#source: of orcs and men

[luverine]

Orc (Leif) Blacksmith x fem! Hunter! Reader

MDNI // sfw // no proof read ‹𝟹

Leif, a gentle giant of pure orc blood, towers at over seven feet tall. His tannish-green skin glows warmly in the sunlight, he has a lean but soft physique. Despite his intimidating stature, his deep voice is a source of comfort to those around him, his presence calming, his nature well-known and trusted by all. Yet, there’s one undeniable issue that lingers, you.

You hate him, every interaction he’s exchanged with you has been sharper than a knife, colder than the snow. It saddens him with a frown etched into his face after every conversation.

He thinks you’re amazing, the way you handle a bow and arrow with ease, bringing the game back to the village you both reside in. Giving the town much food to eat, never having to worry about hunger.

He’s too big to use a bow Leif wishes he wasn’t, perhaps you would like him more if he wasn’t so big, if he could be more careful, he can’t help but run and bump into things.

He remembers how you grew to dislike him. He was relatively newer to the village, but he brought his talent of being a blacksmith with him, many of the townsfolk grew to enjoy his presence and his passion. Money grew as well causing even more townsfolk to welcome him.

You grew up as a hunter, your family passed doing just that, hunting. It was more than a pastime or sport for you. It was your livelihood, the bow your father gifted you before his great hunt was sacred to you.

Was… Leif the clutz he snapped it in pieces when he tripped over your crouched form that was hiding in a bush.

He nearly cried. He felt so bad and it didn’t help the situation when you threatened his life. From that day on you declared him as a foe and he wished nothing more than to make it up to you.

Once he made you a bow as a blacksmith he didn’t have a lot of experience with bow making but he put his best effort into creating it. You practically cursed his bloodline, and shoved the bow up his ass.

The worst of all that has happened between you, he loved you, Leif felt it deep within his heart when he laid his amber eyes on you. He sent prayer after prayer to you, devoting his mind, body, and soul to you.

Other women and some men in the town have tried to woo him but never succeeded, everyone could see clear as day how he felt, but they also saw how you felt. It was obvious he was going to have to work hard to win your love.

Likes, reblogs, comments appreciated ‹𝟹

Want more of Leif? Part 2 here, Part 3 , Part 4

[written-in-flowers]

The Places Between Us: The Undead Soldier: (OT8 x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Song Mingi x Fem!Reader | Side pairings: Hongjoong x Fem!Reader, Ateez x Reader.

Genre: Smut, angst, fluff | AU: fantasy!au,

Word Count: 6k

Summary: Carted away by Mingi like a prized lion, YN is taken through the dangerous woodlands of the North. Through lycan infested lands, General Mingi is generous. Very generous.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Overall Tags: dub-con, mind control, enslavement, kidnapping, forced breeding, monster fucking, sex work, mentions/implications of abuse, mentions/implications of SA, stockholm syndrome, public sex, exhibitionism, humiliation, degradation, breeding kink, bigdick!Seonghwa, bigdick!Yunho, DoubleDick!Yunh, face fucking, throat fucking, undead sex, sex w/ undead, belly bulge, anal sex, anal fingering, vaginal sex, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, squirting/vaginal ejaculation, slight size kink (height wise), overstimulation, facials, cum swallowing, choking, dom!ateez, sub!reader, tit fucking, sex toys, bondage, multiple partners, threesome, orc!jongho, naga!seonghwa, demon!hongjoong, dragon!yunho, undead!mingi, goblin!yeosang, lycan!san, lycan!wooyoung.

Taglist: @binniesbabe @stay-tiny-things @oiminho @babymbbatinygirl @sopematesxx @pirana10 @juicyjaxxy @corgilover20 @kinkymaminicole @londonbridges01 @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 (if you want to be tagged for future chapters, let me know in the replies)

Part 2: The Dragon Prince < | > Part 4: The Lycan Brothers

****

You woke up in your bedroom again. The smell of chamomile came faintly off the sheets and pillows, and you knew who was beside you. 

“Morning, love,” he rolled onto his side, eyes still closed as he pulled you close. 

“Morning.”

The both of you laid naked, entangled in one another like snakes. His lips, plush and warm, pressed to your cheek, then made their way to your lips. The whole thing might have been a terrible dream, and this was reality. You snuggled into Hongjoong further, nuzzling him and pecking his lips. 

“Come back to me,” you heard yourself whisper. “Please, come find me.”

“I will,” he pushed black strands from his face, then kissed you. “I promise.” 

“I don't know how much of this I can take.”

“You're tough. You'll make it.”

“This is different. This thing…I feel like it's stripping away everything I am. I feel nothing but tired and sore afterwards. It takes only a small suggestion before I'm dying for it. I don’t know if I will….What if you don't come in time or it somehow progresses and I lose it completely?”

“That isn't going to happen,” he assured you. “I am coming for you, YN. I will never leave you to suffer like this…” he cupped your cheek and kissed you. “Things haven't gone how we planned, but we adapt. We work with it. Please, don't worry. I have a way or two of fixing the worst parts of the curse. You might even start welcoming it.”

“I doubt that.”

“Well, you never know. You seem to really enjoy Mingi and his sentient hands.”

You turned away shyly. Yes, the Undead general might have grown on you since you started your journey. The cage, you learned, was more to keep his men out than to keep you in. He didn't force himself upon you, only doing it when you asked him to help relieve your symptoms. He did the bare minimum, but it was still better than the last two. 

“We'll be together soon. I promise.”

The soft circling sensation gently roused you from sleep. You tried finding the exact source of the reaction, but your hazy brain couldn’t find it. A faint chill brushed over exposed parts, which made the warmth more noticeable. You rolled over onto your side in the bed of hay, but the hardness remained latched to you. Long digits slid across your sex, making circular motions over the bare lips. Another mass stayed on your exposed breast, rubbing its palm against your hard nipple. The two sides combined to stoke the mark in your back. 

“Did you not get enough last night?” you giggled sleepily, grinding into the hand between your legs. 

The lower hand answered by rapidly rubbing your clit with its thumb. You muffled your moans with your tunic, which had come undone while you slept. Your excitement boiled when the one on your chest scurried to your ass, gripping the cheek before you pulled one side to let it further in. It circled the tight ring in time with its partner, which started prodding a finger in by the second knuckle. Pleasure burns your entire body, bringing on a slight heat even in the chilly atmosphere outside the cage. You couldn't stop yourself from grinding into them both. You became nearly dizzy from their teasing. 

“Ooh, just like that,” you breathed when a finger went into your ass, filling both holes. “Yes, both ends…good boys…keep going like-ah, yes, please, one more…”

Two fingers met each other inside you, and you already felt yourself shaking. You barely registered the cage door creaking open or the footsteps coming your way. Looking over your shoulder, you saw Mingi kneeling behind you….

Minus his head…

“Managed to get away too, hm?” you giggled breathily. 

One of the hands instantly grabbed his throbbing cock to tap on your ass. Lacking the mortality of normal men, Mingi did not feel warm at all. Every part of him shocked your hot skin whenever he touched you. It added a new feeling that made you wriggle in his grasp. It became more noticeable when the hand on your cunt brought his tip to your entrance. The left hand having nowhere to go crawled up to your face and you accepted two fingers into your mouth. Your moans went around the lukewarm digits as Mingi slowly pushed his cock inside. Being full in all three entrances was like a dream. You pathetically mewled and rocked in all ways to get more pleasure out of it. You could honestly get used to this. 

“Ugh, there you are!” Mingi’s voice came from somewhere below. “I've been looking for you everywhere.” 

Pink tentacles helped Mingi slither into the cage. He'd told you when he drowned at sea, an octopus made its home in his skull. It was the only thing keeping his head attached to his body. He hid his smirk when he saw what the rest of him was up to. 

“A nice way to wake up, huh?” He smirked when you nodded, an answer muffled by his fingers. “I had trouble getting away from a meeting,” he came closer, “But I couldn't stop thinking about last night.” One tentacle reached up to wipe hair from your face, “You did so well, and didn't waste a single drop. I thought you'd tire after the third round, but you surprised me. I've only ever seen an Undead go that long.” 

The tentacle left your hair for your chest, sliding between body and floor to encompass your breasts. The slimy, cold tendril lightly squeezed them while the suction cups latched to your skin. You took full advantage of the appendages filling and caressing you by haphazardly pushing into them. The fingers in your ass stayed fully to the last knuckle, only pushing and pulling once in a while as his cock pounded your wet sex. Another tentacle reached down and you cried out when it started mercilessly flicking your clit. 

“Lay on your back,” Mingi ordered, “And keep those legs wide open.”

His hands moved away to let you roll onto your back. Your hips moved around as the emptiness became more pronounced. You would've reached down to your clit if Mingi didn't get there first. Tentacles wrapping around your thighs, he pressed his face right to your center and started rolling his tongue around it. Unable to shake him off, you could only buck around as he slurped and sucked your clit relentlessly upside down. You breathed deeply when his body pushed his dick back inside; you put his hands on your chest, which they delightfully started grabbing and teasing. The overwhelming pleasure turns your mind blank. You could only comprehend the sensations building in you: Mingi’s cold tongue on your clit sent sparks to the core where his hard tip pushed until you saw stars. The thumbs brushing over your nipples was like throwing kindling into a blazing fire. You never wanted it to end. It was the most enjoyable thing you'd ever felt and you immediately understood why Yunho’s wives loved entertaining him. 

Mingi’s hunger grew when your walls tightened around him. He flicked his tongue on your pussy sideways as he picked up the pace. Unable to move away, you were forced to come. Your moans filled the cage, your orgasm strong and causing your body to tremble on the wooden floor. You chased down your climax, savouring the sweet bliss his touches brought. As it came down, Mingi only lifted your legs further up and charged deeper. You grabbed his broad shoulders, fingers digging into the cloth sleeves of his shirt and to his stiff skin, needing to hold onto him. 

“Cum in me,” you panted, trying to push up into him but not by much. “Fill me with your cum, please. Please, please?”

“Oh, you want my cum, huh?” Mingi said, his voice causing a slight vibration on your clit. 

“Yes, yes, please!”

“Cum for me again, and I'll give you every drop.”

His hands snapped back to his empty wrists in soft clicks: his head left your sex and slid back up his body to the empty neck hole. Fully put together, Mingi turned you around before bringing you back onto him. Hands holding fistfuls of hard straw, knuckles pressing into the floor, you used it to steady yourself as you began riding him. Mingi’s deep, low groans mingled with yours each time you grinded and whirled your hips with him inside you. You swore his cock, thick and long, snaked around in time with you and twitched against your g-spot. Head tilting back, you thought you might be on fire. The strain on your muscles burned and ached, but the mark on your back kept you going. A driving force of desperate need drove you to lifting and lowering your hips despite the struggle. Nothing ever felt this good. Nothing ever made you feel as complete as having something buried in you. How could you want to get rid of this feeling when it brought so much joy and pleasure? 

“The best view I’ve ever had,” Mingi groaned, landing a few swats to your ass cheeks. “You look so good just like this. You’re gonna stay like this as long as I want.” 

“Ye-yes,” you huffed, whimpering when he kept smacking your backside. “Can I ride it like this all day? Don’t le-leave. Just stay here and let me have-have your dick.”

“I like the sound of that.” 

When he pulled them apart, you hoped he’d slide a digit or two inside, but he didn’t. He only rolled, kneaded and spanked them. It wasn’t until you felt something shift to your left that you turned your head. On the edge of the cage sat your crow. You knew it was yours by how strange it acted. The shaking of the cage did not startle or cause it to fly off. It remained firmly planted as its black eyes looked at you. The sneaking suspicion this was not a regular crow crossed your mind, but you couldn’t focus on it for too long. Mingi’s head slammed right into your center at a mind-numbing feeling, and you started shaking again. You leaned forward when his hands lifted and spread your cheeks, giving him a good view of his dick sliding in and out of you. 

The crow bounced a little further down as if wanting a look itself. Hongjoong liked watching sometimes, you knew. He’d hide in your closet while you worked, silently jerking off in private until you finished. Then he’d shove himself in your mouth and down your throat, muttering degrading words as you swallowed his load. You wished he were there now. You pictured his dark eyes observing you from the corner, his hand wrapped around his stiff erection, and mouth hanging open in his groans. Mingi might be good, but nobody made you feel how Hongjoong did. You’d do anything to please him. You went to lengths you’d never do for any other man, not even if they paid, but you did for him. 

“Stay still, stay still,” Mingi huffed, breaths turning into higher whines as he started pushing up into you. 

Soon, cold globs spilled your sex and you stayed firmly planted to let him finish. It was a strange feeling every time, even now that you expected it. You yelped and giggled when more came. It tingled, and you rocked your hips with hopes of getting more.

Like he’d promised, Mingi didn’t stop. He took you in various positions, an Undead soldier who could go for hours without tiring at all. Your body began wavering, every muscle growing stiff and sore from the exertion, and your mind numbing to the pleasure. Only the crow saw you slowly spiral into the drooling wreck your curse will soon make you permanently. You didn’t know what time it was or where you’d gone when Mingi finally pulled out of you. 

“You’re incredible,” he huffed, eyes closed as he laid beside you. “I wish I could keep you.”

“You won’t be?”

“No,” he shook his head, “Sadly not. I’m taking you to the Grey Lands until Lord Kim can come get you.”

‘The Grey Lands?”

“Some people call it the Graveyard or Deadville,” he said in a bored voice, “But it’s home. It’s near the Crescent Mountains where he lives, so it’s the most sensible place for you to be. If I want some favor with Kim, I think bringing him his special pet will get it for me.” 

“Favor?”

“Yeah,” he rolled onto his side, “I might be a general but I get restrictions too. I want to go on leave before the war, and I can only do that with his help. If I take care of you, he’ll see you’re safe and he’ll give me anything I want.”

“Why can’t you just ask?”

“He’d have to open the portal between the living and the afterlife,” he said, “And that’s a big ask of him.”

“What makes you think he’d do it?”

He smiled at you, “Because he’s been looking for you since Yunho kidnapped you.”

This caught your attention, “How do you know that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You have his brand on you. You’re carrying his curse, so obviously he must have some use for you. I would’ve thought it’d be gifting you to someone, but clearly that’s not it. I figured I’d give you back, then get what I asked for.” 

“I guess that’s a good plan.” 

Fuzziness and pain kept you from putting pieces together. You laid in the hay bed, sprawled out naked and feeling lukewarm semen leaking to the floor. The sweat started chilling on your skin, and you shivered from the cold. 

“It’s a good plan, I won’t lie. I might give it to him when I have you in my arms again.” 

“General,” an Undead soldier came up to the cage carrying a tiny scroll in his skeletal fingers, “A message from Command.”

“Leave it on my desk,” he said, sliding to you and kissing your cheek. “I’m enjoying my pet right now.”

“I’m afraid it cannot wait, sir,” he replied. “It’s from Lord Kim personally. It has his seal.” 

Mingi shot right up, pushing black hair from his face and trying to hide the panic. “Give it here,” he reached through the bars to take the scroll. 

He moved away from you. The soldier’s eyes fell on your sweaty, naked body and you turned away in shame. The soldiers took to watching whenever Mingi entered your cage. Not needing to breathe much, they hid in the shadows like ghosts and watched. Their pale eyes glowed in the darkness, sending chills down your spine. You recalled last night when a whole group watched on, stroking themselves and groaning. The sight of their bluish sperm leaking onto the floor intrigued and disgusted you. You grabbed your tunic to cover yourself from him, but he did not look away from you.

“Good…” you heard Mingi mutter under his breath, “Good…Exactly as I planned it…I had no idea you were this special to him, though. Normally, he allows the suffering to continue.”

“I, um, suppose, sir?” The soldier gulped, moving closer to get a better look at you. You shifted away. “General, the men and I were wondering when you wish to press onward. We’re walking through Lycan territory, and the packs here don’t take kindly to outsiders.”

“I’ve never known my men to be afraid of a bunch of dogs.”

“They’re hardly dogs, sir.” 

“Get ready to move, then. His Lordship says he’ll meet us at home base,” he said, rereading his letter. “You, get up and get dressed,” he said to you hurriedly, “Come with me.” 

After waiting for you to put on your tunic, he grabbed your arm and tugged you out of the wagon. He paraded you through the encampment, his comrades groaning in delight as you passed them. Their whispers and chuckling reached your ears, and you stared at the ground. You knew they remembered last night. Visions of it made you sick. The curse warped your mind, burrowing all kinds of thoughts into you. You know soon enough you will not care if they watch or not. You will be so gone, you'd want them to join and feed the never ending hunger. They likely knew this too, and you trembled. 

