2023 comment ficathon

[hyojungss]

format taken from 2020 MINI COMMENT FICATHON by 0323 with permission! it just felt so weird being december 24th and not having 17hols around and i'm glad other people felt similarly T____T

general rules:

• one prompt per comment, try to limit yourself to two prompts per day
• anyone can participate with no deadlines, word requirements or fandom restrictions but the intention is to be a casual place for prompts and writing, not to replace an event like 17hols
• multiple fills per prompt is fine
• cross-posting is fine
• anonymous prompting or posting is fine
• filling your own prompt is fine
• please warn for sensitive content at your discretion 
• link to view this page in site style: x

prompting:

 

Please use the following format:

 

Characters/Ship (optional) - Prompt (song lyrics/quote etc. etc.) - Canon/AU/Either (optional)

 

If you choose AU, describe what AU you are looking for. e.g. High School AU, Spies AU, etc. You can choose “either” if you have no preference between AU and canon.

 

 

filling:

 

Respond by posting your fic as a reply to the original prompt.

 

In the comment title box, title your fics with:

 

Title – Ship – Universe

 

 

IMPORTANT: If your fic is rated R, then format your comment title box this way:

 

Title – Ship – Universe – [R]


list of fills:
as far as the eye can see by luckyzukky - nmixx lily 
just follow the feeling by sleepyshamrocks - loona kim lip/haseul
the brain has corridors surpassing material place by virginsuicide - svt wonwoo/junhui
crossroads by goaltender - f1 charles/carlos 
pink and black and blue by luckyzukky - ive wonyoung/yujin 
today seems to be the last day by bookishdagger - svt minghao/bts jungkook
starlight by lachrymosy - bae suzy/got7 jinyoung
coherence by lachrymosy - svt minghao/mingyu
game theory by kisoap - pristin nayoung/svt jeonghan
and none of it matters and none of it ends by deadwine - girl's day yura & sojin
bleeding out, then it was done by pantomimes - jessica/tiffany
cool about it by pantomimes - wjsn bona/dawon
don't read the last page by intoparadise - fromis_9 jiwon/nagyung
usurper by stickie - ive yujin/wonyoung
doomsday (death of me) by pantomimes - snsd yoona/seohyun
they might as well be looking at us by kisoap - bae suzy/got7 jinyoung
the more i remember, the more you fade by deadwine - 2521 yurim/heedo
love fool by luckyzukky - akb48/iz*one honda hitomi/yamauchi mizuki
dwindling mercurial high by kisoap - pristin nayoung/svt jeonghan

Comments

[hyojungss]

any - "what do you enjoy most about being teammates?" (source) - idolverse or sportsverse

* teammates is interchangeable with being "in the same group"

crossroads - c2 - canon - [R]

[goaltender]

Charles can't get his screen turned off quickly enough.

"No," says Pierre, tone flat and affronted. "Charles, mec, no. Was that—"

"It was no one," Charles says in a rush.

He gets an unimpressed look at that.

"I swear to you," he tacks on, trying to telepathically communicate his insistence with a frantic glance in Pierre's direction. Unfortunately, his voice must waver enough to render any argument flagrantly unconvincing, because Pierre only shakes his head before throwing his hands up in protest. Wonderful.

"Are you kidding me?" Pierre presses, words slow-dripping a dense trickle of accusation. Charles takes some offense to that, seeing as they're currently sat in an upscale Italian restaurant and Pierre is the one only eating a chicken salad with dressing on the side, which as far as Charles is concerned makes Pierre the more unserious one between the two of them.

Pierre flips him off when he says as much, because of course he does. Charles rolls his eyes, and then Pierre's face is pinching together. He sits back a moment later to purse his lips, cheeks hollowing and puffing in consideration. When he continues, it's with something akin to pity coloring his voice, "No, but—seriously, Charles. I thought we were done with this."

This, of course, being—

His phone suddenly lights up again, pushing a new slew of notifications into their peripheral vision. This, of course, being the scarlet-letter corroboration of Charles's misguided venture into self-determination. What did Pierre want from him, in asking—the truth? Some white lie skirting at the edge of who they were, of the fact that Charles would never be more or less prone to the asphyxiation of his own instincts, that no corrective surgery could flay the DNA imprint of his open-heart fragility?

