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bitchesuntitled · 1 month

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Lies, Excuses and Bullshit

Pairing: Exboyfriend!Dave York x f!Reader

Summary: A man with a double life willing to do anything to keep his obsession around, and a woman who doesn't know what she's gotten herself into.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI, go on get! Breaking up, creepy!Dave, infidelity, stalker behavior from Dave, oral(f receiving), spanking, unprotected PIV(make smarter choices), manipulation, and if there is anything I missed please let me know!

A/N: Phew, not sure what happened here. This is a first, I don't usually write darker stuff but something about Dave made it just fly out of my finger tips. This was written for @punkshort's AU August Challenge! Thank you Shortie for letting me be part of the challenge 😊 I need to shout out @beefrobeefcal @strang3lov3 @ozarkthedog and @mothandpidgeon thank you all for the encouragement and lending your eyeballs for this story! ❤️

@jay-zzle, my love, my bestie. This one is for you! 🥰❤️🥰❤️

Masterlist||AO3

divider by @saradika-graphics

You thought things were fine. Dave is the perfect gentleman. It is a complete shock to see this text from your friend. It was a picture of Dave with another woman and two little girls at a soccer game. Maybe it’s his niece's soccer game and he’s just there being a good uncle? Until the next text comes in.

Isn’t that your boyfriend?

Another picture is attached featuring Dave, his arm around the woman. Then another and another and another. More evidence to suggest he is obviously in a relationship with the woman and you are the one left in the dark on this whole situation.

You stopped responding to your friend a while ago, staring at the pictures they sent. Back and forth, memorizing every detail. The way he’s looking at her. The way his arm is around her. The way he’s touching her. The way he kissed her - that was the one that sealed your fate of knowing you had in fact not been seeing a recently divorced man but a married one. Your phone buzzes with another text notification.

D. York: Hey baby, still picking you up at 9 right?

You glare at your phone unsure of what the next step is. Obviously he is cheating on his wife unbeknownst to you. How does somebody even handle something like this? You really liked Dave, you saw a future with him. Your relationship has been going on for months now.

After neglecting to respond your phone buzzes again with another text from the man himself.

D. York: Been thinking about you

You roll your eyes and text him back.

You: Not tonight. Don’t feel good.

D. York: Aw you poor thing. Do you need anything?

You didn’t even have the energy to respond with this new found information rattling around your brain, pressing the button to make your phone sleep and making your way to your bedroom. You plugged your phone in and crawled into bed, ignoring the constant buzz against your nightstand as you tried to drift off. The sun was still out but you couldn’t be awake right now. You needed to shut your brain off and this was the only way you knew how.

There was a pounding on your door when you woke with a startle. The moon casting shadows through the curtains into your room. You checked your phone, seeing the multiple notifications, some from your friends and some from Dave. He’d also tried calling several different times.

D. York: Are you okay?

Did you talk to him yet?

D. York: Do you want some company?

Want me to kick his ass?

D. York: How are you feeling?

What do you plan to say?

D. York: Baby, please answer me. Getting a little worried here.

The pounding on your door continued as you checked your phone. The doorbell camera he insisted on getting for you and installed showed Dave at your doorstep holding a plastic bag, grumbling, you got out of bed and walked towards the door.

“I’m coming. Give it a rest,” you shout, hoping Dave can hear you over his loud knocks.

Sliding the chain lock you open the door.

“Baby,” Dave sighs with relief, “What have you been doing? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours now!”

“I told you, I don’t feel good,” you shrug, “I’ve been sleeping.”

“I’m sorry to wake you, I started to get worried,” Dave says, looking around your living room, “I got you some stuff to hopefully help with whatever bug you’ve seemed to catch.”

You watch as he carefully steps into your space, placing the bag on the coffee table in front of your couch.

“Dave,” you sigh, “I know.”

“Know what?” Dave asks, hands on his hips and shaking his head with a smirk.

“I know you’re still married.”

You see his adam's apple bob as he swallows, flopping back onto the couch, and clasping his hands together. He stays silent for a moment, contemplating what to say next.

“How’d you find out?”

Your eyes widen, not expecting him to fold so easily.

“A friend sent me some photos from today at the soccer field,” you murmur, trying to keep the wavering in your voice to a minimum.

“I see,” Dave says with a nod.

“You also have kids?”

Dave nods again, facing you this time.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Dave scoffs, “Sleep with you?”

“I wouldn’t just call what we’ve been doing as ‘sleeping together,’ Dave,” you say, using your fingers as air quotes when the words sleeping together leave your mouth.

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” Dave chuckles, “I get bored from time to time and like to play with someone new.”

“Your wife know that?” you ask, glaring at him. This man who you thought you knew is showing an entirely different side of himself, and you don’t like it.

“She doesn’t need to know because it’s not a big deal.” Dave sighs exasperated.

“I think it’s best if you left.”

“Alright,” Dave says standing, “If that’s what you want.”

“Yep,” you say with a sharp nod.

“Listen,” Dave says, reaching a hand towards your arm, and you slid your arm back letting him know not to touch you, and he put his hand down beside him, “Okay, well, it’s really not as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be. I like you, I like what we’ve been–”

“Dave, you’re cheating on your wife,” you grit through your teeth interrupting the spiel he was going on, and swung the door open for him, “Leave.”

—

“Fucking take it.” Dave growls in your ear, thrusting his hips harshly into you, “Just like that baby.”

Your moans fill his ears, he can tell you’re close. The way your walls flutter around his length, squeezing him tighter. He can practically taste your climax in the air around him, gripping your hips tighter and angling them so he can get deeper.

“Dave,” you sob, after a particularly harsh thrust. Fingers gripping the sheets beneath you, back arching as you continue to cry out his name.

Dave. Dave. Dave.

“David!”

Dave jumps to the sound of Carol’s voice. Looking around to see he’s in his own bed in his home, not yours.

“Honey, your alarm has been going off for 10 minutes now.”

He lets out a sigh facing his reality, adjusting the hardness in his pajama bottoms. It was just a dream. It’s been months since he’s seen you. You’ve seemed to make your way into his brain at all times of the day, conscious or not.

“I’m gonna get the girls ready but you don’t need to be late for work again,” Carol says, giving him a smile and wink. After last night, he’s not sure how much longer he can do this. He’s been trying to have sex with Carol more. Sure, she’s his wife but she doesn’t scratch the same itch you did.

He’s tried. He’s tried to be a good husband, he’s tried to be a good dad and he’s exhausted. Dave feels himself becoming more of a shell since you told him to leave.

You’ve made it abundantly clear you want nothing to do with him. He tried to reach out to you, only to have his number blocked. You disabled your doorbell camera after he left that night. You must have known he’d try and look at it on his phone, you knew he had the information for your account. Why wouldn’t he try to look?

What you don’t know is that once Carol takes the girls to school, he gets the second phone hidden in the false bottom of a shoe box in his closet that is an exact copy of your own. He can see who you’re texting, where you’re at, how things at work are going, who you’re hanging out with. It’s become an obsession to check it daily.

—

As he steps out of the shower, Carol shouts up the stairs that she’s leaving with the girls, and the front door closes shortly after. Time to start his day.

Getting dressed in his running gear and snatching his headphones from the dresser. He makes his way to the closet. Finding the shoe box with your duplicated phone.

Texts from your friends, a text from your boss and a missed call from your mom. What catches his eye the most is the notification from some jackass on Tinder. James. Scanning James’ profile he’s definitely not your type: blonde hair, green eyes, gelled back hair, and a full beard.

James, 29

Looking for a girl who just wants to have some fun, if it leads to more that’s cool too. I like hiking, graduated from Harvard, hanging with my bros, anything else hmu

Dave shakes his head as he reads the messages shared between the two of you. He scans reading hellos, good nights, sharing random facts about each other, until he stumbles upon the most recent messages

James: Hello gorgeous 😉

Hello 😊

James: So I’ve been thinking would you wanna meet up? Go get a drink or something?

Sure! 7 good?

James: Awesome! Yeah. Do you know where Sal’s is?

I do! It’s not far from my job

James: Perfect! I’ll see ya then beautiful

No. No way in hell is this James guy meeting up with you. Dave calls the office letting them know he’s taking a personal day, he has some business to take care of.

—

Sal’s is exactly what you expected it to be. Dark, dingey, and small. Not too crowded thankfully, it’s definitely got character though. The random decor on the wall is confusing. You can’t tell if this is supposed to be a sports or a punk bar with the random band posters on the wall along with sports jerseys next to them.

Making your way to the bar you sit down on a stool, flagging down the bartender.

“What’s your poison for the night?” He asks, wiping his hands on the towel he was carrying.

“Jack and Coke,” you say, slipping your hand into your bag to get your wallet out. He makes quick work of mixing the drink and placing it in front of you, handing over your card while you hear the jingle of the door.

“Starting a tab?” The bartender asks, swiping your card.

“No, thank you,” you smile as he hands your card back to you, putting it back in your wallet.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see someone standing a couple stools away. Looking down at your drink, moving the straw around before taking a drink. You take a peek at your watch to see it’s 10 minutes before you’re supposed to meet James.

Maybe this was a bad idea, you haven’t had to do this in months. It was easier when Dave just kind of fell into your life.

“Whiskey on the rocks.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up when you heard the familiar timber of his voice, head snapping to look at him. Dave. His smirk as he waits on his drink says it all, he knew you would be here. Was he James?

“Are you fucking serious?” You hiss through your teeth.

Dave thanks the bartender, moving closer to you.

“I come in peace,” Dave says, sitting in the stool one away from you, “All I want to do is talk.”

“Are you James?” You ask through clenched teeth, glaring at him.

“Oh baby,” Dave tuts, “I’m not James, he’s very real.”

You continue to glare at him. Unable to force your brain to work with your limbs on moving, leaving, throwing your drink on him. Anything other than sitting here being in his presence.

“He wasn’t hard to convince to leave you alone though,” Dave looks at you with a smirk, one eyebrow raised and begins to chuckle, “One mention of snapping any finger that touches you sent him running.”

You try to swallow but your throat feels like a desert, gripping the tumbler in front of you and taking a swig. Did he… did he do something to James? Surely not, Dave wouldn’t even kill the spider that appeared in your apartment one day, scooped it up and took it outside. How could he cause harm to anything?

“Dave did you…” pausing pondering how to even ask the question.

“Did I hurt him?” Dave asks, scooting to the stool next to you and leaning in closer, invading your space and you nod your head, “No, just made it known what’s mine.”

You let out a sharp gasp at his words, arousal seeping into the gusset of your underwear, thighs clenching together at his closeness, feeling goosebumps erupt across your skin. This shouldn’t be happening but your body thinks otherwise.

“I’ve missed you baby,” Dave hums into your ear, “Don’t like how we ended things.”

The way he says it has the ice around your heart melting. You hate him but can’t help the way your heart betrays your brain at his words. Dave lets out a small growl, gripping your bare thigh beneath the bar top possessively.

“I’m staying in a hotel room tonight,” he says, the grip on your thigh becoming less and smoothing his hand against your inner thigh. Gliding his hand up, up, up. Pinky finger playing with the edge of your underwear under your skirt.

You grab his hand and pull it away from your core, bringing it to rest on your lap. Lacing your fingers with his, while his thumb rubs along your palm. You sigh, contemplating what to do. Go with him or send him packing like last time. The devil on your shoulder telling you to go with him, it’s just stress relief, it won’t- it can’t mean anything, he knows your body better than anyone else. The angel on the other side just repeating the same words, he’s still married.

In the words of your mother, if he doesn’t cheat with you then he’ll just find someone else. Might as well have fun.

“I’ve missed you too,” you confess with a soft whimper in his ear. Finally seeing him again after months of nothing has your practical sense crumbling.

“Let’s go then,” Dave smirks, standing pulling your hand slightly to stand with him and leave.

—

Dave drove like a bat out of hell to the hotel, dragged you to the elevator and his room as if this was his last chance to have you. Clothes flying off the moment you crossed the threshold of the room.

“Dave,” you moan, his lips ghosting down your neck to your collarbone. His hands grip your ass, pulling you flush against his front, feeling his erection against your stomach.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much,” he groans, his mouth sucking the flesh of your breast, capturing your nipple in his mouth and giving it a nip. A whine escapes past your lips at the sudden pressure of his teeth, moving your body with him until you feel the back of your knees hit the bed.

Dave releases your nipple, pushing himself against you to lay back on the bed, making room for himself between your thighs. His dark eyes swimming with lust study your face. His hand comes to rest on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

“Why’d you let me leave like that?” His voice barely a whisper, lying his forehead against your own.

“You’re married,” you wince hearing the words leave your throat. You shouldn’t be doing this.

“I can change that,” he smirks with a chuckle, kissing the corner of your mouth, “I’d leave if it meant you’d stay,” kissing your jaw, “I’d spend every single day of my life making you happy,” he coos, trailing his lips down to your neck, laving his tongue against your pulse point.

“Dave,” you plead, hoping to stop his words. You don’t want to hear this, it’s all lies to get you to stay. The ache between your thighs begging for more.

“Mean it baby,” Dave says with a hum, mouth traveling down the expanse of your body, “Only want you,” he breathes when his face inches away from your sex, “Looks like you want me too,” he teases.

You feel the warmth spreading through your body as he sighs using his thumbs to spread your lips apart, staring at your glistening slit.

“Oh yeah, she’s definitely missed me,” he hums, flicking his tongue against your clit.

“Dave,” you gasp, gripping the sheets between your fingers. He works his tongue along your bundle of nerves swirling and sucking.

“God I’ve missed this pussy,” Dave growls, gripping your hips tightly before fucking you with his tongue.

“Fuck,” you moan, back arching off the bed. The fire in your abdomen grows more intense. You reach for one of his hands, linking your fingers with his. His other hand moving, fingers prodding at your entrance.

“Please,” you beg, “Dave, pl- please. More, I- I need m-“, you cry out when his fingers plunge into your cunt. Swiftly curling them inside you as he moves the pads of his fingers back and forth putting delicious pressure against your g-spot.

“That’s it baby,” Dave groans, nipping your inner thigh, “Let me have it.”

Your toes curl feeling the coil in your lower belly tightening, leaning your head up to watch him. He looks as wrecked as you feel as he rapidly flits his tongue against your clit. His brows furrowed in concentration as he worked his mouth and fingers in sync for you to reach your climax, his lips shiny from your arousal. He opens his eyes to see your mouth hung open in a silent scream, brows pinched together as you pant looking into his eyes.

“Dave,” you pant, “Baby, I’m gonna come.”

Your walls clamp down on his fingers as you stare into his dark orbs. White hot heat spreads throughout your body, letting out a soft shriek.

“Flip over,” Dave instructs, moving your pliable limbs so you’re on your stomach. You cry out as he pushes his cock into you sharply.

“Fuck.”

“Shhh,” Dave tuts, “It’s okay baby, you can take it.”

You whine, it feels like he’s splitting you in two, walls gripping his length. He doesn’t give you a moment to adjust before he’s roughly snapping his hips into you.

“Make you mine again,” Dave grunts, “No one else deserves you.”

The pain quickly turns into pleasure as he works his cock in and out. The sound of your squelching pussy filling your ears as strangled noises crawl up your throat.

“God damn baby,” Dave hisses, tilting your hips up as he grinds his hips into you, hitting that spot deep inside only he’s been able to reach.

“Missed this so,” he grunts, slapping your ass, “Fucking,” another slap against your skin, “Much,” another harsh slap before soothing the marks he’s left with his palm.

“Dave,” you let out a choked sob, feeling the pleasure building, thrusting your hips back into him, “Faster.”

“Dirty girl,” Dave hums, gripping your hips again, pounding into your pussy at a frantic pace, “You gonna- oh fuck- come again?”

You can only nod your head weakly, feeling the sizzling pressure in your abdomen start to boil over. Your walls spasming and contracting around his cock. The muscles in your legs tensing before screaming out.

“Oh fuck,” Dave moans, “That’s it baby. Come on my cock. Just like that.”

Dave leans over caging you between his arms, thrusting into your wet heat a half a dozen times before his hips start to lose rhythm and going still, your name tumbling from his lips, letting your walls milk his cock feeling the warmth of his seed paint your walls.

“I really have missed you,” Dave admits slumping against you with a sigh, “So fucking much.”

He kisses your shoulder before pulling out with a hiss. You groan feeling the emptiness before he helps you up, guiding you to the bathroom.

You shower together, taking time to wash each other with delicate touches, and sharing intimate kisses before crawling back into bed with his arms wrapped around you.

You wake sometime in the middle of the night. Dave’s snoring beside you, finding your phone amongst your belongings scattered around the room, you make your way to the bathroom. Looking at Dave sleeping so peacefully from the doorway of the bathroom you can’t help feeling torn. You loved him, still do if you’re being honest with yourself, but this isn’t what you two should be doing.

You find an uber available and schedule to be picked up. Quietly making your way out of the bathroom and grabbing your things when you hear two identical dings. One from your hand and one from Dave’s bag. Slipping your clothes back on you slowly wander over to his things. Rummaging around until you find a phone, similar to yours. Pushing the button on the side you see a notification for an Uber 5 minutes away, looking at your own phone to see it displaying the same.

“What the fuck?” You whisper to yourself, head snapping to look at Dave hoping you didn’t wake him. You look around to find a pen and piece of paper.

—

Dave wakes the next morning with a smile, remembering what happened last night. Sliding his hand to where you should be, feeling the cool sheets under his palm, peeking an eye open to see the empty spot next to him.

He listens closely to his surroundings, hoping to hear the shower but is met only with silence. Frowning as he sits up, scrubbing his hands against his face trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. Looking around the room for any sign of you, taking note of your things being gone.

He sees a folded piece of paper lying on top of something on the dresser. Dave gets up to inspect what it is. His name is on the paper, sitting on top of two phones. Immediately recognizing one as yours and the other the duplicate he had made. His eyes scan the note you left, unable to believe what he was reading.

You’ll never be anything but a lying, cheating, manipulative douchebag. Figure your shit out. Don’t ever reach out to me again.

Dave’s hand curls into a fist as he reads the note over and over again. You left. You really left and this time it’s going to be even harder to find you.

He smirks, shaking his head as he collapses on the edge of the bed. You must not realize how much he loves a challenge.

#shortieswritingchallenge #dave york x f!reader #dave york smut #dave york fanfiction #dave york x you #dave york equalizer 2

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pumpkinandcoat · 1 month

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My TUA4 thoughts

Its been a week now since the final season premiered and I have finally been able to compile all my thought together

This is an essay.

Spoilers for season 4 of The Umbrella Academy

(obviously)

With the fourth and final installment of The Umbrella Academy finally released, brings the long awaited conclusion of the Hargreeves family. And suffice to say… people hated it.

Even when this show is at its weakest with its plot, the thing that makes the show so good and what many people love about the show are its characters. They are all very distinct and memorable. And in TUA3, while it's riddled with plot holes and frustrating choices, is still a lot of fun to watch because of the character moments and the relationships between the different siblings.

That is why TUA4 is so infuriating, because it takes these special and memorable characters and it morphs them into these weird versions of themselves. Every single main character falls victim to this. They regress as characters into these versions of themselves that shouldn’t exist anymore.

