#just thinking about them makes me nauseous

[billysgirllol]

“well, there’s bad people everywhere. even in the sea. there’s sweet mermaids who wouldn’t hurt a shrimp. and there’s some not so good mermaids who could be capable of doing so.” the brunette replies, shaking her head before wiggling her nose as his finger trailing down the slope tickles and causes her to laugh. watching him scoop water over her pretend injury, rainmist laughs again. “are all humans as curious as you?” smiling endearingly, she’d definitely find it super cute if she were a real mermaid. she finds it that way even as a human. “hmmm, for good measure you say?” tapping her chin, brow raises, “okay, if you think it needs it.” smiling in amusement, turning her head to cover her mouth as the laughter spills over. he just wants to do it again for some reason. “you don’t need it…your heart’s royal enough. that makes you a prince in my eyes.” the brunette beams, speaking affectionately. unsure if that’s her mermaid character or herself speaking at this point… oh, it’s definitely both. her cheeks flushing under the late spring sun, butterflies scattering in her chest frantically at their hands and fingers touching. what’s happening and what does she do with this scary feeling? looking at his eyes, she’s masking how badly she wants to look AWAY with a grin and laughter escaping despite the shyness welling in her fawn gaze. the feeling in her chest makes her feel like she’s about to faint. she’s not supposed to really feel these feelings of affection towards him… so fast. and oddly, there’s a grand parallel in it. rainmist has met tristan in a few minutes. and she, lucy gray, has met billy in only a day and it feels like she has known him for a life time. that’s what’s scary about it… because how does someone feel that way? truly? about another human all that quickly. isn’t her mind only playing tricks? maybe she’s just desperate to be loved? maybe he’s desperate to be loved. she’s in disbelief that that’s how soulmates work, when she’s the number one believer in soulmates which doesn’t make sense. convincing herself her mind is just clouded by how he saved her, is honest, and a gentleman and not the callous person she was originally scared of him being. but it’s so intense, it nearly makes her nauseous and feel like tearing away from him and running to put at least twenty feet between them. “that’s my secret… i am a princess. i needed my prince. and— you showed, helped my tail and saved me from getting hurt under that ship.” squeezing his hands, one hand lets go to wrap her arm around his neck, hugging him again for really saving her earlier.

"you believe so? that's very rare...to meet such a considerate human. that cares for mermaids like we are just people too." lucy gray speaks fondly as rainmist, trying not to laugh as lucy gray at his funny look she receives when he looks at her that way. "you sound passionate. i'm... well, i am shocked. especially for a pirate." a gasp escapes, hand covering her mouth. a pirate? they're usually the prime suspects in being cruel to mermaids for a reward. "that's a nice name tristan, i'm rainmist...and..." laughter starts to escape, throwing her head back briefly. she has to laugh at how adorable and timid he looks for some reason pecking her knee. "i'm sorry for my laughter. it just means... it means it's healing!" rainmist perks up, sitting up straight and flipping her 'tail' aka her legs pressed together up and down. "it feels good as new! you fixed it! and you saved me. you must not be just any captain of a pirate ship... you must be my pirate prince." beaming at him, having the time of her life having childlike fun like this, grabbing his hands and slipping her fingers through the spaces. "you really are the sweetest pirate in all the land, you've just proved it!"

[dykecubes]

I was a hardcore dream fan up until the point the initial grooming accusations (the stuff in from the “The Truth” video).

I think a lot of people call Dream fans a cult kind of like,,,,, either insultingly or hyperbolically. Like they aren’t really thinking that the group is cult-like, and are saying it just because of the extreme devotion to dream through controversies. As a former fan tho, my experience genuinely does feel somewhat cult-like to me (I don’t want to downplay real cults, but I don’t have another word).

Cults often target people who are lonely and vulnerable and offer them community in return for not questioning things. I joined the dream fan community a couple months into the pandemic. I was very lonely. I had depression that I had just started getting treatment for (literally one session and I was still unmedicated) at my college, before getting ripped away from my hope things were going to get better. I wasn’t out to my parents, so living at home again meant getting constantly misgendered.

in short, I wasn’t feeling great. And Dream- you have to understand how much of his fan community (at least on tumblr) is into the idea that he loves his fans, and he loves his friends. And getting to watch those friendships felt like living vicariously. And having someone tell me they loved me, even if I knew I was just another fan helped. For a long time during the pandemic, the dream team were the literal highlight of my day. They were often the reason I got out of bed. I knew even then that that wasn’t healthy, but I was having trouble figuring out how else to get through things.

even after going back to college after the first vaccine had come out, Dream (watching and re-watching videos, interacting with the community) remained a pillar of my mental health. Less so, but if I needed to calm down, I watched a dream video. A lot of my free time was spent in fan spaces. I really, really put him on a pedestal.

I cannot describe to you how anxious I was when the grooming allegations came out. I genuinely started feeling nauseous all the time. I was checking my phone obsessively. I’m not going back to look at these, but I remember that dream had some initial responses (long Reddit post and whatnot). There wasn’t enough there to really make anything clear/disproven and the girls looked like they had a lot of evidence, so I was still anxious and sick and feeling like I was waiting in limbo to find out what was really going on. Trying to prep myself to accept that things might not be what I hoped, as much as I didn’t want to believe it.

when I logged on, the vibe in my tumblr circle was… very different. A lot of people (except for a few that ended up leaving with me) were acting like everything was disproven and it was all good and we could go back to normal times, with a few posts about how disgusting it was that someone would fake something like that. My first response was, honestly, confusion. I thought that I must have been being stupid and missed something or not understood something. So I politely sent an ask to a big name in the community that I trusted to be smart and explain things well, saying that I wasn’t sure we had enough evidence to really dismiss the accusations and asking why she thought that everything was disproven. She gave me exactly the same information that I already knew, while calling me stupid and saying that if I didn’t believe dream that I should just get the fuck out.

I felt suddenly, unpleasantly woken up. I wasn’t being stupid or missing evidence that would fully exonerate dream (maybe there was evidence like that in “the truth”. I never watched it, couldn’t). They just wanted to believe Dream wasn’t guilty, so they did, and twisted things until that made sense. Because they wanted to feel excited and loved again, instead of the crushing anxiety and dread I was in. And I thought about my own reactions, and I knew that I had been so fucking anxious over someone I didn’t even know because secretly I also wanted Dream to be exonerated. I wanted to bury my head in the sand and pretend that it simply wasn’t true because of what being a dream fan gave to me: bits of happiness and community.

And I was really scared of myself. Because I wanted to not believe those girls, not because I thought I had evidence otherwise, but because it would make me feel better. And I knew that was really, really shitty, and that that was something I had to stop in its tracks. And that I NEEDED to not be as obsessive or put anyone on a pedestal as much again. Because I would do the same thing- wanting to make excuses to keep my own happiness. And that’s not ok.

I stopped following almost everyone overnight and stopped watching anything Dream-related cold turkey (<—I realize this probably sounds stupid but I genuinely watched so much dream stuff it was an actual change in my life). I’m still in the mcyt space, mostly hermitcraft, but I make sure that I never put anyone on a pedestal like that again, and I have a way healthier internet to real life ratio.

