Im just going to leave this here. I used to buy into the elf theory but personally now not only do I believe Orcs orgininated BEFORE elves awoke in Arda (as is also theorized in this book) but thst they are coreuptions and meldings of spirits and potentially materials. I have a long thought out thing on this but no energy to type it. But I believe Aulë's creation of Dwarves was a blueprint for orcs.
(Image id: a photo of a paragraph from Morgoths ring that reads "As the case of Aulë and the Dwarves shows, only Eru could make creatures with independant wills, and with reasoning powers. But Orcs seem to have both: they can try to cheat Morgoth/Sauron, rebel agsinst him, or criticize him. Therefore they must be corruptions of something pre existing."
(Shout our thanks to @outofangband for liatening to my ramblings and putting up with my ridiculous ampunt of picture ecidence from the books)
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Star Elven technology...Food.
Nanotech, it’s developed and everywhere.
That apple? They made nano strains made for that tree type, to make solar and leaf processing better, water use, to store food, an get rid of diseases all the while using nano-builds to max out the growth potential of the apple even preserve it.
Eating them? Not an issue you’re not the tree, once picked they’re turned off, at worst you’re getting maybe trace minerals you need.
But it’s not just the apple it’s everything, nano-managed and tuned even crossbreed when wanted from fruit to grains to rice. Combined with their other practices, waste cycling, it’s why their food is obsessive in quality and cost so little.
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The Miys, Ch. 138
It’s timmmmme y’alllll.... Food Festival, whaaaat!?
Okay, I know.... I love to cook, and there is a lot of food in this story. But I really do believe in Sophia’s philosophy - It’s the universal unifier. There would seriously be so much more world peace if world leaders regularly ate dinner together.
I solemnly promise to try to keep food out of the next 4 chapters after the Food Festival. Promise. (Unless y’all tell me via PM, Ask, Comment, or Reblog to do otherwise. And I would need a slightly more than 50% ratio of requests compared to likes. Just to be fair).
The morning of the opening ceremonies for the Food Festival, my nerves were cranked even higher than the days leading up. Since I was insisting on attending all three days - which were expected to be crowded - I had bribed Antoine with his favorite breakfast to disable my proximity alerts. As much as I hated doing it, I knew it would be too distracting to be in a crowd and have it constantly going off.
What this meant was, an hour into the Festival, I had already strained something in my neck by snapping my head around trying to keep my eye on all several-thousand people at the same time. Conor grabbed my shoulders and tried to steer me toward a vendor while using his broad shoulders and height to block anyone behind me. My anxiety level instantly dropped noticeably, and I was actually able to enjoy the miniature kebabs from the vendor. Conor had to take his hands of my shoulders to take his, but I noticed that he made a point to keep himself between me and any passerby who seemed to not be paying attention. We made it to one of the seating areas, and he managed to hold the curtain back, making me giggle embarrassingly.
“I just realized that we did everything backwards,” Conor said nonchalantly, stripping his skewer in one bite but at least covering his mouth while he chewed.
My immediate thought was that he meant the Festival somehow, but I had known and lived with Conor for far too long to assume. Even after this long, he was still capable of shocking me with how his mind worked. “What did we do backwards?”
He gestured between us. “This. Us.”
I thought about it. “I don’t think so? We were friends first.”
“Yeah, we were arse backward,” he laughed. “The only thing we did right was being friends first. But then we went through a crisis where you met our future boyfriend - before we were together, mind - and I almost lost you. Then I moved in, then Mav moved in. We all got sick, someone else wanted to kill you, then we went on our first date….”
My head dropped back as I erupted in laughter. “Okay, okay! You win! We did everything ass backward!” I finally took a bite of my food while he winked at me and snuck a sip of my drink.
“I forgot the part about meeting your family before we were even together. That was still a thing, right? Meeting the family?”
