2025 Round: Quotes

[hwarium]

Status: Open Prompting is currently open. Prompting is open from 28 December 2024 to 19 January 2025. Seventeen Holidays 2025 Round: Quotes About "the poem begins not where the knife enters, but where the blade twists" "beauty is terror" "you'll just have to taste me, when he's kissing you" 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 a hit tweet. 🛑 HOLD UP If this is your first time on 17hols please check out our About Page which has helpful information about dreamwidth and HTML. We are a prompting fest where all the action happens in the comment section. Rules Sign up is not required. Fills have a minimum of 400 words for prose, haiku-length for poetry (3 lines), and 400px by 400px for art (memes are also art). Other mediums are fine too! There is no maximum cap. Tag and provide content warnings at your discretion, but a good guide are the Ao3 four (Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage) and this list of common CWs (cr: SportsFest). NSFW/Explicit content should be tagged NSFW art should not be visible, please provide a link and a warning. You may crop the artwork and embed a SFW preview. How it works Prompting Click on [Post a New Comment] at the bottom of this post; Change the subject; Copy+Paste the following HTML into your comment and edit the sections. Feel free to add as much detail as you want! Need ideas? Check out our 2021 and 2022 Quote rounds. <strong>Ship/Member:</strong> Any <strong>Major Tags:</strong> N/A <strong>Additional Tags:</strong> N/A <strong>Do Not Wants:</strong> None <strong>Prompt:</strong> <blockquote>[QUOTE GOES HERE] </blockquote> Filling Reply to the original prompt; You must change the subject to [FILL] - this is to help the mods track. Feel free to add a title Copy+Paste the following HTML into your comment, edit the sections, and add your text. You may also upload your fill to the AO3 Collection. <strong>Ship/Member:</strong> Any <strong>Major Tags:</strong> N/A <strong>Additional Tags:</strong> N/A <strong>Permission to remix:</strong> Yes/No/Please ask *** Remixing Post as a reply to the fill you are remixing, using the same HTML as above; Change the subject to [REMIX]. Art/media Upload your work to any platform (twitter, imgur, youtube, soundcloud, google maps, etc.) Using the same HTML code as above, copy the link into your fill or remix. That's it! Optionally, you can embed a picture into your comment. Please use the following code instead. (To explain, the HTML resizes your picture to 400x400px so that it fits on most screens. Users can view the full size if they click on it. You can also add a link to your work on twitter so that others can share it, or to any other website you want) <strong>Ship/Member:</strong> Any <strong>Major Tags:</strong> N/A <strong>Additional Tags:</strong> N/A <strong>Permission to remix:</strong> Yes/No/Please ask *** <img src="INSERT IMAGE URL" width="400px"> <a href="INSERT ANY URL YOU WANT">TEXT THAT DESCRIBES THE LINK</a> Note! On dreamwidth, you can't edit a comment once someone has replied to it. Navigation ABOUT FAQ TWITTER BAITS ✧ 2025 ROUND: QUOTES ✧ 2025 FILLS MASTERLIST ARCHIVE: 2021 ARCHIVE: 2022 ARCHIVE: 2023 NOTION DATABASE

Comments

[FILL] . . . . . . . .

[tenderlyache]

Ship/Member: Wonwoo/Junhui
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: canonverse (early/debut days), ambiguous relationships, repression
Permission to remix: yes

***

In Junhui’s defense, his mouth was full of kimbap.

He thought it was an understandable excuse for inaccurate pronunciation while rehashing his and Minghao’s argument. Not to Wonwoo, apparently.

“Siot is a little breathy. Ssang siot is more tense.” Wonwoo demonstrated it. “Do you hear the difference?”

Junhui chewed. “Not really, no.”

“Listen.” Wonwoo enunciated a consonant, slow and careful. “Which one was that?”

“Erm.” Junhui swallowed his mouthful and slurped at his last of his drink to wash it down. The straw made a loud rattle in the empty cup, a sound Minghao would have scolded him for. He put his cup down. “Ssang siot?”

Wonwoo shook his head. “Siot.”

Junhui was a student of application. He was consistent, if not particularly studious, about his Korean lessons. The members were the most effective teachers anyway. Those lessons stuck. Textbook memorization? Not so much.

“Anyway,” said Junhui abruptly. “What do you think I should do now?”

“I can re-explain the difference in another way,” offered Wonwoo patiently, “or I can quiz you again?”

“You’re missing the point, Wonwoo,” said Junhui lightly. “I was saying words, not just consonants.”

“What?”

“My argument with Myungho — what should I do now?”





(“Wonwoo,” said Junhui, through a bite of mackerel. “I . . . . . . . .” He choked, fishbone caught in his throat.

Wonwoo thumped Junhui’s back. “What were you saying?”

“Fishbone,” spluttered Junhui, coughing. “I can still feel it.”

“Swallow it,” advised Wonwoo. “Eat another bite of rice. That’s what I do. It’ll push it further down your throat.”

“But I don’t want that,” Junhui said stubbornly, voice hoarse. His chest hurt. “I want it out.”

Wonwoo blinked. “I don’t know if I can help with that.”)





Wonwoo found Junhui in one of the company’s meeting rooms. Junhui was hunched over his unfinished Korean assignment, mouthing vocabulary words to himself.

“Oh, Wonwoo!” Junhui sat up straighter, his grin lazy. “Is it my turn to record? Were you looking for me?”

“I didn’t know you were here. They were being loud in the studio. And my head hurts.”

“I can be quiet,” promised Junhui.

Wonwoo gave him a little smile. “You don’t have to. Go back to what you were doing. Pretend I’m not here.”

Junhui laughed, half breath, half sound. “As if that were possible….” But he turned back to his assignment obediently.

The silence lasted a full ten seconds.

“Wonwoo. Are you busy?”

“Hm?”

“The members always say you’re good at Korean.” Junhui dipped his voice to a comically low tone. “Teacher Jeon Wonwoo, please save me…”

“What do you need to learn?”

“Well, we’re working on relationship terms right now. Chapter seven. For example, you are my-” Junhui sounded it out: “Co-work-er.”

“Is that all I am to you?” teased Wonwoo.

“No, you’re-” Junhui switched to Mandarin for the words he couldn’t yet express. “You’re my . . . . . . . . too.”

“What does that mean?”

Junhui averted his gaze. “Hmm. We haven’t gotten that far in the lesson yet.”

“Try to tell me.”

Junhui paused. “I don’t know how to explain it in a way you would understand.” He looked down at the open Korean workbook. “So did I say it right? Co-work-er?”

“Yes, you’re my coworker. But you’re also my roommate.” Wonwoo enunciated each word, slow and careful. “You’re my member.” Wonwoo looked away. “You’re my . . . . . . . . and my friend.”

“What did you say?”

“Friend?”

“No, no, I know. Soonyoung taught me that one. Friend,” repeated Junhui impatiently. “What did you say before that?”

“Coworker, roommate, member, friend?”

“There was something else.” Junhui scanned the Korean workbook futilely. “Never mind. Maybe I misheard. Guess I still need more Korean lessons…”

Wonwoo hummed noncommittally.





When Junhui was alone again, he pulled out his speech-to-text app, fumbling at mimicked pronunciation. It took eight tries before his phone recognized his utterance and spit out something close to intelligible. Even then, he wasn’t sure if he got it right.

Did you mean: 짝사랑?

