#those pastries

[ask-those-pastries]

HELLO DELE… HOW ARE YOU

(gived him a funny stim toy)

The glubby.....

[hinamie]

hina... have you ever drawn nanami & yuji. pls i need to see them. my reluctant mentor and ray of sunshine. maybe eating together after a mission

cleaned up this request doodle from a while ago <3

[yandere-romanticaa]

There's something so oddly sweet about the "childhood friends to lovers" pipeline in fiction, but with Aemond Targaryen it takes such a deliciousy dark turn that my mind couldn't help but to linger on it.

Aemond can still recall every single harsh word his family has even thrown his way, how he can still feel the way his eyes would get wet but he had to hold it all in, because he could not afford to let himself to show even an ounce of weakness, not even to himself. Countless hours were wasted with him staring off into the distance somewhere, admiring the noble beasts which were flying high above in the sky, far away from the reach of anything and anyone.

Those were the times he was most envious of not having a dragon of his own. The green little beast known as jealousy would take over, causing him to want to step off the deep end.

Just as he felt the skin of his knuckles threatening to rip due to his tight grip, a warm pair of hands would make their way to him and hold onto him gently, as if he actually mattered somehow in the grand scheme of things.

Most of the time he would just stand there and let you embrace him, his heart doing cartwheels in his chest as his luscious blonde was carried by the wind. Although, if he had a particularly rough day, he would sometimes simply melt into your embrace. Cheek against cheek, Aemond could feel the worry radiating off you in spades.

It was dreadful how absolutely euphoric that made him feel.

You were his only real playmate growing up, causing him to become dreadfully possessive over you. It got so bad that Aemond outright forbade Aegon and Haelena of all people from even looking at you, let alone actually seeking you out. None of the other children in court were safe either as rumors spread fast that they ought to steer clear far away from you, lest they wished to suffer Aemond's thorny wrath.

The little paradise Aemond had cultivated for himself was not meant to last. One the same night he finally claimed his dragon, you had vanished along with your family.

He still remembers how excited he was to share the news with you, how he wished to tell you that once he was skilled enough he wished you to be the first person who would fly with him on his dragon.

No one else had the right to that privilege, absolutely no one.

But, things didn't go to plan. And truly, when do they ever?

Aemond had lost a lot that night and gained just as much. He had claimed a dragon, Vhagar, one of the largest and strongest dragons there were. In just one evening he became a one man army, there was nothing that could hold him back.

He can still feel just how tight the chair was he sat on as the maesters stitched his damaged eye, how hot the cracking fire next to him was, just how loud everyone was being... It was all irrelevant. The moment he could, he was going to seek you out and tell you everything, share each and every detail he could about his dragon...

... Until his mother told him the news.

Your family relocated due to some personal reasons and as Alicent went on and on about that, little Aemond felt his world shatter in a heartbeat.

He would rather take ten thousand cuts and stabs to his eye than ever face the pain he felt once he learned of your departure.

"It's for your own good too..." he can recall his mother saying, her voice sounding a little defeated.

"You shouldn't tie yourself to one person like you already have... I worry about you, Aemond."

That dark and stormy night, Aemond had made two vows to himself, vows he was going to sign with his own blood if he had to. The first was that no matter where in the world you were, no matter how far your family may try to take you, there would be no distance he would not tread, no man, woman or child he wouldn't slay just to hear the sound of your voice, to feel your soft skin, to be with you.

And the other was that he would make due on his promise of giving you a ride on Vhagar. He was in your debt for even trying to claim the mighty beast, it was only fair.

Aemond Targaryen took those two vows and kept them under lock and key, hidden deeply in his dark, which grew darker and darker. At the rate he was going, he would turn into a more terrifying beast than the actual dragon he had. Although, even dragons had their hearts.

You just happened to be Aemond's.

And he was going to come to you one day, soaked in the blood of his enemies, his arms open wide as he makes his way to embrace you once more.

[goldenlol]

I’m struggler

[jellazticious]

I was given one scrape of free time in this hellish schedule, now here's the gang

seperate pngs under the cut

[pinchan]

september fortnite dump ^_^

[randomfingthings]

Landoscar as dads at the beach 🤗 (they'd be chaotic as parents let's be ffr)

No but actually y'all think mclaren would let them babysit for a video.....ofc for like science 👀😗😭

[tumblermcashley]

a spin-off, please. i’m begging on hands and knees.

[useless-denmarkfacts]

Americans in Denmark: I especially loved the bread!

