πΈπππππ.
SETTING: upper extremities chernoff estate. NOTES: funeral for a friend. MENTIONS: referencing seojun and blythe's self paras. TAGS: #ilsungselfpara #wpc02
written for my oc park il-sung in IVORY CITY. 2022.
CONTENT WARNINGοΉ character deaths. unhealthy coping mechanisms, e.g. repression, murderous thoughts, misplaced anger. consensual somnophilia.
γ €γ € ilsung haven't stopped moving since dawn.
awoken by urgent ringing from phone calls has him stripped off from nestling further into his lover's back, and after that, the whole day has been a blur.
he must have run through a thousand pack of cigarettes today, or if anything else fails, he might have found himself in a different scenario of running through another's chest and pulling out a vital organ.
one he'll be more than willing to replace blythe's broken heart, just to see him breathing one more time.
if only the muse were still alive to see the deathly expression that the lamia possesses, while he observes the process of removing a Minister's body from the site and making it look like an accident. and if his men can sense the viciousness behind the calmest actions and shortest answers that they can get, it had been wise for them not to call ilsung on it.
from morning, it had been his best friend. a close confidant. from afternoon, it had been a missing comrade. the lover of that best friend.
when night falls, it's to a lover with his lost mind.
γ there's no need to be sad.γ
and when seojun is in a state like this, delirious and delusional, the usual patience and tolerance that ilsung has in coaxing him back dissipated in a haze of melancholy. but the usual rules still stay, of the terms that the alexandrian agreed with this kind of relationship; its beauty, its dangers.
γ with my power, death is temporary.γ
he never shed tears, he never cried before. but he knows where to pull tears out from, knows where to press and tear, bite and choke to hear cries.
without another word, he slides the glamour off and carries the unconscious man into the open bathroom. filling the large stone tub with warm water as he slithers inside, carefully sitting the alexandrian on his lap. ilsung tips his head to rest against the edge of the bathtub, sighing in relief once he feels the pulses of hot, tight caverns around him.
γ you're right, seogushka, you always are, γ the lamia whispers in a low, grave tone; ignoring the unknowing pain that constricts within his chest, but instead cradles seojun's head next to his heart. his breaths even out, his eyes shut, as he drifts off. γ there's no need to be sad. γ