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[oraculate]

she can take it. she's probably heard worse from those very same people. he offers his own bottle to clink.  ❝ pleasure doing business with you. ❞ A NIGHT OF DARK TREES @lotharioi

to put it succinctly, they're about as different as two people could be. but lijae is used to being different in all the worst ways, the ways that earn you discomforted looks, the ways that have your uncles warning your cousins away from you. goreo is a sick little town, eager to suck people into it's maw, tangling them in the mire and muck of it. and lijae? she is a creature of that beast, perhaps forever shackled to this place. a sobering thought, so his appearance, beer in hand is a welcome one. she has no illusions about what this game of theirs is, a trade of information (when she has it) to further his nefarious ends. but why should she care, if he destabilizes the status quo? why would she care if raein did it first, or if they demolished it together? as long as someone takes the people who have made her life miserable down a peg, lijae will consider herself content. it's about time someone did it, about time someone reminded them that this little backwards town is nothing, is nowhere, means nothing. even the resort that would be built here won't be the best of resorts. what do they have besides a creature in the woods, a handful of missing bodies, and a girl who knows too much?

even the wealth they hoard so jealously is a pittance compared to the real wealth hedged in the cities, lining the streets of hannam in glittering penthouses, sending their overbearing children to schools the tuition of which would likely (if added up cumulatively over the year) outstrip most of what one of the families would earn off the sale of their scraps of land. with more than half the country's population centered in the capital and the overwhelming majority of it's wealth therein, it was safe to say that statistically speaking, goreo was pathetic at best, holding on to the traditions of the past with a ferocity that assured their own destruction. she feels the same disdain for the town that she imagines kyubok must feel for all of them - herself included. there's a sour note to that, but familiar. at least his prejudice is widely offered to them each with a sort of equality, magnanimous in his hatred in a way that her peers have not been, seeing fit to turn on her for the crime of knowledge instead. it doesn't hurt that he's handsome in his way, for all he picks around like a fastidious tomcat, preening and primping as he does, his satoori a pale drawl to imitate her own. "i suspect you can handle it," she coos, brightly and unbothered, shifting against the blanket with a hum, twisting slightly to stretch the column of her spine. she watches the careful way he navigates the benign scattering of leaves and rocks that litter the floor here at the edges of the forest as if he might be circumnavigating a minefield, attempting to sit down against the rock as if it might be one of the trials of heracles himself, and her brow arches with a vague sense of amusement. she huffs a brief laugh at his proclamation as he sits, taking the offered bottle and drawing her legs up to sit cross-legged instead.

they make an odd pair like this, side by side in the forest, him so terribly out of his element and her so comfortably in her own, he the arbiter of secrecy and she of truth. "devastating, but somehow, i am sure i'll manage," she drawls in reply to his quick retort, drawing the bottom of the blanket up over her own lap with a chuckle before she repositions the bottle to take a swig. "so tell me, how are your nefarious plots unfolding? anything i should keep an eye out for?" she taps the center of her forehead with an expression of faux solemnity, as if in indication of specifically honing her proverbial third eye to the task- a jest at her own expense.

#LJ / thread #LJ / lotarioi

[oraculate]

THE PROPHET, ko lijae

intro / basics / bio / connections / pinterest

#LJ / dni

[oraculate]

@vitalssigns WILD HEART

the wind whips against the makeshift comfort of the trunk of jeonghun's car, propped up like some kind of metal canopy. they've parked it back against the sands at the apex of the beach, the tides rising high over the usually expansive (if rocky and often muddy) sands. lijae's got a bottle in one hand, the familiar smoothness nestled against her palm, and a blue tooth speaker plays from somewhere on the ground beside them, cooler opened next to the beach towels laid out in front of them. she's got her shoes kicked off to the side, toes brushing the rough terrycloth fabric, scooting to the side to nudge jeonghun's leg lightly for no reason than to remind herself of the tenuous connection of his presence.

