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okalanissolis · 17 days ago

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⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴘᴜꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ꜰʟᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ

ᴀ ᴄᴇʟᴇꜱᴛɪᴀʟ ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ᴀ.ᴜ.

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖

ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ɪꜱ ᴄᴏɴꜱɪᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ . . .

pt. iv | | series masterlist

focus on: okalani akana, muni sarang (diane meunier), & mayari mun word count: ~4.4k warnings: blood, intermittent Mythological Lore Dumping™, occasional graphic imagery, semi main character death, explosives and intentionally vague science behind them

ᴛᴄᴅᴜ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴏʟᴜᴛᴇᴅ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ) ɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ !

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭

lilo's mic: screaming crying because the first half of otbka is almost finished!!!!! the next part of the story is approaching with a vengeance, and i have two (2) bullet points of plot connecting opposite ends of a story. wish me luck and i shall wish you enjoyment as you read this installment.

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭

⌜ crews run for cover, now they're under / pushing up flowers ⌟

ᴘᴜꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ꜰʟᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖

— ʟɪᴍᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ was the name of the aparthotel closest to the luminary's dull and humming glow. of course, limerence wasn't the name on the signage — the appellation listed there was something more palatable: bland and unassuming, as commonplace and vague as the dying shrubbery growing alongside it's front entrance. but step up to the front desk, call it by it's true name, slip something sinister into the open and wanting hands of a ravenous employee, and more doors than the edifice could conceivably house would be opened unto you — hallways and lodgings, secrets and clandestinity: dying lives that crawled beneath the surface of an otherwise flawlessly smooth skin.

kim hongjoong appeared in the darker shades of obsession like a shadow — somehow omnipresent, though he had not occupied it's slanted walls the moment before.

the first door on the left was locked tight, and this time, the equerry of demons found it preferable to knock than simply let himself inside.

— the sound of shifting deep within. three clicks, then four. the black oak door yawned, and past it's gaping void, a woman stood on the other side.

— if he noticed the state in which he found her: the sewing and the bleeding and her lack of a right sleeve — the raw edge of erratically cut fabric uneven and frayed, so unlike the tight precision of her black turtlenecked composure — he gave nothing away, not even a cursory glance. hongjoong merely inclined his head, and when the door shut behind them, oblivion smothered the silence between.

— ᴏᴋᴀʟᴀɴɪ snapped her stitching thread with her teeth after the last of the sutures were aligned, her good eye trained on her guest as he stepped deeper into the room at a leisurely pace. there were no windows for him to look out of, here; this aparthotel was a crude rendition of that place between living and dying where hoku had only dared to venture once, when he was little less than a nameless star, and upon his return, a deity crowned. hongjoong took to tracing the seam of a roughly upholstered chair, half turned, expectant to see where okalani sat.

she doused her stitches in a substance illegal and after no short length, settled on a roll out tatami mat, capping the alcohol and setting it alongside the rest of a make-shift first aid kit, rarely used.

— the cheap incandescence of lightbulbs mottled the scar that stretched down the left side of her face from hairline to upper lip, a spidery, crawling thing that cut through the eye, disrupting the iris with a schism, double pupiled and clouded; an omen for shaman and a vision of death for those than erred on the side of sin. a veil of dark hair wavered over it, swaying with the tide of her temperate vacillation. it didn't take her long to speak. "tell me the demon's debt price. i want to know the number on my ledger from you."

a collapsing cheek; the bite of still warm flesh. "mingi shouldn't have shot wooyoung. he's expensive."

"and i should have known serpents would be there — especially demon heir favorites — but omniscience was supposedly a card dealt to you."

schooling his expression into something unlike what he was feeling was, to anyone who had the honor (feigned or otherwise) to know kim hongjoong, a startlingly natural thing. a wide smile, an unnerving tilt of his head. shadows could dance on his shoulders when he asked them to. the glint in his eye making him more formidable than his stature and size.

— the shadows stayed in their place. here, in the orange glow of dying lamplight, kim hongjoong stilled and all puppets lost their strings. "in business, i'm always an honest man. you can blame the unexpected on your hoku. i told you everything i knew when you took the job."

a silent moment. a glance one part skepticism and two parts resolve. a breath. "you're lucky i believe you."

and this time she passed him the bottle of spirits beside her, he took a drink, and then his leave to sit down.

— "the price, captain."

(and the nickname sounded of time past, when he met her in the depths of the underground subway, and stalked her through abandoned and inhabited stations alike until the torturist told him the only shade allowed to follow her was named iku. he laughed and indulged in bad kapu, saying the only god he knew were the devouring lips of bada, a tempestuous and all consuming sea. still, all demons need a name to be summoned, and so she found one fitting in his tight lipped silence.)

— the alcohol burned through the softness. that was not here. "we've more use of mingi than of you. he's going to replace wooyoung for a time, starting tomorrow. but you're not free. you tied yourself a hitch on the demon heir's leash."

— and for a moment, okalani's memories rattled her like the sound of the nearby train, voices jingling and chiming, reverberating through the ground, not strong enough to change anything, just present enough to be heard.

"we could join them, y'know. it's not like we don't have the skills."

"we didn't pay the piper and run to be shackled to a different keeper, mingi. i promised we wouldn't be owned."

— silence swallowed the quick nod of her head. hongjoong tipped a drink, then sighed. in this rented room named self imposed destruction, a torturist set to resew her sleeve. a wince; some movements are like sticking oneself with needles. some, deep enough to draw blood. "with barely more give than a noose."

ᴘᴜꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ꜰʟᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.

— rain began to patter on the tin and concrete tile roofs of hoku city early that morning, before dawn. raketu still held her lover, haemosu, ever-close to her dark and void breast, refusing to let the foolish idea of him go, but no wish, even one as tender and vehement as in this god's power, could still the world entirely, command everything to static. bada carried jangma, and her torrent poured down gently at first, a kiss and prelude to a much bigger storm.

haemosu would kill his lover, as he did every morning of each vengeful day, his daylight a thousand knives held in a thousand hands, disemboweling raketu in his poisoned-thought delirium, the night goddess' blood the dew on the morning grass - one drop on every blade.

today, the lover's cyclical tragedy would be joined by more teardrops, the weeping of a sea goddess, the monsoon of her tumult and rage.

