Professional Griefers
Title: Professional Griefers
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Not specified
Genre: One shot, AU
Synopsis: They are the last disease. They may be hated, despised, but they still have some people in their corner.
A/N: So this is... interesting, to say the least. I had an idea in my head for this, but it might be confusing to others who aren't me lol. If you finish reading it not confused, kudos to you.
They knew they’d have to expose their deck of cards eventually.
The crowd was getting rowdy. Of course there was a crowd, why wouldn’t there be? There was always a crowd.
Heechul looked at them with a smug grin, which only outraged them more. The mob ranged from teenage girls to senior citizens, but all were there for a common purpose; to spew their curses and take them down.
Siwon started, putting down his first card and pushing it to the middle. It was white with only one word in the middle.
동정
Sympathy
Heechul rested his elbows on the poker table and looked at the pile of cards in front of him. He fanned them out and picked on at random, flicking it across the table.
罪
Sin
The guards had to hold the crowd back.
“협회의 유죄.”
“Guilty by Association.”
欲望
Lust
불순종
Disobedience
Siwon heard someone yell, “Let them burn!”
As if they hadn’t heard, the game went on, the yells growing louder, the crowd more violent.
不同
Different
In a flash the table went up in flames. After closer examination they both realized a lit match had been thrown in the pile of cards.
Siwon and Heechul looked at each other between the flames, ebony light reflecting off their eyes.
-
Kyuhyun walked idly through the streets, hands stuffed in his sweatshirt pockets, taking special care not to be noticed. The streets were dangerous for someone like him, especially at night. He avoided everyone’s glances, turning his hooded face away.
No one was safe anymore. Ever since That Day the citizens of Seoul had gone on a rampage, setting buildings aflame and looting from any place they could. Anyone who remotely looked like a supporter was beaten mercilessly on the concrete. Kyuhyun had recently witnessed that happening to a young girl, no more than thirteen, being kicked and punched by grown men.
And all because of the colored streak in her hair.
He walked past a brick building, one of the few remaining. He noticed a flyer and took a closer look. Not a flyer, a wanted sign. A wanted sign with his face on it. He let out a bitter laugh upon noticing even more of the signs scattered on the sidewalk, stepped on and muddy. He picked one up and looked at his picture.
The stepped-on man in the picture wasn’t too far from reality.
-
Rallies were common, and mostly for the same cause. Kill the leader, solve the problem.
They didn’t just want Eeteuk dead, they wanted all of them dead, but killing the leader would be the next best thing. Eeteuk narrowly escaped multiple assassination attempts, sometimes weekly. It’s only under cover of the others that he survives.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he repeats almost daily, head in his hands. “This was supposed to be good. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
The rest just nod and tell him that they know.
-
The dusty recording studio was their only sanctuary. A safehaven, something that reminded them of a life they all once shared. It was amazing to look back and think things were so simple only one year ago.
Hankyung had taken to writing on the walls, usually song lyrics or things they couldn’t understand in Chinese. It seemed to put him at ease, so they ignored the cryptic messages in smudged black ink.
Yehsung had salvaged only one guitar, which he would strum constantly even though he knew little to nothing about playing the instrument. It had become a constant sound, so the others just got used to it. It was only one day when Ryeowook cracked.
“You know,” he snapped, looking at Yehsung from his perch on the window sill. “They got rid of those things for a reason!”
The room went silent.
Everyone was waiting for a response from Yehsung, a quick tongued comment to silence the younger, but nothing came. Instead, he put the guitar down silently and got up, walking to the back room.
“Yehsung!” Ryeowook called, tone suddenly laced with guilt as he got up after him. “Yehsung, you know that’s not what I meant!”
-
They ignored the hate mail, sifting it out from the others. What they were really looking for were the letters from the supporters, few but important nonetheless.
These supporters were passionate for the cause, never giving up no matter how many tried to push them down, beat them, kill them. They were their sons, their daughters, or at least that’s how they described themselves.
Mostly young adults and teenagers, they were courageous, willing to do anything and everything for them. The boys didn’t know what they did to deserve such kindness, such sympathy after “what they did,” but there were supporters, and they didn’t seem to be going away anytime soon. They appreciated them, and one day they would show them how thankful they were.
