Stuff I like to read

[marlynnofmany]

Hi Mara! I've been doing a drawing challenge called Smaugust, where you draw a dragon for every day in August, and I was stuck on prompt 11: sunset. But then I remembered that Paint's full name is Painted Sunset, and I had to try and draw my interpretation of her! She's one of my favorite crewmates- one of the moments that sticks out to me is "I looked at my gentlest crewmate and for the first time really noticed her sharp teeth and claws." And the description of "a lizardy toddler" is just so evocative!

Sorry for rambling but I hope you like the art! Thank you for your wonderful stories!

That's so cute!! I love it! The pose is just right, and you even got the mottling of the orange scales. So great. It's high praise that you'd think of one of my characters for an art challenge! Paint would be honored.

[marlynnofmany]

Scent Snob

“Hey Paint,” I said, leaning over a store display. “I think I found something you’ll like.”

“What is it?” she asked, looking up from the heat-generating bracelets on that side of the aisle. This store had a good selection for cold-blooded types.

“Scented candles,” I told her. “Come see.” I held one up and urged her to walk around to my side.

“Scented of what?” she asked with suspicion all over her lizardy face. But she did come join me. When she caught sight of the rows of well-packaged candles, she seemed to realize the other word I’d said. “Oh no, is this more things made from that bug-spit wax?”

“No,” I hurried to say. “These are mostly made from oil, with a few plant-based. Turns out a lot of crayons are too. The only beeswax stuff here is the specialty stuff down at the end.” I pointed.

“I see,” Paint said. “So there are no disturbing ingredients in these? Are you sure?”

“There’s really not,” I told her, picking up the candle I’d been looking at. “And they’re designed specifically to give off certain scents, which you’d probably enjoy. Try this one; it’s a couple different sharp-scented trees from Earth.”

When I held it out with the little tab in the packaging open to let out the scent, she leaned forward to take a cautious sniff without touching it. I really did expect her to like it. The smell seemed close enough to a couple other things she’d loved in the past.

“Hm. Pedestrian,” she said, straightening up. “Simple, but also trying too hard. Like something a child might put together before they really know what they’re doing.”

“Really,” I said. “What about this one?” I traded it for another candle with a foresty-moss description.

Paint smelled that one, then tilted her head like a wine snob trying to come up with the best way to put something into words. “Peaceful,” she decided. “Civilly uncivilized, like someone tried to tame the wrong kind of plant. Domesticated with sandy dirt.”

“Fascinating,” I said. I grabbed a couple more, interested in her descriptions as much as finding something she wanted to keep.

While I would have described the candles with straightforward terms and the actual ingredients (which, to be fair, Paint couldn’t recognize — she had no reason to know the difference between cedar and sandalwood), she used much more poetic and metaphorical terms. It was half winery jargon with things like cigars and gasoline in place of flavors that didn’t have better names, and half matter-of-fact poetry.

“Medicinal sunrise, with the ailment not disguised by the seaside wildflowers.”

“A tree fell on half the garden, and not the good half.”

“Too light in three ways — diluted, floating, and afraid to take a stance.”

“Janitor who cleaned up a spaceship fuel spill, then tried to prepare for a social event with moderate success.”

I smiled and shook my head, looking at the ingredient list. “Where are you getting spaceship fuel from this?”

Paint waved a hand vaguely. “In a good way. Probably the most popular romantic prospect at the social event.”

“Oh really?” I asked. “I don’t see that on here either. I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“This one’s not bad,” Paint said, picking up something labeled Black Pepper Kale. “A bit simple, like there was meant to be more to it but they got interrupted while assembling it, but what’s here is reasonable.”

“Let me see?” I asked, thinking after I’d said it that my vocabulary was definitely human. Seeing wasn’t involved here. I took a sniff and promptly forgot about words. “Phew! Ugh. You’re welcome to it.”

“Really? I would have thought you’d like that too.” Paint took it back and peered at the label. “The description sounds like Earth food.”

I breathed out, trying to clear my nose. “Pretty sure nobody really likes kale; they just pretend because it’s healthy.”

“Why?”

“Because they can feel better about themselves for eating healthy?”

Paint shook her head. “Why eat something that tastes bad? Surely there are other options.”