— sarang had looked out of the stained glass of her father's rounded window in that dark of not-morning and when she saw the droplets rolling, running erratic down the sides of things jagged and never quite clean, she straightened her spine and san fetched her coat.

— the light of haemosu's sombre day painted the streets of hoku in colors of slate and grey. ʜᴏᴋᴜɴᴜɴ, the winding, cobblestone streets of a university's academic district, hummed with the power of a florescent kind of knowledge gifted to only the few. a life she'd had, once, if only the phantom of it, thin and half gone, an impression: a blood-drowned hope.

the streets were empty when diane arrived, students taking refuge in any doorway they could cross into, any threshold that allowed their frailty through.

— the dining hall was even more populated than it's usual pollution, noise a constant clamor, a din that diane could wrap herself in as she ventured deeper, still.

it had been two weeks since the incident with the trio from skit; the mercenary okalani, in her indenture, had set the scene of it to appear the work of a gang from ᴀᴋᴜᴀ, an island some 80 kilometers off of the mainland continent with an underground known for it's intransigence in enacting scores; since, hongjoong had his many-numbered eyes watching soyeon for her next move, deokhee and debtor mingi had been cleaning up other gunfights, beside, and wooyoung had been recovering, still grumbling about getting that gunman fucker and his half-blind sister in the eye the moment deokhee folded and let him off of his medical rest.

with the pocket book returned to it's rightful place in a dead man's clothes, and soyeon's trusted ʏᴜQɪ sent to clean up after, the matter was given a shallow grave — just enough finality if you had no reason to go looking.

— soyeon would take it at face value.

— she knew all too acutely love only sees it's wont and that endearment makes you permissive, soft. she had looked into the eyes of the syndicate heir, once, and saw the way all that fondness melted at room temperature, in the easiest of conditions, pooled.

she'd called the blonde by that name, then, "sarang," and the tenderness could only grow, swell.

it engorged itself, once, between fingers made sticky by sweet delicacies, and laughter bubbling through the surface of their crystalizing skin.

(once, within a crucible of words unsaid and the weight of a thousand stares gnashing with a thousand teeth, uttering the single chant of a bloodline promise that meant soyeon's complacency could never keep, a second rate girl with hair kissed by the shadows — and eyes drowned in the deeds of all those she could not keep — fractured her skin with a pick axe, shattered it until all that scoffing joy and seething friendship drained from her arteries, acid filling it's place. once, in the left hand seat of the ruling daughter, she believed she bled herself through of any fraternity that kept her tethered to the child she'd once been and the friend she'd been given no choice but to attach to.)

and the blindness started, then. that distinction where sarang would flicker, and diane take her place. that space between living and dying, where everything could be certain and nothing could be claimed. it existed, but only if you were keen to it; if, in veneration, you kept your vision pure.

— soyeon had lost her sight.

— and diane knew how to gamble upon that.

what the monstrous heir needed now was death, the lovely grasp of iku: abelite-explosive and drenched in liquid honey — sweet.

— she wasn't hard for diane to spot, a task made simple by her unconventional split-dye hair: one half the pitch of raketu, the other the brilliance of haemosu; she took to sitting in the thick of the activity, commotion a blur and humming cacophony surrounding her, and to make spotting her all the simpler, yunho was beside her.

— all too long limbs folding in on themselves to bring his head ever closer to her tranquil wisp of an ingenious grin, yunho fixed his adoring gaze on the woman beside him: ᴍᴀʏᴀʀɪ.

a petite woman who was just as comfortable sitting in a university dining hall spearing perfectly ripened mango with her fork as she would be sauntering through a warehouse about to detonate, six seconds on iku's pocketwatch, her deliberate actions no more hurried than they might be with the promise of a lifetime of seconds more.

an asset of the serpens; a powder keg of perfectly measured explosives, and all of the patience to not set it burning.

a composed and pleasant faced reckoning, death — iku — with a dulcet face

— diane stepped to them, and their deference to stand somehow seemed natural, well practiced, the greeting of some familiar friend.

yunho rolled up his sleeves in precise, neat movements that cut the edge of the fabric to a crisp crease. he fixed his glasses next, thin wire frames occasionally (and this time) held together with a silver, star-speckled chain.

(sarang had noticed the familiarity of it's visage, once, and told san of it between the pinstripes of the cross walk, the deep night and neon traffic lights turning the contrast something disorienting, an illusory oblivion. "it's the same as that chain around mayari's neck." and when san was full of giddy disbelief, she'd pushed him, friendly, to sway. yunho had been all too-warm cheeks and nervous stutters when san asked him, later, but still, he kept to wearing it. something for a both of them. strings of fate solidified, a relationships present and future melange.)

— mayari fiddled with her matching necklace, now.

— sarang smiled; diane pushed ahead. "what i need from you is something different than what your aunt will tell you i've requested, tomorrow."

— "ᴛɪᴛᴀ ʙᴏʀᴀ?" the question slipped mayari's lips before it could be stopped for it's recursiveness. there were only so many demolitionists in hoku, even fewer who could hold the title of her aunt, and only one that could be so talented she was uniquely hired by the serpent consortium, only siphoning her skill set into the lifeblood of mayari herself. the ᴍᴜɴ family. the caustic talc that lined the serpen's bloody weaponry. "what do you need?"

— and the request was everything and nothing, a careful cursive lettering on a bare bit of paper that mayari read once, then twice, then burned to ash with the lighter she kept in her front pocket.

— "no one else will know." and it was diane who spoke, and thus the words were just as much threat as promise, law. "yunho will tell you the placing, once you're done. i'll tell you, in the end, when the count down ends."

— it would be the most careful of timing, the explosions diane was requesting.

