#LETS MEET AGAIN YOO JOONGHYUK | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nightylantern · 5 months ago

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Spoilers for the orv novel: The way YOOHANKIM and how they correlate in terms of kids always makes me emotional

Warnings: violence, spoilers, su1c1d3. Read at your own risk

Thinking about how Kim Dokja is soft towards children. How he saved Lee Gilyoung when he could have simply taken the bugs, even if it’s hypocrisy in his eyes. How he didn’t leave him behind even when Gilyoung told him he could. How he acknowledged his he child who survived in Guemo station. How he knew Yoosoung would be a catastrophe and still didn’t want her to die, making her his incarnation and forgiving the 41st round Shin Yoosoung

and making THAT Yoosoung his daughter. Aswell as when he announced to the world before the final scenario that he wouldn’t be saving the people, only decided to provide them comfort that Yoo Joonghyuk would save them when he noticed a child who seemed afraid.

Thinking about how Han Sooyoung never hesitated to kill anyone, like with Shin Yoosoung, despite it being a child. Especially if it meant saving the world, she was no hero, but if she saw a way to prevent a calamity she wouldn’t hesitate.

How 1863 Han Sooyoung also didn’t hesitate for the deaths of children, how she told YJH of 1863 to let Mia die. How she was willing to destroy that world line solely to get home, taking the lives of many children with it.

Thinking about Yoo Joonghyuk who was already a “parent” raising his little sister. How noticeable it was for him to be soft with her, but also him in the 1863 who allowed her to die. That’s not saying he stopped loving her, it was her death in that round that made him go more mad, but he was at a breaking point, and perhaps Mia could be at peace and no longer had to die. Also him willing to kill Shin Yoosoung, another child who was once an ally, be it her future or past. Him who also was thinking about killing Lee Gilyoung at the beginning upon learning about his sponsor. He never hesitated putting those kids in danger he knew they could handle, and wouldn’t hesitate to kill children for the greater good.

Thinking about SP who also was at his limit but never once stopped loving Mia, how he longed to be with her again in that ball he was stuck in, but never could truly meet her. How he had compassion for that boy in his train car and how he tried to save him, knowing that he would still die, and thus he would kill everyone in that car, regardless of it being a child or an adult.

Thinking how all of those patterns go out of the window when they meet Yoo Joonghyuks sponsor, who was also a child…a pitiful one at that.

Thinking how Kim Dokja would have done everything to save that child, how he would have found any loophole, and making sure that child would be cherished and loved.

Thinking how none of that happens and he tries to kill the child, how the child called him a monster. How he has nothing but hatred for that child to the point where upon using the disconnected film theory he tried to slice his own neck. How he solely was thinking about a blade either to end his own life or that child’s life. How he was yelling for the child to be killed as he was being held back. Why?

because that child was him, and his future was being a monster.

How Yoo Joonghyuk who never hesitated to kill children for the greater good, refused to kill the oldest dream despite it resulting in the end of the scenarios. He held hatred for constellations, especially his sponsor who granted his stigma, and yet stopped Dokja from killing himself. Grabbing the broken blade so hard as he calls for the rest of the company to help him.

How SP wanted nothing more than FOR CENTURIES to kill his sponsor, the sole reason for his suffering, and so that he could finally die. How he forgave his sponsor so quickly upon seeing that it wasn’t the evil sadistic puppeteer he believed he was for centuries, but a child who loved his story with all his heart, a child who needed his story to survive. How he called him a pitiful child and rather then wanting the death he dreamed of, he chose to live, and would be willing to regress if it meant to make his sponsor happy.

How Han Sooyoung who never hesitated to kill children for the greater good, or for herself and yet, she punches Dokja just as he was about to strike the child with the blade, how she was crying while punching his body not out of hatred for him being partially the reason for the scenarios, but because he wanted to kill his past self. How she was grabbing him with Yoo Joonghyuk to stop him, trying to tell the oldest dream that they just wanted to talk and not hurt him, and how she was crying, trying to stop the plotter when they assumed he wanted to kill the child. How she reprimanded Yoo Joonghyuk from strangling Kim Dokja who was in a child form, with saying that it’s still a child.

