#but man was it annoying that people kept blaming him for shit he legitimately did not do

[unfortunatelyilikebnha]

Just finished mdzs!! My three most common comments while watching it were “man…” (/pained), “the trout population will be affected”, and “wwx did nothing wrong actually‼️”

[welllpthisishappening]

First-Line Defensive Pairing

Of all the things they’d done in the last few months, spending the afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream was one of the more ridiculous. Mostly because of the wooden spoons they gave out on the tour. Partially because it seemed Will Scarlet could not stop casting furtive glances at Belle French. Or the heels that always matched her dresses. Maybe because she kept answering his hypothetical questions. And maybe even because he was willing to drift far closer to genuine these days. At least when it came to his feelings for her.

————

Word Count: 3.7K AN: Take two! Ok, so apparently yesterday when I posted this Tumblr thought it’d be a really cool idea to just...reformat the entire story. With whole graphs in totally wrong spots. Anyway, here it is again. Just as ridiculous as yesterday. With just as many Will and Belle emotions. Because that’s a thing I’m doing now, apparently. Writing Blue Line-era Will and Belle. If you’d like more of these flirt-prone idiots, here is their first date and Belle getting annoyed that Will fought someone on the ice. Technically, this was part of the kiss prompts and was “height difference kisses.” I hope the five of you who are interested in this enjoy it. That includes @shireness-says​ and @eleveneitherway​ who are mostly to blame for this.

————

“I’m going to ask you a hypothetical question.”

Belle lifted her eyebrows. Let some of that light creep back in her gaze, a flash of amusement that regularly made Will’s stomach leap dangerously close to the base of his ribs. That’s why he did it. Maybe not the rib thing, partially because he wasn’t even sure that was the correct technical term. The rest of it, though. The eye thing. Sure. Definitely. One-hundred percent. Why he’d also made sure the little wooden spoon they’d been given at the start of this tour was still in the corner of his mouth; to guarantee absolute absurdity, and he figured that started when they decided to spend their afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream, but he was willing to take it all a step further. 

In the absurdity factor, at least. 

Other things were—

Well, it wasn’t as if they explicitly decided to keep the relationship a secret. Not on purpose. Not really. Or come to any sort of legitimate agreement regarding the use of the word relationship. It never seemed...important, honestly. And that was a potentially problematic and lackadaisical approach to someone who made Will smile with an almost alarming consistency in the last few months, but she’d also sort of snuck up on him, and Ariel was going to be so annoying. 

About the whole goddamn thing. 

She’d never shut up about it, he knew. 

So he didn’t push. Belle didn’t, either. An unspoken agreement, that’s what it was. He had other things to do, anyway. Like get ready for a playoff run and ignore the lingering ache in his calves after the echo of Arthur’s whistle stopped ringing in his ears, and, ok, his apartment was starting to feel a little bit larger than it had in a long time, maybe since Killian had moved out, but that was fine. Cup runs did not come because someone was in a relationship. Will had seen that first hand. With Cap, of all people. 

Watched the way his whole life had fallen apart around his ankles, little shards of hope and possibility that, Will knew, still threatened the structural integrity of Kilian’s internal organs and all four ventricles of his heart, and he did not understand enough basic biology to be making those sorts of sweeping observations, but Robin had lost someone too and that had been horrible and tragic and—

If Will simply did not want to jinx things, then that was neither here nor there.

Relationship’y speaking. 

It was good. They were good. He hated the wooden spoon they gave them to taste test half a dozen ice cream flavors. 

He was legitimately worried about getting splinters in his tongue. 

No excuses could possibly reason away that problem pre-game. 

Belle’s eyebrows were still in the same spot. “You going to follow up on that, or…” “Would you burn a Gutenberg Bible? To stave off the apocalypse and or potential frostbite?” “Those two things go together, do they?” He shrugged. “In this instance, yeah, because—” “—Well, it wouldn’t matter,” Belle said, eyes flitting towards the overly enthusiastic tour guide and the seemingly never-ending history of ice cream, “because I wouldn’t allow myself to be in that position. And I don’t live anywhere near the Public Library. What would I be doing there when the freeze-wave came?” His stomach. Did that thing. Jumped and twisted, got a ten from the Russian judge on its floor routine. He was cautiously optimistic he’d be able to pull off a flawless beam performance too. It was an exceedingly convoluted metaphor. Wrong Olympics, too. 

“Does salt air give you mind-reading powers?” “You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are,” Belle grinned. Moving her hand faster than he was entirely prepared for ensured that he nearly dropped his small plastic cup of churro churro ice cream. He made noise. Without trying. A hiss and a grunt in the back of his throat that then led to a sound escaping between Belle’s half-hearted scowl, and that sound was closer to a giggle than either of them would ever admit and just enough to mess with his mental faculties a little and the tour guide stopped talking. To stare straight at them. 

Color lifted on Belle’s cheeks, ice cream-covered spoon held awkwardly between them. 

“As you were, ma’am,” Will said, all false bravado, and that was something of a trend. In several different capacities. It was far too depressing a thought to have while eating cinnamon-flavored ice cream. 

Belle elbowed him. 

And the tour guide got back to her to spiel. Without a reprimand. 

“Say freeze-wave again without laughing.”

Her eyelashes were more of a problem, honestly. Than the eyebrows. Or the specific jut of her chin Will had rather quickly learned meant she was ready to challenge him on some ridiculous topic, fully prepared to argue a position she might not have otherwise agreed with. Only because it wasn’t what he was arguing, and it was easy to understand why she won that Model UN award. 

Plus, her eyelashes were just stupid long, and he thought she was really pretty. 

Like in a fundamental sort of way. 

“Freeze-wave,” Belle enunciated, pausing between syllables for maximum effect, “are you asking me Day After Tomorrow questions because of the ice cream, because I’m a librarian or because you’re the strangest man alive?” She finally ate the rest of the ice cream. It was starting to melt, that was why. This was very melt-prone ice cream. “Oh, shit,” she mumbled, “this is really good. Better than mine.” Something popped in his shoulder when he reached towards her plastic cup. He wouldn’t tell Ariel about that, either. 

“Which kind is—” Fighting off the objections of a small librarian who resolutely refused to wear anything except heels, no matter what the weather was like, was not usually as difficult as it was in that moment. Will assumed it had something to do with sugar. Or the force of his smile. Robbing the rest of him of energy and the ability to fend off either one of Belle’s fists. “Why are you like this?” “You didn’t want to try peanut and pretzel. With peanut butter swirl.” “Swallowed the flyer for this place while I wasn’t looking, huh?” Sticking her tongue out was distracting. Almost enough that he didn’t notice the absolutely atrocious attempt at impersonating his voice. “Oh, no, no, babe, I don’t want that; you can get peanut butter anywhere. That’s not special.” “Well, it’s not.” “I’m a big fancy hockey player, and I know everything there is to know about ice cream flavors and the potential life-changing palette moment that comes from the sublime combination of salty and sweet.” “Oh, now you’re just taunting me.” Her eyes narrowed, that time. His smile was going to permanently stretch out his cheeks. “You have a disgusting mind.” “You can’t get churro ice cream everywhere, babe.” “I’m going back to get honey later.” Will hummed. Stuck his lower lip out. Noticed that flash return. And hoarded it. Like a relationship—

Ah, fuck. 

“Would you burn the Gutenberg Bible?” Her laugh was quickly becoming his favorite sound. Which wasn’t bad, per se. Was just kind of passably concerning. God damn. It was the heels. All of them kept matching the dresses she wore. She kept wearing dresses. 

Of course, that was going to mess with Will’s head. 

Belle shook her head. “No.” “Historical significance?” “Well, once again, I would not be in that position, would have listened to science and fled to warmer climates, so as not to make myself prey for escaped...what were they? Tigers?” “I honestly can’t remember,” Will admitted. 

“This was your hypothetical!”

Heads snapped their direction. Frustration creased the tour guide’s forehead, and they’d paid extra to learn about the history of ice cream. Will had already known about the origins of the ice cream cone, though. So, the whole thing felt almost like a raw deal, and he was far more interested in preserving the color in Belle’s cheeks. He saluted. Who he was saluting was anyone’s guess, but it very likely was the otherwise unengaged teenage kid trudging behind his family who absolutely recognized Will. 

“That’s going to end up on sixteen different social media sites,” Belle warned, not quite able to get her voice to an appropriate whispering level. 

“So long as he got my good side, you won’t hear me complaining.” “Do you have a good side?”

“Sweetheart, the self-confidence. God.” She squeezed her eyes shut. While practically beaming at him, and Will had to bend his knees to reach, something else creaking in the process, but that was fine, and good, and pretty goddamn fantastic because her lips tasted a bit like chocolate. 

“‘S’not your best work,” Belle mumbled, almost entirely into his mouth. 

“Brain freeze.” “I would burn no books. That’s my final hypothetical answer.” Her eyelashes must have existed purely to torment him. Leaning back made it clear when they fluttered back open, and he swore there were flecks of gold in her eyes. Maybe he was melting, too. With the ice cream. That was almost poetic. “None at all? What if you were going to die?” “Maudlin.” “I don’t know what that means.” “Liar,” she challenged, another smile tugging at her mouth, and Will was clearly staring at her mouth. Stained slightly with chocolate, as it was. “I stand by it, though. The book stuff, not the commentary on your burgeoning intelligence.” “You want to find a corner to go and make out in?” Different laugh. The kind that came with her head thrown back, hair tickling Will’s forearm because at some point his arm had found its way around her, and touching Belle was becoming something almost close to second nature. “I could keep complimenting you if you want,” Belle said, “or I could give you my reason for not burning books.” “You’re a giant nerd, that’s why.” She clicked her tongue. “Very, very cute nerd, though.” “Betcha say that to all the girls.”

His stomach stilled. Dropped a few inches, for good measure. Below where it was supposed to be, and inching dangerously close to his feet, and what Will could not imagine was a very sanitary floor. The Museum of Ice Cream had a giant sprinkle pit. Nothing about that seemed very sanitary. 

“I think stories have a purpose,” Belle said, still not quite whispering but definitely getting there, and he knew. Knew she knew. What he was thinking and feeling and unspoken understanding was quickly becoming the name of this particular game. With them. 

Where it wasn’t a game at all. 

Damn. 

Ariel was going to be so annoying. 

“No matter what they are. Shitty as they can be, all those ups and downs, and ridiculous, often unnecessary melodrama. It’s going to matter to somebody. Someone, somewhere, will be living their life and read those words or see those letters, and they’ll think, wow, whoever wrote this, gets me, and it will change everything for them. They’ll go back to it. Find solace and safety in it. Themselves, maybe. They’ll believe everything will be ok. Even if they only think that while they’re reading.” “Don’t forget audiobooks,” Will muttered, voice strangled and tinged with emotion. In the ice cream museum. Figured, honestly. 

