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
- 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 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.)
- Using the same HTML code as above, copy the link into your fill or remix. That's it!
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[FILL] out of the woods
Major Tags: mentioned death of a parent, ambiguous reference to potential underage non-con, mentioned homophobia, mentioned child abuse, alcohol
Additional Tags: supernatural, teeth
Permission to remix: Yes
***
“Do you remember me?” The man at the bar asks.
“No,” Seungcheol says automatically, before he remembers that he’s not in Seoul, but in the small, cramped town he grew up in and before his swimming vision manages to focus on the man’s face: sharp eyes, sharp jaw, the cut of his nose under his glasses just like his father’s —
“Wonwoo-ah?” The word is wrung out from Seungcheol’s chest and when the man smiles a Wonwoo-smile and gives a small, Wonwoo-nod, Seungcheol gapes. “You —“
Went missing twelve years ago. Disappeared one night. Signs all over the town, a special vigil at school. Seungcheol remembers skipping dinner to wander through the town’s alleys or the forest paths, standing on tiptoes and looking under logs for clues at first, and then, after his brother laughed at him, for a body.
“Hyung,” Wonwoo says. His voice is deep. The last time Seungcheol had seen him, Wonwoo was a gangly thirteen year old, hair in his face, all elbow and knees. But it’s him. It’s Wonwoo’s face and Wonwoo’s glasses glinting with the soft, golden light of the bar. He looks exactly how Seungcheol had imagined he would look, sometimes, during the quiet nights in the city when the shadows are heavy and Seungcheol lays awake, listening to traffic and watching the glow of headlights slide over his ceiling.
“How?” It’s the wrong question. Seungcheol fumbles through the haze of soju for the right one. Wonwoo is beautiful. Glowing, Seungcheol thinks. As though wet.
Wonwoo’s smile dips. “You didn't know?”
Seungcheol shakes his head, leaning further over the waxy bar when his brain sloshes.
“I had wondered why you never came back.” Wonwoo smiles a small, shy smile that Seungcheol remembers too well and Seungcheol doesn’t have time to coordinate his limbs before he’s launching himself off the stool, pulling Wonwoo into a tight hug.
Or he tries to. His legs tangle and he ends up gripping Wonwoo for support as the floor sways, but Wonwoo only huffs, catching Seungcheol’s full weight. Wonwoo is taller than him, Seungcheol realizes, and strong, his arms holding Seungcheol steady as he struggles to remember how to stand.
The clench in Seungcheol’s throat tighten, suddenly. The pressure in his chest keeps building and building. It's been there, boiling since he got the call days ago, since he had to stand with gritted teeth at the vigil, since his brother had dragged him out the backdoor of the town’s small, bleached funeral hall
(If you don’t want to be here, Seungsu had growled, then just go.)
“I thought you were gone,” Seungcheol croaks. “Where were you?”
Wonwoo’s face doesn’t flicker. It remains still. Smooth. Like a rancid, forest pond. “I never forgot you, hyung,” Wonwoo answers instead, and now the dam inside of Seungcheol is crumbling, the pressure bursting.
Next thing Seungcheol knows is he’s outside and trying to catch a breath between sobs. His tear tracks chill in the night air and there’s a sledgehammer pounding in his skull. Wonwoo’s arms are still gripping him tight, keeping him steady with his back pressed against the cold brick of the bar.
“You’re fine,” Wonwoo is saying. He’s boxing Seungcheol in, face right above.
Seungcheol nods, trying to stop the sobs in his chest. Stupid, whispers the only voice in his head sober enough. Stop.
“It’s OK, hyung.” Wonwoo shifts Seungcheol so that he’s standing straighter. He’s larger than he should be, Seungcheol thinks. When they were kids, Wonwoo was a head shorter with sticks for arms. Now, he seems massive, as though taking up the night.
“I heard about your father,” Wonwoo says.
Seungcheol huffs. It shocks him out of a sob, and he takes a deep lungful of air, and then another.
“I’m sorry.”
