Round 2: Alternate Universes

[hwarium]

Status: Closed This round has closed. It remains open for fills and comments, but prompts are no longer accepted. Seventeen Holidays Round 2: Alternate Universes About Sometimes its the characters that move us, but sometimes we fall in love with the the world behind the story. Something transformative occurs when we place the characters we love in an unfamiliar world, like the light has shone on a new side and we're seeing them anew. Run to the classics; revisit the magic of Harry Potter, the heart-punch of a Pacific Rim drift, the warmth of a Coffee Shop AU. Or maybe dig your fingers into a story that blew your mind - Battle Royale, The Raven Cycle, Interstellar - or demand better from a book that let you down (The Poppy War fin- mmph). Perhaps! You might combine two of your fandoms for maximum joy (Haikyuu and Tennis adjacent mutuals, I'm looking at you.) The possibilities are literally endless. Do it for the aesthetic, do it for the drama. Examples Wonhui x MDZS/Untamed Wonwoo as Lan Wanji, Jun as Wei Wuxian (Minghao as Jiang Cheng?). I want a cast that feels betrayed and shocked at Junhui's demise but then gradually learning his reasons behind it. Mingyu/Seungkwan Debating AU Imagine them as third speakers in the high school circuit. Rivals! Mortal Enemies! Prepared case summaries derailing into personal attacks, and then when their coach calls them out on it they become passive aggressive e.g. "there are major flaws in the opposition's arguments..." Jeonghan as Mal from Inception Any Jeonghan ship will do. I just want him to chaotically haunt a person while being sexy about it. 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! <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> 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 <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 *** 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! 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>

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ABOUT DATES FAQ BAIT LIST FILLS BINGO ROUND 1: QUOTES ROUND 2: ALTERNATE UNIVERSES ROUND 3: SCREENCAPS ROUND 4: WHO, WHERE, WHEN REMIX ROUND

Comments

motorsports would kill a victorian era child

[equational]

Ship/Member: any(*)
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: formula 1, the rituals are intricate i know they are
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt: take ur pick between sebchal dynamics where person a is a 4x world champion losing his touch and person b is the young rookie prodigy hired to replace him. to quote a tumblr post "what do you do when the reckless prodigy who's meant to replace you venerates you instead like you're the only reason why he's driving?" the mentor/student dynamics, the (respectful) MATURITY GAP!!! the YEARNING the "oh no i'm meant to hate you and i sort of do because you won't stop crashing into me on track and ruining the race for the both of us but you're the greatest talent i've ever seen and you look at me like this (*for the sheer record this screams seokwoo)

OR maxiel dynamics where one of you is a proven race winner and former #1 driver of the team thirsting after championship. you have the car, you have the skill, but you also have a new teammate who's a child prodigy with severe daddy issues and grew up too fast too soon just to be in f1. and yet. you fall in love with him anyways. even when his dad is pushing your team to promote him as the #1 driver, even when your team starts to favor him as the #1 driver. you live in the same country in the same building on the same floor and quickly become best friends. how could you not fall in love with him? anyways it culminates in on-track tensions becoming so severe it causes a crash while negotiating off-track relationships (WELL DONE BAKU) and ends with you leaving the team and joining another rival team (yearning? yearning even as rivals?) (**ok but imagine verkwan)

and if u really want 2 kill somebody consider brocedes dynamics

[FILL] rearview

[leeseokmin]

Ship/Member: Kim Mingyu/Lee Seokmin
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: AU-Formula One, ambiguous relationships, reverse chronology
Permission to remix: Please ask

***
Hi op... maxiel is like my #1 formula one pairing and i always think of seokgyu when it comes to yearning rivalry. i hope you enjoy this

mandatory pacrim au

[equational]

Ship/Member: any ot3 pairing but ESPECIALLY 97z
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: polyamory
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt: something something TRIANGLES ARE THE STRONGEST GEOMETRIC SHAPE IN EXISTENCE and THE WORLD'S FIRST THREE-PERSON JAEGER POD OPERATES A LOT LIKE THE LAW OF TRANSITIVITY: if person a can bond with person b and person b can bond with person c, then in theory person a can bond with person

[FILL] you’ve got such brittle armor

[sunwalkr]

Ship/Member: mingyu/minghao, implied 97z
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: mandatory pacrim au, enemies to lovers, begrudging devotion to golden boy mingyu (a common trend, i fear), fighting/war motifs
Permission to remix: yes!

***

At first, Minghao hates Kim Mingyu.

He’s big and he’s clumsy — fumbling, always fumbling around, whether it’s with his feet or his tongue — and more often than not, pulls these brash, stupid maneuvers during training sessions that Minghao hates with a passion. Rangers have lost their lives doing a lot less.

It doesn’t matter to him if Mingyu miraculously lands them every single time. Minghao has been out there in the thick of it, when the rain sets down heavy and the kaiju are no longer these creatures on paper but instead these horrific monsters that tower over you, jaws snarling with spit, looking for blood. All that serves as the last barrier between you and death is your co-pilot next to you in that jaeger. Just you two, in the middle of a thunderstorm.

What saves you then?

▲▲▲

Minghao sits at the debriefing but his mind is a million miles away, back in Anshan. The kaiju are getting progressively stronger, Seungcheol says with a deep furrow to his brow. As if he hadn’t expected it. As if everyone on the front lines isn’t acutely aware of the fact that every day they fight carries them further and further from victory.

Beijing had nearly fallen yesterday. It had taken the combined efforts of Hermit Tango, Echo Hound and Solar Fox to fight off a category three, all jaegers manned by pilots with 4 years of experience under their belt and hundreds of kaiju carcasses in their wake. And even then, they’d just barely been able to dispatch it, fighting tooth and nail to keep the hulking beast to just two miles offshore. Two miles closer, and the casualty would have been hundreds of thousands of civilian lives, instead of just Jeon Wonwoo and Kwon Soonyoung, the co-pilots of the Solar Fox.

Minghao hasn’t been able to reach his mother for seventeen hours now, and every minute of it is excruciating.

From what Seungcheol says, Wonwoo’s and Soonyoung’s injuries aren’t too life-threatening, but their jaeger is definitely worse for wear. It’ll put them out of commission for at least 3 months, though with what Minghao knows of Soonyoung, he’ll be raring to go in a month and a half’s time, Wonwoo never too far behind.

But still, it’s troubling. Another pair down, making it the 4th team they’ve lost in the past six months.

The problem isn’t the kaiju. It’s the jaegers. They simply don’t have the right machines to fight their monsters.

“What do you think, Minghao?” Seungcheol cuts into his thoughts, eyes worried. “Minghao?”

Minghao jerks to attention, eyes drawn to the screen. The schematics for the first ever 3-pilot jaeger flickers up in front of him. Cobra Moon. It’s bigger than anything Minghao’s ever seen. It’s beautiful. Then he looks at the three pictures of the proposed pilots beneath it. When he recognizes the faces, his heart seizes in his chest.

That’s the thing about war: the smart ones should never seek it out. But when it comes calling, you must never be afraid to answer.

He pauses at the last headshot. A boy, tanned and handsome, who smiles with all his canines.

“Kim Mingyu?” Minghao blurts out, horrified. Absolutely not, he wants to say. There is no way in hell I’d let him up there with Seokmin. With us.

“I know you have your reservations about him, Hao,” Seungcheol says placatingly, both hands out. “But whether you like it or not, he’s one of our best. And we don’t have the time to waste.”

“Besides,” Jihoon steps up beside Seungcheol, mouth quirking up into a grin, “nothing’s set in stone yet. You’ve got to see if you’re all drift compatible first. Your profiles all suggest that you are, but,” Jihoon shrugs, “there’s only so much that theory can uphold. Cobra Moon’s the most ambitious jaeger we’ve had yet, and we’ve got to have one hell of a team to man her.”

“And you think that’s us,” Seokmin interrupts, hands fidgeting with his lips. He sounds dubious, but Minghao doesn’t think Seokmin realizes that he’s already rising up to the challenge: broad shoulders straightening, body at full attention, a grim sort of determination already settling over all of his handsome features.

Seungcheol nods resolutely at this. “The kaiju are only getting bigger. We’ve got to get better.”

The or else is implied. Minghao feels the terror of it settle across everyone’s shoulders in the room, reeking of desperation. A billion lives hang in the balance, at the mercy of chance.

Minghao opens his mouth to say something else, but then Seokmin looks at him, eyes bright and eager to lead, and well, he has no other choice but to follow.

They nod in sync. There has been no need for words between them for years now. Familiarity is a weighty thing, and the both of them have always carried it well. Minghao and Seokmin. Seokmin and Minghao.

And now, Minghao thinks mournfully, Mingyu too.

“Yes, sir. We’ll try our best.”

▼▼▼

Minghao purses his lips, scowl set permanently in place as Mingyu exits the simulation with an exhilarated laugh, sweat running gloriously down the side of face. He’s trying his best, goddamnit, but it’s proving particularly difficult today.

Chan, a promising young pilot, follows, equally as drenched in sweat. His eyes widen when he sees that they aced the examination with flying colors, while Mingyu’s grin broadens even further.

The sight of it irks Minghao, no matter how much he tries to stuff the emotion. Another stupid stunt, another new never-before-seen record. Minghao can see Mingyu’s confidence grow, spiraling dangerously higher and higher, pushing at the confines of the roof.

Miracles can run dry too, you know.Minghao wants to hurl the words across the room. You cannot believe that luck will be enough to save all of us.

“He’s cute,” Junhui says offhandedly from where they’re standing, as if that is supposed to make up for everything that Mingyu has done since transferring to the San Francisco Shatterdome (read: burrow his way under Minghao’s skin like the fucking worm that he is). Minghao is simultaneously offended and outraged beyond reason.

