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"Someone will remember us, I say, even in another time."
"How inconvenient to be made of desire."
"It's me, hi, I'm the problem its me."
Calling all readers, lovers of poetry and music, screen and stage. Quote collecters and lyric hoarders, unleash your archive. For this round, every prompt must contain a quote - you can combine them, add commentary, link to articles, do whatever. Steal from a literary classic, or copy WeVerse drama.
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[REMIX] every lover's got a little dagger in their hand
Major Tags: explicit sexual content, possible MCD
Additional Tags: ghost sex, possibly dream sex, sex illusion, historical au, King Seokmin, Mingyu is an unidentifiable entity
Permission to remix: Please ask
WC 570
A/N: The tags mostly cover all the things to look out for. I didn't tag dubcon because Seokmin is quite an eager participant, but I'm also unsure whether you can give your active consent to a ghost/entity you cannot see, so please tread ahead bearing that in mind. Sorry for bastardizing your baby, Vee.
***
Seokmin wakes with a start and finds his chambers plunged into darkness.
The moon shines high in the sky outside and when Seokmin feels around for the candle on his bedside , the heat stings his fingertips—half of it is still standing.
Seokmin doesn’t have to investigate what put out its fire. He can already sense it in the air, gripping the sheets next to his ankles, pressing down on his pillows.
It seems neither death nor magic can diminish the way Seokmin’s body intrinsically knows what is about to happen—it has been many, many years since Seokmin last touched Kim Mingyu but not a day has gone by when he forgot what it felt like.
He is disrobed with an urgency characteristic of a desperation only the most vicious of partings can bring, and he allows it—helps even, raising his back when fingers trace his spine and curling his knees closer when a gust of air closes in on his feet.
He’s trembling by the time he’s laid bare on his sheets, a strange mix of nostalgia and anticipation—a desire for all the things he’s put to death with his own bare hands. It’s not fear though. Fear would mean Seokmin’s dagger missed its mark—and it didn’t.
Seokmin doesn’t regret stabbing Mingyu. He regrets letting him escape alive.
He suddenly gasps, as he feels his breath choked out of him, and it takes him a few seconds too long to realise he is being kissed to within an inch of his life—quite literally and with intent.
He lets his hands hook onto what looks like thin air and leverages upwards, pushing back until he’s sitting up. His lungs swell like a balloon in his chest, each moment that he spends unwilling to part from the kiss lengthening the strain on it until it pops and he’s heaving mouthfuls of air.
But it’s not enough because he leans back for more—and gets what he wants without a fight. Maybe they’re both willing to die for this kiss…maybe death only aggravates the agonies that one hopes to leave behind with the living.
Before he is overpowered again, he grinds his hips upwards hoping to meet with some resistance. When he does, he grinds up again and again, until he can almost imagine Mingyu resting against Seokmin’s collarbone, nosing his way up Seokmin’s throat as Seokmin took his time driving MIngyu to the edge.
It’s a damn shame Seokmin can’t see his face. Mingyu always did blush so prettily when he was being taken apart.
His momentary distraction unarms him and Seokmin finds himself on his back again, looking up into nothingness and waiting for the inevitable.
Maybe he will wake up tomorrow and realise this was all a dream, wished up by memories Seokmin had learnt to bury every night that his father called for his company. Maybe he’ll wake up with no memory of the darkness touching him at all—Mingyu had always been powerful and who knew what he was become capable of, in the years that he had spent biding his time and slinking into corners of the kingdom that always evaded Seokmin’s reach.
But for now, all Seokmin cares to deal with is the night, and its shadow—perched as it was on his hip.
Seokmin sighs, letting his eyes fall shut, and an all-too-familiar warmth finally engulfs him.
Re: [REMIX] every lover's got a little dagger in their hand
it has been many, many years since Seokmin last touched Kim Mingyu but not a day has gone by when he forgot what it felt like. - ARE THOU KIDDING MEEEEEE. wanting someone you don't regret stabbing but regret having let escape even years after the fact so much so you're willing to give yourself up to air that just feels like him!!! fuck!!! what the fuck!!!
