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kysuguru · 9 months

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you REPLIED IM SO HAPPY😭😭🤞 btw the fact that suguru AND satoru are both her love interests im so HAPPY stsg for the WIN!!! i love how suguru and shoko automatically know what satoru is implying cause hes so so OBVIOUS!

i cant imagine the troubles suguru and satoru would have with reader.. shes so enduring and she allows them to do whatever because shes too sweet! ofc shes serious when the time comes down to it but i just know she takes the two lightly and cares too highly of their opinions to really say no to them. i 100% know suguru is worst when it comes to teasing her. in this universe i want to believe suguru does not deflect so he stays there w them. although reader probably does not realize the two actually is in love with her, she probably assumes they are with each other so she does not want to intrude.

what if shoko and reader were discussing about first dates and she finds out reader never had her first anything and sets her up with one? maybe rin or shin?! LOL and behold satoru and suguru being menaces and completely mean to her . the trouble they would cause to the way they would be so upset. reader actually enjoyed her first date but shes confused why stsg are so upset over her. they always teased her for not having a bf and when she does try theyre even more ruthless?? bc in reality to stsg they always thought she belonged to them and they’re actually in shock that shoko would do that knowing about their crushes on reader? (cue shoko laughing in the background)

i love these asks smmm😭 tysm for sending. and ur right!! i have chapter one and two written and posted on my ao3, but suguru doesn’t defect, i cant allow that. and yes… stsg are sooo annoying when it comes to jealousy. like they are so suffocating..

this is new, very new.

it was a brief conversation, so mundane you wouldn’t bother to remember it unless brought up. shoko asked a simple question. “you ever been on a date before?” after talking about her horrible experiences with lousy men. it was an easy answer, “no.”

and you thought it’d end there. of course it’s normal for girls your age to go on dates with other people, experience the life of romance at a young age, but it wasn’t odd to meet a girl your age who hadn’t been on a date. so you weren’t sure why shoko put you up to this.

rin sits across you with a beaming smile, the fluorescents of the cafe highlighting his freckles. you fiddle with the warm cup of coffee in front of you. you weren’t much of a coffee person, but you panicked and ordered the first thing on the menu. it was bitter, terribly so, you weren’t sure whether you’d prefer this or satoru’s cups of diabetes.

you sip on it occasionally, to make yourself look engaged. you hope your poker face has improved, you’d be humiliated if the bitterness on your tongue manifested itself onto your expression (rin noticed, but felt too awkward to speak up).

it’s weird, and you try pretending this wasn’t set up at a romantic date.

you like rin, he’s really nice, but you’d never even imagined him romantically.

he’s beaming at you, you think he’s blushing, and he looks as if he’s in a daze with his cheek resting on his palm. the look of adoration is so shell shocking you’re gazing around the cafe at other customers he might be looking at.

you chalk it up to excitement of being in such a nice place.

conversation with him is easy though, you realize.

it’s unlike satoru or suguru. suguru’s a listener, unlike satoru who’s a talker. they fit in so well with one another it makes it hard to fit in. you don’t mind that, watching from afar is enough for you. but you still yearn.

maybe that’s why shoko did this in the first place. to get your mind off of them. you suppose it wouldn’t be bad to broaden your spectrum, you needed more friends anyway. you couldn’t always hang onto shoko, suguru, and satoru forever.

hours pass, and before either of you know it, the sun sets.

rin was full of stories, he had so much to tell about kyoto, his classmates, and his missions. he was so fond of it all that you couldn’t bear to stop him. it was nice listening to someone on the same level as you. not that you disliked listening to satoru boast about his missions and how awesomely strong he was, but it was a nice change of pace to hear such things come from someone of your caliber.

you could get used to this.

your entering the school with a content face. you feel them both before you see them.

satoru drapes himself onto you, talking obnoxiously loud in your ear as suguru sends you a soft smile. your company with rin was wonderful, but you didn’t realize how much you missed your favorite people until you see their visages.

“where were you at for so long?” suguru asks calmly, though there’s a hint of something else you can’t really decipher. maybe suspicion.

“shoko set me up on a date with rin.” you say sheepishly, scratching your cheek.

they both freeze, you can feel the way satoru’s breath stutters as his hold gets loose. you look up at them both, brows raised.

…

it’s so silent. was it something you said? were they perhaps upset you didn’t say anything? did they want to tag along? you would’ve said yes immediately.

“rin from kyoto?” satoru whispers, and you think he sounds angry. you can’t fathom why, so you try and brush if off. even though there’s a seed of dread starting to grow in the pit of your stomach.

“yes... shoko said something about chemistry. whatever that means!” you chuckle nervously.

satoru let’s you go, backing away. now you’re worried.

“i-is something wrong?” you look up at suguru for assistance but he’s turned his head.

you shuffle your feet, anxious. they’re obviously upset, but you don’t know why. “did i do something?” that’s the only thing you could think of. or did they not like rin? he was a nice guy, so you wouldn’t understand why.

satoru rubs your head, startling you.

“it’s nothing, sweets,” he says.

but he’s walking off before you can speak any further, he makes a point not to let you see his face as he departs. suguru gives you a strained smile before he’s following. “night,” he mutters.

and even though satoru reassured you, that seed of dread continued to grow.

satoru and suguru are busy. satoru hasn’t asked for your notes in awhile. you wanna assume that he’s got it down until you hear him loudly bugging suguru for his notebook. your heart drops at the fact that satoru just hasn’t asked you. you don’t know why that hurts, it shouldn’t. maybe suguru just conveys the answer better, there’s nothing wrong with that.

they go out for lunch, leaving you and shoko in the empty cafeteria with your cold noodles. shoko’s great company, of course, but the lack of satoru’s loud voice and suguru’s scolding makes it feel eerily quiet.

nights in the common room have shrunk to just you and shoko. it’s been like this for a few days. only a few days. yet you feel as if these days are dragging on slower than usual. shoko notices, and rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath how pathetic boys could be.

you think she’s spoken to them, for they look at you a little more now. but they barely talk to you unless the situation calls for it, even then, they’re awkward.

but it isn’t until shoko has been in high demand after a dangerous mission that the first years came back from that you’re alone with them. you’re nervous, feeling their eyes trained on you. you don’t dare make contact.

they begin talking to each other, and you feel joy consume you at the familiarity of it. you’re looking up now, making eye contact with the both of them. satoru opens his mouth, but you intervene.

“i’m sorry!”

their eyes are wide.

“i’m sorry for whatever i did. it’s just.. you guys feel distant. if it’s because of me then—”

“i should say sorry,” your eyes flit up to suguru’s as he scratches his neck sheepishly. “i was being childish.” he speaks into his palm. “we were being childish.” he corrects himself, eyes glaring into satoru’s, who huffs and crosses his arms.

“so it was something i did?” your brows knit as a frown etched itself onto your lips.

“it’s more complicated than that,” suguru says. but you’re not convinced.

satoru mutters something under his breath, you catch nothing but rin’s name. so you ask him to repeat himself.

“i just don’t like rin, is all.”

you blink.

“d-did he do something?” you needed to know, if he hurt or insulted suguru or satoru in any way you were ready to break it off—

“no. not exactly, we just… don’t like you being alone with him,” suguru admits, flushed.

oh!

you felt relief fill your chest.

“i think i know now.” you smile, happily. they stare. they both lean slightly forward, anticipating. “if i ever go out with him again i’ll invite you both out!” you clap your hands together.

they were upset that they weren’t invited along. that makes sense. you’re relieved. satoru did eye that cafe whenever you three passed it.

they share a look, one of amusement and one of exasperation.

“such a ditz,” satoru grumbles.

“we’d like that,” suguru smiles.

you’re happy, so happy you could cry tears of relief.

“i’m glad, i thought you were both gonna hate me forever.”

suguru grabs your hand, caressing your palm, your heartbeat spikes. “that’d never happen.”

satoru scoots closer to you and drapes himself over your shoulders, the familiar action has your cheeks hurting from how big you’re smiling. he squishes his cheek against yours, rubbing softly as he speaks, “never go out alone with rin again, okay? you need at least me or suguru there, not even shoko’s enough!”

they will never forget how she betrayed them so.

“of course,” you exhale, joyful.

and yes, abt stsg ur also right! this is kinda a poly thing. stsg love each other and the reader

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confused-much · 4 months

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So, I started rewatching Community after a year or two and wow, I forgot so many things about this show:

Jeffannie started in season 1 during that debate episode and this makes me feel even more icky. Somehow I thought that this ship started at the end of season 1/beginning of season 2.

Jeffannie is so uncomfortable for me to watch. Not only is the age gap creepy, Annie is presented as this innocent girl while Jeff is Jeff. And yeah, as the series progresses, Annie matures but she's still so young and has her whole life ahead while Jeff is 40 and stuck at Greendale

Britta in season one was the best because she wasn't dumbed down and exaggerated. She had the same flaws as in later seasons (like her lack of real activism, terrible choice of boyfriends, being uncool etc.) but those flaws were believable and toned down to fit the rest of characters. I miss Britta

I forgot that they made Pierce horrible in season 2 onwards so it was a shock. In season one he has more redemptive moments

I miss season one and two of community the most. The show was still somewhat grounded and it made me think of my own college experiences (anthropology as shown in community was basically 80% of my real classes)

Senior Chang > any other Chang BUT that one episode of Guard Change is top ten for me ("Arizona backwards is Arizona!")

Abed was terrible to Troy in some episodes in season 3 (Blanket fort episode, stars doppelgangers episode) and doesn't face consequences/learn a lesson/start to appreciate Troy more. I like Abed but it still pisses me off

I feel that as the show progressed it was less about the main 7 and more about Annie and Jeff which sucks and I hate it

Also, Jeffbritta was the best. Are they toxic? Yes. Do they understand each other on a deep level and always help each other when needed? Also yes. I loved their bickering in the show and I always liked their little moments.

I forgot that Dean's Dalmatian fetish started in season one and progressed throughout the story

Paintball episodes are meh for me. Yes, all of them

"If loving worms is stupid then I don't want to be smart!" "It is and you can't!" I love this little exchange.

