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pedrito-friskito · 1 year

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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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#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers #joel miller x oc #joel miller x liv stone

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reidscanehand · 1 year

Text

you’re the northern star

Inspired by this song by Dom Fera Pairing: Rockstar!Remus Lupin x fem!Reader (Modern AU) Category: Hurt/Comfort/Fluff TW: implied alcohol/drug use (really just overdoing it on Remus’ part)

Well, this is different, innit? I was rewatching the Taylor Swift Miss Americana documentary and I got an idea about a rockstar not sure of what to do with himself. Also, this is a really fucking stunning song that I’ve loved and wanted to use for a while. The other lyrics Y/N sings are another Dom Fera song called “Midnights in October”.

Three rum and cokes and a couple beers in Some lucky drunk stood up, heavy with where he’d been And he held onto someone, and he sung out compelled “You’re why I was right to trust myself”

~~~

Being a rockstar was everything Remus ever dreamed of. The Marauders had kicked off when the boys had all finished school together. Peter had quickly left before they really took off - unsurprising, really, but no less saddening - quickly replaced, though, by Frank Longbottom, who was, in fact, a better player anyway. With Frank on keyboards, Remus on bass, James on drums, and Sirius on guitar and vocals, the band really began to gel for the first time. Remus and Sirius wrote all the music and lyrics - mostly Remus, really. He could play piano, guitar, and bass, making it easier for him to arrange everything, but Sirius did his fair share. The addition of Frank seemed to symbolize a new beginning for everything, really.

That and James and Lily finally getting together. If James wasn’t so head over heels for the girl, Remus could’ve sworn he’d asked her out just for her connections.

With Lily installed as their manager, The Marauders started to play bigger venues, their songs started getting more streams, and, suddenly, they were releasing EPs, then an album released to stunning reviews and an enthusiastic and ever growing fan base. They were invited on Graham Norton, then played a UK tour, then a US tour, performing on Jimmy Fallon, and Saturday Night Live. Then the Grammys came - Album of the Year, Record of the Year, Best New Artist, and Best Rock Album, all in one fell swoop.

And Remus suddenly realized that that was all he’d ever wanted. All he’d ever wanted...and now that he had it, what was he to do? He didn’t really know. He suddenly felt embarrassed and uncomfortable. He couldn’t write, he couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t do much of anything. He played with the group, but even Sirius got on him for how bummed out he sounded while singing backing vocals. He didn’t feel like he could talk to his bandmates. He started drinking...aggressively, really. When he couldn’t sleep, he would drink to knock himself out, sometimes popping pills to help in the endeavor. Then he’d take pills to wake up, take pills to energize himself to do a show. He knew it was bad, but he felt just numb.

It was an unspoken problem with his bandmates. They knew something was wrong, especially Sirius, who was so furious with him after their last writing session - a session to which Remus arrived late and hungover - that he didn’t speak to him for almost a week unless he absolutely had to. This last leg of the US tour couldn’t be over quick enough in Remus’ opinion. Tensions were high and maybe...maybe he just needed a break? He wasn’t sure. Their Reno, Nevada shows had been sold out and with the weekend over, they’d leave the next morning for Los Angeles. Dropping his stuff at the bus and then going to his hotel room to pick up his wallet, he left the hotel without telling anyone, doubting they’d miss him. James and Lily were...canoodling in their room, Frank was facetiming back home with his girlfriend, Alice, and Sirius was seducing whatever groupie he’d brought back that evening. Remus had tried the groupie route, hoping that feeling something would bring him back to earth, but it just made him feel even more numb, really.

So, he took off. Their hotel was near enough to a bar that he walked over pretty quickly. It was some local place, he didn’t pay the name too much mind, settling at the bar and hoping no one recognized him. It was pretty dark, anyway. There was a little group playing popular music covers on a small stage in one corner, but it wasn’t too busy. Remus asked for a rum and coke, heavy on the rum. The bartender seemed to get the message and Remus quickly chugged back a couple of drinks, asking for a third when the band caught his attention.

“This is a less popular song,” a young woman says while pulling a stool up to the mic, “but it’s one of my favorites. I hope you like it.” The opening chords of the song caught his attention. He watched, transfixed, as the young woman began to sing.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh. There’s a story I tell, really just to myself. Like a prayer I sing to empty shores, so how’s it sound just like yours? How’s it sound just like yours?” she sang wistfully, her pretty voice lilting around the lyrics.

Remus hoped he wasn’t drunkenly imagining things...because he’d written this song. It was one of the first songs released by The Marauders back before...before anything, really. Before they’d turned to rock, even. It was one of the songs he’d recorded with Sirius when it was just the two of them. He’d recorded all the parts in his closet at university, sitting cross-legged on the floor to fit in there with his various instruments, and mixing the parts on his computer instead of writing a paper for his intro to philosophy course.

“There’s a spirit over midnights in October and it sings to you and only you. So, how did I hear it too? How did I hear it too?” She continues to play on ukelele as the rest of the band comes in on piano, bass, and drum, but Remus remains focused on the young woman. Her eyes are closed, but she’s smiling to herself as she sings. She looks so...peaceful. He can’t believe it’s his song that’s made her so...so happy, so wistful. The fans loved the music, sure, but Remus hadn’t seen someone love someting he’d created like this before. He sips his drink slowly, methodically. He doesn’t want to get drunk for the first time in ages. He wants to speak to this beautiful girl. He wants to tell her...he doesn’t know, but he needs to be more put together to talk to her.

“And if we try to say what we need we could be okay. We clearly believe in believing, baby, we’ll try slow, we’ll try slow. There’s a spirit over midnights in October and it sings to you, only you and now I’m singing too. And now I’m singing too. And now I’m singing too.” She finishes the song and there’s a small round of applause, led mostly by Remus. The guitarist steps up to the mic and thanks everyone, announcing the end of the set for the band. The group gets offstage and Remus tries not to seem creepy as the young woman crosses to bar, leaning over it and ordering a Jameson on the rocks.

“I’ll get it,” he hears himself say. She turns to see him and her eyes widen.

“Oh my God, you’re...you’re Remus Lupin,” she almost whispers.

“Yeah,” he shrugs unsure of what to say. He’s still not used to the fans. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem the type to freak out. In fact she looks almost embarrassed.

“I promise I had no idea you were here,” she says quietly, “I would never have played that if I’d known-”

“I loved it,” he cuts her off. “You have a beautiful voice.”

“Um,” she looks surprised, “thank you. I really...um, I’m not really a singer or-”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he teases. The bartender hands her her drinks and she seems to remember where they are.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Y/N,” she answers shyly. She looks down at her drink and opens her mouth, quickly closing it again, unsure of what to say. Remus feels the most sober he’s felt in ages. There’s something about this girl that’s warming him. He can feel his heart beating and it’s the most he’s felt in ages.

“Well, Y/N,” he smiles, scooting over and sitting next to her. “Tell me more about yourself.”

“I...what?” Y/N looks at him quizzically. “Don’t you have a show or...groupies to...or something?”

“I don’t have anything to do,” he teases, “except talk to the pretty lady that sang one of my oldest and most favorite songs in a random bar in Reno. So how’s about you tell me everything about yourself, hm?”

She looks at him, head tilting slightly, “Can I get you a drink?”

“A water,” he answers quietly. Her eyes glance for the briefest second at the three empty glasses next to him, but she doesn’t ask any questions. She orders him a water and scoots closer.

“So, my name is Y/N Y/L/N.”

