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sacredlys · 1 year

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sanctification

tw: general cult fuckery, heavy on sexism and sexist practices, mild gore

our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

like clockwork, the man begins to cry. it’s a shrill, pathetic sound that grates at his ears. when it comes down to it, they’re all the same breed of hypocrite. this one looks like he might piss himself in fear if yoon pushes him just a little further.

if mother had taught him to act in complete subservience, father’s hand came in meting it out. cruel and aloof, without regard for the suffering of others. this was what he knew, how he operated, and what felt natural to him. there wasn’t a specific moment in his life where things u-turned toward the morally incomprehensible. like most things in his life, he’d been indoctrinated into it since birth. the morality of things mattered very little when you were serving a higher power— above all, god forgives those who carry out his will, even at the cost of their humanity.

when father had first uncovered his mother’s scheme, he’d been furious. the kangs had been a pillar of the church for generations, having stood by the chois when the first commune was built in the early-70s. with this, of course, came power. his father’s family had always been wealthy. they’d taken the side of the winners without a second thought, with no consideration for the brethren who were suffering great inequities under their rule; all that mattered was that the kangs thrived. as with most things, history would rewrite itself eventually, and those who remembered this betrayal would soon die off— quietly, cruelly and, most of all, alone.

what the kangs desired was the kind of power that money couldn’t buy. a god that would embrace all the sick, antiquated practices they wanted to partake in. the celebration of deviance under the guise of holiness. they found all this and more under the leadership of the chois. quickly, this religion consumed them. it became the lamp unto their feet, the reason for all their successes. their devotion did not go unnoticed. the chois grew to trust them deeply, and they rose the church ranks with their fervent worship.

by the time yoon was born, his father had fallen just slightly out of favour with pastor choi. there had been disputes over tithing and its use to fund a senatorial campaign. his mother, ever the strategist, had witnessed this and worried about their place in the church. there soon would be a change in leadership, following the birth of a boy: the chosen one. with yoon’s birth, she got exactly what she wanted— to cement their status as close confidants, seated at the right hand of god. father was far more conservative. he’d grown up the same way he had raised his boys: fostering misogyny disguised as chauvinism, instilling a sincere belief that men are superior to women in every aspect except childbirth. this came hand-in-hand with a deep-rooted faith in traditional displays of masculinity, and a general disgust for anything that challenged this. yoon— as his mother would have it— was one of these challenges.

‘it would be fine if yoon had been born the youngest daughter and not son’, was his father’s common refrain. but mother could care less about her husband’s whining when she knew it’d do their family good. yoon knew she found great delight when the plot proved useful and father could no longer find excuses not to let her go ahead with her plans. even so, he raised yoon the only way he knew how, and twice as sternly as he did with yoon’s older brothers. he was relentless with his teaching and expected nothing short of perfection. everything his mother wanted him to do, his father made sure he did without room for improvement. there were still things he did not agree with, like yoon’s pursuit of music and literature, which he found principally effeminate, but there was only so much you could discriminate against while promising your son to another boy.

this, he made up for by inculcating a quiet cruelty in yoon. a gentle sort of viciousness that would linger beneath your skin, only to strike when you least expect it. there was to be no remorse, not a moment’s hesitation, no mercy. he was to act in the faith that god was his shepherd, and that everything he did, he did for god and his holy vessels. when he was younger, yoon had taken these lessons as his father’s way of showing love. less foolish now, he’s painfully aware that it was and is to satiate the fragile male ego his father had been fostering since birth.

at times like this, everything father’s taught him seems to click into place. where his father had instilled the art of weaponising fear, he’d learnt relentlessness to go alongside it. with threats, came careful strategising; entrapment. yoon never quite liked the violence that came with his father’s methods, so he carved out his a path of his own, entrusted the dirty work to those whom he could buy. he found that the best way to get someone to do exactly what you want is not through the threat of physical violence— there are only so many teeth you can pull before words get garbled, and severing fingers is messy and leaves with it a permanence that draws too much attention. no, the best way to play puppeteer is to figure out what exactly makes them tick, the things and people they love, their motivations, their secrets. and then, to take it all away. to threaten to unmask them, make them lose everything at once. what matters more than money is the greed to keep their carefully maintained reputations. father would despise this roundabout way of doing things, the lack of an overt show of aggression. ‘you’re too soft, yoon’, he’d say, shaking his head with the disdain that usually fills him at the sight of his son. too soft, too unassertive, too lacking of a man from the kang household. if only you knew, father. what i have on you.

