#wise words from custard

[custardth3rian]

lil reminder

be yourself and do not care what others will think of you, its your life, your beautiful the way u are. if you dont love yourself, remind, im here for you. dont cut urself, ur not paper, dont judge urself, ur not a book. dont hang urself, ur not clothes. if you wanna share stuuf, or talk to someone, reminder that im here, whaiting for you <3

[sunseed-fandump]

Heyyyyyyy 😎 do you have more headcannons for the Gingerbrave gang 🙏 (plz)

More Gingerbrave & Friends Headcanons To Induce Brainrot

Gingerbrave is a really big sports fan! His favorite is baseball.

Before finding herself in the Cookie Kingdom, Chili Pepper Cookie was being pursued by bounty hunters. The accidental summon by the kids actually got her out of a tight spot.

The only reason Chili Pepper did not join Gingerbrave and Wizard Cookie when they went to go find the Golden Cheese Kingdom was because she wasn't in the Cookie Kingdom at the time. She was following a lead for a decent heist, but after staking it out, it was a bust. Imagine her shock when she learned what she had missed!

She was also super pissed.

Sometimes when they're on the edge of sleep, Gingerbrave, Strawberry Cookie, and Wizard Cookie hear the distant whistle of a train.

When word got back to the others that Gingerbrave was going to the Crème Republic, Custard Cookie III seemed a little apprehensive...

Custard Cookie III rarely talks about the Republic and becomes a bit more reserved when Madeleine Cookie sings its praises.

Like wise, Gingerbrave, Strawberry, and Wizard have a silent rule not to talk about the Witch or where they came from.

Chili Pepper Cookie has no idea where any of these kids came from, but she knows what it looks like to run away from a bad experience. She doesn't pry, and she doesn't let anyone else pry either.

Strawberry Cookie has a playlist for each of her friends. She would NEVER share them though.

She also has a diary hidden somewhere in her room. If anybody found it, she thinks she'll explode from embarrassment.

[windsweptinred]

I would like to get to know you better!

Thank you for the tag @marvagon coyly accepts that Desunity kiss 😚💖💖💖

1. 3 ships I really like right now: Just three? 🥺... I'll pull them from Sandman as it's the fandom I'm most active in here on tumblr. If I was pulling from all my fandom pairings I'd be here all day trying to narrow it down. 🙈

Corinthiel (The Corinthian x Daniel) They're my sun, moon and stars, always on my mind. The very peak of mount feralfan. My boys. 🤍💛

Desunity (Desire of the Endless x Unity Kinkaid) My darlings. My beloveds. I fell in love with this ship from the moment I first saw it and have been utterly devoted ever since.

Last ship.... Ooooo so torn. It's going to have to be ConstantDeath by a teeny tiny percentage. Joanne Constantine x Death of the Endless. I loved this ship so damn much when it was first suggested. But then it seemed to dissappear into the mists of time. Femslash weekend has brought it back in abundance though and I am screaming with joy.

Honourable mentions to the tender box of chocolates that is Callienne and Dreamling will always be my first sandman ship. You never forget your first. There's something about RoseGault I find intriguing too. Oh and must never forget Despoe!

2. First ever ship: Daiken/Kensuke.. Daisuke Motomiya and Ken Ichijouji from Digimon season 2. My OG sunbeam and soggy raincloud. I'll still wander back from time to time a read a fanfic or two.

3. Last song: Bushes of Love by Bad Lip Reading.... 'We've all got a chicken, duck, woman thing waiting for us.' Wise words I live by. 😎

4. Last movie: Werewolf by Night. I'll admit I'm suffering immensely from Superhero fatigue. But I adore Marvel's ventures into the supernatural. Werewolf by Night has become a staple halloween film for me. And I have rewatched Moonknight soooooo many times.

5. Currently reading: I think I've done an ask about what book I'm reading fairly recently. So instead, I'm on Adult fanfiction.net...remember that? Revisiting some of my favorite Book Sherlock Holmes x John Watson fanfics that never made the journey across to AO3.

6. Currently watching: The Fall of the House of Usher. It's not October for me without a Mike Flanagan series. And I'm giving True Detective a try. Gritty southern gothic x lovecraftian vibes.. It's perfection!

7. Currently eating: A vanilla custard slice... Tasty, indulgent and infamous for reducing grown ass adults to toddler levels of eating. 😆 It is not possible to consume these things genteelly. All part of their charm.

8. Currently craving: That feel of winter in the night, that slight smell of ice in the air. You know we've offically entered the dark half of the year then. We're truly in Autumn.

Tag nine people: (or so, no pressure!) @bobbole @rriavian @illumi-nati-png @jazzy-a @melrocks21 @bazzybelle @tickldpnk8 @mashumaru and @ibrithir-was-here

[caersidiblodeuwedd]

recipe review I guess I made a pie I want to talk about it…

ok so instead of baking a cake for my birthday I make a desert/recipe I haven’t tried before (been doing this since I was 11) , this year I tried a Earl Grey Pie. It was an American recipe and I’m not American so spending time converting the most confusing way of measuring something (fucking cups?) into grams was fun. I got the recipes from prettylittletraveler.com.

overall tasted great, my biggest issues though were the pastry , the horribly formatted (at least on a phone format) recipe and just not enough variety within the layers.

ok the reason I chose this recipe is it adds a thin layer of chocolate ganache which some other Earl grey pie recipes didn’t add. issue 1. The pastry recipe wasn’t good, I don’t know if it was just my lack of baking pastry but it wasn’t particularly flavourful and I don’t think it makes sense with this pie, a much better pie base I think and will do if I make this again would be a biscuit base ( where you smash biscuits into crumbs add melted butter mix together than press flat and let chill).One I always find biscuit bases better texture wise, it’s a better contrast with the crunchy crumbly base and the often smooth creamy fillings. Then if you make it a biscuit base it becomes a Tea and Biscuit pie which I think is just cuter in concept.

issue 2. The recipe is so confusingly formatted, all the different steps are presented in a big block of text instead of bullet points or smaller paragraphs. If your phone goes of and you need to check the recipe again it’s hard to do so and find the same place. Also for the Earl grey filling it said in the instructions to add butter after you take it off the heat for a second time yet no amount or even the word butter is listed in the Earl grey filling section of the ingredients list. Also it says use five teabags I used like 12 I think and the taste was still pretty subtle so…

issue 3.out side of the pastry it’s just cream. The layers are pastry , ganache , Earl grey filling and whipped cream on top. The Earl grey filling starts off as this pseudo tea infused custard and the texture of that is really heavy but it’s smooth and glossy. The recipe advices to add some of your whipped cream to the filling. This does make it more light and and airy to eat, it’s nice and makes sense. Then you put more whipped cream on that which is more of the same light texture but with less flavour. Then there is the ganache which is chocolate melted in cream (the recipe got this wrong, when makeing ganache you only heat the cream then use the creams heat to melt in your chocolate, the recipe said to microwave them both together at the same time. Which no… that’s wrong and not a proper ganache) so thats even more cream in the pie. And it feels fine when you are eating it and then it sits in your stomach and you realised you could’ve just drank cream and you would feel the same. Like it stops being airing and just feels heavy after you’ve eaten it. Like maybe if the earl grey filling was didn’t have whipped cream and was the same like custardy filling it might be better, it would at least have different textures which I think it needs.

Overall though did like it. I know it sounds like I didn’t but I decorated it with purple triceratops and green glitter so it was fun. I also used oat cream for all of it because of my lactose intolerant roommate. She hasn’t eaten it yet she’s still asleep, that’s mainly why I’m hear everyone is out busy or asleep and I just want to discuss the dessert I made with someone so…

how do you end tumblr posts? Bye I guess?

[superbeans89]

Loose Change

Word Count: 749

Prompt: Write about an encounter with a supernatural creature.

A visit to the pet store had left Julia high and dry.

Sure, the animals were nice and the company would’ve been even nicer, but then there was the smarmy guy at the cash register, the costs of it all, and the deadened look in that hamster’s eyes. Anything from that place was either going to hate her or die on her within a week, she just knew it.

But still, that meant another night in the new apartment, all alone. Inviting Jade or Alana over for the night was only a temporary fix, and honestly, her fridge regretted every visit.

With a short sigh, Julia glanced over her shoulder towards the animal shelter down the street. What about a fixer upper pet?

Something like a cat would be low maintenance, plus they’d be given a second chance, and hopefully give her company in return. She checked her phone; still two hours ‘til work. That was more than enough time to fall in love with something.

Tying her crimson curls back into submission, she straightened out her dress, because new animal owners were smart and responsible looking, and began her trek over to the shelter.

Only to immediately get stopped by the red man at the traffic lights.

Julie deflated. Fate itself seemed to be against her. As cars droned past, their greyed-out cargo staring mindlessly ahead, she couldn’t help but feel her gaze wander while she waited. 

Against the granite drudgery of the city,  a sparkle of light caught her eye just a couple of feet away. The red man was still red, so she knelt down to investigate and found herself a lucky quarter under a drainpipe.

Sometimes it was the little things, but this definitely made her Tuesday. She could get herself a free coffee from the vending machine at work. No one would judge if they saw a grown woman pulling coins from a drain, would they?

Julia shrugged; judging was for when she was on the clock. That was an hour and forty-eight minutes away. Plenty of time to be a messy reprobate.

A cursory glance; the coast looked clear enough. She reached out for the coin, only for a hissing to emerge from the drainpipe.

Julia retracted her hand. Picking up change was one thing, but coming to work splattered with sewage was another entirely.

It wasn’t water that came spilling out of the pipe however, rather a tiny lizard. Two, maybe three inches long at the most, the little beastie nevertheless curled up around the coin and snarled at the invading giant. Fluttering a pair of minuscule wings, it chomped down on the coin and tried to drag it back into its drainpipe. No such luck.

Julia straightened up again. It looked like that coin was spoken for. What a dragon was doing in the middle of the city was anyone’s guess, but pissing it off for a free coffee didn’t sound wise.

The red man flashed green at last. Julia scraped a dime out of her purse and flicked it the dragon’s way, then took her chance and scampered across the road.

The tiny dragon’s beady eyes watched her retreating away. Its tongue flickered curiously.

Half an hour later, Julia left the pet shelter, exactly one cat heavier. Of the ten or so to choose from, it was Scrungus the one-eyed tortoiseshell that stole her heart. The nice lady there said that she had a penchant for eating custard and sleeping with her head in tissue boxes. Two things Julia could provide, for sure.

Tucking the kitten in a carry case under one arm, she was just calculating her route back home when a bizarre noise hissed up at her.

“...huh?” She frowned. Kneeling down, she noticed the very same dragon as before - well it had to be. How many other dragons were there in this city?

Gurgling in delight, the mini reptile had what looked like a jewel lodged in its jaws. Was that a thanks? Did dragons understand that concept?

The little dragon scampered onto her outstretched hand and up her arm, resting on her shoulder.

From no pets to two in the space of an hour, Julia’s downtimes were better than  ever. Scrungus napped in tissue boxes, occasionally waking up with them stuck to her head and scattering about the house in a panic, while Sterling the dragon had a fishbowl full of change to parade around in.

It wasn’t much, but it was the company she needed.

[deceitfuldevout]

Hidden Treasure (Part 8)

Arranged Marriage AU: Dark!Tommy Shelby x Wife!Reader

Warning(s): Angst, Fluff, Mentions of past domestic violence.

Author's note(s): Innocent heartfelt chapter (cue the fluff).

Your husband would have Finn either send messages to you, or simply keep an eye on your wellbeing. Although Finn hadn’t a clue of what was going on, he knew you of all people didn’t deserve this sort of treatment. He made sure to visit as often as he could for company.

You were grateful the moment Tommy finally let you out that dreadful basement. You hadn’t forgotten the promise made a few weeks ago to Finn. To bake him a signature custard from your bakery. He’d been dying to try. Soon, it became common for the youngest Shelby brother to stop by. He would either have a letter or message from Tommy. Most of them were if your husband would be late or earlier from work.

You’d pack Finn some lunch before bidding him a farewell. Most of the time it was just you and Charlie in one big, empty house. To say that he was a sweet child was an understatement. He had the power to make anyone’s cold heart melt. How could such a charming child come from a man like Tommy? You hadn’t a clue.

