#Gotta be my favourite trope

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

The wanderer: Pt 1

I loved my ball. It had been with me for a dozen years, since I was but a child. To the untrained eye, it was a generic squishy ball, the sort you might find in a child's playset. But if you asked me, I could think of a dozen fond memories with it, playing with friends at parties, bouncing it while I was bored, squeezing it in my hand as I cried. It was, for all of its lack of anthropomorphism, a friend. Sure, seventeen year olds were a bit too old to play with toys, but I had always had a childish streak.

That was why, when it rolled into a drain, I jumped after it without a second thought. The drain was narrow, too short for me to stand fully, so I knelt to get in. My shoulders and hips were twisted to the side awkwardly, one leg trailing behind the other like I was lunging, but I kept shuffling forward.

It was dark, too. Light filtered through the fixed grilles, creating a patchwork of bright and dark that guided me. As I went on, my front knee aching from the strain, rough stone rubbing against my sides, I began worrying.

Had I missed the ball? It seemed like I had been walking on forever. It occurred to me that I wasn't quite sure how to back out again. I couldn't turn around, and moving backwards would be a laborious process. The pain in my legs grew, and so did my panic.

The stone seemed to entomb me, rubbing against my back and chest, keeping me from breathing deeply. What if I was trapped here, forever? Would anyone hear me when I screamed? Still I kept moving. Stupid, blind loyalty to my ball would not allow me to back out.

I wanted to crack my neck, but there just wasn't enough space. The hand that I used to support myself began burning, the skin rubbed raw. I was coated in a layer of dirty water and dust, my clothes clinging to me. Still I kept moving. It was too late to back out, now.

The lights became further and further apart, grilles turning to thick concrete slabs. Was the passageway narrowing? I felt squashed, compressed into a cube. Everything burned. Still I kept moving.

My breath came in shuddering gasps. It was so dark. Where was the light? I wanted to collapse, my thighs trembling with the agony of constant weight. But if I fell now, I would not get back up.

So I kept moving.

And eventually I reached an exit, where the drain led to an opening. Light, proper sunlight, shone in an uninterrupted ray. And where it fell sat my ball, haloed like an angel. I pushed myself forward and grabbed it, just as my legs gave in. Collapsing, I clutched my ball to my chest and rested.

After an indecipherable amount of time, I got up. My back ached, but the worst was over. Figuring that I could just follow the drain back home, instead of taking the gruelling underground route, I stepped out into the light.

I had no idea where I was, save that it was filthy. A layer of grime and rust coated every surface, and the light highlighted smog in the air. Suddenly the drain seemed to be a fine way back home.

Was it a scrapyard? There were machine parts scattered in heaps, serrated metal jutting out in piles. But there was flesh, too. Rotten, stinking corpses of things that were not human, their skeletons smashed to unrecognisable bits, blood like a dried up fountain staining the ground red-brown.

Was it a garbage heap? Perhaps a butchery was nearby, and these were the remains of their products. But the corpses were too whole for that, and they had been mauled rather than butchered. There was too much violence in the air, too much blood and fury.

So was I somewhere else entirely? I turned back to look at the fateful passageway. Here, in this strange place, it was a concrete tunnel, with walls and a ceiling thick enough to bear my weight. I stepped atop it, and began following it like a trail.

The desolation stretched as far as the eye could see, machine and monster intermingled endlessly. The sky was cloudless, the sun beating down on me relentlessly. The mud that was smeared all over me began to dry, leaving me caked in dirt. I fit right in, an explorer in a post-apocalyptic world.

Everything was red, from the viscera to the corrosion to the soil. Even the sun itself was a massive crimson globe hanging in a fiery sky. Only my little pathway home, my fateful drain, was a grey testament to a different colour.

My old taped-up sneakers were a blessing in that endless slog, the socks mercifully dry, even as my feet grumbled, a steady pain that was dwarfed by the anguish of the drain. I squeezed my precious ball repeatedly, as if to remind myself that it was still there, and kept a brisk pace.

It seemed that I was the only person for miles around. Nothing stirred in the red-brown meadow, not even buzzing flies laying eggs in putrefied flesh. Nothing breathed in the flesh-rotted air, not even carrion-vultures feasting on the dead. Nothing lived in the hellscape that I wandered, not even the crawling maggots that should have lurked in the rotten meat. I hummed to distract myself from the uneasiness of being all alone.

As if the sound awakened something, I heard a shrieking cry. It came from above, a haunting, sorrowful noise. 'Run,’ it seemed to say. 'This place is not for you. Whilst your heart still beats, you must leave.’

I heeded it, my pace quickening. The scream came again, closer this time. I looked up to see a great serpent in the sky. Blood gushed from a dozen wounds, and it released a third cry of agony. Even so, it twisted in the air magnificently, looping in the sky with peerless grace, silver scales glittering in the sun.

I stopped to stare, awestruck. Some things in this world can only be experienced, and the sight of that dragon was one of them. No words could describe the regality, the raw determination, the sheer terrifying power of it.

