#oof i need to trim the second one's wing

[pulltheotheroneithasbellson]

I have a new resin mold, and I'm very bad at not making a mess while pouring it but it looks so good once it cures. the top one, as indicated by that shade of green, does glow in the dark (quite nicely, too!), while the bottom one is teal with brushed gold accents which makes it so nice and easy to see the details. there was more gold than I had wanted, but considering I didn't actually know what I was doing, I'm pleased.

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - “An Enchanted Gift” (Rated NC17)

Summary: Anathema gives Aziraphale and Crowley a special gift - a homemade bottle of a holiday drink with some very peculiar side effects. (2299 words)

Notes: Written for the wonderful @theantichristmaszine  :) Warning for sexual content.

Read on AO3.

Crowley’s flat is positively a picture, fit for printing on a Christmas card.

Fire roaring on the hearth.

Garland and tinsel draped over anything that doesn’t move.

Fairy lights brightening the dark corners, wound around the rubber tree and the Chinese Evergreen, weeding through the leaves of the dieffenbachia.

A host of red velvet, gold taffeta, and white satin ribbon hanging from the ceiling till no white marble can be seen.

And at the center of it all, a tree - an honest-to-Satan floor-to-ceiling pine that Crowley had tromped into the forest and tore out of the ground himself with his own two hands. An ax would have been simpler. Heck, he could have snapped the thing back to his flat, trimmed and mounted, ready for decorating. But his method seemed so much more festive considering he’d been bellowing holiday carols the entire time.

He let angel take the lead decorating. Aziraphale had a merry time covering the thing in frosted globes, glass candy canes (since the real ones didn’t last long enough to hang), gingerbread men (only slightly nibbled), reindeer, clove oranges, crocheted white-lace snowflakes, and other ornaments of the like, purchased from artisans all around London.  

Crowley had gone so far as to include a manger scene for the benefit of his angel-in-residence. However, instead of hanging the Archangel Gabriel using the provided hook, he hung him over the birthplace of the Lord by a noose. Aziraphale giggled when he saw it but recommended fixing it - to ward off bad karma or something along those lines. Not wanting to sully his spirits listening to a lecture about tempting fate (which is all Crowley does), Crowley remedied it.

He replaced Gabriel with a vintage Troll doll key chain Pepper accidentally forgot at Aziraphale’s bookshop.

“There! Top notch replacement, if I do say so meself! Looks just like ‘im!” Crowley declared, gesturing to the absurd trinket with its vibrant purple hair.

“And which part, might I ask, looks just like him?” Aziraphale had asked.

“The head! It’s huge!”

Demons aren’t much for celebrating. But this year, with everything Crowley had to be grateful for, he honestly couldn’t help himself. At its root, Christmas is about love.

Family.

Birth.

A chance to shed the skin of past sins and start anew.

This year, Crowley couldn’t see letting Christmas pass unacknowledged.

“You know, I may not be a connoisseur of holiday shindigs,” Crowley says, leaning back on the floor and gazing up at the spectacle that is their cheerfully burdened tree, “but I would say tonight has come pretty close to perfect. Wouldn’t you?” He rolls onto his hip, beaming at Aziraphale seated not too far from him, a loopy grin nudging his mouth up at the corners.

“Indeed.” Aziraphale lifts his bottle of Burgundy, prepared to propose a toast. It comes up off the floor far too quickly, an indicator the thing has been drained dry.

“Looks like we finished that one.” Crowley looks left and right in search of another, but doesn’t see one. “Augh! Don’t tell me we went through them all! I’m sure I had another three at least!”

“Don’t fret, my dear,” Aziraphale says. “I may have just the thing.” He crawls over to the tree on hands and knees and rummages underneath. A second later he crawls back out, accompanied by a rustic-looking green glass bottle and a triumphant little, ‘A-ha!’ “This comes courtesy of dear, sweet Anathema.” He presents the bottle to his demon for approval. “She said she made it with love.”

“Really?” Crowley snorts while Aziraphale uncorks the bottle. “And what ingredient is that then? Wolfsbane? Mandrake root?”

“Honey, I think.” Aziraphale gives the mouth of the bottle a sniff. “Maybe blackberries?”

“The important question is - is it alcohol?”

Aziraphale brings the bottle to his lips and knocks back a gulp, coughing at the finish. “That it is.”

“Give it here then. I’d like to partake of some love, too.” Crowley indulges, tilting his head back and taking a huge swig. He smacks his tongue, then licks his lips, shivering when a wave of heat enters his bloodstream and works its way down his spine. “Wow. That’s tasty.”

“Isn’t it? If being a witch doesn’t work out for her, she should definitely take up a career distilling.”

“Love, you say?” Crowley peers into the bottle, pondering the ingredients as the drink settles onto his taste buds. “Do you think that’s something she orders by the pound, or gathers under the full moon?”

“To be honest, I have no idea---oof!” Aziraphale sways, planting a hand flat on the floor and locking his elbow to keep from toppling over.

“You alright, angel?” Crowley snickers. “Having a bit of trouble holding your drink?” His forehead wrinkles with concern when Aziraphale doesn’t recover right away. “That’s not normally like you---”

Crowley’s teasing cuts off when Aziraphale’s mouth crashes into his - hot, demanding, tasting of mulling spices, apples, sour plum, and brandy. It takes Crowley a moment to realize Aziraphale is kissing him.

Then another for him to start kissing back.

This isn’t just any kiss. It’s the kiss he’s been longing for. The kiss he’d feel on his lips every time Aziraphale looked his way and smiled. It’s the kiss he thought about the century he slept. And even though there have been many kisses between them, Crowley ranks this as the first.

Because it’s the kiss of dreams.

Aziraphale inhales sharply and backs away. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, my dear! I don’t know what came over me!”

Crowley looks him over curiously, waiting for an explanation, but Aziraphale doesn’t seem to have one. Aziraphale loves kissing, but he doesn’t go about it this way - doesn’t rush in, doesn’t take what he hasn’t asked for. “Turn about’s fair play, I’d wager.”

“What do you …?”

Without another word, Crowley sneaks a hand behind Aziraphale’s head and kisses him back.

Another kiss follows. Then another. With each one, the room becomes inhospitable - too warm, too stuffy, too difficult to stay in wearing all their blasted clothes! Aziraphale tries to relieve the pressure at his neck, but he can’t seem to manage his buttons, so Crowley helps him undo those. Likewise Crowley’s zipper becomes uncooperative, so Aziraphale tasks himself with unzipping it. Article by article they tear through until the two become too frustrated to care about the inevitable paperwork and snap off the rest.

Crowley kneels behind his angel, completely naked, kissing every spot he can get his lips on. And God, how it tingles! No. How it burns - each touch of his lips to Aziraphale’s flesh sending surges of razor sharp and magma hot straight from Crowley’s mouth to his groin.

And he wants more.

He wants it everywhere.

He wants it scalding his throat, searing his lungs, consuming him from the inside out. Let it dissolve him into ashes that blow away on the wind, let him die in an orgasm of violence and fire and angelic light.

As long as it comes with Aziraphale.

What a way to go.

“I have to have you, angel,” he moans. “Now. Right now.”

“Are you … are you sure? We’ve always said that we wouldn’t allow alcohol to make us amorous.”

“I don’t feel drunk. Do you?”

Aziraphale focuses inward, taking stock of his corporation. “No,” he says, surprised considering the bottles of wine they’d polished off before they started in on Anathema’s gift. “I don’t. Not at all.” Aziraphale locates an empty bottle and concentrates, tries to push the alcohol of the night from his system, but nothing appears. Not a single drop. “Far from it, it would seem.”

“That’s right. We’re not drunk. We’re completely in our right minds.”

“I wouldn’t say …”

“I want this, angel!” Crowley pleads with a sense of urgency. “Don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. More than ever,” Aziraphale admits.

“What do you want me to do?” Crowley whispers, voice husky with a lust he has inspired in others but has never once felt himself. “Tell me.”

“Make love to me?”

“How?”

Aziraphale peeks over his shoulder, grinning at his demon chomping at the bit. “You seem to be in the perfect position. I suggest you start there.”