"you're blowing those storehouses? why not just gut them? or kill soyeon, make it clean?" san had rounded on her, at the end of a meeting. his voice had been soft in reverence, as always, but no less true to his confusion, the vulnerability that only recently began cracking between the two of them, crawling and spreading in her voided silence and his desperate doubt.

"we had the pocket book, sarang. the evidence was there."

"no, it wouldn't have been enough." and the wise part of her, that diane, that stone-wrought resolve in her that knew far better than to say too much — to reveal those plans that had not yet cooled, those deliberations that were still swirling, unsettled — bit her tongue and screamed blasphemy in her ears, begging, no, demanding, that she let it lay. "byeong-hwa established them — most of what she's vying for, anyway. at worst, the demon of hoku agrees she's welcome to some few. even at best, she'd unite sympathy and respect among all of them. then her influence roots. what destruction could she conspire, then?"

a daughter is due her father's legacy, and an heir is given the people's regard. it would be all too easy for soyeon to be justified in her taking, and empowered in her insurrection of divinely given law. byeong-hwa had always been ernest's right hand; at any rate, soyeon was dripping with the vicious tenacity of a a ruler. the last thing diane needed was for people to recognize it, to hold it, to give any credence to her strength and desire for claim.

— it was cruelty, to set fire to all that byeong-hwa had once established, to consign to oblivion and ash everything soyeon still clambered for — the remains of a father for whom she still wept. but it belonged to the serpens, and the rest of the organization knew not whose name sat on the property deed. all they would see is the violence, the insurrection of someone weak.

this was no place for love; killing her would be kinder, but it would leave the serpens with none of what it desired. as it stands, some massacres are harder to clean up than explosions, and while ease was never going to be the resultance of betrayal, being a leader meant maximizing things as insignificant as degrees.

san seemed to find peace in that — perhaps not the knowledge of the events to follow and the tragedies to come, but just the simple sharing of it. that the woman before him had looked into the open-wound heart of him, and for a moment, her eyes were that of a ghost named love.

and she had seen the blossoms beneath the frost of silence, the trust and devotion still so ready to bloom.

was it cruelty, to give business it's proper secrecy, and hold him employee, over friend?

— three storehouses consigned to detonated combustion, two others left emptied of their relocated goods, scrubbed and unoccupied, unsullied and clean. mayari would do what she'd been taught best, and the very moment the vulture of bada and nesoi's sand and sea struck at the power that held hoku in a serpentine fist, and ernest's legacy was silent but not-quite-cold, the death of the demon barely punctuated in finality, the fuse would blow. the demon would die, the city would light, and it would look to all the world it was the wrath of soyeon, an unsympathetic and usurping girl.

and in her hands she would have nothing. not the inheritance of her long loved father. not the remorse of a mercy named sarang.

— the rain had yet to cease when diane exited the dining hall and stepped into the baptism of a sea goddess' torment and rage.

he called out to her with a false name, surprise coloring the edges of his tone, but mostly the giddy exasperation of joy.

this time, she'd excused herself preceding san — a baked in force of habit, a precaution masquerading as a change in routine, fluidity; the kind that humans engaged in without realizing, at least, those mortals without sharpened teeth.

— "chan," and he bloomed under the timelapse of her recognition; unfurled despite the hold of samgong, at the sound of her using his name. "officer bang."

a chuckle. then the touch of his hand on her elbow, the gentle guidance to the shelter of an awning. the rain drummed above and around them, a promise of half-worn secrecy, their every other word swallowed by the storm.

"i'm off duty. just chan, for now."

and just chan was wandering to nowhere in particular after bringing his sick younger sister some food, his mother refusing to let the wanton weather be an excuse. the woman with a liars name laughed at that, and some half truth of a fabricated life sweetened the lips the officer was so devoted in tasting.

— for a hairbreadth of a moment, sarang wondered if he would ever know how many secrets he had slipped onto her tongue, how many advantages he'd let linger, the feeling of them tickling the soft of her throat, the skin of her neck.

— a kiss, a whisper of desperation, a chance of wicked strategy, the want of something more. "let me tell my cousin where i've gone."

in time that stretches right before the end; those moments when samgong disregards her ticking clock and instead tends to those serpentine strings of destiny and sinew, the heart touches everything, and death sits with his finite daughter, ᴋᴏᴍɪ, and watches her take too deep a drink; in those moments ruled by a brilliant but doomed kind of love, a fading, infatuated kind of mania, little else has the space to exist. just komi and the misuse of it, her kapu that we revere and then slaughter on her same dais.

the room for deception, here, was not-quite expansive, and it diminished with every stolen breath, and turned bloated, overindulged, a misstep away from implosion, one utterance from wholly being seen.

ᴘᴜꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ꜰʟᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.

— empty caskets were no true losses. or at least, that's what mayari had been told, her hands busied, measuring the perfect amount of oxidizer to add to her trigger happy fuel, a bomb of her own making, something stealthy in it's reckoning, a puff of a breath made destruction, a whisper to death. yunho liked to bother her while she worked, resting on the stool opposite of her, head cocked sideways, watching her careful moments stir; he always had.

(it was years ago when he started the habit. tita bora had told him that if his presence rattled either mayari or herself enough to lead to even the slightest bit of falter, he would never be allowed back. yunho, then a newcomer to the depths of the serpens, half knowledgeable of what really went on around him, twice as aware, still, had bowed his head and sat in almost complete silence the whole of his very first stay. the next day, mayari took pity on him enough to start polite conversation, and ever since, his voice was a near constant hum in the mun workshop. "we've a dog underfoot, 'neng." and mayari would laugh at the picture of yunho sprouting the ears of a golden retriever, tongue lolling with a pleasantly vacant stare. "it's warm, here." was all he could say, when mayari would ask him why he hung around. a fire pun, but it split his face into a beaming smile, and so it tugged on her heartstrings just enough to make her pulse stutter.)