Mingyu always did blush so prettily when he was being taken apart. [PTERODACTYL SCREECHING]
these lines in particular. I'm bonkers about them put in context, together: Maybe he will wake up tomorrow and realise this was all a dream, wished up by memories Seokmin had learnt to bury every night that his father called for his company. and But for now, all Seokmin cares to deal with is the night, and its shadow—perched as it was on his hip.
I always admire how you wrap complexity in subtlety and do it so well T______T. the aftermath of betrayal and how one lives with it... the desperation inherent in succumbing to the ghosts of the past. Maybe they’re both willing to die for this kiss GAH. PB.
not joking when I said this is better than the original fic. I'm forever honoured. this is a high I'd never come down from. THANK U.
[REMIX] all the way through
Major Tags: Violence
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Historical, Enemies to Lovers/Lovers to Enemies, Ghost Sex...in a way
Permission to remix: Please ask
a/n: pb, 2024 is the year of writing for friends and it starts with you. happy birthday. you are so dear to me. if you hate this please don't let me know, I'd wither and die.
The brewing storm exacerbated the tension inside Minghao’s head. His father wanted him to stay within the palace gates in case the armistice extended by their besieger had proved to be a trap. Minghao adamantly refused. He wanted to see the enemy for himself. The man who had purged the entire peninsula of magic and had come to smother the dying embers on the last hearth: Minghao’s kingdom. With the wind lashing against his back and the cold turning his lips blue, Minghao stood tall beside his father.
“We both know you haven’t charged our gates because you believe we stand a chance against your forces,” the king said, voice imbued with confidence.
A bold claim, Minghao had to say. Magic gave them an inherent advantage, but Minghao had observed the size and aptitude of Lee Seokmin’s army. Any victory they managed to seize would have an insignificant margin. Fight, and the blood of the fallen would run the rivers red for years to come. A thousand lineages ended on the field before dusk, ancient houses buried under the bodies of their sons.
Lee Seokmin was not easily deterred. When he laughed, Minghao detected winter’s bitterness etched deep into the sound. Minghao’s magic coiled around his fingers. He wanted a touch.
“I am fighting a war I believe in. I have accepted the price of doing so,” Lee Seokmin answered calmly. “Have you?”
He had no intention of winning, Minghao realised. He had planned to meet his end with a sword in hand, as many enemies as possible dead at his feet. Once, his teacher had told Minghao that the God of Death fears only one enemy: a man who would embrace him like a longtime friend.
“Surrender now and make the sacrifice you can afford.”
Give up magic.
“How do I know your army will not put a sword through our chests the moment we chain our hands?”
“I have let others who abide by my rules live.” That much was true. “Is that not proof enough?”
“No,” answered Minghao’s father. “You are sharp enough to keep them alive and leverage them as proof, but this is your last negotiation. We are the last of our kind. You can betray us, and them, tomorrow or whenever you see fit.”
Lee Seokmin acknowledged the argument with a nod. “If you give me one of your daughters to wed, then our kingdoms will be one. Your people will be mine. I would have to answer to my ancestors and yours for any harm I let befall them.”
Minghao swallowed. The winds had calmed, but the storm had moved inside his body.
His father stared at Lee Seokmin.
“I have no daughters.”
The warrior’s war-hardened gaze slid to Minghao. “Then a son.”
From that moment on, his body moved on its own. He remembered, only vaguely, of his mother asking if this was what he wanted. Minghao did not know what he wanted, he only knew he was far from ready to pay the price Lee Seokmin spoke of. They were wedded twice. Once in Minghao’s customs, then in Lee Seokmin’s. The first time, his father enchanted his ceremonial robe until Minghao had walked to the dais engulfed in flames. Seokmin allowed them to escape unscathed. He granted them one last act of resistance before they bowed their heads and vowed to be people they were not.
“He wasn’t always this way,” a tall, foreign attendant had revealed to Minghao when he helped him change out of his formalwear inside his new, foreign quarters. “He used to smile. Maybe he can again.”
The man had gone before Minghao could ask him more. Minghao noted the distinct way his coat strings had been fastened. His mother used the same style, one she had told him came naturally to people with a dominant left hand. Recollections of his home were dispersed as a knock rapped on his door, informing Minghao of Lee Seokmin’s summon.
His husband had chosen to remain in the military uniform he wore to their celebration feast. Minghao scanned the room and wondered what he wanted.
