There was already an extravagant bouquet at the base of the shelf by the time Yoora arrived; out of place in the otherwise simple set up of the community-funded columbarium. She clenches her jaw, breathing a small sigh at the sight of it. To Yongsuk, this was a matter of formality, an unsigned bouquet (ordered by his secretary, surely) to be delivered on this day as a gesture of politeness and acknowledgement for Yoora’s existence, nothing more.
After all, ever since Yoora became old enough to visit on her own, he’s never offered to come with her again.
She nudges the bouquet to the side with the toe of her black flats so she could stand before a small niche with the name “Shin Junghwa” etched into the plaque on the bottom.
“Umma, I’m here. How are you?”
Yoora’s soft voice echoes in the quiet room despite the whispered tone. She draws a deep breath before continuing, hands busy with dusting the niche and withdrawing offerings from the cloth bag on her shoulder to replace some of the items surrounding the urn in the small compartment. Reaching deeper within the niche space, she thumbs over a small framed photo in the back, clearing the thin layer of dust off the surface to reveal a beaming woman holding a scrawny, laughing girl with the same doe eyes, the same sharp chin, the same brightness in their genuine smiles.
Eyes shut, she brings her palms together in a quiet prayer, completing the necessary rites and rituals before continuing.
“…here, I brought you a picture. I went to Jeju recently, not with papa though—with a… friend—”
She slides a printed photo of her by the beach, all smiles, sundress billowing, into the niche.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the beach and had this much real fun, you know? We didn’t do that much actually--well, maybe some things, but it was… really nice, to hang out with someone like that. I’ve been enjoying my life a lot lately, umma, with new people and old people, so you don’t have to worry,” She smiles to herself, hands still busy with cleaning and arranging items.
“… though I’m not sure if I deserve any of it. He and others call me princess as a nickname but—” her laugh comes out more like a cough; humourless and dry. “Do you remember the cheap Little Mermaid DVD we watched together on my… 8th or 9th birthday? I think I’m more like the sea witch who pretends to be a princess to sabotage the mermaid princess than anything.”
She falls quiet, fingertips clinging feebly to the edge of the niche.
“…Twice this year I could’ve gone to really meet you but I didn’t. Were you worried?”
There’s another long pause while she blinked away pinpricks of tears at the corners of her eyes. It was fascinating how the small, echoing room could make her feel so utterly isolated.
“The closer people get to me, the lonelier I feel, umma. Perhaps there’s no point to existence if I don’t care about anything or anyone, but… why exist at all if I’m on my own anyway?
“I miss you. I wish you were here; I wish you’d have taught me how to be kind when… when people haven’t given me a reason to be. I don’t think anyone else would.”
Footsteps nearing the room draw Yoora’s attention, and her gaze falls on the mother-daughter duo that strides through the door with a quick bow of their heads at her. She returns the formality, a well-mannered smile upon her face as she greeted them in turn. The duo heads for a shelf behind her, and at long last she turns her lingering gaze back to her late mother’s frozen smile.
“...I’ll visit soon, umma. Or, maybe for real,” Another dry laugh. She pins a small bunch of white daisies by the side of the niche, pristine and pure in their arrangement and hue. “I miss you. Really. Please watch over me.”
disclaimer: not a crime writer, not a horror writer, i’m tbh realizing how awkward i actually am at writing these genres but bear with me as i struggle through :( these are pending some edits, depending on how the threads with various muses mentioned below go, but i’ve kept this general enough within the scope of what has already been discussed and plotted with the muns beforehand. this is more for me to keep track of headcanon and development than anything, but if you would like to read on please do feel free!
