spoke the words, her actions belied her claim. Her hands moved with increasing urgency, pushing Y/N’s gown higher, until it was bunched around her waist, exposing the soft skin of her thighs and the delicate curve of her pregnant belly as she places a soft kiss to her cheek.

Y/N reached down and gripped Ambessa’s tunic, pulling it upwards with a demanding tug. She wanted to feel Ambessa’s bare skin against hers, the raw heat of her body a tangible reassurance of her desire. Ambessa obliged without hesitation, stripping off the tunic and tossing it carelessly aside, her eyes never leaving Y/N’s, their depths filled with a primal hunger.

The contrast between them was stark and beautiful, a testament to the complementary nature of their desires. Y/N, with her softer, more yielding curves and the delicate flush of arousal blooming on her skin, and Ambessa, all hard muscle and controlled power, her eyes burning with an intensity that mirrored Y/N's own. They were two halves of a whole, their differences only serving to amplify the intense and undeniable connection between them.

Ambessa’s hands returned to Y/N’s hips, her strong thumbs pressing into the sensitive skin just above her pelvic bones, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Y/N. "Tell me what you want," Ambessa commanded, her voice a low growl that resonated deep within Y/N, stirring the insistent ache in her core. "Tell me exactly what you need."

Y/N’s eyes darkened with a primal desire. "I want you inside me, Ambessa. Deep inside. I want to feel you filling me, claiming me, making me yours." The words were a raw, uninhibited expression of her need, a testament to the deep physical and emotional connection they shared, a bond that transcended the constraints of their often-brutal world.

Ambessa’s gaze intensified, a possessive fire burning within their depths. "And you shall have it, my queen." Ambessa pulls down the remainder of her clothing, allowing it to pool at her ankles, revealing the hard, undeniable length of her desire straining against her dark undergarments. The air in the strategy room crackled with an almost palpable anticipation, thick with unspoken desires and the promise of raw intimacy. The maps beneath Y/N, depicting the strategic layouts of conquered territories and potential future campaigns, became silent witnesses to their passionate encounter, the intricate lines and symbols of war momentarily forgotten in the face of a more primal, all-consuming need.

Ambessa positioned herself more firmly between Y/N’s parted legs, her strong hands sliding beneath her wife’s thighs, lifting them higher, arching Y/N’s back against the cool stone. Y/N instinctively tightened her grip on the edge of the table, her body already anticipating the exquisite pleasure to come, her hips tilting upwards in silent invitation.

The first touch was electric, a searing spark that ignited a raging firestorm of desire within them both. Ambessa’s entry was slow and deliberate, a tender consideration for the life they were creating, allowing Y/N’s body to adjust to her size, yet the intensity of their connection was immediate and undeniable, a visceral merging of two souls bound by fierce love and insatiable desire.

Y/N gasped, a sharp, involuntary sound escaping her lips, her head falling back against the cool stone, unyielding marble as she felt Ambessa fill her, stretching her, claiming her in a way that transcended mere physical intimacy. Ambessa paused, her hands gripping Y/N’s thighs, her dark eyes locked intently on her wife’s flushed face, searching for any sign of discomfort.

"Does it feel good, my love?" she murmured, her voice thick with desire, a hint of tenderness lacing her usual commanding tone.

"Yes," Y/N breathed, reaching out to grab onto Ambessa’s shoulders allowing her fingers to dig into the muscle, her body already beginning to move instinctively against hers. "Oh, yes. But don't be so gentle, Ambessa. I need you rougher. I want to feel you." The words, a raw expression of her heightened desires, hung heavy in the air, a direct challenge to Ambessa’s initial tenderness.

A flicker of something primal ignited in Ambessa’s eyes. The warlord in her recognized and responded to the demand. With a low growl that rumbled deep in her chest, she surged forward, slamming into Y/N with a force that made her cry out, yet she remained acutely aware of the precious life they carried, her movements powerful but carefully controlled.

"Pregnant whore," Ambessa growled, the words a rough caress against Y/N’s ear, a dirty endearment that sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her. "You want me rough, you'll have it."

"Yes," Y/N gasped, meeting Ambessa’s fierce gaze with a hunger of her own. "Fuck me, Ambessa. Like you mean it. Make me feel this."

And Ambessa obliged, her movements becoming more insistent, more demanding, yet always mindful. The rhythm of their bodies intertwined, a primal dance of need and fulfillment, a language spoken in the thrust and parry of their hips, in the ragged gasps that escaped their lips. The only sounds in the room were their increasingly frantic breaths and the soft thud of Ambessa’s powerful body against Y/N’s.

Y/N’s senses heightened, every nerve ending alive and tingling. The intoxicating scent of Ambessa filled her nostrils, the feel of her wife’s hard, muscled body pressed against her own was a potent aphrodisiac. The pressure deep within her grew with each forceful thrust, building towards a crescendo of exquisite pleasure.

"That's it," Y/N moaned, her hips bucking against Ambessa’s. "Harder, Ambessa."

Ambessa’s movements became more demanding, her controlled strength unleashed in a torrent of raw passion, her own control beginning to slip as her desire surged, threatening to overwhelm her. She leaned down, her lips finding the sensitive curve of Y/N’s neck, her teeth gently nipping at the soft skin, eliciting a sharp cry from her wife.

"You feel so good," Ambessa grunted, her breath hot against Y/N’s skin. "So tight."

"And you feel like heaven," Y/N gasped, her body arching higher against Ambessa’s, her legs tightening around her waist, pulling her deeper. The strategic maps beneath them rustled and shifted with their frantic movements, the carefully drawn lines of conquered territories and potential battlefields becoming increasingly blurred and insignificant in the face of their primal embrace.

"Tell me you're mine," Ambessa commanded, her voice thick with possessive desire.

"I'm yours," Y/N cried out, her voice raw with passion. "Always yours, you brute."

In this moment, there was no Noxian warlord and no past royal. There were only two women, deeply in love and fiercely connected, lost in the all-consuming intensity of their shared desire, their bodies moving as one. Ambessa’s pace quickened, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She could feel Y/N’s body clenching around her, the unmistakable signs of her impending release.

"Y/N…" Ambessa groaned, her own carefully constructed control finally shattering.

Y/N cried out again, a long, keening sound that echoed in the silent room, her body convulsing around Ambessa’s. Waves of intense, exquisite pleasure washed over her, each one more powerful than the last, threatening to drown her in sensation. She clung to Ambessa, her nails digging into her wife’s back leaving long red lines, her head thrown back against the cool obsidian in an expression of pure ecstasy.

Ambessa held her tight, her powerful arms wrapped securely around Y/N’s trembling body, riding out the waves of her wife’s pleasure, her own release following swiftly on its heels, a guttural roar escaping her lips as she poured herself into Y/N. She buried her face in Y/N’s neck, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm, the scent of just straight Y/N filling the air around her.

They remained locked together for a long moment, their breathing slowly returning to a semblance of normalcy, the echoes of their passionate encounter still reverberating in the heavy silence of the strategy room. The weight of Y/N’s pregnant belly pressed intimately against Ambessa, a tangible and precious reminder of the life they had created, the future they shared, a future born from their fierce love and unyielding passion.

Finally, Ambessa pulled back slightly, her eyes filled with a tenderness that she rarely showed to anyone else, a vulnerability reserved solely for Y/N. She gently brushed a stray strand of sweat-dampened hair from Y/N’s flushed forehead, her touch surprisingly delicate.

"Are you alright, my love?" she murmured, her voice still rough with the remnants of passion.

Y/N smiled, a soft, contented expression spreading across her face, her stormy eyes now filled with a peaceful serenity. "More than alright," she whispered back, her voice still slightly breathless. "Perfect."

Ambessa leaned down and kissed her gently, a lingering touch that spoke volumes of the deep love and unbreakable connection between them, a silent promise of more to come.

"We should move," Ambessa said eventually, gesturing to the rumpled maps beneath them with a wry smile playing on her lips. "Lest our strategic planning become compromised."

Y/N chuckled softly, a warm, throaty sound. "Perhaps. Though I daresay we've just engaged in a different kind of strategic maneuver."

Ambessa’s eyes darkened again, a hint of the possessive fire rekindling within their depths. "Indeed. And one I find far more rewarding." She carefully disentangled herself from Y/N, her movements surprisingly gentle considering the raw passion they had just shared. She then lifted Y/N with the same effortless strength, cradling her in her arms.

"Where shall we go, my queen?" Ambessa murmured, carrying her towards the hidden doorway that led to their private chambers.

"Our bed," Y/N whispered, nuzzling against Ambessa’s neck. "And then perhaps we can discuss further strategic engagements."

Ambessa’s lips curved into a predatory smile. "I believe that can be arranged." She stepped through the hidden door, leaving the rumpled maps and the echoes of their passion behind, carrying her beloved wife towards the sanctuary of their shared chambers, the promise of more intimate battles hanging sweetly in the air.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Tips: Prose

If you want to improve the quality of your writing, the best place to start is with the fundamentals. These valuable tips can help you learn how to write better and elevate your creative output.

Tips for Writing Engaging Prose

Use these writing tricks and tips to elevate your prose:

Don’t worry about your first draft. A lot of writers fall victim to writer’s block at the very beginning of a project. It can be hard to start writing when you’re staring at a blank page, not sure exactly where a piece will end up. At this early stage, it’s best to put aside perfectionism and just get your story idea down on paper. Start out by freewriting with a writing prompt or by building an outline. This can help you gain the confidence you need to complete a draft.

Cut the fluff. Editing can transform good writing into great writing. When editing, look for scenes that don’t advance the plot, overly long descriptions, and anything that won’t sustain a reader’s attention. Whether you’re working on short stories, business writing, content marketing, or nonfiction essays, try to match the word count of similar published pieces.

Rewrite, then rewrite again. Most great writers consider rewriting an integral part of the writing process. Writing a scene multiple times in different ways can help you distill these different attempts into the best writing you have to offer. Rewriting helps you work out any parts that don’t make sense or are illogical, which will help your writing sound smarter and more considered.

Read your work out loud. Reading your work out loud will almost certainly make you a better writer. Embarrassing as it may seem in the moment, speaking the words out loud is a great way to notice the rhythm of your sentences and catch any unintended repetition or awkward word choices.

Learn how to hook your readers. Your hook-writing style will depend on whether you’re a fiction writer working on a novel or a copywriter blogging for a company, but every good writer has a strategy for generating interest. Try starting your piece with an emotional scene or a surprising statement. The important thing is that your first sentence, scene, or page creates questions in your reader’s mind, encouraging them to keep reading. Beware of the obvious hook—spend time coming up with a thoughtful, unique hook that will make your writing sound smart, not gimmicky.

Write concisely. Short sentences with simple words tend to sound smarter than long sentences full of big words. You don’t have to sound like Ernest Hemingway, but you should try cutting unnecessary language from your text. Often, it will make your piece more concise and authoritative.

Use the active voice. When writing in the active voice, the subject of a sentence performs the action. Passive voice sentences contain subjects that are the object of the sentence’s verb. They are not the “doer” of the sentence; they are the recipient of an action. Sentences constructed with the active voice use fewer words and are easier to understand.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[undergoing-mitosis]

i am going to ramble about my death note accent and language headcanons (wammy's boys + light) okay thanks

L is very British. This fits surprisingly easily with Alessandro Juliani's incredible dub performance, but just lose the Canadian(?)ness. He still has that slight drawl and softly pronounces every consonant, so it's less bo'o'wa'a bri'ish and more autistic every consonant is pronounced British. Every language he speaks is practically perfect accent wise, he tends to be a bit of a chameleon. You can only tell that he's not native Japanese when he speaks it by a few lilts on certain sounds which aren't quite right, but even then it's only noticeable if you're looking for it. Knows an ungodly amount of languages fluently: he had a period of hyperfixating on learning a bunch between cases, before he got bored and moved onto advanced Go strategy.

Light is Japanese. Mamoru Miyano's voice is canon. That is all I have to say on the matter. He also knows a few other languages from his studies, including English, but knows very little about using these languages in practice, making his speech sound very formal and textbook-y.

