#400 words

[polutrope]

Tales come ahead of the heroes. Of great battles that rattled the bones of the bent world; of Morgoth’s cruel, unyielding lieutenant at last overthrown.

From the wall of his gallery, Turgon takes down a sword and clutches the hilt. It has long fallen into disuse in the distant bliss of Valinor. This blade is not his, was never his, but it hangs here in memory among other precious tokens of a drowned continent that found their way from the mountains to the river and from there across the sea. 

The tales say Turgon’s sword surfaced glittering from the dust of ages; that Glamdring sang death to its foes in the hands of a Maia, leading the peoples of Endor to triumph. 

Turgon, in his felicity, envies Olórin. Turgon, though tempered by the Halls, wishes he might have wielded that blade again. Might have joined his soul in harmony with it, one last time, for vengeance. 

But when the heroes land he does not inquire after it.

Eventually Olórin, elusive and enigmatic as he has ever been, pays Turgon a visit. He has kept that raiment he wore among mortals of an old man bent and weathered. He laughs and gathers Turgon in his arms. 

Turgon invites him in for tea.

“It is not so different here,” Olórin muses, nibbling on a bit of cake. “Thank you,” he adds, in answer to Turgon’s inquiring look. “It is a comfort to take tea with a great lord of Elves.” 

“Ah.” Turgon quirks a smile. “So the annals tell it. I fear that was another life, which I scarcely recognise as mine.”

Their conversation ambles the paths of immortal memory that fears not the passage of time.

At last, towards evening, Turgon asks, “What of my sword? They say you bore it.”

Olórin hums. “I had rather hoped you would not ask.”

Turgon beetles his brows.

“You must forgive me — I gave it away.” 

“Gave it? To whom?” Irritation, a prickle of dishonour, tickles at Turgon’s mind like an old rash. Who is left, worthy of such an heirloom? 

“I left it in the keeping of the Queen of Gondor, your grandson’s granddaughter, to defend your line for many more ages of Men. Did I err in this?” 

“Arwen.” Turgon remembers the name and smiles. “No, dear friend. You did not err. She and her descendants are worthy bearers of that blade.” 

[mhaxwishxgranter]

UA’s Ice Queen

————————

Summary: Y/N is known as the ice queen of UA, and not just for her quirk. She’s ice cold to any and everyone, with a few exceptions.

Characters: Tamaki Amajiki, black!fem!reader

Word count: 406

Warnings: none just fluff all around for Tamaki 💜🐙

Pairing: Tamaki Amajiki x black!fem!reader (established relationship)

Note: Y/N has a twa (Teeny Weeny Afro) in this piece.

Note 2: This piece for Tamaki is long overdue but I hope you all enjoy it!

Tag list/mutuals list: @olenoname @mysticpisces

————————————

Underneath a beach umbrella, Y/N sat, content to scroll on her phone mostly her feeds for Instagram and Pinterest. The weather was humid which made her hairstyle perfect for it. Lifting her eyes from the screen of her phone, just for a brief moment, she could see everyone playing in the water.

Even Tamaki.

She could easily pick him out of the crowd filled with women, men, children, and other students from UA who also came to the beach for a rest and relaxation day.

He was with Mirio and Nejire.

The three of them deserved a day like this. No stress. Just fun.

Ping! New message!

💜🐙Tamaki🐙💜: I can feel you staring.

Y/N: Do you want me to look away?

💜🐙Tamaki🐙💜: No!

💜🐙Tamaki🐙💜 is typing…

💜🐙Tamaki🐙💜: What I mean is, I like it when your attention is focused on me.

Y/N: Then I’ll make sure to give you all of my undivided attention later.

💜🐙Tamaki🐙💜 is typing…

💜🐙Tamaki🐙💜: Y/N-chan! It’s Nejire! I think you broke Tamaki!

Y/N: I’ll come down there and reboot him.

💜🐙Tamaki🐙💜: And when you get down here, can you make some ice for us? Pleaseee?

Y/N was known as UA’s ice queen not just because of her natural cold disposition but also because the ice that formed when she used her quirk could last for hours because of how unique it was. Which was perfect for this humid weather where the sun could easily melt regular ice.

💜🐙Tamaki🐙💜: Pretty please! Think of your kouhai! 🥺

Y/N might be cold but she was by no means heartless.