they hadn't been that close, as kids, just as she hadn't been that close with near anyone. story of her life, right? ostracization started young and she'd been an easy target in more ways than the obvious. wouldn't have made sense for a park to give her the time of day. frankly, it still didn't really, if she's honest. it's mostly jiyul that pulled things together, the way he always has for her, like a tenuous life line to a world that doesn't have room for her - barely has room for him, if she's honest. the pair of them like mismatched socks in the back of the drawer- present but not part of things. jeonghun might be the crazy twin, the surviving twin, but he still had more going for him than either of them did. she might have felt guilty for dragging him down by association if she was a better person. but she wasn't, so she didn't. instead, there was the ambiguous comfort of his presence which she feared to be all too fleeting, sure he'd take flight, uproot and pull jiyul along with him, maybe, and leave her there in the dust. it was a thought that turned her stomach if she let it linger, so she bit the side of her tongue bloody to chase it away, chased the taste of copperironacid with the soju - juice mix they'd concocted from the 1+1 sale options at the mart. "it's fucking cold out today," she notes helpfully, watching the waves roil in the distance, beaten to foaming white peaks against the rocks. "you got any blankets in here?" she twists her head, craning to look in the backseat before she turns back again. "any news from the grand park estate these days? can we move in yet?" an old joke, in poor taste perhaps, but she can't stand the silences the way the other two can. she isn't at peace enough in her own head for it, doesn't want to be left alone with the echoes of her own thoughts, takes another swig to ward off what might follow. the waves crash against the shore in a comforting rhythm, but the quiet itches under her skin anyway. she bites the edge of her thumb, already raw. "don't suppose you've let up on the pill thing huh?" she's antsy, today, the anxiety spiking up her spine, racing like adrenaline in her. molars dig into her cheek, toes curling-clenching-releasing in a rhythm, stimulus to try to offset the twitch in the center of her chest.

#LJ / thread #LJ / vitalssigns

[oraculate]

@lotharioi A NIGHT OF DARK TREES for a brief, hazardous moment, he considers the possibility that the freak may tackle him for it, and so his arm lowers a few inches. i should stick to my guns more often, a stray thought in the back of his mind. that's loser talk, and he won't indulge any of it.

lijae is no stranger to the woods around goreo or their hallowed embrace, the ancient whisper of wind through branches, the dappling of the sun through the leaves. as a child she imagined herself more attuned to nature by virtue of her birth, her status as a would-be-shaman, some greater connection to the earth. imagined she could see fae creatures between the trunks or nestled in the trees, calling out to bring her to some different, better world. she imagined, while leaning over silvery pools and their strangely still water, that if she pressed her fingertips to her reflection a door to another realm might open before her that she might be whisked away from the oppressive weight of life in her little town.

in time it became clear the forest held secrets, but none so fanciful as the dreams of a lost little girl, and lijae shuttered her heart to hope and welcomed, instead, a sickly fascination with the tales of the cryptid that was rumored to stalk between the trees. as beaten sneakers crunch over fallen leaves, they carry her to a little clearing dotted with wide, flat stones that spoke to some ancient waterway long dried. it's been a favorite spot for meandering youth in the town for some decades now, she's sure, and it is often sparsely attended now for obvious reasons (none the least because the frequency at which she and jiyul grace it with their presence tends to drive others away). thus it is marked as the meeting place du jour, such as it were, a plaid and threadbare blanket spread over the rock for a semblance of comfort, an old habit to ward off the inevitable cold as the sun descends. she can hear kyubok coming before she sees him, the crack and rustle of feet unfamiliar with the forest, a certain lumbering and clumsy gait of those unfamiliar with the wilds. she finds it amusingly dichotomous to the strict control of his visage a he appears, each slant of his lips perfected, the cock of his head calculated, words curling like the spoke from her cigarette, deft as they coil in the air. lijae exhales a cloud of smoke towards the sky, eyes flicking to the clouds for a moment where they peek between the leaves, cuts her gaze thoughtfully back towards the decidedly out of place stranger. "you look like a bull in a china shop," she drawls back at him, an unreadable stare before she heaves a soft sigh, scoots over. "flattery will get you every where. stroke my ego a little more, will ya?" the words fall flat and dry, a slant of her lips to match the drawl, one leg dangling off the rock so the toe of her sneakers can rustle the leaves gently. "it's kloud, you absolute buffoon. i might be a backwoods loser but i'm also an alcoholic and i know for a fact it's 4 for 15k won down at the mart." she knows it because she works there overnights sometimes. you can chart inflation by the changes in the 4 can sales price, and she has. it was 10k when she picked up the shift five years ago. fucking capitalism. she exhales another cloud of smoke, but this one she aims at him. he deserves it, big businessman he is. "how 'bout we make a trade instead," she offers, "i've got cigarette, company, and a few sweet words if you're lucky. what strikes your fancy, hotshot?" dark eyes canvas him again, lingering on the reddened knuckles around the bottles, the cloud of breath from his lips. "got a blanket, too. we can cuddle up," she lilts, lips twitching in a quick slant of a grin, barely more than a flash, never lingering.