It was my turn to cock my head and consider how to phrase something. “The fun part of being an omnivore is that you can eat a wide variety of foods. The downside is that you kind of have to eat a wide variety, or else you don’t get all the nutrients you need.”

“Ohh,” Paint said, holding her mouth open just long enough for me to get a glimpse of the teeth meant for eating meat and not much else. “Right, I should have thought of that.”

I shrugged, running my gaze over a few bakery-themed candles. “You can eat the occasional fruit because you like them, and I assume that doesn’t upset anything.”

“Yes, fruits are delightful. A big favorite back home.”

“But somehow I doubt you’d suffer any deficiencies if you didn’t eat them.”

“No, I don’t think so.” She looked up at me with concern. “You do?”

“I need some of the vitamins and sugars and whatnot. There are workarounds for people with food allergies, but, well, ever heard of scurvy?”

“I think … it was in a song once?” she replied, still looking concerned.

“Let’s just say that citrus fruits in particular are a good way to get one vitamin we really need, and if we don’t get it, the results aren’t pretty.” I could have gone on, but I left it up to her whether she really wanted to know.

Paint clasped her scaly hands together. “How … not pretty?”

“Old wounds opening up.”

“Oh dear.”

“Yeah, it’s not good. But there are multivitamins available everywhere humans sell each other food, and we’re all raised with the importance of a balanced diet drilled into us, so it’s fine, really.”

Paint shook herself. “I should hope so. I can’t imagine — Well! I don’t want to imagine. Shall we move on to the food part of the store? See if there are vitamins?”

“You don’t want a candle?”

“No, I think I’ll pass.” She looked along the shelves with a critical eye. “Nothing here really speaks to me.”

“All right. Let’s see if any of the food is worth it.”

Paint perked up and led the way down the aisle. “I saw a sign earlier for fermented spiceworm! I haven’t had that in forever.”

I followed with a sigh. “I remember. Thank you again for agreeing to eat it in your room instead of the lounge.”

“Such a great smell! I don’t know what everyone was complaining about.”

“Agree to disagree.” As we left the candle aisle, I spotted one that I knew for a fact Paint would actually love.