Luther has become a stripper. His arc has almost no dignity from the get go. This only very loosely connects with his arc in TUA2 where he works at a bar, but as a bodyman and not as a ‘professional dancer’ so as to why the writers chose to make him a stripper is weird. He has returned to live in a run down version of the academy. There is no follow up on Sloane and he mentions her only one or twice in the whole season.

Diego is somewhat resentful of fatherhood, and he misses his old life of excitement when he was a vigilante. He is unhappy with his life and he seeks the higher purpose that he thinks being a criminal deterrent will give him.

Allison yearns again to be a star and neglects her relationship with Claire in the pursuit to regain her fame.

Klaus, as soon as he regains his power, turns back to drugs. There is no attempt for him to hold onto his sobriety, even though as we see in TUA2 and TUA3 he is (mostly) sober for three years with his powers fully intact. We don’t even get a scene of him struggling with the ghosts coming back to haunt him before he is off to go buy drugs, and then he becomes a victim to sex trafficking.

Five’s working at the CIA. After a lifetime of hardship and struggle, after he is forced into organizations where he has to complete different missions - first as a child with Reginald in the academy, and later as an adult with the commission - and after he is ready to retire at the end of TUA3, he joins into another organization instead.

Viktor moves away to Canada and is again isolated from his siblings and alone. Shown to have no lasting and meaningful relationships in his personal life.

Every single character is reverted back to an old version of themselves that they have grown from by now. The writers strip them of all of their character growth and substance and reset them to their base characteristics. Worse than that they write them as stereotypes that they are portrayed as at the beginning of the show, in which they are shown to be more than just those stereotypes and have at this point for a lot of them grown from them all together. They are now reduced back to them but without any of the nuance or layers that they had before, and again stripping them of all of their character growth and personality.

The writers absolutely refuse to let these characters grow in meaningful and satisfying ways.

The relationships between these characters as well are also poorly written. Many of the strong relationships we see in the past seasons barely have interactions with each other, such as Klaus and Five, Diego and Klaus, Allison and Viktor to name a few. With Allison and Viktor we only really have one meaningful scene between them where they talk about how they aren’t close anymore and then there is no further discussion or resolution between the two. And with many others at best they get fleeting minor interactions where they maybe exchange one line or comment. Then there’s the characters who we’ve been waiting to interact for a long time, like Five and Claire, where in the first season Five expresses his desire to live long enough to meet his niece but in season 4 we don’t see them interact even once.

But by far the most insulting relationship is the one between Lila and Five and Diego.

Two fucking words: Character Assassination.

The way that they wrote Five in this season is so completely baffling. Because the writers felt the need to give Five a love interest this season they decided to pair Lila and Five up and in doing so they destroy both Five and Lilas character, and the dynamic between Five and Lila, Five and Diego, and Diego and Lila.

There are two faucets as to why this relationship doesn’t work: the in-show context and the real life implications of the pairing.

In-show: Five and Lilas relationship hinges on the fact that they are stranded together on the subway for 7 years, unable to get back to their families. In the second to last episode of the entire show they are taken away from the rest of the characters to be put in this pocket dimension for the sole purpose to develop a romantic relationship between the two of them.

For Lila as well, but especially for Five this makes no sense for their characters and butchers everything they represent and everything they stand for. Fives' driving force for his whole character is his family. Everything that Five does, every action that he takes, everything that he endures and pushes himself though, is for his family. His family's safety and survival matter more to him than his own physical, mental and emotional well being. They are the only people in the whole world that Five cares about.

Five survives 40 years in the apocalypse, with abysmal chances to get out, where any normal person would kill themselves, Five endures for the miniscule chance to get back and save his family. He spends years working for the commission, killing hundreds of people, after being the only surviving person on earth for 4 decades, to buy time so he can get back to his family. Five spends 45 years trying to claw his way back to his family. And when he does make it back to them, Five spends 28 straight days trying to prevent three different apocalypses across three different timelines so his family would live.

After 7 years on the subway Five gives up on getting back his family, and when he discovers a way back he keeps it a secret, even when he knows they are facing the apocalypse and certain death again? It doesn’t make sense for his character at all. Yes, he was tired at the end of TUA3 and was ready to lay down and die with his family by his side, but that was again after three failed attempts at preventing the apocalypse in a very short period of time. He also isn’t with his family, separated and isolated once again.

In terms of Five and Lilas relationship - It doesn’t make sense for Five, whose sole driving force throughout the entire show is his family, to turn around and betray his brother by engaging in a relationship with his wife.

The dynamic between Five and Lila throughout the seasons has progressed from enemies to begrudging allies to a close friendship between the two, a progression that could not have happened without Diego. At the end of TUA2 and the start of TUA3 these two hate each other's guts, but because they both love Diego they are willing to put their shit aside and be somewhat amicable. Then, because they also both have a connection through the commission they team up and to go back and investigate and it's here where they can move past their past and are able to slowly form a friendship.

Yes, they are very similar characters and they have a unique bond. They can understand each other in a way none of the others can, because of their unique experiences at the commission and as being used as tools of The Handler. But this doesn’t mean they are suited for each other romantically and in fact is exactly why they aren’t. They both have deep trust issues, paranoia, and a kind of bitterness towards the world because of their experiences. With Lila and Diego, the reason that they work so well is because Diego's trusting nature and goodwill in people shows Lila that she can open herself up to people and to trust and love.

And the showrunners take all of this characterization, all of the love and devotion and the deep bonds between these characters and they throw it away because they wanted to give Five a love story. In the second to last episode of the entire series we see a three minute montage of Five and Lila on the subway for 7 years, and then three scenes of them in the greenhouse before they return back to the main time.

The writers destroy these characters and destroy these relationships for 15 minutes of screentime.

There is no resolution to this plotline. There is no reconciliation or understanding about what happened. Lila dies on dubious terms with both Diego and Five. Five and Diego die hating each other.

In real life: The actor who plays Five, Aidan Gallagher, was a minor during the filming of TUA1/2/3, and this was the first year he filmed where he was legally an adult, being 19 years old when filming TUA4.

From the first season of the show, when he was 14 years old when filming, he has been heavily sexualised by a certain group of the fanbase.

And the creators of the show, who have known him since he was a young teenager, at the first opportunity they could, paired him with his 34 year old costar - They met in the filming of the second season of the show, when Aidan was 15.

They waited - literally waited - for him to turn of legal age so that they could make his character have a love story, and then regardless of morals, regardless of plot relevance, regardless of if it even made sense for the characters, proceeded to pair Five and Lila up. Completely uncaring of the story, the established relationships between the characters and the overarching arcs of these characters.

The writers literally had to completely separate and isolate Five and Lila from the rest of the characters in their own timeline for over half a decade in order for it to make sense for them to develop a romantic relationship between them.

The decisions of the creators in this season are just so insane.

In continuation of Fives character this season - he abandons his family twice. Firstly when he finds the cipher to the subway and can return home, but chooses not to. Then secondly while his family are facing a life or death situation and another apocalypse, he physically fights Diego, and when Lila intervenes and implies that their relationship is over, he abandons them in the middle of the fight, to return to the subway.

And finally we get to the finale, where Five - again whose entire character is built on the love and devotion he has for his family - decides to erase himself and his entire family's existence from not just one timeline, but across every single timeline in order to correct the universe.

Five has never cared about the timeline. In fact he has always actively been working against it for his family's survival. They are supposed to die in TUA1 but Five will not allow that to happen and he goes against everything and every one to ensure that they live. He does this in every single season - goes directly against time and the universe to make sure his family makes it out on the other side. Now he is happy to give up and give in and not just to let his family die, but to have them permanently erased as if they hadn’t existed at all.

Even with the Five diner, we see all these Fives who have given up on trying to save their family after trying and failing to save them countless times - over 100,000 times - they resign themselves to a life of solitude with only alternate versions of themselves for company. Surely some of these Five have had to make the same connection that our Five makes, but they won’t sacrifice their families existence for the sake of the main timeline. But our Five, the Five that we follow, the Five we’ve personally seen struggle and fight to make sure his family is safe is the one who does.

I just cannot express how much this season disappoints me. The fundamental misunderstanding the creators have with their own characters and their own show is unbelievable. Even at the show's weakest, what makes it so engaging, what makes it so great, is this dysfunctional ass family who love each other. Their unbreakable bonds even when they are at odds with one another. How in their own weird way they do care deeply for one another.

And the creators when telling the final story of these dearly beloved characters, destroy the bonds between them and send them off with a big old Fuck You to the audience to boot.

I cannot fathom how the same people who made TUA1 and TUA2, created this. Truly I cannot.

The conclusion from all of this I have come to is that the creators of this show are obsessed with writing perverse storylines. More subtle in the beginning, but now at the expense of the story and the characters themselves. Even since TUA1 there have been very weird romance story lines. Luther and Allison, and though not explicitly stated, the dynamic between Five and The Handler in the first two seasons is extremely uncomfortable.

And in TUA4 it all comes to the forefront where despite all of the complexity and nuance in the previous seasons of the show, they are willing to throw it all away to write these weird creepy storylines that nobody but themselves asked for or wanted. Luther becoming a stripper, Klaus being sex trafficked, Lila and Fives whole relationship.

Again I cannot express how much this season disappoints me. I cannot comprehend the decisions the creators of this show made. I cannot understand why they chose to destroy everything that made this show great. I cannot fathom how they could end this show in such a way and then pat themselves on the back for a job well done.

This has made me so deeply upset in a way that I just can't express. I have completely lost all respect for the creators of this show. I’m glad that it's finally come to an end so the creators can’t keep continuing to ruin this show and its characters.

Goodbye, Hargreeves family. You all deserve so much better.

#five hargreeves #the umbrella academy #tua s4 #tua #number five #lila pitts #diego hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #luther hargreeves #sorry this is so long #s4 is my 13th reason

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heartseungs-archive · 2 months

Text

written in ink | n.jm

genre ➳ historical au (early 19th century), fluff, angst, strangers to lovers

pairings ➳ professor!jaemin x fem!reader (ningning and karina are mentioned)

word count ➳ 15.3k

warnings ➳ mentions of alcohol, mental illnesses and disorders

info ➳ second installment of batc! surprisingly, this was the one i started writing first, but it took a while to figure out how i wanted to end it. click here to read the other works :)

The oak doors of the Provost’s office are no less intimidating than they were five years ago, towering over any students who find themselves bold enough to meet him.

Even now, Jaemin finds himself swallowing nervously before knocking, even if he is the university equivalent of a teacher’s pet. This meeting would determine everything for his future classes and his research funding. Psychology already had little backing compared to the other departments - Jaemin refused to let it languish away under him.

“Ah. Professor Na. Sit down, please.” The leather armchair is comfortable, and costs much more than the one he has in his office - the benefits of being the Provost reach far and wide, Jaemin supposes, even to the furniture.

“I called you today for something important. As you know, our university has a limited number of scholarships available for the faculty each year.”

Jaemin feels eagerness rise up at the thought of being one of the few professors selected to receive the scholarship in mention, which would provide money - plenty of it. He’s young, though, and the odds are not in his favour when measured up against the eminent figures who have been here for decades.

Still, Jaemin hopes that graduating with first-class honours and being the youngest professor in the history of the university counts for something.

“I do have good news. And bad.” Jaemin doesn’t like the sound of that. He knows the alteration of language is meant to soften a certain blow or some demand that will be required of him. The drumming of Mr Lee’s fingers indicates nervousness, and so does the number of times he’s cleared his throat.

After all, Jaemin is no stranger to the study of human behaviour. He waits, because there is nothing that Jaemin can do now other than listening.

“The admission board looks favourably upon you and wishes to give you the scholarship.” Jaemin waits a little longer.

“However, -” There it is.

“Due to your age, we understand that you have not yet had a full-length research project completed. However, it is a provision under the scholarship.”

Jaemin looks at Mr Lee questioningly. Both men in this room know that full-length research projects take at least half a decade, and Jaemin has barely been teaching for two years. He finds the irony of it amusing: without the scholarship, Jaemin does not have the funds to complete his research. Yet, he cannot get the scholarship in mention without his sixty-page paper.

“You’re doing well in your career, Professor Na, and there’s always the next cycle of scholarships. A little bit more waiting, I’m afraid, but waiting comes with an academic career.”

Jaemin knows that he has time. More of it than others, in fact. But the ambition in him refuses to die down, to keep sailing on this high in his career and see how far he can reach before he falls. Modern Icarus, he presumes, the sun replaced by his name in publications and award ceremonies.

“When’s the deadline for the research paper?” Mr Lee evidently does not expect Jaemin to actually take interest in the offer, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Counting today, a little over a year. But-”

“I’ll do it. I would appreciate it if you submitted my name for confirmation, Mr Lee.”

Despite the doubt on his face, Mr Lee nods, showing his agreement. Before Jaemin can regret his statement, he stands up from the comfortable armchair and leaves the room.

“Na Jaemin, you’re insane. Absolutely, utterly insane. Studying psychology has turned you mad.”

“Shut up, Lee Donghyuck.” The boy in question is stretched out on a chaise, leather shoes dangling off the end. In his waistcoat and rumpled dress shirt, Haechan is exactly who he looks to be: a debauched bachelor of high society, indulging in weekends of endless alcohol and dancing.

“He’s right.” Renjun speaks from the corner of the room, where he’s curled up in a chair near the fireplace. Jaemin looks to Jeno for support, but the man simply shrugs from where he’s standing at the doorway.

“You may be the brightest among the few of us, but even I know a year won’t be enough to complete it. Most definitely not by your standards.” Despite Jeno’s lack of support, he still knows him the best.

Jaemin could definitely half-ass a project for the scholarship-it would cut his work by a third, maybe even half. Yet, he would never be able to live with it.

“The line between genius and insanity is so fine. Sometimes I think Jaemin teeters so very close to the latter.”

“That’s your last warning, Donghyuck, before I take the red wine in your hands and pour it over your mother’s favourite carpet,” Jaemin snaps, levelling a sharp gaze at him.

Haechan sits up, a look of faux horror in his face. The jester may fear few things, but his mother’s wrath is one of them. The other being the occasional obsessive daughters of businessmen from the trail of women he leaves jilted.

Nevertheless, this is what makes up Jaemin’s days. If not busy in his office or teaching students, he spends his time with these three other men, who provide sufficient socialization to keep Jaemin from being deemed a social pariah by his overbearing mother. Childhood friends who he met from dinner parties, when their parents had sent them off in favour of gossip and hors d’oeuvres.

The scholarship money is paltry compared to the wealth of their four families combined, and the inheritance that Jaemin will receive eventually. His father would likely not hesitate to fund the project either, but the idea of using money that is not yet his leaves a sour taste in Jaemin’s mouth.

Maybe that’s why Jaemin still uses that broken armchair and forces himself to sleep in the cramped dorm room given to tenured professors - he’s always wanted to prove something. Whether to himself or to the superiors at university, he’s not entirely sure.

The clock strikes two, and the party outside shows no signs of ceasing. After all, it is the weekend, and everyone outside has too much time and money to spend.

”Well, I suppose it’s time for me to leave. I’ll see all of you next week.” The boys nod their farewells, and Jaemin takes his coat from the butler.

He narrowly avoids crashing into someone right as he turns the corner.

Jaemin pauses briefly to take in the appearance of the person before him. Your hair is tied in a chignon and decorated with a studded headband. In your hand, there is a glass of sparkling wine.

If anything, Jaemin thinks you look like the female version of Renjun. But Renjun’s sister is much, much younger.

Evidently, Jaemin’s silence has caused you to grow impatient, and you stride past quickly. Jaemin watches the agitation of your gait as you walk towards the room he had just left. Perhaps he was wrong about the sister part. You definitely fit the bill of a revengeful ex-lover.

“Lee Donghyuck, you owe me money. Hand it over, you cheat,” is the last thing Jaemin hears that night when he leaves the hallway.

Jaemin discovers exactly who you are two weeks later when you arrive in the form of three sharp knocks on his door.

“Come in.” It’s likely to be a student, he thinks, and Jaemin sighs because he’s told them countless times of the ever-present consultation schedule that they can fill in at the administrative office. Yet, every evening, there’s that one anxious student pacing outside his office, hoping for some morsel of knowledge before the final exams come around.

His friends aren’t known to be the type to knock either, unless for some sort of prank. The long day is wearing on him much more than expected, and he silently hopes the session will be brief.

However, Jaemin’s pretty sure you’re not a student. One, because he’s a good professor who makes an effort to know all his students. Second, he’s pretty sure none of the female students go around campus in cocktail dresses.

“You’re Jaemin, aren’t you? Donghyuck’s friend.”

“That would be me. Any reason you’re in my office at eight on a Friday evening?” Jaemin tries not to show surprise at your knowledge of Haechan’s real name, the one he uses for close friends.

Whether Haechan’s prospective creditor or jilted lover, however, Jaemin has little interest to find out why you’ve extended his working hours.

“You need money. I have it, and I need you to do something for me in return.” Definitely a creditor, then. Perhaps this was your job. Lending money to noblemen, and charging exorbitantly high-interest rates. In your defence, it was a smart way to go about things.

But something caused Jaemin to pause. A creditor wouldn’t be the worst way to go, especially if he could pay you after the scholarship funding had come in.

“What’s the interest rate?” This time, it’s your turn to look confused, before realization settles in. Compared to your imperious demeanour from the previous time, you look almost sheepish.

“I’m not a moneylender. Haechan just needed funds to buy something for a friend. Honestly, this deal is more for me than it is for you.”

Jaemin continues looking at you, motivating you to explain.

“I’ll fund the research, and help you with it. In return, I want to be able to attend on-campus lectures. And I want my name as an assistant author on the publication.”

“So this is a bribe?”

“Not a bribe. Think of me as an investor. I contribute, and in return, I get a stake in the research.”

“You’d be better off in the Business faculty then. The applications for enrolment open in December this year. ”

“You know every woman the officers admit to this university is done only to the bare minimum to fill those statistics. I’ve been trying for the past three years. I can show you my applications.” The desperation in your voice fills Jaemin with a sense of shame somehow - he, star student and youngest professor. Would his life have been different if he was you?

Jaemin’s well-aware of the discriminatory policies employed by the admissions department - it doesn’t help that most of them are elderly men who remain rooted in the old traditions.

Jaemin hasn’t seen a female Psychology student before, because the only degrees truly open to them are in education and nursing. Essentially, you’re contracting him as a tutor, besides the partnership on the research.

He looks at your attire, and it makes sense to him now - you must be a weekly attendee of Donghyuck’s raucous parties. He grabs his coat, and you move, as if almost to physically stop him from leaving until he agrees to your demands.

“I’m willing to allow you to attend lectures for free. However, I’m unaware of your qualifications, even if you’re Donghyuck’s friend. Send me your applications, and I’ll think about it.” You look surprised at his agreement, and even Jaemin is - he’s not one to entertain many demands, and he works better alone on research. He shouldn’t even be considering it, and yet.

You smile gratefully at him, just as the clock ticks half past eight. “Oh, I’m running late. Here are the applications, and other information. I do have to leave now, but my mail address is in the file. Thank you so much, Jae- Professor Na.” You stumble over his name, but before Jaemin can react, your purse is in your hand and your coat over your arm. The door closes with a final resounding thud, leaving the room silent once again. The quiet now feels empty, and Jaemin glances towards the coffee table you had just been at a few seconds ago.