The 'bread':

[skitskatdacat63]

Was trying to find reference pics, and came across this pic of Jense having what feels like an uh...private moment with a pastry

[ask-those-pastries]

hey Bredele De Cassonade! what does a normal day at work look like for you?

"Even if the patients are rude now and then, I don't mind! I get to see my work friends... And Cappuccino, too! He's really nice."

[writing-for-life]

Dream’s Therapist

Nightmares

I peruse the client’s previous session notes to prepare as usual and decide to go over his journal entries together to find out what might cause his insomnia. It might also give clues as to why he believes he is a cosmic entity weaving stories, dreams and nightmares.

The client is punctual again (my receptionist informs me he was 20 minutes early). Upon entering my office, he hesitantly takes off his coat and lays it over his lap, neatly folded. I notice this is a deviation from his usual habit of keeping his coat on. I have once more made sure the room is only dimly lit to avoid discomfort, and I forego the apparently undesired small-talk.

DT: Last week, I asked you to journal about your daily routine and any thoughts that might come up. How did that go?

Dream: I did as requested. But unfortunately, nightmares refuse to be confined to paper.

DT (I notice he has apparently brought no journal or notes and rhymes things off from memory): So you did manage to sleep, but you had nightmares?

Dream (I notice the quirked eyebrow, but he seems to lift one corner of his mouth, too, which rather hints at amusement than annoyance): No to both. As I told you previously, I create them.

DT: Okay, tell me about them. What in particular made you journal about them?

Dream: Well, my nightmares are not unlike… unruly children (I notice a fleeting disengagement in his gaze before he quickly shakes his head and resumes). There is the Corinthian…

DT: Your nightmares have names and distinct personalities?

Dream (I notice he looks at me as if I’ve got two heads): Why yes, of course they do. They fulfil particular functions, and I gave them sentience. May I proceed?

DT (I notice prickliness due to my interruption, and I remind myself I really shouldn’t do that): Of course.

Dream: Thank you (He actually rolls his eyes at me at this stage). The Corinthian generally… misbehaves and tells me he wants to feel what it is like to be human. And thinks I only care about my realm and my rules.

DT (I notice a degree of displacement, projection and delusion all rolled into one and briefly contemplate my course of further questioning): And do you think he is right?

Dream (He voices something resembling a groan): Of course not.

DT: Well, last time, you told me you care about rules and responsibilities to a great degree. That you are the king of dreams and nightmares. That feelings are a quaint human invention. It sounds like he might have picked up on those… vibes? How does it make you feel if I suggest that might be a possibility?

Dream (I notice his fingers clutching the coat in his lap very tightly): It makes me feel annoyed that you are ignoring the fact that I don’t feel.

DT: You feel annoyed?

Dream (I notice his Adam’s apple moves up and down in quick succession, and his gaze briefly turns blank. He then blinks and looks straight at me again): The other nightmare is an endless staircase. I shall not tell you its name at this point as not to confuse you (He looks at me with an expression that hints at haughtiness. No, I think it’s pity). Each step leads to a different fear—abandonment, failure… (He stops himself and looks at me as if he expects an interruption.)

DT (I notice he has ignored my prodding for admitting that he does indeed feel. I, in turn, decide to play along): Interesting. And how do you relate to that particular nightmare?

Dream (I notice a somewhat annoyed sigh): I don’t. I am its creator.

DT: But isn’t that a relationship?

Dream (He looks out the window): Perhaps.

DT (I notice he seems somewhat zoned out): And did you ever think about bridging the gap between creator and creation?

Dream (I notice the eye-roll again before he looks at me): That is hardly necessary because they are me. After a fashion. As in: Not entirely. But also: Yes.

DT (I quickly hover on the thought whether this admission can be called progress or not): And how does that make you feel?

Dream: That they are… familiar, and comforting, even in their chaos (I notice he has forgotten to go into an immediate rant about not feeling and start to think we might be getting somewhere). But some of them are just extremely… disappointing.

DT: If they are disappointing, what would need to happen to make it less so? Could you… change these nightmares? Imagine them to be different?

Dream (I notice he uncomfortably straightens in his chair, and his jawline hardens): You are aware you, to a degree, want me to change myself by suggesting so?

DT: I don’t want anything.

Dream (I notice something that could almost be mistaken for a smile, and he blinks slowly): That is a lie.