I was watching a god fall, and I knew it. My heart wenched as it released a final ululation, a serenade to the dying world, and hung in the air for an infinite moment.

Then it collapsed, dropping like a stone into the mass graveyard that surrounded me. When it landed, a thump resounded through the world, like the land itself had broken upon impact. The dead dragon was lost amidst the gore and gears, and I wept for it.

I wept for that dragon and the untold horrors of the world I wandered through. I wept for fear that I would never get home, for the pains in my body and the grime all over me. I wept and wept and wept, clutching my ball like a security blanket and walking all the while.

Finally, I let out a scream. It was a hoarse, thin thing, a poor mimicry of the full howl the serpent had produced, but it was all I could make.

When the cascade of tears subsided, I found myself standing at the end of the path. I was not home, not yet. But I had found something else, something that belonged to my world.

A train station.

[soundleer]

lightweight 🍻

——————————

bonus panels:

[jevin gets sober next morning and he is now extremely embarrassed]

[he never drank again after this incident. tunner couldn't help but adore that side of him]

[terrimavr]

Trying to figure out how to use CapCut on a computer

Time bastard they could never make me hate you

[aliennachos]

Love that real special trope of

"wow, this bitch should probably be in a straight jacket. Let's give him super powers and see if he can kill a bunch of man-made horrors beyond human comprehension without having a mental breakdown"

"what do you mean 'that's a fucked up idea'? Get outta my office, we have hot topic employees to extra traumatize!"

[martii-art]

Two 🩸✨Astarion's✨🩸 portraits I've made referencing some random screenshots. Icons like this and other commissions are open~

[warriordragonart]

Anri of Astora my beloved (+ untrue dark ring)

I went for a shoujo love interest vibe, with the sparkly blue eyes, big eyelashes and anime boy hair, and I wanted them to be so androgynous that the design could be applicable across their male and female versions without making any changes. They’re also a unsure lil guy and I wanted to capture that in their body language and expressions (top left is them smiling at Horace because I love these two’s dynamic so much)

[luxhesperus]

absolutely love it when love does change the story — though not necessarily the ending — but not because the character is loved by someone but because they love someone; when they are altered by their own love and so it alters the things around them

[casdeans-pie]

I saw a post last week about fake dating to help with working a case and who would be the funniest pair. So may I also bring to the table:

S11 Dean and Hannah.

The circumstances to how it happens are not important. It would just be delicious to watch. Like a car crash in slow motion. Hannah would hate it, Dean would hate it, Cas would hate it. The only person having any fun would be Sam.

[sparfloxacin]

instead of sleeping last night I though about that hearbreaking wedding fic some more:

so Aleksi and Olli are making out and getting into it too and they almost get walked in by a fellow bandmate who notices them at the last second before retreating back behind a corner again all 😳🫣😬, and THEN this bandmate sees the bride walking towards the room to get something and the bandmate has to exaggeratingly loudly distract her to 1) alert Olli and Aleksi, and 2) to avoid an inevitable disaster 😶 the bandmate doesn't dare bring up what he witnessed with anyone, not even with Olli and Aleksi themselves (except maybe eventually when enough time has passed after the wedding), but Olli and Allu immediately realise what they had been doing and snap out of it. Aleksi gets angry at Olli for seducing him on his wedding day and proceeds to get so drunk that at the end of the day he just passes out on the rosepedal-decorated wedding suite bed (sorry, new Mrs. Kaunisvesi! 😭) and Olli gets angry at Aleksi for getting angry at him even though it takes two to tango 🙄 so he gets drunk too and hooks up with a friend of the bride's whose name he doesn't even care to remember afterwards 😪 (I'm thinking Olli is single in this AU, but of course we can make it extra heartbreaking and messy and miserable and have him be in a relationship as well 😫)

there must be a happy ending to this all somehow, but I'm yet to figure out what it is 🤧 (maybe they just avoid each other until enough time has passed and the feelings aren't as strong anymore (yet they sometimes can't help but wonder what could have been 🥺) ...or maybe Olli starts dating that friend of the bride's he hooked up with, and because it's one of her best friends she's very excited about Olli and her friend having found each other at their wedding and keeps organizing double dates because how fun is this!! your friend and my friend ending up together because of us 🥰 meanwhile Aleksi is suffering because it's so hard to see Olli with someone else 😭)

omg the suffering 😭😭 I love this

I’ve been thinking about Aleksi getting angry at himself for falling for Olli but ooohh him getting angry at Olli for seducing him yes yes yesss 😩😩

another thing I’ve been thinking is Olli hooking up with everyone and hngghhhhh yes he would do that to fulfill his needs (the horny fucker he is) but also to make Allu jealous 🥴 and ooohhh the more heartbreaking and messy and miserable the better 👀

I’m sure they will figure it all out in the end though! 🥰 (…right? 🥹)

thanks for the ask 💗 I’ll be thinking about this for the rest of the day 🥰 have a lovely Thursday 💖💖💖

[shiveringfrogspawn]

why does my self-love journey have to be enemies to lovers with an extremely slow burn I didn’t ask for this

[emotional-piece-of-meat]

"Bruce loves his children to infinity but sucks at communication" gotta be one of my favourite tropes.