Mello is from somewhere in east Europe, but given he's lived at Wammy's since he was around 5-ish he had completely lost his accent. So his base accent is British like the rest of them. Whatever his native language may be, he can understand it but not speak it. Mello tended to err on the side of more rough British, dropping consonants no matter how much Roger tried to make him speak properly. He never devolved into full roadman though. When he ran away to the US, he taught himself how to speak with an American accent. (this idea is directly from Crush on ao3 haha) Over the years of the time skip he perfected his accent, now it is indistinguishable from a native LA resident. However, he is still having to actively put this accent on. Post-Mafia, Mello doesn't have to put up a front of being purely American any more: he still does it out of habit, especially in public, but in private his voice will become an odd mix of American, British and a few muscle memory sounds that come from his mother tongue, creating a unique sound. When Mello loses his composure (mainly, when he gets pissed at Matt) he devolves into full British expletives. He is known he mutter "bloody hell" under his breath frequently. He can also speak Japanese fluently, along with French and bits and pieces of a few other European languages.

Matt is Canadian. I don't know, I just think a Canadian accent suits him. Picked up a few British turn of phrases at Wammy's, but given that he moved there later than Mello he kept his accent. The only Japanese he knows is osmosised from anime. He also picked up wingdings from that period of time when every email he sent would be in it for funsies.

Near is also British. Very much has that autism British accent, without the added drawl in L's, making him sometimes sound quite posh even though he isn't. Nate River is the most British name I have ever seen I'm sorry I don't make the rules. He learnt Japanese for the Kira case, and can speak it pretty fluently and without a strong accent, but as a rule of thumb he has no interest in learning languages: he'd rather spend his time making paper cities or studying quantum physics. An exception to this is code languages: he knows morse code fluently.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

*steps on stage nervously*

Uhh.. umm. Uhhhhh

Spidey Academy AU!!

Like Xavier's School for Gifted Children, Miguel - a Spider-person fond of kids, opened a Spidey-Science Academy, for the Spidey-people of the universe

It's not like a high school. There's five years and the years are not really sorted by age - but by experience.

So Hobie would be a year 3 - a middleclass-man

Pavitr is a year 1 - a freshman

And the classes, are all based on honing your Spider-powers and senses.

There's assignments, things you have to take home and do.

They're give you a fake evil Doc Ock chip and have you decode it and make it good again (like Peter in No Way Home).

Or they ask you to stop a petty robbery without using your webs. You have to bring in the Daily Bugles article on you the next day and they grade you on that.

(Hey say what you want but Jonah reports the facts he just talks a lot of shit)

Any class a Spider-person needs, they have.

You name it-

Home Ec? No. Sewing and Suit Repair Class

Gym? No. Swinging & Strength Endurance

Science? ALL ADVANCED. Freshmen's take Advanced Spider-biology and have to learn ALL the different Spider-variations and illnesses Spider-people can get. Multiversal Physics.

All of the honor classes are FULL.

There's also other helpful ones like Firefighting Training and Sign Language (both mandatory), hence how Insomniac!Miles is completely fluent in ASL.

Oh - also. Because Miguel is such a tight-ass -

UNIFORMS. Sweater vests over pants or shorts. (No skirts cause they still be upsidedown and shit)

You have to bring your mask everyday. It's like your ID card

y'all ever had that? Like y'all needed an ID to get into school and if you didn't have it they charged you? Like money? My school did that we also had metal detectors like the airport I'm so deadass this was just a normal public school - I'm getting distracted, anyway-

Of COURSE Ms.Jessica Drew is Assistant Principal. OF COURSE she also teaches Advanced Combat and Strategies class.

And YES she's a hard-ass grader. Has never given a 100% in her life. On some 'This was the best thing I've read in my entire teaching career but you forgot to indent on paragraph 5 so 99%'

She doesn't give a fuck about your GPA!!!

Unlike Mr.Peter B. Parker.

He makes people call him 'Professor PB'. He wants to be the cool teacher.

His classroom is SO FUN during lunch time. Probably runs the anime and manga club. He's that really nerdy teacher that you don't expect to be like "I know what anime is! I grew up on Dragon Ball 😁

His class are always fun but SO chaotic. Still wears sweatpants sometimes. He's the Science teacher.

And every year they take class photos and there's a Spidey homecoming where everyone parties on the walls in cute outfits.

CAN YOU SEE IT?

Swinging Team instead of Track and Field???

CAN YOU IMAGINE IT?

MIGUEL AS PRINCIPAL???

LYLA BEING THE LOUD SPEAKER ANNOUNCER?

[em-nikolaev]

A Few Fun Little Language Learning Tips

Hello, these are a few little tips I've found on my language learning odyssey that you may find fun or helpful

Accents! This can be a great way to 'warm up' before speaking more in depth, or a training exercise, but a fun way I've found to get myself to make French sounds (it works for any language really) is to speak English (or insert native language here) with an exaggerated accent that comes from someone speaking your target language, I find this a fun way to get the sounds of a language you're trying to speak into your head in order to make speaking easier (great for speaking exam practice)

Use addictive social media for profit! So this would be best for intermediate to advanced learners, but a way to learn more slang, grow your vocabulary, and just generally get more language input in an easy way is to create a dedicated social media account in your TL and simply lurk, do you spend hours doom scrolling short form video content? Do it guilt free by doing it in your TL, do you like cat memes? read them in your TL, it's addictive, and low energy, so you can do it even when your brain feels like a fried egg

Need a pen pal? Try Ai! So, speaking to real people in your TL can be a daunting task, for reasons ranging from the fear of saying something wrong to just plain stranger danger, so a safer (and totally free) alternative can be through ai chat bots, you can do this with dedicated language learning bots or with just plain old ChatGPT

Nostalgia Bait! One of the most beautiful things about visual art is the fact that it is a universal language in itself, certain symbols can hold significance wherever you go, so re-watching animated TV shows from your childhood or watching new TV content made for kids in your TL can be a great way to add to your vocabulary, and in call & response shows, generate responses and make them more complex if you like, to add more intrigue

When in doubt, write it out! I personally struggle a lot with conjugation, so if you do to, here's a solution I found, use Quizlet learn to help drill conjugation, and when your free rounds run out, you can manually use the flash cards to use the same effective learning strategy (or pay for Quizlet plus, but I, personally would rather eat a dusty lamp then pay for something that, in my opinion, should be free to all learners)

[petalruesimblr]

Hey everyone!

This is part two of my small gift to my followers and to all the support I have received since I started this simblr blog. In case anyone missed it, here's the link to the first part of my gift: click here. It features a small set of starter homes for your Sims all priced below §16,500.

For the second gift, I'm excited to introduce the Sim Service Specialist Career! This is my first time creating a career for The Sims 3 and I owe special thanks to MissyHissy's for the step-by-step tutorial (here), as well as to Emma and Pat222 at Job Centre Discord for their help and encouragement when I felt like giving up.

Additional credits go to the creators of S3pe and Twallan for the Career Mod.

To new visitors, welcome and feel free to browse my Tumblr by checking out the pinned post for easier navigation. To everyone, your continued support through likes, reblogs, downloads and follows is always appreciated and welcomed!

Click on ’Keep Reading’ below for more information and pictures of the Sim Service Specialist Career.

XOXO, petalrue 🌺

Sim Service Specialist (Call Center)

Download Link: Sim File Share | MTS (for approval)

Career Details:

Available for: Young Adults, Adults and Elders Available Languages: English Levels: 10 Does it have Carpool? Yes Does it have Uniforms? Yes Metrics: Charisma, Logic (only at higher career levels), Relationships, Mood, Meetings (for high level) Performance Tones: Business as Usual, Peak Performance, Coffee Break, Team Huddle, Desk Detour, Hold Meetings, Practice Call Scripts, Suck up to Boss, Strategy Review and Conduct Evaluation

For my first career for TS3, I decided to go with the Call Center path which I was already familiar with due to my previous job working at one. This is a vanilla career; meaning no opportunities, events, books nor custom uniforms because those are a lot harder to deal with for a first timer.

This career was made with patch 1.42 and it should work for higher patches as long as you have the latest version of NRAAS Careers Mod. Please be advised that you will need NRAAS Careers Mod for this career to show up in the game, click here.

The career is based at the Business and Journalism rabbit hole with the same uniforms used for the Business career, for female Sims refer to the picture above and male Sims click here for reference. This career focuses mostly on the Charisma skill at the start, which then adds the Logic skill as the career advances to leadership roles.

I have renamed all typical tones such as Power Work and Take It Easy, etc. and have added three custom tones called: Practice Call Scripts, Conduct Evaluation and Strategy Review that will increase charisma and logic respectively.

I'm not fluent in any other languages to translate so if anyone is interested in translating this career, please don't hesitate to send me a message here or comment on this post and will let you know the details.

I have tested this career in my game, so far it is working and all scripts are showing up. As this is my first career, all feedback is very welcome to help me learn and improve my skills so please let me know if you experience any problems on your end and I’ll do my best to sort it as soon as possible.

[allthingslinguistic]

Summer 2024 travel plans and Language Guinea Pig Diaries

In August and September, I'm doing a bunch of travel to various European countries. In order, they are:

Glasgow, Scotland for World Science Fiction Convention (WorldCon), where I'll be on a panel about Languages as World-Building and doing assorted meetups

Helsinki, Finland for the Societas Linguistica Europea annual meeting

Tartu, Estonia for a colloquium talk on Applying Linguistic Methods to Linguistic Communication at the University of Tartu and a two-part workshop on lingcomm for participants of Methodological Excellence in Data-Driven Approaches to Linguistics (MEDAL)

Nijmegen, Netherlands for some meetings with linguists

Florence, Italy to visit friends

Madrid, Spain for the publication of the Spanish translation of Because Internet by Pie de Página

I hope to run into lots of interesting people at these events! If you're already in one of these places and I know you, including from the interent, feel free to reach out and see if we can fit something in!

This whirlwind list of events and places has also gotten me thinking: this trip is going to be a fun chance to learn some more about some languages! I'm already fairly familiar with Spanish and Scottish English (I doubt people will speak much Broad Scots to me with my Canadian accent), and I'm confident on my ability to brush up on them by a bit of exposure and possibly watching a relevant movie on the way there, but the other four languages are going to take a bit more doing. Here's my initial situation, in order of familiarity:

Italian - I studied it for two years in undergrad and spent about a week in Italy shortly thereafter, and by the end of the week I was finally beginning to feel like it was starting to "click" but then I haven't really touched it since then. So I feel like it would come back with exposure but I wonder if there's something I could do in advance to help it come back sooner/faster rather than taking the whole week of being there again

Dutch - I went through the whole Duolingo tree on rapid-speed back when you could skip through lessons for new material only and not practice drills over about a year in 2019-ish just for fun and as an excuse to look up lots of Germanic roots (I studied German before I knew any linguistics so it was fun to triangulate there). Never actually been anywhere Dutch was being spoken but I did find I could get the gist of youtube videos about linguistics in Dutch so it probably needs "activation" similar to Italian

Finnish - No background except for a few linguistics factoids (case! vowel harmony!), and that it's a Uralic language (related to Hungarian but not to any of the Indo-European languages, so this is a fun chance to learn some things about a language family that's unfamiliar to me)

Estonian - Also no background, also Uralic, clearly the fun thing to do would be to learn enough bits of Estonian and Finnish that I could compare them with each other (also since I'm meeting with linguists in both countries, this would be a fun topic for small talk conversation)

At the same time, there are a lot of language learning strategies floating around out there, and I have two nearly matched pairs of languages on this list: Italian and Dutch, both of which I am pretty good at cognate languages for and have studied some a while back, so I could test two activation strategies, and Finnish and Estonian, both of which I have essentially zero familiarity with, so I could test two strategies for getting somewhere near a basic functional ability.

I have about a month until I start this cycle with a flight to Helsinki. One month, four languages. What could possibly go wrong?

Here's my tentative plan so far:

Activation, Italian and Dutch - I'm pretty sure what I need for these languages is largely as much audio imput as possible (given what's feasible around like, all the other things going on in my life). I've decided to aim to watch one or two youtube videos in Italian per day, focusing on relatively concrete, daily life topics (such as gelato making) and to listen to one episode of a podcast in Dutch per day, aiming to get through the back catalogue of Kletsheads, a podcast about multilingual children.

Why these strategies? Well, I'm meeting up with linguists in the Netherlands but not in Italy, so it makes sense to try to learn more linguistics vocab there. Also, I'm curious about the effect of medium between video and podcast: will being able to see people talking and what they're talking about have much of an effect on how much I can understand? Will I find it easier to integrate one or the other of watching videos vs listening to podcasts into my life at a practical level? Plus, will concentrating on a single, more academic topic vs watching a scattered, unsystematic list of videos have effects on my vocabulary?

