Status: Prompting Closed
This round is now closed to further prompts but remain open for fills and remixes (forever!).
About
"Enter any body of water and you give yourself up to be swallowed. Even the stones know that."
"beauty is terror"
"Would you fall in love with me again, if you knew all I've done? The things I can't undo. "
Calling all lovers of poetry and prose, rhyme and reason, screen and stage. Welcome to the Quotes Round, where every prompt must cradle a quotation (or two, or three). Mix the media and let the synergy birth a new order, or keep it short and let the subtext speak its secrets to the right writer.
đ 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.
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.
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)
On dreamwidth, you can't edit a comment once someone has replied to it.
|
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
the story of the end of an age
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: N/A
Do Not Wants: None
Prompt:
â The Revenge of the Sith, Matthew Stover
[FILL]: seethe, or the accident of misery [1/2]
Major Tags: some discussions & depictions of violence, overall not family friendly
Additional Tags: space opera, weird & horny, very little worldbuilding made it in but i thought about paul atriedes while writing minghao
Permission to remix: Yes
***
really wanted to get in one more fill before 17hols officially closed. idk if i made it but ty for this prompt!
***
Soonyoung walks into the pod mad with no intention of appearing otherwise. Wonwoo isnât yet back from weapons training, so the room is dark and quiet. The circular doors glide close with a gentle pneumatic hiss, the LEDs lining the floor pulsing an anticlimactic sea blue. The unoffensive ivory of the walls, the crisp white corners of his bedâthe artificial calmness of it all just worsens Soonyoungâs mood.
Running a hand through his short hair and grimacing, Soonyoung lets out a sour sigh. His limbs are restless with something like static electricity, a byproduct of his post-training cooldown in the lactic acid chamber, the sensation just prominent enough to be uncomfortable. With a guttural growl, he tears out of the top half of his jumpsuit, tugging the zipper to his waist and shaking his arms free to let the sleeves hang. The chill of temp control in the sleep pod stings when it hits the sweat-damp exposed skin. The hair on his stomach prickles. A shiver works its way from his clavicle down to where his ribs are plastered to the sticky insides of his suit. Soonyoung is at once too hot and too cold.
The pod he shares with Wonwoo isnât large. The room itself is a hemisphere of smooth, white metal with LEDs lining the periphery to keep the lighting bright but not harsh. The right half of the room is occupied by their desks, Soonyoungâs messier by a margin, while the left side hosts a small refrigerator and their automated closet. Their sleep capsules are nestled side-by-side directly across from the entrance. Thereâs a mirror pad tucked on the floor beside Soonyoungâs pod; he steps gingerly onto it. A 360 degree view of his body flutters into existence with a soundless holo-static glitch.
Soonyoung studies himself. Theoretically, he knows he wonât find anything; his time in the medbay took care of that. Still, he canât help looking. Like if he examines himself hard enough, maybe he might uncover the whispered remnants of the bloody gashes that littered his skin an hour earlierâshallow, reverent, precise. With enough creativity, he can imagine the locations of the scars that never were. One would drip down the length of his ulna, another would paint across his lower back. There would be one following the curve of his hip bone, when he had gone high and the knife had gone low. Another one would sit primly underneath his left eye, a fingernailâs width from disaster.
Soonyoung had barely dodged that one. Minghao almost slit his eyeball like an omelet on omurice. It was only instinct that propelled Soonyoungâs torso to abruptly twisting, a split-second change in momentum from offense to defense that allowed Minghaoâs knife to cut a clean arc through air where Soonyoungâs face had just been. The sudden maneuver sent Soonyoung stumbling. By the time he righted himself, claws digging tufts out of the padded flooring of the training room in an attempt at stability, the wound by his eye had already cauterized from the white heat of Minghaoâs knives.
Soonyoung touches what used to be crimped and burnt skin gingerly. Stumbling off the practice mat, covered head to toe in gouges and scrapes, Soonyoung had felt so humiliated, so incensed, that he almost asked Jeonghan in the medbay to skip the skinbond. He had almost asked Jeonghan to leave every wound. To leave them all.
