#atariince

[onehandedly]

☕️ The friendship between Dwarves and Noldor maybe ?

I ABSOLUTELY love it. These two people both have a culture based around crafts, arts, languages and research, both are extremely proud and possessive of their creations. It could be the perfect conflict.

And yet it isn’t. They cooperate, fight together and create together, which is a huge step for the culture of both people. Of course they do have conflicts, but what I like is that, despite all differences, they manage to work through them. Both are linked to Aule and both share an ‘original sin’ of sort woven in their very nature.  What I really miss in many fandomic (I won’t rage about the movies and Gimli here) depictions of the Khazad is how intellectual they are, which ties them closely to the Noldor. 

Besides I like to imagine that from the First Age to the fall of Eregion there was a very healthy exchange (for such secretive people) of artistic and scientific ideas between Noldor and Khazad, 

[kyelek]

@atariince, x

“I do not question that, brother, but… what a peculiar way to express it ! Forgive me but I cannot help wondering about those words you chose, because, you see… I  believed – with my innocent heart – that you would not lie to me about anything. As I would never lie to you… about anything.”

His arms crossed on the table in front of him, Curufinwë stared at his brother rather sternly, and there was no trace of neither hesitation nor doubt in his eyes. No fear either. Barely a sparkle of disappointment which he’d rather have repressed.

“But that is not the question, is it? Not today at least…”  

Although an ignorant eye could have believed him to be playing, Curufinwë didn’t enjoy it, this situation, and toying with his brother’s assertions wasn’t satisfying enough for him to keep on beating about the bush. With a sudden sharp sigh, he stood up, his fists firmly anchored on the table.

“What did my son tell you, Tyelkormo?” He was holding his breath, but still the words left his lips with a vibrant density. “I am pretty sure he talked to you, while he has been refusing to even look at me since that… insipid argument.”

The pang in his chest forced him to stand quiet for a moment, and when the Ñoldo spoke again, his voice was somewhat frailer.

“Tyelkormo, I must know what Tyelperinquar has in mind…”

     ❛ Spare me your mind games, Curufinwë. ❜ Tyelkormo had said it how he said it, and whilst he understood just as well to play with words now he cared not for it. What came into his eyes while he looked at his brother was sign of his swift mood. But that settled again, when he understood that Curufinwë sought not to keep at it.

And further Tyelkormo discerned that it was not his usual, for his brother was seldom brought to stop at the mere threshold of his temper. It was so, and yet they were among all of their siblings the two closest in brotherhood. He watched Curufinwë’s tense stature as he raised himself on the table. ❛ Perhaps he will not talk because you call it insipid.

❛ Your son spoke to me, but I don’t know his mind. For your sake, I’ll guess at it: if we went back to Himlad, he would not go. As I would not, you know. ❜ Might he still the pang at Curufinwë’s core this way– For, though he knew not if Tyelperinquar’s intention was ambition as well, as it was Tyelkormo’s own, he thought to let his brother hold his son shared their aspirations.

Finally, he cast back his gaze to meet Curufin’s, insight glinted from it. ❛ Leave Tyelperinquar to nurse his own pride, lord knows, you have also passed it father to son. ❜

[narminye]

@atariince

Her knuckles danced briefly against the wood, a soft knock before she stepped in through the opened door to Curufin's study.

"What keeps you up so late, dearest?" She asked, voice as gentle as the concern in her expression as she approached him, wearing only her sleeping robe and the soft waves of her hair swept over one shoulder. "Is it work or passion that seized you tonight?"

[theotherwesley]

atariince replied to your post: when will my creativity return from the war

/ May I join the club?

Join me in the pile of boredom and laziness. I’ll bring schnapps. 

[melkomelko]

Hi! i saw you were accepting requests, and as i do love the way you draw Curufin, I was wondering if you could do something with him (+ cats or + son or just Curvo being a judgmental goldsmith) :) Thank you!

Hello there :>

Ok, I have many Curvo requests, as well as Feanor and Tyelpe. Anon said: “Celebrimbor and daddy pretty please =D “ and amauriel–elencalima said “Feanor”

So let’s join these, because it’s always good to draw The Clones™ all at once. Here goes then: Feanor, Curufin (very smol, very angry) and Celebrimbor :D

[lightofthetrees]

{ continued for @atariince​ }

“Do not mock me brother, this is a serious matter,” The young Ñoldo said, and paradoxically there was a smile on his lips as he put away the embossed copper amphora on which he had been working during the past few days. Although he could not really tell how honest Maitimo’s words were, Curufinwë did not manage to hide his pride and bliss. The sweet fragrance of compliments could make him so weak – hence the necessity to be twice as careful.

