HIGHWAY TO THE WIP ZONE

TO RING IN 2021 I AM ABANDONING MY DARLINGS

 

By that I mean I am giving myself permission to say like “this may get finishing they might not get finished but I have projects I want to work on and forgive myself for not finishing these.” Not every WIP has to be IP. But some of the words I wrote were pretty good! I’ve shared most of them in WIP Wednesdays at this point but just to have them all in one place that’s not my scrivener draft titled “SENT TO THE SHADOW REALM” would be really nice. 

 

Every other thing I started this year I ended up posting (except for one thing which is for 2 rare 2 pair)! Which is pretty cool. Like I wrote in my writing reflection post, I wanna just be more forgiving and write whatever words come to mind. Any words are good words it doesn’t matter if it ends up being a full story.

 

Also some of these are really, really rough. Like a rock that just freshly fell into a running river. There’s typos and grammatical errors and some prose is just straight up bad but like. Like I’m just copy pasting without going over anything to make it neater or prettier I hope you don’t mind

 

UNTITLED YUTO/HUI (PENTAGON) 1.4K

BASED OFF OF HOW HUI ALWAYS BUSTS INTO VLIVES

START DATE: LIKE… DEC 2019 OR JAN 2020

 

 

“You’re not fucking subtle at all, Adachi,” Wooseok says, not even bothering to look up from his phone screen to call Yuto out on his shit. But it’s not really shit, because Yuto was absolutely under no circumstances looking at the door to his studio space.  At least., not turning his chair around completely to just stare the door down, it was a simple glance over his shoulder. Every minute or so. 

 

Yuto lets out an incredulous sound, somewhere between a sqwuack and a snort, “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, attempting to nonchalantly play it cool. He clicks around his desktop, toggling between Garageband and Pro Tools pretending that he’s actually getting work done on his midterm assignment. Wooseok mumbles “pfft, okay loser” from his spot on the couch, hunched over his phone probably texting lovey dovey sweet nothings to Shinwon instead of working on the midterm he also has due for the same class as Yuto. 

 

He fiddles with the bass and treble levels and slaps a reverb over the beat he’s been toying with for a few minutes before the itching need to look at the door again overwhelms him, again. And, god, does Yuto try to ignore it but he lets his focus waver and he think he hears a door click open but doesn’t realize he swivels his chair around, just to see 6that, no, there is no one walking through his studio door.

 

“That right there is what I’m talking about. You’re waiting to see if Hui-hyung is gonna bust in,” Wooseok says, jabbing finger in Yuto’s general direction, finally looking away from his phone and tossing it on Yuto’s ratty One Piece fleece blanket. 

 

There’s a warm flush that rushes through Yuto’s whole body, from his ears to his toes, a horrible mix of embarrassment and dread. He wishes he didn’t feel like a kid caught stealing from his mom’s purse, but he can’t help it and can’t help pulling his beanie down over his ears to cover how red they probably are right now. 

 

“W-what! No! That’s not- It’s not- Just no!” Yuto’s words stumble out of his mouth. Wooseok just gives him a fucking look and Yuto desperately tries to remember the days where he> was the one giving Wooseok looks regarding his Shinwon situation.

 

But here’s the thing: Yuto is waiting to see if Hui was going to bust in through his studio door completely unannounced, bringing instant cup ramyun and the coffee drinks that come with the fun collapsable straw Yuto likes from the GS25 a block away from campus.

 

He doesn’t respond, but the red growing on his cheeks and across his nose is enough for Wooseok to look smug about it. 

 

“Uh-huh you keep on lying to yourself and to me, your best friend,” Wooseok says and Yuto groans and swivels back around to his computer, clicking around the screen yet again. Wooseok sighs and gets up to drape himself atop Yuto’s shoulders, resting his chin on top of Yuto’s head.

 

“Play me back the last thirty seconds, I liked the reverb,” Wooseok says, poking at Yuto’s cheek and before seeing the file name, “Hui edit dot mp3, really? Bruh, you’re a fucking goner.” 

 

—

 

Hui was always someone who was in Yuto’s orbit, just a few too many degrees of separation between them and whenever they were in the same place it was with a bass line rattling the floor and sticky syrupy boozy concoctions being pressed into empty hands.

