Round 1 2023: Quotes

[hwarium]

Status: Closed This round has closed. It remains open for fills, comments and remixes, but prompts are no longer accepted. Seventeen Holidays Round 1: Quotes About "Someone will remember us, I say, even in another time." "How inconvenient to be made of desire." "It's me, hi, I'm the problem its me." Calling all readers, lovers of poetry and music, screen and stage. Quote collecters and lyric hoarders, unleash your archive. For this round, every prompt must contain a quote - you can combine them, add commentary, link to articles, do whatever. Steal from a literary classic, or copy WeVerse drama. 🛑 HOLD UP If this is your first time on 17hols please check out our About Page which contains helpful information and links to pages explaining dreamwidth and HTML. We are a prompting fest where all the action happens in the comment section. Rules Sign up is not required. Fills have a minimum of 400 words for prose, haiku-length for poetry (3 lines), and 400px by 400px for art (memes are also art). Other mediums are fine too! There is no maximum cap. Tag and provide content warnings at your discretion, but a good guide are the Ao3 four (Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage) and this list of common CWs (cr: SportsFest). NSFW/Explicit content should be tagged NSFW art should not be visible, please provide a link and a warning. You may crop the artwork and embed a SFW preview. How it works Prompting Click on [Post a New Comment] at the bottom of this post; Change the subject; Copy+Paste the following HTML into your comment and edit the sections. Feel free to add as much detail as you want! Need ideas? Check out our 2021 and 2022 Quote rounds. <strong>Ship/Member:</strong> Any <strong>Major Tags:</strong> N/A <strong>Additional Tags:</strong> N/A <strong>Do Not Wants:</strong> None <strong>Prompt:</strong> <blockquote>[QUOTE GOES HERE] </blockquote> Filling Reply to the original prompt; You must change the subject to [FILL] - this is to help the mods track. Feel free to add a title Copy+Paste the following HTML into your comment, edit the sections, and add your text. You may also upload your fill to the AO3 Collection. <strong>Ship/Member:</strong> Any <strong>Major Tags:</strong> N/A <strong>Additional Tags:</strong> N/A <strong>Permission to remix:</strong> Yes/No/Please ask *** Remixing Post as a reply to the fill you are remixing, using the same HTML as above; Change the subject to [REMIX]. Art/media Upload your work to any platform (twitter, imgur, youtube, soundcloud, google maps, etc.) Using the same HTML code as above, copy the link into your fill or remix. That's it! Optionally, you can embed a picture into your comment. Please use the following code instead. (To explain, the HTML resizes your picture to 400x400px so that it fits on most screens. Users can view the full size if they click on it. You can also add a link to your work on twitter so that others can share it, or to any other website you want) <strong>Ship/Member:</strong> Any <strong>Major Tags:</strong> N/A <strong>Additional Tags:</strong> N/A <strong>Permission to remix:</strong> Yes/No/Please ask *** <img src="INSERT IMAGE URL" width="400px"> <a href="INSERT ANY URL YOU WANT">TEXT THAT DESCRIBES THE LINK</a> Note! On dreamwidth, you can't edit a comment once someone has replied to it. Navigation ABOUT FAQ CHAT BAITS ✧ FILLS ✧ < ROUND 1: QUOTES > ROUND 2: ALTERNATE UNIVERSES 2021 2022

Comments

Re: [FILL] the candle and the fire

[lovekyeoms]

ohhh i love this so much!! there is so much of jww and his intense, all-consuming yearning in this, from he’s not sure when the metaphor started taking hold of his life, to he wonders if there will be more. more bravery. because there can’t be more yearning. and the WONCHEOL of it all!!! i was actually thinking of them as i posted this, so it was an amazing surprise to see that's how you went with it too. tysm for filling in this prompt<33

home/sickness

[sido_rlo]

Ship/Member: Any, network love line?
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: N/A
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

“Is there a direction home that doesn’t point backward?” — Paul Chan

Re: [FILL] building (sand)castles

[lovekyeoms]

You can’t just say things like that, Minghao wants to complain. He already knows what will happen in return: Seokmin’s widening grin, the curve of his eyes and the way they cut into his cheeks, his heart out on a platter.

Why not?

THIS!!! THIS... it's truly wonderful how to put so much of what makes seokhao seokhao into 600 words, be it the way seokmin's always so open with his love to minghao always indulging him fondly. absolutely melted at this!!!!! tysm for sharing <3

Re: [FILL] how do you like your eggs?

[ghostscissoring]

It’s stupid and dumb and silly. Jihoon joins in immediately. He can be the carton of eggs they take home.

this whole thing was so sunny bouncy lovely warm but this little bit especially felt like such a perfect encapsulation of their dynamic, i just adored it

Re: wasn't it always the two of us

[almondtree]

ME TOO!!! seokmin orpheus literally plagues me i cant rest until it happens for real i need him booked in that role immediately

[FILL] Who's the real you?