Coming out of that space genuinely felt like something I was grieving. The intensity of my emotions, both in it and coming out, wasn’t healthy, and I’m really glad I left. if I wasn’t faced with a situation where someone was potentially materially being hurt, I don’t know if it could have happened, I was so embroiled. For obvious reasons tho, that crossed a line and luckily on the other side I had people that were kind to me when I was still kinda reeling.

anyway, tldr, my hot take with this situation is that more dream fans wake up and realize he’s a piece of shit, and get grace and kindness while doing so. Sorry for how long this is- hopefully I get my point across that I genuinely believe that at least some dream fan spaces are intensely unhealthy, more than some people outside of them might consciously think

anon if I’m being honest with you this whole situation has me thinking a lot about this post from a while ago and at the moment, yes, it is frustrating seeing his fans deny the evidence right in front of them but I really can’t help but hold a level of sympathy for them

I was never really a hardcore dream stan but I was very adjacent to that community back when I still had Twitter and TikTok and spent a lot of time defending dream and his community whenever criticisms of him came up, I very much disliked the idea of calling dream stans a cult because I spent probably about 5 years or so of my life in stan communities on Twitter and I’m very much of the opinion that they get a bad rap, but it was around the time of his grooming allegations that I stopped defending him as well and came to understand what people meant when they called his community a cult

while I still don’t fully like using that word to describe his community because I know people who are survivors of cults and don’t want to downplay their severity, I will also say it’s alarming how easy it is to apply the BITE method to dream’s fanbase, especially information and thought control

that being said, even if it technically is not a cult it’s still a very intense community and it’s still difficult to get out of (speaking specifically on the way former dream stans are often bullied for leaving) and obviously the connection you’d have to such an intense community like that is going to be a serious emotional one so I understand why a lot of them might still be holding on

so I agree, I hope if fans of dream choose to leave his community they’re treated with grace and kindness

thank you for sharing, anon, I hope you’re doing well <3

[laurfilijames]

Like My Dreams

Part 6

Pairing: Pete Dunham x female reader

Words: 7.3k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Violence. Alcohol consumption. Sex.

Summary: Your incident with Tommy comes to a head, making Pete decide between doing what is right by you or by his firm and everything he stands for.

A/N: I know it's been a while and I still do not plan to be active on here, but I figured I'd share this since it's what I've been working on until I finish my Breathe series and post the final chapter. It seems I've had a lot of new readers to this fic recently which is surprising but nice and I hope you enjoy! Thank you to everyone for sending kind messages and tagging me in things, I see you and appreciate you 💗

Part 5

---

Pete didn’t think he had ever been so worried about anything before in his life. The knot in his chest battled for attention with the sick feeling in his gut, making him nauseous and almost dizzy from being so anxious.

His sweaty palm gripped his phone tightly, having just ended a quick call with Fiona after having already called your sister, Clair and Swill, none of them having heard from you since earlier in the day.

Pacing the space between his kitchen and the door, he tried to work out what to do; to stay and wait in hopes you came through the door or returned his incessant unanswered calls, or if he should get in his car and drive to Millwall to Tommy’s garage even though he still wasn’t sure that was a possibility of where you had taken your car.

“Fuck!” he yelled, cursing himself for not having paid more attention to the details of who was doing your repairs, his mind going a mile a minute with all the horrible thoughts of what could be happening to you right now.

He exhaled deeply through his nose, trying to calm the continuously rising anger and panic, closing his eyes while reminding himself that everything could be perfectly fine and just because the mechanic you had taken your car to was in Millwall, didn’t mean it was Tommy Hatcher.

But of course, everything else he had been thinking crept back up to the surface again, and in a fit of frustration and helplessness, Pete turned and punched his hand into the wall beside him.

Wheezing breaths between broken sobs sounded distant to your ears even though they were coming from your own mouth, your hands gripping the steering wheel like a vice as you drove on autopilot, survival and getting home being your only instinct.

It wasn’t until you hit a small pothole in the road that you seemed to blink into awareness, a gasp blowing out of your lungs as you realized you weren’t even sure how you got yourself from Tommy’s garage to where you were now, and as you looked at the buildings around you, panic settled in when you discovered you didn’t even know where you were.

You pulled your car to the side of the road, turning your four-way lights on, and covered your face with your hands as you began to cry even harder, the gravity of what had just happened to you settling in.

Leaning forward, you removed your hands from your face and returned them to the wheel, resting your forehead against it as you tried to collect your thoughts and decide what to do next, only to jump back in shock at the realization of Tommy and Martin having every opportunity to have tampered with your car. You turned off the ignition and unbuckled your seatbelt as quickly as you could, climbing out of the driver's seat as if the thing was on fire, bringing your hand up to rake through your hair as you stared at it and took a couple steps back onto the footpath, finding it impossible to believe how stupid you could be to not consider they could’ve planned to kill you by meddling with something critical.

Still unable to stop your tears, you reached in and grabbed your phone from your purse on the passenger’s seat, wiping the moisture from your eyes enough to see the screen that showed numerous missed calls, mostly from Pete.

You took a deep, steadying breath as you hit the button to dial his number, not wanting to sound as hysterical as you felt, your free arm wrapping around your torso for an ounce of comfort as you reminded yourself you were fine.

Pete picked up before the first ring even finished, and the moment you heard his voice, your lip trembled like mad and all that came past your lips was a sob as you broke down again.

“Where are you?” he asked, the urgency in his voice forcing you to try to focus on what was around you.

“Erm,” you blew out a shaky breath, looking around at the dark buildings that seemed to be towering over you, making you feel even more small and vulnerable. “I- I don’t know…”

You heard him curse under his breath, and rushing to try to concentrate, you glanced around for a street sign and read him the name.

“I know where that is. Don’t move, alright?” he asked, and you knew he was running from how his voice rattled.

“Pete, stay on the phone with me?” you cried, hugging yourself tighter, the cold of the night making you shiver.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured you.

It felt like the longest sixteen minutes of your life, waiting for Pete to get to where you were.

You stood in the dark on the side of the road, not daring to sit in your car again in fear it would blow up if you turned the key in the ignition again, and just as your luck would have it, it started to rain.

You wrapped your coat tighter around you, feeling your whole body trembling like a leaf as you impatiently waited, praying that each car that approached would be Pete’s.

Having him stay on the phone with you was helpful, hearing him give updates on how far away he was, the sound of him cursing at other drivers to hurry up and get out of his way distracting and somehow comforting.

Pete hadn’t even put his seatbelt on, maneuvering through the streets as fast as he possibly could, and reaching the intersection you had given as your location, he spotted your car pulled over to the side with you standing nearby.

His door was open before he could even fully shift into park, stepping out and running over to you, not thinking twice before gathering you in his arms and holding you against his heaving chest.

His heart broke when the sob you let out reverberated through his body, feeling you fall limply against him as he held you up, his lips pressing onto your wet hair as he spoke the only words that he could form.

“Shh, I'm here. I'm here,” he kept repeating, trying to soothe both you and himself.

After a minute Pete pulled away enough to look at you, clasping your face in his hands as he tried to assess you, his teeth clenched tight.

“Are you hurt? Do you need to go to hospital?”

You shook your head no, trying to stop your tears from falling by not speaking.

Pete sighed, but trusted you to be honest with him if you were injured, his thumbs brushing the wet streaks away from your cheeks.

“The police?”

All you could manage was to shake your head no again, closing your eyes when you saw anger rise up in his, the grip he had on you when he moved his hands down to your shoulders tightening with his frustration.

“You need to tell me what happened!” he shouted, a strong mix of anger and urgency ringing in his voice.

