2026 Round: Quotes

[hwarium]

Status: Prompting Closed This round is now closed to further prompts but remain open for fills and remixes (forever!). Seventeen Holidays 2026 Round: Quotes About "Enter any body of water and you give yourself up to be swallowed. Even the stones know that." "beauty is terror" "Would you fall in love with me again, if you knew all I've done? The things I can't undo. " Calling all lovers of poetry and prose, rhyme and reason, screen and stage. Welcome to the Quotes Round, where every prompt must cradle a quotation (or two, or three). Mix the media and let the synergy birth a new order, or keep it short and let the subtext speak its secrets to the right writer. 🛑 HOLD UP If this is your first time on 17hols please check out our About Page which has helpful information about 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 TWITTER BAITS ✧ 2026 ROUND: QUOTES ✧ 2026 FILLS MASTERLIST NOTION DATABASE (ALL FILLS) ARCHIVE: 2021 ARCHIVE: 2022 ARCHIVE: 2023 ARCHIVE: 2024 ARCHIVE: 2025

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there's a path but my heart does not follow

[hwarium]

Ship/Member: Any / emotional avoidance line (Jun, Wonwoo, Jeonghan)
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: breaking up at the airport (bonus challenge: they don't talk about breaking up
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

乌云无语晕开
当时没说的爱
你是离开我是未来

The love left unspoken was scattered
By the storm clouds without a word
And you stepped away from my future

- 寂寞号登机口 / Silent Boarding Gate - Jun

我活该 / I reap what I sow

[klav]

Ship/Member: Joshua/Junhui
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: NSFW!!!, breaking it off at arrivals rather than departures, strangers to Something Else, weird junshua sex
Permission to remix: Yes

title from the Silent Boarding Gate Genius translation

***

Joshua Hong is one and a half margaritas deep when a man sits next to him at the airport bar.

“That looks good,” says the guy, shedding his denim jacket. “What is it?”

Joshua does a double-take. The man is tall and fine, his lips full, his hair disheveled and slightly too long across his forehead. A three-pronged cat keychain jingles at his hip when he leans over to flag down the bartender. The bartop rolls out like black linen behind him, empty and cool.

“This?” Joshua points to what is arguably the most popular mixed drink in the world. “It’s a margarita.”

“Ah.”

The hot guy orders a double shot of tequila and throws it back in seconds. Just straight down the gullet like a pelican. Disturbing. Compelling. The bartender rolls her eyes and disappears through a narrow door to the kitchen, leaving them alone in the sparse seating area.

Joshua watches Hot Guy pour out the entirety of his wallet. Twenty thousand won, a pack of spicy peanuts, three sticks of peppermint gum, a deck of cards, a glittery baseball keychain, five boba shop punch cards—no, six—and a miniature massage ball. His ID says Moon Junhui.

“Tough night?” Joshua sips his drink.

“Actually, I got in from Shenzhen this morning,” Junhui says. “My layover has been—” and he pauses to check his empty wrist, “—thirteen hours, with three left to go. So I’m killing time!” He looks at Joshua, his eyes dark and quick over his face. “Do you want to play cards?”

Pretty. Goofy. Utterly unselfconscious. Let it be known that Joshua Hong does not look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Yeah,” Joshua says, studying his cuticles to seem disinterested. “Sure.”

§

“Do you know Egyptian Ratscrew?” Junhui asks, shuffling the cards.

Joshua watches his fingers. Long, clumsy, overexcited. “No,” he lies. “You’ll have to teach me.”

First Junhui rattles off a story about learning magic tricks to impress his coworkers. From anyone else this anecdote would be unforgivably lame. Under no circumstances would Joshua admit something earnest to a stranger. From Junhui, who is so attractive it might as well be a felony, it’s endearing.

Joshua leans his chin on his hand. Passing stragglers, dragging luggage like a ball and chain behind them, have tapered off. They’re alone as far as the eye can see. Night has shuttered the long wall of windows.

“When you see a pair, or a sandwich, you slap the deck as quickly as you can,” Junhui explains. “Whoever slaps first gets the pile. Let’s do a practice round! You can go first.”

Obediently Joshua puts a card face-up on the pile. Four of hearts. They trade back and forth until a pair of fives appear. Joshua slaps the pile, but he’s a breath too slow. His palm slams on top of Junhui’s, their fingers overlapping. The warmth of touch is sudden and exhilarating, the slick flick of a lit candle in the dark.

Slowly Joshua pulls away. When he looks up Junhui is already watching him.

“Yeah,” Junhui says. “Like that.”

§

When Junhui laughs his shoulders shake. “Hyung. You’re awful at this.”

“I didn’t say you could call me hyung.”

“But I can, right?”

Joshua shuffles the cards instead of answering. The tops of his hands sting where Junhui slapped them raw. What he’s learned about Junhui so far is a series of contradictions: he’s soft-spoken but shameless, easily distracted but patient, beautiful but awkward about his own body. He asks thoughtful questions when Joshua mentions that he’s a professional translator. He’s a good teacher, if overly enthusiastic. Easy to talk to.

A stale breeze kicks off from an unseen air conditioner, stirring the checks they’d signed half an hour ago when the bar closed. Joshua catches a whiff of Junhui’s cologne. Cool, earthy. Teakwood. Maybe plum? Subtly he shifts closer. Their elbows brush.

“We can switch,” Junhui says, looking down at Joshua through his lashes, “if you want to play something else. Do you know two-person solitaire?”

“No.”

“Poker?”

“No, sorry.”

Junhui smiles. His facial symmetry is unreal. Joshua thinks about touching the sharp feline edge of his eyebrow. He thinks about putting his mouth on the divots of Junhui’s collarbone, the smooth pillar of his throat where a delicate silver chain glitters like rain.

“Ah, what can we do,” Junhui muses, pressing their knees together under the bartop. “We’re all out of ideas.” He laughs a little, breathy and nervous. “Unless you can think of something else to pass the time.”

Clarity comes delayed to Joshua. He thinks back on Junhui’s approach, so carefully casual. The dark assessment of his eyes. His cheeky, shy attitude. It’s no longer clear who is leading this dance. Joshua is two margaritas deep and he wants to be kissed.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Joshua says, “and see what we find.”

§

Joshua Hong is two knuckles deep in the Terminal 1 unisex bathroom when Junhui stutters out a laugh, his mouth hot as a brand on Joshua’s neck. “I’ve never,” he says, “um, done this before.”

“Oh my god.” Joshua shifts his leg where it’s propped quite enticingly on the rail. “Don’t tell me you’re, like, a virgin.”

“No! Just—” Junhui huffs. “The angle. Is it good?”

He’s kneeling on the tile in front of Joshua looking overwhelmed. Five minutes ago he’d slipped his tongue into Joshua’s mouth mid-kiss like a god damn professional, blindly locking the door behind them. He tasted like sharp silver tequila and salt. He kept lube in his carry on. Now his finger twitches inside Joshua, hesitant, his eyes wide and lost. He’s so pretty it’s kind of sickening. Joshua would get on his knees for that face.

“I dunno.” Joshua runs a hand through Junhui’s silky dark hair, bunching it up in one fist. He rolls his hips experimentally. “Could be better. You could be inside me.”

Junhui makes a low choked noise. The next kiss is desperate, a hot suckling thing that sends heat fizzing down Joshua’s spine. Shuddering, Junhui slides his finger home. It's not good yet, but it's intense. Joshua knew it would be the second he laid eyes on Junhui’s nimble hands. Junhui’s wrist twists, and he starts moving in earnest.

Fuck. Joshua cannot believe he’s having sex with a stranger in a public bathroom again. His therapist is going to have a field day with this. Jeonghan is going to have a field day with this.

“I don’t have condoms,” Junhui mumbles against his mouth.

“Neither do I. It’s fine.”

Junhui pulls back, dazed. “I can’t—” He slips his free hand over Joshua’s hip, catching in the waist of his scrunched-up jeans. “Sorry. I’m an athlete. I can’t… without protection. Sorry.”

“Oh,” Joshua says, sifting through the cold swell of disappointment in his chest. He's already, like, really naked. “Um. Okay.”

For a second they look at each other, breathing hard. Joshua has enough time for a spiky tendril of doubt to creep around his chest before Junhui kisses him again, still hot but slower, slicker. The air is thick and humid between them.

“You're so,” Junhui mumbles, adjusting. He leans forward until he’s sort of straddling Joshua on the toilet bowl. Heat from his body radiates, sun-like. “What about...?”

With a sharp shimmy he lines them up together. “Yes,” Joshua blurts out at the first press of warm, sweat-damp skin. Junhui’s hand is big enough to wrap around them both. "Like that."

It isn’t what he initially wanted, but it’s good now, dank and wretched, and Joshua trembles through the first few steady pumps. Junhui smells like sweat and muffled cologne and tacky lube. His mouth is a force of nature but his hands are sweet and steady between them.

“Yeah,” Joshua moans, pitchy the way men like, rewarding Junhui with a proper show, “uh-huh…”

§

Afterward, Joshua turns the tap as hot as it will go and soaps his hands clean. He thinks about texting Jeonghan, you will never believe where I just had funky sex. Junhui hums something, tuneless and happy, as he washes his own hands and spends an inordinate amount of time fixing his fringe. Joshua watches him through the mirror. This is a lot less austere than he expected, actually. He’s done things like this before. The guy is usually halfway out the door before his dick dries.

Junhui, though. He meets Joshua’s eyes in the mirror and smirks. An uncomfortable sense of deja vu sets in.

“Where are you flying, anyway?” Joshua asks, leaning back against the sink.

“Los Angeles! What about you?”

Joshua’s heart drops. “Me too. Los Angeles.”

“Whoa.” Junhui crumples his paper towel and lobs it basketball-style into the trash can. “What are the odds.”

Pretty high, Joshua thinks, since it’s the only departure left tonight. He imagines sitting near Junhui on the plane. Sharing an armrest. Peeking at each others’ screens, judging the rolodex of movies on display. His stomach twists unpleasantly.

Joshua doesn’t typically like to see hookups again afterward. He’s a one-and-done type of guy. Junhui has seen him in a weird, vulnerable, and frankly unhygienic state. What if he starts asking personal questions? What if he wants to follow Joshua on Instagram? He’ll see Joshua’s couch. His cat. That’s private.

Junhui is too pretty to have to confront Joshua’s train wreck of a real life, anyway. He can make this easy for them both.

“Should we walk over to the gate?” Oblivious, Junhui gathers up his backpack.

Joshua fiddles with his phone, pretending to double-check the boarding pass. “I think I’ll stop by the vending machine first. You go ahead.”

“I can wait for you,” Junhui offers.

“No, that’s okay.”

“It’s no big deal.”

Joshua shakes his head. “Junhui,” he says. “I’m gonna go. Have a safe flight.”

Junhui’s face goes blank. Expressionless. “I didn’t even get your name,” he mumbles, but Joshua is out the door before the hit can land.

§

Tom Bradley International Terminal at LAX opens to baggage claim like a circus. Joshua fights through the thick crowd, nearly tripping over a child’s backpack-scooter and narrowly dodging an unattended bag of ripe durian. He cranes his neck, eyes gritty from hours of recycled plane air, looking for the manager who claimed he would meet Joshua inside. The team is already settled, the email had said, so we’ll take you directly to the stadium.

Finally Joshua sees a sign that reads HONG. He executes a three-point turn around a pack of tourists speaking rapid French. The manager is a stout man with a friendly face, chatting with—

Chatting with Junhui, who hovers at his shoulder, showing him something on his phone. A neck pillow dangles around the curve of his throat, where a small purple hickey peekaboos out. Joshua’s breath catches.

I’m an athlete, Junhui said. Joshua is set to translate for a KBO League team in Los Angeles for the next three weeks. He didn’t think—it couldn’t be—

Junhui looks up and his smile fades. It takes every ounce of professionalism in Joshua to keep a straight face. “For Hong Jisoo?” he asks the manager, bowing slightly.

