BTS Imagines - REQUESTS OPEN

Hoseok ~ The Sun King (Part 1)

Hello friends, it me!

For the next group of imagines, I decided to go back to my roots when it comes to writing. My earliest memories of writing are of fractured fairy tales. A fractured fairy tale takes a classic fairy tale or children's story and adds a twist, changes characters, or makes it more modern (Think language and setting). I used to write them all the time, and I found some of my old ones while I was cleaning the other day. So, I chose seven of my favorite fairy tales and they will be my next seven imagines.

Before each fractured fairy tale, I'll put the name of the story and the original author. A fair warning: these will NOT be the Disney versions if the fairy tale has been adapted into a film. In the spirit of going back to my roots, I will be following the stories' original plot lines. The originals of Grimm's or Hans Christen Andersen's fairy tales can be pretty dark. Since these are FRACTURED fairy tales, I'll try to keep them from being too dark, but they'll most likely be different from the Disney versions.

Anyway, now that that's all out of the way, lesgoo!!!!

~~~
"The Snow Queen"
by Hans Christen Andersen
~~~

☀️☀️☀️

There used to be seasons; the cherry blossoms bloomed in the springtime, the autumn leaves created mosaics of amber and red, the snowflakes drifted on the winter wind.

Now there's only heat. No more sweet-smelling breezes, no more abundant harvests. Just dry, dusty hell.

He's a myth to most, but those who do believe in him call him the Sun King: a being incapable of seeing the good and beautiful, only the bad and ugly. His heart is cold as ice, but ironically, he spreads heat like a plague; a dry and hellish heat to create eternal summers. But his summers aren't the kind where people can hold festivals in the street and celebrate the bounties from the fields. They're the kind that cause the plants to wither and die and the wells to dry up.

The rose mallow flowers in my hands already look wilted as I stand on the riverbank where I last saw my brother. The garden and the riverbank, those were our two favorite play spots. Not once did he ever admit it, but I always knew the rose mallows were his favorites. Every time I caught him staring at the garden, he was always staring at the rose mallows.

The dry, dead grass itches the bare skin at the small of my back and on my legs as I sit on the riverbank, if you can still call it a riverbank when the river's completely dried up. It was almost fifteen years ago, but I can still remember the last time I came here with Yoongi. It was a particularly warm spring day and we were playing in the river. I ran home for some sweets—my mother had made strudel the day before—and when I came back, he was gone.

"Happy birthday, Meow Meow," I mumble, setting the flowers down on the dry riverbed. "You would have been twenty-three today. (ik yoongi's actually 30, i am not an idiot, just bear with me y'all) Remember how you used to always say that you'd have your own music studio by the time you were twenty-three? I used to tease you for being so specific about what age you'd have your studio by. I teased you about how much you colored your hair, too. I wish I could take it all back. I wish I told you how talented you were and that you'd have your studio sooner and that I actually loved how many different hair colors you had."

"He knows," says another voice from behind me. I turn around to see our friend Hoseok. "I know he does."

"Me too. I just...I wish I could say it all to him in person. Then maybe I wouldn't feel so guilty," I say. "You know I used to call him Rocky as a way to tease him about how he wanted to be a rock in his next life?"