seen from United States
seen from Pakistan
seen from China
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from United States
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seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
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seen from United States
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Guys this is canon this happened trust me 🙏🙏
Finally finished recipes of the Virtues/Beasts. The one big headcanon:
The Five not only a creations of ideal cooking but also of the alchemy. So they all have “special” ingredients that gives them animal-like traits and unique abilities.
Such a shame, those recipes were completely lost in time and in witches drawers-
Ignore the fact they're all sized inconsistently and the fact that blueberry milk is significantly higher quality — i just wanted to line all the designs i made up so i can draw them together a little more properly later ! But hey . Food . Come get it
Fanart for @thepalladium1's adorable Baby Beasts AU!!! They look like such cute and snobby little brats and I love their designs and everything so mucchhh 😭🥰
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HES SO SILLY HES SO SILLY OMG I LOVE HIM SO MUUUCHH AHA HAAAAA 🥹🥹🥹🥛🌌
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[The Sixth Redemption]
Yandere Beast Cookies x reader Bonus chapter
Main story wordcount: 1.7k
I'll die if I wither in your memory.
Please leave comments and your thoughts on the chapter, they motivate me lots! Thank you<3
Some Cookies say that solitude sparks creativity.
A fine brushstroke swipes across cardboard, creating the shape of a star.
Another dab of paint fills it in with colour.
Shadow Milk Cookie argues against this sentiment. At least, to this extent.
This isolation is one wherein even his own voice eludes him. Any sounds muffle into silver bark. The darkness is so encroaching his eyes adjust and swear they see something in a distance that can't be breached, just for it to be more vast depths of darkness.
The air is stuffy and compressed. Although, beneath it, lingers the scent of spice, flour, sugar and salt....It's a rather odd amalgamation.
He digresses. Point being, this divine punishment of eternal solitary confinement is a bore. A drag, even. The worst of writers would turn their noses up at the uninspiring finale. It's the same redundant storytelling every time. Evil is driven to dormancy while the world basks in peace. He'd seen it, blurry visions through the cracks of vines. Trees with soft edges, sky smudged with lilac and Faeries passing like wisps of glittering silver. Their despicable, serene hymns flow from daybreak to the fall of night.
such an picturesque, simple-minded existence they lead.
He longs for nothing more than to tear it apart. Squander the tranquillity of their lives as they bear witness to horrors beyond their comprehensions.
At this moment, though, that is not where his frustration lies. It's with the cardboard illustration before him.
An illustration of you.
He'd been working ardently on this piece for hours; he assumes it's been hours. The concept of time is a luxury he doesn't have here. Nevertheless, he just can't seem to perfect the artwork. There's something missing. He can't decipher what.
The brush vaporises in a cloud of blue. He studies the puppet long.
He remembers the colour of your dough, the length of your hair, the details of your apparel, the placement of your Souljam, the shade of your eyes, the way they shine when you smile, the way your voice would enthral his senses and the softness of your touch, yet he can't grasp what he's missing. It irritates him to no end.
The harsh rattling of chains catches his pondering. His mismatched eyes blink. A cynical smile etches onto his lips. Hmm, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to ask his...cellmates.
With a flick of his wrist, the work-in-progress propels forward to the silver fork adjacent to the Master of Deceit.
The air trembles as heat oozes from each restless step the Great Destroyer takes. The grip on his parashu is strained; inarticulate grumbles slip from his mouth. He paces and paces. Like a restless Beast, literally. It's been long bygone since his reign of terror was rooted out. The ruins of Kingdoms he left in his wake were the nightmares Cookies whispered about in cautious conversation, as though afraid if the words carried further than their inaudible breaths, it'd spell their own doom.
As a neighbour in this prison, however, he was jarring and agitated; any attempts at civil discussion ended in threats of being crumbled. Not the most cordial if you ask Shadow Milk Cookie.
"Hey hotstuff!"
Burning Spice Cookie ceases in his path. His searing gaze snaps to call. Flames sizzle over the golden plates of his shoulders; his chest heaves, eyes lowering to the cardboard puppet that dares infiltrate his space.
The replica of your smile stares back up at him. His hand twitches around the handle of his weapon, and so does the corner of his eye.
Shadow Milk leans against the silver bars. "Wouldja do me a favour and tell me—" He can't finish his request as a blade cleaves through the air, almost slicing his hard work into bits.
"GET THAT GARBAGE OUT OF MY SIGHT!"
The snarl is kindled with rage, booming too loud for the close-packed area. Shadow Milk Cookie is sure the others hear it as well. He reels back the illustration before it risks suffering the onslaught of the Destroyer again and evens out his posture, dusting off false dust from his shoulders.
"My, my...what a heated delivery!" He sighs melodramatically.
His eyes wander, searching for the next participant who could stave off the itch of perfectionism grating his nerves. Further down, to his left. The smell of flour. Hah! just who he was scouring for. The cardboard flies over to the apathetic once-wish granter.
Her poise was flawless, sturdy as the will she had shunned for the reality of the world's oh-so-meaningless culmination. She never moves, barely talks. She just sits there. crossed-legged, hands folded. Flour-coated lashes obscuring her sight.
"Misty!"
Nothing hints that she heard him.
"Mistyyyy!"
"Yoohoo! Misty!"