What Bruce means: I miss you so much it hurts, you are a great hero, and I'm really glad that you still consider me as part of your life and share your thoughts with me.

What Bruce does: hums meaningfully in response to Dick's story.

What Bruce means: I'm sorry about everything that happened between us, I still love you and want to fix our relationship, I'm incredibly grateful that you don't avoid me.

What Bruce does: nods at Jason when sees him on the patrol.

What Bruce means: I deeply care about you, you are truly important to me, I worry about your health and I don't want you to repeat my mistakes, neglecting yourself for the sake of a mission.

What Bruce does: gives Tim a snack without any explanation.

What Bruce means: I'm very proud that, despite everything you were taught, you choose to be a good person and help people, you have a kind soul, and it's an honour to me to call you my son.

What Bruce does: gives Damian an intensive head pat.

Should I say that Cassie is a blessing?

They stare at each other's soul for a solid five minutes and it's basically a full ass conversation.

[ahcrazyfrogmyfavouritesong]

My favourite trope in video games gotta be the main villain facetiming you on a giant monitor

[prokopetz]

On the origin of oozes:

When googling it seems that ooze type enemies came about with dnd.

Are you aware of earlier origins? It does not seem farfetched to assume that some fantasy book had them before that.

(also, best ooze in your opinion?)

It's broadly correct that the ooze monster in its modern form comes to us via Dungeons & Dragons (with considerable influence from D&D-inspired Japanese console RPGs like Dragon Quest). However, like many other classic D&D tropes, its antecedents were present in the sword and sorcery literature of the 20th Century – ooze monsters just seem like they sprung into existence fully formed in D&D's monster manuals because nobody reads sword and sorcery lit anymore.

While there are no doubt earlier precedents, I'd be inclined to point to early 20th Century cosmic horror fiction as the point where the modern giant-amoeba-like notion of the ooze monster really became a standard trope. We can see a clear prototype of the modern ooze monster in Lovecraft's shoggoths, first described in detail in At the Mountains of Madness (1931), for example; from there, the line to the sword and sorcery literature that would go on to form the basis of Dungeons & Dragons is a short one. This certainly isn't the first example of the type – I just don't have an earlier one at my fingertips.

As for my favourite ooze monster, I've gotta give it to the gelatinous cube, one of the few examples of the type which truly is original to Dungeons & Dragons – in fact, it could only have come from D&D, owing to the peculiarities of its creation. It started out as a sort of dungeon hazard, an "invisible" ooze which concealed itself by being completely transparent and conforming perfectly to the shape of any passage that it occupied; however, since old-school D&D expected players to produce their own dungeon maps as they went, and made their job easier by abstracting dungeon floorplans onto a grid of ten-foot squares, the idea of the gelatinous cube quickly shifted from "ooze which perfectly fills any passage it occupies" to "ooze which evolved to be a perfect ten-foot cube in order to block a standard ten-foot-by-ten-foot dungeon hallway". It's incredibly dumb, and I love it.

[hedwig221b]

Have you ever read “You would kill for this, just a little bit, you would” by alice9?

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/51306448) it’s an absolute favourite of mine and I wonder whether you know any fics similar to it?

Also recommended by @avabean24 ❤

It's been 84 years, and I didn't really get what recs you wanted, bc this wonderful fic has so many tropes. I focused on secret relationship, so here we go, I guess?

You would kill for this, just a little bit, you would by alice9

The Hales didn’t like him. He didn’t like them either. And for fifteen years he made it a point to have as little interaction with them as possible. It comes as a shock then, when Derek Hale turns up at his door one night, screaming baby in his arms, asking for help.

Operation Girl Scout Cookies by katsu_kiri

After a minute Derek looks back up, his lips puckering in thought, “so…we just…see each other in secret. Then in November after local elections we can see each other for real?” “We are seeing each other for real! It’s just us who know about it for the first few months,” Stiles corrects. “Okay.” Stiles holds his breath, eyes widening, “okay as in okay let’s secretly date?” “Yes,” Derek adds his tone a little less bitter as if he is just now warming up to the idea. “Awsome! Holy shit, dude we’re mates,” Stiles beams. Or the one where both Talia and John are running for mayor of Beacon Hills and their sons end up being mates. Enter a secret relationship, a dash of smut, and a way too involved Laura Hale.

Made Your Mark on Me (A Golden Tattoo) by writteninthewolfstar

Beacon Hills High and Lycan Heights High are well-known enemies. Derek Hale, Lycan Heights' star quarter-back, is well-known for being aggressive and arrogant. Imagine Stiles surprise when he discovers that Derek Hale is actually his soul-mate.