Still laughing, I shrugged. “I made a point after I turned seventeen not to date anyone who didn’t get along with Tyche.” I could see math in his head and preempted the next question. “Yes, that means I trusted my twelve year old sister’s judgement, even when we weren’t talking.”
“Clearly, I am her favorite,” he grinned.
“She couldn’t decide between you and Maverick, so I had to go with both.”
Grabbing my hand, he pulled me from my seat as I bit the last piece of kebab off the skewer. “I concede in the face of her superior taste.”
“So should we all,” I grinned as he pulled me out into the crowd.
This time, with a somewhat established way of navigating the crowd, I was able to pretend I was a normal person in a crowd, dragging her boyfriend from place to place. Randomly, we would see people we know, stop, chat for a second, and keep going. A part of me kept wanting to look for Maverick, but I reminded myself each time that he was at home, asleep so that he could work the later shift today. We did manage to find Charly and Coffey, the former of which tossed me a wink as she brushed her fingers casually over the collar she wore - she made a point to wear it each year as a reminder of the first time we met.
This time, however, I was resisting the urge to squirm away, but knew that with Coffey and Conor bracketing us, Charly had a captive audience.
“So… kink night is next month at the Undine! You’re going to be there, right?”
“Charly, I’m not… I’m not an exhibitionist, and the guys will be at work…”
A large hand flew up to cover Coffey’s laugh before he could turn his head to hide it. Charly scrunched her face at him before turning back to me and rolling her eyes in his direction. “I never expected you to participate, silly. You’re there as kind of an official approval from the Council.”
That launched my eyebrows into my hairline. “Do you need official approval?”
“Not really,” Coffey intoned. “It’s more preventive - if we start with approval from the local government, in a non-participatory way, there can’t be any backlash later.”
I heard a snort over my shoulder before Conor spoke up. “So, she’s just…. Going to sit there?”
“There is a zero percent chance that she’ll get bored, and I’m positive that Sebastian will need some help.”
I raised my voice to be heard over the muffled laughter over our heads. “I love you, but I’m a terrible waitress - “
“And a phenomenal cook! We’ll need lots of snacks.”
I shook my head and blinked hard. “Won’t you be…. Busy?”
“Not the whole time, no,” she answered, thankfully one-hundred percent serious. “And we’ll be burning a lot of energy. Water, electrolytes, sugar, and just… calories are super important. In finger food form.”
Now we were on profoundly familiar ground. “Oh I can do some finger foods.”
“Yeah… finger foods and non-alcoholic beverages are not Sebastian’s strong suit. Lots of food and sanitizing space are where he is incredibly talented.”
“If you can get Arthur to show up, I’ll be there,” I surrendered.
To my alarm, she started squealing and bouncing. “Oh, awesome! I’ll send you the event reminder, and then make sure to have Sebastian send you his schedule for set up and planning… and he needs to include you in the menu planning, I need to make sure to tell him that - “
“Poppy. One event at time, remember?” Coffey reminded her gently, a thousand-watt smile dominating his face.
She looked around and seemed to just remember that she was standing in the middle of the Food Festival and, theoretically, working. “Oh. Right. ‘Kay, so, Sophia, I’m sorry, but apparently I’m busy. I’ll talk to you tomor - ” Coffey folded himself to whisper in her ear “ - Ursday? Thursday?”
My chest hurt with the amount of laughter I was trying to push down, but I allowed a snort and a grin. “Thursday sounds great. Our place, potato soup?”
“HELL yes!” was the enthusiastic reply before she waggled her fingers and dragged Coffey on to their next station.
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I love it when bitches get so damn hurt they start projecting whatever insecurities they got into my text.
Like I just said humans aren’t special, ain’t nowhere did I express anti-human sentiment other than I hate white people/colonizers, which is why I hate the ‘humans are space orcs’ trope. But that really shows how fragile some folks are.
And that’s a fucking riot.