Of course, you could never replace Grace. You weren’t the one who’d given birth to him. But Charlie was your son in every single way that mattered. There were even a few special moments you’d spend with the other Shelby family members. You especially enjoyed bonding with the women of the family. Teatime with Polly was a particular favorite. She would give you as much advice as a wise woman could. In a way, Polly became your second mother.

As you were setting up the table Polly had been bouncing Charlie on her lap. Finn decided to stop by since today’s work was slower than usual, he choose to stay a little longer. Polly examines her finished tea. Her expression was confused at first, then startled. She shows Finn the cup, and it was as if he'd read something from it.

Polly let’s out a small sigh, “Tell me my dear…” she places her cup on the table, “…has my nephew been treating you well?”

You’re at a loss for words. How could you answer to her? Should you tell her the truth? How would she react? You made up your mind to keep it short and subtle, “Tommy provides me with everything a wife may need. What more could a woman want?” you try your best to force a smile, hoping that it was a good enough answer.

But Polly was suspicious that something wrong within your marriage. She could sense it, “You didn’t answer my question dear, has he been treating you well?” her voice is sterner this time. You tense. Your heart races, “I-I’m not sure what you mean...” you play off. Polly could tell that over the period of time since you've been married, the flicker of light in your eyes had disappeared. Blown out by the cold blues that followed into your nightmares.

At that point, Finn has had it. As soon as Polly leaves, he tells you of his plan, “Tommy’s going to some event next week, and he won’t be back until the morning,”

“Finn…” you warn. It wouldn’t be a good idea breaking your husband's trust. A man like Tommy never forgets. Finn grumbles, “I’m sick and tired of seeing him treat you like--like the dirt on his shoes! The bloke!” his hands ball into fists. You don’t think twice about his statement, in fact you understood completely why your new brother had the right to react like this. You sigh, reaching for his hands to hold, “Could you do me a favor?”

You were kept busy for the next few days, planning on yet another escape. Hopefully the last. Finn would send letters to your sister who lived in the next town. It had been quite a while since the two of you would communicate. Her and her husband had been busy since delivering their new baby.

So, it would take time to pack up their belongings before moving in with your parents. Finn would stop by the postal, on the way to wherever he was heading in order to avoid suspicion. For once it felt like everything was going your way.

As each day went by, you grew more excited to leave this place, once and for all. You let out your hair, made yourself more presentable, you even started smiling again. Tommy took note of how the corners of your lips would curl upwards on their own as you hummed a tune while making supper.

He’d been silently observing you adjusting to your new life. After putting away the dishes, you hoist Charlie on a hip before leaving the kitchen. Tommy listens carefully to your footsteps leading up the stairs before following them. He stops in front of his bedroom door, reaching for the knob.

But before he’s had a chance to twist it open a faint sound of laughter erupts. He opens the door to spot you and Charlie on the bed. Your hands reaching to tickle the boy’s sides. Seemingly unknowing that your husband is witnessing the display of affection.

You hoist the toddler into the air. Tommy notices your expression. For the first time in months, you're actually smiling. It was like some sort of trance. He leans against the door frame. Seeing you with his boy felt, in a strange way, right. As if you both were meant to be. His son loves you. You drop Charlie onto your bosom to catch your breath.

Soft giggles manage to slip out of every exhale. Charlie’s hair tickles your chin so you tilt it to the side. That’s when you notice Tommy standing at the doorway. His posture is more relaxed than usual. For how long had he been standing there?

You look away from his gaze. It always did make you nervous. His fingers twitch, curling into his palms, “I uh...” he slides them into his pockets, “I want you to be my guest for an event,” Tommy looks up, waiting for an answer. You raise a brow and sit up, still holding the boy in your arms, “Who’ll watch over Charlie?”

“Finn offered to keep an eye on him.” of course.

“Alright,” you agreed, already knowing how it would play out. Tommy nods, “I’ll be back, ‘bout three hours from now.” he checks his pocket watch. Double taking the time. You hadn’t planned for him to take you anywhere. It’ll only delay your plans. But you couldn’t risk him questioning his decision, “Sure thing.” you return. Tommy looks as though he had one last thing to say, “And uh...wear something nice,” He turns away, leaving as soon as he came. Now that was odd.

[ziggymars]

Drunk in Love

Pairings: drunk!Timothée Chalamet x drunk!Reader

Summary: You and Timothée have a nice dinner and drinks over a long weekend and it ends up turning into a heavenly dry humping session.

Warnings: alcohol, dry humping, dirty talk (he’s always talking dirty in my writing I can’t help it), unprotected sex, cockwarming

Word Count: 1,280

Authors Note: Sorry I didn’t get more into the cockwarming part of this request but I’ll add more of that kink to my writing :) sorry about the shit mobile formatting. Sorry if this is short. Also I posted this last night but it never went to the tags ):

masterlist

The best orgasms you and Timothée shared were the ones that started with desperation. And the second half of your night out had been nothing but. The two of you were taking a long weekend at a lake house, taking time to enjoy each other and each other’s presence. It was a weight off both your shoulders work-wise and you were feeling free. You shared drinks and appetizers at a cute restaurant with seating by the docks. You were feeling a little more than tipsy and so was he. After you finished your drinks and food, the two of you took a walk by the docks.

Which ended in a handsy, needy make out session, maritime lights and music flooding your senses. Something about it felt so intoxicating. Immediately after it ended you were scrambling for an Uber. Keeping your hands off of each other for the duration of the ride was borderline award worthy. He kept his eyes on you almost the entire time, his tongue darting occasionally to lick his lips as he admired

Now you were both stumbling through the door of your AirBnB, hands exploring each other’s bodies with fervor and gasping into each other’s mouths, barely able to turn on the light switch. The both of you kept moving, crashing into furniture and giggling as you went until you fell into the couch, settling into his lap. Old fashioned. That’s all you could taste. Whiskey old fashioned and his mouth. Your favorite flavor, your own personal Saffron.

The only thing you could feel was his tongue and his hands rubbing up the expanse of your thighs. A moan escaped from his lips and slid down your throat and it sent heavenly vibrations across your abdomen. Your hips pushed down against his at the feeling of this sensation, rubbing yourself against him, only thing separating your lower half from the world was a stringy thong. The black dress you were wearing was now being pushed up your thighs by his hands that were now traveling up your tummy and to your chest. His hands kneaded at your tits roughly, the movement of his hips matching the energy, bucking up desperately.

Timothées fingers pinched and toyed with your nipples, evoking breathless gasps from your lips. He abruptly pulled you up into his chest for a brief moment so he could tug his slacks down, just to his knees and not his boxers. The entire time you were pulled away from his clothed hard on you whimpered, wigging your hips pathetically. His eyebrows raised and a wicked smirk crept onto his pretty wet lips, “Aw, feeling needy are you? You want daddy’s cock so bad, huh?” You nodded quickly at his question, replacing a verbal response. He finally lowered you back down to sit in his lap and you sighed with relief, immediately grinding your heat against his.

“Would you do anything to have me make you cum, mon amour?”

Oh fuck, that was the name that never failed to drive you crazy. The way the letters curled around his tongue like melting custard on a hot sunny day was enough to make anybody fall in love. And when he was calling you that while he was laid underneath you, hands relishing your beautiful body? It was almost heaven. “Yes, daddy,” you purred softly, nodding like your life depended on it “I’d do anything!! Anything you want!” You bit your lip softly, finally resuming your hips movements, groaning quietly with pleasure and relief.

Daddy did to him what Mon Amour does to you. His eyes nearly rolled into the back of the head at the word. The feeling of your pussy against his hardening cock and the sight of you, peering up at him through now streaked mascara’d lashes and pouty red lips becoming too much for him to handle. “If you want it so bad, baby, then do it like this.” He whispered now, adjusting his position and tightened his grips on your hips, grinding up now against you with a steady rhythm “Cum on my cock like this. I know I can make you cum without even touching you.” He was right, but he didn’t need to be so cocky about it. You rolled your eyes at him. “And I want to watch you do it, baby.”

If he wasn’t SO right, you would’ve maybe tried to have prove him wrong. But he wasn’t, and you wanted him so bad. You would have him any way that you could get him and you had a sneaking suspicion that he would reward you wholly later. You now moved your hands to grip at his shoulders, fingernails digging lightly into his skin. You whimpered loudly and your hips twitched, relaxing into him. It felt amazing and that was evident as you blushed. Your thong was starting to get soaked and he could feel through his boxers the wet patch that was forming. “Does that feel good, baby?” He cooed, smirk still glued to his face as he watched you. “Feels good for me.” Timothée groaned, his cool appearance faltering as he showed just how much he was enjoying this too. His hands trailed back down your body to grip your ass, pressing you downwards. His fingers grazed lower and dipped to either side of your cunt, spreading you out a so you were rubbing your clit down against him. You let out a long and low moan at the feeling.

You nodded your head and ground your hips against his, feeling his cock beneath you throb. “Feels s-so good, baby.”

Minutes felt like hours to you as you pleasured yourself against nothing but his cock hidden behind cotton. You were soon cumming above him with a cry of his name, your walls clenching around nothing and you could actually feel yourself get wetter for him. Your head buried in his shoulder weakly as you continued to ride out your orgasm, rubbing and bucking against him, an endless sea of his name and lewd moans leaving your mouth. Timothée could barely take it anymore, his hips twitching and his breath was speeding up more and more.

He took matters into his own hands, quickly ripping his boxers down his thighs to meet his slacks and he was helping you lift your hips up. His long fingers stretched to pull your thong to the side. Timothée immediately was pushing himself inside of you and thrusting upwards, his hands guiding your hips, not letting you do anything. It was enough teasing for him, he was nearly already to cum.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..” tumbled from his lips breathlessly and his head threw back as he fucked into you with reckless abandon. You didn’t mind one bit, you just moaned desperately into his ear as he had his way with you, licking and suckling at his milky skin that was now slick with sweat.

“I’m going to cum!” He grunted, fingernails digging into your skin now as he came deep inside you without a care. That was for sober Timo to work out.

“Oh, fuck.” You breathed against his skin and you moved to get out of his lap but he stopped you, pushing you back down against him.

“Stay.” He murmured sleepily, pulling you into his chest. He was very drunk and very tired. So were you, so you didn’t protest his wish. You shifted slightly in his lap to get more comfortable and you both sighed with contentment. The two of you fell asleep wrapped up together, his cock buried cozy inside of you the entire night.

Safe to say, it was a very fun surprise in the morning.

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

{▪︎Expectations Of A Ruler!▪︎}

Self Aware Cookie Run Kingdom! Cookie Queen (Y/N) Au!

"Your grace, you have received a important letter!" Wizard Cookie exclaimed, walking forward with the letter in his hand. Gingerbrave and Strawberry Cookie beside him, staring in awe as he took out the letter from it's confinement. "Oh?" Carefully fixing the puffy skirt, the queen tries to carefully descended off the throne.

To which Pure Vanilla Cookie quickly aids her. "Thank you Pure Vanilla, I'm not used to this kind of get up." "It's alright my sweetest queen, it's a honor." (Y/N) lets him guide her to the young magic user. "Your highness," Wizard Cookie starts, giving a small nod of acknowledgment to Pure Vanilla Cookie.

"A sugar gnome had given this to me before I came to deviler my daily report of magical findings."

"I see, would you mind reading it to me, Wizard Cookie?"

"Of course! *Ahem!* "Dear Queen (Y/N) Cookie, rightful ruler of [Kingdom Name]. May we humbly request for your presence at Her Majesty Hollyberry's Royal Gala." "

" "It would be a absolute honor if you can attend. You may bring your court if you'd like, but you and them must be in your finest attire for this event. We sent you this invitation in advance so we may be prepared if you announced your arrival. Thank you for reading this invitation. Signed by the Royal Berry Family." "

Wizard Cookie finished, folding the letter back in its envelope. He bows his head as he awaited for the female cookies answer. "You should totally go Your Highness!" Gingerbrave said excitedly, jumping up and down in his spot. Wizard Cookie shot his friend a glare. "It's the Queen's decision! Not yours Gingerbrave."

"Hmmm, well what do you think, Strawberry?" (Y/N) asked politely, unsure for herself if she should attend.

