#almost like it's a lie chosen by a fucking idiot trying to get views on a video platform

[grandwretch]

believe it or not I don't believe that Joe Keery is a terrible awful homophobe bc someone w a tiktok account said he was 9 years ago w absolutely no proof. and no, not believing everything a random lesbian online tells you doesn't make you lesbophobic. I'm a lesbian. I will write you a note.

[pinkoptics]

I just found this on my phone, having completely and utterly forgotten that I even wrote it. I love it. I really do. I fleshed it out, added a little more and I just want to post it because I’m so proud of it.

Cherik Fallen Angel Ficlet

(Part 1 of Chapter 1)

~1500 words

Charles is an angel (in the literal, lived in Heaven, sense) and falls to earth because of his love for Erik (of course). Some humour, some angst, some adorableness.

*

They cut off only one.

It was a cruelty beyond measure. For as long as he lived, and that would not be long now that his immortality had been stripped along with his wing, he would have a constant reminder of what he had been— an angel, one of God’s chosen, beautiful, protector of God’s children.

Only... he had taken that protection too far. He had interfered with God’s plan and been cast out of His Kingdom. He would never again know His Grace.

He was mortal and would now endure everything that came with it— mortal frailty, mortal lifespan. The only remanent of what he had been was a wing only he could see. He held back a very mortal sob. It was trapped in his now mortal throat and burned. The sensation was new and horrible, tearing at his new flesh in a way that seemed physical. Mortal emotions. Mortal wounds.

All because he had experienced the most mortal emotion of all— love.

He had saved his beloved from death. His beloved’s time had come and Charles had altered time and space itself for it not to be so, to not have to see Erik broken and bloodied on pavement, hit by a car. Random. Pointless. Except that it wasn’t pointless at all. Charles knew this. Charles had known this for millennia. Each human had a beginning and an end. Angels could help them along the way, bless their paths, smooth wrinkles, lend strength in hours of need, but the end of those paths were truly the end. The fabric of everything, the Plan, and the paths of everyone who should have been impacted by Erik’s death, were now in disarray, unravelling. Charles did not know what that meant. No one had ever done what he had.

“Are you okay?”

Charles blinked against the brightness of the sun above him, eyes stinging and watering from it in a way the obscured the vision of his new mortal eyes.

“Gott. You— you saved my life. Are you... Fuck, are you okay?”

When his imperfect vision finally focused, Erik came into view, hovering above him, concern etched into his unbelievably handsome features.

“I— “ Charles only got one word out before he had to pause. His human voice sounded odd to his human ears, no longer the effortlessly beautiful melody it had once been. “I... I’m fine.”

A lie.

He had been on earth for mere seconds and already a lie, a sin, had spilled from his lips. He was not fine. He was not anywhere close to fine. He was not in the vicinity of fine. But, what else could he say? I’m awful. God has cast me out of heaven because I literally love you more than heaven itself, so I threw away everything because I couldn’t watch you die.

No, he couldn’t say that.

Erik was offering his hand and it took him too long to realize Erik meant to help him up. He took it, the shock of skin to skin contact almost causing him to tumble back to the ground. All these years and he’d no idea what Erik felt like. Now, he did.

Erik’s eyes widened and he said, “Fuck. You’re not fine. You’re bleeding.”

Bleeding?

As though he were watching the scene from a distance, Charles saw the blood dripping from his elbow and splattering on the pavement below. It couldn’t be his blood. He didn’t have blood. But, no, that wasn’t true, he did now, didn’t he? What did one do when they were bleeding?

“I think you’re in shock.”

Understatement.

Erik had grasped his uninjured elbow and was guiding him off the street and onto the sidewalk. He had some distant awareness that other things were happening. There was noise, shouting, terrible smells— all of it swirling around him, cacophonous and awful, and the only thing holding him remotely together was Erik’s arm on his elbow.

“Fuck, you’re bleeding a lot.”

Charles was sitting now. Erik had guided him to do that too.

“Am I?”

Was it a lot? Charles wasn’t sure, not really being the expert in such things. How much blood did human bodies have? How much could they lose before it was too much? Was his mortal life to be measured in minutes? If it was, that was fine... Erik was alive. That’s what mattered— Erik. Alive.

“You’re smiling. Fuck. This isn’t good. You shouldn’t be smiling. Hey— look at me.”

Erik’s hand was pressed against his cheek now.

“What’s your name? Tell me your name.”

“Charles.”

“Charles, I’m Erik. You’re absolutely not fucking passing out on me okay? You just saved me from getting hit by a fucking car. You’re cute as all hell, completely my type, and I am going to take you out on a date after this to say thank you. Emma will never let me hear the end of it if I let this Hallmark movie meet-cute opportunity slip through my fingers.”

Charles furrowed his new brow. He hadn’t the slightest clue what Erik was talking about. Was he in shock too? Maybe, despite all of Charles’ efforts, he was injured too?

Erik was pressing hard against something on his arm. Charles looked down, briefly, to see cloth trying to stem the tide of blood. When had that happened? He looked back up, asking, “What’s a Hallmark? You’re beautiful. You should know you’re beautiful. Before I leave this mortal realm, I want you to know that.”

“Fuck fuck fuck.” Erik was saying that a lot. That couldn’t be a good sign. “Hang in, okay? The ambulances are coming. They’re going to take care of you. You and I are going to laugh about this when we tell people about how we met. They’re going to hate and love how obnoxiously cute it is, I’m going to hate how obnoxiously cute it is, because I don’t do cute and because shit like this doesn’t happen to real people.”

Charles started to laugh. If only he knew. “That’s because I’m not a real person.”

“You’re not, huh? What are you then, my guardian angel?”

The only appropriate response to that was to laugh harder. “Would you believe me if I said I was?” His ribs? Yes, his ribs started to pain him when he couldn’t stop laughing.

“Great, the cute guy who just saved my life is either insane or delirious.”

Charles felt like he couldn’t suck in a proper breath. Was that because he’d never had to breathe before so he wasn’t doing it properly, or was he injured in some place that effected breathing too?

“Both,” Charles wheezed.

Erik seemed to register his new distress and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, as much as I’m loving this crazy repartee, just slow down, okay? Breathe. You are going to be all right and I don’t make promises lightly.”

“I know.”

“You don’t. Stop talking. In... out... in... out...”

Charles did as he was told. In, out, in, out... there, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Except that it was and he was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to be, or how did humans get anything done when they had to focus so hard on breathing? That would have been a design flaw and God’s creatures didn’t have design flaws.

“In... out... I’m going to take you to this amazing little diner. It doesn’t look like much and you’re going to be thinking ‘I saved this idiot’s life and he’s thanking me by taking me here?’ But I promise you the food is better than any of the pretentious 5 star nonsense you find in New York.”

“Sounds—“ Cough. “—nice.”

“That’s talking. Stop it. You’re going to love it. You’re also going to be sworn to secrecy because if the fucking hipsters ever find out about it, it will be completely ruined.”

Charles tried to agree, or ask what a hipster was, but his voice seemed to be gone. That couldn’t be good either, could it?

“You’re going to be so impressed with my choice, you will immediately think dating me is an excellent idea.”

Charles already thought dating Erik was the most excellent of ideas. It had a lot to do with why he was in this situation in the first place. It was also one of the last conscious thoughts he had before things got rather dim and Erik’s voice indistinct. Perhaps God had gone more Old Testament on him than he had thought. Save Erik— get cast out of heaven. Erik asks him out on a date— pass out and... pass away?

But, there was one more thing Erik was supposed to know, something important, something very important, something Charles would never forgive himself for if Erik never knew. What was it? If only thinking wasn’t so hard...

Oh.

Right.

Of course.

“Erik, you are so loved.”

There.

Done.

*

Rest assured that Charles wakes up, in the hospital, asking for Erik. Erik is already there, worried out of his mind about the adorable insane man who saved his life. And, they will absolutely go on that diner date.

On to Chapter 1 - Part 2

[starryeyes-darkestnights]

The City

The second part of the O’Knutzy au where Leo and Logan are still playing for the Lions, but Finn is a musician they met by chance on a roadie to Montreal.

I still don’t know what to call this story! But you can find part 1 here.

Also, this is kind of long, it got away from me :)

The song referenced in this part is The City, by Sam Fischer.

These beautiful characters and their world belong to the incredible @lumosinlove

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Leo

When Leo and Logan stepped off the plane in Gryffindor painfully early the next morning, their phones buzzed in unison.  

Finn: Hey guys! It’s Finn. Just sending my number. I hope your morning wasn’t too bad after the late night. Mine was excellent, I slept all the way through your entire flight 😇. Anyway, let me know you get this, and I hope you were serious about getting together when we’re all back home. My dancing legs are ready.

Leo heard Logan snort under his breath and looked over to see him smirking as he typed out a response.

Logan: Our morning was awful, thanks for asking. Your dancing legs better be training before we get together again, because I can confirm that as of yesterday, they are not, in fact, ready.

Leo rolled his eyes affectionately, typing as he moved toward the baggage claim.

Leo: Tremz is just grumpy he didn’t get to limbo. Don’t listen to him.

He heard Logan let out an offended sound somewhere behind him and bit back a smile, restraining himself from turning to see Logan’s face.

Finn: Haha, sorry not sorry Logan. Also, if that’s how it’s going to be, then the competition just got real. Bring in the judge. We’ll see whose really got the moves. Spoiler alert, it’s me.

Logan: Challenge accepted. Though I would caution you to reconsider.

Finn: Back down from a dance contest?! Never! THIS. IS. SPARTAAA!!!!

Leo let out a surprised laugh at that. It would seem that Finn shared Logan’s love of a challenge.

Leo: … oh my god.

Finn: You know you love it Leo.

Leo: I do not.  

Logan: He does, I can literally see him laughing.

This time Leo did turn around, just in time to see a smirking Logan flipping him off. Leo shot him a glare.

Leo: Traitor!

Finn: Hahahahah

Logan: Ok our ride is here. I’m gonna go pass out.

Leo: Have a good holiday Finn. Let us know when you’re back in town.

Finn: You too guys. Talk to you soon.

Leo clicked off his phone with a smile and grabbed his bags.

One Week Later

Finn

Finn: Hey guys, just letting you know I’ll be back in Gryffindor tomorrow. I’ve got a late flight in.

Leo: Really? That’s cool. I thought for sure you’d be in Montreal until after the New Year.

Finn: Nah, I’ve got some stuff to do for school, and I have a gig the day after tomorrow I need to be back for.

This was at least 50% a lie.

Which meant, Finn had reasoned with himself earlier as he used the exact same line to explain to his family why he had moved his flight up almost a full week, that the other 50% was the truth.

Finn had been messaging with Leo and Logan since they left Montreal, and when he had found out two days ago that they had only had a three day break with their families over Christmas and that they were now back to work in Gryffindor, he hadn’t hesitated before looking for excuses to get back there himself.

As a result, he really did have a gig scheduled for the day after tomorrow that he had to be back for. He may have begged his way through his contacts list for the past two days to find that gig, but it was real. And even though he didn’t have a single thing due for school, if he now had to go back for the gig, he could totally get a head start on something. Which was kind of the exact same thing. So really, it was more like 75% truth. If you rounded, that made it 100%.

Logan: Sweet. Let us know the time and place, we’ll come and see if you’re any good without us 😉.

Finn scoffed at his phone. He dropped a pin with the location of the gig, took a selfie of himself shooting a rude gesture Logan’s way, and grabbed his guitar.

He prided himself on always putting his best into every show, and if Leo and Logan were going to come to this one, he needed to be a little extra prepared. He hadn’t been able to get either one of him out of his mind since the night they met, evergreen eyes and a sweet dimpled smile flashing behind his eyes every time he tried to play. It was going to be impossible to focus when they were right there in front of him, so if he didn’t want to make an idiot out of himself, he needed to get practicing.

---

Logan

Two days later, Logan was waiting for Leo outside of a coffee shop in downtown Gryffindor.

It was a chilly evening, starting to snow, and he shivered lightly as he looked up at the flakes floating gently in the light of the coffeeshop windows. He picked one and followed its path through the sky, trying to distract himself from the weird knot that had settled in his stomach earlier in the evening. The one he told himself had nothing to do with the visions of freckles and sinfully long lashes that he was trying desperately to keep from flashing through his mind unbidden.

“Whatcha looking at Tremz?”

Logan had been so focused that he nearly jumped out of his skin when a calm voice sounded just beside him.

His hand flew to his chest as he looked up to see Leo smiling down at him, his cheeks flushed from the cold, and a streetlight behind him lighting up his golden curls. Logan’s pulse stuttered. Fuck. He hated being caught off-guard.

“Mon dieu, Nutty.” He choked out, putting a hand to his heart, which was now pounding against his ribs. “Learn to make noise when you walk. You scared the shit out of me.”

Leo just laughed, “If you were paying attention you would have seen me coming. I’m not exactly easy to miss.” He gestured at his long limbs.

He had a point. Logan made a face at him and turned toward the door, looking up at the sign above the entrance as he tried to pull himself together. It read ‘The Burrow’.

“Come on,” he grumbled, his pulse beginning to calm, “let’s get a drink before Finn starts playing.”

When they walked in, Logan was surprised at what they found. The Burrow was much bigger than it looked from the outside. The brightly painted walls went back further than expected, and a second level ran around the perimeter of the room, giving patrons a view down onto the main floor, where a permanent stage was set up in the front corner. The back wall was taken up by a dark wooden bar, several baristas moving gracefully around one another in quick, practised, movements as they mixed and delivered drinks. The rest of the space was filled haphazardly with tables, and those tables were already filled with people, the low buzz of their conversation filling the room.

It was warm, and bright, and it smelled like chocolate and coffee.

“Wow,” said Leo, looking impressed, “This is… not what I expected.”

Logan hummed his agreement, eyebrows raised as he looked around, impressed at how cozy it managed to be despite its size. His eyes landed on an empty table halfway back from the stage and he nudged Leo.  “I’m gonna go grab us seats over there. Will you get drinks?”

Leo agreed, and as he headed toward the bar, Logan started to make his way across the room. He was halfway there when he caught a glimpse of red hair in his periphery. He stopped in his tracks as his stomach made an unexpected flip. Finn was standing near the stage, talking to an older woman who seemed to be helping him with some cables. He was laughing, and even from a distance Logan could see the way his face lit up with it, his wide brown eyes glowing in the warm lights of the coffee shop. Logan was suddenly gripped with the desire to be the one eliciting that laugh, the one who got to be right there to experience it.

He pulled in a sharp breath and stopped himself. This was why he had been trying to block those visions from his mind. It could never happen. Not so long as he was playing in the NHL. Logan had chosen this career knowing it would mean hiding this part of himself away, very deeply, for as long as he wanted to play. He had been doing so well with it, hadn’t even slipped up with Leo. He could shut this down too. Stop it before it had a chance to start.

He took another a deep breath and pulled his gaze away from Finn, moving more quickly now until he was able to slump into the chairs he had targeted. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, trying to get his thoughts back under control. When he opened them again, it was to find Leo right behind him, full lips turned up in an amused smile at catching him staring straight up at nothing for the second time that night. His stomach flipped again at the unexpected sight. Damnit. He needed to get his feelings under control, and he needed to do it now.

“I would ask what you’re looking at again, but it didn’t go so well the first time.” Leo joked as he pulled out the chair across from him.

Logan forced out some kind of noncommittal response and straightened to look at the cups in Leo’s hands, desperate for any kind of distraction from his thoughts.

“What’d you bring me, Nut?” he asked, trying to keep his voice upbeat. But Leo was a goalie, and a good one. His observational skills were well-honed, and he knew Logan. His gaze shot immediately to the older boy’s face, soft blue eyes flickering over his features intently.  His eyebrows furrowed and Logan tensed under his gaze, silently praying for him to leave it alone. Whatever Leo saw in his face, he must have decided to let Logan have it, as he gave him a final once-over and then slowly pushed something that looked iced and sugary in his direction.

“I will never understand why you like these things,” he said carefully, “but I picked the most sweet-sounding one they had.”

“I like them because they’re delicious.” Logan replied, grateful to him for letting it go. “You just have no taste.”

Leo narrowed his eyes, “Strong words coming from – “

A voice interrupted him, “Logan Tremblay?”

Logan looked up to find a very pretty girl standing beside their table.

“And Leo Knut.” added a girl standing beside her.

Logan felt relief wash over him at their timing. This was familiar. This was a distraction he could work with.

---

Finn

Finn had just finished setting up the stage when he finally let himself look for Leo and Logan. He leaned against a wall and cast his gaze around the room, smiling at the comfortable familiarity of the space- one he had performed in dozens of times before. He was stoked to be introducing the boys to this place. He loved the Burrow, and the people who filled it. He had been coming here religiously since his freshman year of college, after falling in love with the strange way it managed to be both big and bright, and cozy and warm. He had been delighted by the contradictory nature of the place on his first visit, and had immediately turned himself into a fixture. After a while he had gotten to know the baristas, and through them, the owner, Molly.

Molly had become somewhat of a second mother to Finn over the years, and, due to their similar fiery red hair, was often mistaken by customers for his actual mother- something Finn found hilarious and she found… not so hilarious, given that she was only ten years older than him. It had been Molly who had helped him overcome his stage fright, had set up his first ever show here at The Burrow way back when. She was also the one who had come through when he was pleading for gigs earlier that week, and even though he was suspicious of the fact that she had, uncharacteristically, not questioned his last-minute request, he had been very happy to see her that evening when she had popped by and helped him untangle a mess of cables.

Now, though, there were only two people Finn wanted to see, and he was hoping to catch them before he started playing. His eyes skimmed across the crowd of cheerful patrons and quickly caught sight of Leo’s tousled blonde curls moving across the room, a head higher than almost everyone else. His smile gave way to a grin as he watched the younger man sit down at a table and pass a drink to Logan. Excitement thrummed in his veins as he pushed off the wall toward them, only to be stopped dead in his tracks when he saw two girls approach the hockey players. He watched as they introduced themselves, and his stomach twisted as Logan sent one of them a cocky, flirtatious grin, pulling out the chair next to him. The girls joined the table and leaned in, and Finn’s smile turned rueful. Of course. He didn’t know what he had been expecting from this reunion exactly, but as he watched Logan flirting shamelessly from where stood, he realized that he had been hoping they felt what he felt when they first met. That they had experienced the same sparks. Now, as reality came crashing down around him in the form of two beautiful girls, he recognized how ridiculous those hopes had been. They were NHL players for fuck’s sake. He was an idiot for thinking either one of them could have been anything more than a friend. He gave them one last look and changed his trajectory to the washroom instead.

---

Leo

Leo was worried. He had noticed something was up with Logan as soon as he saw him outside the Burrow earlier that evening. He had been distracted; his eyes distant. By the time they had sat down inside, he was completely in his own head, and the tension in his body was visible.  Leo had wanted to ask him about it, but after seeing the panic that flashed across his features when he made a move to do so, he had decided it was best to leave it alone for the time being. Give Logan the chance to bring it up himself.

