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idiopath-fic-smile · 11 months

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this one goes out to all my Singin' in the Rain ot3 truthers—

Cosmo Brown had always known it would end like this.

Cosmo was a lot of things—in fact, you could argue he was too many—but he wasn’t dumb.

From the early years, when Cosmo and Don were just kids playing for pennies in pool halls, to their stint dodging rotten vegetables on Vaudeville stages across the very backwaters of America’s backwaters, to their first real breath of success in Hollywood (and then the second and the third and the fourth), Cosmo would catch a glimpse of his handsome, charismatic friend from the corner of his eye—a flash of dark hair, that perfect tooth powder ad smile—and know that for all Don’s protestations, someday the guy was gonna meet a wonderful girl and get married, settle down, and very gently slip off to the far edge of Cosmo’s life.

So yes, Cosmo had seen Kathy Selden coming. Not the details, not her sense of humor or her musical little laugh or the madcap way she really threw herself into dancing with them around Don’s place at 1:30 in the morning—and okay, certainly not the part at the beginning where she had jumped out of a cake at a party, but he thought a fella could be excused for not correctly divining that.

The general outline of the thing, though, how Don’s eyes followed her around a room...he had been preparing for Don to propose to Kathy ever since she’d tried to throw a pie at Don’s face. And when the happy day came, Cosmo had been ready with his best man suit, his best man speech, a slightly updated version of “Here Comes the Bride” that’d had Don and Kathy laughing all the way down the aisle.

Don and Kathy would buy a house together. They would have a swimming pool and a dog and then inevitably, a small parade of adorable little snot-nosed kids who would call him Uncle Cosmo, and they would spend less and less time with him, not on purpose but busy with the rest of their lives, and ultimately Cosmo would learn to make his peace with it because he’d have no other choice and he would have to try to move on and not live too much in his memories. He could picture it so clearly, he figured if the songwriting gig with Monumental didn’t pan out, he could always return to the backwater circuit with a new act: The Amazing Cosmo of the Cosmos—ladies and gentlemen, he sees the future, he reads the stars, he silently pines for his best married pal and all the while tap dancing!

Don and Kathy inviting him along on their honeymoon, though—that part was a surprise.

“What?” said Cosmo, hands frozen over the piano keys. He’d been busy with a brand-new assignment; on the heels of The Dancing Cavalier, offers were pouring in and he’d taken the first one scoring a movie that didn’t star anyone he was secretly in love with.

Don had looked a little wounded when Cosmo broke the news last week, but a guy had to start making his own way in the world. Besides, orchestrating layers of strings to swell as the camera zoomed in on Don and Kathy blissfully locking lips in radiant monochrome, oblivious to the rest of the world—well, Cosmo knew that dance, he had mastered the footwork, and he didn’t especially feel like a reprise.

It wasn’t lost on him that Kathy had dropped by his rehearsal space alone today. Of course, he had no idea what this meant—he didn’t think it was about the new job; Don didn’t tend to stay sore at him for that long—but Kathy was acting perfectly natural, and so probably the smart thing was to follow her lead.

“It’s a two-week transatlantic cruise,” she said now, gracefully dropping beside him on the piano bench. “We thought it would be nice to see Europe, take in the sights, get away from all the cameras.”

“Ah yes, such a wallflower, our dear Don,” said Cosmo solemnly. “Besieged on all sides by the love of his public, a tragedy of our times, up there with Lear! Hamlet! Caesar! The one with all the Greeks and the giant wooden horse, nay, nay, neigh.” He played a tragic little trill, for effect. Kathy huffed a laugh and smacked his arm.

“You know that’s not it,” she said. “Being watched all the time—we can’t always do what we want. It’s rotten.”

Tell me about it, thought Cosmo.

He was sort of seeing a fight choreographer named Archibald, who came from old money and was a “the third” or a “the fifth” but nice enough Cosmo might even forgive him for that. Archibald was trim and athletic, with dark brown hair that was just starting to go gray at the temples and enough discretion that Cosmo didn’t think they’d get caught. The only problem was that he didn’t laugh at Cosmo’s jokes, seemed to just tolerate them.

“What do you two even talk about, then?” Don had asked, when Cosmo had let this slip over drinks the same night he’d explained about the new movie project. (Cosmo had been trying to spend less time with Don and Kathy since the wedding but Don had said, “C’mon, pal, we miss you” and Kathy had laid one hand on his arm and peered up at him with her big green eyes and Cosmo was only one man.)

Cosmo had frowned, because Don hated Archibald, for reasons that were frankly mysterious. Then he’d looked up and grinned a grin he didn’t exactly feel and said,

“Tell you when you’re older,” and then Don had choked on his dry Martini even though Cosmo knew Don knew about Cosmo’s tendencies. It wasn’t something they discussed, and Cosmo had never properly gone with a guy before, but whenever a big-shot producer started complaining about all the degenerate queers in showbiz, Don always sharply steered the conversation someplace else. It was all very gallant and noble and knightly, and someday Don would play King Arthur and Kathy his lady Guinevere—

“Honestly, sometimes it feels as if we’re living in a fishbowl,” said Kathy now, in the present.

“And so your solution is to relocate,” said Cosmo, “to the biggest fishbowl on this here magnificent earth. The mighty ocean!” He struck up a sea shanty. “Oh blow the man down, blow the man down / way ay, blow the man down…”

Not everyone appreciated his musical flights of fancy, but when Cosmo turned, she was leaning with her elbow on the side arm of the piano, watching him with her chin on her hand and laughing.

“Just for two weeks,” she said. “So, are you coming?”

“With you two,” said Cosmo, just so there could be no misunderstandings. “On your one and only honeymoon.”

“Yes,” said Kathy.

“As what, your first mate?”

“Sure.” She grinned and threw him a quick salute. Cosmo was almost never attracted to women but in this case, he understood the appeal.

He swallowed. “You are aware of that ancient saying, ‘Two’s company and three’s a fast track to divorce court’?”

“You’re hardly a threat to our marriage, Cosmo,” she said, and he agreed, of course, in both directions, even, but it still stung to hear her say it out loud. For want of anything better to do, he gasped, clutched a hand to his chest and reeled backwards so hard, he threw himself off the piano bench, landing in a somersault on the floor.

Kathy spun around fluidly on the bench to face him, pleated skirt whirling a little, heels of her shoes clicking together.

“Oh, I said that badly,” she said. “I only mean that it’s more fun when you’re around. We have a better time, Don and me both. Remember the night we decided to make Dueling Cavalier a musical?”

“Do I remember the best night of my life?” Cosmo peered up at her from the hardwood. “Why yes, madam, now that you mention it, I believe it might ring a bell or two.”

“The best—” She frowned for a moment, and he remembered then that as a newly married woman, a newly married woman to Don Lockwood, no less, she’d no doubt experienced any number of evenings that blew that one out of the water.

Even besides that, it felt awfully revealing all of a sudden. Cosmo threw an arm over his eyes. He felt naked. He wished he was naked, because that might at least distract from whatever his face was doing.

“So it beats your time with Archibald, then?” said Kathy shrewdly.

Cosmo uncovered his eyes. He forgot, sometimes, that new as Kathy was to the moving pictures business, she was still a city girl, with a city girl’s worldliness. Also, Don had probably told her; that seemed like the kind of second-hand secrets married people shared with each other. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Hardly a topic for mixed company,” he said.

There was a pause.

“So yes,” she said and smiled with a smugness that would’ve been unbecoming were she not as cute as a button.

“What do you and Don have against the poor man anyway?” he groused. “He’s never done so much as sneezed in your direction, and if he did, I’m sure he’d use a handkerchief.”

“For one thing, we know you could do better,” said Kathy, folding her arms.

Cosmo elbowed his way back to sitting, brushing himself off with dignity. “Well, better’s not exactly knocking on my door right now.”

“This town doesn’t have an ounce of sense.” She reached down to offer him a hand up, pulling Cosmo to his feet; she was stronger than she looked. “Listen, two weeks away, it’ll be good for you.”

“What about you two?” Cosmo protested as he reclaimed his spot on the bench, Kathy sliding to make room.

“What about us?” said Kathy with wide eyes.

“Two newlyweds might want some alone time?” he offered weakly.

Kathy shrugged. “I told you, there won’t be reporters or cameras. It’ll be plenty private.”

“What about your matrimonial needs?”

“Which needs?”

His eyes narrowed; she was a terrific actress but suddenly he wasn’t sure he was buying it. Kathy wasn’t dumb either.

“You have to know what I mean. Don’t make me play Cole Porter at you,” said Cosmo. She hesitated, and Cosmo began to pluck out a melody: “Birds do it, bees do it / even educated fleas do it…” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Let’s do it,” sang Kathy, finishing the stanza in her lovely alto, “let’s fall in love.”

Cosmo stopped playing.

“I do know,” she said simply, “of course I do, and we’re not worried about it, alright? Listen, do you want to go?”

Cosmo, who had been carefully not asking himself that question, stared down at the piano keys. Did he want to go? He thought back to that night at Don’s, the three of them giddy with excitement and inspiration and sleep deprivation, running through the house, clowning around and dancing with no audience except each other—he hadn’t felt like a hanger-on then, like a third wheel or an extra limb or a chaperone. He’d felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, one note of a perfect chord.

Still.

“I can’t swim,” he said.

“They’ll have lifejackets,” said Kathy.

“I’ll have to work.”

“We’ll bring a piano.”

“All my houseplants will die,” said Cosmo.

“All your houseplants are fake,” she said. This was true, although he wasn’t sure how she knew since she’d never been to his house. She sighed. “Remember the night of that first screening, when you were about to expose Lina and instead of explaining what was happening, Don told me I had to sing, that I didn’t have a choice?”

He winced, thinking of Kathy’s heartbroken, tear-stained face before they’d pulled up the curtain and revealed who was really singing when Lina moved her lips.

“Yes, and I feel just awful about it.”

“Well, Don doesn’t,” said Kathy. “Because he knew it would take too long to convince me to do something that mean to her.”

“Mean?” Cosmo echoed. “She tried to trap you in a lifelong contract and steal your voice. A common sea witch wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“But there wasn’t time,” she pressed. “And anyway, he knew how it would end.”

“What’s your point?”

“We already bought your tickets,” said Kathy.

Cosmo gaped at her.

“We’ve cleared the trip with everyone at Monumental and anyway, like I said, we’ll have a piano on the boat.”

Distantly, he was aware his mouth was still hanging open. Kathy reached over with one light finger under his chin and gently closed it.

“That’s better,” she said, folding her hands daintily in her lap. It was around this time she seemed to realize it wasn’t some routine, that Cosmo really was well and truly stunned. “Of course, nobody is going to force you to go with us if you truly don’t want to,” she said into the silence.

“These tickets,” he said at last, “are they refundable?”

“Gosh,” said Kathy easily, “I can’t imagine they are, no.”

The thing was, none of them were hurting for money or work anymore, so the fact that Don and Kathy might be out even a few hundred dollars didn’t catch at him the way it might’ve some years earlier. No, the thought that really seized his imagination was the mental image of Don and Kathy planning this together, Don and Kathy discussing the matter with each other, maybe over breakfast—toast and coffee in their dressing gowns, so sure it was the right thing to do that they’d decided to just go ahead and make preparations: oh and a ticket for Cosmo, of course.

He could do it, he realized. He could go. He wanted to go. It was foolish, but Cosmo was an entertainer; he’d been doing foolish things in front of a roomful of witnesses since he was in shortpants.

“I’ll pack tonight,” he said.

“Perfect!” Kathy hopped off the bench and straightened out her dress. “And bring something nice to wear at dinner for a night or two; it doesn’t need to be black-tie formal, a good suit will do.”

He nodded. “I shall leave the top hat and monocle at home. Two weeks, you say?”

“Yes, and another half-day on either side flying to the harbor and back.” She reached into her coat pocket, and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “The itinerary,” she said. “Don and I are so glad you’ll be coming.”

“Uh-huh,” said Cosmo. “Say, where is that fella, anyway? What’s the big idea, can’t even stick around to ask his best pal to his own honeymoon?”

“He’s planning the trip,” said Kathy brightly. “Last-minute details. Anyway, he thought you and I should have a chat, one on one. He thought it might help.”

He blinked. “Help what?”

“Help us,” she said.

It was all starting to feel like a farce, like one of those old Vaudeville acts with a lot of fast talking.

“Did it?” he asked.

“I think so,” said Kathy warmly. She turned and began to walk towards the door. “See you at the airport tomorrow. Six AM sharp.”

“Six AM,” he said, and then, foolishly, “You know, I can see why he likes you.”

Kathy dimpled. “Oh, likewise!” She tossed him another smile and then she was heading out of sight down the hallway, shoes clacking rhythmically on the tile.

“Well,” said Cosmo to no one. He felt pole-axed, he decided. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt pole-axed in his life before, but there was no other word for it.

He played a chord, then another chord, then a few more.

“Pole-axed,” he sang, “out of whack, when you are near there’s only one drawback: I can’t be clever, no I lack the knack, Darling, I’m pole-axed, out of whack around you!”

It wasn’t exactly Cole Porter, but he’d take it, he thought, reaching for his pen. There was still an hour or two left before he’d need to race traffic home and dig out his suitcase. Apparently, he had early morning plans.

(ETA: if you didn't see, there is now a second part here!)

(ETA THE SECOND: the whole finished thing is now here!

#singin in the rain ot3 #i might write more idk but listen like you can probably imagine the rest of it #old-timey polyamorous shenanigans on a boat #pretty straightforward stuff #there's singing there's dancing and somehow don managed to 'accidentally' book cosmo in an adjoining bedroom etc etc

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brynn-lear · 2 months

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When Cuckoos Throw Ores [Yandere!Jing Yuan x Reader]

Questionable Overview: After transmigrating to Teyvat, you and Jing Yuan had lived like family on your shared apartment as getting-by descenders. But, you made an error too grave. You hid the anonymous love letters you received from the person you should’ve trusted the most— and now you’ve got yourself a broken mind. [Fic written for May June]

CWs/tags: yandere themes, isekai, moments where you wish Jing Yuan just committed murder instead so it would hurt less, mentions of failed childbirth, nadia & vlad are adorable, implied hysteria, cute n' wholesome beginning w/ found family to "man... man.", gaslighting gatekeep is JY's passion.

