godspeed

i crawl in the moss, it is easy to find god.

[willowhour]

THE LYNX : CHAE YURIM

intro ⟍ profile ⟍ bio

[willowhour]

hypnosis ⟍ @ech0h

“where are you off to in a such a hurry, anyway?” he asks as he swats at bugs. “it’s a longer walk to the forest from here than it seems, if that’s where you’re headed.” ilwoo lifts his head toward where he knows that wall of trees is in the distance. by now and he can’t see farther than his arm in the dark without a flashlight, but he knows they’re there. he can feel them. he can always feel them.

the dull gleam competes with the sweltering heat of the night, thick and all-consuming. it glistens in yurim’s eyes with something akin to absence, but somehow worse; purposeful in a quiet, unseen way. tethered to an entity, a feeling, a mystery, that neither yurim or ilwoo have a name for. in place, the two have thrust a sorry semblance of faith into the woods. piety is the last thing the two have in common, and yet most choruses of ‘cheers’ between them are in the name of this uneasy relief the forest drags along with it. that uneasy easiness that wraps around yurim as she lifts her foot and digs it into the ground, dirt on her heels.

it’s why her steps don’t deter even when she feels the friction of his sneakers against her bare skin. the touch registers, but her skin buzzes numb. she walks onward without turning her head or cutting through his constant stream of questions and comments. if yurim’s eyes focused and she could stretch the stitches sealing her lips, she would have bantered with the boy. clicked her tongue against the inside of her cheek and sputtered something snarky with the quirk of her lips he’s well familiar with.

but that yurim is caught in deep slumber. in this state, she settles for an imperceptible nod of her head and a mumble of “yes, the forest,”

“will you follow?” comes out like an echo, not so much like a question and more of an eerie summon for ilwoo in each reverberation.

[willowhour]

delivery ⟍ @ssaecularis

there are nights where sleep clings to yurim like a second skin, and others where it makes a dip in the bed then flees the moment she catches just a sliver of it between her fingers.

the in-between is not much better. yurim’s eyes carry a glassy sheen from how widely they’re held open, as if her fingers are digging into the sensitive flesh of her eyelids just to keep them from falling. her gaze doesn’t quite catch anything, despite the doe-eyed veil she wears. everything she passes on her way to town appears mostly transparent. even one seong jungil, whom the compass sitting in her vessel of a body seems to point tonight.

but she doesn’t really look at him as much as she looks through him. if she was more yurim and less whatever she becomes in this state of surrender, she might have ogled as one does when someone comes back to a deadbeat town like theirs; much less someone she hadn’t seen since she was barely a girl. maybe, she’d even thank him for tolerating her witless younger self.

instead, she stands before jungil with a vacant expression and perfect posture. she sways once, like a branch stirred by the forest winds. it’s a stillness so rehearsed, feet just slightly apart, that it all felt borrowed from something so unlike her. yurim’s knuckles blanch as she grips the tablet and holds it out between them. her lips part and it almost sounds like she’s trying to fish the words out of her throat—but yurim’s voice doesn’t cut through the thick onyang humidity, nor the eerie call of the tablet casting a harsh light beneath her face. she nods toward the screen, chin pointed at the cryptic I ACCEPT button. her forearms slightly extend, a simple gesture to push the tablet into jungil’s hands. press it.

[willowhour]

know about me ⟍ @4ntemortem

She likes Yurim plenty, but she can't say she necessarily trusts her enough with the horrid truths she keeps locked away. Jiyeon's seen enough to know it's better to conform. "We have your grandma's secret, you have my secret; you're not going to leave me hanging, are you?"

yurim pauses her folding and lifts her head up to fully look at jiyeon. she wasn’t expecting anything weighty from her, but she did not think she’d be hearing that. she nearly sputters a that’s not really your secret, is it? but swallows it back down before she digs a hole into something as peaceful as this. this doesn’t come as easy as it goes, and yurim has long learned to bite her tongue before she gets stuck having to push through the mundanity of onyang alone. again.

she hums every now and then, averting her eyes and continues tending to her stack of clothes. the last thing she’d want is for jiyeon to notice how terribly well she’s listening, playing at nonchalance when she’s anything but.

