#Simple orcs can only look and take notes on how to get that far in life

[wanderingarcherviola]

"The Dark Lord is real popular lately, never thought Evil Slut was a career option though. Got my future plans sorted then."

[problemstarchild]

I recall reading somewhere that the elves' self-isolation to their western continents was actually more of a recent recall BECAUSE of their dwindling population -- that's why the governor of the island tells Mr. Tansu that the elves GAVE tallmen the island, and why he feels he can't resist if they want to interfere. I think they had a thin population trying to colonize and control a large swath of land, but because of their death spiral, they've more recently tried to centralize their population to increase elven birth rates.

As far as the comic that I posted with Kabru, I'm not necessarily sure what he thinks of intelligent demihumans! I read someone's analysis of the "explaining kobolds to the Toudens" page where they said it seemed like Kabru did that thing he does where he tried to cut down an explanation into simple, bite-sized pieces to make it easy for someone to understand, but it ended up leading to a misunderstanding. He also makes a mental note that it's against an adventurer's contract, basically, not to kill orcs -- they're supposed to be killed on sight, which is why he assumed that Laios ate them rather than talked to them. That said, Kabru is the one that rushes between Lycion and the orcs to get them to stop infighting when everything is falling apart, so I'm not sure how seriously he actually takes the "orcs are monsters" slant. (Additionally, I understand the sociological background for kobold and orc aggression against humans -- Kabru's whole thing is applying historical and cultural context to current events, so even though any character is capable of just being fallible, it seems unlikely to me that he would fully write off another race as being "inferior", even if they are typically hostile.)

I know fishmen are not actually very close to humans, also! Laios said they're closer to cows, but there are a lot of monsters that humans classify as demihumans, which includes fishmen. Laios also mentions that harpies are just fully birds, they only look humanoid -- a lot of the classification seems to stem from appearances alone, and it's inconsistent.

That's all I was pointing out, before -- kobolds and orcs are confirmed intelligent demihumans, but even if fishmen aren't quite human either, they participate in self-decoration to look more like mermaids. Mermaids are also demihumans and are capable of singing and (apparently) feeling awkward about a social situation (???), so that begs a question about how intelligent you have to be to be considered an INTELLIGENT demihuman.

That final panel with Laios talking to the orc and kobold child made my heart sooooo happy. A lot of kobold and orc aggression can be traced back to human manifest destiny, abuse, slavery, kidnapping, and murder. Territorial resource-guarding is also a big thing. As Kabru explains on that very page, short-lived humans and demihumans basically squabble over very shitty land because that's all that's left after the long-lived races took everything good for themselves. Laios building a country and emphasizing agriculture, and making it a place where humans and demihumans can live together peacefully without fighting over resources, is SO perfect.

Something that completely flew over my head (I am not very observant), I was rereading chapter 87: Winged Lion II to re-check some things about dungeons and I just now realized the ancient humans weren't from the current races we know.

They seem to have characteristics from several of the human races together, and some of them even seem to have fur (like demi-humans?)

It's even implied that the lifespan differences and physical differences (the two asking for muscles and using magic in the background) were due to the Demon granting wishes

I did notice this part but I didn't realize this was probably part of the source of the race differences rather than the races already being different and wishing for different things.

So at some point the human races might have been even more closely related, before a powerful being influenced their evolution.

[midearthwritings]

The Beauty behind the Beast

You think it is a shame to neglect such beautiful hair.

Words Count : 1,745

Pairing : Kíli & Reader

Warning : Nudity? Blink and you'll miss it really.

Author's Note : A little Kíli one shot because who wouldn't want to sit and care for his hair? Also I labelled this as platonic but there are a few romantic undertones. I don't know. Hope you like it.

What evil creatures were hiding in the dark, stalking and waiting to attack? You did not know. Perhaps none for the night was quiet, beautiful even. The sky was clear, filled with stars. And the moon looked stunning, even as only half of it was visible.

The snoring of your companions sounded like a lullaby. They could have made you fall asleep if you had been willing to surrender. Thankfully, you were in good company.

As he was quietly rambling to you about whatever subject, you studied him. The way he worked on that little piece of wood. The way his eyes would lit up when he got to an interesting part. And the disaster that was his hair.

Absentmindedly, you raised your hand to touch them. They were soft, but very thick due to their current state. You even tried to brush them a little with your hand, your fingertips getting stucked immediately.

"I thought hair were important to dwarves." You said, letting the strand slip from your fingers to fall back on his shoulder. Your eyes travelled up his mane, spotting every knot tangling them.

"Aye, they are." The agressive sound of his knife on the piece of wood he was carving was regular, almost soothing. His brows were furrowed, and all his focus was on his task. You smiled. It was a rare thing to see the prince this serious. It almost felt like an honor.

Scooting closer, you reached out again to tuck his hair behind his ear. "Why is it that you do not care for them, then?"

The words seemed to pique his interest as he turned his face to you. The object he was crafting now forgotten, dangling from his hand. And you were sure that it would fall to the ground at any given moment. Slightly, he tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. The gentle night wind blew, making his bangs wiggle a little. Perhaps the only part of his mane that was not a complete mess.

"I care for them." With that, he faced away from you so you were able to see the back of his head. He reached out and tapped on the clasp stuck in there, his blade too close to the area for your liking. "See, this is proof of what I say."

Shaking your head, you batted his hand away. "You can put a dress on an Orc if you desire so, but it will remain an Orc. This, is a bird's nest." You explained, gently grabbing a fistful of hair to prove your point. "And I am being very polite here because I have seen nests that looked way much better."

The shrug he gave you was very unusual, you thought. You had been expecting a comment, a snarl in the very least. But surely not silence as he went back to work, the dark locks freeing themselves from your grip.

The case was not lost. Really, all he needed was to comb his hair, and perhaps shorten it a little to get rid of the tougher knots. After that, they would look perfect, very flattering around his pretty face. Maybe he would even be able to wear braids too, like the others.

"I could help, you know." You offered with a smile. "Get them nice again."

"No, you cannot."

The words were sharp, almost as sharp as the knife he was holding. They could have upset you, had you been a few weeks back. Thankfully, you knew better than to get yourself worked up because of a simple no. Before you could question his negative response, he carried on. "Dwarves do not let anyone touch their hair besides their family, or their One. Anyone else is not allowed."

Dwarven customs. You had heard of those before. Not in details, and you would not be able to write a book on the matter. They were very different from those of humans and this was something new. For a moment, you thought to a few minutes back, of the offense you might have done to him. But you brushed the idea away. He would have told you if he had been offended in any way.

Biting your bottom lip, a grin curved your mouth upwards.

"But we are family. You are my brother in arms, aren't you? And a brother means family, doesn't it? Besides, if you keep neglecting them, you will have to chop all of it to get rid of the knots. You should accept my help."

Quiet, you watched as his brows furrowed again as he considered your words. You noticed how the gesture was slightly different from when he was focused.

When he looked back up at you, you were certain he was going to say no again. If he did so, you would drop the subject, for now. Yet, his nod surprised you.

"Aye, I accept. Only because if it is not you who does it, it will be Fíli. And he is not gentle with me when he combs my hair. Always hurts me and tells me to stop being a whiny dwarfling. This little piece of-"

With an exasperated sigh, you brought your palm to his mouth, silencing the curse that was to come.

Siblings.

It had been agreed that you would get to it when the company would stop to bathe and rest. It took you all a few days to find a nice place to allow yourselves such luxury. The camp was set in no time, as it was now a habit, and you watched as the dwarves, and your burglar friend, departed to get into the water.

Kíli, like the child he was, began to follow them nonchalantly, in an almost too innocent way. Quickly grabbing what you needed, for your own cleaning and his hair's, you caught up to him and hooked your arm with his.

"Now, do not run away from me. We are going to find a spot and get to work."

A long groan escaped his lips, making you chuckle. It reminded you of home, of your younger siblings, and for a short moment, you allowed yourself to miss it. To miss the comfort of your bed, and the play times with the children. You missed your mother greatly as well, and you wondered if, perhaps, you would be lucky enough to see her ever again.

You shook your head, chasing the pain away before it could reach your heart. Looking around, you noticed you had walked far enough from the others.

"Alright, this will do. Undress and get into the water. It will be easier." You commanded, getting rid of your own garments.

"Oy, you could at least offer me a nice meal first!" His laugh echoed around you, and despite the glare you shot him, you found yourself laughing as well.

The water felt nice against your skin. It was a bit cold at first but very pleasant once your body was used to it. You turned around and moved to get behind the prince.

"I am going to wash them first, all right?" You warned. When he nodded, you opened the small bottle that you were holding securely in your hand and poured some of the sweet scented oil into his hair. Now that they were wet, the knots felt rough under your fingers as you rubbed the entirety of his mane with the oil. You started from the top of his head, massaging a scalp with your fingers. The satisfied moan coming from him indicating that the experience was not that painful so far. You went to rub the hair behind his ears, and under them at the base of his neck. And finally, you spread the liquid on the rest of it.

"Get under the surface to rinse it." You ordered. While he did so, you swapped the tiny, and now half empty, bottle with a fancy looking comb.

"Why did you pack such things to travel?"

"I did not." You answered, getting back behind him. He was fairly tall for a dwarf, you thought, but it was not a bad thing. Not to you. You had heard the mockeries and teasing of others regarding his height and lack of beard. He was not fitting dwarves standards, that was a fact. But he was not unattractive. Fools were those who rejected the prince, in your opinion.

Stirring out of your reveries, you added "I took them before we left Rivendell. They had many of those. They will not miss the ones I kept." You brought the comb up, starting with the end of his hair. Carefully, not to hurt him, you worked on the knots.

"That is theft." He pointed out. While you were busy in his back, Kíli was rubbing his forearms with a bar of soap. You raised your eyebrow.

"And where do you think that thing you are using comes from?" You asked, working your way up with the comb. "Besides, Bilbo is a burglar and no one says a thing about it."

The dwarf reached behind him to tap your hip gently and you stepped back a little, allowing him to go under the water again to rinse the soap from his body. Soon enough, you were both back into place.

"It is not the same." He started again. "Bilbo is going to help us regain Erebor with his burglarities."

"Kíli, burglarities is not a word.". You had been right. With his hair being wet, it was easier to get them untangled. The comb was now sliding freely in his strands. Only the top remained and you would be done with the task.

"Aye, but it could be."

Shaking your head, you did not reply, focusing rather on not tugging too hard rather than his nonsense.

The last knot was a tough one and it took you a bit longer to win your fight against it. But you managed, and in the end, the finished result was stunning. His hair looked darker, glistening with water, and they looked even longer now.

"Here, I'm done."

With a soft smile, you watched your friend as he ran he fingers into his now really soft locks. He turned to face you, a smile similar to yours painted on his lips. When he held his hand out, you tilted your head, questioningly. The request that followed was soft, and innocent, yet, you felt your heart swelling.

"Now, may I take care of yours?"

[failedskillcheck]

Change with the Tides (Part 1/??)

A/N: Hiya! This is a little thing that I wanted to write, where the reader is a changeling wizard/rouge working for the Gentleman and joins the Mighty Nein! This takes place around 2x14-2x16. I’ll probably write it for the whole campaign.

You grew up in the various orphanages of Wildemont, starting in Port Damali, then Alfeild, Nogvurot, Trostenwald, Rexxentrum, and Deastock, eventually ending up in Zadash.

Due to your race, people found it hard to trust you. You didn’t really blame them, you had been picking pockets since you were seven. In Alfeild, you managed to steal a few spellbooks off of a traveller and began teaching yourself magic. Mostly Illusion spells, but you got your hand on some water-based magic as well.

When you grew out of the system, you were in Zadash, so you went about looking for the Gentleman. By the time you were 23, you had a secure career with him.

That is until a group barged into the underground bar, a strange collection of individuals calling themselves the Mighty Nein… but there were only seven.

From your seat at the bar, you couldn’t see them. You subtly put up your usual disguise, a human woman with brown hair and dark eyes, except you keep the hair a platinum blonde, the closest colour to your true form.

Cree noted one of the adventurers, a purple teifling she called Lucien. The man was a literal peacock. In fact, you’re pretty sure you saw a peacock tattoo creeping up his neck. You noted the others. An aloof half-orc, an energetic blue teifling, a massive woman who could probably crush you, a human woman in Cobalt Soul blue, and a human man in dirty brown clothing, sticking close to a small goblin. The goblin surprised you. You were all too aware of what people thought of monstrous races like hers.

The group went to the Gentlemans’ table, and you snickered, sipping on your drink. Then, Clive comes over and leans over the bar, “He needs you.” You sigh, down the rest of your drink, and walk over to the table, knowing that the drink will be paid off later.

“What’s up Boss?” You say as you reach the table, grabbing the chair closest to him. You’re his best employee. He knows that, everyone here knows that. There’s very little you can’t get away with.

“Ah, Y/N. Meet the Mighty Nein. You may recognize those two,” he gestures to the purple teifling and the monk, “as the two who murdered the High-Rictor. They’ve agreed to do me a favour, in exchange for me clearing their names.”

“So you’re the sorry sods he’s making go to that blasted facility,” you turned your head to the Gentleman, “Let me guess, I’m going with them?”

“You are the one who found it.”

“So when do we leave?” You asked, looking back at the group, who all seemed to be talking to one another. All of them except for the half-orc, who was instead watching you.

“Tomorrow, we need to prepare first.”

The Gentleman waved you off, and you went to your bed in the upper part of the Evening Nip, then preparing some things for your mission tomorrow. You went down to the bar, waiting for the Mighty Nein.

They finally arrived, and they were blindfolded and escorted to a dock, where you parted ways with you’re colleagues and rowed down the river with the Mighty Nein. You led them down the river, not talking and very aware that the half-orc and the monk were watching you. The Nein then decides to pull a race, and the goblin uses her ring of water walking. Until she hits a rock.

As she’s being pulled into the boat, you see a dark mantle drop, wrapping around her head, as well as the man and the half-orc. Luckily, you’re able to defeat them with almost no injuries.

“Those weren’t there before, I swear.” You say as the monk woman accuses you of trying to kill them. As she’s yelling at you, she stops and urges everyone to go faster due to rock monsters.

You drift downward before docking and sitting on the gravel beach as the large woman and blue teifling clear the rockslide.

“Mind telling us your name?” the half-orc asks, sitting beside you,

“Y/N,” you say, looking over, “And no, no last name. What about you?”

“I’m Fjord,” he says, then points to his party, “That there’s Beauregard and Jester. Then Mollymauk and Yasha. Those two are Caleb and Nott.” He pointed to where the goblin was braiding flowers into the man’s hair.

“Right. Apologies for the cave-in, when I first discovered this place, my group got attacked, one of them decide to destroy the wall.”

“Not a problem Y/N!” says Jester, clearing away the last rocks, “See, already cleared”

Mollymauk walks over and offers you his hand to helo you get up, as he does, he pulls you close to whisper in your ear, “Do you have any clue who I was?”

Was. Interesting choice of words, Mr. Mollymauk. “No, Cree seemed to though. So whatever little gang you two were in, I certainly wasn’t a member.”

“Something tells me there’s more to you than meets the eye Y/N, and I for one, am interested to find out what.”

Mollymauk back off at my shocked expression, walking away before saying over his shoulder, “And it’s just Molly, dear.”

We go down the stairs, through many trapped rooms (which Nott kept forgetting to check, leaving you to pick up her slack), Fjord almost falls down a pit, before finally reaching a large chamber.

The first thing you notice in the room is a teleportation circle, though it’s broken. You tell this to the Nein, which makes Caleb give you a quizzical look “And how do you know what a broken teleportation circle looks like?”

“I may be nothing more than a thief, but I am somewhat educated.”

You all begin searching around, and eventually, Caleb finds a journal written in Draconic. As you discuss it, the temperature drops and a skeletal form stretches from the group, ghastly skin stretched over its face.

“My secrets are yours.”

After that, you and the Nein launch into battle, and shockingly, you all fight very well together, working in sync.

You watched Jester sink to the ground, your own head pounding from the mental attacks. Molly charged at the undead Siff Dunder, and you shouted “Finish this Mollymauk!” as you ran towards Jester, giving her a healing potion you kept in your pocket.

The temperature drops again, cold energy emerging from a bookshelf. You can physically see Caleb remembering something, his eyes lighting. He mentions a physical form, like will o’ wisps and you swear under your breath as a series of attacks knocks Yasha unconscious. Jester is by her side instantly, healing her, before she and Beauregard pull down the bookshelf.

A large urn stands amongst pots and small cases, and Molly reaches through and destroys the urn. Siff, who was just attacking you and Fjord as you tried to distract it, disintegrates, and you both breathe a sigh of relief.

You all take a bit of time to collect yourself, and Fjord once again sits beside you, “Alright, I need to know. Why no last name?”

“Never got one.” You said, drinking from your waterskin and checking for any injuries.

“Orphan?”

“Yeah”

You notice a flash of something like sympathy on his face, and but in “I don’t need your pity. I’m perfectly fine without parents.”

“I was gonna say me too.”

You look at Fjord, “Right, sorry.”

Fjord looks like he’s about to ask another question, but you’re interrupted by Nott rubbing oil on herself and squeezing through the hole. Yasha just breaks the wall.

Why was that hot? You think to yourself

You see Nott bent over a case with her thieves tools out, trying to open a lock. Two minutes pass and you hear a gas leak and repeated coughing. “Poison,” she croaks, handing out the jewelry she found, even handing you a piece.

Beauregard searches through the urns, finding a spellbook, which she gives to Caleb. He traces some pattern in the air and finishes the spell, looking around the room. Your back is turned, but he gives you a look, nodding at Beau. You’re definitely hiding abilities other than the rouge ones you’ve displayed.

He points out a sword called the Magicians Judge, which Yasha takes. Molly, Jester, Fjord, and Beau leave to investigate further down the river, while you make camp with Caleb and Nott.

“You know magic,” Caleb says after a long stretch of silence. “How?”

A simple question, but you were reluctant to answer, Fjord already knows too much about you. “I stole some books off of a travelling wizard when I was 15. I was going to sell them, but they seemed interesting, so I taught myself.”

“How old are you?” Nott asked in between sips of her flask.

“23.” You answer, resting your head on your bag.

