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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Prompting
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Filling
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Remixing
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tragic trios
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: mourning, not necessarily death
Do Not Wants: None
u know when 1/3rd a trio is out of the picture somehow (died/left the industry/switched sides) and the two left over grow closer/drift apart in their absence, feeling the ghost of the third e v e r y w h e r e... it's about the vacuum the SPACE WHERE A PERSON USED TO BE the SILENCE THAT'S LOUDER THAN WHEN THEY WERE AROUND
Prompt:
—les mis
[FILL] empty chairs at empty tables
Major Tags: major character death, kind of inspired by hereditary (that one scene, yeah)
Additional Tags: mourning, grief mismanagement, trauma, hurt/(little)comfort?
Permission to remix: Yes
i'm sorry to be ringing in 2022 with this. this prompt just made me go a bit insane i think. happy new year everyone, especially our lovely mods!! <3
***
When Chan came home from the party, the first thing he did was scream. He opened the door, staggered in through the doorway, and yelled so loud it woke up their neighbors. They called the police, and the police found Hansol–most of him, at least, in the car, and then the rest, in the driveway.
At least that was how it happened, according to Seungkwan.
Chan doesn’t remember that part. He only remembers the ride home. Driving, windows open, night breeze whipping his hair around. He remembers Hansol’s drunken laughter, so loud and so bright that it filled Chan with a permanent kind of love, and then–
He can’t remember who he screamed for when he came home. If it had been Seungkwan or Hansol. Chan could ask, but he doesn’t think it’d matter. Calling for one of them had always meant calling both of them. It’s the same, even now. It’s why Chan can’t bring himself to say Seungkwan’s name. Even if he wants to, so badly.
He keeps his mouth shut, lodges Seungkwan’s name in his throat. It’s a little like piling rocks, Seungkwan’s on top of Hansol’s.
It isn’t a graveyard, Chan tells himself. Not yet.
Hansol has always had a quiet presence. In between Seungkwan and Chan talking over each other, Hansol would mostly nod and listen. He picked up on their back and forth with an ease that came as natural as breathing.
He was good at that, even if he never picked sides. He’d tuck a strand of hair behind Seungkwan’s ear and ruffle Chan's hair whenever they made him choose.
Sometimes, Seungkwan and Chan would argue just to be soothed by him. They would argue over movie night picks, laundry detergent brands, and pasta sauces. Once, they argued over Chan’s It’s not for me, It’s for the baby! shirt for date night, and Seungkwan only stopped huffing until Hansol tucked him underneath his arm, with Chan, still in the same shirt, underneath the other.
That was the kind of person Hansol is–was. Hansol used to be that person. Chan and Seungkwan’s person. The person who cradled Seungkwan’s face and brushed Chan’s hair back. Dried their tears and shushed their mouths.
Now, Hansol’s just a point in time. This ghost sitting in between before and after, at a middle ground that Seungkwan and Chan can’t reach.
Sometimes, when they eat dinner together, Chan imagines himself back in the car. The blissful seconds before, the cut of silence after. Holding Hansol’s hand tightly even as it slackened against his own.
He remembers that part so well. If only because that’s how it feels now when he hears Seungkwan’s fork scrape against his plate. Dinners have turned into Seungkwan making small quick bites that Chan knows Seungkwan will throw up into the toilet right after.
Chan always waits for Seungkwan to finish, just because he refuses to be the one to leave the table first. He has it memorized now. Seungkwan gulps down his water, wipes his mouth on the napkin, and excuses himself without a word.
This time, after Seungkwan sets his glass on the table, he asks, “How are you?”
Chan blinks and waits, just to double-check. To make sure it happened. That Seungkwan, after six weeks and four days of radio silence, has finally spoken to him again.
“I said,” Seungkwan clears his throat. His voice is strained, like he forced the words out, pushed them through his own pile of rocks. “How are you? Are you okay?”
Before Chan can reply, Seungkwan continues, “Don’t–don’t sneer at me. I’m asking you a question. Properly. Politely.”