Y/N: Alright. Alright, I’m on my way.

💜🐙Tamaki🐙💜: Yay! 😃

Standing up and getting out from underneath the umbrella and stretching as she felt the warmth of the sun from above and the sand beneath her feet, Y/N began to make her way down the beach.

This really was a day of relaxation.

[rockingrobin69]

somewhere in wiltshire

It’s late afternoon and the field is all gold: Harry’s not running, but Draco still can’t quite catch up, fizzy with laughter and crackling with—this, the warmth that his fingers still remember, that was Harry. It’s all the ‘Draco, Draco’s and the ‘look!’ and the sticky kisses, rough like his stubble and sweet like the brambles he picked from the bush (‘try, you have to try it!’)

It’s—late in the season and the day is still warm, fresh after the rain and yellowing on the edges of each tree. It smells like it too, this deep, full scent, not quite yellow but—gold. Rich as the earth and not half as Harry’s laughter, coming in hot in bubbling waves. ‘Look,’ he’s still saying, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand, ‘you have a—Draco, there’s a feather, it’s,’ and he’s laughing too hard to do anything. So Draco crawls closer (it’s muddy and brilliant), trails the delicate shell of his ear, the prickly line of his jaw, his lovely, bitten bottom lip.

‘Yes?’ he asks, trying for dastardly and devilish, coming out entirely too fond. ‘It’s what, Harry?’

‘It’s—’ he’s gesturing around them, at the field (gold) at the sky (bright), ‘look, it’s everything, all of it, out here for—’

The smile in Harry’s eyes, the roughness of his soft, soft hand. ‘Yes,’ Draco breathes, meaning, anything, I’d give anything: and the look on Harry’s face says, sweet idiot, you don’t have to.

‘Ours,’ Harry whispers. Draco hums, so over-filled with joy he’s dizzy.

‘Ours,’ when he truly means, yours.

The delight when Harry scrunches his nose, when he comes closer for a kiss but then licks a stripe all the way down his neck: ‘Argh!’ and squirming and helplessly, wonderfully caught, arms around him and only Harry in his eyes. Not golden but—him. The world is brambles and wheat, is clouds and mud, is brilliant, is all, entirely theirs.

‘You—’ Harry looks up with a question furrowed between his eyebrows, and Draco’s heart sings with affection: ‘what?’

‘Nothing,’ Draco lies. Lies on the ground (muddy), breathes it in. ‘Just… come here for a moment.’

It’s late and slow, this understanding, but it’s buzzing like a string of electric lights and lighter still. The field, gold, is endless around them, and the season stretches forever. It’s them, it’s here, it’s entirely true.

(For flufftober day 22. Find the soft AO3 collection here).

[sukoshininja]

Vengeful

Lance would know that ship anywhere. How could he forget? It was there the day Keith died. Was stolen from him.

"He's mine. I'm going." It was not up for debate. He broke Red from formation, darting after the small fighter. He wasn't fast enough last time. But this time he wouldn't let him get away. Not again.

"Lance! Think about what you're doing," Shiro warned.

"Oh, believe me, I have." It kept him up at night, alone in their bed, thinking long and hard about how exactly he would have his revenge. At first his anger burned hot enough he wanted swift reparations. But it had been years. That anger had simmered into something slow and cruel.

"This isn't who you are!" Hunk called after him.

Lance had to laugh. It felt bitter in his mouth. "Sure. Maybe that was true at one point. But then I lost my home. I lost my family. I lost my partner. That changes a person, Hunk."

"We've lost people too, you know!" Pidge shouted.

Allura, who truly had lost everything, chose not to weigh in. But her silence was a statement in itself.

"I think if the Lance I knew back at the garrison could see you now, he'd be really disappointed," Hunk tried again, more calmly this time. As if it would make a difference.

"Yeah, well, life is full of disappointments. That Lance... he couldn't hack it and, well, he's gone now. I'm what's left."

"You don't mean that," the hurt clear in his tone.

"We all have to grow up sometime," Lance said as gently as he could. He was far from them now. So far away they had disappeared from visuals, even in the atmosphere-less vacuum of space.

"Lance if you kill that man in cold blood you will never see the inside of the castle again," Allura's voice was calm and even, full of warmth for him, even then.