Belle pinched the side of his wrist. 

“Ow. Avoid the bruise further up, please.” “Did you get hit?” Nodding took more energy than it should have, too. She hadn’t been to a game. He hadn’t asked her. What an idiot. “Not bad though, that’s just—” “—Par for the course.” “Mixing idioms, mon trésor.” “Oh, I got that one, actually.” “Slow pitch softball, that’s why,” Will reasoned, some of the tension he wasn’t especially pleased by loosening. 

“I think we’re on a roll now.” He hummed. Nodded, again. Curled his fingers into the back of Belle’s dress. Blue, that afternoon. With matching heels. “It all matters,” she added, soft and earnest, and his eyes snapped. To her and with her and that second one didn’t make sense, not really, but he was and wanted to be and that absolutely terrified him. 

Of it all falling apart again. Of it not being enough. 

He wasn’t enough. 

A story no one was ever all that interested in finishing. 

“You think?” Belle nodded. “Why’d you start playing hockey?” “Quite a transition.” “Tit for tat, or—no, no, c’mon don’t look at me like that.” Red stained her cheeks, now. Making it difficult to concentrate on anything else, although the desire to kiss her again was a fairly strong second, and that kid was taking more pictures. “That’s not fair.” “You’ve brought this on yourself, babe,” Will argued, and he hoped Lucas didn’t yell. At him. He’d never really listened to the social media rules. “It’s a very long, occasionally depressing story about a kid and his single mom, the second of whom often worked her ass off and her fingers to the bone, and all those other delightfully visual clichés. But then! Who would guess, she got a job picking up extra shifts cleaning at the rink in town. Home to the world’s shittiest ice and loudest Zamboni, it instantly drew the attention of our kid-like hero. 

“He was...infatuated, let’s say. With the sounds, especially. Nothing sounds like that first scrape of skates on fresh ice. Full of possibility, you know?” Belle didn’t answer. Will kept talking. “Best noise in the world. And then he learned there were other noises. Pucks hitting the back of nets. Sticks clanging together. Grunts and groans and the game itself, how loud it was. Helped silence some of his thoughts, none of which were ever very good. Lots of worries, some about his very dead sister, then a few more about that mother and her predilection toward clichés.”

“Good word,” Belle murmured. He kissed the top of her hair. The kid was openly staring at them, now. 

“Anyway, the crux of the story is that the guy who owned the rink agreed to let the kid play on the rink. Knew the mother, understood her situation, and hockey is expensive. Like, well, we spout all that bullshit about hockey is for everyone, and I’ve got to stand up there and smile and nod and agree, and it’s fucked up because it’s not really true. Hockey’s for rich kids and families with regularly functioning alternators in their car.” 

He shook his head. Had to. To chase away the memories and the cobwebs, and Cap knew this, too. Understood it, even. Remembered a life before the Vanklads, and not every kid got the Vankalds, and sometimes Will let himself wonder what would have happened if he’d found the Vanklads. Or their upstate New York equivalent. 

Gotten better shin pads, probably. 

“Hockey’s an exclusive sorta club,” Will continued, “gotta know someone who’s related to someone else, and they know someone who played, and it’s six degrees of increasingly desperate separation. By some lucky twist of fate, though, Jimmy Newell knew some bastard who knew somebody else, who saw me play, and you don’t say no to USA Developmental. Spent two years in Minnesota, way before Cap did, so he doesn’t get to claim that state as his own.” Belle’s lips twitched. “Good to know, for argument’s sake.” His stomach was becoming a problem. 

Heart, too. 

Sputtering and slamming, uneven beats that were going to leave another bruise. Will licked his lips. 

“I went to Developmental, declared for the draft, got picked by New York, went to college, stayed in college, and the rest is history. As they say.” “They do say that, yeah.” “What’s the next question, then?” “How do you know there’s another question?” “Shot in the dark,” Will shrugged, but that was a lie, and it was getting increasingly easier to read that pinch between her eyebrows. “So, hit me.” “Literally?” “Please do not literally hit me. Locksley’s been feeling the forecheck the last couple’a practices.” “I know what that means!” Someone shushed them. Will couldn’t imagine the color will ever leave Belle’s cheeks. 

He kissed the bridge of her nose. 

“Who’d you get to teach you French?” “Who said I didn’t just learn French on my own?” “Babe,” she chided, and, well, that was the tipping point. As they say. To his heart and his stomach and—

“You wanna come to a game this series?” Belle blinked. Once, twice. Leaned back. Tilted her head. Likely waited for the camera crew that was inevitably lurking in the corner he was cautiously optimistic they’d make out in eventually. Didn’t happen, though. There was no camera crew. 

Just Will Scarlet, professional hockey player, and part-time sap. Standing in one of the more nonsensical museums they’d been to in the last two months. Although they did go to the transit museum on three separate occasions, and he could honestly say he didn’t expect that. 

So, maybe this was all just—

Par for the course. 

He’d have to make some sort of deal with Eric. To make sure Ariel didn’t proclaim her relationship-plotting victories from a variety of rooftops. Someone in front office had to know someone else with Empire State Building connections. 

Zelena probably did. 

Ariel would use that. 

“Where would I sit?”

He pulled her. Up. With an almost violent amount of force, threatening the safety of both of Belle’s shoulders in the process. But she’d asked the one question he hadn’t totally considered in his half-plotted plan, and getting his mouth back on hers was an acceptable diversion. Plus, she looped her arms around his neck pretty quickly. 

Which had to count for something, he figured. 

One hand cupped the back of his head, pulling him closer. Like he had any intention of being anywhere else, swiping his tongue against Belle’s lip and swallowing her sigh. They were still in public, technically. Her feet trailed the multi-color carpet beneath them, Will’s arms tightening and his palm flat against her back and her spine, and if she kept rocking up like that, he was going to do something drastic. 

Something in the same realm as melting, probably. 

Strands of hair tickled his skin, making him tilt his head and alter the angle, and that was entirely appropriate, but getting kicked out of the Museum of Ice Cream would probably make an absolutely fantastic story. Once they told people they were—

Doing whatever it was they were doing. 

They’d get there eventually. 

“Cap’s sister-in-law is coming,” Will said, not entirely able to catch his breath, “wants to see Kris and—” “—Should I know who that is?” “Works in equipment, and that’s not really the point.” “What is?” “That Little Vankald isn’t super interested in listening to Cap be full older brother on her and, far as I know, is fully capable of getting tickets wherever she wants. Can sweet talk the gold out of anyone’s pockets, and—” “—Wait, wait, are you equating hockey tickets to gold?” “When I’m playing, ma choupette.” “Is that cabbage?” He hummed. Nearly tripped over his own feet trying to hold onto Belle and the mostly melted cup of ice cream and paying for more churro ice cream made perfect sense. At the moment. “One of the kids at school was French Canadian,” Will explained, “used to swear all the time on the ice, and then he’d use stuff like that.” “You’re sharing endearments with a trash talker.” “More or less, yeah. Used to infuriate other guys.” “Who wants to be called a cabbage?” “I think you’re super cute.” Belle scowled. Didn’t argue, though. And Will refused to linger on the beat of his pulse. “I’d really like it if you were there,” he added, “Little Vanklad’ll be cool about it. She owes me. I fed her for a very long time.” “Did you just?” “I make incredible garlic bread; ask anyone.” “Wow,” Belle drawled, “just like people on the street, or…also, do you call her Little Vanklad all the time?” “To her face and behind her back with startling regularity. Not everyone gets my French endearments, babe. Consider yourself lucky.” 

She scrunched her nose. 

Stayed silent. All Will could hear was the soft explanations of the tour guide, and the questions from tourists who probably also thought going to the Museum of Sex made them edgy. After they bought a STRAND tote bag. God, maybe he was a dick. A judgmental dick, who still had too many thoughts and used an occasionally violent game to silence them by making sure he was the one dictating the noises and the trash talk and—

“Hey, uh, Will...Mr., uh—Mr. Scarlet? Do you think we could get a picture?”

Belle’s lips disappeared. Behind her teeth, and that didn’t do anything to temper the sound of what might have actually been joy. At the prospect of the staring teenager and his photo request. 

In the goddamn Museum of Ice Cream. 

Giving a jerky nod, Will quickly scanned the kid for any team-branded, but it didn’t look like he was wearing merch and that was a rather small miracle. Far as those things went. 

Still, he had been in the middle of a pretty intense internal dialogue and potential freakout, and there was going to be ice cream on his hand if he didn’t throw this cup away. 

Belle took the phone. 

The kid’s phone. 

“Smile,” she instructed, and Will tried. Really. He hoped he didn’t end up looking like a murderer on Twitter or Instagram or whatever kids used, and he had no idea when he got that old. When things started to freak him out, and he let the nerves claw back in, and the worry take root and—

“Hey,” he said before the kid could walk back to his parents and their matching STRAND tote bags. “You think you could take a picture of us, real quick?”

No one had ever moved faster. 

In, like, the history of photography. 

Circling an arm around Belle’s waist, Will’s smile came a bit easier and that was good because he was totally unprepared for what happened after that. Another instruction and flick of someone’s thumb, but then Belle was on her toes, even with the heels, and her lips were pressed against his cheek and it was like some sort of really exceptional sugar high. 

Without the threat of inevitable crash. 

Will didn’t think so, at least. He was also pretty positive it wasn’t tigers in The Day After Tomorrow. Wolves, maybe. 

“Tell Little Vankald to save me a seat.” “I mean, I don’t think you should call her that.”

Her teeth grazed his jaw. Both of them were laughing in the picture, the kid’s eyes going impossibly wide as Will thanked him. “How hard you think it is to set up an Instagram account?”

[pixelgrotto]

Ladies and lords of Waterdeep

From April of 2019 to June of 2020, I ran Waterdeep: Dragon Heist, a Dungeons & Dragons campaign for levels 1-5, for two groups - a party of three gals and a party of six guys. This was a tricky undertaking - mostly because as written, Dragon Heist is kind of a mess (more on that in a sec) - but also because I had to balance an adventure for two very different audiences that really only shared the commonality of being filled with D&D newbies. It was a worthwhile endeavor, though, and looking back on the experience reveals some interesting food for thought on how to remix an adventure, as well as how some ladies and gents experience roleplaying games differently. 

First, let me briefly discuss the adventure itself. Dragon Heist is meant to be an urban outing set in the Forgotten Realms metropolis of Waterdeep, which I described to my New York-dwelling players as “pretty much a fantasy version of NYC.” Over the course of five levels, players inherit and possibly renovate an old tavern, catch wind of an ancient heap of gold beneath the city and run into a bunch of important figures from Forgotten Realms history, ranging from Laeral Silverhand to Volothamp Geddarm. All of that’s epic, and the only issue is that the adventure’s laid out in a pretty shoddy way. 

