Status: Closed
This round has closed. It remains open for fills and comments, but prompts are no longer accepted.
About
The world is full of beautiful words. The tongue has no bones but is strong enough to break a heart. Words start wars and end them, create love and choke it, bring us to laughter and joy and tears. There is no falsehood in words, only in things.
Calling all readers, lovers of poetry and music, screen and stage. If you have a google spreadsheet of Metric/Marina/Mitski/Macklemore lyrics, now's your time to shine. What does Nobel Laureate Louise Glück have in common with the Future of Kpop Lee Chan? I don't know, but we can find out.
Examples
Junhui + The Archer
"Easy they come, easy they go
I jump from the train, I ride off alone
I never grew up, it's getting so old
Help me hold onto you"
Taylor Swift - The Archer
Verhao; "I loved him from the moment he walked in"
Just thinking about all the verhao soft feelings from the last week of November, especially the killer tweet from @literarykpop with the quote:
"I laughed and said, ‘Life is easy.’ What I meant was, ‘Life is easy with you here, and when you leave, it will be hard again." - Miranda July
95 line - R18
"Houston, we have a problem."
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 to the art. 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 to something interesting and saucy;
- Copy+Paste the following HTML into your comment and fill in the sections. Feel free to add as much detail as you want!
Filling
- Reply to the original prompt;
- Change the subject to [FILL], you may add a title or stay chaotic;
- Copy+Paste the following HTML into your comment, fill in the sections, and add your text
You may also upload your fill to the AO3 Collection
Filling with art/media
- Do the same as above, also;
- Upload your work to any platform (twitter, imgur, youtube, soundcloud, google maps, etc.)
- Insert the link to your work, done!
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(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)
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[FILL] 终有一天我会 dreams come true
(Anonymous) 2021-01-02 05:42 am (UTC)(link)Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Canon Compliant
Permission to remix: Yes
***
Minghao is 14. It’s the night after the last day of the Shanghai World Dance Competition and moonlight spills into his quiet house through the windows. His parents are in another room, sound asleep, but Minghao is as awake as ever, despite the fact that he’s tucked under his covers.
Sixth place isn’t good enough, Minghao hears. Nobody’s going to remember you for that. Sixth place. Sixth? Why couldn’t you have been first? What do you even think you’re doing? Why are you here?
It plays in a loop inside his head, and it sounds like his own voice, only each repetition distorts himself into something more bitter, something unrecognizable. He tries to replay his parents’ proud exclamations when he got off stage, tries to picture their beaming smiles and bright eyes, only—
It’s hard to fight the voices when you’re alone.
Minghao is 17. He’s under his covers again. This time, he’s in a different place, a different country entirely. The other trainees are sound asleep, but Minghao is as awake as ever.
The voices this time still sound like him. Only, there’s his voice, and the vocal coach’s voice, and the rap coach’s voice, and the dance instructor’s voice piled on top of one another. It’s the worst cacophony of voices Minghao has ever had the displeasure of hearing and they’re all saying the same thing:
You’re not good enough to debut. Why are you making so many mistakes? Why are you slowing down the rest of the trainees, who have been here for so much longer than you have? You can’t sing, can’t rap, can’t dance in sync with the others. What do you even think you’re doing? Why are you here?
This time, it’s worse because there’s nothing he can replay to help him fight the voices. It’s worse because those are all things he heard, an hour ago, a day ago, a week ago. It’s worse because it’s all he’s been hearing for months. The voices don’t distort because they don’t need to because he’s heard it all before.
Minghao is as awake as ever. There are tears slipping down his face, but he’s mastered the art of crying without noise. He turns to lay on his side so that his pillows catch the tears and the snot and, in the morning, it all will have dried.
He’ll wake with a puffy face that nobody comments on because that’s just what people look like when they wake up for the day.
He’ll wake with a puffy face and a cold ache in his heart and face another day alone. So alone.
Minghao is 20. It’s almost New Year’s. More specifically, it’s that terrible space in between Christmas and New Year’s where time isn’t real and everything feels like it’s in limbo.
