wd-kyohan

[wd-kyohan]

it’s so true that the greatest weapon against nihilism and existential despair is to find joy in the mundane and never stop chasing after love

[wd-kyohan]

@wdmisu.

...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.”

today’s cash crop is: cabbage. winter cabbage, to be exact, their small, flowery heads decorating yohan’s stand in an array of green, pinks and violets. it looks more ornamental than commercial, but if he remembers nothing from his marketing courses; pretty things sell for a pretty penny.

thus, when a mottled, not-cabbage fruit is jutted in his line of vision, ruining the perfectly congruent scenery of his humble stall, yohan follows the hand that wields it to a face he can only describe as impish.

there’s a no thanks on the tip of his tongue, but then his mind does its thing—its overtly analytical thing, coming to a logical conclusion that could only be the effect of corporate enslavement as the neighboring farmer continues to spew a litany of pay, pay, pay! at the readhead holding the fruit hostage. keyword: money.

do you need money? is what he means, but what yohan says is: “are you broke?” as he digs in his pocket with a sigh, producing a fitful palm of won to pass to the papaya farmer. the man, thankfully, shuts up. yohan continues organizing the persimmons with what he thinks is soundful advice, but probably comes off as chiding. “rule of the wise, don’t touch the product unless you intend to buy it. second rule, don’t come to a market without money.”

[wd-kyohan]

“you’re kind of an ugly crier.”

&. 𝗔𝗦𝗞𝗦 ! ⸺

yohan looks at the other, sharp, thinks about throwing up a peace sign and a duckish pout like all the new generation kids he sees on social media these days, but he’s convinced they have the emotional intelligence of a rock.

instead, yohan simply takes a long, trying drag of the burning stick between his lips, nicotine and salt seeping onto his tongue. the mix of bittersweetness is nauseating, but he’s very good at making bad choices.

“anyone who cries pretty is either a narcissist or inhuman,” he mutters, flicking ash into the breeze. yohan fixes iseul with a grave, probing look before shrugging. “but hey, i don’t judge.”

[wd-kyohan]

&&. 001 ⸺ 𝗢𝗣𝗘𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗

“-an. kang yohan, are you listening to me?”

his grandmother’s favorite words always fell upon his deaf ears, every summer evening, sweat still cooling on his nape and the watermelon between his teeth like sweet nirvana against the stifling heat. nothing has changed.

even now, fifteen years later in the height of winter, her nagging croon slips into his conscious as he feeds the flames of the fire pit, crouched to absorb its warmth. baram’s wrapped about his ankle, a rust colored leg warmer yipping in slumber.

“must be nice,” he grunts, lamenting his furlessness and not for the first time. the night is clear, and the bite of the air is hard to ignore, but he concludes he’ll find no peace here.

yohan ignores his grandmother’s distant calling as he zips the black parka up to his chin, disappearing through the red gate and down the barely lit path just outside. for all his blatant disregard, yohan’s glad to see she has the energy to ramble. no doubt, she wants to recant her tales of spring everlasting and the breathing orchids from her childhood, the violet-gold ones that were soft and downy as velvet and laughed like bells in the wind. he’s heard it a hundred times. he’ll hear it a hundred more. missing out tonight won’t change a thing.

instead, yohan finds familiarity in the slow burn of a cigarette nestled neat between the grim, cold-bitten set of his lips. it glows bright in the impending darkness — all vermillion fires and ashes trickling into the wintry drizzle. it doesn’t change the frost that settles into his cheeks, shades of carmine blooming across his nose, but the nicotine burn is just shy of enough. its nice, the peace he’s sought making the hike of his shoulders loosen like a badly tied knot.

that is until he hears a bang. loud and abrupt in the silent night. yohan nearly chokes as he skids to a stop on the steep decline, eyes wide ( wider ) as he cautiously rounds the descending brick wall.

dozens of paper scraps spill from metal cans, the culprit, he assumes, illuminated by the single street light the county could afford, apparently. at a bus stop, no less, which yohan assumes the stranger may or may not have missed.

he checks his watch to make sure. its five past eleven.

“you missed it.” yohan offers with no consolation, gruff and muffled. “the bus,” he points down the road that leads down the side of the mountain towards the more populated areas of jeju. “you missed it.”

only belatedly, as he watches one of the metal cans roll noisily down the hillside and newspaper scraps turn to slush in the snow-sodden gutters, does he ask. “are…you okay?”

[wd-kyohan]

should i come back at a better time?

