#also only change that would happen in this au

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Squid Game AU | Idia Shroud

Working for a secret organization that murdered its players on a massive scale wasn’t as horrifying as it sounds. Granted, it was truly mortifying but you get used to it. You don’t show your face, you don’t flinch, and you listen to the Frontman. If you keep quiet and stay in your lane it isn’t long before you start moving up the ladder. From triangle to circle to square–it was like any other job. Like in any typical occupation if your boss, finds favor in your physique or otherwise you naturally get promoted. Thus was your fate as you went from being a mere circle to becoming the masked servant in the VIP room where you subject yourself to the whims of the richest and most disgusting patrons.

Idia Shroud 

Not many had the privilege of seeing the identity of the Host but you weren’t a part of the many. He was a technical genius, an avid inventor, and the one who loved to switch between his position as the Host and Frontman: Idia Shroud.

Now that you knew the joyful tilde in the disguised voice was made with a toothy smile of a gamer with azure flame-like hair; it made a disturbing amount of sense. No longer could you differentiate the man from his madness when he demanded you call his name in private. 

When you first met him he gave an odd aura, speaking as though he was imitating someone or making fun of whoever he was talking to. It made for an interesting work environment, he would make oddly specific references as he commanded the squares who could only tilt their heads and agree. Usually, you’d practiced your stoicism keeping yourself as robotlike as possible. 

But one meme. 

One reference. 

That has you chuckling and answering the Frontman, who seemed to freeze behind his mask still turned in your direction. He continues on acting as if nothing happened and you worry that you may have embarrassed yourself in front of your boss. Only to be broken out of your routine by one of the squares who handed you folded clothes and gave you instructions to begin your job as a VIP waiter. 

So maybe he did like it?

“You’re the new waiter, right?”

You nodded. 

“Good. You like it, here?”

“...Yes.”

“Good.”

The interaction was so curt and quick that you missed the skip in his step. It doesn’t take long for you to realize whoever is behind the frontman’s mask is also the one pretending to dress up as whatever shape employee you need to interact with. At that point, it makes you tirelessly paranoid as you feel the possible pressure of your boss constantly watching you.

And while you think you might have hidden your fear behind your masks, guess who’s got heavy surveillance on your room? He sees the way you pace on your time off and the recordings of you whispering affirmations in the bathroom. He enjoys seeing your cute reactions when he scares you a bit or how you tilt your head when you're trying to guess if it's him. But he loves you more. And if his kitten is feeling skittish he’ll change your environment. 

“You. Come with me.”

You nod, sending a look to the other VIP waiters who express their worry with as little expression as possible. Following the Host whose appearances were so far and in between would mean instant death should you disappoint. But with as many things in your life, you expected who this was. 

“...Sir?”

The Host turns their head to you, stopping in his tracks. 

‘How dare you?’

You sighed harnessing your courage as you continued.

“I know who you are…you’re the one who's been behind the masks right?”

He stayed in place.

“The one who’s left those memes in my room. That was you, right?”

He turned fully around. Facing you with his arms behind his back.

“And if I am?”

You didn’t actually know. You just wanted to be sure. To throw away this facade of deception. You wanted the truth. 

“I would prefer it if you just told me it was you. Rather than pretending you were someone else.”

A bellied voice-modified laughter emanated from the Host. He grabbed his wrist, subtly clicking at a device on his arm. Before returning to cradle his stomach. 

“Awfully bold of you to approach your boss like this.”

Perhaps your relocation could wait.

[yoonia]

the bedroom hymns ● chapter xix

⟶ Chapter summary | A legacy kept secret. A nearly forgotten presence of a loved one. A broken link between you and your late mother. When you begin asking whether it’s worth all the risk for you to get stronger, would you dare to take a step back, when that risk opens up a way for you to find answers? 

⟶ Title | The Bedroom Hymns: a Bluebeard’s twist ⟶ Pairings | Min Yoongi x female reader  ⟶ Genre | Fairy Prince!Yoongi, Crown Princess!reader, Fantasy AU, Fairy Tale retelling ⟶ Word count | 11,358 words ⟶ Ratings | PG-13, +18 / M for Mature for future chapters; include magic terms, classism, mentions of (minor) character’s death, implied mind manipulation. ⟶ Story Masterlist: The Bedroom Hymns | ⤎ previous chapter | next chapter ⇢ ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Taglist | Feedback | Music Playlist | Ko-fi

chapter xix. visions

Something is changing. 

No. Everything is changing. 

You can feel that change happening in your body the most. What once felt like a raw, completely foreign, indescribable energy running wild through your body since the moment you stepped foot in this realm and inadvertently awakened it, now feels like a steady current rushing through you. 

Now, the energy feels almost as natural as the warm blood flowing through your veins. Always growing stronger during your waking hours and settling down in your sleep. 

Only a few days have passed since you started going through these afternoon practices with Lord Gordan, yet the changes have been swift. The progress is evident in how much growth you feel with your awareness towards magic. 

Now, not only have you grown to be more in tune with the foreign energy you have within, but you seem to have also grown in tune with the magic that is present everywhere around you. You can sense it floating in the air you breathe, vibrating within the castle’s walls, and radiating from the people around you who obtain magic within. It pulses around you whenever a foreign mana is present, brushing against your skin whenever you walk by. Every so often, it seems to you as if the magic around you is trying to connect with your energy instead of feeding off of it just as everyone had initially thought to happen. 

Even the magic radiating from the silver doors feels different to you now. 

Every time you travel down the long hallways in Stargrave, passing by these silver doors, you can feel the magic from the portals trying to reach out to you even without you activating them. Before, you could only feel the magic by activating the portals, and they have always reacted by engulfing you like a protective shield as you stepped into them. Now, you can feel them emerging from those doors without having to touch them, responding to your presence like invisible fingers gently greeting you when you pass them by. 

The humming sound of magic coming out of those doors also seems to be growing clearer whenever you pay more attention to it. The obscure voices that you often hear from them are beginning to form into words—although spoken in an ancient language that you have yet to learn to decipher. 

They sound like whisperings of magic spells, playing with your mind and emotions to lure you in with their enchanting hums. 

Yet despite your curiosity and deep desire to travel through the portals behind the silver doors, to see new places and learn more about the realm, you have yet to start accessing them again. The magic keys are now hidden in the drawers of your dressing room. Out of sight, even if you still fail to keep them out of your mind. 