Junhui copied the text. Pasted it. Pressed translate.

cool about it

[seokmin_liker]

Ship/Member: any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: angst, post-breakup, exes to friends
Do Not Wants: mcd

Prompt:

I will ask about your new life
and Be Cool About It
and I will not mention Memphis.
Or how your hair feels in my hands.

- I Swear, Next Time I See You I'll Be Funny by Clementine von Radics

But we don't have to talk about it
I can walk you home and practise method acting
I'll pretend that being with you doesn't feel like drowning

- Cool About It by boygenius

i see you come back to me

[seokmin_liker]

Ship/Member: any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: angst, exes? the one that got away? you decide
Do Not Wants: (on-screen) mcd

Prompt:

The number of hours we have together is actually not so large. Please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.

- For M by Mikko Harvey

the only way you know how to love

[thesolemneyed]

Quotes:
Ship/Member: any (but consider maybe seokgyu)
Major Tags: death and murder etc
Additional Tags: vampires ????!!!
Do Not Wants: none go crazy

Prompt:

"Kill me again! Show me the only way you know how to love."
- Interview with the Vampire, S2E3

lead me to a place i'm free from all the wrongs i do

[seokmin_liker]

Ship/Member: Any, Seokmin/Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: religious trauma? maybe one of them's a priest? (please make seokmin a priest)
Do Not Wants: mcd

Prompt:

Oh, so wretched, wretched, wretched, wretched,
My saviour knew,
I was weary, I was sleepy,
But you held me through
Carried me along the sand
Your footsteps gold and couth

- Closer by FKA twigs

pink pony boi

[sido_rlo]

Ship/Member: Vernon
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: N/A
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

[I'm up and jaws are on the floor
Lovers in the bathroom and a line outside the door
Blacklights and a mirrored disco ball
Every night's another reason why I left it all
I thank my wicked dreams a year from Tennessee
Oh, Santa Monica, you've been too good to me
Won't make my mama proud, it's gonna cause a scene
She sees her baby girl, I know she's gonna scream]

- Chappell Roan, Pink Pony Club

(pretty simply, I always think of dancer boy vernon when I listen to this song,,, does anyone else see the vision!)

Re: [FILL] Re: Rice

[seraphica]

babies ;-;

[(Anonymous)]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: converging dimensions
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

You alone will carry the memory of this day. Can you carry that burden?
— From "I Will Remember You", Angel: the Series

"Time is the wound."
— from Lisa Frankenstein (2024)

Re: drinks or coffee

[babygirlmingyu]

Ship/Member: Mingyu/Myung Jaehyun
Major Tags: age difference, power dynamics
Additional Tags: n/a
Permission to remix: Please ask

***

Mingyu looks too good for this party.

And he’s bored out of his mind.

He knows why they sent him here. He’s the most extroverted member of the group, practically built for these situations. It’s easy for him to make the rounds, to charm the entire room of board members and executives with his practiced smile and well-timed laughs. But he wishes they had sent him with someone, anyone.

The majority of the people here are old and he hasn’t seen anyone he knows yet, almost wondering if he’s supposed to be here or if he’s the only idiot from Hybe who showed up tonight. The party is a celebration of their achievements for the year, a gala as they call it, and Mingyu was invited to speak. Because he’s good at these things, because he can make anyone comfortable with the flash of a smile, because Seventeen’s gross profits this year were too good for them not to invite him.

He expected other idols to be there, one at the very least, someone he could talk with after he was done flirting with the older married ladies who giggled at his compliments behind their champagne glasses. Instead, he stands near the bar in an expensive suit that’s perfectly fitted to his body, glass of wine in hand, watching the way people move around each other, exchanging fake pleasantries.

Mingyu scans the room for someone he maybe hasn’t spoken too, taking his duties seriously, and then his eyes fall on him.

Myung Jaehyun.

He doesn’t know how he hasn’t noticed him before, in his dark black suit and frilly coral shirt, standing out amongst the sea of people. Mingyu meets his eyes, smiles at him and Jaehyun quickly adverts his gaze, sheepish, as if he’d been staring and Mingyu caught him red-handed.

He’s adorable, Mingyu thinks, watching the way Jaehyun fidgets with the cuff of his sleeve, trying and failing to look busy.

The party suddenly seems a lot more interesting.

Objectively, this is a bad idea. Terrible actually and if anyone from his group was around, he knows they would tell him. He can almost hear Seungcheol’s warning tone, feel Wonwoo’s quiet but loud looks on him. Fortunately, they’re not here and Mingyu is bored and he looks good and Jaehyun keeps sneaking glances at him like he’s unable to look away.

Mingyu crosses the room towards him without thinking, his feet carrying him all the way until he’s standing in front of Jaehyun. They’ve met a few times prior to this, at music shows and award ceremonies. Mingyu remembers the shy look on his face when Jaehyun had gotten scared at the confetti, how he’d jumped and then laughed at himself in embarrassment. He remembers the way his face beamed during interviews, how his eyes sparkled when he performed like he couldn’t quite believe he got to do this for a living.

“Hi,” is all Mingyu says.

Jaehyun looks up at him and his eyes — deep and bright and pretty — make Mingyu feel a little crazy. This close, Mingyu realizes how small Jaehyun is. Mingyu could put him in his pocket probably, pick him up and take him home. That thought is dangerous.

“Mingyu-sunbaenim,” Jaehyun answers back, immediately bowing his head. “How are you?”

“Tired, bored.” Mingyu brings the glass of wine to his lips, taking a sip as his eyes watch Jaehyun. He’s shuffling on his feet, clearly nervous and trying so hard to keep his eyes on Mingyu’s face. But Mingyu knows this game better than anyone and he doesn’t miss the glint of want that flashes in Jaehyun’s eyes when they drift down to his throat as Mingyu swallows. “Hyung is okay.”

Jaehyun breathes out a small “hyung” like he’s testing it on his tongue. Mingyu knows he’ll have to make the first step here, Jaehyun would never dare, given their positions.

“Are you here by choice or because someone told you to come?” Mingyu already knows the answer but he wants to see what Jaehyun will say.

Jaehyun’s eyebrow quirks up, a small smile playing at his lips and god, he’s so cute. Mingyu wants to eat him alive. “Zico-hyung said it’s good for me to come to these parties, if I want to get ahead, make a name as a producer.”

Mingyu laughs a little, looking around. “Do you see Bumzu or Woozi anywhere here?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “I’m nowhere near the level of genius they are though.”

“You’re still young,” Mingyu notes, his eyes falling to Jaehyun’s lips. He’s wearing a tint, cherry-colored and the gloss shines under the lights, leaving tempting imprints on his glass every time he takes a sip. Mingyu wonders if it tastes as sweet as it looks.

The moment breaks when someone — Mingyu has no idea who the man is — comes by and says it’s nice to see them, that it’s been a while. When he leaves, leaving a trail of sharp cologne behind him, Mingyu turns to Jaehyun again. “Do you know him?”

Jaehyun shakes his head no.

“Me neither.”

Both of them laugh and Mingyu doesn’t miss the way Jaehyun’s entire face transforms when he does, bright eyes and perfect teeth, genuine joy that’s a stark contrast to all the fakeness in the room.

”Wait, why are you here then?” Jaehyun asks, pausing before adding “Hyung” at the end of his sentence.

“I’m giving a speech,” Mingyu says, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Whatever you do, try not to become the token extrovert of your group.”

“I think that’s too late,” Jaehyun admits with a chuckle. “And I’m also the leader.”

“Well then, I guess we’re doomed to keep running into each other.”

“I don’t mind that.”

