#I can see him refusing to eat apples out of spite | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jimlingss · 5 years ago

Text

Dynasty

➜ Words: 17.4k

➜ Genres: 50% Angst, 35% Smut, 15% Fluff, Historical!AU

➜ Summary: It’s no secret that the Emperor is infertile. But even so, a girl is selected every three months and brought to become his concubine in hopes of conceiving the next heir. This time, it’s you. And in order to prevent execution, Jeon Jungkook might just aid you in conception.

➜ Notes: Inspired by the movie the Treacherous (2015)

➜ Warnings: Brief depictions of reluctant sexual intercourse, dubious consent, emphasis on impregnation, sloppy seconds, creampies, pregnancy. Reader discretion is advised.

“Absolutely not!”

You stand at once, chair knocked back to the ground in a clatter, unable to believe what you were hearing. Perhaps it was a mistake. Perhaps your ears hear wrongly. But by the way your older brother’s brows are drawn together, marring his usually good-natured features, you know you’re not mistaken. He had worn the same expression as the day of your parents' massacre. Your voice is shrill as you protest and cry, “I won’t! I can’t! T-This— this is ridiculous! How could you even….how could you even….” You are Seokjin’s younger sister — his blood, flesh, bones. Family. And you were about to be traded in like you were no one to him. A chess piece. A part of his bigger plan that you wanted nothing to do with. Jungkook looks at you with an impassive expression, one you cannot read, but you pay him no mind. Seokjin, however, looks to him and nods his head. They are silent in their communication, and then Jungkook takes his leave until there it is only your shadow and Seokjin’s that flickers against the wall with every movement of the dim candlelight. He begins with a soft voice. A soothing one as if you were a child. “There’s no choice, Y/N.” “There is always choice,” you emphasize as tears start to stream down your cheeks. “Do you really want to send me off to that...that disgusting monster? Do you really want me to be used? If you care about me as a younger sister, if you care about me at all, you wouldn’t be doing this.” His dark eyes meet yours. “The decision has been made, Y/N. You have been chosen. But this is the way we can make our parents happy. This is the only way for them to reach peace.” You sob, collapsing onto the ground. Seokjin does little to comfort you. He knows there’s nothing he can do after this betrayal. You hold your face in your hands, catching the tears that rack through your frame. It is silent except for the noises of your wails muffled through your sleeves. After minutes of devastation and grief that stutters out of you, your hands drop to look at him. And your voice swoops into a murmur, one that is private, kept between the two of you. You beg for his honesty from sibling to sibling, without duties or titles. “Is...is t-there no other way?” Your brother deflates, refusing to look at you. You notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, how he swallows hard to answer. “There must always be sacrifices made in times of a revolution and this is ours.” “No.” You shake your head. “This is mine.”

There is a knock at your door. “Go away, Seokjin,” you shout at him without regard for sibling hierarchy. In your anger, he has long lost the respect that goes along with the status of being your older brother. “I said I wasn’t hungry!” But in spite of your bitterness, the door opens anyhow. It’s Jungkook who has appeared in place of Seokjin, doe eyes and dark hair tied into a high ponytail by a black ribbon that matches his robbed attire and the scabbard by his side. “I saw the light in your room,” he says simply. You lift your eyes away from the book you were copying, the last task that you wanted to finish, and your gaze remains cold on the man. You detest Jungkook. He is Seokjin’s friend, not yours and not a childhood one. Your brother had met him shortly after arriving in this town years ago. But you do not know him well. You resent him merely because he represents every manner that Seokjin has changed in the ways you hate most. Before they met, Seokjin was still the brother you knew. Kind-hearted. Mischievous. Protective. There was no rebellion group, talk of treason, risk of harm. The Seokjin you knew would’ve never thrown you away like this. “Are you ready for tomorrow’s journey,” he asks. “There’s no reason not to be.” Jungkook is quiet and conniving. You know the only reason he has come out of his way to check on your well-being in the middle of the night is for his assumption that you are a flight risk. You suppose it might be natural to have those suspicions. Any girl in your position would run. But you quickly dissipate his worries if it means he’ll leave. “You don’t need to worry that I’m going to run. I wouldn’t do that to Jin.” He makes no changes in his expression. Always blank. Always emotionless. “The journey will be long. You should get some rest.” “I can take care of myself.” He remains silent for a moment. But you return to your work and when you look up again, he’s gone, having finally left you in your own misery. // When the first blush of dawn arrives, you get dressed in your best attire and gather the little belongings you have. They’re already waiting for you in front of the house, not allowing you a moment to yourself to relish in freedom any longer. There is a horse, a carriage, and four members of the group you don’t recognize along with Jungkook to journey with you. Seokjin waits there too, but you can’t look him in the eye. He knows you're upset, you can tell. Neither of you say much to each other, but you mutter a half-hearted farewell. You can hear the way the corner of his mouth gently quirks by the sound of his voice. “I’ll see you soon enough, Y/N.” You turn away, walking to your carriage where the horse is already neighing and becoming fussy. But then your steps slow. You hesitate getting in and Jungkook stares at you, waiting patiently, never once pushing you on. At once, you turn around. “Jin!” You call out to your brother and he turns around before stumbling. A giggle streams out of his chest after you’ve thrown yourself at him in an embrace as if you were still children. He hugs you back, arms around your body, frame overtaking yours, and he squeezes you tight. You shut your eyes to savour the fleeting moment. He leans down, murmuring, “I’m sorry.” But you shake your head, unable to utter a word for fear of crying again. “We should get a move on before it gets any later,” one of the members calls out and it’s your reminder of where you’re headed. You pull apart from Seokjin. He smiles tenderly and brushes a stray strand of hair away from your face. The carriage ride is shaky. Every bump and crack of the dirt road is felt by you ten folds, the wheels wobbling and the horse’s disregard makes it difficult for you to rest easy. But you don’t dare utter a complaint, not when you’re in the company of unfamiliar people. You do, however, pull back the curtain of the square window to look at the land and let in fresh air. Eventually, there’s a break called. The tiny carriage comes to a halt and Jungkook is the one who brushes open the large curtain. He catches you off guard, peering in with his large eyes that seemingly sparkle naturally. “We’re going to take a small rest.” “Okay.” He helps guide you out and you notice the other people are either on the ground resting their feet or by the stream, taking a drink of water. “Are you alright?” You nod. There’s a moment of serene quietness, the birds chirping around the trees, the rustling of leaves. Jungkook drinks from his leather pouch and then hands it to you to quench your thirst. You sip it, soothing your throat and gather the courage to utter his name— “Jungkook.” He turns to you. “Do you know what’s going to happen to me?” “You’ll be introduced as one of the minister’s nieces. He’s been aligned with us for years. You’ll be inspected and bathed, and then there will be a ceremony and then….” “I’ll be bedded,” you complete his sentence for him. Jungkook remains silent. The Emperor is infertile. It’s a truth no one dares to utter, but it’s been fifteen years since he began his reign and he has yet to produce a child no matter how many consorts and concubines has entered the palace. The Empress has not bore a child either. And nine years ago, there was an official decree. Every three months since, a girl is selected and brought in. If she doesn’t get pregnant within the time frame, she is executed for failing to fulfill her duty, for treason. You are the next one. The one who has to preoccupy the Emperor to the best of your abilities. “You don’t need to worry,” Jungkook says, perhaps reading the expression on your face, but you slap his hand away when he reaches out. “Of course I’ll worry,” you spit at him in animosity. “I’m going to die.” The man’s brows draw tightly together, his lips lopsided. “It’ll be over before they can get to you.” You say nothing more, returning to the small carriage before you can start to sob like a child and further be humiliated. // Night falls and camp is set up with little hardships. By the afternoon of tomorrow, you would have already arrived at the palace, perhaps straight to the Emperor’s bed. The thought makes you nauseated, wanting to crawl out of your own skin and hide from your body. You know you’re being selfish. In the bigger picture, your desires don’t matter. If anything, you should be happy to give yourself up for the rebellion. For the common good. But you can’t. “Are you not going to eat?” one of the female guards asks you with a smile and you lift your eyes away from the blazing fire whose heat has pressed against your cheeks. You look around to the four members of the group that has been commissioned to protect you, their faces illuminated by the glow of the flames. You wonder what sacrifices they had made to be here, what led them here in the first place. “I-I can’t.” You stand up and all of their heads, including Jungkook’s, turn to you. “I’m sorry. I….I need a moment to myself.” You quicken your pace towards the forest, trying to escape their prying gazes, the burden that has been placed upon your shoulders. It’s hard to breathe. It’s as if the smog of the fire has bloomed inside of your lungs, constricting your chest, forming a thick lump in your throat. The darkness of the forest envelopes you and it’s almost comforting. That is until there’s a branch snapping behind you, and you quickly spin around. “I knew you weren’t okay.” “Go away, Jungkook.” He remains silent, but you can see the outline of him coming closer towards you. He is not dissuaded no matter how much you have pushed him away from you, no matter how rude you’ve been to him from the start. You’re not sure if he pities you or he— “Can I comfort you in place of Seokjin?” Jungkook requests in an earnest murmur, humble and cautious. “You wish he was here instead of me, don’t you?” You’re taken aback, brought to speechlessness. The two of you end up seated by the creek on a wooden log. The horizon is full of stars, allowing you to see enough to watch the water that rushes past in a calm hum, soothing your turmoil. “I’m afraid.” “Of what?” “I don’t know what to do. How to capture the Emperor’s attention. How to be...bedded.” “You need to be strong.” You rise to your feet at once, biting back angrily, “I’ve never even been touched by a man! How am I supposed to be strong?!” It’s easy for him to say. It always is to the outsider. He doesn’t know what this means to you. You’ll never be able to find a husband after this. The peaceful life you dreamt of will be gone. You will forever be stained as the Emperor’s previous consort, his whore or you will end up dead. You’re not sure which is worse. “How am I supposed to know what to do?” Your voice is shrill, desperate and full of pain as if you are asking Jungkook for an actual answer to your predicament. Jungkook stands and places his firm hand on your shoulder. “There,” he says after a moment when you’ve calmed down, “you’ve been touched by a man.” Irritation surges through you again at how lightly he’s taken your strife. “You know that’s not what I meant—” Then you’re suddenly spun to face him, a strong grip at your waist. Your words become muted through the soft press of Jungkook’s lips. Your whimper is muffled by his mouth. It’s chaste. Careful. He allows you room to breathe, to feel the velvet texture of his lips or to pull away if you so choose to. But you don’t move. Your eyes become half-lidded, gazing into his doe eyes that seem to be full of stars. Your hands come to grip his broad shoulder, his placed on the dips of your body so gently as if he were afraid to break you. And your heart swells dangerously inside your chest. After a moment of his mouth moving against yours in a sweet kiss, Jungkook pulls apart. Almost immediately, you tug him back to you again, not wanting the moment to end. You kiss him fervently and he lowly hums inside his chest, tongue peeking at the seam of your mouth, urging you to grant him access. It’s unsightly, the two of you unmarried and holding one another so intimately in the dark during this time of night. If anyone knew, it would be shameful. But it’s only you and Jungkook in this small space. Your lips part, allowing his hot tongue to lick into your mouth. And he angles his head, happily deepening the kiss. It makes you gasp for air, becoming breathless, but he doesn’t relent. Jungkook presses forward eagerly like he can’t help himself anymore. His hands come to feel up your body, the softness of your flesh through your clothing, the curves of your hips, the swell of your breasts. Your arms loop around his neck, back arching into his firm body. You relish in the sound of soft smacking filling the forest, feeling your face heat as his scent surrounds you. And when you moan his name again in a desperate whine — “J-Jungkook.” — his lips start to trail down your jaw to your neck. He holds you as you lean into him. You pant, chest rising and falling, and you have half a mind to realize that your clothes have loosened. The man begins to suck a spot at the juncture of your neck by your exposed collarbone, claiming you possessively. Your entire body heats for him, your stomach fluttering. His name befalls your lips again in a whine and this time, it seems to snap him from his trance. Jungkook pulls away from you. Enough distance that if your arms stretched, it would barely be able to reach him. He wipes his sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. “We...we should go back,” he says, winded. You merely nod, not uttering a single word. The two of you don’t need to speak to know that this can’t be continued further. It wouldn’t be good for either of you. But you’re still stunned as you follow him back to where the others are. Your eyes trace Jungkook’s backside and you nibble into your swollen lips. The taste of cinnamon lingers. // The capital is close — you can tell by the way travelers aren’t as sparse and the rich attire that adorns their body. Their expressions are bright and friendly, innocent from the fear of theft or strangers stealing their food. There are no hollowed eyes and cheeks peering at you blankly, no hands clasped together to silently beg for some grains to satisfy the shriveling stomachs. By afternoon, the carriage is brought to a halt again. “I’ll be going ahead first,” Jungkook announces as he sits on top of his horse. “It’ll seem less suspicious.” The other seem to take little issue, but before Jungkook rides off into the distance, his gaze lingers on you. The two of you stare at one another for a moment, one where you’re not sure if you should bid farewell to him or not, one where you wonder when the next time is going to be. But before you can utter a single syllable, he turns and whips the reins. The horse gallops off, hooves marked in the dirt. You stare at his backside diminishing before you’re called back into the carriage to carry on. You arrive no later. The palace is grander than anything you’ve ever witnessed, stretching across the horizon. The red roof and golden trim are vivid against the town even from the distance. Once the guards at the stone wall are briefly spoken to, the magnificent gates creak open and you’re brought into a different world, one protected from outside life. There are hundreds of servants with downcast heads and folded hands scattering across the vast courtyard, winding pavilion paths bordering each structure. Even from peering out the tiny window, your neck aches with how much you have to crane your neck to see it all. But you quickly snap out of your awe. This isn't paradise. It’s your prison. The gates close behind you, trapping you in its walls and after a minute, the carriage halts the final time. “Consort Y/N, from the Park family.” Your title is declared and the curtain is roughly pulled back. You brace yourself as you’re guided out and you come face to face with two men, both middle-aged, and two women, the younger one keeping her head down and her hands folded. Instantly, you lower your eyes with a polite smile and dip down. “It is a pleasure to be here. I am grateful to serve my duty.” You maintain a soft-spoken voice, barely above a timid whisper. It feels foreign to act this way, but not completely unfamiliar. Even if your title has been stripped away and your family name has been wiped, you still are of aristocratic blood. “Oh my! I haven’t seen you in so long!” One of the middle-aged men approaches you with half-moon eyes and a plump face. You’ve been spoken to enough that you know the minister’s name is Park Jimin and he’s supposed to be your uncle. “You’ve grown so much!” “You look as healthy as I remember, uncle.” You offer a brighter smile and he chuckles heartily. “Do I? I’m glad then. I think I’ve packed on a few pounds since your mother last saw me, but don’t tell her that or she may send me some more medication.” In the midst of the lighthearted conversation, you realize that you’re being scrutinized by the other man. His hair is as dark as his eyes, gruff around his mouth and chin but his features are sharp. He stands with his chin high, his spine straightened, his arms behind his back. His robes are a deep violet, silks luxurious and commanding attention. You’ve seen him before. Jung Hoseok. The man who has stood in your family’s courtyard with the same posture as each member was brought out and executed. You had witnessed it from the gaps of the weaved basket that you were hidden in until Seokjin covered your eyes with his small hands. It was fifteen years ago, when you were merely five. But you still remember the iron stench of blood well. The memory and his boring gaze makes you break into a sweat. It’s as if he’s tearing you apart limb by limb, trying to read your intentions and consider if you’re a threat. Fear drains blood from your face. And perhaps he notices because a moment later, he hums and smirks. “Let’s not waste all day here.” Hoseok turns away. “Minister Park, there are many matters to attend to. Your greetings can continue later.” “O-Of course.” Hoseok glances at the older woman standing beside him and she nods, addressing you, “Come with me.” “From now on, you are to serve the Emperor. I am going to assume that the Park family has taught you proper etiquette.” The head servant lady continues walking and you struggle to keep up with her and the servant. You don’t glance at the members who took you here as they retreat appropriately. From now on, you’re on your own. “If you step out of line, there is little anyone will be able to do for you. The Empress is difficult to please, but as long as you do what you’re told and say nothing more, then your time will be more pleasant.” You’re brought into a room with two more female servants and the door is quickly slid shut. “Strip.” “P-Pardon me?” The lady huffs in annoyance and steps forward. Her hands reach out and she begins to tug the ribbons of your clothes. You’re startled, immediately stumbling back out of her grasp. “I-I can do it.” “You should get used to it,” she says as you shed your outer and inner coat. “There’s no point in being embarrassed anymore.” Still, your fingers are slow to remove your clothing. After a moment, you’ve rid of your clothes, only keeping your modesty by the last thin white layer that hides your breasts and naked torso from plain view. It seems to be enough and the woman begins to inspect your skin. She rounds you, examining you from head to toe. Then she holds your arm, lifting them at every angle, making sure there are no wounds or rashes that could infect the Emperor. Her eyes, however, eventually fall to your neck. Right at the spot where you remember Jungkook kissed you hard enough to bruise and your face heats at the memory. “I was accidentally bitten by a bug yesterday on my way here,” you murmur to explain the subtle lilac stain. “I apologize for being so careless.” “Nothing that won’t fade then,” she states and you breathe a silent sigh of relief. But then the woman suddenly grabs a hold of your cheeks in one hand. She tilts your head to look up into her eyes and she studies your face carefully. She hums after a moment and lets you go. You blink at her. “Is there something wrong?” “You’re one of the prettier ones, that’s all.” The woman speaks softly as if it’s a shame — a shame that you’ve been brought here as the Emperor’s consort and that you couldn’t be wedded properly. You’re unable to dwell on her pity when the other girls take you by the arms and guide you to follow the woman when she walks off. The door slides open into an adjacent bedroom. “You’re going to be washed, cleaned, thoroughly. There’s not much time. You must be prepared for tonight.” Your feet stop, blood running cold. “Tonight?” The lady turns around, her gaze more sympathetic than before. “There’s no time to be wasted.” You’re taken roughly, bathed in milky water with flowers plucked from the royal garden and rigorously scrubbed by two other servant girls until your own skin feels raw. Your nails are trimmed, hair combed before being looped and braided into a half-updo, holding golden hairpins that you would’ve never dreamed of ever having. The robes that are slid on you are soft silks, a light blush pink that matches the peony flowers your mother once had in her own garden. And your lips are pressed with red pigment, eyes lined, cheeks dusted with a rosy shade. When they’re finished, you don’t recognize the person you see in the mirror. “The Emperor isn’t difficult to please, but one must know not to step out of line.” “I understand.” “All hail Empress Soojin!” There’s a clamour outside and the doors abruptly open. Instantly, the servants, including the head servant woman, sweep back and fold their hands together, bowing their heads. You also look to the ground, dipping down in the presence of the Empress. “You must be the new girl. Lift your head,” she says and you come to meet cat-eyes narrowed in on you. The Empress is dressed in crimson robes with golden swirls, her dark hair in an updo with pins and luxurious decorations. But she is not worthy of her title from her clothing alone. Her aura is intimidating, her expression unyielding to anyone in the room. She carries herself like she knows she was born of importance, that the mandate of Heaven resides on her shoulders. Empress Soojin looks at you with a scrutinizing eye that makes you fearful. But then she smiles. “What’s your name?” “Park Y/N, Your Majesty.” “What do your parents do?” “They are nobles. They have some land in the East. We grow wheat for Your Majesty.” The lies are easy, all part of a narrative that isn’t yours. Her smiles eases even more. “Do a good job.” “Yes.” Empress Soojin is kind — more than what you expected someone in her position to be. You would not know how to feel if you were meeting yet another girl your husband was trying to conceive with. But you’re not foolish enough to be put off guard. You know far better than to fall for her facade. At the end of the day, she is your enemy. She might poison you or kill you if she so chooses. And you know that your child will also be her child. If you do fall pregnant by some miracle, the baby would be taken away from you and given to her. To grow with her. To call her mother. But you don’t dwell on these thoughts or let it be known. Empress Soojin leaves once she’s satisfied with your appearance and a veil is put over you as the sun starts to dip over the horizon. The ceremony is about to begin, the jovial music already playing in the distance and muffled through the walls. “It’s time.” You’re led out of the room, lugging your heavy robes with you. But as you look up, your breath hitches in your throat. Doe eyes stare into yours past the translucent veil. Jungkook is dressed in navy robes with the royal emblem on it, his hair brought into a ponytail with a sheathed sword by his side. Something lodges into your throat. But you try not to let your eyes linger too long on him. After all, here he isn’t your brother’s friend or the companion on your journey. Jungkook is the Emperor’s guard. You are merely the Emperor’s new consort. “I’m here to escort you by the Emperor’s orders.” You don’t speak a word as you walk alongside him. Neither does he. But when no one’s watching, you steal a glance at Jungkook from the corner of your eye and find that he’s peeking at you too. The moment is too short. The throne room is grandiose, golden pillars spiraling upwards to hold the high ceilings. The room is full of ministers sitting by and eating, young girls dancing to the deafening beat of the drums and the melody of the flutes. But even from the distance, you can see the Emperor seated at the throne beside the Empress and Jung Hoseok who stands to his right. Your hand tightens into a fist until your nails have sunk into your palm. “All hail Consort Y/N!” You come to the bottom of the steps where Jungkook leaves you, resuming to the side of the stairs, and you lower yourself on your knees. “It is my honour to serve you, Your Majesty.” Your expression remains impassive, demure perhaps. But inside you, the rage ignites. Emperor Minseok who stood by and did nothing as the Kim Family, your family, was massacred. Left behind two children on accident to fend for themselves. Left the nation to soil as he was kept inside ravishing young girls and indulging in pleasures. He isn’t an Emperor. He does not have the Mandate of Heaven. He is a puppet. Emperor Minseok’s eyes light. He scrambles upwards and pushes Empress Soojin aside, making her wince. But he still moves past her to sprint down the stairs and comes to you like a child getting a new toy. Instantaneously, your veil is thrown off. The child-like man gasps in excitement. “You’re pretty!” Hoseok, the person you know well as the mastermind orchestrating the entire court and country, the king’s personal advisor, approaches with a smile. “I am glad you are satisfied with the new girl, Your Majesty. But you must show restraint.” The Emperor enthusiastically nods, but still takes your hand. He pulls you up the stairs and leads you to sit on the other side of him, something the Empress is visibly mortified at in spite of staying quiet. “Continue the celebration,” he announces and the music commences once more with the pleasant laughter of the ministers. Minister Park has a twinkle in his smile and slightly raises his cup towards you before taking a sip. Jungkook, on the other hand, faces forward with a blank expression as if he were a statue. “What’s your name?” Your eyes tear away from the doe-eyed man. “My name is Y/N. I am Park Minister’s niece, sire.” There’s no reason to hide your first given name. It’s not like they would know who you and Seokjin are. The ceremony and dancing continues, held as an excuse to welcome you and give fortune to tonight’s conception. In reality, it’s for those in the court to indulge themselves. The Emperor fawns over you the entire time, asking many questions and trying to get you to eat to which you force yourself to swallow down the food. You’re nauseated, especially with the times he touches you, when he wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his chest, but you retain a shy disposition to not arouse suspicion of your true feelings. It ends much too soon. “His Majesty will be here shortly,” the servant informs you as you’re brought into the bedroom and before you can get in another word, the doors shut. They’re listening — you know they are. Maybe other girls have run before you, tried to flee while they still had the chance. But no matter how strong the urge is, your feet stay rooted into the ground. The bed is revolting to look at. The golden sheets that seem to reek of a luxury that you have never known and now imprison you. You feel sick, like you might throw up, but you hold it in. Your eyes shut tight, trying to regain control of your breath, trying to dispel away your worries. It will be quick. It will be over. It won’t change anything about who you are. You will survive. This is something you must do. The doors open with Emperor Minseok drunkenly stumbling inside after grabbing a hold of the door frame. He haphazardly slides it shuts and giggles once his gaze has set upon you. You swallow hard, moving back on instinct. He grins and bumbles forward. “You’re so pretty, huh?” He strips off his overcoat and you fall to the bed, silently seated and gripping the edge. “C’mon, you can say something. Won’t scare you away, kitty cat.” Emperor Minseok pushes you back and climbs over you with the carelessness of an eager but intoxicated man. He stinks of alcohol and you hold your breath, looking away. He snickers and then frantically pushes the many layers of your dress up as if he doesn’t want to waste any more time. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, but you comply, like a dead fish against the sheets. Your eyes shut tight and you think about what it means to make sacrifices... The Emperor tugs his drawers down in one swoop and aligns his cock against your folds. His hips at once jut forward without warning and your teeth grit, holding in your pained whimper as he enters into you. It burns, aching to the point where your eyes are stinging. He groans above you, withdraws, thrusts into you once and then he’s coming. As quick as five seconds. The Emperor groans, eyes shut tight, and then he collapses on top of you. It takes a moment, for you to gasp for air, to come back to your senses and then you’re shoving the sweaty man off of your body, freeing yourself of his heavy weight. Emperor Minseok snores, already worn himself out, and you curse at him silently while you pull the layers of your dress down. It’s tempting. You want to kill him — and it would be easy to do so. But it would mean your death, Seokjin’s everlasting grief over it and the likelihood that someone else will become Jung Hoseok’s puppet. So you gather your wits and slide off the bed until you’re seated on the floor. // In the middle of the night, there’s a shadow at the doorway and a soft murmur of your name. You grab a loose silk cover to wrap your body and open the door. The candle has long been blown out but you haven’t slept, stayed on the ground while the Emperor snorts in his slumber. You hadn’t expected to see anyone, not until morning at least, but it’s surprising to see Jungkook. Although you’re not sure if that surprise is pleasant or not. “What are you doing here?” you ask in a hushed tone, shutting the door behind you and wrapping your arms around your torso, away from the cold wind that brushes through. If anyone saw him here, it could ruin everything. You don’t know why someone like Jungkook would take that risk. “I know. I just…” The more you allow your eyes to adjust to the darkness, the better you are at being able to discern the furrow of his brows and the way it mars his expression. “How...how was it?” “How was it?” you spit at him. “What do you think?” There’s a held silence. Neither of you speak. But the moment anger surges through you, the upheaval follows. Against your will, sobs begin to break through your frame. As intense as the day Seokjin delivered the news that you would have to do this. And the memories burst through, catching up to you. It would have been fine if you were alone. If you could pretend that it wasn’t bad, that it meant nothing. But the earnestly spoken question from Jungkook has brought forth the truth that you had so desperately tried to push away. You cry, tears shedding down your face as you hold your face in your hands. You are oblivious to the way Jungkook’s fingers twitch, how his hands reach out, how he hesitates. But then he embraces you, pressing your face against his shoulder, his arms around your waist. You grab onto him, latching on as if he is the only thing that grounds you to this insanity. You muffle your sobs, trying to keep them quiet before you’re found. You wish this was Seokjin. But it’s Jungkook. “I had a younger sister,” he tells you suddenly, calming your hiccups as he cradles you against him. “Her name was Jieun. She was brought in, just like you. Five years ago. She was taken in by force. All because she caught the eye of the Emperor.” You pull away from him and he wipes a tear off your cheek, holding your face within his hands. You didn’t know. Frankly, you don’t know anything about Jungkook, but to hear him tell you, for him to openly share is something you don’t take lightly. “W-What happened to her?” “She was always weak and they mistook her sickness for pregnancy. When they found out she wasn’t, they hung her for supposedly losing the baby.” His whispers are quiet, but they carry a grief that you can barely understand. Jungkook’s eyes connect within yours. Finally, you begin to understand. Why he started this, why he’s come here. “I don’t want something like that to happen again. I’ll do everything in my power to keep it from happening to you.” You nod. He didn’t need to come see you tonight. But you’re thankful he did. // “All hail Empress Soojin!” The doors open with a parade of servants following the female who holds up her dress, entering through the doorway. You meet her halfway, head dipped and hands folded with a demure smile. Her eyes are narrowed in on you and you pay no mind when her servants begin to inspect the place, examining the bed sheets and any other evidence of last night’s affair. “Good morning, Your Majesty.” “How are you?” Her gaze sweeps across your body, lingering on your stomach. “It was fine.” The Empress lifts her hand and two more servants enter with a tray of food. They start to arrange the breakfast on the table. “You might be carrying a child, so it will be important to nourish yourself.” You look at the dishes with a sense of queasiness. The last thing you want is food — you don’t think you could contain it in your stomach if you tried. And there’s a fear in your mind that she’s going to take this opportunity to poison you. You wouldn’t be surprised if she did. So you dip your head. “If you may pardon me, Your Majesty, I am not feeling hungry.” “Don’t be foolish.” “I—” Your words are choked the moment your head is whipped to the side. Your cheek burns. The Empress’ hand print is embedded into your skin, her arm still raised in the air. Your eyes sting. Even in your worst moments, you’ve never been slapped. Not by Seokjin. Not even by your parents. “Her Majesty was kind enough to come here and offer you food but you dare deny her and talk back?” The servant beside her shakes her head in disapproval. “The Park Family has no manners.” Immediately, you fall to your knees. Your head meets the carpet, right by her feet but she doesn’t see the way your teeth grit. “I apologize for my disrespect.” Empress Soojin huffs in frustration and there’s a clamour as feet stomp out, making the room silent once more. It’s then that you lift yourself back onto your feet and pour the tonic she gave you into the plant. You spend the rest of your day in your room after taking a bath, staying out of anyone’s way as you were told to do. But after nightfall, there’s news of Emperor Minseok planning to come see you. So you suppose you must’ve done something right for him to willingly reach out to you. His body weight is heavy against you, your back molded against the bed. “You’re very pretty,” he says for the millionth time. You try to muster a smile, but keep your head tilted to stare at the wall, acting like you are much too shy. “Thank you.” The Emperor is easily worked up, the very antithesis of control. He enters you and you bare through it, getting used to the action. But Emperor Minseok finishes in a mere three pumps, gripping at your thighs with a groan. He rolls over to sleep and you shove down your skirt. If you could count the little fortune you have, you’re relieved he’s been too impatient to undress you properly. He’s neither kissed you nor laid a hand to the softest parts of your body. Not like Jungkook. // The palace is unfamiliar. It’s a vast space that stretches across the plane and numerous structures gives room for ministers and servants you will never know the name of. The only person you truly know in these walls is Jungkook. He’s the only person to confide in, but there is little opportunity to see him, even if you long to. But he comes to you, enough times to make you reassured that he is always there, following in your shadow. Though it’s never enough to fulfill your desires or relieve your yearning. “What is this?” You open the envelope he’s passed to you, pulling out the folded parchment. The two of you are hidden in an empty warehouse where supplies and weapons are kept in wooden crates. Grime lays in thick layers, cobwebs collected at the corners, but some specks of dust float in the air, seen by the sunbeams that pierce through the gaps of the planks covering the windows. Your eyes widen at the familiar writing of the letter and your eyes skim the page to see Seokjin’s signature at the bottom. The corner of Jungkook’s mouth quirks to see your wide grin. “H-How did you get it here?” “We have servants working for us and a communication line coming in and out of the palace. It’s the way we exchange news.” You nod, reading the letter and the kind words that are so much like Seokjin, encapsulating his personality with every ‘dear sister’. But the sentences are short and the content makes the blood drain from your face. There’s been delays of Seokjin getting into the palace. They need more time. More than three months. “There won’t be enough time.” Your hands drop, the letter put at your side. Your eyes lock with Jungkook’s, but he doesn’t seem surprised, as if he already knew. “I’m going to die.” He doesn’t flinch, expression solemn, unyielding to this devastating news. “I will help you.” “How?!” “We’ll give them what they want. You won’t be executed if you’re carrying a child.” “The Emperor is infertile—!” But Jungkook isn’t. And once the implications of his words sinks into you, you turn away to hide from his gaze, your voice shrill. “How could you….how could you even think of that? You’re as cruel as Jin. No one...no one has any regard for me whatsoever. It’s all about the country, the revolution.” In the midst of your hysteria, he calls you. “Y/N.” “You want to use me. You want to use my body,” you sob. “I don’t want you to die,” Jungkook emphasizes and grabs you, spinning you around to look at him again. His hand wraps around your wrist, doe eyes staring into yours. Your breath hitches and it goes silent. “If there’s anything I can do within my control to help you, I will. I don’t want to feel powerless.” Jungkook’s grasp on you tightens, as if he is afraid to let go. “Not anymore.” You recognize the pain in his eyes. It’s tangible. Earnest. On instinct, you lean in, pressing your lips against his to console his worries. It’s a soft kiss, one where Jungkook’s nose brushes against yours and his hands lift to cradle your face. You succumb to the itch of having him close to you, giving into your carnal desires and the lust that has lingered in you after the kisses you two shared in the darkness of the forest that one night. And Jungkook doesn’t hesitate either. He touches you, fingers gently tugging the ribbons of your attire to slip off the inner coat and many layers they’ve cloaked you in. It’s freeing to be out of the silks. You can finally breathe again, but not for long when Jungkook kisses you until you’re gasping for air and your breath is stained with his. You grasp at his own clothes, ridding them and his sword clanks to the ground. His mouth moves from your jaw to the juncture of your neck, traveling down your collarbone and the valley of your breasts. He sucks at your flesh, greedy to mark every inch of it. Even if he doesn’t say it aloud, you can tell through his touches. He doesn’t want to use your body. He wants you. “Jungkook.” The whine only spurs him on and you hold his head against you, fingers tangling to his hair. It’s silent, except for the sounds of him kissing against your skin. Heat rises on your face, warming your cheeks. You don’t know how Jungkook can stay so careful and controlled. He never once rushes, giving plenty of opportunities for you to push him away if you so choose to. But you don’t and he lays you on the soft hay collected in the corner of the warehouse. You shy away from his attention, your naked body laid in front of him. But then he strips from the rest of his clothes, not letting you be the only one bare. Immediately, Jungkook reaches down to kiss you again, mouth pressed against yours like he has become dependent on your taste. Jungkook readjusts you, getting you to sit on his lap facing him. “Is this okay?” You nod, gripping at his shoulders for leverage. His doe eyes lock into yours. “Tell me if it hurts.” “Okay.” Tears fog your vision. You’ve never been treated so gently before, not from a man or woman. While the circumstances are undesirable, bliss still blooms in your chest. Jungkook licks his thumb and lowers his hand to continue to warm your center. You keen against him with a moan as he plays with your bud, rubbing your clit in circles and watching your expression carefully. Your slick begins to leak to his thighs, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “J-Jungkook…” Your eyes are teary, nose reddened from the cold. Jungkook presses his forehead to yours, your breaths laboured together. His cock lays thick in his hand, slit weeping with precum and the two of you look down, watching him align it to your folds. His hips push up at the same time as you guide yourself down. Jungkook groans. The pair of you are finally connected. Strangely enough, it doesn’t hurt. Far from it and the realization makes your cheeks hot to the touch. You’re snug around him, able to feel his head nudging against your cervix. “A-Are you okay?” he asks and you nod several times fervently. Instead of answering in words, you close the distance with another searing kiss. Soft smacking fills the room with his tongue licking into your mouth. Jungkook’s arms wrap around your waist, guiding you up and down your length while he meets you halfway. Your moans are muffled, his chest pressed against yours and you begin to sweat at your hairline. You break apart. “Jung—ko...ok.” “Hmm?” He brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “Harder,” you whisper so quietly that you can't hear yourself. He blinks at you, not understanding and you throw away your pride, knowing that there’s no reason to be ashamed when you’re with him. “H-Harder, please. I’m not fragile.” The corner of his mouth quirks into a small smile, “Okay.” Soon, indecent noises of pounding fills the room. You hug one another, keeping each other grounded with your bodies. Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, your whines stifled against his warm skin. Jungkook tries to catch his breath, a cold cloud emitting from his parted lips. It feels good. To have your warm and wet heat filled by Jungkook. To be stretched by him and feel him all the way to your throat. To have him so close to you. The pleasure is overwhelming. Your slick coats his length, dripping down and making it messy where his thighs hits against your behind. It feels like you’re scratching an itch as you ride him, your cunt being bruised against his force. Pleasure thrums through you, thoughts turned to slush, surrounded in his scent. Your eyes are hazy and you feel feverish. All that befalls from your lips are broken and pitched whines of Jungkook’s name. It gets sloppy and his strokes start to become short and frenzied in a staccato rhythm. “J-Jungkook!” He licks his thumb and rubs against your clit, making you sob out. Then, you come undone. You seize, squeezing around him. Light pierces through your eyelids and your toes curl. Pleasure overwhelms you until you’re spineless. At the same time, Jungkook pants heavily and his hips thrust upwards. A moment later, he’s cumming deep into your sopping cunt. His head is lodged right against the opening of your womb. Thick ropes painting your velvet walls. Hopefully to conceive. “—Soojin visited the consort the morning after the ceremony.” “Is that so?” There are voices from outside and your eyes widen, lips stealing a gasp. Immediately, Jungkook’s palm raises and cups your mouth. His brows furrow, eyes staying locked into yours and the both of you sit still, staying silent. You turn your heads and through the gaps of the wooden planks covering the window, you can see Hoseok and a minister brushing past. “She’s never shown favour to any of the consorts.” They stop, right where you and Jungkook are naked, merely separated by a brick wall. “Perhaps she sees something different from this girl than the others,” Hoseok hums. “Keep an eye on Empress Soojin and tell me if she does anything else out of the ordinary.” Jungkook’s cum leaks from your center, dripping down his length. “Yes.” They finally pass and Jungkook’s hand falls from your mouth, finally taking a sigh of relief. Jungkook removes himself from you but only after he pushes his milky fluid back into you with his brows furrowed in concentration. He tucks his cum past your used fold into your heat. Once satisfied, he gets up and puts back on his clothes. You’re still reeling, not sure what to say or if you can even look him in the eye anymore. Part of you feels used. You’ve been passed from one man to the next, always with a purpose, a greater reason that your own desires. But then— “Are you alright?” Jungkook is tender, helping you up and brushing a strand of hair away from your face. He helps you get dressed again while you feel his cum drip down your thigh. It’s a reminder of the sins you have just committed together, something worthy of treason. But it’s something you find yourself not minding doing again. “I’m fine,” you murmur after you’re dressed again. Jungkook stares at you silently, his eyes unable to be torn away from you. Then he leans forward as if driven on by sheer instinct. Jungkook’s mouth presses against yours in a sweet kiss. It catches you off guard. And then he parts with downcast eyes. “I’m sorry for doing something unnecessary.” “It’s okay.” You meet his gaze. “I don’t...mind.” He nods and you turn before he can see your smile. Your hand press gently against your stomach as hope blossoms through you.