Mingi’s tent was the largest, though very bare inside. A cot put to the side with a trunk, he had a table of maps and documents with writing utensils. He kept his armor on a chair, with his weapons leaning against it. It was a long sword with a bone handle, and a shield with a crow. You stared at the shield as he began rifling through his trunk. It was fully black, its wings outstretched under a crescent moon. Dark winds flapped overhead, brushing your head lightly and you saw your crow perch on the edge of the square shield. You approached him with a weak smile, plopping into a seat beside it. Stroking his head, you fed it some seeds. 

“Ugh, I think I'm dead, bud,” you sighed, eyes falling closed. “Everything hurts. This thing will be the end of me for sure.” You studied the shield, “Is this you?” you tapped the crow. “Nah, I doubt it. It'd be funny if it was though.”

“Who are you talk-” Mingi stood, holding an old book, and paused when he saw the crow. “How did he get in here?”

“He flew, obviously,” you stretched, then winced from the pain. “Is the big bad general afraid of birds?” you teased, giggling at his apprehension. 

“That one? Yes. Has he been following you this whole time?”

“I think so? I mean, what are the odds I'm meeting a crow everywhere I go?” You stroked his feathers lightly. “I don't mind it. He's alright, and good company.” You saw the book in his hand, and said, “What’s with the book?”

“Your curse is worsening,” Mingi noted as he put the book down. With a wave of his hand, a bottle and a bag of herbs floated out of the trunk and on his desk. “You used to have reservations. Now they’re breaking. Soon, you’ll be humping anything in sight.”

“As I've been hearing all the time,” you said, shifting as a stinging pain shot through you. “It isn't so bad in the moment. The pain after is the bitch though.”

“Exactly. It’s taking its toll on your body and your mind,” he said. “His Lordship has asked me to-yes, perfect! It’s right here!” He skimmed through a page in the book, “I forgot he’d given this to me. It should be here.”

“What should be? The spell to lift it?” 

“Oh, he'd never divulge that kind of magic to me,” he chuckled, “This will make it more enjoyable versus painful. He must like you a lot if he actually cares about the effects. It's strange. Normally that's the entire point of The Hand of Lust. Curses are supposed to be bad…Get on the cot,” he said. 

“This will make it go away?” you asked hopefully, laying on his soft bed. The pain in your body radiated, almost throbbing like a heartbeat. “Please tell me it will.”

“The curse? No. The pain? Yes,” he replied, snapping his fingers. Right away, the herbs floated into the bowl where a pestle started crushing them. 

He lifted your tunic over your stomach. The sudden exposure tingled your mark, and you nearly sobbed. Not again. You just finished. You couldn't take it anymore. The soreness intensified each time your clit throbbed, the vulnerability alone arousing you. The urge to reach out for his groin came to you, and you writhed on the bed. You squeezed your eyes shut, keeping your hands close to your chest. This turned out to be a mistake, because the slight brush on your breast caused a ripple. It felt stiff, and ached when you brushed it a second time. Yet, you wanted Mingi to wrap his lips around it. You wished he'd unstick his hand and shove his fingers back inside you one more time. 

“Mingi, please, do something,” you whined, clutching the covers. “It aches all over…” Twisted on the bed, the urge flaring and you brushed it again. The connection between the sensitive spot and your cunt made it throb, which brought tears to your eyes. Your hips rocked for friction, but only found the air.

The past two days on the road were a blend of pleasure and pain. Whenever Mingi entered your cage, you felt nothing but hungry lust. It was like joining a feast where you kept eating even if you’d gotten full. The time between each round became shorter; your body yearning for his touch even after everything in you begged for an end. At times, you came onto him, grabbing parts of him to keep in the cage and use as you liked. You assumed this was the curse’s control over your mind at play. Namjoon said you’d soon be unable to stop yourself. You feared the day that happened, where your choices will be stripped from you and you’d hunger for nothing but that physical satisfaction.

“My friend told me there was no counter-curse,” you whimpered, eager to lift your tunic off to soothe the heat rising up around your neck.

“Yes, because he likely didn’t know it,” said Mingi. “I’ve studied the magical arts for hundreds of years, YN. I’m sure I know things that your little townie friend doesn’t.” He finally landed on the right page, and let the book levitate beside him. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. I highly enjoy fucking your brains out, but I do feel guilty at the end result. You’re always in so much pain after, and my salves and potions cannot be used too often.”

“Psh, tell me about it.”

You weren’t fond of the purple, lumpy healing potions Mingi fed you whenever you finished. It was meant to clear your mind, but after two days of constant consumption, it now made you vomit. The salves, the iridescent sticky paste, brought on rashes if constantly used. It began another weight of suffering for you to bear. 

You laid flat on the bed, eyeing Mingi’s hands as they dipped into the bowl beside him. The golden oil peppered with the crushed leaves dripped from his fingers and onto your thighs. The mere feeling of the thin droplets sliding down your skin beckoned your arousal. He scooped more to drizzle over your swollen, sore lips and you let out a soft moan.

“Mingi…please, don’t,” you sobbed, tears streaming from your temples into your hair.

“It’ll only hurt for a moment. I need you to stay still and quiet for me, okay?” he said in the gentle, comforting tone he’d used after sex.

He began muttering in a rough, foreign language you couldn’t understand, occasionally glancing at the book in front of him. Long fingers danced over your body, not reacting to your constant shaking as you pictured them all over you again. Soon, you bit down on your lower lip to suppress a scream when he touched you. Rough hands slid down and within your inner thighs, the massage easing your sore muscles but enticing your curse. You tightly shut your eyes when his thumbs pressed to the sides of your cunt, rubbing the thin oil into the folds starting to dampen at his touch.

Mingi did not seem affected by this change. His pale eyes remained concentrated on his work, which you felt grateful for at least. Mingi did not enjoy your suffering as he’d have his men believe. He treated you so gently since you’d been on the road: making sure you were clean, well fed and comfortable in your little cage. He comforted you with stories of his adventures late at night, stroking your hair and placing kisses where he could. He’d been the nicest of the men you’d met so far. It was you who constantly teased and allured him. You had a sense Lord Kim’s influence and constant watching kept him from doing anything too painful to you.

Unable to break his incantation, you weren’t warned when he slid two fingers inside. You shook your head involuntarily, the tears of your entrance stinging at the substance coating them and sobbed harder. The curse made it enjoyable, but your pain heavily outweighed it. He kept the movement slow and thorough, making sure to get every crevasse he could before sliding back out. You took several deep breaths to ease the painful stinging, almost as if trying to become one with the pain. However, after a few minutes, the pain there ceased all at once.

“Better?” He asked, hands sliding up your body to your breasts.

“Yes.”

He dropped more fragrant oil over your chest, the thin oil sliding off them to the curves before he went to work. The oil made his movements slippery and smooth, stimulating the painful itching in your nipples. He muttered another long incantation as his thumbs went in circles, starting from the center and moving to the wrinkled areolas. Then, he massaged both of them with his full palms. The ache did not pain you as much here, causing more pleasure as he started further up to your shoulders and then your arms. His hands worked like magic. They relieved every dull ache, lifting off the heaviness in your muscles and bones. He did not grip too hard, but applied enough pressure to work it out of you.

When he flipped you onto your front, you felt yourself floating on clouds. The calming scent coming off your skin and the incense combined with Mingi’s hands pushed out every thought in your head. You nearly forgot where you were. Even when he spilled more oil onto your buttocks, immediately spreading it as he kneaded them, you barely registered it. You only whimpered when he drizzled more between them, likely taking a moment to watch it trickle down before using his thumbs to alleviate the stinging.

“Oops,” he said, his thumb happening to push past the rim and inside you, “Sorry. It’s just so slippery,” he didn’t withdraw the digit but instead started pushing and pulling, “And your body is so pliable now. It’s as if it wants me in there…”

“Mingi,” his name came out in a soft sigh.

Your body did not fight him off. The tiny bit of pressure blossomed into pleasure rather than pain. You snuggled into the pillow, arms wrapped under it as he removed his thumb. More oil dripped down your back as he straddled your thighs and worked on your shoulders. Though, you noticed a certain hardness poking your ass whenever he leaned forward. You wanted him to pull it out to stuff in you, whichever hole he wanted, they both felt prepared enough.

“It’ll still affect your mind, and your body will tire after a time,” he said. “I sadly cannot lift it from you completely, but this must be a bit of a reprieve, right?”

“Yes,” you nodded, eyes closed to savor the sensations. “Yes, it is.”

“How about we test it out?” he suggested, though he knew your answer. “I’ve never done this before. I want to know if it works properly.”

“Mmm, please.”

With a bit of shifting, Mingi withdrew his cock and pressed the head to your dripping sex. You clutched the underside of the pillow, moaning into the soft cotton inside as he traced it. Your mark still burned, but your body did not. It felt more relaxing than frustrating. He kept himself up on one hand as he slid the other between the mattress and your tits. The gentle squeeze mixed with his head splitting you open deepened your need for his full length. Mingi then kept you trapped underneath him with his body laying on top of yours, hands grabbing your nipples as he fully plunged in your pussy. His low grunts matched your whiny moans, the both of you slowly diving further into bliss as the tension built up.

“Fuck,” he breathed in your ear, “I swear that oil made your pussy even better than before. You’re so much tighter and warmer.”

His cold cock didn’t affect you like before, becoming more desirable to you than intimidating. His hands felt like cooling ice balls instead of prickling icicles. It did not warm up even as he started thrusting faster and harder, hitting the deepest part of you each time so you saw fireworks. Mingi knew your body by now, and eagerly chased down the orgasm he sensed at the end. You prayed he gave it soon. His own twitching cock let you know he was barely hanging on, and you purposefully clenched to milk him. His come. His cold, sticky, sweet come that he’d pumped into every hole you offered the previous two nights became your goal. You imagined him filling each one again, forcing it inside you until you were leaking all over.

He grinned above you when your body spasmed. He continued the same pace and played with your nipples as you came around him. It was better than anything. His sheets bundled underneath you, they acted as a specific friction to your clit and you came harder. His moans starting to elongate and deepen, you begged him to finish in you again so he did.

“Cum in me,” you begged breathily, “Cum deep in me. Please, Mingi, please fill me up, please.”

“Trust me,” he replied through gritted teeth, “I’m going to give you every single load.”

He shuddered, moans turning into faint, cracked gasps as he pulsed in every stroke. You whimpered at the cum spraying your insides again, enjoying the chilly sensation instead of recoiling. Like before, once Mingi finished, you wanted to go again and he didn’t stop you. Laying on the opposite end of the bed, he watched you ride him once more, holding onto your bouncing tits the entire time. You knew how much he liked them, and didn’t hesitate to hover them over his lips. The little cot squeaked in each movement, only encouraging the both of you to match the sound it made. Nothing else penetrated your thoughts except getting more of him. It became your singular thought as Mingi had you in other ways; he came inside you every time, forcing his come in your throat, your ass or your cunt whenever he orgasmed. Without the physical pain to distract you, you couldn’t stop yourself from enjoying him.

As the crow near the bed looked on…

****

You laid in Mingi’s bed, your entire being a pool of jelly on the sweaty sheets. The hazy euphoria of your final orgasm left you feeling light-headed. The curse’s magic still lingered inside you, but you were able to fight it off this time. You kept a tight lid on it as you watched Mingi, unbothered by the exertion, pull his clothes and armor back on. Despite being a walking corpse, Mingi appeared well put together aside from his hands and head. You saw unhealed wounds on his torso and arms, dead muscles having turned black and bloodless. It must’ve been like cutting paper; nothing to show but dead flesh. Years of fighting on battlefields and sparring with his men shaped out Mingi’s lean figure, appearing to have more muscle on his old bones. It was when he turned around that you saw the same crow-and-moon symbol on his left shoulder blade.

“That symbol,” you said, resting on your front, “What does it mean?”

“It’s Lord Kim’s mark,” he answered, pulling a cotton shirt over it. “We all bear his sigil on our bodies somewhere. It’s a sign of our loyalty to him. He did raise us from the dead, after all.”

“Why?”

“He needed an army.”

“For what?”

“Well, YN, every lord has some kind of army to defend his lands.”

“But people say he’s a demon. Aren’t demons supposed to be all powerful?”

“They are and he is, but he can only do so much on his own. Every magic being has their limitations,” he said. Stepping into his trousers, he pulled them to his narrow hips as he said, “Not to mention, he needed one to stop the former Northern King from destroying the rest of us.”

“Former Northern King?”

“Yes, King Argos. He was a total prick,” he scoffed. “He starved his people. He raised high taxes on the magical races and demanded they pay tribute to him in order to keep their homelands. He was the one who pushed the Naga off the mainland and into the Caper Islands. He’s the reason the Dragonites keep to themselves, and only have their volcano range now. The goblin and fae races were almost wiped out when he took over their lands. The man was a damn colonizer,” he said, eyes narrowed. “He’d force his own religion and ideology on the people there; his soldiers put up encampments and forts, their constant presence a reminder of our subservience to them. Not to mention all the things he stole: The Naga’s golden throne, several priceless inventions from the goblins, magical artifacts from the fairies, and all the resources he could find.” You saw anger flare in his milky eyes, the memories pouring back into him like water. “The magical races were slaves to humans for generations before Lord Kim appeared. He…He became our savior. He came with his beasts-”

“-Beasts? What beasts? You mean like the octopus Seonghwa has?”

“Bigger and worse,” Mingi answered. “Cora, The Kraken, was used to knock out Argos’s naval ships. The Wyvern, Aerion, turned his camps and forts to ashes. The Minotaur, Cerebus, and the Chimera joined in various battles on land. They’re huge, nasty and vicious beasts that only serve Him. No man or magicfolk alive could defeat them.”

Hearing the word ‘Kraken’ brought back a faded, dark memory. Closing your eyes, you thought back to when you had crashed. You remembered the encompassing, suffocating water filling your lungs, limbs starting to fail as pressure squeezed your lungs, when something caught hold of you. Large dark eyes glowing at you from the abyss. Long tentacles wrapping around you easily. The swiftness and strength it used to carry you through the ocean and up onto land. Thinking about them rattled your bones, and you hugged your pillow tighter.

“Anyway, he came with his beasts and magic to destroy Argos’s tyranny for good,” he continued. “He liberated them one by one. He gave the races back their lands and helped those who needed it to rebuild. He became the new Northern King, though I personally believe he doesn’t see himself as a king.”

“Seonghwa mentioned only letting Yunho onto his island because of him.”

“Yes, the Naga and Dragonites have been at each other’s throats for centuries. Don’t ask me why, nobody really knows anymore,” he added quickly. “It’s an old feud that started with their ancestors and it’s gotten passed down since then. But, His Lordship needs them to finally work together or at least be civil with each other. Their fighting has cost lots of lives and lands. He can only let it go on for so long before they’ve destroyed half the land.”

“And they listen to him?”

“Everyone does. He’s wise and old. Plus, they both owe him debts that can never be repaid.”

Rolling onto your back, sleepiness starting to take over, you imagined the intimidating figure living atop a cold mountain.

“Does he have a name?” you asked.

“I’m sure he does, but nobody knows what it is.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know,” he said rather thoughtfully, tying his vest as he wondered. “I guess nobody has asked or he’s never offered it? Everyone I know has always called him ‘Lord Kim’ or ‘His Lordship’ or ‘His Excellency’. We'll be seeing him in The Grey Lands, so you can ask then. You know, when you’re done sucking him off or something.”

“My friend told me only he can lift my curse. Would he…Would he do it if I asked?”

Mingi didn’t answer right away. His eyes looked over at the crow jumping around on the ground, pecking into the dirt, then back at you. 

“I don’t know.”

“I had a runestone to trade for it, but I lost it when the boat went under,” you frowned, recalling the small stone with its strange mark on the side. “They said I could use it as a payment.” 

“A runestone might’ve worked for a lesser demon, but he doesn’t need runestones. He has plenty.”

“Then what would he want?”

“That’s easy: you, lovely.” 

You dreaded what that meant. This ‘Lord Kim’ might not lift your curse at all and make you his mindless sex slave. It weighed down your high with fear, and you curled into a ball. He won’t save you. He’d likely enjoy your torment considering you’re human. A demon who took down an entire human army and their king likely has no love for them. He’ll like having you as a slave. You shut your eyes to let the exhaustion sink you into your dreams. 

“I'd never make you my slave, love. If anything, I'm yours.”

