#smores writes

[sm0resc00kie]

YES THANK U!!! <3 im gunan eat this!

what would u like me to draw for u!

[skellydun]

made it to my tiny cabin and realized I forgot every single book I bought to read so we love that for me

[amyoffline]

boba and tabinof. bobanof

[mnemosyne-xiv]

𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘

[cosmama]

meet the new babies

[littleplantfreak]

camping ume vibes tbh

[thateldribitch]

thinking about writing a castlevania-inspired malleus/reader fic where malleus is dracula-coded.

y'know. tearing apart a town for daring to try and burn his wife at the stake.

[shkika]

I was planning to finish my iterator scug designs and answer some asks today, but my power died… what luck..

Here’s a little sneak peak of one of them at least

[bellygunnr]

Look-ey! I beat DSaF 3 and wrote a little thing about it.

[ahit-oc-corner]

HI DON'T JUDGE ME

HI Okay guys this is so random is also so crazy BUT STICK WITH ME! SO CONTEXT i am planning on opening Ko-fi commissions this weekend and i had an insane late night thought and wanted to see thoughts on the matter on the poll

[sm0resc00kie]

shadow milk cookie dragon done!

[everettswritings]

may I please request regressor s’more cookie headcanons? :3

Of course! By the way, I love your profile picture. Burnt Cheese Cookie supremacy! Anyways, I hope this is good and can be seen as accurate because I don’t really know much about his character. (Side note: SFW only, anybody with NSFW intent please leave)

Since he’s so laid back I’d like to imagine he’s one of those super calm littles who’s just vibing. He’ll just sip on his juice box and color in his coloring book without a care in the world!

Regresses to the age range of 3-5. I don’t know why, but that just sounds right

All of his stuffies are forest critters. Squirrels, deer, bears, you name it!

You know those play-tent things? Those tents for kids that they usually play in? He has one of those.

If he vanishes don’t worry! He’s probably asleep in the aforementioned play-tent. There are actually quite a few instances of him being found napping in there

Whenever he’s regressed while camping he’ll play with sticks and rocks, I mostly say this because it’s what I do.(projection hours, gamers!)

Sometimes he’ll also just lay on the grass and watch the bugs do their thing, maybe even the larger animals as well.

I guess the main take away is that he’s just a little guy, he’s just baby. Teeny, tiny baby. No care

I guess that’s it! Like I said, I don’t know much about him; but I hope you enjoyed this nonetheless! To be honest I never expected to find this niche where I write Cookie Run age regression stuff, but I’m glad I did find this niche because it’s super fun to write for y’all and I enjoy every moment of it! Y’all don’t know how happy it makes me to see how much you enjoy my works, and I hope y’all will continue to enjoy my works. Have a good one, I love y’all 🫶

[omnipicureans]

[S'MORES] - A classic treat, easily made in the bonfires that crop up as the sun begins to set, and perfect for sharing.

The night was winding down, and Fu Hua sat before a fire, a stick before the pit. As heat slowly enraptured the gooey marshmallow, she would hum. She was at peace. That was, until a familiar figure would drift closer out of the shadows.

"Who's there?" She called out, her tone rather sweet. "I'm just making some s'mores and uh, I've got more than enough to share, if you'd like to join me!" Despite all that had come before, that nerve in meeting someone new still managed to find itself tickling the end of each sentence. A soft sigh at the hesitation, before her eyes widened. The realization of who was approaching hit harder than any foe she'd ever faced.

"Aponia..." she whispered, her stick lowering closer to the bonfire. The golden goodness would burn over, blackened and charred like the wood fueling the flame. The state of her snack isn't on her mind, however. Her old friend is.

(Realizing that Fu Hua would probably have a breakdown at seeing any of the flame-chasers but like don't worry about it yk)

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄'𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇! ╱ ghsolstice prompts.

SIMULATIONS HAD NOT THE NECESSITIES OF HUMAN LIMITS, & thus, the drawl of shuddering wind across dark skies had not summoned forth the thought of retreating back home to unceremoniously end the night. or maybe, instead, the simple thought of having somewhere to retreat was the catalyst of discipline's aimless wandering. sand crushed beneath platformed sandals, moonlight caught between clasped hands, aponia walked & walked & walked until the shore was behind her wake——— hooded eyes glazed over with the barest flicker of fatigue ; THE FOREVER EMOTION TRAPPED BETWEEN THE BINARIES OF HER RIBCAGE, an immortal ghost of her humanity.

at least, in this, the mortal delight of watching setting suns & waking moons would be enjoyed, without the ignorance of pretending how numbers made up the sky & codes reflected the light cast upon her. that, as wispy as the breeze, followed the memory of companionship, a———

shy blue eyes blinked away the exhaustion, napping up at the direction of a stranger's voice. how far had she walked, aimless yet inevitably into the radius of another, more fortunate soul? lips pursed into the beginnings of a frown, TOO QUAINT TO MIMIC THE TRUTH OF A SCOWL, one she, herself, seemed incapable of creating. the greeting though was welcoming enough, & truth to the offer, it had been years since she had the luxury of a smore. ( what exactly that was, she seemed forgetful, but the smell of charring sugar shed a possible light on the sweet's making. )

❛ ah, you are too kind. i apologize for interrupting your peace. ❜ wandering feet set themselves forward to a destination, that beneath the brushes of foliage & into the clearing lit only by a pit of carefully tamed fire. pursed lips became that of a smile, gentle & appreciative, before her gaze finally reached the lady perched beside the flames. ❛ if you will allow me, then i will join you. i. . . ❜

