#summoning the energy to wash my face and make some dinner but might lay on the floor about it

[hythlodaes]

i’m so tired i genuinely might cry ;-;

[klbwriting]

Unexpected Allies - Chapter 1

Fandom: Six of Crows/Shadow and Bone

Pairing: eventually will be Kaz/female!Reader but for now nothing

Warnings: I mean, Kaz Brekker is involved, someone is getting maimed

Summary:  The Darkling won the Ravka civil war, defeating the Sun Summoner and taking command of Ravka. Then he went looking for ways to make his Grisha more powerful. Kaz Brekker knew this but took the job at the Ice Court anyway, getting himself and Jesper Fahey thrown into a Ravkan prison for his efforts. After getting broken out by the Darkling's second in command the trio has to find their way to the Permafrost and the resistance gathering there. And then Kaz has to figure out a way to get his crew out of this whole mess. But how can he get himself out of the mess of feelings he has for the Grisha with all the powers?

Note: Hello!  I am alive!  I have found motivation for something else!  As much as I loved the Shadow and Bone show I have found more love in the Six of Crows books so this fic is an AU based on both.  In this the Darkling won out over Alina and then Six of Crows happened like it does, except the Darkling showed up to ruin things as he does. Also going to address the Inej sized elephant in the room, in this Kaz’s feelings were less strong towards her because I ship the fuck out of Kaz and Inej but I also ship the shit out of Kaz and myself too and I needed some self-insert.  I hope you like it, I missed writing and I’m glad to find some inspiration again.  

Kaz Brekker was known even in prison as the guy who didn't need a reason. He wanted his infamy to spread even behind bars, the better to keep those looking for a pigeon to harass away. On his first day in this hellscape he had stolen a fork from the dining hall and used it when his cellmate attempted to take the makeshift cane that he had been provided from his hand. Now he no longer had a cellmate and his old cellmate no longer had his eyes, and word spread quick of the young man willing to kill to be left alone. That had given him the time and space to start to plan his escape.

First, get Jesper as his cellmate. That was accomplished with ease. Anyone else they put in with him would be blind or deaf or crippled within 24 hours so it came down the guards asking him straight out who he wouldn't maim. He said Jesper Fahey and they allowed it if only to have a night's peace. Jesper didn't look like he was faring well. In a cell at Hellgate Jesper would have been alright but here in a West Ravkan prison near Os Alta where his Zemeni features made him stand out he had become a target. When he entered Kaz's cell rage filled the young crime lord. Jesper was thinner than ever, dark circles under his eyes and hands fidgeting constantly, almost like he needed a drug but Kaz knew it was just because he couldn't focus his energy.

"Jesper," Kaz whispered after the guard had left and his sharpshooter sat on the cot. "What do you need?" Jesper looked at him slowly and gave half a smile.

"Just my friend, s'all ok now," he said. Kaz felt the side of his mouth twitch up just a little. "But I could also use a way out of this damned place." Kaz nodded, gripping the wooden walking stick a little tighter. He wanted to put a comforting hand on Jesper's shoulder but he could not, Jordie's body, cold and wet and dead flooded his mind, and he couldn't bring himself to reach out. He hated that this place seemed to be tearing his friend apart slowly. It was even taking a toll on him. Everyday was the same, waked up with the sun, eat a breakfast of stodgy porridge and soggy bread, washed down with possibly the grimiest coffee ever made. The prisoners were then sent outside to work on either the large farm for the prison and surrounding towns or they were forced to be target practice for the Grisha guards. Normally only the worst of the worst were reserved for practice, or those that pissed off the guards. Kaz had avoided this so far but he knew Jesper had run his mouth one day, getting snarky with the yard guard and he had almost been drowned by a Tidemaker the next morning. Lunches were non-existant most days. They were shuffled from work to 'free time' which meant sitting in the hot afternoon sun either playing cards, or, if they were lucky, sitting under one of the shady trees that scattered the yard. Evening was the only decent time at this hellhole, it was dinner, and then back to the cells. Kaz enjoyed this time, he was normally alone to plan, and now that Jesper was here they could plan together. He had the beginning, how to get out of the cell, but the rest he was still working on.

"I have been planning this since we got in here, you were the first part of my plan," Kaz said, watching as another set of guards walked by. He checked the small window above their heads. "She's coming any minute now." Jesper looked at him confused for a moment before the cell door opened and a guard told Kaz to get up. Kaz nodded and stood, Jesper rising as well.

"This one should come too, he was at the Ice Court with me on that night," Kaz said to the guard. The guard looked between them and shrugged, motioning for another guard, a Grisha Corpolaki judging from the kefta he wore. They led Kaz and Jesper out of the cells and into one of the small interrogation rooms. Kaz was familiar with the room at this point, having been there several times in the past few months speaking with the Grisha Infernei who was seated at one of the two chairs in the room. She looked up as they entered and he noticed that she seemed relieved, something she hadn't shown before.

"Are there anymore of your comrades from the Ice Court in this prison?" she asked, motioning for another chair to be brought in. Jesper sat down hard while Kaz stood still, leaning on the walking stick and once again studying the Infernei. She wore a red kefta with black stitching, something different from the others and he was still not sure why. He supposed it was because she was high in the ranks. After the Darkling defeated Alina Starkov and her followers he had gone back to using his true name, Aleksander Morosova, and became king of Ravka. He used the power that he had sucked from the Sun Summoner to control the Fold now, moving and reshaping it to whatever he needed and on the night of Kaz's jurda parem heist he apparently needed the jurda parem also. Kaz and Jesper had been taken but the others had escaped.

"No, no more of us, just we two were involved," he said. The Grisha looked between them, assessing them. Kaz took another moment to look over her while she studied Jesper. He always liked to measure who he was up against, and he didn't mind studying her. She was curvy, seeming to like waffles more than Nina did, with hair a deep auburn and eyes the color of dark chocolate. The first time he saw them they reminded him of Inej's eyes except her's were more hopeful than he had ever seen Inej. This Grisha fully believed that something good could still happen in the world. Kaz was almost jealous of this, but of course, this Grisha had seen her side win the Ravka civil war. His eyes now met hers and he saw that while he was studying her she had been doing the same to him. He could tell she knew he was lying but he didn't care. He had spent the last 4 months keeping his answers vague, giving just enough information so that she would feed him information back about the current situation at the Little Palace, now the true royal home since the Grand Palace lay in ruin. King Aleksander left it as a reminder to those who would attempt to assassinate him, bodies still left scattered around the rubble, Alina Starkov's kefta in tatters on the front steps. Kaz hadn't seen it but from the way this Grisha described it, he believed it was terrifying.

"Mr. Brekker, we both know the heist you were attempting could never be accomplished with just two people," she said, a knowing smile on her face. This seeming infatuation the Grisha had with him was a plus for Kaz. He often wondered if he could possibly seduce his way out of the situation but his mind couldn't fathom the interactions involved, so he would wait. Perhaps this woman had a inclination towards criminals, she might be seduced by anyone, Jesper could do it easily, Kaz just had to get the ball rolling so to speak.

"I don't know, I think Jesper and I can accomplish anything we put out mind to," he answered, bringing himself to nudge his partner in crime with his elbow. The Grisha nodded and opened her notebook as she did at every meeting and began to write.

Y/N had noticed the look on Kaz Brekker's face when he elbowed Jesper Fahey. She could see his hesitation, she noticed the look in his storm gray eyes. He was bracing himself for impact as if the touch would somehow hurt him. Jesper's face was surprised at the touch, and he physically turned towards Kaz with shock. She opened her notebook and pretended to jot down something important as she did every day, but she mentally notated this interaction. She had been listening to others in the prison and despite his limp Kaz never let anyone see him as weak, however, this aversion to touch was never mentioned. He hid it well out in the general population but she could see something about touch bothered him immensely, that information could be useful later. Kaz Brekker was a tough nut to crack she had to admit, but eventually she would get to where she needed to be with him, hopefully sooner rather than later. Aleksander was having a tough time buying her excuses and she had to become even more convincing for him, continuing to keep his trust after the betrayal of the Sun Summoner was an arduous task. She hoped soon she could drop her facade and begin her true purpose, breaking Kaz Brekker and his cohorts out of this prison and find the gathering resistance in the Permafrost.

"Alright Mr. Brekker, we left off yesterday with you explaining to me how you came to know about jurda parem and what the Fjerdans were doing with Bo Yul-Bayor and his son Kuwei?" she said. It had taken months for Kaz to even start explaining anything to her. She had hoped that agreeing to allow his friend to be his cellmate would open him up. Luckily the gamble had worked at their last interrogation. His answers had still been too vague to really make an impact but it was a start. She hated to make him desperate but she needed the information, something to feed to Aleksander and send him on a chase for more jurda parem. Kuwei Yol-Bo had escaped from the Ice Court and that knowledge was keeping Bo from cooperating with the Second Army. He had recreated exactly one vial of jurda parem and refused to create another until his son was returned safely to him. Kaz Brekker and Jesper Fahey had been the last people to see Kuwei alive and she needed something to tell Aleksander before he decided to come here and do the interrogations himself.

"Yes, I believe I told you that a rumor had gone around Ketterdam and that I just happened to hear it," he said, making sure he was as convincing as he could be. Once again Y/N pretended to write something down, pretending to believe his lie. He was a very good liar, she could see that in the way his eyes held truth, his body language said honest, even his pulse was calm, however, the blood in his veins moved just a milisecond faster during his falsehoods. It had taken nearly a month to figure out the tell in his body but she had done it and now she used this against him.

"Must have been quite a rumor to make you put your friends in the line of fire of Fjerdans and of King Aleksander," she said, keeping her voice light, leaning a little closer to him. She couldn't lie, she was enraptured by the young man from the Barrel of Ketterdam, but she wasn't foolish enough to believe that he would ever see her as anything other than another Ravkan Grisha blindly serving her king, but she could pretend that she hoped to lure him in, get him feeling confident about her.

"Jesper will tell you, he was eager to join me to find this new drug, imagine the kruge we could make from such a thing," Kaz said, standing suddenly and poking Jesper towards Y/N with his cane. He moved towards the wall, leaning against it. Y/N watched him for a few moments before turning her attention to Jesper. He wanted to push someone else at her? Why? She could tell he liked the attention she gave him, maybe not in a way most men did, but he liked it all the same. Jesper barked a laugh.

"Eager? You came back and acted like we were going to be rolling in kruge, become kings of Kerch," Jesper said. He was also a practiced liar, following the lead of his boss as it were. Y/N smiled at Jesper then, making sure her brown eyes looked intrigued and enraptured. She noticed the Zemeni man leaned back in his chair then, clearly not interested in the attentions of a Grisha like herself. "But ya, I mean, I wanted the kruge and I was having a good run that night at the tables, felt lady luck was on my side." She saw him fidgeting near his waist, where his guns should be. She had those stored in her private quarters, along with a certain crow headed cane, waiting for the right moment. She had been watching Kaz and Jesper since they arrived, having her spies give her information on them. They were the only link she had to Kuwei and Inej Ghafa and she needed to know all she could before she continued her plan.

She tried to pry more out of the two for several minutes before one of her people, a young Squallor entered.

"The hour is late Korovsa, the king is finished waiting," she whispered. Y/N’s jaw tightened. Her eyes flashed to Kaz and she saw him take notice of the slight change in her features. Her fears were starting to come to pass. She needed to end this charade now.

"Guard, please escort Mr. Fahey back to his new cell. Mr. Brekker and I have more to discuss," she ordered. The guard grabbed Jesper's arm, hauling him from the seat. Y/N wanted to say something, tell them to lay off the guy, but knew she couldn't appear as if she cared. Once he was gone she made a motion for Kaz to sit. He still stood. "Sit, now," she insisted, hoping he heard the urgency in her voice. He eyed for another moment before he moved to sit. She leaned closer, all of her coy attitude gone.

"What's happened?" Kaz asked casually, working the top of the walking stick with his hands, the only sign of his concern. Y/N let out a breath.

"My time is up, tomorrow night expect there to be a riot, stay in your cell with Jesper, don't leave until you hear 2 bells, then leave the cell and go to your left, the door will be ajar due to the last guard through it mistakenly knocking over mop. Once you are in the corridor go right and follow it to the deserted morgue. I will join you and lead you and Jesper out, do not leave without me," she said.

"Why should I believe any of this? That you're just going to help up walk out of there?" Kaz asked, trying to read her, seeing if she was lying. She groaned annoyed. Why was it that her only hope was as distrustful as her current king?

"Because I want to see the king's body burn before he destroys all of us," she whispered, voice dripping with venom. Kaz looked a little surprised at her viciousness and he nodded. She sat back, knowing that by now the guard had returned.