But now Logan was flirting, openly and brazenly, with this random girl who had recognized him from the Lions, and Leo couldn’t leave it alone anymore.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to seeing Logan flirt — Logan was gorgeous, girls were constantly coming up to him at bars. But he didn’t usually encourage them this boldly. At least not when he was sober, and never if they recognized who he was. They had had more than one lecture from Coach Weasley about power dynamics and taking advantage of people who looked up to them, and Logan took them seriously. This wasn’t like him.  

After politely cutting off the conversation he had been trying to hold with the girl now seated beside him, Leo cleared his throat and spoke loudly enough for Logan to hear.

“Hey Tremzy, I think it’s time to go grab that snack.” He sent a bright smile to the girls. “It was really nice to meet you both. I’m glad to hear you’re fans of the team. Maybe we’ll see you at a game sometime.”

He kept that fake smile plastered on his face as he pushed his chair back from the table, catching Logan looking up at him with annoyance clear in his expression. Leo raised an eyebrow and prayed he would go along with him. He didn’t know what was going on with Logan, but what he was doing here was not okay, and it needed to stop.

Logan held his gaze for a moment before he huffed out a breath through his nose, his expression softening as he nodded. The tension he had built up since walking into the coffee shop seemed to bleed out of him as his shoulders dropped. He turned to the now confused looking girl beside him and gave her the same line Leo had used, shaking her hand and standing to follow Leo to the bar.

Leo waited until they were out of earshot before stopping and turning to Logan.

“You want to tell me what that was about?”

Logan sighed in response, pulling his hat off his head and running a hand through his hair before replacing it. “I don’t know. I wasn’t going to take it farther than that, I swear, I just…” He looked down at his shoes. “Look, I’m sorry. Can we just forget about it?”

Leo just watched him, waiting patiently until Logan’s eyes met his again. He reached out and rested a steady hand on his shoulder.

“Are you ok, Tremz? You seem… out of it, tonight.”

“What? No. I’m fine. Really. Just tired.” Logan tried his best to look it, but Leo saw right through him. He had spent the better part of the past year trying to pretend to himself that he didn’t want to learn everything there was to know about the beautiful man in front of him. He had failed, miserably. He knew Logan, and he knew something was still bothering him.

He briefly debated whether or not to push it this time, but even though Logan was clearly not yet fine, getting called out seemed to have helped. He did seem more like himself than he had five minutes earlier. So Leo settled on trying to cheer him up instead, resolving to follow up later when they weren’t in public.

“Alright,” he nodded at Logan, letting him have his excuse, “but you know I’m always here if you need me.”

Then he switched to a teasing voice. “You want me to order you another disgusting excuse for a coffee? Maybe that’ll wake you up.”

Logan let out a small laugh at that, and his smile finally seemed genuine. Leo nudged his shoulder and started moving toward the bar again.

“Come on. Finn’s gonna start any time, and I was serious about the snack. I need cake.”

Leo didn’t need to look back to know that despite the eyeroll he was certain had occurred, Logan would follow him to wherever there were baked goods.

---

Finn

Finn had given himself an excellent pep talk in the washroom, telling himself it was good he had come to his senses about the boys now, while he was alone, instead of embarrassing himself in front of them later. The disappointment he felt was still settled deep in his chest, but he knew himself well enough to be aware that he worked through his feelings best on a stage. And luckily for him, that was where he was currently headed

From the moment he started the show, Finn let himself get lost in the music, feeling his spirits lift back up as he watched the energy of the room rise and fall with his, letting the tempo of the songs he played encourage their dancing or their calm swaying. He had managed to sneak one of his own songs into the set list, and he played it for people for the first time, watching for reactions and not holding back his smile when people seemed to like it. It was a hard one for him to sing, bringing back some not so great memories. He didn’t look for Leo or Logan again, but he knew they were there, and he put in his best effort to make sure they were entertained. By the time he started his final song, his mind was blissfully clear again. Thank god for music.

After wrapping up the show with a grateful thank you to the crowd for their support, Finn started once again looking forward to reconnecting with the two men he suspected would become important to him. He may not be able to get rid of whatever these decidedly non-platonic feelings were, but he was confident he could push them to the side to make room for their friendship.

He had just hopped off the stage – buzzing with post-show energy, sweaty, and looking for water – when a familiar French-Canadian accent sounded from behind him. “Ok, you win. I admit that you are still incredible, even without our help.”

Finn spun around to find a head of dark curls bowing dramatically in front of him, Leo a few steps back with his eyes closed and a hand over his face, as if hiding from Logan’s antics. He threw his arms in the air and grinned at the two of them, genuinely happy to see them. “Guys! You made it!”

That brought a smile out of Leo. “Of course we did,” he laughed as he and Logan both moved in to give him congratulatory high fives, “your show was incredible, by the way. These people really liked you.”

Finn smiled sincerely at that. “Thanks, Leo.”

Leo handed him a bottle of water. “Also, we thought you might want this. You were looking kind of sweaty.”

“Oh my god, you absolute gem of a human,” Finn moaned as he cracked open the bottle, “I was just about to go hunt one of these down.”

Logan watched with an amused smile as he downed the whole thing in one go. “Glad to be of service.”

Finn wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shot them both a grateful look “So much better. Thank you, guys.”

He looked back toward the mess he still had to pack up from the stage. “I need like twenty minutes or so to get this all cleaned up, then did you guys still want to head down to the bar?”

The three of them had previously planned to head out to a place down the street after Finn’s set, and Finn was looking forward to releasing some of the evening’s adrenaline on a dance floor.

“Ya, for sure.” Leo responded, eyes flicking up to the stage. “Is there anything we can help you with?”

“Nope! Cleaning up is a lot easier than setting up. You guys go enjoy yourselves, I’ll be done here quick.”

Leo and Logan looked at one another, and Logan looked like he was about to object, so Finn started shooing them away. “Go!” He encouraged them, waving his hands to guide them back toward the tables. He wanted them to enjoy themselves, not be stuck helping him clean. “It’s fine, I do this all the time, I have a system, I promise. Get a nice drink and relax.”

Logan put his arms up in surrender, green eyes sparkling with laughter as he watched Finn flap. “D’accord, ok, we will go. Put your crazy hands away. Just let us know if we can help, ok?”

Finn agreed, and then watched them head back over to the bar with a smile on his face. He was surprised, he thought to himself as he started looping up cables, at how the interaction left him feeling. He had expected to be a little nervous and awkward, especially after the way the evening began for him, but instead he found himself immediately feeling the sort of comfortable ease that usually comes from being around people you’ve known your entire life. It was like they belonged together.

As friends, he reminded himself. Only as friends. He could totally do this.  

---

Logan

Logan leaned against the bar, playing with the strings of his hoodie as Leo once again ordered drinks for them. He was feeling much better now, the knot that had taken up residence in his stomach earlier that evening finally gone. There had been something calming about watching Finn move across the stage, singing familiar covers with an energy that was uniquely his own. He had poured himself into it, connecting to the songs in a way that drew the audience, including Logan, along with his every move. It had been fascinating, seeing that version of Finn. His grin was still mischievous, his movements still wild, but he was also… purposeful. Less dorky on stage than he had been on the dance floor. Logan had been mesmerized. Sitting there next to Leo’s steady, grounding presence, letting Finn’s charisma pull him out of his own head, Logan had slowly unwound. By the time Finn had finished his final song, something unfamiliar that Logan had made a note to download later, he felt much more like himself.

“Hey, Nut,” he nudged Leo’s arm, “ask them what Finn likes. We should get him something for when he’s done.”

Leo looked over as the barista dropped three drinks on the counter in front of him, a stray curl falling in his eyes. “Already on it, Tremz.”

Logan ignored the way he wanted to reach out and push that curl back, and looked down at the drinks, surprised. “Oh shit. You’re fast.”

“Yes, Logan. That’s what happens when you don’t run through the entire list of drinks and their ingredients before you order.” Leo responded drily, standing as he wrapped his long fingers around two of the beverages in front of him.

“Well, how else are you supposed to know which one is going to taste the best?” Logan picked up the third cup, his own iced coffee, and sucked at the straw happily.

Leo huffed out an affectionate laugh. “You get the same thing every time anyway! Why does it matter?”

Logan shrugged as they headed back to their table. “I switch up the flavours sometimes. It’s not my fault nobody’s come up with anything better yet.”

They were still bickering about the pros and cons of knowing every component of your iced coffee when Finn pulled out the chair next to Leo and flopped into it with a grin. “Hey guys! Thanks for waiting.”

Logan looked over at him, definitely not noticing the way the warm lighting brought out the freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose. “Finn!” He cried, pointing at the redhead. “We have a drink for you, but first you have to pick my side in battle.”

Leo’s jaw dropped, affronted. “Logan! You can’t bribe your way to a win!”

“Watch me.”

Finn looked between them, amusement spreading across his face. “Hmm. Well, I don’t know what this battle is, but before I decide whether to help Logan cheat his way to victory, I need to know if the drink is worth it. What’s in it?”

There was a startling flurry of movement as Leo groaned loudly, dropping his face into his hands, and Logan jumped up from his chair with his fists in the air, letting out a victorious cheer. “Aye!! Right answer Finn!” He high fived the redhead and sat back down, feeling triumphant.

Finn laughed, looking startled and confused but accepting his drink from Leo’s outstretched hand anyway. He took a sip as the taller boy fold his arms on the table, dropping his head to hide inside of them.

“Hey! This is my drink. How did you know?”

“We asked the barista,” Leo’s muffled, grumpy, voice came from where his face was still buried in his arms. “She knew.”

“Chin up buttercup!” Logan crowed, leaning over to ruffle Leo’s blonde curls. “It’s ok to lose sometimes. As long as you’re not me.”

Leo lifted his head, eyes narrowed at Logan. “I am not a buttercup.”

Finn couldn’t help laughing at his disgruntled face. “Do you prefer daffodil?” Leo turned the withering glare his way. Finn tried again. “Marigold?”  

Leo just dropped his head again.

“Meh, I’ll call that a win. Marigold it is.”

Logan chuckled, deciding it was time to offer up an explanation for the scene Finn had walked into. “Leo doesn’t think it’s important to ask what’s in a drink before you order it. We were discussing why he’s wrong.”

Leo’s head shot back up as he glared at Logan again. “That is NOT what—” He stopped himself, sighing and closing his eyes as Logan just looked at him, face gloating. “You know what. No.” He opened his eyes again and raised his hands in surrender. “It’s fine. I accept my defeat.”

“Good man.” Finn clapped him on the shoulder. “Way to be the bigger person.”

“Thank you, Finn.” Leo smiled at the other man before turning to Logan. His intimidatingly blank goalie face slid perfectly into place as he looked Logan dead in the eyes. “I will get you back for this.”

Logan, used to Leo using this tactic to try and throw him off on the ice, simply met his gaze and grinned back cockily, straw between his teeth. “I look forward to you trying.”

“So,” Finn jumped in, changing the subject, “did you actually like the show?”

Leo turned to him, a genuine smile returning to his face. “We did! You didn’t tell us you wrote original music.”

“Is that what that song was? The last one?” Logan asked, surprised.

“Oh, ya. I don’t always play my own stuff at shows like the one we had in Montreal, but I can usually get away with sneaking a couple in at places like this. It’s part of why I like playing here so much.”

“I really liked it,” Logan complimented Finn, watching a red flush creep across his cheekbones again, “I was actually going to ask you what it was so I could download it. It reminded me of when I first moved to Gryffindor.”

Finn looked at him with an unreadable look on his face. “Seriously?”

Logan nodded, worried that he had said the wrong thing.

“That’s… I wrote that song about Gryffindor. About what it was like when I first moved here and didn’t know anybody. Before I made friends, before I discovered this place.”

“You really captured it.” Leo said softly.

Finn looked flustered, his calloused fingers rubbing the back of his neck in a way that made Logan want to take their place.

Leo, ever intuitive, noticed Finn’s discomfort and changed the subject, “You mentioned you were in grad school, are you studying music?”

“Nope! English Lit.” Finn looked relieved for the new topic, his features brightening. “But I did double major with music in undergrad.”

Logan sat back, content as he listened to the boys across from him talk, first about music and Finn’s connection to the Burrow, then about hockey, chiming in from time to time with questions or stories of his own as they moved smoothly between subjects. The time flew by as they chatted animatedly, and by the time Logan thought to check his watch, it was close to 1 am.

Surprised, he looked up at the room around them and realized it was nearly empty. He hadn’t even noticed people leaving. One of the baristas was sweeping the floor. He waited for Finn to finish a story about the time he had accidentally adopted his neighbours pet (“I helped her look for her cat for almost two weeks before I realized it was the one I had been feeding every night. Embarrassing does not begin to explain.”) to point it out to them.

“Uh, guys, I think we’re about to be kicked out.”

Leo and Finn both looked startled, turning to look around the room the same way he had, and Logan realized he wasn’t the only one oblivious to what had been going on outside of their bubble. The thought made him feel strangely happy.

Finn looked back at Logan, surprised. “Huh. I had no idea. What time is it?”

“Almost one. I know, I didn’t realize either.”

Leo checked his watch. “So it is.” The corners of his mouth turned down a bit, “I guess we aren’t going to the bar then. Sorry guys, I should have been paying attention”

Logan shook his head and reached over to nudge Leo’s shoulder. “Not your fault, Nut, none of us were paying attention.”

“Plus,” Finn added cheerfully, “now we get to add ‘closing down a coffee shop’ to our list of accomplishments as a trio. We already had the bar checked off, so no loss.”

Leo met Logan’s gaze across the table, blue eyes twinkling. “We’ve started a list?”

“Yes.” Finn stated, his voice confident. “We have. Which means we now need to make a plan to cross off the next item on it.”

“Okay,” Logan conceded, leaning his elbows on the table, fingers steepled, “I’ll bite. What’s next on the list?”

Finn looked at him, aghast. “Logan. That is not how the list works. The list is clearly unlabeled. We must first have the adventure, and then name it.”

Logan regarded him for a long moment. He had to give him credit, Finn could hold a straight face when he wanted to. But eventually, a twitch from the corner of his mouth gave him away and Logan dropped his arms and leaned back in his chair, laughing. “You are full of shit.”

Finn grinned in return, all hints of seriousness disappearing as he stood to grab his coat. “Maybe. But either way, we should get together again soon.”

“For sure, drop your schedule in the group chat. I’d love to see you play again, and I’m sure Logan would too.” Leo said as he led them to the door.

Finn’s face lit up at that, and Logan smiled softly at how adorable it was. He felt light and happy as they said their goodbyes, and when he saw Finn’s schedule dropped into their group chat on his cab ride home, he found himself already looking forward to when the three of them could do this again.

[lillupon]

thoughts on kmg situation

Hi everyone, your friendly neighbourhood minwon writer here! I apologise to those of you who were hoping for an update this weekend. In light of recent events, I found it very difficult to get excited about Achieving Escape Velocity. Before I can resume posting, I feel it is necessary for me to work through my own thoughts. 

I am not trying to persuade people into believing a particular side. I share this with the hope that it will help others who are struggling to reconcile feelings similar to my own. I also see this as an opportunity to—with your guidance—become more passionate, and to learn how to be a decent human being, if that’s what I need to do. I recognise that I come barreling in here with my own cultural and environmental biases. Thus, anyone who understands the nuances of this situation better should feel free to educate me on the matter. If this is of no interest to you, kindly scroll on; I hope to see you when I next update. Otherwise, please join me for a few minutes. 

TL;DR

I support both Mingyu and the victim/OP

I believe that people change as they grow older and become more educated and informed

I am conflicted and have my misgivings about the additional allegations (group chat screenshots + bullying a student with special needs—which has now been resolved, yay!)

I will not unstan Mingyu

I will continue to write and update Achieving Escape Velocity

I want to start by saying that I am an older fan in my twenties, and that I have been a fan of Seventeen since 2015. I have found great joy and comfort in them for many years. As much as I have tried to remain impartial, I have likely fallen short of that ideal. The truth is, I adore this boy! I admire his talents as an artist. I am charmed by the persona of him that we get to see in the media; I see parts of myself reflected in this curated persona. That being said, I tried to remain critical of the stance I am taking. I asked myself, “If this situation was not about Mingyu, and was about my local weatherman instead, would I still feel the same way?” And the answer to that was: hell fucking yeah! Don’t worry, Local Weatherman, I got your back… 

Lastly, I want to say that I am approaching this from a Western point of view. I grew up in Canada, albeit with the traditions and beliefs inherited from fairly strict and conservative Asian parents. As an international fan, there will inevitably be some cultural disconnects in this thought piece. 

There are three main parts to my admittedly rough and disjointed thoughts. The first part addresses the original accusations. The second part addresses additional accusations that were made against Mingyu. The final part is about the future of my minwon stories.

You may agree with all of this, part of this, or none of this. These are simply the thoughts I am trying to work through. 

Thoughts on original allegations (therapy records OP)

How do I describe opening up Twitter on Thursday morning? One moment, I was reading about Mingyu drawing pubes on the classroom whiteboard. The next moment, I was reading about how serious allegations against Mingyu were. People were unstanning him and Seventeen, calling Mingyu a rapist, sending him death threats, etc. I truly did not understand how the situation escalated so quickly, and I nearly gave myself whiplash trying to follow jumps in logic. 

One side of Twitter was convinced that the Original Poster (OP) was lying and doing all of this for attention; they said victims could not be believed 100%. The other side of Twitter declared that Mingyu should be cancelled, and bashed anyone who supported Mingyu or remained neutral. People were sending Mingyu death threats despite the history of k-pop artists committing suicide. All of this reminded me why I avoided Twitter for so many years: Purity and cancel culture run rampant; the mobs want blood penance for every wrongdoing without first considering the nuances of the situation. People blindly defend their ults and set aside their morals to do so.

Here is what I got out of my initial reading of the translated (version 1, version 2) accusations:

OP was shy, timid, and isolated from her classmates. When she tried to speak up in class, Mingyu would tell her to shut up. This happened enough times that, eventually, OP stopped talking in class at all.

Mingyu and his friends told sexual jokes while OP was in the vicinity. These comments made OP uncomfortable and triggered her. However, they were not directed at OP.

The sexual jokes and comments did not escalate to sexual assault or violence. OP explicitly states there was no violence or physical contact.

Mingyu and his friends drew and laughed at inappropriate pictures of body parts/hair on the board. OP is not actually sure if it was Mingyu who drew the pictures, only that he was up there laughing with the others.

OP struggles with anxiety and depression; Mingyu was not the sole reason why she attended therapy. OP mentioned that she brought Mingyu up only briefly with her therapist.

