Status: Closed
This round has closed. It remains open for fills, comments and remixes, but prompts are no longer accepted.
About
"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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no light lasts forever but i'd sit in the dark with you
Major Tags: mcd????
Additional Tags: apocalyptic au, disasters, tbh i am just thinking about the futility of life in the wake of grief but also how beautiful it would be to have a friend for the end of the world, how companionship might be enough, even in the end. how brave you have to be to face something together.
Do Not Wants: n/a
Prompt:
[FILL] it comes in waves
Major Tags: MCD
Additional Tags: Surviving the apocalypse with a friend of a friend after losing the guy who brought you together, grief/guilt, natural distasters
Permission to remix: No
WC: 1k
***
Posted to AO3 because I’m on my phone and HTML scares me: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43851483
[FILL] splayed endings in every nerve
(Anonymous) 2022-12-26 06:00 am (UTC)(link)Major Tags: Major Character Death
Additional Tags: SCIENTIFIC INACCURACY, character suicide ment (soonyoung), Death, Getting Together (of sorts), the Wonhoon (unspoken), Cohabiting, Attempt At Poetic Words?, the will to live for another person and how solitude kills, Angst
Permission to remix: Yes
(i wanted to write a wonhoon... but i don't know how well this ended up fitting into ur prompt because i stray very easily from these kinds of things TT... i hope it satisfied something???)
1.5k words i think.... whoops
***
It's almost too late to have regrets. Human life, here, is just another way of counting time.
Trapped inside the First Order, Jihoon knows this plainly enough; how all this, and they, too, will pass.
"There's a new crack in the earth, Jihoon-ah," Wonwoo says, pointing at a Sharpie-drawn line on the small world map in front of them. "We suspect the Earth's fucking with its own tectonic plates again… and some kind of eventual collapse of its magnetic field."
"It'll reach Korea. We have time, though. Hasn't reached yet."
Very reassuring.
The gravity of the earth pins them still to the floor—and still, being grounded is a feeling that is plainly unfamiliar, despite being here, despite the mess hall packed with people—the idea that everyone is the same. Time has never been linear, but now, it's definitely cyclical.
In his heart, he remembers snow; a snowball tumbling down a hill, repeating the same revolutionary cycle, only for impending doom.
Jihoon wonders into his bowl of fake tteokbokki; how much time is left. How much he regrets not knowing; the birthdays of everyone in the First Order, so they are remembered by the radiation. How to cook fake ramen.
Wonwoo pipes up, then. "Hey. Do you want to watch Haikyuu again?"
Well. He supposes it wouldn't hurt to bring Haikyuu with him when he dies. Less so, with Wonwoo—the guy who's just able to make it better.
(In the graveyard of his heart lies a certain tiger-obsessed individual who used to watch with him, too.)
"Sure."
They can't do anything for the world. Wonwoo makes it better.
Jihoon learns what world is in Spanish upon meeting Kwon Soonyoung. El mundo. It's a random piece of information, one that does its duty. In the event that someone lives through this, let this be remembered information.
In return, Jihoon teaches him Japanese from anime. Things like their favourite people in the First Order are shared, and he tells Soonyoung about Wonwoo, the handsome bunkmate he has and the poems he writes and the astronomy of it all.
(Soonyoung smiles, sad, upon recounting a certain Wen Junhui.)
Later, he dies by suicide. Whatever, by this point. The world will die, too. It's not new. Wonwoo and Jihoon share a bunk in a room, surrounded by other bunks of other people who have taken beds from other faceless people, disappearing one after the other.
"Well. We don't die because we want to be alive, right?" Wonwoo says. +4, the UNO card says. Jihoon puts down his own +2.
"The world will kill us, even if we want to live, Wonwoo-ya." He tries not to think too much about it. "How many people want to keep living? You work closer with the higher ups. You know."
"I know." Wonwoo's voice is wistful, like there's something Jihoon is missing. "We're here, though, and I think as long as we live for each other," Wonwoo says, putting down another +2, "it can't be that bad, right?"
His smile is polite. "You don't have another +2, surely."
Decidedly, Jihoon thinks he owes his existence to Wonwoo. He picks up eight cards.
(If this is the last person in the world, Jihoon would live forever.)
The sick bay gets flooded with new radiation-induced diseases. The earth's magnetic field is failing and now radiation is going to penetrate, like light, across every living being, everything that has ever existed.
More adults die because of suicide. Their children die by radiation. The directors of First Order do nothing to stop them—knowing somehow, subjecting them to the cruelness of metal walls will never give them necessary solace.
The people in their room drop dead one by one, disappear just as quickly. Sometimes, he sees the airlock shut and a body thrown outside to rot.
Jihoon thinks about what it will be like to melt into the earth, as a result. What he can carry into the soil, but his skin, his memories, his—
(He and Wonwoo live through it all, locking themselves in one of the newly built safety bunkers for 'the youngsters'. They shower with each other every fifteen minutes to wash away the radiation—a precautionary measure.)
(For every time Wonwoo shoves shampoo into his hair, there's one more word lodged in his throat—and still, nothing when he opens his mouth.)
