Kneel Before Me 9/16
Title: Kneel Before Me
Author: Deferney97
Pairing: Lee Kikwang/OFC
Rating: 16+
Warning: some themes may be disturbing to young audiences
Summary: Mina's mother hates her. That's okay, though; Mina hates everything--especially her job of making the "perfect" idols look perfect. She hates the fake idol music. She hates the fake idol image. And now--somehow--she has one?
Nine
“Do you think a stick would work?”
“She’s not a tiger, pabo.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Maybe a bottle of water?”
“Do you want to deal with a drowned rat-looking bitch?”
“Hey! She doesn’t look like a rat. And she’s only a bitch because you guys are bitches to her.”
“Dude, shut up. You don’t have to pretend to like her right now, she’s not awake.”
“I do like her.”
“You like her ass.”
“Same thing.”
Lots of snorting, sarcastic laughter flits around the room until they become serious again. I wonder how long this will last.
“When we get her up can you buy me at least an hour to sleep on my bed again? My back is killing me.”
“What happened to ‘I’m a man, I don’t need a bed’?”
“I slept without a fucking bed, that’s what.”
“That’s your own fault,” Doojoon and I say simultaneously, though his came out better because my voice is hoarse from sleep.
“Morning Noona,” Dongwoon says brightly, his loud voice echoing inside the others’ empty heads.
“Morning kid,” I reply, yawning. I squint up at them. “What time is it?”
“Six-thirty.”
“I have like two hours, leave me alone,” I groan rolling on to my stomach and shoving my head into the pillow.
Yoseob laughs nervously, “Actually, Rain-sunbaenim started your classes today. You have an hour of dance practice before work.”
It’s official:
I hate everyone.
&&&
“Good morning Mina,” Rain greets me as I bow respectively, albeit begrudgingly.
“Morning,” I reply.
“Your teacher will be here in a few minutes,” he says with a flick of his wrist as he leaves, “start stretching.”
Why the hell would you even bother coming here if that’s all you’re going to do?
Staring at myself in the mirror for a moment, I note that I should probably pull up my hair somehow, but without any elastic ponytails, I shrug and grab my ankles.
I did gymnastics for six years until I started high school, so flexibility is not a problem for me.
“Stretch well,” a baritone voice tells me, “you’re going to hurt like hell until the end of your career.”
I groan, “Reassuring.”
I sit into a butterfly, leaning forward until my forehead touches the floor. “I’m Kim Hyun Ki.”
My reply is a grunt. His footsteps pad towards somewhere in front of me. “I hear you’re the troublemaker of the group.”
“You teach the others?” I ask, stretching out my legs and touching my toes. Flipping back my hair, his face becomes visible to me. He’s startlingly attractive, with strong features and guarded eyes, a muscular and long body leaning against the mirror.
“Occasionally Nadine,” he tells me. “Lucy has Joon and Rain and Ella doesn’t need anyone. Nadine just needs routines.”
“So I’m the worst dancer?” Great. Haven’t even done anything yet and I’m already bad at something.
“I don’t think you can be any worse than Lucy,” he says, surprising me.
“Rain made Lucy his project,” he explains, “so he tends to help her personally.”
What bullshit.
“Don’t complain in your head,” he tells me as I stand and fall into a backbend. “Everybody on Earth would be luckier to get me than Rain.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, slightly worried.
“Just,” he laughs, “trust me.”
So, despite it all, I do.
“First we’re going to learn a few BEAST numbers.”
Immediately I wrinkle my nose. I don’t want to do anything associated with those asswipes. I stand, waiting.
“This dance,” he says, “requires extreme precision. There’s no room for error.” Story of my life.
“What song is it?” I ask. Honestly I’ve never heard a BEAST song a day in my life, aside from the bits that slip into my ears during their performances. But I’m usually in the waiting room and I keep the volume down, so I’ve never really heard a full song.
“Breath.”
I wait a few moments, hoping maybe by miracle I’ll suddenly recall the song. After a while I shrug, “Never heard it.”
“I-” He stops, unaware of what to say. He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “This is going to be difficult.”
No part of me wants to hear about how difficult the song is. No part of me wants to be told how difficult, unworthy, or unable I am.
Fine. If I’m going to be treated like this the entire time I train, I’ll prove them wrong. I’m worth more than they seem to think. I’m worth more than they’ll ever understand.
“Let’s go.” I say. I don’t know what he hears in my voice or sees in my face, but he stands taller when he looks at me. He tilts his head, and I recognize in his eyes something in him changes, like he’s realizing something.
“Why aren’t you being a bitch to me like everyone’s describing you as?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m a bitch to them because they’re pampered self-righteous self-centered assholes who think they’re the only ones that work. They’ve got this mindset of bullshit in their mind because of stupid fan girls that only think about the pretty face and not all the people that work to make them that way.”
“Why am I different?” He juts out his chin, defensive. Why anyone would want to fit under the category I just described, I don’t know, but it seems like he does.
“Because you’re not one of them. You just seem like someone with equal amounts of confidence and humility.”
“Your members aren’t like that. Yet you treat them like crap.”
“My members,” I automatically retort, “think they can barge into my life, my home, my mind and take over and make me like them. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not one to do well with being controlled.”
He makes a hum in the back of his throat, and then, “How old are you?”
“Twenty… How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Well, Sunbae,” I start, and I can see the surprise flit across his face at such a respectful term, “are we going to dance or play twenty questions for the next hour?”
He smirks. After a moment of a staring contest he walks over to the radio, pressing buttons until some sort of wind sound bursts from the speakers. “Just watch this time.”