It made you flinch, the memory of Tommy yelling in your face too fresh that having Pete raise his voice at you was a shocking reminder, the similarity between the man you loved and the man who feared making you feel sick.

Noticing your discomfort, Pete tried to calm himself, taking a deep breath in realizing that he wasn’t helping.

“Just tell me what happened so I can help,” he pleaded, his voice softer but still laced with insistence.

“I will. I promise I will, but I just want to go home. I’m fine, I swear.”

When Pete tilted his head defeatedly, giving you a look like he wasn’t convinced, you simply begged, “Please.”

You dug your forehead against his chest again, your arms wrapping around him and beneath his jacket where you tried to steal some of his warmth, mumbling against him when you felt him sigh heavily through his nose.

“Just take me home.”

“Right, okay,” he accepted, kissing the top of your head again before peeling himself away from you.

“Is there anything you need from your car? I’ll come round to get it tomorrow with one of the lads.”

“Umm, just my bag.”

You remained as close to him as you could as he opened your car door and stooped inside, grabbing your bag off the passenger seat before closing and locking it, putting his arm around your shoulders to tuck you into his side as you walked over to his vehicle that still sat running.

It was completely silent aside from the squeak of the wipers clearing the rain off the windshield and the heavy drops hitting the steel, the odd sigh coming from Pete resonating in your brain that was muddled with a million things and nothing all at once.

You jumped when you felt a hand land on yours, only to breathe when you realized it was Pete’s and remembered that you were safe, the look on his face making tears crawl up to your eyes again and threaten to spill out.

“Sorry,” you croaked, weaving your fingers with his, watching the pain reflecting in his eyes as he shook his head before staring back at the road, bringing your joined hands up to his lips where he kissed yours and kept your knuckles resting against his mouth.

Your heart sank when the door on the lift opened and revealed Mrs. Platt standing on the other side waiting to go down to the lobby, and you blinked and averted your gaze, hoping she wouldn’t make any cheeky comments let alone notice how bloodshot and puffy your eyes were.

“Mrs. Platt,” Pete greeted, flatly, and you dared to glance up to see what her response would be.

Her mouth hung open, about to speak, only to close it again when she took in the sight of you and the somber expression on Pete’s face, choosing to give an understanding nod as she stepped to the side and let you both pass by and walk over to Pete’s door.

Pete stood in place after coming inside the flat, watching you remove your soaked jacket and take your shoes off just as you had any other time, the normalcy of your actions haunting him as you made it seem like whatever had made you so distraught hadn’t even happened.

You went over to the kitchen, filling the kettle before turning to reach for your mugs, the way your hands shook as you brought them down off the shelf prompting him to move and take over.

“Let me,” he insisted softly, his eyes fixed on you even as he retrieved two teabags from the container and readied them in each mug.

“I’ll go change,” you spoke, your voice passive and hollow.

Pete nodded, the worry that screamed within him building up to be unbearable, bracing his arms against the counter as he blew out a long exhale and tried to stave off the emotions that were becoming more and more difficult to swallow down. The fact that he still didn’t know a single thing that had happened to you was killing him, and he clenched his teeth together hard in order to stop himself from stomping through the flat and demanding answers from you, willing himself the patience to let you tell him when you were ready.

By the time the tea had brewed you were back in the living room, sitting on the sofa wearing your favourite West Ham jumper of his, tucking your legs up on the seat where you hugged them close to your chest.

“Here,” he said, quietly, holding your mug out for you to take, sitting on the coffee table directly in front of you as he watched you hold the tea with both hands, closing your eyes as you let the warmth spread through your fingers.

“I need you to talk to me, love,” he pleaded as gently as he could despite how he felt. “I’ve been worried sick, trying to get hold of you, not knowing where you were–”

“It was Tommy,” you interrupted, your heart plummeting into your stomach the same way his face fell at your words.

He turned pale and the muscles in his cheeks flinched wildly, and he shook his head frantically as his brows knitted together.

“The mechanic I took my car to was Tommy,” you began, trying to remain as composed as possible as you started from the very beginning.

It surprised you how calm Pete remained as you explained everything to him, his rage over the situation only evident in the way his leg bounced up and down and how he wrung his hands together until his knuckles were blanched, his tea sitting on the table beside him long forgotten after needing to put it down in fear of breaking the mug or throwing it at the wall.

He ran his hands over his hair roughly as he sighed out, looking down between his legs as he processed everything you told him, prompting you to assure him one more time that you were fine.

“I’m okay.”

He shook his head as he looked back up at you, his expression seething.

“I’ll fucking kill him.”

“No, you won’t, Pete.”

Another heavy sigh blew out his nostrils.

“He didn’t–”

“No,” you cut him off, somewhat stern in your answer, having to reiterate that Tommy hadn’t followed through with his threats of sexually assaulting you other than rubbing against you.

“And you’re not hurt?”

You shifted in your seat, reassessing your muscles and bones now that you had settled a bit, the adrenaline having simmered enough for you to tell if there was any pain.

“My ribs are a bit sore,” you realized, holding your side where they had been previously cracked, your fingers dancing over the area that had been slammed into the handle of the cabinet. “But I’m okay. I don’t need a doctor, it’s just a bruise.”

“You can report this to the police, you know,” he stressed, his eyebrows high on his forehead.

“I’m not doing that. It’ll just cause more trouble. What if he comes after us? Or Jack?” you restated, reminding him of the threats Tommy had given. “Besides, I don’t want this making the coppers dig into your fight with him and putting the heat on the GSE.”

Pete clenched his teeth and shook his head, not making eye contact with you, the mix of rage and nausea settling in his gut like nothing he had ever felt before and rising up his throat along with the guilt that washed over him knowing that the dealings of his firm had come down on you.

“Pete,” you whispered, your voice soft in your plea. “It’s okay, I’m okay. Just please tell me you won’t do anything stupid. I don't think he'd be thick enough to try anything again so let's just leave it, yeah?”

He sighed deeply, his jaw set as he looked away, clearly thinking over your request and debating everything he knew.

“Pete,” you called, the urgency potent in your voice. “I need you to promise me. The consequences won't be worth it.”

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, and eventually he met your eyes again. “Okay, I won’t.”

You placed your hand on his and turned it so you could lace your fingers together, squeezing it three times where he automatically returned the act of endearment.

“I’m going to shower and go to bed. I’m tired and cold,” you explained, tilting your head slightly to meet his pained eyes.

“Yeah, okay,” he nodded, seeming helpless and defeated.

You stood, not letting go of his hand. “Shower with me?”

“‘Course, love.”

The warmth of the water and Pete’s body spread through what felt like to your bones, relieving every ache and tension caused from earlier as you stood unmoving in his embrace. His hands traveled slowly up and down your back as you rested your head on his shoulder, losing yourself in the calming tempo of his breaths, the smell of his wet, warm skin seeming more heavenly than usual.

The shower appeared to be helping Pete relax as well even though you knew he was struggling to, and you’d happily let your skin turn permanently pruney and stay here for as long as it took for you both to feel better about what had happened, feeling no rush to step out of this safe bubble and into the cold reality that existed beyond the shower walls.

As much as you knew he wanted to keep an eye on you, you couldn't deny you were doing the same with him, part of you fearing he'd run out the door to go after Tommy had you not requested he join you.

With the warm water having finally run out and your eyes turned heavier than you could stand to tolerate any longer, you retreated to his bed, the plushy comfort of the mattress consuming you when you sank into it, the sheets exceptionally soft and welcoming against your cleansed skin.

