#i’m mentally unwell over the snake man

[vivid-but-vague]

Swallow Up Your Flames With Mine - Messmer

There’s not nearly enough Messmer fics out in the world, so here is my humble contribution.

Prologue

She had stumbled in unprepared. While she knew of Messmer based on the red-clad knights stationed around the castle, the Tarnished hadn't expected to happen across Messmer's throne so soon after relieving the accursed hippopotamus of his post. By the time she breached the throne room doors she was down to her final flask, still covered in the blood of the soldiers of the demigod sat before her, his lanky form sprawled across his throne while twisting serpents writhed behind him- from within it would seem.

No matter, she had come across much more greatly malformed demigods than he. Although one of his eyes remained closed, whether willfully or by the course of some affliction remained to be seen, she was certain she would not survive long enough to find out, his visible eye shone bright with the golden rune of Marika.

The red haired man, surrounded by tendrils of snakes and flames, was similar to the rest of the demigods in his immediate need to speak. She never had gotten a word out with the others, although, she found herself taking him Messmers form as though in some form of trance. She briefly wondered if St. Trina's magic was at play as the demigod's voice cut through the air over his crackling flames.

"Mother," he started, one visible eye sweeping over the Tarnished's form and lips curling in unveiled disgust.

"Would thou truly lordship sanction," his hand carefully wrapped around his spear as he pushed himself to his feet almost lazily, yet still with the grace one would expect of a child of a goddess, "in one so bereft of light?"

Arlyn barely had the time to contemplate drinking her final flask in an effort to quell the throbbing of her shoulder, let alone pull her sword from its sheath at her side, as Messmer shot into the air. She found herself willfully captivated as he conjured a sphere of wild flames around himself, and was neigh able to shake herself back to her senses as he came plummeting towards her.

She dodged his initial blow, but the flames still singed the ends of her hair as she stumbled backwards, hip and shoulder screaming in protest from having earlier narrowly avoided being eaten alive by the hippo. The Tarnished contemplated drinking her final flask as black dots danced across her vision in time with Messmer's flames, but the pain in her body and within her head made it far more tempting to acquiesce.

First attempts were all about learning patterns, but with her head spinning the Tarnished struggled to memorize much of anything, body sluggish and instinctively rolling away from initial blows only to be caught up in the remaining flames anyways.

She barely saw him charge forward, hand outstretched in a flurry of flame. The weapon dropped from her numbing hand as Messmer's fist encompassed her throat. Barely able to breathe through the smoke-laden air, her vision dimmed significantly as he hoisted her upon his flaming spear. The pain she would have expected to feel from the spear piercing her abdomen paled in comparison to the experience of staring closely into his singular open eye, glowing with the rune of Marika- the mother that betrayed and condemned him to such a place.

She faintly heard his words as he chastised her slowly fading body, but was too caught up in his eye to discern them. As she felt herself finally drifting away, the Tarnished reached a hand towards his angular cheek and mumbled one word with her final breath:

"Pretty."

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera - Ch 14 - Hide

A slightly different format to tell the story of this next bit… I hope it works!

(Previous… Prologue - Stars are Only Visible in Darkness, Estera - 1 - Colour, 2 - Dinosaur, 3 - Shoes, 4 - Thunderbird, 5 - Lesson, 6 - Safe, 7 - Gull, 8 - Deliver, 9 - Coffee, 10 - Flight, 11 - Run, 12 - Fall, 13 - Trying)

(Sofasurf’s Recrudescence which is the foundation for all of this)

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Was good to meet you today. Here is my number. I hope you’re doing ok? Estera

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Hi Estera, sorry I didn't get back to you immediately. I wasn't well, but I'm doing better now. I'm glad we met. Maybe we could catch up again sometime in the future. Look after yourself, S

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Hi Scott, thanks for your message, I was glad to hear from you, but sad to hear you’ve been unwell. I’m sorry if I have made things more difficult for you. It would be nice to keep in touch if it was helpful to you. Estera

Please don’t be sorry, Estera. It’s not your fault at all.

Are you doing ok?

Yes I’m fine thank you.

Ok. Well, if you ever need anything or you want to talk, I’m here. S

That’s kind, thank you Scott

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“Your anger is distracting you, Estera.”

She lay panting on her back where she’d fallen, and pressed her knuckles into the coolness of the mat desperately trying to keep her mind in the present. She was at the leisure centre, the distant ceiling had huge silver ventilation tubes snaking across it. The rhythmic squeak-wheeze of the trampolines at the other end of the hall contrasted the irregular thump of shoulder and slap of hand on tatami mats close by. She could smell sweat and chalk. She could taste… blood. Aaah no, she’d bitten the inside of her cheek again and now that was going to irritate her for days.

Her teacher dropped to one knee and offered a hand. Estera pretended she hadn’t noticed and pushed herself to her feet unaided. She didn’t need anyone being kind to her right now. It might unlock a floodgate she’d be unable to force closed again.

“You ok?”

“Yes. Again.”

“I’m think perhaps it’s best if we call it a day there”

“Again. Please, I want to master this.”

The teacher cocked an eyebrow, but nodded. Estera bowed and made herself ready. Physically ready anyway. Hopefully muscle memory would compensate for today’s lack of mental discipline

She lasted longer this time, but the inevitable bone rattling thud as she hit the floor came all too soon. She forced herself upright and back into the ready position but a third voice intervened.

“Enough.”

She turned and bowed alongside her teacher as the master approached, disappointment making her shoulders heavy as she stood up straight. The coral-belted septuagenarian didn’t visit often, but on previous occasions the little girl in Estera had been thrilled to receive a nod of approval from the awe inspiring woman. Today she’d just let herself down. Not good enough.

“You need to sleep and recover your wits.”

Estera barely managed to contain the burst of bitter laughter. Chance would be a fine thing. She knew she was running on fumes and fury and the fumes were dissipating fast.

Dropping her eyes to avoid having to see the evident concern, she bowed to the master and then her teacher and tried to keep her head held high as she walked away, knowing full well the other students had stopped to watch her leave. She threw her coat over her gi and strode confidently through reception to the front entrance trying to ignore the bleeding man pleading with her from the periphery of her vision. She pulled up her hood so he couldn’t see her.

But she could still hear him. And found she could no longer disobey.

And so she ran.

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Hi, just wondered how you were getting on? How are Alex and co? S

Hi Scott, the kids are doing really well. They were delighted with the cards, that was a lovely touch. A couple struggled a little with nightmares to start with but seem to be getting better. Most bounced back unscathed. Thank you for asking. Estera

Very glad to hear that. Kids can be surprisingly resilient!

How about you?

Oh yes, I’m fine!

You know that’s usually my line?

I remember!

Ha. Yeah, not my finest moment.

Are you sure? Have you got people around if you need to talk about anything?

Yes, don’t worry :)

Ok. Take care, yeah?

I will! You too.

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Estera pressed send and reached out to steady herself as her head spun. She missed, grasped thin air and staggered sideways into the shelves of stationery, cringing as a monsoon of crayons, pencil sharpeners and boxes of junk modelling materials clattered to the floor. Well wasn’t that just what she deserved for hiding in a cupboard and sneaking a look at her messages during the school day? Why had she done that? So unprofessional.

The buzz of chatter outside stopped abruptly and Astra poked a curious head round the cupboard door

“Are you ok, Miss?

“Oh yes, of course - I just knocked a box with my elbow and that knocked into another box which knocked another one… and whoops! Never mind I’ll clear it up.”

“Can we help?”