Time passes and maybe the Empress notices that you’ve been smiling more because she asks— “Are you feeling any differences?” — with a careful eye and something akin to anticipation. “Not yet,” you answer with your head dipped. “But I’m sure it may happen soon.” The Emperor has been seeing you two times a week. But you’ve been seeing Jungkook every other day. If the two of you are lucky, one of these days a baby will stick to your womb and neither of you will have to be worried about how doom is impending. You have a feeling though; it’s going to work. “Empress Soojin has personally ordered a tonic for you,” the head servant says as she enters with a tray and porcelain bowl filled with an amber liquid. “It will increase your fertility.” Your eyes flicker from her face to the bowl and the servant softens. “Don’t worry. She won’t harm you if there’s a chance you could be carrying her child.” You trust the woman and you ease your instincts, taking the tonic. And no later are you and Jungkook’s limbs tangled in the old warehouse again, away from prying eyes and ears. But it’s taking too long. There isn’t any news of Seokjin’s arrival, no movement from the rebellion group whatsoever and you can tell that Emperor Minseok is losing interest in you. As you’re passing by the pavilion, you take a brief pause. The servant behind you also stops, aware that you are watching the way Empress Minseok is drinking and laughing with other women, being served wine as he lies on giggling girls trying to catch his attention. You aren’t jealous, far from it. But you know nothing good will come out of his boredom with you, that it will only speed up your execution date if you are still without child. His favour would prove not only advantageous to you, but to Seokjin and Jungkook. You’re supposed to preoccupy him after all, keep him distracted. “All hail Consort Y/N.” The doors to the Emperor’s chambers open right as the evening sun begins to dip below the horizon. Emperor Minseok is having drinks and some dishes while there are two concubines looped around his arms. “My beautiful consort!” He calls out to you with a grin, surprise evident on his features. You muster a smile and dip down. “May I speak to you privately, Your Majesty?” “Sure, sure.” He bats at the concubines, motioning at them to leave. They bow their heads and scatter out. Once alone, you lift your eyes to lock it into his. “Is there something wrong?” “I just…” Your smile becomes shy. “...wanted to see you.” Emperor Minseok bursts out laughing, hearty in his chest and grating to your ears. “You were lonely? Come sit.” He pats at tiny chicken thighs and you hold your breath, complying. You nearly slip off his leg, but his sticky hands are placed on your waist. His nose digs into your neck and you accidentally flinch. He notices, brows raising and you swiftly cover up your mistake with a smile. “It’s still...hard for me to have so much attention from you.” You fiddle with your fingers. “I’m not used to it.” The man grins. “But you still came here.” “Because I was lonely,” you confirm in a quiet whisper. “The palace is so grand, I don’t really know what to do…” “It’s magnificent, isn’t it?” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth, clearly not caring about the topic of conversation anymore with the way he stares at you. It’s almost as if he’s entranced by your features and his hand reaches down to slink up your leg. You abruptly stand and grab his collar, making him rise to his feet too. “The palace is beautiful, especially the gardens. But it’s lonely to go flower viewing by yourself.” Emperor Minseok cups your cheek. “Then I’ll come with you next time.” You turn away, out of his grasp. “I could never ask that of Your Majesty. I can’t be selfish and you are always so busy. Actually...I…” “What is it?” You duck your head, playing a bashful act. “I try to look at your painting to satisfy my loneliness.” Emperor Minseok chortles again and you spin around with a tiny pout. You step forward until he’s fallen onto his bed, amused at your boldness. “But it’s hard,” you say as you begin to climb on top of him. “There’s not many paintings of you.” You position yourself so he’s underneath you. You straddle his hips, a coy smile at your features. “For a grand palace like this, one would think there would be more.” “You’re right.” The Emperor is breathless, already excited after barely ten seconds. His greedy hands come up to grab your bottom, but you push him off so he doesn’t touch you. “My father once commissioned a painter,” you murmur as you slowly tug his trousers down. “He was quite immature and eccentric, but his skills are unrivaled with.” “W-What is his name?” His eyes watch you, pathetically salivating. You wonder if he’s going to cum in his pants already. “I...think his name was Kang Seokjin,” you lie, quirking your head to the side. You grab his tiny, red cock that looks like it’s about to burst and he groans. “Have you never heard of him? He’s quite infamous in the East.” “I-I’ve never.” You hum, tugging your many skirts up and his eyes pin to your exposed skin. “Well, he’s a free-spirit and rarely does paintings, even for people who pay for it. Gold doesn’t buy him. My father had to beg him for weeks and even then he was reluctant.” He scoffs. “He would never deny the Emperor.” “Of course.” You align him up to your pink folds. Yet, you linger, putting the crumbling man under you in great suspense. “But…” Emperor Minseok blinks at you, becoming impatient. “But?” “You never know till you try, right?” You drop down like the way Jungkook taught you to. You know better now how to satisfy a man, how to satisfy yourself, what kind of rhythm works best. But it only takes two swivels of your hips and one groan from him until he’s done and finishes. Emperor Minseok has tired himself out and succumbs to the seduction of sleep almost immediately with a smile on his face. You roll off of him as he starts to snore. You feel disgusted — skin grimy and crawling, the pit in your stomach growing with queasiness, revolted at what you had to do. But you know bathing and scrubbing your skin until it’s raw won’t be enough to satisfy you. It won’t be enough to cleanse yourself from him. So you leave the Emperor’s chambers as quickly as you came, abandoning the greasy man on the bed and shutting the doors behind you. In the dark, you hurry as fast as your feet can take you. You’re out of breath by the time you’ve twisted through the structures and pavilions. But relief comes in the form of a doe-eyed, dark-haired individual. The person you’ve been wanting to run to. The person you’ve been yearning for. “What are you doing here?” he scolds sharply, standing as you slide the doors behind you. The candlelight flickers, providing a dim glow on the profile of his face. “What if someone saw you?” “They didn’t and they won’t.” The bedroom Jungkook’s stationed in is tiny, a round table and two stools with a large opening for where his bed fits into the wall as if it were built in. But none of it matters to you. You don’t care that he has nothing but a sword and some folded clothes. All you care about is that he’s here. “And what if you were caught?” “Every time we do this, we risk getting caught.” You quiet his worries by closing the distance. You cradle his cheeks in your palm and kiss him frantically, sealing your mouth against his. Jungkook hums to the sweet taste of your lips, licking into your hot mouth, but then he pulls away. “Wait.” His hands secure around your shoulders and he searches your expression after noticing the way your eyes have become teary. “Is there something wrong?” You shake your head. “I just want you. Is...is that so bad?” The candle is blown out, flooding the room in a comfortable, intimate darkness. But close up, you can still see Jungkook with the faded moonlight coming through the paper walls. His back falls against the bed, but Jungkook doesn’t give you a long opportunity to climb and sit above him. He whirls you around until it’s your body that molds against the soft surface of his bed, preferring to take care of you than vice versa. And when he undresses you and sees the sopping mess between your legs, he understands what this is all about. Why you’re so desperate for his touch. “Let’s get rid of this,” he murmurs tenderly, not at once hesitating and you nod. Jungkook kisses you again, deep and earnestly until you’re panting against him and he’s swallowing your exhales. Then his mouth travels downwards, careful this time not to leave a bruising mark against your skin where others could see in spite of longing to mark you. The man’s tongue ends up wrapping around your soft breast, allowing the bud to pebble underneath the warm muscle. You keen into him with a sob, arms wrapped around his neck and he continues mercilessly. His lips travel down to your stomach and once your skin has gotten warm to the touch, your body writhing against the sheets stained with his scent, he positions you upwards. On his lap. Facing him. Jungkook brushes away the strands of your hair, tucking it behind your ear and he gently holds your chin, turning your head so your eyes can lock into his. “Look at me,” he pleads in a husky timbre. You nod and he positions himself at your dripping center, allowing you to drop down when you choose to. And when you do, the two of you groan while keeping your gazes connected. It feels like he’s filled a void that you didn’t know was there. He’s a snug fit around your velvet heat, stretching just enough that pleasure thrums through you. “J-Jungkook.” He makes a noise at the back of his throat, understanding what you’re feeling and he leans in for another kiss, his tongue wrapping around yours and drawing more sounds out of you. The two of you work with each other. Your hips swivel as he pounds upwards into you, pelvises rubbed against one another to clear away Emperor Minseok’s fluids. Jungkook works hard while you squeeze and the cum drips out of you in clumps. It sticks to your thighs and his thick length, drying unpleasantly, but soon it’s only your wetness that comes out from your center. Jungkook’s hands hold your body, touching you anywhere you guide him to. And you lean onto his sturdy frame, holding onto his built shoulders. Finally, you feel clean. You feel loved. You kiss him again and his thrusts stutter. It’s intimate, the sounds of gasping breaths and skin slapping on skin filling the darkness. Jungkook can tell you’re close and rubs against your clit mercilessly and you cry, quickening your own pace to chase after your pleasure. But before you can finish, he turns your head again. “Look at me, Y/N,” he says and you nod, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. You cum while looking into Jungkook’s doe eyes, trying your best to keep them open. And as you squeeze around him, hugging against his cock, he cums. Deep into your heat, right at your cervix. Claiming you as his. Ropes of milky white spurting in then leaking down out of your folds. All while keeping his tender gaze trained on yours. You kiss Jungkook again, letting him soften within you, keeping him here just a moment longer. You love Jungkook. It’s a fact that you don’t want to face in light of the situation — one that you had tried to deny for the sake of your own sanity, but it’s all too true. You love him. And every time he holds you, it feels like you’re making love together. If only things were different, maybe you could’ve had a future together. Maybe you could’ve gotten Seokjin’s blessing and married Jungkook, started a family together and lived a humble life for the rest of your days. But that desperate and simple wish seems so far out of reach. Overwhelmed with emotion, you try to keep your tears at bay. Yet, they shed down your cheeks and in the intimate darkness, Jungkook holds you close to him.

