#people aren’t persuaded by harsh criticism and insults

[trust-me-i-just-get-weirder]

No matter how righteous you think your beliefs are, they never give you the right to be cruel. I was just scrolling through the notes on a post on outdoor cats, and I saw people taking about breaking outdoor cat owner’s legs, stealing their pets and giving them to kill shelters, and shooting outdoor cats with a BB gun. Do you think an outdoor cat owner is going to read that and change their ways? Do you think they’re going to feel anything other than fear? If that’s how you respond, you’re not an advocate for animal welfare. You’re an asshole who’s found an acceptable target.

#personal #discourse #outdoor cats #people aren’t persuaded by harsh criticism and insults #that’s not how any of this works #the best you’re doing is recruiting undecided people to your side out of fear and galvanising angry people against you #I’ve seen actual vets talking about this and you know what they do? #softly bring it up and encourage vaccination and checkups #no one is persuaded by insults fucking Christ #yes I am kind of going against my own principles here by calling people assholes #but like #it’s kind of appropriate in this specific instance

[soulofatiny]

No fear, I’m here… Extra: taunting constellations

backstory edition: wooyoung

warning(s): cursing, mentions of blood, gore, angst angst angst

word count: 5.3k 

a|n: please read after ch. 6 to avoid any possible spoilers!! happy reading, loves💕

masterlist

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— 2011 —

“You piece of shit! Get back down here!!”

Wooyoung climbed the ladder hastily, hearing the metal clang and feeling the cool sensation on his hands as he ascended up to his safe haven- well close to one anyway. Once he reached the top, he swung his body over the black metal bars of the balcony that matched with the ladders. He took one last look down and smirked to himself when he saw the culprits of the piercing screams of threats that were a lot fainter in volume due to the distance. No one would have dared to climb the run-down ladder that could’ve fallen apart any time by now, except for Wooyoung. He didn’t care.

“You motherf*ckin’ coward!!”

Wooyoung frowned at the stifled insult coming from his tormentors. 

He wasn’t a coward… they were. 

“Piss off, bastards.”

He murmured his final comment at his bullies and turned to open the window of the shabby apartment complex that connected with his bedroom. It was technically an attic, but that was where Wooyoung resided based on the decision of two drunkards that were called his foster parents, who, unfortunately, had power over his life. The window slammed shut the moment he fully entered his slightly dusty room, which he always cleaned but something about attics made the dust collect easily. He whipped his backpack off and let his body fall back and direct slam against his bed, feeling the springs of the mattress press his back slightly as it creaked with old age. The insults of his bullies echoed in his mind. It wasn’t anything new, the verbal abuse. Sometimes even physical if he didn’t run fast enough away from them after school ended. Wooyoung closed his eyes, hoping that he would have a temporary escape from life but as soon as he felt himself drift into sleep, harsh yelling and shouts echoed from below the floor jolted him awake. But once he realized that it was just his foster parents arguing, he sighed and laid his body back to sleep. 

It wasn’t anything new in Wooyoung’s life. Being bullied five out of seven days and hearing screams of colorful language from his foster “family” 24/7. 

It wasn’t anything new and he was used to it. 

This was his life. 

A typical way that twelve-year-olds lived. Wake up, eat leftovers from his foster parents, school, bully encounters, escape, go home, hearing shouts of arguments, maybe eat leftovers, sleep, and repeat. 

He continued living throughout his unproductive life until one storming Saturday night. 

Wooyoung jolted awake at the clanging of his balcony, taking notice on how it was much too loud for it to just be raindrops hitting the metal. He gazed out the window, squinting his eyes to focus on his sight more in the dark and waited to see if he’ll hear it again. As a bolt of lightning struck, the flash of light exposed a silhouette of a figure that was leaning against the side of his window from the outside. Wooyoung reached for the baseball bat on his bedside immediately and ran to his window to meet his perpetrator. He yanked the window open, allowing the gush of wind mixed with icy raindrops to sneak into his room and seep into his shirt. His eyes slowly began adjusting to the dark night sky that inhibited his vision. 

“Who the hell are you?!” Wooyoung yelled, preparing himself to swing at the unwanted stranger. 

When he was met with silence, he swung the bat but the stranger merely grabbed the tip of the bat and voiced his wish, “I’ll stay out here. Just...let me stay here for the night and I’ll leave–”

Wooyoung was surprised to hear the stranger speak up, his voice was youthful and was tinged with pain. Wooyoung let his grip on the bat loose and hurriedly switched his lights on. His eyes grew round at the sight before him. A boy who looked around his age was grasping his arm desperately, trying to stop the flow of blood that was pouring out from his arm. 

Blood. 

“O-Oh my god! b-b...blo–”

“Yes. It's blood. Now shut the window and let me go to sleep.”

Wooyoung stared at him in disbelief. Did he seriously ask him to leave so he could sleep? Out in this storm? Not only that but judging by the paleness of his complexion, he must’ve lost a lot of blood already. That guy would be crazy to expect that he would still be alive to leave or even see another day tomorrow. 

“Hurry up and close the window-” the boy uttered, voice slightly annoyed.

Wooyoung ignored his wishes and instead, grasped the stranger’s uninjured arm to swing it around his own shoulders for support.

“What are you doing?”

“I just don’t want to see a dead person outside my window when I wake up the next day…”

The boy remained silent for a moment until he finally asked, “What’s your name?”

“Wooyoung. What’s yours?”

“W-…San. My name is San.” 

Wooyoung nodded as he gently sat San down on the wooden floor, “I’ll be right back. You’re probably going to need stitches.”

When Wooyoung came back, he disinfected San’s arm and began stitching the deep wound.

“How do you even know how to do this? Aren’t eleven-year-olds suppose to play video games or something?” San said as he examined Wooyoung’s swift work.

“I’m twelve- actually, no. I’m thirteen. Not eleven.” 

