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Ask box is closed!! I plan to answer them as soon as I can. Thank you for your submissions! ⋆｡°✩ -

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i can’t believe sophiegtv confirmed we’re getting another epsiode this year

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Spread misinformation, feel sigma!!

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Did that man REALLY make matching skull necklaces for him and golden…? 👁️ Absolutely shameless.

Real men wear matching jewelry with their beautiful perfect vengeful murderous tyrant wives 😍😍😍

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Ask or Dare Fire Spirit!! - Not sure how long I'll have this running for, but for now, ask the flaming menace. Nothing bad has ever come from Fire Spirit using the internet, right...? -

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"History is nothing but a series of unfortunate events. Lives begin only to end, civilizations rise only to fall, and the in-between is wrought with pain and strife, much of it self-inflicted... all of it destined to repeat itself, ad infinitum. And Burning Spice Cookie prides himself on being that which brings about the end to that neverending story; the keeper of the record of destruction. The guilty, the innocent, the questionable - all are to be swallowed whole by the Tide of Change without mercy nor exception, for destruction, though cruel, is fair and indiscriminate. For eons he nursed a grudge against the world and savored the dark allure of wanton violence alone. But now, with his other half swayed to his side, he has never relished jamshed more. Finally, someone who, like him, grew bitter in the face of that endless repetition. Someone who wished to bring the cycle to its knees, after it had held them in chains for so long. With their new, shared freedom and power, they shall unleash their cataclysmic wrath upon all Cookiekind undeterred. Alone, he was a catastrophe. Together, they are inevitable."

(Burning Spice's costume! Now the set is complete. Here's Golden Cheese's)

(Design notes under cut)

As we all know (at least I hope you all understand it by now), Burning Spice is based on Shiva, Hindu god of destruction. As Shiva has many forms/avatars, some good some bad, I thought it would be interesting to take from the "bad" one(s) - namely Rudra and Bhairava (the latter to a slightly lesser extent. From my understanding, the former is more explicitly malevolent while the latter is more "benevolent" destroyer; a destroyer of bad habits, to put it extremely basically), both being considered extremely frightening and wrathful aspects of Shiva

Gave Spice a tiger skin to wear around his waist, instead of his old dhoti. Shiva, in both his OG form and many of his other ones, wears a tiger skin (tiger skin has a lot of rich symbolism in Indian culture, including representing strength and royalty). Spice didn't get his from just any tiger, though...

Gave Spice 4 arms. Both Rudra and Bhairava are often depicted with 4 arms (sometimes more, sometimes less). As he once had 6, then went down to 2 with the power loss, now that he and GC have merged Soul Jams, he regained a pair in the power share. (She also has 4 arms, so they match. I explain it a bit more here if you're curious)

He's supposed to also have a ring of fire behind him like he does as Herald of Change (and also when you promote him enough times in-game) but I'm tired. I'm so tired, you guys. Do me a favor and pretend it's there. I'll draw him with it next time

Gave Spice his bow and arrow back. Rudra is famously known for wielding a bow and arrow, used to strike down hated enemies. (That might be where Devsis got Spice's from tbh.) No reason Spice can't have one again. Show that he is indeed capable of precision and planning and patience (all of which archery needs) in his destruction if he so wills it

Got him that nice garland of skulls not only to honor Rudra and Bhairava (both wear one (they're actually technically severed heads not skulls but whatever)), but to match with his other half ;)

Crumbs on his hands and in his hair, like in that one Dominion of the Beasts sprite, to match GC again and to hint at previous bloodbaths

Extra jewelry to match GC (they match a lot ok?). I know 1 arm has the bracelet around his bicep and not his wrist, but.... idk. I like the mistmatched look + I didn't want to cover up the wrist tattoo

... Sigh. The crown.

In real life India, crowns are called mukuts; they come in many shapes and designs and are worn by gods and kings. (The Herald of Change is actually wearing one of his own.) I combed through, like, 5 different artistic depictions of Bhairava for the style of mukut I wanted to give Spice. I tried. So. Hard. To copy it. I couldn't do it. I thought... "You're handicapping yourself by trying to do it 1:1. This is a fictional character in a fictional world, it doesn't have to be exactly the same. You care too much about accuracy." So I tried to let loose a little and make it a little strange. I still used a specific painting as a reference, but nevertheless I tried to allow myself a bit of freedom. I thought... Wouldn't it be funny to play with the shape? Wouldn't it be neat to make it more angular? Sharper looking? Wouldn't it be ironic if... it sort of looked like a riff of her crown? She loses her crown, he gains one...

... I know it still sucks lol. My amateurish art and character design skills really shone through this time. At least I tried...?