“Still doesn’t give him the right to be so reckless,” Minghao mutters under his breath.

“He’s good,” Junhui pats his shoulder placatingly. “You just don’t want to admit it. Because he’s also good-looking.”

“One day, I will kill you,” Minghao says coolly, gazing distractedly at all the whooping and hollering. It's a warranted celebration: this group of rangers has all passed their evals for the evening and graduated. They’re all one step closer to getting their own jaegers, one step closer to finding their own co-pilots to drift and share them with.

One of them already has a team, though he doesn’t know that just yet. And a 3-pilot jaeger waiting for him, too.

Minghao studies Mingyu a little longer, letting his eyes wander the landscape. As much as he loathes to admit it, Mingyu has a face made for history, all noble and brave and memorable. And if Seokmin has anything to say about it, they’ll definitely make it there. The three of them.

Mingyu catches his gaze over the heads of his cohort. For a moment, Minghao is struck speechless. He knows Mingyu feels it too, watches the way Mingyu’s mouth goes slack with shock and disbelief, feels the electricity arcing through the air between them.

Minghao nods hesitantly, a greeting in earnest. Did you — ? The question goes unasked, but Mingyu imperceptibly straightens up and dips his head in polite greeting before whirling around to join the rest of the rangers on their way to the mess hall. I did.

Junhui sees the whole thing unfold and grins wickedly, though he quickly schools his features into a blank expression when Seungcheol walks by. “Sir,” he adds respectfully, then resorts back to a gossiping schoolgirl the moment Seungcheol passes, hanging onto Minghao’s arm. “So, I’m right, right? He’s cute?”

Minghao turns away. Lets that be his answer to the question instead, because he doesn’t want to think about a world in which Junhui is right.

►►►

Mingyu tries too hard in the kwoon room. He’s trying his best, but he is all windmills and big attacks where Seokmin is lithe muscle, poised and practiced and restrained.

They’ve been running combat for hours now, and every time Seokmin deftly blocks an attack to land one of his own, Mingyu lets out an annoyed growl and gets back to his feet and charges back into it. They’re sweaty, stripped down to their bare uniforms, muscle and sweat and meat clashing against each other, the sounds echoing around the room. It sounds absolutely divine and simultaneously wretched to Minghao, for the sole reason of it being Mingyu up there with Seokmin, under everyone’s careful scrutinization, and not Minghao himself.

Thwack! “Again.”

Thump! “Again.”

Smack! “Again,” Mingyu grits out, the sweat dripping from his forehead into his eyes. Seokmin bares his teeth in a thrilling grin and obliges.

The air is humming with anticipation. Has been ever since Seokmin and Mingyu have started. Even Jihoon’s surprised at the tenacity with which they go at each other, how easily energy slams into one body, flowing from one another. An intricate dance with an even more demanding ritual.

Blood hasn’t been drawn, but there’s something that tells Minghao not to rule that out just yet. He sits in the corner, watching Seokmin on the mat, legs crossed, veins thrumming.

He can’t tell if he’s angry or simply jealous. Whatever it is, he’s simmering in it. Minghao has to bite his tongue to refrain from lashing out.

War does not reward effort. It only remembers the victors, and Minghao does not intend to lose.

He expects to be here for a while, stuck to the soundtrack of Mingyu losing over and over again. A bloom of pride swells in his chest as he watches Seokmin gain point after point, driving Mingyu to his knees.

Then, something unexpected: Mingyu draws Seokmin in on a feint, uses the entirety of his opponent’s bulk against them and twists them around so that he’s got one knee on Seokmin’s heaving chest, face dangerously close to Seokmin’s. In a blink of an eye, Minyu has turned the tables and made it impossible for Seokmin to escape.

There’s a glint in Mingyu’s eye, crowing and victorious.

“Do you surrender,” Mingyu says, his forearm lined up against the adam’s apple of Seokmin’s throat, pressing down lightly. Mingyu’s not looking down at Seokmin though, and neither is Seokmin.

Minghao swallows and ignores the pounding in his ears as he stares at them from across the room.

He nods, throat too tight to speak.

“I do,” Minghao says, and the hate he holds for Mingyu begins to flutter, shapeshifting into something that resembles respect.

Minghao begins to craft his devotion.

(Hands are extended, pulling the both of them off the floor, and Minghao has to admit that Mingyu doesn’t look half too bad in this light.

“I think we started off on the wrong foot,” Mingyu laughs, wiping sweat haphazardly with the back of his hand. “I’m Kim Mingyu.”

“I know who you are,” Minghao says, but offers a small smile in return. Seokmin beams up at the both of them. “Welcome to the team.”)

***
a/n: feeling very much deranged i wrote this in between doing classwork all of today and i didn’t realize it had hit 1.8k but now here we are dw user equational :) i haven’t watched pacrim in a while so apologies for any discrepancies, but it still remains a comfort movie of mine. first off thank u for bonking me nothing gets me like the love hosted in devotion n the idea of entrusting ur life in someone else’s hands, especially in the context of the triangle. what a funky geometric shape !! i need to stop writing these at 2am but hopefully this makes sense somewhat.. i enjoyed this so much

the dark consumes me

[infrequencies]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe – Star Wars, Teacher/Student Relationship
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt: Really and truly I have Obi-Wan and Anakin in mind, but bonus points for the Force Bond from The Last Jedi. Student outpacing the Master, things that push you to the Dark, etc.

cherry magic au

[infrequencies]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Cherry Magic, Mutual Pining, Mind Reading
Do Not Wants: N/A

Prompt: Cherry Magic is a Japanese BL drama where the main character gains the ability to read minds by touching them after his 30th birthday because he's a virgin. He then finds out that the office ace has a crush on him after brushing hands. (tl;dr gaining the ability to read minds, mutual pining)

musical theatre au!!!

[(Anonymous)]

Ship/Member: any is fine!! but id love seokhao or any other ship with either seokmin or minghao!
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: musical theatre au
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:
person a is a musical theatre actor and person b is their dresser ( heres a video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bQDJBHpzMPU) that talks abt dressers and how they work). its all abt the physical intimacy and trust!!!

Circe AU

[klav]

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

Prompt:
Person A is exiled to a remote location. Person B, somehow, knocks on their door.

/bonus points for: one is mortal and one is not, touch starvation

[FILL] elysium

[moonfleur]

Ship/Member: Seungcheol/Joshua
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: circe au, gods and mortals, greek mythology
Permission to remix: Yes

***

How fragile.

That had been Joshua’s first thought when he’d first laid eyes on the man, wading through the rip-tide as the hull of his ship sank beneath the surface of the waves in the distance, cerulean swallowing darkness.

He hadn’t looked like much either, battered in a way Joshua could scarcely comprehend. Shadows marred his complexion, which had an almost unearthly shade of grey, like all the life had been leached from his bones.

Joshua had caught him before he hit the ground.

***

The next part came easy. Joshua’s always had a way with nature and the plants listened as he coaxed them out of their ground and under his pestle. Nectar dripped easily through parted lips and Joshua sang the magic to life inside him until colour returned to his skin and he no longer looked like a sliver of himself.

He wrapped the man’s wounds in calendula leaves, pressed his power into the salves beneath them. His skin was warm beneath Joshua’s fingers, and he couldn’t help but trace the lines of his arm, stopping just before his pulse point. The mark of this man’s mortality. What a strange concept, the idea that if Joshua hadn’t saved him he would have simply ceased to exist.

Then again, gods died all the time too. Only in different ways.

***

He woke a full day later, skin warmed to a beautiful bronze colour, nothing left on his body to show for his battle with the ocean and her monsters. Joshua heard the noise he made as woke, even from where he’d been tending to his animals on the other side of the island, and was immediately back in the house and by his bedside.

The man took one look at him and promptly fell right out of the bed in what could only have been an attempt to run, had his legs not been rendered almost useless from the recovery. He was beautiful like this, now that he wasn’t halfway into the Stix, dark hair falling like a curtain over equally dark, wide eyes that looked up at Joshua with an expression that Joshua had come to learn was fear. It stirred something unpleasant in him and he took a step back before crouching down to meet him on his level.

“I’m sorry for startling you,” he said softly. “I heard you wake.”

“Where am I?” His voice was low, rough from disuse but not unpleasantly so. It sent tingles across his skin and Joshua couldn’t help but wonder what he would sound like otherwise.

He smiled what he hoped was a gentle smile. “You’re on my island.”

The man frowned as he pushed himself back up into a proper sitting position. “My ship… I thought I was dead. Did you save me?”

“I did.”

“Who are you?” His voice was steady despite the obvious wariness in his eyes, and Joshua found himself more and more intrigued.

He edged closer, smiling slightly when the man no longer flinched or backed away. “You can call me Joshua.”

The man swallowed but he met his gaze with a strength Joshua wouldn’t have thought possible in humans. “I'm Seungcheol.”

***

That was how it began. How Seungcheol slowly weaved himself into the island and into Joshua’s very eternal life. He was curious about everything, about the magic Joshua pulled from the earth into the bottles and jars that lined the windows and shelves of the house.

He would follow Joshua out into the meadows and fields, into the darkness of the forest, wade into icy pools that seemed to be made out of liquid glass without hesitation, and always, always, with a question ready on the tip of his tongue. His magic seemed to interest Seungcheol as much as his mortality did Joshua, and yet, not once did Seungcheol ever ask him what he was.