~~~

He said Keep me up, keep me out late Keep me close, I need your faith Keep right where you are ‘Cause I followed this far Like I’m sure that you’re the Northern Star I’m sure that you’re the Northern Star

~~~

“I need a ticket for tomorrow’s show, please,” Remus asks suddenly, not quite expecting the silence that follows. He looks up and sees everyone on the bus staring at him. “What?”

“For tomorrow?” Lily questions, clearly trying not to sound surprised.

“Yes, please,” Remus replies.

“Who the hell do you know in LA?” Sirius asks far more aggressively than Lily.

“She’s not from LA,” Remus answers. “But she couldn’t get a ticket to the Reno shows, so I invited her to the LA one.”

“So there’s a she?” James teases, wiggling his eyebrows. Lily elbows him gently and then pulls her iPad over to her from the box it rests in on the bus. She opens it and clicks a few things.

“VIP, I’d imagine?” she asks without looking at him.

“If you can, that’d be cool,” Remus tries to sound nonchalant. Lily nods and continues typing.

“And what’s the name of this she?” Frank heckles, glancing at Sirius and James.

“None of your business,” Remus replies, trying to hide his smile.

“I will actually need her name,” Lily corrects.

“You can’t just put it under my name?” Remus almost whines.

“Not if you want her in the VIP area,” Lily looks at him mock accusingly. “And from the sounds of things, I assume you do.”

“Y/N,” he tells her, sighing exasperatedly. “Y/N Y/L/N.” He looks back down at his notebook, scrawling down a few ideas he’d had in his head since last night. He and Y/N had talked until the bar closed, then sat outside talking about everything and nothing until he’d had to leave for the bus. The couch shifts as Sirius plops down next to him.

“You writing?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Maybe,” Remus shrugs, not looking at him. He can feel Sirius staring at him, but sees him nod out of the corner of his eye.

“You hungover?” Sirius asks quietly.

“No,” Remus clears his throat, finally looking up at his friend. “I’m, um...thinking of taking a break from drinking for a bit, actually.”

“Cool,” Sirius nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “Pills, too?” Remus nods and Sirius practically beams, clapping him on the shoulder and nodding. He stands, heading back to his bunk before turning around, now facing everyone, a shit-eating grin on his face, “So, will you be dedicating every song to Y/N, or...”

Remus throws a pillow at him and pretends to be annoyed, but can’t ignore the genuine joy edging its way back into his numbed heart.

~~~

Three hours in to a three minute call Some gambler wondered if she’d just won it all And she laughed when he asked if his head seemed alright Singing, “I’ve seen the bright side my whole lovely life”

~~~

“How’s the writing going?” she asks, taking a sip of water from her Stanley cup that’s just off camera. Remus leans back against his headboard and groans in response. He’s thrilled when she giggles and he looks back at the screen to catch her smile.

“It can’t be that bad,” Y/N teases.

“It’s not, actually,” Remus replies. “Album’s due to the label in about two months and we’ve finalized all but two songs in terms of lyrics. So that’s two left to record? Not too shabby since it took us so long to write the damn thing.”

“That’s amazing. More songs about...oh, what’s that new one I loved? Um...the one about Aperol?”

“’Spritz’ was more Sirius’ baby than mine, I’ll have you know,” Remus explains, “but I’ll tell him you like it, he’ll rub that in my face for ages.”

“Maybe he’ll hate me less for distracting his bassist,” she quips.

“No one hates you, darling,” Remus assures her. “If anything they’re just happy I’m smiling again.” It’s getting dark outside his window and he leans over to turn his lamp on.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N says suddenly. “I shouldn’t be keeping you up. I know the time difference is-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he cuts her off, sitting up straighter, “I wouldn’t answer if I didn’t want to talk, love.”

“I know, but we were just going to say goodnight and then-”

“We both know,” he tilts his head teasingly, staring at her through the webcam, “that we weren’t going to just say goodnight.”

Y/N rolls her eyes but smiles, “There are better ways of telling me I talk too much.”

“I’d love it if you could talk to me all day long,” Remus assures her. “And you know that.”

“I’d like that, too,” Y/N whispers, smiling gently at him through the webcam.

“Really?” Remus asks, sitting up slightly.

“Yeah, there’s all this stuff that I want to tell you throughout the day...and I’d text you, but then I feel dumb for texting you-”

“You can text me whenever, you know that,” he reminds her. She giggles and his heart soars.

“I’ll keep that in mind when you finally get annoyed of me sending you pictures of my morning smoothies,” she teases.

“Smoothie time? Babe, I’d be heartbroken if I missed it!” She laughs and he uses the warm feeling in his chest to talk about what he’s wanted to for a few weeks now. “But...but what if...what if you were able to talk to me all day?”

She freezes, eyes growing wide, “What do you mean?”

“I know that we...I know we haven’t been together all that long,” he begins. “But, I would...I’d really like it if you’d be my girlfriend. And I’d...I’d love it if you’d come here and just be with me. You can still pursue your music here...I know that you’re...”

“I’d do it,” Y/N replies quietly.

Remus’ heart does that thing that it’s done since the moment he saw her. It feels like it’s expanding in his chest.

“Really?”

“How soon do you want me there, lover boy?”

