#sometimes i make it all the way into town with the letter only to forget why i'm there

[uncannydevotion]

thinking about. thinking about jeff and you being friends when you were both younger, before his family moved. thinking about the two of you crying the day he left, and how you gave him a shitty handmade bracelet, making him swear that he'd always wear it and that he'd never forget about you.

he promises to call you the first chance he gets, and even makes sure to memorize your mom's phone number, since your parents refused to get you one until you were older, so he can call you as soon as he gets to his new house.

even though you guys were hundreds of miles away from each other now, you two always spoke to each other every night before bed. jeff told you all about the new school he went to, and how he hated the place and how a few kids were picking on him.

"i can handle it, don't worry." he had told you when you voiced your concern, telling him he should talk to his parents about it, or tell a teacher at school. he didn't want to do any of that, but he agreed to at least talk to liu about it.

as the weeks go by, his calls become less and less frequent. you try keeping in touch, but he'd always cut things short, his mood suddenly turning sour during calls with you. sometimes, he wouldn't even answer the phone, and liu would instead.

but one night, when you called, it was his mom who answered the phone. she had been crying, from the sound of her voice, and she had simply asked for you to hand the phone to your mother. your mother had explained to you after the call that jeff had been in an accident, and that he probably wouldn't be able to talk to you for a while. she didn't go into detail no matter how much you had begged, but you weren't allowed to call jeff for a while after that.

but... one night, you had woken up to the sound of your mom's phone ringing. both of your parents must've been sound asleep, seeing as neither of them got up to answer the phone, leaving the task to you. you had answered immediately when you recognized the number.

"jeff?" you answered, keeping your voice quiet so you didn't risk waking your parents. on the other line, you heard breathing. but you knew it was him, "are you... are you okay? your mom said you were in an accident, and..."

he probably didn't want to hear about that, idiot.

"uhm... i made you another bracelet. i was gonna mail it to you, but i wanted to give it to you myself, so... next time we see each other, i'll make sure to give it to you, okay?"

he doesn't respond, and you felt silly for getting emotional, but you couldn't stop the tears in your eyes, "so don't get into anymore accidents."

and you swear you can hear liu calling his name, with something akin to horror in his tone, and then he hangs up, and you can't help but feel as if something bad had happened. the feeling was bad enough that it had you waking your parents up, tears streaming down your face as you tried to explain the feeling.

in the morning, you would learn that jeff had murdered his parents and brother, and that he was on the run.

your parents had done everything to remove any memory they had of jeff.

old photos, gifts he had given you, letters, they were all thrown out. the only thing you managed to keep to remind you of him was the bracelet you had said you'd give him.

but time marched on. you moved to a new state, and jeff became nothing but a memory. you made new friends, dated a couple of people, graduated high school and managed to make your way through college before finally, you ended up here.

back in your childhood home, chasing after a sense of nostalgia. this place had always been your home, and you knew that you were going to come back to it when you had grown up.

the neighbors were new, and there were new shops in the little town that you didn't recognize, but the place was still home.

you just hadn't expected someone else to have been waiting for you. you felt eyes watching you almost always, from the moment you returned. weeks into being back, and the feeling never went away. you tried telling yourself that it was just nerves, that there was nothing to be worried about.

how wrong you were.

the first time you woke up in the middle of the night to your phone ringing, you had been annoyed. you had work early in the morning, who could possibly be calling this late? and when you had grabbed your phone from the nightstand and answered it, muttering a tired 'hello?', you got no response.

other than breathing, that is. it left you with a feeling of déjà vu. you didn't think much about it and hung up.

but the calls didn't stop.

every night, you'd wake up to your phone ringing. every night, you'd answer the phone and you'd hear someone breathing on the other end. every night, you'd ask who the hell was calling you, but you'd never get a response. every night, you'd hang up.

and that's when the first person in town was killed. some guy who had been talking to you a bunch at work, you didn't even know his name. but he had been killed, and the media was ablaze with the story.

'notorious serial killer strikes in small town.'

memories of a forgotten friend haunted you that day, and when the night finally came, and the phone rang, you answered.

"...jeff?"

and as soon as you spoke his name, you heard something shatter downstairs. it sounded like a window. your heart pounds in your ears, a feeling of dread hitting you as you realize... he was in your house.

you hear jeff sigh on the other end of the line, and for the first time in years, you heard the voice of the man you once called your best friend.

'you still have the bracelet you made for me, yeah?'

[beaft]

adhd means a lot of things to a lot of people, but what it mainly means for me is that every day for the past 2 weeks i have left the house with the intention of posting an important letter and every day i have categorically failed to do so

[deepestnightcolor]

☾ ᴄᴜᴘɪᴅ'ꜱ ᴄʜᴏᴋᴇʜᴏʟᴅ ☽

Happy Valentine's, everyone! I hope that, if you want, you can spend your day surrounded by love. Remember, it doesn't always have to be romantic love. It can be a wish you fulfilled yourself, a nice day spent with your friends and/or family, or just a day you eat chocolates. It could also be some time spent with your Valentine that I have brought today - he is already so excited to see you! Have a lovely day, everyone! You are loved <3

ᴀ/ɴ: This can be read as either just a fluff, just a smut, or a fluff leading into smut. It is your choice - it is pretty clear when the fluff ends. Do whatever you feel like, it is your choice!~ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam (SDV) x Fem!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 3000 words in total. Fluff: 1109 words. Smut: 1891 words.

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Fluff: love. Smut: unprotected sex, piercings, 69, cursing, name-calling (slut, cocksleeve), praise, you get a pounding.

February had come around quietly, and with that, Valentine’s Day was fast approaching, which meant that Pelican Town started to get covered in a blanket of pink, red, sometimes glittery, heart-shaped love symbols. There were heart-shaped bouquets being sold in the two stores, candy in heart-shaped boxes, cheesy little garlands wrapping around lamp posts, and a billboard happily yelling ‘DON’T FORGET – 14TH OF FEBRUARY IS VALENTINE’S DAY’ at whoever dared to pass by. Of course, not everyone was happy about the pink cloud looming over the small town – Sebastian claimed pink and red ‘fucking hurt in the eyes and make people go blind in these amounts’, Leah didn’t quite understand why a specific day was needed to show anyone their loves and why it needed to be broadcasted like this, and Harvey, while not minding it, worried about ‘people being quite careless in their loving frenzy’. Shane, the old grump, was not Cupid’s biggest friend, either, quite the opposite. He rolled his eyes at every cheerful person he saw and grumbled about the extra workload of stocking up for a ‘made up holiday no one cares about’, even though he knew very damn well that he was going to shell out the money to buy a bouquet for both Jas and Marnie.

Sam, on the other hand, had been shaped by years of listening to his mother’s romance audio books with her while she had been cleaning, and by the romantic telenovelas she had been watching during the colder winter months, which was why it came to no one’s surprise that he not only enjoyed Valentine’s Day, but took it seriously. Especially now that he had met the love of his life – you.

All these years of training would not be in vain – and when Sam made his way to your farm, he came prepared. A bouquet in his one hand – don’t you dare think he had gotten you one from Joja, oh no, Sam had robbed gardens (he had begged Evelyn and Jodi to give him some flowers) for this baby – and a basket in the other. He had been genuinely thinking about holding a rose between his teeth like he had seen in some movies, but much to his dismay, the thorns had won that battle. Still, he was quite proud of what he had in store for you; a hand-drawn card with a letter scribbled on the back, a plushie you had once excitedly pointed out in a store but put back when you had seen the price tag, and – his personal favourite – a handmade bracelet that fitted the one he was wearing around his wrist. You had pointed it out on your first date, and he had spent DAYS recreating it. Yes, Sam was prepared, and nothing would deter him from spending a great Valentine’s with you, not Sebastian complaining about the colours, nor a grumpy co-worker making fun of the love songs he had been blasting through his headphones.

And it did go very damn well – he knew it from the moment you opened the door with that shining glimmer of excitement in your pretty eyes, giddy smile decorating your pretty features, making your face light up and, in turn, making him feel like the sun had climbed from the blue skies to press a tender kiss to his heart and soul. God, he loved you, and he knew he would forever love you the moment your arms wrapped him up in a tender hug. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to your head – to show you his affection, for one, but also to inhale your scent like he usually did. He was sure; this was what pure love felt like. Warm, and safe, and comfortable. Do not get him wrong – Sam had loved loads and been very loved, too; he loved his mom, his dad and his little brother, he loved Sebastian (and all of them had gotten their little gifts to show his appreciation today, no matter how much they grumbled about pink wrapping paper (Seb did that, with a smile on his face while thrusting a small box containing a gift for Sam toward the blond)) but you? He loved you.

“Come in,” you chirped, and Sam was quick to follow, especially when your fingers wrapped around his wrist to tug you inside, a small chuckle falling from his lips. The scent of pizza lingered in the air, and you had decorated the table in your dining room with a white cloth and some rose petals (that rose had lost the battle, and to be fair? It gave him a little satisfaction), a candle in the middle of it, the tiny flame working hard to dip its surroundings in a soft glow. The man had asked you if you had wanted to go out for dinner for today, but you had shaken your head while telling him you had another idea – and your man had been happy to oblige. He was even happier now that he was sitting across from you in the soft glow of candlelight, a heart-shaped pizza having joined the two of you on the table. “You look gorgeous,” he murmured, grin spreading on his face when his eyes fell on the plushie you had draped over your shoulders. “And he suits you well,” he added, chin pointing loosely toward your little companion, making you reach out to pat the soft head. “I know, right?” You smiled, puffing out your chest before your face suddenly softened. “Thank you so much again, Sam.” “No, thank you, baby,” he cooed back, squeezing your hand lightly, his other hand wandering to the necklace you had gifted him, the tigers eye pendant that dangled from it carefully mined and processed by you, “for the gift, and for being my girlfriend.” The smile you gave him made his heart melt, and for once, Sam was at a loss for words. He just had to take you in for a moment, really let it sink in that all of this was true – you being his. Him being allowed to make you happy. Him just- “Fuck, I love you so much,” he whispered, voice cracking as he looked at you, drinking up the smile you generously gifted him. The card you had made him had already brought him close to tears, and if the night kept going like this – he was indeed going to fucking sob. “I love you, too, Sammy Boy.” He knew you meant it, and he was thanking whatever Cupid that had been merciful enough to make this happen, even if it meant he would be crying from happiness.