Seungcheol drags the sleeve of his windbreaker across his face, smearing tears. He feels sick. Still drunk. The night is dark and the kind of cold that slices up his nose, up his skull. He had never thought that he’d get used to the eternal noise of the city, but here, the night feels hollow. There’s wind in some nearby trees. Figures move away, heads turned down. No stars in the sky.
“C’mon,” Wonwoo says. “I’ll take you home.”
—
It’s not until they’re stepping into the forest that it occurs to Seungcheol that home is the other direction. When he slurs as much, Wonwoo nods.
“I know where I’m going.”
Seungcheol looks at him. Really looks. The haze of alcohol has sharpened, but unreality has set in its place. The night is too quiet. Seungcheol’s footsteps too heavy. Wonwoo still has both arms on him, leading him as steadily as before.
“I looked for you,” Seungcheol says, watching Wonwoo’s face and not the trees.
“I know, hyung.”
“No.” Seungcheol grasps for words. This feels like a fever dream, as though the press of Wonwoo’s hands will evaporate and the trees will dissolve.
He need to tell him now, about the bruises on his knees where he had knelt on the bathroom floor and prayed himself to sleep. How he had shattered his mother’s porcelain figurine. How he had broken his hand punching Youngpyo in the face. The punishments, the blinding anger, the nightmares, the anxiety pills. How Wonwoo was one end, too many beginnings.
“I looked everywhere for you.”
Wonwoo smiles at him, tight-lipped, as though it’s a nice thing to say.
“I thought maybe it was your father,” Seungcheol says, tongue too loose. “I thought maybe he found out what we did.”
Wonwoo stops. There’s nothing but forest now, nothing but tall, black trees and Wonwoo’s face in shadow. “What we did?”
“What I did. To you.” Guilt bubbles up, sick and hot in Seungcheol’s gut. A secret he’s told no one but the bathroom tiles he used to press his face against. Fear and time have flayed the memories. Sometimes Seungcheol thinks it was nothing more than a kiss. A few touches, some presses. Other times he dreams himself holding Wonwoo down. Wonwoo stiff-faced with fear. Wonwoo would always do whatever Seungcheol had told him to do.
Something shifts behind Wonwoo’s glasses. He must have blinked. And then he moves, stepping in front of Seungcheol and filling up the night again. “What did you do?” he asks, words stripped bare. As though he forgot.
Seungcheol opens his mouth and chokes, a weak, squeezing sound that diffuses into the trees.
Wonwoo’s grip on Seungcheol tightens. He leans down, close enough for Seungcheol to make out his face in the dark. “This?” he asks. And then he kisses Seungcheol.
It’s not how Seungcheol had imagined it, sometimes, when he’s at his worst. Wonwoo is cold, his lips hard, and when his tongue slips into Seungcheol’s mouth it’s wet in a way that shocks Seungcheol back into his body. He lurches, but Wonwoo’s hands hold him fast and Seungcheol is just figuring the kiss out when Wonwoo pulls away. Seungcheol gasps. Fingers in Wonwoo’s coat. And then Wonwoo is leaning in again except his dead lips are pressing against the corners of Seungcheol’s mouth, and then his cheek, then his jaw, then he’s pulling Seungcheol in tighter, his mouth against Seungcheol’s neck. His lips spread open. Seungcheol chokes, fear sudden, and then there’s the sharp press of teeth, biting down enough for Seungcheol’s toes to curl but there are too many, too large of a mouth and too many rows, and for one moment Seungcheol knows that his skin is going to rip, the meat of his throat torn away, hot blood on a cold night —
The teeth let up and when Wonwoo pulls away, he has his Wonwoo face. Still and human. Seungcheol stares, heart thundering. Wonwoo looks at Seungcheol as though Seungcheol should understand, and then lets go.
Seungcheol sags as Wonwoo steps away. A moment where Seungcheol’s gasping breath is the only sound in the forest.
“We’re almost there,” Wonwoo says, and then he begins to move away, into the shadow of the trees, with one trailing glance telling Seungcheol that he should follow.
