#for pulling a lever no less

[seasaltandcopper]

today I discovered that in bg3 not only can your mage hand get caught doing crimes and be given the chance to talk its way out of it, but if you fail (that -5 penalty to charisma sdfsdf) the guards will take it to a jail cell

I can only imagine what kind of slapstick shenanigans happened trying to wrangle that thing along the way

[you-know-cchio]

“the average sfth member plays 3.75 roles in death for a dollar” factoid actualy just statistical error. average sfth member plays around 2 roles in death for a dollar.

spiders georg sam, who was in every scene of the longform and plays 8 roles (danny prostitute, bill hannigan’s blind father, many fingers percy pussy, young three keys three teeth three toes tony, mexican farm owner, marriage officiant, horse, maria’s executioner), is an outlier adn should not be counted.

[boiledegghole]

disco elysium/inside out crossover.

[not-poignant]

me reading UtB: NO FEAR!

*crielle looming in the distance, Gary going into androlphen rage at some unknown date, this henton guy everyone is scared of that I know nothing about cause i haven't read ffs yet*

me: MANY FEAR!

Put it in your calendar, anon, Gary goes into his ardolphogen rage on Thursday the 21st of September. (Don't put it in your calendar, I'm not serious, put fun things in your calendar like 'have some tea' or 'look at a flower' or schedule in like a dog-petting date or something).

It's okay there's plenty of other stuff we need to be dealing with until we get there!

Ahahahahaaaa it's probably good that you don't know about Henton, honestly

[gibbearish]

it is fascinating seeing ppl say "if you still vote biden just bc he's protected trans rights youre putting your own rights above that of the other people he'll kill" bc i'm like. well that operates under the assumption the Not Biden Option won't be killing those same other people Plus Trans People and given the history of presidents i would say that is a. how should i say this. wild fucking assumption? like idk framing it as "hello transgender, would you rather kill a bunch of non-americans or a bunch of fellow trans people. oh, you don't want to kill trans people? so you personally want to kill non-americans? racist selfish piece of shit" seems uhhhhh disingenuous at absolute best and a psyop at worst

[thesixthstar]

Local elections can look like many things but the presidential election is a trolley problem 100%. You can be rightfully upset that people are tied to the tracks at all, and you can be horrified that the options are “Fucktons run over by trolley” or “Less but still A Lot run over by trolley”. You can rage about how the votes of those most likely to be run over by a trolley often have less sway than those off the tracks. You can, and should, try to figure out why we’re in a trolley problem in the first place, so we can prevent it in the future.

But you’re still in the trolley problem. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t tie anyone to any tracks. It doesn’t matter that you don’t support trolleys. What matters is that people WILL be run over and you have some small power to decide what happens.

With so many elections coming up worldwide it's probably a good time to remind everyone that tumblr once got infested with agents trying to convince everyone not to vote, or not to vote left because the candidates weren't morally pure enough.

Also a reminder that they were better at tumblr than most of us, comrade interloper was great at memeing. Like, the talent!

Anyway don't fall for it. There is no morally pure option.

[serenadeofthestars]

fuck it, making its own post for this

so reblogged a recent post regarding the trolley problem. well written, nothing wrong to say about it. but then I made the mistake of going into the replies

now, I'm not going to screenshot or say who this person was. but one person claimed that, in the case of the election, it's choosing to let the trolley run over yourself or five other people

no.

using that same metaphor, it's choosing to let yourself get run over *with* the five other people or not. but, if you don't let yourself get run over, you can take action to perhaps help them. you may not succeed. you may get run over by a completely different trolley (police, other institutional things getting in the way). but you certainly won't if you're run over along with them

cause one of the options is certainly gonna run over everyone if he gets the chance.

[damselneedssaving]

BATBOYS BUT THEY WITNESS A STRANGER PULL F!READER INTO A HUG AND CLAIM TO BE HER BOYFRIEND. FT. MARK GRAYSON! P.T.2

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, everyone is 18+, mention of death, romance, mark is utterly devoted to you, jealousy, lots and lots of jealousy, little bit of dark!batboys, kind of dark!mark too

★ A/N: tim didn't get to speak much last chapter so i'm hoping this one makes up for it!! also also, you guys have acc overwhelmed me with all the support, thank you all so much 😭💞💞💞

★ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕 ★ | ★ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ★ | ★ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 ★

MARK DID, IN FACT, SAY 'DIFFERENT DIMENSION'—

—and now, he's sat on your bullet-hole-covered couch, head moving from side-to-side as he watches you pace the room behind your broken table, one hand holding your elbow, the other situated beneath your chin.

You're half paying attention to him, half stuck in your own thoughts, his earlier words repeating in your mind like a mantra, a broken record player you can't seem to fix no matter how much you move its lever.

"Okay," you whisper, maybe to him, maybe to yourself, "let's... let's run this back. You said you're my... boyfriend, right?"

Mark nods in time with a few growls in the background.

"But... from a different dimension?"

He nods again.

"Right, okay." You echo his action, nodding to yourself like any of this makes sense, like you don't have a million thoughts running through your mind right now.

"This is ridiculous," Damian voices one of them with a scoff. "How do we know this isn't another one of Darkseid's schemes? Something to lower your guard with so that he can capture you as leverage against us?"

You breathe in through your nose, pinching it again. "C'mon, Dami, would you really let him follow you to me?"

He purses his lips, not another word falling from his mouth.

That settles that.

"Sorry about that, Mark. Can you elaborate?"

You turn back to the otherworldly meta human, only to find his eyes already on you (still on you), wide, and with his face a little stuck out, like he's actively trying to get closer to you, like he can't bring himself to be too far away.

The thought turns your insides to mush.

You clear your throat, ignoring the tingle in your stomach. "Um, Mark?"

He blinks. "Huh?"

"I, uh, asked if you could, y'know, explain a bit more?"

He blinks again, slower this time. Then, with a shake of his head, he lifts a hand behind his neck, rubbing it in a habit so boyishly awkward, you have to fight back the smile threatening to climb onto your face. "Right." He clears his throat. "I was sent here by this guy in my dimension—Angstrom Levy?"

He peers up at you, as though expecting some sort of reaction to that name, but when you frown back at him with a quirk of your brow, he continues his explanation slowly.

"He can, uh, open these portals at will."

"Right..." you trail off, turning your head down as your eyes glaze over, "and in your world, I'm your girlfriend?"

"Were," he corrects, and it's so quiet, you almost don't catch it.

In fact, you're sure you heard him wrong.

