#BUT POTTERY ORCS?!?

[main-clown]

Guess who just watched a video essay and is ready to ramble. Haha me.

Anyway, Lord of the Rings. I really really love how, in the movies (from what I interpret it as), that orcs are borne from mud. The pure ideas that flow through my thinker just AGH

Orcs borne from mud and clay is hella cool, not just from design aspect but for how it can be changed for differing worlds. I’m tired of orcs just being “we are evil stereotypes ooga booga”. They can represent the “less beautiful” parts of Mother Nature, or even “corrupted” nature that didn’t have a choice in their fate. From what I know, elves and orcs are pretty similar in LoTR and RoP. RoP have younger orcs being paler, which is weird because LoTR has the “orc manufacturing process” happening that has darker orcs coming out. I like the idea of orcs brightening as they age, like stone firing a pot. Even when firing a pot, its very rare to get clay that’s white. You need high amounts of kaolin clay, and even then its kind of pink-ish? Until you glaze it. So terracotta colors or greys. Orcs already have face paints they use, which can easily be changed to be like glazes.

Orcs with hand painted flowers like traditional porcelain. Orcs with feather patterns like Indigenous potting techniques. The gold mending pots from Japan(?). Orcs having web scars like cracked plates. Orc parents literally sculpting their child.

I don’t have orcs in my world, but the shit they can do with orcs just on the basis they’re from mud is endless. And goddamn.

Heads Up: I have never watched Rings of Power so all I know is very scuffed. Last time I fully watched LoTR was years ago, so this is mostly by memory.

[aliens-and-shiz]

Prologue: a new beginning.

Book 1

Imani sat dumbfounded. She forced Caiden to reverse the Abbadon cannon blast that decimated the Luyten system after their first overwhelming victory against those who abducted the people her father was overseeing, and in doing so… she couldn’t explain what exactly happened. Her shapeshifting, for one, now was at will. When once it took injections and a molecular reformation machine, she could simply shift into the form she wished to take.

If that was all, she could’ve handled it… she thought. The history of her people did say they once were able to seamlessly integrate into any population with a similar, if not the same ability, but that was almost three galactic eons ago. The Arist -of course- was born during those days, but never claimed knowledge at what caused their power to cease so easily.

The collected might of mankind stood in ranks upon the plains of Luyten-b. The charred and broken ground kicking up dust clouds as the wind blew through the near four hundred million collected individuals as they stood. Silently. Each member one that had a boon granted with the universal reconstruction that brought back the imposing ship blacking out the sun, the Hellfire.

Imani stood and walked upon a stage to a pedestal, video drones beginning to broadcast across the whole plain, in every tongue, in every language all at once. But regardless of the tongue, all here would innately understand. The first Gift had returned and they simply would understand. The Babel incident from eons and eons ago no longer had effect. She was uncertain what would occur. Uncertain if the masses would have a boon that would unmask her.

“Today… today we accomplished that which had never been. Today, we as humanity brought back our crowning jewel from beyond the void, today… we Triumphed!”

The roar that rippled throughout the crowd was more than just immense. It had a strength not seen in… eons would be the most apt way to put it.

It took almost ten minutes to finally quiet the masses down to a point that Imani could bear to speak again.

“Tomorrow we continue our campaign. Tomorrow we go to destroy the Azkhrani! Tomorrow we find our people!”

If the previous roar had power, this one was even greater.

Imani smiled before stepping off the stage. She still had it. As she stepped into the airlock, alone, she shifted back into her usual form, leaving the face of the missing General Thane for the dark skinned beauty she had occupied for the last 50 years.

As she walked to her quarters on the Torus, she let the fear sink in as the thought of having to explain to the Aristarchi Senate and the Arist what her father had wrought… and how she didn’t plan on stopping them.

[n1ght0f-nyx]

I absolutely NEED #7 with pert'ah

Like reader realizes they love him, and he loves her. Like maybe it's been a year since she was sold and she wants the anniversary to have happy memories? Obviously do whatever you want i love your writing 🥰🥰🥰

woven bonds pt 5!

i had my parts wrong the whole time lmao

pert'ah x fem reader

thank you for the request because i was completely clueless with what i was going to write for this

tags/warnings- arranged marriage, human female x male orc, gentle giant, you finally confess your feelings to big man

also, feel free to request non-woven bonds-related things that involve pert'ah or my other ocs (see my masterlist) i love writing for all these characters and seeing the mass of support I've gotten over the last month!

The sunlight was warm against your skin as you sat by the window, looking out at the familiar sight of the orc encampment. You traced the edge of the wooden sill absentmindedly, your fingers brushing against the rough grain as your thoughts drifted. It had been a year now—an entire year since you had been sold to Pert'ah, given away like property in exchange for peace.

A deep breath escaped your lips. So much had changed in that time. You had been angry, bitter, scared at first, and who could blame you? Being taken from your home, your family, and everything you knew only to be married off to an orc craftsman—it wasn’t something you could easily accept.

But over the months, something had shifted. Slowly, and perhaps without you fully realizing it at first, your feelings toward Pert'ah had softened. He was kind, even when he didn’t have to be. Gentle, despite his massive size and tusks that had once terrified you. He always tried to make things easier for you, in his own quiet way.

Today, the one-year anniversary of your marriage, brought back a flood of memories. Not just the pain and fear from that day, but also the small, tender moments that had happened since. Moments like when he’d bring you small gifts, things he made with his own hands—jewelry, pottery, even tiny, intricate carvings. He never pushed you, never asked for anything in return, though you sometimes saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes when you remained distant.

You sighed, resting your forehead against the cool windowpane. Maybe it was time to stop being distant.

The door creaked open behind you, and you turned to see Pert'ah stepping inside. He paused when he saw you, his gaze flickering with the faint hint of surprise before settling into his usual calm expression. He carried something in his hands, though you couldn’t quite see what it was yet.

“You… here,” he said, his voice as gentle as ever. “Good.”

You gave him a small smile, a gesture that had become more natural over time. “Yeah, I’m here.”

Pert'ah’s steps were slow and careful as he approached, and when he finally came closer, you could see the item in his hands. It was another of his handmade gifts—a necklace this time, with a pendant shaped like a small leaf, carved with meticulous detail. The metal had a soft shine to it, catching the light from the window.

“I make this,” he said, holding the necklace out to you. His thick fingers were surprisingly delicate as he offered it. “For you. One year today… yes?”

You swallowed, a lump forming in your throat as you took the necklace from him. It was beautiful, and like everything else he made, it was created with care and thought.

“One year,” you echoed softly, your fingers brushing over the pendant.

For a moment, the room was quiet, the weight of the unspoken tension settling between you. Pert'ah shifted slightly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“I know… hard for you,” he said, his voice halting, almost as if he were choosing each word with great care. “This life… not what you want. But… I want to make you happy. Try, even if… not always right.”

Your heart clenched at his words. He wasn’t wrong. You had been stubborn, holding on to the past, even when he had shown nothing but patience. But now, looking at him, standing there with the necklace in his hands and the sincerity in his eyes, something inside you broke. You couldn’t deny the truth anymore, not to yourself.

You loved him. You had fallen in love with Pert'ah—slowly, unexpectedly, and despite everything. He was your husband, not by choice, but he had become so much more than that. He had become your partner, someone who truly cared for you, even when you weren’t sure if you could care for him.