Only, that’s the way Minghao has been feeling for a while now, unable to participate in anything because of his injury.
He blinks his eyes once, twice, three times to clear some of the fogginess that comes with waking up. He hadn’t even noticed that he fell asleep.
The dorm is empty. In its emptiness, save for Minghao, it is still. The air feels choked with it, somehow, feels thick and oppressive with stillness. Minghao is used to waking up to the sound of socked feet sliding against the floor, to water running and dishes clinking and people conversing and—
There’s nothing, now, when he wakes. It’s been like that for a while, ever since his injury.
It makes Minghao feel sick.
The members should be back from their schedule soon, but that doesn’t stop his chest from hollowing out, doesn’t stop the cold that seeps into the open space, doesn’t stop the voices in his head from saying:
Look, they’re doing just fine without you. They don’t need you. They have never needed you. You wanted to make your mark on the world, but all you’ve been is a burden. Especially now, when you’re injured and sitting out and have no use to them at all. What do you even think you’re doing? Why are you here?
Minghao grew up an only child, but he’s always been surrounded by the thrum of life and love. There were his parents, fluttering around the house, cooking and helping him with his homework. There were his wushu teachers, guiding him through the correct movements, and his fellow classmates, learning and laughing along with him. There were his members, breathing motion into motionless air, even when they were sleeping.
There is none of that now, in the empty dorm. There is only Minghao.
He has just woken up, but he thinks that if he sits there in silence for a moment longer, he might go insane. He puts on some jazz, spreads blank canvases in front of him, and hopes that when he puts the hollowness onto a page, that same hollowness will be filled in his gaping chest.
He’s supposed to have 12 brothers and yet, he’s never felt so alone.
But there is Hansol.
Hansol is 19. He walks into Minghao’s room unannounced, a question about what Minghao wants to eat later half-fallen from his lips when he opens the door. Minghao whips his head around, startled, sitting on the floor with half a dozen canvases staring back at him, all angry black strokes and unbridled disappointment. He watches Hansol’s eyes flit from painting to painting, feels something like fear crawl up his throat.
“I’m sorry,” Minghao says, heart hammering in his ears, “what were you saying? I didn’t catch that.”
Hansol’s eyes flit from Minghao’s paintings to his face. His expression is carefully blank. Minghao can’t decide whether to be disappointed or relieved. Hansol repeats his question; Minghao answers; Hansol closes the door gently behind him; Minghao thinks he doesn’t care. Hansol has seen his soul, laid bare in ink on paper, and Minghao thinks that Hansol doesn’t care.
Only—
It’s New Year’s. The dorms are eerily quiet for how many of them are still there. Minghao is reading on the living room couch when Hansol enters, video calling his parents and little sister. The low murmur of Hansol’s voice is comforting, a reprieve from the dead silence, and Minghao allows the English syllables to wash over him.
He tunes back in when he hears his name.
“Actually,” Hansol is saying. He’s switched to Korean now and his father’s face is filling the screen, “Myungho-hyung’s been painting a lot lately. I was wondering if you and mom could talk to him about it?”
Hansol’s already angling the phone towards Minghao’s face, his father’s enthusiastic “Yes, of course!”s spilling from the speakers. Hansol’s eyes are soft, gentle, encouraging. More than that, they are understanding.
We’ve seen this before, they say. We’ve watched mom and dad pour their hearts out onto the page, have seen canvases of happy yellows and heartbroken grays just like yours, and we don’t quite know how to help, but maybe they will.
Minghao is grateful for that, for the reminder that he has never really been alone.
Hansol is 20, 21. He keeps an eye out for things like new museum exhibits and vintage stores in the streets of whatever country they’re in and he asks Minghao if he would like to go.
Sometimes, when they’re walking, Minghao will pull Hansol next to a tree, in front of a wall, into a field, and ask him to pose. Hansol always agrees readily, doesn’t mind when Minghao arranges his limbs and shoves a camera in his face, and Minghao is grateful because he knows that Hansol does mind things like that. It gets a little old, after a while, when you’re an idol, but when it’s Minghao asking, Hansol never complains.