You have made the decision to put your adventure to a halt for a short while. Except for the times you get bored and decide to try on those doors to see what would happen if you try to open them with regular keys instead of the magic keys your father had gifted you. The enchanting hums are more muted when you approach them this way, yet they are always there, whispering to you, before revealing to you the rooms that are actually hidden behind these silver doors—nothing more but regular rooms, from guest bedrooms to lounges and retrieving rooms filled with wooden furnitures, ostentatious trinkets, and exquisite looking rugs that the maids tend to each day no matter how rare they are used. 

There is a valid reason why you choose to take a break from your excursions. For now. 

Your body may have recovered, yet your mind is still unsettled, filled with a damning curiosity about magic and what you can do with your powers. And you also refuse to risk losing the progress that you have been making by getting into the portals when you are not completely ready. When your mana is barely steady and your body is still too easily drained. 

The lessons that Lord Gordan has been giving you are physically draining, leaving you completely exhausted by the end of the day, with not much time left before the night comes to allow you to travel freely. And it doesn’t help that no matter how badly you wish to use the remaining free time you have left to rest properly and recuperate, fate doesn’t seem to be on your side. 

Because your sleep has been restless. Barely giving you the chance to have a proper break in your slumber and regain your energy before starting the next day. 

Because while you haven’t been able to travel through the portals during the day, at night, your mind travels on its own through your dreams. Dreams that are so peculiar they haunt you during your waking hours, always leaving you with many unanswered questions which remain at the back of your mind. 

The dreams always begin the same way. 

Always with the events from the day, replicated through your memories to let you relive it for a brief moment before the images you see shifts. Everything around you fades, leaving you on your own as you step out of your bedchamber, wearing nothing but the slip of a dress you often wear to sleep. 

In these dreams, you always see yourself walking through the long, winding hallway of Stargrave, completely barefoot, with your nightdress fluttering around your legs, lured by the shadows that act like your silent guide. 

Everything you see in your dreams during this part looks so familiar, yet at the same time, leaves you troubled. Because for some odd reason, they also feel so wrong. The dark walls and the cold stone floor feel different, although you have yet to figure out why you would feel this way when you are always more amazed at the fact that you can feel them, even in your dreams. 

In your daze, you keep walking, not stopping until you find yourself walking past the steep alcoves that you find on the outer halls on the side of the castle, heading towards one of the doors leading to the side courtyard. 

Stepping outside, a cold breeze suddenly flows around you. The sky is bright, not the usual pale grey that you often see on the daylight at Flagon. Yet there is no warmth falling on your skin. As if there is no sun in the sky shining from above you. 

The open veranda standing above the side courtyard seems desolated. Unlike what you see during the day, when you often see the palace maids walking past the flower beds with baskets of linen as they head towards the servants rooms in the back of the palace, or palace guards watching over the courtyard when they are not out there training. 

You continue walking from there, going down the long grand staircase made of stone which leads straight down the courtyard. The stone steps feel cold under your bare footsteps as you slowly make your way down. Flower petals in varying colours fall around you, carried through the breeze as they fall around your feet. You follow the petals as a guide, taking you across the courtyard that look nothing like what you recall in your memories. 

This side of the palace’s territory feels foreign to you. Never once have you ever explored this far away from the main castle. Always been too busy exploring the hidden parts within the castle walls instead. Even though you have been curious about the locked garden hidden behind the iron gate that you could see from the windows of your bedchamber. 

At the end of the courtyard, that is exactly what you see. The familiar wall of green hedges that are standing just a feet over your head. Except that this wall—just like the rest of the things you see—is different. 

They aren’t as neatly trimmed as how you remember them. Not as prettily as how you always admire them while you are sitting on the porch of Nanny Abigail’s private quarters during your late afternoon tea time.  

Yet the unkempt image of the garden isn’t the only thing that brings unease flickering in your chest. Everything about this green wall feels wrong. The pretty hedges have lost their shapes, with lumps of overgrown leaves at one side and withering and leafless branches on the other. Below, the grass have grown thickly, untrimmed with fallen dry leaves covering the ground around your feet. Ivy claims the iron gate, with relentless tendrils twisting around the iron bars, and rust growing from the corners of the gate to the floral embellishments you see at the top of the gate.

Setting aside the unease, you follow the thrum of your heartbeat and reaches out to touch the iron gate. It opens with one simple touch, and you carefully step across to the other side. As barefoot as you have been, your feet press down the dry leaves and thorny branches covering the ground with each step you take. 

On the other side, the garden that you wish to see is nowhere in sight. Once again, everything around you shifts. Instead of taking you to the royal garden, the gate brings you to an open ground that looks like the top of the rocky cliffs outside of Stargrave’s property. The grass quickly declines, replaced by gravel, damp soil, and patches covered in natural stones, with dry sand filling the crevices. 

Your mind seems barely present as you continue to walk across the opening, your bare feet are numb as you step over the uneven ground. It feels like your body is moving on its own, your legs working without your mind commanding them. Yet you are still sensible enough to notice it when the ground beneath you seems to ascend. 

At the end of your journey, you stop at the part of the ground covered in rocks, finding yourself standing atop of a cliff. 

Looking over the ledge, you are reminded of a different dream. The only difference is that instead of looking out at the wide open clear ocean, a different sight unfurls before you as you look across the horizon. 

From your new vantage point, you see a magnificent land of riches, a mirror image of the sight you have often marvelled back home in Smotia, but much larger and wider in size, and much more affluent that the place that had once been your home. 

To the west, you can see an endless stretch of the dense emerald forest, their canopies of leaves forming a sea of green swaying gently with the breeze. From the trees, you see rivers cutting through the land which sparkle under the bright sky, like ribbons of silver threads winding through the landscape. Tiny dots of villages and towns spread across the horizon, each one formed by either a cluster of thatched roofs or varying shapes of buildings made of white marble stones, all connected by winding paths that seem like bright coloured threads meandering through and between the vast green hills. 

Up here, the air feels crisp with scents of pine and wildflowers, far from the scent of see and dry wind of Stargrave. You see birds soaring gracefully in the sky, almost in tune with the rustling leaves and the distant murmur of waterfalls cascading down another part of the cliffs nearby. Between the rising green hills, you see patches of meadows and farmlands spreading across the landscape, all filled with an abundance of fresh crops, ready to harvest. 

Looking further to the north, you see the sight of mountain peaks looming in the distance. They remind you of Mount Orrum, except that they fill the horizon in a linear line with their snow-capped summits glowing under the bright unseen sun, towering the land like silent guardians. They look majestic, grand, and intimidatingly beautiful, unlike the lonely peaks of Mount Orrum that presented the long despair of the people of Nythelean Empire before your father claimed the throne. 