"Oh, umm... Maybe? I dunno, I'm not really sure. It sounds important, so maybe.. But if you don't wanna go-!" "Don't stress about it Strawberry. It's alright, I'll figure it out. Thank you, you three." The cookies bow and wish (Y/N) luck.

Sighing, (Y/N) let's Pure Vanilla escort her back to the throne. "What do you think Pure Vanilla? It would be rude to not come, but, with everything happening I'm just not sure..."

The male cookie smiles softly at the worried female cookie. "I think it will do you and everyone else some good to go. And, I haven't seen Hollyberry Cookie in quite some time. It would be good to catch up."  The former ruler replied honestly.

(Y/N) takes in his words and remembered the advice of her fellow cookies. Sighing, she decided to relent. "Well, it sounds fun and I'm sure some moving around will do me some good." Pure Vanilla wholeheartedly agreed, his smile beaming brightly on his doughy skin. "I'll go inform Custard Cookie, I bet he would be excited to rule over the Kingdom for a day."

"Are you sure that is wise? He's still so young and those responsibilities seem a bit too much on his tiny shoulders." (Y/N) questioned the powerful healer, remembering Custard Cookie The Thirds, story quest.

"I agree my dearest, but if he wishes to be king one day he must learn. So I see no problem with him doing a test-run, besides he will have his confidants to aid him. And we will only be gone for a short while." Pure Vanilla per-swayed the queen. Which she had finally agreed.

-

Self Aware Cookie Run Kingdom!

Queen (Y/N) Cookie! Ancient + Legendary!?

Story: A mysterious, humble cookie from a different beginning that became royalty overnight. Known for their fourth coming kindness to all that reside or visit her kingdom. Her dough is sweeter than sugar cane and her smiles are warmer than fresh bread. How can any cookie resist such a sweet-hearted queen.

Relationship Charts:

[Pure Vanilla Cookie]

"You are the one that is cherished by so many. I'm one of those many." (Friendly)

[Custard Cookie The Third]

"You are not of age to take the throne just quite yet."  (Family)

[Gingerbrave]

"I must accompany you on your amazing adventures." (Family)

[Strawberry Cookie]

"Everything will be alright, no need to shy away from it all." (Friendly)

[Wizard Cookie]

"You have such a skill with magic!" (Trust)

[Pitya Dragon Cookie] 

"Ah.. Pitya Dragon Cookie. To what do I owe the pleasure once again?" (Friendly)

[Milk Cookie]

"I admire a cookie with such ambitions!" (Friendly)

[Herb Cookie]

"Your plants are always so lovely, I'm glad to see them grow again." (Friendly)

[Tiger Lily Cookie]

"She is quite interesting, though I worry for her..." (Friendly)

[Mint Choco Cookie]

"His performances are so pleasing, the melody is always refined." (Friendly)

[Whipped Cream Cookie]

"The way he dances makes my heart jump! Why does he charm me so?" (Friendly)

[Dark Choco Cookie]

"You only wanted what was best for your kingdom, if you can't forgive yourself. I will instead. (Friendly)

[Dark Cacao Cookie]

"Even the greatest and strongest cookies fall, but that doesn't mean that they are worthless. I promise you that."

[Hollyberry Cookie]

"Haha! Your kingdom is so lively, just like you! I wish I could of had more of your famous Berry Juice!"

[Dark Enchantress Cookie]

"I understand your goal, but the path you choose to make it so, is... Not right."

[Red Velvet Cookie]

"The Cake Hounds are so sweet!"

[Rassberry Cookie]

"Your way with your sword is very familiar, but over all, amazing!"

[Eclair Cookie]

"Me? Well, I guess we are all apart of history? Hehe!"

[Affogato Cookie]

"If you wished to find a place to belong, the kingdom was always open."

(For Context, this was saved in my drafts for a long time. But with the new update, I decided to post it! Please enjoy! Ask away for more cookie interactions!! Anyway, thank you! See ya! ILL POST MORE CRK, and GENSHIN I haven't forgotten about you@)

[diamondwaters]

❝ love is a choice ❞ chapter v

summary: what was meant to be a simple, calm trip to an intergalactic museum ended up becoming a a trip through memories the doctor rather wanted to forget. only they weren't her memories. they were yours.

pairing: thirteenth doctor x reader (primary), eleventh doctor x reader

word count: 5.2k

warnings: slight mention of headaches, anger, murder mentioned

author's note: when i tell you this is the chapter i've been DYING to write!!

divider from annaliseart on pixabay

You’d been traveling with the Doctor for a bit of time. While most of your adventures were completed sans slipper-throwing, it didn’t mean that time had made your relationship with the Doctor any better. Snide comments were tossed back and forth like a tennis match, with Amy being the one to catch the ball midair before one of you caused bleeding, internal or external. Rory, who also had joined the fray, hadn’t the courage to get between you and anything, let alone an alien. Even a fish-fingers-and-custard-eating one.

Nearly all the journeys he took the three of you on consisted of two things: running and near-death experiences. The very first one included vampire aliens! Then there was the time you ended up in a dream where you worked as a school teacher and Amy was married and pregnant. You nearly froze to death during that one. Sort of. That was a dream too. So, these harrowing exploits made the calm ones all the more welcome.

The Doctor had taken you to the Amalthea Bookseller, a book store whose walls contained several million books from almost every planet, in every language, and from any point in time. There had to have been about fifty seating areas in the front room alone; you could only imagine how many there were in the other corridors. Apparently, there was a planet with an even larger selection, but the Doctor chose against that one for “reasons.”

The moment you were set loose there, you couldn’t stop smiling. You quickly hunted for your favorite genres, finding a massive selection more extensive than the Waterstones in Piccadilly!

You were only allowed so many books- “The TARDIS is not a bank, you know!” is what the Doctor had proclaimed- so you had to choose wisely. It was hard enough as it was with the entire genre selection, but when your eye spotted the last name of your favorite author, you thought you might burst into confetti on the spot.

You gathered as many of their books as could fit into the complimentary reusable basket the staff gave you upon entry and hurried over to one of the seating areas. If you were going to whittle down which books you could get, you would need time and space. Ironically.

“Well, look at you,” Amy grinned, taking the chair beside you. “In your element, aren’t you?”

“Oh, Amy, this place is amazing!” You half-squealed. “Did you know that my favorite author kept writing well into their seventies? I mean, they’ve got at least twenty novels here! I barely even know where to continue! I already knocked out five, but how can I choose?”

“Well, I’m glad you’re having such a good time,” Amy replied. Her voice had a slant to it that you knew all too well. It meant there was more she had to say and that you weren’t going to like it. Before you could make your escape, Amy said, “You know. The Doctor loves reading too.” 

“Okay, Amy-” 

Also during your adventures, Amy had become quite bothered with the constant bickering between you and the Doctor. As mentioned before, whenever these spats broke out, more often than not, she was the one who had to grab you both by the back of your necks like a mother cat picking up her kittens by their scruffs. 

In her quest to reduce the frequency of these verbal- for now- quarrels, she attempted to find a common ground between you two. Neither of you were very enthusiastic about this. Anytime she thought she might’ve found something, one of you inevitably detested it. There was the time you mentioned how much you adored a song by this one 70’s singer. The Doctor had apparently seen her in concert, a fact Amy was ready to milk until dry. The Doctor, however, felt compelled to inform you that he’d rather fight a hundred Daleks- whatever those were- than listen to her ever again. Apparently, they had a bit of a dispute during the 1975 Grammy Awards and she’d threatened to have a hitman come after him. 

“I just listened to that man rant about how he inspired The Haunting of Hill House for the past thirty minutes! And-And he told me all about his good friend, Jane Austen! He likes literature, you like literature! Talk about it together."

“So, what I’m hearing is that I can no longer read. Well, that’s just wonderful news.” 

“You know I love you, really, I do,” Amy said softly. “And I wouldn’t want you to change a single thing about you because you are perfect in every single way imaginable. But please. I am begging you. Just please try to get along with the Doctor.” 

“Me?” You gaped. “Why do I have to be the one that gets along with him? In case you forgot, he’s usually the one that starts it! Remember how he implied I was one of those fish people? That was a low blow.”

“Okay, that’s a fair point. But! Think about how much better our adventures will be! You can just have fun! You won’t have to worry about stress. You know, when we don’t find ourselves in… already stressful situations, anyway! Just, think of it like… a wedding gift! For me!” 

“Oh,” You rolled your eyes. “Was planning it not enough?” 

You knew how much this was upsetting her. There had already been some issues between the Doctor and Rory which had mostly been rectified. It was just you now. Both yourself and the Doctor were two people who Amy cared about. Not only did your inability to get along frustrate her, but it also saddened her. Here you all were: her, her boys, and her best friend on these amazing trips across the stars! And half of the people apart of that group were at each other’s throats on a constant basis. 

That disappointment reflected in her eyes. You were never good when facing that look, and that didn’t change in the span of however long this conversation had lasted. "Please." 

“Fine,” You grumbled. “But the moment he says something out of line, I refuse to be held accountable for my actions, got it?” 

Amy nodded, probably not even caring that you were insinuating physical fighting this time around. She took hold of your wrist and pulled you from the comfort of your chair. Through the twisted hallways of shelves upon shelves of books of all varieties, Amy weaved through them until you landed in the poetry section. You didn’t take the Doctor for a poet, yet there he stood. 

“Doctor!” 

“Ah- Oh.” The Doctor gleamed before he spotted you. 

You looked at Amy with bored eyes, “I’m leaving.” 

“Nope, no,” She tugged you to her side. You were reminded of a mother forcing a child to speak to their relatives over the phone. Except you hadn’t the luxury of it being a conversation that wasn’t face-to-face. “Doctor, did you know how big a fan Y/N here is of reading too? They quite enjoy a good novel, don’t you?” 

Amy jabbed your side with her elbow when you didn't say anything. The force of the motion alone startled a series of words out of your throat, “Yes! Y-Yes, I do. All types! I like to annotate too. Something I picked up in a literature class I took a while ago. My professor says it makes it more engaging.”

He scoffed, “Engaging.”

Whenever the Doctor made these remarks, like he couldn’t possibly fathom the notion that what you said was true, you were more inclined to absolutely throttle him. You could grant him that he was far older than you; thus, he knew about more things than you ever could. What you couldn’t was the belief that just because he was more knowledgeable did not mean that he was always correct.

The Doctor didn’t know everything. He’d made that clear when you were trapped in that dream and were hurtling towards a sun that was burning cold. It was so easy for him to admit that while under stress, but with you, it was like he was some omnipotent deity worthy and demanding of praise. That last bit was how he was with everyone, really, but he just ramped it up to 1,000 whenever you were involved.

This would get under anyone’s skin, and it wasn’t just you! Sometimes you and Rory would have rant sessions beneath the TARDIS’s console when Amy and the Doctor weren’t nearby. You swore that the electric chirping you would occasionally hear was the TARDIS adding to your conversation. You didn’t quite know if she agreed or not, but she seemed invested in what you had to say. Also, you had found out the TARDIS was sentient, which was… something. Cool, but definitely something.

“Is there something wrong with the way I read?”

You placed your hands on your hips, finally turning your body to face the man. You raised your brow and took on a face that you hoped emulated the one you bore the night you joined him. You were quite proud of yourself for making an alien give into your commands, hence why you tried to recreate the winning stare whenever you wanted to intimidate him again.

“Of course not,” The Doctor waved his hand, unaffected by your glare. “It’s just odd.”

“Odd? You’re a bow-tie-wearing alien who carries around a screwdriver that isn’t actually a screwdriver and flies around in a magic box. But, yes, I’m the one that’s odd.”

“I’m starting to feel like you three are always using the bow tie against me. And no, of course you’re not odd,” The Doctor patted your shoulder before resting it there. You stared at it with a blank face until he eventually got the hint and slid it off. “It’s just your reading habits!”

The Doctor says these things so casually that you often feel like you get whiplash. Sometimes it would take you a few seconds to acclimate to the fact that you were just insulted. When you realized, you’d blink away your initial confusion and move on, like now.

“And what’s so odd about them, huh?”

“Well, you could get through books twice as fast if you just read it.”