It’s one afternoon while you’re walking in the gardens with the poor servant assigned to you following closely behind that you recognize a dark-haired, mischievous individual that you had missed. But you don’t call out to your brother, no matter how much you want to. You keep yourself poised, distant. “Oh, Consort Y/N. Glad to see you wandering,” the head eunuch, a man you’ve spoken to little, says with a smile. You keep your head lowered, a tiny smile that is all too genuine on your features. “Empress Soojin said it would be good for my health, so I have followed her instructions.” “Well yes. Indeed it is.” He grins and then seems to remember the taller, younger man beside him. The head eunuch steps aside and motions towards your older brother. “This is Kang Seokjin. He is a painter from the East that Emperor Minseok has commissioned. Seokjin, this is the Emperor’s most recent consort, Consort Y/N. But I believe you have met before.” “Only briefly.” You lift your eyes towards your sibling who smiles. “It is nice to see you again.” “Yes, nice to see you again.” Seokjin’s eyes speak more than his words do and the two of you look at one another for a long moment, exchanging meaningful expressions and taking in the differences that two months have done. “Well, I must head off now.” You break away the stare, keeping yourself unsuspicious. “It was pleasant to meet your acquaintance again.” You pass Seokjin, but the two of you look at one another from the corner of your eyes. He’s finally in the court and a sense of relief fills you. If a few more ministers agree to turn against the Emperor, everything will be complete. It’s Seokjin’s turn to act and now only time will tell.

In the middle of the night when the palace has gone asleep, you sneak from your quarters. The dirty warehouse has become your sanctuary with Jungkook, a place you’ve grown fond of because it holds your most precious memories. It was this place that you looked forward to the most. That kept you sane. That always promised that your favourite person was waiting inside. It’s tonight with the full moon out that you get to savour the moment. After the deed has been done, you’re slumped in Jungkook’s arms, naked with just his outer coat around your shoulders. You take his right hand, uncurling his fingers. Carefully, you trace letters against his warm palm. “Kim?” Jungkook questions after a moment of concentration. “Kim means gold,” you murmur and trace more letters against his skin. With your head leaning against his chest, you can hear his soothing heartbeat in your ear. “Seok means great. Jin means precious. Together, it means great gift or big treasure.” If things were different, you would’ve liked to be a scholar. Transcribing books all day long or writing your own, perhaps creating poetry about nature. As a child, you hated studying and preferred to play like Seokjin did. But it was now that you yearned for those simple times again. You know Jungkook’s name too and you trace each letter against his palm with your index finger carefully. “Jeon means rice. Jung spindle tree. Kook is country. Together, it means to have a beautiful country.” “Pillars of the nation,” he clarifies quietly. “Or at least that’s what I think my grandfather intended when he named me.” “They’re such great names. I hope….the name of our child will be meaningful too,” you hum drowsily while dreaming of the possibilities. “If it’s a boy, Minkook, the country of the people. If it’s a girl, Yujin, meaning full of stars…” The both of you know you won’t be able to name your child. Not if it’s born within these stone walls. Not when everyone believes it is the Emperor’s. The baby will be taken away from you the moment it’s out, raised while calling the Empress their mother and you would be a nobody. But then Jungkook dispels away your anguish, even if it’s just for a second. “They’re beautiful names.” The corner of your lips quirk and you blink sleepily. You tell him about your dream, a memory of the future you have conjured to comfort you, “They would be raised in a quiet home on top of a hill. Where we could see the sunset and sunrise every day. There would be grass where the children could play. A river nearby to wash the clothes too…” Jungkook’s arms tighten around you and you feel the press of his lips against your temple. “That would be perfect.” You hum again silently with a smile, falling asleep with Jungkook right beside you. And it’s all you know you can have. // Empress Soojin enters your chambers the moment you are doubled over in a copper bowl, the contents of last night’s dinner squeezed painfully from your stomach. The world is on an axis, your head dizzy since you had awoken. But when you realize she’s standing there and taking in your crumpled form, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and try to stand. “Your Majesty…” The Empress rushes over to steady you, her eyes wide and full of surprise. “You feel nauseous?” Your expression meets hers, your face drained of all blood. The silence speaks for itself. Empress Soojin immediately whirls around to her parade of servants, anticipation etched on her features. “Call the physician!” No sooner are you laid in the bed with the physician pressing two fingers on your wrist, quiet as he listens to your heartbeat. The Empress is crowding around, her hands gathered together but still trembling. Then the old man lifts his head with brightened eyes. “She has been with child for two months now. It’s extraordinarily healthy and strong.” Empress Soojin stumbles back. Her palm is pressed against her chest, her breath staggering out of her parted lips. And you lift yourself, your hand laid on your stomach that has yet to swell. It’s your child and Jungkook’s. “From now on, only consume cold foods and make sure it is properly cut or mashed,” he says as he wobbles to his feet. “Avoid shellfish and pineapple too. I will prescribe a herbal tonic that you can take daily.” “Thank you.” Empress Soojin is grinning and comes to your side to envelop you in a warm embrace that you aren’t used to. “Are you still feeling unwell? Are you hungry? It is important to nourish yourself for this baby.” When you shake your head, having no appetite, she nods and looks around. “This place is so rancid and dusty.” The Empress spits several servant’s names and they step forth with bowed heads. “Clean this room immediately! We will go on a walk in the meanwhile and get fresh air.” There is little you can do to deny the whims of the Empress who’s more alive than you’ve ever seen her before. So while your room is cleaned and redecorated with luxurious sheets and golden vases, you’re guided by her on a walk around the garden. The news spreads like wildfire, passing from servant to servant to official declarations. Within a few minutes, Emperor Minseok is bounding over. There’s a grin plastered on his sweaty face, the strands of his hair sticking together. He’s out of breath, still in horseback riding gear like he had gotten off a few seconds ago and you recognize Seokjin behind him in the same attire. “You’re expecting a child?!” Emperor Minseok exclaims loudly, startling you. He’s jumping and you muster a stiff smile, not sure what you should say. But he doesn’t give you an opportunity to. He immediately reaches out to your stomach with his greasy and soot filled hands. “Is it moving?” But he never lays a hand on you. Empress Soojin slaps his hand away and her brows furrow sternly. “The child is at a delicate stage. These are not trivial matters.” She pinches her nose. “And the horses’ stench that you’ve brought here is defeating the purpose of coming out here for fresh air.” “Of course, of course.” Emperor Minseok smiles, retracting his arm. Your eyes meet Seokjin’s and the corner of his mouth quirks warmly into a familiar smile. “Congratulations, Your Highness. May your child have great blessings as you do.” You bow your head, trying to not prolong your gaze and arouse suspicion. “Thank you.” “But…” Emperor Minseok’s eyes flicker between you and the Empress. “Does this mean I will get another concubine soon since I can’t play with Y/N anymore?” Immediately, Empress Soojin is distraught. Hurt comes across her features as if she’s been slapped and for once, you sympathize with her. She never answers, merely turning around. “We should get you back inside for some rest. It’s not good to be in the cold wind for too long.” You nod, glancing at your brother behind your shoulder and after a moment, you follow her. But as you’re making your way back, your path is intercepted by Jungkook on his way to the courtyard. He’s dressed in black robes that match his long hair tied back, holding a sheathed sword as always. Yet what’s different from before is the tenderness of his eyes. Jungkook doesn’t need to speak for you to understand. You’ve come to learn all the ways he communicates through silence. “I heard about the news,” he says and you slow to a complete stop. “Congratulations, Your Highness.” “Thank you.” You savour the moment, looking at him with a soft smile. To the Empress who turns around to see the delay, the exchange is simply between a guard and consort without connection. She doesn’t know that the meaningful gaze is shared between a mother and father to be, two secret lovers separated by circumstance. // There’s many good wishes and felicitations given to you. Even Minister Park, your supposed uncle, makes an extravagant gesture by personally delivering a basket of fresh fruits and vegetables that makes Empress Soojin command the servants to re-wash. But the person you least expect to receive praise and blessings from is Jung Hoseok. In spite of that, he is here in your room, having shown up suddenly. It’s a surprise and you struggle to get up from your bed. “Are you alright?” he asks, concerned. “You don’t really need to stand—” You muster a smile and manage to sit up. “It’s quite alright. I was always taught that the least I can do is greet a guest properly.” The thin, middle-aged man rubs the gray scruff on his chin and you can feel his sharp eyes that probe into you. The way he studies you carefully would cause sweat to bead along your forehead if not for how safe you feel. It’s not from Empress’ insinuated promise of protection or that you’re abstained from execution or knowing Jungkook would defend you at any cost either. Ever since you’ve found out that there was life budding within you, you’ve felt safe. You’re no longer alone. No matter where you go, you carry someone else with you. And now there’s never been a stronger reason for you to fight, to be strong and unafraid. “I heard the physician was called this morning,” Hoseok says. “It was just morning sickness.” The man hums, arms shifting to place behind his back. “Well, the Empress made quite an uproar.” “She often worries about me and the child,” you state plainly and it almost sounds like a threat, one Hoseok visibly acknowledges with a cocked brow. But you don’t dwell, clearing your throat and putting a pleasant expression on your face. “May I ask for what reason you’ve graced me with your presence?” “I just wanted to visit the future emperor.” Hoseok’s eyes linger on your stomach and his smile becomes wry. “It’s quite a miracle, isn’t it? It’s no secret that there has been….some difficulty for a child to be produced. And for it to last this long too. The physician said it was exceptionally strong.” Your smile stretches, but mirth never reaches your eyes. “The Mandate of Heaven grants miracles. It must be a divine wish and I am honoured to be the one fulfilling it.” “Yes.” He nods and then notes, “well, you’ve gotten close to the Emperor’s guard, haven’t you?” “I have no idea what you mean.” Hoseok eyes you and it goes silent. Then, you sit back down with the back of your hand pressed to your forehead. You gasp for breath and bat at yourself. “I’m beginning to feel faint. I think I need to lay down. It would be best if you were to leave, minister. God forbid...something happens to this child otherwise.” Hoseok scoffs, but turns to exit. Your fist clench, wrinkling the sheets underneath your hold. You’ll do whatever it takes to protect Jungkook’s child. // The fourth month milestone of your pregnancy is eventually reached without many qualms or complications. You’re less nauseous than you were before, but the queasiness has been replaced with hunger that often strikes in the middle of the night. You’re given teas and tonics, tested to make sure there is no poison — something Empress Soojin obsesses over and screams if there’s even a hair in the liquid which you’re still not sure if it’s worth laughing about or being scared of. Your breathing has become laboured too, even after short walks. But most importantly, you’ve begun to feel strange sensations. Flutters in your stomach that the physician says is the movement of the child and when they happen, you can’t help caressing the bump that’s not so tiny anymore. While things have been going smoothly, you’ve been put under strict monitoring for a whole month. You’re protected, out of harm’s way. The only people who visit you are the physician, the head servant, a few other servants, and Empress Soojin who constantly and excessively frets over you — her incubator to her supposed baby. Her kindness and concern is meant for the child, not for you and you’re fully aware. It’s not that it matters to you, but it’s something you keep in mind. You’ve heard the Emperor has found himself new concubines to preoccupy his time with too. Ever the same as he disregards matters of the nation to have innocent girls and conniving concubines lay underneath him. At least you’re untouchable to him now, out of reach and far away. But it comes at a price. You can’t see Seokjin. And you can’t see Jungkook either. Your only connection to him is the swelling of your stomach, a sizable bulge that you can rest your hands against. You miss Jungkook — so much that it hurts to think about. And it’s yearning for him constantly that makes you question your ears when you hear his voice whispering your name one night. But it isn’t your imagination. “J-Jungkook?” “Don’t get up,” he says, shadow laid against the paper walls of your room. Your eyes trace against the black outline, lump forming in your throat at how this is the closest you can get to him. “I just wanted to come by and tell you that in three days, it’s happening. The ministers and other government officials have agreed to turn against the Emperor and Jung Hoseok. They’re going to force him to abdicate.” He did it. Seokjin did it. The realization has tears flooding your vision. “I’ll come for you,” he promises. The tall shadow moves away, but you call out to him before he leaves— “Jungkook.” He stops at the soft enunciation of his name, a beck and call made with emotion. And your heart stutters, knowing that the day your yearning will cease is coming close. “The physician thinks it’s a boy. I do too.” He lingers. If you could see him, you’d find an affectionate smile stretching into his cheeks. Jungkook murmurs, “I hope Minkook will be as handsome as his father and as strong as his mother.” Tears stream down your face. The corner of your lip lifts as Jungkook’s shadow fades. // You count down the hours, the minutes, the seconds. They pass by tediously, but excitement swells in your chest as you consider that in three days time, you will have freedom. A life with Jungkook. Seokjin by your side. Your child in your arms, never to be taken away from you. It’s all you wished for since you stepped foot into the palace. But perhaps even before then. You might’ve never loved Jungkook the way you do now or yearned to hold your healthy baby close to you, yet it has always been clear that doing anything and being anywhere would’ve been better than here. Even with the careful treatment you receive, this isn’t what you want. So you wait. Patiently. For the promised day to arrive. But it’s the day before the expected overthrow that there’s chaos in the middle of the night. “Y/N!” You’re shaken away by Empress Soojin. Her sudden appearance shocks you out of your peaceful slumber and you’re left gasping for breath. But she’s frantic, eyes nearly falling out of their sockets. She’s still in her nightgown, hair in a disarray. The woman holds you by your shoulders, making you rise. “There’s something going on. I—I n-need to bring you to safety.” The Empress guides you upwards, shouldering your weight. Once you’re on your feet again, she grabs a silk overcoat and secures it around your shoulders. “Quickly. There’s no time to waste.” “Your Majesty.” You try to shake the sleepiness away, wondering if it was all a dream. “What’s going on?” One of your hands is held in hers while the other rests underneath your swollen stomach, supporting the heaviness of the baby. “There’s a carriage waiting for you.” There’s yelling from the distance, footsteps on the roof that make your head tilt. But you’re unable to discern what they’re saying, what’s occurring. All you know is that you’re about to be sent away. Without Seokjin — without Jungkook. “Wait.” You struggle to catch up to her pace, confusion inhibiting your movements. Yet she still pulls you along, past the structures and paths shrouded in darkness. “I can’t leave.” “It doesn’t matter,” Empress Soojin says, more serious than you’ve ever had the chance of witnessing. “You have to protect the baby at all costs.” She’s desperate to protect you, to protect your child. She came to you first when she could’ve run on her own and left you asleep. She chose to keep you from harm over her own well-being. Time and time again, Empress Soojin has made sure you were watched over. And the realization makes guilt well up your throat. Your steps slow and your arm tugs her back. “This baby,” you whisper, “it doesn’t belong to who you think it does.” But Empress Soojin’s hand tightens on yours and she turns around. Her brows are drawn together, the corners of her mouth tilted in a sorrowful smile. “Don’t you think I know that? But it doesn’t matter,” she spits in the midst of your shock and continues pulling you. “The child is supposed to be mine. It will be mine. It’s the only way I can be a mother.” Before you can get a single word out, she turns the corner and there are deafening shouts. A clamour of feet stomping against the wooden floorboards, the clinking of heavy armour following grunts— “Stop right there!” “Stand down!” Her voice is unwavering, strong as she pushes you behind her. “I am your Empress—!” But they are Hoseok’s guards. You recognize them from having followed the man around, from standing by during the ceremony and other celebrations you’ve been a spectator to. They have sworn their allegiance to him. Not to Emperor Minseok and most certainly not to Empress Soojin. But she doesn’t seem to understand she’s been caught, that she’s a mouse cornered by two felines. She is naive and continues to scream at them for their disobedience. You try to tug her away, to get her to run, yet her pride is much too strong and you’re yanked away. Sideways. The collar of your coat is taken by the bloodied knuckles of the guard. Stumbling. He clicks his tongue in annoyance at the ear-piercing Empress and in an effort to silence the ordeal, his weapon raises against you. His sword is high in the air, prepared to slash and end this nightmare. Except, his blade never hits you. Even when you shut your eyes, wrap your arms around your stomach to protect your child, hitch your breath, bracing yourself for the cut….. “NO!” Empress Soojin throws herself in front of you, her arms outstretched, allowing herself to take the blow as she is ripped from across her right shoulder to the left hip. She spits blood, warm crimson spewing out and splattering onto your cheeks. The world seems to come to a stop. Your breathing ceases. The guard’s eyes shake for having hacked the Empress herself. Yet she does not yield in spite of the wound that drips blood to the floor in droplets with a steady rhythm, that soaks into her white nightgown, marring the clean colour. She lurches forward, grabbing a torch attached to the wall and shouts, “Stay back!” Her yell is howled out from her throat, jarring to the ears, full of wrath and will. And she throws the torch, allowing searing flames to engulf the corridor. The guards stagger backwards with widened eyes and after a delayed moment, they retreat with profanities before the smoke can engulf their form. Empress Soojin collapses. You drop down to her as sobs wreck through your frame. As calculating and thoughtless as she has been, she has never once been insincere to you. She has never abandoned you. You cradle Soojin’s head into your lap, trying to wipe at her mouth with the sleeve of your silk overcoat. But she bats your arm away. Her hazy eyes remain connected with yours. “P-protect the child…..prom...ise me…” You nod, tears staining your cheeks forevermore. But you stand, finding leverage against the wall that was slowly being consumed by the sweltering fire and you run. As fast as your weak knees allow you to. You leave Soojin behind — laying on the floor — staring up at the ceiling. She dies before being taken by the fire bleeding through the palace. You run, unsure of where to go but away from the uproar of people, the bloodshed and clashing of swords, away from the blazing inferno, collapsing ceilings and smog that chases your shadow. And it’s when you begin to lose breath and come to a four-way path that you nearly collide with another body. A scream tears out of your chest until you find warm, familiar eyes. “Jin?!” Your brother’s hands secure around your shoulders and he lowers himself for your gazes to meet. “Are you alright?” His chest rises and falls, steadying his breathing as well and you notice the sword dangling by his side, unsuitable and much too lanky. Seokjin has always suited brushes and books more than weapons — something you wish you had told him sooner. “I—I’m fine, but Empress Soojin. I...I left her behind and she’s wounded. There’s fire….fire!” “Y/N,” Seokjin calls you calmly and sternly. “Are you okay?” You nod and he sighs, pulling away. “Then that’s all that matters.” “What’s going on, Jin?! I thought the abdication was going to be tomorrow.” “Some of the ministers changed their minds last minute. They decided they wanted to remain loyalists to the Emperor for fear of their families being punished. The revolt has been moved up.” “Revolt?! I thought….I thought they were just going to force him to abdicate!” You didn’t know that there would be such violence. That all of this was planned prior. It makes you queasy. “Sometimes sacrifice is needed,” Seokjin merely states. “But you don’t have to worry. We still have the majority of the ministers’ support. They would’ve still voted in favour of abdicating the Emperor from his throne.” Your brows are drawn tightly together and you shake your head. “What does that mean?” “It means we’re going to win.” Your older brother smiles, his eyes crinkling, a sense of elation evidently filling his features. But you wonder what the cost of the rebellion coming to fruition is. “I know you’re not carrying the Emperor's child. It’s Jungkook’s, isn’t it?” Seokjin searches your expression for any confirmation, but unlike how you thought he would be wary of your relationship with his close friend and the dangers that came along with it, he appears more relieved. “Jungkook told me,” he explains, “and I told him to come find you. Stay here, alright?” “What?” You grab a hold of your older brother before he can run off, before he can disappear with your worry for him being abandoned with you yet again. “Where are you going?” “I’m going to find Hoseok before he can run away. I’m going to give him what he deserves.” Every syllable is spoken with malice, a sharpness and anticipation flooded between each pause. But you hang onto Seokjin, refusing to let go. You gaze at your sibling, his eyes and hair that appear darker in this lack of lighting, the downturn of his mouth, his shoulders and frame that seem to have gotten thinner in the months you haven’t seen him. You’ve missed Jin so much. And at this moment, you don’t care that the fire is spreading through the palace. That there was smoke already spread at the ceiling. Bloodshed and pitched screams not far from where you stand. You turn deaf to those noises, to the crackling of the flames, the uprising’s cry. “Do you really need to do this? Isn’t this enough already?” “No. It’s not. I won’t be satisfied until I know that bastard hasn’t run away.” “Please, Seokjin,” you beg with your entire frame, fingers tightening on his sleeve until your knuckles have turned white. You do all that you can to reach him, begging him, pleading with him as his younger sister. “D-Don’t go. I miss you. We’re….we’re family. I only have you left and I...I don’t want you to go anymore. Stay with me, please. Please, please, that's all I ask.” You remember. Days under the sun where you would follow him. Days he would take dull sticks and poke you incessantly. Days he would piggyback you and tell you stories he made up off the top of his head. That day the two of you hid in the woven baskets and witnessed the massacre of your family until he covered your eyes with his small hands still dirty from picking flowers. “Don’t go.” But Seokjin’s has already made up his mind. All by himself. You can tell with the way his eyes become saddened, how he merely leans in to plant a kiss at your forehead, how he pulls out of your grasps. Seokjin runs off and you try to chase him as if you were still children playing games in the forest. But just like then, he’s faster than you are. “Seokjin!” He runs, disappearing into the darkness. “Jin!” And you’re left alone. Abandoned. Sobbing heart wrenchingly until your whole being aches. “Kim Seokjin!” You call out to him to no avail, watching the backside of your only brother fading away.