~~~

Three weeks away from a year since the score And the reckless thieves reckoned they could get even more They ain’t casing out weddings, nah those are too big a sight They’re just looking at dresses and rings that she likes

~~~

It’s warm in the Ed Sullivan Theatre, but Stephen Colbert is easily the nicest host Remus has ever had the pleasure to meet. Despite the fact that he agreed to letting them present the new song instead of playing the lead single, Remus is still nervous.

“Three more weeks, dude,” Sirius whispers to him.

“Yeah, I know. How’s James holding up? Ready to get married?” Remus jokes, leaning back so James can hear him, whispering even though they’re on a commercial break.

James isn’t annoyed, though, he grins hugely, “Never been more ready, boys.”

“No, not that, I mean, yeah, but, you and your girl,” Sirius corrects. “One year, right?”

Remus beams himself, “Yeah, just about three weeks. Our anniversary’s, like, two days after the wedding.”

“You, um...you thinking about it?” Sirius hedges, passing side glances with Frank and James.

“About what?” Remus asks with faux innocence.

“Come off it,” Frank groans, rolling his eyes. He and Alice got married during their last break, just before the release of this new album, timing it perfectly before the madness kicked back up again.

“You guys gonna be copying everything from me and Lily’s wedding?” James teases. The boys laugh, but Remus just smiles. He glances around and spots you talking to Lily, probably going over your set list. You’ll be opening for The Marauders in most cities during this next tour. You’re a bit more indie pop than The Marauders, but the boys genuinely wouldn’t have it any other way. And the fans will likely love how you close with one of Sirius’ and Remus’ oldest songs, bringing the boys onstage with a tune of their own.

Seeing that you’re distracted, he turns back to his band, his oldest friends and whispers conspiratorially, “No...no, but, um...I mean, I’ve had the ring for about six months now.”

All three men turn and face him, eyes widening, jaws dropping.

“Dude-”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”

“Six months?!?!?”

“Chill,” Remus whisper yells. “I’m gonna ask when we go to Paris after the tour’s over.”

“That’s so romantic!” Frank whispers, turning away as a cameraman signals for them. James smiles and sends him a thumbs up.

Sirius stares at him for a moment longer and smiles. He mouthes, “Happy for you, dude” as Colbert introduces them.

“Back stateside for their new tour, the British rock band The Marauders is with us tonight. Originally they were going to perform the newest lead single from their new album, which Rolling Stone has called, ‘a near perfect sophomore album’, but their bassist, Mr. Remus Lupin, emailed about a week ago and asked if he could perform a bonus track. This is a bit different, isn’t it, Remus?”

Mr. Colbert looks to the band and a camera zeroes in on Remus, a kind PA holding a mic up to him.

“Yeah, it’s not...not really a rock song, I guess,” he grins as the audience titters.

“It’s called ‘Northern Star’,” Colbert says, smiling widely at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Remus nods.

“When we started writing, Sirius and I, we had a lot of songs that sounded like this. And it took someone very special,” Remus finds Y/N’s eyes and his smile deepens, “to remind me how wonderful it felt to write like this again.”

“Well, please take it away,” Colbert finishes.

Remus nods and looks down at the piano, pulling the attached mic closer to his face as silence falls over the audience. He can feel Y/N staring at him, not expecting this at all.

“Three rum and cokes and a couple beers in Some lucky drunk stood up, heavy with where he'd been And he held onto someone, and he sung out, compelled ‘You're why I was right to trust myself’

He said Keep me up, keep me out late Keep me close, I need your faith Keep right where you are Cause I followed this far Like I'm sure that you're the Northern Star I’m sure that you’re the Northern Star

Three hours into a three-minute call Some gambler wondered if she'd just won it all And she laughed when he asked if his head seemed alright Singing, "I've seen the bright sides my whole lovely life"

She said Talk me up and talk me down Talk too long, I'll stick around Talk me into following you somewhere far Like I'm sure you're the Northern Star I'm sure you're the Northern Star

La la la

Three weeks away from a year since the score And the reckless thieves reckoned they could get even more They ain't casing out weddings, nah those are too big a sight They're just looking at dresses and rings that she likes

They said Keep me up, keep me out late Keep me close, I need your faith Keep right where you are Cause I followed this far Like I'm sure that you're the Northern Star Oh, I'm sure you're the Northern Star I'm sure And I'm sure that you're the Northern Star.”

Remus hits the last chords staring at Y/N, hearing his friends playing his beautiful song all around him, and knowing that he’s happier than he ever thought he could be. Rockstar be damned, this is what he’d always wanted.

~~~

A/N: This is different, but I hope you liked it!

Didn’t include my taglist because it’s been so long, plus this is a different fandom! Love you all xx

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sarah-yyy · 1 year

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drive-by rec post for warm on a cold night which just finished airing last night!!

super quick “no time to listen to sarah yell over cdramas now” overview and links first before we get into it as usual:

what: period cdrama // 36 eps, roughly 45 mins each where: iqiyi // viki (usual disclaimer that i do not use eng subs so i don’t speak to the quality of subs) why: fun period cdrama werewolf romance with a sprinkle of crime-solving and uh hand-holding for Plot Reasons

my sweet girl su jiu’er of the qian kingdom! she is the only female constable in the city, but mostly does chores that none of the constables do because she’s had this condition since she was young where her body temperature drops rapidly out of nowhere and she faints randomly so no-one really lets her out to investigate cases even though she’s got the brains for it :(

this loser (affectionate) is han zheng, prince of the qi kingdom - the people of qi are all shapeshifters (think werewolves, though the actual shifting is never really explored too much so idk if they all shift into wolves or if this is specific to han zheng and his branch) who have superior physical abilities. han zheng starts out aloof, arrogant, and low-key anti-qian, but goes through a whole series of character growth because of jiu’er.

these two meet when han zheng sneaks into the qian kingdom to investigate the disappearance of his old friend (who has been branded a traitor of the qi kingdom; hz does not believe this).

jiu’er finds out that touching han zheng alleviates her condition, like he literally warms her up whenever she touches him, so she keeps trying to do that (sometimes with adorable please save me i’m dying begging, sometimes with buddy you are literally an illegal immigrant here i call the shots blackmail, my girl has range) to han zheng’s initial distaste :))) the two of them team up to first solve recent mysteries in the city targeting the qi people, and then later investigate han zheng’s bff’s disappearance and jiu’er father’s death.

this show is so funny!! jiu’er persistently tries to get han zheng to try new things and make friends (even with his love rival!!!!!), and the banter between them at the start is so funny! their rivals to friends to lovers transition is also so smooth, and there is A LOT of gratuitous hand-holding scenes thank you scriptwriter for feeding me so well

ANYWAY the setting is fun, the cases move really quickly and most of them are quite interesting. i think it’s meant to be more a romcom than it is a crime-solving drama, so i went in with lower expectations re: the cases etc which helped! most of them are not that complicated, but still fun to watch unfold! the fight scenes are done really well

the side characters are also a+++

sleepy boy in the middle is wen jun (prince of the qian kingdom), who has had a crush on jiu’er since they were little and she took care of him when he was banished to this temple with his sickly mother by the emperor. they lost contact with each other when he was taken back to the palace after his mother passed. he is THE SWEETEST BOY!!! he doesn’t really have a mind for politics (that’s all left to his elder brother), so his fam just lets him enjoy life writing plays and spending money. he helps out with their investigation and follows han zheng and jiu’er around like a puppy :’) major ot3 vibes but ALAS

HELLO DA-DIANXIA MY LOVE :’) i am a sucker for a smart, well put together man, so can y’all really blame me for imprinting upon wen ying like this??? he is SUSPICIOUS af from the get-go, but also he’s so good and so kind to wen jun that i keep thinking the show is just trying to bait me into thinking he’s the bad guy :( ANYWAY in the later eps, he’s got this Thing going on with chi lan (badass general of the yi kingdom who is also han zheng’s other bff) that just makes me go !!! because of the potential

moustache man is jiu’er’s godfather! also one of my favourite characters with a+++ comedic timing tbh!!! can’t say more about him because spoilers but I LOVE HIM OKAY

if y’all are looking for a nice, low-stakes watch, this is probably the show for you! it’s mostly light-hearted, nothing too complex that requires full attention, and really easy to binge - i probably could’ve done this whole show in one weekend if i weren’t also battling jetlag :D

#tv rec #warm on a cold night #cdrama #ngl i started this because elle messaged me WEREWOLF BI WENJUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#the ending could be better?? it was a bit rushed but i actually really liked that final twist sdfkldsfklhdsdjskf #i was expecting something..............different #also my WEN YING/CHI LAN ship T.T

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thefringespod · 3 months

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Hello dear wanderers! Its time again for another #AudioDramaSunday! We're going to start with my relisten of The Grotto because I love emotional pain. Yes I knew what was going to happen, yes I still cried a bunch. The first 4 eps of The Grotto are out now and they're amazing

The mini episode of @tellnotalespod from this week made my heart hurt 😭 I'm so happy to hear from Julia and Riley but also im back to needing to shake Leo for what they've done

@camlannpod released their first episode this week and my gods yall its already so so beautiful. Between the voice acting and the music and the writing I could scream about it forever its just. Absolutely gorgeous. I can't wait to see what else happens in this show!!