"Well Mr. Brekker, you've once again been no help, tomorrow the king will be coming to personally interrogate you, I hope you are looking forward to it," she said. "Guard take him back to his cell." The guard nodded and yanked him out of the chair. "Careful, the king won't like it if he can't inflict the pain himself," she warned, more to Kaz than the guard. She hoped Kaz believed her enough, that she had shown her hand to him enough that he would do as she asked. If he didn't they were all screwed.

[mcthehuman]

Lucifer, Satan, and Beel with a Sick F!Reader

I’ve been thinking of domestic Lucifer and Satan for a while so I wrote this imagine, I added Beel too because he’s a soft boyo. Should I make for the other brothers?

Lucifer

Even after everything, Lucifer suddenly remembers - you're still a human, a fragile and mortal human - as he watches the witch, Agnodice, care to your wanned body. A white glow glazes over the witch's hand and she places it on top of your feverish forehead. When you groan, Lucifer's body immediately reacts, but the witch's smirk pulls him back, a frustrated line draws on his lips as he digs his arms closer against his chest.

"I must say, this is quite the surprise, Lucifer," she says while standing straight. "I have never even thought of the day you would become attached to a human, especially to a non-magi."

"You're mistaken," he says immediately, defensively. "I am merely following Lord Diavolo's orders by taking care of our human exchange student."

"By calling me?"

"Are you not a human world physician?" He snaps, glaring at her. "Agnodice, I did not summon you to the Devildom to pique your opinion. I am merely doing my job and, frankly, you should be doing yours."

"It's the common flu, Lucifer. It's no pressing need to go through the trouble of summoning me." She smirks then opens her palm silencing the demon as a soft and sparkling white light dances around her hand, a pack of medicines and a neat scroll conjures on top of it.

"She's fine, Lucifer," she says kindly. "It was probably brought upon the upcoming winter winds here in the Devildom. It's quite extreme compared to the ones back in the human world. Assure that she has proper winter attire and that she takes her medicine every six hours after a meal."

"Thank you, Agnodice," Lucifer takes the medicine and examines the scroll carefully. "You may leave."

Agnodice holds back a smile at the sight. Thank you, huh? To the unsuspecting eye, Lucifer remained collected and haughty, an image only befitting of the responsible and mighty Avatar of Pride. But she lived long enough to recognize the telling concern that softened his hardened eyes. The witch turns on her heel and exits the bedroom, pausing as to hear you moan from the other side.

"Lucifer?" You croak, pushing your body up weakly. Lucifer frowns and takes a seat beside you, holding onto your frail arms.

"Don't strain yourself," he coos. "Get more rest. I'll wake you when there's food."

"I'm not hungry," you whisper, resigning as he gently lays you back on the bed. "I feel cold."

Lucifer tucks the comforter closer to your neck, his fingers skimming against the skin of your jaw gently. "I shall fetch you more blankets then," he stands but you immediately catch his wrist, your hand faltering almost immediately at the sudden strain of energy. Lucifer sits once more, taking your hand in his and caressing it gently with his thumb.

"Such a troublesome human," he whispers and you laugh throatily. His words were harsh, but Agnodice notes the apparent gentleness of his voice and quietly flushes her body closer to the door, listening intently.

"You find it endearing."

"What is it that you want?"

"Sleep with me," you say and catch Lucifer off guard, his eyes widened by surprise. You let out another throaty laugh, "Not like that, silly. I meant, sleep beside me. It will make me feel better, plus, the sleep will do you good. I know you're a report away from fatigue."

"Demons do not get fatigued," Lucifer states a matter-of-factly, slipping his hands underneath your back and legs before lifting you in one smooth ascend. "Are you failing Basic Demonology?"

"Hmm," you shift closer against Lucifer's chest, sighing at the intimate sound of his heartbeat. "I don't think so. Either way, you do need the rest."

"I don't need to rest. But," Lucifer leans close to your forehead and presses a chaste kiss on top, keeping still and letting his lips brush against your skin as he spoke. "I must take care of what's mine, so I shall sleep beside you. Come, my bed is much bigger."

Oh Lucifer, Agnodice smiles as she quietly pushes herself off from the door, walking briskly out of the hall, you've mellowed.

Satan

There's a faint glow from your bedside table as you wake from your sleep. You groan and shift from underneath the neatly tucked comforter on top of you, hearing a soft "oh" from beside you as you do. Satan lowers his book and flashes a gentle smile when you meet his eyes. He stands from his chair and takes one stride to your bed, sitting beside a space near your legs.

"Hey," he says softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," you croon. Satan catches the way you weakly push yourself up and moves closer, helping you by your shoulders to sit up. When you're comfortably seated, he slowly pulls his hands away, skimming his cool fingers against your hot arms as he does so.  

"Thank you," you whisper, weakly taking his hand in yours before he could pull away. He smiles and holds it endearingly, his thumb grazing against your knuckles. 

"Anytime," he says with a genuine smile. "Are you hungry?"

"I am," you nod. "What's for dinner?"

"We had Quetzalcoatl brain stew. But," Satan hesitantly pulls his hand away and stands, walking to the bedside table to pick up a tray. "I thought you might want something else."

Satan carefully places the tray on your lap and you feel your heart swell at the sight - a small vase of flowers that looked like the Devildom's counterpart of the Peony, a tall glass of water with lemon, small chocolate candies, a book, and a small clay pot.

"Don't - don't get ahead of yourself," he stammers and you look up to see faint pink tinting his cheeks. "It's my first time cooking this, so I don't know if it's your liking." 

He takes the lid off and you smile at the sight and smell that dances in your nose.

"Is this chicken noodle soup?" you ask, your smile spreading farther on your cheeks. Satan nods and clears his throat.

"I read that this was the best human dish to serve when one is sick."

"It is," you reach for the spoon but hesitate when Satan shuffled anxiously. 

"There are so many variations to the recipe, but if we're talking about the key ingredients, Devildom cuisine has a counterpart - "

His insistent warnings grew faster but went nowhere as you leaned in and took a spoonful, making sure to blow it a little before taking a sip. Satan pursues his lips as he watches you taste it.

"It's good," you say a few seconds later and giggle as to see the evident relief wash over his face.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Please be a bit more constructive," he says seriously. You let out a throaty laugh and nod once before taking another sip, letting the soup stay on your tongue longer.

"It's a little bland," you say slowly, unsure of what to say - it really did taste good. "But, I think that's a good thing. I am sick, so my senses are a bit muted. If it were any saltier, it probably wouldn't be good for me either."

"Alright then," Satan rubs his chin before nodding contently, a small smirk curving his lips. "Don't lie to me now. If you are, you're giving me false confidence in trying to cook more human world dishes for you."

"I'm not," you giggle softly. "So you better stay true to your word and cook more. How did you get these ingredients anyways?"

"I had help from a few friends," he says, a glint in his eyes. "In fact, human world ingredients aren't as scarce as you may think they are here in the Devildom - a few cafes and restaurants serve human world cuisine as appetizers since many demons enjoy them. But compared to Devildom, Celestial, and, well - a human's soul itself - your dishes are almost immediately digested and we easily get hungry after that."

"I see," you smile, always enjoying the way Satan elaborates on topics. "You should take me to some of these places."

"Get better first," he says firmly but sweetly. Satan moves closer, pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you lean for another spoonful of soup. "Do you need anything else?"

"I was hoping you'd say that," you smile and reach for the book on the tray, weakly waving it in front of him. "Read to me?" 

"Of course," Satan smiles and transfers to your side, lifting the tray with ease as you move to give him space. He places the tray on both of your laps and sits right against the bed.

"Now then," he whispers and presses a brief and chaste kiss on your temple while opening the book to its first page. "Let us begin."

Beelzebub

Beelzebub loosens his tight arms around you as you shift awake, visible discomfort etched on your face. The large demon frowns and reluctantly lays his arms down as you wiggle out of the comforter wrapped tightly around you. When you open your eyes, your face softens and all discomfort from the heat fades away.

"Beel?" you call, genuinely confused at the sight of him beside you. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers apologetically. "I know I shouldn't have, but you started shivering so I..." Beelzebub trails sheepishly as he starts to move aside. However, you catch his arm and weakly pull him back close to no hesitation.

"No," you croak. "I was just surprised to see you beside me, that's all. Don't leave."

Beelzebub smiles sweetly and carefully wraps his arms around you in another tight hug, leaving the comforter to the side this time. His eyes are a mixture of adoration and worry as he wipes off the sweat accumulated on your forehead and nose.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, pushing back a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I made porridge." 

"Yes, but," you frown and Beel tilts his head. "I don't want to leave this position yet. I've never felt so safe and warm."

Beelzebub flashes another sweet smile and caresses your cheek with the back of his hand - briefly yet endearingly - before lifting it in the air afterward. You watch as a soft and sparkling orange glow dance around his hand, a small "woah" escaping your lips in awe. A few seconds later, you hear a small rattle by your dresser and turn your head, watching as a bowl and spoon, both wrapped in the same orange glow, fly from the drawer towards the bed.

"Sometimes I forget you all are demons with magical powers," you whisper. "Especially you, you've never done anything flashy like this before."

"Lucifer banned me from using magic whenever I wanted something to eat," he says, a chuckle escaping his lips. "But I think he'll allow this time since I'm not the one eating."

Beel sits up then gently cradles you against his chest. Another sweet smile draws on his lips as he looks down at you - small and cute against his large chest - and hugs you tightly. However, before you could react, Beelzebub slowly drops his arms to the side, frowning as he suddenly remembers that you were a fragile human, in the process of recovering, and he was a large demon with massive strength.

"You're so small and too cute," he frowns and takes the floating spoon. "Please eat and get better soon."

"Don't worry, Beel. You saw me sweating, right? That means I'm getting a lot better," you say kindly and take the spoonful of soup from his hand. "Please keep hugging me. I'll tell you if it's too tight or too hot, okay?"

It takes a few seconds but Beel nods and hugs you once again, watching you eat with a gentle focus.

"Do you want some?" you ask and on cue, you hear a loud grumble from Beel's stomach. The large demon blushes shyly but shakes his head nonetheless. 

"I'll eat after you," he says solemnly and blushes a faint pink a few seconds later when another grumble erupts.

"Here," you offer him a spoonful to which he takes after a moment of hesitation. "When was the last time you ate anyways?"

"Twelve hours ago," he mumbles with a frown and gently takes the spoon from your hand. "You're really amazing..."

"What do you mean?" 

"Even when you're sick, you're still taking care of me..." 

"I don't think it's as amazing as you may think it is," you whisper, feeling your cheeks grow warmer despite your recovery. "I know you'd do the same for me, Beel. Besides, I don't think I can finish this."

"What?" Concern washes over the awe in Beel's face. "But you said you were getting better..."

"I am!" you say quickly and cup his face, caressing his cheeks assuringly. "I am. It's just when we humans get sick, we lose our usual appetite."

"You already don't eat much in the first place..." he whispers. "Are you sure you're full? Please don't worry about me, we demons don't get sick."

"I promise," you drop your hands and lean forward to kiss his cheek sweetly. When you pull away, Beel touches his cheek absent-mindedly, the worry melting into shy happiness. "Please help yourself. I don't want your food to go to waste."

"Alright," Beel nods. You watch him reach for the small bowl and inhale the porridge in one gulp, chuckling at the sight - did you really expect less from the Avatar of Gluttony himself? He lifts his free hand, the same orange glow wraps around it, and a glass of water and small packet of medicine fly towards you.

"Please drink your medicine and water then," he says after wiping his mouth. "Lucifer said you should drink it immediately after eating."

"You should go and eat more," you say while complying, placing the tablet on your tongue before pushing it down with water. Beel swipes his hand - the floating objects flying back on top of the dresser - then carefully wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace.

"You said you didn't want to leave this position," he whispers and presses a chaste kiss on your forehead. "So, I'm not leaving."

"But you're hungry," you frown but shift closer against his chest.

"I am, but," Beel wraps his arms tighter around your body and rests his face against the mop of your hair, inhaling your scent - I'd rather know you're healthy. "Food tastes better when you're around. So, get rest, okay?"

You smile and flutter your eyes close, "Okay."