— the storehouses she was lacing to blow weren't vacant, by any means, but they weren't caskets, either, so the turn of phrase wasn't supposed to be a literal one. breweries, powder, planters with the right kind of herbs, boxes and shipments of alcohol. mayari had factored all of it into her precise alchemical design. a shame to see it all go — how much profit could this bring? whole months? a year? — but at least her coffers would be filled.

a man named wooyoung and a woman by the name of okalani were helping her set clean lines of explosion, tonight. yunho was at the serpen's complex, so, too, was san. mayari'd met this wooyoung and his twin-presence once before in he comfort of her workshop, all sparks of righteous fire themselves — if they were none-too-careful they'd react poorly with all the volatile substances around them, set it to blaze — and seemingly okalani had met them, as well.

— "deokhee will be all fire when she realizes meunier sent me here with you."

— "how's your shooting arm?" and somehow, it was clear to wooyoung that she meant it, some convoluted sort of surprise springing onto his features, a cocktail mix of shock, softness, uncertainty, and dread. his eyes flicked to her right shoulder, a detail almost impossible to catch, and okalani gave the impression but none of the concrete realness of a smile. "you and your sister have good aim. i screwed with mingi's, by the way. he was aiming for your head; i, the wall. unfortunate to say, we met in the middle. don't judge his marksmanship or cleverness by such a poor display."

mayari stood a bit apart from the two of them, an uninformed spectator watching a history-informed play.

a roll of easy-laid shoulders. "the mercenary way." and wooyoung clapped her on the left shoulder, coming just close enough that mayari noticed the difference in their height — okalani at just slightly the advantage, though there was no accounting for wooyoung's bravado and charm.

"expected collateral. they're simply jobs."

— mayari cleared her throat and with it, whatever expectant phantom lingered in the air. "have either of you laid explosives before?"

in unison, they shook their heads.

— across the city, deokhee raised her sniper rifle, steadying her scope, smoothing the rise of her shaky, out-of-air breathing and she trained her eye on an unassuming, patiently waiting for his traitor ally to join him to dine, seonghwa.

it was just like that spider kim hongjoong to send her a message in the middle of sleeping, with a location and a name, wanting a man imminently dead.

this time, such spur demands came with the seal of the syndicate heir, and in her specifications, deokhee was to wait for a dread signal. not sooner, not later. diane meunier had an obsession with the precision in the stopwatch of iku.

— some things would be so much easier with a chaotic hand.

— in the obfuscation of the serpens complex, convoluted and hidden, not-quite-substantiated and yet still permeable to the living so that all things might die, a daughter held a demon father's hand.

ernest. and he was unblinking, bold in the face of oblivion and iku.

— the room was buzzing silence. some old faithfuls lining the perimeter, devotion and hush condolences a pallor, bleeding their dying edges into the aging walls. then yunho and san: family and nearest to it, the morose unmoving of mountain stone. sarang and that masking betrayer soyeon sat between them, and it would be the last time the two women sat close enough for the tender of touch.

daughters of monsters, and daughters of men. once, hoku had crawled with them. all too soon, there would be no father to collect on such an endearment; that coveted honorific and praise.

— "diane." he called her closer with that name, and so ever after it would be all she could keep. perhaps the notion of love would die here. maybe sarang was hidden in all those pallets and packages in storerooms kilometers away, that would light when diane commanded them to, the first and last of komi sacrifice.

— the daughter pulled closer, golden hair falling behind her ear, dripping onto the blankets around her father, spilling on the last of his power and throne.

the words were too soft, too fragile, too moribund and bare for anyone else to hear. soyeon gripped onto the edge of ernest's blanket, white knuckled, still grasping at the final vestige of a life she'd once venerated and desired, then hated and despised. this far from the heart of him, it was already frozen over, cold.

the dark haired girl turned her shunned head.

— "papa." and with the final strength of shaking hands, a kingpin transferred his pronouncement ring onto his kin's ruling hand.

"papa." and the plea was met with the silence of settling, a transferent breath, a surrender to the divine.

— they stopped, unbreathing, there, until the heart stopped beating. until the doctor made his pronouncement. until something in the room felt almost lifeless, bare.

he wasn't cold, and soyeon was leaving. he was barely still, and diane had to raise her grieving head.

— she looked san in the eyes, and he had to push through all that heaving sorrow and restrained wailing. he sent the message, in that thick sorrow of a stasis belonging to gods and not men. in that deepest pit of mourning, sarang counted with samgong to twenty.

— and then her city began it's burning.

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ pt. iv | | series masterlist

ᴛᴄᴅᴜ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴏʟᴜᴛᴇᴅ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ) :

1 - okalani is the torturist mercenary that hongjoong hired in part iii. she is the sister to mingi and was shot in the shootout of the previous part. because they injured wooyoung, they are now in debt with the serpens. mingi is going to work as a gunman, and okalani's role is more ill-defined at the current moment. she and mingi are both from the island akua, off the mainland.

2 - diane has a plan to ruin soyeon's usurper plans. soyeon is vying for serpens assets and holdings — she has a few loyal followers, among them seonghwa, and is planning to take some storehouses full of serpen's goods. diane hires mayari, a serpens allied demolition expert and arsonist, to make the proper explosives needed to blow up a few key storehouses that originally belonged to soyeon's father, byeong-hwa. others, she emptied out, planning on soyeon taking them over.

3 - diane reasoned that the night soyeon was going to strike would be the night ernest, head of the serpens, died, as it's a prime moment of upheaval. thus, she put aside her own feelings and prepared to strike first.

4 - ernest dies; diane commands mayari, okalani, and wooyoung to blow byeong-hwa's storehouses; diane has deokhee kill seonghwa.

now onto pt. v . . .

