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p0orbaby · 4 months ago

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All I Want for Christmas

summary: your daughter didn’t get the one present she really wanted

warnings: none !

a/n: thank you for the request, i hope you like it !

word count: 2.9k

You notice something’s off with Eliana two days after Christmas. At first, it’s subtle—an anomaly so slight it could almost be chalked up to post-holiday fatigue. Normally, mornings with Eliana are chaotic in a way that feels both exhausting and oddly necessary, as though the house depends on her noise to keep it from crumbling into silence. She bursts into the day like a firework: her small feet slapping against the wood floors, her hair a wild halo of dark curls, her voice ricocheting between pitches as she narrates her life in real time or belts out whatever song has recently embedded itself in her psyche.

Today, there’s none of that. She lingers in her pyjamas—a pair with faded unicorns that she refuses to let you throw away despite the fraying cuffs—long after breakfast. When you remind her to brush her teeth, she drags her feet, her movements lethargic in a way that feels rehearsed, like she’s trying to stretch each step into eternity. It’s the absence of urgency that unsettles you. Eliana thrives on urgency. She once cried because Alexia beat her to the front door when the postman rang.

But this morning, there’s no competition. No noise. No off-key rendition of Vampire by Olivia Rodrigo echoing from the bathroom as she “forgets” to spit out her toothpaste. You’re struck by how quiet the house feels. Not peaceful—just wrong.

By lunch, the feeling hardens into certainty. Eliana picks at her sandwich with the detached precision of someone performing a task they’ve been paid to complete. She peels the crust away slowly, meticulously, her small fingers working like a jeweller inspecting a flawed diamond. The crust sits in a neat pile beside her plate, untouched. So do the carrot sticks you’ve artfully arranged into a star shape—an attempt to disguise healthy food as something fun. Usually, she’d at least nibble on the points before declaring them “too crunchy.” Today, she doesn’t even bother with the charade.

And then there’s the Coke. You could write a thesis on Eliana’s Coke-stealing habits. How she waits, biding her time like a cat stalking prey, until you’re sufficiently distracted—mid-sentence, mid-bite, mid-thought. The moment your guard drops, she strikes: clutching the can with both hands, her face breaking into a grin so triumphant it’s impossible to be mad. You always let her have one sip, though you draw the line at more. She doesn’t push her luck; she knows where the boundary is and takes satisfaction in skirting it.

But today, the Coke sits untouched. You leave it on the table deliberately, watching her from the corner of your eye, waiting for the familiar rustle of movement. It doesn’t come. She doesn’t even glance at it.

Alexia notices it too. She’s standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing the cutting board she insists on hand-washing because the dishwasher “ruins the wood” (a claim you’ve never verified but don’t argue against). “She’s been quiet today,” Alexia murmurs, glancing towards the living room. Her tone is casual, but there’s an edge of concern beneath it.

You follow her gaze. Eliana is curled up on the sofa, her knees drawn to her chest, her chin resting on top of them. The TV plays some saccharine animated film about magical snowmen and plucky penguins—one of those films where everything sparkles unnaturally, and the characters blink too often. Normally, Eliana would be transfixed, laughing at all the wrong parts and narrating the plot aloud despite everyone already watching. But today, she’s motionless. Her eyes are glassy, unfocused, as though the screen is a window to a world she can’t quite enter.

“Maybe she’s tired,” you say, though you don’t believe it. Eliana doesn’t do tired. Even as a baby, she fought sleep like it was a personal enemy, crying herself hoarse rather than admit defeat. Sleep was a battle you rarely won outright; most nights, you settled for a stalemate.

Alexia doesn’t look convinced either. She dries her hands on a dishtowel, her brow furrowed. “I don’t know,” she says. “This isn’t like her”

It isn’t. And that terrifies you in a way you can’t fully articulate. You watch her from the kitchen doorway, your hand resting lightly on the frame, as though bracing yourself against an invisible weight. She looks small. Fragile. The kind of fragile that makes you want to wrap her in bubble wrap and keep her from the world.

But it’s not her size that unnerves you—it’s the silence. Eliana’s silence feels like an absence, like something crucial has been taken away without your permission. You can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong, though you don’t know what.

And that, more than anything, is what scares you.

You get your answer that evening, during bedtime. Eliana’s room is a testament to her devotion to pink—a monochromatic sanctuary where even the air seems tinged with a rosy hue. The walls are painted a soft blush, a decision you regretted halfway through applying the third coat but one you could never take back once she saw the finished product and declared it “princess perfect.” Her duvet cover is a riot of pastel stars, most faded from repeated wash cycles and the occasional chocolate milk spill. On her bedside table sits a lamp with a shade adorned with tiny ballerinas, their poses forever frozen mid-pirouette.

The bookshelves, crammed to the edges, are an organised chaos of her literary life. Picture books dominate the lower shelves—familiar titles with tattered spines that you could recite in your sleep (Guess How Much I Love You has practically become your mantra). Higher up, a collection of chapter books gathers dust, ambitious purchases she insisted on during a trip to the bookstore, her eyes wide with determination. She struggles with the longer words but refuses to ask for help, insisting on piecing together syllables with the kind of stubborn grit that feels both infuriating and endearing. She gets that from you.