 

 Hui was always this untouchable figurehead to Yuto, the darling star student of the music department who already had a copyright to his name and money in his bank account. Everyone in the department wanted to work with Hui just to have one tiny chance of that the Midas touch of him would skyrocket their success or to be him. 

 

And it was Yuto getting glimpses of Hui whirl past in studio spaces and in the music building hallways laughing full-body giggles, music comp 101 assignments marked up with encouraging messages at the top in purple ink falling out of his arms or muttering to himself about lyrics and rhyme schemes and being so enamored by the whimsy Hui brought to even the dullest of days. And how Hui, even when they were only passing acquaintances seeing each other in dark crowded basement, he made the effort to say hi to Yuto

 

And Wooseok’s shitty boyfriend just happened to be Hui’s roommate. And Yuto’s TA. 

 

—

 

It’s a Tuesday and Yuto is not paying attention to what the professor is saying at all, something about beats per minute and the value of recording your own instrumentals versus using what’s already in a program he guesses, but he’s too busy staring at Hui and every once in a while shaking himself out of Hui-induced daze to jot down whatever his brain is actually able to process about harmonics. 

 

Hui was busy sitting to the right of the podium, jiggling his foot where it was crossed over his knee and interjecting with small tips and pointers when prompted and busy chewing on the end of his pen when not talking and it’s sending Yuto into an early grave.

 

Yuto’s zoning out again, eyes glazed over staring down Hui’s mouth as Hui chews at his fingernails, but Hui catches his gaze and shoots Yuto a tiny smile and an attempt at a wink and Yuto prays the small whine he lets out is inaudible. 

 

There’s a kick to his ankle and Wooseok hisses out “Dude, weird, I fucking heard that,” under his breath while Yuto’s cheeks go warm and flushed and he fumbles, drops his pen on the ground but it rolls down to, like, two row in front of him underneath another student’s desk and, oh my god, he wants to eat sand. 

 

Internally groaning, he leans to rustle around in his backpack desperately searching for another pen, but there’s a tap on his shoulder and Hui is looking down at him with a wide grin holding out an extra pen. Yuto blushes (again, he’s been blushing a lot recently maybe a call to his doctor to figure this out wouldn’t hurt) and bows his head incrementally in thanks to, their fingertips brushing gently as Yuto grabs the pen and suddenly he becomes hyper aware of just how big his bands are in comparison to Hui’s smaller, slighter ones.  

 

His garbage brain provides him with so many inflammatory images of himself coming up behind Hui at his workspace, gently picking up Hui’s hand on the mouse and bringing it up to his mouth to kiss it, tenderly and with confidence. Hui would spin around in his chair and tug Yuto closer by his belt loops until Yuto’s knees bracket Hui, thighs pressing against thighs, while Hui smirks up at him and bites his lip. God, there’s nothing Yuto wants more than to lean over Hui, hovering, not letting their bodies press together to tease Hui. 

 

“You can keep the pen, don’t worry about it!” Hui interrupts his daydreaming and Yuto doesn’t see the flush of peachy pink high up on Hui’s cheek before he turns around to return to his spot at the front of the class. 

 

The pen has little nibbles and teeth marks at the top and Yuto wishes he wasn’t gross and ignores the way he unknowingly runs his thumb along the ridges. 

 

“Gay,” Wooseok coughs under his breath and this time it’s Yuto’s turn to kick Wooseok’s ankles, “And gross.” 

 

—-

 

It’s not Yuto’s fault that Hui has set a precedent of busting into the music production’s meager personal studio spaces. It started at the beginning of the semester with Yuto hunched over his acoustic guitar in his assigned studio

 

UNTITLED WOOSEOK/YUTO, 158 WORDS

VLIVE BLOWJOB

START DATE: IDK PROBABLY LIKE AUGUST 2020

 

It’s a stupid idea. It’s a really stupid, idiotic, could-get-them-fired, blacklisted to hell and back, publicly-shunned-forever kind of stupid idea.

 

 And it’s not like Yuto isn’t into the idea. He is, like, extremely into the idea. It’s not even like saying no was an option, he was gonna yes regardless but especially not when it comes to Wooseok wanting something, he gets it. Yuto can’t say no, not when Wooseok’s big and sparkly eyes get bigger and sparklier. But he especially couldn’t even beging to say no when Wooseok, sleep-warm and mussy haired, shoved his face in Yuto’s neck and mumbled “So how do you feel about semi-public sex but also, like, wildly public sex?” 