“Thank you that’s a good idea. Little disasters are often easier to fix if you have help aren’t they?”

“Teamwork makes the dream work Miss!”

Estera nudged the door fully open and pushed the piles of craft devastation out into the classroom and several children leapt into action to return everything to its correct box. She leant heavily on the door frame and looked up to see the narrowed eyes of her classroom assistant. He was apparently not fooled and raised an eyebrow before inclining his head towards the classroom door. She smiled gratefully and accepted the offer of an opportunity to take a brief break, making it to the corridor before the tears fell. Dizzy again, she slumped against the wall just as the headteacher walked around the corner.

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Hey, you doing ok? S

Hi Scott, yes all good here. How are you getting on?

I’m good, thanks. Pretty late night for you?

Oh! Yes I guess it is. I couldn’t sleep so watched a film but I’d better get myself to bed - busy day tomorrow!

Ok sleep well, take care

And you.

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Sitting rigidly on the park bench outside the GP surgery, Estera frowned at the contents of the paper bag she had clutched in her hand. Sleeping pills and a generic SSRI to take while she crept up the waiting list for some kind of talking therapy. Signed off for 3 weeks. Fine. Predictable.

Fine.

Not as if she hadn’t known what the outcome would be. But her boss had been very firm about her booking the appointment. She’d hoped to fob off the friendly but ever so young-looking doctor with it just being nightmares about the cave in but of course her medical records were right there and Dr Honestly-How-Was-She-Old-Enough-To-Have-a-Degree skipped straight to the point and made a referral for suspected PTSD recurrence. It was likely to be 12 weeks wait to see anyone though. So in the meantime Estera’s job was to not die from sleep deprivation.

Or guilt.

She sighed, not sure she could she even bring herself to take these. She knew the human body needed to sleep but the terror of being trapped in a drugged stupor where the nightmares could torment her without even the safety net of startling herself awake… her hand shook. Then her pocket buzzed.

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I finally ordered some running shoes from that shop you recommended and you aren’t wrong - it IS like running on a cloud! 🥰 S

Hi Scott, glad to hear it! Mine have lasted ages as well. Good value.

I’ll probably destroy them in weeks. I have… form.

Ha, I can imagine.

How are you doing Estera? Isn’t it school time for you? Hope I’m not distracting you from my little buddies?

Ah no, I have the day off today.

Oh?

I’d better get on with doing something constructive with it. Bez probably has some ideas! Nice to hear from you, enjoy the shoes!

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Hey, how’s tricks? S

Hi, I saw you on the news - it’s brilliant what TI is doing for those schools! Estera

Hey :) Ah, can’t take much credit, this is Alan and John’s pet project.

Well you explained it very well on camera.

I’m glad you think so, I thought I was unbearably awkward!!

It didn’t show.

Thanks.

How are things with you?

Good!

Keeping busy!

How about you?

Much better thanks to you

I mean ‘much better, thank you!’

Sorry, autocorrect thinks it’s clever.

Still get some off-days, you know how it is, but I’m back in the air and doing my job again which is good.

That’s really good to hear, I’m glad for you. And for all the people needing rescuing too!

Speaking of which… I have to go. Look after yourself, alright?

Will do.

Be careful!

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Later that evening Scott nursed a long-cold cup of coffee while flicking back and forth through the last month of messages with Estera. There hadn’t been many, just little exchanges every so often when he tried to check in on her. Something felt… off. She was dodging the question every time. Her over-cheery assurances felt uncomfortably familiar.

What if she wasn’t fine?

Patricia had warned him he needed to be careful not to let himself feel responsible for Estera’s welfare, that his lingering sense of failure from before would mean it was easy to overcompensate now, a decade later.

But… how could he not? He pondered her apparent faint in the cave, the more he thought about it the more convinced he was that she too experienced the kind of flashbacks she’d so calmly helped him through. He knew he’d never have made it through without the support of his family, even when he’d spent all his energy trying to push them away and deal with things alone, they’d always caught him as he fell. Scott suspected she was pretty much alone. What if she didn’t have anyone to catch her?

But why would she talk to him? He was little more than a stranger to her even if he felt as if she’d been alongside him for years. Even though he’d felt as if she was the first person ever to really understand there was no guarantee she thought the same. Perhaps he’d been too pushy with all the messages? Was he somehow smother-henning someone from the opposite side of the planet? He paced anxiously.

A reminder popped up in his TI email account. Oh joy, two days of meetings in London next week. He stifled a groan then paused. Maybe he could make the trip more worthwhile? Asking wouldn’t hurt. And if she wasn’t keen then at least he’d know he’d tried his best and could leave it at that.

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Hey, I’m up your way for a meeting next week. Maybe we could catch up? S

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[syntia13treeman]

Case files 14.01

CAT1RB4426-01081995-15032024

what I think happened in:

Case 14.01, the case of "Snake Shack" or "Squirrels aren't rats (the snakes don't care)."

In the nineties The Magnus Institute, Manchester, has been offering some kind of 'enrichment program' for 'gifted kids'. They would conduct a series of test to see if the kids qualified for the program or not. Some kids were rejected.

About 50 km south of Manchester, a bunch of their rejection letters had been stabbed pinned to the wall with a knife. Location: security/storage room of the loftily named Resounding Reptile Emporium in Newcastle-Under-Lyme. This is not the most interesting thing about this humble pet shop.

On first of August 1995 its proprietor, Anthony Walker, called a pest control company -Elima Pest Ltd., claiming that he'd seen a rat in the break room.

Elima's employee, Alyssa Beck, upon arriving only found evidence of a squirrel (droppings and the squirrel itself – alive, but either injured or poisoned).

It is unclear if there ever was a live rat there, or if Anthony couldn't tell rodents apart. The second option is more likely, especially since Anthony was… let's say, unwell.

For some time now he'd been constantly hungry, but unable to finish any regular meal (most of them ended in the trash). He tried to make do with sweets and snacks, and he might have eaten a pack of frozen mice, normally reserved for the reptiles.

He also developed some kind of rash on his neck, irritated from scratching. His overall mental state wasn't great either. When instructed to temporarily close the shop, he became agitated and tried to explain about his burden, grabbing Alyssa's sleeve to get her to listen. This resulted with a small accidental (?) scratch on Alyssa's arm.

When after cursory inspection Alyssa let him re-open the shop and retreated to the back rooms, Anthony tried, very insistently, to sell a snake to a pair of customers – a man and his daughter (and her cute goose plush). Maybe it was his pushy attitude that made the girl cry. It was definitely his random attack* on the father that made both of them run out the door (good for them).

Two things happened during Anthony's clumsy attack:

he broke the glass cabinet with lizard food, releasing disproportionally large amount of crickets.

he fell over and vomited REALLY excessive number of snakes. We can only hope he was already dead at this point.

Alyssa, who watched the incident on a CCTV screen in the back room, managed to call the police. She also tried to call her dad, who didn't pick up the phone. She left him a heartfelt goodbye message on company's dictaphone. She started feeling swelling and itching in her throat just before the snakes found a way into the room she was hiding in. That was the last anyone ever heard from her. No body was recovered.

There are two separate trails to follow here:

1) Anthony, Magnus Institute and ‘gifted’ kids:

*to start with, I’m not entirely sure if Anthony was really attacking his customers. His ‘lunge’ over the counter might have been an attempt to grab the man’s sleeve (like he earlier did to Alyssa), which he overshot, loosing his balance, because he was already dying; or he was thrashing around uncontrollably, reaching out for help, because he was already dying.