You tuck her in with the practised efficiency of someone who has made a ritual out of bedtime. She clutches Mr Snuggles, a stuffed rabbit so battered it looks like it’s survived a war zone. He’s missing an eye, his fur matted beyond recognition, but to Eliana, he’s irreplaceable. You know this because you’ve tried to replace him—multiple times, in fact. You’ve scoured boutique toy stores, online shops, and even eBay, searching for a plush rabbit with vaguely similar dimensions. Each attempt has been met with disdain. “It’s not him,” she always says, clutching Mr Snuggles tighter as though you’d threatened to take him away permanently.

“You’ve been quiet today,” you say, brushing a strand of dark hair away from her face. Her hair has reached that awkward in-between length where it’s too long to leave unchecked but too short to do anything meaningful with. She hates the hairdressers, the stiff capes they drape over her, and the stylist’s endless chatter about her favourite Disney princess. You’ll have to bribe her with ice cream to get her there.

She doesn’t respond immediately. Her gaze drifts upwards, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as though it holds the answer to some unspoken question. Her fingers tighten around Mr Snuggles, her thumb absently stroking the spot where his eye used to be. Finally, she speaks.

“Santa didn’t bring me what I wanted”

Your stomach twists in the way it does when you know something is wrong, but you can’t yet identify what. “What do you mean?” you ask, keeping your tone light. “He brought you loads of things. That dollhouse you’ve been asking for since May, the colouring set with the glitter pens—”

“No,” she interrupts, her voice soft but resolute. “I wanted a sister”

You blink. “You wanted what?”

“A sister,” she repeats, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And he didn’t bring me one”

For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond. Your brain cycles through a series of fragmented thoughts: What? When? How? You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting Alexia to materialise in the doorway, her presence offering a lifeline. But the hallway is empty, save for the faint hum of the washing machine on its spin cycle. You’re on your own.

“When… when did you ask Santa for a sister?” you manage, your voice strained with the effort of keeping a straight face.

“At school,” she says matter-of-factly. “We wrote letters. Miss García said we could ask for anything we wanted”

“And you asked for a sister?”

She nods, her expression solemn in the way only a six-year-old can manage when they think they’ve been wronged.

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me? Or Mamá?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise”

You press your fingers to your temples, as if physically holding your head together will help you process what you’re hearing. A surprise. Of course. Eliana watches you with wide eyes, her expression expectant. It dawns on you that she’s waiting for an explanation.

“Well,” you begin, your words slow and deliberate, as though carefully navigating a minefield, “Santa doesn’t… bring people as presents”

“Why not?”

Because it’s illegal. Because Santa isn’t real. Because your wife and I can barely handle the one child we already have.

“Because,” you say instead, stalling, “that’s not how it works. Sisters are… different. You don’t get them from Santa”

Her brow furrows, and for a moment, she looks startlingly like Alexia—her small face drawn into a frown of concentration, as though dissecting your words for hidden meaning. “Then where do they come from?”

You pause, the weight of the question settling over you like a heavy blanket. There are a dozen ways you could answer this, most of them wildly inappropriate for a six-year-old. You settle on, “From Parents, sweetheart”

She considers this for a moment, her head tilting slightly to the side. “So can you and Mamá make me one?”

The question hangs in the air, absurd and sincere in equal measure. You feel a sudden, overwhelming urge to laugh. Or cry. Or both. “It’s not that simple, Eliana”

“Why not?”

Before you can answer, Alexia appears in the doorway, her hair pulled into a loose bun, her face flushed from the effort of folding laundry. She takes one look at your face, at the strained expression and the faint sheen of panic in your eyes, and bursts out laughing.

Later that night, after Eliana is finally asleep, you and Alexia sit in the living room, letting the weight of the day settle over you. The room is dim except for the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights, blinking lazily in alternating patterns. The air smells faintly of pine needles and the remnants of the vanilla candle Alexia lit hours ago but forgot to blow out. There’s an almost sacred stillness in the house, the kind that feels rare and precious when you have a six-year-old.

Alexia hands you a glass of wine, her fingers brushing yours for a moment longer than necessary. She sits beside you on the sofa, curling her legs beneath her and pulling a blanket over both of your laps. She’s wearing an oversized hoodie—yours, you think, judging by the way the sleeves swallow her hands—and a pair of faded joggers. Her hair is loose, falling in soft waves around her face, and there’s a faint smudge of mascara beneath one eye that she hasn’t bothered to wipe off.

She looks tired but beautiful, the kind of beauty that feels effortless and intimate, like a secret only you’re privy to. It makes your chest ache in a way you don’t entirely understand.

“So,” she says, breaking the silence, “our daughter asked Santa for a sister”

You exhale, shaking your head as you take a sip of wine. It’s red, something bold and expensive that Alexia brought home last week. She has a knack for choosing good wine, even though she always claims it’s pure luck. “She did”

“And she’s heartbroken Santa didn’t deliver,” Alexia adds, her tone half-amused, half-disbelieving.

“She is,” you say, setting your glass on the coffee table. The table itself is covered in the detritus of Christmas: an abandoned roll of wrapping paper, a pair of scissors, and the instructions for the dollhouse you spent three hours assembling on Christmas Eve while Alexia supervised with a glass of champagne in hand.

Alexia leans back, stretching her legs across your lap. Her socked feet are warm against your thigh, and she wiggles her toes absently as she looks at you. “What do you think?” she asks, her voice light, as if she’s testing the waters.

“About Eliana asking for a sister?”

“No,” she says, her lips twitching into a small smile. “About giving her one”

You laugh, a short, sharp sound that feels more defensive than amused. “You can’t be serious”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” you repeat, incredulous. “Because we barely survived the first time around. Do you not remember the colic? The sleepless nights? The time she screamed for three hours straight because she didn’t like the colour of her bib?”