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The frozen lake: a turning point for Zog's character
Zog and his acolytes are trying to resurrect Tar-Goroth once and for all, but when the Gravewalker shows up we immediately notice that there something off about Zog; the orc's very first interaction is radically different: not his cool, elegant, accurately polished demeanor; this time he has lost his cool, his grace, his clarity of mind: he paces and gesticulates violently while talking, his tone is that of a delirium of power, and that is what is speech is about: his ambitions have increased drastically, because now he aims to create his own army (“a legion of the dead that will rival any army of Mordor”), to rival with his former master Sauron (“They will chant my name...”). Even though he sounds convinced while delivering his speech, the first line (“You will not foul the ritual!”) has Zog showing a hint of panic and that is confirmed by his gestures, in fact the hand pointing to Talion shakes violently enough for it to be evident for a moment, then Zog gradually, but very swiftly, regains confidence, confidence that this time is fueled by rage and madness: again the gestures confirm the change, as they have gained violence and brute strength, aspects that never characterized Zog's fighting style (not even his persona).
That is the result of a heavily injured ego, who is desperate to return to its original, strong pride, to be unshakable again; the ego relies now on rage and resentment, against both the source of its wound (Talion) and itself, because the ego is beyond frustrated with itself for being too weak. A weakness that persists and of which the ego is constantly aware, because it is now at its core, it is the wound.
Simultaneously, we receive confirmation again that Talion is Zog's nemesis. Zog fears Talion because of Talion's power and potential, that he recognizes is as strong as his (for now at least). Talion represents a serious threat. Zog had likely never confronted someone as skilled and powerful as himself, was never met with a threat as dangerous as Talion. So his innate reaction is to fear him- but fear is also weakness and weakness is simply unacceptable- so he loathes Talion.
Soon after, as Talion successfully purifies the totems and the odds turn against Zog, the uruk has a breakdown:
“I was about to pull life from death, and you ended it! He was to be my masterwork, and you ended it!”
Zog's strongest ambitions are nullified by Talion, who now has the upper hand between the two: no matter what Zog tries, how cunningly he orchestrates, how much power and influence he achieves, the Gravewalker will always be a step forward and so able to destroy anything that Zog strives for. Once again, weakness emerges and assumes the form of inferiority.
Talion, who is a man and so supposed to be inferiorior, but shares his body with a powerful elven wraith; Talion, who has gained his powers through the power of the New Ring; the Bright Lord, Sauron's counterpart. He has surpassed Zog and Zog can't accept this.
The Gravewalker has achieved a power that Zog hasn't yet.
The Bright Lord has achieved a status that Zog hasn't yet.
He is just like Sauron, Zog's former master. And a defeat suffered at the hands of the Bright Lord equals a defeat suffered from the Dark Lord, meaning that Sauron still has power over Zog.
Due to some pigheadedness and annoying conversations we have decided to become our true Horde selves!!!!
I cannot express how hype I am to be on the Horde FINALLY!!
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Revenge of the Rohirrim
by Michael Green
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The way you deal with nonhuman and especially nonhumanoid sentient beings in your works absolutely says something about you as a person. It’s a very basic reflection of your ideas of other people and your morals regarding other people.
If you say that everyone who looks different from you or speaks different languages or has a culture you aren’t apart of is scary and evil and harmful...
That really blatantly tells us something about you and the way you view other people.
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Some of us spend hours obsessing over half-orc dentition, and some of us are normal. Bet you can't figure out which one I am!
I am not an anatomist by any means, nor can I convince any half orc to let me poke around in their mouths. Therefore take this with a considerable grain of salt. But if it helps anyone out there figure out weird mouth stuff, cool! I'm just making it up too.
Boneless version under the cut.
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Love how people just absolutely refuse to connect the dots that “X group is superior to all other potential groups, not only physically, but mentally and culturally!!!!” is literally just bigotry.
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Talking about scifi and sentient aliens and insisting that humans are inherently better than all other forms of life and “human culture” is superior to all other potential cultures is literally just racism and ableism but you think it doesn’t count because you’re talking about hypothetical “others” instead of pointing at specific people you hate and think are inherently worth less.
