Latest Posts by lunarangel777 - Page 2

I’ve not seen any starved touched hero stories so may I request a starved touched hero and the villain finds out and helps them. It’s fine if not:)

"Tell me," the villain murmured, as the hero's breath came out quivering. "When was the last time that someone touched you?"

It wasn't what the hero had expected.

"People touch me all the time."

"Kindly."

"You're not kind."

But the villain's touch was such a gentle thing; the hero's brain refused to register it as cruelty, even as the villain's fingers were curled around their throat. They didn't squeeze though.

The hero should have pulled back already. They should have shoved the villain away. They did none of those things. They leaned limp against the wall, almost hypnotised by the back and forth sweep of the villain's thumb brushing sweetly against their pulse point.

It was pitiful for a nice threat to feel like affection. They were pitiful.

The villain's gaze was intent.

"What are you doing to me?" the hero whispered.

"I'm not doing anything." The villain's powers worked with touch, but they had never touched the hero before. The hero had always been too quick. The villain had managed that time though, advancing, shoving the hero to the wall and then - then this. The villain had touched their skin and then they'd gone perfectly still for a few seconds. The villain could expose all secrets with a press of their fingers, do all manner of things, but...

The hero swallowed, eyeing them. They genuinely didn't think the villain was doing anything.

Each second that ticked by seemed a confession, a betrayal, a plea for something.

The villain's hand slid slowly to to cup the nape of the hero's neck. "You didn't answer my question." The villain pulled the hero a step closer, dragged them flush. The villain's other hand wrapped around the hero's back.

They were being hugged.

A confused, entirely too soft sound left the hero's throat. Questioning. A little choked. It felt like a trap and it felt entirely too desperately lovely.

The villain tightened their grip, tucking the hero's head against their shoulder.

"Skin hunger," the villain said, softly. "Touch starvation. You are a famine, love, I can feel it."

"I-" The hero didn't know how to finish the sentence. The villain was so warm against them, a solid and reassuring presence. That couldn't be right. "What?"

"It has been entirely too long, hasn't it?"

"You're not doing anything?"

"I'm hugging you."

"Your powers-"

"-Mean I know exactly how you are feeling. How much you need this. So are you going to be good and shut up and let yourself have it?"

The hero choked out another gasp of air.

Was that was why the villain had stopped? Why they'd seemed to switch gears so abruptly when they could have finally won? The hero swallowed and shut up, even if it was a bad idea. Inch by inch, when the villain did nothing more but hold them, the hero relaxed. They melted.

"Why are you doing this?" the hero managed, pressing their face against the promise of the villain's shoulder.

"Kindness?"

"You're not kind."

The villain huffed, breath rustling the hero's hair. They pressed a kiss atop the hero's head. "Mm. Temporarily benevolent. No strings attached, pinky promise."

It was definitely suspicious, but it really did feel so unbelievably good. The hero felt like they'd settled into their bones for the first time in years. Maybe longer.

They really couldn't remember the last time someone touched them kindly, for an extended period of time. A brush of accidental touch in a crowd. A hairdresser's clinical contact. None of it was anything like what the villain gave them.

"That's better," the villain said, with a sigh. "Your nerve endings have stopped screaming at me."

"S-sorry. I-"

"It was merely an observation. You don't need to be sorry."

The hero expected the villain to get back to it, or step back. They didn't. It was probably the longest hug in the world.

Finally, the hero let themselves reach out, wrapping their arms around the villain in turn.

"Good," the villain said.

"Are we still...I shouldn't let you touch me. I'm not stupid."

"No."

"Are you going to let go of me?"

"When you actually want me to, sure."

"And you can...feel that?"

"Yes."

The hero squirmed with embarrassment. The villain tightened their grip again. The hero went still.

"Years," the hero whispered, finally. "It's been years. I can't remember the last time."

"Mm." The villain nuzzled into them. "That's not going to happen again. I don't believe in torture."

Neither of them much felt like fighting when they finally broke apart.

