#Orc ladies

[cariblooms]

Fun doodle of the orcs running into the Goliath.

Big lady (Narcissa 8ft) flirting, cuz its only natural when introducing herself to pretty women.

Big orc (Calat 7’7”) is not a fan nor is she sharing her small orc (Gallia 6’4”)…

[aromantic-ghost-menace]

I want my giant orc ladies now.

I don't care if they are gonna be feminine or not, I want them large and muscular and able to lift and throw me over a fence into a swamp and build a house together wherever I end up landing at!

we should reverse the social pressure for women to be small. i’m talking huge ladies

[spacecardiver]

Chilchuck looks like he didn’t even realize he was just worried about them.

[emahriel]

water genasi lass!!

[finleyfenn]

The devious, notorious Captain of the Orcs, fully defeated by a proud proper lady 😁

This gorgeous new art is by the amazing Sweets, and Grimarr and Jule are from my book The Lady and the Orc! I published it four years ago today, fully expecting that no one but me would ever read it... I'm just so grateful to all my reader friends who have made it possible for me to keep writing in this world ever since 💚💚💚

[cariblooms]

Absolutely in LOVE with the orcs 🤍 They give me life 🖤

Thank you so much!

Thank you for commissioning me!

[just-some-trans-nobody]

If a big tittied buff orc lady could put me in a choke hold until I pass out and then cuddle me till I wake up I think it would heal my soul on so many levels

[alexboakeillo]

Roslyn: she’s so stronk, we have no choice but to stan

(Mith agrees)

[cyancees]

long time no dnd dump

[elffromforests]

YESSSSS......

I often write here on tumblr and on my twitter that I think Adar is Maglor

Adar's breastplate is the same as Gil Galad's, which speaks of his Noldor origin and royalty. He has jet black hair like Maglor's. Maglor is the only eldest son of Fianor and generally the only living successor of this house. He calls Galadriel by a name that his relatives could know. It remains to wait when the TV show will say exactly that he is Maglor. We are waiting.

P.sThe second screenshot is my Twitter account

[cariblooms]

Their love stretches across dimensions and alternate realities, finding each other again and again… true soulmates 🤍

[skullchicken]

Mutt gets terrorized by the noodle man

Mutt belongs to @nyoxt, Alberich to me ^^

[pixilaine]

don’t talk to Viv before she’s had her morning cup of coffee

[geist-polter]

Dan’s and (If the police come searching) Rowan’s cousin, Ell’ekth!!

[finleyfenn]

The dangerous, notorious Captain of the Orcs, felled by the woman who was supposed to be his enemy 💚

Grimarr and Jule are from my book The Lady and the Orc, which is celebrating its five-year book birthday this week! 🥳 It's been such an honour to spend the past five years writing these characters and sharing their world with you 🥰

And this awesome art is by Nsf-ko!

[unfinishedstorys]

Iron and Ember

warning : 🌺 - fluffy

orc x human reader

🌿⚔️🌿⚔️🌿⚔️🌿⚔️🌿⚔️🌿⚔️🌿⚔️🌿⚔️🌿

The forge was unbearably hot, but you’d long since grown used to it. The scent of burning coal, the clang of steel against anvil, the way sweat slicked your skin—it was all familiar now.

But nothing was more familiar than her.

She stood at the workbench, sharpening a blade with steady hands, her muscled arms flexing with each practiced stroke. The firelight gleamed against her green skin, highlighting the scars that mapped her past. Scars you had traced a thousand times before, memorizing each one.

"You’re staring," she rumbled without looking up.

You smirked, leaning against the doorway. "And what if I am?"

She paused, glancing at you with those sharp, golden eyes. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she set the blade aside and wiped her hands on a rag.

"Then I’d say you should come closer."

The heat in her gaze had nothing to do with the forge.

You stepped forward, slipping into the space between her and the workbench, resting a hand against her chest. Her heartbeat was steady, solid, grounding. She let out a slow exhale, her calloused fingers brushing over your waist, lingering, savoring.

"You work too much," you murmured, tracing your fingers along her jaw, where a fresh streak of soot marked her skin.

She huffed a soft laugh. "You say that like you don’t benefit from it."

"True," you admitted. "I do like having a warrior-smith as a lover."

Her lips curled into a smirk, tusks glinting in the firelight. "And I like having someone to come home to."

That made your heart stutter. Even after all this time, she still had a way of making your chest feel too tight, like your ribs were trying to contain something too vast.

"You’re sweet," you teased, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

She growled low in her throat, her grip on your waist tightening, pulling you closer. "Not to anyone but you."

You laughed, threading your fingers into her thick, dark hair, feeling the heat of her breath against your lips. Her hands settled on your hips, thumbs stroking idly, a contrast to the raw strength she always carried.

"You smell like fire," she murmured, nuzzling into your neck, her tusks grazing your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

"And you smell like metal," you countered, tilting your head to give her better access.

She chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin. "Fitting, don’t you think?"

Her lips pressed just below your ear, warm and deliberate. You sighed, melting against her, your hands slipping down to rest over her forearms, feeling the strength coiled beneath them.

"Come to bed," you whispered.

She exhaled sharply, as if the request alone unraveled something in her. "I need to finish this sword."

You pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, your fingers curling around her wrist. "It can wait until morning."

She studied you for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a decisive nod, she scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you as if you weighed nothing.

You yelped, laughing as she strode toward the back of the forge, where your shared living space awaited. "You didn’t have to carry me, you know."

Her grin was sharp, pleased. "I like carrying you."

And truthfully, you liked it too.

She laid you down onto the soft furs that covered your bed, her large frame hovering over you. The firelight flickered against her features, casting shadows that made her look even more untamed, more dangerous. But you knew better.

She was yours.

She lowered herself, her body pressing against yours, her warmth seeping into your skin. Her fingers traced slow, reverent paths along your sides, memorizing you all over again.

"You’re mine," she murmured, her voice rough but undeniably soft.

You cupped her face, brushing your thumb over the scar just above her cheekbone. "And you’re mine."

Her lips met yours, slow and deep, a promise sealed with heat and devotion.

The forge could wait. The world could wait.

Tonight, there was only her.