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Why would I wanna sit through humans writing stories about how awesome humans are, especially when they rarely use shit that’s even fucking unique to humans and fucking generalize humanity as a whole who all do X thing (something that’s just fucking blatantly untrue), when I could be sitting through a story about how fucking balls to the walls pigeons can be?
Why would I wanna sit through virtually identical (cause yall stay going over the same handful of shit) stories of humans talking shit about how awesome they are and getting praised by aliens who logicly wouldn’t think 90% of what they’re saying is interesting b/c they’ve seen other organisms do the same shit and honestly that bragging shit would get real annoying really fast... when I could just have a story about aliens? Preferably with no humans b/c xenofiction, real xenofiction, is a very fun creative exercise.
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Now with Soundtrack! Check out this gorgeous song written by the incredible Leannan Sidhe, who is an old friend of mine, and also an amazing musician. And yes, darlings, this was written about this series, back when it first published as Breakwater!
Anita smiled as she carefully steered her little boat towards home. The cool breeze ruffled her short hair and provided some relief from the humidity. Even after sixteen years in the Bahamas, Anita still wasn’t entirely used to the heat.
“Anita, why did you invite him?” Eione asked uncertainly once they cleared the harbor. “I mean, I like him, but he’s clever. There’s only so much I can talk to him about before he figures out that I got him out of that cave and starts asking how I did it. He might already be wondering.
It was rare that Eione ever saw the people she had rescued in diving accidents a second time. Anita did a good job of keeping them away from her. Her girl didn’t have that many people she could talk to. Fewer still who loved the sea as much as she did. It would be good for Eione to have a friend she could talk to about diving.
“Honey, has it occurred to you that that might not be such a terrible thing?” Anita offered gently when Eione didn’t show any sign of looking back at her. “I’m not saying that you should just tell him what you are. If you get know him better and you still like him, maybe think about it?”
READ THE WHOLE STORY HERE!
HGE - Riptide
Evan Ross survived what no one before him ever has, and now he’s on the hunt for answers. His only clue is a single word that echoed through the water of a flooded cave.
White Sand Sky
The Hint of Answers
Drift to Home
Boats and Salt Wind
Eyes of the Ocean
Dinner Cruise (Free on Patreon!)
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you cant go back (1)
BTHB: Locked Up and Left Behind
first in a new alien series! this one is completely unrelated to WIBAR :)
warnings: abandonment, violence, injury, mentions of death and starvation, mild cliffhanger
Virgil was screwed.
This was quite a familiar phrase for him. He most frequently utilized it while trying to haul Jan away from whatever batshit scheme he was joint-deep in before it blew up in their faces. Normally, however, even he could admit that his panic, fury, and/or despair was sometimes exaggerated for emphasis.
“I’m absolutely, massively, unbelievably screwed,” Virgil tried out in a low hissing whisper, and grimaced when it came out sounding like an understatement.
In the corner of his eye, his helmet’s display screen blinked an eye-numbing red, informing him that there was a breach in his suit, and the atmospheric pressure inside had been completely disrupted. There would normally be beeping, too, the shrieking ‘you’re about to die’ kind that made his shelling turn pitch with terror in simulations, but— well.
He’d been able to endure about two clicks of the racket before giving in and tearing through the audio speakers with his teeth, ruining them entirely. It meant he wouldn’t hear any of the vital organ failure notifications, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to experience a sickening play-by-play of his death on another planet anyhow.
The others had left him in some kind of dilapidated shack, hand-painted a faded red on the outside. It looked unstable, but it was apparently built sturdier than any of them expected, enough to not even creak as he thrashed around with all his free limbs. He’d been cuffed around one of the support pillars, which meant that even if he could break it, it would probably just immediately collapse and crush him to bits.