It seemed like you really wanted to see him cry tonight, or why else were you wearing that slutty little lingerie set that hugged your curves the same way a bow would wrap around a gift? But that was what you were, right?  A gift – his gift. “So fucking gorgeous,” the blond slurred as he inhaled deeply, blue eyes already completely pussy-drunk. Sam hadn’t even bothered to take off those cute little panties that clung to your hips so nicely, he just didn’t have the time! All he had done was shove them to the side to have them out of the way, to have access to your sweet, sweet pussy, folds already glistening with wetness you had spread by grinding against his thigh as you had sat on his lap just moments before. You did not need to worry, though – your boyfriend was more than happy to lap up what you were giving him as he buried his fat cock in your mouth, weepy, pierced tip kissing the back of your throat.   “So…fucking…good,” he groaned into your cunt, words forced out between messy licks and sinful slurps, muffled by your gorgeous thighs that pressed against his face. You moaned around him in response, coaxing a small whimper from your significant other. He just couldn’t help himself, had to fuck your pretty mouth – just a little! He promised, just a few small thrust upwards, having you take his cock juuust a little more.

And you took it so well - his good girl, his perfect princess; swallowing around his cock even when he stuffed your mouth so full. He just had to reward you with quick licks and desperate suckles on your clit, grunting as your hips shifted to grind down on his face. He would happily take it if you gave him more of those tasty juices, would let you ride his face all day and night long if he could keep tasting you on his tongue as he let the metal ball nestled in the muscle drag over your most sensitive spots. Another moan vibrated through him, making the knot in his stomach tighten, his head becoming lighter. If he was going to die like this – smelling you, tasting you, with his cock down your tight throat, allowed to mindlessly hump at it – he was going to die the happiest man on the whole damn planet.

You worked his cock heavenly, up and down you went while your hips ground back and forth, using his tongue however you pleased. Sam could feel his eyes roll back in his head, needy bitch brain forcing him to try and nuzzle his head further into your cunt, lips wrapping around your clit to suck before his tongue circled your entrance. He could feel you tense on top of him as he edged his tongue inside of you, your breathing becoming heavier as your hands began to drag toward his balls. “Good schlut,” Sam moaned against you, hissing when he felt your fingers wrap around them, giving them a gentle squeeze. He was going to cum, he fucking knew it. His hand came down on your hip in a soft smack and the way you clenched around his tongue told him that you weren’t that far off the edge either, orgasm approaching faster than you would have liked to admit, but he ate you like you were the best meal he had ever and had, hitting all the right spots with his messy licks. A sound that could have been identified as “Sam” had your mouth been a little less of cock sounded against him, making his hips snap up again as a twitch ran through his dick, tongue lapping at you almost desperately as he felt you choke on him. Another smack to your hip had you whining, the stinging sensation combined with Sam’s lapping and sucking made your mind go blank. You were so close, so, so close to just come on your boyfriend’s face. Your breathing came in shallow breaths around him, hips grinding to chase that high, your thighs beginning to twitch as the neatly tied bow in your stomach started to come undone.

Another slurred sound left your mouth, eyes squeezing shut as you were ready to embrace the rushing feeling about to crash over you, but it didn’t happen. Quite the opposite. You didn’t feel anything anymore. No tongue lapping you up, no hands massaging your hips, no cock filling your mouth. No, that was not quite right. You did feel something – the mattress below you were being pinned down on. Sam, who you had been sitting just moments before, was hovering over you now, strands of blonde hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, cheeks reddened and chest flushed with arousal, a grin on his wet lips as he stared down at you.

“So fucking pretty,” he cooed, licking over his lips, his hand wrapped around the base of his cock as he let the pierced tip run through your soppy wet folds. “My princess,” he sighed, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as the head of his dick caught your twitchy hole, swallowing down a thick glob of saliva that was threatening to spill past his lips, “I am so sorry…jus’ needed you on my cock s’badly, need that pretty fuckin’ cunt to swallow me whole, jus’- jus’ like thaaaat, fuck,” he whined as he pushed his tip past the ring of your cunt, his eyes rolling in the back of his skull. This surely wasn’t the first time the two of you fucked, but feeling your walls wrap around him always made the breath be knocked out of his lungs.

He took a gasping lungful of air as he slowly pushed forward, his eyes flickering from your face to your pussy, watching your sweet little cunt stretch to accommodate his size, back up to your face to see the dick-drunken look in your eyes. Another deep breath was needed before he could finally pull back, one of his hands wrapping around your ankle to push your leg back – he just needed deeper access, just needed all of you to wrap around him like the pretty little cocksleeve you were.

“My girl,” Sam croaked, soaking in the string of moans that fell from your lips, his hips starting to pump in and out of you slowly, letting the feeling of your wet gummy walls around him really sink in as he pulled back, just to be bottoming out inside of you completely again. Poor Sam was never able to keep up this slow pace for long, however. You simply were too much of a delicious treat for him to stay with this slow rock of hips, especially when you moaned his name like this – all stupid and needy. You pretty much didn’t give him any other choice than to hump into you quickly, filling you up just to pull back and fuck inside of you again in a fast pace, have your tits bounce as your eyes rolled, nails digging into his shoulders as you whined and begged for more. Really, he just needed to rut into you like his life depended on it, his dick had to bully your poor cunt, metal of his piercing dragging along your walls in a toe-curling caress. He simply loved you so much, and fucking you like this was the best way to show it, wasn’t it?

“Saaaahammm!” You whined, your hips snapping forward, nerve endings still raw and tingling from how close you had been before, but Sam did not let up. Your boyfriend pounded your cunt, his pierced tongue lulling out of his mouth, just to drag over your hardened nipple moments later, whimpering when your back arched toward him to have him suck it into his mouth.

The wet sounds of both his mouth sucking your nipple and your bodies meeting in a rough kiss didn’t veil what the two of you were doing, and your yells of his name only told the walls of the room who was fucking you so well, who made you see sparks with each thrust. “’M gonna cum! Sam, I am gonna cum! Fuck,” you cried, hips bucking helplessly to meet his thrust, to have him impossibly deeper, to take what was given to you. “Yes, baby, cum for me! Cum for me, make that cunt gush ‘round my cock, please, fuck, you are gonna gush around my cock,” he growled, moan rolling off his tongue as his dick pulsed.

Dick fucking into you roughly as your body began to tremble, taut muscles twitching as your back arched in again, your lower lip quivering as you tried to let a sound escape, but the force of your orgasm had you in a chokehold, leaving your brain empty and vocal chords unmoved until finally, a high-pitched cry of his name tore from you, your cunt spasming around his cock, pretty walls massaging his girthy shaft.

“That’s it, princess, hoooo, that’s fucking iiiit.” The groaned words were drawled, his own orgasm having his balls pull tight toward his body, breaths coming out in quick puffs. You looked up at him with love in your eyes, the high of your orgasm having blown the thoughts from your mind, and Sam was not holding up much better. He couldn’t think about anything but how much he loved you, and each soft smack of the pendant against his lean chest served him as another reminder.

“Gonna fill ya up, baby, all the way. You want my cum, hm? Want me to fuck my cum into that pretty cunt, yes? Come on,” he whispered, squishing your cheek with gentle fingers, small moan of appreciation sounding when you nodded eagerly. So dumb and yet so greedy for his dick and cum, weren’t you? Fuck.

A sudden hitch in his breath as Sam fucked deep inside of you, humping into your cunt without pulling out much, craving to cum as deep inside of you as humanly possible. “Saaaam, please. Need your cum!” You sobbed, toes curled and legs shaking. Sam couldn’t hold back anymore, cock twitching as thick ropes of cum filled your cunt. Quick breaths were pressed through Sam’s teeth, his hips working his sensitive dick into your cunt to truly stuff you full as your clenching walls worked on milking him nothing but dry. Slurred words tumbled from his lips, produced by his fuck-drunken brain and not at all coherent, but they didn’t need to be for you to understand them as praise, welcoming them with a weak moan as your body trembled as you neared overstimulation.

Your boyfriend’s thrusts slowed inside of you, becoming more of lazy drags and small shoves as he looked into your eyes, his hand slowly guiding your leg back on the mattress, instead finding your cheek to cup as he finally stilled inside your abused little pussy.

You both stayed like that for a while, silently staring into one another eyes, basking in the sweaty aftermaths of your orgasms, before the blond finally leaned down to press a kiss on your slightly swollen lips. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” he whispered, when you finally parted, making you chuckle weakly. “Happy Valentine’s, Sammy,” you whispered, cleavage flushed, looking like an absolute angel, and he knew he was fucking done for.

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

Headcanons! - Sang-Woo

Character: Sang-woo X fem!reader

Summary: Headcanons!

Warnings: noneeee

1. Sang-Woo is the kind of guy who secretly takes mental notes of all the little things you like—your favorite coffee, the books you enjoy, the songs that make you smile—and surprises you with them when you least expect it.

2. He’s a bit of a perfectionist, but when it comes to you, he can’t help but let little things slide—like when you leave your clothes on the floor, he just picks them up with a sigh and a fond smile.

3. Sang-Woo will never admit it, but when he’s stressed, he’ll find a quiet moment to play with your hair, running his fingers through it while you relax. It’s his secret way of unwinding.

4. He has a hidden stash of handwritten letters he’s never shown you, little notes he’s written over time, mostly about his feelings for you. He keeps them tucked away because he’s too shy to share them, but sometimes he’ll leave one in a place where you’ll find it when he’s not around.

5. Sang-Woo loves playing mind games with you, but in a playful way—like challenging you to games of chess, Scrabble, or even simple logic puzzles just to see who can outsmart the other, with the winner always getting a reward (like a kiss or a small treat).

6. He has a surprisingly romantic side that he doesn’t let many see—on anniversaries, he’ll surprise you with a private dinner, carefully planned out with all your favorite foods, and he’ll open up in a way that leaves you speechless.

7. If you’re ever feeling insecure, he’ll turn it into a challenge, telling you that no one else in the world could handle him, and that’s why you’re the perfect match. It’s his way of reassuring you without being overly emotional.

8. Sang-Woo’s the type to show affection in little, subtle ways—like brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear when you’re focused on something or making sure you’ve got your jacket zipped up just right before heading outside.

9. He loves taking you out on unexpected adventures, whether it’s a spontaneous road trip to a nearby town or getting lost together in the middle of a park, all to make memories where the two of you are just together and enjoying each other’s company.

10. When it’s quiet and you’re both relaxing, he might pull you closer without saying anything, just to be near you, but he’ll make it sound casual like, “You’re in my space, but I don’t mind.”

11. Sang-Woo secretly loves surprising you with his cooking skills, even if it’s something simple. He'll cook a meal from scratch, but he won’t tell you until it’s on the table—watching your face light up when you realize he did all the work is his favorite part.

12. He'll come up with weird, off-the-wall nicknames for you, only to later pretend it was a joke—things like “champion of my heart” or “my genius,” and then act all embarrassed when you call him out on it.

13. When he’s frustrated, he won’t vent about it, but instead will give you a smirk and say, “Can you make me laugh? It’s the only thing that’ll make this day better.” He just wants to hear you laugh to make everything feel lighter.

