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ABOUT THE ARTIST. PPYOPULII, also known as JAY and formerly known as IMUJINGS, is a 20 y/o Filipino-American producer, composer, and singer-songwriter. Signing in 2025 with the famous CARATBLR, they take key inspiration from hit K-POP boy group SEVENTEEN, promising to give back to the community they love so dearly with writings held close to their heart.
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[🚩] Explicit songs ahead. Listening discretion is advised.
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synopsis. | they're coraline, and you're their home to merely long for. (or, the one where seventeen copes with your break up in questionable ways.)
♯ pairing(s). | seventeen x gn!reader (all separate)
♯ genre(s). | angst (it's what the children yearn for), exes!! YAYY, post-breakup shenanigans
♯ wc. | 1k-ish
♯ warnings. | unedited, cursing, RED FLAG BEHAVIOR!!, alcohol consumption, allusions to sex
jay's musings. | based off of coraline by my forever love, lyn lapid. happy late carat day everyone. ^-^
so i'm sipping my cup, sick of thinking straight
'cause i'm a sittin' duck in a pit of snakes
i'm in the twilight zone, and there ain't no slipping away
🌙 WOOZI. the alcohol is bitter in the back of his throat. he hates drinking; doesn’t understand why people glorify it, why people reach for it in times of despair. you, in particular, always puzzled him with your giggles about his distaste for it. a second shot of soju is downed like a pill and he wipes his mouth carelessly. ah, right. you. the all-too known wave of dizziness washes over him and he momentarily forgets the sound of your laugh—it eases the pain making a home in his heart. another drink should do the trick, he supposes, and tips back his head for another round.
🌙 VERNON. parties. they’re not… unfamiliar to him, exactly. he swims with the crowd, weaving through the shoal of fingers that tug on his belt and the sultry calls of his name. their voices barely register in his mind as he spots you, nursing a red solo cup in the arms of another. your hair is styled different. there’s nothing wrapping around your right ring finger this time. he isn’t too sure what to do with his hands anymore, not until a pair of unrecognizable arms too rough to be yours wrap around his waist, pulling him out of your line of sight. maybe it’s time to jump into the unknown.
say i won't do it again (i won't do it again)
and then i do it again (and again, and again)
🪡 HOSHI. he stares blankly at the mailbox that is still spilling with letters from the last time he came here. the flowers he had left on your front porch are left wilting; white peonies with bluebells and baby’s breath. flowers he learned symbolized remorse, second chances. he hadn’t seen you step out of your house in so long he was beginning to worry you were ill—maybe he should call you again? the rational part of him feels sick to his stomach; he knows you’re avoiding him, knows he’s being too much. but he doesn’t know how else to show you how much he still cares, and so he sucks in a breath, ambling up to your door once more.
🪡 MINGYU. the ceiling above him is painted pink this time. he’s seen loads of them, from upscaled apartments to dingy hotels that make his skin crawl. he’s still catching his breath when a figure that’s too soft along the edges to be yours slides into the bed, the mattress dipping with their weight. they curl into his body, seeking his heat, and as always he gives with no thought. his brain is entirely on autopilot, wondering when the too-cold hands that were yours would reach for his warmth again. fingers slip into his and he murmurs a goodnight; he’ll wake up to an empty bed for sure, but at least he’s warm right now.
🪡 DINO. your voice echoes in his thoughts. i can’t keep doing this. your words never match your actions. he still sees your hurt expression, the tears that flowed freely down your cheeks. he didn’t mean to forget again, he swears; the time had slipped his mind and before he knew it, it was too late to make things up to you. what doesn’t help is his promise from before that last time would be the last time. he buries his face in his hands, exhaling slowly. too many times has he made promises he couldn’t keep. this time, though, he’s determined to follow through. he swears he’ll never be the reason for your suffering again. (the figurative fingers crossed behind his back say otherwise.)
hopin' for a differеnt outcome
hopin' there's more to this
🕸 JOSHUA. sliding his phone across the table, he watches the person’s eyes light up. they ask to confirm your name and he merely nods. playing matchmaker is foreign to him, but his heart twists at the thought of you with anyone he knows wouldn’t treat you right. he ignores the nagging, hypocritical thought that this person is a known heartbreaker; that this person will take your heart and smash it to pieces when they inevitably become bored. but it’s okay, that’s okay—at the end of the night, when you’re trying to pick up the broken pieces, he’ll sweep in and help you clean up. he always does. and this time, there will be more to your expression than simple gratitude. he’s sure of it.
🕸 DOKYEOM. he’s hurt. plain and simple. your charming smile, your polite greetings—that’s all they are. cordial. he feels like he’s been stabbed in the gut when all you offer him is a soft hello as he stumbles over what words to say to you to get you to notice him, please, notice me just once more. it’s a miracle you still even glance his way, but by the stars does he want your attention all to himself again. he shouldn’t be selfish, really, but he musters up the courage to call after you, watching your head turn to look at him with that damned professionalism of yours. when did he become a business transaction to you? his voice threatens to falter, but he swallows back his pride—at this point, all he can do is keep trying.