Idk, I noticed that sometimes some characters from main 7 appeared for like 1 minute in the whole episode. I know that you can't always have episode with all of them equally on the screen but idk it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Like the election episode which is basically all about Jeff and Annie. Pierce has like 5 lines and all are horrible, Troy and Abed are reduced to being announcers, Britta and Shirley basically don't exist (Britta also goes on stage and is ridiculed)

Idk they could have done more with Shirley

I also like the friendship between Britta and Shirley, the anarchist and atheist being friends with devoted Christian has so much potential

I was never fan of Troy and Britta together

Idk, on one hand Trobed is fine, but on the other hand showing a deep and profound friendship like that is also fine. I'm ok with both

Ass crack bandit song slaps and I love it

Out of all of the main seven, I don't like Annie the most (after season 2 onwards Pierce ofc). And I honestly can't tell if I don't like her that much because of the personality or because of her ship with Jeff

#community show #community nbc #britta perry #jeff winger #jeffbritta #anti jeffannie #shirley bennett #troy barnes #abed nadir #annie edison #pierce hawthorne #nbc community

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just-a-lil-critter · 1 year

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Bakugo's Apology Analysis :-

(but it's actually just me crying over my dearest bois and their dynamics)

I love Izuku's blatant show of emotional vulnerability throughout the series. yeah he's a crybaby/nerd/impulsive martyr but for someone who's been relentlessly bullied for so many years he is ridiculously open about his feelings and I admire him so much for it

"I am scared for you, for everyone and what risking everything could do to me, so I will stay away even if it costs me my smile, even if it drains me of all life"

Like hello?? this boy is so exhausted, halfway to death's door and fighting off an actual army of frenemies and still, still cannot bring himself to close his heart, the worst he can think to say is "you can't keep up" and apologises for that too. he doesn't even think to push them away like he should and I *ugly sobs*

The apology *manic cackles*

Ohh the relief. the satisfaction. the completion of a circle literally years in the making.

and Izuku's reaction is just the icing on the cake. I was genuinely worried they might downplay this scene after the whole OP fiasco (Bokurano by Eve is a banger btw) but Bones did not disSAPOINT

look at them. look at Katsuki. head bowed, face-to-face in front of everyone, openly admitting to the horrible things he said, things he did to Izuku in the softest voice we've ever heard from him, running to catch him in the rain and not once asking for forgiveness, only that Izuku come home with him, with them all

"I have done terrible things to you, the kind not easily forgiven, so I do not ask. but you are dear to me and I cannot lose you, even if I am lost to you. so come with us, come back, I will hold your shaking hands and broken body in the hailing rain like a testament and save to win as you win to save"

did anyone else notice this?

when Izuku goes vigilante he's so focused on defeating All For One he completely switches from 'save to win' to 'win to save'. ofc he's doing it to protect everyone but that's not the objective anymore, it's the result.

whereas Katsuki is so fixated on bringing Izuku's overworked dumbass back he doesn't even think about AFO let alone defeating him. his defining moral also does a 180 & becomes 'save to win' instead like ASBHSDHSJDKFS DO YOU GUYS SEE WHAT I MEAN IS THE BRAIN BRAINING TO MY BKDKS??!

In summary, I have lost my leftover sanity, 3 boxes of tissues and so much comfort food y'all oh my god-

to this scene. this one moment in a(surprisingly large) list of bkdk being soulmates, platonic or otherwise ಥ_ಥ

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk, have a good day/night, drink some water and fix your goddamn spine you banana shaped fucks<3<3

Also here's the link to my previous post>>

#bnha #bkdk #mha #horikoshi #bakudeku #bakugou katsuki #izuku midoriya #kacchan #ktdk #my hero academia #deku #vigilante deku #mha anime

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blood-orange-juice · 2 months

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last time ill talk abt it (i promise) but it just bugs me how ppl just characterize him as just a killer only when we don’t even know that’s true. for now id like to think he hasn’t actually killed anyone and he’s all talk only because he still has that “good” in him and there’s hope for him to be the ajax in his father’s stories. maybe it’s possible to climb the ranks of the fatui without killing ppl and just slaying horrible beasts like in his char stories. ofc if someday they revealed he has it’s not like ill love him less!! and ppl are free to have their own hcs about it like if he has ruthlessly killed someone. what i mean is i find it annoying how ppl r so quick to just call him a killer and create a misconception in the fandom that he has no other nuance to him.

also im rly sorry if i sent this twice!! my tumblr was being weird with the sending bar not going up at all (im on mobile) 😭 and thanks for indulging me in this discussion

Np np, I love discussions! (and you didn't send it twice either)

I think I understand you! There's a tendency in fandom to mischaracterise this guy as someone who is bloodthirsty and enjoys killing, which is pretty ridiculous. He is established mutiple times as someone who seeks challenge and self-improvement, not the rush of killing another. Also as someone who actively avoids killing people when he can.

Personally, I think whether he has killed anyone or not doesn't change much about him. He can still have that good in him and do horrible things because he's a complicated person with conflicting ideals. His ethics is also more about fairness than kindness or compassion.

In support of your idea: he is terrible at being intimidating. One would think that having killed a lot and doing it easily would come with the ability to threaten others more effectively.

#childe #tartaglia #rinn talks to people

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amargos-tent · 25 days

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Clone High fan character design for my character design class.

My team and I had to make a hero, anti-hero and a villain (ofc I got to design the villain). We choose Clone High because we wanted to use mexican historical figures as characters. So I thought, why not Pancho Villa? he was commemorated as a hero, but in reality he was a horrible person (I won't go into details)

Pancho is still a terrible person, but in high school level (nothing extreme that can't be shown on TV...) Details includes cancellable things he would do, but he can't because the school knows the real story of his cloneparent and always keeps an eye on him. The other three fan characters that appear in that last illustration are -in order- Porfirio, Benito and María (based on Porfirio Díaz, Benito Juárez and María Félix) Why is there a penguin??? Fun fact!: Benito Juárez (former Mexican President) is considered one of the shortest presidents in world history, him beign 1.35 m what does this have to do with a penguin? Well emperor penguins height is about 1.20 m... that's all. The joke is that they mistake him for an emperor penguin. In that last illustration, Penito (Penguin Benito) made it to the helicopter and the real Benito is still in the concert, you can see his disbelief.

Benito's and Porfirio's design was made by Chiara And María Félix's design was made by Kat

#digital art #character design #fan character #clone high #clone high oc #clone high frida #clone high cleo #fanart #clone high fanart #my art #amargo's art

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writing-whump · 8 days

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forgive my 200 ask at the minute, but my brain is on fire. I just love your babies, so much. Alright, so would u ever be up for writing a moment where Isaiah actually has to use his shadow on another wolf, where all his soft skills in the world fail him (the other pack/wolf won't hear him) and he's forced to let the Executioner out in front of Matt and Sel?

And not even in a bad lighting (ofc Sel will be spooked regardless), but really just a small reminder this man IS super capable and badass, even if his shadow is lowkey falling apart.

asking for a friend 🙈🙈🙈

I need you too much

Seline always felt like she had to beat the world back with a stick sometimes, to conserve her energy levels.

Everything tried to syphon her. Every class, every homework, every person, everything needed for work. And that was fine, that's why she made sure to enjoy all those things as much as she could. Careful selection.

But she still needed those precious days where she could just stay in her room and do nothing. Just her thoughts, her books, some writing done, music and daydreams. No obligations, no socialising or putting herself together.

She needed to just be with herself to recharge her batteries.

And she was careful about that time even with Isaiah and Matt. While she made an effort to be present with them, whole-heartedly and completely, to make traditions, to spend time together, there were moments that were untouchable and only hers.

But now the most terrible feeling came upon her.

She wanted to spend the entire weekend with Isaiah.

She couldn't sleep that night, thinking of how much she didn't want to go back to the house or to her room or to her books, if she could just be with him. One more day. An extra day of the week.

It wasn't a thing she felt like she could say out loud without sounding insane. Every girl in her shoes would logically want to spend all her time with her boyfriend.

But Isaiah wasn't just in the category "interesting" or "not exhausting". He was category "share every thought with", "read him the best passage on the page" and "childish kind of delight" at just seeing his face.

This was terrible. Out of control terrible, horrible.

So instead of enjoying the evening and hurrying home from class, she sat down at the park next to uni and watched the trams. Sun came and went, twilight came and went and she couldn't make herself move. Afraid to go home; afraid to completely lose herself in that irresistible desire to see that man.

Oh, this was so so bad.

Seline refused to give someone that much power over her. To hurt her, to control her. She wasn't going to depend on anyone and even less on a guy. Her thoughts were supposed to be enough to make her happy - she was enough to make herself happy.

The streets were clearing out. Vienna wasn't particularly calm at night, but the vicinity of the main university building sure missed its students in these hours.

Seline almost didn't notice, except the trams weren't coming that often and the wind was starting to howl emptily.

She should go home. This wasn't particularly secure anymore. Not that she needed anyone to feel secure. No way.

"Ah, look at that. Isn't that Seline?"

Seline blinked, getting herself back in the present.

The girl had long violet hair, a coat with spiraly patterns and long fale earrings shimmering in the steetlamp light. The other one she held around the waist had long brown curly hair and dark eyes and was considerably smaller in size.

"Hi, Violet," Seline muttered. "Bye, Violet."

Violet gave her a sly smile. "Oh you are not getting rid of me that easily. You know Seline, Cami? That's the witch that used to be in our coven."

Seline sighed, leaning back on the bench. Just the kind of theatrics she needed.

"You know why she got kicked out?"

"I left," Seline corrected, trying to not to let herself get baited into this. Violet was not worth the time to argue with.

"She believes," Violet continued, voice rising, "into the human system of work. Wants to waste her valuable magic and time for salary and live under explotative capitalist conditions. Some serious brainwashing, isn't it?"

Seline rolled her eyes. "It's called having interests outside of magic. And wanting to contribute something to the society."

"We are contributing. Our magic. A proper witch should get the freedom to develop her talents and arts."

"No, you just want somebody to take care of you just because you were born," Seline said, voice acidic. "If you can't find a wolf who would do so just cause you look pretty, then the state should do it for you. Cause food and electricity simply fall out of the sky and witches are too cool to work like normal mortals."

Violet frowned. "You just aren't skilled with magic so you look for something pathetic to fill the void."

"Yes, indeed, lot of pathetic people work at the university."

"I am at the university too."

