[Fic] JongHo: Roses drenched in Blood [Save Me]; R
Title: Roses drenched in Blood [Save Me]
Alternative/Shorter Title: A Million Roses
Pairing: JongHo
Genre: AU, ANGST, Romance, Murder,
Rated: R (dark subject matter)
Warning: Does not make sense, Assassin!Minho & Angel?!Jonghyun, Violence and Gore.
Summary: Pure, white, rose stained with a million drops of blood, never knowing love.
A/N: THIS is Jonghyun’s song, incase you haven’t heard it. I suggest listening to it, because it sets the mood for the story. Oh, and why is Minho a assassin? IDK. Because Assassin!Minho is awesome. I have writers block, what can I say? Weird things get written when I have writer’s block. The last one, Jjong was convinced he was a puppy. I’m telling you, weird....
Rain suddenly began pouring down, from the dark and angry heavens moaning loudly above him, washing away the DNA, the tears, and lastly the blood, sending the thick red liquid down a tattered yet muscular arm, slowly sliding down to the steaming gun loosely suspended in the weak grasp of the strong hand clenched around it, until finally dripping down in red teardrops back to the ground.
Without a word, a life taken. Without a blink or flinch, the blood of another man slides down his face, covering the assassin without another’s life and death as he slips silently away into the darkness, away from the flashing city lights.
The heavens scream, curse and rumble above him as he walks away from the life he has taken. To him, a life taken is a life saved. To him, in order to live, there must be death. Death of another, and another, and another as he is commanded, until finally the day he may be free. To be free to live on his own life. And, yet, what is life?
White dress-shirt hidden under black suit’s jacket is now red with the other man’s blood, and yet not the most permeant stain on the man. Barely breaking the age nineteen, his hands are stained. Stained for eternity with the blood of other’s, painted forever with the lives he had taken away with his two god-given hands.
Dark, black, smoldering eyes shed tears as he walks away from the sins he has left behind him, screams and cries of the man’s family already reaching his ears as he walks faster.
Away, further and further away from it all. Away from a heart, a soul, away from his own humanity into the blackness of the night, as blood and tears wash over his tainted body. Pure, white soul more beautiful than an angel’s feather tainted, stained, dirtied and ruined by the cruelness of man, lost forever under the grave he has built himself, buried under the tears, blood and sins he has left behind.
He doesn’t want to continue on, he doesn’t want to live a life of taking others, and yet he cannot stop it. His hands have been stained, his soul has been sold, and there is no way to live a life of freedom. He is no longer his own. He is no longer the small child which had once clung onto his mother’s fingers, no longer the pure soul, more delicate than a newly bloomed rose.
Pure, white, rose stained with a million drops of blood, never knowing love. Never to know love. Never loves or receives love. Tears, blood, gun-smoke and regret are his only companions. The only things to stand at his side. The only things to stay with him until they are in fact his own.
Nothing can save him, no one can change him. Nothing can change his fate aside from himself, as he holds his bloody gun against his own head, dirtied, cold tears escaping down smoldering eyes as he feels the heat escaping from the smoking gun’s barrel against his flesh.
The end of an angel, fallen from the heavens into the darkness of men, dirtied with their sin and greed, as trembling fingers brush over the trigger.
All until something small, quiet and yet so entirely solid sounds through the darkness.
All until something so soft, gentle and pure that it stops the sinner’s tremblings, causing for him to stand still, eyes still closed tightly, hot gun still against him.
A voice quiet and gentle, pure and innocent, and yet strong and rich. Unfaltering and even, seamless as it smooths over each strong word.
Without any hate (hate, hate)
When I can only love without any reserve,
A million, a million, a million flowers bloom,
I can go to my beautiful starland which I miss....
The voice of a man? It was nothing of the sorts. Men were weak, cold, dirty and corrupted. The voice was strong, warm, velvet and yet so completely pure as it raised smoothly over high, seamless notes.
Music plays as the sinner had never heard it. It’s soft and steady, blocking the noises of screaming sobs that the assassin had heard continuously from the first life he had taken. Since the soul once designed so sweet and pure as a rose’s petal was painted blood-red by sin. Since the angel had been trapped down to earth, since his heart had broken. Since he had fallen so far from his original design.
A long, long time ago,
When I came out, into this world,
To come back after giving love,
A small voice, I heard.
The voice was continuing, stronger now, and more recognizable to the assassin’s ears. Though soft and high at first, it was now a deep, masculine voice that sounded through the darkness of the night.