Pete lagged behind, the sound of him brushing his teeth before climbing into bed registering just before you succumbed to your exhaustion, your body able to fully relax now that he was back beside you after feeling the bed dip to his weight.

He laid there for hours completely awake, staring up at the ceiling as his hate grew to a level he didn’t know was possible. It was one thing for Tommy to attempt to wipe out the Dunham name, but to go after you…

The choice to remain in bed rather than going to hunt Tommy down was nearly impossible, and the longer he stayed, the more rage he felt at doing nothing about it.

Pete feared if you hadn’t been as exhausted as you were, you would’ve woken up by his breathing alone, the way he was seething unable to be controlled, his pounding pulse seemingly louder than the street noise that sang outside the window.

His mind participated in his own torture by alternating graphic visualizations of everything Tommy had said and done to you with all the vile ways Pete wanted to act out every infliction of pain on him, the consequences of killing him worth it in this moment, but each time you stirred or let out a sleepy moan, he knew no satisfaction in that would be worth losing you.

He sighed and rolled over to face you, his front lining up to your back, wrapping his arm around your middle to tuck himself against you, his face buried in your neck where he breathed slower and deeper in a way to fend off the frustrated tears that were bubbling to the surface.

Pete was marvelled that he managed to sleep, let alone as long as he did, blinking awake in the grey, late morning light. He rubbed his eyes and twisted his body to check the time on his alarm clock, sneaking out of bed as best he could to not wake you as you remained sleeping peacefully in the spot in his bed you claimed each time you were in it.

He limped to the kitchen, his leg feeling worse than usual, the stiffness that remained since Tommy had broken it more prevalent today and likely because of how tense he had been from yesterday’s events.

Pete popped the lid open on the kettle to check how much water was left in it, deciding it was enough to make a pot, and clicked the button to get it boiling.

A soft rap on the door caught his attention, frozen on the spot as he listened for any other indication of him needing to answer it, his brows knitting together with curiosity when he heard what sounded like Mrs. Platt’s door closing in the hallway.

He opened the latch and poked his head out, finding no one there, the only evidence that he wasn’t hearing things being a casserole dish covered in foil on the floor in front of him with a note on the top.

Heat at 180 for 30 mins

Knock if you need anything…

Mrs. P

Pete couldn’t help but smile as he picked it up and closed the door behind him, grateful to have a neighbour like her who, although nosy at times, was attentive enough to know something was wrong and caring enough to do what she could to help.

He lifted the foil to peek inside, his mouth watering at the sight of a perfectly made shepherd's pie that you both would happily dig into later.

He finished sticking it in the fridge when you walked in the room, sleep still heavy on your features as you lazily shuffled closer.

“Morning, babe,” he greeted, softly, his eyes scanning over you for any signs of injury or trauma that had maybe been missed the night before.

“What’s that?” you asked, pointing toward the fridge.

Pete held up the note, leafing it between his long fingers. “Mrs. Platt. Shepherd’s pie.”

Your eyebrows rose up on your forehead in surprise. “Wow. That was really kind of her.”

“It was,” Pete agreed, walking over to you slowly where he landed his hands on your hips and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “How are you feeling?”

You hummed, assessing how you felt both physically and mentally. “Okay, I reckon.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I don’t even think I woke up once last night, shockingly.”

“That’s good,” he nodded, wrapping his arms around your shoulders to pull you against his bare chest. “I’m gonna meet the boys for some beers in a bit, but I won’t go if you don’t wanna be on your own,” he offered, speaking into your hair.

Your fingers moved on his back as you considered asking him to stay, but decided better of it.

“No, I’ll be fine,” you promised, pulling your head back to look at him. “Clair and Fi are popping by for a visit.”

He smiled and ran his hands down your hair to your cheeks. “Perfect.”

The guilt he felt for being there stung more than his knuckles did, but he did his best to swallow it down and worry about it later, turning his torn hands over as he reclined further in the old chair with a creak.

He recrossed his feet on top of the desk with a wince, his leg still bugging him and giving another reminder of all the justified reasons he was sitting there, and kicked over the coffee mug with the Millwall F.C. crest on it in the process.

A framed photo of Tommy Jr. sat beside the computer and Pete found he couldn’t look away from it; that little lad the reason all of this had started in the first place and refused to stop after all these years.

He remained where he was even when he heard the chime on the door ring as it opened, Tommy’s footsteps heavy but unsuspecting as he walked through his garage to his office like any other day.

“‘Ello, Tommy,” Pete greeted flatly, putting the bottle of beer he helped himself to out of Tommy’s stash to his lips to neck the rest of it.

Tommy paused and quickly assessed the room before speaking. “Made yourself at home, did we?”

He walked in and threw the newspaper he was holding on the desk beside Pete’s feet, staring his enemy down with amusement.

“Yeah, thanks for the beer.”

Tommy shook his head as Pete flashed him a fake grin. “And how the fuck did you manage to get in here?”

Pete rocked in the chair as his smile grew, his interlaced hands forming a point with his two index fingers that he directed behind Tommy. “Your good man Martin let me in.”

Tommy pivoted on the spot, following Pete’s guidance to where he noticed Martin laying in a heap on the greasy floor behind a car he had been working on, unconscious.

“I reckon he’ll come round in a bit,” Pete smiled, clicking his cheek with suggested doubt, knowing he beat him up pretty badly.

By the time Tommy turned back to face him, Pete stood up and threw the chair into the wall behind him, his nonchalance switched to anger as he closed the space between them, grabbing Tommy by the collar and shoving him back into the filing cabinets behind him just as he had done to you.

“You listen to me, Tommy,” he spat, his forearm pressing against his windpipe with so much force that Tommy was already gasping. “If you so much as breathe near my family again, I’ll rip your fucking throat out.”

Tommy made to grab at Pete, only to buckle when Pete drove his knee into his crotch, but forced him to stay upright with his arm still locked on his throat.

“This shit all ends here, you understand me?”

Tommy closed his eyes, making Pete’s blood boil even more, slamming him into the handle that was digging into his back harder.

“Look at me, you fucking cunt!” Pete yelled through gritted teeth, tightening his hold on him so that when Tommy did open his eyes, they were bloodshot and bleary.

“Don’t you ever go round threatening anyone I love again, or you know what I’ll do to you.”

When Tommy nodded as much as he was able to, Pete released his arm from his neck, still clasping the collar of his shirt where he smoothed it out before patting the side of his cheek.

Just as Tommy appeared to relax, Pete headbutted him as hard as he could, sending him crashing into the cabinets again as he went unconscious and crumbled to the floor.

Pete licked his lips and then spit on him before strutting out of the office, popping the collar of his coat up as he stepped over Martin and made his way out of the garage.

All the parking spots in front of the Abbey were taken, forcing Pete to leave his car further down Braemar Road and walk in the fresh air, the busyness of the pub on a Saturday afternoon something he was usually excited about, but it felt different today.

He debated just going home, wanting nothing more than to be with you after all that had transpired in the last two days, but figured he would go and have a pint like he had told you he was doing so it wasn’t a complete lie.

Pete stalked toward the back corner, seeing the lads all sat in their usual spots at one half of the table, his view of the other side of it blocked by people crowded around the bar.

The second he was able to see the rest of it, he stopped in his tracks, the sight of you sitting in his chair making his heart plummet into his gut.