I rotated it so the label that said Spiceworm Extravaganza was hidden, then I kept walking.

~~~

Good news! Volume One of the collected series is now available in paperback and ebook form! (Check your local store, or this handy link hub.)

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[microsff]

"Oh! Excuse me," I say as I feel the familiar tug, "I'm being summoned."

I materialise in a pentagram in Hell. I glare at the demon.

"I wish I'd never taught you how to reverse the ritual. I was at a party!"

"We're out of salt liquorice."

"Fine, I'll buy some tomorrow. Now send me back!"

*poof*

[microsff]

The young hero, Chosen by Fate to save the world, studied the dragon dubiously.

"And in its hoard is the legendary sword Grisntand?"

"Yes," his old mentor said.

"Which I need to slay the Demon King?"

"Well, no. But I thought that since we're questing anyway... The museum would be delighted!"

[daily-big-cat]

Daily Big Cat(s)

[remnantglow]

part 2 of older lgbt scifi as described in out of context negative reviews - personal favourites edition (part 1)

[adhd-alien]

42 days to go!!! So happy with how the cover turned out, posting a making-of soon! Pre-order available in most book stores: https://linktr.ee/adhdalien (Literally, they even have this in Thalia in Germany etc???!!)

[marlynnofmany]

Color and Light

The client handed the payment tablet back to Paint, then looked expectantly at me where I stood with the awkward armload. She waved her head frills and gestured urgently toward a table. “Go ahead and put that down before it falls apart.”

“So far so good,” I said, bending to deposit the package that was approximately 80% packing tape. Soft cardboard barely held the miscellanea inside. “Probably for the best this didn’t go in a regular mail shipment.”

“Definitely,” the client said with a disapproving look on her teal-green face. “It’s a free bunch of supplies from somebody in another colony, but wow, I expected more care in packaging.” She flicked on an extra lightswitch to get a better look at it, though the struggling colony’s receiving room was still dim.

Paint said, “We were very careful in handling it! I hope everything arrived intact.” She clutched the payment tablet and peered up at the disaster of box, earnest concern on her lizardy face.

“Not a big deal if it didn’t, honestly,” the client said. “Like I said, it’s extra stuff. Mostly art supplies and school things. We have more important supplies coming in a bigger shipment.” She stepped close and ran a claw along the seam of the box where I would have had to find a knife. When it sagged open, she pulled out a double handful of unpackaged crayons. “Wow. Such an honor, to be gifted this most valuable and well-organized pile of offal from the back closet.” Her tone dripped with scorn as she set the crayons on the table and dug further. “I don’t even know what half this junk is.”

Paint picked up a crayon that was a near match for her own orange scales. “You said they’re art supplies?”

“Those are,” I put in while the client covered the table in a mess of everything from dirty paint palettes to colorful paper to a stack of coasters with child-sized handprints pressed into them. I picked up a coaster with a smile and held up my own hand for comparison. “Looks like that other colony has some humans there.”

“Yeah, they’re a pretty mixed place,” the client said, inspecting a paintbrush that was crusted solid with green paint. She sighed. “I’m sure we’ll find some use for this stuff.”

Before I could offer a rundown of any unfamiliar human tools, the lights blinked twice. A sharp chime sounded from the client’s pocket. She swore viciously and dug it out, reading the message on the screen.

Paint asked, “What’s wrong?”

“They’re trying to fix the power supply again,” the client complained as she put the communicator away. “No idea how long it’s going to be off this time. Hey, before you run off to your ship that probably has functional lights and competent leadership, do you know if any of this is flammable?” She pawed through the art supplies.

“Probably most of it, but there will be horrible fumes,” I said.

At the same time, Paint asked, “Why?”

“Because I’m tired of using up my limited supply of personal lights when I’m trying to work.” She held up a stack of waxy origami paper with a speculative look.

I told her, “The paper will burn, but not for very long. You’d have better luck building a tiny campfire with the paintbrushes, but that sounds really risky indoors. Not to mention smoky.”

She muttered something that sounded like agreement and kept looking. “Hilariously enough, our air filtration system is great. We just can’t see a flaming thing half the time. And I do have a source of fire.” One hand went to a different pocket and pulled out something that I didn’t recognize, which looked like a lighter of some sort. “I am not afraid to get old-fashioned if it means I’ll be able to see. And that was a three-minute warning, by the way.”

“Ah.” I looked at the mess with fresh eyes.

Paint picked up a coaster and asked, “These would probably be safe to start a small fire on, right?”

I said, “Maybe,” then my eyes caught on the crayons. “Hang on, you could make actual candles with these. It’s not exactly the right kind of wax, but it would probably work.”

The client snatched one up. “How?”

“Well, you could melt it down, though that would take time — and actually, never mind, that would just change the shape. Probably all you need is a wick.” I dug through the pile. “Did you see anything that looks like string? Or a bit of wire for poking it through?”

“Um, no.”

Paint asked, “Why string?”

I dug faster, remembering the time limit. “It just has to be something narrow that burns, that we can stick down the middle.”

“Oh,” she said. “Maybe there’s a paintbrush that’s small enough? Or we can roll up some paper really tight?”

“Maybe,” I agreed, inspecting a well-used blue crayon. “The wrapper looks promising, and it’s even the right size. Now we just need a way to—” I stopped in my tracks and went back a few mental steps. “Hang on, I’m making this way more complicated than it needs to be. Can you set a bit of paper on fire? I want to test something.” I crumpled a sheet of origami paper into a ball and set it on a coaster, then looked to the client with the firestarter.

She didn’t even ask questions, just pressed one thing and flicked another, and in an eyeblink the paper was flaming merrily. Paint made a quiet sound of surprise.

I held the flat end of the crayon near the flames — both ends were pretty flat, but one had been manufactured that way — until the wax softened a little. Then I stuck it down onto a coaster, in the middle of a palm print. It stayed upright. Great.

The fire was already guttering low, but I crunched another paper onto the first, then carefully gripped my new candle-and-candleholder, and tilted the crayon so the paper at the top end caught flame.

It flared to life with gusto. I set it back down and moved my hands away carefully, ready for it to tip over and roll off the table into disaster. But it stayed where I’d put it, cheerfully lighting up the table while the ball of paper burned out.

“Hooray!” I said, a split second before the overhead lights shut off.

Paint squeaked, but the client just laughed. “Hooray indeed,” she said, picking up another crayon at random. “And we’ve got a lot of them. Perfect. What are these actually meant for?” She grabbed a coaster and lit a second crayon-candle from the first.

“Coloring,” I said, a little surprised to realize that crayons were exotic here. “You rub them across paper, and some of it wears off and leaves a trail behind. It’s usually a kid thing, since they’re not very precise. And the wax is food-safe, since little kids can be dumb about eating them sometimes.”

Paint shook her head, smiling as she picked up a crayon to hold delicately in her claws. “Somehow that’s not a surprise.”

The client said, “I doubt anyone here is going to eat them, but that’s good to know. What did you say they’re made of? Wax?”

“Yeah,” I said, having a second moment of surprise hard on the heels of the first. “Do you guys not have wax?”

She ruffled her frills and dug a claw into a fresh crayon. “Not by that name. Is it plant-based?”

“Um. Not really, no.” I glanced at Paint. “It’s made by bees.”

Paint’s jaw dropped open in dismay. “Oh no, like that spit-food?”

“The what?”

Paint told her, “There’s a sweet goo that humans eat that’s made by insects, which mix their own spit with plant matter. It’s absolutely vile.”

I said, “It’s also delicious.”

Paint shuddered. “I am unconvinced. And this is made the same way?” She waved the crayon at me.

“Not really, no. There’s no spit involved,” I scraped my memory for details. “I think they secrete the stuff from glands on their stomachs, then mix it with pollen to build their homes with. Which they do by chewing it up, so I guess there’s a little spit.”

“Ew,” Paint declared, setting the crayon down.

“I know it sounds gross,” I tried. “But it’s really not.”

Paint just shook her head and took a fastidious step back from the table, which now held several burning crayons.

The client laughed and dusted off her hands. “It’s hilarious, is what it is. I can’t believe this was just sitting in a closet somewhere.”

“They’re probably not going to burn very long,” I cautioned her. “And yeah, there are fumes.” I waved a hand in front of my face, though there was in fact a noticeable drift of air toward a ceiling vent somewhere.

“Definitely better than nothing! Especially with the amount of warning we don’t get. I’m going to put some in every room. Thanks for sharing that trick.” She dug up another stack of coasters. “Perfect.”

I smiled at the row of tiny human handprints that she laid out on the table, ready to hold a a very human source of fire. “My pleasure entirely.”

We bid her goodbye and found our way to the door, then I followed Paint back to the spaceship that held neither candles nor crayons, but did have several crewmates who would be entertainingly disgusted to hear about this particular life hack.