#LJ / thread #LJ / lotharioi

[oraculate]

CURSEBOUND @ceourage

there's something in the slant of the late afternoon sun through high vaulted windows, illuminating the dust suspended in the air, that affords the run down public library of goreo-eub with just the faintest aura of legitimacy, as if something other than scraps of newspaper can be found within it's archives, as if the limited shelves packed into the corners of warped-floored rooms can somehow be said to have a certain charm, as if those oft-water damaged tomes are more than the collected donations of a populace that simply isn't that interested in the literary arts as a whole. there is a copy of her book on the shelves, and sometimes, with a certain sense of narcissistic desire to despair, lijae checks the check out records. they're sparse, if not entirely bare, and it is a study in small ways to make yourself suffer (a study she has by and large mastered). that is not her destination today, however, called forth from the gloom of her run down room by a great purpose, prophetess summoned to the mountaintop once more, that her gifts might be put to better use than wasted away in the back of a tavern. cassandra served at the altar of apollo and lijae, in her fierce seclusion, has seen fit to bestow her gifts on a certain newcomer. the slope of angular shoulders beneath a fine, well structured knit protrude from a wreathe of artfully tousled blonde hair, golden in the swatch of sunlight that falls over her. raein has undoubtedly positioned herself there, at this wide oaken table, with a sense of purpose in order to best angle herself to perception of the critical public, all to eager to find fault in the wealthy nam's mysterious heiress. as if moth to flame, lijae is drawn to her, depositing herself in a heap of too-bony-limbs, boots knocking the armed chair beside the other girl closer still and prompting a discordant screech against the worn flooring. if lijae was another girl she might feel conscious of the fraying hem of an oversized, well worn overshirt, might second guess the chipped polish on nails bitten near to the quick, the hint of blood beneath a thumb nail as evidence of the intrusive habit, might have tried to cover the faint, lingering smell of smoke that clings to her hair beneath the pine of the forest and the citrusy soaps she prefers. but lijae has -has always had - other things to occupy her mind, utterly ignoring her own presentation, knowing herself to be ostracized already. no amount of polish or poise will save overwrite that. "darling," she purrs, voice rough from disuse, having woken late and been, characteristically, solitary for the majority of the day. "did you miss me? wait long?" she pulls her legs up into the seat of the chair, wraps an arm around one knee, the other leg against the seat. she rests her chin on her knee and tilts her head. "tell me, what's the latest, hmm? tell me all the stupid things that boy is doing." she grins wide, too many teeth for comfort.

#LJ / thread #LJ / ceourage

[oraculate]

#* speak no evil

[oraculate]

A hand fits into the loose pocket of his cargo pants but all the can find is the blunt plastic of his inhaler. Jiyul doesn’t smoke, but he’s the kind of person who might carry around a few for a friend who does. He used to do the same thing for Jeongbin, and he’s never bothered confronting how it’s a little pathetic. “I’m fresh out, guess you can’t give me an asthma attack today.” In consolation he offers her the stick he’d been poking around with instead. @conntingency ILLICIT

lijae bites back a yawn with some difficulty, chasing away the remnants of a fitful few hours of sleep that still cling to her shoulders now, two cups of coffee later. she should probably have made something stronger than the shitty mart mix, but it’s all a wash now. “can’t find anything if their heads are up their asses,” she agrees reasonably, fingers curled to a loose fist as she rubs at her eye. considering the crime scene is relatively bland, she pulls her phone free. the morning light is bright and thin, a cool wash over the world that matches the frigid morning air. she hates winter and the cold and her stupid cropped padding with a hole in the right hand pocket. her finger sticks through it and she thinks about stitching it once more and promptly forgets. 