#lilo.writing #writing.otbka #YES she calls him captain it's thematically important to ME #also; according to google hongjoong and wooyoung are the same height can anyone confirm or deny #i KNOW oka is taller than her short king so that's why i had to make the mention of their height #that scene with oka and woo though is so fucking funny to me mostly because mayari is just standing there like . what is going on .#also veeeeeery important thematically that woo and oka - the two who GOT SHOT - could not care less about it. happens on the job.#and deok and mingi who didn't actually get injured are having a massive conflict of interest borderline breakup over it #classic classic sibling shenanigans #also very important because okalani IS mingi's protector but also KEY to note she has already recognized the danger #in their work and has. in that sense. let that bit of him go.#deokhee could never; girl is like I HAVE THE GUNS TO PROTECT HIM NOT TO WATCH HIM MAKE FUCKASS DECISIONS #and yesssssssss that final scene broke me i'm hurting #not proofread; we die like men

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okalanissolis · 3 months ago

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⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ɢᴜɴ ʙʟᴀꜱᴛ

ᴀ ᴄᴇʟᴇꜱᴛɪᴀʟ ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ᴀ.ᴜ.

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖

ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ɪꜱ ᴄᴏɴꜱɪᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ . . .

pt. iii | | series masterlist

focus on: song deokhee, park kyung-ah word count: ~4.1k warnings: gun violence, intermittent Lore Dumping™, occasional graphic imagery

ᴛᴄᴅᴜ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴏʟᴜᴛᴇᴅ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ) ɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ !

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭

lilo's mic: the moment you've all been waiting for... woman of the hour... song deokhee is here for a focus chapter ! as well as kyun-ah ! so too is mingi but like... we're here for the GIRLS. still introducing other characters, still peppering in an unhealthy helping of lore. suddenly realizing i can't write action scenes to save my life and the hubris i had walking into this project would astound even the most arrogant of people both living and passed.

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭

⌜ gun blast, think fast / i think i'm hit ⌟

ɢᴜɴ ʙʟᴀꜱᴛ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖

— ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇʀᴘᴇɴ'ꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇx was both a lie and a truth, gnawing at the edges of your comprehension, feeding on all your cynicism, igniting the flames of your kerosene-heavy doubt. not a true complex, in the way one might ideate when expecting a building — some vision of an edifice stacked, sprawling, a series of structures coalescing in purpose, fusing in intent until the design was something truly grand, and the land on which it was built a testament to it's vision. no; not that. such an imposition would be only too obtrusive, easily discernible — evident, even in the thickness of all that fog that rolled from bada's seas, obscuring everything in the cerement of uncertainty, the choke hold of doubt.

complex, however, in the other meaning of the word: tricky; full of guile; multiplex; compounded; not easily swallowed and digested, your jaws unhinging to get around it's engorged middle, the acid in your throat not enough to burn the simplest, most juvenile of it's reaches through.

it's spines existed everywhere, it's headquarters were nowhere. it was corporeal, then it had never materialized to begin with. the serpens complex was in every back alley, behind each firewall of any building.

— deokhee and wooyoung sat at the table of the demon heir because she, with her wisdom crown, conceptualized it. reified it at the very moment of it's necessity. substantiated it in requirement. how they found their way there was a secret they knew not, but of which their ghosts had familiarity. the serpens only made it's whereabouts known to the dead, and if a deceased soul still lingered in the flesh of something yet living, then perhaps they would find their way to the table of someone as grand as diane meunier.

— the job was simple. three stowaways: a criminal trio crawling from skit, having just escaped the cesspool of the nearby city's criminal justice. murderers, thieves, corrupted hands in black market acquisitions — they'd gotten off their charges on a technicality, and there was nothing to keep the triplets in a city where a noose had been tied. skit's police force had tipped off hoku's cpd casually, warning they were heading their way, admitting there was nothing their black-and-blue lives could do to stop them. for all intents and purposes, the police departments (both of them — like-minded, that of unimaginative sisters or incompetent twins) believed they were here to negotiate with the serpens.

the serpent of the sky wasn't listening to business deals.

— but a viper as elongated and winding — distant and coiled — as the serpens had only one blindspot, a singular frailty, feebleness fashioned in youth: it's head could never see it's tail; the shadow of it's own splendor was the only place in which lies could truly hide.

— this: the trio, the technicality that spun their freedom, their scrambling over jagged city lines, their nondescript, beaten-down motel of choice, was all a defectors doing — if, of course, the triplet guilty were to be believed. if they were here for a serpent, it was none of it's sanctioned head.

— but rather, all of it's ravenous tail.

soyeon.

and the thought of it — the betrayal from a name so familiar — burned the most bitter of bile in diane's fair throat.

it mattered not how the suspicion was nothing new, how the creeping dread had already curled in that space known as her chest cavity (idling on individual ribs, pressing it's spine against her esophagus, once stealing the breath in her lungs and since circulating her vena cava — the knowledge dispersing through her bloodstream, littering her veins, igniting her nerves, and itching all that disappointment and resentment and despair until she was peeling her skin off by degrees, scratching to be free of a childhood and a bank of memories that did not serve her and could not soften her steel, but cannibalized that bradycardian organ she'd once foolishly whispered a name for: her heart).

— soyeon.

— the trio.

— if it were true, the demon heir needed a quadruplet set dead.

at least three of their bodies in the harbor by morning.

— and if diane were to catch such a truth — gut it's design, reveal it's intentions, make an exhibit of all it's spindly lies — she would have all the evidence needed to pull the weed at it's strangling roots and mark her friend for dead.

a tricky thing — they couldn't do it without the substantiation of proof. on something as weak as fearful suspicion, regarding someone as close at hand as soyeon, they had to be careful. precise. surgical in their approach. oust her unjustly or too soon and you leave someone of power sympathetic — champion to any cause she had the nous to tout. end it without warning and you make of her a martyr — immolator with the history of a loved one, a sacrificer with a tragedy's face. with something so precarious, it wouldn't be long before it was a riot all it's own — an uprising, a revolt, and soyeon her usurper, even in the grip of iku. a queen, even in the shroud of all her death.

— so kill the trio, leave the turncoat alive. siphon the secrets of the lackeys, only this time, after their blood ran cold.