You came prepared, obvious in the way the bundle of papers are neatly arranged in a file and labelled. Jaemin picks it up, only to be greeted by a picture of your profile. You look much younger in the photo, still starry-eyed with excitement. L/N Y/N, twenty-one years of age.

He wonders whether the repeated rejections from the university admissions dulled it, instead replacing the excitement with steely conviction. He must have been a last resort of sorts, a lucky strike in the dark at pursuing your aspirations before they fizzled out completely. Jaemin can imagine the officers receiving your file and pushing it back to the return address unopened, explaining the pristine condition.

Maybe he doesn’t owe it to you to look through, but Jaemin feels like he does. A glance at the clock, and Jaemin rubs his eyes tiredly. It seems his working hours will be extended, after all.

You’ve never been very good at billiards.

You’re not sure why Renjun requested it instead of cards, considering the both of you make a good team against Donghyuck and Jeno. Now, however, you are losing terribly, and the debt Donghyuck owes you is slowly dwindling.

With him, however, it’s always one person owing the other. You’ll simply have to beat him in bridge later. Renjun makes eye contact with you, and you shrug. The victor is obvious, and it can be seen with every teasing lilt of Donghyuck’s voice.

Jeno can only smile silently as he scores, but you think that might be worse. The black ball rolls to the corner of the table and drops in, with Donghyuck letting out a cheer.

Just then, Donghyuck glances at his wrist. Decorated with a flashy Patek Philippe, it’s both annoyingly ostentatious and eye-catching. A perfect fit for the owner, you suppose.

”Well then, I suppose it’s time for me to leave. Y/N, you owe me six thousand now. I also accept payment in the form of wine, though six thousand won’t be nearly enough for a good bottle.”

Your brows lower in a frown. “Aren’t you staying for bridge?”

“And lose ten thousand dollars to you? No thank you. Jeno can do it if he wants.” Donghyuck smiles sweetly before exiting the room, and you’re half tempted to chase after him.

“Don’t bother. He’s off to find the love of his life.” Renjun says offhandedly.

“You mean the love of the week, Renjun.”

Jeno shakes his head, and you look at him curiously. “They’re not in a relationship. It’s his best friend. Every week, at twelve, he’s off.”

For someone like Donghyuck, who chooses when time moves and when it doesn’t, the punctuality is pleasantly surprising. You think back to the way he started to get slightly more jumpy and nervous as the clock ticked nearer, and a fond smile finds its way onto your face.

He must really be happy. You briefly wonder what it’s like, to look forward to the sight of someone so earnestly.

Then, your mind gets drawn back to the present. “We need four people for bridge. I can try calling Jisung, but he might be busy.” Renjun says.

“I’ll go get some more champagne. Anything else you guys want?” Renjun and Jeno shake their heads, and you prepare yourself to confront the din of the ballroom. From a corner, the string instruments of the band carry across the high ceilings, and couples dance in circles. There are at least a hundred, maybe even more. You suppose that’s why there are parties every weekend. Renjun’s huge estate would feel much too empty with just him and the occasional visitor.

You’re too busy admiring the lacquered walls and mahogany detailing, that it’s too late when you realise you’ve bumped into someone. You gasp, mainly because you’re shocked, but also because the champagne in your hands has ended up on the floor.

And on Jaemin’s clothes, unfortunately.

“I am so sorry,” you stutter out, but you’re at a loss even as the servants rush over and clean up the mess you’ve made. However good a partnership you’ve offered him, you’re quite sure it’s all gone now. You definitely wouldn’t offer someone the same mercies, especially if they spilt champagne all over you out of their own idiocy.

Yet, Jaemin breaks into a radiant smile. “It’s alright.” He says, and you’re not sure what to believe. Perhaps he’s maintaining politeness, especially in a room with so many eyes.

“No, wait. Please let me pay for the suit. It must be expensive.” Judging by the look of the fabric and the way it’s tailored to Jaemin’s figure, it will cost a pretty penny to compensate. Jaemin shakes his head, shrugging off the now-damp jacket and passing it to a butler who immediately heads down the hallway. This is Renjun’s house, after all, and Jaemin is a familiar face to the staff. The jacket will be laundered promptly and delivered to his house before the week is over.

“It’s genuinely alright, Miss L/N. I came to find you, so this is just as well.” A sense of resignation overtakes you. No wonder Jaemin’s being so kindly. He must be here to reject your offer of a partnership. You’re glad he agreed to the lectures, but the thought of having to see him afterwards during lessons feels mortifying.

The short conversation with Jaemin in his office was much more revealing than you had hoped. You must have looked desperate, and maybe that’s why he took pity on you.

However, you refuse for that to be the only impression he has of you, and instead paste a smile on your face.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter, then.”

The chilly night air is welcoming, and you’re glad you wore a longer dress tonight. On this balcony, you can see the entire expanse of Renjun’s family estate. He’s always been the proudest of the gardens, and rightfully so- an endless expanse of green stretches out, decorated by carefully maintained flora. In the far distance lies his personal arboretum and workroom, where he does most of his painting.

“Mr Na, if you’re here to tell me bad news, now seems like a poor time. Monday would be much more fitting.” A low laugh cuts through the hushed atmosphere, and you almost feel proud.

“Then I am glad that this is good news.” Your sharp intake of breath can be heard on the silent balcony, and you peer at him, willing him to continue.

“I read your applications. And your essays. It was surprising. The quality…the insights made…you’re leagues ahead of my best students and most of the peers I had. And…”

The compliment settles down into you, a kernel of warmth despite the low temperature. You incline your head in thanks. “And?”

Jaemin looks hesitant of his actions, and you can tell he’s thinking very hard about how to word something. One second passes, and then two.

“I think I could benefit from having your contributions to the research.”

There is complete silence for a moment, and then you huff out a laugh. However, it comes out more as a relieved sigh.

He agreed. Na Jaemin, the top student on the honor roll and the youngest Psychology professor in the history of the university, has agreed to take you on as a partner in his research.

For some strange reason, his approval means so much more than anything the interview officers could have said to you. Even if they had accepted your application, it would be nothing compared to what Jaemin has just told you.

The corners of Jaemin’s mouth rise up slightly, and you’re sure he can see the happiness on your face.

“Looking forward to working with you, Miss Y/N L/N.” Jaemin’s palm is warm against yours as he shakes your hand, and you can’t help the sense of hope that fills you.

“Just Y/N is fine.” You’re determined not to disappoint him, to show that you were worth the chance.

“Please address me as Jaemin as well, then. The first lecture is at nine on Monday. It’s quite late, so I’ll leave you to enjoy the party. We can discuss the specifics after.”

Just as he is about to leave, however, a thought comes into your head, and a grin inevitably makes its way onto your face.

“Jaemin!” You call, and he turns around. The name flows nicely, and it’s easy for you to say, almost familiar. Under the chandelier, his eyes sparkle brightly, even as hints of fatigue creep at the sides.

“How good of a hand are you at bridge?”

“Metempsychosis. Can anyone tell me what that means?” Immediately, multiple hands are raised, and Jaemin looks at the students appraisingly.

He tries not to let his gaze drift to the corner of the room where a woman is seated, fountain pen in hand. Your entrance into the room had drawn plenty of eyes in the morning - the Psychology department had never seen a female student before, and the confident uptilt of your head only served to further emphasise that.

Fortunately enough, university students were one of the most self-contained populations to be found. They asked few questions about others and more about themselves, which meant there wasn’t the danger of news of your presence getting around to the admission officers. Not that they would have cared much - after all, security wasn’t particularly strict on the campus.

Jaemin points to a boy with curled black hair, signalling him to reply.

“The transmigration of the soul. Reincarnation after death, essentially.” Jaemin nods. “Very good. I know the majority of us here likely don’t believe in reincarnation, but Plato did, and that’s why we’re here now.” This draws a few laughs from his audience, and Jaemin smiles.

“However, we aren’t here to discuss life after death. I want you to think about the soul. What is it, in relation to the body? Where does its importance lie?” The hall falls silent, and Jaemin sees students flipping through their notes, as if hoping an answer will descend from the sky.

This time, his gaze falls on you and your raised hand. “Y/N. Would you like to contribute?” Jaemin’s equal parts torn between diminishing your presence to prevent unnecessary attention, and the desire to hear your opinion.

To you, Jaemin’s piercing gaze is unnerving, even from far away. It almost makes you doubt your answers. Pull yourself together, Y/N.

“The soul is the source of our life and mind. Our body is nothing more than a physical vessel of flesh. Our soul makes us human.“ You had done an essay analysing Phaedo the previous season, and its core arguments remained clear in your head.

“A classic argument by Socrates. What makes up a soul, then?” Jaemin smiles slightly, and you recall. He’s read your essay, and he knows your exact thoughts. Does he wish for you to share it with the class?

The students are staring at you now, slightly more intrigued.

“The tripartite soul theory. Our physical desires, intangible passions, and our need for truth. More simply put, what we want, what we love, and what we think,” you state, eyes fixed on Jaemin’s expression. His barely-there grin turns much more obvious, and it makes you feel pleased with yourself.

“Very well said. The link between psychology and philosophy is much closer than many of us think, despite one being a science and the other an art. That brings me to the assigned readings for this week, which will delve more into the tripartite soul theory that Y/N mentioned, among others. I’ll see everyone next week.”

The students shuffle out of the lecture hall, nodding at Jaemin in greeting as they leave. Many of them look at him with barely-concealed admiration, despite only being a few years younger. It almost makes you envious.

“That was…a good lecture. I enjoyed it.” Your compliment comes out hesitantly, but you mean it sincerely. Jaemin’s a much better presenter than you imagined, and you found yourself laughing at his well-placed quips more often than you didn’t. The students are lucky to have a lecturer like him, compared to the grumpy, stone-faced ones the university is so well-known for.

“Thank you. I would offer for you to be my teaching assistant, but it would be better not to push our luck for now. I trust my students, but not too much. Shall we head to my office?”

You follow Jaemin down the winding halls of the faculty building, the sunlight streaming in through the arched windows. When you reach his office, your face is slightly red, and Jaemin notices it.

“Sorry. My office is a little far from the lecture hall. Also, I tend to walk a bit faster when I’m alone,” Jaemin apologises, and you shake your head. It’s not entirely his fault that he’s almost a head taller than you, and one step of his is twice of yours.

However, you’re grateful for the cold glass of water that he passes to you. Jaemin clears his throat, causing you to glance at him.

“Here’s what I have so far. Take a look, and tell me what you think.” The file is heavy in your hands, and Jaemin’s signature scrawl can be seen on the first page.

The title causes you to let out an incredulous laugh. Jaemin arches an eyebrow, almost concerned, and you realise he may have taken the laughter the wrong way. “Is it very surprising?”

“No, not at all,” you rush to clarify. “I just…can’t believe that someone would actually want to research into the exact same field.”

It’s bizarre, really, considering how much you thought your ideas would be scorned. The idea of cognitive function being a scientific field of study isn’t yet accepted by many, and would be unlikely to gain any sponsorship.

You had expected Jaemin to propose studies into behavioural psychology. Pavlov’s dogs and conditioning. It was soaring in popularity within academic circles, and seemed to be the only research done these days. Yet, each of the experiments conducted seemed to become crueller in nature, aimed at publications to shock the public. That was where the money was, after all.

Jaemin feels a sense of relief at your words. His nervousness was unnecessary, after all. When he had first compiled the file, he wasn’t sure how you would respond. After all, cognitive psychology had barely been recognized as a legitimate field of study. Perhaps you would think he was dragging you down with him.

“Memory and perception. They differ from person to person, and I want to find out why,” Jaemin states, and you nod, barely able to contain your excitement.

‘We’ll have to plan out the methodology, of course. There was a report published about long and short-term memory by an American doctor. Of course, it’s not entirely verified, but I think it’ll be of great help.”

Jaemin watches as you stride across the room, throwing ideas out whenever they come to mind, with a faint smile lingering on his face. Each one of them is written down carefully in his notebook to ponder over later, once you leave.

“And I was thinking, maybe if we- oh, I got carried away.” Your rapid footsteps pause and you feel your face turning red. Jaemin, polite as ever, had been listening to your rambling without interruption.

“It’s quite alright, Y/N. I genuinely enjoy listening to your ideas. Please don’t hesitate to share them.” You can tell Jaemin is being earnest from the way he looks at you, pen in his hand. The feeling of having someone listen to you and value your contributions feels slightly foreign, but the feeling it brings is definitely one of happiness.

By the time the both of you are done with a tentative outline, the sun is close to approaching the horizon, and you rub your eyes blearily.

“I think we’re done for today,” you barely hold back a yawn as you say it, and Jaemin tries not to laugh at your appearance.

“We’re running on quite a tight timeline, but I think we’ll make it. Would meeting four times a week be alright with you?” Jaemin asks, and he allows you a few seconds to consider.

“That works. I’ll see you on Thursday, then. Have a good evening, Jaemin.” As you leave, you wonder what time Jaemin will finish his work. The last time, he had come to the party after midnight.

Na Jaemin intrigues you at every turn, and you wonder what you will discover about him next.

“Where were you today?”

The tune you’re humming under your breath quickly stills to a halt, and you almost trip over the marble floor of your hallway. Looking at the ceiling, you curse your luck. Of all the days that your father had to be home early, it had to be today.

“I was with a friend,” your voice comes out shaky, and you hate yourself for it. Turning around, you steel your nerves for his interrogatory glare.

“Are you messing around with that stupid boy again? Donghyuck?” Your father’s tone is accusatory, and his disapproval of Donghyuck is evident. Donghyuck’s parties are the talk of the neighbourhood, often for bad reasons among the older generation, and good among your peers. it definitely doesn’t help that you can often hear the commotion, considering his estate is less than two miles down.

“I wasn’t with Donghyuck today, for a matter of fact. And he isn’t stupid,” you defend. Donghyuck may be brash, and playful, but he is your friend.

“That boy is a good-for-nothing and will drink himself to death one day. You’re a proper lady and should act like it. Stop going to his parties, and stay at home.”

“And what? Stare at the pretty wallpaper until I’m driven to insanity out of boredom?” You bite back, glaring at your father. He’s never been particularly supportive of your attempt to obtain a degree and proper employment, still stuck in the yesteryears of his childhood.

“You foolish girl. You’ll realise it when your reputation is ruined.” Your father’s voice is full of venom, and you try not to flinch at his harsh words. Instead, you stride resolutely down the hallway and close your bedroom door with a harsh bang.

Fatigue overtakes you properly now, combined with emotional exhaustion. When you’re sure you’re alone, you allow your shoulders to droop slightly, shrugging off your coat. The quiet night air provides a source of comfort as you settle onto the ottoman at the foot of your bed. You’re not sure when it became like this. When your home became an unfamiliar place and your family turned hostile. Your mother is sweet to you, but she is also docile to your father, which you supposed has worsened it so much more.

That night, you lie down in your bed, turning Jaemin’s words over and over in your head, almost as if you’ll discover a new meaning behind them. They soften the harsh blow of your father, acting as a balm against the invisible bruises of his words.

Teaching assistant.

The idea seems almost impossible to you, and yet. A job doing what you loved, and having the time to do your own research, undisturbed. An official position that would make sure no one could question what you were doing at the university.

And Jaemin. Having him as a colleague would be enjoyable, to say the least. He made a good partner. Maybe if you were patient enough, you could even become an associate professor.

You didn’t dare to verbalize that thought, for it felt a bit too out of reach. For now, at least.

“We’ll have the salmon filet and the beef rib as well, thank you. And three glasses of Chardonnay.” The waiter nods, taking the menus off the table.

“Wait, Renjun, Jeno, look,” Donghyuck points across the street, outside the window of the restaurant.

Across the street is you, in a light pink dress, and what looks to be a stack of books. Next to you is a man whose back looks awfully familiar to Donghyuck, and he can’t place it exactly. Until he gasps dramatically.

“That traitor. He said he wasn’t available for dinner today. But he’s out with Y/N. What the hell are they doing together?” Donghyuck’s pretty sure the both of you aren’t acquainted, and he’s not sure what exactly to make of it. There aren’t many explanations for the both of you to be seen alone with each other, unless…

“Oh, they met a while ago. Jeno and I played bridge against the both of them,” Renjun casually drops this piece of information, and Donghyuck stares at him. This must have happened after he had left.

The wine is served, but Donghyuck doesn’t take a single sip. Instead, he watches very carefully. The moment he sees you leave the store, Jaemin quickly takes over half the books from your hands. You walk on the inside of the pavement, Jaemin at your side.

A knowing smile appears on Donghyuck’s face as he watches the both of you approach the exact same restaurant where he is seated in.

“You look a little creepy, Donghyuck. Stop it,” Jeno mutters, as he sees Haechan’s face.

“I have a very good idea. But I need the both of you to help.”

Renjun looks over at Donghyuck suspiciously, and with valid reason. He’s not entirely sure what Haechan has planned, and whether it’ll turn out well or an absolute disaster. “What is it?” Renjun asks.

“I’ll tell you guys later. Jaemin! Y/N! Over here!” Haechan shouts as the both of you near his table. The familiar baritone of Donghyuck’s voice rings out across the restaurant, and you turn to him, immediately making your way over.

While you’re engrossed in talking to Renjun, Haechan meets Jaemin’s eyes. Liar, he mouths across the table, and Jaemin simply rolls his eyes.

“What are those books for?” Jeno does the task of asking the question on Donghyuck’s mind.

“Oh. Well…” You cast a glance at Jaemin, not entirely sure what to say. You’re not sure how much he wants to divulge to the three of them about the project, considering it isn’t exactly the most conventional arrangement.

“Y/N’s working with me as an assistant researcher and author. It’ll be a joint publication.”

Renjun hums quietly under his breath, taking in the information. “Y/N, are you sure you want to work with this guy? He doesn’t understand the concept of working hours.”

“Jaemin’s a great colleague, actually. I almost feel bad for not working as hard as him, considering he still has to teach.” You’re quick to speak for Jaemin, and it makes him light up visibly.

Jeno watches as Donghyuck’s grin gets inevitably wider the more he watches the both of you interact, and he realises that the boy has found a new occupation of interest: matchmaking.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Y/N,” Jaemin mutters under his breath, soft enough for you to hear but not the other three men at the table. He knows that he’ll definitely be the subject of Donghyuck’s incessant questions and meddling, but he rather it be later than sooner.

For now, he is content with watching as you crack jokes with Renjun and make Donghyuck the subject of said mockery. While your confidence in front of his students is admirable, you become witty and lively in the comfort of people familiar to you, and Jaemin finds himself enjoying the sight more than expected.

The street is still busy despite the late hour when the five of you finally finish dinner. Your feet are starting to ache from the stiff satin heels that you’ve been walking in all day, and the heavy, leather-bound books only serve to make it worse. Donghyuck hails two cabs, one for the three of them and another for you and Jaemin.

“Night out?” The driver asks once both of you are settled in, flashing a friendly smile. There is white hair creeping at the edges of his beard, and two sun-weathered hands gripping the steering wheel.

Both Jaemin and you nod, and you decide to look out the window, watching as the scenery outside changes from the city centre to the suburbs.

“You know, you really didn’t have to come with me today to get the manuals. I could have saved you the hassle,” Jaemin says, and you turn to him. In the dim glow of the streetlights, his profile is shrouded by shadows, his features somehow softened.