“being resigned to old age here is actually so horrifying i might die of shock just thinking about it,” she agrees wryly, but there’s an undercurrent of truth in her words. unstable and erratic or not, her five years of peace of mind (relative, always relative) in seoul had been some of the best, far away from this shitty town and it’s trumped up politics, self important fish in a tiny little pond, flopping around half out of water, desperate to cling to whatever scraps of value they can milk from the cursed place. coming back had been a mistake but inflation was a cruel mistress and god knew lijae was far from gainfully employed. 

jiyul should get out. he could have a future. maybe not the best, brightest future, but at least better than whatever shit would go down here. there was a suffocating wrongness to the city and to those too intertwined in it, herself included. but jiyul’s heart is still back in the forest all those years ago, his good sense beaten away by paranoia, trauma. she doesn’t say anything to him, about all this. she wants good things for him, but no one’s listened to her before and she can’t imagine they’ll start now - especially without a vision to back it all up and those just never seem to be all that positive, do they? her stomach turns at the thought of seeing him in a vision one day, whatever end might wait for him, whatever misfortune. the prospect of it itches under her skin, burrowing through her. she rustles his hair instead, silky smooth against her palm, even if the ends frizz and feather. 

“reckon i know a lot, actually,” she points out, drily, turning the camera to capture the image of him like this. he blends into the landscape of the forest, all grays and blacks against the thick copse of trees and the shadows of the leaves. “cute,” she notes, tucking it into her pocket once more, making a trade to pantomime instead. he has a kind patience for her antics, she figures, even as she points out, “it looks like moths have eaten it and it barely stays on your shoulder.” honestly, he looks fine. the boyish, narrow sort of silhouette that might be trendy dolled up in the right circumstances, big bright eyes and a mop of hair. not the type to get proclaimed the heartthrob of the town, maybe, but an enigmatic sort of charming. 

there’s a dramatic sigh on her lips at the words, pursing with displeasure. “figures,” she reasons, takes the stick anyway and briefly considers setting it on fire just for the laughs, but sets the thought aside. probably not the best idea to accidentally set the crime scene on fire, even for her. there’s a tightness in her chest, a weight that pushes down. “d’you think someone attacked her out here or what? she’s not even on any of the hiking trails.” she squints at the leaves, the underbrush, “it doesn’t seem like she got dragged here.” she hands the stick back, having done nothing with it, in order to better bite at the edges of her thumb, tugging at already-raw skin in absentminded thought, staring at the outline chalked on the ground as if she could force a vision to spring up before her eyes. of course, it doesn’t never when it’s useful, right? “maybe it’s nothing and we’re all worked up for nothing.” the thought is devastatingly boring. 

#LJ / thread #eldrtch:ev001

[oraculate]

quietly, he takes the handles of her bike from lijae. pushes it slowly along the gravel road they walk. "but yeah, it smells of bullshit, i didn't expect a multiple choice quiz when he said he'd grant our wishes. reeks of a scam to me," he shrugs, holding one hand up in a silent request for a smoke. "still - play along with me anyway. what would you choose?" @curiozo

lijae rolls to a stop with a crunch of the gravel, scuffed shoes thumping to the ground. the air is crisp, clear, fresh in a way she’s learned to appreciate after her brief stint in the pollution of the city. at least there’s one good thing to say for the speck of a town. in front of her, he stands, slouched shoulders and tousled hair and the ever present quirk at the edge of his lips that draws her own up in turn, askance. 

he doesn’t fit in here. it’s easy not too, better if you don’t. but if there’s one thing people here hate, it’s an outsider, even more one with questions. she likes that about him - the fact that he shakes them up a little, reminds them that their all encompassing machinations and manipulations are just a blip on the radar for someone else, a fun story to share on tiktok in minute long sound bytes. 