Basic function, Finnish and Estonian - I'm probably looking for some phrases to say to people in shops and restaurants and the ability to pronounce things written on menus adequately and match heard words/placenames to written versions on signs. I started doing a very minimal one lesson a day on Duolingo for Finnish in January, when planning for this trip started, for the very simple reason that I was already familiar with Duolingo and it doesn't have Estonian, so I decided to just start by doing a thing I was familiar with until I got around to doing more research. I've been casting around trying to figure out a source of basic Estonian phrases online when a friend mentioned learning French on tiktok, so I searched for "learn estonian" and voila! I think I'll also aim for a video or two of Estonian phrases per day but I want to do more rewatching than with Italian or Dutch, since I'm aiming to remember specific common phrases. So maybe one rewatched video and one new video, per day? They're shorter on tiktok than on youtube.

Why these strategies? This is a comparison of Duolingo's more systematic approach with lots of repetition and gamification and word-by-word translation in a relatively sterile environment versus a more organic and free-styling approach with more grounding in real people and faces and full phrases where I'm not really trying to understand the individual words. There are lots of factors to compare and it's not a completely fair comparison since I started Duolingo in January and I only thought to start the TikTok idea this week, but hey, learning anything still counts as progress.

Summary: I have four languages, each focused on a different app: YouTube, my podcast app, Duolingo, and TikTok. Hopefully for the video apps, this will help their algorithms kick in and start recommending me further useful videos. The difference between the two video strategies is that for Italian, I'm watching monolingual videos that are aimed at people who already speak Italian and just want to learn something about the topic, whereas for Estonian, I'm watching bilingual videos aimed at English speakers who want to learn some words or phrases in Estonian.

Am I going to get these four languages mixed up? Probably! I'm hoping that choosing a different app/strategy for each is a little bit helpful on that front.

Do I think these strategies are optimal? Probably not! But I'm aiming to choose things that feel relatively clear to implement consistently, rather than getting bogged down in researching language learning methods instead of actually getting exposure to the languages. I'll probably do a basic "look up some key phrases and try to learn them" a day or two before entering each place too. And maybe shift other aspects depending on how things are going, stay tuned!

At any rate, I figured it would be more fun to blog about my attempts to use myself as a guinea pig for a few different language learning strategies here than to just do it in my own head (and hopefully help me with staying motivated). And maybe people will have tips of either language learning strategies that have worked for you in general or specific ideas for these particular languages, so this is the beginning of a series that I'm calling #Language Guinea Pig Diaries and future posts will also be posted under that tag!

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: How To Build Steamy Sexual Tension With Any (Potential) Lover

Whether you're seeking to ignite a new flame or rekindle the hot-and-heavy passion in your long-term relationship, here are some must-know tips, tricks, and spicy strategies to build sexual tension with any prospective or reliable lover.

Set The Stage: Create a date night (or daytime) atmosphere that sets the mood. This could be a nice meal or a glass of wine in a candlelight setting or dim lighting with sensual music and plush seating or pillows. Dress to impress in an outfit/hair & glam look that makes you feel like the hottest person in the room. Wear your hottest matching lingerie underneath your outfit paired with a seductive perfume and/or scented lotions & hair mist. Feeling clean & well-groomed also helps get both of you in the mood.

Master The Art of Direct Eye-Contact: Convey confidence and show your partner they have your full attention. Maintain strong eye contact when they speak. Allow it to linger a bit longer and during natural conversational silences to build tension stronger than the curl of your lashes.

Embrace Seductive Body Language: Look up at them from a downward gaze, twirl your hair, subtly touch, bite, or lick your lips, and offer suggestive side glances/look away every now and then throughout your conversation. Lather your hands in an upward motion (as you would with soap) as your (prospective) partner is speaking during this tension-building interaction. Touch the nape of your neck or collarbones as they speak.

Tease with Playful Touch: Break the physical barrier with a subtle touch on the shoulder, thigh, knee, or with your foot (either under a table or while next to each other). Allow your partner to exchange the favor before becoming more frequent with your subtly handsy advances. Once this level of comfort is well-established work your way inward with your hand or foot placements to initiate the desired hot-and-heavy tension.

Ask Engaging Questions. Dive Deep: Inquire about their day, highlights of the week, plans they're looking forward to, their hobbies, interests, favorite books, foods, places they've traveled to, important people in their life, experiences that hold significance in their heart/mind, dreams, places they want to travel to, and goals for the future. Listen intently and follow up with thoughtful questions to get to understand their emotive experience/learn more about who this person is at their core. Stimulate the most influential sex organ – it will always be the mind.

Get Creative with (Subtle) Innuendo: Find flirty ways to subtly include naughty comments or insights in your more colloquial conversations. Be clever, not overt and crass with your approach. References to food, music, travel, style, movies/theatrics all work well to showcase your intellectual and sexual prowess.

Use Your Body As A Conversation Starter or Discussion Topic: The fit or feel of your outfit, the softness of your hair, smoothness, and the scent of your skin. Allow the other person to anticipate and fantasize about the outcome of this interaction – what it would feel like to fully interact with these belongings or elements of your being as the conversation gets steamy and things become hot and heavy.

Relish in the Seduction. Enjoy The Slow Burn: Don't try to rush or force the sexual tension. Allow it to build slowly throughout a conversation or evening. Change up the pace of your conversation – embrace moments of intense conversation, lingering pauses, and intense sexual tension (from either your dialogue, touch, or an undescribable burning desire that feels like it could be cut with a knife due to your relational chemistry)

Leverage Flirty & Dirty Talk via Text: For when you can't be together in IRL, a sexy text can immediately build tension. Share some of the dirty thoughts you're thinking about them, flashbacks to any memorably hot experiences between you two, things you want to do with them later, any sexual innuendos that have you thinking of them throughout your day or week, a sexy song lyric, fantasies you want to explore with them, etc.

Embrace the journey and sensory exploration. Don't focus too much on the outcome. Enjoy the ride of learning about each other's sexual turn-ons, fantasies, bodies, and communication styles. Don't rush. Think of it like a game where neither player can lose. Explore the depths of each other's minds while allowing this submission to overtake your bodies. Remember it's all in the tease.

[learninternational]

Knowledge of the Japanese Language Proficiency Test (JLPT) and NAT Scoring Systems

The Japanese Language Proficiency Test (JLPT) and NAT exams are two of the most widely recognized language proficiency tests for Japanese language learners. Both exams are designed to evaluate the language skills of non-native Japanese speakers, but they have distinct scoring systems that can be confusing for test-takers. In this article, we'll delve into the details of the Japanese Language Proficiency Test (JLPT) and NAT scoring systems, helping you understand how to interpret your scores and set realistic goals for your language learning journey.

JLPT Scoring System

The Japan Foundation and Japan Educational Exchanges and Services (JEES) administer the JLPT, which is available in five levels: N1, N2, N3, N4, and N5. The test evaluates language skills in three areas: language knowledge (vocabulary), reading, and listening. The scoring system is based on a scale of 0 to 180 points, with 100 points required to pass.

N1: Advanced level, requiring a high degree of language proficiency (100–180 points)

N2: Upper-intermediate level, requiring a good command of Japanese (100–180 points)

N3: Intermediate level, requiring a moderate level of language proficiency (100–180 points)

N4: Elementary level, requiring a basic level of language proficiency (100–180 points)

N5: Basic level, requiring a limited level of language proficiency (80–180 points)

NAT Scoring System

The NAT exam, administered by the Tokyo University of Foreign Studies, is designed for students who wish to study at a Japanese university. The test evaluates language skills in four areas: vocabulary, grammar, reading, and listening. The scoring system is based on a scale of 0 to 400 points, with 240 points required to pass.

Level 1: Advanced level, requiring a high degree of language proficiency (360–400 points)

Level 2: Upper-intermediate level, requiring a good command of Japanese (280–359 points)

Level 3: Intermediate level, requiring a moderate level of language proficiency (240–279 points)

Level 4: Elementary level, requiring a basic level of language proficiency (200–239 points)

Level 5: Basic level, requiring a limited level of language proficiency (0–199 points)

Key Differences

While both exams evaluate language proficiency, there are key differences in their scoring systems. The JLPT has a more nuanced scoring system, with a greater range of points available for each level. In contrast, the NAT exam has a more straightforward scoring system with a clear distinction between levels.

Tips for Test-Takers

Understanding the scoring system is crucial for setting realistic goals and developing an effective study plan. Here are some tips for test-takers:

Familiarize yourself with the exam format and content.

Set specific, achievable goals for each section of the exam.

Practice with sample questions and mock tests to improve your time management and test-taking strategies.

Focus on your weaknesses and allocate more study time to those areas.

In conclusion, understanding the Japanese Language Proficiency Test (JLPT) and NAT scoring systems is essential for language learners who wish to demonstrate their proficiency in Japanese. By recognizing the differences between the two exams and setting realistic goals, you can optimize your study plan and achieve success in your language learning journey.

[upandnorth]

New Vegas comic character backgrounds

Because it's been a long time since I have written anything in english, not my native language. I hope it reads well. And because I am advancing veeeery slowly with the comic, and I wanted to tell some kind of longer story. I do not intend to impose anything, nor the character's opinions are my own.

Warnings: mentions of violence, minor character deaths, sexual violence and minor character suicide.

Vulpes Inculta

Name: Inculta

Age: 36

Background: He comes from a small and non educated tribe from south of Utah, absorbed by the Legion when he was eight. The

legionaries killed all the adult males and the few elders, and took women and children and transferred them to Arizona, where the male children where put in the training program, and the women and female children distributed as slaves. He lost contact with his mother and older sisters, and never saw them again: her mother died from a beating in hands of her owner, one sister from high fever and another giving birth. He learned this later, when he was made a full legionary at the age of 17, gaining the right to ask about them.

The training was brutal, not all the kids survived, and soon he learned not to make friends, because they would die the next day or betray him. Survival instincts took over him, and he exceled at hand to hand combat, and started to repeat all the doctrine the Legion imposed on them and memorizing it, so he would not be punished. But as years passed by the line between his own tribal identity and the one he was faking blurred somehow.

When he was 14 he was made cadet, and transferred to assisting older legionaries and learning from them. They taught the cadets what they could find in real combat situations, strategies and logistics. He was clever enough and seeked the older ones advice, the ones that had survived more battles, and learned eagerly from them. During these years he asked smart questions and made himself useful, so the legionaries took care of him and teached him willingly. This lead to recieving beatings from jealous peers, but he settled the matter killing them, and as it was self-defense, he was not punished.

When he was 17 he was made legionary and sent to serve under Centurion Aemilius, a harsh and strict man with an explosive caracter, born in one of the first tribes anexated by Caesar. His centuria was destined south of Legion territory, and he had no sympathy for the new incorporations. After barely surviving a year armed only with a machete and light armor, Aemilius promoted Inculta to prime legionary, increasing his chances of survival.

Due to his promotion, he gained the right and obligation of having sex with the slave women living in their camp. He complied, and soon one of the women gave birth to a blue eyed baby. The legionaries started to attribute the paternity to him jokingly, and Inculta found himself drawn to the kid. He smiled when he started talking, felt proud when he took his first steps, and gave the mother small amounts of meat and healing powder if the kid was ill. Later he knew the mother kept that for herself.

Aemilius always kept an eye on Inculta because he stood out between the other legionaries for his knowledge of tactics and intelligence, and as soon as there was a vacant he was promoted to decanus.

When the kid was five he joined the training program. During a few months Inculta felt proud of every achievement of the kid, and all the legionaries, even Aemilius, now referred to the young slave as Inculta’s kid. One day, when he and his contubernium came back from a survey, he found the kid’s body in the pile of trash outside the camp. He had been killed during an exercise by an older trainee. He asked Aemilius if he could bury him, and Aemilius gave him permission. He burned the body and kept the bones with his personal belongings, like his tribe did with the dead. From now on he only had sex with infertile women.

A year later one centuria destined north-west suffered great losses, and was patched up with other’s centuriae legionaries and decanus. Inculta was sent there, and found himself under the orders of Publius, older than Aemilius, who appreciated brute force more than tactics. Six months later, Caesar himself came to stay in their camp, alongside Legate Malpais. They were there to coordinate an ofensive, the forced assimilation of the Twisted Hairs, until now faithful allies.

Inculta obseved the arrival of the two men, escorted by praetorian guards, and the devotion he was taught to feel flowed naturally.