Another question is how conscious he was during that episode, and why was he so desperate to make a sale? Was it a) an instinctive behaviour of a man turned into a snake incubator, who might not even understand what he was doing or why, or b) desperate last act of man who'd been given an ultimatum: do this thing, or something horrible happens to you. I'm leaning towards option 1 for now.

Now, Magnus Institute (ARG data): After comparing the kids' birth dates and their approximate age when they were tested, I believe that MI started their ‘program’ around 1994/95 and ended it in 1998.

There were two young Walkers on MI's list: Ruby and Aaron. At the time of the incident Ruby was just 14 days short of being 8, and Aaron was a 15 days old baby. They might be unrelated, but I don't believe in coincidences in TMA universe. (Michaels don't count).

Anthony had a whole 'bunch of rejection letters' from them. My guess is that he was Ruby's and Aaron's father. He wanted to get Ruby in on the program and brought her in for testing several times, and that was where he came in contact with whatever it was that turned him into a snake-man. The fact that he was angry about Ruby being constantly rejected (you don't normally stab a letter if you're calm about it) might have contributed to his reptile problem. (I'm so furious I'm gonna explode! Into snakes!)

For some unfathomable reason, somebody, possibly the kids' mother, brought Aaron to the Institute to be tested after Anthony's death. Lady, your man dies in highly strange and mysterious circumstances, and you take your kid to a place known for dabbling in strange mysteries? The heck? Ah well. Maybe she just went, 'oh, it meant so much for Anthony to get Ruby accepted there, this is what he would have wanted.' Hopefully little Aaron didn't catch anything deadly when there.

2) Alyssa and her dad:

Is Alyssa's dad a supernatural expert or survivor? She said that he taught her and told her about things that made her certain that he not only would believe her, but he might have saved her if only they could talk before the snakes got her. She told him not to blame himself. What is it that he knew or could do that might cause him to feel guilty about not picking up the phone at the crucial moment? Who are you, Mr. Beck Senior?

one very minor gripe: did Alyssa call the police, hang up, try to call her dad, then call the police again? We know she called the police immediately after Anthony first 'attacked' and unleashed the crickets. Then, presumably after she saw the snake vomit, she called her dad. And then, when he failed to answer, she started recording her final message, and she started it with 'I can still hear the police operator on the phone'. I guess maybe she wanted to update her first call. Something on the lines of 'hey, I just called about a violent shopkeeper and crickets? Well, it got so much worse now, guys!'. RIP, Alyssa. You did your best.

What happened to Alyssa? Anthony is almost certainly dead, but she wasn't found on the scene. She had already been infected (the scratch) and feeling effects of it (swelling/itching in her throat). She might have been gobbled up, or she might have been carried away into the nearby marshy nature reserve on the backs of the snakes, or she might have fled there on her own after undergoing some kind of transformation. (My moneys on nr 3).

People to look out for in future episodes: Snakes Alyssa, little gosling girl (all grown up) and Beck Senior on a revenge quest.

[nonsensicalobsessions]

Tom & the Cookie Monster Take 2

Author’s note: @villainousshakespeare , this idea came and hit me like a brick. Hopefully it did not leave any lasting damage, nor will it give you any by reading it. Anyway, you requested: “May I please have a Tom himself fic (since you are so good at those!) maybe something set during the Broadway run of Betrayal?“ I do not know if this will live up to your praise, as this is but a shortie, but I hope you enjoy, here is your promised prompt, my dearest friend:

Two male Hiddlestons made their way through the hallway towards their apartment door. One was prancing, sprightly and happy. The other was proceeding at a trudge.

Tom was tired, and he had every reason to be. It was Saturday night, which meant there had been the matinee production, as well as the evening show of Betrayal. And while the show was going extremely well, the pace was still grueling some days.

Like today. And yesterday’s. And last week’s...

He rifled through his keys, snickering as he remembered how one fan he spoke to was under the assumption he was living in a penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue. Erm, no. He had quite a nice furnished flat, in a secure building where he did not have to be concerned any random fan could interrupt his rare moments of private life, but it was simply a nice flat. And at the moment, one of his neighbors was evidently baking biscuits, and his stomach growled.

And not just any biscuits, but chocolate chip biscuits. Damn it. Now he was hungry, and even though he knew of at least half a dozen places that would deliver even at this hour, he was tired, and didn’t feel like interacting with anyone. He wished to take his public face off, just as he had removed his stage make up a couple of hours ago, but then went and spent the time afterwards doing stage door appearances for his fans. Which he loved doing. But now, he just felt drained.

As he found the right key, Bobby was sitting at the door obediently, but Tom could see the dog was all but vibrating to be let in. “Bob, what is it, man?” As Tom unlocked the door, Bobby let out a joyous bark and sped in so rapidly Tom was grateful he had dropped the lead, or his shoulder would have suffered a hell of a jerk.

Tom walked in, his eyes bouncing quickly, dropping his bag and pulling out his phone in a reflexive action. While he had never had a fan break into any of his digs, it had happened to several of his friends, and his fingers were already preparing to call security, even as he recognized the smell of biscuits was even stronger now.

Apparently whomever Bobby had run to greet had baked for him. Which was a pretty decent thing to do, stalker-behavior aside.

“You forgot I was coming tonight, didn’t you?” The familiar female voice was amused, as her yet-to-be-seen form was bent over in the kitchen, acknowledging Bobby’s slavish adoration.

Oh, shit. He had.

He dropped his keys in the small dish she had given him to keep his keys when she learned he kept misplacing them.

“How much trouble am I in?” Even his voice was dull.

“Oh, honestly, Tom.” An arm came up from behind him, hugging his waist and brandishing a freshly baked treat, so fresh it was being held in a napkin. “If you’re so tired that you can’t even remember having given your extra key to someone for just this purpose, I think that speaks more to exhaustion than culpability. Have a cookie, Cookie. I made them just like the recipe printed on the bag, so I can’t have messed it up too badly...”

Then another hand snaked around his waist, this one bearing the body and face of none other than the Cookie Monster, who proceeded to menace the other hand’s bounty. “Delayed gratification, Hiddleston!!” Now the female voice behind him was growly and raspy. “No cookies for you, you must practice the art of...”

“Oh, fuck that,” quoth Tom, grabbing the napkin and spinning around to the laughing face of his baker-cum-stalker. “Get the hell away from my biscuits, Cookie Monster, and take your delayed gratification and get stuffed...”

“It’s a puppet, darling, I don’t think they can get stuffed...”

“No, but they can get a fist right up their...”

“Shut up, Tom, and eat your cookie! I am shocked, shocked and appalled by your uncouth behavior...” laughed Sabrina Wright, who was clearly neither shocked nor appalled.

Tom met Sabrina three months ago, when he did an impromptu visit at a children’s hospital as Loki, complete with costume. The entire event was kept under wraps and unpublicized, as it wasn’t sponsored by anyone. Chris Evans had come to the area to visit a friend who was facing surgery, and between him, Charlie Cox, and Tom, they hatched the idea. Then at the last minute, Brie Larson found out about the plan and came along as well.

The children were ecstatic and a “Marvelous time was had by all” as Tom kept saying later, much to everyone’s general disgust as they kept throwing things at him at his apartment...but Tom had noticed that while everyone, children, parents, siblings, and staff were excited and clamoring to be involved in the fun, there were a few patients that were just too ill to participate, and he and his friends made a point to leave some things aside for those kids to have, and to see if there was anything they could do for them once the furor calmed down.

