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hi all <3 if anyone’s still around... it’s been like a solid 4 years since i’ve returned to this blog, and i’m literally graduating high school now. to be honest, i’ve put down writing over the past few years to focus on my studies, and it pains me that my brain nowadays is more or less filled with thoughts of adult problems rather than silly scenarios about kpop idols. but!! i can’t deny that i still periodically come back to this blog and get giddy over the things i’ve written and accomplished here. this community genuinely meant (and still means) so much to me 

most of my works on this blog were (quite obviously) the amateur musings of a 14 year old. even now, i’m genuinely so surprised at the positive responses i received?? despite my abrupt exit from tumblr, i’d like to take the chance now and properly thank you all for allowing me to nurture my love for writing. it was truly life changing, and i genuinely cannot find the words to describe how much i treasure that period of my life 🥹

in terms of the future, now that i’m reaching the end of these hectic 4 years, i’m thinking maybe?? i’ll be returning; albeit this time, it’ll be on a new blog and writing for txt. no promises yet, but you’ll def know it’s me when you see the blog name hehe (spoiler: i love beomgyu)

i’m not sure if anyone will even see this message, but i really felt like i needed to properly close this chapter of my life, as well as give everyone some closure regarding this blog. again, thank you to those who read my works at the time and showed me so much love and support <’3 your short messages and panicked screaming meant the entire world to 14 year old me. i really hope i’ll be able to experience something as wonderful as this again.

signing off for now!!

hi noni !! :0 i’m not sure as to when, but this week will definitely probably be a no 🥺 ive just started wrapping up summer & prep classes as exams roll in

❝  𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝓌𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈.   ❞

𝐚𝐮.  not really specified.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠.  han jisung / reader (gender neutral.)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭.  1.1k words.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞.  this is honestly the most confusing thing ever,,, i literally hammered it out bc i got tired of watching kubzscouts & had some pent up anger from summer prep courses SDFJS

𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 | 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 (?) | 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝.

When the minute hand is exactly twenty-two and three ticks past twelve and you’re spinning from your jaded fingers yet another application, three taps–knock, knock, knock–make themselves sonorous against the old mahogany of your door. They are faint, very much so; perhaps you would not have even heard them if not for a sudden quiet which plagues your dorm. Impregnable, its one you’ve come to both relish in and despise, for what it spares is a moment of silence; not your wallet nor time. The ac–the rambunctious one which has a tendency to cry steel whilst it worked against the sticky summer–has finally hit its limits and breaks, again. Just in time, too, to leak intrusion into your ear buds.

You glance right and upwards where hangs a clock with thick scarlet running through the crevices of its wood and press, sternly, pearly whites into your lip. 12:25 am sharp; the second hand ticks perfectly into the inked groove of twelve just as your full moon eyes make landing. Who the hell is knocking at your door?

For a moment, you wish, with your entire being, that it is Him because, god help your damned heart, but without the tears and lies, he doesn’t taste quite as sinful as one might suggest. (It’s a truth which you’ve come to return to far too often in the silence of your thoughts; one with memories dripping down your tongue in blue. and another one–the fact that your life has literally been going on a spiral down, down, down ever since he lost his love and you didn’t. Or perhaps your luck just decided to take a turn for the worse, but it helps ease the frustration if you blame it on someone else. People are like that.) And then you don’t–because he’s really all of those things with an extra taste of heartbreak smeared onto vibrant cheeks.

So, who you wish to be at the door instead is preferably death, who’ll strike you down in one blow and banish your vexations with the waking stars. Anything–any fate, any experience–is better than another job application; another nagging complaint from your mother: decorated in vowels of shame, her words are almost a memory. look at your friends. they’re all well off and maintaining a stable job. what of you? your studies aren’t even sustainable.

And lest demise now comes in the shape of a boy with hair belonging to the auriferous stars and roses blooming on both porcelain cheeks, no wish was granted in your favor.

