#ex likes gaslighting

[rainbow-wolf120]

"The past will always catch up to you."

Bonus live Ramon reaction:

[abnormalpsychology]

[unovaslankiite]

Prolly gonna be my one and only rwde post (cus the fanbase is rancid and I'm not rlly a rwby fan, just a person who watches the show): some of you rwby fans are too comfortable using your queerness as a shield to silence BIPOC voices about the racist writing and your 'precious' bigoted CRWBY. You guys unironically act/think that just because you have to deal with queerphobia; you are IMMUNE to being bigoted yourself and you are INCAPABLE of parroting bigoted beliefs. Cus I know there will be a dumbass ant1-rwde posters who will try to drown out this post by saying its 'lies from the EVIL RWDE!!!': You would rather weaponize your queerness to bash on BIPOC voices, while claiming to care about our voices. You would rather be complicit with the racist writers and their racist writing, just because your racist writers gave you a queer ship. There is no shame nor issue in projecting the abused you suffered onto the characters, however you refuse to see through the characters and their writing through a BIPOC lens. You do not get the right to impose your perspective of the characters at the expense of BIPOC voices, you do not get to twist our voices to be alt-right bigots because we called out RWBY's rampant racism. You do not get the right to say you give a shit about BIPOC and have #BLM in your bio when you fervently defend your bigoted company. You do not get to pretend to care about racism when you buy merch off of your bigoted company. My fellow BIPOC (especially the queer BIPOC): why are you guys so comfortable dismissing your fellow poc about their discomfort with RWBY's racist writing? BIPOC are not a monolith with the same opinions about racism in media; but some of you guys are weirdly comfortable with turning a blind eye to your fellow BIPOC getting dogpiled by the white fandom. We can and will disagree, you not agreeing as a BIPOC about RWBY's racist writing is not what I take issue with. The issue lies within you upholding the racial colourblindness in the fandom; like how the fandom was ok with throwing the racism under the bus in favour of queerness, you are ok with throwing your BIPOC peers under the bus for white queerness. Sincerely, a POC who has been watching the fandoms rampant racism problem ever since 2019.

[terrence-silver]

Hey could i make a request please. Terry X fem reader, her former abuser comes back into her life to torment her all over again and Terry buts them in their place and destroys them physically, mentally, financially and when it's all over they'll thank him.

Jerry and Terry.

A story of disproportionate revenge; Terry Silver x Fem!Reader in the background (with an appearance from John Kreese).

---

Jerry is a man with a common office job and the accidental assonance of their names never fails to amuse Terry.

Infuriate him some.

Jerry and Terry.

Well, Jeremy, in actuality, just another information in the long mosaic line up covering everything he discovered about this schmuck, as much personally as through his sources, not that it was tremendously difficult seeing as how none of these common civilians were ever too much of a mystery anyway, granting him immense satisfaction in the hunt nonetheless — but the punk’s name might as well be worm or cockroach, because that’s in effect what he was, leaning over Colorado Street, in Pasadena, a two hour drive from LA, the July summer air after midnight still hot, the asphalt seeming to let off steams of a searing, stifling sensation, the cool breeze blown in from the Arroyo barely reaching the isolated steel ledge secluded from the buzz of the traffic; the city long since planned to put to preventive nets over the bridge — Terry should know because he personally funded the project with a generous donation and it was hilarious how life had a weird way of falling into place and connecting in the most bizarre ways on a bridge of occasional suicides where your ex was standing, hands in pockets, staring down into the dark depths of the river below, no such net in sight just yet except for a couple of signs issuing a warming that it was dangerous to lean over the railings, nothing separating him from the flowing abyss below. Him and the Mayor shook hands on the business venture two years ago. The news even reported on it with all the adulation in the world. Terry’s picture was in the paper. He was all over the news — long enough to distract from all his other ventures. But, it was one of those urban landscaping deals that would dawn on the news and then take years, perhaps decades, to be actually realized. Meant that Jerry could jump — and there would be nothing to save him from doing so. No cameras installed for security measures just yet either. Maintenance. Terry knew, because this was Terry’s city.