"Sorry?"

"You were my girlfriend," he speaks again, firmer, but in a tone no less far, no less clouded. 

"We broke up?" You furrow your brows—no, that doesn't make sense. If you did break up, why would he come to your door claiming to be your boyfriend and not your ex?

The answer to your question lies in the man seated on your couch, but unlike before, he suddenly can't seem to bring himself to look at you, gaze instead trained to your wooden floorboards like they're the most interesting things to grace the planet. What? Does he not have wood in his dimension?

A beat passes without Mark saying a word.

The silence sits heavy, like the humid air of a rainforest swallowing you whole and threatening your very ability to breathe.

You find yourself awaiting escape from it, his words, however long they may take to come, like a promise of salvation from your woes.

But it isn't him that saves you.

"You died," a voice cuts through the silence, sharp and through gritted teeth. "He let you die in his world."

Instantly, Mark's head shoots up, and he narrows his eyes into sharp, lethal daggers at Damian.

"I didn't let her." He snarls, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. "I just..."

And then, just like that, he loses all the fight, fingers loosening their tight grip around nothing as his form all but falls, folding over like a wet noodle with no will to keep going.

"Fuck me..." you breathe out, hand already up and pinching your nose again.

To think, another version of you, a different version of you—with a different life and a boyfriend and maybe even no wood in her world—died.

Fucking hell.

"I need a drink," you find yourself muttering, shaking your head lightly before peering up at Mark. "Do you, uh, also need something?"

He's back to looking at you, gaze wide and brows knitted and lips parted by just the slightest hair as he whispers with all the sincerity of a samaritan, "Just you." Then, a little louder, "All I need... is just you."

You think the world stops when you catch air in your throat, that it drowns out until it's just the two of you when those words leave his tongue.

All of a sudden, you seem to be floating on a cloud, drowning in his gaze of pure intensity as your own heartbeat thunders in your ears and you forget how to even breathe or blink or see anyone that's not him for a brief second.

But then that second passes, and you find yourself on land once again.

You quickly excuse yourself, ignoring the holes that bore through you as you leave the room to enter your kitchen instead, the cold of it like a breath of fresh air against your warm skin.

God, fuck, that moment was so intense, you don't know if you can even think about what was revealed before it, his gaze lingering on your skin like rain after a hurricane.

So vivid. So loving. So utterly devoted that you could see nothing but yourself reflected back in those eyes.

The cup in your hands almost slips from the cabinet above your head at the memory.

In fact, it does slip. But it's quickly caught. Though not by you.

A warmth radiates against your back, and you turn, just to have it radiate against your front instead.

"Tim..."

His head is tilted to yours, eyes glazed over as one hand places the cup down on the counter to your left, and the other situates itself firm on the counter to your right.

For a beat, he just stands there, trapping you to the corner of your kitchen with a gaze as clouded as the Gotham night sky.

Then, just as you part your lips to ask why he's here, he speaks.

"Tell me I was seeing things."

His voice comes quiet, whispered and pleading as his brows knead up with a shaky sort of pull.

"What?" you can only ask, his breath hot against your face, close and feeling like it won't be moving anytime soon.

"Tell me..." he starts again, repeating without hesitation, "that I was just seeing things."

When you furrow your brows back at him, he continues, almost desperately.

"That you weren't... that you weren't looking at him for a second like..."—his face scrunches up, expression pained, like you've just gone and hit him with an axe—"like you believed him."

"Tim, I—"

You don't know what to say, not when he looks at you like that, like you've just shattered his whole entire world right in front of him.

"Like..." Tim continues, and the next words he has to really push out, wincing like it hurts just to say, "like he's actually your boyfriend."

Your stomach drops, insides churning as Tim's fingers curl against your counter with an audible scratch.

"You know he's not, right..?" he whispers, like not even he's sure. "That he's just a stranger?"

You furrow your brows, gulping down saliva and steeling yourself. "Of course I know."

But it's like Tim doesn't even hear you.

"He doesn't love you. He doesn't even know you."

You narrow your eyes, going to respond when he beats you to it again.

"Not like I do," he continues, and your words die on your tongue, eyes going a tad wider as he leans in just a bit closer. "Not like I've done for years."

Whether he's talking about knowing you or loving you, you're not sure.

And you continue to be unsure as he softly reaches for your dominant hand, gripping the back of it like he's afraid that if he lets go, you'll slip from him entirely.

The next thing you know, your hand is cradling his cheek, and he's holding it there, allowing your warmth to bleed into his skin as he looks at you with those wide, shaking eyes you seem to be on the receiving end of quite often these days.

"Tell me," he begs—lips wobbling, brows knitting, expression pleading.

And you don't think you can even if you wanted to, mouth too dry and head too empty to even voice a clear thought as he moves to slip his free hand around your waist and pull you closer.

"Please."

You think you're only able to snap out of it when you're just a breath away from his lips, just a hair from touching them with your own as he drills into you with those wide, shaking, desperate blue eyes of his.

And once you do snap out of it, once everything becomes just a little too much, you place a hand firm against his chest, whispering his name with a small, light push.

His grip around you tightens for a second, eyes glazing over, but before they can stay that way, before he can do something without a lick of sense or reason, they clear up again, and he slips his hands from your waist, letting you part from him as his arms fall to hang limply by his sides.

And when you move to further part from him and the room, you pretend not to hear the loud bang against your kitchen counter.

So much for a drink.

TAGLIST: @silas-222, @bloofairyfox, @wiseavenuelove, @inkycapps, @velovicy, @mmentallyelsewhere, @verysynical, @1abi, @bluepartywobblernickel, @krys0210, @patatasolitaria, @mazixxss, @nova916, @federalprison78-4, @crissy09yesso, @minhyrin, @nutella-hitler, @kvzutora, @starslightzz, @alishii, @crybabyghostie, @jsprien213, @cupid73, @doggyteam2028, @invinciblewaffles, @love-theangel, @butterbiscuit444, @thecrazyone2007, @reaperxdeath, @mexxs-xs, @gaychaosgremlin, @pookiei-bookie

[wolfythewitch]

I don't go here that often but this is specifically about epic the musical. I keep seeing posts getting mad that eurylochus is willing to leave behind the men on Circe's island but then gets angry when Odysseus sacrifices 6 men to Scylla and like. That's fine?

It's not Eurylochus' fault the men get captured, and it's not a wholly selfish reason why he wants to leave.

