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ladyhallen · 4 years

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The Making of a Sanctuary

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(no link to FFN, because it’s freaking misbehaving. It’s on time out at the moment.)

The first child of the Sanctuary was a boy.

He was a street urchin but Harry, passing by him on the street, felt the magic and paused. With a distracted air, Harry rummaged through his bags and produced a piece of bread.

Harry handed the child the bread and left.

But the child remembered.

The next day, when Harry realized that he needed more cheese, he passed by the same child and gave him another piece of bread.

The child devoured the bread, latched on to Harry’s cloak, and then doesn’t let go.

Harry looked at the boy with complete and utter bewilderment and just sighed. He found it a bit difficult to say no to children. It was a really bad weakness that was exploited with the puppy eyes mercilessly.

They’re like locusts and multiply.

The first child grabbed another one, and another one, and before Harry knew it, there’s an entire group of children living with him.

“We can’t keep living off of bread and cheese,” Harry said with some shock, because he hadn’t realized how many children there were with him. “And oh Merlin, what are you all wearing?”

The first one gave him a look, being bolder and less afraid of him. “It’s better than sleeping cold.”

Because of course, everyone was sleeping by the fireplace. Why hadn’t he noticed? He knew he could get preoccupied inside his head, being in the past made it especially worse, but this was ridiculous. By his count, there were fifteen children around him, eagerly pressing into each other for warmth.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” he groaned. “I know I can get distracted, but this is ridiculous.”

With a wave of his wand, he conjured them all some blankets. It would disappear in two hours but it was better than the rags everyone was wearing.

“Now, let’s fix this. Rooms, right,” he muttered. But I also need some wood.” He glanced out and smiled. “How convenient, there’s a forest right there.”

Harry worked with a lot of children scurrying around underfoot.

Magic may have made things easier, but it didn’t fix everything. He still had to chop up the wood with precise slicing spells, peel off the bark and then speed up the drying process. Afterwards, measuring and then covering everything in varnish.

All the while, the idea of dorm rooms entered his mind and he knew how he wanted things to look like. Because he might not have planned for children, but these children only had him.

Next, he enlarged the space as he worked.

It took immense focus but he knew that it could happen. Newt Scamander could fit an entire world inside his suitcase, Harry could fit entire dormitories behind his pantry.

“What are we going to do for beds?” Simon, the first child, asked him.

Harry pursed his lips in thought. “I can make beds, we have enough wood to make furniture for all those rooms. It will require cotton and cloth though.”

That was a thought. Harry needed cotton and cloth and they also needed more food than just bread and cheese. Harry…might have to buy some animals.

“What do we need?” Harry murmured, sitting on the floor and surrounded by a circle of children as they divided a loaf of bread and a wheel of cheese. There was also a bowl of vegetable soup, one of the few things he could make without burning down the kitchen. It was a testament to how tired everyone was with the bread and cheese that the soup had absolutely no leftovers.

“Clothes,” Lina said, looking at her ratty old shirt. “A place to wash.”

“Food,” Simon piped in.

Harry could go to gardens and get some seedlings, no need to buy things. Some places even had wild vegetables and a good Point Me charm would solve that. He also needed clothes, bed sheets, mattresses and winter clothes - it was getting colder.

The animals though. He could buy them in the muggle world so it would be cheaper, but it would take some money, which he did not have.

“We need to brew,” he sighed. “Who knows how to chop?”

Harry took one week teaching the children different potion techniques.

Slicing, dicing, chopping and their differences were taught. He never realized children had such attention spans. They practiced on vegetables and Harry’s soup making skills were getting better and better.

“Okay, that’s sufficient. Now, we need potion ingredients and a good store to sell our potions afterwards,” he said.

The only store that would accept such shady practices (because you needed a license to brew, which Harry absolutely does not have) would be one in Knockturn Alley.

This time, he placed his foot down. “You’re all staying in the house. Where I’m going is not good for children.”

As one, they all rolled their eyes at him but did not argue.

It took more than a hundred potions before their funds could be sufficient and Harry gained a permanent wrinkle in his forehead from the stress. Being in charge of the health and well-being of more than a dozen little individuals was very stressful, especially if you were an unlicensed time-traveler.

Harry bought two pairs, a male and a female, for each animal. There were pigs, cows and chickens for their produce, which would help immensely for the food problem. He also bought sheep for their wool.

“Flax seeds,” he remarked, looking at his list. “I think I found the solution to the cloth problem.”

Flax seeds were unmagical and could be fast grown and fast harvested. Then, he figured out how to enchant a loom to weave it into bolts of cloth.

“It’s so pretty,” Katy said with awe. “But. Harry, isn’t it a bit boring, to be plain white?”