Dave gave him a sympathetic look as he approached, and finally braced himself to meet your eyes, puffing out his cheeks with a long exhale, his hands that were shoved in his pockets extending out as if admitting he fucked up.

“Beers with the boys, eh?” you quietly accused, your tone even and making Pete question whether or not you were livid or upset.

“Listen-”

“No, Pete! You lied to me!” you rushed out, but quiet enough to not cause a scene. “Where the hell have you been?”

He sighed and set his jaw, glancing off to the side as he tried to think of how to explain himself, but you beat him to it.

“I don't wanna row with you here–”

“You went and confronted him, didn’t you?” you whispered, your disbelief clear, seeing his bloody knuckles when he peeled them from his pockets and rubbed his hands over his hair. “And more by the looks of it!”

“What did you expect me to do?” he countered, grabbing the back of a chair from a nearby table and spinning it so he could sit. “I’m not gonna let a piece of shit like Tommy fucking Hatcher get away with what he did to you.”

“Jesus Christ, Pete,” you muttered, shaking your head as you tried to stave off tears. “What exactly did you do? I told you not to – you promised!” you spilled out, your panic rising with each word.

He reached for your hands that you brought to cover your face, pulling them away gently and holding them in his own, smoothing his thumbs over your knuckles while he leaned forward to try to get you to meet his eyes.

“I barely touched him…he won’t be bothering you or anyone again. I’ll die before I let anything happen to you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

You tugged your hand from his and roughly wiped your tears, your emotions quickly changing and switching to be more angry, the way you felt now seeming a hundred times worse than yesterday.

“Babe, come on,” he pleaded, still holding your other hand even as you stood from your chair and tried to move past him. “I had to do it– I can’t just sit back and let him win–”

“How honourable of you,” you chided, not looking at him while managing to free your hand.

He sighed, his anger getting the better of him as he let out a short laugh with his breath. “You have no fucking clue about any of this!”

“No?” you spat back, your tears falling as quickly as your frustration was rising. “I guess I don't, Pete, but what I do know is that every day I think of how I almost never had the chance to know you, let alone love you, and I’ll do anything I can to keep that safe. I can’t lose you now. So please forgive me for thinking what we have is bigger than your flaming reputation with your fucking firm.”

You made your way out of the pub, needing to get some fresh air and collect yourself for a moment, Clair and Fi following behind.

“Fuck!” Pete yelled, slamming his fist on the table to make all the pint glasses jump.

“So what exactly did happen?” Dave asked, scooting down the bench so he could hear Pete better over the chatter of the rest of the boys.

“Nothing totally incriminating,” he smirked. “Roughed up Martin pretty good and just told Tommy if he doesn’t stay away that I will actually kill him.”

As Dave was about to agree, Bovver piped up from the other end of the table.

“That’s what should’ve been done in the first place.”

“That so, Bov?”

“Yeah. And that’s what we should be doing now, not giving empty threats just ‘cause your bird said so.”

Pete shook his head, his rage growing the longer he stared at the look on his mate’s face, wanting to do nothing more than smack it right off of him.

“Stay out of it, Bov.”

Bovver stood abruptly, the table jostling as he did, knocking over some glasses in the process. “You just keep proving what a bottle job you are. Another pathetic stand taken by the GSE.”

Pete flew out of his chair and lunged, doing his best to grab at Bovver who was doing the same, but Dave and Swill held Pete back while Keith and Ike struggled to stop Bovver, the two of them shouting at each other so loudly that everyone else in the pub stopped what they were doing to watch.

“Leave it, leave it,” Dave warned, his hands still on Pete to prevent him from making another attempt.

Everyone managed to keep their emotions together for the rest of the afternoon, the boys keeping Pete and Bovver a safe distance apart and a constant flow of beer to maintain some peace while you and the girls rejoined everyone at the table, though you and Pete still weren’t talking.

He was playing darts with Dave and Ike, but giving you looks out of the corner of his eye every opportunity he had, the tension making you feel ill.

Pete twirled the dart in his fingers before throwing it at the board on the wall with force, the thud of it somehow loud compared to everything else, his accuracy and power making you jump. Nodding at the praise for his aim from the lads, he turned and grabbed his pint, chugging the rest of it before setting it down and walking over to you, his eye contact cold but familiar all at once and kept you frozen in your spot.

He stood over you, his scent and warmth swarming and filling a space in you that had felt empty since first finding out he lied about his whereabouts, and you closed your eyes as he brought his hand to the side of your cheek where he rubbed it gently with his thumb.

“Do you hate me?”

You shook your head side to side slightly, and when you opened your eyes to look up at him, the tears that had quickly welled up spilled down your face.

“I don’t think that could ever be possible no matter how hard I tried.”

The corner of Pete’s mouth turned up in a soft smile, and he leaned down to press his lips against your forehead, taking a deep inhale as he did.

“I’m sorry.”

You placed your hand around his wrist to pull him down into the seat across from you, seeing the genuinity in his blue eyes as they came level with yours.

“You should be.”

He let out a small laugh, “I’m just trying to do what I think is best. This life is all I know.”

“I know. And I always promised I would never try to change that but…” You stalled, taking a deep breath to try to fight off more emotion from showing through. “I can’t imagine living my life without having loved you, Pete, and that man almost made that happen. When what we have is being threatened in any way I–”

“Hey, it’s alright, love,” he soothed, leaning his forehead against yours while he gathered your hands in his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kissed you gently, the taste of beer transferring to your lips, making you crave more.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

The last of his thrusts slowed, your mouths continuing to move on each other until everything else on you had stopped, the soft, passionate sex you just had making you feel dizzy and complete and able to forget the stress from everything that had happened.

“I love you, babe,” Pete whispered, nudging his nose against your cheek.

“I love you too, Pete.”

He kissed you one more time before rolling off of you, stretching his arm up behind him to open the window that his bed was under, letting in the biting, night air.

You faked a shiver and cuddled closer to him, smiling when he immediately wrapped his arms around you to allow you to lay your head on his chest, his skin dewy and impossibly warm.

“Mmm, c’mere love,” he said lazily, squeezing you tighter so your cheek pressed into the West Ham crest over his heart.

“How d’you feel?” he asked after a minute, the question making you close your eyes to really assess yourself.

“Hmm…good. Yeah, really good.”

“That’s just from the sex,” he chuckled, and you giggled and squirmed against him.

“Well yeah,” you agreed, slipping your leg between his and nuzzling your face into his neck. “But I do feel good aside from that, too.”

“Good. ‘Cause I was thinking…” he trailed off, linking his hand with yours to run his fingers up and down between yours.

“Hmm?” you prompted, feeling so relaxed you could drift off but curious at the same time.

Pete shifted slightly so he could see you better, the sweet smile on his lips meeting his eyes, the way he was looking at you making your heart soar.

“I want you to move in with me.”

A smile automatically stretched out your lips, and your heart beat to the same tempo it had when you first met Pete, first kissed Pete, first knew you loved Pete, and you knew that living with him would bring that same feeling time and time again.

“Really? Yes! God, yes!” you stammered, your disbelief clear in your words.

“Yeah?”

“Yes!”

Pete kissed you through both your smiles, rubbing his hand on the side of your head.

“Brilliant. I know it’s just a bloody council estate flat but I love having you here with me and I promise I’ll get a better place for us one day, yeah?”

“I don’t need anything else, Pete.”

He laughed somewhat exaggeratedly. “Come off it! You think I want to be stuck here forever? This place is a tip.”