ACT I ; where there is smoke, there is fire.
the warehouse fire lit up her eyes, chocolate brown void of their usual warmth, bringing down the ambient temperature around her by several degrees. she regarded the carnage from a rooftop, blocks away, hidden from view in the shadows cast by water tanks and signboards. jinsun did a good job, the young one with gold in his skin and the power to take out entire neighbourhoods at his fingertips (@ouraneos). a well-executed surge of electricity to several appliances in the gang’s drug-stash warehouse was all it took to set off a raging electrical fire that would throw their operations on this front into jeopardy. she wished he was as willing as she was to exploit the extent of his powers.
some works of art were meant to be appreciated from afar. one as grand and elaborate as this one should stir the hearts of many.
that’s the intention. chaos, indiscriminate and seemingly pointless. the perfect smokescreen for her to creep in with her own shots to take down the ones who did her in, the ones who threatened her world. it surprised her how exhilarating it was to ride on the current of anger, but she’s a classy lady at the end of the night. her louboutins were red enough without the metallic stain of blood spillage.
once the gang were led to believe that they were under attack from another, it would lend her the anonymity needed to finish her spring cleaning. she liked attention, certainly, but there were things better done under the cover of night or the perception of another’s hand. it removed the danger of retribution and counter attacks, and she couldn’t afford those right now.
she usually prided herself on battles won by wit, but nothing spelled finality like a bullet between the eyes. enough foolishness from the jesters, enter the queen.
ACT II ; if you’re going to be two-faced, at least make one of them pretty.
she floated into the ballroom on dainty footsteps, a vision of ethereal beauty, fair skin almost radiating its own glow beneath the soft chandelier light. clothed in white tulle, she seemed almost fragile, a porcelain doll twirling precariously as the centrepiece of a music box.
hands shaken, pleasantries exchanged. an onslaught of “yoora-nim i’m so glad you are on your feet again” “yoora-nim it’s a pleasure, i was so worried” met with her usual brand of genuine smiles, albeit dusted with a measured amount of fatigue and nervousness, appropriate for someone who had just snatched her life back from the edge. she even jumped at the sound of cracking glass from the mishap of a clumsy wait staff, laughing it off nervously in the presence of her company.
taeron’s (@caespian) arm round her waist tightened, and she leaned into him for support, his imposing figure complementing and exaggerating her frail image well. she could see it play out in the eyes of onlookers; pity and worry for the breakable girl in her escort’s arms, traumatised from events that shouldn’t have ever befallen someone as pristine as herself. she grasped his arm to steady herself, doe eyes blinking up in gratitude as he pressed a kiss to her forehead in view of the crowd.
he was the perfect partner to put on this act with, knowing exactly what to say and when to say them to bolster her image. she was a princess under the escort of her knight, shielding her from the horrors and traumas of the world beyond their marble castle. a damsel in this much distress couldn’t possibly hurt a fly.
INTERMISSION
“you can only threaten someone who cares about something.”
it has been her mantra since realising the truth behind the statement, always using what people held most precious to bend them to her will. finding herself in the same predicament left her scrambling and breathless, for first time in a long, long while.
she willed for baekhyun (@notafakeword) to stop asking her questions about the shakiness in her hands and the fear in her eyes and why her usual warm tone with him turns grim when she asks him to stay safe, leave, please stop looking at me with those worried eyes and saying you want to help, you can’t, you can’t. she had to send him away, pulling a million strings and favours to secure a spot in a coveted masterclass for him, god-sent at the most opportune time, so he could be as far away from the wreckage that she was about to create. worry about yourself, don’t get lost in london, stay safe, stay safe. they couldn’t possibly reach him there.
she conjured up a half-truth about post-accident trauma, her promise to never lie or keep things from him skipping over her mind for a brief second before she continued. a half-truth because she had indeed been fighting sleep for fear of slipping back into a coma, a jumpiness keeping her on high tension whenever she was alone. but it placated him for now, shielding him from the bulk of her nightmares that he should never become implicated with. there were few things that kept her tethered to daylight; she didn’t want to let go just yet.
she sent him off with a caustic guilt dissolving her insides till she was hollowed out, ready for the next act.