[(Anonymous)]

Ship/Member: Seungcheol / Gyucheol
Major Tags: substance abuse, off-screen violence
Additional Tags: anxiety, unreliable narrator
Permission to remix: Yes

***

You wake up with blood on your face.

You think it’s snot, at first, the tickle at the edge of your nostril, a dry flaking that makes your lip twitch. Only when you go to scratch, it powders under your nails, dull russet caked under the perfect white moons the manicurist files them into once a week. Snot isn’t usual baked red-black, and it doesn’t usually dry in tracks across your cheek, down to the corner of your mouth. You can taste it in your teeth, now, faint old penny tang beneath the overwhelming sourness of stale alcohol, thick enough to make you roll to your belly and gag, so, okay.

Okay.

You wake up with blood on your face. You don’t know why.

It isn’t the first time.

*

You could be a spy. You’re self-taught, true, but you had a good teacher. Drop you into any situation, no context provided: you’ll know the story within the hour. It’s all in their faces.

Breakfast time, seven full-grown men crammed around a single table. You start to piece together a timeline off of nothing but who can meet your eyes. This is after you’ve thrown up three or four times and brushed the rotting carcass from your mouth, cleaned the blood off your face. After you’ve opened a fresh bottle to sterilize the wound in your nostril, the bigger laceration behind your ribs. At least that one’s safe inside where no one can see it bleed.

It’s a bad game, but you have to play it, so: you shovel cornflakes between numb lips and look at each of them in turn, waiting to see who holds your gaze. Jeonghan passes, but Jeonghan always passes. He’s too good at the game. Joshua keeps staring at his phone, face slack, and he’s too good, too: hard to tell if he’s avoiding you or just zoned out. Jihoon, no. Wonwoo, Soonyoung, big fat Xs. Junhui—Junhui’s not even eating. Not even moving, really. An uninhabited body propped in a chair, doll eyes aimed unseeing at the tv. If you shook him, you think he would fall apart into his separate pieces and scatter across the floor. You’d worry he wasn’t breathing, except that you lean forward to check and catch the softest trace of a flinch.

It was a bad night, then.

You stare into the slowly dissolving cornflakes and dip into the shallow pool of last night’s memories, trying to tease up the freshest one you can find. It’s a smear of faces. Seungkwan’s pinched smile swims up, stretched thin with effort. Mingyu, laughing at you. Was he laughing? Mouth open, anyway, eyes bright. There’s no sound to the memory, but you can smell him, a blend of hair products and cologne. You could pick out of every member by scent alone. That has to mean something, right? That you tried. Even in the past tense.

Was he laughing? Or was it something else?

“Where’s Mingyu?” you ask, and the whole room stops to suck in a breath.

“I’m sure he’s in his room, resting,” Jeonghan says after a beat. “Why?”

Good question. It’s nothing you can articulate, just a feeling. Less than a feeling. Seungkwan’s smile, straining at the corners before it crumpled, and Mingyu’s open mouth. Was he laughing, or yelling?

“Is he okay?” you ask Jeonghan, a swing of the knife in a black room.

The pause is much longer this time. You keep your eyes on Jeonghan so you don’t have to watch the way Jihoon tenses, the way Soonyoung empties beside him.

Jeonghan holds your eyes, searching. You want to ask him what he finds.

“He’ll be fine,” Joshua says. He doesn’t look up from his phone. “The doctor said he didn’t break anything, just go easy with the hand for a few days.”

It opens inside you like a fist. Seungkwan with tears running into his smile, Hansol’s arms around him. Mingyu in your face, not laughing, how could you think he was laughing? One hand on your shoulder, and the other pushing right through you, flinging you straight into outer space.

There’s pure white after that, alcohol or concussion or just plain shock shaking your mind clean as an etch-a-sketch.

“Oh,” you say, just one syllable, but Jeonghan’s gaze sharpens, fine enough to cut. He shouldn’t be able to hear so much. “Should I…”

“You have a schedule in an hour,” Jeonghan interrupts smoothly. “Everyone needs to be back here by noon, there’s a quick interview and then they want to film content of us in the arena before soundcheck.”

His gaze has left you, words barely for your benefit. He says it all while his thin fingers neatly segment an orange, ends with a single golden wedge trapped between his teeth.

“I’ll tell the kids,” Jihoon says, standing like he was spring-loaded, and Jeonghan nods a dismissal. Quiet figures suddenly blossom to life around the room, shoveling in last bites and wiping mouths, making polite exits. In just outside five minutes the room is empty except for you and Jeonghan.

He’s looking at you in a way that makes the growing ache behind your eyes throb acutely, slow heartbeat pulses of pain. The spoon you raise to your lips is filled with whole grain mush. You try to take the bite anyway and gag, let it crash back into the bowl, spattering milk.

“Drink some tea,” Jeonghan says, pushing the cup into your hand.