It takes one glance–one flick of full moon eyes–to glimpse his entire tenor; flesh out his heart and blood for you to read. He’s no older and no younger, a dash of honey in meteor shower irises that reflect golden upon the snowy night. On his cheek bone, rests a vague outline, just barely, of his home. A star, violet in hue; akin of wishes and dreams that rest on the tip of your tongue. How peculiar.

The star boy seems to be in a rush. Against time, he is huffing and puffing and red in the cheeks as he turns to reach inside his messenger bag–a homely brown–and rummages to find a scroll of delicate paper. His fingers shift tenderly against the aged parchment, gliding over the occasional tear and rip, and you catch a glimpse, during his fumble, of swirling ink and ebony belonging to a language so ancient, your eyes fail to even perceive it. “Ahem.. hi, I’m Jisung, and I’m here for a delivery for (Last Name) (Name)?”

He peeks at you from behind the paper, starry eyes–a night canvas with a thousand and one wishes sailing past like little boats of gold–reaching to meet yours. And from under those honey fringes, you read a prayer of felicity sunken so deep into his blood; his skin, his sole purpose is written on its very fingers.

“I didn’t order anything.” Star boy–ah.. Jisung–is stuffing the scroll back into his bag as you announce this, and when he turns back, pearly whites are just barely digging into his lip; a particularly bright ship passes in his eyes. It makes you feel strangely warm how he reminds you of honey and dreams, of something you’ve long lost somewhere in the stumbles of your youth and now ache oh-so desperately for. And.. he reminds you of Him before the pain and the heartbreak.

He smiles brighter, and your expired heart is pumping once again of hope and–dare you say it–feeling. “Of course you didn’t! No one orders from the stars anymore,” You should be caught off-guard by this, you truly should. What sane person wouldn’t? Some random guy who shows up at your door step in the middle of the night with a claim to have a delivery from “the stars” definitely isn’t normal. But it’s not like you haven’t already suspected something peculiar of him. Nobody should belong this much to the constellations. There is moondust in his lungs and galaxies in his blood; he isn’t of this world. “But we deliver anyways to the ones who need it.”

Then–oh god–then, he does something so, so peculiar, that you do not object and simply watches as he lifts his fingers and kisses cosmos onto the slender tips. there is life dancing upon his hand. A fervored will so strong, your heart is an ardent muse to it and sings along. Dreams of auric dust swirls at his beck and call and soon, there is a tinge of violet, of azure, of argent twirling between its arms. 

He presses it to your chest, touch surprisingly cool against your overflowing heart. Yet, paradoxically, there is fire at the tips, seeping past your clothes, past your flesh, and into the veins pumping forgotten wanderlust from under ashen dreams. It’s so warm: so much warmer than you’ve ever felt before, and consumes you. However, you do not struggle. It’s comforting, almost. The flames are raging, gnawing at the decays of a sunken hope, a desolate dream, and breathing life into another–one far stronger than the previous; and it’s burning Him. Drinking his voice, his touch, his words still stuck in the fissures of your heart away, and suddenly, you’re happy. You’re bursting with ardor, a star reborn gloriously once more into its sky. There’s stardust beneath your flesh and in your blood; you belong to the universe.. (and so does Jisung.)

oK,,, this is more a huge idea dump than an imagine so the plot is kinda wack sdfjs i was originally gonna go for a cyborg au, but it didnt work out :’) 

han jisung remembers you. he remembers you far too well than he’d like to admit so; far too long than is acceptable for someone he truly never spoke much to. yet, you’re always a whisper near the back of his mind, carving yourself into his dreams that sleep with him day and night.

ten years ago, you had been the girl homing steel in her eyes. the one with an accent heavy of pride and whose vowels are the sound of clashing metal. if only–oh, if only you spoke. but you didn’t, and jisung remembers you for that look saturated in murky irises, as gray as the deepest storm. steel eyed girl. his eight-year-old self thought you were the coolest person in the world.