Aziraphale expects Crowley to mock his snark, but he doesn’t, diving immediately back into the task of kissing across Aziraphale’s shoulders, lingering over the joint where his wings would connect if he let them out. Crowley swirls over it with his tongue, painting overlapping circles, and Aziraphale sees stars. They’ve made love in this position before, and Crowley has kissed every inch of his back, but he’s never spent so much time on this particular area.

The decadence of this sensation should be criminal.

Aziraphale feels Crowley’s hands on his body everywhere at once - massaging his muscles, fondling his cock, scissoring him open. Could Crowley be using magic to pleasure him? That’s not something they’ve ever done before due to the implications of Hell finding out. But seeing as Hell is no longer a concern, that puts every card at their disposal.

And thank God because this they need to do again!

“Aziraphale,” Crowley utters as he enters him, his angel’s name like sugar in his bitter mouth, and fuck!

There it is.

When he enters him completely.

The fire.

Inside his angel.

And Crowley has become its fuel.

“Oh, Crowley …” Aziraphale shifts his weight onto his palms and leans forward, raising his rear in the air. “Oh, yes. Just like that, my dear …”

“Like this, angel?” Crowley pulls back, then thrusts hard - harder than he would normally, sending Aziraphale swiftly to the verge. With Aziraphale’s grunts of ecstasy mirroring the rhythm of Crowley’s hips, Crowley knows that regardless of anything, this he cannot stop.

It would be unforgivable.

“Yes!” Aziraphale whimpers, bracing against the marble floor with knuckles white. “Yes! Crowley, yes!”

“Yes …” Crowley echoes beneath his breath, a lightness settling inside his mind, siphoning his ability to think. He’s done too much thinking already. Now is not the time for thinking. Now is the time for serving. The time for feeling. And what he feels is soft beneath his hands, tight around his cock, a quest for satisfaction, for completion, wrapped in a braided rope of love, love, and more love. So much love it fills his flat from corner to ceiling, leaves its mark on the walls and on the doors.

And on the marble beneath them when Aziraphale, spiraling out of control, comes unannounced on Crowley’s living room floor.

“Oh,” he squeaks with embarrassment though he knows Crowley would say he shouldn’t be. “I apologize, my love, but I seem to have sullied your floor.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Crowley says, snapping his fingers and cleaning the mess as he shudders through his own orgasm, which had snuck up inside him and granted him release less like an accomplishment and more like a reward for what he had done for his angel.

“Well,” Aziraphale manages even though he’s breathless, which isn’t a bother for him. “That was … interesting.”

“Just interesting?”

Aziraphale blushes. “More than interesting. But I would hate to think that was all because of the drink.”

“I wouldn’t say it was. I think the brew just sort of lowered out inhibitions. Enhanced the experience.”

“Do you think that was meant to happen? I find it difficult to believe that Anathema of all people gave us some sort of love potion as a Christmas present.”

“Not sure. Could be a side-effect of being witch made. Probably affects us more because we’re occult.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue Crowley’s word usage. “Or … what if it’s something worse?”

“Worse?” Crowley arches an eyebrow. “What worse?”

“What if it did what it was meant to, but it was supposed to be a present for her young gentleman?”

“Ugh! Aziraphale! Don’t!” Crowley groans, wrapping his arms around his angel and holding him tight. “You’re going to put me off!”

“Sorry,” Aziraphale chuckles, hugging Crowley’s arms about his waist. Locked in the cozy cocoon of Crowley’s embrace, a thought pricks Aziraphale’s brain.

There is a secret third possibility.

A week or two ago, Aziraphale went to Tracy Shadwell’s place for tea and rum cake. While he was there, he’d confided in both Tracy and Anathema that as much as he loved his sex life with his husband, physical intimacy had become somewhat of a chore. Not because he didn’t love it, which he did, but because Crowley seemed stuck on every love making session between them being more romantic than the last. First came the champagne, then the candlelight (so much candlelight …), massages with complicated names, and, as of late, dramatic musical choices. It’s nice, the care Crowley puts into being his lover, but it also puts a tremendous amount of pressure on Aziraphale to keep up appearances.

Makes the whole ordeal feel like a performance.

Some nights, by the time they get to the good stuff, Aziraphale is ready to hit the hay. Seeing as he despises sleep, that’s awfully telling.

Aziraphale has come to the conclusion that, often times, he’s just … how did the youths say it … down to fuck.

So this drink may have done exactly what it was meant to, and he and Crowley may have rightfully been its intended targets.

But Aziraphale isn’t about to tell Crowley that.

“What should we do now? Should we lock it away or …?”

“Seems to me there’s only one thing we can do …” Crowley looks the bottle over, gauging the level of the liquid still inside. He grins, the firelight flickering in his eyes, making him look more wicked than Aziraphale has seen him in decades.

And he takes a hefty swallow.

[imagine-loki]

I Know Who I Married

TITLE: I Know Who I Married CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One Shot (Sequel to We Bleed the Same)

AUTHOR: turniptitaness ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Can I make a request for a Loki X Reader fic based off of “That Would Be Enough” from Hamilton? RATING: Everyone NOTES/WARNINGS: A reference to a past battle scene/blood. Not graphic.

Oof. I meant to have this sequel out by Christmas. Then I meant to have it out by New Years. What can I say, college is a lot. But a bit of Loki and Sigrunn fluff is good for Valentine’s Day, right? Well, Valentine’s Day if you’re reading this on my Tumblr. Probably even later if you’re reading this from Imagine Loki. Sorry.

Anyways. This takes place one year after the events in my first story, We Bleed the Same. A lot has happened in that time. As you can see, this is based on this song from my great love, Hamilton. I love a good crossover. I love a good crossover so much, in fact, that I shoehorned in another reference to a favorite movie of mine. Shout it out in a reblog if you see it.

-

Sigrunn swam slowly up from the depths of sleep, disoriented and wondering what had woken her. She pried her eyes open and yawned, but the room was dark, and the massive bed was warm and deep. For a few more seconds, she curled under the blankets and buried her face in the soft pillow.

Then she realized that something didn’t feel right. Sigrunn stretched out her hand, but Loki wasn’t beside her where he belonged. Sighing grumpily, she pushed herself up on her elbows, her swelling belly making it quite a chore. She squinted toward the door and saw a sliver of light coming under it from the sitting room beyond.

“Honestly,” she muttered, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and groping for her slippers. Pulling on her favorite robe, made of rich velvet the color of a mountain lake, she shuffled toward the door and opened it quietly. Sure enough, there was her husband, hunched over a pile of official-looking papers. He was still wearing his day clothes, a green tunic over black leather trousers. Even after all this time, Sigrunn still had to suppress a little tiger purr every time she saw him in those things. At least he had taken off his metal-trimmed coat and slung it across the back of his chair.

Sigrunn leaned against the doorframe watching him work. Every line of his strong, slender body indicated exhaustion. His dark head was propped on one pale hand, and his spine curved toward the surface of his desk. But his pen still moved steadily across the page, and even in the midst of her exasperation, Sigrunn felt a surge of pride. He was so intelligent, so determined. And he was all hers. She knew how lucky she was, how lucky they both were, to be alive right now after all that had happened in the last two years.

Loki sighed and leaned back in his chair, one hand covering his eyes. Sigrunn moved forward, the thick carpet silencing her footsteps, and put her hands on his shoulders. He flinched, the muscles in his neck tightening as he gasped, and a jolt of his fear ran up Sigrunn’s left arm.

“Shh,” she soothed him, feeling immediately guilty. “It’s just me. I’m sorry.”

Loki relaxed, and Sigrunn bent to kiss his hair. He had been easily startled since his return to Asgard, and although he didn’t often speak of his life while he had been gone, it made Sigrunn’s heart ache to imagine what he must have endured at the hands of that monster, Thanos.

Setting down his pen, Loki put his hand over hers. “No, it’s all right,” he assured her. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

Their wing of the palace was large, keeping them well separated from the other residential rooms, but both of them kept their voices instinctively low. Something about the darkness outside the windows made it seem necessary.

Sigrunn squeezed his shoulders reassuringly in answer to his question and leaned over to get a closer look at the papers spread out on his desk. “What are you doing up so late?” she asked him. “It must be well past midnight by now. We should both be asleep.”