He busies himself with piling up dishes while you force down the first sip. When you recognize the dull hard taste of what he’s added to it, you drink more deeply, tipping it back, a rush of relief that makes your head swim. It’s barely enough to steady your hands, but it’ll get you through a shower and a short drive, and then someone will have what you need. Some of the staff keep pity in their pockets for you these days. Jeonghan’s the only one who makes it feel like kindness.

*

You swim through your schedule, finishing early enough to have an hour alone back at the hotel before the interview, which means you either did really well or really badly. You don’t remember anyone frowning at you, so probably it was okay.

The world flicks by faster after that. Interview, pictures, the bright blur of the band around you, their happy noise. Recording content in the arena takes forever, endless loops of the stage, daisy chaining your way up and down the stands. You keep falling behind, getting stuck in corners until someone takes you by the wrist and leads you around.

Finally, finally the lights come up, and you have reached the only part of your day where you know exactly what to do. You don’t haven’t to think: when the music starts you hit every mark, every note, the way you’ve hit them a hundred thousand times before. The relief of being outside of yourself, moving in perfect formation and knowing the one right answer every time. You let it fill you up and hollow you out, the lights and the screams and the sweat in your eyes scouring you clean. You’re good at this. Even the other members look softly at you; even Mingyu tucks himself against your side and gives you a smile that trembles into something sweet and real. You pour yourself into these moments on stage and you burn away every other hour until you’re only this, a bright shining thing made of joy.

And after, when Mingyu’s no longer against your side but tumbled underneath you, you smooth your hands over his skin and feed joy back to him, small sips from your mouth and great glowing waves when he pants your name. You brush your lips over his swollen knuckles, the thin damp skin beneath his eyes, pressing joy into the hollows of his body. It’s a special kind of alchemy, transmuting the haunted look in his eyes to thin sweet cries, and he lets you work your magic, lets you spin him into gold. He doesn’t know it’s all sleight of hand, that he’s already golden. All you did was burn away the rust you left behind.

Re: [FILL] hotel room

[arundels]

omg this is so good AAAHHH, jeonghan hating the arrangement but accepting it anyway because it's the best he can have, seungcheol feeling guilty but continuing anyway, it's horrible and painful and delicious in all the best ways.

“Whenever you want,” he says. “You know what I am. You know what I’d do."
SCREAMS THIS LINE

and then the final line oh my god it's sooooo evocative... when he’s finished with Jeonghan all there will be left is his bones. SHUDDERS its gorgeous, thank you for the fill!!

[FILL] the view of you

[nitemareodyssey]

Ship/Member: seokmin/mingyu
Major Tags: explicit
Additional Tags: sex without love, shower sex, au: primary school football coaches, blowjobs, skullfucking, discussion/lampshading of having sex in a primary school building (with no children anywhere near whatsoever)
Permission to remix: Yes
Word count: 1092

hi! i hope this isn't too soft and sappy and soft! i just think that seokmin in a football kit,

***
seokmin was tired and covered in mud.

they ran over, again, because the kids loved playing in the rain, and because the game they had invented, with its complicated rules, sort of a mix between red-light-green-light and tig and bulldog had got them all going, and none of them wanted to stop. but the parents were gathering in the car park and the light was going, so they’d sent the kids in to change and then made sure everyone had gone home with the right adult, and now mingyu was out collecting up cones and piles of bibs while seokmin counted the cash.

when seokmin worked at private summer camps for boys from fancy schools in seoul, the parents paid in advance by bank transfer. this was just a public primary school in a suburb of anyang, and the parents brought paper notes, and if they didn’t, seokmin would assure them they could bring it next week, or the week after.

when he’d counted it all up, he split the cash in half, and left kim mingyu’s share in a pile next to his fleece on the desk.


seokmin had met kim mingyu a month ago, at the start of the primary school term, and could count what he knew about him on one hand. he was a business major at a private college in seoul, he’d grown up here and gone to this school, he was living at home and working as a football coach to save money, and he was a giant pain in the ass.

he was beautiful, and he had all the eommas, and not a few of the appas, in the palm of his hand. he was great with the kids- the shy ones, especially- and he supported juventus, despite having no apparent connections to italy.

“i went to italy on my year abroad when i was in college,” seokmin had said when they’d met. “trained with ac milan at san siro.”