Harry looked at them all and was encountered with a dozen puppy eyes.

“…Dye’s. A lot of them,” he muttered reluctantly.

He pretended not to see the children exchanging a high-five behind him.

It would be so much easier, Harry realized halfway into transforming his house into a secret place for orphaned and neglected children, if he had someone to work with.

But given that what he was doing was breaking about a hundred laws, he really didn’t want to implicate someone with him.

His kitchen was already a teeming mess of food and soup was always bubbling in the stove, somehow never boiling over and also never running out, no matter how many children ladled out bowls.

His pantry was always expanding, meat and eggs somehow multiplying without his knowledge. And milk was never running out.

His vegetable garden never seemed to run out of produce either, carrots, beans and potatoes always popping out of the ground whenever he needed some.

His cloth room, formerly just housing one lonely loom and one lonely dye area, was having three stations and continually making more bolts of cloth than he knew what to deal with.

Even the Potion’s area was expanding, somehow having fifteen working stations and ten rows of potions cupboards organized alphabetically.

Something was always going on and he was permanently frowning with worry.

Children weren’t supposed to learn how to brew advanced high grade potions at the age of eight, nor were they supposed to know how to cook, clean, do laundry or tend to plants.

But the children he had gotten were all mature beyond their years, scars marking them from the very people who were supposed to love them unconditionally. And they all loved Harry and knew he was doing his best to give them a home.

Harry eventually realized by the time he had fifty children that he needed to set an age limit.

Because if he didn’t, none of the children would ever really leave and then he would be stuck with a hundred of them. He loved them and he knew that the Sanctuary was supposed to be a place to have a childhood.

So he started setting up apprenticeships.

Simon, a budding arithmancer, got an apprenticeship to a wardmaster. Lina with her sewing skills was apprenticed to Madame Malkin. Jessica, the sweet child, was apprenticed to a librarian until she realized what she wanted.

All of the children needed help and he set out and found them work and different houses. And all of them realized this and quietly packed their bags and left.

Harry still kept in contact with them via owls and the occasional visit. And he missed them even if there were always new children coming to him. But he never mourned. Because it was at this time that he started noticing something.

The Sanctuary was starting to gain sentience.

It made some sense, given that once an object was in magical presence long enough and loved enough, they tended to gain a personality.

The Sanctuary had housed a lot of children and all of them loved it in their own way. And all of those children had been magical.

By the time he realized what was harvesting the garden, cleaning the house, unclogging the toilets and keeping the kitchen stocked, he had gone through three generations and there was an unofficial network of people that apprenticed his children without his prompting. People he remembered, children he remembered, all of them growing old, but…he remained the same.

“Circe’s wand, what have I created?” he murmured.

A singularity. He had created a singularity because the children needed him.

Hogwarts, while just as loved, was not a singularity but a nexus. It didn’t exist beyond time like the Sanctuary, but it had a draw to it that made it attractive to everyone. His Sanctuary, on the other hand, existed only to those who needed it.

Harry knew that if he spent decades away from the Sanctuary, he would start to age. The children were immune, the Sanctuary didn’t own them in the way it owned Harry. His blood and his magic went into the house. The children were only guests.

He had accidentally bound himself to a singularity and he had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

Harry started to have no concept of time.

Oh, he knew the days were passing, and he knew what month it was. But the years passing by he viewed them as just any other day.

He didn’t really need to keep track of holidays, the house decorated itself and nudged him to remember. He only really remembered about the start of term, because all those children needed him for book shopping. Two months before the start of term, he would start a frenzy of brewing just to be able to afford everything.

Thank Merlin that Wizarding Currency hasn’t changed since the Goblin Wars.

All the children that passed, he remembered. The memories might be blurry, but he knew all of them. He kept memory strands for each child, in case his memory ever faltered.

And then Tom Riddle requested Sanctuary and Harry became acutely aware of the passing of time.

Cute, teenage dark lords with wounded, angry eyes and a desperate need for praise.

Cute, teenage dark lords, who looked at the Sanctuary and seemed not to understand the age limit.

Cute, teenage dark lords, who wanted to stay forever.

Harry would bang his head on the wall if the House would allow it.

When he’d accidentally travelled back in time, he had a plan.

Buy a house, keep quiet and don’t make any trouble.

Looking up at the deceptively small house, he knew that plan was thrown out the window since the first child looked up at him and tugged at his cloak.

“Harry!” called a young, high voice. “Harry, I already rang the dinner bell, didn’t you hear?”

“I’m coming!” he yelled back, pausing briefly to pluck an apple tree that he’s sure he did not plant there.