It took months and multiple trips around the island for Joshua to find out why, sprawled out as they were atop one of the hills under the blanket of stars that never seemed to change. His plants curled around them in welcome, twining around their limbs like bangles of green, the stronger of them nudging him closer to Seungcheol than he would have liked.

Seungcheol lifted a hand in wonder, watching as the vine wound its way upward and between his fingers.

“Why do you always watch like it is your first time seeing the plants greet you?”

Seungcheol looked over at him then, a small smile playing around his lips. “Because sometimes I’m not sure I believe they’re real. That you’re real.”

Joshua laughed as he propped himself up on an elbow so that he could look down at Seungcheol. “Why would you think I’m not real?”

Seungcheol blushed then, an exquisite pink colour that tinted his cheeks in a way Joshua’s never seen before. “You— You’re too beautiful to be real,” he admitted softly, looking away from Joshua. “And you do these things that shouldn’t be possible, you healed me, you speak to plants and animals, and they listen to you. The island listens to you. And you— you never touch me. Sometimes… Sometimes I wonder if I died and went to Elysium and you’re just a figment of my mind…” He trailed off, flushing so deeply even his ears were pink.

His words stunned Joshua. It had been so long since the last time he’d met someone — god, mortal, some other creature in between — that he hadn’t realised that he’d been keeping what must have been an uncomfortable distance between them. He looked at how close they were now, barely an inch apart and yet there might as well have been an ocean between them.

“I’m sorry,” he said eventually. “I didn’t realise. It’s been so long since— Since there’s been anyone else here besides me I— I didn't know if I could. Would you let me? Touch you, I mean.”

Seungcheol’s head whipped towards him and Joshua found himself unable to look away from him, from the deep, intense blackness that was his eyes to the delicate curve of his lips. “Yes.”

Joshua moved slowly, gently, as he finally allowed himself to press the palm of his hand to Seungcheol’s cheek, to feel the warmth of his skin that was so different to the heat of the sun he knew ran in his own veins. Seungcheol’s eyes fluttered shut and Joshua took the opportunity to brush the hair of his face, marvelling at the way the strands felt coarse against his fingers, unlike the perfect smoothness of Joshua’s own hair.

“You’re beautiful too, you know?” Joshua whispered as his thumb traced along the edges of Seungcheol’s face, over the stubble that dotted his chin, and the lines of scars from older battles. And he was beautiful. Seungcheol was beautiful in a way that was so different to what Joshua was used to, weathered, and worn, and imperfect. It sang to Joshua’s heart the way his island sang to him sometimes, an answer to his own song.

He leaned closer as he brought both his hands to Seungcheol’s cheeks. “May I?”

Seungcheol nodded and Joshua pressed their lips together, humming in delight when Seungcheol reached for him too. Joshua was no virgin, millenia on Earth had taken care of that, but this was different. This was something he'd never felt before. It almost felt like his magic did when he called to it, like an energy flowed into his veins.

He gasped when it finally hit him, sending sparks shooting across his skin and he pulled away, panting, only to find Seungcheol in a similar state, his skin flushed an even rosier hue than before. His eyes were an inky blackness as they looked up at him. “Wow,” he breathed and Joshua couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him.

He leaned closer with a grin, the tips of their noses just shy of brushing. “Still think I’m not real?”

Seungcheol laughed, a wonderful sound that warmed Joshua all the way to his toes. “Definitely not.”

***

a/n: Ahhh I hope you like this. I feel like I may not have done as much as I (or you) wanted but I'm actually reading Circe at the moment so when I saw this I decided why not?

i had 2 find out from the tl today that seokmin knows how to tap dance (not clickbait)

[equational]

Ship/Member: seokmin + any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe — Theatre
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt: LEE SEOKMIN KNOWS HOW TO TAP DANCE. do what u want with this information but also consider seokhan or seokgyu dynamics where seokmin is a tap dancer. mingyu could be the clumsy artist in his first major acting role, and seokmin is the sexy and kinda mean tap dancer hired to teach him (think swing kids). minghao could be the veteran musical actor pairing up with brash, rising rookie lee seokmin in his first major acting role for seoul's biggest and newest musical centered around tap dancing (once again, i beg, CONSIDER SWING KIDS)

skinny bag of bones jeon wonwoo

[equational]

Ship/Member: any (BUT IF JWW...)
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: alternate universe - teen wolf fusion
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt: jeon wonwoo as stiles, PLEASE CONSIDER! snwu where ksy is scott (bonus points if instead of being a werewolf he's a... weretiger think: kate argent) but go crazy i yearn for high school svt dealing with their supernatural powers in a funny, comedic, but also dark "oh my god we could die at any moment and i just want to say i love you" way

bond girl seokmin

[sunwalkr]

Ship/Member: seokmin/any, 97z if you really want to draw blood
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: spies and assassins, casino royale, put them in tuxes
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt: heavily, heavily inspired by this tweet

not at all too familiar with 007 but i just think seokmin as a bond girl would be fantastic. maybe grand casino floors and open bars and dk as a lounge singer, crooning in the background while the job takes place. i came up with this mainly for the idea of thigh holsters and various blades hidden across seokmin's body (the idea of appearing gentle on the surface but with a darker danger running undercurrent if you really looked close, like if you got too close to touch you'd draw back and find yourself covered in blood, too). i think seokmin is written as kind very often so i am a big fan of letting him be cunning and powerful and sexy!!!!!!

also if u wanted to get caught up in the 97z of it all would u consider: seokgyu rivals who have thwarted each other at various turns, only to become reluctant teammates when they realize that their love (minghao, who has the both of them wrapped around his fingers) has become the target [so like a mr. and mrs. smith au also ensues]

[FILL] but you'll never have my heart

[surjamukhi]

Ship/Member: Seokmin/Mingyu, implied 97z
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: bond AU, lounge singer seokmin
Permission to remix: Yes

***


“Twenty four million in the pot already,” Jeonghan says, staticky through the earpiece. It’s obvious he’s trying to hide a smile. “Thought you were slated for surveillance tonight, 007?”

Mingyu doesn’t respond.

A: He’s staring right at Xu Minghao across the poker table because the croupier’s laid down a river card and Minghao’s just raised, gone all-in with twelve million, and Mingyu has thirty seconds tops to call his bluff or make his own move.

B: He’s done surveillance already, and he knows Jeonghan knows this, too. So, predictably, all Jeonghan is doing is gleefully poking fun at him for his current situation.

See, although the hotel ballroom is choked with bejeweled emissaries and diplomats and the just-plain-filthy rich, it was a simple enough job to pick Minghao out. What with his eye-catching grace and sleek Valentino jacket and pearls tight against his neck and all. Mingyu trailed him to the poker table. It was going fine. He had eyes on the burly blonde bodyguard on Minghao’s right. Things were planned to head south tonight with regards to that fucker.

But then, in an utterly humiliating turn of events, a few minutes before Minghao decided to throw twelve fucking million into the ring, Mingyu happened to look over at the man singing by the bar.

It was the voice that did it. An oddly familiar voice. Something Mingyu had maybe heard once in a dream or a more peaceful alternate universe, a little heartbreaking and sticky sweet, spreading like syrup under the shuffle of the chips and the croupier saying “The big blind is now one million dollars.”

And Mingyu needed, with a sort of desperation he should’ve known to avoid, to know who it was coming from.

Of fucking course he recognized Seokmin Lee.

But something about him made Mingyu’s palms sweaty all of a sudden, as if for this one night Mingyu wasn’t an MI6 agent but instead an audience member at a nightclub enthralled by a red-curtained lounge singer. It was like all the opulent light in the room had refracted off the chandeliers and Dom Perignon-filled crystal flukes and was now glittering within Seokmin as he sang, in his shimmering dusky eye makeup, in the gold choker that sat nestled above his delicate collarbone.

In the single star-shaped earring that brushed against his sharp jaw after he made direct eye contact with Mingyu and closed his eyes and reached for a high note, his face melting into some kind of ecstasy. Like he was having a fucking religious experience.

When Seokmin opened his eyes, he was smiling out of one side of his mouth. He knew Mingyu was watching. The expression looked so uncharacteristically coy on him that Mingyu had to look away real fucking fast, pretend he wasn’t flushing down to his goddamn Tom Ford silk bow tie, and think:

Well, shit.

Unfortunately, he hasn’t really been able to stop thinking that. Especially now.

Minghao is still waiting on his move. After that unfathomable twelve million dollar raise, the casino fell dead silent. Seokmin fell dead silent. This means that now Seokmin’s watching the table now. Watching Minghao. Watching—

“Focus,” Jeonghan chides softly in his earpiece. Focus. Focus. No distractions. He can’t let Minghao slip away. Not now. Not here.

Mingyu looks down at the table. Pushes his chips forward.

“Fourteen million five hundred thousand. All in.”

Murmurs ripple through the room. When Mingyu glances up again, he swallows hard in surprise. Seokmin’s standing behind Minghao’s chair, now, a single eyebrow raised. One of his long fingers, the one with a slender silver ring around it, plays with his bottom lip. He’s threatening to stretch into another arch smile.

He’s so strangely dangerous up close. His frame is so much bigger than Minghao’s. All potential energy.

Mingyu looks once and sees a pretty lounge singer with eyes that hold obscure secrets behind them. He looks again, forces himself to remember their long bruised past. Sees Seokmin as he is: a renegade for hire, always poised like a black widow, slipping into a performance of easy naïveté. His body tense and waiting, hiding no less than five blades.

Mingyu can almost feel the knife strapped against Seokmin's thigh. Mingyu has been on his knees with the cold tip of that blade flush under his chin, tilting his head up. He remembers what Seokmin told him then. That same dangerous half-smile on his face.

You should be more careful, double oh seven.