Could I believe all of this being true? Yes, because I personally adhere to two Me Too philosophies: 

The first is that women almost never lie about sexual harassment, abuse, or assault. I absolutely believe that Mingyu is capable of making sexual jokes and comments. Teenage boys and girls alike are notoriously emotional and hormonal between the ages of 12 and 14. I can also imagine Mingyu drawing penises on whiteboards, complete with elaborate pubic hair. These are the antics of a typical middle school boy. For some reason, teenage boys—at least in North America—are very fascinated by their own genitalia and like to announce they have one by drawing pictures of dicks on any available surface. 

The second philosophy I abide by is that men and boys in power are likely to abuse it. All men—even k-pop idols—benefit from patriarchy. They are in a position to abuse, degrade, and humiliate women (obviously, I hope none of these things happen, but I also have to acknowledge the possibility that they do). This is especially true in patriarchal Asian societies. Someone as popular and attractive as Mingyu holds great influence and power in his peer groups. Can I see a young Mingyu being a dick to a girl who is quiet and timid and isolated from her peers? Yes.

But also… Who wasn’t a dick in middle school? I feel like my classmates and I were colossal idiots back then. Was it just my school where classmates told each other to shut up all the time? Was it just my school where kids put their thumb and forefinger in an “L” shape to their foreheads and called each other losers? Everyone has a different threshold for what they consider bullying, but for me, these gestures and comments were so commonplace that I merely accepted them as part of the elementary and middle school experience. These things are mean and insensitive, yes, but it’s possible to grow out of these antics.

It is difficult for me to form an opinion about these sexual jokes Mingyu made for two reasons: (1) cultural differences, and thus my own internal biases, and (2) we don’t know about the nature of these jokes. It’s hard to determine whether these comments constitute as sexual harassment without this context. Even then, people have different thresholds of what they are comfortable with, and what they are not comfortable with.

We don’t know whether these comments were along the lines of “That’s what she said” or “You know what else is big?” or “I grow hair down there...on my toes!” ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Or if they were jokes about sexual experience/performance, speculation about what someone looks like naked, the colour of their underwear, or raping a person (I’ve often seen these “jokes” directed at female streamers and influencers). In my opinion, there’s a big difference between the two. 

The former, while crude and immature, is not generally said with ill-intent, nor is it generally directed at a specific person. These are jokes that teens, both male and female, commonly make in North America. (Perhaps this is part of the problem: the fact that I consider this to be standard teenage behaviour...) I would hesitate to call it harassment unless the victim made it known that she was uncomfortable, and the boys continued anyway. I also understand that the victim may not have felt able to speak out against Mingyu and his friends. In this case, the boys might not have been aware of her discomfort. Teenage boys are not particularly well-known for being sensitive. 

The latter, however, objectifies and diminishes a person, and is disgusting and reprehensible. The latter is, without contest, sexual harassment. Absolutely no one should have to tolerate comments of this nature. Anyone who makes such jokes should be educated on why these so-called jokes are damaging, and how they perpetuate rape culture, as well as the sexualisation and dehumanisation of women, as well as men. Anyone who makes comments of this nature should be called out (and here I emphasise called out as opposed to cancelled) for their behaviour. It is imperative that they are educated, given the opportunity to reflect, apologise, and make amends. This is with the hope they know better in the future and do not make the same mistake again. 

Now, based on what OP said, the jokes Mingyu made seem more like the first case: he made a pun about body hair. I am pretty sure if Mingyu made “jokes” of the second nature, OP would have chosen to highlight that instead of a pun. However, this is something that needs to be clarified. The content of these jokes drastically changes the severity of the allegations.

Currently, I interpret this through the lens of my uncouth Western sensibilities: what OP described sounds like typical Western teen behaviour. There are many actions, events, and experiences that take place during our formative and adolescent years that come to define who we are as adults. Personally, I don’t think that drawing hairy penises on the whiteboard—inappropriate as it is—or being an asshole in middle school are these things.

But who am I to say, “Yeah, what OP went through was not that bad”? I can’t be the judge of that, and that’s absolutely not what I’m trying to do here. I don’t know the whole story, and even then, it doesn’t matter. I am an outsider in all of this. I’m not trying to diminish the years of suffering and torment the victim went through, and I apologise if that’s how I came off. Nothing I said previously changes the fact that these jokes negatively affected the victim. Nothing I said changes the fact that this girl’s voice was silenced because of some thoughtless middle school boy’s comments. These are wounds that people carry from childhood through to adulthood.

Impact matters just as much as intent. I might argue that in cases such as these, impact matters even more than intent. Mingyu might have done all these things without ill-intent, but OP’s trauma is very much real. (As a side note: This is one of the reasons why I am very happy with Pledis’ official statement. Their focus on healing and reparation—without absolving Mingyu or throwing him under the bus (yet)—is the right move.)

I’ve just been seeing so many death threats and demands for Mingyu to leave the group that I cannot help but wish people would extend him the empathy that they themselves would appreciate.

People are condemning a 12-14 year old Mingyu for making sexual puns and being an asshole. People are measuring a middle school aged-Mingyu against the ethical and moral standards they hold as adults, and they are finding that this young Mingyu fell short. This should not be surprising. I know if I judged younger-me by the standards I have today, I would be left wanting. 

I remember the kind of person I was as a teenager. I was hormonal. I made “That’s what she said” jokes, among others. While I never intentionally set out to hurt anyone, I know I have said crude and unkind things. As a teenager, I didn’t possess the tact I do now; I didn’t know how to self-regulate. I could be a mean and horny kid (not necessarily at the same time, haha!), but I also had parts of me that were deeply sensitive and caring and thoughtful of others. Teenagers and adults are multi-faceted. I would not want anyone to dig up these past receipts and use it as the basis to judge the person I am now. I would not want people to pick out the worst of my past actions and words, and use it to invalidate my success today. 

It varies case by case, but for the most part, I don’t think people should be punished for what they did or said as children; I would have been cancelled long ago if this were the case, as would many others. People change as they grow older and become more educated and informed. It is different if these behaviours and actions persist into adulthood. Then, yes: there should absolutely be consequences. I am not saying we can just sweep all our childhood wrongdoings under the rug. It is still important for us to acknowledge and reflect upon the wrongs of past words and actions, and to offer apologies and reparations where they are due.  

Should these allegations prove true, can I support both OP and Mingyu, or is that cheating? I do believe OP and my heart goes out to her. I understand why she chose to speak out. I know it must have been difficult to do so against someone who is a man, famous, well-loved, wealthy, and successful. I know it must hurt to see the whole world adore a man who has caused you pain. South Korea has a culture of enduring silently; this results in great mental strain and suffering. In speaking out, she relived past and present power imbalances. This is not easy for a victim to do, especially when you are a woman in a patriarchal society and your bully is a male celebrity.

I hope I am not invalidating her feelings when I reiterate that Mingyu was a young teenager, and teenagers can be mean and crude—intentionally or not. Mingyu is a public figure, so naturally, he is held to higher moral standards. But he is also human. He can and will make mistakes. He can and will continue to grow. I feel a lot of empathy for Mingyu, both now as he is forced to confront his past immaturities, and as he moves forward in his career. 

Thoughts on additional allegations (KakaoTalk group chat + ableism)

I will not be addressing allegations of Mingyu bullying a classmate with autism now that the issue has been resolved. (Again, I commend Pledis for their response, and for recognising that the ableism needed to be addressed first. Of the three l accusations, this was the one that Mingyu would not be able to recover from. Even now, he will not emerge from this unscathed). I will only be sharing my initial misgivings about these additional allegations.

First off, this is a very nuanced and precarious topic. I don’t want to diminish a potential victim’s experience, yet I hope people understand why I am so skeptical about accepting screenshots of chat rooms as hard proof. Here are a few reasons why:

(1) Bullying scandals have been erupting left and right, especially as of late. Some of these accusations have been proved true. Others have been proved false. Regardless, there seems to be a trend of digging up past receipts—fabricated or not—of celebrities with the aim of cancelling them or undermining their success. 

(2) Screenshots and chat rooms are easily manipulated and fabricated. This is different from a victim with a face speaking out against past incidents of bullying. They could be someone with malicious intent, or they could be a genuine victim. We just don’t know. And in the case of the chat rooms, it wasn’t even the victims who were speaking out.

(3) I wondered if these were antis who jumped on the coattails of the initial OP to stir the pot. These allegations (particularly the case of ableism, which has thankfully been cleared up now) are far more serious than original claims—why wait until now to bring them up?

(4) I find it difficult to trust even yearbook proof because people can and will sell yearbooks if they went to school with idols. In addition, yearbooks cannot prove interaction, and therefore, cannot prove bullying. At the same time, how do you prove bullying incidents from ten years ago? How do you disprove it? Cases of bullying aren’t often well-documented. It essentially becomes a game of my-word-against-yours. 

(5) There is a pretty well-known article from 2016 where Mingyu defended a classmate with a disability. It doesn’t necessarily disprove the current claim, but the timing is important here. The classmate shared their account back in 2016; it did not just surface after recent allegations. However, if I want to believe that the KKT screenshots are false, then I must also be willing to believe that this 2016 article may have been fabricated as well.

(6) As someone in their 20s, the thought of being in a group chat with a bunch of my middle school classmates is baffling to me. Personally, I don’t want anything to do with my middle school classmates.

There is not much more to say on this; I will patiently wait for Pledis’ statement on the remaining allegations.

Achieving Escape Velocity and other MinWon stories

In a previous blog post, I stated that when I write and talk about AEV-Mingyu and Wonwoo—or other variations of Mingyu and Wonwoo—they are strictly characters that I have made up in my head, and they are separate from the real Mingyu and Wonwoo. At the same time, I do absolutely draw inspiration from the real Mingyu and Wonwoo in the creation of these story characters. It is their faces, bodies, and voices that I imagine. Thus, my current anxieties surrounding this situation make it difficult for me to write and enjoy AEV.

However, I still love this story a lot, and I love sharing it with everyone! There’s so much more to this fic that I want to show. As I mentioned in the initial author’s note, this is the first time I’m posting something of this length and I worked really hard on it. For these reasons, I have every intention of continuing to write and update Achieving Escape Velocity. Regular weekly updates will resume this coming weekend.

[summertime4k]

Six Feet Apart // DreamNotFound

just finished writing this thing, lol, sorry about the lack of posts, writers block rlly said "fuck u alex lmaooo"

but anyways, heres a dnf thing lmao

Dream sighed, leaning against his chair as he looked at the ‘Go Live’ button on his screen. He could see the chat going crazy with messages like “WILL HE SRTEAM?!?!?” or “HELLO??? DREAM I MISSED YOU”, which were endearing to him. It brought a smile on his face to know he was able to make hundreds of thousand of people’s days better by just streaming.

The button went red. His livestream started.

After a couple of seconds, Dream cleared his throat and greeted his audience, “hello.”

He smiled at the surge of hello’s, smiley faces, and overall positivity his chat radiated, “uh, hello. Hello!” He moved around his chair and moved his hair from his face, tapping on his desk and reading the chat as fast as he could. “Um, decided to stream today. I have the time, and decided, why not?”

The chat was very happy to see Dream streaming, since the blonde didn’t really stream that often. He’d appear in other people’s streams and videos, but not his own content.

‘Thank you good sir for streaming, you have made my day better’.

“Aww,” Dream started up minecraft, covering his mouth with his hand as he read the dono again. “Glad I can make your day better, that’s like, the point of my content...thank you.”

-

“Bye!” he ended stream and looked at the time, cursing himself for streaming above two hours again. He raided Ranboo, stayed until Ranboo noticed and thanked him for the raid. Leaving when he realized he somehow missed a call from George.

Leaving the stream, he went on Discord and called George again, wondering why he had called Dream in the first place.

“YOU ARE DUMB. YOU ARE DUMB! YOU ARE DUMB! YOU ARE DUMB! YOU’VE JUST BEEN PRANKED!” George immediately left the call.

Confusion wasn’t even close to how Dream felt. He left out a small laugh, “oh that fucker better get back…” he mumbled to himself, calling him once again on Discord.

The british man answered after three rings, his laughter filling Dream’s headphone, “Oh my,” his own laugh caught him off. Dream could just easily picture George laughing to himself, alone in his room with his RBG lights he somehow refused to use instead of the green screen.

“You’re such an idiot,” Dream chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he leaned his arm against his desk, “you know that right?”

“Oooh Dream called me an idiot oh my god!”

“George!”

“Dream!” George dragged out, pronouncing the ‘r’ as a ‘w’ instead.

He rolled his eyes, looking at his monitor, then up at his webcam. Of course, he still hasn’t used it for streams or anything, it was mostly there for times like these with George. “What do you want, George?”

“I just got bored, Quackity is planning something for a stream tomorrow, Sapnap said he was going out somewhere right now?” George questioned.

Nodding, Dream confirmed it and said he wanted to get some more manga, or whatever he had said. “So you’ve chosen me to bother?” his eyes wondered to the bottom right corner of the screen, frowning as he remembered what time it was for George.

“I’ve got nothing better to do, so why not?”

Dream looked back at George’s profile picture, “George.”

“What?”

His eyes widened, as if George could see him, “Isn’t it like, almost one in the morning for you?”

George went silent, some ruffling of papers going on his side of the screen, “I mean, yeah- but I’m not tired! I wanna talk to you Dream.”

“Well,” Dream rolled up his sleeves, leaning against his desk once again amd looking around his set up, “can’t really argue with that incredible reasoning- “

“But with facecam…”

Silence filled the air once again. Dream’s eyes went up at his webcam, and back to George’s profile picture.

“Okay”

“What?”

Dream made sure his camera was ready to go, somehow feeling nervous turning his camera on, even though he’s done it before with George. Biting his lip with his mouse key over the camera option, he finally clicked on it. Smiling when he saw George’s webcam on.

His finally loaded, immediately feeling weird by looking at himself. “This is weird.” he said to hijmself, moving his hair and playing around with it, “how do you guys do it?”

Shrugging, George smiled, looking at Dream through his monitor, “i don’t know, all I know is that when you face reveal, the fans are definitely going to pop off with the edits.” he laughed and looked back down.

“What- What do you mean?”

“They always pop off with like, those cool edits, and they’re especially going to pop off with edits for you.” George went quiet as he reached the end of the sentence, avoiding Dream’s webcam in fear of making things awkward. “Y’know, because they’re all amazing editors…”

Dream agreed that the stans were amazing editors, but his mind wandered off by its own. He began to think about how the world is like currently, with covid and things. He’s glad that things seem to be getting better, Dream only wished that it could get better faster.

He wanted to meet fans, travel the world more, meet the rest of the Feral Boys and everyone from the SMP. Most of all, he really wanted to meet George. Meeting George was definitely what he wanted to do first. Just to finally get to see him in real life, and not through a Discord call like the two of them have been doing for the longest tme.

“What are you thinking about?’

Immediately getting pulled from his thoughts, he and George looked at each other through their screens. “Huh?”

‘You’re thinking about something,” George rested his head on the palm of his hand, “you have this look on your face you always make when you’re thinking about something…” he pointed out, smiling when he saw the blush rise on Dream’s face. “You like- have your tongue slightly poking out- and your eyebrows they like... like furrow a bit, y’know?” his hand made a gesture as he pointed to his own eyebrows.

Dream’s mind got clouded as he looked at George, the want- no, the need to just see him in person grew as the seconds went by. “Thinking about...the covid stuff, and how uh, we could meet for the first time,” his foot tapped rhythmically on the wood floor, feeling himself grow more and more shaky. “Y’know, like we- we could’ve met if covid wasn’t a thing.”

He nodded and took a sip from the water bottle he had nearby, “yeah- sadly covid had to ruin that, and countless other things for people…”

“Yeah…” that made Dream think more, “I wish we could be together…” he sighed, leaning against his chair, heart breaking as he saw George’s face sadden.

“Hey, when we meet, you promise to like- show me around Florida? We can go to…” George’s eyes wandered around his room, trying to come up with a place in Florida, “I-I dont know...a beach maybe?”

Dream let out a soft laugh, nodding and already imagining showing George the beach, and then the playground he used to play in. “I can take you to a park, tell you about how I accidentally kicked a kid’s arm in elementary.”

Immediately stifling a laugh, George’s hand covered his mouth, shaking his head. “God- does the park have a swing set? I love swing sets.”

“Yeah!” he sat up and began to move his hands around. “And like, you get the perfect view of a sunset…”

The words went through George’s ear and out the other as he imagined that scenario. Smiling to himself as he pictured Dream holding his hand while on the swing set, laughing together about stupid childhood memories only the two of them knew because they had told each other. Probably getting off the swing set and chasing each other around, their feet becoming too tired to hold themselves up so they decide to lie down on the grass and look up at the stars, forgetting the distance they had between them. Only thinking about that moment only. Their heart and souls staying there in that second with each other.

“Dream?”

“George?”

The two looked into the monitor, feeling connected to one another, but the only thing separating them being the screens between them. Wishing nothing but to be able to just simply reach through the screen and hold each others hand. If anything, just for a single second could be enough for them.

“I love you” George said, a soft yawn following behind him.

The blond smiled, looking deep into George’s brown eyes, “I love you too, George.”

“Good.” the tired one sleepily said, rubbing his melatonin filled eyes and yawning once more, “you better.”

“You better go to sleep, idiot.” Dream looked at the time once more, converting his timezone to George’s, “you need your rest.”

Finally nodding, George gave Dream a thumbs up and waved goodbye, “Bye Dream, goodnight sleepyhead…”

“Goodnight George.”

The sound of George leaving the call rang in his headphones. Leaving him alone. He turned off his webcam and left the call as well. Feeling blue, knowing it would be awhile until he actually got to hold George in his arms, but feeling happy knowing that George wanted that too.

Dream can’t wait to meet George.

[whentommymetalfie]

Breathe Again -Chapter eight

-Be where you are-

prologue//one//two//three//four//five//six//seven

The story has some art now!

Chapter summary: Alfie makes a call and shares some of his findings with Tommy afterwards. He probably should’ve chosen his words more carefully. 

Pairing: Alfie/Tommy

Warnings: hallucinations, disordered eating, mentions of attempted suicide

Wordcount: 4100

“-And Michael Gray is apparently head of the company. Seems like Shelby has stepped down from that position. Though word is he’ll still be involved in some capacity once he gets back,” Ollie finishes off the rather lengthy and somehow still useless status report from Birmingham. Well, mostly useless.

“From his, what was the word, extended leave of absence?” Alfie grunts.

Ollie’s hums and then goes quiet.

Alfie waits.

“So, is that all, then?” he finally asks.

Silence. He can almost hear Ollie’s confused frown.

“Is there… supposed to be something else, Mister Solomons?”

“No, there’s- just keep your ear to the ground, alright?”

Thankfully Ollie has learned not to question him by now. Well, mostly. So he promises to do that, without asking about the sudden interest in the Shelby family’s every move.

When Alfie hangs up, he has to just sit there in the study for a moment to let all of it sink in. Figure out what to do with this information. But when he eventually goes to search out Tommy, he still hasn’t quite decided what to do.