The Sanctuary was sentient and it had absolutely no qualms in growing how it wanted, asking no input from Harry.

This was not in his plans, but he had no complaints.

#fanfiction #harry potter #tom riddle #sequel to the Sanctuary and the Bar #time travel #my writing #hp #hp post

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expensiveglasses · 4 years

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Charming Chapter One

Summary: Prince Jungkook was as infuriating as he was beautiful. In line to one day be king, he requested your guidance in the ways of his people. In turn he will make you laugh, give your family fine gifts, and become an invaluable friend. Unfortunately, he will also make you fall in love with him. But the most unfortunate thing of all was his betrothal…to Snow White

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Fantasy, Angst, Snow white/au

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 4538

Warnings: None for this chapter. Future warnings are TW: Major character “death” TW: Thoughts of suicide TW: Attempted suicide. Nothing is graphically described. Chapters will be noted when these things take place.

It was during the spring that you felt the most content. Everything was reborn, blossoming from the frozen winter. The village came to life with music, new animals, and the sweet smell of fresh bread.

It had been this way since you were a child, no taller than your mother’s hip and only aware of how acutely you spurned the winter. With chapped fingers and lips, you watched bitterly as your friends, Peter and Else, played, squealing loudly as they threw snow at one another.

The three of you, friends since you could remember, filled to the brim with laughter, scraped knees, and all as plain looking as could be. This suited you fine, and there was little to disappoint you but short moments of impassioned arguments with your two best friends and a brief encounter with the very silly king and his very silly son.

As the only daughter (and indeed, the only child) of the villages master tailor, you found yourself often around the regal and ridiculous. So it was of no surprise when the king himself requested your father’s services and you were required to help him carry his materials to the castle where the king greeted you with his only heir, a son, wearing the silliest hat you’d ever laid eyes upon, a red feather sticking from the top.

You were as different as two people could be and with your simple manners and upbringing, you could not begin to understand the pomp and circumstance of such a silly little boy with rounded cheeks and a chest puffed much too high.

He strutted and flounced about the castle as a peacock would its park and the sight was all together ridiculous for your 9 year old eyes to behold. He’d called you peasant girl and remarked on your general lack of beauty and at 13 years old himself, you felt he had little to offer either, aside from a sizeable kingdom to trump the bed of straw and sheep’s skin you called your own.

For his 13th birthday, Prince Jungkook of Löhrenstein, would have a party, in which all the nobility and sovereigns of the land would be in attendance with their young princesses, and little duchesses, hoping to secure a treaty with his father, a contract between two kingdoms; a betrothal of a prince and a princess.

Of course, you would know nothing of this sort of formality or indeed the contracts of marriage. Your education was as broad as tending a home, carrying your father’s supplies, making flower crowns, and helping to herd the cows during the Viehscheid.

So, while the prince was living in a castle and throwing parties and sneering down his nose at near everybody, you were busy helping your father to sew his clothes. At least you could still play in the fields when the sun was high and warm and the flowers were just beginning to bloom.

And this was how you spent your years, watching as Else became beautiful and elegant, long brown hair thick and wavy, tied back in braids as she went to work in the village at her father’s bakery and you watched in quiet envy as all the boys took notice, bringing her fine milks and cheeses as tokens of their affection while you stayed plain. Even Peter had become mildly handsome as he grew into his gangly limbs, erasing the once mousy appearance for a broad shouldered, sun freckled young man.

You told yourself you didn’t mind so much that you were still plain while she was beautiful, but of course you did a little. To be poor but beautiful afforded you more than being poor and plain. Peter often told you that you were just as beautiful as Else, and while you were happy with the compliment, you knew it was because of his childhood love and devotion to you.

You believed that was why he chose to become apprentice to your father, to someday seek your fathers blessing for your hand. While you did not love Peter the way that he loved you, you could not deny the appeal of continuing with the comforts that you were already accustomed to. After all, you were the only daughter to the king’s tailor…that did afford you some small comforts. You supposed someday when he asked for your hand, as he inevitably would, that you would accept.

When you turned 18, however; there was a small gift from the gods, in the form of a late blooming. A glow to your cheeks and a blossoming of beauty. You were, of course, no Else, but you could certainly hold your own and found that you had more than just Peter as an admirer; much to his chagrin.

Perhaps that’s why you feared that any day now he would ask for your father’s permission to court you because then your path as his future wife would be decided. You were in a strange position as the daughter of the king’s master tailor. You were neither peasant nor nobility so while your ability to choose your spouse was more under your control, you were still held to the standard of your father and who he deemed fit to represent his family, and in turn, the kings.