“But it’s yours… and now it’ll be ours.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, dancing your fingers along his chest. “I love it here. It’s you. All your things and records and books. I’d be happy here forever.”

Pete laughed again, the sweet sound of it drowning out the sounds of the street only slightly.

“I’m being serious! It doesn’t matter where it is, you’re my home.”

His smile faded as he looked you over as you hovered above him. “You’re far too good for me, you know that?”

“Am I?”

“Are you looking for me to list all the reasons?”

You shrugged and giggled when he grabbed your side, rolling onto your back where he moved to lay on top of you.

“Well to start you’ve forgiven me for going to see Tommy today.”

“Have I?”

Pete sighed and dropped his head.

“Just don’t do it again, Pete. Please.”

He sighed again, “Babe, you know if he comes near you again–”

You cupped his cheek, rubbing your thumb against the scruff that had been growing in the days since he last shaved.

“I know. But there’s a chance that if he does, I’ll be the one to kill him first.”

Pete smiled, the grin enhancing the creases on the side of his mouth.

“That’s my girl.”

He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours, stealing your breath as it hinted at a promise of more and made your heart flutter and your core ache.

“I’ll make a hooligan of you yet,” he winked, diving back to capture your lips again.

Nearly a month had passed since officially moving in and it seemed like every day got better than the last, but one thing was on Pete’s mind constantly.

“Fuck me, how much did you pay for it?”

Dave chuckled. “Three months salary. That’s the ‘rule’,” he explained, making quotation marks with his fingers.

“Yeah, and your salary to boot. I’ll be able to get one out of a bloody sweets machine on my wages for Christ’s sake.”

Dave shrugged as Pete took a drink of his pint. “You don’t need to spend that much, mate. It’s not what it’s about.”

“Yeah, I know,” Pete said solemnly after swallowing. “I just want to do it sooner rather than later, ya know? But right now it’s not in the cards. I can’t afford it.”

“Can you borrow off someone? What about Steve?”

Pete shot him a sideways glance. “Absolutely the fuck not.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help you out here!”

“No, I know, and believe me I actually did consider it but fuck, that’s almost embarrassing innit? Borrowing cash off your older bruv to pay for an engagement ring. ‘T’s not happening.”

“Well, Pete, she’s not going anywhere, and a ring isn’t gonna change that.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll just start saving all my coins.”

Dave clapped him on his shoulder, “Good man, that’s it.”

“So that means you’ve got the next shout then, yeah?” Pete laughed, leaning back in his chair.

“Yes, Mum!” Pete laughed, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he worked on fixing dinner, having been on the phone with her for over half an hour now and needing to carry on with his evening, knowing she would gab away for as long as possible.

“No, I’ll talk to her tonight about it, yeah – no I know it’s been a while – I really want you to meet her, too...”

You walked in the door, calling out a ‘hello’ as you dropped your bag on the table and hung up your jacket, about to say something else until you noticed he was on the phone.

Pete mouthed the word ‘mum’ and pointed at the phone, giving his head a slight shake as he started to laugh again.

“Right, yeah – okay, Mum, yeah, I’ll let you know as soon as we figure something out. Yeah, love you too. Bye, bye.”

He hung up with a sigh, setting his cell phone down on the counter before walking over to greet you.

“Hiya, gorgeous,” he grinned, leaning in for a kiss where he moaned into your mouth.

“How was your day?” you asked, somewhat breathless when he eventually pulled away.

“Good, yeah, good. How was yours?”

“Hmm, long, but fine enough. Happy to be home.” You smiled and bit your lip, finding it hard to believe that you still weren’t over living with him. “I still feel like I need a pinch every time I say that.”

Pete smiled too, reaching to hold your face in his hands as he looked at you fondly. “I need a pinch too, knowing you’re mine…”

You kissed him, still smiling when you pulled away. “So how is your mum?”

“Good, although she gave me shit for not seeing her for so long. That being said…” he sang, walking back into the kitchen to continue making dinner. “She’s invited us round for a visit. She really wants to meet ya.”

He smiled proudly at you as he watched your face light up at the prospect of meeting his mother, knowing how well the two of you would get on and excited to show you off to her, the buzz he got from having you as his girlfriend never getting old.

“So when are we going?” you inquired, stepping into the kitchen behind him where you filled the kettle.

“I was thinking in a couple weeks, I can get the time away from work no problem…figured that would be enough notice for you?”

You agreed, part of you wishing it could be sooner, the thought of going away with Pete to the Lake District where she lived seeming so inviting right now.

Opening the tin where the tea bags were kept and noticing it was empty, you started pulling open cupboards in search of a fresh box, coming up empty-handed.

“Oh, sorry, I went to the shop after work and got some more,” Pete answered your unspoken question, pointing to a bag hanging on one of the chairs with the knife he held in his hand.

You grabbed the box out, frowning when you saw it was a generic brand of tea and not the usual Yorkshire that you and Pete preferred.

“What’s with these?” you scowled with a smile, holding up the box.

“Uhh, yeah they were out of Yorkshire. I know,” he waved his hand and shook his head like he was disappointed as well.

“That’s odd, and surely a crime,” you laughed. “I’ll go to another shop by my work tomorrow, they’ll have them.”

“Nah, it’s fine, we’ll drink those ones,” Pete offered nonchalantly, hoping you wouldn’t press it any further.

When you popped a couple of the bags into the pot, he went back to his task, knowing it was silly to be trying to save a few pounds by way of buying off-brand tea bags, but for you he was willing to do anything to be able to afford a ring worthy of being on your finger.

---

@stealfromthedevil @theesirenteller @inbar-thomas1980 @lilac13 @honeydewwboo

[sulevinen]

i hate eggs, the smell makes me nauseous and their texture is revolting and they taste gross. so naturally rex hates eggs too

[salty-and-spiraling]

The saddest part about your favorite characters being villains- especially villains that aren't heartless- is that they'll never win. And you know they'll never win but it's so heartbreaking anyway.

Cause they're bad. They're bad guys and the bad guys don't win. But they're people! They have families! They love, they laugh, they cry! But they can never get a happy ending. They're too far gone.

No matter how much you hope, it'll never happen. They'll never get that bright future on the horizon. They've hurt too many. Done too much. They brought this on themselves and they have to live with it.

You know all of this, yet still you want them to be happy. You still wish there could have been some kind of work around. I say this especially if the villain had a sad backstory. If they'd been pushed to their breaking point. If cards they'd been dealt had never worked for them. If they were made this way.

Then you just can't help but think, "what if?"

What if they could've had a chance? What if just one moment had played out differently? They weren't born evil, it didn't have to be this way!

But no. It's a losing game.

Cause that's why they exist. To lose. They need to be an obstacle in someone else's heroic story. A monster to be defeated. Born to fall so that others can rise.

In the end, despite everything. They're bad guys, and bad guys lose. That's how it goes. How it always goes.

Thanks for reading. I'm gonna go cry.