As it stands, the skin is perfect, smooth and unblemished like it never felt the kiss of a knife at all.
Soonyoung growls again and rips the rest of his jumpsuit off, shucking it off his legs and shaking it off his ankles. He gives the fabric an extra kick with the tip of his trainers for good measure.
Thereâs a hiss of steam. From over his shoulder, Soonyoung hears a deadpan voice instructing, âPick it up.â
Wonwoo saunters through the sliding pod doors, hands tucked in the pockets of his own jumpsuit. The doors sigh shut and the LEDs flash blue, the color coaxed to crawling through the dark crumple of Wonwooâs hair. The ends are staticky and wild, a crimp in the center from the corset of his goggles, bangs plastered to his forehead in sweaty clumpsâWonwoo must be fresh from a training session, too. On his right cheek, a pink indentation from where his rifle was anchored. On his right temple, a pink crease from his eye protection. He looks sexy like this, like heâs been working hard.
The color fades to stain the room an inoffensive warm white. The temp regulation unit rouses once again.
âPick it up,â Wonwoo repeats.
Soonyoung looks Wonwoo dead in the eye and punts the crumpled heap of his jumpsuit like heâs scoring a goal.
âAish, Kwon Soonyoung.â
In the fantasy of Soonyoungâs mind, he misses the goal. Soonyoung scowls. âWhatever, Jeon Wonwoo. You donât even care that bad.â
Wonwoo hums. He rubs his bare neck, fiddles with his glasses. âYour attitude is rancid,â he comments mildly, bending down to retrieve the discarded jumpsuit and drop it down the laundry chute. âDid you have a bad session?â
Soonyoung is abruptly aware of his nakedness. His thighs are brushing together. Turning his head away, he grumbles, âIt was fine.â
Wonwoo hums again. The laundry chute makes a whooshing noise as it eats Soonyoungâs sweaty clothing. âWhat was it this time?â
âItâs nothing important.â
This makes Wonwoo laugh. âAh?â His eyes are wide, struggling to mask his amusement. âThen why are you worked up like this?â
Stupid Wonwoo. He never knows when to stop pushing. Soonyoung chews on his hangnail and doesnât reply.
âItâs Seo Myungho, isnât it?â
Soonyoungâs head snaps up. âIt is not,â he hisses, in an unfortunate manner that makes it clear: it very much is.
Wonwoo quirks his lips, a barely there movement you have to look for. Soonyoung is never looking but somehow seems to always notice anyway.
Strolling over with a put-on air of nonchalance, tall and broad and self-righteous, Wonwoo takes Soonyoung by the shoulders and begins to walk him backwards. Soonyoung goes without a fight.
âIt is,â Wonwoo grins. âItâs always Seo Myungho.â
He shoves Soonyoung unceremoniously into the nearest sleep capsule. Soonyoung goes, grimacing and ducking to avoid clipping his head along the top. The capsule is Wonwooâs, mattress softer than Soonyoung prefers, with the earth and musk of Wonwooâs sweat lining the sheets. Soonyoung immediately feels his spine unwinding, an unconscious knot tugged loose. Itâs simple to thrash about to get comfortable, rucking up the sheets with his force, rub his face along the threadcount like a cat, roll around and dig the thin bedding between his toes to get his scent on the fabricâor maybe, to get Wonwooâs scent on him.
Wonwoo is somehow completely naked, dick swinging, when he crawls in after Soonyoung, not even playing at modesty the way Soonyoung is in company-issued briefs. He makes his ungangly way into the pod and atop Soonyoungâs body. Before Soonyoung, light years of honey skin.
In the dim privacy of the capsule they share, Soonyoung stills to lay limp and look. To savor. Knobby knuckles and pretty long fingers. Defined quads tapering into the gentle slope of his calves. Tits. Boobs.