The manager beams and bows back. “Yes! Yes, let’s get going.” He takes Joshua’s roller bag in one capable hand. “Hong Jisoo-ssi, this is Moon Junhui-ssi, our starting centerfielder. He can introduce you to the rest of the team later.”

Joshua braces himself. He looks at Junhui.

“Hello,” Junhui says neutrally. There’s no recognition in his face. “Hong Jisoo-ssi.”

Joshua reflexively goes to return the greeting, but Junhui wheels around to follow the manager. Joshua’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. He’s left standing silently in the shadow of a pillar, watching Junhui’s broad, even shoulders as he walks away. A sense-memory flashes through his body—the hot lurch of Junhui’s abdomen against his. The look on his face when Joshua asked him to spit in his mouth. The smooth hypnotic glide of his lips.

Joshua Hong is two minutes into this work trip and he is already so, so fucked.

love language: violence

[hwarium]

Ship/Member: Any, but jihan would go crazy though
Major Tags:poem contains gendered violence
Additional Tags: Mutual self destruction, lovers to enemies (who are still lovers), only falling in love with people who hurt you, learning to unlearn your hurts, I would fall to my knees if this was toxic yuri
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

A woman like me
with soft hands, not hands of the field, but
hands meant to stroke and soothe, needs a weapon,
so I studied The Art of War and watched boxing, and
where else was all this rage to go? Is this too dramatic?
Find another story. Find a lie. In love, body after body
fell beneath my own, though my own was broken,
and I made love like a sea creature, fluid as if boneless
though my bones would rattle if not for the fat I cherish.
Wouldn't you? And I grew to love the heavyweights,
myself with one in the ring. Imagine him punching
me, and punching me again, saying I'm sorry, so sorry,
to have to love you this way.

- Taking it Vievee Francis

the only way out is through

[klav]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: love(?) despite doom, no-win scenarios, consider horror/dystopia/sci-fi
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

I wish to lock eyes across a dance floor from you while something our mothers sang in the kitchen plays over the speakers. I want us to find each other among the forest of writhing and make a deal. Okay, lover. It is just us now. The only way out is through.
―Hanif Abdurraqib, A Little Devil in America: In Praise of Black Performance


TV Tropes’ definition of a Despair Event Horizon:
The line that, once crossed, destroys any last remaining sense of hope. It could be for a cause, a person, a situation, or simple survival. A character has given up on it, and there is no going back.

omens in the skies

[lachrymosy]

Ship/Member: Minghao, Vernon, Network Love Line
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Andor/Star Wars AU, implies canon-typical violence, one allusion to a real-world event
Permission to remix: Yes

***

In the morning Minghao wakes to a rain-covered sky, the fifth since he arrived. He tries not to think of omens, his mother weaving blessed thread into his clothes before she passed on, his father trying to see the future before he was arrested with the rest of the elders. It doesn't matter, really. The days plod forward, omens or none.

The hut keeps out the rain but not the damp. All around him are fields and strange animals he's never seen on any planet before. The animals trouble him more than the sky. They aren't quite corporeal, sliding around the edges of his vision. He wonders if they trouble the Imperial troops that march through the town square at dawn and dusk, or if it is beneath the Empire to survey the local fauna. He supposes the latter; the Empire has little use for something so fundamental as pastoral life in the business of conquest.

The curtain hung as a door over the entrance to the hut moves and Hansol enters, his head wrapped in a scarf like the locals. "I saw the ship," he says.

"Me too."

"Two days."

Hansol hands him a piece of folded up cloth before he begins rummaging in his bag for their meager breakfast. For a moment, Minghao is more interested in breakfast than the cloth, his stomach clenching in a terribly human way. He never expected it would be like this, starving on a planet he'd never heard of, sharing a hut with a stranger, watching for omens in the sky.

He unfolds the cloth. On it is drawn a map of the local Imperial base and surrounding town. He studies the thin scrawl of ink.

"We need to burn that," Hansol says.

"I know." Minghao studies it a little while longer. The Imperial architects are geniuses. The symmetry of the compound's design mocks Minghao the longer he stares at it, an omen written in ink.



He takes orders from a man he's never spoken to. He visits planets he's never heard of. He meets others like transient ghosts on a road to unknown lands.

Another man joins them in the evening. He has delicate features, a gentle voice. Shua, he calls himself, and Minghao wonders if that's his real name. The only signal of his true purpose is the long-range blaster he unpacks after sunset, frowning at each piece of it with a steadiness that speaks to some kind of training, though Minghao doesn't ask what.

He steps outside. On this undeveloped planet, the only artificial light comes from the Imperial compound in the distance, barely a pinprick in his sight, like a small star. The stars overhead gleam much brighter, much older, witnesses to a life Minghao has never known.

A sound draws his attention. He looks behind him to see Hansol exit the hut, his placid face familiar now after the past week. In another life, they might have been friends.

They stand in silence for a long time. Those strange animals float like iridescent leaves rustling across the grasses. Minghao thinks of his mother, teaching him to play his grandfather's harp. He thinks of his father, and wonders if he is still alive.

Hansol startles him when he speaks. "When I was in prison," he says without preamble, "I used to look up at the stars every night and try to spot the constellations I remembered. I was on this planet not very far from the one I'd grown up on, so I could, but, well. After a while, I forgot to look up."

Minghao doesn't say anything. This is more than they're supposed to reveal to each other, all personal information considered unbelievably dangerous. The only secret is one not told. But he listens, hoping against his better judgment to hear more.

"I guess that's what they want," Hansol says. "For us to forget. Forget what we were, who we come from. Our own stories."

Minghao clears his throat before he answers. "I guess so."

When his father was arrested and taken away, Minghao's neighbors avoided his eyes. Got on with their lives. Knelt before the Emperor's statue and treated it like one of their own gods. He could not bear it.

"One time I was in the Outer Rim," Minghao says. "And I saw this Imperial ship patrolling out there, I guess the planet had something they wanted. And there was this little ship, obviously a cargo ship, flying toward a planet where I was headed. The Imperial ship blasted it to nothing and just flew away."

He lets out a shaky sigh, looking over at Hansol. In the dim light, the furrow in Hansol's brow is the only outward sign of his reaction. Of the heavy weight hanging over them like the mists clinging to the fields.

"I've thought of that ship often," Minghao says. "I wonder who was on it. Nobody knows how they died. Nobody but me ever saw it."

In the sprawl of the universe his insignificance chafes him raw. What justice could anyone provide to the unknown travelers who died in silence on that small cargo ship? The universe swallows them up. The Empire expands like a cloud covering the moons.

Hansol doesn't say anything. Overhead the stars gleam with a terrible brightness. Perhaps this is the omen, instead.

Hansol looks over at him, starlight reflected in his eyes.

"We have to remember," he says firmly. "This is why we're here. This is why we must be here."

His confidence betrays his fear. Minghao knows it too.



In the early morning Minghao and Hansol and Shua take a transport toward the town square. They meet a man there who calls himself Jun. He tells them where to find his ship when it's done, then disappears into the crowd.

Minghao looks up. Rain clouds.

He finds the roof he and Hansol scoped out a week prior, and the weapon he'd concealed within the wall.

Between the three of them, one of them will succeed. They must.

Between the three of them, one of them will reach Jun's ship. They must.

Between the three of them, one of them will live to remember what happened here.

In the distance the Imperial procession winds through the streets like a dark cloud passing over the sky. Minghao begins to count.

stay

[klav]

Ship/Member: Any, Minghao/Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: consider a separation—could be geographic, temporal, permanent, temporary, unwilling, or life-saving, but a separation all the same.
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

It's as if when you're in the forest, you become a seamless part of it. When you're in the rain, you're a part of the rain. When you're in the morning, you're a seamless part of the morning. When you're with me, you become part of me.
―Kafka on the Shore, Haruki Murakami


What takes place in me stays there.
―Frank Bidart


Mitsuha: There's no way we could meet. But one thing is certain. If we see each other, we'll know. That you were the one who was inside me. That I was the one who was inside you.
―Your Name (2016)

FILL: heart in my chest on wings [1/4]

[hwarium]

Ship/Member: Wonwoo->Jun, past Jun/Minghao

Major Tags: N/A

Additional Tags: Murakami/Kafka on the Shore AU, magical realism, unrequited love with an asterisk, 8k

Permission to remix: Yes!!

_{Title from Sappho fragment 31, as translated by Anne Carson.}

***

"Are you here for the class? We're about to start."

Wonwoo almost raised an eyebrow. He had arrived at this forest lodge dressed in business slacks and a short-sleeved collared shirt. He even had a pen clipped into his breast pocket and should've looked more like a tax collector than a stressed housewife at a meditation retreat. Or a Mormon.

The man before him was the complete opposite, layered in loose flowing green robes that floated as he turned. He could've been a fairy with his get-up and his pointed ears, or a contemporary dancer pretending to be a fairy.

"I'm not here for the class. But I am looking for a—" Wonwoo coughed, he wanted to get this right, "Xu Minghao."

"That's me," Minghao tilted his head and Wonwoo noticed that he was wearing earrings too, "Who's asking?"

"Jeon Wonwoo, I'm here for a matter on behalf of Wen Junhui." Wonwoo pushed up his glasses. He could see Minghao had relaxed at Junhui's name, "It's a rather strange request, but certainly word for word as he stated it. He said it'll make sense to you."

"Hm."

"Junhui wants his heart back."

"Is that so," Minghao barely flinches, peering at Wonwoo through his fringe, "And so he sends you, instead of coming himself."

"He's—" Busy, Wonwoo wanted to say. He tries again, "Stuck in a filming schedule at the moment. It's a 6-week block on location in Andon. But there's some urgency, he would like it back sooner rather than later." And Wonwoo doesn't like the idea of some man having Jun's heart.

"Well, we can certainly discuss the matter. But you must excuse me for a while, I've got a class to teach." Minghao swept his long fingers towards the corridor behind him, sleeves flashing green and brown, "There's a sitting room where you can wait, but you're also welcome to explore the lodge and the grounds, it's quite beautiful in the summer, and surprisingly cool."

"I see," Wonwoo can feel a prickle of sweat on his neck, just on the cusp of falling down his spine.

Minghao smiled, "Just don't go too far into the forest, I wouldn't want you losing yourself."

---

Minghao's class finished just over an hour later, heralded by the rising clatter as doors slid open and students pattered across the lodge. It was mostly women's voices, enthusiastic and bright with attention. Wonwoo could make out Minghao's timbre, a soft, gentle brook that ran through the noise like an undercurrent. It was a voice suited to meditation, Wonwoo could imagine falling asleep to it.

As the din faded and the cars rumbled away one by one, Minghao was still nowhere to be seen. Curious, and a little inpatient, Wonwoo peered outside the sitting room and looked around the courtyard. There was an open door towards the back, and Wonwoo paced towards it.

Inside, Minghao was by a sink washing stacking porcelain cups, running over each one with a cloth and a flick of the wrist so practised, it looked like a performance itself. His voluminous robes were neatly placed on a chair, and Minghao was left in a sleeveless black tank that flashed a sliver of skin every time he stretched an arm. Of course Junhui would like someone like this, artistic and elegant and beautiful in the summer light.

Wonwoo softly placed one foot inside, and immediately hit his head on a wind chime.

Minghao looked over his shoulder, "Sorry for the wait, I won't be much longer."

Feeling somehow chastised, Wonwoo bowed his head quickly, "I can help, what should I do?"

"If you can wipe down the tables, there's a towel over there." Minghao pointed with his foot at the table closest to him. It was a dancer's foot, curved and turned out at the ankle. Dainty.