"I'm an adult, Jing Yuan! I think I have the right to leave as I please."

Have you ever been so incredibly fascinated by such a mundane object that all worldly noise drowns?

"The right to trample on my heart? To leave me to drown in my despair while you obsess over a single ore without a single thought for me? I must say, it doesn’t seem very sound. Stay put while I call for Doctor Baizhu."

Have you ever had your hand reach out ever so slightly without you realizing such? For your fingers to curl— for you to seize a trinket as though you were compelled by an existence— an idea higher than any mortal comprehension? As though it was fate? As though it was a fruit you weren't meant to take a bite off?

But the most mundane of all…

"There’s no need! Because great General and Emanator of the Hunt Jing Yuan—"

Have you ever lamented a life that "never" happened?

"— I have the right to mourn the happy ending you took from me!"

Though those uninitiated will rehash the root of events in your arrival to the chasm, the most knowledgeable would start the accounts from your arrival to Teyvat.

You did not step foot alone.

When your worldline was destroyed, so, too, was Jing Yuan's.

Lady Ningguang greeted you both with a good measure of skepticism. You were both "descenders.", though it was soon made evident that your origins are different. He was from "Xianzhou Loufu," and you were from "Earth." Course, despite your shared tragic circumstances, not everything shall be handed on a silver platter for unfortunate souls. Ningguang was kind enough to provide you both with a shared apartment complex near the fishing port and since then, you and Jing Yuan had a bond not so dissimilar from siblings. He got a job as a general, and your current position is a little more flexible than your previous one.

Whatever principles and studies were available in the previous realms you lived in, they were carried over in Teyvat. Each word circulating about Jing Yuan’s undefeated sword and lance techniques makes you smile; he, in turn, would enthusiastically applaud your sold artworks and STEM innovations. It makes you wholly embarrassed every time he makes what is supposed to be a celebration of his mission’s success into a congratulatory speech for what you’ve done in the same timeframe. Didn’t matter how minute it was. His comrades had already considered the long-standing tradition as a not-so-private joke.

His lack of personal praise worries you sometimes…

There’s a stark difference in your approach to this new life. You mourned for yours being gone; while he doesn’t speak much about his.

“No rush,” he'd say. “All truths shall reveal itself in due time.”

You know about his world, though vaguely. He has a striking resemblance to the character from Honkai: Star Rail. Course, that implies he had gone through similar ordeals as the character.

“I am an old man, there is nothing for me to grieve.” He told you once. “I have… already witnessed comrades pass, and then some. Have you encountered the phrase: there are fates worse than death?”

Jing Yuan closed his eyes.

“I… find it easier to assume that it might be the only way to put old conflicts to rest.” He shook his head and downed his final shot of baijiu. Yuan sighed, tasting the aftermath in his breath.

“It’s better to put a permanence in death than another forced rebirth.”

He poured you a shot.

"Some memories are better left forgotten. And that applies to you, too."

Whatever he said felt untranslatable to you, hence, you gave up on making more inquiries. If the day comes and he wishes to open up, you'll be there for him anyway.

Or so you thought.

“Heard you’re planning to add another medal to your jacket.”

Jing Yuan nearly halted from tying his long hair up. You watched his shoulders tremble, likely from trying to compose himself.

“Ha! You've heard a half-truth, I wasn't scheming on anything, it was merely handed to me.” His tone was calm, but you heard the well-hidden smugness.

You shrugged and sipped your coffee nonchalantly.

… You seriously wish his uniform didn't hug his form that good. Just staring at him makes the room feel degrees hotter.

You cleared your throat.

“I didn't say anything about schemes, Jing Yuan. Suspicious.”

“Oh?” He hummed, almost sultry for your ears.

…Curse him and his damn beatific smiles.

This playful banter is as natural as the dawn of day. Rather than spending the early morning getting ready for the day, you've both grown accustomed to teasing the other person. He, in his finely ironed uniform, and you, in your comfy pajamas.

“Since when have I besmirched my name by squandering time? Rude of you to imply that slothfulness rules over my life.” Jing Yuan joked before he moved another piece. “You wound me, dear (Y/n).”

Due to the nature of the conversation, you hadn't thought of your next move much as you continued to probe him. “And what exactly are you doing right now instead of reporting to the Qixing, General?”

He smirked. “I am on-duty, am I not?”

“By talking to me?”

“I have been bound by mundane duties in both my past and current lives, and I must say, engaging with a Person of Interest such as yourself has not only been productive but also mentally stimulating.”

You paused.

Person of Interest…?

Might as well curse him and his fancy cursive way of implying something too.

Your nose scrunched. “Are you saying I'M on the Qixing’s watchlist?!—”

“Not in a bad light; don’t worry your pretty head over such menial matters,” he ruffled your hair as he craned over, gazing at your disgruntled morning expression with a loving vigor. “They have an eye for your talent. No Ministry would ever obsess over a clean criminal record.”

You grumbled as you attempted to fix your hair, despite lacking any energy. “Thanks, that calms me down. Especially with the talks about criminal activity on the rise and all.”

He laughed at your snarkiness.

“Is this your best attempt at prying information? I must say, your current occupation suits you. I can now place a finger as to why the thought of Lady Ningguang hiring you as a profiler put me in tremendous unease.”

“Oh don’t be a prick, Yuan.” You chuckled heartily as you gave him a playful slap— which he no doubt avoided. “But seriously, can’t you tell me more about what’s happening?”

There were no further words needed. Such rumors had been on the forefront of the people’s minds: a group of rogue “mercenaries” had found new temptations in banditry— and had the nerve to stew misfortunes on the main harbor itself. As a newly enforced general, Jing Yuan had, of course, been subjected to handling this situation under the ever-watchful gaze of the Qixing. A challenge, as he likes to label it. Whatever helps him sleep at night, you’d reply.

Although, it would certainly soothe YOUR insomnia better if he were to divulge even a hair-sliver of detail in regards to how “safe” this mission truly was.

“(Y/n), there is no cause for concern.” He pulled back, placing his hands on your shoulders. “You know my repertoire— else I wouldn’t consider you a close friend.”

Your heart ached for a second.

In small snippets from the multiple conversations you’ve had with him, you knew he kept his list of close friends few. There’s always a hint of guilt in his voice when he talks about those named Baiheng, Jingliu, Yingxing, and Dan Feng in passing.

“And I’m just worrying over you,” you lightheartedly glared and waved your hand dismissively. “You know, like a real close friend.”

You both grinned in unison as if telling each other that neither would back down from this “argument” any time soon. He snorted and messed your hair up more. Over the time you’ve spent in each other’s company, your near-telepathic way of conversing has become quite an eerie issue for other mutual friendships.

Not that either of you minded this. It’s always nice to be understood.

“I know that look in your eye. Don’t add a part two from last night’s horror stories, please.”

“Then, I’ll take my leave,” he buttoned his jacket. “Last reminder before I go: you have arranged a meeting with Nadia this afternoon.”

“Thanks,” you huffed. “But unlike you, I don’t sleep in and forget my schedule.”

You swore that even after the door was closed, you heard him chuckle yet again. After that, he was gone.

Honestly, with someone with a “life-loving” temperament like him, you’re unsure if he’s easy to please— or too damn good at faking it for his good.

You heard soft knocks against your window.

Slowly, a grin forms on your lips.

“Hello, little man…” You cooed as you stood up and opened for not only the fresh Liyue morning breeze to enter…

But for a diligent little cuckoo bird to deliver its very special package as well.

You’ve always had a soft spot for animals…

“Hmm?”

Your eyes softened as it dropped its parcel and leaned its body against you, warming itself by sitting cozily on your window ledge. This little bird is quite the skilled messenger— always dropping by as soon as Jing Yuan takes his leave. As to why it suspiciously arrives as soon as he is gone, you’re unsure. Such a sneaky creature; you can’t help but adore it.

That’s not to say its deliveries are not as equally charming.

You chuckled as you elegantly unwrapped the ribbon. The letter was elegantly written in a scrawl you’ve familiarized even with eyes closed for the past months, yet it still holds an intensity that makes your heart flutter.

There it was. The two words that keep you going better than any coffee brew.

“My dearest, (Y/n),….”

“Another letter from Vlad, I’d hope?” You sneaked from behind.

Nadia yelped, hitting you almost immediately. The delay was surely from being on a lovelorn cloud-nine, but her Fatui training that earned her last name definitely should’ve made you double-think.

You shriveled at the pain and she awkwardly cradled you.

“Oh shucks— I’m so sorry, (Y/n)! I-I didn’t realize it was y-y— Don’t scare me like that!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” You hissed, blaming only yourself for the stinging aftermath. “I-I’ll get over it.”

Nadia guided you to the empty seat beside her. As soon as you were seated, she wasted no time to spill.

“The contents were far too adorable for my heart, oh, dear Tsaritsa, you NEED to read this.”

An eyebrow was raised. Saying you had a suspicion that something like this would happen would be an understatement— when it came to Nadia, it was more like routine. It had been regular for you and her to get together at least once a month to chat over letters that you both received. Nothing about the time you spent with her was dull. She's the reason you adapted to the Liyue way of life so well. As you were both foreign to the culture— you and Jing Yuan are admittedly the extreme cases— you and her were eager to recount experiences in times of distress. And times of pure unbridled lovesick joy, such as this.

“C’mon, pass it.” You tried to say cooly, but the glimmer in your eyes betrayed your high school-like excitement.

“Same time.” Nadia huffed. "Can't have you gatekeeping your own letter!"

You pulled out yours from your purse.

Nadia wasn’t the only one with something to present to the class. This is just like a teacher forcing students to read their discreetly passed notes out loud.

Nadia has her Vlad.

You have your Nay Jung I.

Instantly, you both suppressed a giggle in the abrupt exchange.

Nay Jung I. You know little about him, and that intrigue keeps the fire going. When you see a white cuckoo passing by the window, you immediately know it means well. A sight that makes your heart skip a beat. Instead of pushing eggs, it slips a love letter whenever Jing Yuan isn’t around. All coming from a man you can’t track down.

That’s right.

You have a secret admirer.

As you read through the middle of Vlad’s letter for Nadia, you heard your very-much-an-adult friend bite back a squeal in front of you. Nay Jung I may sound like a feminine name, but he was a man. You could’ve sworn you saw Xiangling laugh from the corner of your eye as Nadia tugged your sleeve around like a fool.

“Oh my God?! He wrote that?!” Her lips were akin to wobbly lines toddlers would draw when mimicking the sun’s rays.

“I find myself constantly catching glimpses of you in my daydreams, my mind flooded with what could be— what should be. Forgive me for my selfishness, but I fear it won’t take long before I can no longer bear the thought of being without you… What?! That’s so SWEET?!” Nadia clutched your love letter tightly, eyes wide as though she was the recipient.

Xiangling, bless her soul, had to peek behind her.

“I wish I could have the courage to reveal myself to you. When I doubt myself, my thoughts turn to you… Aww… I wonder who Mister Nay is and what did you do to get him this in love?” Xiangling playfully pouted, which made Nadia grin wider, almost teasing her. “Geez. When will I get a boy to send me letters?”

“I’m sure you’re going to get one or two someday. A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right?” Nadia shrugged as she folded the paper and hid it. “Plus, I fear you’re too young for this.”

“Careful, Dia, she’s the one preparing our food.” You joked.

Nadia has grown more friendly to locals for the better since you started sharing meals here. Everyone knows the feelings between her and Vlad were mutual— but neither of them was willing to confess. With Nadia hoping he initiates, and him densely hesitant on whether she reciprocates. One of them can end this phase should they abandon pride or cowardice.

But Nay Jung I?

You can’t find his records anywhere… And he had told you that it is a fake name by your fourth letter, much to your chagrin.

So, you’ve settled with this arrangement. For now, you are both friends, despite knowing he has feelings for you from the start.

“Mister Nay definitely has it bad for you, Mx. (Y/n).” She gave you a closed-eyed smile. “You need to write back immediately! The man’s probably starving for it!— Oh, right, the pot!!!”

As the chef rushed back after being distracted, you gave Nadia’s letter back to her.

“Any chance of rain?” You asked.

“Cloudy with negative one percent chance that I’ll run to Northland Bank and confess to Vlad.” Nadia spoke sheepish;y.

“That’s at least five percent higher than yesterday.”

“Well, this last letter was adorable.” She swooned.

“Mx. (Y/n), you seem incredibly free at the moment, care to have a chat?”

You turned to look at the new person who joined in.

Fur coat, a distinct mole placement, a sharp haircut, and eyes self-assured enough to conceal their need for urgent assistance, it has to be none other than—

“Miss Yelan,” you gave her a polite smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Nadia sat up straight, shifting to her work mode. “Is there some business you require from the Northland Bank?”

“I have no quarry with you, Madam Nadia, what I do want—” Yelan tilted her head, her eyes calculating. “Is to speak to (Y/n) in private.”

You paused, recalling the conversation you had this morning.

‘I have been bound by mundane duties in both my past and current lives, and I must say, engaging with a Person of Interest such as yourself has not only been productive but also mentally stimulating.’

Maybe this is what Jing Yuan was warning you about this morning.

“Fine, I concede.” You sighed, swiftly snatching your letter from Nadia’s hands and tucking it inside the pockets of your inner jacket.

“Lead me to where you most need me.”

Over the years you’ve spent on Liyue, you’ve had another habit you’ve been nursing on the sidelines.

Epigraphy.