"Wouldn't be the first time I lost my home." They couldn't all be saints, not like her. She was able to keep who she was whereas Lance had to shed and chip away pieces of himself until everything was bearable.

"I'll have Lion back when you're done, then."

"Yeah," he agreed. There was no place for someone as broken as he was on Team Voltron. He'd known that for years. It was Coran's time to shine anyway.

"And Lance?"

"Princess?" He had closed incredible distance on the one-man fighter.

"Know that we love you."

"I know."

He cut the comms and made his move.

my whumptober masterlist

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

my happy marraige, kiyoka/miyo, kiyoka has to inform miyo that her power to dream walk has become personally troublesome

For as long as she can remember, Miyo’s dreams have not been, well, dreams.

They’ve been sad places, nightmares full of regret and cruelty. More recently, they’ve become literal battlefields as Usuba-san helps her discover the hard boundaries of her gift and where it can be pounded and stretched like mochi.

Sleep has often been more exhausting than wakefulness.

The past few nights, however, her dreams have been unsettling for other reasons. Instead of waking in a cold sweat with tears staining her pillow, she’s… hot, her body filled with an unfamiliar ache. Her dreams, usually so clear, are indistinct and fuzzy: A flash of danna-sama’s jewel-like eyes, his breath stirring softly against the small of her throat, a firm body sheltering hers. Underneath his patient hands, her body blooms into a storm of sakura petals.

In the morning, she rouses late and so remarkably well-rested that she almost forgets to apologize to Yurie.

Miyo presses her palms against her cheeks to cool them. Such brazen dreams shame her. Her husband-to-be is an important man with a great deal of responsibility. It is her duty to keep the home ready for his return, not entertain such selfish reveries.

And yet-

Her heart gives a single, longing squeeze.

The truth is that she misses him. Their phone calls have been brief and sporadic the last week, and while she is assured at his eventual return and grateful that he makes the time for someone as lowly as her, his voice alone only makes her miss him more.

She’s truly unworthy to be such a man’s wife.

There’s a racket at the front door as it is violently thrown open, something heavy clattering in the entryway. Miyo follows the sound, startled. Yurie is off today, and danna-sama is not expected for several more days.

And yet, here he is. Panting like he ran here instead of driving his car, his traveling trunk haphazardly lain between them. Her husband-to-be is covered in a film of sweat, hair knot askew and uniform misbuttoned. In several places.

When his eyes land on her, he steps cleanly over his luggage, approaching her with intent until her back bumps the wall. His arms bracket her body, mouth so close to hers that that sweet ache from her dreams stirs.

“If you wanted me home so badly-” His eyes pin her in place-- “You could have just asked.”

[bubbashusbanddd]

₊‧.°.⋆Cuddling with Bubba .𖥔 ݁ ˖

A short sfw fanfic I wrote when I couldn't sleep

It's about Bubba Sawyer from tmc (1974) cuddling with gn!reader

Word count: 385

-

You were done with the chores the oldest brother, Drayton, gave you and tried to relax in the guest's room that they called ‚Your bedroom'. You wouldn't consider it that tho, since your real bedroom was at home, at your family's house. They have kept you as a pet after your friends betrayed you by throwing you against the cannibals to make their escape easier. The one you considered the most unhinged got them back and tortured them throughourly, but leaving you unhurt. They only forced you to watch their sufferage and then brought you to the guest room.

Eventhough all of that was months ago and you've started to make friends with the murderers, you still remembered it as clearly as the first night you spent there, which caused you to feel nausous in your bed. You were dragged out of your thoughts by a firm knock on your closed door and you immediatly knew it had to be the youngest. The twins never knocked, they simply opened the door and bounced through your room like a thrown tennis ball. And Drayton just yelled to you through the door.

"Come in, Bubba." you answered, hearing a light squel of excitement behind the door before it opened and the big man entered your room. He wore his usual clothing and mask, smiling innocently behind it.

"What are you doing here? You wanna spend some time with me?" he answered with a hactic nod, giggling like a child. As he walked closer to your bed, you opened your arms to let him hug you. And as he did, he nuzzled his face into the creek of your neck, crushing you under him with his weight. His body got wrapped by your arms and you began patting his back.

"I'm tired- wanna go to sleep?" you yawned and he responded with a nod once more, before pulling a light blanket over both. A proper blanket would kill you in this Texan heat, but the thin one he gave you was okay.