Let me talk about my…
Author: Deferney97
Pairing: Lee Kikwang/OFC
Rating: 16+
Warning: some themes may be disturbing to young audiences
Summary: Mina's mother hates her. That's okay, though; Mina hates everything--especially her job of making the "perfect" idols look perfect. She hates the fake idol music. She hates the fake idol image. And now--somehow--she has one?
Nine
“Do you think a stick would work?”
“She’s not a tiger, pabo.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Maybe a bottle of water?”
“Do you want to deal with a drowned rat-looking bitch?”
“Hey! She doesn’t look like a rat. And she’s only a bitch because you guys are bitches to her.”
“Dude, shut up. You don’t have to pretend to like her right now, she’s not awake.”
“I do like her.”
“You like her ass.”
“Same thing.”
Lots of snorting, sarcastic laughter flits around the room until they become serious again. I wonder how long this will last.
“When we get her up can you buy me at least an hour to sleep on my bed again? My back is killing me.”
“What happened to ‘I’m a man, I don’t need a bed’?”
“I slept without a fucking bed, that’s what.”
“That’s your own fault,” Doojoon and I say simultaneously, though his came out better because my voice is hoarse from sleep.
“Morning Noona,” Dongwoon says brightly, his loud voice echoing inside the others’ empty heads.
“Morning kid,” I reply, yawning. I squint up at them. “What time is it?”
“Six-thirty.”
“I have like two hours, leave me alone,” I groan rolling on to my stomach and shoving my head into the pillow.
Yoseob laughs nervously, “Actually, Rain-sunbaenim started your classes today. You have an hour of dance practice before work.”
It’s official:
I hate everyone.
&&&
“Good morning Mina,” Rain greets me as I bow respectively, albeit begrudgingly.
“Morning,” I reply.
“Your teacher will be here in a few minutes,” he says with a flick of his wrist as he leaves, “start stretching.”
Why the hell would you even bother coming here if that’s all you’re going to do?
Staring at myself in the mirror for a moment, I note that I should probably pull up my hair somehow, but without any elastic ponytails, I shrug and grab my ankles.
I did gymnastics for six years until I started high school, so flexibility is not a problem for me.
“Stretch well,” a baritone voice tells me, “you’re going to hurt like hell until the end of your career.”
I groan, “Reassuring.”
I sit into a butterfly, leaning forward until my forehead touches the floor. “I’m Kim Hyun Ki.”
My reply is a grunt. His footsteps pad towards somewhere in front of me. “I hear you’re the troublemaker of the group.”
“You teach the others?” I ask, stretching out my legs and touching my toes. Flipping back my hair, his face becomes visible to me. He’s startlingly attractive, with strong features and guarded eyes, a muscular and long body leaning against the mirror.
“Occasionally Nadine,” he tells me. “Lucy has Joon and Rain and Ella doesn’t need anyone. Nadine just needs routines.”
“So I’m the worst dancer?” Great. Haven’t even done anything yet and I’m already bad at something.
“I don’t think you can be any worse than Lucy,” he says, surprising me.
“Rain made Lucy his project,” he explains, “so he tends to help her personally.”
What bullshit.
“Don’t complain in your head,” he tells me as I stand and fall into a backbend. “Everybody on Earth would be luckier to get me than Rain.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, slightly worried.
“Just,” he laughs, “trust me.”
So, despite it all, I do.
“First we’re going to learn a few BEAST numbers.”
Immediately I wrinkle my nose. I don’t want to do anything associated with those asswipes. I stand, waiting.
“This dance,” he says, “requires extreme precision. There’s no room for error.” Story of my life.
“What song is it?” I ask. Honestly I’ve never heard a BEAST song a day in my life, aside from the bits that slip into my ears during their performances. But I’m usually in the waiting room and I keep the volume down, so I’ve never really heard a full song.
“Breath.”
I wait a few moments, hoping maybe by miracle I’ll suddenly recall the song. After a while I shrug, “Never heard it.”
“I-” He stops, unaware of what to say. He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “This is going to be difficult.”
No part of me wants to hear about how difficult the song is. No part of me wants to be told how difficult, unworthy, or unable I am.
Fine. If I’m going to be treated like this the entire time I train, I’ll prove them wrong. I’m worth more than they seem to think. I’m worth more than they’ll ever understand.
“Let’s go.” I say. I don’t know what he hears in my voice or sees in my face, but he stands taller when he looks at me. He tilts his head, and I recognize in his eyes something in him changes, like he’s realizing something.
“Why aren’t you being a bitch to me like everyone’s describing you as?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m a bitch to them because they’re pampered self-righteous self-centered assholes who think they’re the only ones that work. They’ve got this mindset of bullshit in their mind because of stupid fan girls that only think about the pretty face and not all the people that work to make them that way.”
“Why am I different?” He juts out his chin, defensive. Why anyone would want to fit under the category I just described, I don’t know, but it seems like he does.
“Because you’re not one of them. You just seem like someone with equal amounts of confidence and humility.”
“Your members aren’t like that. Yet you treat them like crap.”
“My members,” I automatically retort, “think they can barge into my life, my home, my mind and take over and make me like them. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not one to do well with being controlled.”
He makes a hum in the back of his throat, and then, “How old are you?”
“Twenty… How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Well, Sunbae,” I start, and I can see the surprise flit across his face at such a respectful term, “are we going to dance or play twenty questions for the next hour?”
He smirks. After a moment of a staring contest he walks over to the radio, pressing buttons until some sort of wind sound bursts from the speakers. “Just watch this time.”
Let me talk about my…