Alexia tilts her head, as if genuinely considering your words. “She was a baby. That’s what babies do”

“Exactly. And you want to do it all over again?”

Her smile widens, and there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes now. “Maybe”

You groan, leaning your head back against the sofa. “You’re insane”

“I’m not,” she insists, nudging your thigh with her foot. “Think about it. Eliana’s older now. She’s more independent. She’s in school most of the day. We’re not in the trenches anymore”

“The trenches,” you mutter, reaching for your wine again.

Alexia shifts closer, her foot still resting against your thigh. “I loved it, you know. All of it. Even the hard parts”

“You loved it?”

“Yes,” she says firmly. “I loved being a mum to a newborn. Watching her grow, seeing all the little things she learned every day. It was… magical”

You glance at her, and the soft, wistful expression on her face makes something inside you twist.

“And you,” she continues, her voice lowering slightly, “you were amazing”

“Alexia,” you say, a hint of warning in your tone.

“I’m serious,” she says, her hand finding yours beneath the blanket. Her fingers are warm, her grip gentle but insistent. “You were. You still are. And when you were pregnant…”

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

She grins, her teeth catching the light. “You were insatiable”

“Oh, for God’s sake”

“It’s true,” she says, laughing now. “I could barely keep up with you”

“You managed,” you mutter, taking another sip of wine.

Her laughter fades into a softer, more thoughtful smile. “I’m just saying,” she says, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand, “I wouldn’t mind doing it all over again”

You study her, trying to discern if she’s really serious or just testing the waters. But there’s something in her eyes, a quiet certainty that unnerves you.

“You really want another baby,” you say, not quite a question.

She nods. “I do”

“And when were you planning on telling me this?”

She shrugs, looking faintly sheepish. “I don’t know. I guess I was waiting for the right moment”

“Like now? After our daughter guilt-tripped us with her Santa request?”

Alexia laughs, and the sound is warm and infectious. “Exactly”

You shake your head, but a small smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable”

“I’m practical,” she counters. “Think about it. We can afford it. We have the space. The time. A great support system. Mami would love to help us out again”

You raise an eyebrow. “You want to tell her we’re thinking about having another baby? You know she’ll start knitting booties the second the words leave your mouth”

Alexia shrugs, unbothered. “Let her. Eliana would love matching booties for her and her sibling”

The image of Eliana holding a tiny, wriggling baby flashes in your mind, unbidden. It’s too cute, too perfect, and you push it away before it can take root.

“It’s not just about logistics,” you say quietly.

“I know,” Alexia says, her voice softening. “But we’ve done this before. We know what to expect now. And we’re not the same people we were back then. We’re stronger. Better”

You glance at her, at the quiet confidence in her expression, and feel a pang of guilt for doubting her. She’s right, of course. You’ve come so far since those early days with Eliana. But still, the thought of starting over feels overwhelming.

“I don’t know,” you say finally. “It’s a lot to think about”

Alexia nods, her thumb still tracing slow circles on the back of your hand. “I’m not asking for a decision tonight. Just… think about it”

You nod, letting your head rest against her shoulder. The wineglass dangles from your fingers, forgotten. The weight of her hand on yours, the steady rise and fall of her breath, grounds you.

For a moment, the two of you sit in silence, the only sound the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Then Alexia speaks again, her voice so soft you almost don’t hear her.

“She’d be a great big sister,” she says. “Don’t you think?”

You close your eyes, letting the words settle over you. In your mind’s eye, you see Eliana again, her wide, hopeful eyes as she clutched Mr Snuggles to her chest. You see her laughing, running through the park with a smaller version of herself trailing behind her.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “She would”

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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punkbarbarian · 9 months ago

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for folks who don’t follow them on instagram— ally beardsley wrote part of an op-ed in the washington post for the 50th dnd anniversary about a moment playing dnd that really stuck with them and i wanted to share it here!

“a character’s journey — and my own”

I was an aspiring comedian in Los Angeles and had just landed a salaried job at the comedy website CollegeHumor. My co-worker and friend Brennan Lee Mulligan was looking for six comedians to create a show that would be like an at-home game of D&D. Why not? “Dimension 20” became a weird punctuation to my day.

I remember there being too many rules to remember. I kept turning to my friend, Brian Murphy, to ask which dice I should be rolling. I wasn’t paid overtime, but I loved the group and was having a lot of fun.

For the second season, I had my sea legs. I created a character for the campaign who was transgender. I had started going by the gender neutral they/them pronouns at work and among friends, but sourcing hormones or getting surgery seemed equal parts expensive and invasive. A fun thing about fantasy is stripping away the crunchy, real-world limitations and asking yourself: “What would I do if I could do anything?”  That season’s arc for my character, Pete, was extremely euphoric for me. I had described him as a trans cowboy you might see at Burning Man, and the artist drew him dressed as a freaky Hunter S. Thompson in an open shirt to show his top surgery scars. He has wild magic — uncontrollable and dangerous in the game mechanics — which we used to explore the painful chaos of leaving a family that doesn’t accept you.

Since then, I’ve started testosterone HRT and had top surgery. It’s funny to listen back to myself playing a character who had transitioned in ways I hadn’t. It’s full of inaccuracies that make me smile. Pete takes a testosterone pill every day; I now know it’s a weekly injection or a topical gel. I see my face, one wrapped up in playing something so new but instantly right. It was like an oracle. A near-future me who has health insurance! Who’s talked to their mom about being trans and even spent a week post-top surgery on that mom’s couch in Temecula, Calif!

