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vanirus asked:

12. hope im not too late for this.

((oh god no these are way too fun to write for that. :D Breaking the Fourth Wall!))

"Hoohoo! And then I go into POKE~mon and DEVOUR all LIFE with my LEGION of-“

"Mr. Candy."

The voice was high-pitched, but stern, and cut the King’s sentence clean in half. It came from the rodent of unusual size (a mouse, technically) sat on the other side of the desk. He pointed a gloved finger, harshly, at the image of a Snorlax vomiting out its own endless maw.

"This is a children’s movie, aha! You’ll traumatize them!” The mouse frowned, shoving aside a few sketched-out disembowellings. A pale-skinned teenager was stretched on a bed, and-

"Oh Walt, what’s that?!”

"That’th NOTHING. Ig~NORE THAT." The King snatched the offending images back off the desk, straightening them out before cramming them back into his bag. It glimmered, with glittery pink sequins. "And it’th KING Candy. Tho you know.”

"I’m sorry, aha. It’s just that-“

"Oh don’t WORRY about it, hoohoo, that’th just ONE of my WONDER~ful ideath!” The King slammed another couple of images onto the desk, “accidentally” shoving aside an ice castle inside a snowglobe. “What if I live in a FOR~etht? Hoohoo! Kidth LOVE forestth! I live in THERE, and-and I go around de~VOURING-“

"No devouring!" The mouse raised his hands, and sighed. "Look, King Candy, you can’t be in the sequel because-“


The little man let that word hang in the air, for a long moment. He didn’t blink, and stared into the mouse’s eyes.

"We go for the RE~boot. A new King Candy for a new gener~ATION, ahoohoo!" He grinned. "I become thith DRAGON, hah, with a-a Turbo-TASTIC British ACC~ent-"

"King Candy."

"OK never mind a-a RAPTOR?"


"Ya know what? FUDGE it! What if I’m just hanging ‘round living on a BENCH-"


The mouse’s chair squeaked angrily as he stood up, scraping it back against the floor. He glared down at the leaned-over King, until the little man sat quietly back down in his chair.

"You can’t be in the sequel because YOU DIED, aha!”

"…but COUL~son-"

"Marvel doesn’t count." The mouse pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, maybe we can bring you back for the third one-“

"I’m living inthide VANELLOPE."

"Get out."

"Well now LOOK BUTH~ter!”

The King slammed his cane on the floor, his own chair scraping back as he glared back. His stare bored into the mouse’s eyes. 

"If you think you can take MY FRANCHITHE, hoohoo, a-away from ME-"



The little man was flung out of the Main Street Fire Department, by a couple of bored-looking Stormtroopers, and landed on the cobbles with an unceremonious bounce. He skidded a bit, the puffy pants absorbing most of the shock of the fall.

He shook a furious fist at the window, more for effect than anything else, and stomped off to Cars Land to take some of the edge off.

creeper-pasta asked:

2 :]

((Oh, you WOULD pick that one (Evil Prevails). :P I had two ideas for this, and in the end this one won. Enjoy!))


On the first day, Turbo had waited.

He’d been ANGRY, though he’d taken great pains to keep the facade smooth and not to show it. This was a next-gen game - Turbo Time 4, released a week ago - and now the kid that owned this console’d just straight-up abandoned it. The TV was on, he’d heard that much from Game Central Station, but no-one inside could get a look at it.

"Maybe he’s sick."

The triplet with the messed-up face - either Jet or Nitro, it wasn’t like their names mattered and he got it right often enough to keep his cover - patted him on the shoulder. The teenager bristled, eyes flashing a feral yellow, and gripped his knees. Black creases, filled with shadow, coursed through his white jumpsuit.

"Hah-has any-one gone outthide yet? Asked the thecurity cameras?”

Jet grimaced. Worry lurked behind his eyes. “Freeman says there’s a firewall a mile thick round that whole network. They lost three grunts and an Advisor trying to get around it.”

Turbo didn’t respond, glaring at his plush white carpet like it had personally wronged him. “You go, why don’t you. Big tough Bad Guy shouldn’t have any trouble, right?”

"Hey, who died and made you king?”

Jet glared, standing halfway up off the blood-red couch. He let the glare seethe for a few seconds before striding out of the living room, slamming the door a little harder than he should have done.

The teenager smirked.

Lots of people.”

Read More

Movie Drabbles - Send me a number and I will write the ending with your muse and mine!


1) Good prevails

2) Evil prevails

3) The Tragic Ending

4) The Romantic Ending

5) The Circular Ending (We end where we began)

6) The Twist Ending

7) The ‘It was only a dream’ ending

8) The WTF ending

9) The Bittersweet Ending

10) The Cliffhanger

11) The Rode Off Into The Sunset Ending

12) ‘We broke the fourth wall’

13) The Everybody Died Ending

soundwar asked:

what is your favorite kind of food, ever

*totally sincere, not fixed grin*

…well I’m just THURE you’ve been wondering THAT one for MONTHS now! Hoohoo! S-so just let me ex~PLAIN!

