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pretzel-box · 19 days ago

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CHAPER 2: BIZVILLE AND ITS SERVICES

word count: 3,2k

tags: thana being cute again, beware the mem

The lights were bright. The bed was soft. And Thana was, against all odds and previous warnings from a chiropractor, a surprisingly excellent body pillow. At least, that’s what S1lly would chirp about if xey weren’t currently face-down on Thana’s stomach like a starfish that gave up halfway through evolution.

The whole crew had made a questionable financial decision to rent the last available room in Bizville’s “three-star-if-you-squint” hotel. Together, they had pooled their money, lost most of it in the lobby's claw machine, found it again under said claw machine, and finally secured a single room with exactly one single-person bed and a complimentary ceiling fan that squeaked Morse code for “get out.”

The sleeping arrangement could only be described as a modern art piece titled Crisis. On the tiny bed lay King, flat as a board and dead to the world. Draped over him like an blanket was Chirians, half majestic, half slipping into the void. User, meanwhile, dangled off the edge like a possessed towel, one foot twitching with every snore. Thana had been propped against the bedframe like a sad anime character, with S1lly crumpled on top of her, drooling into her sleeve. Mem had decided that S1lly was clearly a couch and flopped her legs across xem while the rest of her body performed a gravity-assisted slam onto Griefer, who mumbled threats in his sleep.

The room was small. The personal space was microscopic. The air? Already claimed by someone’s leftover onion chips.

It all started unraveling at 7:42 AM when Thana let out the weakest, most tragic wheeze of “help…” ever whispered into existence. S1lly’s elbow, sharp as betrayal, had jabbed her directly into the lungs, causing Thana’s soul to briefly consider leaving her body. Griefer, ever the gallant knight when slightly awake and partially smothered, rolled over with Mem still clinging to him like a damp dishcloth, and tried to dislodge S1lly.

This domino effect awakened User, who flailed dramatically and kicked Chirians in the ribs. Chirians yelped as if she were being attacked by a haunted pigeon, which finally stirred King from his beautiful slumber.

“Why,” he muttered, eyes crusty and filled with regret, “am I always the pillow.” “Anyways,” Griefer yawned, now shuffling toward the door like a zombie with luggage made of limbs which happens to be Mem, “I hope they sell breakfast here.” “We didn’t book the breakfast option,” User snapped, already bitter. “We could’ve, but somebody fell in love with a vending machine.”

“Invested,” S1lly corrected from the floor, a sock stuck to their cheek. “It was a stonk opportunity.”

The flashback was horrifying. The machine, old and slightly possessed, required two coins per item. Instead of spitting out food, it lovingly dispensed body lotion. S1lly, thinking six steps ahead or none at all, emptied half the team’s finances into the thing, gleefully muttering, “We’ll gain it back. With silky elbows and the economy.”

“So smooth,” Mem whispered, touching her arm dreamily.

Everyone in the group had a role. Or at least something that could loosely be interpreted as one, depending on how generous you were feeling.

Chirians was the leader, beautiful, radiant, and as chaotic as a feral cat with a flamethrower. She oozed confidence like it was a performance, though most of it was powered by a mild gambling addiction and an uncanny ability to lose five times in a row at rock-paper-scissors.

King acted as the group’s tank and, tragically, their only voice of reason. He carried the mental weight of responsibility while also carrying the corpes of enemies that crossed his way on multiple occasions. He’d once saved the team using nothing but a chair, a table, and a look of deep parental disappointment.

Griefer was their fixer. That is, he either fixed the problem or was the problem, and sometimes both in the same five-minute window. He had the charisma of a cactus and the energy of someone who just drank three energy drinks out of spite. Actually, he did. More incoming.

S1lly was entrusted with the group's finances, which, in hindsight, might've been a mistake. Xey had invented “Bubblegum Banking,” a revolutionary but questionable system that involved sticking coins to the bottom of xeir feet with chewed gum. It worked, technically, but came with side effects such as loss of dignity and a faint scent of strawberries.

User, bless their soul, was the designated luggage carrier and provider of aggressive commentary. Their spine had more mileage than a used delivery truck, and their sarcasm had its own kill count.

Mem was in charge of the map, which meant she held it upside down half the time and once licked a suspicious button because it looked tasty. She navigated with enthusiasm, if not accuracy.