Seokjin hears you, loud and clear. But he doesn’t turn around. He twists around the corner, sword slashing anyone who comes in his way. After years of training, it’s no longer difficult to drive his blade into bodies and let their blood splatter on his hands. It’s rather easy when he consumes himself in his hatred and anger. Seokjin kills any guards still wearing the royal emblem or those who have sworn their allegiance to Jung Hoseok, and any ministers who have decided to stay as loyalists. He spares servants, letting them run past him as they cry, begging for mercy. And he persists, even when he has to lurch forward, the gash of his shoulder dripping of his blood and the nicks on his face sting painfully. He makes it to the grand throne room. The red carpet is rolled in front of him, golden candle lights providing piercing luminescence but making his own shadow darker. This is the place that once held extravagant celebrations to welcome the Emperor’s consorts that were disposed of months later, that held dancers and musicians for the entertainment of the ministers, that failed to save the nation from poverty and famine. And now, Seokjin finds Hoseok seated on the throne. The man is alone. Pouring his last cup of wine to drink. “Jung Hoseok!” Seokjin’s voice booms across the hall, his steps finding vigor as they close the distance. “You can’t run anymore!” “I know,” the middle-aged man says after he sips and smacks his lips, savouring the taste of wine. “I know I’ve lost. It must feel good to undermine my position, huh? I should’ve known better than to underestimate you, but those are things of the past. I can’t change them now.” His calmness exasperates Seokjin to his core. And Hoseok rises to his feet, brushing his robes behind him. His arms are placed behind his back as he walks down the steps of the throne, finally facing the younger man. But he isn’t surrendering, far from it when he takes the sword from the stand and points it at Jin. There’s shouting, an ear-splitting clash of metal against the crackle of the flames becoming louder as they seep through the back wall. Hoseok is stiff, age having slowed his movements. He isn’t as agile as Seokjin is, doesn’t have his fervour, but it’s clear to Jin that he’s not going without a fight. That he will never give up out of his own will. Hoseok would rather burn here. “You killed my family!” Seokjin spits when their blades crash against each other again, the older barely able to deflect. The corner of Hoseok’s mouth tugs. “I ended many families.” Seokjin never tells him about the Kim family, about how his father and mother were both executed when knelt on the dirty ground, how his uncles and aunts were brutalized before being murdered, that the servants’ sobs only stopped once their breathing ceases. Seokjin doesn’t tell, just because he has an inkling, a fear that Hoseok won’t even remember. So he lets his grief speak for itself— “You will pay for what you’ve done.” There’s a swing, another clatter. Hoseok stumbles back before lifting his sword again. There’s a chance. An opportunity. Seokjin could deflect, could move away swiftly without a blink to waste, but his eyes instead pinpoint to Hoseok’s open abdomen. A perfect spot and he seizes the moment. He drives the sword forward. Until he can hear the breath in the older man hitch, see the way his pupils tremble. Even when the cost is that Hoseok’s own blade digs into his shoulder and tears it down into his chest. Blood pours like rain on an April afternoon. It drips in a rhythmic beat, coating the empty throne room until the iron stench overwhelms the smoke of the burning, golden walls. Seokjin uses the remaining of his strength to step back, pulling the sword out of Hoseok. The blood-soaked blade crashes to the ground at the same time as Hoseok’s own body collapses. And Jin falls back a moment later. The pool of his blood is warm, the fire enveloping the room sweltering. He stares at the magnificently painted ceiling before shutting his eyes for the final time. The corners of Seokjin’s mouth tugs upwards into a smile. We’ve won, Y/N.

At the same time, you stumble.

The wind knocks out of your lungs as your knees buckle. You’re grabbed by one of Hoseok’s guards, pulled back until your arm feels like it’s being yanked out of its socket. You cry out as agony overwhelms you and the guard wheezes over the exhaust of the fire engulfing the palace and paints the wooden structures into bright scarlet. “She’s here!” he shouts while you struggle. But before you can be taken, dragged towards the center of the palace, there’s a low grunt from the guard. A short shout is made and he suddenly drops, revealing your saviour. Doe eyes and dark hair, his hands splattered in carmine and his brows knitted closely together. “J-Jungkook!” He embraces you in an instant, arms wrapping around your frame for the first time in ages. His nose digs into your hair, your face into his shoulder as you shake. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here now,” he soothes you in a murmur that you desperately hang on to. But the intimate moment doesn’t last for long. Jungkook pulls away. “We have to go. There’s an open entrance in the back by the stables.” “Wait—wait, Jungkook! Jin. I couldn’t stop him. He—he went to find...he went to find Jung Hoseok and he went towards the fire. I can’t leave him behind. He’s my only brother. Please go look for him, please,” you beg him, hands tightening on his. “I can’t go without him.” “I know,” Jungkook tells you with lips lopsided. “But I need to make sure you’re safe first. I need to fulfill my promise to him. This is what he wanted, okay?” You nod, putting your trust in him and quicken your pace. The faster you go, the more time they’ll be for Jungkook to return and search for Jin before it’s too late. But as the two of you interlace your hands, running alongside one another, you’re stopped meters away from the circular opening of the wall. “Stop!” Emperor Minseok shouts pathetically. He’s obviously shaken, his hair in a disarray, his once magnificent robes dirtied and fluttering open. He is with two other guards wielding weapons, but without his clothes and servants, it is clear that he is undeserving of his title. He is not an Emperor. “Y-You can’t leave! That child is mine!” Minseok points to your stomach. “This isn’t your child!” you shout back at him and the man seemingly pales, eyes horrified as his mouth drops open. “It has never been.” “You….You!” There’s a clamour above the roar of the fire consuming the entire palace. The last of his guards were coming from the corridor and your hand squeezes Jungkook’s. If you die here, then so be it. But you will do so protecting your child until your very last breath. Yet, Jungkook has other plans and it doesn’t encompass your death. “Run,” he whispers sharply into your ear and you whirl around to look at him. “I’ll hold them off. Run and don’t look back.” “But—” “I love you.” Jungkook smiles. His doe eyes crinkle, shining in the flames bleeding to your feet. “I’ll see you again.” He pushes you forward and your feet move on instinct. You run with your arms wrapped around your swollen center, breaths stolen from your parted lips and your eyes shut tight. The guards swing their swords around, but their blades never touch you. There’s a clatter of metal, blades striking one another. Minseok reaches out to seize you, not letting you get away. But his fingertips merely skim the tips of your hair. You hear his grunt, a smothered sound coming from his mouth, the drop of a body. You run. Out through the entrance. Up the dirt incline until your feet begin to slip. Until the darkness has completely covered your form from sight. Until sheer exhaustion forces you to stop. Against Jungkook’s will, you turn around. You watch as the raging fire engulfs the palace, eating away at the structure that stretches across the horizon, as blazing as the sunlight at dawn itself. And you fall to your knees, sobbing for the people you love.

[Epilogue] The dynasty has fallen. New people have taken over old places and you wonder if it was all futile — if history will repeat itself once more — if Seokjin’s sacrifice has been made in vain. For his sake, you hope not. After the rebellion and riots on the streets by the common people, the loyalists of the old empire have been driven away from the country. But you know there’s few of them that are still after you because of your ties to the rebels. There are those on the uprising’s side that are seeking to kill you too. They believe that your child belongs to the deceased Emperor and many would rather be safe than sorry, not wanting to risk his bloodline being in existence at all. But one look at the babbling baby trying to stand in front of you and his striking doe eyes and dark hair, you know for certain that he is of Jungkook’s blood and bones. “Minkook, what are you doing?” You pick up your mischievous, chubby toddler to place on your hip. His grabby hands take your hair and his mouth circles, trying to sound out syllables and string them together. “M-Mum..mum..mama…” You smile, nuzzling into him. “Are you hungry?” Those who believe you, the ones closest to Seokjin, have chosen to protect you from the threats. After the birth, you were brought to a safe house far from the capital where no one knows your name or your child’s. It’s a modest home on top of a green hill, close to the riverbend and where you can see the sunrise and sunset. It’s peaceful and every morning and evening, you’re able to sit on the steps. Waiting. They told you about Seokjin. You heard that several of them saw his body before the entire palace went up into flames, but there’s been no news of Jungkook. No sighting of him. It’s been eleven months since that time. Six from when Minkook was born. You don’t know Jungkook’s whereabouts, don’t know if he can even find you with where you’re hidden now, how he will manage to get himself here. But you believe in his promise. You trust that you will see him again. “Goodnight, Min.” Your sleepy toddler is unable to keep his eyes open for any longer and succumbs to the seduction of sleep. You plant a tender kiss on the top of his round head and set down on the bed, still softly humming a lullaby that Seokjin had taught you so long ago — a way you keep his memory alive. Once Minkook is secure and safe, your footsteps pad quietly across the floor. You come outside, shutting the door behind you, sitting on the wooden steps. The last light of the sun is fading from the sky. The horizon is painted in murky shades of tangerine and rose, the clouds wispy and floating in shapes that you and your brother once tried to discern as children. Someday, your own children will lay in the grass staring at the sky because of his sacrifice and yours. But for now, you watch the sun fall. You watch as night takes over the evening, how another day has passed. But as you turn to head inside as the sky starts to be filled with stars, your breath hitches in your throat. You blink hard to ensure that it's not a dream. That the illusion has not imprinted into your mind after so much desperation and time. But the sight is all too real when you open your eyes again. Over the horizon at a distance and in the last dwindling light of the evening, there is a man with doe eyes and dark hair approaching. His gaze meets yours and a tender smile stretches into his cheeks. His features are tired as if he has been traveling for days, clothes ragged and ripped. But none of it matters. Jungkook comes closer and closer towards you. And you run, meeting him halfway as tears flood your vision. You leap forward and he laughs, arms catching you in a tight embrace. The two of you are finally reunited at last.

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts scenario #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #I know this is pretty wild and different from my other stories #but it's a concept I've been meaning to write for a while #hope y'all can still find it entertaining :D #even if it's on the heavier side

4K notes · View notes

kannra21 · 3 years ago

Note

Heya! just for fun, whats the wildest/funniest headcanon that you have for dabi or any of your fave bhna characters? 😁

Heyy ❤️ I'm not rly good at this stuff so I decided to write some theories and hcs that I actually liked so here you go-

- Monoma and Toga are related in some way. They're not that similar so I assume that they're further relatives. However, this doesn't make Monoma a traitor. I also think that Toga should be adopted by Vlad King so he could help her with her Quirk and her obsession with blood.

- Hawks has bird traits and he shows them on accident. There are certain traits he's embarrassed of but there's also stuff that makes him feel better about himself. He's never been in a relationship bc of HPSC but he's a helpless romantic.

- Dabi drives a motorcycle. Everyone assumes that he listens to trash metal when rly he only listens to sad rock bc he's a sad man. He cries when ppl are soft with him, he rarely experiences kindness. He avoids lov bc he's afraid of getting attached; they're all meant to die at some point so he doesn't want to suffer more than what he already does.

- Kaminari is not book smart but damn if he isn't smart in other ways. He knows the labour standards act, he pulls brainy jokes, he reads books, he expresses himself nicely, he draws pretty and plays an instrument. And he's a people pleaser above everything else.

- Since Dark Shadow is technically it’s own being, we can assume that Monoma would go through various scenarios when copying Tokoyami's Quirk; 1) Dark Shadow is attracted to humble souls and therefore shall obey em. If he comes across Monoma he'd refuse him. 2) Dark Shadow accepts him but Monoma would turn emo. 3) Monoma manages to copy Dark Shadow but then they fight each other. 4) Monoma gives him apples and Dark Shadow accepts him. 5) Monoma manages to copy Dark Shadow but Dark Shadow doesn't know how to respond to him because he doesn't trust him. He knows Tokoyami since he was a kid. 6) Dark Shadow doesn't like Monoma because he can't afford him all the darkness he's so found of. 7) Monoma manages to copy Dark Shadow but then Dark Shadow goes wild and drags Monoma everywhere because he doesn't know how to control him. 8) Dark Shadow obeys Monoma but shows clear signs of discomfort. 9) Monoma can't copy Dark Shadow. 10) Dark Shadow defies Monoma's commands and gradually takes over his body like with Tokoyami in ch79. 11) Monoma copies Dark Shadow and Dark Shadow obeys him. 12) Dark Shadow controls Monoma and not the other way around. 13) Monoma falls into a shock because he copied something alive. 14) Dark Shadow consumes negative emotions from Monoma and becomes larger and stronger. 15) Can Dark Shadow drain emotions? Monoma could easily end up in a hospital or a mental institution.

- Monoma and Aoyama are good friends ever since Monoma complimented him in the light novels (BNHA Light Novel vol3, ch3).

- Bakugou has hearing problems but he's not deaf. He never let anyone enter his dorm room bc he has just as much AM merch as Deku and it's embarrassing.

- Ms. Joke is not as happy irl. She's just wearing a facade to make others happy even when she's not. + There's no way Aizawa isn't aware of it bc they share some history and we never got the exact details from Horikoshi.

- Geten would be so much cooler if he was a girl and the fandom would simp for him just like they did for Lady Nagant but no one is ready for that debate.

- Dad for one is true. He wants to possess Shigaraki and for Yoichi to possess Deku so he and his bro could continue their war with healthy and strong bodies.

- Hagakure loves body paint, especially the glowing one. Since outfits stand out on her the most, she was thinking ab pursuing her career in modeling.

- Natsuo's mouse girlfriend is secretly a badass. Look, I just want to see more girl characters in this series.

- Shigaraki would be the best boyfriend bc he never loved anything, so loving someone for the first time would make you a special person. He's v insecure ab his looks and doubts himself in whether he actually deserves you. He's the type of guy to turn from cold blooded to the most loving person. But if you ever cheat on him he won't hesitate to disintegrate you.

- Villain Deku and Toga would have Joker and Harley Quinn vibes but healthy.

- Dabi eats at Cracker Barrel. He's a common guest there and he always takes Giran's money so they wouldn't throw him out. The waitress can't believe how much bacon this mysterious man can eat.

- Hawks loves when you massage him at the base of his wings. He loves you so much for it.

- Miruko is a gamer and her and Shigaraki play together without having the slightest idea that it's actually them. One day they decided to meet each other bc they became good friends and when they stood there in Kiyashi Ward Shopping Mall it was rly awkward.

- Tokoyami and Aoyama get along rly well and Aoyama paints their nails in their dorm rooms.

- Dabi is jealous bc Re-Destro supports Geten all the time and it's the same mentality except Endeavor never supported Dabi. Geten likes to tease him ab it.

- Todoroki is no.1 Yaoyorozu simp. He's not aware that it became obvious.

- Aizawa realized his dream despite Midnight not being alive anymore. He got a cat tower for his hero agency that he always wished for (Vigilantes ch65). Sushi is alive but still very old. Midnight boys (Vigilantes ch6.5) are still visiting her grave despite having different lives now.

- Fuyumi hasn't dated anyone bc Endeavor would kill them. He has the audacity to play a strict parent (BNHA Light Novel vol2, ch4) when he never looked towards Fuyumi's and Natsuo's general direction for years. He actually doesn't have anything against Hawks but if he ever called him "dad" it would give him shivers.

- We all know that Shigaraki lives from Mountain Dew, Doritos and pure spite. However, he treats Toga nicely bc he wishes he had similar relationship with Hana.