Terry’s country and State.

Nobody in sight right at this moment.

Merely a narrow concrete path along the bridge for pedestrians.

Terry, the stranger, snug in his leather jacket, not minding the heat, pretending to be an innocent bypasser.

Truth of the matter was, he ruined this man’s life and he developed the progression of the slow decay all along the way with great interest and like a cat eagerly eying a moving red string, Terry’s effortlessly led him here, deliberately, right to this very place, this very spot, on this very night, on this very bridge and the guy never even realized he had no say in any of it or that none of it was an accident. Jeremy got let off of work. Accused of embezzlement. Embroidered in schemes. In debt. Reputation ruined. Social circle gone. All that jazz. All the classics. And Terry did it all. Weaved it all. And it culminated in this. Do a flip, he thought to himself, approaching the man under the headlights, leisurely, acting like someone who accidentally stumbled upon a scene he wasn’t supposed to stumble upon, en route to somewhere else, haunting the city, stopping in his tracks, behind a steel pillar, watching Jerry climb over the ledge; He could say something now. It would've been expected. A hastily thrown in 'Hey, you there! Stop!' or 'Hey, you! Don't do it! Lets talk, man! Life can be good, actually. It can be good when you're not crossing Terry Silver, that is.' Something faux-poignant. Something mean. Something mocking. Something distracting or even infuriating to bait the man into arguing rather than hurting himself. Anything, so long as it distracts and causes the man to hesitate and think twice, but it’s only once Jerry’s heel is slipping over the edge of the pipe he was perched up on does Terry act, allowing himself to smile from where he's standing, seamlessly, feeling his mouth twitch upward, watching the shadow disappear over the railing into the darkness of the night. The next day, there's a suicide report briefly on the news and you never even catch it in the whirlwind of all the other crime circulating in the media. Your asshole ex, identified by his wallet and the documentation found in his soaked interior pocket, fished out by the loading docks. Just another statistic.

-"So, what he’d do?"-

John asked him on one occasion when Terry told him of his plans.

-"Nothing much."- Terry slings his arm over his driver seat leisurely, chuckling. He didn't treat you as well as you deserved? Tried to occasional get in contact with you again and stay on, quote-unquote 'good terms'. What did that even mean? Good terms? Wasn't that enough to warrant execution? Terry thought it was. It was a crappy, mediocre relationship and nobody had to put their hands on you for Terry to be convinced that deserved payback. Not to mention --- the said entanglement wasted your time. Time that would've been better spent with him if you weren't busy wasting it with some Jerry. Revenge. Reason for revenge, right there. They were parked near Griffith Observatory, in the embrace of a forested path, all zig-zags and steep rocks, the skyline of the city visible from a nearby slope, offering them both a view and sufficient privacy to talk. -"I just want him to die."- Terry confess bluntly, nearly cackling as the words rolled off of his tongue, sensing something exciting coil around in his gut like so many butterflies, seeing no reason to hide these things from his Captain after everything they've been through together and John gives him a lopsided, paternal smile, halfway critical, halfway entertained, like he was about to throw in the talk.

-"Terry…"-

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head and Terry instantly protests.

Show mercy!? Why!? Since when were they the mercy-showing types!?