There are four chapters in Dragon Heist, and the first is the only one that can be run with a minimum of hacking on the part of the Dungeon Master. The other three present a so-called “toolbox” of vague ideas for missions with Waterdeep’s various adventuring factions, as well as middling advice for scenes like a rooftop chase and a battle with a chain devil in a crypt, but it’s all highly disorganized with a minimum of connective tissue, requiring heavy lifting on the DM’s part to stitch together. The book is also rife with excessive red herrings for players to stumble upon as they search for the treasure trove, way too many characters with overly long names, and last but not least, there’s a lack of an actual “heist” in the grand finale, which is more scavenger hunt than Ocean’s Eleven. 

With all these criticisms, why did I choose to run this book for not one, but two different groups at the same time? It was largely because I’d just finished playing through Dragon Heist with my own character - a mask-wearing teenage street urchin who fancied herself a swashbuckler. I’d had a more-enjoyable-than-not time with the folks I played with, but the guy who DMed had a habit of sending us on the aforementioned red herrings for multiple sessions at a time, with nary an interesting combat encounter or social challenge in sight. I don’t really blame him for this - especially seeing at how poorly the book was laid out afterwards - but immediately after finishing, I was approached by two friend groups who wanted to try their hand at D&D, and this gave me the excuse to see if I could do a better job. 

Since I already had a clear example of which pitfalls to avoid, the version of Dragon Heist that I ran heavily remixed all of the elements in the book, with an emphasis on streamlining whenever possible and always making it feel like my players were accomplishing something. This is usually my underlying philosophy whenever I run a game, but it’s an essential strategy for newbies who might be driven off of roleplaying games altogether by bad pacing. For instance, as written, there’s an annoying series of fetch quests near the end of the story where players have to find a number of keys in order to open the hidden treasure vault. These keys are random as heck, ranging from semi-sensible McGuffins like a bronze dragon scale to bonkers junk like a ballad played by two dwarven bards and a friggin’ unicorn. This whole exercise in randomness reminded me of the worst of video game filler, and I cut it out entirely by having the son of the man who hid the treasure accompany the characters, with a drop of his blood activating the magic needed to open the vault’s doors. (This also led to an amusing situation where the guys were stuck as they ruminated on how to open the vault...until the dude playing the goliath suddenly shouted, “I GRAB RENAER’S HAND, CUT IT AND SMEAR THE BLOOD ALL OVER THE DOOR!” and I was like, “Okay. It...opens!”)

Because my players were nearly all D&D virgins, I also wanted them to get their money’s worth by encountering all four of Dragon Heist’s villains - Xanathar the beholder, the devil-worshipping Cassalanter nobles, Manshoon the cloned wizard and Jarlaxle the drow rogue. As written, Dragon Heist touts itself as highly replayable, since DMs are only supposed to choose one villain for their players to go up against. The problem is that all of the bad guys are teased on the cover, and the beginning chapters dangle most of them into the narrative with the players caught in the middle. This created a lot of confusion when I was a player, as my companions and I kept hearing about Xanathar and Manshoon...only for them to suddenly disappear halfway through as Jarlaxle took center stage as the big bad. And so, in order to circumvent this confusion and make both the boys and the girls feel like they were getting a quintessential experience with a minimum of loose ends, I threw in all the baddies. (I wasn’t the only one to do this - tabletop RPG designer Justin Alexander also recommends this approach on his blog The Alexandrian, where he offers an impressive revision of Dragon Heist that I probably would’ve used if I hadn’t discovered it too late.) 

So, when it came down to actually rolling dice, how’d my two groups interact with the material? I think it’s safe to say that both the girls and the boys hit the same major story beats and had a grand time doing so, but the nuances of their experiences were fascinatingly different. The girls, for instance, dove into the art of roleplaying and devising histories for their characters, and one of them decided to play as an elf from a seafaring clan and gave me a whole backstory involving the ocean that inspired my “final boss” for Dragon Heist, an evil, decaying dragon from the Elemental Plane of Water that isn’t in the book. (Hey, it’s called Dungeons & Dragons, the story’s named Dragon Heist, and since I wasn’t sure if all of my players would stick around for future campaigns, I figured I’d better stick a notable battle with a big scaly lizard in there somewhere.) 

The girls also got way more into some of the social justice subplots that permeated my version of Dragon Heist, pushing hard for Waterdeep to remove the anti-dragon magic bubble that surrounded the city and excluded an entire species from its borders. Their interactions with non-player characters - often progressing along the lines of “well, if you feel like you want us to do this quest for you, then we certainly can” - reflected this sort of empathy, and even though this sounds incredibly stereotypical, by the time the final session wrapped up, all three of the gals had either shipped or flirted with NPCs that they’d encountered during their journey. One of ‘em even ended up hitched with a baby!

The boys, by contrast, were much less likely to devise in-depth character histories beyond “I’M IN THIS CITY TO GET MY MONEY,” and their NPC conversations also frequently waded into “GIMME MY GOLD” territory. I don’t want to make it sound like their characters were just two dimensional mercenaries, though, because definite, organic progression occurred over the course of the campaign - the goliath who couldn’t read gradually worked his way through Volo’s Guide to Monsters and became fluent in Celestial after joining the Order of the Gauntlet, for instance.

Where the boys clearly felt more at home than the girls was in combat, probably because 1) there were six of them as opposed to the three ladies, and 2) they collectively had lots of video game knowledge, and D&D’s influence has kinda trickled down to every video game ever made. It didn’t take long for some of the dudes to begin subconsciously min/maxing their characters, and while there were two major deaths in unpredictable boss fights, the boys did go through a long period where they were just steamrolling everything to come their way and yelling, “LET’S FUCKIN’ GOOOO” as they did so. In contrast, DMing for the girls during combat sequences was occasionally a nail-biting experience where I didn’t know who was going to survive, and since some of this was due to my own slapdash encounter design where I underestimated the abilities of the monsters they were up against, I made sure to give them lots of friendly NPCs who could potentially offer a helping hand, or even resurrection spells if needed. 

Both groups were aware of the other’s existence, and I’d sometimes playfully pit them against one another. (Example: The guys often forgot who was who, and one time one of ‘em looked down at his character sheet and was like, “MY NOTES ARE SUCH SHIT” which made me respond, “Well, y’know the girls take really good notes...”) But at the end of the campaign, when my players asked me which party was more fun to DM for, my answer was that both groups were great. The girls were bursting with imaginative roleplay, and they gave me real moments of glee as they responded to story twists with the legitimate surprise and wonder that comes from people who aren’t already overexposed to fantasy tropes and gaming culture. The boys gave me that feeling of what some fans affectionately call “beer & pretzels D&D,” where you’re shooting the breeze with your buddies, playfully teasing each other and going for broke in combat encounters. 

I want to stress that the ladies I DMed for were absolutely not representative of how all women might approach D&D, and the exact same thing must be said for the fellas. This was no planned sociology or gender studies experiment that I conducted, in other words - it was merely a thing that I did with two friend groups, and the resulting experiences were two opposite yet totally valid sides of the same RPG coin. And while I doubt that I’ll run the same campaign in the future for two different groups at once (let alone a campaign as wonky as Dragon Heist), I like to think that as someone who tries to advocate for how roleplaying games can be fun, welcoming experiences for all, I played a small role (hah) in bringing swords, sorcery and storytelling to the lives of people who might not have experienced such imaginative forays otherwise. 

Already, both the gals and the guys are whipping up ideas for future characters and checking out stuff like Critical Role...which means that my work here, at least for the moment, is done. 

[jedicollins]

Journal Entry #1

Based on the RP with @itsxlucifer

it’s a beast, hence the read more.

Sunday, July 26th. 

Hey Mom and Dad. 

I met the Devil. 

The real one. This isn’t a metaphor. Not some kind of flowery exposition. 

I met the Devil. 

Satan. 

Beelzebub,

The Prince of Darkness,

The Morningstar, 

The Lightbringer….

Whatever you want to call him. 

And honestly?

He’s not that bad. 

He’s not the evil guy I thought he would be. 

Sure, he’s into all the sinful stuff, and fuck if I can’t hear him say “naughty” in his accent… 

But he isn’t evil. 

At least, I don’t get the sense he is. I don’t know for sure. For all I know, he is manipulating the shit out of me and the entire club is demon invested. But right now? I don’t think the Devil is bad. 

No, not the Devil, I shouldn’t say that.

Lucifer, his name is Lucifer Morningstar. 

He owns the nightclub, LUX, and I can’t think of a better place of work. Bullshit isn’t tolerated. The security is top-notch. No-one gets the chance to fuck with the staff. The slightest hint of it, the slightest signal, and they’re on it. 

I’ve honestly never felt saver working for a club, and hell, I’ve already made a friend there, too. His name is Reese. He’s Latino, fucking gorgeous, and sadly, really fucking gay. Just my luck, right?

One of the other bartenders, Maze, is apparently a demon who works for Lucifer, handling his finances. Never thought the Devil would need a banker or whatever they’re called.

Things are fucking weird in my life right now. 

And I don’t know how to make heads or tails of it. how am I meant to process I’m dealing with the man who is meant to be the Devil? And on top of that, finding out I care about him, and he isn’t the bad guy everyone claims him to be?

What is my life right now? Seriously. How the hell do I unpack all of this?

I guess the best way to start is at the beginning, right?

This guy literally hired me straight out of my old job. Like, he took one look at me and decided I should work for him. Just like that. Saying he knows a good, hard working person when he sees one. That’s all he needed. Like, what? I didn’t believe him, at first. I thought it was some kind of scam or something.

But it turned out it wasn’t. LUX is a real club. Which, by the way. Fucking on the nose. LUX? Light in Latin? The lightbringer is a different name for Lucifer? 

He’s so fucking extra. 

Still, he hired me after a trial run and here I am. Working in Lux as one of the bartenders, listening to terrible, thumpy music all the livelong night and sometimes, if he’s in the mood for it, listening to Lucifer’s beautiful piano playing. And his voice… holy mother of fuck, his voice… his singing. I don’t even know what to call it. it’s like this rich- I don’t know what to call it. His singing voice is probably best compared to what Velvet feels like. Rich and soft and you just want to stroke it all the damn time. And even that likely doesn’t come close. His voice makes my spine tingle. And not just his singing voice, his normal speaking voice, too.

And best thing yet? Him singing “perfect the way you are”. I love that song so much, and hearing him sing it? Holy crap. For real, I would pay to have an MP3 of him singing it. I think it’s the accent that does it. there’s something sexy about it. I think what made it even more special was the fact it was just the two of us when it happened. Fuck, I shouldn’t be swooning the way I am thinking about it, but shit. For real, it was something special. Especially as in the few days working there, I haven't seen anyone else approaching the piano while he plays. Let alone singing with him. He invited me to sit with him while he played, seeing his fingers moving across the keys? his voice? And that song. Just wow. What else was I meant to do then sing along with him? 