“Well, where’s the point of attempting to just get through a book? You’re supposed to read it! Really read it!”

“Well, you can still really read it without having to mark all the pages up! It takes up a lot of time just to open a pen cap, and by then you could’ve read ten words!”

“Well-!”

“Okay!” Amy shouted over another formation of a fight. “I have an idea.”

If there was one thing in the universe that you and the Doctor could agree on, Amy with an idea, especially one that concerned the two of you, was a terrifying thing. The mischievous glint in her eyes screamed at you to run like you would when faced with horrifying creatures during your endeavors. However, both of you were stuck in your spot, pinned beneath her plotting gaze.

“Y/N, pick a book for your basket, any of them.”

One of the few you hadn't put away that stuck out to you the most was a murder mystery in a small town. It wasn’t too big, but it was just long enough that you knew you could spend a contented day reading it. “This one.”

Amy took it from your hands before shoving it into the Doctor’s. “Perfect! Now go pay for this.”

"Me?"

“Yes, you!” Amy stated. “You both need to make this friendship work! And the best way to do that is for both of you to contribute to something. Y/N picks the book and you pay for it.”

“That doesn’t seem like a fair exchange at all!” No, but it was definitely Amy’s way of making this an even exchange between you two. You appreciated that.

Amy sent him a look that shut him right up. “Here’s how this is going to go.”

Amy told you what you’d be doing—not asking, telling. You and the Doctor would read the same book, and you’d both write in it. Your thoughts, your theories, your general reactions. You would write in a red pen, and he would write in a blue so that when you were both done, you’d be able to distinguish who wrote what easily. Then, you’d talk about what you read after.

"Like a book club?"

"Exactly."

At first, you were averse to the idea solely because it involved bonding with the Doctor. However, the more you thought about it, the more you realized it was actually quite brilliant. You and the Doctor would interact without ever having to talk to one another. You both could avoid throwing yourselves into another inevitable battle that would only end when Amy reached her wit’s end. You might even get a bit of insight about him.

One thing you noticed about the Doctor the longer you traveled with him was how he guarded himself. You knew what that was like, but the walls around him were different than any you had ever seen. They were secure, fortified, yet they were ancient. Even if you weren’t aware of his ripe age of 907, you knew you'd realize their lifespan was longer than that of the stars themselves. But just like stars, they all eventually burn out.

Amy had already tried asking him about the things that he was hiding away following the Dream Lord events. He’d deflected then, and you liked to think that he would deflect again. You couldn’t do it outright, which is why this book swap was perfect. There was nothing more honest than what someone takes away from literature. The quotes they underline or the paragraphs they highlight say more about a person than one thinks. And, no, the book you chose wasn’t some deep, philosophical epic that would grant you entrance into the inner machinations of the Doctor’s mind, but it was a start.

Also, it was a free book.

Even though the Doctor was an annoying asshole, you couldn’t deny your curiosity. He was an alien from a faraway planet who offered three- technically two since you forced your way onto the TARDIS- humans the chance to explore worlds never before seen by your species. You were taught not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but you had to wonder why.

“Okay,” You agreed. “I’ll do it.”

“So, will I, but! Under one condition! I call reading it first! I’ll get it done quickly, I can assure you,” The Doctor exclaimed. “You humans are exceptionally slow when it comes to reading. Even without the unnecessary writing.”

At that, the Doctor turned and sauntered towards the bookseller. Because his back was turned, he hadn’t seen you with your hands reaching towards him, ready to attack, and Amy with her arms around your middle to keep you from doing that.

True to his word, though, the Doctor had given you the book in only a day’s time. He told you that he would’ve had it sooner had it not been for all the unfortunate writing he had to do. He also complained about the aching of his poor wrists and that if his piloting skills dwindled, it was entirely your fault. You thought about throwing the book at him for that one, and you knew what impressive aim you had. He was lucky you were in a generous mood.

You wandered the halls, hoping to find a nice spot where no one would bother you. As you turned a corner, a light above a door flickered invitingly. The door opened to reveal a small, but not suffocating, room with a warm feel to it. Some plants released a calm, earthy scent while sitting on many of the table surfaces about the room. The walls were made of dark cherry wood and were covered with paintings and photographs of different, beautiful landscapes that were most likely distant planets. A lit fireplace was set on the back wall, and just in front of that was a cream-colored antique couch with a soft-looking blanket thrown across the back.

You gingerly touched the side of the door, smiling softly. You whispered, “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

You placed the throw blanket around your shoulders and got cozy on the couch in front of the fire. You flipped to the title page with your red pen in hand and began reading.

Not even a page in, and your eye was already twitching.

Blue ink took up most of the margins. When you flipped through the rest of the book, many of the other pages got the same treatment. You fought off the temptation to get up and berate the Doctor for leaving you little to no space to write your own opinions. You told yourself that you could make this work. If not for Amy’s sake but for curiosity’s, you could find a way to remedy this.

When you made it about two chapters in, the Doctor had already claimed he knew exactly who the killer was. The moment the main character’s love interest’s dad was introduced, he wrote, “It’s definitely this bloke, I’m positive of that.” You, who hadn’t any clue who the killer was, were very frustrated by his insistence that it was him. You really hoped it wasn’t him so that you could laugh about it later.

At first, you wanted to block out what the Doctor wrote so you could focus on what you wanted to write, but that went against the entire point of this activity. He actually had some funny commentary regarding the heroine and the odd choices she made. There were a few notes about how “curious it was that humans made some of the most stupid decisions in the face of danger.” To that, you wrote a clever remark about his own choices during dangerous situations beneath his comment.

You eventually did manage to make do. With what little room you had, you could jot down your thoughts. You underlined your favorite bits and noted all the hidden details regarding the culprit. The Doctor had beaten you to that, but you still felt smart for finding them too.

You were taken by surprise by the mysterious lack of ink on one page. There had been one marking: a quote from a side character. It had been during a confrontation with the main character who, at this point, everyone in town had discovered was somehow connected to the recent string of murders. While talking to a victim's sibling, she attempted to make the case that it wasn't her fault; she simply wanted to find out what happened to her aunt who died several years prior. The victim's sister said:

"My brother is dead because you wouldn't stop looking into your aunt's death. That's on you. Because, Elena, a t what point do these things stop becoming things that happen to you and things that you do to yourself?"

You read the quote a few times over. You hadn't really known what to expect in letting your eyes roam about it. The meaning wouldn't change just because you looked at it a few more times.

Is this how the Doctor felt? Did he feel as though all the misfortunes he endured were by his own hand? When you thought about it, it didn’t seem totally unimaginable. The adventures you all went on were laden with risk, and there were times where things appeared so dire that things might not turn out alright in the end like he promised. If things did go wrong, he would blame himself. He wasn’t the type of person to turn and point a finger when he was the one who pushed the TARDIS’s buttons. 

But there was something about the Doctor that you knew to be true: he never stopped until he made things right. You’d only been on a handful of adventures, but the Doctor was nothing if not persistent. He didn’t give up, and it was clear that he hadn’t for 907 years. Giving up now would be a waste. He would never stop trying to make things right in the end. And if he did, that’s when he could say it was something he did to himself. 

With more than enough space this time, beneath the underlined quote, you wrote, “When you stop trying to fix it.” 

You watched as the ink dried on the page so you could turn to the next. 

“... replaceable…”

You whipped your head around with a force that gave you a slight headache and were met with nothing. Your eyes flitted about the room, attempting to find the source of whatever just made that noise. You didn’t know exactly what you heard, but you were sure you had heard something . It didn’t have any direction; it was just there. And then it wasn’t. 

You were able to get back into reading after a while, pushing that bizarre event to the back of your mind as best you could. You figured it was just your brain playing tricks on you since you were reading a murder mystery. The TARDIS was safe, and so were you. 

As you neared the end of the book, the killer was unmasked. As per the Doctor’s prediction, it was, in fact, the boyfriend’s father. The Doctor wanted to let you know he had anticipated this outcome by underlining the reveal three separate times and had written, “I TOLD YOU!” in bold letters. 

The main character was close to finding out the killer’s motive, something that had been plaguing you for the last couple chapters. And, just as she was about to say what the murderer had told her, you saw it. Or, rather, you didn’t see it. 

The last page of the book was gone. It wasn’t a misprint, you were sure of that. You looked at the book’s seam to find jagged edges where the page would have been. It looked as if it had been cleanly ripped from its binding.  And, with the Doctor, things weren’t “as if,” they just were, which meant that the bastard had torn out the very last page of the book you were supposed to share! 

You were so close! Just as you felt like you were starting to understand him, he had gone and done this. It almost felt like a joke. There you were, thinking you might be able to connect to him on some level, only to remember just who you were dealing with. Perhaps you should've predicted the Doctor's unpredictability, even with a task as simple as writing your thoughts in a book. It might have made you feel less... was betrayed the right word? Or maybe just defining how you felt as angry was the better option. 

“You son of a bitch,” You practically growled. You tossed off the blanket, letting it fall to the floor. “You son of a bitch!” 

Your feet pounded against the metal floors of the TARDIS as you made your way to the console room. There, the Doctor was fixing some wires on the pillar, his eyes covered with his work goggles. He didn’t notice you enter until you hissed, “Where is it?” while brandishing the book. 

“Ah! Finished the story, I see!” The Doctor remarked.  

“No, I didn’t, actually,” You informed with a dangerous tilt of your head towards the book. “Because someone decided to tear out the last page!”

The Doctor’s face shifted to that of comic, not genuine, guilt. He bared his teeth while the corners of his lips turned downward, eyes probably containing some semblance of shame still hidden behind his goggles. 

“Oh, right,” The Doctor nervously chuckled. “See, forgot to mention! I always throw out the last page of any book I read.” 

This man was going to have to pay for your ophthalmologist bill from all the twitching he was causing to your eye. “W-Why?” 

“Because I don’t like endings.” He said plainly, then returned to his work on the TARDIS. 

Once again, you were in a total state of shock. Your mouth bobbed open a few times in disbelief. You couldn’t find the right words to convey what you wanted to say adequately. When you were able, you asked, “Did you not think that I would want to read the ending maybe? Elena was just about to say why Simon's dad killed her aunt all those years ago!” 

“Didn’t you see I knew it was him?” He smirked, very pleased with himself. 

Your fingers curled into fists. You knew you couldn’t do anything, so you firmly planted your feet in their spot. “So not only did you leave me pretty much no space to even write in the book and spoil who the killer was twenty pages in, but you also decided to rip out the very last one? You realize that this completely goes against the purpose of this whole thing, right? How the hell are we even supposed to talk about the book together if part of the book is missing?” 

The Doctor took off his goggles. He finally understood that this was more than one of your simple bickering matches. He might not have got it to the full extent, but he got there eventually. 

“I’m sorry,” He apologized. “Truly. I hadn't realized at the time, didn't consider it.” 

At his emotion-filled apology, you felt some of your own begin to wane. You realized that this reaction was over the top, even for a response to the Doctor’s antics. You let out a soul-shaking grunt before collapsing in the chair stationed by the console. You balanced your elbows on your knees, the book falling to your lap. Your hands pressed against your face before raking over your hair. A frustrated, beaten sigh left your body, taking any excess energy you had with it upon your exhale.  “I’m sorry too." 

You felt awful that this had gone wrong despite knowing that it wasn’t entirely your fault. Sure, he had done it, but you reacted. Reactions could be just as harmful when taken to an extreme as yours just had. And for what? Because of a little book? You should have been better than that. You just felt so disappointed. Disappointed because you expected more and got your hopes up  while not being able to live up to someone else's. 

Amy was so excited that the two of you had agreed. She hadn’t outright said so, but you knew your best friend well enough to recognize the giddy elation that remained beneath an expression of indifference. You both finally made a step towards resolving your differences, and you blew it. What would you even tell her? 

"We’re really bad at this whole ‘getting along thing,’ aren’t we?” You laughed with no humor in your voice, more to yourself than him. 

“I don’t think so,” The Doctor’s voice broke through your pity party. It was unnaturally soft. He walked over to your defeated form, leaning against the console so he stood across from you. “We’ve learned something about one another, which is good! You learned that I don’t like endings and I learned that you do! I say it’s a start.” 