The towel was warmer than expected, as if recently dipped in tea and not just tap water. It gave Wonwoo an obligation of ritual, to follow the grains of wood across its breadth, to clean each table slowly, methodically like a man of culture. Just stepping close to Minghao made Wonwoo defensive in a way he could not trace, like a child meeting their best friend's other friend.

"What do you teach?" Wonwoo asked, because he's an adult who knows how to make small talk.

"Today was tea ceremony, but I also teach meditation and calligraphy," Minghao squeezed the cloth dry and Wonwoo watched the ripple in his bicep, "I'll brew a fresh round for you later. Have you tried Chinese tea before?"

Of course, was the quick answer. "I don't think so," was the considered truth, "Is it any different?"

Minghao let out a breathy laugh, "You'll see."

---

"That's... a very small cup." It barely took two fingers to raise it to his mouth, but Wonwoo followed Minghao's motions and lifted the cup with both hands, one hand supporting the base, two fingers just under the rim. He even sat a little straighter.

"You'll savour it more when you have less," Minghao replied, "Now try it."

The porcelain lip pressed against his own, streaming the tea across as delivering to his mouth like a servant. A floral air wafted into his nose first, warming his chest with its scent. Wonwoo drank.

"Well?" Minghao asked.

"It's... incredibly fragrant but clear." Wonwoo tilted his head, "If something can be sweet without being sweet."

"We have a word for it, the sweetness in spring water," Minghao poured him another cup, "甘, the clarity of nature as a taste."

The information would have usually moved him, led him to repeating the sound in his own mouth. But coming out of Minghao's mouth it turned into a reminder of another commonality with Jun, exclusive of Wonwoo.

"Something like that," Wonwoo lifted the second cup to his mouth, a shield before an attack, "Are you dating Jun?"

"Did Jun send you because you're in love with him?" Minghao countered.

Wonwoo choked on his tea, one hand shooting upwards to cover his spluttering, "Excuse me?"

"He doesn't know. Oh how fortuitous," Minghao smiled into his tea, "I'm not dating Jun by the way."

"But you have his heart."

Minghao shook his head, "One does not simply, have someone's heart. It goes where it wills, and I can't keep with it with me if it wants to stray."

"You've lost it," Wonwoo accuses, as if they were talking about a handphone or a house key, "Jun gave you his heart and you lost it."

There's a look on Minghao's face that's halfway between a pout and a frown. It makes him look younger, petulant, like he knows he's right but doesn't know how to explain it.

Wonwoo waits four beats until he was sure the ball was in his court again, that Minghao wasn't going to volley, "What did Jun mean, when he said that he wanted his heart back?"

Minghao let out a deep sigh, resting his temple on the juncture of his wrist, "Do you know why he wants it back?"

"He didn't say, but—" Wonwoo broke off, testing the words in his head before saying it out loud, "He's been, off recently. Listless and frustrated. Like he wants something but can't quite reach it, but it's close enough he knows what it looks like. I think it's related to his acting." Wonwoo glanced at Minghao, "You didn't answer my question, what's the history between you? Is there something unresolved that Jun can't move on from?"

Minghao ignores him. "Interesting. Acting was the reason he gave it up in the first place."

"Gave what up?"

"His heart, of course." Minghao raised an eyebrow, "Aren't we talking about Jun's heart?"

"Metaphorically."

Minghao's brown hair shimmered when he shook his head, "No. I mean, literally. This might be hard to understand when you don't realise this is something that is possible to do. He literally took out the part of him that was capable of loving others and left it in this forest. He split himself in two." Minghao spoke with his hands and they were wild while his body remained still, curving in the air like falling birds.

"His heart is in the forest," Wonwoo's mouth is dry, "Right." He's still not sure what Minghao means.

"It's where things can be free, when they are free to hide," Minghao states, matter-of-fact, "Sometimes you have to lose a part of yourself to keep living."

"So people can just cut out a part of themselves and leave it in the forest?"

"Exactly," Minghao twisted one hand open, like an offer, "Warts, secrets, ears and egos. A man left his shadow once, another set away memories of his father. It's not my position to stop them, if it makes living easier."

Wonwoo thinned his lips. Although what Minghao said sounded strange, it wasn't something he could find himself disagreeing with, or opposing. As a teenager, he had desperately wanted to be braver, like Soonyoung who could confess his heart one afternoon and skip away unharmed, unburnt by shame or disappointment. He had wondered what was the part of him that created that weight, that treacle-like anchor locking him to a reef of doubt. He had wondered if it was something that can be sliced away with a scalpel, if he would be any different for it, any less himself, if he was a little less that.

"Have you done it?" Wonwoo asked, "Gave yourself to the forest?"

Minghao pushed one side of his mouth into a cheek, thinking. Outside, the wind brushed through the trees, as if shushing the world into quiet, readying to receive his answer. When Minghao spoke again, it was as measured as his tea, as paced as a performance of ceremony.

"While I understand why Junhui did it, it's not my philosophy," Minghao took the teapot, peering at the remaining leaves with a swirl. "I want to live with myself as a whole, flaws and all. When I'm in the forest, I want to walk in as a whole person, my full weight sinking into the earth. When I'm in the rain, I want every part of me to experience the rain. When I wake, I want all of my body to face the morning, even if waking is difficult."

"Waking is indeed difficult," Wonwoo agrees, "The body is heavy."

"The soul too. I do not blame people who wish to make their lives lighter."

"Were you ever tempted to? Because you lived in the forest?"

"Precisely because I live in the forest," Minghao shoots a smile at Wonwoo, "A body with half a soul is like a house with an open door, anything can step in and take possession. Vengeful spirits, lost ghosts, they're attracted to empty spaces. The forest do not lack for those."

Wonwoo glanced outside, hearing the trees again in a sound that could've been a whisper. He pushed his glasses up. "Why did Jun give up his heart, back then?"

"He was starting to audition, and found it hard to act, while you're in love," Minghao sat back, face turned towards the window. Wonwoo saw a flash of the forest, green in his eyes and light in his hair. A flash of the past too, as if he was reminiscing as he spoke. "I can understand it somewhat. Your heart is so full, you don't have room for anything else. He wanted to be empty, so that he could feel the thirst again, so that the characters can live inside him and fill him up. The classics say that any one who falls in love are searching for the missing pieces of themselves. That's how Junhui decided to live, never satisfied, always chasing."

"Is that your experience? Of love?"

"Is it not yours?" Minghao glances back, "Don't you see in Jun something you can only wish to have?"

"I never said I liked him," Wonwoo holds his tone and his knee, "You assumed."

"I see how you look at me," Minghao took a sip, "Like I've stolen your treasure, as if I'm your competition. Am I wrong?"

This time, Wonwoo holds his tongue.

Minghao puts the cup down and blows out the flame underneath the teapot. The scent is sharp, grassy and ancient, like a box buried in the earth.

"If Junhui wants his heart back, you will have to find it for him," Minghao said, "And you just can't take it, it has to come with you. Otherwise it'll just escape once you let go."

Wonwoo closed his eyes, "I don't even know what I'm looking for. A ghost? A kite?"

"You're looking for a cat," Minghao stretches his fingers out into a vague sphere, "A fat cat, the fattest cat you've ever seen. It's grey and pompous. If you imagine Queen Victoria as a cat, that would be Junhui's heart."

"Okay," Wonwoo craned his neck at the trees outside the window, layering into infinity, wondering how to start looking for a cat in a forest. He thinks of Queen Victoria in her layers of grey frills, tries to morph her into a cat.

"Stay the night," Minghao clapped his hands and started packing away his tea set onto a lacquered tray, "Start tomorrow. Love wasn't found in a day."

---

Wonwoo dreamt of Jun, sitting at the window of his bedroom, face turned away at the sky. He's young, younger than Wonwoo ever knew him, face fresh and open. Wonwoo wonders if this was the Jun that Minghao knew, whenever Jun gave his heart away.

This Jun looked at his hands, they were translucent and thin, as if he had already been hollowed out. "If I make myself lighter, can I jump higher?"

"Don't jump," said Wonwoo.

"But I want to reach the moon."

But I can't reach the moon.

"Can't you stay?"

Jun stood up on the ledge and the wind seemed to pick up him with its breeze, "Where can I stay, Wonwoo?"

if i could be under your skin

[deadwine]

Ship/Member: Any but consider booseok
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: the gay hockey boys, anyone?
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

But the time gon' stop
When you and I make our lips lock baby (oh-oh-oh, trust me)
And once again you made me
Misplace my pride, baby (oh-oh-oh, so trust me, oh-oh)
Promised myself never again
But you got me doing the same thing all over again

-RM ft. Paul Blanco & Mahalia, Closer

[FILL] dead horse still kicking

[infrequencies]

Ship/Member: past Seungkwan/Joshua; Joshua/DK
Additional Tags: getting propositioned to cheat...again; average messy queer friend group shenanigans; yoon jeonghan is there
Permission to remix: Yes

if you've seen this somewhere before no you haven't shhh

***

“Hi.”

Seungkwan’s head snaps up from the dating app he’d unpaused on impulse and pastes on his fakest smile. Tilts his head a touch too far, aiming for less placid and more like a haunted doll.

The intruder grins back at him. Not like shark observing its prey, but nervous. Intimidated.

Good.

“Lee Seokmin-ssi,” Seungkwan says, softening the vowels to keep the grit out of his voice. Not without effort. Not without pinching the skin of his thigh through the worn fabric of his jean pocket. “I was wondering when I’d get to meet you.”

The scene is utterly cliché to the point it makes his teeth ache, some sort of set up to the ever saccharine rom-com moment where Seungkwan, our tragic hero, agrees to some shitty antics that win him the girl—or in this case, man—back from his utterly perfect new boyfriend.

The problem is that Seokmin is the kind of handsome that startles you, steals breath from your lungs.

If he were in Joshua’s shoes? There's no way in hell.

“I was wondering the same thing,” Seokmin says, shaking his head before taking the spot against the exposed brick. They're almost touching. Friendly contact, an amicable distance. Seungkwan itches for a cigarette.

“Joshua has told me a lot about you.”

Great.

If it were wholly up to him, Seungkwan would've skipped this outing altogether, but Jeonghan had turned the invitation on its head, sending a text that if you're going to cancel, can you at least make yourself scarce when Wonwoo gets home? which was enough to put fire under his ass. University was more than enough experience in the overhearing sexual escapades department, and that Jeonghan’s current conquest happens to be Joshua’s reclusive roommate-nee-Seungkwan’s first rebound post-breakup is disgustingly incestuous.

Naturally, Jeonghan does not see it that way, nor does he care that they have, in fact, fucked the same person.

“Technically,” Jeonghan said, via voice message. After he'd asked about Seungkwan’s mother. Whore. “He fucked you. I’m fucking him.”

Joshua’s current boyfriend, who resembles a nervous dog in many ways—baffling, for someone so painfully attractive to hold himself with so much uncertainty—is eyeing him expectantly, like he's waiting for Seungkwan to say that he's heard a lot about Seokmin through less-than suspicious means as well.

“Um, happy birthday, Seokmin-nim!” Seungkwan says instead, giving him a weak wave. It's so pathetic, but he leans into it. “It is your birthday, right? Jeonghan said.”

Seokmin relaxes a little, leaned against the wall as he fumbles in his pockets. The air is bitingly cold. “Thank you! Yeah, 28, can you believe it?”

“Congratulations on another year,” Seungkwan says, placid, knowing he sounds like he doesn't think that's great at all. “Don't waste your youth.”

Seokmin studies his face like he's waiting for something else to happen, though Seungkwan cannot fathom what in the fuck he's looking for. Everything that he knows about the man comes from stealing Jeonghan’s phone the moment he falls asleep and scrolling through their messages.

What he's learned is that he humors Jeonghan far too much to not have something horribly wrong with him. Seungkwan would know, from experience.

Though it is laughable, hilarious, really, that everyone Joshua dates is in their circle. The queer community here is small but it isn't this small, though based on how their friend group operates, you’d think they were swingers.