You stepped closer, taking the necklace and placing it gently on the table. Pert'ah looked at you, his brows knitting together in confusion, but you didn’t speak. Instead, you reached up and placed your hands on his broad chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers.

“Pert'ah,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “I know it’s been hard for me. But… I want you to know… I appreciate everything you’ve done. You’ve always tried to make me happy, and I—I see that now. I see you.”

His eyes widened slightly, the confusion slowly giving way to something softer. He stayed silent, watching you with an intensity that made your heart race.

You swallowed hard, gathering the courage to say the words that had been building inside you for so long. “I love you, Pert'ah.”

The silence that followed felt like it stretched on forever, but then, slowly, his expression changed. His large hand came up, gently resting on the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek in the most tender way. It was a simple touch, but it carried so much weight.

“I… love you too,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “From… long time. But I wait. Didn’t want… to push.”

Tears stung your eyes as you leaned into his touch. “You never pushed. You’ve only ever given me time.”

Pert'ah let out a low, relieved breath, his hand moving to the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. “I want you to be happy here. Even if… you want to go, I… I let you.”

His words hit you harder than you expected. The idea that he would let you go, even after everything, out of love, broke something inside you. But you didn’t want to go. Not anymore.

“I don’t want to go,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I want to stay here. With you.”

He gazed at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips—a rare, genuine smile that you had only seen a few times before.

“Then you stay,” he said softly, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “You stay with me.”

You closed your eyes, breathing in the warmth and comfort of his presence, letting the moment settle between you. This was what you wanted—what you had come to realize over the past year. Not just peace, but happiness. And it was with him.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, you stayed there in his arms, the quiet promise of a future together settling over you both. It wasn’t a perfect beginning, but it was real. And for the first time, you were ready to embrace it.

[mona-mk-monakaliza]

Sometimes after dnd we hop on to a collaborative drawing site, and since we were talking about a modern AU with a bakery/coffee shop I couldn't resist! @jellyfishdoodler did like 90% of the background and all the adorable knick-knacks! I love how it turned out!

A little lore: the shop is owned by Kazzar and his brother Makoa, (who are a pair of half orc brothers who are a baker and a blacksmith in our game.) and I thought it cute that they still had a creative metal/wood work or pottery making business on the side.

Hopkins ( @glass-trash-bab character) is bringing in Zuzu, who from in this au is unhoused, and nervous about asking for food or a drink. Of course Kazzar is having none of it, and ends up giving Zuzu regular meals and hot drinks from this day forward

Brothers belong to @geekyfox2 who is our DM

[thelandswemadeofpaper]

I can't hardly blame Tolkien for spending so much time creating names and cultures, its so fun!

I - finally - have courage to actuallly develop the crossovers and plots I have been writing and slowy creating in my head

And making up names and customs for my favorite Arda's people (my beloved Easterlings) is awesome. I need to be careful so I don't 'sanctify' them, for lack of better words, as much some people love to make them Feminism, Queer Accepting, Not-Racist, Unflawed just like some people do in real life with Native American Cultures.

I genuine thinking about men having more than one wife like some cultures had, not that I approve or fetish it, its just...historical? In some parts of Middle-East? I just don’t want to make Arda Eastern Culture...perfect?

What I can do to make them more 'feminist' is that, since so many men die in Sauron's army, and Easterlings are mostly trying to survive in a bad enviroment, its won't be historically incorrect for women to take men roles becaus of necessity

My Easterling names and words so far

Enni:

Kurma

Tenka

Vika

Viya

Kurko

Kurya

Naku

Rutta

Nysa

Wyla

Penthu:

Freggo

Briegga

Brinna

Adhina

Kuhina

Mharai

Inra

Runa

Welfa:

Oresha

Araya

Suriki

Yefa

Karuk:

Gretta

Dhurara

Kulthan

Valko

kheda (widow)

bri (beauty)

hina (bride)

ku (sea)

van (clan)

nel (woman)

nul (man)

Nelva (literally 'house of women', the place where widows and women whose husbands are away live with their younger children and orphans)

The tribes are deeply intertwined due to the constant exterminations of their people done in the past, both by Edain and Orcs alike, many parts of their cultures were lost, but those that remained were adapted among them

Although they can no longer say they have 'nobles', each tribe is divided into clans, each one proud eith their crafts and all following the same naming system. A single syllable added to the sufix '- van', while they don't have surnames, the firstborn naturally has the syllabe in their names (like the head of Tuivan could be named Tuikan or Tuimer), in daughter or a second son's name its optional

The Karuk and the Welfa are more present in the Sauron's army than the two others tribes, for their weapon and horse skils are more prized there and, with exception of Enni's boat-building and navigation skills, the sea tribe mostly contribute by farming and fishing. The Penthu are forced to give up their elaborate arts and gifts in exchange for more useful crafts produced in mass.

However they have an upper class, those who remain wealthy and powerful despite the ruin of their homeland and its inhabitants, allying themselves with the Dark Enemy in search of glory and participating in the terrorization of their own folk

This is my first time actually writing beyond just random making ideas like that post in 2022

I still starting and I want it to be a crossover, so still in making

Easterling, a simple term, often spoken with anger, fear and mockery, soon lost his original meaning. A vast word that embraced all the folks that lived beyond the Sea of Rhun. From the wild Karuk horsemasters, the skilled artesans of Penthu with their pottery, glasses and paint, the fierce warriors born in Welfa, and those that lived and died in the cold blue rivers of Enni.

[welcomingdisaster]

A no-pressure prompt for you: something with Maedhros and Maglor, maybe post-Thangorodrim? this isn’t very specific hopefully it works ❤️

The body on the bed is not his brother’s. It cannot be.

The hair is not right. It is too drab, too brown, too thin. The face, cheekbones too sharp, the eyes so deeply sunken in, skin falling about them as loose folds of cloth. Nelyo had had thick eyelashes, copper and curling playfully upwards, and the body has none. The lips— the lips are thin and cracked, slashed over with two criss-crossing cuts, half-healed. 

The poor wretch. It is not him. It cannot be him. 

But Káno cannot blame them. Cannot blame Findekáno for bringing it back with him, cannot blame Ñolofinweë for calling him. They do not know Nelyo like he does, the body does resemble him. It is the shape of the head, the square jaw. The one ear that is not torn to shreds, the one that curls back, as Nelyo’s had. The body is unusually tall and broad-shouldered, though the arms are so thin they look insectoid, though the knees look swollen as twisted root. 

The left hand — the only hand— has a scar over the palm, thin and white. In Aman, when they were children, Nelyo had cut his hand helping mother pick up shards of broken pottery. It had healed just so, that same thin little curve, as a scythe or a question mark. The body bears a similar mark. 

The body bears the same mark.

The body— 

Káno backs away so sharply he sees not where he is going. He steps on Ñolofinwë’s foot, his back hitting his uncle’s chest. 

It is not him, he wants to say, you called me in error, Uncle, for I know my blood. 

But then the body moves. It has a jerky way of moving; one sharp movement to jam its elbows against its ribcage, then a sharp, shaky breath, one exhale broken down into several weak gusts of air, and it heaves its head, neck held stiffly, up. Turns to look at Káno with familiar silver-grey eyes. There are freckles on that white skin, buried between the wrinkles.  