If you enjoyed, please leave a comment or like... or follow... quq

[wistfulcynic]

Another Brick In The Wall: Chapter 14

It’s the end! I can’t believe it. This story that started out as a snotty protest against high school AUs somehow ended as my second longest MC and something that I’ve immensely enjoyed writing. It's been so interesting imagining these characters and the events of their lives through this lens, I just hope in the end I've done them justice. Thank you all so much for reading it, and for your lovely comments, without them this story probably wouldn't have happened. Love you all ❤️❤️❤️

Summary: Emma Swan, sheriff’s daughter, mayor’s niece, quarterback’s girlfriend, is the undisputed princess of Storybrooke High. She is smart and confident and used to getting what she wants. What she wants is Killian Jones, the new boy in school. But Killian is not easily manipulated, and reluctant to allow the dark secrets in his past to touch the girl he is rapidly falling in love with. Rating: T Read it on AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

Tags for: @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615 @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @bonbonpirate

Chapter 14:

Nine and a half years after the morning after her senior prom, Emma arrived home at the end of another exhausting day to find a thick cream envelope in her mail slot addressed to “Dr Emma Swan-Jones.” The Storybrooke High seal was pressed into the flap, and Emma knew immediately what it was. 

She sifted through the bills and junk mail seaching for another envelope, addressed to Killian. There wasn’t one. Perhaps that wasn’t surprising, though, she reasoned. He hadn’t technically graduated with her, just passed his AP exams and gone on his way. 

When Killian came home half an hour later she was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the card the envelope had contained with a small scowl. He gave her a quizzical look and she handed it to him, without comment. He looked at it and laughed. “Of course,” he said. “The final stage in the American high school drama. The one wherein we return to the old alma mater, triumphantly to lord our brilliant success over the poor sods we went to school with.” He sat down across from her and handed the card back. “I suppose you’ll want to go?” 

Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. Do we have any brilliant success to lord over anyone?” That afternoon she had given expert testimony in the trial of a sixteen year old boy accused of sexually assaulting his twelve year old sister. He’d been acquitted. The girl had grabbed Emma’s hand and begged her with terrified eyes not to make her go back home. But there had been no other option. Watching that poor child be herded away by her parents had made Emma feel precisely the opposite of brilliantly successful. 

Killian gave her the soft, sympathetic look he always gave when he could tell she’d had a particularly bad day, and reached out to take her hand. “‘Brilliant’ may be too strong a word, but we’re certainly well on our way to where we want to be,” he said. “Don’t you think so, love?”

Killian was a junior professor, teaching all the hours God sent while simultanously participating in a major research project and writing the book he hoped would get him tenure. She was a forensic psychologist with the Boston PD, handed all the worst, most difficult cases by her superiors, coming home each day exhausted and ready to weep for humanity. They lived on the ground floor of a draughty old house that they paid way too much rent for, trying to save for a down payment on their own place, which at the rate they were going would only take about thirty years provided Boston house prices remained at their current stratospheric levels. She had wrinkles on her forehead now that didn’t smooth out when she stopped frowning and last week she had found a grey hair. Were they where they wanted to be?

She looked at her husband. The years had certainly been kind to him. His lanky frame had filled out and he had grown into his face, which was now covered with stubble from the thick beard he was usually too busy or tired to shave regularly. The scruff suited him, though. Everything suited him. Killian at seventeen had been a cute boy with eyes a bit too big and limbs a touch too long, teetering just on the precipice of his potential; Killian at twenty-seven was breathtaking. 

She realised he was waiting for an answer to his question. “I guess. I don’t know. Oh, I can’t think about things like that now, I’m in too much of a mood.” 

Keeping hold of her hand he stood and pulled her up into his arms, wrapping them tightly around her and stroking her hair. She sighed as she leaned against his solid, comforting form, drawing strength from his presence. 

“Rough day?” he asked. 

“When isn’t it?” she replied, unable to keep the frustration from her voice. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head as much as she could with her face buried in his shoulder. “Not really. Maybe later. Right now I just want to sit and do something mindless. Just not think for a while.” 

Killian kissed her gently on her hair and then on her lips. “Why don’t you find something on Netflix and I’ll pour us some wine,” he said. 

She nodded and went into the living room, collapsing on the sofa and putting her feet up on the coffee table. Killian hated when she did that, but sometimes she wanted to stretch out, she thought grumpily. 

“Anything you want for dinner?” he called from the kitchen.

“No, just whatever.” She picked up the remote and began scrolling aimlessly through the options.

He joined her a few minutes later, handing her a large glass of red wine and sitting down next to her, sighing as he did. He looked pointedly at her feet, but said nothing. She felt a brief flare of guilt. His days were hard too. She took her feet off the table and curled them under her as she tucked herself against his side and he put an arm around her. 

“I think ‘whatever’ is going to be pasta and a salad tonight,” he said, kissing the top of her head.   

“That sounds fine. What do you want to watch?”

“Oh, whatever,” he teased, using his ‘American’ accent. She gave him a small slap, rolling her eyes. 

“The Good Place?”

“Yeah, go on then.” 

It was a show they’d watched a hundred times, but after their stressful days they needed some comfort viewing. They watched two episodes as they drank their wine, then Killian went to make dinner and Emma checked her email. Five messages from her boss already, and she’d barely left work two hours ago. On a Friday. Firmly she closed the app and turned her phone upside down on the table. She’d deal with work later. Now she was going to have dinner with her husband and enjoy his company. 

They chatted about odds and ends as they ate, the everyday, random subjects that are common in long-term relationships. 

“By the way, you never answered my question, love,” said Killian, after a short silence. 

“Hmm? What question?” Emma twirled pasta around her fork. 

“Do you want to go to the reunion?”

She frowned. She’d forgotten about it, and wasn’t sure she wanted to open the subject again. “Eh, I don’t know,” she said. “I guess it might be nice to see some people again. We don’t really do any visiting when we go back to SB.” 

They went back regularly of course, to see Liam and Belle, who were married now with three small children, and her parents, who had a small child of their own— a surprise baby (very surprising, Snow had laughed) called Leo, who was now eight. But their trips were usually over holidays and they were so busy with their families, nieces and nephews and baby brothers, that they didn’t take much time to see old friends, especially since Ruby had moved to China and hardly ever came back. 

“I’ll leave it up to you,” said Killian. “I was only at that school for a year, and everyone I really came to care about I still see frequently. Even Whale, who I in fact see far too much of for anyone’s liking.” 

Against all odds Killian and Victor had remained friends of a sort and since Victor had moved to Boston three years earlier they went out together fairly regularly, though from what Killian said they spent most of that time bickering and needling at each other. Still, they seemed to enjoy it. 

By the time Emma and Killian had finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen it was past nine and their eyelids were drooping. “Do you want to watch anything else?” asked Killian.

“No,” said Emma, around an enormous yawn. “Let’s just go to bed.” 

She was so old, she thought. In bed by ten on a Friday night. But it was better than falling asleep on the sofa five minutes into a movie. 

They brushed their teeth and washed their faces, then got undressed and before putting on pajamas they wrapped themselves around each other as they did every night, sharing a deep kiss as they each mentally played a round of the debating game they called “Are We Too Knackered For Sex Or Not?”

To her surprise, Emma discovered that her answer was “Or Not.” She was exhausted, mentally and physically, but as much as she wanted to sleep she wanted to feel that closeness with Killian even more, wanted the warmth and comfort that she always felt when making love with him. Wanted proof that human relationships could be positive, nurturing things, not like that hellishly twisted nightmare family she’d seen today. Sometimes she felt that without her loving marriage, without Killian’s unwavering support, doing her job might come at the expense of her mental health. 

She signalled her intent by letting her hand slide down his back to cup his ass and pull his hips into hers, rocking her own against him. 

He hummed against her mouth. “So it’s an Or Not for you, then?” he murmured. 

“Yeah. You?”

“I’m certain I can summon the energy to ravish you, love,” he growled, hoisting her up against him. She shrieked and wrapped her legs around his waist, laughing as he tumbled them both onto their bed. 

Later, Emma lay with her head on Killian’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and the soft flow of his breath as he slept. She was tired in a more pleasant way now, sated and content and much more at peace than she had felt earlier, yet still she couldn’t sleep. Her fingers sifted through the abundant hair on his chest, one of her favourite things to touch, and she remembered with a smile the first night she’d spent in his arms. How she’d woken on that shining morning to the thought of how hairy he’d be one day. He had surpassed her expectations on that front. On most fronts, honestly. 

She indulged in more memories of that morning, of the two of them eating pancakes and bacon on the boat, laughing, talking about nothing, getting lost in each other’s eyes. They had been so in love, so happy. So full of bright optimism for the future. They’d thought they had it all figured out. 

A decade later they weren’t any less in love. If anything their feelings had only deepened and strengthened as their relationship matured. But life had not turned out to be quite as easy as they had envisioned it in that sparkling memory. She supposed it never really did. 

She thought about going to the Storybrooke High reunion, seeing the people she hadn’t seen since graduation. People she had ruled back then as Storybrooke’s princess, shallow and carefree, beloved and ever so slightly feared. People who had remained in the small town they’d been born in while she had moved to New York, travelled far and wide with Killian, seen and done so much that had changed her, then finally settled into a job that exhausted and depressed her even as every day reinforced her conviction that what she did was essential work, helping people as much as anything could. What would Storybrooke think of its princess now?

Human nature being what it was, she of course wondered sometimes about the life she could have had if she’d returned after college as her mother had wished. What she would have ended up doing, who she would have been with? Would Killian really have returned with her, given up his own future for her? Even odder to imagine, what would have become of her if she’d never met Killian at all? He was such an integral part of her existence, her husband, her best friend, the love of her life, that she was literally unable to imagine herself without him.  Had Killian never come to Storybrooke Emma would have grown up to be a wholly different person, one unrecognisable to the person she actually was. Whether she would have been happy in that other reality, in her ignorance both of true love and of the frustrations of the life she’d chosen, she couldn’t say. All she knew was that despite everything she was happy in this one. 

Killian shifted in his sleep, his hand sliding over the bare skin of her hip and onto her lower belly as he unconsciously cuddled her closer. Her skin tingled in its wake with the low-level arousal always ignited by even his lightest touch. He was the only man she’d ever slept with, something her friends hadn’t hesitated to tease her about over the years, like it was something they thought she would be ashamed of. But Emma always just laughed, letting the mockery roll off her back. She was more than satisfied with her sex life, certain that she wasn’t missing anything she couldn’t do without. In fact, hearing her friends’ stories of unsatisfying one-nighters and awkward morning-afters and the challenges of dating in the modern world just made her even more grateful for Killian, who still looked at her like she was the centre of his universe and whose hands on her never failed to send sparks dancing across her skin even after ten years together. Why would she want to go out looking for meaningless sex with men whose faces she would barely remember just for the sake of “wider experience” when she had the sexiest man she’d ever seen already in her bed, waiting to worship her and pleasure her and love her? Why go out for hamburger, as the saying goes, when you have steak at home? 

Though she’d be lying if she didn’t admit, if only to herself, how deeply she’d enjoyed the look on her college friends’ faces when they’d met him for the first time. After all the teasing she’d endured about her boyfriend who was actually a boy and about her turning down men old enough to buy her alcohol for the sake of a boy who wasn’t even eighteen yet, she had revelled in their shock, their disbelief, and yes, their outright envy. He’s mine, bitches, she remembed thinking, with her newfound college-student affinity for swearing. And you can suck it. 

“All right, all right,” Tiana had said. “I get it now. You’re a dark horse, Emma Swan.”

“Does he have a brother?” Ariel had asked innocently. 

Maintaining their relationship during their college years had, she realised now, been pretty easy. Alhough at first they had struggled with the distance, as they’d settled into college life and found their friends and routines and formed a routine for their relationship, texting throughout the day and FaceTiming in the evenings, they had learned to handle it. She’d missed him, of course, as he had her, but they’d always visited each other without fail twice a month, the only exception being during finals when they needed the time to study and didn’t wish to spend it on the train. Their winter and summer breaks had also been spent together, first in Storybrooke and later in either New York or Boston, working summer internships to help them get a leg up in their future careers. 

After graduation, Killian fulfilled his promise to go to Oxford for three years of graduate study while Emma, hating the idea of being so far away from him for so long, had impulsively applied for a master’s programme at the London School of Economics and to her surprise been accepted. 

“It’s for social and cultural psychology, which isn’t directly applicable to what I want to do,” she said. “But it sounds fascinating and it’ll give me a broader understanding of the field which can only be an advantage. And I should be able to start a PhD immediately when it’s finished.”

“I can’t say I’d be sorry to have you near,” said Killian. “I haven’t been back to the UK in five years, I’m a bit apprehensive about it. And of course not having an ocean between us is never a bad thing.” 

Emma of course had never been to the UK at all, and so they took three weeks before the start of their courses to travel around the country, everywhere except London and Oxford, as they had agreed that every time they got together (trading visits every two weeks as they’d done in college) they would do one touristy thing, reasoning that this ought to give them enough time to see the major sights of both cities during Emma’s year-long programme.  

Because life was insane and coincidences were real they actually ran into Milah one afternoon in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. It was early November and they were sitting on the grass enjoying an unseasonable bout of warmth and sunshine when Killian suddenly went stiff as a board, drawing in his breath sharply. 