“Well,” Minghao says softly, “I think I’ll call your bluff on that one.”

Three players. Mingyu has to come out on top. The mission necessitates it.

The croupier calls the showdown. The entire room is holding its breath. Mingyu should be looking at Minghao, but he can’t stop looking at Seokmin, who is leaning forward imperceptibly into the silence, his choker glinting in new light against his throat, his eyes dancing.

He’s having fun. He’s enjoying this. Watching Mingyu squirm.

Minghao lays his cards down, and the murmuring rumbles back to life and Mingyu tears his eyes away.

Ace of Clubs and 6 of Hearts. Full house.

Seokmin smiles almost ruefully, a dimple deepening under his mouth.

“Monsieur Kim?” the croupier says.

Mingyu keeps staring into Seokmin’s eyes. Holds his half-lidded gaze for one, two, three seconds. Lays his cards down without looking away.

Five of spades and seven of spades.

The room bubbles like the overspilling fizz of champagne and bursts into applause. The croupier lays the cards down. Seokmin’s expression holds steady, which is more than a little off-putting.

“Straight flush. Monsieur Kim wins.”

Before Mingyu can even stand, the blonde bodyguard places a burly hand on Minghao’s shoulder.

“Mingyu,” Jeonghan says, a distant warning in his ear, but Mingyu is frozen, because Seokmin is still staring at him with that heavy gaze, trying to read the story.

It’s thrilling to be stared at by Seokmin. Mingyu knows him. Mingyu knows how it feels to be taken apart between Seokmin’s fingers like a puzzle.

“Mingyu, they’re standing up,” Jeonghan says, sounding as helpless as Mingyu feels. He’s feeling the cold blade against his chin. He’s feeling so many terrible and dizzying things. He stands, his hands needlessly fixing his bow tie, the chatter in the room all dull and fuzzy like an old radio.

Seokmin leans forward, elbows on the table. His cheekbones sharp above the shadows. Mingyu can smell his cologne.

“What’s wrong,” Seokmin whispers, one hundred percent earnest for a single precious second.

“It’s Minghao. It's- will you help me,” Mingyu murmurs.

“What the fuck are you doing,” Jeonghan hisses.

Mingyu is humbling himself. Losing his control and more than a little bit of his dignity, as he always tends to do in front of Seokmin.

“I don’t want to have to do this alone,” Mingyu admits softly. To Jeonghan, to himself.

To Seokmin.

Seokmin’s smile widens. He’s as beautiful as a lily of the valley and twice as deadly.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says.

***

[FILL] four in some velvet morning

[leeseokmin]

Ship/Member: Seokmin/Minghao
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Rule 63 - Always a Different Sex, AU - Spies, they're lesbians harold, op loves killing eve
Permission to remix: No

***
Minghao’s back is turned to the stage when polite applause follows the announcement of a performance by Diana Kim, fixed on the target fifteen feet away. She has no chance at parting the crowd around Choi Seungcheol and it’s not tonight’s objective either; it’s simple reconnaissance. There’s a breathless hello as the band starts up, a jazzy number kicking off after a whispered refrain. It paints the room gold in joy, Diana starts singing, and Minghao’s blood moves through her body like slush through a garden hose in winter. She spins on her heel—Junhui’s amused snort in her ear—and that’s all the confirmation she needs.

The last time Minghao had seen Seokmin, she’d picked out a bullet from Minghao’s arm with surgical precision, tongue out between her lips, and stitched Minghao up. The pain had knocked Minghao out and she’d woken up in an empty safehouse, with only the lingering scent of Seokmin’s perfume as a reminder Seokmin was by her side and not some bloodied, haggard shade picked from her memory. That had been six months ago.

It’s not like Seokmin disappeared off the face of the earth; Minghao would wake up to presents occasionally. A bottle of Baccarat Rouge 540 on the doorstep of her loft alongside a postcard from Paris, signed with the bright stamp of a lipsticked kiss. An antique diamond necklace from some countess' collection, and a headline the following day. Once, an original Monet that Minghao does not want to know the story behind.

(It hangs over her bed.)

This, Seokmin on stage, feels like one of those gifts: presented carefully with the edge of a threat, a razor embedded into the tube of her lipstick. Seokmin looks stunning, her dress a brilliant azure that puts the Santorini sky to shame, off the shoulder and flowing over her figure like a sheet of water, a high slit up her right leg. Minghao has heard her sing twice—both times in the shower—but this is incomparable, her voice clear as crystal, a siren’s song, encouraging heartbreak to follow.

“Recon’s over for the night huh?” Junhui chips in Minghao’s earpiece. “Stay safe.”

Minghao can’t even snap back at Junhui to defend herself because he’s right.

Seokmin doesn’t meet her eyes through the set—three songs—and Minghao is left wondering how much of it is genuine and how much of it is a game. Seokmin holds the last high note, the crowd erupts into genuine applause, and meets Minghao’s eyes with a smirk, satisfaction dripping from her ruby red lips.

Here is what Minghao has learnt about Seokmin: you must allow her to come to you. Press too hard, too fast and she draws into herself, holding you at a polite distance with all the frigidity of a tundra between you, if you’re lucky. If you’re unlucky, Seokmin’s bite is harsher than her bark, a knife slipped between your third and fourth rib with a brilliant smile.

Minghao withdraws to one of the open balconies, patient as Seokmin weaves through the crowd—her dress is apparently backless—drawing even the attention of Seungcheol himself. It’s still reconnaissance if she’s watching Seokmin easily drawing a gummy smile from Seungcheol, the way he trips over himself to assure her, his flickering gaze between her hand on his arm and her tongue over her lips as she speaks animatedly. Minghao doesn’t miss the disappointment when he asks her something and she replies, probably turning down an invitation to spend the night with him.

When Seokmin finally comes to Minghao, she takes a moment to inhale the scent that follows Seokmin: sage and sea salt.

“My love,” Seokmin smiles, stepping into Minghao’s space, reaching out. Minghao pulls her in—the moon reflecting the light of the sun—threading the fingers of her left hand with Seokmin’s right, her right going to the small of Seokmin’s back.

Seokmin giggles, and all of Minghao’s training goes out of the door, any pretense at neuroticism shattered like a hammer to glass. “May I have this dance?” Minghao asks.

“And if I say no?” Seokmin whispers.

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve denied me,” Minghao shoots back. Seokmin laughs, throwing her hand back with it and Minghao wants to drag her mouth along the line of her neck, map her body like a cartographer consumed by the discovery of a new continent.

It’s almost picturesque; Minghao with a beautiful woman in her arms, dancing to the strains of an orchestra as the sun dips below the horizon. It’s almost close to love, too; Minghao and Seokmin drift apart and come back together and drift apart and come back together, it is almost bedrock in it’s certainty.

“You look good, your haircut is nice,” Seokmin compliments, the hand on her shoulder moving to the nape of Minghao’s neck. Her touch feels like a live wire against bare skin. “I haven’t seen your ears in so long, it’s cute.”

Minghao wills herself not to blush but her body is always traitorous in the presence of Seokmin, ears burning. Seokmin’s smile turns into something softer, tracing the shell of Minghao’s ear. The Seokmin you see is the Seokmin you get—gentle, charismatic, the black hole at the center of the universe everyone hurtles towards—it’s the Seokmin you don’t see that you should be worried about. It’s Seokmin leg around Minghao’s hip as Minghao dips her at the crescendo of the song, miles of tan skin, the coy smile she shoots Minghao when her hands stray too high and finds the edge of a holster strapped around Seokmin’s thigh.

The tension between them is so thick it’s in their lungs, a tangible weight like disembarking a plane in Singapore, the first drag of air into your lungs after hours of recycled, climate-controlled air. Minghao’s hand goes higher, hiking up Seokmin’s dress with it, fingers skating over the cool blade, Seokmin’s eyes boring into hers.

When they kiss, it’s like the rebound of an elastic band; two people stretched too thin with want they snap back together. Seokmin’s mouth on her is desperate as Minghao rights them both, crowding Minghao against the balustrade, hands already under Minghao’s suit jacket, too impatient to bother with unbuttoning it. Minghao pulls away and Seokmin follows, the lowest whine under her breath.

“Not here,” Minghao says firmly, tugging Seokmin’s hands away.

They manage to weave through the crowd, pausing only for Seokmin to throw a flirtatious wink over her shoulder when Seungcheol catches sight of her ruined lipstick and rumpled dress. He looks heartbroken, and Minghao is probably too smug as they trip over each other in their haste to get to Minghao’s hotel room.

The night passes in a blur, against the cool surface of a mirror, against the down of the bed, time slowing down to molasses and Seokmin’s cry of Minghao’s name.

When Minghao wakes it is slow, gradual, dreams dissolving like cotton candy on the tip of her tongue; only to flinch into awareness when her fingers glide along a blade rather than a body. Minghao sits up, sheets pooling around her waist, Seokmin’s side of the bed still warm.

Let it be said that Seokmin is generous, leaving behind gifts for Minghao. Seokmin’s lipstick is smeared across the mirror— from where Minghao had pinned her against it and kissed her neck—a deep burgundy. Seokmin’s perfume lingers over the sheets like they’ve been laundered in it—and Seokmin can be petty enough to spray her perfume over Minghao’s sheets—sage and sea salt. Seokmin’s dagger—one of them at least, is in place of her body in Minghao’s bed—excessively ornate.

Minghao has shown her hand. It's Seokmin's move again, Minghao waiting for an answer.

[luvisms]

Ship/Member: Joshua/Any, Mingyu/Any, or Joshua/Mingyu
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: infidelity, triangulation of desire, missed connections
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt: just thinking about this photoshoot. anything vaguely inspired by wong kar wai's in the mood for love would be fun.