….

Knowing Esther is in the kitchen, he follows his gut and finds them both there: Esther doing the dishes and Tommy sitting by the table with his blanket in his lap and a mug of tea in front of him. No food, of-fucking-course. But he leaves that business up to Esther now -anything to save himself from repeating yesterday’s display, really. And yeah arguably he didn’t handle it in the best possible way but what can really be expected of him? To stand there and hold Tommy’s fucking hair while he throws up whatever meagre portion he’s managed to eat? That’s where he draws the line. And really Esther seems to be far more capable in this department so it’s probably for the best to leave the food issue up to her. And it must be Esther who’s placed the teaspoon of honey next to the tea mug. He’s got no idea what that is supposed accomplish, but again, not his problem anymore.

Instead he gets in Tommy’s line of sight to catch his attention.

“So, you fancy a walk then, eh? About time for one of those before we lose the last bit of daylight, if you can call it that, what with there being a distinct lack of sun today.”

Tommy nods and Alfie raises both eyebrows, making him clear his throat and muster a quiet, “Yes.”

Alfie nods his approval and gestures towards the spoon.

“Go on then, try to swallow that down and come along.”

What happened to staying out of anything food related?

Tommy just eyes the spoon suspiciously.

Thankfully Esther steps in.

“It’d be good for you, Tommy,” she says and glances over her shoulder from the sink, smiling encouragingly. She treats him as if he is made out of glass. And  maybe he is. “It’ll just melt in your mouth, you’ll barely feel it.”

Tommy picks up the spoon, and someone up there must really have it out for Alfie because he sticks his tongue out andlicksit hesitantly, before apparently deciding it’s acceptable and putting the whole thing into his mouth. And how is Alfie supposed to look at those lips and not be overcome by confusing feelings and have his belly coil tightly and fill with heat?

And then Tommy takes the spoon out and his tongue darts out and swipes over his bottom lip.

Alfie turns around and leaves, barking some order for Tommy to hurry the fuck up.

…

Once they’re outside, he does his level best to focus on absolutely everything except Tommy for a while, making observations about the trees and the weather and telling him an entirely made up story about how a large enough group of crows could technically carry a live dear through the air.

Tommy smokes and seems uncharacteristically focused, eyes fastened on Alfie and listening with what could almost be something akin to actual interest. Which makes Alfie deem this an appropriate time to bring up the phone call. He’s not entirely sure what the purpose is. Or rather, he’d rather not admit said purpose to himself; it’s some impulse that’s lodged inside of him that just can’t help poking and prodding at Tommy’s fragile psyche and see what will happen…

“So, I had an interesting phone conversation earlier,” he says once Tommy has finished his first cigarette. “Had a word with a reliable source about the situation in Birmingham. And it would seem that you, mate, would you fucking believe, are on an extended leave of absence.” He looks over to Tommy to gauge the reaction. Tommy’s eyes shift to the ground as he shoves one of his hands into his pocket and starts picking at the buttons on the coat with the other.  

“At least that’s the official story. Nothing wrong at all, you’re just having some well earned time off. Meanwhile that cousin of yours is in charge.”

Tommy fishes out another cigarette and the lighter.

“Yeah, they seem to be doing just fine, from what I’ve heard,” Alfie says. Tommy’s hand trembles ever so slightly as he lights the cigarette. “And alright, to be honest I find it a bit strange, don’t I? I can understand the need to keep up appearances, but… I feel like they’d have better luck actually finding you if more people knew, you know? If the police was involved, for example. Incompetent as they are you’d think they’d want to use every available resource.”

The smoke itself seems to tremble in the air as Tommy exhales another lungful. And for some reason it feels like a victory, finally seeing him react to something, anything besides his own thoughts and stuffed crows and invisible fucking voices.

“And I mean, they don’t know, right?” Alfie goes on. “They have no clue you’re here with me, out of harm’s way, mostly. No, as far as they know you could’ve been… kidnapped. Or lie dead in a ditch somewhere. So, really, I reckon that their first priority would be to find you, rather than, yeah, keeping up appearances. But clearly, our views differ there,” he has to pause to breathe, can feel himself getting riled up. “Because really, from the outside, it looks like they’re not looking for you at all.” He pokes and prods, can’t help himself for some reason- “Really must’ve done something to piss them off because, if you look at it from this angle, right, it’s as if you never even existed.”

-Pokes and tears at the remnants of Tommy’s mind, as if he’s looking through the pieces to find something, anything of the old him hidden in there somewhere, something that will make him protest. Always used to bite where his family was concerned.

Used to.

Now he just keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the ground and pulls in more smoke that he exhales in that same, shaky breath. Timid and meek and won’t even look him in the fucking eye- And it’s that, innit? That fragile, confusion, as if he’s made of thin, thin glass that could shatter at any moment, that evokes strange feelings he didn’t ask for… And how, how is it that no one in that fucking family is out there looking for him? That he’s got fucking no-one, that it’s all suddenly resting on Alfie’s fucking shoulders?

“Go on, Tommy? What’s changed?” he spits, harsher than he intended. “Always been like… rabid fucking dogs, your family, whenever one of you lot is threatened. But here you are, miles and miles away from home, meanwhile they’re living on as if nothing’s happened. Can’t tell me it doesn’t hurt a little.”  

Tommy shakes his head. Of course it fucking hurts. ¨And he should be angry… fucking livid.

He trails his fingers over the scar but Alfie leaves him be. Can’t be fucking bothered to take his hand away. And maybe he’ll grab onto him too hard and Tommy will shatter under his touch.  

“Though I suppose you’re not of much use to them anymore,” he says. “I mean you’re hardly in any shape to be fuckin’ running that bloody empire of yours.”

Tommy shakes his head and takes the cigarette from his lips, his hand is shaking so hard that it falls onto the damp ground. His fingers are still trailing along the scar.

“I know,” he says quietly. And it’s not the fucking answer Alfie wants. His pulse is quickening, he can feel it throb against his temple and he huffs out a laugh that comes out as mocking even to his own ears.

“Is that how you people operate, eh? You outlive your usefulness and then you’re discarded? Like some racehorse that’s broken its fuckin leg…”  

Tommy stops in his tracks and ducks his head, scratching lightly against the scar. Alfie stops too.

“Nothing works anymore,” he whispers and seems to shrink before his eyes. Alfie wants to shake him, wind a hand into his hair and fucking force him to look up, twist so hard that it hurts and that bleak sadness will crack up into pain instead, force him to fucking feel something. Do something- maybe struggle, fight back. He doesn’t grab Tommy. But what he does do is almost worse…

“Yeah that’s an understatement,” he snorts. “You’re properly fucking cracked in the head. Which is saying a lot considering the state it was in before. Maybe they felt like it wasn’t that much of a loss, eh?”

Tommy flinches as if he’s been hit. Curls inwards on himself.

“I know,” he says. “I know, I know-“ his voice turns into these quiet little whimpers and he squeezes his eyes shut as he begins scratching against the scar feverishly- Alfie pitches forward and grabs his wrist, tugs it away from his head.

“Alright, fuckin’ell, Tommy-“ he says, the guilt welling up so quickly that it smothers the anger. “Fuck, calm down-“

Fuck, you fucking fucking idiot-

“I can fix it,” Tommy gasps, staring at him with wide eyes. “I can- I promise, please, I’ll fix it- I just have to- have to get it out and- and-”

He swipes for Alfie like an alley cat and Alfie grabs onto his other wrist and tugs them both against his chest. A knee comes up and narrowly misses his crotch and he has to fight the instinct to put his fist into Tommy’s face for that. Instead he takes both of the bony wrists into one hand, pins them against his chest and wraps the other arm around his back, tugging him close enough to remove his leverage. Tommy squirms and makes those awful, half choked noises that sound less like a human and more like an injured animal, but Alfie just holds onto him.

“Fuck ‘em,” he says. “Don’t have to fucking fix anything. They’re not worth all of this.”

There’s another moment of frantic struggle before Tommy suddenly stops, pushing his forehead against Alfie’s chest instead and pulling air frantically in through his nose. His whole body is shaking.

“Fuck ‘em,” Alfie repeats, trying to soften his voice. “Alright? You hear that?”

Tommy says nothing, but stays right where he is. His breaths come out in hot little bursts against Alfie’s chest and his pulse is racing underneath his fingers but he’s finally still. Alfie keeps holding the arm around his back but loosens the grip around his wrists. Cold fingers wind themselves into his coat as Tommy pushes himself closer, face still buried in his chest. Right then it feels like the only thing holding him together is the arm Alfie holds stiffly around him.  

He leans in just a little bit. Tommy smells like soap and smoke and something innately… Tommy that he can’t quiet put his finger on.

“What the hell have you done to yourself, eh, Tommy? What’s so awful about all of this that you can’t even thinkabout it?”

Tommy just shakes his head, but he’s still now. And the urgency of the position has faded, he becomes painfully aware that it’s far too close. He clears his throat and gives Tommy a shove, making him stumble backwards on unsteady feet, blinking and looking dazed.

“Right. We should… probably be heading back to the house,” he says and starts walking back along the path, thankfully hearing a pair of footsteps behind him.

Tommy is painfully quiet the entire walk home. Alfie’s gotten used to the silence by now, but this is different. Wrong.

“I’m sure they’re looking, alright,” he says once it finally gets to be too much. The silence, or the guilt. “Might not… Well, your family have a way of doing things without anyone noticing, don’t they? Probably worried sick about you- I mean, you’ve got- those kids, right? And that wife of yours. Yeah. I’m sure they’re looking.” His throat is all dry so he has to pause and clear it before continuing, “But it’s not like you actually want to be fucking found, from what I understand, so I don’t see why you have to get all upset about it.”

Fuck, that sounds fucking stupid even to his own ears.

Tommy says nothing.

Alfie gives up on talking for the rest of the walk, and doesn’t open his mouth until they’re finally inside again.

“Right, I’ll ask Esther to make some tea,” he says as he shrugs out of his coat. “And then we’ll see if pompous man number five will finally propose to that lady who complains a lot in the next chapter-“

He heads for the living room and only discover once he’s halfway there that Tommy hasn’t followed, but is instead veering off towards the guest room. Which he hasn’t entered willingly since Alfie dragged him out of bed four days ago.

“Oi, where are you going?”

“I’m tired,” Tommy says quietly without looking up, fingers clenched around the edge of the door. “I should sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah sure, but you can do that just fine in the armchair.”

“I shouldn’t be out of bed. The doctor says I have to rest.“

He’s got that glazed look in his eye, Alfie just barely catches it before he slinks into the bedroom, leaving him standing there in the hallway with an alarming tightness in his chest.

He goes to pace in the living room, shoving tobacco into his pipe and lighting it. Tommy’s blanket is still in the armchair.

The footsteps approaching are too determined to belong to Tommy, who pads around the house like a kitten, and he barely has time to reflect on the fact that he does indeed recognize his footsteps by now, before Esther’s voice interrupts that thought.

“So, would you like some-“ She pauses. “Sir, where’s Tommy?”

Fuck. Just what he needed.

“He’s sleeping. Or, yeah, he’s in bed, alright?” He chooses not to turn around for no particular reason. It’s definitely not just to avoid seeing Esther’s disapproving look.

“He’s in bed?”

Alfie hums. “Yeah, so if you could just make some tea a that would be-“

Esther’s footsteps are disappearing down the hallway. Yeah. Fucking of course. He huffs out a puff of smoke and finds a cloud outside to fasten his gaze on, and vainly hopes that it’ll somehow distract him from the feeling currently settling like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach.

When Esther returns, he’s come up with no good excuses and done nothing except stare very intently at the same cloud.

“Did something happen while you were out?” she asks.

Alfie clears his throat and scratches his beard, watching the cloud be swept away by a gust of wind. “No, nothing that comes to mind, no.”

The silence is getting to him so he turns around. Esther is frowning. Doesn’t look angry, just worried, which makes the whole thing worse.

“Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Nothing about this is fucking ordinary,” Alfie grunts, wishing she’d launch into a lecture instead of looking so bloody worried. “What? He’s always acting fucking irrationally. Who knows what’s upset him this time. Maybe he just saw an… imaginary bird that made him sad for some goddamn reason.”

Esther nods thoughtfully, the frown deepening. “I’m going to make him some tea, but perhaps you could go and sit with him? I don’t think he should be alone.”

She leaves

Fuck all of this.

Alfie finds himself in his study again, staring at the phone.

One call.

The thing is he does actually believe Tommy’s family is worried. Who fucking wouldn’t be? It’d be fucking cruel not to be. Heartless. And heartless is hardly the first thing that comes to mind when he thinks of the Shelbys. Ruthless perhaps. Arrogant and fucking cocky. But not heartless.

But despite the call to Ollie, he’s no closer to piecing together the gap between the failed assassination attempt and Tommy showing up at his doorstep. The only pieces he’s actually got is Tommy’s wrecked mental state and the scar. Clear enough that he’s tried to hurt himself, yeah, and done quite a good job of it too. Even after the phone call, there are too many pieces missing. But if that family of his was actually capable of even somewhat looking out for Tommy, he wouldn’t be in such a shit state.

Then again, Alfie is clearly failing spectacularly at that himself, looking after him.  

Ollie could come pick him up. They could pay someone else to drive the last bit, someone the Shelbys have no knowledge of, and deliver Tommy at the doorstep of that big mansion of his. Tommy is hardly in any shape to resist. Could even be a gentleman about it and make sure someone opens the door too, see to that Tommy is taken care of.

And he’d be rid of this problem. Maybe avoid doing more damage. Logically speaking, it’s the right fucking thing to do.

Alfie picks up the phone, puts a finger to the dial and stares at it.

Three digits in, he puts the phone back and leaves the study.

And soon he finds himself standing outside the guestroom instead, with Tommy’s blanket in one hand and the book in the other. He opens the door without knocking.

The small lump on the middle of the bed remains motionless as he crosses the floor

“Scoot over will you?” he says and plops down onto the mattress, narrowly avoiding just sitting down on top of said lump. Folding down the blanket, Tommy blinks up at him. Alfie tries to not linger on the red-rimmed eyes and the wet lashes because he doesn’t care for the implications. He gestures for him to move.

“Go on, give us some space here, eh?”

Tommy sits up, still looking almost comically surprised and moves over to the farthest edge of the bed. Alfie rolls his eyes as he starts building up a sufficient mountain of pillows against the headboard.

“Don’t have to fuckin’… sit on the floor now, do you? Some space I said. Which, given the usual standards would be somewhere around here. You know? That’s your half.” He gestures from the middle and out to the edge. Tommy still chooses to settle at the very edge, watching him with big, wary eyes.

Alfie tosses the blanket at him and leans back against the pillows, flicking the lightswitch on the lamp on the nightstand before perching his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Now, where were we? Somewhere around page… ninety I think.” He flips through the pages and watches out of the corner of his eye as Tommy wraps the blankets around his shoulders and settles back against the pillows, a tiny bit closer.  “Hm, yes, yes there we go. They’ve just arrived home after this whole… carriage debacle, yeah? Remember that? Very traumatizing event probably- Let’s see how they’ll possibly move on from that.”

He’s got Tommy’s full attention when he starts reading.

After three pages, Esther comes through the door. Alfie can see her eyes light up all the way from the bed, but she wisely forgoes commenting.

“Here’s some tea for you,” she says, addressing Tommy. “And a bit of soup. I thought you might be getting tired of the same old thing, so this one is potato and leek. But it’s nothing too different.” She sets the tray down on the nightstand on Tommy’s side of the bed. “Sometimes that can be difficult, new flavours and textures and all that.” She hands Tommy the mug, nodding towards the tray. “And there’s bit of that honey that seemed to go down alright earlier.”

Alfie doesn’t particularly care for the smile Esther shoots him as she leaves the room. As if she knows, or perhaps sees something he doesn’t…. On account of there being nothing to see or know, of course, so what business does she have, looking that way?

Going back to the book seems to be the safest bet to postpone all of those thoughts, and as he reads, Tommy obediently finishes almost all of the soup and then promptly occupies himself with the teaspoon full of honey, leaving it lingering between his lips for longer than what would be necessary.

“Can’t believe you can stomach that,” Alfie says and tries to not look to closely at his lips. “But who would’ve thought, eh? Tommy Shelby has a bit of a sweet tooth. Like a hummingbird.”

Tommy actually huffs at the comment, looking almost indignant.

“Yeah, yeah exactly like a hummingbird, in fact,” Alfie goes on. “See, they only eat nectar, don’t they, so they’re quite particular about their food. Tiny little things, too. Always moving about.” The imagery makes him chuckle. Tommy sucks on the spoon and he looks back down into the book. “There’s this myth, right, that if a hummingbird stops flying its heart will stop, but that’s of course bullshit, because no animal could function like that.”

Tommy narrows his eyes a little, giving the spoon one last lick before putting it back on the tray. He settles his head back against the pillow and turns onto his side, watching Alfie expectantly.

“I take it this conversation is over and you’d like to go back to the riveting story of… lawn discussions?” Alfie taps the cover of the book, but goes back to reading without expecting an answer.

One chapter later, Tommy’s head tips against his shoulder and it’s just pure luck that Alfie manages not to jolt in surprise. Tommy’s eyes are closed, long lashes resting lightly against his pale cheeks, lips parted ever so slightly and without a single one of all those sad, pained lines etched on his face.

Whenever Alfie sees him like this, he feels like maybe he’s not a complete disaster at this after all. If only for short moments at a time.

As carefully as he possibly can, he closes the book and slides off the bed. But he leaves the bedside light on as he leaves the room.

It feels strange to have a moment to himself, so he uses it wisely by smoking and listening to the radio for a bit, watching the sunset outside. There’s been no sun to speak of today, but a sliver of orange is visible right where the sky meets the sea.

Knowing Tommy is finally sound asleep in a proper bed does make him more relieved than it has any business to, because maybe this will mean he sleeps the entire night through? One can always hope.

But he’s barely finished that thought before quiet footsteps creak over the floor and he tries to not sigh audibly.

Tommy has brought his blanket and looks wary, eyes oddly wide and fingers wound tightly into the material. Alfie’s learned to notice that look by now. He reaches over and pats the armchair next to him.

Without a word, Tommy pads over and curls up in it, eyes still darting around the room.

“It’s just the radio, innit,” Alfie says. “That’s all.” 

Because he knows.

The explanation seems to relax Tommy a fraction, but he still finds himself getting out of his chair and going to turn the radio off.

As if it’s a perfectly normal and reasonable thing to do.

Then he picks up the book and settles into his armchair.

“Chapter twelve, I believe?”

And then he starts reading. Again.

When he feels the familiar tug at his shirtsleeve, he moves his arm a bit closer. As if that’s a completely normal and reasonably thing too. 

Tommy has closed his eyes again, his breathing already evening out.

