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
Rules
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- Tag and provide content warnings at your discretion, but a good guide are the Ao3 four (Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage) and this list of common CWs (cr: SportsFest).
- NSFW/Explicit content should be tagged
- NSFW art should not be visible, please provide a link and a warning. You may crop the artwork and embed a SFW preview.
How it works
Prompting
- Click on [Post a New Comment] at the bottom of this post;
- Change the subject to something interesting;
- Copy+Paste the following HTML into your comment and edit the sections. Feel free to add as much detail as you want!
Filling
- Reply to the original prompt;
- Change the subject to [FILL], you may add a title or stay chaotic;
- Copy+Paste the following HTML into your comment, edit the sections, and add your text.
You may also upload your fill to the AO3 Collection.
Remixing
- Post as a reply to the fill you are remixing, using the same HTML as above;
- Change the subject to [REMIX].
Art/media
- Upload your work to any platform (twitter, imgur, youtube, soundcloud, google maps, etc.)
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Re: [FILL] distance: 4.35 years
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: finding home, vignettes, ghosts, magical realism, ambiguous, author lost control for the majority of this, implied sexual content
Permission to remix: Yes
***
op i do not know how close this is to what you're imagining for this prompt. i got very carried away. some parts are ambiguous and unresolved, so i'm leaving it up to readers to decide the mcs'...backstories.
in all honesty idk what this is, and it is unedited, so enjoy whatever this is that my brain conjured :)
***
The distance between the earth and its closest star is 4.35 light-years. The distance between Minghao and his home is 4.35 years.
In Paris, Île-de-France, there is an apartment that overlooks the Seine. The only landmark left of their first date.
They’d only stayed for one night, but one was enough to watch the way the Seine blazed at midnight, wreathed in gold and orange, the hearth of Paris, the city of light—or love. In that one night, the two were one and the same.
They’d watched the city light up on the balcony. The two of them, side by side, wine glasses in hand. Mingyu had turned Minghao’s face, so carefully and gently, like he’s afraid he might shatter if he pressed too hard. Minghao had closed the distance with bruising vigour.
That night the Seine was Paris’ hearth, and Mingyu was Minghao’s.
In Florence, Italy, in a luxury apartment that they barely spare a glance for, Mingyu spreads Minghao open on the roof balcony, on a clear and warm night, the Palazzo Vecchio haloed softly against the horizon. Two flutes of champagne, each topped with a strawberry, sit untouched on the table. A pot of white orchids unfurl gracefully from a pot beside them.
Gone is the gentleness. That night Mingyu presses into Minghao like he wants him to break, like he wants to push him until he’s all hairline fractures down the middle and shards in Mingyu’s hands. That night Mingyu disassembles Minghao with the goal of reassembling him. That night Minghao must’ve lost a piece of himself to Mingyu, for nothing was ever the same for him again. Or Mingyu must’ve taken a piece of him; the most crucial piece, the piece Minghao would gladly give up all the same, if it means being with Mingyu.
Later Mingyu will trace Minghao’s lips in another city and think back to the shingles of the neighboring rooftops, the flatness of the cityscape and the mountains like faded watercolor in the background.
Minghao will only remember the heat of Mingyu’s gaze, the coolness of the champagne glass passed between them, and the imprint of Mingyu that burned so brightly against his eyelids that Minghao could not sleep that night.
In Fairmont Chateau Lake Louise, Minghao stands by the tasseled curtains of the castle hotel and watches the aqua gem for a lake glimmer, backed by mountains whose peaks are dusted with snow. He watches as little red canoes disturb the pristine surface. He watches the outside as Mingyu watches him, infinite words trapped in the warmth of his gaze. He is smiling fondly, and Minghao turns to kiss it away.
Later, Mingyu will whine and pout as Minghao giggles, because Mingyu’s hat gets blown into the water by the wind and sinks while their canoe cuts through the turquoise, little ripples of water slapping at the flanks of the canoe gently.
When they pause for a breath, Minghao will turn and snap a photo of Mingyu, a little souvenir, the most candid he will have seen of Mingyu.
That photo will stay in Minghao’s wallet for a long time. It’ll be the only thing he has of Mingyu.
For Minghao, home has never been stationary. In Paris, in Florence, in Banff. In Annecy, in Geneva, in Los Angeles. In New York, in Cuba, in Dubai. Wherever Mingyu is.
For Minghao home has always been the hearth inside of Mingyu, the little breath of flames Mingyu presses onto the divot of Minghao’s tongue, that Minghao swallows eagerly, without hesitation. His home, he’s kept it alive, burning behind his sternum, for as long as he can. For 4 years and 3 months.
4 years and 3 months, where the only remnants of home he has left are the photo he still keeps tucked in his wallet, and the memories he shoves down his throat, chokes on, to guide him.
For his entire lifetime, Mingyu had been his home. Still is his home. His home is wherever Mingyu is.
And Mingyu is here, Minghao thinks, striding up the wide, unswept stairs. Fall has descended in France, the leaves gold, flaming red, canary yellow. La Cimetière du Père Lachaise is as beautiful as always. Mingyu is here, Minghao thinks, stopping in front of a headstone, engravings clear despite the moss and grime.
Here lies Kim Mingyu.
The man who set a heart on fire and never returned to put it back out. Minghao adds.
The distance between the earth and its closest star is 4.35 light-years. The distance between Minghao and his home is 4.35 years. 4 years and 3 months. No longer.
Mingyu is underground, amongst the stars, home.
“I’m ready to go home.” Minghao says.
The leaves ruffle in response. And then he’s gone.
Only a photo, worn and frayed around the edges, flutters to the ground. Upon closer glance, it’s of Lake Louise, the transparent turquoise lake that steals hats from tourists. There’s no one in the picture.
For Mingyu and Minghao, they were never substantial in this timeline. They were lost, they found each other, and they found their homes.
***
so there's that. there's some symbolism and motifs running through here, so if it helps, think about what fires, warmth, hearths (in particular) may represent and that might facilitate understanding. the symbolism of stars plays a role in the ending too.
Re: [FILL] distance: 4.35 years
There's so many lines in here I want to parrot back to you, bu this one right at the beginning really struck me:
That night the Seine was Paris’ hearth, and Mingyu was Minghao’s.
Thank you so much for filling my prompt, I absolutely could not have imagined this vivid, melancholic meeting of stars across time!!!
Re: [FILL] distance: 4.35 years
Re: [FILL] distance: 4.35 years
Re: [FILL] distance: 4.35 years