“I know,” Loki sighed. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about all these new policies my brother wants to implement. He has some good ideas, Sigrunn. I’m more impressed than I expected to be by his ability to rule.”

“Jane Foster has been good for him,” Sigrunn observed, and Loki grinned up at her.

“I like her, Sigrunn.”

“So do I. I’m glad he brought her here.”

Loki nodded, then waved his hand expressively over the papers. “But his ideas still need so much polishing, and I…” Whatever he was planning to say was swallowed by a gigantic yawn.

Sigrunn shook him lightly. “Look at you. You’re absolutely exhausted. No one can work around the clock, Loki, not even you. Surely all this can wait until morning.”

“Yes,” he said reluctantly. “Yes, I know, Sigrunn, but… but this is so important. There’s so much depending on it, and I want it to be perfect.” He looked up at her, his eyes clouded with tiredness and worry.

Sigrunn tilted her head. “So much depending on it for Asgard, or for you?”

“For…for Asgard, of course.” Loki hesitated, and then smiled at her wryly. “And for me. You’re right. I know how many people still think Thor was foolish to name me his chief counselor. I want to prove that they can trust me.”

“My dear husband. You led us to Thanos, the greatest threat the nine realms have ever faced. You defeated him yourself.”

Loki pulled her hand down around his chest and kissed it. “We defeated him. Together.”

“With our silly tricks.” Sigrunn smiled at the memory. The battle had been bloody and frightening, but despite all the horror, fighting side by side with Loki had been the best feeling in the world. Together, without needing to speak a word, they had woven a web of deceptive illusions around the battlefield, confusing the Chitauri and allowing them to make their way through the chaos directly to Thanos himself.

“Seriously, Loki, don’t you think that was enough to prove yourself to Asgard? After all that, and everything you and Thor have already accomplished since Odin named him king, who in their right mind could possibly think badly of you?”

As soon as these words left her lips, Sigrunn wished she could take them back. A flash of pain traveled up from Loki and into her heart. Odin still hadn’t fully accepted Loki back into the family, and she knew it was hard on him. Loki lifted his palm helplessly and dropped it back to rest on his thigh. “I have so much to atone for.”

“And you will,” Sigrunn said positively. “But you don’t need to drive yourself into the ground to do it.”

Loki turned in his chair to smile at her, but the corners of his expressive eyes still drooped. “You have so much faith in me.”

“I know you, remember? I know who I married.” Sigrunn smiled back, but she still sensed the unspoken misery buried inside him. He had wanted his father’s acceptance and respect more than anything else for so many years. “Is it truly necessary for…for all of Asgard to accept you?” she asked impulsively. “You have Frigga and Thor, and you have me. Could that be enough?”

Sigrunn stood silent as conflicting emotions flowed through him. After a moment, she added, “You don’t need everyone to love you, Loki. Just a few good people.”

She felt a stirring inside her, followed by a sharp jab to the ribs that took her breath away. “Oof,” she gasped, placing a hand on her low back. “And soon enough you’ll have this child, too.”

Loki stroked her stomach gently with the tips of his fingers and planted a soft kiss on it. Sigrunn’s heart swelled with happiness, but she felt a tiny flutter of apprehension from her husband. “What is it, my darling?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Loki shook his head, his brows creasing. “I’m afraid, Sigrunn. I don’t have the slightest idea how to be a father. How will I know if I’m getting it right?”

Sigrunn moved around and knelt by the side of his chair, holding up her scarred hand. “Oh, Loki,” she said, smiling up into his face. “I’m not afraid. Do you know why?”

Loki pressed his scarred palm against hers, interlacing their fingers, but he didn’t look at her or speak, so Sigrunn asked him another question. “Do you love me?”

“You know I do,” Loki said quickly. “More than anything.”

“And will you love this child?”

Loki looked at her then, his eyes soft. “I already do,” he whispered.

Sigrunn nodded. “That will be enough. All you have to do is love me and love this child with the best that is in you. Everything else comes with time.”

They sat together in silence for a minute longer, and then Sigrunn pulled herself to her feet and smacked his head lightly with the back of her hand. “Now, enough nonsense. Get those ridiculous clothes off yourself and come to bed.”

Without waiting for a response, she began to walk to the bedroom, but she paused in the doorway and threw back over her shoulder, “Or do I need to rip them off you myself?”

Loki grinned and followed her.

[turniptitaness]

I Know Who I Married (Happy Valentine’s Day, Y’all)

TITLE: I Know Who I Married CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One Shot (Sequel to We Bleed the Same)

AUTHOR: turniptitaness ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Can I make a request for a Loki X Reader fic based off of “That Would Be Enough” from Hamilton? RATING: Everyone NOTES/WARNINGS: A reference to a past battle scene/blood. Not graphic.

Oof. I meant to have this sequel out by Christmas. Then I meant to have it out by New Years. What can I say, college is a lot. But a bit of Loki and Sigrunn fluff is good for Valentine’s Day, right? Well, Valentine’s Day if you’re reading this on my Tumblr. Probably even later if you’re reading this from Imagine Loki. Sorry.

Anyways. This takes place one year after the events in my first story, We Bleed the Same. A lot has happened in that time. As you can see, this is based on this song from my great love, Hamilton. I love a good crossover. I love a good crossover so much, in fact, that I shoehorned in another reference to a favorite movie of mine. Shout it out in a reblog if you see it.

-

Sigrunn swam slowly up from the depths of sleep, disoriented and wondering what had woken her. She pried her eyes open and yawned, but the room was dark, and the massive bed was warm and deep. For a few more seconds, she curled under the blankets and buried her face in the soft pillow.

Then she realized that something didn’t feel right. Sigrunn stretched out her hand, but Loki wasn’t beside her where he belonged. Sighing grumpily, she pushed herself up on her elbows, her swelling belly making it quite a chore. She squinted toward the door and saw a sliver of light coming under it from the sitting room beyond.

“Honestly,” she muttered, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and groping for her slippers. Pulling on her favorite robe, made of rich velvet the color of a mountain lake, she shuffled toward the door and opened it quietly. Sure enough, there was her husband, hunched over a pile of official-looking papers. He was still wearing his day clothes, a green tunic over black leather trousers. Even after all this time, Sigrunn still had to suppress a little tiger purr every time she saw him in those things. At least he had taken off his metal-trimmed coat and slung it across the back of his chair.

Sigrunn leaned against the doorframe watching him work. Every line of his strong, slender body indicated exhaustion. His dark head was propped on one pale hand, and his spine curved toward the surface of his desk. But his pen still moved steadily across the page, and even in the midst of her exasperation, Sigrunn felt a surge of pride. He was so intelligent, so determined. And he was all hers. She knew how lucky she was, how lucky they both were, to be alive right now after all that had happened in the last two years.

Loki sighed and leaned back in his chair, one hand covering his eyes. Sigrunn moved forward, the thick carpet silencing her footsteps, and put her hands on his shoulders. He flinched, the muscles in his neck tightening as he gasped, and a jolt of his fear ran up Sigrunn’s left arm.

“Shh,” she soothed him, feeling immediately guilty. “It’s just me. I’m sorry.”

Loki relaxed, and Sigrunn bent to kiss his hair. He had been easily startled since his return to Asgard, and although he didn’t often speak of his life while he had been gone, it made Sigrunn’s heart ache to imagine what he must have endured at the hands of that monster, Thanos.

Setting down his pen, Loki put his hand over hers. “No, it’s all right,” he assured her. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

Their wing of the palace was large, keeping them well separated from the other residential rooms, but both of them kept their voices instinctively low. Something about the darkness outside the windows made it seem necessary.

Sigrunn squeezed his shoulders reassuringly in answer to his question and leaned over to get a closer look at the papers spread out on his desk. “What are you doing up so late?” she asked him. “It must be well past midnight by now. We should both be asleep.”

“I know,” Loki sighed. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about all these new policies my brother wants to implement. He has some good ideas, Sigrunn. I’m more impressed than I expected to be by his ability to rule.”

“Jane Foster has been good for him,” Sigrunn observed, and Loki grinned up at her.

“I like her, Sigrunn.”

“So do I. I’m glad he brought her here.”

Loki nodded, then waved his hand expressively over the papers. “But his ideas still need so much polishing, and I…” Whatever he was planning to say was swallowed by a gigantic yawn.