“How did you and Joshua meet?” Seokmin asks, and Seungkwan lets out a breath. He fumbles with the vape pen in his pocket, bringing it to his lips before taking a deep inhale.

Seokmin doesn't blink at the sight, which is some small reprieve. If Joshua were here, he'd scold.

“We were seatmates in university,” he says, blowing smoke through his teeth, “He was an exchange student, and we hit it off immediately.” He takes another hit, huffing the smoke through his nostrils. The air smells like strawberries.

Seokmin doesn't offer another question, so Seungkwan takes the opening. “What about you two?”

He knows the answer to this question. It's not a secret that Jeonghan had introduced Joshua to every single one of his rebounds and had introduced Seungkwan to none—“Best friend privilege, I'm sure you understand”—but Seokmin counters, “So he told you nothing when you two spoke earlier?”

“Why would he?” Seungkwan laughs, dry. “He broke up with me so I'm not privy to anything in his life.” Isn't that obvious? How many people stay friends with their exes when the hurt is still fresh? But Seokmin shakes his head no.

“He misses you,” Seokmin says, plain. Plaintive. It's so honest coming from his mouth that Seungkwan almost believes it. He turns to look at Seokmin head-on and it’s a horrible idea. No one should be this attractive. “And he wanted to propose something to you, if you're game.”

“Propose something.”

Seokmin bites his lip. He at least has the wherewithal to seem embarrassed about asking a favor from his boyfriend's ex, but all of Seungkwan's goodwill tanks immediately.

“You can’t be serious.”

To his credit, Seokmin does look apologetic. “I didn’t want to ask you at all,” he admits.

“But you asked me anyway.”

“Technically,” he says, eyes darting from Seungkwan’s back to the door. The pulsing beat of some guitar-heavy song leaks through the cracks. “I didn’t ask you anything at all. You came to it on your own.” The words are carefully crafted. Light feet over creaking floorboards.

Seungkwan sighs. “I can’t figure out if it’s more insulting that he wants to test you or test me.”

This isn’t new. It’s why Jeonghan doesn’t introduce him to anyone anymore. Everyone is only a few degrees of separation from whatever this is.

A dark emotion clouds Seokmin’s face. “I think it’s more insulting that you didn’t consider he has nothing to do with me being here.”

Seungkwan opens his mouth, but the thought is interrupted by the door opening, and they both quiet and turn. Luck stays on their side; it’s not Joshua. Another party-goer that Seungkwan doesn’t recognize, has never met. She engages Seokmin in conversation before taking her leave. An early morning, and a promise to make up for lost time.

Seokmin turns back and gives him an appraising stare. “I don’t really like it when people toy with me. So I’m asking you to help me get him back.”

“I’m not interested in testing the foundations of your relationship with my ex,” Seungkwan says snidely. The thought stings. All attempts to hold the grit back is gone. “So I think both of you can take your proposition and—”

“I think it’s really admirable,” Seokmin cuts in with a tight, almost-sympathetic smile. Victim turned would-be perpetrator. “That you’re trying to pretend that you’re above it and healed. But personally, I’d rather heal in hell.”

even if i break in regret, i've loved us after all

[deadwine]

Ship/Member: Any (Minghao? One of Network Love line?)
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: disbandment/member departing group/canon-divergence
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

Sky fallin' easy
Lookin’ forward
Reflected in my eyes
"A flying bird leaves no trace"
Steppin' on the ceiling
Lookin’ for a reason
I close my eyes, deeply
And fall asleep in the noise

-THE8, Skyfall

semi-well-adjusted despite everything

[infrequencies]

Ship/Member: Any, but consider Minghao, Hoshi, Woozi
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: the usual BBB-isms, perils of idol life
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

Fame as a way of weaving a larger narrative about yourself

Fame as a way of that narrative being taken from you

Fame as a way of turning you into something you aren’t

- from Autopsy (of an Ex-Teen Heartthrob) by Avan Jogia

play some games with the smoke

[infrequencies]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: N/A, go wild
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

"If you pull the soul from the body, and the body dies but the soul does not, has there been a death? Can you be a man without a body? Can you be a man if all you are is body, if the soul is lost, or broken, or—"

- from Boys with Sharp Teeth by Jenni Howell

[FILL] summon love from air with teeth alone

[icarusundone]

Ship/Member: Wonwoo/Mingyu
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Gender or Sex Swap, based on the sacrifice of iphigenia at aulis, was that a deer or a girl at the altar
Permission to remix: Yes
Title from “I Always Bet on Losing Dogs” by Natalie Wee

***

The wedding had been a quiet affair, the winds too temperamental for visitors. They’d already signed the marriage license at the courthouse, the paperwork filed away and official, but still Wonwoo had insisted on undertaking the pilgrimage to the altar, on doing things properly.

She’d dressed in her red bridal robes, the flowing sleeves covering her clasped hands, and left at daybreak. The current had immediately lifted the ribbons in her hair, the black silk fluttering like the flick of a deer’s ear.

The bed is cold that night, but the next morning she’s seated at the dining table delicately sipping juk, the warmth of the broth steaming up her glasses.

Mingyu stares at the sight before his new reality settles in. She’s his wife now, their wedding rings sealing that promise.

He gently places his hands on her shoulders and kisses the crown of her head; she flinches at the initial touch, her shoulders raising before she registers him.

“Good morning, yeobo,” he says softly into her hair, inhaling the sea breeze scent of her shampoo.

“Good morning,” she repeats, her voice raspy from disuse.

Mingyu peers down at her bowl. The chili oil she’s added seeps into the porridge, creating dark red rivulets in the dish.



Wonwoo’s family visits when the winds die down. Her mother immediately sweeps her up into her arms, lamenting about how they missed the wedding before stepping back and questioning Wonwoo on the new necklace around her throat— “A wedding gift,” Wonwoo explains as she worries the scarlet beads between her fingers. It sits neatly on her neck like a gash.

Her father and Mingyu stand idly by.

“It sure has been windy lately, hasn’t it?” her father asks. “Luckily, there seem to be fairer skies ahead. Say, son, you should come sailing with me sometime.” He smiles, his teeth white and even. There is no hesitation in his voice. A king can split his crown and remain king. Retirement allows him to retain the name; some habits like leadership are not so easily forgotten.

“Thank you for the invitation,” Mingyu says. “Perhaps when I return from my work trip.”

Her father chuckles. “It’s all business with you, isn’t it? Make sure you don’t leave my daughter behind. You have to think for two now.”

“Father,” Wonwoo states primly, and her father raises his hands up.

“I’m just an old man rambling. Happy wife, happy life, you know how the deal goes, son,” he says with a wink before meandering into the kitchen, which Wonwoo’s mother has commandeered.

“Ignore him,” Wonwoo says flatly as she stands next to Mingyu, her voice low. “His glory days are over, and he sure as hell never thought of my mother while he left to chase prestige.”

“Duly noted,” Mingyu says, although years of looking up to Wonwoo’s father first as an industry titan and then later as a father-in-law means that he can’t dismiss the words as easily as she can.

He peers at her; her eyes are rimmed red behind her glasses.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly. “Your eyes—”

“I’m fine. Thought about the deer again.”

He takes her hand in his despite her freezing fingers and squeezes her hand. He loves how she cares so deeply, how she’s still mourning the passing of a deer from weeks ago, right before the wedding. It had been dark outside and Mingyu had crashed into it with his car, leaving its body splayed out on the side of the road. Its silhouette had seemed oddly girllike in the rearview mirror.



Travel resumes with the fairer weather, so Mingyu has to take his leave, sailing off to broker a deal for gold-plated phones or cloud storage or horse viruses— the details are irrelevant.

Wonwoo kisses him goodbye outside, her brown eyes wide and her lips trembling after they part. She bids farewell to him, her words swallowed up by the wind.

[infrequencies]

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

Prompt:

“We see by the light of who we are.

Look at us: You inside me

inside you. We’ve lived inside

each other from the beginning.

And from before beginning.

Before the world was ever found.

Before the world was found, I say,

I dwelled inside you,

and you breathed all through me,

in my body and its happiness,

in my body and its loneliness.”

- from The Undressing by Liyoung Lee

[FILL]: a little house; a big hunger

[moonlitmelodiesfic]

Ship/Member: jeonghan/seungcheol
Major Tags: mcd (as a part of reincarnation)
Additional Tags: reincarnation, possession, ghosts, idolverse (but it's not very relevant), there's two jeonghans, and one of them is kinda fucked up, supernatural, hand-wavy logistics to this world bc idk either
Permission to remix: Yes!!

hi wren! this is probably wildly different from what you envisioned, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless. happy new year!

***

---

1

---

The two lovers spend their days in secrecy in a little house tucked in the edges of the woods in Daegu. It is winter solstice, the shortest day of the year. They don’t mind. More time to themselves, for each other.

One trips over the doorsill and stumbles, flushing crimson, awashed in the gold of fading daylight. The other giggles, sweet, and kisses the flustered ramblings off his lips. Palms press against skin press against hearts. In the honeyed drizzle of evening light they build dreams that fortify these walls.

Sometimes it’s hard to muster up joy, but they do for each other, clinging onto wispy hopes for a brighter and kinder future.

It is here they dare commit their most offensive rebellions.

Here, they dream of being free.

---

1.5

---

The little house embraced the two lovers again and again. In a world that rejects the very idea of them, this little house becomes their haven. Their future. The two lovers promise to never leave one another. But promises are flimsy things.

They break easily.



One never gets to see their dreams come true. The other learns what it’s like to bury a lover.

The little house stands vigil over it all.

---

2

---

Sounds of construction wail through the streets. The days are turning colder and crueler. The people of his country walk briskly, heads lowered, morale even lower. Uncertainty, exhaustion, hunger, and grief ravage even this little town on the outskirts of Daegu. He seeks refuge in a little house he finds right next to the trees. He’s never been here before, but it feels familiar. He settles a hand against the warm wooden beam supports and remembers a face. It smiles at him, fond, beautiful, loving.

A blink, and there’s a man in front of him, wearing that familiar, beautiful face. He’s translucent, dressed in clothes of a century past.

He gasps a little, steps back until his back hits the wall. The man tilts his head, smile crumbling a little.

My love, don’t you remember me?

He pauses for a second. His heart is racing but he is strangely unafraid. He studies this man. His chin-length hair. The twinkle in his eye. The slope of his neck. The elegance of his fingers.

My love. The man spreads his arms. Inviting. Compelling.

The heart remembers the hands that used to hold it; the feet remember the path it takes toward home.

He walks forward into the embrace, and lets it swallow him whole.

---

2.5

---

He breathes and walks again for the first time in a century. But he doesn’t recognize the world he steps into.

Soldiers of the occupation search the little house and find him curled up in a corner.

He dies a second time, in a different body, and howls silently at the loss of his love. His freedom.

---

3

---

Seungcheol moves into the little house tucked into the edges of the woods in Daegu on a winter solstice.

The place is spare, his belongings even sparer. He’d felt compelled to leave most of his items of luxury with his brother, at that apartment they used to share in Seoul. His name is off that property now.

His brother had expressed profuse confusion. He’d worked his ass off for most of his life to be where he is. Why would he leave it all behind now?

Seungcheol is 36, and he has no good answer. Just a whisper of a desire for a place far away, a call heard only in the darkest hour of the loneliest nights. He hasn’t understood why he chose to follow that whisper either.

No matter. His family is well taken care of, with the wealth he’d fought for and steadfastly invested. They’re comfortable, and he’s…here.

The house is nothing special, on the smaller side but still the typical traditional Hanok, mildly renovated with gentle modern touches. His furniture is arriving tomorrow. For now, Seungcheol opens the windows and doors to let the cold air brush through the house and sits on the front steps, surveilling the little town.

