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@recordscfdestruction
actually the best ship dynamic is i would kill for you. i would kill anyone who layed a hand on you. please let me kill for you. please let me show my devotion by dirtying my hands, it's the only way i know how. let me destroy anything that hurts you. i've hurt you too. i'm destroying myself.
Both the gardener and the guardian called after them in panicked tones.
A small seed of nostalgia bloomed inside her chest. She could remember clearly how she used to panic when he did this in the past. Arms instinctively wrapped around him tightly as she cried out their creators' names. She was never young, but she was once new, unfamiliar with her limits.
Now, as they plummeted down the mountainside, from a height that would surely kill a regular cookie, she did not feel the urge to panic or scream. The pragmatic part of her heart said it was due to exposure; she knew they would not crumble at the bottom. The softer part... she chose to ignore...
From this potentially fatal fall, the mountains she called home had never looked more beautiful.
Her arms did find themselves wrapped around his neck. But rather than a panicked grab for something solid, she kept her hold loose. As fleeting as the sunrise they plummeted past.
She could try to catch them with the fog; she could stop this at any moment.
"Tell me, do you have a plan for if these new doughs are weaker?"
Burning Spice's laugh echoed over the mountains as he hair whipped upwards in the free fall. And as she questioned the impending collateral, he wondered if perhaps the craters from their Virtuous days still lingered- or if they too had been erased by the tides of change.
Plans however... He only passed a wide grin towards his captive beast as if the answer was either a resounding no, or that her self preservation might be their safety net.
His soul jam began to glow a hot red, calling upon the powers within as they passed through the final barriers of the fog and the ground below began rushing towards them. His grip upon Mystic Flour tightened.
"If these legs should shatter in the impact, then I entrust you to mend this pitiful dough ill suited of our return. It would be well worth such a fleeting rush, don't you agree?"
A soft, sharp inhale echoes from her lips. The kiss, soft and simple, birthing a once-buried garden of thoughts and emotions. Memories of how it felt to be a virtue, foolish and naive with childish crushes. To not just love, but to want to love.
She should pull back, bury these blooms once more beneath meditation, dust, and fog. They both know love and care are temporary, fleeting states, something to be lost in the endless sea of time. This moment too shall pass, likely as though it never happened at all. To hold on, to try and feel once more, was a fool's errand.
Oh... but she'd always been a sucker for futile endeavours...
Do not think of the future nor the past; allow this moment to simply be. To lean into his warm touch and allow her tears to freely fall, her shoulders trembling with each aching breath.
"... Thank you," she whispered like a confession. All other words failed her.
Before his six arms would have boasted all that he needed. To hold. To prepare tea. To brush her hair and gently rub smooth circles into her back. All with the love and dedication never to leave until all was well again. She must settle for two now- another repercussion of his unbridled rage.
So many regrets.
She was another he harbored by which allowing her to hurt to this point of such hollowness. And as much as he would not admit it aloud, seeing her this way warmed its way into his chest knowing she was not so lost as he imagined. It was not by hope or good will, but his own selfishness. A rightful and doomed pain they both accepted. For everything was vanity.
His hand rubbed those same slow circles into her back, the other protectively barring her deeper against his chests. He would catch those tears as another precious stain on his dough.
"Recall the past... Until you can remember who you are now."
Then Burning Spice began to hum. And old, old song from a time that no longer mattered. To deep words in a language that no longer existed.
Mystic Flour took the fabric and approached the stream once more, quietly soaking it to clean off what jam she could.
Then she reached a hand up to pull off her veil, tossing it onto the ground by the river without a second thought for the delicate fabric. The outer layer of her hanfu and her celestial ribbon soon followed.
Finally, she turned and took his hand. Her touch was soft, a gentle hold. Not one of delicacy, for the destroyer was not fragile, but something easy to pull out of if he wished.
She walked backwards, tugging him along into the river. Wading deeper and deeper until she stood about chest deep in the cold water. Not that she let the temperature bother her, of course.
Without a word, she raised the cloth to wipe away a jam smear on his chest.