Pry Him From My Cold Dead Fingers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"So they’re coming for our Emissary because they lost theirs?” Derek asked, somewhat angrily. “It would appear. The McCall-Hale Pack’s reputation precedes itself.” “Don’t worry,” Scott said, “we won’t let them touch you.” Deaton turned to him, offering a private smile before inclining his head slightly. “Very comforting, Scott, thank you. But,” he looked between them, “I’m not the Emissary they’re coming after.” Derek frowned and shared a look with Scott, who looked as confused as he did. “What do you mean?” Scott asked. “What other Emissary is there?”

Operation Get Derek Laid by Kikileduc

There's pining, misunderstandings, confusion, a little jealousy… Stiles and Derek have a nice thing, no one knows, yet. The issue is, the pack wants their alpha to get lucky at the werewolf seminar, and well Stiles thinks Derek wants that too…

Mismatched Match by LadyDrace

Getting to date hot senior jock Derek Hale should be cause for shouting from the rooftops, frankly, but life is a little more complicated than that. Until it isn't.

You Look Like Bad News (i gotta have you) by standinginanicedress

Option A : violently tell Derek that they are under no circumstances ever to hook up again because it was stupid and dumb. Option B : tell Scott the truth, stand back and watch as Scott kills Derek with his bare hands so Stiles doesn't even have to face the music. Not an option at all, actually. Expunge this from the record. The real Option B : calmly explain to Derek that the situation is too fucked up and hey, maybe if Derek and Scott ever shake hands and make up, he and Stiles can hook up again because, man…it was great. Option C : forget everything, charge headfirst into danger like fuckin' Bravehart and have sex with Derek all over again. Option D : bury himself alive and wait for the worms to eat him.

Until Sunrise

"You told me I would have time,” Derek said, simmering with anger. “You promised to leave the choice to me.” “The court is starting to talk,” said Peter. “We do not have a stellar reputation as it is, and your ventures into the world of simple pleasures do not go unnoticed. You do not care, of course. But you are, pardon me, too loud for it to remain discreet.” “You think if I were to have a wife, I would stop fucking?” Peter cringed his nose. “No. It would make you a proper, civilized man. You are getting too old, nephew.” “Fine. But I’ll choose.” “No,” Peter smiled. “I shall choose.” Derek opened his mouth to argue, but Peter did not let him. “We both know you will continue to fuck whomever you want. None of us will be able to stop you. Let me have a pick of a proper spouse to placate the court. That’s all I ask.”

[masterlist link]

[rockingbytheseaside]

I just read 'a boy named heretic' and it was really great cuz I can see little zandik being obsessed of his favourite researchers. And Imagine after creating his segments, little segments being so obsessed with you that they start their days with reading your researchs or treating your researchs like a religious book maybe even the older segments still do that. they would have memorised everything by now and that would be so funny like little segments make a mistake when they are talking about your researchs and older ones go like 'no no it goes like this and this' I can definitely see that happening.

Thank you for reading my brainrot over your fic and even though i just discovered you I love your writing style and your art is amazing so thank you for blessing us

Thank you so much! I try to write fics and tropes because I also struggle with Harbinger brainrot. Sometimes I draw and sometimes I gotta write. So I hope I won't disappoint with this one (｡•́︿•̀｡)

✦ You learn that Dottore taught his little segment about your old research too

(tw: none, pure fluff)

In the days of old, a young boy named Zandik was infatuated by you.

You were there, in the photos of the Akademiya’s best, A brilliant alumna. Meanwhile, he was still a mere student, looking up at you with eager ruby eyes. The distance between you two, not just in seniority, but in intellect and knowledge looked like an insurmountable ocean for little Zandik. 

He read all your published works, theses, or even miscellaneous essays. You were one of the few who dared to explore risque topics, often researching the fallen technology of your homeland, Khaenri’ah. Your works became his mantra, as the young trainee Dastur frequently stayed at night reading and memorizing your written words. 

How he longed to stand by your side. To bask in the glow of your wisdom, and hopefully, one day stand beside you in these photos of The Akademiya’s best. The thought of being your equal on that wall is a fantasy that once consumed him during many sleepless nights. 

But alas, his name was not in the records beside you. Instead, it was in the records of exiled students. 

The expulsion was a bitter pill to swallow for Zandik, yet it became a blessing in disguise. It allowed him to break free from the constraints of the Akademiya and truly delve into the depths of his research; to walk where you walked. With this liberating and newfound freedom, The Fatui heightened his abilities. They provided him with the resources and tools, and in return, he shared the fruits of his labor with them. But the Fatui were not the focus of his pursuits - you were. 

The little boy who once admired you from afar is no more. Now, a Fatui Harbinger stood before you, a man who has grown and shaped himself in your shadow. So here you were, in Dottore’s lab quietly musing. That was the story of your unceremonious reunion with The Doctor, whom you didn’t even know was after you. However, you didn’t mind it. You even met one of his many segments. 

What you didn’t expect is… a little child in his lab. 

A boy, looking awfully similar to little Zandik, no older than 8 years old. He gawked back at you, with his ruby-red eyes and you felt a sense of deja vu. You kneeled in front of him, catching a glimpse of a book in the child’s arms: 

“Um, hello, little one. What is that book you’re reading?”