(Jihoon would stop showering this frequently if not for Wonwoo, really. The reddening of his skin is of something apart from radiation, both welcome and unwelcome.)
Realistically, if Wonwoo were to do open heart surgery on him, he'd find all the words there for the taking, squeezed inside the four chambers, snug.
Inflated with an emotion Jihoon can't quite remember as love, but familiar enough for him to consider it so.
The thought comes so quick, then, it almost winds him. Into the ground it goes: his love.
His regret.
People of the earth, of particles and quarks and transmissions, will only know him as the person who, above all things, decided to take love to the grave. Not murder, not crime, not bloodshed. Love.
Even more than that; the possibility that he can be buried six feet under and not know how Wonwoo tastes—
(Like being shocked awake by a defibrillator, Jihoon's heart lurches out of his skin. Terribly.)
The moon comes to greet Jihoon for the first time in a long while. He forgets how to shave, but Wonwoo makes it better, runs his fingers through the slight beard that grows on his face.
"I look like Santa Claus, but like, as a child."
"You look fine." Wonwoo drags him into the bathroom and washes his beard. "Do you think we're supposed to use shampoo for facial hair?"
Shrouded in darkness to save electricity, Jihoon sits with Wonwoo, in the same bed. There's limited space in these bunkers—but the cohabitation is welcomed.
Wonwoo's lips whisper against Jihoon's ear. In the face of the moon, Jihoon realises, with stark detail, that he can't stop forgetting how Wonwoo looks, nowadays. He wears his glasses when he goes to sleep, like he's trying to see Jihoon too, always.
The most important things are forgotten, perhaps. Jihoon doesn't know what time it is anymore, for example.
He yearns a little bit more. For a little longer.
(His resolve crumbles like the Earth's magnetic field. There is too much of Wonwoo's skin unexplored, and guiltily, greedily helps himself, bare skin to bare skin, as they sleep through the night, and hopes that it never ends.)
The things they do hardly get any more important—it's the people. More people get sent to the sick bay.
Jihoon throws up more often into plastic bags and wonders if its the words in his throat letting him die this slow death.
It isn't too painful. Wonwoo is here. They hold hands into the night sky. The moon never shines its light.
Jihoon doesn't have the words to describe the pain of seeing Wonwoo deterioate. Hopes than when he dies, Jihoon dies with him.
Unspoken is their—
Last message.
Tteokbokki lines the edges of his bowl. It's the last proper meal he'll have, probably. It's night, so dark outside, but he feels an uncomfortable tingling on his skin—
Here, he's terrified. Here, Jihoon truly believes that the last thing he may ever feel—not Wonwoo's touch, but radiation, trying to consume the redness of his cheeks left by Wonwoo's presence, to melt him into the ground again. The last thing he can ever have…
Wonwoo sits across from him, nibbling in small bites, and Jihoon understands two things;
One: Wonwoo has always been grateful—still, even now, painted by the night sky, airbrushed by dark blue, Wonwoo never takes big bites out of anything, never asked too much from Jihoon, never asked too much of the world.
Two—
"Wonwoo-ya."
"Hm?"
"Isn't it weird that we sleep through night to wake up to night?"
A pause. Wonwoo is wearing his glasses, shifting it up his nose bridge. "I don't think we have lots of time left to wake up."
Maybe its the tteokbokki, maybe it's the imminent death that threatens to take away all of him, maybe it's everything that he's been trying to empty for a long time coming like radioactive waste, manifesting in the form of a threat.
Or maybe it's just gratitude. Maybe it's just love. Jihoon holds Wonwoo's cheek across the food and watches as Wonwoo accepts his heart, a hand on his wrist, leaning into the touch.
A kiss to his knuckles. Their tteokbokki, forgotten, a new tingling through his skin with adrenaline rushing through his bloodstream as Wonwoo holds him, as Wonwoo pushes him on the bed
Radiation reaches them.
(No, Jihoon's not very sure if he bleeds into the ground with Wonwoo by his side, if they lie, face to face, becoming of each other.)
(It's not too late to have regrets—not where Jihoon has none.)
(The taste of Wonwoo is his last, hungry meal, for the unkempt, dying, man—That's all Jihoon could ever ask for.)
Re: [FILL] splayed endings in every nerve
oh gosh. one of my favorite things about wonhoon - which i think you nailed - is how much feeling jihoon has in him, and how it eventually it makes its way out into the open, and how that is also reflected back by wonwoo, who is also quiet and thoughtful (for different reasons) but they care all the same. they care so fiercely and deeply and also can be so silly about it. my two 96z. pals until the end of the world. yearners who yearn. the simplicity of their companionship as the end of the world goes on around them (soonyoung TTTTTTT) and their fight to survive in the face of everything, despite everything, because of each other - for each other - was so beautifully done here. thank you for writing!
some lines i liked:
“They can't do anything for the world. Wonwoo makes it better.”
&
“We're here, though, and I think as long as we live for each other," Wonwoo says, putting down another +2, "it can't be that bad, right?"