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Prompting is currently open. Prompting is open from 28 December 2024 to 19 January 2025.
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"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.
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chainsaw revving
Ship/Member: Any
Major Tags: (Suggestion of) violence
Additional Tags: Breakup? Toxic breakup? Breakup so toxic that someone should probably be in jail?
Do Not Wants: None
Prompt:
Chill Kill, Red Velvet
The Fairly Oddparents (2001-2017)
[FILL] hemlock
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? đ¤˛)
***
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 wiltingâferns 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 commentâ"Maybe Iâll take up gardening if youâre so desperate for me to do somethingââand Mingyu had taken it as gospel. Heâd spent weeks building this space, as if the perfect greenhouse could somehow grow Jeonghan a conscience.
âWater them every morning,â Mingyu had said when he handed Jeonghan the keys. His voice had been warm, so goddamn encouraging. âTheyâll thrive if you just give them a little attention.â
A loaded request. A plea for Jeonghan to meet him halfway. But Jeonghan hadnât been good at meeting Mingyu anywhere, least of all halfway.
Unsurprisingly, Jeonghan had been shit at caring for plants, just like heâd been shit at caring for anything elseâMingyu, 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 Mingyuâs effort, it feels less like a greenhouse and more like a mausoleum. Even the cactus Mingyu had bought him as a jokeâa sturdy, unkillable little thingânow lists pitifully to the side, its spines shriveled. Jeonghan stares at it, his thumb running thoughtfully along the rim of its terracotta pot.
âMaybe they all know youâre gone. Maybe theyâre in mourning.â 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 treeâs 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.
âCome on,â he coaxes. âYou were his favorite. You canât die. Not now.â
The greenhouse groans, and Jeonghan freezes.
A flicker of movement catches his eyeâa 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.
âYouâre such a coward,â 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 heâd 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.
âCouldnât even stay long enough to see me change,â Jeonghan spits. But thereâs no venom in it because he knows the truth. Heâd 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.Â
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 itâs 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 werenât you good to me?Â
It sounds so much like Mingyu that it twists Jeonghanâs 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.
âReally?â he hisses into the empty room. âHaunting me now? What, to guilt me into saying Iâm sorry? That I shouldâve been better? You knew what you were getting into. I warned you, and you said you wanted me anyway.â
The plants around him sway gently, though there is no breeze. The air grows heavier, pressing down on him like Mingyuâs disappointment used to.
âGo ahead,â Jeonghan says with a sharp, hollow laugh. âSay what you want, Mingyu-yah. Tell me how horrible I was. I can take it.â
But the whispers donât come again.Â
***
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 Jeonghanâs pulse skips as his gaze sweeps over the room. The plants and flowers are all different nowâlush, overgrown, unnatural. Their leaves all tilt towards him, like theyâre watching.
âThis isnât real,â 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.
Jeonghanâs 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.
âStop it!â 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.
âIs this what you wanted?â Jeonghan shouts, chest heaving. âTo make me regret everything?â
He sinks to his knees, his bloodied hand trembling as he clutches it to his chest.
âTo make me hurt the way I hurt you?â
The whispers stop, and the silence is worse.
***
The greenhouse is unrecognizable, torn apart in Jeonghanâs 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 Jeonghanâs 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 doesnât loosen.Â
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 itâs 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.
âI loved you,â Jeonghan chokes out, his cheek pressing against the soil-streaked tiles, body curling in on itself. Tears sting at the edges of his eyes. âWasnât that enough?â
The answer is unspoken but deafening.Â
No. It wasnât.
Mingyu had loved him back enough to try, enough to spend countless sleepless nights trying to sand down Jeonghanâs broken edges, trying to piece him together in hopes of making him whole. But Jeonghan didnât want to be whole. He didnât want to be fixed, didnât 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 inânot just to the surface, but deep into the hollow, ugly parts of him that he didnât 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 doesnât resemble a smile.
âYou were a fool,â he mutters. âYou thought you could save me. You thought I wanted to be saved.â
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 donât leave him entirely.
He knows they never will.
***
Jeonghan doesnât 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.Â
Jeonghan blinks, his throat dry and raw. âWhat are you doing here?â 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.
âI came to get the rest of my things,â Mingyu says simply.