The sun had just risen to its fullest height, waxing hot as it commandeered the sky, blue and shivering with the heat. It was sweltering and crowded in the square; noisy with life. The baker’s wife was out shouting, calling attention to the freshly baked rolls sitting just passed the door of the bakery. Else stood beside him, batting her eyelashes and looking pretty; using charms her father could not to entice more customers and you smiled.

The sheep were drinking from the water trough in the center, surrounded by red and yellow poppies in full bloom. The clock tower struck one and you glanced up, eyeing the time wearily. You stood under the archway of a building painted green as a melon, hoping to escape some of the day’s heat.

A woman chased a boy from her garden, chickens flying around in aggravation and you peered after the child as he sulked down the lane, feet dirty and bare. “You hungry, boy?” You called and he looked to you, face caked with dirt from playing and a nod as answer. “Here.” You tossed him the apple you held in your hand and he thanked you, running back into the bustling of the town.

The crowd quivered with conversation and your attention was suddenly captured by the gossip of two young ladies as they passed you. “Yes, the king’s carriage has already left the castle. Apparently, the prince is to be fitted for a ball.”

“I wonder if we shall see him.” The other remarked and your eyes swung to the road, spotting the carriage, scarlet curtains billowing from the windows as it made its descent into town. You gasped, grabbing the skirts of your dress and dashing mad towards your home.

Your father would whip you if you were late. You ran through the fields, cutting through tall shrubs and across dirt paths. A childhood spent playing in this winding village afforded you the intimate knowledge of all its byways.

You arrived at your home, gasping and covered in dirt and your mother came out, fussing loudly over your appearance, bustling you into the home and towards your room. Your father sighed loudly as you passed, eyes scanning your dress, soiled with the toil of your morning.

“This is no way to greet your king.” He remarks as your mother pulls you behind the wooden room divider, helping you to strip from your clothing and wiping you down quickly with a wet wash cloth.

“My dear, you are not fit to be seen!” Your mother scolded, washing roughly at your face and you grimaced, shivering in the chill of the room. “You knew they were coming today.”

“They are early.” You complained and your mother’s lips smacked in irritation.

“A king is never early. He always arrives exactly when he means to. You would do well to remember that, Y/N.”

Your mother helped you to dress in something new quickly, repining the last piece of your hair just as the crunch of gravel from the royal carriage wheels could be heard rounding the corner and the two of you rushed from the room and to the front door to wait with your father.

You took a deep breath, head bowed into your chest as you heard the carriage come to a stop in front of you. It was abnormal for the king to come to your home, far too busy with his royal duties to condescend to see a peasant, but his son and only heir had recently returned from…well, to be sure, you did not know where he actually had been, but rumor said he was poorly behaved and had gone somewhere far away to teach him the ways of a king.

This would not surprise you, were it true; he’d been a ghastly child. You could only imagine him now, in adulthood. Upon his return, his father had announced his desire to reacquaint his son with their kingdom and your father being his master tailor would receive the special privilege of his presence, it seemed.

The king stepped from the carriage first, and you watched his feet move towards your family.

“Your majesty!” Your father bowed and pleasantries were exchanged as the prince himself disembarked from the carriage.

You kept your eyes trained fast on the ground; the bottom of your dress already smudged with dirt from where you stood.

“My son,” The king announced and your father bowed once more, both your mother and yourself curtsying deep.

“You remember my wife and my daughter?” Your father said and it was now that you felt it was safe to lift your eyes from the ground.

“My, yes,” Said the king turning his gaze towards you, “you have grown well, girl.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” You replied, soft; bowing your head and he smiled, pleased.

“You remember my son?” He asked, pointing his hand to the figure by his side and you allowed your eyes to slide over to him.

It is unfortunate, in this life; that some people are just born with everything the heart could desire. Good fortune, health, money and comfort and to have all that and still be handsome? Well, truly life was unfair.

He stood tall, face angular with deep set brown eyes and rounded lips. You were under no illusion that he was anything but blessed by the gods. They must have looked upon him very favorably, indeed.

“Yes, your highness.”

The prince looked at you curiously, head curved to the side as your father beckoned them into your home and you watched the king and prince follow after him. You heated with shame as you entered after, watching the prince survey your home while your father and the king conversed.

He must think this was so beneath him; to stand in the home of a pauper. The floor, though it had been swept, was still covered in a layer of dirt and the furniture was old and matted, worn with use. You had more than others in your village, but compared to a king, this was true poverty. It must have seemed you had nothing at all.

“Florian, come look at these colors.” The king beckoned and the prince was quick to walk to his side, looking over the fabric your father had assembled as options for his ball.

“These are exquisite.” He remarked, voice low and serious. “I wonder, sir, my father says you will come to the castle tomorrow to prepare my clothing.”