Doctor Evil is a campy Saturday morning supervillain and usually defeated by pre-teen heroes. Lesson included. He also once took down an entire alien armada by himself because they were ruining his fight with one of his pre-teen foes

You gotta write for funsies sometimes. Everything doesn’t have to be groundbreaking. Like. Who cares if it’s a little silly it is made out of love

Hey! Are there blacksmiths in your story? I'm a hobbyist blacksmith and I'm here to help!

Blacksmithing is one of those things that a lot of people get wrong because they don't realize it stuck around past the advent of the assembly line. Here's a list of some common misconceptions I see and what to do instead!

Not all blacksmiths are gigantic terrifying muscly guys with beards and deep voices. I am 5'8, skinny as a twig, have the muscle mass of wet bread, and exist on Tumblr. Anybody who is strong enough to pick up a hammer and understands fire safety can be a blacksmith.

You can make more than just swords with blacksmithing. Though swords are undeniably practical, they're not the only things that can be made. I've made candle holders, wall hooks, kebab skewers, fire pokers, and more. Look up things other people have made, it's really amazing what can be done.

"Red-hot" is actually not that hot by blacksmith terms. when heated up, the metal goes from black, to red, to orange, to yellow, to white. (for temperature reference, I got a second degree burn from picking up a piece of metal on black heat) The ideal color to work with the metal is yellow. White is not ideal at all, because the metal starts sparking and gets all weird and lumpy when it cools. (At no point in this process does the metal get even close to melting. It gets soft enough to work with, but I have never once seen metal become a liquid.)

Blacksmithing takes fucking forever. Not even taking into account starting the forge, selecting and preparing metal, etc. etc. it takes me around an hour to make one (1) fancy skewer. The metals blacksmiths work with heat up and cool down incredibly fast. When the forge is going good, it only takes like 20 seconds to get your metal hot enough to work with, but it takes about the same time for it to cool down, sometimes even less.

As long as you are careful, it is actually stupidly easy to not get hurt while blacksmithing. When I picked up this hobby I was like "okay, cool! I'm gonna make stuff, and I'm gonna end up in the hospital at some point!" Thus far, the latter has yet to occur. I've been doing this for nearly a year. I have earned myself a new scar from the aforementioned second degree burn, and one singe mark on my jeans. I don't even wear gloves half the time. Literally just eye protection, common sense, and fast reflexes and you'll probably be fine. (Accidents still happen of course, but I have found adequate safety weirdly easy to achieve with this hobby)

A forge is not a fire. The forge is the thing blacksmiths put their metal in to heat it up. It starts as a small fire, usually with newspaper or something else that's relatively small and burns easily, which we then put in the forge itself, which is sort of a fireplace-esque thing (there's a lot of different types of forge, look into it and try to figure out what sort of forge would make the most sense for the context you're writing about) and we cover it with coal, which then catches fire and heats up. The forge gets really hot, and sometimes really bright. Sometimes when I stare at the forge for too long it's like staring into the sun. The forge is also not a waterfall of lava, Steven Universe. It doesn't work like that, Steven Universe.

Welding and blacksmithing are not the same thing. They often go hand-in-hand, but you cannot connected two pieces of metal with traditional blacksmithing alone. There is something called forge welding, where you heat your metal, sprinkle borax (or the in-universe equivalent) on it to prevent the metal from oxidizing/being non-weldable, and hammer the pieces together very quickly. Forge welding also sends sparks flying everywhere, and if you're working in a small space with other blacksmiths, you usually want to announce that you're welding before you do, so that everyone in a five-foot radius can get out of that five-foot radius. You also cannot just stuck some random pebbles into the forge and get a decent piece of metal that you can actually make something with, Steven Universe. It doesn't work like that, Steven Universe.

Anvils are really fucking heavy. Nothing else to add here.

Making jewelry is not a blacksmithing thing unless you want jewelry made of steel. And it will be very ugly if you try. Blacksmithing wasn't invented to make small things.

If there's anything here I didn't mention, just ask and I'll do my best to answer.