And then there was Thana, the Mem-watcher. Her sole purpose was to keep Mem alive and prevent any further “cow-related misunderstandings.” Ever since that incident, she wasn’t allowed more than three feet away from Mem. At this point, the group had started budgeting for a leash.

With the hotel staff knocking and threatening a noise complaint or holy water, King decided enough was enough. He threw the group out into the hallway like a very fashionable eviction. “Back to the mission!” he declared. “The mission of friendship and growth?” S1lly asked, still dragging a complimentary hotel towel like a security blanket. “No,” King said, tightening his boots. “The search for stonks.” The group groaned but shuffled after him like disheveled ducklings. And soon enough they were back outside, standing next to the car.

“ALRIGHT GROUP. LISTEN UP, ALPHA WOLF NUMBER ONE IS SPEAKING.”

Chirians stood dramatically on top of their dented car like a dictator in glitter, one boot planted firmly on the roof, and a suspiciously glowing sword held aloft like the world’s least trustworthy tour guide. The blade shimmered ominously under the Bizville sun, but whether that was magic or just residual glitter glue from their last DIY project remained unclear.

“Alpha Wolf Number Two and I,” Chirians declared, gesturing heroically toward King, who looked five seconds away from leaving the group and joining a monastery, “will go and acquire gasoline for our noble, rusty steed.”

She paused for dramatic effect, holding the sword a little higher, nearly slicing off the car antenna.

“MEANWHILE! Baby Wolf Number One, that’s you, Thana, my cutie, Baby Wolf Number Two, and the guy currently in BloxyCola timeout, will handle the food supply run.”

Mem waved absentmindedly while still chewing on a napkin she claimed was "flavor-infused."

“And finally, Basic Wolf Number One and Vending Machine Addiction will go check the tire pressure of our valiant vehicle. May it not explode again.”

User blinked slowly, then turned to S1lly, who was already sticking a coin to xey’s forehead in preparation for... something. “We’re Basic and Addiction?” User muttered.

“I prefer Stonk-Legged Maverick,” S1lly replied, striking a pose that nearly dislocated something.

The nicknames were, as always, confusing. Not a single person was entirely sure who was what. Chirians and King were the self-declared “Alpha Wolves,” because of course they were. Thana and Mem had been dubbed the “Baby Wolves” for reasons that fluctuated daily. User got slapped with “Basic Wolf” due to their unfortunate normalcy, and everyone else was simply too weird for a proper wolf-ranking system.

No one liked the titles. Everyone hated them, in fact. But no one said a word.

Chirians had installed a makeshift suggestion box in the glove compartment of the car—a box that, notably, had been sealed shut with ten layers of duct tape and the warning: “ANY COMPLAINTS WILL BE USED FOR FIRE KINDLING.”

So, the team suffered in silence, clutching their assignments and dignity like two plastic bags in a hurricane. King sighed, already reaching for the car keys with the air of someone internally screaming. “Let’s just get the fuel before Alpha Wolf Number One finds a megaphone.” “I do have one,” Chirians said with a wink, pulling it from behind their back.

Everyone groaned in unison.

And so, like a pack of very reluctant, misnamed wolves, they scattered into the streets of Bizville, ready to face overpriced snacks, suspicious gas station clerks, and yet another day in their unhinged quest for stonks.

CHIRIANS AND KING – THE HUNT FOR THE FORBIDDEN CAR BOOZE.

The gas station at the edge of Bizville looked like it had survived a mild apocalypse. The neon sign blinked uncertainly, and one of the pumps was held together with duct tape and misplaced faith.

“Alright, let me do the talking,” Chirians said confidently as she strolled toward the station with the swagger of someone who absolutely shouldn't be talking. And still she always did.

King didn’t respond. He just handed over the gas can and stared forward with the dead-eyed look of someone who had been through this before. Many, many times. And he too, did.

Inside, Chirians leaned on the counter. “We’re looking for the strongest, most elite gasoline you have,” they said, eyeing the pump options like a connoisseur. “Premium. But emotionally supportive.”

The clerk didn’t even blink. “You want regular or premium?”

“Regular is for quitters,” Chirians replied, then turned to King. “Right?”

“I’m not arguing about gasoline again,” he muttered and paid with actual currency before Chirians could offer a “trade” involving pocket lint and a cracked magic 8-ball.

