An incredibly feeble-looking orc arrives on the southernmost isle, wheezing and coughing sporadically as he produces a scroll case and begins to read:
My Dearest Madam,
Forgive me if I doubt your sincerity. I would have less trouble believing a brainless stomach with teeth was capable of sympathy than you. I suspect any pain you’re feeling right now might be due to the largely indigestible bitumen and combustable gasses that balrogs are composed of, and should not be mistaken for sentiment.
You didn’t have to mention the scar tissue, but you did, because you are Very Rude– and in doing so you reveal the only genuine worry you possess: that my tender metaphysical flesh is becoming less appetizing with each passing century, and you wish to cut your losses now and devour me before I get any worse.
The peace you offer me would be found in the bottomless reaches of your internal Void, which I have NO interest in experiencing.
GOOD DAY TO YOU.
The Elder King, Rightful Heir of Arda, The Mighty Arising,
~Melkor
P.S. This messenger has been coated in asbestos. Yes, write that down too, Langon, I want her to know–
Now hold on. Let’s not be hasty. You’re about to be a twice-married man, you can’t just leave Celebrimbor at the altar like that. Give the wraith his wring! …Ring! Wraith-ring! LiKe We Discussed!
the scene: a tirion reception hall. the teleri are visiting. finwe is mingling. child-feanor is lurking behind a cheese plate. cheese plate not tall enough; he is accosted by one of olwe’s sons
olwion: hey do you wanna come play with us
feanor:*panics. seeks guidance*
finwe, across the room: *makes go-on gesture with hands*
@baradduh wrote casual nudist mae and i promised to draw something for it. i ended up drawing 90% of the fic. warning for casual nudity. if you don’t want to see a butt, please take this compilation of cute fingon expressions instead:
The swan honks and swims away from the intrustion, worrying at the sudden influx of beasts-that-have-wishes. This is becoming worse than the tall giants! In one of his fluttering outbursts, an alarming number of feathers flew free to float quite curiously in the water between them.
They spell a message!
Neithan no longer relieves himself in shrubbery after once getting a rash from choosing the wrong bush.
As the swan scurries away in horror to try fluffing himself back into an acceptable state, Nacharna finds herself with the curious and unquenchable desire to turn Salgant into an Elf-steak dinner.
Certainly Sauron will want to know of her victory over the swan! And if Salgant is there, well… Her Master has grown tired of his favorite Elves before now. She might be doing everyone a favour.
Shaking herself dry, Nacharna lopes off back to the fortress. She can wait to tease Neithan until she’s had a good meal.
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 