“Yes, your highness, with my apprentice in training, Peter.”

The prince’s eyes flickered to you in surprise and you looked back down at the floor. “Not your daughter? I remember she used to join you when I was a boy.”

“Yes, my daughter would come to help me carry my things, but since I have acquired an apprentice, I have found that quite unnecessary.”

“I would very much like if you would bring her tomorrow, along with your apprentice, of course.” The prince smiled and you couldn’t help but look up in surprise.

“A woman?” The king laughed, loud and joyful and you bowed your head once more, flushed with shame. “What purpose would a woman have in a man’s business? She should stay here and help tend the home, Florian. Don’t be unreasonable.”

“I should very much like to have her return to the castle, for reminiscence sake, father. That is, if her mother can spare her.”

“Of course, your majesty.” She bowed.

“She can carry some of the fabric.” The prince smiled, eyes flickering to your bowed head, “like when she was a child.”

“You have a very strange sense of humor.” The king chortled and you closed your eyes, willing the humiliation from you. “Very well then, we shall see you on the morrow with your apprentice and your daughter. You know the time, I presume?”

“Yes, of course, your majesty.” Your father smiled, escorting them out the door and your mother and you stood in the kitchen, eyes trained on the floor.

So, it would seem he had not changed. Like a dog at his table, you had been summoned. So amusing, was it, to watch a woman carry fabric and needles for a man and stand in the background. Always to be seen, but never to be heard.

Your heart bled with the thought and you listened carefully as the carriage resumed its journey. Your father stepped through the threshold of your home and you could feel his eyes on the crown of your head.

“Now come, girl, there is no need to be so downtrodden.” Your father remarked lightly and your throat burned with emotion.

“Y/N.” Your mother said softly and you shook your head, turning to walk away.

“I wish to be alone.” You murmured, fleeing to your room.

The window was open, soft breeze fluttering through the soft white curtains, now dirtied from the dust of the road. You closed your bedroom door softly behind you, walking towards the window where you sat at your stool.

Laying your arm across the lip of your window, you rested your chin in the palm of your hand and sighed. To feel like a bartering chip in the world of men was difficult. To never be in charge of your own destiny. Destiny, for you, was to be nice to look at and the ability to spread your legs. You wanted more than that; wanted to be heard, wanted your thoughts and feelings to be considered.

A knock at your door called your attention and your mother stepped through the door, smiling softly. “It is an honor to be called back to the castle.” She remarked and you sighed once again, returning your gaze back out the window.

“Mother.” You frowned and she sat down on your bed. “You should understand…as a woman. We’re not objects to be played with.”

“My dear,” she tutted and you looked over at her. “Men are simple creatures, if they’ve nothing to look at, they don’t know what to do with themselves.”

You chuckled, sitting up straighter, hands dropping into your lap. “Then what are we to do with them, mother?”

“We guide them, darling. They like to feel useful, so we help them feel so. We know our worth, we don’t need to be reminded. Men, they need to feel powerful; what else do they have? They may be the head of the family, but we are the neck and they turn where we will it.”

“I have the feeling a prince would be harder to guide.” You smiled and she shrugged.

“Perhaps. It just makes it more fun; more of a challenge.”

You frowned, staring back out the window and into the forest just beyond your gate. The air rippled with heat and you watched as a rabbit hopped from your garden and into the shade. “I don’t want to go, mother.” You admitted.

Your mother’s fingers closed around your hand at the window and you turned to look at her. “My dear…I’m afraid you’ve no choice.”

The morning was hotter than usual and your dress stuck uncomfortable to your back. Peter was thrilled at the prospect of meeting the king and you realized belatedly that he’d never met him before. As the daughter of the king’s master tailor, you were in a unique position within society; neither pauper nor noble.

You’d had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting both the king and his son and you didn’t particularly care for either. “Imagine the palace, Y/N.” Peter sighed, eyes distant and smile pleasant as he threw an arm around your shoulder.

“I don’t need to imagine it.” You huffed, pushing his arm from your shoulder and readjusting the wrappings of fabric in your arms. “I’ve been there, remember?”

“Yes, I do. You never told me much about it, though. Always so secretive.”

You watched as he paused, tucking the edges of the tarp back around the rest of the fabric on the cart before resuming the journey. Your father walked steadily in front of the two of you.

“It was never a secret; I just didn’t particularly enjoy my time there.” You said carefully, eyes focused on the back of your father’s head. He’d beat you if you misspoke of the king.

“Yes, you did mention the prince was rather…interesting.”

“It seems nothing has changed.” You hummed softly, staring down at your feet, dusted yellow from the road.