14. He likes quiet mornings, when it’s just the two of you, a cup of coffee, and soft music in the background. He’ll listen to you talk about your dreams or random thoughts, making mental notes of things he never wants to forget.

15. Sang-Woo gets ridiculously protective of you without realizing it—he’ll act casual, but when someone talks to you for too long or gets too close, he’ll subtly stand in your line of sight, always ensuring you feel safe and prioritized.

16. When you’re feeling sad or unsure, he has a way of pulling you into his world with words. He’ll tell you stories about the past, making light of his struggles, all to remind you that you’re strong together—and that he’s got your back.

17. On days when he knows you need some personal space, he’ll retreat to his office or corner of the room with a book or something to do, but he’ll always leave the door open, just in case you need him.

18. Sang-Woo has a small habit of testing out new things with you—like suggesting a new activity or a new type of food—just so he can gauge your reaction and see if you enjoy it. It’s his way of learning even more about you and sharing something new together.

19. He likes the feeling of taking care of you, but he won’t say it aloud. Instead, he’ll make sure your car is gassed up, or your favorite snacks are stocked, or that the house is warm when you come home. It’s his way of saying he’s thinking of you.

20. Despite being reserved, Sang-Woo loves the idea of having a shared playlist. He’ll slip songs into it that remind him of special moments you’ve shared, and you’ll eventually realize the playlist has its own little narrative of your relationship.

🫐🍏🍅

[rocksibblingsau]

Honestly, I'm this close to snapping and writing a fic where Branch dies during Trollscide/the escape and Brozone having to deal with the giant grief that would have caused

Like I get it, they were kid that needed indepedence bla bla bla but are we forgetting that they (most likely, the timeline is kinda just whatever the writers/fans want) left a toddler and an elder in a TROLL-EATING TOWN AND 3/4 NEVER TRIED TO CHECK IF EITHER WERE DOING OKAY (Clay will depends of your headcanon, but I still include him for the vibes)

What they did was shitty if we are talking only real-life perspective, in the trolls world what they did was genuine heartless like Branch is extremely right to be mad bcs for all they knew he could been dead the same year that they walked-out and they shouldnt have know for like 20-something YEARS. We dont know how the three/four of them got out and if they could have taken Branch and Rosie with them or not, but like yk send a letter or some shit FIGURE IT OUT YOUR BROTHER WHO IS A TODDLER COULD BE DEAD or without a proper gardian (which is what happened by the fucking way, next-of-kin WHO)

Sorry for the rant, but like I feel that many people when writing Brozone focus too much on the 'teenagers that left home' aspect and not 'their home is the troll equivelent of a murder cult and they didnt border checking if their family, that never wronged them, was even alive or needed to be taken care of' part

Yeah the fact they left them in the troll tree is pretty messed up. I do think however there would have been no way to take them. I imagine the only reason the four of them escaped is due to the fact they ran on their own. Rosie would have been about the age she would have slowed them down, and the fact of the matter is that while all four were leaving with dreams of finding a place...

They were all leaving on what was likely a suicide mission. I imagine attempts to leave the tree had a 99% mortality rate. It's why they tunneled instead of, yknow, walking through the bars. To take a baby who Probably had a decent life spin ahead of him on a tribe that would Definitely kill him would be a tough choice to make.

Something interesting to consider is that maybe that's what their parents did. Their parents ran and left them all behind. They might think it's normal to do so in that case.

Some people take the third movie to be evidence that the Bergens were a recent development and there were only a few years of Trollstice. (BroZone left, Bergens came in, 3-5 years later grandma dies, the escape happens) Which would explain why BroZone was both able to leave and comfortable leaving Branch behind, because there was no threat of death. It would also explain why John Dory didn't react to the Bergens, he had no clue who or what the hell they were. Me personally I don't believe that, and I find them leaving under the threat of Trollstice more narratively interesting but canon doesn't tell us jack so it's within the realm of possibility.

Can I be honest about something? I'm actually not sure if Branch dying would be more traumatic to them. I think all of them were operating under the assumption Branch would one day be eaten by Bergens. JD already did think he was dead. They might have been having a 'he's in a better place and its okay' mentality.

How much worse is it to find out that no, he's very much alive, though for the longest time he wished he wasn't? Every time you told yourself he's resting, he's with loved ones, he feels no pain now; it was all a lie. He was suffering. You could have stopped it. You could have found him.

Death is tragic, but sometimes living can be so much worse.

[verybadatwriting]

Winged One 3

Summary: The rest of the First Avenger play out more or less the same as they would have without Reader.

Warnings: self blame, falling, broken bones, heights, plane crash, guns

Notes: Gefahr, nicht drücken= danger do not push

Gn!reader

Word count: 4,481

Cool air streamed across your face, arms, legs. Flying high up through the clouds, you could almost forget what was going on below. Almost. You dipped through and eventually caught a glimpse of the buildings below. Between the streets, soldiers streamed.

Hydra had taken a small town. A very, very small town. It was barely a cluster of buildings. There were fortifications strung up loosely between a few of them, but not super heavy-duty. A few soldiers were scattered about, on raised platforms standing watch. The others were milling around, moving boxes, giving orders.

None of them seemed to be in a hurry, good. 

Before they spotted you, you swooped back into the safety of the cloud cover and wheeled around. While flying back, you pulled out a small notepad, and jotted down troop numbers and defense placements. 

A few minutes later, you landed back at the Howling Commandos’ temporary camp. Unlike the base you’d just surveyed, this one was bustling with purpose and last-minute preparations. 

Bucky met up with you as you made your way to the command tent. 

“All’s in order?” He asked.

“Mhm,” you didn’t look up from the notepad. He peeked over your shoulder and smirked at the wobbly letters.

“You sure you’ve been practicing?”

True, your handwriting wasn’t the best, but in all fairness you’d only just started learning this script a few months ago.

“I’d like to see you try to write while flying,” you teased. “Oh wait, you can’t fly!”

“I'm actually impressed with how quickly you picked up English writing.”

“I'd say I have a pretty good teacher.”

The two of you kept up your banter the rest of the way. Like most times you spoke with him, you and Bucky used a mashup of English, German, and your people's language, which didn't have a name. Even if it once did, that knowledge was burned with the rest of the village.

Bucky tried. You knew he did. He was the only other living person who even knew any basic vocab in your language. He was your best shot at keeping it alive. And yet, every time he couldn't describe something, every time he didn't have the words and had to revert back to English, a little part of you broke. Sometimes you wished he didn’t even try. Then it would only be your fault that your language was dying. 

“It's looking good,” Bucky reported to the others. You were now standing underneath a tarp, huddled around a table strewn with maps, scribbled notes, and little figurines to plan the attack. 

It was going to be fairly simple, just storm in, overpower the Hydra forces, and take the  foothold they so kindly prepared for the Allies. You were used to this kinda mission, and it didn't scare you anymore. After learning that your wings were bulletproof, you actually felt rather confident.

The truck ride there was fine, a lot of loud conversations and a few jokes, nothing out of the ordinary. Everybody sobered up when y’all neared the launch point. 

“L’kan kwe nor’c,” Bucky called to you as he dismounted the truck. “Did I pronounce it right?”

“Yes, and good luck to you as well,” you replied in English, smiling at him. 

Now, you had to focus. Despite having bulletproof wings, both shielding you and making you easily recognizable, the Howling Commandos insisted you have armor and a uniform. Easier said than done. 

First issue, you were a teenager, not a grown man. The army uniforms didn’t allow for much variation in body type, and none accommodated wings. To get around some obvious issues, you altered the uniforms so that the shirt could be put on like an apron, but with a button up part covering your lower back, and a string tied behind your neck.

The cold was the only problem. Frostbite’s something you never wanted to get again. Especially not between your wings, which was so hard to reach. Instead of freezing that chunk of your back, you fastened a length of warm cloth over it, using four shiny metal clasps. 

The rest of your clothes were normal. Pants, gloves, hats, those would all fit just fine, if they had your size. You did remove anything causing unnecessary weight, and typically had your pockets sparsely filled. The army issued boots were too heavy to wear while flying, so you stuck to a lighter pair of shoes. They weren't as protective or warm, but they allowed you to fly for longer without tiring, and they didn't hurt to run in.

All that said, you were wearing the least amount of body armor Bucky would let you, and a heavily altered uniform. You carried a small gun in a holster on your hip, a knife and canteen on the opposite side. A couple of grenades and extra ammo cases were stashed in a bag slung over one shoulder. 

For most of the battle you'd stay in the clouds, cutting down just to take note of troop movements and maybe deal a little damage. Things were going well. The Howling Commandos had already taken two of the buildings, since Hydra had essentially abandoned all defenses and was scrambling to evacuate.

You dropped a grenade, prayed your aim was true, and swooped back up for a single breath above the clouds. A small explosion told you that it'd found its target. You savored another moment before you dropped back through. The dew stuck to your skin, making it feel even colder than it was. Still, you swooped around, picking off targets one after another.

The whole while, you were unaware that someone on the ground was tracking your every move, and now he'd figured out the pattern. As you cut through the clouds, he adjusted his aim, and fired. 

If this has been a normal gun, you would've been fine. Simply wrap your wings around yourself as a shield, perhaps free fall for a moment in hopes of avoiding it, then back to business as usual.

But this soldier had not fired a normal weapon. What sailed towards you unfurled as it flew. Within a second of it making contact, you found your wings bound. No matter how hard you tried, the thin cords wrapped around you wouldn't budge.

Hurtling towards the ground, you caught a glimpse of where you'd land, an empty clearing on top of a hill to the south of the battle.

You braced for impact and hit the ground hard. You felt your arm crack and snap beneath you, but luckily the fall’s adrenaline overpowered the pain. For now.

A moment passed before you regained your senses and continued struggling against the net. It was futile. Bound too tight for you to reach your knife, you'd simply be unable to cut your way out. 

Footsteps came running towards you, and you prepared to fight as best you could. To your surprise, the man dropped to his knees right beside you, and began slashing away at the ropes with a knife.

He has a sniper rifle slung across his back.

“Bucky?” You ask. “How did you get to me so fast?”

“You landed near my sniper's nest,” he replied without looking up from the net. He finally tore apart the last cord, and said “You've gotta hurry.”

“Hurry where?”

“Fly. Go! Get out of here.” He gestured vaguely to the sky.

That's when you noticed the Hydra soldiers closing in from every side.

“What? No!” You said, “I'm not leaving you here! I'll… I think I can lift you and get us both out of here.”

“No. We both know that's not possible,” he glanced at your arm, which was hanging at a strange angle by your side. “Especially with that arm.” 

The soldiers were a few yards away, approaching fast. They'd be here in a moment.

“Go!” Bucky yelled. He rarely raised his voice at you. You turned and fled into the sky. Behind you, you heard a few short orders barked in German, and the sound of a body hitting the snowy ground.