There's a slight crease in Mystic Flour Cookie's brow, her eyes open. Slit and hollow.
"What is it?" Comes her detached reply.
The Beast of Deceit grins triumphantly. He says your name; it has such a pleasant ring to it, he savours the delightful sound. "You two were practically attached at the hip." Magic nudges the puppet closer to the Master of the Ivory Pagoda. "Is there anything, however teensy-tiny, that I'm missing from this drawing?"
Mystic Flour Cookie looks down at the depiction of you.
For a second, a fleeting one. Her detachment fixates into something heavy; it's impossible to label it as anything tangible. It's there, then she breaks her unyielding stare, closing her eyes, and it's not.
"It is futile to engage in your tedious antics." She ends her part of the conversation, returning to her meditation; her back straightens.
Shadow Milk Cookie clicks his tongue. "Ugh...whatever."
The cardboard whirrs clockwise.
That silent knight.
What is it he goes by now? - Silent Salt Cookie? The epithet is incredibly lacking in subtlety; he lives up to his name anyhow. Every since the beginning of this washout of a punishment. He hasn't said a word. not one. Shadow Milk Cookie has tried to elicit a discussion out of him without success. A provocation here, an underhand insult there. Nothing works. So boring.
There is one thing that entices a reaction out of the Commander, albeit small and unnoticeable to the obtuse eye. Anything that has to do with you.
You had that effect, like the marvellous phenomenon you were.
"Pst, Salty!"
Nothing. Predictable.
He almost merges with the darkness of the surroundings. He's clad in pitch-black armour that bears scars from battles unknown. He stands unshaken, arms laced over his chest. It's said he wiped out his ever-loyal army with his own blade. Such cruel irony.
"Saltyy!"
The puppet waves with its hand. "You were very close to them; you saw them everyyyy day, no? Help an old pal out here!" He chirps falsely.
Metal rustles a fraction, and the Master of Deceit swears the knight's shoulders go tense.
"..."
"Oh, come onnn!"
The silence pours out until it drowns into tense waiting. Shadow Milk Cookie has never been good with either. Quietness grows claws, claws that rip into anyone forced to endure it. It feels restless, confronting and unbearably stale. He huffs at the perpetual rejection of his very simple request. Seriously, how hard can it be to answer one question?
One last shot.
Right from him, sweetness so sickening it can rot teeth, a meadow of absurd pastel flowers with vines that circle around the silver points of the fork. It's the most idyllic area of this cylinder confinement. It's the space taken up by the Bringer of Happiness. Although she's not really... happy right now, Shadow Milk Cookie supposes.
She's been crying her little heart out forever now.
"Sugar!~" He sings.
Eternal Sugar Cookie lifts her head from her hands; her rose-pink hair clings to her tear-stained face. Her eyes gloss with a pitiful shine. Her wing clasps tightly around her body like she's trying to console herself. She's met eye to eye with the cardboard puppet of you.
"I've been trying to finish this one for agesss, but it feels like there's just something missing, care to give a hand?" Shadow Milk's voice is tuned, hiding an undertone of slivering mischief, like a snake.
Eternal Sugar Cookie blinks, and the puppet makes a twirl in sparkles. Her bottom lip quivers.
The Beast of Deceit tuts innocently. ''Oh, I forgot that it does that sometimes, quite charming, eh?-"
She starts weeping again. Her inconsolable sobs resound at high volume in the Silver Tree. Shadow Milk Cookie's expression tightens to faux worry. He pulls back the puppet.
Burning Spice Cookie covers his ears from the obnoxious cries. "Now look what you've done, you yapping clown!"
"Whatttt? How was I supposed to know she would take it that hard? I just wanted to know—"
"STOP TALKING!" "Stop talking." "Stop talking!"
All three spectators reprimand in unison.
The trickster slumps back into his cage. "What a buzzkill..." He mumbles. He observes his work; the paint had smudged from all the to-and-fro pulling, leaking into a mingle of unattractive murky colours. Its eye had begun dripping off paint, making it look like it's crying. His joyous front slips away. His hand grazes the puppet's face, wiping the tear away, soiling the colouring more.
He misses you.
It's that singular truth he can't shed; on the grandiose stage of deceit that he's orchestrated, where falsehoods and chaos run rampant so delectably, there's one, one truth. Such a small and insignificant number, the closest to nothing. Yet it makes up for its size in its magnitude.
Just as one droplet of deceit can taint an empire, so can a drop of truth ripple an ocean of deceit.
You're that truth.
A star shining so bright in the dark he can't help but be awe-struck. So good, so pure, so...perfect and always out of his reach.
He misses you.
He knows the others do too. Burning Spice's hesitation, Mystic Flour's lingering stare, Silent Salt's tensed shoulders and Eternal Sugar's crying. It's evident even if they try sooo hard to hide it.
His grip firms around the cardboard....That Elder Faerie is going to pay for sealing them in here.
crack.
The puppet breaks and falls to the ground in fragments. Shadow Milk Cookie watches it tiredly. Looks like he's going to have to start over. Again.
The wreckage disappears, replaced by a blank brown cut-out.
He takes up the brush; he thinks back to your soft smile.
He truly does miss you.
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Hehehe, bonus chapter. How was it?
For more: The Sixth Redemption Masterlist
-Faceless
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