During the offensive at Dry Wells, planned by Legate Malpais and Caesar himself, Publius acted erratically, shouting contradictory orders. The legionaries, not coordinated because all came from diferent centuriae, were being crushed by the organized Twisted Hairs. Inculta, seeing a hole in their defenses, wento to Publius to warn him, but Publius ignored him and ordered Inculta to stand his ground. Angered at Publius incompetence, he lead his contubernium through the hole, capturing the Twisted Hairs chieftain thus ending the battle. His reward was to be crucified with the Twisted Hairs dissidents alongside the interstate 40, for disobeying direct orders.

When Caesar and Legate Malpais arrived at the foot of his cross, after taking a walk to admire the defeated tribals, Inculta asked for mercy. Caesar confronted Publius, who admitted the truth.

Inculta was transferred to the frumentarii, and started as an apprentice to an experienced member. His devotion to Caesar and the Legion was now consolidated, he was 26. Quintus, his tutor, teached him all the perks and took him on undercover missions. Inculta learned the power of deceit, lies, intimidation and scheming, and after a year he was already being sent alone. He discovered that the more sadic and twisted was an hostile action, the more fear induced against his enemies, and he acted in consequence. And he was very good at it.

Being a frumentarii also implied having contact with profligates, when they started moving into NCR territory. And soon he learned that the vast majority had no principles, and were motivated only by greed and self-preservation, being most of them addicted to drugs and alcohol, and easily manipulated. He started to despise them personally. Compared to the tribals absorbed by the Legion, that somehow had each one a code of conduct and only a few disident members, being the code in some cases the most primitive expression of a set of social rules, the Mojave and NCR territory felt like a grotesque caricature. And their reverence of the old world unsettled him.

When Quintus lost an arm and was left heavily scarred during an undercover mission, six years later, Inculta was summoned to Caesar’s presence, where he learned that Quintus had always been Vulpes Quintus, the head of the frumentarii. He had appointed Inculta as his succesor due to his intelligence, devotion and skills, both military and as a frumentarii, and now was the time to fill the vacancy. Quintus commited suicide after Inculta took the Vulpes title.*

Inculta, now Vulpes, got to work hand to hand with Lucius, head of the praetorian guard, Legate Malpais and Caesar. But after the first battle of Hoover Dam, he discovered that what had been until now a swift collaboration between the four was going to be from now on a constant clash with the new Legate. Lanius despised him and his tactics, and talked him down in front of Caesar. Instead of answering him, Inculta centered his efforts in demonstrating that his tactics were as good if not better than any military offensive, to shut up the man. Lanius insinuated several times that they should resolve their diferences in the Arena, but Caesar always cut their confrontation before things escalated. Soon Legate Lanius was sent to the east, to supervise the other Legion open fronts.

When the platinum chip rumours reached the Legion, Caesar ordered Inculta to find it and, by any means, bring it to him.

*Alternate version: Quintus is punished for the Hoover's Dam disaster, and forced to commit suicide, Inculta was appointed his succesor beforehand. He never works alongside Legate Malpais, and starts working directly with Lanius.

Character background: Courier Six

[hailturinturambar]

Corrupted Blessings.

Pairing: Melkor/Morgoth x Nienna

Word count: 10.668

Author's Notes: English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes or confusion. This is so distressing, but it feels so right. So I apologize in advance.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI. Unprotected sex, p in v. Oral (female receiving.) Masturbation. My romantic blood kink. Toxic relationship. Manipulation. Abuse of power. Sauron being a complete bastard. Anguish.

Summary: The drums are beating, and the battle is drawing ever closer. The masks have fallen, and Sauron's cruel schemes are revealed. But his lies are powerful, and Nienna must fight against the fears he has awakened, while confronting Melkor for all his wickedness.

PART XIV -> SERIES MASTERLIST

Since the victory of Beren and Lúthien, Middle-earth had been on the brink of war, as if the shadows of battle were so thick that even in Valinor, it was possible to contemplate the future ruins that would surround all the enemies of the Dark Lord.

For, gathered as the Union of Maedhros, all the free peoples of Middle-earth were called to fight for their liberty. Long indeed would be the war, and only united would they stand a chance against the hostile forces of Melkor.

New hope gripped the Elves of Beleriand. With them, the Edain and the Dwarves gathered, swearing loyalty in the coming war. For a long time, they prepared, combining weapons, devising strategies, plotting the best ways to defeat The Great Foe. Trained for war were the Bór and Ulfang, whom they did not suspect to be a spy among friends.

In Nogrod and Belegost, the smiths worked tirelessly, forging the finest and noblest weapons for battle. Turgon, too, was invited to go to war alongside his kin, so that they might finally be free from the Shadow of Melkor. Alongside them, the Men of the House of Hador would also fight alongside the people of Haleth.

Yet, all help was needed. For so much evil and misery had Celegorm and Curufin wrought, that the people of Orodreth had turned their backs on Maedhros's pleas, refusing to fight at his side. Nargothrond, the king had sworn, would not take sides in the coming battle, though those who wished might go and help. But from the king no help would come.

They could not fight this war without all the peoples standing side by side. Maedhros, in charge of the battle preparations, set out for the kingdom of Doriath, desperate for help. He found no comfort or companionship there.

The evils done by the two brothers reached Thingol's ears, and he was furious when he heard of the attempted kidnapping of Lúthien. He was still in great wrath ever since his daughter had gone with Beren. But the evil done by the Sons of Fëanor was worse, and the King of Doriath closed his heart to them.

As Orodreth, he did not prevent his people from following Maedhros. But many of Thingol's people loved Lúthien, and few showed him mercy. Defeated, Maedhros could do nothing, for he too felt the weight of his brothers' actions. And he had no wish to bring war upon Thingol.

Though the weight of the Silmarils weighed heavily on the eldest's chest, he turned his back on the king, accepting the consequences. Yet, Thingol's wife, Melian was, and in the Elder Days she dwelt in the Undying Lands.

Much of the Valar she served. But special affection she had for Estë, Irmo's wife, and for many days she walked in their gardens. She feared for Nienna, deeply. For herself had suffered in bearing Lúthien, who had demanded too much of her spirit.

Thingol, however, was too enraged to think beyond Lúthien, his beloved daughter. But Melian feared what might happen if the Dark Lord's fortress were besieged. No affection or good thoughts for Melkor did she have.

The war worried her, anyway, because she thought of Nienna. And how much Irmo must have worried about his sister. The whispers in Middle-earth were intense, and Melian was in tune with all living things. As soon as she learned of Nienna's pregnancy, grief filled her breast. So before the Elf could leave the land of Doriath, she left the king's company to search for him.

Maedhros, completely surprised, noticed that the queen quickly reached out to him, asking that they speak in private. Fool, he was not, and it was obvious that Thingol had not changed his heart. Yet, Melian seemed determined to speak to him.

So, he let her walk with him, keeping him away from the guards, so that no one else would know what she would ask of him. After all, many would not understand her concern, or why she was almost, even if unintentionally, helping the enemy.

“My queen?” Maedhros said, as Melian led him to the farthest part of Dortiah’s gardens.

“It will seem strange, what I have to ask of you,” Melian whispered. “But who, besides me, will think of her?”

For a brief moment, Maedhros believed she was talking about Lúthien, but none of it made sense. Because she was safe with Beren, and Melkor had more serious problems than hunting her to recover the lost Silmaril.

“Do not attack Angband,” She said. “At least, not yet.”

“My queen.” He murmured, confused. “Whatever time we have is short, it is insufficient. We need to organize ourselves, before the enemy is ready.”

He was right, of course he was. Melian knew that, but she also knew that Nienna would be alone in Angband, with nothing but Melkor's protection in the fortress. Because Melian had suffered so much during her pregnancy, she could not even imagine what Nienna was going through.

And if war reached the Dark Lord's fortress, he would have no choice but to attack. Nienna would be completely alone during the siege, without protection, without help. Melian could not let her risk that, not alone.

“His wife, Nienna, is pregnant.” Melian said, reluctantly.

Maedhros's surprise was immediate. Horror, Melian saw, came over the Elf's delicate face. A Valarindi had never posed a threat to Elves or Men, for they all lived in Valinor, and as pure as their parents they were.

However, it was different with Nienna. For she might be merciful and pure, but not Melkor. And this baby would be as much hers as his. Not even the Valar knew how much the child would become like the Dark Lord, and great concern grew in the Blessed Realm.

“If she remains by his side, we have no choice,” The Elf said firmly. “This dark path is hers, and hers alone.”

“No, Maedhros.” Melian said, disappointed with the Elf.

After everything his father had done, what he and his brothers had done in the name of their oath, she had hoped he would be understanding. That he would at least understand why Nienna remained at Melkor’s side. Like Maedhros, she was choosing to stand by a deserter out of love.

“Nienna deserves more, much more. I stood by her side, in Valinor. We all did.” She took the Elf’s hand, begging him to understand what she was asking. “Do not judge her for his choices.”

“Then we must remain surrounded by pain and suffering, because she loves a monster?” The Elf quipped.

Melian shook her head, not letting go of Maedhros's hand. She would never, in all her divine life, ask the Elves to stop fighting, to choose defeat and suffering. They did not deserve this, she knew. But how could she condemn Nienna and the innocent child she carried?

“Nienna will be consumed by the child, Maedhros. She will be weak, vulnerable. She cannot even protect herself. She needs him.”

The words Melian struggled to say brought a disgusted look from the Elf to her. But even if he would not admit it, he knew she was being honest. Maedhros, Melian thought, knew the weight of doomed love.

When the Elf faced the queen, she knew that nothing could be done, not for Nienna, not for her baby. Determination burned on Maedhros's face. This was the only chance they would have. They could not risk everything for Nienna.

Melian said nothing, waiting for his answer, still hopeful. But he simply let go of her hand, almost as if he felt guilty for choosing this path. After all he had done, he could bear one more burden to carry, if it would ensure the peace and safety of his people.

“I am sorry, but we cannot wait.” He said. “You know we cannot. But I pray to Eru that she survives this war.”

Maedhros turned his back on Melian, departing Doriath. He would find nothing there, no help from the king. He must return to his allies and prepare for war. Yet, the queen's words consumed his spirit, and great guilt gripped him as he departed.

And even after many years, Melian still waited, worried and fearful for Nienna. For when in the First Age, the year 471 shone in the hearts of all in Middle-earth, the battle was ever closer. Elves and Orcs plotted in the shadows, preparing for the great combat.

Countless Orcs worked tirelessly day after day, forging weapons for battle, protecting Melkor's dark creatures, preparing all beasts for battle. For the Elves believed they had the upper hand, but the traitors were many, and their hearts were dark.

Nothing thought, nothing done by the Elves, escaped Melkor's notice. The forces of Angband were nearly ready. The free peoples of Middle-earth, no matter how numerous they were, or how prepared they were, could not face Melkor and win.

In Angband, Melkor prepared himself against his enemies, against all who dared challenge his sovereignty. He was, and all must soon accept it, the King of All. The King of Arda. By what right would they march against his fortress?

It was unacceptable, indeed. He would not allow the Elves and their allies to threaten his reign, to challenge his power. He had much to think about, for Angband was strong and nearly indestructible. But Melkor would be forced to protect the fortress. For her.

Nienna could not leave for Angnaire, not without the enemies around the fortress reaching her, and Melkor, deep down, doubted that the Elves would be merciful to her condition, Aratar or not, for she carried Melkor's child. He could not fight and protect her at the same time.

Nienna, Melkor thought, seemed confident that the child would soon be born. That soon they would be accompanied by their little creation, as Melkor called the baby. Because he was their creation, was not he?

Not the Creator's, not Ilúvatar's. His, wholly his. For Eru might be the bearer of the Imperishable Flame, Father of All Creations, but not that one. The Valar, as Eru had determined, could create nothing that was not born of his thought.

But that was exactly what he had done, and Melkor was perversely pleased with it. In knowing that this baby, his son, was his and Nienna's creation, and no one else's. Not even Ilúvatar could interfere with Melkor this time.

That was not how Nienna thought, however. She was, despite all the suffering that bearing a child brought, terribly content. Happy, even. Because this baby would be a part of her, but a part of Melkor as well. And, Nienna thought, if they could create something pure together, perhaps Melkor could be saved from the darkness, too.

However, Melkor's motivations were not as pure as Nienna's, and if a child was what it took for her to be his forever, he did not mind making this small sacrifice. Even if it was costing Nienna dearly.