[FILL] looking through a dusty window pane

[surjamukhi]

Ship/Member: Joshua/Seungcheol, Mingyu/Jeonghan, implied Jeonghan/Seungcheol, implied Joshua/Mingyu
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: In the mood for love au, infidelity, missed connections, ambiguous relationships
Permission to remix: Yes

***

Are you still at work?
I’ll be late tonight, then.
I’ll see you in the morning, maybe.

It was a series of near misses. He nearly met Jisoo because they were trying to rent the same room. He asked the landlady if there was a place open. “Oh,” she said, patting her bouffant hair distractedly, “but I’m afraid it’s already been rented out! In fact, you just missed him.”

He gave her half-lowered eyes and a slight bow. “Very sorry to bother you, then.”

“Wait, wait!” Those eyes always seemed to work. “Well, how many of you?”

“Just me,” he said. “And a friend.”

She gave him a twice-over. She must’ve trusted what she saw in him. He’d always been aware of himself. Of the way he could make his own face a sort of gentle begging.

All of next week, the movers kept switching their furniture. He stood half in the doorway, his head nearly level with the ceiling light fixtures, listening to the accented Korean down the hall trying to stretch patience with the occasional cloying laugh, muffled within the bustle of the movers and the landlady who seemed ever-eager to help. “Mind that mirror,” the voice said. “Oh, not on top of the radio, please! Those shoes aren’t mine— they must be next door’s.”

The neighbor made an appearance only once or twice. Once in the mirror the movers were carrying in. Once cut-off by the doorjamb, anxious in profile, turned slightly towards the inside of the room. It was like slotting puzzle pieces together, trying to understand what he looked like, who he was. He had a full mouth, sleepy doe eyes. When the movers were gone they left behind more evidence of his life, but his door opened on the second buzz, and even in the false yellow evening light, half-swallowed by the dust motes of moving boxes, his face was breathtaking.

“Excuse me, but are the martial arts serials yours?”

“Oh!” The neighbor took the box and held it close. He had a single silver ring on his pinky finger and he wore a red satin shirt that seemed to stick to his skin. “They’re my husband’s.”

“He reads martial arts serials?”

“I don’t know why I lied,” the neighbor said, looking up through his lashes. “They’re mine.”

“I always loved those serials,” Mingyu said, tilting his head, making sure his eyes caught the light. “Hated to miss an episode. Once, I even thought of writing one.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I suppose I could never get started. But I have a collection, too. Feel free to borrow from it.”

The neighbor’s eyes shifted somehow. “Not now. But maybe another time. My name is Hong Jisoo. What should I call you?”

“Mingyu.”

“Mingyu,” Jisoo repeated, his mouth lifting into almost a smile. There was something deeply hidden about him. He was gripping his own poise white-knuckled, his back straight as a post, his neck long and swanlike. Mingyu held his gaze until he looked down at the box again. And then it became, somehow, another miss. A disconnect that was unbridgeable.

“Will I see you at dinner?”

“Maybe,” Jisoo said, his mouth curling up into another not-smile.

He arrived a half-hour after everyone else, when the baduk games had already started. He whispered into Mingyu’s ear, one elbow on the table, one hand hovering above Mingyu’s shoulder, “There’s a friend here for you. He said his name was Jeonghan.”

He pressed himself back against the doorjamb when Mingyu turned to leave like he was fighting against a magnetic pull. Their arms brushed over the threshold of the dining room.

***

Have you spoken to your husband yet?
Then we shouldn’t meet anymore—
Okay, then. After tonight.

“I’m sorry to take you out to dinner,” Jisoo said. He was staring into his tea, which was dark as syrup in the dim scarlet restaurant decor. “You might think it strange, but— I wanted to ask you something. The necklace you were wearing the other day. Where did you buy it?”

“Why?”

“You looked very elegant in it. Don’t laugh! You did. I’d love to get one for my husband—”

“Well, I’d have to ask my— I’d have to ask Jeonghan. He bought it for me. From abroad. They’re not available here.”

“Well,” Jisoo said, his smile disappearing, “never mind.”

“Actually,” Mingyu said, stirring his tea, “I wanted to ask you something, too.”

“Yes?”

“Where did you buy your tie?”

Jisoo glanced down. It was a red silk tie. “Oh, I wouldn’t know,” he said, sounding surprised. “My husband— well, Seungcheol buys all my ties. He bought it on a business trip abroad. They’re not sold here.”

“What a coincidence,” Mingyu said. He couldn’t look at Jisoo anymore. “Actually, Jeonghan has one just like it.”

He heard Jisoo’s spoon clink against the cup.

“Seungcheol has a necklace just like yours, too.”

“I know,” Mingyu said, pressing his palm into his jaw, staring at the cheap plastic laminate of the menu. He could almost see his own distorted reflection. “I’ve seen it. I thought I was the only one who knew.”

“Sometimes you look very sad when you think no one’s looking at you,” Jisoo said softly.

***

I have a lot to do here.
Forget it! Talk to you later.
No need to pick me up.

“Oh, Jeonghan didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“He left his shift early tonight.”

It began to rain on the way home from the office, but he didn’t notice at first. He trembled against a wall and finished fitting the situation together. It felt like trying to take a picture of his own reflection in a window.

He felt the way he did usually, late nights at work, staring into the dark while his cigarette exhaled blue smoke above his head. He was somewhere far away until he saw Jisoo ascending the stairs with a thermos of noodles. A sinewy silhouette that was one with the night until it emerged into the pale streetlight, shadow pinpricked with violent raindrops.

Jisoo’s tan suit jacket instantly soaked a dark brown, same as his eyes. He wiped at his face like he was wiping tears away. Delicately. Mingyu jogged forward and took his jacket off to hold it above both of their heads as they walked, and Jisoo looked up at him once with gratitude that bordered on awe.

“My husband’s on business,” he said when they were inside. Mingyu had heard the landlady gossiping about the husband. How often he was away. How sad it was to see Jisoo so lonely. Jisoo was valiantly trying not to shiver as he brushed his wet hair off his face. “That’s why I’m at the noodle stall so often.”

“I’m quite alone myself, lately,” Mingyu said, leaning on the wall.

Jisoo looked at him, his eyebrows lifting in an expression that could’ve been either sympathy or careful curiosity. He stepped further into his apartment. The space of the doorway behind him grew.

“Would you like to come in and share my food?”

Mingyu borrowed a towel and dried his hair. They ate sitting on the bedcovers, alternating the same set of chopsticks. The baduk games started up ten minutes in and didn’t let up, and they could hear the landlady’s gossip, constant as the rain. They put the empty thermos aside and talked about martial arts serials and began planning their very own.

At ten-thirty, Mingyu braced his hand against the door frame and watched Jisoo lean and scout the hallway, face sharpened tight by expectant tension. When Jisoo turned to look at him and shake his head, his nose almost touched Mingyu’s lips.

At midnight, Mingyu said they should get some rest. Jisoo stretched out on the bedcovers, and Mingyu sat on the floor next to the bed.

Once, Jisoo sat up on an elbow. He reached out slowly towards Mingyu like he wanted to touch his cheek, reached close enough that Mingyu could almost feel the heat radiating from him.

But he drew back soon, like it was an accident. Mingyu saw it all in the mirror that sat in front of him. He couldn’t sleep. His heart was racing.

At dawn, Jisoo finally touched him gently on the shoulder.

“You should go,” he said into his ear, soft enough that it made Mingyu shiver.

***

I didn’t think you’d come.
We won’t be like them.

Sometimes when they went out together they’d practice imagining how it had started. One time Jisoo tried caging Mingyu against a wall. “Seungcheol’s assertive,” he said, inches away from Mingyu’s mouth, the implication being that he, himself, was not.

One time Mingyu instructed him to ask why he’d called at the office.

“Why did you call me at the office today,” Jisoo asked across the diner table.

“I had nothing to do. I wanted to hear your voice,” Mingyu said, trying for coy.

He sounded ridiculous. They both dissolved into laughter.

“Jeonghan’s a smooth talker,” Mingyu explained. “I’m not.”

He was very different from Jeonghan. He expressed his love in his own reaching desperate way. One night Jisoo didn’t come out for dinner. The landlady said he was sick, and had a craving for sesame syrup.

Mingyu spent an hour making it, half-thinking it would be some kind of friendly gesture. But when he brought the thermos to Jisoo’s room and knelt on the ground by his bed and fed it to him carefully and brushed his damp hair away from his flushed eyes, it didn’t feel very casual anymore.

None of it did.

“Before, I couldn’t understand how it had started,” Jisoo said one night, staring at the puddles on the street. The gate they were walking next to cast irregular stripes of indigo shadow on his face, obscuring him even further. “It seemed impossible.”

He looked up and seemed to shrink into himself.

“I don’t want to become them.”

In the taxi he wouldn’t look at Mingyu. If anyone had looked through the window they might have seen two strangers who happened to be sitting next to each other.

But inside the car, when their hands brushed, Jisoo didn’t move away. He let them have that final moment.

He didn’t look at Mingyu, and he didn’t try to read all the things behind Mingyu’s face. The things that Mingyu might whisper into a ruined temple wall six years later, cover the breach with mud, hide away the one true thing that had slipped through their fingers like their own shadows.