It’s Not a Phase – We Love the Moon

International Observe the Moon Night is Oct. 21 and everyone's invited! Find a Moon-gazing party near you, learn about lunar science and exploration, and honor cultural connections to the moon.

This year, we want to know what the Moon looks like around you. Take a look at these photography tips, then snap a picture of the Moon and tag us! You may be featured on Tumblr’s Today page on Oct. 21.

“How many people have died to achieve this world domination of yours?” “769.” “…What?” “769 people died to achieve my plans. I counted them, and had each of their names etched on my throne so I never forget what my victory cost the world. Now tell me, how many have you killed to see me dead?”

You have been abducted by a UFO. After you slowly regained your senses, you thought that the alien would dissect, torture or experiment on you, instead they are talking about saving you and others from that oppressive and hellish planet called Earth.

You always got strange looks whenever you fed the neighborhood ravens. “I give them food, they give me company,” you’d say. One day, a raven excitedly comes up to you and whispers, “A neighbor plots against you, my lord.”

You are the first ever completely ethical vampire: you post the terms and conditions of trespassing, make it clear in the memo that said people are subject to be fed on… You can safely say that humanity’s stupidity has kept you alive for thousands of years.

“Burn the witch! Burn the witch!” shouted the crowd, drowning out the distressed warnings of one person. “No, you fools! She can control the flames!”

Every 21st century piece of writing advice: Make us CARE about the character from page 1! Make us empathize with them! Make them interesting and different but still relatable and likable!

Every piece of classic literature: Hi. It's me. The bland everyman whose only purpose is to tell you this story. I have no actual personality. Here's the story of the time I encountered the worst people I ever met in my life. But first, ten pages of description about the place in which I met them.

The picture with me wearing blue gloves was taken on March 21st (when I planted some cacti seeds) and the other one was taken today (when I noticed my first sprout)! There's a little blip of green and that's my first sprout! :D

Taking one look at him, something dawned on me. He was like me, looked like me in a sense. He had the dark, bark-like pattern that I have.

Only his was in a different shape.

Broken stones that stay in the same general shape are wonderful. There's an opportunity for something beautiful to grow in between the cracks of something so tragic.

How can this be? This is the fifth report that I've gotten.

"May I ask you something?" I questioned the highwayman once we stopped to rest.

"That depends on what you're asking," he mumbled as he laid back and draped an arm over his eyes.

"I have been hearing reports of periodic darkness in areas that we have traveled through." The smoothness of the stone that I was sitting on was a little bit of comfort.

"That isn't a question," he retorted. There was something off in his voice. He almost sounded like the nymphs that gave me the reports and sightings.

"Did you cause those periods of darkness over those areas?" There were a lot of things I needed to know but the first was if he was the cause of it. "There aren't any plant mages in the area to cause that and it's too far away for me to do anything like that."

"I shouldn't be the source of it, no." He sat up and rested his head against the palm of his hand.

"Is it bad? Will it be harmful to those living in the area?"

"How did you even hear about the darkness forming?"

"The plants have a complex system for communication through their roots. They talk to each other that way. The nymphs live inside the trees and they told me."

"How long does it last?"

"Almost a whole cycle."

He sat there in silence before raising his head and answering, "They don't have to be worried. It isn't anything dangerous. It'll keep happening and probably follow us. I don't know why it does but... It's nothing to worry about and they can rest during that time."

I moved so I was seated next to him. "But what is it?"

"A myth for you and reality for me."

I knew he wasn't going to say anything else about it and deadpanned, "You're helpful."

He flashed a smile as he said, "I try, sweetheart."

A small kid ran into my arms, whimpering.

"What's wrong?" I kept my voice gentle and level. There was something that scared the poor kid and he trusted me enough to run to me with that problem.

"I had a nightmare," he answered as he tried buried his face further into armor.

I took the boy's arms off of me long enough for me to sit before he latched on to my neck.