The child cast his gaze to the floor timidly, revealing the worn-out book he was concealing behind his back. He held it tightly with his little hands, speaking in a small but avid voice:

“It’s your work… Your name is right here!” 

You blinked in surprise. It indeed had your name on it. The title was one of your research papers that you honestly forgot about. But what was even more surprising is why would an 8-year-old child read some old academic papers. 

“Oh, it is? But isn’t it a little… boring or difficult for you to read?” 

“No, I love it! I can even recite it if you want!” 

When Prime Dottore entered and spotted you talking to the eager younger clone he smirked. It seems you finally met his youngest segment, and your bafflement was expected. 

Dottore assured you that his segments, especially the younger Zandik, cannot contain their excitement at the mere mention of your name. They speak of you with a reverence that borders on idolatry, and they often ask Dottore about any copies of your published studies. 

It seems even the segments have inherited his admiration for you.

And the youngest segment, the 8-year-old child? They are absolutely enamored with your work. Every day, they ask about you and patiently anticipate any new information about your next visit to the lab. They even have a small collection of your books on their shelf, reading them diligently and trying to understand the complexity of your ideas. It was a bewildering sight, but the youngest segment enjoyed your academic essays as his bedtime stories.

“Dottore, listen. Did you make this boy memorize my thesis instead of reading fairy tales or something? Isn’t this a little… complicated for a child?” - you asked, picking up the little segment into your arms. 

“Nonsense my dear. Instead of fairy tales and nursery rhymes, a prodigy must start early by instilling a desire for knowledge. You can test it for yourself.” - Dottore explained, turning to the young child - “Recite the passage about energy infusion, paragraph 2.” 

“Okay! Ahem… ‘In the realm of Khaenri'ahn technology, we find a profound example of the interconnectedness between opposites. The use of advanced energy systems combines the power of light and electricity and as according to the data numbers of…”

Oh boy. These are big words for an 8-year-old. You don’t even remember the exact words of your 400-year-old thesis; that thing is ancient! You didn’t have the heart to tell them both that this thesis was written during an all-nighter rush. You did not feel nostalgic remembering your stress over deadlines. 

“Little one?” - You smiled at the boy in your arms and pointed at Dottore “Promise you won’t grow up like this big meanie here. He's annoying” 

“Heehee, okay!” - The tiny Zandik gently hugged your neck. The clone's innocent presence contrasts starkly with Il Dottore's imposing frown. What you failed to notice, however, was the young segment sticking his tongue out at Dottore's jealousy while you hugged the child unawarely. 

[polarisjisung]

COSMIC FEELINGS

synopsis: The rain had its oceans. The sun had its moon, everything had a reason for falling—and you had him. With Park Jisung, you were always falling: falling down, falling short, falling in love. But sometimes, love isn’t enough. And sometimes, love is all you need.

wc: 3.3k pairings: ex bf! jisung × fem! reader genre: angst, fluff, exes to lovers warnings: swearing, loserish pining ig notes: can you tell i like the exes to lovers trope ... anyways HAPPY JISUNG DAY!! tried something a little interstellar and cosmic themed for our favourite space nerd and NASA lover jisung.. I hope you like it gang ! gotta stay true to my user iykwim | LIBRARY

Today marked exactly 6 months.

6 months since everything fell apart. 

The time had stretched by, hours like days, weeks like months, and the nights dragged on, even longer. 

You struggle to believe that you and Jisung broke up only 6 months ago. It could have been six years, six centuries, or even six lifetimes, and it would all feel the same—an endless expanse of time. 

It wasn't healthy, you supposed, because in each and every waking moment, the thoughts of him clouded your mind. His name was on your lips, repeated like a mantra, day in and day out.

And the nights? 

They'd swallow you whole, pulling you into their eternal embrace, the minutes dragging on, slipping through your fingers like stardust.

Every night, he invaded your sleep. His face, his laugh, the way he looked when he’d roll his sleeves up a little too high. 

You could trace every inch of him if you closed your eyes—those familiar grooves in his hands, the faint scars across his skin, each imperfection etched into your mind. Pain you could never erase, left only for you to commit to a beautiful memory. 

To you, Park Jisung was the sun, the moon and all the stars in the sky. 

Eternal, radiant and yet so very distant.

As you stood on the balcony, feeling the weight of the empty space beside you, you sighed. You didn’t remember when the sky had become so empty, but it felt like it had been that way for years. 

The constellations that once felt familiar now seemed like strangers, their lights flickering in ways you couldn't recognise.

When you lay down, hoping to take your mind off of him, you remembered how you used to lie together. 

Beside you, the bed sunk with emptiness, and you recalled how your hands had traced the starry formations against his skin, mapping the universe as your fingers brushed over his.

In those moments, you swore you could taste the stars in his words, the way he’d speak of them—of space, of time, of you. 

Park Jisung called you beautiful, like it was your name. He loved you like it was all he knew. And in his eyes, you saw a future made of light, of endless skies, of forever. A forever with you.