-
The kids waited outside the old recording studio, rubbing their hands together to keep warm. Snow was just beginning to fall. Because of the constant heat of riot fires they didn’t notice the weather much in the city, but in this tiny area in the suburbs, quiet and secluded, it took it’s toll on them.
They came from all different walks of life -- one was a college student with a major in psychology, one was a highschooler who flunked out, another was valedictorian -- but there was something binding them all together, and that was their idols. So they waited, wearing their colors like a flag of a rebel nation, all holding their cards, their key inside.
One young man was passing out buttons with their color -- sapphire blue -- to those who weren’t wearing any. “It’s important,” he explained when a girl asked why. “It’s a symbol of us, everything we’ve been through, them, our family.” With a smile he passed it to the girl and moved down the line.
Slowly but surely the line got shorter and shorter, the line getting giddy for they were finally being let in. The ones who weren’t holding their cards took them eagerly out of their pockets or purses.
Soon the whole company was in, throwing their cards in the middle of the floor upon entering. For a moment they just stood there, the supporters on one side and the ones they were supporting on the other. They looked at each other in a silent moment of understanding.
“We’re here for you,” said a small voice, coming from the crowd of supporters. The rest of the people parted to reveal the small girl, no more than twelve, wearing blue fingerless gloves.
Eeteuk laughed, then Kibum, and soon the whole room erupted in giggles and smiles. Eeteuk walked over to the small girl and patted her on the head with a, “Thank you, sweetie.”
Heechul walked up to the pile of cards, all of which their company had brought it, holding an unlit match. “‘Let them burn,’” he said, a feeling of deja vu washing over him. With a grin he lit the match, throwing it in the pile, watching the paper cards curl and turn brown.
Arm in arm, idol and fan watched it burn.
Together they watched sin burn, leaning on each other, smiling so hard their cheeks hurt. There was hope finally rekindled in the room as they watched the fire get bigger. Soon they’d have to evacuate, but no one at the moment seemed to care. They’d get through this. They could help.
Together, they watched “sin” burn.
罪
Sin
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Not specified
Genre: One shot, AU
Synopsis: They are the last disease. They may be hated, despised, but they still have some people in their corner.
A/N: So this is... interesting, to say the least. I had an idea in my head for this, but it might be confusing to others who aren't me lol. If you finish reading it not confused, kudos to you.
They knew they’d have to expose their deck of cards eventually.
The crowd was getting rowdy. Of course there was a crowd, why wouldn’t there be? There was always a crowd.
Heechul looked at them with a smug grin, which only outraged them more. The mob ranged from teenage girls to senior citizens, but all were there for a common purpose; to spew their curses and take them down.
Siwon started, putting down his first card and pushing it to the middle. It was white with only one word in the middle.
동정
Sympathy
Heechul rested his elbows on the poker table and looked at the pile of cards in front of him. He fanned them out and picked on at random, flicking it across the table.
罪
Sin
The guards had to hold the crowd back.
“협회의 유죄.”
“Guilty by Association.”
欲望
Lust
불순종
Disobedience
Siwon heard someone yell, “Let them burn!”
As if they hadn’t heard, the game went on, the yells growing louder, the crowd more violent.
不同
Different
In a flash the table went up in flames. After closer examination they both realized a lit match had been thrown in the pile of cards.
Siwon and Heechul looked at each other between the flames, ebony light reflecting off their eyes.
-
Kyuhyun walked idly through the streets, hands stuffed in his sweatshirt pockets, taking special care not to be noticed. The streets were dangerous for someone like him, especially at night. He avoided everyone’s glances, turning his hooded face away.
No one was safe anymore. Ever since That Day the citizens of Seoul had gone on a rampage, setting buildings aflame and looting from any place they could. Anyone who remotely looked like a supporter was beaten mercilessly on the concrete. Kyuhyun had recently witnessed that happening to a young girl, no more than thirteen, being kicked and punched by grown men.
And all because of the colored streak in her hair.
He walked past a brick building, one of the few remaining. He noticed a flyer and took a closer look. Not a flyer, a wanted sign. A wanted sign with his face on it. He let out a bitter laugh upon noticing even more of the signs scattered on the sidewalk, stepped on and muddy. He picked one up and looked at his picture.