Alive. Alive.  

It makes him think of when they had first seen orcs. Orcs whose limbs bent in ways limbs should not bend, whose jaws hung from their faces at strange, half-turned angles. Who radiated pain in each broken grunt and shout, the sort of pain that is sharp to the touch. They should not move, Káno had thought, they should not live. 

“Káno,” the body rasps, in his brother’s voice, “Káno, Káno, Káno.” 

The face lights up. The cuts on his lips bleed at the force of the smile, the skin folds in new and strange ways. He is missing teeth. One of his upper incisors, his left canine.

He is missing a hand. He is smiling, with such pure joy as Káno has not seen since the darkening, has not seen in this land. He is smiling, and he says Káno’s name. He is missing a hand. 

Káno falls to his knees, taking Nelyo’s remaining hand in his. Kisses the bruises knuckles, the broken, bleeding fingernails, the little twisting scar on the palm. The hand is clean. Someone has cleaned it, has washed blood and dirt off the fingers, has rubbed sweet-smelling lotion into the skin.  Someone has braided his hair. Someone has wrapped a deep blue blanket about his shoulders, tucking it into a silver clip. 

“Brother,” he says, and his voice sounds worse than Nelyo’s, a ragged, breaking thing, “Nelyo— Maitimo, Varda forgive me, Maitimo.” 

He should not cry. He has heard so, in the halls of healing, in the encampments they have set up in this new land. Cry not. Hide your fear, and your anguish, and show only your hope. Wounds of the flesh should not be allowed to become wounds of the spirit. 

He cries, feels his shoulders shaking with it, horrible sobs— loud, wailing things, sure to hurt his brother, to hurt this, and he cannot help it. He is ever aware of the breath in his lungs, the air he draws in and lets go as song. He had once amazed his cousins with how long he could hold his breaths under water.

There is not enough room in his chest, now. He sucks in air desperately, but he cannot hold it. 

Nelyo reaches for him with the stump of his hand, those same horrible, jerky movements. Sways. He cannot sit up right. Ñolofinwë steps delicately around them, his steps making no sound on the bare wooden floor, and comes to steady Nelyo, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. 

“I am here,” Nelyo says, the stump brushing awkwardly against Káno’s shoulder. He closes his hand around Káno’s fingers, his thumb brushing over Káno’s knuckles. There is no strength left in it. No strength left in him. “I am here, Káno.” 

Káno catches a breath and drags it into his lungs. Holds it there, even as it tries to run from him. 

“Forgive me,” he breathes, “Nelyo, forgive me. I thought— forgive me.” 

He can feel the shape of his brother’s words. Can hear the ghost of his voice, patient and measured. How often, these days, he hears his brother’s ghost. There is naught to forgive, the Nelyo in his head says, his voice warm as the treelight, I was not angry, Káno. 

Slowly, painfully, Nelyo pulls his hand away from him. Reaches to smooth Káno’s hair back from his face. A strand of it has stuck to his cheek, wet with tears and already crusting over. 

“You are forgiven,” he says, “I forgave you long since, Káno.” 

And it is right, the cadence; the way he says, the warmth that clings yet to his voice, the slight of deliberation between each word, as though he chooses them with the utmost care. But not the words themselves. 

Káno climbs into bed with him. His brother leans on him, absurdly light; Káno fears to bruise bone should he embrace him. For a little while they do not speak. Káno tries not to think of the blood, the scars, the drab, brownish hair. But is almost worse to see the freckles and the smile, to hear his brother’s voice. 

Findekáno slips into the room then, settling silently at his brother’s other side. The right side. The side with the stump and the bandages and the blood yet dotting the sheets. Káno spares him a glance. He is little changed in profile, though the ice has left him thinner and wearier, and, though new upon the land, he wears the familiar scars of orc blades his hand and his cheek. 

Struck with sudden feeling, Káno leans over Nelyo to grab him by the collar. 

“Káno—“ Findekáno starts, but he cuts him off. 

He kisses him, kisses him though some part of him hates him already. Their cheeks brush against each other, and his tears smudge his cousin’s golden face-paint. He does not think he could ever be more grateful than he is now, cannot imagine a greater debt. 

Findekáno stares at him as he pulls away, his eyes wide and owlish, lips still slightly open. Then he laughs, and that makes Nelyo laugh too, a strange, huffing sound that seems at risk of crumbling into coughs. 

“Cousin,” Findekáno says, laughing yet, “what a greeting that was!” 

“He has grown quite strange in this land,” Nelyo rasps, again taking Káno’s hand, “I almost did not know him when he came, so much he looked as some wise and noble king, hair of raven and crown of gold! Look, brother, how you have changed!” 

No, Kánafinwë thinks desperately, feeling the crown upon his head as he shakes it, no, no. I haven’t. 

-------------------------------------------------------

thank you for the prompt!! <3 this was very fun & I really enjoyed trying to figure out Maglor's voice for the first time

[3liza]

I'm slowly going "gnawing at the bars of my cage" crazy explaining to fellow artists over and over again that the equivalent of the invention of the pottery wheel or the printing press for ugly Artstation crap means people who used to spend weeks rendering a booby orc will now be able to produce ten or twenty booby orcs in the same time span (including the ten minutes in Photoshop to edit out extra fingers) and that art directors will not magically develop the ability to 1. master the syntax of stable diffusion or Midjourney, which are an entirely new skillset YOU CAN LEARN RIGHT NOW DO IT NOW FOR FREE IT WILL TAKE YOU A FEW DAYS AT MOST or 2. edit out those extra fingers in Photoshop, which they will still have to pay you for, and for which you will be able to name your price. the failure of the average artist brain to think in terms of the market or indeed in terms of culture itself is embarrassing to me because I'm stuck lumped in with these people and yet i am still slightly less blind somehow

[rainbowangel110]

What is your OC's creative outlet? - Sam

Has your OC ever written someone a love letter? / Has anyone ever written your OC a love letter? - Any OC

9. What's your OC's creative outlet?

Sam's really okay with just about anything human wise, like pottery, weaving, and meditation. She says it reminds her of home, and how everyone generally spent their time back there.

12. Has your OC ever written someone a love letter?

Solace and Vanessa have both tried as such, Solace being the one to send it to someone he really cares about, but immediately regretted it cuz he was worried about rejection from a certain orc. Vanessa mulled it over after writing the letter, paced around her room a little bit, then cringed at the thought and threw it away.

13. Has anyone ever written your OC a love letter?

Nova apparently has a couple of admirers around the Sector, so they get a couple of letters every once in a while. Kiren had received one before but Solace kept acting weird when he brought it up so he decided not pursue who wrote it.

[gobboguy]

Chapter 43: The Coming Storm

A month had passed since the Orcish horde had landed on the unfamiliar shores of this new world, and in that time, they had become an unstoppable force of conquest. The once-scattered tribe had now transformed into a unified juggernaut, their victories etched into every proud warrior's scars and every laden cart of plunder. Gelbeg, their leader, stood atop a hill, his eyes scanning the horizon where the remnants of four conquered villages still smoldered in the fading light.

The sun painted the sky in hues of amber and gold as Gelbeg surveyed his tribe. Orcs, once starving and nomadic, were now a formidable army. The march of the horde was punctuated by the rhythmic beat of war drums, resonating through the air and filling the hearts of every Orc with a potent sense of purpose.