He had never heard such a voice before, never once in the corrupted world he had grown in. For once it sounded as if it was not coming from the vocal chords. But from a heart. A soul. A spirit white and pure. A soul more pure and beautiful than a million roses, as strong and beautiful as his was meant to be.
A flower that blooms only when in love,
I was told to make a million flowers bloom,
Only in true love,
Will the rose of love bloom.
With trembling hands, and icy tears, the gun shakes weakly in a wavering grasp, as it slowly is moved from being pressed against his head, dirty black hair moving from around it’s barrel.
The voice sings stronger as the song goes on and on, causing for his heart to weaken and his body to shiver and tremble.
The voice is not a normal man’s voice, the instruments were not the same played by the dirty men he had met before in his life. The lyrics spoke of love, yet a love that affected his broken heart. He had never known love, and yet the words stung and dug into him harder and harder as the deep voice singing became more and more passionate.
What is true love, I wept distressed,
Many men have been separated,
This world is so sad.
Without any hate (hate, hate)
When I can only love without any reserve,
A million, a million, a million flowers bloom,
I can go to my beautiful starland which I miss....
Now the voice is singing strong, deeper and deeper, and the pace of the song is rising more and more, as the gun trembles more and more until the hand loosely grasping it loses its strength and falls weakly at the assassin’s side.
Somehow, despite his legs trembling so drastically, he manages to move. Moving slowly in a direction he does not know. In the direction of some strange light that suddenly has begun shining since his eyes had once again opened, a light down a path that is leading him the opposite direction of where he had been heading beforehand.
Somehow, in some way, he feels as if for once in his life, he knows where he is going, and what he is doing. Like he has known this strong yet velvet voice all his life.
Even though everyone has already left,
I will continue on to love.
Who had come to see me from that star,
Was the one who I had missed so much.
Without any hate (hate, hate)
When I can only love without any reserve,
A million, a million, a million flowers bloom,
I can go to my beautiful starland which I miss.
The gun drops to the ground, the rain stops and his aching soul stops bleeding. In front of him sits the owner of the strong, beautiful voice. Before him is not a dirty man, despite his human-like features. Before him is an angel.
Dressed in all black, surrounded by a million silver roses, a stream of light shines onto him, and he’s all the assassin can see. He doesn’t raise his head towards the other, eyes closed tightly in his song, voice richer, stronger, louder, deeper and all the more beautiful than before as the music plays loudly and passionately around him.
He moves, sways, throws his head back as he sings as passionately as if each little sound escapes his heart, eyes clenched closed as if he sings louder and louder, as if his song somehow was able to cause something to happen. Or perhaps...stop something from happening.
Without any hate (hate, hate)
When I can only love without any reserve,
A million, a million, a million flowers bloom,
I can go to my beautiful starland which I miss.
Ohh~
A million, a million, a million flowers bloom,
I can go to my beautiful starland which I miss......
Finally the angel stops, takes a breath and slowly large, deep brown eyes open and fall softly onto the sinner in front of him, staring at him with no surprise, because he knew that he was standing there.
In his eyes there is pureness, happiness, recognition, and something the assassin cannot not recognize: love.
The angel smiles softly, bringing a new light to the darkness as the gentle smile plays over soft, plump lips and quietly he whispers, calling out to the sinner that stands in front of him.
“Minho-yah...”
His soft, whispering voice sounds quietly over the hum of the instruments, causing for the assassin’s breath to leave his chest, as he is called that name. His name. The name which was always his, and yet he had never felt he deserved. Calling him gently and lightly as a lost lover might have called after seeing their love after years apart, and somehow that’s how Minho found himself feeling. As if he had known this angel forever.
With one steady breath, the angel, still looking straight into Minho’s eyes, resumes his song. His voice soft, quiet and high again as it had sounded when he had started his song, but now all the more beautiful as his bright, brown eyes stare into the other’s.
After a long time had gone by,
Giving everything; even one’s life...
Appearing out of nowhere, like rain,
Such a love held me in his arms.......
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: What is this? I don't know. I don't have any idea where it came from, or why I wrote this. I must be craving my OTP? And yeah, of course Jjong's an angel, Jjongie's always an angel in meh mind.
OKAY, so to let you know, there's not religious underlines in this at all. So, don't think of it like that. Hmn, this is so weird. I write weird things when I have writer's block.
Anyways, this is (of course) inspired by Jjongie's Immortal Song 2 performance. And of course, Minho was there for him and such a good lover friend before/after the performance that it's made it into a JongHo song for me. I loooove Jonghyun's voice in this song! His voice...........*melts* 好MAN! ㅋㅋㅋ....so yeah, that's it. I hope you liked/not weirded out. PLEASE COMMENT. Comments are inspiration! <3
Alternative/Shorter Title: A Million Roses
Pairing: JongHo
Genre: AU, ANGST, Romance, Murder,
Rated: R (dark subject matter)
Warning: Does not make sense, Assassin!Minho & Angel?!Jonghyun, Violence and Gore.