“What is it?” asked Emma, concerned, following the trajectory of his gaze to a tall woman with long, dark hair tumbling down her back in wild curls who was walking along the path nearest them, a cell phone at her ear. 

“That’s her. Milah.” Killian’s voice was strained. 

“Really?” Emma leaned forward for a better look. 

“Yeah.” Killian’s hand tightened in hers, squeezing her fingers painfully. “Don’t stare, I don’t want to catch her attention.” 

“Are you sure? We could go talk to her, if you want.” 

“Definitely not.” 

“It might be good, Killian, to talk about—” 

“No, love, please. I’ve worked hard to put it behind me, I don’t want to dredge up old emotions that are best left in the past.” 

She snuggled closer into his side. “As you wish,” she said, stealing his line, and he smiled and kissed her. When they looked up again, Milah had gone. 

That night when they made love there was something almost frantic in the way he held her and touched her and thrust deep within her, as though he needed her to anchor him in the place he wanted to remain. Normally their lovemaking was very much a pair activity, but that night Emma lay back and let him take what he needed, knowing that his fingers would leave bruises on her soft skin but that she would never reproach him for them. And when he clung to her in the aftermath and she felt his tears dampen her hair she held him close and whispered that she loved him and always would, soothing him until he slept. 

The next morning he was lighter than she’d ever seen him, smiling brightly as they did their touristy thing —a trip on the London Eye this time— laughing freely when she held tightly to his jacket at the top, wrapping her securely in his arms. “I’ll never let you fall, Emma,” he murmured in her ear, and she smiled. She wouldn’t let him fall, either. She hadn’t, and she never would. 

When she saw him off on the train back to Oxford that evening she knew that he had left Milah and the trauma of his past behind, completely. Finally. He was free.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Killian awoke the next morning Emma was still asleep, curled up on her side and snoring lightly in the way he’d always found adorable. She still had shadows under her eyes but her face was relaxed and peaceful, which eased some of his worry about her state of mind. When Emma was particularly stressed she frowned even in her sleep, so her soft expression was a good sign. He hated seeing her so strung out but knew there was little he could do to help. It was simply her nature. She was incapable of not getting emotionally invested in the people she counselled; she cared about them and took it very hard when she wasn’t able to give them the help they needed. He couldn’t change that, nor did he really want to; her generous heart was one of the things he loved most about her. All he could really do was just be there, just offer his support and listen whenever she was ready to talk. 

He stroked her cheek with his thumb and kissed her softly on the forehead, and when she didn’t waken he slid carefully from the bed, pulling on his old Harvard sweatpants as quietly as he could. She seemed pretty deeply asleep and frankly, he thought, she could use the rest. It wasn’t often she had a chance to sleep in, even on a Saturday, but today, he silently decreed, she would. She would sleep late, and when she awoke he would have breakfast waiting for her.

Pancakes, he thought. We haven’t had those in ages. And bacon. Like they’d had the morning after the prom. He smiled to himself at the memory, one that hadn’t crossed his mind in years. So many good things had happened since that when it came to happy memories he had a true embarrassment of riches, and sometimes things got lost in the shuffle. The arrival of the reunion invite had it seemed shuffled them to the fore again. 

Although he could certainly understand Emma’s reluctance to go to her high school reunion and be faced with having either to hide or to explain the stresses and frustrations of the life she’d chosen to people who already struggled to understand why she’d chosen it, Killian knew she wouldn’t change a thing about their life, as he wouldn’t. All things considered they had been almost unbelievably fortunate. Finding the love of your life at sixteen or seventeen was vanishingly rare; even rarer was that relationship surviving years of separation, the stress of pursuing advanced degrees and of working long hours for low pay and little appreciation, and actually growing stronger with each new challenge thrown at it. He was immensely grateful for the last ten years with her and for all the years they had to come, for the children they hoped some day to have, for the life they would continute to build together. All they needed was each other, the rest of it—the jobs, the kids, the house— would work itself out. And if those things never came then they’d still be happy because they’d be together. 

Feeling cheerful at the prospect of surprising Emma with a nice breakfast, Killian opened the refrigerator, only to discover that that they had no bacon. And no milk. Sighing, he quickly peeked into the bedroom to check that Emma was still sound asleep, then tossed on his jacket, zipping it securely as he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and slipped from the house as quietly as possible. Twenty minutes later he was back, armed with bacon, milk, and some good coffee, plus chocolate chips for the pancakes. Emma permitted him to feed her healthy food these days as long as he prepared it, but she still held on to her childhood preference for sickly sweet breakfasts. He mixed the pancake batter and set it aside to rest while he cooked the bacon and then finally put the coffee on. Breakfast was nearly ready, and if anything would lure Emma out of bed it was the smell of good coffee. 

Sure enough she appeared in the kitchen moments later, wearing an old t-shirt of his and rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Is that the Guatemalan coffee I smell?” she asked, “I thought we’d run out.”

“I went to the store. It’s been a while since we’ve had a nice breakfast, and you seemed like you could use it.”

She came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist as he tested the heat of the griddle and poured out the first batch of pancakes. “God, I love you,” she said against the bare skin over his shoulder blade.

“I hope you’re not just saying that because I got chocolate chips for the pancakes,” he teased, picking up the bag to show her before sprinking a generous handful over half the batch. 

“Well, I can’t deny that’s a major factor,” she replied, deadpan. 

“I knew it.” 

She gave a light laugh and squeezed him tightly before heading for the coffee maker. “It’s ready,” she said. “Do you want a cup now?”

“Yeah, please.” Killian deftly flipped the pancakes. “These’ll be done in a minute, you go sit down and I’ll bring it all in when it’s ready.” 

Emma poured coffee for both of them and took their cups to the table. Sitting, she sipped at hers, letting the rich flavour and the caffeine kick both soothe and jolt her into full consciousness. She’d nearly finished the cup when Killian placed a generous stack of pancakes in front of her, oozing melted chocolate and accompanied by a pile of bacon. She laughed, the first free, happy laugh he’d heard from her in far too long. 

“Are there three of me?” she asked. 

“Now, darling, don’t pretend that you can’t, or won’t, eat all of that yourself,” he said, refilling her coffee cup. “Need I remind you of the Naples Pizza Incident?” 

“I was twenty three then!” she protested, “The calories burned off a lot faster in those days.” 

“It was only five years ago, love, not fifty.” 

“It feels longer,” she said, the grim mood falling back onto her face.  

He sat down and picked up his fork, deliberately casual. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

She nodded. “Yeah, I think I’m ready.” 

As they ate she told him about the case, the testimony she’d given, how her best efforts had seemed to make no difference, and how she’d had to send a traumatised little girl right back into the same terrible situation she thought she’d escaped. 

“That fucking judge, he cared more about ‘ruining the future’ of the brother than about protecting a little girl from a predator,” she fumed. “Of course a sexual assault conviction would ruin his future, it should.” She took a large bite of pancake, chewed and swallowed before continuing. “I think the worst thing was that the smug little shit knew there wouldn’t be any consequences for him. His parents knew what was going on, they did nothing. The judge did nothing. What’s even the point of a justice system if it doesn’t protect the people who most need protecting?” She bit down on a piece of bacon with a vicious crunch. 

 Killian knew this was a rhetorical question; she didn’t want his help or his opinion, just his ear and his shoulder. So he said nothing. 

Emma swiped her plate with the last bite of pancake and popped it in her mouth. “Looks like you were right,” she said. “I did eat it all.” 

“I knew you could do it,” he replied, smiling at her. “I believed in you. I always believe in you, Emma.” 

In more things than just eating pancakes, he meant, and he could tell she understood. She gave him an odd look, half soft smile, half inner turmoil.  

“Let’s go,” she said suddenly.  

“Where?”

“To the reunion. Let’s just go. I don’t care if we’re brilliantly successful or not, I’m happy. I’m exhausted and frustrated and sometimes I feel like all my efforts are for nothing, but then I come home and you pour me wine and fuck me senseless—”

“Um, make passionate love to my beautiful wife, I think you mean—”

“—then you make me pancakes for breakfast and listen to me complain about my day and even though that doesn’t make the problems go away it makes me feel like I can handle them. I can handle anything as long as you’re with me, and I’m happy, Killian.” She reached out and took his hand. “This is happily ever after,” she said softly, smiling into his eyes. “Everyone seems to think that that means your life is perfect but it doesn’t. It just means you’re happy despite the imperfections.”

“I’m happy with you, Emma,” he whispered, kissing her, leaning his forehead against hers, breathing her breath. “You're all I need, and I will never stop loving you.”

“I’ll never stop loving you,” she whispered back. They kissed again, deeper this time, a kiss tasting of pancakes and bacon and the years and years of joys and frustrations, triumphs and struggles, small victories and petty annoyances that they had to look forward to together. 

In that moment, despite the imperfections, they were perfectly, truly happy. 

[starscreamloki]

My King

Chapter Ten - Frost and Fire

Previous chapter

Read on AO3

Imagine: You were a very powerful Queen, whose husband was killed when Loki, invaded and attacked yours and his realm. In order to become king, Loki found a way to force you to marry him, and he was a terrible husband. You weren’t used to being ordered around or subjugated until you had no choice but to obey him and prevent things from getting worse. But your rebelliousness was starting to grow on Loki, so much he actually found himself very attracted to you as time went by. He actually started to court you, in his own, brusque and proud way. All this time, he hadn’t laid a finger on you, but after an awkward dinner served for the loveless king and queen, he showed up in your bedroom. Sat on your bed, gently caressed your arm until you woke up. You thought about playing along, thrusting a dagger into his heart when he least expected it. But you realized that all your hatred was slowly vanishing, the more he touched you. You ended up succumbing and having the most intense lovemaking session that only bonded the two of you for life.

Warnings: Dom!Loki, NSFW, predatory!Loki. Mentions of every horror that comes with war, battle, mischief, darkness and plain out malicious intent. No happy and fuzzy feelings, just raw darkness and a God who wants to rule the universe and will beat everyone in submission in order to get it!

Words: 5022

A/N: WARNING, WARNING, WARNING! Sadly I have to spoil this chapter somewhat but a firm warning is in place for this one! If you can NOT bear to read about torment in any way for whatever reason, I seriously advice you to skip this chapter! There is absolutely no shame in that! This is also the reason why this chapter is longer than the others because I wanted to contain it in one chapter so it can be skipped. You have been warned! And one more thing, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry!

----

Loki opened his eyes and a pang of pain went through his skull. A grunt escaped his lips and he wanted to rub his face with his hands, but he could not. He felt cold metal around his wrists as his arms were pinned above his head, the chains attached to the wall.

He let out a sigh of annoyance. How stupid could his captivators have been? He was a God after all, and even though his strength couldn’t match to that of Thor, some meager chains would be no match for him. He gave the shackles a tug, fully assuming they would bulge, but the metal bit deep in the flesh of his wrists.

Loki raised an eyebrow and sighed while his irritation grew some more. If he couldn’t rip the chains of the wall, then there was always the second option.

Loki summoned his seidr so he could break the shackles but his magic wouldn’t come to him. A confused look washed over his face as he tried to use his Seidr again, but to no avail. It was only then he realised that he might be in some trouble. If he wasn’t able to get the aid of his Seidr, this wasn’t going to be pleasant stay.

Again he tried to tug at the chains while trying to call his Seidr, but no matter how hard he tried, the chains wouldn’t give and Loki grew frustrated. How many more times in his life did he need to end up in shackles and chains? Hadn’t it been enough? Hadn’t he suffered enough? Would this be the ever present circle of his life?

Loki’s frustration turned into anger. He felt that the anger of last night still hadn’t left his system and he bared his teeth. He pulled at the chains once again even though he knew it was to no avail and the metal viciously bit his wrists again.

Weak...

Loki scowled at the thought and kept pulling the chains while trying to use his Seidr.

Still weak.

His anger turned into rage and burned hot in his veins.

This is what happens if you act out of love.

Alexis’ face flashed in front of his eyes.

This is what happens if you show sentiment.

Thor’s face flashed in front of his eyes.

In the end you are the one who gets hurt, and nobody else.

Loki could feel how his rage crept toward the dark culprit he had been harboring and feeding for his entire life.

When will you ever learn!

The rage hit the culprit and tore it open wide, letting out everything that Loki had put there and he got battered with every feeling he had ever buried in there. He tried to coop with them as best as he could, but he didn’t know how and thus he ended up screaming and thrashing his chains. He could feel his Seidr burning in his veins, but it couldn’t get out, for something prevented that, and thus the magic ate away through his muscles, straining them and pulling them tout.