As they filled the can outside, Chirians spoke again. “You know, if we siphoned gas from that abandoned van behind the motel, we’d be saving...”

“No.”

“...You didn’t even hear the plan.”

“You called it ‘The Blood Fuel Gambit.’ I’m stopping it before it starts.”

THANA THE CUTEST BEAN, MEM AND THE BLOXY COLA ADDICTED – KING WILL KILL US IF WE DONT BUY VEGGIES

The supermarket was deceptively peaceful. Polished tiles, faint music, the distant beep of barcode scanners. But trouble was always a few steps away when this group was involved.

“Okay, team,” Griefer said, clutching a wrinkled shopping list, “King said no sugar overload, one real meal, and vegetables that aren’t pizza-flavored.”

“Does fruit cereal count as a real meal?” Mem asked, already placing a box in the cart.

“No.”

“What if it has vitamins in it?”

“Still no.”

Mem frowned and wandered off. Thana gave Griefer a flat look. “Please don’t let her disappear again. Last time she climbed into the frozen food display and said she was ‘becoming ice to understand it better.’”

“She came out with popsicles. Technically a win.”

Thana pushed the cart while trying to intercept Mem, who was enthusiastically comparing yogurt brands based solely on color.

Griefer tossed in some instant noodles and a jar of pickles. “This is survival food. We’ll thank me when Chirians spends our dinner fund on a mystery box again.”

Eventually, Thana managed to redirect them toward actual groceries. “We’ll get pasta, sauce, and something green,” she muttered, pulling a wilted lettuce from Mem’s hands and replacing it with spinach.

Griefer leaned in and whispered, “Should we tell her spinach is basically crunchy leaves?”

“No. Let her believe.”

They paid with the group’s remaining stonks card, held together with tape, and headed back, with Mem hugging a bag of mini-donuts like it was sacred.

USER AND S1LLY – THE PRESSURE OF LIFE #THEMOVIE

At the corner auto service kiosk, a tired mechanic waved them toward the air pump and disappeared behind a stack of tires.

“This’ll be easy,” S1lly said, crouching next to the rear wheel. “I watched a video once. Tire inflation is like breathing. For cars.”

“Right,” User said, pulling the hose off its holder. “Except if you mess it up, the tire doesn’t hyperventilate—it explodes.”

S1lly nodded solemnly. “The pressure of life. Literally.”

The air pump gave a low whine as it kicked into gear. User carefully connected it to the valve while S1lly held their phone like a director filming a documentary.

“Look at them go,” S1lly narrated. “Grace under pressure. Tire whisperer. Absolute unit.”

“Please stop talking.”

After checking each tire, they found one significantly low. User worked in silence, focused, while S1lly tried to find a good angle to take a picture of the car “in its natural habitat.”

“Did you just hashtag this with #RubberRoyalty?”

“We’re building our brand,” S1lly said, completely serious.

User finished, wiping their hands on a napkin. “Alright. Tires are good. Car’s not going to collapse if someone sneezes.”

“Solid,” S1lly said, then added after a pause, “You think if we put stickers on the tires they’ll go faster?”

“No. Get in the car.”

The sun was starting to dip beneath the rooftops of Bizville, casting a warm orange hue over the worn-down parking lot beside the gas station. The group had agreed to meet there after their respective tasks. The air smelled faintly of oil, asphalt, and that specific kind of mystery fast food grease that lingers near every chain diner.

Chirians was the first to arrive, dramatically swinging the half-full gas can like it was the spoils of war. King followed, looking vaguely annoyed and holding his coffee with the steady hands of a man trying not to lose the last shred of his patience. He set the can down and leaned against the car.

“We didn’t blow anything up,” he announced flatly, sipping his drink.

“That you know of,” Chirians added, wiping a streak of something suspicious off their cheek. “The clerk might need therapy, but the car has juice now.”

“Good. Because I’m going to need therapy after today,” King muttered.

A few minutes later, the grocery crew came into view.

Griefer pushed the half-full shopping cart with a limp wheel, while Thana walked beside it carrying the heavier bag with both hands. Mem bounced behind them, munching on a mini donut and holding what looked like a very off-brand bottle of orange soda.

“Hey,” Griefer called out, “we didn’t get arrested this time.”

“That’s… genuinely surprising,” King said, raising an eyebrow.