There was one nurse that never joined in the carefully controlled chaos, but went about caring for, and ultimately consoling, the ones who wished to play but couldn’t, or were too ill to notice, or care. Tom saw her picking one child up, and simply rocking him in her arms in a rocking chair for awhile, rubbing his back, and apparently singing to him. He made a mental note to say hello to her as well. He knew there was always someone that had to stay behind and work when everyone was enjoying these kinds of parties, and he wanted to let her know he saw and was touched by the work she was doing with so much heart.

Once the brouhaha and the dust settled, Loki stepped aside, found Nurse Sabrina, and asked if the other children would be interested in seeing the Marvel crew, and she grimaced.

“It’s very kind of you to inquire, uh, Loki, if you and your...cohort would like to perhaps wave at the children from the doorway if they are awake, that would be fine, but that is the most I can allow. They really are quite sick.”

Chris stepped up. “Is it all right if we leave them some signed posters and things like that?”

“Cap, I know that would make them very happy, even if we have to put them up outside of their rooms, looking in...!”

Loki looked into the room where he had seen the little boy Sabrina had rocked. He seemed so frail... “Erm, that little boy...will he be alright?”

Sabrina’s face buttoned up. “I’m afraid I cannot comment on his prognosis, Loki. I will say...I wish you had healing powers. For all of these children, obviously...but especially for him. He was so distressed he could not come out and see you, in particular. He thinks you are, ah, badass. I do not bother correcting his more colorful speech. It’s not relevant.”

“I see. Is he awake?”

“Yes, he is, but I cannot allow you to go in...”

“I understand...tell this young Midgardian to expect a visit in a few minutes...”

One of the giveaway items they had was a small t shirt, which Tom had signed by both characters and actors, and then proceeded to his room.

Small Tim Curran was wondering why Nurse Sabrina had come in, and insisted that she comb his hair, and wash his face...and then...

“Midgardian.”

“Holy sh...smokes,” the little boy breathed. Standing in the doorway was none other than the OG, the badass himself... “Loki?”

“I understand you are unwell and as such I am not to enter your presence. I would not wish to undermine your recovery. However, I come bearing gifts.”

Sabrina entered, grinning from ear to ear, and showed him the T-shirt. Loki had even doodled his face next to his name. “I have embued it with as much healing seidr as possible. I do not know if it will be effective against your Midgardian illness, but I do know it will aid your prodigious courage and strength, provided you heed the instructions of Healer Sabrina, and all others who are working in your aid.”

Captain Marvel, Captain America, and Daredevil also spoke to him personally, adding what qualities they added to his shirt.

Tim was in heaven, and as Sabrina was looking at his vitals, saw he was getting over excited, and thought she would have to cut the visit short, but seeing as she was getting concerned, the actors all proclaimed they needed to depart to return to their duties.

Tim fell asleep that night clutching his shirt, and would not be parted from it. Loki would be pleased to know it did impart healing powers, because it brought the little boy so much happiness...

Tom called Sabrina the next day, and asked if there was anything else he could do for the children in the wing, and Sabrina replied they were still very excited, and he had done more than enough. She was very grateful. She was also very thankful he called to speak with her personally, not because she was flattered on a personal standpoint (although she was) but because her superiors in administration would be quick to turn it into a publicity request or worse, a financial one).

Tom shyly admitted he did have an ulterior motive for asking to speak with her personally...he wanted to know if he could see her sometime.

Something about the small nurse had gotten under his skin. Maybe it was the way she stuck to the background the entire afternoon, even when everyone was getting into the big group photo. Maybe it was the way she never asked for a thing herself, even when they were all speaking casually and privately at the end, when she easily could have. No one would have minded, and even Evans and Larson commented on it over pizza and beer later that evening, how she didn’t ask for a selfie, an autograph, nothing, even though she was as friendly and pleasant as old be...

Cox noticed how Tom blushed when Evans joked about he couldn’t get over someone didn’t want to get a photo with the man who saved New York, or the bastard that almost destroyed it. Cox noticed everything...as he was leaving for the night, he asked Tom, “Are you going to try to get Nurse Ratched’s phone number?”

Tom had flared, “Don’t do that. Don’t make fun of her.”

Cox grinned. “Ah hah. So that’s the way the wind is blowing...” and walked away, whistling.

Coffee became an exchange of What’s App phone numbers. Both of them worked long hours, so texting was a godsend. Texts became marathon phone calls at odd hours of the day, which became meetings in strange places to avoid the paparazzi, until they stumbled into each other’s arms, and each other’s beds.

Sabrina was like no one Tom had ever met: calm, compassionate, cheerful, and not giving a tinker’s damn about the industry, gossip columns, and all the rest of it. When he hesitantly pointed this aspect of her personality out to her she looked at him as though he was something of interest under a microscope.

“Sweet man, I act like I don’t care because I truly don’t. It’s completely irrelevant. Unimportant. Trifling. I have held children’s beating hearts in my hands while doctors have desperately tried to sew them back together in operating rooms because bullets ripped through their little bodies and their bedrooms in housing projects. I’ve held hysterical parents back as they’ve tried to somehow willtheir dying children back to life as they take their last breaths. I’ve held newborns in my hands as they have been only seconds old, and I have held children in my arms as they’ve breathed their last. That, to me, is real. That is life. And it comes wrapped up in tears and laughter and vomit and shit and blood and love and love and love. If some paparazzi, interviewer, man on the street, or tabloid tried to give me shit for loving you, ask me how much I’d care? The answer is not at all. It’s not going to change my mind, or my life.”

Tom knew, then, he had found his one, the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and grow old with, maybe even have a family of his own with...the question was, would she want the same...?

“...Tom? Tom?...Earth to Major...oh, you know what? Forget about it, Major Tom has crashed, Houston, we have a problem,” sighed Sabrina looking at her lover who had fallen asleep on the sofa still clutching part of a cookie he had yet to finish.

“Well, Bobby, it looks like another night of delayed gratification for me...good thing he’s so cute, and I happen to love the charming beanpole,” she commented wryly, only to see that Bobby was also lying on the floor asleep...and farting.

“Good God, what is it with the Hiddleston men tonight, I wonder?” Laughing quietly, Sabrina got up and made sure the bed was ready (and not in the hapless disarray of clothing tossed all around, which was not usual but happened enough to be worthy of a check). She turned down the covers and made sure there was a bottle of water on Tom’s nightstand.

As she was doing this, Tom woke up with a jerk, and he looked around for Sabrina. He wasn’t quite awake, wasn’t asleep, and Sabrina wasn’t there...she wasn’t there, she had finally done it, come to her senses and left him, he had forgotten she was coming to spend the weekend with him, one the rare occurrences she had the entire weekend off, and then he goes and falls asleep on her, no, noton her, but next to her like a right pillock, as if she wasn’t even there...no, no...he knew it was going to happen eventually, she was too lovely a person to put up with him and his bullshit, the way he was so self-absorbed and caught up in his own problems and life, she was right, she dealt in the real world, and...

He put his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Sabrina...so sorry. You deserved better, but I loved you the best I could,” he whispered. “I gave you all the heart I have...”

“What’s this then?” A soft voice, sweet like melted chocolate, soothing as a warm kiss...

“Sabrina!” His head shot up so quickly she winced at the cracking sound from his neck, and then saw his reddened, swollen eyes.

“Ah, love, what is it? Nightmare?” She came and extended her hand to him. “Come with me, you’re exhausted, and we’ll cuddle.”

“You’re still here.”