“antlers?” her lips purse in thought, keeping her head low. “yeah, kind of sounds like something my grandmother would say.” she's unsure if antlers have ever been mentioned, but she recalls a creature from her grandmother’s rambles. or perhaps, a more distant conversation she once had with baek jinri when they were just girls. still, her stomach flips all the same, wherever or whoever’s mouth she’d heard the warnings from. “well, you know, grandma says just about anything. pick and choose what’s worth listening to these days, i guess.”

her tongue clicks against her cheek, a display of faux irritation. “when did you get so sly, jiyeon?” yurim’s laughter is hushed as she looks up at her, and to no avail, jiyeon’s eyes are fixed elsewhere. she holds her hands up in surrender, then grabs another piece from her pile. “nothing as useful as my grandmother’s secret, unfortunately,” corner meets another corner, and still yurim’s eyes flicker up at jiyeon. “but i think dreams must have been weird this past week for everyone, huh?”

“i dreamed of a coffin the other day. right in the forest.” not necessarily a lie or the truth because memories of that day exist in scattered fragments. this is just the easiest part-lie, part-truth that yurim can live with. “must’ve been a movie i watched. i went through some of my dad’s old tapes. but it was weird, it felt kind of real.” she shrugs it off in hopes jiyeon might do the same, or offer some quip that could lift this tension. “do you dream often?” she finally looks up. “i’d think your imagination would run wild being in a place like… here.” gesturing to the limited expanse of the laundromat and beyond.

[willowhour]

splinter ⟍ @sacrosaenct.

“don’t have anything better to do tonight?” her brow quirks upwards in question, not a condemnation, but a curiosity. yurim isn’t like her - yurim has potential still. yurim could do better, be more. if yunseol was a better friend, she’d try to prop her up, encourage her. but yunseol isn’t- she’s selfish and she’s lonely, so instead she lifts the bottle to clink against the other girl’s with a faint grin.

once upon a time, this was a second home. a twenty something looking to fight sleep and kill time thrived here. back then, yurim believed she was steering through her own chaos. that was lee’s for her. and by extension, so was yunseol.

here, she didn’t have to pretend. her body folds into a slouch that only ever shows up at lee’s, like her spine remembers how to unload here. grace and poise are faces unfit for someone like yurim: all teeth and friction, lurking for a place to exist unbound. maybe it’s why the forest has replaced what lee’s once was: places that echoed back questions and not much else.

but nothing in the forest felt quite like this; raising bottles with yunseol and cheering for something (or anything, really). entirely unsure for what, because most nights, the clinking glass rings like a death knell. still, yurim snorts and taps her bottle against the other girl's.

“we just have to drink enough so it starts to taste like nothing,” she offers a grin back before taking a quick sip. her face sours, nose scrunching and lips curling downward. “not bad, right?” she fights off the burn with a choke, blinking through the resistance at the back of her throat. yurim’s always been a lightweight—a curse for someone who clings to liquor like it will anchor her. she grips the bottle hard enough that her knuckles pale, as if conviction alone will keep her burdens at bay.

yurim straightens her back and sets her bottle down, trying to pace herself for a long night. already, the warmth in her cheeks rise. “what do you mean?” her lips quirk up, voice lilted and mocking. “this is the place to be, yunseol.” she gestures at the room, makes an attempt at bopping along to the song playing. “definitely beats the crow’s nest, huh?”

her jokes always run dry, but yurim likes to think the grin on her face is what makes the delivery just about tolerable. she slouches over the counter again, lets her chin rest on her palm and fixes her eyes on yunseol. she studies her without shame but her lips are sealed tight. are you okay? well, i mean- did you see it too? or maybe, have you gone on a hike recently? everything sounds stupid, too forward even for someone as brazen as yurim. so she rambles, “anything new you’re fixing up? or any more cursed shit back at the lair?” she means the back end of lee’s. “catch me up.”

