Status: Closed
This round has closed. It remains open for fills, comments and remixes, but prompts are no longer accepted.
About
"If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more."
"What is grief, if not love persevering?"
"You kept me like a secret but I kept you like an oath"
Calling all readers, lovers of poetry and music, screen and stage. Quote collecters and lyric hoarders, unleash your archive. Each prompt must contain a quote - you can combine them, add commentary, link to articles, and more. Steal from a literary classic, or WeVerse drama. Have fun!
Examples
Minghao + Ocean Vuong
The most beautiful part of your body
is where it's headed. & remember,
loneliness is still time spent
with the world.
Ocean Vuong - night sky with exit wounds
Hoshi/Anyone; "Beauty is terror"
Thinking about these two quotes together and the idea of on/off-stage personas:
"Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful we tremble before it. And what could be more terrifying or beautiful, to the Greeks to to our own, than to lose control completely?" - Donna Tartt, the Secret Histories
"I am calm in everyday life but when I put on my in-ear device and step on stage, I can feel the tension and hear the cheers getting louder as the music gets louder. When the staff tells me it's time to step on stage, I feel something boil inside me. I feel it steaming inside and I think I have to give a burst of something, spill what is inside me." - Hoshi in Hit the Road Ep. 04
Any ship; "It's been so many years"
Hello, hello there, is this Martha?
This is old Tom Frost
And I am calling long distance
Don't worry 'bout the cost.
'Cause it's been forty years or more
Now Martha please recall
Meet me out for coffee
Where we'll talk about it all.
Tom Watts - Martha
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i know the end
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: fated for disaster
Do Not Wants: None
Prompt:
[FILL] i know the end
Major Tags: Character Death
Additional Tags: (vaguely?) historical, mild violence and sexual content, the saviour who has come to ruin me etc etc
Permission to remix: Yes
When the plague robbed their kingdom of its crown prince, Wonwoo inherited Seungcheol’s most treasured possession: his betrothed.
The Council summoned him as soon as the burial rites ended. They told him of the empty lands, the people they didn't have to work them. Their numbers were dwindling, even more so after the illness swept through the villages.
To the north, the Yoons had far many mouths to feed and not enough fertile soil to keep up with the demand. The union between the two kingdoms made sense. Seungcheol and Jeonghan made sense.
Wonwoo?
Wonwoo was spare parts.
Prior to his passing, Seungcheol had been courting Jeonghan. He had Wonwoo read his letters to him before sending them, claimed he had never quite mastered the art of romantic correspondence. Wonwoo thought otherwise. If anyone knew how to contain love in parchment, it was Seungcheol.
Jeonghan came to stay in the Jeon palace soon enough. To get the two of them acquainted, the Council reasoned. The moment Wonwoo laid eyes on him, he knew Seungcheol’s writing had captured Jeonghan’s liking perfectly, from his sharp wit to the blue undertones of his dark hair.
They never spoke of Seungcheol. A dead prince was hardly an appropriate topic during meals.
The only thing Jeonghan wanted was an hour of Wonwoo’s time every day. One night, Wonwoo watched him play the gayageum in his room, the lamplight casting a graceful outline of his body on the canvas door behind him.
"I learned to play from one of the courtesans back home."
"It was lovely, thank you." Seungcheol would have said something similar, but better. "What else did you learn?"
Jeonghan pushed him onto the floor and started to disrobe them both. "This," he murmured.
Compared to the wooden zither, the noises Jeonghan made were far more beautiful. Wonwoo gazed at his resplendence and wondered, had Seungcheol witnessed him bathe in nothing but moonlight? Had Jeonghan shone the same way above him?
"Do you see him in me?" he breathed out, heart heavy in his chest.
Jeonghan’s eyes betrayed nothing. "No, I do not." Wonwoo believed him, somehow. He leaned down until their lips were touching. "I see me in you."
He didn’t know what to make of the answer, but Jeonghan drove his hips home and Wonwoo wordlessly apologised to his brother. To his kingdom. He couldn't help it. Loving Jeonghan was more greed than duty.
"I am glad it is you," Jeonghan whispered much later, a secret meant to be guarded with one's life.
Wonwoo echoed the words. "I am glad it is you."
He could do this. With Jeonghan's hand in his, Wonwoo could rule. He could stop placing second.
Except he'd forgotten about the price for taking what was never destined to be his.
Wonwoo understood now, splayed out on the blood-slicked ground under the scorching heat of the summer sun, that what Jeonghan had meant was:
Seungcheol would have been harder to fool.
Seungcheol would have been harder to kill.
I am glad it is you.
Jeonghan was a plague in his own rights. Before him, crown princes were dying like flies.
They were never wed. In the end, Jeonghan was only his as much as he was Seungcheol’s. He was truthful about one thing, at least. I see me in you. They were both greedy, but the wanting in Jeonghan’s heart didn't call to Wonwoo as Wonwoo's called to everything Seungcheol had.