the man before him is the same. yoon had seen him in church, and now over the surveillance footage that plays on the tv in front of them, where he puts those same grotesque lips that spoke words of wisdom to the congregation to a boy who must barely be his son’s age. yoon half-sits on the edge of the table, cross-legged, leaning back on one palm as he fiddles with the remote to rewind the video and play it over and over again. he pauses at the most pertinent portions, tilting his head in a way that screams nonchalance. genuinely, he wonders if this is what prosecutor park fears the most. it seems to be. the same smug, self-assured smile that once screamed power has been reduced to a blubbering mess; spittle gathering on park’s mouth and chin as he begs for forgiveness, swearing on his family, on god. like most, he’d started off thinking he held all the cards, that yoon was akin to the rest of the wives in the church. this was shortly after yoon was announced to be the leader’s partner-to-be, and many had taken to treating him like they did the women amongst the parishioners (in short: poorly, with contempt). they’d been sorely mistaken. his mother had raised a faithful servant, but his father had sharpened his teeth.

it never fails to amuse him, how they never see this coming.

yoon steps off the table where he’s perched with practiced grace, watching as park tries again to lunge at him. the guards hold him back by the arms, keep him in place where he’s seated. he doesn’t know why they try, but he supposes he should be applauding this man’s apparent fearlessness. by now, yoon’s done this dozens of times. except, there’s something personal about this— perhaps in the way yoon had felt his gaze on him all throughout service and the special sunday prayers, even as he espoused a poignant narrative against those who shared his attraction. yoon meets eyes with the guards, who get the message almost immediately, making things more painful now that park’s shown he’s fickle and considering alternatives.

“i suggest you cooperate, mr. park. things will go far more smoothly if you do.”

yoon steps around the table that separates them, tapping lightly at the arm of one of the guards, who steps aside with his head bowed. up-close, park looks even more pitiful. father must be around his age too, miserable and clinging to some false sense of self that’s only been sustained because of the church. yoon frowns— his first real show of emotion— nose wrinkled at the metallic smell of blood. they’ve roughed him up a little too much for his liking, but he’d been more resistant than they usually are, likely in some weird show of “masculinity”.

“here’s what i’m going to do…” yoon says after the prosecutor general’s hiccuping cries finally fade into quieter sobs. the despair has set in. yoon fast forwards to his favourite part of the video, where park’s face is most visible, and lets the image of his sin illuminate the room. “you know as well as i do that my family has a lot of influence over the media-sphere. all it takes is one little click for all this to be uploaded..” he shrugs then, shoulders lifted in a show of insouciance. “imagine how devastated your wives would be. and your poor son.. i don’t think he’d appreciate that kink of yours. your career? who knows what will be left of it once this makes its rounds.”

yoon takes his time to spell this all out, taking a sick satisfaction in watching the man’s expression turn from complacency to utter hopelessness. in his mind’s eye, he might be doing this for god, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t self-serving in more ways than others. he’d crush them all if he could, cut them off at the knees and watch them plead for mercy as penance for all that they’ve put him through. this part of him is what his father would delight in, and he knows better than that, even if it’s sometimes hard to quash. still, he is his father’s son, so yoon leans down to whisper in the man’s ear, his hand smoothed over his shoulder, without even an inch of fear of recourse. “i’ll make sure prison’s nice and comfortable for you, prosecutor park. so don’t you worry.”