— once, the latter task would have been so much simpler. an instrument in the beautiful hands of seonghwa, apprentice of anguish: torture sealed with a siren's kiss, knowledge at a cost a mere fraction of their covetous worth. but now, under the uncertainty of uprising and the convolution of twisting loyalty, questioning was out of the running. seonghwa could not be trusted, his familiarity so intertwined with that of soyeon, their fraternity more certain than the blood they were both so able to shed. anyone else would be too risky. no one could be trusted outside of the serpens, and the time it would take to get robust answers would be damning. the design was to eliminate first, before influence could spread and alignment with a faction other than the serpens family head was an viable thought — let alone an option, precarious as it might appear.

— death to the trio. the hand of samgong something no one under the eyes of hoku would ever know. the foreigner's plans would be a design learned by breaking and entering, desecrating and robbing the motel they'd unwittingly furnished as their sealed and humble tomb.

"you can stop the pocket watch of iku for whomever i like, but searching the place feeds a narrative of fear." diane had spoken of business, and so she wielded the omnipower of the gods.

"a hatchling can't do the digging, either. no serpent can. if soyeon knows it's us, we've proven ourselves already paranoid, and in her clutches, dead."

— and so it had been as explicit as the tongues of akita's incendiary twins when a shootout shied a mere hairpin on the side of awry.

(very.)

— by the time they slid into the pulsating energy of the luminary, deokhee already knew that who she and her twin were looking for was on the last leg of her victory-induced high, but still present.

she'd bought the information with flattery for the keeper of the power plant — ᴊᴀᴄᴋꜱᴏɴ ᴡᴀɴɢ — and it hadn't been so much her words (smooth and thick as oil, the impression of them catching in the light, staining deep in your memory) as it was the fondness of their camaraderie that tugged a smile at his perfect lips.

"karaoke room, then?"

— the twins drew lots to see which had to provide the vocals to cover the sound of an offer laced with the reason for the whole affair.

— so it was death and duty, iku and horkos, that commanded song deokhee to lounge on the neatly upholstered seating in karaoke room nine, wooyoung on mic before her, and ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴋʏᴜɴ-ᴀʜ opposite of her and just aside.

it was old friendship that was to blame for the embracing of her, and it was the hope of initiation into serpens that dangled a job in front of the skit-born criminal. her smile was genuine, when deokhee mentioned the reward, and the stars weaved into her pink-dyed hair clinked and danced as she was given detail of the particulars.

— kyung-ah was the definition of an angel-face civilian. beautiful, amiable, charming and courteous — by all accounts, debonnaire. she'd been born with the talent of a gymnast and the bewitchment of celebrity, and so, in the circumstances she'd been thrust in, it was only a matter of time before her schoolgirl penchant of pocketing rich women's jewels turned into grander scale breaking-and-entry for the biker gang of which her cousin was a member — the spine breakers.

never anything too devastating or gory — kyung-ah carried a gun on her but rarely ever saw it to fire; mostly her work consisted of slipping in through silent windows and leaving a threat in the shadows to be discovered when you opened your eyes from blinking. she still took her share of jewelry and ornament, and she rode her own bike through the streets of skit, but her sin was not in blood but moreso the promise of it: either the spine breakers bleeding you dry, or the devouring of bankruptcy.

— silent, eager, detail-oriented, bright. there was no better person for the job, and if kyung-ah could find something of use in the ringing hush of their bullets and deliver it same night, well, then perhaps diane meunier would have a reason to remember kyung-ah's name.

get her out of skit, and into the hands of a syndicate with greater desire of her gifts, grander resources for her ambitions, more impressive wealth to cheat from the vaults of ᴇᴏᴘꜱɪɴ — ruler of opulence, and god of protecting it.

— the glitter of the karaoke lights had danced in her eyes when she said yes to all those terms and conditions, all those rushed and half-baked vows of secrecy and reasonable doubt, and the neon of the motel signage had glimmered in them, too, when they dismounted their bikes and parked their nondescript a half block away.

— not quite in the heart of hoku but hanging around his tricuspid valve, the motel was just close enough to the law-lovers of the city for the gunman twins to put silencers on their artillery, sifting through their weaponry to find the exact sort of casing to effortlessly wrap up the entire affair.

deokhee would set up as watchman: a sniper from afar. wooyoung would be on the ground: there, in case the trio were lighter on their feet than they looked. kyung-ah would enter from an opposite way, all her own. if any were to witness, it would appear she simply took advantage of the chaos, an entity unto herself.

they'd circle back round the meeting place — the serpen's complex. a piece of it, at least: an exit wound of the city that became a doorway when it sensed you knocking.

— it wasn't long before chinks became fissures and the spider cracks began to split.

— the room they were looking for was none too conveniently located; the motels in hoku crowded, their floors ravenously climbing towards the heavens: the only viable escape. it was high up, tucked in the middle. deokhee set up the best she could, but the skit trio had been smart, covering most of her visibility with furniture and curtains. how the fabric hung, in particular, struck her fancy. it was a lazy job — covering only the most obvious and vital, leaving gaps small enough for people like her to exploit. sloppy. either soyeon had decided to align with only those that could not outwit her, or some god was thwarting their fortune and work.

— there were three figures in the room - soft silhouettes against a blackened curtain. deokhee readied her shot. her finger died on the trigger.

one of the trio was convulsing. as though being bled, alive.

— wooyoung crept up the stairwell and debated whether, upon reaching his floor, he should linger in the hallway to see rather than just hear a potential escape, or to wait just beside the door to the stairs. the marks would have to go that way, unless they were planning on going out the fire-escape, making themselves vulnerable to his marksman twin that would begin all the chaos and therefore, at the end of the night, be triumphant and smug. alternatively, they could jump out the window, but then it was a baker's dozen number of floors to fall before reaching the mercy of the concrete below. a quicker escape, keeping in the stairway. the doors were thick to keep out sound, the handles hard to grip — old.

but as he approached the floor, the door was propped open by a body. and despite the bullet wound in his temple, it was unmistakably one of the marks. open mouthed and unblinking, purple and bruised. nothing like the mugshot he'd been passed only hours before.