San looked at him questioningly, “Sounds like you’re not even sure how old you are.”

Wooyoung worked on the final touches, snipped the remaining thread off, and looked at San, “I’m thirteen. I just forgot today was my birthday.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks.”

“No, thank you...for saving me.”

— 2 years later —

Shortly after he and San met nearly two years ago, San tried to persuade Wooyoung to leave his current dwelling, saying that it wasn’t good enough for a good person like Wooyoung. He kept getting abused by not only his bullies, but his foster parents as well and it was getting physically and mentally draining for him. But what truly convinced him to leave was when Wooyoung got beat so badly that he could hardly move his body. San was treating his injuries this time, roles reversed since the first time they met and spoke the words, “They are not your family. I will be your family instead. Your real family.” 

And that was exactly what finalized his decision.

As soon as Wooyoung healed enough to the point where he could move his body again, he left without ever looking back. 

Ever since Wooyoung cut ties with his foster parents, San taught him everything he knew about combat. It turns out that Wooyoung was extremely gifted at aiming. Whereas, San’s preferred area was blades. Although Wooyoung was clearly skilled, he’s never used it upon a person, mainly carrying the gun to scare people off. He purposefully fires and aim only centimeters away from their heads to threaten them, but never kill. Wooyoung wasn’t actually sure how San knew so much about combat or weaponry for a teenage boy but he didn’t question it. San gave off an aura that was almost threatening if he mentioned even the slightest regarding his past whereabouts. The only thing Wooyoung knew about San’s past was that he didn’t grow up under normal circumstances and on the storming night when they first met, San briefly mentioned someone named Nana who had saved him. Which was why San was able to make it to Wooyoung’s window that night and he was genuinely content with knowing just that because he gained someone to call family in return.

“Look what I’ve found,” San threw a fairly large bag on top of the table, letting stacks of cash slip out of its opening.

Wooyoung smirked at the sight, “And where did you exactly find this?”

“Oh you know…it was sort of unoccupied so I gave it a home. Our home,” San grinned as he gestured his hands at him and Wooyoung’s shared residence. 

San laid on the sofa and watched Wooyoung count their new income on the table, his attention fully on the money to make sure he doesn’t miscount. 

“So what are we doing tonight?” San asked as he tossed a knife up in the air while he was laying down and catching it nonchalantly. 

“The usual,” Wooyoung answered back, his attention absorbed on the money. 

San sat up as he caught the knife again with perfect timing, “The usual? Or the usual?

Wooyoung placed the wad of money back onto the table, “$10k,” then looking up while mirroring San’s smug smile, “Let’s do the usual.”

The usual activity that Wooyoung and San partake in is an activity where they go out at night and steal from rival gangs instead of stealing from standard stores. Being put into dangerous spots gave them an intense thrill and they loved the feeling of adrenaline pumping in their veins to the max. At first, they used to do this only every so often, but eventually began getting more open to the excitement and became a habit for them to do this every night, almost as if it was a game for them. A game that they were truly addicted to without any hint of awareness that their usual activity would be their critical downfall. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wooyoung! Run faster!” San screamed back at his friend who was following behind him.

It was odd. 

“Hurry up! Move your legs, come on!!”

Wooyoung and San have done this many times before and got out completely unharmed for the most part but tonight...

Tonight was different. 

The gang that they decided to steal from were not like the usual gangs they’ve previously encountered. They were instead, a lot stronger and Wooyoung and were severely outnumbered. Which was why, instead of behind unharmed, San got stabbed in the shoulder by one of the members who snuck up behind them. However, he wouldn’t have gotten stabbed if Wooyoung had paid closer attention to his surroundings more. As Wooyoung was running in desperation, he felt immensely wretched with guilt. 

“Run faster! They’re catching up!” San screamed again as a trail of blood followed his footsteps. 

Wooyoung felt nauseous hearing the screams of the gang that was chasing behind them so nearby but even worse the guiltiness that chased after him. Wooyoung was so lost in his self-condemnation that he almost didn’t notice San stopping all of the sudden. 

“Shit!”

He was about to ask what was wrong and why San stopped so abruptly but finally realized the new heavy situation that they were in. 

A dead end. 

Wooyoung hastily looked around with anxiousness and turned to see behind him as the gang caught up to them, blocking their only escape. As they were nearing closer to him and San, Wooyoung then looked up, still desperate to find their freedom. But all he could see were layered bricks that created walls towering over them. The walls... and the night sky. The stars were beautiful...so uncharacteristically beautiful for this wicked situation that he felt the twinkling constellations were almost taunting them. The stars were free, but they weren’t even close. 

He shut his eyes as he looked down and clenched his jaw, unable to handle the taunting as the gang began circling them, completely encaging both him and San. 

This was it. 

He and San were going to die here tonight and it was all his fault. San continued to give threatening glares at the gang that almost made them waver due to how intense his eyes were but still kept strong when they heard their boss command them, “Kill them off.” 

San slowly reached for Wooyoung’s shoulder and whispered, “Wooyoung. Don’t freak out. I’ll finish thi–”

When Wooyoung lifted his head up, San’s words were cut short and was utterly stunned when his friend opened his eyes. Not a single drop of fear was found, and was instead, replaced with something that was all too familiar for San but never on Wooyoung.

Bloodlust.

Before San could even stop him, Wooyoung pulled a gun out from the holster that was hidden in his leather jacket and began shooting the gang members.

The gunshots echoed the compacted space and he fired so fast that the firing flashes were similar to strobe lights. One by one, the gang members dropped to the floor, a red dot decorating on the direct center of their foreheads. Whenever the flash emitted, San could see the shuttering agonized faces that were twisted in pain.  Wooyoung reached back into his leather jacket with his other hand and pulled out another gun. He shot with both guns while reloading both when needed. 

It was all occurring so fast, way too fast. 