He believed that she would be fine in the end. Nothing would happen to her that he could not fix. He was powerful enough to keep her safe. But even though he was powerful, Melkor was so preoccupied with his own desires that he did not even notice how Sauron was enjoying Nienna's mind, keeping her under torture for countless years.

Nienna, knowing nothing, suspected that it was the evil in Melkor that was weakening her. In a way, she was right. Never in the history of Arda had a being of pure light been united with a being of darkness and gloom. No child like that had ever been born. And perhaps no other would.

But Nienna bore the burden in silence. A year had passed since Ulmo’s failed attempt to discourage Nienna, and yet she no longer trusted the Undying Lands. She feared, deep down, that she would have to return to Valinor.

Great suffering she was facing in Middle-earth, more suffering awaited her, but she would endure as much as she could. How could she return to the Blessed Realm when her son was seen as a threat by all the Valar?

This, Nienna thought, was the path she had chosen to tread. She would face all the consequences, alone. No matter how great her grief, or how much suffering she had to endure. It was better, she knew, to suffer than to trust those who feared the one she loved most.

Ulmo had made it clear that the baby, her baby, was a mistake. She would not, of course, let him be harmed, not even by the Valar. And Nienna feared these thoughts, which came with motherhood.

The need to protect, the instinct to care for and keep away any threat. Very similar to how Melkor behaved, always protecting himself, before others had the chance to attack him.

Sometimes, however, it was too much for Nienna to be around Melkor, his Shadow, which seemed to devour her more than ever. For that Shadow lived within her as well. Even if it was not filled with malice or cruelty, the child, she could sense, had a shadow of his own.

So, she left Melkor to continue preparing for battle, while she begged Eru to prevent any more bloodshed. That the Creator would have mercy on them all, and not allow Melkor to soil the lands of Middle-earth with any more blood.

Nienna's chambers, Sauron was certain, had been all but forgotten. They were too far from Melkor's for him to accept her being there. He wanted her near, at all times, in every corner of the fortress, always at his side.

Adar, without Nienna or the Dark Lord suspecting, ordered the Uruks to empty Nienna's old chambers, taking all her belongings to the one closest to Melkor. Not that Nienna needed new chambers. But it was not her that Adar was thinking about.

Because in 471, rumors of the birth of the Dark Lord and the Lady of All Mercy's child were rife throughout the fortress. That, and Nienna's increasingly fragile state. Some, secretly so as not to be tortured by their master, believed that once the baby was born, she would be fine. Free, even.

They would not admit it, but many suspected that it was Melkor and his wicked, evil spirit that sickened Nienna. Honestly, they were almost right. Because it cost all the Valar a great deal to create a new life. But to create a life with such an evil being would taint even the purest of spirits.

Adar wished he could ease Nienna's burden, and he would, all he could. He decided to trust Sauron, of course he had. Lovers, they were, and had been for ages, even if Sauron had been different since the loss of Thuringwethil.

Cunning and diabolical, Sauron promised that he would help Adar. Honestly, Sauron was not trying to affect Adar, not even close. He was just having fun with Nienna, knowing that neither she nor Melkor suspected all that he had caused. All the suffering that he was putting her through.

And, as promised to Adar, Sauron waited for Nienna in the new chambers. He had not been completely honest with her, he never was. She should not be surprised, after all. All Sauron had said was for her to visit the new chambers and wait for Adar.

Nienna was worried about Adar, whom she saw less and less of as the years passed, while Melkor took advantage of her vulnerability to keep the Uruk far enough away that he would not catch even the slightest glimpse of her.

So, she had said yes to Sauron, agreeing to meet with Adar. Melkor, Nienna thought, was too busy to keep watch over everyone in the fortress, not when the Elves seemed increasingly determined to do battle with him.

Silently, Nienna entered the new chambers, which looked very much like the old ones, that had been hers since she had agreed to become Melkor's wife. However, these were not gloomy. Not because flames illuminated the chambers, but because something else.

When Nienna descended into the depths of Angband, into the dungeons, to comfort the captured Elves and grant them forgiveness and mercy in their final moments, she always admired the lights that illuminated the deep mines of Angband.

Fëanorian lamps, they were, but Nienna did not know how they had been found, or if Melkor had stolen them from the Elves. Like tiny crystals, a bright blue light emanated from them, making even the darkest of rooms feel comforting.

Those same lamps were there, in her chambers, illuminating the dark environment with delicacy and purity. Nienna knocked the doors of the chambers, silently admiring those delicate lights, touching each one with appreciation.

It reminded her of Valinor, it reminded her of home. But such memories were now tinged with pain and melancholy. Alone in her chambers, delicate tears streamed down Nienna’s face, staining the divine face that had brought even the Dark Lord to his knees.

Melkor, Nienna thought, was her eternal melancholy. The cause of all her misery, too. But he was hers, and would always be hers. No matter how much he hurt her, or how much he made her suffer.

Nienna did not fear the grief caused by him, by the melancholy that he was. She feared, above all, losing the reason for her suffering. Because suffering for him, she thought, was better than not having him at all.

As the tears fell, the veil covered Nienna’s sadness, keeping her suffering to herself and no one else. Many things, she was enduring in silence, in solitude. And, she preferred to keep the anguish to herself.

Then, as she briefly lifted her veil, believing herself to be in complete solitude, she noticed an unusual object in the chambers. Nienna had not witnessed much of the Valarindi's early years, and she knew little of them, or what they needed.

But as she approached the object, she knew what it was, for many Elves had one in their dwellings in Valinor. It was a cradle. An iron cradle, she realized, as she drew near. Indeed, the details reminded Nienna of the Iron Crown of Melkor.

From her crown, too. Small spikes surrounded the cradle, as on his crown. Gently, she touched the cradle, feeling how hot the iron was, as if the flames of the Silmarils were rekindling there. In contrast to the bitter cold of Angband.

From a distance, to an Elf, Nienna thought, the crib looked brutal, rustic, but it was nothing like that. Every detail had been delicately thought out for the protection and comfort of her child, she knew that. But Melkor had not been responsible for this. She doubted he had thought about what it took to care for a child.

Gentle taps were uttered against the door, catching Nienna’s attention. She smiled, even through her tears, thinking it was Adar. The friend she missed deeply. That crib, Nienna suspected, had been a gift from him.

But unfortunately for Nienna, long strands of red hair dominated her vision as Sauron entered her chambers. It could not have been him, she thought, who had bothered to forge a cradle, even if he had been skilled.

“My Queen,” Sauron said, with false respect. “Adar asks forgiveness, but he cannot come.”

“Is everything alright?” Nienna said, walking towards Sauron.

She did care about Adar, indeed. And so she did not notice Sauron's smirk as he gazed at her uncovered face. The veil, Sauron thought, hid enough, that was for sure, for Nienna grew paler with each passing day.

How much Melkor had noticed, or cared, Sauron did not know, but he doubted Melkor realized how much Nienna was suffering. Which was good for him, of course. The more fragile Nienna was, the less of a problem she would be to him.

“Matters of war, I fear.” He said, touching her arm lightly. “Come, Nienna, do not strain yourself too much.”

Sauron's voice was so melodious, so delicate, that a stranger could believe that he really cared about his master's wife. But that was not the case, quite the opposite, he had never hated her as much as he did now.

Vulnerable, too exhausted, Nienna just accepted Sauron's arm, letting him lead her to the bed. He smiled at her, sitting beside her, as his hand reached for hers.

“Is it to your liking, My Queen?” He said with the most sincere of smiles.

“Were you the one who forged it?” Nienna asked, surprised.

In truth, Sauron would never do anything to make Nienna happy, or bring her comfort. But he was a great deceiver, and lies were his greatest delight. So he simply smiled at her, nodding, as she looked at him in surprise.

“That is very kind, thank you, Mairon.”

Surprised, he stared at Nienna, letting go of her hand, as if she might burn him if he held on too long. Nienna, he thought, had never called him by his old name, not since he had left Valinor with Melkor.

And he hated the name he had been given when the Elves learned of his fall. But he bore it with pride in Angband, as if that name was who he truly was, even if he did not think so.

The Abhorred, they had called him. And, Sauron thought, if that was what they thought of him, he would be the most cruel and wicked being in Middle-earth, honoring the unholy name they had given him. But somehow being called Mairon had provoked more wrath in him.

Because Melkor, at least when they were away from the others, called him Mairon, as he had since the Beginning of Time. He only used the new corrupted one when he was enraged at the Maia. Nienna, he thought furiously, had no right to speak that name.

“Nienna,” Sauron said, but he sounded strangely evil. “There is no hope, you know that, do not you?”

Confused, Nienna stared at the Maia, sensing the horror that those words carried. A slight pang took over Nienna's mind, as Sauron tested her barriers. Perhaps it was bold of him, because he noticed the understanding on Nienna's face.

“Get out of my head!” Nienna snapped, pushing herself away from Sauron. “All this time it was you, while I thought there was something wrong with my son.”

“But Nienna.” Sauron laughed, stepping closer to her. “There is something wrong with your son, do not you see that?”

What did it matter that Nienna had understood what he had done, when she had no strength to fight him? Honestly, he did not even believe that she would tell Melkor, fearing what he might do to the Maia. Because Nienna might be angry, but he knew that she was not cruel.

“Your son, my dear Nienna,” he whispered, cupping her face. “He will be no different from Melkor. He will not be good or pure, like you.”

Nienna denied, trying to push Sauron's hands away, but her efforts were nothing compared to the fury that dominated his face, which gripped her face tighter and tighter.

“You are wrong.” She muttered.

“You know I am not, because you feel the darkness in your son.” He said, enjoying the tears that were shed by Nienna. “You know as well as I do that your precious son will be worse. No light will he inherit from you.”

When Nienna's hand hit on Sauron's face, he smiled at her in surprise. She was not violent, he knew that. But he also noticed how cornered she felt by him, knowing that he could look into her mind if she called upon Melkor.

“Your fear of the Valar is necessary, for if Melkor falls, so will be the fate of your son.”

Nienna's sobs were like music to Sauron. As if her suffering were the true Song of the world. It was refreshing to behold one of the Aratar so debased, so defenseless, and all because she had chosen, out of love, to have a child with Melkor.

How innocent Eru had been, Sauron thought, in allowing Nienna to be bound for all eternity to Melkor, in allowing her to create life with the Dark Lord, who knew no forgiveness, only perversion.

“So powerful, so divine,” He murmured, caressing Nienna’s face. “And yet so helpless in the face of darkness. You cannot even protect your own son.”

Perhaps, he wanted to know how far he could push Nienna before she gave in, before she broke completely. Unfortunately for Sauron, he had to admit that she was stronger than he had ever imagined.

Even in her most vulnerable state, she showed more strength than he had expected, more resilience and determination than others in her situation. It was cruel, and he knew it, to torture her while she was pregnant and fragile. But why should he be less cruel to her?

“You are pathetic.” She said, pushing at Sauron’s chest, even though he did not let go of her. “So lonely, so unhappy, that all you are capable of doing is making other people’s lives miserable.”

Slowly, Sauron's smile faded, as he noticed the growing fury on Nienna's face, the protective instinct he was unexpectedly awakening in her, as if she was finally tired of his games.

“Hear my words, Sauron.” She spat his name venomously. “Loneliness and defeat will follow you, through all the ages of Arda. Nothing you touch will be pure or lasting.”

Even though Sauron held Nienna, keeping her face close to his, he could not silence her, he could not extinguish the fire that shone in her eyes. In that moment, she looked awfully like Mandos.

“What you forge will meet its end, and your own creations will turn against you. You will have no friend or companion, while all you represent is a mere shadow of all that Melkor is.”

Furious, Sauron pushed Nienna away, rising from the bed. Impatiently, he ran his hand through his hair, messing up the red strands. He was furious, no, much more than that. There were no words in Arda for what he was feeling.

For, damn it be Nienna, thought Sauron, she had used a lesser fraction of Mandos's powers on him. She had prophesied against him, praying defeat and ruin upon him, that he might suffer as much misery as he had made her suffer.

“How much longer, Sauron, do you think you will be able to deceive him?”

The mere suggestion of Melkor discovering what he had been doing for years with his wife frightened Sauron more than if Eru had stood before him. For Sauron knew that Melkor would not be kind or benevolent to him if the truth were exposed.

Melkor, Sauron suspected, had not realized what he was doing, for the simple reason that he trusted Sauron, and that he recognized that the Maia feared him enough to not attack his wife, or defy one of his orders. But the slightest slip, the slightest mistake, would prove to Melkor what he had done.