New @somewhereohio fucked me up (affectionate) Green and Sterling just. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. And then the end of the episode???? Rat Grimes is written a masterful show and it makes me so worried every week I love it so so much

I finished season 1 of The Storage Papers this week and wow. Just wow. I love an anthology with an overarching plot and I love a podcast that is its own fictional podcast and the Storage Papers checks both of those podcasts. Also Jeremy Enfinger is a stellar VA!

Here on the Fringes we've released the first bit of our midseason break content: a feed drop of @souloperatorpod episode 1! You already know im biased (and right) about everything Tot does but it's truly an amazing episode

Also theres only 3 more episode to write for the Fringes!

And over on @forgedbondspod I've finished up episode 19! Only 5 more episodes to write before stuff starts going out to our incredible cast and im so excited to start getting to hear these lovely lovely folks voice my silly little characters

That's all for this week! Starting s2 of The Storage Papers this week and likely doing an Ethics Town relisten because I finally got Tay to start Ethics Town and it makes me want to listen again

#audiodrama sunday #audio drama sunday #pines notes #recommendation post

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extraordinarilyextreme · 4 months

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queer rep in 《鸣龙少年》 The Hope (2023)

i just finished bingeing all 30 episodes last night and i thought i was over this, but i'm really not.

Yu Yang (禹洋) is a shy senior in Class 11 with a stammer. in ep. 5, we learn that due to health issues, he took an extended leave from school and thus had to repeat his second year, so he's a year older than his peers. his mother is well-meaning but overbearing, and he was made the target of quite egregious bullying before he joined Lei Ming's (雷鸣) class. throughout the show, we see him become more and more willing to voice his own opinions and set boundaries, esp. with his mother.

(a side point, but i absolutely adore how the show did not pathologize his stammer as a bad thing he had to be "cured" of; it's through unconditional acceptance and encouragement from the adults in his life and his friends that we see him naturally come out of his shell.)

unlike his four friends in Class 11, he doesn't seem to be embroiled in any of their tangled 感情线 / "love" lines, nor does he seem to have one at all—until ep. 21.

on new year's day, the Class 11 CPs are a mess. Jiang Qinglang (江晴朗) confesses to Cheng Yushan (程雨杉), leaving poor Bian Xiaoxiao (边晓晓) who likes JQL and Li Ran (李燃) who likes CYS behind.

so when the fireworks go off, JQL and CYS are togther, whereas BXX and LR are together—contrary to how the show has been pairing them thus far.

then we cut to YY, who is watching the fireworks alone, but about to text someone.

that's a name we haven't seen before! Wu Fan (吴凡), i wonder who that is?

importantly, we see him delete the "I" and instead wish this person "happy new year."

the entirety of ep. 21 was about confessions, crushes, dating/breaking up/moving on, and the innocent and pure feelings we experience in our 青春 / youth.

so it's truly not that big of a stretch for me to think that what YY may originally have been intending to write was “我喜欢你” / "I like you."

then, in ep. 24, Lei Ming takes his class on a trip to Qingbei University in Beijing. and it's there we finally learn who the mysterious WF is.

four years ago in 2015, an older student once stood up for the bullied YY and ended up with quite a nasty beating.

as YY quietly cleans his savior's injuries, they have a brief exchange:

Yu Yang: I'm sorry. Wu Fan: You haven't done anything wrong. What are you apologizing for? In the future, raise your voice when you speak and build up your muscles; I guarantee no one will dare to mistreat you. If that really doesn't work, let's enroll in the same university later on. In the future, I'll continue to protect you.

in the present (2019), YY is waiting outside WF's university. originally overjoyed to see WF, YY's expression drops when he sees his xuezhang with a girlfriend. nevertheless, this might be one of the only times in this entire show we see YY don such a sweet open-mouthed smile.

they grab milk tea together and catch up, reminiscing about their earlier years. unfortunately, whereas YY has never forgotten their first meeting, WF remarks that he would've forgotten about it entirely if not for YY mentioning it now.

then YY asks what will happen after WF graduates.

the camera cuts to a shot of the milk tea brand: 心意 / the intentions of my heart.

this milk tea shop is a recurring setting throughout this drama. it's where one of the main CPs (Li Ran & Yu Chengshan) had one of their earliest interactions in ep. 3, and it has consistently been romantically coded (e.g., a boy treating his crush to a cup of milk tea).

so, effectively, as WF tosses away his empty cup, that is also signaling the short lifespan of his current relationship.

finally, WF encourages YY. only...

Wu Fan: I promised my mom I'll return home to take the civil service exam. After I graduate next year, I'll immediately go back to Xingzhou.

and then, once again, as YY sadly watches WF walk away, the camera cuts to the milk tea cup in his own hands.

in the end, Yu Yang never got to express his 心意 for his xuezhang, and he can only keep it to himself.

but as their Chinese teacher Tan Xiaozhou (谭小舟) remarked earlier in ep. 21 during their class on love poems:

Love is not only in the present tense or future tense, but also in the past tense. Having loved before doesn't mean that the current love isn't real. Loving now doesn't mean you won't love again in the future. If you didn't obtain it, or you broke up—without longing, without resentment—silently remembering the beautiful parts—bidding "Take care" in a cool demeanor: this, also, is love. [...] To me, the most important thing about love is that I can respect your independent nature, protect your lonely soul, and defend your right not to love me.

and so concludes our Class 11 xuezhang's 感情线. for a gaokao-prep cdrama that aired on CCTV8, i honestly cannot believe we got any of this.

here are two more small instances of queer acknowledgment:

in ep. 13, school psychologist Sang Xia (桑夏) leads a lecture on sexual harassment: what it looks like, how to prevent it, how to keep yourself safe. right from the start, she emphasizes that boys can be victims as well—and also that harassment can occur between same-sex individuals.

in ep. 21, when the school runs amok with dating rumors among the teachers, Sang Xia questions why everyone defaults to thinking that it must be a male teacher confessing to a female teacher.

overall, i seriously cannot recommend this show enough. it tackles so many themes (e.g., the premature grief of losing a loved one to Alzheimer's; the importance of destigmatizing depression and mental health overall; the hugely significant role that family/home life has on students' ability to perform well in school; that parents are not infallible and can be controlling/manipulative/abusive, even if unintentionally; that SES so greatly impacts the trajectory of a student's life; how damaging bullying/cyberbullying can be; and that though society is rife with inequity and injustice, it is the responsibility of adults—as best as they can—to create a more just and safer world for all children), and in both a realistic and gently heartwarming way.