Jaehyun’s cheeks are dusted pink and Mingyu wants to push a little further. He shouldn’t, he really should keep this to how it is right now but he can’t help himself, has never been good at denying himself when he wants something. And right now, what he wants is to kiss Myung Jaehyun.

“Do you like me that much already Jaehyun-ah?” He’s teasing but Jaehyun flushes even darker, looking down shyly at his shoes. He’s so cute it hurts, Mingyu wants to squeeze him. He’s young too and Mingyu is fully aware that there’s a power dynamic here that he needs to be careful with. He wants Jaehyun to know he can say no, that this isn’t an obligation.

”Please tell me if I make you uncomfortable. I tend to flirt a lot with everyone,” Mingyu says with a soft smile, giving Jaehyun an out.

Jaehyun’s face falls a little, like he’s disappointed. “I’m not uncomfortable. But I’d like it more if it was real and not play flirting like I saw you doing with the women from Financer earlier.”

Mingyu smirks, stepping a little closer to Jaehyun. “So you were watching me?”

Jaehyun doesn’t back away. “You’re kind of hard to miss.”

Mingyu checks his watch, he’s got about thirty minutes before his speech. He looks back at Jaehyun, tongue running over his bottom lip slowly, deliberately. “Want me to show you what I do when it’s real?”

Jaehyun nods, pupils blown wide, and Mingyu starts walking towards the bathroom, knowing without looking that Jaehyun is following behind him. The bathroom is an individual room that locks and he looks around quickly before dragging Jaehyun inside.

“Last chance to back out,” Mingyu says quietly, setting a hand on Jaehyun’s waist and crowding him against the door.

“I don’t think you realize this is like one of my wet dreams coming to life,” Jaehyun says, honest and bright, hand curling around Mingyu’s collar and pulling him down to close the distance.

Mingyu makes it to his speech with a minute to spare, adrenaline coursing through his body. When he stands on the small stage, he spots Jaehyun in the crowd, trying to smooth the wrinkles of his shirt, his lips kiss-swollen and cherry gloss licked clean by Mingyu. Their eyes meet across the room and Jaehyun blushes, touching his neck where Mingyu knows is a mark hidden under the frilly collar.

Mingyu doesn’t regret coming to this party at all.

Re: drinks or coffee

[ninamonday]

Myungjae!! Child of jungkook's womb and most employed idol in the industry!!! Of course he'd be making eyes at Mingyu-hyung! I love the light but real tension and Mingyu's blend of kindness and recklessness here

[FILL]: history is for fools

[thesolemneyed]

Ship/Member: jihoon/soonyoung
Major Tags: mcd (past character death), wound description
Additional Tags: inception inspired universe, dreamscapes, memory
Permission to remix: Please ask

*****

Time is linear,

Memory is a stranger,

History is for fools....
— Roger Waters, Perfect Sense, Part I

Jihoon jolts awake to the feeling of falling once again, sweat cooling on his chest and heart racing in his throat. He clenches his fingers into the worn out material of his sheets and waits until he can no longer taste blood in the back of his mouth, doing the slow breathing he read about online when researching panic attacks at 3am.

The shabby white walls tilt slightly as he stands. One hand shoots out to steady himself, knocks at the edge of a framed picture on his bedside table, thick with dust. “Sorry,” he croaks, although the room remains empty.

His mouth feels full of chalk as he moves through to the bathroom, wipes a hand across the mess that is a mirror and inspects his too-long hair and the heavy bags under his eyes. The tube of toothpaste is twisted and mangled in his palm, spitting out just enough for Jihoon to feel like his teeth are clean, and he grips the edge of the sink as he brushes to keep himself steady.

From the bedroom, his phone buzzes, which is odd because it’s rarely got enough charge these days to receive messages. It makes Jihoon frown, but he tramps through to investigate. It’s from Junhui, asking if he’s ready for today.

He isn’t, but he composes a lie that sounds almost trustworthy when read off a screen.

The clothes on the floor are clean enough for him to wear again, if a little wrinkled. Not that that matters in his line of work exactly. His cupboards are bare, but he knows that Wonwoo will bring enough food for the three of them to the cramped warehouse they use as an office.

Junhui refers to them as spies, but Jihoon prefers to think of them more as archaeologists: diving into the muck and dirt of other people’s minds to dredge up whatever it is they think their buyers might be interested in. Sure, it might not be the only part of the job, but it is the part he foregrounds in his own mind.

The first time he entered someone else’s dreamspace he was so violently sick when he emerged that he thought he’d never have the guts to go back in. It had been Soonyoung who had convinced him to try again, had been Soonyoung who’d held him close until he’d stopped shaking.

The pastry is dry but the coffee Wonwoo supplies is hot and dark and strong, so Jihoon doesn’t complain. He scowls as Junhui fiddles with a pistol, familiarising himself again with the springs and locks in a way that screams of compulsion more than necessity. He doesn’t remember anything about weapons in the brief. Maybe he needs to be reading his emails more carefully.

“Should be relatively easy. In and out job,” Wonwoo is saying, checking a floor plan again. “It’s taken me three weeks to build the layout of his childhood home exactly down to his daddy’s dirty magazines under the bed.” He glances over to see if Jihoon is listening, which he mostly is. “The plans should be here, in the study. There’s a safe behind the ugly painting of the lady with a weird dog, code is written down here. Memorise it.”

The slip of paper glides into Jihoon’s line of vision, the numbers already pressed deep into his brain. They’ve been over this before, but it’s always better safe than sorry.

“He’s hired some extra protection so, Junhui, you’ll need to take care of them. Jihoon, try to get up through the house without the kid seeing you. If he does, don’t freak out. Just make sure you’re wearing a mask.”

Jihoon nods. He hates wearing anything that covers his face when he works, finds that it makes him claustrophobic. But he understands the necessity of the request. If their target sees him in the dream as a child, he’ll remember him when he wakes up as an adult. And that will cause a whole sea of problems for them and their client going forwards. Problems they could do without.

He remembers when Soonyoung first tried to talk him through the idea of non-linear time, of the way dreams and memories warp and contort the forwards flow of something that Jihoon had always thought was ever so simple and straightforward.

“If you can visit it in a dream,” Soonyoung’s mouth had been curled up at the edges, the sheets wrapped loosely around his waist, “if you can picture it in a memory, then surely someone else would be able to be able to see it too. And surely that someone would be able to take what they saw in that dream back into the real world, just like you can.”

“Yes, but what would be the point?” It had been far too early for Jihoon to be pondering such questions, even as his stomach had churned in excitement at the idea. “So you can visit your best friend’s spank bank? No thank you.”

Soonyoung had laid down, laughter billowing out in front of him like a balloon. “No, silly.” A hand, careful against Jihoon’s face. “There are far more exciting things that we could do.”

Wonwoo had been the first to join after that, then Junhui a short time later. Although no one outside of the four of them knew their names, there were lots of very important people in the world who knew about them and were very keen to meet them — either to shake their hands or to put a bullet in their brain. Either way, Jihoon was keen to keep his face off the front pages and keep his pockets lined with cash made by what some were calling ‘the greatest threat to personal privacy of this century’.

“The main trick,” Soonyoung had explained shortly before their first mission, “is to make sure you make it out before they’ve even cottoned on you’re there.” He’d hesitated, pulling on a black balaclava made out of an old pair of tights. “Well, that and don’t get shot, I guess.”

The falling asleep is always the easiest part for Jihoon, especially with the agent they pump directly into their bloodstreams. If he thinks about it too hard, it feels like dying. So he tries not to think about it too hard.