“It really wasn’t an issue. Besides, you spoke so fondly of that bookstore, and I can see why now.”

“They have one of the biggest collections on psychology, and the most frequently updated too. Though the medicine and history shelves are also very extensive.”

“It’s a pity we were short of time today, then. Maybe next time you can show me around,” you suggest, and Jaemin nods his assent. It almost feels like a promise.

Somewhere along the way, the jam-packed buildings turn into carefully manicured garden hedges, and the driver goes up the familiar winding path leading to your home.

Jaemin alights from the taxi and is at your side much quicker than you can comprehend, opening the door for you. “I guess this is it. Good night, Jaemin,” you say, smiling up at him. He inclines his head slightly, passing you the books. You’ll have to finish reading most of them by next week, but instead of dread, you find yourself looking forward to the days you spend in Jaemin’s office working on the project.

Once back in the taxi, Jaemin watches as you disappear into the foyer of your house, books in hand. He only turns his head back once the lights of your family’s estate fade away.

“Your sweetheart?” The driver’s voice jolts Jaemin out of his reverie. It is a perfectly innocent question, and yet catches him off guard. Jaemin vehemently shakes his head. “Just a colleague.” He sees the driver smile in the rearview, and Jaemin thinks it reminds him awfully of Haechan’s grin.

“The both of you would make a handsome couple,” he comments, and Jaemin chooses to remain silent. Objectively, Jaemin does find you beautiful. Any person with two working eyes could likely deduce that. But he’s barely known you for two months, and worked with you for even less. The idea of developing feelings for you, or anyone for that matter, seems like a rather bizarre idea.

More than that, he admires you for your talent and the ideas you contribute during the many discussions. You’re not just a colleague and an assistant, but a friend whose presence Jaemin feels rather comfortable in, no less than the trio he so often sees. He can’t help but think that the project would have been unlikely to come to fruition without your help and that perhaps you, Y/N L/N, came at the exact right time.

“Now, what has been keeping our Y/N so occupied that she can barely meet us once a week?” Karina levels her gaze at you from above her cup, expecting an answer. You do feel slightly guilty to have cancelled on both her and Ningning repeatedly over the past few weeks, simply due to the fact that you had chosen to sleep in after burning the midnight oil.

“Employment. I’m not sure if the both of you have ever heard of it,” you remark drily, though you know it’s untrue. Despite what may seem to be lives of leisure, Karina and Ningning are two of the hardest-working people you know. One is a famous actress, the other running a leading fashion house.

“Did you finally get a job at the university?” Ningning asks, overjoyed on your behalf.

“Sorry to let you down, but it’s not yet permanent. I’m working as a research assistant for this one professor and attending lectures on campus.”

“Who’s the professor?” Karina is curious, and you’re sure she plans to do some poking around. After all, several of the elders in her family are long-standing alumnae of the university, and she knows most, if not all of the prominent faculty members. Except for your colleague, however.

“He’s quite young. Na Jaemin,” you mutter, already expecting her surprised gasp.

“You’re working with Na Jaemin? First-class honours student Na Jaemin? My grand-uncle kept waxing lyrical about him a few years ago. He’s rising so quickly through the ranks, they think he might just become Provost before the decade is over,” Karrina informs, and you can’t help but feel a sense of pride for the way she speaks about Jaemin. He would make a good Provost, you think. At least he wouldn't stop female students from being admitted, and definitely would not have been suspected of embezzling funds for personal use.

“Is he scary? Academics can get that way. I suspect most of them have a screw loose, actually.” Ningning interjects, and you look at her, amused. The previous winter, Ningning had been involved with a famous Arts professor from a rival university. Needless to say, the both of them had not ended on the best of terms.

“He’s very sweet, actually. Leagues ahead of the other stuffy old men at the university. He’s a great teacher too.”

“Is he good-looking?” Karina’s sly smile from behind her teacup causes you to narrow your eyes at her.

“Haven’t you met him before?” Karina’s a regular guest at many of the university's forums and seminars. Being the great-granddaughter of the university’s founder exempts her from the open disdain of the Provost towards members of the opposite sex, especially when she’s the one forking out his salary.

Karina had offered you an easy way in: one word from her, and you would be enrolled immediately. Still, it felt like admitting defeat in some way. You wanted to make a career in some way based on your own merit, and Jaemin provided a semblance of that.

“I’ve only seen him briefly. I don’t think he’s attended a single function this year. Maybe he’s antisocial?”

“Or just introverted,” Ningning mumbles, and you smile at her. Karina and yourself have always been the more outgoing ones of your trio, finding it easier to make conversation with total strangers. In fact, the both of you had been the ones to meet Ningning, before realising she had been a mutual acquaintance and solidifying the trio.

Still, you can’t say you’re surprised at the knowledge that Jaemin rarely attends any of the university’s gatherings for the faculty. After all, many of the men there are twice his age, and the atmosphere likely isn’t the most enjoyable. Which makes it even more impressive that his superiors hold in in such high regard, considering how everyone makes it their mission to make powerful connections in circles such as theirs.

“Answer my question, Y/N,” Karina says insistently, and you shrug. “He’s decent, I suppose. Most people would find him attractive.”

“So do you find him attractive?” Ningning is curious now too, almost leaning all the way forward. You make a face at both of them. “What’s up with the strange questions today?”

Karina grins, leaning back, and makes a pointed glance at Ningning. “Please don’t try to play matchmaker. We’re only colleagues. Besides, I doubt a relationship would be something Jaemin is remotely interested in, considering his hectic work,” you warn.

“She even took into account his work schedule. Not bad,” Ningning mutters, trying not to let out a laugh. You roll your eyes, deciding to indulge the both of them temporarily. Despite their teasing and love for meddling, you are sure that Karina and Ningning will not do anything without your knowledge.

Compared to both of them, there hasn’t been much space for romance in your life. Karina’s image was always plastered in the newspapers with whichever actor she was working with, while Ningning had her fair share of encounters with fellow designers and models. After all, you spent much of your time attempting to pursue your career, albeit rather unsuccessfully. While you enjoyed parties and balls, the men you met there were often uptight in the way that members of the gentry were. The ones that you found tolerable remained purely platonic. You think you would rather shoot yourself in the foot than ever be involved with Renjun, Jeno or Donghyuck.

Jaemin was…well, Jaemin. Professor extraordinaire, a brilliant student of psychology, and a friend whose presence you found more enjoyable each and every day. Karina and Ningning see your gradual drift into your own thoughts and remain silent, attempting to hide their grins behind their food.

They wonder if maybe, just maybe, you might have spoken too soon.

Another season passes, and winter is heralded by the bone-white landscape and empty, ghostly trees that make up the campus. Still, you find a strange sort of beauty in it, even if it lacks the warm tones of autumn.

It’s also much easier to appreciate the landscape when you are curled up in an armchair in Jaemin’s office, the fireplace burning brightly and a cup of hot chocolate in hand. Although small, his office is cosy and homely, with dark oak furnishings dotting the room and a plush white carpet in the middle of the room. Over the past half a year or so, his office has grown to be like a second home, considering how much time you spend in it. He’s even given you a space of your own, where your books and stationery are arranged neatly on a shelf.

You’ve grown accustomed to the sight of Jaemin sitting at his desk, fountain pen in hand. He’s often busy marking scripts, occasionally muttering to himself when the paper is exceptionally good, or disappointing. He lets out a noise of disgruntlement, and you glance up.

“Rough essay?” You ask, and Jaemin rubs his forehead, extending the papers in your direction.

“Take a look, and tell me what you think. I know this student is good, but I think they rushed this project. However, I don’t want to completely derail their academic grade and destroy a chance of a scholarship.”

Jaemin waits patiently while you read through the essay, watching as you furrow your eyebrows at certain parts, almost identical to him.

“So?” He asks once you pass the manuscript back to him, humming in thought.

“There’s definitely some obvious glaring flaws. But I don’t think you should discount their entire thought process.”

“But I asked for an essay that looked at the ethical issues concerning psychological research on humans. He stated that there weren’t any,” Jaemin says, now looking entirely confused.

You shrug. “But morality is subjective, isn’t it? Sure, there are common principles that people tend to follow, but what’s ethical in the eyes of a government may be different from the individual person. Is it alright to sacrifice a single person for the common good? Maybe not. But he can argue for it.”

Jaemin pauses then, his expression still frozen as he mulls over your words. Gradually, a grin makes its way onto his face, and you watch as he grabs the pen and scribbles on the manuscript before placing it on the stack that’s already done.

“Thank you, Y/N. I’m not sure what I would do without you.”

“I’m sure you could do plenty. But two minds are better than one, I suppose,” you say, smiling back. Jaemin leans back in his chair, resting his head on his hands. Compared to his usual stiff posture, it’s much more relaxed, and you find your shoulders not tensing as much anymore.

“Out of curiosity, what made you start Psychology?” Jaemin asks, and his eyes are genuine when he looks at you. You’re not entirely sure how to reply, considering no one’s ever asked you the question. Not the university admission officers, not your parents, not even your friends.

Only Jaemin.

“I’ll tell you a story, But you have to promise not to laugh,” you warn, and Jaemin nods.

“I had a very bad argument with a man in a bookstore over a certain literary text. Quite stupid, I know. Seventeen-year-old me was quite hot-headed. Out of the blue, he started arguing that I was wrong because the brain volume of a man was larger than that of a woman.”

Jaemin knows what you made him promise, but the corners of his lips are tugged up anyways. You glare at him. “You promised not to laugh!” He holds his hands up, shaking his head. “I swear, with full honesty, that you’re not the one I’m laughing at. It’s just an amusing story. So you took Psychology to prove him wrong?”

“Sort of. That was my motivation at first. But I think along the way, I just fell in love with the subject itself.” There’s a light in your eyes when you speak about it, and Jaemin can’t help but be drawn to you. You’re so passionate about what you do, and it reminds Jaemin of the starry-eyed first-year student that he was.

Along the way, he doubted whether he had even chosen the right thing to study. Had he been so caught up in chasing success that he lost his passion somewhere along the way?

But collaborating with you seems to light a new spark in Jaemin’s heart, where he finally has someone to share his ideas with. He’s never been able to learn so much from someone in so little time, and you’re capable. Even more than him, perhaps. Jaemin wonders if you know that.

“What about you, Jaemin?” Your question jolts him out of his thoughts, and Jaemin’s breath hitches. You take his slight hesitation for alarm, and wonder if you asked the wrong question. “If it’s too personal, you really don’t have to,” you blurt out in panic, eyes wide.

However, Jaemin shakes his head. “I don’t mind telling you at all. It’s just that it’s not as fun a story as yours. More sad, actually.” He looks rather forlorn, and you’re not sure how to reach out to him. Instead, you sit in silence, waiting for him to continue.

“My grandmother suffered from memory loss. It was very bad, but doctors refused to diagnose her. They tried sending her to an institution to be confined, but my parents decided to keep her at home instead. She passed away a few months later.” he mutters, and you realise that this must be something that he doesn’t tell many people, from the way the words come out stilted. Alzheimer’s had just been properly diagnosed for the first time less than five years ago, and the cases were often few and far in between.

You suppose this must have happened when he was much younger, when the number of experienced psychologists in the city was horrendously low. The fact that he’s willing to divulge this information to you tugs at your heartstrings, and Jaemin suddenly looks terribly alone from the way he’s hunched over at the desk.

Despite all the praise heaped on him and the many accolades, Jaemin’s still young, no older than you.

Suddenly, his motivation for choosing cognitive function as a research area makes so much sense. Jaemin wants to know how people have memories because he knows someone who lost them.

You’re not one in the way of comforting people, but you walk closer to Jaemin’s desk and grab his hands. It’s sudden, judging from the way Jaemin immediately looks up at you, but he doesn’t pull his hands away from yours. You think that’s a pretty good start.

“She would be proud of you if she knew what you were doing now. You’ll be able to help even more people with your research. And besides, we’re partners now. We’ll figure it out together,” you promise, and the dark clouds in Jaemin’s expression seem to clear up. There’s a shine to his eyes as he looks at you, and the atmosphere is strangely peaceful.

“Thank you, Y/N. It means a lot. More than you know.” His voice is level now, and you can tell that whatever thoughts were plaguing his mind have cleared up temporarily. You allow a grin to make its way onto your face.

“It’s getting rather late. If you want to thank me, let’s go out for dinner.”

Jaemin’s eyes immediately dart to the clock, and he stands up abruptly, moving towards the coat rack and passing you yours before shrugging one on.

“My treat, then,” he replies as he holds the door open for you.

“I haven’t seen the both of you in weeks. It’s like you’ve disappeared off the face of the earth,” Donghyuck mutters as he looks at you and Jaemin, a blank expression on his face. You smile sheepishly at him.

“Sorry. We’re really busy with the project. It’s in its final stages now,” you confess, and Donghyuck hums, nodding.

“Speaking of which, Donghyuck, I have something to ask.” Jaemin’s words spark your curiosity, but you continue flipping through the book that you have in your hands.

“How would you like to be one of our test subjects?”

You turn your head to look up sharply at him. Jaemin’s voice is sweet when he says it, and there’s obvious alarm in your eyes. Jaemin catches your gaze, but he doesn’t retract the offer. Instead, he just smiles, and you realise what he’s doing.

Donghyuck ponders over the offer, casting a glance at Jaemin suspiciously, who keeps his expression perfectly blank and innocent.

“Sure. It sounds fun,” Donghyuck replies, and Jaemin breaks out into the widest smile you’ve ever seen. You try not to burst out laughing, using your book to cover your mouth. Jaemin has a concealed sense of mischief that only seems to reveal itself at odd moments, most often in situations involving Donghyuck.

This will be fun, you think.

Two hours later, the test subject in mention is glaring at the both of you from where he sits, pen in hand and sheet in the other.

“You didn’t say I would have to memorise sixteen pages of notes. In the smallest possible font on the typewriter, no less,” Donghyuck states angrily, realising he’s been tricked by the both of you.

“What did you think cognitive function was?” You question, a bemused smile on your face as you hear Donghyuck groan before ruffling his hair in frustration.

“I thought it would be like an interview, you know? Where you get asked different questions and they analyze your answers,” he replies, and you hear a huff of a laugh from behind you. “This isn’t like the ridiculous questionnaires you tick off on the newspaper, Donghyuck,” Jaemin interjects, and Donghyuck eyes widen in offence.

“I will have you know, Na Jaemin, that those questionnaires are extremely accurate. And besides, how would I know? I’m not the Psychology professor here.”

“I’m not a professor either,” you remind him, and Donghyuck smiles slightly. “All three of us in this room know that you are perfectly capable of being one.” Jaemin makes a noise of assent, and your heart soars just a little at the praise.

“Either way, I’m done with your test,” Donghyuck says as he stands up, passing you his papers. You look them over quickly, realising that for all his antics, Donghyuck is actually a lot smarter than he seems.

“You did well,” you mumble absentmindedly, and Donghyuck smirks. “Thanks, I know. I’ll leave now,” he says before leaning close next to your ear. “And have fun with Jaemin,” he whispers almost conspiratorially, and before you can ask him what it means, Donghyuck’s out of the room.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Jaemin’s voice immediately snaps you back to attention, and you nod quickly. “Oh yes, of course.” Your neck feels awfully warm, and you rub at it, unsure why.

“We know you didn’t need an additional test subject. Did you just want to mess with Donghyuck?”

“Well, I suppose so. It was amusing to see his face when we gave him the list,” Jaemin confesses, and you chuckle under your breath. “On another note, I think we’re done with the first draft.” Your posture immediately stiffens at his words, and you rush over to Jaemin’s desk.

“Really?” You ask incredulously, even though you know Jaemin didn’t have any reason to die. He hands you the bundle of papers that is ten months of hard work and intense research, and you cradle it gently, almost like a baby. It feels oddly momentous, somehow. This is everything you’ve worked for and thought about in every waking moment since that fateful encounter with Jaemin, when the both of you first sealed the deal.

Each word is familiar to you, considering you’ve proofread it a million times, but seeing the research organized and printed out feels oddly surreal. That your work is now tangible. All of your dreams and aspirations are contained within this one little bundle, and it feels precious.

Jaemin looks at the quiet pride on your face as you look through, and he can’t contain his smile either. “I’m going to send it to the university for feedback on the draft, but it’s definitely on par with other competing projects. Once that’s done, it’ll be published,” Jaemin tells you, and you look up at him. There’s an undeniable sense of excitement that pervades you, and the idea of finally seeing it in official print provides a strange sort of thrill.

“Thank you, Jaemin,” you say sincerely, and he shakes his head.

“No, thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you, Y/N.” He’s painfully earnest when he says it, and your heart stumbles slightly as you look at Jaemin. His features seem even more delicate today, his eyes brighter than usual. You’re not sure if it's the heady rush of elation filling you from finishing the project, but you finally understand what Karina meant when she asked you if you found Jaemin attractive.

The thought that Karina might be right scares you, but it’s also exhilarating. You’ve seen Jaemin at his best and in his moments of vulnerability, and he’s been a wonderful partner. Someone who pushes your thoughts in new, unfamiliar directions, who doesn’t hesitate to question your opinions.

You suppose you have to give Karina credit for calling your bluff so early on. Still, now can’t possibly be the right time. The both of you still have some work left to do, and anything now would just be a distraction.

Your feelings will have to wait, but you don’t mind. After all, you enjoy your time with Jaemin now, even if it is occasionally punctuated by the fluttering of your pulse.

It takes three weeks for the panel to review the draft, and another week to give their feedback. The next time you’re in the university, it’s spring, and the smell of fresh flowers invades your senses the moment you step foot on the campus.

You’re poised to knock on the door that’s already half-ajar when you hear muffled conversation from inside. You decide to stay in the hallway, at least until Jaemin’s guest is done.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“She’s my co-researcher, Mr Lee. I don’t think it’s a matter of want.” You immediately jerk up to pay attention, because that’s you Jaemin’s talking about. You know you’re eavesdropping, but you can’t help it. Jaemin’s voice is uncharacteristically harsh, but so is the Provost’s.

“You know that there will be a penalty on credit for not being a solo researcher. You’re already losing out. And to do it with a girl that has no qualifications, no less…Do you know what the panel will think?”

Mr Lee’s words cause the back of your throat to close up, even as you know they are true to some extent. You had been living in a joyful denial, ignoring the realities of the university’s expectations. Still, you stand outside the office, unable to move.

“Even then-”

“Jaemin. Do you want this scholarship or not? Surely she can’t have contributed that much. Just remove her name and negotiate it with her later.”

Your heart drops to your feet at the Provost’s words. Jaemin doesn’t respond, and for some reason, that feels even worse than Mr Lee stepping all over your hopes with a single sentence. You’re scared of hearing what he might have to say, and you don’t think you can bear hearing his agreement outright. It’s painfully silent, only the sound of your ragged breathing filling your ears.

You’re suddenly filled with an overwhelming feeling of loneliness, almost as if you’re unwelcome here. Jaemin’s office is no longer familiar, instead making you feel worse and worse with each and every second you spend near it.

You need air.

There’s a few students you crash into along the way, some of which recognise you. They look at you bewildered, as you run past them towards the exit. Even then, you’re not quick enough to avoid the first tears falling. At least no one saw you, you suppose. You scoff slightly. Maybe they would use the tears as evidence of your fragile emotional state.