Chirians gestured at the bags. “Do we have anything edible, or did Mem sneak a frozen chicken into the cart again?”

“Only once,” Mem huffed. “And that chicken had a vibe.”

“We got pasta, sauce, bread, some canned stuff, and even actual vegetables,” Thana said, brushing hair from her face. “We tried to be reasonable.”

“She tried,” Griefer clarified. “Mem and I did our best to ruin it. She was faster.”

“Donuts are technically food,” Mem mumbled with her mouth full.

“And sugar is technically a fuel,” Griefer added, handing King the receipt, which was only mildly sticky.

Then came the final pair.

User and S1lly strolled up a few minutes later, the former looking exhausted but not completely broken, and the latter adjusting xey’s phone tripod like they were filming an indie car documentary.

“Car’s tires are fine,” User announced. “Balanced, aired up, and ready for the next three breakdowns.”

“And look,” S1lly grinned, holding up a blurry photo of the car with filters and sparkles, “she’s slaying.”

“I’m banning that word,” King said without looking up.

“You can’t,” S1lly replied, very matter-of-fact. “It’s in the group vocabulary now.”

Everyone gathered around the car, setting down their burdens—plastic bags rustled, cans clinked, and Griefer made a dramatic show of falling back against the hood like he’d survived a war.

“So,” Chirians said, dusting off their jacket and sitting on the open trunk edge, “we survived the errands, and nobody’s in jail. I call that a win.”

“I call that suspicious,” King muttered.

There was a moment of silence where the group just... existed. The kind of pause that only came after a long day of arguing, running around, and dealing with the strange back alleys of life they always seemed to stumble into.

Thana opened one of the snack bags and handed it around. Mem sat cross-legged on the pavement and started organizing candy by color. Griefer cracked open a can of something carbonated and frowned at the fizz. S1lly was already posting a picture titled “Team Rubber Has Returned” while User stole a granola bar from the bags.

King checked the time, then checked the gas gauge.

“We have about four hours of daylight left,” he said. “If we head out soon, we can make it to the next town before night.”

“And the stonks?” Mem asked, her voice quiet but hopeful.

Chirians leaned back on their hands, eyes gleaming. “Closer than ever. I can feel it. Like a burning in my left elbow.”

“Or that’s the vending machine lotion reaction,” User said.

“Shush. Let me be dramatic.”

Griefer smirked. “So. Same plan as always? Drive until the GPS gives up, argue about directions, nearly crash, and somehow end up finding something vaguely useful?”

“Sounds like us,” Thana murmured, pulling her jacket tighter.

“Exactly,” Chirians said, hopping to their feet and clapping. “Team! Into the car! We ride again—toward riches, mystery, and probable stomachaches!”

Everyone groaned but slowly began loading back into the vehicle.

As the engine sputtered to life and the car rattled slightly from the added weight of over-packed bags and over-tired people, they rolled out of the parking lot. Sunlight streaked across the windshield, and Mem waved goodbye to the vending machine they’d named Larry.

Their destination was unclear, their plan half-baked, and their supplies... mostly sugar.

But the mission for stonks was back on.

The car vanished into the dusky road, its engine coughing occasionally as it carried the mismatched crew away from Bizville. The fading daylight stretched their shadows across the asphalt, long and warped, as if reluctant to let them go.

But they were not alone.

High above, on the crumbling balcony of an abandoned motel across the street, something stood watching.

Still. Silent.

Hidden in the folds of darkness, it blended into the rusted structure, nothing but a silhouette pressed against the decaying bones of the building. Tall, motionless, its edges seemed too straight, too sharp, like a shape that didn’t quite belong in the real world. Its eyes, though, if they could be called eyes, glowed faintly in the dying light. Not bright, not dramatic. Just… aware. Focused. Burning with intent.

It didn’t move as the wind tugged at loose wires and tossed plastic bags through the air. It didn’t blink as a low rumble of tires echoed into the distance. It didn’t even flinch when the streetlights flickered on with a soft buzz, except for the one closest to it, which stayed stubbornly dark.

The group had been laughing when they left. That chaotic, overlapping kind of noise. Casual. Unaware.

The figure tilted its head slightly, tracking the direction the car had taken. A glint of silver—metal, or maybe something worse, caught the last bit of sun near its hand. Its fingers flexed once, slow and deliberate, as if testing movement after a long time of stillness.