Yet, before you could fully go under, shouting came from outside the tent.

****

A/N: Uh-oh, what the hell's happening now? Well, at least she's gotten some kind of relief. Thanks for reading this chapter, and the lovely comments you guys leave me <3 Remember to reblog and like <3

[tanoraqui]

In Which Space Orcs are Men

[AO3] A "what if humans are space orcs" take on Dagor Dagorath. (Aka the prophecied apocalypse of Middle Earth. Scifi story accessible to non-LotR nerds!)

Elves weren't really supposed to leave Earth. That's what they told us—the Elves, that is, told people thousands of years ago, when Elves could still be found here and there. When I was born, elves were nearly as much a fairy tale as they’d been on Ancient Earth.

Elves weren't supposed to leave Earth, the Elves said in the fairy tales, and in a few old scraps of records scattered around known space. They literally weren't made for it. They could only do it if they brought Earth with them—Arda they called it, leaves or dirt, water or a rare bubble of air, perfectly preserved in a white crystal. There are tons of tales about Elves losing their lifeline jewels—their hearts, their silimirs—and roping people into epic quests to get them back before they—the Elf—faded to nothingness. 

Even the jewels weren't enough, though. That's why there are also stories about Elves who fell in love with a person or a place and stayed there until they faded, or Elves who charmed someone into following them back to Fairyland on Earth...because whatever they said, Elves didn't really live on Earth. Humans have maintained their home planet as a monitored nature reserve since like the 40th century, open only to vetted research teams and serious Human religious pilgrimages. The most confirmed accounts of Elves that exist are of their ships appearing out of nowhere, with no trace of any tech that would enable it, at random, always-changing points within 100 miles or so of Earth.

Nobody ever came back from trying to follow Elves home. Mostly Elves tried to dissuade people from trying. But there are always crazy and curious people—and Elves usually attracted those, because any Elf who left the home they were "made" for was usually crazy and curious themselves. 

Those were the stories I grew up with. There was a cave near the orphans' creche which was supposed to be haunted by a faded Elf. I didn't really believe it—like I said, the last confirmed Elf was last seen like 5,000 years ago, and not even on my planet. People have met two dozen new sentient races since then. We've discovered that reincarnation is probably real (just functionally untrackable), prompting the Pan-Religious Reform Wars. The last person to see a live Elf was still traveling via natural wormholes—they literally didn't know that you could loop pi.

.

When the Human natal sun started to turn really red, it wasn’t that big a deal at first. It’s a very important, very sad event for any species, but it happens to everyone eventually. It happened to the Hectort just after we invented interstellar flight. There were some unusual gravatic waves around Earth’s Sol, but nothing worth noting to anyone who didn’t already care for personal reasons.

Then the Elves sent us a message.

The local Parks Service picked it up, of course. I bet the Humans meant to hush it up at first—though the Centaurian government still won’t admit anything—but someone leaked it immediately on the intergalactic net. It should’ve only been famous as a joke of a hoax, but…

It was basically just a metal box with rudimentary fire-thrusters soldered on the sides. It contained two things. The first was a recording/replaying device so antiquated that the only way they got it working is that it was already playing on loop, and didn’t stop until someone disconnected it from its power source.

The message was in Ancient Bouban, which some folklorist soon announced is the latest language an Elf could know, since the last known Elf went back to “Arda.” The voice somehow sounded melodic to every species with a concept of music, from the screeching Vesarians to the deep-sea sub-sonic Thinkers, even when translated through cheap, staticky speakers. And to most species, the speaker was audibly distraught.

They said,

This is the final message from the Firstborn of Eru to the Secondborn, and everyone else. The Battle of Battles has come, and we…are losing. If there are any who remember the ancient love and loyalty which bound our peoples, if there are any heirs remaining of Thargalax the Magnificent, of Nine-Fingered Frodo, of the noble Houses of Haleth, Hador and Beor—

The speaker drew a sharp breath, there.

—by great oaths and greater friendship I bid you now to raise your swords and ride to our aid. Ride as swiftly as you can!

We will hold for another year. We will, they said determinedly. After that, it is unlikely that…

Another, shakier breath. A smile forced into a voice which would rather weep.

Fëanáro and Nienna believe there is a way to destroy the Straight Road. If we must, if it comes to it, we will do so, and trap the First Enemy here in this dying world with us. Though I don’t know about—

Hair-aristocrat! a more distant, slightly less perfectly melodious voice called, in a language so dead that they needed computers to decode it. The walls are falling, we need to go!

If you never hear from us again, and no sudden discord arises among you, you will know we succeeded, the first speaker said quickly. If otherwise…I am sorry. Either way, I bid you all only, remember us! Oh beautiful flames, remember us, as we have ever remembered y— 

There was a sudden screech of tearing metal, a defiant, musical battle-cry, and a jarring silence. Then the message restarted.

And that wasn’t even the strangest thing in the box. The strangest thing was the recorder’s power source, which was powering the whole tiny rocket mechanism as well. It was an Elf-jewel right out of a fairy tale, a fist-sized, translucent not-quite-diamond—but instead of rock or water or a much-loved scrap of plant, the only thing it held was light.

...Kind of. It isn’t normal light. It arguably isn’t light at all, as we know it—scientists now think it’s technically some sort of plasmoid aether, except it only acts like a plasmoid aether about half the time. 

It has no detectable source within the jewel. It fully illuminates whatever space it’s in, no matter how big. Its visible radiation is a frequency, the scientists say, that matches a hyper-accelerated version of what the universe must’ve sounded like in the split second after the Big Bang.

It makes people remember things, when they see it in person or sometimes even across a holo. Some remember a similar light in a strange traveler’s eyes. Others, dreamily enchanted valleys where spring never faded, or tall castles, bright swords, and stern and glorious lords and ladies. And some of us got hit with a whole lifetime of memories in one go: an identical gem on the brow of a sober forest king, friends who slipped through trees like shadows save for their merry laughter, an impossibly beautiful gold-haired maiden dancing in a glittering cavern...

(And all the pain and loss that came with them.)

And some people just remember the sight of a distant star—in another world, in another lifetime.

Reincarnation was provable but untraceable…until now. 

The Thinker ambassador on Astrolax Station 5 was the first to kick up a fuss. Most Thinkers never leave their home planet, they're too huge and aquatic. But like I said, there's always crazy and curious people. The ambassador started bellowing the second che heard the message, without even seeing the light, because, "I know him! My Wisdom! We must send aid!" That made some news, and random other people shared their own, less dramatic revelations, and soon a compilation swept the net with timestamps showing that most of them were organically independent, not just jumping on the bandwagon….

Even that might've gotten written off intergalactically. The Thinkers are big in reincarnationist circles, on account of how they claim that deep in their planetary ocean they can hear echoes of their past lives. But being mostly planet-bound means they're not really influential on a big political level. Or it would've sparked another surge of the Reform Wars, and everybody would've remembered the rock, but not the recording. Or there would’ve been a fight over this potentially infinite energy source (though that is so last giga-annum)….

But first it was shown in person to the current Director of the Admiralty of the Astral Alliance, President of the X-ee Empire and Matron of the House of S,sh, Ch’ees/i’i S,sh. I was actually there—I was Captain of her ceremonial Alliance guards, in a last-ditch attempt to salvage my career after Zanzibus. Very ceremonial, considering the X-eee have laser-proof shells and pincers and I have, what, opposable thumbs? Vestigial tusks?

I wasn’t paying attention at first, too busy being suddenly assaulted by all my own memories. So I missed the President freezing mid-step and gasping (in X-eee), “Mother.” I also missed her rising alarm call of an attempt to speak Ancient Elvish without an Elvish tongue or lips.

I sure didn’t miss her snap back to X-eee for a sharp call to attention, and everything that followed: the call to arms! The rousing of the Alliance! A tour of the galaxy, to find anyone and everyone else in whom the Light could awaken ancient memories! And for the love of X'eeh, why had nobody figured out how to get back to Fairyland with this thing yet, and every warship in the quadrant?!

If I believed in the One Behind, or in any other creator god or gods—I'm not saying I do, but if I did, if there really is something out there all-powerful and all-kind—then it'd be because out of every soul in the entire universe, the probably one in the best position to act on the Elves' message turned out to have, from a past life, two parents and a much-loved twin still in Fairyland. Like, that's insane, right?

I stayed with the Director's ceremonial guards for the whole tour, actually more than ceremonial for once—it was the weirdest mission of my life, and I've been on a lot of weird missions. Or supposedly routine missions that got weird (and usually disastrous). My friends joke that I'm cursed. S,sh requisitioned an Inquiry-class ship, so the science boffins could study the Light and jewel along the way, and we started wormholing at weft speed, hitting a new planet every week. Sometimes every day. In each major spaceport and ground-city, S,sh stood with the jewel on the highest available point and gave a recruitment speech for going to save the Elves and fight the oldest enemy of all reality. 

Honestly, it seemed a little redundant? The Astral Alliance was made for this sort of rescue mission (and for escorting trade convoys). But I was...if not happy, then sure as hell more self-certain with my ancient memories restored, and most people who joined up seemed to agree. It was mostly people who remembered, when exposed to the Light, who joined—so before long, we had a whole tag-along trail of mostly civilian ships, trying to get up to Alliance Fleet standard on the road in less than a year.

Three different religious sects tried to kill S,sh for "profaning the mysteries." Five others tried to steal the jewel because we were apparently appropriating a holy object. The boffins announced that, bar the can't-prove-a-negative possibility, the evidently sourceless Light should be counted as an infinite energy source, and at least seven different groups, ruthless financiers and sustainability idealists, immediately tried to steal it for that. And I still don't know what the rival thief-queens of Likkiliani were about, except that I got tied up upside-down from a palmdar tree for two hours trying to stop one, the other paid me 700 cron then threw me off a cliff, and in the end they recognized each other from past lives and just made out on worldwide live-holo before joining our growing fleet. 

It turned out they were the Director's past life's great-grandparents, and a Canid pop princess was her niece. The Thinker ambassador was some sort of ancestor, too. Crazy extended family. 

Most people who remember just remember the sight of a star in the sky. A buddy of mine from Fleet Academy remembered looking up at it as a Human sailor. The historians—and you’d better bet we picked up some Earther historians on this mission as well!—say this jewel or one like it was probably astrologically conflated with the planet Venus by early Humans.

(The more time I spent around the jewel, the Silmaril, the more I remembered, of my first life and more. Lifetime after lifetime with bad luck dogging my steps, killing loved ones in my arms, destroying cities I was supposed to save… One restless, haunted night, I met a Rigilic in the cafeteria who’d been awake with some of the same nightmares, who’d been my dead older sister once.)

The tour was cut short when word came from the Earth system that there was a black hole growing in the center of their reddening sun. 

No, the sun wasn’t compressing into a black hole millennia ahead of schedule—one had just spontaneously manifested within it, like it’d teleported in. No, not literally—that was impossible. We were pretty sure. No, the sun wasn’t falling into it…somehow. Yet. The black hole was only 17 quectometers wide, but it was growing at an erratic but unceasing rate. If their best estimation of the pattern held, it would consume the sun 2 months before the Elves’ deadline, and the Earth 4 to 950 minutes later.

We pulled back to Earth—well, to the dwarf planet Eros, on the edges of Earth’s star system. That’s where the nearest shipyard of any note was, and we were gathering the whole Astral Alliance. This is exactly the sort of thing the Alliance is for. 

I was released back to ship duty. Zanzibus was still a black mark on my record, as was Jorab, and really everything on the AAS Endeavor…and that thing in third year of Fleet Academy… But no matter how bad my curse, I was an experienced captain and one of the best pilots in the Alliance. For this, we needed all the best.

The boffins had pretty quickly mastered limited manipulation of the Light, using modified aetheric resonators, and every day they came up with something new for us to test. They focused the Light into a laser cannon like no one has seen before. They laced it through plasma shields until a fully shielded ship glowed like a distant star. They managed to nearly replicate the Silmaril’s crystalline structure, so they could make “copies” that shone like the original for first a few hours; then, with refinement, a full week…

The one thing they couldn’t pin down with any real confidence was how to get to Fairyland. The frequency of the Light resonated with large bodies of Earther saltwater in a particular way, and models suggested that if the Light source moved horizontally along the water within a certain range of distance and velocity, the resonance would create a wormhole-like ripple in space—but wormhole-like, was the key word, and models suggested. The closest anyone had seen to that spatial distortion was in a logbook of dubious veracity from the Delta Quadrant, four hundred years ago. Alteia, my Academy buddy who’d been a Human sailor, took the Silmaril in an M-wing on a series of highly monitored test flights above the Atlantic Ocean, and space did repeatedly start to hollow in front of bom—so bo had to stop every time, rather than risk vanishing with our single, maybe-one-way ticket.

Then Earth’s moon stopped shining in the sky. Its albedo just dropped nearly to zero, from one night to the next. There was nothing wrong that anyone could figure out—nothing with the orbit, nothing with the surface rock, nothing with the artificial atmosphere. Inhabitants reported feeling colder by several degrees, but no measuring equipment recorded anything.

The black hole slightly off-center in the middle of Sol was now 844.9 zeptometers, and growing more steadily.

We didn’t have time to keep testing. We needed to raise our swords and make our ride, even if we only got one shot at it.

I was given command, for seniority, skill, and because I was the one who managed to talk S,sh out of leading the fleet herself. (If my lives had taught me anything, it was the importance of having someone, anyone, ready to be emergency backup.) Ironically, I was back on the Endeavor, with most of my old crew—though we got permission to rename the ship, in honor of the mission. A lot of people did. Alteia was now commanding the AAS Elendil on my right flank, star-friend in Ancient Elvish. That Canid pop princess had taken over a hospital ship and renamed it Rivendell. An Earth Park Ranger, of all things, remembered being my dad—briefly—and he was leading the Rangers plus my Rigilic drinking buddy on the EPSS Elfsheen. 

We weren’t sure if any ship but the one with the Silmaril would get through. The fleet numbered in the hundreds in battleships alone, not counting scouts and scuttlers. Twelve races had sent ships on top of their typical Alliance Fleet tithe, and S,sh had brought about half the full force of the X-ee Empire. We all just locked tractor beams and hoped. 

I was piloting as well as captaining, with the Silmaril between my forehorns. It was held in place by about a dozen wires and other connectors to the ship, like an old-timey pilot’s headset. We took off in orbit around Earth, as close as possible to the surface—not very close, in warships of Class S and higher, but within range of the oceanic resonance. A Likkilianian thief-queen stood at my shoulder, ready to advise if anything “Musical” started to happen.

Think about what you’re trying to get to, and why, the boffins had advised, so I did—bright-eyed kings and dancing maidens; lost friends, families, cities, planets and all. The jewel got warmer against my skin and shone brighter with every pulse of the engine, brighter than we should’ve been able to see through.

The silver-gold Light twisted and diffused as space did around us. But there was no familiar rippling wormhole boundary—instead, spacetime thinned to a curtain like driving rain, like Vesarian silver-glass.

A ghost appeared next to me. She looked like the oldest, grumpiest writing teacher at the crèche, though I knew that was only in my head.

“There you are,” she said, impatient and relieved like I’d been hiding in the sandbox again, rather than coming to class on time. Her sewing scissors went snip snip snip as she darted them around my body—and a chain on my soul faded into guiding threads.

Before she’d even disappeared again, I punched the engine and blasted through the silver-glass curtain.

Fairy tales said there’d be a peerlessly beautiful land on the other side, green with eternal spring, full of endless light and laughter. They said there’d be sunlit shores and shimmering waves, with welcoming docks for sea-ships, sky-ships and space-ships all…

We flew into the worst battlefield I’d ever seen, in any lifetime. It was more desperately vicious than Jerusalem V at the height of the Reform Wars, more ruined than Glaurung’s wake, more desolate than Zanzibus after the nuclears fell.

Either a massive supercontinent or a small moon had been shattered, leaving nothing but a roiling debris field. The brand-new meteoroids ranged from pebbles to rocks the size of a small space station, and included space-frozen corpses, forests, and what might have once been city blocks.

I gave the helm back to my Pilot Officer—zer had, I can admit, slightly better reflexes for dodging debris—and focused on captaining.

Most of the life signs were clinging to the larger rocks. There shouldn’t have been atmosphere for them, but walls of thunderstorm wrapped around every shard with even a single life sign—wind and water desperately hand in hand to safeguard the last of the Elves. The only thing visible through the impossible storms was the Light of a second Silmaril, on a meteoroid shaped like half a broken eggshell.