As much as you’re angry at the circumstances you’re in, you also feel like a fool. A fool for having pursued this project with Jaemin, for believing that for a moment, it would work out. For believing Jaemin, especially.

You had your head in the clouds, and now you were crashing back down to Earth in a rapid descent.

You’re not sure why you thought his acceptance would be enough, sufficient for you to reach your goals. It never had been. And judging from his lack of a response to the Provost, you’re about to lose that too.

You can’t even blame him, which you suppose is the worst part. For all you knew, you might have been deadweight this past year. Jaemin would be better off choosing to remove your name, and it would make his life much, much easier. It was a smart decision. You couldn’t possibly take that from him. After all, he deserved the success, the scholarship. You weren’t even a student. What did it matter, in the end?

Still, you’re not sure if you can ever look at Jaemin without being reminded of what you’ve lost. It’s not his fault, but he is a living, breathing reminder of everything you’re not, and every moment you have to live with it might just be a new type of hell. You’re not just going to lose a valuable partner, but a friend too. And perhaps, he might have been more. You don’t know, and you don’t think you want to wonder about the what ifs, because it might just break you even more.

You had promised yourself that if this didn’t work out, you would give up. Give up and do whatever your father wished for you to do. It’s painful, but you’re at the end of your rope. Pursuing another foolish daydream would just simply leave you even more empty. Even then, the bitter taste of defeat refuses to leave your mouth, even as you force your feet to take you towards the arched gates of the campus grounds.

Leaving the campus feels strange, especially since you’re not sure when you will be able to come back. The red brick walls, mulberry trees, stained glass windows - they’ve become as familiar to you as your own home.

So has the dark oak furnishings and lush carpets of Jaemin’s office, but you’ll have to forget about that now.

Jaemin waits for you that entire afternoon.

You’ve never been late, only early or punctual. He checks his schedule twice, just to make sure he’s gotten the correct day. He runs down to his mailbox twice and asks the office, just to see if you left a note for him.

Nothing. It’s like you’ve disappeared, though Jaemin knows that’s not possible. Something must have come up. But even then, as he thinks of all the possibilities, it only makes him more anxious. He quickly scribbles a quick letter and seals it with wax, and he feels a little calmer once he has your address written down and the letter mailed.

I’m sure everything’s fine. She’s likely busy, he tells himself.

He gives it two weeks and six missed lectures before he starts panicking. He’s not a particularly antsy person, or someone who overthinks. At least, that’s what he likes to think of himself, and what most people believe of him. He’s calm and reserved. Jaemin can’t help but worry a bit more when it comes to you, however.

He doesn’t give himself time to regret an impulsive decision, as he hails a cab to bring him to your address. It’s only when he’s standing on the porch, finger on the doorbell, that he hesitates slightly. What if, for whatever reason, you don’t wish to see him?

“Jaemin?”

The sudden appearance of a voice behind him causes Jaemin to jump, but the sound is gentle and familiar. He turns around to see you in a robin-blue sundress, a book in hand. Jaemin’s relief is palpable on his face as he sees you, and he immediately descends the steps, closing the distance between the both of you. However, you retract from him, as if stung, and Jaemin is at a loss.

“Y/N. I didn’t see you for the past two weeks, and I got worried. Forgive me for showing up so suddenly.”

The hesitancy on your face has shifted to an uncomfortable apprehension directed at Jaemin. “I suppose we couldn’t avoid this conversation forever. I’d prefer another place, however,” and you turn, walking away, seemingly for Jaemin to follow you.

There’s a feeling of fear that clings to Jaemin, however, at your words. You’re uncharacteristically cold, tone and expression void of your usual exuberance. Whatever you have to say to Jaemin has to be important. He just hopes it isn’t bad news.

Even then, his mind goes into overdrive, thinking of the worst possible options. Maybe you’re leaving the country. Maybe you’re sick. He doesn’t like any of those options.

Jaemin’s jerked out of his thoughts when you gesture for him to take a seat. The both of you are in a garden, assumedly your family’s. The gazebo provides a welcome respite from the midday sun, and Jaemin watches as you sit opposite him.

The distance feels too far, somehow.

“If you have anything on your mind, Y/N, you can tell me. We’re friends. You know that,” Jaemin assures as he meets your gaze. However, you quickly tear your eyes away from him, fiddling with your hands in your lap. Jaemin can tell you’re nervous, but he’s not sure why. The book is forgotten, placed on the corner of your chair.

“I don’t want to study Psychology anymore,” you mutter, and Jaemin has to wonder if he’s heard you right.

You’re someone even more passionate about the subject than Jaemin is. How-

“I’m just not interested. Not enough to pursue it further,” you say candidly, and Jaemin’s head is spinning, attempting to wrap his head around the reality of the situation. It takes a few minutes for him to collect his thoughts, and the next time he looks at you, his eyes are piercing, uncomfortably so.

“You’re lying. I know you, Y/N,” he replies, and the way you tap your foot on the ground confirms Jaemin’s doubts. He’s familiar with the habit- did you forget you told him that was the way people caught your untruths?

“No, I’m not. How dare you-”

“For God’s sake, Y/N, the book you’re holding is a manual by Carl Jung.” Your eyes quickly dart to the book, cheeks burning with shame. Even then, Jaemin’s tone isn’t accusatory, just truthful.

“If this is because of the university-”

“I heard your conversation with the Provost, Jaemin. Every single part of it,” you confess, your voice getting increasingly shaky as you lose your grip on your composure.

“You’re my co-researcher, Y/N, I told him that,” Jaemin continues, and you wipe a hand across your face absentmindedly.

“I don’t want to be a burden to your career, Jaemin. We both know you deserve the funding. Just remove my name,” you breathe out, and Jaemin immediately shakes his head. He finally realises why you’ve disappeared these two weeks.

“Y/N. Look at me.” Jaemin’s voice is insistent, and even though your eyes are still tear-stained, you listen to him.

“Do you know what I told Mr Lee?” You shake your head.

“I told him that you were indispensable to my research. That none of it would have been done without you, and I would rather abandon the entire thing than not credit you,” Jaemin says, and you exhale sharply. “I told him that you were smarter than some of my best students, that it was the university’s loss for not letting you in.”

You don’t dare to believe what Jaemin’s saying, especially after each moment of the past two weeks. Your eyes inspect his face for a hint of dishonesty. And yet, Jaemin’s expression remains completely honest, his eyes calm and trusting as they look at you. It makes you want to place your faith in him, that maybe this will be enough.

“And what-what did Mr Lee say?” You’re trembling and nervous, but it feels good, almost.

A knowing smile makes it’s way onto Jaemin’s face, and his eyes fill with something else. Fondness, you realise. And barely-concealed excitement. “He said he would review your application again, and allow me to endorse it with the admissions department.”

You realise Jaemin is talking about your application to become a student, and you’re filled with pure, unfiltered joy as you look at him and realise that what he’s saying is true. That after four years of doubt and confusion, it just might be possible.

Jaemin seems to sense the thoughts running through your mind, and his smile only gets brighter.

“So, will you come back to the office now? The edits aren’t going to revise themselves, and I need a better brain to help me with them.”

You immediately let out a small laugh. “I feel a little foolish now,” you confess. “It seems like a lot of it was overthinking.”

Jaemin’s eyes soften imperceptibly. “It wasn’t foolish at all, Y/N.” Jaemin’s presence is comforting, you realise, and the lack of his companionship has been made all the more obvious by your deliberate distancing.

Having him here, with everything worked out, makes it feel as if your life is no longer off-kilter.

When you burst into Jaemin’s office two weeks later, you’re smiling from ear to ear. He looks up at your abrupt arrival, immediately standing up when you stride over to his desk, acceptance letter in hand. “I’m a student starting next week,” you exclaim excitedly, and Jaemin has never seen you this cheerful before.

Truthfully, the admissions board had already informed him that you would be accepted- after all, he was one of the people that had to review your application. Even then, Jaemin tries to look surprised, a cheerful expression on his face. It isn’t difficult, considering how contagious your joy is.

“I have to go off now, but I just- really wanted to share it with you. For being the one to make it happen,” you say softly.

“You did this by yourself, Y/N. I helped because you deserved it.” Jaemin watches as you take in his words, as your smile softens into something more gentle, more tranquil. It’s an expression that he rarely sees on you, and it feels precious.

When you turn to leave, Jaemin’s filled with a strange emotion. It’s almost like a sense of longing as he watches you disappear out the door. Even though he’s sure that the both of you are now close friends, and he’ll see you on campus regularly, the fact that the both of you will no longer have your weekly meetings feels disappointing, somehow.

The feeling lingers with him even at dinner, until even Donghyuck notices. “You’ve been down all day. What’s on your mind?” Renjun looks up from his food expectantly, and Jaemin runs a hand through his hair. It’s made even more suspicious by the way he is unable to muster an appetite. Both Renjun and Donghyuck had cast him suspicious glances when he had only ordered a bowl of soup.

“Where’s Jeno, by the way?”

“You know he’s in the military. Don’t try to change the topic,” Renjun points out, and Jaemin sighs.

“It’s just that the research project with Y/N is over, and-”

“You want to continue seeing her, but you’re not sure how? You feel strange without having her presence around you?” Donghyuck says, and Jaemin blinks at him. Once. Twice. Donghyuck’s right on the spot. Uncomfortably so.

“Well, yes. I guess so,” Jaemin mutters, and Renjun conceals his laugh with a sip of his drink. “See, Renjun. I told you. I’m always right,” Donghyuck says snarkily, and Renjun rolls his eyes. “Want me to remind you of what happened at the party last week?”

“What happened last week?” Jaemin asks, and Donghyuck shakes his head vehemently. “Nothing. Anyways, this is about you. How do you feel about Y/N, Jaemin?” Jaemin doesn’t like the way Donghyuck’s looking at him, as if he knows something he doesn’t.

“I can’t place my finger on it, but something like admiration? She’s capable, more so than me. Intelligent, but she’s able to make the other students laugh easily with her comments. Detailed, especially when she’s checking things,” he immediately responds without a second thought, and Renjun looks at him properly now, mirth in his eyes. “You and Donghyuck are much more similar than I expected.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Renjun is just being annoying. What he’s saying is that you like her.”

“I like Y/N plenty. She’s a good colleague. If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be working together for over a year.” Donghyuck makes a noise of disbelief at Jaemin’s words, and casts an incredulous glance at Renjun, who simply shrugs. “Don’t make that face at me, Donghyuck. You’re even worse. You made her cry, remember?”

Donghyuck falls silent at that, miffed. Jaemin turns to Renjun for clarification, and the boy looks exasperated, almost as if he’s not sure why he’s the one has to manage the both of them.

“I’m not sure if you’ve realised, Jaemin, but you’ve changed a little the past year. You’ve stopped locking yourself in the office as much, and you seem happier. I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but it seems like it’s because of Y/N. And for you to have these sorts of emotions…I don’t think it’s just friendship you’re looking for,” Renjun clarifies.

Donghyuck mutters a ‘finally’ under his breath, but Jaemin barely catches it, stuck in his own thoughts. He thinks about each time you’ve dragged him out to meet the others, until he started doing it of his own volition. About how Renjun, Jeno and Haechan showed up at his office more often, and he no longer wanted to chase them out.

And then he thinks about what Renjun’s implying. That he might have feelings for you, feelings that extend beyond friendship. He finds himself not scared off by the thought, but instead, it fills him with an unfamiliar sort of hope.

The thought of a relationship was an alien concept to him. If it had been mentioned to him a year ago, he would have shrugged it off in moments. Of course, he had people express their interest, sometimes not so subtly. He was decently attractive, after all, and had a good family. But a relationship had never been in the cards for him.

However, you made him want to imagine the possibilities. That when it came to you, he wouldn’t mind being something more, beyond just colleagues and friends. Partners, in every sense of the word. It explains the strange nervousness that overtakes him each time you look at him, or ask him a question. It explains the peace that flooded him that night in the office, when he divulged secrets he had never been willing to tell anyone, all because he trusted you inexplicably.

“I wonder how you’re even a Psychology professor, when you can’t even recognize your feelings from a mile away,” Donghyuck teases, and Jaemin allows a small smile to make its way on his face.

He knows now, and that’s all that matters. The only thing left is to figure out what to do with the weight of his newfound realization, and Jaemin hopes you won’t muddle his mind even more than you already have.

There’s a frenetic energy in the lecture hall this morning, one that you can’t help but get caught up in as well. Jaemin seems to be pacing around more than usual, his words coming out at a faster pace as he scribbles on the chalkboard and everyone tries to catch up. It’s definitely not something serious enough to warrant concern, but you wonder if there’s something on his mind the past week.

His schedule has been full with meetings held by the department, and yours with the coursework required of a university student, especially since you started slightly later in the semester. It’s left you to only be able to see him during lectures, often a friendly smile as you come in and take your seat before he begins teaching.

Distracted, you press your pen nib down a little too hard, a feeling of dread coming a little too late once you hear the sound of it snapping. Ink blots out over your paper, and you curse under your breath, frantically scooping the rest of the papers away. Ruined notes aside, you won’t be able to remember the rest of the lecture in detail later. You’re worrying your lip, when a hand extends in your vision.

“Here. I have an additional one for emergencies,” the voice next to you is low enough to not be heard by the rest of the students, and you turn your head to see a man who looks slightly younger than you, round glasses perched on his face. “Thank you,” you whisper back, fingers brushing over the smooth black lacquer. It’s a much better pen than whatever you’re using, and you suppose you should consider investing in better stationery.

“The name’s Hendery, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.” His tone of voice is surprisingly casual, and it takes a while for the name to land. Hendery. You recall that he’s the student Jaemin mentioned, the one who submitted a lacklustre essay that was out-of-the-norm. He’s one of Jaemin’s favourite students, and you suppose you can understand why. His notes are in a neat script, books arranged neatly and his suit perfectly ironed.

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you,” you reply, and he grins affably, just enough to catch you off-guard. Most of the male students here choose to ignore you, or have awkward grimaces when you nod your head in greeting. It’s rather refreshing.

“Professor Na showed us one of your essays once in class. I’ve never gotten the chance to tell you how much I enjoyed it, and I referenced it in one of my assignments. You can have the pen. I wanted to return the favor,” he adds, and you pause for a while, before smiling back at him and returning to your notes.

“Hendery. What was the main research method of Structuralism?” Jaemin’s voice rings out suddenly, and you dart your head down, attempting to look occupied. It’s not the most honourable thing to do, but you rather not be on the receiving end of failing to answer Jaemin’s questions.

“Experimental studies, Professor?”

“Introspection. That’s what differs it from other schools of thought. Do take better focus next time.”

“Sorry, Professor.”

You feel bad for Hendery. The boy only wanted to extend a helping hand. Still, you know he’s in Jaemin’s good books, and from the way he waves to you, smiling, as he leaves the lecture hall, allows your shoulders to sink in relief.

You’ve made a new friend of sorts. It feels nice, even though you’re used to remaining alone while on campus. Today, however, your schedule is noticeably free, both Ningning and Karina out of the country for business trips. This leaves you to rush down the staircase, attempting to chase after Jaemin before he gets swept up by another meeting.

You call out his name, and the man in question turns around sharply, causing you to skid to a stop and narrowly avoid crashing into him. “Whoa, careful there,” he mutters, and you let out a nervous laugh.

“Did you need me for something?” There’s an unreadable expression on Jaemin’s face. One that you can’t exactly decipher, and you respond with a shaky grin. “No. I just wanted to see you.” The words escape too fast for you to process their weight, leaving your cheeks to redden slightly.

It’s oddly honest, and from his sharp inhale, you’re not sure if you’ve been too forward, despite the nature of your relationship.

“How has work been?”

“Good. Busy,” his voice is terse, reminiscent of the tone that he uses with students, and it causes you to frown slightly. “Will you be going to Haechan’s party this weekend?” Infuriatingly, Jaemin only shakes his head, and you’re left trailing after his footsteps, wondering if you’ve done something wrong.

The walk to his office feels shorter than you remember, and you wonder if it’s because you haven’t been here in too long. The man in front of you still remains frustratingly silent, causing your thoughts to swirl in worry.

“Jaemin. We’re still partners. Talk to me,” you bite out, and he looks up at you, wide eyes no different from that of a deer caught in headlights. He nibbles nervously at his lip, and your eyes inevitably drift down at the motion, before you step closer to him.

“Look, if I did something wrong-”

“You did nothing, Y/N. Believe me when I say that,” his voice is audible, even as it cuts you off abruptly. It’s the longest sentence you’ve heard from Jaemin all day, and you try not to let out a sigh. “Then what is it?”

You’re genuinely worried now, eyes never leaving Jaemin’s figure as he paces across the room, fiddling with his fingers slightly. There’s a strange look in his gaze as he refocuses on you, something like a mix of longing and hesitation. It makes your breath catch in your throat, and you’re unable to move from where you’re standing. The both of you are standing directly opposite each other now, and you would laugh if it wasn’t for the situation itself, considering how it’s almost identical to your first meeting with Jaemin.

“I would like to think that I’m a clear-headed person, Y/N, but I think I may be going a little mad.”

You furrow your eyebrows at the strangeness of Jaemin’s words, unable to decipher their meaning.

“I felt…jealous. When I saw you with Hendery. I know very well it’s ridiculous. But it seems the green-eyed monster doesn’t seem to pick targets.”

You’re bewildered at this point, understanding Jaemin’s words well enough and yet unable to grasp any coherent meaning to them. You’re not sure if you can believe what you’re hearing. If you’re hearing it right, or tunnel vision is causing you to interpret Jaemin’s words in an entirely different light.

“You were jealous of…?” Your voice trails off into silence, a question dripping with anticipation as you look at Jaemin, the room heavy with tension. You think your hands might be shaking, but you can’t be bothered to check.

“Jealous of him. I know you’re your own person, and you’re entirely free to be with and love who you want. But seeing you smile at him makes my heart seize in this terrible way like some sort of lovesick fool, and I’m not sure if I can go on like this without telling you.”

There’s a stricken expression on your face at Jaemin’s barely coherent confession, and he runs a hand roughly through his hair, truly panicking now.

“What I’m saying, Y/N, is that I think I may be in love with you. No. I know it. And it makes me a nervous wreck around you, but I understand if you don’t feel the same way-”

Jaemin barely gets the words out before you’re crossing the distance in two quick strides and standing right in front of him. It makes his breath hitch and his heart palpitate wildly, even as you lean imperceptibly closer. The way your simple actions affect him is barely understandable to Jaemin, and he’s not sure if there’s anything in his knowledge to explain it.

Yet, Renjun had put it forth so simply for him, as if the answer was plain as day.

Love. It was love that made Jaemin miss your presence, that made him think of you daily and cause a lump to form in his throat at seeing you and Hendery. It was love that made Jaemin want to hold on tightly and never let go, to follow you to parties and wherever else you asked him to.

“Are you…about to reject me?” He asks nervously, and you feel your gaze soften as you look at Jaemin. Your colleague, your equal match, your friend, your partner. In everything.

And that’s how Jaemin receives his answer. It’s you grabbing his tie and pulling him down towards your height before planting your lips on his firmly, hands eventually winding around his neck. It’s a few seconds before he seems to realize it, but when he does, Jaemin’s quick to return the favour, holding your waist securely to close the distance between the both of you as much as he can.