But now, the stars looked different—fainter, perhaps. The moon, too, seemed smaller tonight. Maybe it was the distance, or maybe it was just the weight of how long it had been since he called you his sky. 

You caught yourself wondering if he was out there, somewhere beneath the same curtain of noir, staring up at the same stars, feeling the same tug in his chest. In his heart.

Truly, you don't know how it happened. But you remembered it like it was yesterday.

The rain tapped against the window in a steady, unrelenting rhythm, the kind that made the world outside look like a blurred painting, colors mixing into nothingness. 

Inside, your apartment was quiet—too quiet, save for the hum of the fridge and the soft rustle of Jisung’s jacket as he dropped it by the door. The clock on the microwave read well past midnight.

04:25

You had just gotten home after work.

You stood by the kitchen counter, your calloused fingers gripping its edge as you stared down at the chipped mug in front of you, the steam from your tea rising in slow spirals. 

Your eyes were tired, red, dark circles hinting at restless nights. You hadn’t expected him—hadn't even wanted him to come. You didn't have the energy for it. For him.

But here Jisung was, standing in the entryway, his hair damp from the rain, his hoodie hanging loosely around his shoulders. 

The space between you felt too wide, too heavy.

"You didn’t have to come," you said, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

You shouldn't have, Jisung heard.

He didn’t move immediately. His gaze lingered on you, on the way your shoulders hunched as though the weight of your silence was pressing down on you. 

He exhaled sharply and crossed the room to stand beside you.

The space was still there, the one that had always been between you two these past few months, like an invisible chasm that neither of you had known how to cross.

"Y/n, I—" Jisung stopped himself. His words, heavy as they were, seemed to hang in the air, too fragile to be spoken. 

He hadn't seen you in weeks. Not properly at least, only through 2 minute FaceTime calls and quick selfies snapped between the times you'd head to work and to sleep. 

And you hadn't seen him, perhaps if you had it would've been easier to notice the deepening bags beneath his eyes, how his cheeks were beginning to hollow. How every part of him reflected you, dull and lifeless.

Jisung was an open book before you, yet at this moment, you were blind to his pages. Illiterate in the way of his unspoken words.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the warmth threatening to rise in your chest. 

"What are we doing, Jisung?"

His lips tightened. He reached for your hand, his fingers brushing yours before he pulled back, as if the contact was too much, too little all at once.

What were you doing? 

Jisung wished he knew.

You were both trying, he was sure of that much, but it felt as though your efforts bred different results, like you aimed for the same thing and ended up in opposite directions. 

Relentlessly, you had tried and tried and tried, but no amount of effort seemed enough. Like nothing could save you. A cruel twist of fate.

"We’re both drowning," Jisung said, his voice low, almost lost in the noise of the storm outside. "In everything... and there's no space left. Not for us. Not for anything."

You turned your back to him now, because facing him felt too much like watching something break. "I know." You said.

There was nothing else to say, nothing left. 

Still, Jisung had hoped you'd continue.

You didn't.

You didn’t have the energy for it. 

Between work, and the extra degree you'd all too ambitiously decided to start studying, the basic necessities, like sleeping, and eating, there was no time left. Like a robot, you only did what you were programmed to do, and it seemed Jisung was no longer part of your code.

He waited for your denial. It never came.

You barely had time for yourself, you didn't in fact, so how could you argue that you had time for Jisung, for your love?

You couldn't correct his words, not when he hadn't said anything wrong. 

So you stayed quiet.

The silence was no longer comfortable. It stretched between you like an unwelcome presence, suffocating in its weight. 

Jisung wanted to reach for you, to hold you like he used to, but every time he moved, it felt forced, it felt wrong. The timing had always been wrong. Schedules clashing.  

You had become ghosts in each other’s lives.

"I miss you," he whispered, as though admitting it would make it hurt less. It only made the ache deepen. "But I’m not sure I know how to be the person you need anymore."

Your breath hitched in your throat. "I know, I’m sorry."

Jisung’s chest tightened, his hand balling into a fist at his side. The weight of your words settled on his ribs, pressing down on him. 

He had never wanted this.

Never wanted to stand here, in this cold apartment, feeling the distance that had crept between you two over the weeks, the months.

And yet, here you were, saying things you hadn’t said in so long. Truths that had long been buried under the weight of your hectic lives.

The rain beat harder against the glass, as if the world outside had heard the finality in your voices. 

You closed your eyes, your fingers brushing the edge of the counter. 

The room was too still, too heavy with everything unsaid.

"I love you, you know,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, “but it's too selfish of me to expect you to do the same, even now.” 

Jisung nodded slowly, the motion jerky, like something inside him was unraveling. 

He hadn’t come here to say goodbye. 

But the words had already formed, and the door was already closing, even if neither of you had pushed it shut.

“Maybe it's best if we break up.” 

"I'm sorry," he said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "For everything."

You nodded in return, your gaze fixed on the rain outside. "I am too."

And with that, the space between you two grew wider, a gap neither of you could bridge, no matter how hard you tried. 