"That's it, Violet. You are, you don't work. You just put stickers with communist ideas onto bathrooms and tables and feel important. Giving speeches about how everything should belong to everybody, because you shouldn't have to create anything of value, since you have a talent for magic."

"That's-"

"Magic," Seline interrupted, "that doesn't work on humans or for humans. It comes from wolf shadows and works only on them. Tell me Violet, what exactly is your problem? Can't find a job to your liking? Or can't be bothered to put in any effort or thought into one?"

"You should learn how to shut up," Violet was downright hissing. "So it doesn't cost you that precious job of yours."

"Are you pulling the strings now, Vi? If you at least read the crap you put on those stickers or actually went 50 kilometers to the east to see what your ideas looked like in practice in the Sowjet Union-"

"That you came from to steal our jobs and places at universities," Cami said, looking terribly proud of herself for pitching in. "Little Slavic refugee and a thief."

This is the EU, you idiot. I have every right to he here. Seline stood up, making a mocking motion as if she was tipping her head to the two witches, heart racing. "Your intelligence knows no bounds. Have a good evening, bitches."

She made to move behind the bench and to the other side of the park, when a tall figure suddenly appeared out of the shadow, blocking her way.

"If only you stayed a little bit longer, Sel," Violet said in the sweetest fake voice she could manage. "You might have had found a wolf to protect you."

...

"Isaiah, you are overreacting."

Isaiah didn't slow down at Matthew's protests as he hurried down the street, into the direction of Seline's last class.

"She should have been home hours ago."

"Yeah, maybe she found a bookshop on the way and forgot about time again."

"She is not answering me."

"Do I have to remind you of the speech she gave us both about being constantly available? She knows how to turn it off and all that crap." Despite his reassurances, Matthew jogged behind Isaiah at the same pace.

The streets were basically empty at 11 on Monday. Isaiah let his shadow up to have more senses to search with. His shadow eagerly consumed the darkness and the streets around, melting into it.

It sensed another intense eagerness just ahead of them.

Isaiah sped up into an outright run, Matthew close on his heels.

He didn't catch Seline's scent until he was almost there. They stood upwind with buildings all around, it was hard to track.

But it was Seline alright. Circled by a bunch of wolves who were throwing her around like a volleyball. Frozen solid in their grip, tyring not to show a reaction. Sign of fear or pleading would just rile a wolf up.

Wolves technically shouldn't harm witches. Witches had a powerful calming effect on them, making it very hard to be hostile to them.

But there were other witches present. Two altogether, standing a bit to the side but with good view. A wolf head over heels for a witch would be capable of many impossibilities.

The girls noticed them first, the one with blue-violet hair immediately positioning herself between them.

Matthew stopped at the sight, unsure. Wolf should not harm a witch. Not only was it physically uncomfortable, felt entirely wrong for a wolf to do so, it was strictly forbidden and looked-down upon.

A wolf should not touch a witch without her permission. Touch ment connection and connection meant magic.

Isaiah had not decided what to say yet, but he did not feel any qualms. "You let her go right now," he said quietly. "This is the only warning you will get."

The violet witch smiled widely as the wolves behind her looked up, sneering.

"I don't think you are paying attention, pal," one of the wolves said. "It's six of us. And it's only two of you. You really want to fight us?"

Might makes right kind of idiots? Fine with him.

Isaiah noticed Matthew's hesistant look, not seeing a way how to get to the wolves around the two witches he wasn't supposed to touch.

Isaiah didn't wait for him. His shadow was up and about in the darkness, covering the ground underneath them. One quick twist and they were all falling down, feet flying up as if he pulled the carpet underneath them.

The girl's smile turned into a surprised grimace.

Before anyone could move Isaiah used his shadow to sweep over the wolves, rolling their shadows one by one with smoothness of years of experience.

He stepped closer, pushing the two witches out of the way as they yelped, looking down. His shadow didn't need a straight path. And he had enough control not to touch Seline in the midst of them.

She was standing upright in the middle with a stony expression. But her arms were wrapped around her, her hair was sticking in all directions. He scanned her for any signs of blood or injury.

Not finding any didn't really quell his anger.

"I thought you wanted to fight," Isaiah said, turning back to the wolves crawling and moaning on the ground. Three were shivering without their shadows, one was curled up holding his head, one was even passed out. Rolling a shadow was never pleasant.

The last one, the one who spoke, was crawling away. Isaiah quickly closed the distance between them, kicking him into the stomach. And then in the face for good measure.

He took him by the collar, easily lifting him with one hand. "You come after my girl again, I'll rip your arms off, you hear?"

The wolf shook violently than nodded.

Isaiah turned around, his shadow riding around in satisfaction, brimming with happy aggressive energy. It wanted to make good on his threat right away, wanted to rip them to little pieces along with the witches.

Isaiah looked back at Seline and down, suddenly self-conscious of how much of those desires she could read from his expression.

Seline said nothing, retrieving her bag from the ground.

She did not take his hand, when he offered it.

...

Isaiah was sure he had fucked things up spectacularly. He went all scary in front of Seline, did not even wait for Matt to back him up. He just rushed into it with killing intent.

The way Seline got scared from Matthew's shadow, how she cried and shut him down for weeks to come was fresh in his mind, making his chest tight and dread pool in his stomach.

Seline said nothing on their ride back home and didn't look at any of them. He wasn't sure how to interpret it, she was very hard to read, when she didn't want some kind of emotion to show. But it must have been fear. What else could it have been?

Fear from what just happened and from him and from being involved with wolves in general...

When they arrived at their apartment, she went upstairs immediately. Clear signal she wanted space.

"This is going to be a problem," Isaiah said quietly, staring at the staircase.

Matthew bumped into his shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"Well, look at her! She is terrified of me!" He turned around to lean his forehead against the wall.

There was angry stomping on the floor above them. Then a slam of the door.

"Yeah, I don't think fear is what we are talking about," Matthew said dryly. "She looks pissed to me."

"Huh?" Isaiah said intelligently. His brain was short-circuiting at how he just went all Executioner in front of his girlfriend.

"Yep. Stop making guesses and go talk it out. No point worrying about something that might not be true."

"But- Did you not see-"

"I saw fine. It was plenty cool, if you ask me," Matthew said with a smirk. "Shoo."

Isaiah shook his head in exasperation, but went up.

Seline was in the process of changing and getting ready for bed. She slammed the cupboards violently behind her, the doors creaking painfully as she threw them open and then shut again.

Isaiah slipped inside her room, a little stunned by the display. He couldn't remember if he had seen Seline like this before.

"Ehhh...are you okay?"

She gave him an indignant look. "I'm fine! Perfectly fine!"

Isaiah watched her as she glared at her discarded jeans and shirt on the bed, in her PJs already, suddenly grateful Seline's affinity was water and not fire.

"Why didn't- you could have called me, you know?" He said tentatively into the silence. "I would have come sooner."

"I didn't need you to come."

Isaiah's eyebrows knitted together. "Well, then you could have at least called Matthew or messaged us where you were, so if something happened, we would know to look for you."

"I don't need-"

"You message your mother when you go to school and arrive home, why the hell can't you do the same for your pack?" Isaiah interjected, voice jumping up. "If you don't want to see me, fine, if you- at least let us know you are okay. Not to mention you weren't-"

"If those cows didn't bring their wolves, I would have been alright," she said, turning back to him, her chin up.

"I don't doubt that, but they had wolves around and it's my duty as your packmember and packleader-" Why was he defending his desire to protect her again?

He knew it was the wrong thing to say by the furious look in her eyes.

"Look," he said, pressing the bridge of his nose. "Wolves are dangerous, the city is dangerous and I just want to keep you safe. You can at least make sure of that, right? If you need a break from-from me or if you are disgusted or scared of me right now- there are still ways how to-"

"What are you going on about?"

"You didn't answer my messages or my calls all day," Isaiah said. "I thought something was wrong or that you were upset with me."

Seline watched him silently as if that wasn't all.

"And...right now...That must have been scary, right? I don't blame you for-"

She gave a dramatic sight. "I was upset. But not with you."

Seline approached. Isaiah suppressed the urge to back away, keeping the space he had drawn around her in his head untouched.

Seline's eyes widened at something, then she took the last three steps between them to stand right in front of him. "I'm not scared of you. That was actually...really nice of you. To defend me like that."

"Yeah?" He rubbed the back of his head self-consciously. "I don't want you to see-"

"I have never been scared of you. Wolves, sometimes, and yelling maybe, but not you. You would never do anything to hurt me." She took his face between her hands to make him look at her.

Isaiah let out a relieved breath, putting his hands over hers on his cheeks. "Okay. That's good, I'm glad. So what were you...upset about before?"

He watched her face intently, and his heart jumped into his throat where there were suddenly tears spilling over her cheeks.

"Sel?"

"I don't-" she broke off with a shuddering breath, ducking her head. "I don't want to need you this much."

"I'm sorry - what?"

"It's like I depend on you to protect me, and-and I'm doing it all wrong. I'm not supposed to tell you stuff like this, but I wanted- I want to be with you too much." She let go of his face, hugging herself.

Isaiah had the distinct feeling he was missing something. "And that's bad how?"

She looked up at him, her eyes even bluer from the tears.

"Isn't that kind of why we are together?"

Her blond eyebrows met in the center of her forehead in annoyance. "Don't you understand how bad this is? You...you are better than my solitude."

Isaiah frowned until he remembered the quote she meant. It was one of the quote books that they read in the evening to each other, sometimes to discuss them. My alone feels so good, I'll only have you if you're sweeter than my solitude.

His heart was fluttering in his chest at the proclamation as he understood what this meant.

Not needing more reassurance than that, he scooped her up from her feet, hugging her to him. No way he was allowing his girlfriend to feel so sad about caring about him so much.

He dragged her into the bed, arms wrapped snuggly around her, and she reciprocated, hugging him just as tight around the waist. Like she couldn't get close enough.

„Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within," he said into her ear, nose in her hair. "You know that one? Cause that's how it feels to be with you."

Her breath hitched against him, her face buried in his chest he wondered how she could even breathe. But he couldn't make himself let her go.

He wondered how he ever could again.

#angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #my writing #werewolf wip #Let's see #not sure this is what you asked for buuuuuuut #this was long time coming cause Isaiah IS those things #loved the opportunity to show it

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pedrito-friskito · 1 year

Text

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part seventeen

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

a bright spot, and some not so bright ones.

a/n: THE LONGEST PART YET. I crammed a lot in here honestly, and some of it probably pretty canon-divergent BUT we got two eps left and I still have a lot of unanswered questions which means we are RIFFING and I am MAKING SHIT UP OKAY but this is pretty much an au at this point sooooooo it is what it is

word count: 8.5k (I KNOW)

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, canon typical violence/injuries, blood, treatment of injuries, some pretty heavy violence, family fights, tHERE IS FLUFF ON THE WAY I PROMISE YOU OKAY (a bit in the next part, a looooooot in a few parts coming up)

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new chapters/works!✨

You just stare at him.

For a moment, Joel’s gut fills with dread. Oh fuck, is he fucking this up even harder? He just spelled out every terrible thing he’s done to stay alive since the outbreak, has that changed things? You had your fair share of horrible things to share, but…Shit, how can he f—

Your eyes narrow slightly, and you slide towards him, inching further toward the edge of the mattress. You wrap both hands around his forearm, the ring held between you, your eyes darting between it and Joel’s face. “Ask me again.”

Heat rises in Joel’s face and he drops his head for a moment before he feels your fingers under his chin, lifting. “What’re you—”

“Ask me again,” you repeat, chewing your lip, an excited flare in your eyes, “so I know I’m not dreaming.”

Joel swallows, throat bobbing, and licks his lips before, “Marry me, Liv.”

Your gaze roams his face for a moment, silver tears lining your lashes. “Yes.”

As soon as he slides the ring onto your finger, you lunge for him, throwing your arms around his neck, the pair of you sprawling backwards on the floor. He grunts as he lands on his back, and you flinch, grabbing for his head. “Shit, Joel, are you okay?”

“M’fine,” he chuckles, laughing under his breath as you start peppering kisses all over his face. It’s nice, to see you like this, a different version of the Liv he’s come to know now, but with that spark, that excitement, that same girl he romanced in the aisles of a hardware store so long ago. You’re giddy, giggling into his mouth when he kisses you, twines his fingers in your hair.

You don’t move from the floor, and Joel hums when you fit yourself against him — like you haven’t been doing it all night. You lift your hand, wiggling your fingers, bending your thumb to rub it over the band. “Where’d you find it?”

“The jewelry store,” Joel replies, lifting his jaw until his mouth is pressed to your forehead. “The day you…” He trails off, chewing the inside of his cheek. It goes without saying, he realizes. The day you got bit. “Thought about giving it to you that night, but it didn’t feel right. And then when we got back…”

“My ex shot you in the head,” you finish, and immediately burst into laughter. Joel can’t help but laugh along, spurred more so by the lightness in your tone, the smile on your face. “There’s something funny in there, I think.”

“Poetic justice,” Joel says, but then his brow crinkles. “Or is it irony? I can’t remember.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you mumble, rolling up onto your elbow, lifting yourself slightly above him. You hold your hand up again, bring it closer for inspection. “It really is beautiful, Joel. I love it.”

Joel hums, trailing his fingers across your back. “I’m glad, baby.” You press your lips together, the giddiness fading slightly, and Joel can see it in your eyes, the way the wheels in your head are turning. “I know it’s not the same, no more big white dresses and all that, but I just—”

“I don’t care,” you declare, cutting him off. Your hand falls onto his chest, crawls up until his jaw is set in your palm, and you turn his face to yours. “It’s always been you, Joel. No question. I don’t need the big white dress.” You let out a little noise, half scoff, half laugh. “If things were…normal, I’d drag your ass to Vegas this very instant.”

“Well, I dunno above Vegas,” he replies, turning his face to kiss at your fingertips, “but there’s the FEDRA office down by the front gate and Tess brought back a bottle of Johnnie Walker from her last run.”

“Sounds like a wedding to me!”

In a shocking fucking twist, it doesn’t go as planned.

It’s two weeks later. You’re halfway home from the front gate office, marriage license tucked in Joel’s pocket, your ring tucked into your shirt. You wore it on your finger for the first day after Joel proposed, but it earned you a few looks walking through the QZ, so you were quick to find a chain in the piles of jewellery you’ve collected, stringing it around your neck for safer keeping.

Joel’s got his arm slung around your neck, mumbling to you about how he still hasn’t been able to find a replacement bed frame for your place, but that he saw some cinderblocks on the lower levels of the building across the street, and thinks he can make something temporary with that, that he thinks the box spring should be enough support. You’re listening, nodding along, your fingers laced with his, almost feeling drunk on the thought that he’s your husband now. Officially. Signed on the dotted line and everything. Mrs. Miller, nice to meet you.

You’re going back to your place. Both Tommy and Tess were thrilled for you both — and you didn’t miss Tommy’s sidelong glance at Tess — and agreed to dinner and drinking after you and Joel went to sign the papers. Truly the best way to celebrate anything in the QZ.

You are listening to what Joel’s saying, having moved on from your broken bed frame to the space beneath your wardrobe, how he thinks he can piece out the floorboards so you can stash stuff at home and still keep it hidden. You are listening, but you’re also distracted, glad that he’s directing you home, cuz your eyes are stuck on his ridiculously handsome. You’ve never seen his hair this long — though the space above his right ear is still much shorter — but it’s wavy, flipping out around his ears, curling against the back of his neck.

How is it possible that Joel Miller has managed to get better looking as the fucking world has ended?

“Baby, what’re you lookin’ at?” he asks, his brow raising slightly.

You go to answer, lips parted to tell him exactly what you’re looking at, when the sound of gunfire makes you jump. Instantly, Joel is pushing you against the nearest building, using his body to shield you. The ground beneath you shakes as a FEDRA truck parked at the next intersection explodes, flames curling towards the sky, debris raining down. Joel pulls you into a crouch, shuffles you back until you can slip into an alleyway.

You’re both in fight mode, instantly. Of course, you don’t have any weapons handy; the bat is stowed beneath the floorboards in the apartment, the guns are all in the cache, except for Joel’s revolver, which is tucked alongside your bat. Joel presses you against the brick, one hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“You okay?”

“M’fine,” you reply, gripping his wrist, peering back up the alley. Worry is twisting your gut. “What the fuck was that?”

“Dunno,” Joel replies, shaking his head. His brow is furrowed, the crease between deeper than usual, and you want nothing more than to smooth it flat, make him relaxed. Fuck this fucking—

“FREE BOSTON, MOTHERFUCKERS!”

The ground shakes again, screams echoing from the mouth of the alley and you…

You freeze. Your throat seizes, stomach dropping into your toes, and suddenly, it’s 2003 all over again. You’re stuck in that godforsaken bookstore, being yanked out of sleep by the sound, the ground beneath your feet rumbling, people screaming and Infected howling and it won’t stop, it won’t stop, make it stop, why won’t it—

“Liv,” Joel calls, his voice louder than your thoughts, and you’re pulled out of it, almost. The ground shakes again, someone shouts, gunfire echoes, and you whimper. “Baby, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m right here. I’m gonna get you home, all right? You’re okay.”

He crushes you to his chest, his arms a tight band around your torso. You’re gripping the front of his shirt like a lifeline, and your breaths are coming so fast you’re instantly lightheaded, your vision blurring at the edges. There’s more gunfire, and you let go of his shirt only to clap your hands over your ears, burying your face in his chest.

More shouting, and Joel’s grip on you tightens. It takes you a moment to realize he’s shouting too, and you can just make it out. “What the fuck is a Firefly?”

Confusion takes over the panic, and you peel your face from his chest just enough to glance down the alley. McCoy is standing there, gun brandished, a hard expression as he looks between you and Joel. Beyond the alley, another bomb explodes, another truck, and you all flinch, Joel shielding you further.

“I’m taking you both in,” McCoy shouts, and Joel releases you only to push you behind him. “I have to.”

“The hell you are,” he spits, an arm held out to the side. “I need to take her home.”

“C’mon, Joel,” McCoy replies, shaking his head. “You know I have to—”

“You don’t have to fuckin’ do anything,” Joel shouts, and you grip the back of his shirt. “You really think we’re stupid enough to hang around if we planted that shit?”

Somewhere, you find your voice. “Who are the Fireflies?”

The soldier’s brow goes hard, and he lowers the gun. The knot in your stomach unravels slightly. “You really don’t know?”

“Does it sound like we know, McCoy?” you retort, stepping closer to Joel, still keeping yourself behind him. “We’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. Clearly.”

“Who are the Fireflies?” Joel repeats, and you can hear more soldiers shouting in the street, the explosions apparently over. You curl your fingers tighter in the fabric of Joel’s shirt.

McCoy steps towards you, glancing over his shoulder as he does. “It’s a rebel group, we think. No one really knows who’s running it, where they’re based, but we know this is them. Someone caught wind of it, and well, it’s—”

“Just let us go, McCoy,” you call, shuffling a step back, taking Joel with you. “You know we’re not part of this.”

He sighs, letting his gun drop, waving at you both. “Just get the fuck out of here, will you?”

You tug on Joel’s shirt, and he falls into step with you, the both of you turning down the alley, Joel with his arm around your shoulders again. You’re in a good spot; near enough to one of your shortcuts through the city to get home without crossing any patrol paths. You feel like a spooked cat the entire way, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end, your spine tingling with every step.

It’s not until you’re back in the apartment that your body relaxes slightly, but your heart is still racing, sinking into a kitchen chair the moment it’s within reach, pushing your face into your hands. Joel locks the door, crosses to the window, peers past the curtain.

“Fuckin’ car bombs in the QZ,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You gotta be kiddin’ me. Like the fuckin’ infection isn’t enough to deal with, now we gotta worry about getting blown to shit in the middle of the—”

“Joel, stop it,” you blurt, hands pressed against your eyes. “Please, just…just stop.”

“Baby,” he calls, his tone changing, softening, and a moment later you hear the chair beside yours squeak across the floor, a warm palm on your leg. “It’s okay. Talk to me. What happened back there? You…you shut down, Liv.”

You swallow hard, your heartbeat in your throat, and slowly lower your hands. “It’s one thing, talking about what happened back then. When it all first…happened. Dean, the bombings, the hiding, Nick. But…feeling it again, feeling like I was right back there, like no time had passed, like I was still…”

You trail off, voice cracking on the words, and Joel reaches for you. You let him, let him gather you into his lap, hold you in his arms, bury your face in his neck, inhaling deeply. He rubs slow circles across your shoulders, up and down your spine, over and over until you can feel your heart slowing to a normal rate, your breathing no longer shallow, the wetness in your eyes receding.