“Then why are you coming today? If you dislike the prince, why come?” Peter questioned. The castle came into view, large and imposing against the backdrop of the mountains. White brick stood tall, the spires topped with a deep blue and for a moment you allowed yourself to admire the view.

Though the people within the castle were not to your taste, the palace itself was beautiful. Draped on every side by the mountain range and a large lake nestled in its cove, it was one of life’s true pleasures, gazing at its majesty.

“I think you will find, Peter, that I don’t have much of a choice. The prince requested his dancing monkey.” You replied, the words bitter on your tongue.

Your father called Peter forward and you spent the rest of the walk in silence, listening to the creak of the cart’s wheels as they cracked over rubble and dirt. Your mother had attempted to make you look pretty today, though you could not think why; presentable should be good enough for any man who wasn’t looking to choose a wife.

Your hair had been done and pinned beautifully, your most beautiful dress resting against your skin. It was certainly nothing to a noble, to be sure, but it was not unpleasant to look at and flattered the shape of your body.

It was hot, though, unbearably so, and you suffered dearly under the harsh rays of the late spring sun. Your mother insisted beauty had a price, but you weren’t quite sure why you were being asked to pay it.

The shade of the drawbridge was a welcome relief and you pulled a handkerchief from your bag and mopped at your face and neck. You didn’t need to offer the prince anymore reason to mock you.

You were escorted to the kings fitting rooms where you gently placed the fabric from your arms on top of what your father and Peter had carried from the cart. You patted at your neck once more as you watched Peter’s eyes scan the room excitedly. Absently you wondered if your father had taught him how to behave when the king was in the room.

Your father motioned you over and you slipped your handkerchief back in your bag and went to stand by his side. It wasn’t long before the king entered and you curtseyed deep, eyes trained on the floor.

He and your father spoke loudly as introductions were made and you could practically feel Peter vibrating from where he stood. He was excited, at least. You resisted the urge to pat at your cheeks, flushed with heat from the walk. Your throat felt like sand, dry as you swallowed and you wished more than anything for some water.

The men spoke noisily as they congregated around the fabric and it was decided that the king would be fitted first. You waited quietly as your father began his measurements, your fingers bunching tight in the fabric of your dress.

The room was overly warm, large windows allowing the sun to enter liberally and you felt yourself wilting in the heat. Voices muffling like you were under water, you watched as the gold, cerulean and cobalt of the room became nothing more than puddles of grey before fading into black.

Your brow felt cool, wet with the brush of a damp cloth and your eyelashes fluttered open, taking in the surrounding room.

Deep mahogany filled your vision, blue and white canopy drapes traveling the length of the rail. Walls painted in beautiful scenery drew your gaze and you reached up to feel the cloth against your brow.

“You’re awake.”

You inhaled sharp, turning to find the source of the voice. You were surprised to find the prince sat beside you, a basin of water resting on a table next to him and a small smile as greeting.

“I’m sorry to have startled you.” He said softly and you lowered your hand, attempting to sit up. “Please remain as you are, Y/N. You need just a moment to recover.”

“What happened? Where am I?”

“You are in one of the spare bedrooms in the palace. It seems you over heated and became faint.”

You closed your eyes tight, shame filling your breast. It was one thing to faint in general, but in front of the king and his son. Mortification was a bitter friend.

“Where is the doctor?” You asked carefully, peaking one eye open and glancing around the room. The prince smiled watching as your gaze flittered everywhere but him.

“I asked him to step outside for a moment. I wanted to make sure for myself that you were well.” He replied, watching your brows furrow in thought.

“Why is that, your majesty?” You pondered, looking up at him and he removed the cloth from your head, soaking it back in the basin before wringing it anew and placing it back against your brow.

“We are old friends, are we not?”

He stared down at his lap, seemingly unsure himself of his statement and your mouth parted in surprise. “You would consider us friends, your highness?”

The prince smiled, wry, before chuckling with a shrug. “Perhaps friends is too liberal of a word. I know I wasn’t the most…pleasant to be around when I was a child. I was selfish and cruel and it’s why my father sent me away. I’m very sorry to have ever been cause for discomfort.”

He paused to gauge your reaction but at the moment you weren’t sure what to think. It had seemed so unlikely to ever receive an apology and now that you had it, you weren’t quite sure what to make of it.

“I was hoping we could begin again…become real friends.” He admitted.

“Please pardon my confusion, but I find myself very surprised. Why would you wish to be friends with a pauper, your majesty?” You finally asked, looking over at him and his smile was gentle, gaze shifting to the open window, the afternoon’s breeze composing a dance among the curtains.