Rubbing his small back, I asked, "Do you want to talk about it?" If he did, that would give me an idea of exactly what nightmare I would be looking for. If he didn't, I would have to try to find the right one and hope that it wasn't a dream that I was going after.

"I don't know," he whined as he clutched me a bit tighter.

I held him so he could look at me as I started, "Do you not know how to word it?"

He nodded.

I let him go as I stood up. "Well, I don't know which one I'm looking for but I'll do my best." I looked down at him, he couldn't be more than four years old. "Would you like to come?"

His eyes grew wide. "Really?"

I didn't try to stop the smile coming on. No matter the age, the reaction was always the same and it was adorable. I only offer if they aren't able to tell me about the nightmare.

"I don't want to hunt the wrong one and you would recognize it," I answered him.

He almost grew a smile but it died to a concerned look. My brows furrowed.

What was wrong?

"Would I be safe?" the little boy asked me in a small voice.

"It could be dangerous but you would be helping me stop a nightmare from terrorizing anyone else." I crouched to his level again. "However, if you want to go home, I won't think any less of you and thank you for bringing this concern to me."

"If I went to my mommy, would you stop the bad dream?"

I smiled. "Pinkie promise."

"I want to go with you. I want no one else to get any more bad dreams," the brave little boy told me.

"Alright," I said standing up before offering my hand to him, "hold on to my hand and stay by my side at all times. Okay?"

He beamed as he took my hand. "Okay."

"Okay, you looking at me for this long is scaring me. Why are you staring?" I asked, snapping him out of his daze.

He shook his head like a spring breeze. "Sorry but your eyes are a beautiful brown color," he replied, shy about his statement.

"They're brown but not beautiful," I grumbled. I liked my eyes but there were times that I wished that I had a livelier color like blue.

"I'm sorry you don't see what I see. In your eyes," he cupped my cheek, "I see the essence of life itself."

"That's green," I returned as I took my head out of his hold.

"No, brown. Plants need soil to grow, all animals need plants, sand and rocks and other formations hold the oceans and seas in place. I see canyons, mountains, valleys, fertile soil. I see the base of life in your eyes."

Where I'm from, myths have a habit of being true. One such myth is that the moon can grant wishes. People typically make wishes on one particular day but every once in a while, someone makes a wish on a different day.

For that one day, though, it is almost all children who make those wishes. Occasionally, an adult will drum up enough courage to leave a wish for the moon to grant.

The moon does what she can to grant the wishes but she'll only grant the wishes that are pure at heart and for the betterment of the person who wished.

"Is there anyway I can help?" I asked the ever patient moon on one particular night.

"If you have nothing to do, you could stay with me," came her soft whisper. "I like your company."

I chuckled as I sat down beside the alter. "Any interesting wishes?"

"They are all interesting and unique," she answered.

I furrowed my brows. "Don't most of the kids just ask for toys, though?"

"Yes, but those toys help the become someone unique."

Resting my head against the cool stone, I requested of the moon, "Could you explain how?"

Images of a wooden sword flashed across my mind as she answered, "The boy who will get this could become one of your greatest generals." Next, a combination of random metal parts and wooden puzzle pieces appeared in my head. "The one who receives this could be a mechanic that will invent revolutionary equipment." She went on for a few more moments after that.

I couldn't stop the smile or the tears. How could I have been so blind? "That was wonderful. Thank you for explaining that to me."

"It was a pleasure. But promise me one thing."

Even though she wasn't there, I looked up. "Anything."

"Promise me you won't underestimate the value of a gift. Even if it seems insignificant and useless to you, that could be the thing that sets the recipient on the right path for their life."

"I promise."

"Alright," the stranger sighed, "what's with the orange peels?"

I was laying some fragments of orange peels out to dry for black gold and others near some potted carnivorous plants that needed to be fed.

"Black gold," I said as I pointed to the ones drying on the sunlit stone. "Plant food." I pointed to the other peels that were already attracting flies.

"I thought that those plants didn't like any nutrients in their soil," he remarked as he gracefully draped himself across a fallen log in the shadow of a large maple. "And I though that you hated potting plants."