It called to power.
Jeonghan whistled a low tune when Wonwoo dismounted, the same one he played on the gayageum. He waited as Wonwoo unsheathed his sword, in no rush to fight a battle with an assured outcome. Their steels kissed and kissed again under the harsh sky, singing one final song.
"Will you burn me?"
He doubted Jeonghan had a grave readied. His kingdom wanted land; a body took up more space buried than burned.
Jeonghan smiled. "Have I not already?"
I am glad it is you, Wonwoo thought to say.
"Do not dress me in white," he said instead.
Jeonghan hummed. "White is more Seungcheol’s colour than yours."
What is my colour then? Wonwoo wondered. In another life, what would you have me wear to the altar?
Crimson bubbled on his mouth. It burst when Jeonghan kissed him.
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(Anonymous) 2021-12-28 03:05 pm (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] i know the end
[REMIX] a kingdom for this
Major Tags: Character Death
Additional Tags: Jeonghan POV, historical (Silla ish, hwarang aesthetic), tragedy, doomed romance/love vs duty (wink wink)
Permission to remix: Yes
***
He had met Seungcheol when they were still children.
Years later, he recognised it as love at first sight. On Seungcheol's part, not his own.
It was brief but it was happy, just like how summers are. And peace.
When the letters started coming in, his father had smiled. The Chois to the south were good people, ruled by a prudent and patient king, slow to violence and generous towards his subjects. Politically, the Hongs to the east were a better choice, for their warriors and their iron, but those were the days of summer songs and winter had yet to stir.
Personally, Jeonghan had liked Seungcheol. Liked how he pressed flowers into the parchment and accompanied every letter with spices and leather, not just for Jeonghan, but also for his family. Seungcheol promised him the moon's glow on dewy reeds, the sun's first light in autumn, the western wind that delivered rain. Jisoo had looked over his shoulder and laughed, because Seungcheol's intentions were as clear as spring water.
"Will you say yes?" Jisoo had asked once, when they were still young and had time to dip their feet into the river.
Jeonghan thought of Jisoo, how his eyes smiled with his mouth. How his lips were always upturned. How they walked together from birth to battle, sharing wine and water. Jeonghan thought of his father, greying over scrawled maps, muttering about the Hongs and their ever expanding territory, seeding plans to support a coup against Jisoo's father.
Jeonghan looked at Jisoo, clenched his heart and said, "I will. When Seungcheol asks, I will say yes."
The letters from Seungcheol came with reports, of trade and commerce, news from distant lands and neighbouring counties. What Seungcheol didn't tell him, Jeonghan could figure out.
Sometimes, the letters came with phrases that made Jeonghan pause.
He doubts Seungcheol has read the Poets, he wouldn't have time between his training and his campaigns. Copies of the anthologies are rare and guarded. Jeonghan himself only read them in secret, hiding pages in his sleeves as his father drilled him with military tactics and historical strategems. Reading those words was like a love letter sliding between his ribs, slicing into his beating heart.
There was Yoon Jeonghan, first son of the Yoons, inheritor of lands and horses. But there was also Jeonghan, a boy who dreamt of slow summer afternoons, lying down by the river, poetry being whispered into his hair.
The plague was a blessing in disguise. It weakened the Hong monarchy and the Kim regency, curbed the ambitions of the highland tribes as every ruler scrambled to hold their kingdom together.
For years, Jeonghan's father was the only one who looked past his own greed and understood what their people needed. Not just their people, the villages under the Yoon clan, but also the people of their neighbours, the Hongs, the Kims, the Chois. The peasants do not care who sits in the palace on the hill. One year they may be ruled by a Lee, the next they may be ruled by Boo. They all have lives, but without a single whisper on their part, their entire family can be wiped out by men in silk robes a hundred miles away.
There were naval invaders from the western sea and horseback warriors beyond the mountains. One clan alone can not hold back the threat, but the other clans will not assist. They can not see it as their problem, until it is too late.
Silla needed a unified kingdom. A crop ruined by drought can be bolstered by a generous catch from the sea, and vice versa the following year when the tides turn. Why must men die by the stars?
The letters stopped coming from Seungcheol, and Jeonghan assumed that the Chois were busy with logistics and consequences. But the news arrived after the winter solstice. Seungcheol perished in the plague, the second prince from the Jeon house will inherit the throne, and consequently, also Seungcheol's betrothed.
Jeonghan played the part of a maiden, knowledgeable only of the soft arts. Embroidery and music, poetry and flora. He wrote letters beseeching Elder Choi, outlining the vast extent of their ruined farmland, the multitudes of people clamouring for rice and grain, willing to work their bones for a meal. It was an open bowl, painting themselves as beggars and the Chois as a generous saviour. Seungcheol would have indulged in it, he had a champion's heart and a champion's ego. About the second prince, Jeonghan was not so sure.
Wonwoo was not like anything he had imagined.