Gelbeg's eyes gleamed with a fierce pride as he observed his tribe. The warriors, their muscles rippling beneath green skin and their bellies standing out prominently, were armed to the teeth, their weapons glinting in the dying light. Behind them, carts laden with the spoils of their conquests creaked under the weight of riches—sacks of gold, glimmering jewelry, bolts of fine cloth, and assorted pottery plundered from villages left in ruin. Orc children corralled livestock behind the baggage train and laughed as they played in the mud and followed along.

Amongst the Orcs, pregnant Orc women rode on the carts in high places of honor, their bellies swollen with the promise of future generations. The tribe had not just conquered; they had planted the seeds of their legacy in the wombs of their women. Gelbeg felt a surge of primal satisfaction. The Orcish race was not just conquering; they were expanding, flourishing in this new world.

Yet, as the Orcs crested a nearby hill, Gelbeg's triumphant heart plummeted. Spread across the landscape before them lay an army of unprecedented size, a force numbering over ten thousand men strong. Gelbeg's eyes widened in shock and realization. The Snaga were not the weaklings he had thought them to be; they were a formidable force, one that dwarfed his own tribe in both size and might.

A hushed silence fell over the Orcish horde as they beheld the ominous sight below. Gelbeg, his mind racing, knew that they faced an unprecedented challenge. The overwhelming odds pressed down on him, threatening to snuff out the flickering flame of hope. But Gelbeg, true to his Orcish nature, steeled himself against the fear.

With a deep breath, Gelbeg's voice thundered across the gathering dusk, a clarion call to his people. "Orcs!" he roared, his words carrying the weight of conviction. "Look upon our victories! We have laid waste to villages, and our tribe has thrived. We are Orcs, chosen by MOG himself! We stand before this vast army as a testament to our strength. Fear not the numbers, for we are united! We are Orcs, the chosen of MOG, and we will not yield to these Snaga! Prepare for battle, for today, we prove our strength to the world!"

The Orcs erupted in a fierce roar, their spirits undaunted by the impending storm. The ground trembled beneath their feet as they readied themselves for the greatest battle of their lives. The month of conquest had molded them into a force to be reckoned with, and now, they stood as one—a living testament to the unyielding spirit of the Orcish race. The gathering storm awaited, and Gelbeg, their indomitable leader, was ready to face it head-on.

[dr-dr-olshakes]

I really want you all to know that last night at D&D, we were fighting a big bad demon who could turn invisible. And then I realized that through my Cloak of Useful Items I could summon two war/riding dogs to sniff him out. Except now my character has two riding dogs that we decided are Irish wolfhounds. So now I have two Irish wolfhounds named Lilly and Talulah, and my halfling girlfriend can ride one and go on morning runs with me and my dogs and then we can stop at the market afterwards. It's my favorite thing ever.

I've only had Lilly and Talulah for one session and I would give my fantasy life for them.

[aliens-and-shiz]

“Juke” - Alcho 2018

so Juke was a little bitch after glazing. I only used a clear glaze over the whole thing, with a glossy black interior, and I’m very very disappointed. Look at it. It’s not even red anymore and the black- ffs it did a whole swap in that kiln.

Regardless, I feel I did my best on it. It is not the greatest piece I’ve ever made but the sentiment and the process within itself gives it qualities I’ve not achieved in any other peice.

[highkingdismas]

orc ceramics: nice ice cold 40oz of st wungus premium party liquor

[momolady]

Lyneth the Orc

This story takes place in the royal palace of the Polar within the Ruby Empire. Artisans are being brought in to teach the royal children as well as strengthen the Polar's culture. This story includes pottery and romance.

Male Reader x Female Monster

I’ll admit it, working for the Polar royal family is intimidating. Working in the Polar is intimidating, period. Everyone here is so big, so prepared to face the harsh and bitter climate. As a halfling, I really don’t belong here, and I am reminded of that daily. Even the royal children are starting to grow taller than me now, and I have known them since they were newborns.

Czarina Katrina adores my work though, and has appointed me as the artist in residence for the palace. I have sculpted several statues for the gardens and halls, and more for the cathedral where Katrina grew up. I am proud to be able to freely produce my art here, and I enjoy the Polar even if I’m the only halfling in it.

Katrina has done wonders for education and the arts in the Polar. Where before everything was poured into military prowess, she has enacted remarkable educational reform. Her insistence on reinvigorating the dying arts of the Polar has her bringing in local artisans, and she provides them funding to enable them to teach their craft. She wants to strengthen all the advantages the Polar has to offer, cultural as well as martial. “The more Polar culture is introduced to the world, the more others are made aware. We become great through practice, and we seize attention with our skill.” Katrina says this often. It sounded vain at first, but now I can see what she means by this.

I teach sculpting at the cathedral, one of the many classes that are held there. But most of my work is done at the palace. I am often watched, which does not bother me as much as it used to - mostly by Gregori’s grandmother, or guests of the family. Other times it’s other artisans that Katrina calls in.

“Emmon, dearest,” Grandmother said to me one day. “I think you will be falling in love soon.” Grandmother was always spouting wild things. Gregori and Katrina believed she had a gift of foresight, but I just thought she was batty as the day was long.

“What makes you say that, Dowager Mother?” I tried to play along, because she could be scary if you laughed at her.

“I say it because it is true. You will meet the future owner of your heart soon enough, although I would be wary if I were you.”

I set my tools aside and wiped my brow. Looking up at the statue I was working on, I still wasn’t sure what to do. I had the basic form chiseled out, but I still couldn’t see distinct features in my mind yet. “Why should I be wary?”

Grandmother chuckled in that sinister yet jovial way of hers. “You’ll see. I do not always give away the surprise.”

“I’ll be surprised?” I stand up and move towards her. “Why don’t I walk you back to your room? It’s getting close to tea time.”

“Feh,” she scoffed. She took my hand and rose from her chair. For someone so old, she moved quite well. “You young folk don’t know how to listen. Wait until you’re grown.”

“I keep telling you, dowager mother, I am grown. I’m in my fifties, young for my people still, but grown.” I know halfling ages can be confusing for some, but Grandmother seems almost willing to forget.

“Young! You won’t be grown until you’re almost ready to die, like me. I was young a few years ago. You think you’re grown because of a number. Children, you don’t get to be grown until the cogs become greased.” She knocked her ring-encrusted fingers against the side of my head. “That usually doesn’t happen until you get to be like me.”

“Even your grandson?”

“A baby! That wife of his matured fast, though. That’s why I like her.” Grandmother snorted, then spat across the hallway. I’d been told she did this to dispel curses she saw. I really didn’t want to question her action.

I took Grandmother to the parlor, where the royal family had tea together. Already Katrina was there along with a couple of guests. “Oh, perfect,” Katrina extended her hand. “Emmon, come and join us. I want to introduce you to the new artisans I’ve brought in.”

Grandmother cackled cryptically as she went to join her great-grandchildren. I strode forward, bowing to Katrina then turning to the two guests. Both were orcs, one male and one female, with mottled green skin that had touches of pale brown. Their stark white hair was tied back into a single thick braid. “This is Lyneth and Llyr, and they have been studying under pottery masters since childhood,” Katrina said with a smile. “This is Emmon Northtook, a sculptor from the west, although he’s becoming more versed in Polar techniques. He’ll be the one overseeing the upcoming ice-sculpting festival.”