Suddenly a door opened and someone stepped into his vision. It took Loki a while before he stopped screaming and thrashing, and he had a hard time to find his focus again through his seething rage. When he was finally able to focus, and the red in front of his eyes had vanished, he was able to see the Kha’os Alvish standing before him, a wicked grin on his face.

Loki returned his grin with a feral, angry and ugly snarl, and pulled at his chains once more just for good measure.

“Not so strong without your magic, are you now?” the Kha’os Alvish laughed at him.

It took a few moments before the name of this one sprang to Loki’s mind again. Rak’ash! And it was only now that Loki had a chance to have a good look at him. Rak’ash missed multiple teeth and his left cheek had a nasty scar in the form of a circle. A longer scar ran from his forehead down to his cheek on the same side and Loki saw multiple scars on his arms and even a missing finger on his right hand.

Rak’ash noticed Loki looking at him and grabbed Loki by the jaw, nails digging in his flesh and Rak’ash leveled himself with him. “Those are your doing albeit it indirectly,” he snarled and Loki could feel the hot breath on his face, and the smell of blood and death.

Loki grinned wickedly. “As you deserved,” he said sassy and he felt the nails dig deeper into his flesh.

“My scars will be minor compared to yours when I’m done with you, Trickster!” and he violently shoved Loki’s head back, his claws raking flesh and drawing blood. Loki only laughed, almost like a madman. What would this creature do to him? He already had the worst when he had fallen into the hands of the Titan. Surely this creature wouldn’t know what to do to a God like him, how to hurt him.

Rak’ash must have caught on to Loki’s line of thinking as a wicked smile spread across his face and he produced the staff he had used to burn Loki only hours ago. “I wouldn’t be so arrogant if I were you,” Rak’ash sneered and pointed to staff towards Loki’s face once more, the heat radiating from the gem. “Yesterday was painful and quick. This time will be slow and pure agony.”

Loki felt a little bit of dread creep into his heart for he had not forgotten what the gem had done to him yesterday. “What do you want?”

Rak’ash laughed. “I just want my sweet revenge. The Frost Giants however...”

Rak’ash didn’t finish his sentence on purpose and Loki felt the dread rooting more in his heart. It wasn’t the fact that he was a stranger to pain or even afraid of it, but dealing with the Frost Giants more than necessary, dealing with this dark page of his past and heritage, that wasn’t something he wanted to. He had tried to bury that particular part of his life as long as he could, but now they would force it upon him and he almost shuddered at the thought.

“Take him,” Rak’ash ordered as Loki had been lost in his thoughts and hadn’t noticed Rak’ash had walked away from him, opening his cell where two Frost Giants stood by the door.

Loki growled at the sight of them and Rak’ash turned sharply, staff in hand, advancing towards Loki. “Now, let’s not make a mess out of this… Yet” and he pushed the gem against Loki’s stomach.

Loki felt the magical intrusion again and it started to boil his blood and blister his skin once more. He screamed, not in pain but out of frustration and anger, but soon the magic enwrapped him and he couldn’t control his slamming heart any longer.

Darkness engulfed him once more.

***

Loki screamed as agony coursed through his body, paralyzing him and rendering him unable to control his convulting body. Slowly he felt the pain deprive and he gulped in gasps of much needed air.

For the past hours a Frost Giant and Rak’ash had been torturing him. They had chained his hands, feet and neck to a table upon which he lay, their metal riddled with the same magic that kept blocking his Seidr.

Loki hadn't thought anyone would ever be able to inflict the same agony upon him as the mad Titan once had, but he had to admit, they didn’t stray far behind.

The worst part was the fact that he wasn't able to control his shiftings as the Frost Giant touched him, and thus his eyes were red and his skin blue, making him very vulnerable against fire and such sorts. And his tormentors were well aware of that and using it to their full advantage. His shirt was slick with blood, his hair matted, and burn marks and oozing wounds covered his skin.

He had tried to fight his Jotun form, but it had been to no avail, and fighting it kept draining his energy so much that in the end he just had forfeited his attempts.

The gem on the staff pressing against his temple, burning his skin once more, made him loose grip on his track of thoughts, and a searing pain crept from the side of his head to his jaw, along his windpipe and double tracked to the major artery in his neck. Once the heat got it grip on his Jotun blood in the vein, he felt as if thunder marched his way through his arteries, striking his heart as the fire rapidly shot through his blood.

Loki screamed and he tasted blood in his mouth, his throat raw and unable to breathe.

“Where is it,” the Frost Giant asked him again.

Loki said nothing as he spat the blood from his mouth at the Giants feet.

The Frost Giant looked unimpressed from the spittle at his feet to Loki and he grabbed Loki by the throat, sealing of his airway. “Lost princeling, we've been at this for hours and we can keep this up for hours more. The question is however, can you?” The Frost Giant released Loki, and for what must have been the hundredth time in the past hours, Loki gasped for breath.

Loki panted heavily. “I. Can. Try,” he managed between rasps. If he could stall their torment for mere minutes, his body would be able to heal itself somewhat, but apparently they knew about his ability to regenerate and thus they had kept the pressure on wounding him, not granting a moment of reprieve.

The staff hovered close to Loki's face, the gem glowing furiously and he tried to recoil but the shackles around his neck prevented him from moving his head. A little bit of dread crept into his heart and he braced himself for the anguish that would come.

“You can prevent this,” Rak’ash cooed. “Just tell us what we want to know.”

“I don't know where it is,” Loki said, his heart pounding.

“You and I both know that is a lie, Lost Princeling,” the Frost Giant interjected.

“Is it?” Loki asked as he eyed the staff warily. “Had I known wh- aaaah,” Loki’s sentence broke as the gem touch his forehead, wrapping him in a burning sensation.

“God of Lies and Silvertongue is what they call you. We've seen you use the Casket of Ancient Winters as you tore open the portal between the realms. Stop your lying and we might cease your torment, maybe even grant you the sweet salvation of death,” the Frost Giant threatened and made a gesture to Rak’ash who pulled the staff back a little bit, breaking contact with Loki and stopping its painful assault.

A dry and painful laugh escaped Loki’s lips. “I don't even know how I opened that portal, let alone where I put the Casket after you trying to scorch my brain for hours,” Loki venomously bit back. Not an entire lie. He indeed didn't know how he had opened the portal, and if they would keep up this torment he was sure he would forget where he had left the Casket, albeit it for a couple of hours.

“STOP PLAYING!” the Frost Giant bellowed as he plunged an icicle in Loki's stomach, making him gasp. The Giant placed his face close to Loki's and Loki could feel it's hot breath and then smell of blood as he spoke. “Lost Princeling, if your body cannot be broken, we will move on to your mind and see what we can pull from there.” Slowly he retracted the icicle and Rak’ash wasted no time to put the staff near the fresh wound.

“You already have a challenge with breaking my body,” Loki said between biting his lip to keep a grip on the pain in his stomach. “Pray tell me, how do you ever think you can conquer my mind with your meager grip of the universe and its workings?” His answer had been very bold and costed him immediately as the staff made contact with his wound, but the look of astonishment on the Frost Giants face had been worth the pain.

The giant took a step back and composed himself, a malicious grin spreading across his face. “Creating heat and fire isn't the only thing the staff can do,” rang his ominous words. “My friend, if you'd be so kind to indulge us all.”

Rak'ash retrieved the staff and fiddled with the gem placed on top off it, closing his eyes as he did and muttering words that were lost to Loki's ears. A red light engulfed the gem and silver light wrapped around the staff. Soon both colors touched and started to mingle. The red light crept down from the gem to the staff as the silver light crept towards the gem. When Rak'ash stopped muttering, the light dimmed and the red stone had turned silver, supported on a red staff that moments ago had been silver.

Loki had looked in fascination and when the shift had occurred he had been sure he had felt a shift in the magic in his shackles as well. Even in this dire situation Loki was intrigued by the object and its imaginable possibilities.

Rak’ash put the staff close to Loki’s face again. “Last chance,” he said casually.

Loki wasn't planning on telling them where he had put the Casket of Ancient Winters, and he was actually very curious what the staff would be able to do now, and thus he only looked at Rak'ash deadpanned, a shine of amusement and a taunt in his eyes, challenging the Kha’os Alvish.

Rak'ash shrugged and let the staff make contact with the shackle around Loki's neck. Immediately it became hot, and within mere moments the shackles around his wrists and ankles followed suit, their heat building rapidly.

The latter wasn't something Loki had expected and he screamed in pain, trashing the chains which only fed to his pain.

Magic leaked from the metal and started to creep around him, creating a darkness at the edges of his eyes. Still the heat rose and Loki could smell his own skin burning. He forced himself to stop rattling his chains for it only intensified his anguish, and as he tried to gain control, he briefly caught a glimpse of the metal around his wrist. This time he felt fear lodge into his heart as the iron was colored white from the intense heat.

The darkness at the corner of his eyes started to creep in rapidly and soon filled his entire vision.

Then the pain stopped.

***

Loki saw Alexis in his mind's eye. She smiled at him and said something, but he couldn’t hear the words as they tumbled into the darkness surrounding him. He tried to talk to her, but his words didn’t make sound, also lost in the darkness, and Loki sighed.

She smiled at him. Not one of sadness, or fake, like she had done so often, but a genuine smile filled with warmth and mirth.

Loki swallowed. He didn’t know how to respond to that. He had locked his heart away on purpose and he didn’t want this. Especially not now, not when-- Not when you are being tortured and she might be a possible weakness? Loki’s expression dropped at the thought and he let his head hang.

Currently he had no idea how he would escape his martyrs, and he figured he just had to hang on until an opportunity would arise or a plan would form in his mind. Maybe you should just forfeit. Why do you think you are worthy? Of anything? Of her!

Loki’s had snapped up at the vicious thought. He looked at Alexis and he felt utterly and completely lost at that moment. Just give in, live on your knees and all will be over. Loki bit his lip and mused on the words.

No! He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t going to give up, no matter what! He would fight till the end, even if it was the last thing he would do. Because he’d rather die standing on his feet than to live on his knees! He wasn’t a weak mortal, and he would never act like one! It would be easier however… Loki pushed the thoughts back.

He looked at Alexis, and this time he smiled back at her. His smile also genuine although it lacked the warmth and mirth she had shown him.

Suddenly a Kha’os Alvish appeared next to her and frost crept around Alexis’ feet. She looked around, fear in her eyes while she felt the threat. “Loki,” she mouthed, her eyes pleading. He wanted to reach out to her, grab her, run to her, but he couldn’t move and he heard a metallic sound as he trashed unseen restrains.

A blue hand covered Alexis’ mouth, grabbing her from behind. She trashed at her assailant but the Frost Giant was to strong.

Let them have her.

Loki went frantic, trashing his unseen restrains more vehemently then before as Alexis got dragged away, a silver light glowing around her. Then she vanished into the darkness, leaving Loki alone.

She will be your downf--

No, no, NO! Loki felt his heart break, something he hadn’t felt since-- He pushed the thought of his mother away. His breath came in quick short gasps and anger took over.

Just when he wanted to scream he heard a voice.

“Death is the easy way out.”

***

Loki hung in his chains in his cell, head down, sweat mixed with blood dripping on his legs.

They had intruded his mind, Loki had felt it, and they had tried to wreak havoc.

Loki had felt how something had pulled at his thoughts, trying to enter his memories, but they hadn't gotten anything more after the weird illusion with Alexis. Loki had been so enraged that they had hit a wall of so much hate, the power of the gem hadn't been able to penetrante it.

When they couldn’t get passed his mind they had reversed the gem back to red and had tortured him physically again, after which Rak’ash had reversed it back to silver and had rampaged through his mind once more.

They had kept switching the gem for some more hours, but Loki’s lips had been sealed, not giving them what they wanted to know. Eventually someone, he didn't know who, had entered the room and had brought a message which Loki hadn't heard because he had been delirious.

After the messenger had gone, they had freed him from the table and dragged him back to his cell. Loki had tried to put up a fight but every move he had made hurted in ten places at once, and thus he had forfeited his attempts for that moment and had let them put him in his cell.

After that it had taken him an hour before he could shift back to his Aesir form again, and it had taken him hours more to heal enough to be able to move without agonizing pain biting through his body.

His clothing was drenched in blood and sweat and clung to his skin. He wasn't sure what they had done, but he couldn't cool down for something was keeping the heat trapped in his body.

Someone opened his cell door but Loki lacked the interest to see who it was. The person talked to him but he didn't register the words, nor was he interested. He couldn't care less who or whom had entered his cell or what they would do to him. He needed time to let his mind wander and process what had happened if he wanted to form a plan to escape this situation. And thus he tuned out, turning his mind inward and blocking the world outside, drifting on the currents of his thoughts.