She looked at him tolerantly. “Yes, Tom. Still here. Complete with my Cookie Monster puppet, just to drive you mad. Come to bed. I’ll snuggle with you and chase the bads away, I promise. The only monster here is the blue one eyeing your cookies, and I’ve put him away.”

He took her small hand, and smiled. “There will be no delayed gratification in this house. We will enjoy the things we love, and live the one life we have to its fullest...no longer am I going to delay giving my heart what it desires most...I shall be bold, and decisive...Bobby, you have my express permission, nay, encouragement, to destroy the Cookie Monster, and anything else that dares come between myself and my love...”

Yes. He would be bold. Tomorrow, he would ask her if she would consider becoming a permanent star in his sky, he would stop living in fear of her disappearing the moment he closed his eyes, he would throw caution to the four winds, and belay any idea of delaying his happiness, and hopefully, hers, for any reason, a moment longer. There would be declarations made, and promises, and...

He tripped over his shoes.

“Careful! Harsh, Tom, very harsh...and Bobby, don’t you dare.” They turned off the lights and made their way to bed, Tom sleepily stripping along the way, making Sabrina laugh. “Ah, what the world to pay to see this strip show...”

“Quiet, Woman. This is not a strip show, this is a ritual divestiture of armor.”

“Uh huh,” she skeptically agreed, looking at the trail of clothes behind him. “So, if I was to get undressed like that...”

“Ah, now that would be a strip show, and a lovely one, indeed...”

“Sexist double standards...here, sit down, I will tuck you in...”

“Promise?”

“Tom!”

The naughty little boy expression he gave her was ruined by his yawn he could barely cover. Sabrina laughed as she quickly undressed and put on her sleep clothes, only to be greeted by Tom’s gentle snore the moment she turned out the light. He was so very tired. She was glad he could relax, and find some rest.

And while yes, it was definitely a night for delayed gratification, they had the whole weekend to look forward to sharing. She, for one, was so looking forward to bringing out the Cookie Monster puppet in the morning...maybe as part of a wake up call...

Tagging @villainousshakespeare , @winterisakiller , @vodka-and-some-sass , @lotus-eyedindiangoddess , @just-the-hiddles , @yespolkadotkitty , @hopelessromanticspoonie , @theheartofpenelope , @sabine-leo , @wegingerangelica , @ciaodarknessmyheart , @wrathkitty , @rhemasky , @catsladen​ @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ , @redfoxwritesstuff​ , @the-insomniac-cat2​ , @alexakeyloveloki​ , @myoxisbroken​ , @ladyfluff​ , @toomanystoriessolittletime​

[tyrannysaurusfloof]

Snake Bite - 3

Summary: Virgil should be more concerned by the random snake in his room, and the fact that it bit him. He should. But his family are good at calming him down, and there’s one Side in particular that doesn’t want to feed his concern. Characters: Virgil, Roman, Patton, Logan, Thomas and Deceit.  Relationships: Platonic LAMP, Platonic LAMP & Thomas. TW implied character death, fear of someone dying, lowkey panic.

--

Part One || Part Two

--

Virgil’s recovery was slow.

Despite staying within the mindscape, and being only a projection of Thomas’ personality, he had been unwell with the snake venom for weeks before the deception had been revealed. Logan said that it was logical for him to still be suffering, because in the mindscape, he had a tangible, human-esque body.

The explanation did nothing to ease the tension of the others.

Thomas was the best indication of whether he was healing or not, since he could sense the feelings that Virgil inspired in him. Everyday Patton would check in with Thomas and make sure that his anxiety, among other things, wasn’t fading. Everyday Thomas would confirm that it wasn’t fading, but it wasn’t as strong as it normally was, and Patton would rush back to find Virgil and make sure he was okay.

After the first bout of consciousness, Virgil had spent the majority of time either asleep or passed out. When he was awake, he was in pain, spasming and arching off the bed as he cried, or curling in on himself and holding his stomach in agony. The only reason he wasn’t dead was the fact that he was a Side of someone else, and not a fully-fledged human, according to Logan.

That did little to comfort them all either.

They all took turns staying with him, following Logan’s instructions on how to care for him to a tee, with a little of their own flair thrown in every now and then. Patton would sing to him, soft lullabies that his own kids enjoyed. Roman would recite grand tales, filling the silence of the room for both his benefit, and also to give Virgil something to hold onto if he felt himself slipping away. Logan would read scientific books to him, exploring things he knew Virgil was interested in and giving him the knowledge, even in unconsciousness. It was all a waiting game.

Patton was with Virgil when he hit the worst stage of his recovery.

A few days into the reveal that he had been seriously unwell, Patton had been humming as he held Virgil’s hand and changed the dressing over the wound when suddenly, Virgil’s breathing became gasping and short.

“Virgil!” Patton immediately dropped his hand and rushed to Virgil’s head. The anxious Side was unconscious but struggling to breath, and Patton knew immediately this was different to the numerous panic attacks Virgil had had. This was his body struggling against the venom inside him, his lungs shutting down against the deadly toxins, and for one, fleeting second, Patton thought he was going to die.

He shoved that negative thought away in an instant.

Virgil was not going to die. He wouldn’t allow him to. Logan had said this could happen, and as a Side, Virgil would battle his way through it, but it would take patience and a lot of waiting, and no panicking. That was easier said than done, but Patton took as many calming breaths as he needed to as he manoeuvred himself around Virgil, pulling him into his arms and cradling his body. The terrible sound of Virgil trying to suck air into his lungs faded eventually, but his pulse was weak and thready and he showed no signs of regaining consciousness. The skin under his eyes was discoloured, giving him the signature look Virgil normally used eyeshadow to achieve, and his lips were tinged slightly blue, but he was breathing normally again.

Unsure whether the worst was over, Patton just cradled Virgil to him, afraid to leave him even for a second to call the others, and began to sing.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, You make me happy, when skies are grey, You’ll never know Virg, how much I love you, Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

The room echoed with the words, Patton singing stanza after stanza until his voice was hoarse from crying and singing and he couldn’t bring himself to do more than sob. After what felt like hours, Virgil stirred under him, and Patton shot up immediately.

“Virgil! Are you okay?”

“P…Patton?” Virgil’s own voice was weak, but it was there, and he was breathing normally and when Patton pressed his fingers to Virgil’s neck he felt his pulse coming back, strong and sure, and he couldn’t stop himself from bursting into tears.

Virgil looked surprised, and concerned.

“Whoa, hey, what’s wrong?!”

“I-I…t-thought you w-were going to…going t-to die!” Patton sobbed, “I-I’m so g-glad you’re o-okay!”

Weakly, Virgil lifted his good hand, and tugged at Patton’s shirt. It was a small movement, but Patton understood immediately, and slid his position so he was lying down next to Virgil. They lay like that for a while, Patton crying into Virgil’s shoulder, Virgil stroking his back gently with his good hand, until Patton had calmed down enough to remember he hadn’t bandaged Virgil’s other hand.

Looking at the wound, he gasped, “It looks so much better,” before bending Virgil’s arm so he could see it too. The wound did indeed look better, well on the way to healing, and Virgil’s felt an odd calmness wash over him at the thought. Patton had been so distressed, he clearly had been extremely unwell to prompt that sort of reaction, but he was healing. Logan would say it’s normal to get worse before getting better, and Virgil could accept that as fact after this.

-

When he was well enough to sit up, and eat something, the four Sides and Thomas gathered in Thomas’ living room to discuss what had happened properly. Patton appeared next to the stairs with Virgil, and the anxious Side sat down as soon as he appeared. Roman and Logan did the same, and Thomas dragged a chair across so he could sit in front of them too.