“What spells do you know?”

“Just a few illusions. Makes thievin’ easier.”

The interrogation seemed to stop then, and a few minutes later, the others return, and you all fall asleep.

You dream of being chased through Alfeild after stealing the books. You ran and ran, jumping on carriages until you deemed yourself far enough away. Late nights of learning magic, trying to get a hold on precious components with no money. Slowly learning.

When you woke up, you realized you shouldn’t have slept around strangers, your true form peeking through. You shift slowly back, keeping your cloak wrapped around you.

“Fjord, you have a little something right here.” Jester says, pointing out the dried blood on the corner of his mouth.”

“Oh, yeah, I grind my teeth,” Fjord explains blushing slightly as he wipes it. As he does you notice his tusks are shorter than other half-orcs you’ve seen.

Jester notices it too and starts questioning him about them. Fjord gets nervous and says “When I was younger, they used to make fun of my teeth, so I got rid of the target.”

“The kids at the orphanage?�� You ground out, all too familiar with asshole kids

“Yeah, it just kinda became a habit.”

“Did you ever kill them?” Yasha asked, looking very serious,

Nott quickly became concerned “Yasha. Have you ever killed a kid?”

No answer.

Immediately, the Mighty Nein promised that if he grew them out they’d support him. You had a moment then. These people hadn’t known each other long, minus a couple of obvious pairings, but you could tell they were good people. Certainly better than the Gentleman’s goons.

You all make your way up to the Gentleman’s lair, keeping quiet. You’re lost in thought, right up until you take the blindfold off of the Nein. You pull Fjord aside before he gets to the Gentleman.

“I still have to talk to the Boss about it, but would it be alright if I maybe tagged along with you guys for a bit? You seem like good people, and I think I need a change of company.”

“I’d have to talk to the other, but I don’t have a problem with it. You’re a good fighter Y/N, we could definitely use you.”

You nod and wait for the Mighty Nein to finish the meeting with the Gentleman before you sit down with him.

“Hey, Boss?” You say, waiting for permission to speak, “I was thinking, I might try travelling around a bit. I’ve never been good at staying in one place, you know my past. And those Migh-”

The Gentleman held up a hand, and you felt the entire bar fall silent. He was going to say no, you knew it.

“Y/N, you’ve been my best employee for the last several years. Your talents are unmatchable, and I don’t think I’ll ever find a replacement. But I get it. A change of pace is always needed. Go pack up your things, and don’t worry about your bar tab, I’ll pay.” He slid a pouch of gold across the table, “Here’s a little something to start you off.”

Holy shit.

“Thank you, sir.”

The Gentleman nodded, and you ran to pack your things. Fjord said something about the Leaky Tap, so you headed over. Right away, Jester threw her arms around you.

“Welcome to the Mighty Nein!”

[land-of-holly]

Rings of Power Episode 1 Liveblog

Okay, I'm going to watch the first two episodes again and take some notes. These will be a combination of the thoughts I remember from the first watch through as well as some stuff that comes up on a rewatch.

"Nothing is evil in the beginning" Nice quote to start off with, in a show all about Sauron.

These kids COULD all be her cousins yes?

Magic swan origami!

They hit you with "Elves can be assholes too!" damn quick, don't they.

GIT HIM GALADRIEL

I realize that the captions label this guy "Finrod" but I'm going to headcannon him as Aegnor until further notice, it fits better imo.

The inscrutible philosophizing in answer to a simple question is Finrod-like enough, though. Comes of never having real problems, I guess.

The lighting in the Valinor scenes is really pretty.

"We had no word for death" Feanor is SCREECHING. This is actually something even a lot of fan writers get wrong; the pre Valinor elves certainly lost loved ones!

And we took the boats to Middle earth and it was all fine and dandy for everyone

See, Aegnor could totally have died like that

"Left Middle Earth in ruin" on a shot that everyone was CERTAIN was of Alqualonde. Easter egg?

"we learned many words for death" you are Quendi you damn well MADE those words

I'm hype that the first word used to describe Sauron is "sorceror"

Vampire Finrod confirmed! In all honesty, the "Sauron symbol" seems a little heavy handed of a way to give this plot a visual through line.

Aw, Galadriel's poor second in command. I hope he's having a nice time in Valinor.

He's still putting his concerns in unnecessarily poetic terms lol.

My spouse has a point-- you NEVER assume that a guy literally known as the Necormancer is really dead until you have seen a body and disintegrated it.

This place in Forodwaith is never NAMED Utumno but we can imagine.

I would honestly expect the Evil to extinguish light before warmth, but that wouldn't lead to very good cinematography.

Yeah! Punch a wall!

The teleportation accident orc is really freaky.

See, I know you can do better than a random rune as a Sauron symbol. I could do better.

"A trail for orcs to follow"? That's quite an assumption, considering you've only seen it once before.

Galadriel is that boss who's like "we're all family here" ^_^ and then asks you to work 30 hours of unpaid overtime.

They got guys still speaking Quenya well into the second age? I guess when you are getting attacked by a snow troll you are allowed to revert to your mother tongue

Okay, Galadriel's stone cold equanimity when she fights is pretty cool to watch

MUTINY!!!!

Ah the anvil. Well know symbol of evil.

And after all that, the antler guys are just random no names. Bluh, trailer shots.

They're not even out of earshot, guys, maybe wait before you pop out of the grass?

I do like their hidden village, being good at hiding from Big Folk is one of the core Hobbit competencies.

I love the Harfoots' ideographic/pictographic writing!

Not super thrilled with Poppy's intro as the fat best friend being stuck in a gate+falling in mud, I'm giving her treatment a lot of scrutiny.

Mmm, fresh blackberries

Awww, aspiring poet Elrond sitting in a tree with a book os a pretty good introduction

Okay, "Elf lords only" teaches us NOTHING about the actual political structure of Lindon or Elrond's place in it, and is of course completely incoherent with Elrond's canon heritage, and it doesn't even seem to faze Elrond much??? Why????

I actually like the ear prosthetics on the Elves, they look pretty neat

Elrond's just looking for a good story out of Galadriel.

Galadriel not really taking orders from Gil Galad is actually....extremely in character as far as how I imagine her.

At this point my predicted probability of whether Elanor's going to have her name explained ever is dropping steadily.

Elrond as Gil Galad's Alexander Hamilton is pretty great.

Poor Gil Galad, Galadriel must have been making his life harder for CENTURIES

I can't really say anything about Gil Galad apparently having authority to send people to Valinor that hasn't already been said. It makes no sense to anyone who understands how this works. But in context it's a brutally incisive political move against Galadriel.

I assume the memorial carvings don't hurt the trees.

Yeah, it does seem weird that they give no indication that going west brings you NEARER to your departed loved ones.

Galadriel have you considered that your inner turmoil is a you problem?

Galadriel his entire family got ripped away from him too, please don't play oppression olympics with him!

Galadriel has a point that leaving won't necessarily fix her if the problem is in her heart. It'll sure make Gil Galad's life easier, though.

Elrond promising to continue her fight isn't a bad move, and I do think he means it, even if he considers the probability low that he'll have to.

Hitting Galadriel's refusal to go West so hard is not a bad theme to give a lot of weight to, all things considered

I expected to seem more whole communities of color than I'm actually seeing, it's disappointing.

Arondir!

Did people use Knife ear as a slur for elves before Dragon Age?

I like how Arondir stops anyone from starting a fight on his behalf.

Something about Bronwyn's costume really bugs me. I realize it's the South and it's warm and everything, but her bare shoulders and cleavage still look...sloppy, almost, like she's missing an underlayer or something. Like, it's almost ancient Greek inspired but not quite, and the result looks just...unfinished.

Hey, Idril and Tuor did not die....that we know of. Still appreciated to point out that this romance is not a good idea

So, it seems Arondir is not Silvan or Avari, at least not politically. He works directly for Gil Galad. How do we feel about that?

Elf racism! I believe it! Let's really dig down into this!

Oh gross, that cow's got something way worse than mastitis

Bronwyn why are you going with him???

DON'T TALK ABOUT A MAN'S MUM LIKE THAT

:o The Sword of Evil!

Are the elves on the ship to Valinor just expected to stand at attention the entire time?

So Gil Galad's plan was to do nothing and expect Sauron to just chill as long as they didn't provoke him??

"i've admired his artistry since I was a child" now isn't THAT a loaded sentence if you know Elrond's history.

You can't just insult a woman's family like that, Arondir, I'd be upset too.

The armor removal ceremony was pretty cool, very symbolic. Who are these veiled maidens serving the soldiers though? Do they work for Cirdan? Do they just send a few along every time who are ready to leave? Who is driving this boat, anyway?

Birbs! Manwe says hello!

Jumping off the ship to Valinor is some crackfic shit, WTF?? Are we dealing with Hobbit movie senses of distance here, or does she actually expect this to work? Was she just hoping Ulmo would help a girl out?

Why does she need to take his hand? Is she gonna get left behind otherwise?

So Gil Galad is definitely sending someone to check out that gnarly meteor that just flew overhead, right?

Flaming eye symbology ahoy!

[enigma-im]

Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

Rating: Teen Relationship: Space Orc x F!Human Warnings: angst, avoidance, emotional constipation, repression, fluff, space orc

Word Count: 3812

insecurities are like another person in a relationship, whispering in the other’s ears till something happens.

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

Soulmates are something to rejoice over. Which is understandable, it's the person who is perfect for you. How could anything go wrong? It's your other half, your partner in crime, your true paring. Everyone believed it was a simple affair, you meet and then happily ever after. It was the basics until we found out there was life outside of earth, then things got a bit more complicated. New cultures to take into account along with physiology.

Things aren't as straight forward after that.

When I was a kid I use to fantasize about my soulmate. Would they be tall, short, fat, skinny? What kind of music do they like, and will they also eat their sandwiches without the crust? I adored the idea of having a new best friend to hang with. As I got older the idea never really left, morphing more into adult-type thinking. It isn't till I could translate my mark did I begin to have doubts.

It was an off chance that I happened to see the language my soulmate spoke, a weird situation really. I was fumbling about online and I saw it, just a new article that had a picture of the written language. It as scraggly and difficult to read, like a doctor's handwriting. With further research, I found exactly what species my mate was likely to be.

Orc.

I was excited at the time, I figured it out. My mate was to be an Orc, large creature with mostly human parts. To better prepare I did some more digging, looking up anything I could that wasn't video game lore. It was all so new and surprising. I had a direction now, an image to apply to my fantasies.

Since then I have studied extensively on Orc culture. Learning the ins and outs of how they live, socialize, idolize, and talk. It was all so engaging and rich in lore. It felt like I was getting to know my mate already.

The more I researched I soon had an inching doubt. It started off small, basic insecurities. As I read about their courting did I really give it some thought.

Orcs value strength in their culture. A strong mate is heavily sought after. If a soulmate wasn't of great value then they are known to cast them aside. The idea puts lead in my stomach. I'm not strong, or large like their women. I'm tall but I fit more in the string bean category more than anything. I could never be what a typical orc would want.

As I spiraled in these thoughts one thing became clear. I will not be putting myself through that humiliation. I can't stand the thought of being viewed so lowly by someone who is supposed to be my perfect match. To be laughed at by them or be a dirty secret will kill me inside. I can't be an embarrassment, I refuse.

Thereafter I ignored my mark, keeping occupied in school and work. A little while later it became easy to avoid thoughts about him. It was like I never had a soulmate.

It wasn’t as freeing as I thought it would be.

After college I jump into my career, climbing the corporate ladder quickly. It's easy enough when you are married to your work. That even the thought of free time brings anxiety and stress. After a few years, I am exactly where I want to be. Traveling the world meeting new important people.

I have been everywhere and met every type of person. Orcs being one of those types of people. When I first saw one the excitement peaked its head, only for a moment. Then anxiety took over. What if it's him? The orc said his first words to me and the sigh of relief and disappointment was alarming. A few more introduction after that and the rising emotions settled. It was back to normal after that. Pretending that 'special' someone didn't exist.

Years passed and nothing happened. I didn't meet him or even get a trail. My soul felt numb, everything felt numb. It's hardly noticeable after so long, just a hole I've dealt with. I tried dating to fill the void but no one wants to date outside their partner. Anyone who does has lost their loved one already, wanting to also fill the void. Once they find out mine is still out there they break off quickly. So I focus on my career, it's all I have.

In my early 30s, I'm working in Germany. A lovely place but I always preferred the isles of Scotland, specifically Skye. At the embassy passing around some documents, I bump shoulders with an imposing figure. He is quite tall and buff, the poster child of orcs if I've ever seen one. He twists around, apologizing for the shoulder check.

"Sorry, I didn't see you there. Shouldn't have had my focus too far in the clouds while walking a crowded room," he smiles curtly.

I stare blank face at him, all primary functions failing. I can hear- feel- my heart beating against my chest. Everything is cold, my fingers numb but tingly. My vision tunnels and my brain just screams one thing. Run.

Rudely I turn and quickly walk away, giving no further reaction or words to my mat- to the stranger. I don't have a direction as I make it out the nearest door. I close it swiftly behind me, leaning against it. Sliding down to the floor I ball up. Pressing my knees to my chest and begin crying. Years of repression and closeting emotions are now boiling over. The sadness I ignored, convincing myself that they do not exist, is all on the surface.

I hiccup, stubbornly wiping away tears on the floor of a bathroom. All I can think is,

Fuck.

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

I have to say I've gotten good at not only avoiding emotions but people too. A week and a half of only catching glimpses of the orc. Which is a lot of glimpses, he is out and about often. It helps I'm stuck in my office for the time, only leaving for lunch. Still, he is always around when I'm out.

After I can pretend I've forgotten about him does he show up in my office. Knocking on my door a little after lunch. Too focused on work I don't hear him come in. I look up from my desk and choke.

"Hello again," he smiles," I have a folder for you, Reggie asked if I could bring it by."

"uh," I stare. My fingers grip the pen roughly, my fist almost shaking with the tension. The only thought running through my head now is, 'don't say anything'. If I talk then he will know. Then he will reject me. Then I can't go on pretending.

"You alright," he flicks the folder against his chest," didn't mean to startle you or anything. I know orcs can be kind of intimidating." I almost snort at the irony of that statement. Very intimidating indeed.

Instead of answering I hold out my hand for the folder, my other still white gripping the pen. He quickly crosses the room, handing me the folder before walking back to the door. With a curt wave, he is gone.

Once the door clicks into place I take in a greedy breath, slamming my head into my crossed arms. I groan, mumbling into my fist. My brain is muddled and my heart conflicted. I yearn to follow him but I also crave to leave back to the states. But one thought is resting quietly in the back of my head.

He looks good in those pants.

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

This idiot is now making it damn hard to avoid him. It's like he has made it his mission to get me to talk. Intercepting my way to my office in the mornings, meeting me at lunch, or delivering things to my office. He is determined, I'll give him that.

I'm almost running out of excuses. It's hard to make excuses without talking. I'm almost convinced he thinks I'm mute. Which would have been a grand way out if it wasn't for my coworkers plotting against me. As I talk with them they try to bring him into the conversation, promptly shutting me up.

I learn at some point his name is Garson. When I first heard I actually blushed, like a school girl! It was just his name and he didn't even say it. I will never understand the inner workings of soulmates but Garson always makes my controlled emotions run rapid.

As I sit in my office, absentmindedly writing my door opens. I don't look up, lost in thought for the hundredth time today.

"Hey," that deep -sexy- voice says. I sigh, shoulders slumping. I glance ahead, annoyed, and flustered. Garson waves shyly, holding up another folder. At this point, he has become my special delivery man. "From Vanya," he sets the file down," she asked I bring it on account of her bum leg. I told her it would be a bad idea to play soccer with her teens." his tense chuckle makes my heart throb. I want to ease his anxiety, but I can't. I just shrug, still writing.

He sighs, walking back out the door. The click echoed around the room and I find myself slamming my head on the desk again.

"Fuck," I groan, pounding my fist on the folder.

As I remind myself for the hundredth time why I'm doing this I notice my notes. I shift the paper and grimace at what I wrote.

Garson. Garson. Garson.

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

I can't fucking take it! He is more determined than I am stubborn. Watching him find more excuses to come to my office is almost impressive in its own right. He has upgraded from delivery boy to a food service. At some point he has found out my favorite snacks and drinks.

He interrupts me at the door, handing me a coffee while ranting about his night. As I ignore him, feeling like the biggest idjit, other coworkers join in. the number of dirty looks I get doesn't outweigh the appreciation I have for them talking to him. I feel like complete garbage when I don't respond to him, letting him look like a fool talking to someone who clearly doesn't want to talk. Thank the kindness of others.

Around lunch he pops in for a chat, offering a spot next to him in the cafeteria. I shake my head, pretending to be too busy to interact with him. Every time he offers and I decline he leaves so dejected. It's so heartbreaking to see him like that.

Day after day he tries his damndest to make friends with me. I cannot fathom this type of devotion to someone he doesn't know. I'm almost tempted to think he knows but its impossible. He is just too friendly for his own good.

Some coworkers have cornered me to ask what is up, some more confrontational than others. Some are casual in their attempts, asking simply why I'm so mean to the orc. Others are personally offended for him, being passive-aggressive to the point that I ask them to take his attention off me if they are so angry. Some do, which I'm grateful for. But he isn't swayed so easily.

I sit in my office, alone, contemplating my choices. I can't keep dealing with this. The heartbreak I feel rejecting him is as bad as him rejecting me. I'm doing what I was afraid of him doing, worse is he doesn't even know.

I have to leave.

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

It was weak, I'll admit that. Asking for a transfer was probably the easiest way out. I know I should just talk to him, let him have a choice in this, but I can't. he is a sweet guy, everyone knows that, but he is still an orc. He deserves someone strong and proud as his kind is. It's impossible for me to be that.

As I wallow on my last week of work I clean up my drawers to distract myself. I sort through some papers when the door bangs open. The knob slams against the wall, bouncing away towards that alluring figure. Garson walks in, grabbing the door and closing it behind him. His sneer is alarming, along with his clenched fist.