A corpse lay at the epicenter of the explosion—what might’ve been a corpse, if it wasn’t also shattered. The broken pieces of a massive stone humanoid, taller than my ship if it’d stood beside her, still bleeding lava so hot that it burned even in frozen space. Another titan knelt at the shards of its head, a figure of towering bark and leaves, wailing with grief even worse than the end of the world. 

A slimmer tree-woman stood with one hand on her shoulder, comforting, and the other wielding a skyscraper-sized club spiked with incandescent wildflowers. Guarding her sister’s heartbreak, she fended off a swarm of bat-sized monsters with wings of darkness and whips of flame. 

Bat-sized relative to the gods of Elves and ancient Humans. About the size of an M-wing, in flight.

Countless more of the bat-things flung themselves at the storm-bubbles, like carnivores chasing the prey hidden inside. They were fended off by an equal army of creatures with wings of light and swords of lightning, led by a towering figure who seemed to dance from one bloody battle to the next.

The biggest battle by far was the farthest away, over where the sun had been. In this dimension of stories over science, Sol was another woman-shape, smaller than the others but burning just as brightly as her star. Also just as blood-red. The light was centered on a fist she kept clenched at her chest, and instead of containing the black hole, the unseeable thing that it was here surrounded her, striking at her with a thousand hungry jaws and grasping legs, and she had only a one-handed whip of a solar flare to fend it off—

But she didn’t fight alone. A warrior tore at the Darkness’s spidery limbs with his fists, image on the cameras flickering impossibly between every hero I’d ever heard of. A snarling figure bit at it with jagged teeth, gored it with horns, shredded it with claws and talons, and generally made every ancient prey-instinct in me scream. And a queen with a crown of stars, a shield like the night sky and a sword like a streaking comet, stood dauntlessly at the sun-holder’s side. 

With all that, and with the speed of even her most exhausted strikes, I thought the sun-holder could probably have gotten away if she’d tried. But I knew how a person fought when they weren’t willing to leave a friend, and a smaller, silver figure lay at her feet, unmoving and drained of light.

But even the battle for the sun wasn’t what grabbed my eye. No—all my attention, all my guiding threads of fate and the quick temper that always used to get me in trouble, before (and sometimes after) I learned to leash it in an Alliance uniform— All of that took me straight to the fight happening orthogonal to the stone giant’s corpse.

It was another one-versus-many. Morgoth, the First Enemy of Elves and Men— Master of Lies, Maker of Chains, Sonofabitch Curser of Bloodlines—towered over even his fellow gods. His shape changed constantly, sickeningly, but it was always black-armored with eyes like dying stars that hated you personally. His maul dripped with lava and every other kind of blood.

He fought against three great gray figures who moved as one. The tallest wielded a star-studded scythe with swift, efficient strokes, and wore the dark gray of corpse-shrouds. The shortest shimmered with more colors than even a Stamotapadon could dream of, and his weapon shifted likewise. The third was the clear, clean gray of skies after rain or tears run dry, and fought with only a shield—and hit harder with it than either of her brothers.

Around their heads darted the only Elves on the battlefield, in small fliers more like sea-ships than aircraft. But they moved fluidly, pestering the Dark Lord like flies, pricking his skin and threatening his burning eyes.

Until Morgoth swung his maul with a roar of fury that traveled even though soundless space. My ship and heart both shuddered. The gray gods all staggered back, and the Elves fell from the no-longer-sky—all but their leader, more fire than flesh, who wore the third Silmaril. Morgoth caught him in one massive black hand and with sharp claws plucked the jewel away, as easily as a ripe berry from a tree—

“All power to fore-cannon and fire,” I ordered—and the jewel on my brow shone bright again as several stored months’ worth of infinite Silmaril-Light slammed into Morgoth’s chest with all the force that the best scientists in the Astral Alliance could engineer. 

He stumbled. He dropped both the jewel and the elf-king (who’d been trying to bite him). The Lady of Mercy tossed her shield to catch them, staying low and out of sight—though she needn’t have bothered. The so-called “Lord of All” had already found his next enemy.

“All ships, move forward and join shields,” I ordered, and met his burning stare though the viewscreen. “Then broadcast me on all external frequencies.”

The wires on my forehead shimmered as we shifted Light-flow to the shields—and to my right, so did the Elendil, and to my left, the Cosmian Blade, and all around us the Minas Tirith, the Elfsheen, the Muse, the Rivendell, the Heart of Zanzi, the Longbottom Leaf… They were still soaring out of the silvery distortion behind me, tractor- and Silmaril-towed: sleek Rigilic eels-of-prey and Centaurian cruisers full of Humans eager to fight for their homeworld, Betan mine-ships and Canid X-M-wings and my own Hectoan starlighters, a full third of the X-ee navy with their X-eee–shaped six-engine dreadnoughts, and hundreds more. 

“This is Captain Pel Cinia, once Túrin Turambar, of the Astral Alliance ship Gurthang,” I said. My words were broadcast from every ship on every frequency in every language that the people of Arda might know, as the Fleet assembled from forty-plus different worlds flew into position. Our Light-infused shields blazed and locked together, until we formed a seamless wall right in the Enemy’s face, with the Elves and their other allies safely behind us.

I’ve never felt more proud to recite the most cliché line in the Fleet:

“We got your distress call. We’re here to help.”

[inthehouseoffinwe]

A Meeting in Valinor

Elrond comes back from his first real meeting with Eärendil tired and unsure what to do. He gets some help from an unexpected source.

Dw this isn’t hating on any of Elrond’s parents. Pure fluff :)

Elrond had returned to his house and was lying with his head in Celebrian’s lap. He’d told her how the meeting had gone and flopped on the sofa, drained, before she’d soothed away some of his oncoming headache as she’d done many years before. Now he lay with his eyes closed, soaking in the summer rays as she read.

Celebrian jerked suddenly, and Elrond shot up, hand going to the knife in his boot. Some habits wouldn’t change.

“Ai! relax! It’s just me!”

Elrond’s face slackened.

“It cannot be...”

Celebrian looked between the two, eyes lingering on the semi-familiar features before her. Round ears. Beard. Warm grey eyes, wise yet playful. Elven cut, navy tunic with silver embroidery, and brown hair brushing his shoulders. She tensed at the closed expression on Elrond’s face, reaching for her own dagger as the figure shuffled nervously.

“Hello, Ada.”

Elrond released a strangled sound and the man ran to his open arms, desperately clutching the elf. Elrond pulled back, hand smoothing down unruly hair as if he’d done so many times before.

“Estel, how- You’re *dead.*”

Celebrian relaxed at the name, a gentle smile lighting her face as the human spluttered between tears. So this was her lost son.

Aragorn smiled tremulously as he replied.

“Exactly as you used to say Ada, Illuvatar’s mind is unknown in regards to the fate of men, and I guess I was allowed to come here.”

Elrond hugged him again.

“How’s Arwen?”

“She’s doing well, recently became good friends with Andreth.” A strange look came over Aragorn’s face and his foster father laughed, kissing his forehead. He turned to his wife, and it was then that Aragorn froze, seeing the elleth before him. He shot to his feet, bowing low before her.

“Milady, I-“

Celebrian shot the half-elf an exasperated look and grabbed one of the man’s hands, pulling him up. Aragorn looked at her, confused.

“Mil-“

“Call me ‘Milady’ again and I’ll toss you out the front door. Elrond said you used to call me Naneth.” Aragorn flushed, eyes on his boots and Celebrian laughed. “I take no insult, son of Elrond! It is only right considering you were not only adopted into the family, but also married my daughter.”

The Dunedan gaped, and she pulled him onto the sofa between herself and her husband, voice softening at the sorrow in Aragorn’s eyes.

“There is no need to feel guilty Estel, I long foresaw Arwen’s choice and understand she was loved and taken care of by the best of men.” She pulled him into a tight hug. “Thank you for giving her happiness. She was so sad after the orcs, I feared she’d never smile again.”

Aragorn froze for a moment, then buried his head into her shoulder, apologies spilling out his mouth. Celebrian rested a hand on his head.

“None of that now, I’m glad Arwen was able to find her strength again, even if it led her down a different path.” She pulled back and squeezed his shoulders. “And I’m glad to meet *you.*”

Aragorn bowed his head then settled back against the sofa. A comfortable silence filled the space until Elrond spoke.

“Not that I’m not glad to see you, ion-nin, but why are you here?”

Aragorn turned to face the half elf, a mischievous glint in his eyes as Elrond raised an eyebrow.

“Well this should be interesting.”

“I had some... unfinished business to attend to.”

“Is that so?”

Aragorn sat on a chair in front of the elves, and both of them straightened. He winced at the expectant look on his foster father’s face, reminded of every scrap he’d been pulled out of in Rivendell, then later as a ranger.

“It may have had something to do with your earlier conversation.” The look didn’t change and he sighed in defeat. “Ok fine. It had everything to do with it. I had a conversation with Earendil. Interesting man. Surprisingly relaxed.”

Elrond smiled tiredly and Celebrian took his hand.

“Interesting indeed. He… wasn’t what I expected.”

Aragorn’s laugh echoed, loud and warm and *human* in a way Celebrian knew her husband missed dearly. So many of Elrond’s friends had been mortal, so much of his family.

“Now that’s an understatement!” The man smiled wide. “In any case, I had a quick conversation with him after you left. He says he’d love to take you sailing and have a proper heart to heart.” The smile dropped to something more somber, more gentle. “He also says he understands if you need more time, and will wait as long as he needs.”

Elrond seemed to simultaneously age and relax.

“If you’d take my advice…” Aragorn began hesitantly, waiting for Elrond’s warm nod before continuing, “I think you should take him up on the offer.“

Elrond gave real thought to the words and Celebrian wondered just how well this man judged characters that Elrond was willing to take another chance. Any elf would have been shut down by now. Had been in the past.

“I do not know if I can.”

A familiar stubborn glint entered Aragorn’s eye. A fearlessness Celebrian was delighted to see.

“I say this with respect Adar, but you have to stop running away from this.”

The half-elf startled at the sharp words, but Aragorn continued before he could fully recover. Smart kid.

“For your own sake, you must face him. Just as you must one day face Elwing, Maedhros and Maglor… but this is a good place to start.” He leaned forward to take his father’s tightly clenched hands. “What did you tell me when my heritage was revealed? When I was terrified the weight of my past might drown away my present?”

A suspicion began to form in Celebrian’s mind, threatening to break out in a bright laugh and smothering hug for the son she’d never met. Of course. Of course.

Elrond closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wryness and pride in his eyes when he looked up at Aragorn.

“The past is but a small part of you. You are so much more your history, no matter what anyone else says.”

“Wise advice, no?”

“Seems a little narcissistic to agree, but I suppose it is.”

Squeezing Aragorn’s hands back, Elrond sighed and slumped back, eyes closing for a long moment. Aragorn glanced at Celebrian, who returned a small, reassuring smile. It was about time someone smacked some sense into her husband’s head, and this one knew how to push all the right buttons.

“I am afraid, little one.” Elrond finally whispered.

Aragorn grinned boyishly, and Celebrian’s suspicions were confirmed.

“That’s why I’m here.”

[thoodleoo]

My husband and I build TTRPGs and one of the hardest parts is coming up with NPCs, but a while ago I decided to start naming all the orcs after Greek and Roman historical figures and this blog has been ana invaluable source of fucked up old men with which to cause problems.

im happy to be of service and also you are gods bravest soldier for sifting through my incomprehensible ciceroposting #chickpea life

anyway have you considered an orc named ahenobarbus or perhaps scaurus

[kylecrusoe-captions]

TALES FROM THE LEAKY COCK #2

"Possessed by Lust"

The Leaky Cock thrummed with life—tankards banging, voices slurring, and the occasional groan slipping from darkened corners. Kaelric, a cleric of the Lords of Light, entered with purpose, his white robes a stark contrast to the inn’s grit. His blue eyes narrowed, hunting the source of whispered tales: a void-touched orc, a lustful blight haunting the crossroads. A shiver ran through him—not entirely holy—as he adjusted the silver sigil of the Lord of Purity at his throat. Something in the air felt wrong, like a thread of rot beneath the ale and sweat.

A halfling at the bar, bleary-eyed, jabbed a thumb toward the road. “Aye, you must seek Gorzod. Orc’s holed up in that old homestead, mile out. Stinks like a beast and drags men off like a siren. Watch yourself—feels like death’s been sniffing ‘round there too.” Kaelric’s jaw tightened. Death? The word lingered as he stepped into the night, the homestead’s jagged outline rising against the moonlit sky. A faint hum prickled his senses, a whisper of magic not quite orcish, not quite natural.

Gorzod stood in the yard, a mountain of green muscle, shirtless and glistening. His scent hit Kaelric like a fist—raw, unwashed, a week’s worth of musky sweat amplifying his pheromones into a weapon. The cleric’s knees weakened, his cock stirring beneath his robes despite his prayers. Gorzod’s grin bared tusks, but his eyes glinted with a human cunning, a spark too dark for an orc of honor. “Here to save me, light-bringer? Or to taste me?” His voice carried a dual tone—Gorzod’s growl, undercut by a man’s smug drawl.

Kaelric raised a hand, golden light flaring. “I sense you, spirit. Release this orc, or I’ll cast you out.” His words rang firm, but his pulse hammered. The air thickened, and a shadow flickered at the yard’s edge—gone when he blinked. Gorzod laughed, a sound too polished, too gleeful. “Cast me out? You're welcome to pray, you’ll be on your knees anyway.” He stepped closer, and the pheromones drowned Kaelric’s senses, a tide of musk pulling at his will.

He chanted a theurgic ward, gold shimmering around him, but Gorzod lunged, seizing his wrist. A cold jolt surged through the touch—void magic, sharp and deliberate, like a puppeteer’s string. Kaelric’s ward shattered, and a mind-control spell sank into him, slick and invasive. His robes fell away, his lean body bared, and he dropped to his knees before Gorzod’s hulking frame. The orc’s loincloth hit the dirt, revealing a cock thick and dripping, a beastly thing Kaelric couldn’t look away from. The scent made his mouth water, his resistance crumbling.

“You’re mine, holy boy,” Gorzod rumbled, but the human lilt purred beneath it—a ghost, a man who’d craved flesh in life and found perfection in Gorzod’s form. This spirit had chosen the orc for his rugged jaw, his slabs of muscle, his pheromones that bent men like reeds. Kaelric’s hands moved, unbidden, caressing Gorzod’s thighs, tracing scars. His lips parted for the massive member, and the orc thrust deeply, filling his throat with heat and salty sweet precum. He gagged, then groaned, the spell twisting disgust into need.

The ghost drove Gorzod harder, hips pistoning, reveling in the cleric’s submission. Kaelric clawed the earth as the orc hoisted him, bending him over an old fence. The pheromones drowned him, and when Gorzod’s cock pressed inside, he didn’t fight—couldn’t, and wasn't sure he wanted to. The first thrust ripped a cry from his lips, pain melding with pleasure as the orc pounded him, relentless. “Scream for me,” Gorzod snarled, but the ghost whispered, “Scream for us.” Kaelric obeyed, voice cracking as Gorzod’s grip bruised his hips. A faint chill brushed his neck mid-thrust—not the wind, but something watching.

Time blurred—sweat, musk, the wet slap of flesh. Kaelric’s theurgy sputtered, golden flickers scorching the grass, but the void spell's grip tightened. Gorzod pinned him to the ground, rutting with abandon, until a shuddering release coated Kaelric’s hole in thick orcish cum. The orc slumped, panting, and for a heartbeat, his eyes cleared—Gorzod’s own soul pleading, “Help… me.” Then the human gleam returned, laughing low.

Kaelric staggered up, cum slick on his thighs, and summoned his strength. A radiant burst erupted from his hands, slamming into Gorzod. The orc roared, clutching his skull, and a shadow tore free—a human shape, leering, its edges fraying like smoke. It didn’t dissolve; it slithered, darting into the darkness with a hiss of amusement. Kaelric’s gut twisted—it wasn’t gone, only displaced, waiting. Gorzod collapsed, freed but dazed. Kaelric dressed, trembling, a dark stain blooming in his soul—lustful echoes he couldn’t silence.

Kaelric’s breath still came in ragged gasps as he adjusted his robes, the fabric sticking to his sweat-slick skin. The homestead yard lay quiet now, save for the rustle of wind through the overgrown weeds and that faint, persistent hum tickling the edge of his senses—something watching, waiting. Gorzod stirred on the ground, groaning as he pushed himself to his knees. The orc’s massive frame glistened under the moonlight, his green skin streaked with dirt and exertion. His eyes, clear of the ghost’s gleam, met Kaelric’s with a raw, unguarded intensity.