You swirled through the clouds, careening – you hoped – unpredictability. The last thing you wanted was to get caught again, and have Bucky die in vain.

Your heart felt like it was in your head, it was beating so loud. When you finally perched in the highest hidden branch of a tree, you found your balance was a bit off, and you nearly slipped off. The lid of your canteen slipped out of your shaking fingers, and landed somewhere far below.

Despite the increased risk of being discovered, you allowed yourself to cry. A few minutes of sobbing, albeit quietly, was enough time for someone to approach.

You fled before they saw you. The tree shook, shedding some of its snow onto whoever was below.

After the battle, Steve insisted that you at least put your arm in a sling before allowing you to lead him back to the clearing you'd nearly been captured in. It was empty, besides for a mush of slushy footprints, some blood, and a tiny shiny piece of metal. 

They'd taken his body.

The only thing left, the only way you knew he'd been here, was the delicately crafted leaf necklace that you'd given him on the first day of spring.

You picked it up, the silver metal dulled by now dried blood, still managing to glint faintly in the sunlight. You stared at it for a moment longer, then closed your fist around it.

Steve had seen the necklace, too. He knew what it meant. 

“Y/n,” he started, but before he could say anything more, you cut him off.

“It's fine. I've been through this before.” You turned to walk back to the now empty battlefield. “We’ve gotta wipe these bastards off the face of the earth.”

From then on, you were different. You took your meals in solitary, preferring a treetop to a dinner table. You barely knew these people, Bucky had been your only link. With him gone, killing those Snake Worshippers was your only goal. In an attempt to reconnect with you, Steve gave you a book, Oliver Twist. It was slow going, but most of the words made sense.

Before Bucky's death, you'd been hesitant to be the boots on the ground. It was partly due to some of the adaptations that came with your wings. To decrease the weight you had to carry, your bones had turned hollow, which led to fracturning more easily. 

Now, however, you fought hand to hand with a ferocity that put even Steve on edge, ignoring any splintering of bones.

Off the battlefield, you were constantly training. You pushed yourself further and further, getting stronger every day. Each night, you collapsed into your hammock – the tent held too many memories – and went out like a light.

In the mornings, you rose before the others, although that didn't matter, since you rarely interacted with them outside of tactical meetings anymore. Every waking moment was dedicated to training. Physically, you could lift more than ever before, fly for longer, and move faster. Your punches carried more weight than they'd used to. 

Mentally, you sharpened your skills as well. You'd taken to reading Steve's book during meals, or in the truck heading to or from battle.

Your English speaking skills stagnated, though. Fewer interactions meant fewer chances to practice. That was fine by you. No use keeping some random language spoken by people you would never see again after this war was over. It was comforting to know that you hadn't gotten too used to the new language, that you still held fast to the language you'd grown with.

The weeks flew by. The weather warmed. The icy spring finally melted into summer. Countless missions blended together. Kills, which you used to keep track of with a notch on a tree near camp, now numbered in the hundreds. If you'd carved all of them into the tree, it would look like a beaver attacked it.

Jaw set, eyes staring dead ahead, you sat in the truck, tucked in the corner. Your spine was so straight, rigid almost, that your posture was impeccable. Waves of quiet rage radiated off of you, and everyone seemed to know to stay away.

The plan was for the Commandos to raid yet another underground base and retrieve whatever “powerful device” Hydra had gotten its grubby claws on. Today, it was a ridiculously powerful source of energy, which Red Skull had harnessed for evil, as he usually did.

The truck had barely shuddered to a halt before the Commandos jumped out. They swarmed the building, going fast yet thorough, each move carefully practiced. You darted above, hoping to spot any targets. Instead, you saw something that made you zip back down to meet up with Steve.

“Captain,” you said. “Hydra’s abandoned everything else but a defensive position around the loading bay.”

Within minutes, the Howling Commandos broke through the door, just as Red Skull was scaling the ladder up into the most massive plane any of them had seen in their lives. The soldiers launched a spray of gunfire, but it was too late. The giant thrusters roared to life, letting out a burst of flame.

The plane turned to the left, towards the hangar exit.

Steve saw where it was heading, and battled his way through the remaining horde of Hydra soldiers. They were all armed with the glowing blue weapons you’d first seen what felt like so very long ago. Steve’s shield easily deflected the blows. 

Despite his superhuman strength and speed, the jet pulled further and further ahead of Steve.

Through the mayhem, you saw a black, open top car swerving so expertly that it could only be driven by Colonel Phillips. You sprinted after it, and ducked into the backseat next to Agent Carter.

“What in the–?” The colonel started to ask.

“Drive,” you cut him off.

“What do you think I’m doing?!” He sped up, engine growling, then came to an abrupt stop once he caught up with the now stationary Steve. 

“Get in!” He yelled. Immediately, Steve obeyed, and you were off again.

Faster and faster, Colonel Phillips pushed the engine to its limits and then some. By some miracle, you were gaining on the plane. But would it be enough? The light at the end of the runway, the opening to the outside world, grew infinitely closer each second. 

As though hearing your doubts, the colonel flipped the cover off of a large, red button, labeled “Gefahr, nicht drücken” and pressed it. Jets of flame propelled the car forward as Steve readied himself to jump. 

“Keep it steady!” He shouted.

“Wait!” Peggy interrupted. She grabbed the strap of the holster fastened across his chest, and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Go get him,” she said as they leaned apart. 

“I’m not kissing you,” Colonel Phillips added, glancing up from the road briefly.

Steve fastened his shield to his back, and carefully navigated around to the front bumper of the car. Though he tried to navigate between them, the colonel simply didn’t have enough room to avoid all the propellers. The spinning blades sparked as they striked against the shield and the hood of the car. Everyone in, or on, the car ducked as low as they could go until you were in the clear.

There. Only a moment away, twenty seconds at best, was the outdoors. The plane’s wheels began to lift off the ground; if Steve didn’t jump now, he’d never make it. He propelled himself forwards and upwards as hard as he could.

It wasn’t enough. His fingers grazed metal, but couldn’t find purchase. He started to fall, and in that split second, you made a decision.

Scrambling over both Peggy and the colonel’s seats, you ran across the hood, beating your wings as hard as you could, and you, too, jumped. With all the might in your body, you wrapped your arms around Steve and brought him just a little higher, so his hands could grasp the slick metal. The moment he had pulled himself up and gained his footing, he reached back for you, yanking you onto the wheel next to him. 

The ground below vanished, replaced with a thousand foot drop into an icy ravine. You could only hope that the colonel had swerved so as to avoid plummeting over the edge. You dared a glance backwards, and saw the car, a small black smudge against the white, snowy background. They were safe. 

Navigating through the pistons and gears, all the intricate yet massive machinery was surprisingly similar to weaving through tree branches. You led the way, seeing as you were familiar with navigating such high, complex spaces. You found a walkway, and ducked under the railing. 

Steve, the showoff he always was, placed both hands on the rail and swung himself over.

“You could’ve easily fit underneath,” you noted.

“Oh God…” Steve said, but not in reply to you. He was looking past you, at the rows and rows of single-pilot jets, with bombs large enough for a child to crawl inside. They were pitch black, with a red loop of paint and a series of symbols painted in clear white on all of them.

“Ch-eek-ag-oo?” You sounded out quietly. “What does that mean?”

“Chicago. These are all names of American cities. This one,” he pointed to the one nearest the walkway, “that’s where I grew up.”

Many pairs of feet rattled the walkway towards you. Hydra pilots, faces concealed and goggles on, sprinted towards their bomber jets. Steve hurled the first one over the railing, down into the machines below, while you lunged at the second one. One drew a knife out of thin air, and started towards Steve, but he didn’t make it very far. A few quick jabs, and the knife was in Steve’s hand. He hurled it with precision, stabbing another in the back as he ran.

The final one climbed on top of the bomb destined for Chicago in an attempt to escape. You quickly found a control panel, and released the hatch. The floor opened beneath both man and bomb, which quickly fell into the ocean miles below. 

The fight continued, more waves of Hydra went down to the launch bay. You two continued dispatching them as quickly as they came. That is, until a pilot managed to weasel his way past and into the cockpit of the bomb bound for New York.

Steve jumped on top of the jet, whaling on it with his shield. It made a dent, and perhaps he could have broken through, had another pilot not jumped on Steve from behind and knocked the shield out of his hand.

The floor beneath the jet opened up. The jet dropped, leaving Steve and the Hydra pilot to hang on for dear life. There was nothing you could do now besides hope he came back.

You turned back to the fight, unsheathing your knife. You held it backwards, a trick you learned early on in hand to hand combat. If they’re expecting a slash from one angle, a different grip could be the difference between life and death. This hold allowed you to take out one man fairly easily, which gave you enough time to get to Steve’s shield. 

He’d needed it if he got back. If he didn’t… Why let perfectly good vibranium go to waste?

Fighting felt good. Letting out some of the anger that had built up for so long only made you more powerful. The minor bone breakages you sustained were easily ignored. Bones were fragile; if a few had to snap for you to win victory, so be it.

This is why, when Steve ‘expertly’ piloted the jet back into the bay, he found you waiting there, surrounded by the bodies of countless Hydra soldiers. 

“You dropped this,” you said, passing back his shield. He looked down at it. A red smear stained one edge, which he wiped off before motioning for you to follow him.

After winding through the corridors, you came to the control room. Steve opened the door slowly, cautiously, so as to not alert anyone inside. A great window took up most of the wall in front of you. It was segmented into squares, no more than a foot and a half wide each. Outside the familiar sight of clouds stretched out before you. 

Your view was obstructed by a few things. A large, permanent-looking chair sat before the windows and in the middle of the room there glowed a strange blue contraption. Obviously the powersource the Howling Commandos had been tasked with retrieving.

You and Steve entered further, cautiously, though the room appeared to be empty. You were right to be cautious, because not a second later, a man missing the skin from his face shot a giant blue laser gun at you from behind. Steve blocked it with ease, although the sheer power reverberated around the room for a moment afterwards.

“You don’t give up, do you?” Red Skull said.

“Nope!” Steve replied, charging at him head-on. After deflecting two more shots, he whacked the gun out of Red Skull’s hands. They traded punches for a bit, with Red Skull managing to disarm the Captain and knock him to the floor. You yanked the German off, sending him tumbling across the blue contraption, and handed Steve his shield back. 

Now the upper hand was back where it should have always been. Steve shoved, then snap kicked Red Skull so hard he went crashing into the control panel. The plane started to dive. Gravity seemed to reverse, throwing the three of you to the ceiling.

Red Skull managed to free himself from Steve, and scurried down a column, trying, and succeeding, to get back to the controls. The plane leveled out, and threw you and Steve back onto the floor. The landing wasn’t too hard, but still enough that you heard a crack against the floor.