“You are not a pauper, YN” He said, watching as a small starling landed on the balcony, head twisting side to side as it chattered excitedly. “But even if you were, I would still wish to have your friendship. It is my father’s intention to make me king someday and after so many years as a selfish child, I am ashamed to admit that I know nothing of the people in my kingdom. The sorrows, the trials, the joys…I want to be a good king. I want people to know they can depend on me to help, even if I’m not perfect or don’t always have the answers. I want my people to trust me.”

You watched the starling yourself now, hopping across the wood of the balcony, a song puffing his chest wide. “And you think I can help you with that?” You asked softly, watching as the bird resumed flight and soared into the distance.

The prince looked back down at you, reaching his hand out to press against your cheek and you flinched. “My apologies, I only meant to see if your skin was still flushed. May I?”

You nodded, watching as his fingers extended back to your face, the back of his hand pressing gently across your cheek and neck. He hummed, retracting his hand and smiled. “Your temperature has reduced. How are you feeling?”

“Better.” You admitted, “Though I would love to have some water.”

“Yes, of course, I will have some fetched for you. Can I help you sit up?”

He held his hands out for you and you allowed him to pull you gently into an upright position. The world spun for a moment before settling and he moved to the door, calling for a water.

“As an answer to your earlier question,” he said, coming to sit across from you once again and you watched as he set the cloth and basin further away from the bed, “Not only do I wish to make amends, but I want to learn about my people and my kingdom and I believe that spending time with someone who knows the kingdom so well could only benefit that cause.”

“Spending time with me?” You questioned before pausing as a maid entered the room, handing the prince the water before leaving the room once more, door closed tightly behind her.

“Here,” he said, handing you the water which you took happily, clear and cool to the taste. “Yes, spending time with you. Getting to know all about you and my people.”

He paused to allow you a moment to think and you took the opportunity to finish your water, staring down into the cup once you’d allowed it to settle in your lap. It seemed unreasonable to refuse his offer if he really was trying to make a change.

The kingdom could only benefit from having their future king know them and care for their wellbeing. Perhaps the prince would make a very decent king after all, not the tyrant you’d assumed as a child.

“What say you?” He asked gently, holding his hand out for your glass and setting it on the table with the basin.

You looked up at him with a nod, smile tucked in the corner of your lips. “Very well. I can’t see how it would hurt. I will do as you request, your majesty.”

“Wonderful.” He smiled. “And please, call me Jungkook.”

You guys! Welcome to my page. I’m so happy you’re here and I’d absolutely love to know what you think of my new series! Go ahead and leave a cheeky comment, my loves 😘 See you soon!

Chapter 2

#jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook series #jungkook angst #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fantasy au

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thesappiestnap · 3 years

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i've had this idea for a long while, and finally wrote it down. this is like... familial type relationship, like i imagine reader as a slightly older sibling type friend to tommy. i may also make this a series! i'll almost definitely have a part two at the very least. anyways, thanks for reading and enjoy,

Lotus (Rebirth)

"Here. I thought you might like this."

As you plopped the bucket into his hands, you watched with a wry smile as Tommy's whine about a bit of water spilling on his shirt dissolved into stunned and awed silence as his eyes fell onto what was inside.

The flower, barely bigger than the palm of your hand, floated delicately on the surface of the water, its unfurled petals seeming to give off a gentle glow even in the sunlight.

"It's a lotus," you say proudly, "I found it when I was digging up clay in a swamp."

Tommy's mouth drew into a tight line for a moment while he stared at the flower, blinking a little rapidly for a moment before finally clearing his throat. "Yeah, it's alright, I guess," he said in an attempt to sound nonchalant. "Thanks."

You could tell that he was touched by the gift, and wouldn't admit it. But it wasn't even the biggest part of it. You'd had the idea for a while, ever since Tommy came back from the prison... from death... You just couldn't watch him keep falling into more and more hurt. And you had gone a bit on your own since after L'manberg was destroyed, finding it easier to stay away from the fighting of others. Tommy deserved that sort of rest too. You just had to think of how to ask him.

"Did you know that lotuses symbolize rebirth in flower language?"

"Really?" Tommy's tone changed immediately, intrigued. "There's a language for flowers?"

"Yeah, like how you give someone a red rose to symbolize love and passion, other flowers have those kinds of meanings too."

Tommy looked back down at the flower floating in the bucket in his hands, eyebrows furrowing. "Are you trying to send me a secret message? Wai- is this cause I died and came back?! That's very rude, you know, to bring up," he said in the way you knew he was doing a bit.

"Well, no, actually, I hadn't really thought of it like that. But, uh..." You shuffled your feet slightly, fidgeting with the strap of your travel bag on your shoulder. "I was thinking, ya know, maybe it was time for a change for you. I mean, all this shit you've been through, maybe you should sorta... start over. I thought maybe I could help you do that."