Jeonghan arrived in Changwon on horseback, mind filled with plans and counterplans and strategums complicated enough to confuse scholars. But Wonwoo stood at the border, waiting for him. He greeted them with a wordless nod and turned his horse around, accompanying Jeonghan through the forest path. He was as silent as moonlight, a lake's silken surface to Seungcheol's bronze wildfire. When Jeonghan saw Wonwoo, his mind cleared and for the first time in many seasons, he felt at peace with himself.
Jeonghan requested personal space at the Jeon palace, but he didn't expect to get it. He phrased his request delicately, one hour of his company per night if it pleases. Surprisingly, Wonwoo approved everything, as if Jeonghan was a guest of honour and not a bargaining chip in a political game.
Jeonghan played the gayageum, fingers flying over the strings. He plucked his heart into the music, creating worlds where Silla was at peace, its people well-fed and happy. A world where he did not have to carry two faces and think about every word that falls out of his mouth, a world where he can live in the woods without the fate of the world on his shoulders.
Wonwoo was familiar with the magic of words, but music was a language only known to courtesans.
Despite not understanding, Wonwoo had listened. He sat still, with his hands on his knees. His body did not move but his eyes betrayed his wonder, glistening as the melody rose with empires and fell with battles.
"That was lovely, thank you," Wonwoo had said. And then he asked something Seungcheol would have never asked, "What else did you learn?"
In another life, Jeonghan would tell him about the poems he hid in his sleeve when he was fifteen, about a world dreamt by the poets where every land was at peace. Where kings ruled, not for their own wealth, but for the good of the people. And afterwards, Jeonghan could turn to Wonwoo and ask, what did your poets say about honour.
In this life, Jeonghan pushed him.
"Do you see him in me?" Wonwoo had whispered, much later, after their robes had fallen to the floor and Jeonghan showed him what he had learnt, not from the poets, but the courtesans.
Jeonghan stilled for the barest of moments. He was not thinking of Seungcheol at all, he had not thought of Seungcheol since he passed into the dark.
"No, I do not," Jeonghan replied. He leaned down until their lips were touching. "I see me in you."
Perhaps, it need not be another lifetime.
Wonwoo may understand, he was different to Seungcheol, as different as the sun was to the moon. Seungcheol was loyal to a fault, he would die with his father regardless of the cause.
But Wonwoo, Wonwoo thought about his words before he spoke. He kept his opinions close to his heart and allowed his ears to hear the voices of others. He read the poets, he may have read the histories, he may also dream of peace.
In time, he could tell Wonwoo about his plans. Seed the ideas until he is sure Wonwoo could understand, and then he could reveal it all. Wonwoo would have ideas upon ideas, he would care about the people the same way Jeonghan did. He could see beyond the yearly skirmishes and envision a unified Silla. Perhaps, Wonwoo would be the other half of his soul.
He could do this, with Wonwoo's hand in his, Jeonghan can rule. He could stop doing this alone.
"I am glad it is you," Jeonghan whispered, long after their breathes slowed down. A secret between himself and his pillow.
Wonwoo was awake. He turned around and placed his hand on Jeonghan's cheek, as gently as a flower descending to the ground. He looked at Jeonghan, a gaze that pierced through facade and words and saw Jeonghan as a man, naked and bare. Jeonghan trembled, wondering what Wonwoo saw.
Wonwoo echoed the words, "I am glad it is you."
He did not have time.
Before their wedding, a messenger came from his father.
The Hongs are planning to attack. Start the Jeon coup, take the troops.
Jeonghan read the battle plans, memorised the details, and threw the paper into the fire. He watched the embers float into the winter air and knew, that there would be no honour in this lifetime.
Wonwoo was the only crown prince he buried.
He used the younger Lee against Boo, pulling on their grudges until Boo's corpse was stringed on the city wall for the crows to feast on.
Jisoo had smiled when they met again, a smile that did not reach his eyes. There was no hatred between them when Jeonghan pushed him into the fire, burning with his father's house and Seungcheol's letters.
Wonwoo had met him on the battlefield with the last of his brother's men. He had no chance against Jeonghan's army, but he unsheathed his sword without hesitation and charged.
Jeonghan had paused, just for a second, so he could see Wonwoo's eyes one last time. So he could see himself in Wonwoo, and the kingdom they could've built together.
Their lips were cracked when they kissed, summer sun melting his tears. In a different lifetime, Jeonghan would spend summers by the river, Wonwoo whispering poetry into his hair. In another life, they would wear red to the altar, the red of love, not blood.
Jeonghan would remember this, as the price he paid for a kingdom.
It should have been you, Jeonghan thought to say, as his sword pierced Wonwoo's armour, sliding between his ribs, slicing into his beating heart. It should have been your kingdom.
***
(thank you vee, this was so fun to remix, and I hope this semi-makes up for King Again. You are my no.1 supporter for that and I will not forget it!
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