The way Jaemin moves his mouth against yours leaves you breathless, but craving for more. He’s passionate, so different from the usual, calm side that he presents. Even then, the way he holds you to him is gentle, as if you’re made of precious glass.

Jaemin kisses you like he’s been waiting to do so forever, and you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it, even as you finally pull away for some much-needed air. You feel faint when he leans his forehead against yours, noses bumping slightly and causing you to let out a soft chuckle. From this close, you can smell his cologne, a clean scent that reminds you of clean laundry and spun cotton.

You blink slowly before opening your eyes, and it causes him to smile, doe-brown eyes crinkling faintly.

“I suppose that was a yes?” He asks, tone successfully returned to playful, and you pull back to look at him incredulously. “Of course it was a yes. What kind of person do you think I am?”

“A person who has my heart in the palm of her hand. It’s a dangerous position to be in.” The straightforward confession sends blood rushing up your cheeks, forcing you to look down, away from his piercing gaze.

“Jaemin. I-” you stumble over your words, unsure of what you want to say to the man before you. You’re not sure what you would do without Jaemin, but you do know there’s a lot more that you wish to do with him. “Love wasn’t in the cards for me at all. You and I both know that. But I’m glad that I have this. That I have you.”

There’s a look of quiet happiness on Jaemin’s face when he tilts your chin up to look at him, a gentle slant of his lips that lights up his features. He doesn’t need to say anything more, not when there’s so much that has passed between the both of you.

Jaemin’s scared, of course. That one day your memories or his might bleed out like quicksand, leaving the both of you strangers. But if he doesn’t take the chance, he’ll never be able to recall the feeling of having you by his side, and the idea of that is much more terrifying.

He will love you more than he will remember you, and it will be enough.

#jaemin #jaemin au #jaemin angst #jaemin fluff #jaemin imagine #jaemin x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream imagine #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream au #na jaemin #na jaemin x reader #na jaemin au

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tumblemumbler · 4 months

Note

Don't be shy, drop some fic recs?

Ok ok, I’m always afraid to do this because I hate to forget one and then the author doesn’t get acknowledged but I will do my best. Many of these are already listed by @enigmaticxbee who has heroically compiled numerous lists of fanfic recommendations by category. Many others out here doing that work (thank you!!), so this is very much just a “some things I loved” list. Most are explicit because I love me some smut.

love you but you’re green by wtfmulder - an incredible combination of nostalgia and sex

Contact High by Penumbra - I’m new to the game here, but it’s my understanding that this is a Classic Must Read and it’s for good reason

Suncadia by SisterSpooky1013 - one of the first ones I read, a case file and a getting together story that gave me a whole range of feels and got me excited to read more x files fics

Destined Reckoning by Spark_a_Flame - an AU crossover with a Stephen King book I’ve never read, but it didn’t matter. I’m always here for some post apocalyptic Mulder and Scully

Dropped Call by Phillip_Padgett - the absolute glorious smut this human writes is unbelievable. This is one of my favorites but there are no bad choices, every story is a banger (ha. Hahaha. Sorry)

Tremors in the unshakeable ground by coppersunlight - I’m not alllll about the angst, I’m more of an occasional partaker, but this filled a deep need I didn’t know I had for some goddamn Diana Fowley accountability

Shine On by cecily_sass - every once in awhile I read something with a premise I don’t even expect to like just because I know the author is good, and this one hooked me very quickly. It’s hard to describe what is so compelling: the words, the character choices, I don’t even know, just go read it.

from this morning forward by thursdaysinspace - a charmingly realistic look at how m&s do the hard work to find their way back to each other in the revival. Sweet, sexy, and gives the characters credit for all the effort it takes to make love last.

The X Files - Slip of the Tongue by Skinfull - every week I await the new installment, like a perfect little treat the universe is giving us for being fans

Si Hoc Legere Potes, Liberaliter Educatus by Aloysia_Virgata - so many great ones from this author, but this one cracked me up and gave me some feels too. A little revival therapy

Love and Bearclaws by Edie_Rone - short, sweet, and so so cute. A perfect little vignette

Throwing Good After Bad by oohnotvery - a clever twist on a common trope of the two of them going undercover together. Twists and turns and sex, oh my!

Takeout Interruptus by lonegunga1 - you need an ao3 login for this one. Just a cute funny slice of life in early MSR

Honestly there are so many more so my sincerest apologies to the authors I have read and enjoyed and didn’t properly get into this list - the fault is in my memory not in their work. Hopefully I have left them a comment at one point so that they feel appreciated! Also, all these authors have written many good things, go down those rabbit holes it’s the best.

One bonus, which is not actually X Files at all:

The Adventure of the Lady Detective and the Writer by mldrgrl - a romance saga between Stella from The Fall and Hank Moody from Californication. I was very skeptical and now I am a complete convert, this ship is genius.

#txf #msr #the x files #xf fanfic #x files fic #mulder x scully

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cherubispunk · 9 months

Text

CHERUB (PART III) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering.

a note from Lucy: Well, this is it folks. The third and final instalment of the unholy trinity that is cherub. The fic that i had no idea would get this amount of traction. The fic that gave me my username, blog theme, the majority of my mutuals and the freedom to explore more taboo areas of writing that I never felt comfortable with doing before. I just wanted to thank you all for all the kind words you’ve shared with me. Comments, reblogs, messages, they all mean the utter world. But i also want to specifically thank @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin who was such a huge help for motivation when wrting each of these. She's been there since the first day of cherub and always let me obsess over dealer!joel with her. Ange, i love you baby. Out of all my fandom experiences, this has definitely been one of the best. I know this sounds a lot like a goodbye completely, but it's not i swear! I just never really knew where this was going, but I think this is a pretty good way to end the series and I hope you agree too. Part of me isn't ready to let go after such a short run, but I honestly have no idea where to go from here so I think I did it as much justice as I could. Regardless, Cherub and Dealer!Joel will forever have a place in my heart all thanks to you lovely lot! Your love means the world to me and you are all so easy to share this with, you've given me an environment to flourish creatively and I'm eternally grateful for that. I wish you all the love, hugs, kisses, and angel wishes in the world!

playlist

wc: 5548 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! Unedited for now, no outbreak, no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, plot? what plot? we all know we're here for the porn anyway, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his late 50s), gore imagry, religious imagry, Smut, very dubcon in theory but both want it bad, grafic smut, P in V sex (unprotected — pleaseee don’t do tis irl i beg of you), teasing, sort of edging? (idk what to call it but he doesnt fuck you until you beg for it lol). nipple play, biting biting biting!!!!!, references to domestic violence, use of pet names, manipulative! joel, stupid stupid cherub, stockholm syndrome, oral (f receiving), cum eating, pussy slapping, Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk, overstimulation. Again, some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile vile vile porn I have written thus far…with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell, i have my own circle now. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

The danger didn't lie in his hands. It didn't sit in his closed first to be suffocated. Choked out until the life of it was compressed. Until its face was blue, then purple and its eyes were bloodshot and streaked with red. The danger lay in your heart. And it thrived off the beating.

What is ‘it’, you ask? Mania.

The Greeks had it nailed down when they split love seven different ways. To the crucifix through its punctured and bleeding palms. All equal, but different. They understood that one love is different to the other. That love can be either obsession, or lingering in the quiet parts of a person's mind. You cannot hold up a mirror to one and deceive into believing it is another. No matter how sweet the lie seeps into the ear. They don't work that way. You were not Lucifer, you had no forked tongue. And your mania wasn't Eve. There was no apple to devour. Only the strong arm of Joel Miller to cling to like a noose.

Some love passionately. Find it in the scathing friction of flesh upon flesh. The heat two bodies make only in sex. You were no body anymore. Merely a corpse for him to dig up and breathe life into whenever he needed relief. So it was not Eros. Some love playfully. In the back and forth of a conversation that makes the mind and heart float in the clouds among the soul. Entwine them together until you are too sedated to know the difference between the three pillars of personal holy trinity. There was nothing lighthearted about Joel Miller. So there was no Ludus. Affection. The subtle, it-is-there-even-when-it-is-not weight of lovers hand in lovers hand. Joel clutched your throat with his heavy hand. He didn't lace your fingers in his like tapestry threads. And he was anything but friendly. So it could never be Philia. He was not unconditional. Familial. Constant. Committed. Long lasting. Selfless. He crept in through the backdoor and took. Then slipped back out. So the thick blood red line was drawn through Storge. Agape. Pragma. The love you had was not for yourself. Without him you hated yourself. Hated how you didn’t feel needed. Or wanted. So Philautia was buried six feet under hot earth, the final nail in the coffin that was lowered into the rotting, thick-with-decaying-mulch, stenching ground. By none other than Mania.

This was something you came to realise as you stumbled from his truck back to your room. His come dribbling down your leg. Luke asleep on the sofa. Months passed of the same thing. He’d take you home from work, only letting you go once he'd had his fill. Played out the sick fantasy from mind to matter, let it bleed through his fingers into fruition. You let it happen for mania. It was the thing inside you that kept you going. Before you thought mania fed off your heartbeat. But now you realised mania fed your heartbeat. The kick it got every second fired the next muted pulse. That's what kept it alive. Energy for energy. You were never one to bite the hand that feeds. That’s a sinner's duty.

—

The usual sight of Luke slumped in his lazy boy, guzzling beer was what you expected. The liquor once again swigged past his lips and dribbling down his stubbled chin. Wiry greying hair greasy on his head, balding. Thinning. Residue from a line on the coffee table. You were never tempted by it before. And you were determined never be a Angel dust statistic like him.

Instead, you opened the flimsy door of your trailer to see him hunched over a small collapsible table. His hand running over his sunken eyes, dragging purple eye bags down with his fingertips in shame. Cards in his other. It had your breath catching in your throat like a hare in a wire snare trap. This time around the small collapsible round table. Cards in his hand. And two other men shared a knowing glance and a grim smile of satisfaction. Him.

Joel Miller.

The tension was thicker than molasses in the room. You only wished it was as sweet. You swallowed it down thickly. It stretched your throat. You watched in morbid fascination when he lay his hand on the table in a fan for all to horror at, a sly smirk slithering over his lips and curling the one corner of it up like a scorpion's tail.

“Full house.”

“Fuck!” And Luke’s hand slapped the tabletop as he folded.

The door clicked. All three looked up to see you. Luke, Joel, and the man who held a familiar resemblance to your own personal devil. With eyes on you, you felt more like that hare in the snare than ever. Clapping eyes on the hungry wolf as mutton dripped bloody from his sneer. Cruel and hungry. You imagined him as that wolf, hyde thick and bristled under your soft fingers as he led you to some deep, dark, thorny place. A place only lit by the eyes of owls who observed while he had his way with you. Ripped your stockings to get to sweet fruit.

“Great, the cunt is home.” Luke spat to the room but you, looking over the table again as he bit his thumb nervously to the edge of the hangnail. “Get me a beer.” Your nostrils flared in defiance at his demand, knuckles pale as fingers furled into a fist. An army of goosebumps had stood to attention all along your arms and the back of your neck. A shiver shattering down your spine. Your heart had enough of its prison of your ribcage in your anger, ramming into it over and over in a frantic hammering. And when that wasn't enough, you felt it in your throat. Among the tightening of your airways. “You hear me girl?” He asked, looking at you. He stood, chair scraping against the floor and you staggered back to the point your shoulderblades hit the door. While he was a thin, wiry man, he had a vicious backhand that stung. Like a vengeful aftertaste. “Y’need me to beat some sense inta ya girl, huh?!” You dared to spare a glance at Joel who was too busy collecting his winnings. You soon to be among them.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, looking to the floor and cowering off to the kitchen to get him his beer.

“Y’short, Luke.” You heard from the doorway, straining to hear the tail end of the conversation. Something about your uncle having it by monday. And then Joel telling him he shouldn’t raise a bet he doesn't have the dough to cover.

It took a second to catch your breath. Tears strung in your eyes and your chest threatened to split in two. Your sternum felt like it was cracking down the middle into clean halves under the weight of your chest. A hand clasped over your quivering lips to bite back a horrible sob and muffle it. Only your palm could know you were crying miserably. So you took a beer from the fridge, heard the hiss as the lid gave way and popped off. It clattered to the linoleum and you bared your teeth at the grating sound, picking it up and tossing it in the bin.

“Here.” You mumbled, placing it unceremoniously on the table in front of Luke.

“Y’got any spare cash on you, girl?” Luke asked, beady eyes staring you down as he raised the bottle to his lips and took a drink. You grimaced inwardly at the sight of his yellow teeth when he made a satisfied sigh.

“No.”

Joel’s brow raised. You should know by now not to lie to a man who can read you like a book. That's the thing about narcissists. They have a way of being able to understand you like a one word sentence on paper. A quick glance and you’re unravelling with concealed meaning and connotation.

“C’mon, Cherub…gotta have something from workin’ this late in that diner of yours…” You dared to challenge Joel with a look. A look that retreated soon after the advance of the glare of his eye. The same glare of the hungry wolf. Of the cheated man. It was unkind, and unyielding, and did not hold mercy upon the souls of the enthralled, the damned, or the harrowed. You might try to cross through the sentence, or turn the page. Or shut the book entirely. But the truth is still the truth even when you chose not to look. This was the man that knew your mind. Knew your body. And coaxed his will out of you each time. His word was all it took to cave, so you took the folded bills from your apron, flicking through them with a bitten back scowl,

“How much does he owe you?” Joel smiled with amusement, counting through his winnings to see what was short.

“Ninety-eight.”

‘What?” you asked, eyes wide, hurt. Disheartened. Fingers stilling halfway through the small stack. And Joel smirked.

“You heard me, Cherub.”

“Give Joel his money.” Luke warned.

“But it’s not his money! And it’s not yours to give!” You tried, and saw the warning tick of your uncle's narrow jaw. It was always set on edge before he threw a hand. Cast a palm across your cheek in a brandishing. It had you cowering. Relenting. Tossing the money in front of him. If it fell to the floor in its flurry he could pick it up and grovel about it. But Joel never grovelled. Only relished. Then reminded Luke of the money he still owed for the drugs.

And you walked back to the kitchen, biting into your lip again. With the devil and your demon in the next room over, you were sure this could be hell. A buzz filled your ears. Like the constant thrum of flies over roadkill. In festering flesh wounds where broken white of bone poked through gaping, bleeding holes. Blood matted in the hyde of the animal helpless and scattered across the road. A leg here, smashed teeth there. You were the roadkill. Joel was at the wheel of that which mowed you down. Luke was howling in the passenger side.

His boots thumped clumsily over the linoleum and he let out a huff through his nose while he adjusted his low slung jeans in the doorway.

“Cherub?” He asked, clearing his throat huskily — a consequence of the smokes he used religiously. You stood with your back to him, palms flat to the countertop and head hung low to fight the sting of tears simmering from within.

“He threatened to hit me.” You whispered, not turning to face him. If you mattered his ears would strain to meet you halfway. “And you did nothing.”

“Come on, Cherub…don't be like that.” he sighed, and you imagined him pinching the bridge of his hooked nose.

“He took my money. You took my money. How am I gonna get out of here without it?” You croaked, your tired eyes seeing faces of gaping mouths and slate black eyes in the speckled linoleum of the counter.

No reply came from the door. And when you turned it was empty. He had left. The other man had left. The tv was on again with the scream of a woman murdered. And Luke fell asleep in his lazy boy.

—

Another day, another shift. And more horror ensued. At first, what set the nerves thrumming was there was no sign of Luke. His truck was gone from its spot. No drunk slumped on the worn leather settee. No scream or grotesque image on the TV. Merely an empty bottle on the coffee table.

You swallowed, shutting the door cautiously with a muffled click of the latch. You didn't dare call his name. Just pushed it down into your stomach for it to churn the thought up in acid. But the horror jumped back up your throat into a lurid scream at the sight of your mattress tossed to the side. The moth bitten pillowcase on the floor, void of money. Your money. Gone. Someone had rifled through your belongings. Turned your only space into a mess. Strewn clothes, bed sheets, pillows in their haste. All your work. All the nights of living off bitter coffee from the pot at work, scrounging together tips. It made you seethe. The heat was an inferno at your fingertips, nails embedding crescents into your palms. You searched all over for it. But to no avail.

When Uncle Luke came home, he smelled of hard liquor. It was a miracle – or curse – he hadn't wrapped his car around a tree. He gloated, and sneered, and shoved it down your throat in his intoxication that he’d found it under the mattress. Joel had called him, told him you planned on leaving. And he connected the dots. Ransacked your room. Oh, how the man would hate his loose lips when you gave him hellfire.

You expected Luke’s reaction. You knew if he were to ever find out he’d snatch it up in his greedy, grimy hands and take it for himself. He spent all of it. Paid his debt to Joel, gambled some on bad luck bets, drank with the rest. Slugged liquor down his throat and got drunk off your labour. And then left you on your floor with tear stained cheeks and a heart of heavy lead.

You wanted your money. But would you take from the man who gave you your everything? Your sense of being. A religion and faith. You believed in nothing more than the way he held your name between his teeth. You forgot what your real name felt like in the same place. And it occurred to you that he had never said it. Did he know it? You weren't them anymore. You were Cherub.

The sweet and mourning lamb in you wanted to go over just to be his again, and not carry out the plan of taking back what was yours. That which he would see as sin. You felt guilt claw up your throat at the thought alone. It seemed blasphemous to conspire against him. Why do you insist on protecting yourself. You who was the sacrificial lamb?

If you did go – and you let him have you again – you were whole. But at what cost? Could you stand another night of temporary hell under the guise of heaven. Of touch so cold, like ivory or black ice. To have him thumb your skin with blunt endearments and the croon of ‘cherub’ past his chapped lips. Definite like black and white. No escape. What he’d do and how. Whispering them in the stone deaf shells of your ears like they were a sculpture. Pygmalion’s Bride. He’d made you all you were today. Took chisel to marble and carved out his masterpiece. Cherub.

You were soft, and pliable. Wax heated by his flame. You kissed back. You moaned for him. Begged him for his release and not your own. Bruised with his handprint. The warmth of life under flesh. But without him…you returned to marble. Another pretty thing to be gawked at. He tempted you with it because he knew more than anyone, more than god himself who watches these exchanges, that you can't live without him. It was like telling a child not to slip off to the woods in the dead of night. That was a pointless warning. You knew what lay there anyway, what threat it would be. That wolf in his thick bristled hyde. Curled up in his den. You would see it as innocence and vulnerability if you weren't so scared. But you knew when he woke up the teeth would shine again. And they’d tear flesh. Let blood. Gnash bone. Dripping from the glaring white once he finished with your carcass. Your matter between them and your crimson lacing his gums. Who knew being eaten alive could be so pleasurable.

But then again, how could bering alone really be hell if the devil wasn't there?

There is mania in your body. But you can't get it out. It rattles in your head and lungs and glues to the backs of your gnashers. No matter how much you wish to spit it out. It infects your tongue. It welds itself to the matter of your bones. Melts into the cracks between your teeth. Claggy against your tongue. All to show the sweetest of words have the bitterest of tastes. You can feel it swell underneath your skin. In the gap between muscles where it festers and heats you up. Like fever it burns, like the fire that consumes and the pillars that hold the temple up crack, the ground shakes, and the beast rears its ugly head at you. You’re losing your body to him. It's a fight you try to win. You dare to. You give your all, tooth and nail each time in the gaps between. In the silence and hollow that nestles in the middle of the meetings. In the quiet, where no one is around but the cracked plaster of your room. You stopped caring who fired the gun first. You were always the one who got shot down in the end. Right in the stomach. Blood gurgling up your throat in a grotesque plea for help.