Eyelids lazy, Soonyoung watches Wonwoo envelop him.
The way Wonwoo moves inexplicably brings Soonyoung to a lake he visited some months ago, on an obscure dwarf planet in the Yoo star system. It was the damp breeze brushing against his bare arms that called him to explore, this peculiar mix of hot then cold then hot again air. He pushed through a black bamboo jungle to find a lake of the deepest cerulean and seasons that changed every few ship minutes. Wonwoo drags himself up Soonyoungâs body the way frost crawled over the surface of the lake come winterâslick, aggressive, relentless.
Soonyoung remembers the day he found the lake well. At the top of a lush fuchsia hill that tumbled into a valley, he stood hip to hip with the only other Sonamu close-range fighter, one Choi Seungcheol, observing the latest batch of PLEDISâ close-range rookies as they were subjected to their first evaluation. The jobâand the evaluation was always a job, no sense in wasting the ship fuel if it wasnâtâwas particularly inelegant this time: slaughter a horde of invasive hogs. Dotted among the gently rolling grasses of the valley prairie, there were near two thousand of themâand violent, too. Each stood about hip height, with bulging, jaundiced eyes and two pairs of tusks the size of a manâs wingspan. Soonyoungâs own first evaluation, involving some inconvenient but rather docile cephalopods, seemed like a cake walk in comparison.
Supervising first evaluations was and still is Soonyoungâs least favorite part of his Sonamu duties. Always needlessly messy. Green rookies, fresh off planetside, never equipped for the challenge thrown their way. There's a benefit to this, of course; Soonyoung understands weeding. Itâs just a waste of his time. Instead of training, Soonyoung watched boars cook up some gourmet rookie skewers.
âHow many?â asked Seungcheol, scrunching his nose and surveying the great swath of fuchsia before them. His enormous jinguite hammer lay bright white and sparking across his shoulders, his arms lazily draped over the handle like a rice farmer carrying a yoke.
Digging his chin into the palm of his hand, Soonyoung observed. The valley was a mess of boars running amok, their guttural squeals mixing with the shouts of overwhelmed rookies and the dull crackle of charged blades striking tusks. With the way things were going, this evaluation would eliminate more than usual. A light breeze carrying hints of blood and burning leather washed over Soonyoung, ruffling his hair. âI donât know,â he mused, âmaybe four?â A bloodcurdling scream followed by a wet squelch. ââŠFive?â
âThatâs probably conservative,â Seungcheol grimaced, âAnother bad batch.â He glanced sidelong at Soonyoung with a quirk of his lips. His long lashes batted, half-innocent, âNot your boy though, right?â
Soonyoung sucked his lip into his mouth and rolled his eyes. âHeâs not âmy boy.ââ
Still, it could not be denied that Xu Minghao, while not âSoonyoungâs boy,â was Soonyoungâs⊠something. Acquaintance was too casual; hoobae, too detached. What word do you use to describe the stranger you risked everything for? At this time, they had yet to even speak. Yet, it had been Soonyoungâs decision that had led to this: Xu Minghao in the field, in his element, jinguite knives dancing, lightning leaping off the metal in twirling choreography. The blades blurred so fast they seemed to wink in and out of existence as Minghao whirled and dived, sinking his knife into the jaundiced eyeball of a charging beast before wrenching it out to dart sideways, impossibly fast, and carve his knife through the vulnerable cartilage of another boarâs shoulder, using enough force to separate joint from limb. By the time both animals hit the grass, Minghao had already ripped his way through two more.
The other rookies were going to get themselves killed with the force of their rubbernecking. Soonyoung frowned and said as much to Seungcheol, who shook his head with a fond twist of his mouth. âYour expectations are too high, Soonyoung-ah. Not everyone can be as disciplined as you.â
âSeo Myungho is,â muttered Soonyoung, but he was enough of a perfectionist to understand the novelty of a rookie who could match his mettle. Honestly, Minghao might be the only one.