Sometimes, when Minghao is painting, Hansol will sit there with him, listening to whatever music Minghao has on or suggesting new songs, and he will simply watch. He’ll ask questions about what a particular stroke means or what Minghao was trying to express when he’s deemed himself done, and it’s nice to have someone to talk to. Minghao gets caught up in his head when he’s immersed in art, and sometimes, it’s not always the best thing.
It’s nice to have Hansol and his questions there as reminders that Minghao isn’t really alone.
Hansol is 22. They’re filming Going Seventeen and it’s cold outside but Minghao’s heart is warm, listening to the members compliment each other. It’s his turn next, so he hands his candle to Seungcheol as he climbs through the roof of the car. They tell him he has many paths in front of him, that he is wise.
Hansol tells Minghao that he wants to learn from him, that he wants to carve out his own space and style just like Minghao has, and when Minghao hears those words, he thinks, Maybe this is it. Maybe this is what I’m doing and why I’m here. Maybe this is the mark I can leave on the world.
Later that night, in the darkness of his single room, Minghao realizes:
He hasn’t felt the loneliness in a long, long while.
Re: [FILL] 终有一天我会 dreams come true
He watches Hansol’s eyes flit from painting to painting, feels something like fear crawl up his throat.
“I’m sorry,” Minghao says, heart hammering in his ears, “what were you saying? I didn’t catch that.”
This part in particular stood out to me, I love Minghao's seemingly chill cover up while his soul is spread out in the canvases all around and Hansol just leaves but he doesn't forget and he tries to help. Thank you for writing and sharing this!
Re: [FILL] 终有一天我会 dreams come true
(Anonymous) 2021-02-12 05:23 am (UTC)(link)i really appreciate the lovely feedback!! <3
p.s. i'm so sorry for replying only now -- i forgot to check until today ;A;
Re: [FILL] 终有一天我会 dreams come true
Hansol tells Minghao that he wants to learn from him, that he wants to carve out his own space and style just like Minghao has, and when Minghao hears those words, he thinks, Maybe this is it. Maybe this is what I’m doing and why I’m here. Maybe this is the mark I can leave on the world. <333 My favorite section. Gorgeous! Thank you!
Re: [FILL] 终有一天我会 dreams come true
(Anonymous) 2021-02-12 05:34 am (UTC)(link)UGH that moment of gose really Got me. i think verhao have one of the quieter, if you will, friendships in svt where we see them goof off a lot (viral dance trend buddies that they are), but we don't always see the more emotional side of their friendship, so when we do, my gremlin brain latches on to it and holds it close. i'm glad to hear that this moment turned into the section that was your favorite!!
thank you so much for your kind words!! <3
p.s. i'm sorry for replying so late :C i hadn't checked until now :C
Re: [FILL] 终有一天我会 dreams come true
>“Actually,” Hansol is saying. He’s switched to Korean now and his father’s face is filling the screen, “Myungho-hyung’s been painting a lot lately. I was wondering if you and mom could talk to him about it?”
was my favorite, the particulars of vernon not knowing exactly how to relate to minghao, but doing the next best thing, really hit me. thank you for sharing, this was wonderful!! <3
Re: [FILL] 终有一天我会 dreams come true
(Anonymous) 2021-02-12 05:58 am (UTC)(link)aaAA thank you for liking that part -- to me, vernon has always come across as someone who treats everything he loves with sincerity and this part was definitely a reflection of that, where he loves minghao (romantic or platonic, it really doesn't matter) and even if he himself doesn't know how to relate, i believe he'd try to think of all the ways to help and show hao that he cares :') and i, personally, think that's one of the most thoughtful things someone can do for someone else, so i'm glad to have used that to write something that seems to have had impact
i'm really grateful for your sweet response!! <3
p.s. i'm so sorry for the late response i forgot to check until now :(