The first night I met him at LUX, he was playing already, so he asked me what tune I wanted to hear. I told him that song. I admit, it was me being a little shit. Because I know there’s not a lot of people who know of it, or the band, Dead by April. So for him to know it, and to be able to play it perfectly? it was- something else. 

So sitting with him, singing the song together, watching him play? Man, it was special. It was something- I don’t know. It felt like there was some kind of connection there in that moment. 

If only I realized back then what the connection was, you guys.

So the whole point of me gushing on the piano playing? It was all caused by him asking one question I never thought I would have to answer. ‘What do you desire?” and the answer still hurts. And I don’t know, being made to answer it? It was like Lucifer’s hand was reaching down deep into my soul and dragged the answer out, kicking and screaming. 

I don’t want to repeat the answer, but it led to me avoiding him for a few days. Which spawned the singing moment at his piano. I eventually laid down everything. What happened to you, what had done it. and he just believed me. He said he would help me. I didn’t believe it, but he did. He kept his word. I fully expected to be fired for being crazy. But, he didn’t. 

We went back home. Back to Independence. 11 years passed since that night. 

And God… it confronted me with so many things I thought I’d pushed away deep down in the back of my mind. It all came rushing back. Things I never want to think about again. The worst part of it all was the fact Margaret still had some kind of hold over me. She still was able to manipulate me the way she did when I was little. She still had the power to make me pass out. Though, I admit, it might just be because shortly before? We had a conversation with a little girl and her mother… both of which reminded me of myself and you, mom, when I was little. 

Margaret, however? She’s not the person I thought she was. It turns out she was a demon. Something I never realized. To me, she felt real. She felt like a real person when I hugged her or held her hand late at night. And that’s because she apparently was? Apparently, she was a demon inhabiting the body of a little girl. How the hell she’s been able to hide all this time, I don't know. I can only assume there’s some kind of vent or crawlspace in the bottom of my closet she was able to get in or out through. 

There was a fight. Of course, there was. I want to say I was badass and kicked her ass, but that’s not what happened. She got in my head. She brought back all the memories of that night.  It hurt so bad, I thought my head was gonna explode. I thought I was going to die of the pain. I don’t know exactly what happened in between, but somewhere along the line, Lucifer got hurt. I remember seeing a hole in the drywall connecting my room to yours. When the pain subsided, Margaret came at me with a knife. She put it to my neck and I fought, as hard as I could, to hold her off. If it hadn’t been for Lucifer, I would’ve had my throat sliced. Fortunately, the only thing I’ve got left from is a little cut on my collar bone, when the bitch dropped the knife. It’s more annoying right now than really painful. The scab is itchy. 

In that moment, however? I found out who Lucifer really is. He commanded her to go back to hell, made her leave the little girl’s body.

That’s when I realized Lucifer had been telling the truth all along. He never lied about being the Devil, hell, if anything, he’ll flaunt it for all he’s worth. I was the issue. I was the one who didn’t believe him. I legitimately thought he was playing up some kind of bad boy, playboy persona he’d crafted for himself to be able to sound interesting and appealing to people. I was so fucking wrong. 

I want to tell you I was brave and took this in my stride, I didn’t feel anything about him being the Devil. But, the truth is? Well, I passed out. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I mean, it’s a culture shock, right? And combine this with the whole thing with Margaret? Can you blame me? The last thing I really remember is staring at him, then waking up staring at the ceiling of a hotel room, lying on the bed. 

Lucifer was kneeling on the ground, obviously hurt. 

I thought about running. I thought about running away as fast and far as I could while he was down. I thought about running away forever, leaving L.A. behind and pretend nothing like this had ever happened. pretend I didn’t meet the Devil and he had been kind to me. Hell, I was afraid. I was scared I’d somehow made a deal and sold my soul. All those damn clichés about him. 

Most of all though, I was scared because I had thought about having sex with him. Yes, I thought this about my boss, I know it's not professional, but come on… Mom, if you’d seen the guy? You would agree with me. Sorry, Dad, but that’s just the facts. Seriously though, his face and body, not to mention his fucking sexy accent? There is no way anyone is capable of resisting him. I can just barely resist jumping his bones. I really, really would like to meet the person capable of completely resisting this hot as hell man child. 

Point is though, I didn’t run. I couldn’t. How could I just leave him while he was hurt? Not after the things he’d done for me? The fact he’d gone so far to help me with something that’s been haunting me for a decade? I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know how to deal with this. From my understanding, he had broken ribs, and there was something wrong with his leg. But he refused to let me call for an ambulance, so he could get checked out. So I did the only thing I could think of. I ran to find someone to bribe for a medkit. 

When I came back like 15 minutes later?

He was fine. 

It was like he had never been hurt in the first place. 

That’s the moment he told me what was going on. He explained he can’t be hurt or damaged. If he gets hurt, it’s more like a tap. And if he does get hurt, those things heal in like seconds. that’s the way it works for a celestial, apparently. But this time? It was different.

And that difference was me. 

I was there when he got hurt. 

I make the Devil vulnerable. Fuck, for all I know, with me around? He can be killed. 

But why me? Why did I get picked for this curse? I don’t mean anything to anyone. Well, I mean, outside maybe the few friends I’ve made at the club, but beyond that? I don’t have anything or anyone, no-one gives a shit about someone like me? I’m a nobody, I’m just a bartender. I’m not special. You both weren't. I’m sorry, but, our family doesn’t have some kind of ancient special bloodline or like connections to famous historical figures or whatever. Not that I have found, anyway. You both didn’t pass anything special to me? 

So why the fuck did it get decided I’m the one to have this curse? Why me? I don’t want to cause anyone pain. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want Lucifer to get hurt because of me. And yes, I’m more than aware this is a fucking, crazy thought. He is Lucifer, he’s meant to be evil incarnate, and I’m sitting here upset about the fact him being close to me means he can be hurt. 

I’m really fucking scared. What does this all mean? Why did it get decided it’s me who has this? Why not someone else? Does this mean something’s going to happen? Am I meant to be involved into some kind of grand scheme God’s concocted? Am I meant to kill Lucifer to prevent the apocalypse or something? I don’t want this kind of responsibility. I’m not Buffy the Vampire Slayer? I barely know ow to make a proper Mojito, let alone how to fight? I’m not strong enough for something like that.

I don’t want this responsibility, I don't want this curse. I don’t want to be involved in some kind of major plot going on behind the galactic scenes. 

I don’t know what to do. 

Do I run away? Do I just keep going and see what happens? Maybe get the fuck away from Lucifer and find another job?

Thing is though, there’s something inside me telling me I shouldn’t run away. That I should stick with Lucifer. I don’t know what the feeling is or where it comes from, but I think it’s the same feeling that’s allowing me to accept Lucifer is actually meant to be the Devil, but at the same time making me believe he’s a decent person. 

Because he is. He’s a decent person. He’s not evil? Seriously, all the ‘sinning’ that goes on in LUX? That’s not him. He doesn’t have any hand in it in the slightest. It’s the humans walking around themselves who do it. They’re the ones cheating on their partners, they’re the ones getting drunk or snorting drugs or whatever the hell they can get away with inside the club. Lucifer doesn’t cause anything like that. He just mingles, he plays his piano, he doesn’t seek out people to make a deal for their soul. Sure, sometimes people ask him for a favor, but that’s it. There’s no scroll coming out of his pocket to dramatically unroll so people can sign on the dotted line to sell their soul? He’s just… well, vibing is the best way to put it, I guess. 

I know this because I’ve been watching him for the past week, watching the way he is around people, watching the way he acts. Lucifer is being blamed for so much stuff he doesn’t even do? “The Devil made me do it”. Yeah, how about no, pal? You just don’t wanna admit you’re a shitty person. 

Fuck, I’m rambling. 

The fact is, Lucifer isn’t a bad person. He can’t be with the way he is. How can anyone think this considering the fact he went this far for me? One of his employees, someone who shouldn’t really matter to him? Hell, if he wanted to, he could replace me just like that and not even bat an eye at it. I need to ask Reese if he did something similar for him. Whether he had some kind of problem Lucifer helped him with. 

Is it strange of me I hope that’s the case? It probably sounds horrible, putting it like that. I don’t want to wish ill on my friend, but I guess I’m just struggling with the idea he’s singled me out to help. I still don’t really understand why he did. I mean, he’s the Devil, isn’t that kind of his gig? Punish the wicked and all that crap? But still… why does he care about someone like me?

I’m struggling with the idea of this “curse”. I don’t know what else to call it. I don’t want to hurt people. I don’t want people to get hurt because of me. and yet? There’s something inside of me that allows one person to be hurt. This is so fucking fucked up. This is even more fucked up than someone sneaking into our room at night and leaving ominous messages about Lucifer being the Devil. 

Fuck. 

I don’t want this power. There’s gotta be some way to suppress it, or get rid of it, right? There just has to be. that’s how these things go, right? 

Maybe I can ask Maze? She’s a demon, she knows about this kind of stuff, right? Well, most likely. Maybe she knows where I can start finding answers to all this. I know I could and likely should talk to Lucifer about this, but what if it requires something big? Like a sacrifice or dying or something like that? Maybe I’m just being ridiculous now. But I don't want this curse. I want it gone. Whatever fucked up plan God or whoever the fuck decided I should have this power has for me? Fuck them. I don't want any fucking part of it. 

They can go straight to hell and fuck themselves. I won’t play a part in their game. I refuse. 

What am I gonna do? 

Can this curse even be beaten?

I’m really fucking scared.

I wish you are here. 

I miss you.

[norafike]

Despite all this, I still love you 4

I will be creating a masterlist soon-ish. Just to keep all of this organised.

"So he returns!" Nora cheered as she spotted the all too familiar face enter the Saloon. He turned towards her, excitement already plain to see.

Sean MacGuire pulled the chair out opposite, inviting himself to sit at the table with her. "Nice seein' you again, Miss Morgan." He greeted.

"Guess it's nice seein' you too, also nice seein' that you found your "funny lookin' friends" again."

He let out a guffaw at the passing comment, giving her a toothy grin thereafter. "What are you doin' this far from Blackwater anyway? Thought you lived over that way."

"No... no. I used too, but after Sisika I tried avoiding that place."

"That's right, I remember now."

Nora gave a slight nod, taking a moment to gaze beyond the window at the street. While not much, it was the closest she could call home and it done its job well.

"So; what are you doing here anyway?" She asked, trying to sound polite and start a conversation even though her wording came across rather bluntly.

"A friend of mine, Arthur, he had business here and dragged me along for it." He explained.

"I know Arthur. Met him an' a few other fellas the other day, they was with an O'Driscoll."

"What business could they possibly have with an O'Driscoll?" He laughed as if she had told him a joke. Nora only shrugged, leaning forward and placing her arms flat against the table.

"I thought you would know about him by now, nervous little fella it seems; black hair an' unshaven. Smells of horse shit?"