I thought it would be neat to give him shoulder armor that mimics the Avatar of Ruin (thank you so so much to my friend vial-of-bane for his advice on how to color those + the crown so they actually look shiny/metallic, I couldn't have done it without his help. I gained +1 Art Skills thanks to him)

Look at all them red trianglez 🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻

"Would." - Grieving Warmonger (Golden Cheese)

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me, covered in my blorbo’s blood after I wrote a fic about them

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I had a bit of a hard time turning Ric Rac into a cookie, but he's here! Wasn't too sure on what to do with his outfit either lol. Anyways, here are 6 Ric Rac facts! - When he was just a hatchling Picky Pyro Tiger tried eating him... Twice!

Despite never hatching from an egg, Pitaya still refers to them as their hatchling. Their tailbands and charm were a gift from Fire Spirit for their 20th birthday. Similar to those they wore as a child. From a young age, Ric Rac knew he wanted to join the circus. One day, he learned of the Pudding Cup Circus! Feeling confident, he auditioned. After some time, he would become their wild cat tamer. He met Nettie when she was just a cub. Forming a strong bond with her as he trained her into the pantheress she is today. Not once has he struck Nettie with his whip. He would never bring any harm to her. No relationship built on fear is a good one. He trained her with love and respect, not violence. -

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:/c

Gordon Ramsey fursona reveal!

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"From the moment she returned home from the Dark Flour War to naught but the ashes of her beloved kingdom, deep within Golden Cheese Cookie's heart burned the flames of wrath and resentment. Never did this fire truly go out, even when she tried her best to rebuild and move on. In the heat of her battle with Burning Spice Cookie, they rose, crackled, expanded into a raging inferno - and in the wake of her defeat, only dying embers of bitterness remained. But instead of living up to his title and destroying her, he offered to spare her life; more than that, he offered her a choice. An opportunity to seek the cruel vengeance he knew she so coveted deep down, for he has long hungered for something devastatingly similar. And in the end, she agreed. Now she acts as the Great Destroyer's right hand, inflicting her unanswered suffering onto others with his aid and encouragement. Justice, relief, personal amusement... all of these she heard spoken, promised, in that siren song of destruction."

(Costume set AU part 1! Burning Spice will be posted soon)

(Design notes under cut)

Grieving Warmonger takes after Kali, the ultra violent and vengeful form of Parvati, Shiva's wife and goddess of creation and beauty (among other things). She lords over time and destruction, and is known for having slaughtered many people (mostly guilty to be fair. She's actually quite just) in pretty gruesome ways, but still having a caring, motherly nature deep down despite her constant rage and bloodlust. Along with her, she takes a lot from Burning Spice himself, both his original look and the AU one (you'll see that soon). They share a lot of colors and jewelry.

Kali is often depicted with 4 arms (sometimes more, sometimes less). As she and Spice have merged Soul Jams and share the power in this AU, she acquired an extra set of arms as one of the results of their exchange

Kali is described/depicted as having blue or black skin. I chose to stick to black (for her clothes) since black is a more "ominous" color

Gave her a trishula (technically Spice gave it to her but whatever) plus a khopesh sword. One weapon from her old culture, one weapon from the new. (Both Kali and Shiva (in many of his forms) wield a trishula as well)

Kali (and Shiva again!) wears a garland made of either skulls or severed heads. Kept it to skulls here

Skirt is a loose nod to Kali's being made from severed arms (didn't do the best job with this part, my bad. Used red outline and tried to keep cookie arm shape)

Red tint in her hair, eyes, wings and Soul Jam, to hint at her no longer suppressing her anger and embracing Destruction

Crown has been abandoned. Soul Jam now made as part of a beaded headdress (this one is a common style of Indian women's head jewelry)

Crumbs in feathers and on hands to demonstrate lack of care for appearance + hint at past fights (got this from that Disheveled Spice sprite, I liked it a lot). Wings are also messy/ruffled

Made eye makeup red and changed pattern/shape so it sort of looks like blood streaks/bloody tears

Long, messy hair kept in a single ponytail (Kali has very long and matted hair + GC grew out her hair to match Spice

Extra bracelets, same as Spice's

Tried to make the pattern on the trishula tips look like blood stains/ blood dripping down idk

R e d t r i a n g l e s 🔺🔺🔺

Gold belt with little red triangle jewel. Destruction upside down basically. Plus the patterns on the sides are supposed to mimic the pattern around Herald of Change's Soul Jam

Please ignore how shit the khopesh sword is I wasn't sure how to render the grip/handle and I botched it mea culpa mea maxima culpa