"You're leaving," he shouts," are you kidding me?" he walks closer to the desk, turning to pace the length of the room. " I tried, I thought maybe it's because I'm an orc and you were scared of me. I understand that, humans are super sensitive that way. But no! I was nice, patient, and doing everything I could to be nonthreatening. Yet that didn't help did it? It seems like nothing was going to fix that. So my question should really be why is my soulmate running from me?" I gasp, gawking at him. He stops his pacing, glaring down at me with crossed arms. He shrugs," well? Why are you running from me?"

I can't answer, shocked and startled by this admission. He doesn't allow me the time to stew on the question. He shoots forwards, slamming his hands on the desk. I jump.

"Why are you running from me," he chokes on a sob," It's been killing me to give you time. To watch you every day and not be able to hold you. If you want to leave, then fine. I won't stop you. I just want to know where I went wrong, what did I do? What could I have done? Was I always going to be not enough for you? Well?"

I bolt up at his words," I was scared! I was fucking scared, ok?" we both startle at my outburst. His self-deprecating look mixed with his attempt at a sneer melt off his face. I sigh, "I didn't want to be rejected, I couldn't handle that kind of pain." I drop my head in defeat.

Garson ducks down onto his knees, catching my eyes. "Why did you assume I would reject you," he asks.

"because you’re an orc and I'm not," I answer.

He scoffs," and you're a human and I'm not. Do you really see that as being a huge problem?"

"Yes," I slap the desk," of course it's going to be a problem. I'm not strong or proud, I'm weak and antisocial. I cry every time I watch sad dog movies. I can't lift more than half my body weight. I also don't have anything worthy for you. I'm an ordinary human while you are part of a devoted species. I am not worthy."

Garson just stares after my outburst. He looks between my eyes then gives me a once over. He huffs, standing straight. He combs his fingers through his long hair, turning away with a laugh.

"You have to be kidding me," he laughs again. His chuckles turn into full-blown laughter till he is lounging against the door.

"What's so funny," I snap. His laughs trail off as he watches me. When he doesn't answer, I sit, arms crossed and lip sneered.

"Sorry," he looks to his feet," it's just ironic."

"Yea, how so?"

I watch him straighten from the wall and casually flop into one of the chairs in front of my desk. Everything is quiet as he collects his thoughts. I faintly hear the sound of shuffling outside my door. No doubt some people heard the shouting.

"When I first found out what species my soulmate was I was excited. I had a direction now, I felt closer to you. I was so excited I told everyone I could. People of my clan held their tongues at my joy, only giving pitiful looks but no words. I never noticed it. It's when my parents sat me down to explain did I get it," he shifts in his chair," 'humans are scared of us' my mom said. 'they are weak' my dad said. I became torn between the fear of hurting you and the fear of you not wanting me because you'd think I'd hurt you.

"When I finally read what your words said I let their words alter me. instead of rejecting the idea of you I sent out to change. I got jobs that interacted with humans and kept myself small. I'm not a threat, I never was. I took every chance to chat with humans, to get used to them. It was all in preparation for you. I was- am- scared of you." he meets my eyes, his so full of fear. My heart patters, the view of vulnerability shaking me to the core.

"y-you were scared of me," I point to myself. The idea is laughable. "So we are a bunch of idiots too worried about each other's feelings to just ask straight out what we actually felt. That is funny," I chuckle. I huff, sitting back in my seat.

The awkward silence should be stifling but we are captured in our thoughts. It's amazing in its irony that he was also the one scared. I feel relieved and foolish all at once.

"so," he bounces his fingers on his thigh," what now?" I shift in my seat, also curious about our direction.

"depends," I nibble on my lip," do you want me despite everything?" the question lingers in the air for me. The answer I've dreaded my entire life. The choice that decides my happiness.

"Despite everything," he ponders," you ignore me for weeks, avoiding any interaction. Not talking to me less you wish to reveal yourself, and requesting a transfer. Despite all that, despite the ignorance and stubbornness, I want you." the satisfaction that flows through me is startling. My hand shakes from the previous fear and now incomparable joy.

"I never thought I would hear those words," I sigh," thank fuck."

He stands from his chair, walking over the side of my desk. "So you want me too? Despite everything," he crouches down. I grab at his face, finally allowing myself the chance to admire his handsome face. His long tusk and pierced lip. His dark green eyes and even darker green skin. He is so beautiful.

I answer him by leaning forward and capturing his lips. Pressing fiercely against him, showing him my cyclone of emotions. He returns it in full, shedding his insecurities to just hold me.

"I'm sorry," I mumble against him.

"it's ok, I'm sorry too," he kisses me again. He cards his fingers through my hair, petting down its length. I don't want to leave this moment, it filling the hole that sat too long in my heart. Though one question makes me part.

"How did you know," I ask. He traces his nose over mine with a hum.

"How did I know what," he asks.

"How did you know I was your soulmate, I didn’t say anything," I clarify. Garson answers by leaning down to my neck and taking a large inhale.

"Fresh baked cookies and honey milk," he kisses my cheek," only my soulmate can smell so good."

I laugh," you can smell your soulmate?"

"of course, all orcs can. Do humans not have this," he leans back. I shake my head, taking the time to lean in and smell him.

"pine tree and blueberries," I ponder," no, pine tree and strawberries."

"pine tree and fruit?"

"I guess so," I shrug, grinning like an idiot. He smiles with me, leaning back in for another heart stopping kiss.

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

After the week is over I transfer back to the states. The distance is aching, the void opening as he isn't there to fix it. I call him every night, regretting more than anything signing those papers. I belong right next to Garson in Germany. Though I can see now that I deserve to deal with the repercussions of my actions. Still, it sucks.

A month in I feel as empty as I did before he showed up. The daily calls help but seeing him would be better. My work suffers as a result, to the point that I consider taking vacation time to visit him.

Soon enough I do just that, putting in a week-long vacation request. I forgo telling Garson of my visit, wanting to surprise him. It's exciting to be able to this with someone. I always watch couples on tv surprising each other like this. It's nice to feel so normal.

The night before my flight I start packing. As I collect my clothes I hear a knock at the door. Tossing the items down I go over and answer. I throw open the door expecting some salesman but I'm greeted to a hulking figure.

"Garson!" I jump him with a hug. I pepper his face with kisses, too caught up in the growing affection.

"Hey, nice to see you too," he laughs, holding me close. He walks in, shutting the door behind himself as he goes into my living room. He sets us both on the couch, leaning down for a kiss.

"What are you doing here," I ask surprised.

"What, can't come visit my mate?"

"Oh shush, you know that's not what I meant. I'm asking because I was just getting ready to visit," I point towards my room," I'm in the middle of packing actually."

"really," he strokes my thigh," I guess great minds think alike."

"I guess they do," I smile. Having him here is like a weight being lifted off my shoulders. I underestimated his importance until now.

We can't help but make up for lost time, making out like a bunch of teenagers on the couch till we make it to the bedroom. Pushing the luggage and clothes off the bed we make love for the first time. When he first pushes in it's like a puzzle finally coming together. I can't believe I was going to deny myself this, even with the chance of denial this is too great of a reward.

We lay in bed, me resting against his broad chest and him petting my head. We bask in the afterglow and silence, overjoyed with each other's company.

"I got some news," he mumbles, breaking the quiet. I hum, nuzzling into his chest. "I got transferred here," he answers.

I snap straight, looking down at him, "You're going to work with me?"

"yea," he smiles," it's exciting, I've never been to the states before."

"really? It's not much but now that you’re here perhaps it is," I cup his jaw, stealing a kiss while my excitement is hot.

"you flirt," he teases," I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," I mumble against his lips.

We fall asleep that night, curious but excited about our future.

I'm glad things worked out despite our ignorance. How could anyone deny their mate?

----------------------- 

I just.... I just love orcs so much. soulmate stories ain’t so bad either.

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main Blog

[abigailadams1788]

Humans are Space Orcs: DON’T EAT THAT!!

So I’ve been obsessed with the whole “Humans Are Space Orcs” thing for a while but I haven’t had an idea to add to it until tonight. I don’t know if this has been done before but here’s what happened: I was texting my brother and he mentioned watching this video of a guy who was eating his leftovers in the styrofoam to-go container. Like, eating it styrofoam and all.

You’re probably like “You idiot don’t eat that!” and my next thought was “What if an alien reacted to that?”

Cause here’s the thing: we’ve all seen the posts of humans eating anything. We consume caffeine by the gallon in the mornings just to stay awake. We eat chocolate by the pound cause it tastes good and lifts our mood (don’t act like you didn’t gorge on that chocolate pie/cake at Thanksgiving. We all know you snuck that third piece when no one was looking.) We consume fruits that have cyanide-filled seeds. Hell pineapple is toxic if it’s unripe but we put it on pizza and salads anyways. It’ll burn our tongue anyways but we still eat it.

So naturally, aliens are in this mode of “Humans can eat just about anything. They come from this major Deathworld; why wouldn’t they eat everything? They already said “Fuck you” to the natural order of predation. Might as well have an appetite to facilitate that.” So just imagine this:

Xa’var shuffled into the mess hall after a long what xis human counterparts would say day. Xa’var had been up since the first shift and was just now getting something to eat. It wasn’t easy, being the liaison for xis’ council and the humans, but it was a job Xa’var took pride in.

Laughter caught Xa’var’s attention. The humans that xe had come to consider friends were hunched over a holo-device, laughing at whatever they were watching. Curiosity arose in Xa’var’s mind. It was always a fortuitous occasion to learn more about xis’ counterparts. It could even be a new report to make to add to the “How To Deal With Humans 101″ handbook. Xa’var used xis main tentacles to walk over to the humans’ table.

“Hello, Human Rachel. Hello, Human Todd. Might I inquire as to what it is you are watching?”

“Oh, Xa’var! Didn’t see you come in.” Rachel bared- smiled- there were still many things to get used to about the behaviors of humans- at xim and moved over so Xa’var could lean down comfortably. “Todd was showing me this video of this idiot eating his leftovers with his to-go box.”

Xa’var leaned down and focused one of his eyes on the holo-device while the other watched the reactions of the humans. On the screen, one human male was eating a white contraption that appeared to have rations in it. Other humans were telling him to cease the action, but he seemed to not believe them. Todd and Rachel seemed to be very amused, though the humor was lost on Xa’var.

“I am confused.” Todd wiped his eyes- note to add to the handbook: humans cry when laughing.- and looked up at Xa’var. “What is the human doing wrong?”

“Dude.” Rachel snorted, seemingly trying to not laugh. “You don’t eat styrofoam. Everyone knows that.”

Xa’var was astounded. He had believed that humans could eat anything.

Xa’var remembered when someone had accidentally spilled another’s ration on xim. The result was an extended stay in the medical wing because the acids in the foods had almost burned through xis carapace. 

When Human Rachel came to check on xim and asked to see the rations, they were brought in for her inspection. To Xa’var’s horror, after smelling the rations, Rachel had taken a rather large helping and eaten it.

Instead of immediately convulsing and screaming in pain, as what had happened with Xa’var, Rachel simply moved her shoulders in a movement that Xa’var recognized as a shrug and said: “Could’ve used a little more spice.”  When Xa’var had inquired as to how she could handle the acidity of the food, she had laughed and commented that her mother- the human term for egg-layer, since apparently humans weren’t hatched- used to make something called a curry that burned when one ate it. Xa’var had made a note that night to his council to avoid the human food known as curry at all costs.

“You... you mean humans can’t eat everything?” Xa’var knew it was not the most tactful approach, but the fact that the man was being seen as an apparent imbecile for eating his food container seemed to Xa’var to be a type of prank. Surely they weren’t serious about it?

Both Human Rachel and Human Todd lifted the hair above their eyes- eyebrows, Xa’var mentally corrected- in surprise. “Who told you we could?” Todd asked.

“I...” Xa’var felt xis skin start to flush with embarrassment. “It has been believed for a long time that humans can eat anything.”

“Well...” Human Todd leaned back in his chair. “I mean, we technically can eat anything, but there are things we shouldn’t. Does that make sense?”

“I am afraid it does not. Could you please elaborate?” Hunger temporarily forgotten, Xa’var lowered into a neighboring chair, tucking his tentacles under xis carapace to facilitate a comfortable position; new information was always worth giving one’s full attention.

“So here’s the thing: our stomach contains something called hydrochloric acid, which is largely responsible for breaking down everything we eat and converting it into energy, basic nutrients, proteins, you get the idea.” Xa’var nodded along, a habit xe picked up from xis human counterparts as a body language that communicates understanding. “Now we humans measure the acidity level of acids on what we call a ph scale. It runs 1 to 14. 7 is neutral, with numbers above it being alkaline in nature and numbers below 7 running acidic. The lower the number it is, the more acidic it is. 6 is more acidic than 7, 5 more than 6, and so on.”

“I see, I see.” Xa’var nodded again, enraptured now. Xe had been educated on the different scales humans use to measure things, so xe knew what a ph scale. Though, for xis people, 7 was actually capable of causing severe burns. A 4 could sear through a warrior’s carapace with ease, while anything less than a 3 was guaranteed death. 

“So where does a human’s acid level fall?” In the back of Xa’var’s second brain, the knowledge that could come from this could be useful in avoiding injury should a human’s internal organs were exposed during a battle. Given a human’s resilience, xe wouldn’t be surprised if that happened at some point and the human continued to fight.

“It depends,” Rachel spoke now. “If someone hasn’t eaten in a while, the acid in their stomach might level out at about a 4, but while they’re eating it’ll go up to a 2 or even a 1.” Xa’var felt xis eyestalks retract slightly in horror. “Lemon juice is typically considered a 2, so if that helps put in perspective.”

“Y-yes. But I am still confused as to what you meant by “shouldn’t eat”.” Xa’var cleared xis throat, trying to not let the rising horror be exposed. Levels out at a 4?!? Rises to a 1 while they were eating!?! A 1 would melt the carapace and internal organs of his people with ease and continue destroying until it was neutralized, but this happened as a natural occurrence within a human’s stomach?? Multiple times a day!?!

“Ah, yeah. Well, I guess it’s kind of like what happened with you a couple weeks ago.” Rachel shrugged, crossing her arms. Xa’var recognized the body language as bored, not hostile. It was a fine nuance, but one xe was proud xe could spot the difference in. “Humans can eat virtually anything cause our stomach is so acidic it will kill virtually any virus or bacteria that enter with our food on contact, with very few exceptions. Even then we can fight through most illnesses and poisonings as long as we keep our immune system up.

“That said, there are some things we just shouldn’t eat because it provides no nutritional value to us. Styrofoam is one of those things. Glass, plastic, rubber, paper,” Rachel shrugged again. “We can eat all of those things, as evidenced by people who do, but we shouldn’t because they don’t provide the nutrition our body needs.”

“So, what you are saying is that, while humans are perfectly capable of consuming anything, but chose to not because of nutrition concerns?” Xa’var felt the inquiry sounded more absurd spoken than it did in xis head. To xis surprise, Human Todd and Human Rachel nodded.

“Pretty much. We can sometimes get what we call “acid reflux”, which is when the acid in our stomach rises into our esophagus. This is caused by allergies or a malfunction of the internal blocker we have to prevent that from happening, but it’s rare. Usually it’s caused when we eat something that doesn’t sit well with us and causes an imbalance in our stomach acid.” Human Todd confirmed.

“And this is not dangerous?”

“Oh no, it definitely can be.” Rachel commented far too nonchalantly for Xa’var’s comfort. “Usually it’s just uncomfortable, but it does burn like a bitch. It’s why we start crying whenever we throw up. Our esophagus doesn’t have the natural lining our stomach does to protect it from the acids, so the acids literally burn away our throat. Some people have burned a hole in their throat because of acid reflux. Most of the time though that can be fixed with a simple dietary change, though some people have to take medicine to help balance out their ph levels.”

Xa’var’s brains were reeling. Not only was the initial belief confirmed (humans can indeed eat anything), but they were capable of doing so because their internal organs contained an acid strong enough to melt his carapace! It could even burn the humans’ own throats but they treated it like it was nothing!

“Are you alright, Xa’var?” Xa’var blinked. Rachel was staring at xim with an expression xe recognized as concern. “You’re white.” Looking down, Xa’var realized xe was indeed white; xis people’s skin changed color based on emotions. Apparently, the horror xe felt was enough to cause xis body to involuntarily react and try to camouflage xim with the surrounding tables and chairs.

“Y-yes. I am fine, Human Rachel.”

“You sure? Have you eaten anything today?”

“I, have not. I will go do so now. Thank you for telling me this information.”

Rachel and Todd watched as Xa’var maneuvered out of the mess. Despite xis words, xe was going the opposite way of the food. “What’s his problem?” Rachel asked.

“I dunno. Maybe a long shift?”

“Maybe.”

Little did they know that Xa’var was heading to xis quarters to not only update the “How To Deal With Humans 101″ manual, xe was also going to send a very important message to his council about the truth of a human’s terrifying ability to eat anything.

Follow my writing Tumblr @the-red-dragon-queen for any and all new writing posts!!

[cockasinthebird]

hi i just read your tags on the arm wrestling thing and???? please?? write that???? please i need it i might actually start crying rn but i am hungover so lets blame it on that ily

Hiiii! Before you even sent this ask I was thinking about it hahahahaha, aaaaand I hope this is satisfactory work!

Tagging @thinger-strang because they seemed quite interested as well~

Hope you feel better soon bby, ily2!!! Drink plenty of water!

-

Hand in hand, elbows firm on the dining table, gazes locked unblinkingly so, they’re connected tightly this late afternoon.

It was a usual Saturday at first - the gang was in the middle of their intense DnD session; a hobby they decided to move to the Harrington mansion because here there’s no parents to interrupt and, frankly, better snacks.

A decision paired well with how Billy has been helping Steve out with his tower of homework once a week for the last half a year or so, and Max is elated because it means she doesn’t need to get a dorky bike when she can just hitch a ride with her step-brother.

Billy and Steve were, metaphorically, elbow deep in English literature, homework on Edgar Allan Poe and the “romantic era” of poetry, which to Billy isn’t exactly something he wants to study so closely with the one guy he can’t ever stop thinking about; can’t ever have.

So when the little brats shouts for them, interrupting whatever Steve was asking about, gesturing with those hands, hair smelling so fucking good of expensive shampoo- what is that? Lavender?