Sigrunn shook him lightly. “Look at you. You’re absolutely exhausted. No one can work around the clock, Loki, not even you. Surely all this can wait until morning.”

“Yes,” he said reluctantly. “Yes, I know, Sigrunn, but… but this is so important. There’s so much depending on it, and I want it to be perfect.” He looked up at her, his eyes clouded with tiredness and worry.

Sigrunn tilted her head. “So much depending on it for Asgard, or for you?”

“For…for Asgard, of course.” Loki hesitated, and then smiled at her wryly. “And for me. You’re right. I know how many people still think Thor was foolish to name me his chief counselor. I want to prove that they can trust me.”

“My dear husband. You led us to Thanos, the greatest threat the nine realms have ever faced. You defeated him yourself.”

Loki pulled her hand down around his chest and kissed it. “We defeated him. Together.”

“With our silly tricks.” Sigrunn smiled at the memory. The battle had been bloody and frightening, but despite all the horror, fighting side by side with Loki had been the best feeling in the world. Together, without needing to speak a word, they had woven a web of deceptive illusions around the battlefield, confusing the Chitauri and allowing them to make their way through the chaos directly to Thanos himself.

“Seriously, Loki, don’t you think that was enough to prove yourself to Asgard? After all that, and everything you and Thor have already accomplished since Odin named him king, who in their right mind could possibly think badly of you?”

As soon as these words left her lips, Sigrunn wished she could take them back. A flash of pain traveled up from Loki and into her heart. Odin still hadn’t fully accepted Loki back into the family, and she knew it was hard on him. Loki lifted his palm helplessly and dropped it back to rest on his thigh. “I have so much to atone for.”

“And you will,” Sigrunn said positively. “But you don’t need to drive yourself into the ground to do it.”

Loki turned in his chair to smile at her, but the corners of his expressive eyes still drooped. “You have so much faith in me.”

“I know you, remember? I know who I married.” Sigrunn smiled back, but she still sensed the unspoken misery buried inside him. He had wanted his father’s acceptance and respect more than anything else for so many years. “Is it truly necessary for…for all of Asgard to accept you?” she asked impulsively. “You have Frigga and Thor, and you have me. Could that be enough?”

Sigrunn stood silent as conflicting emotions flowed through him. After a moment, she added, “You don’t need everyone to love you, Loki. Just a few good people.”

She felt a stirring inside her, followed by a sharp jab to the ribs that took her breath away. “Oof,” she gasped, placing a hand on her low back. “And soon enough you’ll have this child, too.”

Loki stroked her stomach gently with the tips of his fingers and planted a soft kiss on it. Sigrunn’s heart swelled with happiness, but she felt a tiny flutter of apprehension from her husband. “What is it, my darling?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Loki shook his head, his brows creasing. “I’m afraid, Sigrunn. I don’t have the slightest idea how to be a father. How will I know if I’m getting it right?”

Sigrunn moved around and knelt by the side of his chair, holding up her scarred hand. “Oh, Loki,” she said, smiling up into his face. “I’m not afraid. Do you know why?”

Loki pressed his scarred palm against hers, interlacing their fingers, but he didn’t look at her or speak, so Sigrunn asked him another question. “Do you love me?”

“You know I do,” Loki said quickly. “More than anything.”

“And will you love this child?”

Loki looked at her then, his eyes soft. “I already do,” he whispered.

Sigrunn nodded. “That will be enough. All you have to do is love me and love this child with the best that is in you. Everything else comes with time.”

They sat together in silence for a minute longer, and then Sigrunn pulled herself to her feet and smacked his head lightly with the back of her hand. “Now, enough nonsense. Get those ridiculous clothes off yourself and come to bed.”

Without waiting for a response, she began to walk to the bedroom, but she paused in the doorway and threw back over her shoulder, “Or do I need to rip them off you myself?”

Loki grinned and followed her.

[mlpdestinyverse]

“Rift”

Summer Rush of all ponies knows how hard it can be to keep a family together. This is especially the case when the one she wants to help feels so far away.

Feat:  Skychaser, Summer Rush

Story and Description Under The Cut!

Summer Rush: -swiftly flaps her wings and lands at the starting line of her backyard’s makeshift race track. Can feel her heart pounding in her chest after finishing eight laps, but focuses on wiping sweat off her forehead while evening out her breathing- Phew….(!) Whoa! -stumbles clumsily to catch a towel that had been thrown to her-

Lightning Dust: -lets out a light laugh, approaching her pre-teen daughter with her stopwatch- Easy, champ, don’t let a towel of all things get ya.

Summer: -giggles and uses it to wipe her forehead- How'd I do?

Lightning: You made your time! -grins and slaps Summer’s back with a wing, bringing an “oof” out of her- Great job, kiddo!

Summer: -frowns- Just my time…? -folds her towel and places it off to the side, her eyebrows knitting in disappointment- Dang...I really thought I did better that time…-blinks when she feels air being blown towards her, and realizes her mother is fanning her with a wing-

Lightning: Whoa now kid, what’s with that negativity? Making your time is better than nothin’! -pulls Summer in close to her side, as she tends to do- Make your time again and I’ll treat you after practice. And if you do better than your time, then we can go to any store you want, my treat. -her eyes crinkle and she begins playfully jabbing Summer’s cheek with a wing feather- Come oooon, what do you say?

Summer: -laughs heartily, feeling her spirits lifting- That sounds nice, mom, thanks. -deeply inhales and exhales, standing up straight and stretching out her wings- Okay…I got this…

-A loud muffled voice suddenly reaches her ears and Summer starts at it. She and Lightning both whip their heads towards their house, the source of the ruckus. To Summer’s concern, she realizes there are….two voices. Two familiar voices. Lightning’s demeanor immediately changes, a sour look crossing her face-

Summer: -glances at her mother tensely- Mom?

Lightning: (!) -quickly changes her expression, shooting a forced smile at Summer- Sunny dear, stay out here. I’ll handle this. -trots to the house-

-A few seconds after Lightning enters, Summer disregards her warning and quickly gallops over. She carefully steps close to the door, and realizes her mother had accidentally left it open a crack. Ducking as not to be seen from the door’s window, she peers into the crack. Just as she had feared, her parents are standing in the middle of the room, with Lightning’s back towards her.  They’re both facing a teenaged colt who’s scowling deeply at them- ‘Skychaser…’

Dumbbell: -appears to be answering a question Lightning had asked- Yeah...I caught him trying to sneak out again.

Lightning: -eye twitches- Ugh...once again wandering off to Celestia knows where, Sky.

Skychaser: -snorts- Your repetitive input is exciting, but I’ll be taking my leave-

Dumbbell: -blocks Sky’s way with his large brown wing, glaring- And just where are you going?

Skychaser: -laughs dryly -Are you serious? If I didn’t tell you the first six times, why the hell would I tell you now? -scoffs and glances back at Lightning. Summer shivers. The warm orange eyes she had once known were now sharp and cold- What, you think I’m scared of mom?That’s cute.

Dumbbell: -glowers- I know you’re up to no good, boy. -purposefully towers over him, in an attempt to intimidate him- Don’t think I don’t know about those bruises you’re hiding underneath that hoodie.

Summer: -suppresses a gasp, quickly examining Sky from her position. If she looks close enough, she can just faintly catch a glimpse of faint purple near his flank, peeking out from under the bottom trim of his hoodie-

Skychaser: -tenses, taking a step back. Hisses, in hopes of derailing- How would you ”know”? If that’s not creepy, I don’t know what is.

Lightning: -eyes burn into him- What are you doing out there?

Skychaser: “Doing”? Whatever I feel like doing. Like it matters-

Dumbbell: It matters if you’re out there getting into fights! Do you want to cause trouble for us that badly?!

Skychaser: Ah of course, family image. Why am I not surprised. Pft, if you’re so worried, then no. I’m NOT a scrapper. Now then- -Dumbbell, again, blocks his way the moment Sky tries to leave-

Lightning: -impatiently taps her hoof- Okay. We’re going to ask again. Where. Are you. Go-

Skychaser: -the pent up frustration and stress within him flares and he growls, whirling his head in Lightning’s direction and shouting- Why do you even fucking CARE where I go?! It’s not like it even MATTERS if I’m here or not! -his glare darts between his parents- It LITERALLY makes NO difference, so STOP pretending-

Summer: Stop!