[willowhour]

linger ⟍ nam uiseong

But that’s a bridge built and burnt. This felt like loitering on a memory that should’ve stayed with her. “I knew I’d see you sooner or later” is what he leads with when he sees her approach him. First thing he said to her in years. 'I really did leave her with all the bad things,’ he thinks to himself. “Sorry though. Guess I felt embarrassed.”

apologies are not foreign between yurim and uiseong. sorry is a language well-practiced through missed meetings and plans rescheduled, for colourful language amidst her chatter, for feeling as though she’d dragged him by the ear to listen, for nearly ripping a part of her chest and offering it to his closed palms.

yurim could count on one hand the people she’d given herself to before her ankles were anchored by ivy. until one after the other, they fled. her fingers retracted, and instead, her fist clenched with nothing but a strange petulance toward the city.

people like uiseong don’t expect to leave and cast a shadow on one’s life. and even though yurim never knew if he had fully let her in, she’s read between his silences enough for his absence to leave a bruise. she supposed this was something like loss—clawing at the bits that were hard to reach. nothing tangible to lament over, just the memory of it all. these days, even those felt like lost fragments.

still, she walks towards him and lets the words simmer in her skin. how his sorry sounds less hollow than all the ones she recalled upon seeing his face. in that moment, time lost seemed to dissipate. yurim can only fault herself for remembering so easily, as if not a day had passed and she was returning to their spot wholly herself. she sits by him reluctantly, her thumbs flicking at frayed bits of the park bench.

now is where the years have rearranged them ironically: there is little chatter filling the distance between them and yurim is deliberate in keeping her breath hostage. all those summers ago, their friendship (or something of the sort) had chipped her bravery away—a demanding feat for someone as heedless as her. and yet, one such nam uiseong did it effortlessly.

“it’s okay,” it’s not. but she stomachs it well enough. she finds herself treading through conversation meticulously. careful in a way she never used to be with him, speaking understatedly, around a perimeter, as strangers do. “no reason for you to tell me.” even if what she really means to say lies somewhere between was it easy to forget me? and how have you been? she clears her throat to fill the silence. yurim had always hated pauses. her eyes finally lift off the ground to catch a glimpse of him once more. “..they don’t have barbers in the city?” it’s meant to lighten the air, but she’s surprised at how sharp she sounds and feels her cheeks flush.

[capalluisce]

JUNG CHAEYEON as YOON JOOWON, episode 4.

Family By Choice 조립식 가족 (2024)

[willowhour]

driftwood ⟍ @lostw0n, the crow’s nest.

“i’m just saying,” yurim’s hand gestures wildly, hunched over the bar. “nothing boosts team morale more than a few free coffees. but you know, the inspirational quotes on the bulletin today are a real close second.” she takes a quick swig of her beer, knuckles turning white from how tightly she’s gripping the bottleneck.

the crow’s nest has soaked up mostly all the joy and heartbreak of onyang’s residents over the past few decades. yurim is no stranger to this: pouring her frustrations into a glass with half-melted ice. sometimes, the bartender serving her is nice enough to nod along with an enthusiasm of someone who’d heard it all before. she likes to think her own messes are rendered to the bottom of the barrel here.

“you know what they said to me?” glass clinks against the bar counter, a dramatic show of disbelief as her mouth stays ajar. she can almost hear how the bartender sighs in relief. much to their dismay, yurim only sets the bottle down to free her other hand. she presses her thumb and middle finger against her forehead in a circular motion, as if to ease her irritation. “a flat tire is like a bad attitude—it won’t take you anywhere. what am i supposed to say to that? thank you?”

when the door chimes open, yurim doesn’t turn her head any more. goes on and on, mostly to herself and the crows perched on the wall, and occasionally sips from her drink. her eyes stay forward when the stool beside her scrapes back, screeching against the sticky flooring.