[angelpuns]

Genuinely feel so sick to my mf tummy but idk if its cause of dinner which was an autistic nightmare ( spaghetti but it was just..fucking wrong. ) or the like...10 chocolate orange sticks I had. They're super small but i was not keeping track of how many i ate cause they were such a sensory pleasure to eat :/ Or maybe its my body rebelling against taking a break idk

[icewindandboringhorror]

sometimes looking at like Self Help Strategies lists for the symptoms I'm having is always just like:

thing that I already do

thing I have tried 10 times

thing I already do

thing that I don't have the money to do

thing I already do

thing I've been doing since I was 10yrs old to no avail

thing that is impossible given my situation

thing that doesn't apply to me

thing that I already do

thing I have already tried

hrmm, oh wait, maybe finally- OH, yeah.. okay. thing that I already do but it was just phrased slightly differently

thing I have already done

[eli-is-an-idiot]

right it's only recently hit me that the biggest set of exams that i'll ever take (eleven subjects with at least two papers each, fuck my life D:) are in four months and i am nowhere near ready, so i'm probably going to be a lot slower with updating my writing

so if you're reading only a day away (first of all, i appreciate you so much!!) i'm going to write some more tonight and maybe tomorrow, but after that my Revision PlanTM kicks in and i'm probably going to vanish for the forseeable future

i'll do my best to be somewhat consistent, but i can't guarantee anything - i just want to be clear here so people aren't left without an explanation

[miiiwu]

.

[softbutchthatlovesyou]

This might sound defensive but if you're attracted to a 100% binary trans man as a woman then that's straight regardless of what you say, because trans men are men full stop, maybe it's unintentional for you but there's a lot of trans men aren't really men or are women-lite shit going around, reanalyze yourself and your transphobia because that's straight up awful shit and I'm so sick of seeing this being spread around it's fucking conversion therapy shit disguised as something positive reanalyze why you want trans men to be with lesbians so badly when lesbians traditionally mean and is understood by wide society to be women liking women, like actually sit and think about that, maybe it's hard to admit that it's offense but good fucking god

You seem to be under the assumption that I am forcing the tran men who identify as Lesbians to be not fully men or women lite and you are very wrong?? I do not see a trans man as any less of a man for being a Lesbian. He is a Man and A Lesbian. They are both true. They are not conflicting labels just because of societies perceptions of a word that was forcefully adjusted after Lesbian separatism.

Yow however are the one assigning those people a sexuality based on how you see their relationships. Is a woman supposed to break up or change her entire sexuality because her partner came out and she didn't stop being attracted to him? What if she still primarily dates women after they breakup for unrelated reasons? Does she earn being a Lesbian back? Or maybe consider how many trans men are butches in the community who are Men and Lesbians and their femmes love them and are no less lesbian to any of their peers. What about those who are firmly Trans men and Trans Women at the same time? Do they stop being a lesbian on "Man days"? Do they earn it back on women days? You know, to make sure on "man days" they aren't viewed as Womenlite for being a lesbian by their own choice. Where's the line anon?

It sounds defensive because it is. You are not reading a word I've said about any of this and are shoving shit I don't believe into my inbox under the guise that you think I condone any of what the fuck you iust said.

I am a man and spend half my time fighting to be seen properly as one against transphobic Lesbians who insist I have to be a Girl Butch otherwise they have the right to dictate who I can date. I fucking know more than enough about people who want to change my gender to fit their transphobic views. I spend an entire portion of my blog fighting about transmasculine rights if you bothered to look around before you sent this accusatory ask.

Some Trans Men are Lesbians because THEY WANT TO BE. When I talk about Lesbian Trans Men I am talking about ME and THEM. If you cannot understand that then you are not having the same conversation as me.

Also the fucking Lesbiphobia of revoking someones right to be a Lesbian because you don't see it that way is disgusting. Who the fuck are you to think it's okay to tell somone they aren't who they say they are? we got a council that can kick us out of our little clubs since that's how you wanna treat these identities?

[threewaysdivided]

The Shaper of Minds and its possible consequences for a certain character

I have finally joined the rest of the internet in losing my mind over a D&D Podcast - in my case, the wonderful Dan Jones & Dragons.  With Episode 26 due to stream on Dan’s Twitch this week, I really want to talk about some of the stuff that came up across the just-finished Gala sessions because the fallout from that has the potential to be incredibly fraught.

THE SHAPER OF MINDS

The relic the Flower Crowns were going after this mission – The Shaper of Minds – is a potentially fascinating narrative device that might as well have been lab-engineered to be my exact brand of personal nightmare fuel.   It’s a small, ornate brass key that can alter any part of the target’s mental faculties/thoughts/memories at will should the wielder touch it to any part of their victim’s skin.

Now, on one hand, there are a heap of interesting (and even benevolent) applications for a tool like that.  It could instantly grant access to skills, languages and knowledge that would otherwise take a person years of study to learn.  It could be used to sort through and resolve memories that had been faded by time, muddied by trauma or forcibly supressed by magical/medical means.  But on the other…

As described and used in campaign so far, the primary function of the Mindshaper is to alter memories (and the attendant personality) with the target having no awareness that their mind has been changed.  It’s basically gaslighting on steroids, except that where a gaslighting victim still retains their original recollection – and has to be manipulated by their abuser into doubting their own perceptions and instead accepting the alternate telling of events (a cognitive dissonance that can eventually lead the person to recognise the manipulation) – the Shaper of Minds entirely replaces the original recollection of events with the version the wielder wants their victim to perceive.  There is no internal conflict between accounts, no inconsistencies that could alert the victim that someone has broken into their head and rewritten their perceived reality.  The person they reshape you to be is the person you believe you always were.  And all it takes is a single touch.

That is a brand of existential horror that had me on edge all throughout Session 24 (basically from the moment it was implied the key was in play).   Reality may be objective, but each individual person’s internal reality is governed by their perception – their memories – of the events in their life, no matter how incomplete, biased or otherwise skewed that personal perspective may have been.  You have value just by being you because you are not replaceable, but the thing that makes you unique is, in large part, the sum total of those inimitably specific personal memories.  No-one else will perceive the world in exactly the same way you do, and even a few minor changes to just a few of those perceptions can flow on to massive differences in ideals, values, priorities and future choices.  In that regard, the use of the Mindshaper Key isn’t so much an alteration as an obliteration of the victim’s former self and replacement with someone new; even if that new stranger is largely indistinguishable from the original.  And, again, all it takes is a single touch.

[Sidenote:  This made Mister Wick an especially effective antagonist to wield the key, since his Galas functionally trap even targets who are aware of the threat within the rules of high-society behavioural expectations.  Otherwise-innocuous actions like a handshake or private conversation suddenly become incredibly dangerous, while being nigh-impossible for the Flower Crowns to extract themselves from without committing an atrocious faux pas and potentially tipping Wick off.  Perfectly designed stage for a psychological horror-thriller encounter.]

Which of course, brings us to a certain character who fell victim to the key in Episode 24…  [put under the cut for spoiler reasons]

MORENTHAL

This poor Drow, he can never catch a break…

Morenthal may not have been the most mechanically dangerous party member to fall victim to Mister Wick’s manipulations although, given that the key was revealed to let its wielder read existing memories during the alteration, and that all of the Flower Crowns were fully briefed on the locations and nature of the Eversteel artefacts, him getting a hand on any of them could have been very bad plot-wise but from a character point of view I think he’s the one who the key’s effects had the potential to be most personally devastating for.