“Remember your oath,” he warned, mistaking Minghao’s innocent observation to have ulterior motives. “Blow a candle using magic and I will cut your parents’ throat before I cut yours.”
“Our journey home had not made me forgetful,” Minghao replied carefully.
Lee Seokmin deemed his response satisfactory and nodded. “You are not a prisoner, so make your wishes known. I will grant them as long as they are reasonable.”
“Thank you.” Minghao hadn’t expected that. “That is generous.”
“But—”
“But?”
“Do not seek love. You will find none here.”
“Love?” Minghao laughed tiredly. His bones ached at the thought of being buried in this place. “I’d rather find you to be a man of your word.”
Minghao glanced at the low bedside table, where a deadly curved blade rested inside its sheath. Seokmin followed his line of sight.
“Do all the warriors in your kingdom prefer the company of steel over men?”
He knew Lee Seokmin was to take a concubine. Keep his bloodline alive. There was no need for the sacrifice Minghao was so willing to give him.
The king turned his gaze to Minghao again. “Some prefer men.”
Minghao raised his hand. The king watched. His fingers curled around the ends of Lee Seokmin’s silk jeondae. Slowly, Minghao pulled the tight knot free until the loosened sash fell to the floor. The earthy scent clinging to Lee Seokmin’s skin awakened Minghao’s senses.
It awakened something else inside him, too: a wild, fierce beast. Magic refused to bow to the commands of men, to the decree of kings. Minghao kept his word. He resisted the desire to wield his powers. But when magic chose to wield him, there was nothing Minghao could do to stop it.
Lee Seokmin touched his cheek. Minghao closed his eyes and saw another man. Lee Seokmin set him down on their marriage bed and Minghao became the other man, an understudy claiming the spotlight from the star of the show. Lee Seokmin's lips found his. Minghao returned his enthusiasm the way the man he pretended to be once had.
No one would tell Minghao what he wanted to know at first, and not for a lack of trying on his part. He could not trust the yangbans in his court—they served no master but their purses. Despite his apparent cruelty, Seokmin had instilled an unwavering sense of loyalty in his guards; Minghao slowly learned to distinguish the sentiment from fear, often most reflected in the eyes of the servants.
In them, he found a few exceptions to the rule.
The royal physician had delivered both the late king and Seokmin; he whispered in Minghao’s ear about the late king’s desperation for an heir after his queen and concubines delivered one stillbirth after another. He turned to magic. Minghao frowned. Magic cannot create life. The physician confirmed his belief, that it had taken the queen in exchange for the crown prince. Seokmin’s late father had the woman who spoke the words hanged, and outlawed magic.
Initially sent for Minghao’s entertainment, the dancers found his company to be theirs instead. Minghao shared his poetry collection and they told him of the boy Seokmin grew up with: a promising young man who disappeared one night, never to be seen again.
As Minghao showed her how to best use the vegetables they recently acquired from his region, a young kitchen maid revealed that the young man disappeared on the night of the old king's untimely demise.
“Take five men with you,” Seokmin decided, eyes locked on the maps covering the table in front of him. Minghao had asked to leave the palace to visit the local market. Well-known merchants from homeland had arrived in the capital yesterday, it would be good to hear news of home. “General Yoon should be one of them.”
“What are you looking for?” asked Minghao.
This time, Seokmin raised his gaze. “A lake. A silver lake. Do you know of it?”
“No. What kind of lake is coloured silver?”
“We shall find out.” The corner of Seokmin’s mouth lifted. “Go on, Myungho. I want you back before sunset.”
His name, localised to Seokmin’s language, occupied his thoughts as he walked through the market. In his absentmindedness, Minghao let a young merchant come too close to him. Lee Jihoon instinctively stepped between them, blade drawn. Minghao placed a hand on his arm.
“Put your weapon away. You’re scaring the girl.”
“I’m not scared, Your Highness!” the girl exclaimed. Grinning, she handed Minghao a lovely conch. Something about her eyes reminded him of a person he had never seen. She turned her gaze away before Minghao had more time to observe her, mentally counting the number of guards he had around him. “There are only 10 members of the royal guard. The king must value your life as much as he values his!”
When Minghao relayed her observation to his husband over dinner, Seokmin looked amused. The semblance of a smile appeared on his face.