that’s what she is to him, too. an informant, an oddity, the one person giving him the time of day. she knows that. but she’s starved for it, importance, someone to listen. aches to be seen for something beyond the burden she carries. half the town has decried her as crazy, the other half knows she’s right and has pulled away. what a cruel response to the truth, ostracization. no one wants to know, not really. you’d think they would, that fate might be mutable, that someone might want to fight back against the constraints they’ve all been placed under. but lijae has shouted her voice hoarse about unspeakable horrors since the day she could speak, and what good has it done any of them? the visions come true in the end, whether she waits days or years to see them through, and in the meantime, no one bothers to listen to her. even after the first few come true, they’d rather bury their heads in the sand than acknowledge what she’s capable of. she gets it- they’re scared. she’s scared, too, living under the weight of all this. of the knowing and the loneliness and the paralyzation of it. but what’s a girl to do?

she flicks her lighter open, fits a cigarette to the wavering flame. “you don’t want the truth. no one wants the truth,” she corrects him wryly, exhaling smoke into the air, thoughtfully angled away from the other’s face, a courtesy she would not often extend. she lets him push along the bike, too, ambling alongside him with a feline roll of her shoulders beneath the leather of her jacket, a forgotten hand-me-down from her father. 

“frankly, i don’t even have wishes,” she admits, “what am i supposed to want here, exactly? i have the truth. glory sounds like a headache. wisdom? also useless. peace?” she snorts a laugh, tousling her hand back through her hair. “if it’s the peace of the grave, maybe i’ll make a consideration.” 

she should want peace. she should ask for it, plead for the idea that her visions might be held at bay. isn’t that what she’s been chasing chemically all this time? but without them - then what? then she’s a shell of a girl who’s never been anything but a vessel for the trauma of others. without them she isn’t anything, anyone. she’s only ever been this - a mouthpiece, a red flag, the black dog of death in the dark. “i don’t know why i agreed to anything in the first place.” she does know, though. the temptation of the dark, the promise of something stranger than she is. “i should learn to be less impulsive.” 

sometimes she’s scared to look at him. afraid of what she’ll see, of what might descend over her vision filmy and cruel. she’s sure it’ll happen sooner or later, but for now, she steals glances from the periphery of her vision, careful and quick, memorizing the details of his profile - the slant of his nose and the curve of his cheek. “let’s make a bet. anticipate how the wish will go wrong. for me,  i’ll wish peace and i bet it’s the peace of death. now what could glory be? infamy? framed for a crime?”

#LJ / thread #queued

[oraculate]

i made a page here for connection and prophecy information just so i can keep track of what she's seen for whom (lol) and that kind of thing so if that is of interest to you, feel free to take a look.

#LJ / connections

[oraculate]

HAMARTIA @curiozo

no one in goero looks at her like a person, anymore.

like a ghost perhaps, or an oddity, or with the eyes sliding askance as they try not to look at all. she can't blame them for that- who is she, beyond her visions? without them, what is ko lijae? there is no identity for her outside of the curse of this, a constant companion that has shaped her, twisting her like wire into strange and impossible contortions.

to some, she is an ill omen, and uncomfortable reminder of a soured friendship. she is someone parents warn their children away from and even the bartenders tire of her endless patronage. to her family she is at best an uncomfortable periphery figure, sure to take up the mantle of her grandmother but discomfiting to be around, with the exception of a singular cousin alongside whom she has found comfort in drink and demonology (maybe. jury's out on that.)

so when there's a new face in town, unencumbered by the trite machinations of companies and clans, it's a breath of fresh air.

its the first time in years that someone has looked at her for herself.

in goero she is a collection of scandals, an amalgamation of missteps and an uncomfortable reminder of all the truths most people would rather not acknowledge. to him, though, she's a pretty girl in a bar with dark circles that could probably be waved away as genetic and nervous tics that might just be endearing this early on. so she sinks her fangs into him with a sort of desperation, basks in the attention doled out to her so easily, pedantic questions like what do you do for a living or do you have any siblings or what kind of music do you like. so absurdly simple and yet for lijae it feels like drowning in the sun.

they're past that now. he's heard the stories and she's had episodes, in front of him, where the chemicals haven't dulled it all down quite enough and she blanks out in the middle of a conversation, fingers trembling at the sudden tide that washes over her, a vision unbidden.