Look at this fucking bozo down here lol cringe ⬇️

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Shitpost comic based on a true story... 🕷

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Wind Archer things 🍃

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please share just HOW you come up with the user "vial-of-bane" just uh HOW? i can understand a user like burningcheese-merchant but VIAL OF BANE? where do you find such a name? what sort of thinking process happens? it reminds me something like world of warcraft of some gorey indie game or something no no it SOUNDS like the name for a Chilla's Art game

Chilla's Art mentioned!!! On a side note, I absolutely love retro style horror games. Sorry We're Closed being one of my personal favorites, you should check it out!! Gay Silent Hill, my beloved... (I'm yet to finish it actually lol) To answer your question, my name was inspired by potions! When I first joined the Cookie Run fandom Prune Juice Cookie was one of my absolute favorites, and still is. My blog was originally based around him. A name like Vial-Of-Bane only felt natural. Like a potion of poison, but I wanted something that had more flavor than just that, y'know? Another inspiration for the name came from the OST of Alice Madness Returns. "Vale Of Tears." It had such a ring to it, a wonderful track in itself. Thus Vial-Of-Bane was born. I also liked the sound of it. That being said, there's the origin story of my user. ⋆｡°✩ (Bonus fact; my original title used to be "My mind is in ruins!" It's a quote from Alice Madness Returns. Which I quite like, so by the time this is posted it'll be back to that lol) Here's my original icon! I drew it ages ago.

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Me remembering I have total free will and the power to draw what ever I desire... Have this thing I was mega lazy with lol -

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Kind of thinking about making an AO3 account... Reason as to why I'm unsure is because I kind of suck at writing lol. Makes me feel embarrassed high-key. I read my own shiz and I'm like "Ahaha... NO... THAT'S SO BAD..." No way am I posting that online LMAOOO. Plus writing is hard for me with brain fog and dyslexia. Not that I'd let that stop me though. But yeahh just getting my thoughts out there, dunno, maybe I will. -

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All her life, she believed her place to be in her brother's shadow. With the same certainty she gave to the sun's daily rise and fall, with the same uncritical reverence that colored every thought and word she had of him, she always believed he was her better. Her teacher. Her idol. Her hero. The world thought the world of Pepper Jack, and so did she. She believed she could never match his strength, his speed, his wit. Everything he's done for everyone, everything he's done for her, she believed, she knew - deep down, she feared - she could never do for him in turn.

And she was right.

His silence had been deafening. The soundless scream that sprang from his bloodied lips as his mouth fell open - his jaw coming to fully hang at the same moment his severed arm hit the ground - roared in her ears, louder than her thunderous heartbeat; it was through sheer willpower alone that she kept it from splitting her skull open. His eyes were blown wide open, impossibly so; dry, bloodshot, round as the sun sinking beneath the horizon. Lost in the middle distance, somewhere between the ever-growing pool of crimson before which he was forced to kneel and the splintered remains of his glaive.

The attack came and went before she realized it. One moment, she dared to turn her gaze upwards and caught the demon's eyes bearing down upon her - her, her, nothing and no one else - with a force that easily overtook the great distance between them and threatened to flatten her where she stood. The next, the sky suddenly filled with stars - the glint of a thousand weapons pulled from an invisible armory, sent flying towards her with a flick of the demon's wrist, unblinking eyes staring past the blinding volley and burning holes into her face.

The next, Pepper Jack had all but materialized before her, cracks forming in the earth below as he planted his feet firm and adopted an offensive stance, his face schooled into a steel-eyed scowl and knuckles beginning to pale as he gripped his glaive tight, its chipped and tarnished blade nevertheless ready to strike. Before this, he had been ruthlessly flung several yards away, across the earth and through multiple buildings; she blinked only once and suddenly he was there, poised to fearlessly protect her from the impending onslaught. But- but how? How did he get there so quickly? What spell had been cast in that split second in time that transformed him into lightning?

And now here he was, brought to his knees by the storm of screeching metal. The weapons' final descent had been a blur - and so had Pepper Jack been, a cloak and halo of deep blue feathers all but banishing them from her sight, no matter where she turned, as she listened to him desperately block and parry as many of them as he could. And then it was over. From the settling dust they all emerged: that endless barrage of spears and swords and daggers blindly scattered all around them. Pepper Jack, great and noble shield, bleeding from a thousand more cuts than he had before, his right hand still clutching uselessly at his glaive even after his arm had already been cleaved from his shoulder. Blood flowed from the open wound in quick, erratic spurts, in tune with the beat of his frenzied heart, staining his skin and cursing the spice sands beneath them with a color and scent that made her stomach churn.