The stepped-on man in the picture wasn’t too far from reality.
-
Rallies were common, and mostly for the same cause. Kill the leader, solve the problem.
They didn’t just want Eeteuk dead, they wanted all of them dead, but killing the leader would be the next best thing. Eeteuk narrowly escaped multiple assassination attempts, sometimes weekly. It’s only under cover of the others that he survives.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he repeats almost daily, head in his hands. “This was supposed to be good. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
The rest just nod and tell him that they know.
-
The dusty recording studio was their only sanctuary. A safehaven, something that reminded them of a life they all once shared. It was amazing to look back and think things were so simple only one year ago.
Hankyung had taken to writing on the walls, usually song lyrics or things they couldn’t understand in Chinese. It seemed to put him at ease, so they ignored the cryptic messages in smudged black ink.
Yehsung had salvaged only one guitar, which he would strum constantly even though he knew little to nothing about playing the instrument. It had become a constant sound, so the others just got used to it. It was only one day when Ryeowook cracked.
“You know,” he snapped, looking at Yehsung from his perch on the window sill. “They got rid of those things for a reason!”
The room went silent.
Everyone was waiting for a response from Yehsung, a quick tongued comment to silence the younger, but nothing came. Instead, he put the guitar down silently and got up, walking to the back room.
“Yehsung!” Ryeowook called, tone suddenly laced with guilt as he got up after him. “Yehsung, you know that’s not what I meant!”
-
They ignored the hate mail, sifting it out from the others. What they were really looking for were the letters from the supporters, few but important nonetheless.
These supporters were passionate for the cause, never giving up no matter how many tried to push them down, beat them, kill them. They were their sons, their daughters, or at least that’s how they described themselves.
Mostly young adults and teenagers, they were courageous, willing to do anything and everything for them. The boys didn’t know what they did to deserve such kindness, such sympathy after “what they did,” but there were supporters, and they didn’t seem to be going away anytime soon. They appreciated them, and one day they would show them how thankful they were.
-
The kids waited outside the old recording studio, rubbing their hands together to keep warm. Snow was just beginning to fall. Because of the constant heat of riot fires they didn’t notice the weather much in the city, but in this tiny area in the suburbs, quiet and secluded, it took it’s toll on them.
They came from all different walks of life -- one was a college student with a major in psychology, one was a highschooler who flunked out, another was valedictorian -- but there was something binding them all together, and that was their idols. So they waited, wearing their colors like a flag of a rebel nation, all holding their cards, their key inside.
One young man was passing out buttons with their color -- sapphire blue -- to those who weren’t wearing any. “It’s important,” he explained when a girl asked why. “It’s a symbol of us, everything we’ve been through, them, our family.” With a smile he passed it to the girl and moved down the line.
Slowly but surely the line got shorter and shorter, the line getting giddy for they were finally being let in. The ones who weren’t holding their cards took them eagerly out of their pockets or purses.
Soon the whole company was in, throwing their cards in the middle of the floor upon entering. For a moment they just stood there, the supporters on one side and the ones they were supporting on the other. They looked at each other in a silent moment of understanding.
“We’re here for you,” said a small voice, coming from the crowd of supporters. The rest of the people parted to reveal the small girl, no more than twelve, wearing blue fingerless gloves.
Eeteuk laughed, then Kibum, and soon the whole room erupted in giggles and smiles. Eeteuk walked over to the small girl and patted her on the head with a, “Thank you, sweetie.”
Heechul walked up to the pile of cards, all of which their company had brought it, holding an unlit match. “‘Let them burn,’” he said, a feeling of deja vu washing over him. With a grin he lit the match, throwing it in the pile, watching the paper cards curl and turn brown.
Arm in arm, idol and fan watched it burn.
Together they watched sin burn, leaning on each other, smiling so hard their cheeks hurt. There was hope finally rekindled in the room as they watched the fire get bigger. Soon they’d have to evacuate, but no one at the moment seemed to care. They’d get through this. They could help.
Together, they watched “sin” burn.
罪
Sin