“The girl is mistaken.”
“Is she?”
“I value yours more.”
Minghao knew Seokmin meant it in a political sense, that keeping Minghao alive was crucial to maintaining peace in his newly unified kingdom. Nonetheless, Minghao had to catch himself before he could make the drooping flowers on their windowsill stand upright again.
Seokmin had warned Minghao not to expect his love but failed to warn Minghao not to love him. Not that it ever occurred to Minghao, until the unmistakable truth had stared him in the face, that he might love the man who threatened his family and put chains around his people’s wrists.
It had been months since his eyes began to follow Seokmin’s movements as he sparred with Jeonghan, his famous sword shining under the summer sun. Under the hot glare, Minghao saw Seokmin’s younger self. He heard the unrestrained glee in his laughter after he managed to put his lover on his back a third time. Minghao felt the way Seokmin had climbed over him, pushed aside the other man’s robe so he could mouth along his sun-kissed shoulder.
“Who was he?”
Seokmin set his chopsticks aside. Winter clouded his eyes when he raised his gaze to meet Minghao’s.
“His name was Kim Mingyu.”
Minghao flexed his hands. His fingertips tingled.
“You once said to make my wishes known.”
Seokmin grimaced, reading Minghao’s intentions so easily as though they were put on parchment before him. “I cannot give you this.”
“Why not? A man wants his husband’s heart. Does that sound unreasonable to you?”
Rising from his seat, Seokmin swiped a blade from the dining table. Minghao held his breath as Seokmin bridged the distance between them. He seized Minghao’s wrist and pressed the wooden handle into his open palm. Seokmin moved closer until the deadly tip bit into his chest.
“You must cut me open,” he said, voice low. “That is the only way to get what you are asking for: the carcass of what once belonged to him.”
Minghao drew a sharp breath. He slowly lowered the weapon and pressed his ear to Seokmin’s chest instead, listening to his heartbeat. Seokmin let him do what he wanted for a fleeting moment. Then, his mouth brushed against the peak of Minghao’s forehead. He was gone the next second. Cold air scrambled and failed to replace his warmth.
It was hard to despise someone who only wanted to survive, even if Kim Mingyu did leave a hollow shell of a man for Minghao to love. It felt selfish to hate the dead.
“Hello,” the shadow greeted.
Those features were unmistakable, and so was that distinct speech. His pleasant rasp, the measured cadence of his delivery. Minghao had heard the voice come out of his mouth as his husband had taken him.
Minghao rampaged his mind for a burial scene and came up empty. He saw Seokmin burying a dagger in Mingyu, the angry crimson staining shiny steel and seeping through Mingyu’s robe, spreading rapidly as ink spilt on a blank canvas. He heard Mingyu’s rattled gasp, his hands clawing at Seokmin’s wrist. It started raining. No. It didn’t. Seokmin started crying, but his hold around the handle remained firm. He pushed the blade deeper and Mingyu’s flesh made a soft sound as his body split apart under him. Life drained from Mingyu’s eyes and Minghao watched as his words echoed in silence.
Had I not, you would be dead before you could become king.
Minghao saw all of that—but never a body wrapped in white.
“You’re alive,” he croaked.
“Indeed I am.”
His grin was wolflike and all too familiar. Power wrapped around Minghao, a suffocating strength. Kim Mingyu the callouses of the left-handed man and the sharp attentiveness of the merchant girl. How long had he been nearby, hiding in plain sight? Had he always lingered?
“Why did you wait?”
“Because you love him now, which means you might just spare me a minute. Tell me, prince consort. Do you have time for a story?”
Minghao’s heart pulsed in his ears. Mingyu made no move, only stood in wait for the inevitable. A realisation dawned on Minghao. Seokmin’s quest to eradicate magic might not only be revenge for what it had taken from him, but also a mission to eliminate the lines drawn between the worlds of star-crossed lovers. Minghao looked at Kim Mingyu and wondered what had motivated him to commit high treason. Worse, what had pushed him to betray his beloved.
Whatever it is, Minghao wanted to know.
When Minghao nodded, Kim Mingyu waved his hand in response. Magic sparked from his fingertips, blowing the candles out.
The darkness had never been so illuminating.
Re: [REMIX] all the way through