It didn’t take long until San began smelling the blood. The heavy scent of iron filled his nostrils, a nostalgic smell for him but should’ve never been for Wooyoung. At this point, the gang began retreating in great fear that they would meet the grim reaper unexpectedly tonight but Wooyoung continued to fire without mercy. Even as they were running, his aim never faltered, hitting the back of their heads with such precision as blood splattered across the concrete ground. Screams filled the area as the brick walls that were once gray, were now covered with pinpoints of red, finally matching the twinkling stars and finally fitting characteristically with the taunting constellations that scattered above them. 

San reached forward to stop Wooyoung, as things were taken too extreme but were once again left stunned at his expression. Wooyoung was smiling. He was enjoying this and that scared San deeply as a sinister aura had overtaken his best friend. When the last visible standing man was left completely isolated with his dead comrades surrounding him, a final alarming sound of the gunshot echoed in their ears as the last sole survivor fell to the ground, sounding a vigorous thud on top of the other bodies. 

It was finished. He killed them all. 

The ground was hardly visible due to the bodies that cluttered around them, leaving the small cracks covered with puddles of blood, an aftermath of a death storm. San couldn’t keep his eyes off of the bodies, not because the sight was overwhelming for him but because it was Wooyoung who had caused this. The guns slipped from Wooyoung’s fingers, suddenly feeling too weak to stand as his eyes began portraying the familiar soul that San had spent that last two years with. Wooyoung was back to his original self and although San was relieved, panic quickly flickered his eyes. Suddenly, the sound of a body moving behind Wooyoung alarmed both of them. Wooyoung quickly turned around and was met with one of the members of the gang reaching for him with a knife in his hand and fury in his eyes. Wooyoung reached inside his jacket and panicked when the guns weren’t there, the memory of him dropping it on the ground completely rid from him. 

Before Wooyoung could even think about what to do, an object speedily flew past his head, swishing past his ears as the metallic object glinted from the moonlight in his peripheral vision. His eyes grew wide upon hearing the sound of something cracking, feeling the sensation of warm liquid that suddenly splattered across his face, and seeing the sight of the man before him. A knife was lodged deep inside the front of the man’s skull, his face far too expressive despite his soul already departed from his body as the man’s lifeless body leaned forward, his shoulder slightly grazing Wooyoung’s arm as he fell to the ground. Wooyoung, body trembling, slowly turned his head to look at San. 

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to get his blood on you–”

“San… I-I just k-k,” Wooyoung began hyperventilating and collapsed on the ground as he choked out his words, “k-kill…I j-just.”

San quickly got on the ground, matching his friend’s level and began patting his back to soothe him, “Don’t talk, just breathe. You need to focus on your breathing–”

“How can I focus on breathing when I just killed people?!” Wooyoung slammed his fists on the concrete, staining his hands red and then slammed them again and again… San continued to watch as his friend’s emotional state fell apart, unable to figure out a way to comfort him.

“I’m a murderer…a murderer..” Wooyoung began repeating himself maniacally, “murderer.”

“Then that makes me a murderer too,” San finally spoke up as Wooyoung glanced at him as tears rapidly began forming, “You’re not the only one who has killed tonight. So that makes both of us murderers. You’re not alone.”

Upon hearing that, Wooyoung began to weep, unable to comprehend the events that had just occurred so instantaneously. 

“I’m sorry…I-I’m sorry,” he gagged with vomit but kept going. 

“I’m s-sorry. I-I’m so-sorry. I’m sorry.”

San patted his friend’s back again, unable to find the right words to provide comfort.

“I’m sorry…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the incident, Wooyoung struggled deeply to go back to his normal lifestyle. 

He couldn’t eat because it made him think about the blood.

He couldn’t sleep because it made him think about the blood.

He couldn’t live because it made him think about the blood.

“Wooyoung, they’re kicking us out if we don’t pay the rent,” San spoke softly as if he’s afraid to trigger him and sat the letter that declared their dismissal on the table.

Wooyoung and San both stopped stealing after that, they stopped doing anything for that matter. Wooyoung stood abruptly and made his way out the door groggily. 

“Where are you going?” San asked worryingly.

“They want us out. So I’m leaving,” Wooyoung answered, voice hoarse from lack of hydration. 

“Leaving where?”

“Don’t know,” Wooyoung exited.

San sighed and followed his friend out without hesitation. They didn’t have a destination or a purpose. Wooyoung felt numb but he almost found it humorous how he felt so dead when his body was still technically alive. During the day, they would walk aimlessly. During the night, they would sleep on the sidewalk, not caring if it was comfortable or not. This continued for days and San quietly followed him.

One night, Wooyoung collapsed on the sidewalk, his body finally giving out from lack of proper care and nutrition. The tiny rocks scraped his cheek as he came in contact with the gravel. San collapsed soon after, almost as if he was waiting for Wooyoung to collapse first. 

They both hit their limits.

Wooyoung shakily flipped his own body over so he would lay on his back while San remained still. 

This was it.

Wooyoung smiled as he felt death approach him but when he looked up at the night sky, the same stars were yet again… so uncharacteristically beautiful for this situation that he felt the twinkling constellations were taunting him again. 

That’s when it hit him, the reality.

He was really going to die. San was really going to die. 

“S-San,” Wooyoung called out but his voice cracked.

No response.

“S-San. H-Hey,” Wooyoung called out again, this time a little more hastily but was left without a response.

Many people walked past them, some not batting a single eyelash, and some looking at them with complete disgust as if they were scum that littered the sidewalk. 

“San…answer m-me–”

Wooyoung’s vision of San suddenly got blocked by a pair of well-polished shoes. He slowly tilts his head and looks up to see a boy around their age who then crouched down and laid down between him and San. Wooyoung initially thought he was drunk or even mocking them but he didn’t have the energy to argue. 