At least he has his message previews off, he thinks to himself with a sick twinge of relief. In front of him Pierre makes a disgusted noise, cataloguing the reversed contact name on his screen, the unceremonious hot-pepper emoji, starts muttering, "Mais putain, does he know that we eat lunch at this hour in Monaco? What the fuck is he playing at?"

Charles's pizza is getting cold by now. Grease has long perspired out its cheese pores and started undergoing the unsightly process of congealing beneath the cold A/C air circulating their private booth. He manages to flip his phone onto its screen this time, except. He can already imagine it. The insistent follow-up, Carlos from wherever he was—maybe in a plane bathroom, if the shitty lighting and cramped framing had been anything to go by—his whiny tone demanding Charles's constant eyes and attention.

Charlesss, he'd probably sent. With an exclamation effect for good measure. Helloooo????

"It's not all the time," he tries. "Honestly, it's actually been a while."

This is clearly the wrong thing to say. Pierre's face is almost apoplectic red now, and Charles winces when he exclaims at a decibel wholly unacceptable for their surroundings, "Fuck, you mean it's happened more than once?"

Which.

Are you in the business of sending your teammates dick pics for fun? Charles thinks, momentarily bewildered. Only he knows Pierre possesses nearly zero underlying qualms on going from first base to a semi-consistent sexting basis, what with getting regaled with the full details of his situationship with Kika over two weeks, so Pierre probably, totally would be the type to do that. Poor Yuki.

It's pointless to argue. I thought we were done with this, he'd said, and Charles nearly scoffs at that, because he can't remember a time when Pierre really thought anything of much at all, or even the last time he'd given Charles's relationships more consideration than some simple stubborn transient judgment, glimpses of interventive sympathy created in the image of his own moral propositions. They were both more than content to avoid acknowledgement of the cankerous underbelly of Charles's desires, the sores that threatened Pierre's visceral repulsion to injury.

"It's not all the time," Charles repeats, awkward and flushed. He fiddles with his tablecloth, making a show of wiping oil off his fingers that isn't actually there, sinking into his chair in hopes that the back might finally swallow him up. Shield his body from the open scrutiny of Pierre's judgment. "Just, uh… you know. Here and there."

As in—Charles's win in Bahrain. Australia, Grand Slam, driver's room. It had meant nothing at all. After padel, sweaty and gross and uncoordinated, hot slide of skin against skin. A shoddy hook-up call in his apartment, too-small and barely lived-in, forcing arms over his own until he could drown the white noise out.

Carlos isn't shy about himself, or his body. And he gives as good as he gets.

They hadn't touched in Singapore, but Charles doesn't tell Pierre that.

Pierre asks, "And… uh. So you're okay with that?"

Charles shrugs, because at this point he doesn't know what else to do. His lips feel numb, stinging with the phantom touch of an allergic reaction, the inflammatory contact of his cowardice.

He says, short, "You couldn't understand."

It's a shoddy guilt-trick tactic. Pierre knows it; it only ever works on him when Pierre's been worn down enough to grant Charles observation of their unspoken mercy rule.

"Try me."

Nosy bastard.

The thing was, he really couldn't understand.

"Carlos doesn't…" Charles sighs, running his fingers through his hair, cropped unusually short over the crown of his head. He feels at the fuzz near his scalp, sighs again, considers his angle. "You see, Carlos doesn't care about me."

At that, Pierre takes a breath.

Charles knows what's coming before he even says it, his heart jackhammering with it. After all, he hadn't spent two years praying at the man's altar to fail to recognize the twitchy slant of Pierre's eyebrows when he was wont to mention—him.

"But Sebastian did?"

Yes. No. No, of course not. No.

Charles scoffs, and unwavering surety washes over him with such force it nearly tugs him out to sea.

"Of course not," he says.

But we both know I wanted him to, he doesn't say. That I spent too long believing he might, one day. Isn't that funny?

It'd been embarrassing, near the end, to kneel at the coffin of a dead man, sinking his teeth into the same carcass he'd spent so long cherishing, like a stubborn yapping dog hitting at the squeaky core of a decimated chew toy. Trying desperately to make something of himself under Seb's watchful gaze; Seb letting him, always. Saying nothing as Charles pulled and pulled until he tore the meat of his ribs out. He'd wanted. Needed. Hated himself for it.