Without her veil, she looked even smaller than she truly was. Though far from delicate, there was something captivating all the same as if she were fragile porcelain. It was deceptive, and Mystic Flour would topple many kingdoms so delicately it was fascinating.
Eyes had been solely focused upon her, that the water only reclaimed his attention the moment the chill had gripped him. His fire had settled to crackling cinders, and Burning Spice followed the movements of her hands as they wiped away the carnage. Cleansing the ruin, yet revealing the Destroyer beneath.
The flame of his Soul Jam warmed and its light flickered as her hand neared it.
His tail shifted in the water, the beast settled himself to sit in the flowing waters as his hair swept around him in its current. Easy reach. Easy access if the Leavened One so wished to do more. Everything was tuned out as the world was tuned out, save his Heer.
He's sitting with @whiteflourfog watching the curdle of Shadow Milks do what they do best. Yap and not fight....
He's going to crumble you, @pinchofdeceit . Shut up before you make that thing bite me.
No point dwelling on the past? Yes, that was true. Both past and present were fleeting states, aimless and meaningless.
Mystic Flour waited for him to continue, but when his words seemingly failed him she slowly tilted her head upwards, to meet his gaze. A brief flicker of curiosity passed when he stood before her, damp fabric in hand. She did not fight him as he took her hand, that spark growing until recognition bloomed.
A hum, almost a laugh, passed her lips, “I care not if this garment is stained.”
“You make it sound as if the fog that follows me is not dusted with remains.” A pause to hide her smile behind a sleeve, “you may be called the destroyer, but you are not the only one here covered in crumbs.”
Still, she allowed him to remove the jam from her fingers, watching him as he worked. Upon completion, she held out her other hand for the cloth. “Shall I return the favour?”
No. She was right in that. All the former virtues were tainted now. Fallen from their pedestals- or rather shattered them in their own ways with the casualties that followed for such a liberating atrocity. Yet of all the delicate flowers that thrived in the destruction's wake, hers was a lotus which he continued coming back to. Want to destroy, want to protect, want to...
A smirk did grow at the imagery of Mystic Flour is the same red as he donned was nothing short of satisfying imagination. Purest white stained a dark crimson... He'd wipe away the last of the jam and slowly retract his grasp.
Only then did her offer did cause the Destroyer pause.
From the corner of his eye, he peered into the water's reflection and saw the extent of his jamshed coating his chest, his face and hair, his dhoti...
Blinking away those wandering thoughts, Burning Spice said nothing beyond an agreeing hum. Thereby he extended only a single hand in turn with the already stained cloth.
He didn’t have to command them to bite down harder, breaking the dough between their teeth as a knife. A flash of something strange in the void on their face; gleaming behind the eyemask as the sonic embroider poised itself behind his back.
Timekeeper jerked her head back, glaring at Burning Spice with an unreadable expression. Red jam dripped from their mouth as they spat a few pieces of dough out. Ugh, this was going to stain their clothes, and this shirt was their favourite.
“I don’t take orders from anyone, let alone yourself, Herald.”
His jam was pounding like the wound they inflicted was not even a scratch. The way he felt it drip from his hand and splatter upon the ground, he could sense some sort of weapon behind his back without even turning. Burning Spice reveled in this.
Almost as much as he could dismiss that little title they spat at him.
"Old titles which fail to suit me as I have become. Times have changed, or have YOU forgotten such, mouse."
Rather than swinging at her, his blade swing behind to knock her own toothpick away. "If you do not bend, you will break!"
He did the one thing that Timekeeper hated, congratulations!
They bit his hand in response.
Ah, that triggered a fire in his eyes. But he didn't pull back his hand. It remained steady between those teeth. Instead his ax head slowly came around to encompass their buttery little head liken a threatening embrace from the weapon.
"Is that the best you can do? Bite harder!" he ordered.
@khronometreur replied to your post “He's been reminded of the mouse.”:
Dégage. >:(
"HAH."
He grabs their chin and leans down. "Pipsqueak."
He's been reminded of the mouse.
"What I built neither is, was, or will be of secret."
Have I just been blind? Why does Burning Spice specifically have Mystic Flour's soul jam as reliefs upon his temple pillars???