Much like the little house at his back, there is nothing special about it. Cobblestone paths wind in the direction of destinations he cannot see. Hanoks line the paths, the roofs gently curving over their front steps. Snow dusts every surface. There are few people out and about, a world away from the bustle of Seoul, but Seungcheol finds himself content and at peace. Something in his chest is settled, in a way it hasn’t been perhaps for all of his very long career.

A breeze ruffles through his hair. It’s chilly, but not unbearably so. The sun winks from the sky. At his back, the wooden beams on the little house creak gently, as if saying, welcome home.

-

That night Seungcheol briefly regrets opening all the windows and doors, for the chill lingers even after he’s figured out how to turn on the floor heating. As he nestles himself into the temporary bed he made on the floor out of duvets, a persistent chill hovers over his nape. He tosses and turns for hours deep into twilight.

When he finally falls into fitful sleep, he dreams of a beautiful, blurry face.

-

Seungcheol spends the better part of his morning directing the furniture around.

Once the dust settles and he’s haphazardly wiped down most surfaces and deemed everything clean enough, he sets off into the town.

He chances upon a little local market, bustling with the noise of vendors hawking their wares, food stall owners shouting out deals, customers haggling prices. He pauses in front of a chestnut stall, inhaling the smoky sweetness of freshly roasted chestnuts. The ahjussi behind the stall glances at him.

“You want chestnuts?” He asks, gruffly but not unkindly. Seungcheol’s chest warms something smoky and sweet. He hands the vendor three thousand won and says, “just a bag, please.”

Soon he’s strolling through the market with mouthfuls of sweet chestnuts, blowing gusts of steam out of his mouth into the cool winter air. He passes a stall selling homemade tteokbokki, another wafting the nuttiness of fresh bungeoppang. A third is selling little sculptures stacked from stones, complete with faces and stick arms and clothing. Unbidden, he buys one for Jeonghan. He doesn't even know when he might see Jeonghan again.

He returns to the little house not long after, the cold starting to really burrow beneath his coat, carrying his empty chestnut bag and his little stone Jeonghan.

-

There’s a beautiful but translucent man waiting in his house, dressed in garbs of two centuries past.

-

Seungcheol stares. He hears a crack that might have been his jaw hitting the floor, then he looks down and sees the broken form of Stone Jeonghan, fallen from his slack hand. So much for that.

The man—ghost? God. It can’t be—huffs a laugh, a sound like wind whistling through barren branches. He tilts his head, watching Seungcheol. There is something odd in his eyes, like fondness, but left to ferment for too long, gone sour.

My love. His voice is in Seungcheol’s head, and he jumps, staring hard at the apparition. He sounds just like Jeonghan. Finally you have returned.

“Who–who are you?” His voice quivers. He reaches a hand behind him and tries to discreetly fumble for the door knob.

I am Jeonghan, of course, the—thing—says. I am the love of your life.

Jeonghan.

“What?” He manages, fingers finally landing on the door knob. “Jeonghan is–”

Alive. Not here. The apparition’s face sours, like he’d tasted the words in the air.

Yes, it says, vitriolic. It seems God is enjoying a good laugh at my expense. You were not supposed to find another.

“What?” Seungcheol says again, faint. Maybe the chestnuts contained hallucinogenics? Surely that wasn’t legal—

Look at me. Ghost Jeonghan is nearly nose to nose with him. Seungcheol gasps as two bright points of cold dig into either side of his throat—a ghostly hand gripping him by the neck.

You were always supposed to be mine, love. For two lifetimes this house has been sacred to us. We promised to never leave each other.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Seungcheol gasps. But he then does. A cold tide of memories washes over him. Laughter and kisses, hidden away in the corners of this house. Whispered dreams. Falling snow. A grave, and a body, and a sharp, piercing pain. Returning to this house. Falling into Jeonghan again, Jeonghan breathing him in. He gasps again, and there are tears on his face.

You left me here. You always leave. Pain shudders through the voice in his head. He hardly sounds like Jeonghan now.

“I came back for you, didn’t I? The second time?”

You always leave, no matter how hard I call for you, how hard I try to hold onto you.

“Because I die too!” It tears out of Seungcheol’s throat.

And even then you leave me behind, bound to this house, chained to decades of waiting. The ghost shakes him, surprisingly strong.

That’s hardly my fault, Seungcheol wants to argue. Then he looks into the wild and terrifying face in front of his own, and fear freezes the words in his throat. He can see how, once upon a time, he might have found this…man breathtakingly beautiful. And yet, as the centuries slipped by and the ghost stewed in its own anguish, loss, and bitterness, its humanity corroded, leaving behind a vengeful spirit wearing a beautiful mask.

You promised we’d be free one day. And I have waited, for so long, my love, for you to set me free.

He pulls back a little, his eyes startlingly grey and mournful. I will wait no longer.

“Wha–” Seungcheol starts to say, but the realization dawns too slow. Ghost Jeonghan’s lips burn cold against his own, and Seungcheol frantically tries to push him away, only to realize Jeonghan is no longer solid enough to touch.

He watches, wide-eyed, panic pushing like vomit up his throat, as Jeonghan melts into frosty air, and seeps into his own body.

---

---

He hasn’t had a body in so long.

It’s cumbersome, at first, relearning how to move around as flesh and bone. But he’s satisfyingly solid, and when he takes his first steps outside the house in yet another century, nothing holds him back. Nothing shatters his essence and reforms him inside the house.

He takes another step, and joy blooms through him, thick and vicious.

He runs.

---

BREAKING: Star Yoon Jeonghan, Member of Former Hit Band SEVENTEEN, found dead in his own apartment.
9:05 AM
Read More…

---

exit route

[infrequencies]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: fight or flight
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

Bare feet on the concrete
Freckles on your knees
Searching for a blood stain
Bandages are clean
Baby take it easy
Following a whim
Listen how the heart beats
Lying next to him

- Whim by Hayley Williams

I am the floodlights that pour on to you
Your bare back is glowing so helplessly consumed
You swallowed a sparrow and it's clawing up your throat
You said "It's a bad time to love me, you shouldn't be looking so close"

- Molars by Evelia

[FILL] holding knives

[poppyseedheart]

you know i always love your prompts!!

Ship/Member: gyuhan
Major Tags: au: dark academia/magic school, obsession
Additional Tags: life or death situations, sleeping with your academic rival, expecting a knife and encountering a soft belly instead
Permission to remix: Yes <3

***

Three years into this, Mingyu really should have known better than to assume Jeonghan would go easy on him. It was finals season, time to show off what the last several weeks of grueling work yielded, and Mingyu was determined to finally prove himself on his own. He and Jeonghan were rivals of a sort: Mingyu two years ahead of most of the other '97s and notoriously arrogant as a result, Jeonghan running cunning little circles around anyone who got close enough to get pulled into one of his games. Two nights ago, the two of them had gotten drunk in town, frothy beer in clinking glasses, too-loud music blasting at them, and Jeonghan had had that look in his eyes again——reflected twice-over by firelight——that Mingyu found impossible to read. Was it playacting of some variety? Jeonghan was good at pretending to be what he wasn't. Or maybe it was something else, a vulnerability he only let Mingyu see, a gentleness he seemed to be constantly at war with, like he couldn't burn it out of himself no matter how much he sharpened the rest of his edges?

Jeonghan had agreed to look over his work and returned it the next morning with a pat on the shoulder and a demeaning compliment. It must have been solid, Mingyu thought to himself, if Jeonghan didn't even have a correction to offer.

And so he'd gotten cocky by the time he was halfway through the demonstration only for the spell he was painstakingly scribbling onto the chalkboard floor to blow up on him. A single error, a misplaced particle, was all it took, and from one moment to the next he was halfway across the room with an awful tinny ringing in his ears and Seokmin hauling him into his arms to go to the infirmary.

"Jeonghan," Mingyu managed to mumble as Seokmin carried him.

Seokmin made a soothing noise. "I'll send for him. I'm sure he'll want to see you."

"No, no."

"It's fine. He won't be bothered."

Seokmin kept reassuring him, a steady patter that half distracted Mingyu from the full-body throb that wracked pain through him with each step, but he had it wrong. If Mingyu's reaction time had been a split-second slower, he'd have died. The school would have hung is portrait in the university halls alongside the other students who lost their lives during their course. It was dangerous. They all knew that.

But Jeonghan wasn't the question. He was the answer.

He'd sabotaged the spell.

*

When Mingyu next awoke it was dark. A relentlessly recognizable figured haunted the space next to his bed.

"Here to—" Mingyu began, then coughed, soot in his throat gumming up the words— "to finish me off?"

Jeonghan didn't react. "Mingyu," he breathed. "What happened?"

"What happened?" Mingyu mimicked childishly. "Like you don't know."

"I know what Seokmin told me. I know what your professor said. But not how it happened. You're not careless. The formulation was perfect. So what, Mingyu? What happened?"

Jeonghan approached the sickbed and his expression was wretched. Brows tight, mouth twisted, those floodlight eyes looking for something Mingyu didn't know how to give him. Was Jeonghan this good of an actor, really? That he'd try to kill Mingyu and then come weep at his bedside?

More memories flashed through Mingyu's mind:

Their second year, the time Mingyu had challenged Junhui to scale the greenhouse and Jeonghan had come and defused the situation with startling grace, joking and distracting until the both of them agreed to walk away. Only later did Mingyu learn about the wards and wonder what was stopping Jeonghan from letting him splatter himself against the greenhouse floor.

Last summer, Mingyu naked in Jeonghan's bed, fucking him to Jeonghan's simultaneously lazy and exacting standards, thinking idly about trying to hold Jeonghan down or suck a mean hickey into his neck to stop himself from saying something stupid.

Two months ago in the common room, when Jeonghan had summoned a wisp of shadow with such terrifying dark energy that Mingyu dismissed it on an instinct and couldn't stop shaking for hours after. Jeonghan had been upset in the moment but quickly relented. He'd held Mingyu that night while Mingyu described in excruciating detail the way his sister had died just three years prior.

In the infirmary, Jeonghan's eyes held that same clear intensity, like he was trying to see straight through to Mingyu's soul. "It was perfect," he said again. "I checked it myself."

"I thought," started Mingyu. He couldn't finish the thought.

"Think harder next time."

Jeonghan sat next to him then, both of their backs against the stone wall, legs out on the flimsy bed. Jeonghan was so much smaller than Mingyu. His knees were bare in sleep shorts.

It was stupid to underestimate Jeonghan, but Mingyu was beginning to wonder if he'd been looking for vipers in a pit that didn't exist. If Jeonghan's sharpness was exactly what it looked like, and the deeper parts of him were something else.

In a few weeks, they'd likely be pitted against each other in the annual sprints to solve complex, dangerous puzzles, and Mingyu would have to watch his back again. But next to his rival in this sterile, dimly lit room, Mingyu found he could hardly keep his eyes open.

"Sleep if you want," Jeonghan said. "I've got some thinking to do, too."

"About what?"

"About who would be stupid enough to go after you. I'm curious, that's all."

"Yeah?"

Jeonghan nodded an affirmative. "About who they are, sure. And about whether they'll live to the end of the year to regret it."

He said that with a savage little grin, almost boyish in nature, and Mingyu began to wonder if there was that much delineation between Jeonghan's cruelty and his kindness after all.

language / barrier

[lachrymosy]

Ship/Member: Any, but consider gyuhao or wonhui
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: canonverse optional but beloved <3
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

"…Humans are innately predisposed to exploit code choices as negotiations of 'position.' That is, speakers use their linguistic choices as tools to index for others their perceptions of self, and of rights and obligations holding between self and others. In turn, as in any negotiation, others can agree with or dispute the socio-pragmatic goals of such linguistic moves" (Myers-Scotton, 1993, p. 478).

- Myers-Scotton, C. (1993). Common and uncommon ground: Social and structural factors in codeswitching. Language in Society, 22(4), 475-504.