He specifically tells Odysseus to think about the men they still have, and that's reasonable. All he knows is it's a powerful witch, and all of his men, who were also soldiers and probably good ones, didn't even stand a chance. He wouldn't have known about Hermes, or the moly. He's the second in command, he's meant to be a voice of reason, and in his eyes, going back would have been a lost cause and could've potentially lost them a captain as well

VS Scylla. Odysseus isn't passive in this one, he specifically decides to have six torches be handed out so that Scylla's heads will go for them. It's still a practical choice. It's better to control the options than have the heads go at random. But he makes that choice, that these six men who hold the torches are going to die. That's what Eurylochus is upset over. I think he would have been less upset if Odysseus let the heads go at random

It's honestly the trolley problem haha. Eurylochus does not pull the lever. Odysseus does

[shouyuus]

idk how i thought of ts but going on a road trip with vi and [who ever is driving and in the passengers seat], sliding her hand down reader's pants and reader trying not to squirm, then finally after that lil teasing session, all of you decide to stop for a bathroom break and then boom vi finally finishes what she started in that small bathroom stall (😥)

open road

violet; +18, mdni; fluff and smut, unsafe driving practices, carmech!vi au

it’s a trip she makes often enough for her to know the way with one eye on the road, a hand on the steering wheel, the other stretched over the center console, fingers teasing up the plush of your thigh, a crooked grin tucked like a secret or a watermelon seed in the corner of her cheek as she glances over at you squirming in the passenger seat.

“bit hot? need the ac on higher, pretty girl?” she asks, making as if to reach for the temperature knob, only to have you whine and clamp your thighs around her wrist.

vi lets out a low hum, glancing into the rear view mirror — traffic’s been smooth, and she’s been cruising at a sweet, solid 70. there's nothing much to do except sit back, relax, and well --

you whine, fingers scrabbling at handle of the door, your head tipping back as vi drags two fingers along our slick cunt, groaning to herself at the wetness she finds there.

"holy shit..." she murmurs, almost to herself, the words wrought over a small chuckle. she'd say she were impressed, except that she knows you, and she knows your body, and she knows what you and your body like -- more than she knows herself.

"vi... don't tease..."

"awww..." vi coos, indulging in you, hooking a finger between your folds to flick at your clit. her grin only stretches as your whole body jumps, your mouth falling open. she thinks about pulling over onto the highway shoulder, just to pull you into her lap and kiss you till you're desperate and needy above her (more so than you already are, i mean). she thinks about the thrill of knowing that anyone who drives by might glance over to get an eyeful of your writhing body, your nipples pushing against your pale blue cami, your skirt flipped up, her fingers tucked into your lacy panties.

"want me to fuck you properly, doll?" vi asks, slowly down slightly for a red toyota to merge in front of her. she glances at you again and winks when she meets your reproachful gaze, your eyes sugar-glazed and lust-ridden.

heat burnishes your cheeks a ruddy red and vi can't help feeling just a little smitten -- what a pretty picture.

"mm -- please..." and you sound so good begging for her (and she's never been one of god's strongest soldiers) that she laughs, flicking on her turn signal to merge out, leaning forward slightly to ease a finger into your needy cunt, biting down hard on her bottom lip as she feels you clench down around her, vice-tight and hot.

"sweet fuck."

she takes the nearest exit and pulls into a rest stop, pulling sideways into a parking space before tugging her hand from you with her eyebrows raised.

you lick your lips, your chest heaving as you watch her. it's a look caught somewhere between predator and prey, and vi shivers, wondering which she'd be, which she'd prefer you to be.

"so? how'dyou wanna do this, princess? in here? or..." she flicks her eyes towards the rest stop bathrooms. you crinkle your nose, and she can almost see the gears turning in your head as you weigh the options. she knows you're not a fan of the cleanliness of the rest stop bathroom, but it affords you both some privacy -- something that vi's vintage pontiac is decidedly lacking.

"i --" you stutter, tugging on the hem of your skirt.

vi cocks her head, heat hissing in her belly, coiled like a snake. she reaches down to yank on the lever under her seat and the seatback jerks forward as she ducks out the seat and hoists herself into the backseat.

"c'mere sweet girl --" she says, patting her lap, and it takes you less than three seconds to scramble over the center console as well to join her in the spacious back seat, your knees on either side of her hips, her fingers sinking into your hair to pull you close.

she kisses you with her mouth open, licking languid into your mouth, swallowing around your tiny little moans, her free hand skating down the length of your back to palm at the round of your ass, grabbing a handful and shifting you higher, just so she can grind you down over her the way she likes.

"mm -- fuck --" she groans, feeling your fingers tugging at the waistband of her jeans. it takes a bit of shuffling to get her jeans loose but the moment you do, vi's hissing out a breath as you sink down into the footwell, blinking up at her with those eyes of your as you pillow your cheek on her partially exposed thigh.

"wanna taste you vi -- can i?"

she nearly curses under her breath, feeling a familiar ache settling in her own cunt as she licks her lips, eyes going hooded as she watches the way you glance down at her boxers and then up at again.

"yeah, princess? wanna -- fuck -- wanna eat me out on the side of the road?"

you crinkle your nose, but the pitched moan that tumbles out of you stitches heat up the front of vi's chest till her eyes are rolling back.

"y-yeah -- been thinking about it for hours," you admit, your voice ripening over the last word, summer-plum sweet.

"yeah?" vi grins, cocking her head as another idea slowly takes shape and she licks her lips. "how about you come up here and... we see who can get the other off first?"

your eyes go wide; outside, the bluebird sky is bright and endless.

"and... whoever wins...?" you let your sentence trail off, blinking star-bitten lashes at her. vi chuckles, reaching down to catch your chin in her fingers, giving your face a tiny little shake before she answers --

"gets to be passenger princess for the rest of the drive."

a smile splits your face as you shift up to wiggle your panties off your legs.

"deal."

[purelyfiction]

The Part That Hurts // Frank Castle

“You put a hand on my back / You said ‘I know you’re not okay.’”

Frank Castle 'The Punisher' x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,916 words

Summary: Prompt: "You didn't do anything wrong. There's nothing to apologize for."

Content Warning:  Mentions of kidnapping, torture, blood - basically anything The Punisher had you're in for.

Author Note: unedited, un-betaed. we die like billy russo. writing challenge for @mattmurdocksscars 2.5k writer challenge :D thanks for hosting pal!! Also, first time writing Frank, please be nice - also sorry it's not a behemoth of a thing - and this is the first thing i've published in so long OOP

Run. Big strides. Keep going. Don’t look back. Don’t stop for nobody.