Wonwoo was right, the job was almost pitifully easy. Jihoon hears the muffled shots as Junhui dispatches the guards — his fussing with the gun earlier clearly having paid off — and enters the study shortly after. The painting, the safe, the code are all exactly as Wonwoo said they would be, and Jihoon almost feels a sense of comfort falling over him as he pulls out the plans and lays them down on the floor.

He likes to tell himself that he wasn’t just drawn into this scheme because of his eidetic memory, that he has other qualities which make him a valuable part of the team. It’s just, if you asked him to name them, he might come up short compared to the others.

But he also tells himself that he doesn’t need to be anything other than a cog of the right size and shape in this well oiled machine that they’ve built. They all have their place and he’s long since come to accept his.

“It’s tricky, this one.” Soonyoung’s voice is hazy, more static than sound. Jihoon clamps his lips together and forces himself to focus. “You’re out of practice, old friend.”

“Shut up.” Jihoon breathes through his nose and turns the page, ignoring the way his hand shakes and rustles the paper a little.

Soonyoung eases himself to the floor, the leather of his shoes creaking against their laces as he goes. He hovers in Jihoon’s periphery, clearly trying to get a look at what is in front of Jihoon. “Did you miss me?” The whisper tickles against Jihoon’s ear. “Do you miss me?”

Of course, Jihoon thinks, but he doesn’t have time to get back into that now. “Shut up,” he repeats, with less force this time. “Please.”

“Shh. He’ll hear you.” Soonyoung giggles. “If he sees you it’s curtains. You’re not wearing your mask.” And, just like that, Jihoon isn’t. Breathing is a little easier for a moment until Soonyoung leans forwards and smiles directly at him. “Can’t have you getting caught.”

A bead of sweat drops down onto the paper below Jihoon and he shuffles the pages again, tries to focus on the information Wonwoo had highlighted. “I won’t get caught.”

“That’s what I thought.” Soonyoung adjusts his posture, splays out more on the thin rug. “That’s what we all thought.” His voice is only vaguely cruel this time. Jihoon has certainly heard worse.

He remembers toying with the tech when they first got their hands on it, him and Soonyoung carving out the rules for this new, dangerous they had decided to play with.

“You can take nothing in except whatever you can imagine,” Soonyoung had explained to Junhui on their first trip as a three. He’d always been much better with words than Jihoon. “And you can bring nothing out except what you remember.”
“Is it true?” Junhui had asked, looking somewhere between bored and engrossed in the way only he can. “What happens if you die in a dream?”

Soonyoung and Jihoon had exchanged a glance then, the argument already well worn between them. “I think it’s better we try not to find out,” Soonyoung had said slowly. “Dying in someone else’s dream could only lead to…complications. Besides,” he’d grinned, recovering himself quickly, “we’ll only have to find out if one of us gets caught. And that isn’t going to happen.”

Footsteps outside and Jihoon feels his heart miss a beat. There is a light knock at the door, then Junhui’s voice. “You good to go? We’ve got about two minutes left on this dose.”

Soonyoung sits up, alert and watching Jihoon. There is a glint in his eyes that seems almost like a dare.

“You go now.” Jihoon keeps his voice low. “I need one more minute here. I have one more page.” He has more than that, but he’ll have to hope that what he already has will be enough. He rifles through the pages again, then shoves them back in the safe, carefully moving the painting back to its place.

“You’re leaving.” Soonyoung’s voice is full of pout, the way it always gets when he’s sulking. “Already?”

Jihoon turns, takes a deep breath and looks Soonyoung steady in the face. He takes in the mess of his missing eye, the cavernous wound where the bullet tore its path through his skull. He hates that this is how he remembers Soonyoung. Then again, he doubts he could every forget seeing what he did. “I can’t take you with me.”

“You could try.” Soonyoung’s fingers grip Jihoon’s wrist, tips clawing in. “You’ve never tried before.”

He’s wrong, of course. It’s the only thing Jihoon has ever really tried to do.

“Nothing in, nothing out.” Jihoon is parroting Soonyoung’s own words back at him. “You have to let me go.” That’s rich, he thinks to himself. Coming from him.

Soonyoung grips tighter, his breath heavy. Fury and betrayal and hurt swirl in the pits of his eyes, cheeks flushing as he digs into Jihoon’s skin. Footsteps again from beyond the door, lighter this time, a child’s. Jihoon’s sign to leave.

The drug works fast as it wrenches him awake, the feeling of Soonyoung’s thumb tight against his pulse point. Before he plummets, he sees Soonyoung’s mouth twist. “See you tonight.”

He slams awake as the door to the study opens, knows the boy doesn’t have enough time to see his face.

Wonwoo is stood there with a bottle of water and a frown. “You good?” he asks. “Took you longer than normal.”

Jihoon is already reaching for the paper and pencil, sketching out the drafts he saw before they can fade. His hand moves fast, the shapes deliberate and practiced. “Fine,” he grunts. “Just rusty.”

“Junhui says he thought he heard you talking to someone.” Wonwoo doesn’t sit, doesn’t hover like he used to. He’s eager to send off the drafts to their buyer, keen to get things moving again. “That can’t be right, can it?”

The plans aren’t as detailed as they might be, but they’ll do. Jihoon pushes the paper towards Wonwoo and stands, rolling his wrists. “Kid’s off his rocker,” he scoffs. “It all went super smooth in there. Same as it always does.”

Beneath the sleeve of his jacket, the semicircular grooves sting as they seep wet blood into the soft cotton of his shirt.

*****

ao3

[FILL] hemlock

[cheapdates]

Ship/Member: Jeonghan/Mingyu
Major Tags: minor mentions of blood, post-break up, implied toxic relationship
Additional Tags: taking a prompt too literally. the unraveling of jeonghan's sanity.
Permission to remix: Yes! (scenes from the ~before? 🤲)

***

Jeonghan sits cross-legged on the tile floor of the greenhouse, the humid air sticking to the bare skin of his arms and legs. Sweat drips down the back of his neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt. Around him, the plants are all wilting—ferns curling in on themselves, flowers drooping like severed heads, their petals browned at the edges.

The small handwritten plaques Mingyu had made for each plant are still there: Hoya - devotion, Aster - patience, Gladiolus - sincerity.

Jeonghan sneers at the words now. Devotion. Patience. Sincerity. Qualities he never possessed. Qualities Mingyu had begged him to find.

Just one throwaway, sarcastic comment—"Maybe I’ll take up gardening if you’re so desperate for me to do something”—and Mingyu had taken it as gospel. He’d spent weeks building this space, as if the perfect greenhouse could somehow grow Jeonghan a conscience.

“Water them every morning,” Mingyu had said when he handed Jeonghan the keys. His voice had been warm, so goddamn encouraging. “They’ll thrive if you just give them a little attention.”

A loaded request. A plea for Jeonghan to meet him halfway. But Jeonghan hadn’t been good at meeting Mingyu anywhere, least of all halfway.

Unsurprisingly, Jeonghan had been shit at caring for plants, just like he’d been shit at caring for anything else—Mingyu, their relationship, himself. And so it had been Mingyu who had picked up the slack and gotten into the hobby instead.

Sitting here now, among the ghosts of Mingyu’s effort, it feels less like a greenhouse and more like a mausoleum. Even the cactus Mingyu had bought him as a joke—a sturdy, unkillable little thing—now lists pitifully to the side, its spines shriveled. Jeonghan stares at it, his thumb running thoughtfully along the rim of its terracotta pot.