Better yet, it’s for the sole purpose of decoding ancient artifacts. Before you were transmigrated into Teyvat, you found that inspecting artifact descriptions and reading through lore strewn in notes and dialogues were a great part of what made playing Genshin Impact enjoyable. You devoured theories whether they were from YouTubers like Ashikai or other CCs who were eager to unravel and analyze myths from different civilizations. To be inside THE sandbox was the greatest treat. If your friends were here, you have no doubt you’d have plenty who’d look and try to pick apart Mister Zhongli’s brain.

Unfortunately, you never managed to catch his eye.

And the biggest misfortune of all, you caught Miss Yelan’s instead.

“It’ll take me a few weeks to decipher and solve this puzzle…” You told her hesitantly. “And I can’t guarantee anything either.”

Yelan only tilted her head. Strands of her hair hid her expression, and the only body language to be read was the way she played with the die on her fingers. You wondered if she was deciding your fate by giving it a roll…

You looked at the inscribed walls.

A man with horns… and his partner wearing a long hanfu… His partner… Reminds you of a beautiful cuckoo bird.

You sighed.

When she bargained for a chat in “private”, the Chasm was the last location you had in mind. Even more, it did not occur to you that she aimed to use you as a translator. For a language you only learned a few years ago.

You knew you couldn’t exactly deny a member of the Qixing, especially with how much you carried a moral debt for Lady Ningguang, so you agreed under the condition that Yelan wouldn’t snitch to Jing Yuan.

He might just give you the silent treatment if he found out you were here.

But back on the walls and the puzzle mechanism in the middle of the room…

Both were seated under the shade of a tree…

Each holding a cup of tea…

“Damn it, why me?” You cussed out loud.

You seriously want to tell her that she should’ve chosen Zhongli.

Not that you’d know that Yanfei begged Yelan to hire you for the job.

Yelan made her dice vanish. “If you need further assistance, and by that I meant necessities such as food and water, call for Wenyuan or Shanghua. They’ll materialize right in front of you.”

On the next wall, the horned man tightly held his partner, with tears falling from his eyes… His tail was more apparent in this depiction, but there were crystallized ambers and statues all around…

Like they were running…

Away from him…

You faced Yelan.

“Yelan, can’t you call for someone else—”

You blinked.

She was gone.

You don’t like being here.

You don’t like this cave.

You’re not sure whether you liked the fact Yelan invited you here. On one hand, you were grateful for the opportunity, but at the same time, you thought yourself unqualified for whatever piece of ancient Liyuean history was waiting to bite you in the ass.

It didn’t take a genius to know that whoever the drawn man was, he was a force to be reckoned with. You played enough Genshin to know that yakshas are not to be trifled. If this ended up as an Azhdaha scenario, you wouldn’t want to be the nameless NPC who died along the way.

Should’ve commissioned the traveler.

As you progressed in your decoding, the texts were beginning to gnaw you.

“Have you heard the tale of Lady ███ ███?”

You trembled at the thought.

Curse Jing Yuan and his ghost stories.

The story wasn’t even that frightening.

What got you was how Jing Yuan sold them. He had preached it as though he had been a witness. It’s just a typical unnerving tale to keep children alert, but he had always been far more persuasive than you.

“When she and her husband were out exploring, her husband left her while she sired his heir. He left her there to die.”

Jing Yuan’s eyes narrowed. You quietly applauded his commitment to the bit. Should you not know any better, you would’ve thought he hated that man more than anything.

Like he was seething with jealousy.

“Some claim he hid her there to fight for a war, some say it was out of love… In my eyes, it was an unforgivable neglect.”

Jing Yuan claims sharing ghost stories was a common occurrence from when he used to teach his disciple. But you’re not an idiot. You can sniff out a reason why he loves to bring these stupid tales.

“Days felt like a prison tally. She had forgotten what it felt to live in the sun.”

“She lived only by fulfilling basic needs. No matter how thick the mud was, no matter what was within the soil— all she could do was bitterly swallow what was to come. She bit her tongue on the ever-growing famine— and wished that her child would survive.”

Jing Yuan does not want you anywhere near the chasm.

“So when it was time to give birth, she had no assistance. She pushed her child out as hard as she could, and laid an empty egg.”

Before you could even ask why a human would lay an egg, Jing Yuan continued.

“But they both passed away.”

“Legends say, that’s the reason why the lumenstone ore glows. It contains the watchful gaze of a scorned mother and unborn child…”

“And if you aren’t careful, you too—”

“Could be trapped inside it.”

You scoffed.

Was the tale stupid? Depends on who you ask. Was it sad? Sorta. Was the thought of two ghosts— possibly more— watching you as you were forcibly dispatched to read through The Chasm’s secrets terrifying? Given the dark and brooding atmosphere, it was a quiet yes.

“Hmm? I— I solved it…?”

You blinked.

Maybe you still retained your skills as a Genshin player. Anything for a luxurious chest is what you would’ve said. And yet, it still baffled you that one did appear.

When you unlocked it, you saw no “primogem” like you quietly hoped (it would be funny if you unlocked a wish function, but that’s unlikely…)

Instead, you found a dusty ore.

“Great.” You muttered dryly. “Just what I needed.”

It was amber in color, same as the clothes the man wore in the wall paintings. You’re at a loss on how you should report this to Yelan.

“Better than nothing.” You spoke, laughing slightly. That sounded like something Diluc would say. You should buy a dandelion wine after this hard work.

Quickly, you fished out the gloves in your pockets. It was made of nitrile, which should protect the ore from possible oil and moisture from your hands. Yelan was very insistent you wear it.

But as soon as you touched the ore…

Your consciousness slipped away.

There was a man in front of you.

But you couldn’t see his face.

“Dearest ███ ███…” The horned man smiled delicately as he sipped his tea. “It has been centuries since our first wedding ceremony. Do be honest with me, do you still hold the same passion as before.”

These memories appear to you in a blur.

“No, I do not.” You heard your voice say as the man’s shoulders slowly deflated. His amber eyes looked down, and his smile began to strain.

With two fingers, you lifted his chin.

“If anything, my love for you has grown stronger,” you spoke. “For you and I shall never let our draconic instincts dull, and our union will be the greatest treasure we shall hoard in this never-ending flow of time.”

“…/n…!”

One hand took his scaley hand and the other held his cheek, caressing softly.

“Promise you shall return?” You heard yourself mutter, this time weak and hopeless.

He leaned against your palm, purring as though it might be the last time he’ll savor your warmth.

“You know I do not make promises, ███ ███.” He spoke firmly. “What I keep are contracts. And I have vowed to make you happy, for as long as I live.”

“…(Y… (Y/n…. snap… out…!”

“Contracts normally sound so cold, but your honeyed voice makes it sound so romantic.”

“You know well, my love, in all my years, I’ve witnessed endless contracts and agreements. Whether it was tangible or verbal— each one was a significant chapter to someone’s life.”

The horned man softly detangled your fingers from his long brown hair and kissed your hand.

“But only one brought forth complete change. Our matrimonial agreement. The contract we signed gave me the most happiness. I’ve never signed a happier contract than this one.”

“And I share the same sentiment.” You cooed, almost cheeky. “And I hope our future child shall feel our love as well.”

He rested his head on your shoulder and sighed.

“The day shall come, my love.” He spoke. “Just wait for me, until I fulfilled what the Heavenly Principles desires.”

“Of course,” you hugged him back.

“I shall wait for you, my dearest…

“(Y/N)!!!”

You flinched.

Suddenly, you’re not in the mountains. You’re not hiding under the shade of a tree with warm-hued leaves. You were…

You were sitting on a patch of grass, just outside the chasm.

And Jing Yuan is mad.

He had a cold unmerciful glare. His built frame towered above you, casting a large shadow. It was already nighttime. Normally, only the moonlight and the lamps from afar should be the only source of light here, but his golden eyes seemed to glow. As though it was ready to call forth an entity you were not prepared to face.

You know the depths of his anger. Years of living inseparable from him has made every communication almost telepathic and that hadn’t changed. You can read it in his breaths, in his stiff and tall posture, in his unnerving gaze.

He is threatening you to spill. Saying without words that:

There are fates worse than death.

But your pulse was steady. But your breathing was calm. But your expression was blank.

You weren’t terrified.

And you can read that deep down, that scared the General more.

“Nay Jung I…”

For a moment, Jing Yuan’s eyes widened— as though there was something he was the only one privy to knowing. His face had a mix of surprise and disbelief before he steeled himself.

“Nay Jung I?” He scoffed.

“What of him?” Jing Yuan asked.

“He’s my soulmate.”

As soon as those words left your mouth, brief incoherent syllables sputtered out of his mouth. You evoked more emotions in him this time around. You saw flashes of shock, what seemed to be happiness, hope, and then utter confusion.

“...What?”

“I saw him.” You said, calm. “I saw him as soon as I touched that rock. My soulmate— he had long hair and eyes like a dragon— I think he was a dragon, and so was I. I think my soulmate is in Liyue and he’s hiding behind the name Nay Jung I.”

Jing Yuan opened his mouth, before thinning his lips.

This time, you were certain.

He was not only mad. Jing Yuan was sorely disappointed.

“I understand…”

You know the expression on his face. You read him like a discipline you mastered in epigraphy. He thinks that…

You have gone “cuckoo.”

He turned around, no longer facing you.

“I’m sorry then, (Y/n).”

Jing Yuan does not sound sorry to you.

“What for?”

There was silence for a moment, before he spoke again, voice bitter and vile.

He was not sorry.

He was furious.

He was hurt.

He was jealous.

“Nay Jung I is the leader behind the past terrorist attacks.” He paused. “And I killed him.”

You haven’t recovered ever since.

Every medical “professional” you’ve encountered told you that you were hysterical. That you just hallucinated what you saw. It isn’t possible that the visions you saw were Nay Jung I anyway.

Maybe they were right about the last part, you don’t want to believe it.

It was in your instincts. That man had to be your husband in the past. Who cares if you came from another world? Maybe you were an Expy. You had to be. That person— the one who reminded you of a cuckoo bird in those walls— had to be you in another universe.

It had to be.

Your real soulmate is out there.

And Nay Jung I isn’t dead.

But you’ve never been good at persuading others.

Soyourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveityourefusetobelieveit—

“General Jing Yuan, is (Y/n)…?”

Outside the apartment, Mister Zhongli and Jing Yuan stood by the window, peaking at your form. You were so engrossed by your inner conflicts that you couldn’t hear them.

“They’ll… move on from you, eventually.” Jing Yuan spat back coldly. “I’m not the God of Contracts, but I keep promises that do not fail.”

Zhongli’s face crumpled in anguish.

“May I ask a question? Just to sate a bit of curiosity, of course.”

Jing Yuan’s eyes narrowed. Zhongli took that as a yes.

“Are you Nay Jung I?” He asked. “I did not see his name on the list of the deceased criminals—”

“Yes, he and I are the same,” Jing Yuan silenced him. “Nay Jung I is an anagram of Jing Yuan. You can reorder the letters and confirm it for yourself.”

Originally, Jing Yuan had hoped to woo you with a romantic tale of an anonymous admirer. But, in your delirium, you had mistakenly believed that Nay Jung I was the same man in your visions.

It was repulsive.

Never before had he wished to scream so loudly. He had not felt this much anger when he discovered the crimes his old friends had done. He had not felt as betrayed as when you claimed love for Nay Jung I, but it was not him.

He wanted to summon the Lightning Lord to destroy Liyue right then and there.

It was a frustration he had never felt before. Not when he was training with Jingliu. Not when he was scolding Yanqing. Not ever.

But Jing Yuan was not an impulsive man.

He prides his patience.

He prefers to scheme quietly rather than flashing bold moves.

Jing Yuan sucked in a breath between his teeth.

“I suppose it’s my turn to ask.”

He shut the windows and Zhongli’s heart ached as he could no longer see you.

But then he turned to look at Jing Yuan.

And he knew…

Jing Yuan is much older and wiser than he looks.

“Tell me, Rex Lapis,” he spoke sharply. “Did you wed this world’s version of (Y/n) (L/n) and leave her and her child to die?”

…

That silence was enough.

Jing Yuan’s private investigations behind your back were right.

In the vast “multi-verse”, there is a version of you that married this dragon who descended from his Archon status.

“I... have wrought upon them great suffering. I am unworthy of their affections. Should a day come where (Y/n) enacts the fury of my wife and child on their behalf, it will be justly deserved.”

Zhongli did not further elaborate.

Whatever happened in the past, it still haunted him to this day. Lingering in the back of his mind, dulling his self-confidence and wits. Maybe it’s why Yanfei thought you should investigate the cave. Maybe she wanted the alternate version of ███ ███ to come back.

But she's gone.

Jing Yuan took a step closer.

“Your wife is dead, Rex Lapis. They are my (Y/n), not yours.”

“I-… I know.” Zhongli— no— Morax spoke, voice laced with grief. “I know she and (Y/n) are not the same, however, I…”

Another step.

“If you wish for their happiness, you will continue to not speak to them. You have done enough damage.”

Morax closed his eyes mournfully. “I am well aware of this”

Another step.

“Let me take care of (Y/n). Let me make them happy.”

And another.

Jing Yuan stared deep into Morax’s soul.

In all his years of living, it didn’t occur to Morax that he’d find another familiar cuckoo again.

But it wasn’t his wife.

Jing Yuan took another step.

This man in front of him was pushing and pushing…

“Let this conversation be a verbal contract,” he said. “That I, Jing Yuan, vow to make (Y/n) happy, and that you, Rex Lapis, shall step down as a final way to atone your sins of uxoricide and filicide. Do you accept?”

Like a cuckoo throwing an egg off the nest.

Forgive me, dearest ███ ███.

I am unworthy of you, let alone this alternate incarnation of yourself.