Carlos, though.

Carlos, he could humiliate. Every tenth, every grid position, every overconfident photo snapped in the privacy of his room or a dingy bathroom—he gave as good as he got. It was Charles's favorite thing about him, about being teammates. The more Charles beat him into submission, the more Charles demanded, the more the static quieted. Maybe pretending at it could lessen the agony of his sincerity.

"Of course not," Charles repeats. Conviction growing. "But it's okay, this time. It means nothing."

If it didn't, maybe Alex would care, so. There was nothing to worry about.

He doesn't tell Pierre that he'd waited for an invitation after Singapore, too proud to be hurting but not even-keeled enough to feign total indifference. He'd wanted to—he doesn't even know, anymore. To swipe his phone open to an innocuous, Are you up? message, direct and formal, to be able to say, Sorry, not this time, find someone else willing to get down and pamper your ego?

Carlos hadn't even bothered. Had probably busy getting blasted beyond belief on watered-down shots and Lando's cocaine. Whatever.

"You're too nice for psychological warfare," Pierre snorts, and he's laughing now, even if it's a bit weary and muted. "Just. Don't get too caught up in it, okay?"

"Not about to take relationship advice from you, sorry," Charles jokes, ignoring the niggling feeling crawling up his neck. He looks down at his plate, appetite properly gone. Thinks of the messages on his phone, the photo he'd been sent, whether it would be better or worse to withhold himself.

I'm at lunch, asshole, he could send back.

Scared, then? Carlos would probably say, from the safety of his business-class seat. They only ever spoke in taunts and jest.

Fucking hell.

It's a matter of pride, at this point. Charles stands up.

"Going to take a piss," he announces, slipping his phone into his back pocket. Pierre eyes him dubiously, watching the sweeping arc of his hand, the swift and calculated movement. It's only as Charles is shuffling away that he hears a strange choking noise reverberate from behind him.

"No," Pierre calls after him, faux-retching when Charles spins around to look at him. His skin has taken on a putrid shade of green now, upper lip curled in vivid contempt. "Oh, you're disgusting. Ohhh, I'm going to be sick."

Charles says nothing. A photo speaks for itself.

—

R-ish for suggestive themes, c2-ish for not actually really being c2, F for writing this on my phone over dinner for no reason

Re: crossroads - c2 - canon - [R]

[hyojungss]

GIRL YOU ARE SOOOOOOO INSANE (REVERENT)

Re: crossroads - c2 - canon - [R]

[hyojungss]

first of all you are crazy second of all i think it's so funny that i'm the chirlie and you have written multiple eviscerating takes on charles' psyche... who can do it like you. i wish you would write more flashfic because you're incredible at packing so many dynamics into one scene... it's so dense!!!
- "does he know that we eat lunch at this hour in Monaco" i died actually...
- "Honestly, it's actually been a while" (crying emoji) charles you are pathetic
- "because he can't remember a time when Pierre really thought anything of much at all" this pgasly shade... i especially like it because it's contextualized in the established piarles friendship. it's good when u can acknowledge your friends' shortcomings
- "Charles knows what's coming before he even says it, his heart jackhammering with it." / "It'd been embarrassing, near the end, to kneel at the coffin of a dead man, sinking his teeth into the same carcass he'd spent so long cherishing" / "Carlos, he could humiliate. Every tenth, every grid position, every overconfident photo snapped in the privacy of his room or a dingy bathroom—he gave as good as he got." my jaw drop when you mentioned seb and my jaw drop when you compared him to carlos... this juxtaposition is so incredible. charles caring about seb so much and in comparison having no expectations from carlos feelings-wise + finding it easy to delight in every possible way he could win against him. this is so good because it's so true to their rl dynamic which is just Competition, at all times, just a matter of what flavor (recreational v political v ego). the gave as good as he got call back and the alexandra namedrop were also too good. this is the only valid take on c2 ever thank you for this!!!

Re: crossroads - c2 - canon - [R]

[infrequencies]

MY JAW DROPPED AT "But Sebastian did?" oh my god