A faint sound, barely more than a whisper, escaped into the air. Not a word. Not language.

Just… breath.

And then, it turned. Slipped into the shadows behind the broken glass doors of the motel. Gone.

But not far.

Never far.

#roblox oc #block tales #block tales cruel king #block tales griefer #block tales oc #roblox block tales

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pretzel-box · 27 days ago

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CHAPTER 1: A STONK COMES RARELY ALONE

Word count: 1,4k

Tags: Mention of Blood and death, sillyness, Thana is too cute beware of nosebleed.

Once upon a time.

There was a brave young lady with scarlet red hair, the kind of red that made you think of burning fire, glorious rebellion, and expired strawberry jam. Her name was Chirians, and she had ascended upon a journey most perilous, most ill-advised, and most definitely under-researched.

She was hunting for something.

Not treasure. Not glory. No, something far more elusive.

The Stonks.

Nobody really knew what the Stonks were. Some said it was a mythical treasure of limitless value. Others claimed it was a scam, a cursed economy trapped inside an enchanted spreadsheet. There were even whispers that the Stonks were sentient and could judge your net worth by the quality of your boots. Chirians didn’t care. Her fingers twitched with anticipation. Her legs jittered like a caffeinated ocelot. Somewhere in the distance, a llama sneezed.

The world had spoken. The winds had shifted. Her time had come.

The Hunt for the Stonks had begun.

There wasn’t a map. Or a guide. Or a mysterious yet friendly old man to offer cryptic advice while stroking a gray beard. No, this was real life, and nothing in this hard world ever made sense. Especially not when you were a ‘self-employed traveling merchant’ with no fixed prices, a very loose definition of ‘consent’ and an inventory full of items suspiciously similar to things other people had recently lost.

If you looked closely, you'd realize Chirians wasn't exactly a merchant.

She was a thief.

A stylish, charismatic, moderately dishonest thief with a knack for relocating goods from one person’s inventory to another’s — for a fee, of course. It was all very professional. Very business casual. And very illegal. Maybe, just maybe, it was one of those many ‘business secrets’ that led her into her current… situation.

The rain poured hard. Angry and cold, it soaked her through to the bone as she stumbled backwards, breath hitching. Scarlet blood spilled into the mud, mixing with her scarlet hair. The colors blurred. Her body trembled.

She gasped, eyes wide, not in surprise, but in that quiet, exhausted realization that she’d finally miscalculated something she couldn’t talk her way out of. She failed.

The mysterious sword that had run her through glowed faintly. It stood proud in the storm, its hilt jutting from her chest like some horrible trophy, a cruel exclamation point at the end of her messy story.

Her vision flickered. Her thoughts slowed. Everything was distant now. And in her final moment, as the wind howled and thunder shattered the sky above, Chirians stared at the blade and thought:

This would have been a chapter in a how to find the stonks guide book. How to not get murdered along the way.

*BEEEEEEEEEP*

A mop of scarlet-red hair slammed straight into the steering wheel, setting off the car horn with the full force of her forehead. The shrill sound echoed through the lot, scaring birds, bugs, and the local passengers that complained loudly.

Chirians blinked. Wide-eyed. Dizzy. Confused. Alive.

"Wait, alive?" she mumbled to herself.

She looked around in a daze, unsure whether she had just dreamt of being dramatically impaled by a glowing sword in the middle of a thunderstorm, or if she had just dozed off on Griefer’s car horn after downing three questionable meat pies and a bag of expired gummy creepers.

But secretly, she knew it felt like a distant memory scratching a the back of her head.

“Cheezus, Lady!” Griefer groaned from the passenger side, clutching his chest like she’d just punched his soul. “I asked if you were awake enough to drive — and here you are smashing your tired head into the car like a maniac!” He leaned lazily into the backseat, one arm stretched behind his head like this was all totally normal. No seatbelt, of course. Just a hand full of Bloxy Cola, half-empty and bubbling with regret. If you looked closely, you'd see a second bottle already waiting — being gently passed over by a tiny hand.

Mneme.

Sweet, forgetful Mem. A girl with the memory of a goldfish and the attention span of a chicken. Mem was like popcorn: she needed a bit of time before her thoughts popped. But once they did, it was usually useful, slightly off-topic, and delivered with the energy of a toddler discovering candy for the first time.