So here you were, crushed down onto the bed with Bubba laying half on top of you as you had your arms wrapped around his body. Right before you dozed off you heard his snoring and giggled. "Good night, Bubba" you mumbled, kissing his forehead before falling asleep.

[eris-eveningstar]

Okay so I was reading some fic and Bellatrix was being a bitch to Harry. And then I came up with THE BEST snapback to her. Here it is!

(Also, yes I know I should be working on the newest chapter of my fic, but I'm working on it, okay.)

---

This based off of another work (you should check it out!), but you don't need prior knowledge to understand this.

[frankthesnek]

Prompt 254: Misunderstandings

Rated T: McShep, misunderstandings, interrupted sex, not detailed sex, humor

Fingers danced over his sides, hot breath gushed against his neck, pressure building in his gut flaring out in beautiful spikes of pleasure powered by his partner's movements. He was right there, right on the precipice.

"Fuck," John panted, hands and toes curling against the bed sheets. "Fuck, Rod—Rod—"

"Oh fuck you!"

The speed Rodney left the bed gave him whiplash. The heat of his body disappeared, leaving him shockingly empty in a startling way he had not been expecting. 

"What the hell just happened?" John deadpanned sitting up and looking over to find Rodney already tugging his pants back on. 

"You know, I knew all of you liked him more than me, despite the little ego stroking you all gave me after he left. Yeah, I'm not perfect. Sorry if I'm a little rougher around the edges. Sorry, I'm not as fit as he was," Rodney gestured at the expanse of his body before tugging his shirt back on.

"But this?" He continued scooping up his socks and shoes, shoving them under his arm and not bothering to take the time to put them back on as he headed for the door. "Screw you John."

John scrambled out of the bed quickly putting himself between Rodney and the door, still completely clueless as to what had just happened. "I have no idea what you are talking about," he pleaded, shifting to block the scientist as he attempted to shoulder past him. 

"You said his name!"

Furrowing his brow, John thought. He hadn’t really been paying attention to what he'd been saying, but clearly, he had said something to set the other man off so he tried to recall what it was. He'd been moaning, there’d been some panting involved, and he'd said…

"Rodney, I was not talking about Rod. I was saying your name,"John huffed with a small chuckle.

Rodney did not seem convinced. "Last time I checked I still go be Rodney, not Rod which is what you said. Twice I might add!" 

John chuckled again and rolled his eyes. "I was about to cum, excuse me for not being able to get out the second syllable!"

"Really?" Rodney said, shoulders visible relaxing a little as some of the anger left him.

"Yes really, and I have definitely said that before in bed "

"I don't remember you ever saying my name that way," Rodney countered, narrowing his eyes at the soldier.

"Probably because you never had a reason to care." Reaching out, John took Rodney’s shoes from him and tossed them to the floor. "Now, you gonna finish what you started or leave me hanging?"

Leaning in, he nuzzled just under the other man's ear. "Hmmm? Rod-ney?"

[cntrl15]

Don't Marry Them - Cissatrix

Rated T. Incest Pairing June 7th prompt: "Don't Marry Them" from @sapphicmicrofics.

The tailor was excellent, one of the old masters of her craft. Rodolphus could well afford the best for his bride-to-be. Every quibble she solved with a stitch; each iteration more perfect than the last. Cissa sent her away after the seventh adjustment. Even in flawless white elegance, I looked like mourning.

“Why are you doing this.”

I looked into her eyes, and I did not allow myself to look away.

“I have nothing Cissa. I have nothing in this world but you, and that means I have nothing to offer you. The sad joke is, I could lay this whole sorry earth at your feet and it still wouldn’t be worth your heart to me. So I’m going to make a better world for you, and I’m going to take it, piece by piece, and then it’ll all be mine and I can make it yours. Rodolphus is just the first step.”

“Did you come up with that crap just now, or have you been practicing? We had nothing together and we were happy! Do you remember that? How happy we were when there was none of this? When you chased me into the trees and you made those promises to me that you’re about to break? That was the best day of my life, and we didn’t need Rodolphus then.”

“We were playing pretend Cissa! We were children! It’s time to grow up and look around!”

Every word was vile as it tore from my mouth. She shrank from me. There was a silence, and it felt like a precious thing dying.