he's got his demons too, she knows. everyone in town does, and it's her business whether she likes it or not, but she hasn't seen his yet. so its nice to pretend, that he can look at her like a girl and not a monster, that she can look at him like a promise.

the letter, though, that's something. something she thinks about that morning, another sleepless night under her belt, wind whipping through her hair. she sees him before he sees her, heart somersaulting in her chest as she brakes her bike alongside him, a spray of gravel in his direction. she chalks her breathlessness up to biking up the hill, pulls the letter from the pocket of faded jeans, overlarge and slung low on her hips. "you got mail?" she drawls, nose scrunching as she sniffles slightly against the cold morning air. he nods sharp and she hums, a thoughtful slant to her lips. "they're fuckin stupid wishes," she lights up a cigarette, exhales the smoke with a cough, clearing her throat. the ember of it warms her cheeks before she gestures vaguely in his direction. "or what, you want some glory?" her eyes all but roll at the suggestion of it. "reckon it's one of those monkey's paw deals." there's a glint in her gaze, a sort of manic fascination at the idea of misfortune, a long held companion.

#LJ / thread #eldrtch:ev001

[oraculate]

The thing is, Lijae has to believe Jiyul about the forest because Jiyul believes everything she says right back. That’s how these things work. That’s how the concept of truth is created. “See anything weird?” The bland innocuity of this particular patch of forest is edging on funny, given the suspicion around it. “Use your x-ray vision,” he nudges his thumb between her eyes and smiles, too many teeth for the setting.  @conntingency ILLICIT

lijae is no stranger to funerals, to the wailing, to the smell of the fresh cooked food. she is not a stranger to the heavy ache of loss in the air, the tangible grief of it all. and yet, it never feels any less horrible than the first time. part and parcel of a shaman's granddaughter is involvement in certain rites and rituals, and funerals are oft among them, although this one is more christian in it's bearing and as a result, lijae is able to make only a brief appearance, customarily, before she can fade back into the forest and it's eerie comforts.

this is a relief, the chance to vanish. no one would begrudge her this - it isn't as if they want her around either. as a child, her fascination with the wilderness was endearing, quirky, even expected. any adventurous, imaginative child would love the expanse of the woods. and, as shamans, the ko family lived up on a hill near its edges as one might expect, drawn to the mysticism of the mountains and wilds. with age and with tragedy, however, her fascinations with the hallowed canopies had become about as appealing as her drunken ramblings or hollow eyed stares. jiyul had never begrudged her the fascination, however, in the time of their acquaintance, perhaps because he was simply pleased to have someone to tramp down the fallen leaves along side him, crunching over sticks and through the mud. "they'll find whatever they want to find. a nice tidy answer to wrap up the death of an old lady with a trumped up sense of importance in a backwoods town. lijae had little interest in political affairs and contrivances. with eighty percent of the country's population in the capital, fights over a cursed patch of land in the middle of nowhere, grandstanding on a level of wealth that would get them laughed out of the city - it was all so endlessly stupid she could hardly stand it. an elbow to her side winds her briefly, a cough from shriveled lungs, coated in tar. "magpie's too lucky. better be what, one of those deer that sounds like a person. y'ever heard there's like, mountain lions in america that sound like people screaming. spooky right?" it's a ramble, she's always rambling, can't keep her mouth shut or her eyes closed.

lets her thoughts run away with her without filter, because the more time she spends examining herself the more the visions bubble out, fall over her like a shadow, blot out the mundanity of normal life and paint it over with horrors. jiyul isn't much better, a walking amalgamation of intrusive thoughts. here it comes now- she knows the shape of the words before he says them. "just like jeongbin. probably exactly the same," she drawls, "of course, it's an old woman and there's a body and it's probably natural causes but, you know. totally the same." she pats him on the head condescendingly, but fondly, in the way her mother often had when she was young; absently tousling up her hair and offering a 'that's a nice story, dear' to her errant ramblings born of unwanted premonitions.

