![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
parkwonbini wrote this at the very beginning of november when i had active wonton thoughts which ended up fading in favour of… other thoughts AND THEN MY BRAIN SWITCHED OFF and now that i’ve taken the tonnen sprite again i’m interested in picking it up again soon.
Chatter echoes around the hall as the aisles fill with families all dressed up in their Sunday best. Wailing children, keys and purses clanging onto the benches, the choking smell of incense from the previous mass hanging heavy on the air, — Lee Chanyoung hates church.
He itches in his cotton shirt and sleeveless cashmere sweater, wishing to be anywhere but there. A couple of mint notes are shoved into his hand, a papery violation. It’s for the offertory, but Chanyoung can’t count a single time something good had come out of paying god.
For FUCK’s sake. The lady behind him can’t stop coughing and sniffling. It’s all too much for Chanyoung.
Finally the organ sounds the beginning of the 10 am service, and the congregation rises to their feet. Standing tall, Chanyoung gazes across a sea of heads till he finds the boy in a chiffon dress shirt in the pew a couple of rows ahead. His breath slows as he makes out the outline of those familiar shoulder blades his fingers have committed so deeply to memory jutting through his slightly translucent shirt.
Then the boy turns around, and their eyes immediately connect. It’s the most spiritual Chanyoung’s felt in days. The boy smiles at him, his lips ripe to bursting. Chanyoung desires nothing more than to lick them up in adoration, and bite on them till they bleed.
In church blood was wine, and to Chanyoung that is one truth in a religion of falsehoods — because Chanyoung has tasted that pretty boy’s blood before, directly from his bruised lips, and it was intoxicating.
The priest and his entourage walk down the aisle, temporarily obscuring his view of his angel. The thurifer swings the censer, blowing even more incense into Chanyoung’s face as if to purify his thoughts.
Ah. This must be what divinity feels like.
The choir sings the hymn of sinners as he walks slow step by slow step down the aisle. His father’s back is surprisingly smaller than he remembers, he can see right over his head to the front of the sanctuary where the priest stands flanked by two altar servers.
The smell of incense clogs his pores, slithers up his nostrils and pulls at his lungs, makes him feel like he’s slowly dying. The organ pipes out a solemn tune as his senses dull, heralding his journey towards damnation, and Chanyoung picks up his cross and continues to walk. His chained feet are cursed to keep on moving forward.
Breathe in.
The haunting hymn around him fades into an unrecognisable buzz of dull tones melting and folding into each other. The tiny ornate second hand on his silver wristwatch beats in time with his heart. A metronome.
Breathe out.
His father is right in front of the priest now, head bowed in obeisance. Pathetic, he thinks. It’s the most pathetic he’s ever seen his all powerful father. Deferring to a man in too many layers of garments and a dramatic hat.
If there was anyone Chanyoung would bend his head to, it would be the altar boy on the left. Long black hair framing his face like a halo, his beauty being the only reason Chanyoung still believes in god. That altar boy that is staring into his eyes right now as he stands before the priest.
His altar boy.
The priest mumbles something.
“Amen.” Chanyoung responds, then he opens his mouth slowly, his eyes on his altar boy.
His altar boy’s dark eyes glimmer, a ghost of a smile that only Chanyoung can see tugging at his lips. He pulls a silver tray beneath his chin.
The priest places the circular paper thin bread on his tongue, and Chanyoung stares at his altar boy as he swallows. His altar boy swallows too, the prominence of his neck bobbing up and then down above the red of his collar. He raises a single slit eyebrow, and Chanyoung knows he should head back to his pew now, instead of fooling about in front of the Blessed Sacrament like a heretic, but he allows himself to dither a split second more. His altar boy is no longer looking at him, but his tongue swipes across his lower lip and Chanyoung is overcome by a vision of the next few hours.
Chanyoung cannot help but think that the devil has infiltrated the church, and his soul rejoices.
idrk if this will actually amount to anything #TBH but i did start a playlist for it so! ALSO I LOVE RELIGIOUS REFERENCES and actually idk why LEE CHANYOUNG is so perfect for this sort of theme like have you read idlesong’s taroton AND to me wonbin is perfect for it too — perfect for (BODY) WORSHIP (i really do think so But it could also just be me projecting) Like i can easily imagine wonbin as the model child who is the pride of his parents and known as the Perfect Son to the entire community and while upholding that image deep down he is honestly the reverse. He IS perfect but not in the way that is acceptable by the catholic church and a conservative community. Also canonically wonbin has his routines that can be likened to acts of prayer anyway. It Just Suits him.
anyway if i was to really carry on with this it would end up with me exploring my own thorny path growing up in such a community and because it was such an overarching part of my life (HELL. I KNOW. tho there were Some good parts that would make my future autobiography interesting) i think it would be fun to note down some of my thought processes behind different scenes.