Looking at this sight brings you a sense of peace and belonging, but also a longing for a place that you have never seen before. This land reminds you of home. Not only for the home you found in Smotia, but the home that your heart has longed for under the lingering memory of your missing childhood. 

Far too soon, the bright sky changes as sunset arrives, and the sky is now painted in mixed shades of rosy colours and the golden hue of the descending sun. As the daylight fades beyond the horizon, a thick, white mist begins to rise from the ground, rapidly enveloping the territory.

It seeps through the trees, between the hills, rising higher and higher until you are beginning to lose sight of the green beauty of the land and the bustling life of the townspeople below. Above, white fog as thick as the clouds above also begins to build, covering the beautiful sight completely until everything disappears under the thick blanket of white.

And once again, your dream shifts. 

An icy thrill creeps through your spine when the fog is slowly lifted right before your eyes, and the sight you see changes. All of a sudden, you are no longer standing right above a magnificent land of riches and affluent life. 

Instead, you are now standing on the edge of a barren plateau. You gaze out to see a desolated land stretching out before your eyes. The lush fields and wide sea of emerald green that was the endless growing forest are long gone. In their place lay a wasteland, parched and lifeless, as if the very soul of the land that you marvelled at had been scorched away. 

Scattered across the desolated plain that had been a vast woodland are the skeletal remains of trees, their branches reaching towards the sky like bony fingers of ghosts from ancient times. They all stand in stark contrast to the lifeless ground, their twisted forms becoming an eerie sight out of a nightmare that brings shivers to your skin. The once-fertile soil of the vast farmlands is now a barren wasteland. Its rich, dark loam have now been replaced by dry, cracked earth that seems to stretch on endlessly all the way to the fading horizon. The white peaks of the mountain are now scorched black, as if a massive flame had engulfed the wall of rocks protecting the entire land. 

The sky above that was painted in varying colours is now a bleak expanse of grey. Not a sight of the warmth coming from the unseen sun, nor the golden hue of sunset. Nothing but a desolate light cast over from the sky, with no warmth to offer. The once-thriving rivers have mostly dried out to mere trickles, their beds cracked and exposed, and the sound of the trickling waterfalls now silent. 

Your eyes sweep across the landscape, your gaze lingering on the remnants of what had once been vibrant villages and lively towns. The stone-made buildings are nothing more than ghostly ruins, with crumbling walls and charred skeletons of what was once homes to many. Others appear with burnt walls and collapsed roofs, with nothing left other than broken porches tainted in smoke and ashes. 

Looking closer, you notice the faint outlines of paths and roads. Now barely discernible beneath the encroaching dust and debris. The sky is now quiet and empty. The birds and their songs are no longer present, leaving behind the mournful whispers in the wind, carrying with it the faint scent of ashes and decay, everything that represents death and a sorrowful end. 

What you see in your dream right before everything fades the moment you wake up feels like a warning, a reminder of a forgotten past. And it lingers with you through your waking hour, as the heavy weight of the sorrow that you feel from these dreams clings to you so tightly, becoming a part of you, as if your soul is crying for the broken part of the realm that has been lost in time. 

Your back is tense. Your limbs are all trembling as sweat builds in your body. You are overwhelmed with the pressure in your body that you are beginning to sway, your focus shifting, yet you know that you cannot stop now. Not yet. 

Sighing heavily, you fail to fight against the need to speak and question, “Is this practice really—necessary?” 

“You’re supposed to be focusing, Your Highness,” Lord Gordan answers from somewhere across the room after making a sound that is quite similar to a scoff. “Talking will only take your focus away.” 

With a deep breath, you swallow your annoyance and resume your position—standing in the middle of the room with your legs spread shoulders-wide, your arms stretched forward, and your gaze locked on the bare wall across the room. After having days of rigorous training—which merely included sword and weapon training and other physical exercises—Lord Gordan has finally decided that it was time for you to start your core training.

You have questioned why it was taking him this long to start teaching you this, choosing instead to focus on giving you physical training and fighting when you already have enough experiences on both from back when you still lived in the Citadel. Now, however, as you are starting to feel the strain in your muscles yet still able to keep yourself standing upright instead of shaking or falling, you are beginning to see the reason why he decided to stimulate your muscles and stamina first. The need to bring back your physical strength after taking a long break from any physical activities due to your move from the capital. 

You can understand the meaning behind it, but it doesn’t mean that you have to like it. 

“To answer your question. A heightened sense of awareness is required when you are in need of identifying mana.” Lord Gordan’s voice echoes from a different spot in the room, signifying that he has been moving around, circling the room as he keeps an eye on you.

But instead of fixating on his random movement, you fixate more on his words. A startling awareness rocks through you when you understand what he meant.  

“Identifying mana,” you whisper as you swallow thickly. Your heartbeat is racing. Never once have you ever shared about what you can do with the foreign mana inside you. No one other than Yoongi, that is. 

Surely, Lord Gordan is simply talking about the ability to sense magic, you silently convince yourself as you force yourself to remain calm. Because you have also learned that anyone with magic would be able to do this. To sense, not to identify. Because the latter is something that only a selective few can do. 

Unless Yoongi was wrong, and everyone with magic can do this. Making you not as special as he made you to be.

Keeping your voice steady, you try to confirm your thoughts by asking, “So that’s—normal?” 

The answer doesn’t come immediately. You can feel the weight of the silence that your tutor is giving you that you almost sway into the urge to rock on your feet, stepping side to side to calm your nerves. But before you can even move an inch, or speak, or take an inhale of breath, Lord Gordan finally speaks. 

“To identify its presence, yes. To recognise its form, where it comes from, whether or not they pose some danger to you, would be a special kind of skill which not many are gifted with.” 

You cannot see him as he stands behind you, one thing that you are grateful of because it means that he wouldn’t be able to see your reaction. Everything in your body grows tense, and you are sure that your shock is written all over your face. 

“How did you—”

Your words fade under the rapid thrum of your heartbeat. Warmth brushes against your back as Lord Gordan walks pass you. 

“Focus, Your Highness. Keep your questions for later. Don’t let your curiosity distract you from your practice”—he sighs—”again.” 

You can picture him walking away, brushing off his own statement, the fact that he knows what you are capable of, and your reaction to it. A part of you wants nothing more but to ignore everything. Anything to hide the fact that you have been practising your magic behind everyone else’s back and finding some hidden skills that have only been written in the books—behind your father’s back. And because revealing so would raise more questions. 