As I started transitioning my appearance, seeing that in front of the camera felt raw. I was starting hormones, and my voice was cracking. Realizing it was all being recorded felt naked at times, but it has been really nice to talk to fans and friends about how important it is to see someone that looks like you taking a big risk on themself.

With Pete, it was really important to me to tell a story other than the dramatic lead-up to a medical transition. So we started with him having just gotten out of surgery, but that’s all you see of that process. Part of his backstory is that he doesn’t have a relationship with his transphobic parents, and before shooting the first episode, I felt sick to my stomach. I’ve been on a journey with my parents, and our starting place didn’t have much common ground. When my character meets with his father, it felt as though I was actually running into my own on the street.  Brennan could sense that discomfort, and as my character’s dad was about to call Pete by his deadname, Brennan shut the interaction down, surrounding his dad with bubbles that carried him into the sky. Magic is the power and freedom to manipulate your reality, and you can banish the awful voices in your life — let them swirl away into the air.

#made me emo a little #talking #ally beardsley #d20 #pete conlan

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alllgator-blood · 5 months ago

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Hi !

Your Leshy and Shamura comic left me in absolute shambles- I adore those two so much, they’ve been on the brain for so long- Shamura in your style also gave me brain worms. I just adore your art style so much-like AAAAA??? It reminds me of 90s Retro and I loveee ittt-

Little Shamura fanart for you ! <3 The brains worms you gave me are so intense and I love it- the little details- UGGHSHBDBDBD I’m so normal-

WAARHRGAHGRBELljdhsfsja

YOUR ART IS SO CUTE WTFFF. I WAS NOT EXPECTING THIS BUT I'M SO HERE FOR IT, I did the soyjak point at my screen even though I'm just like alone in my room and nobody's awake yet. As a token of my appreciation I drew a little continuation to your art cause you mentioned the shamura + leshy comic specifically and I feel like giving them a healing moment before the unending anguish inevitably returns. Leshy is not usually this succinct when it comes to responses to shamura's boomer moments so I'm assuming he rehearsed with heket and kallamar lmao

It's always funny to me when someone says my art has a 90s vibe cause I was not alive for the 90s BUT a lot of my influence comes from the cartoons back then, so I'm happy my art can still evoke the era!! Actually I'm just very happy about your drawing in general because I'm noticing little things like, their blue tongue and big neck fluff and crunchy speech bubble lines so I'm punching my desk irl. IN A GOOD WAY. I JUST DO THAT WHEN I'M REALLY EXCITED LIKE WHEN HYMNS OF THE UNHOLY DROPPED. I know shamura is not my character but I'm kinda overjoyed seeing the way I draw them as drawn by someone else just because you wanted to do it........thank you so much for this!! I'm having a weird time rn so this was the best possible start to my day

#cult of the lamb #cotl bishops #shamura #leshy #EVERYBODY LOOK!!!!!!!!!!#THEY'RE EVEN SAYING THEIR FAMOUS LINE 'WHERE AM I'#CLASSIC MURA

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xoxo-sarah · 5 months ago

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Do you think you could do a darylxreader where he takes it upon himself to teach her bushcraft skills bc her fire making skills are absolute trash despite her eagerness to prove they aren't. -❌️⭕️❌️⭕️

Patience

↝a/n: rushed but I hope you still like it! 🩷 Thanks for requesting.

↝pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 11.9.24

You tried ignoring the eye on you, but that didn't do much to help. If anything, it frustrated you more. The whole day was already too much. When you had agreed to go with Daryl, everything was fine. You were in a decent mood.

Then, a buck showed up. It was beautiful. The horns stood strong, the south twitching. It was looking around, glassy eyes shining. After admiring it, you reached back, right into the quiver on your back. Your fingers fumbled, and the arrow fell onto the crunchy leaves below. The buck was quick to run in the opposite direction.

As if on cue, your stomach growled. You threw your head back in frustration.

Daryl watched, brows furrowed. “I saw a squirrel over there.” He pointed to the left of where the buck had been standing. You stomped your way over, not saying anything to him.

Daryl carried the squirrels over his shoulder, thoughts running through his mind, thanks to the silence. You hadn't said a word since you two had left. He could see the gears turning in your own head.

“Stop right here. It's gettin' dark.” He hung the squirrels up on a nearby branch, sliding his bag off his shoulder. Shrugging the thin jacket off, he laid it on the ground, offering a little more comfort than the twigs and leaves of the wood floor.

Sitting down on the edge of the fabric, you shrugged your own bag off.

Scrounging up some leaves and twigs, you put it in a circular shape. Next, your hands were working quick to make a flame. Maybe too quick.

The frustration was growing on your brow. Again, Daryl silently watched.

Grumbling, you threw the sticks a few feet away.

You huffed, the twigs refusing to catch fire despite your best efforts. The frustration was boiling over.

Daryl watched for a moment before kneeling beside you. “Here, you're goin' too fast.”

You scoffed, “No I'm not.” He ignored you.

He took the flint and steel from your hands, demonstrating the proper technique with practiced ease.

You watched closely, trying to ignore the embarrassment creeping in. “I know how to do it,” you muttered, though your tone lacked conviction.

Daryl smirked slightly, “Ain't about knowin'. It's about patience.” He handed the tools back to you. “Now, try again. Slow this time.”