You gently rubbed your hands across your arms. In your mind, you debated if you wanted to tell him that this statement was incorrect. If you did, you’d have to be open, and open is far more intimidating than closed. The Doctor might have been many things, irritating included, but judgmental wasn’t one of them. You knew he would take your vulnerability with no conviction. 

This was a step in the right direction, you knew that. “Who said I like them? I don't.” 

The Doctor stopped his tinkering on the console to stare at you. You could tell he hadn’t expected such a soft supply. Maybe he thought you would dispute it, but not at such a volume. It caught him by surprise if his slightly parted mouth said anything. He spoke, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” You nodded. “I mean, they’re endings. It means things have to end, obviously , and who really likes that? But they…They’re…” 

The Doctor remained quiet. He was silently urging you to continue on. It was foreign to you, him deciding not to speak so that you could, but it wasn’t unwelcome. 

“They mean new beginnings,” You continued. “Can you really have a new one without an ending? Like, you go to college, you spend four years there and work your ass off, and then it’s over. But then you start to work, and you’ve got a whole new beginning right there. Or! You drop out and you begin to work towards something else you're passionate about that they can’t give you there! You do what you really want. Sometimes… sometimes you have to have endings in order for a new beginning. 

“And I know that sometimes the beginnings aren’t kind, and I guess that’s where the scary part comes in. You’re never guaranteed anything. But let’s say you don’t end things and down the line you regret it. Can you really be okay knowing that because you avoided an ending, you missed out on the possibility of a beautiful beginning?”

You tried not to have regrets in your life, but you were human. There would always be things you wished you ended and things you were upset you hadn’t begun. There would always be moments that ended prematurely, leaving you with a hollowed-out feeling. You couldn’t change them, even with a time machine. What you could do was think about what it meant for the next beginning. Because wasn’t that life? A never-ending series of beginnings and endings? If you just avoided the endings, where would you be? How could you live like that? How could anyone?

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that endings are what you make of them.” 

The Doctor was quiet for a long time. You didn’t want to look at him. This was the first moment you were somewhat vulnerable in front of him. It was good. Vulnerability was good. Amy would be proud. She’d be happy. But it didn’t make it any less terrifying. 

“How about this?” The Doctor finally replied. “Next time we swap a book, how about you read it first? That way, you can read the ending.” 

You tilted your head to look at him. He wasn’t full out smiling, just a tiny, warm one. It wasn’t the usual expression he usually had when with you, and for some reason, you were okay with it. 

“Next time?” 

“If you’d like.” 

It wasn’t going to be an easy fix, especially because part of you quite liked messing with the Doctor. You were both flawed in your own ways, and both entirely too stubborn for your own goods.  However, you knew that Amy was right: you would better off if this kind of behavior were to continue. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.” 

The Doctor once believed that it was better to just go through books. Flipping through their pages was easy enough, so why go through the trouble of  writing in them? It would just take more time. Those were her exact thoughts, and they were the ones she voiced to you that day.

But if one were to go into the Doctor’s room and open one of her many books, they would find the pages, save for the last, which was torn out, littered with annotations written in blue ink with a lot of extra space, as if something else was going to be written there.

taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added through my ask box!!): @gurkiloni @nightmonkeyparker @science--hoes

author's note: i love foreshadowing

[eating-him]

Wizard Cookie, if he was known for anything, was known for knowing things. And if he didn’t know it, he could find it. So of course he knew himself- what self respecting magic user wouldn’t know something as basic as-

“I’m a wizard.” The candy flower reflected his eye back a muddled and distorted purple. “I’m a wizard,” he bit out tightly, “My skills are numerous and of innumerable uses. Surely I can do something here. Like..... weeding.”

The word scraped off of his tongue like something burnt bitter to the pan, and he grimaced. Maybe not weeding.

But there was so much to do in the little kingdom, and all of it was trees and hammers and the swanforsaken screech of saws. Houses and businesses and farms and roads- he was still getting used to the idea of sitting patiently under the open sky with wildflowers, fresh out of the burning oven with a conveniently acquired wand and his dough not even cool. So much running. So much fighting.

A wizard is too wise for panic. Panic comes from a lack of planning, and he always has a plan. Or at least Gingerbrave has the start of one and Wizard pops all the dents out of it. He is an advisor, and this is a new nation toddling its first few steps out of being a pile of rubble. He is where he needs to be. He is.

Something itches underneath his soul jam, though. Like a scarf pulled too tight, like late nights watching for cakehounds that become early days, an unsettling buzz that sets his leg jittering and his staff rolling against his palm in a habit he should really break.

The flower he’s staring at glazes over with frost, and he jerks upright at the reflection of Frost Queen Cookie’s ornate collar past his shoulder.

“Deep thoughts?”

He has no idea how to react to a legendary figure of myth popping up behind him, but sitting on the ground like an idiot isn’t- but she isn’t his queen- does she even expect-? When he twists around to look up she’s not there, but wandering a little towards the treeline, head tipped up to watch the blueberry birds as the icy patches of her footsteps glimmer in the spring light. Close enough for conversation, but far enough to ignore.

She’s... breathtaking, honestly. Everything a legend should be, with that same vaguely wistful air that White Lily seems to carry like the hues of a watercolor dream. Frost Queen had taken his place as the front line magic user for expeditions, and he couldn’t exactly complain. She was quite literally a force of nature, it was no slight to bow to his elders here. What Custard could have possibly done to convince someone practically a god to linger was beyond him, but. Here she was. And here he was.

A meadow where the gnash of saws like teeth wasn’t quite so loud.

The frost had melted from the flower by his foot by the time he remembered her question. Deep thoughts... he settled back to sitting in the grass, the brim of his hat low and hunched. “I suppose one could say that. Not so much thoughts as a feeling, but it’s nothing fresh air can’t fix.”

Frost Queen’s scent is barely there, hardly distinguishable from the wind. Like a ghost. There’s something, though, subtle and sweetly cold, and he tracks her progress around the meadow as the flower nearby frosts over with her attention.

“...feelings are not a thing that can be nailed or wrapped,” the goddess murmurs, and despite the quiet his attention drags to her like a compass point. “You wear a lot of stars for someone sitting in the dirt, little cookie.”

“Beg pardon?” His brow lifts. He may be a wizard, but what cryptic nonsense is this? “I assure you I keep very clean.”

There’s a small little smile on her frost-blue lips, something fey and too amused to mean anything good, but he’s not sure how to take any of this when she’s still watching the birds. “I would hope so.” The Frost Queen’s eyes slip from the blue sky to lock with his own, and he’s falling into the glassy quiet of eternity with the rug pulled out from under him, naked under all the scarves and robes and useless shield of hair.

He doesn’t even realize she’s asked him a question as the answer bubbles out of him in a soda stream. “I- I came out here to think, it’s too much not...” He doesn’t have the words for it, gestures a little with the staff- “Me, too much building, I can’t. Think.”

His cheeks are burning like he’s fresh from the fire as he tries to collapse into his collar like powder snow. Awkward, awkward, awkward, he is supposed to be a-

“Wizard Cookie, I would appreciate your thoughts on a matter.” Frost Queen turns then, back towards the rest of the soon-to-be village, snowflakes glittering like diamonds in her hair. Foundations litter the area, cookies working hard at the stumps of trees, castle ruins and the vague shapes of what might be a ruined mine jutting from the hills that border their little territory. A fine place with plenty of potential, if a few too many squirrels- and a lot of sunshine. “I will be making my own home here, but I will need something... temporary, until the castle is clear enough for guests. Where would you recommend building with ice?”

Ice? Here? He wouldn’t. But her footsteps do take awhile to thaw, and those seem to be by accident. So. He latches into the problem, mapping their little homestead with a critical eye and a thoughtful thump of his staff as he stands to get a better look. “Considering the lay of the valley I’m not sure I recommend building with ice here, per se- maybe someday when the city grows enough to reach those mountains there-“ his staff points east a bit, “But if you’re making it now I’d say the northern edge near the mine? Denser pine trees and a hill should keep the worst of Spring off of you, milady, and you might even build into whatever caves exist under it. Of course, that depends on-“

He chatters on while she listens to him wax rhapsodic about architecture and temperature control, staff swinging wider as he gets into the thick of whether or not her little cottage needs a steep roof. By the time he’s done he blinks back to himself standing by the mine cave under the pines with her hand on his shoulder to keep him from wandering off, lines of frost curling out into the trees from her feet. When Wizard’s voice falters, startled, she lets him go to begin trying whatever he’d been so intent on. The startle jostled it out of his head, but there’s a focus to the way her eyes trail over the forest here. Did he teach her something?

The thoughts get knocked out of his head again when she nudges him a step back, and the ice blooms.

Frost-ferns curl into lattices and frames, sheets as thin as sugar-glaze rising over his head like crystals sped forward in time. The sound is indescribable, a heavy creak and groan as the cruel teeth of winter bend like flower petals to the might of nature’s guardian. In minutes, it begins to settle in place, frost swirling out in little decorative patterns as the queen paces her modest, raw-magic floor.

He sees the expression on her face when she touches the ground and a chair blooms from nothing but a wish, mist curling around her cheeks and chill light giving her ghost-pale cheeks strange liveliness. She is alive, here, and.... she looked at that simply conjured ice throne the way Custard looked at his ramshackle little town. Softly. Like a key finding home in a perfect lock. Like love, maybe.

She thanked him for his help, but he wasn’t honestly sure how much help he’d been as she opened the new frosted door to let him out into Spring again, and he turned with a half-formed question on his tongue.

The Frost Queen smiled, and he lost the thought.

“I don’t think avoiding building is what you need right now, little cookie. A star to the sky, a bird to the nest. What are you?”

He stared. “I’m a wizard.”

“Then be one, Wizard Cookie.” Her cold lips curved up in something he couldn’t actually believe was a laugh- her, laughing- and the door shut with the subtle click of a world changing.

A star to the sky, a bird to the nest.

A land to make home.

Wizard Cookie went to find himself a tower.

[moonglittering]

M, P?

✨ @starfoam. meme. still accepting!

M   :   MOONLIGHT.   what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

he’s really simple in his approach to date. sure, he’s the son of a bombastic billionaire and kin to actual space royalty. he doesn’t like being taken to fancy restaurants tho, like. not all the time. the occasional michelin experience is fine for him, but it doesnt make a great evening out. his ideal date is a chill night pref rainy night, wearing nothing but his pajamas, and ordering vietnamese food. like some bun rieu and dumplings. maybe even pick up something from a local bakery??? he’s a huge fan of custard buns :) or ordering / cooking whatever, as long as his manz agrees.

put on some music. like some jazz or soul or adult contemporary / quiet storm. something smooth and romantic and beautiful. have a good conversation that lasts for a couple of hours or three. theeen, a movie. he has so many movies he wants to share!! mostly films from hong kong. classics. he’s also a fan of going to indie movie theaters. or like going to showings of so-bad-theyre-good films like ‘ fateful findings ’ lolll. or a classic by a certain tommy wiseau who he wants to meet very badly ,

taking night walks underneath city lights, botanical gardens, record stores, cruisin’ down by the ocean in a drop top car that he rented just for the occasion. yeah he just likes some down to earth, real shit. talking…. discussing….. talking about everything and nothing and also enjoying silence. omg maybe even like…. a class typa date…. pottery class heehee. the sexiness of touching each others clay covered hands….

maybe even doing some stuff like going to the skating rink. trying something like archery. you know he’s just down for shit lol. but he dont want anything stuffy. vi aint that type of guy. like he already worries on a daily basis about his professional life, he doesnt wanna feel anxious in a relationship by having uptight dates.

like... take him to do something new, too. like. idk. show him some shit he’s never seen before.

also with who? ... to be continued.

P   :   PARTNER.   what does your muse look for in a partner? looks / personality?

someone that can keep him on his toes, because i think being in a relationship with someone that doesn’t challenge him in any way would bore him. someone that can make him think! in any way! also he likes good ole roasting sessions, like if he can crack on u and u lob it right back at him. preferably even harder than he went. then that’s excellent. looks wise? really tall, deep laugh / smile lines because he thinks those are cute.

putting his ideal partner in words is so difficult but trust me... he has his types... he finds so many traits attractive but he finds just as many traits a super turn off.