Namely questions on who might have been responsible in teaching you the basic techniques before Lady Laurel ever showed you how to, or what had actually triggered your mana to begin amplifying itself. 

But there is a bigger part of you, the one that has always been filled with curiosity, which gets stronger. That part of you needs answers.  

“I think the ship has sailed, don’t you agree? You’re the one causing that distraction by being vague.”

“Have I?” he chuckles, sounding a bit closer as he now stands right beside you. “You’re wondering how I know about what you can do, while I’m curious why you would be hiding it when Lady Laurel and Lady Abigail should be able to help you learn more about it.” 

Biting your bottom lip, you resist turning your head to look at him. You have no idea what he might see once you turn to face him. Will your secret and lies be written all over your face? Would he be able to read your mind just by looking into your eyes? 

Can he really tell how far you have actually been trying to control your mana and how the magic portals have been triggering it to get stronger? 

“Have you been practising in secret without your tutors’ knowledge?” Lord Gordan asks with a soft voice, and the breath that you had just taken ceases. “Why?” 

How your body can remain in its position is beyond you. Perhaps the fact that you are in too much shock has led to your body to become still. So still, that you barely tremble even when the breath that you take comes with a shudder. 

“Because I’ve been denied over and over again when I asked for a chance,” you murmur with a quivering sigh. It is the only reason you can think of. The only reason why you have been quite reckless about delving into magic without getting any proper training in the first place, and the same reason you had given to Lord Gordan before when you first confided in him and got him to agree to train you in secret. 

You can feel it rather than hear it when Lord Gordan turns and walks away. The tension in your body eases, but you still don’t dare to move. “You can take a break now, Your Highness,” Lord Gordan says, and you finally let go. Lowering your arms to your side, you wiggle them a little while shifting your legs before turning to look at your father’s aide. 

Lord Gordan has his back on you as he stands before a wooden credenza situated across the room. He is calm when he opens the lid of a glass decanter and places two empty glasses along with it. “Drink?”

You cannot exactly see how a liquor can help during this kind of talk. But you suddenly feel like your throat is dry and you can take anything just to ease your mind. “Yes, please.” 

Lord Gordan pours a golden-amber drink into both glasses and gestures you to take a seat on the settee near the window before handing you the glass. He sits on the chair across from you, silent as he watches you take dainty sips of the drink. It tastes sweet, a bit smoky, like the whiskey that your father keeps in his study room back in the Citadel. The same one that you had often drunk in secret whenever he was away.   

“You were denied access to your practice only because His Majesty instructed them not to get involved with your magic training. I don’t think that fact needed much explanation,” he says as he raises his glass, his eyes never wavering from you.  

“As I have already learned from the repeated rejection,” you bitterly mutter. “And I’m sure you recall that I don’t exactly have the patience to wait much longer.” 

“As I recall, from the repeated times you kept telling me and how both your tutor and your governess had informed me. Which was the reason why I’m helping you now even without His Majesty’s knowledge,” he reiterates calmly. “I’m sure you’ll be reasonable enough to keep this as our secret, as I am to keep your—private activities. I’ve always known that impatience runs strongly in your blood, after all,” he says with a chuckle. “Much like your magic.” 

Your brows rise in your confusion. “What do you mean?” 

Lowering his glass, Lord Gordan raises his free hand to start brushing his short beard. His gaze is sharp and intense when he answers, “Your ability to identify magic forms. It is an ability inherited through your bloodline.” 

Surprised to hear this, you perk up and straighten up in your seat, eager to learn more. “You mean, my father can do it too?” 

“No. Not His Majesty,” he says, shaking his head. “It was the Queen.”  

If your eyes have not grown wide before, they definitely are now. It has been quite a rare occurrence for you to hear anything regarding to your mother. It is almost as if people around you have been wary about bringing up the Queen, while your father would always avoid talking about your mother other than the times he reminisced the old days when you spent your childhood with your mother. 

Even then, he would always talk about his memories in a vague way, not entirely in a way that would help you remember everything from the past. 

That is why it becomes quite obvious that you are curious to hear more. Especially now, knowing that you might share something with your mother. That you have a piece of her in you which you have never known about before. 

“What did she do with it? How would she make use of it?” you cautiously ask him as you clutch the glass in your hands, hoping that the more you learn about your mother, the more you can learn about this ability and how to wield it. Until the day you can unlock your true magic. “I’m sorry, I just—I don’t understand why one would need to identify a magic form and its source.” 

Lord Gordan’s lips are lifted to a bitter smile. “For many reasons, in fact. You can identify someone or a party who might become a threat to your home and family, or to trace down a person or a magic source which may be of help to the kingdom.” He briefly stops, and you are almost sure that you can see a glimpse of longing in his eyes as he thinks back about the past—about your mother—but it fades too soon before you can read much of it. But the pride that he holds when he speaks of your mother remains when he adds, “But the Queen was capable of many things. She even did some questionable things when she was young with that ability of hers.” 

“Such as—?” 

Lord Gordan gives a half shrug as a smirk goes on his face. “Once she identified a new magic, she would not only learn of its source. She would dissect it, learn the system behind it to know how it worked and how to manifest it, so she would be able to learn how to wield it herself,” he explains with pride written all over his face.  

Resting both of his arms on his knees, Lord Gordan sightly leans forward to continue, “The Queen had the ability to mirror and duplicate others’s magic to her heart’s content and would oftentimes use it for her own gain. It was her ability that had gotten her in trouble far too many times in the past when she was younger, when she would often copy or mirror even the most dangerous kinds of magic she encountered way back then before she took the crown.”  

There is a buzz of energy following your footsteps as you walk down Stargrave’s dimly lit hallway. Flashes of your dream keeps following you, and you find yourself comparing every second, every detail that you see as you make your trip across the castle to the images that you saw in your dream.

Different. They are different.

Relief shouldn’t be the one emotion you have rushing in your chest as you look at the dark walls and stone floors, finding them positioned perfectly as you remember them and appearing differently compared to what your dreams have shown you. But relief is the only thing that you can feel now, finally proving to yourself that you weren’t crazy to believe that the images you have been seeing were mirror images to what actually exist in reality. 

What appeared to be on your left is now on your right. The side courtyard is placed on the west side instead of the east, and the door to your bedchamber hadn’t been flipped between left and right, causing the floral embellishment to face the wrong way as how you saw it in your dreams. 