“of course,” she mumbles, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. from her periphery, this intruder seems nothing like the patrons or newcomers of crow’s nest; the kind of stature that sat idle in yurim’s life before it was engulfed by the woods, then fled. one of many others who knew her before she was shackled by superstition. now, those fragments float by the river, unwilling to be washed ashore.

the bartender perks up at this visitor’s face, eyebrow raised in recognition. still, yurim persists with keeping her gaze straight. “the whole bar’s empty, but this is the seat you want?”

[willowhour]

know about me ⟍ han jiyeon

"I think it's finally hot enough that my mom wants to bring out her thinner comforters." Jiyeon folds, puts away. "Just have to wash all the winter stuff before we put it away." She shrugs, pretending at blasé. "Sucks but I guess we should be glad we at least don't have to do it by hand." Jiyeon folds, puts away. "Also, thanks for the, uh, stain remover tip. My mom was really excited when I told her that it got it all the way out. Grease stains can be such a killer, y'know."

to yurim, the laundromat serves as a bubble.

not quite ecstatic to be here, but something of the sort. closer to relief more than anything. yurim has never thought herself to be one who celebrates normalcy, but given how she’s thrashed her soil-sodden socks into the wash with a wince, she could do with more routine and less impulse.

it’s cooler than outside, and jiyeon’s voice grounds her in that strange way small talk does in a small town. it swallows the whining of the cicadas and dulls the phantom scratching that’s etched itself into a corner of her mind.

“mhm,” a vague noise of agreement. her fingers drag slow over the sheets, eyes fixed on its corners. it’s easier to pretend its misalignment is what’s got her so distracted, unable to even look up at jiyeon as she speaks. “still sucks, though. summer is out for blood this year,” she groans, deciding to finally anchor herself in this moment. “could barely sleep last night. it’s too hot.” (a white lie. she won’t let herself sleep). she presses down on a crease, even if it’s not apparent enough to need this much care.

yurim figures she can learn to appreciate the smaller things: this simple back-and-forth across neat stacks of fabric, if only to avoid looking too closely at the bigger picture. she sets the folded sheet on top of another and finally glances up at jiyeon. her eyes scan her features, searching for a hair out of place, maybe an eyelash just an inch off from the other—a difficult feat with han jiyeon, composed as ever. so yurim holds her gaze instead, gauging the other girl with every fold, wondering if she saw it too.

“no problem,” she grins, tone lighthearted. “it’s my grandmother’s secret weapon. so she says.” she fishes for something out of the basket, not entirely sure what it is. just connects the corners and folds.

yurim’s lips quirk lopsidedly, “if you’re really thankful, you could trade me your own secrets. or anyone else’s, really,” it’s mostly a joke and partly a way to quench her curiosity. “i’m not picky.”

[willowhour]

something in you tells you to leave, to run. but there’s another piece, the part that you hide away that feels strangely…at home. you move in closer to the edge, ignoring the dirt now lodged inside of your shoes. you swear you can hear the light scratching of something coming from inside the coffin. 

a coffin. in the woods.

“oh my god,” her breath hitches. “what the fuck-” the words spill out in a hushed timbre, cautious of waking the unknown. her pulse thuds wildly, a violent rhythm climbs up to the roof of her mouth and thrums in her ears.