"They don't. But they still need food, just not food like the others." I sat down not too far from him, in the shade too. "I don't like potting plants but a kid asked me for a plant that wasn't like any others."

"So, obviously, you chose..." he propped himself up, "what is that, anyway?"

"Dionaea. A fly trap." I cast my gaze back to the potted plant that just caught a decent size fly. "I had to do a lot of trading to get a hold of that plant."

"If it was such a hassle to get, why did you?"

"The kid was curious about the world outside our boarders." I looked him dead in the eyes and told him, "Tell me how I could have said 'no'." I settled in a position similar to his. "When I see the kid again, I plan on giving it to him as a gift."

After I said that, he settled back down on his log, lost in thought.

I don't remember what I was talking about, but I kept talking for him. There was a content air that surrounded him as he listened to whatever I was babbling.

But I also made sure to keep an eye on where we were going. At this point we had to be close to where the road wasn't as familiar. I could see some snow up ahead. But I didn't stop and kept talking.

In a breath of silence, I looked over at him. Since I was never really around people, I couldn't pin the exact expression.

Once we were a little bit into the cursed forest, I happened to take another look at him when a snowflake landed on his nose and startled him to a stop.

He looked up, eyes full of awe and wonder, as he whispered, "It's snowing?"

I was tempted to remark that it always snows here but his expression stopped me. How could I take this small pleasure from him?

So I settled for, "When was the last time you saw snow?"

"I don't remember," he muttered, not taking his eyes off of the snow.

I found a steady place to sit, cleaned the snow off, and got comfortable. He was having a good moment. I didn't want to take that from him.

I was going to wait until he was ready to go.

"The day will be saved by it dying." - 13 hour clockwork soldier

The tall sprawling; towering bookcases of the library never made me feel confined, trapped like it did with others.

I selected some children's stories, some I'd promised to churches and orphanages while others were meant to be a surprise to the children.

After I got the books I needed and headed outside, I was blinded for a moment before my vision cleared. It was around midday and I knew that I was moving a bit more sluggish than I would've liked.

I shrugged those thoughts aside and made my way to keep the promises I made.

"Hey, pretty girl, ready to go?" I asked as I rubbed my Púca's ears.

She neighed.

I told her before leaving, "Alright, I'll go and you come find me when you're ready, okay?"

I was just leaving when I felt a light hand on my shoulder. Behind me there was a young lady with black hair, a black dress with red accents, but the thing that stood out the most about her were her brilliant red eyes and horse ears that stuck up out of her hair.

"How do I look?" she asked before giving me a slow twirl.

I took her hands in mine, once she stopped, and kissed her cheek, murmuring, "Beautiful, as always." I unclipped my cloak. "You will need to hide your ears, though." I held my cloak out to her.

"Won't you get cold?" she asked, concern lighting her brilliant eyes. How did I get so lucky to get such a caring Púca such as her?

I smiled, "No, I'll be fine."

Hey eyes flickered between my eyes and the cloak before gingerly taking my offered article of clothing.

When she finally had it adjusted with her ears flat against her head, she asked, "Is this good?"

"You look human." I held my arm out to her. "Ready to go?"

My Púca was literally bouncing as she took my arm. She was beaming and just as giddy as a little kid. I looked forward and guided her out into the bustling streets full of people dressed up as monsters and heroes.

I looked down at the young boy my brother found in the streets with no one to care for him and I wondered how he could sleep through such an earth - shattering thunderstorm.

What had he been through for this to be peaceful?

Or is it the fact that he was finally safe that kept him calm?

The only thing I've seen about this kid is his autumnal colored hair.

"Tobias," I sighed.

"Yes, my king?"

"How long do you think we can honestly hold out for him to come home?"

"We're beyond that point, my king. The plant and animal mages are doing what they can to help."

I nodded. I'm tired and I know I can't rule without my brother to help me.

The quiet lake town has always been a favorite places to visit. It wasn't as densely populated as the capital was and it was just all around relaxing.