The six of them trot into the dining room, Max looking horribly exasperated, arms crossed and rolling her eyes as Will and Dustin fight about something way too loudly.

“Hey!” Billy shouts but they don’t stop. “Hey!” Louder this time and it visibly shakes poor Will. “What is it?” 

“Well, we were on our way to fight this dragon, ordered by lord-” Mike starts explaining but stops promptly as Billy raises his hand up.

“The short version, we’re kinda in the middle of something here.” Billy gestures to the incomprehensible mess of papers and books in front of him and Steve, who looks relieved at the chance of a break.

“So we’re in a tavern” Mike tries again, but-

“This better be quick, Wheeler, or you’ll have to explain to your mom how your bike got bent.”

“Billy,” Max groans with a hard stare, after all, he had agreed to be nice.

Both to her and to Steve.

“We need you guys to arm wrestle!” Mike spits out and looks between the vastly stronger, older guys.

And at that Billy can’t help but grin all crooked with exposed teeth. See that’s something he can get behind; a chance to show off and prove he’s still the King, even if he and Steve have found something akin to friendship after their truce.

“Well why didn’t you just say so,” Billy almost chuckles. He places an arm across the back of Steve’s chair and turns to look at him. “What’d you say, princess?”

Steve looks more than a bit intimidated, eyeing Billy’s arms, chest, grin, and then Dustin and the rest. “What’s at stake?”

“Oh, we’re at this tavern, and Max and Lucas have each bet on these two strong orcs sitting and doing an arm wrestle in the middle of a roaring crowd, and we need you guys to decide who wins! For it to be fair,” Dustin says, shockingly without any interruption from Billy, and smiles oh so wide that Steve even asked.

“Okay, sure,” Steve doesn’t sound very convincing, but he shakes his head and stands up to walk to the other side of the table.

“But it’s not fair!” Max shakes her head. “Billy is clearly going to win, so how do we decide which of the two orcs he is?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Steve’s voice a slight bit shaky, perhaps because everyone knows he’ll lose, even himself.

Billy just sticks out his tongue at him and rumbles forth a chuckle. Oh he is going to destroy Steve, no doubt about it. He’s been looking at those arms, fought him before even, and while he’s not the worst fighter Billy’s been up against, he’s far from the best.

“How about I say the names and they decide which one they’ll be? That way they don’t know who bet on who, and you guys won’t have a say in it?” Will asks as he settles into the chair next to Steve, ready to judge the show of strength.

“Genius!” Lucas proclaims and sits down on the other side of Steve.

Max simply scoffs and goes to stand next to Billy.

“We have Urzok the Infernal, and Dhakk the Mighty,” Will offers up and looks between Steve and Billy,

“I’ll take Dhakk the Mighty,” Billy drawls out and wags his tongue at Steve, whose Adam’s apple bobs visibly as he swallows hard.

“Guess I’m Ur… Urok?”

“Urzok,” Will says with a far too serious tone, as if it actually matters.

And their hands clasp together atop the sea of notes. Strong, firm, warm, soft. Does Steve use lotion on his hands? Billy teasingly squeezes the other’s hand a bit tighter for a short moment, a little signal of “You’re going down, pretty boy.”

But for some reason that Billy isn’t too keen on exploring, Steve squeezes back, and his heart does a dangerous flip that nearly causes his cocky grin to falter. Does he know what he’s doing to Billy? Is he aware of the stupid effect this causes?

“Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” Steve says with sudden confidence, as if he fucking knows.

“Yeah, ready.” Billy counts it as a victory that he doesn’t stutter those two simple words.

He’s starting to sweat, actually, and prays that Steve doesn’t notice it - that his hand doesn’t turn clammy and gross. The first time he touches Steve’s hand and he’s going to ruin it by being sweaty and sticky.

“1… 2…”

Somehow it’s the slowest countdown he’s ever listened to.

“3… Go!”

And Billy’s entire arm tenses up immediately. Steve’s pushing against him, grasp tight and desperate, is this all he got? Billy’s not even moving yet, rock steady although he can feel that Steve could probably win with enough determination, the way his arm is starting to go in the wrong direction.

So he pushes back a bit, just enough so that Steve knows, arms going in the right direction this time, further and further in favor of Billy.

The kids are shouting and screaming their names- well, the orc names, but Billy doesn’t really register their words or who’s cheering for who. He’s gazing straight into those eyes where he drowns in honey, staring back beneath a tense brow.

Steve’s smiling somewhat, it’s hard to tell from the way his lips are pulled tight, but Billy has watched Harrington enough to know his expressions.

And as Steve’s arm starts to shake ever so slightly - not visibly so, but felt in their grasp - Billy’s not even halfway through his energy reserve, and honestly he’d hoped for a bit more of a challenge, but…

He eases up, just enough for it to be believable as Steve starts pulling him in the other direction. Even so, Billy is not about to go down easy. Halfway to his loss and he’s still holding strong, Steve’s exhaustion more apparent now yet he smiles lighter, forehead less wrinkled, some gleams in his eyes.

The back of Billy’s hand meets the table softly, and everyone but Max jumps up ecstatically, clapping and shaking Steve by the shoulders as he won.

Steve’s got both his hands in the air now, leaving Billy to feel weirdly lonely, but he won’t dwell on that.

“Yeah!” Steve hollers victoriously, pumping his fists so full of vigor. “And the crowd goes wild!” He cups his mouth like a megaphone and mimics a cheering crowd as best as he can.

Dustin and Lucas jump around him, shouting all sorts of nonsense that isn’t meant to be understood past their excitement, yet Max’s scoff manages to be heard above their celebration, and she stomps back into the living room with El and Mike in tow.

“Change that to Urzok the Champion!” Steve shouts just as elated as the kids and points to Will, who’s almost beaming at the way those three makes a scene.

Unfortunately, Billy hadn’t really given the side effects of victory any thought, and seeing how happy Steve is to have won stirs something in him.

“Harrington! Harrington! Harrington!” Steve, Dustin and Lucas all chant like they’re at a football game, all deep and gruff. “Harrington! Harrington! Harrington!”

There’s a pang of heart and a souring of his gut. Billy knows that he let Steve win. There’s no need to feel threatened or jealous or whatever. Kinda angry, kinda entertained. Kinda sick-ish.

“You really thought you had me there for a moment, huh Billy?” Steve points to where Billy remains seated, smiling but not with full honesty. “Thought you could defeat the King!”

Okay that does it. “Come on pretty boy, one more time, just for fun,” there’s restraint at the edge of his tone, and his smile twitches with something mean. He pats the table and offers up his hand again.

But Steve throws his head back as he laughs in a mocking tone, friendly enough, although far too boastful.

“Nah, I won-” He presses a finger against his chest, then points to Billy. “-And you lost!” 

The way Steve smiles so wide actually hurts in a way, and it is shocking how something so small and meaningless can wound Billy’s pride.

“And you can never-” Steve slams both hands onto the table. “-Ever-” He leans in close enough for Billy to feel him breathe out, “-Take that away from me.”

There’s a far too familiar desire to reach out, to touch skin, to meet the source of those words. Billy’s only seconds away from either punching Steve or kissing him, he can’t really tell, but his entire being is ready to act.

Steve doesn’t linger there though, pulls away and lifts up his arms, flexes his biceps and tips his head down to plant a kiss on each, really showing off just how strong he is, boasting about being the victor.

“Guys come on!” Mike shouts from inside the living room, clearly very impatient.

“Yeah yeah we’re coming!” Dustin replies at the same volume and sets off.

“Thanks,” Will speaks low, or maybe it just sounds like it from the way the others assaulted Billy’s eardrums with their shrieking.

And soon enough they’re all alone again.

Billy slumps against his chair, playing with a pencil that will soon break under the tension of his unresolved feelings.

Steve puts his hands on his hips, chest heaving as he tries to calm down again, looking just as flushed and worn out as he does after basket. He huffs a laugh and shakes his head, then returns to his seat right next to Billy, who’s smiling something so sly.

“You… you let me win, didn’t you?” Steve asks all breathless and runs a hand through his hair. His exhaustion comes more from the wild gloating than the actual wrestling they did.

“All I can say is…” Billy leaves a pause that is a clear indication of a yes as he eyes Steve up and down. “Congrats on the win, Urzok the Champion.”

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “For Peace.”

Some more stuff involving humanity and the Drev war.

WARNING: this may be graphic? It wasn’t meant to be that, but I just thought I should warn you there is blood involved. 

She definitely had not intended come. She wasn’t a soldier, and the idea of the war made her sick to think about, she knew it needed to happen, but that didn’t mean she lied it. The Runi weren’t exactly known for their war practices. In fact, in their history war had only been talked about as a theoretical possibility based on the idea of outing a poor government structure, but since the rundi had never had a poor government structure, there was no need for war.

But this was different, the Drev had only recently managed space flight, and because of their nomadic clan-like life no one had assumed their planet was inhabited . There was no infrastructure, and with the volcanic activity…. Well.

They generally tried to avoid meeting new species when they were at this point in space travel development. However, the Drev were smarter than they first appeared. They had had the ability to go to space for a long time, but never bothered to test it because it just wasn’t important to their culture. When they finally had left their planet, they ended up running into a Tesraki ship, which was trying to requisition precious metals from one of their moons. 

Contact had been made peacefully enough with linguistics experts from the GA appearing and easily figuring out the Drev language.

It was a simple thing, very straight forward.

But the Drev just couldn’t fight their baser instincts, and that was to make war. After a slight insult based on cultural misunderstanding, the Drev leaders had promised to turn their sights to the stars conquering and fighting where they went. The GA had made a decision to push to destroy the technology that would allow them to do such a thing, but based on atmospheric composition, and the way they had hidden their technology deposits, this was about more than carpet bombing their facilities.

They had to actually go in.

And that was determined to be harder than they intended. The Drev War practices may have appeared primitive, but their tactics were not. They had been losing the battle, and even with the augmentation to their army with human troops and technology, they were being pushed back every day.

Officers were threatening to pull back off planet and just wait for the Drev  to leave before blasting them to bits, but Drev shield technology was actually rather advanced and would take more than  a little work to destroy.

Now she was here, having landed in one of the desolate lava fields before being secretly transported by hovercraft towards the very back of the front line. They could have landed closer, but the amount of ash towards the front was unprecedented and there were warning against trying to fly in such conditions 

 Her arrival was kept quiet, as she was ushered into what they had dubbed the FOB (forward operating base). Humans in strange patterned uniforms marches past in groups carrying their strange explosive sticks their heads covered by helmets and their face by masks. Little flakes of ash were falling from the sky and coating the ground in a thick layer that covered her feet as she walked.

The soldiers themselves were smeared with the ash, and blended heavily into the background making it difficult for her to make them out. 

Large tents had been set up, and she could hear the strange guttural chant of human voices from inside. A tent flap was pushed back, and she looked inwards to see ash stained humans sitting around fires talking and interacting with each other.

Guards stood on lone vigils at the corners of the camps.

They had made it some way onto the base before being met by a familiar face. The human admiral was looking somewhat worse for wear, his face was covered in a layer of stubble, and his skin was covered in a layer of grime. His eyes once so gleeful were cold and hard almost haunted.

“Chairwoman.”

“Admiral…. How goes the battle.”

He man turned motioning her further into the camp, “I’m afraid not very well. We had assumed based on their more primitive war practices, that this would be an easy fight, however with the thick clouds of ash visibility is drastically reduced, and our ranged weapons become…. Almost pointless. They are generally right on top of us before we know they are there, and in that case they have the advantage. Their tactics are swift and brutal, they don’t necessarily aim to kill for some strange reason, but to brutally incapacitate usually by taking off limbs.”

She felt herself grow uncomfortably sick, “They take of limbs?”

“Yes dismemberment seems to be their favorite war tactic if they can manage it, and because we can’t see through this damned ash, not even our drones can, they always seem to have the upper hand, we've been pushed back almost constantly over the past month, and our soldiers are in pretty bad shape.” he walked further into the camp explaining how things ran and how the battle was fairing. 

From his accounts, though he did not say it.

Not well.

The line had pulled back, and there were only three bases in operation aside from this one. Communications were being stalled do the volcanic activity, and that included satellite communications. They had no GPS no radar, and the drones wouldn’t fly in such thick ash.

All together it was as the human had put it

 ‘a shit show.’

He motioned her to follow after him.

“There is something…. I think you need to see.” Nervously she followed after the human’s long powerful strides easily able to keep up on her own long legs, but finding she was nowhere near as graceful as the human. 

She watched him quietly from behind noting the slight slump of his shoulders and the weary way in which he walked feet dragging through the ash leaving long trails behind him. Had the human been so droopy before?

She couldn’t remember. 

She wasn’t aware that humans could wilt?

They made their way past a group of men heading back from patrol. They were covered in ash and conversing quietly amongst one another. Her translation software had only so far a range, but she thought she heard them speaking about dismemberment.

They walked past another set of tents before stopping by a more established building.

He motioned her to step inside with him, and together with her guards they walked inside. Greeting them was a troop of humans and a Tesraki wearing HAZMAT gear.

They were ordered to gear up in protective covering before stepping into a second room where they were hosed off from all the ash. Spinning tendrils of dark ash spun towards a drain in the floor until the outside of their suits were relatively clean.

He paused before the door turning to look back at her from behind the surgical mask he wore, “What you are about to see ...is the epitome of the cost of war.” With one hand, he pushed the curtain aside and they stepped into a long, dark room lined from beginning to end with dozens of mats spaced evenly over the floor, and on each one of the mats lay a body.

She froze in the tent staring suddenly caught by the sound.

Soft moaning.

Keening

And the horrific wheezing gasp for air.

Other humans wandered through the triage tent tending to their wounded with soft words.

The man’s face had twisted into an angry snarl, “Fo the past few months the ash has restricted our access to supplies. Our ships can’t land for fear of gumming up the engines. We have been unable to replace our lost equipment, and so have only rudimentary medicine in order to treat our wounded.” He stepped up a row of wounded shivering under emergency blankets faces covered in light layers of sweat.

“This will be the first supply run we have received in weeks  and with it the ability to take some of our wounded back to where they can get proper medical attention. Infection has been rampant despite our best efforts. Without modern technology, it’s like we are living in the goddamned dark ages.”

“Did you not bring these supplies when you first started the campaign.”

The man sighed in frustration, “We did but we, ‘I’ was overconfident. Our first three outposts were overrun by those beetles and with it most of our medical supplies.” he motioned around the room, “Those you see here are the men and women who managed to survive despite proper medical attention.”

The Rundi chairwoman tried not to look, tried not to see the horror that was in front of her, but there was no use, there was no turning away from that which she did not want to see. She glanced down at the humans splayed on piles of blankets and shivering with fever. She didn’t know much about humans, but she was vaguely aware of their ability to fight off infection by heating their bodies to unusual heat in order to burn off the infection.

It was supposedly an unpleasant process.

The human paused kneeling down next to one of the bodies pulling a blanket over the chest of a shivering human, “We ran out of painkillers two days ago.”

She was unable to keep her eyes away falling on one of the humans to her side. What she saw nearly had her running form the tent in shock and horror. The human that lay before her…. Was missing both of its legs. She…. at least she thought it was a she, opened feverish eyes mouth opening and lips trembling before her eyes rolled back. Bandages dark with ash and stained with red were tied about the stumps of her legs.

She lay on the floor quiet and unaided by medical technology.

Technology they should have had 

Her vision widened finally forcing her to take in the view around her to match a symphony of moaning agony, guttural animal sounds to signify their pain. Whimpers and groans and weeping that died away only to be replaced by more.

The pitiful wailing of the dying.

“We are losing men, and we are doing it fast. A good portion of what we originally sent to you have either died or are in states like this.” A moan from her side, and she looked down to find a young man missing an arm, a rag covering both of his eyes. A yellow liquid stained the cloth.

She felt sick.

“With the transport you brought us a lot of our people will be able to get off and get medical attention. We have people moving them now. If all goes well, most of them should live.”

“And…. what about these?” She asked trying to keep her mind of the scene. A human just to the side of her missing an arm and a leg lay moaning pitifully on the ground. One of the hazmat dressed humans sat next to him gently holding his remaining hand.

The human didn’t appear to be doing anything medically relevant, but gently using their thumb to rub slow circles on the palm of the man’s remaining hand. It seemed strange, but that simple motion seemed to calm the human.

She was greeted by the feeling of horrible sadness as she looked.

“These…. Well. They have graciously volunteered for something special.” 

They had almost reached the end of the tent now when, looking down at the floor, something caught her eye. The rundi chairwoman pulled to a stop staring at one of the humans. He was laid in the shadow of the tent at a distance from the lights. A roll of blankets had been propped up under his head and the stump of one of his legs, or what used to be his leg.

It was the right leg, and it had been severed an inch or two above the knee. A rag wrapped around the stump of his leg was red with blood. 

His breathing was ragged and labored coming in forced gasps against what must have been excruciating pain, his face screwed up in agony

But it wasn’t that which had caught her attention. 

“I…. I know him.” She stammered, stepping forward, “I know this one.”

The agitation in her voice must have been enough to rouse the human, who opened his eyes bleary and out of focus. 

Even in this dim lighting she knew those eyes, a shade of bright, emerald green.

The young man turned his head blinking as he tried to focus on her, on her voice. His lips quivered his hands twitched at his sides, “Chairwoman?” He croaked. 

The admiral hurried forward kneeling next to the young man as he began to shiver breathing growing more ragged, “Shhh lieutenant, it’s alright.” With surprisingly gentle hands, the man adjusted the boy’s pillow laying one hand on his shoulder, again making that slow rubbing motion that had been demonstrated earlier, “Shh, just relax, don’t try to talk ok.”

She stared on in confusion, and the admiral looked up, “You know him?”

She nodded her head in horrified confusion, “He…. he piloted the jet that saved my planet from an asteroid. He was….. He was one of the first humans we met. I I could be wrong.” She stared onwards knowing she wasn’t wrong.

The man looked on sad, “Yes, he wasn’t supposed to be on the frontline. The atmosphere has too much ash, so all our pilots were thrown back into ground divisions at the rear of the line for administration. When the Drev pushed back they were all that was left, and were forced into combat.”