Morax inhaled deeply. He remains in his head, yet he can't escape the present. The more time he spent searching inside himself for solutions over his approximately 6000 years in Teyvat, the more evident it became what the sensible path of action was. With open eyes, Morax welcomed the return of the present. He observed the vivid hues of existence. In the vicinity, he heard Jing Yuan's pet cuckoo bird. But most of all, he felt his age.

Whatever time was appropriate to dream of a family— it had long passed him.

I am but an old man who deserves to fade away quietly.

And he…

Has the same vigor Morax once had.

That obsessed look.

That tight, suffocating hold.

Just like staring at a reflection of himself, centuries passed.

Jing Yuan, too, was a man depraved. Worse, he is a man who lost everything, clinging only to (Y/n) as his only solace in Teyvat.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan took a walk with you, with one arm draping around your shoulder to ward off those he deemed unwanted.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan brags about you with his men in each available opportunity, socially claiming you his.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan glares at someone who got too close when he thought you weren’t looking, pushing suitors away.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan rarely talks about his story and would rather talk about something you had done, making you a large part of himself.

Morax noticed the way Jing Yuan only cares about you, and not even a sliver for himself.

He would rather not see him destroy himself the way he had done long ago.

And just like that, the General got rid of his greatest rival— Liyue’s archon and your husband from another life.

He is out of the nest.

“I accept.”

May June can now message Jing Yuan

428 notes · View notes

not-the-cheese · 1 year

Text

one sentence(ish) summaries of every magnus archive episode PART 2

(eps 61-110) thank u for the funny comments and tags on the last part i love u guys

the rest of these may take a while as i've caught up to where i am currently in the podcast but i will finish them like in a month i promise

----

61. the thrilling sequel to man does not open coffin: man DOES open coffin.

62. surely this doctor can find an easier way to scam people out of money than putting them in a little book.

63. THE DARK ATE MY BROTHER IN LAW.

64. this is possibly the plot of laura croft tomb raider

65. mmm crumchy

66. what's the opposite of an unboxing video

67. as close to a coffeeshop au as you're going to get from this podcast

68. Doctors hate him! Man REFUSES to die from tuberculosis!

69. your college's psych department has the worst idea ever.

70. reverse death note

71. not even death will stop this woman from taking the british subway

72. man doesn't want to be low key racist in his last moments before getting eaten

73. police versus the second coming of dark jesus

74. lady is haunted by an ad for coffee

75. mike crew says "uh fuck it let's just put this guy on a skyscraper forever"

76. ryan from buzzfeed unsolved breaks into a train yard and suffers consequences

77. you're not a enough of a bitch to be my real mom

78. man gets harassed by his cousin and then exorcises him

79. you know that chase scene in scooby doo with the doors

youtube

80. stupid idiot motherfucking jurgen leitner

81. i have been personally victimized by the sequel to the hungry hungry caterpillar

82. pov: elias threatens to cancel you

83. mannequin takes matters into its own hands after people don't like its pitch for a new window display

84. a hoarder put newspaper on my friend's face :(

85. hey there's maybe a little man upon these stairs?

86. man gets got by a squiggly thing in the dark.

87. plumber is so oblivious to spooky happenings around him that it possibly saves his life.

88. guys i think this guy likes to dig

89. lesbian investment banker finds a new, less evil job: arson!

90. guy who turns people's bones starts a gym where he promises not to turn your bones! (he is lying)

91. i was stalked by lightning for 10 years and i all i got were these stupid scars

92. jonah magnus is a bad friend // another day another elias slay

93. ocd is no match for purple fuzz

94. let the bodies drop gently to the floor let the bodies drop gently to the floor

95. im so sorry my brain refuses to remember what the war ones were about but i think one guy got gently kissed on the forehead so that's pretty nice.

96. diversity wins! the not-quite-human delivery men who stole your identity and business are maybe gay?

97. man gets gaslighted by an entire town about a hole

98. 🎶mister sandman bring me a dream, actually don't, please stay far from me 🎶

99. another one bites the dust

100. archival assistants face off against the general public (they lose)

101. jon finally levels up high enough to unlock an eldritch horror's tragic backstory

102. LOCAL MAN MARRIES BUG

103. peppa eats a clown and they cover her in concrete instead of congratulating her.

104. pennywise stole my brother's skin

105. it's world war z baby

106. Something Big Is In Space.

107. man is interrogated about the time he saw thomas the train roasts people alive and also sans is there

108. actor is stalked by mask who liked his monologue so much that it tells its mask friends to come watch.

109. sometimes a family is just a serial killer's daughter and that guy who maybe killed some vampires

110. yeah man those spiders be eating

Part 1 |

#tma #i hope this convinces you to listen to tma #the magnus archives #sasha james #jon sims #podcasts #gay podcasts #elias bouchard #peter lukas #melanie king #gerard keay #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #funny #one sentence summaries #sillyposting #Youtube #queer

2K notes · View notes

mickandmusings · 3 months

Text

i. true blue

part one of the 'hangman & honey' series!

summary: The summer he turned nine, Jake was convinced he'd spend it like any other summer: riding his bike down dirt roads with all the other kids, lending a helping hand on the family farm, and brushing up on his backyard football. His life hits a tailspin when a new family moves into the house just down the road, leading him to a friendship and feelings he never saw coming.

word count: 4.5k

warnings: cute childhood friends to lovers, small sections of angst, tragic backstories and southern traditions. primarily self indulgent. this is written by someone from the most southern small town imaginable, so it's written with love as an ode to my own hometown, enjoy. <3

In the great state of Texas, just a few hours south of Austin, sits a small town called Haven. It was a fitting name for a town so picturesque-miles and miles of endless farmland, stunning sunsets and sunrises, and the beauty of the state's flora and fauna. However, in all it's Southern small-town glory, it was home to little else. There was the hub of activity 'downtown'-the one school system, a family-owned restaurant, a convenience store, the First Baptist Church of Haven, and a hair salon. On the outskirts of Haven sat a large patch of barbed-wire fenced farmland, one that spanned most of the remaining parts of the small town, more than the eye could see. It was large enough to have its own unpaved road-Seresin Farm Road-and was home to only one house, the Seresin family house.

The Seresin family had owned the land long before the turn of the century, and had been passed down from generation to generation ever since. The Seresin's owned much of Haven to begin with, their farmland excluded. Most of the businesses rented their buildings from Jacob Seresin Sr., with the exception of the school system and the church. Despite their seemingly looming hand of ownership, you'd never know they held power at all. Mrs. Janet Seresin-first lady of the Seresin estate-was known as the town egg lady, always more than happy to pass out dozens of Styrofoam cartons free of charge. She held the unofficial prize of having the best homemade ice cream in all of Haven, and anyone in the small town would attest. Jacob Seresin Sr.-head of the Seresin farm and Janet's husband-was regarded in the same warm fashion. You could find him driving up and down the main street in his trusty red farm truck, often loaded with feed or some kind of good necessary to keep his place up and running. He'd stop and talk to anyone and everyone, literally everyone, he knew. He had been the one to help nearly everyone in his community rebuild after natural disasters, always willing to help someone in need, never asking for anything in return. The Seresin's were Haven's unofficial first family, leaders of sorts, in the small town.

Their son, Jacob Seresin Jr., was elusive and a topic nearly everyone knew to avoid. He had been raised on the family farm, attended the local school, lived and breathed the same life as everyone else, but found himself itching for more. He quickly fell into trouble with the local law, and with a last name like Seresin, he got away with mostly everything, which, perhaps, was his greatest downfall. He had gotten his high school girlfriend-a sweet local girl named Georgia Joann Smith-pregnant their senior year. When she broke the news, he'd taken off in his truck to Kentucky, where it was rumored he still was, looking for something he could never find. Nine months later, Jacob Thomas Seresin III, or 'Jake' as he preferred, was born, healthy, all ten fingers and toes. Just hours after birth, his mother fell gravely ill, and made her own swift exit in death. She left behind only one thing-her son. Jacob Sr. and Janet took him in with no questions asked, raising him as any grandparent would. Jake, luckily, seemed to inherit more of his mother than his father. His blonde hair gleamed in the Texas sun, turning almost gold in the heat-filled summers. His green eyes held his kindness-a sharp contrast to his father's dark brown eyes that seemed to only hold his anger. Jake bore Georgia's gentle soul, her wide smile and her witty personality, she lived on in Jake entirely. So when the new family moved into the empty house at the end of Seresin Farm Road, Janet had zero hesitations in sending Jake down to welcome their new neighbors to Haven. She'd spent the entire morning making homemade bread, having to occasionally swat away Jake's hands from the counter or tell him to completely get out of the kitchen while the loaves cooled. After lunch, she handed him a well-wrapped loaf and gave him instructions to take it to the newcomers, which Jake did without complaint. He'd placed the bread into the metal basket attached to his royal blue bike, trekking down their long and winding driveway. When he'd arrived nearly ten minutes later, he had parked his bike on the edge of the lawn, against a towering oak tree. He made a point to kick the dirt off his shoes, not wanting to track it onto the seemingly freshly painted, white wrap-around porch. He lifts his first to wrap against the door, one with a glass cut-out, much different than the screen door on his farmhouse. He fixed his windswept hair in the reflection of the window, remembering Granny's words of always looking well put together when meeting new people. The door's lock clicked, and when Jake looked up to see the man or lady of the house, he instead had to look down, finding a girl who couldn't be much younger than him. Her eyes were wide as they stared up at him, hair pushed out of her face with colorful butterfly shaped clips. Her eyes were captivating, and all of Jake's intended Southern charm had flown out the window. She smiles shyly at Jake, wondering why this stranger was on her porch.

"Uh, this is for you-or,uh-your parents," his arm extends the bread as he stammered. "My Granny made it, we live at the farm on the end of the road, we-uh, she-wanted to invite you to the neighborhood. I'm Jake."

Jake stuck out a clammy hand for her to shake, and winced internally. His Pawpaw would be reprimanding him if he saw this-it wasn't polite to make a lady shake your hand. Shaking hands was for business deals, and Jake had just shook her hand like she'd bought his show heifer. Jake's mind was clouded for a reason he couldn't explain, and he wasn't thinking straight. The girl blushed and smiled slightly.

"I'm Honey," her voice was quiet but pronounced. "That's not actually my name, but everyone calls me Honey, so, you can call me Honey. Um, is your house the one with the big magnolia tree in the front?"

Jake nodded quickly. Her eyes widened, shimmering with something Jake couldn't make out. Quietness settled over them before Honey spoke again.

"Is that your bike?" Honey points at his bike leaning against the tree.

"Yeah! Most kids ride their bikes everywhere here."

"C-Could I ride with you, maybe?" Her voice was suddenly shy, no longer meeting Jake's eyes. "It's just summer and I-I don't know anyone yet and-"

"Yes!" Jake cut her off, and mentally scolded himself, but as Honey flashed him a wide smile he couldn't find himself caring. She tossed the bread on the table just inside the door, slid on her purple jelly sandals and shut the door behind her. She led Jake to the empty garage, only full of empty moving boxes and a bright yellow bike. As she led them out of the garage and towards the edge of the yard, Jake's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her.

"Shouldn't you let your momma know you left, leave her a note or somethin'?"

Honey's eyes cut to her feet, her smile fading.

"She won't care, I'll be back before she will. S-She's a nurse, works the night shift at the old folks home in the next town over."

Jake nodded but said nothing, pedaling off on his own bike to lead her back down to his farm.

From that moment on, Jake and Honey were practically inseparable. The entire summer was spent with a blue bike parked next to a yellow one, swimming in the creek behind Jake's house, and running around the farm with nothing but their imagination and makeshift stick swords. Jake's Border Collie, John Wayne, became a frightening dragon of their imagination, and Honey taught Jake how to make flower crowns from the wildflowers in the fields. Janet had grown fond of looking out her front window to see Honey sitting next to Jake under her magnolia tree, reading her Boxcar Children book as much as she could with Jake chattering next to her. Even when Jake was busy with his farm chores, Honey would sit placidly under the tree, enjoying the occasional breeze as she read her book of the week. After the long summer, Jacob Sr. had started referring to it as "Honey's tree," and he'd laugh to himself every time he saw the girl sitting quietly under it. Both Janet and Jacob Sr. loved having the sweet but shy girl around, especially when they found out that she spent most of her time alone in that house down the road. On the last night before summer ended, Jake and Honey sat under the tree, swatting at mosquitoes as the Texas sun set. Jake looked over at Honey, who had finally put her book down, and asked:

"Why do you like this tree so much?"

She smiled a smile that Jake knew to be half-hearted and brought her knees to her chest, her chin resting on her kneecaps.

"It reminds me of home."

Honey had moved from her tiny town in Mississippi that summer, and she often talked of her home there, the friends and family she'd left behind, how her mother had left when her grandmother died, looking for a fresh start.

"My Gram had a tree like this in her yard, and she'd babysit me when Mom worked," Honey's eyes rested on the ground, where she was picking grass from the ground around her bare feet. "She'd read to me a lot, and it was my favorite place in the world. Sometimes when I read here it sort of feels like I never left."

Jake simply nodded, thinking of the mother he'd only met in pictures, and the grandparents he wouldn't trade for the world's richest man. Neither of them spoke a word about the statement she made, but they understood what it meant to both of them. Even at age nine, Jake was in love with the girl next door, even if he didn't know it yet. From the first year they met and every year after, Jake and Honey found themselves under the magnolia blossoms. Well, almost every year...

As the budding teens entered into their freshman year at Haven High School, the differences between their personalities became more apparent than ever. Jake was the ideal all-American southern boy: athletic, outgoing, someone who guys high-fived in the hallway, and one that girls would be late to class just to get a glimpse of. Jake was never one to let the attention get to his head, at least not too much. Sure, he enjoyed the feeling of being liked, and, sure, he could be cocky at times, but he was never the one to bully those completely different from him. Someone like Honey. Honey had always been quiet, shy by nature, and the very definition of an advanced student. She was beloved by her teachers, but not as well received by her classmates. With a town as small as Haven, it was either incredibly easy or incredibly hard to make friends, and for Honey, it seemed to be the latter. It wasn't as if Honey was perpetually odd-she wasn't homely or weird, just quiet. Jake was the only one who knew about her boisterous laugh that could be prompted with his corny jokes, or her wild streak, like sneaking into his bedroom window after she and her mother got into yet another fight.