DT (He is right of course, but I notice he is trying to turn the tables on me every time he wants to avoid a topic): What I was trying to imply is that we are not talking about my wants when we are on the topic of yours.

Dream: How unfortunate. In any case, do not trouble yourself, I know them anyway. (I notice he leans back in his chair and looks… smug?)

DT (I choose to ignore whatever this is): What about you then? What do you want?

Dream (I notice he looks at his boots. A few minutes of silence ensue. They don’t feel too uncomfortable): I want the endless staircase to lead to a cosmic bakery. I want each step to smell of freshly baked bread.

DT (He is clearly mocking me, he told me he hardly eats. I also notice it is past my usual lunchtime, I like bread and I’m hungry. But I decide to see where this is going. I stay silent. I stare at him. He still stares at his boots.)

Dream: There are also teacups in that bakery, and they gossip about the weather, debate existentialism, and occasionally sip Earl Grey. I think they are staging a revolution.

DT: A revolution?

Dream (He still stares at his boots): Yes, it is indeed absurd.

DT: Absurdity is our ally in here, nothing to get hung up on.

Dream (I notice his gaze finally disengaging from his boot and instead locking in on me. His mouth twitches. I am not sure if he smiles?): They demand equality. The cracked teacups want reparations for their shattered handles. The chipped ones insist on universal healthcare. And the most beautiful, rarest porcelain ones are terrified of being replaced.

DT (It gets harder not to laugh, but I just about manage since I can’t beat the feeling that this is just superficially funny but actually hinting at something deeper. It always does): And how do you feel about their demands?

Dream: I fear a teacup uprising (He flings his coat over the armrest of his chair). Can you imagine the horror of tiny porcelain picket lines?

DT (I am really grasping here): What if you gave them a common goal?

Dream (I notice he raises an eyebrow and cocks his head): What, like summoning the Teapot of Enlightenment? The one that brews wisdom instead of tea? Staining saucers in the process and leaving rings on tables?

DT: Gaining wisdom can be a messy affair I guess?

I notice the room seems to smell of tea and imaginary pastries and wonder what’s going on.

Dream (I notice he gauges my reaction for a good two minutes. I manage to hold his gaze. He holds mine. Until he doesn’t and looks at his boot again. The silence lasts for another three minutes): You are indulging my attempts at weaving absurd stories that are in no way related to your questions. Why?

DT: I am not indulging you. I’m letting you communicate whatever you wish to communicate. You might think it’s unrelated, but it tells me things, and that’s enough.

Dream (I notice he still doesn’t lift his chin, but he looks at me): And what does it tell you?

DT: Does it matter?

Dream: Perhaps.

DT: I don’t think it matters what I think about you, I am just here to ask questions that make you think. Maybe hold up a mirror on occasion.

Dream (I notice that his eyes disengage again, and his voice turns very quiet): What if I don’t like mirrors?

DT: I guess that’s okay, you don’t have to like the mirror. But if you don’t like what it reflects at you, you could change either what stands in front of it or how you relate to that reflection. Like you just changed the way you relate to your nightmares.

Dream (I notice he looks at me again): And what makes you think I changed the way I relate to my nightmares?

DT: Because you just told me a story about cosmic bakeries and teapots that weaved quite a bit of light into the darkness?

Dream (I notice he sighs and looks out the window): Like ink and stardust.

DT (I don’t follow): Pardon?

Dream (I notice he grabs his coat): I trust our time is up?

DT: Almost, but not quite. You can make use of the remainder if you want.

Dream (He gets up and puts on his coat): I do not. However, I shall… think. And write. In the journal.

DT: Same time next week then? Can I use ink to put your appointment in my diary?

Dream (I think he smiles, but it is hard to tell for certain): You may. I am sure you will also provide the stardust…

< Previous Session

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[instability1]

Cafe Hope!

Lock transparency saved my life

And if you ask about any of the anything, I don't know. Why are the muffins falling forward when the plate is sideways? I dunno. What's that things next to the cake? I dunno. Why isn't Tallulah's plate full? No clue bro :)

[canisalbus]

While the trick-or-treating comic was very cute, I cannot imagine Vasco not being a little treat kinda guy

Are you telling me he doesn't randomly buy himself candy just for the dopamine and the child-like joy? That he doesn't indulge on halloween spirit and buy spooky candy just for him and Machete?? (who barely eats it but halloween spirit comes first, practically second)

.

[biropen]

The hair.

The hands.

The GRIP.

He’s everything.

[64sue]

me whe when O- Oscah...