Considering there was an enormous crack in the glass of his helmet, he hadn’t really thought he’d get the privilege of worrying about how he was going to die. Aisleen— the one who had bashed his helmet against her elbow plate— had certainly agreed. She’d waited until after the others had left, granting him a quicker death the way her culture called honorable.
Janus would have disagreed loudly. Not just because Virgil was pretty sure his only friend didn’t actually want to see him choke to death on the probably-somehow-toxic atmosphere of a Deathworld, but also because that guy could go on about interplanetary ethics for rotations if you let him.
Virgil wrenched at his restraints for the hundredth time, ignoring the hot pulse of pain that came with the movement. His chitin had to be cracking by now, but the rawness of that was easier to focus on than thoughts like, ‘I’ll never get to watch him argue someone in circles again.’
The worst part wasn’t wondering if they’d fess up to abandoning him or not. No, the worst part was he wasn’t actually sure which option he preferred.
He could imagine Janus looking for him, searching for leads that didn’t exist, stubborn the way a starving shilsho would stay locked onto flesh. Never knowing what actually happened. Jan hated not knowing things, the way Virgil hated sitting with his back to an open entryway.
But if he knew… If Janus managed to wrest the truth from them— or if they bragged about it— he would blame himself. They’d left Virgil because he was just a weaker version of Janus when it came down to it, and because he backed Janus up no matter what, and because it was funny, leaving the twitchiest guy on the crew to die on a world where anything and everything could kill you.
At least Janus wouldn’t be tempted to come down and retrieve his corpse. The other Chelcera was all about self-serving scheming, and there was no way the benefits outweighed the costs. He had to believe that much for his own sanity.
Virgil closed his eyes, trying to push away the what-ifs and the mental flash-images of Janus stuck in his position. He had more than enough to worry about already.
Since the atmosphere didn’t seem toxic enough to kill him outright (for now), there was a surplus of possible ways he was going to bite it. Weather, wildlife, or withering into a lifeless husk due to lack of sustenance.
Alliteration, nice. He was funny when he was on the brink of deathbed hysterics.
For now, he was only in conceptual danger. The shack was sheltering him from any outside elements, being terrified had killed his appetite, and there didn’t seem to be any heat signatures nearby, though his vision was limited by the sides of the helmet.
It made his skin itch, not being able to see behind him, but his auxiliary arms were spread out and taut, waiting for even a wisp of movement. If anyone tried to attack him from behind, they’d strike quick and true.
Of course, then he’d probably be immediately immolated by a pissed-off Deathworlder, but at least he could go down fighting.
If he was vicious enough, they’d have to kill him, and he wouldn’t have to worry about being taken alive. Bitter venom welled up in his mouth at the thought, and he tried to breathe deeply.
He was thinking too far ahead. For now, he’d struggle and swear and watch his atmo tank dwindle down to nothing, see if it changed anything. Maybe he was going to asphyxiate, after all.
He made it through the night.
The sun was close to this planet, enough that he was warm even in the stripped-down version of his bodysuit and in the enclosed shade of the barn. He thought he might even get overheated if he tried to sunbathe here, which hadn’t ever been a concern back home.
Thankfully, the meager sun that spilled through the half-open window didn’t reach him, so he didn’t have to add boiling alive to his list of potential deaths.
Unthankfully, more and more heat signatures popped up as the dawn arrived, all small but still potentially life-ending. He’d heard more than enough horror stories about palm-sized Deathworlder creatures that could kill you with one bite. He wasn’t letting his guard down.
The noise that accompanied the day was welcome— he was exhausted, and every unfamiliar chattering call or whistle made his aux limbs lift back up defensively, keeping him from dropping off into sleep.
He was not falling asleep on a Deathworld. That was just asking for trouble.
The energy crash hit hard, though, and by the time the sun was overhead, he was warm and sleepy enough that he almost missed the slow creak of the door.
He definitely didn’t miss the bright splotch of heat that trotted in, though. He quickly flicked his sensor eyes closed, getting rid of the heat-sense overlay, and felt his hair stand on end as he met the slitted eyes of a small, furry quadruped.