Summary: Pure, white, rose stained with a million drops of blood, never knowing love.
A/N: THIS is Jonghyun’s song, incase you haven’t heard it. I suggest listening to it, because it sets the mood for the story. Oh, and why is Minho a assassin? IDK. Because Assassin!Minho is awesome. I have writers block, what can I say? Weird things get written when I have writer’s block. The last one, Jjong was convinced he was a puppy. I’m telling you, weird....
Rain suddenly began pouring down, from the dark and angry heavens moaning loudly above him, washing away the DNA, the tears, and lastly the blood, sending the thick red liquid down a tattered yet muscular arm, slowly sliding down to the steaming gun loosely suspended in the weak grasp of the strong hand clenched around it, until finally dripping down in red teardrops back to the ground.
Without a word, a life taken. Without a blink or flinch, the blood of another man slides down his face, covering the assassin without another’s life and death as he slips silently away into the darkness, away from the flashing city lights.
The heavens scream, curse and rumble above him as he walks away from the life he has taken. To him, a life taken is a life saved. To him, in order to live, there must be death. Death of another, and another, and another as he is commanded, until finally the day he may be free. To be free to live on his own life. And, yet, what is life?
White dress-shirt hidden under black suit’s jacket is now red with the other man’s blood, and yet not the most permeant stain on the man. Barely breaking the age nineteen, his hands are stained. Stained for eternity with the blood of other’s, painted forever with the lives he had taken away with his two god-given hands.
Dark, black, smoldering eyes shed tears as he walks away from the sins he has left behind him, screams and cries of the man’s family already reaching his ears as he walks faster.
Away, further and further away from it all. Away from a heart, a soul, away from his own humanity into the blackness of the night, as blood and tears wash over his tainted body. Pure, white soul more beautiful than an angel’s feather tainted, stained, dirtied and ruined by the cruelness of man, lost forever under the grave he has built himself, buried under the tears, blood and sins he has left behind.
He doesn’t want to continue on, he doesn’t want to live a life of taking others, and yet he cannot stop it. His hands have been stained, his soul has been sold, and there is no way to live a life of freedom. He is no longer his own. He is no longer the small child which had once clung onto his mother’s fingers, no longer the pure soul, more delicate than a newly bloomed rose.
Pure, white, rose stained with a million drops of blood, never knowing love. Never to know love. Never loves or receives love. Tears, blood, gun-smoke and regret are his only companions. The only things to stand at his side. The only things to stay with him until they are in fact his own.
Nothing can save him, no one can change him. Nothing can change his fate aside from himself, as he holds his bloody gun against his own head, dirtied, cold tears escaping down smoldering eyes as he feels the heat escaping from the smoking gun’s barrel against his flesh.
The end of an angel, fallen from the heavens into the darkness of men, dirtied with their sin and greed, as trembling fingers brush over the trigger.
All until something small, quiet and yet so entirely solid sounds through the darkness.
All until something so soft, gentle and pure that it stops the sinner’s tremblings, causing for him to stand still, eyes still closed tightly, hot gun still against him.
A voice quiet and gentle, pure and innocent, and yet strong and rich. Unfaltering and even, seamless as it smooths over each strong word.
Without any hate (hate, hate)
When I can only love without any reserve,
A million, a million, a million flowers bloom,
I can go to my beautiful starland which I miss....
The voice of a man? It was nothing of the sorts. Men were weak, cold, dirty and corrupted. The voice was strong, warm, velvet and yet so completely pure as it raised smoothly over high, seamless notes.
Music plays as the sinner had never heard it. It’s soft and steady, blocking the noises of screaming sobs that the assassin had heard continuously from the first life he had taken. Since the soul once designed so sweet and pure as a rose’s petal was painted blood-red by sin. Since the angel had been trapped down to earth, since his heart had broken. Since he had fallen so far from his original design.
A long, long time ago,
When I came out, into this world,
To come back after giving love,
A small voice, I heard.
The voice was continuing, stronger now, and more recognizable to the assassin’s ears. Though soft and high at first, it was now a deep, masculine voice that sounded through the darkness of the night.
He had never heard such a voice before, never once in the corrupted world he had grown in. For once it sounded as if it was not coming from the vocal chords. But from a heart. A soul. A spirit white and pure. A soul more pure and beautiful than a million roses, as strong and beautiful as his was meant to be.