“I can’t grow up. I was eleven years old Bella. I was eleven years old and I said I want to marry you, I’ll love you forever and ever, and then you fucking turned me around like you couldn’t bear to look me in the face and you whispered the most painfully, achingly beautiful words I’ve ever heard in my life. You wrote those words on my soul, Bella. And I can’t let it go. I’m stuck there, stuck as that stupid little girl in love with her big sister. God I’m so tired of being that stupid little girl. I’ve begged you before and I’ll beg you now, please don’t marry him Bella. I’m right here. I’m right fucking here.”

---

I wore a white dress for my wedding, and I painted my nails jet black.

Part of a series. Each day, 100 words longer than the last. Link to AO3.

[asheewrites]

So how does Raphael continue with his new foxy roommate? Change in diet? Change in habitat arrangement? Hunting it down looney toons style?

For once, Raphael could do something with his time apart from research. He knew now what his visitor looked like. And what his teeth felt like (painful, but negligible). After looking it up, it made sense that both meat and vegetables disappeared. Foxes were basically omnivores.

Adding a few eggs might be enrichment for the creature. Adding a lot more Taurin might actually help the creature feeling a bit better. As fox-alike as it looked, it might not actually be a fox, but it did eat meat! So it might crave the same things as a fox. On occasion. Whatever it really was.

It hasn't peed anywhere yet. No other excretions either. Very fox-unlike behaviour. But very understandable, if you do not want to be found and understand that concept.

He would continue to ignore that clear indicator to finally report the critter. It was not doing any harm.

He would make the best fox-food for his guest. And maybe a plate instead of a bowl. Seemed more respectful. A big plate. Maybe it would even leave some meat. Six pounds should be too much for any kind of creature of this size. Right?

He prepared and got it into the lab fridge for the evening - the fox would not show up when he was there, after all. Get it out all fresh in the morning.

Fox stories it was! Pax... and the Fantastic Mr. Fox. For starters. Which... would be most comfortably read in the pillow-nest he liked to call a bedroom. Mrh.

"Okay, my dear guest, I will close the window tomorrow, it's getting cold. Last chance, when I come back tomorrow, it'll be closed." Talking to the air was still ridiculous.

To do something less verbal, he half-closed the window - a kind of warning. It... was only fair.

The books were as ambiguous towards Raphael's opinion as any fox-spirit is in any fable... but they were nice. In the morning, the meat and some carrots and cucumbers were set out and he got to work.

...

Many patients and papertrails later, he returned to his rooms and... there was a fox laying on his side, next to an almost empty plate of meat.

Raphael stepped next to him and there was a whine coming from the animal.

"... could possibly have overestimated yourself?" He squatted next to it, looking down with a bit of concern.

[stargirl-lina]

some kaladin sketches i made while reading the way of kings

[rockingrobin69]

cheese (and strawberries)

They were in the middle of a perfectly nice stroll on the new boardwalk, talking about something silly, that breakfast Harry made with the strawberries, and how he even remembered that Draco liked them best, how did he get them, so late in the season, so juicy and fresh and sweet. How he arranged the table and looked up at Draco with that dopey grin and—

Harry’s wheels squeaked into a stop. “What did you say?”

“Hmm?” Draco glanced over his shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

“What was it you said?”

And Draco wasn’t panicking, because Harry was still smiling, same dopey thing, but he definitely had a rapid mental scan to make sure he hadn’t said anything rude, or unkind, or offensive, or ignorant or—but all he’s been talking about were strawberries and that morning and how much he—

“I said I love you.”

“Ha! Just made you say it again.”

Draco huffed, a shocked little ‘ffa!’. Harry leaned his elbows on the armrests, perfectly devious, utterly, disgustingly lovely. “Are you an actual cabbagehead, Potter? I said it at least a thousand times before.”

“And I’d like to hear it a thousand times more.”

He closed his eyes. Breathed in, breathed out, let the brief desire to push Harry off a cliff somewhere ebb and flow and disappear. Then came to lean down so his head was right in front of Harry’s, nose to nose. Almost touching.

“You’re an idiot,” he smiled sweetly, but his voice came out soft, traitorously so. “And a cheat. And you haven’t even said it back.”

“Hmm.” Harry let laughter linger on his lips just a second longer. Then sent out a hand, gently cupping Draco’s chin. “I love you. So much.”