“Mrow?” the creature chirped at him, tail winding back and forth in the air. Its fur was colored in abstract patches, and he could see the tiny fangs in its mouth as it yawned threateningly.
Virgil resisted the urge to hiss, wriggling his wrists desperately. There was no point in antagonizing a Deathworlder creature preemptively while bound and helpless, a voice in his head reminded him. It sounded kind of like Janus.
The creature stalked a little closer, predatory grace in every one of its movements, and paused to watch him again. It’s pupils seemed rounder now, ears flicked up attentively. Virgil resisted the urge to twitch his backlegs, keeping still like a terrified prey animal as it approached at a leisurely pace.
He’d had all of his bulky outer suit stripped from him by the others-- no point in leaving the soon-to-be-corpse with a pricy surface suit. They’d even taken the shoes, which had felt a bit like insult to injury.
Now, with the local fauna drawing close to his feet, it felt more like just plain injury.
As bad as the odds were, he was fervently hoping that he could make himself seem tougher than he was. Maybe having to work for its meal would scare it off? He grit his fangs and drew himself up in preparation to lash out as much as he could in retaliation for whatever damage the creature was about to inflict on him.
It trod directly over his feet and brushed its little head up against his legs, a low rumble beginning to emanate from it.
He stared blankly down at it.
“What?” he clicked quietly, and the creature chirped back at him, taking a tight turn to loop right back around and brush against him in the opposite direction. Still, not a hint of pain.
Did… Did it have contact poisons, maybe? There was a residue of shed fur building up on the ankles of his undersuit, but it seemed surprisingly harmless.
With another, louder rumble, the creature settled into a crouched position-- directly on top of his feet. Its eyes drifted slowly closed, the vibrations it was making rolling through him.
Oh, Seryl and all her stars. It was sleeping on him.
It seemed docile for now, but what would it do if he woke it? Even he threatened to bite people who interrupted his naps, and he wasn’t a tiny wild creature governed only by survival (no matter what Janus told people). His flimsy inner suit wouldn’t stop an Ampen’s claws, let alone Deathworlder teeth or claws.
The creature continued to be a warm purring weight on his feet.
He resigned himself to a very tense next few hours.
Patch, as he’d taken to mentally calling the creature, didn’t end up attacking him. When it woke, it stretched languidly, chirped up at him a few more times, and then departed shortly before the sunlight began to fade.
And then, the next morning, it returned. Despite Virgil’s many fears, it continued to show no interest in harming him. At some point in the day, he even accidentally fell asleep with it, and still, no surprise ambush.
Despite Patch’s yawns and rumbles and claw-flexing stretches that could all technically be threat displays, it seemed bizarrely… almost... fond of him.
There was the slightest hitch, on the second day, when he realized Patch could come in the other windows and approach from behind while he slept. Surprisingly enough, the thought of the creature sneaking up on him was less distressing than the idea of accidentally striking out at it while asleep.
The presence of a non-hostile creature keeping him company had been... surprisingly nice when he wasn’t busy freaking out about it.
Once he’d imagined that awful scenario, he couldn’t dismiss the possibility, and so he spent an inordinate amount of time using his aux limbs to fiddle with the sealing latch on his helmet until he could tug it free. The slick surface and broken glass of the visor meant that he fumbled it basically as soon as he got it off, letting it drop to the floor behind him, but the reserve power had already long died anyhow.
And then, when Patch returned a bit after the sun’s rising, they hissed viciously at him the moment he turned his head. They proceeded to refuse to come anywhere near him for a good long portion of the day, at first bristling and pacing back and forth, and then eyeing him oddly while pretending not to, and then finally approaching slowly-- in what Virgil struggled not to view as a predator’s stalk-- and deeming his feet a suitable resting perch once more.
He’d like to say he never had a friendship so exhausting, but his best friend was Janus, so this was basically different ditchport, same junkyard.