1863 Han Sooyoung who wanted to stop TWSA from being published to prevent the scenarios, only to become the author of the book when she saw Kim Dokjas 15 year old self in a hospital bed after trying to end it all. How she recalled from a memory, regardless of it being hers or the original bodies, how Dokja said that the story saves his life. How she knew that millions of people would die, yet wanted to save him. How she didn’t care and only thought about that small child on the bed, how she knew her mental state would be rid of, and thus she forgot, as it all faded into the subconscious of the real body.

Thinking about how regardless of which of the three it is, their moralities and goals will bend solely when it comes to Kim Dokja, because while YooHan had the ability to stop the scenarios and their own suffering they chose to continue suffering for the sake of Kim Dokja and that little child who unintentionally doomed the world. Their correlation with children vs. The most ancient dream is the biggest proof one has. This isn’t me saying that they are child killers (YooHan), though if one had no context then they would assume so, but I just can’t get over the parallels with them and the children that are significant towards them.

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glassrowboat · 7 months ago

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Selfess. Kim Dokja.

Summary: The irony, to be a reader's reader. To view his story in between breaks at work, between sick days and vacations, as words flickered before you the same way they did for him on the subway. Digital words trying to break down every little aspect of a man you know hurts inside with a raw passion. Like scraped skin meeting air for the first time. It made you want to hold him, to listen to him, to comfort him, but Dokja always held you at arms length in some way, even if it was so subtle no one but you could sense it.

Author's Note: This has no spoilers for the manhwa readers but was written for those who have gone through the entire novel

Word Count: 3500+

Written for 'Help Me, Hold Me' a collab by @tomuras

Selfishness. A human trait. One bled into society to the point it has been ingrained in every sidewalk; every ruined shop with shelves toppled over from those searching desperately for food, only to find nothing; every hand held out waiting to be held; and every moment that passes by while you're selfish enough to dare to take another breath. Possibly robbing another of their own air to fill their lungs.

Should you stop and risk apologizing?

No, there was never the time to spare.

Too selfish to stop and give those few precious seconds to another person as they cry for aid or in pure, unbridled wrath as you kill the person next to them. Throat squeezed between your bare hands even after their pulse faded away. Only letting go because you were pushed off. Having, at the time, been shoved to the ground as a murderer just like you rose a pipe so high you couldn't imagine it doing anything other than crashing into your skull as it fell.

Whenever that memory comes up, it somehow always leaves a dull ache in your head, like you're remembering the times that metal became one with your bones and brain. Shattering on impact with a sickening thud that left you feeling sick before it all went black.

That would make sense, after all, wouldn’t it? That man having been the one to end it all for you time and time again, so you never end up making it past that first scenario. (Much like a certain someone.)

The first challenge that faced everyone in this dome.

The one that made everyone in it a murderer.

Self-serving.

Self-centered.

Self-regarding.

That's what you all were.

Even him, having dared to make a request of you.

Even as Dokja rested in your lap, black hair tickling your thighs that had you wondering if shorts really were a good idea for sleepwear even if it was the dead of summer and it's annoyingly high temps that left you sweating even when a sword wasn't grasped in hand. Calluses you never thought you'd have carding through the sleeping man's tresses. Absent-minded as you kept your blurred gaze on him.

It was decided the lot of you would hole up here for the night even with the cracks in the foundation that had you second-guessing the structural integrity, but you had been assured it's fine. Like an office worker had any right to assure you of that, but you still shut your mouth at that and nodded along.

“Sure, Ugly,” on your lips. A teasing smile meeting his grimace at the moniker Dokja never failed to show his hatred for.

Good for him. He can be pissy all he wants. If anything, it just makes you tempted to take your phone out and snatch a picture. That is, if it wasn't shattered to a thousand pieces by now and tossed into the waters below. Fish food now, much like Dokja was after Yoo Joonghyuk dropped him off the bridge.

He doesn't appreciate that joke either.

You had insisted on being the one to stay up, to keep watch even as he fought you the entire way as you and the kids wrangled him into laying down. Gilyoung had kicked your shin for pointing out Dokja's eye bags as he finally laid down. White coat folded up in a bundle, far from neatly at that, and tucked under his head in place of a pillow.