“The stars are beautiful tonight, huh?” the stranger lying next to him spoke up, not taking his eyes off the twinkling sky. 

Wooyoung didn’t answer and they all laid in silence, on the busy city sidewalk. After a few more moments of silence, Wooyoung officially confirmed to himself that San had died. 

“This isn’t how humans should live,” the stranger sighed as he spoke softly but the heavy words triggered something within Wooyoung.

“Humans?” Wooyoung spouted bitterly, throat burning due to how dry it was but he pushed forward, “You think we’re humans?”

“Of course,” the boy answered him, “You and your friend. You’re both humans.” 

Wooyoung began laughing, thinking that the stranger was sharing a joke with him. But when he looked at his straightforward eyes, Wooyoung knew he was serious and that terrified him. 

“G-Get away from me,” Wooyoung commanded him but the boy didn’t move. Not even a single strand of hair.

“Get the fuck away from me! and get away from San too! Just because he’s dead, doesn’t mean you can invade his personal space!” Wooyoung screamed, eyes bloodshot and his lungs felt as if it was on fire as the words left his mouth.

“Let me help you and your friend. It’s not too late… Whatever you’re both struggling with, I’ll carry the burden with you both.” 

The stranger spoke so calmly and soothingly that he felt his anger overtake him. Even though it should have been physically impossible for Wooyoung to move, he extended his hand and harshly grabbed the collar of the boy lying next to him who seemed extremely unfazed by his actions.

“What do you know…. What do you know about what San and I dealt with?” the boy listened intently as the volume of Wooyoung’s voice gradually began increasing, “Carry the burden? Don’t fuck with me. You don’t know what San and I went through. It’s not too late? You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this moment, where I can finally die and get out of this living hell and rest. in. peace!!! Carry the burden, my ass! Don’t spout shit in your fancy little shoes when you don’t know anything!!!” Wooyoung screamed as he was desperately out of breath but was stunned that the boy simply smiled. It wasn’t a smile that mocked or belittled him. It was a knowing smile. And it made Wooyoung feel something that he wished he would never feel, hope. 

His biggest fear. 

Wooyoung became petrified. He let go of the stranger’s collar and tried to get up to walk away from him but his arms gave out and his body slammed back onto the sidewalk. It seemed that his body had truly reached its physical limit but that didn’t stop Wooyoung from trying to crawl, hands desperately dragging across the gravel, making his fingertips bleed. 

“Get the fuck away from me!!!” Wooyoung screamed using every last drop of his strength and felt his mind began to haze over, perhaps finally meeting his end.

Instead of listening to Wooyoung’s wishes, the stranger gets up and moves in front of Wooyoung, crouching down closer at his eye level.

“Please....just take care of San. Take care of San but leave me...please,” Wooyoung begged as tears slipped out of his eyes, stinging the scratches on his cheeks. 

The stranger placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Trust me. I will protect you both,” he smiled again and Wooyoung felt his consciousness drift away…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*beep…beep…beep*

Warmth basked Wooyoung’s face as the light emitted on his face, feeling his consciousness wander back to existence. He opened his eyes slowly, eyelids awfully heavy and saw where the heat was coming from. The sun radiated against his skin that shined from the enormous window that took over the entire wall.

*beep…beep…beep*

The sound finally registered within his brain as his eyes grew wide, realization finally hitting him.

He was supposed to be dead. 

He jerked his head to the side and saw the heart monitor that was hooked on him, beeping.

He was alive. 

Wooyoung trailed his eyes down to his arm where an IV was attached on his inner elbow, giving him the necessary fluids to keep him alive. 

He was given another chance to live again…

Suddenly, another realization dawned upon him. San…what happened to San?

“Oh, you woke up!”

Wooyoung looked up to the voice in a panic, finding a boy he’s never met before standing before him.

“San! Where is San?!” Wooyoung reached up and grabbed the collar of the boy’s jacket desperately.

“P-Please calm down. Your friend is–“

“Alive and well.”

Wooyoung and the boy both turned to the direction of the voice and relief washes over Wooyoung when he saw it was San who spoke up. 

He was alive….and well.

“Thank the stars…” Wooyoung murmured to himself.

“Um…will you please let go of my jacket?” the boy asked with an awkward smile on his face, a little uncomfortable with the position he’s in.

“Yeah, Wooyoung. Seonghwa literally healed our asses. Be nice to him will ya?” San poked at him, grinning from ear to ear.

Wooyoung turned to the boy and immediately retracted his hold on the fabric, smoothing out the wrinkles that his grip caused, “O-Oh. Sorry, um…” 

“Seonghwa. Nice to officially meet you Wooyoung,” Seonghwa smiled, genuinely this time.

“Ah. Nice to meet you, Seonghwa. I’m sorry for acting up earlier.”

“Oh! It was really nothing. I’m really glad Hongjoong brought you both here.”

“Hongjoong? Who’s that?“ Wooyoung asked but deep down he knew it must’ve been the boy he met before he lost consciousness. 

“Hongjoong…is our leader.”

“Oh? I didn’t know that,” San cuts in.

“Leader of what exactly?” Wooyoung asks, feeling his fear lay upon his soul.

“ATEEZ,” a new voice cuts in, earning everyone’s attention at the door. Hongjoong walks into the infirmary and Seonghwa released a relieved sigh now that the leader was here to hopefully explain things to their guests.

“We are in a subunit group that was formed by our organization KQ. Our goal is to gather members to battle any forms of corruption within our society. Although we have an official title, we just started and it’s still in the process of growing,” Hongjoong chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little bashful.

Hongjoong let out a nervous sigh and straightened himself before speaking in a decisive tone, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I decided to save the both of you.”

Wooyoung and San nodded slowly, alerting that they were listening as Hongjoong continued, “I’ll be honest and cut to the chase. I knew about the two of you before that night when you two were laying on the sidewalk. That means, San… I know where you came from.”