“Maybe they all know you’re gone. Maybe they’re in mourning.” His laugh is bitter, echoing off the tile floor.

The greenhouse creaks, the sound of wind buffeting against the glass panes, and Jeonghan swears it sounds like someone sighing.




***




Jeonghan kneels beside the dying loquat tree, his hands shaking as he presses his fingers into the dry, cracked soil. The tree’s leaves, once waxy and vibrant, now hang limp and lifeless. He leans forward and wraps his arms around the pot, his face buried in the brittle branches.

“Come on,” he coaxes. “You were his favorite. You can’t die. Not now.”

The greenhouse groans, and Jeonghan freezes.

A flicker of movement catches his eye—a vine trailing down from the rafters, unfurling impossibly fast towards the ground. He scrambles back, heart pounding, his feet slipping on the tiled floor. The loquat tree teeters before toppling over, dirt spilling across the greenhouse floor.

Jeonghan blinks, and when his eyes refocus, the vine is still.

“You’re such a coward,” Jeonghan says aloud.

In his mind, Mingyu is there, arms crossed, shoulders rigid, that infuriating mix of disappointment and hope etched into his stupidly handsome features. The same way he’d always looked at Jeonghan, right up until the very end. Mingyu had been so damn patient, trying to reason with him, trying to fix him. And Jeonghan had made it impossible. Futile.

“Couldn’t even stay long enough to see me change,” Jeonghan spits. But there’s no venom in it because he knows the truth. He’d left because Jeonghan gave him no reason to believe he ever would change.

The wind rattles the glass panes, and Jeonghan stiffens. The sound is too measured, too rhythmic. Like footsteps. 

He whirls around, but the greenhouse is empty. Only the plants and flowers remain, their shadows stretching unnaturally in the dim light.




***



The whispers start that night.

At first, Jeonghan thinks it’s the wind or the family next door playing their radio too loud out on the back steps. He burrows deeper into the couch, trying to focus on the static of the TV, but the voices grow louder as the hours drag on.

One rises above the rest, a rasping murmur that is painfully, unnervingly familiar.

Why weren’t you good to me? 

It sounds so much like Mingyu that it twists Jeonghan’s stomach into knots, and he bolts upright, kicking aside the blanket tangled around his legs. He stomps out to the greenhouse without bothering to put on shoes.

“Really?” he hisses into the empty room. “Haunting me now? What, to guilt me into saying I’m sorry? That I should’ve been better? You knew what you were getting into. I warned you, and you said you wanted me anyway.”

The plants around him sway gently, though there is no breeze. The air grows heavier, pressing down on him like Mingyu’s disappointment used to.

“Go ahead,” Jeonghan says with a sharp, hollow laugh. “Say what you want, Mingyu-yah. Tell me how horrible I was. I can take it.”

But the whispers don’t come again. 




***




The greenhouse is alive. Jeonghan is sure of it now.

The fern that had been wilted yesterday now stands upright, grown nearly a foot overnight, its fronds spilling over the edge of its pot, its shadow stretching long and menacing against the greenhouse wall.

The air inside feels thicker today too, suffocatingly so, and Jeonghan’s pulse skips as his gaze sweeps over the room. The plants and flowers are all different now—lush, overgrown, unnatural. Their leaves all tilt towards him, like they’re watching.

“This isn’t real,” Jeonghan mumbles under his breath. He paces between the rows of shelves, bare feet brushing against scattered bits of soil.

The plants answer.

It starts as a faint rustling, like wind swirling through a forest, but it grows louder, overlapping into a cacophony of unintelligible whispers.

Jeonghan’s head spins and he stumbles forward, grabbing onto a shelf for balance. His hand brushes against a thorned stem, and the sharp pain jerks him back to reality.

Blood wells on his palm, bright and startling against all the green.

“Stop it!” he screams, grabbing the plant and hurling it across the room. The pot shatters against the tile floor, the plant crumpling into a heap of soil and broken roots.

“Is this what you wanted?” Jeonghan shouts, chest heaving. “To make me regret everything?”

He sinks to his knees, his bloodied hand trembling as he clutches it to his chest.

“To make me hurt the way I hurt you?”

The whispers stop, and the silence is worse.




***




The greenhouse is unrecognizable, torn apart in Jeonghan’s rage.

Shattered pots and mangled plants are strewn across the floor, their roots exposed and curling like corpse fingers. Soil covers the tiles, imprinted with frantic footprints and blood from Jeonghan’s raw knuckles. The glass panels are cracked, letting in gusts of cold air that cut through the humidity.

Jeonghan stands in the center of the room, breathing hard, a piece of vine clenched in his fist. His hand is trembling, dirt embedded under his nails, but his grip doesn’t loosen. 

The whispers are deafening now, overlapping, drowning out his thoughts. They fill the greenhouse, bouncing off the broken glass and reverberating through his skull.

Was I worth it, baby?

Jeonghan stumbles back, clutching at his ears, but it’s no use. The whispers are inside his head now. His knees buckle, and he collapses to the floor, surrounded by the remnants of the life Mingyu had tried to build with him. Ruined, just like everything Jeonghan has ever touched.

“I loved you,” Jeonghan chokes out, his cheek pressing against the soil-streaked tiles, body curling in on itself. Tears sting at the edges of his eyes. “Wasn’t that enough?”

The answer is unspoken but deafening. 

No. It wasn’t.

Mingyu had loved him back enough to try, enough to spend countless sleepless nights trying to sand down Jeonghan’s broken edges, trying to piece him together in hopes of making him whole. But Jeonghan didn’t want to be whole. He didn’t want to be fixed, didn’t want to change for anyone, not even Mingyu.

Maybe especially not for Mingyu.

Because changing would mean admitting there was something wrong with him in the first place. It would mean letting someone in—not just to the surface, but deep into the hollow, ugly parts of him that he didn’t even want to see for himself. And that terrified him more than the idea of losing Mingyu ever had.

A giggle bubbles up from his throat, unnatural and jarring, his lips twisting into something that doesn’t resemble a smile.

“You were a fool,” he mutters. “You thought you could save me. You thought I wanted to be saved.”

The greenhouse wails in response, the plants shifting in the corners of his vision.

The tears finally spill over, soaking into the dirt beneath him, and Jeonghan squeezes his eyes shut. The whispers drop to a low hum, but they don’t leave him entirely.

He knows they never will.




***




Jeonghan doesn’t expect to see Mingyu again, but there he is, standing in the doorway of the greenhouse. The early morning sun spills in behind him, lining his broad shoulders in soft gold, like some kind of halo. 

Jeonghan blinks, his throat dry and raw. “What are you doing here?” he croaks over the creak of the greenhouse settling.

Mingyu steps forward, his eyes sweeping over the wreckage. His expression is unreadable, but Jeonghan can feel the judgment radiating from him like heat. It makes his skin itch.

“I came to get the rest of my things,” Mingyu says simply.

Jeonghan lets out a bitter laugh. “Right. Your things.” He gestures wildly to the chaos around them. “Guess you’d better take the mess you left behind too.”

Mingyu’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening. His shoulders stiffen, and for a moment, Jeonghan sees the old Mingyu, the one who had always tried to stay calm, tried to reason with him, even when Jeonghan pushed too far.

“You’re blaming me for this?” Mingyu asks, brows furrowing.

“Shouldn’t I?” Jeonghan snaps as he rises shakily to his feet. The room tilts, but he ignores it. “You—you built this for me. And then you left and now everything is dead. You made me think I could have something… something good.”