The storm outside wasn’t the loudest thing in the room anymore. It was the silence, growing heavier, thicker, until it swallowed you both whole.

And then, he was gone.

You told yourself you were fine, told yourself that moving on was just part of life, that you'd get over it. You'd heal. But as you went about your days, the ache never fully disappeared. Instead, it had faded into a dull throb, a constant reminder of what once was. The endless longing had inserted itself into your routine, and you'd learnt to live with the pain. 

But when you saw his name pop up on your phone, the world, your world, had tilted on its axis, orbited too much, too fast and too far. All at once, your throat constricted and you gasped for air, shaking, trembling.

You couldn't breathe.

In the moments it took you to gather enough courage to read the text beneath his contact, your heart raced, your palms sweat and the weight in your chest intensified. So foreign, yet so familiar. 

It was exhilarating.

Jisung always made you feel this way, electric, ablaze— like the universe ran through your veins.

The message was simple: "can we talk".

No punctuation, no personality—the same as the first time Jisung had ever texted you. 

It was dry, it was boring and yet it planted that same quiet curiosity in your chest as it had years ago. Before Jisung had sunk beneath your bones and nurtured that deep-rooted familiarity into the only thing, the only feeling, the only experience that you could ever call love. 

You didn't respond right away, though your fingers hovered over the screen. The hesitation gnawed at you, for a moment you considered not responding at all. A long moment.

But it was the memory of his eyes, the way he'd looked at you before everything fell apart, that forced you to tap out a reply. How could you ever say no?

Though you're not sure falling apart was the right term. 

You and Jisung had crumbled, piece by piece, atom by atom. 

Your light had dimmed, your nebula collapsed— everything caved in on itself. Slowly but surely, your strengths, your weaknesses, your love. 

You had imploded.

The coffee shop was small, cosy, almost like a memory. 

Pink walls and tall ceilings, the soft murmur of conversations and the clink of mugs create a comforting background, with the same warm lighting overhead that you had always loved.

You hadn't been here in months, and you felt the nostalgia creeping in, coming through smiles from regular customers and greetings from the baristas. It had been so long, too long. 

But strangely, you didn't miss it as much as you thought you would.

Still, amongst the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the pastel walls of the building, it felt warm, easing the tightness in your chest ever so slightly. 

You sat waiting for Jisung, tucked away in a booth just next to the window. 

You had arrived earlier than the both of you had agreed, hoping the nerves would settle if you had accustomed to your surroundings. 

You weren't so sure that was the case now. 

Too many questions clouded your thoughts, what did he want to talk about, and why so suddenly? He had only messaged you last night, agreeing to meet the next morning—today. 

And if there was one thing you knew about Jisung, it was that he rarely, if ever, acted on impulse. 

His urgency was disconcerting, to say the least. 

But your thoughts didn't end there. 

You wondered if he had changed, if he was still the Jisung you loved, or a new version you wouldn't recognise. 

Sure, it had been 6 months since you broke up, but it had been far more since you saw Jisung, really saw him, not just the 2 second check ins and the 5 minute calls. 

You shifted in your seat, a shiver running down your spine. A bitter taste sat in your tongue.

Behind you, the sound of the door opening brought a rush of emotion—like your heart recognised him before your mind had the chance.

Jisung was standing there, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes darting around as if he wasn’t sure where to go. 

But then, they locked on you.

And just like that, the months between you disappeared.

He smiled. It was a quiet thing, more like an exhale than an expression. The same smile that you knew so well, and had told you countless times that things would be okay. 

You hoped it could do the same today. 

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than you remembered. The warmth in it making your chest tighten.

You nodded, unsure of how to start. 

Your throat felt tight, like there were a thousand things you wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for.

“Do you… do you want to sit?” you asked, gesturing to the chair across you.

He nodded again and you watched as he settled in, eyes not leaving yours. 

The silence was thick, heavy, like the air was holding its breath. You were too. 

It felt like Jisung was waiting for you to speak, but you didn’t know how to bridge the gap. 

You never knew how when it came to him. Not when the distance between you had never been there in the first place.

He spoke first. 

“How have you been?” his gaze was gentle, tender, a half smile rested across his lips as he spoke.

“Fine.” you choked out, really as convincingly as you possibly could. 

But Jisung clicked his tongue.

He knew, you thought. 

How could he not? 

You and Jisung were born from the same star, he echoed your emptiness, and you reflected his light.

Of course he knew.

“Really?” he sighed, raking a hand through his now dark blue hair, “Because I haven't been.” Jisung sighed, locking his eyes with yours once again, only this time he didn't dare to look away, speaking with conviction, with determination.

“I miss you. So much. It kills me to wake up and see that you're not next to me” Jisung gulps, holding back in every aspect but verbally, “I even miss you now, when you're sat across from me, because I don't just miss seeing you, I miss knowing you.” he pauses,”I miss loving you.” 

Jisung's voice is heavy with each breath he takes, and fuck, he feels like he's floating when your gaze softens beneath his, choked with tenderness for you. 