San stiffened upon the new information but Hongjoong quickly reassured him, “I know and that’s exactly why I won’t say anything. Wooyoung… we’ve actually met before a few years ago, on that bridge… You probably don’t remember but you’ve saved me once before and I simply wanted to repay that debt.”

The leader fell silent, the words of the last sentence trailing off, hinting that there was more than just a simple repayment.

Bridge…what bridge? Wooyoung traveled through his memories to pinpoint what Hongjoong was saying until he finally recalled what the leader was referring to. Ah…that bridge.

“And?” Wooyoung asks, feeling an inkling about what’s about to come next.

“And…I would like to ask the two of you to join ATEE–”

“No,” Wooyoung cuts in harshly, startling Hongjoong and Seonghwa but San didn’t even flinch, head low.

“San is free to choose whatever he wants, but I’m not joining. Thank you for saving me but I think it’s time for me to leave now. I wouldn’t want to impose any longer,” Wooyoung yanks his IV needle off as he dragged himself off the bed and made his way towards the door, leaving the two speechless.

“And I follow wherever Wooyoung goes. Thank you for saving me too,” San bowed his head slightly before following after Wooyoung who was inching closer to the exit.

Wooyoung’s legs felt a little weak as his bare feet touched the cold marble floor, as muscles ached from lack of use. Right when he reached for the handle of the sliding door, Hongjoong spoke one word that caused them to stop, “Nana.”

Wooyoung and San paused, unable to turn to face the leader or even make their way out of the infirmary, just frozen in place.

Nana... a name that was all too familiar to Wooyoung from the countless nights that San had talked to him about her, someone that was extremely important to his friend. San whips his head to Hongjoong who was staring directly at the two of them, with an unreadable expression, “What about Nana?”

“I wanted to wait until Wooyoung woke up to tell you this, but Yeosang is with us. That’s why I want to recruit you both. What I said about ATEEZ previously was true. We do rebel against corruption, but our primary focus is to get Nana out of ZG, we want to fight for her independence.”

Wooyoung turns around slowly to look at his friend, who looked immensely confused and conflicted. 

“Set is with ATEEZ…?” San murmured, questioning his own self rather than specifically at anyone.

Wooyoung continued to gaze at San, letting out an exasperated sigh, “Fine. We’ll join.”

Everyone’s attention turned to Wooyoung, and San immediately tried to intervene, “Woo, you don’t even know her. You don’t even know what I was thinking about–“

“I’m sure you were thinking about joining anyways~ and I know how much she means to you… So I’ll join,” Wooyoung looked towards Hongjoong and Seonghwa, “But I’m leaving as soon as Nana gets out of ZG.”

“I understand,” Hongjoong replied, face covered with relief rather than content.

“Now that that’s decided, please lay down. You shouldn’t even be able to walk right now,” Seonghwa stated worryingly and Wooyoung silently complied, covering his face with the blanket as soon as he laid down. 

Hongjoong nodded about walked towards San, “Follow me, Wooyoung should rest and Seonghwa will take care of him. I’ll take you to where Yeosang is.”

San looked hesitantly back at Wooyoung who looked already asleep but Wooyoung spoke up, the blanket slightly stifling his voice, “Go, San. Just catch me up later.”

San smiled at his friend’s attentive nature, “Hurry up and get better soon.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here already~” Wooyoung answered as San followed after Hongjoong, exiting the infirmary, leaving him and Seonghwa by themselves. 

Wooyoung peaked out of his blanket and at Seonghwa who was currently checking his vitals after hooking him back on the IV fluids. 

“You can ask questions you know,” Seonghwa said without taking his eyes off the charts he was jotting notes in.

“How many members are in ATEEZ? Including…Yeosang, was it?”

“Five. Ah well, now it’s seven including our new members~” Seonghwa piped with a cheesy grin.

“Seven huh…How many more do you think Hongjoong is planning to recruit?”

“We have one more that we were originally planning to join, but it’ll be difficult to get him to agree. Which, will be our mission as seven members as soon as you get better.”

“Who?”

“His name is Choi Jongho.”

Wooyoung nodded at the information and felt himself drifting off to sleep, his body still severely exhausted from the past events.

“Seonghwa?”

“Hmm?” Seonghwa took his eyes off the chart to signal his attention.

“Thank you for doing this.”

“It’s no problem, Wooyoung... You know you were really close to death.”

Wooyoung pulled the blanket over his face again and whispered, “I know...”

“I’m really glad you’re alive.”

Wooyoung clutched the blanket even tighter around his body as tears began to slip out of his eyes, allowing the pillow to soak up the droplets until he finally answered Seonghwa, voice slightly cracking, “Me too.”

∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘∘

-e|n: i’m so sorry for the lack of posting! ch.7 should be out very soon but i hope you enjoyed this extra chapter over wooyoung’s past with little snippets of hints on how everything intertwines with each other. thank you again for reading and please let me know what you think! :)

#ateez #no fear i'm here extra #wooyoung edition #atzwriters #ateez fanfic #ateez series #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #wooyoung fanfic

[miracleonicefanfiction]

#17 Jack O'Callahan (part 1 & 2)

“Jack, you can’t say no to Harvard.”

I get up from the uncomfortable chair in high school advisor’s office and say quietly: “Fine.” “Fine? So that means you are accepting Harvard’s offer?”

With my hand already on the door knob, I turn to him and smirk: “I am saying no to Harvard.”

March 26th 1976

After graduating high school, I declined Harvard’s offer and ended up playing for Boston University. And wearing a Terrier on my chest has always been and will always be an honor. Now, I am a freshman at the BU and tonight’s game is the last one in the best-of-seven series against University of Minnesota. Tonight’s game will decide who is advancing to the finals and who is the sore loser of the tournament.