-Sky freezes in place, his aggression quickly dissipating. Looking behind Lightning he now notices Summer shakily standing within the doorframe, fearfully staring at him-

Summer: -with a quiet voice- Sky...p-please. We don’t have to fight...

-Their gazes meet and for a moment, a flicker of the gentle brother she once knew was there. But just as quickly, mixed emotions flash across Sky's face, most of which she can not read. But before she even has the chance to, Skychaser pulls his hood over his head and quickly trots pass Dumbbell, who doesn’t stop him this time.-

Summer: (!!) SKY, wait!

-Before she can pass her mother, Lightning blocks her with her wing. With her blue eyes focused on Sky, Summer misses the pleased smile just ghosting Lightning’s muzzle as she watches Sky rush out the door-

Lightning: Summer-

Summer: -stares up at her with wide eyes- W-why didn’t you stop him?

Lightning: -frowns- He was going to find a way to leave the moment we left him alone anyway. -sighs deeply, as if to let out any stress- You know he wants nothing to do with us...he just won’t listen.

Summer: But...i-if I could just talk to him-

Lightning: Sunny. I know you’re worried. But I also keep you away from him because I don’t want you exposed to that kind of unhealthy behavior. You don’t need that kind of stress. And besides...there’s just no convincing him.

Summer: But I don’t want to convince him! -stares at her hooves, biting her lip- ...I just want him to know we’re here for him. -feels her eyes mist- ...why are things like this...?

Lightning: -something glitters in her eyes and she gently places her hooves on her daughter’s shoulders- Now now…. it’s not your fault. Sky’s the one being dramatic and ridiculous. Quitting his training, and then being bitter towards you for taking it up instead? -sighs dramatically, shaking her head- He’s become a rebellious teenager. He can’t accept his own shortcomings. That’s all there is to it. And he’s ready to bring anyone down with him to feel better. Some ponies are like that, Summer.

Summer: ...but this isn’t him. -glances back up at her mother, expression reflecting grief- This isn’t who he is. I know it isn’t…

Lightning: -gently envelops Summer with her wings, pulling her into an embrace. While Summer buries her face into her mother’s shoulder, Lightning keeps her calculating gaze on the front door- Jealousy and resentment can really change a pony, Summer...

All will come to light in the next story part (”Two Lies and a Truth”), which takes a step back in the past to see the full picture.

As you know, in his preteen years, Skychaser finally had enough of his emotionally abusive treatment. Not only did he drop his flight training, but he rebelled against his parents in any way he could. Talked back, grew his hair out, got his ears pierced, let his grades slip and snuck out to be by himself whenever he could. "Typical teenage rebellion". Unfortunately, by being out on the street, Sky garnered the attention of some not-so-friendly street-goers who...enjoyed using him as their punching bag from time to time.

His bitterness just grew and grew. Summer noticed the change, but Sky dismissed it as nothing and kept to himself, keeping the harsh truth away from his far-too-innocent little sister.

That is, until almost two years after he quit. Lightning gave up on getting Sky back and began to train Summer instead.

Sky did not respond well to this. But more importantly, Lightning did not respond well to him.

[potentiallymrsdevorak]

In Fields of Flowers (The Arcana)

Chapter Two: Pink Camellias (Longing for You)

Pairing: Julian x Nijah (my female apprentice)

Summary: Nijah just found out that she had slept with her new mentor. How will he react when she tries to reach out? Will an old flame she had long forgotten spark something new in the doctor?

Word Count: 6,176 (a little less bc no smut soz)

Author’s Note: finally, here is the next chapter! I’m really enjoying writing this series, even though I’m...not very consistent. Lol. I do wanna let y’all know that there is a scene in here that can be very triggering to readers. If you’re uncomfortable with a man forcing himself on a woman, then you will want to skip a certain part with Luka and Nijah about to go out and about the Lazaret (slight spoiler). But otherwise, please enjoy!

Tagging: @drunkenomnist, @juliandevoraknsfw

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Nijah’s nerves had never been so strained.

Just the night before, she had lost her virginity, a very intimate act, to the Dr. Julian Devorak? The man that she would be training under to help cure the plague?

If she wasn’t still wearing her plague doctor’s mask, she would have covered her face in her hands by now.

But Dr. Devorak seemingly kept his composure, continuing to read off the list of names.

“Katja Kuznetsov.”

“Present.”

The voice comes from the desk next to Nijah. She glances over to see the wavy hair of the girl who spoke pinned back in a loose ponytail. She seems nice, she thinks, as Dr. Devorak’s voice pulls her back to reality.

“Luka Pavlov.”

“Present.”

Wait a moment. I know that voice, she thought, turning around her shoulder to see where the sound came from. Luka slid off his mask, sending a wink in her direction.

She remembers him well. Luka was her first crush in primary school. He was also the first boy to ever reject her.

“Well, it seems that everyone has arrived safely.” Dr. Devorak concluded. “Now, if you all get in a single file line, I will take you through the Lazaret. Leave your personal belongings behind, they will get picked up and placed in your new rooms.”

Everyone else follows his command, as if he’s put everyone under an eerie spell. Nijah follows suit, finding herself standing right behind Katja. It looks a little strange, Nijah thought, to have all of us in a line wearing the exact same thing, huh. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought it was a funeral march.

Katja turns her head a little bit and whispers just so she can hear.

“Are you nervous?”

Boy, if she really knew.

“A little bit.”

“You’re Nijah, right?”

“Mhmm.”

“Okay, we should stick with each ot-”

“I did not ask you to speak.” Dr. Devorak glares at Nijah and Katja through his mask. Silence echoes through the room as no one dares to make a sound.

“Then, follow me.” The doctor demands as he takes the lead, opening up the door to the rest of the Lazaret. The apprentices follow behind, accepting their new fate.

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The tour through Lazaret was...frightening, to say the least.

The walls, though made of brick, seemed colorless and void of anything but darkness. The patient’s wing was rather depressing, seeing so many citizens of Vesuvia essentially sentenced to their deaths with no way of escaping. They were to die in the darkness, away from their families, their loved ones...it nearly broke Nijah’s heart, wishing that she was with her family right now.

She did get a little excited when she saw the medical lab. Various tools and tables were set out in the space, letting Nijah’s imagination run wild. She wondered what sort of tests and examinations she would be conducting in this room, and if she could potentially find a link to help cure the plague.

“My office is right next door, here.” Dr. Devorak continued, pointing to the door with his name written on a large sign. “Dr. Satrinava and Dr. Valdemar’s offices are further down, but they are not always here. If you need assistance or have any questions, please feel free to ask me.”

Oh, believe me, I have questions, Nijah thought as she rolled her eyes, thankful that they were still wearing their plague masks so her sarcasm could not be detected.

Torches lit their way up the stairwell the doctor was leading them to. “And up here is the apprentice wing. This is the only space that you are guaranteed not to catch the plague.” With that said, he unfastened his plague mask, letting his curls fall in front of his face. “You may take your masks off now.”

One by one, every apprentice began to take their mask off. Nijah felt the stale air hit her face as she blinked to adjust her eyes to the dim lighting. She began to take in the faces of her fellow comrades, and tried her best to not focus on the man she found between her legs the night prior.

Katja turns around to see everyone else around her, and Nijah is nearly struck at her natural beauty. Her skin is the color of deep honey, her eyes shining a deep hazel. Her wavy ponytail frames her face perfectly. A simple golden nose ring hung from her septum. She looks like she would be a character in a storybook.

“Strange to see the masks off, hmm?” Katja commented.

“Yeah…” Nijah trailed off, eyes lingering on Dr. Devorak for a moment too long. Her new friend notices.

“Seems you’re a little shocked with the looks of the good doctor.” Katja winks, nudging Nijah in the ribs with her elbow.

The group continues up the stairs until Dr. Devorak reaches a tall, wooden door.

“This is as far as I am taking you,” he states, “for this is the apprentice dormitory. You will all share this space together, which is why it is imperative that no one brings the plague up here. This is the end of the tour. I expect all of you to be seen in the dining hall at sundown for dinner, which is on the floor beneath you. Do not be late.”

