Never again will i play Royale. I am just tired of The Fam running it every game and trying as hard as I can only for the same people to always have a fuck ton of items and go far. Like what is the point of even trying

@JTee is a coward and a liar. Hunted me down and backstabbed me in back to back royales just sucks. Especially after you said you wanted to make up for last time. Didn't even give me a chance to fight back like jesus christ dude.

I do not care if people never get a chance to play, if it is open enrollment a big friend group will always join and fuck up the game for everyone else. It is horrible and not fun. Great format, horrible case of the premades. @Sin fix this please

And will never play royale again its just a popularity contest on who can be in the cool kids group and I am never good at those

and wanted to share my current favorite poem with you all. i used to think poetry was cringe but i read this and it kind of brought a tear to my eye and made my prostate tingle a little and it kind of changed my perspective. Messyj & Luna (a slightly unhinged love poem) She texts him “u up?” at 4:17 a.m. He replies with a blurry selfie of his ceiling fan and the word “gravitationally” They fight like two cats locked in the same carrier claws out, yowling about who left the yogurt lid on the couch for three geologic epochs Then five minutes later she’s wearing his hoodie like a war trophy and he’s googling “how to tell if ur gf is actually a cryptid” Their love language is mutual psychological warfare + sharing one (1) chicken nugget at 2 a.m. like it’s the Eucharist He calls her “my favorite Lunabee” She calls him “my emotional support bad decision” Neither of them is joking They break up every other Tuesday announce it on their private close-friends story then get back together before the story expires Arguments end in her biting his shoulder hard enough to leave teeth him licking the spot like a dog claiming territory both of them laughing like hyenas on molly Their dates are locations, not plans: gas station parking lot at golden hour, the laundromat because the spin cycle vibes, rooftop of a building neither of them has keys for She draws little knives on his wrist with eyeliner He ties her shoelaces together when she’s asleep They call it romance; And yet— when the room goes quiet and the notifications finally stop screaming— she fits against his ribs like she was carved out of them, he breathes slower when her heartbeat is audible, and for three consecutive minutes they forget how to be disasters They’re a car crash that keeps changing its mind halfway through the flip deciding maybe it wants to be a love story instead Messy & Luna: proof that some hearts only know how to love by breaking every rule including their own