- When it's rly hot outside Hawks fluffs up his wings so he could let go of some heat. Everyone wants to pet his fluffy wings and the heat returns. Poor guy.

- Dabi called Compress "dad" at some point and he's regretting it bc Compress is now unironically calling him "son".

- Shigaraki and Spinner used to play games on the same TV which afo used to contact them and whenever he wanted to talk, the screen turned black and the guys would complain.

- Compress misses the time when Kurogiri used to be around.

- Giran is a cool uncle that has a sweet niece and he loves her v much but bc he's a bad guy working with the bad guys, he's not visiting anymore but sends her nice gifts.

- Yaoyorozu family owns a weapon company bc this is the only explanation why she knows how to create a canon.

- Jirou and her dad play guitars and sing in their music studio whenever Jirou feels off. Her dad is a dork and he always makes her smile. Jirou has the best dad.

- Kaminari's mom is a hero (Heroes Rising movie).

117 notes · View notes

adhdeancas · 4 years ago

Text

For @theangelwiththewormstache, I kind of went all out and searched through your blog to see what you like and headcanon, sent a few sneaky asks to find out more, and wrote in all the things I wanted for everyone’s happy ending. it got... unbelievably long.

Merry Christmas and enjoy :)

Love, Cas over at @let-me-live-in-peace and @samwinchestersleftshoe

PS: thanks to @destielsecretsanta2020 for organizing this!

Click.

Dean sighed and nodded, pulling the phone away from his ear so he could stare at it expectantly. Right about…

It rang.

“Cas,” Dean said languidly, like an asshole who didn’t know why his boyfriend was calling him back.

“Sorry. I forgot again.”

“I know.” Dean couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice if he tried. And he tried.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“Dean.” A hint of well-earned annoyance.

“I love you too, Cas.”

“Bye.” And another click. Dean grinned and pocketed his phone. The dumbass was still too impatient to wait for an answering goodbye. Guess they’d never be the couple to argue about who should hang up first. Then again, Dean kinda liked it this way. It was just a few more seconds of teasing and a special call to say I love you, that was kind of nice, right? Jesus he was a sap.

“Earth to Dean? Wanna stop daydreaming about your boyfriend for a sec and get back on task?” Claire was standing there waving a hand in his face, bitchface firmly planted. Dean gave her one back.

“Don’t be homophobic.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m gay.”

“Yeah.” Dean kept walking, looking around at the rows on rows of Christmas trees. He stole a glance back at her. “Where is Kaia anyway?”

Claire blushed and crossed her arms over her chest. She would never tell him, but Kaia had hung back to give her some alone time with Dean. “She wanted to hang out with Jack. Guess she didn’t want to stare at your ugly mug all day.” A grin then, as Dean laughed at her joke.

“Fine, fine, guess you’re stuck with me.”

They roamed around a bit, both insisting on cutting down their tree themselves, Claire winning the fight to get to carry the ax. (Yes, Sam had suggested they bring a chainsaw. They had both refused because they needed to “earn the Christmas tree.”)

“Cas wanted a fraser fir.” Dean remembered, pointing to the section marked for them.

He felt, rather than saw, Claire roll her eyes, which, that’s exactly what Dean had done when Cas first told him. “Dork. Do you always do what your boyfriend tells you?”

Dean shrugged. “Pretty much. You?”

“Yeah.” They shared a soft smile before going back to their regular shit-talking. It was just The Dynamic. They searched a little bit more before they found one, the perfect tree that was big enough to make them both giggle over what Sam’s reaction would be when they brought it home.

It… takes longer to cut down a tree than you would think. Than either of them thought. Especially when you bring an ax and especially when you choose an obnoxiously large tree. They took a break about halfway through, sitting down in the snow and passing the thermos of hot chocolate Jack made them take back and forth (Claire spiked it with Bailey’s, which Dean chose not to comment on but was grateful for).

“Hey Claire… is it weird? Seeing me and Cas,”

Claire looked at him warily, seeming to consider what possible ulterior motives he had. Then, figuring she was the one with the ax, she answered. “A little. But I never saw my dad this old. Or this gay.” She gave him a grin and Dean flipped her off, taking the ax out of her hands to get back to the tree. “It’s good.”

Dean paused. “What is?”

“You and him. You’re good for each other, you can tell. Don’t overthink it.”

Dean’s lips curled up. “Sounds like something Cas would say.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes the dork is right. Don’t be an idiot.” She shook her head at him. “Jody had to remind me all the time at first.”

“What?”

“That I… y’know. Deserve it. Her. To be happy.” She put the last bit in quotes, saying it sarcastically, but Dean could see the truth of it in her eyes.

“Yeah, well, Jody’s smart like that.” He took another swing at the ax and tried to believe it for himself. It got easier every day.

------

Cas was left at home with Kaia and Jack while Dean and Claire got the tree and Sam and Eileen got food supplies. (Dean had protested, but Sam had -correctly- said that if given free rein, he wouldn’t get any vegetarian options and would get 10x more junk than they needed.) Jody, Donna, Alex, Bobby, Charlie, and the rest wouldn’t be here until the next afternoon. Christmas afternoon.

“So what should we do first?” He was a little bit nervous, being once again put in charge of the kids.

“Paper snowflakes?” Jack suggested, his excitement all too obvious from the smile on his face. Kaia glanced at him, amused by his obvious enthusiasm. Claire had braided his hair before she left while Kaia painted his nails (black, because they don’t own any other color of nail polish). It was clear they were pretty bonded.

“Sounds good to me.”

Kaia had to teach both of them how to make paper snowflakes. Cas tried to make perfectly symmetrical snowflakes; Jack kept cutting his in half on accident which made a bunch of smaller snowflakes. Hey, it worked.

“So… what’s the deal with you and Dean?”

“Deal?” Cas flushed a little. Everytime someone asked it thrilled him all over again. He was dating Dean. Dean. Was his. Had told him so, straight to his face. And he got to kiss Dean whenever, and sleep with him, and make him make noises only he got to hear, and listen to all his worries and weird fears and recaps on the latest episodes of Dr. Sexy.

“Cas?” Jack was knocking on the table lightly. Kaia had two raised eyebrows and a little smile.

“That good, huh?” She could relate. Everytime she thought about Claire she felt all warm inside, and going home to her at the end of the day was like a dream, especially after being apart for so long.

Cas looked down, called out. “That good.” he agreed.

“How disgusting are they, Jack, on a scale of cute to rip your own face off cute?” Kaia leaned over the table now, shit-eating grin plastered firmly on her face. Jack looked delighted to be in on the joke, which made Cas happy in spite of himself. Jack really needed this time with kids his own age. (Well, kind of. He was technically three.)

“Well, they do cook together…”

“Do they do that thing where one of them comes up from behind and puts their head on the other’s shoulder?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Dean or Cas?”

“Cas watches. He can’t cook.”

“Hey!” It was true. Cas was just arguing for the principle of it.

“But the movie nights are the cutest. One of them always falls asleep on top of the other one.”

“Probably at like 10 o’clock. You guys are so old.” Kaia teased, shifting her attention back to Cas.

Cas shook his head and pointed his finger at the two of them. “I never should have had children.” Kaia stuck her tongue out and Jack followed suit. Proving his point. Kids.

---------

“Hey, you dorks just gonna let us do all the work, huh?” Dean shouted from the garage.

“Yeah motherfuckers, get in here!”

Cas let out a half-hearted “Language!” before following Kaia and Jack through the halls. Claire pulled Jack into a side hug first before tugging Kaia in for a kiss. Dean would’ve followed suit, except Claire had actually left him to carry the whole fucking tree himself, which Dean, like an idiot, had actually attempted. Cas hurried over to help him, which earned him a glare lined with gratefulness.

“Oh yeah, have a happy little reunion over there, don’t mind me or this giant tree!” Dean griped at the kids. “Let the old men handle it!”

“Hey, you said it first.” Claire raised an eyebrow at Dean and pulled Kaia and Jack off into the bunker, probably to go find Miracle. Dean sighed heavily, muttering under his breath.

“You brought that on yourself.” Cas informed him, grunting under the effort of holding up half the tree.

“Thank you, babe. Very helpful.” Dean rolled his eyes. Cas pretended he didn’t feel a jolt of happiness at the most sarcastic ‘babe’ he’d ever heard.

-----

They managed to haul the giant-ass tree into the library and set it up, barely. It did almost crush Cas, but Dean tugged it upright at the last moment, prompting a joke about Cas dying again. (“Hey, you’re not allowed to make those anymore, you’re human now, dick.”) And a kiss that all the kids whooped and hollered at.

Then Cas showed Dean and Claire around the decorations they’d made while they were out. The greatest hits included paper snowflakes, ornaments, and a Christmas tree on the wall made out of old license plates. Dean clapped Jack on the shoulder to congratulate him on his crafts while Kaia held Claire’s hand and pretended not to be affected by the praise sent her way.

By the time Sam and Eileen got back, they’d decorated the tree, all the chairs in the bunker, and the stair-rail with lights and tinsel. Sam let out a whistle when he came back in, which brought Miracle, Jack, and Cas to greet them. (Claire and Kaia were busy telling Dean all about their local gay bar. Which, considering they lived in South Dakota, was quite the story.)

Dean’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw his brother and Eileen come in the kitchen with their bags. “Okay Dean, before you ask, we went with apple, pecan, pumpkin, and cherry.” Sam looked at Dean warily, who stared back at him over the girls’ heads with narrowed eyes, deciding whether or not to fight. The amount of pie ingredients he’d put on the list had been truly outrageous.

“Would like to remind you that the kids are making cookies and cheesecake too.” Eileen reminded him. Dean continued to look around suspiciously until Cas sat down on his lap.

That’s great, Eileen. Cas signed to her. He will be fine.

Eileen rolled her eyes. Whiner. Sam let out a snort and Cas grinned at her. Dean glared.

“What’re you saying?”

“Learn to sign better and you’d know.” Sam smirked.

“I’m working on it!” Dean protested and wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist, tugging him in possessively. He was going to try to sign something else but settled for a middle finger pointed straight at his brother. Hey, it was sign language.

Cas leaned back and kissed him on the cheek for his efforts. His memory landed on one particularly frustrating night for Dean when they’d been practicing his ASL (Cas knew every language of course) and Dean just couldn’t remember the most basic of things. Lamp, field, tree. The more frustrated he got, the more words started to leave him. He’d started swearing under his breath and stomped out to the porch to cool off, followed by Cas a few minutes later. Cas still remembered the drained look in his eyes as he looked at Cas.

“I feel like such a fucking dumbass, Cas. I know it’s not that hard, it shouldn’t be that hard, Sam makes it seem so easy…”

“Dean, you are learning. It’s okay if it takes you a little time. Sam has experience with ASL, doesn’t he?”

Dean had sighed and conceded this. “Yeah, he took some in college I think. I just… I never took any language, you know? Didn’t seem as important as woodshop or sex ed.” He grinned half-heartedly at his own joke.

Cas smiled back and pointed at him, signing o and k. You’re okay.

He repeated the signs, nodding. I’m okay.

I love you.

I love you too.

-----

After the pies were made and chicken noodle soup in the crock pot, Cas and Dean relinquished the kitchen to the kids and retired to the Dean cave. Sam and Eileen were cooped up in their room until they were allowed back into the living quarters by the kids. They didn’t want their creations critiqued or tasted before they were ready.

Cas waited patiently while Dean typed away on his phone, eyes narrowed to see the text. He refused to get reading glasses or enlarge the print on his phone, even though he sorely needed it. Cas kept his complaining about it to a minimum though because he liked the wrinkles around Dean’s eyes when he squinted. It reminded him that he got to grow old with Dean.

Dean looked up finally to see the fond look on his lover’s face and blushed, guilty. “Sorry, just checking with Kara.”

Cas nodded understandingly. As always. “The bar will survive without us for a few days.”

“I know.” Dean looked down, a little pleased he could admit it. “I just miss it.” Wow, to have a life he could miss, and to miss it from a peaceful holiday vacation surrounded by his family. It was… surreal.

“What do you want to watch?”

Dean sank back into the cushions, thinking. “Die Hard?”

Cas smiled at him. “Is that what you want to watch?”

Dean rolled his eyes and flipped around so he could lay his head in Cas’s lap. “No.” He admitted it grudgingly. Cas could read him like a book. It was inconvenient sometimes and other times, like now, it was nice. “Just seems like the thing to watch. Y’know, Christmas Eve.”

Cas shrugged. He put a hand in Dean’s hair, just like he liked it. Dean closed his eyes almost at his touch; he’d gotten much more comfortable letting his guard down like that lately. It had taken a while though, months of Dean staying rigid in his arms before he could relax quicker. “There are other things to watch.”

Dean reached a hand up and cupped Cas’s jaw with his hand. “Whaddyou wanna watch, sweetheart?”

Cas couldn’t help but turn his head to kiss Dean’s hand. Dean only called him sweetheart when he was feeling particularly tender, usually a few whiskeys in. This time he happened to be both. Cas loved it. “What about a double feature?”

“Hm,” Dean scrubbed his hand along Cas’s stubble and thought. Cas’s stubble was one his favorite physical things about him; sometimes Cas accused him of petting him like a cat. “What ones?”

“First… It’s a Wonderful Life.”

Dean cracked a grin and opened his eyes. “Clarence?”

Cas blushed. “I miss her sometimes.”

“Should I be worried?”

Cas tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “Considering she’s a demon? Probably.” Meg was banished to hell with the rest of the demons that had gotten out of the Empty, but given their old friendship with the Queen of Hell, that didn’t mean much for them.

“Psh, demon-shmemon. Been there, done that.” Dean pulled Cas down into a kiss, making him bend over into an awkward position that made Cas giggle. “Being a human is much sexier.”

“I agree.”

Dean waggled his eyebrows at him suggestively. “Wanna make it a triple feature? Little hanky panky for intermission?” Cas rolled his eyes, which Dean interpreted as a solid yes. “What is our second movie, anyway?”

“Huh.” Cas booped Dean on the nose. “Love Actually.”

A slow, dopey smile spread over Dean’s face. “Okay.” He paused, thinking about it. He’d pushed Cas into watching it years ago, when they were still just friends, by ‘accidentally’ adding it to his Netflix Queue and then letting Cas loose for movie night. He’d watched Cas for his reactions the whole time (and only gotten distracted by looking At Cas a few times). It had been a couple months ago when he told Cas about that. “Second favorite thing about being queer is being able to watch sappy shit like that.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “You were able to before, Dean.”

Dean ignored him. “Ask me what my favorite thing is,”

“What’s your favorite thing?”

“This.” He burrowed into Cas’s lap. A sap and a flirt.

“I thought you were gonna say Taylor Swift.” A dry witted old queen.

Dean snorted into his stomach. “That’s my third favorite.”

----

“Alright, gang, what do we say? Same place tomorrow morning, let’s say… 5?” He spun around to look at everyone, a wide smile on his face. Everyone seemed less enthused than him, although Sam seemed to think his situation was amusing.

“Dude, I’m not twelve, I’m not waking up at 5 am to open a few presents.”

“Like hell you aren’t!” Dean was smiling but it was less of a happy smile and more of a disbelieving one. Cas squeezed his arm then, stopped him from continuing his argument. Dean glanced at him and he just stared and gave him another squeeze.

Dean knew what that look meant. It meant ‘Dean, you’re overreacting again, calm down and think about it’ and also ‘stop being such an asshole’ and probably also ‘wow you’re eyes are really pretty’ knowing Cas.

He took a deep breath and pecked Cas on the lips. “Alright, princess, what time are you willing to drag your lazy ass out of bed?”

Claire smirked and sent a look at Kaia before leveling back at Dean. “Eleven.”

“Eight.”

“Ten. Final offer.”

Dean considered a moment then extended a hand. And shook. “You have yourself a deal.”

----

After they went to bed, they talked about it. These days, they always talked about it. It was one of the things Cas had brought home from his shrink appointments, and, as much as Dean hated to admit it, it worked. Helped.

Cas changed into pajamas and stretched, sending a look back at Dean. Dean rolled his eyes and started before Cas could prod him to. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Cas raised an eyebrow at him. “You hate the morning.”

Dean pursed his lips and shook his head, then pulled down his pants, because you should never have a conversation with your boyfriend with pants when you could have one without pants. These things he was learning. “Yeah, I do, it’s just… it’s Christmas.”

“Yes, it is. Isn’t it supposed to be a day of relaxation and fun?”

“Yeah, but it’s supposed to be exciting! Kids jumping on their parents bed at the asscrack of dawn to go to the tree, that kinda shit!” He shrugged, getting stupid worked up over it, he knew. He knew. Cas pulled him in by the hand and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Come on, tell me how I’m being an asshole.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “What part of ‘you do everything for love’ do you not understand?”

“How is me freaking out over Christmas morning ‘for love’?”

Cas didn’t flinch away from the self-deprecation. “You want them to have the Christmas you never got.”

Dean sank his head onto Cas’s shoulder, thinking about it. He was right, of course he was, he’s always right. Cas can read him like a book, even when Dean himself didn’t know what he was doing. “I guess so, yeah.”

“That’s admirable. But the Christmas they deserve, same as you did, is the one they want. Which might not be the one you wanted.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” he sighed heavily. More than he wanted his kids to have a motherfucking Christmas-card Christmas, he just didn’t want to be the ruin of it. Didn’t want to be John. “Sorry you have to shrink my head all the time.” Dean muttered softly. Cas pulled him away and kissed him, slow and soft.

“You pay me back tenfold.”

“You’ve got a shrink.”

“I meant with sex.” Cas met his eyes, face stoic as always. He would’ve gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for the glint in his eyes. It gave him away.

Dean threw back his head and laughed.

“Motherfucker.”

“I don’t have a mother.”

Dean shook his head, grin splitting open his face. Cas himself was trying to hold it together; he kept having to push down the corners of his mouth so he wouldn't break. Dean crowded closer, determined to ruin that composure. He walked his face right into Cas’s, only reaching for his lips once they were already bumping together. Then he fell into it, pulled Cas toward him to get more, settled into the easy mesh of their bodies until Cas ended up knocking his knee against the bedframe with a loud thump.

They dissolved into a pile of breathy giggles, too giddy and soft to work up the energy to get frisky. Dean just shrugged off his shirt and pulled Cas closer to him. “You know you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.” Dean told him seriously. He didn’t know where it came from; it was way too mushy to even possibly be from his mind. Maybe it was something about the holiday, and the family, and the safety that all of it brought.

“And so are you.” Cas replied simply, eyes glinting.

“Even though I’m an asshole sometimes?” He had to ruin it. Had to put in that little bit of doubt, of insecurity. But it wouldn’t be truthful if he just swallowed it, so he let it be said.

Cas kissed his nose, which made Dean feel like a child but also like something so special and precious he didn’t complain. “Even though you’re an asshole sometimes.”

Dean snorted out a laugh and chased Cas’s lips, nipping at him in offense. He sank onto the pillow and stared at Cas where he sat up. Cas just looked down at him, adopting that alien-like quality he could still summon. “Marry me.”

“What?”

Dean smiled fondly at him, for once not at all concerned. “I dunno, dunnit ‘boyfriends’ sound way too young to you? I mean you’re practically 5 million years old, you can’t have a boyfriend.”

Cas pursed his lips, seemingly deciding between protesting his age or agreeing to his proposal. He laid next to Dean during his decision, letting Dean watch him consider. “Suppose you’re right.” He shrugged, offering up a tiny grin.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“No, you’re supposed to say ‘Yes, yes, a thousand times yes’ and then burst into tears.”

“Dean.”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules, that’s just how humans do it!”

“Okay, I take it back.”

Dean laughed and pulled him into a giddy kiss. “I love you.”

“I hope so, you’re marrying me.” Cas couldn’t contain his smile anymore; he stopped trying and just stared at Dean with the kind of wonder that used to make Dean feel uncomfortable. Now, it just made him feel lucky. “I love you too.”

---

A phone rang, a bizarre ringtone Dean didn’t recognize. Sam jumped up and ran off to the map room, apologizing quickly. “What the hell, man!” Dean yelled after him and sent a look at Eileen.

Hunter call, probably. She signed. Sure enough, Sam was in the other room picking up a landline with an annoyed tone.

He listened for a few minutes, asking follow-up questions before Dean heard him say, “Rugaru, yeah, that’s what it sounds like. Yeah, you gotta burn ‘em. Nasty, sorry. Yeah, no problem. Good luck.” He hung up and headed back into the room, signing and talking. “Sorry, hunting doesn’t care about holidays.”

“So glad we’re not doing that anymore.” Dean sighed happily, wrapping an arm around Cas. Sam smiled at him and nodded.

“Me too. I had to burn those clothes after the Rugaru thing.” He shuddered, the memory of the stench enough to make him happy for an empty stomach.

Eileen shrugged. Never had to deal with one of those.

“Lucky.” Dean promised her. Cas nudged him, nodding toward Jack. He was shaking a wrapped box with his name on it, a look of deep concentration on his face.

“Whaddya think it is, kid?”

Jack shook his head. “No idea. Can I open it?”

“Go for it.”Jack tore into it, no regard for the painted newspaper (yes, it was recycled, Cas and Sam both agreed) as he got to the box underneath. “Open the card first, heathen!” Dean joked, pointing out the card tucked onto the bottom of the thing. Jack scowled but complied, opening the card to find a nice note from him and Cas and a key taped in.