The person nudged Loki with its feet, even grabbed his jaw to make him look at the person but Loki didn't see the face for everything in front of his eyes was a hazy blur, his eyes moving rapidly as he followed his track of thoughts.

The person let go of his jaw after which Loki's head limply fell down and a soft darkness swirled in front of his eyes. He felt a tug at the back of his mind. Something was calling him. Something that needed exploration for it was hurting him in some way. Loki edged closer to the call and carefully reached out. He probed at it and focused his attention so that he could see it from multiple directions at once.

Yes, this was it! He had found--

Suddenly he felt his heart stop and kickstart itself violently, cramping his muscles and making his blood run cold. Loki was brutally pulled from his mind back to reality as he felt icy water dripping from his hair down to his spine. Just as he opened his eyes a second wave of ice cold water hit him and he sputtered and coughed as water entered his mouth.

His body had been holding on to so much heat that the icy water had shocked him back to reality, the shock enraging him and he pulled his chains as he wanted to attack his assailant.

“Ah, what a pleasure. You're awake again,” Rak'ash said sarcastic.

Two Frost Giants walked to Loki and unchained him from the wall and cuffed him with some others. Without control Loki shifted to his Jotun form as they grabbed him by the arms and hoisted him up on his feet. For a moment he tried to call to his Seidr, but he needn’t have tried for his magic was blocked by the chains.

His hair and clothing still dripping with water and blood, Loki tried to stand as tall and proud as he could while Rak’ash hovered the staff in front of his face again. “Don’t think about making any rush moves,” he said threateningly.

Loki answered his threat with a sharp toothed grin and a defiance in his eyes, but said nothing.

They led him through hallways and past chambers, all the while Loki tried to pay as much attention to his surroundings as he could, trying to map the place in his head and looking for ways out. Sometimes he stopped walking, trying to shrug his captivators off, but it was only a display from his side as he stalled for time so he could examine certain points of the place a little bit longer.

Eventually they stood in front of the doors he had entered earlier when they had tortured him, and anger mixed with dread took a hold of him. He dug his heels in and tried to shrug of the Frost Giants but to no avail.

Rak’ash laughed malicious as he saw Loki’s reaction. “You can prevent this if you’d just tell us what we want to know,” he soothingly said.

Loki scoffed. “I’d rather take my changes with what is behind that door instead of giving you want you want to know,” he boldly said while meeting Rak’ash’ eyes.

This time Rak’ash laughed like a madman. “You will break eventually,” and with that he pushed open the doors. Loki’s breath caught in his throat and his heart dropped in his stomach at the sight of Alexis lying chained on the table where he had lain earlier.

***

“Loki...” Alexis said softly as Loki came into her view while he was being pushed to his knees. He could see the hurt in her eyes as she looked upon him and he tried to look away. Suddenly he was very aware of his blue skin and the blood on his clothing that must have complimented his fiery red eyes.

“What have they done to you?” she whispered unaudiable and Loki tried to swallow the lump away that was forming in his throat. How had they found her? He had send her away through the portal, that place should have been safe!

“How?” he whispered to no-one particular but Rak’ash answered him.

“You told us where she was. Or better said, you showed us,” he said while he snickered as he saw Loki’s head snap up and the puzzled look on his face drop to one of pure disbelief.

Loki bit his lip, his sharp teeth digging in his flesh, drawing blood and he let out an angry grunt. “No!” He looked at Alexis.

“Don’t tell them anything” she said softly. His heart beated rapidly in his chest at the sight of her being in this predicament because of him. Apparently it showed on his face as a little smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and she spoke warmly to him. “It’s not your fault--”

Yes, it is! His mind berated him.

“--and I’m sorry I doubted you.”

Loki opened his mouth to answer, but he was cut of as the Frost Giant grabbed him by the throat, sealing off his airway. “Last chance to prevent her from getting hurt,” he spoke while pushing his face close to Loki’s. “Tell me what I want to know or there will be a lot more sentimental nonsense between the two of you when we are leaving this room.”

“IF you ever leave this room,” Rak’ash said emphasizing the first word.

The Frost Giant let go of Loki and he coughed. Carefully he looked at Alexis but her gaze was stern, her eyes telling him he shouldn’t give them what they wanted.

She's strong in ways you'd never even know. Loki heard the words Thor had once spoken to him about Jane in his mind. Loki gritted his teeth and curtly gave her a small nod, confirming their unspoken words. They wouldn’t yield no matter what they would do to them.

“Neither of you is going to talk then? Neither of you is going to tell us where the Casket of Ancient Winters is?” Rak’ash sighed while laughing.

“I don’t deal with monsters,” Alexis said defying. Loki tried not to cringe at her words.

Monster!

Rak’ash shrugged and walked to Alexis, a malicious smile on his face. “As you wish,” he said while he made the red staff hover above Alexis.

Loki tried to shrug the hands of his shoulders that kept him on his knees, but they grabbed him tighter, locking him in place while pushing down.

Sentiment!

With a last look at Loki the Kha’os Alvish lowered the staff, making contact with Alexis.

NO!

Alexis’ screams filled the air and Loki squeezed his eyes shut.

***

Alexis felt the dried salt of her tears on her cheeks and she could not remember any other taste on her tongue than the taste of blood.

The Kha’os Avish and Frost Giant had been hurting her for some time. She had screamed, cried and even pleaded them to stop, but they hadn’t for Loki wouldn’t tell them what they wanted to know. With tears in her eyes she looked at him.

The first times the staff had touched her, Loki had tried to fight off the Frost Giants holding him, but they had punished him every single time for his attempts and eventually had given up on wasting his energy to break free. He hadn’t made a sound other than the occasional grunt of displeasure at Alexis’ screams during the entire ordeal, however he had closed his eyes a couple of times or had looked away.

Loki had promised to Alexis not to talk whatever they would do, but Alexis was willing to talk, even had talked, but she wasn’t able to tell her tormentors what they wanted to know, and thus they had not relented.

A painful sensation took hold of her body once again and she screamed. “Loki! Please, tell them!”

Loki’s jaw was set tight, and anger burned his red eyes, but he didn’t say anything, not willing to give these creatures what they wanted.

“This is not working, Pointy Ears,” the Frost Giant berated Rak’ash. “Maybe we should just kill her,” his raspy voice said while he looked at Loki.

Loki bared his teeth. This was the first reaction they had gotten out of him for some time and a sly smile milled around the Frost Giants lips.

“Lost Princeling,” the Frost Giant cooed as he took notice of Loki’s reaction. He created a crude blade made of ice in his hands and laid its sharp edge on Alexis throat. “Maybe we should just end this. We will get our answers, with or without her.” A small drop of blood formed on Alexis’ throat.

“Loki...” Alexis pleaded, the fear audible in her voice. “Please. Just tell them where the damn thing is!” But Loki spoke not.

“Tell me where the Casket of Ancient Winters is or I’ll slit her throat,” the Frost Giant threatened.

“Loki! PLEASE!” Alexis screamed as utter distress took over and the end of her life hovered in front of her eyes.

Loki looked at Alexis and they locked stares. Loki felt his heart break as he looked into her eyes, the fear and plea so raw he almost gave in. He quickly collected himself. “I do not care for her,” Loki said with no emotion in his voice as he saw a shock of horror wash over Alexis’ face. Loki was sure their captivators were only bluffing, they wouldn’t kill her! Would they? “Take her life if you want, she means nothing to me,” his voice still cold as ice and completely emotionless.

Alexis’ eyes widened at his words, and it was written all over her face she was wounded by his words. Loki’s cold glare did not waver and his jaw was set firm.

“You are a monster,” she whispered and looked away as tears streamed down her face. Loki briefly flinched at her words and had to muster all self-control to not show any form of emotion.

“As you wish,” the Frost Giant said and the bladed crossed Alexis’ throat.

Next Chapter

----

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[aroseandapen]

Expectancy--Dating Start (Part 5/?)

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Rating: Mature Pairing: Papyton Word Count: 4308 (Cumulative: 25,446) Summary: After some drunken night shenanigans at a party, Papyrus ends up pregnant… by Mettaton. Unfortunately the latter can barely even remember who the skeleton even is. Maybe by spending time with Papyrus, Mettaton can rediscover the charm that his drunk self had been so taken with to begin with.

Papyrus might have lied. Just a bit.

What else could he have done? Yes, Undyne was rough and aggressive, but it always came from a place of caring! And perhaps some genuine hurt, but that was Papyrus’ fault for keeping her in the dark on his pregnancy. He should’ve told her first, at least after his own brother. Best friends talked about the important things, and Undyne was undoubtedly his best friend while pregnancy was undeniably an important thing.

So when the thunderous knocking on his door turned into a crash as the impatient visitor kicked it inward, and Undyne’s indignant bellowing boomed throughout the house, Papyrus couldn’t fault her for the reaction. Perhaps for the sizable dent in his wall that would eventually come out of their security deposit, but not for being cross with him!

She’d looked as if she was about to tackle him to the ground, but just as her muscles tensed to spring, her eyes had flickered down to his abdomen and she’d caught herself. She restrained herself sling her arm around his neck to noogie the daylights out of him instead. Settling for a noogie and slamming her body against his with all her strength was perhaps the most control that Undyne had shown in all the time Papyrus had known her.

He still hated it.

“NO, NO, DON’T!”

He wiggled in her grip, twisting to try and find some weakness to break away. She held fast, flexing her arm and grinding her knuckles into the top of his skull. No matter how he struggled to get free, he just couldn’t lever her arm to give him a chance to break her hold without summoning an attack. Not hardly appropriate for a situation like this.

“UNDYNE!”

“I have a little bone to pick with you, you metal-loving nerd,” she said, knuckles rubbing over the top of his skull, and Papyrus managed to tilt his head just enough to catch a glimpse of her face. She wore a huge grin, but it was strained.

The guilt wriggled in his soul like he’d stuffed a bunch of living worms into it. He offered a sheepish grin, although he didn’t yet know what he’d done to cause such an expression. She had the same expression she always used whenever she was trying to keep things lighthearted, but was hurt, and he hated to see it turned on him.

He swallowed. “WHAT HAPPENED?”

“You told me that you weren’t pregnant! I mean, I was just joking around when I asked you if you were, but you could’ve told me that you were for real! We’re friends! And I had to find out about it from that big pile of metal ass—and not from you!” Undyne released her death grip on his neck, freeing up a hand to run it through her hair. “I mean… I just don’t want to find out about the important shit that’s going on with you from some dude I don’t even like. You know?”

She averted her gaze and Papyrus’ magic froze, marrow turning to ice in his bones. Oh. Of course that’d been it. Papyrus was so stupid. Why hadn’t he told her in the first place, the moment he found out for sure? He felt really bad for keeping it a secret for so long.

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO HIDE IT FROM YOU!” Papyrus folded his hands over his chest, over where his soul pulsed anxiously, with a worried magic from the developing soul thrumming through it in a juvenile attempt at soothing his own. He sent a reassuring pulse into the souling, trying to calm it back down. “IT JUST… HAPPENED I GUESS. I DIDN’T KNOW YET WHEN I TOLD YOU THAT I WASN’T AND THEN… I GUESS I THOUGHT YOU’D BE MAD AT ME? ESPECIALLY BECAUSE IT WAS WITH METTATON AND I KNOW YOU HATE HIM AND I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW IF HE WOULD WANT TO BE INVOLVED WITH ME AT ALL BECAUSE I’M JUST… I DON’T KNOW, AND THEN I GUESS IT STARTED GETTING TOO LATE TO TELL YOU WITHOUT IT SEEMING LIKE I WAS KEEPING IT A SECRET FROM YOU AND THEN IT NEVER CAME UP.”

By the end of his little monologue, Papyrus’ voice had diminished to a nervous volume, gaze shifting restlessly between the table with his brother’s pet rock and Undyne’s face. He never quite met her eyes.

“I WAS AFRAID YOU’D BE… DISAPPOINTED IN ME?”

“Geez. You huge dork.” Undyne threw her arms around him again, not to noogie him this time, but to drag him into a tight embrace. A sort of relief washed over him—she couldn’t be truly angry with him if she hugged him. He relaxed into her, breathing in the familiar, soothing scent of his best friend. “Of course I wouldn’t be mad at you? You can do whatever you want with whoever you want, dude. You’re an adult! I just want to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

“THANK YOU, UNDYNE.”

“Of course! And…” Undyne pushed Papyrus away by his shoulders to give him a huge, toothy grin. “…if he ever breaks your heart, you tell me, and I will kick his ass right back Underground for you.”

“PLEASE DON’T ACTUALLY HURT HIM…”

And yet he couldn’t help but smile. Leave it to Undyne to chase away his silly little insecurities and worries just by being her usual brash and kind self. Papyrus felt lucky to have a best friend like her.