Your feet hurt. They sting, oh God do they sting. Knowing what sort of trash ended up on the streets of New York, you can only guess what you’ve managed to step barefoot on in the last ten minutes of your sprint. 

You hear people. Their voices cut through the constant ringing from your ears. They’re calling out to you, asking you to slow down. Begging you to stop. One is cursing at you as you recover from the momentary collision with a rather cranky old woman.

Keep going. Do. Not. Stop. 

It’s not your voice that’s saying it. It’s his. His instructions for you. The second he got to you and freed you from the zip ties, he’d got down to your level, hands on your shoulders. 

Listen to me. I don’t care how god damn tired you are. You get out of here. You Run. Fuckin’ run. Run. Big strides. You go and you keep going. You don’t look back, you don’t stop. Not for nobody. You Do. Not. Stop. You run to the basement and you lock the door behind you. You don’t open it for anybody, nobody but me. Go. Go.

So that’s exactly what you did. You knew what side the gunshots had been coming from. You knew why they didn’t seem to stop. 

It’s freezing. Why is it freezing? When your foot splashes into an overly full puddle, you realize it’s because it’s raining. That explained the bitingly sharp sensation against your skin.

Your throat feels like it’s tightening and closing. It’s hard to get the air out of your body. It burns, in the same way that vodka and tequila did. Just with less intention. 

You’ve got to do more cardio. 

The final turn onto the block that held your destination comes with a mini Hail-Mary in your mind. You can stop soon. But not now. 

Your hands slap against the door of the building, pushing the door open recklessly. It slams against the wall, scaring a resident getting their mail. You hear someone say ‘sorry’. Maybe it had been you? Despite that, you keep going. Down the steps, as quick as you can without slipping and totally eating it on the way down. 

The hallway is dimly lit in the familiar basement. It creeped you out the first few times you’d been down here with Curtis and Frank, but now, it meant refuge. Hiding. Safety. 

The large cinder block room is bare, minus the cross on the wall and the bulletin board. When you’ve stepped into it, you’re quick to pull the door to the room shut, quickly spinning in the room for something to keep it shut. 

You make a poor attempt to block the lever arm of the door. A rogue broom slid under the handle but it does the job. 

Finally, you back up, your breaths heavy. They seem like they’re bouncing off the walls and back to you. The ringing is still there. Still as loud as ever. 

Who knew flash grenades were so loud? Or gunfire, for that matter. Suddenly, you’re wondering how the fuck Frank isn’t deaf. 

More calming breaths carry you to the far end of the room, until you meet the wall. You set a hand down, holding yourself up, but then carefully, shift to lean your shoulders up against it. 

Now that the adrenaline is no longer running through you, the pain is setting in. Wounds are open that much further from your run, your muscles aching, your skin prickled and raw from plastic cutting into them. 

You find a spot on the floor. Sure, there’s an entire cart of chairs in the corner, but you’re okay with making this spot on the freshly waxed floor your home. Especially considering you’d spent the last eighteen hours or so tied to a similar one. 

Usually people that end up in the situation you’d found yourself in go through some dramatic shit. Most of it in film and tv. There’s tears, shaking, and far too dramatic music. It’s usually dark, and brooding. Damp. 

They got that one right at the very least. 

Instead, you feel like your body is vibrating. It’s no runners high. It’s the feeling of a successful escape. Away from torture. Away from brutal pain and violence. The silence around you should be peaceful. A reminder that you are safe, and only one other person knows where you are. The intense shrill sound your head continues to make haunts you. Jutting through your guise of peace. 

Your back is flush to the cool cement of the floor. The temperature of your body is hot, yet you’re in a block of ice. Your hair is tangled and wet. You still taste the strong flavor of iron off your lips. Blood. 

That’s nothing new. Frank had come to you broken, beaten and bleeding a hundred or so times. You were able to suture a wound with your eyes shut if you needed to. Heaven forbid that had to happen. You’d extracted a bullet one time. Frank then came around and was your aide when your head landed in the toilet after performing such a task. 

He always showed up for you. Especially now. So you knew he’d be there. He would be. 

A loud fist on the door wakes you up from the uncomfortable sleep you’d come to know on the cement floor. Your head smacks against the floor, thanks to the startle reflex your body makes, a groan pairing along with it. Cushioning your head with your hand, you roll over onto your less irritated side, taking a breath to urge the pain out of your body. The door rattles again under impact. 

“Hey. C’mon, Angel, open up. It’s me.” Frank’s baritone thrums out through the basement’s structural walls. In any other state, you’d have been to the door by now. But it takes a good minute or so to make it to the door. When the broom stick is free from the doorway, it flings open. 

Frank appears in the doorway, looking incredibly agitated. That is certainly the norm with him. Despite that, he steps into the room, letting the door slam shut behind him. 

The few steps you take backward as he moves are uncertain. At one point, you trip on your own feet. Frank reaches out and grabs your arm to catch you before you could hit the ground. The anger and bitterness that plague his aura seem to hide away and is replaced with concern when you falter. 

“Hey, hey, c’mere. C’mere.” He repeats himself, pulling you a little closer. When you stand in front of him, his hands come to your shoulders, then to the sides of your face. “Look at me.” His words are gentle, but incredibly direct. 

That feeling. The one that so many damsels on the silver screen had made a mess of. It’s swallowing you whole. There should be music draining out your thought process. Some sob story violin, shrill and attention grabbing. The gentle taunting of a woodwind, a flute dancing in mockery. Synths on full fronts in trying to draw a sense of sympathy from the onlooking viewer. 

That feeling that seems to soar over you the moment you witness Frank Castle’s face directly in front of yours.

He’s beaten. Bad. Worse than you’ve yet to see him. A gash across his cheek bone, lacerations across his arms and legs - flashes of red through the fabric of black adorning his frame. 

This was your doing. Had you- had you stayed out of his life. Stopped digging around while trying to get him answers. Done the smart thing and let him handle it, instead of going out of your way and trying to do recon on your own, none of this would’ve happened. You’d be in your cushy apartment, likely eating way too many Oreos, and watching trashy reality TV. 

Salt burns your eyes as tears begin to form. He’s asked at least three questions by now, but you’ve not answered a single one of them. Brazen and heavily stained hands grip onto the nape of your neck, his voice repeating your name. 

“Angel. Answer me!” The tone goes up an ante. It’s demanding, almost desperate. 