#sp #/ this is a side of yoon that i haven't explored toooo much of just yet #/ was fun to write though + gives more insight into just how morally grey he is #/ also his daddy issues... now that i've written about his mommy issues #/ think of this as existing somewhere between yoon starting work at element and rekindling his relationship with soobin (the first time lol)

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sacredlys · 1 year

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deliverance

tw: big cult lore (polygamy, other v. questionable religious practices)

for thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, now and forevermore, amen.

he’d always known, even as a child. when they’d put on their sunday best for the sunday prayers, and mother would wear her pearls. back then, he’d wanted a chain of his own— more than just being pretty to a four-year-old who still needed help with his laces, he could tell how much his mother treasured them. her wearing them meant it was a special day. she’d hold onto his hand extra tight, and he learnt to stop complaining a long time ago, so he’d let her. it wouldn’t take long for him to realise why she wore them and what would happen when she did.

you see, when father choi first called for a revival of the church and His ancient teachings, there was skepticism. they’d been shut down once before, their little (million strong) commune, forced to flee and leave behind the fruits of their labour. the wider society could not accept their idea of utopia, where nothing was owned but everything was shared. they didn’t understand it, could not fathom that God’s goodness could bring about deliverance, and through it, the multiplication of His goodness. nothing was ever your own, not even your body. this had been drilled into him from birth: suffering brings you one step closer to God; pain is an indication that God is near. his mother had trained him as much, and it was expected of him, of all of them. their eternal salvation came with a price.

and so, father would submit himself on these sundays to His service. pastor choi would announce it with fervour, like it was to be celebrated. the pews would erupt in applause. no one ever questioned it. this often meant closed doors to the children after the benediction was pronounced. chanting. crying. noises he could not understand. hours he had to kill colouring within the lines. when it was over (always later, never sooner), the men would come out of it looking refreshed, and the women.. they would take longer. women and children were gifts from God, and likewise, as with all His gifts, they were to be shared for the furtherance of His kingdom.

yoon’s curiosity never got him places. between the penance he had to do for asking if all his brothers and sisters were his siblings, and if father had a favourite wife, he learnt to keep these questions to himself. he knew enough— he was his mother’s son. it was why she always kept him close, and— though she’d never admit it— of all the children in her household, she loved him most. had the highest hopes for him. he was her last and her only one by choice. she had great plans.

when he was still far, far too young, yet old enough to understand, this worried him. he didn’t know if he could command a household the way father and the other men of the church did. to have so many people under his care, looking to him for guidance as their shepherd. to serve in the way that was expected of the congregation. the noises on sundays scared him.

it was on one of these days, after service, where he gathered the courage to relay this to his mother. she had drawn him away from where he was mumbling it into the side of her skirt and sat him down on her knee, like he was her baby all over again. at six, he was old enough to be embarrassed, half-struggled off her lap so his (much older) siblings would not tease him. she was firm enough for him to stop soon after, and he looked to her with all the reverence of a child who has only ever known the church’s teachings and his mother’s word. without even the slightest bit of hesitation, she unclasped the pearls around her neck and placed it in yoon’s hands, closing his fingers around it. by then, he’d realised what they meant. “abundance” is what father choi would call it, when the adults would go away for hours to partake in the lord’s body and blood in celebration and worship. the pearls were His gift— the fruits of his mother’s labour and a symbol of her deliverance. (in his future lapses in faith, he’d call it a payout, but only in his head.)

“yoon-ah, one day you’ll have a set just like this. all for yourself. wouldn’t that be nice?” yoon, not used to his mother letting him touch the pearls at all, would blink and nod, not really listening with the iridescent spheres in his hand. it was too much for his six-year-old brain to draw the links.

“you were born for this. do you understand? you will belong to him. his family.”

this is where yoon would let the pearls go in favour of clinging to his mother, “but i want to be with you, mother—“ she only pushed him away— something he had gotten used to at this point. for as much as she loved him, she wanted him only at arm’s length. affection was scarce and deeply frowned upon. her favouritism could not be shown so blatantly, and she would rather show less of it if it meant not having to interact with his siblings to even things out and not incur father’s wrath.

“it is God’s will and you will abide, kang yoon.” what he wanted didn’t matter. there was a finality in her tone that shut him down. invoking God was the end-all. like he was always taught, yoon bowed his head in submission and never questioned it again, not even in his heart of hearts. he didn’t know who “he” was, or what mother meant. in the mind of a six-year-old, it was a million years away and mattered very little. in reality, it was only a few weeks later where he would be introduced to him. choi soobin, their future leader, and the boy he was born for.

#/ wow first self para i've written for this muse #/ shocker bc i rly enjoy writing him #/ i'll write the birthday party scene one day.....#/ weird ending but are we surprised i'm v bad at endings #/ this might give some context in terms of cult lore and yoon's childhood though #/ explains why he's so Messed Up #sp

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