————————————————————

“Go ahead and turn here, darling.” Mettaton’s voice broke the silence, pulling him from his reverie.

Papyrus blinked a few times, rousing himself back into the present. He pulled up to the intersection, looking both ways before turning in the indicated direction. Mettaton hadn’t told him what restaurant he was guiding him to. Looking over each one they passed, he tried to guess where they were going. It didn’t help that he didn’t go out to eat so often, and many of the places were wholly unfamiliar to him. Quite a few restaurants looked just fancy enough to meet Mettaton’s standards. It could be any of them.

“Right here. There are parking spaces just around back.”

The car slowed to a crawl. He stared. “…HERE?”

Mettaton flashed him a reassuring smile, as if anticipating Papyrus’ bafflement. “Yes, here. Trust me, you’ll have the best dinner of your life.”

“OF COURSE! I TRUST YOUR TASTES ABSOLUTELY!” he chimed out, turning in as told.

Papyrus had no doubts that Mettaton had an excellent taste in venues, and if he’d chosen this place then Papyrus believed that it really would be the best dinner as claimed. It met Mettaton’s standards, after all, so it would of course end up meeting his as well!

Except that he’d been prepared for quite the fancy place, imagining that it would have elaborate decor, with lush plants and ornate marble statues and gold trim, made from only the finest wood with the richest coat of paint. It would offer gourmet plates with names that Papyrus couldn’t pronounce, and the waiters would have curly little mustaches and elegant accents and call him and Mettaton “good sirs” as he led them to their table.

The restaurant they pulled up to now hadn’t been what he prepared for. As an almost overzealous MTT fan, he’d known of Mettaton’s particular tastes, and knew that their date venue would be carefully chosen.

He just… didn’t expect the star of both the Surface and the Underground to pick out such a plain looking restaurant.

No amount of preparing could prepare him for the place they’d reached. Papyrus was quick to recover, parking and rushing to get out of the car and to the passenger’s side to open up the door for Mettaton. His reward was a warm smile and grateful nod as Mettaton took his offered hand to climb out of the car as well.

“What a gentleman,” he purred, making Papyrus puff out his chest in pride.

“OF COURSE, ONLY THE BEST TREATMENT FOR MY GORGEOUS DATE!” Butterflies churned in his gut, their wings beating against his non-existent insides even harder at the tittering he got in response. Papyrus hoped to god that Mettaton’s amusement was a good sign.

Just as he began to fret, Mettaton cupped Papyrus’ hand between both of his, giving him such a smile that Papyrus could feel his soul melting in his chest and banishing all of his doubts. Oh yes, that had been a very good side.

“Careful, Papy-darling. If you keep this up, you’re going to ruin my appetite with all your sweetness.”

NYEH!

Even after Mettaton properly flustered him, he continued to hold Papyrus’ hand as they began walking. Hyper aware of how heated Mettaton’s palm felt against his, and how firm his grip was around Papyrus’ fingers, the two made their way into the restaurant. Papyrus worried about whether he was acting too strange. His soul stirred with so much nervous energy that he couldn’t help but fidget, his thumb rubbing against the back of Mettaton’s hand. He couldn’t believe it. He was on a real date with Mettaton. A real date, doing real dating things like holding hands with the person that he’d once only dreamed of meeting.

They’d even already been intimate, Papyrus remembered with a rush of heat in his bones. Even if his memories were fuzzy, and Mettaton’s were non-existent, the proof lay in the developing child in his own soul. The  soul that he and Mettaton had created together. Regardless of that, Papyrus knew that Mettaton didn’t have to date him. Not over a drunken one-night stand, even if it’d resulted in such a union of their beings. He’d resolved himself to only ever being on friendly terms, at best. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought that Mettaton would one day ask him on a date. Like he genuinely wanted to try a relationship.

God. Papyrus squeezed Mettaton’s hand, and felt a flutter in his soul at the answering squeeze that Mettaton gave him back. This was really happening. For real.

Really.

“Ah Mettaton, it’s so good to see you again!”

Papyrus started, jerked out of his thoughts by the delighted greeting. He looked up to see a human woman, with long brown hair plaited neatly back and kind wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Mettaton stepped forward, shaking the woman’s hand without breaking his link with Papyrus. Everything about Mettaton suggested ease and friendliness.

“Karla, darling, it’s good to see you too!” Mettaton gave her a warm smile. “It’s been much too long since I’ve come in; I’m so sorry for that.”

The woman—Karla—shook her head as he released her hand. “No need to be sorry at all! I’m just so glad to have you here now. Ah, and who is this?” And she turned her smile onto Papyrus, catching him off guard. “What’s the occasion?”

Heart pounding, Papyrus offered a grin. “WE’RE ON A DATE!” he said, the grip on Mettaton’s hand growing so tight that he was afraid that he was going to tear it off.

It was Mettaton’s turn to rub the back of his hand with his thumb, stroking the tension out of it. “Yes, that’s right. Karla, this is my date, Papyrus. He’s carrying our soon-to-be child.”

“Oh, is that so?” Surprise flooded her face, and her gaze flicked over Papyrus, up and down. She smoothed out her expression with a pleasant smile, so warm and so fast that Papyrus didn’t have the time to feel self conscious. “Well, congratulations! I’ll make sure the two of you get a special discount tonight for the happy news.”

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO, MA’AM.”

“Nonsense!” Karla waved away his concerns, bringing out two menus from beneath her host’s podium. “Mettaton is such a dear, and his regular endorsement has brought so much more business to the restaurant. A little discount for the little one you’re expecting is the least we could do for him and his—boyfriend? Husband?”

“UH.” Would he be considered Mettaton’s boyfriend? On the first date? He didn’t know what Mettaton thought of him. “THAT’S, UM—.”

“Boyfriend, yes,” Mettaton cut in, saving Papyrus from having to answer. He brought their linked hands to press a gentle kiss to the back of his metacarpals. “Papyrus is my boyfriend. Thank you Karla; that’s so sweet of you.”

If it were possible for souls to explode from sheer delight, Papyrus’ would have done so ten times over already.

Still lavishing words of congratulations and well-wishes, Karla led the two of them to their table and at last left them alone to look at the menus. Papyrus slid into the booth, a nice and quiet table set into a small nook that lent just enough cover to feel private. A simple light hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the dark wooden table and red cushions. He settled against the back of the booth, comfortable with the setup. They weren’t completely alone and he could see other people seated at tables across the restaurant from them, but something about the setup felt like the place was there for only the two of them alone without full force of the pressure of an isolated date. Hanging out alone together as they’d done at Papyrus’ house was one thing, but a romantic occasion was a different beast entirely.

“I apologize if that was a bit too much for you.”

Papyrus blinked. “I’M SORRY?”

“Referring to you as my boyfriend. I didn’t mean to assume. Karla can be a bit forward—I mean, she’s friendly enough, but she can be a bit much if you aren’t familiar with her. You looked like you were taken off guard by her question, so I went ahead and told her that you were my boyfriend, considering this is our official first date, and—Why are you laughing?”

Indeed, Papyrus had broken down into helpless giggles, hearing Mettaton run over the very thing that had struck Papyrus into an anxious silence back with Karla. Really he shouldn’t have worried about it at all. They were both still feeling out the boundaries of their new relationship. He should’ve guessed that Mettaton might be just as nervous as he was, for all the easy confidence he exuded.

“I’M NOT LAUGHING AT YOU!” he quickly assured, before Mettaton could get the wrong idea. “IT’S JUST—I WAS WORRIED ABOUT THE EXACT SAME THING. OVER WHAT YOU THOUGHT ABOUT, YOU KNOW. ABOUT US.”

“Oh is that so?” It was Mettaton’s turn to quirk a smile. He joined in Papyrus’ mirth, the tension in the air dissipating with the sounds of their laughter. “That is a bit funny.”

After that, they settled into comfortable small talk, and before too long Karla brought them drinks and offered to take their orders. Mettaton had his ready, and after a hopeless glance over the menu full of items that Papyrus didn’t recognize, he went with whatever it was Mettaton had gotten. With a smile and a promise that their food would be out shortly, Karla swept away the menus and went off to deliver their orders to the kitchen.

She was nice, Papyrus thought. Mettaton’s liking for the restaurant didn’t surprise him after just a scant ten minutes inside it. Maybe he’d bring Undyne sometime. She’d appreciate the cozy restaurant as a date location, even if it wasn’t the high-energy sort of place that she usually frequented.

Papyrus glanced down at the table. One of Mettaton’s hands rested on it, relaxed and open. If he just reached out, it’d be easy to thread his fingers through Mettaton’s. His magic pulsed with warmth at the thought of holding hands with him again. Despite his metal body, all part of being a robot, Mettaton’s hands felt alive, thrumming with the magic that made up every single monster, the physical contact bringing him a pleasant spark to his own fingers.

He could, right? They were dating. His dating manual told him that touching was an important part in a developing relationship. It also warned to pay attention to the partner’s comfort levels, however, and never to touch if they weren’t alright with it.

Was Mettaton alright with it? He had been before they’d sat at their table, but that didn’t mean he was fine with it now. Maybe he was someone who didn’t like holding hands at dinner.

He’d never know until he did something, though.

Slowly, Papyrus slid his arm across the table. His fingertips brushed over Mettaton’s gingerly, and their gazes flickered up to lock onto each other. Papyrus opened his hand, fingers up and palm facing Mettaton in a silent bid for permission.  A short beat passed before Mettaton mirrored him, palm to palm, intertwining their fingers.

A smile rose to Papyrus’ face, unbidden, a bit goofy as he looked down at their connected hands. He was holding hands with Mettaton. Holding hands with Mettaton. Again. It ran like a heartbeat in his chest, a heated thump thump thump that Mettaton just had to be able to hear, it was so loud in Papyrus’ ears. Mettaton smiled back, and Papyrus poured every bit of affection into the act as he squeezed Mettaton’s hand in his.

He dared to think that Mettaton felt just the same as he did.

Karla returned with their food at last, and the two reluctantly had to part, their fingers lingering as they pulled their hands away. Papyrus looked down at his own plate. He still had no idea what the dish was—some sort of meat undoubtedly—but the steam rising up from it felt pleasant on his bones and its aroma was downright mouthwatering.

“THIS SMELLS GREAT!” he exclaimed once they were alone again.

Mettaton already had his napkin placed neatly into his lap and a bit of what was undoubtedly steak speared onto his fork. “Just wait until you try it, darling. It tastes even better than it smells.”

He wholly believed Mettaton’s claim. Picking at the paper ring that locked away his silverware, Papyrus unbound and freed it from its cloth napkin-y bindings. Following his date’s example, he tucked the napkin into place over his own lap—he couldn’t believe Mettaton’s innovation at using one as a lap guard against falling food!—and happily dug into his own plate.

His tongue appeared the moment he brought the fork to his mouth, an unconscious act, catching the bite and mixing his magic in with the meat. He didn’t chew (that would be disgusting, opening his mouth to show the food to Mettaton when he really didn’t need to). Instead he rolled it around on his tongue, the taste melting on his tongue and dragged a long sound of appreciation from him. He had to come back to this restaurant soon; Mettaton had amazing taste in places. He swallowed his mouthful and it vanished instantly, absorbed into his magic.

“IT’S SO GOOD.” The noise he made bordered on a moan. He had to ask Karla about the chef’s techniques before they left, to incorporate it into his own cooking. Imagine if he could replicate such mouthwatering tastes on his own. Mettaton seemed to be friendly with her, so perhaps he could help arrange that.

Papyrus glanced up, intending to ask Mettaton about doing that, when the look on his face made him hesitate. Mettaton had a dreamy expression, fork picking absently at his food while his eyes remained trained on Papyrus’ face. There was something warm in expression that made Papyrus’ soul flutter. Trying hard not to jump to conclusions—but oh, that distracted affection in Mettaton’s eyes was unmistakable—Papyrus coughed, drawing Mettaton’s attention to his eyes.

“DID I GET SOMETHING ON MY FACE?” he asked, tentatively raising a hand to rub at the side of his face.

Mettaton blinked, shaking his head as he snapped himself out of whatever dazed state he’d been in. His smile grew, and Papyrus felt the excited pulse in his soul that he was afraid to acknowledge to himself.

“No, nothing on your face. I was just thinking…” He trailed off, gaze flicking over Papyrus’ face.

He waited for Mettaton to continue. When Mettaton offered nothing else, Papyrus prompted him, genuinely curious about what his date thought about with such a look on his face. “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?”

Mettaton let out a hum, and for a moment Papyrus thought that he wouldn’t answer. When he finally did, Papyrus felt as if he’d the cushions underneath him would burst into flames from the heat of his blush.