~~~

Good news! Volume One of the collected series is now available in paperback and ebook form! (Check your local store, or this handy link hub.)

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[sufficientlylargen]

It always gets me that the name "Gandalf" literally just means "Wand-Elf" or "Stick-Elf". I'm imagining old Gondorians just being like:

Librarian: I saw that weird guy at the library again today.

Guard 1: What weird guy?

Librarian: The old guy with the beard? Kinda elfy-looking, apart from the beard?

Guard 1: Oh, with the big-ass stick?

Librarian: Yeah, looked like he was carrying an entire tree branch.

Guard 2: Yeah, that's the Stick Elf.

Guard 1: Hell yeah, I fuckin' love the Stick Elf.

Librarian: The "Stick Elf"?

Guard 2: He comes by every few years, usually after some weird book or other.

Librarian: Oh. Yeah, he wanted a treatise on goblin breeding habits.

Guard 2: Like, how they have sex? We have books on that?

Librarian: Yeah, turns out we do. I was as surprised as you are.

Guard 1: What'd the Stick Elf need a fuckin' goblin-fuckin' book for?

Librarian: I didn't ask. So you just call him "Stick Elf"?

Guard 2: I mean, he looks kinda elfy and he always has that stick, so, like, yeah.

Guard 1: Dude also has some fuckin' dope pipeweed.

Guard 2: Oh yeah, his pipeweed is awesome.

Librarian: How long has he been coming here?

Guard 2: Oh, for decades. He's, like, super old.

Guard 1: More like fuckin' centuries. Dude's old as balls.

Guard 2: Wait, really?

Guard 1: Yeah, my gran-gran used to talk about him. She loved his pipeweed too.

Librarian: So he's… an immortal pipeweed dealer?

Guard 2: I think he's just, like, a connoisseur. He doesn't sell it or anything. He just always has some really top-notch pipeweed on him.