After a while, he slides his hand up and into your hair, tugs light until you lift your face to look at him. “I want you to listen to me,” Joel says, his voice soft, his tone gentle. “We go nowhere without each other, you understand? I won’t let anything happen to you, Fireflies or Infected or FEDRA. No one’s taking you from me, not now, not ever. You hear me?”

You nod. “I hear you.”

Joel brushes the hair from your face, a tiny grin tugging at his lips as he cups your cheek in his palm, thumb swiping over the curve. “I love you,” he pauses, grins wider, “Mrs. Miller.”

The knot in your gut disappears completely, replaced with a rush of happiness that almost knocks you over. You can’t stop yourself from grinning into his kiss, melting into him as you go.

In the weeks following the Firefly attack, you’re reluctant to leave the apartment, but Joel doesn’t blame you. He doesn’t push, goes with you to the food bank just to get you outside, lets you tag along with him to do odd jobs around the building. Tommy asks, but Joel brushes his brother off, telling him you’ve had a hard time finding QZ jobs that appeal.

After a particularly long day, one that has him blowing his hair out of his face all day, he comes home in a mood. You had followed him earlier in the day, but headed down a few hours before, claiming that you wanted to play housewife and have dinner waiting when he got home. You could barely get the sentence out without choking on giggles, and Joel had kissed you soundly and pushed you in the direction of the stairs. The moment he’s through the door, he’s grumbling at you that he’s gonna shave his fucking head, pushing unruly curls off his forehead.

“You will do no such thing, Joel Miller,” you chide, locking the door after him, directing him to one of the kitchen chairs. “Sit. I’ll fix it.”

You fetch a pair of scissors from the bathroom, metal-handled ones he’s never seen before, but you don’t start cutting straight away. You stand behind him, and drag your fingers through his hair. He doesn’t know the last time he let it get this long; probably sometime back when he was a teenager, when every rockstar had long hair and he still had dreams of something not construction-related.

Joel sinks into your touch, your nails raking along his scalp. He lets his head tip back, resting against your stomach, and you laugh quietly, moving one hand along his jaw, scratching through his beard. Fuck, it feels nice, and he can’t stop the moan that slips out, one arm bending back to keep you where you’re standing. “Keep doin’ that.”

He blinks up at you, and you smirk, pulling your hand back up to his scalp, dragging your nails through his hair again. “Can’t do this if you shave your head.”

Joel grunts. “It’s too fuckin’ long,” he tells you, and you hum, cupping the back of his head and lifting it straight again. “Keeps gettin’ in my eyes and shit.”

“Stay still,” you order, tilting his head slightly, leaning down to kiss his scar. “I’ll fix it.”

He loathes the loss of your hands as you pick up the scissors. You’re slow with it, methodical, pieces of his hair falling to the floor around the chair. You pause a few times to flick it off his shoulders. When you get around his head to the left side, he flinches at the suddenly much louder sound of the scissors, and you grip his shoulder.

“Joel?”

He’s been meaning to tell you. Really. He realizes this is turning into his M.O., to keep things to himself, to keep you out of the loop. And it’s not fair; you’re his wife now. He knows he has to tell you. He promised to keep you safe, and with this…how can he do that? How can he feel confident in his ability to keep his promises to you?

Joel opens his mouth to say it, to tell you what’s going on with him, but you beat him to the punch.

“I wanna go on a run.”

Everything in him stalls, the words on the tip of his tongue sliding back down his throat. “What?”

“I need to get out of the QZ, Joel. Even just a short one. Other side of the city, not where we…” You trail off. He catches your meaning. “We take Tess with us, or Tommy. Doesn’t really matter, I just…” You pause, pulling a lock of his hair between your fingers, snipping the end. “I need to do this, Joel. And you said it, we go nowhere without each other. I won’t go without you, but I need to.”

He’s silent, for a long moment. You don’t say anything more, continuing his haircut. Finally, you put the scissors down on the table, coming to step in front of him, leaning against the edge of the table. You reach up to brush his hair across his forehead, inspecting your handiwork. “How’s it look?”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “Handsome as ever.”

He reaches for your hand, tugging it between his own. “Liv, there’s somethin’…somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to tell you.”

Joel can see the dip in your expression. He can almost hear your heart sink, and his gut twists with guilt as you lean back an inch, bracing yourself. “What is it?”

“Ever since that night, with Cowan,” he starts, finding himself struggling with the words. “Since he shot me, I—” He grunts, scrubs his hand over his face, staring down at your linked hands. “My hearing’s been off, in my right ear. Like it’s full of cotton or somethin’. I can’t…if we go out there again, Liv, I don’t know if I can,” he shakes his head, “if I can keep you safe.” He forces himself to look up at you. “I couldn’t keep you safe the last time we were out there, and after the Fireflies, I promised. I won’t let anything happen to you. I can’t. But out there, I’m—”

“Oh, Joel,” you nearly sigh, pulling your hand from his grip to cup his face in your hands. Your thumbs swipe his cheeks, and he lets himself sink into your touch, inhaling as you push your fingers through his hair again, mussing it into place. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I thought it would go away, eventually. That it was just a temporary thing, y’know? But it’s not, and I…” He shakes his head again. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Why are you apologizing?” you ask, sliding forward until you’re almost in his lap. “This isn’t your fault. It’s Nick’s.” He sees the hardness forming in your eyes. “Or…I guess it’s my fault, in a way.”

“No,” Joel says instantly, his hands finding your hips, squeezing. “You didn’t cause this.” Your head drops forward, and he kisses your forehead. “Feels like every time I turn around, there’s something else to fight off. I just want you safe, baby.”

Your hands slide through his hair, down the back of his neck, kneading at the meat of his shoulders. “And who keeps you safe, huh? That’s my job, isn’t it?” He nods, eyes falling from your face to your collar, where the chain around your neck is visible, the chain holding the ring he gave you. “If the Fireflies get bad, if we have to leave Boston, then we need to be prepared. And sitting around here doing nothing isn’t gonna help with that. So, we go for a run. We go to the radio room and see who we can contact, arrange something. We’ll ask Tommy to come; I love Tess but your brother’s a better shot by a landslide. And I guard your right side, no matter what.” You lean in and kiss his temple. “We’re a team, Joel. Always.”

He nods, tries to ignore the unease that twists his gut. “Always.”

“We still need to celebrate, y’know,” Tommy says to you, leaning forward so he can see you on the other side of Joel. “Since your wedding day got a bit overshadowed.”

Joel snorts. “There’s a fuckin’ word for it.”

You chuckle, letting yourself fall back half a step, the brothers slightly ahead of you. You’re on full alert, head on a swivel, ears pricking at every little noise. “At least the Fireflies have been quiet since then.”

“They’re just doing what they think is right,” Tommy says, and both your head and Joel’s snaps in his direction.

“You sound almost sympathetic, little brother,” Joel tells him, and you can see the way Tommy bristles at the nickname. “Like you agree with it.”

Tommy shrugs, adjusts his grip on his gun. “FEDRA’s been wreaking just as much havoc these days,” he says, and your brow hardens. “You know they’re gonna start hanging people for getting caught out past curfew? Like we’re goin’ back in fuckin’ time or something.”

You sidestep a piece of debris, catching up to Joel completely again. “Getting caught outside the QZ has always been a death sentence,” you say, “this isn’t anything new, unfortunately.”

“Says the woman who was nearly beat to death by a FEDRA officer.”

“Tommy,” Joel says, his tone warning. “Why are we talking about this, anyway? You been talking to Fireflies?”

The younger Miller says nothing, and you just keep going.

You pointedly went in the opposite direction you and Joel had gone that day when you met Gwen. Just looking in that direction sends a chill down your spine, but you’re determined. Since that day in the QZ, when they blew up the trucks, you’ve been trying to push through it. The feeling still lingers, that terror, and you’re coming to realize that the terror is just…a part of life now. Joel helps, of course; his presence alone is enough to remind you that you’re not back there, that you’re still alive, that you can keep going, that you survived.

That you’re immune.

It’s another thing to add to the list, another tick in the back of your mind. Immune. You’ve gotten in the habit of tucking your shirts in on that side, just in case, not wearing anything that might ride up and show where you were bit.

You think about Anna, often. You wonder what happened, what FEDRA did. You try not to let your mind wander someplace dark, but it’s hard. You hope it was quick, painless. You hope she didn’t suffer.

My baby sister.

You’ve been good, thus far, keeping it a secret. Joel is a brick fucking wall, and you know he’s the last person you have to worry about letting anything slip. You feel bad, Tommy and Tess not knowing, but you know it’s safer this way, that they don’t. It would just put them at risk. Joel knowing is enough of a risk.

Letting Nick live with the knowledge was a risk, and look where that got you.

The thought has wormed its way into your mind more than once. Should you turn yourself in? Show them the scar, tell FEDRA just how long it’s been since you were bit? Let them haul you off to some facility, poke and prod and maybe kill you in the end? Is it safer that way?

What if you’re the answer? What if you’re the cure?

You’ve heard it before. Miracle cures, the answer to the infection, the final easy fix. Maybe that’s what you are. Maybe it’s not luck. Maybe it’s something else.

But whenever that thought appears, it’s accompanied by another. Joel’s voice, rasped in your ear.

No one’s taking you from me, not now, not ever.

And then when he told you about his hearing…

You can’t leave him. You can’t do it. Is that selfish? Probably. Just add it to your list of sins. It’s long enough by now. What’s one more?

The drop goes off without a hitch — bullets and rations from a group in Providence — and it’s like a sigh of relief, a weight off your shoulder. You and Joel share a knowing smile, and you notice Tommy is still a touch distracted, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. You don’t say anything, and neither does Joel.

You’re nearly halfway back, when you hear the scream, that inhuman noise that sends your heart racing every single time. Joel leads you behind a large truck, the three of you ducking low to wait for the Infected to pass. Tommy lifts his gun, peering through the scope, but Joel grabs the barrel. “Don’t,” he tells his brother, his tone almost scolding, and you nearly smack his shoulder.