He wants nothing more than to bask in the sweetness of your voice, to drown in your moonlit eyes and show you all the little stars in his heart.

Jisung's not done yet though, there's so many things left to say, too many in fact, but nothing more pressing than this.

“I regret it.” 

He feels the weight lift off his shoulders, like he can sit up straighter as each syllable falls from his lips, “I regret not telling you then how much you meant to me, how much I didn't want this to happen to us.” 

How much I loved you

Carefully, you listen, like every word is sacred. 

You don't speak, you don't nod, you don't even move.

Scared that the slightest disturbance would fray your concentration and you'd miss every small signal Jisung sent towards you, like the fire in his soul wasn't contagious, like that fire wasn't ignited by you.

“You weren't just part of my life Y/n, and I'm an idiot for not having realised sooner. You were my life. You are my life.”

There was a pause. You didn’t know how to respond to that.

Meanwhile, Jisung's lips curl upwards unconsciously.

It had taken him half a year, six months, twenty-six weeks, one hundred and eighty-two days to finally give his truth a voice. 

And God, was it liberating.

Jisung had loved you in every life, he thinks, like you were written on every molecule he ever became. Your souls intertwined. Star-crossed.

He watched closely as you processed his words, the glow in his eyes growing warmer with each second he let them rest on you. You were yet to respond, but you knew, Jisung hadn’t a care in the world aside from that, it only mattered to him that you knew. 

There was a knocking at your chest, a feverish swelling, innocuous, like flowers blooming through the cracks of your ribs. Like your whole body had been struck by lightning.

But you couldn't move.

The stillness coated your limbs, spreading across your entire being, a strange sort of paralysis that only seemed to occur when he was around. 

“I love you,” he said, suddenly, sharply cutting through the silence.

“I don’t expect anything,” he continued, his voice thick with regret. “I just… I needed you to know.”

His words hit harder than you expected, and you flinched inwardly, trying to keep your composure.

The ache in your chest grew, the familiar pang of loss creeping in. 

You thought you had buried it, locked it away in the back of your mind, but now it was surfacing, raw and insistent. 

You didn't know what you wanted from this, what you hoped would happen now. It wasn’t like before, when you could just run to him and everything felt right. 

This time, it felt like a dream—something you couldn’t quite touch. Distant. 

An interstellar love, but you weren't capable of defying gravity.

Or maybe you were just so damn scared that this was another moment where you'd let yourself fall for him all over again, only to end up with the same broken pieces.

Perhaps it would have been easier to hate him.

Your silence stretched on, his words lingering in the air between you.

Jisung's knee began to bob impatiently beside you, though his expression was still just as comforting as before. 

He sat, awaiting your response. 

“I love you.” he repeated. 

“Again?” you breathed out, finally.

“Still.” he confessed. “Desperately, selfishly, irrevocably, I still love you”

Oh.

“I thought you were happy,” you managed to say, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I thought you were better off without me.”

I thought you were over me

His eyes softened, but there was something almost painfully raw in them, like a wound that had a band aid slapped carelessly over the top, unable to heal.

“I never was. But I convinced myself I could be,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I thought there was no point if i couldn't even see you, no point in us, no point fighting.”

He sighed, running his tongue across his cheek, “I was wrong, so fucking wrong.” Jisung knew that, and it had cost him everything.

You nod. Part of you wanted to leap with joy, and another part of you wanted to cease to exist. 

But all of you wished he had said those words sooner.

You hadn't realised when you’d caught your bottom lip between your teeth, but it had gone raw from how you'd been constantly biting at it. 

You hadn't noticed until you felt Jisung's gentle touch against your lips, his thumb guiding your lip out from your clenched jaw, his hand resting beneath your chin.

He didn't say much, instead Jisung quietly shook his head. 

And then it hit you.

Every beautiful quirk, every perfect imperfection, everything that so delicately composed Park Jisung, you saw it all then. 

Everything you loved.

He had the sun in his smile, the stars in his eyes, he loved like the moon, through every phase, eternal and silent. Like a promise, celestial.

It came crashing down on you, like an asteroid would the earth. Beautifully, crushingly.

“I love you too.” 

It had been 6 months since you saw Jisung, and you loved him all the same, like he'd hung all the stars in the sky.

Jisung smiled at you, like a match catching fire. Like he had been waiting for ignition.

And in that instant, you realised—he wasn’t just a star in your sky.

He was a supernova, brilliant and all-consuming, collapsing and expanding in the same breath, burning, not just with you, but for you.

Love like his didn’t fade quietly; it burned, it devoured, it reshaped the very fabric of the universe.

And as the fire took hold, you didn’t run.

You let it consume you.

Because some loves aren’t meant to flicker.

Some loves are made to explode.

tags: @yizhrt @suzayaaa @nanawrlds @sinisxtea @dearlyminhyung @flaminghotyourmom @jisworlds @jenobubbles @nctdreamchaser @lotties-readings @mystverse @chenlezip @blondemrk