“You could have the power of the gods!” Red Skull sauntered down from the controls, waving a small pistol. Despite its appearances, it packed quite a punch. One shot, perilously close to Steve’s head, bore a hole into the metal of the wall.

“Yet you wear a flag on your chest and think you fight a battle of nations!” Red Skull continued, voice rising above even the howling winds ripping through the room. He fired again, once more too close for comfort.

“I have seen the future, Captain!” He yelled, firing off another shot. “There are no flags!”

“Not my future!” Steve yelled back, barely dodging another shot in time. He rolled across the floor, to where you and his shield were. He pulled it up in a pitiful attempt at protecting the both of you.

“You alright?” He asked.

“Mhm,” you grunted shortly, holding your side. “Broke something. Be fine.” 

“Good.” 

He flung his shield at Red Skull, slamming him into and partially through the blue apparatus. Power surged, whirling through the room. It almost looked like lightning. 

“What have you done?” Red Skull hissed, dragging himself to his unsteady feet once again. He reached out to a now exposed cube. 

“No…” He said, holding it up to his eyes. A few sparks leapt out, streaking towards the ceiling. A tapestry of color and dust appeared, stagnant, in the air above him. A column of flame grew from his palm, eating away at his flesh, his bone, spreading across every inch of his body as he screamed in agony. The fire grew into a spire of light, stretching into the tapestry and beyond forever, temporarily blinding you.

Suddenly, the light was gone. All that was left was a glowing blue cube. It burned through the metal grate beneath it, the metal floor beneath that, until it fell into the clouds below.

Steve crouched next to you.

“Can you walk?”

“Think so.” You only needed to grip his arm to raise yourself to your feet, after that you were good enough to walk unaided. It wasn’t pleasant. You suspected you’d broken a rib or two. 

“What do all these do?” You asked, examining the controls. 

Steve didn’t say anything for a moment. He started out the window. 

“Can you still fly?”

You tried lifting your wings, only to be met with a wave of pain, nausea, and overwhelming weariness all rolled into one.

“No, not in this state,” you shook your head, forcing yourself to breathe evenly. “And definitely not at this altitude.”

“I don’t see any way out of this,” he said, reaching for the radio. “Come in. This is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?”

“Captain Rogers, what is your–” Jim Morita started from the other side.

“Steve, is that you? Are you alright?” Peggy interrupted.

“Peggy! Schmidt’s dead.”

“What about the plane?”

“That’s a little bit tougher to explain.”

“Give me your coordinates, I’ll find you a safe landing site.”

“There's not gonna be a safe landing, but I can try to force it down.”

The line went dead, and for a split second Steve seemed to think they’d lost connection already.

“I’ll get Howard on the line,” Peggy suggested. “He’ll know what to do.”

“There’s not enough time,” Steve shook his head, even though she couldn’t see him. “This thing’s moving too fast and it’s heading to New York. I gotta put her in the water.”

“Please, don't do this,” Peggy asked, although it sounded like she already knew he would. “We have time. We can work it out.”

“Right now we’re in the middle of nowhere,” Steve said, looking over the radar. “If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die. Peggy, this is my choice.” He took the cut out that he always kept close, a picture of Peggy, and placed it on the board. He started to lower the controls, dipping the plane down, down, down. You held onto his chair, sinking to the floor to avoid falling.

“Do you want to say anything?” Steve asked you.

“No.”

“Don’t you want to say goodbye?”

“I don't have anyone to say goodbye to,” you shrugged. He nodded in a sad, understanding way. 

“Peggy?” He said to the radio.

“I’m here.”

“I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance.”

“All right…” She hesitated. “A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”

“You got it.”

“Eight o’clock on the dot,” her voice started to grow staticky around the edges. “Don’t you dare be late. Understood?”

“You know, I still don't know how to dance.”

“I’ll show you how. Just be there.” The signal cut out completely.

You replayed her words over and over again. Just be there. Hoping that wherever you went after this your dad was waiting. 

“Just be there,” you whispered as the plane hit and cold, cold water flooded in around you.

Tag list!

@arctrooper69

[terresdebrume]

Dear Niko,

I do realize I only sent my last letter a few days ago, and it is likely not in your hand yet, but you did demand an immediate account of my return to school, and so here we are.

St Hilarion remains largely equal to itself. The repairs to the gymnasium were conducted in time, which means that I have a decent chance of avoiding rugby classes in the middle of winter this year. The rest of the buildings are just as old and decrepit as they used to be, and my room still smell terribly musty. Simon Waller, despite my dearest wishes, has neither fallen off the surface of the earth, nor thought of anything more entertaining than calling me Tinker Bell. I suppose I should be grateful, at this point, for his lack of imagination: I shudder to imagine the things he would call me if he were in possession of a single creative bone. Although, perhaps then he would come up with something offensive enough to force the adults to react and finally put a stop to his harassment. One can always dream.

In happier news: Simon and I do not share a homeroom this year. I was, as you can imagine, deeply relieved to learn this. Most of his posse is also with him, which I dearly hope will allow me some feeling of safety if only during my core classes. I will need all the study time I can get if hope to get A's on all my GCSEs, and Simon and his group are too significant a distraction.

There is a new student in my class. His name is Charles, he used to study on the other side of town, and he had swept half our year off their feet by the end of first period. He is handsome enough, but very charming: he seems to be perpetually smiling or laughing, is sociable, amiable, and respectful enough of teachers to be forgiven the few lapses he has shown so far. By the end of the day, I had overhead both his math and biology teacher praise his upbeat approach to classes, and his obvious determination to do well. Yesterday in English, he was one of the few students to have done the summer reading, which is a surefire way to get on Mrs. Devlin's good side.

Perhaps the only teacher who was not immediately enthused was Mr. Phare, the PE teacher. Charles apparently has some sort of special dispense for swimming classes, a condition linked to chlorine... Only Mr. Phare must not have been informed beforehand, so when Charles showed up in his regular uniform, covered wrists to ankles, instead of a swimsuit, Mr. Phare became quite irritated and nearly had him thrown out.

Fortunately for him, Charles is otherwise an excellent sportsman. He has since applied for a d successfully joined the boxing club, the basketball team, the tracks club, and the criquet team, of which he seems to have become an immediate hero. I must admit that I was glad we were not assigned to the same group in that class: PE is torture enough without the added humiliation of having some sort of sports whiz witness my shame.

I must admit his presence worries me. Not because of him, I assure you! He seems perfectly respectful so far, and I have been trying to heed your advice and be less pessimistic, therefore I will assume this persona of his is genuine until and unless I am proven wrong. I do however find him intriguing, which as you know usually means I forget that it is impolite to stare at others. Should that happen, and should Simon or one of his friends notice it, I have no doubt they would turn this against me somehow. After all, you know how these boys are: always insinuating things about people's sexualities to make them feel bad about themselves.

Of course, such accusations would be entirely unfounded, but if Charles Rowland must learn of my existence at any point this year, I would rather it weren't as the odd boy with an unsettling infatuation on him. Not, of course, that its at all likely to happen, but sometimes I cannot help but worry.

I suppose we shall have to wait and see what this year has in store for both of us, then.

Best regards,

E. P.

[sparklypinkflightsuit]

Predator and Prey: Chapter Four

Pairing: Tommy Cahill x Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Minors do not interact, Slow Burn, War Inaccuracies, Swearing, Mention of PTSD but barely, Stalking, Abuse, Sexual Themes, Alcohol & Drugs, I think that’s it?

Summary: You reach breaking point as you realise someone has been inside your home. Tommy protects you.

- Chapter Three Here -

———————————

The next week went well, with you and Tommy hanging out at every chance you got.

He would meet you at the book store most days and even helped out with straightening the shelves, or helping customers find books they were after. Most of the locals were less than pleased to see Tommy at first, but after a while they began to change their opinion of him, seeing a lighter side to Tommy they hadn’t seen before.

On Wednesday you and Tommy worked in the soup kitchen again, where you accidentally let slip that your home was broken into, and the next day Tommy took you to the tech store to pick out some security cameras. He walked you home to make sure you arrived safely, as it had began to get dark by the time you’d left the store.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to install those for you?” Tommy asked again, walking with his hands in his jeans pocket to keep them from freezing.

“Nah it’s ok, I think I can manage. Plus you’ve done enough work for me at the store, I think if I make you do anymore I’d need to put you on the payroll.” You joked, shivering under your beanie.

Tommy laughed, “You know I’m doing it because we’re friends right?”

You smiled up at him, “Yeah I know. I appreciate everything you’re doing. It’s nice to finally have someone to talk to.”

Tommy grinned from ear to ear and playfully ruffled your beanie, causing this to mess up your hair underneath.

“Hey!” You giggled, jabbing his arm with a light punch, causing him to clutch his arm in mock pain.

You were both too busy laughing to notice the footsteps following not too far behind, the shadow slinking in between trees and behind bushes as it followed.

Tommy hugged you goodnight when you were safely at your front door, stopping just before he walked out of sight to make sure you were safely inside. He made his way by foot back to his apartment on the outskirts of town.

It wasn’t a particularly long walk, but the cold was getting to him and he just kept thinking of the hot shower that awaited him when he got home.

About halfway back, Tommy realised he still had the bag containing your security cameras that he had offered to carry. Cursing himself for not realising, Tommy breathed into his hands to warm them up and turned back around.

You walked through your front door and locked it, before being greeted by Jet like he had been starved of human attention for days.

“You drama queen.” You said, giving him a big fuss. “I bet you want some dinner now huh? Ok let’s go see what’s on the menu tonight.”

You walked into the kitchen and got Jets dog food out, preparing it for him before laying it on the floor. When you stood back up you noticed a new letter on your counter top… You didn’t remember bringing in any new mail, but thought if you could forget to close a window you could probably have forgotten that you’d brought the mail in.

Flipping the letter over you noticed it didn’t have an address on the front and wondered how it could have been delivered that way. Carefully, you tore the letter open and read the contents, which turned you stone cold;

“Hi (Y/N),

I like what you’ve done with the place, did you paint the walls yourself? You always did love blue.

Jet’s gotten big, but he still remembers me. We enjoyed a bit of catching up while we waited for you to get home.

Say, is the guy who walks you home sometimes your new boyfriend? I sure hope not. I think you know full well that you’re meant to be with me, after all, He chose us together.

I still can’t go to Him without you, and he’s getting impatient. I might have to start really trying to persuade you soon.

Love,

Jason.”

You dropped the letter and your eyes darted around the small kitchen. You couldn’t see any evidence of him being in here, no open window or smashed windowsill pots and jars. Jet was still happily eating his dinner, tail wagging without a worry in the world, but your heart was in your throat as you slowly walked out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary there, and again you were left with checking the dark hallway, bedroom and bathroom, but you couldn’t make your legs move.

Slowly, one step at a time, you forced yourself to move as quietly as you could down the dark hallway, too scared to turn any of the lights on in case you alerted whoever was hiding in the shadows.

