Birthday: September 3rd (Virgo)
Height: 5'2" (157.48 cm)
Body Type: Tiny
Hair Colour: Black
Eye Colour: Gold
Favourite Colour: Yellow
Favourite Food: Cottage Pie, Strawberry Crumble, Shitty Gas Station Pizza.
Flower Symbolism: Buttercups, Daisies.
Favourite Game: Any fighting games, Guilty Gear and Tekken being top ones.
Demeanour: Neutral - Bratty. Friendly overall.
Grades: Straight A* student with Distinction in Math and Science.
Future Plans: Wants to be an LPN or Phlebotomist. Get out of this shitty town with her boyfriend. Maybe have a family.
Friends: Robin, Sydney
Boyfriend: Whitney
Stalker: Kylar Imprisoned.
Demon Mark
Pretends it's a tattoo, appeared when she hit puberty.
I think the thing that frustrates me the most is that people are so quick to give Vrel the benefit of the doubt, as if hes some hapless bystander and not the main creator of the game, regularly going out of his way to protect Puri. Hes literally friends with the guy.
Vrel has been and probably will always be Puris spineless enabler. "why isnt Vrel doing anything?" Because he doesnt care, next question.
Theyre literally pulling a good cop, bad cop routine and whats even more embarrassing is that it works. I see soooo many people take both his and puris statements at face value, or feeling bad for the guy. This isnt some: you kick Puri out and everything will be sunshine and rainbows situation - it never is. We wouldnt have this problem to begin with otherwise.
Vrel repeatedly going "dont be mean to puri" was enough to show me that this guy ain’t shit. didn’t think he was shit the first time I played the game (10% skin color slider being the default. More blonde hair shades than brown, no black or dark brown eyes, the weird skin color options, barely any kinky/curly hair) but that has solidified further with every new instance of rancid bullshit he lets slide.
You seriously think Vrel isnt aware of Puri dropping the N-word, slurs and other racist or homophobic shit in a public server??? (Which has been conveniently scrubbed clean of the multiple instances where Puri threw around the n-word. how curious)
Puri has openly been racist, transphobic and homophobic and (and god knows what else. This guy seems to pride himself on collectiong bigotry flavors like pokemon. Not surprising considering hes literally named PurityGuy) is now openly dabbling in neo-nazi sentiments and holocaust denial.
This has always been going on and will continue to go on because Vrel doesnt care.
Vrel and the mods in general have repeatedly decided to not take a stance on things, which is statement enough. Hands them this:
Hell, people seem to have already forgotten the IDF Soldier and Israel thing that happened a few months back.
Anways, heres some screenshots i could find. knock yourself out, feel free to add your own on if youd like.
Major triggerwarnings for all around bigotry. You have it all. (apologies i kinda thought most people were already aware)
💛— warnings. Gore, Murder, Desecration of a corpse, shitty friend dynamics, bad end, multiple character deaths
💛— synopsis. You're Robin and you're the worst.
💛— word count. 1262
In the end, you were a terrible friend.
The absolute worst human being. Sabotage was your game, and it went too far this time.
The sickly sweet, almost cherry-like scent of decay wafted from the hole he had dug with a broken shovel. You watched him, his icy blue eyes wide and frantic, clawing at the earth, breaking his fingernails on rocks and garbage mixed in the soil before noticing a shovel missing its handle. He mumbled words between breaths as you watched him, tears in your eyes.
You didn't look, but the smell hit you like a freight train. Bile rose from your throat; you threw up into one of the many piles of garbage in the landfill. He was throwing up somewhere near you, vomiting between sobs that shook his whole body.
He froze when he uncovered a yellow plastic tarp. Carefully, he pulled it back. You knew what was in there; he still had hope you were lying.
He was still, eyes glazed over, staring at the hole.
Whitney, the school bully who also happened to be your best friend's boyfriend, was experiencing the type of grief women in the 1800s wrote about in romance novels. All-consuming and life-changing. The howl of a wounded animal loosed from his throat, and all you could do was watch as he collapsed, screaming and pulling at his blonde hair. He carried on like that for two hours, wailing and thrashing around until he could no longer scream or cry.
He was broken, and this is exactly what you wanted.
But not like this.
Eleanor was dead.
You were useless.
You sat on a broken armchair, threadbare with springs poking through, scraping into your skin.
You didn't kill her yourself, but you might as well have. The deal you made was to get Whitney out of your life. You stole every bit of money Eleanor had saved up and handed it over to the woman who was supposed to be your caretaker.
You're stupid; of course this is how it ended. This is the only way it could have ended.
"Robin," he said after hours of silence. It startled you and made you jump in your seat. He'd never used your name.
The sun, which was at its highest point when you got here, had begun to set. You watched the sky, anything to not answer him.
"Robin," he said again, louder after clearing his throat.
"Ye-yes?" you asked quietly, not looking at him.
"We can't leave her here," he sat up from the fetal position he had assumed for several hours. Grief giving way to a weird sense of duty.
The smell didn't bother either of you anymore.
"How..." you looked at him incredulously. He was obviously crazy now. You'd broken him beyond repair. Just like you wanted.
"The pickup in the back," he looked at you like you were supposed to know what was going on. Like you two were in on something together, partners in crime. After you didn't respond, he continued, "You pull her out of here, and I can wire the truck, take her to the forest."
"I can't. I'm too weak," you were pathetic. Refusing to do what you knew would make her happy.