“Can I get an explanation of how Virgil ended up being bitten by a snake in the first place?” Thomas asked, speaking first. He couldn’t hide the happiness that Virgil was feeling better from his expression as he spoke, but his words were grave enough to colour the following conversation. None of them liked talking about Deceit, or wanted to revisit how truly unwell Virgil had been, and how blind they had all been to it, but it needed to be done.

“I lost my headphones.” Virgil replied simply, “And in the process of searching for them, a snake bit me. That part of the story is pretty simple.”

“We’re already established that as mental projections of your personality, we can shapeshift.” Roman supplied, “And shapeshifting into animals is not a far stretch of the imagination.”

“Okay.” Thomas nodded slowly, “But why a snake? And how did he manage to actually inject Virgil with venom?”

“There are a number of answers to the first question, and I think the most obvious one is that snakes are seen as devious and deceivers in a lot of myths.” Logan answered this one, clear and precise as always. “We don’t need to delve into that subject any longer, but as for how he envenomated Virgil, that is a fascinating subject, and one I have been investigating.”

“Oh boy.” Roman breathed.

Logan shot him a glare before continuing. “Although he could transform himself into a Banded Krait and therefore have all the physical characteristics of the snake, venom would not be one of them. Now, in my time theorising, I have come to the following conclusion.” Clearing his throat, Logan materialised a small bag containing tiny shards of glass. “Upon examining the scene where Virgil squashed Deceit in his snake form with a book, I found these tiny shards of glass. They are the glass from small needle tubes, used normally to inject medicine, and further investigation of the pinpricks on Virgil’s hand proved that Deceit had all the characteristics of a snake except for one.”

“Which was?” Roman prompted, already looking a little put out by the long explanation.

“He did not have fangs, but needles. In place of the venom sacs and fangs, he had needles filled with the venom of the Banded Krait, perhaps even a mixture of different venoms. When he bit Virgil, the pressure from closing the jaws of the snake pushed the plunger and forced the venom into Virgil himself. And when Virgil smashed the book down on top him, the glass of the tubes shattered as well, and were left behind when I disposed of the snake.”

“He really put a lot of thought into this.” Thomas murmured.

“He has. And we know why.” Logan stated, glancing at Roman.

“Yes, we do!” Roman declared, “When we got rid of you three to take care of Virgil, we cornered Deceit alone, and Logan gave a very convoluted explanation as to why Deceit had done this. The long and short of it was that his form of self-preservation is all but impossible with Virgil having such a strong input with you Thomas. If he got rid of your anxiety, even if just for a little while, he could be stronger, have a better chance of convincing you to do things his way. And Deceit did not deny any of it but he had something else to say-.”

–

Deflecting the first swing of the sword without much issue, Deceit let a little laugh rumble low in his throat.

“You definitely got all of the reasons behind this.” He said, and Roman paused before the next swing, curious despite himself.

“Oh really?” Logan did not sound convinced at all, folding his arms and fixing Deceit with a sceptical look.

“I am a humble man,” Deceit began, prompting a snort of laughter from Roman, “Pride means nothing to me-.”

“You’re annoyed that Virgil found a place with us, and not with you and the others.” Logan interupted, determined not to let Deceit have the big reveal he had been planning. “A little part of this was revenge.”

Roman looked disgusted. “You attempted to get rid of Virgil not only because he stops your form of deception, but because you were angry he had finally found a place for himself? That we accepted him?”

“Ridiculous, is it not?” Deceit murmured, “Virgil was meant for the shadows.”

“Falsehood.” Logan snapped, “Positive mental health comes from accepting all aspects, including the negative ones. Thomas has accepted Virgil and all he brings, just as he has come to accept that you are a part of him as well that he would prefer not to give a main seat at the table of his decision making. He knows you are there now, that you are a part of him, but that does not entitle you to a bigger part.”

“We have all the main actors right here.” Roman agreed, gesturing to himself and Logan, and in a vague direction towards Logan’s room where Patton, Virgil and Thomas would be. “Anyone else, any of the others, they are side characters, there in Thomas’ personality to balance him out to a fully rounded person, but not there to take control.”

“Nice.” Logan smiled, “Very astute.”

“I know.” Roman sent a short smile back, before his face once again turned serious.

Deceit was looking at them both with vague disinterest on his face, but both Logan and Roman could see the concern beneath that expression. His second attempt to break them had failed, and he knew the truth in Logan’s earlier words. When Virgil found out about this, he would be extra vigilant, work extra hard, and not just him, but the others would as well, including Thomas. This had been a calculated move, and it had failed.

“Now, for the finale of this little act.” Roman continued coldly, and this time, Deceit could do nothing to stop the sword.

–

“You killed him?” Thomas asked, “Is that…is that even possible?”

“Well he nearly killed Virgil.” Roman pointed out, “But yes, it is possible. It’s not the same as ‘death’ here, but he is merely sent into the deep subconscious, unable to interfere or move or do anything until his body repairs itself. It could take days, it could take weeks, it could take months, who knows? But he won’t be around to mess us up for a long time, that’s for sure.”

“And with Virgil on the mend, we’ll be ready for when he does reappear.” Logan finished.

Thomas took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “This is a lot to take in. When I first summoned you guys, I did not expect it to get this complicated.”

“People go through problems such as this on a daily basis.” Logan said calmly, gently, “You have battled through negative emotions, deceit, anxiety, lack of creativity, heartfelt problems, all before you summoned us. The only reason it feels so strange now is because we have physical form.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Thomas nodded, “This sort of thing isn’t different from things I’ve faced in the past. Except the snake bite, that’s a little different.”

“Think of it as an emotional blocker, something inside you that supressed a certain emotion, but with the physical form of a snake.” Logan explained again, “If that is easier for you.”

“I get it, Logan, I do.” Thomas said, “I just…it’s a lot to take in is all.”

“Patton, you’ve been very quiet.” Roman murmured, glancing over at where the moral Side sat on the stairs with Virgil, and the instant he did, he saw why.

Virgil was asleep, leaning against Patton as Patton leant against the bannister. Patton was also asleep, breathing deeply and calmly, their fingers interlocked as the sound of Roman, Thomas and Logan speaking lulled them further asleep.

“Do you think they heard any of the explanation?” Thomas asked.

“No, if they had, Virgil would have said something when we revealed a small part of Deceit’s plan was revenge motivated.” Logan replied, “We should let them sleep.”

“Patton has been working the hardest to look after Virgil.” Roman agreed.

“Well, this’ll be a good time to do a video with just you two.” Thomas grinned, and both Sides immediately perked up.

“Oh Patton will be jealous.” Roman laughed, “But we’ll have to be quiet.”

“No mean feat for you.” Logan commented drily and Thomas bit back a laugh at Roman’s insulted face.

It had been a struggle, he had to admit that, and his emotions still felt a bit wobbly, but they were all healing together with Virgil, and next time Deceit came around, they’d be ready.

[finsterhunde]

Explaining what happened

So I figured I would explain what pushed me to how low I got in a traumatic spiral these couple months, more so for future reference than anything.

I wanted photos and memories about my first childhood dog Spot. In the process my mother dug up a ton of traumatic repressed memories that I’m not yet strong enough to face. It also turns out that she had been lying about the death of my last childhood dog, causing additional pain when I found her out.