***

seventeen + fire emblem

[hyojungss]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, war
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:
wikipedia:

Fire Emblem is a fantasy tactical role-playing game franchise [...] The Fire Emblem games take place across multiple unrelated settings within a Medieval or Renaissance-themed time period, with the main protagonist, being either royalty or a mercenary, caught in the conflict of two or more countries across a continent and fighting for their cause.

seventeen as characters in a fire emblem universe! to me the distinction of fire emblem is its range of classes, which allows you to cast your characters as swordsmasters, dark mages, healers, dancers, dragons, etc playing a tactical role in war. if you aren't familiar with the franchise please feel free to take this in a general fantasy route! if you are familiar, one of the strengths of the games is the support system, which provides TONS of dynamics - i would love to see a svt take on an fe pairing (especially from awakening, fates, 3 houses). (dimilix... hilclaude...) otherwise, class members as you like!! i really like casting pairings as opposites (physical/magical, dark/light magic etc). if you want a jumping off point this is my class fancast for fe3h but by no means do you need to use this at all. it's a lot LOL

[FILL] bury us alive

[hyojungss]

Ship/Member: Seungkwan/Chan
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: fire emblem awakening fusion au, non-graphic depictions of violence, risen are actually undead = this is also kind of a zombie apocalypse au
Permission to remix: Yes

A/N: yes i accidentally got myself with my own prompt... this is based on the script of the future past 2 dlc from fire emblem awakening so there is some dialogue taken verbatim. action is not my strength, but... yeah. thank you to ten for looking this over for me [seungkwan = inigo, chan = owain. hansol healer. mingyu wolfboy]

***

A legion of the undead approaches from the rear of the group, smelling human flesh. A rancid wind blows past them. Chan shivers.

“Mingyu can run it,” Seungkwan says, assuming authority, “Hansol, guard him.”

Hansol nods, healing staff in one hand, Mingyu’s in the other. Mingyu does not let his face betray emotions as he transforms, clutching the satchel of stones tightly against his chest. All four of them are already covered in blood wounds. There’s a particularly nasty bite mark on Seungkwan’s shoulder that Hansol’d only half-patched up before they had to run again.

In between them and the castle Ylisstol is five miles of Risen territory. There Seungcheol is waiting to receive two of the five gemstones needed to activate the only shield capable of withstanding the fell dragon. After that he will take the sword Falchion in hand and risk his life to slay him. In other words, they are literally the hope of the earth.

Under his breath Chan says something about how he’s got more stamina and Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

“You know I’m not trying to insult you, we just have to do our part, that’s all,” he says. “Seungcheol assigned us to this team so that we could protect Mingyu, not steal his job because we’re too confident in ourselves to realize any of us could die today, no matter how good at running we are. Look at how much farther ahead of us they’ve made it already, Mingyu can carry Hansol on his back.”

“Fine, whatever,” Chan says. “Stray Risen incoming on your left.” Seungkwan lobs his tomahawk at one and it hits him square in the neck. Chan stabs the other in the gut and is nearly choked in the neck before the parasites leave their host.

“Just because you won races at the castle’s athletic festival when you were a kid doesn’t mean you’re all that,” Seungkwan says, panting.

“Neither does winning jousting tournaments against Jeonghan in the finals,” Chan retorts. “Him getting there was a fluke and he didn’t even try.”

“That was one year!”

“Look,” Chan says, ignoring his glares, “we have to cross the bridge.”

The cliffs approach ahead - on the way to retrieve the stones they’d taken the low route, but there’s no time for that anymore, and the only way to cross without pegasi is a long rope bridge. To fall into the depths below would be a death sentence.

Behind them, the horde of Risen is so much closer than it’d been five minutes ago.

“I don’t think we can make it across before they start rampaging,” Seungkwan says, looking at the scene before them.

Chan wipes sweat from his forehead, the taste of iron ringing in his mouth. “The closer we let the Risen get to them, the harder it’ll be to keep us all safe. At least Mingyu and Hansol are almost to the other side, but Hansol doesn’t even have a weapon.”

“Well, yeah,” Seungkwan says, a little bit hopelessly. “Hansol is good at his job though—”

“Stop talking about jobs,” Chan snaps. “It’s the end of the world, we don’t need to specialize.”

“You don’t think you were put on this mission for a reason?”

Chan slows down just to look at him.

“Don’t stop running, you idiot,” Seungkwan shouts, without looking back.

From behind Seungkwan looks strong, muscles defined in a way Chan hadn’t ever really noticed. When he thinks about it, it’s been like this since they were young— Seungkwan gives a feeling of security, protection, to anyone who merely stands next to him. Chan would never admit it now but maybe if things were better and they had the free time to give speeches about who they looked up to, Chan would call Seungkwan his hero.

“You should cross the bridge,” Chan says. “I’ll stay.”

Now Seungkwan can’t help but freeze in his tracks. “You’ll do WHAT?”

“I’ll fight,” Chan says. “You tease me all the time about being cocky but deep down you know I can fight, and I’ve fought multiple Risen at once. I wasn’t on Seungcheol’s guard for two years doing nothing. And once you make it to the other side, I’ll cut the bridge down.”

“I can’t do that,” Seungkwan says, facing him. Begging him.

“Do you want me to die,” he asks slowly, “or do you want all of us to die?”

“You don’t think there’s any other way?”

“There isn’t,” Chan says affirmatively. “This gives us the best chances of survival. And by us I mean... everyone who’s waiting for us in Ylisstol. I was top of the Military Tactics class my year, too,” he adds to give some encouragement, but Seungkwan isn’t smiling at all.

“Chan...”

Chan puts on the bravest face he can muster. It comes easier than he thought it would. “I know this isn’t going to be easy for you, Seungkwan. But I really am glad that I got to spend my last moments with you. Now go! We’ve wasted so much time. You have to catch up to Mingyu and Hansol, and protect them. You have to survive.”

The mob of Risen thunders down the path behind them, surrounding the cliff’s edge. Seungkwan just stares at him.

Chan can only keep up his front of bravery for so long before he starts shaking. “Um... Seungkwan? This is the part where you go.”

“I’m sorry, Chan. I can’t do it.”

Seungkwan turns to the bridge posts and with large, wide swings of his axe, he cuts through the rope so that the heavy wooden planks crash against the cliff on the other side, the impact echoing through the valley.

In the distance Mingyu and Hansol hear that sound and turn around in horror.

Chan, too, is frozen in shock. “Seungkwan... why would you do that?!”

“You know why!”

“But my epic speech... We didn’t both have to die!”

Seungkwan takes him by the shoulders. “Your idea, while tactically sound or whatever you want to call it, is unquestionably ridiculous. What am I supposed to tell everyone else? That the baby of the army who we practically raised ourselves decided to put on a brave face and sacrifice himself, and I just let him?”

“I’m— I’m not a baby,” Chan interjects, stammering, but there’s absolutely no bite to his words.

“No, it’s just not going to happen,” Seungkwan continues. “They’d never let me go for it, and I’d never let myself go either. It’d be unforgivable. I don’t care what you have to say.”

“But we’re going to die, Seungkwan!” The Risen close in around them, and Chan raises his sword.

“Stop,” Seungkwan says, looking Chan in the eyes, the most fearless person he’s ever seen. “We’re not going to go down without a fight. We can save the world together. Don't you want to be there to see it?”

A/N: the next chan line goes “heh i guess i was too legendary to die anyway”

because it would be tasty: the other teams are 96z as seungcheol’s guard / jihanseokhao for the other stones

And I walk like a lion

[icarusundone]

Ship/Member: Wonwoo/Doyoung
Major Tags: Minor Character Death
Additional Tags: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Fusion AU, hamlet figure jww strikes again, not a 1:1 character mapping except maybe it is
Permission to remix: Please ask

***

When he was a child, Doyoung playacted chivalry with the other heirs of the Kingdom’s noble houses. After they finished their weapons training for the day, they would wait for the crown prince to be dismissed from his lessons so that they could spend their afternoons reenacting knight’s tales in a castle garden.

Minghao was the pegasus knight fiercely devout to his liege, the youngest but already intimately familiar with tradition, while Soonyoung was his trusty steed. Wonwoo played the captured prince, imprisoned on a terrace or under an arbor, and Doyoung—eager to show off his lance training—was the villain.

Each reenactment ended with Minghao’s training lance at Doyoung’s neck. With one swift motion of Minghao’s lance, Doyoung fell to the ground, his limbs askew, as Minghao rescued Wonwoo and recited his vows of fealty while Soonyoung pranced around in the background.

On occasion, one of Wonwoo’s sisters would grace them with her presence: Heejin clamored for them to carry her, Haseul stopped by from the stables and her and Minghao would hold lengthy conversations about pegasus knight training, and Seulgi sat under an arbor with a sketchbook, rendering the garden and their games in charcoal. Even baby Wonyoung visited the gardens on occasion, carried by a nursemaid and babbling for her brother.

Their names all grace the plaques of empty tombs now.

And the heirs?

The young heirs who used to act out knight’s tales all turned into monsters themselves.

⚔

Doyoung had only told Soonyoung before he transferred to the Black Eagles class. He had been so close to saying nothing at all, but that old Faerghan sense of loyalty dictated that he uttered his betrayal to Soonyoung during stable duty.

At least it was Soonyoung, out of all his childhood friends. Like Minghao, Soonyoung himself would stay with Wonwoo, but unlike Minghao, Soonyoung wouldn’t ask why. Wonwoo hadn’t been his confidant in two years.

Soonyoung looked at him with sad eyes but made no requests for him to stay, like Doyoung had guessed. They spent the rest of stable duty in silence, save for Soonyoung patting him on the back when they finished.

“Don’t be a stranger, alright?” he said, so incredibly earnest, and Doyoung couldn’t find it within himself to respond.