&. 𝗔𝗦𝗞𝗦 ! ⸺

“ no, ” yohan grunts, ripping root and vine from the earth. “ now is perfect, i need a moment. ” one radish, two radish, three dozen in a basket, he hefts onto his shoulder, dropping it unceremoniously into the back of the pickup.

the fence, he leans against, his impeccable visage sullied from 6 AM labor with only the promise of a smoke break keeping him from calling it quits for the day. “ how would you go about making sure someone…keeps a secret. ”

without threats, is what he doesn’t say.

[wd-kyohan]

“to the night you’ll never remember!”

&. 𝗔𝗦𝗞𝗦 ! ⸺

the resounding clink reverberates into yohan’s knuckles, makes his wrists sing and his fingertips crawl with the toast. he stares into his cup with blatant apprehension. certainly, the swirling colors are reminiscent of the rarest paints coalescing into a beautiful, glimmering, saccharine treat. why, his tastebuds practically tingle with the urge to lap at the boozy sweetness and satiate a curiosity for strange foods he's never had.

but if its not from the fruit of his own garden…well.

yohan smiles, a short and tight thing, tossing his glass’ contents over his shoulder. “ cheers. ”

[wd-kyohan]

“(I wanna be shown) just the way I am. To be honest, I was a bit afraid, though. I viewed myself, Do Kyungsoo, more as a singer and actor… because I often get to stand before audiences. And I’m an actual singer and actor on stage and in dramas or films. In the last decade since my debut, I am showing who I really am here. I’m glad I can show myself and ask myself how I’m doing under the moonlight, not the spotlight.”

OFF THE GRID: DO KYUNGSOO (잠적: 도경수) | 2022 Episode 2

[wd-kyohan]

SENTENCE STARTERS!

please reblog to take part! if you respond to three or more of these, it will count as activity in our next activity check.

“am i afraid of the dark? are you kidding me?”

“you shouldn’t be here. it’s too dangerous.”

“i just feel doomed, all of the time.”

“you’re kind of an ugly crier.”

“should i come back at a better time?”

“everyone i love dies.”

“take one more step forward and you’ll regret it.”

“you’re nothing but a monster.”

“i thought you really cared about me, but now i see i was wrong.”

“are you really going to leave me here without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?”

“i don’t hate you. i just don’t like that you exist.”

“what about a compromise? i’ll kill them first, and if it turns out they were innocent, i’ll apologize later.”

“do you think i’m dumb enough to fall for that stupid move?”

“it was my fault for thinking you might care.”

“those things you said yesterday…did you mean them?”

“i’m okay, thank you. just please, stop talking to me.”

“to the night you’ll never remember!”

“it’s midnight, what do you want?”

“that’s a lot of blood.”

“don’t close your eyes.”

“i don’t feel safe letting you go off on your own in that state.”

“you couldn’t died, you know…”

[wd-kyohan]

HELLO, WICKED KIN ! ⸺ i'm myrrh ( gmt -5 ) & very much looking forward to writing with this new child of mine: kang yohan. the tldr is he's just a runaway corporate slave trying to protect his baby fox friend. he vaguely knows about the supernatural but isn't that curious tbh ( though i'd love to see him change his mind! ) you can find more about him here!

as for plotting purposes, i would like to use tumblr dms as much as possible! but if it absolutely pains you to, i also have a discord! just lmk and i'll give! for starters, its not much, but i've got a smoll plot page here! i'm generally pretty open to most ideas as long as its not pwp/nsfw only or plotting otps; those things i tend to let naturally play out to the muse ( and mun's ) discretion! otherwise i have no personal triggers, so feel free to get creative. after all this is a wicked place and yohan is not afraid to get his hands dirty in more than just soil. ^^ ( check below the cut to see what i mean. cw : kidnapping )

talk to you soon !

⸺ myrrh ・❥・

・❥・ the hunter mentioned in his bio has been missing for half a year. but he is alive and well…in yohan’s basement.

・❥・ yohan has been interested in painting lately. he’s not very good at it, but he enjoys oils and acrylics.

・❥・ despite living on an island, yohan has a mild allergy to seafood, specifically shellfish.

・❥・ he is practically blind ( nearsighted ) but hates wearing contacts & often forgets his specs. if he’s glaring at someone/thing its because he can’t see.

・❥・ since his youth, yohan has been told sweet summer stories about the inhuman folk by his strange grandma, but he is a skeptic that doesn't believe anything without evidence.

[wd-kyohan]

— Franz Kafka, Letters to Friends, Family, and Editors

[wd-kyohan]

I can feel its heartbeat a thousand miles away.

ig credit: daeun.home.

[wd-kyohan]