— there was no lack of sound in the hallway. somewhere beyond was a sinister whistling. it almost covered up the sound of muffled wails.

— shots. three, in quick succession. the whistling stopped. the screaming cut, abrupt. two more, then footsteps, running, and someone pushed open the door to the stairway, stumbling over the body blocking the path there, not yet cold.

shouting. bullet casings. a push down the steps. wooyoung's gun firing, pain radiating like a bite from a lover, low swearing, then a final echoing of frantic steps.

ɢᴜɴ ʙʟᴀꜱᴛ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.

— buzzing silence smothered the room like a starving mother rolling over on her infant. heavy with guilt, heaving with a desperate kind of anger.

"you have thirty seconds to talk yourself out of death."

— deokhee leveled her gun at hongjoong, the latter doing his best not to let the surprise making fireworks out of his neural synapses show. the woman snarled, blunt cut bangs framing the deranged glint in her eyes.

"my brother got shot for information you already claim to have. i want to know how. and you will tell me why."

— diane meunier let slip the slightest inclination of her head.

it was almost easier for her, this way. at least everyone was here.

cool composure followed. "as far as i was aware, no serpent had plans with the trio from skit. and with tensions being what they are, i suspected that someone—"

three steps forward and the cool metal of the gun kissed his skin.

"that's not what she asked." the shadows shook with the voice of a mountain.

kim hongjoong pressed his forehead hard against the barrel. inviting. "two mercenaries from the luminary. your favorite spot." and he grinned at deokhee as if there was no fear in his dying. "one can siphon secrets more effortlessly than seonghwa. the other a triggerman even bigger than san. i needed secrets, and after, it didn't matter how the three ended up dead."

"and you think some pandering bullshit about a common goal is gonna stop me from sending you to iku?"

"the dauphin seemed to find it satisfactory."

— deokhee snapped her head to the left, but her flames spat only forward, still violent.

(knowing their place.)

— a different leader might not have deigned to respond. indifferent, cold, unfeeling towards the lives she commanded and the devastation she wrought. diane still feigned at these, and when she spoke it was detached, apathetic. "this... expert for hire confirmed what we suspected. soyeon has people, and more than that, she's vying for assets. we have an incomplete list because of tonight's double hit. i trust hongjoong only because judging by the look on your friends face, she can corroborate at least some of the intel."

kyung-ah, cool and piqued silence just behind, produced a blood-stained pocket book disguised as a ledger.

a cheshire smile. cruel and self-gratified. "i suppose they put defector plans in writing, now. treason easy to read."

yunho scoffed at hongjoong's dry reaction. "leverage of their own, in case soyeon didn't deliver on her promise, more like."

"well, yes, but ideally you don't keep whistle-blowing threats on your person—"

— "my brother still got shot!"

— "and judging by your reaction, i'm sure it was his shooting arm." and diane was fingering the pages of whatever proof kyung-ah had brought forward, controlled, and skimming betrayal like the morning paper, articles of middling quality. after a long moment, she looked up. deokhee still shaking, her muscles tensed to a place detrimental to action: stiffened to unyielding, dry heaving for breath. "a set back, but he's still living, and I allowed you to bring your gun in here so you could level it and realize at the end of your barrel that if you really want the highest price of recompense, you'd have to kill the mercenary, too, and even then, you'd have to extend that fate to soyeon and work your way backward until you're executing secrecy and trade labor, all for sport. you might send a hit out of vengeance itself, at that point. go check on your twin. he's fine. then, i expect you make your way to the luminary. hired by hongjoong or no, leaving woo alive when they realized their blunder regardless, those two damaged something that belongs to us, deokhee, and that is a sobering price to pay."

— a step back. a pistol holstered. hongjoong watched as enji removed her flaming threat but still lingered on this side of sinning, a glint in the gunman's eyes, a tendency on her fingertips. roiling; combustible; still starved.

— "what's the name of this triggerman?" and she threw it over her shoulder, dismissive, already half-gone. the room turned to hongjoong, five sets of eyes blinking with the weight of a thousand. "mr. 'bigger than san'?"

— he rolled his shoulders, readjusted his sleeve cuff. "goes by ᴍɪɴɢɪ. i believe it's song."

and if there was familiarity in the ghost of a name, there was nothing to show for it, just the turn of a heel, the raise of a hand in parting regards. the words distant thunder when she muttered, her anger of ash and acid rain, "let's see how he sings."

ɢᴜɴ ʙʟᴀꜱᴛ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.

— diane still needed the mercenaries hongjoong hired alive, regardless of any revenge deokhee was planning to exact at the end of her gunpowder-laced rage. the knowledge sat like volcanic stone in kyung-ah's throat, pressing against that space between her trachea and esophagus, where all hopes went to diminish upon collide, until all that pressure threatened to collapse. deokhee in vengeance wasn't something easy to be talked down from, and near impossible to detain. san, an acquaintance she'd never had the pleasure of fully knowing, followed the women close behind, but assurances were only as useful as they were understood, and kyung-ah had never seen san in action.

— when deokhee met up with her twin freshly stitched — cleansed and numbed by the sting of whiskey, dulled to a warm hue — he was in a mood enthused, tipped to laugh at any and all of her caustic plans.

"you'll have to find someone new to fuck, if you kill him."

— deokhee didn't believe in the rendering of a waver, but kyung-ah found her pressure-formed diamond in that. something to sneak it's way up her windpipe, a leverage to make things even slightly smooth. she quirked a brow at woo and the gunman winked, amused.

— "he shot you, woo."

— "and i shot his sister." deokhee was all her stubborn devotion, and her brother rolled his eyes in that characteristic indifference. in his own easygoing tone, he tried to coax from her a calm. "we both know it's nothing personal, deok. an occupational hazard."

— kyung-ah slipped her arm through deokhee's and caught her smoking ember of an eye. "his sister, ducky. make this something deeper, and you force his hand, too."

— san still trailed behind the women as they drove to the luminary, following the tail lights of kyung-ah's bike like a child chasing fireflies in the pitch of night, trapping their glory for the jar.

it would be markedly simpler, if friends were so easily tamed.