“oh?” mingyu had replied, “that’s nice.” and seokmin had felt a fool for even bringing it up. see? asshole.

a beautiful asshole.


seokmin wanted to go straight home, but he was absolutely caked in mud, right up to his knees and his elbows, and his hair was soaked. he was not an overly proud man, but he didn’t want to get on the subway like that. nor, he thought, as he stripped off in the now-empty changing room and made for the showers, would myungho or junhwi let him in.

the water was still hot, and there was even a travel mini of shower gel on the floor, presumably left by one of the kids. he gratefully soaped himself up, head to toe, and enjoyed the feeling of being warm and clean for the first time that day.

almost without realising it, he wrapped his hand round his cock. he let go of it, as if scalded, and then spat out the mouthful of water he’d got from his sudden movement. it was- weird, right? jerking off in the showers of a primary school. not that there were any kids around- probably just the ahjussi who swept the playground and dusted the classrooms. but still. weird.

then again, it was a friday, and friday was myungho and junhwi’s date night, which at this time of year never meant actually leaving the apartment and going somewhere, but rather sitting on the sofa making goo-goo eyes at each other in front of a film before having loud sex in their bedroom, every second of which seokmin could hear. he would not be getting a chance to jerk off tonight, not unless he wanted that to be his soundtrack. and he was already half-hard, and- why not?


“need some help?”

“jesus!” seokmin nearly slipped on the soap on the floor. he grabbed the top of the shower wall for purchase and turned round.

kim mingyu was in front of him, socks and shoes off but otherwise still in his kit, also covered in mud, sweating, grinning, and very noticeably hard.

“what?” seokmin said.

“you never shower after we’re done,” mingyu said.

“i shower at home,” seokmin replied.

“well, i always shower here, and i always jerk off.”

“this is a primary school,” seokmin exclaimed. mingyu didn’t even need to say anything, he just raised one eyebrow and tilted his head.

“do you need some help?” he asked again.

seokmin opened his mouth and closed it.

“yeah,” he said, before he could stop himself, and then it all happened at once.

mingyu dropped to his knees, so fast and so hard that seokmin cringed, but mingyu didn’t seem to mind. the fucker was tall enough that he actually had to bend down a bit to reach seokmin’s cock. he took it in his hand, spat, and then swallowed it all in one fluid motion.

“oh, fuck-” seokmin said. his knuckles were white- one hand on the wall to keep him upright, the other twisted in the sweat-soaked strands of mingyu’s hair.

“fuck me,” mingyu said. a string of spit hung between his lip and seokmin’s dick.

“huh?”

“my mouth, fuck my mouth, want it, i want it-”

mostly to shut him up, seokmin shoved his head back down. he’d never- not even with his ex- but he’d used a pocket pussy before, and he’d seen porn. he got the idea.

mingyu’s mouth was the perfect slippery heat. his tongue was rough and even as seokmin jerked his head back and forth he used well, lapping at the slit. seokmin looked down, and mingyu’s eyes were black like a pot of ink, and a tear formed and slid down his nose.

seokmin came before he had time to warn mingyu. he shoved his cock right to the back of his throat, and mingyu gagged, but swallowed every drop.


“fuck,” he muttered, as he pulled his soft cock out of mingyu’s mouth.

“i’ve got a presentation tomorrow,” mingyu said. “they’ll think i’ve got tonsillitis and send me home.”

seokmin watched as mingyu pulled his hand out of his shorts and licked it clean.

“you already-”

“yeah.”

mingyu stood up.

“next time,” seokmin said, “i’ll. if you want.”

“next time?” mingyu said.

“if you want,” seokmin repeated.

mingyu said nothing to that, and then- “move, i need to shower.” he pulled his shirt and shorts off and dumped them in the corner. without another word, he shoved seokmin out of the way and stood under the water.

seokmin stared for a moment at his back muscles, then collected his towel and left.

desire as a weapon / desire as a shield

[ghostscissoring]

Ship/Member: jeonghan/any, or any/any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: N/A
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

I pretended not to see, although I exploited it, the lust not quite sleeping in his bright, bitter eyes and, by means of the rough, male candor with which I conveyed to him his case was hopeless, I compelled him, endlessly, to hope."

- James Baldwin, Giovanni's Room

[FILL] between horror and acceptance

[(Anonymous)]

Ship/Member: soonhoon
Major Tags: grief, implied character death
Additional Tags: amnesia, resurrection (or is it), open ended/ambiguous, liminal space of a difficult conversation, dealing with grief, letting go/moving on, idolverse, fantastical/supernatural elements,
Permission to remix: Yes
a/n: op i feel like this is very much not what you were aiming for but i hope you can still enjoy! wc: 1.3k. i apologize for any errors, this is very lightly edited.
***

The next time Jihoon sees Soonyoung, it’s five months after his dead body was found, mangled and roughly deposited under a nondescript bridge.

The world screeches to a halt around Jihoon. Water roars in his ears. Something screams in the back of his mind. He feels like the one drowning.

Soonyoung leans casually against the jamb of the door to Jihoon’s apartment building, teeth wearing down another one of his nails. Jihoon unsticks his limbs and forces himself to walk.

There are three steps leading up to the door. They feel like three miles. His feet come to a stop in front of Soonyoung. Jihoon wills himself to look at Soonyoung’s face. It’s perfect, beautiful, the same familiar shape. Absolutely no sign of damage or death. Nausea racks his stomach.