DISCLAIMER THAT IM NOT A DEVIL WORSHIPPER AND NEITHER ARE MY CHARACTERS 😭
you won’t find this in the bible...
Chatter echoes around the hall as the aisles fill with families all dressed up in their Sunday best. Wailing children, keys and purses clanging onto the benches, the choking smell of incense from the previous mass hanging heavy on the air, — Lee Chanyoung hates church.
He itches in his cotton shirt and sleeveless cashmere sweater, wishing to be anywhere but there. A couple of mint notes are shoved into his hand, a papery violation. It’s for the offertory, but Chanyoung can’t count a single time something good had come out of paying god.
For FUCK’s sake. The lady behind him can’t stop coughing and sniffling. It’s all too much for Chanyoung.
Finally the organ sounds the beginning of the 10 am service, and the congregation rises to their feet. Standing tall, Chanyoung gazes across a sea of heads till he finds the boy in a chiffon dress shirt in the pew a couple of rows ahead. His breath slows as he makes out the outline of those familiar shoulder blades his fingers have committed so deeply to memory jutting through his slightly translucent shirt.
Then the boy turns around, and their eyes immediately connect. It’s the most spiritual Chanyoung’s felt in days. The boy smiles at him, his lips ripe to bursting. Chanyoung desires nothing more than to lick them up in adoration, and bite on them till they bleed.
In church blood was wine, and to Chanyoung that is one truth in a religion of falsehoods — because Chanyoung has tasted that pretty boy’s blood before, directly from his bruised lips, and it was intoxicating.
The priest and his entourage walk down the aisle, temporarily obscuring his view of his angel. The thurifer swings the censer, blowing even more incense into Chanyoung’s face as if to purify his thoughts.
Ah. This must be what divinity feels like.
The choir sings the hymn of sinners as he walks slow step by slow step down the aisle. His father’s back is surprisingly smaller than he remembers, he can see right over his head to the front of the sanctuary where the priest stands flanked by two altar servers.
The smell of incense clogs his pores, slithers up his nostrils and pulls at his lungs, makes him feel like he’s slowly dying. The organ pipes out a solemn tune as his senses dull, heralding his journey towards damnation, and Chanyoung picks up his cross and continues to walk. His chained feet are cursed to keep on moving forward.
Breathe in.
The haunting hymn around him fades into an unrecognisable buzz of dull tones melting and folding into each other. The tiny ornate second hand on his silver wristwatch beats in time with his heart. A metronome.
Breathe out.
His father is right in front of the priest now, head bowed in obeisance. Pathetic, he thinks. It’s the most pathetic he’s ever seen his all powerful father. Deferring to a man in too many layers of garments and a dramatic hat.
If there was anyone Chanyoung would bend his head to, it would be the altar boy on the left. Long black hair framing his face like a halo, his beauty being the only reason Chanyoung still believes in god. That altar boy that is staring into his eyes right now as he stands before the priest.
His altar boy.
The priest mumbles something.
“Amen.” Chanyoung responds, then he opens his mouth slowly, his eyes on his altar boy.
His altar boy’s dark eyes glimmer, a ghost of a smile that only Chanyoung can see tugging at his lips. He pulls a silver tray beneath his chin.
The priest places the circular paper thin bread on his tongue, and Chanyoung stares at his altar boy as he swallows. His altar boy swallows too, the prominence of his neck bobbing up and then down above the red of his collar. He raises a single slit eyebrow, and Chanyoung knows he should head back to his pew now, instead of fooling about in front of the Blessed Sacrament like a heretic, but he allows himself to dither a split second more. His altar boy is no longer looking at him, but his tongue swipes across his lower lip and Chanyoung is overcome by a vision of the next few hours.
Chanyoung cannot help but think that the devil has infiltrated the church, and his soul rejoices.
idrk if this will actually amount to anything #TBH but i did start a playlist for it so! ALSO I LOVE RELIGIOUS REFERENCES and actually idk why LEE CHANYOUNG is so perfect for this sort of theme like have you read idlesong’s taroton AND to me wonbin is perfect for it too — perfect for (BODY) WORSHIP (i really do think so But it could also just be me projecting) Like i can easily imagine wonbin as the model child who is the pride of his parents and known as the Perfect Son to the entire community and while upholding that image deep down he is honestly the reverse. He IS perfect but not in the way that is acceptable by the catholic church and a conservative community. Also canonically wonbin has his routines that can be likened to acts of prayer anyway. It Just Suits him.
anyway if i was to really carry on with this it would end up with me exploring my own thorny path growing up in such a community and because it was such an overarching part of my life (HELL. I KNOW. tho there were Some good parts that would make my future autobiography interesting) i think it would be fun to note down some of my thought processes behind different scenes.
DISCLAIMER THAT IM NOT A DEVIL WORSHIPPER AND NEITHER ARE MY CHARACTERS 😭