Archivist: Oh, are we talking about Stick Elf?

Guard 1: Hell yeah we are!

Librarian: You know about the Stick Elf, too?

Archivist: Oh, totally. Stick-Elf's a super chill dude. Gave me some awesome pipeweed when I was maybe 12, and tee-bee-aitch I think I'm still a little buzzed from it.

Guard 1: What'd I tell ya, fuckin' dope pipeweed!

Archivist: Also he's really old.

Guard 1: Old as balls.

Librarian: Yeah, so Éodan and Jenniforomir were telling me.

Archivist: My grandpa used to tell me stories - he said one time he saw Stick Elf enter a smoke-ring contest.

Guard 1: Ooh, I'll bet he kicked fuckin' ass.

Archivist: Apparently the guy made an entire warship out of smoke and it flew around shooting down the other rings.

Librarian: And how much of this "fuckin' dope" pipeweed had your grandfather had by this point?

Guard 1: No no, that's totally plausible. Dude's got weird elf powers and shit for sure.

Archivist: He brought fireworks for the king's birthday one year, too.

Guard 1: Oh fuck, I forgot about those! Fuckin' incredible fireworks! Dragons and knights and glowy trees and shit! I was fuckin' 6 years old or something, they totally blew my mind. Hey Éodan, did you see that shit?

Guard 2: No, I think that's before I lived in Gondor.

Guard 1: Wait, you're not from here?

Guard 2: Oh, no, I grew up in Rohan. We moved here when I was, like, thirteen because my uncle Éojeff said he could get my dad a sweet job. And also that there were houses that didn't smell like horseshit.

Guard 1: Oh shit, are you related to Éojeff and Éosteve who run that æbleskiver stand on Norndîl St?

Guard 2: Yeah, they're my uncles!

Guard 1: Shit, they cook a fuckin' great æbleskiver!

Librarian: Ok, hold up a sec, "Stick Elf" can't possibly be his real name.

Guard 1: Why not?

Librarian: What? You think his parents named him in the hopes that he would carry around a fucking tree when he got older?

Guard 2: Maybe they gave him the tree when he was born!

Archivist: I don't think a baby could carry that stick.

Guard 1: You ever seen a baby hanging onto something? They're hella strong.

Archivist: It's not a strength thing, their hands are tiny. That staff is enormous!

Guard 1: My halberd's bigger 'n I am, I can hold it just fine.

Archivist: You're not a baby.

Librarian: Also why would elf parents name their kid "stick ELF"?! Presumably they know that their kid's going to be an elf!

Archivist: Is he actually an elf? I didn't think they grew beards.

Guard 1: How'd he get old as balls if he's not an elf?

Guard 2: His ears aren't that pointy. Maybe he's just a really old guy? Like, a Numémoriam or something?

Guard 1: Did you just say "Numémoriam"?

Guard 2: Nûnenorman? Munimõrbitan? Y'know, those guys like the king that can get super old.

Guard 1: You mean the fuckin' Númenóreans?

Guard 2: Yeah, the Númenóreums.

Archivist: Even the Númenóreans don't live THAT long.

Guard 1: Plus he carries that fuckin' stick around.

Guard 2: Wait, what does the stick have to do with it?

Guard 1: That's an elf thing. Y'know, trees and shit? Very elfy.

Librarian: Ok, look, but his parents naming him "Stick Elf" would be weird whether or not he's an elf. In fact, it's even weirder if he's not - what human names their kid "elf"?

Archivist: Huh. Yeah, you're right, he probably does have another name.

Guard 2: Yeah, I guess so.

Librarian: He's been coming here for decades and nobody's ever asked his real name?

Archivist: I dunno what to tell you, he's Stick Elf. Even his library card just says 'Stick Elf'.

Guard 1: Fuck yeah, the Stick Elf!

Guard 2: Maybe we could, like, ask him his name sometime?

Guard 1: Hey, look, Elrond's over there. He's old as balls too, maybe he knows?

Guard 2: Oh, we shouldn't interru-

Guard 1: HEY ELROND, YOU'RE OLD AS BALLS, RIGHT? WHAT'S THAT OLD ELF WITH THE STICK'S NAME?

Elrond (coming over): Do you mean an old man cloaked all in grey and blue, leaning on a rough-cut staff, who came to the great library this day?