He was only more confused by that, tilting his head to the side slightly, looking like a confused puppy. "How's that?"

"Well, I've been working on making a farm since... ya know. Sorta away from everything, but still close enough that I can visit. I made an extra room, ya know, in case I needed it, and it's kinda quiet there and I thought you might like it there." You glanced up at him to see a wide open mouthed smile spreading across his face.

"Are there cows?"

His smile was contagious, you found as one spread on your own face. "And sheep, and chickens. I've been supplying Niki with milk and eggs and crops to start up her bakery again. I was thinking about starting up a shop to make and sell jams and fresh veggies, too. Milk and cheese and butter, maybe bread and cookies. But, ya know, I'd need help for that."

Tommy's eyes- his entire face, really- was aglow. "Yeah! I can help you sell, I'm a great businessman! Salesman Tommy, they call me!"

You smiled as he launched into a tirade about how good at business he was, reminiscing about Tubbo Bathwater. "So you're in?"

"Fuck yeah! We can be business partners and I get 50% of all profits!"

You rolled your eyes a little, but you didn't care much about the profit part of it. "You can take over my spare room then, or build your own place close by, whatever you want. I can take care of most of the farm work if you want to take care of the animals. And since I know you secretly like flowers," you added a bit cheekily, "I have a little garden started. Not much, but you can expand it however you want. I have books that can teach you about gardening techniques and stuff, and I have one about flower language too, if you want to learn."

Tommy jumped around like his feet were on fire, yelling incoherently with happy Tommy noises as water sloshed around his hands onto the grass below. He stopped suddenly- "I have to pack then, make sure I get all my valuables from my 'ome. Oh... my house. What do I do with my house?"

"You can always come back to it. Use it as a place to stay when you come visit, or like a second base or something," you suggested.

"Yeah. Yeah! Right! We have GOT a PLAN! I have to get Friend, and Shroud, oh, do you have any leads-" You had already procured two leads from your bag, tossing them over to him. He beamed, shoving the bucket with the lotus back into your arms. "RIGHT! Hold this for me- I will go get my things, and we can start up, chop chop, there's work to be done!"

He had a fire in his eyes as he ran off towards his little hovel, a look that you hadn't seen in a while, a reminder of the carefree, excitable boy he used to be. You couldn't change what had happened to him, but you'll be damned if you wouldn't help him change his future. You looked down at the lotus, still gently touching the surface of the finally still water in the bucket. This would be Tommy's rebirth.

#dsmp x reader #sorta? not in a shippy way tho #big man tag

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taeken-my-heart · 4 years

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Charming Chapter 1

(Banner by the incredible @xjoonchildx ! Thank you so, so much. I love it!)

Summary: Prince Seokjin was as infuriating as he was beautiful. In line to one day be king, he requested your guidance in the ways of his people. In turn he will make you laugh, give your family fine gifts, and become an invaluable friend. Unfortunately, he will also make you fall in love with him. But the most unfortunate thing of all was his betrothal...to Snow White

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Fantasy, Angst, Snow white/au

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 4538

~~</3~~

For his 13th birthday, Prince Seokjin of Löhrenstein, would have a party, in which all the nobility and sovereigns of the land would be in attendance with their young princesses, and little duchesses, hoping to secure a treaty with his father, a contract between two kingdoms; a betrothal of a prince and a princess.

So while the prince was living in a castle and throwing parties and sneering down his nose at near everybody, you were busy helping your father to sew his clothes. At least you could still play in the fields when the sun was high and warm and the flowers were just beginning to bloom.

~~</3~~

The sun had just risen to its fullest height, waxing hot as it commandeered the sky, blue and shivering with the heat. It was sweltering and crowded in the square; noisy with life. The baker’s wife was out shouting, calling attention to the freshly baked rolls sitting just passed the door of the bakery. Else stood beside her father, batting her eyelashes and looking pretty; using charms her father could not to entice more customers and you smiled.

“This is no way to greet your king.” He remarks as your mother pulls you behind the wooden room divider, helping you to strip from your clothing and wiping you down quickly with a wet wash cloth.

“My dear, you are not fit to be seen!” Your mother scolded, washing roughly at your face and you grimaced, shivering in the chill of the room. “You knew they were coming today.”

“They are early.” You complained and your mother’s lips smacked in irritation.

“A king is never early. He always arrives exactly when he means to. You would do well to remember that, Y/N.”

Your mother helped you to dress in something new quickly, repinning the last piece of your hair just as the crunch of gravel from the royal carriage wheels could be heard rounding the corner and the two of you rushed from the room and to the front door to wait with your father.