I bowed my head to them. “Nice to meet you both.”

“A halfling?” Lyneth said with some surprise. “Do you create miniatures?”

Katrina gave her a stern glare. “Emmon sculpted the two statues that greeted you at the gates. He may be small in stature, but he executes mighty works.”

“Ignore my sister,” Llyr replied. “It is an honor to be here.”

Katrina offered me a seat, which I took, and Mila poured me a cup of tea, while Nicolai offered me a slice of cake which had icing missing. I was annoyed at Lyneth for the moment, but I was used to people underestimating me. “What sort of pottery is it you specialize in?” I asked. “Earthenware? Stoneware?”

“Porcelain,” Lyneth answered.

I was intrigued. Katrina did have many porcelain pieces around the palace. “I am not surprised. Her majesty is fond of the craft.”

“I am well aware. She was insistent on bringing my brother and I here to the palace.” Lyneth gave me a look that made my skin crawl. “We will be working here at the palace to establish a collection.”

That was surprising. A collection could mean anything from sets of statues like I had done to a gallery of canvases. Collections were a lot of work to undertake.

Katrina sighed. “One for Mila and one for Nicolai. They will be gifted these collections when they get married. I know they are young, but I do love planning ahead.”

This meant the siblings would be here for a long while, possibly even years to complete this collection, especially since there would be two in production. And knowing Katrina, she would want every single piece of the collection to be the best it could be.

Right away a workshop was built for them on the palace grounds. Lyneth and Llyr oversaw the construction of the kiln, which would continue to be used on the premises in the future. I tried to stay in my workshop, but it was almost impossible not to cross paths with them. I enjoyed talking to Llyr, but Lyneth was another matter. “Good afternoon, mighty halfling,” she would say to me in passing, or she would giggle when I was nearby. Sometimes I would catch her staring at me, and it made my skin crawl and the back of my neck itch.

“Hard to believe you made such statues,” she would remark. “You would think they were created by someone twice your size.” This made me want to sculpt something giant just to rub it in her face, but I doubted such a thing would do anyone any good. Who would ever want a giant statue?

One afternoon, as I was at work with Grandmother watching me, Lyneth came into the room. She looked up at me upon the ladder and chuckled. “Where did they find a chisel to suit your hands?” she asked.

“I had it made back home,” I grumbled.

Lyneth walked around my statue, tilting her head as she looked it over. “It has no face yet.”

“I haven’t decided what it’s going to look like,” I replied.

“I bet your hands must make such fine details,” she laughed.

“Yes, I know that I’m small,” I grumbled. “How very astute of you to notice.”

Lyneth smoothed her hand over the stone. “How does one like you find their way to the Polar?”

I grimaced. “Same way most people do, I suppose.”

“Such an arduous trip.” Lyneth almost seemed to be rubbing salt into the wound.

“I know it may seem unbelievable to you, but during the spring the trip is fairly easy. I waltzed in.”

Lyneth snickered. “And I’m sure you looked quite elegant on those toes.”

I wanted to slam my chisel and hammer into the stone to make it rain onto her. “Oh for goodness’ sake,” Grandmother blurted. “If you’re going to flirt like that, give me a chance to leave!”

“I know it’s been a while since you have done such a thing, Dowager Mother, but this is not flirting,” I scoffed.

Grandmother frowned and shook her head. “Not you, her.” She pointed a jeweled finger at Lyneth. “She’s flirting so hard and so badly it’s embarrassing!”

Lyneth’s cheeks had grown quite dark and she looked absolutely terrified. “I was… It’s not bad.”

“Here in the Polar, we are direct! Don’t pussyfoot around the subject.” Grandmother stood and moved towards the door. “Just say what you want. Children!” She shuffled out the door, grumbling as she went.

Lyneth was quiet. She cleared her throat after a beat and pulled her braid over her shoulder to stroke. “Well…” She barely glanced at me before she started walking away.

“Is that what all that was?” I wasn’t going to let her get away. “All this teasing and chiding, that was you trying to flirt with me?”

Lyneth stood frozen in the doorway, then turned back around a slight scowl on her face. She shifted in place, then came back into the room. “I didn’t mean for it to come off as teasing.”

“But it did.” I climbed off my ladder. “I thought you were making fun of me all this time.”

“I wasn’t!” She looked away from me, her face shaded darkly from her blushing. “Not intentionally anyway. I really didn’t mean it.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “You really were flirting?”

Lyneth stroked her braid again. “And if I was?”

I stood for a moment as I thought. What if she was? Does that change anything? She’s been a thorn in my side, but that was just because I thought she was mocking me. It would certainly explain why she was always around. Back home I knew I was a catch, but here my height wasn’t exactly a draw for anyone. The average height was six feet, for goodness’ sake! I considered myself cute, but cute men weren’t in demand here. Women wanted men with scars and muscle, men who looked like they could cut glass by looking at it. I had freckles, soft cheeks and curly hair, so there was nothing about me that suited Polar beauty standards.

“If you are, you need to apologize,” I said.

Lyneth’s brows furrowed, and she dropped her arms to her sides. “What for?”

“I thought you were being mean to me because I’m a halfling. I thought all this time you were poking fun at my size.”

Lyneth looked shocked. “My dad is short. Why would I…” She stopped herself. “I’m sorry,” she huffed. “I thought I was being complimentary.”

“It didn’t come off that way,” I muttered.

Lyneth frowned and looked away. “My dad was made fun of for his size. I would hate to think I was doing it to anyone else.”

I sighed heavily. “Well, I’ll forgive you. I am curious, though - how short could your father have been to be made fun of?”

“My father is about this tall,” She raised her hand midway up her chest. “A bit taller than you, but still quite small compared to the other orcs of his village. My mother loved him greatly, though. And I fear I share her taste.”

This made my cheeks begin to flush. “You like short people?”

“Yes,” Lyneth sighed. “No one who has tried to court me has yet to catch my eye.”

I smiled softly, then turned to look back at my statue. “Well, their loss, I suppose. Having high standards isn’t exactly a bad thing.”

Lyneth shrugged. “I wouldn’t say high standards. Short ones,” she chuckled playfully.

I looked back at her. “That was flirting.”

“Are you still having a hard time seeing it?” Lyneth gave me an awkward smile. “Grandmother really knows how to hit a nerve. Huh?” She tried to laugh as she twisted the end of her braid. “I’ve never seen someone so astute, and so annoyed with her perception at the same time.”

I went back to chiseling, filling in detail around the arm. Lyneth’s arms had inspired me, and her muscle tone was quite beautiful. I felt the need to put it into my work then and there. “You have no idea. The whole royal family thinks she has the gift of prophecy,” I chuckled.

Lyneth looked up at me with a curious gaze. She tilted her head to the side, letting her braid fall off her shoulder. “And you don’t believe her?”

I shrugged, then added some definition to the fingers. “I think she’s perceptive,” I said as I went back to the ladder. “But I don’t know how to believe in magic like that.”

Lyneth looked around the room, then walked over to the table that held all my tools and supplies. She fiddled with a hammer for a moment, then looked back up at me. “So you don’t believe in magic, either?”

“I’ve never seen it myself.” I sat at the top of the ladder again. “Until I see it, I can’t say for certain what I believe.”