“What’s it for?”

Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees, excited about this part. He had been the one who came up with it, after all. “Our place. We wanted to make it official, since you been, you know, visiting around a lot lately.” Dean turned a little pink in the cheeks. Jack had indeed been drifting between Sam and Eileen’s, Jody’s, his and Cas’s, Donna’s, and Claire and Kaia’s. But he always spent the most time at his and Cas’s house, trying to copy Dean and always ending up enjoying Cas’s hobbies more. Sam had told him a while back that Jack confided he wasn’t sure he was welcome there, not for the long term. So Dean wanted to let him know he was welcome. Except now, looking at the uncertainty on Jack’s face, he wasn’t so sure that’s what the kid wanted. “Uh, you know, you can just spend however much you want with us, but… you know.” He poked Cas desperately in the side, trying to get him to save the sentence.

“We’d like you to have a ‘home base’ with us, Jack. However often you are willing to stay.” Cas said simply. He squeezed Dean’s knee to reassure him.

Jack looked up at them with a stunned expression. “Does this mean I can take out the trash? And do the dishes?” He looked thrilled at the idea.

Dean chuckled. “We never would’ve stopped you before, kid. But yeah, sure.”

Sam cleared his throat, offering a smile to Jack. “That better not mean you stop coming around here though, Jack.” When Dean had called and told him his idea for the present, he’d almost teared up. His brother had come a long way with Jack. Still, he wanted to reassure his kid that he always had a home with him and Eileen too, no matter how busy he was. (And nowadays, between online classes, cataloguing lore onto an online database, and being the New Bobby, he was really busy.)

Jack jumped up, clearly about to go for a round of hugs, but Dean waved him off. “Keep going, you haven’t even gotten through one present yet.”

Jack grinned and complied, taking a bit more time with the box. He pulled out a Scooby Doo phone case, marked for Extra Protection, with Scooby and Shaggy on the back.

“That one was my idea.” Cas told him proudly.

“I helped.” Dean piped up.

“You did not.”

“I helped you pick which case!”

“You wanted to get one with Fred and Daphne.”

“Well, yeah-”

“Not everyone has a crush on them like you do, Dean.”

Dean flushed scarlet and went silent, pouting. Jack ignored their bickering and beamed up at Castiel. “I love it, dad. Thank you.”

Cas looked like he could’ve gone for round 4 with the Empty with how happy he was, but he just nodded. “Of course.”

The rest of the gifts went by with lots of shouting, laughing, smiling, and hugging. And a few tears all around. Dean got Claire a flamethrower without consulting anyone, and Cas got Kaia a rose and lavender scented pillow fragrance (“It helps ensure good dreams.”), which prompted a comment from Claire (“How’d he know you’re a pillow princess?”) that everyone pretended not to hear. Dean got Eileen a Woojer, a wearable speaker that lets you feel music’s vibrations in your body (“Because no one should have to live without Zepp available to them 24/7. Also, now you can cry with me when the sad music cues come on Dr. Sexy,” - one of their favorite activities together).

Dean jerked a head at Sam to get him out of the room, so Sam snatched his gift while Dean detached himself from Cas. They went to the kitchen, sending a couple soft looks back at their family gathered around the tree with all their new possessions. It was nice, and they both felt it.

“So, uh, Sammy, I been thinking a lot about what to get you for Christmas and everything. I didn’t want to go with the classic-”

“Skin mag and candy bar?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, damn, now I feel bad.” Sam mimed hiding his present (obviously bigger than a skin mag) behind his back, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“I finally got money, you know? Not a lot of it, but… I got a house and fucking, Cas, and… anyway. We’re finally doing Christmas and I wanted to do it right. And I want you to be as off-the-wall happy as I am, dude.”

Sam smiled widely, not even able to come up with a little-brother bitchy comment to that. “Thanks, Dean, that means a lot.”

Dean cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah, so, I, um, I wanna pay for your school.” Sam opened his mouth to protest but Dean held up a hand. “No, listen, I know you’ve been stressed about it, and I know you’ve been working really hard on the hunting catalogue stuff. That shit’s important. And I can pay for some crappy internet school classes. No offense.”

Sam laughed and pulled his brother into a hug. “Thank you, man.” He said, muffled into Dean’s shoulder. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Dean patted Sam on the back, expecting Sam to pull away, but he didn’t. “Uh, Sammy.” Sam ignored him. “Sam. Dude, get off me. I want my present.”

Sam snorted and finally pulled away. Dean tactfully ignored the wetness of his eyes in favor of snatching the gift from Sam’s hands. He tore it open with all the grace of a rabid dog, unveiling a thick, leather bound scrapbook. “A scrapbook? Really?” Dean raised his eyebrows. “That’s gay, even for you.”

Sam pulled a bitchface. “Who sucks their boyfriend’s dick every chance he gets?”

Dean flipped him off. No need to argue, Sam would see right through him. It was true though. Not that he would know. Dean flipped open the cover and grinned immediately. It was Sam and Dean as kids, in a mall photo booth, being dumbasses with their tongues stuck out and their faces all crazy. Dean mooned the camera in one, and you could see the psychological scarring on Sam’s face in the next picture. A little note slapped on the page next to it said “I have more nightmares about this than about hell”. Dean laughed, glancing up at Sam before he continued. Sam’s eyes were hopeful with a glint of mischief. That was never good.

Dean flipped through the next pages. It showed them through the years, all with little notes of Sam’s internal monologue. “Grumpy because he hasn’t gotten his coffee this morning” “That’s for the itching powder incident, asshole” and more and more. There were even some pictures in there of just him that Sam had obviously taken without Dean’s knowledge, pictures of him sleeping with comments about his snoring, pictures of him singing obnoxiously in the car with jokes about ear damage. Pictures of him and Bobby shooting the shit with notes about the pair of “old men.”

Then the pictures started to change. There started to be pictures of him and Cas. Mostly just him and Cas. Standing, talking, watching TV together (this one says “angel’s first porno!” with a bunch of hearts next to it). Comments talking about personal space (“he never stands that close to ME”) and the like. One of Dean in Bobby’s panic room where Dean has a speech bubble drawn on his serious face that says “Cas, not for nothing, but the last person who looked at me like that, I got laid” and then just a selfie of Sam pulling his bitchiest bitch face.

Dean turned a little red at that, recognizing his complete obliviousness at the time, and kept going. The pictures continue, lots of fun-loving pictures of them on the road and the occasional movie or bar night, Charlie and Kevin and even Crowley and Rowena. But without fail, there is picture after picture of him and Cas sharing a publicly private moment, all with little snippy comments from his little brother. More than three of those comments are “Just kiss already!!!” Dean finally looks up to see Sam crossing his arms and staring at him with a smug, self-satisfied smile.

“When the hell did you make this?” Dean sputtered. These are a lot of pictures, Sam must’ve kept them on his crappy cell phones for years.

Sam blinked. “I started it in 2006.”

“No, I mean, when did you go back and add all these bitchy little comments?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “2006.”

Dean blinked right back. “But you… you’ve got all these dumbass comments about me and Cas.”

His smartass little brother started to smile then, a big shit-eating grin he wanted to smack off his dumb face. “Yeah, man, you weren’t exactly smooth about it.”

“Hey, fuck you, what does that mean?” It was said in jest, but Dean’s volume control went out the window.

“Dean? Sam? Everything okay?” Cas’s voice reached them from the other room. Dean sent an offended glance back at Sam before answering.

“Yeah babe, I’m just finding out how much I wanna punch my brother in here,”

“Okay, well, leave it till tomorrow, it’s Christmas.”

“Nah, isn’t fighting with your family a holiday tradition?”

“I think you’re right. Okay, continue.”

Now Sam was just watching him with such a knowing expression it made him annoyed. He was watching him flirt with his boyfriend- no, technically, husband. Oh yeah. He lowered his voice back down to a reasonable volume to talk to just his brother again.

“Yeah, so, I should also tell you-” He closed the book and set it on the counter. “We uh… Cas and I, we’re gonna get married.” He looked down at his feet and blushed a bit, could feel the rising heat in his cheeks. Honestly, he couldn’t believe he was saying that. He was getting married. To Cas. “Obviously, you know, we can’t really, with one of us being a legally dead terrorist and the other a former angel in the body of a missing family man,” Dean and Sam both laughed at that. “But I asked him and he said yes.”

“You asked him?” Sam seemed more surprised by that than the actual news. Dean shrugged and nodded. “Wow. Congrats, Dean, really.” Sam pulled him in for another hug, which Dean happily returned. “Can I walk you down the aisle?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “If anyone’s getting walked down the aisle, it’s Cas. He might get distracted by a butterfly halfway down, he’ll need the guide.”

Sam grinned. “Come on, it’s not like you weren’t always gonna give me away.”

Dean frowned at him. “Me? Why?”

“Dean, you’re the closest thing to a parent I ever had.” Sam says it like it’s obvious, like he isn’t forgetting about-

“You had Dad.”

Sam raised his eyebrows and laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, making his big brother look him in the eyes as he repeated it. “You’re the closest thing to a parent I ever had.”

Dean wasn’t gonna get choked up. No, he wasn’t, damn it. He’d made it this far in the visit without getting choked up, he could-

“Sam?”

Eileen appeared around the corner, making them both realize how long they’d been away from the rest. Sam looked at her apologetically, signing Sorry. Dean was just telling me he and Cas are getting married!

Eileen turned to Dean, barely giving Dean time to process a quick congratulations sign before she enveloped him in a hug. Dean laughed and hugged her back, pulling away to sign thank you. At least he knew how to do that.

Big church wedding? Eileen teased.

“Only if Cas wears a poofy dress,” Dean joked back. He only knew the signs for Cas and dress, but between that and lip-reading, Eileen got it. She shook her head with a grin and grabbed Sam’s hand. They all went back into the living room and to the rest for another round of hot chocolate and a marathon of all the Home Alone movies, per request.

------

Dean snuggled into Cas’s side and ruffled a hand through Jack’s hair and he tried to think of something more perfect than having his family all together for Christmas. He couldn’t.

#destiel secret santa #secret santa 2020 #fanfic #destiel #deancas #christmas fluff #theangelwiththewormstache #my writing #destiel secret santa 2020 #fluff #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #eileen leahy #jack kline #kaia rieves #claire novak

99 notes · View notes

hollywoods-golden-age-imagines · 4 years ago

Text

Meeting and Dating Scarecrow

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You meet Scarecrow when you’re transported to Oz. We all know that, in the movie, Dorothy hit her head and everything that happened was just a dream. But for the sake of these headcanons, let’s say that Oz is real.

- It had been a day like any other: you’d woken up, eaten breakfast, and gone outside to begin your work for the day. But what had initially been a normal morning, quickly became a dangerous and frightening one as the sky turned dark.

- Having lived in the town for a while, you knew exactly what this meant and headed straight for your cellar. You remained there for close to an hour, up until you couldn’t hear anything and we’re sure that the storm had passed.

- Upon trying at the cellar door, you found yourself struggling to lift the hatch. After a few minutes of shimmying, banging and pushing as hard as you could, the door finally began to lift up; though you found yourself still struggling to manage it.

- You squeezed your way through the crack you managed to form before you finally realized why you’d been struggling. The cellar was covered in grass, grass and dirt as though you’d broken through the ground itself. That was when you looked around and found that you were far from home.

- You were in the middle of some trees; very different from your farm, with bushes and flowers all around you. A few feet away, a yellow brick road led you down towards fields of corn. Well, ...you were either dead or dreaming.

- With nothing else to do, you began to walk down the road.

- Soon enough, you were led straight to the Scarecrow and much like in Dorothys case, you were shocked to find that the Scarecrow was; for all intents and purposes, alive.

- After the initial shock and your successful efforts to help him down, you explained to him what had happened to you and asked if he knew the way back to your city. Turns out, he didn’t even know where or what it was.

- With a sigh, you thanked him “anyways” and began to try and choose which direction you should walk in. As you were thinking, he cane up beside you and hesitantly suggested that he could go with you ...“if you’d like”.

- Who were you to refuse? Soon enough, the two of you were arm in arm and making your way down the yellow brick road.

- And thus began your journey, traveling through the different gardens and towns of Oz, trying to find someone or something that could bring you home. Along the way, you realize that you quite like the Scarecrow, far more than you’d anticipated.

- And that got you thinking that, perhaps, being in Oz wasn’t so bad. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a tragedy if you couldn’t find a way home. Maybe you’d like to stay.

- So when you were finally confronted with the idea of going home and the ability to do so, ...you were hesitant to take the chance. You took a long look around the fantastical place you’d traveled through; your eyes landing on the scarecrow in front of you and his teary eyes, and in a moment of revelation, you shyly confessed that you’d like to stay.

- In an instant, you were swept up into a tight hug and met with a chorus of cheers. And as your heart began to race in response to the Scarecrows joyful embrace, you realized that you were in a bit of trouble.

- So you begin your life in Oz, finding yourself a new home and trying to get situated in the whimsical place. It helps that you aren’t alone; Scarecrow comes to visit often and stays for hours on end.

- The thing about Scarecrow is, you can tell when he has a crush on someone, even before he realizes that he does himself. Though, because you don’t know a lot about Oz and the emotional range of a sentient Scarecrow, you try not to assume anything when it comes to his behavior.

“You know Scarecrow, you don’t have to come and visit me everyday if you don’t want to.” You told him one day, choosing your words carefully as to not make it seem like you didn’t want his company.

“Oh, but I do want to!” He assured you quickly and you gave him a smile.

“But don’t you ever want to spend time on your own, or with someone else? I just don’t understand why you want to spend a perfectly good day doing something boring with me when you could be doing something interesting with someone else.

“Well... I just like you a whole lot. That’s all,” He said at first before he furrowed his brows in thought. Though his next words were directed towards you, they seemed to be said more to himself than anyone else. “I like you bunches.”

“Well, I like you too.” You replied which seemed to ease his mind for the time being.

- He asked you out on a date late one morning, not too long after the two of you had that conversation. You should have seen how nervous he was, clutching a handful of flowers and fumbling with his clothing as he knocked on your door.

- He told you that he knew he was just a Scarecrow but that he liked you a lot and would like to give your relationship a try “if that was alright with you”.

- A scarecrow falling in love with a girl was surely a preposterous idea, but not as preposterous as a girl falling in love with a scarecrow which is exactly what had happened to you. All you could tell the straw man was that you “would love to” as you beamed up at him.

- You had a picnic for your first date though it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. You had to try several different places before you found one that was perfect, but you choose to forget the giggling munchkins and violent mocking apple trees.

- You had your first real kiss about a week later. Before then, you’d kissed his cheek a few times but that was about it.

- The two of you were in the cornfields, you’d been teaching him “how to frighten things” when he finally managed to “scare away” his first crow. Both of you were laughing happily when he looked over at you, quickly leaning forward and pecking you on the lips.

- While the action shocked you, you couldn’t help but smile, leaning forward and giving him a soft kiss in return. In that moment, your feelings were solidified and you couldn’t deny that you truly were in love with each other.

- He’s a very; innocently, affectionate person so expect him to always be close and/or touching you.

- Lots of hugs. It’s hard not to hug him when he’s so squishy.

- Soft, gentle kisses.

- Handholding. He finds it fascinating, mainly because your hands are so warm and soft while his are just a pair of gloves stuffed with straw.

- Locking elbows.

- Cheek kisses.

- Kissing his nose. How can you refuse something so inviting?

- Pecks on the lips. Sometimes he just pulls this face that all but forces you to do so.

- While he does like nicknames, he’ll usually just call you by your normal name. When he does call you by a pet name, it’s usually something like darling, sweetheart, and occasionally birdie.

- The two of you cuddle with your head on his chest and his arms wrapped around you. He’s pretty much a walking pillow so it’s incredibly easy to snuggle with him.

- He likes being helpful so don’t hesitate to ask him when you need some assistance; though he’ll usually offer it up on his own accord.

- He’s willing to go along with pretty much anything you’d like to do. He doesn’t manage nothing and he doesn’t mind anything either; he just likes to be with you.

- Clumsy boy. Don’t trust him with anything delicate and be prepared to try and catch him if, or rather when, he falls.

- Helping to keep him steady. You’ll have to hold him up at times, usually by wrapping his arm around your waist or shoulders when you’re walking together.

- Getting songs sung to and about you.

- Believe me, he’s clever, even if he thinks he isn’t. He gets all bashful whenever you tell him so.

- Helping him make up his mind. He thinks you’re incredibly smart.

- Visiting the tin man and cowardly lion. They grow to be very good friends of yours.

- Can we all just agree that he has a pet crow. Can we please just make that a fact. I need that in my life.

- Helping him pick up and stuff himself full of his fallen straw.

- Making faces at each other.

- He never is able to scare you, even if he thinks he’d like to. He’s just too sweet and lovable to scare anyone, especially the person who loves him the most. You reassure him that he can be frightening when he wants to be; though it’s a lie.

- He loves hearing about your world. I mean, Scarecrow hardly even knows about Oz, let alone a place that doesn’t exist where he comes from.

- Compliments. He can’t help but tell you how well he thought you did or how wonderful you look in your dress.

- Well, you’ll always know where to find him: the cornfields. He’s always jumping and excitedly greeting you whenever you come to visit.

- He loves resting his head in your lap.

- Dancing with each other.

- Picnics.

- Making flower crowns.

- Taking walks together.

- He’s honestly the easiest boyfriend you’ll ever have. He doesn’t eat, he doesn’t sleep, and he’s never any trouble.

- He knows his way around Oz and it’s many interesting creatures so he’s always got a solution when you have a problem. He always shrugs it off and tells you not to mention it when you thank him.

- You aren’t exactly sure how he “works” and how he’s alive but you sure are glad that he is. He; in turn, is fascinated by your warmth, heartbeat and breathing; i.e. everything that shows that you’re alive.

- He’s always the first one to try and comfort you when you seem upset.

- He doesn’t really get jealous; he’s too sweet and kind. He might get a little grumpy and/or insecure but he doesn’t get angry; especially not with you. You can always tell that he’s “jealous” because he’ll linger at your side and get more touchy.

- He has a habit of speaking in your defense, even when there’s really no need. He just doesn’t want to see you get cheated out of anything.

- He’s not a very scary individual; much to his displeasure, but he isn’t afraid of anything besides a lighted match so he’s almost always willing to stand up for and protect you.

- He can get sorta spiteful every now and again; though not very often. Whenever he gets like this, he’ll try his best to give you the silent treatment. The thing is, he always winds up failing because he just can’t help but say something to you when you say something to him.

“Well, you know what!”

- He’s always fairly quick to apologize when he’s upset you or is otherwise in the wrong. He might not have a brain but he certainly isnt stupid and he’s able to recognize when he’s messed up. He can be very forgiving as well so don’t be afraid to try and apologize when you’ve messed up.

- Lots of sweet and chipper I love you’s.

- Living over the rainbow with a scarecrow that loves you to death. How could life get any better.

#the wizard of Oz imagine #the wizard of Oz headcanons #the wizard of Oz headcanon #the wizard of Oz imagines #1930s movie headcanons #1930s movie headcanon #1930s movie imagines #1930s movie imagine #scarecrow imagine #scarecrow headcanons #scarecrow headcanon #scarecrow imagines #the scarecrow headcanon #the scarecrow imagine #the scarecrow imagines #the scarecrow headcanons

85 notes · View notes

bookbomburisunderrated · 3 years ago

Text

“UUUGHHHHH why does everyone mischaracterize bombur as the helpless fat guy who is hopelessly obsessed with fooooooooooooooooooooood?

"Now we are all here!" said Gandalf, looking at the row of thirteen hoods-the best detachable party hoods-and his own hat hanging on the pegs. "Quite a merry gathering! I hope there is something left for the late-comers to eat and drink! What's that? Tea! No thank you! A little red wine, I think for me." "And for me," said Thorin. "And raspberry jam and apple-tart," said Bifur. "And mince-pies and cheese," said Bofur. "And pork-pie and salad," said Bombur.

- The Hobbit Ch 1

there is no undue obsession here

“Now for some music!" said Thorin. "Bring out the instruments!” Kili and Fili rushed for their bags and brought back little fiddles; Dori, Nori, and Ori brought out flutes from somewhere inside their coats; Bombur produced a drum from the hall; Bifur and Bofur went out too, and came back with clarinets that they had left among the walking-sticks. Dwalin and Balin said: "Excuse me, I left mine in the porch!" "Just bring mine in with you!" said Thorin. They came back with viols as big as themselves, and with Thorin's harp wrapped in a green cloth. It was a beautiful golden harp, and when Thorin struck it the music began all at once, so sudden and sweet that Bilbo forgot everything else, and was swept away into dark lands under strange moons, far over The Water and very far from his hobbit-hole under The Hill.

- The Hobbit Ch 1

my people, drums are heavy.

Thereupon the twelve dwarves-not Thorin, he was too important, and stayed talking to Gandalf-jumped to their feet, and made tall piles of all the things. Off they went, not waiting for trays, balancing columns of plates, each with a bottle on the top, with one hand, while the hobbit ran after them almost squeaking with fright: "please be careful!" and "please, don't trouble! I can manage." But the dwarves only started to sing:

- Ch 1

see, Bombur working with the others-he pulls his weight. Thorin is being lazy here.