All these weeks you had shrunk yourself to the size of a bird in his hands, sang a sweet sweet song of his name, until the squeeze of his first closest off your throat. And the sound stopped altogether. Laid there after the warning. Patient while you had your wings clipped and your freedom taken. And he took more. Took the beating of your heart with his teeth. Took the will to want. The will to love. The will to need anything else, as well as the need to have better. Below you were the foundations. Only now you saw them for what they were, a decaying mess of fragments, the stench of wood rot hot in your nose. A musk like no other. His musk. So in your anger you took an axe to a willow to see how it would weep. You slipped past the sleeping drunk you call Uncle Luke. Out the door, over gravel, past the truck he coaxed you to without the need of a sweet treat. You’d yank the axe from the bark of the weeping willow, its sob echoing in the wind that rustled its drapery of lush green leaves. Leaves that will wilt as sap bleeds from its severed trunk. Take the axe to the wolf. Cut him. Scrotum to throat.

Take back what was yours. And leave those woods skipping.

—

Your knocks descend upon his door in quick raps until he opened it with a grumble. Then a smirk. “Evenin’, Cherub.”

No salvation. No going back. No space among the clouds. Just the fall. You pushed past him into his front room. “Where is it?’ You hissed, tossing the cushions of the couch up. Nothing there. So you left them on the floor and did the same for the airchair. Nothing there either.

“Woah, calm down, girl!’ Joel huffed, reaching for your arm, which you tugged back from him in a new found strength surging you forward, out of his arms. “Where’s what?”

“My damn money, Miller!” You bit back with venom laced spit. A hunger for revenge making you salivate like a bad dog.

“The fuck you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about, dickhead!” And he recoiled at your bared teeth, your verbal assault and battery, but went in for his own.

“Watch your damn foul language, girl!” He warned, reaching the end of his already short tether.

“You know how much he stole from me? Three hundred dollars of my hard earned chash. Forget my fucking ticket out of this shithole, I ain’t even paying rent now! And for what? Your god awful drugs!” His nostrils flared, and you watched the vein in his neck bulge under the sweltering heat of his own anger. Coiling inside him. Wounded bitch about to bite back.

“You didn’t have much of a probelm with my drugs after I fucked that pretty little hole of yours. All dumb and needy f’me, Cherub.” You grimaced at the sneer. But the feeling made your knees buckle. The name again. Cherub. You were Cherub. His cherub. “You want ya money back, huh? You can have it.”

That made you stutter. Thoughts skidding to halt at the sight of a brick wall. Crumpled matter as it smashed into it anyway. “What?”

“I ain't giving it to you for free though.”

“You're sick! It’s my fucking money!”

“Not in the eyes of the law its not.” And he folded his great oaks of arms over his chest in satisfaction. Once again one upping you.

“The eyes of the law? Says the fucking drug dealer. I bet you got way worse than coke in duffel over there. Wonder what the law would say about that?” It was said dismissively over your shoulder as you turned to leave. Alas, once again his large hand encompassed your wrist and squeezed. Pulled you back flush to his broad chest. His breath was hot on your neck as he whispered sweetly into your ear.

“Come on now, Cherub. You wouldn't do me in like that would ya? Not when I love ya…”

The way he said it…it didn't seem real. It was false. Comforting but not real. You knew it was a lie. This wasn't love. He didnt love. If he loved you he'd ask for your number then call you. Take you out. Let you cry on his shoulder and drive you home after. Kiss you in the dark for only the walls to see. Let you stay a night or two, or a whole damn week. Give you your damn money back. Stand up to Luke with a closed fist to the face. Leave swelling and a deep bruise on his cheekbone as a first and final warning.

“You love me?” You asked, voice small and hollow in your chest.

“Yeah, Cherub. I love you too.” He cooed, as if he knew you loved him already. All this and nose running over the curve of the side of your neck, tongue trailing hot in pursuit, it had you keeling over in confession at his feet. “You’re so cute when you're angry. Come on now, lemme make those tears go away…and you can have your money back, and we can forget this ever happened.” That tone…it was patronising. It made the sense in you rattle the cage of your ribs. Claw at the bars of bone and run into them like a caged animal. Because that’s what it was. A caged animal. But your heart was holding its hand over its mouth in a trance as it let his words ebb deeper. Somewhere between desperate and divine. But what was his motive?

God, Jesus, all above that is holy, you didn't care! After all this time, it was still no secret, or hushed uttering that Joel Miller was now everywhere in you. Scraping the backs of your teeth, festering like a virus in your bloodstream. Melding to the marrow of your bones. The walls of your cunt.

He still had a devastating habit of seeping through the cracks of your closed lids. Still ready to pillage and plunder his way through your head in its numbed state of sleep. When you could have finally— finally stopped and not felt. But he ebbs deeper. Always would. Always will.

It's what got you here. It would end you if it could. Snuff out your heartbeat and the fire inside of you. All he need do was lick his fingers and press them to the wick. And leave the smoke to string out and curl. You thought you were hungry for love before. But now you realised you were just hungry for the sight of your blood on his lips. The gnashing of you between his teeth. The curl you made of his brow. If it wasn’t devastating, reaping its agony in your silly little fractured chest— you didn’t dare need, nor crave it. You came for the pleasure but you stayed for the pain. And he took again, and again.

So you let him ‘make it up to you’. Let him claw at your clothes until they were scraps on the floor. Tore your stockings. Showed you those gleaming teeth. The wolf. And you, his sacrificial lamb. His Cherub.

“Feel that?’ He asked, with the slow drag back and forth of him inside you, parting you. This wasn’t fast, or rough. This was slow. And it made you need more. Need it faster. Need him hurtling you towards the edge of harrowing oblivion. He knew that. It’s why he took his time with it this time around. “Yeah. You do.” Joel answered for you. You never had to answer. But often he made you say it from your own quivering lips. Just to have the taste of the words from your tongue bleed into his. The neverending praise. “Why would you wanna leave that Cherub?” You couldn't answer, only let out a soft sob. “Huh? Answer me, Cherub. Why’d you wanna fuckin’ leave that?” And he punctuated it with pulling out to the bulbous head of his clock, then slamming back in with one sharp thrust. And then he was still.

You whined a shallow gasp into his mouth. But he didn’t kiss you. Joel never kissed you. His teeth sinking into your bottom lip shut you right up before his tongue delved deeper into it. The thumb of the hand that slithered between your legs rolled over your clit, making you mewl over the buzz of electricity causing you to clamp down on his thick, full cock. You were so eager for more. Anything more than what he was giving you. He smirked into your mouth when he felt your hips buck forward, trying your damn hardest to push his cock deeper into you. Silly little cherub. You should know better than to defy God. “See? Felt good didn’t it?” You nodded as much as you could in your current piston.

“Mhm.”

“See what you can have if you stay. Why fight it cherub?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“You gonna listen then, Cherub?”

“Yes. Yes! I’ll listen, just-” You shuddered at the thought of it, tears brimming at the the threshold of your eye. ”Please.”

“Say it.” He waited, wanting you to beg for it in the pretty way he knew you could. The choir voice. The songbirds hymn. The whole time his eyes did nothing but stare you down hungry at the sight of you falling apart from nothing but a hand to your throat and a single his throbbing dick buried in your aching cunt. It all pooled down into your centre, creating a rush your head had trouble keeping up with. “Tell me why you wanted to leave.”

“I dunno-” You stuttered, once again rolling your hips up. His hand at your throat pressed into your skin again, harder. It choked you. It had you drawing in a sharp, meagre breath. And he pulled out, running the underside of himself through the hot, drooling seam of your cunt. You shivered when the tip brushed up to your clit momentarily. The bead of precome at his slit smearing into your sex, mixing with your slick. “I dunno, Joel. I- I just wanted my money. I just wanted out. I hate it.” You babbled through closed eyes, chest heaving with sobs, and hot tears ran thick down your flushed cheeks.

“You hate it, huh?” He mocked and crooned, still catching your clit with the tip of his cock, hips waxing and waning in a slow roll. “You hate me too?” He knew the answer. But again, it was the satisfaction of knowing you were wrapped around his finger. Ready to bend over backwards for him. Him seeping into you through the cracks of your ribs, the gaps between your teeth. The opening of yourself to the twisting knot of denial within you. Your back arched like the lofty roof of a chapel, legs parting like its heavy doors. He followed you with hunger. You opened your mouth to speak but he squeezed momentarily on your throat again, oxygen starvation and the smell of him dizzying you. He relished in the whimper that he garnered from you. That and how he left you breathless just from his cruel touch.

“No.” You garbled as his thumb unhinged your jaw. Saliva in your mouth pooling while his thumb pressed your tongue down, bitter with a smokers telltale tobacco staining. It slipped past your lips, dribbled down his digits making a sticky mess at the curve of his thick wrist. He drew up a glob of saliva in his throat, watching as it drooled thickly, gluttonously, past his lips into your waiting mouth. He watched as you gagged on it, and then he let your jaw go so you could close your mouth. You swallowed eagerly, savouring the taste on your tongue. For what did it matter anymore? One day, you’ll be nothing but dust. Bronchioles in lungs will mimic roots. Navels will copy trunks. Organs will feed worms. Ribs will fossilise and lips that are kissed will mould back to Mother Nature. It's all you have ever been. Quick. Convenient. Easy to please, eager to help. Waiting lips, wanting cunt. Warm, never warm enough. But he kept you like a butterfly in a glass jar. He let you see freedom but never experience it. Why need it when you had the stretch of him inside you. The feeling of him, heat to heat with your sex.

“You want this, cherub? Wanna be stuffed full of me again?”

“Always wanted it, Joel.” You mumbled into his mouth, sniffing back the last this spurt of tears, hypnotised. His hand wrapped around his cock, the large splay of his palm did nothing to dwarf its size with he jacked himself once, twice, three times to the sight of you. He squeezed the base with hiss, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth after cursing under his bated breath. He was thick, flushed, the tip swollen and leaking, drooling greedily with a rivulet of precum down the underside of his length. He trod a path with his hands down to your breasts, kneading each one between his palms with a pinch before guiding himself back into the mouth of your heat, your cunt swallowing him down to the base. The needy roll of your hips into his showed just how desperate you were. He groaned at the start of the friction between you, and slowly dragged back out of you, moving just as slowly back inside. He repeated this twice, and then he let loose. The motion turned into a needy clash of his hips to yours. Again. Again. Again. Somewhere along the sting of passion and heat, his hand wrapped around your throat, feeling the flex of it as you swallowed under his palm. He bit down into your neck, reaching out from you as his hips slammed erratically. His heavy balls slapping against your ass with each rut forward of his unrelenting. The way he fucked you, was like holding a knife to your throat. It grounded you in the most harrowing way to each of his breaths. His panting in your ear. It swallowed you whole. Mad your legs wrap around his waist and your hips keen up into him.

Your cunt drooled down his shaft, down to the base, down the sensitive skin of his cock. He growled and hissed in your ear, teeth closing around your earlobe, his hand dragging back up and grip tightening around your neck. Getting off on the feeling of your pulse under his thumb.

You felt the knot tighten. And tighten. Right in the pit of your stomach, deep in your sopping wet cunt where the mouth of your cervix met his fucking. The walls of your cunt sucking him back in as the angle of his hips snapped up into the spot that had you seeing entire constellations. They darted to and fro across your vision. It blurred the edge, spots of dark matter, deep black, the colour of oblivion slinging over the back of your eyes that now burned with tears of pleasure. His fingers dug deeper into malleable flesh, gripped tightly at your hip with his free hand, thumb brushing over your hip bone down your mound to toy with your clit after a slap to it. And it was the action that sent you spiralling, babbling his name nonsensically among a string of curse words. So pretty and fucked out beneath him. Joel couldn’t help but stare smugly as your eyes rolled back into your head when your orgasm hit like a freight train. He came undone soon after, his climax hitting a crescendo with a growl bitten into your shoulder, bruising and brandishing you with his mark again.

He pulled back, leaving you to the mercy of the cold. Watching was his hips moved again to fuck his release back into you. Your hole quivered in protest, and you squirmed under him. “Don’t be fucking ungreatful now, Cherub.” You relented, going still and boneless on the mattress. Limbs unfurling from their tension. “That's it. Take it. Take it all.” He groaned smoothly. Just like the roll of his hips. He fucked it slowly back into you. And you took his release inside you to keep. “Good girl, Cherub.” He whispered, kissing your lips in a tender dichotomy. Not letting you rest until he was satisfied you took every drop of him. Afterall, it was all you’d have left of him until he next chose to pick you up. All the while, he trailed his tongue back down to your breasts, pressing the flat of it to your nipple, drawing it with a sharp suck into his mouth. Pressing the blunt of his teeth into your flesh. Letting the taste melt on his tongue. Salty with your sweat. He did the same to the others. When he went soft inside of you, and his hips stilled. He slipped out of you with hitched breath, the pad of his fingertips tracing your abused, used sex. Your legs twitching when he rolled your clit under two fingers. “I said stop squirming.” He grunted, landing another slap to your pussy. It made an obscene wet sound. His come dribbling out slowly.

“Open your mouth.” Joel commanded, and you did. Waiting for whatever he had planned. He licked a hot strip from your asshole to your cunt, pressing his tongue in to drag out some of his release. And he climbed back up to spit it into your mouth. A hand clamping down on your jaw. “Don’t swallow. Close your mouth.” And you did with the side of his thumb clamping it shut for you. “Taste that?” You nodded in response. It was hot, heavy and thick and salty to taste. Divine. “Show me.” You opened again, his creamy spend diluted amongst your saliva and he smirked. Clamping your jaw shut again. “Swallow.”

Joel watched in open mouthed amusement as the delicate column of your throat rippled under muscle contract. “Good girl, Cherub. Remember that taste next time y’feel like leaving again.” He warned in a growl. And you nodded, swallowing your pride. Your fear. Your mania aiding in shoving it down your throat to dissolve in acid. Once again you were in those deep dark woods. The one where the wolf lay. Remnants of you in his teeth. The willow is still weeping, slashed in half. The axe free of his bloodshed by the entrance of his den. The owls' eyes still lit the scene of sin where overhead the starlight was snuffed out by the tangle of branches thick in their black greenery.

You never got your money back. Maybe one day you'd get out of this town. But the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering. Even angels can’t resist a slice of that heaven. Fallen angel. Wounded bitch. Cherub.

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victimsofyaoipoll · 1 year

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Round 3

Propaganda Under Cut

Kairi

kairi is the third protagonist of the kingdom hearts series and the third member of the destiny trio, alongside fan favorites sora and riku. sora/riku shippers HATE kairi, and will go out of their way to discount her at every turn. the hate for her ranges from typical "she's a boring bitch" to fans of soriku making five-hour long video essays reassuring their fellow shippers that the big bad kairi won't show up in the next installment – to quote one video, "she's in a box. she's on the shelf. four walls, no door." kairi is the greatest bogeyman the soriku fandom has ever known, to the point where most of said video essays and fanon meta posts focus not on why sora and riku should get together, but rather on why they don't like kairi.

Literally has a 100+ page Google doc fan theory writing her out of the narrative and putting all of her (few) canonical accomplishments onto half of the popular m/m ship (soriku). Don't even get me started on how her memory was completely written out of the canon plot of re:coded. KH is a nightmare to explain so dude trust me she is THE victim of yaoi

She is so fundamental to the plot and themes and narratives of game and yet it is near impossible to find anything about her thats not ship bashing pre-mlm with the other two characters. I dont even care if she ends up with one of the main characters i just want fans to see her as a cool character to love or like, anything other than “annoying comphet girl.” You can write your mlm but pleaae stop inventing comphet where it doesnt exist. She does not even get to spend time with sora ever?? Why does everyone see her as a threat and a thing to destroy?? Let her have friends so help me

Misa Amane

she gets treated in-canon the way fandoms treat female characters that Threaten an m/m ship. it's like, "oh why don't you go sit in the corner and be pretty, misa, while the Men have intelligent conversation and pretend they aren't ten seconds from fucking each other, doesn't that sound nice?" it's infuriating. and MAYBE it's better now but i remember her getting treated the same way in fanfiction too, like we all need to do just as badly by our female secondary characters as fucking tsugumi ohba, but with the added insult of making her be alternately oblivious of the relationship between light and L or actively trying to sabotage it—incompetently, of course, because god forbid misa be allowed dignity or moments of cleverness.

she's one of the first characters I think of when I consider old school fandom misogyny. The annoying bitch and clingy crazy gf allegations were AFTER HER ASS. She's also a lot more intelligent than people gave her credit for, but most seem inclined to take the Very Biased word of our unreliable, narcissistic narrator and his homoerotic arch nemesis and claim that just because she's bubbly and into romance that she's also a complete moron. Which is blatantly untrue. Everyone was afraid of Misa girlbossing too hard. Killing people and devoting yourself to the deranged twink of your dreams even though you know he'll never love you back??? Having a hardcore goth aesthetic and being so Hot even literal Death Gods are into you?? God forbid women do ANYTHING!

Not only is she the victim of yaoi culture, she is the victim of early 2000s misogyny by an author that wanted to introduce a girl character because he knew his male rivals were getting too homoerotic. She is a goth bimbo icon who portrays what I think is one of the few callouts for stan culture and what parasocial relationships can do to both the stan and the idol. The fact that she is a toxic fan of Kira and also hot, funny, sociable is tragic in its own way, which I think the author did try to touch on but was too misogynistic too really get through. Of course, she was reduced to villain status by the fandom and anime alike because she got in the way of the supposed romance in their psychological horror anime.

#round 3 #poll #kairi kingdom hearts #kh kairi #kairi #kingdom hearts #misa amane #misa misa #death note

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welcometothejianghu · 2 months

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Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 沙海/Tomb of the Sea/Sand Sea.

Sand Sea is the 2018 installment of the DMBJ/Lost Tomb franchise, which tells the story of the search for an ancient desert city, a fight against a secretive assassin family, the raiding of more than a couple tombs, and a whole bunch of other action-packed bullshit.

Have you ever watched an anime adaptation that outran the as-yet-incomplete manga it was adapting, necessitating it throw together a largely befuddling ending based on the available clues? That's Sand Sea. At time of production, only ~75% of the Sand Sea novel had been written. As I am making this post, that's still all of the Sand Sea novel that has been written. I finished watching the show and had a lot of questions about its loose ends. I read the book. It didn't help.

So, I'm not going to try and summarize the story, much less try to sell you on the show on the strength of the plot. What I am going to try and do is convince you it's a good time anyway.

As I mentioned earlier, it's part of a larger franchise, but you shouldn't let that stop you from diving in here. Most of the DMBJ shows and books are narrated by Wu Xie, the series' special little birthday boy. Sand Sea takes a different tack -- your main POV characters are completely new to the world of the tombs, meaning that the show explains things to you while it's explaining things to them. Wu Xie's still a major character, but you're seeing him through the eyes of a befuddled teenager who wasn't even supposed to be here today.