Taking a deep breath, you followed his instructions, striking the flint with more control. This time, a small flame flickered to life, and your eyes widened with triumph.

“See? Told ya,” Daryl said, a hint of pride in his voice.

You smiled for the first time that day, the warmth of the fire matching the warmth spreading in your chest. “Thanks.”

He nodded, settling back against a tree. “No problem. We'll make a survivalist outta you yet.”

Your mood changed for the better. The frustration from before wasn't warranted. Truthfully, you couldn't remember why you were mad to begin with. Usually going into the woods with Daryl was relaxing. Today just wasn't one of those days, at least, not at the beginning. Now, you were willing to talk, even ask questions about survival tips and tricks.

“Do you ever get frustrated out here?”

Daryl looked at you, considering the question. “Yeah, sometimes. But that's part of it. Ain't always easy, but it's worth it.”

You nodded, taking in his words. “I guess I just need to be more patient.”

He chuckled softly. “Patience ain't somethin' you just have. It's somethin' you learn. And you're gettin' there.”

You felt a sense of relief wash over you. “Thanks, Daryl. For everything.”

“Anytime,” he replied, the firelight dancing in his eyes. “Now, let's get these squirrels cookin'.”

You and Daryl made quick work of skinning the squirrels, bellies grumbling with hunger.

You felt something fall in your left hand. Stopping your movements, you looked up.

Another water droplet fell on your face, sliding down the side of your nose. Soon, more droplet fell between the tree leaves, sizzling on the fire. The frustration was quick to come back, “What the fu-”

Daryl glanced up at the sky, then back at you. “Looks like it's gonna pour.”

You sighed, feeling the frustration bubble up again. “Great, just what we need.”

He stood up, grabbing a tarp from his pack. “We gotta move fast. Help me set this up.”

Together, you worked quickly to rig up a makeshift shelter, the rain starting to fall more steadily. The fire sizzled and spat as the droplets hit it, but you managed to cover it just in time.

“Guess we won't be cooking those squirrels tonight,” you muttered, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

Daryl shook his head. “We'll find a way. Always do.”

You couldn't help but admire his calm in the face of yet another challenge. “Doesn't any of this get to you?”

He shrugged, adjusting the tarp. “Been through worse. You learn to roll with it.”

As the rain continued to fall, you settled under the tarp, feeling a strange sense of peace despite the situation. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to understand what Daryl meant about patience and rolling with the punches.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

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brittle-doughie · 1 year ago

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I wish to request something a little strange- So you have experimented with the idea of Cookie Cannibalism so maybe I was hoping you could just build on the idea. No morbid curiosity tho

(This ask was super weird, so you can ignore it if you want)

Bake It Till You Make It: Tasty Delights

It never hurts anyone to have a treat every now and then..also I updated the first part to my current format of posts

WARNINGS: Cookie Cannibalism

Running the shop doesn’t always have to be around the holidays. The Sugar Gnomes were generous enough to have you run the shop all winter long! If that was what made you and the cookies in the kingdom happy!

It had surely made the cookies happy alright! All day, every day has cookies coming in the high tens into your shop! They can never seem to get enough of the cakes and sweets offered here, you being the manager also had a hand in the amount of visits too.

But that was only half of the whole thing. The other half was the cookies being thankful enough to gift you their own sweets.

You never questioned their generosity, accepting the gifts with a smile. What was odd would be the cookies acting a little suspicious in terms of behavior or style of clothing, something that was a bit out of character for them.

Cookies like Crunchy Chip Cookie that are usually pretty tough are left trying to come up with an explanation for their insistence on you accepting their sweets, Crunchy especially since you recalled that sweets weren’t his thing. He practically pleaded for you to take it and eat it, he wanted to know if you liked his sweets. He wanted to know if you liked how it tasted…

And, in his head, if you liked how he tasted…

———————————————————————

Crunchy Chip yelled out as he cracked off a piece of his arm, a brief moment of pain that had take deep breath.

But in his mind, it would be worth it. To see you savor the taste of what he made despite the end result. To see you savor how he’d taste like.

It would be worth it…

———————————————————————

You thanked him as he left with his cake, sitting down at one of the tables as you started to eat his sweets. For someone who didn’t like them, Crunchy’s delights were pretty good! You continue taking a bite, and then another one, and then another…until it was all gone.

That really hit the spot as you sigh contently, leaning back in your chair…with the window behind you having a fixated Crunchy Chip watching intently before he hurried away.

———————————————————————

Mozzarella Cookie thought it would be pretty interesting of her to give you a mozzarella cheesecake. A very odd choice of ingredients, you even joked if she had placed a piece of her own mozzarella in it, something she giggled at.

What a silly thing to say!

———————————————————————

She wasted no time in gently removing pieces of her mozzarella hair to smoothly texture her cheesecake.

She’d know that you’ll like it, she’d kick herself if you didn’t. After all…

…an intriguing cookie like you only deserves an intriguing dessert~

———————————————————————

The amount of cookies coming in for some of his healings have been noticeably higher during this time of the year for Pure Vanilla Cookie. They’d come him, almost impatiently ask that he give them some healings to make them feel better before they’d hurried off for the day.

The changes in their outfits did not go unnoticed by the Ancient Cookie. Raspberry Cookie’s hair covering a portion of her face, Pastry Cookie wearing a sort of cloak to conceal her form, Clover Cookie missing tufts of hair…

They’d never want to answer any of his questions and just move along hastily…

He decided to come to you to see if you had any clue about this. He catches you just as you’re about to close up shop for today, a box that contained coral cake in your hands.