Before the argument can even start between the brothers, a loud shot echoes through the street, the bullet finding a home in the Infected’s head, sending it stumbling forward before it slumps onto the ground. You slide towards the other side of the truck, peering around the truck, in the direction the bullet came from.

Eyes clap onto you before you can even think to hide.

“Liv?”

Fuck.

Joel’s staring at you, his gaze hard as steel, and your heart picks up in your chest. As far as Gwen and the people from Hartford know, you died that day. I’ll deal with it, Joel had said. Someone had cocked a gun, and he’d pushed them all out, claimed the burden for himself. But as far as they knew, you never made it back to Boston. Nearly three months ago, now, and yet here you are. Alive. Breathing.

Immune.

“I saw you, Liv,” Gwen shouts, and you nearly bang your head against the truck as Joel rises slightly, just enough to see who’s out there. “Come on out.”

“Fuck,” Joel grunts, and on his other side, Tommy looks between you two, his brow pinched with confusion.

“What?”

“Just keep low and keep your eye out,” Joel tells him, his voice low, and Tommy nods.

Slowly, you get to your feet, step around the truck, your hands in the air, gun hanging across your chest. There are four other men with Gwen, two faces you recognize from that day. Her brother, Trevor, and another man you never got the name of. As soon as you’re in the open, five guns are pointed at you, and behind you, you hear the click of Joel’s gun, not needing to turn to know he’s got his own weapon pointed at them, sweeping back and forth.

“Hi, Gwen.”

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she says, and you’ve never heard her voice so harsh. Every interaction you had with her, before that day, it was always pleasant. You were just survivors, trying to make your way, wanting what was best for your people. Now that you see her, she looks different. Her face is more sunken, her features more pronounced. She looks unwell — not infected, but not good. “I saw it myself. You got bit.”

“I did.”

“And you went back to Boston?” she almost spits, her face screwed up as she says it. “You put all those people at risk?”

“We waited it out,” you say, your hands still in the air. “I never turned, and so we went back. That was almost three months ago, Gwen. If it was gonna happen, it would have happened already.”

Her expression changes, and one of the men to her right says something. His gun lowers slightly, and so does Gwen’s as she turns to him. You’re too far away to make it all out, but you catch a few words.

Fireflies. Immune. The answer.

When Gwen’s eyes slide back to you, you have a pretty clear idea how this is gonna go. You remember what she told you when you met that day; that Hartford wasn’t what it used to be, that things were changing. If you had to guess, the Fireflies aren’t just infesting Boston.

“You’re coming with us,” she says, simply, like she’s discussing the weather. “The Fireflies have a plan, Liv. You could be part of that.”

“Like hell!” Joel shouts, and you turn your head slightly to see both him and Tommy on their feet, guns pointed toward the Hartford crew. “Anyone touches her, I won’t fuckin’ hesitate. We’re leaving.”

“James, grab her!” Gwen orders, and the man closest to you lunges forward, crossing the short distance between you. His hand extends towards you, and Joel’s first shot sounds, rippling through the air, the echo ringing through your head.

The first bullet rips through James’ extended hand. He screams, stumbling to the side, and you hear the yank of the bolt handle, a casing clattering onto the asphalt. Another man lunges forward, bullets shattering the windows of the truck, and Joel’s second bullet hits the other man in the throat. Blood sprays as he falls, hot on your face, and the third bullet hits James again, right in the temple. Tommy’s gun is automatic, and you see Gwen and the other two men drop behind cover as he shoots.

“Liv, get down!” Joel shouts, and you drop like a stone, crawling back towards the truck. There’s enough space for you to slide beneath it, and you squeak as a bullet clips the heel of your boot. You’re nearly there, hands scrabbling against broken asphalt, when a hand wraps around your ankle, yanks you backward. Your stomach scrapes the gravel, making you scream.

Tommy drops the third man.

You kick off the limp hand, and surge forward again, under the truck. Joel reaches down and hauls you the rest of the way, his gun still pointed at the Hartford people. Tommy’s staring through his scope.

“It doesn’t haven’t to be like this!” Gwen shouts, her voice strained. You wonder if Tommy hit her. “Just come with us. We could fix everything! I’ll kill both your men and drag you to the Fireflies if I have to. Don’t make me do this, Liv!”

Joel stares at you. There’s blood on your face — not your own — and blooming under your fingers, beneath your shirt. “You okay?”

“Scraped,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine.”

His jaw goes tight. “We can’t leave them alive, Liv.”

The thought sinks like a stone through you, but you understand. Hartford was changing, who knew what that meant. Who knew what kind of hell might rain down on you if Gwen made it back to the rest of her people, if she regrouped and came after you again?

“You can save everyone, Liv!” Gwen nearly screams, and you lift your head slightly, just enough to see where she and her final man are. It’s a clear fucking shot. You look at Joel, reach for your sidearm, the smaller pistol strapped to your thigh. He nods, and you nod back; behind you, Tommy is breathing heavily.

“Don’t make me do this, Gwen!” you shout back, your voice hoarse. “Just let us go! Forget you ever saw me!”

“You know I can’t do that.”

You and Joel both rise at the same time, aim already locked, triggers pulled in unison. The final two drop together, and instantly, you stumble to the side, emptying your stomach into the gutter. The street is suddenly eerily silent, and a moment later, you feel a warm hand on your back, rubbed up your spine.

“You’re okay,” Joel says, and you just nod. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, spit onto the ground. Joel offers you a water bottle, and you mumble your thanks. He throws his arm around you once you’re upright, pulls you against his chest, palm against the back of your neck. “We had to.”

“I know,” you say, nodding. “She would have killed you both. I know that.”

It’s shit rationale, maybe, to anyone else. Your hands are shaking, and you step away to holster your gun, shove both hands through your hair. You can feel Joel looking you over, reaching out to wipe the blood from your face with the sleeve of his shirt. Your heart is still racing.

Then Tommy speaks, and your stomach plummets into your toes.

“Either of you wanna tell me what the fuck that was about?”

You open your mouth to explain, the story on the tip of your tongue, but Joel beats you to it. He reaches for you, wraps his hand around your wrist. “You can’t tell anybody, Tommy.” Joel moves himself in front of you, shielding you from his brother, and you can’t tell if it’s intentional or instinctual. “You need to keep your mouth shut.”

The younger Miller steps sideways, meeting your eyes over Joel’s shoulder. “You’re immune?”

Slowly, you nod. “Just like Anna.”

Tommy’s eyes slide to Joel. “You told her?”

“It was the only way to get her to stop beggin’ me to put a bullet in her head,” Joel answers, and your spine prickles with the memory. “Last run we went on. We got cornered in the drugstore near the edge of the city. And she…” He glances at you, something so sad in his eyes that your gut twists. “She got bit.”

“Gwen and her men were there,” you supply, stepping around Joel slightly. “We met them for a drop; that’s when we got cornered, and she…she saw it, the bite. She thought I was a goner, but Joel said he’d deal with it, and they left.”

“And now they’re dead,” Tommy snaps, and you flinch. You’ve never heard his voice so stern. “You came back to Boston, after all that? You put that whole fucking city at risk, Liv! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“We waited it out, Tommy,” Joel spits, and you can hear the anger rising in his tone. “You remember Anna. It was the same. Liv is the same. It’s been months now.”

“I’ve stayed off the radio since then,” you offer, another pitiful excuse, “in case Gwen came across the wrong channel. Joel arranged the drop today, and no one else knows.” You glance over your shoulder. “They would have killed you both, Tommy.”

“You promised,” he grits, staring at his brother. “The moment we were all in Boston, you promised me, Joel. You fucking swore.”

“I’m protecting my family,” Joel replies, his hands clenching into fists. You reach out, squeeze his arm, but he just goes even more tense. “I’m protecting you.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, a tension in the air you feel like you could cut with a knife. Tommy’s gaze slides to you again. “Tess doesn’t know?”

“Nobody knows,” you repeat. “No one. Except for Cowan.”

Tommy’s eyes go wide. “You told a fucking FEDRA soldier?!”

“Not on purpose,” you sigh. “He figured it out. That’s why he took Deanna and the kids.” You can feel the tell-tale prick of tears behind your eyes. “I never meant for any of this, Tommy.”

Those dark eyes — darker than Joel’s — pin you in place for a moment that manages to feel like an eternity. Finally, he tears his gaze away, slings his gun over his shoulder, and starts heading back in the direction of the city.

Joel reaches for your hand, and you follow suit, leaving the bloody street behind you.

Joel keeps a careful eye on his brother.

He’s always felt like he could trust Tommy. Sure, he was a bit of a shit when they were growing up, always relying on Joel for one thing or another. Bail money or a case of beer or a job or a part for his truck, the list went on and on. Joel never once felt like he was owed something, like there was some debt for his brother to repay. Tommy’s family, that’s just the way it is. The way it’s always been.

After that first night, after Sarah, Joel knows a part of him disappeared. He knows he scared the shit out of his brother, forced him into the protector position that has always run thickly in Joel’s blood. It was close, too close, on multiple occasions, Joel too buried in his grief to see what was coming and Tommy too distracted by Joel to react quickly enough. But they managed, they stayed alive.

They got to Boston. Too much blood on their hands, but they made it. And Tommy’s right: Joel promised. He promised no more.

But then there you were. There you are.

I’m protecting my family.

The look in Tommy’s eye, as you all walked away from the fight, it still sits in the back of Joel’s mind, weeks later. He’s always felt like he could trust his brother, that he could trust him to keep his secrets, have his back. Have your back.

And for the first time in his life, he doubts that. It gnaws at him like a disease, an annoying tug in his stomach that twitches to life every time he crosses paths with his brother.

Tommy starts ditching jobs. The lists of repairs are usually doled out early in the morning, and they’ll look them over together, pick out the ones that can be done solo, which need an extra set of hands. Tommy meets him in the morning, but by the afternoon, his brother is nowhere to be found, and Joel ends up picking up the slack himself. It reminds him oddly of the old days, when Tommy was fresh off of Desert Storm, when he claimed he just needed to keep his hands busy, but would bail on Joel halfway through the day, slinking off to some bar or another.

Three times in the same week, Joel heads for a repair they’ve agreed to do together, and Tommy never shows. He asks Tess about it, hoping she might have some insight, but she’s just as confused. “He leaves at morning curfew, and he’s home by evening curfew. I don’t know what he does; he doesn’t tell me. I always assume he’s with you.”