Mingyu exhales, his lips pressing into a thin line. He looks away, his eyes flicking to the tangled remains of the loquat tree strewn across the floor.

“You could have,” he says finally. “I gave you every chance, hyung. I gave you… everything I had. And now I have nothing left.”

Jeonghan stares at him, his chest heaving. An unfamiliar feeling twists between his ribs, too sharp to be shame, too bitter to be grief.

Mingyu meets his eyes again, and for a fleeting moment, Jeonghan thinks he sees the same ache reflected back at him. But the light in Mingyu’s deep brown eyes—the light Jeonghan had once found too blinding—is dull now. Distant.

“You used to say it was suffocating in here,” Mingyu says quietly. “Maybe you were right.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. Doesn’t say anything more. Just turns on his heel and walks out, the sunlight retreating with him.

The whispers start again almost immediately, drowning out the silence Mingyu leaves behind.

Jeonghan sinks to the ground, fingers curling against the cold tile.

“You’re wrong,” he whispers into the empty room. “I could have been enough. I could have given you something too.”

The plants sway gently, as if laughing at him.

Jeonghan closes his eyes, and the whispers grow louder, wrapping around him like vines. This time, he doesn’t resist.

He lets the greenhouse consume him.

ao3.

my boy builds coffins

[(Anonymous)]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: Temporary Character Death
Additional Tags: N/A
Do Not Wants: N/A

Prompt:

I died but I came back exactly the same. You though, I came back and you were wrong. Did the fact of my dying really damage you that much? Was bringing me back worth what it cost you? Would it have been better to just leave me? (source) (https://www.tumblr.com/jadedanddark/724879929374851072?source=share)

[FILL] we both know forgotten doesn't mean forgiven

[m1ntea]

Ship/Member: Minghao/Soonyoung
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: Friends to enemies, rivals, betrayal, vague descriptions of a traumatic accident, handwave-y scifi setting to enable a handwave-y sports setting
Permission to remix: Yes

***

The company gala this year is on some executive’s private space station, drifting listlessly in Earth’s orbit. It’s an exorbitant and calculated show of wealth, and Minghao hates it. He doesn’t mind getting dolled up, but he’s an athlete, not a collectible action figurine to be placed in a display case and shown off. Yet here he is, sipping champagne in a ballroom where giant windows show off the blue and green swirls of Earth far below, being a good little employee because his entire future in SkyBike racing hinges on him keeping this damn contract.

People twirl around him, an intoxicating mass of bright dresses and sombre suits, but few stop to talk. Minghao used to spend these events lurking in Soonyoung’s shadow, content to absorb attention by proximity, like the moon reflecting leftover light from the sun. Without Soonyoung’s glow to leech off of tonight, and with the miasma of rumors that surrounds him in its wake, Minghao is a less than attractive conversational prospect. That’s fine by him. He doesn’t need the cloying false sympathy, or the pointed questions about how he’s been healing, or the feigned congratulations on returning for the new season.

Of course, Soonyoung is here tonight too. They are, after all, signed to the same management company. Minghao can see him on the other side of the ballroom, hovering by the refreshment table. His hair is freshly dyed an eye-watering shade of silver blond, and he’s wearing some atrocity in tiger print that he still somehow manages to make look good. He’s surrounded by a crowd of admirers, as always, and his smile glints in the artificial candlelight from the chandeliers.

Everyone knows that the close-lipped smile Minghao uses in press photos is there to cover the blood on his teeth. Where they mess up is by thinking that Soonyoung’s own wolfish grin means he’s any different. Soonyoung’s got the personality and the charisma— he’s the boy next door, your mom’s friend’s son, the kid who greets every auntie in the neighborhood. He wears his emotions on his face and his heart on his sleeve, and in everyone else’s eyes that makes him good. He’s the hero they can cheer for, the poster boy with the charming smile that they can plaster on billboards and holo-screens.

They haven’t seen the way those shiny white teeth can rip someone’s throat out.

Minghao has felt those teeth on his skin, and he still bears the scars. It was his fault for getting too close, for falling for the illusion, for trusting too much. He had to learn the hard way that the reason Soonyoung calls himself a tiger is because he’s a predator, wild and ruthless. Ravenous, willing to devour anything in his path.

It’s been more than a year after their falling out, and reporters still ask about it sometimes in interviews. How could they not, when it had been the most sensational piece of gossip to come out of last season? A mysterious training accident, fast friends who turned into strangers, a fierce rivalry springing from the ashes of camaraderie.

Soonyoung always deflects with a sheepish smile and a non-answer about how there’s nothing to discuss, with the clear implication that there is something to discuss and he’s merely too polite to say it. And because he’s clearly the good guy in this scenario, the words he carefully doesn’t say do all the speaking for him. It’s easy enough for everyone else to fill in the blanks.

When they ask Minghao the same questions, he remains silent. Partially to preserve his dignity, but mostly because it’s none of their business— and even if it was, it’s not like they would believe his side of the story anyway. They already made up their minds about the truth long ago.

Even now, after everything, Minghao is fairly certain that the collision itself was an accident. Soonyoung didn’t mean to crash into Minghao, didn’t mean to total his bike or fracture Minghao’s bones or nearly ruin his entire career. No, the betrayal came after that, when Minghao watched in real time as Soonyoung’s concern turned into relief as he realized that this meant Minghao was out of contention for the Starlight Series Cup. When Soonyoung left Minghao safely tucked away in the med hall and walked away without an ounce of regret.

Minghao curls his hand more tightly around the stem of his champagne glass. His eyes never leave Soonyoung, tracking his every move. The tabloids like to compare Minghao to a snake: silent, cunning, deadly. What no one realizes is that he’s actually an imugi, merely biding his time until the new season begins and he can transform into a dragon.

He’s not Soonyoung, not their golden child, and he never will be. No, he’s going to be better than Soonyoung, and the best part is that no one will see it coming. Not even Soonyoung— especially not Soonyoung.

Across the room, Soonyoung laughs at something someone said. He tips his head back with the force of it, eyes crinkling with mirth. When he catches sight of Minghao watching him, he only falters for a fraction of a second before he turns in Minghao’s direction, sending him a big, toothy smile and an enthusiastic wave. As if he has any right to, as if they’re still friends, as if he’s forgotten that he left Minghao bleeding out on the floor and used his corpse as a stepping stone in the pursuit of his own glory.

Minghao smiles back. Forgotten doesn’t mean forgiven, and if Soonyoung doesn’t know what regret feels like, well, he’ll find out soon enough.

Re: [FILL] REM

[m1ntea]

Thank you!! Boobin nation rise, indeed! 💕

Re: [FILL] 始终有限

[hyojungss]

hwa this was great!! i love how the narrative is told symbolically through minghao and wonwoo's dialogue (and the discussion of rain) as well as the exposition and junhui only really shows up at the end when what the whole story is about is going to happen.

Minghao would rather not think about the beginning, as he sat here thinking about the end. beautiful.... love how you've written minghao reflecting over the relationship, it is sad but you as a reader resign yourself to the same opinion as minghao: it wasn't meant to be.

not to discount wonwoo has a character either because you give him a lot of life. Maybe it was nothing, but for Wonwoo, words and actions found it difficult to escape the gravity of his conscience. So the silence was something. i like his supporting role and the broader context of their friendship trio adding another layer to what it means to break up... minghao is such a logical and emotional person at the same time so it is so interesting to read his thoughts. thank you <3

Re: [FILL] REM pt 2

[m1ntea]

“I invited you because I missed you, Soobin-ah, and one of my most dependable characteristics is a complete absence of self-denial,”
and if i cry???????