"You on about that Kieran?"

"I don't know his name."

The explanation seemed too good to be a flat out lie and he saw no reason as to why Nora would claim for a member of his gang to be an O'Driscoll without legitimate cause too. He furrowed his brow in thought and noticed how everyone had taken to be impolite towards him and how he was usually alone on most occasions, but he figured him to be shy.

When Arthur entered the building he was quickly hollered over by the Irishman, his voice now a little serious instead of that cheerful tone.

"I been looking for you all over, Sean, shoulda known I'd find you in a Saloon of all places." Arthur spoke in a hushed town as he walked over, ignoring the female as she sat not so far away from them.

Awkwardly, she remained by and listened to their conversation it wasn't as though she was being rude by eavesdropping it was more so the case that they hadn't asked for her to leave or had taken the opportunity to move themselves. She wasn't even sure if they knew she was still sat there.

She cleared her throat which earned their attention after the petty squabble about Sean's wandering off and immediately guilt flashed across Arthur's face before replaced by that same cold glare he usually wore. "Sorry, Nora. Hadn't seen you there."

"It's fine."

Then Sean was reminded of their earlier conversation. "So apparently that Kieran's an O'Driscoll."

Arthur's face sank at the mention and everyone in the saloon all silenced at the loud accusation Sean sent out. Nora felt uncomfortable at the glares given her way and she felt more guilty now with the look Arthur sent her at the mention, after all, how else could Sean have known?

Knowing that they were being watched, Arthur snapped back by gently tapping the Irishman over the back of his head, following this by speaking, "He ain't."

This pleased the patrons in Smithfield's Saloon enough for the trio to leave the building without too many suspicious glances.

Once they were outside they were all taken to near Chadwick farm, not too close to the building in the case that somebody would be able to hear them from the inside. "Couldn't of been any louder, could you Sean." Arthur scolded, his face clearly showing his annoyance at the small scene caused.

"So when were you going to tell me we took on an O'Driscoll then?" He snapped back, his arm raised and hand pointing roughly in the direction of Horseshoe Overlook.

Nora stood by, visibly uncomfortable with the situation she found herself in.

"I didn't mean to tell him, I thought he knew." She was quiet and Arthur almost didn't catch what she had said. Luckily, he picked up on her words and turned towards the smaller girl with a sympathetic look.

"Mistakes happen, ain't your fault."

She let in a quiet sniffle, nodding her head slowly before finally allowing out a deep breath from relief. Sean chuckled, amused by this.

"So little Kieran Duffy's an O'Driscoll then aye? Now that I think about it, I see it."

"How so?" Nora asked.

"You've seen him, nervy. Ain't nobody going to be so nervy with a group unless they knew jus' how much they were hated. Ya know, the others don't seem to take too fondly to him neither."

Arthur cut in quickly. "They don't take too fondly to Micah neither."

The Irishman let out a hearty laugh, patting the brawny male on the shoulder. But Arthur kept his face as dull as stone, not letting even the most subtle of smiles crack, he raised a figure and sharply poked Sean in the chest with it. "But don't you go an' give the O'Driscoll any trouble, at least not too much." He warned.

He raised his hands defensively and talk a large step back from Arthur. "Oh 'course I ain't going to do that. I ain't gonna do nothin', got my word on that Arthur Morgan."

Satisfied, Arthur turned towards Nora with previous intentions of leaving her to get back to her own, having enjoyed his outing enough but had instead taken to change his mind. He looked down at her gun belt, the revolver in its holster.

He gave her a grin and finally broke that awkward silence amongst them to finally ask her a question.

"Say, how well can you use a gun?"

...

"So you needed me to help you break a friend out of jail? You don't exactly strike me as the sort to need help, Mister Morgan."

"He ain't no friend."

"And so you're breakin' him out?" Maybe Arthur does things differently than what she has done in the past, knowing how she willingly left people in jail simply because she had a distasteful relationship with them.

Her questions regarding this seemed to annoy Arthur more and he audibly grew frustrated with answering so many questions sent his way. He compared it the curiosity similar to that of young Jack Marston's who could not be blamed given it was usual for children to have a tendency to ask a lot of questions.

It was Nora, a fully grown adult at twenty-four having many questions that irked him.

"Micah's a crazy individual, it'd be no harm in having an extra gun just in case."

No longer did she want to play into his irritation and instead she became slightly fearful of what may happen if she were to help with this jailbreak. She pulled back on the reins to stop Casper from following any further and soon Arthur had copied to see what she was playing at now.

"What is it?"

She shook her head quickly, silently refusing to go along with the task.

"I-." She tried but her words began to fail her and soon tears began to lightly fall down her cheeks, causing runs in the makeup she wore.

"I don't think I can." She managed. "You saw what happened to me back at Six-point Cabin, I don't want that to happen here with somethin' important. I don't have-." Before she could say she caught herself, refusing to speak any further over the topic.

At this Arthur raised an eyebrow but knew all too well the refusal to talk further. "You'll be fine."

"I was told that last year. Seems to be gettin' worse."

"An' that friend of yours, what was his name? Lenny, Len, L-."

"Lem."

"Lem, he knows how to calm you when you get all hysterical?"

She wouldn't have worded it like that but it was the truth, harsh at that but honest spoken.

Slowly she nodded to answer, hanging her head in shame at the realisation that perhaps she depended on Lem more so than she knew previously and more tears began to fall.

"We all have our people we rely on, he's your friend an' I bet the only one who really knows about all this."

"Suppose so. Ain't really thought much on it."

"You need a bit to calm yourself? I'm sure you'll be okay in Strawberry if thing's do get out of hand and if not- I'll buy you a drink afterwards."

"Guess you have a deal, Mister Morgan." For a brief moment she managed to crack him a smile which he reciprocated before spurring for her horse to follow along on the road.

"I'll tell you a little about Micah just so you know what we're dealin' with."

She nodded. "Please do. Ain't as though he's well-liked."

They shared a chuckle, with Arthur nodding with his agreement. "No, he isn't."

...

She looked over the hook once more, making sure it was in fact secured properly to the bars of the window.

She backed away a few paces before raising her thumb towards Arthur, watching as he pulled the lever on the steam donkey to rip the wall clean off.

Eventually, Micah emerged from within and the group had to work quickly so this rescue wouldn't result in any of them dying. Nora provided cover fire while Arthur quickly handed over a spare revolver to Micah so he wasn't running unarmed.

"We gotta go this way, I have some unfinished business." Micah commented, leading the group across the bridge.

Arthur let out a cry of disapproval but it had been drowned out by the sound of shooting.

Nora was unsure of what was happening but the associate Arthur had to break out of jail decided he was to enter a house over a couple of guns that he needed to pick up.

She asked no questions at the obvious murder that happened before her eyes, having been briefly told that this man was 'crazy' in many's opinions.

The lawmen tripled in numbers and they were quickly overwhelmed and yet they kept on, succeeding in the fight with very little wounds.

They left the town soon after, while the fight did become harder it did not mean they gave in so easily and in no time they were free of the law and in the clear.

After this Arthur had turned towards Micah to discipline him over the act he pulled in Strawberry, the killing of innocents over a pair of guns that went unneeded.

Micah quickly turned towards the female as she idly stood by, watching the scene of their bickering unfold before her. "And who is this then?" His question sounded bitter as if displeased with her presence there.

"A friend." Arthur grumbled, taking out a cigarette from his satchel which he passed over to the female. She took it with thanks, turning back towards his friend. She placed the cigarette between her lips, before extending her hand towards Micah Bell, "Nora Morgan." He scrunched up his face in disgust, ignoring the handshake on offer and instead turning towards Arthur.

"You tell the boss I'll be returning to camp later, for now I gotta find a way to make up for this."

Nora rolled her eyes at the sly tone in his voice, she turned away just as she lit the cigarette and leaving them to talk amongst themselves while she focused on the

She was all too familiar with the sexism that radiated off of Micah Bell, having often dealt with such treatment during her time in Sisika with the guards that littered the place and just as she used to do during her time behind bars she chose to ignore such treatment, it wouldn't be any better for her if she acted out against it.

At least she wasn't treated the same why by Arthur or any of the men she travelled with, her own brothers always thought of her as more an equal rather than anything less and Cripps approached her with respect. That was one thing she never got used too and would often scold Cripps over, telling him she was just as he was and to not treat her as anything more.

While she had been lost in her thoughts, Micah had since departed unbeknownst to her. It was then did Arthur feel awkward in grabbing her attention as he wasn't so sure how to go about it. He settled for clearing his throat which she hadn't picked up at first, only was it the third time in his doing did she finally face him.

She quickly apologised.

"You did good, told you everythin' would be okay."

"You said I would be okay, not everything."

"Well.." Mister Morgan gave a light chuckle, throwing away the remnants of his cigarette with Nora soon following thereafter.

"You were right about Micah, his company is insufferable and what was the deal with that couple in Strawberry?"

"Even I don't know, jus' Micah being Micah I suppose."

"That sounds like a common thing."

Arthur shrugged, kicking his leg up to rest against one of the boulders nearby. "It might be."

She followed him with her eyes, noticing how where they stood had given them a clear view of flat-iron lake, a location Nora used to fish at often with her brothers.

"How is Mrs. Adler?"

"She's as good as losing your husband goes, but that ain't stopped her so much, does more work around camp than some of the men."

"She was always a tough one, Sadie."

"Still is, I s'pose."

"Did you give the brooch to her?"

He didn't answer verbally at first, instead passing over a small stack of money. "She asked that I give this to you."

Nora looked at the cash in hand before shaking her head in refusal, even if she wanted to she felt guilty taking it.

"Please keep it, or give it back to her."

"Alright."

She looked back over at Flat-iron lake with a fond smile, keeping her gaze away from Mr. Morgan as she studied the waters from the great distance. "You keep Sadie safe, I'll see you around, Arthur."

...

"Look who's back." Maggie cheered just as Nora entered the building. She looked on fondly, raising her cane in the air and foolishly waving it about.

Lem had eventually reached forward to lower the weapon down, making sure to keep it pointed at the ground save for anywhere else as it's waving would creep dangerously close to Nora.

"What have you been up to?" He asked, being polite and making conversation with Nora.

"Got roped into a jailbreak." He looked shocked by her answer but figured it to not be out of the usual for her. "How'd you get on?" This question wasn't about the success or failure of the mission, it was more directed at how Nora was able to handle the situation. He just needed to know if she had cried or if she became frantic during their heist.

He was surprised at the bright smile on her face as she answered him, "I was okay. It went well."

He reciprocated her look of joy, reaching forward to place his hand on top of her very own. "That's good to hear."

She was ready to reply before Maggie cleared her throat to grasp their attention, this unpleasant scowl on her face after witnessing such an interaction. Awkwardly, Lem retracted his hand to hide below the table while Nora placed hers on top of her own.