On the fourth no-show, Joel has had it. He ditches his own repair, promising to come back and fix the creaky floorboard first thing in the morning, and heads into the city. Dark clouds loom overhead, the threat of summer rain as he loops up and down the streets, searching the few crowds that linger along the sidewalks.

The Fireflies have been quiet since that first ambush, but Joel’s heard a thing or two on the radio. He knows a few of the buildings that have been tagged as hideouts, caches and the like. He stalks past them all, keeping his hands shoved in his pockets, trying to look as casual as possible.

But when he sees Tommy slinking out of the building on the corner of Stillman and Cross, he can’t keep his cool.

His brother hasn’t seen him, and shouts with surprise when Joel grabs him by the collar, hauls him into the nearest alleyway and shoves him against the bricks. “Jesus fuckin’ christ, Joel!”

“What the fuck are you doing, Tommy?” Joel sneers, anger flaring in his gut. “Did you tell them?”

“The fuck is wrong with you? You want us both thrown in lockup?” Tommy grits back, and as the rumble of a FEDRA truck grows closer, Joel releases him, takes a step back, puts a foot of space between them. “You can relax, big brother. I didn’t tell them about your girl.”

“My girl?” Joel repeats, brow creasing. “She’s my wife, Tommy. The fuck is wrong with you?”

“You’re telling me you don’t feel the least bit guilty for what we did to those people? How can you be okay letting Liv walk around here, knowing she—”

He never gets the rest of the sentence out. Joel throws a punch, feels the crunch of his brother’s nose against his knuckles. Tommy decked him once, decades ago, when they were teenagers. They’d gone after the same girl without the other knowing, and when Joel came home pleased as a peach, Tommy was less than impressed when he found out why. Joel had a black eye for a week.

He stalks from the alley the moment Tommy’s back upright, clutching his face. Joel’s knuckles sing with pain, and he heads straight for your apartment before he can do any more damage.

Joel glares at you. “Your spaghetti is not a cure-all, baby. It’s not gonna fix this.”

You huff, tying off the gauze around his knuckles. “Sure it is. When’s the last time we had family dinner, anyway?” Joel opens his mouth to answer, but you beat him to the punch. “Too long. Everything has been too tense since everything…happened, and we need something good, Joel. All of us.”

He lifts his brow, pulling his bruised hand out of your grip to reach forward, tugging the chain from where it’s hidden in your shirt, poking his finger through your ring. “Us getting married wasn’t good enough for you?”

You roll your eyes at him, shaking your head, but kiss him anyway, nails scratched through the hair at his temples. It’s the best feeling in the world. “You know what I mean.” He tries to chase your lips for a deeper kiss, but you pull away before he can, pushing back your chair and starting to collect the first aid supplies from the table. Joel watches the sway of your hips as you take it to the bathroom, reappearing a moment later. “Besides, it’s too late; I cornered Tommy this morning and he already agreed, Tess too.”

Joel heaves a sigh. “You’re a menace.”

Your mouth splits in a grin. “And you love me anyway.”

It’s been a few days, since he cornered Tommy outside the Firefly building. As far as he knows, his brother hasn’t skipped out on a job since, but he’s steered clear of Joel, which is just as well. It’s taken a few days for Joel’s temper to settle.

You weren’t exactly impressed with him, when he got home that night. You’ve relaxed some, gone out for a few gigs with Tess, still hesitant to be apart from Joel, but more comfortable than he’s seen you since the car bombs. His knuckles were split, a deep throbbing in his fist, and you’d scowled at him, ordered him to sit at the table while you found something to clean the blood with. And that was before he told you what had happened.

“Fuck, Joel,” you’d nearly shouted, leaning back in your chair, visibly exasperated. “He was never supposed to find out. No one was supposed to find out.”

“I know, baby,” he said, and reached for you with his good hand, curled it around your knee. “I don’t think he’ll—”

“Maybe I should turn myself in,” you said, and Joel felt like the world had dropped out from under him. His chest went tight, suddenly a thousand pounds. His vision is blurry around the edges, breath hitched in his throat, and he nearly topples out of the chair. “Joel?”

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt panic like that, not at first. But then it barrelled into him like a freight train, left him reeling as you slid off your chair and onto your knees in front of him. You were talking, calling his name, grabbing his face, but his mind was somewhere else.

It’s not the same sort of panic, but it’s similar. Similar to the racing heart and short breaths he felt that night, similar to the helplessness he felt when that soldier cornered them, rained hell, took the one thing Joel had left, ripped it away like it was nothing. Left him empty, barely a shell of what he was.

Just a shell of a man with a broken watch he still can’t seem to take off.

Turn myself in.

What would FEDRA do to you? Haul you off to some facility, take your blood and test you like some kind of animal? What if he never saw you again?

What if it killed you?

He couldn’t—

“Joel,” you’d nearly yelled, surging upwards and wrapping your arms around his neck. His nose found your neck, your pulse thumping against his forehead, and the familiar scent of you eased him some. “You’re scaring me. Come back. I’m right here, okay? I’m not…” You trailed off, your voice thick as he slide his arms around your waist and held you closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Since that day, you’ve been watching him as closely as he’d been watching his brother, no subtlety whatsoever, not that Joel minds. He’s always liked the feel of your eyes on him.

Now, you push a hand through your hair, wrinkling your nose. “I seriously need a hair wash before they show up. Start the pasta, would you? Stupid flourless crap takes forever to cook.”

Joel chuckles. “Okay, baby.”

There’s a knock at the door ten minutes later, and Joel hopes it’s Tess, knowing full well he’s not quite ready to be alone with his brother again. His knuckles ache just with the thought.

But sure enough, Tommy’s on the other side of the door.

“We need to talk,” his brother says by way of greeting, pushing past Joel into the apartment. “Where’s Liv?”

“She’s in the—” Joel starts to answer, but Tommy cuts him off.

“We have to give her to the Fireflies, Joel. We have to.”

Joel’s chest goes tight again, the same way it had when you mentioned turning yourself in. You meant FEDRA, Tommy means the Fireflies. His head is spinning. “Tommy—”

“I’ve been talking to their leader, this woman Marlene? Joel, they have facilities out West, doctors and labs and people who are working on a cure. Liv could be the answer to all of it, Joel. Just like the Hartford people said: she could save everyone.”

“Shut up, Tommy,” Joel grumble, shaking his head. His heartbeat is in his ears, nearly drowning out his brother’s words, almost twice as loud in his bad ear. “Just don’t—”

“We could fix this, Joel. If we give her to Marlene, she can take her to the facility. I’m sure she’d let you go with her, if you would just talk to Liv, both of you talk to Marlene, we could—”

“Shut up, Tommy!” Joel roars, and his brother’s eyes go wide as he stumbles back a step. “I’m not talking to any fuckin’ Fireflies, and no one is takin’ my Liv anywhere, you understand me? I won’t…I won’t put her at risk, Tommy, not again!”

Tommy stares at him for a long moment, and for a second, Joel thinks he’s said enough, that his brother won’t cross the line again, that he won’t try to push any harder.

But he’s wrong.

“She could be the answer to everything, Joel. Everything. They could make all of this go away.”

“Or they could kill her,” Joel spits, hands curled into fists at his sides. His chest hurts. “And I will die before I let that happen.”

“You’re being selfish.”

“Don’t say another word, Tommy, I swear. I hit you once, and goddamnit, I’ll do it again.”

“Joel—”

“Tommy, I said don’t!”

Wordlessly, Tommy points over his shoulder, and Joel spins to see you standing there, your eyes big and watery, arms crossed, hands gripping your biceps. This time, it’s you that calls his name, and Joel all but runs to you, puts himself in front of you, protecting you.

He knows what’s coming; it’s like he feels the words before they’re out of his mouth, twisting around his heart all over again. His body reacts before his brain does. “Maybe I should go, Joel. Maybe this could be g—”

He can’t hold back the tears. His body won’t let him. They pour down his cheeks, close his throat, his words stuttered out as he grabs for you, his knees giving out beneath him. You try to grab him before he hits the floor, but you’re too late, his body thudding to the floor, falling against you as he goes. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. “I won’t lose you,” he rasps out, and it takes him a moment to realize his face is pressed against your stomach, one hand finding your waist, the other curled in the back of your shirt. “Please, Liv. Don’t—I can’t. Please.”

You can feel his tears soaking the fabric of your shirt, hot on his cheeks. You’ve seen Joel cry before, but never like this. Never so heavily, the emotion so thick it’s literally brought him to his knees before you. He’s gripping you like a lifeline, his face buried in your stomach, and you rest one hand on his head, slide his hair between your knuckles. You want to curl yourself around him, protect him the way he’s always trying to protect you.

And on the other side of the kitchen, Tommy just stares at the pair of you. Every emotion known to man crosses his face; guilty, sadness, anger, all of the things that have become commonplace in this new world. You can’t blame him for any of them, you feel half of them yourself.

But then Tommy opens his mouth. “Liv, if you would just—”

“Please, Tommy,” you say, your tone heavy, tears sparking in the back of your throat. “Please don’t.”

He turns on his heel and heads for the door. When he yanks it open, your breath hitches when you see Tess standing on the other side of the door, obviously confused. Tommy says nothing, pushing past her and disappearing down the hallway. “What the fuck?”

At the sound of Tess’s voice, Joel all but leaps to his feet, peeling himself away from you and bee-lining for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. It suddenly smells like something’s burning, and you curse under your breath as the pot on the stove bubbles over.

Tess closes the door quietly, walks towards you, puts a careful hand on your arm, places a bottle of whiskey on the counter. “So much for family dinner.”

You scoff out a laugh as you flick off the stove, kicking your boot into the dented bottom drawer as you drop the pot of ruined pasta into the sink. Shoving a hand through your hair, you sigh, reaching for the bottle. “You’re telling me.”

“You gonna tell me what the fuck just happened,” Tess asks, leaning against the counter beside you, holding her hand out for the bottle as you take a big swig, “or do I have to guess?”

“I caught the tail-end of that conversation,” you say, guilt twisting your stomach as the lie rolls all too easily off your tongue, “but from what I gathered, Tommy’s joining the Fireflies.”

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middleearthpixie · 28 days

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Something in the Night ~ Chapter Fifteen

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory.

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it.

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

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Previous chapters can be found here.

“Are ye certain ye dinna want to discuss it?”