He took a deep breath. Had this been before, he would have torn you down, been cruel, and laughed at you. What was the point anymore? It looked like he was regulating his emotions, but you knew better. The fire in him had died.
Wordlessly, he started digging.
You didn't help him dig.
You didn't help him manoeuvre her corpse into a rusted wheelbarrow.
You didn't help him load her into the bed of the truck.
Instead, you sat in the stolen truck, staring at yourself in the side mirror. Wind blowing your short brown hair as he drove.
"This isn't fair," he said, knuckles white on the steering wheel. You didn't know he could drive. You hated him too much to learn anything about him.
You didn't respond, but he kept talking.
"Listen, I know I'm a piece of shit," his voice trembled; he tried everything he could to not cry. "I loved her so much. I hope she knew."
"She did," you reply. It was true; she talked about him constantly. Enough to make you sick.
You thought of her back there. Cold, still, and decaying. She must have been terrified before the end. Terrified when all her money was gone. Terrified when she was hauled away in an unmarked van. You had hidden in the loft, you couldn't face her once you knew what you had done. This wasn't even the first time she'd paid for your mistakes. She always did.
"She was everything," he continued.
Thank God you were turning onto the old forest road. You couldn't stand listening to him talk about her like he knew her.
He stopped near a field of flowers you didn't know he even knew about. You and Eleanor had wandered out here from time to time as children to play. You'd be princesses in a flower kingdom. She was the princess of the buttercup kingdom, and once she'd eaten a few and fallen ill. You loved the daisies that consumed the flower patch year after year.
You watched Whitney lay his head on the wheel and cry. You found no joy in it; it wasn't supposed to be this way. You and Eleanor were supposed to leave him behind and live free together. You loved her so much, but she never loved you. She loved this horrible boy.
You followed him like a lost dog.
It took him well into the night to dig a hole that was deep enough with the broken shovel. You sat in the grass, picking flowers to throw on her body once he placed her in the grave.
He couldn't unwrap the tarp. It had been almost a week and wasn't pretty. It would probably haunt him for however long it would be before he killed himself.
He was codependent like you, but she loved it while you had been discarded like trash. You were both going to kill yourselves. Who would crack first? You made a silent pledge to yourself to outlast him. Even though this was all your fault and you were the worst human being in the world, you would live longer.
He had laid her down gently and covered her in the flowers you had picked, which he almost looked thankful for. He knelt down and started talking. Not to you—he was talking to Eleanor and the universe.
"Eleanor," you realized you had never heard him say her actual name instead of a stupid pet name, "I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you. I'm sorry I'm such a fuckup and a burnout and a loser, and you deserved better than me, but you loved me anyway, and I don't know how to go on. I know you would have wanted me to, so I'm gonna try real hard to live without you."
WHAT.
What the fuck.
No.
He can't live after all this. After all you've done to sabotage their relationship, after making a deal with the devil and fucking everything up. You feel the rage bubbling up inside you. This asshole was going to continue living. Her beautiful presence gave him the strength you didn't have. He changed and became a better person, he—
BANG
You hardly understood what had happened. Sprayed with blood, you could only stare at your dress, hands shaking. You're pretty sure you weren't shot, or were you dead already? You felt no pain and felt your heart beating wildly.
The only thing snapping you back into reality was a hard thud.
Whitney had been shot in the head, his viscera spraying in front of him and on to you. His body falling into the grave unceremoniously.
You look in the direction he was most likely shot from.
Bailey stood at the other end of the clearing, leaning on a tall gruff looking man with a gun. Her cruel laugh rang out in the night, cutting right through you. They were having a conversation you couldn't quite catch from how far away you were.
“If you bury these idiots, you can take the girl. I don’t want it anymore, too much trouble.”
↑The link I got for the qnas happy reading sluts ((I like how a lot of it is just 'Whitney will call you a slut' fucking hilarious))
((also man I didn't know dol was Chinese;; 看到繁体字吓到我))
There wasn't an English translation for this but it roughly translates to (Purity joked that after being in the underground brothel for a year Whitney would be dumped into the ocean^^) Help???!?
You’ve made such a beautiful angst post with the Whitney returns stuff, I need them to be okay, we need to get that poor boy out of this town
Thanks! If you want to help Whitney...
Here's a car with a full tank of fuel and Whitney. You can take him out of the city and give him a new life. Now Whitney is very weak physically and mentally broken, so he needs someone to take care of him.
Sure, at first he might be... upset about the situation. New surroundings, new routine, and all that. But sooner or later, he'll realize that it's all for his own good. If Whitney misbehaves, don't be mad at him, he's been through so much and he needs time to heal. It's not his fault, it's just his old wounds that hurt. The wounds that you're trying to heal. Whitney should be grateful for that. He will be. But you still need to teach Whitney some manners, it's best for him.
Since Whitney is now afraid of crowds and avoids people, I advise you to settle somewhere secluded. Don't put Whitney in the basement, it might trigger his memories of UB and harm him greatly. Although... The basement can be used as a punishment... I don't want to be cruel, but as I said earlier, Whitney needs to learn some manners, for his own good. Most likely you will need ropes, handcuffs, chains and other things... I'll put them in the car. Ugh... Damn, that might give Whitney flashbacks to UB, too. Oh, well, that's up to you.
Whitney's life is in your hands now. Have fun. Oh, I mean, good luck to both of you!