âSeo Myungho is a lot of things,â Seungcheol shot back, laughing. âYou canât possibly compare him. Look at him. He fights like he has one thousand arms."
He did. Minghao moved so fast, with such precision, that it seemed impossible that a mere mortal could move with that kind of grace.
Soonyoung grew up on a small agricultural moon, raised by grandparents so traditional they still believed in the old legends. Dinnertime was always eaten under the tranquil gaze of Guanyin Bodhisattva and her one thousand hands covered with her one thousand eyes. Soonyoungâs grandparents taught him that Guanyin was a benevolent figure, the Goddess of Mercy. One thousand eyes spied suffering. One thousand hands cared for the unfortunate.
Minghao was merciful only in the speed of his kills. He dispatched beasts with a technical nonchalance, serene expression unwavering, as if the sound and smoke and chaos were merely simulation. One thousand arms moved in bloody harmony. One thousand blades blinked in arpeggio as they caught the starlight.
It was barely an evaluation. The other rookies hadnât been necessary; Minghao alone could have finished the job. In the aftermath, corpses cleared and survivors congratulated, Seungcheol had shot Soonyoung a look before leading the remaining rookies back onto the transporter. Soonyoung, happy to be alone, had escaped and stumbled upon the lake of changing seasons, where she stayed for hours, watching the water freeze crack thaw freeze crack thaw and replaying the dark ink of boarâs blood dripping from Minghaoâs silver bangs as they bowed to each other.
[FILL]: seethe, or the accident of misery [2/2]
***
A nose bumps Soonyoungâs. âYou left,â Wonwoo observes. âWas it Seo Myungho?â
Theyâre close enough that Soonyoung feels his eyes crossing. Close enough that every time Wonwoo blinks, the downward fan of his eyelashes tangle with Soonyoungâs in greeting. The downpour of Wonwooâs body secludes them into a quiet bubble of their own.
âYou donât know that,â Soonyoung complains, just to be difficult. Trapped under Wonwoo with nowhere to go is not always the best place to be difficult, but his success instincts have always been louder than his survival ones.
In response, Wonwoo takes Soonyoungâs chin firmly between his fingers and looks him straight in the eye. Soonyoung goes limp and allows himself to be studied. Meets Wonwooâs gaze and refuses to look away. The key is to never look away. The second he looks away, Wonwoo wins.
Soonyoung isnât sure what Wonwoo is searching for when he does this. Heâs never thought to ask. Whatâs the point, when Wonwoo always seems to find it? Whatâs the point, when Wonwoo always kisses Soonyoung about it?
It's taking longer this time. Perhaps searching is not an entirely accurate term. Wonwoo's eyes do not dart back and forth; they donât move. His pupils stay still and look and look and look. They drink Soonyoung in.
The key is to never look away. Soonyoung bites down his impatience until itâs cowering at his feet. Wonwoo looks. and Soonyoung lets him.
Wonwoo finds it, whatever it is.
Wonwoo kisses him.
Immediately, itâs too good. Soonyoung is rising full body to meet him, heels pushing into the mattress, gasping high and loud, and Wonwoo is tearing his mouth away to giggle haughtily, pressing Soonyoung's head back into the mattress with a harsh hand on his chin.
âYouâre worked up,â he says, in the same tone one might use to discuss what the cafeteria could be serving for lunch, âWhat did Seo Myungho do this time?â
Soonyoung bares his teeth. âIt's not Seo Myungho.â
At this, Wonwoo pauses. He releases Soonyoung's chin to adjust his glasses. He scrunches his nose a few times to nudge the bridge in placeâSoonyoung thinks he looks like a rabbit when he does that. âYoung-ah,â Wonwoo blinks, âWhat are you trying to get out of this game?â
âWhat game?â
âThis one.â
âWhich one?â
âThe Seo Myungho one.â
Soonyoung says, âThere is no Seo Myungho game.â
Wonwoo looks. Infuriatingly, he appears to be holding back a laugh.
