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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(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)
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i see you when i sleep so i don't sleep at all
Major Tags: breakup
Additional Tags: N/A
Do Not Wants: None
Prompt:
- was it something i said? by mykey
[FILL] almost as good
Major Tags: breakup (probably rated an ao3 M but just barely--I'll say NSFW just in case)
Additional Tags: angst (kind of a given)
Permission to remix: Please ask
my first 17hols! frantically written between work projects lol. i didn't get quite as mean as these lyrics, but this is where my brain took me so i hope u enjoy. also the timeline is v nebulous and not meant to match any specific point in time.
***
3:15 am, Banpo Han River Park. The air feels hollow, somehow, like the pit of Seungkwan’s stomach, as if all the oppressive humidity of the day had collapsed to the ground the moment it believed no one was looking. Seungkwan lets his nostrils flare as his lungs try to breathe it in. No audience, after all. No face upkeep needed. His phone buzzes next to where he’s sitting plaintively on the pavement, and something in him flutters, futile and bitter.
Seoul is a surprisingly quiet city. When Seungkwan first moved into the dorm, the noises of the streets—drunken squabbles, the smooth rumble of taxi cabs and scooters loaded with delicious yasik, footsteps on floors above him and voices on floors below—kept him up in fits. He spent more time gazing at the dark, angular confines of the room and its mess of beds and boys than getting any sleep at all. When it felt too suffocating, he’d throw off all the covers and squeeze his eyes tight, imagining the vastness of the ocean, its shining surface bleeding onto the cool cheek of the night sky. In Jeju, you can at least see the stars.
The river is the next best thing, here. There are no stars, but enough pinprick lights on the bridges and buildings and the slinky highways framing the water that he can almost remember the stars back home. As a child, he had been afraid of the dark, especially the kind that came too quick in winter, always dashing home to find refuge in the soft, warm arms of his mother or sisters when he’d stayed out too late playing to notice the sun going down and stars blinking awake. It was only just before he left, as he felt his voice start to grow and his body race to catch up, that he fell in love with starlight. Never moving and powerfully bright, the stars kept him company night after night as he hurtled into the last perilous lap of boyhood.
At the company, what Seoul lacked in stars was made up for by other trainees—all mini stars in their own right, or at least wannabes. Skinny kids with long hair and good genes and enough orthodontics to barricade the practice room door shut, in Seungkwan’s dreams. Their boundless energy both fed Seungkwan’s soul and stressed him out to the brink of no return. Hansol was, of course, different. He was still a kid, raucous and reckless, but even his childish words and worries held weight. Perhaps it was the way he was raised, by parents who simply said okay when Hansol wanted to stop going to school, or the way he was still struggling with the way everyone saw him, with eyes that turned him over slowly as if appraising a diamond, but there was a quiet depth to him that plucked all of Seungkwan’s taut heartstrings loose. They grew up, they debuted, they grew up some more, circling each other in near-nervous orbits, alternately giving the other space but always coming back for some small sip of each other. Casual childhood skinship turned to furtive touches—the slip of a finger into the front pocket of Hansol’s jeans, an almost inquisitive palm rubbing the nape of Seungkwan’s neck, hard—then a kiss. It was later than you would have thought, but they both grew up slowly in all areas except their career. Seungkwan had wanted to feel fireworks. Instead, he opened his eyes and found Hansol’s also open, in the dark, and his gaze was so heavy that it was almost as good.
That was two years ago, and they’ve done a lot more since. Hansol took him on a real date—steak and lobster and red wine—and couldn’t hide his little vampire teeth the whole time, he was that chuffed about it. They visited Seungkwan’s family in Jeju, and Seungkwan has spent many nights in Hansol’s childhood bedroom in Hongdae.
“Why is this weird for me,” he mused once, rucked up under Hansol on a bed in a heavy plastic frame. Mom and Dad out for a recital with Sophia. “I literally spent years of our childhood sleeping next to you. Seeing your other bedroom shouldn’t be that different.”
Hansol paused with his hands all up Seungkwan’s shirt. “Are you not into this? We don’t have to.”
“Pabo-ya,” Seungkwan rolled his eyes, craning upwards for a kiss that had Hansol crushing him into the baby-blue sheets again. “How many times do I have to tell you? I want you to want me. Just do it.”
Seungkwan supposes, now, that was probably part of the problem.
His phone buzzes again. "Nearly there. Took a bike. By the bridge right."
Under it, the last message reads: "Do we really have to make a big deal about this."
“I’m not trying to make a scene,” Seungkwan snaps when Hansol arrives, rattling down the pavement on a Ttareungi bike with its flashing little spotlight. Hansol dismounts coolly, his face impassive, and it makes Seungkwan want to scream, or kick him in the shins, or fuck him til his facade breaks. Something in him stings like heartburn.
“You have to admit this is a little dramatic.” Hansol gestures toward the river. He’s wearing a beanie even though it’s August, and a line of sweat is curving delicately around his brow to his jaw.
Seungkwan wraps his arms around himself defensively. “And you know it’s practical. It’s not like I’m going to dump you at home where everybody can hear.”
The little o that appears on Hansol’s face brings Seungkwan a lightning strike of satisfaction, but then dread rushes over him suddenly, pushing the words out of his mouth with an almost manic urgency. “I’m breaking up with you, Vernon-ah.” He pauses, presses his lips together. “Fuck.”
Three months ago, Hansol had stopped looking at Seungkwan’s stories on Instagram and admitted that he didn’t keep up with his posts on Weverse either, had missed the last few episodes of Funstaurant. “I like my version of you,” he’d said, then shook his head with a frown. “That doesn’t sound right. I mean I like you in person. I love my Seungkwan, the one I get to see in real life.”
“But not me onscreen.” Seungkwan had said.
“I think you’re fucking great at what you do,” Hansol had responded, frustrated.
“That’s not what I asked.”
Two months ago, they’d fucked in a hotel, in the middle of the day with the blinds open like they wanted everyone to see even though they were too high up for it to really be possible. Afterwards, Seungkwan had broken into unending giggles, the thrill still curled tight in his chest where he used to believe he kept all his love, red and bloody and beating. Hansol was laying next to him, sheet across his waist like a fucking rom com hero. His eyes fixed to the ceiling, he opened his mouth and spoke, quietly. “Do you ever think that nobody would even want to see us, anyway?”
Seungkwan stopped laughing.
Last month, Seungkwan had made a list: I don’t like the way you wear brown shoes with blue jeans
and I don’t like the way you correct Myungho-hyung’s Korean especially in public
and I don’t like the way you make yourself look ugly sometimes
and I don’t like the way you don’t believe it when people tell you you’re beautiful even though they’re coming from a weird place it’s still true
and I don’t like the way you don’t tell me I’m beautiful
and I don’t like the way you look at the camera even though it’s our job
and I don’t like the way you never fucking answer the question “What do you want to eat?”
and I don’t like the way you
Now, it’s 3:30 am at Banpo Han River Park. One of Seungkwan’s favorite places in the city. When he squeezes his eyes tight and finds a moment when no cars are humming by, the low language of the river sounds almost like that of the sea.
“Sorry I made you come all this way,” he whispers. His eyes are closed now, too.
Re: [FILL] almost as good
Re: [FILL] almost as good
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