[sunseed-fandump]

if the gingerbrave crew were to have soul jams, what would their virtues be??? :0c

Gingerbrave = Courage - Offshoot of Freedom

Many things require bravery, not just when it comes to standing against evil, but when it comes to standing for what is right even when it's not clear.

It takes a lot of courage to truly embrace Freedom; to be brave enough to accept that the future is uncertain, but to be confident in one's own abilities that they can change it however they wish. One has to be brave enough to take those first few steps. To let go of all of their doubts and truly be Free. Even when it seems society is against them.

And with those steps, one might inspire others to follow. Joining everyone together under one common goal: to live life to its fullest.

Strawberry Cookie = Kindness - Offshoot of Passion

To be kind, even against those who seemingly don't deserve it is incredibly difficult. It is natural to get angry, be upset, maybe even vengeful. It is also easy to look at the plight of another and decide to do nothing, simply because going out of one's way to do so may be considered too hard.

But to offer a gentle word, to give to those less fortunate, to comfort those who need comforting, to forgive. It is a new level of strength that many fail to achieve.

Having the compassion to lift others when they are down, will truly make the world a happier place.

Wizard Cookie = Wisdom - Offshoot of Truth

Knowledge is meaningless if one is incapable of knowing fact from fiction. And even then, being able to discern the truth from the lies means nothing. The harsh truth can hurt more than any wound, meanwhile the fantastical lies of fairytales can inspire others into doing good. One is not wholly good, nor wholly evil.

Knowledge is only powerful if one knows how to use it, and use it wisely.

Sometimes a bit of harsh reality is needed to snap one out of a delusion. While a placebo can give even an elephant the means to fly. To be wise, is to know how to use knowledge and help others become the best they could ever be.

Wisdom cuts through the angst, sorrow, and pain that cloud one's judgement, and paves the path for a brighter future ahead.

Custard Cookie III = Hope - Offshoot of Resolution

Dare to dream, no matter how impossible it may seem. To have the strength needed to hold onto Hope even in the bleakest of situations is truly a beautiful gift. Hope is what drives us, Hope is what saves lives, Hope is like a North Star.

Get up no matter how many times you're knocked down. Keep going, no matter how unattainable the dream might seem. And if the worst happens, and the dream crumbles, then that light will shine upon a new dream to pursue.

Keep hoping for those better days, keep dreaming and wishing and working towards them. Be that North Star for others as well, give them the strength to pursue their dreams. Because when those dreams do ultimately come true, it will be a wondrous legend to remember.

Chili Pepper Cookie = Trust - Offshoot of Abundance

To give a thief one's trust seems absurd. Equally, a thief does not give out their trust all willy-nilly. But to earn that trust, and to be trustworthy, is to be reliable. To be reliable means one withstands whatever the world can throw at them, even the unrelenting march of time. It means to be the solid rock that others can steady themselves on throughout the chaotic and upsetting changes that happen in daily life.

Chaos is inevitable; for things to fall apart is to be expected. Not many things can withstand the test of time, but one must trust that creation will always follow destruction and roll with those punches. That gain will always follow loss.

Trust that those dear to you can support you through thick and thin, and they will give you the most glorious treasure in return.

[faemytho]

okayokay what if,, custard cookie and pv bonding. what if them

YES. im so upset they never talk directly to each other in canon im SO mad about it so i will proceed to write it myself.

and also due to the lack of "where the fuck was custard and what was he doing before the prologue" information, im also adding my own headcanons for his backstory!! i write custard as a traumatized young adult with amnesia, not as a child, so if thats not ur jam,,, sorry? lol.

Fandom: Cookie Run

Ship: Custard III & Pure Vanilla

Word Count: 1193

(Support me on Ko-Fi!)

The ancient king was quiet. Not that it was unnerving, but to a boisterous, loud, future king such as himself, it was a little startling. It made him feel as though he was doing something wrong.

The ancient king was wise. He was still learning. Not that ignorance was a bad thing, but there was well over a decade of his life that he couldn't remember, and it made him feel stupid sometimes.

The ancient king was humble. He... was not. He tried to be, he really did, but the Vanilla legacy was all he had of his father and his family to hold onto. They were the only things he remembered clearly, and proclaiming himself part of that legacy made him feel less lonely.

The ancient king was everything Custard III was not, and sometimes, the throne of the Vanilla Kingdom felt too big for him to fit in.

Maybe the paper mache crown and scepter were too childish. He didn't know how old he was, but he could guess, and the age he was supposed to be definitely wouldn't be toting around a fake crown and scepter and so fiercely clinging to a title not yet properly bestowed upon him. But it was all he had to hold onto of his past, at least until Pure Vanilla came into his life.

It was as though the witches had finally decided to take pity on him. Pure Vanilla was a physical embodiment of the past, of Custard's past, and when he joined their kingdom, everything should have been okay.

But it wasn't.

"Custard?"

Startled out of his thoughts, he let out a strangled shriek, whirling on his feet to face the one who had scared him.

At that moment, he felt his heart drop to his feet, his jam run cold, and he couldn't stop himself from turning right back around and running away.

Pure Vanilla was left standing there in all his gently glowing, ethereal glory, the eye of his Vanilla Beholder staff blinking in confusion. The ancient king turned his face up towards his staff, and the staff stared back at him. "Did I do something to startle him so badly?" he wondered aloud, and the staff, unbidden, rolled its eye.

Custard kept running, sugary tears welling up in his eyes. He violently wiped them away with a trembling huff, ovenfire burning in the pit of his stomach and the mantra of 'get away, get away' repeating over and over in his head. When he reached his cookie house, he rushed inside and slammed the door, locking it with a click. Only then did he let himself heave for breath, leaning back against the door and closing his eyes.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He slid down the door to the floor and let himself sob in frustration. He so badly wanted to know his ancestor, he so badly wanted his family back, but he couldn't stop himself from trembling and freezing up and crying every time Pure Vanilla came into sight.

It was pathetic. He was pathetic. He curled up in a ball and shoved his head into his arms and tried to catch his breath. How could he be the king of the Vanilla Kingdom if he couldn't even face his ancestor?

"Custard? Are you in there?"

Heaving around a sob, Custard clasped both his hands to his mouth, muffling the pathetic crying noises he couldn't stop himself from making.

"Are you alright?" Pure Vanilla asked softly from the other side of the door, and though the ancient king couldn't see, Custard silently shook his head.

He didn't want to answer, but he wanted to answer. He wanted to know Pure Vanilla. He never wanted to see him again. If only the sickening, burning fear would stop.

After a moment of silence, there was a resigned sigh from the other side of the door.

"I-I know I must be a lot of things to you," Pure Vanilla spoke quietly, and Custard leaned his head back against the door, closing his eyes and breathing in cold air. "A lot of them are... likely unpleasant. I don't entirely know what happened after-... after I disappeared, but I can assume."

"I lost my dad," Custard managed to whisper, sniffling and wiping at his eyes. His paper mache crown fell from his head, crumpled up and wrinkled and sad on the floor beside him. "I lost my dad, and I lost my memories, and when I woke up I was all alone."

Pure Vanilla was silent, and Custard took a moment to take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then, there was a soft thump against the door, a sliding noise, and when the ancient king spoke again, he sounded closer.

"Your grandfather and father," Pure Vanilla started, his voice quiet. "They were everything to me. I hoped and prayed that no matter what happened to me, they would be safe. And then, here you are. Custard the Third, the son of my son's son, and part of my family."

Custard stayed quiet, focusing on his breath. The tears had finally subsided, and the sugar water was beginning to dry to his face. He wiped the little crystals away, sniffling once more.

"I'm proud of you," Pure Vanilla said, and Custard's heart wailed to be held like the child he could only ever remember being before he woke up and had his adventures with Gingerbrave. "I'm proud of you for everything you've done to get here, and everything you'll do from now on as a descendant and heir of the Vanilla Kingdom."

"I'm scared," Custard whispered, trembling. "I'm scared to know you, because I don't want to lose you, and I don't want to miss my family anymore."

"I'm not going anywhere, Custard. This, I vow."

The urge to move possessed him, and he stood suddenly, turning to unlock the door and pull it open.

Pure Vanilla sat there in the doorway, his face turned over his shoulder to look up at Custard. His staff rested against the wall next to the door, and as Pure Vanilla opened his mismatched eyes, the staff closed its own.

"Custard, I'm so-"

Pure Vanilla cut off with a surprised grunt as Custard flung himself forward and hugged the ancient king as hard as he could. Arms wrapped around him, and Pure Vanilla held him close, hushing him as he started to cry again.

"I'm sorry," Custard sobbed, hands clinging to the fabric of the ancient king's robes. "I-I'm sorry, I-"

"No, no, I'm sorry," Pure Vanilla argued gently, and Custard fell silent. "I'm sorry, my beautiful grandson, that you were left all alone all these years. You're so strong, little one. And it's okay to rest now. You're safe with me. I've got you."

It might've felt childish to feel safe in his great grandpapa's arms, but Custard didn't care. He'd missed out on his childhood, and he deserved some comfort. Some reassurance.

As Pure Vanilla ran a hand through his custard hair, he finally, after all those years after waking up in the forest all alone, finally allowed himself to relax. He was safe.

[rokutouxei]

a solitary walk

genshin impact | G | 2478 | [ ao3 ]  side hu tao/xiao | hu tao birthday fic!

every year, hu tao lives her life the way she believes it ought to be lived—loud and outright. even if reincarnation was real, and that one day we might die and then return to the earth once again, we will only ever be living this very life once. only once in these special circumstances, with these people, in this environment. it’s not because she fears death—no, it’s exactly because she knows death will come to her in the end that she lives like this.

lives treating the stone lions like they were actual cats.

lives climbing up the treacherous cliffs of huaguang stone forest to write poetry.

lives spooking others, walking late at night along wuwang hill.

hu tao knows death like the back of her hand, which is why life means so much to her. why she lives so much of it.

there is only one year a day when the anxiety is stronger than usual. when hu tao feels like living through these ideals is simply not enough. when she begins to doubt her place among the living, when no funeral pyre of inner demons can clear her head. on this day, on her birthday, it’s the long journey taking her from liyue harbor to the solitary mountains of liyue that truly takes out the storm in her heart, heavy and pounding.

when she can be between the pages of herself, among the voices of people she hopes love her.

  -

   “going out today, director hu?”

zhongli is, as he usually is at this hour, promptly sitting in the study of the wangsheng funeral parlor, likely just having finished some morning lecture to the undertakers. hu tao hums, whizzing around him as she peers at what book he’s holding. a history on rex lapis.

“no business today, maybe we need to rework our advertising strategy,” she says, straightening her back. “with you here, i get free time to take a walk and think of better marketing tricks.”

“please don’t use me as an excuse to skip work.”

“aiya, what do you think of me? that’s not what i’m doing,” she pouts. then, she points at the book in his hands. “what were you reading?”

“the undertakers were interested in something i said about the themes of death in liyue’s history, and i was merely reviewing my history,” zhongli answers, strangely more somber than usual. “it is mortal to fear death, but it is to go beyond what it means to be mortal to try to comprehend death as greater than something to be afraid of. as with rex lapis, who surely has witnessed a great many losses in his long lifespan.”

“what do you think the divine feel about death, zhongli?” hu tao asks, hands behind her back, looking up at the mysterious man who always seem to know more than he let on. “do you think it still means anything to them, when they live across so much time and space?”

“i think, director hu,” zhongli says, “that every death can still leave its mark. the archons were mortal once, after all. to not fear death does not mean to not honor its rightful weight.”

“hmmm,” hu tao nods, deep in thought. “you may be right.” then, a clock down the hall begins to toll, and she is shaken out of her reverie. “aiya, what time is it! i have to go, thank you for entertaining my question. i’ll see you tomorrow!”

hu tao is just about out of the door when he speaks again.

“director hu?”

she blinks. “yes, mister zhongli?”

he gives a smile that feels like it bears too much memory. “happy birthday.”

hu tao only beams at him, and then hops out of the door.