Your bottom lip quivers. The fear of the last few hours, the assaults and harassment. It’s all turning into a cacophony of overwhelm and delirium in your mind. You hadn’t eaten in over twelve hours. It had felt like days. No water. No real rest. Maybe that’s why you feel like you’re vibrating again. Or why you can’t seem to get more than two syllables to leave your tongue. Despite that, you wet your lips haphazardly. His index finger moves across your face, either wiping away dirt or blood - or both. You can’t answer a question that you didn’t hear. So instead, you fill the room up with literally anything else. 

“Frank- I- You-” The tears are falling as you struggle to string the nouns, adjectives, conjunctions and verbs together. Your face falls forward as your head sinks, tears going with it. “I’m sor-I’m so sorry.” 

The burling giant in front of you stiffens. His hand grips your chin and pushes it up to see your face. His eyes take a few seconds to register what emotion yours hold. And when he realizes that you’re being serious he firms up. 

“The fuck you sorry for?” He gruffs out, his hand dropping to your shoulder again, squaring you up. 

“I-I should’ve just stayed out of it- not snuck around behind your back- not-not gotten involved-”

“Whoa, hey, hey,” Frank shakes his head, a much softer finger guiding your chin level to his again. “You listen to me. You hear me?” Soft brown eyes work to ease your anxiety. A thumb on your shoulder starts to make a comforting pacing pattern. Up, down, up, down. "You didn't do anything wrong. There's nothing to apologize for.” 

“You don’t mean that. You’re just saying it- I have done nothing- but fucking complicate this for you. You just wanted answers-” You nearly heave, your legs feeling weak under you. Frank slowly helps you down to the ground, sitting down himself and ensuring that you have a comfortable spot on top of him. 

He eases you to his lap, arms wrapping securely around you. The compression helps as much as it hinders. You don’t know the origin of the tears anymore. Is it pain? Is it fear? Is it overstimulation? Maybe it’s a fucked up melting pot of it all. But as you lean into his chest, you can’t help but continue to apologize. And with each apology, Frank tells you to ‘shut up’, ‘stop being stupid’, ‘you can’t believe that’. 

“You did what you needed to do, Angel. You got out. You ran, you didn’t turn back - you got yourself safe. You did it, baby girl, you did it.” The reaffirming words seem to pacify you as he keeps a soft and slow hand on your back, uneasy in a way that he doesn’t want to hurt you. Exacerbate any pain you’re already in. His other hand has shifted to cradle the back of your neck, to the crown of your head. His chin tucks you in further, bringing you close enough to hear his heartbeat with each of the words he utters under his breath. “You’re safe, sweetheart. I got you. I got you, sweetheart.”

[shen-jius-zoloft-prescription]

Shang Qinghua is a man who knows to keep a burner phone on an inside pocket where it won't be found and pulled off him. What does he look like, an amateur? And sure, burner phones don't exist technically in PIDW, but you think he didn't bake in a way to make an alternative?

Again: the man's not an amateur.

Shang Qinghua is a man who knows how to twist his arms from behind himself, in immortal binding cables, to grab that burner phone emergency talisman sewn into the hem of his sleeve. Shang Qinghua is a man who remembers the important phone numbers qi signatures by heart, and can definitely, easily place a phone call tear the necessary sigil on the talisman while tied up in a car trunk storage crate on a wagon, thank you very much.

And once upon a time, it mattered that Shang Qinghua is a man who knows how to open a car trunk from the inside, but storage crates don't come with safety regulation mandated release levers in Proud Immortal Demon Way.

Well, he'd be insulted if they didn't take him seriously enough to make it difficult for him. But still. Ugh.

There are less scorched-earth ways to go about this, but he's a bit peeved by the whole thing, and honestly? It might be good to remind people that he shouldn't be fucked with.

Obviously he can't tip his hand too far, being a pathetic little worm beneath anyone's notice is half of what normally keeps him out of situations like this, so he needs someone else to be the threat while Shang Qinghua still gets the "don't mess with him" effect of it.

So, anyway, he rings Shen Yuan.

Hey, bro, I've been kidnapped, by humans so I don't want to get my king involved, and — no, it's not a joke, listen — there really isn't time to play this with his best friend/built-in alibi, the talisman has a very limited duration with his qi cabled off, so he cuts to the chase.

There's a box under his bed in the Leisure House. He tells Shen Yuan to go get it. He knows Shen Yuan is a smart guy, but he's not exactly the right person when it comes to... well, what he'd be asking of him.

So he tells Shen Yuan, with the last percent of battery wisp of stored qi in the talisman, to take that box to his brother. It's a pretty random request; it's not like Shang Qinghua has anything to do with the Qing Jing peak lord ever, at all, if he can ever help it. Normally, Shen Yuan would just roll his eyes and shrug it off (and leave Shang Qinghua to his kidnappers, not that he'd notice his best friend was actually gone for at least a couple more days) but the whole thing's just weird enough that it piques his curiosity. He makes a brief call to his brother on his summoning pendant, more like a psychic tap on the shoulder.

Of course that's all it takes for Shen Jiu to drop everything he's doing immediately, and the peak lord goes to Shen Yuan faster than an ambulance. He's... unimpressed that the actual reason for his class's interruption is anything to do with Shang Qinghua.

But, dutifully, Shen Yuan hands Shen Jiu the box.

It's got scrolls and papers and folios on every important, influential, wealthy, powerful, superlative-adjective person in the jianghu and mortal spheres. It's all the dirt. On everyone. Criminal activity (mindfully scrubbed of any Airplane-shaped involvements), affairs, embezzlement, the works. From casual lies caught on tape, to life-ruining scandals in 4k.

Everyone important's dirty laundry. And, for good measure, it's also everyone important's loved ones' dirty laundry, too.

Shen Yuan realizes immediately that he might as well have just handed Shen Jiu nuclear codes. This is, decidedly and without a doubt, the absolute worst person in the world to have this information! What the fuck, Airplane-bro?!

There is a sticky note scrap of paper adhered on top of the box:

In case of emergency!

(ﾉ*ФωФ)ﾉ Give them two days to comply.

(less if they're annoying lol)

It does not matter who kidnapped Shang Qinghua.

Because whoever they are, they are assuredly in that box, and they, and everyone they know, and everyone they work with, and everyone they love are about to have their whole worlds torn apart.

As soon as it gets out that Shen Qingqiu has any kind of access to any amount of this information (and it's fairly immediate for Shen Jiu to buy into whatever fucked up game is going on and "let it slip," and if there's anything that every single sect of the jianghu excels at equally, it's gossip that can move faster than the speed of light), the best anyone can hope for is that he does the responsible thing and gives it to Yue Qingyuan; there is no heaven to save you if he decides to use it himself.