🕸 SEUNGKWAN. it’s a little too easy to fall back into routine again with you; the banter is the same, the laughs are still as sweet as ever, even the physical affection hasn’t been too affected. yet… as he sits on your bed, watching you panic over which outfit to choose for your date later, something in the deep pit of his abdomen tugs, hard. he knows your relationship was brief. he knows that the breakup was mutual, that friends would be all you two ever were. but he can’t help it—his mouth twists as you turn to him and ask which top he prefers. did you ever mull over what outfit to wear for him? what drew the line between being just your best friend and someone you wanted to be with for forever? and was he always going to just toe the line, never to cross?
so do i roll the dice 'cause i bet there's more?
right on the, the other side of the open door
but there's a pricе to pay—is it more than i can afford?
🗝 JEONGHAN. there’s a sick sense of relief that fills him when he sees the way your eyes widen slightly from his hand on the small of their back, watching your lips pull into a pretty frown. he leans down to whisper some sweet nothing he pulled out of his ass into the person’s ear, making sure to brush a strand of hair out of their eyes, flitting his own down to their lips to really sell it. a giggle falls off his victim’s tongue: hook, line and sinker. the sound of heavy, hurried footsteps can be heard nearby—and he can only hope that later on those same footsteps would be scurrying straight back to him.
🗝 THE8. ignoring you feels like letting the tea kettle whine on, steam bursting from the cracks and seeping into the corners of the kitchen that is his mind. you don’t help, of course, only kind as ever—saying polite hello’s to which he’ll pretend not to hear, his gaze sweeping the air over your head. one day he finds himself startled by you walking straight by himself without as much of a glance, and the tea kettle is wailing now, shivering and begging to be put to rest. he wants to turn the heat down, he really does—but what good would that do when the two of you have already been burned?
and now i feel like coraline
everywhere i go;
nothin' feels like home
🐈⬛ S.COUPS. the ring is simple; star-studded with your favorite jewel that catches the light and leaves him dizzy. he can tell his now-fiancé is trying their best to look unaffected by how the ring was definitely not made with them in mind—their own unique, heavy jewelry clinks as they tilt their head to look up at him and smile. he clears his throat, the fingers settled on their waist twitching as cameras from his family flash brightly around the two of them. he tries not to think about how you would’ve preferred a smaller proposal; it’s more intimate, you had mused. whatever. he holds his fiancé close and presses a chaste kiss to their forehead, feigning indifference to his heart that no longer pounds around who is supposed to be his love.
🐈⬛ JUN. a crack of light coming in from his now open door barely makes him rise from his bed. he’s scrolling through his phone mindlessly, eyes puffy, cheekbones straining with the weight of his tears. boxes of tissues litter his room. his roommate’s voice calls for him, soft and quiet, yet all he can think about is your own pronunciation of his name—how it was spoken like a revered breath that you could never get enough of. shit. a fresh wave of saltiness coats his skin. snot bubbles up in his nose. there’s a hand on his blanket-clad shoulder that’s not yours and he’s never felt so alone in a house supposedly made for two.
🐈⬛ WONWOO. he’s wandering again, he knows it; the gas pedal feels like air under his foot and he’s gotta be going at least twenty over. but a sick, twisted part of him that’s filled to the brim of thoughts of you doesn’t care. doesn’t want to care. the only light to guide him is the moon, full speed ahead above him. he wishes it were your beaming crescent smile instead. he uses that as toxic motivation to speed ahead. in his head, he races against the clock, wondering that if maybe he finally beat his record—finally was better, was good enough—you’d be waiting for him at the finish line with arms wide open.
…oh, i feel like—
☎️ YOU. the phone is heavy in your hands. it’s vibrating rather loudly; you didn’t think he’d call again so soon. then again, you aren’t sure what you were thinking in the first place, leaving his number unblocked and messages saved. another ring indicates it’s close to leaving him to your all-too familiar voicemail box. you decide to make the choice for him and—
#s — @etherealyoungk, @ylangelegy, @shinysobi, @heartepub, @junplusone, @fallminlove, @wheeboo. if you’d like to be notified when new releases drop, don’t hesitate to send in an ask! <3
hi u/imujings, i love love love your blog and congrats on 100 :3 i hope u get a thousand more!! for pass the aux, i would like to throw two prospects in (whichever inspires you, if either do 🫶)
jihoon reminds me of john mayer's stop this train, while minghao feels very i saw you in a dream (the japanese house) coded!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ aaah i wish you well <3
the perfect hallucination
all good things come to an end
but i thought that this might last
wc <1k. warnings ambiguous relationship/ending, angst (chara death mentions), vague your name!au (thats right, SUE ME). jay’s musings u/ylangelegy!! hii this is super late and im so sorry (＞人＜;) also i know i said weathering with you > your name but… (vague) your name!au… its calling me…
You didn’t even have to move a muscle this time to realize the switch happened again.