#the hope #鸣龙少年 #cdrama ramblings #the episodes on depression also hit especially hard for me #esp as someone who is training to be a psychologist #rly like how Sang Xia put it: psychologists are both teachers and doctors #this show really humanized these students and god i wish such compassion and empathy could always be extended to people with depression

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backtothestart02 · 18 days

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FANFIC TAGGING GAME

I got (honorable) tagged by the wonderful @theartofdreaming1- thanks!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? - 321

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,322,068 words (at the moment)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Still writing for The Flash, but every once in a while a new show/movie grabs my fancy and I write a few fics for that.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

An unimpressive bunch but here goes: Muse (456), Replacement Scrunchie (393), Fallen Star (357), Inconvenient Inspiration (343), and Drabbles (277). Muse is a handful of one-shots based solely off spoilers before I saw the eps they were for. Replacement Scrunchie is my sole fic for the TATBILB fandom about Peter & LJ's first date (which was way less impressive than what the sequel movie gave us, WOW). Fallen Star is my most popular westallen fic to date, so that one's actually not too surprising. But both Inconvenient Inspiration and Drabbles are requested (the latter) and spontaneous (the former) brainstorming ficlets and snippets for The Flash/WA. Bo-ring.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Eventually.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh, gosh, I have so many unfinished fics that it's hard to remember the complete ones that I finished that didn't end so happy, of which there aren't many. Maybe...Breaking Point though.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All the others have happy endings. Go read them. Lol.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

When I wrote for another fandom I did, but not really in The Flash fandom, which is nice.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yep. And uh...descriptive, I guess? I'm def not the best out there, but I do my best and for the most part smut-lovers seem to enjoy.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I've attempted a couple crossovers, but I haven't completed any or gotten far with them, usually because there wasn't an audience for it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yeah, I discovered a whole bunch on another website years ago.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

In the process of it!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Stuck on Westallen atm, but I used to write Chair, and I was highly obsessed with them as well.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh god, I have SO MANY WIPs. One that I really want to finish but fear I won't though has got to be He's MY Barry Allen. I'm just stuck on what the next chapter will look like, and as of yet no one has come forward with a solution. Lol. The Problem is Tony Woodward is another one like that.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'd like to think I can hook people into my fics fairly well and drop enough cliffies to keep them coming back for more. But ofc the smut helps too. Most of my fics include at least some smut, even a single scene.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Sometimes I have trouble making a chapter (or a scene for that matter) all that long. I've seen people write like 10k+ for a chap, and unless I'm crazy inspired, roughly 1-3k is what you're getting.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I actually dabbled in this a little bit for a westallen fic where Iris was learning Italian, I think? I did some research and managed to sift in enough for that one-shot, but I can't imagine I'd do it repeatedly or for a multi-chap.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I believe it was the STAR WARS prequels, but it might've been The Day After Tomorrow.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

It's unfinished, but there's so much untapped potential in my Flashpoint fic. Lots of world-building that's present as it rides the line between canon divergent and AU. Hopefully one day I'll get back to it.

...

As much as I'd love to tag a bunch of people, I can't recall anyone who still writes fic that I follow on here, so I'll just shout out my bestie @simplylove101 who is prob done with writing but may want to answer these questions either way!

#fanfiction #questions #fic game #fic tagging game #this was fun!

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mysticalsoot · 1 year

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this is reality

sort of sbi au and autistic!wilbur centric fic

A/N; this took me like four days and it was simply bc I wanted to write autistic will stimming. like the whole concept was the last scene, I just got carried away with james and wilbur bestie moments

Summary; Wilbur Soot also known as Wil Gold is the lead of an up-and-coming indie rock band named Lovejoy. They've only released two EPs in 2021 and are preparing to release their next single Call Me What You Like, but Wilbur is concerned his contribution to the song is what will be their downfall.

OR; Wilbur is autistic, insecure, and anxious so he's surprised when the UK charts are released that maybe he makes good art that people love

TW; anxiety, panic, swearing and I think that's it

Characters; Wilbur, James, Ash, Tommy

Words; 5.4k

dedicated to; @loverboy-soot bc i sent him sneak peeks constantly and I have been meaning to finish and post this every day I've written on it

masterlist

my ao3

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Wilbur had always dreamed of having his own band, people who loved music just as he did and put as much passion and care into the music they made.

He had that now. Joe, Mark, and Ash were the best friends and bandmates he could ask for. They were passionate and creative—they put their all into their art and their dedication was beginning to pay off. There was a manageable amount of non Dream SMP or MCYT Lovenjoyers, but they were getting recognized in mainstream media more often. They’d been on the radio a few times, and they’ve trended on youtube before and they appeared on at least two Spotify-curated playlists. They weren’t big but they were becoming less and less of a silly little indie band by the day.

And Wilbur knew their next single was their big break. It would jumpstart their career further into the industry, he just knew it. Or, well, he hoped it would. There was a gnawing at his brain and his heart that their new song wasn’t all that, that he was fooling himself by believing it was their best yet. The man couldn't get his hopes up, but he also couldn't really help himself in doing so. He loved it so much, he had poured his heart into the lyrics for years, the instrumentals and melodies for the past year—it was his baby. And Call Me What You Like was the song to make or break Lovejoy’s future.

It was a few days to premiering. Wilbur stood in his bedroom pacing back and forth, gnawing at the skin around his nails which nearly drew blood. He pulled his hands away when he began tasting copper.

He tried rocking back and forth on his feet, standing on his toes, lifting himself up and then dropping to stand on his heels. Back and forth, back and forth. Over and over.

That didn't help either.

He tried flapping his hands and pacing. Squeezing his eyes open and closed.

He did everything he could to ease the anxiety that ate him from the inside out.

He rubbed his eyes with the corner of his palms until stars shown in the black of his eyes and a stinging pain appeared with it.

He groans as he kicks the corner of his bed, hissing and reaching down to grab his foot when the pain shoots up from his stubbed toes to his brain where he registers the sensation.

A silent fuck is muttered under his breath.

"Jesus, fuck!" He yells into the void of his room and throws himself down into his desk chair. He quickly clicks on the discord icon. The usual starting pop-up appears and the wumpus logo spins on the window as it loads the program.

He selects the last dm he's opened and goes to type a message; to James.

WilburSoot 7:35 PM, Today

wanna come over?

The question was simple and open-ended and it didn't require an explanation from Wilbur as the reason was probably clear. But not entirely.

James started typing moments later, he wasn't even online when Wilbur initially messaged him, but the moment the message went through, James' name shown as online. He began typing shortly after.

James 7:37, Today

yea sure. you ok tho?

Wilbur hesitated over the keyboard, chewing at the inside of his cheek as he contemplated an answer.

WilburSoot 7:38, Today

oh yeah, I'm fine man. just missed ya.

He hoped he could easily pass James' bullshit detectors, at least until he saw him face to face. It was easier to fib through a screen rather than in person. He didn't have great control over his facial expressions, he was terrible at hiding anything he felt and sometimes he wasn't even sure what he felt so expressing that was difficult. It's easier to lie anyways.

Wilbur sat in silence, opting to chew on his cuticles again as he patiently waited for a response. James began typing just before stopping again, he'd start and then stop over and over. This went on for quite a few moments and Wilbur grew more and more anxious. He wasn't sure why—James had already given his answer but watching as those three dots appeared and disappeared became just one more creature that ate at the flesh inside him.

James 7:40, Today

alright, I'll be over in 10

Wilbur sighed in relief, his hands dropping to his lap and his head hitting the back of his chair as he leans on it. He runs his hands down his face and he lets out a sound close to a laugh but it's more like a strained huff of air.

He uses his hands to push on his desk, his chair rolling backward and he stands up in a rush, hissing at the creaking sound the chair makes as it spins behind him.