But thoughts of your peculiar visions are not the only things that you have in mind. A few other things have also been nagging at you as you pace down the hall, nodding at the guards you come across without actually paying attention to their faces or remembering their names. 

The last conversation you had with Lord Gordan still haunts you. The story he shared about your mother and her ability keeps coming back to you each time your thoughts are quiet. 

For many years, you have tried—and failed—to learn more about your mother. You could never understand why everyone around you would never openly talk about her. You have heard almost nothing that could help you understand more about her; what was she like, what kind of person she was in the eyes of those who knew her and, more importantly, what happened to her. 

As if her life has always been a deep, dark secret that needed to be kept from you. 

If only you can understand why. Too bad you have no one to question or talk about this with, as even Lady Abigail—the only person you have known to have some kind of a relationship with your mother—has also avoided talking about your mother aside from the time she reminisced the old days before she became your governess and caretaker. She barely even talked about the days she spent taking the role as your mother’s lady-in-waiting when your mother was still alive. 

To you, any memory you have of her are hazy, as you were too young, too little to understand anything that was happening then. All you have now are jumbled pieces of memories that you still have trouble putting together, and there was no one around you who would be willing to fill in the gaps and help you get the full picture of what your childhood life with your mother was like.

No one until Lord Gordan finally came to the picture. 

Even now, you wonder why would Lord Gordan, someone who is supposed to be the King’s aide, the man who is most loyal to your father, would be willing to help you through everything. You know that you should be feeling grateful that there is at least one person in this castle who is kind enough to guide you through your new life when your father is unable to, not letting you feel lost in this new world you have been thrust into. Yet you cannot help but feel doubtful, unable to stop questioning the reason or purpose behind his willingness to help you and give you the answers you needed when you expressed them. 

Can you really trust him, when you had known nothing about this man before you moved to Stargrave? 

Does he have another purpose in helping you, and if he does, would it be wrong to believe that it may have something to do with your mother? 

The expression he made when he spoke about your mother remains in your memory. At first, you wondered if you had imagined it—the look of longing that flashed through his gaze at the thought of the Queen. But the more you think about it, the more you become sure of what you saw. Yet you have no idea what to make of it or what to do with this lingering doubt when you think about going back to his lecture the next day. 

Today’s lecture with your other tutors should have been enough to distract you from your thoughts. From Lady Laurel’s lecture about how a person can use a medium or a talisman to wield their magic, to Nanny Abigail’s lessons about royal alliances between empires and the technicalities behind them—from peace treaty signings to marriage arrangements. Yet your mind kept going back to that last interaction you had with Lord Gordan, to the part where you found out that you have a piece of her with you aside from the enchanted necklace that she passed down to you.

By the end of the day, all the things that kept troubling you began to overwhelm you so much that you decided to take a walk through the castle to clear your head before nightfall comes. 

You hadn’t exactly planned to do more than travel through the cold hallways. Nothing more but a little trip to wear yourself out so you can sleep tonight without having to enter your peculiar dream again. Yet with the magic keys in your pocket, it seems like you are being lured once again towards the hall at the other end of the castle where more rows of silver doors are located. 

This time, you find yourself being lured specifically to one familiar-looking door which had drawn your attention some long hours ago. 

It was early dawn when you walked down this same hallway for your morning stroll, unexpectedly encountering a maid who entered this room to do some cleaning. 

“Early morn’, Your Highness,” she awkwardly greeted you with an accent that you weren’t quite familiar with, carrying with her a basket filled with utensils and freshly washed linens. 

You watched her entering the room, revealing a small retrieving room with a whole set of high-back chairs covered in ivory coloured leather surrounding a tall round wooden table. You also saw twin credenzas set on each opposite walls, a twin floor-to-ceiling windows across the room where the rising sunrise was filtering through, and a long settee with the same leather cover set in front of them. 

This room wasn’t one that you had ever used before. But it was the embellishment carved on the door which caught your attention—the silver linings formed into twisting wild ivy with blooming wildflowers carved on the door and the symbolic markings on its center which mirrored the curves on the center of your ruby amulet. 

You trace those linings with your gaze as you are standing before the same door again many hours later, listening to the whispering hums that you failed to notice this morning when the maid unlocked the door with her master key. The sky outside is growing dark, as your activities during the day had turned out to be longer. Looking around, there are no guards in sight. No palace maids roaming the halls as the day nears dusk, most of them already retreating to their quarters to have their needed break and prepare for supper.  

After days of keeping it away, the silver key feels peculiar in your hand. But at the same time, it feels good to have it with you again. It gives you some sort of comfort to be holding it again, despite feeling the weight of its secret which you are obligated to protect in your father’s name. 

Looking from up close, you can finally confirm that the curves on the door truly are similar to what you have on your necklace. Lines that at one glance will only look like petals of flowers curling on each other. Yet when you take a look even closer, they appear more like cursive letters for words that are foreign to you. 

Just as foreign as the spells that are humming from the door as you step closer. 

Taking a deep breath, you slowly enter the key, opening the door with a resounding click. The blue void unfurls in the doorway instead of the view of the retrieving room that you previously saw, and you carefully step into it. Your senses immediately grow alert, opening to embrace the sparks of magic that is welcoming you back.  

A sharp gasp escapes you as you walk through the portal. 

You had expected that it would feel different this time around to come in direct contact with the magic, yet you never expected it to be this intense. Not that the sparks of energy feel painful on your skin. It’s just that the magic feels more aggressive, coming at you with a rush as it engulfs you  completely until you emerge on the other side. 

With the magic and the whispering spell still ringing in your head, it takes a bit longer for you to regain control of your senses once you step out of it. Keeping your eyes closed, you try to catch your breath, instantly breathing in humid air filled with mildew and dust. 

It nearly chokes you instead of helping you calm down. With brows furrowed, you carefully open your eyes to see where you are. 

The room where you have emerged into seems to be a closed storage, with open cabinets filling the walls around you, all stocked with boxes, canned rations, and empty glass jars that are mostly covered with dust. Judging from the state you are seeing, you are quite certain that this place hasn’t been visited for a long while. 

Coughing up all the dust, you turn to follow the humming sound of the portal, seeing it appearing behind you in the mirror standing against the wall. Its blue light sparkling brightly across your face, appearing slightly lighter and brighter than how it used to. 

“Charming,” you muse with a chuckle, realising how much you have missed seeing this magnificent sight that is still amazing to marvel at. 