 

—

 

Wooseok licks a wide stripe from base to tip of Yuto’s dick and swirls his tongue over the head before sinking down entirely and Yuto nearly drops his tiny humidifier in a clatter onto the keyboard.

 

 

The seed got planted during their fanmeet. 

 

UNTITLED SEOKMIN/MINGHAO, 226 WORDS

THIEF PRINCE STEALING FROM A REAL PRINCE AT THE MASQUERADE. THEIF LORD MEETS CINDERELLA I GUESS.

START DATE: UHNNNHHH SEPTEMBER 2020??

 

Seokmin was five years old when his father gave him a mask, black sateen and nose elongated like a corvid’s beak, and an elegant dagger big enough that felt like a sword in his tiny palm. He was sent off into the night with a push on the back and the utterance of a phrase Seokmin has internalized since birth: “Come back swift, come back rich.” 

 

He took flight. He clambered up on parapets using balustrades and guts, ducked behind archways,  and swung into windows. The clammy grip on the hilt a hair too tight and his heartbeat thrumming with anticipation, but the cover of night swaddled him and his fingers itched to get on pretty and shiny things. 

 

That night he made his first steal, a fat ruby nestled in a gold ring. One man’s treasure, another man’s salvation. The ring was gone, but Seokmin slipped a Fool card’s in his wake.

 

He came back swiftly, wind nipping his heels urging him to run faster to climb higher, follow your feet till you come home to the stars. 

 

He came back rich, he brandished the Duke’s ring with his chest puffed out to his father. His father’s mouth stretched into a wide grin as he loosened the ribbon holding up Seokmin’s mask, brought him close and whispered into his ear “Well done, my Thief Princeling.”

 

EMO FEST JUNGKOOK/MINGYU, 600ISH WORDS

SUMMER OF LIKE AU. MINGYU MIKEY JUNGKOOK PETE.

START DATE: LMAO UUUUHH EARLY SUMMER 2020 I THINK

 

 

Jungkook and Mingyu start being JungkookAndMingyu, a Frankensteined compound word, always smushed together like those long untranslatable German words, some time back in the winter of ’04. It’s after that summer’s Warped, for sure. 

 

However, like most things in the scene, they begin, start, and end with Warped Tour. 

 

✯

 

Warped Tour ’04 was remarkable for several reasons. Enough booze in him and Jungkook will admit that there was only one truly remarkable thing about Warped that year.

 

Yes, it was Bulletproof’s first Warped. Jungkook saw parts of the country he’d never seen before, endless highways and parking lots, but still. There were East Coast kids screaming his words back at him and he got stoned with the dudes from Taking Back Sunday behind their tour bus. He got to make out with some girls. Some guys too. 

 

However, the most remarkable thing was Mingyu Kim standing sidestage for one of Bulletproof’s set. Jungkook only knew him from Alternative Press covers and Live Journal posts. Photos didn’t prepare him for Mingyu: broad, summer festival tanned, cigarette hanging from his mouth, and jeans that were practically painted on. 

 

 

 

Jungkook gives Mingyu one last lingering look down the tour bus stairs. It’s the same final lookover he gives his bass just right before going out on stage. Strings tight, strap loose. The roar of the crowd gone for those last five seconds. Except, now he doesn’t hear crickets, he doesn’t hear the THPS3 soundtrack blasting from the next bus over, he doesn’t hear the hum of air conditioners working overtime. 

 

He just wants to brush his finger tips along Mingyu’s broad shoulders, maybe he even let his hands smooth down his chest, palms catching on the peeled up ink on his AFI shirt. Give Mingyu the attention he deserves. 

 

“Jungkookie, get the fuck in here. The new Viva La Bam episode is on!” Taehyung yells from somewhere in their bus. 

 

He and Mingyu are still looking into each other’s eyes, both barely containing grins. Jungkook thinks Mingyu looks even more beautiful in blue and tungesteen than he does in orange and pink. 

 

“Give me a second, I’m busy!” he yells back, eyes still on Mingyu and how his beanie is smushing . Mingyu snorts a giggle and pushes his glasses up. 