Just like that, everyone who suspects they might be in Shang Qinghua's nightmarish Burn Book is immediately joining in on the planet's scummiest, most self-serving volunteer search party team.

(The kidnappers themselves are, of course, scrambling to comply with demands.)

Shang Qinghua is dropped off, still tied, in an alley in a distant city of the borderlands with a bag over his head, only aware of the mayhem inflicted by his box of receipts by virtue of the frantic arguing he overheard from his kidnappers whilst rattling around like a loose coin in the car trunk storage container.

It's not until the next day that Shang Qinghua is back on An Ding and Shen Jiu returns the box.

Shang Qinghua is a man who knows his own damn handwriting, can tell when he's looking at a box full of copies.

[jinxthequeergirl]

The Ol Switcharoo (pt2)

Stan pines x reader /ford pines x reader

Summary: Your family vacation lasted longer than expected. When you return home to Stanford, you realize quickly something wrong.

Warning: NONE

Hey! Just some housekeeping before you read on

☆Thanks for all the love ya'll it means bunches

☆this part is shorter do to me wanting to pace this better, but I hope yall enjoy none the less!

☆a few of ya'll asked to be tagged so I'm starting a tag list if you'd like to be included don't hesitate to ask

☆additionally I did have a Playlist for this specific series and if ya'll would like me to post the songs for it also lemme know