“You two’d probably get along,” he said to Patch after he’d been forgiven for the horrific crime of exposing his face. “How do you feel about schemes?”
Patch had imitated one of his double-click noises perfectly, which was somehow mostly-adorable instead of mostly-terrifying. He tried to make one of their little round chirp sounds and mangled it horribly, but thankfully the resulting look they gave him was more alarm than offense.
By the fourth day, he’d begun to keenly feel the effects of being completely without nutrients. It was really only thanks to his nature that he’d gotten this far. Chelcerae were sporadic eaters-- big meals sustained them over longer periods of time compared to other aliens. The downside of that, of course, meant that when his body finally realized that there was no food coming, the hunger pains were going to be all-consuming.
Working at Janus’s side, he’d gotten used to having food when he needed it, or even wanted it. It just figured that he was probably going to die the same way Janus had first found him: starving.
He fell into sleep more and more frequently. It passed the time, and being asleep made it much easier to ignore his impending doom.
Of course, if he’d been aware of the rude awakening he was in for, he wouldn’t have been so eager.
In fact, if he’d known what exactly was going to find him sleeping on that fourth day, he probably wouldn’t have dared to shut his eyes at all.
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No | rather not | I dunno | I guess | Sure | Yes | FUCK yes | Oh god you don’t even know |
only humanoid ones tho, like vampires
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what do an orc, an elf, and a tiefling have in common? no idea, but I drew them.
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Girls Weekend by @cmnascosta
For all my monster loving friends in search of the perfect quick read that blurs the lines between smut and romance, look no further! I have just the book for you.
Girls Weekend follows a trio of coworkers who are spending their three day weekend at an adults only resort. What ensues is one monster (😜) of a fucking weekend, full of sex, romances, and self realization.
I’m dying for more of the story (and more of Tate), and cannot wait for the next book! Totally kicking myself for putting off reading this book for so long!
The reason people get abducted is because in the eyes of the aliens, humans are the most beautiful, ethereal beings they’ve ever seen. You, a tiny introvert with oily skin and buck teeth just woke up in a strange room with writing you’ve never seen before on the walls.
You aren’t thinking very well right now, but the even with the least awareness that you have, you know that dreams aren’t supposed to follow this rhythm; they’re cut images, muted feelings, and chopped up scenes that are blurred in the edges.
Yet, yet, here you are, a cold feeling washing itself in the shoreline of your thinking, your mind picking up the wind sails of your thoughts and throwing them in disarray, destroying the roots and flinging them across the room. You are positive that you weren’t supposed to be feeling things like this right now; the heaviness in your chest, the cold seeping through the fabric of your jeans to the saltiness in your tongue when tasting the snot and tears that fell in.
This isn’t a dream.
“Please, Human, we need an answer. Do you wish to stay here temporarily while we await orders?” Wait here? Were you supposed to be going somewhere? The tiny panic started to set in, the instinct of the unknown, no matter what people will want to repress and say it hinders more than helps, kicks in.
You didn’t want to be a lab rat, not stuck in some cage, waiting for the bright lights to dim and be observed from every corner visible. Sticking needles under your eyes, scraping dirt under your nails — yeah no thanks.
“I want to go back to that Hell than be experiment on, thanks,” Your dry throat barely formulates the right words, the wind carrying it with little strength, yet it resonated in the quiet room.
“We are against that, we aren’t here to hurt you in any form, we are only here to observe Humans in their natural habitat. Please take some hydrating fluids," the tall creature gestures to something behind it, bringing a water bottle, like something you would see at a gas station.
You think you're going a little bit insane.
Yet when the fresh, cool water touches your tender lips, washing away the saltiness and the dry desert, is where the fog clogging your mind clears with it.
You take a real look around you, the movie set scene of a futuristic white room, no sharp corner and a smooth transition of wall and floor, with just a thin line dividing.
But, as you curse your race, because humans are curious creatures with no filter.