 

Jungkook takes a step down. They’re eye-to-eye now and Jungkook can stil smell the chlorine clinging to Mingyu’s skin.

 

Mingyu’s eyes soften, goofy smile, and he’s twisting the toe of his Etnies into the dirt. His hands itch. Mingyu inches forward, gets into Jungkook’s space, hesitantly puts a hand on Jungkook’s hip, pinky trailing on his studded belt, fingers teasing up underneath Jungkook’s shirt. He resists the urge to frantically check if anyone was walking through the maze of tour buses.

 

“So, I’ll see you when we wake up in Phoenix?” Mingyu asks, breath ghosting on Jungkook’s cheek. If he turned just a hair to the left, he could kiss Mingyu. Kiss him. Kiss him good night.

 

“Yeah, hopefully there’ll be no bridges you might fuckin fall off there,” Jungkook laughs out. His chest tightens at how stupid cute Mingyu’s fake-hurt face contorts. Stupid pointy teeth, like a fucking vampire. 

 

He’s drafting a post in his head. 

 

Amazing new mexico sunset. I'm hanging on a bridge with my friend mingyu kim from sev. Its all orange and pink above us. We went to another waterpark again. I love high fives again. Totally back in love. Saw the most amazing movie... I think its called spirited away. Watch it.

 

IfYouGiveAMouseAKookie

 

UNTITLED SEULGI/IRENE, 133 WORDS

SKATER GIRL SEULGI AND HER NEW GIRL CRUSH IRENE.

START DATE: PROBS LIKE JULY OR AUGUST 2020

 

Night falls and so does Seulgi. 

 

Well, she falls flat on her ass. Literally. She can drop into an empty pool with her eyes shut, in her sleep, hands tied around her back, nothing but the feeling of smooth cement under the wheels of her board to guide her. But apparently all it takes is a pretty girl with a messy bun and cherry red lipstick to fuck all that up.

 

There’s a resonate “oof” from everyone who watched her fall. It’s mortifying and she thinks maybe she’ll spend the rest of the night from down here actually.

 

———

 

“Who’s that girl Johnny brought with him?”

 

“Hm? Oh, that’s Bae Joohyun. Out of your league for sure.”

 

“Ouch, didn’t ask. But okay.”

 

“You wanna know if she’s gay.”

 

“I wanna know if she’s gay.”

 

2 RARE 2 PAIR JUN/HOSHI, 137 WORDS

I’LL EVENTUALLY REVISIT THIS MAYBE BUT I HAD A STORY I WANTED TO FINISH INSTEAD I’M STILL DOING RAREPAIR JUST NOT THIS PROMPT

START DATE: LITERALLY THE DAY OF WHENEVER THE FIRST CHECK IN WAS

 

Soonyoung leans on his elbows, cutting deep in Junhui’s space, on the cafe table. Junhui can see the lightest smattering of freckle across Soonyoung’s nose. He might be able to make Cassiopeia if he looks hard enough, which he isn’t. 

 

“So, what kind of music do you listen to?” Soonyoung asks, light and giggly. Junhui freezes. He doesn’t even have a Spotify account. He’s taking too long to think cause Soonyoung has an expectant look on his face.

 

“Haunted house soundtracks from the 50s,” he spews out. Oh my god, he’s an idiot. It’s the 70s haunted house soundtracks he listens to. What a foolish blunder. A textbook flub.

 

“That’s so hot,” Soonyoung all but sighs out dreamily and takes a sip of his fancy cafe banana milk. Junhui doesn’t exactly know what to do with that

 

HALLOWEEN FIC VERNON/SEUNGKWAN, 803 WORDS

BASED OFF OF THE SCARE ME BY LUDO. LITERALLY TRANSCRIBED THE LYRICS MYSELF BEFORE THE BAND POSTED THE LYRICS. I STILL WANNA FINISH THIS. I JUST HAVE OTHER STUFF FIRST.

START DATE: OCT 2 2020

 

“Hold your breath, it’s rude. Be considerate of the dead. Or the undead, for that matter,” Seungkwan says jabbing Hansol in the ribs with a pointy elbow. Hansol hisses through a laugh and let’s himself get jostled off the sidewalk. He rubs at his side underneath the thrift store flannel, but the rubber werewolf glove on his hand just makes the fresh bruise hurt more. 