Turning back to face the room, you find two different doors. Each one placed on the opposite side of the storage room. The one on your left seems to be locked, with more dust and cobwebs attached on it, and you find no desire to touch it at all. 

Lights seem to be penetrating through the seams and cracks on the door to your right, which seems more promising. The wood is also cleaner, smoother, and new, with not a sight of rust on its metallic handle and hinges that would have made you hesitant upon touching it. You can also hear muffled noises coming from the other side—people’s voices, a hum of music coming from the distance, and the sound of hoofs and carriage wheels passing across stone-covered ground. 

Dusting your coat, you walk over to the door on your right and carefully reach for the handle. It opens easily with a click, as if your touch alone is enough to unlock it. All the noises you heard earlier filter into the dark room in an instant. The golden hue of sunset that welcomes you as you step out of the door feels blinding, hitting you right at the same time warm breeze comes brushing against your skin. 

The change of atmosphere is so sudden that it becomes overwhelming and too distracting. 

So distracting that you nearly jump when the door abruptly closes behind you with a hard slam before you can stop it. Turning in shock, you inadvertently bump against someone who is trying to walk past. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” 

“Excuse me!” 

You turn to look at the person you just bumped into, seeing a young girl who is carrying a pile of boxes in her arms. The pile has grown so high that they almost reach the top of her head, making it hard for her to see clearly what is in front of her.  

“I’m sorry, Miss. I couldn’t see you,” the young girl apologises in a small voice after making sure she isn’t going to drop her boxes. You see two blotches of pink smearing her cheeks as she looks at you that you feel guilty for getting in her way. 

“That’s okay, it was my mistake for not paying attention,” you say to her, nodding, and the girl smiles before she continues on her way. 

Watching her go, you finally realise that you are standing in the middle of some sort of a back alley. Aside from the door that you had just come out of, there are lines of doors on either side of the alley. All closed and possibly locked. All leading to the bigger spaces hidden behind the wall. Curious to know where you have ended up in, you silently follow the young girl down the alley until you reach the end. 

Stepping out of the dark back alley, you emerge into a place bustling with vibrant energy. 

With cobblestone streets, lines of fancy stores and buildings made up of stone and brick walls with large display windows at the front, this place reminds you of the high street of Narlès. Amazed, you walk out into the street, joining the crowd of people who are too busy window-shopping to notice you. 

At first glance, there doesn’t seem to be anything unusual about the stores that you are seeing. 

A scent of freshly baked bread and pastries comes wafting from a quaint bakery nearby, where the display windows showcase golden croissants, crusty baguettes, and an array of sweet treats that are making your stomach rumble. But there is also a hint of herbs, spice, and other rich aroma that you aren’t quite familiar with, seemingly richer and more diverse compared to the bakery shops you have seen in the human realm. 

Right next door is a small bookshop. From the window at the front, you can see wooden shelves packed with various books. Their spines display a rainbow of colours and textures. You don’t have to step in to imagine breathing in the comforting aroma of aged paper and ink. Similar to what you always find back at the old library of Stargrave. 

Yet from here, you can also see scrolls and scriptures stacked up between those shelves, ancient runes written on the spines of the books that appear to be glowing from the furthest shelves inside the store, and tarot cards being laid across the display table by the windows. Together with candles and burning incense laid around an open spell book. 

Just like Narlès, there are small boutiques lining up the street. Their windows display mannequins wearing the latest trends, ornate fashion pieces made up of coats and cloaks, high leather boots and sparkling heels, and some other exquisite pieces that you have never seen being sold in fashion boutiques before; such as chest armours made of glimmering gold and leather straps in varying sizes and shapes which appear to be made for swords and other weapons. 

The sight of excited shoppers carrying their bags in their arms remind you of the nobbles you met at Narlès. The people of high-society who came to the market town to keep up with the trend, their faces filled with joy as they carried the goods and gifts that they were bringing home.  

But the more you look, the more you can find stark differences between both places. Unlike Narlès, the streets here are larger in width, allowing carriages to drive by and more varying shoppers strolling from one store to the next. Magic items are being displayed even in the regular shops, pixies jumping around and flying in front of some shops, happily inviting shoppers to come visit. 

Instead of seeing only nobbles roaming the streets, you see children playing around the fountain at the market square, street musicians performing for passerby with music and magic tricks within a block of each other, and varying vendors selling their goods—from various wares, flowers, even snacks and candies—at colourful stalls built between the larger stores. 

Yet the major difference you are seeing the most is within the people. Looking past the fancy linings on their outfits and the variety of colours and fabric of their coats, you catch some other characteristics that are evident between the people around you. The humans or mortals are easy to recognise, with their tilted chin and neatly combed hairs and formal demeanour, they don’t stand out as much compared to the ones with pointy ears and jewelled-like eyes, or the ones with hairs in the colour of moonlight that actually glow and sparkle under the golden hue of the sunset, or the ones who stand almost as tall as the stores they are walking past by. 

Just like Narlès, where humans from a myriad of places come to visit and find what they need, this place seems to be the destination for visitors from every part of the fairy tale realm who are not regulars to the market town for the humans. 

Elves, faeries, trolls, and shapeshifters. Most of them are either dressed as sorcerers and wizards or warriors and rich merchants, and they blend together with travelling humans such as you are as they roam the streets and the alleys lined up between the smaller stores. 

In your astonishment, you suddenly come to a halt. Barely avoiding a collision with two young elves who are pushing carts filled with goods across the market square. You continue to watch them go until they disappear into the store across the street where they seem to be working at. 

You still have your eyes locked on the busy street until you hear a mixed sounds of squeaking and rattling coming from above your head, followed by the sound of a ringing bell echoing somewhere nearby. The sounds draw your attention to the sky, allowing you to see the sight that you would have missed out on should you keep your attention to the ground.

Looking up above, you find that the skyline is graced by sleek, silvery lines of elevated tracks that you have seen pictures of from your books about the magical realm. Weaving their way beyond the top of the stores made up of stone and brick walls and between the towering buildings covered with glass walls, they cast intricate shadows on the cobblestone streets below which you have failed to notice earlier while taking in the sight of the stores and the people around you. 

Trains made up of long carriages move gracefully along the tracks, suspended in the air with cables connecting them to the silver tracks. The humming sound of the machinery mobilising their leisure strolling across the city echoes all the way down to the bustling streets below, a constant reminder of the vibrant energy pulsing through the market place. 

The monorails. That is what they are called in one of the books that you read during your lectures. 