— they took the south-most entrance into jackson wang's palatial emporium of hedonism and vice, and wandered through the shop floor of criminals-for-hire like one might peruse a market. window shop. in this side of the power plant was a bazaar of talents: a haven for mercenaries to vaunt their capability and skill, book their next gig, and patch up between jobs. killing, at least inside the luminary's concrete walls, was outlawed, banned. safety within the electricity plant was more-or-less respected. outside of it's gaping maw was an entity alien and of it's own volition.

outside was where kyung-ah assumed she'd reunite with deokhee after securing a drink.

— light on her feet, graceful, and quick, kyung-ah slipped through crowds as one only slightly more substantiated than mist. no stranger to the layout of this business-place of sin, the ex-gymnast weaved her way to the most familiar of the bars and ordered the quickest poison to reward her objective win.

it wasn't every day that one was afforded a chance to work for the serpens — free of any indentured oath — and it certainly wasn't commonplace to meet the syndicate heir and have her address your efforts as well-merited, if adjacent to unnecessary, given the interference of kim hongjoong and his mercenaries of the night.

the best that would come of the affair would be kyung-ah's recgonition earning her, in time, a seat in something more permanent. the worst that would happen — the fate of the hired sibling duo of whom wooyoung seemed to be familiar with well-enough, but not deepened to a place that promised freedom of consequence — was still yet to come, but nothing of mortal intensity, given the way diane meunier had commanded san to keep them alive, just chained.

— her drink danced before her when the bartender sat it down, swirling to the rhythm of memory, a whirlpool of nostalgia where hyo-seop was still alive: her cousin still brimming with familial pride, handing over her first victory glass, always shared. "you're making a place for yourself."

— familiar fingers wrapped themselves around kyung-ah's glass.

"congratulations." and jungkook's easy smile and playful shove of his shoulder won him first sip of triumph's spirits, like always. "what are we celebrating?"

he pressed the drink to her lips and kyung-ah drank deep. "it's a secret."

"from the spine breakers, fair enough, but from me?"

"you'll be the first i tell. but for now?" kyung-ah put a finger to her lips, mirth bubbling in the eddies of her eyes.

"leaving skit for hoku and keeping secrets there," jungkook sucked on his teeth, repressing a smile. "promise you're coming back? i can't lose you."

"make that one secret two."

— the air outside was still but sharp, all that was left of breathing right before the rain. deokhee, san, and her target weren't hard to find: just to the right, thrown in the shadow and outside the gaping maw of the doorway.

bigger than san was an objectively fair way to describe song mingi, even if only by smaller margins and scant degrees, but you wouldn't have guessed it, at first glance, meeting him the way kyung-ah was: on this fateful night, in this dimlight parking lot, his shoulders collapsing in on himself, his head bowed, his lip split from deokhee's now bloody ring, lotus flower dripping ruby gore, twin bruises unfurling their wine-red blooms.

kyung-ah idly wondered if deokhee bruised him before they made it outside, breaking decorum, and if their getting thrown out explained their closeness to the doors, or perhaps she dragged all 184 cm of him out into the open, and the heat of her rage was what necessitated such an immediate comeuppance.

— when mingi noticed her approach he stiffened, straightening out his deference, but still keeping his eyes trained on his lover.

— deokhee was solidly held in san's iron grip, and when kyung-ah allowed the barest of scoffs, she thrashed free of the mountain's grip, tugging at her jacket, baring her teeth.

"you don't touch my brother."

and it was a feral dog after a beaten one.

"i don't care who you are. not to the serpens. not even to me. the next time you put a bullet in my brother, you're dead. he belongs to me."

— a different man might have taken a chance numbering his reasons. another might do so much as to not look her in the eye. mingi just stared at deokhee, wounded, a devastating look in his eyes. there was a 'forgive me,' laced in that expression, holding together all that regret, understanding, and doubt, but his words never shaped it, and no sound left his mouth.

(later, in days and weeks to come, violence and mundanity after, a future unspoken yet heretofore written, he would whisper it in the shell of her ear, spell it against the warmth of her skin, and repent in every valley and crest of her ardent form. but for now, the omen of a cold and wicked rainfall. for now, the silent sober that follows lament.)

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ pt. iii | | series masterlist

ᴛᴄᴅᴜ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴏʟᴜᴛᴇᴅ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ) :

1 - soyeon is planning to defect from the serpens, and is quietly gathering strength from criminals not loyal to the serpens, though it is theorized that she has at least a few serpent members among her ranks. she plans to not only cheat the serpens of members, but take assets and holdings, as well as just wealth. diane has a list of places and things soyeon was considering, and now she has the edge.

2 - in a job to gather this information, deokhee and wooyoung hired kyung-ah, a thief from skit and a member of the spine breakers. known for her quick gymnastic abilities and sticky hands, she was sucessful in their mission, whereas things went awry for wooyoung, leaving him shot. song mingi was the fool to shoot wooyoung, as well as a mercenary for hire and the lover of deokhee, and he has a long road of apologies before deokhee will forgive him.

3 - mingi also has a sister, who works as a torture expert for hire. both of them were contracted by hongjoong, without diane's knowledge, and are now in debt to the serpens. either they do jobs for them, or they can choose death.

#lilo.writing #writing.otbka #can you guess? we did not beta read this or check for errors we are dying like men #yes yes apologies for not uniting all the girls at last BUT DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS #NEXT CHAPTER IS ALL OKA AND MAYARI BBYYYYYYYYY #OH I AM BITING AT THE IRON BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE I HAVE A OKAJOONG MEETING ALL SET UPPPPPP #mingi is a pathetic little dog for part of this so sorry king it gets better ur wifey will forgive you i promise #someone give song deokhee a fucking OSCAR for this performance though. RIVETING.#i was gonna add more plot and exposition to this but i'm sorry i need to get ready for work tomorrow ayy #can you believe women (me) are forced to work in this economy #also hiii eopsin ily another patron god

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