“Hey, OCee, ready for tonight’s game?” Chris Bannerman, at the age of 23 one of the oldest guys on the team, smacks back of my head as he walks past me on the bus.

“More than you are, old man,” I grin, revealing a few missing teeth.

“Your chick coming too?” Bob Boileau, center from freshman year, shouts from his seat and turns to me. Sending a slight glare in his direction, I roll my eyes: “You seem a bit too obsessed with my girl, Boil.” “You should be afraid.” “Of you? Please, I know she has an excellent taste in men.”

“By choosing scars and missing teeth over me? I don’t think so.”

“Well, at least that proves I play hockey. And that I play rough.”

“When with her? I have never seen you play a rough game out there.”

“Don’t you dare pulling Y/N into this, don’t you fucking dare,” I am on my feet, my hands curved into fists. He does the same, smirking from few feet away: “I thought you were a tough guy, but you are as soft as Minnesotans when we talk about your girl.” “What’s your problem, man? Why are you so fucking obsessed with my girlfriend, huh?”

“Maybe because she is easy and she would go with anyone?”

Shaking from barely contained rage, I grab the back rest of a seat in front of mine: “You are lying. You fucking Canadian prick!”

“Jack! Sit down!” Bannerman grabs me by my shoulders and pushes me back on my seat. By sitting next to me, he makes sure I would have to climb over his 6’0 feet tall figure to get to Boileau.

“Let me get to that piece of ass, Banner, he insulted my girlfriend!” “JACK! Sit down!”

“Isn’t that something you do best? Screwing easy girls?” Boileau huffs and that tips me off. I nearly jump over Banner’s knees and pull him up by his shirt: “Say that again, you little fuck. Say that again and I swear I will fucking kill you before you step on the ice.”

He smacks my hand away and brings his face inches away from mine: “Can’t handle the truth, that even a player like you can be cheated on?” “You are fucking dead right now,” I take a swing to his head and soon my knuckles connect with his jaw. His head snaps slightly back at the hit, but he won’t back away now. Two strong blows to my nose are enough for my nose to start bleeding and I know if he hits me one more time, he can break my nose. I have seen him break noses of other players in two accurate blows to the head. I dodge his next hit and connect my fist with his chin. His blood colors my knuckles red as I punch his chin open. Before they pull us away, he manages to hit me right above my eyebrow and cuts the tissue open with his high school championship ring. Warm blood starts dripping down my face, slightly blurring my vision and painting my surroundings slightly red.

“I will kill you next time.”

“Jack, stop it,” Marc Hetnik pushes me on an unoccupied seat. He sits down next to me: “Knock it off, man.” “I think I have already proved you can’t stop me by sitting next to me.”

“What is with you and Boileau? You should get along, you are teammates.”

“I don’t like him. He is a Canadian and he stole a spot from probably a great American kid. Not to mention, he apparently keeps drooling over Y/N.”

“So you really have a girlfriend?”

“It’s hard to say now, we have hooked up a few times.” “You called her your girlfriend a few times…and if she is only a hookup, why did you explode like that?”

“I don’t know. Can we drop it now?” I groan, leaning my head back as I notice blood painting my tracksuit red and small drops slowly drying on fabric.

“Whatever you say man.”

Nearly thirty hours later, we arrive to University of Denver, a host of our semifinals. I notice the bus with the U’s team is already here, including their fans. Speaking of fans… Y/N said she would come to the game, but she was still in class when he left Boston.

“O’Callahan!” Coach Parker shakes me awake from my day dreaming. Just as I take a step towards the arena, some flashy-looking car stops on the parking lot. I don’t know why, but it grabs my attention. Which I wish it didn’t as I see Y/N step out of the car. But only after some guy holds the door open for her. It takes a second for her to notice me, she appears to be too focused on her driver.

“Jackie?” “Surprised to see me here?”

“Not at all!” she runs to me and hugs me tight. Still not being able to forget what I saw only a few seconds earlier, I don’t hug her back. She looks up at me, her smile deflating by every passing second: “Aren’t you happy to see me here? I flew all the way from Boston, skipped some of my classes to be able to be here…”

“It’s…nice to see you here, I guess.”

“Y/N/N, see you in there, okay?” her partner calls her and waves at me. She nods with a bright smile: “Sure, Joey. Thanks for a lift.”

The way they smile at each other makes my blood boil. As soon as the “Joey” guy disappears in the arena, I turn to her, arms crossed on my chest: “Joey, huh?”

“You know Joe Micheletti, right?”

“Why should I know him?” “He is one of the Gophers…” “Oh, I see. Well, I hope this Micheletti guy likes to date non-virgins from Boston then.”

With those words I leave her and head in the arena, my hands still clenched into fists. My stomping echoes through the empty halls and before entering the locker room, I take a deep breath. There is no use in being furious before stepping on the ice and give that Gopher a good lesson or two.

“Hey, OCee, what’s wrong with you? You look like you are going to rip someone’s head off…” “I will. Some Micheletti dude is apparently banging Y/N.” “You have any proof?”

I turn to Mike Fidler, my teammate who has been on the team since last season, my vision now blurry from rage, which is returning over again.

“If you saw them, you would never doubt.”

“See, I was right?” Boil chuckles from his stall. I turn to him and smile a bit: “Want to have another bruise on your chin? Maybe a bloodied nose? I can help you with that.”

“Why don’t you show your muscles to your chick then?” “Jack, no. Don’t. We don’t need that before the game.”

“But you better not stop me when the puck drops.”

After coach Parker’s pep talk, we head on the ice, serious army of twenty-something players dressed in red as the blood which will most probably paint the ice tonight. It’s the last game of the semifinals and tonight, everything is on the line. As soon as my blades hit the ice, I check for a guy with Micheletti on his back. Doesn’t take long for me to see him, number 3 chatting with his teammate, a guy with Verchota and number 12 on his back. I stop next to Mike Fidler and place hand on his shouder: “Hey, will you help me take number 3 out?” “Sure, but why me?” “Because, you and I and Grypie lead in penalty minutes. Hell, man, you even have more penalites than I do.”