ACT III ; the nail in the coffin.
it was over quicker than she thought.
no dramatic slow-motion, no graceful toppling of his body, no slowly swirling smoke from the barrel of the silenced pistol, still hot in her hand.
the only thing she became hyperaware of was the pool of dark liquid, spreading slowly in an imperfect shape from where the kingpin’s head had hit the ground. it irked her that it wasn’t a perfect circle--strange, how the mind would focus on irrelevant details like these while the gravity of her actions had yet to sink in.
with the intel gathered by fledgling nami (@shikkeuro) and her seasoned gun for hire (@casualkillers), it was only a matter of time before the gang war took a toll on their whole structure, enough for david to strike at key joints to topple the rest of their sandcastle. he saved the last one for her, per her instructions. make them plead for death, but i’ll deliver the mercy shot.
mercy. such an odd word dependant on interpretation. the pool continued spreading, away from her polished shoes. she glanced down at the tip of her elegant pumps, and in the dim light almost missed the abstract splatter on the front of her dark trench coat. pollockian, almost.
a minute later she was throwing up what seemed like a week’s worth of meals until she was gagging up bile and acid from her empty stomach, harsh tears stinging her eyes and forcing them shut. she’d leave david to clean up the mess in the practiced way he always did, leaving barely a trace, while she shivered from a sourceless chill in the back of the car.
it ended with this, her first lethal gunshot, the first blood on her hands. for what cause? self-preservation? protection of others?
...at what cost?
ACT IV ; dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death.
she stopped sleeping for days, her dreamscape plagued by the single, resounding gunshot and the mangled corpse at her feet. only this time, the blood reached her. clawed its way up her calves like something living and refused to be washed off.
she almost wished for the coma to claim her again.
and when fatigue finally knocked her out, the exhaustion from having to keep up a daily, unbothered front forcibly wrenching consciousness from her grasps, she’d wake up in the middle of the night suspicious of shadows, her ornate pocket pistol never leaving her grasp if she could help it.
it’s over, it only managed to sink in after thousands of repetitions under her breath and in her mind, for now at least. when she calmed down enough in the dead of the night to think it through--was this any different from what she had ordered david to do countless times before? the realisation brought a chuckle to her lips, humourless and self-deprecating. she could justify it each time. it was only ever for the sake of reducing trouble for herself, keeping her secrets safe while dabbling in everyone else’s. surely, surely she could be forgiven for wanting to make extra certain of her own safety this time, and make an example of out whoever dared to threaten her reign again.
“I told you not to get too close to me.”
“From the day we met, I knew I’d hurt you eventually.”
“I wish you never had trusted me.”
“I told you to leave, but you didn’t. I gave you the chance!”
“We were never friends. I’m so sorry.”
“I did something terrible.”
“It was inevitable, but I regretted it every step of the way.”
“I’m mainly sorry that somewhere along the way, I started to care about you.”
“I guess this is a lesson in not trusting people, right?”
“How long?…Since the beginning.”
“I wish I could just make a wish and become a better person.”
“None if it was real, but I wish it was.”
“Do you think I liked hurting you?”
“I hurt people. It’s all I’m good at.”
“I did it because I had to, not because I ever wanted to.”
“I -did- care about you, I just had no other choice.”
“You should have walked away when you had the chance.”
“If we had never met, it would have saved us both some grief.”
“I know it hurts, but I’m still glad we had the chance to know each other.”
“Hurting you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”
“I didn’t want it to be like this, but I had no control!”
“I guess I’ve just never been a trustworthy person.”
“I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to forgive me either.”
“So? Aren’t you going to say something?”
“If I tell you what I did, we’ll probably never see one another again.”
“When were you going to tell me about this?”
“Why me? Of all people, why me?”
“You planned this all from the beginning?”
“I wanted so badly to think you were different.”
“How could you lead me along like that?”
“None of what we had was ever real, was it?”
“So, our friendship didn’t mean anything to you?”
“I would have done anything for you, but you’ve ruined all of that.”
“All of the things I sacrificed for you didn’t mean a thing?”
“I wish I had known when we met that you were such a vile person.”
“If I could go back, I would just walk away.”
“I forgive you, but I’m not going to forget what you did.”