With that, he opens the door, the apprentices filing in one by one. Nijah thought that possibly, for one second, she would catch his gaze as she walked by, or possibly a smile…

But she saw nothing, not even a passing glance.

Disappointed, she stepped into the apprentice’s wing, eyes widening at the sight of the windows streaming sunlight in the room. A smile crept over her face as she stepped towards one, the city of Vesuvia far away from her now. Even though it was terribly far, it gave her hope. Hope that she would one day return.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Katja placed a hand on Nijah’s shoulder. “I swore we would be locked in a dungeon the entire time.”

“Me too.” Nijah turned her head to see Katja’s profile, illuminated by the light. She was glad to have gained a friend today.

“Well, we don’t have much time to dwell.” Katja said, sitting on the bed next to her. “Looks like we’ll be right next to each other!”

Nijah looked at the foot of the bed, noticing her bags and violin case were placed there carefully. She sits on the mattress, immediately feeling the stiffness in her spine.

“Oof…” she mutters. “They never said it would be the most lavish way of living…”

As the two women conversed, a figure that Nijah remembered all too well approached them. He looked almost the same, except his facial hair had grown in, trimmed perfectly for a gentleman, and his hair no longer sat on his forehead, but was styled upwards. On top of that, he had definitely grown and spent some time working on his...physique.

“Nijah,” Luka chuckled, extending his hand for her to shake, “It’s been some time, huh?”

She accepted it, giving it a strong shake. “It has. I’m not the little girl with the crush on you anymore.”

“Really? Aw, that’s too bad.” He smiled playfully, sitting on the mattress next to her. Katja shot Nijah a confused look, watching over Luka skeptically.

“Katja,” Nijah explained, “Luka and I were in primary school together. He moved after we had met, so I hadn’t seen him since.”

“How old were we then...around eight? Nine?” Luke pondered, running his fingers over his beard. “That seems like forever ago.”

“Yes, so it seems,” Katja replied, rather coldly. It was clear to Nijah that she did not like him.

“So, what do you guys have planned for the next few hours?” Luka asked, running his hands along the wrinkles of his doctor’s coat. “Anyone up for a little exploration?”

“Pass.” Katja spat, pulling a book out of a bright yellow bag and burying her nose into it.

“Okay, how about you, Nijah? For old time’s sake?”

Nijah pondered his proposal. She definitely would not mind spending time with him (as a friend, of course), and reminisce on their old times. But, she knew no one would be bothering Dr. Devorak right now, and there were some questions that she desperately needed answers for.

“Sorry, Luka, I have a few medical questions to ask the doctor.”

His shoulders slumped as a small frown crossed his features. “I understand. I’ll catch you at dinner, okay?” He patted Nijah on the back as he left her alone with her thoughts.

I have to do this now, or else I never will, Nijah told herself as she stood up from the mattress, sneaking out of the apprentice’s wing without a sound.

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Nijah approached the office of Dr. Devorak quietly, anxious to see him once again. She was worried that she wasn’t going to get the answers she wanted. She rehearsed what she wanted to say to him over and over again, but knew that it would never be perfect.

She raises her hand, allowing her knuckles to rap among the door.

Knock, knock, knock.

A disgruntled sigh.

“Enter.”

Nijah opened the door to see Dr. Devorak sitting in a chair over his desk, facing away from the door. A lone candle was the only source of light in the room, leaving a warm glow around his sihoulette. A cot laid on the side of his desk, complete with a pillow and two blankets. Does he sleep down here?

Dr. Devorak turned over his shoulder, his expression one of surprise. “Nijah. Shut the door behind you, please.”

She listened, letting the door slam with a dull thud behind her. “Ilya, I-”

“Don’t call me that here.” He interrupted her, his voice growing menacingly low. “No one ever calls me that, ever.”

“Oh, sorry…” Nijah twirled a strand of her hair in her fingers. This already isn’t going well, she thought. “Uh, Dr. Devorak, I can’t help but ask you a few things.”

“If you are going to ask of the status of our relationship, don’t even bother.” He turns back around, scribbling something rather quickly. “You are my apprentice, and I am your teacher. There is nothing else.”

Nijah’s brows furrow as she crosses her arms. “How can you just hide everything like this? It’s not natural, Dr. Devorak.”

“Not only am I a skilled doctor, but I also spent some time in the theatre,” he responded, “I can be whoever I need to be.”

His confession broke Nijah’s heart in two. “Does this mean you were acting last night? Was everything you told me a lie?”

“If that is what you need to believe to get rid of your obvious feelings for me, then yes.”

“You…” her lip was quivering, her whole body shaking, “...you’re a monster! What kind of man do you think you are?”

“You’re right,” he stood quickly from his chair, moving fast enough to corner her in the small office. His fist banged on the wall next to Nijah’s head, making her nearly jump out of her shoes. “I am a terrible man. I have done things that you will never know, that you could never comprehend. If you stay with me, there’s no guarantee that I won’t hurt you, too. So, for your sake,” he stared intensely into her baby blue eyes, watching them fill with tears, “forget everything. Forget what I may have said, what I may have done. I’ll only bring you more pain.”

He backed away from her slowly, his expression laced with pure anger. Nijah could barely breathe, she was so frightened. He was nothing like the man she thought he was.

And he saw it in her eyes that she could never trust him again.

“...you are dismissed.”

Nijah wasted no time in leaving, her hand practically on the handle before he uttered his last phrase. As the door shut behind her, she pressed her body to the wall, letting it slide down to the floor. As she crouched with her knees to her chin, she let her tears fall silently. This was the last place she wanted to be. All she wanted to do was to go home and forget that everything had ever happened.

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Julian Devorak sighed as he sat in his chair.

What were you thinking, scaring that poor girl like that? He thought, diving back into his work. His mind went to war, going back and forth with the different possibilities of how he could have made the situation better. His quill scribbled quicker the more he fought with himself, dipping it back in the ink more frequently than earlier.

She needed to hear that from you. She has no right trying to romance you as an apprentice.

But she has no ill will towards you. She just wants to see the good in you.

There is no good in you! There are still some things you refuse to forgive yourself over.

She would find it in her heart to love you.

There’s no way she would love a monster like you.

But it seems there’s a way for a monster like you to fall in love with her.

The tip of his quill broke, and he realized just how tightly he was gripping the writing utensil. He released another heavy sigh as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“What...what am I going to do?”

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Learning about the different procedures in the medical lab was something Nijah found to enjoy. Dr. Valdemar, Dr. Satrinava, and Dr. Devorak were extremely knowledgeable in their content, and taught the apprentices thoroughly. Even though they were a little...strange, at times, she was definitely getting better at her craft.

“Make sure the incision in the patient doesn’t get too deep, keep it in a fine, straight line.” Dr. Satrinava demonstrated, making sure everyone was paying attention.

“If you cut it too deep, bring it to me so I can...ah, clean it up for you.” Dr. Valdemar insisted, licking their lips.

The whole room went silent. Nijah could hear Dr. Devorak swallowing heavily.

Dr. Satrinava rolled their eyes. “Ignore Dr. Valdemar…”

The apprentices spent the first few days testing out their new knowledge in the lab. Since the doctors didn’t want to risk losing more patient’s lives (and to the disappointment of Dr. Valdemar), they all used cloth dummies to practice their procedures. They were also assigned to work in groups and take turns performing on the dummy. Katja and Nijah teamed up together and, of course, Luka joined them.

“All right! Let’s get going!” He said, holding the scalpel in the air. Katja took a small step away from him.

As the apprentices began to practice their incisions, the doctors walked around the groups, observing their work. Whenever they may have noticed something was going wrong, they would step in and correct their work. However, Nijah and the rest of her group noticed that Dr. Devorak was being very careful to stay as far away from them as possible.

“Is it just me,” Katja muttered, “or is Dr. Devorak watching us?” Her snarky tone was aimed right at him, as he observed her motions from across the room.

“I’m sure he means nothing by it.” Nijah said, wondering why the hell she was defending him.

“With the mask on, it just seems more creepy.” Luka added. “Don’t you think?”