That’s how Chirians had met her — just there, like an unexplained quest marker.

One day, Mem was following Griefer around like she spawned from his shadow, and neither of them had any idea why. After a loooong (very looooong) talk full of pauses, miscommunications, and at least one accidental detour through a swamp biome, they pieced it together.

Mem had lost her memories.

Totally wiped. Nothing left but her name, a fondness for Griefer, and an oddly specific knowledge of how to explode enemies in exactly thirteen seconds.

So naturally, the journey to find the Stonks turned into something else entirely:

A two-for-one quest.

Find the Stonks.

Find Mem’s memories.

Try not to get stabbed.

And avoid letting Chirians drive while half-asleep.

Easy. Right?

Chirians groaned, sitting up straight and rubbing her forehead. “Ugh, that sword dream felt too real...”

Griefer snorted. “Yeah? Maybe it’s prophetic. Maybe the Stonks are stabbing you in advance.”

“Maybe you should shut your bloxy mouth,” she muttered, starting the engine with a cough from the tired, pixel-choked machine. “We’ve got a lot of blocks to burn, and no time to lose.”

Mem gently raised a finger. “Um… shouldn’t we also have a map?”

Dead silence.

Griefer and Chirians slowly turned to look at her.

“...You had the map,” Chirians said.

“The map?”

“The map.”

“Map…”

“Map!”

Mem blinked. “Oh! I gave it to a cow. It looked trustworthy.”

Griefer took a slow, painful sip of his soda. “We’re gonna die.”

This is glorious chaos in motion — you've got a beautifully unhinged road trip squad going on here. I kept your energy, jokes, and voices, and gave it a small polish to boost the timing, tone, and flow without losing your flair.

“I actually got a copy!” S1lly yapped, practically vibrating in xeir seat like a raccoon that had just discovered sugar. Xey triumphantly pulled out what could only be described as a fancy oversized piece of bubblegum wrapper, proudly crumpled and slightly sticky. Scrawled on it in what appeared to be crayon and hope was... a map.

The world's worst map.

Before Mem could reach for it with curious hands, a gloved one snatched it away.

Cruel King but forever nicknamed King, studied the wrapper like it was written in ancient glyphs. His brow furrowed as he ran a gloved finger along the questionable doodles. His face shifted as his glove touched a piece of chewed bubblegum remains. “This might give me a stroke,” he muttered darkly, flipping the wrapper upside down, as if that would somehow help. “Try and turn right at the next crossing.”

A hum.

Then the car violently swerved right.

Griefer remained completely unmoved, sipping his Bloxy Cola with the calm of someone who had accepted death five minutes ago, which he had.

Mem, however, glided smoothly to the right like an air hockey puck, softly bonk-ing against the car window before being absolutely flattened by S1lly, who squeaked and followed the same gravitational fate.

King, mercifully strapped in, avoided becoming part of the pile by clutching the seatbelt like it was the last shred of logic in this world.

He and Chirians were, disturbingly, the only ones actually using them.

“Looks like someone found her license in the bin,” User called out dryly from the back. No, not the backseat. The trunk.

Sandwiched somewhere between a heap of old junk, suspiciously empty Bloxy cans, a dented music box that kept playing off-key disc 11 notes, and Thana — who looked like she was trying to astral project out of this situation — User was a flat, mildly disgruntled pancake of a man.

Thana clung to a frayed handle like her fragile soul depended on it. And honestly, it probably did. Chirians had banned her from the front with the very specific, very heated exclamation:

> “She’ll distract me with her cuteness!”

Whether that was a compliment or a war crime, Thana still hadn’t decided. She’d opened her mouth to ask, possibly to flirt back, maybe even to argue.

But she didn’t get the chance.

Because she got shoved in the trunk before she could speak.

Now here she was: crushed between sarcasm, soda cans, and emotional damage. “Hey,” Thana muttered, voice muffled by someone's spare boot, “I could be helping drive.” “You could be setting the car on fire with your smile,” Chirians yelled back, absolutely unapologetic. “Know your powers, love.” S1lly’s voice bubbled up from the front again. “Can I be banned to the trunk too? I wanna be cute!”

“No,” everyone said in perfect unison.