“No. I don’t accept your apology.”
“After all your lies, how do I know you mean it when you say you’re sorry?”
“I hope you realized what you did was cruel.”
“I still care about you.”
“Just tell me that your feelings towards me were genuine.”
“What on earth is worth betraying someone who loves you?”
“If you want to regain my trust, you have to earn it.”
“Don’t just say you’re sorry. Show me that you’re sorry.”
MILK & HONEY POETRY RP STARTERS BY RUPI KAUR.
PART 1. FEEL FREE TO MODIFY PRONOUNS.
❛ we are capable of love but choose to be toxic. ❜
❛ you have a sadness living in places sadness shouldn’t live. ❜
❛ i’m difficult to forget and not easy for the mind to follow. ❜
❛ you are a war. ❜
❛ every revolution starts and ends with his lips. ❜
❛ the truth is.. you make me speechless ❜
❛ he makes my tongue so weak it forgets what language to speak in. ❜
❛ what drives you crazy? what keeps you up at night? ❜
❛ so that’s what you do.. you command attention. ❜
❛ you look like you smell of honey and no pain. ❜
❛ i always get myself into this mess. ❜
❛ i’m a dreamer and that will be the death of me. ❜
❛ you were so distant. i forgot you were there at all. ❜
❛ don’t mistake salt for sugar. if he wants to be with you.. he will. ❜
❛ you were temptingly beautiful but stung when i got too close. ❜
❛ don’t come here with expectations and try to make a vacation out of me. ❜
❛ the thing worth holding on would of never let go. ❜
❛ love made the danger in you look like safety. ❜
❛ i don’t grieve.. i shatter. ❜
❛ when i’m angry, i don’t yell i burn. ❜
❛ we began with honesty. let us end in it, too. ❜
❛ your voice alone drives me to tears. ❜
❛ like a broken promise.. let it go. ❜
❛ our backs tell stories no books have have the spine to carry. ❜
❛ you were a dragon long before he came around and said you could fly. you will remain a dragon long after he’s left. ❜
❛ the world gives you so much pain, and here you are making gold out of it. ❜
❛ you split me open in the most honest way there is. ❜
There’s not a doubt in her mind that he’d be able to deliver once she gave him the cue, but there was more at stake here that couldn’t possibly be solved with just a handful of bullets and broken skulls. Her identity had been compromised, and that crossed a line in her books. There were several things that needed to happen simultaneously for her to contain the situation before it got worse, and David would play just one part–a crucial part–in it all.
“Well, we know who, for one,” her usual crisp, polite way of speaking fades to a lazy drawl, void of emotion. It brings the temperature of the room down several degrees. “Mm. I need a smokescreen, first and foremost. They obviously know who I really am, and that complicates matters. Should I send you in to retaliate immediately, they’d know it’s me.
“A smokescreen… I need a scapegoat,” A corner of her lips turn up, and she casts him a look out the corner of her eye. “I’ll have someone take care of the smokescreen, and once we have them caught in a brawl with… say, the Bats, or some other hoodlums–I’m not picky–then it’s your show, love. Find and take out the key nuts and bolts in their structure.
“I want everything they’ve built to burn to the ground and and left utterly barren.”
The first time he ever killed someone, he didn’t feel any remorse. More than likely because it was during a shootout in the desert and if he didn’t kill them, they would have killed him. But the Private next to him threw up at the sight of the helicopter photos of the dead that night when they were debriefed on the mission. After that? Private wasn’t the same, luckily for David? He stopped throwing up and reloaded his gun quicker. It’s only a relevant memory because he wonders how Élena will walk out of the ashes after this.
Taking a few guys out is normal, one would even say child’s play but dismantling a whole ( maybe multiple ) organization? It’s fun, it’s a lot. And no one comes out of it the same. No one comes out of a rolling car and a long hospital stay the same either. She looks different, not a single note change her voice. It hits him. This is who she really is.