“what the fuck?” is all she manages to sputter, again. as if pleading for answers from all that surrounds her, even if she knows only a step forward and a hand on the skewed casket will give her some sort of truth. “this isn't funny!” her scream echoes back, like the trees mock her futile efforts to make sense of it all.

staying still has never served yurim well, so she starts to pace back and forth. in between curses, cries and furrowed eyebrows, she humours herself with thoughts of this being a big old fucked up scavenger hunt. onyang folk are strange like that, she reasons. it’s not the rational thinking she would hope to have, but it’s a buffer. some way to fight off this awful urge to inch closer and stick her shoes deeper into the crater the coffin has left in its wake.

rooted in an irrational sense of home, panic does not drive yurim away. it does not make her turn on her heels, and it most certainly does not heed the last cautioned bits of her consciousness. rather, it brings her forward. puts a stop to her jagged steps and silences the crunch of the leaves beneath her shoes to make room for a siren's song. even in it's faintest, yurim hears it—the scratching, crisp and commanding.

“…is someone in there?”

[willowhour]

you’ve been walking for at least an hour when you start noticing the change in earth. the higher up you go, the more it morphs into that clay-red you buried your bed in. in your chest your heart beats inexplicably faster.

for someone who so often shoves reason into their back pocket, there’s an unease swelling in yurim’s chest.

it’s not so much about how the soil looks more bloodied than brown the further up she goes (even if it does make her pace in the same corner of the forest with a racing heartbeat). it's the pull that drags her feet against the earth like she’s featherweight that drives her to restlessness. the ache in her limbs has dulled into a buzz, tucked behind her hammering pulse and the light sheen of sweat down her spine. eerily ritualistic is what this feels like, how naturally her soles grovel through stone. it makes her ponder why the foliage splits open as if they’re beckoning her in, how the forest floor burns red beneath her feet.

she crouches down, lets her hands press into the soil. it crumbles, but feels weighty as she smears it between her fingers. yurim lifts her hand, watches how it clings to the creases of her palm and the spirals of her fingerprints. her mind can’t seem to catch up to her limbs, because she wipes the red back onto her thigh, leaving a streak against the black of her trousers.

there’s a part of yurim that wants to turn back, sit in the shower to wash off this red. forget she ever came in out of her own volition. maybe, if she scrubbed hard enough, this would just be as easy to walk away from as waking with nettles in her hair.

but it’s not. so she stands up, lets out the breath she’s been holding, and continues on.

[willowhour]

hypnosis ⟍ jung ilwoo

“hey, yurim.” this time the words come out. “you in there?” he nudges her shoulder with his, just hard enough to veer her slightly off her strange path.

onyang heat has a way of irking yurim into silence, but tonight she barely feels it. just the weight of it, like a thin blanket draped over her shoulders. barely there, airy, a little soft around the edges. everything has a bit of blur to it. everything but the peculiar path that pulls at her ankles.

yurim’s feet bring her to an unsteady stride, arms loose, eyes half-lidded and tunnel visioned towards the treeline. it was as if a thread were around her wrist yanking her forward. she’s halfway through the side of the lot when something bumps into her shoulder. warm, panicked, something vaguely different from her own state of mind.

it tips her slightly off-course, footfall stuttering. she blinks a couple of times. turns her head in that groggy, unsure way she does when she’s in the backseat of her body. she almost faces him with irritation, but only an empty stare greets him.

ilwoo’s face becomes less of an echo and comes into focus. but still, her lips are sealed into a thin line. her stomach churns, entirely vivid and unlike the rest of this dreamscape. she wants to say something, she thinks. like how her eyes sting from how widely they’re kept open, or how there are bugs gnawing at her feet little by little. mostly, she thinks she wants to scream out ilwoo’s name like a child crying for help when they’re lost.

all those words are swallowed back down her throat before they make it past the hammering in her chest. yurim’s pupils shake, flickering between her original footpath and the man beside her, a tug of war between her slipping consciousness. the alcohol always makes it easier, but she’s never sure for whom. this trespasser to slip into her mind the minute she’s on the forefront of sleep? or for the part of her that doesn’t want to know more than the clean-up? it’s why she hasn’t stopped gripping bottles with such conviction.

“…you’re loud,” she finally mutters. distant, unsure if she’s directing it to ilwoo himself or some other entity shrouding in the grass. the hand on her side twitches, lets her shoulder graze his once more before shifting her eyes forward. “go home.”