Enjoy!

~~~~~☆~~~~~

"STANLEY HELP!"

Stan felt himself freeze up, his heart race and mind go blank, why couldn't he think? Why couldn't he move?

He watched in horror as his brother floated up backwards through the air into the gaping hole in space and time.

"Do something!"

"What...what do i do!?" He asked meekly, looking around for something to help.he watched as parts of his brother slowly disappeared, and as he reached into his coat pocket and tossed something at him. "Hide my research...CALLL Y/N ANYTHING-"

Stan shielded his eyes as a bright white light filled the room and knocked him back onto the floor. The room was suddenly quiet.

"Ford!?...Ford! Come back!" He wasted no time to get back up and bang on the machine, hoping it would start back up like an old appliance. "Please!"

He raced to the lever a few feet away, desperately pulling and yanking at it, but it didn't budge.

"Stanford!?...Ford!? Are you home yet!?" The small coo of an unfamiliar voice snapped Stan from his nightmare.

"Hello!?" The voice echoed out again. He quickly got up, reaching for his only form of security. A baseball bat.

The voice had gone silent, but he could still hear someone moving he took a long pause, then opened the door swinging his bad.

"FORD WAIT! WAIT, IT'S ME! ITS Y/N!!"

Y/n?

He stopped swinging the bat and stared down at you.

"Call y/n! Anything-"

"Y/n?"

"Yes, it's me, Ford! I haven't been gone that long have i?"

He cleared. "No not at all we have some catching up to do."

You could tell there was something ford...well stan (you'd have to get used to the sudden name change) wanted to tell you while you sat across from him. Like he wanted to give you bad news. But he seemed to be thinking of the right way to put it.

"So..stan...what made you want to change from Ford to stan? Did your family have that much of an impact on you?" You tried to joke to lighten the tension that seemed to linger in the air.

"Well...something like that...listen y/n-"

"Are you OK? You seem...different you seem nervous...more nervous then when I left.." You placed your hand over top of his and offered a reasuring smile.

"I..."

stan didn't know you...he had no right to lie to you. But Ford seemed to trust you and judging from the photo on his desk in the basement, how fondly he seemed to write about you in the journal...the scrapped drawings of you in the garbage you meant a whole lot more to him then stan could understand right now, you must have felt the same way about his brother.

He remembered how worried his brother had been in making sure he understood you were absolutely under no circumstances to not touch the journals or anything pertaining to it again.

"My closest friend y/n and I have been working on this project for months now...I should have listened to her but I didn't...I need you to get rid of this journal she can't be near any of this when she returns."

"Did something happen with the portal?...with that...creature? And what happened to your hands!" You said now, pulling both hands into yours to examine them.

Besides, you already seemed so worried. He couldn't be the one to break the news to you. Not now.

Besides, he had a plan.

Sort of.

So he did what he did best.

Lied.

"Well...uh while you were away, I had a little accident. I had to get surgery...yea surgery, and the accident you know was from the portal...so I said, Forget the whole thing! "

He Tried to say it in a way that would convince even himself.

"Stanford, what do you mean? What happened? Are you just going to give up on everything we worked for?"

"I have to, I just need some time."

Neither of you noticed at first that you were holding hands as you spoke. Stan was the first to notice the closeness. It was the first time in what felt like years that anyone had shown him this kind of affection, let alone the kindness you were demonstrating with your concern.

"I don't know what happened while I was away or when you even had time for something to go wrong or why you would even start working again without me!" He noticed the slight annoyance building up and squeezed your hand.

And you took a breath. "But I understand and I won't pretend to know what happened and if you aren't ready to tell me I can respect that...things got a little rocky between us before I left and I'm really just hoping things can go back to the way they used to be with us. If a longer break and time is what you need... then I am 100% behind your decision."

He felt a wave of relief wash over him at your words. Maybe it wasn't your words but the kind-hearted look in your eyes, or maybe it was the way you still held his hands in yours.

You'd be the first two admit two things about your current situation.

One, Nostalgia was a funny thing. You knew when something was off about your bestfriend, the man infront of you was was a changed man, while his story didn't add up he looked shaken and defeated...after all this was the man you trusted with half your life. And you wouldn't lie, you had clung so desperately to the memories of college and spring through winter, it was that glimmer of hope and a mix of Nostalgia for your good times together that made you believe him.

And two, You always knew better then to trust your heart you and Ford would joke about the idea of following your heart and not your brain, how silly a concept it was that the organ that pumped blood through your body had such a pull on your decision making it made your thought process stop.

Yet here you where.

Following your heart.

"How about a few drinks and I can tell you about my trip?" You offered standing and being the first to break the lock between your hands. "And I can tell you about the plans I have for this place!"

"Plans?"

"Sure! I mean, we aren't doing our science junk anymore, so we need to make money somehow, right?"

You set down two glasses.

"Ok?"

You sat down, you listened to him explain how he had already done a few tours displaying whatever you had already had laying around and how people where eating it up.

"Stanford you've never been one for the gimmicky tricks, you've always cared more about the real deal...WE'VE been about the real deal...why lie to people?"

"Trust me y/n do a tour with me tomorrow try to show the people a real life monster and whatchamacallit and put it up against my made up creature."

You laughed. This wasn't what you had expected Stanford pines to spend his break away from work doing. It was out of character for him. But refreshing somehow.

Just like that, the seasons changed, and it was spring again

You learned quickly people didn't like the truth.

Real monsters and ghouls seemed to only upset or bother people so you and stan collaborated a way to make attractions that seemed real enough but also gimmicky enough that tourists would eventually laugh at it.

You learned pretty quickly that you were not only a pretty crafty person but an excellent storyteller.

You and Stanford seemed to almost pick up where you left off bonding and cracking jokes. It was like he was more confident than when you left him, more relaxed and full of life. You two fit right back into place with eachother with out missing a beat.

It's exactly what you'd been missing.

Soon, you were renovating half the house to be a showroom and giftshop, and soon after you were selling and wearing t shirts, you began putting up a sign. By the following summer, you were basically an operational business.

The mystery shack felt more like a brain child of you and Stanford and you cared for it like such.

It was something fun.

Something that didn't seem to be running Stanford down like the science stuff did. You could see a genuine smile on his face as he showed some local kid the corni-corn.

It was silly. You couldn't remember the last time you'd done something silly and adventurous.

It felt good.

"Another day another dollar y/n my dear." Stan said, flipping the open sign to close and placing his little red fez cap on top of your head.

"Soon enough, we'll have people from all over the place coming to get a piece of the mystery shack." He said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, leading you back to the section of the Mystery shack that was still your shared home.

"Yea, we have a real Walt Disney start-up story, don't we stanford." He laughed loudly before suddenly getting serious.

"Listen. I wanted to say thank you for sticking with me through this. It means a lot."

"Of course, stanford." You reached up and planted a small peck on his cheeks. "We've been through everything together. I'm not going to stop now."

You could see stans face flush slightly as you stretched and yawned. "Anyways goodnight stanford."

"Uh yea...goodnight..." You heard him mumble as he touched his cheek where you kissed him.

Things where looking up.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

Tag list!:

@fanficcrow

@slay-thou-pookie

[csint3rlude]

·˚ ༘ ꒱ ten teaching you how to fly the tardis <3 (wc: 0.5k)

your hands gently gripped the bars of the tardis’ console while your eyes watched the doctor instruct you on what exactly to do.

he spoke calmly with a pleasant smile on his face, like he was glad to be teaching you.

you kind of just stared at the expression on his face for a moment, from how the curve of his lips framed his almost perfect teeth, from the colour of his lips and how it contrasted against his skin, how his eyes would flicker between you and the tardis as he spoke.

his voice snapped you back into focus a moment later.

“-and then you just pull that, and hold that… and then you’ve got her steady.” ten said, taking his eyes off the various rows of random buttons and levers that adorned his tardis to glance at you.

what was that first half?

you just gave him a simple nod, briefly hesitating and trying to remember the first half of what he said. you’d been too busy admiring him to notice. the doctor appeared to take it as hesitancy regarding flying the tardis.

“should be easy, really. just do as i said and you’ll be alright.” he reassured, reaching out and placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, giving it a tiny squeeze.

in an attempt of feigning listening to what he said, you reached forward to press one of the many buttons.

“not that one, love.” tens voice called, slight amusement lacing his tone.