“Well,” Lyneth chuckled. “That explains how you couldn’t see me flirting.” She came back over to the statue. “You’ve never seen it before.”

I sneered down at her smug face. “Maybe I didn't see it because you happen to be so awful at it.”

“Maybe that was because you were giving me nothing back in return.” She moved to the other side of the statue. “Maybe now that you know, I’ll be able to do it properly.”

“I don’t think there is anything that can save you,” I laughed.

“Oh, but I would save you, Emmon,” she purred. “I would carry you out of any dangerous situation.”

I swallowed and looked back at my statue. “Well, luckily I’m not the type to get myself into such situations.”

Lyneth’s grin grew. “How would you know?”

My hand slipped on the chisel, and my throat felt tight. “Is there a reason you’re lingering?”

“Actually, yes.” Lyneth looked so proud of herself. “Tomorrow is the first day we will be running the kiln. I’ve invited the prince and princess to come make something with us that we can fire, and I wanted to extend you the same offer.”

“I would like to see it,” I murmured. “But I have never made any sort of pottery - well, aside from carving things.”

Lyneth smirked up at me. “I’m a very good teacher.” Something about that sounded suggestive.

“I could come by and see for myself.”

“I hope so. It’s going to be a pretty good day. Once everything is up and running, Llyr and I will begin the royal collections.”

I was quiet for a moment, focusing on the statue before me. “What do you plan on doing? Has Katrina picked a specific design?”

“Why do you ask?” Lyneth came back to the ladder.

I shrugged, “Curiosity - and as a fellow artist, I do enjoy seeing the process of others.”

“Llyr and I have a specialty we learned from potters in Shimokobe. We make and fire the pieces, and then we break them.” She said this so simply, like it didn’t sound crazy.

“Why break them?”

Lyneth knew she had my attention captured. “Because then we fuse the pieces back together using a mixture of gold and resin, to show they can be forged back together into something beautiful and powerful. Katrina thought it was a suitable lesson for her children.”

“That’s fascinating,” I murmured. “I’ve never heard of such a technique.”

“I’ll be glad to show you the ropes. Perhaps your art could benefit in the process.” She motioned to my statue. “And perhaps the faceless one here could grow a face.”

I sighed. “I am struggling.”

“Then take a break,” Lyneth offered. “I find that when I’m stuck, it’s best to walk away and breathe. Perhaps seeing another artist at work will inspire you.”

I came down off the ladder and stood beside her. “Well, now that I know you aren’t teasing me, it could be an enjoyable experience.”

Lyneth’s thick brows perked up at this. “You’ll find that there’s much you can enjoy with me, Emmon.” This, for certain, was suggestive. “I look forward to seeing you in the studio tomorrow.” She gave me a wink before she turned and went out the door.

/////

I had seen the new pottery studio from a distance, as I wanted to keep from getting in the way before Lyneth and Llyr were ready to show it off. I knew how important a workspace was, and how personal it could be when creating the right one. When I arrived, Nicolai and Mila were already crafting something under Llyr’s tutelage while Lyneth was preparing the kiln. Her back was turned as I came in, and she was busy loading up the wood inside.

“Emmon, welcome,” Llyr said. “Have you come to christen the kiln with us?” He was sitting beside Mila, who was having trouble getting her piece to form. Nicolai, on the other hand, seemed to take to the wheel as well as he did a sword.

Lyneth turned and smiled as I came into the room, wiping sweat from her brow. “Would you like me to show you how to work the wheel?”

I suddenly felt very self-conscious. I had tried to dress nicely to celebrate their accomplishments, but now I felt out of place. Was it because I was now horribly aware of Lyneth’s advances? For sure. But was the underlying current of my own attraction at fault? Also possible. “I think I can figure it out.”

I sat down beside Nicolai, who was beaming. “I’m making a vase for Mama,” Nicolai said proudly.

Mila glared up at him. “He’s showing off.”

“You’re doing just fine, Mila.” Llyr said gently.

Lyneth approached and prepared my wheel with water and the raw porcelain. It wasn’t the color I had expected it to be. “Use the pedals, and you can go as fast or slow as you need. And add water…” She started to pour water over my hands. Lyneth had her arms around me, towering over me, leaning down. She was a lot of woman for a guy like me.

Mila smirked, and she instantly reminded me of her grandmother. “Unsure how to go about things without a hammer and a chisel, Mr. Northtook?”

The Polar royal family scares me for many reasons, but none so much as the ability they have to change their aura on a dime. Mila, I feel, is going to be terrifying once she matures. “Not so much. I’m used to my medium moving like this.”

“I like it when they squirm,” Mila titters.

“All young ladies should,” Lyneth laughed. She leaned back over me. “Now, you can’t be too rough with the clay. Yes, you need to work it, but you always need to remember how delicate it will be when complete.”

“I’m aware.” My cheeks feel hot, especially with her so close.

I managed to craft a small bowl, with high walls that I thought would serve me well for storing small items in my studio. Once the pieces dried a bit, they were painted and glazed for the kiln.

I noticed an open drawing pad, and inside there were notes and sketches that Lyneth had made. There were notes written by Katrina, and sketches to show the progress Lyneth had made to get the right design for the royal collections. “No peeking.” Lyneth closed the drawing pad and set it away. “It all has to be a surprise.”

“I beg your pardon, I didn’t realize.” I glanced back at the kiln. “It’s amazingly well-constructed. You should be proud.”

“I can’t take the credit. Llyr and the masons did all the really hard work, I just designed the interior.” She smiled with pride towards her creation. “Our father built our first kiln all by himself, and he even moved his beloved henhouse in order to make room for it. It’ll always be my favorite, but this one is pretty close.”

“I wish I had such tender memories of my father,” I huffed.

Lyneth looked down at me. “What do you mean?”

I grimaced and shrugged. “He didn’t like me pursuing an art career. That’s the gist of it. You don’t need to know much else.”

“Shame,” she tutted. “Seeing what you have created, I couldn’t imagine not feeling a sense of pride in you.”

My heart jolted. “But, that’s just me.” Lyneth walked away to pull Nicolai away from the kiln, because he was inching far too close.

That evening, Lyneth and llyr presented Katrina and Gregori with their children's creations. Later on, Lyneth came and handed me mine just as I was about to leave the studio. “Good thing I caught you in time.” She offered me the bowl. “Here, I figured you would want it.”

The bowl felt much heavier than I expected, and the glaze was smooth and silky. “Thank you. Not as good as my sculpting, but…”

Lyneth smiled. “Everyone has a first step. It may not be in the right direction or on solid ground, but everyone has it. You’re at least skilled with your hands. I could give you some lessons if you’d like.”

“Thank you, but I’m still struggling with how to go about this newest statue,” I sighed. “I don’t know if I have the creativity to take into another art.”

“Maybe it’ll help. Trying learning another technique. It could open your eyes so you can see what’s in your sculpture again.” She gently shoved my shoulder. “It’ll be fun regardless.”

I managed to keep my balance and not fall over. “But you should be focusing on the royal collections.”

“I can do two things,” Lyneth smirked.

I couldn’t deny I was curious, and I was looking for new ways to enhance my work. I suppose the stress of the upcoming ice sculpting festival was getting to me. I was working so hard on the preparations that they had sapped a lot of my energy. “Maybe one lesson. We’ll see how that goes.”

