𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖊𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖈𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗.
like this post for a plotting dm.
i'm ellin! (25+, she/them) i'm looking forward to getting to know everyone! it's been so long since i've been around on tumblr so please don't hesitate to let me know if i've done anything incorrectly ♡ i want to get along with everyone and make sure that this experience is mutually enjoyable, so please let me know if any subject matter makes you feel uncomfortable. here's some more info on kang injae! (trigger warning: murder):
no one remembers when he first arrived—he’s always just been there, moving through the edges of velgrove like a shadow you don’t notice until it’s already passed you by. he speaks little, walks light, and leaves his home only when necessary. never lingers. never draws attention. some forget his name, but everyone remembers the shape of him. the way the air folds in on itself when he enters a room.
his mother died when he was five. illness, they said. something sudden. quiet. ordinary enough to be buried without questions. after that, the house changed. or maybe just the man inside it. his father stopped speaking, stopped reaching, stopped seeing. not unkind, just emptied out—like something essential had been scraped from him. he fed injae. clothed him. kept the lights on and the cupboards stocked. but they lived beside one another, not with one another.
injae learned early how to survive in silence. how to go unnoticed. how to need nothing. he shrank into himself until the world stopped asking anything of him at all. the years blurred—quiet, colorless. a boy raised by the weight of a man who had nothing left to give.
and then, one day, something shifted. no argument. no raised voices. just a moment—a crack, a breath, a stillness. something inside him snapped, and he didn’t stop it.
when asked about the current whereabouts of his father, injae will say, “he left.” not a lie. not the truth. just enough.
in reality, his father is still occupying the residence. the body is still in the house. folded into the dark behind a closet door. injae hasn’t decided what to do with it yet. sometimes he swears he can feel it watching him. not his father exactly—but something of him, something left behind. a weight in the corners. a whisper at the base of the stairs.
with his father gone, he has to fend for himself now. he’s taken a job at the red fox tavern, moving between tables like a ghost, unnoticed but always there. he doesn’t speak unless spoken to. he doesn’t ask for anything. and the town, for the most part, returns the favor.
