“You’re good with your hands…” his body warms but his mind thinks of the darts, the man sprawled on her floor some time ago, Élena may sit on a throne she’s made for herself but David knows a fighter when he sees one. “Why don’t you light the match?” He’s doing all of this for her, not the money not the sex but to put the nail in the coffin of the past month so she can reclaim her power to the tenfold. Revenge from the sidelines sounds boring.
Contrary to popular belief she’s never actually pulled a trigger on someone--and David knows this. It’s what he’s here for, so she wouldn’t have to. But it seems inappropriate to not return their wonderful present with due sincerity, and there was a part of her, a primal part, that sought revenge at her own hands.
It clouds the reality of what she was about to do, somewhat. She’s ended lives before, how would this be any different? She reckons not (and if she’s wrong, she’s sure she’d be able to deal with the consequences later). If anything she’d be there to verify for herself the destruction of their entire network, if it meant protecting herself, and the people she wanted to save from the wreckage she is heading towards.
It’s dangerously new, this burning drive to ruin not for the sake of amusement, but to genuine destroy.
“Oh, you would know,” nonetheless she couldn’t resist the jab at his double entendre, corner of her lips rising in a teasing smirk. “They’re distractingly good, aren’t they?” It’s been a while, but the image of him falling apart into whimpers beneath her hands and words is still clear in her mind.
Enough of that; there’s business to be dealt with first. “In the meantime, you can help me find out who exactly I need to slit the throats of, and once the time is right, bring them somewhere. Make them beg for death; but save the mercy shot for me, hmm?”
Concealed in the very back of a dark alleyway in Seocho, Nami shivered. Despite the thermal undershirt she was wearing, the jacket that she layered over it was nowhere near enough to shield her from the Seoul winter temperatures. however she knew it was necessary given the circumstances. She was out assisting Jongwoo on one of his jobs he received. As usual, she was simply his escape route, a way for him to effortlessly flee the crime scene almost without a trace, and currently on standby by the border that separate Seocho and Gangnam. The male was somewhere in Gangnam, prepping a gas leak throughout a building that was the headquarters of some rising tech company; she didn’t know the details. With a shaky exhale, she glanced down at her wristwatch
3:00am.. Jongwoo oppa should be finishing up–
Nami didn’t complete the thought as a large, booming explosion happened from where she was. She couldn’t see the building on fire but she could see the area across the border lit up, smoke filling the air. Guilt stabbed her conscious, hoping no one was hurt, but she forced herself to shake it off and imagined the pick-up location in her mind, raising a hand and summoning a swirling portal of darkness. Ominous sounds were coming from the portal but it didn’t faze her, not anymore. She was about to step into the portal when she thought she felt a presence behind her, whipping her head around for any trace of movement. Silence was the only thing that greeted her and after awhile, she reluctantly shrugged it off and stepped through the portal to enter the corridor of darkness. Before it closed, she gave one last glance behind her to see if there was anyone there.
If not for a whispering that she had picked up on from a reliable source, Élena would never have chosen to be out in this weather; she valued the simple comforts of a warm room and a glass of vintage merlot far too much to be out in the field. But this was too peculiar of a story to not follow up on somehow, which left her with a thinly stretched temper out in the cold at an ungodly hour.
A girl who could generate wormhole-like portals?
It’s the stuff of tween science fiction, but her source didn’t seem like he was joking, and she could usually read him like an open book.
She lurked in the shadows, out of sight of the young twenty-something who stood further down the alleyway who looked far too nervous to be someone used to this line of work (whatever this line of work meant). Élena ventured a long look. She seemed sweet. What could her story be--
What happened was beyond her wildest expectations--surely it betrayed some fundamental physical law for this... hole to suddenly open up. Rarely did Élena find herself at a complete loss for words, but she needed a moment to collect herself, take in everything that was happening in front of her eyes.
As the stranger stepped into the portal, Élena made her move, stepping out into the alleyway such that the lamplight behind her cast a long, drawn out shadow in front of her, stopping right where the strange girl had last set foot. She wasn’t in a rush to recruit; she just wanted to make it known.