Having old memories dug back up is extremely damaging to my mental state. I wanted cute little facts about my puppy that I would have been too young to remember. Instead what she told me brought back flashes of abuse.

This escalated and what finally pushed me over the edge was that I started going back to my old compulsive rituals; the worst one being the need to check up on my birth father online, seeing where he was in the country, what he was doing, if he was alive, etc.

Now this originally was something that had a purpose. The divorce was extremely messy. And when he was kicked out of the house and we were in the process of changing the locks we were living in terror that he could come back at any time with a firearm and mow us down. He was threatening us, threatening to abduct us kids, and he had made severe violent threats in the past. As of 4 years ago he actually assaulted an RCMP officer. So he definitely was still capable of violence at the time. He used to have an extensive gun collection.

Checking up on him was a safeguard. If he didn’t know where I was, if he wasn’t where we were, we were safe. But gradually I stopped needing to do this. I ran away and lived with a friend. My mom and brother moved. He wouldn’t know where any of us lived.

But of course, that’s not how trauma is. Trauma is complicated and that was one of my safety rituals. To compulsively check his social media. Just in case.

He got old and obese and pathetic. He has a heart attack pretty much every year. He’s nothing short of a reanimated corpse at that point.

But in my traumatized brain I’m still that tiny malnourished boy and he’s still that hulking behemoth of a man. Just like in a nightmare where you can’t fly and no matter how fast you run you move at a snail’s pace. My rational mind knows I could easily overpower him, but my instincts tell me he’s as dangerous as he was 10 years ago.

Gradually though I began to heal as I lived with my friend. And I didn’t feel the compulsive need to make sure he wasn’t an immediate threat.

Until now. When my mother started opening old wounds.

A couple days ago I had an uncontrollable compulsive need to check his social media again.

And found some horrible stuff.

He’d been making creepy threatening status updates every year on my birthday, discussing how he wanted to find me “wherever I was...”

and he wrote “music” with lyrics about enacting the vengeance of god, thunder and brimstone and all that.

He threatened to kill any of the RCMP officers he is convinced are “hunting” him.

And in my desire to document evidence like I did with Wannabe, still not waking up from this maladaptive safety ritual of “knowing your enemy” I went through his four different facebook pages screenshotting things.

And it just got worse.

He posted photos of himself at my age, and I realized that I don’t take after Mark Hamill like I say I do. I take after him.

I mean, I figured. But it was very upsetting to see photos of him as an older teen and pretty much see a non-sickly version of myself staring back at me. He was actually handsome. Could I have looked like that if I wouldn’t have been neglected and abused the way I was? Not to mention the disgust I feel at resembling such an evil man.

He had photos of him as a child and he bragged in the comment section about how he abused his dog and “made them crazy” and knowing he was like that even at a young age sickens me.

He idolizes his horrifically abusive dead father. I’d even argue there’s evidence that his dad was a straight up war criminal. There’s photos of the two together where he’s a toddler and his dad is holding him while smoking. It was disgusting.

He’s racist, a trump supporter (in Canada for some reason???) threatened violence against members of a political party here and again, the rampant “vengeance of my god” lunacy.

He was making posts about how the RCMP “attacked him” for being Christian.

For reference the RCMP had a warrant for his arrest and he assaulted an officer so they took defensive action. They had a warrant for his arrest because he threatened them when they earlier that week seized some of his electronics. (they had a warrant for that too)

The official statement for why they were arresting him was because they considered him mentally unwell and a threat to the safety of others.

So knowing that it’s much easier to tell why the RCMP were after him. Having the context paints and entirely different picture doesn’t it?

The case against him is still confidential but apparently he also had the police called on him numerous times for his behavior where he lived at the time. He frequently complained about how the community was “bullying him” for being an outsider.

He also says that they considered him mentally ill for “being Christian.”

And, because when I get into one of my traumatic mental states I have no off switch I started going back deeper. In the past he was seriously harassing politicians and posting stuff that I’m pretty sure is illegal. Unlike Wannabe he never posted anything overtly “I abuse kids” but he did make posts about how he supported physically abusing children and claimed that photos of children being pepper sprayed were “fake” and that they were “spoiled brats.”

I eventually went too far and found something super bad that shook me to my absolute core.

He made a status back when I was in middle school about how pedophiles don’t deserve longer prison sentences than illegal cannabis growers because their crimes “aren’t as bad” and that they “aren’t as dangerous.”

Ironically, he justified this by saying that pedophiles “kill far less RCMP officers”

This is ironic in the fact that he himself would attempt to kill, and afterwards repeatedly threaten to kill, RCMP officers less than a decade later.

So I guess he decided to prove himself wrong?

But yeah. I shut down after that. It was a dogwhistle looking back on it and it frightened me.

The lyrics for another one of his “songs” are basically “laws can mean different things if you know how to pull some strings” which is also terrifying in context.

Other things that made my heart hurt was that the woman he’s with now loves dogs.They had three. One passed away. I fear for those dogs. In an account that’s shared by both of them posts made in support of dogs with “adopt don’t shop” messages and similar are uploaded. It enrages me because he was a backyard breeder and he also killed my puppy. He’s a lying snake pretending to be a good person.

He’s pretending he cares about us kids, painting my mom out to be “the abuser” and saying about how he wished he could take us to games and stuff. He HATED us. He beat us senseless. He was a torturous monster. Seeing him pretend to be a good father broke me. I want a dad. I wanted someone to play catch with me and take me to see the Penguins and teach me how to shave. I didn’t get that. I got a sexual predator instead.

Look at this: I’ve censored as little as I can and that’s largely for personal reasons. Everything he said is wrong.

I was diagnosed with PTSD because of what HE DID TO ME. My brother’s mental health diagnosis (it’s personal and not my place to share) is also because of him. My mom definitely wasn’t a perfect parent but compared to him she’s a saint.

She didn’t work because she had to stay home to ensure he wouldn’t KILL US. And that only started after the Spot incident. She was working extremely long hours before but stopped after I got beaten super bad.

He’s playing the victim and it’s so upsetting. The nerve he has to say “there was nothing wrong with you while I was there” NO. You refused to let us get mental health treatment. I didn’t get diagnosed until you were gone because I wasn’t allowed to see a psychiatrist.

Him wanting us to take our dogs to him is horrific too.

Also I feel bad about the penguins hat. I guess that means that the grooming still works.

Despite denying my mother’s desire for me to be a “wish kid” (make a wish foundation) because “kids don’t deserve handouts” he would donate profits from his failed pub (a story for another day perhaps) at one point to the make a wish foundation. Seeing the photos of him looming over the kid the money helped made me queasy. I don’t know if he thinks he’s covering his tracks or if he just likes being around disabled kids. Both would make sense honestly. I wonder if that had something to do with the confidential reason the RCMP were after him. I really hope it wasn’t. I really really really hope it wasn’t.

But yeah. All that happened and I was unable to sleep. I was terrified. I was crying. I felt guilt for not being brave enough to report him. For being too much of a coward to come forward about what he had done to me.

My friend saw me talking about what was going on on twitter and told me that this was caused by my mom retraumatizing me and I had to cut her out and not engage for my own sake. That I wasn’t ready to face things yet.

That I had gotten worse because mom was ripping open old wounds and that for my health I needed to back off.

So yeah. I agreed with my friend. I am backing off. I am going to be trying to shut that down. As I said on my main blog, my old abusive childhood is dead. I am making a new one. I will use my imagination to keep myself sane and I will retreat into my passions again. Until I am strong enough.

But I know I need to be strong enough. I will confront him someday. I’m just not ready.