“I was just thinking about how incredibly cute you really are.”

Papyrus sputtered. If there had been food in his mouth he surely would’ve choked on it. It took him a few tries to find his voice again to properly respond to the unexpected compliment. He could hardly believe what he just heard—he had to have been imagining it. Mettaton thought he was cute. Not just that he looked good in his suit, which had been a high compliment on its own. Mettaton thought that he, Papyrus, was cute.

“THANK—THANK YOU!” he managed at last, leaning on the table just to be closer to Mettaton, face shining with delight. “YOU’RE VERY CUTE TOO—I MEAN HANDSOME. OR CUTE, YOU’RE CUTE TOO, BUT YOU’RE VERY HANDSOME AS WELL. JUST VERY… VERY GOOD LOOKING.”

His soul did a nervous tap dance in his chest. Way to sound ridiculous while trying to return the compliment, Papyrus. Unfortunately it was too late to take it back, so he put on his biggest grin and stand behind his words, hoping that Mettaton wouldn’t cringe too hard.

Surprisingly, Mettaton did no such thing. On the contrary, a light dusting of magic appeared on his face, and he averted his gaze for a quick moment before locking eyes with Papyrus. “Thank you, Papy. You’re such a sweet man. I’m so glad that I came on this date with you.”

God! Papyrus’ internal screaming refused to be quieted.

“I’M GLAD TOO!!!” He hardly cared if he seemed overeager, practically lunging across the table to link their hands once again. “THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING ME OUT TODAY… D-DEAR.”

Mettaton didn’t seem to mind his awkward endearment. If anything, the smile on his face grew the moment it left his mouth. He squeezed Papyrus’ hand back.

“Thank you for agreeing to come here with me, sweetheart.”

———————————————————

The rest of the date was a delightful blur, like he’d gotten drunk on the sheer amount of affection bursting in his soul like a million fireworks in his chest. He’d driven Mettaton home and walked him to his door. Just as he’d taken a step back, about to go home, Mettaton had grabbed his hand and pulled him so close that their bodies almost touched. Papyrus could hardly dare to breathe, afraid of breaking whatever delicate spell had been cast over them.

“Do you mind if I kiss you?”

“YES.” It took a moment for his mind to catch up with what he was saying, and he scrambled to mend his mistake, voice breathless. “WAIT, NO, I MEAN NO. I MEAN THAT YES YOU CAN KISS ME THAT WOULD BE—THAT WOULD BE, YES. PLEASE, KISS ME.”

His rambling made Mettaton laugh, his free hand coming to rest against the side of Papyrus’ face.

“It’s ok, I understand,” he’d assured him, and leaned forward to press his lips against Papyrus’ teeth.

And that was the final nail in the coffin in Papyrus’ metaphorical death. Cause of death? Such freely given affection that he’d always thought of as wildly unobtainable, sealed with that soft first kiss. They parted slowly, Mettaton’s breath ghosting over his mouth as he wished Papyrus a good night, and separated after one last peck.

Somehow he’d made it from there to his car, and from his car to his house without any accidents. He felt like his feet didn’t even touch the ground, there was such a lightness to his step as he made his way inside his own home.

“hey bro,” Sans greeted him from his usual spot on their couch.

For once, Papyrus didn’t say anything right away. He barely even registered that Sans was in the living room with him, and he didn’t see how his brother’s browbone furrowed in concern at his uncharacteristically dazed behavior. Papyrus was on a cloud, his soul ballooned up to bask right next to the sun, a tingling delight permeating like a physical fire throughout his entire body. The world could end at that moment and he wouldn’t have paid it any mind in the world.

When he said nothing, Sans cleared his throat to get his attention. He turned his face slowly, his awareness of the present as hazy as the flurry of butterflies beating in his non-existent gut.

“how’d your date go, paps?”

The concern evident in his brother’s tone pulled Papyrus out of his daze. He forced himself to focus; the last thing he wanted was for Sans to think things went badly.

“IT WAS THE BEST DATE I’VE EVER BEEN ON, SANS.”

“that’s great, paps,” Sans said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “you haven’t been on any other dates, though.”

“YEAH.” Normally Papyrus would protest such an unnecessary observation, such a facetious joke, informing Sans that wasn’t the point. Not now, though. The date that had just ended was still so fresh in his mind, and the contentment still so profound, that he couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. “…HEY, SANS…”

Sans frowned. He looked worried, like he thought that something might be wrong with Papyrus, when the reality was just the opposite. “what’s up bro?”

“…I THINK I’M IN LOVE WITH HIM.”

[the-tales-of-horror]

Two girls on a camping trip, What could go wrong?

Original Link By graywilson

My final summer before college.

It was almost surreal. Leaving the nest; becoming my own woman. It was late June and the weather was climbing to peaks near 95 degrees. My friend Gerty and I had been planning a summer camping trip since February and the weekend for its embarkation was quickly upon us. We packed my silver Corolla with sleeping bags, tents, a cooler, and a few other bits and bobs; then set out toward Mark Twain Forest for two days of isolation. We had grown up together. Being the only two girls in our school’s 4-H club became the mortar between us.

The drive wasn’t too long. A 3 hour trip became less and less tedious with Gerty as my co-pilot. She had a knack for impressions and was the only person I’d ever met who was able to make me snort when I laughed. Living in southern Missouri, we had gone on several camping trips into the wild of Arkansas, but a mutual friend had recommended a little isolated spot in the southernmost part of Mark Twain. I knew the road pretty well. My family and I took vacations to St. Louis all the time, and we would frequently pass the exit for the forest during our trips.

After a short 3 hour drive, Gerty and I pulled into the forest gate. We received a trail map and got out to stretch. This place was gorgeous. The green layered horizon was battered with miles of trees.

Getting back into my car, we drove down the road until we reached a dirt path. We drove the car down that path for nearly 15 minutes until we reached a halt. The road stopped. Our friend told us that at this point, we would need to get out and hike east until we found the spot. He told us that the campsite was hard to miss. We loaded everything into our packs and each grabbed one of the handles on the cooler; we were off. The path was clearly laid out at the beginning, looking like people had trekked it many times before us, but then it became more difficult. For 10 minutes, the trail was nothing but uneven stone, and the weight of the cooler began to tire our arms. Gerty kept making grumbling noises, and swore that if she ever saw our friend again, she would stab him. After nearly 20 minutes on the cobble path, we found it. El Dorado. A wave of relief washed over me.

We sat down the cooler and began to unpack. We brought separate tents after learning that Gerty liked to kick in her sleep. The campsite was perfect. There was an open canopy in the trees, but a slight overhang that blocked the sun for some much needed shade during mid-day. Just as promised, there was a large running creek just a few steps away from the campsite.

This place was heaven.

It was late in the day; nearly 5PM. We decided to gather firewood, start it burning in order to procure some good coals, take a dip in the creek, and come back to camp for dinner. It had rained the day before, so most of the wood we found was wet and mossy. It took some doing, but we managed to push over a dead standing tree that was completely dry. I had a little hatchet with me, so for the next hour we quartered the small tree into manageable fire wood. After the fire was started, we went to the creek. The water was pristine. It was like looking through glass. The current was small, but we decided not to go out too far, just in case we couldn’t touch and got swept downstream. We started undressing and slipped our toes into the water. It was ice. This spring water was isolated from the sun and retained no heat. We laughed and started backing away. Gerty spoke up, “I’m running in.” Ever the daredevil she was. She was the sort of friend who wanted to try and pick up snakes and chase you with them.

She stayed true to her word, and after a cracking Tarzan squeal, she barreled into the frigid water. Her face was pure shock. Between shivering syllables, she beckoned me in. Without thinking, I did a mild cannonball into the shallows. My butt smacked down on the cool shale rock. I laughed in pain.

We continued to swim and try to catch small fish for nearly an hour before the sun started to set. Walking back to the camp, I started thinking about college, and how much different it was going to be. I got a scholarship at school in Oklahoma, and she was taking one in Florida. I didn’t want to lose my friend.

The thought of her and I being so far apart and our lives changing so dramatically stayed in the back of my mind all night. We cooked up some sausages on the fire and made s’mores to finish off our evening. We told each other goodnight and retreated into our respective tents. While getting into my sleeping bag, I noticed that I had forgotten my sleeping pad. The bottom side of my bag felt damp where the wet earth was soaking through. I tucked a towel under the sleeping bag and tried to forget about it. Laying there, I could hear a small pattering of rain. The weatherman had said there would be a small chance of rain that weekend, but nothing we couldn’t handle. The light drizzle on the roof of my tent put me out quickly.

I awoke to a clap of thunder. The rain was a downpour now and my tent was shaking with the wind. I sat up, but realized that my sleeping bag was damper, and the water had started to leak through, soaking my underwear and t-shirt. I quickly got up, changed and began to clean up some of the water with the towel, but it was already drenched. I changed and put a tarp over my head. I knew that Gerty had brought some extra blankets. I would sleep in her tent tonight, and clean mine tomorrow.

Stepping out into the dark and rainy evening brought a chill to my bones. The once 90 degree oasis had turned into a 40 degree deluge. I hustled over to Gerty’s tent and began running my hand along the front to find the zipper. Oddly enough, when my hand met the nylon fabric, I found that the tent was open. I stepped in, turned around and tried to zip up the door, but it wouldn’t zip. I felt something touch my foot, I reached down and found that it was Gerty’s headlamp. I turned it on and faced it to the zipper. It was caught on a large patch of long red hair. I swiveled around and shone the light to where I thought she might be, but instead, I found an empty sleeping bag that seemed to be left in haste.

I stepped back out into the rain with the headlamp secured to mine. I wandered the campsite, hollering out for my friend. Each call was received with only the sound of the storm. I looked everywhere, but she was nowhere to be found. I was freezing and drenched. I found myself walking to the creek. I met the shore and scanned both sides for her, but found nothing. I turned around but when I did the light from my headlamp shone on two men walking toward me.

As soon as it did, they began to sprint at me. I turned quickly and began to run down the rocky shoreline. The stones dug into my feet and made it difficult to escape. I felt a cold hand grip my arm hard. It felt like the bone was going to break. Yanking me backward, one of the men immobilized me in his grasp. The other picked up my legs and they began carrying me. The men reeked. The clothes they wore looked as though they hadn’t been changed in years.

I knew there was no way that I could get away from them. I wasn’t wearing shoes and the path back to my car was too rocky to run. They were going to take me away. My phone was in my pack, and last I checked, I had service out here. As the one carrying my legs let go to wipe his nose, I kicked up hard into his chin. He immediately dropped me and as he did, I twisted my arms loose of the other man. I dropped to the ground and turned off my headlamp as to lose them in the dark.

Sprinting, I reached my tent. I scattered the contents of my pack on the tent floor. My phone was turned off. I heard them shouting outside, trying to find me. I began to power on my phone and trembled in cold fear as the boot up graphics were starting on the screen.

Their voices were getting closer.

The phone was started but I didn’t know what to do. If I tried to call, the men would hear my voice. I opened up my maps application and set a pin for my location. I quickly copied it and sent it in a text to my mom with a message saying, “Help me.” Just as I did, one of the men busted through the tent with a blade. He grasped at me as I scrambled toward the back of the tent, but his fingers found the hem of my underwear. He yanked hard and pulled me toward him. I jabbed him in the eyes with my fingers. Slipping past him, I bolted into the stormy night. I ran toward the creek again. Hearing them behind me, I summoned enough courage to slip into the icy water as silently as possible. I went out into the deepest area and lost my footing. The storm aided current swept me away quickly. Their shouting became more and more faint the farther I went.

I stayed in the water and kept afloat by batting my arms under its surface. The storm had subsided and I could see the sky between the trees getting brighter. My body was tired, and the minutes that I spent in that water felt like an eternity. After what I gathered was 20 minutes, I began to smell smoke.

I saw a fire.

I mustered what was left of my energy and began to swim to the nearest bank. Running through the brush, I came upon an older gentleman cooking breakfast at his campsite. I slumped down and began to cry. I was hysterical. He rushed over to his tent and grabbed a wool blanket to throw around my shoulders. He kept asking me what happened, but I couldn’t stop crying.

It’s been 5 years since that night. I’m sitting at a desk in my bedroom on a rainy night in Oklahoma City. My husband’s soft snores pierce through the sound of rain hitting our window. My fingertips are cold with each stroke on my keyboard. I haven’t talked about that weekend in years. The gentleman who found me kept me near the fire until the forest rangers could show up. My mom was already at the hospital when I arrived.

The rangers and the sheriff’s office searched the area of my attack. They eventually found a cave system almost a half mile away from our campsite. In it, they found primitive beds, animal bones, and human remains.

Gerty was never found.

I haven’t camped since that day, and I probably never will.