“Do not you dare turn him against me!” Sauron roared, walking toward Nienna. “You are like a plague, a slithering serpent, consuming everything, destroying everything we have created.”

One last time, Sauron held Nienna's face, touching her tears with affection, as if, like Melkor, he could devour her sadness. Her essence made everything worse, everything more exhausting, because he could no longer bear to be near her. The years were weighing on him as well.

“We will all fall together, Nienna.” He smiled. “You need me.”

“No.” She said firmly. “I need Mandos. I need my brother, not you deceiver.”

All Sauron could do was laugh, pleased with her hope, the foolish hope that Mandos could protect her in the end, that he could keep her safe when the babe was born. Perhaps it was possible, but Sauron knew that Melkor would never let Mandos near Angband.

“Keep your hopes to yourself, Nienna. They are all you will have.” He whispered.

And his face was so close to hers now that Nienna was troubled by the darkness she glimpsed in his eyes, the dark, hidden desire he had been sowing for all these years.

A hunger, Nienna thought, that even he did not know where it came from. She did not know what caused it in him either. But she had her suspicions, noticing the way he looked at her intently. And if she was right, she would keep her baby from Sauron, for all eternity, if need be.

“But do not worry. I am here with you.”

Before Nienna could pull away, Sauron kissed her face, trailing kisses down her cheek as she turned her face to the side, keeping her lips away from him. He just laughed, lightly touching her belly.

“You know, Nienna, your presence is not so bad after all.” He said, smiling cruelly at her.

Before she could respond, Sauron stepped away from her, finally giving her the freedom she was desperate for. Walking out of her chambers, Sauron smiled, hearing how her crying seemed worse now that she had reached the limit of exhaustion after trying to fight off all of his advances.

But he did not want to test Nienna's kindness, or how much she would keep his attacks a secret, by leaving before Melkor had a chance to look for her. Because he was, in fact, after her.

Sauron might be playing with Nienna's mind, but her connection to Melkor was different, stronger, more intimate. And, as Ulmo had feared, he could sense when she was in pain too great for her to protect herself or bear alone.

Because, in truth, Nienna could no longer bear this, not alone. Yet, Melkor could not be there for her, not in the way she truly needed. While he cared for her, in his twisted way, he was incapable of being the kind of help she desperately needed.

So concerned about Nienna leaving for Valinor, all Melkor was doing, in the end, was giving her every reason to leave. So that she would choose to trust the Valar and ask for Mandos' protection.

Slowly, Nienna rose, walking to the cradle, her hands touching the iron delicately. It should have been, Nienna thought, a blessing to bear a new life, beside Melkor. A corrupted blessing, it had become, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She did not trust Sauron, not now that she knew how he had played with her mind. Still, his words were not entirely dishonest, because he had stayed long enough in Nienna’s mind to understand her true fears.

And there, all alone, she wept. But she did not weep for herself. Nienna never wept for herself. She wept for him, for her unborn child, who was already trapped in a legacy of death and corruption.

She did not hear Melkor approaching, nor did she hear his mind calling out to her, not understanding what had distressed her so much. To be honest, he was completely furious with her. Because Melkor used to want to devour her, but now, it was as if she consumed everything of him.

Ungoliant was right, Melkor thought, stepping into Nienna’s chambers. She had always been right, had not she? He just had not realized it before. Because he had been so fascinated by Nienna, so obsessed with her, that he had thought he would never need to feel anything more than this, never need to think about her more than this.

But against his will, it was as if she was stealing his corrupted heart, even though she did not want his true darkness. Even though she was completely horrified by his behavior these past few years, she remained by his side.

Melkor, however, could not bear the need, the constant thoughts of her, even while he should have been preoccupied with the war. He hated admitting that he loved her, it was more painful than be burning of the Silmarils.

So he loved her, and simply lied to himself, pretending he did not need her. But he always ended up loving her a little more. It was sickening. The Valar, Melkor knew very well, did not believe he deserved her, even though she loved him more than anyone else could.

The moment he saw her, with her back to him, in front of an object made of iron, he knew it was as if she was slowly dying, for him. Because of him. Because she would rather endure anything, as long as he stayed by her side. She had reached her limit, too, he could see.

“Nienna.” Melkor said, walking towards her.

But she just shook her head, refusing to talk to him. She could feel his fury, how restless his Shadow was. And deep down, she knew he was furious with her. Because he could see into her mind, and he knew how much she longed to be with Mandos. The only one who would understand how much she needed help.

For Irmo was a kind and loving brother, but Melkor's darkness weighed heavily on her, and Mandos, if no one else, could hold back even the greatest darkness. He would not leave Nienna alone, not when she needed him most. This, Nienna thought, was her punishment for remaining at Melkor's side.

“You will not leave me.” He practically bellowed, gripping her arm tightly.

“Loving you, Melkor,” She whispered. “It is killing me. Do not you see that?”

“These are Ulmo’s words, not yours.” He tightened his grip on her arm.

But she did not care. She had not cared about many things for a long time. Small sufferings did not compare to what awaited them all. Nienna just stared at Melkor, helpless, exhausted, but never giving in. Not in the way he had expected her to.

“I am being consumed by your emptiness,” She said. “Because you are never satisfied. Nothing is ever enough to fill the void you have cultivated so deeply in your hunger for power, that you cannot even feel anything beyond it.”

Was this the reason Nienna would abandon him? Melkor wondered, studying Nienna's pale face. In these last years, she had almost seemed mortal when she was like this. Depressed, tired, devoid of any hope. Much like the look on the Elves' faces when Melkor came to them in the dungeons.

“Even beside me, you know no mercy.” Nienna whispered.

Melkor stared at her, furious, holding her other arm, keeping her close to him, not allowing her to escape from him. Because he felt that she could disappear, at any moment. It was all he had thought about for the last few years, because he knew he could not follow her, not to Valinor.

“Did your beloved Valar have mercy on me?” Melkor said, with such fury, with such sorrow, that it surprised Nienna. “When they reduced me to nothing, as if I were unworthy, as if I deserved no more than they. Tell me, wife, did they have mercy on me?”

Nienna's hands reached for Melkor's, trying to push him away. But he did not give in, on the contrary, he held her tighter. And, Nienna thought, Sauron was right. Because he and only he, understood that for Melkor, pain, suffering, was almost a reward.

Sauron did not care that Nienna had it, that she was suffering because of him. Like Melkor, pain was not a punishment, but a gift. A test of who was stronger, of who could endure more before giving in. And Nienna was tired of their mind games.

“Do you listen to yourself?” She roared, pounding on his chest with all the strength she had left in her. “Would you rather sacrifice me, your wife, to achieve your revenge?”

“Revenge, Nienna?” He laughed, pulling her to him, his furious face almost touching hers. “This is not about revenge, we both know that. This, my dear wife, is justice.”

Unfortunately for Nienna, she knew he was being sincere. This was Melkor's truth. He did indeed feel what he was pouring out against her. But Nienna knew that Melkor's justice, the justice of the unjust, was never good, or right.

Nienna closed her eyes, letting Melkor rant as much as he wanted, but she would not agree with him. She loved him, yes, deeply, with all her heart. But she did not like who he was becoming. She feared who he was becoming.

“I cannot go through this, not alone. You know that.” She whispered. “I need Mandos, I need Irmo. Please.”

Melkor released Nienna's arms, but did not pull away. With the loss of his rough touch, she opened her eyes, watching as he looked at her, as if he were facing Eru himself, Melkor's greatest enemy.

In that moment, he hated Nienna, and she knew it. Because she could feel his fury, in her chest, in her mind, as he just stared at her silently, his Shadow flickering like a corrupted serpent.

“No, Nienna,” He said, but his voice was hollow. “You begged to spend eternity with me, that you wanted that more than anything.”

“I want to spend eternity with you.” She whispered.

Nienna turned her back on Melkor, unable to bear to look at him, unable to hide all the dark emotions Sauron had awakened in her. How much he had weakened her mind, taking advantage of her fears, her insecurities. Because she was alone, and he knew it.

In the silence of her chambers, Nienna did not shield her thoughts enough, not from Melkor. And when she heard the roar of dragons deep within Angband, feeling the wrath of their creator, Nienna wondered if he knew, or even suspected, what Sauron had done to her.

“Look at me.” Said Melkor.

His voice was measured, but it also brimmed with fury. Whether he was angry with her, or with Sauron, she did not know. She did not even care. Every time he called out to her, every time he whispered in her mind, she ignored him, unable to face him.

Because Melkor, Nienna thought, had chosen revenge over her. And in doing so, he had broken her heart, when she most needed his protection, his understanding. She did not look at him, letting the tears stream down her face.

When Melkor stopped behind Nienna, and she could feel the heat of his Fana against her back, she remained silent. Possessively, his hand reached for her neck, squeezing, practically demanding that she react to him, that she not ignore him.

She did not do what he wanted. Not even when he brought his face close to hers, kissing her entire face, savoring the taste of her tears, not being strong enough to resist her, even when he felt nothing but anger for her.

How dare she think of leaving him? He would destroy her before, if necessary, she had the chance to turn her back on him. Nienna was his wife, completely his, and no one else's. She was pregnant with his child. There was no way she would leave him, abandon him.

“Tell me you are mine.” He whispered, biting her ear hard.

She gasped, disgusted with herself for giving in to the heat of his touch, his overwhelming passion. Melkor would not give up, not until she swore that she would stay by his side, no matter what. That she would continue to accept him, to love him, no matter how cruel he was.

No Valar, no Elf, no Man, had ever been as stubborn as Nienna, stirring such fury in Melkor's breast as she was doing. He loved her tears, but he despised her silence. No, he feared her silence.

Melkor did not let go of Nienna's neck, the shadowy hand through the Silmarils smoothed her neck, only to tighten afterwards, while his free hand traveled her body, slowly rising up her chest, noticing how she gasped involuntarily.

It was always easier that way, in fact, he preferred it that way. Because Melkor would not make promises to her, or beg her forgiveness on his knees, swearing that it would be better, less cruel, as he had lied to her, when he asked her to have a child with him.

For Melkor, it was easier, more enjoyable, to seduce Nienna until she gave up her anger at him, even if she was proving particularly difficult this time. She moaned when he squeezed her breast, but she kept her gaze averted from him, chastising him for all the times he had made her suffer.

So be it, he thought, briefly releasing her neck to pull back her veil, freeing her dark strands. He rubbed his face against her hair, lost in the essence of her, in the light that seemed to emanate so strongly from her, even though she was not feeling truly strong.

Everything about her was enough to consume Melkor, to dominate his thoughts. And he hated it. He hated that she made him feel this way, as he trailed his kisses down to her neck, reveling in her divine, pure skin.

Because any part of her felt right against his lips, as his tongue slid across her skin, only for him to bite down hard afterwards, and her blood to flow. Like a creature of the night, he lost himself in her heavenly blood, desperate for the taste of her.

Desperate for any reassurance that she could not break their bond, that she would not leave him behind in Angband. Satisfied, he stayed, listening to the moans she could not contain as he gripped her dress so tightly that it tore against his shadowy hand.

With her eyes closed, she could only feel the fabric giving way, tearing against Melkor's strength. He was impatient, not caring that the dress practically disappeared against his hand, with each new tug, with each new tear. But Nienna understood. He was, indeed, furious. But, above all, he was feeling rejected by her, and he did not know how to bear that feeling.

Nienna opened her eyes, staring at the torn dress at her feet, though she did not understand how he had done it with a single hand. He was so disgusted that she was not surprised. Not much, at least.

“Say it.” He whispered, biting harder into her neck.

Indeed, the vampires appreciated Melkor, deeply liked him as a master. For in that moment, as he licked Nienna's neck, fascinated by her blood, he looked very much like his corrupted followers.

“Promise me.” She whispered.

And he had not expected her to answer. Because Nienna, Melkor had learned in the years she had been by his side, could be difficult and tempestuous when she wanted to be, when she was not willing to give in to what he was demanding of her.

Slowly, he pulled away from her neck, running his dark, eternally warm hands against her body, memorizing how she felt so divine against his touch that he wanted nothing more than to devour her.

“Promise me you will not abandon me when I need you.” Nienna said, whispering, but still so firmly.

Promises, they knew, were not made lightly in Arda. Each and every oath carried a fate, a weight, a destiny that the sworn could not escape. Or, ruin and misfortune tainted their spirits.

