✧ ➻ CHO MISU (it/she/he/they), an imugi hailing from a red river in the sobaek mountains, formerly known and worshipped as minhui. penned by duha (21+, they/them).
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@wdmisu
✧ ➻ CHO MISU (it/she/he/they), an imugi hailing from a red river in the sobaek mountains, formerly known and worshipped as minhui. penned by duha (21+, they/them).
NFWBMB by Hozier but from an abandoned church in the woods
yulwd:
[...]
he doesn’t even know his name, but he has the scar to show for it.
it takes just one glance, and the memory cuts into him like a knife.
the banquet before him splinters. his reality trembles, comes loose, and misu is in his temple again.
@wd-kyohan,
there's been talk of a vanishing.
misu overheard it by chance one morning, through a fraught conversation held by the water as he slunk downstream. for a moment, he had thought that it was the voice of the river itself --- and then he had found them. they were plain-looking people with their plain voices, whispering speculations where they thought no one could hear.
anything?
no, not here. it’s been months, we should be looking for a body.
there has to be something. no one just disappears.
yes, they do. misu knows of a pale ghost with pale hair and pale eyes who once vanished right in front of him, but these people -- hunters, he would determine later -- weren’t looking for ghosts. if they had really been searching for so long, it must have been someone close --- if another hunter, then couldn’t it be one of those who came and supped from his village, only then to betray him? did hunters and their crusade for purification not have good reason to baptize the grounds of his village by fire?
he overhears something promising: before their vanishing, the hunter was briefly seen passing through the farmer’s market, despite having never been there before.
so misu follows.
the farmer’s market is a headache of colors. the crates of bananas, mangoes, and tangerines are blinding to look at, blurring unpleasantly when he stares for too long and then moves his gaze too quickly. five minutes after arriving, misu decides that he hates it. perhaps the hunter was swallowed up by the hideous colors somewhere. he picks up a papaya, ugly yellow mottled with ugly green, and studies it critically like it might tell him what it has seen.
he doesn’t notice the stallkeeper until they’re waving a pouch at him, furious. “hey. you touch, you pay!”
misu slants them a narrow-eyed look. “i was picking it up for someone,” he says. without hesitation, he turns to a stranger at the next stall and pushes the fruit in their direction. “here. like you wanted.”
Reblog and put in the tags the last time you cried in public, where you were and who you were with
@wdhayun,
minhui used to dream of dragons. the massive creatures would circle the air, like birds did when it was time to call their kind back to the sky, and minhui would feel a lurch in their chest to answer. that was all it would take for them to suddenly become aware of their own wings unfurling for flight. one---two--- three sweeps, and then they would be flying too, and there would be freedom in the feeling of finally having a body that felt like their own.
ever since the fire, misu dreams somebody else’s dreams. he dreams with two minds and two sets of eyes: one that hurtles from a bleeding sky into a crimson river, and one that trudges through the forest to meet that fallen thing in the water. in his dreams, he's both the one with bare legs dipped in paradise and the one who slithers from the water to whisper in his ear:
THERE IS SOMEONE WATCHING YOU.
someone. another set of eyes. she always lingered in the backdrop like a dream herself. he knows he’s spoken to her, but only in conversations that he never remembers past waking—she’d simply become another voice, joining the one already crowded in his skull.
it’s been weeks now, and it no longer fazes him. dreams blurred so often into reality these days: all those nights he would wake up with a red glow beckoning him through the dirty farmhouse window and he would stumble, barefoot and half blind, through the forest in search for his river; all those mornings he would then wake, really wake, scuffed with grass under the bough of some tree, and then try to make sense of his way back home. he didn’t think twice about the things he heard and saw in broad daylight anymore.
until now. until this banquet night chock full of dreamlike music and flowers, until his gaze happens to sweep over the room and lands on
HER. IT’S HER.
for a face he scarcely remembers, he’s so sure of it. YOU, the voice seethes, and then he has somehow crossed the room to where she stands. it feels like he’s done this before, and it nags at him, a frenetic, what do you want from me? who are you? “you,” he says without bothering to announce himself. he cuts into her line of vision so that there’s no mistake, wonder and anger flickering across his face. “you’re real.”
hi everyone! i (they/them) am here to bring my most cherished and beloathed little snake misu (any pronouns). they’re an imugi who has spent about 98% of their life not knowing they’re an imugi thx to the cult who found him at birth and raised him for 100+ yrs, worshipping him like he was some kind of vessel for a god (or vengeful monster, depending on who u asked). his links are here for reference but there’s more about him under the cut ! // bio , profile , plots , pinty
he’s only been in jeju for a little while (and in The Real World in general lmao) so if anyone wants to just start writing and see how they hit it off, i’m waving my green flag enthusiastically for threads (including event threads) !! but i love plotting in-depth stuff too, esp. if it can develop and pain both of our muses, so if that’s more your thing, lmk and we can find something together : ]
🍒!
please don't hand me the aux unless you want everyone in this car to know there's something wrong with me
hiddenshores·:
“Names of heat and names of light,names of collision in the dark, on the side of the bus, in the bark of the tree, in ballpoint pen on jeans and hands and the backs of matchbooks that then get lost. Names like pain cries, names like tombstones, names forgotten and reinvented, names forbidden or overused.”
— Richard Siken, from “Saying Your Names”, in ‘Crush’
Hanif Abdurraqib, “The Prestige” from A Fortune for Your Disaster
We've all seen stuff about how love feels or smells, but reblog and put in the tags what you think love tastes like.
Tell me a soft memory
Wendell Berry, "To Know the Dark"
horrors beyond my comprehension more like horrors beyond my articulation. i know exactly what it is but id never be able to explain it to anyone
Human Landscape – 220607ae
swimming in red waters