You could hear your pulse, as your heart thudded against your ribcage. Slowly, you pushed your bedroom door, edging it open as carefully as you could….

Knock knock knock!

You jumped when three sharp knocks resounded against your front door. Swinging around, you ran to the front door, terrified the knocking had alerted whoever was in the house, you knew it was Jason but you refused to acknowledge it out loud, and that they’d come running out of the bedroom and pull you into the darkness.

You threw open the front door in tears, and grabbed Tommy by the jacket before pulling him inside and shutting the door.

“(Y/N), what-“

“Tommy! T-Tommy he’s here! He’s in the house!” You sobbed, running to the kitchen to grab the note.

Tommy’s eyes were wide with confusion as he followed you to the kitchen, putting the bag of security cameras on the counter top.

“L-look! See, I got home and this, this, was already here, on the counter. I didn’t bring it in and- and it had no address on it so he must be inside.” You cried, your body shaking all over.

Tommy read the note quickly, and looked at your inconsolable face.

“Stay here.” He instructed firmly, quickly looking around and grabbing a closed bottle of white wine you had on the side.

Tommy left the kitchen and made his way down the dark hallway, flicking the light switches on as he went, bottle in hand and ready to strike. He pushed open your bedroom door hard, sending the door crashing against the wall, the light from the hallway illuminating most of your bedroom while he found the switch. He walked in slowly, peeking around the chest of drawers next to your bedroom door, and inside the wardrobe. Nothing.

He then made his way to the only other room in the house, the bathroom, and it was obvious right away that no one was there.

After double checking the bedroom, Tommy made his way back to the kitchen, where you stood against the back counter, shaking and waiting for him to come back, hopefully in one piece.

He put the bottle of wine back down, and walked over to you, pulling you in for a hug. You buried your face into his chest and tried to control your breathing as he ran his hand up and down your back in attempts to calm you down.

“He must have let himself out.” Tommy sighed, “You should call the cops again, (Y/N).”

“That means he’s been letting himself inside the house. How is he getting in without breaking and entering?” You sniffled, looking up at Tommy with watery eyes.

Your faces were close enough to feel each others breaths, but now was not the time, so Tommy rested his chin on the top of your head and continued to rub circles into your back until your breathing calmed.

You decided not to call the police again, as all you had to go by was the note. There was no evidence of a break in and you had thrown away the first note he had sent you years ago, so you couldn’t even prove this was a recurring thing. You wanted the cops to believe you if there was a real incident at hand, so opted not to get on their bad side by calling them out for something so small.

But it wasn’t small to you, you were terrified. You thought you had finally rid yourself of him, but he had obviously found you and decided he wouldn’t let you go a second time.

Tommy stayed with you that night, and he slept on the couch after helping you set up the security cameras. One in the living room, facing the front door and couch. A second in the hallway capturing the bedroom and bathroom doors. And the third in the kitchen.

You felt that covered all places he might be getting in and out, or you hoped.

You struggled to get any sleep that night, despite knowing Tommy was out there, every noise and creek sounded louder than anything you’d heard in that house in the three years since you’d moved in, and around 2am you had decided to get up to get a glass of water.

You crept quietly past the living room where Tommy slept and into the kitchen, quietly pouring a glass of water, before walking back to your bedroom, failing to notice the face that peered in through the window of the living room.

————————————

- Chapter Five Here -

[smokeygrayrabbits]

vash is an old man. and a hoe. and a dumbass who doesn't learn his lesson. and a optimistic romantic.

vash is so in love with humanity. always running to their side, following them through the desert no matter how many times he gets burned, or shot or stabbed or abandoned. after the fall, he latches onto the ship 3 people. they take him in, they become his family. but he can't stay with them. he only puts them in danger by hanging around by syphoning off of them. a waste of space and resources and time. a plant who only takes, and he has so much to do. so much to repent for. so he goes out to find others. and he helps them too. repairing tech, building towns, taming the Thomases and hunting worms, all of them learning to live again, together. vash grows to love humanity even more than he ever throught he could. he'd read their stories and seeing their work on the ships, learning from their curiosity and their cultures. art and language and science and discovery, but now he sees them as people, he learns the old women on the corner makes the best donuts, but hates the cold. he learns that the little boy who lives in the third house down likes to watch the glowing worms and loves his mom. he lives with them and loves them, but vash has always had a habit of getting . . . too attached. he falls in love with every person he meets, and then he has to go they chase him out. run out of town by flames and bullets and angry, terrified screams. he loves every days and everyone, but sometimes he falls a little too hard. there was the barmaid with the green eyes and the laugh like the popping of a soda bottle that neither of them ever got to hear. there were bullets and a sad smile with a scarlet drip drip drip from the upturned corner of the softest lips he'd ever kissed. there was the inverters son who wanted to touch the stars, with his mechanical wings and flying machines that vash helped him build. with flames and crashing and shattered bones. a broken feather falling from the wing, from where vash had lovingly tucked it as a good luck charm.

vash tried not to get too attached after that.

and it worked! . . . until he met the the daughter of the local baker and the gun woman who'd been terrorizing the nearby towns, not that he was supposed to know that. her eyes were so full of life and passion and anger, so mad at the world that turned it's back on her father, yet still kind enough to save a stray dog from the cruel kids who decided to spend their afternoon chucking rocks at it. vash tried to keep her at arms length. he really did. but she took one look at him and decided he was a shady asshole who needed to be kept and eye on, and what was he supposed to do with those flaming eyes on him all day?!

nothing ever happened between them. she said she couldn't love someone with a death wish couldnt stand to be loved by someone who couldnt love himself. so he left. and she grew old.

she still writes him, every few towns he'll find a letter from her, all addressed to 'the angel with the watercolor eyes' in beautiful loopy handwriting. he can't forget. he doesn't want to.

he visits her, sometimes. she's old and grey now. dried out in the way a life in the desert does to someone.

it breaks him to go back there. to return to the one town that never chased him out in a hail of bullets.

he goes back.

she isn't there.

but there's a pair of twins with her flaming eyes, and they gasp at the sight of him.

'look! it's grandmas angel! I told you he was real!'

[thepoetryprince]

As a poet, I tend to express my feelings in a very deep, vulnerable, and passionate way. I love In ways that a lot of people may struggle to understand. I forgive and forget. I love so deeply that it often overpowers any other emotions that I may be feeling.

However, love is difficult. It will bring challenges that most people often aren't ready for, and because of this, a lot of relationships don't last. It takes forgiveness and compromise. Understanding and communication. These things are difficult to do most of the time. However, I DO NOT believe that true love is stoppable. It can overcome and overwhelm. Overpower and weaken. Love can heal your heart but destroy it at the same time. Love is the most dangerous, powerful, consuming, and beautiful thing; allowing you to feel everything, everywhere, all at once.

We often forget to remind ourselves and the people that we do love that we love them. This is a one-way ticket to the town of doubt and uncertainty. This town will introduce you to hardship and mistrust. Hardship and Mistrust will guide you to destruction.

Love is full of sadness and hardship. Sometimes a breakup takes place to remind both people how much they love each other. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." This is truer than you know.

So in light of this, I express my love the only way that I know how, in words. Every night I'll write her a letter and seal it in an envelope. On both the letter and envelope I will decorate until it looks cute. I then place it on her pillow where I know she will find it.

It's simple, meaningful, and, most importantly, from the heart. It takes an hour or two, but the reminders last a lifetime. So I encourage you to take some time out of your day to express how you feel. Be vulnerable to those you hold dear. BE the one who holds on through the flames; I think you know they'd do the same.

"Even death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while"

- Quote from " The Princess Bride" (One of the greatest love stories to exist)

[beacarrot]

Wednesday.

I'm back, like a lightning-lit storm,

Submerging the surface of unwritten form,

Clearing the letters etched on fogged glass,

I'm racing through town, the verdict's passed,

And the outcome's eternal freedom for me,

Where I've been is where I find thee,

I got startled, but won't confess,

You halted all when I arrived late in stress,

Then I realized I was right on time,

Your eyes would shine in any clime.

I love our time together, it's true,

But this time, I cherish myself too,

And the moments I spent conversing alone,

But what if your whispered words were just for me?

And if this time, the only answer's "yes"?

Do you feel this too? Just confess,

Or has madness missed me and sought my shore,

To tear away another piece, maybe just one more,

It's almost what I meant in our embrace,

You're not a harbinger of disgrace,

So, be my Wednesday,

For Wednesdays bring magic,

Now that you've crossed that unseen line,

Is it alright that I don't want to decline?

I'm not worried about any fray,

You're ready, come what may,

Let's leap from the ledge,

Baby, see,

Who are we to battle Wednesday's decree?

Baby,

Be my Wednesday.

You enjoy my songs, I see why,

You don't think me a lunatic, oh my,

Because your thoughts align with mine,

We mock the normal, side by side,

Why must those who claim to be sane,

Be so dull, so utterly mundane?

Tell me your secrets, I'm a secretive listener, I'll keep them close,

I'm not in love,

I've always been the hopeful kind,

But with you, I leave my doubts behind,

I've memorized your surname,

You laughed at mine, and made a joke,

"Impressive, like a stage name," you said,

I've slain Cupid, so this time, I'm the led,

Forget the cases, embrace liberty,

And write it with me, make it history.

I love the way you make me smile,

But this time, I've learned to laugh with myself for a while,

And how my jokes make sense just to me,

But what about your breath on my neck?

Oh, I see!

And if this time, a part of me is meant for thee,

It's almost what I meant when we were close enough to can't be stay away,

You're not a bad new,

Sometimes I ponder about the picture they'd take,

Of us, in love,

So, be my Wednesday,

For Wednesdays bring magic,

Now that you've crossed that untold hill,

Is it alright that I don't want to fade?

I'm not worried,

You're ready, so let's embark,

Let's skip the scripts, let's spark,

Honestly, who are we to battle Wednesday's decree?

Baby,

Be my Wednesday,

Let's pretend we tread red carpets, bright,

In our fantasies, we're Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise in 90's, a glorious sight,

You praise me, I bend my knees,

Hiding my blush in my cheecks,

Because never before, someone haved made me I feel as this,

Where you touched my leg, hey, I was with no fear,

"I'll always be here," your vow, let it appear,

The whispered words,

Your hoarse voice, once again there's no fear,

It's alright, love, all's clear,

There's a magnetic pull in your hands,

That's only complete with mine,

There's a melody, only heard true,

When each line's dedicated to you,

So, who are we to battle the Wednesday's decree?

Baby,

Be my Wednesday,

My Wednesday.