Just when a wizard would have been most useful, too," groaned Dori and Nori (who shared the hobbit's views about regular meals, plenty and often).

- Ch 1

(Notice a distinct lack of Bombur’s mention, here!)

With sacks in their hands, that they used for carrying off mutton and other plunder, they waited in the shadows. As each dwarf came up and looked at the fire, and the spilled jugs, and the gnawed mutton, in surprise, pop! went a nasty smelly sack over his head, and he was down. Soon Dwalin lay by Balin, and Fili and Kili together, and Dori and Nori and Ori all in a heap, and Oin and Gloin and Bifur and Bofur and Bombur piled uncomfortably near the fire. "That'll teach 'em," said Tom; for Bifur and Bombur had given a lot of trouble, and fought like mad, as dwarves will when cornered.

Ch 2

Oh! Why look there. Bombur actually, along with Bifur, was teh best fighter? Do tell!

Still goblins go faster than dwarves, and these goblins knew the way better (they had made the paths themselves), and were madly angry; so that do what they could the dwarves heard the cries and howls getting closer and closer. Soon they could hear even the flap of the goblin feet, many many feet which seemed only just round the last corner. The blink of red torches could be seen behind them in the tunnel they were following; and they were getting deadly tired. "Why, O why did I ever leave my hobbit-hole!" said poor Mr. Baggins bumping up and down on Bombur's back. "Why, O why did I ever bring a wretched little hobbit on a treasure hunt!" said poor Bombur, who was fat, and staggered along with the sweat dripping down his nose in his heat and terror.

- Ch 4

Don’t let Bombur’s exhaustion distract you, Bombur is actually being entrusted with doing the carrying (notice he doesn’t shirk in carrying Bilbo or go on a full blown rant of resenting Bilbo needing him.) They are ALL deadly tired! THEY!

“They found them as quick as ever they could, you can guess; and up they went as high as ever they could trust the branches. You would have laughed (from a safe distance), if you had seen the dwarves sitting up in the trees with their beards dangling down, like old gentlemen gone cracked and playing at being boys. Fili and Kili were at the top of a tall larch like an enormous Christmas tree. Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, and Gloin were more comfortable in a huge pine with regular branches sticking out at intervals like the spokes of a wheel. Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and Thorin were in another.” - Ch 6

Bombur has no trouble climbing a tree.

“ In came Bifur and Bofur. "And me!" gasped Bombur puffing up behind.”

- Ch 7 Keep in mind that it’s a five minute speed walk between beorn and the dwarve’s waiting spot.

It was only too true. Bombur had only one foot on the land when the hart bore down on him, and sprang over him. He had stumbled, thrusting the boat away from the bank, and then toppled back into the dark water, his hands slipping off the slimy roots at the edge, while the boat span slowly off and disappeared.

- Ch 8

As you can see, contrary to PJ’s depiction this is not Bombur’s remotest fault, it’s a Deer Ex Machina.

Also, Bombur is clearly fighting the current and the enchantment.

“They could still see his hood above the water when they ran to the bank. Quickly, they flung a rope with a hook towards him. His hand caught it, and they pulled him to the shore. He was drenched from hair to boots, of course, but that was not the worst. When they laid him on the bank he was already fast asleep, with one hand clutching the rope so tight that they could not get it from his grasp; and fast asleep he remained in spite of all they could do.”

- Ch 8

No matter what any one tells you, Tolkien is being crystal clear here. The fall was the result of a deer ex machina and Bombur did everything he could.

AND THE POINT OF WHAT HAPPENED AFTERWARDS WAS THAT BOMBUR WAS TREATED LIKE FRACKING GARBAGE

He woke up suddenly and sat up scratching his head. He could not make out where he was at all, nor why he felt so hungry; (hasn’t eaten in a weak, may explain all of the intense distress) for he had forgotten everything that had happened since they started their journey that May morning long ago. The last thing that he remembered was the party at the hobbit's house, and they had great difficulty in making him believe their tale of all the many adventures they had had since. When he heard that there was nothing to eat, he sat down and wept, for he felt very weak and wobbly in the legs. (hasn’t had anything to eat for a week) "Why ever did I wake up!" he cried. "I was having such beautiful dreams. I dreamed I was walking in a forest rather like this one, only lit with torches on the trees and lamps swinging from the branches and fires burning on the ground; and there was a great feast going on, going on for ever. A woodland king was there with a crown of leaves, and there was a merry singing, and I could not count or describe the things there were to eat and drink." "You need not try," said Thorin. "In fact if you can't talk about something else, you had better be silent. We are quite annoyed enough with you as it is. If you hadn't waked up, we should have left you to your idiotic dreams in the forest; you are no joke to carry even after weeks of short commons."

This they did all that day, going very slowly and wearily; while Bombur kept on wailing that his legs would not carry him (we have no good reason not to believe him) and that he wanted to lie down and sleep. (poor chap) "No you don't!" they said. "Let your legs take their share, we have carried you far enough." A) What the **** B) What the **** C) What the **** D) Bombur is not the bad guy here don’t try and make them out to be l All the same he suddenly refused to go a step further and flung himself on the ground. "Go on, if you must," he said. "I'm just going to lie here and sleep and dream of food, if I can't get it any other way. I hope I never wake up again."

AND THEY NEVER SAID THEY WERE SORRY!

#bombur #the hobbit #jrr tolkien #misblamed #listen

11 notes · View notes

misterparadigm · 3 years ago

Text

A Critique of Albert Camus’s “The Myth of Sisyphus”

The following is a brief critical breakdown of Albert Camus's highly influential essay. In it, I explore Camus's implicit meanings as I find them, and question the validity of his conclusions about the nature of suffering and man's capacity for contending with it by will alone.

--------------------------------

In philosophy, absurdity is defined as the conflict between the tendency to seek meaning in life and the inability to find such meaning with any logical certainty. The question of meaning has been at the heart of many philosophical explorations and treatises. The second half of the 20th century and beyond saw a spread in the acceptance of the notion of life’s meaninglessness, though no definitive and satisfactory cure for the ennui and nihilism that often follows has been laid out.

Perhaps most famous and cherished is Albert Camus’s essay exploring the Myth of Sisyphus and his ultimate declaration therein that, “One must imagine Sisyphus happy.” In this essay, Camus thinks over the myth in brief and lays out an interpretation of it which centers Sisyphus’s acknowledgment of his predicament, acceptance, and most importantly his personal resolve and will to view his burden as something which gives his life meaning. We must imagine Sisyphus finding contentment in his futile labor—an act of will which scorns the gods and denies their effort to break the spirit of Sisyphus with the assertion that a life of eternally futile labor is something torturous. Camus efforts—a bit belabored, in my opinion—to make a modern hero of the one who belittles the gods and their cruel, arrogant, resentful judgments. In Camus’s view, these gods have earned no respect in their dealings with mortals. For Camus, a humanist who would sooner dive headlong into oblivion than seek out a god whom he despises, it is a noble and purposeful pursuit to deny any such god the pleasure of punishing the creature which he created to despise him to begin with—a creature forced to live out a scenario of absurdity concocted by that very god. Camus refuses to respond with devastation, but resolves to make such existence its own purpose. He asks us to grasp our free will, own it, and wield it against any force which seeks to turn the man against himself.

But is this assessment and subsequent assertion valid? A number of factors are at play here which Camus seems not to acknowledge. First, we have to acknowledge context. Sisyphus is dealing with a particular set of gods, so his situation is unique to that scenario. Camus seems to imply that this situation can be applied to the modern man and his relationship to whichever god he believes in. This isn’t apparent, and if one is to assert that it is, one must first take as a given that life is absurd, or else the resentment toward the god who created it isn’t validated. On the other hand, if life is not absurd and is in fact meaningful and purposeful, one must contend with the notion that the god who created it is of some authority on the matter of how best to embody such meaning and purpose. To Camus’s credit, we are given no empirical evidence or common enough experience to adequately, categorically state the purposefulness of existence. What we are offered, rather, is a quiet firmament and a divine hand so subtle that one can barely propose to experience its activity—rarely with any convincing force, despite fervent conviction, and perhaps even considered malevolent rather than benevolent. The suffering of life, after all, makes it easy to resent our very being. Life is discomfort, pain, confusion, and death in greater measure than pleasure and joy. Pleasure and joy, even, seem starkly restricted as vices of desire in the eyes of “modern” gods, so much that to see the beauty of life is to do so in spite of life itself rather than to acknowledge that beauty’s apparentness as we would life’s suffering. Even so, the challenge of life may not then be to grasp one’s own will and deny God, but rather, as Hamlet mused, to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. To take accountability for one’s will and wield it, much as Camus suggests, as a weapon—not against God, but rather against the apparent evils of existence, of which we would know nothing were it not for eating from the proverbial Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

Often, we get caught up in the idea that God created the circumstances in which we exist, and created us to exist within those circumstances. By this musing along we may justify a resentment toward such a god and claim absurdity and cruelty. It’s quite easy to do so. However, we rarely seem to consider that, according to the myth, we were created in a more desirable scenario. Even so, we were created with free will and given direction on what to do and what not to do in order to avoid less desirable circumstances. Our free will standing, we acted in what would seem to be an inevitable manner. We were tempted to know what God knows about existence, and so we consumed the apple and opened our minds to the knowledge of good and evil. In doing so, we betrayed the trust of God and refused his advice, thus we became fully conscious and, consequently, fully accountable for our actions. With the knowledge of good and evil, a being with free will bears a responsibility to act according to the good rather than the evil. This early awakening left us naive—scarcely prepared to contend with the greater evils of the universe—and we’ve been mired in it ever since, rarely even able to see clearly what constitutes good and what constitutes evil. The complexity of such a task of judgment is said to be the court of God, and we are not to engage in such things, but we are yet left with no one but ourselves to hold each other accountable—and so how can we not judge? There is much that goes into this, but it’s a digression of the topic at hand, which is the validity of Camus’s assessment of the transferable lesson of Sisyphus’s fate.

The second factor is the presumption that Sisyphus could have the stamina to will joy out of his futile labor for eternity. It is difficult to imagine how his psychology might evolve over an endless span of time. Is it even reasonable to imagine that he might settle on a particular view of his predicament? How could it be that his view would last forever? It seems more likely that his mind might unravel after so long a labor at a single task, and that he would dissolve into his routine—that he would devolve into a machine. Such a task, it seems to me, is tailored to disintegrate the spirit of a man so that there is nothing left but the laboring organic robot, dead of his animus and dull of mind. His programming, which once explored myriad tasks and evolved in spirit accordingly, is now relegated to the track of a single interminable function, and so his mechanism devolves into only what is necessary for the eternal task. The animating spirit of a free consciousness is defined by that freedom. It is defined by the mind’s ability to explore and learn and adapt and grow. It fills the space in which it inhabits. If that space shrinks, the mind’s environment for operation shrinks. If that space takes a limited form, so does the mind. Sisyphus’s mind, I’d wager, would eventually mold to the well-worn form of his task and atrophy at all other ports of knowledge and behavior. The spirit dies without freedom. It dissolves into oblivion, a gaseous ghost seeping out in small whispers over time, until nothing remains but the solitary circuit. This is, after all, the argument so often levied against the dreadful monotony of a labor economy. One pictures the old cog-in-the-machine imagery—the grey man marching alongside his grey coworkers, seemingly oblivious to his living death. It seems to me that Camus puts an unreasonable and inexecutable responsibility on the creature of Sisyphus: to be the sole perpetuator of his own universe of knowledge, both known and unknown, so that he may propagate the only environment in which he might stave off his spiritual dissipation. This was the environment of free consciousness, which has been robbed of him. This is the plight of the prisoner; the longer a prisoner remains imprisoned, the less likely they are to thrive under freer circumstances. Their mind has adapted to a particular system, environment, and routine. And so it seems naive of Camus to imagine Sisyphus happy.

Camus focuses on the time in which Sisyphus is “going back down with a heavy yet measured step toward the torment of which he will never know the end.” This is the time in which Sisyphus is left truly alone with his thoughts, which can only ever turn to his task, that task being the only thing left of his life and the thing which will occupy his eternity. It is here that the measure of his character—his will and resolve—is on perfect display. “That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering, that is the hour of consciousness. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate.” Camus suggests that, “if this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him?” The tragedy is that Sisyphus has no opportunity for delusion. He cannot pretend that there is hope of breaking this cycle. He knows that this fate is eternal, and that for every moment to follow, across all space and time, he will only ever be among the moments confined to this task—isolated in his rut. His only hope, I would say, is that over time he might lose this consciousness. In a situation like this, eternal life is an intolerable cruelty, though Camus would claim he has the will to defy the cruelty by reframing it. This Camusian grace seems an illusion to me right on the face of it, and his solution boils down to ignoring the inexorable fact of the situation: there is nothing but the task, and no perfectly repeated task can be infinitely engaging or contenting to the actively conscious mind. The implied grace finds its source in acceptance of the fate, and through acceptance one can neutralize the misery—or so Camus suggests. But again, it does little to truly contend with the eternal element. Camus’s assertion that it is possible to willfully accept such a fate and maintain that flat acceptance for not just an inconceivably long time, but for the most inconceivable length of time, seems itself absurd. Perhaps it is even the very definition of absurd. Camus asks that an actively conscious being spend his infinite life mitigating his misery by perpetually accepting it as the mere fact and state of his existence. He is asking a man who has experienced and loved life (multiple times) so much that he incapacitated Death to simply step back and view his perfectly measured misery as a neutral state of being, and to do this forever, infinitely, perpetually. How absurd is such a demand? He is asking that Sisyphus seek contentment where there is no logical contentment to be sought.

If absurdity is seeking meaning where there appears to be none, then certainly seeking contentment where there appears to be none is itself absurd. The assertion, then, is that we can somehow manifest our own contentment through will, which is, in a way, no different than trying to manifest meaning through will. It’s the act of mitigating circumstances through the illusory impetus of pure will. One may be able to bear the illusion for a measured time, but over the course of an eternity the will gives way to circumstance because the circumstance, in the case, is the immutable factor. A free consciousness, however, is defined by its dynamic existence. But if that existence no longer inhabits a dynamic environment, whatever meaning or purpose it may have had is, as a matter of logic, eradicated by the static and immutable nature of the circumstance.

It is merely a matter of logic, which the free consciousness will have determined in short order, and so the emotions cycle in whatever manner they may until the consciousness is dulled by its monotonous task. Sisyphus’s fate, I assert, is the dissipation of his free consciousness over time, until this man who loved his living freedom so much has his mind reduced to a dim, singular function. His punishment is the indignity of the gradual decline in free will until there is no being left, and he is but a moving sculpture signifying the fate of one who refuses Death. His punishment is the denial of rebirth, for he has refused the necessary mechanism which gives rise to it.

#philosophy #albert camus #camus #myth of sisyphus #existentialism #nihilism #meaning #consciousness #greek mythology #critique #critical reading #critical writing #essay

13 notes · View notes

def-initely-soul · 4 years ago

Note

Can I get the "we team up for the couples contest every year as friends but this year you’re with someone else and i’m definitely Not Jealous and definitely Not Realising Feelings" prompt with taeyong? I'm asking it to be cute cause I know if I ask for sexual tension you're gonna write a novel 😂😂😂😂 so could you make it fluffy and light? :3

AHAHAHAHHAAHAHAH I-

*ignoring your jab at my inability to write anything small xD*

ofc i’ll make it fluffy and light!

pairing: taeyong from nct x reader (f.)

prompts: we team up for the couples contest every year as friends but this year you’re with someone else and i’m definitely Not Jealous and definitely Not Realising Feelings

genre: fluff; angst; f2l; PG-13

warnings: mature language

words: 1.8k

“So how you holdin’ up?” Johnny asks you and you resist to throw your drink at him.

You’re getting honestly tired of having people ask you that. It’s the sixth time someone did! For heaven’s sake, you’re fine!

You chuckle. “I’m fine, Johnny, why wouldn’t I be?” you respond, casually taking a sip of your apple cider as you walk down the food stalls, the scents of cinnamon and pumpkin filling your nostrils.

Your town has a Halloween fair every year to celebrate the holiday, days before it’s even Halloween. It’s a great opportunity to go out during this month, as families find some time for some quality time bonding and couples walk around to bask in the crisp autumn wind. There are food stalls everywhere, having some of the most delicious treats for the holiday, a haunted house at the end of the food stalls for anyone daring and a corn maze as well. As for those more willing to take a step back and use this opportunity to relax, there is a carousel, faded and dark to fit the mood, a fortune teller’s stall, as well as a ghost train ride.

Honestly, it’s not much compared to other funfairs but you enjoy whatever you can get. Every year you and your friends come here to walk through the corn maze, to board on the ghost train ride, to eat until you’re full. And also to join the couple’s costume contest with your best friend Taeyong. You’re not a couple, not even close but you both had such magnificent ideas for couple's costumes that you decided to give it a try. And it became something like a shtick. You and Taeyong being known among your friends as the ones that joined the couple’s contest together and enduring merciless teasing at that. Even if you said numerous times there’s nothing going on between you.

But this year Taeyong decided to join with someone else. A girl from his work named Dara.

You scoff. You didn’t even know her before he announced he was gonna join with her this year. And it was completely out of the blue too! He never hinted he was interested in someone, let alone tell you might want to stop dressing up with you.

Johnny cocks an unimpressed eyebrow. “Really? Then why are you clenching at your cup like a witch draining her victim?”

Your eyes widen as they immediately fly at your hand to confirm this; only to realize Johnny is lying.

He’s smirking at you as if catching you on the act. “Made you look…” he teases and you roll your eyes, refusing to answer him.

“I don’t get it though, why won’t you admit that you’re-”

“What?” you interrupt him with a stiff voice, “Jealous? It’s because I’m not!” is your zealous reply though Johnny’s features are drawn in, in a mask of suspiciousness.

“I would’ve said mad…” he admits and once again you freeze, realizing you’ve dug your own grave.

“But now that you’ve mentioned it… Are you jealous?” he looks at you curiously, not an ounce of teasing colouring his voice and you purse your lips together in a stubborn attempt to not give him an answer.

You desperately want to say you’re not. You can’t be. Taeyong is your best friend and who he decides to involve himself with is none of your business. You want to say those spiteful feelings inside of you are simply because he ditched you. You really do.

But somehow the words won’t come out your mouth. Somehow you can’t find it in your self to speak them into existence, instead resting heavily on your tongue and burning you.

“I-... No! Of course not…” you manage to say instead, swallowing the lump in your throat with great difficulty as you result in looking anywhere else but Johnny.

But your actions, unfortunately, lead your eyes to a much more unwanted sight. Towards the end of the stalls, near the haunted house, your eyes rest on a particular couple dressed as dead Bonnie and Clyde that talk enthusiastically, the girl’s hand resting on the guy’s shoulder.

Your chest constricts painfully, sucking in a breath as you bite roughly at your bottom lip to stop the sound that was about to leave your mouth. Your hands instinctively move upwards to hug yourself, partly telling yourself it’s because of the cold but partly knowing the actual truth.

You actually have feelings for your best friend. And it sucks to see him with someone else, doing a thing you used to do together, only they do it as a fucking actual couple.

Fuck, it seems to hurt more now that you’ve admitted it to yourself.

Your eyes sting as you struggle to not let your face fall and reveal your current state but your eyes don’t move from Dara and Taeyong, not even when Dara leans in to whisper something close to his ear with a deadly smirk. Not even when a few seconds later, Taeyong turns around to look straight at you with wide eyes.

Shit.

You turn around immediately, knowing you won’t be able to keep the tears at bay and you spew a ridiculous excuse to Johnny before storming off. Wanting to go as far away as possible. To just disappear.

A few minutes later and you’ve hidden inside the corn maze, too late for anyone to attempt to enter it, much less the one person you’d actually want to.

Taeyong is ridiculously afraid of corn mazes, not much like you. You adore them, finding your way out of one being both thrilling and challenging for you and you’ve never had been lost in one. That’s why the only time Taeyong ever went inside one was with you.

You sniffle at the memory, wiping your tears away and try as hard as you can to not shed another. You refuse to cry anymore over something that can’t change even if it hurts like hell.

And it does. It fucking does.

But purely will isn’t enough to help you stop the tears.

You hear a shuffling coming from somewhere in the distance, signalling someone entered the maze but you pay them no attention. You only hope that in the case they see you, they will be discreet about it and leave you to your misery.

You can’t handle being around people for the time being.

“Y/N? Are you here?” the shuffling is now accompanied by a voice, a voice you know too well and you panic realizing it’s much closer now.

You hurry to get up, brushing the dirt off your bride of Frankenstein costume before walking with a fast pace deeper into the maze.

Why the fuck is Taeyong here?! And more importantly why in the world did he think going into a maze would be a good idea? He’ll get lost!

Taeyong’s eyes catch you slipping away and at once he runs after you. “Y/N, wait! I need to talk to you!” he calls after you, following you and you curse at his stubbornness.

You refuse to answer him as you run deeper into the maze, hoping he’ll get the hint and leave you alone. You don’t want to face him right now, not when he probably wants to call you out on your little staring earlier or tell you how he got together with Dara.

You try to pat your face dry as you rush away, hoping you didn’t mess your makeup much. After all, you’ll need to get out at some point, let’s at least save as much dignity as possible.

