fic: The Black Lie -1-
Title: The Black Lie
Author: dria1029
Pairings: ot5, implied! Jongho
Genre: Angst, Suspense, Crime, Supernatural
Warnings: Mentions of murder, death and pedophilia. Substance use. Language. Graphic sexual content.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: ‘A lie is a lie, whether black or white’ A lesson of “honesty is the best policy” is learned in the Shinee dorm when the boys find themselves under the influence of a force that they each lend a hand in to create. A force like no other, that sinks teeth into the very hands that have shaped it into the enforcer of immoral conduct that it is. It is a virus that takes over bit by bit, as so many of us are familiar with, and it is a hard one to rectify. ‘But the truth will burn and bludgeon before it will set t us free…’
Word Count: ,007 (For this chapter)
a/n: A dark, twisted fable about lies. Basically. A lot of metaphorical and symbolic themes here: like, mainly, my personifications of the White Lie and (my own creation) the Black Lie, who is basically the White Lie turned much more fatal/threatening (if you cannot spot make connections to these themes, you know who to call on.) Pretty heavy/ deep reading as well, since this time I decided to “philosify” my style-read carefully. If you can get past the first paragraph, a standing ovation to you champ, and morbidly happy reading to you.
Again if you do not understand something, do not hesitate to ask. Either PM me if you’re still in the middle of reading or comment when you’re done. Though I do implore for you to try to register things on your own before you seek answers from me lol.
*Inspired by an episode of the Powerpuff girls, believe it or not.
*Black Lie very loosely inspired by Venom from Spiderman
I was born, suddenly, in the crusted eye of waning mortality. My conception under a dying star, seized from the depths of an ill-paralleled universe; a cornucopia of antagonistic infernos who reign supreme , of ebony smokes, of poisonous, ruby dusts, and violet sands; dunes of wretched plights.
Forged under pressure, subjugated to a womb where time was more of a suggestion than a presence of anchored continuum-as it could have been a second or millennia that passed by that I was birthed on a wave of moldy, primordial sludge. Silent, naked, formless, blind. The odor of maggoty, unearthed soil-a perfume of pestilence-to welcome me into this cold, alien void.
Along with my own, I could feel another pulse of life as I bled out of my branch-enshrouded sack, jellied miasma carrying me and this apparent twin on a slow current to another unknown. Our veined cords of nutrient discord preventing me from detaching myself so prematurely, like I had already so desired since the instinct was encoded in my system: Feasibly, the hallow echo to kill already pounding, resonating throughout my weak excuse for existence, to rid myself of the pulsating threat. I did not need this other one. This other one did not need me. Only one would be victorious in the very distant (or very near) end: It just all depended on the host. It all depended, and until I was stronger, I would have to contend with this other half.
But despite this pothole, I had nothing much to fret about. I was alive. I was already a festering force, a beggar man for blood and an impending nuisance upon all and any I came across. I’d weed as fast as my bottomless greed.
For even without flesh or pseudo metaphor for lips; even as nothing less of an embryo, a delightfully deceased smirk I favored.
The odds, imperatively, to be in my favor.
________
Jonghyun staggered into his shadowed room, semi-slamming the door behind him and cursing himself in the same, labored breath for forgetting to be mindful of the sleeping others. Yet the reminder was as quickly tossed as it was conjured. He turned, and tilted his head back for a soft thud against the artificial wood, his wind-dried lips pried open for respiratory relief, though what came out were still wheezes of discomfort. Pressed his burned out body against the door immediately, fingers wide and palms on the paneling as the stone in his virile throat bobbed up and down in frenzy.
hat’s all he was, truthfully. A ball of fried nerves.
His eyes stung when he finally opened them-from the sweat that had ran into them-and only after he’d spent at least a minute or so trying to calm himself physically…as well as push a definite pause on the rapid picture show of recollection from the night’s events. The distilled atrocity. The climactic, squalid imagery:
Rancid dumpster, a heavy metallic scent hovering in the air like raging, red epidemic. All of it, whether it retold Jonghyun’s involvement being in the thick of the dragon’s nest- or, like in the beginning, embodied as a pale, wide-eyed voyeur from the outermost circle. No mistake that he was there regardless, to keep in mind.
That he was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Doing the wrong things that, well, seemed right at the time if he didn’t want to get hurt.