(This is a special song, about a special person. A friend of mine, a person who occupies a piece of my heart. He has no idea that I wrote this inspired by him, but the point of this poem is love. The most powerful love is brotherly love. I learned that love is something simple, it's being fulfilled and happy by someone's side. I developed a little crush on this friend of mine, but when you love someone regardless of whether it's just as a friend or not, you simply don't feel the need to change things. I don't feel the need to change our dynamic, he makes me feel appreciated and I'm proud of the person he is, and that's all, I love you friend!)

Signed: Beatriz Ranzonni 🩵.

[aajjks]

“We’re sorry, but she’s already been cremated. Her family’s setting up for the funeral, so contact them if you can.

We honestly think he should be up for adoption. You claim that’s he’s working on his behavior and mental health, but both Y/n and CPS says otherwise. We haven’t brought it up to him only because his current condition is already bad without being around either of you, so we’ll wait until one of you is allow to visit the other. But here’s the letter.

‘Dear Jungkook,

I think… This will be the first time I’ll be admit ting this aloud. But I think it’s appropriate to say it now. For the first time in forever, I finally found my peace. I didn’t think it could happen, but it did. It all started with you.

Since the beginning, all my relationships went to shit. From being cheated on all the way to being abused physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and financially. After all the turmoil, I vowed to myself, I was completely done. I was NOT going to allow myself to be hurt again by any man.

That’s when I started teaching; mainly because it was a way to keep my mind from reliving the trauma I endured. I didn’t think I’d be a teacher for long, but here I am 5 years later. Still in the little town that I call home– despite the negative memories it shares. Anyways, being a teacher for this long has brought me immense joy. Being surrounded by younglings makes me happy. While it keeps me busy, it also makes me appreciate life more seeing the smiles I could bring others when I couldn’t bring myself to smile for myself. It gave me a reason to live. That includes your son.

He’s brought so much energy and spunk to not only to my students, but to myself. He’s a very admirable, kind and thoughtful person. I hope he stays this way when he’s an adult. But sometimes… he slips up.

There have been times where I couldn’t pay attention to him and he’d suddenly get violent. Thankfully not towards me, but unfortunately, towards other students. He once stabbed a girl with a coloring pencil which resulted to almost ME being sued & seeing her at the hospital. Thankfully, I managed to escape a lawsuit, but that doesn’t excuse the other violent tendencies he’d share with other students.

But that’s just one minor thing compared to everything else I’m about to talk about.

Every conversation we’d have, you’d always talk about your “game” from your past sexual experiences. I am in my right to not tell you my personal business, but everytime you talked about it, it made me insecure, uncomfortable, and even question if loving you is even worth it. Do you realize how much you bosted yourself? It’s almost contradicting. Especially when you claim to regret having a fuckboy past–yet act like you have no problem doing it all over again, and forgetting about me. Were the times you harped on me being yours & being your son’s mother lies? Did you just say that to make me feel special? In that case, just call up your hoes & offer them to be his mothers instead. I’m sure they’d love to be in his and your life now.

Speaking of sex, were you always this perverted? You didn’t think I noticed the way you look at me and make suggested comments? Everytime we’re around eachother, you always have this aura about you; a look in your eyes that I can’t help but squirm under. And definitely not in a good way. While I might’ve found you attractive, you were definitely a pushy man. All those times you insisted seeing me or doing something as a favor, I couldn’t help but think you’d expect something in return.

So, I kept rejecting all your advances & hints. Maybe in another life we would’ve been together different history that wouldn’t affect how we see each other. But in this life with how things played out for both of us, I don’t think we would’ve been the healthy ideal couple you thought we could’ve been.

I hope you find the perfect wife & perfect mother figure your son deserves.

~ Goodbye,

Y/n L/n’

Um… yeah…”

“Are you serious? You’ve got to be kidding me… y-you had her cremated before I could see her? How fucking dare you! I’ll be contacting yns family, it’s only her sister that’s left in her family. Wow this is so cruel! I-I couldn’t even get to see her for the last time- no jeon seol is my child! I told you we’re trying our best, I can’t lose my son too- fuck I’ll go insane… yn…. Give me the letter- oh my…. Yn… felt so much about me and I wasn’t aware? I-I can’t believe this… yn loved me? She was… jealous and hurt.. oh my God I fucked up…. Fuck fuck FUCK…”

[chronicswitch]

My therapist shared this poem with me by Andrea Gibson and honestly it resonates:

The Nutritionist

The nutritionist said I should eat root vegetables

Said if I could get down 13 turnips a day

I would be grounded,

rooted.

Said my head would not keep flying away to where the darkness is.

The psychic told me my heart carries too much weight

Said for 20 dollars she’d tell me what to do

I handed her the twenty,

she said “stop worrying darling, you will find a good man soon.”

The first psychotherapist said I should spend 3 hours a day sitting in a dark closet with my eyes closed, with my ears plugged

I tried once but couldn’t stop thinking about how gay it was to be sitting in the closet

The yogi told me to stretch everything but truth,

said focus on the outbreaths,

everyone finds happiness when they can care more about what they can give than what they get

The pharmacist said klonopin, lamictil, lithium, Xanax

The doctor said an antipsychotic might help me forget what the trauma said

The trauma said don’t write this poem

Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones

My bones said “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.”

My bones said “write the poem.”

The lamplight.

Considering the river bed.

To the chandelier of your fate hanging by a thread.

To everyday you could not get out of bed.

To the bulls eye on your wrist

To anyone who has ever wanted to die.

I have been told, sometimes, the most healing thing to do-

Is remind ourselves over and over and over

Other people feel this too

The tomorrow that has come and gone

And it has not gotten better

When you are half finished writing that letter to your mother that says “I swear to God I tried”

But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back

There is no bruise like the bruise of loneliness kicks into your spine

So let me tell you I know there are days it looks like the whole world is dancing in the streets when you break down like the doors of the looted buildings

You are not alone and wondering who will be convicted of the crime of insisting you keep loading your grief into the chamber of your shame

You are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy

I have never met a heavy heart that wasn’t a phone booth with a red cape inside

Some people will never understand the kind of superpower it takes for some people to just walk outside

Some days I know my smile looks like the gutter of a falling house

But my hands are always holding tight to the ripchord of believing

A life can be rich like the soil

Can make food of decay

Can turn wound into highway

Pick me up in a truck with that bumper sticker that says

“it is no measure of good health to be well adjusted to a sick society”

I have never trusted anyone with the pulled back bow of my spine the way I trusted ones who come undone at the throat

Screaming for their pulses to find the fight to pound

Four nights before Tyler Clementi jumped from the George Washington bridge I was sitting in a hotel room in my own town

Calculating exactly what I had to swallow to keep a bottle of sleeping pills down

What I know about living is the pain is never just ours

Every time I hurt I know the wound is an echo

So I keep a listening to the moment the grief becomes a window

When I can see what I couldn’t see before,

through the glass of my most battered dream, I watched a dandelion lose its mind in the wind

and when it did, it scattered a thousand seeds.

So the next time I tell you how easily I come out of my skin, don’t try to put me back in

just say here we are together at the window aching for it to all get better

but knowing as bad as it hurts our hearts may have only just skinned their knees knowing there is a chance the worst day might still be coming

let me say right now for the record, I’m still gonna be here

asking this world to dance, even if it keeps stepping on my holy feet

you- you stay here with me, okay?

You stay here with me.

Raising your bite against the bitter dark

Your bright longing

Your brilliant fists of loss

Friend

if the only thing we have to gain in staying is each other,

my god that’s plenty

my god that’s enough

my god that is so so much for the light to give

each of us at each other’s backs whispering over and over and over

“Live”

“Live”

“Live”

[postgamecontent]

'8-Bit Adventures 2' Switch Review

I'm a bit tired of love letters. I'm not saying that love letters ought not to exist or anything. People can and should make what they want. But as a player and a critic and all of that, I'm getting somewhat exhausted with games that "pay homage to the classic 8- and 16-bit RPGs". Some of them are too ironic. Some too on-the-nose. Most of them are so busy trying to offer tribute to their objects of adoration that they forget to be their own thing. That's what I was expecting from 8-Bit Adventures 2, a sequel to a game I have yet to play.

I won't say that it completely bucked that prediction, but 8-Bit Adventures 2 is actually really good. It almost makes me wish that some of its more obvious winks to other games had been left out, because it makes it occasionally read as an imitation rather than the legit experience that it is as a whole. What I'll say first is that if you're in the same boat as I am, you don't need to worry about playing the previous game to understand this one. It follows up on that game, but it does a decent enough job of catching you up on what you need to know. I will probably go back and play that first game now, though.

A hero has gone missing, and the search for him kicks off this quest. It turns out he has fallen prey to something called a Glitch, and he's not quite himself as a result. It seems clear that if the Glitch is left unchecked, the entire world could be at risk. That Glitch has a story to it, and it makes for an interesting character in its own right. Indeed, if I were to highlight one aspect of 8-Bit Adventures 2 above all others, it's the character writing. This game's dialog is a pleasure to read, and while the plot sometimes wavers the moment-to-moment story remains engaging all throughout. It's a very sincere game, and it shows.

In terms of gameplay, not many molds are being broken here. Battles are turn-based and allow for three active party members at once. Similarly to Final Fantasy X, you can swap party members in and out during combat, and you'll often want to do that during more difficult encounters. You'll have access to a basic fight command with three different levels, trading accuracy for power as desired. You also get a number of additional abilities and magic that are tied to AP/MP. Defending not only lessens the damage you take but also restores some HP, which is a fun strategic choice. Eventually you'll unlock Chrono Trigger-esque combo moves, and there's one party member that beeps to its own beat just to keep you on your toes.

Things outside of battle follow the usual traditions, with dungeons that have treasures and visible monsters to get into scraps with. Some puzzles here and there spice things up. You have towns to visit, a world to explore, and lots of gear to upgrade with. There are, perhaps befitting a game aimed at evoking a particular era of RPGs, some very clever bits that help break up the usual loop. It threads the needle between adhering to traditions and doing some new things very nicely.

The solid writing even extends to the NPCs, to the point that I enjoyed my usual process of talking to everyone. One thing that really surprised me is the length of the game. I'm used to this kind of game running in the ten to twenty hour range, but this game runs way past thirty hours. Even more surprising is that it doesn't drag. It ramps up at a good speed and seems to know when it needs to throw in curveballs to keep things from getting repetitive. It's a well-paced ride that I think most RPG fans will enjoy.

Visually it is more "8-bit in your memories" than actually 8-bit, but it's consistent and I think doesn't egregiously betray the vibe it's going for. I really enjoyed the enemy designs in the battles, as they're detailed, cool, and very much old-school. Probably more 16-bit than 8-bit, but I'm already getting tired of being a pedant about that so I'm not going to bring it up again. The soundtrack sticks to the rules and it actually rules. Very good tunes in this game, which I think is vital to a good RPG.