FAMILIARITY GRASPED HER THROAT, & STRANGLED FORTH ANY UTTERANCE OF FURTHER EXPLANATIONS. the feeling was so sudden, so impossibly swift, discipline nearly split apart the fragment she stood as, a shock so utterly disobedient, her expression fell with an uncomfortable ease.

in contrast to herself, fu hua sat casually before her, though evidently not absent of a similar surprise as the disbelief that refused to release her. AGAINST ALL ODDS, FU HUA EXISTED. it was simply a strange oddity that she existed in front of discipline, of all ghosts.

her name fell softly from fu hua's lips, though she had yet to tear herself from the disbelief ; CONFUSED EYES MET THOSE OF A VIBRANT COLOR, so unlike the gaze she remembered, yet belonging to the memory as no other would. quiet, aponia uttered, ❛ fu hua. ❜ & said nothing else, simply to digest the name in full. discipline turned taut, then, once all was consumed. she straightened what had relaxed, pressed together lips that fell open, & changed all besides the tenderness of her gaze.

❛ . . . you are different. ❜ came, first, the obvious. second, followed the trail of her feet, guiding her forward until she stood closer, further into the light. in little time, such sternness softened. ❛ i am surprised, but cannot be anymore. you are a force of the untouchable, fu hua. ❜

( HAVE YOU MISSED ME AS I HAVE MISSED YOU? WHAT HAS BECOME OF YOU NOW, & DOES IT BEAR RESEMBLANCE TO THE REBIRTH OF MYSELF? WHAT HAS CHANGED BETWEEN US, OR HAS ANYTHING AT ALL?

[ . . . ] discipline remained silent of all inquiries, scripted only to the very moment it existed within. )

careful gaze flitted to the empty log beside her. an offer, a boundary, ❛ may i sit with you, still? ❜

[venacoeurva]

I have to fight myself to make Tracker ALSO a demiprince, however cool cunty forms/outfits that would come with the territory beckon

[lauravanarendonkbaugh]

Amazing S'mores for Free!

I have a book in Amazon Prime Reading this month, and if you have Prime, you can read it for free! And "read" is a generous term, because it has like 50 words per page, so if your 2023 Goodreads goal is starting to look a little ambitious, here's an easy catch-up.

And yes, it's non-fiction, and yes, it's a cookbook -- again, with "cook" being used generously -- but it's definitely still on topic, for reals, because it includes a Memento Mori(o), pictured below. So there.

[methodofmancy]

Jun. 28 - a s'more

The Boy strikes a match and holds it against a jumbo marshmallow until it’s aflame. It takes almost everything for the match to ignite the treat, its entire life used up for just a small patch of marshmallow. After just the right amount of char, he extinguishes the candy torch with a swift breath and sets the used match down on a paper plate. The kitchen lighter, empty of fluid, sits discarded next to the plate. Then, he strikes another match and begins the cycle again. I stand in the pantry doorway, observing his strange ritual. Minutes pass in silence until the entire marshmallow is soft and gooey, and deliciously, beautifully crispy. Though I had been watching in delight, our friends begin to protest. The perfect marshmallow should be delicately golden brown, warm and gooey inside, but still soft and creamy on the outside. The Boy’s marshmallow is far too crisp. But I just smile. I’ve always been one to set my marshmallow on fire, watching it burn like a sun until it changed from white to black. Sink my teeth into the gooey center, watch as the blackened outside peels away to reveal the inside still fresh and pure. I’d usually peel the “skin” of it off, push it onto my tongue and then drop the flayed marshmallow back into the fire.

I take a deep breath. Before I even open my mouth, I tell myself, he’s gonna say no, but I make myself ask anyway because it’s something I never do. Can you roast me one? I haven’t had a s’more in years. You can do it, there’s matches right here. I want one made by you, though. Oh, you want someone else to make it for you. I see how it is. No, I mean, I like how you did it. Uh-huh. He ends the conversation with just that. I sigh, not surprised or disappointed. It’s just what I expected. I’m happy with myself for asking anyway. I move on to my next activity, pitter-pattering about the dining room as he makes another s’more with that same, silent focus. – I am completely involved in my own activities in the adjacent living room when The Boy calls out to me. Here, yours is ready, he says. I don’t register what the words mean at first, since there wasn’t remotely a thought in my mind that he might roast a marshmallow for me. When I step up to the counter, I find that not only is there a beautifully charred marshmallow waiting for me, but it’s sandwiched between two graham crackers with a melting pillow of chocolate pressed into it. He hands me the s’more and moves on quickly, not even looking at me from the moment he hands it to me and joins the others in the next room. Astonished and filled with warmth, I manage a thank you as he walks away, holding the plate with immense care. I eye the sandwich treat incredulously, unsure how to eat it. Surely, I must have had one before. I’ve roasted so many marshmallows; there is no way that after this long I’ve never had a fully constructed s’more. And yet, the longer I stare at the treat, I can only remember eating each of the iconic s’more ingredients separately at every s’more occasion. Could it be true that this is the first s’more anyone has ever made for me? I sink my teeth into the treat, crushing the layers of graham cracker, thick chocolate, and hot marshmallow together. Each texture entirely unique, molds into one strange amalgamation on the tongue, creating the fabled “s’more.” It’s well balanced, and sweet, and tastes both familiar and strange. I love it. It’s such a simple thing, a traditional summer treat on a paper plate. And even though it was done with complaints and a disgruntled grumble, I can almost imagine a stamp on the bottom of my dessert that reads: made with love.