Guard 1: Yeah, the Stick-Elf!

Guard 2: (Sorry to bother you, sir...)

Librarian: He's got to have a real name besides 'the Stick Elf', right?

Elrond: Indeed, for no elf is he. You speak of the wizard Olórin, wisest of the Maiar, older even than Eä itself. Many are his names in many countries: Tharkûn among the Dwarves; Incánus to the south; Mithrandir he is called among my people, the Grey Pilgrim.

Librarian: Oh.

Elrond: And here in the North he is called Stick-Elf.

Librarian: Oh.

Guard 1: Fuck yeah!

[elodieunderglass]

Stop posting workplace conversations on main

[thekalpar]

OP I hate to be pedantic, but in Gondor they called him Mithrandir, aka Grey Pilgrim. Gandalf is what hobbits and other people in the North called him. However it turns out the dwarves called him Tharkûn which just means "stick man".

[sufficientlylargen]

I'll see your pedantry and raise you additional pedantry: Tolkien is actually unclear about what most Gondorians called him, and in fact contradicted himself in several of his notes.

Gandalf's names

Gandalf's quote in The Two Towers is:

Many are my names in many countries. Mithrandir among the Elves, Tharkûn to the Dwarves; Olórin I was in my youth in the West that is forgotten, in the South Incánus, in the North Gandalf; to the East I go not.

Gondor is North

In one of Tolkien's notes about this he says that "the North" here refers to the whole north-western region of Middle-earth - basically the entire area that The Lord of the Rings takes place in, from the southern boundary of ancient Gondor up through Carn Dûm (which is the farthest north you can go before entering the Northern Wastes).

So Mithrandir is the Elven name for him; humans in "the North", which includes Gondor, generally called him Gandalf.

Nobles are pretentious

Of course, we see Denethor et al. call him Mithrandir in the books, but in a note from a few years later, Tolkien makes it clear that only high-ranking Gondorians used his Sindarin name:

At the time of this Tale, however, we find Gandalf always called Mithrandir in Gondor (by men of rank or Númenórean origin, as Denethor, Faramir, etc.). This is Sindarin, and given as the name used by the Elves; but men of rank in Gondor knew and used this language.

So "Mithrandir" is the name used by fancy-pants Gondorians who like to refer to things in Sindarin; the average Joeromir Schmoeromir on the streets of Minas Tirith would've used the common name, Gandalf.

But wait!

However, in that same note, Tolkien also changes his stance on what "the North" means - he says that Gandalf actually wouldn't have spent enough time in Harad (the area south of Gondor) to have earned a nickname there, and therefore "the South" actually ought to mean Gondor, with "the North" presumably meaning Eriador and/or Arnor.

So our average Gondorian would actually have called him Incánus.

But wait! 2: Wait Harder

Then Tolkien goes on to say that actually, this is probably also wrong. In fact, Incánus was most likely an old Quenya name from much earlier that was by this point all but forgotten, and instead there was a different common name for him that roughly translated as "Greymantle". But the specific word has not survived.

So actually, we don't know what our average Gondorian would've called him.

[citation needed]

You can read these notes and Christopher Tolkien's commentary on them in the Istari section of Unfinished Tales of Númenor and Middle-Earth, which is free on the Internet Archive.

tl;dr: I dunno.

So my assumption that most Gondorians would have known him as "Gandalf" is consistent with some of Tolkien's notes but not with others.

But since those notes are not consistent with each other, either, I think running with the assumption is reasonable, or at least funny.

[marlynnofmany]

#if you want to be pedantic it's also odd that one guard mentions 'the King's birthday' #and is clearly talking about something that happened years ago #yet the other guard is from Rohan and also Elrond is there #because the last Gondorian High King before Aragorn died five centuries before Rohan existed #and Elrond sailed to the West less than three years after Aragorn was crowned #so there isn't actually any point in the history of ME that has Rohan‚ Elrond‚ AND adult Gondorians who saw the King when they were 6 #the obvious explanation (which I've described in another post somewhere) is that this before LotR #and “the King” is a nickname for a Númenórean musician named Aarondil Préslion #better known by his stage name “Elvish Présli” #that's what I'm Tolkien about #fuck yeah stick elf

[estrogenesis-eeveeangelion]

as humiliating as it is to repost myself from a light-mode-user's reddit screenshot, i cannot allow this year's zenquish to go uncelebrated.

celebrate my favorite holiday with me, my friends.