I'm going to give you five reasons to watch this series, and all five of them are relationships. I'm pitching it to you this way because, as was the case in my rec for Reunion (one of the other tomb-raiding dramas), I'm assuming you have zero familiarity with DMBJ, which means that any appeals to the larger franchise or its twists and turns will have no impact. Instead, I am here to sell this to you on the strength of character interactions. If you're interested in what the characters are doing, the plot will come.

1. Dudes Rock

The aforementioned teenager narrator is Li Cu, a too-cool-for-school underachiever who lives with his abusive father and has no direction in life. He comes with his two best (and only) friends: earnest pushover Su Wan and neighborhood bully Yang Hao.

They're a trio of problem children who cannot succeed by the metrics of society at large: Li Cu and Yang Hao are both from family circumstances that have hampered their ability to perform academically, while Su Wan, bless his heart, is just not that bright. They do, however, all do well when put in situations that play to their strengths and given appropriate mentorship. (Alas that all of their mentors are terrible people; see point 4.)

They're set up as an intentional next-generation parallel to the Iron Triangle, which is the term DMBJ uses for Wu Xie and his two closest people. Normally, the Iron Triangle would be the core of a DMBJ story -- but since that threesome is broken by Circumstances at the moment, these boys become the substitute triad whose friendship is one of the main bonds holding the narrative together.

They have such teenage boy dynamics, it's great. They're stupid about girls and alcohol and money and homework and all the other things teen boys are stupid about, while also being stupid enough to get themselves entangled in shadowy international conspiracies. Huge parts of the plot are fueled entirely by their dumbass decisions. But they also barely have any competent adult supervision in their lives, so you know, when you're seventeen and basically feral, renting a warehouse so you can beat a bunch of frozen snakes to death actually sounds like a good solution to the problem at the time.

It's not all comedy, though. Li Cu and Yang Hao in particular are deeply traumatized young men even before the story starts, and events of the series make it worse. They're definitely the "feelings are for girls!" type of young men, and they need Su Wan there as their eternally bippy buffer. When he's not, they can get mean.

What's also charming about this trio is that they're all pretty darn straight. In a franchise chock full of (unintentional?) homoeroticism, these three manage to keep their platonic dude dynamics pretty platonic. I mean, I myself come at most things with slash-colored glasses on, and even I'm of the opinon that they're befuddled heterosexuals struggling with how the entire tomb-raiding industry's gay. And even if you assume everyone in this entire show is straight, these boys are still going to get a bunch of real-time lessons in how to love other people, whether they like it or not!

So if you like a Teen Boy Squad of goobers who don't want to admit they're close or have emotions or anything like that, right up until they're all each other have, this may be just the thing for you.

2. The Only Good Het in the Tombs

DMBJ is not known for its high-quality heterosexual romance, to put it mildly. Most of the time, it makes the smart decision to not even try. When it does, you mostly wish it hadn't.

Therefore, you cannot imagine how shocked I was to find myself falling head-over-heels for the incredibly weird canonical love story between horny hot mess Dr. Liang Wan and emotionally constipated 80-year-old virgin and arsonist Zhang Rishan.

Their relationship goes a little something like this: He needs something from her, so he contrives a plan to ask her out. She declares him her boyfriend. He continues the relationship in order to continue getting things from her. She thinks he's hot, so she's fine with that. He warns her that continuing their relationship will involve messing with some very bad members of the Tomb-Raiding Industrial Complex. She's like, again, you're incredibly hot, so that's not a problem. He makes her memorize maps and sends her to a desert. She dresses up like him and pepper-sprays him. And somewhere in the midst of all that, he falls for her and she gets sick of his shit, and they wind up for-real dating as equals.

Part of what's so delightful about their relationship is how awful they are to one another. It'd be bad if that awfulness were one-sided, but man, they each give as good as they get. He's heartless and exploitative, and she's neurotic and insecure. She makes constant demands of him that he's almost too confused by to refuse, and he keeps putting her in situations no sane person should want to be part of. He comes from a cutthroat world of complete bastards, while she wears her heart on her sleeve whether she wants to or not. They're extremely good for one another, because he trusts her competencies and is going to make her demonstrate every one of them, while one of her chief skills is calling him on his bullshit.

It is at this point I need to sing the praises of Liang Wan, hottest of the hot messes. She's one of the principal POV characters for the novel, where she's just as boy-crazy (though for a different boy, because Zhang Rishan's not in this book) and just as far in over her head. The adaptation has absolutely done her character justice. What makes Liang Wan so charming to me is how much she absolutely refuses to let herself be stopped by being completely out of her depth. She doesn't know what the hell is going on most of the time, but fuck it, she's rolling with it. She's just also going to be applying moisturizer and anti-aging serum the entire time, because you know what, sometimes when your whole world is falling apart around you, the one thing you can count on is your skincare routine.

Zhang Rishan is surrounded by people so cool, butter doesn't melt in their mouths. He can be balls-out naked in front of them without batting an eyelash. It is her thirsty disaster charms alone that have set fire to his frozen heart. I love them to bits.

3. Enemies to ... ???

This is Sand Sea's Wu Xie. You're not going to like him at first, because he spends the first several episodes tormenting a teen who only mildly seems to deserve it. What you find out as the show goes on is that Wu Xie is having a bad time -- more than that, he's having a straight-up bad decade. He has taken a lot of psychic damage and decided to cope with it by being absolutely insane. He's a bitch with no sense of self-preservation living in constant gremlin mode. He is no longer under the active supervision of his husbands, and he's going to make that everyone else's problem.

The show chooses to start out by inflicting Wu Xie on a bunch of strangers through an arc that's bizarre, lengthy, and mostly completely unrelated to the larger plot. It does introduce a few elements that will matter, though, and one of them is Su Nan.

When Su Nan appeared as the badass head of a mercenary outfit, I was braced for one (or both) of two things to happen. Thing one, I figured she'd die or otherwise leave the narrative after the first arc, which made me not want to get attached to her, if she wasn't going to stick around. Thing two, I was all but certain the show was going to try and make her Wu Xie's love interest, which made me make such a face, because [see last point].

Neither happens. Su Nan is still around in the final episode, and what she becomes to Wu Xie is much, much more interesting.

They're not friends. They're never friends. They can't be friends, because they absolutely can't trust one another. Except sometimes they have to trust one another, and in return they have to allow themselves to be trustworthy.

In the last relevant chapter or so of the novel, Wu Xie gets his throat cut and shoved off a cliff ... and because the novel isn't finished, we have no idea why that happened or who did it. The drama decides that when he goes over that cliff this time, throat unslit, Su Nan needs to go with him. This means they spend much of the later part of the series depending on one another for survival, getting real vulnerable, sharing trauma, and occasionally fucking one another over anyway, because they are both bad and untrustworthy people.

And they're ... kinda into one another? But because it's not textual, it winds up being great. If the show had tried to write their romance, I would have hated it. Instead, it chooses to leave things fraught and unspecified, with the two of them obviously having a lot of feelings but not even knowing themselves what all those feelings are, much less how to react appropriately to them. That is delicious. Pour that right into my mouth.

I also choose to interpret Su Nan as being transfemme (complimentary), if only because that's the most charitable explanation for her dedication to keeping her tits out and her lipstick game sharp even in wilderness conditions.

4. This Man Should Not Be Trusted With Children

As I mentioned before, all members of the Teen Boy Squad wind up paired with adult men who act as their mentors. Li Cu and Wu Xie are the main duo, since they're the main character of this show and the main character of the entire franchise, respectively. Yang Hao winds up in an even more abusive dynamic with a bitch of a man who takes advantage of Yang Hao's capacity for rage. But precious baby Su Wan is lucky enough to be adopted by, well...

If you read my rec for Reunion, you will recognize him as the guy I called "this giant fucking loser" with all the affection in the world. Hei Xiazi is both the worst and the best, which makes him the perfect man to take care of the tender soul that is Su Wan.

Su Wan's a poor little rich boy who is happy to be bullied by his friends, because it means he has friends! He's a dipshit because he's sheltered by his family wealth, and he's also a dipshit because he'd be a dipshit no matter how much money he had. He needs someone to kick his ass in a way that builds him back up again and helps him make the transition from doormat to functional adult.

The circumstances that bring these two together are so batshit, they're not worth recounting here. Suffice it to say that as one adventure arc ends, Hei Xiazi is tasked with taking Su Wan home. Su Wan expresses interest in whatever Hei Xiazi's whole deal is, and Hei Xiazi responds by offering (in a roundabout way) lessons in what exactly his whole deal is.

Hei Xiazi is a terrible teacher, but he's a perfect teacher for Su Wan, who is the kind of boy who would go find the nearest dictionary if you told him the word "gullible" wasn't there. They're preciously weird at one another. The work so well together because Su Wan believes the best of everything, which leads him to see right past the parts of Hei Xiazi that other people (correctly) find inscrutable and offputting. With Hei Xiazi's questionable guidance, Su Wan finds for the first time in his naive, privileged life a goal for himself that is both achievable and worth the effort.

Later books give evidence that all three of the boys eventually go to work for Hei Xiazi, which I think is great, especially since he is somehow the least toxic and terrible of all the mentor characters. ...Man, though, that bar is low. It's a miracle anyone in DMBJ survives into adulthood.

It's also cute to think about how the boys are no doubt context-appropriately homophobic, because it's so easy to picture their respective reactions to finding out that their strong, terrible male role models are queer. Cue Li Ci and Yang Hao's respective no-homo freakouts, while Su Wan just has a million slightly offensive but ultimately well-meaning questions about how bisexuality works.

And I'm just going to say, if you watched the Untamed and loved Xue Yang? You owe it to yourself to see that actor suddenly become the sweetest little butterscotch muffin ever. ...Yes, if you didn't recognize him earlier, that's Wang Haoxuan, and he turns in an incredible comic performance here. Su Wan is consistently one of the funniest characters onscreen. The bit with the saxaphone kills me dead.

Anyway, unlike the first three relationships I've talked about here, this is one you have to wait a good long while for. Su Wan shows up in the first episode, Hei Xiazi appears about a dozen or so episodes later, but it takes their storylines much longer to cross. It's worth the wait, though, knowing that eventually you'll get to see these two weirdos bounce merrily off one another.

5. Everybody Loves Pangzi

This is the Iron Triangle I mentioned earlier. Obviously there's Wu Xie in the middle. The perfect boy in the hoodie is Xiao Ge, who is at the time of this series slightly stuck in what's basically a giant time-lock safe, so you're only ever going to see him in flashbacks. (Xiao Ge is trapped, so you can't have Xiao Ge.) And then, over there on the left is the man whose nickname translates to "fatty," Wang Pangzi.

Hold on to your butts, because I am now going to wax poetic about how much I love this fictional man.

Pangzi is the best. The best. He's funny. He's kind. He's got terrible taste in men and only slightly less terrible taste in women. He's a gentleman. He's the party shock absorber. He's prone to making things explode. He's impeccably dressed. He's charmingly superstitious. He's not subtle. He's got an excitable little stammer and an atrocious Beijing accent. He's a flexible fat man. He's the most fuckable person onscreen no matter who's onscreen with him.

He's also usually the DMBJ everyman character, except Sand Sea has a ton of everyman characters for a change, so he winds up filling the role of a badass insider instead. His job is basically to hold down the fort while Xiao Ge's indisposed and Wu Xie's off being insane. In the absence of both his beloveds, Pangzi's going to do what needs to be done, and he's going to be incredibly hot while he's doing it.

Usually, DMBJ shows serve up a huge amount of Pangzi and Wu Xie interaction. Sand Sea only puts them in the same room near the very end -- but they're collaborating throughout. In fact, the only way the whole story works is if they're basically so much in each other's back pockets that they can function as a single unit even across great distances. The record will show that I read them as husbands -- but more importantly, they're good friends who understand and trust one another completely. As much as it pains me that they're apart for basically the entire thing, they're never really apart, you know?

However, because Wu Xie is physically elsewhere for so much of the show, Sand Sea provides a unique chance to see Pangzi interacting on his own with other characters. Wu Xie is the special little boy who always takes up all the oxygen in the room -- and of course Pangzi doesn't begrudge him this, because Pangzi loves him. Without Wu Xie around, though, we get to watch all the other relationships Pangzi has cultivated over the years.

One of the best is with Xie Yuchen, a.k.a. Xiao Hua. In other series, we see the two interact, but only in the context of having Wu Xie around. Sand Sea presents us with a little window into what is clearly a longstanding friendship. From the tiny bit we get of their interactions, it's obvious they hang out on a pretty regular basis. They're chilling and having spa dates while their husbands are out there getting sandy and fighting snakes, proving that these two urbanites are absolutely the brains of their respective marriages.

...Hold up a second,

I hear you say,

IS this show actually gay? Because you keep using words like "husbands" and talking like it's intentionally, onscreen, boys-kissing-boys gay.

On the one hand, no.

On the other hand: Is Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid gay? Textually, taking it at face value, and especially considering the context in which it was made, no, it is absolutely not gay, nor was it meant to be gay. But when you step back and realize everything it's doing, you kind of can't avoid the really romantic implications. Maybe Butch and Sundance never smooch, maybe they don't even want to, but they're each other's other halves. We would instantly recognize what they are if one of them were a lady. In a narrative setting where gayness is unthinkable, nothing they can do can be gay, which loops around to making everything kinda gay, and ... look, I'm just saying, if Pangzi were a woman, we'd know immediately what she is to Wu Xie (and holy fuck she would be so hot). If Xiao Hua were as female as the opera characters he plays, we'd have no questions about her relationship to Hei Xiazi. Keep everything beat for beat, line for line the same, and there'd be no missing it.

This is something you get a lot with stories about men written by men, this unintentional homoeroticism from male authors who don't realize their misogyny has actually poisoned them against heterosexuality. Remember what I said earlier about DMBJ's regrettable het? So much of it stems from the assumption that getting a girl and a boy together will inevitably to romantic feelings from at least one of them, so there's no reason to bother spending time giving either of the participants any actual reasons to like one another. (Sand Sea does this too! Just with a character I haven't mentioned here, because I'm trying to talk about the good dynamics.) This kind of thinking treats women not as people, but as as basically interchangeable desirable objects. But men are people, which means the male characters' feelings are worth discussing in the narrative! So what you get is these well-developed, intimate relationships between men described in loving detail, sat right next to perfunctory heterosexual couplings -- and we're supposed to believe that one is romantic and one is not based solely on the genders of the participants? Yeah, no, I call bullshit.

And -- if you'll permit me to loop back to the boys for a minute -- we now have a model for how a straight Iron Triangle would behave, and it is not the way the actual Iron Triangle members are about one another. Those teens love one another in a way that is fierce and strong and not what Wu Xie, Pangzi, and Xiao Ge have going. Maybe it could become that, but it's not now. It's not better or worse now for being what it is, but it is different, and it makes by contrast some things very clear (and very queer).

So that is why I feel justified in referring to them as husbands and will continue to do so despite the lack of explicit textual support.

Anyway, back to Pangzi!

Where were we? Right, Xiuxiu!

Pangzi's always at his best when he gets to be a knight for someone he cares about. This time around, that's Huo Xiuxiu, who who only shows up after you've met several of her matriarchal family's other members, all of whom would be at home in a Tank Full Of Dangerous Ladies. Xiuxiu is not a fighter like they are, but she does have an object that means everyone's out to get her, and as such she relies on her Pangzi to keep her safe while she's trying to survive the fucked-up games her family is playing.

And Pangzi clearly loves it. He absolutely thrives on being the big brother/bruiser figure for her. He loves how cool it makes him look to her. He doesn't have Wu Xie around to be a tank for, so he's going to tank for her. In fact, he's even going to bring in reinforcements to help him do it. (What's the deal with the cute Tibetan boy? Look, shh, just appreciate that you've got a cute Tibetan boy.)

Then there's his dealings with the rest of the Tomb-Raiding Industrial Complex, who are a bunch of shady dudes with impressive family pedigrees and expensive suits, all of whom are trying to play twelve-dimensional chess with one another. There's going to be lots of names dropped, of families and of individuals, and the show is going to act like you're supposed to be impressed. And if you're familiar with DMBJ canon, yeah, you could be impressed! Or you could be like Pangzhi, who rolls up in his amazing Holstein shirt, not giving a single fuck what any of these rich bastards think about him.

This is actually some character development for Pangzi, who has in the past been cowed (pun unintended) by the wealthy, mostly due to his own financial situation. That stage of his life is over now. Honey badger has ceased to care. The cool, pretty people are going to try and give him shit, and he is impervious to it. You better believe the Iron Triangle trashed this fancy restaurant the last time they were in here, and if you give Pangzi half the chance, he'll fucking do it again.

No wonder Zhang Rishan likes him. A pair of little firestarters.

Don't let me oversell you on how much Pangzi is in Sand Sea, because he's not. There's maybe a dozen of the 52 episodes that have any Pangzi content, and he's only in small parts of those episodes. Pangzi is a rare and precious event, like an eclipse. Cherish the Pangzi moments and all the wonderful interactions contained within.

caveat: You call that an ending?

Buddy, if you'd seen how most other DMBJ series end, you wouldn't be asking me that. But because I'm assuming you haven't: Yes, I call that an ending, because it actually attempts to do a winddown and conclusion, instead of just wandering off on a cliffhanger. The ending isn't wholly satisfying, but it is an ending. There is a narrative, and that narrative concludes. Does the conclusion make sense and tie up all the loose ends? Absolutely not! But it does follow basic story structure and resolve the action semi-competently.

As I said about the sweet disaster that is Psych Hunter (which was also directed by the guy who did Sand Sea!), I think knowing in advance that an ending sucks makes the ending suck less. It removes the disappointment factor and lets you enjoy what is there, instead of making you grumpy about what isn't. No, you're never going to understand a lot of things. That means whatever you want to be true can be true. The book is unfinished. The series is nonsense. Canon has no hold on you. You are free.

As compensation, here's a picture of Xiao Ge without his shirt on.

Are you feeling like it's Tomb Time?

There are a couple places you can get this one! Try Viki, WeTV, this YouTube playlist (which is missing the first episode for some reason), or this YouTube playlist (which has the whole thing). Note that subtitles vary in quality from place to place. The YouTube versions also have the bizarre, amazing in-character commercials, and it's up to you if that's a plus or a minus for your viewing experience.

I love this bonkers show. It is balls-to-the-wall weird, to a point that will make you question the translation. I got to the part where Zhang Rishan explains that ancient people worshipped fish with snakes in their eyebrows, caught the fish, took out the snakes, and implanted the snakes in their own human eyebrows -- and I thought, surely that's not what he's actually saying. Nope! The subtitles are accurate. It's the show that's off its rocker.

Anyway, once you've watched Sand Sea, scroll down to the bottom of my rec post for Reunion and find out how you can get even deeper into said tombs! Trust me, there's a lot down here.

As those other posts would indicate, this would not be my first choice for how to get into DMBJ. It is, however, how a fair number of people have gotten into DMBJ, so what the hell do I know! Or maybe this post has convinced you that Sand Sea is worth watching, but you'd rather build up to it than go into it raw. That works too! Whenever you get to it, it'll be here: under a bunch of sand, tattooed and inexplicable, and extremely gay whether it knows it or not.

Go to the desert, they said. Find Gutongjing, they said. Solve the mystery, they said. Fuck it, we nap.

#sand sea #sha hai #tomb of the sea #沙海 #dmbj #rec post #i made this

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