closer to the scene she pulls out her phone, snapping a few pictures over the edges of yellow tape, nose crinkling. she can't turn these things on and off, her visions. even something that blandly useful is denied her, and she is given only intrusive and startling apparitions without warning, overwhelming her senses and ultimately leading to the loss of her driver's license, recently, something she is still bitter about after an ill-timed vision sent her reeling into a tree. "i see the culprit actually," she intones drily, holding her fingers up in a sort of camera-squared shape, focused on the other's profile. "average height, dark hair, beaky nose, scrawny, wearing an ugly shirt." it doesn't take long for him to retaliate and she barks out a half-hoarse laugh in reply, scooting closer to the edge of the scene as she does. "maybe it was jeongho, he gives me snake vibes lately." she doesn't mention the blood she sees dripping from his hands, these days, viscous and dark - lifeblood, heartblood, spilling thick. rubbing a hand beneath her eye, she drags at the thin skin, purple-blue with chronic exhaustion. "gimme a cigarette," she adds, holding out a small hand, chipped nail polish and ruined cuticles, the edges of her thumbs raw from a familiar nervous habit.

#LJ / thread #eldrtch:ev001

[oraculate]

May Sarton, from Journal of a Solitude [ID in alt text]

#* speak no evil

[oraculate]

whops im a little late sorry but here i (dove, s/h, certified hag) am and more importantly, here's ko lijae, your local fuckin weirdo. surprise surprise though, she's not just a pill popping drunk, she's also impulsive to a fault, an adrenaline junkie with a death wish, and an obsessive nightmare. she's giving oracle at delphi, or she would be if you romanticized it, but it's kind of hard to romanticize someone who very clearly does not have their life even close to together and is letting that show in a way that distinctly bucks social norms. but hey, who has time for social norms when you're touched by the gods, amirite? i'm more than thrilled to be here, haven't written in a hot minute so be gentle, but her pages are here: profile / bio / connections and there's a little bit more under the cut, msg for discord!

i'm not sure what to put that isn't already on the pages so here's a little mindless rambling for you in case something resonates.

ko lijae has premonitions, visions, etc.

her family is historically shamanic and has been for centuries, passed down from woman to woman as is oft the case.

now, granted, they're lowkey scammers so at least in very recent memory "real" visions and so forth are not a thing.

not to mention traditionally in muism shamans are more focused on connection to the spirit world/those who have passed so she's not exactly on brand religiously....

so needless to say the thought process in the ko household was 'yikes'.

and if it had been truly just an expression of mental health concerns she'd have been fucked because if there's one thing the ko family does not believe in its talk therapy or mood stabilizers etc.

as a kid she found a certain idea of solace in the idea that she was probably just experiencing sinbyeong or 'shamanic sickness' (recognized as a culture bound syndrome in the DMCA) that many soon-to-be shamans go through before they are fully initiated, often that are accompanied by reported auditory and visual hallucinations.

at this point in her life she's not sure she buys into the shaman thing fully, she's come to acknowledge her grandmother as a fake, but she also grapples with the idea that there's definitely something going on with her and it's certainly not purely based on mental unrest (though she's more than happy to admit there's a deal of that going on at this point) so a part of her at least wants to attribute it to something somewhat explainable, and figures it must have some kind of genetic component that could be related to how her family ended up shamans in the first place.

in the evolutionary game of fight or flight lijae has chosen a resounding: both. she'll fight you and she'll run from herself.

a lot of that running is done via chemicals of whatever type she can get her hands on, resulting in a chain smoking habit and alcoholism.

she has an exceptionally devil may care attitude, sharp tongue (mostly at her own expense) and a deep and feral loyalty to the few people who stick by her.

honestly she gives feral cat energy, like she might gnaw her paw off if she got caught in a trap and god help you if you corner her, but if you hang around patiently enough maybe eventually she'll come around. but she's got fleas and half an ear is missing and there's scars all around her muzzle so is it worth the time? maybe not.

anyway if you've got any sort of ideas about how this weirdo might be able to round out a plot for you either with or without the inclusion of her '''''gifts''''' i'm all ears!

#LJ / plot #eldrtch:int.

[oraculate]

To Say Dark Things, Ingeborg Bachmann

#* speak no evil

[oraculate]

#*speak no evil

[oraculate]

𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝟽, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟸 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟶 -𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟹

[ID: August 7. Long torment. END ID]

#* speak no evil

[oraculate]

슬기(Seul Gi) - 28 Reasons

#* hear no evil