“You… freed me,” Gorzod rumbled, his voice thick but steady, carrying the weight of an orcish awe. He hauled himself to his feet, towering over the cleric, and took a step closer. The air shifted, heavy with that familiar musk—not as overpowering as before, but enough to make Kaelric’s pulse quicken and his cock twitch traitorously beneath his robes. Gorzod’s nostrils flared, catching the cleric’s scent, and a knowing smirk tugged at his tusked mouth. “Still feel me, don’t you, light-bringer?”

Kaelric’s cheeks burned, shame warring with the heat pooling in his gut. He opened his mouth to deny it, to cling to his vows, but the words caught as Gorzod’s pheromones coiled around him—subtle now, a tease rather than a command. The orc’s gaze dropped, lingering on the bulge straining Kaelric’s robes, and his smirk widened. “I owe you, cleric. Honor demands it. You’ve had me rough. Now take me as you please. Till you’re sated.”

The offer hung between them, raw and bold. Kaelric’s mind reeled—duty screamed retreat, but his body ached, still thrumming from the ghost’s violation and the orc’s relentless rutting. Gorzod stood there, unashamed, his thick cock half-hard again, glistening with the aftermath. The cleric swallowed, his theurgic sigil cold against his chest, a silent rebuke he ignored. “I shouldn’t,” he muttered, but his feet didn’t move.

Gorzod chuckled, low and rough, stepping closer until the heat of his body pressed against Kaelric’s. “Shouldn’t’s got no place here. Want me or not, human?” His hand grazed Kaelric’s arm, calloused fingers sparking a jolt through the cleric’s nerves. The pheromones thickened, a warm invitation, and Kaelric’s resolve snapped like dry twigs. He grabbed Gorzod’s wrist, pulling him toward the homestead’s sagging porch. “Inside,” he rasped. “Now.”

The orc followed, his bulk filling the doorway as they stumbled into the shadowed ruin. Dust motes danced in the faint moonlight spilling through cracked boards, and Kaelric shoved Gorzod against a wall, the wood creaking under the orc’s weight. His hands roamed, greedy, tracing the hard planes of Gorzod’s chest, the ridges of scars, the coarse hair trailing down his abdomen. Gorzod grunted, letting the cleric take the lead, his own hands resting lightly on Kaelric’s hips—a warrior yielding, for once.

Kaelric sank to his knees, driven by a hunger he couldn’t name. He gripped Gorzod’s thighs, thick as tree trunks, and took the orc’s cock into his mouth, tasting salt and musk. Gorzod groaned, head tipping back, his fingers threading into Kaelric’s hair but not forcing—just guiding. The cleric worked him with a fervor, lips stretching, tongue swirling, until Gorzod’s hips bucked and a low growl rumbled from his chest. “Fuck, human—eager now, aren’t you?”

He wasn’t sated—not yet. Kaelric rose, shedding his robes fully this time, and pushed Gorzod onto a rickety table that groaned under the orc’s mass. The cleric climbed atop him, straddling his hips, and guided Gorzod’s cock to his entrance. The stretch burned, deliciously so, and he sank down with a moan, taking the orc inch by inch. Gorzod’s hands clamped onto his waist, steadying him, and their eyes locked—gratitude, lust, and something unspoken passing between them.

Kaelric rode him hard, chasing release, the table rocking beneath them. Gorzod thrust up to meet him, each movement a jolt of pleasure that drowned out the whispers of guilt. The orc’s pheromones wrapped them both, amplifying every touch, every gasp. Gorzod snarled, his own climax building. “Give it to me, cleric,” he growled, and Kaelric did—shuddering as he spilled across Gorzod’s chest, the orc following with a roar, filling him with heat.

They collapsed together, panting, the table miraculously intact. Gorzod’s hand rested on Kaelric’s back, a rough comfort, as the cleric’s heartbeat slowed. “Sated?” the orc asked, voice gruff but warm. Kaelric nodded, breathless, but the air still hummed faintly—not just lust, but that same cold thread from before. He glanced toward the broken window, half-expecting a shadow to move, but saw nothing. The ghost was out there, unbound, and something—someone—still pulled its strings.

As Kaelric dressed, Gorzod watched, his pheromones a lingering tease. “You’re welcome in my bed any time, light-bringer. Debt’s paid, but I wouldn’t mind settling it again.” Kaelric managed a shaky smile with a blush, stepping into the night as Gorzod followed. The road to the Leaky Cock stretched ahead, but the darkness felt alive, whispering promises—or threats. Whatever had loosed the ghost wasn’t finished, and neither, he feared, was he.

[bluestrawberry7]

definitive height ranking of the main ten bg3 characters

im right they told me themselves

10. last place is minthara lmao she's 5'3" (161cm) max. I love her being tiny and feral. still absolutely ripped, don't get me wrong, just... on a smaller scale. also drow are canonically the shortest elves (drizzt is 5'4"/162cm), and I know women are taller than men, so she'd still be a little under average, but its more middling in menzoberranzen. and she's still above goblins and stuff. but then she joins the party and is just towered over by all these men and surface elves and she is compensating

9. shadowheart is 5'6". she is the physical embodiment of y/n. I guess this is a little short for elves, because of the gender thing, but I just cannot see her being defined as "tall" or "short". like she's short, in comparison to the other companions, but that only emphasizes their enormity because she is so perfectly average.

8. I like wyll being 5'8"/173cm or so bc he just so thoroughly embodies short king energy. think of that marcello hernandez bit where he's like short kings put in the work, not because we wanted to, but because we had to. I'm sorry but wyll is just way too kind and good at dancing to have lived his whole life over 5'9". bro is tom holland. (his dad is comfortably over six feet. this is definitely not a source of contention)

7. astarion, I think, is canonically 5'9"/175cm, which is tall for male elves, but not by a ridiculous margin. i think it fits into him being like, default-ly desirable, where he sort of fits into a lot of different relationship molds without it looking weird, because its a whole part of his character than he's conventionally attractive. like the vampire stuff is the interesting part, but without that he looks averagely, disposably pretty, which is why so many people see right through him.

6. gale is exactly one inch taller than astarion. I like him being a kind of remus-lupin tall, where he like slouches a lot and doesn't super recognize it, which is amplified by the fact that he spent the majority of his adult life exclusively around tara and a literal goddess. he doesn't really grasp the social implications.

5. lae'zel ends up around gale-height (5'10"/178cm). I know some people swear by shortzel, but I like the idea of githyanki being gangling and alien. her in-game model doesn't look like it should be that tall, but her limbs are just a bit too long. I like her walking around camp in an uncanny valley way, where she looks so clearly 5'6" until she's standing right next to you.

4. I picture jaheira in her prime as taylor swift with elf ears. she's just under six foot, or ~181cm. its that whole thing about presidents/authority figures tending to be taller, because people like to literally look up to their leaders for some reason. she just has that confidence. she's not like outrageously tall, and she's totally comfortable with minsc etc being taller than her, but she's just. six feet tall.

3. karlach!! is 6'2"/188cm!!! (not including horns). I've seen people say she's a little more than that, but I don't think most people are grasping how tall 6'2" is, especially if you're like fully built. like, rhea ripley is 5'7". karlach is a UNIT. anything above 6'2" is reaching freak-of-nature status, where height is like. the only thing you see when you look at them.

2. speaking of freaks of nature, minsc is 6'4"/193cm, and he has been since he was like 13. he has lived his whole life being taller than 97% of people he meets. he had to be pulled aside in gym class and warned that he couldn't wrestle the other kids anymore because he might crush them. and he was heartbroken!! because he's like!! a great dane!!!! and he just wants to play!!

1. halsin is comically large. ≥6'5"/196cm. he is a statistical anomaly. i think he canonically assumes he's part orc, but I think it's funnier if he's literally just an elf. his parents are 5'6". he's never even worked out. doctors hate him.

the only race-related halsin theory i'll accept is that he's a bear who turned into a human and not the other way around

[thetownsendsw]

Today marks the premier of #Pathfinder’s Triumph of the Tusk Adventure Path, so I’d like to take a moment to discuss a relevant topic near and dear to my heart.

ORCS!

While Tolkien was drawing on some linguistic antecedents, Orcs in fantasy originate from The Hobbit & Lord of the Rings, where they’re brutish soldiers of various forces of evil.

Initially lacking redeeming quality, Orcs have become a darling of pop culture, their thuggish nature explored from many angles across TTRPGs, video games, comics, novels, and more.

Now, when you picture an Orc, you no doubt imagine something akin to the Warcraft or Warhammer franchises: statuesque, green skinned humanoids with protruding underbites and looming tusks, often locked into a primitive, itinerant lifestyle, eschewing technology beyond what they pillage from other races.

Interestingly, none of this is in Tolkien.

In Tolkien, “Orc” was essentially another word for “Goblin,” or perhaps unusually large Goblins. Far from statuesque, Gollum (a (former?) Hobbit) could easily be confused for one. The Uruk-hai, a new, stronger Orcish offshoot were described as Orcish in appearance but only as tall as a Man, not taller.

Tolkien’s Orcs are described as deformed, but nothing as specific as green skin or tusks is specifically mentioned (Tolkien saved in-depth sensory detail for trees, and occasionally beards).

Far from being savages, Tolkien’s Orcs were–in his grand Romanticist narrative–stand-ins for industrialization. They were destroying the forests to build grand weapons of war, and soot-covered Mordor evoked the smokestacks of 19th century london.

In many ways the conflict of LotR can be interpreted as Tolkien pitting the noble myths and tales he studied up against his real experiences in WWI.

(the thought amuses me of a firmly medieval fantasy setting, except when we zoom in on the Orcish Badlands they’re all shelling each other from the trenches)

But while none of these traits are in Tolkien, there is a source where they are central.

The Green Martians, or Tharks, first appeared in A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs, published in All-Story Magazine from Feb-July 1912, well before any of the kids Tolkien decided to tell a fairy tale to were born.

The Tharks are described as 15 foot tall nomadic savages, favoring mighty beasts and weapons salvaged from the more civilized races of Barsoom. They have green skin and tusks, as well as six limbs (interestingly, the middle limbs are described as functional as either crude arms or secondary legs, but art always just depicts four arms)

Culturally, the Tharks are clearly meant as extensions of the Apache raiders encountered in the early chapters of the book set in Arizona; i.e. some California ranch-owner’s idea of wasteland savages. Nomadic, inhuman raiders redeemable only when breaching their primitive traditions.

The parallels are almost uncanny, and I’ll admit I’m honestly not sure where the crossover occurs. Early editions of D&D–another driver of fantasy trends–depict orcs as pig-people, which is probably how tusks became so iconic. They later added gray skin, which persisted officially until the current edition.

Somewhere between there in ‘74 and Warhammer in the early 80s is when the pseudo-Barsoom look took over in broader culture, and at this point there’s no getting around it. Even the more recent Tolkien film adaptations can’t entirely escape the expectation of modern Orcishness.

Turning back the clock a bit, Tolkien notably was never entirely sure where Orcs came from. His first idea was that they were molded from clay by Morgoth, a dark mirror to Adam, but being a Catholic at heart, he disliked the idea of Evil being a creative force.

He flip-flopped for the rest of his life, whether Orcs were corrupted men/elves/hobbits, uplifted beasts, even (according to one post I saw) soulless bodies remotely piloted by demons. He could never quite square the need for unfailingly evil mooks with his own feelings on Good & Evil.

Personally, I find particular resonance in the parallel between what D&D used to call an “always chaotic evil” race and the very Catholic concept of Original Sin. Was Tolkien merely dancing around the idea that the Orcs only needed to be Saved?

I can’t say what Tolkien would think of modern Orcs, either their merging with an earlier, American space alien, or our attempts to humanize what was supposed to be fundamentally inhuman. But I think his insecurity speaks to the same source as our fascination.

Who among us hasn’t struggled with what it means to be good? Or to be evil? And if we are made to be evil, what does it mean to strive against that purpose or to surrender to it? Can we abandon the precepts of predestiny? Or do we reject that they were ever there?

Stare deeply into that Jungian shadow and tell me…

Is it green? And do you want it to be?

[mariuspompom]

After the avalanche of bad takes inspired by got and hotd I would just like to say that the point of asoiaf is not "feudal power corrupts" and it is not "no one can save Westeros because feudalism bad". I would like to remind you what the function of feudalism in the story actually is, as stated by GRRM:

The medieval setting has been the traditional background for epic Fantasy, even before Tolkien, and there are good reasons for that tradition. The sword has a romance to it that pistols and cannon lack, a powerful symbolic value that touches us on some primal level. Also, the contrasts so apparent in the Middle Ages are very striking -- the ideal of chivalry existed cheek by jowl with the awful brutality of war, great castles loomed over miserable hovels, serfs and princes rode the same roads, and the colorful pageantry of tournaments rose out of a brown and grey world of dung, dirt, and plague. The dramatic possibilities are so rich. ( Source)

Now his notorious statement about Aragorn's tax policy (as much as I vehemently dislike that statement concerning Tolkien, it is still very insightful for GRRM's work) :

Ruling is hard. This was maybe my answer to Tolkien, whom, as much as I admire him, I do quibble with. Lord of the Rings had a very medieval philosophy: that if the king was a good man, the land would prosper. We look at real history and it’s not that simple. Tolkien can say that Aragorn became king and reigned for a hundred years, and he was wise and good. But Tolkien doesn’t ask the question: What was Aragorn’s tax policy? Did he maintain a standing army? What did he do in times of flood and famine? And what about all these orcs? By the end of the war, Sauron is gone but all of the orcs aren’t gone – they’re in the mountains. Did Aragorn pursue a policy of systematic genocide and kill them? Even the little baby orcs, in their little orc cradles? (Source)

Moral relativism right? Nihilism, pessimism, every symbol is doomed to fail, every effort for a better future is doomed to fail because the feudalist structure is inherently rotten. Should we even try then? What is the point in showing a ruler genuinely try? If every leader is doomed to fall victim to external opposing forces and/or corruption or other moral flaw, what is the point in trying? Let's see another statement by GRRM where he explains what asoiaf is actually about:

"In a very basic level winter is coming for all of us. I think that’s one of the things that art is concerned with: the awareness of our own mortality. “Valar morghulis” – “All men must die”. That shadow lies over our world and will until medical science gives us all immortality… but I don’t think it makes it necessarily a pessimistic world (...) the important thing is that love, compassion and empathy with other human beings is still possible. Laughter is still possible! Even laughter in the face of death… The struggle to make the world a better place… We have things like war, murder and rape… horrible things that still exist, but we don’t have to accept them, we can fight the good fight. The fight to eliminate those things.There is darkness in the world, but I don’t think we necessarily need to give way to despair". (Source)

The combination of these statements speaks for itself to someone who has read GRRM's work: the sword has a romance that pistols lack, the dramatic possibilities of the medieval setting are rich, ruling is hard, we can fight the good fight, we should not give way to despair. From that to "No one can save Westeros" the distance is huge and the endpoint is extremely deceptive and also deeply reactionary. If no one can save Westeros, then there is no point in trying to save Westeros. Characters that try to save Westeros, or Essos, or the Wildlings, or anything bigger than their own ass, are not morally superior to others that just benefit from the current status quo or passively tolerate/enable it, since no one can actually do shit and every effort is doomed to fail. Yet this goes directly against the point of asoiaf that can be summed up in the phrase: "ruling is hard". It is hard alright, but the thing is, someone has to do it. Whether that someone has been chosen by the people, or by the gods, or by destiny, or by circumstances, and regardless of the political system that allowed them to yield that power, the point is that someone has power ad hoc at any given time, and power equals responsibility. What do you do with it? How do you govern? How do you choose between two equally grievous alternatives? Who do you listen to? Who do you trust? How can you learn? What if everything you've been told was a lie? How do you move on from there? What if the promises you made contradict each other? What if you fail? How do you live with the guilt, how do you go on? How do you instigate a structural change? What if you try to do that and people die? What if you try to do that and it kills you? Was it worth it? How do you use the power you have? How do you fight the good fight? What makes a fight good?