"Is this real? Like, am I on an actual spaceship?"
The creature pecks up, surprised maybe from your raspy voice bouncing around the chamber. It spoke slow, meaningful and careful.
"Yes, we are observers, nothing else. We mean no harm to you or your planet."
That little vocab word stuck to you, like a lost child gripping the edge of a stranger's shirt. The wonky rock that is unbalanced with billions of people that do harm and good, kill and love. But most people are just nobodies, mere strangers that are the background to the gifted.
The questions slipped out of your mouth like water from too much water pressured in. And you immediately wanted to smack yourself at your own selfishness. Maybe they observe every being in the galaxy, humans being so insignificant that they don't even pop up.
(The world doesn't revolve around you.)
The creature though-- the creature seemed … pleased?
"Our senses operate on a different set of mechanisms and realities, that we view the material world very differently than other beings." That seemed kind of cool you suppose. A bit weird as he wasn't really answering your question. The unanswered curiosity still sat in a pool in your stomach.
The creature saw that and did what you believe to be a smile. A weird, distorted version of a smile.
"We see "souls" in human terms."
A second for the words to translate into information, process said information, and begin to understand said information.
"Like. . . Huh? What do you even mean?! Like, uh, the souls? What?" The terror that gripped your muscles, the blind panic, everything slowly started to melt away from the bright curiosity of what you believe to be nothing more of a fever dream. Granted, one that feels real, but is nothing else than sequences of chemical reactions in your brain.
The creature "smiled" brighter. "Indeed! Most beings in the galaxy can vary, but they all can see what humans call souls. Its quite common, but we have discovered humans are quite a special case!"
The creature talked like a discoverer, you realize, a muted yet passion fire under his words that were spoken with true conviction. A small, sharp jealousy pierced through your chest. If only you were more like this guy, if you had more conviction, more passion, more spirit, you wouldn't be in this situation.
The creature, again, tilted his head. If to better understand your thoughts, or to confine in you. It continued, softly carrying his words with care.
"... That and humans continuously shine brighter than anything else in the entire galaxy."
You jerk back, as if to get away from the information physically, surprise and shock plaster through your face to your body language. The creature did a small giggle, or a laugh, who knows, at your antics.
"Yes, quite true that humans are unable to bear witness to souls, they themselves shine far brighter than any other star. In fact, the reason why it took our people time to understand what we were even seeing, was because humanity shined so brightly that we mistook a planet for a star."
You subconsciously quickened your breathing.
"It wasn't until our later understanding of astronomy and research that we came to understand that the “star” was an actual planet, filled to the prim with living souls. We originally thought that perhaps it was the plants that were admitting such light. Or that the planet was so condensed that it shined like that."
You didn't realize, but the creature during its talk has completely sat down in front of you, with you completely hypnotized, and enthralled with its words.
"Imagine our surprise when we realize the species living there were so young that they were barely taking its steps to outer space. With a population just a handful of billions that was causing absolute mayhem and centuries of confusion and debating."
The creature, suddenly looks more human, striking its weird smile again, proud and happy.
You really want to wake up now. Maybe its your subconscious trying to cheer you on, keep on surviving. You bring a trembling hand to your cold forehead. You really, really, wanted to wake up.
"O-Okay, um... what, what does that mean for me?" Your voice broke at the end, wavering out and cracking like a bad radio signal.
The creature didn’t respond immediately, rather still gazing at you with that same tilt of the head.
“Well, Humanity is official recognized as a protected species due to your age and population, and lack of natural or artificial protection. You have two options; You are returned to your natural habitat, and continue to live out your natural cycle. Or you could be taken out of your habit for … rehab? If you don’t want to go back to “Hell” then you can stay at a station to life out the rest of your cycle.”
It paused, for dramatic flair or for the words to sink in.
“It’s widely known that no human has ever left its solar system. You would be the first. What do you want?”
What is it that you want?
Go? or Stay?
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