“Y/N Cookie! How are you, my friend?”

You greeted Pure Vanilla warmly as you two shared a hug. You asked him what brought him you.

“I was just worried about the number of cookies coming to see me to heal them. Do you know anything by any chance?”

Injured cookies? This was the first time you were hearing of this…

“It’s just that they never wish to tell me what was wrong with them. They’re always in a hurry to leave…”

This was pretty odd behavior…but you’d look into it whenever you can. You had to head back your place for today.

“Thank you, Y/N Cookie. I’ll help you in any way I can.”

You bid each other farewell as you head home, opening the box to take a bite of the cake, humming delightly as you savored the flavor.

As you reach home, you head to the fridge to put it away for later. You had to make room though, with a number of different sweets and foods already crowding your fridge, gifted by your Cookies.

———————————————————————

The utensils and ingredients were set, with instructions to make a cobbler.

The cookie was all to ready to get started…if not for one more ingredient to really make this cobbler special..

She can already picture it now. Seeing cookies crowding the shop, wanting their order to be taken first. She was stepping past the crowd to meet you at the counter

She presented her cobbler to you, wishing for you to have a taste!

You took a bite and you’d immediately be downing the whole dessert right there and then, excitement bubbling within herself at how much you liked it.

You’d tell her that you loved her cobbler with all of your being, you’d ask her…if she’d make more for you. She’d be all too eager to say yes! She will make more!

It would feel as if she had a connection with you more than the rest…

With these thoughts, the cookies giggled a little manically as she gets ready to crack off her lower arm…

White Lily is sure of herself that you’ll enjoy her dessert!

#brittle answers #cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #cr x reader #cookie run #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run kingdom #cr kingdom #tw cannibalism #implied body horror #implied cannibalism #cannibal run cake shop

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derww · 3 months ago

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every few weeks im thinking about golden apples being addicting and toxic for the most of the characters. they are really hard and crunchy and really tasty and sweet, like the best candy you've ever tasted but have zero of actual nutrition, and they make you feel like you are finally safe, golden hearts are warm and feel like something familiar, something that will help and save. the more you eat them, the less tastier they are, and the harder it is for you to stop, and many characters start to feel sick if the battle is so long that they have to spend more than a stack.

paranoid and anxious people are easy to get used to eating them all the time to lessen the dread and make hands stop shaking, but over time it weakens and exhausts them, and they may vomit in the middle of a fight, become completely exhausted, and even faint. everything they tried to suppress comes back in double and haunts them until withdrawal symptoms will finally stop.

some of the non-human-aligned pvpers are able to eat them pretty much safely tho, but they arent getting any positive things other than the actual effects either. generally, individual reactions still heavely depend on specific person. someone copes with it better, someone worse, someone can feel awful from the first moment and someone can even be immune to all side effects. but thats whats the same for everyone: god apples give everyone the same elated and full of energy state without any addiction and consequences. of course most of the people like them.

#lifesteal #d.headcanons #in my s4 lore-like retrospective zam threws up like every hard fight bc of this. not fun

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sexydoffyman · 8 months ago

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Size difference scenario between Konig and a really, really tall and burly m!reader. Like, m!reader is head-touching-ceiling tall.

LITTLE MAN

genre: (sudgestive)

characters: König

A/N: This feels like it need a p.2🪿

P.1 P.2 P.3

You met him shortly after you transferred bases. He outranked you by a lot, but that didn’t stop you from teasing that little man. He wasn’t very little. He thought that he would tower over anyone he met. That was until he met you. “Good morning, colonel.” You said as you patted his head. He turned around at light speed.

He was automatically looking down, but all he saw were the laces of a hoodie. He looked up. You were at least a foot taller than him. Others in the room started to laugh to themselves. They never expected to see anyone taller. König took a breath in to start yelling you out, but you simply walked past him.

You were the centre of attention for the whole day. The word spread around the base pretty quickly. Every time you met him, you kneeled a little or bent down. This pissed him off in particular. You called him sir a few times to provoke him, that’s why he knew that he outranked you.

Night came, and he was getting some fresh air. You decided to get some fresh air as well, not knowing he was there. The moment you walked outside, you saw him, leaning on a wall. His eyes were closed, and he didn’t notice you yet since you didn’t step on the crunchy gravel. You saw this as a perfect opportunity to mess with him.

You swiftly stepped in front of him, put your hand next to his side on the wall, and grabbed his chin. You pushed your body to his, effectively pinning his body to the wall. “Hey, sweetheart.” He jumped like a cat that just saw a snake. He tried to push you off instinctively, but he just couldn’t. “Don’t worry, baby.” You chuckled.

The moment you said that, you just weren’t able to take it anymore. You grabbed your stomach and started hysterically laughing while stomping on the ground. “WHAT IN THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?” He yelled, taking a step away from you. As you kept laughing, you answered, “This is gonna happen to you many more times, little man.” “Little.. LITTLE MAN?!” You smirked at him, finding this situation way too amusing. “I AM NOT A LITTLE MAN!” You chuckled “Want to prove that in my bed, little man?” You said suggestively. You walked away before he could say anything else.

He could get you fired for this. And he would do it. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell anyone that he got stepped on by a rank way lower than him. That’s what he said to himself. But deep down he knew the real reason why he wouldn’t do anything about it.

The butterflies in his stomach and the shivers that ran up his spine when you pinned him to a wall were hard to ignore.