This time, you chose to hold your tongue from joking about his mother never teaching him how to do laundry.

So you sat and waited, brushing off the dirt from the assault the evil little creature (or as you liked to call the kid as you pinched his cheeks) left on you. Footprint easily blending in with all the other layers of dirt you have accrued over the past few days without a proper bath. Wet wipes only proved to be a decent substitution for so long. The sun slowly dipped behind concrete towers until being swallowed away by the waters to come back tomorrow, the moon rising in its stead.

Glowing brighter than you could ever recall it doing before this world turned to shit. The lack of street lamps probably helped. Even if the stars were out, almost so close you could reach out and touch them. Card your fingers through the Milky Way like it was a pot of glitter from an arts and crafts project.

“I know you're still awake.” You finally said after you were one hundred percent certain the kids were passed out. Blankets no longer stirred from trying to get comfortable on the hard floor, and Yoosung's mutterings flowed into her habit of talking into her sleep.

Oftentimes, she would cry for someone to come hold her; even in the dead of night.

“I'm sore from that fight earlier today. And it's taking longer to get used to the concrete than I thought it would.”

“Liar. You just need to make sure for yourself that we'll all be okay.”

You waved off the messages appearing beside you at his reply. Notifications came so often that you had learned to tune them out.

“I'll take over from here. You should get some rest yourself.”

It was surprising he didn't punctuate the sentence with your sponsor's title, or worse, your name. He had a habit of doing that at the worst of times, making himself all cozy by disregarding your last name entirely and simply calling you by ... .Well, by the word that makes you turn your head on instinct the second it's called out.

By now, it was far too fuzzy in your brain to remember that first time you truly met him to recall if you gave it to him or he simply knew it.

Were you, too, a character in his eyes?

The thought had struck you many times, what Dokja saw when he looked at you. Especially now as he turned over in his spot, head propped up on his hand to look at you. Scrutinizing. Like he was reading a blue box perched right under your profile that read out:

Your name.

Your age.

Supporting constellation: Arrow-shooting cherub.

And all that other drabble that came with it.

Or were you a selfish person that he chooses to see as an ally despite having no place in his heart before the world fell?

Honestly, you had no clue which was better. At least with the latter he wouldn't know the times you cried late at night in your room, of the times you blearily made it through the day only to let the worlds between pages be your comfort as soon as the front door locked behind you, of how you would see a character so broken, so damaged and-

“No.” You huffed.

Both to his words and your own mind's ramblings. If you could bury that away the same way the Ugly King was atop that hill as wails filled your ears, you would.

“You're human like the rest of us, whether you like it or not. Got that, bubba?”

Such a different way of calling him ahjussi. Definitely a lot less respectful, but something tells you he doesn't mind as much as some other stubborn men in this world would.

“Here I thought I was a Supernatural character. That's what you like to call me with the others, right?”

At least not enough to roll his eyes at, anyway.

“I think the name suits you well. You're just missing some plaid. We can get you a shirt…or a kilt?”

“Not happening.”

A huff of a laugh escaped him, somewhere between breath of air pushing out of his lungs and the chuckles you can get from him after telling a particularly bad pun.

You two stayed like that for a minute, Dokja laying down with his eyes on you. Somehow, even with the intrusive feeling of him staring through you rather than at you, it was comforting.

Dark eyes shone in the light of the fire keeping the four of you warm. Crackling firewood as it tumbled into a new shape, a new little tent of sticks a better background noise to listen to than the mutterings as they finally slowed down for the time being.

“They care about you.”

To the point Yoosung and Gilyoung were nearly attached to him at the hip. If someone had told you those two were stuck to him on those backpacks with leashes parents used before the fall, you wouldn't have even batted an eye. Maybe even believed it for a moment there.

“Which is why you need to get some rest. The first step in letting someone care about you is letting them force you to sleep, to eat, to sit back and let them…”

Hug you.

“Help you.”

‘Don't think about yourself here’ is a great reminder as to why you pressed your lips together in a thin, impossibly straight line. Refusing to say the words lurking in your mind.

“You mean to tell me I'm not supposed to do everything myself?”