Then he looks down at Soobin again. Soobin, who has ricocheted from aroused to startled to afraid to dismayed and back again in what feels like ten seconds, looks up. He’s been taught a thousand things about how to look alluring, he’s had lip fillers and tooth veneers and cartilage shaves and laser hair removal and in this moment he can’t think of the art of any of it. Jeonghan and Seungkwan’s fancy designer cushions are digging into his back, he has Seungkwan’s knee solid and unbelievable between his legs and Seungkwan’s mouth hovering over his. And in the background, BTS Jin voicing a tuna who sings hyung, hyung, please take me.
the absolute emotional journey this paragraph took me on, holy cow

i love this. i love your soobin and his vulnerability. i love your seungkwan and how strong his narrative voice is despite not being the pov character (“Jesus,” Seungkwan swears. He drops for a moment, pressing his lips to Soobin’s neck. “I’m not impervious,” he murmurs, “heaven help me.”) i love your jeonghan and his gremlinisms. just absolutely lovely all around. thank you so much for writing and sharing!!

sit, stay, heel

[infrequencies]

Ship/Member: Any, but consider Mingyu, DK, Seungcheol
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: N/A
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

TASHI: What am I, Jesus?
ART: Yeah.
Challengers (2024)

You're an angel, I'm a dog
Or you're a dog and I'm your man
You believe me like a god
I destroy you like I am
[...]
You believe me like a god
I betray you like a man
— Mitski, I'm Your Man

...what we are is holy, and this, you and me as one together, is transubstantiation of the highest degree. This is you and me becoming the consecration of us; amen, above everything, I believe.
— from Alone With You in the Ether

what you want vs what you can have

[infrequencies]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: sacrifice
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

To get what you want, you have to know exactly how much you are willing to give up.

Never had he wanted something this badly, and held it in his hands knowing that tomorrow it would be gone, traded for the high cliffs of Ios, and the uncertain future across the border, the chance to stand before his brother, to ask him for all the answers that no longer seemed important. A kingdom, or this.
— from Prince's Gambit by CS Pacat

i'm limited / together, we're unlimited

[infrequencies]

Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: idolverse, what's right and what's easy
Do Not Wants: None

Prompt:

[ELPHABA]
I hope you're happy, too
I hope you're proud how you
Would grovel in submission, to feed your own ambition

[FILL] take what you want, take what you can

[klav]

Ship/Member: Seungcheol/Jeonghan
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: violence, vague Arcane AU
Permission to remix: Yes

***

“Anyone else want a go?” The ringleader lifts Seungcheol’s wrist. Blood drips onto the dirt between their boots. “Or should we call it a fuckin’ night?”

The crowd roars. Seungcheol fights for breath, winded after two consecutive matches. His knuckles are split. His hip aches. Let it be over, he thinks. Let him limp away and lick his wounds in private.

There’s a scuffle in the corner. A short, high noise of surprise is cut off as the chain link gate slams open. Down here, the haze of the undercity is thick enough to touch, and Seungcheol squints through the kaleidoscope of white spotlights and gray-green smoke to see a man fall into the ring like a bird shot out of the sky.

“We have,” the ringleader’s voice goes thick with glee, “a challenger!”

The man stumbles to his feet and pushes back his hood. He’s young and pretty, delicate, unscarred, with long dark hair. Seungcheol can tell immediately that he’s not supposed to be here. A face like that has never seen an undercity fight.

Coercion. It must be.

“Wait,” Seungcheol says, but his voice gets swept away. A fresh face has fanaticized the audience. Someone takes up a rallying cry that catches like wildfire. The air sharpens with the smell of spilt wine.

Jeonghan, the ringleader announces above the clamor. The name, too, feels wrong.

Seungcheol gets pushed forward anyway. They meet in the heart of the spotlight. Jeonghan looks at Seungcheol with wide, dark eyes, his lashes quivering, his mouth slightly crooked. He must be a topsider, Seungcheol thinks, to have skin that clear.

“Do what you have to,” Jeonghan says, squaring his narrow shoulders.

“I—are you sure?” Seungcheol whispers.

DING… The bell sounds, a familiar vibration. DING…

Jeonghan doesn’t blink. “Yes.”

DING!

Seungcheol has been hitting things long enough to know when to pull his punches. He swings deliberately wide. Jeonghan dodges, lithe but slow. His back hits the concrete wall. He flattens his palms there, tracking his fingers over an old bloodstain.

Again Seungcheol swings, light, reluctant, giving Jeonghan enough space to skitter away.

A hiss of discontent sweeps over the crowd. Jeonghan freezes, staring at Seungcheol, his eyes bright with fear. Like a rabbit in a trap. Fuck. Seungcheol doesn’t want to hit him.

Instead Seungcheol gets up in Jeonghan’s space, nearly nose-to-nose, close enough to smell cigarette smoke and soap off his nice cloak. He presses his fists into the wall on either side of Jeonghan’s neck and watches his pupils dilate.

“You need to fight back,” Seungcheol says.

Jeonghan’s breath tickles his throat. “No.”

“At least try.”

A screech echoes from the crowd. There’s nothing fissure folk hate more than stalling. Any longer without a real hit and they’ll storm the fence, take the violence they’re owed. Seungcheol has seen it happen before. None of the fighters survived.

Too late, Seungcheol spots a decanter nosing through the fence. It tips forward, pouring bloodred wine down the back of Jeonghan’s jacket.

Jeonghan jerks forward. A surprised noise jumps out of his throat. Almost reflexively, Seungcheol kicks out and sweeps his feet from underneath him. Jeonghan hits the ground like he’s never getting up again. Flat on his back, hair spread out like a firework. The crowd explodes.

Desperately Seungcheol steps back and scans for the ringleader, for one of the other boxers, even Jihoon if he’s still around. Anyone to call off this fight. Clearly this isn’t fair. But the air is a thick gray stew churning with silhouettes. No one is coming to save them.

Jeonghan sits up on his knees. His chest heaves. “Please,” he says, quiet and unsteady. “Make it quick.”

That, at least, Seungcheol can do. He takes Jeonghan by the chin and tilts his smooth, beautiful face toward the light. Apologetically, selfishly, he thumbs across Jeonghan’s bottom lip. This is not the worst thing he’s ever done, but he has a feeling it will haunt him longest.

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol says, wrecked, and hits Jeonghan across the face.




Later, in a dank cubbyhole beside the arena, Seungcheol dabs the last of the antiseptic against Jeonghan’s split lip.

“The boss will be coming with my cut,” he says gently. “You should get outta here before then.”

“Mm,” Jeonghan says listlessly.

Pink neon light shifts across the bruises on his face. Through the window, the alley pulses like a carnival, bright and wide awake despite the late hour. A laugh floats up from below. Seungcheol gets up to draw the blinds. He leans against the wall and folds his arms.

“How’d you end up in the Lanes?” he asks.

Jeonghan’s eyes flick toward him. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know him.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Try me.”

“Eh.” Jeonghan smiles, a stunning flash. “Maybe later.”

Seungcheol flounders. Was that flirting? Is this topsider hitting on him? He opens his mouth, his face hot, and says nothing. Jeonghan’s blasé attitude makes no sense. His fear in the ring was real. He was scared before. Now he looks… relaxed. At ease.