At the beginning of the school year, she spent her breaks talking to Jake, and she sat next to him at lunch. He'd let her ramble about her current read, and he'd talk about yesterday's football practice. She'd leave with the promise to come around for dinner, Mrs. Janet was making her favorite. However, when football season started, and Jake had made an infamous saving play at one of the first few games, he had peaked in popularity. Honey found herself on the outside of his swarm of new friends, listening to him talk to his football buddies while the girls that followed shot her sympathetic or lethal glances. She'd ignored it at first, simply enjoying her paperback until Jake could spare himself a minute to talk to her. Eventually, the bell would sound before she even got the chance to say 'hello' to him, and, with her heart suddenly heavy, she'd make her way to class. The routine lasted for weeks and she'd find herself waiting by the phone, figuring Jake would call her after football practice, but she'd only be greeted with silence through the night. After the second week of no contact, she decided to leave Jake and his new friends to their own devices, opting to sit in the library for breaks, taking her lunch in the empty courtyard. It was like Jake hadn't noticed her absence at all, at least in her mind, but Jacob Sr. and Janet noticed immediately. They had missed her bright aura that lit up their farmhouse, watching as she greeted the dogs as she parked her now lilac bike in the driveway. Janet missed her companionship as Honey would watch her sew patches onto Jacob Sr. and Jake's clothes, and her husband missed catching up with her over dinner. The only time they'd see her anymore would be on Friday nights, at Jake's games. She'd sit in the bleachers with them, decked out in her navy blue and gold, watching intently as the boys in jerseys made their way up and down the field. At the end of the game, she'd say her goodbyes before Jake would find his grandparents and they wouldn't see her until the following Friday. In typical grandparent fashion, Janet had assumed Jake had done something. Her grandson was kind, gentlemanly, but he also had a sharp tongue and a big head, which he sometimes used in malice. So, over dinner one Thursday, Janet finally dipped her toes into the water.

"Maybe you should talk to Honey after the game tomorrow, she always seems to slip away before you two get to catch up."

Jake's eyebrows furrowed as he wiped his mouth, looking up at his grandmother.

"Honey? At a football game? Granny, I don't really think that's her scene. She hates when we have a pep rally at school, I don't think she's going to a football game voluntarily."

Jacob Sr. and Janet give each other a knowing look across the table.

"How blind are ya, son?" Jacob Sr.'s voice is accusatory.

Jake looks up from his plate, looking over at his grandfather with a confused look.

"She's been at every game this season, Jake," his grandmother's voice speaks, much softer than her husbands. "She sits next to us in the stands. When was the last time you two talked? Just the two of you?"

Jake scoffs at his grandmother's accusation, his head shaking as he tried to wrack his brain for the last time he'd talked to his best friend.

"Maybe a week or so ago, I-I can't remember."

"That's a damn shame," Jacob Sr.'s voice grumbled. "She's a sweet girl, smart too. I know she doesn't run the same circles as you and your new buddies, but she's a good friend Jake, and you're treatin' her as if she doesn't exist. She still comes to all of those games. I'm not tellin' you what to do, but maybe give her a call, and pray to the Lord above that she wants to talk to your dumb ass."

Jake's heart sank as he carried out his nightly farm chores that night, thinking of how he had treated Honey. He knew what the other girls in the group said about her, how she was 'quiet' and 'weird,' often making comments that were completely false or disrespectful. Jake always shut the comments down, but found himself not bothering to talk to the one person who had always been there for him. Was it his fear of his new friends thinking he was weird? Did he think he wouldn't be surrounded by his football buddies if they saw him talking to someone like Honey? As Jake shut the barn door, he sighed, deciding he didn't care about either. Honey had been his friend for years, long before high school or popularity, or stupid teenage rules. She'd never changed, she was still the girl he fell in love with all those years ago. That night, as he sat by the phone thinking of what to say, he'd heard the faintest knock on his door. He figured it was his Granny coming to tell him goodnight, so he made quick work of making his way to the door and flinging it open. Instead of his grandmother, Honey stood in front of him. She held an algebra textbook in her arms, her eyes never meeting his, her arms crossed protectively. Her eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks staining her cheeks. She'd been crying, and Jake knew Honey all too well, her tears had nothing to do with the algebra assignment. Something had happened to her.

"Uh, hey, I-I know it's late, and I didn't want to bother you, but I've been workin' on this stupid algebra assignment for three hours, and i-it's not making a lick of sense. You-You're the only person I know who could help me, so if you could just show me how to do one, I'll be out of your hair. I know you have a game tomorrow, and you should really sleep-"

Honey was rambling, picking the skin around her fingernails, she was nervous. It shattered his heart in his chest, he could never remember a time when she was nervous around him.

"No, no, you're fine, Honey. C'mere."

He opened the door wide for her to come in. She nodded in thanks, hovering awkwardly in the space between his bed and his desk. Any other time she'd plop herself down on his plaid comforter, all but curling into the sheets and falling asleep. Now, she didn't know what to do. She hadn't spoken to him in weeks, and he was different now. He wasn't just Jake, her Jake, he was Jake Seresin, up and coming star of their hometown football team, someone that a person like her should avoid in the hallway, someone that shouldn't even be talking to her.

He pushed the chair of his desk out for her, figuring she'd feel more comfortable there. She laid her textbook and notebook out flat, opening the book to the dozens of equations she couldn't make out. Honey was incredibly smart, but as her math classes advanced, she found herself staring at her own notes in utter confusion.

"Um, so, this is on polynomials," she started. "But I couldn't even tell you what a fuckin' polynomial is and I'm starting to lose my mind."

Jake quickly noted the physical manifestation of her worry-her hair messy with the way she had been running her hands through it, the chipped nail polish on her nails, and her chewing on her bottom lip. His heart ached, how had he not noticed her struggling? They were in the same class, she sat two chairs in front of him.

"Honey, I'm sorry."

She didn't even spare him a look.

"It's not your fault I'm stupid, Jake."

Jake took her arm in a light hold, turning her to look at him.

"I'm not talkin' about algebra, and you're not stupid, first of all. You're one of the smartest people I know. I'm talkin' about the way I've been actin'. It's not fair to you, I've been an ass. I've been ignoring you at school, treatin' you as if you aren't even there. You've come to all my games and I didn't even know. Thanks for that, by the way, but, I mean it, Honey. I'm sorry."

Honey shrugs, her face sprouting a faint pink blush.

"'S fine, people grow up, move on. You don't have to apologize for leaving me for people more like-minded. I get it, I don't necessarily fit the mold of your new friend group. It's okay. They seem to really like you though, and you seem happy. Plus Sam is...she's pretty. I get why you wouldn't want me hanging around."

"Sam?" Jake's voice was confused. Sam was a cheerleader, and she was friends with the girlfriends of his teammates. They had a passing conversation from time to time, but they weren't dating. "What're you talkin' about?"

Honey's brow furrowed, tapping her pencil's eraser against her book.

"Sam Vance told me like the third or fourth week of school that you were together, around the same time we stopped talking. I just assumed that was why you didn't want to talk anymore. It's sort of the reason I've kept my distance."

Jake's blood boiled, he was not dating Sam Vance. She was heinously mean, even to her own 'friends.'

"Honey," Jake started, his eyes full of sympathy, his flash of anger flickering. "I'm not dating her, not by a long shot. I don't know why she lied to you, I've never said more than a few sentences to one another, she's...mean. She's vicious, I'm sorry."

Honey's head only shook in a nonchalant manner. She was good at this, pushing people away, Jake had noticed it over the years. After years of practically raising herself, those she loved either abandoning her or leaving her in death, she expected everyone to leave. Honey herself knew that someday Jake would leave her, just like everyone else, so when he pulled away, she didn't bother trying to stop it, no matter how it hurt.

"Stop that. I know what I did was shitty, and it seemed like I didn't want you there, but this isn't me dumping you off, Honey. I swear. And I know something's wrong, you're not crying because of a homework assignment. If it's because of what happened between us, I'll do anythin' to make it up to you-"

Honey's bottom lip trembles, her eyes lining with tears as she shakes her head. She looks up at Jake, pain clouding her usually kind eyes.

"You don't have to worry about me, Jake."

"No I don't," he stated honestly. "I want to, Honey. You're my best friend, and you're hurtin'. You may not need me, but I want to help you. I know I haven't been a good friend, the worst actually, but talk to me, please."

Honey looks at her lap, bringing her knees to her chest in an action of protection Jake was familiar with-every time she has to get vulnerable, it's her defensive action, as if curling up in a ball would save her from hurt.

"For what it's worth," Honey started, her voice small and quiet. "I really don't understand polynomials, like, at all. But you're right, it's more than that." She pauses and takes a deep breath, Jake's heart shattering. Her inability to speak freely, the bags under her eyes, her nervous habit at the forefront-he'd never seen her so tired, so heavy.

"About a week ago, I came home and all of my mom's stuff was gone. I mean, all of it, her bedroom was completely empty. She left a note on the kitchen table." Her eyes focus on the Cowboys poster on the back of Jake's door, her eyes dulling. "She decided to move in with her boyfriend, and he-he doesn't even know she has a child, so she left the house for me. Which is fine, we never got along anyway, it's just been...lonely. She pays the bills and leaves money, so it's not like I'm fending for myself, but, it just really sucks she doesn't really care about me. I guess it shouldn't, but-" She pauses, eyes dazed out, silent tears running down her cheeks. "Sorry for the soapbox, I just, it all is piling up, and now I'm crying over polynomials." She laughs dryly. "Just, God I've missed you, Jake. I sort of pushed myself away from you because I thought you'd found people you'd rather spend your time with. I'm nothing like you interest wise, and-"

"Stop putting yourself down, I won't stand for it." Jake looks at her as she laughs in a quiet manner, hands wiping away her silent tears. Jake moves directly in front of her, making eye contact. "I mean it. You're ten times cooler than any of them. Most of the guys on the team, pretty laid back, cool, but all they ever want to talk about is football and how hot so-and-so is, and their girlfriends? Worse, by a thousand, at least most of them. I'd like to think I'm not that shallow, right?"

Jake Seresin was a lot of things, but shallow was not one of them.

"Please hang out with me tomorrow? I'll have Granny pick you up for school. You and I are going to talk until the bell rings, you've got to catch me up on that Scarlett girl in that book you were reading last time we talked. I'm sitting with you at lunch because Granny made me promise to bring you lunch, and you gotta catch me up on last week's Dawson's Creek episode. Then I'll see you at the game, and we can swing by The Burger Basket, you, me, burgers, fries, a strawberry shake for you and a chocolate one for me."

Honey laughed, nodding her head, her heart warming as she heard Jake ask for the things she thought he found annoying-her ranting about the books she was reading, or the TV shows she was watching. She wiped her tears, standing and hugging the blonde boy who knew her better than herself sometimes. Her chest felt lighter, it felt good to be known so incredibly well. He squeezed her tight before she let go. (Jake never, ever, let go first.) She sits back in the desk chair, sliding in next to Jake, her head falling on his shoulder.

"So," she spoke after a moment of silence. "Polynomials?"

Jake chuckles.

"Let's make a deal, Hon. I explain to you how to solve these equations, and you explain to me what the hell Shakespeare is talking about in those English assignments for Mrs. Elmer's class?"

Honey laughs, she and Jake were both good students, but in two very different subjects.

"You've got yourself a deal, J."

Jake smirks, taking the pencil that sat in the crevice of the book, his scratchy handwriting across her paper as he attempted to explain. In a matter of minutes, Honey began to understand, a smile forming as she grasped the concepts. Jake's green eyes met hers in the light of his desk lamp, glimmering, and the breath in his chest catches, his heart hammering. His palms sweat around the pencil and he can't look away from her.

"You alright, Seresin?" Honey's voice is laced with humor, and it snaps him out of his trance.

"Y-Yeah."

Jake had lied, he had just realized, for the first time since Jake had known Honey, he was beginning to see her as something more than just his best friend. When he looked at Honey, he noticed something he'd never noticed before, she was beautiful.

#jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick #top gun imagine #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #requests

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sun-snatcher · 26 days

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Hey!! Just wondering if you do headcanons? If so can we get some hcs from We Lucky Few about Deadpool and the Gang™ being a domestic happy family 🥲🥲

#WELUCKYFEW | Headcanons galore !

i. —— THE FIRST DAY IN A NEW UNIVERSE means Wade has to break it to Blind Al that there’s gonna be 3 more strays that’ll be staying over at the apartment for a while (in tragic addition to Mary Puppin’s and Logan).

The old lady agrees (very vehemently disagreed, actually, but she knows Wade already made up his mind) only because she’d hoped he meant stray cats this time, to which she’d been disappointed with: “Say hello to Logan’s hispanic feral cat-daughter, your local homeless war veteran with a PhD and a dash of PTSD, and Amateur David Blaine—! But if he was born in the South.”

Regardless. It’s only, like, for 2 weeks! As long as they don’t touch her cocaine. Anywho, Vanessa’s already pulling strings to get you and Remy an apartment; Laura’s first instinct was to seek out the Professor and Logan’s… a drifter. Vagrancy is nothing new to him. He’ll figure his things out one way or another.

ii. —— GROCERIES COST TENFOLD during the time everyone was still crammed in that little house. Dogpool is in the trolley seat having a good time. Wade and Laura stock up on junk food and Logan’s dumped an armful of canned goods that “will actually last for the fuckin’ week.”; Meanwhile Gambit’s been banished to trolley-pushing ever since he’d admitted to stealing Skittles, M&M’s and small tidbits from the candy aisle without anyone noticing.