“Y/N, can you just wait!” Taeyong yells exasperatedly, before murmuring to himself “great, I had to get lost as well…”. You can almost hear the pout in his voice and a giggle escapes you.

At once Taeyong snaps his head towards the sound before rushing towards you again. You curse yourself before moving again, refusing to get out of the maze cause at least this way it won’t be easy for him to find you.

“Y/N, please wait, I have to tell you something important!” you hear him say and your heart almost stops. You were right, he wants to tell you he finally got together with Dara. Oh, god, you’re gonna cry again, shit.

You pick up the pace, running once again away from him and you hear him curse in exasperation before-.

“I LIKE YOU!” the declaration fills the empty air and it takes you a second to realise Taeyong was the one speaking. But when you do, your feet stop. They get stuck to the earth beneath you as if you’ve stepped on glue and you can’t move to save your life. Your heart beats erratically, almost out of your chest as you struggle to comprehend what he just said.

“I-... I like you and I only went out with Dara cause I’d thought it’d make you jealous enough to admit you like me too and spur you into action. But it seemed to have the opposite effect…” he reveals with a wary voice, as he sighs, tired.

You stay alert, for everything he says as you struggle to understand. So he’s not with Dara? This was all a ruse?

And most importantly, he likes you?

“I know, it was pretty stupid of me and I’ll understand if you want to stay mad at me and refuse to talk, but please can we just get out? I’ll like to look at you while I’m talking to you and, besides, you know I’ll be probably stuck here if left alone…” he jokes lightly, uncertainty in his voice.

You take a breath and your chest fills and blooms with lightness. The heartbreak from before disappears and gives its space to a wonderful feeling of lightness and hope.

You turn around to find your way to him.

After a few seconds, Taeyong sees you coming up behind a corner and he exhales in relief. Before he sees your intense stare and your firm, decisive stride as you practically march towards him and now he fears for his life.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to tell you like that, please don’t-” he pleads quickly but is soon halted by your hands grabbing at his collar and your lips on top of his.

You take him by surprise as he makes a startling noise, but then as he finally realizes the predicament he’s in, he’s quick to drive his hands on your waist as he reciprocates.

It’s a soft kiss, tender as if enveloping you in his warmth and you bask in the comfort and elation that appear with his lips. You sigh in content as you press closer and his palm cradles your cheek lovingly, his thumb running over the apple of your cheek.

You stop kissing to catch your breath, staring at each other breathlessly with the widest smiles you’ve ever seen on each other.

Because this feels right. It feels like home.

#kwritersworldnet #taeyong #nct #taeyong nct #taeyong fanfic #nct fanfic #taeyong scenario #nct scenario #taeyong fluff #nct fluff #taeyong angst #nct angst #taeyong halloween #nct halloween #halloween #halloween themed #halloween requests

89 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years ago

Text

Rise

Merlin prompt for you, you mystical purple dragon! I am absolutely obsessed w/your vulnerable Arthur fic 'Collapse': Arthur has been going through a particularly bad spell of symptoms with his heart when there's word of enemy mercenaries camping in Camelot's forests. He wants to go with the knights to fight them off, and Merlin pleads with him not to.

Thanks nonny for the prompt!

Read on Ao3 Part 1: Collapse

Pairings: Merthur can be platonic or romantic you decide

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3479

The first time Arthur collapses in the middle of the training ground Merlin’s heart leaps into his throat. He barely hears the roar of the other knights over the rush of blood in his ears as he scans the field, looking for something, anything, and rushing to Arthur’s side.

In other words: Arthur has a heart defect that none of them knew about. He and the rest of Camelot have to learn how to deal with it.

That’s the last big blowout they have for a while. Arthur gets up after a few moments, stretching a little awkwardly and wrapping his arms around Merlin’s waist when he overbalances. Merlin coaxes him gently into his chair and fetches another quill, settling it in his hand and seeping the remnants away.

“No,” Arthur says when Merlin goes to throw them out, “keep them.”

Merlin pauses, his hand already outstretch to throw it away. “Are you sure?”

“I want to keep them.”

“…alright. Where should I—“ Arthur holds his hand out— “okay.”

Merlin doesn’t ask any more questions, just gets back to his chores. Pick up the laundry basket, tuck the sheets into the corner of the bed that always seem to come untucked first. Pull back the curtains, tie them tight. Check Arthur’s armor for repairs, not that there’s been as much need for that lately. Tuck the sheet in at the corner again. Dip outside to carry the basket to the laundresses. Come back with lunch. Sit Arthur down and have him eat.

“Sit with me,” Arthur says softly, catching hold of Merlin’s sleeve.

“I have to go get the—“

“Please?”

“You’re shamelessly taking advantage of the fact that I can’t say no to you when you say ‘please,’ aren’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Merlin sighs as he sits, watching as Arthur immediately digs into his own food with a gusto he hasn’t seen since…well.

“What,” Arthur asks, his mouth half-full, when he glances up and catches Merlin smiling at him, “is there something on my face?”

“…I haven’t seen you happy like that in a while.” He reaches out to pat Arthur’s collar back into place. “It makes me happy.”

Before, Arthur would scoff and turn back to his food, or if he were extremely happy, he’s toss something playfully at Merlin and say if he did his job better, he’d see Arthur like this more of the time.

Instead, Arthur just smiles softly and the food turns bittersweet in his mouth. After a moment, he picks up a goblet of pear juice and slides it over to Merlin.

“Here, you should eat too.”

“I’m not that—“ the protest dies on his tongue as Arthur gives him a look— “well don’t hog all the sausages.”

“Oh, going back to stealing my sausages, are we?”

“It’s not stealing if they’re going to a more worthy cause.”

“Putting aside the fact that you are skinny enough to be blown over by a draft of wind—“

“Oi!”

“—that’s not how stealing works.”

“How would you know?”

“The hours I just spent drafting laws and reading the resolutions say that’s how I know.”

“Prat.”

“Idiot.”

“Pass the apples?”

“Green or red?”

“Red.”

“Good. Green’s my favorite.”

“I know.”

It’s not easy but it’s getting better.

The knights, even though they still train as hard as they ever did, have altered their own routines in a way even Merlin disbelieves sometimes. Here’s the thing; Merlin knows the Knights of the Round Table. He knows they would die for their king in an instant and their loyalty rivals even that of Merlin’s sometimes.

He just didn’t realize they were as willing to live for Arthur as they were to die for him.

Out of all of them, Gwaine’s change is the most significant. He barges into Arthur’s chambers with a disrespect that almost shoulders Merlin’s insubordination out of the way. Gwaine waltzes in, plants a tankard of mead on the table, and props his dirty boots not he polished wood like it isn’t Merlin’s job to clean it.

“No, no,” Merlin sighs when Gwaine tracks mud all the way in, “please, ruin eight hours of work in two seconds, be my guest.”

“Thanks, Merlin,” Gwaine says with a wink.

“What is it this time, you forget something?”

“Oh no, I’ve just got some questions for the man that thinks it’s a good idea to not give the men a day off for the rest of the week.”

“You’ve just had two days off,” Arthur says with a sigh, rubbing his forehead, “and I’m also fairly certain you were groaning about having too much time off two days ago.”

Gwaine shrugs. “Well, I’ve reconsidered.”

Merlin rolls his eyes as Arthur starts bickering with Gwaine. Of course, he knows why Gwaine’s doing this.

Gwaine and Arthur have never seen eye to eye on a lot, but that sure as hell doesn’t mean the two men aren’t fiercely loyal to each other. Arthur is the first noble in a long time to earn Gwaine’s respect, and Gwaine is the first man who has absolutely refused to be anything but honest with Arthur. It’s refreshing for the both of them,

“If you can explain why you’ve been going through shirts like Percival goes through sleeves—“

“You try squeezing that man into chainmail without a bucket of lard!”

“Where did you even get a bucket of lard?”

“Wait,” Merlin interrupts, staring hard at Gwaine, “is this why the kitchen’s food has been—“

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Did you seriously—“

“You’ve got no proof.”

“You just said—“

“I said no such thing.”

“Will you even—“

“Let you finish?” Gwaine grins broadly and takes a huge bite of an apple. “Absolutely not.”

“You’re a menace,” Arthur sighs, chucking another apple into Gwaine’s open hand, “and the kitchens should ban you from the halls.”

“Oh, you know he and Percival will just be in the vent with a hook on the end of a string.”

“Wait, that was you?”

Percival isn’t as brash as Gwaine, nor is he as openly talkative as the rest of the knights. Instead, he starts picking up shifts as Arthur’s guards outside his door. Merlin gets a chance to see him more often as he’s no longer training with the knights, and Percival is always close by if Arthur needs to talk to one of his knights directly. Originally, there was some push back from one of the stewards who said that it was, er, ‘unbecoming’ of a knight to ‘demote’ himself to guard duty.

That didn’t last long.

Come on, it’s Percival. The man’s a horse-and-a-half by himself.

Arthur won’t say it out loud, but Merlin can see by the way his shoulders relax when they hear Percival outside that he’s happier when Percival is close. It’s hard not to feel safe around Percival, really, it is. Not only is the man easily twice the size of most would-be attackers, but he’s steadfast in a way that few men are. He’s never shy about offering his own insights when he feels they’re overlooking something important, but he chooses his words carefully. Most men of Arthur’s will say what they mean, Percival means what he says. There’s a difference there—not a big one, but a difference.

“Sire,” Percival says as Arthur calls him in, “Merlin.”

“Hello, Percival.”

“Ah! Percival! Just in time.” Arthur stands up from his desk. “How is the report coming?”

“Very well.” Percival sits down, all creaking chainmail and armor, on the chair nearest the door. “I’ll have it into you by next week.”

“Have you spoken to the other guards?”

“I have. You were correct.”

Arthur nods, looking down at the desk and furrowing his brow. “The new regimen should be about ready to go by then…of course you will look it over before it is implemented.”

“Of course, sire.”

“Well,” Arthur says, clapping his hands, “you must at least join us for a drink.”

“I am still on—“

“There is no one better to keep me safe while I am having a drink,” Arthur interrupts softly as he starts to pour, “than Merlin and one of my most trusted knights.”

And if Percival starts to go a bit red from the drink a little faster than normal, well, no one’s about to say anything.

Lancelot offers counsel as often as he can. Merlin’s never one to turn away one of the knights at the door, nor is Arthur one to ignore the trusted word of his inner circle. Lancelot is by far the most…unchanged by the adaptation. He still addresses Arthur with the same tone as he did before, as though they’re all pretending that Arthur is taking an extended leave of absence. It’s nice, the stability of normality that keeps them all a little saner.

“And what of the people,” Arthur asks when Lancelot finishes giving an overview of the patrols that week, “do they seem…discontent? Upset?”

“On the contrary, Sire.” Lancelot shifts in his seat. “Ever since you have taken power and drawn back the guards, the people are happier. They walk about the streets with less fear, they trust the guards’ presence more in their space.”

“Good. And the provisions?”

“Those who could not sustain themselves before have an easier time cultivating a crop. With the assurance that the citadel will not leave them to die, they have time to ensure their own success.”

Arthur nods. “And we have had no issues with people taking offense to the offers of help?”

“None whatsoever.” Lancelot bows his head. “If I may, sire, this is the most prosperous I have seen this kingdom in all the years I have been here.”

“We are our people’s servants as much as they are ours,” Arthur says with a decisive nod, “we fail our duty if we do not support them.”

“Wiser words never spoken.”

Merlin’s doing his own little internal victory dance in the corner. The thought of Uther’s rage-filled face seeing his son meticulously undo everything he’s strived so hard to accomplish is enough to make him grin out of pure spite. And a good helping of pride.

“What’re you grinning about over there,” Arthur says suddenly, “you win a wager?”

“As a matter of fact—“

“No, no,” Arthur says quickly, “don’t tell me. I’m not getting swooped up in Gwaine’s mess again.”

Lancelot rolls his eyes. “I’m still finding hay in my chain mail.”

“Me too.” Arthur shoots a glance at Merlin. “You’d think it’d be better cleaned.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “If you think you could do better, then by all means.”

Lancelot hides his snort in his goblet.

When Arthur is allowed to go outside—with Merlin by his right, of course, and at least one of the guards a few paces behind just to run for Gaius if need be—he typically goes down to visit Gwen and Elyan in their father’s forge. Since the…change, Elyan asked permission to take a more active role in the blacksmithing aspect of their family. Morgana, as was to be expected, allowed Gwen to work at the forge with a smile and a favor: Morgana’s armor, sat unused since Uther forbade her training, was to be repaired and ready for her to use.

There were no objections, not that any would’ve lasted long.

Elyan meets them at the door of the forge, smiling and wiping sweat off his brow. “Good to see you two, glad you could make it.”

“Always happy to come see you,” Arthur says, clapping him on the shoulder, “by all means, show us what you have today.”

“Just small improvements, Gwen’s got the big things.” Elyan takes them through to the storage area, where the heat from the forge doesn’t threaten to sear their eyebrows off. Merlin’s learned his lesson. “Adjusted breastplates for the archers, different gauntlets for Percival, and a leather tunic designed to increase insulation for the colder months.”

“And you say you haven’t done anything.”

“Oh, just you wait until Gwen’s done.”

Sure enough, Gwen emerges a moment later, tired and sweaty from her time near the open fire, but a triumphant grin on her face. She waves when she sees Arthur and Merlin. “It’s done!”

Merlin’s eyes widen. “Morgana’s armor?”

“Well, it’s got to wait a little bit until she can actually try it,” Gwen huffs, setting her tools aside, “but yes. That should be the last big step.”

Merlin rushes forward to seize her in a hug. Elyan just chuckles. “That’s our Gwen.”

Arthur nods. “That’s our Gwen.”

“Alright, alright,” Gwen mumbles, “enough. You’re all worse than Morgana.”

“Oh, no, she’s going to do much more than we are.”

“I know, I know.” Gwen’s hands fidget a little. “…I know.”

“Alright,” Elyan says quickly, what else did you need to see?”

“Right.”

Then there’s Leon.

Merlin can’t really do much but watch those two, when they walk through the halls together, when they sit at Arthur’s desk and talk, when they stride in council meetings with Leon at Arthur’s left. They’ve known each other since, well, since Arthur was a boy.

There are secrets between them, secrets Merlin would never dare ask of them, that pulls them together in a way that no one else could ever hope to understand. And that paints everything they do now in a fine shade of gray.

Merlin can see the way Leon looks at Arthur. It’s the way he’s seen Gaius look at him sometimes when he thinks Merlin isn’t paying attention, or the way he remembers his mother looking at him. He can see the way Arthur looks at Leon, the way Merlin looks at Gaius or Gwen.

He sees the clever way Leon is always right next to Arthur whenever any of the lords come to visit, ready with a hand hidden beneath the cloak or a quick word when Arthur needs a moment.

Leon is the only person aside from Morgana that Merlin trusts enough to leave in Arthur’s chambers, alone.

Speaking of which, there’s probably a reason Uther never let Arthur, Leon, and Morgana be alone in the same room, other than his arrogance and dismissal of Morgana as a woman.

Between Morgana’s sharp wit and diplomatic skill, Arthur’s stubbornness and determination, and Leon’s knowledge of exactly how to make the court do what they want, it’s only a matter of time before cruel laws are being overturned and the people are happier than they’ve ever been under Uther.

Camelot prospers under Arthur’s rule, not because of his proficiency with a blade, but his duty to his people.

That doesn’t mean it’s not without struggles.

When the first patrol goes out around the border, Arthur’s heading for the armor cabinet before Merlin can stop him. He opens it and starts pulling on his tunic, only to look around and realize Merlin’s not there.

“Well? Help me get it on.”

“You’re not going, Arthur,” Merlin says softly.

“What? Of course I am, it’s the border trip.”

“I know what it is,” Merlin says, walking a little closer, “and you’re not going.”

“Give me one reason why you think I shouldn’t go!”

As a response, Merlin simply nods toward Arthur’s hand on the cabinet door. Sure enough, as soon as Arthur looks, they can both see it’s starting to shake.

Arthur swallows heavily.

“…it’s just a ride,” he mutters after a moment, “it’s not a fight.”

“You don’t know it won’t turn into one.”

“The border patrol is safe.”

“Patrols are never safe.”

“I have to go,” Arthur explodes, looking at Merlin with such ferocity that Merlin almost takes a step back, “it’s my duty, I have to—to—“

Merlin winces and rushes forward. He catches Arthur as Arthur starts to slump, politely ignoring the muffled curse when Arthur remembers that he can’t shout anymore.

“I have to,” Arthur mumbles brokenly, “I have to go…I have to go…”

“Shh, shh,” Merlin hushes, “come on, breathe.”

“I’m fine.” Arthur waves him off before Merlin can tell him that he is not, in fact, fine. “I just—I—it’s—“

He slumps.

“Arthur?” Merlin quickly switches his grip, cupping Arthur’s face in his hand. “Arthur, can you hear me?”

“I can hear you.”

Merlin breathes a sigh of relief. “Alright. Then tell me what’s wrong.”

“Aside from the fact that I can’t even bloody shout anymore?”

“Aside from that.”

Arthur closes his eyes, letting Merlin lean him back against the cabinet. After a moment, he opens them again.

“For as long as I can remember,” he mumbles, “I’ve—there’s…there has always been one thing I can do to protect my kingdom.”

Merlin listens, crouching down in front of him.

“If I can…if I can just be there,” Arthur continues, his brow furrowing, “if I can be there, if…if I can see what happens, if I can—if I can be another pair of eyes, ears, hands…then that’s enough.”

Outside a horse brays.

“If I was just a someone who saw, who could—who could try and make sure things got better because I was there, then—then that was enough.”

Arthur swallows and his eyes glisten.

“And here, I can be here. I can still stand up for those who cannot stand for themselves, I can support my knights when I can’t fight alongside them.” He glances toward the window. “But out there…when they leave…I can’t be there.”

“They can take care of themselves,” Merlin reminds gently.

“I know they can, I’ve never doubted that for a second.” Arthur looks down. “But I don’t know if…”

“If what, Arthur?”

“If I could stand not letting them be seen.”

Oh.

Merlin swallows heavily. Arthur…courageous, noble, silly Arthur.

“You see them in how you listen,” Merlin says instead, “in how you trust their judgment and seek their counsel. You see them in how you let them barge into your quarters and how you make sure they aren’t afraid to tell you when you’re wrong.”

He takes a breath and leans closer, watching Arthur’s eyes follow him.

“You see them in the way you still take Gwaine out for a drink,” he whispers, “you see them in the way you take Percival’s side in arguments, in how you never let Lancelot believe he’s any less than deserving, in the way Elyan gets to run his family’s forge with his sister by his side.”

Arthur tilts his head.

“And you see them in how Leon has never loved Uther the way he loves you.”

Arthur surges forward and bundles Merlin clumsily into his chest.

“You see them,” Merlin promises breathlessly as he clutches Arthur back, “and they see you, I promise, I promise.”

They stay there, curled up on the floor, until Percival knocks and immediately goes to fetch the others. Gwaine storms right over and scoops Merlin up in his arms, laughing when Percival immediately has to come over and grab Arthur too because they won’t let go of each other. Elyan sets a fire going as Lancelot tugs down a series of blankets and pillows from…somewhere, Merlin’s not quite sure. Leon has a word with the guards outside as they settle in front of the fire.

“Are you alright, sire,” Lancelot says softly, “do we need to get Gaius?”

“Merlin?”

“No,” Arthur mumbles as Gwaine checks in on Merlin, “no, we’re—we’re fine.”

“What happened?”

Merlin gives Arthur a nod. Arthur sighs, buries his head in Merlin’s shoulder, and explains, mumbling most of it into Merlin’s tunic.

“You’re an idiot,” Gwaine murmurs as he finishes, ruffling Arthur’s hair, “if you think that’s what makes us follow you.”

“You’re all here for Merlin, I know.”

“As true as that may be,” Gwaine says, ruffling Merlin’s hair too, “if we were just here for Merlin we’d’ve dragged him off ages ago.”

“You could try.”

“The point Gwaine is trying to make,” Elyan says, shoving Gwaine’s shoulder, “is that we’re here for you too.”

“And that means we won’t think any less of you. For any reason.”

Percival nods at Lancelot’s words, laying a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Your world is my world.”

Arthur glances around, not believing the words he hears from his knights, only for his gaze to land on Leon. Leon kneels down behind Merlin and pats Merlin’s shoulder. With one last squeeze, Merlin moves away.

Leon opens his arms. “I’ve seen you grow,” he says, “through Uther, through Agravine, and through yourself.”

Arthur stares up at him, wide-eyed.

“I’ve seen you fall, Arthur,” Leon whispers, “but I’ve also seen you rise.”

It takes only a little nudge from Percival before Arthur’s hugging Leon as fiercely as he can.

“Alright,” Gwaine claps, “now, have I told you lot the story of the great tavern fight in Mercia?”

“Several times.”

“Just yesterday.”

“You told me three hours ago.”

“Ah, but I have yet to tell you of the other great battle of Mercia. You see, the lass had just brought me this incredible wedge of cheese…”

When the stories have run out and their cups have run dry, and Elyan and Leon have made the beds in front of the fireplace as comfortable as they can—including dragging Arthur’s truly ridiculously big mattress onto the ground too—the knights bed down, around their king.

Camelot has never been safer.

#merlin #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #arthur pendragon #merthur #merthur fic #fic #dragonbabbles

38 notes · View notes