Yeah. He might be shit at this, but he has his moments.

[cinnaminsvga]

intermission • ii | moonblind

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. jimin) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: exhibitionism, but not in a sexual way. more like in a public disturbance way. aka streaking.  → words: 4.4K → a/n: another drabble in between chapters to feed your soul!! this time, we’ll get to see some backstory to jihope before we dive into their full length chapter. and omo? is that angst i see? uh oh! 

— • masterlist | prev | intermission ii | next • —

–– 3 years ago ––

Jimin’s third Pop-Tart of the evening has just gone down his gullet when Hoseok knocks excitedly outside his bedroom window. Despite Jimin living on the second floor, it seems that the older boy had chosen to climb the precariously skinny camphor tree that connects their balconies in order to access his room. Regardless, Jimin slides open the window without another word while making sure to hide the box of sugary toaster pastries away from his intruder’s view.

Hoseok jumps down from the ledge, his recently dyed auburn hair awkwardly pasting itself to his forehead with sweat. He smiles brightly at Jimin, and extends his arms forward where he reveals a crumpled envelope clutched tightly in his fists.

Jimin lets out a loud burp, ignoring Hoseok’s disgusted grimace. “Worm. You stole Mister Sun’s porn subscription again?”

“No, you fucking idiot––” Hoseok whines, flopping onto Jimin’s unmade bed. He unfurls the previously ripped apart envelope before Jimin, dumping dozens of papers and glossy brochures all over his Anpanman bedsheets. “Look what I just got from the mail!”

Jimin stands up from his table, stepping towards Hoseok until he can make out the bright red seal of their local university on one of the crisp parchment papers. His heart races then, because there can only be one thing this letter could be about––and he hopes to god that it’s good news for the both of them.

Hoseok waits for his reaction, watches with glee as Jimin’s face slowly breaks into a blinding grin, his body radiating gladness for his dearest friend. He drops the paper to the floor before barrelling towards Hoseok, trapping him in a bear hug.

“Holy shit, hyung! You did it! You got in!” Jimin hollers, not caring to lower his volume despite knowing that his parents would surely scold him for the racket. How could he bare to kill his excitement? Especially when his best friend had just gotten the best news of his life?

Hoseok giggles, tapping Jimin’s shoulder to let him up a little. “Ooph, ease up on my windpipes, brat. It would be shit if you killed me before I even got to go to my first college party.”

“Not on my watch, you aren’t,” Jimin replies, getting off him but nonetheless keeping his arms wrapped gently around his shoulders. “You promised you’d take me with you.”

“Who said anything about me letting a baby like you drink?” Hoseok laughs, voice drunk on happiness. He leans into Jimin, watching the younger leaf through the rest of the papers as he sighs contentedly.

“But seriously, this is amazing! I always knew you could do it, hyung,” Jimin says, positively glowing with warmth. He speaks as if he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. Hoseok doesn’t push (because he never does.)

“Yeah, well. I couldn’t have done it without my special cheerleader, my Jiminie,” he says sweetly. Jimin’s eyes crinkle from the force of his smile, nudging his friend with his knee as he continues to peruse the acceptance letter.

“Oh, shut up. No need to be corny with me. We both know that you’ve always been the better da––” Jimin freezes suddenly, when he gets to a particular piece of paper. His pupils are trained onto the wall of text, turning contemplative as he scans through it like his eyes are afraid to believe what they are seeing.

Hoseok sits upright, concerned. “Jiminie? You okay there?”

Jimin opens his mouth. Closes it. Blinks rapidly like he has spots in his vision. Then, he wordlessly shows him the paper that he was holding, allowing Hoseok to read what caused Jimin to go silent with shock.

Hoseok stares and he stares at the page, not quite getting it. “What am I supposed to be looking at?” he asks.

Jimin points to the bottom of the paper, where it states the tuition and scholarship that Hoseok had earned. He turns to look back at him, still confused, when Jimin’s finger lowers until it gets to the part where he finally understands.

“Oh,” he says, quietly. Perhaps, even a little guiltily too.

“Hyung,” Jimin murmurs, smoothing the paper and gently laying it to the bed. He turns to him, an indecipherable emotion flitting through his face. Hoseok swallows nervously. “You applied to become an English major?”

Sweat begins to build behind Hoseok’s neck. “Well––”

“No, that can’t be right. Maybe you got the wrong letter?” Jimin questions, turning the papers over to look for the mistake that had never been made. He grabs the torn envelope, reading the stark black ink stating “Jung Hoseok” and his home address of 18 years, and yet he still cannot quite believe it. He faces Hoseok, and asks, “Did you get rejected?”

Hoseok stares, wide-eyed, unsure on how to tell his best friend that he had been lying to him for months now. In his bliss-induced haze, he had forgotten all about the secret he had been harboring from him, how he had never applied for the degree that they both promised to apply for when they had been children. How could he face Park Jimin, when he knew that was both a liar and a coward?

Hoseok replies, so softly that Jimin almost misses it, “No. I didn’t get rejected.”

“Then? Why were you put into the English program? How do you explain that?” Hoseok hates the way that Jimin’s voice rises at the end, because he knows it only becomes like that when he can feel something is wrong. He knows that he’s about to be disappointed, betrayed.

“Jimin––”

“Hoseok-hyung, you’re literally one of the country’s best upcoming dancers. You’ve won countless national dance competitions. Why would they��–” Jimin stammers, Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to make sense of it all. “Hyung, what happened?”

Hoseok doesn’t know what to say. No, he does know what to say, but he doesn’t know how to say it. It’ll hurt, but not as much as it’ll probably hurt the only person who has ever believed in him. Hoseok is forced to look away, because there isn’t any other way to do this, not when he can see expectant eyes hoping for a lie he can never utter.

“I never applied for the dance program,” he says, finally. Rips the band-aid in one swoop, and waits for the blood to flow.

As expected, the pain is instantaneous, because Jimin’s never known how else to be. It would have been better if he had shouted, or pushed him––done something, because at least Hoseok would be giving him something to act upon. Instead, all he does is asks, in a whisper, “Why would you lie to me?”

“You wouldn’t have understood,” Hoseok says, but his argument is weak, even to his own ears.

“And what makes you think that when I found out eventually, I would have understood it better than if I had known before?” Jimin counters, lips trembling already.

Hoseok reels back, mouth going slack because honestly, he just doesn’t know. He isn’t thinking, and he certainly wasn’t thinking then. This all would have been easier if he had just learned to keep his big mouth shut––

Or perhaps, if he hadn’t lied in the first place.

“No, that’s not what I meant––”

“Then what did you think was going to happen, huh?” Jimin accuses, choking up as he tries to keep tears at bay. Hoseok senses the signs before he sees it, senses the oncoming waves of dejection that is sure to come. In another time, he would have been the one to comfort him during Jimin’s lows; to think that he has now learned how it feels to be on the other side of the equation.

Hoseok licks his lips. “I-I didn’t think––”

“Typical,” Jimin says, bitterly. Hoseok flinches, having never heard him use this tone of voice on him before. Jimin gives him no time to recover. “Of course you didn’t think. Why on earth would my opinion matter? Did you really think I would’ve just ditched you if you had told me earlier?”

“No, but––”

“You made me think that we had an agreement with each other. You made me think that we would become the country’s best pair of dancers together. Together, hyung,” Jimin repeats, hurt dripping from every word.

“Jimin, we both know that was a promise we made when we were children. There’s no way we would ever have become better than everyone else––dancing our way to success has always been a foolish dream, and we’re both better off not pursuing it.” Hoseok says smoothly, his thoughts tumbling out through his lips like butter because he’s been repeating the same excuse to himself ever since he had submitted his university application. He knows, his parents know, and his teachers know that there is no future for him when it comes to dancing––it’s called a dream for a reason, after all. 

The sooner that he and Jimin get their heads around this fact, the better.

“I can’t - no, I refuse to believe that you actually think that way. Not when,” Jimin inhales, small fists clenched so tightly that they tremble by his thighs. “Not when I’ve seen how you dance. You can’t fucking tell me that you don’t love the way the music pumps through your veins, and how the energy of the crowd is like no other drug in the world. I’ve seen the way you talk about dance, hyung. You can’t lie to me.”

It’s true. He can’t lie. But damn, no one can stop him from trying.

“Jimin, I know this is hard to come to terms with, and I know you deserve more than a shitty apology.”

“Save it,” Jimin hisses, standing up from the bed. He marches over to the window, dragging the glass open and allowing the cold night breeze to chill the small bedroom. The papers flutter about lightly, almost mockingly.

“Get out of my house. We’ll talk again when I’ve cooled down.” Jimin says, throat tight with feelings left unsaid. Hoseok complies, jumping to the extended branch without another look back. He never thinks to ask for forgiveness, and Jimin isn’t sure if he would’ve given it to him, anyway.

Jimin shuts the window, and the room is silent once more. He shoves the papers off of his bed, sweeping them angrily under the rug for him to deal with later. For now, he needs to do something else to take his mind off of everything that just happened.

He flips his phone on, scrolling through his measly contact list until he gets to one of the latest additions in his roster. He never once thought that he’d resort to calling this person in particular. Then again, his stupid ass decided to become dependent on one person, so what else is he supposed to do?

The phone rings only twice before he picks up.

“‘Sup,” is what Taehyung’s deep voice greets him. Beyond the static, Jimin can hear the distant sound of Yoshi’s cheery voice in the background.

“Hey. You busy?” Jimin asks, fiddling with the ends of his sweater nervously. Wait, why is he nervous? Taehyung is the weird new kid that moved in just a few weeks ago. Surely, the stranger in the neighborhood should be the one sweating bullets right now?

“Not in particular. Why?” The distinct tune of game over music plays shortly after, and Taehyung curses quietly under his breath. A loud clacking sound follows after, and Jimin guesses that the other boy had thrown his controller away in disgruntlement. “Well. I’m definitely free now. You need something?”

“Well…” Jimin hesitates, unsure of what to say. That he had potentially lost the only friend that he’s ever had and now he needs a replacement, asap? Yeah, right.

Taehyung beats him to the punch. “You need a friend or something? You feelin’ lonely?” he asks plainly.

Jimin chokes on his spit. “N-no…” he mutters, pouting at being found out so easily.

Taehyung laughs, not unkindly. “Don’t worry, dude. I was just messing with ya. I know you and that Jung kid are pretty tight. He must be busy with college stuff now, right? He’s a year older than us, if I remember correctly.”

“Y-yeah. He is. I was just bored, is all…”

“Sweet.” Jimin can hear him grin through the speaker. “Meet ya in front of your house in just a sec.”

Just as Jimin is about to ask what he plans on doing, Taehyung ends the call abruptly. “Rude,” he says, huffing slightly. Well, guess he has no choice but to search for some pants to wear before making his way to his front door. (Has he been naked this entire time? That’s up to you to decide.)

It doesn’t take long for Taehyung to arrive, but Jimin does note of the way he is panting slightly when he finally reached his front lawn. He looks at him, concerned. “Hey dude. You okay? Why’re you so tired?”

Taehyung holds up a finger, back bent with his hands on his knees. “Ran,” is all he says, still struggling with his breath.

Jimin stares at him. “We literally live three houses away from each other.”

“We can’t all be Michael Phelps,” Taehyung retorts.

“He’s a swimmer.”

“Same thing. We all got lungs.”

Jimin snorts, patting him on the back. “Alright, Phelps. What were you planning on doing during this fine evening? I hope it has something to do with two fake IDs and maybe a couple of dollar bills.”

“What?” Taehyung gasps, staring at him in shock. “That’s the type of shit you do with Jung?”

“Nah. I was just messing with you. I only got a fake ID so I could vote.” he jokes.

“Same,” he replies without missing a beat. Jimin isn’t sure if he was joking. “But nah. I was planning on asking you to go out for a run with me. To let go of some steam, or whatever it is you jocks like to do for fun.”

“You want to go on a run? Dude, you literally almost died getting here.” Jimin points out.

Taehyung raises a finger. “Key word: almost.” He rifles through his short gym shorts (read: very very short shorts) for a moment, before dangling a pair of 80s-looking car keys at him. “I was thinking that you would do more of the running, while I drive beside you so I can keep you company.”

Jimin stares at him. Then, “Is this what you think healthy people do for fun?”

“Listen man. I ate rice with ketchup for dinner today so please don’t tease me.”

Jimin laughs, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.” he says, slapping the other boy on the shoulder. Taehyung hisses in pain, but is quick to hide it when Jimin finally fixes his gaze on him.

“So.”

“So?”

“Wanna go underage drinking?”

“Sounds fun, but I have a better idea,” Taehyung says, grabbing Jimin by the hand. If Jimin is startled by this near-stranger’s blatant invasion of his space, he doesn’t say it. Maybe because somehow, he knows that he can trust Taehyung with his life.

Well. Maybe not his life. Maybe his wifi password? Debatable. Still––

“What’s your idea, hotshot?” Jimin asks, but all Taehyung does is shoot him a boxy grin.

“Just keep walking, and follow me.”

Turns out, Taehyung’s idea isn’t all that bad.

Taehyung had found out from an older friend that there was an event being hosted by the nearby university at their open grounds that night. When they get there, hundreds of plastered university students are already milling about, so much so that no one seems to bat an eye that two high school kids were somehow making their way through the crowd and onto one of the makeshift bleachers.

“Everyone’s either too high or too drunk to care that we’re here,” Jimin notices, gazing at the surrounding “adults” as they clumsily found their way to their seats.

“Yeah. That’s just how old people are like all the time.” Taehyung hums, pushing off a young man and woman who both seem to be permanently sewn together by their lips. “Oops, guess these seats are free now!” he says cheerfully, patting the other space for Jimin.

Jimin can’t help staring at the large crowd, wondering if this is the crowd he’ll find himself in just a year’s time. “What is this event for, anyway?” It’s hard to tell, especially since there seems to be no signs of event coordination whatsoever. For all he knows, he could be a part of some cultish initiation or whatever.

“Oh, I don’t know. Some welcoming party to start the new semester? Who cares. We’re just here to observe,” Taehyung says, grabbing the popcorn bucket from another preoccupied couple in front of them. He offers some to Jimin, to which he politely declines. He shrugs his shoulders, popping ten of them into his mouth. “I mean, we only have a year left before we’re one of these braindead sacks of shit, so might as well have a head start and wreak a little havoc.”

“A year left, huh.” Jimin mutters to himself, brows furrowed. Taehyung pauses in his munching to observe his new friend, who is staring at the ground thoughtfully. In front of them, the sound of a cannon firing reverberates across the park, and the crowd jumps to their feet around them. Neither of them join the rest.

“You thinkin’ of something?” Taehyung shouts over the crowd, and Jimin can barely hear him. He shakes his head, ready to brush his concern aside, but thinks better of it. Why should he hide his feelings? He isn’t Hoseok, after all.

He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know, man. I just think I’m not cut out for this university life!” he yells, the crowd still going apeshit at whatever was happening up front. A man in a stereotypical toga overhears him, who turns to them in all his red face-painted glory.

“Bro! That was totally me in freshie year! Don’t worry, kid! We ALL want to die, and that’s what we call team spirit!” He hollers wildly, and a group of similarly dressed men beside him bellows back in agreement.

Taehyung laughs gleefully at their antics, while Jimin has to force a chuckle out just so the drunken toga-wearing troglodytes would look away from him so he can continue his spontaneous heart-to-heart session.

“Sorry. You were saying?” Taehyung asks, voice now at regular-ish speaking level now that the people around them have settled down.

“I was saying how I think I won’t be going to university. It’s just not the life for me, you know?” he says, and Jimin can admit that he was acting a bit bitter after what had just happened a few hours ago, but he wasn’t thinking sensibly right now. Or maybe, this is the most sensible that he’s been in his life.

Jimin doesn’t want to think too deeply about it, and luckily, Taehyung just gets it. He doesn’t pry, choosing instead to nod empathetically back at him and leaving it at that.

“That’s cool, dude. Maybe this can be your way of experiencing the uni life, at least one way or another.”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, chest hollow. He gazes to the front where a scantily clad cheerleader bats open a piñata filled with tampons instead of candy. Another piñata is filled with K-pop lenticular cards. The crowd goes nuts.

The two of them continue to watch the festivities unfold. Perhaps it is due to the lack of alcohol and other consumable vices in their systems, but they soon come to realize that this event is boring as hell. Everyone else seems to be having a good time, but Jimin cannot for the life of him fathom why watching five dudes sing the wrong lyrics to High School Musical is the definition of “a good time.”

Taehyung says it before he does. “Dude, this sucks.”

Jimin nods forlornly. “This sucks.”

Like the fiendish person that Jimin will soon come to know in the following years, Taehyung’s eyes glint with the unrestrained need to be a little shit. So, he offers Jimin an idea.

“Hey. You ever wanted to do a mildly illegal crime and get away with it?”

Jimin squints at him. “Not in particular. Why?”

Taehyung grins brightly. If Jimin didn’t know any better (which he didn’t, because he only met this kid a few weeks ago when his mother forced him to bring over some housewarming cupcakes to the new neighbors), he would have assumed that Taehyung is as angelic as they come. The type of person who sheltered abandoned puppies and volunteered at the local orphanages.

Oh, how wrong he was. Apparently, Taehyung is  the type of person to demand a newfound friend “take off your pants right now” without an ounce of shame. 

Like a sane person, Jimin refuses immediately.

Jimin tries again. “If you think I’m gonna drop my pants now and cause a scene to make you laugh, then you’ve got another thing coming.”

Taehyung tries again. “You and I both know this shit is boring as hell, and the only people with an ounce of artistic flare in their bodies is us, so why don’t you take one for the team and drop your pants?”

So Jimin stares into Taehyung’s eyes a little longer. They stay still, neither of them willing to back down. The raucous crowd around them is incognizant of the exchange happening right in front of them. Like many natural disasters, no one ever really sees it coming. Then:

“Why don’t you do it, then?”

“I’m not the one with the abs, am I?”

…

Somehow, that’s what gets Jimin.

You are walking back home from the nearby university event after having decided to leave early due to how unappealing the entire thing had been. You seriously regret letting your classmates pressure you into attending with them, since you know all of them had just wanted to sneak out for some underage drinking. You have never been into that sort of thing, and so you promise yourself to never go along with your friends’ harebrained schemes after this disaster.

You haven’t made it that far away from the open grounds, so you can still hear the deafening hoots of college students from where you stood. However, you are suddenly shocked by the sudden shrieks of terror, more striking than the previous ruckus with how absolutely terrified these screams sounded.

Curious, you turn to face where you had just been, craning your head for any signs of the source of the commotion. Your eyesight isn’t good enough to see that far, so you are quick to give up and shrug your shoulders. Must have been some weird performance by another group of college weirdos. What else is new?

You continue walking at a relaxed speed, not in a hurry to reach home when suddenly, you can hear the distant sound of bare feet slapping furiously against the pavement.