“Okay, just one. But I can promise you, you’ll be coming for my tutelage more than you expect.” Lyneth’s smile grew as her cheeks flushed a darker shade.

Maybe I was drawn to her, but that could be rooted in the initial flattery of her flirting with me. We agreed that I would come after lunch for my first lesson, which would give us all the time we needed to see to our regular duties.

When I arrived at the studio the following day, I heard a loud crash. I walked in to see Lyneth standing over a broken dish. She gathered up the broken pieces, laying them in a lined box which she handed off to Llyr. “Have you got the gold ready?” she asked. Then she turned, spotting me as I came in. “So you did decide to show!”

“I promised I would,” I answered. “What are you doing?”

“Llyr and I are doing a test plate before we get going, just to be sure our designs work well with the metalworking method we use.” She motioned over to a wheel. “Go ahead, take your seat. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

I took my seat and put on the apron hanging off the back of the chair. Lyneth returned, setting up some water and the clay. “I want you to first get used to what you’re doing. The speed of the pedals, how to use the water, but most specifically how you hold your hands. Just get used to it, and I’ll be back in a second.”

“How should I hold my hands?” I asked.

Lyneth smirked. “Like you’re holding something precious, but in a cup,” she giggled. “Be right back.” She went off to work with Llyr over the broken plate, and I watched for a second before settling in to focus on my work. I shaped and reshaped the kaolinite several times before Lyneth returned. She showed me how to mold it into intricate shapes, and a rolling technique that I found really interesting.

I enjoyed the craft so much that I came back the next day. I returned again and again, and all the while Lyneth and Llyr worked on the royal collections for Nicolai and Mila. I saw Lyneth poring over her work, how intently and lovingly she crafted each item. I thought I had a steady hand, but seeing her paint was like watching the earth move around stone. She had such a dazzling technique that it awed me.

One evening, I was helping her clean the studio. Llyr had gone to deliver a completed piece to Katrina, leaving the two of us alone. “You really seem to be taking to the craft,” Lyneth said.

I looked up at her. Some of her hair had come loose around her face. “I have been enjoying it. It’s helping me see my new statue much clearer.”

“That’s great.” Lyneth tried to push her hair aside, but she smudged dust and dried clay on her face. “Oh, darn. This is when it gets aggravating.”

She stepped aside and took her hair down. I’d never seen it down before, and it flowed in soft waves as she combed it out with her fingers. “It’s pretty,” I said without thinking.

Lyneth looked at me with a shy expression, then turned away and scooped it all to one side. I cleared my throat. “It looks nice down.”

“Maybe so, but it gets in the way.” She ran her fingers through it, then looked back at me. “I’ve never really worn it down around anyone.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. “I got some brandy from back home in my room.” That wasn’t what I expected to say. “Would you like to try it? As a thank-you for all your teaching.”

“Halfling brandy,” she murmured. “Is it strong?”

I smirked. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

Lyneth tied her hair, then followed me to my room. I fetched the new bottle that had been sent to me and poured two glasses. “Halflings enjoy their drink more than you’d expect.”

Lyneth took the glass and looked inside. “Smells good.” She took a sip. Her eyes popped open, and she held the glass at arm’s length. “Oh my.”

I had to laugh. “You underestimated it, didn’t you?”

“I did!” She watched me as I took a gulp. “I’m surprised. I thought orcs drank it as stout as it came.” She eased back in her seat. “Do you drink alone?”

“Mostly, although admitting that out loud sounds rather strange.” I swirled the liquor in my glass. “I’ve not really had anyone in my room before. Not since I got here, at least.”

“I’m honored to be your first.” Lyneth took another sip. “Is there someone you think of when you drink?”

I shook my head and sighed. “There used to be. But these days I’ve not thought of anyone in a long time.” I glanced over at her. “And you?”

“I’m too shy to say,” she chuckled.

My heart skipped a beat. “Is it me?”

Lyneth licked her lips, then up one tusk. “Maybe.”

“I know you said you like short people because of your father. But I have to be honest, it still shocks me,” I confessed. “Surely a statuesque woman like you could find just about anyone.”

“Oh, I can find plenty by just throwing a stone. But the heart wants what it wants. I can’t explain it, but I saw you and my heart decided for me. You’re handsome, talented, and…” She stopped and looked away. “See, now you’re trying to embarrass me.”

“I would never. But thank you for the compliment.” I looked back into my drink. “I do think you’re lovely, stunning in fact. I admire anyone who is so in love with their craft. That is an instant attraction for me, no matter who it’s for.”

“Come sit beside me.” Lyneth patted the seat beside her. “So we don’t have to yell across the room.”

It could be a trap, but it was one I was willing to fall for. I sat next to her, feeling her warmth. She put her hand on my leg and I felt heated all over. “You’re blushing a lot.” Her fingers brushed against my cheek. “You’ve not drunk too much have you?”

“Barely anything.” I reached up, touching her hair. It felt silky between my fingers. “It’s the company doing it to me, I think.”

Lyneth leaned down, kissing my forehead and then my cheek. I turned to meet her, grazing a kiss and then planting one firmly. I slipped a hand around her waist, then smoothed it down along her thigh. “I’m not sure what you’re into, but…” Lyneth kissed me again. “We can take this to the bed if you want.”

“Very forward,” I breathed. “You seem to be wanting something specific.”

“Ever since I first laid eyes on you. But now that I’ve caught feelings, it’s much more specific.” She stood up, taking off her tunic. My heart sped up, my pulse pounded in my groin.

“Oh, wow,” I breathed.

Lyneth walked over and stretched out on my bed. I followed, tentatively climbing up beside her. I wasn’t sure how this was going to work. Was I going to be able to satisfy her? I guess I could get creative if needed.

I took off my clothes, nervously waiting until the last second to take my pants off. Lyneth pulled them down for me, cupping my rear in one hand and kneading it. She licked me, her warm tongue darting over my shaft as she moaned. It felt so good that I rocked my hips, rubbing my rear into her palm and my cock against her lips. I was growing harder, feeling the deepening pulse surge through my body. Her dark eyes peered up at me as she sucked on me. I grabbed her hair, pulling it gently before I wrapped it around my fingers, panting as she kept going. My body was dripping with desire with heat. “Wait. I’ll finish if you don’t stop,” I panted.

“Go ahead,” Lyneth purred. She lapped at my balls, then took them into her mouth. “You can come whenever you’d like.”

I shuddered, tightening my grip on her hair. I rocked my hips more, rubbing my cock against her tongue. I could feel myself spiraling fast. Her tongue, her moans, her touch, were all becoming overwhelming. I cried out, spilling on her lips, on her face, her breasts. She seemed to enjoy it, smiling as I pulsed through my long orgasm.

“You had a lot for me,” she cooed.

My legs were shaking. I needed to lie down for a second. Lyneth pushed me down onto the bed, kissing me hungrily. “Sit on me.” The words were a surprise again. “Sit on my face.”

Lyneth’s eyes lit up and her lips pursed. “You sure?”

I smacked my cheek. “I owe you one. I can do it.”

Lyneth licked her lips, watching me with a curious expression. “Just double tap if you need to breathe.” She sat up, moving herself so that her thighs were around my ears. Above me I saw something delicious, something moist and warm, and as her labia came closer I opened my mouth. I licked and suckled, sighing with pleasure as I tasted her. I used my fingers to open her up, my tongue to tease and my lips to stroke. Through her thighs I could hear her moans, but just barely. I figured if anything felt wrong, she’d move.