Up until this moment, Nijah had even refused to give him a passing glance. Now, as she saw him for the first time since the incident, her entire body trembled in fear. Her blood ran cold as his eyes flashed on her through his plague mask, remembering how those eyes were when he had cornered her in his office. Angry, fiery, wanting nothing but to get rid of her entirely…

“Hey, you’re up, Nijah.” Luka elbowed her in the ribs, trying to snap her back in to reality.

“Oh. Thank you…” She took the scalpel, angling it just so perfectly to cut a thin line. Dr. Satrinava walked by, observing her every move.

“Not bad, apprentice! You have some really nice skills.” They sounded rather cheerful, yet Nijah wasn’t able to read their expression. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a little warm inside.

At least one of the doctors thought she was good enough.

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A little over a week has passed since the new apprentices first came to Lazaret. None of them had died yet, and everyone was starting to get used to each other’s company. Some, like Nijah and Katja, had become fast friends, spending time together quite a bit. Others cast themselves out, labelling themselves as loners. If people don’t bother them, they won’t bother you kinda deal.

Then, there were the small group of people trying to get together with others.

As time went by, Katja could see that Luka was trying to ask Nijah to spend a night with him. She could see it in the way he looked at her, the way he was always trying to butt into their conversations, his little touches going unnoticed to those who might not suspect anything.

Katja didn’t like it one bit.

Still, she kept her mouth quiet as she watched Luka ask Nijah to spend some time with him, one on one, as they all finished up their project in the medical lab before it was time to leave. “We could walk along the beach, see what lies in the forest…” he was nervous, running his hands through his hair as he asked this of her.

“I wouldn’t mind that.” She nodded. Katja was curious to see her expression through that mask of hers.

He took a step back in shock. “Really? Uh, great! So...I’ll see you after dinner?”

“See you then.”

He walked off, a pep in his step as he left the two women alone. The doctors still lingered, cleaning up the last bits of mess. They ignored the two apprentices, busying themselves in their work.

“Nijah, you really think that hanging out with him is a good idea?” Katja questioned her.

“I don’t think he means any harm.” Nijah answered. “I mean, he was my crush over ten years ago. It’s not like I have any feelings for him now.”

Katja crossed her arms at her chest. “All right. But please do be careful. I just can’t trust him.”

“I mean, if you’re that concerned…”

“No no no, I don’t want to stop you! Just please…” Katja took Nijah’s hand in hers. “...I want you to make it back okay. Holler if you need anything, okay?”

“Of course. Thanks for being such a great friend.” Nijah knew Katja couldn’t see through her mask, but anyone could tell by the look on her face that she was telling the truth.

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After Nijah finished her dinner, she snuck off into the main hallway of the Lazaret. Holding her plague mask close to her pounding chest, she waited for Luka to show up. I know Katja said to be cautious, but...what’s a little harm in spending time with him?

She knew he was coming from the telltale clack of his shoes. Soon, he came into her vision, a huge smile slapped onto his face. He was much taller than she remembered, probably towering over 6’0 at this point. With the shoes, she bet he was even taller.

“Hello, Nijah.” He said, wrapping his arms around her shoulder and bringing her close to his body, embracing her tightly. “I’ve been looking forward to this moment all day.”

“Hello, Luka.” She patted his shoulder blade, not expecting him to be holding her so tightly. He let her go, hands still snaking around her body.

“What would you like to do tonight?”

“I don’t know. There’s so much to do, yet so little time.”

“Ah,” he grinned, “then I guess I can lead the way?”

He opened the door, allowing Nijah to slide through to the outside. Luka looked over the foyer, making sure no one was following, then shut the door behind him.

Nijah felt much more refreshed outside, the cool breeze kissing her skin. The sun had set, and the only light to guide them was from the moon, now half present. Crickets chirped, owls hooted, and the hum of the city could still be heard on Lazaret. The city might be busy during the day, but it can really come alive at night. This seemed true of the Lazaret...at least, the wildlife on the island.

Luka led Nijah around the perimeter of the Lazaret. The further they walked from the entrance, the darker it seemed to get. The torches that decorated the front were just specks in the darkness, unable to provide any further guidance. Nijah’s fingers trailed along the wall for assistance, straining her eyes to follow Luka. Something about him really felt off, as if he had something up his sleeve. In her gut, she just knew that something terrible was going to happen. But she shook it off, thinking that the island was giving her the creeps.

As she and Luka turned the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks, turning around to face her. “You know why I wanted you to come out here?”

“Uhh...so we could hang out?” Nijah let her back press up against the wall, waiting to hear Luka’s response.

“Hmm...yes, but I want a little more than that.” Luka’s hands rested by her shoulders on the brick, fingers splayed out like the legs of spiders. He was getting a little too close for Nijah’s taste, feeling his breath on her neck as he inched closer and closer.

“Um,” she said, turning to face away from him, “what do you want?”

He grabbed her jaw with his hand, forcing her to face him. “I want you, Nijah.”

He took her lips in his own, moaning at their first contact. His other hand wrapped around her body, pulling her right up to his chest. His hand trailed from her jaw to her hair, trapping her in his clutches. It was the most uncomfortable she had ever felt, and every nerve in her body was telling her to get out.

“Ngh…” he moaned, his lips barely brushing hers, “I’m gonna make sweet, sweet love to you. Take it as an apology for denying you so many years ago.”

Nijah pushes herself off of his chest, trying her best to get away from him. “I-I would really rather you not, Luka…”

“You have no say in this.” Luka growled. “You should be thankful someone wants to stick it in you.”

Nijah gasped, surprised that Luka could be so goddamn rude. She took a fistful of his hair to steady herself, and shoved her knee right in Luka’s crotch. As he kneeled over, crying out in pain, she made a run for it.

Damn, Katja was right, she thought as her feet started to go quicker and quicker. I should never have been so stupid...

Suddenly, Nijah felt herself falling in the grass rather abruptly. No sooner had she hit the ground, she felt some force pulling her ankle, back the way she came. 

“No, stop!”

She tried to grab onto the grass blades, dig her fingers in the dirt, but it was no use. Whatever was pulling her back was much stronger than she ever could be. As she turned over her shoulder to see what was pulling her back, her face nearly went white.

Luka was using his magic to literally pull her back.

“Told you that you had no choice, Nijah.” His magic continued to pull her until she was lying at his feet, her doctor’s outfit covered in dirt. “Guess I forgot to tell you that my parents were traveling magicians?”

“You...you won’t get away with this!” She shouted, trying her best to set herself upright.

He just laughed. “Oh, but I already have.”

As he held his hand out, slowly closing it into a fist, Nijah felt him choke her out.

Her eyes went wide as she tried to pull them away, but it was no use. She had no magic powers, could never fend him off. She felt utterly helpless against him.

“If you give me your body, then I won’t have to kill you. Seems fair, Nijah?”

Either way, she would feel dead after he was done with her.

“Never,” she spat, nearly snarling at him like an animal as he shook his head.

“That’s quite a shame,” he said, “I quite enjoyed getting to know you.”

His magic propelled her to the brick wall, hanging her up as if he was pushing his hand up to her throat. Nijah struggled, fingers still clawing at her neck. Her feet were dangling over the ground, like a rag doll being carried like a child.

“Let...ack, me go!” Nijah kicked and shouted, trying to get help from someone, anyone, for her to get away from Luka.

He stepped closer to her, his face level with her own. A sinister smile grew over his face, making Nijah’s blood nearly turn to ice. He squeezed his fist even tighter, and she felt more lightheaded than before, the edges of her vision starting to grow black.

“Goodbye, Nijah. It’s not like you’ll be missed, anyway.”

Nijah shut her eyes, accepting that this would be her last moment. This is how she would remember the world - dark, cold, and unwelcoming.

But just as she thought she was about to slip under, she felt herself falling to the ground, the imaginary hand around her neck gone completely. She took a few deep breaths as she laid in the dirt, her eyes slowly opening to see how she was set free.

She couldn’t see much in front of her. A dark cloak was covering her vision.

“What business do you have here, Dr. Devorak?” Luka’s voice hit her ears, echoing against the brick walls.

Wait, that’s...Dr. Devorak?

“Mr. Pavlov, I hope you remember that apprentices using magic at the Lazaret is strictly prohibited, correct?” Her gaze trailed up the cloak to find the signature tuft of curly auburn hair. He really did come to save her.

“So? It’s not like I was harming a patient!”