In the pictures you saw on those pages, they looked like frail horse carriages hanging in the sky. You had imagined them moving stiffly, rocking with each curve and twist of their tracks as they move through the city. Yet as you watch them drive by above your head, they look more like a metallic serpents floating in the sky, glowing as its body reflects the golden hue of sunlight for traveling up close. You can see from the distance that each car seems to be carrying with them more shoppers and visitors from various places in and out of the city that might be way more spacious than how you had initially thought it to be. 

Seeing this makes you feel as if you have been sent years ahead into the future instead of somewhere across the realm. A modern city that many could only dream of. Except that magic exists in this place together with the technology that you have yet to see in your home realm. 

You can feel the presence of magic. Sense it. Be it pulsing from everywhere around you or to feel it as you almost come brushing against other passerby strolling down the streets. 

One of the monorails slows down to a halt in front of what seems to be an elevated post standing against the upper floor of a nearby store. The ringing bell you heard earlier becomes the sign of its arrival before a voice calls out from within the carriage, 

“Aeris! Welcome to Aeris, the Mage city!”

Eyes widening, you feel intrigued. You can hear the sound of your heartbeat growing slightly faster as your excitement grows. 

Mage city. How interesting, you wonder with a smile. Let’s see if this place can teach something more about magic. 

The chime of the bell echoes from above your head as you walk through the store’s front door.

Inside, the air is thick with the scent of old books, exotic spices, and a hint of incense. A stark change from the humid air outside. It feels comforting, in a way that you are made to feel as if you are walking into a place that feels dreamy. As if this space is enchanting and inviting you to find shelter here among the rows of racks filled with crafted artefacts and magic items. 

Looking around, you notice that the store that you had just entered isn’t too crowded, yet still lively. The muted sounds of conversations shared between shoppers and workers become a lull as you walk deeper into the shop. You can see more wizards and witches walking around, browsing through the racks and display tables. Workers that you identify as a mixed group of humans and elves are diligently tending to the customers, yet none of them seems to have noticed you enter.  

The shop is dimly lit by chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, each one adorned with crystals which refract lights in a myriad of colours spread across the room. The walls around you are lined up with wooden shelves, all reaching up to the high, vaulted ceiling, with not a sight of an empty rack visible from where you stand. 

On one side of the store, an alcove bathed in a soft glow of light appears a bit more lively than the main area of the shop. In there, elves, young and old, and some young humans dressed in intricate cloaks gather around a large wooden table. The elder elves are holding different types of scrolls in their hands as they converse with each other in gentle voices. 

Judging by the looks of it, they seem to be holding a small workshop there, teaching the younger customers the art of potion-making, seen from the way the elder elves are guiding the young wizards through the process of mixing and testing different types of colourful liquids into small cauldrons and glass bottles. 

It is quite an interesting sight to see real wizards and other beings doing magical practices so openly in such a welcoming space. To watch with your own two eyes everything that you have only learned and seen through your books and scriptures. You are also amazed to see the mystical creatures blending in, as you see mischievous pixies flitting about to help the workers and large owls with wide, golden eyes perched on wooden posts set on different corners of the store as they watch over the shoppers like silent guardians. 

And you certainly cannot miss the vibrant pulse of magic spreading all around you. 

Unlike the parts of the city which you had come across, where magic simply lingered in space, you can easily tell that the magic you are feeling is coming from different sources that are stored all over the shop. 

At the center of the room, a large, intricately carved oak table stands as a centerpoint, displaying a variety of enchanted items; wands crafted from rare woods and embedded with precious gems, enchanted rings that glimmer under the glow of the chandelier above, and talismans inscribed with runes of ancient spells. The faint hum of mana coming out of these artefacts permeates the air, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

Instead of coming closer to learn more about them, you turn away from the table, as they were not the reason why you came here in the first place. 

Your gaze moves towards the display counter at the front, to the sparkling items that you saw earlier when you were walking pass by the store. Jewelries and amulets adorned with gemstones and crystals in varying colours, all glowing under the sunset hue penetrating through the front window. 

Their alluring sparkles had been the reason why you had chosen to step into this store—after visiting multiple different stores which had drawn your attention yet hadn’t been enough to keep you interested. But it is the pulsing mana they are emitting which draws you in as you slowly take a few steps closer. 

Lowering the hood of your cloak, you keep your eyes on these amulets as you reach up to your neck, gently grazing the embellishments on your necklace with the tips of your fingers. From the moment you stepped out of the magic portal, the necklace has been humming with mana. And now, once you have it revealed from the neckline of your cloak, it appears to be glimmering. You have no idea whether this is happening as a late response to the magic from the portal or if it is calling out to the vibrating energy you feel coming from all around you. 

The only thing that you notice is the fact that these amulets are answering its call. 

Whispers of enchanting spells begin filling your head, muffling all the other sounds coming from all around you. Without you realising it, your legs begin to move forward, and there is something guiding your hand to reach out to touch the alluring pulse of mana. To feel it on the tips of your fingers. To sense the real form of this flowing energy and understand its origin. 

“Welcome to l'Équinoxe,” a soft voice greets you, shutting down the humming magic that is beginning to overcome your senses. 

Snapping out of it, you lower your hand and turn, facing the main counter on the other side of the room. A shopkeeper stands behind the counter, her green eyes sparkling brightly as she greets you with a smile on her face. The tips of her pointy ears are peeking out of the strands of her caramel-coloured hair as she slightly tilts her head. “Hello, is there anything that I can help you with?” she asks. Her voice is gentle and she speaks in a rhythm which makes it seem as if she is singing a tune as she invites you to come closer. 

“We have potions and elixirs for all purposes—healing, therapy, youth, and we also have some that can enhance your mana and strength. In the back, we have wands, crystals, and staffs for your magic practices. We also have various types of medium, talismans that are handcrafted by artisans from across the realm and—” she stops briefly, and while your gaze traces across the array of colourful bottles filled with potions and elixirs lined up within the racks behind the shopkeeper, her gaze moves down to the glimmering necklace hanging from your neck, “—amulets, just like the one that you are wearing now.” 

Your gaze snaps back to her face. “Oh,” you whisper. Something about this interaction you are suddenly having makes you uneasy. Yet you are incapable of pinpointing what it is that makes you feel so unsure about this. If only her soft gaze isn’t so comforting and inviting, perhaps you would have been able to think clearly. Clear enough to question if it would be a good idea to engage on her sudden interest with your necklace. 