“I’m due back in Piltover tonight,” Jeonghan continues, casually inspecting the bloody rag. “You should come with me.”

“Up topside? To do what?”

“You have a good heart. You could fight for something… more. You could help the people here.”

Seungcheol hesitates. That’s the kind of talk he overhears in seedy bars. Fruitless plans to fight back against the Enforcers, to lift the undercity out of its own muck and debris. Tempting, but risky. Seungcheol has no plans to return to a jail cell anytime soon.

“I don’t know about that. The ringleader wouldn’t let me leave anyway.” Seungcheol admits. “Thinks I owe him.”

Jeonghan sets the antiseptic down and levels Seungcheol with a look. Those pretty, dark eyes. It’s sick to think so, but the bruising suits him.

“If your debt were settled,” he says. “Would you leave with me tonight?”

Yes, Seungcheol thinks, immediate and nonsensical. I would follow you. He has nothing real here. Not since Soonyoung—

Before he can actually answer, there’s a banging at the door.

The ringleader is a Vastaya, a tall humanoid with the face of a rat and a mechanical leg that sputters and coughs when he walks. He goes nowhere without a goon, three knives, and an oxygen mask spray painted with the tusks of a rhinoceros. Two years ago he broke Seungcheol out of jail. He’s laid claim to his body ever since.

Jeonghan yanks open the door and says, very sweetly, “Seungcheol quits. He's leaving with me.”

The ringleader rocks back on his heels, nostrils flaring. When he laughs, yellow slime dribbles from his front fangs. The light behind him shifts pink to green with a passing cloud of vapor.

He leans in and leers. “Is that so?”

There is one moment of suspended silence. Seungcheol’s stomach flips.

“Don’t—” Seungcheol lunges to throw himself in front of Jeonghan, to shield him, but he miscalculates. With remarkable speed, Jeonghan side-steps him and pulls a gleaming metal handgun from the abyss of his cloak. The barrel glows an otherworldly, electric blue when he fires it once, twice. Energy crackles through the air.

The ringleader’s hand goes limp around his dagger. He and his goon drop like twin sacks of coal. Jeonghan blows steam off the barrel of the gun. With a twirl, he slips it back into his belt. It’s all over in a matter of seconds.

“How did you—” Seungcheol’s mouth hangs open. His breath stutters in his throat. “Who the fuck are you?”

Jeonghan tucks a loose lock of hair behind his ear. That fearful, wary figure from the boxing ring has completely disappeared. He smiles at Seungcheol, warm and mischievous, eyes twinkling.

“Let me tell you a secret.” Jeonghan steps close, nose-to-nose with Seungcheol again, a mirror of their earlier stance. His cheek is still an angry violet. His voice drops, low and silky. “I've been watching you for weeks, Choi Seungcheol. I saw you, and I wanted you. So I tested you." He leans in. "And now I'm taking you.”

Seungcheol’s breath shivers through his whole body like an electrocution. Jeonghan clicks Seungcheol’s mouth closed and presses his thumb into the dimple of his chin.

"So," he says. "Aren't you coming?"

Re: [FILL] take what you want, take what you can

[infrequencies]

i can't even say i can't believe you've done this because i CAN believe you've done this and WHEN I GET YOU KLAV.

[FILL] pray on my knees to the protector

[infrequencies]

Ship/Member: Wonwoo/Seokmin
Major Tags: mild blood/gore mention
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, and what if i'm a dog and you're my man
Permission to remix: Yes | also on ao3

***

The transformation period inches closer and closer.

“It’s not like the stories at all,” Wonwoo says over his shoulder, over the lock unlatching. He shifts his overnight bag from one shoulder to the other. “It’s a lot less glamorous than that.”

If only he could track the cycle by something like the full moon. Instead, it’s an aching in his jaws. A steep drop in patience and a sharp rise in hunger. Untamable. Something that has latched itself to his spirit and refuses to let go.

Already, his muscles are sore—anticipation and reflex. His body recognizes the patterns, ones that Seokmin has learned to track with him. The spirit hasn’t craved his blood thus far, accepting the carnality of their relationship as enough of an offering. Wonwoo takes it as a win.

“Are you sure you want to see me shift?”

Wonwoo leads Seokmin into the self-storage building. It’s just a little past sundown, but Wonwoo explains that Seokmin has until midnight to leave.

“Positive,” Seokmin chirps, tote bag swinging loosely in one hand. His overnight bag is lighter. The option to drive home is open for taking. “I’m staying the whole night.”

There’s secrets to share, then secrets to keep. Typically transformation falls under this category. Fear corrupts trust, but Wonwoo knows Seokmin, and Seokmin knows him. Has seen him, dressed only in earth and leaves, mud-soaked and caked in blood, and clothed and fed him.

Even a dog knows its master, and the wolf would know to heel.

Seokmin raises his brows. “So what do you smell?” he asks, mostly teasing.

“Bleach,” Wonwoo lies, holding the next door open. He can smell Seokmin’s fear, too, sour and scratching in his throat. There’s something unidentifiable underneath it. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m not.” Something rattles in one of the aisles, and Seokmin scrambles forward, arms around Wonwoo’s waist. “That doesn’t count,” he tacks on after a beat, but doesn’t let go.

Wonwoo touches Seokmin’s hand. His skin is cold. Or maybe his own hand is just too hot. “Liar.”

“I’m not.”

Wonwoo laughs, the sound rougher than normal. A tremor scales up his spine, but he represses the shiver. He turns the corner, and Seokmin yelps.

“Whatever you say.”

Wonwoo winces as the swing door’s hinges squeak. The inside of the unit is a mess. Shreds of clothing from his last transformation litter the floor, and the heavy, earthy scent of death and decay fills the room. Little bits and pieces come back to mind and he winces. The unhoused, unfortunately, don’t make great meals.

Seokmin shrinks back from the entrance. “Okay. Well,” he swallows. “I’m scared now.”

His eyes are on the smear of blood and entrails across the wall. Too much to have been from just the roadkill stowed in the overnight bag. Wonwoo considers his options and lands on the kindest one.

“I don’t hurt people who don’t hurt me.”

Seokmin’s gaze jumps to Wonwoo. He seems to be remembering the tranquilizer in the tote bag he’d been tasked with carrying. One of his hands tap the side and Wonwoo stiffens.

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Wonwoo says, sharp. “That you’re safe with me until midnight.” He looks back at the blood smear across the wall and sighs. The hunger pains haven’t started yet, but when he looks at Seokmin, all he can see is the other side.

“I’m only a monster sometimes, Seokmin-ah,” he adds, softer this time. He steps slowly, one foot in front of the other, as if the animal is on the other side of the door. “I’m still a man.”

Still, Seokmin keeps a distance between them, one finger looped around the thin gold chain around his neck. “I know,” he mumbles, letting Wonwoo press his lips to his throat. An act of faith. You can fear something and give it glory.

Re: [FILL] Re: they sit together on the porch

[klav]

OH THAT FINAL LINE!! Wowowow this is so dark and haunting and delicious. He keeps his hand calm as it collects a singular tear. As calm as his hands had been when they’d let go of the wheel. my heart dropped here. we already knew, but to Know... ouch! Lovely and terrifying!

Re: [FILL] take what you want, take what you can

[moonlitmelodiesfic]

INSANE. (Very positive). A thrilling, magnetic Jeonghan. I held my breath every other sentence. I’d read 100k of this from you!! (I just watched a few eps of arcane last night so the vibes are so fresh in my head and then I read this and now I feel flattened AHHH)