I haven't been to the marshes, bogs, fens, or anything like that west of the little town. There are rumors of monsters living there.

I like knowing that little town is okay.

I came back to our little camp to find him with his head in his hands.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I set the gathered food down.

"I hurt you," he whispered.

"I'm sorry?" What was he talking about?

"I caused you physical pain." He clenched his fists tight.

I could still feel the burn every now and again. I sat down directly beside him.

"I do the same thing to some of the plants I watch over," I told him, staring into the fire. "Sometimes, the best thing I can do for them is to cut an infected part off and burn it because there's nothing else I can do," I explained before he could ask.

"Still doesn't justify my behavior," he muttered.

"Well, I don't like the pain and it sometimes bothers me," I started, referring to the injury he gave me earlier, "but I forgive you."

He met my gaze before he asked, "Why?"

"You're going to make mistakes some as me, granted different from mine. But life and time are just that way - unforgiving. I think it's easier to get through a day if people are more forgiving."

He stayed silent.

"You going to be okay?"

He rested his head on my shoulder and whispered, "Yeah. Just processing."

"You're going to be okay," I told him, letting him take however long he needs to figure it out.

"How did you find me?" I slurred, the cold freezing me from the inside out.

"I followed the trail you left," he answered before he gestured somewhere behind him. "Come here," he groaned as he picked me up.

I clung to him like burs on bark animals and other people wear. He wasn't much warmer than the elements we were stranded in but he was an improvement.

"Did you know that you are bleeding?" my stranger asked me, taking me somewhere.

My mind was too fuzzy to completely understand what he was talking about.

"But you're not bleeding," I blended my words together, after I have him a quick once over as best as I could. Why would he ask if I knew he was bleeding?

"Well, hypothetically if I was a mage like you, I thought you would know how to slow the blood loss down?"

My upper canopy hurt. Why was he asking such difficult questions?

"You would need something to slow it down," I mumbled as I tried to clear my thoughts. "Before that, clean the wound."

He settled me down on a fallen log and then started rummaging through his bag. When he faced me again, he had some white strips and a dirt colored bottle.

"Try not to scream, okay?" He looked back up at me with his cyan colored eyes. His scar on the lower part of his face were sharply contrasting from the fire's light.

Wait. Why was there a fire? Where was the fire?

The sharp jolt that assaulted my left limb was enough to make me cry out in surprise. He didn't let up, if anything, he pressed harder. The cloth he was using was starting to turn green, the color of my sap, at the edges.

I stayed quiet like he asked but when he was done, he pulled a mat made out of pine branches, covered it with some furs, placed me on the mat, and then covered me with the remaining furs.

"Don't worry, I'll keep watch. You rest," he answered when he saw me looking at him.

The last thing I felt was my stranger running his branches through my hair before I fell asleep.

Author's Note- I have never experienced either but I am trying to write a character who is suffering from at least enough hypothermia for the mental fog but not bad enough for a doctor and blood loss. But then again it might be mild hypothermia and the added blood loss might create the mental fog.

The fields of Royal Cress are okay but when it's pollen mixes with that of things like Ghost Mother Willow... It's just not a good day.

"Have you ever been in there?" I asked as I gestured to the edge of the woods. If he hasn't, then we'd have to go around the Ashen Grove.

"Years ago, I think," he answered, picking a sprig of Royal Cress.

I was just very happy that Royal Cress pollen is heavier than most others.

"Maybe we should just go around," I offered.

"Will it get us there faster?"

"No."

He stood up. "We got through the Ashen Grove, then," he stated.

Oh dear. I rubbed my head. I'd probably have to help him through the mirages that happen to those not used to the pollens.

"Wait up," I called as I trotted to keep up with him.

As I walked out under the night sky, I muttered a prayer. It wasn't continuous but mainly when ever I saw something that caught my eye, I'd say a quick little thank you prayer for it being created.

When I'd get back from my walks, I always felt better and ever grateful.