He meets Soonyoung’s eyes, brown and bright, but utterly devoid of recognition. Dread drowns his lungs.

“Annyeong,” Soonyoung greets, an upward lilt at the end of the greeting, as if he’s compelled to speak in banmal, but he’s not sure why. “Do you live here?”

Jihoon gulps in air. He feels fuzzy, detached. A hand hovers near his arm. Jihoon wishes, vehemently and suddenly, that Soonyoung weren’t here.

“Soonyoung-ah,” he croaks out at last, pushing past the quiver in his lips, “H-how?”

Soonyoung tilts his head, a smile half-hung on his face. HIs eyes are quizzical. “Do I know you?” Jihoon’s stomach sinks. His breath comes out shaky. Soonyoung’s concern bleeds from his eyes.

“Maybe you should go in,” Soonyoung suggests quietly. He reaches for Jihoon, who slaps his hands away. Soonyoung shrinks. “I was just asking for your keys.”

Pulling in another breath, Jihoon nods. He doesn't know if he should apologize. A part of his brain says that he’s hurt Soonyoung. Another part argues that this is a stranger. He pulls out his keys and aims the one for the front door at the keyhole. His hand shakes, and the metal scrapes noisily. Soonyoung takes the key gently from him.

“Let me,” he says softly. “You don’t look well.” Wildly, Jihoon wants to laugh. No, of course he’s not well. He saw the love of his life dead on the news months ago. And now he’s back in front of Jihoon, in perfect health and with absolutely no recollection, it seems, of what happened. But before he can gather the strength to snort, or do something normal, Soonyoung’s pushing the door open.

Soonyoung leads him to the elevator like he’s the one on the verge of death. Jihoon tugs his elbow away once they reach the elevator doors. Pretends he doesn’t notice Soonyoung’s wince. He jabs his finger into the up button like it’s some sort of silent, tactile defense to whatever mean things Soonyoung must be thinking about him.

They wait in silence. Jihoon wonders if Soonyoung has any intention of coming up with, and then adamantly refuses to consider which option he himself would prefer.

The door opens. Jihoon steps in. Soonyoung follows. Oh. Well. Jihoon positions himself in a corner and wraps arms around himself, feeling less disoriented but no less confused, and horrified. How the hell is this happening?

“What floor?” Soonyoung asks a moment later, when the elevator doesn't move. The back of Jihoon’s neck burns from sudden embarrassment.

“Seventeen,” he mutters. Soonyoung turns to press the button, but not before Jihoon catches his furrowed brows, as though the word rings some bell that’s long been gathering dust. Jihoon wonders how the members would react if he told them.

They’d probably stare at him in horror. Are you crazy? Chan might say. Seokmin might frown and catch him later, his disbelief always the quickest to cave. After all, he’d cried the most when the news headline numbed them all with shock and grief, hoping that this might have just been a nightmare.

The door slides open and Jihoon reawakens in this new nightmare. Soonyoung gestures for him to go first.

Jihoon’s shoes click against the tiles as he walks. Soonyoung’s makes no noise.

He’s able to get his apartment door open this time and briefly considers slamming the door in Soonyoung’s face, but Soonyoung jams his shoulder against the door like he knew it’d happen. Jihoon jerks back from the door. Soonyoung sidles in.

Jihoon does his best to ignore him, kicking off his shoes and throwing his coat over the back of a chair. Soonyoung hovers nearby, uselessly. Jihoon scrubs his leftover dishes furiously. They say nothing.

Eventually, Jihoon runs out of things to do. He reluctantly joins Soonyoung at the table.

“Why are you here?” Jihoon finally asks.

Soonyoung smiles lightly. It’s cordial. It’s horrific. Soonyoung never smiles at him like that.

“I figured there are some things you’d wanna ask,” he says softly. “Based on how you reacted when you saw…me.”

Fair enough, Jihoon supposes. He looks at this sculpture-Soonyoung in front of him, hair neatly styled, dressed in a black blazer, face calm but cool, devoid of the fire Soonyoung had always carried with him, like an internal hearth, and knows that this is not his Soonyoung.

“Okay,” he says wearily. “Yeah.”

-

“Who was…I before?”

“The love of my life. He died five months ago.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. How are you here?”

“I don’t know. I woke up under a bridge.”

“Why are you here?”

“I knew I had to come here. I don’t know why.”

“Oh. Okay. Do you remember…anything?”

“No. Can you tell me?”

-

Jihoon talks for much longer than he anticipated. He tells this Soonyoung in front of him about the little things Soonyoung liked to do, the river walk dates and the songwriting sessions, the tiger stuffy collection, the dance studio he opened after disbandment with Chan. He talks about Soonyoung’s ricocheting laughter, the birds that liked to land on his shoulders. He talks about his gentleness, the way he loved Jihoon like everyday was their last.