[vivid-but-vague]

Swallow Up Your Flames With Mine (Part 2)

Messmer remained frozen in place even after the Tarnished's form had disintegrated into ash, his throat dry, with bile or discomfort he couldn't be sure. He half expected her to come bursting through the doors to his hall immediately, eager to reclaim the runes that had slipped from her grasp upon her death. That is what the other Tarnished had done at least, rushed in with reckless abandon only to be met with the end of his spear until they inevitably disappeared, having given up on besting him in battle. The remainder of those unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of his were primarily the Hornsent and other dwellers of the Land of Shadow, all sentenced to death in the name of his beloved mother, Queen Marika. Wretched a woman as she was, his eye flickered towards the statue behind his throne, finally free from the trance induced by the Tarnished's unexpected compliment.

How long had it been since a living soul had said such a thing in his presence, let alone directed at his twisted self? The lord of flame pondered as he quietly took in the statue of the last time such warmth had been shared with him; although, considering his mother's actions, he was not deluded enough to misinterpret her affections as pure, nor her love as genuine. He was accursed, as were the rest of her offspring. But, he was the first, and the serpent ever-writhing within his chest had frightened her, threatened her Golden Order to such an extent that she banished him to this place under the guise of a crusade in her name.

"O' Mother," he regarded the statue solemnly, trance broken with the realization that it held the answer to his question. The statue depicting his mother coddling him as an infant served as a stark reminder of the most recent time he was spared any kindness, as short lived as it was. Marika had quickly become distant at the discovery of his cursed nature.

The blood he spilled would never be enough to earn a place at his mother's side. He'd come to that conclusion long before this most recent Tarnished's arrival, yet his flames and their tyranny persisted across the Land of Shadow all the same.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the image of his most recent victim, Messmer settled back upon his throne, hand coming up to soothe the aching beneath his temple.

What was it the Tarnished had called him? Pretty.

That was not a word he was accustomed to hearing. Traitor, accursed, fiend, sure. He was, after all, a tool of his mother's genocide against the Hornsent.

The demigod abruptly slammed his spear through the stone floor, causing the serpents entrenched within his form to hiss their displeasure at the resulting echo emanating through the great hall.

He had half a mind to chase the Tarnished down himself, but he knew they would return soon enough. Any moment they could come barging through those heavy stone doors. While content in his knowledge of their inevitable return, Messmer found himself disconcertingly concerned with when they would make their reappearance.

[vivid-but-vague]

Swallow Up Your Flames With Mine (Part 3)

By the time she returned, the demigod had nearly forgotten having thrust his spear through the floor before his throne. Whilst its return to his hand was effortless, the delay, however minute, brought a sneer to his pointed features.

Clouded by his annoyance, he didn't notice the Tarnished's lack of weapon until he was well into the air, flames encompassing his figure until his silhouette was barely discernible.

Not that it would have spared her, but the Tarnished huffed at his lack of awareness regardless as she unsheathed her blade, shoulder and side having since healed from her encounter with the golden hippopotamus in the chamber prior.

With her resources and feeling in her extremities returned, she felt a small surge of confidence as she rolled away from the ball of flame that was her demigod opponent.

"Do none of you consider productive conversation or did mommy never teach you manners?" she spat, narrowly rolling under the flurry of spears that served as her only response.

"Guess not."

"Ingrate," he spat, eye blazing as the temperature of the room increased tenfold.

"You know," she started, pausing mid-breath to leap backwards away from his wretched spears sprouting from the ground like deadly flowers.

She never got to finish the thought, finding herself at the receiving end of a burst of flaming swings that were faster than they had any right to be. With the slow speed at which the demigod had initially poised his spear she had dodged only a half second too early.

"Ah, damn," she muttered, unable to pull her flask of crimson tears from its place at her side before collapsing to her knees.

"Those stripped of the grace of gold shall all meet death," he drawled, "in the embrace of Messmer's flame."

If not for the screaming of her abdomen Arlyn may have thought deeper about the demigod's intonation, his boredom as palpable as his disdain. The glowing rune of his eye did little to combat the pain this time, but she found herself mesmerized to the point of a quiet oblivion nonetheless.

"Thou art a thorn in mine side, Tarnished."

Messmer's last words were met with a slight upturn of her lips as she disintegrated into ash yet again. He found himself staring a moment too long at the empty space she had once occupied before settling back onto his throne.

It had been all of three seconds before the indignant Tarnished came charging back through the doors to his hall, eye twitching and weapon already imbued with frost.

"It's quite rude to interrupt-"

She paused to duck under his darting spear before following up with a slow, yet effective sweep of her own blade that staggered the wily demigod. Messmer couldn't help but feel a slight bit impressed as he fell to one knee, but found himself surprised when he watched her wipe the sweat from her brow rather than following up her initial swing with a much more dangerous riposte.

"If you could think rather than charge at me for just one second-" she gasped, feeling lightheaded despite her opponent being the one on the floor.

"Or is that pretty head of yours just for decoration?"

There she goes again, using that word, this time undeniably in reference to him and not in the throes of her own death.

His mouth became noticeably dry and he took a moment longer than he should have to return to his feet and begin yet another assault.

"My purpose standeth unchanged-"

"I got that, do you even know what Marika has done? What she's put me through? You think I wanted this?"

The questions left her lips without thought and she cursed her tactless tongue as Messmer's fire burned hotter in reply. She narrowly avoided having her head cleaved clean off her body with in what would have been a pathetic, but arguably deserved form of recompense for her latest comments.

"What I mean is-"

Dodge

"We are much the same, you and I"

Slash

"We could strike an accord."

Parry

"You let Miquella through, or was he just more akin to your tastes?"

She failed to dodge the initial blow of his reply.

"What, am I not your type?"

Was she, pouting?

"Ridiculous creature," he couldn't help but sneer, yet it was obvious he had been caught off guard all the same, if only slightly.

Arlyn would have to be a fool to not take at least slight advantage of the way the tip of his spear lowered, and found herself using the second of reprieve to close the gap between them so that his chest was nearly flush with her own- making herself finally out of reach of his spear, but not his flames.

The fire lapped at her, singing the ends of her hair yet she did not recoil, nor did she take advantage of her opening to land a blow of her own. Instead, she took the moment to carefully outstretch an empty hand towards the demigod.

"You allow me through, and I will do all in my power to relieve you of your post, of your curse, of all of it. You must be tired."

He could have sworn the woman held some form of hypnotic magic in her eyes, for how many times he had burned her to ash she remained seemingly unfazed, more offended by his courtesy- or lack thereof- than his treatment of her. It wasn't personal, after all, just duty. Although, considering this Tarnished was seemingly chosen by Marika herself, perhaps it was more personal than he had initially realized.

He tore himself back into reality fell back a mere step, now wondering if her intoxicating closeness was the result of St. Trina as he glared at her outstretched hand, seeming to ponder it for a moment.

The tenseness of Arlyn's shoulders gave way briefly, only to be replaced by a shudder as Messmer's spear pierced through her once again. She let a gurgling sigh through her lips before allowing her head to fall forward against his breastplate.

He could still feel its weight along with a sense of all-consuming hollow as she faded into oblivion, leaving him to sway uncomfortably in the wake of her words.

[vivid-but-vague]

Messmer Fic Masterlist

Here are the links to each chapter :)

Ch 1

Ch 2

Ch 3

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Ch 5

Ch 6

Ch 7

Ch 8

Ch 9

Ch 10

Ch 11

Ch 12

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Ch 14

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