Thorin rolled his eyes as they boarded the barge that would sail them past the skeletal frames of Esgaroth to the city of Dale on the opposite side of the Long Lake. “How many times must I say it? No. I dinna want to discuss it.”

“All right the. Have it your way, then. There’s no need to get pissy.”

He glared at Dwalin, who leaned against the side of the barge, arms folded, heavy iron-gray brows pulled low. “I’m not pissy, thank you very much. I am angry and there is a difference.”

“Are ye still thinking about her? Even after what happened with her? That’s madness, Thorin. She deserves not a single moment of thought and yer wasting yer time broodin’ over her.”

The bargeman barely bit back a smile as he guided them along the lake’s calm waters. Somewhere in the depths, lay what remained of Smaug the Terrible, and Thorin tried not to think about that as Esgaroth loomed before them. The last time they’d seen the city on the lake, it had been mostly engulfed in orange flames that seemed to reach the midnight black winter sky.

Now, the charred remains had been torn down and fresh wood frameworks had been erected on the floating walkways that connected the city and formed what would be canals once construction was complete.

When they had set out for Rivendell, the first buildings had just been framed out. Now, they were just about finished with the majority of them. Little by little, the town was being reborn and as they glided past it, Thorin tried to shove down the regret surging forward at the memory of the last time he’d passed through. Driven by the need to reach the Lonely Mountain before the last light of Durin’s Day, Thorin had let his desire to reclaim the treasure, the Arkenstone, and his throne blind him to everything else around him. The need to possess that treasure grew stronger until he could no longer ignore it. Dragon sickness would follow, and that was what led him to look the other way while Smaug incinerated Esgaroth, what led him to turn his back on the people whose lives he’d upended, what led him to choose war over anything else.

And eventually, what led Nina to seek revenge.

He winced, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't want to think about her now. Her betrayal was too fresh, too raw, and his heart felt as if it had been raked over with razor-sharp claws, leaving it shredded and dripping both blood and regret. He felt sick, his gut roiling like the Long Lake during a storm, and a sour taste flooded his mouth, one that he fought back. He didn't want to be sick, didn’t want to give Nina that power over him. She was nothing to him. As low as Azog had been. Perhaps lower.

At least, that was what he told himself.

Either way, he had no desire to discuss it with Dwalin, to look at the smug expression Dwalin was certain to give him to go along with his I told you so.

“I’ve no wish to speak of it,” he replied slowly. “And I am not brooding over her.”

“Thorin, you were staring off into the dark forever.” Nina affixed him with a long look. “That’s brooding.”

“I was thinking.”

“You were brooding. It’s all right. You can admit it.”

He didn't want to think about Nina. In fact, he wished he could forget ever crossing paths with her.

Some of the irritation left Dwalin’s normally cold eyes. With a low sigh, he crossed over to sink onto the bench alongside him. “I’m sorry, laddie. I had the feeling she was trouble and I tried to tell ye.”

“Aye, she was.” Thorin couldn't keep the sigh from his voice. “And I should have listened to you.”

“It matters not now,” Dwalin told him. “It is all water under the bridge.”

It was, but it wasn’t. He’d never felt for anyone what he’d begun to feel for Nina, and that made her betrayal even worse and his pain almost untenable. He was fairly certain he was falling in love with her and he hated everything about it.

But he certainly couldn't say that to Dwalin. He’d never hear the end of it. Would never hear the end of those I told you sos.

And right now, all he wanted was to go home. To go back to Erebor and lick his wounds and to never be so bloody foolish again.

***

Dale was far busier than it had been the last time he saw it, but Thorin paid little heed to it as he and Dwalin made their way down Stone Street, past new shops and cafes that were not entirely renovated, but were still open for business. He had no interest in shopping and while his stomach did growl, he wanted only what awaited him back in Erebor.

Finally, they were on Dale’s outskirts and all that lay between him and home was a rutted road across the plains. He and Dwalin said little as they crossed it and it wasn't until they were at Erebor’s gates that he let relief surge through him.

“Your Majesty!” The gatekeeper called down. “Welcome home!”

“Thank you, Fait. It’s good to be back.”

The gates opened and he and Dwalin stepped into welcoming darkness of home. They parted ways at the Great Hall, with Thorin heading down into the depths of the city, where his recently renovated apartments were, down at the end of a dark corridor, lit only by the torches in sconces mounted high above in the labradorite stone walls.

The door opened without a sound and when he closed it, he leaned back against it, eyes closed, a sense of utter weariness sweeping through him. Normally he craved the silence and the solitude. But at that moment, it felt odd, almost suffocating to him. He couldn’t help but wonder where Nina had gone, and how she fared, and despite his utter fury with her, he had to admit he was worried as well. She was wounded and had been turned out like a common criminal, left to the mercies of the woods and anyone she might encounter.

The price on his head remained and orcs knew she hunted him. If they still followed her, they might not necessarily know that she no longer traveled with him. And that would not bode well for her.

His first instinct was to go and search for her. But that was impossible. He couldn’t trust her. She had betrayed him.

“Thorin?”

He bit back a groan at his sister’s voice. “What is it, Dís?”

“Are you all right? I just bumped into Dwalin and he said you wished to be left to your thoughts.”

“And yet, here you are, not leaving me to my thoughts.”

“Don’t be cross, Thorin. I’m concerned. He looked concerned.”

He thunked his head back against the door, his eyes closing again. Dís meant well. He knew she did. But at the same time, he’d gladly throttle Dwalin if given the chance.

“Thorin?”

With a sigh, he turned to tug open the door and gazed down at his sister. “I’m fine, Dís. Truly. I am.”

“Good. He also said you’d run into trouble. More than once.”

His gut curdled. “It was nothing we could not handle. A persistent orc pack.”

Her eyes, the same blue as his, narrowed. “Is that all?”

“It is, yes.”

“Thorin.”

“If you want to know, go ask Dwalin, since he seems ever so willing to discuss my life.”

She moved by him and into his apartment. “He is concerned for you. He said he’s never seen you this way. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Dís. Nothing is going on.” He closed the door behind her, making a mental note to let Dwalin know just how much he appreciated his misplaced concern.

“He said you traveled with a woman?”

As she arched one narrow brow, Thorin’s mental note went from words to actually pummeling Dwalin when he had the chance. “We did, yes. A mercenary who thought to accompany us to Mirkwood.”

“A mercenary?”

He nodded. “That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

“And her name?”

“Her name matters not and this discussion is over. I am tired and weary from travel and wish only a soak in my tub and a rest in my bed and I’ll not answer any more questions.”

To her credit, Dís looked contrite. But only for a minute. Then, she said, “You’re in love with her, aren’t you? This woman with no name.”

“In love with—” He snorted to let her know what he thought of that. “Don’t be daft. I told you, she was a mercenary. I paid no mind to her.”

“Of course not. Thorin, please, I know lovesick when I see it.”

His insides twisted far tighter now and the discomfort made him more irritated by the second. “I’ll not keep repeating myself, Dís. And you know nothing of which you speak, so I beg you, leave off.”

She pressed her lips together and slowly nodded. “Of course. But, know, all you need do is send word to Mirkwood and—”

“I said, leave off,” he snapped, his patience gone. “Go find your sons if you wish to mother someone, for I do not need it. And if that is the only reason you’ve come, take yourself off.”

“I’m only concerned.”

“I understand and appreciate it, but enough is enough and I’ll not ask again.”

“Very well. I apologize for overstepping. Now, why don't you come up to the kitchens and eat something and not talk about this mercenary over tea?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to turn her down and send her on her way, but food and drink did sound like a good idea, so he nodded. “Very well, but I’m having ale.”

“Suit yourself.”

****

Icy rain soaked into Nina’s hair, her tunic, and her leggings. Her boots actually squished with each step. Her thigh throbbed, heat wafting from the wound in a way that made her nauseous. Infection. Her worst fear had come true and there was nothing she could do about it.

Dale was quiet due to the weather, the stalls in the town square covered by brightly striped canvas canopies that had been unrolled and tied down to keep the wind and rain from lashing the goods within. Shops were open, as were cafes, but she knew better than to enter any of them, for any shopkeeper would take but a single look at her and send her on her way.

“Nina? Nina Carren?”

The voice was vaguely familiar and as she squinted through the rain, at the young woman hurrying toward her, a relief so powerful it brought tears to her eyes swept through her. “Sigrid?”

Sigrid, daughter of Dale’s current Master, Bard, was a welcome sight. Nina knew her from the times she and Bard would come to their stand in Esgaroth and thought she was a bit younger than Nina, over time they’d become friends.

“Oh, goodness, Nina, what happened to you? Come and let’s get you out of this terrible weather.”

As she spoke, Sigrid looped an arm about Nina’s waist, which made Nina’s eyes tear up and her throat tighten from the power of the relief sweeping through her. She could barely put any weight on her leg, it hurt so much, and the heat radiated through her from the wound. “Thank you,” she managed to whisper.

“What happened? Oh, you know, forget I asked. We can talk about it once we’ve got out of this weather.”

Nina’s stomach lurched with the thought of explaining to Bard why her bedraggled self had latched onto Sigrid. “Where do you call home now?”

“I moved into my own flat a few weeks ago,” Sigrid replied, leading her down a narrow alley toward the northern end of town. “I have a job as well, at a tavern. If you like, I can see about getting you in to speak to Harald. I mean, if you need a job, that is.”

“I will, but first, I think I need a doctor.”

“What happened?”

“I crossed paths with an orc pack. It wasn’t a morgul blade, but still did its damage.”

“Let’s get you inside and I will take a look and then I can send for the doctor if need be.”

Nina nodded and that was the last they spoke until Sigrid unlocked a door at the street-level of a white stone building at the very end of the street, overlooking the lake. Sigrid helped her over the threshold and over to the lone sofa in the room, and Nina was never so thankful for anyone’s kindness as she was for hers.

“You rest,” Sigrid told her, drawing a colorful quilt over her. “I’ll fetch Mr. Mathews. He’ll know what to do.”

“I promise, I won’t move a muscle.”

The last thing she remembered was Sigrid’s gentle smile, then she gave into her exhaustion.

#Richard Armitage #AU #The Hobbit #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield #Is it hot in here?#Hobbit Fic #Romance #Hobbit Fanfic #Thorin x OC #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

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