#roblox oc #block tales oc #roblox block tales #block tales griefer #block tales cruel king #block tales #tw: blood

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pretzel-box · 1 month ago

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》》 APPLICATION POST!! APPLICATION BELOW!! DEADLINE IS IN 2 WEEKS!! 18TH JUNE!!

》 Welcome to the Tales of Stonks! A block tales story that includes canon characters and your ocs! Follow the group on the magical journey to make stonks.

It all started with a white van.

Well, it was technically white… if you squinted through a filter of nostalgia, forgiveness, and heavy denial. In reality, the van was about as white as a forgotten banana peel left in the sun.

Rusted, dented, possibly haunted—and absolutely, one hundred percent, stolen. Yet, miraculously, still driving. Probably out of sheer spite.It cruised through serene landscapes of green meadows and baby-blue skies, looking like a misplaced background extra in a travel brochure. Inside, chaos brewed.

“I swear, this is just a giant clown car,” groaned Griefer, the group’s resident sarcasm expert, as he kicked Cruel King's seat for the fifth time that hour.

“If so,” Cruel King sighed, rubbing his temples, “then it must be the perfect size for you.”

Tension? Yes. Adventure? Also yes. A working air conditioning system? Absolutely not. But you could smell it, the electric, slightly moldy scent of ADVENTURE. And possibly expired road trip snacks.

Of course, we couldn’t afford to turn this into a movie. We had the budget, but Griefer 'accidentally' broke several priceless artifacts, a vending machine, and one guy’s dignity. But imagine this: a group of legendary heroes, crammed in a wheezing van, driving toward the camera in glorious slow motion, not for dramatic effect, but because there’s a speed limit. Behind them, a majestic spotlight shines! Except it’s just the sun and the van's rearview mirror taped at a weird angle.

The crew inside? I can't even find a word for it, each with a backstory weird enough to deserve its own musical number.

First, meet the leader: Chirians, the almighty travelling seller of trading items who once sold vacuum cleaners door-to-door but upgraded her hustle to selling miscellaneous 'treasures' she found lying around. Some might say it’s junk. She calls it 'vintage opportunity.' The van is basically a wheeled garage sale with questionable legal status. Somewhere in there is a mysterious box labeled 'Mem’s Notebooks.' Who’s Mem? No idea. But we don't judge.

One day, Chirians found a legendary sword, glowing with power, destiny, and potential plot relevance. She gazed upon it and heard the call of fate, divine whispers echoing from beyond.

“Sell the sword,” they said.

“Make stonks.”

Then there was Cruel King, a regal man with jawlines sharp enough to slice bread and a castle made entirely of fancy architecture and poor life decisions. Chirians crashed into his royal courtyard (literally) while trying to reverse park. Windows shattered. Royalty cried. But amidst the destruction, a business deal was born. Cruel King, desperate to fund castle repairs and maybe therapy, joined her on the sacred journey of sword-selling for profit.

There was also Griefer.

They found him in a rainforest. Why was he there? No one knows. Not even him. But when he spotted the giant stack of Bloxy Cola in the van, he leapt in like a caffeinated raccoon. The rest of the group didn’t even realize they’d accidentally kidnapped him until they were three hours and one game of 'I Spy' too far to turn around.

As for the rest of the crew?

Well, their entrances are being dramatically delayed for maximum storytelling impact. But rest assured, they’re weirder, wilder, and possibly allergic to common sense.

And so, our heroes ride into the unknown, armed with sarcasm, debt, snacks, and a suspiciously rattling sword in the trunk.

This is not just a journey.

This is not just a van.

This… is the Tales of the Stonks.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

To applicate fill this out and send it per private message towards me, no ask box entries!

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Any relationships to the canon characters? : No romantically or we all would have to share...

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#tales of the stonks #block tales #block tales oc #block tales fanfic #cruel king #griefer #oc #oc story #roblox oc #roblox block tales #block tales Griefer #block tales cruel king

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pretzel-box · 7 months ago

Text

—[Main Information Post] MAIN BLOG: @misanthropy-official

🌟 A Second Chance Awaits You 🌟

Are you or a loved one battling a terminal illness? The Biosphere Foundation proudly presents the Rehabilitation Project—a groundbreaking initiative offering hope, healing, and a brighter future.

With cutting-edge treatments derived from our Antarctic research, we’re on the brink of curing diseases once thought untreatable. Join countless others who have already experienced remarkable recoveries and rediscovered the joys of life.