And this, Melkor thought, was Nienna's price. The price for her to forgive him again, for her to accept the new deception he had wrought for her so easily. She was, more than anything, frightened. It was obvious, was not it?

All the anger, all the distrust, was nothing but her vulnerability screaming at him, begging him to protect her. Melkor knew no loyalty or forgiveness, but Nienna was desperate for any reassurance, even if false.

“I will not leave you.” He whispered against her ear, tightening his grip on her waist. “I promise.”

“But in your heart you wanted to.” Nienna murmured.

That was what she had felt, was not it? He could see clearly now, what she had felt all those years. While she had been left completely vulnerable, with her own mind being invaded, because he had not even been paying attention.

Melkor would never admit it, but he had abandoned her, many years ago. And in the end, he would always abandon her. For his desires, his hunger for power, would always come before Nienna. Above all else, was his desire to be King of Arda.

“I am yours, Melkor.” She said.

Nienna pulled away from his touch enough that she could turn, and look directly at him, at his beautiful Fana, so scarred by all the battles he had faced.

“But you will never be mine.”

She did not wait for his lies, or the false truths he told himself. Whether out of necessity, or another of the Creator’s mysteries, Nienna simply brought her hands to Melkor’s face, so she could feel his lips against hers. It was all she had, and it was all that mattered.

Uncertain, these were their years, and she accepted his cruelties, his perversions, because they were part of him. They were all he was, and she could not exist without him. Not while she returned his kiss with such desperation, with such hunger, because he was always ready to devour her.

She ran her hands up into his silky dark hair, touching it as if it were the most precious thing in all of Arda, while his hands wrapped around her waist, pleased that she had finally accepted that she could fight all she wanted, but she would always be his.

If need be, she would lose herself in his lips, forever, forgetting everything that was happening in Middle-earth, not caring about what was happening in Arda. When she was in his arms, only he mattered to her. All her devotion belonged to him.

It was a devouring love, yes, and she had been eaten away by its furious currents, allowing him to be her melancholy, to consume all her wants, all her desires, all her thoughts.

“My Melkor.” She moaned against his lips.

But he did not allow her to break the kiss, kissing her with even more need. Because she was wrong. He was hers, how could he not be, when the war was approaching, but he was there, consuming with desire for her.

Her blood stained his lips made the kiss more intense, more desirous. Everything between them was like this, an explosion of eternal desire, so strong, so intense, that it could consume everything around them.

“My Nienna.” Melkor whispered in her mind.

Nienna moaned against his lips, pulling away from him reluctantly as she gripped his robes tightly, hating this barrier when all she wanted to feel was his skin. Because she was as much his as he was hers.

She ran her hands over his covered chest, determined to feel him as much as he was always desperate to feel her. At least, she thought, he was not wearing the damn armor.

Teasing him, as he had teased her, tortured her before, she took her time, slowly freeing his body from the dark robes he wore, even as she felt desperate for him, to feel him.

He gasped as her delicate hands touched his chest, now exposed to her. Satisfied, she smiled at him, bringing her lips to his, worshipping his Fana, worshipping anything about him.

Melkor held her hair tightly, feeling her brief, teasing kisses against his skin. She did not care that he was as desperate as she was, as her tongue slid across him, biting his chest.

Ever since the Great Song, all his thoughts about her had been profane. There were so many of them, that they would have surprised even the most corrupt of Men. She fed these thoughts further, biting his chest, letting his black blood cover her mouth.

To Melkor, it was as if there were two versions of her in Arda. The Lady of All Mercy, who wept for the damned, who granted forgiveness to those who suffered. And his wife, who seemed so wanton, so unholy, that he would be a fool not to desire her. She was desperate for him, it was obvious.

And he was desperate for her. Because as she kissed and bit his chest, consumed by him, by his blood, by their union, he was completely needing her, pulling hard on her hair. After all, let the Valar judge him, but how could he not want her?

That in Valinor they feared pleasures, that they feared giving in to passion, he would not be like that. Not when his wife, pregnant with his child, seemed ready to deny even the Creator if he asked her to. But she had enough, he thought, tired of waiting for her touch any longer.

Pulling her hair, Melkor brought Nienna back to him, kissing her as if they were already doomed. Maybe they were. It did not matter. Because if she was his doom, he was willing to walk into the Void.

She moaned his name, lost in the kiss, lost in the way his mind sang to her. A dark melody, yes, but a melody of passion and desire, too. And she was given over to him. Body and soul, as she had always been.

“I love you so much.” She whispered against his lips. “That sometimes, I think I hate you, too.”

He just laughed at her desperate words, because that feeling was not foreign to him. He felt the same way about her, after all, much more intense, too. Nothing but hate that is love, and love that is hate.

Melkor loved Nienna as much as he hated her. Because he could never have enough of her, because he could never stop wanting her. It was torture, endless, and he could not stop the hunger, the need, to devour her, to possess her, to grow.

Nienna’s hands left his hair as she pulled away from him. It was too much, she knew. Being with him was often more than she could bear. A heavy weight she held in her heart, for him. Because of him.

However, he would not let her give up on him, on them. All his efforts had proven enough so far. And Melkor was not known for being defeated so easily, for giving up so easily. In the end, he got what he wanted, always.

He stepped closer to her, brushing her long dark hair from her neck, exposing her divine skin to him. Eru, blessed be the Creator, had given Melkor the greatest gift of Arda he could wish for. She was his, made for him, and no one else.

“Only I can have you like this.” He murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

Her back was pressed against his chest, and she held on, feeling how warm he felt. Because even though all of Angband was wintry, surrounded by wickedness, oozing so much cruelty that the air was thick. None of that existed in Melkor.

He radiated heat, Nienna thought, as if he were made by Airefëa himself. She knew it for sure when his hands roamed her body, teasing her, laughing wickedly every time she gasped.

That feeling, the way she practically melted against his touch, was what he coveted most in all of Middle-earth.

“Melkor.” She said it, so breathless, so soft, it was almost cruel.

Not that he minded, not when she moaned his name when he finally touched her, as his lips explored her neck. It was not fair, though, as she was so sensitive to him, to his touch.

Honestly, she had been like this for a long time, and he knew it. The bonds created by true breeding were too intense, binding couples together so tightly, that he suspected she could not bear to be away from him, even if she threatened him with lies about leaving.

Nienna reached for his arm, digging her nails into his divine Fana. Her scars, Melkor thought, were more heavenly than any other. He liked that she marked him, that she was as possessive, as needy, as he was.

Her head fell against his chest, giving him the long-awaited opportunity to intensify the kisses, while she closed her eyes, so lost in his touch, in the way he touched her, as if she were a private melody that only he knew, that she would have agreed, in that moment, to anything he asked.

This was what being in love was, she thought. So surrendered, so irrational, that even the greatest catastrophes did not seem so bad, compared to the promise of eternity side by side. Eternity would be long if he kept teasing her. But she was fed up with it.

She smiled, enjoying his groan as her hands left his arm to slide her fingers along his divine Fana, teasing him, being as unfair as he was being to her. And when she touched him, he was almost a mere supplicant before her greatness.

Though many worried, nothing more could be done. Surrendered, they were, and nothing could separate the growing bond between them. Not even the greatest cruelty, not even the greatest sadness.

“I need you.” Nienna said, moaning as he bit into her.

Countless marks he would give her, until all of Arda understood that she belonged to him. Until the world was remade. Not that he thought about it much, not now, as she, her face streaked with tears, touched him passionately.

Nienna, his sweet, devoted and dedicated wife, always willing to be his, to give him pleasure. But, she gave the best thing, the one that no one else could give him. For Nienna, and only she, cried all her tears for him.

Everything about her, Melkor thought, seemed made just for him. A gift, a divine piece fashioned by Eru, so that Melkor might know redemption, so that like the others, he might have a chance.

But he had no need of redemption, no need to beg for forgiveness. He would only go to his knees in Arda for her, and no one else. Let the Valar be lost in their own lies, he had all he needed.

Nienna's moans were muffled by Melkor's kisses, which traveled along her neck calmly, with cruel slowness, until he kissed her. She sighed, feeling his hand holding her face, deepening the kiss, while his touches became more intense, more passionate.

As passionate as her touches. Because she never tired of seeing how destroyed he looked. Melkor, always restrained and impenetrable, impossible to reach, just moaned against her lips, his dark hair falling over her face.

It was hard, impossible for her not to love him, or even be mad at him. How could she, when she cumming against his fingers, totally devoured by him, by his feelings. Everything about her, was about him. Not knowing where she began, where he ended, where the dark, Silmaril-burned hand merged with her heart, controlling the reason she, deep down, should still feel.

He would not let her touch him any longer, holding her hand. All control, Melkor thought, was his, and if Nienna, with hands so pure, so delicate, were to continue to hold him, what little reason he had left would be gone.

Melkor let her pull away from his body briefly, forcing her to sit on the bed before him. The Valar did not kneel for anyone. Melkor did not kneel, not anymore, not when he was nearly invincible. But he was on his knees, for her.

Nienna smiled at him, so fascinated by him that she seemed more like a follower. But it was quite the opposite, no doubt. Because she was his goddess, always had been, and he was content to spend eternity worshipping her. As long as she stayed by his side.

“My Melkor.” She said, stroking his hair. “My only love.”

Of all the wars, of all the battles, he had faced, conquering Nienna was the easiest, the most pleasurable of all. Because only he and only he had the pleasure of having her so intimately, only he knew her most devoted and profane side. A true prize, indeed.

“Keep your eyes on me, Qalmë-Tári.”

Perhaps, Nienna thought, this was the hardest of all trials. For Melkor kissed her thighs, lost in his desire for her, letting her blood stain his lips, as if she were his prey. Which, in fact, she was.

Such a sacrifice, to her, was not so bad. Because it felt right, it had been since the first time she had accepted his twisted love. She had already fallen too far to give up on him now.

So many consequences she would accept, just to live trapped in that sensation, in the pleasure of feeling his lips against her, while she struggled to keep her eyes on him, trapped by his intense gaze, even though the pleasure was too much for her.

She let him devour her, let him crave all the feelings he was unable to express in his desire for her. She grew a little more desperate for touch every time he flooded her thoughts. Even if all her thoughts were about him.

Crystalline tears streamed down her face, but she did not take her eyes off him, not even when she felt on the edge, when she knew, that if she were mortal, that pleasure would be too painful for her.

“Melkor!”

Her moan had been so passionate, so devastated, as she cumming on his lips, that to be in Angband was to be forced to know that they were in love with each other, always desperate for each other.

Melkor's kisses traveled up her body, kissing, licking away her tears, as she sighed, holding tightly to his arm, desperate to stay sane, so that he would not contaminate her every thought.

In truth, other thoughts occupied Nienna's mind. For she had been close to Melkor, during all the years they had been together. However, it was different, now.

Because she did not feel like herself. It was difficult, profoundly difficult, for spirits to remain incarnated for long periods of time without the spirit suffering from this act. She was not corrupted like Melkor, so the process would be less painful.

And maybe she was too deadly, too insecure. But Nienna did not feel right, not with her body, at least. So changed, so vulnerable, so fragile. She did not understand, not at all, why he kept wanting more and more of her, as if nothing had changed for him.

Unfortunately for her, their thoughts were too intertwined for him to understand her fears and insecurities. And none of them made sense, not to him.

What could he want more than to have her united to him, for all eternity, body and soul? There was nothing more exciting than the feeling of possession, of control. Who knows, maybe she would understand in time that she was everything he wanted.

“Nienna.” He whispered.

Before she realized what he was doing, he was no longer on his knees, and all she felt was him laying down on the bed, pulling her body on top of him.

It was not a problem, really. They were too powerful, too divine, for a Fana to be a real problem. Still, she looked away from him. Again, she closed herself off to him.

“Wife.” He said, knowing he would get her attention quickly, and he was right. “Keep your beautiful sad eyes on me.”

Reluctantly, she looked up at him, resting her hands on his chest. Whatever Sauron had done to her mind all those years ago had broken something vital in her. Something that was too lost for her to be as she had been before.

“Be a good wife, and look at me.”

She could not beat him, could she? They both knew he was stronger, and that she was not trying to fight him, not really. All she did was nod, looking at him. Passionate and vulnerable, but she did as he ordered.

He let her hold him by the waist, sitting her against him as they moaned together. His raging pleasure did not exist without her melancholic pleasure, and she did not believe it was possible to feel that with anyone else.