And her, Matar Paneer, standing - no, cowering - behind her brother, completely unharmed. Untouched. Trembling, but still soft and clean, hands rushing to hide the loud gasp that burst from her mouth as she watched him wither and crumple.

The demon yelled out... something. Something or another. She heard it perfectly fine, of course she did; his voice replaced the howling winds and any other sound that dared to establish itself in his presence, she had no choice but to hear him. She just didn't care. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she took note of his biting words, his bombastic cadence, his frustrated tone. He was angry. Disappointed. Hurling insults and harsh demands without a single pause for breath in between. But she did not care. He was nothing and no one. In this bleak moment, the world ceased to exist beyond the bloodied sands' edge. Beyond the mangled limb and the shattered weapon that laid in brutal sacrifice. Beyond the hideous marks, shallow and deep, that carved through and along practically every inch of his person; beyond the once beautiful blue wings turned an ugly purple by all the blood spilled; beyond the face frozen in unspoken agony that would haunt her nightmares for the rest of eternity.

But eventually, she noticed her brother begin to bow his head low. His back began to straighten and his wings began to rise, ruffle, extend; she could see the massive strain it placed on his muscles clear as day, and yet he seemed to push through it even so. At long last, she could hear him. Hear his breath be let out into the air, labored and furious.

With his one remaining hand, he quickly reached under his tattered collar and yanked something out: his lucky pendants, the elephant and the heart. Then, with a split second of lingering hesitance, he grabbed at the upper half of his glaive and tore off the feather pendants neatly tied to the shaft, just below the blade's edge. He whipped around to face her, teeth gritted in barely-stifled pain and eyes - their father's eyes, those infernal red irises with pupils now narrowed into slits of glowing gold - alight with desperate rage, and slammed the trinkets down with a curt nod before he turned his attention back to their enemy. One more deep, haggard breath in, hand pressed flat against the ground - and then he all but exploded into the air, launching himself up and away with a mighty flap of his wings that knocked her onto her hindquarters.

Following close behind him in shaky obedience was a deadly arsenal of his own, hastily fashioned from the dust and debris surrounding them. For a moment, she stared up in awe; even under such outstanding duress, her brother could bend the world to his will. He called to the earth and the earth answered him as it always does. Then she blinked and remembered the call he'd made to her with that brief nod of his head, and she hurried over and scooped up the cluster of pendants. Pepper Jack is a sentimental sort, she knew, and those pendants were each an old, treasured gift; thus she would honor his wishes and keep them safe. The knots she made to fasten them to her sash were crude, but tight. Serviceable. They would keep to her side well enough as she craned her neck up to witness his rapid ascension.

He flew up, up, commanding the winds to bring him before the demon's face. His face twisting with righteous fury, he raised his one arm high; the earthen weaponry dutifully rose to his side, angling themselves so all of their sharpest edges were aimed directly at their target. Framed against the blazing sunset, facing this great terror, he looked... majestic. Awe-inspiring. Like a myth brought into reality.

He drew his arm forward. His tools of war launched ahead like missiles. If her eyes did not deceive her, she thought the demon donned a look of genuine surprise.

And then he swayed, and he leaned backwards, and he fell.

And as he fell, the fog of admiration lifted. As his blood-soaked wings hung dead in the air, she remembered what Herculean strength it cost him to unfold them in the first place. As a long, winding red ribbon spurted from the gored stump just below his shoulder, she remembered that he hadn't stopped bleeding this entire time, even for a single second. Watching this angel be struck down from the heavens so cruelly, she realized that this truly was it. This was no myth, the story unfolding before her was not that of a hero destined to vanquish a beast. This was not Pepper Jack's triumphant return to form. This was his last stand.

Her body sprung into action before her brain could even will it so. She sprinted across the desert terrain, towards the spot he seemed destined to soon turn into a crater. But he flew too far, and he fell too fast. His body collided with the earth just as she had outstretched her arms to try to catch him; the resulting earth-splitting shockwave sent her flying backwards, widening the gap between them again. She picked herself up and dusted herself off as quickly as possible, then bolted towards him. It seemed as though it only took the time to blink before she was on her knees beside him, turning him onto his back and sitting him up, out of the deepening, darkening pool of ichor.

There was hardly a single spot on his person that wasn't drenched in red. His hair, once soft and fluffy, was slick with blood and caked in debris. His wings bent at wildly unnatural angles, feathers a chaotic mess and dyed a hideous shade of violet. A bone stuck out from one kneecap, crudely, violently carving through skin and flesh. Cuts of all shapes and depths and bruises of all shades of black and blue littered his arms, his legs, his torso, weeping crimson tears and marring his once lovely, sun-kissed skin. He looked like death.