A flower that blooms only when in love,
I was told to make a million flowers bloom,
Only in true love,
Will the rose of love bloom.
With trembling hands, and icy tears, the gun shakes weakly in a wavering grasp, as it slowly is moved from being pressed against his head, dirty black hair moving from around it’s barrel.
The voice sings stronger as the song goes on and on, causing for his heart to weaken and his body to shiver and tremble.
The voice is not a normal man’s voice, the instruments were not the same played by the dirty men he had met before in his life. The lyrics spoke of love, yet a love that affected his broken heart. He had never known love, and yet the words stung and dug into him harder and harder as the deep voice singing became more and more passionate.
What is true love, I wept distressed,
Many men have been separated,
This world is so sad.
Without any hate (hate, hate)
When I can only love without any reserve,
A million, a million, a million flowers bloom,
I can go to my beautiful starland which I miss....
Now the voice is singing strong, deeper and deeper, and the pace of the song is rising more and more, as the gun trembles more and more until the hand loosely grasping it loses its strength and falls weakly at the assassin’s side.
Somehow, despite his legs trembling so drastically, he manages to move. Moving slowly in a direction he does not know. In the direction of some strange light that suddenly has begun shining since his eyes had once again opened, a light down a path that is leading him the opposite direction of where he had been heading beforehand.
Somehow, in some way, he feels as if for once in his life, he knows where he is going, and what he is doing. Like he has known this strong yet velvet voice all his life.
Even though everyone has already left,
I will continue on to love.
Who had come to see me from that star,
Was the one who I had missed so much.
Without any hate (hate, hate)
When I can only love without any reserve,
A million, a million, a million flowers bloom,
I can go to my beautiful starland which I miss.
The gun drops to the ground, the rain stops and his aching soul stops bleeding. In front of him sits the owner of the strong, beautiful voice. Before him is not a dirty man, despite his human-like features. Before him is an angel.
Dressed in all black, surrounded by a million silver roses, a stream of light shines onto him, and he’s all the assassin can see. He doesn’t raise his head towards the other, eyes closed tightly in his song, voice richer, stronger, louder, deeper and all the more beautiful than before as the music plays loudly and passionately around him.
He moves, sways, throws his head back as he sings as passionately as if each little sound escapes his heart, eyes clenched closed as if he sings louder and louder, as if his song somehow was able to cause something to happen. Or perhaps...stop something from happening.
Without any hate (hate, hate)
When I can only love without any reserve,
A million, a million, a million flowers bloom,
I can go to my beautiful starland which I miss.
Ohh~
A million, a million, a million flowers bloom,
I can go to my beautiful starland which I miss......
Finally the angel stops, takes a breath and slowly large, deep brown eyes open and fall softly onto the sinner in front of him, staring at him with no surprise, because he knew that he was standing there.
In his eyes there is pureness, happiness, recognition, and something the assassin cannot not recognize: love.
The angel smiles softly, bringing a new light to the darkness as the gentle smile plays over soft, plump lips and quietly he whispers, calling out to the sinner that stands in front of him.
“Minho-yah...”
His soft, whispering voice sounds quietly over the hum of the instruments, causing for the assassin’s breath to leave his chest, as he is called that name. His name. The name which was always his, and yet he had never felt he deserved. Calling him gently and lightly as a lost lover might have called after seeing their love after years apart, and somehow that’s how Minho found himself feeling. As if he had known this angel forever.
With one steady breath, the angel, still looking straight into Minho’s eyes, resumes his song. His voice soft, quiet and high again as it had sounded when he had started his song, but now all the more beautiful as his bright, brown eyes stare into the other’s.
After a long time had gone by,
Giving everything; even one’s life...
Appearing out of nowhere, like rain,
Such a love held me in his arms.......
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: What is this? I don't know. I don't have any idea where it came from, or why I wrote this. I must be craving my OTP? And yeah, of course Jjong's an angel, Jjongie's always an angel in meh mind.
OKAY, so to let you know, there's not religious underlines in this at all. So, don't think of it like that. Hmn, this is so weird. I write weird things when I have writer's block.
Anyways, this is (of course) inspired by Jjongie's Immortal Song 2 performance. And of course, Minho was there for him and such a good lover friend before/after the performance that it's made it into a JongHo song for me. I loooove Jonghyun's voice in this song! His voice...........*melts* 好MAN! ㅋㅋㅋ....so yeah, that's it. I hope you liked/not weirded out. PLEASE COMMENT. Comments are inspiration! <3