-"What? What!?"-

He finds himself whining slamming the palm of his hand against the backrest of the leather seats, feeling his own face furrow up. -"C’mon, Johnny!"- He sighs profoundly, rolling his eyes, annoyed and exasperated. This was some prime-time bullshit. -"Don’t you dare tell me that you never wanted anyone someone you loved loved before you to just, you know…"- He starts, trailing off, digging his teeth into his lower lip. Savoring the moment. -"Drop dead?"- He says it then, and it tastes so sweet, like caramel coated candy dipped in white powder. Terry knew all about Johnny nearly beating his beloveds Betsy's then-beau halfway to death on the parking lot of the Deli he worked in before the army. They were exactly the same, him and John Kreese. A Cobra doesn't tolerate competition. It's not in it's nature to. John says nothing. Almost as if contemplating that memory himself, looking off into the distance, pulling up the collar of his brown vest jacket on the passenger seat beside him, his face crinkling into a grim smile, not saying yes but not saying no either. Terry has the odd impulse to kick his feet up in the air in a flash of euphoria. -"We could always rough him up. Scare him. Hurt him, make him piss his pants and call it a day. I'm available for that."- John murmurs, the deep rumbling sound emanating from his throat recognized only as a suppressed chuckle. Terry grabs John by the shoulder and shakes him in excitement, halfway hugging him in joy. While kicking that Creature to a pulp did sound exciting it wasn't part of the plan. -"My man! Now we're talking! But, that would only martyr him!"- Terry lifts up his hands, engrossed in his own imagination. He felt more comfortable and content if this guy was just wiped out of existence altogether. Like, hit by a moving bus, perhaps. A guy that put his dick inside of you before being alive and well out there? Yeah. Unacceptable. -"No."- Terry says with a sense of looming doom. -"This is so final. There’s no coming back from it. And what’s best?"- He pauses slightly for dramatic timing, presenting the whole picture to John the way a storyteller would describe the synopsis of his newest magnum opus.

-"I’ll ensure he’ll do to himself."-

Six months into this special project and Terry never once put his hands on Jeremy. Could've. Itched to. But, he didn't. If Jerry deteriorated, it's because he ruined himself. With every drink, every cigarette and every sleepless, stressful night in tow. All Terry did was set events in motion and brought about the right environments for someone to start feeling profoundly unhappy.

-"I've put him through enough pain and now it's time to go to sleep."-

There can be only one, he almost halfway desires to add but he withholds at the last moment once he spots a shift on John's face --- that he didn't need any more convincing. Maybe it was an old habit --- an army habit --- but whenever Terry seriously wanted to end someone, he always came to Johnny first. To discuss the matter. Strategize. Get his greenlight from his Captain to go out into the field and terminate with extreme prejudice. That's how the hierarchy worked. Terry would do whatever he wanted anyway irregardless of John but he supposed he wanted to let him know. For old times sake. Reason why he invited him to meet here today. That and to gloat. -"Alright, Terry. If you say so."- John smiles that gruff smile of his, finally capitulating and Terry finally allows himself to breathe again after what seemed like an eternity of anticipation, letting himself be as jubilant as he wanted, turning the key in the ignition along with the steering wheel almost immediately, ready to get a move on, wasting not a second longer. There was a five star restaurant just down the road with their name on it. -"Of course I say so, Johnny! What I say is best!"- He exclaims, one hand on the wheel and another on the back of his John's neck, patting him triumphantly. Enough talk. Time to crack open the bottles before the big bang. You knew he was out with his oldest friend. You merely didn't know the context, is all. -"Reservations at five. Lets go grab that chow and celebrate!"- Terry practically shouts in euphoria, throwing a joyous glance at John, making a sharp U-turn. -"Ever ate a turkey stuffed with a chicken that's stuffed with a quail!?"- He snickers, knowing for a fact that Johnny would probably need everything in him not to roll his eyes at the option of orders, but regardless, he lived for treating his Captain to the finer things, just like he lived for removing each and every person from your past until nobody but him remains. Him, representing the future. -"I'd prefer plain good old bacon and some beer."- John mutters with a small, fox-like grin just like Terry knew he would, taking a relish in poking and prodding at him anyway. His Captain's wish is his command. They'd have so much to toast for today.

-"Done, baby!"-

Is all Terry says, laughing as he speeds away, down the woodland highway.