And you— well, you were on breakfast duty, which means bread, jams, cereals; but it’s all just a tad bit overwhelming. I mean, why is there a need for this many flavours? You can’t remember the last time you had much of a choice when it came to food since the war.

(It’s Wade who finds you. He gets it; 10 years serving Canadian military/the JTF2 means he’s seen just about every other middle-eastern country that’s a battleground— And then suddenly he’s discharged and thrown into civilian life with zero assimilation and the expectation of exercising autonomy after living his whole life under orders and the threat of damn a bullet in his head. So. Yeah, he gets why you kinda just… Blank out.)

“You can roulette it,” Wade advices. “Or pick one with your favourite colour. That’s how I did it my first few years out. Just don’t even fucking think of picking Special K or I’ll prune your ass back to the Void mys—”

iii. —— MOVIE NIGHTS ARE ON FRIDAYS. That means Gambit’s on permanent popcorn duty ever since Laura accidentally destroyed the microwave (she insists it’s Logan but the 2 holes say otherwise). And by popcorn duty I mean: having Remy shake the bag and generate enough kinetic energy to heat and pop the kernels. “Mais, if it works, it works, mes amis.”

iv. —— EVERYONE ROTATES TAKING Dogpool out on a walk. Remy uses the opportunity to have you tag along and tell him about New York when really he just likes spending time with you.

Logan has to be convinced to walk her; though he usually relents because it puts his mind to work and it helps that he can map out the city again. Sometimes Laura joins him, too. If she’s lucky, she’ll hear an X-Men story or two when Logan’s feeling particularly nostalgic. (Half of them are him shitting on Scott, but hey, she’ll take what she can get.)

v. —— LOGAN DOESN’T SLEEP. Can’t is a better way to put it, and neither can you and Remy at times; you figure maybe it’s because everything feels a little too.. fine.

Almost perfect. Too good to be true. Logan always loses all that’s close to him and as much as he hates to admit it: all of you are beginning to matter. Family, dare he even think. And it terrifies the absolute shit out of him.

Meanwhile, you get night terrors, and you’ve already alarmed everybody approximately five times now (Closing your eyes now means facing an apocalyptic warzone and the weight of life and death. You don’t talk about it. Everybody knows not to ask) so sleep is just an option to you if you could help it.

Remy stays up just out of pure habit. They used to alternate shifts back in the Void (which was why he sometimes caught Laura wide awake in the kitchen at weird hours of the night, too) because the Hideout became too vulnerable with their dwindling numbers. Losing Daredevil had been the catalyst.

Fortunately, sleep still does happen: You’re curled in the loveseat with Gambit’s coat over you as a makeshift blanket— you must’ve lighted out first. Remy and Logan are dead asleep on the ratty, squeaky couch; Laura half-melted beside them, legs hanging off the pleated sofa arms with Dogpool asleep in her arms. Love Island drones from the outdated home TV.

vi. —— WADE TAKES A SELFIE when he catches the scene.

He’s used it as the icon of the groupchat he created (lovingly titled: LIMBO LOSERS CLUB!) once he made sure everyone got some means of communication for when they moved out.

Not that Logan will ever use it.

Or Blind Al— “I mean, she doesn’t even text Wade, why is she in the chat?”

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miredball · 2 months

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HOTD’s rhaenyra and alicent can act and talk like (ex) lovers, can have the tension and chemistry of two romantically involved people, can follow romantic themes and have an established romantic dynamic despite being two women in a pseudo-medieval setting because they can’t truly be lovers in the eyes of the general audience.

the text (as in the show), showrunners, and actors can insist all they want on the purposeful nature of the romantic codes that inform rhaenyra and alicent’s relationship (knight and lady, star-crossed, disrupted connection, love triangles, paralleled lives, etc.) but the pseudo-medieval setting comes with certain expectations for mainstream Western audiences to buy and the depiction of an explicit, sensitive, tragic female homosexuality has not yet married with this genre.

the show has a fascinating freedom with their interpretation of this adapted relationship. it’s queer because it can’t be queer, not really! rhaenyra and alicent will never kiss or confess love or even touch lest they betray the perceived rules of this pseudo-medieval period and the narrative that literally revolves around succession and birth and reproduction. It’s easy to brush off the intensity of their bond as oh they are literally just like that.

a thorough exploration of queerness in HOTD is seemingly hampered by the setting and the established source material, not to mention the conservative fans. but at the same time the show is afforded the freedom to play around with these queer limitations because:

1. the source material is literally a history book

2. the GA on autopilot will blink and miss the subtle-not-so-subtle implications

3. the narrative is filled to the brim with men to distract from the very explicit lesbian divorce at the center.

anyways. rhaenicent romantic dynamic is trail-blazingly real and purposeful in a show so popular and expensive but only because general audiences can cajole themselves into thinking that this romance is in fact not real nor purposeful. I mean, there’s a war!

#historians will literally call them roommates #never have I seen a show so intentional and acting performances so convincing about a romance but for some reason this is a daily debate #you better put your queer-viators on!#alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenicent #rhaenyra x alicent #house of the dragon #house of the dragon season 2

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carpe-mamilia · 11 months

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Ghosts’ Larry Rickard Explains Why They Chose the Captain’s First Name

Photo: Monumental,Guido Mandozzi

It couldn’t be a joke. That was one rule laid down by the Ghosts creators when it came to choosing a first name for Willbond’s character. Until series five, the WWII ghost had been known only as The Captain – a mystery seized upon by fans of the show.

“It was the question we got asked more than anything. His name,” actor and writer Larry Rickard tells Den of Geek. “Once we got to series three, you could see that we were deliberately cutting away and deliberately avoiding it. We were fuelling the fire because we knew at some point we’d tell them.”

In “Carpe Diem”, the episode written by Rickard and Ben Willbond that finally reveals The Captain’s death story, they did tell us. After years of guessing, clue-spotting and debate, Ghosts revealed that The Captain’s first name is James. At the same time, we also learned that James’ colleague Lieutenant Havers’ first name was Anthony.

The ordinariness of those two names, says Rickard, is the point.

“The only thing we were really clear about is that we didn’t want one of those names that only exists in tellyland. It shouldn’t be ‘Cormoran’ or ‘Endeavour’. They should just be some men’s names and they’re important to them. The point was that they were everyday.”

Choosing first names for The Captain and Havers was a long process not unlike naming a baby, Rickard agrees. “It almost comes down to looking at the faces of the characters and saying, what’s right?”

“We talked for ages. For a long time I kept thinking ‘Duncan and James’, and then I was like ah no! That would have turned it into a gag and been awful!” Inescapably in the minds of a certain generation, Duncan James is a member of noughties boyband Blue. “Maybe with Anthony I was thinking of Anthony Costa!” Rickard says in mock horror, referencing another member of the band.

Lieutenant Havers wasn’t just The Captain’s second in command while stationed at Button House; he was also the man James loved. Because homosexuality was criminalised in England during James’ lifetime, he was forced to hide his feelings for Anthony from society, and to some extent even from himself.

In “Carpe Diem”, the ghosts (mistakenly) prepare for the last day of their afterlives, prompting The Captain to finally tell his story. Though not explicit about his sexual identity, the others understand and accept what he tells them – and led by Lady Button, all agree that he’s a brave man.

Getting the balance right of what The Captain does and doesn’t say was key to the episode. “It wasn’t just a personal choice of his to go ‘I’m going to remain in the closet’,” explains Rickard. “There wasn’t an option there to explore the things that either of them felt. That couldn’t be done back then – there are so many stories which have come out since the War about the dangers of doing that.

“We wanted to tell his personal story but also try to ensure that there was a level at which you understood why they couldn’t be open, that even in this moment where he’s finally telling the other ghosts his story, he never comes out and says it overtly because that would be too much for him as a character from that time.

“He says enough for them to know, and enough for him to feel unburdened but it’s in the fact that they’re using their first names which militarily they would never have done, and in the literal passing of the baton”.

The baton is a bonus reveal when fans learned that The Captain’s military stick wasn’t a memento of his career, but of Havers. As James suffers a fatal heart attack during a VE day celebration at Button House, Anthony rushes to his side and the stick passes from one to the other as they share a moment of tragic understanding.

“From really early on, we had the idea that anything you’re holding [when you die] stays with you. So it wasn’t just your clothes you were wearing, we had the stuff with Thomas’ letter reappearing in his pocket and so on. And the assumption being that it was something The Captain couldn’t put down, it felt so nice to be able to say it was something he didn’t want to put down.”

Rickard lists “Carpe Diem”, co-written with Ben Willbond, among his series five highlights. He’s pleased with the end result, praises Willbond’s performance, and loved being on set to see Button House dressed for the 1940s. He’s particularly pleased that a checklist of moments they wanted to land with the audience all managed to be included. “Normally something’s fallen by the wayside just because of the way TV’s made, it’s always imperfect or it’s slightly rushed, but it feels like it’s all there.”

Rickard and Willbond also knew by this point in the show’s lifetime, that they could trust Ghosts fans to pick up on small details. “Nothing is missed,” he says. “Early on, you’re always thinking, is that going to get across? But once we got to series five, there are little tiny things within corners of shots and you know that’s going to be spotted. Particularly in that very short exchange between Havers and the Captain. We worried less about the minutiae of it because you go, that’s going to be rewound and rewatched, nothing will be missed.”

The team were also grateful they’d resisted the temptation to tell The Captain’s story sooner. “We’d talked about it every series since series two, whether or not now was the time, but because he’s such a hard and starchy character in a lot of ways you needed the time to understand his softer side I think before you had that final honest beat from him.”

“What a ridiculously normal name to have so much weight put on it for five years,” laughs Rickard fondly. “Good old James.”

From Den of Geek

#bbc ghosts #bless you larry for doing all these den of geek interviews #I wonder if they just did one marathon session with him #inside ghosts was kind of disappointing this week #I guess Ben just wants to let the episode speak for itself and you're like yes but I would like to hear you talk about every detail #trust me we will be interested #long post #I really thought they loved the joke of nearly saying the Captain’s name so much that they'd never reveal it #so it's so lovely that they were like no this is not a joke name; he's a real man with an ordinary name #and we are going to tell you that in the most devastatingly romantic way #I am eating my words and they are delicious with that spread on top #also 'that's going to be rewound and rewatched' = 'I know you people are loopy so here is content specifically for you'#bbc ghosts spoilers

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maddie-grove · 5 months

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I have a popular post about how I don’t enjoy it when love stories act like it would undermine the central romance if one or both of the protagonists had a positive experience with an ex or former sexual partner, and I just want to say: it’s really all about the framing.

It’s totally chill if a protagonist has never been in love before, for whatever reason. Maybe they have intimacy issues, or they were literally raised by wolves in the Canadian wilderness, or they’re too busy, or they were a child oblate, or they just never clicked with anyone that way, or they were married to a grotesquely evil Renaissance nobleman. If we’re supposed to be like “awww that’s nice, they are experiencing romantic love for the first time” or “I am so happy that something nice is happening to this girl after her experiences with the horrible duke,” that’s cool.

It’s also fine, in my book, if a protagonist has never had really good sex before. Not everyone has an easy time getting into it and, to be frank, not everyone has the good luck to encounter a considerate or generous lover immediately after becoming sexually active.

Here are some examples where I do think there are problems:

The historical romance author wants to establish that the hero is not a virgin, but she doesn’t want to make him a player and she doesn’t want to give him a bad ex as a source of angst and she doesn’t want him to have been in love before. So she gives him a long-term paid mistress. But, instead of going with “Adrian enjoyed Lily’s company and thought she was pretty/clever/pleasant, but obviously it was a business relationship on both sides,” you get something like “Adrian had never felt anything for Lily. She was merely a vessel for his manly needs.” And it’s like you knew this woman for years! Yet I have warmer feelings towards the friendly lady who works at the pharmacy! What’s wrong with you?

The Regency heroine was happily married to one dude, who died tragically young. She falls in love with her late husband’s best friend, also her friend, who has been in love with her since before the husband died but he never acted on it because it would have been wrong and hurtful to his friend. They both feel a little weird/guilty about getting together, but it’s clear that they aren’t actually disrespecting the late husband’s memory and he’d probably be happy for them if he knew. This is all good and fine, until the hero and heroine are making love and the heroine muses to herself that the hero is better in bed than her late husband. This honestly wouldn’t feel so sour if it had been established at the beginning that they never clicked sexually despite loving each other, but in that moment it feels like a cheap shot at a nice dead guy. And for what? So the audience has no doubt that the hero is the best sex man in the world?

Someone writes a fanfic where Character A has a non-endgame romance with Character C, when eventually Character A will end up with Character B. The A/C romance is obviously not going to last for well-established reasons, but it’s sweet and C is presented sympathetically. Until the author abruptly makes C a bitch in a non-canonical way when it’s time for them to break up, even though that’s far from the most natural way for the breakup to happen.

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cosmic-ghost-hermit · 3 months

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What Are You Too Hard On Yourself About?

So my camera that I usually take pictures with is not accessible rn so I'm going to be using a different approach to doing pick-a-pile readings. I'm taking inspiration from other tarot readers on tumblr and use aesthetic photos that I find on pinterest and tumblr. let me know if yall like this more than the photo approach!