   -

   hu tao still remembers the disdainful stares of some of the older, more conservative people of liyue once the kids caught up to her little “hilichurl song.” something about little children chanting about death and murder in such a joyful manner did not sit right with several of the elders. this reflected poorly on hu tao, but—

did it matter?

the kids were—are—having fun, the song is catchy and she wouldn’t be conceited to say that everyone in liyue knows it at this point…

she remembers the little boy who had run up to her, who had returned fresh from a funeral rite up in wangsheng, holding her still-ashen hand saying, “you’re the big sis with the hilichurl song! teach me! teach it to me big sis!”

she remembers being that young.

she doesn’t quite feel like being this old.

the least she can do is immortalize its transcience; she’d write all the poems on death for the living if she had to.

   -

   she encounters xingqiu, who has obviously just come from his daily perusal of wanwen bookhouse, two books under his arm and another clasped between his fingers. she comes up right up before him and goes—

“xingqiu!”

he doesn’t even flinch, long used to hu tao’s little antics. he finishes reading the paragraph he is on before putting the book down, smiling at her.

“well, what is my liege doing this fine day?”

“oh, i’m off to take an adventurous little walk! what are you up to today, young master?”

the honorifics turned pet names were special little sparkles in their conversation. it had become so normal between them they no longer think about it, but the others who overhear are a little more curious.

“to put a little spice into the lives of a young exorcist and an aspiring cook, would you like to join me?”

were it any other day, hu tao would have said yes. there was nothing quite like getting off work early and messing around with chongyun and xiangling, mixing up the ingredients, activating excess yang energy. but today was not that kind of day, so she shakes her head and gives a little smile at her friend instead.

“not today, unfortunately. but soon, for sure!”

xingqiu nods. but before he leaves, he pulls out a bookmark of pressed silk flowers from behind his back, and hands it to her.

“taken fresh from the wilderness.”

“you mean yujing terrace?”

“where i got it is of no matter—” xingqiu says, stifling a laugh, “but instead what message it brings. may you find good company on this special day of yours, my liege.”

hu tao smiles, the kind that reaches her eyes, the one that so few people see, and then pushes xingqiu lightly down the road toward wanmin.

“go cause trouble!”

    -

  the first half of the journey is a lot less tricky. at a certain hour every day, without fail, there are wagons that begin their trip from liyue to mondstadt. hu tao usually hitches a ride on one of these all the way to wangshu inn, where she stops for lunch.

wangshu inn has become such a common culprit to their little meetings that no one gets surprised to see her anymore, smiling and waving at everyone all the way upstairs to the top floor. (sometimes she even passes by the kitchen for some almond tofu, but, ah, yanxiao doesn’t really want her using the kitchen, if for the sake of the food she makes.)

today, when she gets there, she finds aether and paimon sitting at the tables at the very bottom, waiting for their meals to be served.

“hu taaaaooooo!” paimon calls and waves, to which she waves in response, hopping up the stairs to get to them.

“if it isn’t the mighty traveler and paimon! my offer for a discount coupon for accidents is still available, if you’ve changed your mind!”

aether ignores the joke entirely—wisely—and asks, “not staying at the parlor today?”

“aiya, does that seem like such a strange occurence? is it wrong for the director of a funeral parlor to catch a break?”

“...from offering discount coupons for parlors?” paimon turns to aether. “and why so far out here of all places?”

the traveler knows. “we haven’t seen him today.”

“do not fret! the ever omniscient hu tao knows exactly where he will be,” she teases. “can i join you for lunch?”

"wait!" paimon whines. "who's he?"

hu tao orders nothing festive, just some plain snapdragon salad and some fish, but verr goldet hand-delivers a little assorted tray of desserts anyway—red bean soup, mango pudding, custard—all on a celebratory looking plate. she whispers to hu tao: “from the young gentleman.”

and aether’s eyes go wide as plates in realization, but before he can say anything, hu tao hushes him with a finger, not wanting paimon to make a big deal out of it. the traveler only chuckles, paimon neck-deep into a bowl of noodles, and mouths happy birthday while facing the director.

once lunch is over, they talk a little until their stomachs settle with the food, but then they are on each other’s ways. aether and paimon, headed up to mingyun to clear out a camp of hilichurls that have been causing trouble, as commissioned by the guild. hu tao, to qingyun peak, where the clouds can brush over her cheeks.

“are you gonna walk all the way there?”

“oh, it’ll take me just a few hours. i’ll get on any patrolling millelith carts if there are any. i’ll be fine. thank you, traveler!”

“take care, hu tao!” aether calls out. “and send my regards!”

   -

   “i knew i would find you here,” hu tao says, as she lands ever so gracefully on one of huaguang stone forest’s highest peaks. xiao sits there, cross-legged, with his eyes closed. the exhaustion from the journey sinks into her bones as soon as she sees him, as if knowing she will find rest in him—perhaps the same way the sun has sunk dark blue into the horizon.

“i’m here because i knew you’d be here,” he retorts. not even turning to face her. hu tao sinks wordlessly next to him, her hand on his lap.

she loves the way they fit together like this, two puzzle pieces magnetized to each other.

“thank you for the desserts.”

he places his hand over hers and squeezes.

xiao has never been the type for comforting words. the best he can offer is his understanding silence, the kind that makes hu tao know he can comprehend what is going on in her little, mortal mind--even when she herself is not sure where exactly her thoughts are taking her.

“i wanted to bring you almond tofu, but it would have melted on the way here.”

“you don’t need to worry about me.”

you know i’ll worry about you anyway.

worry about yourself.

i already do, why else do you think i’m here but for rescue?

here in huaguang, the breeze silences everything in her mind that speaks, so that all that remains is this: just her, just xiao, just liyue’s star-dotted night sky.

just good company.

no dead, no ghosts, no demons. just them.

they stay there until time seems like it stops existing.

the thing about xiao and hu tao’s relationship is that somehow they always find each other perfectly as one needs the other. it has always been like that from the beginning. from the very first time hu tao had gotten herself lost around mt. aocang, cornered by a family of geovishaps hell-bent on getting her for disturbing their nap; to when hu tao had found xiao slumped against a tree, bloodied with his mask on his face and near unable to breathe, her presence and stupid humor like exorcising the demons clinging onto him;

they find each other always, as if sensing death on the other, and they come to the rescue.

without even needing to call out each other’s names.

hu tao, leaning against him like deadweight, turns her hand around so they can interlock their fingers together. xiao does so wordlessly, and hu tao memorizes the warmth of him against her skin.

keeps it in the back of her mind for when he isn’t around.

they speak without speaking, passing each other the same old questions like they always do.

what if i die today?

you’re not dying today, hu tao.

what if i die tomorrow?

you’re not dying tomorrow, xiao.

who will take care of you when i am gone?

who will remember huaguang like these, starry nights with our hands clasped together?

who will i come to when i’m in need of aid, when i need someone who sees death as i do?

don’t go, it’s too early to do so.

hu tao only voices out one of many, many thoughts passed between their intertwined hands, when she says, “when death finally comes for me, thousands and thousands of years before yours, adeptus xiao…”

xiao hums.

“remember me?”

he scoffs just the littlest bit and hu tao knows he means always. “rest,” he says, as xiao turns and presses a kiss on the side of her face, tucking a pair of qingxin flowers with braided stalks behind her ear. one he’d made before she’d arrived, prepared to find her in this state.

“for sweet dreams,” he promises.

    -

  while in his arms hu tao dreams of her grandfather.

she is watching her young, 13 year old self host her grandfather’s funeral, incredibly young and small and out of place in the grandeur. her yéyé liked grandeur, and it was hu tao’s mission that day to make sure that everything about his grand goodbye went the way it was planned.

it was hard.

she was calm, and composed, and so unlike the hu tao the rest of liyue knew that day. she was solemn during the entire ceremony, not a twinge of a smile or a frown on her face, just calm and detached like it wasn’t her grandfather she was preparing to set off. like his hat wasn’t sitting on her desk at home drenched in her tears.

the present, older hu tao looks on to spot the little signs of breaking left unnoticed by everyone else, like the little ticks at the corner of her mouth, her hypercontrolled breathing, the way she squeezes the staff she’s inherited specifically for this day, under her grandfather’s request.

and while the younger hu tao does not catch him, the older hu tao spots her grandfather among the trees, standing there with his hat still on, in his usual garb, the kind that reminds her of chanting poetry in the afternoon and—

—he smiles.

at younger hu tao, then, eventually, at her, older, smarter, more mature hu tao, as if saying:

thank you.

you’ve done so well.

before he disappears into a fog of light.

hu tao does not feel the need to follow.

   -

   hu tao wakes up in her room in wangsheng funeral parlor smiling, feeling the clouds still on her face, qingxin still in her hair.

[nikethestatue]

Spy Games

Elriel Month - Day 3

Spying

Spying Lessons

Elain, the pretty, polite, courteous sister, who spoke well and moved gracefully, was also one who was never considered with any seriousness by anybody. Not her mother, not their weak, gentle father, not the imperious, sharp-tongued Nesta, or the self-assured, determined Feyre. However, she was a merchant’s daughter, and she was as sharp-eyed, as Nesta was sharp-tongued. 

She inherited the trait from their father--he was always able to spot a deal, or a weakness, a loophole and he used it to his full advantage when making deals. She watched him, and learned how to use her words, how to compliment and smile, how to appear innocent and helpless, while seeking favors and looking to get what she wanted. It worked. It worked with everyone--it worked with Nesta, worked with their servants (when they had them), and when they didn’t, and had nothing, Elain always managed to charm someone at the market for an extra apple, a couple of bread rolls, or a swath of cloth. Even Lord Nolan was not immune to her charms, and even though there were better offers from others, he encouraged Greyson to court Elain, despite her family's ‘reputation’. Elain loved Greyson, but she also watched and noticed. She saw groves of ash trees, the number of sentries patrolling the walled estate, and how many guard dogs there were. She didn’t even try, but she noticed...and counted...and remembered.

Nuala was good. Smooth and discrete, she’d never be suspected of keeping tabs on Amren. Though Amren was a vengeful Angel of a young god in her previous life, and she probably knew what Nuala was doing. Yet, Nuala was not so good as to suspect Elain. Because Elain knew as well. It came as a surprise, but it was apparent to Elain that Nuala closely monitored Amren, as well as Varian, when they were around. 

They were making lemon cakes in the kitchen--Elain and the twins. Baking and cooking--many assumed that that’s what Elain was good for--the kind, tidy, domestic Elain. What no one, except for one person, was privy to was that these chores quieted the roaring in Elain’s head. They silenced the visions, cleared the pounding in her skull, gave her a sense of normalcy, even if for only a little while. 

“What do you think Varian reports to his High Lord?” the question startled the twins and they exchanged quick looks.

Elain’s face remained placid, as she busied herself with grating lemon zest. “Do you think they laugh?” she chuckled. “Our court is dramatic, to be sure.”

The twins were silent. 

“Is it wise though,” she continued, uninterrupted, “to have a representative of another Court so closely entwined with the affairs of the Night Court?”

“The High Lord trusts Prince Varian,” said Cerridwen, her voice neutral.

“Perhaps.”

Elain stirred the zest into the custard and there was silence, the twins assuming that the conversation was over. 

“Does Azriel?” she suddenly asked.

They stared. 

“Does Azriel trust Varian?” she pressed.

“The lord,” began Nuala, but Elain interrupted. “Not High Lord,”

“Lord Azriel,” corrected Nuala, “does what he must to keep the Night Court safe.”

That explained everything.

“Could Azriel use another pair of eyes and ears?” Elain didn’t even know where the offer came from. Perhaps, it stemmed from the desire to be useful, to offer something of herself that so few knew that she even possessed. She turned to the twins and stared them down, her gaze unflinching.

“Teach me,” she pleaded. “Teach me what you know. What and how you do it. Please.”

“Lord Azriel may not approve,” countered Cerridwen softly.

“Let’s not tell him,” whispered Elain,

“Lord Azriel will know.”

“Eventually. I am not asking you to lie to him,” she added quickly, sensing that this was the reason for their hesitation. “Just don’t tell him. Not yet. Teach me, a little something, and then I’ll decide if it’s for me. Please. I,”

“Fine,” said Nuala. Cerridwen gave her a silent look of admonishment and surprise, but did not argue. Perhaps that would come later. “We’ll teach you the way he taught us.”

“Yes!” Elain’s brown eyes sparkled with excitement. Goodness, she hadn’t felt this excited in….well, forever.