"Feudalism bad" and "no one can save Westeros" are not just incredibly uninspired catchphrases, they are something much worse: a very nice way of avoiding to answer the real, hard, uncomfortable questions that are the driving force of asoiaf, and a very neat way to justify those who tolerate, enable or reinforce the status quo. Coincidentally, these questions remain the same in every single political system. They are universal. That's why this is a good, relevant, applicable story, that's why we give a fuck even if the context is foreign to us. So spare us the moralizing bullshit please, and thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[steviesmarigold]

M's Week on AO3

4/27/25

First Reads

you hit me like fire (shot me like a bullet): 5.3k words

“Bucky,” Ingeras says, even though the boy in front of him never asked for his name, “my name’s Bucky.”

little hope (sing a song of fire): 10k words

Bucky Barnes is a poet, patriot, and veteran wandering in search of the source of the visions that have plagued him since before the war. Bucky’s dreams are consumed with visitations by a Great Dragon, haloed in sun and cloaked in stars. When he wakes he can only describe what he sees and feels in snippets of desperate poetry. As he journeys closer and closer to the Great Dragon, his fear of the Old God gives way to something else entirely.

the cottage by the sea: 14k words

Later, he could not say why he did what he does. His mind is one confused, high-pitched blur, incoherent and blank, but perhaps that is a good thing, because if he’d been thinking he likely would have remained where he was, paralysed by indecision, until his handlers arrived and took him in. As it is – the Asset stands and leaves. And, eventually, the result is this: a flash in the water and a wet, gleaming head that emerges from the sea, so smoothly that even the water doesn’t seem to realise he’s there until it does, and little waves start flocking around him.

To each new star: 13k words

Earth is the last stop on Bucky's universe-wide quest to find the best coffee in the cosmos.

After thirteen months of jumping through portals, cheating time and skipping through dimensions, Bucky's ready to go home.

But then he walks into Steve's shop, gets hooked on his coffee and his steady heart, and discovers that he's not quite as ready as he thought he was. He's not ready at all.

The Grace of the Fire and the Flames: 31k words

Since the day Prince Steven drew his first healthy breath, he's been focused on only one thing: destroying the many-headed Hydra that's been haunting their lands for decades. So when he returns from yet another fruitless hunt, the last thing he wants is to discover a new addition to his Royal Harem. But the new man is intriguing, and his scent is achingly familiar. Against his better judgement, Prince Steven wants more.

Winter arrives in Breukelen with no memory of his past, how he lost his arm, or who he really is. When the Wizard Pierce gives him a mission to get the Prince under control, Winter doesn't think twice. He wasn't expecting Prince Steven to be a good man, and Winter has to try to discover whether he should trust the prince - or his programming.

When their worlds start to fall apart around them, will they learn to trust each other and the love they've begun to form? Or will it all crumble to ash?

Must Be Kismet, So Kiss Me: 26k words

“It’s clearly something,” Natasha says, because she's always been able to read Steve far too well. “If you’re making that face over a simple text.”

(or: Steve is just looking for a way to get a box of things back to its rightful owner when he sends the email. He's not expecting to get anything beyond a forwarding address in return. He's definitely not expecting to fall for the man who responds. An AU featuring Steve, Bucky, one terrible ex-boyfriend, so many text messages, a shameless amount of flirting, a little bit of sexting, some slightly concerned friends, plenty of kisses, and a lot of feelings.)

The Heart of a Dying Star: 38k words

As ancient legends have it, mighty magical weapons can be forged in the heart of a dying star.

Wanda, driven by her desire to avenge her brother’s death and backed by Hydra and their secret plans, uses ancient magic to knock a star down from the sky.

Halfway across the land, Steve, the Captain of the Avengers Guard, finds a fallen star named Bucky.

Born of Necessity: 54k words

In the time before the ocean's rise, before men left their hiding places and stretched out across the earth, taming rivers and forests and all in their path, there lived a half-orc boy named Steve. All his childhood, Steve was told by the people of his town that he was born of a forced union between his orc father and his human mother. But Steve knew the truth. He remembered late night visits and secret weekends away together, where his father would play pat-pat with him and dance with his mother in front of the fire. Steve knew the truth: he had been born of love.

Cast out of his human village, Steve will seek out his father only to find that love can be true but tainted as a mysterious warrior named Bucky exposes the terrible secret of the orcling army. This is the story of how Steve found his way in the world and discovered the cost of love and the loneliness of sacrifice.

Rushing Waters: 57k words

Steve’s only known his life as a blacksmith apprentice in his small riverside town. But some people still speak stories of the times when fairies and elves lived among his people and the river ran wide through the middle of the forest, so far across you couldn’t see the other side. Now the river is a little trickle of a thing that barely accommodates small trade ships.

As one of the remaining high elves, Bucky's spent a lot of time studying history. It’s not like the old days, when their numbers spread out through the forest and down to the islands of the south, and they had a Kingdom to run. These days, the elders just sit around and quarrel about the best way to avoid humans and, given his luck, Bucky’ll be in one of those seats in a scant hundred years or so.

When a devastating natural disaster threatens everything they both know, Steve quickly learns that the old stories might be more important than he could ever imagine, and Bucky learns that the humans might not be the enemies he thought they were. In fact, they might realize that together, they’re capable of more than anyone could have dreamed of.

Under One Small Star: 50k words

A long time ago, in the kingdom of Leoman, two boys named Steve and Bucky lived under the watchful eye of Steve's mother, Sarah. Raised to be fair and kind, brave and true, the two were family in all but blood. Yet their idyllic existence was to be short-lived, and when tragedy struck, the boys were torn apart. One was taken into the home of a strange man with stranger children, while the other was forced to bear the weight of a crown he did not ask for.

As the years went on, Steve Rogers forgot the boy he'd known so well. He grew into a fine young man; fair and kind, brave and true. So, when he met a stranger in the woods - someone who needed his help - what other choice did he have?

Winter's Herald: 112k words

Steve, if there's a time when you don't have to worry about anything, it's now. I’m a Herald-Trainee, Winter's a Companion. You're exhausted. Just…trust us. We'll get you home safely."  

For a long moment, a moment in which Bucky felt gifted with sudden insight into who Steve was, he thought it could go either way. Then Steve smiled, this one warm and bright and just for Bucky, and it raced through him, lodging inside him like a miniature sun. "Guess I'd be a bit ungrateful to say no." 

Some Heralds change the world. Some Heralds save it. Some Herald's names are woven through the very fabric of Valdemar. But most don't, and most aren't. Most Heralds simply do their duty, their Companions by their sides, their stories recorded in dusty Crown records not Bardic ballads.

Steve and Bucky figured they were most Heralds—no ballads required, thanks—and they were mostly right. What they didn't account for was that no Herald was ordinary—and with the two of them bound so tightly together, extraordinary was sure to follow.

In the Shadow of Armistice: 63k words

Sedryn Amathion is a young Ñoldor elf born of lower Himring near the end of the harrowed Second Age. Vice-Captain of the Forlindon Shieldmasters, herald of the High King Gil-Galad, and devotee of Eärendil, the Star of High Hope.

Or, as the ragtag Dúnedain troupe known as the Howling Commandos calls him, Steve.

The Commandos are to sabotage an orc signal tower deep within the Ephel Dúath mountains, clearing the way for the armies of the Last Alliance to march on Barad-dûr and rescue all of Middle-earth from the clutches of this new and terrible Dark Lord.

“Steve” has no way of knowing that love formed deep behind enemy lines would settle so completely inside his immortal heart, defying time, distance, and ultimately death itself.

this city with the safety of a never-ending blessing: 11k words

"Surprise," Bucky said. "I picked up a glass ball from some lady when I was eight and now it's hatched into..." He closed his eyes like it physically pained him to say it. "A dragon."

"So dragons are real now?" Steve asked weakly.

ReReads

A Sky Full of Stars: 15k words

The dappled sunlight played over Buck’s face, making him look like a magical creation, some kind of illusion. Steven reached out a hand to touch, to make certain he was real.

Buck started and pulled away when Steven’s fingers made contact.

“Sorry!” Steven snatched back his hand. “I didn’t--”

“No, don’t. It’s only that I have never touched a human before.” Buck captured Steven’s hand in his and guided it back to rest against his cheek. “Go ahead.”

Left of Centaur: 8.1k words

The sound of hoofbeats pulled Steve's head around and he froze.

A chestnut centaur, tail so long it would have brushed the ground if it wasn't flagged in challenge, was galloping through the fighting. He was carrying a human and a dryad on his back, cradling a tiny sprite in one arm, and holding a wicked looking metal spike in his other hand. A chimera lunged for him, and he reared, showing no hesitation as he smashed it with one front hoof, then stabbed down with the spike, sending it skittering back.

Steve broke out of his trance and flung the shield. It smashed into the chimera, flattening it, and the centaur bolted for the safety of the barricades, his passengers clinging tightly.

Another centaur. There was another centaur in New York. He'd thought he was the only one.

At Face Value: 64k words

Steve Rogers is leading what he thinks is a pretty normal life in Sanctuary, a bustling city with a large population. And a big wall around it. He has a good job and good friends. Totally and completely normal--except for the face he sees in his dreams. Every night. The face of a stranger. One he's hopelessly attracted to. When that stranger unexpectedly drops into his life in the form of Bucky Barnes, Steve's got to figure out what it all means, and how to handle it when his totally normal life suddenly is anything but that.

So far I've come (to get to you): 36k words

There aren’t many things Steve won’t do to save his mother when her cancer turns terminal. Tracking down an ex-Hydra battle mage in the Dead Zone to offer his life as sacrifice for a cure is just one example. Turns out the mage has a conscience. He agrees to help, but he refuses to take Steve’s life. Instead, Steve must give up something else—something precious, something so dear to him it can fuel the magic to cure Sarah.

Now, all they need to do is figure out what that something is...

------

When Steve wakes up, just for a moment, he’s sure he’s in the wrong place. He stares up at the dent in the ceiling, the one he’d made when he got a little too enthusiastic about popping the champagne after graduating college. Next to it is the green arrow Sam stuck there so Steve would never forget that night. It’s the same ceiling he’s woken up to for the last six months. But for some reason, his mind insists it’s the wrong one.

He blinks and the moment passes. He’s exactly where he’s supposed to be—in his room. Where else would he be?

Lessons in Normality: 38k words

Things Steve knows about his boyfriend Bucky: How he looks with his face relaxed in sleep. That he can perfectly flip pancakes. The way he’s open about things Steve is still adapting to, like therapy and depression and sex toys and being a millennial. The way he laughs with his mouth wide open and his eyes squinted, and the cheerful way he cheats at cards and loses at laser tag.

The way he seduces Steve with a knowing glint in his eye. The way Steve responds to it, stronger each time, taken by his beauty and competence and snark and compassion (or the compassionate way he boots Steve in the ass when he needs a push).

Things Steve doesn’t know about his boyfriend Bucky: That he’s an undercover operative gathering intel on Hydra, SHIELD, and which Steve is affiliated with.

The Idiot's Guide of How NOT to be a Necromancer: 13k words

It was supposed to be simple. Get rid of the hydra and stay the hell away from the necromancer’s mansion.

But as life goes, things never go according to plan, and Bucky ends up coming face to face with one of the most dangerous and feared beings in the world - a powerful necromancer who is nothing he had ever expected. Ever.

take a sip of my magic potion (i'll make you fall in love): 16k words

Working as a barista at Little Spider's wasn't the most glamorous of jobs, but the pay was good for a college student and Bucky's boss was decent enough. It also didn't hurt that Hot Blonde Guy walked into the coffeehouse every Tuesday, and if Bucky put in a little extra something in his cup — a little magical extra something — well, that was just between him and his familiar. It was all going great until Bucky mixed vodka and his grimoire and accidentally baked a love potion into a cupcake and fed it to Hot Blonde Guy.

And if that wasn't bad enough, a blast from the past in the form of his ex-boyfriend/witch hunter is hunting him.

And if that wasn't bad enough, Hot Blonde Guy turned out to be Captain Fucking America.

Two Souls, Too Far: 12k words

Everyone has a soulmate. They come in forms we just don't expect. And we learn to expect that with each life. Bucky's comes in the form of a mysterious and rude man in the woods. Steve's comes in the form of some hoity-toity noble who as much of a sense of direction as a pinecone.

Part of a series of stories following two souls through dimensions and time. Each story in this series can be read as stand-alone, in any order. This is the first.

starry-eyed: 11k words

“Steve,” Bucky said, stepping closer. “This is going to sound weird. Do you know what a star is?”

Steve furrowed his brows, slowly shaking his head. “No. I’ve never… I don’t think I’ve heard that word before.”

“I think…” Bucky trailed off, lifting the sleeve of his hoodie on Steve’s arm, running his index finger through the glittery substance on his skin. “I think you are one.”

or, steve is a fallen star, and bucky is the lucky guy whose pond steve landed in.

Hic sunt dracones: 5.7k words

There are stories:

Stories of knights and the dragons they slayed. Stories of princes who conquered the great fire-breathing beasts terrorizing their kingdoms. Stories of how they saved their lands and won the hand of fair princesses in battle.

This is not one of those stories.

At least not in the strictest sense.

The Winter Stallion: 35k words

Prince Steven Rogers and Knight James “Bucky” Barnes of Mar-vell have been inseparable all their lives. But when a mission against the warring kingdom of Hydra goes wrong, Bucky is thought dead, leaving Steve to his grief. Two years later, Steve has almost succeeded in ridding the land of Hydra, and in the final battle finds himself coming face to face with their infamous warhorse - known only as the Winter Stallion. There is something familiar in his eyes, something that begs for help, and after freeing him from Hydra he decides to save him, beginning the long journey of winning his trust. The Winter Stallion is wild and fearful from abuse and more intelligent than any horse he’s ever met, but as their relationship flourishes Steve is unaware of the dark secret that lays beneath – a curse that turned man into beast. For the Winter Stallion, who remembers nothing of his past, it will take the kindness of humans to mend his heart, but much more to unearth his true identity. For maybe, just maybe, Steve isn’t such a stranger after all.

Plunge: 32k words

Steve squawked as a hand wrapped loosely around his wrist. He braked, wings banking so hard he almost somersaulted over himself, and surged up and away from the ocean, spinning to find himself staring at—

A triton was laughing up at him, sharp teeth gleaming in the sunlight. Steve had seen tritons before. He knew what lurked under the water. The power and violence wrapped in muscle and skin.

The triton's grin turned knowing, like he could see what Steve was thinking. "Hey there, Feathers. You want to go for a swim?"

Bucky Barnes' Guide to Show-Don't-Tell: 12k words

Bucky should be happy. His secret is, apparently, safe. Apparently no one noticed. Apparently no one saw. And yet. “I practically fondled you in front of everyone and no one bats an eyelash. What’s up with that?”

I.e.: Steve and Bucky now live together in the Avengers Tower. They have decided to keep their relationship a secret from their fellow Avengers- that is, until Bucky slips up and the Avengers act oblivious about it. Bucky recruits Steve in a game of ‘show, don’t tell” until the Avengers acknowledge what’s what.

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

Okay brief post before I sleep, re: the problem of "fantasy dwarves"

Obviously I am no authority on any community that I'm not part of, so I cannot be a final voice on whether or not any particular use of various fantasy people and creatures are good or bad.

However, it also means that when I run into issues like this, it's important to me to get info from multiple sources (even if I don't reblog or share everything I've found) in order to make my own choices for my work. And I recommend the same to everyone!

Because human history is the way that it is, it's pretty much inevitable that the common fantasy people or creatures you want to use in your own new work have at some point, maybe even a lot, been portrayed in ways that are very offensive and bigoted towards real human people. (and this goes for scifi too)

Orcs have commonly been portrayed as some manner of "barbaric savages" with aesthetic details that call to mind Mongolian warriors, Native Americans, and African people, frequently combined with animalistic features.

There was a huge debate on the antisemitic features of goblins in mainstream fantasy, especially around the time JK Rowling was becoming more and more openly bigoted and the issues of racist caricature goblins and house elves in Harry Potter were being made more relevant.

The lore of drow in Dungeons and Dragons is a whole mess of racism and misogyny with their evil matriarchy and slavery situation, not at all helped by their dark colored skin.

Elves are certainly not exempt from this, though they're often taken in the opposite direction and portrayed as wise and beautiful white people who are more civilized than everyone else. And a lot of people have decided to subvert that by making elves into the oppressors. I've done that a little myself.

I'm also writing a lot of characters who don't match my own identity, including some in rather sensitive categories like being trans or having dissociative identity disorder. Those are my two main characters in the book I'm currently writing. I've seen people with DID write very passionate posts trying to dissuade people from ever writing any character with that condition. And I've seen other people with DID encourage the existence of those characters.