“Are you saying hurting another apprentice isn’t a crime?” He scoffed at him. Nijah imagined his silver eyes piercing right through Luka’s skin. “And that’s another thing, Mr. Pavlov. I hope you feel disgusted with the way you treated Nijah. What kind of man do you think you are?”

“I…ah...” Luka started, but this was clearly not his battle to win.

“Go, pack up your things. You will leave when the first boat arrives at the Lazaret. I hope you learned your lesson. And Mr. Pavlov?”

“Y...yes, doctor?”

“I have eyes and ears all over Vesuvia. If I hear that you try to hurt another woman the same way you did to her...it’ll be more than a rock thrown at your head.”

Nijah heard Luka gasp audibly, then the scramble of his feet as he ran off.

Once he was gone, Dr. Devorak turned around and bent down on his knees. His cloak uncovered her vision, revealing that he was wearing a dark colored coat, one that she had never seen before. “Nijah…” his voice softened, the edge completely gone, “are you all right?”

She was speechless, unable to form words. He held his hand out to her, and she backed herself up on the wall, eyes spilling over with worry. When she looked in his eyes, she saw the man that threatened that he would hurt her, that he was a terrible person who did terrible things. She was afraid of him, literally cowering below him, anticipating his next move.

Julian saw this. And he was ashamed in himself.

“Nijah…” His fisted hand dropped in the dirt, knowing how much he hurt her, “I’m so sorry. I never should have yelled at you, or pushed you away.” He sighed, running a free hand through his hair. “I will hurting you for the rest of my life. I hope you will someday find it in your heart to forgive me.”

She couldn’t bear herself to look at him yet. But she knew his words were pure.

Cautiously, Nijah reached her hand out to his, eyes still gazing on the ground. Her throat hurt too much to speak, but he saw it all in the small smile tickling her lips, all in the warmth of her fingers brushing on his gloved skin. It’s okay, everything will be okay.

Julian let out a sigh of relief, thankful that she felt something, whether it was love or forgiveness, for him. He gazed over her dirty figure, only one thing on his mind:

“May...may I hold you?” Julian asked.

Nijah nodded, finally facing him as she extending her arms out to him. He accepted her willingly, pulling her to his chest as her legs splayed out on the ground. His heartbeat quickened as he felt her body against his again, this time in an act that felt even more intimate than their last. As her face nuzzled against his doctor’s coat, he felt happy. Happy that she was here, happy that he had found her before it was too late.

It was then that he realized that Luka will still be staying in the dormitory before he goes off the next morning.

“Nijah, are you comfortable sleeping in your bed tonight?”

He felt her shake her head on his chest, a solid “no.”

“Would you...want to stay in my room? It’s not the room with the cot, I promise.”

This time, it’s a frantic “yes,” a nod that makes him chuckle lightly.

“Ah, let’s go then. Upsy-daisy…”

He hooked his arms under her legs, much the same way he carried her not too long ago, and escorted her to his bed chambers. As he carried her through the Lazaret, long after everyone had fallen asleep, she was thankful that he had rescued her. She felt safer in his arms than anywhere else.

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He carried her all the way to his office, and when the door behind them had been shut, she found her footing on the solid ground. He lifted the cot from its place to reveal a trap door. As he opened it, a staircase consumed with darkness opened itself up to them.

“Follow me,” Julian whispered, one hand holding a lit candle and the other snaking its way between Nijah’s fingers. Her head was much clearer now, and she accepted it, allowing him to lead her wherever he wanted to go.

He guided her down the dark stairwell, leading into a small room with a large bed occupying the space. The blankets and pillows smelled like they had just been cleaned. The scent relaxed Nijah as Julian guided her to sit on the edge.

“I hope you enjoy your rest.” He says before taking one of the pillows. “If you need me, I’ll be down here.” Without another word, he plopped down onto the cobblestone floor and laid his head down to rest, blowing the candle out to envelope them in complete darkness.

Um...okay, Nijah’s eyebrows twisted in confusion. He still must have some physical boundaries with me. Letting Julian off to do his own thing, she climbed to the top of the bed and snuggled herself under the covers.

She closed her eyes to sleep, but the frightening memories of Luka still haunted her mind. She could vividly remember how his lips hungered like a bloodthirsty animal on hers, how his deep voice shook her to the bone, how she felt like there was no way to escape. And his eyes, oh hells, his eyes. He stared at her like she was nothing more but prey. And how his grin turned devilish as he tightened the grip around her neck, watching her take her last few breaths before…

“Ah!” Nijah gasped as she shot up in bed. She hadn’t been sleeping for long, but she already felt a warm rush fill her cheeks and a cold sweat on her brow. She did not like the things he was doing to her. Secretly, she wondered if it was his magic still at work...

“Nijah?” A voice called out in the darkness. A flick of a wrist, and the candle was burning brightly again.

“...yes?” she squeaked timidly.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Not really.”

“How can I help you?”

Nijah looked down and realized she was still wearing her dirty doctor’s clothes. Slowly, she began unbuttoning them and discarding them to the side of the bed. As her feverish skin met the chilly air of the underground bedroom, she knew exactly what she needed.

“Julian...can you come sleep up here?”

On the floor, Julian made a startled noise.

“Ah, I don’t...are you...do you…” he cleared his throat, popping his head up so Nijah could see his gleaming eyes. “Are you sure thahhhhhhh...”

His eyes lingered over her bare skin. She was wearing the shirt that he gave to her less than a fortnight ago, the plunging neckline bringing back his memories from that night. It clung on to her womanly form, just sliding off of her left shoulder. Julian couldn’t see what was hiding underneath the covers, but he wanted to find out. If, of course, she would be willing.

“Oh! Ah…” she pulled the covers a little higher, slightly embarrassed that he had seen her in such a state. “I don’t need you to touch me that way...I just need you to hold me.”

Nijah swore he heard him sigh in relief, but she would never be able to tell. “That...that I can do.” Julian smiled as he stood up from his place, making his way next to her on the covers. He blew out the candle as he was next to her, placing it on the floor as he tucked himself in, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to his chest.

“Is this what you wanted?” Julian whispered, his lips resting at the crown of her head as his fingers intertwined with hers, resting near her chest.

Nijah took in a deep breath, filling her senses with his presence. His musky, yet charming scent filled her lungs and relaxed her. His cooling touch made her feel like herself again. Hearing his voice comforted her when it once frightened her. Her relationship with Dr. Julian Devorak might be quite the roller coaster, but right now, she had never been happier.

“Yes. Thank you.”

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In her dreams, she was in a much happier place. There was not a cloud in sight, only sunshine fell through the trees of the forest she was running through. A happier tune played through her head as her bare feet touched the ground. She was running towards something, but what?

Finally, she stopped in front of a field of flowers, spreading as far as the eye could see. Many colors filled her vision - pinks, purples, blues, and the many meanings of the flowers resounded through her mind. Some of them her favorites, some of them she had never seen before, that must hail from a different world. Although it was a wondrous place, a beautiful place, she couldn’t help but wonder…

Why am I here?

But soon, she knew her answer.

She was running toward a man she had grown to become quite fond of. As he turned around to see her, his auburn curls blew in the wind, making him out to be the most gorgeous man Nijah had ever seen. He was wearing his white, billowy shirt and his black pants, definitely her favorite outfit he had ever worn. He opened his arms to catch her, to hold her close to him and spin her around in his embrace. When she held him, she felt like she was home at last.

Julian set her down gently, smiling as if he had a surprise for her. She felt a wave of excitement flood her body as he reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a simple flower, blowing gently in the breeze.

A pink camellia, she whispered to him.

One by one, he began to pick off the petals, letting them take flight in the air. She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not… He sang, his eyes never leaving her own.

As he played his little game, Nijah saw the sky become dark with storm clouds, cutting off any possible light from the sun. A frosty gust of wind blew through the field, and all the flowers around her fell to the ground, brown and withered. Still, Julian pursued, even though the world was falling apart around them.

The angry clouds turned red, thunder crackling through the sky. Nijah had never felt more terrified in her life.

Julian, stop! Let’s get out of here! She screamed, but her cries fell to deaf ears.

Then, the last petal was pulled, and a creepy grin stretched over his face.

She loves me.

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