PILE ONE

Astrology: Virgo, Capricorn, Leo

Cards: The Wheel of Fortune, The Tower, King of Pentacles, En Caul

Song: Queen Of This Shit by Quay Dash

Vibes: ❤️🎂🚗🫖🥊☕️🍎🎲🎸🎹🍒🚑🍅⏰🍉✉️🍓🤍🌶.⚾️🥩🍰

Hello, pile 1! You seem to be hard on yourself for things that aren't even your fault, my friend. I think when you were young a lot of things were blamed on you so now you take responsibility when anything tragic happens. The thing about you is you are the one person that holds together the best in tragedy. It's only after it's all happened that you start feeling like you are to blame. You are not the cause of the wheel turning. Life is a series of up's and down's on the wheel of fortune. I hear you saying things to yourself like "I'm better off not being around" but my friend the wheel would still turn if you weren't. You being in the general vicinity does not make you at fault. You keep the ride on that wheel semi-stable, my dear. Please be kinder to yourself. You are so intelligent and you have the abilities of a seer. You know what to expect from the rollercoaster that life is and you are fantastic at preparing for it. Do not beat yourself up for existing. Do not beat yourself up for making simple mistakes. Accept yourself at every part of life. Love yourself at your best AND your worst.

PILE TWO

Astrology: Pisces, Gemini, Libra

Cards: The Hanged-Man, Page of Swords, Two of Cups, Lady of the Lake

Song: I Wish I Never Met You by Oh Wonder

Vibes: 💙❤️🦋🌹❄️💥🫐🍒💎🧲🧿🪓🌀🧯♿️🧰💦🍄🐳🎒🧢👠🧵🧣🌎

Hi, pile 2! You are hard on yourself for 2 things that work in tandem with each other. You either really struggle to find partners or you struggle to build romantic connections with the sexual partners you find. You have a very pixie-like energy which makes me think this is rooted in ADHD. You get extremely distracted by your interests and your experiences. This makes it difficult for you to find romance with anyone. The people you find connections with don't understand that you need patience and understanding. They don't understand that your ADHD isn't just a disability. Your ADHD is a PART of you and if they can't accept and love your ADHD along with you, they don't even deserve your attention and love anyway. I see that there is trauma connected to you feeling useful. Because you have been rejected for the way your mind works you think all you are good at is sex. You have fallen victim to people-pleasing behaviors all because you are allowing people to shit on an entire facet of your personality. Please stand up for yourself instead of being hard on yourself for how others view you. Their opinions do not matter if they constantly put you into a state of distress and self-hatred. Do not beat yourself up because of other people's ableism. You deserve a lover that understands you and accepts every part of you. When you finally stand up for yourself you will have completed a really tough cycle and your new energy will reward you greatly with a true romantic partner that will most likely be sticking around longer than the others.

PILE THREE

Astrology: Taurus, Sagittarius, Aries

Cards: The Empress, Strength, 8 of Wands, The Rainbow

Song: No Drug Like Me by Carly Rae Jepsen

Vibes: 💛🎺🏅🐝🐱👑👙🍯🥧🥞🧀🌸🍋🍌☀️💫⚡️✨🌻🌼💐🕯💰🛍

Hey there pile 3. Your energy is so light but somehow very rich as well. You have such a lovely energy that people love to be in. This can be a blessing and a curse for you. This is because you aren't too attached to anything or anyone. You are the type of person who people get addicted to but you often leave as quickly as you arrived. You are too hard on yourself about how this makes people feel. You feel as if you have left a string of broken hearts behind you. I see you feeling very guilty because of this. Don't be harsh with yourself about your true nature. You need room to travel from person to person. You aren't the kind of individual to get attached to concepts you experience as temporary. Human connection isn't meant to be permanent for you anyway. You shouldn't try to save feelings by moving away from your authenticity. You are meant to be independent and follow your heart where the wind takes it. Let the broken hearts leave your mind. Let the guilt slide off of you like water off a duck's back. Those people will find new beginnings with people who are meant to settle down. You will forever be a free spirit. If you tried to tie yourself down out of a sense of guilt it wouldn't end well for anyone. Your authenticity should be your main priority, not saving the emotions of people who have paths to walk you can't follow. What they think about you doesn't matter if it's your time to dip again.

PILE FOUR

Astrology: Scorpio, Cancer, Aquarius

Cards: The Hanged Man, 2 of Pentacles, Ace of Swords, Cosmic Ocean

Song: Greener by Kid Quill

Vibes: 💚🤎🐸🦇🪲🦂🍀🍂🥝🥥🍈🍹🧩🛖✅⚰️♻️🧺🇵🇸🚪🤑🪑💸🕯📗

Hey there, pile 4! You need to be easier on yourself for your indecisiveness, my friend. You are a very interesting combination of compassionate and intelligent. This is what makes it so hard for you to make decisions fast. It's not that you are bad at making decisions. You are smart enough to consider the different paths that could happen when making a decision. You understand that your actions have consequences and you can predict them very accurately. You are also kind enough to consider how those consequences affect the people around you. You are actually REALLY good at making decisions but it takes time to consider all of the possibilities. People have given you a hard time about indecisiveness for a long time but that's because they can't see the gears turning in your head. They don't see that you see every possibility. They can't even fathom the experience because most of the people giving you a hard time are only thinking logically or are only thinking compassionately but you see both perspectives which gives you more intel to contemplate. Be a bit nicer to yourself when you make decisions slowly. The people critiquing you don't even know the half of it.

#tarot #tarot reading #pick a crystal #pick a pile #crystals #spirituality #pick a card #astrology #spiritual awakening #spiritual growth #tarot cards #tarot community #tarot deck #divination community #divination #tarot reader #pick a picture

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 8 months

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a/n: i know the game and fight were like two weeks ago but i couldn’t stop thinking about it lol. just a fun little thing - enjoy! (and literally as i go to post this, bb gets added back to the skills comp as he should’ve been in the first place so go defend your fastest skater title, mat😘)

word count: 4.5k

tw: oral (m recieving), cursing, chicago blackhawks slander, dirty talk

summary: after mat’s fight during the blackhawks game, you’re both worked up with extra energy to get out of your systems

“Fuck you!” You jump to your feet, screaming, adrenaline rushing through your veins. “Go fuck yourself!” Your stomach turns watching Mat fight, but you also can’t ignore the throb between your legs.

Unconcerned with the fact that you’re solidly in enemy territory, your shouting gets louder and louder. Your heart pounds in your chest as you watch Mat scrap with Chicago’s number 43. Mat shifts and drops Blackwell to the ice, the refs and the other players skating over quickly.

“That’s right,” you crow, the people around you starting to boo. “Get fucking wrecked!”

Mat skates off, helmet gone, hair flattened to his head and jersey half off. He scowls and tugs the jersey back over his head and you pump your fists in the air. “That’s my man!” You jump up and down, flipping off a few Chicago fans that are shouting at you.

“Girl,” Alexa, Noah’s girlfriend, tugs at the hem of your vintage Islanders sweatshirt, laughing, “you’re going to get us killed. Sit down!”

You drop back down into your seat and shoot her a grin, “what a way to go out though!” You laugh and take a sip of your beer, turning in your seat when a Chicago fan a few seats down leans over to shout at you.

“Real classy behavior, lady,” he sneers and you flip him off with a bright smile.

“God, where to even start with the classy as hell Chicago Blackhawks organization?” You tap at your lower lip thoughtfully. “Patrick Kane? Jonathan Towes? Corey Perry? So many options to choose from.”

“Gonna bring up shit that doesn’t mean anything?” The man snaps.

You lean halfway out of your seat, getting a little louder, “your team sucks ass from top to bottom.”

“Suck my dick, bitch.”

Alexa coughs into her drink and you shrug at the man, shouting, “at least I’m supporting a team that hasn’t been sued twice for covering up sexual assault.”

“Oh my god,” Alexa mutters, covering her face.

“Fuck off, bitch,” a second man, sitting next to the first, shouts at you.

With a little three fingered wave at the men, you turn back to the ice, settling into your seat. “Oh, I love when men can only think to call me a bitch in the face of actual facts,” you sigh, heartbeat still pounding from Mat’s fight and the confrontation.

A few Chicago fans in the general vicinity are looking at you, booing and flipping you off. You return the gestures happily, with a sarcastic smile on your face.

“You’re batshit insane,” Alexa says, looking impressed and a little awed. “I’m terrified of you.”

You knock her shoulder with yours and tease, “as long as you love me more than you’re terrified of me.”

“Jury’s still out,” she snorts.

The game ends in tragic fashion during overtime, but you’re still so proud of Mat, buzzing with energy to see him when he gets back to the hotel. You and Alexa had booked a room in the same hotel the boys were staying at, spontaneously deciding to take the trip to see the boys play since neither of you had been to Chicago. The team flies back to Long Island tomorrow afternoon and your flight leaves just a few hours later, so you’ve got a few hours with Mat tonight before you have to go back to your own rooms, knowing he’ll have left packing to the last possible second.

Alexa’s lounging on her bed, scrolling through her phone, when there’s a knock on the door. You jump up from your spot on your bed and rush to the door, yanking it open and nearly knocking Noah out of the way in your hurry to jump into Mat’s arms. He laughs and catches you easily, wrapping his arms around your lower back as your legs hook around his waist.

“First career fight?” You grin at him, peppering his face with kisses. “So fucking hot, baby.”

“Y’know,” Noah comments dryly from behind you, “I had assists on two of our goals.”

You turn your head and grin at him, “you want a kiss too?” Mat’s hands grope at your ass, pulling you tighter over the growing bulge in his jeans. You wriggle happily over him, enjoying the low groan that vibrates against your shoulder.

“Not from you,” Noah laughs, dropping a kiss to the top of Alexa’s head. She snuggles up against his side and laughs a little.

“Let’s get out of here,” she says, “before these two forget they’re not alone.” Shooting you a wink, she grabs Noah’s hand and drags him out of the room, the door falling shut behind them.

“Thank god,” Mat huffs, leaning his forehead against your collarbone. You kiss the top of his head, rubbing your fingertips into his scalp. “I’ve been waiting to see you all night.”

“Well you’ve got me for the next few hours, completely uninterrupted,” you reply, holding onto him like a koala. “Let me see your face, I need to make sure no damage was done.”

Mat pulls away from you, grinning that crooked grin you love so much. He looks a little tired, but the only damage from the fight is a cut on the bridge of his nose and a little cut on his forehead. Not nearly as bad as you were thinking. “Do I pass inspection?” He teases, bouncing you a little in his arms.

You hum, “you’ll do,” before kissing the tip of his nose and then slanting your lips over his. Mat deepens the kiss, licking over your lower lip so your mouth will fall open. You groan into his mouth, grinding your hips down over his erection. The kiss is a little frantic, all teeth and tongue, and you’re out of breath when you break apart. “Put me down, I wanna reward you,” you pant, unhooking your legs from around his waist and letting them fall to the floor.

“What?” Mat’s mouth is back on yours, arms still wrapped tightly around your back, your chest pressed to his. You wiggle against him, grinding your hips over his, more than happy to feel him harden under you.

“Wanna - mmmph-“ your words are muffled by Mat’s mouth, captured by his lips and tongue. You pull back with a huge effort, palms flat on his shoulders for leverage. “Wanna suck you off,” you murmur, Mat’s hands trailing up the back of your shirt, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip and tugging at it.

“Yeah?” Mat asks, eyelids heavy over his eyes. He shifts and wedges his leg in between yours, pressing his muscled thigh right up against your throbbing cunt. You whine and your hips move over his leg, the seam of your jeans pressed exactly where you need it. “Wanna suck my dick, baby? What if I wanna watch you get off on my thigh?”

“C’mon, Mat,” your voice comes out breathy, “been wanting to suck you off since you fought. I’ve been soaked thinking about it.” You grind over his thigh as you plead, knowing you’ve won the upper hand when Mat’s fingers dip below the waistband of your jeans to squeeze your ass.

He sucks a mark into the skin behind your ear and you sigh. “Me fighting got you all hot and bothered?” He asks the question against your skin, brushing his nose against your earlobe and you nod.

“Beyond fucking hot, Mat,” you scratch your nails against the nape of his neck. “Glad I got to see it.”

You wiggle again and a little whine forms in the back of your throat. Mat’s mouth curls into a smile against your neck. “Love it when you beg,” he says, a little hoarse. “My girl is begging to suck my cock, what’s fucking better than that?”

“Actually letting me suck your cock,” you gasp, Mat’s fingers digging harder into the flesh of your ass. “Let me, Mat, c’mon.”

He finally shifts his leg, planting his feet solidly, and you grin, breaking from his grip and falling to your knees in front of him. You’re eye level with the bulge behind the fly of his jeans and you grin up at him wickedly. You run your fingertips lightly over his zipper and feel his cock throbbing through the denim. “Can’t wait to get my mouth on you,” you smirk, fingers working at the button and zipper, pushing at the denim until you can trace your index finger over the imprint of his dick through the fabric of his briefs.

“Fuck!” Mat’s hips buck forward and he grabs at your hair with one hand, tangling his fingers in the strands. His cock twitches behind the fabric and you push his jeans and briefs halfway down his thighs, freeing his cock so it bobs up towards his stomach. You lean up on your knees to press a kiss to the head of his cock and Mat groans, grip on your hair tightening. “Baby, babe, please, don’t tease me,” he babbles, hips thrusting minutely.

“It’s a reward,” you grin up at him, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock and squeezing slightly, “for fighting. Going to take my time with you.”

Your hand strokes him slowly, palm rubbing against his tip, gathering pre-cum and smearing it down his shaft. His cock throbs in your hand, in time with the way your clit throbs as you touch him. You shift on your knees, pressing the heel of your foot in between your legs and Mat doesn’t miss the movement.

“Going to get off just by touching my dick?” He teases, widening his stance and leaning his upper back against the wall. You hum, focused on getting him fully hard. It doesn’t take much work and within seconds, he’s like hot steel in your hand.

“We’ll just have to see,” you murmur, leaning in and taking the head of his cock into your mouth. A strangled moan leaves Mat’s lips and his hips start to thrust, forcing you to press both of your hands against his hips to keep him in place. You hum around him and swirl your tongue over his slit, enjoying the way he’s babbling your name over your head. He groans, the noise choking off as you take him deeper into your mouth, keeping your lips wrapped tightly around him.