I don't understand but I love, but I love you

- Seventeen

we've both been very brave

[infrequencies]

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

Prompt:

All the words that exists in the world
It's enough for just the two of us to know, with all my desire
With the growing wave of emotion
You know, there are more important things than words between us, right?

- I Don't Understand But I Luv U by SEVENTEEN

SHANE: Hey, uh, I have an idea. How about you tell me everything that's on your mind, but in Russian?

I won't understand, but maybe it'll help.

- Heated Rivalry episode 1x05 - I'll Believe in Anything

[FILL] heart on my sleeve, not where it should be

[seokmin_liker]

Ship/Member: Jeonghan/Joshua
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: musicians AU, secret relationship, situationship
Permission to remix: Yes

A/N: assume for this that jeonghan is fairly fluent in english and joshua doesn't know much korean. also, the text in italics is said in korean!

***

As he sits in bed and stares at the dense block of Hangul on his phone, Joshua realises he’s messed up. Jeonghan went into the shower ten minutes ago, and Joshua has still only made it through a few lines of the webpage. He knows that Jeonghan would laugh at him if he finds out what Joshua is doing, and that thought propels him to work as fast as possible. But there’s only so fast he can go. At least Joshua knows that Jeonghan likes his long luxurious showers, and that he likes using up as much of Joshua’s shampoo as he could, but that won’t be long enough. Not with the way Joshua’s frantically copy-pasting words into Papago, desperately trying to remember what the start of these long sentences had said, hoping he could unscramble this word soup into something he could finally understand.

He’s so absorbed in decoding the brick wall of text, so deafened by his own heart pounding in his and his own short breaths, that he doesn’t even notice Jeonghan step out of the bathroom.

“You’re out of shampoo,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

Joshua glances at him, almost getting distracted by the towel slung low on Jeonghan’s hips, before hurriedly turning off his phone screen and putting the phone on the bedside table.

“Buy your own shampoo, asshole,” he replies. “Aren’t you making a gajillion dollars or something?”

“A gajillion won, maybe,” Jeonghan snarks, striding over to the bed and perching on the edge of it. “Not worth as much in dollars. Don’t know if I can get your fancy shampoo. What were you looking at?”

Joshua scoffs. “I’m sure your stylists are buying you plenty of fancy shampoo.”

“Doesn’t matter. Yours smells nicer. What were you looking at?”

Joshua twitches, trying not too make it too obvious. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you put your phone away so quick?”

“Because I heard you come in. I’m trying to be a nice person, focusing on the real world. Connecting with the people around me. Touching grass, as the kids say.”

“Bullshit. You don’t normally put your phone away when I’m talking to you. Why now?”

“Because I’m texting my other fuckbuddy. He’s nice. Bulkier than you. He can toss me around a little, you know? He’s asking if I’m free today.”

“Bullshit. If you had someone else I’d know about it. You’re no good at hiding from me. What were you looking at?”

Joshua can’t help the warmth that floods through his cheeks. He really is no good at bullshitting Jeonghan, even though he’s normally very good at bullshitting anyone else. He unlocks his phone and hands it to Jeonghan.

“You’ll be shocked when you see it. Scandalised, even. Don’t go running to the press.”

Jeonghan takes Joshua’s phone. His eyes widen when he sees what Joshua was looking at, lips curling into a smile. Not the kind he does for the cameras, artfully posed and practised to perfection. The one that shows off all his teeth and makes him look a little stupid.

“Dude,” he says, barely holding back a laugh, “are you reading an interview I did in Korean?”

Joshua shrugs, even though he knows Jeonghan can’t see it. “Don’t know why you’re reading it. You know what you said.”

“The better question is why are you reading it. Do you even know how to read Korean?”

“Fuck off, man. It’s the easiest alphabet in the world.”

“But these words… do you understand it?”

The words catch in Joshua’s throat. He wants to say yes, he really does. He wants to be able to prove a point, that it isn’t crazy for him to read and understand and genuinely care about what Jeonghan has to say in Korean. But he knows there’s a Papago tab open on his phone that would show Jeonghan he’s right to doubt him.

Jeonghan finally turns to look at Joshua. “Why are you even reading my interviews? I thought my music was… what did you call it? Sickly sweet basic pop?”

Joshua shrugs again. “There’s still a process though. Making music. I just wanted to see if I could find out what yours was. We’ve known each other so long now… it feels like I should at least try.”

Jeonghan hands Joshua back his phone. Their fingers brush. Joshua tries to ignore the buzz of electricity that flickers through his shoulders.

“You know,” Jeonghan says, “if you wanted to know what I’m saying in an interview, you could just ask me. I could translate it for you. I might need to look up some more difficult words, but… I’d do it for you. You know that right?”

Jeonghan shifts so that he’s straddling the part of the duvet over Joshua’s knees.

“I wouldn’t want that,” Joshua replies.

“Why not?”

“Because… I want to get better at Korean.”

“Really?”

Joshua nods. It’s a half-truth, at least. “I can speak some Korean, but not being able to read it properly at 26 kinda sucks.”

Jeonghan hums. “Do you speak to your family in Korean?”

There’s a pull in Joshua’s core, like there’s a fishing hook in his stomach and Jeonghan is trying to reel him in. He answers anyway.

“It’s just my mom, really. She’s here in the States, and I mostly speak to her in English. I think it started that way when I started school, and then as I spoke to my family in Korea less, I just didn’t need Korean that much. So I suck at it now.”

“Oh, I’m sure you don’t suck. I’m sure your pronunciation of hello and thank you is perfect.” Jeonghan’s tone is a little mocking, but he’s got his stupid smile on his face, so Joshua knows he doesn’t mean it. He just rolls his eyes and bats gently at Jeonghan’s head.

“Well,” Jeonghan continues, leaning forward onto his arms, “I hope my interviews are a good study aid. Now study hard, because I will be testing you.”

“Oh yeah? What reward do I get if I’m a good student?”

Jeonghan leans down fully and kisses Joshua, slow and sweet. “That a good enough reward for you?”

“Hm, maybe. Need to double check though.” Joshua reaches up to pull Jeonghan in again, fingers curling in his slightly damp hair.

They kiss some more, before Jeonghan lies down on his side next to Joshua, wrapping an arm around his duvet-clad chest. Joshua can smell his shampoo in Jeonghan’s hair, and for a moment he wants to cry.

Instead he asks, “Does it bother you? That you have to speak in English to me?”

“Not really. It’s good practice for me. Plus it feels…”

Jeonghan trails off.

“Feels what?”

“I don’t know what word I’m looking for. Not illegal, but… bad, you know? Like it’s our secret.”

Joshua hums. Maybe illicit is the word Jeonghan is looking for. Not that Joshua would know how to say that in Korean.

“Does it bother you that you’re not fluent in Korean?” Jeonghan asks, like he can read Joshua’s mind.

“I mean… a little, yeah. It feels like I’m losing a bit of my culture, something that makes me me. I know I’m American, but being Korean is so important to me. My mom is so important to me. I don’t want her to feel like she has to translate herself or change herself when she talks to me, you know? I want to be able to watch dramas with her and understand everything properly, like she does. I want to be able to go to the Asian supermarket with her and read all the product names and get things for her without having to guess what they are. I want her to be her full self around me, and I want to be my full self too.”

There’s a silence in the room. For a moment, Joshua hears nothing but their own breathing. He hates it, stewing in his own confessions, the way the honesty makes his skin burn.

“Sorry,” he says, “that sounds corny as hell. I’m being a terrible cliche here.”

“No, no,” Jeonghan quickly responds, “it’s… I think I get it. You’re a good son, Joshua.”

“Oh.” Joshua swallows the lump in his throat. “Thanks.”

It would feel good to hear that from Jeonghan, if Joshua had told the whole truth. But he hadn’t. It’s a half-truth, really. Part of the reason why Joshua wants to get better at Korean is for his mom, and it is for that buried part of himself. But the other part is Jeonghan. He could have picked any way to try and understand Korean. He didn’t have to search for Korean articles about Jeonghan every few days, he didn’t have to bookmark interviews he did with Korean outlets to practise with later. But the truth is that Korean isn’t the only thing he wants to understand.

He and Jeonghan have been seeing each other for a few years now. Seeing each other might be a bit too strong, actually. They aren’t really anything. They go months without seeing each other, then spend every evening together for a few days when they’re touring in the same place or doing some awards show business. They fuck, and have dinner, and watch TV, and very very rarely have a conversation about anything real. And Joshua likes it that way, he really does.

Except that it’s not enough anymore. Joshua wants to know Jeonghan a little bit better now. He doesn’t know what inspires his art, or how he lives in Korea, or how he thinks about lyrics. He doesn’t know what Jeonghan wants for his career, or where he’d like to travel, or what his ideal type is. And he can’t just ask Jeonghan these things, because that would disturb something. That would upset the perfect balance of whatever the hell it is that they have going on. It would feel like cheating, like he’s taking the easy way out, like their situation is something close to normal. It’s not. It never can be. And so this is the way it has to be.

Sure, maybe Jeonghan could just translate the articles for him. But Joshua doesn’t just want to be told about who Jeonghan is. He wants to find out for himself. He wants to have to work for it.

“Hey,” Joshua says after a minute, “speak to me in Korean.”

“What… do you want me to say?”

“Anything. Whatever you’re thinking of. Just say it.”

“Are you going to try and figure out what I say?”

“If I can, sure. But I don’t have to. I… I’d like you to just feel free to speak Korean, for once.”

Jeonghan takes off his towel and tosses it to the floor. He shifts again so that he’s on top of Joshua, knees bracketing his hips, hands either side of his face. He leans down slowly and kisses Joshua, soft and gentle.

"I really like you,", he whispers, his breath tingling on Joshua’s lips.

He plants kisses on Joshua’s cheeks, runs a thumb over one cheekbone.

"You’re so pretty. Such a pretty face, such pretty eyes."

Joshua smiles. “This is all easy stuff. I know all of this.”

“Oh I see,” Jeonghan replies, eyes going darker. “You want me to say something harder. I’ll see what I can do.”

Joshua spends the rest of the night covered in kisses, bathed in gentle and not-so-gentle touches, wrapped in warm words from Jeonghan. He doesn’t understand them all. For now, he’s not sure he has to.

***

"Joshua, you’re so pretty. I wish I could say more than that. I wish you would understand it when I tell you that I think you’re the most beautiful person I know. I miss you whenever I’m not around you. I’m always looking forward to when I can see you, even though you’re a real brat sometimes. I don’t know if I’m allowed to miss you, or if you miss me at all, and it’s painful for me. But I lo- I like it too. I like the pain of missing you and wishing I was with you, and I like how it all goes away the minute I see you. I like kissing you, and touching you, and I wish it could be like this forever. One day, I think it will be."

you're just a fallen superstar

[lachrymosy]

Ship/Member: Hoshi/any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: enlistment era
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

I think since debut I’m just living as Hoshi. Kwon Soonyoung’s life doesn’t really exist.

- Hoshi, SEVENTEEN: OUR CHAPTER

What are we now but voices
who promise each other a life
neither one can deliver
not for lack of wanting
but wanting won’t make it so.
We cling to a vine
at the cliff’s edge.
There are tigers above
and below. Let us love
one another and let go.

– Tigers, Eliza Griswold

match point

[(Anonymous)]

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

Prompt:

what do you do when they're the ones with natural talent but you're the only one entrusted with the glory? when you know your best friend would kill to have your wife, wouldn't you bear being unloved? when you know your wife would kill to have your healthy body, wouldn't you let her have it?

(from this challengers letterboxd review) (https://letterboxd.com/raksharks/film/challengers/)

sinew

[(Anonymous)]

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

Prompt:

“Sometimes I imagine what it’d be like to / show you I’m alive. The thrill of it. The sharp / inhale. The nerve exposed. The bone.”