#requests are open #requests open #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #cod x male reader #konig x male reader #konig x reader #könig x male reader #könig x reader #konig mw2 #könig x you

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pathetic-gamer · 8 months ago

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Can you say more on The Burning Wheel? The information on the site doesn’t distinguish it much from other TTRPGs that I can tell, aside from being a D6 system. What makes it unique and worth playing? (You don’t have to provide a huge rundown haha I’m just curious!)

Sure! I tried to keep this short and failed miserably, but I'd be happy to expound even more upon specific things later, if people want more :)

(Please note that, as with any ttrpg, it would be hard to claim any of the things mentioned here are wholly original to The Burning Wheel. It would be even harder to claim that no other systems have used these mechanics or philosophies in the 20 years since The Burning Wheel came out. I am not going to claim either of those things - its the combination of them and the play experience they have resulted in for me that make it unique, so that's the angle from which I'm writing this post.)

So. why is it worth playing? How is it different?

I could talk about the skill learning system, the war rules codex, the whole concept of versus tests vs bloody versus tests. But to me, there are two main ways that it stands out from other systems: its treatment of role-play as a mechanism, and the overall philosophy behind the game's design, including the concept of setting clear expectations.

(using section headers to break up the text lol)

How it uses role-play:

The most obvious thing to point out is that there's a whole set of encounter mechanics for social situations or debates (Circles checks, Duel of Wits, etc.) - sort of the epitome of crunchy role play. But thats not what I'm getting at! What I'm getting is the fact that good role play is integral to the way the game functions.

Let's go back, all the way to character creation: When you're burning a character, you selecting life paths (page to squire to knight, etc.) with their associated skills and traits, then tie them in a pretty bow with beliefs and instincts to guide the character's actions. All of these things feed into each other to make a complete character. Easy! Familiar! We all know how to make a character, even if the numbers and labels are different!

What really matters to this engine once you're playing is whether the character you're acting as matches what you built. If it doesn't, the rules nudge you to redefine your character until it does through systems of rewards, penalties, and consequences. You are rewarded for sticking to and acting on your traits, beliefs, and instincts through different types of points distributed and voted on by fellow players, which can be used to alter the course of events or turn the tide of a bad situation later on. If you're not living up to a trait, on the other hand, you can lose it and all its benefits. (Took the fortitude trait, but ran from trouble one too many times? tough luck! the other players voted to take away that trait and now you can't call on it in moments of peril.) The beliefs and traits of a single character can end up at odds with each other, resulting in characters having to make choices that in other systems might seem insignificant or carry few lasting consequences, but here may alter the function of your character.

It's not all punitive measures, btw! One of my characters caused problems for everyone else by refusing to put away a weapon when someone else was in danger, playing off of an instinct that states he draws his weapon whenever his master does. After the session, another player suggested everyone consider nominating the Brave trait for him the next time we update them. As a character-type trait, it has no effect when rolling dice but does mean that henceforth and forevermore, anyone who interacts with him will notice a sense of bravery. Delightful!!

Also, the beliefs of different characters are practically guaranteed to stray from one another at some point, which is the primary source of inter-PC conflict. Because the mechanics of the game encourage and reward sticking to your beliefs or following your stated instincts even when it makes things significantly harder or causes problems, you're much more inclined to do it. As someone who is terrible at not slipping back into the same kind of character over and over again, I think this fucking rules.

I'm playing with a group of people I've been gaming with for almost five years, and this has opened the way for much richer dynamics between our characters than any of the other systems we've played, in part because as players we're less interested in acting on concensus to drive the plot forward. Working as one unit simply isn't the goal, and if it was, we would play a different system that encourages and rewards that.

the game's philosophy, aka setting intentions and also reading rules:

Now we're starting to get at the philosophy behind the game's design: It believes you have to know why you're playing burning wheel instead of literally any other game. This isn't a system you play on accident. It's admittedly a complicated game with a LOT of rules. It asks for a huge amount of engagement from all of the players, not just the GM - something like inter-PC conflict can only work well if everyone is on the same page (figuratively, but also literally lol) and ready to help adjudicate rules, ask for tests, discuss intentions, etc. Dream scenario for a chronic rules lawyer lol.

Obviously any game will be more fun if everyone has actually learned the rules before they start playing, but this is one where it's extremely difficult (if not impossible) to play if most players haven't learned them, and deeply rewarding if they have. It really operates on the expectation that everyone is putting in work, and everyone has respect for the time and effort the others are bringing to the table.

It's hard to put a finger on how this all impacts play other than the obvious elegence of People Knowing What Theyre Doing, but on a purely emotional and meta level, knowing that everyone is investing so much time and effort to play a game with you is just.. idk, it feels special and makes the time itself feel even more valuable. In that sense, the satisfaction of playing the game isn't coming from the game itself, but is still shaped by it.

(In my mind, this is the #1 reason to try the game, but as @thydungeongal alluded to yesterday, finding people willing and able to do it is also the #1 hurdle to, like, actually having a good time. it would be completely miserable otherwise.)

Also, for a game that does not boast a collaborative nature the way some others do, it is honestly pretty fuckin collaborative lol. I don't know that this was Luke Crane's intention in designing the game, but closing out sessions by going through and grading everyone's work and giving each other glorified gold stars, you will inevitably end up discussing and dissecting things, learning from people's character work, and seeing where and how you can improve individually and as a group. It creates a table culture that values honest expressions of discomfort or dissatisfaction, and also of appreciation and celebration. It's after-care. It leads naturally into setting intentions and expectations for the next session. It just feels really nice!!!