 

It’s funny because Seungkwan’s technically been dead for fifty years. And Hansol never holds his breath on purpose around him. 

 

There are times when moonlight catches on one of Seungkwan’s fangs when he’s thrown his head back laughing at one of Soonyoung’s terrible jokes and that’s when Hansol is left breathless. Like he’s the one who had his breath snatched away by being Turned, but it’s just his hauntingly beautiful best friend. 

 

But right now they’re walking past the old churchyard on the edge of town, mossed over and reeking of petrichor, shadowed by towering pines, and no one buried in it since 1862. A chilly breeze gusts low, nipping at their heels. Crisp fallen leaves ghost against the sliver of skin between the cuffs of their jeans and sneakers.

 

If Hansol inherited his dad’s superhearing he would hear the whisper of “Go back. Turn around,” but instead he physically shivers. It creeps up his spine and the hair on the back of his neck stands up. Nothing good every comes from a shiver up the spine. He nervously glances to the side at Seungkwan, but he looks unfazed. They’re the only ones of the side of the road hugging the cemetary. The cackles from the little devils and toilet paper mummies and swashbucklers float over with the wind. Hansol rushes to take a deep breath and Seungkwan nods appreciatively at his puffed up cheeks. 

 

“I just don’t get why you insist on dressing up like a werewolf every Halloween. It’s so gauche,” Seungkwan chides knowing Hansol can’t respond. He’s too busy texting their groupchat to see Hansol roll his eyes. His lungs burn but it’s just one more block. He doesn’t trust the wind tonight and he’s not taking any chances. Sometimes there are truths to Old Wives’ tales, especially the ones regarding the dead. 

 

They haven’t walked past the old churchyard since last Halloween. There’s nothing beyond it besides woods, a smattering of old Victorian mansions, and the interstate on-ramp. It’s easier to pile into the backseat of Mingyu’s shitty 2002 Camry and drive everywhere, but it just feels wrong to be in a car on Halloween. The magic in the clean Autumn air and the pumpkin orange sky doesn’t hit the same from behind tinted windows. 

 

The aura of the old churchyard didn’t feel this, well, off last year. Abandoned cemeteries and rotting churches are always creepy, but now the woods seem darker and forbiddingly misty. Almost as if the trees had formed a barrier to keep everyone out or, worse, to keep something in. Hansol notices one of the mausoleums closer to the wrought iron fence separating the living from the dead has a new crack in the marble. It’s remarkably fist shaped. Subconsciously, he squints his eyes. There’s claw marks, too. He picks up the pace. 

 

“Hansol, stop being a baby! You’re scarier than half the things in there!” Seungkwan yells after Hansol, huffing into a light jog, the black and red polyester cape tied in a neat bow around his neck trails after him. He’s panting and puffing to ploy Hansol into taking pity on him even though he’s well aware that Hansol knows he doesn’t actually need to breathe. 

 

The second Hansol’s foot lands just after the edge of churchyard he exhales in a great big whoosh.

 

 

There’s a dreadful lupine howling in the distance, resounding from over the tips of pine trees and Seungkwan scrunches up his face in confusion.

 

“Who even is that? We know every werewolf this side of the Hudson,” he asks. Seungkwan scrolls through his phone screen, pursing his lips in concentration. “It’s not even a full moon tonight, my moon phase widget said so.” 

 

“It’s Mingyu,” Hansol answers. He silently prays Seungkwan doesn’t press cause Hansol really doesn’t want to say it. The thing about having super, special werewolf hearing is that you kinda know what every wolf’s howl sounds like, in all situations. 

 

“Why is he acting out, what gives?” Seungkwan asks. He looks at Hansol expectantly. Like he knows all the inner machinations of Mingyu’s big dumb werewolf brain just because he’s also a werewolf. 

 

“Um, that’s definitely Mingyu getting his back blown out by Seungcheol right now,” Hansol says. He feels blood rush to his cheeks. Seungkwan’s face cracks into disgust and Hansol can’t help but double over in a cackle.

 

“Ew, I didn’t need to know that, Sollie! What the fuck!”

 

 

Okay that’s all of them. If you enjoyed any of them, please let me know! Feedback on stuff that I wrote regardless is still important to me!!! And if you read all this, a sincere thank you!!