[estrogenesis-eeveeangelion]

if the emperors of rome can add extra months that actually fuck the calendar up i'm allowed to add a new month that lasts 0.0000 picoseconds

[estrogenesis-eeveeangelion]

the last holiday that hasn't been commercialized

[estrogenesis-eeveeangelion]

i made this up when i was a little kid and nothing would make me happier than to see people celebrating it for years to come

[estrogenesis-vaporeongelion]

zenquish approaches. prepare to rejoice! briefly!

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Now, they've pissed off the librarian.

https://futurism.com/artificial-intelligence/ai-companies-destroying-rare-books?

[transgarlicbreadlover]

Stories are so awesome,,, there are characters,,,, and they do things,,,,,

[writing-prompt-s]

Vampires are not weak to garlic in particular. Rather, any allergy a vampire had in life becomes a deadly bane in undeath. The garlic thing is just a matter of one famous vampire having that as their thing.

[marlynnofmany]

Picturing someone rubbing peanut butter on their neck before they go out, with strawberry-scented shampoo and as much cat hair on their clothes as they can manage. “This has gotta be enough, right? My odds are good!”

[marlynnofmany]

#that’s a fun idea for sure #there are some very niche allergies out there that would make for an exceptionally embarrassed vampire #‘Oh no my one weakness! Rubber gloves!’ #vampire hunter breaks out the balloon animal sword 'You’re not getting away this time!’ #squeaky battle noises

[marlynnofmany]

A Contentious Keepsake

Angry hissing voices from the hallway told me the two bug aliens on the ship were arguing. Which they didn’t usually do, thankfully. They disagreed, sure, but in an agree-to-disagree-though-you’re-clearly-wrong kind of way. They didn’t tend to get worked up about things.

“It issss disssgusssting,” Trrili snarled.

“Give it back!” Zhee said.

“Not until you admit that it’sss vile.”

“It is not!”

I rounded the corner to see the pair of them facing off in front of Zhee’s quarters, both waving their pincher arms, antenna angled into glares. I wouldn’t have wanted to get anywhere near that when I was new to the ship. I kept my distance a bit now. “What’s going on?” I asked.

Trrili whirled with a hiss, standing even taller, a looming black-and-red nightmare. “He has been using something unspeakable for grooming!” She spoke clearly and brandished a small object in my direction, holding it awkwardly between the tip of her mantis pincher and her elbow, like she didn’t want to touch it. I had no idea what it was, just a stick of something purple.

The same purple as Zhee’s glossy exoskeleton, actually.

He lunged and snatched it out of her grasp. “It’s the best kind of seam brush, you heathen! I made it myself — with excellent crafting skill, I might add!”

Before Trrili could retort, I asked, “What is it?”

Zhee held it well away from Trrili, scowling. “A seam brush, like I said.”

“Made from his own shed exoskeleton!” Trrili exclaimed.

“That’s what you DO with it!” Zhee shot back.

“It should be mulched immediately, you disgusting dirt-grubber!”

Before I could ask more clarifying questions, Paint came trotting up with concern all over her lizardy face. “What’s happening?”

Zhee answered first, pointing with his free arm. “This judgemental blot got ahold of a personal item and is making her own wrong opinions everyone else’s problem.”

“Oh, just my opinions, are they? All three moons—”

“I don’t care how many of you—”

“Everyone knows it should be disposed of—”

“So wasteful when it can—”

Paint pitched her voice higher and suggested, “Maybe we can all just keep our personal items to ourselves?” She looked from the tool to the pair of angry Mesmers.

They both glared at her. Trrili said, “I wasn’t snooping. I found it on the lounge floor.”

Zhee snapped, “I didn’t put it there.” He angled his head towards me. “Your cat did.”

That sounded like something she’d do. I spread my arms and said, 
“Sorry.”

Still working hard to mediate, Paint said, “Then it can go back in your quarters, in a safe spot, and we’ll make sure Telly doesn’t sneak in to play with it. Trrili can use her own grooming tools, and everyone can do things their own way.”

Trrili sounded like a sulky teenager when she insisted, “Disgusssting.”