The sarcasm in his voice made you want to snatch that makeshift pillow out from under him. So, of course, that's what you do. A call of your name filling the air as he tried to wrangle it back. Something about how it's too cool to end up ruined and how he went through a lot of effort to get that.

“Last I checked, you wanted it in black!”

He was still tugging it from your hands when you heard a murmured call of Dokja's name over the ruckus you were both causing when you froze. He did, too, looking back at the kids for a moment before sighing in relief.

Just Yoosung. As normal.

“I can't rest if I don't have something to sleep on,” he whispered to you. Tone harsh, but never filled with as much contempt as when speaking to a certain regressor. That, and every other emotion he held for the man.

“But I'm cold.” You dared to say, like it wasn't sweltering hot only hours before.

Well, some did say that the summer nights are the ones that make you truly feel like you're freezing.

“Are you?”

Before you could even nod he had pulled the jacket from your hands, with enough force you couldn't help but wonder if his petty ass stacked a few coins up and pushed them into the starstreams vaults, or however that worked, to up his strength stat. Not even your grippy little fingers helped at all. Your attempts to hold onto it a forgotten cause.

Or not.

Not as he wrapped it around your shoulders with a boyish grin. Something so nice to see, his ability to smile, even if it is only to comfort you.

It would be so easy to let your head fall to the clouds and pretend he's not forcing it. But after what happened recently, another scenario passed you by like a bullet train that whooshed up your scarf and had it flying up and away to follow it even as you desperately reached out to grasp onto it with all you had, you knew that simply wasn't the case.

“It smells like male B.O.”

“Well, I do happen to be a man.” Before you could even protest, Dokja said: “despite what you may say.”

“You got laundry soap in that fancy Dokkaebi Shop of yours?”

“Actually, I might.”

You could see his hand twitching to pull up the menu to check, something you're not even sure of if Dokja is allowed to do in front of you despite the many times he has. Little to no shame about it now that he had become a constellation.

“Later. Or I'll make fun of the fact that your eyebags are so big you can carry all my trauma in there.”

“You literally just did.”

Your hand was on his face before you could even think about it, thumb brushing along the bluish skin as it became more and more tinted the longer this world stayed like this. He would stay up most nights insisting to keep watch even if he was the one to suggest everyone stopped to rest, biting at his thumb as endless possibilities swirled in that stubborn mind of his.

Does he not know it's rude to make others see him wearing himself down like that every day?

“Don't know what you're talking about, bubba.”

And this position is extremely awkward now that you think about it. Hand snapping back to your side to grab at that stupid coat to pull it tighter around you despite not truly needing its warmth. However, it did smell nice. Like him. Despite, well, the gross layer to it.

“Right…”

“You could use some eye cream. Too bad your ugly self never heard of makeup before the dome came up. Otherwise, you might have actually had a social life.”

Beyond just pretending the one he admired with all his heart was real in those moments of weakness when the feeling of being alone truly etched itself into his heart. Was a solid human being who could pat him on the shoulder as they did that awkward man hug.

“Why are you like this?” Dokja asked in the flattest tone he could manage.

“You see, it all started when my parents had sex-”

Dokja shook his head at that. His stupid bowl cut waving back and forth in just the right way that had it slightly tousled up when he stopped.

And we all had problems in this world that made us what we are now.

That's what you didn't say.

“Rest. Please.” Not a request, not a demand, but a plea. One that had your voice cracking in protest at opening up that tiniest bit without the doors to your heart being pried open with a crowbar. Of course, they'd have to get through the chains and boards nailed to the frame first.

Selfishly, you wanted him to be the one to pull those nails from the rotting wood.

In a way, he already has. (The same you know he will never fully free you of them).

And you wanted to be the one to hold the lock over his own, to cradle it, and open it not with a pick or some other cheap tool meant to get to the treasure within so easily, but with a key he willingly gives you.

To know what it's like for him, for once, to be honest with you. Even if that means to stop lying to himself in the process.

“Or I'll get a marker and really draw attention to those bags of yours. Maybe I'll even start calling you an old man and insisting they're a sign of aging. Those stories catching up with you, oldy?

“I never thought I would have missed being called ‘Ugly King.’” He groaned.