The admiral looked up at her hand still trying to comfort the young soldier, “We were-”

“Admiral.” The boy’s voice was thick, slurred straining. She didn’t know much about human language, but the way he said the word made the admiral respond, and he leaned forward quickly cutting off and turning his focus.

In those few moments his breathing had grown more ragged.

“Yes.”

“It ... hurts.” His voice came between bursts of air forced from his lungs, a hutch as the muscles in his abdomen contracted and released, “Please…. Make it…. Stop.” Beads of sweat erupted on his forehead and his head arched back. The rest of the body followed suit writhing in slow agony, the remaining foot kicking at the ground in a show of the most visceral agony she had ever seen.

She was sick.

The admiral leaned in using one hand to pin the boy to the ground to stop the writhing, the other hand to the side of his face, “Hey Hey, look at me…. Look at me. Shhh…. There we go.” the young man let go of the contraction on his neck and looked the admiral in the eye face still twisted in pain.

Little droplets of fluid rolled from the eyes and down both sides of his face.

The two humans sat on the floor together, one gently wiping moisture from the other one’s face. His remaining foot grew still and went limp against the ground tilting outward. 

Speaking so softly she could barely hear the admiral continued, “You’re gonna be alright kid. The ash is clearing up, and we got a troop transport in. You can go back home, we will get you some painkillers, get some rest, and you can go home…..just a few more minutes.” He dropped one hand back to the kid’s shoulder patting it gently. He turned to look for one of the attendings when, A shaky, clammy hand reached upwards grabbing the admiral by the arm.

He turned to look down.

“I…. I said I would do it.”

His voice was forced, it seemed like every time he was asked to speak the pain only grew worse.

“You don’t have to lieutenant. No one will blame you.” “NO!.... I said…. I would… do it.” His hand quivered and then fell back to his side eyes squeezing shut.

The man kept a hand on his shoulder, turning to look at the chairwoman who had been forced to look away unable to keep eye contact with the scene. He motioned one of the other attendees over to him, and she took his place. With soft hands she slid next to the young man resting his head in her lap posing no more than a comfort to the human as he sunk back into his pained trance.

Murmuring softly and gently stroking a gloved hand through his hair.

Outside in the air though it was ashy and grim, she could finally breathe staggering to the side feeling as if she was about to fall over.

The admiral followed her.

“Why… why did we have to see that.”

The man’s face was stern and unyielding as he held a palm out to face the building, “Every last man and woman inside that tent was willing to DIE for you, for peace, and now….

Now they have volunteered to do it again.” 

[crisisdparity]

Game Master Akuma AU

(Note: Originally submitted to @justanotherpersonsuniverse, on their advice I will be using my own tumblr for anything in the future related to this AU.)

Xavier Duchamp was rather proud of himself. What he had before him was an absolute masterpiece of a campaign if he did say so himself. The product of over six months of study, research, and rebalancing efforts followed by two weeks of discussion with his five players to hash out schedules, meeting times, characters, backstories, potential character arcs, and getting them set up with a messaging app that was really good for sending discrete messages between the GM and the players.

Valentine and her boyfriend Justin were onboard in an instant. Within days, he'd greenlighted their Half-Elf Bard of the College of Glamour whose spell list was 100% Illusion spells and Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight) who was focusing entirely on Abjuration as Rena Rouge and Carapace respectively.

Olivia had spent a few days coming up with a Halfling Rogue and debating subclasses with him until settling on Scout. Along with some discussion over how her special magic item's stunning and paralysis effect would work with Sneak Attack, the campaign had its Vesperia.

Jeanette had gone back and forth with him for a week looking at various homebrew subclasses for her Gnome Artificer before they both agreed on one particular Master Tinkerer entry that would be balanced and do the character justice. And with that they had their Ladybug.

Even Matt was on board with a stealthy human Chat the Barbarian using the Path of the Beast. The class choice was something Matt had insisted on (and that Xavier would have suggested anyway just for the high hit point totals given Matt's history with characters dying) and he'd even come up with a backstory that Xavier felt was quite compelling compared to Matt's usual efforts. Morally ambiguous, likely to be tempted by promises of power, but with a great deal of story potential to work with.

Which was a relief. Getting a new player into their group to replace Matt was not something Xavier really felt comfortable with. There were too many unknowns with introducing a new person, far too many for him to risk his masterpiece on an unknown factor. He knew Matt. He could work with Matt. Despite the history.

He'd put everything he had into this. Every known Akuma ever fought by the heroes had been made into a boss-tier foe. He'd carefully documented each and every power the heroes had shown to craft special legendary magic items based on the Miraculous. Hawkmoth and Mayura themselves were going to be the final bosses of his campaign.

In response to criticism about the difficulty of his campaigns (he tried to make them fair, but still challenging enough to be memorable), he'd made several guest NPCs based on every other hero that had ever been called upon, statted out like player characters that might show up in a pinch to help. He even had a genuine Deus ex Machina that he was ready to use to get the players out of a truly impossible jam if they found themselves in one.

Not always, but a few times at least. Enough to get them to the point where they wouldn't need it anymore.

-----

It was thirty minutes in, right in the middle of exposition from the Guardian NPC, when Xavier got his first message on the app.

Matt/Chat - Chat's going to wait until everyone breaks up and follow Ladybug stealthily.

Xavier/GM - Starting party conflict on the first session? Not what I'd advise, but it's your character. Go ahead and make your Stealth roll now.

Matt/Chat - <photo> 17

Xavier/GM - Yeah, that beats everyone's passive Perception easily. You'll sneak off handily without anyone noticing.

-----

"Jeanette, Ladybug is grabbed from behind by an unknown assailant. Roll to resist the grapple."

"Geez, already? Okay, what did my assailant get for their grapple? How screwed am I?"

Xavier pretended to roll a die while consulting the message from Matt.

"19."

"Okay, difficult, but not undoable... Crap."

"What'd you get?"

"Nat 1..."

"Hah! I rip off her earrings and claim them for myself! The Wish is mine!"

"Seriously Matt?! What the hell?!"

"Because it's payback time! Payback for every character of mine killed in these hellish campaigns!"

"Oh, come on! You're not the only person whose had a character die at this table! Xavier runs some pretty challenging campaigns, but they're always fair!"

"What about the time he killed Allric the Allmighty in a single round of combat?"

"Dude, you tried to Leroy Jenkins straight into melee with a 4th-level Wizard that had a CON penalty. Even at full health you had like 10 hp."

"14!"

"Not much better, dude."

"Guys, it's fine. I can handle this. Okay, Matt. Chat the Barbarian managed to get the earrings-"

"Yeah, Ladybug screams bloody murder when he rips them out. Good luck getting out of this in one piece."

"The moment Rena hears Ladybug scream, she bolts for the sound."

"So does Carapace."

"Vesperia too."

"-and with their current locations and movement speeds, I assume you're all using the Dash action?, you've got maybe one round to decide on your Wish before they're all over you, so choose carefully. And be aware that I plan to grant whatever you wish for in the worst possible way, just as I would if any of the others pulled this."

"Rena screams 'What the HELL, Chat?! We're supposed to protect the Miraculous, not use them for our own selfish purposes! Didn't you listen to the Guardian? Such actions always bring misfortune upon those who misuse the Miraculous!'"

"Because I am Chat, avatar of Destruction and I WISH THIS WORLD NEVER EXISTED!"

There was dead silence at the table.

"Matt... What... just... WHAT?!"

"Hah! You like that?! How does it feel now that the shoe's on the other foot, huh?!"

"What the hell is your problem, Matt?!"

"My problem? MY problem?! Do you know how much time I've spent making characters for these shitty campaigns only to have them turned into paste in one session?!"

"Because you made primary spellcasters and played every last one of them like a barbarian, charging in headfirst without thinking! All of us breathed a sigh of relief when you revealed that your character finally matched your playstyle!"

"I HATE BARBARIANS! THEY'RE BORING! I SHOULD GET TO PLAY CHARACTERS THAT CAN AT LEAST CHUCK FIREBALLS!"

"THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP RUNNING THEM FACE FIRST INTO ENEMY SWORDS!"

"NONE OF YOU COULD EVER HANDLE THE FACT THE I MAKE MORE AWESOME CHARACTERS THAN ANY OF YOU, SO YOU JUST LET THIS DOUCHEBAG KILL THEM OFF SO YOU WOULDN'T GET OVERSHADOWED BY HOW AMAZING I AM! WELL NOW I KILLED SOMETHING YOU ALL WORKED HARD ON, SO SUCK IT! I'M DONE WITH ALL OF YOU FOREVER!"

"MATT! HEY! GET BACK HERE YOU JERK! MATT!"

"Crap, I think Olivia might actually kill him this time..."

"It's going to take all of us to stop her from getting arrested at least."

Xavier just watched numbly as the rest of the group ran out of his apartment. Over six months of work. Gone in less than an hour.

He'd given so much to making sure this would work. He'd apologized to Matt at least twice for every character of his that had died to get him to come back. He'd agreed to demand after demand just to keep a familiar face on board, never dreaming he'd pull something like this.

He'd nearly gotten fired from his job trying to rearrange his schedule to fit with everyone else's. They'd somehow, miraculously, gotten the whole day with no other obligations among any of them and decided to make the first session a true marathon. They'd meet in the morning after breakfast and eat both lunch and dinner at the game table before calling it a night late in the evening.

It was barely 10:00 in the morning and the whole campaign he'd slaved over for months was kaput.

He never noticed the butterfly landing on his custom Miraculous-themed Game Master screen and being absorbed into it.

"Game Master, I am Hawkmoth. Few people appreciate the kind of effort that goes into making something truly grand and memorable. I shall give you the power to bring your entire world to life and in return, I ask only for a few simple things."

This was wrong. Hawkmoth was the worst of the worst. The kind of person who would be at home among all the final bosses he'd ever made for his campaigns. Heartless, manipulative, cruel.

"Not enough? Ah, but what is a game without players? How would you like to have the Miraculous heroes themselves run your great campaign? Surely they would be far more appreciative than those ungrateful peons that left you alone with nothing but the broken remains of your efforts."

He knew all these things, but the allure of bringing the world he'd spent so much time on to life... What creator could ever turn down an offer like that?

"I, the Game Master, accept... Hawkmoth."

"Excellent. And in exchange, you shall bring me one of two things: The Miraculous, or the identities of their wielders."

"No."

Hawkmoth was silent for a moment.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said no. I am the Game Master. I make the world. I craft the challenges. I decide the rewards. But I do not do anything for anyone. If you want these things, get them yourself."

"If you refuse me, it shall be very unpleasant for you."

"No. As Game Master, I decide the limits of all powers within my realm. And I decide that you have none over me."

And with that, he unleashed his creation over all of Paris, drawing everyone and everything within into his sphere of influence.

-----

Ladybug blinked the spots (ha) out of her eyes as the flash of light died down and looked at herself. She didn't remember transforming, but she was clearly in her spots. Except her red and black superhero uniform didn't usually look like it was headed to a steampunk convention. Looking around, she tried to figure out what had happened and her eyes landed on a familiar belt and pants combo.

Problem. Whoever this was, their groin was at eye level for her.

She looked up.

And up.

To find a grinning Chat Noir, sans anything resembling a shirt and having put on at least a foot of height and apparently a hundred pounds of pure muscle, grinning down at her.

"How's the weather down there?" Chat Noir chuckled as he flexed his unfairly attractive muscleman physique.

"I WILL END YOU!" the heroine snarled, already 100% done with whatever new insanity Hawkmoth had cooked up.

Characters:

Ladybug - Gnome Artificer (Master Tinkerer - Homebrew)

Chat Noir - Human Barbarian (Path of the Beast)

-----

Vesperia had to admit, as Akuma attacks went, this was pretty dope.

She was currently a halfling. A halfling! If it wasn't for her fantasy ensemble being yellow and black, she'd have thought she stepped straight out of Lord of the Rings.

Of course, fantasy setting or not, there were still things she'd have rather left back in the real world. Like racism. And stigma against mixed couples. Not directed at her, but rather at the two walking down the street next to her.

"You know, people are staring..." she said as she craned her head to look at her companions.

"Let them," the Half-Elf Rena Rouge (who looked like a cross between a musician and a belly dancer) said from her perch atop the shoulders of the heavily armored (and surprisingly buff) Half-Orc Carapace. "They're just jealous because their boyfriends can't carry them everywhere."

Characters:

Vesperia - Halfling Rogue (Scout)

Rena Rouge - Half-Elf Bard (College of Glamour)

Carapace - Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight)

-----

Ryuko blinked as she studied the apparent snake-man-thing before her who claimed to be Viperion. She lifted a hand to study it and found what appeared to be bronze scales covering every inch of her skin.

She sniffed herself, smelling the sharp tang of ozone. What was she?

And why did she appear to be wearing wooden armor?

Characters:

Ryuko - Dragonborn (bronze) Druid (Circle of Storms - Third Party)

Viperion - Naga Sorcerer (Divination Magic - Homebrew)

-----

Polymouse giggled as her friends ran over her. Okay, she'd freaked out a little to find a swarm of mice (with hair like hers no less) crawling all over her surprisingly mouse-like body when she'd come to in the middle of some forest somewhere. But she'd gotten over it pretty quickly. It helped that her new friends were adorable.

It might help more if she could figure out where she was.

Or find another person.

Characters:

Polymouse - Kobold (rodentlike) Ranger (Swarmkeeper - Reskinned)

-----

Purple Tigress sighed as she felt the hair (fur?) on the top of her head being shifted around and twitched her new catlike ears in mild annoyance.

"Are you quite done?"

"Almost!" Pigella's cheerful voice answered. "Your fur is so comfy!"

Tigress sighed. Of course Pigella would end up being a fairy, and having her normal cheerful enthusiasm cranked up to previously unimagined levels.

"I love you dearly, but if you start shouting 'hey listen' I will stick you in a bottle."

"Aw, I love you too! Hey, what's that?"

"I think it's my character sheet?"

Characters:

Purple Tigress - Tabaxi Paladin (Oath of Glory)

Pigella - Fairy Cleric (Order Domain - Reskinned)

-----

"According to my analysis, we have been placed into what appears to be a Dungeons and Dragons campaign under 5th edition rules," Pegasus stated in a mechanical monotone. "I am apparently a Warforged Wizard using the School of Conjuration whose spells create portals to bridge dimensions and summon or banish my intended targets. You are what is known as a Simic Hybrid, with the class of Monk, following the Way of the Drunken Master."

"Aweshum," King Monkey slurred, his generally human appearance clad in monk's robes marred by his monkey-like hands and feet as well as the monkey tail swishing behind him.

"Why do you keep slurring like that? According to my sensors, your gourd is filled with only water."

"Gotta keep up appearanshes!" King Monkey grinned as he continued faking drunkenness.

Characters:

Pegasus - Warforged Wizard (School of Conjuration - Reskinned)

King Monkey - Simic Hybrid Monk (Way of the Drunken Master)

-----

Hawkmoth studied the dark red horns growing out of his head in the mirror. The change in appearance was disconcerting, but he felt a rush of power in this new form that he'd never felt before.

"Hmm... perhaps I can work with this..."

"Speak for yourself..." Mayura muttered off to the side, ruffling her peacock-like feathers in annoyance as she tried to glare at the beak on her own face.

Characters:

Hawkmoth - Tiefling Dark Lord, Warlock Patron, Contracted by Lila Rossi, Volpina, Queen Wasp, and many others.

Mayura - Kenku Assistant to the Dark Lord, Creator of Monsters

-----

"Oh, come on!" A figure in a cyan and white hooded robe complained as they waved a similarly colored umbrella around angrily. "Everyone else gets to be part of this adventure, why can't I join them?"

"Because you're too OP. You'd completely break everything and remove all challenge from the adventure."

"But sitting around is no fun at all!"

"If you like, I can put you in the position of the main quest giver. Your job would be to direct them towards their enemies and means of becoming stronger."

"That's it?! I'm on 'mysterious hooded figure' duty? Boo! Why can't I fight with them?!"

"Because you're too OP. But if you insist, I'll allow some Deus ex Machina interventions."

"YES!"

"Five."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'll allow five interventions at your discretion to aid them when they are in peril. Once you have come to their aid five times, I will allow no more meetings save to impart quest information."

"That's it?"

"Yes. Choose your interventions wisely."

"So... if I manage to save one for when they fight Hawmoth and Mayura in the final battle...?"

"Then I would allow you to join them of course."

"Score!"

Characters:

Bunnyx: Mysterious Hooded Figure, Deus-ex-Machina (5)

Game Master: Akuma Lord of the Miraculous Campaign

-----

Addendum

When the Game Master is finally purified and the damage reversed, it turns out that he took the effort to trap all of Paris in a temporal stasis bubble so that no matter how long passed inside no more than a few moments passed outside. Meaning that after what seemed like months in the bubble, it's basically less than a minute after he was akumatized when everything is put back.

All his friends, minus Matt, come back in bringing a new person named Zack that they vetted themselves to take Matt's place in case he pulled something like what he did. And while he has a similar playstyle to Matt, he's savvy enough to know what kind of characters that is suited for and he loves playing barbarians.

They all sit back down and restart the game they were all looking forward to.

[sinolibraryarchives]

【Novel】 The Fables of Black ー Chapter 1, Alice (Interquel)

Translator’s note: Italics here denotes the dolls’ lines.