The way things ended up playing out across Session 25 was precisely the nightmare scenario Gamb was fretting about out of game: Mister Wick forcibly implanted Morenthal’s mind with false memories of being his lifelong trusted confidant and supporter, then – before the Flower Crowns could reverse the key’s effect – Morenthal discovered that Mister Wick had been killed in combat with Coil and Preston, leading to the Party having to physically restrain him so they could use the key to undo the damage, thus confronting Morenthal with the realisation that not only was everything he thought he knew about Jonathan a lie, but in actuality Jonathan had committed possibly the most invasive violation he’d ever been subjected to in order to forcibly make Morenthal into one of his loyal tools.  That level of emotional and mental whiplash would be rough on any character, but for Morenthal it’s particularly brutal because…

Based on what’s been revealed in-game so far, the core of his character is that Morenthal is an abused child.  This most-clearly came up in his conversation with Gelnek in Session 14; he was a child who grew up with nothing, raised by the Bloodletter Mercenaries as a tool instead of a person, and taught to see faces only as targets – with him also mentioning to Hobson in that their “combat training” involved being relentlessly beaten down until he learned to fight back.  During his Session 21 visit with the Nightmother, he openly admits that “nowhere feels safe”.  From that it’s pretty clear to read that Morenthal has never felt unconditionally loved, safe or respected around other mortals.

(This also helps contextualise why he’s so devoted to the Nightmother.  From what little we have seen of his visits to her, Iris is a fond “adult” figure, who does not threaten, does not judge, asks nothing of him aside from his company, and cares equally for all the souls that pass through her domain.  For a child “growing up with nothing” but violence, that would have been everything.)

But then, enter Jonathan fucking Wick.  And now, just for a short while, Morenthal has all these “memories” of Jonathan being there to confide in, encourage him and support his escape from the Bloodletters.  Suddenly he believes someone was there for him and, while the memories might be fake, the feelings of unconditional safety they would have brought were very real.  Little wonder that he started acting like a Trilby-level naive goober around Mister Wick to the point of accidentally snitching on the rest of the group.  Only, then it turns out to be a lie and those memories are gone.

For me, I think one of the worst things Morenthal might end up dealing with in the aftermath of having his memory fixed isn’t the specific feeling of personal betrayal or the potential shame at having been caught: it’s the realisation that he was always alone.   That there was no mortal on the outside who cared or came for him when he needed them – just him and the distant fondness of a Divine.  That would be awful beyond words, and yet the Flower Crowns were forced to inadvertently inflict it upon him in order to restore his mind.  No wonder he wouldn’t look any of them in the eye before the session closed.

Worse still, the nature of the key makes it incredibly hard not only to trust others, but to trust your own mind.  The players and audience above-table know that Morenthal is back to experiencing and remembering reality as it happened, but the question could very well linger for him, bringing with it a hefty dose of paranoia.  Sure, Morenthal correctly remembers that Coil is a straightforward, loyal person who wouldn’t be tempted to tamper with his mind beyond undoing Jonathan’s manipulations… but he “remembered” that about Mister Wick too, and wouldn’t that be a beneficial thing for the Party to have him think?   To Morenthal, people were already Not Safe™, but now the one person he ever believed might be had actually violated him worse than anyone else in order to force and abuse that trust.  How is he supposed to trust anyone if he can’t trust the authenticity of his own recollections.  (I get the feeling that Morenthal probably isn't going to be capable of relaxing until the Shaper of Minds is confirmed to either be locked back safely in the Vaults of Eversteel or fully removed from the Mortal Plane by Six).

It makes it really tragic that all of this came directly on the back of Episode 23, where Gamb revealed during the above-table break chat that - even if Morenthal didn’t recognise why – he unconsciously trusted Trilby and Gelnek enough to jump off the airship without checking that his rope was secure, because deep-down he knew they would catch him.  To go from that high-point to the whiplash of him first thinking the Flower Crowns had killed the only person he was ever “safe” with, then them inadvertently subjecting him to the most painful realisation he could ever experience and potentially leaving him wondering whether he can even trust his feelings about them is absolutely gutting.

I think the thing that scares me most about how the aftermath could potentially play out is another trait that Gamb and Dan have established for Morenthal: he's a flight-risk.   He shies away from letting people get close and, if he feels unsafe enough, he runs.  It’s already been mentioned/implied that he’s considered fleeing the group at multiple different points across the sessions.  And with him likely not feeling safe even in inside his own mind right now, that risk is probably at an all-time high.  The poor lad is staring down the barrel of a potentially-impending multi-level emotional crisis, where a lifetime of instincts will probably be urging him to run hard and fast because People Are Not Safe™.

And the thing is, that instinct isn’t a good one for him either.  Morenthal might have gotten by on his own “just living to be” up until Filgrove, but that feels a lot more like surviving out of necessity than having an actual life.  It’s pretty obvious that he pushes people away as a defence mechanism:  if you don’t care about anyone then you can’t be hurt by them or have those people used against you.  But if you don’t let yourself care and feel things, you’re not really living.  The truly tragic part of his running being a potential foreseeable outcome is that the Flower Crowns are good for Morenthal.  (I doubt Morenthal realises it and can’t speak to Gamb’s above-table thought process but it’s interesting that one potential interpretation of Morenthal’s cynical, faux-apathetic, “stinky” behaviour is that of a former abused child quietly testing the boundaries of whether he’s allowed to exist in a way that’s inconvenient for others, to which the answer from the Party has largely been yes provided he isn’t actively encouraging Trilby to get himself killed, or killing people without explaining himself).  He survived alone before because that was all he knew, but I get the feeling he wouldn’t do so well if he tried to go it solo again after being with people (he’s already confessed that the idea of Feyli being gone makes him miss her).   That’s not a road to walk on his best day, let alone with his current headspace and tendency towards self-destructive choices. 

It reminds me a lot of this article:

“Still, it’s easier for us to keep blaming ourselves because it’s preferable to facing the unthinkable: the fact that our parents don’t love us. …  Most people would rather do anything than accept this as the truth. Not only is it painful; it’s humiliating.”

So yeah, suffice to say I am incredibly concerned about how Morenthal’s arc is going to play out over the next session(s).  Here’s hoping that Gelnek and/or Coil have enough emotional savvy to keep an eye out, and enough patience to stick to him even if he lashes out in attempt to drive them off.  Even if it all works out okay, I get the feeling that this one’s going to be ugly.

Can’t wait to see how everyone chooses to play it ❤️‍🩹

[carrionhearted]

I’m really struggling w seeing people who participated in the “let’s gang up on and brutally harass this guy based on an assumption, because he makes a convenient scapegoat” incident of ‘24 saying “I apologized :3 sorry I was just emotional :3 all done now :3”

Hhgghgghghgh. Apologized to who. To me? To the other random people y’all harassed off the platform? Sorry, I’m still hurt over this, I say this as nothing more than an expression of my own feelings. No animosity, I’m just struggling. Like I still have no closure on this entire thing, the most I’ve gotten is… people stopped telling me to kms? Which might mean they now understand they were mistaken? I do not know. Hsggdgs. I don’t understand how people are saying “I apologized”

I wish absolutely no hate towards anyone, that’s never a solution, I’ve always advocated that. I only hope people grow and heal from this. I just wish I had even a smidge of closure.

[widowshill]

happy aro week to everyone who celebrates. give your local aro a hundred dollars to compensate for their suffering (me).

[natjennie]

does anyone out here have a dad that isnt an asshole all the fucking time. like is it even possible.

[petoskeystones]

no i’m literally so happy for you guys. you have your boyfriends and scholarships and awards and jobs and hobbies and friends, and i have these dead sailors

[one-winged-dreams]

Had a dream I got kicked out of a Varian discord for being inactive and that really makes me feel some type of way about the ship lmao :)