---

When you discover the news because he effectively tells you, deciding to control when and how the information reaches and that it might as well reach you from his own mouth, naturally, as expected, your mood turns gloomy. For days. Weeks. More time wasted and he despised it, deciding to immediately take you on a cruise of the Bahamas to distract you from it, but deciding tactically that you just had to ride it out. And you did. Week two on the deck of his yacht, eventually, slumped, looking out to the ocean, knees against your chest sitting on deck, you decide to speak. -"Terry, this will be such a weird thing to say."- You stutter, unsure of yourself and yet he's there, tracking your every movement and expression like a sonar radar. -"Maybe even meanspirited."- Will it now? Good. You were about to get whatever useless thing was still lodged in your system out of yourself. He's by your side, sitting beside you, looking at you intently, not wanting to miss a thing. -"But, I'm oddly glad I got out on time. That I met you."- You confess, holding back tears. Wasn't easy discovering that your ex was practically six figures in debt and wanted on several charges and that if you stayed with him, it would've reflected on you as well. Dragged you down with him. To the bottom of river Arroyo. That's what your pretty little head thought and Terry coos, massaging the edge of your scalp in gentle motions with his fingers, letting that beautiful brain below think whatever he wanted it to think. Oh, he loved you so. You were made for the greenest of pastures. For him. -"He would've destroyed his life as well as my own and I'm relieved the universe moved me out of the way when it did. That it brought me you. Thank you."- Ah. There it was. There were tears in your eyes flowing freely and you were thanking him, never even realizing you were unknowingly expressing gratitude that he effectively crapped all over your ex's life and led him to suicide. Stood by and watched while he did a triple Salto off of a bridge. The blood and the heat shoots down into his cock. How could it not? In any other situation he would've dragged Jerry's waterlogged swollen carcass fished out of the river at your feet and present it to you like a cat presents its owner a dead mouse. -"He was never bad towards me, exactly. But, he was never fully good either, you know? But, definitely not bad enough to deserve this."- Oh, Terry knew alright. It is just that he considered that your ex not being fully good towards you was a capital offense that found it's equivalent payback only in death. So, yeah. Punk deserved it.

Had it long time coming.

-"Is that fucked up and evil of me? To feel relieved I left on time? I feel so awful it's crazy! A man died!"-

A weak, nuisance man died, Terry wants to correct, but instead he settles into the act of collecting your tears with the tip of his fingers, letting none of them escape, feigning outrage, yet partially feeling said emotion in it's most genuine capacity; Jeremy died! Fuck sake, who cares! This guilt would evaporate and you'd find it fading overtime, because he'd be here to ensure it fades; there was almost nothing meaningfully positive for you to vindicate or romanticize and far too much crappy and mediocre to actually mourn or remember fondly. That was the good thing about measly, middle-of-the-road, middling, lukewarm individuals; too grey to be turned into saints and too grey to be turned into devils. The only thing one could do with them, whether one wanted to or not is to forget them. Where he could easily replace them and everyone else you ever trifled with, usurping their very vacancy and every emotion sent their way, be it good or bad. All of it. Only his. -"Fucked up!? Huh!? No way! It's not! Are you even listening to yourself!?"- He shakes his head vigorously, letting his disapproval grow visible, pulling you close, until the side of your body melts with his and you're effectively there, drying up your tears in his embrace, the open sea breeze against you. Terry grabs your face with both hands, making you look at him. -"You wanted a normal, stable life! Of course you did! Who wouldn't!?"- Terry explains, separating his gaze from you for but a second to point the tip of his nose out towards the blue expanse of the sunlit Atlantic.

[angels444yuri]

i'll never forget how i felt the day i deactivated my christian sideblog. it really was the most freeing thing ever & i don't think i'll ever experience something like that again

[etheral-moon]

"I need you" No you need timeout and psychiatric help.

[seuonji]

my ex messaged me today n i fucking hate him so much! but anyways look at these stickers i made they’re funny.

[the-dragon-hearted]

Part 2

There is a universe, somehow, where Silco drowns again.

