.: Please Don't Cry Vriska :.More Like This
This is the story of the dream that influenced me to adore Vriska.
Maybe it was branched off of the EriSol fic I was reading because I really loved how Vriska was portrayed in it. Strange though that somehow she snuck into the dream, everything else seemed normal.
The dream was set in the small town of Konohana [now, this name would only ring a bell if you've ever played Harvest Moon: TOTT]. This town was a laid back sort of town with many houses that could only remind me of toned down version of a shrine. Many of the houses were made of wood, the roads were made from dry red clay, and the children frolicked around without a care in the world. I must've been pretty new there because I didn't know anyone's names, and I was probably only thirteen or fourteen. I seemed to be one of the oldest kids as we all ran to a single wooden house.
The house was only one giant room, filled with random junk that didn't belong in any sort of home. I figured it was an abandoned storage or somethi
Broken Clown DollMore Like This
I never used to be this way; there was a time when I looked just like you. Yes, shocking I know, there was a time I looked like every other troll blank faced without a smile. I first picked up the paints when I was three sweeps old. I lived with Azazel at the time; he is my ancestor and was supposed to be like a big brother to me since goat dad never could walk on the land.
There was one night in particular that I remember quite clearly, my mind has been quite fuzzy lately from eating slime pies but they take bad memories away and leave me in a unusual euphoric state, which eases the pain inside. I was crying because I couldn't find my faygo bottle, he had me hooked on them from the time I was just a small wiggler and the fizzy miracle liquid, as I call it now was what I used as my source of happiness when I was feeling sad the taste and the fizz satisfied me in a strange way. It still somewhat does that to me, but now the feeling has somewhat died down masked with the intake of slime.
Urban LegendsMore Like This
By Hiatt Werling
I was born in 1974 in a small American town called Purple Patch. No one’s certain how the town got its name, but the story goes that, in the mid-1800’s, there was a bar called the Blue Jay Saloon on the town’s main street, which today is known as Needlepoint Drive. The outside of the Blue Jay Saloon was painted, head to toe, in bright blue paint. It was the first thing that caught your eye in the town, and indeed, it was the town’s most popular bar.
The sheriff in those days was a man named Aaron McNulty. They told us in elementary school that he worked tirelessly to keep the town safe and free of criminals. But one night, a gang of robbers broke into his house on the outskirts of town, planning to kill him. McNulty escaped and rode into town, but the robbers caught up to him, cornering him against the wall of the Blue Jay Saloon. It was there that they shot him, splattering his blood all over the wall. The owne