💙 State-of-the-Art Care

💙 Compassionate Experts

💙 A Path to a Healthier Tomorrow

Take the first step toward recovery today. Contact us at 1-800-REHAB-NOW or visit our website!

🌍 Biosphere Foundation – Innovating for Humanity’s Future 🌍

Welcome to MISANTHROPY

MISANTHROPHY is a project made by a group of people, including me. It features a deep world building around the biosphere's sister location and its twisted secrets.

This project includes lores on the different places, entities, npcs and even a potential future gameplay since we aim to release it as a game someday!

We will soon feature our own wiki page and an official discord!

If you are interested, feel free to give me a follow and write a comment. I'll update regularly about this project.

What exactly does our project feature?

Entities.

Entities in this project are creatures split in three classes.

The lowest order [Freshly infected.]

The middle order [Developing.]

The highest order [Next evolution tier.]

All entities have unique features and designs that are heavily leaned on angels and humanoid monsters together with a sprinkle of good body horror.

The picture features end state lowest class entities.

Lore.

We have deep lore, especially on the sister location. The place splits in 4 main parts.

The main area

The human worker class

The main task force

The research department

Each place has it's own troubles and secrets. Maybe it is time to explore them all.

Goetia.

A handy-dandy acquaintance that pops up from time to time to trade valuable items for less valuable trash. Goetia is an unique person that will be your closest partner, even with his rather silent and distant personality.

Those are some of the first sketches we have of him. He already has his own fanfiction too.

This is a project made by several people stated above. Please support the rest of the group as well.

@pompohills

@ghost-skull-trash

@splatting-stampede

The art above is made by our dear pom, we also feature more art by the others as well on our discord server that will be public soon!

SHORT LORE DOWN BELOW.

A group of young but determined researchers traveled to Antarctica with high hopes. Their mission was to study how global warming was affecting the icy regions of the Earth. Their goal was ambitious: to find ways to stop the ice from melting and save the planet from a worsening climate crisis.

For 27 days, the team worked hard. They drilled into the ice, studied the atmosphere, and collected data. But on the 28th day, something incredible happened. While digging into an ancient layer of ice, they found a large, frozen object that looked like a distorted, otherworldly wing. It shimmered faintly, almost as if it were alive. The strange discovery filled the researchers with both amazement and unease.

Word of their find spread quickly. It wasn’t long before the secretive Biosphere Foundation heard about it. Known for its advanced biological research and bold ideas about making humans adapt to extreme environments, the foundation immediately took action. A team from Biosphere arrived, took over the site, and forced the original researchers to leave. The group’s equipment and data were confiscated, leaving them powerless to stop what came next.

Biosphere wasted no time building a new research facility near the dig site. This sister branch was designed to study the frozen entity, which they named “Project Zero.” Months of study revealed shocking results. Project Zero wasn’t just a frozen creature—it was something that resembled the descriptions of biblical angels. It had layers of wings, glowing parts, and strange features like eyes embedded in its form. Despite being frozen, it seemed almost alive.

To Biosphere, this discovery was a miracle. They believed it could help humanity evolve, not just adapt to nature but rise to the level of this seemingly divine being. This became their ultimate goal: to recreate the power of Project Zero within humans.

However, this ambition came with terrifying consequences. Workers who had direct contact with Project Zero began to change. At first, they developed heightened senses and faintly glowing veins. But the changes soon turned horrifying. Some grew translucent wings, skinning , or extra eyes that stared blankly from their bodies. The mutations were uncontrollable and grotesque.

The problem spread quickly. What began as a few isolated cases soon affected entire sections of the facility. Workers were quarantined, but the contamination kept spreading. Communication with the outside world was cut off, and fear began to take over. Some whispered that this was punishment for meddling with something divine.

The leaders of Biosphere, however, saw the chaos as an opportunity. They believed the mutations were proof that humans could become more than they were. They saw their workers as stepping stones to their ultimate goal. Ethics no longer mattered. Rules were ignored. Workers were treated as experiments, pushed through cruel tests to force their transformations.

But they needed more test subjects to continue. When their own staff became too few, the leaders came up with a plan: The Rehabilitation Project.

#misanthropy #the biosphere foundation #roblox pressure #sebastian solace #pressure #pressure x reader #pretzelthoughts #goetia #Misanthropy goetia #original character #original art #original work

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