"Unfortunately for you however, we do need someone to retrieve some ingredients for our business and I trust that you both can do it." She instructed, her voice holding that same level of authority they had grown used to.

Upon the news of ingredients Lem's face as paled however as he recalled the event of their last attempt at bringing in a shipment of good for Maggie and slowly he turned to face Nora who too, looked worried.

She picked up on their worried expressions and let out an exaggerated sigh at this. "It ain't like the boat, you'll be pickin' up a wagon from near Rhodes."

Nora nodded as she replied to her business partner. "That's not too bad then."

"No, 'course not."

...

As the bullets flew by she let out a string of curses under her breath, looking up to see Lem more exposed than she was.

She hissed at the burning sensation in her shoulder, looking down to notice the unfortunate crimson colour beginning to stain the material of her shirt.

She pushed on, not letting the wound distract her from the priority she had; protecting Lem.

"Keep him safe" kept repeating in her mind, the warning given sternly by Maggie. It was what the women told her the day she was tasked with preventing Lem's transfer to Sisika. Then she was able to do so and Lem was returned home that night, not a scratch on him but here, right now, she worried she would fail by Maggie and fail to keep her nephew safe.

But the bullets became worse and now their boat became grounded, the worrying set in again and as the revenue men ran for them, while slowed by the swampy waters it was still terrifying for her and Lem's desperate cry for the boat to become unstuck didn't help matters.

She looked up at Lem, who fell backwards at the sudden push of the boat moving forwards.

"Let's get the hell outta here!" He cried out in celebration upon their vessel begging to move. The pain in her shoulder became noticeable now and it grew hard to ignore.

[pinetree-in-hatchetfield]

I’m Nothing Like They Picture Me To Be - A Spideychelle Fic

A/N: Inspired by the song Colder Quicker by Real Friends. I highly recommend it. Also this is my first attempt at angst, and I’m so sorry. This is either going to suck or be sad. No matter which, I’m sorry. (I blame @parker-is-full-of-shit) Future Author Speaking, Spoilers, I failed. It’s fluff.

It seemed like a normal day. Why wouldn’t it? Wake up, tea, class, lunch with the losers, more class, and she’s out. By all accounts it should’ve been a normal day. But it wasn’t. 

Because on this day, for some reason, some big goon decided to pull Michelle Jones into some random alley on her way home. He really seemed like he was making an effort to be a stereotype. Dark jacket, dark beanie, striped shirt, everything a cartoon burglar wore. If that wasn’t enough he started off with the standard, “Gimmie all your money.” 

She rolled her eyes. This guy really needed to get out more. But first, MJ would have to deal with him. She knew she couldn’t just punch her way out, this guy was at least a head taller than her and all muscle. So she went for the standard weak points: Groin, eyes, neck, and gut. She was almost out of there before suddenly someone came up behind her. Suddenly there was a sharp pain in her side. Like what the fuck just happened to my entire body, pain. Then she couldn’t move much, she couldn’t even stand. She heard faint shuffling and then shouting as everything went black for her.

She woke up (from what she could gather a few hours later) in a hospital bed. Everything was groggy and there was a large pain in her head, the pain in her side was duller though. She looked around to see that the chairs in the room were filled by her parents, sister, and a few classmates. Namely Ned, Charles, Abe, Betty, Cindy, and the one person who moved their chair so it would be closer to the bed, (nerd.) Peter Parker. 

She groaned as she slowly sat up, which made Ned shout “She’s up!” Suddenly the room was staring expectantly at her.

“’Sup?” She asked weakly, which earned an equal amount of smiles, stressed laughs, and relived sighs. “So what happened?” she asked legitimately this time.

“You are attacked,” her father began “From what we could tell it seems like it was a team mugging.” She groaned out of annoyance. ‘Of course it was. Why the hell not?’ She thought. Her father gave a small, tight smile before continuing again, “Apparently Peter found you there and called the authorities.” He finished gesturing to Peter, who was on the opposite side of the bed. Peter gave her a wide, genuine, and relieved smile.

Of course. Of fucking course. Peter god damned Parker. Stupid Peter Parker. Too pure for his own good. Too helpful. Too wide-eyed. Too everything. That boy was too much. Trying to pretend like he didn’t go around the city in tights. His stupid noble actions, little acts of selflessness, making her fall for him. What a jerk. She tried to pretend that smile didn’t do anything as she looked to the nurse that was entering the room.

The nurse explained how there was something on the knife she was stabbed with. Something that he or anyone else in the building weren’t quite familiar with. But something they were breaking down to find solutions to. For now they simply advised rest.

Not too long after that people started wishing their best and filing out one by one. Even her family had gone home. All that remained were Peter Parker and Ned Leeds. Eventually she convinced Ned that he needed sleep and made him go home too. Peter wouldn’t budge though. Peter insisted on staying. She argued with him, but eventually she fell asleep herself. The next morning she found Peter sleeping in that same chair he sat in last night. 

Days came and went in spurts. She kept slipping in and out of consciousness, but from what she got during the short periods of being awake her family and classmates visited regularly. Most days they brought flowers, despite her insistence that it wasn’t needed. Peter never left though. Peter fucking Parker kept staying right by her side. Eventually nurses took pity on him and brought him jello so he wouldn’t die in that stupid chair, he never left it though. 

After days upon days of this MJ was sick of it. She was sick of this. She hated everything. She hated how her family pretended she didn’t exist half the time. She hated that she was starting to care about people at school who would just leave her anyway. She hated that they cared about her. She hated that Peter thought she didn’t know about his secret identity, like he was any good with secrets. She hated that she was bound to this stupid bed. She hated this stupid grey room. She hated the default cable constantly on the TV in the corner. But most of all she hated, hated, hated, that Peter fucking Parker, after weeks of talking to her less and less, was suddenly acting like she was the most important thing in the world. She was sick of it.

And one day, when she was all but back to normal, and Peter was staring at her, with that stupid little smile, during one of their lulls in conversation, she blew. Everything came out. She groaned in frustration threw her hand in the air, “What the hell is your problem, Parker?” she shouted. Peter looked confused and scared. 

“Wh-what do you mean?” he asked

“You and your stupid sudden care! You don’t talk to me for weeks on end, then suddenly you’re first on my crime scene and you don’t fucking leave my side. You never fucking leave. You fucking flip flop on not giving a shit and caring more than any human being should be able to. It fucking hurts, Peter! What’s your god damned issue? Why are you hellbent on hurting me?!” She shouted at him. He looked flabbergasted, bus she wasn’t done, “I’m not a fucking idiot, Parker! You’re not hiding shit, so just tell me the truth. I know, so why won’t you fucking tell me?!” 

Peter stared at her in silence, seemingly starting a million sentences, but deciding against each one. She huffed in annoyance, “Fine, go.” she stated as she faced away from him.

“No, MJ, please, I can-”

“You can what? Because unless you’re gonna explain it to me, I don’t want you here.” She could hear him sigh and practically thinking. 

“MJ..” He never finished the sentence, because after a pause, deep breath, and a gulp, he slowly stood. 

“Leave, Peter.” She all but whispered, and he did just that. ‘Good riddance. Asshole.’ she thought. But still it hurt, she didn’t want to, but she did miss him. She cried herself to sleep that night.

The next morning she found a small box of stupid Valentine’s chocolates. Not just any chocolates. This box had a Spider-Man design on the cover. Now the dork was teasing her with it. What an asshole. 

A few hours later there was a small knock on the door. “Who’s there?” she asked

“Someone who has something to admit.” Said Peter as he entered the room. MJ rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t say you could come in.” She said, mostly nonchalantly, slightly annoyed. 

“...Can I?”

She didn’t want to look at him right now. He was the ass that thought she was dumber than a third grader and toyed with her emotions she had spent years trying to destroy. But the small part of that she wished she could smother with a pillow, wanted him here. So with a light huff she gestured to the chair to her right. Peter tried not to appear giddy, and MJ pretended not to notice.

“So, you’re right. I do have something to tell you.” Peter said slowly. MJ gave him a ‘Duh’ look and held up the box of chocolates. “Oh good, you got those.” He smiled and she nodded. “Then you probably know what I’m going to tell you.” She nodded giving another ‘duh’ expression.

“I’ve known for months, loser.” 

Peter winced, “Really?” She nodded again. “I thought I was more graceful than that.” She shook her head. Peter sighed.

“But still,” He continued, now struggling to make eye contact. “it should be said properly.” He took a deep breath before saying, “Michelle Jones, I am so very, un-coolly, deeply in love with you. I know you don’t feel the same way or anything, which is totally fine, so I’m sorry if this changes things or anything like that.” MJ had no idea how to respond. She sat staring at him for a moment before slowly holding up the Spidey themed box again. 

“I meant the swinging side-gig.” She managed. Now it was Peter’s turn to be shocked. His eyes bulged out of his head. 

“Y-you meant. The, Spider, right. Of course you did. Of course you knew.” Peter was standing now, panicking and slowly trying to back out of the room “I-I’m just. I’m sorry. Can we pretend none of that happened?” MJ took a second to think about it.

“Only if you pretend I didn’t say I felt the same way.” Peter’s eyes bulged out again. A grin quickly spread across his face. He walked back to the bed.

“Y-you? And you just, I don’t. Really?” Peter asked and MJ gave a small smile.

“You’re gonna have to stop that, Parker.”

“Stop what?” He asked tilting his head slightly

“Just, that.” She said, gesturing to all of his face. “I can’t deal with that right now.” Peter laughed, “What did I just say?” His smile widened, almost mockingly now. That simply wouldn’t do. She grabbed both sides of his stupid face, pulling him down, and tried to kiss that ridiculous smile off of it. It didn’t work. 

Eventually they pulled away, not by much, but the kiss had stopped. “We should talk about this.” Peter stated. MJ shifted on the bed to make room for another person and patted the empty spot. Peter took the signal and sat next to her.

“Tomorrow?” She asked. Important things could be handled later, this was a good moment as is. Peter smiled and gave a small nod as he rested his head on her shoulder. 

“Tomorrow.” He agreed, she smiled. 

[pettyotome]

Rika rant part 2 ( a more organized and in depth rant) since this fandom doesn’t know how to act right.

Idk why the fuck we still arguing this but spoilers undercut.

Note that this rant is written by someone who actually likes Rika, but is so over everything about her. 

If Rika had been a hot male, nobody would hate Rika.

Now, I won’t say that this is a bad argument. But it does insult the intelligence of those who have legitimate reasons to not like her. I use this argument myself if I feel like people only dislike her because she’s just the girl to hate when you have a crush on that really hot guy who likes her, being V. many people use this argument because of the sexism in other otome fandoms like Voltage. Like when the MC is being bashed for being clumsy, ditsy, dense-- while they think it’s cute and endearing when a romanceble guy has those traits.