Having just watched a copious amount of unsolved murder documentaries the night before, you hasten your pace, almost ready to dash out of there when the footsteps start to grow louder and more distinct. Fully alarmed now, you are pretty much speed-walking by the time your would-be assailant seems to be inches away from you.

Daring a chance to look back, you let out a bloodcurdling scream as you see what appears to be a fully naked man running headfirst towards you. Your screech causes the man to yell back in surprise, and accidentally tripping all over himself and into the concrete. You wince at the sound of his nose cracking painfully against the sidewalk, but you have no chance to feel sorry for him because oh my god there was a literal naked man chasing after you!!!

But your stupid ass just HAD to interact with him, because you’re stupid and your head is made of air. Sorry, it be like that sometimes.

“Who the fuck are you? I’m going to kill you?” You say the last part like a question, because really, do you think you could kill a man? We already established that you’ve got an empty skull, so what the hell do you think you’d be able to do? Flail around like those inflatable balloon things outside car dealerships?

The man groans loudly, lifting his head up slowly from disorientation. Like you had guessed, his face is bloody where his nose had broken, but nothing else seems to be injured (but you can’t say the same for his brain, though.) He coughs, smearing his blood with his hand in a futile attempt to staunch the steady flow.

“Listen,” he begins, his voice sounding muffled due to the way his nostrils have pretty much collapsed into his face. You grimace at blood-shaped face print he had left on the sidewalk. “Sorry for spooking you. As much as I really appreciate death right now, you’ll have to redirect Satan to my doorstep for another time because I have to kill Kim Taehyung before I meet my maker.”

God, you are literally too tired to deal with this shit. “That doesn’t even make sense––”

He stands up all of a sudden, jumping to his full height with the grace of an Olympic runner. And by Olympic runner, you mean the ones from Ancient Greece when they’d compete all naked and oiled. Like this dude is. Except he’s all naked and bloodied.

You can feel the beginnings of a migraine starting to form. Hm... Maybe underage drinking is the answer. (It’s definitely not, but one can dream.)

He straightens up, nodding curtly at you. “Sorry, no time to explain. I must be on my way.” With one final salute, he sprints off, his toned legs carrying him farther and farther away until only the sheen of his pale ass can be seen from a distance. It twinkles, ever so gently under the moonlight.

“Wack,” you say.

And so, you went home.

The next day, on social media, the myth of the moon streaker makes its rounds. Everyone is wondering who it is, but no one seems to have ever seen that boy in their university before.

[+985, -23] omg… that was disgusting and inappropriate!! but… 10/10 would see again lol

[+759, -3] that ass though? it was beautiful… like the full moon… when will my boyfriend EVER

[+699, -1] lunar new year is officially MOVED to today… god bless that naked lil man. i love you.

[buckybabybaby]

Mr Hollywood (Chapter 16)

Summary: Bucky Barnes, an underpaid teaching assistant in a small English village, dreams of a movie career back in his home country of America. He finally gets the break he's always wanted, and if it wasn't for you, his best friend, he wouldn't have been able to take it.

But is that fact enough to save your friendship when it's tested by the pressures of Hollywood?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Word count: 1253

Chapter summary: first date with Bucky! 

A/n: I think the next chapter, which should be up next weekend, will be the last! And then an epilogue and it'll be over...

If you've stuck with it, thank you so much!!

(If the picture is all blurry, opening it in a new tab in browser helps!)

Warnings: little bit of bad language, little bit of a douchy ex manager being mean

Previous: Chapter 15

Mr Hollywood Masterlist | Main Masterlist

*****

The rest of the family are out when you get back to the house, meaning you can use the master bathroom uninterrupted to get changed for your date. It still hasn't sunk in that that's what it'll be. An actual, real, not-in-the-friendly-sense-of-the-word, date. A proper date, with Bucky. You can hear him in his en suite getting ready, humming quietly to himself, and you can't wipe the grin off your face.

Spinning in front of the mirror to check your appearance, you sigh, deciding that this is as good as it's going to get. The familiar insecurities about not being enough creep back in but you are quick to shut them up. Bucky likes you for you, loves you for you, and despite all the beautiful people he must have met and worked with in his new life, you're still the one he wants.

He's standing at the bottom of the stairs waiting when you've finished getting ready. Tapping away on his phone, he doesn’t notice you until you're halfway down, and the way he smiles up at you when he does is worth all the heartbreak and hurt of the past year.

“You look nice.”

“Just nice?” You tease.

“Gorgeous.” He sounds so sincere and you flush as he meets you at the bottom step, leaning in for a quick kiss.

“Thank you. So do you.”

He offers you his arm. “Well? Shall we?”

*****

The low lighting and soft music of the restaurant Bucky's chosen is a contrast from any place you've visited together before, a sign of how your relationship has shifted. This is all you've ever dreamed of and more, and you ignore your nerves to let yourself enjoy the date.

At first you two talk about anything that crosses your mind, from travel plans to school gossip and the new baby niece or nephew he'll soon have, until you mention wanting to build a bigger run for the chickens.

Bucky frowns. “Wait a minute. Where are they while you're here?”

“Peggy said she'd check on them, fill up their water and clean their nest box. It takes less time now there's only three.”

“Oh, Y/N. I'm so sorry about Dot. I should have said that before, Dayton did tell me.”

“I'm sorry too. I know she was your favourite.”

“Yeah, she was.” He smiles sadly. “I've missed them almost as much as I've missed you.”

“I'm sure they've missed you too.”

You grab your phone to show him the newest pictures you have off them, and the evening continues perfectly until his posture goes rigid on spotting something behind you, the look on his face causing you to tense up too.

“Don't look now, but my old manager is at the bar.”

Wide eyed, you reach out for Bucky's trembling hands. “Do you want to leave?”

“Yes. Please. Sorry to spoil everything.”

“Hey, no, nothings spoiled. We can go somewhere else for dessert.”

Ignoring standard etiquette and not bothering to flag down a waiter for the cheque, you make your way to the entrance podium as Bucky grabs your jacket from the cloakroom. When a server eventually manages to get a break and take your card, you refuse to let Bucky pay, not even for half the bill.

“You can get the ice cream.”

“Deal.”

Even all the way over the other side of the room you can hear Bucky's manager arguing with the bartender, not happy with the refusal of service on the grounds that he's plainly had more than enough to drink already. Any hope of you slipping out quietly is lost when, growing bored of fighting with the bar staff, he moves away to try his luck in the next restaurant and recognises Bucky by the door.

He staggers over to you both. “Barnes? Barnes! It is you! You fucking-”

He pauses when his gaze falls to you.

“And this must be the slut you were willing to risk your career for.” He looks you up and down with a sneer. “Don't see what all the fuss was about.”

Bucky sighs tiredly. “Get the fuck out of here, David.”

Going to leave again, Bucky is stopped in his tracks as a glass is thrown in his direction, shattering around his feet. You jump at the noise, gasping quietly as Bucky moves you so he's blocking you from view. Breathing heavily in fright, your hand twists into the back of his shirt, clinging on for dear life as you try to work out how to prevent any more violence.

Bucky clearly has the same wish as you. “Go home, David. You need to sleep this off. Haven't you got a court date in a couple of days? You'll want to be in better shape for then.”

David is swaying dangerously at this point, fists clenched. You are reassured minutely by the member of staff you can see in the background on the phone to what you hope are the emergency services.

“We're leaving. I suggest you do the same.”

“No! You and that brother of yours ruined everything! You can't just take that away from me and not-”

David tips too far forward finally, and as he's picking himself of the floor you force Bucky out of the restaurant and into the street. Stepping out of the way of a policewoman, you watch through the window as his old manager is pinned to the wall and handcuffed unceremoniously.

“If he was on bail, this isn't going to help his case,” You say, watching Bucky carefully.

“Good.”

He lets go of your hand and paces quickly along a side alley, running his hands through his hair. You follow hesitantly, not wanting to intrude on his personal space but also not wanting to leave him alone when he's so obviously distressed.

“Bucky?” You ask, worried. “What's wrong?”

He doesn't meet your eye. “Seeing him again brought it all back. Made me think, what if I hurt you again? Some other dick in Hollywood gets in my head and I push you away? I couldn't put you through that twice.”

You can't lie and say you haven't had the same thought. It's hard to trust again when you've been so badly hurt, but after everything that's happened in the last month or two, you're sure history won't repeat it's self in that respect.

“We'll get through anything, just as long as you're honest with me.”

“I will be, promise.”

“Thank you. But you needn't worry, I don't think Dayton would let you do that again.”

He nods shakily. “Day scared the hell out of me, not least just turning up in the middle of LA when I thought he was back at his home. And then to top if off he wasn't very nice to me.”

“I'll bet.”

“He was so angry I didn't answer his calls. Sam said I was an idiot too.”

“Can't say I disagree.”

“But he still helped me anyway. I wouldn't be here without him.” He collapses onto a fire escape hanging off the nearest building. “I wouldn't have got a second chance with you without him.”

“Remind me to thank him later then.” You rise up on to your tiptoes, leaning through the bars off the staircase to press a kiss to his cheek. “Do you still want ice cream?”

“I think I need something stronger.”

“Chocolate fudge cake it is then.”

He tips his head back in laughter at that and you think yeah, together the two of you will be just fine.

*****

Chapter 17

[katrinajg]

So, I am actually working on a new chapter of ISSH, even if it doesn't seem like that since it's been a while since the last update. Currently at about 13k words, so it should be soon. *crosses fingers*

In the meantime, in-between time, how about an excerpt? 

Come on, ya know ya wanna... 

>>>He scarcely remembers the walk, and he certainly doesn’t have the wherewithal to bother with circling the block more than once before he’s pushing open the boarded-up door to Ticonderoga’s reception area. It didn’t feel like he was being followed, and Deacon’s paranoia is pretty healthy, so in this one moment of weakness, he’s going to trust that and not triple check it in duplicate.

When he makes it up to the main floor of the safehouse, the elevator doors open to a full house. Everyone has crowded around, looking anxious and relieved in the same breath. Deacon hesitates a moment before stepping out of the elevator; it’s a relief that he doesn’t have to talk about Quincy falling, clearly, they already know, but he hopes that he isn’t about to get delicate “Sorry, Dee”s. That’s not what he wants. 

High Rise steps forward first. “Hey, man. We heard. About Quincy.”

“Yeah,” Deacon replies, voice monotone as he stands there limply.

“Oh, Dee,” Parade sighs somewhere to the right of him and as if that’s what the group had been waiting for, a dozen hands reach for him at once and he’s pulled into a massive hug.

He doesn’t break down the way he did with Nick. Doesn’t quite trust these people with that sort of vulnerability, even if he does trust them with his life, but he does let them pull him toward the living area couches. He pulls off his gear when High Rise tells him to take it off and accepts the blanket from Jolene, and later the bowl of mac and cheese from Codsworth. He lets the conversation of Ticon wash over him while he’s sandwiched between HR and Parade on the couch. It’s about as safe as he feels outside of a vault or the agency.

Eventually, Uncle takes the empty bowl from his hands and Drummer Boy gives him a glass of purified water, and Parade offers some of her Jet if he wants to take the edge off, but Deacon shakes his head. After a time, conversation falls off when they’ve updated Deacon on the goings on, and cards are pulled out. He doesn’t play. Deacon falls asleep sometime around the fifth game.

When he wakes again, he’s alone on the couch and it’s dark. At first, he’s not quite sure about that and he pulls his off sunglasses to double check, but when the room doesn’t lighten significantly, Deacon has to accept that he’s slept the afternoon and evening away. Despite that, he still feels tired, and if he wasn’t also hungry, he’d probably just go back to sleep. With a quiet sight, Deacon swings himself off the couch; he hates that ‘dealing with shit’ has to be so exhausting.

“They considered waking you for supper, but you didn’t stir at their noise and High Rise decided to leave you sleep,” JH says lowly when Deacon has turned on the kitchen overhead light.

“Thanks, I guess,” he replies as he browses the fridge for leftovers. He spots some casserole of indeterminate make and takes the small dish out to warm up.

“Have you not been sleeping?”

Deacon shrugs. “Sorta. Nick’s been keeping me busy.”

“Ah,” JH says with a hint of laughter in his voice.

“And…I think trying to keep from exploding in anger on a semi-daily basis has been kinda counteracting the sleep I do get.” Deacon tosses the casserole mess into a pot warming on the burner and adds, “Maybe. Who can say for sure, really?”

“Because of Quincy?”

“I guess. That’s what Nick thinks, anyways.”

“And what do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

JH makes a noise of disbelief but doesn’t push, apparently content to let Deacon answer truthfully in his own time. When the casserole is warmed through, Deacon dumps it back in the dish it came from and heads back to the couch with a Nuka Cola. He arranges himself under the blanket again before eating the casserole in a few giant mouthfuls. It’s hardly pretty, but he doesn’t much care.

When he’s finished, Deacon set the dish down on the edge of the hubflower planter/coffee table in front of him and cracks the Nuka Cola open on the edge of the table. The metal edge of the small table face is worn almost round from hundreds of bottles opened the same way. After the first sip of the soda, Deacon says somewhat suddenly,

“I don’t want to be the Lone Wanderer.”

“Well, I’m afraid that vertibird has flown.”

Of all the answers Deacon imagined JH might’ve had, that wasn’t one. He frowns.

“So, what? Too bad, so sad? It’s my life. I choose.”

“If you want to choose to cripple yourself, then yes, you have a choice. If you want to be practical about it, grow up and stop accepting your father’s misguided view of the world.”

Deacon stares agape at the JH’s camera, feeling stung and surprised. It takes a moment for him to find his footing.

“Don’t talk about my father like that,” he snaps.

“And why not? Because it’s in poor taste to speak ill of the dead—though they hardly care what we think one way or another. Or perhaps because that pedestal you have him on is weak and all it needs is a good push to topple.”

“Stop.”

“No. If what we plan is to work, you must come to terms with the fact that you have two views of the world and only one is valid in the Wasteland,” JH says with some force, “What James taught you to believe about the world, what he believed was true, made a martyr of him. He was a fool—”

“How dare you—”

“How dare I say aloud the things you already think? Should we examine the choices he made that last day? Refusing Autumn the code for the purifier was idiotic, especially with the very clear threat of death. There was no need to die, he could have given the Colonel the code and returned with the Brotherhood at his back, he could have agreed to work with the Enclave and internally subverted us, he could have agreed to join Autumn against me, he could have chosen a dozen other possibilities that did not leave him dead in that chamber, but James didn’t believe in living to fight another day.”

“Dying for what you believe in isn’t wrong, or foolish, or idiotic. And if you had any shred of humanity, you’d know that,” Deacon seethes, knuckles white on the Nuka Cola bottle.

“Indeed? Remind me then, which one of us left you alone in this world?”

“Fuck you, Eden.”

JH has the audacity to laugh. “You already know I’m right, John. The Lone Wanderer is just a convenient name you’ve taken to represent all the things you learned about the world outside the vault, all the things that don’t agree with James’ skewed ideas of the world.”

“The Lone Wanderer is a monster. I don’t want to be anything like him.”

“No. The only monster is the shellacked memory of your father that keeps you at odds with yourself. The Wanderer lives in the imperfect world of the Wasteland, the world we all live in, and as such is an imperfect being. He does good and ill, just as we all do.” JH speaks of the Wanderer kindly, as if he’s a beloved friend, and in the next moment JH’s voice is harsh and critical, “You, John, are still living as though you are 19 and in the vault—an isolated place where every little mistake was compounded tenfold by the scarcity of freedom and the only ultimate good was to die in service of it.”

Deacon slams his Nuka Cola bottle down on the coffee table, heedless of the noise that it makes and stands, barely conscious of the real possibility that they’ll wake the entire safehouse if they keep arguing like this.

“You, of all people, have no right to be critical of the vault, my upbringing, or my father, when you, yourself, employed similar bullshit tactics in the Enclave.”

“Good to see we’re starting to make progress on this; shame that you have to angry to think clearly on the issue,” JH replies, exceedingly calm and Deacon wants to hit him. “And I am perfectly qualified to talk about this because, yes, in that former life, I did exactly the same thing. I won’t deny that.

“I have little doubt that James did not start out his tenure in the vault with the same views he had when he left it, but that’s what happens when you live in isolation. All you need is one rational sounding voice to repeat the same thing over and over and over again until one day you wake up believing the lie.

“In James’ case, the rational voice was his own because the lie he was selling was not to himself, John, but to you. And he said it so many times to you that he ended up believing it himself. Had Autumn pulled his coup 19 years before you were born, I have no doubt that James would have chosen to do one of the things I outlined before; however, living that long in the isolation of the vault skewed his view of the world. He mistakenly believed in the idea that the ultimate good is sacrifice.

“A belief that you cling to even now because the idea that he left you for any other reason is painful to contemplate.” JH pauses a moment and the ensuing silence is deafening. Deacon closes his eyes, furious, hurt, and betrayed all over again. “The simple fact of the matter is that James was as flawed as any of us. He made a mistake, he believed the lie and died because of it. There is no greater meaning to it than that, John. No nobility or heroism in it.”

Hot tears leak out of the corners of Deacon’s eyes as he whispers, “He didn’t — he didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I know,” JH replies sadly.

“Why didn’t he love me more than that stupid purifier?”

“I can’t answer that.”<<<

[theclosetpoet7]

Revolution

One , Two 

Rating: MA/NSFW

Chapter Three

Truce

Flames consumed the village, turning it into a place far worse than the pits of hell. Fire surged through, destroying homes, reducing them into dust. The land was filled with nothing but the desperate screams of people calling out for help, pleas for mercy, and shouts of agony at the loss of loved ones. Her soft footfalls could not be heard as she runs through her home. She pumps chakra into her feet as she forces herself to go faster. Her lungs screamed at her for she was out of breath, and she was slowly taking in soot from the ashes that surrounded her.

'Naruto!'

Her mind screamed for one name in particular. He was near. She could feel him. And he was going all out. She ran faster.

'Faster!'

She says to herself.

'I have to get to where he is!'

She loses her footing and lands face first on the ground. The oxygen is harshly knocked out of her lungs as she feels the impact. It takes a brief second for her to dwell on her pain, and she glares at her outfit. Pure white. A kimono made for a glorious occasion. She had been so careful with it, fully aware of the fact that it had cost her parents so much. Fully aware that it stood for something precious.

It was supposed to be a day filled with happiness. A commemoration of a bond that was meant to last for a lifetime. A bond that would forever be strong.

She regretfully tears the skirt and fashions a slit for her to move her legs more freely.

'Gomen, Kaa-san, Tou-san, looks like this wedding gown won't be able to serve its purpose.' She inwardly muses.

She stands up straight and decides to discard her dainty slippers for they were clearly hindering her speed. Why she still insisted on wearing them was beyond her.

Maybe it was because she still wanted to show him how pretty she looked. For him to know that no, she did not run away, and she was serious about marrying him.