He recounts the first time Soonyoung asked him out, a brazen two-year old idol, backstage at Inkigayo, when the infamous sandwich was still a thing. They had their first kiss in the dorm shower, both of them giddy on the high of winning another award. He smiles as he talks, and maybe he cries too, but the Soonyoung in front of him sits quietly, listening, and Jihoon keeps talking.

“What was he to you?” This Soonyoung asks, finally, when it’s dark enough that they can see their reflections in the window.

“Everything,” Jihoon answers hoarsely, honestly, scraped raw and hollow, and not just from the talking. “He was the fire to my wood.”

Soonyoung tilts his head. “He burned you out?”

Jihoon huffs a laugh. “Maybe sometimes,” he admits. “But he helped me burn, helped me light the way.”

Soonyoung hums. Jihoon falls silent.

“I’m…sorry,” Soonyoung says after a while, hesitantly. Jihoon looks up, startled. “I’m sorry I’m not your Soonyoung.”

“It’s…” Jihoon trails off, fingers twisting together. It’s not okay, but — “Maybe I needed you more,” he tries. Soonyoung’s the one startled this time.

“What?”

Jihoon breathes in. The horror has receded, leaving behind the dull ache he’s grown used to now. He smiles a little at this Soonyoung.

“Maybe you were what I needed, to begin moving on.” He rolls his head around, hearing the light cracks, tension being let go of. “I think I needed to see him again, but tell someone else everything. Someone who didn’t know him.”

“Perhaps,” Soonyoung agrees. “Maybe you needed to see him to let him go.”

They fall silent again, but this time it feels comfortable. Jihoon feels his eyelids droop. It’s the first time he’s felt properly sleepy since that day.

“Go sleep,” Soonyoung says. Jihoon nods.

-

When he’s drifting in that liminal stage between sleep and wakefulness, Jihoon asks a question into the darkness.

“Are you real?” He croaks, groggy. The question feels too important to wait.

The darkness ripples, then stills.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Soonyoung’s voice is close, gentle. Jihoon misses him in a sudden surge, but it doesn’t overwhelm him. “Did it matter?”

Re: [FILL] bones and all

[wonwoo420]

"i’m asking you to eat. carry me in you, wonwoo. love me.” THIS IS SOOOOOOO SEUNGCHEOL........ "i want to make you happier than everyone else" wMHHHHDHD😬😬😬🥹🥹🥹😵😵😵😵

Re: [FILL] building (sand)castles

[wonwoo420]

EXCUSE MEEEEEEE "Hope shines clearly on his face, a beacon for Minghao to always make his way back to in the dark." they are sooooooooo....minghao being caught off guard at BIG and WARM dk's love is for him and dk doesn't even try to hide it or temper it......yeah that's SEOKHAO .......

[FILL] i’ll be brave

[kwontent]

Ship/Member: joshua/minghao
Major Tags: post-surgery grease, nonbinary minghao, hair stylist joshua
Additional Tags: cw for surgery talk and trans characters
Permission to remix: ask!

***


Minghao isn’t allowed to lift their arms above their head for a full week.

They make do, mostly because Mingyu was nice enough to come by before their surgery and help them take everything in the kitchen off the shelves and put it on the floor. Minghao doesn’t have much.

Still, stepping into their little kitchen and dodging bowls and plates is funny enough to balance out how annoying it is. They squat down, retrieving a tea strainer and a little mug.

Minghao’s legs are getting very strong. Their chest, recently, has become very flat.

The healing process isn’t that intense. They’re told to sleep sitting up, not to lift anything, and to avoid getting their scars wet. It hurts, of course, but Minghao knew it would. That’s pretty much all they were prepared for—how much it would hurt.

The pain is secondary right now, a dull ache. What’s more important is the feeling of flat, greasy hair prickling the nape of their neck. It feels disgusting, so tangled Minghao can’t even run their fingers through it.

They stand at their little sink and sip their tea, something bitter to help with inflammation and swelling. They think about calling their mom. She was adamant about coming out to help while they’re healing up, but Minghao refused. Tickets were expensive, and Minghao lives in a tiny studio. They’d be tripping over her and the bowls.

Minghao settles for the next best thing. Facetimes Joshua.

“How do you feel about making a house call?” they ask.

On their screen, Joshua’s face is very smooth. He looks a little lost but then he smiles. “What are you looking to get done?”

“I just need someone to wash it,” Minghao says quietly. “It’s getting gross.”

Joshua nods. “I can do that, sure.”

—

Joshua shows up armed with a plastic bowl and some nice-smelling hair stuff.

“It’s tea tree oil,” he says, holding out the bottle for Minghao to waft into their nose. “Clarifying.”

Minghao would like some clarity. Maybe that would help them out a little bit.

They help Joshua fill the tiny tub in their bathroom and think about how they’re supposed to be happy right now. Finally done with the hard part, the expensive and relentless push and push and push until they woke up, chest flat.