Let’s flip the genders now. V is a woman, and Rika is a man. Just imagine all the bad things male Rika did to female V and see if you would still like Rika any better. Female V sacrificed the one thing she loves to do in the name of love, in hopes that she could save a broken man. Male Rika tosses her away the second female V disagrees with him. Male Rika broke apart two siblings that loved each other in order to progress with his diabolical plans. Male Rika injured his fiance physically and made it so that she wouldn’t even dare tell her friends what was going on. Because she still see’s the good in him and doesn’t want anyone to misunderstand. 

Let that sink in, and get back to me if you feel differently.

If people hate Rika because she’s a woman, then how does that explain why people like Jaehee so much? 

The fanbase for Jaehee is enough to throw that argument out of the window, because that just goes to prove that yes, it is true that in a lot of fandoms, it’s easier to hate a woman for things she’s done. But in this case? When we’ve got one woman who is problematic and hasn’t hurt anyone, and another woman who brainwashed and killed people in the name of peace? Do you seriously think that MM fans are going to hate the both of them even though one is clearly worse than the other, just because they both share the same gender? Y’all dumb as hell if you use that argument knowing damn well that if people hate RIka for being a woman, then Jaehee would have no fans either.

Oh, but Unknown/Saeran has killed people too, but people seem to find it hot rather than abusive.

I’m not a fan of Saeran, so that argument can’t be used against me. But in his defense, look at 707′s route. Look at how they grew up. Saeran was actually pure, unproblematic, and innocent. All of the shit with him started when Rika lied to Seven, saying that she’d protect him, when in reality she meant to use his brother to brainwash him and convince him that Seven didn’t love him and abandoned him. In other words, Saeran became the way he is because Rika brought him into her sick plans. What’s Rika’s excuse for being who she is other than mental illness? 

V helped Rika and did bad things too! Why do people feel bad for him and not her?

In my first rant, I already expressed that V annoyed THE FUCK out of me and did some things that I felt was really sketchy and questionable. It was hard to trust him. But he did those things because he had no choice to if he was going to save Rika, because Rika had put him on this all mighty pedestal, that V would be her savior. And when Rika found out that V couldn’t fix her depression, what did she do? She broke up with him and started a cult. The difference between the things that V did and the things that Rika did, is that V deadass thought he could save the love of his life and didn’t want anybody to think badly of her if he told the RFA the truth. And Rika killed and brainwashed people in order to make herself feel better about her savior complex. Nobody fucking said V didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just that he didn’t do the shit he did because he supported her, he did it because as “her sun” Rika pressured him to think that it was his job to save her. V lied to his friends, he made constant excuses, and as a result that also put the MC in danger in some cases. V had a very poor method of execution, and I hated that he didn’t do anything about Saeran being brainwashed by Rika. he promised Seven he’d look out for his brother and Seven trusted this man. Though who does this all go back to at the end of the day? Rika. Because V hadn’t done any of the things he did had it not been for the very thought that he could save her, and he would have never thought that if RIka hadn’t instilled the idea that V was the only person that could do that. The bad things everyone else did started all from her.

People hate Rika for being abusive, but Jumin was--

NAH NAH NAH NAH STOP RIGHT THERE DON’T BRING HIM INTO THIS

I don’t condone Jumin’s behavior towards the MC when his cat went missing and he would not allow her to go home. But to be frank, in a lot of his bad endings, it’s been proven that she was safer at his pent house anyways. And what exactly does she need to go home for...? She has the fucking emails on her phone. But although Jumin shouldn’t have projected his feelings about his missing cat towards the MC, instead of seeing her as her own person (which he does at the end so don’t get it fucked up) that was Jumin’s mistake that he made as a human being. Yes, he kept her in his house. But he never put his hands on her, he never forced this idea that she had to save him from his underlying issues, even in his bad endings, when she leaves, he actually wants her to be safe and happy. Now, was Jumin overstepping his boundaries? Yes. But was he actually being abusive? Fuck no. Y’all smoking dick if you think that. Jumin has done things that may be commonly found in what other abusive people do, but he’s never went as far as to actually doing something abusive or manipulative towards the people he loved. LIKE R I K A.

But in Jumin’s bad ending--

Ah, yes. The infamous 50 shades of Han ending of mystic messenger. I remember having to take a fucking shower after reading it because I was utterly disgusted. Let’s me just take a moment to say that even in that particular ending, the MC is the one who wanted to bring out that side of him. She basically consented to being treated the way she is in that ending. Is it healthy? Fuck no it’s not. Why’d y’all think I had to shower? But going as far as to say he was abusive in even that ending is ridiculous because BDSM involves two consenting parties. Jumin did not manipulate her into being okay with how he treats her in that ending, the MC asked him to, and he even asked if she was sure about that. So even outside of the canon endings, Jumin doesn’t technically do anything that counts as abuse. 

But even if it did count as abuse, Jumin didn’t tear a family apart, hit his spouse, or start a cult. He��s not even comparable to Rika. It’s okay to not like Jumin if his behaviors trigger something that hurts you and makes you feel like you can’t enjoy his route because of it. I totally get that, but to outright call him abusive and ignore Rika’s abuse just contradicts everything. 

Now, I will say this.

Rika is someone that I feel like has a very big heart. She doesn’t have bad intentions, but that does not excuse the fact that she took away Saeran’s only real family away from him and painted his brother out as the bad guy just so she could use him for her plans. I think that Rika does care about people to a certain extent. She’s like the perfect girl that everyone loves, and then one day she just lost it. It happens to people even in real life. I think she held in too much to the point where she couldn’t take it, and I was heart broken to see that happen to her. In the secret endings, I was happy to know that she was getting treatment for her illness, but I felt like being sent away to Alaska was just being nice to her. She should have been in jail. People are saying that the fandom treats V better than Rika just because Rika is a girl, and V is a hot guy, but what about the way the story was written? With all of the things she’s done, she gets sent safely to another place, and V dies even though he didn’t do anything nearly as bad? And the fact that V’s death is written off as suicide as well, Seriously? Did y’all not even think about that? Rika’s downfall broke me, but I still felt like she deserved to be truly punished. That’s why I said I’m over the guys in Mystic Messenger going all “poor Rika” all the time, they gave Rika help but gave V hate. And that itself was also Rika’s fault too. 

Again, flip the genders. Female V dies and has her death written off as suicide, while Male Rika gets to hide in Alaska to get treated when he should have been treated for his illness from the start. Female V gets all of the blame from her friends, even in her death, while her crazy ex gets to be patted on the back and told that everything is gonna be okay.

Well, it’s not okay. I wanted both Rika and V to be happy, not necessarily happy together, But happy. The only person I felt that got what they truly deserved in the end was Saeran, and thank god for that.

[horrorinreallife]

First of all, if you see this and say to yourself, “Oh. My. God. I’m going to keep an eye on her. I cannot believe she just said that.”

That’s actually just fine. I admit here publicly and to the entire world that the next boss that I have that does not value my time, experience, knowledge, thinks I shouldn’t work at all, thinks I would be better in the creative arts (man seriously fuck you with that why don’t you go tell that to Sally Mae. I fully admit I went for a creative degree simply so that I could still drink my face off and graduate with a diploma and just go join Corporate America and make tons of money so I could drink more and afford party drugs sorry that is who I am to the core and if that makes me a terrible person then come at me so I can run away from how stupid you are for wasting so much time being concerned about what I am doing versus your own life) and wants me to fuck them, well, I will murder you, like, the hardest.

Now I’m old and tiredish and one of those annoying and careful health people. ONLY because if you treat your body really well you don’t get sick or hurt that often (or ever) which saves tons of time dealing with the US Healthcare System which must have been designed by scientists in a lab just gathering together a bunch of orangutans and giving them construction paper and crayons and then just using those as blueprints for the entire structure in which to build a nationwide healthcare system.

Anyway, back to the premeditated yet unspecified murder confession.

One time I had a boss that was actually super fun to party with and I am pretty sure I was up for a promotion and we were wasted one night and he just drunkenly blurted out how hard I made his dick. Actually he didn’t blurt it out, he prefaced it with “You’re going to be mad.” Then told me. I wasn’t even mad! In no way was I impressed either, unfortunately. Truly horrified because I was familiar with what the next series of events would most likely be with him as my superior in the workplace. And honestly, he was actually hot and super fun and if it had been any other situation I would have absolutely helped him out with that hard dick situation (although he also had a wife that had literally just given birth so I felt bad about that too, I felt really bad for her, to be honest. Looking back if that were to happen now it would have strictly been the fact that he was my boss though. Sorry ladies. Keep your husbands away from me if you are a bitch) but the bottom line is I had a job in which I enjoyed and did well and was paid well and what I did with that money (basically gamble, but in the creative arts) was my own business and decisions and he ended up really fucking that (my ability to keep working that job and earning that money) up for me and so that was the last straw.

Ok, I mean, there were a couple of other instances since then that were much less severe because the people I dealt with were just simple country folk and you just cannot blame them for being just so mind-blowingly stupid, but I swear to you, the next time I am resorting to murder.

I mean, unless they are just so stupid again and then I feel bad for them again. Goddamnit I am stuck in a neverending loop.

Oh, also, if you are a potential employer reading this blog, in no way am I being coy with you. Murder, in this case, would be in cold blood.

What I am saying to you is that I am fed up with being disrespected in the workplace and I will kill you with my bare hands. Depending on how much of a douche you were to me specifically in regards to underestimating my abilities because of any archaic pre-conceived gender biases you held I would probably drag it out for quite some time, strictly to annoy the ever-living fuck out of you for both my own amusement and for wasting my time but eventually, I would murder you, again, not as in fuck you for being such an asshole hahaha you’re so funny fuck me so hard daddy/mommy, but I will literally murder you after which you would die, simply for being the last person that underestimated me in the workplace.

—-> I know there’s that super-lazy cop out way of hiring someone to murder other people for you but that is for lazy, lazy, stupid shitbags who are unable to complete a task. The truly fearful and Whitney. Oh, excuse me, typo. I meant whiney. Also if you are hiring people for that, those people aren’t usually the best at knowing who would actually make an effective contract killer for someone with more than 3 brain cells because, unfortunately, I’m going to have to bring up the stupidity again. I am referring to your stupidity, not the people you hir... nevermind. This will go over your head entirely. Yes I am being slightly emotionally abusive however it is in no way because I am attracted to you but in every way is a warning of your impending demise because I’m pretty sure I actually knew a guy like this once who legitimately told me he was going to kill himself at a specific age that was actually pretty young and so I absolutely keep my distance from that person even when they repeatedly ask me out and it’s just like obviously you are lying because that age has obviously come and gone for you but I wish that it was true and that I had the ability to speed up time. You can tell when a true friend is in trouble. That guy is no friend. <—-

“Hahaha you have a typo above that says Whitney instead of whiney. Was that a Freudian slip for Whitney Houston?”

What can I say, bitch couldn’t handle her crack.