Before he slumped to the carpet, he caught himself with reflexive knees. Peeled himself reluctantly away from the door with a groan. Against some personal complex, he refused to lock the door. No matter how much the screaming and banging the organ in his chest carried out, he wouldn’t subdue to leeriness. Because he was safe now. He’d run too fast for them to follow; to stalk and log him into a reference folder as a possible rat. To put labels on him and hound him for God knew how long until …the fiasco blew over…
When Jonghyun limped away, he left behind a faded set of bloody hand prints on the door.
The…massacre, technically…
Grunting, trembling, he carefully tugged his shirt over his head. Undressed in the dark albeit a little blue light from his phone charger. With a mind to hastily tend to his wounds in the morning-preferably before he could be seen- he crawled into bed in just his boxers, squeak of the mattress not familiar enough, unfortunately, to stunt any alerting ear quirks or fearful skims of the room at the slightest sound throughout the rest of the night.
So much for not being paranoid…
Jonghyun winced to keep the moisture from welling in his eyes. Balling his fists became a really stupid idea once he’d hissed violently, unclenching them and trying not to imagine the deep cuts in the webbing of his hands. Trying not to imagine, in detail, how the rest of his blanketed body looked…fighting distress of how battered, bruised and utterly fucked up he was -and how it could have been a thousand times worse. Really, torturing himself further. Instead of striving for sleep.
He lay there for a good while, as a straight corpse upon the now-dirtied sheets.
He felt nothing. But he felt everything. Numb, but very much tactile.
And staring up into the tree swaying puppet show on his ceiling, showcased by the waxing moon, he realized it as the most formidable feeling in the world.
Beneath him, under the bed, something chuckled soundlessly. A ruthless pair of glowing, pink eyes blinked open wetly against lent littered darkness; much like a feline’s, though something much more sinister in the black, dilated slits. A smile slithered apart, full of blinding white teeth, sharp as daggers. A beaming curve just as lethal as a samurai’s katana, just as striking as resplendent sin and as aberrant as a torrential tempest during a sun bleached noon.
Another snicker, a lewd sigh of satisfaction, and one lip smacking whisper of Jonghyun’ s name as a forked tongue flickered out, licking around invisible lips
Author: dria1029
Pairings: ot5, implied! Jongho
Genre: Angst, Suspense, Crime, Supernatural
Warnings: Mentions of murder, death and pedophilia. Substance use. Language. Graphic sexual content.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: ‘A lie is a lie, whether black or white’ A lesson of “honesty is the best policy” is learned in the Shinee dorm when the boys find themselves under the influence of a force that they each lend a hand in to create. A force like no other, that sinks teeth into the very hands that have shaped it into the enforcer of immoral conduct that it is. It is a virus that takes over bit by bit, as so many of us are familiar with, and it is a hard one to rectify. ‘But the truth will burn and bludgeon before it will set t us free…’
Word Count: ,007 (For this chapter)
a/n: A dark, twisted fable about lies. Basically. A lot of metaphorical and symbolic themes here: like, mainly, my personifications of the White Lie and (my own creation) the Black Lie, who is basically the White Lie turned much more fatal/threatening (if you cannot spot make connections to these themes, you know who to call on.) Pretty heavy/ deep reading as well, since this time I decided to “philosify” my style-read carefully. If you can get past the first paragraph, a standing ovation to you champ, and morbidly happy reading to you.
Again if you do not understand something, do not hesitate to ask. Either PM me if you’re still in the middle of reading or comment when you’re done. Though I do implore for you to try to register things on your own before you seek answers from me lol.
*Inspired by an episode of the Powerpuff girls, believe it or not.
*Black Lie very loosely inspired by Venom from Spiderman
I was born, suddenly, in the crusted eye of waning mortality. My conception under a dying star, seized from the depths of an ill-paralleled universe; a cornucopia of antagonistic infernos who reign supreme , of ebony smokes, of poisonous, ruby dusts, and violet sands; dunes of wretched plights.
Forged under pressure, subjugated to a womb where time was more of a suggestion than a presence of anchored continuum-as it could have been a second or millennia that passed by that I was birthed on a wave of moldy, primordial sludge. Silent, naked, formless, blind. The odor of maggoty, unearthed soil-a perfume of pestilence-to welcome me into this cold, alien void.