Fact is, there is no universal answer to the conundrum of whether or not a particular type of character or fantasy people or creature should be written. There are, I think, clear traits and tropes to avoid because they just can't be subverted in a meaningful way, especially not by people who aren't part of the marginalized groups that are harmed by them.

Like I don't think anyone who isn't Jewish should try to lampshade and openly subvert the antisemitic goblin tropes like the ones you see in Harry Potter.

I have been using fantasy dwarves in my writing, and I've reblogged a post from a person with dwarfism who is very much on the side of fantasy dwarves no longer being used. And I respect that, which is why I reblogged it and why I am still pondering a name change for my own "dwarves". But while I have not posted any links to it, I have in fact watched a video by another person with dwarfism who thinks fantasy dwarves are cool! There is no singular answer here. I'm still thinking about using a different word, and I plan to keep on hearing out different opinions.

I think the most important thing, though, is whether or not my many fantasy people come across as nuanced and respectable or if they come across like bad stereotypes and offensive caricatures. I can rename them all I like, but whether I'm using the word "orc" or "boarin" or whatever you like, does that make it any less offensive if I write them to be savage uncivilized evil barbarians regardless? Is it less offensive to remove the title of "dwarves" and replace it with "cavern folk" if you're still going to write them as angry little men with big heads who only exist for comedic effect?

It is important to be careful of the use of specific words and I think coming up with your own names for fantasy people is a great idea, of course. It's why I have the stroi as another species of elf. But it does kinda bother me when people act like the very use of a word is the main problem and not just one more detail on top of a pile of problems.

[bountydroid]

The Lonely Elf pt 2

Haldir x female!elf!OC

Notes: Sorry this took so long. Im surprised anyone actually wanted a part 2.

TW: Battle? No real descriptions of death or gore.

Word Count: 2,162

"Then I will die as one of them!" Aragorn's angry voice echoed through Helm's Deep. I winced as the men around us took in his words. Before Legolas could respond, Aragorn turned around and retreated from the conversation.

"Let him go lad." Gimli said softly, stopping Legolas from following after his friend. "Let him be."

The mood was dire in Helm's Deep. With each minute the orcs grew closer and the fear deepened in the men's hearts. I found a place to sit quietly, watching the hustle and bustle of preparing men and children. My heart saddened. Was this the end? I failed Bilbo. I told him I would look after Frodo but when he left I chose to go with the others instead. After everything he had done for me, how could I betray him in such a way?

"Bilbo will understand," Gandalf's voice rang in my memory. I confided in him about these feelings on the way to Rohan, but his words did little to comfort me. Tears fell down my cheeks as I wondered about Frodo's well-being. With all my heart I hoped that he and Sam were doing well, that they were safe and warm. I wished I would endure this fight to see them again, but I had little hope. After Legolas and Aragorn's argument, we parted ways, the four of us finding our own corners of the keep to hide in. We all needed to think about our dire situation and process it in our own ways. I chose this time to think about those whom I love. My wonderful family of hobbits, the company dwarves I have barely been able to face since our adventure went dire, and of course Haldir. I choked down a sob as I pulled out the coin Galadriel had given me.

"Let it help you remember what you are fighting for, and what awaits for you when your quest is done," I spoke aloud bitterly before tossing the coin away from me. "What a joke."

The hustle and bustle continued through the night. The women and young children had found shelter in the deepest part of the fortress while the rest of us readied for battle. I did not fail to notice the looks I received from the men of Rohan. They thought I should be with the other women, despite my experience in battle. A bitter taste settled in my mouth as I decided to look for my traveling companions.

"It's a little tight across the chest." I heard Gimli say from behind a door, I slowly opened it and stuck my head around the corner. "There you are, lassie!" He exclaimed happily causing me to smile down at him.

My eyes shifted to Legolas and Aragorn. "You ready to kill some orc?"

Before they could respond, a horn echoed from outside, "That is no orc horn." Legolas said, eyebrows furrowing before rushing out of the room to find the source.

"We come to honor that allegiance." Haldir's soft voice echoed in my ears. Before he could see me I backed up and hid behind one of the men as I held my breath. My heart jumped as I heard Aragorn greet him. "No, he can't be here." I thought to myself. Conflicting emotions filled my body. I was both happy and distraught to see him. How could he throw away his life by coming here? How could he seem so stoic in the face of certain death? I slipped back into Helm's Deep, hoping to find a corner to hide in so I wouldn't have to face him.

-

The men seemed more hopeful now that we had elves fighting at our side. I knew that our chances were still slim to none, but we had a better chance if the men thought we would live so I didn't say anything to persuade them otherwise.

"The she-elf? She's over there." I heard a man's voice ring out. I held my breath as I peered around the corner to see him talking to Haldir. Haldir's eyes flickered over to me before he looked back at the man. He gave him a small bow and headed in my direction.

I closed my eyes as I let out a long breath to steady my nerves as his footsteps became louder and louder. "Elowen." I heard him say softly as his feet came to a stop.

"Haldir," I responded as I opened my eyes to meet his gaze. Silence filled the air for a couple of minutes before I finally broke it. "Why would lord Elrond send you to die?"

Haldir looked taken aback by my question. "He didn't. I volunteered."

"What?" I questioned as my face twisted up in confusion.

"I volunteered when I heard he was sending troops." He repeated softly as he crouched in front of me.

"Why?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

He met my eyes before answering, "Because you are here."

The tears I had been fighting all this time started to spill out as I gave in to my emotions. I could feel him put his hand on my shoulder massaging it softly as I tried to regain composure. I tightly gripped his arm like I was afraid he would disappear at any moment. He continued to rub my shoulder to comfort me as my crying came to a stop.

I finally met his eyes again, all puffy and red, I wanted to respond somehow but words were failing me, Instead, I opted to throw my arms around his shoulders and bury my face into his neck, letting my actions speak for me.

-

The night sky grew darker as the soldiers fell into their positions. Aragorn, Haldir, and King Theoden had ordered each person to their designated place. We were as prepared as we could be. I stood next to Legolas and Gimli, picking my nails nervously. I tried my best to stop myself from searching for Haldir. It was for the best that I didn't think about him and his fate. I would only put myself in more danger if I was distracted. I tried to remind myself to have hope, even in the face of certain death. My grim attitude wasn't helpful to anyone. I tried to remind myself of what Gandalf said. "Look to my coming on the first light of the fifth day, at dawn look to the east." Would he be able to save us? I stewed in my thoughts as the torches in the distance came closer. Their footsteps were deafening as our army stayed silent.

"You could have picked a better spot!" Gimli said angrily as he tried to peer over the wall.

I let out a small scoff before turning to face the others, noticing the small smirk on Legolas's face.

"Well lad, by the luck you live by. Let's hope it lasts the night." Gimli said as Aragorn came up behind him startling me.

Where did he come from?

"Your friends are with you Aragorn," Legolas said as he stared at the approaching army.

"Let's hope they last the night," Gimli responded.

"This isn't the end Gimli," I finally broke my silence. "I refuse to die here. There is still so much I want to do."

Aragorn's voice rang out, his deep voice louder than the pouring ran. He walked among the elven archers, encouraging them in their native tongue. The Urukai army finally stopped marching, staring at us from the ground.

"What's happening out there?" Gimli asked while jumping to try and see over the wall.

"Would you like me to describe it to you?" Legolas responded, lightening the mood. "Or would you like me to find you a box?

Gimli's laugh made me smile, but it didn't last long when the Urukai started to bang their spears on the ground, creating a thundering rhythm.

The archers nocked their bows, preparing for Aragorn to say the word and let their arrows fly. As we waited for Aragorn's command a single arrow flew out and hit an Urukai in the neck, causing the army to stop and stare. The battle has started, whether we were ready or not.

-

I had lost track of how long we were fighting for, but one thing was for sure, we were losing. It was not unexpected as most of us had steeled ourselves for this outcome, but we were still filled with desperation and hope that somehow we would live. The outer defenses had fallen, everything but the main keep had been breached, and it was utter chaos.

"To the keep!" I heard Aragorn yell out, urging our forces to retreat. "Haldir!" He continued to yell in elvish.

My eyes scanned the wall before landing on Haldir's back. A sigh of relief left my body as I started to make my way towards him. I would drag him to the keep if I had to. Before I made it to him I saw him lean down with his hand near his waist. He was hurt. I started to run along the wall as fast as I could, pushing men and Urukai aside while I watched one come up behind him. I realized I would not make it in time, in an act of desperation I pulled out my knife and threw it at the Urukia's head, hoping that nothing would get in its way.

With a bit of luck, it hit its target. A sigh of relief left my body as I continued to run towards Haldir as the dead Urukai fell on top of him. "Haldir," I said as I pulled the dead weight off him. "Let's get you to a healer."

-

The keep was packed and there was an army banging on the doors. It wouldn't hold for long. I nervously bit my nails as I sat next to Haldir who was being tended to by one of the elvish healers. I watched Aragorn and Theoden argue about something, but I was too far away to hear. Satisfied that Haldir was safe I decided to go to Aragorn to be briefed on the situation. After a single step, I felt a hand grab at my wrist. Startled, I looked down with wide eyes at Haldir's face of desperation.

"Stay," He begged. "There is nothing out there but death."

"Are you regretting coming to my rescue?" I jested, trying to lighten the mood.

He scoffed as he pulled me to the ground next to him. Despite the chaos around us I felt content in the moment, like I was where I needed to be.

-

In a stroke of luck, Gandalf arrived just in time with the Riders of Rohan at his back. It was no small miracle that we defeated an army so large. After the chaos began to settle down the fellowship was ready to leave and face Saruman in his tower. When Legolas came to collect me I felt conflict in my heart. I looked to Haldir who was now on his feet and delivering orders to the elves. They were getting ready to head back to their homes. Home. My heart tightened at the thought. Like he could feel my eyes on him, Haldir turned to face me only to see Legolas holding my gear.

"Come Elowen, we must go." Legolas' voice rang in my ears.

"Okay," I responded quietly as I took my things from his arms.

"Wait," Haldir said loudly as he maneuvered through the crowded keep. "Come back to Caras Galadhon with me."

Legolas looked between us, "Make your decision quickly, Elowen." He said before leaving us to speak alone.

"I made a promise Haldir. It is important to me that I finish this journey." I responded with uncertainty as he towered over me.

"I do not wish to lose you." He said tenderly as his hand reached for my cheek.

I closed my eyes and leaned into his hand, enjoying the moment. "I must go, but when I am done and the ring is destroyed, I will come find you."

I opened my eyes to see a frown across his face. He hummed quietly as he lovingly rubbed his thumb across my cheek.

"I promise," I said, trying to reassure us both. "But I must go now, they are waiting for me." I turned away from him, trying to hurry to the fellowship before I changed my mind. I let out a small squeak as I felt a hand grab my shoulder and whip me around. Before I could protest I felt Haldir's lips collide harshly into mine. I melted into his body as the kiss became softer and more passionate. My mind went blank as I parted my lips, making way for his tongue to enter my mouth, deepening the kiss. When I finally pulled away he cradled my face as he gently knocked his forehead into mine. "Come home to me." He whispered.

[the-fiction-witch]

Sweet Lady

Media - Rings Of Power Character - Elrond Couple - Elrond X Reader Reader - Unnamed Human Rating - 12 Word Count - 2147

Elrond had to run. He grabbed his weapons and sprinted through the woods, hoping to lose the orcs and reach a sunny clearing where they couldn't follow. He knew Eregion was too far away, but he had no choice but to try.

The orc party chased him, weapons in hand, tearing through the thick underbrush.

Elrond ran as fast as he could, trying to create distance between himself and the orcs. His heart raced, and sweat dripped from his forehead.

One orc threw an axe that caught his cloak on a tree, stopping him from running. Elrond struggled to free himself from the cloak, but it was too late. The orcs surrounded him, arguing about whether to kill him or take him to Adar.

Elrond held his sword tightly. He knew he was outnumbered, but he stood firm, looking at the orcs with fear and determination. He tried to read their next move.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle caught the orcs' attention. As they looked around, two of them got hit by arrows and fell to the ground. The others searched for the source of the arrows but fell victim themselves. The last orc tried to escape, but it was too late. A figure emerged from the brush, cloaked in deep burnt orange. He grabbed the orc by its neck and threw it to the ground at Elrond's feet.

"Mercy is not for monsters." The figure said before gutting the orc with its own axe,

Elrond watched in bewildered fascination, He couldn’t believe that this figure, just saved his life. He looked down at the dying orc at his feet, then back at the figure. "Who are you?" he says, his voice a mix of wonder and relief.

the figure freed him from the tree and pulled back the hood of the burnt orange cloak revealing skin and a long braid of hair tied back with a butterfly bow. Below the cap of the cloak was a short knee-length orange dress and brown leather trousers and boots. A belt of apothecary bottles and arrows for her bow, now on her back.

Elrond was taken aback by her beauty, but quickly gathered his composure. "My thanks, miss," he says, still a little breathless from the adrenaline of the chase "You saved my life. I am in your debt."

"Keep your debt." She said. "I have no use for it."

Elrond nods, He respects her for her strength, though he can't help but notice the coolness in her tone "You are a skilled fighter," he says, gesturing to the body of the orc at his feet "And clearly not someone to be trifled with."

"those without swords can still die upon them. I'd rather have the advantage than not." She said collecting her arrows,

Elrond watches her as she collects her arrows, He can sense a hardened edge beneath her beauty and finds her intriguing. "You're not like any man I've met before," he says, his gaze still on her. He thinks to himself that perhaps he shouldn't underestimate her.

"Have you met many?"

Elrond nods "I have, though not many like you. Most men I know are farmers or tradespeople, simple folk, living simple lives. But you…" he pauses, studying her carefully again, "You're a woman of the wilds. An expert with the bow and blade. Someone who lives by her own rules."

"World doesn't live by mine. Why should I live by anyone else's?"

Elrond smiles slightly at her words. Despite her coldness, he finds himself somewhat drawn to her. "You're wise. If only more men shared your perspective." He says.

"most men are weak. They bundle together in fear built villages and towns afraid of the dark to be alone. They huddle together like cattle and follow whichever cow walks towards food."

"You certainly have an unflattering opinion of us." He says, his tone light with amusement.

"us? You are an elf are you not."

Elrond nods "I am. Half-elf, to be precise."

"A rare case. An outlier."

he chuckles slightly at that "In more ways than one." he gazes at her for a moment, taking in the sight of her. She was unlike any human he'd ever met before. He found himself wanting to know more about her.

"you seem to be doing better than most." She said looking at his clothes,

he glances down at his clothes, realizing that they do indeed set him apart from others. He never put much thought into his appearance and its implications before. With a soft, self-deprecating laugh he says "Perhaps. My position has its privileges, I suppose."

"and it's risks. They know you're important." She said glancing at the orcs. "I could be a queen, but no one can tell I'm valuable."

Elrond nods in understanding. It's true that his position makes him a target. But he's never really thought of it in that way before. "Is that to your advantage? To not be easily recognizable?"

"It's one of them. Elves don't understand that. Walk around high and mighty in fine clothes, on white horses walking to elven gates a mile high. Not exactly respectful to anyone else."

Elrond can't help but feel a bit humbled by her words. It's true that many of his people can be self-important and dismissive of others due to their elven superiority, "You speak the truth. Many of my kin do not see things from other perspectives. Including myself, it seems."

"ummm." She scoffed, "Eregion is that way. Don't walk by the river orcs make camp there."

"Thank you," he says, starting in the direction that she indicated "Though I do have a request."

"What?" She turned back

he hesitates for a moment, "If it's not too much…" he says, a little awkwardly, before continuing, "do you mind if I walk with you for a while? It can be dangerous out here and there’s strength in numbers."

"fine." She sighed

He smiles, glad that she agreed to accompany him. He starts walking beside her, his pace matching hers. "Why were you out here? The wilderness is not a safe place for a human, even one that possesses archery skills like yours."

"I live here."

"You do?" he asks, his expression one of both surprise and concern. "And what, pray tell, do you do out here alone?"

"fish. Farm. Wood work. Live."

"You have courage, I’ll say that." He says, his tone one of begrudging admiration. He glances at her again, trying to get a read on her. So far, she's been closed off and a bit cold, but underneath that is a fierce independence that Elrond can't help but respect. After a moment of silence, he asks, his tone a bit lighter now, "How long have you been living here alone?"

"Sixteen years."

"You've lived here since you were a child?" He asks, his concern growing.

"Since I was fifteen."

He can't help but grimace. “You were fifteen… been here sixteen years your… your thirty-one?”

“Yes.” she snapped,

“…My apologies, you do not… look -”

“Look what?”