[willowhour]

splinter ⟍ @sacrosaenct, lee’s hardware.

it’s late enough that the closing sign has been flipped. still, the lights flicker and music bleeds through a narrow gap beneath the door. she catches an unmistakeable silhouette; one with wavy black hair, shoulders hunched over the counter. to a younger yurim, kang yunseol was some kind of village celebrity. distant as one could get in a place like onyang, where she could see her face on the newspapers and then by the outskirts of town the next day. not like she would ever admit that to the girl.

after high school was when she really started knowing yunseol. if ‘knowing’ meant falling into an efficient rhythm in a dead hardware store. yurim doesn’t remember much from eighteen to early twenty something, muddled together, one dead end spilling onto the next. she just knew yunseol was different—unassuming, messy, still sticking through a hymn neither of them knew the end to.

she nudges the door open with her shoulder, indifferent to the jacket slipping halfway off her arm. instead, she nestles numerous soju bottles with utmost care. they drop onto the counter unceremoniously, clinking dully and swallowed by whatever song pulses through the store.

yurim’s entrances have oscillated between bone-dry and grandiose each time they do this dance. sometimes, she walks in with smudged mascara, a bottle in hand, barefoot with her heels in tow. tonight, she comes just short of jaded. there’s residue of weariness on her features, red-tipped fingers rub against her pants and bags dragging the skin beneath her eyes. she’ll blame it on how mundane work is, or how the clicking of her keyboard serves as a soundtrack to her late twenties, but never that.

she doesn’t expect yunseol to look up from her tinkering. only grabs two bottles, the cool glass easing her sweaty palms. she slides one over to the other girl. “the walls are vibrating, by the way,” she mutters, voice flat as she takes a swig. her eyes fall onto yunseol. or at least, what she can make out from her posture and busy hands. “are you trying to summon mr. lee out of his grave?”

[heavensghost]

A woman will return looking for the girl she was

[willowhour]

YOU WAKE UP SORE AND COVERED IN DIRT —

this isn’t new. you don’t always make it home again before you wake up, but this time you did. your hands and arms ache, and your joints are stiff. mud is caked underneath your nails. it’s all over, streaked in your hair and inside of your socks. it’s not the rich brown of the earth, but a clay-red that gleams in the sun. dirt is scattered across your bed. you don’t know what you did, but you know where you went. somewhere in the woods. it’s always the woods.

earth and iron waft through yurim’s bedroom. she can feel it before she even opens her eyes. her pulse steadies, anchoring her back into her own body—limbs sore, throat dry, head reeling from how everything suddenly grows vivid. a grumble slips her lips, uncaring that it cuts through the silence of her home.

none of this is particularly alarming, but the colour of the dirt makes her brows furrow. this roulette has had a steady rhythm, but she finds this strange. her fingers brush the soil against her sheets, red running down the white and colouring her fingertips. she stares at the streaks for a long while, like looking at them will make her remember. it’s wishful thinking that is due to wither soon.

she sits up slowly and waits for the first bits of light to slip through her curtains. 

her grandmother coughs in the other room—a hollow, echoing noise. it rings like a church bell now, more familiar than the scratch of her voice. her scripture fades within these walls, and though yurim never thought herself to be an apologetic person, the guilt of failing her lives. her eyes close and it lingers, preparing to throw out all she knows once more. she pretends the ache isn’t there when she shuffles out of bed and into the bathroom. she doesn’t rinse as thoroughly as she used to, only cleaning up the grime beneath her nails, face, and not much else. no note is left when she makes her way out, but her dirt-ridden soles leave marks. 