“Jack, I have too much penalties…” “Come on, how could additional two minutes hurt you? Or five? Come on, Fiddy.”

“Why don’t you ask Grypie? I know he is after fresh blood.” “He is one of the elders on the team. Come on.”

“How the hell do you always persuade people, O’Callahan?” “My devilish charm.”

~~

When the whistle blows, the hell breaks loose. Not even a minute in the game Terry Meagher, Terrier’s player, is sent to the penalty box for slashing and only thirty seconds later, Gophers’ Russ Anderson occupies the Minnesota’s penalty box. When Meagher is taken to the penalty box, one of the Minnesota’s player spits upon the Terrier, who returns the favor. During this time, Gopher’s trainer Gary Smith gets hit and that leads to the fight. Jack O’Callahan takes the opportunity and jumps on Micheletti without getting too much attention. Not expecting an attack from behind, he stumbled forward before regaining balance. Somehow, he manages to get Jack off his back: “What is your problem?” “You like second-hand things, don’t you, rich boy?”

It’s obvious the Gopher is not looking for a fight, but being called a rich boy is too much. He drops his gloves and growls: “Say that again!”

“You like second-hand things, rich boy? Did you hear me this time?”

Needless to say, a brawl broke out between the two angered players and cheap shots were thrown left and right. Two hot heads exchanged countless harsh words, not only punches. And the ice around them…it was a hell on earth. It took about ten minutes before the refs managed to restore the order. Not only that, two officials, Dino Paniccia and Frank Kelley, had to skate into a dressing room for a meeting with other officials and coaches.

With Meagher, BU lost to University of Minnesota with a score of 4 to 2, ending the path to the title of national champions. But that was not the worst part, Jack O’Callahan’s faith in his girlfriend was weak and he didn’t get any closures. Until he stepped out of the locker room…

~~

I step out of the locker room, holding an ice pack to my swelled eye and bloodied nose, when I see her leaning on the wall. She looks at me and heads towards me: “We need to talk.” “We don’t have to.” “Listen to me, you jerk. The guy you decided to take out is my distant cousin. And thanks to you, he was taken to a hospital. I hope you are happy now.”

“Your cousin? You have relatives in Richland?”

“Not everyone in Minnesota is rich. Stop with your stupid Boston snobby attitude and look around yourself!”

Suddenly, I feel tiredness wash over me and I am not in the mood to deal with her critics: “Can’t this wait until we get back?”

“Yes, it can. Apparently everything has to wait until Jack O’Callahan is ready to deal with it,” she huffs and turns around. I remain on my spot before one of the guys (I don’t even know, who it was), smacks my shoulder: “Come on, OC, we have a thirty-hour drive ahead of us.”

“Yeah… let’s go.”

As I sit on the bus, I realize one thing. How much it meant to me having her close, on the stands, and how stupid was of me never to show her that.

A few days later, I gather enough courage to knock on the door of her dorm. She has been avoiding me ever since we came back from Denver and I don’t like to leave things hanging in the air and questions unanswered.

As soon as she sees me, she tries to close the door, but I set my foot between the frame and a wooden plank, blocking the door from closing.

“We need to talk.” “Of course, when you decided we should talk, I have to listen to you.”

“We just lost national championship, I don’t have time for your bullshit.”

“You never have time, Jack. Never.” “Jesus fucking Christ, are you on your period or what?”

She takes a deep breath and grabs the collar of my shirt, dragging me closer. If I thought hockey players or athletes are strong, I have never pissed off my girlfriend enough.

“Listen to me carefully, John Joseph O’Callahan, never, and I mean never say that again. If I was, I would behead you with my bare hands, trust me.”

I wrap my fingers tightly around her wrists and throw her hands off my shirt: “I came to talk. Not to listen to my girlfriend’s bitchiness.”

I turn around on my heel, intending to leave, when her voice stops me. Much softer this time, it almost sounds like she is touched or really emotional.

“Y-You just called me y-your g-girlfriend…”

“Yeah, so what if I did?”

“I-I thought it was…all a joke to you… A hook-up, someone to brag about in the locker room.”

I turn around once again to face her. I wish I could say something sassy or sarcastic, but I can’t. Words just don’t find a way to come out of my mouth. Instead of trying to find a way to show her who Jack O’Callahan is, I mumble: “So can we talk now?”

She steps away from the door, giving me space to slip into her room. In awkward silence, I sit on her bed and soon the bed squeaks as she sits down as well. A few seconds of awkward and heavy silence pass before she speaks up: “So…” “So… this is weird…” “Yeah, it is. Uh, listen, I want you to know I would never be with anyone else. Even if I am just hooking up with someone.” “I am sorry. I was distracted by locker room rumors.”

“What now?” she asks, trying to sound like she doesn’t care, but her voice gives her away. And somehow, I don’t want to tell her what Boileau said about her…

“Jack, tell me, please.” “Doesn’t matter. Locker room conversations, it’s better not to know what are they about. Listen, I am sorry for being such a dick back in Colorado.” “Sorry for attacking Joey?”

“He is a Gopher. I can’t say I am sorry for beating a Gopher, can I? But I am sorry for targeting him, I guess…”

She rolls her eyes: “Rivalry thing? He is a human, not a boxing sack.”

“But he plays hockey.”

“He is a nice guy, you know?”

“I believe. But he still got a championship ring, didn’t he? Okay, it doesn’t matter now… I am sorry for targeting him, but I really thought you were with him.” “I kinda figured that one out… don’t tell me you were jealous.”

“Of course I wasn’t. Where did you get that idea from?” “But you were. I saw your face when Joey dropped me off.”