—
The trees stretch on. The ground slopes down and Seungcheol grips tree trunks as he follows Wonwoo, raw skin against bark, legs wobbly and weak. The alcohol is gone. Nothing left, but a dream. An endless forest. An encasing silence. Wonwoo’s back in front of Seungcheol, faceless and still.
Later, Seungcheol won’t remember how long they walked. He’ll remember the exhaustion, the bite of the cold, the crunch of leaves underfoot. He’ll remember that it felt right, following Wonwoo, after all these years, and that he hadn’t been afraid.
It’s not until he hears the rush of traffic, that the dream breaks.
Seungcheol stops in his tracks. They’re near the base of the hill, the ground sloping down to meet the base of two other craggy hills. Above and to the right is a bridge, with towering cement legs. High above, a car hums by, and he realizes where he is.
A unnamed hollow in the forest. Stories of ghosts, chemicals, feral dogs. Seungcheol remembers his halmeoni, shaking with rage in the doorway of the kitchen. They don’t know what they’re doing, building a highway there, she had spat. Fools..
Ahead, Wonwoo stops. He turns back. It’s dark enough that there’s nothing but blurred edges. Formless shapes of trees.
“What’s wrong?” Wonwoo asks.
“I can’t —” Seungcheol tries. The words catch. His heart is thundering, ribs constricting. His body is too large, his head too light.
Wonwoo takes a step forward and then another and nothing has changed, but Wonwoo is something else now. Seungcheol thinks of the strength of Wonwoo’s hands, of the heady rush of the kiss, the press of teeth against his neck.
“I thought you said you wanted to come,” Wonwoo says, his voice as flat as before.
Seungcheol can’t answer and he can’t breathe, drowning until Wonwoo’s voice breaks the silence again.
“OK,” Wonwoo says. A shuffle against the leaves, Wonwoo’s shadow moving in the darkness. A pause. “You should come find me someday,” he says, hesitantly. Another moment, and then he’s walking away, footsteps slowly smothered by the trees.
Another car hums by above. The only sound in the dead forest. Seungcheol stands at the edge, staring in. As though he’s still fourteen years old and looking for a body.
Re: [FILL] out of the woods
and HOLY SHIT that kiss! The teeth!! I love that moment, the startling twist, the wrongness of the whole thing. So freaky and cool. Thank you soooo much I love what you did with this prompt!!
Re: [FILL] out of the woods
and then “What I did. To you.” Guilt bubbles up, sick and hot in Seungcheol’s gut. A secret he’s told no one but the bathroom tiles he used to press his face against. Fear and time have flayed the memories. Sometimes Seungcheol thinks it was nothing more than a kiss. A few touches, some presses. Other times he dreams himself holding Wonwoo down. Wonwoo stiff-faced with fear. Wonwoo would always do whatever Seungcheol had told him to do. this entire paragraph made me want to crawl out of my own skin oh my god it's SO unpleasant, the ambiguity about what actually happened -- whether seungcheol really did something wrong back then or if his anxiety has twisted it into something it wasn't. that combined with the other mentions of seungcheol's childhood really made something cold settle in my gut as i read, the mundanity of his horrible memories combined with the supernatural terror of whatever wonwoo is. i think the best way to write something really chilling and horrifying is to leave as much unspoken as stated, and you did SUCH a good job with that here. you're always so good at characters and mood and this was definitely a solid example of that. thank you so much for sharing this with us!!!
Re: [FILL] out of the woods
the lingering dread in this is very distinct, especially with seungcheol apologizing for what he "did" to wonwoo, coupled with the implications of his father... hoo boy. the ending with wonwoo telling cheol to come find him T__T OUT IN THE WOODS!!!
Re: [FILL] out of the woods
Glowing, Seungcheol thinks. As though wet.
there's something so subtly chilling about it i'm obsessed. i'm gonna be thinking about the ending for ages. i loved this!!
[REMIX] pov switch: you're in the rancid, forest pond
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: you ever read a line and it makes you pick up a pencil for the first time in five years? yeah.
Permission to remix: yes
***
remix