"P'neer..." He managed to crack one bleary eye open - no more golden pupils now - and look at her. "I told you to... to get away from here..."

He did. He did tell her that, sometime ago. More than once. She did not listen then. She will not listen now.

"Go... J'st go. Get out... Save yourself... Please."

Matar Paneer did not WANT to go. She did not WANT to save herself. If the choice lay between fleeing from this place and staying behind and dying with her brother, then she would stay. She would slit her own throat with her katar to speed up the process if need be. But she would not leave. Not without him.

"Didn't... didn't work. He's still... I can't keep fighting... Please... Just go. While you still can."

His voice always brought her so much comfort. Kind but firm, and so full of life. Not this ragged whisper that struggled to crawl out of his throat.

The wound. The stump. He was still bleeding out. She had to stop it. But- but- but she didn't know how, or with what. But she had to do something. But she didn't know what to do.

"Paneer..."

Her hands, all she has to work with are her hands. Could she press them down on the wound and close it like that? Could she summon every last bit of strength in her body and force it shut on her own? Could she call upon her Soul Jam and have it listen to her and offer its full power like it's apparently supposed to but never has, even once in her life?

"Hey... Look. Look at me."

Something cold and clammy touched her cheek. Cradled it with a gentle, if unsteady, care. He had reached up and placed his hand on her face, and she only noticed when she felt blood be painted onto the apple of her cheek by his fingertips.

First came a soft sigh. Then the corners of his lips twitched, slowly blooming into a smile that came through bloody teeth.

"Matar Paneer... It's going to be okay."

A sticky thumb swept under her eye, wiping something moist away. When had she started crying?

"It's okay. It's okay. Don't cry. I'm here."

The tremor in his voice suddenly vanished, as did any trace of pain or distress previously etched into his features.

Twelve years, she's known this boy. Twelve years, from the day she first awoke in this world, in their parents' arms. She knew his face, she knew his voice, she knew his mannerisms. She knew his favorite foods and favorite books and the way he slept in his bed. And yet, even knowing all of these precious things, she still did not know how he did this. How he could school his expression and his mind in such a way. How could he appear so calm and serene at a time like this?

She hated it, hated him. Hated this new tone of finality that he took.

"It's okay... 't's okay, P'neer."

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she noted that the demon had not made any further moves towards them. She could feel his eyes on her again, trying to burrow into the back of her skull. But he did nothing more. Nothing she cared enough to notice.

"I'm here. It's okay."

At a loss for what to do, she cried harder. Poured out her struggle and pleaded for wisdom into his bloodied palm. Pepper Jack always knew what to do. He always found a way around things. She- she doesn't know things like he does. Not enough, not the right way. She never did. She doubted she ever would.

"'t's okay. It's going to be okay."

No it isn't. No it isn't. No it isn't.

"Here... Hold me... Hold my hand. Don't let go."

Alright.

"It's okay. It's okay. It's... 't's going to... t' be... okay..."

When his voice began to die on his tongue, and he started looking through her and not at her, she crawled over and curled into his side, hugging him tight and pressing herself into the open wound as forcefully as she could. It was all she could do. It was the least she could do. It was what she had to do. She had to stop the bleeding.

The entire time, she did not let go of his hand. Just like he told her not to.

She did not let go when their father came to their rescue too little, too late. The demon taunted him with a choice: either he stay and fight in his children's stead or he yeild and whisk them off to safety like a coward. He chose his children. And he was forced to relent and let her keep holding her brother's hand as he rushed them all away, even if separating made them easier to carry, for every attempt at doing so almost cost him his own hands and there was simply no time to waste on such a matter.

She did not let go when they burst into her mother's palace, her father screaming for help as her brother grew ever colder in his arms. Her mother was upon them in a heartbeat, already moved to tears. No amount of panicked utterances of "may the Radiance of Gold wash over you" undid the damage. Not a single wave of her glowing hands mended a single wound. All of her power, all of her glory, and she still could not fix him. But there was a hand still woven through his, even as it grew limp, even as its owner's eyes fell completely shut and he no longer responded to anyone or anything at all.

It was only when the doctors took him away, even as her mother fell to her knees in self-loathing hysterics, that their connection was finally severed. And even then, she did not surrender peacefully; she screamed and cried and thrashed about, unjustly trapped in the prison of her father's arms and raging against her bindings with all of her might. She told him she wouldn't let go. She told him she'd stay beside him. She told him she wouldn't leave. Her best friend. Her anchor. Her brother. She can't leave him. She can't leave. She can't let go.

If she lets go then he'll never hold her again.