Zhee waved it at her with a lecturing tone. “Practical and customized, and better than whatever mass-produced trash you use.”

“It’s still made of something that should not be kept!”

Exasperated, Zhee said, “At least I don’t have a whole collection on the wall of every blade I’ve shed! Some of the houses back home display those proudly!”

“Your people are unclean,” Trrili declared. Then she turned to Paint and me. “Keeping body parts is gross, yes? I know you’re at least reasonable about shed scales.”

Paint laughed uncomfortably. “That is not exactly a polite topic of conversation,” she said, fidgeting in a way that said she’d probably be blushing in embarrassment if her species did that.

“Exactly,” Trrili said in approval. “Something dealt with in privacy, not kept forever. Right?” She looked at me, daring me to disagree.

I shrugged. “My people don’t shed like that. We get haircuts and throw the hair away, I guess. Oh, baby teeth! That’s the closest match! We sometimes keep those.”

All three of my alien coworkers were giving me uncertain looks now. Paint said, “Right, I forgot your species actually sheds teeth.”

“Only once,” I said, as if that mattered.

Zhee repeated, “And you keep them.” He gave Trrili a pointed look.

“Sure, but usually in the back of the closet as a keepsake.”

Trrili looked right back at him. “Not making tools for daily use.”

“They’re not really big enough,” I said, considering. “And they tend to be kind of bloody when they come out, though that could be cleaned. Oh! I used some for a science project once!”

“A what?” Paint asked.

“I made a demonstration in school of how corrosive soda is compared to a few other drinks,” I said. “Mom gave me some of my baby teeth so I could leave them in a cup for a few days to see if they dissolved. I’ll tell you, I wasn’t eager to drink soda after that.”

Paint stared at me in horror. “You drink something that dissolves your teeth?”

I shook my head. “Turns out it was an urban legend. But it did dye the teeth a nasty brown, and burnt the dirt off a penny.”

Paint shook herself and made a visible effort to regain her composure. “I am fairly sure I didn’t need to know that.”

Trrili threw her pincher arms in the air and turned to leave. “At least it’s a drink that fights an honorable battle as you consume it. Everybody keep their revolting bits to themselves.” She jabbed a pincher at Zhee as she passed. “I don’t want to see that ever again.”

“You do not deserve the honor of seeing it again,” Zhee said. “You’ve scratched it, and now I’ll have to polish it then see if any of the bristles need replacing.”

Trrili hissed and disappeared down the hallway.

Paint asked, “Are the bristles exotic? I think we’re going to stop at a relatively small place to restock next.”

Zhee held up the tool and ran a little wrist finger across the bristly end. It looked like a sawed-off paintbrush. “The best kind can be difficult to find, but this seems to be intact, thankfully.”

I pulled my long braid over my shoulder and held it up. “Let me know if it would help to trim the end off this. My hair’s probably not stiff enough, but the offer’s open.”

Zhee gave me a look that was deeply amused. “It’s probably not, but thank you.”

Paint said in an undertone, “And we won’t tell Trrili, because she definitely won’t want to know.”

Zhee and I both agreed on that.

~~~

Good news! Volume One of the collected series is now available in paperback and ebook form! (Check your local store, or this handy link hub.)

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[reallytiredwriter]

if anyone sees this

could you reccomend me a book with 'humans are space orks' trope, please?

[justabearwholikestoread]

I recommend these by @marlynnofmany

[moringmark]

[runcibility]

I liked this post, scrolled for like another minute before I went “SHIT FUCK SHIT” and scrolled back to reblog it

[quadriviummuse]

I always reblog this one when I see it on my dash. When someone posts their own art, writing, or music here they are really hoping you will share it.

[prokopetz]

"Isn't it weird that [thing humans commonly eat] is poisonous to literally every domesticated animal" I mean, there's a pretty good chance that [thing humans commonly eat] is at least mildly poisonous to humans, too. One of our quirks as a species is that we think our food is bland if it doesn't have enough poison in it.

[xeansicemane]

Humans have a really weird mix of mundane superpowers.

We're not fast and don't have a lot of natural weaponry but we're bizarrely tolerant to a broad range of toxins to the point that one toxin is considered a morning necessity for some to perform at work. Gotta love us.

[vexwerewolf]

[missmacfire]

[hamkittens]