Nienna moved close enough to him to reach his lips, kissing him not just with desire and need, but with all her love.

Because for Nienna, it was not just physical, it was just passion. She was in love with him, she loved him unconditionally. And that is why, she thought, she accepted his mistakes so easily, always forgiving, always choosing to be strong for the next heartbreak.

She did not know when the greatest of anguish would come, so she just endured it, beside him. And it felt so right, so good, as if this was all they were meant to do in the ages they had been apart, unable to feel each other's touch.

Nienna moaned into the kiss, lost in his love, as he moved her body against him, as if she had been forged by his hands, as if only Melkor and no one else knew how to shape her.

Still, she always wanted to be his, she kept wanting to be his. And Nienna held his face, deepening the kiss, moaning against his lips, whispering in his mind how much she needed him. Honestly, she would always need him, no pleasure without him, to her, made sense.

For a long time, she felt lonely, but not now, not when he held her waist so tightly, with her dark hair covering his face, without wanting to he managed to break the kiss, but biting her lips hard.

The Valar were right, yet, she was choosing to fall with him, because she loved him so much, that she was not thinking of her future, but of theirs. And of all that they could lose, if Melkor were taken from her.

Her tears mixed with the kiss, but Melkor did not stop kissing her. In fact, he only held his wife tighter, lost in her closeness, as she looked divine, even sitting on him.

And when she broke the kiss, moaning his name so loudly that he had no chance to resist, cumming with her. Nienna smiled at him, watching how fascinated he seemed by her.

She kissed his entire face, kissing his chin, while his hands went up her back, caressing her back. Those small affections, even if she did not admit it, meant a lot to her.

Still close to him, she wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing her face so close to his that his lips teasingly touched hers. The Dark Vala had never seemed so special to her as he did now.

“My Melkor.” She whispered, smiling lovingly at him.

A very great contrast. Because her love was kind, pure, even. But Melkor's love was reckless, cruel, to the end. And she was enduring many things, for love of him. He knew it, of course he knew it, he just would not admit it.

“My Nienna.”

Perhaps, Melkor would understand, in time, that she would not go anywhere without him. The only one making sacrifices was her, she had always been the one. And, above all, she was the only one who had a chance of losing him, forever.

But, they would face this together, at least, she was what she hoped for, what she begged Eru for, every time the fear of separation became too much for her to bear.

And, illuminated by the blue lamps, Nienna kissed Melkor once more, smiling against his lips as his kisses grew more impatient. She did not care, and returned it with as much love as he did. To Nienna, only he mattered.

I'm always surprised when I think about this story. I only intended to write one chapter, so I thought I'd write three at most. And, well, I still have a lot of things to tell now, and I didn't think I'd have so many ideas for this story.

Oh, I can't wait for the baby anymore. You know, I thought of his name over two months ago, and now he's finally going to be born.

tag: @valar-did-me-wrong

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

Hello!

I've got a Gallifreyan friend living here on Earth. They've managed to fit in and get used to the planet, but they've been feeling homesick. So, my question is: what are some of the ways to make them feel like they are back on Gallifrey? I don't know anything about the culture, or their ways of living, or the food... I'm willing to learn and help out a friend!

Thank you in advance!

How do I help a Gallifreyan who's home sick?

Helping your Gallifreyan friend feel a touch of home on Earth is a thoughtful and caring gesture. Here's how to sprinkle some Gallifreyan into their Earthly life.

🌌 Create a Cosy Gallifreyan Look

Gallifrey has some stunning vistas your friend may be missing. If you live together or otherwise have the opportunity, you could decorate their room or communal rooms to show that off - mimic the burnt orange skies and silver-leafed flora of Gallifrey by adorning a room with warm, orange hues, silver accents, and perhaps a mural of the iconic Citadel if you're feeling daring. LED lights, sunset lamps, and maybe even a DIY Kasterborous constellation on the ceiling could bring the Gallifreyan heavens right to your living room. You could also incorporate the elegant, circular Gallifreyan script into gifts, wall art, or even coasters.

📚 Literature and Art

Dive into Earth's science fiction and fantasy, finding parallels with Gallifreyan epics. Maybe host a "Gallifreyan Book Club," where each read is followed by a lively debate on temporal ethics.

🔠 Language

Learning Gallifreyan phrases is no small feat, but even mastering a "Good Morning" can demonstrate a real interest in your friend's culture and make them feel more homely.

🍲 A Taste of Gallifrey

Gallifreyan dishes might be elusive on Earth, but you can experiment. Create dishes inspired by the diverse tastes of the cosmos—maybe a dessert that's a visual tribute to the Untempered Schism, with swirling patterns and a touch of edible silver, or even just recipes with unique ingredients or cooking methods that are out of the ordinary.

🌿 Gallifrey in Bloom

If you have the space, create a small garden or indoor plant area silver-leaved plants (dusty miller or lamb's ear) and vibrant orange blooms (marigolds or California poppies). This can be a peaceful spot for your friend to feel connected to the landscapes of Gallifrey.

🌐 Stimulate the Gallifreyan Mind

Gallifreyans love a good puzzle. Why not organise a game night every week with logic puzzles and strategy games, or even just a book club focusing on topics like astrophysics, philosophy, or time travel.

🌟 Cosmic Connection

Arrange nights dedicated to observing the cosmos, maybe with a telescope borrowed from your local astronomy club. Discussing the stars, their histories, and mysteries is a great night for a Gallifreyan.

🔄 Earthly Traditions, Gallifrey Style

Merge Earth holidays with Gallifreyan customs. Too start with, Otherstide and Christmas are quite similar, it would be very easy to mix the two.

🤝 Telepathic Bonding (Metaphorically)

Living on a planet without a telepathic culture can make Gallifreyans feel quite cut off. While you can't establish a literal telepathic connection, deep conversations that allow for sharing thoughts can mimic this bond.

🏫 So...

Helping your friend alleviate their homesickness by incorporating elements of Gallifreyan culture into your shared experiences is a fab idea. It's the small gestures that will remind them that, while they might be far from Gallifrey, they're never truly alone. 🌍💫🌟

Related:

Factoid: What gift would suit my Gallifreyan and their biology?

What are some inhuman things about Time Lords that are noticeable after a few glances?: List of key identifiers for Gallifreyans.

How to track and manage artron levels?: How artron levels can be tracked and managed, plus symptoms of hypo/hyperartronosis and first-line treatment.

Hope that helped! 😃

More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[ausetkmt]

How To Analyze people Ultimate Guide: Learn Psychology, Body Language, Perception, Types of Personalities & Universal Rules

How To Analyze people Ultimate Guide: Learn Psychology, Body Language, Perception, Types of Personalities & Universal Rules - Includes Diagrams!

This is your greatest guide that will help you navigate through the social jungle we find ourselves in. Learn the advanced art of analyzing people

The ultimate guide on analyzing people is finally here!

Have you ever wondered what goes on in people's minds? Do you ever wish you could read minds?

Although "mind reading" is still science fiction, however this book will reveal to you the inner mechanisms of the mind and how people think and operate

You Will Learn

Subtle analyzing techniques

Human psychology

How to read body language

How to interpret the meaning of specific facial expressions

Personality types

Perception

Universal rules

And much, much more!

By the end of this book you will become a expert in analyzing people from all walks of life, and master the subtle art of analyzing

A lot of us have undergone some sort of psycho/over analyzing behavior, however this book reveals a comprehensive and effective approach that can be translated into the real world. This equates to you gaining the advantage in the social realm among your peers, colleagues, employers and significant other

After reading this book you will be able to perceive social signals that people in society take for granted, signals that indicate quite a lot of meaningful information and this gives you an advantage when engaging anyone

What Separates This Book From The Rest?

In depth analysis

Expert tips & secretes

Practical information

Up to date & relevant strategies

Incorporates aspects of human psychology

And much, much more!

The valuable insights in this book are priceless and gives you an edge that others won't have, enabling you to always be a few steps ahead, gaining advantage and a in depth understanding of how people think

Includes 13 tips on analyzing people and scenarios

What are you waiting for? Change your life forever! Understand the subtle art of analyzing and how people operate

[mirra-kan]

Hi Mirra!

Have you written any headcanon, metas, discussions, or fics about your concept of the "Faithful Haradrim"? If so, could you please tell me where to find them? If you haven't yet, would you mind sharing some info of your headcanons (anything at all) about their history and culture?

I'm a big fan of your Harad artwork and concepts (including the Blue Wizards), and it's all clearly founded on a rich, complex world you've created for them in your head. I would definitely love to learn more! :) I do also plan on including more about the Haradrim culture and history in my upcoming fanfics, so I would love to hear an expert's ideas on them.

Thank you for sharing your work with us!

@sotwk Was very happy to discover your message in my ask box!

Thank you for your interest and willingness to include more Haradrim content into your writing, but I'm afraid you might find my views rather... boring 😆

I also must apologise in advance if any of my phrases may not seem polite enough or turn out to be grammatically incorrect - English is not my first language.

Disclaimer! What is written below represents my personal view! It is in no way intended to hurt or discredit anyone’s head canons, views and ideas!

My Chinese calligraphy teacher once told me: "Do you want to assume or to learn? Decide on the approach before you make theories about anything."

And I follow the strategy of "to learn" before I "assume". So, first and foremost, I'm still in search of bits of information about the peoples who inhabited Harad and Rhun (South and East) of Middle-earth.

My goal is not so much to create head cannons as to draw the audience's attention to the canon and the Professor's own vision. Accordingly, in working through his letters, essays, and volumes of the History of Middle-earth, I am trying to draw parallels that someone as educated as Professor Tolkien might have drawn.

I also categorically disagree with the images created in the movies, where the conventional evil is more caricatured than frightening, and the motives and history of the conflict are not shown at all (Faramir’s saying about Haradrim’s fate is at least included, which is great, even if it wasn’t his in books). When my best friend dragged me into the Silmarillion story couple of years ago, I was amazed at how distorted the perception of these regions was in adaptations.

So, thinking about the existence and struggles of Faithful Haradrim, I rely on the history of the region and possible historical patterns. Such a vast region simply cannot have a common culture. It is the idea that can unite them. But, as in our reality, cultural features, symbolism and colours may differ. For example, we know that those who came with Sauron's army, performed under red flags with snakes. Does that mean that the entire vast region walked exclusively in the same colours? It seems unlikely to me.

As for the Blue Wizards, blue in general is a colour very 'inherent' to many cultures in the Global South. I suppose that's why the Professor dressed Alatar and Pallando in those colours. And accordingly, in my opinion, Faithful Haradrim could use these colours in their robes and on their banners, but not necessarily. It is not the colour that reflects the inner essence of a person.

Of course, when thinking about this or that image, I think about where exactly these people live, what the level of metallurgy development is present in different Ages, whether there is a sea or mountains nearby - all this affects how their armour\architecture\symbolism could have developed. In general, I draw parallels with real anthropology and the history of the development of civilisations. Books about the regional patterns, military and weapon history etc are of big help here too.

Sometimes, of course, I make things up. For example, when I first read the lines about the Blue Wizards not returning to Valinor, I didn't take it in a negative light. After all, they could have stayed in Middle-earth willingly, having become attached and imbued with the problems of the region, of the people. After all, Alatar and Curumo were the only ones who were not afraid to volunteer to fight Sauron.

I also like the later version, in which the Blue Wizards arrive in the Second Age. It makes more "sense" given the nightmare that the Númenorians had wrought in the region. But even among them, I'm sure there were some people who sympathised and helped the local population. I don't believe in black and white in principle. But I do believe in post-truth.

So, in essence, I'm a boring canonist who treats the author's writings and views with great respect. And the myth of the Haradrim and Easterlings being bad guys by all accounts is almost as well-established as the supposed lack of religion, holy Dunedain and cute glowing elves. Which is, in my opinion, in no way consistent with Tolkien's own philosophy and stance.

Perhaps what I came up with from scratch was a sign, a Faithful Haradrim symbol, that those could use to identify each other. People need symbols, faith and ideas. Especially in such trying times. That's the way we are.

Oh, I'm afraid if I go on, it'll be a whole essay. So I think I'll stop here. Thanks again for your question and your interest! I'm sorry if I disappointed you, haha.  Good luck with your writing - I'm so happy there're people out there, who're genuinely interested in the region! ❤

P.S. If everything goes well, I plan to release a zine about Harad at the end of the year. With quotes and the obligatory notes of personal theories not to confuse the reader.