What a fucking lie.

No.

She wanted him to see it.

He who had stolen her heart.

The person who had laid his claim on her.

Too many times.

Made her feel his love.

Made her see all the things that they could have been.

The things that they should have been.

But in the end, he didn't choose her.

And she didn't choose him.

He was selfish.

And she was loyal.

They were both idiots.

The ground beneath her started to shake and she almost lost her balance but she was an agile kunoichi, immediately sensing the danger as she launched herself up in the air. She gasped as she realized the cause of the quake, her heart thumped at the sight of it. Wasting no time, she swiftly landed a few meters from where she was. The ground was immediately stained with her blood as she casted the jutsu. Then she rose over all the buildings near her.

Sakura stood proud on Katsuyu as she stared equally at the enemy.

"I'm surprised to see you here."

She glared at the man standing on the gigantic serpent.

Why was it that even now, when he was attacking her home, she still found him to be the most beautiful thing she has ever laid her eyes on?

"Sakura, leave."

His voice had always been one that enchanted her. It spoke to her and filled her head with proposals that she hadn't accepted. Because it was too late. She had chosen a side. And she could never betray Naruto.

Never.

"Not on my wedding day."

The subtle shift of emotion in his eyes tells her that he had not gotten hold of the information she had just uttered. Of course, it had nearly been six months since their last encounter.

"Out of the way."

His words were cold, emotionless.

"No."

"Sakura."

"Onegai, Sasuke-kun!"

"Out of the way!"

His eye changed into its deadly red color. The Mangekyou Sharingan.

She breathed in deeply and formed the seal she had practiced for so long. A surge of chakra flowed through her. The green emblem appeared on her forehead as she summoned her strength.

"I'm not letting you hurt him."

"Sakura."

The expression in his eyes resembled one of agony.

"I will protect Naruto, even it means that I have to kill you Sasuke-kun!"

Then she launches herself at him, her fist a green glow as she summons her chakra to deliver one enormous blow.

"Shannaro!"

______________

Thwack!

Sasuke flinched as the sharp kunai embedded itself on the tree right next to his head. He momentarily pauses as the fact dawns on him.

She was pissed.

His obsidian depths follow the path where the weapon came from, a tint of something making itself known as soon as he saw cherry blossom strands come into view. His moment of weakness disappears however and he flashes fifteen yards away from the scene and starts running fast.

He almost loses his footing when a huge boulder zooms past him and lands with a loud thud. Eyes widened as he realized that she wasn't going to let this go.

She was seriously pissed.

Still he tries to evade her.

Who would want to be on the receiving end of that wrath? Certainly not him.

It amuses him a little. How much she has really changed. He had expected her to plead him, show him a few tears, scream at him with deep emotions that always seemed to strike a cord in him. What he didn't expect was her temper.

"Sasuke!"

Her voice reaches out to him and he vaguely estimates that she must be about thirty meters away. He clicks his tongue at the discovery, she was fast as well.

Or maybe it was because he wasn't running at top speed.

Because, for some reason, he didn't want to end their meeting.

Not just yet.

"Damn it! Sasuke-kun! Matte!" the sentences reach him again and he briefly contemplates if he should just stop running, whatever it was she wanted to…

His senses kick in just in time and he tilts his head a little to the right. A fist sized rock flew past him. That was when he finally decided to halt, because now, she was actually trying to hurt him. And she wasn't missing on purpose this time.

'What the fuck?'

Sasuke's footsteps slow and he decides on settling himself against a big oak tree, casually crossing his arms. He waits for a few seconds. That was all she needed before she could make her presence known.

He regards her with familiarity as she came into view, hair swaying in the wind, soft and silky. His thoughts immediately take him to that night, when he had taken her innocence away only to leave her the next day without so much as a goodbye or see you around. Her pink strands had made a good contrast to the white sheets on the bed they fucked in.

He knew that he was being cruel again. But he just couldn't help it. Sex was a distraction.

She was a distraction.

Sakura's eyes widened as she saw him leaning against the large tree. She was surprised that he finally decided to face her. Putting on her meanest glare she starts.

"Two months."

"…."

"Two fucking months!" she screamed.

"Sakura."

"You slept with me and I haven't seen you for two fucking months!"

"Hn."

"Don't you 'Hn' me you bastard!"

She narrows her eyes at him and has a cute little snarl on.

Sasuke doesn't even consider a reply.

"Then I find you in the Rock Village."

He scoffs.

"Where are you going with this Sakura?"

"You tried to steal the eight-tailed beast."

"..."

"You tried to hurt Bee-san."

"…"

"Are you really willing to kill good people for your goals?"

Her eyes flashed with disappointment.

It was a look that he didn't want to see on her.

"I found a way." He almost catches the admission but it was too late.

"What?"

"I found a way to kill the Bijuus without killing the Jinchuuriki."

He doesn't know why he told her this. Maybe it was because he knew that he was a good man. Or maybe it was because he didn't like the fact that she looked so troubled.

"I... What? How?" she stammers.

"I'm not answering that Sakura."

She lets out a frustrated groan.

"Fine!"

They were far from the Rock Village by now. Why Sakura was the only one to follow him, Sasuke does not know. He thought that he would be able to escape without being detected, but somehow, this ex teammate of his had discovered his presence. He should have been more cautious.

Sakura plops herself down on the ground, resting her arms on her knees as she tries to catch her breath. Sasuke allows himself to rest as well, plunging his sword into the soil, and sliding himself beside it. He reminds himself to stay sharp, because she may have approached him on her own for now, but who knows, maybe that other teammate of theirs would be able to realize that they were nearby.

Well, it's not like the dobe could catch him if he really wanted to get away.

He could go to another dimension if he wanted.

He briefly considers leaving her, but she is sitting across him, and the fact that she is ticked off intrigues him.

"You're really fast."

"Aa."

"And a good conversation starter."

The sarcasm in her voice tells him that she is still mad at him. Well, she deserved to be. If she wasn't angry then he would think that she was crazy. She shouldn't concern herself with matters that involved him. It just wasn't wise. She…

"How are you?"

...was an idiot.

Leave it to Sakura to always prove him wrong when it came to her feelings for him. Why was she so open? Why did she always feel the need to care for him? When he could never give her anything in return.

"I love you."

"Why did you leave?"

There is a hint of sadness in her voice, and she's bowing her head, turning away from him

He smirks.

"Haven't you ever had one-night stands before?"

Her head shoots up to regard him with a baffled look. Of course he knew that she hadn't. He was her first wasn't he? Sasuke ignores the guilt slowly creeping up when he sees the hurt expression on her face.

"Damn you Uchiha Sasuke."

The sentence is uttered in a defeated tone, as if he finally got through that thick skull of hers. As if he finally got his message across, that yes, he was a bastard, and she should stay away from him. Because if she continues to chase after him then…

"No, I haven't had a one night stand before."

He might not be able to run very far.

"You were my first."

His ears perked up at the words she just uttered.

Of course he knew that.

"And I've always wanted it to be you."

Damn her.

"Shut up."

Spewing nonsense.

She bites her lower lip at his harsh words. But as always, her heart is left wide open on her sleeve.

"If you have forgotten about that night then I might think that you don't…"

Then she has tears in her eyes again. He almost wanted to groan out loud. Annoying! This girl was really annoying! That mien on her face was always one that affected him. Even when he was still a genin. Whenever she cried, whenever she has that sad reflection in her eyes, whenever someone even thought about hurting one strand of hair on that pretty little head of hers. It always affected him. He briefly adds that it is he who is hurting her in this moment. He had probably hurt her many times before. Sasuke ignores that sinking feeling in his chest and instead lets out a sigh.

It was so easy to break Sakura's heart.

So easy.

"I remember."

But, he didn't feel like breaking it today.

______________

His eyes went to hers and Sakura nearly retreated from his deep stare. He frightened her. Not because she was afraid that he was going to hurt her but because she always saw herself as weak in front of his presence. And, she never really trusted her herself whenever she was with him.

If she was being honest, she knew that there was no endpoint to this conversation. He would eventually run from her. That is what he does best after all. As soon as he feels any trace of emotion in that cold heart of his, he would immediately retreat.

Wasn't that why he left the village in the first place?

To cut all ties?

She finds herself resting her head on her knees, staring at him. She contemplates about this man in front of her. Why did it have to be him? She doesn't know. Doesn't really know why she always chases after this person when she could be safe at home, with someone she is sure would never hurt her. Kami must really hate her. Because she loves him, the leader of the opposite side. She loves him.

And she won't give up on him.

Will never.

She wants to make him see the light, to make him come home. To make him realize that he should stop wanting to be alone. Because that would never make him happy.

But that would be impossible right?

Clearly, he didn't see her as more than just another woman that night.

She could never convince him to stop this war.

She would be a fool to believe that.

Her heart clenched at the thought.

He was always hurting her.

Always.

But still.

She loves him.

A drop on her face interrupts her thoughts, then it becomes a light pour as she picks herself off the ground, turns her back to him and says.

"I have a room in the next village."

She notes the hesitancy in his step as he secures his katana. And she nearly takes her words back, because of the implication of her suggestion. But she doesn't want to say goodbye for now. Maybe later. She has, after all, missed his presence.

"You'll need to get out of this rain right?"

"Sakura."

There is a warning tone to his voice.

"Neutral territory."

She finds herself saying the first thought on her head. He lets out a tired sigh. It doesn't take much to convince him to come along with her. And Sakura finds that small flash of hope in her heart that shouldn't even exist in the first place.

But, she trusts her instinct.

It seems that she does have a small hold on him.

Even just a little.

______________

"Give up trying to make me give up."

- Tales of the Gutsy Ninja by Jiraiya (Naruto by Masashi Kishimoto)

.

.

.

Again he finds himself in a room with his former teammate. And again, he doesn't really want to think about his actions anymore. A few hours ago, he had attempted to take the Eight-tailed beast. It was a failure of course, his jutsu still needed a lot of work. And now he had allowed Sakura to lead him into this simple motel.

He knows what will happen soon afterwards.

He lets out a sigh as he settles his belongings on the floor. Then with lightning speed, he picks up his katana again.

Seriously, why was it that he always seemed to let his guard down when it came to this woman? What did he know? She could slit his throat in his sleep if she wanted to.

Or he could slit hers.

"Neutral territory."

That had always been their reason as to why they could casually meet with one another the past year. Yes, it was neutral territory. But who could really stop them from killing each other when it came down to it? He could kill her and leave her in this building in a blink of an eye. And he knew she wouldn't even attempt to fight him.

Or would she?

"You can use the bath first Sasuke-kun."

He turns to regard the pinkette and feels his cheeks warm at the sight of her taking her top off. She wore a simple white bra and was soaking wet from the rain. He wonders if she ever exposed her body like this to other men. When they were genin, she would timidly hide herself behind a door or closet to change, but now, the fact that she so casually let him see her undergarments lets him question if she has altered that habit. He realizes that he doesn't exactly like the idea.

"You can use it first."

She turns to look at him, drops of water falling from her hair. She was growing it out, he noted. Her smooth tresses now reached up to just above her… He swallows the lump in his throat, because he had just caught himself staring at her chest.

There were a few strands right above her cleavage.

"And run the risk of you leaving without having a warm bath first? Ie, you use it first Sasuke-kun."

She has a light smile on and a small twinkle in her eye which spoke of mirth.

He narrows his eyes as if regarding her with suspicion, much like he had when they met at that bar and he was questioning her presence. But, things are different now.

"I promise I won't attack you Sasuke-kun."

The young kage doesn't really have the energy to argue at this point and honestly he did badly need a warm bath. He grabs his weapon and makes a beeline for the bathroom.

Sasuke knows that the chances of her attacking him while he bathed was slim but,

Better safe than sorry.

A few minutes later, he finds himself relaxed and refreshed as he walks out the bathroom, some steam coming out after him. He only has a towel on and finds Sakura on the bed, with a small robe wrapped tightly around her body. The sight appeared intimate, as if they were two lovers having a romantic rendezvous. Why was she so comfortable around him?

He almost calls out to her but loses her name when she turns to look at him with a welcoming smile on.

His neck burns at the spectacle. What was going on with him? Of course, he has always known that Sakura was fine-looking. It was a fact he refused to acknowledge in the past when bushy-browed boys in green spandex and blonde dead-last idiots made it known that she had their admiration. She would beat them up as always. But now, she appears open, and vulnerable. And he nearly shivers at the thought that he had a taste of what it was like to accept that.

And that was something he wanted to but couldn't quite forget.

She gets up from her seat and confidently makes her way into the bathroom to cleanse herself, leaving a trace of her sweet scent in the air. Sasuke fights the twitching of his fingers and resists the urge to pull her to him. When the door closes and snaps him out of his thoughts, he smirks and runs a hand through his hair.

What was the point of fighting it?

He finally admits it to himself. He knows what he wants. Knows what he had unceasingly wanted, since that night.

No, maybe even before that.

There had always been a part of him that wondered what it would be like to be with her. To simply be with Haruno Sakura.

He had repeatedly stopped himself.

But now, in this moment, he doesn't want to.

In this moment, they had the night to themselves.

And in this moment, she is his.

As she probably always has been.

Yes, he knows what is going to happen. Has known that there had been something between them from the start.

It was only a matter of time before he got his hands on her again. Even if she hadn't chased him down today, he knows that eventually he was going to seek her out. No one could possibly stop it.

Not Karin.

Nor Orochimaru.

Not even Naruto.

When she comes out of the bathroom, appearing content and happy, with a pink flush on her skin, he wastes no time in pulling her to him and closing their distance.

.

.

.

Because he himself could not stop it.

______________

The feel of his lips on hers as he parts the robe she has on makes Sakura sigh with the need of having those hands of his on her warm body. He is on top of her now, her legs dangling off the edge of the bed, with his right knee pressed between them as his other hand cups one breast.

He surprised her with his aggressiveness.

But she finds herself wanting him all the same. She would always want him.

She rests herself on her elbows and guides them to the center of the bed, Sasuke follows with no hesitation and Sakura eagerly pulls his head down to press a kiss, then a lick on his neck.

Then, she switches their position and has him pinned beneath her.

His eyes widened for a second but his hands immediately rest on her hips and pull her against him.

"I've always wondered."

She starts.

She looks at his face and memorizes the expression on him.

Sasuke's breath hitches when her hand lowers to cup him through his yukata, eyes wild with confidence when she found that he was nearly hard.

"Sakura."

Her head lifts to stare at him seductively. Then she subtly licks her lips, an action that did not go unnoticed. Her heart pumps loudly as he regards her with a smoldering look, lids slightly lowered. Her core throbbed when his eyes told her that he has realized what she is about to do.

Then she finally lets out the words that she hopes will break his control.

"I want to touch you."

She is aware that she is burning red now, but this is what she wants to give him.

He groans at the sentence, but still has an apathetic face on.

Sakura wonders how long he will be able to keep up that façade.

Wonders what it would be like to have him writhing with want for her.

Her hand snakes inside and grabs his manhood with the forwardness she did not know she possessed. Slowly but surely she starts to move her hand up and down.

Up and down.

Squeezing him every now and then.

Up and down.

Ah, there.

He twists his face into one of pleasure. The sight has her wet instantly. How he managed to appear hotter than he already does is beyond her. But, within the four walls of this tiny room she rented, Uchiha Sasuke looks pleased.

And hard.

And he is letting out small pants that encourage her.

She wonders how far she can take this.

And the thought comes to her in waves of heat and passion that she almost wanted to press her body to his and rub it on him. To feel him against every part of her.

Inside her.

She lowers her head to him, but he stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Sakura… what…"

She meets his gaze and says a sentence that has always been in her head. Has always been there when she had wet dreams, when she had fantasies after reading a hot novel, and when late at night she glances at his picture by her bedside and imagines him above her looking at her person with the same intensity he reserved for battles.

"Will you let me taste you Sasuke-kun?"

The room is silent, and thick with the scent of anticipation between the two occupants.

Uchiha Sasuke stares at her as if what she said was something he never believed would come out of her. She is beyond embarrassed by her crassness now. But he is still hard, and his hand is still on her shoulder. She looks at him with determination, and tucks a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. A slight angle to her chin, indicating that she is waiting for his consent.

He looks away and Sakura fights the disappointment. Maybe this was too much?

But he bows his head and nods at her, grip tightening a bit but eventually letting go, as he settles onto his back again and observes her.

She touches him again and repeats her previous motion, then she leans down, and blows lightly. The action expels another groan from him and he instantly fists his hand on the sheets. With his muscles tightened, Sakura could feel the way he is holding back.

But, she parts her lips.

And before she takes him in, she meets his eyes, refusing to break contact so she could see it.

See Sasuke lose all inhibitions.

He finally lets out a moan when her mouth goes around him. Sakura resists the urge to jump for joy at his surrender because she knows that she has power over him now. Slowly, she bobs her head, and tastes him. She takes him in soft licks and sexy groans. And continues the assault.

Kami, he tasted amazing.

She couldn't stop herself from groaning when his hand goes to her head and guides her closer to him.

She couldn't stop herself from sighing with contentment when he started pumping into her moist crevice.

She couldn't stop herself from swelling with pride when he cums just seconds in.

And, she couldn't stop herself from crying out his name when he pushes her onto her stomach and has his way with her.

______________

"Come home with me."

His eyes widened at the absurdness of what she just said. She is sitting between his legs on the bath tub, hands gathering foamy bubbles in them and releasing a soft breath to watch them float away. Her head is turned to the right, staring at his sword propped against the wall. The position allows him to have a good view of her back.

He presses his fingers to her chin and shifts her attention to him.

Then, he pins her with his stare.

Sakura lifts a hand to her mouth and laughs hard.

"Nanjatte!"

Sasuke lifts an eyebrow at her childlike antics, she was fooling around, clutching a hand to her stomach. A finger wipes a happy tear from her left eye as she continues to giggle.

"Kami, you should have seen the look on your face!"

"Hn."

He almost feels like smiling too, except that, this isn't funny at all. Their situation.

"It would be stupid of me right? To ask you to do that. When you didn't even stay after that first night."

Her tone, which had been light and teasing, had immediately turned sour.

"I was just using you, you know? Because I was curious."

"Sakura."

"We can't deny the fact that you're handsome Sasuke-kun, of course I would wonder what it was like to be with you."

He doesn't understand why she is saying this.

"Naruto finally confessed to me."

The sentence renders him utterly speechless.

"…."

She wraps her hands around her knees and pulls them closer to her chest. He resists the desire to turn her head to him again and settles on gazing at her nape instead.

"I didn't believe it at first. Thought it was just a silly crush. But he said that he loves me and he wants to be with me."

Sasuke feels something odd and glares at the ceiling. He lets out a deep sigh, arms relaxed, hanging loosely at the sides of the tub. He already knew that Naruto was hopelessly in love with Sakura. Had been since they were young. During their fight with Kaguya, the idiot always seemed to think of her.