It's not a quick sort of thing - never is. That time he spent under the waves, tasting the sick concoction of Piltover filth and Zaun's rot, it may have been the longest moments of his life. Vander's hands around his throat didn't help in that regard.

This drowning is... different.

The decay of Zaun's dying streets is still there: the taste of his home akin to a corpse. It's curling up on itself after too much abuse and crying for justice. The stench of Piltover is there too: metals and shoe polish. Smoke too... if he went up to the surface and took a breath he'd smell Vander's last moments of glorious violence.

He doesn't.

He stays in his office below the waves, the river waters twisting the light into geometric patterns that dance around the sad conglomeration of lost souls. He's... drowning, and it fills him with familiar rage. This helplessness. This confusion. The same damn question ripping into his brain like a certain mouse into his late cat.

Why, Vander. Why?

What did he do to deserve... this?

The wily witty one, Mylo, sits at Silco's desk, at its corner. He's spinning a pencil around mindlessly, staring at the fish through the glass. Claggor's taken a seat on the floor, close to the door but out of harm's way should it slam open. He's taken to picking at his sleeves, suffering in the silence that must be drowning them all.

Silco doesn't quite care to change that. He's drafting letters to critical players in his game and prestigious business partners (he's sticking his head in the dirt and hoping that if he tries hard enough it'll all go away).

The blue girl, Powder, she has no qualms with breaking the silence, humming away an old lullaby. A pathetic sort of call for Piltover's better nature, a reminder of the siblinghood between Zaun and her filthy brother of a nation. Powder doesn't know that, she just knows it at Felicia's lullaby - perhaps Vi's lullaby. She was too young to remember much of Felicia, surely. She's snatched one of Silco's nicer pens and taken a seat next to her sister, intent on taking that mechanical pen apart. Vi is unnaturally still, staring into space when ever Silco dares to glance at her.

He's glancing at all of them, like a cornered rat. Which is wrong in itself. He's the danger here - likely more dangerous than any enforcer the children could've run into. Yet they lounge, unsure of what else to do and far too shaken to question.

What Silco would give for Vander to kick down the door. What he would give to see that familiar rage burning in the man's eyes as he demanded to know where his children were. Only then would the world make sense again.

Silco would grab Mylo - the boy was the closest - and the knife in his desk was always in arm's reach. Vander would trade himself for one of the children and there the plan would all fall back into place. Vander, helpless. The children, dead. Silco, victorious, his vengeance complete and Zaun's future ensured.

Instead, he's playing office worker with four awkward orphans.

Why, Vander? Why him.

Of all the people - of all the requests -

The door flies open and Silco hates how his heart soars. The children jump to defensive positions in a familiar dance they've all learned from Vander. Big ones protect the younger. Weapons are whatever you have handy. Look mean - look tough. Don't show them you're scared.

It's not Vander, it's Sevika. She's hardly in the room before the exclamation leaves her shocked lips: "Vander's dea-"

She cuts off as her eyes snap to Vi, the biggest and brightest colored of the bunch. It seems even the ever-ready Sevika is shocked silent by this... ridiculous situation.

"Sevika?" Vi manages in desbelief.

Silco's newest enforcer looks to him for direction. Oh, joyous reunions all around. Silco leans back in his chair and throws her a scathing look.

"Sevika, say hello to our guests," he emphasizes, massaging his head.

This is a nightmare, somehow. It should've been the greatest turn of events - a ridiculous stroke of luck from a dead man's foolishness. Instead, it's a weight around Silco's neck, heavier than any hand. Trust. A fickle, dangerous thing.

A heavy thing.

Sevika does not say hello. She takes a long look at all the children and then stared incredulously at Silco, it doesn't take a mind reader to guess what she's asking.

What the fuck is going on, Silco?

He'd like to ask a certain someone the same thing, but apparently, Sevika heralded the news he'd expected and dreaded.

"You have news on Vander," he supposed.