I need to fix that, he notes, before hastily grabbing his phone off his bed and shuffling out of his bedroom. His overhead light was already turned off due to the horrendous sound it made. It was like a static clicking, unlike most lights and it was beyond painful. Part of him was quite thankful it was his apartment. That way he could have whatever lights he wanted off, off, and whichever ones he wanted on, on. It was a wonderful thing.

He found himself walking over to his sofa and carefully sitting on the far left side, pulling his legs to rest underneath him. He quickly unlocked his phone and began scrolling tiktok as he awaited James’ arrival.

It was what felt like much less than ten minutes later when there came a knock on wilbur’s flat door and he hopped up. Wilbur shuffled over to the door, quietly but quickly turning the door knob before opening the door to let James in.

“How are you, Wil?” The question catches Wilbur off guard and James stands in front of Wilbur, hands in his jeans pockets and eyes trained up on Wilbur.

The man shrugs, walking away from his friend but gesturing for the other man to join him on the sofa. He finds his previous spot, legs still tucked under himself. James joins him on the other side, shuffling his shoes off his feet before bringing his own legs to rest under him.

“Okay, Wilbur. Why did you ask me over?” James crosses his arms, a stern glare trained on Wilbur and he tries to meet his friend's eyes but panics and diverts his gaze on the wall behind him.

“As I said, I missed you.” He speaks plainly, doing his best to give a soft smile but seemingly failing given the breathy chuckle James gives in response.

“Hmm, like I believe that. I’m not gonna push but I know something more is going on.” James is flat with his delivery, but sincere nonetheless. Wilbur is, surprisingly, able to read the concern stitched into the expression James wears, his eyes soft as he gazes at his friend.

A comfortable silence falls upon the two and Wilbur leans his head against the back of the sofa, his own arms crossing over his chest.

“Mario Kart?” Wilbur’s question breaks the silence and James scoots off his spot on the sofa and hurries over to the tv stand, turning on Wilbur’s old Wii console and slipping in the old Mario Kart cd.

After the TV boots up, James walks back over to sit next to Wil, throwing him a Wii remote steering wheel. “I’m going to beat your ass, William.” The use of Wilbur's legal name earns a laugh from the anxious man and his friend huffs.

“I’d like to see you try.” He smiles, what he thinks is a genuine smile and he clicks through the various introduction screens. He lets James choose his character first—Wario, as always—before he chooses his own, which is always Mario. He likes it simple and predictable, Mario is just that.

The two play a game on the coconut mall map, Wilbur ahead of James—but not for long before his friend catches up to him, knocking him off course and taking his spot in first.

Wilbur grunts at his friend, using various power up's to gather momentum in order to steal his spot back. His attempts return to fruition and he yells in triumph when he passes the finish line, coming in first.

"Fucking told you!" Wilbur laughs in giddy, shaking his hands in pure joy, his eyes closed tightly and a smile wide as can be—one he knows is genuine.

"Jeez man, why are you so good at this game?" James puts his controller on the coffee table, pulling his legs up onto the sofa and resting them in front of him.

"I'm just that good." Wilbur's snarky remark earns a scoff from his friend and he rests his hands behind his head in triumph.

"You need to work on that ego of yours."

"I do *not* have an ego!" Wilbur counters, dropping his arms to cross against his chest and he exaggeratingly huffs.

"Oh like anyone would believe that!" James laughs, a soft, considerate laugh despite the joke thrown at his friend.

"Wow, such little faith." Wilbur smiles and lets a silence fall on the two, the only sound heard is James readjusting his spot on the couch, and a few sighs let out occasionally before going to scroll Twitter on his phone.

Wilbur fiddles with his hands, looking over at James before going to stand and pace again, he tries to be subtle about it, avoiding the attention of his friend. He tries all of his common coping stims, handshakes, bouncing on his feet, rolling on his feet, tapping his fingers, etc. Doing anything he can to cope with the anxiety that was deciding to reappear again. He keeps his eyes on the carpet below him, spinning on his heels to walk the other way when he gets too close to the wall.

James watches Wilbur, eyeing him and his pacing. Wilbur doesnt notice the eyes on him, and James is thankful for that as he sifts his mind for any reason for Wilbur’s current panicked state. He knows something is up and wrong but he’s sure he won’t get an answer out of the man no matter how hard he tries. He would love to be able to guess Wilbur’s reasoning for his panic, but he isn’t telepathic and he can barely understand his own reasoning, let alone another person’s reasoning. James hesitates, he opens his mouth to speak but shuts it closed a moment later. He averts his gaze back down to the phone in hand, mindlessly going through whatever fiery chaos that was his timeline.

He tries his best to keep his gaze off Wilbur, and it worked for the most part but it eventually got to the point his worry outweighed his desire to stay unnoticed. James watched as his friend continued pacing, tapping his fingers or shaking his hands. Wilbur was nervous but James couldn't pinpoint why.

He makes an attempt, "Wil, are you alright?"

Wilbur's head shoots up and his eyes dart to James focused on his forehead but giving the impression he's making eye contact. He's not.

Wilbur hesitates, going to say something when the words lodge themselves in his throat. He nods.

James goes to stand, walking to where Wilbur is frozen in place. He rests his hands on his friend's shoulders. "You can tell me, I know you're not."

"I'm- I'm fine." Wilbur manages to stutter out, wiggling his fingers in another attempt at calming himself. It doesn't work either.

James looks at him with a stern glare, not one of any malice but one of intense care for the other.

"Wilbur." He warns, unwavering in his attempts at calming the other.

Wilbur shakes his head, eyes focused on the fibers of his carpet, and he's glad it's soft.

"I said I'm fine, James. Okay?" His tone is sharp, and he knows how mean it sounds but he doesn't mean it that way and James knows that.

James keeps his gaze on his friend, squeezing his shoulders in reassurance and Wilbur attempts to meet his gaze.

It's a few moments before Wilbur cracks, the realization that James isn't letting this go—that James cares—seeps into his mind and he lets down his wall.

"I'm anxious, very anxious. Scared even, I think." Wilbur's voice is small, and it's shaky. "I'm scared that the song isn't as good as we think, that it'll ruin our careers or that it just won't land right, and that all our hard work will be for nothing because I ruined it all."

"Woah, woah, woah. Where is all this coming from? You have the fanbase you do, because you're talented, because Lovejoy is talented. The song is amazing, you've heard it from everyone and their mothers and you wouldn't if it wasn't true." James pauses, taking a moment to think of what he should say next, his hands still resting on Wilbur's shoulders to keep his friend's attention. "It is going to put Lovejoy on the map. I know it."

Wilbur shakes his head, eyes focused downwards. "But it could be what lights us in flames too."

James laughs, a lighthearted and bright laugh, "You really think that?" Wilbur nods. "Man, you are so wrong."

Wilbur looks up, head tilted and eyebrows knitted in confusion. Big brown eyes wide with fear.

"You're seriously the most talented person out there, anything you make either on your own or with people will be and is amazing. Don't undersell yourself, Wil." James lets his hands fall from his friend's shoulders and he holds his arms open, inviting Wilbur for a hug. "Hug?"

Wilbur nods and takes up his offer, wrapping his arms around the slightly shorter man and resting his forehead on his shoulder. "Thank you," Wilbur mutters, the fabric of James' jacket muffling the sound.

"It's what friends are for." James pulls away and so does Wilbur. "Wanna watch a movie to get your mind off of it?"