“Shall my creativity be ascertained, it would never discredit yours, Nelyo. Besides, this piece is not the offspring of my creativity, but a copy of an ancient vase from our grandfather’s treasure. I merely tried to revisit its shapes.”

Despite his gratefulness regarding his brother’s compliments, Curufinwë could neither rest on his laurels nor accept an unfair judgement, as pleasant as it felt. Praises indeed would not help him improve his work, and if he delighted in flattery, he would rather receive the fair judgement of a critical eye. Especially his father’s eye, which had been fashioning Curufinwë’s own severe intransigence for years.

“Were you more observant, you would have noticed the imperfections… I still have a lot to learn, and my creativity is not as genuine as it might seem.” The confession was almost painful, but Curufinwë didn’t wish to feed his brother’s misconceptions; He would favour honesty over deceit. “Moreover, creativity without a skilled hand means nothing, and the reverse is also true; A decent craftsman must master both. I may have been working for a few years now, I still think myself to be at the beginning of my training.”

Though he nodded in understanding as his brother spoke, Maedhros inwardly sighed. He should have known Curufinwë could not simply bask in the glow of a compliment. It was not in his nature. After all, was he not called Atarinke? And there he went with his philosophy, sounding so much like their Atar that Maedhros nearly laughed. No project was ever finished. No creation was without room for improvement. Perfection remained a goal that could never be achieved. These were essentially the rules within their home, and each member of the household applied them to their craft of choice. Still, though, Maedhros felt that Curvo was more self-critical than any of the rest of their brothers. Maedhros had given the compliment in an attempt to let  Curufinwë know that he was much more talented than he thought himself to be. “I am not mocking you, dear Curvo.” Maedhros said with the gentle smile that had soothed so many volatile tempers both at home and at court. “ You have the spirit of a true artist. If you gave me twice the time and all the training you have had, I would not be able to produce something half as beautiful as that vase.”  The smile became a sly grin, but his grey eyes shone with nothing but affection, and he rested a hand on Curvo’s shoulder. “Besides, you are my little brother. I will be proud of you whether you like it or not.”

[silverartisan-blog]

“I know you tried. I am telling you to try again.”

From the Perks of Being a Wallflower Starters - (X) @atariince

           “You ask too much, Father. I could slave over a single piece on this forge            for an entire Age without rest, and yet my craft would still pale in            comparison to yours!”

Of course, that’s a gross exaggeration on Tyelpe’s part; he is perfectly capable of doing great things and he knows it. He does.

He thinks briefly to a time when he was much smaller, so fascinated by jewels and trinkets of all types, and how they glistened with a radiance he could not possibly begin to describe. Oh, he had loved them so purely and wholeheartedly, and he had (perhaps somewhat foolishly, in his own innocence) sworn that he, too, would one day learn to craft such beautiful things with his own two hands. It is in his blood, what he was born to do -- and he takes a very considered and careful approach to his work, never once daring to become too complacent under Curufin’s watch.

The weight of his father’s expectations (and those of Fëanáro before him) have begun to rest heavily upon the youth’s shoulders. Theirs is a legacy that he cannot hope to outshine, and it has disheartened him somewhat. Fully aware that his father would accept nothing less than perfection from him at this stage, he has grown almost too critical of his work, and it does him no good to create with failure already in mind. His creations will suffer for as long as he is plagued by such destructive thoughts.

But it is not as though he has lost all love for his art -- far from it. In fact, it is because he loves it so dearly that he is so frightened to disappoint. Tyelperinquar possesses a keen eye with which he can so easily pick out flaws that perhaps few others would not, and he has perhaps become too obsessed with fault-finding. It is a vicious cycle that he cannot seem to pull himself from.

Pressing his lips together in thought, he appears visibly ashamed for his earlier outburst, moving to gather his tools at once. He will try again and again, as instructed, daring to speak once more -- albeit a little more thoughtfully this time -- hoping not to sound too foolish or presumptuous as he seeks to explain what it is that ails him so.

          “Was... Was it ever this hard for you?”

[atalantelinde]

@atariince

@atariince He was glad it was a nice day, and he didn't mind waiting outside for his brother. The Trees were bright, and it was a very good day for a walk. Kanafinwë lightly strummed on his harp, although he put it away when he saw his brother's shape in the doorway. "Come, walk with me; let us leave the dust if the forge behind for a while,"