But for now, all you can do is watch it dangle before you as it shines in the light of another's hands. Dangling from a black cord. Yoo Joonghyuk. How Dokja looks at the regressor the same way you did him.

“Then I'll be nice for once and keep that nickname to myself if you lay down, shut your eyes, and fall the fuck to sleep.” Before he could ask with what pillow, because, yes, you were already expecting that question, you pat your lap. Far too used to his sarcasm to not see it coming a mile away. “Sleep.”

There was no fight, no bite back as Dokja just sighed and let himself fall down even as he was clearly embarrassed over this. Refusing to look at you like that would do anything to stop the tiniest flush you could see in his skin if you simply stopped to look. Just like you always have. But still, no fight was a good thing. Hopefully, that meant he was too exhausted to even bother because then he would have no choice but to slip away into dream land as your fingers slid through his hair. Easing him into the wakeless world.

“I'll keep watch. I promise.”

You soaked in his time, in him, as you watched those eyes drift shut.

“Last time I heard you singing Gilyoung a song.” The words were particularly muffled by your thigh, the skin growing goosebumps as you felt his breath fanning over you. Somehow, you're too hot and too cold all at the same time as you replied back with a confirmation.

“Are you asking me to sing for you, too? Does little Dokja need a lullaby?”

“Nevermind.”

“Hey, hey, no.” Your hand stopped in his hair for a moment, the dirt under your nails from earlier today so easily spotted as your eyes flicked between him and the calloused hand that has dared to take lives, but still treat him so softly. “I just don't really remember all the words. I can't look them up without wifi and all that so…”

“What do you remember?” He dared to ask.

So, for him, you answered: “enough.”

Enough for you to hum to the parts you're missing and sing the rest as that moon that had risen up into the sky slowly started to drop again. It's much like a video game where you're messing with the time settings just to continue on your quest. Your next adventure. Your next task.

But selfishly, you wanted this moment to last forever as you sang about a little baby moon shining in the sky with his funny little toes in the air.

“And he's all alone in that big blue sky.”

The lyrics had you aching to stop and to bite at your lip as Dokja drifted off to sleep, but still you continued on, because for him, It didn't matter if your throat burned or you legs went numb. Not even when you'd surely have trouble walking the next day as they struggled to pump blood back through them properly, not if it meant he got a moment of reprieve from what you knew was going to happen next.

Is this what it felt like for him watching Yoo Joonghyuk during their encounters? Each passing day went by like a sweet song that you wished to play in your head again and again until you remembered every lyric, every pitch, every note, until the ability to play it through memory alone graced you.

The same way you did the pages of his book. Quote after quote of his assurances to others that he never dared give himself still so fresh even after reading through them for the nth time.

How you wanted to be the one to tell Dokja he'd be able to get through it all.

If he only allowed it.

Only allowed you in to give him more than a moment of reprieve to sleep. To hold him, to listen to him, to comfort him. To cradle Dokja the same way you did your phone after reading translations of the novel in the dead of the night.

It's complicated to hold someone this dear, to look at them and only wish for them to have the best yet know they have been robbed of that. Know they will be robbed of even more.

But this is the choice he wanted.

And who are you to disrespect that?

Even as it has tears falling from your cheeks as you sang that stupid song again, words coming out broken between sobs you hoped wouldn't wake the children and the man you loved in a way that went beyond mere friendship, beyond mere passion for another, beyond mere familial ties.

No, it went beyond that.

That's why you couldn't be selfish, not with him, not even after all those fix it fics you relished in because at least then you'd see him happy. See that boyish grin full of pure joy and nothing else.

So you would stand on the side lines, let him view you as another character to save if he must, and hold your sword tight as it's raised to protect him.

Because, and the words came out like a croak as you whispered them to yourself, a confession between only you and the constellations above. “I love you.”

‘In lieu of loving myself.’

The fate of a reader's reader. Your precious main character.

For your selfishness, for your own broken and guarded heart, for him, this can only be said knowing he can't hear your deepest secret. No, Dokja had other things he needed to do, better, more important things than to worry about you. So you would give it all to him, no matter if it meant shattering yourself too.

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