＊ The monsters I first fought had two horns, and brandished a gigantic club. There was a book in uncle’s study that had a picture of such a beast. If I recall, it was called... An Orc. In that very book, Orcs were exterminated by a strong swordsman. Because Orcs were evil beasts that put people in peril. I forget, in what fashion did the swordsman kill the Orc? I soar up to dodge the club swinging at me, before another hit comes, and pierce the Orc's flank with my blade... Yes, Orcs aren't one to be nimble. After all, they brandish one heavy club, they can't be quick on their feet. Drawing blood, the monster cries. The sensation of fresh blood splattered on me is unbearably disgusting. The unpleasant stench of blood. It's not only blood, it's the stench of something detestable mixed in. Disgusting. I feel like throwing up. Desperate to keep myself from throwing up, I swing my blade around with reckless abandon. If I didn't distract myself like that, I felt that I wouldn't be able to hold it in. Because of my actions, the monster's remains were all minced up. Splashes of blood, meat, innards and unidentifiable lumps laid all around me. The swordsman from that book, would never have such an unsightly technique. After putting in a few more slashes, I finished things off with one deadly blow. There's still four left but my blade had already been weathered and dulled. I won't be able to fight with this... Or so I thought. The sword lit up. The bloodied and weathered sword turned into that of a pure white and sharp-edged blade. Now, with this, I can fight. Next off, I should wield my weapon properly. I have gotten used to the stench a bit, I'm able to stomach the unpleasant smell now. My target, will the vital parts. If not for that, then it'll be someplace that won't spill too much blood. And also, to avoid the bones since it'll dull the blade. That being said, it's easier said than done. If all four of them come at me at once, it'll be difficult to aim for the vital organs. In order to gain the upper hand, I'll have to make them falter even for a little, even then that seems a bit difficult to execute. Now that I've taken down the second and the third one, my sword reverberates and dulls. But it's all right. The weathered sword will fade away like smoke and be reborn once more in my hands. It's a touch heavy but, it assures me of its sturdiness. I put in my all into the blade, beheading the monster. The blade didn't yield but the same could not be said for my arm. Was it my shoulder? Or perhaps my tendon? Pain and shock charges through me at once. One more left. I support my immobile right hand with my left, point the tip of my blade straight at the monster. I recall a soldier brandishing a spear. A soldier who hails from the Playing Card army of the Red Queen. If I mimic their stance, I should be able to fight even with one arm. Right, just like this, by piercing my blade straight through. It was the right move. After a few charges, the monster fell. It's big unsightly stomach had been dotted with holes. "With this.... It's over" I inhaled deeply to fill my tired lungs. I prop myself up, using my sword as a staff to support myself. The ground of the Library had been dyed with blood, I did not want to lay my knee on it. "It's not over yet, you know?" "Did you really think that was truly it?" "Far, far from it"

Kanji seen is “Restriction”. "More and more sacrifices are needed" I know that, so, I answered them. There's no way that by killing only five monsters that 'he'll' come back alive. Just by remembering the weight of 'his' existence, I can easily imagine the number of lives I must sacrifice in exchange. "Well, this bunch was just small fry after all" "Absolutely. Perhaps somewhere along the lines of a mountains-worth?" "Why don't we teach you a really efficient way to kill?" "Perhaps somewhere along the lines of killing one and go off in a mad spree?" The dolls reverberated with their limbs rattling away. Were they clapping their hands? Or were they dancing? I couldn't understand what they were doing. "I don't get it. What do you mean? Explain" "To put it simply, all you gotta do is kill Characters from other stories" "There are.... Others?"

"But of course. Oh my, don't tell me that you thought that you're the only special one did you?" "Oh my" "People do that, don't they? How unsightly, how conceitful" 'He' was the one who called me "special". But, that didn't mean I was special. It's only that 'he' who created me is special. 'He' truly is, special. The stories 'he' weaved together is what truly is special. Only 'his' words are, special.

And yet, why? Why did 'he' die? 'He' was a special person and yet, why? Why did 'he' disappear from the world? No. That can't be allowed. 'He' really, really is a special person. For 'him' to die, is a mistake. Uncle, I want to see you. Hey, uncle. Please, one more time, say 'Alice'. Please, pat me on the head and call me a good girl again. Please, hug me again until I can't breathe. I will take your hand and...... "Once I kill other Characters, will my wish be granted?" "Yes" "Where are they now?" "I haven't the slightest...." "Go look for 'em yourself" "And also, it seems you have misunderstood so we'll tell you why" "Characters from other stories are not just a single person" I see. My targets are multiple. The most efficient way is not to kill the monsters, but to kill a few humans. "What's the matter?" "Learning that your targets are human, made you frightened?" Such putrid dolls. Ever spitting out words that pluck my chords..... "It's not that I'm frightened or anything"

I will not ever heed my inner-conscious that tells me what is just. I ought to cast away such a thing especially when a grand reward is promised. Problems and solutions, and then reward. A promise of the fictional world. "In order to meet up with a Character, you’ll need to go a little further" "For now, go on and hunt the small fry" The remains that were on the ground, disappears, in it's place a new monster appeared. And, in my hand, was a new weapon. ".... I got it." To put it simply, all I need to do is just to kill. All that appears before me. Such a simple thing. Ahh, uncle! Uncle! My beloved uncle! In order to see 'him' again, I'll do anything. I will do any cruel deed if it's for the sake of bringing 'him' back to life. Even if I have to get my hands dirty, even if I have to fall down in hell. If it's for the sake of my beloved, I'll do anything........

[ink-and-flame]

Kinktober Day 7: Kink Cafe 3

Kinktober Day 7 Prompts: Caning Teasing ~ Anal plug (public, under clothes) ~ Public exposure Fandom: Original Tags: Exophilia, m/m, femoboy, teasing, anal plus, public exposure, public oral Pairing: Orc(m)/Elf(m), Alinar/Zar

[Author’s Note: I had waited to find a good set of prompts to continue Kink Cafe. However when picking prompts I wasn’t paying attention. I have replaced Caning with another randomly selected kink. As someone with experience in BDSM, and with caning, it is not something I enjoy or want to write at this time. I understand if it violates the spirit of kinktober, but I did try to make sure not to include extreme or triggering kinks and that also means for myself. I hope you all understand]

The first day of the Kink Cafe had been a resounding success as far as everyone was concerned. Both the group running it and everyone participating had an incredible time and when it was time to close down the cafe portion of the event there was quite a bit of grumbling. Scenes were allowed to wrap up, and people were encouraged to continue enjoying each other throughout the night. Since the entire building had been rented for this event there were no areas where clothes were required and that scenes were not allowed within reason. Some types of scenes were limited to certain areas, only to avoid causing any damage to the property, fire cupping in particular had a space outside to prevent any accidental fires from starting.

Alinar had been hesitant to move away from Zar when they had finished at the table. As much as the elf had wanted to be fucked right there by the orc, that wasn’t in the cards. Eventually it had been just the two of them left and despite ample preparation, Zar didn’t fit and wasn’t comfortable forcing the issue. The orc still made sure that the elf had a mind blowing orgasm, with promises of future attempts, but Alinar was not feeling patient. 

To make up for it he slipped under the table and took the orcs cock into his mouth, even though they really should have finished their scene and moved on. Alinar wasn’t taking any chances, he had wanted to make sure the orc never forgot him. He used every trick he had to push the orc past his control until that thick ridged cock was lodged deep in his throat. Alinar was hard again just thinking about how it felt to have something so big inside him. The amount of cum was also a shock and he came close to choking if he hadn’t pulled back. 

They separated for the evening, though Alinar wanted to ask if he could stay with Zar for the night, but that felt too much like overstepping so he had gone to his own room. When the morning light pushed through the curtains Alinar was already awake and eager to see Zar again, though he was nervous. What if the orc was no longer interested. It was clear that males were not his preference and maybe whatever magic had pulled them together yesterday, only worked once. 

With nervousness filling him Alinar dressed for the day. Slipping on his blank collar and apron. He would be working the cafe again, or that was the plan. If Zar asked, then Alniar would drop everything for the orc. Participation was voluntary and there were more than enough subs at the event to fill in when people needed breaks or formed connections and wanted to explore. The organizers made sure to provide enough volunteers so that the cafe would not be understaffed. 

Heading downstairs slowly Alinar looked for Zar but did not see him. He did see the minotaur that had been with the orc, but not the orc himself. Heaving outside to the cafe, Alinar signed in for his shift and began to wait on tables. At first it was easy to lose himself in the experience. The flirting, the teasing, the gentle swats on his rear as he walked by, but as time passed Alinar found himself looking for the orc and filling with disappointment when he wasn’t there. 

When it was his break time the elf slipped into the building and looked around. Checking out all the areas where scenes were likely to be happening, all the places where people were encouraged to gather and Zar wasn’t there. Heading out to the side yard, the elf finally saw the orc. Naked, laying on a chair in the sun next to the pool. Skin glistening with sweat or maybe oil. It was a sight to behold. All those hard muscles contrasting with the softer curve of the orcs stomach. The thick hair covering what seemed like every inch of his broad body. Alinar was aroused and he was just looking. 

An idea sprung into the elfs mind and he rushed back to the cafe and made a suggestion that some of the servers with nothing to do, should serve light drinks over at the pool area since it was a particularly hot day. The idea was met with enthusiasm and he, along with some other subs, loaded up trays with a variety of refreshing fruity drinks and carefully headed over to the pool area. 

Alinar worked to be first over so that he could be the one offering Zar a drink. Heading over to the orc with purpose the elf smiled. It appeared Zar was asleep, and he cleared his throat lightly. “Would you care for a cool refreshing drink?”

Zar had drifted into a light doze on the chair and opened one eye behind his sunglasses only to spy the pretty boy elf from the day before. His lips quirked up in a smirk, emphasising his tusks. “Couldn’t get enough of me I see?”

Alinar felt his skin flushed being called out so clearly. Was it that obvious? Of course it was obvious, but really? “As you can see we are offering drinks around the pool.” He gestured to the other servers.

“Uh huh, you just happened to end up over here near me.” Zar smirked and glanced over the drinks taking one that looked interesting “So, how long did you stare at me before you decided to bring me a drink?”

The blush was darkening and the elf could not hide his own embarrassment. He stuttered but ended up just not saying anything at all. Maybe this had not been the best idea. Zar seemed far more amused, more interested in teasing him, than in interacting as they had the day before. 

“Don’ frown like that. I was only speaking in jest. I liked to throw you off your game. You seem so composed, I couldn’t help myself. Plus, you are quite attractive all flushed like that. Why don’t you finish serving drinks and then come back over here to join me ok?”

Alinar felt a thrill go through him as he nodded and tried not to rush through serving the others around the pool. It had been a clever idea, something the organizers liked enough to have a small drink cart moved over by the pool so refreshments could continue to be served. With no drinks left Alinar headed back over and invited himself right into Zar’s lap.

The orc chuckled and placed a large hand on the elfs hips. “Well, just move on in why don’t you?” His laugh got louder as he set the drink down and nipped the elf on the shoulder. “Keep going like this and I am going to take you home with me. Dress you all pretty and make you service me every night.”

“I only wish” Alinar slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide, that was not meant to be outloud.

Zar just stared for a moment, tilting his head. “Huh…” 

The orc looked more and more thoughtful as the elf looked more and more mortified. Shrinking into himself. “Look, guys are kind of a new thing for me.” Zar admitted and saw the elfs ears droop. “But I have to say, I don’t hate it. New or not, you are different. Something about you just.. Just does it for me.” Zar ws stroking Alinars thigh softly, fingers brushing under the apron. “I don’t hate the idea, but I don’t know that I could just walk away from women either.”

“You wouldn’t have to. I know plenty of people that like both. I prefer men, I always have, but there have been women that knew how to touch me, or that I have felt strong emotional bonds with. I am not asking for forever.” Alinar admitted and seemed a bit lost. “It doesn’t even have to be more than this weekend.” He wanted more, but knew that would be reaching, pushing, maybe asking for too much.

Zar looked thoughtful. “I honestly thought about asking if it was ok to exchange information, to see each other after this.” He lifted a hand, running his fingers through the elfs soft hair. “I wasn’t entirely joking when I said I wanted you to come home with me.” 

“I can share.” Alinar blurted out and then sucked in his breath biting his lip. His mouth was betraying him. Showing his desperation. Something about Zar had captured him. It was infatuation, it had to be simple infatuation, but it was strong and insistent.

The orc laughed loudly and shook his head. “You are something else, and don’t tempt me. I like having multiple partners. Something about the intense stimulation doing it for me, but also, orcs grow up in communities. We have large extended families, we share duties, fortune, success, and failure, happiness, and sorrow. It is unlikely for an orc to be in a relationship with just one person and not have some form of support as well. Sure monogamy happens, often too, but just as often are there relationships with multiple partners.” 

Alinar was learning more about orcish culture in this one conversation than he ever had in his past. It was refreshing and thrilling to learn so much. It just made him like Zar more and made him want to spend even more time with the orc, learning everything he could. Not just about Zar himself, but his culture as well.

“I could be ok with that.” Alinar admitted. The idea of a close knit community, of people helping each other, of sharing and warmth. It was alluring, tempting, for someone as solitary as himself. 

“How about we worry about all that later, and just focus on enjoying the weekend, but is that a yes to seeing each other after this, at least in a casual sense?” Zar wasn’t ready to jump into anything serious, but he wouldn’t mind exploring this new experience more, and a weekend really wasn’t long enough if he was honest.

Alinar settled against Zar with a smile. “Deal. Let's spend the weekend getting to know each other and then, when this is over, continue with that.” There was no need to jump into anything serious, it was clear they both were interested in pursuing something and willing to take it slow. 

The weekend was a success, the kink cafe event going over better than anyone expected. Most of the people involved ended up leaving with new friends and lovers, some in new relationships. Others had used the event to build on the relationships they already had, and everyone agreed that this should be at least a yearly event if not bi-yearly.

As much fun as he had, Alinar wished that he and Zar could have gone further with their explorations. Penetrative sex still had not occured, but that didn’t mean they didn’t find other ways to tease each other and bring each other over the edge. The elf was just growing a bit impatient. Every time he saw Zar’s dick he wanted that thick ridged monster inside of him. 

Being at home, alone, Alinar found he missed Zar’s warmth. The feel of that large, muscular, hairy body pressed against him, wrapped around him. Zar was larger than life in Alinar’s eyes and he realized that he might be far more attached to the orc than the orc was to him. When it came time to actually contact Zar, Alinar felt nervous. What if he changed his mind and didn’t want this to continue. 

When Zar suggested a public outing, something to test the elfs limits, Alinar was excited. Zar wanted to do a little public play with the elf. Something that surprised Alinar as he assumed Zar would not want anyone to know that he was suddenly sexually attracted to males. Though, Alinar could easily pass as a woman if he wore certain types of clothing, and when he brought it up Zar sounded a little more excited than expected. They came to an agreement. Alinar would dress in a more feminine style, but not specifically try to pretend he was a woman. If he was misgendered while they were out, that was not their problem. Zar also wanted him to wear a plug. Preferably something a little more feminine, and he eluded to wanting to see Alinar in women's undergarments. All of this Alinar was not only ok with, but had the items on hand to easily fulfill the request. 

Packing a bag Alinar headed over to Zar’s place, wanting to bring a few options and let Zar finalize his look. His long hair was already styled delicately, pulled up with some strands free around his face. A light application of makeup to bring out his eyes and color his lips. The rest was just casual, not wanting to risk any of his options getting messy on the way.

When he arrived Zar embraced Alinar, pulling the elf into a kiss that had both men a little breathless and more than a little aroused when it was over. It was a surprise, but a welcome one and Alinar allowed himself to be tugged back into the bedroom. 

“Are you wearing it?” Zar was curious as he looked at the bag. 

“No, I thought you could put it in me, and then help me pick my outfit.” Alinar blushed when he saw Zar’s cock visibly throb at the suggestion. His worries that Zar would lose interest fading away for now. 

“Get naked, and lay on the bed. Get the plug out, I have some good lube here unless you have one you prefer?”

“No, I am sure yours is as good as any. This plug can be used with a variety of lubes so it should be fine.” Stripping and laying on his back Alinar set the plug on the bed next to him.

Zar joined him on the bed, the bottle of lube set on the nightstand as his large hands smoothed over the elfs shapely legs. “You really are beautiful Alinar. I don’t want you to think for a moment that anything has changed. You have opened my mind to something I never thought of before, and there is no going back, and I couldn’t be happier about that.”

Smoothing his hands along the elfs body Zar helped him position his legs and the grabbed the lube. Using one hand to help position Alinar, the other was used to carefully apply lube to the elfs pucker. They had spent time working with their fingers to help prepare Alinar before and discovered it was easier for the elf to start and the orc to join in, as one of is fingers was thicker than two of the elfs. It seemed the elf had already prepped himself somewhat and Zar smiled. 

“Eager I see? Can you take the plug like this or do you need more preparation?”

“I can take it. I was wearing a smaller one around the house while packing to help.”

Nodding Zar lubed up the plug watching it glisten. It had a delicate lavender jewel in it, the end shaped like a heart. The orc smiled and swirled the tip around the elfs opening, teasing and watching the smaller man squirm before pushing it in slowly. Zar wanted it to be him. He wanted to be inside Alinar so badly that they both groaned when it finally slid into place and settled snug between the elfs cheeks. 

“Fuck that is so hot, you have no idea how badly I want to just hold you down and rut you. Who knows, maybe a day of wearing this one might be enough to prep you. It seems bigger than the one you had over the weekend.”

“It is, this one is newer and I have been working up to wearing it. I have one size up from this, if this isn’t enough, we can always work up to that, and then see if it helps with penetration.” Alinar offered.

Zar liked the idea and helped Alinar up before going to wash his hands. “Pull out the outfits, I would like to have lunch soon.”

Alinar pulled on some delicate panties, a light cream color with lace details and a ribbon at the back. Zar clearly enjoyed them and asked Alinar to walk around the room and pick up a few things. The elf chuckled but obeyed. He wanted to be perfect, to show Zar what a good sub he could be. The outfit they ended up choosing was a pair of pants that fit the elf in a way that accented his more feminine hips. The shirt had a built in bustier that cinched at the waist and gave Alinar the illusion of curves and a small bit of cleavage. The rest of the shirt was flowy and slightly open at the top. 

Overall the look was androgynous but leaning heavily towards the feminine. Zar would have had to look twice to be able to tell Alinar wasn’t a woman, and the reality was, if he didn’t already know the elf was male, he honestly would not have been able to tell. 

“You are so lovely, let’s go before I change my mind and keep you here all to myself.” Zar guided Alinar out gently by the arm.

They enjoyed their lunch together, the server referring to Alinar as miss, and neither bothered to correct him. It was a little joke they were enjoying. How many people mistook Alinar for a woman and how long it took for anyone to actually figure out that he wasn’t. As it stood, so far only one person seemed to notice that Alinar might not be female, but they did not seem sure and clearly wanted to say something but didn’t.

After lunch they went for a walk and the plug was teasing the elf in a way that was making him desperate for release. He wanted Zar to fuck him, to milk hos prostate, and he didn’t care who saw. Of course they had to be careful and it was difficult to remain calm. When Zar suggested a movie Alinar felt it would be the perfect opportunity to relax. Since he would be sitting still the stimulation would not be as intense.