⚔

Wonwoo tried to talk to him after he transferred. Doyoung supposed that a painless transfer would be too much to ask for— just a discussion with the professor teaching the Black Eagles and then the deed was done, signed and bloodless, but of course he was still being haunted.

So here he was, trapped into a retroactive conversation with his former house leader at the training grounds before the sun rose because he frequented the training grounds at this time since no one else was around, except Wonwoo was already here this morning, turning the training dummies into piles of straw with his black magic.

“Hello,” Wonwoo said, turning his attention away from a dummy dessicated by Mire. His lips contorted into a grin once he met Doyoung’s eyes.

Doyoung grimaced. Trust Wonwoo to think that a smile was enough of a disguise. What a farce.

“What do you want,” he said bluntly. There was no use in exchanging pleasantries with a beast.

Wonwoo shook off his rudeness as easy as anything and pressed on. “I was wondering if we could discuss your recent transfer?”

Doyoung walked over to a weapon rack to pick up a training lance. It gave him the added benefit of no longer having to look at Wonwoo. “It makes sense for me to transfer to the Black Eagles,” he says. “You’re well aware that my house’s territory borders the Empire. I should learn the people that I’ll eventually be negotiating trade deals with.”

It was a truth. Doyoung didn’t feel the need to mention the quiet envy toward his younger sister Minjeong, who wasn’t saddled with the burdens of governing a territory and administrative work. He too once harbored dreams of his father realizing that Gongmyung was more suited to administrative work than he was, but then Gongmyung was buried, and becoming a martyr granted many privileges in Faerghus, but even a corpse couldn’t rule a territory.

He also didn’t voice the suffocating need to leave, sick of watching the monster that occupied his dead friend’s skin. But what was the point of discussing the affairs of men with a beast?

When Doyoung was done speaking, Wonwoo awkwardly said, “Thank you for looking out for the best interests of the Kingdom,” his voice too stilted and formal.

Doyoung whirled around, his hands gripping the training lance so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “I didn’t do it for you,” he sneered.

Wonwoo quieted. Really, the crown prince had to learn how to talk to people eventually.

“Nevertheless,” Wonwoo said, meeting his gaze, his eyes persistent, “you are always welcome here.”

“I wasn’t aware that you owned the training grounds,” Doyoung said brusquely, refusing to acknowledge Wonwoo’s statement. Lance in hand, he left the grounds.

⚔

Minghao stops talking to him for a week when it becomes clear that Doyoung won’t tell him why he transferred. On what would be the eighth day of silence, Minghao shows up at the training grounds and demands a spar, which he obliges. Afterwards, the two of them sprawled on the ground, Minghao talks about what’s been happening with the Blue Lions—Sana had apparently started yet another small fire in the classroom—and it’s like nothing has changed.

Wonwoo gives him small, shy smiles when they pass by each other in the monastery. Doyoung pointedly ignores him.

⚔

When Wonwoo was thirteen, his parents, siblings, and court supporters were murdered on their journey to an eastern Kingdom territory. His sisters’ carriage had tripped the ambush, their bodies charred beyond recognition and recovery.

The rest of the royal retinue had fared little better. Doyoung’s father had ridden to the capital to identify Gongmyung. He returned with a blackened iron spur, the only personal effect he’d been able to collect, and never spoke of the trip again. Why be reminded of what was left of his firstborn when he could instead be deified as a true knight, turned into an abstract and freed from a corporal body?

A month after, Doyoung and his father traveled to the royal palace to watch Wonwoo’s uncle be sworn in as regent. Wonwoo stood stiffly next to his uncle. He was nothing more than a gangly teen still growing into his blue ceremonial robes. His arms lay limply at his sides, his hands adorned with a pair of white gloves. It was the first time Doyoung had seen him since the tragedy. Wonwoo’s eyes were empty as he watched the proceedings. He was a future king with no subjects to rule.

⚔

Doyoung had only seen Wonwoo’s hands once since the tragedy. The two of them had been sent to suppress a rebellion in the western part of the Kingdom. They were now fifteen, the same age Doyoung’s brother was when he had been knighted. They were no longer children.

He watched the maniacal glee on Wonwoo’s face as he burned the rebels to a crisp, his expression transformed from prince to beast— no, not transformed. He was revealing who he had been all along. What he had been all along.

The smell of burning flesh and the screams still haunt Doyoung now at the Officers Academy. The crown prince discarded his gloves when they became too blood-soaked, unveiling his gnarled hands, burn scars littering his skin. His fingertips were ink-stained, corrupted with black magic residue. His palace tutors had never trained him in black magic.

When his hands had eventually failed to cast, he drew his bow, skewering rebels with arrows.

And instead of anyone condemning his actions, he was praised. The soldiers cheered at their crown prince’s ruthlessness. He used to cry when he broke training swords, and now he gleefully massacred his own countrymen.

And Doyoung realized that the boy he loved was dead.



Title from “Blessed-Cursed” by ENHYPEN

figure skating is f1 is jaeger copilots is

[equational]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: alternate universe - figure skating
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt: pov aha what if i was the men's figure skating olympic champion at a young tender age of 19 with the weight of an entire nation and my own expectations on my shoulders and you were my compatriot whom many wrote off because you never did well until you did and now you're catching up to me, chasing me to all the way to the silver gold medal and i tease you on podiums because i used to know you as the kid who was always on his phone during banquets but now you've grown into a man i can love despite our entire country pitting the two of us as rivals but also expecting us to work together to bring home blood and glory? [ based off of yuzuru hanyu/shoma uno AHAAAAA ]

single father jeon wonwoo...

[equational]

Ship/Member: Any (BUT CONSIDER: SOONWOO)
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: alternate universe - hospital playlist fusion
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt: what's one thing harder than being a single dad? being a doctor and assistant professor of general surgery too. thankfully he has his best friend, the professor of neurology, who's there for him and his son even when he least expects it. consider this exchange "what do you do for yourself that makes you happy" / "this. eating with you." consider single father jeon wonwoo hopelessly enamoured by his brilliant best friend kwon soonyoung. if you really wanna snipe multiple people CONSIDER SINGLE FATHER KIM MINGYU AND LEE JIHOON WHO'S ALWAYS BEEN BY HIS AND HIS DAUGHTER'S SIDE [faints]

[FILL] love is a bowl of food, scraped empty

[deadwine]

Ship/Member: Wonwoo/Soonyoung
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe-Hospital Playlist Fusion, Surgeons Soonwoo, Single Father Jeon Wonwoo, Food As A Love Language, One-sided Pining, Wonwoo could be Ikjun but he's even more repressed than Jeongwon
Permission to remix: Yes

***
a/n: i'm not sure if this qualifies for all that you asked for, i've never written a soonwoo and i didn't go into the medical backstory or jww as a father dynamics at all but this bonked me so hard because i was re-watching hospital playlist and this exact episode LAST NIGHT so i'm sorry if most of this reads like a detailed re-telling of that scene. there are also other not-so-obvious references to scenes in the show. this is unbetaed and written in one sitting, i'll probably come back to it later ;_;

***

Wonwoo has only just managed to put Jinwoo back to sleep when his phone goes off, rattling the wooden table it's kept on with its insistent buzzing. He picks up before it can rouse Jinwoo— a half-asleep child is cranky in his own right but having to put an unwell kid to rest after breaking him out of deep sleep is a whole other beast that Wonwoo has learnt, the hard way, not to mess with.

He talks fast, in hushed whispers. “Hmm? Did you give him antibiotics? Okay keep increasing the norepinephrine, I’ll be there in a bit.”

Jinwoo's chest is warm, warmer than it was minutes ago when Wonwoo checked his temperature and he can’t help but worry that it will only get worse over the night. Logically, he knows the meds take a while to kick in and Jinwoo’s fever is still mild at best. But the last few years have taught him that every rule he lives by in the hospital flies out of the window when Jinwoo is involved. Wonwoo knows well enough that he’s going to be irrationally anxious all night. All he can do now is to make an emergency call— he can't ask anyone else to check on his patient but he most definitely isn’t about to leave a feverish Jinwoo alone in bed.

He checks the clock on his phone. 1:30 a.m. Hopefully, his resident will buy him some time.

*

He must have dozed off because he wakes up with a start, hands slipping off Jinwoo's bare tummy. There's a click of a door closing on the other side of the wall and then the door to Jinwoo's room opens. Wonwoo checks his phone.

1:51 a.m.

"Did you fly here?" He asks incredulously, smile breaking out on his face despite himself.

*

It’s almost seven by the time he leaves the hospital— a new morning despite the overcast skies stretching Seoul’s night by a couple hours. He hurries to beat the rain back home. On the drive back he dreams of a rainy night not too long ago: an evening devoid of scheduled surgeries, a downpour on the window panes and sujebi.

Maybe— well, nevermind.

*

He slips off his shoes quietly, at the foyer, hoping to find a well-recovered Jinwoo in bed. He pads down the corridor and opens the door to Jinwoo’s room and stops in his tracks:

Soonyoung lies asleep on his side, curled into Jinwoo— an arm pulling Jinwoo close to his body, chests moving in tandem. A wet towel lies on the bed stand, on top of Soonyoung’s phone and next to a mug of water. The bedside lamp hasn’t been switched off and it casts a warm glow over their bodies. Wonwoo has a sudden vision of a morning exactly like this, one he hasn’t lived yet but wants to.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there in the doorway, taking in Sooyoung’s blonde hair splayed out on his pillow, hand curved protectively around his son’s stomach— sleeping through the storm that has only just reached their windows. He only moves away when he sees Soonyoung stir, closing the door behind him.

Wonwoo feels warm from the inside out, like he’s just dipped his body into a hot tub of water after getting drenched in the rain. There is no loud epiphany knocking at the door, asking him to take note of his own heart. He knows— of course he does. He’s always known.