Along with my own, I could feel another pulse of life as I bled out of my branch-enshrouded sack, jellied miasma carrying me and this apparent twin on a slow current to another unknown. Our veined cords of nutrient discord preventing me from detaching myself so prematurely, like I had already so desired since the instinct was encoded in my system: Feasibly, the hallow echo to kill already pounding, resonating throughout my weak excuse for existence, to rid myself of the pulsating threat. I did not need this other one. This other one did not need me. Only one would be victorious in the very distant (or very near) end: It just all depended on the host. It all depended, and until I was stronger, I would have to contend with this other half.
But despite this pothole, I had nothing much to fret about. I was alive. I was already a festering force, a beggar man for blood and an impending nuisance upon all and any I came across. I’d weed as fast as my bottomless greed.
For even without flesh or pseudo metaphor for lips; even as nothing less of an embryo, a delightfully deceased smirk I favored.
The odds, imperatively, to be in my favor.
________
Jonghyun staggered into his shadowed room, semi-slamming the door behind him and cursing himself in the same, labored breath for forgetting to be mindful of the sleeping others. Yet the reminder was as quickly tossed as it was conjured. He turned, and tilted his head back for a soft thud against the artificial wood, his wind-dried lips pried open for respiratory relief, though what came out were still wheezes of discomfort. Pressed his burned out body against the door immediately, fingers wide and palms on the paneling as the stone in his virile throat bobbed up and down in frenzy.
hat’s all he was, truthfully. A ball of fried nerves.
His eyes stung when he finally opened them-from the sweat that had ran into them-and only after he’d spent at least a minute or so trying to calm himself physically…as well as push a definite pause on the rapid picture show of recollection from the night’s events. The distilled atrocity. The climactic, squalid imagery:
Rancid dumpster, a heavy metallic scent hovering in the air like raging, red epidemic. All of it, whether it retold Jonghyun’s involvement being in the thick of the dragon’s nest- or, like in the beginning, embodied as a pale, wide-eyed voyeur from the outermost circle. No mistake that he was there regardless, to keep in mind.
That he was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Doing the wrong things that, well, seemed right at the time if he didn’t want to get hurt.
Before he slumped to the carpet, he caught himself with reflexive knees. Peeled himself reluctantly away from the door with a groan. Against some personal complex, he refused to lock the door. No matter how much the screaming and banging the organ in his chest carried out, he wouldn’t subdue to leeriness. Because he was safe now. He’d run too fast for them to follow; to stalk and log him into a reference folder as a possible rat. To put labels on him and hound him for God knew how long until …the fiasco blew over…
When Jonghyun limped away, he left behind a faded set of bloody hand prints on the door.
The…massacre, technically…
Grunting, trembling, he carefully tugged his shirt over his head. Undressed in the dark albeit a little blue light from his phone charger. With a mind to hastily tend to his wounds in the morning-preferably before he could be seen- he crawled into bed in just his boxers, squeak of the mattress not familiar enough, unfortunately, to stunt any alerting ear quirks or fearful skims of the room at the slightest sound throughout the rest of the night.
So much for not being paranoid…
Jonghyun winced to keep the moisture from welling in his eyes. Balling his fists became a really stupid idea once he’d hissed violently, unclenching them and trying not to imagine the deep cuts in the webbing of his hands. Trying not to imagine, in detail, how the rest of his blanketed body looked…fighting distress of how battered, bruised and utterly fucked up he was -and how it could have been a thousand times worse. Really, torturing himself further. Instead of striving for sleep.
He lay there for a good while, as a straight corpse upon the now-dirtied sheets.
He felt nothing. But he felt everything. Numb, but very much tactile.
And staring up into the tree swaying puppet show on his ceiling, showcased by the waxing moon, he realized it as the most formidable feeling in the world.
Beneath him, under the bed, something chuckled soundlessly. A ruthless pair of glowing, pink eyes blinked open wetly against lent littered darkness; much like a feline’s, though something much more sinister in the black, dilated slits. A smile slithered apart, full of blinding white teeth, sharp as daggers. A beaming curve just as lethal as a samurai’s katana, just as striking as resplendent sin and as aberrant as a torrential tempest during a sun bleached noon.
Another snicker, a lewd sigh of satisfaction, and one lip smacking whisper of Jonghyun’ s name as a forked tongue flickered out, licking around invisible lips