- Kate Baer, from “First Love,” What Kind of Woman

[FILL] the nerve exposed

[poppyseedheart]

Ship/Member: soonyoung/jihoon
Major Tags: sentinel/guide au
Additional Tags: idolverse
Permission to remix: yes

A/N: technically in the same universe as this fill from last year but you can absolutely read it as a standalone

***

"I'm kind of an all or nothing guy," Soonyoung is saying, punctuating the statement with a bombastic wink and eyebrow waggle to the camera. "So I guess I'd choose to fight one hundred duck-sized horses. Thank you for the question."

Jihoon rolls his eyes. He's slouched on a couch on the far end of the room, nearly out of it entirely, scrolling on his phone and pretending to answer emails. He'd probably still be home sleeping if his contract didn't stipulate his presence at every one of Soonyoung's solo schedules (and, though it's not outlined directly, vice versa) in case the bright lights, makeup, scratchy material of his jacket, or general mill of staff members sets Soonyoung off.

It's smooth sailing so far, thankfully. Seven years in and contract negotiations already dealt with, a schedule like today feels like a bubble of peace compared the stressful chaos it was closer to debut. Jihoon snorts at a meme Seungcheol sent to the group chat and sinks further into the cushions.

In front of the camera, Soonyoung reads the next question off of a prompt card: "What's it like being a sentinel during a concert? Wouldn't it be overwhelming?" He thinks for a moment. "Sometimes it's overwhelming, yeah. When it's good it's amazing, but that's not every time."

Jihoon sits up.

Despite all the marketing and emphasis on Jihoon and Soonyoung publicly as a duo — soulmates, one promo called them, and Soonyoung made wounded faces while Jihoon laughed until he nearly cried — Soonyoung isn't encouraged to talk about the negative sides of being a sentinel outside of highly regulated internal content like documentaries or interviews for special album packages. The party line is that it's difficult at times but the positives outweigh the negatives, and that there's no challenge the team can't beat together. On particularly bad days, when Soonyoung's ability to recite that goes out the window, Jihoon will step in, and his reputation for being gruff but kind tends to get them out of rooms faster than Soonyoung can on his own.

But as far as Jihoon can tell, today is a normal day, and Soonyoung is still talking.

"Being a sentinel," he explains, "is like having no filter on your brain. You know when you're tired or annoyed or hungry and every single things gets to you? Like you can hear everyone's hearts beating in the room you're in, and they're all too loud?" He breaks off and laughs. "Okay, that one might be just me. But at a concert I can hear every single scream sometimes. I can see the reflections off of camera lenses. It's like I'm a hundred people at once and all their senses are blasting into one brain. The world becomes just… incoherent."

Some of the PLEDIS staff members are congregating near a producer. Another is gesturing at Soonyoung to pause.

Of course, he doesn't.

"That's why," Soonyoung says, beaming, just as Jihoon stands up, "I have a guide. When it's so bad I can taste every particle from the smoke machine in the air, I just go to him."

Jihoon makes his way to the front of the production, not quite sure what he's doing, and comes to a stop next to the central camera.

Soonyoung looks at him, and Jihoon is the one who goes unanchored, suspended, floating. "When it's like that, so overwhelming, I grab his hand. And then everything makes sense again."

/

In the car home, Soonyoung messages Jihoon.

Without looking at the text, Jihoon sighs. "I'm sitting right next to you," he mumbles.

Soonyoung elbows him. He's sent: You know sometimes I think it's crazy that you're the only person in the world who actually sees things the way I do.

I don't know if that's possible, Jihoon sends back.

Soonyoung huffs like he thinks Jihoon is being difficult and gently takes Jihoon's wrist in his hand.

Without the sensory overload so often present when they touch, the world goes just a few shades brighter. Jihoon can hear the individual components of the beat under the song playing on the radio, and the rumble of distinct engines in the cars sitting in traffic on each side of them. He can smell, suddenly, the air freshener plugged into the vent by the passenger seat. He mutes it all a few shades before either of them gets a headache, but the effect still speaks volumes, a connection the others will never have, a window into a sensory experience that should crumple Soonyoung like a ball of paper and instead pushes him to rise higher, and higher, and higher, until Jihoon joins him up there and tugs the string of their tethered balloons slowly back down to Earth.

You call this impossible? Soonyoung sends, and the fight goes out of Jihoon all at once.

Jihoon rests his head against Soonyoung's shoulder, forehead brushing his jaw. The secondary world bubbles in and out of existence each time they hit a bump or make a turn.

None of the required guide classes had prepared him for this. Not the written material or the lectures, nor the interviews or documentaries. Not even the virtual reality simulations, augmented with strange pills Jihoon had had to shut his eyes to force down. There is nothing like Soonyoung's hand on Jihoon's body. It's possible and it shouldn't be. It's the world peeling itself open for just them two.

Jihoon grunts instead of arguing further. Soonyoung laughs in response, a shimmer of buoyant sensation, and Jihoon feels it all the way down to his bones.

spousal privilege

[(Anonymous)]

Ship/Member: Any, but consider Seokhan, Jihan, Haoshua
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: N/A
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

sexiest reasons to get married:
1. so you can't be forced to testify against each other
2. to get divorced

(source) (https://www.tumblr.com/1percentcharge/790596695623892992?source=share)

filial piety

[lachrymosy]

Ship/Member: Joshua Hong (/any)
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: N/A
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

Q: Is there something you spent the most money on?

Joshua: Just my mom? I think I told her not to work anymore. If my mom wants to do something, I can support her 100%. If she wants to start something new, I'm always ready.

– Joshua Hong

...You remember your mother,
her precision a ceremony, as she gathered
the white cotton, slipped it over your toes,
drew up the heel, turned the cuff. A breath
can uncoil as you walk across your own muddy yard,
the big dipper pouring night down over you, and everything
you dread, all you can’t bear, dissolves
and, like a needle slipped into your vein—
that sudden rush of the world.

– Ellen Bass, Any Common Desolation

[FILL] where do we seek?

[firstresponders]

The first thing Joshua says when he lands home in Los Angeles is, "Whoa, I didn't remember this photo."

His house changes with every year he spends away from it. There's a new piece of furniture here and there, and the trinkets on the top shelf keep changing, like the pieces are playing a game of hide and seek. Sometimes he gets scared things will change beyond his recognition one day.

From the dinner table, Jamie shakes her head while spreading the table runner, white with red hollies. "Of course you don't, Josh. I've only uncovered it last week."

"What do you mean, uncover?" he replies, sweeping his thumb over the dulled glass on the frame. The fine scratches on the surface feel like they're supposed to form a path heading somewhere.

Jamie huffs a bit while taking out two dinner plates. "It was in the warehouse." The clinking of steel cutlery over ceramic follows her. "I found it in the same box with your old toys."

Joshua trains his eyes over the fine details of the picture. The familiar doors of his family's church, slightly obscured by the bridal veil floating in the wind. Leaves falling around them. White roses, white ribbons, worn pavements. His mother's plain wedding dress, long-sleeved and wavy around the hem, which he finds quite adorable. How the groom looks like a deja vu; not quite a memory, but not unknown either.

"Why now?" he asks.

Jamie stops working. Joshua hears the faint rap of her fingernails against the quartz dining table, the one he bought for her birthday two years ago. Her friends have dined there more often than he has.

"I think it's okay for you to know about it," she replies. "It's been years, after all."

Joshua nods and puts the picture back where it was, next to the tissue box. There's something heavy in the air. It must be his mother's breath floating up and becoming rain.

***

Joshua holds his mother's hand for the final prayer of the night. Her hands are worn yet tender; his hands are soft by submission, trained and manicured into perfection that doesn't yield. His job demands that he give into everyone but himself.

Once upon a time, she was the one he gave to the most.

After the pastor gives out his blessings, the choir erupts into song. The entire church carols along. Suddenly everything looks more technicolor, as if the Christmas lights burnt a new light into their tired souls, a simulation of salvation.

Jamie looks younger than Joshua remembers. When he holds onto her, he remembers the car rides after school and the one-way flight that changed his life. Those days, his mother was his lifeline, and even with twelve others in his life now, she was still the lighthouse standing ahead of the rocky shores.

His friends never questioned where his father was, and so did he. The void it left at the left side of his stomach is easily patched. Sometimes, wind still passes through it, making his insides feel heavier. He has learned to ignore those symptoms.

"Merry Christmas, Mom." He pulls her into a hug. The energy around them is incandescent; like there's a thousand candles spreading hushed greetings for their savior's merry birth. "I'm finally home."

Jamie pats his back softly. It makes his eyes water.

"Merry Christmas too, Joshua." Then, she chuckles, "Your uncle's outside, by the way. Go greet him and we can head for dinner."

***

Parents are defined by what they ask and what they give. Jamie has always asked for too little and gave way too much. Every time she tells Joshua to take most of the meat on the grill, it feels like he'll never be able to pay back all his dues.

Watching her chat away with his uncle, Joshua wonders if he should ask about the wedding picture. He knows enough about his father to answer whenever people ask. She raised me alone, he once said on TV, which he had hoped would be telling enough. Everything else was a secret between the three of them.

Joshua, ever dutiful, pours more corn tea for his mother and his uncle.

The laugh that comes after ignites the filaments behind Joshua's eyes.

"Come on, Josh, you're supposed to be a guest. Go eat up. You know what, I'll get some soju for us."

His uncle pretends to freak out, "Oh no, better not," only to follow up with, "I say we get some wine to drink at home instead."

"You're crazy," Joshua says back. Red wine does sound good for the occasion.

When they drive out of the wine store, the route towards Joshua's houses is lined with colorful lights, blurring into beaded embroidery as the car speeds by. They look like the ones his mother used to sew in between her patient's appointments. Maybe he should ask her to teach him while he's still in town.

***

Joshua looks at the picture one more time before he goes to bed.

He wonders what happened after. Was the party big? Were their friends there to watch their first dance? Did he help her with her dress after the matrimony, or had her feet on his lap after a long day of wearing high heels? Did they plan to have him? Did they know how things were going to end?

The door behind him unlocks. Someone steps into the pantry.

"I didn't know it was that interesting to you," Jamie remarks, slightly distorted through the whir of the water dispenser. "I don't have his number anymore, but if you're that curious about him, I could always ask around."

Joshua ponders for a bit before shaking his head.

"It's fine," he answers. "It's always been the two of us anyway."

When he hugs her, he feels like he's five and being dropped at Sunday school. Twelve and being driven around after church. Seventeen and waving her goodbye at the airport. Still seventeen, questioning his decisions.

Then, he is thirty, changed in many ways, but still forever hers.

"If you're so sure," Jamie replies, but Joshua can somewhat tell she's relieved to not have to answer more. He learned to do that from watching her all these years. "Now go catch up on sleep while you can, okay?"

Joshua nods, kisses her cheek, and goes to have his best sleep in a while.

i set my clocks early 'cause i know i'm always late

[lachrymosy]

Ship/Member: Jeonghan/any but I would like to suggest Jeonghan/Monsta X Hyungwon
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: pining, scheming, flirting, despairing, adhd vibes if that clicks for you
Do Not Wants: explicit sexual content

Prompt:

Write me off, give up on me
'Cause darling, what did you expect?
I'm just off, a lost cause
A long shot, don't even take this bet
You can make all the moves, you can aim all the spotlights
Get all the sighs and the moans just right

– Fall Out Boy, A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More Touch Me

i'm only lost if you don't look for me

[lachrymosy]

Ship/Member: Seungcheol/any (jeongcheol would be great though)
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: canonverse optional
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

“We don’t live forever, so when I love someone, I want to love a few people, and give all my love to them.”

– SCoups, SEVENTEEN: OUR CHAPTER

So this is what it is to love someone
You wear your heart upon their sleeve

– Snow Patrol, The Forest is the Path

[FILL] there is a line and I'm going to cross it

[breakfirst]

Ship/Member: Scoups/Nayeon
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Canon!
Permission to remix: Yes

***

“They say you’re a prude.”

