Characters/Ship: jang wonyoung Tags: idolverse horror, some violence Permission to Remix: yes
(this is my first time filling for a k-pop fest like this. please tell me if i did anything wrong.)
-
The axe is always heavy in her pencil-thin fingers. Wonyoung never lets it stop her.
She wraps her fingers back around the handle and squeezes, harder than ever, as she walks towards the girl pressed against the wall. Wonyoung doesn't smile; she does what needs to be done, as her eyes glint in the moonlight peeking through the window.
The girl in front of her is shaking. The sight used to sadden her, used to make her feel bad. There's a lot that Wonyoung doesn't feel now, doesn't feel as she goes up on stage and plays her part, doesn't feel on these sordid nights when she works her real job, does the clean-up that no one else wants to do.
She thinks she hears the girl say something, shaken out of her fear into anger, the way the words come out with a bite. Wonyoung looks up, sees the way the girl has steeled herself, eyes narrowed.
"What is it?" Wonyoung says, and her voice is too high, not practiced, not still and confident enough. Enough vulnerability, enough of the unexpected, seeps out in her voice that she's immediately ashamed, immediately wishing she never bothered at all and swung the axe down.
She looks the girl in the eye. There's a resolute confidence in the girl's gaze, the way she looks at Wonyoung and sees right through her.
The girl opens her mouth and out comes something unforgivable, something Wonyoung only hears the edges of.
You. I always knew it was you doing this.
Wonyoung drags the axe behind her and plunges it forward.
There's few ways to make it in this industry and Wonyoung thinks she has learned them all quite well.
She stands poised on the stage, lips lifted in one part a smile and the other a pout as one of her group mates pokes fun at her. She blinks and flutters her eyelashes to an audience of cloying fans, tilts her head to feign embarrassment.
She doesn't think about the night prior, about the nameless girl she had to track down, that she had to find alone and primed for the end of her axe. She doesn't think about her final, resolute words, how she always knew it was her.
Wonyoung dances on stage and doesn't think about the girl in the form of a too-light body she had to drag with her too-skinny hands wrapped around the backs of the body's ankles. She doesn't think about the edge of a river and fitting the body in it with a dirty axe, watching the pieces fall to the bottom, cleaning the end of her axe with river water. She doesn't think about how the blood even reached the ribbon in her hair, left over from her stage that day, hair in pigtails and lips a cherry red.
Of course it had to have been her, right? Of course it had to be the girl they malign and mirror and admire and fear. Of course it had to be her, she agrees, because who else would do a job like pruning the edges of the industry when people get too loud?
She dances and plays her part and doesn't think about it but she does, because she can't stop herself in the following days, every time, can't stop the unbidden thoughts of the nights before where she again played her part and did what no one wants to speak about.
Wonyoung catches the gaze of one of her group mates, the one their fans always love to put her with, because of their last group. She smiles something fierce and keeps her eyes on her as her group mate does a suggestive move, herself suggesting something in her eyes that the fans will zero in on.
Clean-up duty. It's the worst of the industry that have the luxury of not thinking about it. Perhaps that makes her the best, then.
[FILL] desecration of a lustful illusion
Tags: idolverse horror, some violence
Permission to Remix: yes
(this is my first time filling for a k-pop fest like this. please tell me if i did anything wrong.)
-
The axe is always heavy in her pencil-thin fingers. Wonyoung never lets it stop her.
She wraps her fingers back around the handle and squeezes, harder than ever, as she walks towards the girl pressed against the wall. Wonyoung doesn't smile; she does what needs to be done, as her eyes glint in the moonlight peeking through the window.
The girl in front of her is shaking. The sight used to sadden her, used to make her feel bad. There's a lot that Wonyoung doesn't feel now, doesn't feel as she goes up on stage and plays her part, doesn't feel on these sordid nights when she works her real job, does the clean-up that no one else wants to do.
She thinks she hears the girl say something, shaken out of her fear into anger, the way the words come out with a bite. Wonyoung looks up, sees the way the girl has steeled herself, eyes narrowed.
"What is it?" Wonyoung says, and her voice is too high, not practiced, not still and confident enough. Enough vulnerability, enough of the unexpected, seeps out in her voice that she's immediately ashamed, immediately wishing she never bothered at all and swung the axe down.
She looks the girl in the eye. There's a resolute confidence in the girl's gaze, the way she looks at Wonyoung and sees right through her.
The girl opens her mouth and out comes something unforgivable, something Wonyoung only hears the edges of.
You. I always knew it was you doing this.
Wonyoung drags the axe behind her and plunges it forward.
There's few ways to make it in this industry and Wonyoung thinks she has learned them all quite well.
She stands poised on the stage, lips lifted in one part a smile and the other a pout as one of her group mates pokes fun at her. She blinks and flutters her eyelashes to an audience of cloying fans, tilts her head to feign embarrassment.
She doesn't think about the night prior, about the nameless girl she had to track down, that she had to find alone and primed for the end of her axe. She doesn't think about her final, resolute words, how she always knew it was her.
Wonyoung dances on stage and doesn't think about the girl in the form of a too-light body she had to drag with her too-skinny hands wrapped around the backs of the body's ankles. She doesn't think about the edge of a river and fitting the body in it with a dirty axe, watching the pieces fall to the bottom, cleaning the end of her axe with river water. She doesn't think about how the blood even reached the ribbon in her hair, left over from her stage that day, hair in pigtails and lips a cherry red.
Of course it had to have been her, right? Of course it had to be the girl they malign and mirror and admire and fear. Of course it had to be her, she agrees, because who else would do a job like pruning the edges of the industry when people get too loud?
She dances and plays her part and doesn't think about it but she does, because she can't stop herself in the following days, every time, can't stop the unbidden thoughts of the nights before where she again played her part and did what no one wants to speak about.
Wonyoung catches the gaze of one of her group mates, the one their fans always love to put her with, because of their last group. She smiles something fierce and keeps her eyes on her as her group mate does a suggestive move, herself suggesting something in her eyes that the fans will zero in on.
Clean-up duty. It's the worst of the industry that have the luxury of not thinking about it. Perhaps that makes her the best, then.