Of course he should have expected something was up when Zar insisted they sit far in the back of the theater and did not seem to care what movie they chose. Alinars suspicions were confirmed about thirty minutes into the film. He could feel a large heavy hand running up his thigh and over his crotch. Alinar squirmed causing the plug to shift and he had to bite back a moan. 

Zar leaned over. “If you can stay silent, I will let you cum.”

Slowly Zar undid Alinar’s pants and slid a hand inside. He groped the elfs cock and stroked it slowly. Between the position and how dark it was, it would be impossible for anyone looking to tell exactly what was happening. It was clearly sexual, but gave no indication of what genitals were involved. 

Alinar was determined to show Zar that he could take orders, and fought to be silent as his cock was teased. It wasn’t the same as a normal hand job, the position was awkward. It meant the stimulation wasn’t as direct and was more teasing in nature. It kept him on the edge for almost the entirety of the movie. The longer it went on the more desperate the elf became before he broke and whispered to Zar.

“Please”

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching them. Zar leaned down and took the elfs cock into his mouth in one smooth motion, swallowing the entire length and sucking hard. He could feel Alinars hips thrust up only once, as the elf desperately grasped his hair and came in his throat. 

Miraculously the elf had remained mostly silent, only a quiet choked off grunt could be heard. Sitting up Zar smiled and put his arm around Alinar pulling him close into a cuddle as the elf readjusted his pants. They had been seen, Zar noticed a couple much further down the row watching them. Clearly they weren’t bothered by it as they seemed to be up to their own little risky activities. Feeling a bit playful Zar waved at them and then turned back to the film with a smile.

Maybe tonight would be the night. He would invite Alinar to stay and he wouldn’t give up until he was deep inside Alinar and the elf was screaming his name.

[welcometoels]

Session Seventeen - RupeMaster

Time to hit the road again.

The party travels north for a couple of days, to meet with Ebeneezer’s contact and complete the handover of the Thornhelm.

Harry - Ebeneezer’s lushly bewhiskered right hand man - has the artefact safely at his side in a special bag, and members of the bandit crew flit between the trees, on watch for creatures and other, more dangerous bandits.

The journey is quite peaceful, though, and Harry encourages the group to tell tales of their adventures thus far.  They fill him in on all the details, from their sudden arrival in Dogwood, to the clash with Slathiel, and on to their experiences in Monthend.

After a day of travelling and telling tales, the group beds down.  As they dream, they all hear a voice - the same voice they heard after the gems and lanterns they collected turned into the trinkets they now wear.  It reminds them of its presence, and that it is still watching, waiting for the time that they meet again.

Back on the road, after a breakfast of bacon-flavoured rabbit and fish-flavoured fish, some of the party expand on their background.  Cailynn in particular tells the group about the circumstances of her family’s death and how she survived since: The blackmail and the murder, her apprenticeship to renowned artificer Banto, and what followed.

She was naturally somewhat adrift since losing her family to a mysterious and shady organisation, and fell into petty crime and thievery.  Her magical ability, though, caught the eye of Banto, and he took her in as an assistant.  It was there that she learned the basics of the artificer’s craft - and more besides.

It transpired that her magic was not all that Banto wanted her for - he also had an eye of her light-fingered thieving skills.  He’d become aware of a set of blueprints that were being brought over by the Dwarves to help foster peace and trade with the Elven nation: Blueprints for a series of devices known as the HelpForged.

Banto sent his young apprentice to steal the blueprints.  This turned out to be an easier task than she’d expected, since the Dwarven envoys had entered into a spirited drinking contest with some local Elves, and the documents had been left unattended in their lodgings.  After picking the lock, she left the premises with her quarry.

A short while afterward, she was visited by Felix - a representative of a major Tabaxi crime syndicate known as The Mau.  Felix - a Sphinx cat who was clearly as dangerous as he was hairless - had come to discuss the theft with Cailynn, since his organisation had set up the drinking contest in order to steal the blueprints themselves.  However, due to a lack of expertise in the field, the thief they sent took the wrong documents.

Felix made Cailynn an offer - join The Mau.  A clear threat lingered unspoken - this was not an offer that should be refused lightly.  Cailynn accepted - thereby narrowly avoiding the raid on Banto’s workshop, which the HelpForged 38/12 told the team about a couple of weeks ago - and has been working for The Mau ever since.

While in the spirit of sharing, Oddsock also talked about his home in Chew, where hops grow freely, beer aplenty is brewed, and the owlbears are soft and cuddly.  He has no idea how to get back, and he misses it dearly.

Julius too is in a sharing mood, and talks about his old Pa and the cottage they used to share before he went away.  He too misses his home, but has been learning a lot while out on the road.

Talion chooses this moment to talk about Julius’ grasp of Dwarvish, and the Otter is alarmed to learn that all of the friendly greetings he thought he knew are actually swear words.  Sensing that he has upset Julius, Talion offers to help tutor him in a few Dwarvish phrases, with the help of his Tongues spell.

Dodging the matter for the moment, Julius asks Harry who the contact for the handover might be. Harry is unwilling to give out any details, but after getting lost in Oddsock’s big brown eyes, he does reveal that it’s just one person, and they will be meeting at the Burning Man Inn.

Oddsock celebrates this success by letting the fiery sparks crackle through his magically charged fur.  Harry is impressed, so Oddsock follows this up by Prestidogitating a flurry of fireworks in every colour he knows.  These are mostly grey, but very pretty regardless.

Also in grey is the small town emerging through the trees ahead.  Greysnipe - for that is what it is called - is little more than a church, a couple of inns and some simple shops, serving the farms that make up most of its land.  One of the inns is the Burning Man, and it is towards this that the party ventures.

As they tie their horses to the rail outside - Talion taking care of Oddsock’s, and earning a Mage Hand pat on the back for doing so - Harry swaggers in.  He invites the others to follow, but advises them to sit well away from him, as the contact is only expecting one person for the hand-off.  Oddsock tries to follow, but for once his persuasive arts fall short, and he joins the rest of the party at a corner table.

From here, they plan.  Sticking to the idea of stealing back the helm after it is paid for, so they can return it to the Gnomes, they cook up a few ideas for how put this into action.

Firstly, Julius sends his fey weasel companion Rupert over to Harry’s table.  Being small, Rupert very effectively stays out of sight, curled up under a chair.  Once he is in position, Julius transfers his senses to the weasel, so he can hear all the conversations as they happen.

[DM’s note: This is what Edward (Talion) referred to as “Riding the RupeMaster”, in case you wanted to know who to blame for the session title]

While Julius listens to Harry giving his drink order to the friendly Half-Orc waiter, Talion outlines his plan.  He wants to turn the remaining party members invisible, so that they can take up positions around the room unseen.

Mostly, the plan is well received, and a lot simpler than the last plan they made.  Only Oddsock refuses, preferring to instead float up to the rafters so he can drop down on the contact from above.  Talion, with a sigh, agrees, on the condition that Oddsock relays the plan to Julius via Message.

Communicating magically with a fey weasel who is magically linked to an Otter person turns out to be an unusual experience.  There is a touch of echo and feedback, but the message gets through.

With everyone in place, Talion leans forward to cast Invisibility.  However, the magic fizzles in his fingers, as a door at the far end of the pub opens.  Through it enters a peculiar figure: A tall, slender Human with deep brown skin, wearing a soft, powder blue robe, glasses with silvery lenses, and fluffy shoes fashioned after pink rodents.  His thick, silvery-white hair stands high upon his head, and his beard descends past his chest.

The man sits down opposite Harry, and an exchange is made.  First, the man puts a small purse upon the table, which Harry peers into.  After a quiet moment, during which Harry is clearly startled, the helm is dropped onto the table.  The man picks it up, and moves to leave.

As the man stands, Julius touches a paw to his necklace and lets his friends know, in a low whisper, that the exchange has been made.

Oddsock, high above, moves forward into dropping range.  The Human looks up at the Golden Retriever, and simply says “No.”  A magical compulsion is woven into this word, but Oddsock brushes it off.  He readies himself, leaps forth, and snags his collar on a chandelier.

While the waiter moves to unstick the hound using a broom, the mystery man leaves through the door through which he entered.  As he does, Talion tries casting Invisibility again, this time with immediate success.  He moves out of the pub’s front door, with Kadis and Cailynn, intending to catch the Human at the side as he leaves.

Instead, they find a plain side wall with no door.  Cailynn sends Moo the clockwork wyvern into the air to investigate, but beside an old well, a couple of rickety outhouses and a rear door, there is nothing.

Julius, regaining his senses, takes a more direct approach.  He opens the side door inside the inn, and narrowly avoids being struck by a loose broomhandle.  Beside a few cleaning supplies, he finds a small rectangle of card.  Upon the card is written:

Not yet - JD

Other than the peculiarly uniform handwriting, there is nothing unusual about the note.  There is also no sign of the strangely clad Human who presumably left it.

The three invisibles return to the inn, and as they do, Talion catches sight of the sign at the front again.  This time, it triggers a recent memory - of stopping for a drink, meeting a beautiful Snowy Owl Aaracokra, heading upstairs for a little leisure time... and suddenly being somewhere entirely different.

Acting upon this information, he heads upstairs with his hidden friends, and Julius and Oddsock follow, trusting the dog’s senses.  There are only three rooms, and it doesn’t take Talion long to find the right one.

Instead of knocking like a regular person might, Oddsock tries the technique that worked exactly once in the past - Acid Splash.  Sadly, possibly due to his light-fitting related embarrassment, his acid is ineffective, and the door remains closed tight.

Cailynn tries next, using her lockpick to much greater effect.  As the lock clicks open, the door swings, revealing the luxuriantly befeathered form of Bubo Scandiacus.  The Aarakocra is outraged to find a Golden Retriever and an Otter causing a ruckus outside their door, and even moreso when Talion lets his Invisibility slip.

Today, Talion discovers that being slapped by an Aarakocra is no more pleasant that being slapped by anyone else.  The slammed door in his face is also less than enjoyable.

Inside the room, Bubo turns to find Oddsock, who managed to sneak in through Talion’s legs.  He looks up at them and asks for the petting he feels he deserves.  Bubo initially resists, but after a dramatic monologue about their woes, they brush Oddsock’s fur with a soft hand.

Oddsock, satisfied, offers his Ball of Compulsive Throwing, which Bubo gamely throws down the hall for him to chase.

As this is going on, Julius fills the team in on his discoveries.  Talion has a good long think about the type of magic that must have been used and, based on what knowledge he has, thinks it must have been a Conjuration spell such as Dimension Door.

Cailynn decides to bring the power of her criminal contacts to bear on this matter.  Outside the pub, she looks for the crow that has been following her, and finds it peering down from the roof.  Writing out a quick message about finding a powerful conjuror, she adds the symbol of The Mau to the bottom right corner, and attaches the message to the crow’s leg.  With a tap of its beak against her hand, the crow takes flight, and Cailynn returns to the inn.

Outside the Burning Man, Oddsock finally catches an odour other than old cider.  It is a very familiar smell, which he eventually recognises as his own urine.  Following the trail, he finds a very familiar looking church next to an equally familiar tavern called The Hanging Lock.

From around the corner of the tavern appears another familiar sight - a cheerful Jack Russel, who greets Oddsock in the manner of all canines.  Once the sniffing is complete, the Jack Russel leads Oddsock into the pub via a dog door.  This time, Oddsock finds himself where he expects to be - another inn, furnished in a very similar fashion to the Burning Man.

Jumping up onto a stool, Oddsock drops his metal dog bowl on the bar and asks for an ale.  The barman panics at being spoken to by a dog, and Oddsock sighs.  This is getting tiresome...

Julius also spends some time outside the Burning Man, and sees Oddsock’s trip to the other end of town.  Letting his eyes drift along, he sees a couple more buildings, and with a start he realises that he knows them.

Though he has never been into Greysnipe proper, he has been to its outskirts on many occasions, to trade his books and pebbles for supplies.  It is exactly this Dwarven-run supply shop that he sees now, and inside it, the Dwarf who taught Julius so many profanities in the guise of pleasant greetings.

Julius goes to berate the Dwarf for being so cruel, but the storekeep just finds it funny.  After a few withering words about dull books about weeds, he sends Julius on his way.

Happily, there is a much warmer greeting to be had across the road.  The Halfling woman who owns the greengrocer welcomes Julius back, though she is confused as to how he managed to disappear last time.

The two spend a few pleasant minutes chatting.  Though she doesn’t know anything about Conjuration magic, she does know plenty about herbs, and gives Julius a little bundle to be used in a fish stew.

Back in the Burning Man, Kadis sits alone, thinking.  Obviously, nothing here is familiar to his eyes, but from the back of the room comes a familiar voice.  Its oily, obsequious aspect matches perfectly with that of the man who tried to lead him into a pub for drinks while he was still an aimless wanderer.

Kadis greets the man, and takes up the offer of a fresh ale, now that he has finally seen the inside of the pub he failed to enter those few weeks ago.

The group has much to consider here, in the town of Greysnipe.  Now they know where they started, how will they proceed?

[salamandersofftheclock]