Your nails rake over his skin, fingers sliding over the ridge of bone and then the smooth skin of his lower stomach, until you’re able to rub your fingertips through the light trail of hair under his belly button. You wrap one hand around the base of his cock and take him deeper, swallowing and enjoying the way Mat’s cock bobs in your mouth.

“Baby, come on,” Mat mumbles, “gotta go deeper. Let me fuck your throat. Wanna feel you swallow me.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, tears hovering at your waterline from the stretch of your jaw, and blink innocently at him. Your throat relaxes and he grins, looking a little dazed, when he realizes you’re giving him permission. His other hand comes up to cradle your face, releasing your hair with the other hand so he can hold your face in place while he thrusts his hips forward, sliding his cock deeper down your throat with each movement. The head of his cock bumps against the roof of your mouth, the back of your throat, slides against your tongue with his erratic thrusts.

Saliva drips down your chin, tears rolling down your cheeks. Mascara streaks down your face, stinging your eyes a little.

Mat’s head is dropped back as he rolls his hips, his mouth running constantly. You’re not even sure what he’s saying at this point, too focused on keeping your throat relaxed and not gagging around his thick length. Your hands grip at his ass, nails digging into his skin and he hisses, practically whining when you swallow and your throat tightens around his cock.

“Fuck, fuck. Jesus Christ, fuck me,” he groans. “Love how you look with my dick in your mouth, look so pretty.”

You moan around him, lifting up a little on your knees and leaning in, deep throating him until your nose is pressed against his skin, your chin tucked up against his balls. His scent - a little bit soapy, a little bit sweaty - invades your senses and you feel your panties dampen further. You shake your head a little, brushing the tip of your nose against his skin and Mat’s fingers tighten on your face, thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones.

“Gonna come, baby, gotta -“ he mutters, choking off. He leans his hips back a little, trying to pull out of your mouth, but you hold onto his ass, pulling him closer to your face. Mat grunts, his balls tightening under your chin before he comes down your throat, hot and thick.

You swallow for what feels like forever, Mat’s cock still thick and hard in your mouth. He finally pulls back and you drop down to sit on your heels, wiping at your mouth. Saliva and cum make your chin and hands sticky, but you grin cheekily up at your boyfriend. He looks wrecked, jaw slack and eyes nearly closed.

“Didn’t manage to come just from sucking you off,” you rasp, throat sore and voice hoarse. You reach up to gently stroke over his cock and he leans his hips forward, pushing into your grip.

“Bet that sweet pussy of yours is soaked for me, huh?” Mat says, reaching out to wrap his hands around your biceps and haul you to your feel, your hand falling away from his cock. With his grip on your arms, Mat crushes you to his chest, kissing you sloppily. His cock presses against your stomach, half-hard, and you press against it, making Mat groan into your mouth before he sucks on your tongue.

You hum against his mouth, melting against Mat’s chest. Your clit throbs and you clench around nothing, desperate for a little friction. “Mat,” you gasp his name a little and he knows exactly what you want. His hands slide up your arms and wrap gently around your neck and the back of your head, keeping your face close to his so he can kiss you while walking you backwards to the bed.

“Gonna fuck you so good, baby,” he murmurs into your mouth. You can feel his body vibrating with adrenaline and once the backs of your knees hit the mattress, Mat pulls back to quickly get rid of his clothes, kicking the fabric in all different directions with a a hungry look in his eyes that makes you giggle. Mat grins down at you and leans over your body, pressing his bare chest against your clothed one. “Regular post-game energy has nothing on post-fight energy,” he promises, nipping at your pulse point.

You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist and roll your hips, pressing your cunt against his cock. “I can’t wait to find out,” you murmur, arching your back when his hands slide up your shirt to grope at your tits.

Just about an hour later, you roll off of Mat’s chest, sweating and panting like you’ve just run a marathon. “Fuck,” you breathe, thighs sticky and trembling.

Mat turns his head and gives you a lazy smirk, “told you.”

You kick a little at his ankle, shifting and shaking your head at the way your core is clenching around nothing, the feeling of Mat’s cock stuffed inside of you still present. “You need to get into fights more often,” you mumble, watching him wince as he pulls the used condom off of his dick. He twists a knot into the latex and rolls off the other side of the bed to pad into the bathroom. You blatantly stare at his ass, wolf-whistling when he bends slightly to toss the condom.

“I’m feeling very objectified,” Mat teases you, standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips. He tries to keep a straight face, but can’t help his lips from turning up at the corners. You drag your gaze over his body, from the top of his head, over his bare chest complete with chain resting against his collarbone, down to his dick hanging between his legs, and back up.

“Mmm,” you hum, still flat on your back, still shaking slightly. “It’s not my fault you’re so objectifiable. Maybe if you were uglier…”

You trail off into a shriek, body jostling when Mat pounces on the bed, covering your body with his and planting sloppy, wet kisses on every inch of your skin he can reach. “Nooo, stop! Oh my god, you know I’m ticklish,” you shriek-giggle, pushing at Mat’s shoulders, trying to wiggle out from under him. He keeps you caged in with his arms and legs, laughing.

“Gonna keep objectifying me, Squeaks?” He asks, marking you up with hickies across your neck and chest.

“Yessss,” you laugh, pressing your chest into his face. “It’s my favorite hobby.” You hook your leg around his hip and dig your heel into the muscle of his ass, getting him to thrust his pelvis forward, bumping against your clit. A spark of pleasure lights up your nerves.

“Cool,” he laughs, flicking his tongue over your nipple. “You can keep doing it after we get some food, I’m starving.” He bites at the underside of your breast and rolls off of you again, leaving you cold in the middle of the bed.

“What?” You sit up, watching him reach for his pants and dig his phone out of the pocket.

“We had like one slice of shitty Chicago pizza after the game,” Mat explains. “And then we rolled around in bed for an hour. I’m starving, babe.”

You’re about to complain, but as soon as you open your mouth, your stomach growls and Mat smirks at you. You huff, “okay, yeah. Let’s order some dinner.”

He turns back to his phone, tapping away at UberEats, and you flop back against the pillows, grabbing for your own phone where it rests on the bedside table. Once you’re settled, you rest your feet in Mat’s lap, his left hand landing on your ankle and thumb tracing an arc over your instep. You wiggle your toes and he pinches lightly at your skin. “What do you want?”

“Mozzarella sticks,” you say absently, gaze flickering onto your lock screen. It’s covered in notifications - the girls’ group chat, Twitter, Instagram, TikTok. What the hell is going on?

Another message comes in from Sydney, making your phone vibrate in your hand. Since you don’t have a password on your phone, you can see her message on the screen: she’s going to be banned from the arena 😂

Who’s going to be banned from the arena?

You tap open the group chat and scroll back to the top where the messages started half an hour ago. Holly sent a Twitter link followed by: our girl! 😂

A sinking feeling forms in your stomach, but you tap on the link, unsurprised when it opens up to a video. A video of you, just a few hours earlier, yelling at the game.

“Oh man,” you groan, watching yourself - filmed from an unflattering angle, of course - jumping and cheering for Mat, before turning and snapping at the Blackhawks fan.

“No mozzarella sticks?” Mat asks, mistaking what you had said as directed at him. He’s still scrolling through UberEats.

“No, um, yes,” you shake your head, looking up. “I do still want mozzarella sticks, but…”

You tap on the hashtag and start scrolling through Tweets, even as texts from the girls continue to roll in. The video is everywhere - Spittin’ Chiclets, B/R Open Ice, Barstool Sports. Fuck, even Frankie’s retweeted it, adding his typical all-caps word vomit captions: GOTTA GO THROUGH THE ISLAND OUR FANS ARE GREATER THAN ANYONE ELSE ANS READY TO GIVE YOU A VERBAL BITCH SLAP LOVE YOU LADY B

You roll your eyes at his caption, pulling the notification screen down and checking to see if he texted you too. He did - a string of cry-laughing emojis and clapping emojis.

“But what?” Mat finally drops his phone to the mattress and leans back on an elbow to look at you. “What are you looking at?”

You squint at him. “Have you not gotten any texts or notifications?” You ask, surprised that the guys’ group chat isn’t blowing up.

“Probably,” Mat shrugs, “my phone’s been on do not disturb since before my nap this afternoon. I wasn’t really thinking about looking. Why?”

You flip your phone around, showing him the screen. Mat squints at it, watching the video play for a few seconds before he lets out a chuckle of disbelief. “Is that you, Squeaks?”

“Yep,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I, um, got a little heated when you fought. Is Lou going to kill me?”

Mat’s got your phone in his hand now, scrolling through the Tweets and laughing. “No way, you don’t work for him. I don’t think he knows what Twitter is anyway.” He keeps scrolling. “Oh shit!”

“What?” You lunge forward and snatch at your phone. Mat pulls it back and clicks his tongue at you.

“Jeez, you gonna yell at me now too?” He jokes before reading the caption of a Tweet. “Listen to this ‘trashy Long Island fan berates Blackhawks fan.’ Babe, you freaked on the wrong fanbase.”

“I’m trashy?” You yelp indignantly. “Me? They’re the fans that are supporting an organization FULL of sexual abusers! Give me my phone, I want to defend myself.”

“No way!” Mat holds your phone in the air away from you. “Why expose yourself to more shit?”

“Because I’m not the one in the wrong here,” you grumble. “What are the guys saying? Does anyone know who I am? I mean, I wasn’t quiet about cheering for you.”

With your phone still in his hand, Mat picks up his own and taps over to the messages. “Oh, damn. Almost fifty texts from the guys.” He chuckles as he scrolls through them, reading you off the best ones. “Bo says to suit up for next game, we could use your passion. Dobber says two minutes in the box for unsportsmanlike conduct. Ah, nice, Frankie says pizzas are on him next time we’re at Borrelli’s.”

“Pizzas are always on Frankie,” you grumble, draping yourself over Mat’s back to read his phone screen over his shoulder. The guys are mostly sending more videos from different angles and chirping you. While Mat’s distracted by the group chat, you snatch your phone back, returning to Twitter where the fans have figured out your connection to Mat - it’s not like your relationship is a secret, your Twitter is public and your Instagram switches back and forth between public and private when you’re starting to feel overwhelmed - but you don’t love that you’re getting this kind of attention.

You really should’ve controlled yourself better. But you didn’t and now you’re scrolling through hundreds of Tweets that are calling you Long Island trash. There are others mixed in that are supporting you, cheering you on for being a loyal fan and girlfriend, but jeez. The Chicago fans really are kind of nasty.

“Stop looking at that,” Mat plucks the phone from your hands when he sees your forehead crease and wrinkle over your nose. “Are we gonna have to delete your account like Dobber?”

“No,” you huff, chest flushing with emotion. “I just…I should’ve been a little more controlled, but I got so worked up!”

Mat cups your cheek and grins at you, “I like when you’re worked up. It’ll blow over in a few days, but for now, it’s really fucking cool that my girlfriend is so passionate about me fighting.”

You wrinkle your nose up at him and he laughs again, “seriously, don’t worry about it.” He frowns a little. “Fans’ll be talking about our game again by tomorrow. We’re fucking it all up.”

Pressing your cheek against Mat’s shoulder blade, you wrap your arms around his waist. “I’m sorry, Mat. I know you guys are working so hard, things will turn around soon, I’m sure.” You press a kiss to his skin, blowing a little raspberry. “Want your trashy Long Island girlfriend to give you another blowjob?”

That draws a laugh from Mat, exactly what you wanted to do, and he reaches back to rub his fingers over your scalp, massaging gently. He waves his phone in the air, “think you can do it before dinner gets here?”

A challenge.

You grin against his back, hands sliding down his stomach to wrap around the base of his cock. He jolts in your grip, stomach muscles bunching. “Place the order and we’ll see,” you mumble against his back, kissing and biting at his shoulder. His arm moves and you can see over his shoulder that he’s pressing the order button.

“Time starts now,” Mat teases, leaning back against you and giving you more access for your hands to stroke him.

You just barely manage to bring Mat to his finish before his phone chimes with the delivery notification, but it’s intensely satisfying to watch him yank on the hotel robe and slippers with his face and chest all flushed before he runs down to the lobby. You take the time that he’s gone to clean yourself up, showering quickly before getting into your lounge pants. By the time you eat and hang out for a bit, Mat’s going to have to go back to his own room, so you’re trying to curb the temptation to go another round.

Your phone is still going crazy with notifications and when you open Instagram, you notice that Mat’s shared a story. Immediately suspicious, you tap on his little circle, groaning when you see the video of you shouting. He must’ve shared it while he was in the elevator, the fucking menace.

Underneath the reshared video, Mat added his own comment: my favorite trashy long islander 👊🏻💪🏻😂

You swipe up and tap out a reply: i hate you

“Love you too, Oscar,” Mat’s voice echoes through the room. You look up and there he is, carrying the bag of takeout.

“Oscar?”

“Like the Grouch? You know, because he lives in a trash can,” Mat’s grin is shit-eating, “and you’re trashy.”

You fling a pillow at him and he ducks, cracking up. “I’m sorry!” He chokes out, not sorry at all. “But it’s hilarious. Video gets funnier the more you watch and some of those people on Twitter really are quick with the comments.”

“I’m never coming to another game again, Mathew,” you inform him, faux-snootily. He hands you over the foil tin of mozzarella sticks.

“Yeah you are,” he presses a kiss to your temple. “You’d never forgive yourself if you missed me fight again.” He wiggles his eyebrows and takes a bite out of one of your mozzarella sticks.

He’s right and he knows it.

“I’m going to have to private my insta again,” you comment on a sigh, looking down at the notifications piling up.

“You’re gonna be old news in a day or two,” Mat replies. “Something else will happen at a different game and hockey twitter will move on.”

By the time you land in New York the next afternoon, Mat’s right. You’re old news because the team’s fired Lane and hired Patrick Roy as their new coach.

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal x you #mat barzal fic #nhl fic

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