“Oh my god! That is terrible!!!!”

That was terrible. Seriously! In all honesty she was stupid for giving Bobby Brown even a fraction of a second of her time. I understand poor self esteem is a thing, I’ve both wasted my time and had a HIL. AR. EE. OUS. time with that, but at a certain point you are just being stupid.

Also, I completely understand that there are people totally into that whole poor self-esteem/emotional abuse dynamic but just FYI: there are educators out there that then have to deal with your slack-jawed, ski-sloping forheadded children (I am in no way referring to the bunny hill here folks). SERIOUSLY! 👏 HOW 👏 MUCH 👏 SPACE 👏 IS 👏 POSSIBLE 👏 BETWEEN 👏 EACH 👏 INDIVIDUAL 👏 TOOTH 👏 IN 👏 ONE 👏CHILD’S 👏 MOUTH 👏 You would be amazed. Breastfeeding is certainly up to the parent(s’) descretion, however, there should be some kind of limit strictly in the best interests of the child.

Anyway, you are simply making those educators’ lives more of a nightmare than they already are.

I assure you. Those lives are already a nightmare of which recovery is slim to none.

Oh! One time (I have a feeling this wasn’t the first time but he actually married this one) my brother was with the poster child for white trash, I mean this bitch was so annoying and crazy but to the perfect stereotype. Constant selfies. Could not hold down a job. Was going to be a model despite her giant ass. I’m not talking about a phat ass dem boiis wanna be up ‘a bouncin’ on either, I am saying this bitch looked like if you poured unmixed pancake batter into pants. She had so many children from different baby-daddies (her last one was with this burn out I went to high school with and the kid LITERALLY has fetal alcohol syndrome or something). Anyway, a few times before they got married she could not have been blowing up his phone hardcore stalker-style any harder, but like FOR REAL, and I definitely had some concerns but I just assumed he’d figure it out. Well, anyway, they actually got married and he was deployed in the military and I guess she was like cheating on him and whatever else the whole time and just, here’s my issue:

I love my little brother and I was truly fearful when he was deployed because I was certain he was going to be out wandering around in the desert and step on a land mine and die. I feel like this bitch, in a way, kept him safe from that but then also must have been so fucking stressful to deal with too that there’s no way he doesn’t have major emotional damage from all that considering all the other horrible shit he must have seen overseas. Plus he does have women just constantly in his fucking face. If you’ve not met my mother, or father at this point, I mean, goddamn.

Anyway, I really wanted to kill that bitch for real. I am pretty sure that if my brother had been killed overseas while deployed while married to her, I promise you I would have murdered her without even a second thought of the consequences and just hoped somehow any money the government had to give for my brother’s death went to her daughter at the time so that poor little girl would have had a fighting chance. As you can imagine this little girl was *a bit* of a nightmare too but in her defense, with a mom like that she was doing pretty well. I imagine she’s probably like 13 with 2-3 kids by now unfortunately.

Anyway, to recap:

List of people to kill

1. The next employer that sexually harasses (stay tuned for a blog in which I define sexual harassment, much better than those hilarious corporate videos that just simply give ideas on how to sexually harass someone creatively) me to the point of me being unable to do my job for which I am being paid. P.S. If you are really hot or a fun person, sexually harass me all you want just don’t fucking afffect my paycheck in any way or then you’ll have to deal with me fucking killing you to death and I actually in all honesty don’t want to deal with that. I actually don’t mind being sexually harassed as long as it’s not from 4,000 people at the same time. Also, again, if it affecting my ability to earn money in which I use to pay my few bills and tend to my basic needs and fucking have fun occasionally like a normal person I will fucking summon Lucifer himself and bring a fear and actual murder upon you that you will not survive because you will die.

2. Any extremely stupid white trash cunts (in no way is that gender or income-specific in this instance) that torture any of my friends to the point that it is somehow directly affecting me in some way. My friends are smart people who can handle themselves (usually), and at this point I do not really give too many shits about anyone’s well-being because my own takes priority (I am single with no kids you can go ahead and hate me all you want that’s my right to be a selfish bitch) HOWEVER, hopefully by now they all understand I am in no way wanting whatsoever to be responsible for them. EXCEPT if something that is too white trash and stupid is affecting them to the point that it is affecting me then there is an issue.

3. Oh yeah, I forgot about stalkers. If you want to waste time stalking me you can but I’m going to just end up SEVERELY hurting your feelings and I apologize but don’t even put yourself through that. I’m serious. I see what you are doing and will patiently work with the situation but eventually I will get away from you and you may or may not recover from the emotional damage I left in my wake because I really do not appreciate that. That is what you deserve. Focusing on one person like that is very, VERY damaging to them.

4. Anyone, in general, that feels I shouldn’t work a job for pay. I do not give a rat’s shit how “dead end” a job is, “in this economy”, a job is a job. It is true I should be working a highly-paid corporate sales job, however, did you just read what I wrote above? At this point I could probably get some facial tattoos. Maybe I will. Just kidding. That makes you look retarded. You are illustrating your I.Q. right on your face. It’s very funny to everyone else, but I mean seriously.

I will add to this list later.

[harliquinne]

Why I shouldn't be too upset, why I shouldn't be in love, why I need to move on

Red flags that I should have left the moment it was raised, My ex is: A trump supporter:: I put up with soooooo much political support for such a god damn moron, I cannot believe the things he would say. He actually has one of those hats. Bruh. I am a fool. Homophobic:: when we were dating, I told him I was bisexual. He told me he didn't know if he could handle that, and seeing two people or he same sex made him sick. He also would roll his eyes whenever gay people were represented on tv, media, movies- what have you...saying that everything is trying to rub it our faces. Even though...people are people, everyone should be equally represented...that's a, I don't know, rational, reasonable thought. We would argue over this. I still cannot believe it and I am ashamed that I didn't leave when he said me being bisexual was gross- I literally told him nevermind, I was confused. It was one of the only times I've ever felt legitimately discriminated against. Like truly offensively so. I can't help but blame my mental illness for being so foolish and insecure...the amount of self-hate. Racism:: if you follow my blog, you'll notice I post a lot of poc beauty. Because I love my brothers and sisters, and I think they are of true beauty. I love them. I love their cultures. I love their charm. I love their strength. I love their voices and soul, their spirit. Again, I am ashamed that I stayed...through the whole, oh I have many black friends and I look black and dealt with discrimination for passing...black people are on tv all the time, just like gay people, rubbed in your face, overdone...as if white people are superior and deserve all the coverage. As if white people are the standard and need to stay the standard. As if it's wrong that they are equally represented in media. I am so ashamed...so ashamed that I kept that kind of person in my life, for all I stand for and love and believe. For all the strong black women that I look up to and reach for guidance and advice on how to be strong and respect myself enough to live through my struggles. I cannot believe that I was with a man that had so many radical views. He would say, we agree socially Politically...let me tell you how false that is. Even though I stayed, I'd always argue my beliefs and views, how wrong and fucked his words are...he would argue back and act like I didn't understand what he was saying. I'd give in, and tell myself we didn't have to agree on these things in order to be in love. I blinded myself out of desperation to get a feeling of being loved. Drug use:: when I met him, I had no idea. When we started fucking around and somewhat dating, I started hearing about it, he'd mention it. I told him I didn't like that and felt it was unattractive. He never really did it around me...then he face timed me in japan and his nose was all boogery and runny...he was a moron. I hung up. I didn't want to see it. He was almost showing it off, like he was a cool kid. He became more and more of a thing, and eventually I said, if you can't stop em, join em. I had a previous drug problem, so that kind of thing can happen. I loved it of course, the build up I mean...the flow has highs and lows, highs and lows, highs and lows- just like that. The come down to me is exhaustion and misery. Twisted in the head, ashamed, irritated. I started doing It with them, staying up til noon, drinking cuz it didn't make me spinny. I started to ask him to stop, I didn't want to be around it, it made me upset, it made m uncomfortable, it made me all around not happy and I didn't want him to do it either because it's not a good thing, it can be dangerous and he could get addicted. I was a fool. It has caused the most problems of all. He'd get so mean. He'd tell me to get my shit and leave. Get out. I don't care. I don't want you in my life. I will call the police. All I was doing was asking him to stop. I just asked him to no longer do it. I'd start to freak out and get emotional because he meant a lot to me... I put up with that. I put up with so much of that. I was a complete fool. I felt so desperate for love and I believe he really did love me. Treatment:: he never took me on dates. We'd go to restaurants sometimes...he took me out on my birthday. But we didn't even do activities together is what I'm saying. We didn't do anything. He said he had no money. He said he never bought the Coke, which is such a lie. He always wanted to party on the weekends instead. He would party and promise me we would do something the next day, but the next day he'd still be fucked up- so why would I want to do that. He never ate me out, which is a HUGE fuck no but I am sad so dealt with that. We didn't have sex as much as I wanted, once/twice a week. HUGE fuck that as well, I'm super sexual and kinky- I don't play that vanilla little basic ass white couple shit. He talked to me with a venomous voice, like I always misunderstood, like I was stupid, like I was wrong, condescending, rude, just flat out mean. He'd react to things I said like my voice was nails on a chalkboard. I know he loved me, he has shown me in his ways(he has an anger problem for sure, he needs to talk to someone but feels that his mental state is top of our breed)...but fuck. I didn't do anything wrong...he was just frustrated with my struggle in mental health as at the time, I wasn't being treated and I was also still misdiagnosed with Bipolar disorder. He didn't care about anxiety or anything like that, he believed that it was something that could be controlled and that weak people just need to focus and get their shit together. Meanwhile, I was having an attack. He leaves the room and does his own thing...annoyed that I pulled him from his socializing. He only thought about himself. He had no empathy even for those he loves. It's all about him and his happiness. I was nothing...even though he told me all of the time that was all in my head and my problem, not his. He told me, nobody has ever given you tough love- I'm here to give it to you. I'm such a fool, such a fool. I'm a complete fool. Even now, I am sad. I am so sad. I am so anxious. I have that terrible, terrible feeling in my chest. The tangled string, the tar, and the cotton surrounding the emptiness. I feel so let down. I feel wasted. I feel pretty fucking terrible. I shouldn't. I deserve better and I can do better, but fuck If this doesn't hurt like a Bitch. He doesn't even care, this person I believe loved me...I can't believe I did think he loved me. I am such a fool. I am so ashamed but so sad. So many red flags and they are still standing, but here I am, the one suffering. I left him. Why am I the one grieving? He isn't even a good person. He might be successful one day and I might think he is sexy as fuck with his dark skin and dark eyes and hair and his perfect ass...but he is wasn't good to me, he didn't care like I did, he didn't care...he didn't fucking care. Please, let me be alive again tomorrow...please let me rise back up and be the queen I am. Please let me open my eyes again and see what this man is, the truth...please set me free from these chains... I hate him. Please let it feel like I do. Please.