That's obviously a table culture that can be cultivated anyway, and it's a practice my group has learned to be very intentional about facilitating, but it's just interesting how The Burning Wheel of all systems manages to support that. I think that's what the website means when it says playing this changes how you play other rpgs lol

So yeah, idk how much more to say and also I'm sooooooo so eepy and was like an hour late for work, so its a weird brain day. but there you go lol

#burning wheel #the burning wheel #ttrpg #tabletop games #☕️🥧#answer #pg plays ttrpgs #ttrpgs

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sleepingdeath-light · 5 months ago

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various cookies vs no nut november ; 18+

requested by ; cookie simp anon (event)

fandom(s) ; cookie run

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | epic | super epic

character(s) ; clotted cream cookie, crunchy chip cookie, wildberry cookie

warning(s) ; sexually explicit content, various characters failing the ‘no nut november’ challenge

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

clotted cream cookie

wouldn’t participate of his own accord, but would certainly rise to the challenge if you asked him to give it a go after you started dating — he’s not overly optimistic nor overly pessimistic about how he thinks he’s going to do, hoping to make it through the whole month but knowing himself and his needs well enough to recognise that there’s a very solid chance that he won’t get through all thirty days

does encourage you to participate with him for the fun of it, but if you opt out then he won’t mind too much — of course he may tease you a bit at first for wanting him to ‘suffer’ alone, but he doesn’t actually mind and instead just lets you know that you will be on your own for a while because he knows good and well that he won’t be able to get you off without losing the challenge himself

either makes it through to december with only a few near-misses (more likely if his november schedule is packed and you’re not trying to get him to break) or he crumbles at some point between the start of week two and the middle of week three (if you’re being an awful tease and he doesn’t have his work to hide behind as a distraction)

and whether he loses to his fist in a moment of weakness in his home office — all gritted teeth, bitten lips, muffled grunts, and a tight grip around his aching cock that has him cumming all over his dress pants in a shamefully short amount of time — or to you in the most private area you could find at the time is entirely down to you and how much you want to tease him (surprising him at home in little to no clothing, or one of his shirts/blazers with nothing underneath, is a pretty good way to have him straining against his slacks and ready to throw in the towel)

so, yeah, clotted cream cookie does do pretty well and makes it decently far into nnn but he will inevitably lose as he predicted… but, hey, at least he’s self aware about the whole thing

crunchy chip cookie

very much so did not want to participate because he thought the whole idea was dumb as hell, only agreed under the threat of a two month long sex ban if he didn’t at least try to make it through november — makes it known constantly just how unhappy he is about the whole thing and how he can’t wait for the month to end

does actually give it a go and does really well, having a few near misses every now and then but pushing onward out of spite just to prove you wrong after you said he wouldn’t make it

(and don’t even think about teasing him because he will make you regret it — he can be pretty mean when he wants to be and he will edge you for hours with his fingers until you’re weeping and sobbing out apologies and promising to be on your best behaviour for the rest of the month)

fumbles at the last hurdle and ends up losing like only an hour before the end of november — granted that’s basically already a win and he didn’t really care for nnn in the first place so he isn’t even remotely upset about technically losing the challenge you damn near bullied him into participating in

and it’s not like you have the brain capacity to tease him about his last second loss when crunchy chip cookie’s dick is buried so deep inside of you that you’re seeing stars behind your eyelids and so cock-drunk that you’re practically talking in tongues…

so the two of you end up counting it as a win anyway because what difference does one hour make?

wildberry cookie

doesn’t necessarily see the point in nnn but will participate if you ask him to — partially to test his own self restraint and partially because, for as stoic and serious as he can be, wildberry cookie just cannot say no to you so the second you give him those puppy-dog eyes and say the word ‘please’ he was already done for without you even needing to explain the premise of the challenge

actually makes it through the whole month without fumbling and manages to make nnn look deceptively easy in the process — but make no mistake he was struggling quite a bit with not being able to make love to you and found himself having far more cold showers than usual in order to clear his mind and chase away his arousal at multiple points (more frequently later in the month but he still had his moments in the earlier days of november)

if you opt out of participating then he insists that you let him take care of you with his mouth and hands, putting your needs and wants well above his as always and assuring you each and every time that he doesn’t mind and that he truly does love helping you — even if the taste of your spend/slick on his tongue, the scent of your body, and the warmth of you around his fingers is more than enough to leave him lightheaded, hard, and in need of a cold shower to clear his mind afterwards

teasing him will get him visibly hard and flustered but it won’t get him to break — wildberry cookie’s resolve is borderline unbreakable so there’s no way to coax him into fucking you into the bed until december comes around and the challenge is over

if you choose to participate with him then he’s going to be so encouraging and so good at keeping you on track even if you get really tempted to stumble — wildberry cookie adores you and wants to help you succeed in all aspects of life, after all, and that includes silly things like nnn

or, in other words, wildberry cookie will succeed with flying colours while also managing to help you get off throughout the entirety of november — what a man!

#sleepingdeath #cookie simp anon #gender neutral reader #minors dni #minors will be blocked #ageless blogs dni #ageless blogs will be blocked #smut #smut hcs #crk smut #crk x reader #cookie run smut #cookie run x reader #clotted cream cookie x reader #clotted cream cookie smut #crunchy chip cookie x reader #crunchy chip cookie smut #wildberry cookie x reader #wildberry cookie smut

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