The lessons were not what she expected, but she did not question them.

There were no weapons, or peeking through peepholes, or breaking locks.

At first, it was a little bit boring even. Odd requests, such as making conversations with random faeries--in the park, on the street, at the markets. The twins would point out a fae and order Elain to go and start a conversation. It lasted for weeks, and she even grew frustrated, thinking that they were just humoring her and these ‘lessons’ were nothing but a game. Until one day, Nuala told her to obtain specific information. She pointed at an elderly male Fae and requested, “Approach. Come back with the following information--did he serve in the first War, what rank, does he have children, how many, and what is his favourite breakfast?”

“What?” Elain stared in confusion, but Nuala’s face remained inscrutable. 

“Is there a problem?” asked Nuala. Her tone of voice...well, the tone was very much Azriel’s.

Elain shook her head and said, “no”, before crossing the street and approaching the male fae.

The realization that she could do this was thrilling. At once, she understood why she spent all those weeks approaching and making conversations with all those fae. She found ways, ways to ingratiate herself to them, to mark something small, but unique to each one, and then weave a connection around that tiny tidbit. It worked every time. 

The elderly male fae had a small, but noticeable limp. This was Elain’s opening. He was hauling a basket of groceries, and she approached gently, offering help. Oh, he couldn’t possibly trouble such a pretty lady. And she was a High Fae to boot. No, no, thank you, he could manage. Not a problem at all, she was walking that way anyway. What was he making for dinner with all those vegetables? Oh, soup? Did the wife send him to the market? Oh, a widower? So sorry. Were there children to assist? Three? That’s good that they helped out…

“He was a Captain in the Third Legion during the first War. He is a widower, with three children--two male, and one female. Three grandchildren as well. He usually eats leftovers for breakfast, because he is too lazy to cook, but his favorite breakfast are almond croissants from the Brea Bakery,” reported Elain.

A small, satisfied smile touched Nuala’s lips.

So the lessons continued. She was ordered to obtain more detailed information, and in places which were harder to access. She did. Sometimes, she failed, but rarely.

In addition, Cerridwen began training her on walking. 

Walking? 

Walking.

“Make your presence unknown,” she explained and Elain only nodded. Sure, she would learn to walk, if that’s what was required. She learned how to roll her feet in such a manner that they were completely silent with every step that she took. Learned how to notice her own body, its presence, and the space that it occupied. And learned how to make it unknown. How to melt into shadows, stand near someone and have them be unaware of her, sneak quietly into rooms and spaces. It took a month, maybe longer. Meanwhile, she learned other tricks. How to swap papers, how to pull documents with a flick of her wrist, how to read upside down (very difficult). 

“Could you take this to Lord Azriel please,” Cerridwen handed Elain a folder. 

“Um...yes, of course,” Elain took the folder, a bit surprised that Cerridwen couldn’t deliver it herself, but by the time she was going to ask, Cerridwen had disappeared.

First things first--Elain didn’t know where Azriel was.

The River House was enormous, so she started with Rhysand’s office, but it was empty. She peeked out into the garden, but only saw baby Nyx and his nanny, who was attempting to contain Nyx on a picnic blanket, and failing. Elain smiled. Nyx crawled like a fiend and made an aggressive beeline towards the fluffy peonies. No doubt, they’d be trampled and pulled soon enough. Especially, if the nanny wouldn’t take her eyes off the handsome delivery male who was standing by the gate and flirting with her.

Elain closed her eyes. Smell. Sense. They haven’t gotten that far in their training yet, but Azriel’s scent--oh, she knew it well. The most delicious scent to ever hit her nostrils. The one scent that she craved and hungered for above all others. Even in this huge house, she could isolate Azriel’s scent, as it rose above all others, at least for her. The strongest trail led to Azriel’s bedroom, which was unsurprising, even if he did not spend much time here anymore. He and Rhysand met to discuss matters of state, and then there were the mandatory ‘family dinners’ that Azriel attended. They used to be obligatory, but after the last Solstice, they became mandatory, by order of the High Lord. 

No, Azriel wasn’t in his bedroom. She followed the scent down the hallway, past the drawing room, then up the side stairs. Ah. She should’ve guessed. There was a terrace that overlooked the garden that Azriel favored. Sometimes, she thought that he observed her from there, when she tangled with weeds and seeds. But that couldn’t be. Not after the fiasco during the last Solstice and him pulling away from her with no explanation. A momentary lapse of reason on his part.

She spotted the spread of his wings. A smile touched her lips. How things were different before, when he was so comfortable around her. When he’d come and sit with her in the garden, sunning his wings, doing his work, both of them enjoying each other’s company without the need to talk. All of that somehow crashed and burned, and she didn’t know why and how to bring that intimacy back.

“Azriel,” she said, “Cerr,”

Azriel flinched and whipped his head to her. His eyes blew wide at the sight of her, standing in the doorway.

“Elain...Phhh, you startled me….” he muttered hoarsely.

And the Spymaster of the Night Court shifted with discomfort. 

She had surprised him. 

“Sorry,” she murmured and handed him the folder. “I apologize. Cerridwen asked me to give this to you.”

He was still staring at her, as if processing what had occurred. His hazel eyes raked over her body, settling on her feet for a few moments. It was like he was trying to discern how she managed to approach him so silently.

“Umm, thank you,” he said and opened the folder. It was empty.

Neither one said anything to each other, and Elain turned and stepped back into the house, her cheeks flushed.

As she hurried down the hall, Cerridwen and Nuala both appeared in front of her, grins plastered on their lovely angular faces.

“What?!” she snapped. 

The grins widened.

“There was nothing in the folder!” she exclaimed, irritated.

“No,” agreed Cerrdiwen. “But you passed the first phase of your training.”

“You surprised Lord Azriel.”

[strawberry-cow-snuggles]

The Color of Time (Part 1/?)

Category: Fluffy Multi-Part Drabble

Character: Barbatos x GN!MC

Themes: Self-discovery, Separating Work from Self, Becoming a Person

Word Count: 1,112 words

Disclaimer: I don't have much information on Barbatos, but I got a line stuck in my head that I thought would work nicely with him. I hope you'll forgive anything that may not be directly in line with the way you perceive his character!

Description: Barbatos is always kept in the background. Even as the side-characters-turned-dateables are becoming more integrated into the main scene with the addition of more devilgrams, cards, and event and story interactions, he's still sort of just *there*. He's guarded and kept as a man of mystery with little known about him aside from being the ultimate butler and one of the demons unfortunate enough to have made a pact with Solomon. What happens when someone treats Barbatos not as another worker bee in the background of the most powerful man in the Devildom, but as his own demon?

Barbatos's duties come above all else; before his enjoyment, before his health, before himself. Diavolo is the center of his world every waking minute. On the rare occasion he's asked about anything pertaining to his own preferences, Barbatos usually feigns a smile and gives an answer befitting of Diavolo's interests, even if his own preferences may directly contradict them.

"I agree with you, my lord."

"Yes, my lord, pickles can be quite disgusting at times."

"Bringing two humans to the realm of ruthless demons and monsters, and angels to the land of their fallen brethren is an excellent idea, my lord."

That was before you showed up. Your daily presence in the castle has become as normal as the throne he polishes every other night before bed. At first, the butler remained cautious around you, wary of your intentions and what effect your presence would have on the delicate dynamic within the castle and balance of power within the Devildom. His caution was not without basis. The other human, Solomon the Wise, was a sorcerer of phenomenal power, the strongest to have ever lived. You held pacts with the seven strongest demons within the realm aside from himself and the royal bloodline. Coupled with the protection and wrath of the angels and the celestial realm, every exchange student was to be considered a force to be reckoned with. Should either one of you foster ill will towards the Devildom or any of its inhabitants, a second celestial war could be on the horizon. For this reason, he treated you not as a person, but as an important diplomat or one of Lord Diavolo's esteemed nobles. Formality became the only form of engagement the two of you had. Every interaction seemed as if it was predicated by some unseen yet continuously performed script.

"Would you care for some tea?"

"Perhaps you'd like to indulge in some custard whilst you await the young master's arrival."

"Lord Diavolo is expecting you in his study. I shall guide you there."

The pleasantries and greetings stayed surface-level. Small talk was as deep as your conversations would venture before they would be interrupted by Lord Diavolo or one of the seven. It's not as if he'd intentionally meant to maintain as many walls as he could, but after having served the Demon King through phases both malicious and vulnerable, caution and suspicion became the first feelings he'd fostered towards any new arrivals.

The first time you truly been able to speak to him, not Barbatos the Butler, but Barbatos the Demon, is one he'll never forget. He was waiting on you at the request of Lord Diavolo while you sat in the royal garden, admiring the mystical flora of a world that wasn't your own. You asked about something as simple as his favorite color. He said it was red. Something didn't seem quite right. It wasn't genuine. You told him to tell the truth. Barbatos seemed to be caught off guard for a moment, pausing for a brief moment to collect his thoughts before repeating himself. Still, the guarded butler insisted he had already told it. Truth actually be told, he's never had one. Favorites never really seemed all that important to him. Surely, he had preferences when it came to things such as preparing certain meals and teas, scenes in his daily life he had to perform often, but in the eyes of Barbatos, one method or option never seemed to stand above all others.

The interaction wasn't one of particular importance but it remains seared into his mind as something extraordinary. It simply wasn't important to him nor to any grand scheme whether he preferred blue to yellow or chartreuse to crimson, but you had still bothered to ask him, the butler, and you showed genuine interest whilst doing so. You sought an answer not out of formality nor in search of reaffirming your own biases, but because you valued his opinion on something that didn't matter to anything at all.

The only reply to your borderline-interrogation style questioning was his normal, closed-eyed smile; the mask no one could seem to see past. You, however, noticed the pause he took to gather his thoughts, and thus, noticed the chink in his armor.

From then, on, you were welcomed within the castle just as you had been before, with one small difference. Barbatos no longer went out of his way to offer you any tea or fresh baked goods unless the hour for them was appropriate. If he had already been making them, he'd offer, but he no longer went out of his way to prepare a fresh pot of coffee or loaf of bread just because you showed up at their doorstep as you had begun to every few days or so. Barbatos continued to greet you with the usual level of formality, but the catering offers had ceased.

Despite what others would interpret as a decline in hospitality, the castle began to feel a bit warmer than before. Surely, it wasn't attributed to the oven or stove running, since fewer meals had been prepared on them due to the subtle shift in Barbatos's demeanor. It took you a few more visits to figure out what exactly felt different since you'd occasionally be offered a treat here and there, but after two weeks or so you'd found the script to your new routine.

The next visit after your revelation you'd decided to take another stroll through the royal garden. Barbatos was, again, instructed by Lord Diavolo to watch over you and steer you away from the more hostile plants laying roots on the castle grounds.

"Do take care to avoid the Sarcophogai Snapdragons. They're a devildom variety that will attempt to eat anything they come in contact with."

"Watch your step near these Tar Lillies. They get their name from the tar-like substance secreted by their petals. It's just as troublesome as actual tar."

"Leave the blue roses be. They're quite delicate. They only grow within the Garden of the Demon King and are thus considered an endangered species. This variety is also highly poisonous. Their toxicity is comparable to that of Hellebore."

It had been a while since the script had changed. You thought back to the catalyst, his favorite color. Considering you hadn't been able to get an honest answer out of him, you decided pestering him over and over with the same inquiry would only serve to bore both of you.

"Barbatos? What's your favorite flower?"

"Naturally, my favorite flower is Atropa Belladonna, the official flower of the Devildom."

Again, you'd been given a line from the formal script you'd grown tired of.

~~~~~~~~~~~Author's Note~~~~~~~~~

Floriography, or “Flower Language”, is a form of communication through flowers that was most popular in Victorian England. Each flower has a different meaning (usually an idea, concept, or short message) associated with it and a combination of certain flowers can indicate different meanings. Below, I’ve listed the meanings of the flowers I’ve included in this piece. Hopefully, this will add another element to the story that you’ll be able to enjoy next time you read it! ^-^

Snapdragons = Graciousness and Deception

Lillies = Purity

Atropa Belladonna (AKA Deadly Nightshade, Devil's Rhubarb) = Deception, Danger, and Death