Like... the eye aside. I don't think it's necessarily Shadow Milk. But looking around, I didn't see ones for Sugar or Salt, but... looking at that wheel... maybe Sugar??? Regardless, that is SPECIFICALLY Mystic Flour's soul jam.
Canon.
Princess Carry with @recordscfdestruction
[PRINCESS ] It was rare moments like this when he missed having six arms. He wonders if she also misses them while he adjusts his hold. ( @recordscfdestruction )
And yet, despite having fewer arms, he was still able to lift her as though she weighed nothing at all.
Mystic Flour briefly froze upon being picked up. Surprised when her meditation had been interrupted by the feeling of being lifted. It was an almost nostalgic feeling...
Upon realizing her face was warm, that she'd been staring, and that her lips were curved in a smile, she lifted her sleeve to hide the lower half of her face. "You caught me off guard," she said in a voice bordering on shy.
"Is there a particular reason you decided to interrupt my meditation?" Not that she was complaining, of course.
"I grew bored and felt the need for ruin," he amusingly admitted. And that was all there was to it. She would either reserve herself to accept this fate or find a way to lash out in her own methods- both of which Burning Spice would have happily accepted. Given the former's content, his deep chuckle grew familiar and mischievous.
Grip tightening, he began to run. "It's been a long time since we've last soared through heavens. Let's test the strength of this dough, shall we?"
There was a grunt, and then he jumped. Off the mountainside and down. Perhaps it was the sound of barking or whining he thought he heard from the cliff, but drowned out by his laughter, that sound ,too, grew muffled by pillowed clouds that delightfully failed to catch them.
@khronometreur and the Herald's ragebait
One pair of arms folded across his chest, the other two situated upon his hips as he leaned down to the much smaller cookie with a wide grin on his face. "Don't take it too hard, everyone is a mouse to me," he chuckled. "I could call you a rat instead if you prefer."
The Herald tilted their hat up to get a better look at that face. "But for what reason is this? Do you seek out History's guidance?"
Crying with @recordscfdestruction
comforting (@recordscfdestruction coming at her so fast)
How pointless… Here she stood in her meditation chamber, trying to will these incessant tears to dry. A bad vision should not affect her so. This place was meant for reverence, not useless tears.
She only realized the doors had opened when she heard footsteps approaching. Steps far too heavy to be the little Haetae’s. Slow at first, then fast. Running?
She turned, only to see “Burning Spice?” Her voice betrayed her, choked and strained by sobs. “I did not expect— this is nothing—“
Mystic Flour froze the moment his hand moved to her cheek, wiping the tear away with a gentleness she did not deserve. Her denial silenced instantly.
Pale, tear filled eyes looked up at the great destroyer. “I…” She swallowed, leaning slightly into his hand. “I do not deserve your worry.”
Explanations surfaced in her mind, but she silenced those too. A useless justification. Instead, she remained quiet, resting her hand atop of his to keep him here for even just a moment longer.
How needlessly sentimental of her…
He'd felt a shift, prompting him to see her. This was not what he expected, yet the destructive beast gritted his teeth at the sight. No words to form, and a flame both quelled and ignited all at once over those tears. Beast of Apathy... but still pained. Just like him. His hands cradled her face, wiping away the streams staining ivory.
Didn't deserve his worry...
Was this worry? He believed her strong, just as he was, even now. Gentle caresses of his thumb and brushes of silken hair behind her ear her in delicate care just as if the priestess was of the finest porcelain. He dared not silence those sobs, but rather offered himself if it should alleviate this troubling burden.
"You need not explain yourself, Heer. I will harbor this moment between us alone. Just as you desire, so will I remain."
Burning Spice pressed a kiss atop her head and rested his forehead to hers.
Burning Spice changed the least from how he was as the Herald. Sure he ripped off his extra arms, but as the Herald, he still had somewhat of a beastial appearance in comparison to the other Virtues. Claws and pointed ears. That sharp grin. To some that had never met the Herald, he might appear scary, and while he could be the fearsome gargantuan warrior in battle, the Herald was kind, protective, and giving. And would often be willing to laugh off the fear of other cookies while he- or the other Virtues reassured them.