And, and they are happy, but happy is a secondary emotion compared to the insistent edge of how fucking gross they feel. They didn’t read that on the forums—the post-surgery layer of grime that will cover you until you can finally get in the shower more than a week later.

Joshua isn’t the type of guy to offer help, but he’s always happy to help when asked. Minghao likes people like that. Likes how Joshua will do anything with a smile. It’s different from what they’re used to—Joshua understands how they like to be left alone sometimes.

But Joshua comes when he’s called.

“Alright,” Joshua tests the temperature of the water in the tub one last time before nodding at Minghao. “Ready for you whenever.”

Minghao sits on the toilet to begin the lengthy process of getting out of their binder. It hurts, the way they have to contort their arms to get the thing off. Underneath, there’s some steri-tape and some goo and oh, they definitely smell a little. Minghao wrinkles their nose but Joshua doesn’t react. He averts his eyes, keeps them on the bathwater.

Minghao wants him to look. Wants someone to see it for what it is—gross, but something new, something better. Wants someone to see the evidence of wanting something so bad, the evidence of Minghao’s determination.

“You can look,” they say. “There’s nothing there anymore.”

Joshua’s eyes slide over to their face. He’s a little awkward about it, but his eyes rove over their chest anyway.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

“It’s sore,” Minghao replies truthfully. “When I move my arms. But I’m mostly bothered by the smell.”

“Mm. I can’t smell anything,” Joshua lies.

Minghao giggles. “Liar.”

“I’m trying to be polite.”

“I haven’t showered in a week, I know I smell,” Minghao says, their back cracking as they finally free their arms from the binder. “But this will help. Thanks, again.”

Joshua waves a hand, still looking a little awkward.

Minghao slides to the floor a little too fast and hisses when something pulls deep in their skin.

“Oh, hey, careful,” Joshua says, his hands hovering.

Minghao smiles and shuffles over to the tub on their knees. Joshua clears back to make space for them and gently helps them tilt their head forward.

Minghao takes a deep breath, one that fills their lungs all the way up, and then dips their face into the water.

It’s warm and clean. Minghao feels like crying.

“I’m going to start getting your hair wet,” Joshua says, one hand gentle on Minghao’s shoulder as he leans over to grab a bowl from the side of the tub.

His hand is strong.

Minghao sighs when they start to feel the water trickle onto their scalp, running behind their ears and down their bare back and over their shoulders and it’s like coming up for air.

Joshua methodically soaks their hair. It feels like too much to ask someone to do, all of a sudden. Like Minghao underestimated how it would feel to have Joshua do this. It feels like something you’d do for someone you love.

And it’s not that Minghao doesn’t love Joshua. They love all their friends. But this is way more intimate than anything they’ve ever done before. Joshua isn’t a fair-weather friend, but he’s definitely not the one Minghao would call in a crisis.

This isn’t a crisis though; this feels like a baptism.

Once their hair is thoroughly soaked, Joshua has to crowd against them to start to shampoo, his legs pressed against Minghao’s side.

“Ah, you’ll get wet,” Minghao says.

“It’s okay,” Joshua murmurs, his fingers pressing light to their scalp. Minghao sucks in another breath and Joshua pauses. “Does it hurt?” he asks again.

“Keep going,” Minghao says quickly.

Joshua’s fingers scrub, hard enough to scratch, and Minghao loves it. Feels clean for the first time in years, somehow. The shampoo smells fresh and herbaceous and a little minty, zinging against their scalp.

For a minute it’s quiet, just the gentle zz-zz-zz of Joshua’s fingers in their hair. He finds a knot at the base of Minghao’s neck and calmly combs through it with his fingers, stinging slightly.

Minghao breathes through it.

Then comes the water again, spilling over their head, so warm. It feels so good, Minghao gasps. Embarrassing. Joshua doesn’t make any noise, just keeps rinsing the shampoo from their hair.

“Can we turn you over?” he asks politely. “So I can get your hairline?”

“Um.” Minghao isn’t really sure how that will work. “I think you’d have to support my head, since my arms are useless.”

“That’s alright,” Joshua says. “Let’s get you flipped over.”

Minghao rotates slowly, until they’re sitting with their back to the low wall of the tub.

“We’re both going to get wet,” they argue uselessly.

“That’s okay,” Joshua says again. “I brought a change of clothes.”

One strong hand cups Minghao’s head, right where their neck curves. Joshua’s slippery fingers slide behind Minghao’s ear, making them fidget. They feel very held, something squirming in their stomach.

Minghao wishes they put on music before, to cover up the way their breathing has changed, gone all funny.

With his other hand, Joshua tips the water over Minghao’s hairline. It trails over Minghao’s face, catching on their eyelashes and pooling in the divot above their lip. Joshua puts the bowl down and swipes uselessly at their face.