It’th CANDY, my dear, the clue’th in the NAME!

(Well THAT and the fact that I’m ROYAL~ty, hoohoo, but I try ta thtay HUMBLE and sub~DUED about that, so don’t MENTION it pleathe~)


Anonymous asked:

what's your opinion on volume

Oh well he’th TERRIBLE! Horrible friend. Although never goeth out of his way ta IRRI~tate ya. Hahhah~!

Uglier than BUB~thy 3D, mind you, hoo! A-and giveth terrible ad~VICE~!

There was a WHOMP.

At the same time, there was a small chorus of clattering. Tiles were slipping away from the roof of the castle, like rats deserting a sinking ship. They tumbled to the floor, cracking and shattering upon short, sharp impact with the castle gardens beneath them, and widened the gaping hole slowly forming over the King’s garage.

The blimp was swelling like the proud breast of a veteran, its folds rippling and creasing as it puffed itself up like some pufferfish, challenging a rival. The Jumbotron on its side flashed and flickered jerkily, settling on no real image in particular - King Candy’d be damned if he was going to learn how to work THAT, probably literally. 

There was a LOT else to work out, first. The little man’s eyes pored over  the blimp’s dashboard. There were glinting buttons, and strong wooden levers, and gears nesting within gears. Arcane something-ometers of some description scrolled up and down, apparently of their own volition.

He’d always wanted to fly a plane, granted. It was driving, but with EXTRA DIMENSIONS. Casting a glance to the glitched-out clouds above him, he clicked a few of the buttons, yanked the nearest lever and shoved what looked tantalisingly like a throttle up into the air.

The blimp shed the last few shreds of castle wobbling on its hood, and rose and rose and rose. The rain, tainted with a sticky and rancid aroma, spattered the glass and rolled down the sides of the blimp before weeping over King Candy’s hall. 

It didn’t matter. Not now.

Just as planned, the swarm of bugs across the moat was pouring away towards the horizon. Their target was a faint speck in the distance, a racecar only made visible by the occasional glitching flash as it sped out of sight. 

The little man smiled, with a giggle, as he watched her go. He twisted the steering wheel to the right, and like some vast celestial body dragging itself into a different orbit the whole vessel hurled around after it. A thousand ropes and mechanisms groaned and growled their complaints, and the sugary balloon dripped some icing as the tarpaulin beneath it rippled and flapped, but it did it anyway. The canard pointed towards the looming figure of Diet Cola Mountain, visible if shrouded in gloom, and the blimp moved inexorably towards it like a slow, gigantic bullet.

As far as Vanellope knew, as far as the plan went, he’d just have to fly over it. Then he’d pop a Sweet Seeker powerup or something, use the resultant gun to blow the top off the volcano, and Sugar Rush would be saved in a blast of sizzling fructose and insect parts. Probably a double rainbow or something too, for flavour. 

Lightning burned through the sky, and lit it up. The volcano was bigger, now: he could see the cracks and contours where unlucky Cy-bugs had chewed at it. Then they’d seen what was inside, and flown blissfully in to their deaths.

Of course, there was no way he’d be able to fix the damage to the game before Litwak spotted it and had them unplugged, of course. Not without a full reset. And then everyone’s memories would pop back in, and the status quo would be restored. Even if they never figured out who he was, with Vanellope restored he’d be out of excuses. She’d be a princess, and live happily ever after, and he’d graciously retire from the spotlight.

He pulled back on the appropriate joystick, and the whole blimp reared up, sending loose crates of filming equipment hurtling and bouncing backward before smacking into the back wall. He could REALLY see the volcano now - the Mentos-crusted lid rose into his vision before disappearing beneath him. Like so much else had, over the years. He grinned at the thought.

What was one more game?

And the blimp straightened out, slowly, balletically, and kept right on sailing. He could see the volcano beneath him, and it shrank away with every victorious second. 

He wondered if she’d be watching him. As a smeared shape in a speeding wing-mirror, perhaps. A perverse little thrill crept up his spine, and smirked on his shoulder. He wondered if she’d cry.

And as for HIM, well, it’d hurt to lose the old place, but sometimes you just had to cut dead weight. He’d told his Twins that! They’d disagreed, sure, but that’s why THEY weren’t here now, right?

The volcano was behind him now. The whole GAME was behind him now. He’d head out quietly through the Wi-Fi Gate (as far as Surge knew, it was broken, and the King’d kept it that way for this exact situation) and by the time the bugs found it and flooded through, he’d be LONG gone. In the next game, in the next arcade, where his fans could joyously flood back to him.

He drummed his fingers on the steering-wheel, tapping a foot, and whistled a little tune. Funny, really, he hadn’t expected this to be so EASY. There weren’t even any bugs; a fat, floating dinner like the one he was piloting should have at least attracted a couple.

Thunder rolled, and lit up the sky again.



"…w-well, PIXELTH."

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