Not the first they met, backs against the musty walls of SNU as they waited to be called in for the interview. Not even the second first time they met, an even mustier storage closet floor beneath them and Soonyoung’s bright smile revealed not a hint of recognition— Wonwoo could wait.

It crept up on him between classes and noraebang trips and Soonyoung’s insistence on dragging them for dance recitals in between their clinical trials, Junhui picking up how to play the keyboard overnight and stealing ramen from each other during band practice. By the time Soonyoung’s birthday came around, at the end of the year, Wonwoo had never been more sure of anything as he was of the fact that he was in love with Kwon Soonyoung: bassist, spotlight stealer, kimchi addict, fake vocalist and best friend, all of it included.

Soonyoung introduced them to the sunbae he was dating that June— not that it mattered. Wonwoo would wait.


He makes his way to the kitchen, hungry and brimming with want.

*

Soonyoung shows up as he’s taking the nurungji off the pan, banchan already laid out on the table.

“The fever’s gone down now. I checked before coming out.” He says before Wonwoo can ask, voice sleep-slow and slurred.

Wonwoo breathes a sigh of relief. “Breakfast?”

Soonyoung rubs his hands over the creases lining his eyes. “Shouldn’t you catch some sleep?”

Wonwoo places the nurungji on the table and chuckles, “You know I won’t be able to wake up if I sleep now. I’ve already heated everything— let’s eat.” He pulls out a chair for Soonyoung and motions towards it.

Soonyoung hesitates only for a second more before dragging himself to the chair and plopping down, face lighting up at the sight of the tiffin boxes laid out. He fumbles with the chopsticks for a moment but finally manages to take a big bite. Wonwoo’s heart swells at the sigh he lets out, eyes closed in a way that means he’s obviously enjoying the food.

He finally looks up and catches Wonwoo staring. Wonwoo pointedly reaches for the kimchi.

Soonyoung goes back to his food.

“Mmm, this jangjorim is so good— don’t tell me you made it?” Soonyoung’s voice is muffled, mouth stuffed to the brim.

“Mom sent it over. Didn’t I fry the egg perfectly?”

“You did.”

Wonwoo smiles around the rice, reminiscing mornings when even ramen had been a novelty. All the food that he cooks now he’s had to learn after Jinwoo was born and he still relies on packages from his mother to get by— yet, he has learned and Wonwoo is grateful for it. Now, he can’t imagine going back to a life where he hadn’t experienced the joy of watching Soonyoung dig into the food he has cooked.

The things he wants— they’re so simple. They were simple before Jinwoo and they remain so now but somehow twenty years have passed and they seem ever so out of reach. Perhaps it’s just that he’s allowed waiting to become his first nature.

*

With every bite, Wonwoo notes, Soonyoung slumps into his chair a little.

“Tired?” He asks eventually.

“A little, yeah. I had a coil embolisation in the evening yesterday. It took longer than expected.”

“And the patient?”

“He’s out of danger but he hasn’t woken up yet so it’s a waiting game now.” Soonyoung’s eyebrows furrow in contemplation.

“You did well, Soonyoung-ah. You did your best.” Wonwoo says firmly, eyes fixed on Soonyoung, steadfast.

Soonyoung’s eyes crinkle upwards and his mouth stretches in a soft, languid smile— Wonwoo’s favourite, an expression of gratitude Wonwoo covets zealously, heart spilling over meal after meal just so he can catch a glimpse of it— until his lips upturn in a frown.

“Wonwoo-yah, go grab some sleep— you’ll be falling over yourself in the OR later, if you don’t sleep now.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, “I’ll be fine, I can’t sleep now anyway. I have to check on Jinwoo once more before leaving and I have appointments at eight thirty. Plus, I need to read up for my symposium next week, I’ve hardly had any free hours for studying.”

Soonyoung’s hand stills over the food. “Wonwoo,” he asks, voice careful yet stern, as if he’s telling off his interns, “when was the last time you did something for yourself?”

“For myself?” Wonwoo muses out loud.

Soonyoung puts down his chopsticks. “Yeah, for yourself— not Jinwoo, or your sister, or that resident you’re really fond of— for yourself.”

“What have you done?” he retorts before Soonyoung can press further.

Soonyoung grins, like he was hoping Wonwoo would ask. “I bought a printed tent.”

“A...printed tent?”

“You know how I go camping on the weekends? So, my old tent was getting boring so I bought myself a tent— wait let me show you a picture.” He pulls out his phone from his pocket and unlocks it excitedly, scrolling rapidly until he finds what he’s looking for. He shoves the phone under Wonwoo’s nose, shaking it, “look! Isn’t it cute— it even has tiger paw prints on it.”

Wonwoo takes a look at the muddy green tent on the screen. “Soonyoung-ah, why do you even need this? Your old tent works perfectly fine, it isn’t torn or damaged or anything.”

“Yah, I bought this for myself, okay? I treated myself with this! You have no idea how happy I was when it arrived.” Soonyoung scoffs.

“Let me guess. It made you pull out your stupid old Shinee routine for your pre-scrubs routine.” Wonwoo answers smugly. Soonyoung sticks out his tongue. “Soonyoung-ah, do your new interns know about your tiger fetish?”

Soonyoung reaches out and hits his arm. “Shut up— of course they do. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo groans internally. A focused Soonyoung is a dangerous Soonyoung.

“Tell me. What do you do for yourself?”

“This. Eating with you.” It slips out of him almost helplessly and Wonwoo freezes, breath stuck in his throat, eyes slowly trailing up as he realises what he’s said.

Soonyoung’s face is blank and his voice curious, as he asks, “What? What did you say?”

Wonwoo exhales.

“I treat myself by eating with you… just sharing a meal, grabbing a cup of coffee together. That’s all I need.”

Soonyoung blinks at him and then looks away— to his left, right and then back down at his dish. The silence is unbroken except for the scraping of their chopsticks on the almost empty bowls. Wonwoo doesn’t look away from him until he looks back. He lifts his chin slightly and points at Wonwoo’s hands. “Eat up,” he says.

Wonwoo schools his grin into a poker face.

“Oi Kwon Soonyoung, it’s raining outside.” The bubble breaks.

“What— really?” Soonyoung startles, looking over his shoulders at the window.

“Yah, should we take you to an ENT? How could you not hear it till now?” Wonwoo kicks at his feet under the table.

“I just didn’t notice, I guess I was too fixed on the food.” Soonyoung kicks back for good measure before getting up and walking into the kitchen. Wonwoo stretches out on his chair, watching Soonyoung put away the empty dishes in the sink.

“Can I open the window?” He turns to Wonwoo eagerly, eyes wondrous and wide, as always, at the sight of the downpour. Wonwoo hums his approval and makes his way to the window, stopping beside Soonyoung.

“Coffee?”

Soonyoung beams.

closing the circle with a tennis au

[equational]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: alternate universe - tennis au
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt: tl reminded me of tennis this fine evening and i humbly offer you an au i know NOTHING about: "Almost every junior tennis player has a rival growing up. But it’s not often those kids grow up to be so good that they battle for the No. 1 FedEx ATP Ranking." taken from the actual atptour. GUESS WHO!

djokovic is ass but please consider the implications of being born one week apart from your greatest rival in the sport and hitting your peaks at roughly the same but not completely the same time but either way. you catch up to them. you topple them in a way that no one else has really been able to because you know by heart and by the shared sweat of years of going to the same tournaments and training camps when you were juniors all the way until now. you're best friends off the court, rivals in the greatest sense, and he is the biggest witness to your career and life. likewise. you take no.1 from him. and then your hip gives out. / ALSO possibly consider fedal dynamics [haha *dies*] where you're a young and rising teenager landing an upset on the world no.1. you grew up admiring him but now you're the one beating him and in doing so you've carved out a space for yourself next to him where no one else can come remotely close to touching the dominance that both of you share. something something number one is the loneliest place in the sport something something what's it like to see your friend/lover/compatriot on the court something something what's it like to see someone grow into someone you could love. age gap dynamics anyone.

(for the banter: tennis rivalries as figure skaters as f1 rivers as jaeger copilots. home run baby)

wait no the circle closes with this one

[equational]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: alternate universe - football
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt: haha what if i was a hometown hero about to make my debut with the strongest team in the league that won the national title last season and you're one of the star players responsible for orchestrating the ball through midfield and what if we quickly became best friends and work together so well that we get compared to arguably the greatest pairing of all time in messi/alonso and our bond gets called telepathetic and what if we make it to major successes like the semi-final of the champions league and we win a league title together but what if you left for the other greatest club in the country forcing us to become rivals/lovers in a long distance relationship and what if we both got called up the national squad for the world cup and we play every minute together until i get a devestating injury in the semi final but you score the winning goal in the final giving our country the first medal in years and you never forgot to hold up my jersey while i watched from the sidelines and what if you moved back eventually and we reunited...what if (the ghosts of gotzeus haunts me!)


(something about SPORTS inspires the greatest devotion anyways f1/figure skating/tennis/football. am i missing any other tender sport)

the old guard

[icarusundone]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: Major Character Death, Violence (?)
Additional Tags: The Old Guard AU
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt: killing each other over and over again only to discover that you’re both immortal is something that can be so tender.
a treatise on unlikely soulmates and learning how to work and fight together through the centuries!! maybe something on possession and jealousy (either you die by my hand or you don’t die at all), violence as tenderness

ROUND CLOSED

[hwarium( as admin)]

This round has closed. It remains open for fills and comments, but any prompts posted after this Junhui will be deleted~