Overall, I was genuinely surprised by how good 8-Bit Adventures 2 was. I've played tons of RPGs, and thanks to my work as a Kemcologist I have devoured more generic RPGs than any human ever should. I initially feared that this game would be one more, so imagine my delight when it turned out to be one of the more satisfying indie games in the genre that I've played. If you like this genre, I highly recommend 8-Bit Adventures 2.

Switch Score: 4.5/5

[parkersrevenge]

An Open Letter to my Ex-Best Friend

I’ve never once posted about any of this publicly, but since you and others have, I feel like I should at least clear the air. I feel stupid even putting this on a public forum, I'm way too old for this. But this whole situation was complicated, and it honestly felt nice to have it all written out at last:

Dear Sarah,

Sometimes, friends grow apart. Sometimes we find ourselves in different places in our lives, and they aren’t always compatible. I didn’t want to down-grade our friendship. We just had very different definitions of what friendship entailed. I have friends that I haven’t seen or talked to in months–but when we talk again it’s like nothing has changed. I don’t love them any less than the people I talk to every day. And damn it, I loved you deeply

But every time we talked, every time we hung out, I couldn’t find the connection and companionship that always felt so easy before. And that was not your fault. It absolutely wasn’t. We were just naturally drifting apart. I was in a relationship, with a large friend group, and every time I tried to include you in it you never seemed to want to. I tried to include you in dnd–you rarely ever attended. I tried to invite you to group hangouts–you never wanted to go into town. And I don’t blame you for that. I never blamed you for being introverted, but it wasn’t my responsibility to drag you kicking and screaming into sociability either. You blamed me for not being invited to another person’s birthday party–that wasn’t my call. You got upset when I would forget to update you about what was going on in the mutual friend groups we were in, when you never made any effort to stay included.

Most damningly, you never made any effort to befriend my partner for years, and only tried when we started to drift apart. You wanted me all to yourself. You wanted us to be inseparable, like we had been before. And I will always cherish those days. But in my late 20s, I was settling down into a life you didn’t want for yourself. I know we both wanted to be a part of each other’s lives, but had very different ideas of what that would look like. I cannot blame you for that. But I refuse to blame myself for it, either, when neither of us could find a compromise that made us both happy.

I know you’ll probably never see this, but I do want you to know that I am sorry for the things that I know I did wrong. I was immature. I did ghost you, when I was too much of a coward to express all this in person. I did stop putting effort in. And I’m sorry. I’ll never be able to fix that, and I know that broke your heart. I am truly, deeply sorry, and you have every right to never forgive me for it.

But I never lied to you. And if you still blame me for everything wrong with the torpedoing of our friend group, and not Mike, then it is definitely for the best that this friendship is over. Because in the end, whether you like it or not, you chose to ultimately side with a transphobic bully who made everyone uncomfortable at every opportunity, and his ex-girlfriend who coddled and protected him over doing what was right. At every stage early on I tried to make things right with her, but I could not–I WOULD NOT–apologize to him. And because of that, she chose to blacklist me when the inciting incident wasn’t even MY IDEA.

And that’s not my anxiety and low self-esteem. Mike was a cruel man, who found joy in making people upset. How many times did we vent and cry together over how horrible he made us both feel? And if defending myself, my partner, and what I thought were my friends, against his bullying makes me the villain? I accept that. I’d gladly do it again.

 I don’t even know why I’m writing this. I guess there’s a part of me that hopes that you might see it. Maybe it’ll at least bring us both some closure. But if not, I just want to end with this: I am genuinely apologizing for the things I absolutely did wrong, but I am also not going to accept fault for everything that went wrong. That's simply not the reality of the situation.

Most importantly, I do hope you’re having a good life. I really mean that. I do think about you a lot. I miss you. I genuinely want you to be happy.

I really hope you are.

[oldsalempost-blog]

The Old Salem Post

   Our  Local Tamassee-Salem SC Area News each Monday except holidays                                          Contact: theoldsalempost@gmail.com                              Distributed to local businesses, town hall, library.                                                Volume 7 Issue 21                                                                                                Week of May 22, 2023               https://www.tumblr.com/settings/blog/oldsalempost-blog                                                         Lynne Martin Publishing

EDITOR: We all deal with something. The story was told of a woman dealing with the most horrible case of eczema that covered her face and entire body.  It was painful.  But more painful was how she was treated, like a leper, an outcast, and was even shouted at with disgust.  The woman deals with this everyday of her life. With her gracious forgiving heart of understanding, she once told a minister. “ Everyone is dealing with something.  Sometimes it shows, and sometimes you can’t see it.” LRM  

Town of SALEM:  Town Hall, Library and offices Closed Monday for Memorial Day.  

SALEM LIBRARY: Check out the Summer activities and reading programs!                    

Jottings from Jeannie:     Calming Advice   This can be a frantic time with ending of the school year, graduations, celebrations, as well as changes in the economy that have us digging in the bottom of our pockets and purses every time we make a purchase to come up with extra cash. An old adage advises "change what you can and learn to accept that which you cannot change." Accepting less than we expected requires a practicing some learned skills. 1) Close your eyes.  Gently massage your temples as you slowly breathe in and out. 2) Search out your household pets that your have been ignoring.  Kitties & puppies need loving, and petting them will calm you down. 3)  If you can't change a troubling situation, alter the way you look at it.  Maybe a happy solution will take longer-- or maybe a solution is developing that will dissolve the problem like a popped bubble! Hey!  You Sultans of Salem! You Tinker Bells of Tamassee! Miz Jeannie Loves You and Prays for you Everyday!

JOCASSEE VALLEY BREWING COMPANY,(JVBC) & COFFEE SHOP 13412 N Hwy 11 Open  Wed–Sat-Sat 8am-9pm.  Sun: 12pm-7pm  Events this week: Thurs: Goat Yoga outside, Kiss My Asada Food Truck and The Old Time Jam 6pm.   Fri– Food: Kodesh BBQ and Bowls  Music: The Letter Show  at 6:30pm.  Sat–Food: Iron Pig  Music:  Double Naught Spies at 6:30pm.  Sun  12pm-7pm Food:  Wing Wagon   Music:  Tuba Gin at 4pm.  Open Monday Memorial Day 12pm-7pm Food:   The Lettuce Shop  **Shop Coffee shop features Pisgah Coffee Roasters and Dough-Dough pastries.                                                            

                HEALTH CORNER                                                                                   Beverly Exercise– Tune in to Beverly Exercise on WGGS, Channel 16 at 6am for spiritual and physical encouragement.  You will delight in this wonderful Christian lady. She teaches and models pure nourishment for our body and soul.  

The Optimist Creed , a poem written by Christian Lawson, in 1912.                     It is also a published book.                                                                                  To Promise Yourself:                                                                                             To be so strong that nothing can disturb your peace of mind.  To talk health, happiness, and prosperity to every person you meet.  To make all your friends feel that there is something in them. To look at the   sunny side of everything and make your optimism come true.  To think only of the best, to work only for the best, and to expect only the best.  To be just as enthusiastic about the success of others as you are about your   own.  To forget the mistakes of the past and press on to the greater achievements of the future. To wear a cheerful countenance at all times and give every living creature you meet a smile. To give so much time to the improvement of yourself that you have no time to criticize others. To be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear, and too happy to permit the presence of trouble.

Optimism helps us hope toward a future, and treat trials as temporary situations that we can get through.  Optimism is strength to push on rather than give up.   I search and find optimism through God’s promises.      LRM

ASHTON RECALLS:  Here is more of Pauline Kelley Cannon's story:              DAR SCHOOL STUDENT FROM 1942-46 RECALLS EXPERIENCES - (Tenth Installment of Pauline Kelley Cannon's Memoir). . .Meanwhile, a new school building was under construction right across the road. It had much more room for classes than the old building. . .When it was finished Mr. Cain made a movie of us moving the desks, tables and other furniture. We were so proud of that new building. . .Some of the high school teachers were Mrs. Allie Crouch, typing; Mrs. Dendy, librarian; Miss Timmerman, general science and biology; Miss Murdock, algebra and home economics; Mrs. Dupree, music and Glee Club; Miss Hester, English; Mr. Dupree, literature; and Mr. Riehle, shop. . .The grammar school classes were taught by Mrs. Cain, Miss McCrory, and Mildred Carter. . .I am not sure I named all the right teachers in the right classes. . .The last two years I was there--the third and fourth years--my job was serving tables three times a day and making sure the girls kept their rooms clean, brushed their teeth, took their baths, etc. They would always have excuses why they didn't have time to get it all done. . .THE THIRD YEAR, Mr. Dupree and Miss Murdock carried the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts on a camping trip to Camp Sleepy Hollow, located off Highway 76 just below Chechero Church. That night we hiked into Clayton, Ga. to see a movie, "Forever Yours," a love story. . .After the movie Ernest Cannon asked me to walk back with him. He had been dating a girl by the name of Pearl Pelfrey, but they had broken up for some reason I was not aware of. The next day when we were returning to Tamassee on the bus he saved a seat for me, and from that time on we were sweethearts.--TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK

 EAGLES NEST ART CENTER , 501c3, 4 Eagle Lane, Salem                        100% unpaid directors and volunteers                                                                                                                   

BLUEGRASS GOSPEL: June 17, 2023, 7pm-9pm. Celebrating our culture and roots with Chatuga Ridge, featuring the harmony of Mark and Jody Vissage, from Mountain Rest, and Salem native, banjo and vocalist,  John Oliver, and possibly more to come!  Get your Saturday night date for a great gospel night. Tickets will be $10 on line at eaglesnestartcenter.org/ticketleap or purchased for $10 at the door.     Call 864-280-1258                                                                OCONEE MOUNTAIN OPRY:  July 15, 2023 at 7pm-9pm.  Details next edition    TALENT SHOWCASE– August 12, 2023– Share your talents for an evening of fun and entertainment.     Email eaglesnestartcenter@gmail.com.  Tickets  $5  will be purchased day of the event at the door.                  

                                          CHURCH NEWS                                                Boones Creek Baptist Church will hold Vacation Bible School  June 4th-8th from   6pm- 8:15 pm. Ages 4 thru teenagers.  The theme this year is Stellar " Shine Jesus' Light". Any questions or more information contact Darlene at 864-710-8758                                                                                                                        Salem United Methodist Church:  Message this week as we celebrated Ascension Sunday, where Jesus returned to heaven 40 days after his resurrection leaving his disciples to be witnesses, eye witnesses, to the mission of the Gospel.  We each are called to be a witness to what God has done in our lives as we deal with trials.   We all need to share our own eye-witness experiences of how God has helped us and been present through the valleys of our lives.                                                                                                                  Acts 1: 8b “You will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.”             

PRAYER: Help us know our trials empower us to be true witnesses for others to see Christ.  In Jesus’ name. Amen

No paper next week due to the Memorial holiday.                                              Our hope comes from the Lord.    LRM