Jeonghan lets out a bitter laugh. âRight. Your things.â He gestures wildly to the chaos around them. âGuess youâd better take the mess you left behind too.â
Mingyuâs 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.
âYouâre blaming me for this?â Mingyu asks, brows furrowing.
âShouldnât I?â Jeonghan snaps as he rises shakily to his feet. The room tilts, but he ignores it. âYouâyou built this for me. And then you left and now everything is dead. You made me think I could have something⌠something good.â
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.
âYou could have,â he says finally. âI gave you every chance, hyung. I gave you⌠everything I had. And now I have nothing left.â
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 Mingyuâs deep brown eyesâthe light Jeonghan had once found too blindingâis dull now. Distant.
âYou used to say it was suffocating in here,â Mingyu says quietly. âMaybe you were right.â
He doesnât wait for a response. Doesnât 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.
âYouâre wrong,â he whispers into the empty room. âI could have been enough. I could have given you something too.â
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 doesnât resist.
He lets the greenhouse consume him.
ao3.
[REMIX] yarrow
Major Tags: implied toxic relationship (?)
Additional Tags: mingyu pov (kinda?)
Permission to remix: Yes
***
i was going to try some actual before-y scenes but anything i tried made me feel too sad to continue. i offer this instead
Even a broken mirror can still reflect fragments of what it is shown. Thatâs how Mingyu consoles himself, at least, when heâs alone. Itâs better than thinking of himself as a blind fool.
*
Thereâs something about setting oneself realistic challenges and goals to achieve. Like rearranging the roomâs furniture to freshen up with the changing of the seasons; learning how to carve a gift with his hands and borrowed tools, because it was more meaningful for it to be handmade and from the heart; finding something novel and new to photograph on every hike he takes, a new story to carry back home.
Heâs happy enough to fill in the spaces in the conversation that Jeonghan leaves for him, opening up about his day, conversations with friends, the unfamiliar bird he managed to take a photo of, hyung, see?
Jeonghan doles out far smaller fragments in return, and Mingyu greedily eats each one out of the palm of his hand. He rarely manages to pull out a similarly interested reaction from Jeonghan to any of his anecdotes, but even the smallest concession in his facade is enough to validate himâheâs addicted to uncovering every rare crack in his shell, even if its impassiveness sometimes makes him doubt whether he even cares at all.
Sometimes they sit in a silence that starts off as comfortable, but heâs always the first one to break it.
*
You see, heâs just a little addicted to trying to uncover the genuinity in Jeonghanâs reactions, in the lightly cutting dismissals and pseudo-joking jabs. Sometimes he doesnât care either way if it means he can preen under a coo and congratulationsâhe knows how many walls he puts up over his heart, and he knowsâis pretty sureâthat even a lightly patronising compliment would reflect genuine approval.
He has a deep, deep well of patience and love to draw from for his friends and family, and for Jeonghan he is willing to stretch it to its fullest extent. He cuts past his complaints to drag Jeonghan along with him on outings, rotates through hobbies old and new that can be shared as a couple, plans regular dates at new locations to keep things exciting even when Jeonghanâs orders are predictable (except for when he spitefully selects something he might not even want to finish, whichâdoes happen, sometimes).
He is happy to gently flick a new pebble at a locked window with each little effort he makes in their relationship, knowing that they will ricochet offâbut hopefully, at leastâcollect down in the windowsill for when it finally does open.
But as the months pass he begins to find that there are only so many he can easily throw until he begins having to sift more and more through the dirt (he spent a lot of time researching the best kinds of potting soil to use, the nutritional supplements that
theirhis plants may or may not need when inside a greenhouse). There are only so many he can throw up there until their precarious stacks begin to collapse and fall from their precarious ledge, and in the end it almost looks like he made no progress at all.*
Up on one shelf in the living room, layers of dust have gathered on carefully sanded curves of wood, once given shape by novice fingers.
Itâs half-hidden by booklets and guides; illustrated guides to plants, factsheets, lightly dogeared and carrying more than a few stray flecks of dirt inside their pages.
It would look much better if someone pulled the carving to the front of the shelf so it could be better seen. Better yet to give it a space all to itself, to be fully appreciated by others.
Re: [REMIX] yarrow
Re: [REMIX] yarrow