Principles You Can Use From Rowling’s Philosophy of Writing 

by Ruthanne Reid

If you’re like me, you loved the Harry Potter series. Maybe you watched the movies or even visited the theme park, and you wondered about JK Rowling’s writing process and the strategy she uses to write her best-selling books. If you’re like me, though, you’ve also been deeply hurt by things Rowling herself has said. On Twitter, on her website, in interviews, and more, Rowling has promoted harmful views of trans people, and you might be one of her many readers who find it painful, or even impossible, to return to the Harry Potter books you once loved.I understand. Before I dive into the wisdom we can draw from Rowling’s writing process in order to write our first draft (or others), allow me to share a principle with you. Death of the Author: Or, How to Love the Book, Not the Author In 1967, a French literary critic named Roland Barthes wrote an essay called La mort de l’auteur, or Death of the Author, in which he states that any piece of writing should be separated from the author that wrote it. In other words, he believed in judging the written work completely on its own merits, without involving personal beliefs or actions of the author in question. Sometimes, this is possible to do. Sometimes, it isn’t, and we readers have to apply discernment to what we read and the lens in which we view things.I have two examples for you. HP Lovecraft First, HP Lovecraft, whose incredible work literally created today’s modern horror genre. Do you enjoy any kind of tale with Elder Ones, or chaos gods, or even just good old Cthulhu? (I know I do!) His work was so creative, so new, that you’d be hard-pressed to find any horror story that doesn’t show at least some of his influence.Unfortunately, Lovecraft was also an extremely xenophobic racist. Now, I enjoy a good chaos god, and I’ve made the decision to separate his xenophobia from his writing. That means, of course, that I must view critically anything he wrote that implies white English people are somehow the pinnacle of humanity.It means I purposely do not allow his racism to infect my way of thinking. By doing so, I am practicing la mort de l’auteur. JRR Tolkien Here’s a second example: JRR Tolkien, whose work defined modern fantasy. Do you enjoy anything with elves and dwarves or made-up languages? We owe Tolkien for that. He redefined and polished the fantasy genre so well that everything from movies to MMORPGs still use his templates. Unfortunately, he also described his orcs as “squat, broad, flat-nosed, sallow-skinned, with wide mouths and slant eyes: in fact degraded and repulsive versions of the (to Europeans) least lovely Mongol-types.” Yowza. Now, was Tolkien a racist? Not exactly. In fact, according to the standards of the time, he was absolutely liberal and anti-racist. So then what do we do with this bizarro and racially horrifying description? We see it and choose to discard it. Generations of artists and authors have done exactly that, turning orcs into anything but“least lovely Mongol-types,” and aiding this genre.Again, it’s important to see the problem so you can avoid letting it influence your work. We enjoy the good parts while consciously discarding the bad, rather than being influenced by it. So What About JK Rowling? She’s not dead. In fact, she’s still saying harmful things, even as we speak. Instead of listening to her readers, who (at least initially) approached her in love, trying to help her understand, she doubled down, rejected their experience and their words, and in the process, caused an unbelievable amount of pain. Here’s the thing about la mort de l’auteur: it is entirely up to you whether to apply it to what you read, or to simply discard the whole thing and find less troublesome authors. Both roads are valid. In no way do I condone her attacks on the trans community, or her persistent sharing of misinformation. I choose to apply la mort de l’auteur for the simple reason that I benefited from the good things she’s written, and I wanted to share them with you. However, if you aren’t comfortable doing that, you are absolutely welcome to walk away. In fact, I’d suggest these writing articles instead: Neil Gaiman’s rules of writing, or how to create your own rules of writing. Okay. Awkward stuff done. Ready to dive into the process stuff instead? Let’s go! 9 Rules From JK Rowling’s Writing Process Over the course of her writing career, Rowling shared a lot of solid writing wisdom, and in my opinion, eight writing rules stand out—along with a ninth we can apply from her choices since. Whether or not you’re writing your first book like Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone) or last book in a series (like Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows), I think these rules speak to Ms. Joanne Rowling’s philosophy on writing.They are great writing tips for you to reflect on in your spare moments and then apply to your writing process, for short stories, novels, bestsellers, or even the first time you’ve ever attempted a book. Rule One: Protect your writing time “Be ruthless about protecting writing days, i.e., do not cave in to endless requests to have “essential” and “long overdue” meetings on those days. The funny thing is that, although writing has been my actual job for several years now, I still seem to have to fight for time in which to do it.” This is especially hard for those of us with family. Our loved ones come first, and while that is important, our loved ones also need to understand that we need time to write. Setting reasonable boundaries is a crucial step for a writer—even if they’re as simple as, “Mommy needs fifteen minutes of quiet time, okay?” If you have trouble setting boundaries with loved ones, try setting a reasonable boundary for one week. See how it goes. If it’s too much time or too little, tweak it. Establish a routine that signals to others that it’s your writing time, but also lets them know that outside of your writing space, you’re there for them. Not only will this teach the importance of flexibility and discipline to others, but also that your writing is valuable. It’s your work, and your dream! Needing quiet time to write doesn’t mean that you don’t love your family. Your writing deserves your time, too. Open communication about this can help everyone understand and respect that. Rule Two: Treat your writing like a job “You’ve got to work. It’s about structure. It’s about discipline.” It’s easy to forget that writing is a job. We don’t always feel like doing our job. We certainly don’t always feel inspired. To be writers, we must train ourselves to sit down and write even when we don’t feel like it. Those moments are the ones that really matter, even more than the shining, flying, muse-kissed moments.Writing when we don’t feel like it is what turn amateurs into professionals and rough drafts into polished manuscripts. “The muse works for you. You don’t write at her beck and call—you train her to show up when you’re writing. “ Rule Three: Believe you ARE a writer “I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me.” Yes, writing is possible with another job. Yes, writing is possible with other responsibilities. Are you a writer? (I know your inner critic snarled no, but I also know a tiny candle-flicker of unquenchable hope in you whispered yes with so much longing you could cry.) You ARE a writer. That means you write. A runner runs. A painter paints. A cook cooks. You are a writer. You write. Accept this, fight to believe it, and be amazed at how far that takes you. Rule Four: Write what you know “Write what you know: your own interests, feelings, beliefs, friends, family and even pets will be your raw materials when you start writing.” This doesn’t mean you need to experience aliens in order to write about them. It means that all good stories have universal application. A great example is this Google Doodle. (Trust me. I’m going somewhere with this.) Take two minutes and thirty-six seconds to watch this: Halloween 2017 Google Doodle: Jinx’s Night Out It’s adorable, right? Without a single word, this video told an effective story. You felt for the little ghost, both when it was sad and when it was happy, right? News flash: you’re not a ghost. That was universal application. It doesn’t matter what culture you’re from or what language you speak; all human beings know what it is to be lonely, to feel left out, to be frustrated, determined, and to finally be with friends. That story works because the creators used their interests, feelings, beliefs, friends, family and even pets to tell this story. (I’m fond of the kitty, myself.) I’m greatly oversimplifying, but here’s the gist: you already know how to tell a moving story because you live one. If you’ve ever had emotions, ever responded to anything, then you already know what universal application looks like. Listen to the people around you, and apply empathy. You don’t have to be a ghost to write a good ghost story. Rule Five: Read “I always advise children who ask me for tips on being a writer to read as much as they possibly can. Jane Austen gave a young friend the same advice, so I’m in good company there.” Read. Read. Read some more! The more you read, the bigger your arsenal of words will be. The more you read, the better your grasp of metaphor, poetry, beauty, passion, and empathy will be. The more you read, the greater you will be as a writer (and probably human being). It’s like learning more dance moves or impressively difficult notes on an instrument. The more you learn, the better you’ll be. So read in your genre. Read outside your genre. Get in the habit of finding time to pick up a book instead of your phone (unless it’s to open up another book.) You DO have the time to read. Even if that’s just ten minutes a day. Any time counts. And the more stories you read, the more likely you’ll start to implicitly develop the skills you need to become a great writer. Rule Six: Persevere “Perseverance is absolutely essential, not just to produce all those words, but to survive rejection and criticism.” This is one of those unpleasant truths about publishing: you’re gonna get rejected. A lot. I wish there were a way around this. Harry Potter was turned down again and again because that’s just the way it goes sometimes. And it isn’t only publishers: when you get published, and your work is out there, you’ll get bad reviews, too. Mostly, they’ll just be people who don’t understand what you’re doing. Intellectually, you’ll know that. Your heart, on the other hand, is going to break into a thousand pieces. But here’s the secret: you can’t stop writing because of push-back. You MUST NOT stop writing because of push-back. Keep going. Don’t stop. When you get rejected, pick up your pen and keep going (and use the way you feel to put more universal application into your work). And when you’re feeling really discouraged? Remember that when someone doesn’t like your book, they might also just not be your ideal reader. That person just wasn’t your target audience.If your book isn’t to someone’s taste, that’s all right. It will be to someone else’s.Keep writing your book, because your ideal readers need it. Rule Seven: Bring your whole self to the page “What you write becomes who you are … So make sure you love what you write!” Writing is a little like a Mobius strip, in a way: Your beliefs and experiences and feelings all help craft your writing. However, your writing clarifies, corrects, and often reveals your beliefs, experiences, and feelings. As you write, you’ll discover things about yourself. You’ll clarify things, too, because it’s only as you come to write them that you realize they needed clarification in the first place. Now, understand: this means that if you haven’t given yourself a good look to find your biases (we all have them), you will bring those to the page, too. It’s important to see who you are as you bring your whole self to the page. Writing is a brave, bold venture, and life-altering discovery is part of the journey. Rule Eight: Accept that failure is part of the process “Failure is inevitable—make it a strength. You have to resign yourself to the fact that you waste a lot of trees before you write anything you really like, and that’s just the way it is. It’s like learning an instrument, you’ve got to be prepared for hitting wrong notes occasionally, or quite a lot. I wrote an awful lot before I wrote anything I was really happy with.” Failure is normal. Also, it is okay. You’re going to write a lot of crap. You’re going to push past those things and write more crap. It may take you twelve years. It may take you a million words. If it does, then you’re on the right path—the same one your favorite authors walk. Accept that it will take time, and that sometimes, your pencil won’t be your friend. If you accept it, then when it happens, you won’t throw in the towel and set the house on fire. Instead, you’ll be able to go, “Well, dang; that sucked, didn’t it? Knew it would happen. Time to write some more.” Rule Nine: Respect Your Reader Sadly, this rule doesn’t come from writing advice she’s given, but in a way, it’s the final conclusion of the previous eight. This involves bringing your whole self to the page. This involves empathy and universal application. This involves perseverance, never quitting, and willingness to tackle your writing troubles. If your readers value what you created, they will listen to what you say. Your words have the power to uplift or hurt others. None of us can ever really know where someone else is coming from, and it’s essential that both our stories and our interactions reflect respect. Respect yourself enough to be a better person. Respect your readers enough to hear what they have to say. This sounds scary, I know, but I promise you, it’s worth it.

[lesbiansforboromir]

oh to be a simple baker in the markets of a town in lesbiansforboromir's HCed Gondor 🥺

You awake a simple baker in Erynos, a medium fortress town settled on the banks of the river Sirith in Lebennin, which feeds into the Anduin after passing through the city of Pelargir that spans it’s mouth. The window to your small bedroom faces west, as all important windows should, hence you are only awoken by the gentle ambient morning light filtering through the simple star-like geometric screen behind off-white linen that covers your window. (you are not quite rich enough to afford glass, but you think you prefer it, as upper lebennin becomes so very hot in summer)

You rise from your raised wooden bed, a modest but sturdy piece with a mattress of softened, treated and dried reeds at it’s base with some wool stuffing at it’s top for comfort. Linen makes up most of the sheets you use, as well as the clothes you wear, more luxurious fabrics far too expensive to buy let alone acquire from so far north as the Ringlo Vale. But linen is very cool and comfortable, and you think it dyes nicely anyway. 

You touch your forehead and gesture west in an instinctual routine-like manner before beginning to pull down your clothes and ties to get dressed. You have heard that people elsewhere in the Kingdom have much more elaborate morning rituals to honour such things. But you live in Lebennin and only do so more out of ritual or politeness than any kind of true understanding or care for who or what you might be honouring. You cinch the sheets over loose pants (gathered tight at your ankles) about your waist and chest, making sure your kneading-muscled arms are bare and free, before pushing past a patterned curtain and passing through into your bakery. 

It is still very early and the bakery is quite dark (on account of most windows being west, yet your kitchen is to the east of the house due to building constraints) but you decide not to light a lamp to save on oil. (Oil is being rationed after all, now that it is so imperative that the border sentries and watchtowers are lit through the fearful nights in case of cruel orcs using the cover of dark to creep down from the mountains.) Instead you rely on muscle memory to guide you around your kitchen until you have your huge oven properly lit. That is enough light for you to get started on the doughs. You make up thirteen batches at a time, a little ungainly as numbers go, but you prefer to have the buffer of six to ensure that you won’t be setting seven loaves into your oven if some were not to rise properly. (Seven is a number to be avoided after all.) 

You are alone in the house, your father having retaken his oaths and returned to the military now that the state of war has become more severe and Erynos must be ready to defend the crossings at Sirith. He had retired from that career to settle down with his family before you were born, but the times are somewhat desperate and even your mother, with her navigational degree, has left home to serve in Pelargir’s naval offices. But you don’t worry too much about either of them, for your mother rarely takes to a ship and your father is garrisoned in the fort at the peak of the town. You will see if you can’t visit him later, he always likes to share the fried offcuts of the dough you manage to set aside. 

With the first batch in the oven and the second on the rise, you take a little time to yourself, dusting flour from your hands, grabbing a little flat bread you have stored in your larder and taking a little pot of something to dip it in out to your porch. 

At your threshhold there is a large marble stone step, well worn by feet but having recently been sanded down to etch in your name alone below the designation of you as a baker. You open your front door wide and latch it now that the worst of the morning swarms have settled down and you enjoy a little breakfast as you watch the morning light creep over every ornate clay lattice and decorated mosaic across your street. It is very easy to tell, even for a simple baker such as yourself, that Erynos is one of the older settlements of Gondor, built before the cataclysm that destroyed numenor by the original explorers who made a home here. You claim little to no ancestry from those folk, but your heart has a fondness for the obvious mixing of geometric Numenorean architecture with the ancient mountain folk’s more charactered patterns painted across white walls. 

The miller’s boy is right on time, leading his rather stubborn mule up to your door with this day’s allotment of flour. He does the same gesture of touching his forehead and gesturing west when he sees you, and you answer by touching your flatbread to your chest and doing the same. (You both know which way west is on account of the little conglomerate character that is stencilled in bronze at the corner of every wall that faces west. You do not know the letter’s origins, but it means west to you.) He speaks to you just a little, and with the deferential pronoun, but you send him off with a smile and set your breakfast down on the lip of your bakery’s storefront to drag the large sack inside and raise the wooden shutters . 

You go back outside to finish your breakfast and, indeed, your oven will need tending again in a moment, but you wait just a little longer with an eager nervousness in your feet. This patience is rewarded when your district’s messenger arrives to update the chalkboard outside your door with any changes in the work orders. She is wearing her usual messenger uniform, (it is rather dashing and displays her strong calves and lanky frame very well) with the five rivers of Lebennin’s crest displayed across her over tunic. She smiles at you, with dark eyes and shorn short curly hair, and she doesn’t use the deferential pronoun, and neither do you (even if you should.) And she doesn’t mind and it makes your heart flutter and your hands grab a little too much salt from the bronze basin in the wall behind you to scatter over your doorstep so you can invite her inside. (Because she’s the first person you’ve invited inside today, and you like that she obviously likes that.)

And you were hoping she’d come because you have a little sweetbread waiting for her which she’s so grateful for, she’s been running the streets since before dawn. And today you ask her if she likes being a messenger for the military (even though she’s a girl) and she says yes she does and she’s the one who brings up Lord Boromir and all the changes he is enacting with the new powers the Council at Minas Tirith has granted him. (You mention he isn’t married and how you believe in his earnest dedication and she agrees and not in the way some girls do it like they wish he’d make an exception for them, she agrees like old Nahzir at the port who’s a man even though some mistakenly call him a woman and it’s good you have to tend to your oven while you speak or she’d notice you fluster with hope.) 

And you don’t know what gets into you but you mention how you saved up tharni tips for three years just to buy Earnur’s ‘To Warring’ and how surprised you were that the westron translation was so easy to read and there’s a worrying pause where you wonder if you were mistaken but when you turn from sliding the second batch of breads into the oven she tells you that’s BRILLIANT and asks you all kinds of questions! But she has to go and you tell her as she’s passing the door that she can borrow the book if she likes and she looks at you in a new way that makes your stomach flip and she asks if she can come tomorrow. And you blurt out that that’s the seventh day, does she want to risk it? And she tells you she’d risk many dooms just to talk a little longer and when she squeezes your hand your fingerprints are printed onto her palm in flour and it’s all you can think about as she’s running off up the street until finally folk start arriving to collect their bread.

You have to focus on stamping their wood ration cards and noting down the bread weights and times collected in the registry and everyone tells you that yours is the softest and sweetest bread in town and they use deferential pronouns for you because they are receiving your service and you are a professional now and the feeling of being appreciated and supporting your community, especially during such difficult and worrying times, fills your whole chest with warmth and hope and lightness of spirit. 

[thefirstcourtesan]

A Moment At A Time (Mal x MC)

A Minute At A Time By Misha

Disclaimer- Not mine.

Author’s Notes- My first Blades of Light and Shadows fic! This was inspired by the revelation about magic in Chapter 7 and a post by @the-unconquered-queen . My MC Ellora is human and I have enjoyed getting in her head, so there may be more coming. Also this got really angsty, so read at your own risk!

Rating- PG

Pairing- Mal x MC

Words- 1300

Summary- Every time Ellora uses magic, she uses up some of her own life force and she can’t help but keep track of every minute, every hour and she knows she is not the only one.

When Tyril first tells them that using the light requires a sacrifice of life energy, Ellora is irritated with Nia for not telling her, but not terribly concerned. After all, the magic that Nia had taught her was simple and she hadn’t yet had to use it.

Just learning the spell couldn’t be harmful, only a couple minutes at most. She has those to spare. And fighting off the orc captain? That was another couple moments at most.

When that creature attacks them in the Deadwood, she has to use the magic Nia taught her. Once, twice, three times... Three more minutes gone, but still nothing in the large picture.

Before they exit the Deadwood, Ellora calls on the magic twice more. A few more minutes gone. But still nothing. Maybe a quarter of an hour gone. Yet, she can see Tyril watching her each time, obviously weighing her human life span against his own and every time their eyes meet, she is forced to consider the sacrifice.

Maybe that is why she finds herself keeping track, adding them up, one minute at a time.

By the time they reach the Undermount, she is closing in on an hour.

In the Undermount, Ellora is taught more advanced magic by one of the Elven elders. The kind that can save their lives. But the kind that will also take a larger sacrifice. She knows without asking how Tyril feels, but for the first time, she seeks Mal’s opinion. “It’s your choice, kit,” but she can see his fists clench at his side and the expression on his face tells her that she is not the only one doing the mental math.

The process of retrieving and purifying the third shard requires Ellora to use the magic she has learned, not the simple magic, but the more advanced elven magic.

Another hour gone, then two. Still too little to be concerned about. And yet she knows that besides Nia and perhaps Threep, her companions are concerned for her.

She sees the looks Mal and Imtura exchange every time she uses magic, see the way Tyril’s eyes narrow and that he is forcing himself not to say anything because it is her choice.

The journey to White Tower and the final shard is a long one and there are many obstacles in their way. Ellora’s sword is well used in the weeks that follow their departure from the Undermount, as is her bow and her fists, but weapons aren’t enough and she finds herself relying on magic more and more.

Even Nia is wary. “Ellora, you don’t have to do this, I am more than capable...”

And she is, Nia has been incredible, overcoming her nerves and showing her full potential but Ellora is also showing a talent for magic. She might not have known she had magic but she adapted quickly once she made the discovery and besides, she can’t let Nia take the burden on all by herself. At least with two of them using it, the effect is split in half.

Still by the time they locate the final shard, the total has climbed and is now at a day. An entire day of her life gone in the span of weeks.

It is then that Mal brings up the subject for the first time. They are discussing life after shards, the adventures they will have that don’t involve fighting shadow monsters and saving the world, and then he suddenly turns serious, watching her carefully. “When this is over, you’re going to stop using magic, right?”

Ellora hesitates. Is she? It is a powerful tool after all and has saved their lives. Plus, now that she has discovered that she can do magic, it is like finding a part of herself she never knew about. Can she just walk away from it?

Her answer must show on her face, because Mal sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Ki—Ellora, how much have you used so far and it’s been, what 5, weeks? If you keep using it...”

He trails off but she knows what he is going to say, the total will climb. A day in 5 weeks will become 10 in a year. She will take months, even years off her life, if she continues like this.

“It won’t always be like this,” she assures him, “this is special circumstances, I am using more than I normally will. After, it will be different.”

He nods and they change the subject, but she can still feel his worry as she lays in his arms and she doesn’t blame him, because while she tries to tell herself it will be different, she still keeps a running total in her head.

When they find the final shard, they have to fight for it and Nia’s magic isn’t strong enough. The elder at the temple of the light sees something in Ellora and offers to teach her more advanced magic. The king they will need to fight the shadow court.

“Ellora, no, we’ll find another way.” Imtura tells her speaking for everyone.

Tyril quickly adds his own opinion and even Nia tells her to consider the risk.

Mal doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. By now Ellora knows him well enough to know what he is feeling before he says it.

Just like she can sense his resignation when she agrees to learn the magic.

The sacrifice for this spell is more intense. A day or so of her life force each time she uses it.

By her own calculations it takes 3 days worth of life force to defeat the agents of the  Shadow Court and get the fourth shard. That makes 4 days total and the battle isn’t over.

She reaches a week before they even return to the temple with the four shards. A week of her life gone in less than 8. But she reminds herself that it is a week of her life to save Kade’s and that is a sacrifice she will gladly make. And she would say the same thing to Mal if he asked her.

But he doesn’t. They haven’t talked about it again and she knows they won’t. Not until all this is over.

And then she learns the true cost of saving Kade and purifying the shards.

It will take a life.

Nia volunteers to do it. She has given her entire life to the Light after all.

But Ellora can’t let her make that sacrifice.

“No,” she says, refusing to look at Tyril, Imtura and especially Mal, “it has to be me.”

There are angry shouts at her news but no amount of arguing changes it. A life force has to be sacrificed to purify the shards and it is her brother they are trying to save, so it has to be her. She knows it and when the arguing finally stops, she knows they do too.

She says her goodbyes, cracking jokes with Imtura and teasing Tyril before comforting Nia and giving Threep one last cuddle, and then it is just Mal.

“I love you,” is all she tells him, pressing her lips to his in one last desperate kiss, “a minute, a year, a 100 years, no amount of time will change that.”

“Ellora...” Her name is an anguished groan and she cuts it off with another kiss before stepping into the circle to do the ritual.

Since this started she has watched her life tick by in small increments. First a minute, then a day, then a week, and now... Now she must make the ultimate sacrifice. This is how it ends.

End