“Good.” He closed the distance with a kiss. “Because I assure you, for this little trick, you’ll be doing the dishes tonight. All week.”

Harry laughed, such a cabbagehead, and took Draco’s hand. “Fancy stopping by the market on the way home? We could do with some cheddar. And maybe a box of strawberries?”

Draco grunted something disgusting or other, rolled his eyes, and walked away. Still laughing, Harry rolled into movement behind him. “Come on, Draco! You still love me, right?” the wheelchair creaked and his laughter, still rumbling, still going, “Draco…”

It was just a nice Sunday morning on the boardwalk. And yes, Draco loved that cabbagehead. So fucking much.  

[cuubism]

i feel like dream in human aus is usually characterized as being more stoic and stern while hob is more easygoing, but i think it would be funny to have a university au where hob is the professor who's like "no work is deserving of 100%. find 27 more sources and do it again" while dream is just like "they put their dreams into it, hob 🥺 A+! A+! A+! A+!"

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

idk if you're still doing these but how do you think the animorphs would do against the original X-Men?

[Obligatory joke about the X-Men having an advantage because they cloned Jake to make Bobby.]

Animorphs Advantages

Trust in leadership. Full offense to Scott, but he can be bossy and overbearing to the point where it causes infighting. Jake's team will not hesitate to go up against impossible odds at his command, and basically never questions his orders in the heat of battle.

Flight hours. Warren might outweigh Tobias by a good 200 pounds, but he doesn't spend literally 15+ hours a day 7 days a week flying around hunting. And Tobias gets very good at taking out bigger opponents like David's golden eagle or the helmacron ship.

Adaptability. The Animorphs can survive in most environments most of the time, and are nigh unkillable. Jean can be taken out by a rock to the head. Scott can be taken out by a rock to Jean's head.

X-Men Advantages

Coordinated attacks. They can and do hit their enemies from multiple fonts at once: Warren goes high while Hank goes low, Jean goes mental as Bobby goes physical, so on. The Animorphs' weapons are all variations on hitting or stabbing their enemies up close.

Sheer raw power. Scott can punch a hole in a mountain. Jean may or may not be able to destroy entire planets. Bobby can make an entire city in the time it takes Scott to level one.

The fact that they actually go to school. Hank's obviously the one with the big advantage over the C- average high school dropouts, but Scott, Bobby, and Jean are also smart enough to be teachers in some continuities.

Animorphs Disadvantages

Distance. This is always their drawback, but they only have melee attacks. Scott, Jean, and Bobby can all attack from half a mile away.

Leaky communication. A ton of their strategy depends on being able to talk to each other without their enemies hearing. Even if they figure out that Jean can hear every word they're saying, they're going to be massively hampered by their inability to talk privately during battles.

X-Men Disadvantages

Compassion. Assuming that this is winner-take-all no-holds-barred fight, the X-Men will not only hesitate to kill, but are likely to stop fighting if one of their own is killed. The Animorphs have no such pangs of conscience, or at least don't let those stop them.

Lack of control. All of them are, to some extent, afraid of their own powers or hesitant to use them. You don't see Rachel beating herself up about what'd happen if she let the beast win or got too much phoenix power.

Conclusion: I'm giving this one to the mutants. Sorry, morphers.

[reapergia]

From the Dirt, pt. 3

The séance room was beyond the foyer and to the right, labeled with a wooden plaque that read Tea Room.

Daisy snorted.

Warm light spilled into the hall from the part in the wine colored curtains in place of a door.

She flung them aside.

Pilar’s head snapped up; her dark eyes shot sparks. She was at the head of the table with her hands resting open-palmed along the edges, and though anger tightened her face, her voice came out smooth. “We are in a meeting.”

There were three other chairs around the table; a tired, older man who sat slumped and a younger woman with bloodshot eyes and tangled hair sat on either side of Pilar. Directly across from her in the third chair was the ghost of Richard Duncan.

“Ha.” Daisy pointed. “He was my client.”

Pilar’s nostrils flared. “I believe his brother was your client,” she said evenly. “And right now, his sister and father are mine, so if you would kindly wait outside-”

“So you can shoo him on? Absolutely not.” She marched to Richard’s spirit, but he didn’t look at her—or anyone aside from Pilar. The dead could only communicate with mediums—in this form. Daisy didn’t mind waiting until she reunited body and spirit to talk.