seven years ago, you sat next to jisung. parallel. and parallel the two of you were, for neither of you ever spoke to the other. mrs. ariston had changed the seating chart for only the two of you. she said it was simply because jisung wouldn’t stop talking to changbin and felix kept copying off of you, but he thought she just hated his guts. why, after all, would she place you, of all people, next to him? why couldn’t he have switched desks with you, so he would be able to talk with felix over the latest video game? or maybe have you switch with literally anyone else in the classroom? sitting next to you would be so.. uncomfortable. he wouldn’t know what to say except comment about your eyes. but he knew the rules. he couldn’t complain. bad children were taken by the government. bad children didn’t get to live in the utopia. 

six years ago, you parted your pretty little lips and spoke. it wasn’t a lot–just two words, stop it–but it was enough for that something to click, and ‘the steel eyed girl’ was a topic once more. he was crying that time, chest blooming with tears; so, so much that he was afraid he would flood his body with them and the entire school too, and before he’d know it, he’d be carried into the day and to the seams of the sky. it had been felix. they’d taken him. he broke the rules, and the men from the government had came and shoved him into their perfect white cars with cries and pleads in their wake. they didn’t look back; felix was going to be left beyond the walls for the beasts to feast on. he was gone. 

and that was the first time jisung had cried so hard; the first time he had seen those steel eyes crack as you crouched down next to him with your head in your lap, eyes squeezed shut, and uttered those two words between gritted pearly whites. stop it. there was a crevice in your soul that day, so, so fragile, and jisung wanted to reach out with his fingers and touch it.

oK so,,, its actually a p simple concept :00 i’ve also edited it a bit and added some extra details / mashed it together with another au ive been thinking of

basically, everyone is born with a heart of glass which contains your emotions until they first set eyes upon the soul that their heart desires (notice how it’s someone else’s soul–not heart.) that’s because in this universe, your souls are a more prominent object; each one has a distinct “wavelength” (the definition of it is more.. loose) that cannot be copied or mimicked.

your heart is the one that seeks out another, searching every person you see for the soul wavelength that they desire. and once it finds them, a crack, as small as can be, will split from the very top of your glass heart, and somewhere, and you will have 5 years total before it completely shatters. your emotions, slowly, will begin to leak from that crevice over time, leaving you a bit more hollow than the day before unless your soul is the one their heart desires. if so, as soon as they set eyes upon you, the crack will fade, and your lost emotions will return. happy ending.

however, if your soul is not the one their heart desires, you’ll be forced to live the rest of your life emotionless. or.. if you (there’s a really small chance of this happening) manage to have their heart love you regardless before 5 years is up, you will regain your emotions. however, the other person would never be able to experience the solace that comes with the soul their heart truely desires for.

it was like electricity popping in your veins, hot and shocky; nothing like what the others had said. no earthquake split open your mind or left you stumbling on legs of glass. you didn’t claw at your chest in despair hoping to stop time in its steps nor welcome it. you just stood, silent, and, suddenly, you felt hollow. so much so, it hurt; there was a cavity in your chest throbbing with something desperate–something stolen, and oh, you had known. you had known right then and there with your full moon eyes set upon him. han jisung was the one it had chose.

you had intended to act on it–tend the wound before it bled out beyond your control–yet here you are, the clock sixty ticks away from five years later with the confession still sitting on the tip of your tongue. idiot. two words. six letters. what was so difficult about it? you’ve curled life into ones far longer than it. we’re just friends. three words. fifteen letters. he likes someone else. four words. eighteen letters. so why do those two never part your lips? why do you wear the title of fool so easily? do you not know what will happen once the clock strikes twelve? when five years is up?

tagged by.  @skydivingstars

rules.  make a moodboard based off your own aesthetics and it doesn’t need to be coordinated in any way, just a representation of yourself!

tagging.  @solhyungs  @ichitenshi

hi pal !! first of all, i’d like to say good luck to you on your blog :DD i’ll make sure to check it out when i have time to !! second, dfsjf i don’t really have a lot of followers, so i might not be able to help a lot, but here is one anyways 😔