#(read: Han Sooyoung)

[solcarow]

Look Back by Tatsuki Fujimoto // Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint by Sing Shong

[localapparently]

YOOHANKIM RAAAGHH I LOVE THEM SO MUCHHH UGRHGRHGR I ughh i just ugh i love them so MUCH i love them i want them to be happy so bad

[auuwmk]

cw eyestrain///— choke.

been listening to idkhow again

[walmart-miku]

This panel progression is killing me but I think that it'd actually kill me if yoo joonghyuk and lee seolhwa don't get in here (pls I need a full kimcom panel)

[orphiclovers]

Sponsors

[orviposition]

happy pride month to joongdok and sangsoo but specifically sidestory joongdok and sangsoo because it hit so hard when hsy was like "What was happiness? Han Sooyoung could no longer recall the word's meaning. However Han Sooyoung believed [The constellation Lotus Blooming Under the Moonlight (ysa) looks at you] a companion would remember the meaning of the word for her."

and when yjh was like Yoo Joonghyuk who has repeated regressions for thousands of times must have many memories he wanted to forget. Some memories must have tortured his feelings, and some must have clouded his judgment. "Just because the memories have disappeared doesn't mean the place where they were made has also disappeared. And... there's a guy (kdj) who has a better memory than me."

[7clubs]

yjh/punisher stuff because. did they know what they were doing with the canon transformation stuff. what they have done to me. i love gender <3

also more yoohankim 🤗

[umbrvx]

orv doodles because i finally finished it recently

[aofikofi]

ive been enjoying doing these short comics :D scene from ch 387

nov :

[yo0hankim]

[solcarow]

seafood trio portraits !

+ some alts. with spoilers !

[skylark325]

the writer coming to the same conclusion about the reader that the reader came to about the character. the character shaped the reader and similarly the reader influenced the writer? i’m sobbing

edit:

[silkquake]

So I'm reading ORV.

[pirincho]

Doksoo... Doksoo!!!

[driedscones]

YHK!

[its-your-mind]

what the fuck the novel was his dream and his dream was the novel and he used it to escape his life except he never bothered to dream himself into a happy ending. except the novel was just her desperate, half-conscious attempts to save him, to keep him alive for just one more day so he could read the next chapter she wrote. except it wasn’t ever just a novel at all because it was the millennia-long attempt of one person to finally meet the being that so desperately wanted a person with no history and no past to have a perfect future, a happy ending.

except that novel! was never actually the point! it was just the vehicle some version of themselves all used to get everyone to the start of the story that actually mattered, the story that wasn’t pre-ordained, the story where characters became companions and the reader became the protagonist and the dream of a happy ending for all of them was possible. all of them were there - the reader, the writer, the protagonist… but the reader was just the reader, the writer was a plagiarist, and the protagonist was only at the start of his journey. this story, the real story, the story that hadn’t been written yet, was about how when the world fell to ruin, the only person with the instruction manual on how to survive decided to sacrifice himself over, and over, and over, and… and they made it. they got to their happy ending. but before they did, they learned about the dream. his escape that became a reality. and he didn’t know, he didn’t understand what it was, and so he stepped back, and watched them walk away. because it was the story written for him that caused this much damage, and he had to atone.

but the people who he saved, who he walked with to the end, who turned from characters on his screen to friends and companions who fought beside him, cried when he was gone, screamed at him when he came back, laughed with him, loved him, lived through hell with him, survived because of him… they knew that the story that defined him was not the story that saved him, that he escaped to when it was all too much, but his own story, the story he forged himself. and so dozens of them chose to dive back into hell just to forcefully turn his attempt at an ending, a sentence that ended in a period, into a promise of more to come, a clause that ended in a comma.

and then? the plagiarist who was never a plagiarist at all, but the author who saved him, she sat down and wrote his story. the one he made by their side. they compiled their memories - the memories of the author and the protagonist and heroes and villains and gods and angels and demons and dragons and prophets - into a new novel. and they sent that novel out to the stars to be told, a literal shout into the void to tell him that he was LOVED. that he deserved HAPPINESS. that it was okay for him to REST. that they were waiting for him to come HOME. and they hoped that this story would reach him just as the first had. that he would find it, and he would read it, and it would be the thing that saved him, that kept him alive, and that eventually brought him back to them.

he had promised, after all, to be the first reader of her next novel.