âI donât know,â Soonyoung finally settles on. His arousal, once dormant, is suddenly dark and present. âItâs embarrassing.â
âSays who?â
âSays me.â
âWell, youâre wrong.â Wonwoo audibly hesitates. âWhat if weâ I want to try something else.â He tucks his nose into the crook of Soonyoung's jaw and delivers the gentlest of kisses, dangerously soft. It sends ripples down Soonyoungâs skin. Wonwoo breathes, âYoung-ah, try it with me?â
Whiny, needy, annoying; so long as Wonwoo used that voice, Soonyoung would give him anything.
So Soonyoung talks about Xu Minghao. He lets Wonwoo litter his neck with gnawed love bites and tells him about todayâs private training session, where Xu Minghao kicked his ass.
Wonwoo unlatches his canines from Soonyoungâs collarbone to glance up in incredulity. He quirks an eyebrow. âBecause you let him?â
Soonyoung pulls his lip between his teeth and shakes his head. He canât force the words out: Because he could.
In a low ponytail with two knives, jumpsuit zipped up to the neck, Xu Minghao had taken it because he could. He had beaten Soonyoung again and again. Soonyoung wasnât sure what to do with himself or how to react in the face of this other than to get up and go again. He couldnât seem to recall when Minghao had gotten so good. He still canât.
âAh,â Wonwoo grins. He ducks his head back down and bites, hard; Soonyoung lets out a little whimper. âThat gets you hot.â
âNo,â Soonyoung amends, âThat makes me nervous.â
âWith you, itâs the same thing.â
Drumming his feet against the bed, Soonyoung tries not to whine. âWonu, Wonu, this is serious. I'm training my own competition to beat me, what do I do?â Wonwoo slithers back up to capture Soonyoungâs lips between his own, sucking and rolling the fat of Soonyoung's bottom lip. Moaning openly into it, he continues, âWhat do I do, seriously, heâs beating me, itâsâ ah! Itâs seriousâŠâ
Wonwoo pulls back just enough so theyâre panting, damp, into each otherâs mouths. âSounds serious,â he coos, like heâs not taking Soonyoung seriously at all.
Soonyoung squirms against the freshly building buzz in his skin. âIt is! It seriously is because if he actuallyââ He cuts himself off from saying something unsavory, âYah, I canât beat him and Seungcheol-hyungâŠâ
âOh.â Wonwoo's incisor digs into lobe, cartilage. âYou're thinking about trial.â His voice may as well be in Soonyoung's head with his lips pressed this close. âYouâre thinking about going up for the title against Seo Myungho and losing. Youâre thinking about the moment he gets you down like thisââ Wonwoo pressed the tip of one sharp fingernail delicately against Soonyoung's jugular, ââand makes you say those two words." Flicking his tongue against his helix, Wonwoo sighed straight into his ear, âHave mercy.â
âTouch me,â Soonyoung pleads, finally cracking, caving, breaking. âTouch me touch me touch me.â
Instead of his typical bitchy little I am touching you, Wonwoo says something ten times worse: âWhy? You think Seo Myungho would touch you?â
Soonyoungâs skin sears from the inside out. His own arousal traps and haunts him. He groans, babbles, âNo more, no more Seo Myungho, please, Wonwoo-yahââ
For a moment, Wonwoo wonât reply. He peels his chest off Soonyoungâs to sit hunched and small on his knees, tall as he is in the cramped space of the sleep capsule. When Soonyoungâs nipples pebble in the cool air, Wonwooâs thumbs smooth over the gooseflesh. He looked unexpectedly resigned.
âSoonyoung-ah, itâs always Seo Myungho,â he murmurs. Itâs a particularly unfortunate fact of life.
Re: [FILL]: seethe, or the accident of misery [2/2]
I am so so intrigued by this universe and so so in love with this HOSHI. He feels so true to life.
Minghao, youâre not even in this fic and yet you are The Star.