“But-” the woman hiccuped. “But he needs to move on. To rest.” She glanced at Pilar. “Right?”

“Yes. It was his time. You’re too late,” she added, looking at Daisy. “Richard is at peace. He’s letting go of his life, because it was over.” She set her hand on the woman’s arm.

Richard was fading from sight, still gazing up across the table. His expression was calm, peaceful.

Daisy gritted her teeth. There really wasn’t anything she could do now except tell her client that it was too late and she couldn’t bring his brother back. It was almost worth it though, when she held up her muddy hand and said, “I’ll need help with the body, then. He’s in your foyer.”

Pilar’s eyes went wide. A flush moved up her throat to his cheeks, and fury turned her eyes molten. “Miss McGowan, you will see yourself and your-” Her gaze flicked to Mr. Duncan- “work out of my home.”

“I was just thinking that myself.” She left another handprint on the wall outside the “tea room”.

It didn’t make up for the loss, but it helped.

From the Dirt, pt 1

Death was a game, as far as Daisy McGowan was concerned, and she figured she was winning as much as any mortal could.

Some people took it a little more seriously.

Mist swirled over the dead man, coiling through the ritual ingredients strewn over him.

Daisy's phone pulsed in her pocket; her lips curved. She liked to imagine the ringing was as outraged as the person on the other end. Pilar hated losing.

"Too late." Mud and honey dripped off her hands.

The man sat up with a gurgling gasp. White petals and tea slipped off of him.

"Welcome back."

[civetfish]

Was gonna wait to post this outside of ko-fi until I posted the corresponding part of my fic BUT since that's on hold for a hot second I might as well do it now!

So much yapping under the cut because I can't help myself lol (Mostly just a stream of consciousness, so its kind of a word salad)

I like to think that colors can change in brightness, mix with others, and appear in certain areas/patterns to give a bit of complexity to the use of colors for communication.

Top left is pretty straightforward- yellow is fear. It's the full body "puffed up cat" kind of fear where it's the ony emotion being processed. A lingering anxiousness would be shown more like a general yellow centered around the chest, while the rest of their body remains the same color. Feelings like a slight nervousness (Like handling a delicate object with big crab-claws, for example) would be shown through a "rippling" wave of yellow overtop of whatever colors are already present, originating from the chest or hands. ((link) this is pretty close to what I imagine (If the link doesn't work, skip to about 2:10) Spooky ocean warning! though if you're seeing this post in the first place I assume you're probably fine with it )

Green is analytical - He does this a few times in-game, and it's what makes the most sense to me. I also like to think it's the reasoning behind a lot of the Architect's... well, architecture. Green is a really predominant color in all of the architect structures / data hubs / machines / etc., so in cultural sense it would make sense for the Architects to be using the color representing their core values. The light blue around his sides is amusement/joy. (I put a little bit of this into my first chapter iirc) This is also based pretty closely to what we see in-game. (I.e. the little wave he does back at Robin, it's silly and playful and I love it sm)

The gray/dull tones (bottom left) are just that- the "muting/dulling" of whatever color it's applied to. The Architect who kind of killed his entire species is a little depressed if you can believe it! A muted blue (indigo, rather than light blue) would be melancholy, and the yellow tint in there is stress/dread. A completely dim gray Architect is basically completely numb, which is distinct from the typical "resting color" that Architects have when not feeling any emotion in particular at a given moment.

Dark blue (Or indigo, bottom right) is sadness. It could also be read as a sense of longing or wistfulnes, or a lot of other nuanced feelings depending on other colors or context clues.

And of course magenta (bottom middle) and that coral-ish color are love, more or less. It's a sense of fondness and deep affection, though Al-an himself is probably under the impression it's more like a loyalty and protectiveness; I don't think he has any real experience with love considering what we know about the network.

The coral color in the center of his chest is something I'll dive into more when I get that chapter out, but I think of it as a flush/heat, like an Architect blush. Orange is added to colors to increase the intensity of the emotion underneath, such as the inclusion with magenta to mean flustered or to red to mean a more heated rage. An embarassed architect would be fully orange, possibly leaning a bit towards pink, red or yellow depending on the specific situation.

For an "emotionless peak of innovation and efficiency" I am determined to shove SO many feelings into this shrimp horse. This stream of word spaghetti will eventually get rewritten into a basic color code.