Sevika shook her head with a sharp scoff of disbelief: "Yeah. He's dead. The enforcers just shot him down a few blocks from the Last Drop."

The children take the news predictably. Quietly, though. None of them speak a word, eyes watering but keeping their jaws clenched. Claggor and Mylo sit back down, Mylo laying back on the desk and spinning his pencil once again. Powder sniffles, trying to muffle her cries. Vi stays standing.

Vander's dead.

This isn't a bad joke. This isn't a trick or a trap or an idiotic attempt at... anything. Vander's dead and he left Silco everything.

He's drowning.

It's Vander's fault again. This time though, things are different. Silco fought his way out of that river, blood running down his face and sickness bubbling out of his lungs. A baptism of pain and betrayal - he'd walked away with a purpose: the same determination a gnawing fox has to escape a trap that caught its foot.

Now, there's no determination. There's no direction.

"You wanna tell me what's going on here?" Sevika demands as she saunters into the room and gestures to Vander's four children. Lost and alone and looking to Silco for his answer.

Vi's watching him closely, hands closing into a fist. She doesn't trust him, maybe she knows something. Maybe she's smart enough to recognize that Vander's friends wouldn't take the news of his death with a smile. She's hurting. She's angry. She's moments away from snapping - just like Vander would be in her place, but she stays quiet for the younger one behind her.

"I assume you mean our guests," Silco hums as he looks away from Vander's successor. There is a smile on his face, but it's one of necessity. He doesn't know how to feel so he settles on the reliable guise of amused near-apathy. It keeps him confident and all others unnerved.

Sevika throws him a very demanding look. She thinks he has the answers.

"Vander sent them," Silco muses after a moment, pretending to return back to his work. "It seems I'll be looking after them for the immediate future."

It slips out of him as easily as blood from a head wound. It trickles to the floor and stays there, staining the soles of his shoe with... sentimentality. And yet the moment he says it, the confusion eases.

Sevika is staring at him in disbelief. Mylo and Vi are watching him something... softer.

Relief.

This doesn't change anything - if anything it makes his path clearer. Vander's out of the equation. With proof of his backing, his territory and his sympathizers open themselves to Silco like clams in boiling water. The children are... useful.

They're Vander's. No point in killing them now that the old Hound is dead. Silco's never been one for waste... they'll be capable and useful.

This changes nothing.

"We'll move into his territory tomorrow. His absence will leave certain fools the fester," the order seems to relieve some of Sevika's nerves too. She likes plans of action.

"We're going home?" It's Powder who asks it, hope in her teary voice.

Silco manages a dry chuckle: "If only it could be so simple."

There will be turf wars, at least until Silco utilizes some of his more... useful tactics. Hopefully, Vander's softer alliances will be sympathetic to the children. They'll have to stomach Silco. It's taking a breath of fresh air as his mind begins to churn again: reworking his plans around the children and their painfully reminiscent late Father.

Like he said: they're useful. That's enough.

He can make it mutually beneficial, while not completely forsaking the words on that damn napkin he has half a mind to burn.

This changes nothing.

[melien]

[jlf23tumble]

Louis sounded so resigned talking about larry like yeah this will follow me forever nothing I can say will stop it. Larry real or not doesn't matter because the rumors bother him either way.

He DID seem resigned about it, which I guess is good? But yeah, it's sad for him, I would guess--just imagine having to deal with that, constantly, no matter what happened.

[100percentdirtball]

and the pounding in the street

was your heart // in 4/4 time

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

Hey CJ 👋 I hope you’re doing well in life.

I’m on the same page as you, when it comes to taking a step back from TWDG & the fandom. And, coming back to the games after sometime & seeing it in a different light. Some things that didn’t click with you back then, makes a bit more sense now.

Also, I’m curious.. what are thoughts on true colors? Steph & Ryan? 👀

Hello, my friend! 👋 Been a while! But yeah, I'm doing fine; a lot of the usual work with writing fic and blog posts in between.