I found I could fit my whole hand inside her, so I drove it deeper. I felt her tighten around me, and her inner walls quivered as the heat grew between them. I licked and sighed, finding purchase upon her clit. I moved my arm, thrusting inside her while sucking that sweet bud. I heard a cry and felt a rush of heat.

Lyneth’s body trembled all around me, and her thighs relaxed, then tensed. My hand became trapped inside, and I heard another cry. The body above me shifted, pulling away before falling onto the bed. Lyneth was breathing heavily and curled into a ball. “Too much! Too much,” she panted.

I was shocked. I did that to her? I lay beside her, kissing her shoulder and rubbing her back. She began to uncurl, lying flat and smiling at me. “I knew you’d be good with your hands.” She took hold of mine, kissing the knuckles as she smiled.

I blushed, feeling my body heat up all over again. “I just wanted to repay you. That’s all. Was it really okay?”

Lyneth leaned in and kissed me, moving so part of my body was trapped by her breast. “It was great, Emmon.”

I smiled triumphantly. “Well, just be careful. I have pretty good stamina.”

“I can tell.” Lyneth kissed me again. “But I need a second to rest, big boy. Someone stole the breath from me.”

I lay back, letting her rest her head upon my chest. Her soft hair spilled out over my side and the bed as I suppressed a massive grin. “Take your time, Lyneth. I have all night for you.”

Lyneth chuckled and she raised her eyes to me. “I may demand more nights. What would you say to that?”

I grinned. “I must admit, it is a tempting offer. But why on earth would you want to spend them with me?”

Lyneth rose up, planting a firm kiss on my lips. “Because I’ve fallen for you.”

My heart pounded in my throat. “Oh, really?” I brushed her hair back and cupped her face in my hands. “Because I’ve found the face of my new statue, and I need to see it every night to get it right.” I ran my fingers along her cheekbone. “So I’ll need you in my arms.”

[solarprominence]

ok my brain has been mulling this over for YEARS but i'll never write it simply because i don't think i'm the right person to, since it's deeply racially charged, but you know how greek plays have been translated by white cishet male scholars for years, and now we're getting versions of greek plays that are totally different and shown in a new light by diverse modern scholars? and you know how the lord of the rings is diegetically written by this translator by the name of tolkien who translated it from its original westron?

well i've been thinking a lot about the orcs. they've been written as a clear-cut, morally evil race with all sorts of negative value statements put on them and lots of subtle (or not subtle) racist features. what if another author besides the diegetic tolkien, some modern elvish scholar, translated the story, or added notes from their own historical studies on orcs, and found that the translator was deeply biased against orcs, and in fact even says many things that aren't true about them as a race? they're implied to be naturally violent, ugly, destructive, unhygienic, non-empathetic, and have no apparent appreciation for art, music, or craft of any kind. but this conflicts with the archaeological research that's been finding artifacts from orcish homesteads across the anduin, in the brown lands and mordor; beautifully crafted pottery and weaving, and well-tended farms, artful weaponry, excellent construction work with its own type of architecture (an incredible find when they had been assumed to be an entirely nomadic people up until then), evidence of schooling, and altogether much evidence of rich culture and strong community bonds. with all of this, how could anyone assume the orcs were evil? they were people. and eventually, they were soldiers, commanded in a war they had no choice but to fight. and the studies of the cultural impact of saruman's reign, and the introduction of the uruk-hai, have been practically nonexistent, which this middle earth scholar finds tragic. imagine having an entire city's worth of new adults spawn practically overnight. how were they fed? clothed? taught? how did they learn language so quickly? and, for the (still significant) few that survived the war, how/where were they housed? how were they treated by the rest of orcish society? they had been taught to be soldiers and knew nothing else— how did they learn a new way of existing?

i want a new translation of lord of the rings, where the "historical inaccuracies" in the portrayal of the orcs that led to cultural misjudgements of them are brought to light. where tolkien is shown to be an incredibly biased narrator. but it's not really my story to tell. someone please write this

[aestherians]

My knowledge of the orcs who neighbor my clan is very limited. Most of it is based on vibes, so as I uncover more noemata, the details might change. But here's the gist of it:

When we settled in our valley, we initially thought we were isolated from other people, save the most brave/dumb travelers. But after we'd settled down properly - enough that leaving would be a huge hassle, so it had probably been a few months - some scouts/explorers discovered an orc settlement beyond a mountain ridge.

We first opted to ignore them, but the threat that they might invade kept looming over us. We didn't really feel safe. We had greater numbers than them, but we knew their strength and size would favor them in a battle. One of their fighters could take on three of ours. If something compelled them to move, the risk that they'd encounter us was just too great.

Our elders decided we should initiate contact with them on our own terms, rather than wait for it. A few of our hunters, led by an elder, traveled across the mountains, carrying hides, beads, and dried meat as gifts of good will.

I was a child at the time, less than a year old, so I can't know exactly how things went down. But somehow, without having a language in common, our hunters made contact and returned to the clan with gifts of berries, incense, and bone.

Over time, the relationship between our peoples grew less tense and more amicable. We established territories, and in return for respecting them, we benefited from each other's differences. Where the orcs had metals, bones, and weaving, we had furs, pearls, and pottery. Eventually, a pidgin even developed.

Neither of us go hunting or gathering on the ridge that divides our peoples, for fear of accusations that we're intruding on the other's territory. As long as we respect that border, our relationship is good.

[lacependragon]

The Orcs of Beurkratti

Y’all wanna hear about the orcs of Beurkratti? Y’all are gonna hear about the orcs of Beurkratti.

If you were to break down and assign a singular, overarching thing for orc kind to be known for, it would be architecture. Over history, it is the orcish builders and architects that have received more praise and more acclaim than any other architects and builders of any other sapient species.

Orcs are a tall people, ranging between 2-2.4 meters (6.5-8ft approx.) on average. They are traditionally broad shouldered and broad chested, which helps support the weight of their four arms -- two connected at the shoulder, and two further down. Because of this, orcs have an elongated torso compared to most sapients.

Orcs are generally found in any and all shades of green, with some orcs taking on a more blue hue overall. Their palms and the bottoms of their feet are paler than the rest of their skin.

Orcs have elongated, pointed ears that stretch up and back from the sides of their head. They have underbites that reveal two large, bottom tusks which are matched by smaller tusks in the upper jaw. They tend to have broad noses with thick bridges.

Orc hair can come in a wide array of darker colours, from reds, to browns, to various hues of grey and black. It can be any texture.

There are many cultures within the orcs, and their relationships with each other and other sapients are complex and long.

Orcs have a high amount of Lesser Magic access and can achieve magical pottery and tools more easily than many other sapients.

Orcs are generally viewed as a two sexed species (though intersex orcs exist). A female who has ovaries and an external ovipositor, and a male, who has an external “slit” and an internal “pouch” that receives and fertilizes the egg via sperm from internal testes, then the male carries the fetus until birth.

Orcs are an omnivorous people, and require nutrients from vegetables and fruits to live, but they require far higher quantities of meat than many other sapients.

Fun fact: orc blush is a green-tinted blue, and it stands out very clearly from the skin.