“…You appear young for your age miss,”

“As do you.”

“Well yes but I am half-elven, I am sure you have no such excuse,” he chuckled,

“My excuses are my own.”

“I see…” He nodded, "And what made you choose such a life?" He asks carefully. He's not sure how blunt she will let him be, nor how much she'll reveal to him.

"I don't like people." She said walking faster,

Elrond quickens his pace to keep up with her. He can tell he's treading on thin ice, but cannot help but persist, "Don't like people? Or are you afraid of them?" he asks softly

she pulls out a blade from her belt and puts it to his neck, "I. don't. Like. People."

Elrond raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. Clearly he's hit a nerve. He takes a small step back to remove the blade from his neck. He gazes at her, his expression one of both wariness and concern, "I can see that I've upset you. That was not my intention."

she put the blade back on her belt and kept walking, "People are cruel. Vindictive. And stupid. I'd rather be alone."

"I understand caution," he says quietly after a moment, "but to completely close yourself off…do you never feel lonely?"

"I have animals." She answered, "and the trees often talk with me."

That throws him off a bit. "The trees?" he echoes, trying not to sound doubtful. Although, he's learned that stranger things happen in these lands than one would care to believe, "What do the trees say?"

"they ask for silence. And for fire to be extinguished"

Elrond is even more unsettled now. The trees had asked her? Told her things? This woman was definitely full of mysteries. He regards her with a mixture of wariness and awe. "They…they communicate with you?" he asks, still trying to comprehend this concept

"Everything in this world talks to you. If you only listen."

He regards her thoughtfully for a moment. The thought that everything, not just animate objects, has a voice and consciousness is a strange but captivating idea, one that he's never really considered before. He looks around at the trees, the rocks, the streams, considering them all in a new light. "And the rivers, the streams…the mountains? They talk too?"

"they flow in a direction of their own regardless of how we decide. Dam a river, it’s first move is escape."

he gives a soft laugh at her response. "So you're saying that nature doesn't adhere to the whims of men. It does as it pleases."

"Do not laugh at me" she glared,

He raises an eyebrow at her tone of voice. She was clearly offended that he'd laughed at her. He shakes his head "I'm not laughing at you." He studies her for a moment. "You do understand that you're just as much a part of nature as the mountains and rivers and trees. You can't deny that you're part of this world you love so much"

"I am not meant to be."

He frowns at her words. It was a sad thing to say, that she was not meant to be. He feels a pang of sympathy for her "How can you say that?" he asks, unable to keep the concern out of his voice

"this world is not for us. never had been. We are not built for it. We need fires and towers and clothes. If this world was meant for us we would not need anything. We would simply be."

"I think you're being too harsh on your kind…" he pauses, thinking this over. She did have a point, and a fair one at that, "Perhaps you would find the Elves' homeland more to your liking. lindon, Eregion" he says,

"Even you are not made for here. Elves come from the west."

He nods. She was right. "No, I suppose we are not." he says quietly, his thoughts turning to days long past He looks at her again. There was something about her that stirred something within him. Not just her beauty, but her passion. It was something that he had not seen in the presence of his own kin. He can tell that behind her coldness and anger to the world, there was a deep well of emotion. He wanted to unearth it..to see what was underneath. "Perhaps none of us are meant to be here," he says softly

they reached the edge of the woods the bright sun on the fields and Eregion in the distance "perhaps not." She said, "This is as close as I go."

He turns and looks at the open fields that lie ahead, He isn't ready for her to leave just yet. Not when there was still so much he wanted to know about her. "Must you go?" he asks, not even trying to hide the disappointment in his voice

"I must." She demanded

he sighs softly, knowing that he can't win this fight. With a resigned nod, he says "Well…thank you. For saving me back there. And for accompanying me," he looks at her, trying to commit everything about her to memory. Her hood concealed her face, but the few parts of it that were not hidden were imprinted on his mind. her hair, her skin. The way her shoulders were set, her hands gripping her cloak. He didn't want to forget any part of her.

"be well. Elrond half-elven." She nodded before she fixed her bow and pulled up her hood and like magic into the woods

He watched her until she was completely gone from sight, disappearing into the thick of the forest like a ghost. He couldn't help the feeling that he'd just lost a chance. To what, he didn't know. for a moment, he considered running after her, into the woods. But he decides against it. No good would come of it. There is a small part of him that whispers that he will probably never see her again. He ignores it, and pushes it down to the back of his mind. He stood there for a few minutes longer, looking after the place where she vanished, before finally starting forward again But it was gone nonetheless, "Farewell…" he muttered quietly “Sweet lady…”

[sillylotrpolls]

For the record, Tolkien really did have some drafts in which Boromir lived. In these, he not only became increasingly envious of Aragorn, but eventually betrayed him to Saruman.

After the Men return to their city, “Boromir deserts and sneaks off to Saruman, to get his help in becoming Lord of Minas Tirith” (TI 210). Surprisingly, this plot point stays in place for a while. Later, Boromir is said to be “enraged” when “the Lord of Minas Tirith is slain” and Aragorn is chosen to rule in his stead (TI 211). In this version, too, he defects to Saruman. Christopher Tolkien suggests that in this, Boromir may be “a faint adumbration of Wormtongue” (TI 214). This suggestion is fascinating, as it brings to our attention possible affinities between the heir to the stewardship of Minas Tirith and the power-hungry wizard. According to the outline, Boromir does not repent, but is “slain by Aragorn” (TI 212)!

Source: https://www.tor.com/2020/10/15/exploring-the-people-of-middle-earth-boromir-the-brave/

[trickstarbrave]

WIP wednesday

i got tagged by @saltymaplesyrup (i hope that tagged)

i tag uhhhhhhhh @caliblorn @thescrolls-haveforetold and whoever wants to do it

for art i just have this immensely messy sketchi have to clean up

for writing im working on a new chapter of moon and star. its orc time babeyyyy (i had to make up some orc hcs too. hell on earth i hope they dont suck. its mentioned in morrowind orcs are egalitarian and later sources contradict this so i decided the morrowind orcs are)

While Nerevar was ultimately confident everything would work out, he still felt a bit uneasy. Searching through his memories in his past life was a bit difficult; the Battle of Red Mountain was chaotic, and some memories didn’t want to come readily to him. All he knew was he vaguely remembered orcs being on the side of the nords, opposing both the dwemer and chimer.

If his memories were accurate, that meant the dwemer must have cut ties with them in the past. He didn’t remember how or why they did previously, so he couldn’t work with that knowledge, but it must be possible to sever the alliance between the orsimer and dwemer. To make up for the gap in his memories, Nerevar had spent some time with Voryn to research the orsimer in question they would be dealing with.

The nords were not allied with all orcs; that would be unreasonable. The orsimer were scattered groups, tribes, and clans. Some of them lived in a large city state somewhere in High Rock, a place that was rumored to be built on an old holy site belonging to Trinimac. Others lived in northern Hammerfell--or what he knew as Hammerfell, anyways. Currently, Hammerfell was more so a collection of regions and city-states, nedes often coming into conflict with the orcs, and with a few known ayleid settlements dating back to the merethic era. Another group of notable orcs were those living in Valenwood, a blend between the typical stubborn orsimer and the more agile bosmer who also called the forests their home. 

The last group was the one of note for Nerevar: mountain orcs as the chimer called them, or Malahk-Ornim, as they called themselves. Mountain orcs were several bands of orcs that lived in the mountains of Resdayn, from the Velothi mountains to the volcanic hills of Vvardenfell. They were primarily raiders, though they also kept livestock and did trade on occasion, and in that sense it was no wonder they allied with the nords who had their own raiding culture. 

Unlike many other orsimer they were more egalitarian. Some orc societies were extremely patriarchal, but others like the Malahk believed orsimer women could hold positions of prestige and even become chieftains. However, the term for ‘spouse’ in orcish was often translated as ‘wife’ by most other Tamrielic languages, based on the experience with other groups of orcs. A person of prominence usually had many romantic and sexual partners under them that filled a specific role in the group, such anything from smithing to cooking, and for many groups of orcs that was one man in a high position of powers with many wives under him. But the current chieftain of the Malahk was Morgaz Ufthag-Malahk who took over after defeating her father and siblings. 

It would be tricky to deal with them, but he was hoping that by understanding their culture they could come to an agreement to, at the very least, stand down and stay out of the squabbling between the chimer and nords. Nerevar had nothing against the orcs personally; typically the mountain orcs minded their business outside of raids, but they were just as likely to raid the nedes coming into Resdayn to trade, so it’s not like they were targeting the chimer specifically. In fact, the chimer liked to antagonize them, leading to most of the skirmishes that were recorded.

To try and keep tensions from getting too high, Nerevar’s men first traveled to Arkngthand, where the dwemer had come from initially. Inspections on the other underground town would have to wait, as Dumac explained, but he had carriages and banners at Arkngthand that could be used. If the orcs saw a bunch of armed chimer marching toward them, they would likely believe it to be a planned attack and start rallying their warriors for battle. If the dwemer were approaching though, the orcs would be a lot calmer. 

Voryn’s brothers didn’t have time to confront Nerevar after the talk with Dumac, but he could tell they had a lot they wanted to say based on the looks they kept giving him. Gilvoth, Vemyn, and Uthol traveled with them though, insisting it was a precaution given they were traveling with the dwemer. Araynys and Endus were put in charge of House Dagoth in Vemyn and Voryn’s absence, though Voryn had tried to argue Vemyn should stay behind in Kogoruhn to manage the house. Vemyn argued that Araynys and Endus together could manage the territory, with Odros in Mournhold managing the spies. With Voryn’s brothers supporting Vemyn’s arguments, Voryn was outvoted, and he was clearly displeased by the fact. 

At least they were alone in their cart together. It was luxurious, only a step below the one Dumac took, pristine dwemer bronze and luxurious pillows arranged in the cart, a small fold out table for drinks and meals, and the inside was surprisingly cool despite the structure being mostly metal. There was even a pipe for smoking, various herbs provided for, and Nerevar hoped in the cart Sil and Vehk were riding in didn’t have one--Nerevar didn’t want to risk Vivec trying to see if he could smoke skooma in there. It also wasn’t as bumpy of a ride as the chimer carts Nerevar has been in previously, only some gentle rocking even on the uneven foyadas. Driving the cart were two pale elves, falmer, Nerevar believed they were called, and large insects pulling the cart eagerly. 

It was quite nice if he was being honest. He’d miss the comfort of the cart when he inevitably had to return to his old one. At least his men seemed to be slowly warming up to the dwemer after Dumac provided them with new weapons and some enchanted clothing to keep them cool on the long march. Those would all be useful long term; soon the cooler months would be upon them in Vvardenfell, where he was focusing his efforts for now, but it would be warm again before they knew it. 

Voryn meanwhile was busying himself with Nerevar’s hair, fussing over him. His armor was off for comfort, set aside in the cart on a padded shelf, while he oiled the axe he got in Ebonheart. The nords said the thing was cursed, but Nerevar didn’t buy it; if it was cursed, wouldn’t it have shown when Nerevar was using it? Kaða must have just been saying that to frighten him. 

His lover pressed a kiss to his neck, and Nerevar hummed appreciatively. “Are you really going to use that axe again?” Voryn asked. Nerevar couldn’t see his face, but he could tell Voryn’s eyebrows were no doubt furrowed in concern. 

“Why not?” Nerevar asked. “It’s a good blade. Never seems to dull, great weight to it, and it feels good to handle.” Nerevar finished oiling the blade, smiling fondly at it. He hadn’t had it for very long, but he had grown attached to it. It felt as natural to use as Trueflame did, and since Trueflame didn’t exist anymore, it was now a good weapon of choice. He’d try to avoid using it around other chimer, since it was clearly a nordic weapon, but he didn’t have to worry about that against the nords or orcs. He’d need all the help he could get. 

Nerevar’s hand traced the moods on the side of the blade. There were three moons, actually, something that struck him as odd. There were only two moons, Masser and Secunda, so Nerevar didn’t know why there would be a third moon visible. Was it not a moon? Was it a stylistic choice? It was hard to say, not without finding out who made the axe and asking them, which Nerevar didn’t really care to do.

[aylen-san]

How to Convince Manwë to Let You into Valinor? Tips from Sauron

Ah, Valinor. The Land of Light, the Haven of Peace, the Dwelling of the Valar, where time flows as softly as silk and where mortals have no right to exist. I don’t even know why everyone is so eager to go there. Maybe it's the immortality? Or just because everyone keeps saying, "Valinor is better"?

Well, if you're so desperate to get in, allow me, Sauron, to explain how NOT to do it—and how you might have a chance.

Method 1: "Pretend to Be Remorseful" (Not recommended, but worth a try)

A classic. The Valar love it when someone swears loyalty and repents. They’re merciful, or so they say. Then again, this didn’t really work out for my former boss, Morgoth. But to be fair, he asked for forgiveness with the look of someone about to stab you in the back—so maybe the mistake was in the delivery.

💀 How to do it right?

First, destroy everything that ties you to your past. Tear down your dark tower, free your slaves, throw away the Ring—actually, no, don’t throw that away, it’s mine.

Prepare a speech. Something like: "I have realized my mistakes, the Valar are my true guides." The key is sincerity. If that doesn’t come naturally, practice in front of a mirror.

Find a mediator. Perhaps Gandalf—he has a habit of bringing all sorts of rejects to Valinor (see: Bilbo, Frodo). Of course, you might have to act like a pitiful fool with a victim complex, but if it gets you in…

🎭 Chance of success: 10%. Manwë is no fool.

Method 2: "Bring a Valuable Gift" (Bargaining with the Valar, insanity level: high)

Manwë isn’t particularly interested in material things, but others might put in a good word for you. Aulë, for example—he loves fine craftsmanship. If someone were to present him with something grand—say, a creation on the level of the Silmarils—he might convince Manwë to give you a chance.

💎 What might work as a gift?

A new source of light (like the Two Trees? Only better!)

An artifact capable of restoring lost lands (maybe that’ll impress them?)

A magical device allowing elves and men to coexist peacefully (yeah, keep dreaming.)

⚠ Downside: You’d have to create something as great as the Silmarils—but without the blood, betrayal, and war. So… impossible.

🎭 Chance of success: 5%. They might take your gift… and still leave you at the doorstep.

Method 3: "Sneak in Inside a Crate" (For masters of disguise only)

Some have used this tactic before—and sometimes, it even worked. For example, Finrod infiltrated Angband disguised as an orc. (Thanks for the idea, Finrod, though it didn’t exactly end well for you.)

📦 How to pull it off?

Disguise yourself as an innocent traveler. Maybe an old elf with a weary look?

Sneak onto a ship bound for Valinor. Just don’t draw suspicion.

Pass Mandos’ judgment (uh… this part will be tricky).

⚠ Downside: If they catch you, you won’t just be exiled—you’ll probably get a one-way ticket to Mandos’ personal chambers.

🎭 Chance of success: 2%. You’d have to be the greatest actor in Middle-earth.

Method 4: "Become Someone Manwë Already Loves" (The hardest but theoretically possible method)

Manwë deeply cares for his favorites—his eagles, Gandalf, certain elves… What if you could become someone who already has a ticket to Valinor?

🔄 The plan:

Find someone guaranteed to be welcomed into Valinor.

Replace them (method of replacement—your choice).

Hope the Valar don’t notice.

⚠ Downside: This is even worse than the crate idea. They’ll definitely notice.

🎭 Chance of success: 0.00001%. Only if Manwë suddenly goes blind, deaf, and forgets all his friends' names.

Method 5: "Break the System" (For those who don’t take ‘no’ for an answer—i.e., me.)

And now for my favorite option. Instead of trying to enter Valinor by their rules… why not change the rules themselves?

🔥 How to do it?

Find a powerful artifact (yes, like the Ring, but someone stole it, so you’ll need a new one).

Alter reality so that Manwë has to invite you. Maybe he suddenly needs a new surveillance system, and you convince him you’re the best candidate?

Create a situation where accepting you is necessary. For example, forge a prophecy stating that only you can save Aman.

🎭 Chance of success: 50%. Depends on your creativity.

Conclusion

Getting into Valinor isn’t easy. The Valar aren’t fools; they remember who you are and what you’ve done. But if you can convince them… well, congratulations. You’ll be the first to do it without causing a major catastrophe.

Now, if you’ll excuse me—I have a few letters to write, allegedly from Gandalf, urgently requesting permission for my arrival in Valinor. Maybe bureaucratic chaos will work in my favor?