Yeah it's funny to step away from a fandom you're so engrossed in for so long, like twdg was such a huge part of my life back in 2018-2020 with me running this blog, writing fic, and streaming. Now I'm just in a completely different headspace in general, and looking at the games now, they're still amazing but my reasonings are different. Also I talk about the comics a lot, which isn't something I would've guessed I'd be doing. If you go back to when they were announced, I made posts being like "yeeeeeah I dunno if I'm gonna read them :/" jokes on me. I read them multiple times, I need to make that useful haha.

As for LiS True Colors, I actually super loved it?? way more than I ever did the first LiS game?? though I think I might've loved it for the wrong reasons. I don't know, I haven't actually looked into what LiS fans thought of it compared to the other games, but for me it was a "perfect time, perfect place" game in the moment. To me the whole thing was nearly a perfect escapism game; the music is an A+, the entire town is gorgeous and covered in flowers and woods, Alex gets to live in a nice apartment for free [the true fantasy], there's a whole LARP campaign to play through, a flower festival where I've never been so conflicted on who to give a rose to, and overall just the coziest vibes. I swear, I spent most of the game just wandering around the town looking at all the flowers, it was great.

Like if Gabe didn't die and True Colors was just about Alex moving to this fantasy-like small town and working through her issues with the help of her powers, I would've been 100% on board. I didn't mind the mystery, though I totally guessed Jed would be the twist villain given the first episode immediately presents him as a hero who saved a bunch of people in the mines, I was like "Oh did he now... mmhmmm mmhmmm and he's Ryan's dad, oohhh he's gonna be this game's Jefferson-" except he was done better than Jefferson imo. He didn't turn into a cartoon character and his motivations behind the cover up were interesting. He didn't do it for the aesthetic like Jefferson did. And in the end I got everyone to side with me, except Charlotte because I told her to take the money so she wanted to speak out but couldn't, which was honestly fine with me like take their money, send Ethan to college, we'll stab Typhon just fine without your vocal support.

I liked most of the characters, except for Diane and Mac, though I reluctantly disliked Mac less by the end... Diane can suck an egg, though. I don't think I've ever wanted to throw a character out a window more than when Alex came back all bloodied with a bullet wound on her head as she exposed the truth and when she asks why no one's saying anything, Diane just goes, "We don't want to embarrass you" kjlkajdslkjalkjdl LADY DON'T PISS ME OFF

As for Ryan and Steph, I liked them both, trying to choose between them was absurdly difficult. It was like True Colors saw how easily I picked between Louis and Violet and took it as a challenge to create Ryan and Steph specifically to stump me. I mean, soft boy who loves nature, goes out of his way to be kind and helpful to those around him, has a slow build up to being emotionally available with someone he trusts, and has some daddy issues? A girl with pretty brown eyes who loves DnD and LARP, has a passion for music and will deflect with humor, who knows who she is and is eager to help those around her, and who isn't just another rehash of Chloe? They knew what they were doing; they dressed Steph up in as a witch after having Ryan act like a goof acting like enemy creatures, they were made for me.

Having done both routes, I do prefer Steph. I adore her and Alex together, but Alex and Ryan are super cute, too.

It's not a perfect game and there are issues in the writing but honestly, I don't care. I had a good time. I was engaged. I looked at every single flower and kissed a pretty girl so good that the world exploded. What a great game.

[pissfizz]

A little psa for those of you interested in having multiple partners at once cuz apparently this isn’t common sense for a lot of people but if you do not tell and get explicit consent from all of your partners you are not polyamorous, just a fucking cheater

[etheral-moon]

I just got the info that my ex and the girl he said he didn't like are out on a study date. I'm not ok.

[juniestar]

Oh my god one last thing my ex took me to outside lands and when we tried to watch lana del rey he laid down on the grass and had a “panic attack” (this was after months of him talking about how he didn’t like her) so we went to see foo fighters after a bit and he was FINE