upon reaching out again for a different button, the doctor gently tugged the shoulder his hand was resting on to nudge you in front of him.

“you didn’t listen to a word i said, did you?” he asked, but he didn’t sound mad. he just smiled, like he found it funny. “too busy staring at my face?”

you decided to retaliate. “well, maybe i was.”

ten shook his head slightly before he leaned down and placed a brief kiss on your cheek before standing at his full height again. “go on, try again.”

when you reached out this time, ten leaned down a bit and gently placed his hand over yours, guiding your hand to a lever slightly to your left. he let you pull the lever, but navigated you through which buttons to press.

“there you go!” he grinned once the tardis started whooing. he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. “told you, it’s not so difficult.”

“that’s just because you’ve been doing it for nine hundred years, and i’ve been doing it for less than ten minutes.” you pointed out.

“oh, you had it. just needed a few pointers.” he said. “nothing with you, it’s your first time. you did great anyway, love.”

he guided you across the console a moment later, already prepared to guide you to specific buttons. his question came a moment later.

“wanna put in the destination?”

[monamipencil]

— ♡ [7:05]

“kim mingyu!” you yell at him, trying to reach for the picture in his ands but he holds it up above his head, making it impossible for you to take it.

he looks down at you with a smile that hurts his cheeks, belly shaking with laughter, and you can't help the smile that crawls onto your face either. you try to make your threat as unfriendly as possible but it breaks with your laughter.

you claw at his shirt, pulling on it, all while laughing and he wraps his other hand around your waist, pressing you against him. you sigh, defeated, acting as if you gave up. when he lets his guard down, you wrap one of your legs around his torso, using it as an anchor to reach the picture.

jumping, you hook your arm around his neck and his hand levers you up, forcing you to wrap your other leg around him as well. mingyu's balance dwindles and he wraps his arms around your body before falling back to the floor.

the laughter in his chest numbs the pain and you laugh louder, body shaking with happiness. you sit up, now straddling his waist and giggle at him. your cheeks hurt but you couldn't care less.

looking down at him, you see him pouting at you with big puppy eyes and faux hurt swirls in them. you ribs hurts, and your eyes are teary but that doesn't stop the laughter that pours out of you.

you don't care about the embarrassing childhood photo anymore and you don't remember why you cried a day before yesterday. you don't remember all the irks in life. air fills your lungs and it isn't so hard to breathe anymore. life is fine. everything is fine. you'll be alright.

mingyu gazes at you with adoration, and he breaks down into laughter too but he winces, feeling a sharp sting in his back. this prompts you to laugh harder and the pain melts away. he pulls you down, big, warm hands wrapping you in a embrace.

you calm down against his chest but the smile stays. you look up at him, he mirrors your smile. his cheeks hurt but he couldn't care less. his gazes dips to your lips and he wants to press his against yours. he wants to taste your laughter on his tongue and feel it reverberate to his heart.

and it's moments like this that makes him wonder if you are only his friend and nothing more. but he doesn't care for now. he doesn't care what he is to you as long as he can be the reason that life becomes a bit bearable.

he tightens his hold around you and you do the same, eyeing his smile-stretched lips, overcome with the urge to press your lips on his and feel his smile. you tilt your face towards his, kissing the corner of his lips.

and life has never been sweeter.

@seungkwanschicken @aaa-sia @dokyeomkyeom @bangantokchy @jespecially

@asyre @armycarat2612 @bewoyewo @gyuguys

(send an ask to be added on the taglist!)

[brittle-doughie]

Mine Your Own Business

[Main Story]

You: “How’s it looking over there?”

Sugar Gnome: “Doopty da! We will have a working rail cart system before you know it, your Majesty!”

You: “I’m liking the sound of that! Quarters Team, how’s the buildings turning out?”

Sugar Gnome 2: “Mm-hm! These shelters are coming out extra crunchy! Topped with more layers of syrup to withstand the heat! Though, I am looking a little melty over here…”

You: “Go for it and take a break, I know you guys will get it done.“

As you were walking by inspecting the mine construction, Dumpling Cookie joins alongside you.

Dumpling Cookie: “Everything is going to under way as you planned. We should have the mines fully operational in a few days.”

You: “It was about time I dedicated the effort of trying to restore this place. Especially nowadays with..y’know, my situation.”

Dumpling Cookie goes to hold your hand tightly.

Dumpling Cookie: “Y/N, you don’t need to worry about that right now. As long as you’ve got the incense to keep them away, you’ll be okay…’kay?”

You: “It’s not just that. They told me “the worst has yet to come”.”

Dumpling Cookie: “What could be more worse then what you already have went through?”

You: “I don’t know, but we should be ready for anything. Whether it be another one of the Ancients coming here or even a Beast Cookie themself.”

Dumpling Cookie: “If only a certain Cookie had told us of this a lot sooner….”

You: “Oh come on, when you put like that….”

Dumpling Cookie: “I wouldn’t worry too much. Salsa has been training the troops while I’ve requested Strawberry Crepe to move forward with more Wafflebots.”

You: “If it’s for the sake of the kingdom, I just wish everyone else didn’t have to get stuck in the middle of this if something does happen…”

Dumpling Cookie: “At the very least, we’ll be ready…”

You: “Yeah, you’re right…heh, you always seem to be.”

Dumpling Cookie: “Well, I learned from the best by that same certain Cookie..”

You both share a laugh together, something that hadn’t happened in a while. After that, the two of you just..looked at each other for a moment…

Sugar Gnome 3: “Um, pardon me, your Majesty. We have made a breakthrough with this railway!”

The voice of the Sugar Gnome snapped the two of you out of it, Dumpling clearing her throat as her cheeks darkened with blush.

Dumpling Cookie: “You…look like you’re about to be busy, I’ll just…be over there now.”

You: “Hehe…take care of yourself, Dumpling.”

Dumpling Cookie: “Yeah…you too, Y/N…”

Dumpling Cookie lets go of your hand as she leaves to attend to other areas of the mine in construction.

Sugar Gnome 3: “Dooty da! See? We’ve managed to fix up this mine cart and we thought that you should have the honor of being the first to ride it!”

You: “Are you sure?”

Sugar Gnome 3: “Who better then my Majesty! It would be the greatest honor if you tried something we just fixed up!”

You: “Well…if you’re sure!”

You didn’t want to sound like you were doubting the Sugar Gnomes. Their construction abilities were pretty reliable for how long you’ve known them, even before you decided to rebuild the kingdom…

You hopped into the mine cart and tested the sturdiness by pulling on it.

You: “Yep, pretty firm and well crafted. Good job!”

Sugar Gnome 3: “Now watch this! We’ll have you ride through a planned path that will bring you back in no time! No worries at all, doopty doo!”

You: “Alright, let’s do this.”

The Sugar Gnome pulled on the lever as you started to drive forward into one of the caves.

You traveled quickly through the cave, looking around to see an abundance of crystals and ores, just waiting to be collected.

You: “Woah! With all this, maybe we can use it to enhance the mine or even the kingdom further then we already could! Will it be enough though..? How far does this path go? Shouldn’t it be making a loop around back to the main mining area?”

You kept going further in this one direction, the cave getting less lit as you started to worry. You wondered if you had accidentally missed a turn or something you needed to pay attention or so.

You tried for the break and pulled on it as hard as you could, but it wouldn’t budge!

You: “Uh oh, UH OH! This isn’t good at all!”

You held on tight as the cart descended and increased in speed, unable to see anything.

You: “OH NO! GAH, OLIVE COOKIE WAS RIGHTTTT-“

Your voice becomes distant as you rode into the darkness of the cave….

———————————————————————

Dumpling Cookie: “What’s wrong with him?!”

Sugar Gnome 2: “Come on! Wake up!”

Dumpling Cookie and fellow Sugar Gnomes gathered around their collapsed fellow Gnome.

Sugar Gnome 3: “I…er, what happened?”

Sugar Gnome 1: “You made Y/N Cookie take a ride into an unfinished railway!”

Sugar Gnome 3: “What? N-no! I didn’t mean to! Even if I didn’t do it!”

Dumpling Cookie: “What do you mean “you didn’t do it?””

Sugar Gnome 3: “All I remember was working on the mine cart when I blacked out and now waking up to this! There was a voice, speaking to me…”

Dumpling Cookie: “A voice? Tell me, what does this sound like?”

Sugar Gnome 3: “Dutti-do! It sounded..persuasive and riddled with…darkness!”

Dumpling Cookie: “Darkness? Oh no…we need to report this and gather a search party RIGHT NOW!”

———————————————————————

You groan as you clutched your head, opening your eyes to a brightly lit cavern, lava below your path illuminating the place, your crashed mine cart a little further ahead.

“Sweet yummies…”

“GAH! GET AWAY FROM ME!”

You open your eyes more and slowly get up to see a mole-like Dessertian in mining gear running towards you, this..thing slowly following him…

“Eat…devour…all…”

“HELP! YOU!”

You barely stand up before he quickly ran behind you and hid there as you turn your head to look at him.

“D-DON’T JUST STAND THERE! GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!”

You face forward to this thing in front of you.

“Mmm…?”

“Uh…would you kindly turn around and leave?”

“…..Tasty….”

“Excuse me?”

“Mmm…cute snack….I want…”

You suddenly leaped back when the thing decided to lunge at you.

“HEY! I’m not on the menu!”

“Grr….MINE!”

“SEE?! YOU HAVE TO PROTECT ME!”

You sighed irritably as you reached for your blade, ready to fight.

“Guess talking is out of the question…”