Seungcheol half-chokes on his wine, and tries to play it off as clearing his throat. Choking back the burning in his chest, he squints through the dark back at Im Nayeon, who grins back with too-perfect teeth.

“At least give me a chance before you go around saying things like that,” he laughs.

She laughs back, teeth glinting in the light filtering in from the party just behind her. A muffled beat thumps in the background, an underlying heartbeat of the night. He should be in that room with Mingyu and Seungkwan and Chan, the most random, motley crew to party together, but apparently someone had invited Jihyo who had invited them, who had passed on the open invite to the group chat, to which only the oldest and youngest had found themselves available to join in. Involuntarily, of course. Chan had a date cancel on him last-minute. Seungcheol, watching him break it down on the dance floor through the glass, simply had nothing better to do.

“Sorry. Mingyu said you just don’t seem to date that often,” Nayeon says, swirling her almost-finished cocktail in her hand. A whiskey sour, she had yelled into his ear earlier on when he was ordering drinks at the bar, before they escaped out into the courtyard filled with cigarette smoke and the writhing bodies of too-horny couples, and she told him people were saying he was a prude. It is true, of course, but Seungcheol is not about to admit that he likes to keep his circle of celebrity friends small and his pool of non-celebrity girlfriends even smaller.

“I just don’t think love should be shallow,” he shrugs. His blood is fizzing just a little, and the earth tilts just a little off 10 degrees every time he moves his head. He’s on his fourth drink of the night, probably shouldn’t have mixed the wine with the tequila shots and the whiskey and cola combination that Joshua would be horrified about, but he’s 30 years old, single, and he can feel it in his knees every time he dances, so what the hell are a few drinks going to do?

“I just don’t think people like us are going for love,” Nayeon laughs, draining her glass and setting it down on the table with a clink. It is quieter out here despite the bass backdrop and make-out overtones, and he’s never actually had a proper conversation with Im Nayeon before. She’s so funny, hyung, and so pretty, but sometimes she can be so loud you sort of want to tell her to sit down and put a screen into her hands to make her stop talking, Seungkwan had said once, which was ironic given how Seungcheol had often felt like doing that to him when they were younger and still trying to get used to their makeshift family.

“Isn’t it ironic?” he grins back. He knows his own teeth are too big for his face now the way hers are, perfect items forced into an imperfect body, and most days he wonders why he bothered changing them in the first place. Trading self-consciousness with an even worse self-consciousness. He half-wants to ask her what that feels like. She is the oldest of the group but not the leader. He half-wants to ask her what that feels like too, just so he can be sure that it isn’t the path he wanted for himself.

“To sing about love but to not really look for it?”

“Yeah.”

“We are the medium through which other people understand themselves,” Nayeon says, laughing. She laughs a lot, but her eyes seem to be watching him. They hold his for a second too long. The alcohol content of Seungcheol’s blood wonders what it would be like to kiss her. The tiny sliver of logic still lodged into his brain says it would like her to keep talking.

“And do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Understand yourself?”

She laughs. It sounds hollow. “I don’t think anybody really needs me to.”

He can understand that. When she types her number into his phone she doesn’t release it when his fingers curl around hers to take it back. “Most guys would just kiss me and disappear,” she says flatly. The heartbeat of the night still thumps around them.

“Most people call me a prude, apparently,” Seungcheol says, and she laughs again, eyes bright.

“I’m going to get another drink,” she leans in and says into his ear. Her whiskey sour breath wafts over his cheek, fleetingly. “Anything for you?”

“I’ll get a whiskey sour too,” he tells her. She flashes him a smile and disappears into that dark, cavernous vessel of a heart. He looks at his phone, screen blinding him for a second because she had turned it up way too bright in the dim night, and hits ‘Save contact.’

good goodbye

[dearmonday77]

Ship/Member: Minghao or Vernon
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: N/A
Do Not Wants: Major Character Death

Prompt:

Even as the whole world is looking down on me
Even if there is no one on my side, next to me
Don't worry, it's okay
I'll stay right here with me
I'll be on my side instead of you

Goodbye will hurt me, but I'll let the teardrops fall
Even if I break in regret, I've loved us after all

- Hwasa, Good Goodbye

the coffee and the milk

[harbourdreams]

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

Prompt:

Yet we continued to pay our mortgage, the signature of our self-deception, and two and a half more years went by like this, even though our fantasy of a child had long since died and the morning came and went when we both woke and heard in each other’s voices that it was over, and one of us got up anyway to make the coffee, and the other put a coat over their pyjamas because we’d run out of milk.

— from Enter Ghost by Isabella Hammad

i am like you so i want proof of what you're feeling

[deadwine]

Ship/Member: Seungcheol/Mingyu
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: pwp, cxmshot all puns intended?
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

Our sign without a name tag
Drive us crazy with euphoria
Woah-ooh, woah-oh
You make me come and go
Babe, baby, you're worth it (Worth it)
Put it on me, nah, ah-ah

-CXM, Worth It

[(Anonymous)]

Ship/Member: Any, but consider Minghao, Jeonghan, Joshua, Wonwoo
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: last ditch effort at a second chance romance
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

How do you express to someone that you didn’t necessarily love them when you said so at first but now, years later, after you have already made it perfectly acceptable for him to love other people because you said you didn’t need it, that now you want him to devote himself to you on bended knee? Not even, and that was worse! She didn’t need anything from him! She was completely content to love him this way, heartsickly, for the rest of her life and it made her gag.

- from Gifted & Talented by Olivie Blake

open / close

[(Anonymous)]

Ship/Member: any, but consider Joshua, Minghao, Jihoon, or Jeonghan
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: N/A
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

As I learned Japanese, roamed through Ueno and the elevator of that ryokan, I learned to isolate myself through language—from English to Korean to Japanese. It was so effective it was frightening, as if I could guard against others like a spy. Where I could hardly open my mouth before, it now seemed that no one could speak to me. Languages, as they open you, can also allow you to close. When I felt myself running toward seclusion, I heard my grandmother and my great-grandfather urging me to try—and how much harder one must try when learning to love. She never asked me to speak but to understand, rather than endure to forgive, and never to sacrifice, only to let go.

- from The Magical Language of Others by EJ Koh

enjoy the silence

[(Anonymous)]

Ship/Member: Cheolhao, Wonhan, Soonhoon, Verhao
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: N/A
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

Sharing space with Minjun taught her silence could also be a form of consideration, that it was possible to be comfortable without needing to fill the silence.

- from Welcome to Hyunam-dong Bookshop

[FILL] peaceful silence

[kkulecru]

Ship/Member: Seungcheol/Minghao
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: canonverse
Permission to remix: Yes
I burnt my fingers on my gaiwan tonight (self-inflicted foolishness) so this sprouted up in my mind to cope
***

Peace is something that can be found in the space between droplets; the process of stuffing dried leaves into the cavity of a too-small clay teapot, letting steam and nigh-boiling water sting against fingertips as the tea is rinsed and poured and steeped proper, poured and steeped anew until exhausted; being patient enough to wait to drink from the teacup until the tea has cooled enough to not burn sensitive lips.

It’s how Minghao tries to describe it to him, anyway.

Seungcheol hadn’t been able to understand what appeal that held for Minghao for quite a while. It had always been hard to sit down and relax, too busy thinking about burdens of the looming future and all the other things he could better occupy his time with. Mustering up enough patience to even try to stretch out a session of nothing but drinking and refilling tea for an hour’s length, even beyond at times—far beyond his capacity, for too many years.

He thinks he’s starting to grasp it now, though.

He’s started settling down in front of Minghao, low table laden with teaware arranged between them. He usually happens to time it so that Minghao is a few steeps in, electric kettle steaming to one side as it maintains the right temperature, teacup already filled anew with each serve, just waiting to see if that will be the time he sits and drinks from it. He’s pretty sure that Minghao discards the tea when Seungcheol doesn’t show before it cools—and that, too, is meditative, carefully pouring it out onto the bamboo tray or whatever vessel Minghao is using to collect the water with, that day—or simply drinks it himself, carefully fitting his lips to the other side of the rim.

Seungcheol drinks the tea when it is offered, taking his unspoken cue from Minghao to know when it’s safe to drink, but his focus isn’t really on the trickle of water, or the deepening bitter-to-sweet flavours that wash over his tongue. It’s on Minghao himself.

Seungcheol resets his position on the floor, rubbing idly at his knee and watching how Minghao embraces the quiet; his eyes are lidded, maybe dancing on the edge of meditation judging by the slow breaths—and Seungcheol follows along, watching the slow rise and fall of his bare chest. Watching, too, the subtle flush that slowly blooms beneath his gaze.

Minghao ignores any weight he feels from Seungcheol’s wandering eyes as he goes through the ritual of pouring a fresh lot of water into the teapot, waiting the few requisite seconds before he tips it out into the ceramic pitcher that rests next to it. He refills his own cup, and tops up Seungcheol’s—his capacity for tea-drinking in one sitting is far lower than Minghao’s, but he thinks it’s improved a lot over time—before resuming his introspection, back straight.

Maybe, Seungcheol isn't being the best student here.

He’d been the one to ask Minghao about his habits, meditating and tea ceremony both, after having to guiltily confess to his therapist one too many times that he had neglected to go through with any of the exercises he had been recommended—for grounding, to redirect his mind, to not perpetuate all the bad habits he had picked up to cope. It’d started out as a trial, to understand the appeal it holds, learn what Minghao thinks he is able to teach, and since evolved over time into—something else.

It’s not something that they treat as foreplay, or anything. Getting told off once for trying to violate the sanctity of Minghao’s established rituals and cut them short too early was enough for him to learn—although Seungcheol was permitted to make it up to him easily enough, afterwards, so it wasn’t the strictest lesson he could have been given.

But there is a special kind of vulnerability here, harmoniously sharing in the quiet, and Seungcheol marvels at the fact that he can start to unwind in it—to the soundscape of clinking porcelain and thicker ceramic and trickling water—without feeling the anxious itch that he should be doing something more useful, something more productive, in its stead.

Few of his bandmates would be comfortable letting the silence stretch out this long before breaking it themselves—and of them, the overlap in silence and cooperative ritual to potentially engage in is even fewer—and while Minghao is happy enough to respond to something he says to break it, especially early on, it feels more fulfilling for Seungcheol to force himself to be at peace with the wordless conversation they engage in, instead.

There’s a particular language that is built up in expressive eyes and not-accidental touches in passing, the deliberate placement of a cup within easier reach, refilling before it is sought out.

Minghao may be physically vulnerable, here—and Seungcheol still doesn’t know the exact appeal being so bare holds for him, like this, beyond presenting an additional distraction for his guests—but the space he leaves open for Seungcheol to let down his mental guards is something that he painstakingly tries to fill a little more each time. A tentative spiderwebbing of untensed shoulders, marginally-less whirlwind mind, unspooling in the peacefully protective bubble that has formed around them for the moment.

Today, Minghao even snags Seungcheol’s hand as he sets down his empty cup, thumbs digging into the meat of Seungcheol’s palm in a slow massage, the only warning being a concerned frown and disbelieving quirk of his lips when Seungcheol tries to silently wave it off; just a bit of lingering strain from Caratland, competitive flare encouraging him to try stretch his hand beyond its physical limits. At least it’s not his leg, again—but it’s nice that Minghao remembers it, even nicer that he’s holding off whatever number steep of tea this is to investigate.

It’s nice to not have to be the leader for a little longer, even if he never could have embraced this in his youth.

His shoulders can stay unburdened for a few more minutes, and once Minghao looks to be truly done, Seungcheol might see if he’s amenable to a morning distraction. Just to enjoy this rare, shared comfort before reality inevitably shatters it.