“it’s just a walk,” a walk. like all the other ones before this one. like the night before and the night before that. except i’m awake. consent! she mumbles, as if grandma were here to listen to her sorry excuses or her poor attempt at jesting. like saying it aloud can convince her to believe it too. the air is as light as it can get in the summer, but it stubbornly sticks to her skin. she locks the door, palms sweaty and smelling of soap and metal. “i just want to see. it’ll only be a little while.” yurim doesn’t look back. a forest-mangled compass sits where her gut should be. she turns her heels and treads towards a familiar route. 

[willowhour]

happy opening!!! hiya, i’m ren (she/they). this is chae yurim, the lynx canon, my little granny’s girl… these are the links for her bio and her profile, feel free to check them out but i summarised some bits below the cut. i’m happy to talk over pm or dc, whichever you prefer! :] replies will be a little slow over the weekend but i’ll try my best to be on!! 🤓

yurim was raised by her grandmother because her father was always too caught up in himself. neglects his family outside of his basic duties like feeding them, etc. he also has an opposing view on the town’s past to her grandmother bc of rewritten history and just general fading of memory. treats his mother quite dismissively so yurim is very loyal and protective towards her grandmother, knowing that she’ll probably be the only one to take care of her. the only person she probably listens to / actually has a soft spot for even though she hates to admit it.

yurim harbors a lot of guilt and resentment - she feels guilty for disobeying the one thing her grandmother told her not to. she was pretty much lax on everything else, even letting her do the reckless things she does. doesn’t press her on her decision not to take her education further, only asks that she keeps herself alive and stable.

but she does resent feeling like her control over her life has dwindled down as she’s aged, and also feels like she’s lost bits of herself too. it almost feels like she’s wearing a second skin, a third one, and it all takes too long to shed on most days. except when she’s in the forest. this is probably where she feels like it’s her own skin she’s wearing. it’s a like/hate relationship though bc she feels a jumble of feeling free but also anchored. it’s a different set of expectations. she’s not sure what the forest wants from her, and that scares her bc the tradeoff of her consciousness already makes her wary + but the relief that hits her when she’s staring up at the trees scares her more.

got a job as a clerk more so to fulfill her grandmother’s wishes of seeing her settle or have a sense of stability in her life.

since graduating high school she’s been floating through jobs around town. after the possession, she tried to avoid sleeping for long (one more reason why she hates being a clerk bc she gets bored and sleepy so fast) and took up as many shifts anywhere to stay on her feet, wide awake.

most kids growing up will say yurim was bratty and used to getting her way, especially after so much doting from her grandmother. but she would stand up for you if anyone was bothering someone she remotely thought of as a friend.

in general, yurim is outspoken and sociable. candid and has no problem approaching people, likes making her opinions known, sometimes competitive. “he said no pickles” type, eye rolls a lot, laughs really loud without concern for surroundings, laughs at the wrong things, can’t hide irritation or joy off her face.

tries not to ruminate on things a lot. even though she’s quite candid, yurim is emotionally averse. she hates looking vulnerable, tries to mask with sarcasm or any sort of joke. sometimes also pretty deflective, tries to make you the focus of a conversation if she feels like it’s prodding deeper into her state of mind.

used to be prone to peer pressure, sometimes doing things out of pride. even now, it comes in the form of wanting to prove that she’s resilient, capable and the same girl she always was (essentially also desperate to believe that her life is still her own even though it’s never really been the same since she’s started sleepwalking).

it takes a lot to get truly close to yurim. she likes to have a big, scattered circle but from a distance, though that is a little hard with a small town. if she does end up being loyal to your muse, she displays a similar kind of appreciation to a friendship/relationship as she does with her grandmother. kind of walking the line between devotion and self-sacrifice, willing to put most things on the line and never thinking of consequence. acts of service type of person.

in terms of connections and plots, i don’t have anything specific in mind rn…

some loose ideas: friends she just drinks and chills with, also from 17 onwards yurim pretty much busies herself from job to job and parties when she can, so i’d assume she’d have a lot of fleeting connections too.

but i’m pretty open to anything. we can brainstorm together or look where they fit together and see where it takes us!!!