Wilbur smiles softly, nodding, "That sounds great. Popcorn?" James nods and Wilbur swiftly leaves the sitting room to head into the kitchen moments later.

"What d'ya want to watch?" James calls from the TV, voice echoing through the walls.

"Anything but Marvel."

"Aw man, I was gonna put on the new ant man movie!" James laughs, and Wilbur does too, readjusting his attention to the popcorn he threw in the microwave.

"Very funny, James!" Wilbur calls back, chuckling to himself as the microwave beeps. He takes the package of popped popcorn and hisses when he burns his fingers, shaking them in the air and blowing on them as if it would help the pain. He rushes to pull open the paper bag when doing so he pours out the contents into a turquoise bowl, his favorite but James doesn't need to know that.

He takes the bowl into the living room after discarding the popcorn bag into the trash. He holds up the bowl, greeting James.

"I grabbed your weighted blanket, by the way, hope that's okay." James gives a soft but nervous smile to Wilbur and he smiles wide in return, nodding enthusiastically.

"Thank you," He mumbles in response, his smile warm and thankful.

James widens his own smile in return, "I was afraid it wouldn't be, it's over on your spot." He points over to the far left side of the sofa—it may be Wilbur's sofa but he has a tendency to lean more towards sitting on the far left side. It's just a habit, and he's grown to dislike breaking it.

He walks over to his spot, sitting down just as he did before with his legs tucked under him. He still holds the popcorn bowl and he hands it over to James when said friend finds his spot next to him.

"We could watch Hamilton," Wilbur suggests, head turning to look towards James. He makes eye contact briefly but feels that same uncomfortable panic and averts his gaze again.

"Really, Wilbur?" James' tone is playful, and you can see through his eyes that he's seriously considering it, and the pout Wilbur puts on only makes his case clearer. "Okay, Hamilton it is." James then throws the remote to Wilbur and he catches it immediately. There's a soft, warm smile graced upon James' lips and he crosses his arms over his chest in contentment.

It's a few moments before Wilbur finds Hamilton on Disney+ and selects play, but the moment it begins, his eyes are glued to the screen. He barely touches the popcorn he made as he feels the anxiety drain from him and his body finally feels relaxed. Maybe it's his weighted blanket or his comfort media that helped, but he considers it and believes that maybe it was James. His words and his presence helped calm Wilbur.

It's silent between the two for the next three hours, Wilbur's attention barely staying from the musical playing before him. James notices the silent happy stims Wilbur begins to do, small, soft handshakes or rocking side to side. His smile is wide and James is happy, he's happy he was the one to help and he is beyond glad he was the one Wilbur reached out to.

He knows why Wilbur was upset, why he was anxious and pacing his flat. The anxious thoughts got to his friend, dug into him deep, and began tearing him apart one by one. Something about Wilbur thinking of going to James first for something so stressful and serious—even if he avoided speaking about it at first—was reassuring, or calming to know. He's important to Wilbur just as much as Wilbur is to James.

Everyone deserves a James, and everyone deserves a Wilbur.

Someone who knows you'll be there for them, someone who will find what would make you most comfortable and help you, who will sit with you in silence and simply be in your presence and enjoy it.

This was nice, this was good. And James was happy.

There was a moment of contemplation after the musical had ended on whether James should leave or not. Part of him wanted to stay so he could be sure Wilbur's anxiety wouldn't kick back up and eat him alive, but the other part of him knew he had to get back to Aria and Otto. He loved Wilbur, he was his best friend, but he also knew Wilbur may not handle him staying the night, and he was okay with that.

"I think I'm gonna head home for the night. You'll be okay?" James began to get up off the sofa, throwing on his jacket that he discarded on the chair, his gaze locked on Wilbur. He had his legs pulled up against his chest and his eyes were locked on the floor.

He nods, "Yeah, I'll be fine..You go home." His tone was flat, and it made James unsure in his decision. He bit the inside of his cheek as he paused, standing frozen as he gazes down at his friend who seemed to fall back into the pit of panic.

"Are you sure?" James is keen on being fully sure it's okay to leave Wilbur alone.

Wilbur looks up and gives a soft—masked—smile, "Yeah, of course...Go home to your family."

James rolls his eyes and laughs, "Otto is a cat."

"He's still family, isn't he?" Wilbur inquires, his tone light and playful now.

James groans and smiles, and then turns to leave for the door. "I'm a text or call away, remember that." And then he heads out the door, softly closing it behind him and then he's out of Wilbur's sight and earshot.

Wilbur shakes his head and rests his head against his knees, doing his best to calm his breathing. He decides to put Hamilton back on, maybe it'll help again.

And so he spends the rest of the night like this, head rested on his knees, arms wrapped around his legs, and the comfort of Hamilton playing in the background. Eventually, he sleeps.

—★—

It's days later and mere hours to the release of Call Me What You Like. He's sniffly and truly feels like shit with his head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton and his body being dredged in slime.

It's a horrible gross feeling and he really wishes he didn't go talk to fans after their gig this past Saturday. It's by no means their fault, he just has the worst and weakest immune system known to man—and he knows it.

He was pacing again, the skin around his nails raw and bleeding. He didn't have enough self-restraint so his coping mechanisms today were more self-destructive than usual or than they should be.

The rest of the band had been talking in the group chat all day and he had ignored every message, their positive outlook only made things worse. It really should be what makes it better but their hope for everything to go well and their seeming knowledge of it doing so, dragged him down and only fed the negative thoughts.

It would only crash and burn because of him, not because of the others, so it made since they had a positive outlook. If it burned it wouldn't be their fault by any means.

His pacing only got worse, and he started to pull at his hair. It was an hour to midnight, hes been avoiding Twitter or any other social platform that would tell him what people thought all day. The Australian fans had already listened to it since it's realized at midnight on your local time—but he was too scared to see what they had to say. So he had all of his devices turned off or facing down.

He didn't want to know, he was too scared to know.

He eventually tired himself out and ended up laying on the floor, blood still flowing with panic. His phone went off at exactly midnight and he waited a few minutes before opening his phone, only to be flooded with oceans of messages from his friends and fans. His friends asked if he was okay, and they seemed worried and concerned—they already heard the song so they didn't have much to congratulate him on. The messages, indirects, and mentions online from his fans were all messages of care and congratulations. Expressing their love for the new song and the new sound—they seemed to believe it was a masterpiece. Some people even used that word.

The flow of words upon his screen took him aback. He wasn't sure how to process all of the positive messages, and he was sure this was a dream. I mean, it had to be. How could so many people love the song so much, so soon?

Maybe it was because the words he was seeing were from his already existing fanbase—the people who are devoted to Lovejoy and wouldn't switch their opinion over one song. It wasn't a sound comparison is what his brain told him. So surely, in the next few days, it'll crash and burn.

He didn't have much longer to sink into his anxious thoughts, as Ash was quick to call him. Wilbur hesitated before picking up and bringing the phone to his ear.

"Hey," His voice cracked from the lack of use and he dug his hand into the carpet, grabbing at the fibers.

"Well, hello, Wilbur." Ash's voice was joyful, and bright, a very large contrast to how Wilbur felt or sounded. "Have you seen what people are saying? They love it!!" He's so quick to enthusiasm, his voice pitching up towards the end and he lets out a joyful laugh.