We’re never polite with each other, Chan thinks. “I’m not sneering at you. I don’t sneer at you, Seungkwan.”
“Hyung,” he corrects. “Listen, if you don't walk to talk about it–"
"I don't want to talk about it?" Chan asks, incredulous. "You're the one who hasn't talked to me in weeks!"
It's muscle memory, the way he turns to the side, ready to give Hansol one of his Can you believe this guy? looks, ready to receive one of Hansol's Really? You are exactly the same looks back, except–
He remembers a second too late. The back of Hansol's chair glares at him, and there it is again, just like in the car: the cut of silence.
This is the part where Hansol would laugh, hands in the air, going, “Don’t look at me. I’m not the authority on this.” This is the part where Chan gives in, because he can’t help it when Hansol laughs, and this is the part where Seungkwan does too, because he’s exactly the same.
Instead of that, there’s only Seungkwan’s hand, reaching across the table to hold his own. This is Seungkwan’s white flag. The apology written in the lines of his palm.
Chan uncurls his fist, lets go of the steering wheel to let their palms meet. He intertwines their fingers, and they hold the white flag together in a desperate grip.
They fall into bed. Or Chan pushes Seungkwan into the bed and climbs on top of him. Even in surrender, their hands are unkind. Too much teeth, and not enough licks, but it’s home. Part of Seungkwan is finally home.
Grief tastes like Seungkwan’s mouth, and Chan opens up to get his fill.
Tucked underneath Seungkwan’s arms, Chan feels himself expand a bit, like a little balloon that can take off to the skies. Before sleep can finally pull him down, he feels a soft press of lips against his forehead, right on his bumpy scar.
“Hansol,” Seungkwan whimpers, “Hansol-ah,” and Chan wants to echo the name, press it against Seungkwan’s skin too.
Instead, he pulls Seungkwan down, until they’re eye to eye, noses brushing. Their legs and arms are so tangled together that it almost feels like they’re complete.
Chan cradles Seungkwan’s face, the same way Hansol used to. His hands aren’t as big, but they fit against the curve of Seungkwan’s cheek. “I’m here,” Chan whispers.
His voice startles Seungkwan's as much as it startles him. He'd almost forgotten what he'd sounded like, when he was gentle.
Seungkwan sniffs, bottom lip trembling. He's going to cry all night, Chan knows, but he's relieved Seungkwan's finally doing it in front of him.
He turns his face to kiss Chan's palm. “Me too."
Re: [FILL] empty chairs at empty tables
Re: [FILL] empty chairs at empty tables
Re: [FILL] empty chairs at empty tables
im not at all familiar with the source material but the grief and the misery that is in here is beautifully done. and even though hansol is dead the way that you write him from chan’s memory — he is undeniably alive… which tugged at my heartstrings soooo much :(( the world/character building that you’ve done is also just so rich here aHHHH my fave line: Now, Hansol’s just a point in time. This ghost sitting in between before and after, at a middle ground that Seungkwan and Chan can’t reach.
THANK YOU FOR WRITING!!!! HAPPY NEW YEARS
Re: [FILL] empty chairs at empty tables
also hereditary is a great horror film, tho it definitely isn't for everybody. if you're into the occult and experiencing huge waves of discomfort and anxiety, then you might like it!
Re: [FILL] empty chairs at empty tables
no but what the fuuuuck GRIEF TASTES LIKE SEUNGKWAN'S MOUTH? CHAN NOT CALLING SEUNGKWAN'S NAME BC IT'S TOO ASSOCIATED WITH HANSOL'S??? everything here is so pointed and painful, but this line in particular.... Chan uncurls his fist, lets go of the steering wheel to let their palms meet. BYE HE NEEDED SEUNGKWAN TO FINALLY LET GO OF THE STEERING WHEEL PLEASE. I WANNA END ME
Re: [FILL] empty chairs at empty tables
Re: [FILL] empty chairs at empty tables
also: seungkwan saying hansol's name in bed was just like GOD the fresh slap in the face of loss!!! thank u for writing this
Re: [FILL] empty chairs at empty tables