“Whatever. How come you never mentioned him?” “Wow, he does bother you, doesn’t he?” she laughs and lays down, her eyes focused on the ceiling. I wave my hand in front of her eyes and she looks at me: “We were never more than a hook up, Jack, you said that yourself after that first night. So why should I tell you about him?”

“That sounds like we never talked. We did go out, we did talk…” “Yeah, but that was too personal…or at least I though to. Maybe it would be better if I told you.” “Yeah, maybe. How is he?”

“Better. Had to get a few stiches, but he has a minor concussion…” “I am really sorry for acting like a jerk.” “Now you know how I felt everytime I saw you with other girls.” “I have never…” I shut up as soon as I see her expression. It’s true, I was seeing a few other girls, but they were all just hookups, nothing else.

“I would never look at any other girl when in a relationship,” I quickly correct myself and ruffle my hair.

“Never?”

Shaking my head, I repeat: “Never.”

She takes my hand in hers and starts playing with my fingers, slipping her thumb over every single one of them, over every bruise and scar, over my nails, over rough skin of my knuckles: “That’s good to know.”

“What about you?” “I would never look at any guy. Especially my cousin. And especially not at a Gopher. I am still a proud Boston University student.”

“What about Boston College?” “What about them?” “Would you have a guy from there?” “I’d rather die alone, thank you.”

~~

A few months later, the classes end and time to rest is waiting for every student. Jack’s classes end earlier than Y/N’s and he decided to surprise her. Knowing she is not a rose-type of girl, he buys her a mug and has her name written on it. Relying on his charm, he also decided to buy them a bottle of champagne. Not too expensive, just something to celebrate the end of first school year as university students and their developing relationship. If someone asked him a few months ago what are his thoughts about having a serious girlfriend, he would probably laugh it off, say there are too many girls to settle with only one. But now he knows he was wrong.

When she comes out of a classroom, she immediately spots him and she can’t help but smile. She liked being his hookup, someone he would call when he was bored or lonely, but she loves being his girlfriend, someone who was there for him all the time. She loves their celebrations when they both passed difficult exams, she loved watching his face while he was sleeping, how innocent he looked despite all the scars and stiches, broken nose and bruises. She loves to kiss his battle scars and she simply adores how romantic and easy-going he can get when they are alone.

“Wow, all that for me?” “Nah, I wanted to share the champagne with other girls,” he chuckles and pecks her cheek. She smacks his chest and takes the bottle out of his hands: “Apologize.”

“What for?”

“You know what for,” she leans in and kisses his lips. His lips curve into a slight smile as they pull apart and he takes her hand in his: “Come on, let’s get outta here.”

He takes her away from crowded areas. As they sit on a grass in front of BU’s hockey arena, she smiles at him: “Can you believe our first year at the university is over?” “Hardly. It has been quite a fun time, don’t you think?” “You mean us?”

“Everything. The National Championship, the whole being-a-college-student experience with all those parties every week…” “Every day. But you were busy with hockey. And girls.”

“That includes you, too. Now, can I finish?” Laughing, she nods. She loves their bickering and so does he, knowing it’s hard to insult her. And realizing she knows exactly when is he being serious or joking.

“As I was saying, before someone interrupted me, the Nationals, experiencing college, but also meeting new people and meeting you.” “And demolishing my cousin.”

“You are never gonna let me forget that, right?” “Damn right I won’t, O’Callahan. Damn right I won’t,” she leans to him, kissing his cheek and ruffling his hair. He turns his face, turning the kiss on the cheek into a kiss on the lips. With some difficulties, he breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against hers: “But meeting you was probably the best thing that could had happened.” “Wow, Jack O’Callahan has a soft spot too? You gotta be shittin’ me.”

“I don’t know what are you talking about,” he grins, revealing a dark area of his first missing front tooth, and gently lays her in the grass. Finding her hand, he intertwines his rough fingers with her gentle ones as he lays down next to her.

“Don’t tell anyone.” “Tell anyone what?”

“That I could have a soft spot.” “Which you do.” “But no one needs to know about it.” “I won’t tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me.”

He turns his face again and looks at her profile and her Y/H/C hair being spread on the grass. Her clearly visible freckles, which she is not even trying to conceal. A small stripe of ink on her nose and visible traces of love bites beneath her turtleneck. Turtleneck during summer?

“Why the turtleneck? Isn’t it a bit too hot for it?” “No, it’s a light wear.” “Still, what are you trying to hide?” She turns her face to him, her E/C eyes glimmering mischievously: “I don’t know, what do you see?”

“Nothing but an evidence of having a boyfriend, not just a hookup.”

With a sigh, she rolls down the collar, revealing a trace of darker marks, mixed with already fading ones. He grins slightly: “Some of them are fading. Need new ones?” “OC! Not here, c’mon.”

“I was joking, Y/N/N. You know I was. Out of all people, you should know best.”

“I know. But I still have a feeling I don’t know you sometimes.” “We have four years to figure each other out.” “Three. And then what?” “Then we graduate. And you move in with me.”

She rolls over on her elbow and looks at him, not saying a word. He sits up straight: “Did I say something wrong?” “No. You didn’t. You said exactly what I needed to hear to know for sure we are for real.” “Please, don’t get too mushy now.” “Me? You are the one who usually gets mushy,” she doesn’t need much to sassily shut her boyfriend’s mouth.

“Mush.”

“Idiot.”

“Jerk.”

“Dork.”

“Is that all you got? Wow, you got much softer,” he laughs and leans down to kiss her again. He knows how mushy it is, but he can’t help himself. He has finally found a girl who he can love and hate, now he is not letting her slip away from him. After all, every tough guy needs his safe haven.

And he has found his safe haven. With her.

#moifanfiction #submission #sloveniahockeywriter #Hockey Fanfiction #miracle on ice #p: oc