“It’s much easier in the salon,” he sighs out, oblivious to the spiritual experience Minghao is having. The water soaks them both, hot and then cold. Joshua pours the water back over their scalp, running his fingers through the strands until all the suds are gone.

One more bowl. Minghao shivers again, sure that their face is red.

Joshua pets them again, his hand soft and tender.

“We can do the conditioner now,” he says quietly. “And maybe a detangle?”

Minghao is beyond words, so they just nod. Tries to relax back into Joshua’s grip as he moves them, repositioning them so he can comb the conditioner into their hair, hands strong and sure.

Minghao likes it. Maybe that’s it, actually. Maybe it’s that Minghao likes it, being taken care of like this. Likes that Joshua is the one to do it. Likes feeling clean in his arms.

They’ll ask him again, sometime, for the type of help he can provide.

is this love?

[harbourdreams]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: realization of feelings (but only when it's too late to act on them)
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

The rain against the window
Taps and flickers
Those eyes that appear
That face that appears
Is this love?

— final verse of Is This Love by Hahn Dae-soo, translated by me. Paired with:

When it rains, I miss you.

— predebut acrostic poem by Jeon Wonwoo (even though it's his quote, he doesn't necessarily have to be involved in the story)

is it really love if it doesn't hurt?

[ghostscissoring]

Ship/Member: jeonghan/any (maybe gyuhan?), or any/any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: exes to lovers
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

To be loved by Susan would be to be impaled by a bird's sharp beak, to be nailed to a barnyard door. Yet there are moments when I could wish to be speared by a beak, to be nailed to a barnyard door, positively, once and for all.

The Waves - Virginia Woolf

Re: [FILL] i’ll be brave

[wonwoo420]

this was sooooo spiritual for ME....thank you i hadnt rly considered the haoshua until now........

i beg for empathy, you give me nothing

[hoshism]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: exes, pining
Do Not Wants: mcd

Prompt:

Get a rise out of watching you fall
Get a kick out of missing your call
I hate me enough for the two of us
Hate that I can't let go of you enough, this why
I fuck him 'cause I miss you
I fuck him 'cause I really miss you

— F2F, SZA

i know it’s a little late

[kwontent]

Ship/Member: Any but…….. jeonghan………..
Major Tags: recovering from a serious illness/accident, survivor’s guilt
Additional Tags: N/A
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

am I supposed to be
grateful
to have survived this?

- brenna twohy

Re: [FILL] i’ll be brave

[soupblog]

oh this was so so so lovely... soft... gentle.... haoshua.... you hit so many of my weak points. critical hit. super effective. i am on the floor.

minghao being nervous and antsy and joshua being calm and steady and reassuring...its so good........

[ghostscissoring]

Ship/Member: jeongcheol, cheolhao, seokhao, or any/any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: seeing each other for the first time after years apart, magical realism or maybe one of them is a god/deity of some kind (if ya want!), hands as instruments of worship
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

Rippling gold, I say to him, "Come." And he comes; he crosses the room to where I sit...Our hands touch, our bodies burst into fire. The chair, the cup, the table - nothing remains unlit. All quivers, all kindles, all burns clear.

The Waves - Virginia Woolf

Re: [FILL] i’ll be brave

[(Anonymous)]

ohh this was beautiful!!!!!!

i still forget we’re not even friends

[kwontent]

Ship/Member: anyone but wouldn’t gyuboo be sooooo evil?
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: N/A
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

I still wake up
with thing to
tell you

- trista mateer

+

Prompt:

Everything I’ve ever
let go of has
claw marks on it

- david foster wallace (i know)

Sleeping Beauty

[thisisrose]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Seungkwan or Minghao pov if possible?
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

Oh they’re hopeless. A true disgrace for the forces of evil.

Sleeping Beauty original Disney film

(Check this gif out for visual ref? https://at.tumblr.com/ladygraciousrose/704742349915439104/8ftv5ygt5b3o )

Re: [FILL] i’ll be brave

[(Anonymous)]

hey, sorry if this will look weird, I have no idea how to use dreamwidth. I thought this fic was amazing. it felt like a spiritual experience. I loved the way you described everything, the gross with the holy, the deliberate with the accidental. I can't wait to experience it myself. thank you for sharing this, I'm in awe. - lemonimpact

who am I, if not exploited?

[lachrymosy]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: idolverse/canonverse
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

The truth, of course, is that if people really were as happy as they look on the Internet, they wouldn’t spend so much damn time on the Internet, because no one who’s having a really good day spends half of it taking pictures of themselves. Anyone can nurture a myth about their life if they have enough manure, so if the grass looks greener on the other side of the fence, that’s probably because it’s full of shit.

– Anxious People by Fredrik Backman

&

All I did was try my best
This the kind of thanks I get?
Unrelentlessly upset
They say these are the golden years
But I wish I could disappear
Ego crush is so severe
God, it's brutal out here

–"Brutal," Olivia Rodrigo