Wilbur smiles softly at his friend's reaction, but is still hesitant to believe it to be the truth, "Yeah, yeah I saw some of that." He pauses, breath catching in his throat as he mulls over his next action. "Are they lying, though? I mean they're the ones that have been here ages—they could actually hate it and just say they like it." Wilbur's voice is low and quiet, only audible to the man on the other end of the line.

Ash sighs and lets out a breathy chuckle, "It's the internet, Wil. They'd be brutally honest if it was bad."

Wilbur shakes his head, "But they're our fans, they could lie to save our feelings."

"Dude, you're one of my closest friends and I would hate to hurt your feelings—but you sound like an idiot right now." Wilbur can hear Ash's smile through his words, it's playful in the way he says it.

"I'm sure I do—" He cuts himself off, running his free hand through his hair in a stressed motion. He's at a loss for words, he doesn't know what to say anymore, so he just falls from where he stands, sitting with his legs forward on the floor.

"They love it, Wilbur. And you're part of the reason why." Ash is genuine in the way he reassures Wilbur, he means it just as much as he believes it himself.

Wilbur shrugs, and he feels the anxiety gnawing at his insides again. "You think so?"

"I know so."

"I'm sorry."

"What the hell are you apologizing for?" Ash sounds almost offended at Wilbur's words like he just insulted Ash's firstborn child.

"For being a bother? Or for possibly ruining our career." His voice has gone small again, almost mirroring his attempt at curling in on himself, making him seem smaller.

"You're never a bother—and if anything you're the reason we're even here in the first place. Give yourself some more goddamn credit." Ash isn't harsh with his delivery, but stern. And caring—he means well.

"Sorry again," Wilbur replies sheepishly, regretting opening up about his doubts in the first place. He really feels like a burden now, and it's far from Ash's fault.

"Do I need to ban that word?" Ash laughs, and Wilbur can hear the smile through his words and he smiles back.

"No, no, I won't say it anymore. Promise." Wilbur reassures, his smile is unwavering but still small and soft.

"By the way, I was calling to ask if you wanted to come over to mine tomorrow? Joe and Mark are gonna be there too. We're celebrating Call Me What You Like, we tried texting you—" Ash begins but Wilbur is quick to cut him off.

"I'd love to, I'm sorry about ignoring my phone—it was just too hard." Wilbur nervously admits, scratching the back of his neck.

"Yeah, no, I understand. Don't worry, dude. See you at 11?" Wilbur nods and then shortly replies verbally when he realizes Ash can't see him.

The embarrassment bubbles up in his throat but he pushes it down and hurriedly says his goodbyes to Ash. When they've bid their farewells and he's hung up the phone, he heads to his room—deciding sleep is the next thing he should do. He needs much more of it than he's been getting, especially in his ill state. He's not contagious but he notes it as a valid excuse in case he chickens out the next day before he goes over to see his bandmates.

He's more afraid of bringing them down than seeing them. He'd hate to be the reason they feel bad about the song.

—★—

It's been a week since their new single was released, they've been on the radio even more than before, they've announced and sold out an entire tour and the love they've received on it has been absolutely mind-boggling. Wilbur's anxieties over it have practically dissipated entirely, besides the nagging thoughts in the back of his mind about the album—but it's far too early to worry about that. Right now, Wilbur was alone in his flat yet again, patiently waiting for the UK Top 40 charts to release. A few hours prior he posted a video asking everyone to stream CMWYL in hopes they can get a spot on the charts—it'll help get them noticed by important music executives but also reassure him that it's actually good, they wouldn't stream it if it wasn't, right? He didn't mention or consciously realize the second reason, but it was all the same in how prominent of a thought it was.

A few minutes from now and he'll find out statistically how much of a success CMWYL is. Sitting at his desk and refreshing the chart's website is probably not the best option for his anxiety—but he still does it nonetheless. He patiently sits there as he awaits the release of the UK charts. I mean he has nothing better to do at the moment, he's off and he's enjoying his free time just the way he wants.

He's nervously tapping his fingers on his free hand while his knees bounce in the usual gnawing anxiety that he holds. He keeps refreshing the page as he waits for that one moment of truth.

His eyes burn from staring at the screen so long, especially without blinking, and he contemplates taking a break for a moment but then reminds himself why he's doing this in the first place.

After a few more refreshes and the charts are released, he scrolls down the list of songs and artists. He's beginning to get disappointed when he gets into the 20s, but he's soon surprised when he gets to the #32 spot.

Call Me What You Like by Lovejoy is #32 on the UK Charts.

He practically leaps up out of his desk chair when he realizes what he's read. He can't quite tell if the wetness on his cheek is tears of joy or from his eyes watering from yawning and holding his eyes open for hours on end. But he doesn't care, his silly little band has made it. Or, well, it's starting to make it. It's just the first step to becoming known and loved, they can finally get their art out into mainstream media, with new people. They can share their passion with more people.

He's ecstatic, flapping his hands and bouncing around his bedroom floor. It's finally happened. Lovejoy is going to be the indie rock band. And he helped.

Oh my god, he helped!

He goes to rock on his feet as he thinks about what he should do next—obviously, he needs to tweet to thank everyone—should he call his brother? Or maybe his dad, or mum even. He isn't sure where to start first but he seems to go into autopilot as he makes the tweet, taking a photo of him pointing at the computer screen and then another of him flipping out, a blurred and chaotic photo if we're entirely honest. He then texts the LVJY text chat, telling them and showing them photos of it and sending links with it as proof.

And then he calls Tommy, the call is immediately picked up on the other end, a gruff and very Tommy-like hello being muttered on the other end.

"Toms! We're #32 on the charts!" Wilbur exclaims all in one breath, smiling so wide his face hurts and he's giggling from joy. He still bounces on his feet but his hand flapping has died down a little. He spins and jumps around and hopes to God his downstairs neighbors aren't home to be upset at him.

"Really?? Dude, I'm so proud of you!" Tommy replies, and Wilbur is taken aback by how out of character that is—but he takes it, he takes it and he runs with it. His little brother is proud of him.

"Yeah! Yeah! We're finally on the charts man!" His voice is so bright and excited and Tommy laughs at the excitement his big brother exudes.

“You wanna go out and celebrate tomorrow?” Tommy poses the suggestion, voice poking up at the end.

Wilbur quickly nods, “Yeah, of course! Sorry for calling so late by the way--I had to tell someone.” He lets out a small laugh at his own words.

“Glad it was me, big bro.” Tommy’s response and nickname for Wilbur aren't unusual but he can't help from wanting to pick on the younger boy but decides against it.

“Thank you, Toms. I’m gonna head to bed, see you tomorrow?” Wilbur shuffles over to sit on the edge of his bed.

“Yeah, I’ll text you the plans! Sleep well, bitch.” Tommy lets out an airy laugh and Wilbur mirrors it in response to Tommy being so Tommy.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Love you.”

They bid their final farewells and Wilbur gets up and puts his phone on charge, and then slips into bed.

They’ve finally made it, and it was because of him and his talent. Turns out that anxious thoughts aren't that reliable.

#wilbur soot #wilbur #wil gold #wilbur gold #wilbur centric fic #non reader fic #autistic wilbur #cc!wilbur #sort of sbi #tommy is in it #james and wilbur #but platonic

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