It happens every few weeks—you’re thrust into an entirely different universe, waking up too stiffly in a bed you don’t recognize, blearily rubbing sleep away with hands that are kept far more soft than yours.
The face that greets you in the bathroom with a too-bright light is a pretty one; you know that much. He has ash brown hair that’s a little on the longer side, falling into his eyes and tickling the bridge of his nose.
You brush it out of the way and tuck the strands behind an ear laced with piercings, getting ready for the day and adjusting rather quickly to the difference in height of you to the sink.
A voice calls something faintly outside the bathroom door, the lilt of their tone and pronunciation achingly familiar. You’ve become accustomed to not trying to strain your hearing to comprehend what they’re saying; whatever universal being put you in this situation, you’re unable to find out anything personal about the man whose body your inhabiting—including his name.
This means blurred out speech, with the feeling of water clogging your ears occurring every time someone so much as speaks a nickname of his. It also means squinting unsuccessfully at the fuzziness that is his signature, his hand moving on its own to scribble something illegible in pen.
You’ll admit, the first few swaps had you scrambling to find anything that could give you a hint of who this man was—much to his irritation.
A very neatly written note detailing his displeasure at invading his privacy greeted you the next time you awoke in his body, right after a panicking switch left you rummaging messily through his drawers. In the end you had written to him on the back of the paper, handwriting shaky and words of apology crossed out over and over.
I’m sorry, I'm just trying to figure out how we got into this situation. Are we even from the same area? This place looks nothing like my home town.
The leftover toothpaste from brushing your (his?) teeth is spat back out into the sink. You rinse your mouth and run a hand over your face a few times, narrowing your gaze at the brown eyes that stared back at you from the mirror. Did his hair color change since the last time you swapped?
Over the past few weeks, the two of you had exchanged notes at your bedside tables, intermingling with what information you could. It was a hassle at times; there were moments where he had talked about concepts you didn't understand, things like cellphones and the internet. You had written back that you had never heard of those terms, being unacquainted to the bright screens of light that seemed to follow you everywhere you went in his body.
After that incident, the boy's next handwriting seemed rushed. Desperate, even.
I have an idea. Could you draw a landmark from your home town that’s incredibly significant and hard to miss?
Your mind wanders as you step back into his room, recognizing the familiar carefully folded piece of paper left on his nightstand. A soft, melodic hum in a register nowhere near close to your voice escapes you as you make your way towards it; in your routine, you had forgotten to check for any response.
Above his desk is a board of cork. You take notice of the drawing you had left him pinned to it, tilting your head at the distressing etched marks of red pen. He must have been trying to figure out the location.
Shrugging, you move towards the note and sit on his comforter, thumbing your finger over the note and disinterestedly wondering what he was currently doing in your body. Though exchanges you've had were brief and to the point, the connection you shared felt almost... intimate. As if nothing he could particularly do or say would surprise you.
Of course, the universe loves to jinx your thoughts as you read over the familiar curls of his penmanship. His words make your stomach drop.
Hello,
I researched the landmark that was given by you in your drawing. That was an old village that was hit by a meteor over fifteen years ago. Everyone there was killed almost immediately.
More importantly, do you by chance know of the legends regarding the red string of fate and the flow of time?
the divide flag. samuel l jackson, a black man, as uncle sam, a personification of the us government, saying that kendricks fast paced raps are too loud, too ghetto. kendrick lamar you artist, say that.
HII jay <33 camelia and jasmine for the ask game!!
hi viv!! thank you so much for sending something in hehe <3 so sorry the void that is university swallowed me absolutely whole for like the past two weeks _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):
camellia. (what were you like when you were younger? do you think you’ve changed a lot?)
this is a,, loaded question. hm! i would say that—in lack of better phrasing—younger me was starved. they fed off the stale bread crumbs anyone would toss them. very perfectionistic + people pleasing to the point of destruction. only after 19 years of struggling do i feel like i’ve actually started a true healing process. i wish i could give younger jay a hug, they deserve one more than anything (*´◒`*)
jasmine. (do you have a movie or book you loved but will never watch/read again?)
ok,, idk if this counts but. GRAVE OF THE FIREFLIES !!! i say this because i have never watched it and the only reason i would watch it is to take in the breathtaking art + storytelling that is studio ghibli. when being told the summary of it i cried (/srs.) and i genuinely don’t think i could take the hurt of actually watching it through (at least, not without absolutely breaking down and going through the five stages of grief) bc i’m a very emotional person skfjwjdj