"Did you thank Sakura-chan?"

"You didn't have to put her under a genjutsu!"

Jealousy surges through him.

"I didn't say yes."

Then relief.

And then,

Anger.

Because why the hell would he feel relieved that she said no to Naruto. This was stupid. What they were doing. He had avoided her for two months, he could damn well do it again. It wasn't like she was useful to him. Sakura had nothing to offer him.

"I'll make every day so fun that you wouldn't have time to think you were ever lonely!"

She was just another woman.

Just a girl who ignited something inside him.

Just a girl who had always ignited something inside him.

And kami was she beautiful.

Maybe he was just fed up with Karin.

Maybe Sakura was merely there to fill his sexual exploits.

Until someone better comes along.

A part of him knew this wasn't true though.

He had gone two months without the feel of another person's body.

Much to Karin's disappointment.

That first night after he slept with Sakura, he had thought about taking Karin so aggressively that at first, when she had attempted to seduce him, he had taken her offer with the intent of forgetting about the pink-haired medic. Her body had responded to him like it always had. And he had taken pleasure in her. But when she started to moan out loud, when she started to let out that voice of hers which was too high-pitched for his liking, he had to clamp a hand over her mouth. Because somehow…

It felt completely different.

All of a sudden, he couldn't help but compare.

Her scent was different.

Her hair, was not as soft. Was not pink enough.

And her eyes, her red red eyes, were far from the green that he wanted to see.

And just like that, he stopped.

Pulled away.

And left her.

A soft hand runs along his cheek.

He closes his eyes and marvels at the softness of her touch.

"Sasuke-kun, what are we doing?"

He turns his face to the side and puts an elbow on his forehead, leaning against the wall behind him. The position hides her face from his view. Then,

He looks into her emerald green irises and couldn't help but want her again.

"I don't know."

He was met with a silence he wasn't accustomed to. Maybe she didn't know as well; what it was they were doing. The friendship they formed over a year ago never really did make any sense. And the fact that they slept together only served to complicate things between both shinobi. But what they had, it isn't something he thinks about giving up in this moment. He knows that now. A thought briefly passes over his head, and he finds himself nearly smirking at it.

Turning his back on them had always been a challenging feat.

"You were wrong."

She pulls back to regard him with curiosity, waiting for him to elaborate on his statement.

"What you said back then."

"…."

"It wasn't easy."

She tilts her head to one side, indicating that she didn't quite understand what he was trying to say.

"Leaving you three."

Understanding dawns on her.

"There are also things that I dislike. Like how easily you casted us, your comrades aside."

The smile she has on is beautiful, and Sasuke realizes that this may be a weakness he wishes did not exist. Because why did this woman make him want to keep her to himself? To keep this to himself? She looks straight into his eyes again and he finds that whatever it was she was thinking, he just knows that it would be his undoing.

"Do you want to stop seeing me?"

She runs a hand through her pinks locks. And fidgets nervously. He closes his eyes and lets out a heavy breath. He knows what she is offering.

"Because if you don't want to see me again. If you want to forget about the year we had… The night we had. Then just say so."

She looks at anything but him. Then hooks emerald with obsidian again.

"I can't, I can't fight if I don't know what I'm fighting for Sasuke-kun."

She was biting her lip again, like she was afraid that he was going to say that he didn't want to see her. Words which should've left his mouth, but didn't.

He pulls her face to him again and lowers down to capture her pouting lips.

The gasp she lets out, he curses, immediately has him hard and wanting.

"No."

"No?"

"I don't want to stop seeing you."

Her smile was instantaneous. And he wants to berate her for letting him have this hold on her. For always letting him catch glimpses of what can make him happy. Glimpses of what he could have with her if he just let her in. But hadn't he already reserved himself to be alone in this world? Hadn't he already decided that he was fine with being everyone's enemy?

How could he do that if he was so enamored with her? So captivated? Like he always had been.

It takes a flick of his finger, and a lick from his tongue to get her going again.

And, it takes one moan from her to harden him so he can be inside her.

He enters her and allows himself this weakness.

______________

When they separate, he goes back to the Sound Village and takes his seat as Otokage. He is working his way to victory again when he finally perfects the jutsu and takes the eight-tailed beast from Killer Bee five months later. The jinchuuriki was left severely damaged, but alive, as he hoped. And he had gained A's respect when he takes the bijuu's life with just a glance of his rinnegan. He leaves the Rock Village when he senses Naruto's chakra nearby, and resists the urge to confront his rival upon sensing Sakura's presence again.

He feels a bit of relief because he knows that she will be able to save Bee's life.

Three days after the incident, they meet again. But there is no word about it, just a spark in her demeanor when she pushes him to his back and rides him hard.

______________

Her constant presence over the next few months distracts him and nearly makes him forget about his goals in the first place. But he wants her. So bad now that eventually he finds himself thinking about her more than what was deemed appropriate.

During his meetings, she is there.

When he hones his swordsmanship, she is there.

As he lies in his huge king-sized bed, she is there.

And when he wishes for a dreamless slumber, she appears to him in clouds of steam and soaking tresses, beckoning him to her.

Eventually, they start playing with fire when he asks her to meet him in his village, with the plan of booking a bigger room and the instructions of not wearing her forehead protector when she goes to meet him.

He tells himself to expect her absence but is relieved when she appears before him outside the establishment with a henge on which he tells her to dispel the moment he closes the door behind them.

Their nights are filled with pleasure, and after, when their bodies lay drenched in the glow of their activities. She starts to chat with him animatedly again. And soon, they find themselves sinking into that routine of not mentioning the war and simply letting themselves bask in each other's presence.

Sasuke finds himself unable to end their arrangement. And he finds himself slowly desiring for her to be by his side. Because, that, he thinks, is where she belongs.

Not by that dobe's.

It is nearly eight months into their relationship when he wakes up with her back pressed closely to his that he realizes that he is in love with her. And he is happy. Not because he feels as if the war is going to end with him victorious, but because she is there when he wakes up. He pulls her closer to him and nuzzles her neck affectionately, an action he thought he would never be able to do. He takes in her relaxed posture, hair, now reaching up to her lower back, a hand on top of his own which was wrapped around her tiny waist, and lips parted as she breathes in and out.

"You're awake."

"Mou, Sasuke-kun, I wanted to savor what you were doing just now."

She opens one eye at him and has a playful grin on.

"We need to get going."

They waste no time in gathering their clothes and securing their belongings.

They had made time for only one night.

She casts the henge on again and turns to him with a blush and leans to him expectantly.

He knows what she wants but finds himself focusing on her silky (black in this moment) hair as it falls over her shoulder.

"Your hair is longer."

She instantly reddens at the comment and stutters out a string of words that raises one of his eyebrows.

"Oh, so you noticed huh? Yeah, I've always liked my hair longer, do you? I mean, doesn't really matter if you like it, but I had always wondered. There was a rumor once, when we were younger that you liked long hair. Well, not that I'm growing mine out just to get your attention, I mean, it's easier to tie up, you know, rather than have my short hair fall so carelessly around my face. Yeah, it's because I can tie it up now."

She appeared cute in this moment, and he couldn't help but capture her lips in his to shut her up. He pulls away and sees that she is blushing again. Why she blushed after they have done so many things to each other, sinful things, is beyond him. But he steps away from her and bids her farewell with the promise of seeing her again soon.

Sakura is left speechless as he exits the room through the window.

______________

When he returns to his base, Orochimaru is waiting for him. His master, as he always does, appears suspicious. But it has been a long time since Sasuke has talked with him, because the Sannin had taken to observing him in the shadows since this war started.

"A little bird told me that you have been frequenting this hotel in the village Sasuke-kun."

"Orochimaru."

"She must be beautiful huh? This woman you are seeing."

Sasuke narrows his eyes at his former master.

"Does it matter who I'm fucking?"

"Yes, if you spill your seed in an unworthy vessel you see, things might not be as it should."

It was disgusting the way Orochimaru viewed other human beings as just a means to his own end. He had trained Sasuke with the motive of having the young Uchiha's body for his own, but had failed to do so.

Sasuke lets out a scoff and proceeds to walk past his master.

"Sasuke-kun, you wouldn't like to restore your clan through the body of a whore. Or the enemy."

The sentence renders him immobile. And he considers the hidden threat in the monster's voice. Did he find out? He nearly plunges his sword through the old Sannin's chest. How dare he call her a whore? Of all people. But the idea of Sakura carrying his heir, her belly full and round with the weight of their child catches his attention. And, it lets him think about a future with her. And surprisingly, he finds that he doesn't hate it in the least. In fact, he wants it.

It wouldn't be possible though.

No matter how much he wants it.

Orochimaru throws a small box to him and he catches it in his hand without hesitation.

"This was supposed to be a gift on your eighteenth birthday, but seeing as at the time you seemed to be uninterested in the opposite sex, I decided to forego the present until you were. It belonged to your clan."

Sasuke opens the box and his eyes widened at the sight in front of him.

Promise rings.

He knows this isn't good news.

"Uzumaki Karin has proven to be a worthy future matriarch in my opinion. Not that it matters. But,"

Sasuke could hear the way the serpents tongue slid over his slimy lips.

"I've known that it isn't 'nothing' you feel for her, if the sounds of her pleasured moans in your room are counted as proof, even if it has been months since you've had her."

The avenger's hands tighten around the gift and he considers throwing it at his master's face.

"But Sasuke-kun, you've made a vow to change the world. And to restore honor to your clan. Wouldn't it be perfect if you restored two clans in the process?"

The immortal man left his student to his own musings. Uchiha Sasuke stops the surge of thoughts in his head. Because all he could think about was Sakura and the fact that she wasn't in this building like Karin was. And she wasn't on his side like Karin was, and she most especially wasn't loyal to him like Karin was. He tries to find a reason, any reason to contest his master's suggestion but he finds himself being unable to come up with an excuse.

He glances at the rings again and pictures her with one of them in her left ring finger. It would definitely suit her.

But, it wasn't like she was going to say yes anyway.

That night, the peace of his fortress in Otogakure is interrupted by a loud "Yes" as Uzumaki Karin accepts his proposal.

And Sasuke tries with every fiber of his being not to imagine Haruno Sakura in front of him instead.

______________

Two shinobi stood in front of the other.

Both powerful warriors.

Both Legendary Sannin with immense power.

And both foolish enough to fight for what they believed in.

As Uchiha Sasuke stares at Haruno Sakura, he couldn't help but remember the nights they had together. All embedded so deep into his memory that he couldn't even hope to erase her very existence. And he wanted to, he so desperately wanted to.

Because he is fighting for something she doesn't believe in.

And she is fighting for the person who stood in his way.

And

.

.

.

They were enemies.

______________

AN: Nanjatte - just kidding

Oh my gosh! It's been so long! Writer's block's a bitch alright. Anyway, Thank you, thank you for reading my stories. I know it would be asking too much for you to be patient with me, but I guess for now, it takes time to come up with a good chapter. And I don't want to push myself too hard and end up writing up crap just to update. I hope you haven't forgotten this fic. :P Actually, like all my other stories, scenes have already been typed up, but I still need some time to figure out how to go about it. Okay, if some of you are confused by the timeline, I'm jumping through past, present and future like crazy. Why? Coz I like it :) But I think the timeline speaks for itself :) It's up to you how you interpret it :)

Shout out to my best friend who was awesome enough to buy me the last volume of Naruto! I love you SMMB! :) 3

Read and review ;)

[fuyu-r1n]

RANT RANT RANT.Call me a hater or whatever you want, I’m sick of this bullshit.

Lately I’ve been seeing a lot of drama around Jin with Seo Taiji’s remake of “Come Back Home.” 

I’m a Jin fan, and I love him just as much as everyone else who stans him. He’s my drive to almost everything and he’s the reason why I’m trying to be a better person for myself and for others around me. I’ve learned so much from him and he will always be my number one, even if I love all the other members, he’s special to me. 

Yes, I am annoyed that he doesn’t get enough lines or screen time, and yes I am annoyed he wasn’t in the banner for CJENMUSIC’s banner, they’re being rude and disrespectful to BTS and Jin for leaving him out, and thanks to many ARMY, they changed it. 

What I’m super annoyed at this point is how people started fanwars based on their own assumptions and calling Jin fans “antis” because they don’t “stand up” for him, and also spreading hate towards the company.

To start off, I’d like to say “Come Back Home” is a REMAKE of Seo Taiji’s original song, it’s NOT ABOUT BTS, IT IS NOT BTS’S SONG, IT’S SEO TAIJI, and to disrespect the legendary Seo Taiji by saying he’s “nugu” because people will only think of the remake as a BTS song, then you seriously need to do your research. Seo Taiji is HIGHLY RESPECTED IN SOUTH KOREA. Don’t assume BTS is the only group in the world that everyone cares about.

okay, let’s move on...let’s continue with BigHit.

Many ppl starts calling them “BigShit” because of the way they “mistreat” Jin. I get it, he doesn’t get enough lines in their albums, I’m upset as well. 

First off, BigHit started off as a very small company, they had nothing, for a company that starts off with nothing and still treats their artists like human beings is rare, do you think they would let Jin or other BTS members upload videos about them complaining about the company? no! if this was SM or YG, they’ll have to either leave the company to do so, or get into serious trouble from the CEO.

As for Jin’s voice. Jin said so himself that it’s unavoidable if his voice doesn’t suit the “color” of their songs. I agree and disagree to this, but it doesn’t mean BigHit has brainwashed him to think his voice isn’t for BTS and only suits ballads. If they don’t his voice only suits ballads, why did they even debut him with a HIP HOP GROUP??? Think about it. If Jin’s voice doesn’t suit BTS, why was he in BTS in the first place? why did they debut him as one of BTS? for visual? is BigHit that petty? is Bang PD that much of an idiot to put someone in a Hip Hop group just for looks? They’re saying his voice suits ballad because it’s soft and full of emotions, they’re not telling him that to put him down. BTS isn’t a group that sings about heartbreaks and love between lovers. Their main genre of music isn’t ballad, they don’t DO ballad. They can if they want to but that’s not who BTS is.

Secondly, when the producers reject his songs/melody etc.

If a melody or lyrics does not fit a song they’re producing, it doesn’t fit. There’s no use sugar coating it. Tae had his lyrics and melodies rejected just as much as Jin has. They’re artists who wants to produce quality music, The line distribution isn’t decided just by Bang PD and their producers, Namjoon and Yoongi are also part of the producing process. The other producers don’t half ass their job, if they do BTS wouldn’t be where they are today. Yes JK gets too many lines, but his voice is known to be very versatile and it’s just the right sound that suits BTS, I’m not saying Jimin, Jin and Tae’s voices don’t suit BTS, I’m saying JK’s voice is “known’ to be the “sound” of BTS, he’s the main vocalist. it’s not something you can just “create” just so people don’t get emotionally hurt in the process, it’s business, this is the real world, wake up.

Third. The case with Jin getting injured and BigHit “not giving a shit” about him. Have you stopped to think about the possibilities as to WHY they didn’t? BigHit has posted a statement in the past when Jin was injured during ISAC. They’re not neglecting him, and knowing Jin, he probably didn’t want to make it a big deal either. The case with Namjoon’s toe was because it happened the day before their last tour dates, wouldn’t people think “Geez, why isn’t he dancing like the others? what’s wrong with him?” it would make sense for the company to inform the fans that he wasn’t allowed to dance BECAUSE OF DOCTOR’S ORDERS, you think Namjoon would want the whole world to know he stubbed his toe that his nails were “lifted”? hell no!. Jin at Kcon was AFTER the performance, he probably didn’t want to make such a big deal about it and hope it would go away if he rest. 

If BigHit is the spawn of the devil, why would they bother to let the boys rest? they might as well drive them like slaves like the other companies do. BTS CHOSE to work hard, they CHOSE to practice, they’re grown men and they have a say in things.

Another thing I would like to point out and it has been driving me nuts...Jin did not cry because Japanese ARMYs clapped for him after Awake during that ONE tour, no, they’ve been clapping for him since DAY 1 whenever he finish singing Awake, this wasn’t a one time thing, don’t blow things out of proportion. I was at 7 out of 13 of their Wings tour in Japan, don’t tell me what I didn’t see.

Jin also got to sing an OST with Tae for “Even if I die, it’s you” If BigHit really treats him like shit, they would easily give that part to JK. 

As for Jin not getting any lines for Special stages, I’m also salty and disappointed that he didn’t get any.... but also he’s not the only one. The maknae line was chosen more of the time because their voices suits it more, can you imagine Jin singing a rock or rap song? (Don’t lie, we’ve all heard him rap) 

Another thing people have been pointing out is from Bon Voyage episode 2. Jin mentioned he makes himself act goofy and silly to see other happy makes him happy. Don’t misinterpret his words. There are many ways to approach this. From my point of view, I see Jin had taught himself how to be happy by making others happy, he’s not forcing himself to do things he doesn’t like, he said so himself he likes to goof around as well, he felt free. 

Lastly, calling someone “fat” isn’t emotional abuse. If you don’t understand asian culture and have only understood it from watching your oppa through a tv screen, then you need to do your research on culture. It’s very common in my country and in Korea to say “oh, did you gain weight?” or “oh, you got fat.” as a sort of greeting. I get called fat ALL THE TIME whenever I visit home, and I weigh 46kg. If Bang PD really didn’t care about Jin, would he pay so much attention to their growth? Bang PD mentioned how Jin’s down to earth personality doesn’t change, he watch these boys grow as their own sons, especially in Asia where showing “love” isn’t as open as what your culture would be like. (my parents still feel awkward saying “I love you”)

There’s so much more I want to say and my thoughts are all over the place, but I’m going to stop here before my blood boils. You can think whatever you want, you can send me hate calling me a fake fan or whatever, I’m simply stating my opinions just like you. I’m just sick and tired of teenagers with thousands of followers on twitter thinking they know shit when obviously they don’t even do basic research. It’s people like you who spreads hate thinking you’re spreading awareness that’s toxic to the fandom. How do you think Jin feels that he’s sandwich in between the company and you people? he’s stressed enough.

Basically, what I want to say is, don’t blindly believe what others say about BTS and BigHit, please judge them through what you know of them and not what people tell you after bending the truth. I’m not saying BigHit is the perfect company, a friend once told me “All bosses are evil, it’s just how they express it.

Jin wants to sing, he wants to shine, we all want him to shine and he shined like the brightest start when he sand his solo “Awake”, but don’t throw shit at the others, without the other members or BigHit, there won’t even be a BTS. Please know when to be grateful and when to speak up.

 I love BTS, I love Jin, Namjoon, Yoonji, Hobi, Jimin, Tae and JK, BTS isn’t BTS without all 7 of them. I will continue to support them despite what you think of me. I’m an ARMY and you can’t take that away from me no matter what. Don’t even bother to justify yourself and proof me wrong or some shit through replies and reblogs, because.....

 I don’t give shit and I don’t give a fuck.