Clearing your throat, you muster a smile to your face. “Yes, I was looking at those necklaces at the front. I’m not really looking for anything, I was window-shopping and got a bit curious.” Which isn’t a complete lie, since that had been the reason why you stumbled into this store. 

“Take your time. You can look around however you like,” the shopkeeper reassures you. “Although, I can’t say that we have anything that would be able to match your lovely amulet.” 

An unsettling flutter sparks in your chest. “Why would you think that?” 

The shopkeeper, the female elf with eyes like a pair of jewels says nothing at first, only keeping her gaze on your necklace for a moment too long before asking, “May I have a look?” 

Tilting your head, you barely have any thought of debating on it. Once again, your curiosity easily wins. “Of course,” you answer her as you walk closer to the counter, allowing her to get a better look at your necklace. 

As you lean over the counter, the shopkeeper herself leans forward and gently pulls the ruby amulet towards her. She hums a little as she peruses the necklace, her gaze traces across the ruby stone and the golden embellishments before her lips are lifted to an amused grin. “This is a magnificent type of amulet that I haven’t seen for a long time. Seems like your necklace was crafted many years ago, and the ruby is a specific kind of gemstone that is rarely found nowadays in modern cities like ours,” she murmurs, once again sounding as if she is speaking in tune. She brushes her thumb across the ruby stone and you can almost be sure that it vibrates against her touch. You can barely conceal a flinch, yet she doesn’t seem to notice it as she carefully releases the necklace. 

The pulse of mana remains for a moment as the necklace settles against your skin. It feels warm—not in an unsettling way which would have made you worry. But it does take a while before the rapid pulse of mana within the necklace starts to calm down. 

“I can feel the strong magic it contains. Did you wield the mana yourself?” 

At the mention of the magic hidden within the amulet, you finally realise the reason why you have been so bothered about this interaction. About everything that has happened since the moment you stepped foot into this city. From the moment you bumped into the young elven in the back alley who didn’t seem so surprised to see you, the way some shopkeepers kept offering you their goods while you were walking down the streets, and how this elven shopkeeper had greeted you first.

Your father’s voice and his insistent in making sure that you would never forget to wear your mother’s necklace echo through your head, along with the fading voice of the mysterious man you met in your dreams who sounded much like Yoongi as he talked about the necklace. 

The protective spell. 

The magic inside the amulet which had been protecting you, shielding you from other people’s eyes and making you almost invisible to avoid coming to harm, has been annulled. Whatever magic exists in this mage city is much stronger than the magic that had been implanted in your ruby amulet. Just like how it never works whenever you are back home in Stargrave, where the source of its magic is present.  

With a light scoff, you let out an amused chuckle and shake your head. “I wish I was skilled enough to do so, but no. This necklace was handed down to me from my mother.” 

The shopkeeper gives you a thoughtful look. “I see. It’s good to be able to see such a powerful amulet again after so long. We used to sell similar amulets such as yours, a long, long time ago, back when I was a novice barely capable of conjuring spells.” 

“Really?” The pitter-patter of your heartbeat sounds like a charm, a drumming song, a melodic tune that sounds almost as clear as the bell chiming from above the front door of the magic store. Hope blooms inside your chest as you realise that you may have stumbled upon a place that may have some traces of your mother’s legacy. That you might be able to find traces of her existence in this realm and finally piece together the story about her life. 

“I wish I know more about this necklace,” you find yourself murmuring as you look at your necklace with wonder. And then your gaze returns to the shopkeeper, wondering if she would be able to help answer some of your curiosity. “Do you perhaps recognise the curving on the embellishment as well? I have been trying to understand what these forms could mean, whether they are symbols or cursive letters, but I cannot seem to find anything that may explain what they are.” 

The shopkeeper lifts her brows and leans forward once more. With a slight nod, she takes a moment to asses what she is looking at before sharing her thoughts with you, “They seem to be a mixture of symbols and spells written in cursive letters. Like I said, it’s been a while since I’ve seen anything like this.” 

Leaning back, she tilts her head as she thinks deeper. “They look similar to a part of an Ancient language. The old language of the Ancient Faeries,” she calmly says, sounding firm and confident with her assessment while you are caught by surprise to hear this revelation. “You know, I might have some old spell books in the back which may help you translate them, if you are interested.” 

You don’t even waste anymore time to consider it. “I would love to buy the book if you have it in your inventory.” 

The shopkeeper’s smile widens, as if she shares your joy for coming close to solving the mystery behind this necklace. “Let me see what I can find.” 

You barely finish muttering words of gratitude when she quickly turns away from the counter. You watch her as she slips away, following her movement with your eyes as she weaves her way through the store, slipping between the display racks and shoppers until she reaches the back of the shop. 

From there, she climbs up a spiral staircase which leads to a mezzanine floor filled with scrolls and parchments, where only a small group of visitors are seen diligently browsing through them as if doing their personal research. Then she disappears behind the massive wooden shelves you can see in the far back of the mezzanine floor, one that is filled with a clutter of spell books. 

Not so keen to appear like a lost child, you turn back to focus on the display racks filled with bottled potions. You hadn’t been able to pay close attention to them earlier as you were chatting with the shopkeeper. Looking closely beyond the myriad of vials of elixirs, you see various sizes of glass jars filled with bizarre ingredients floating in thick golden liquids; dry branches and roots, preserved parts of dead animals, and other unidentifiable items. 

It intrigues you to wonder what these items would be useful of. At the same time, the sight of these unidentified ingredients makes you wary about trying out the potions, even if you had been interested to see if they could truly work in helping you during your magic training.

While you are silently marvelling these displayed components, you catch a flutter of motion at the corner of your eyes, coming from the front of the store. Turning to face the front window, you see movements of window-shoppers passing by at the front, a horse carriage driving through towards the opposite side, and weaving between the crowd is a dark, familiar figure walking in quick pace. 

Tall and slim, wearing a black cloak that flutters behind him with every firm step he takes and a large hood that covers his head, the sight of this figure causes your heartbeat to pick up. 

“I found it! I knew we had it somewhere. I’m sorry it took me so long—” the shopkeeper cheerfully announces her return, almost running out of breath in her haste. While you are glad to hear that she has managed to find the book that you may need for your research, the desire to chase the dark figure who is slowly disappearing between the crowd of people outside becomes too irresistible for you to ignore. 

“Could you excuse me for one second? I’ll be right back, I promise,” you hastily apologises to the shopkeeper who is staring at you with wide eyes. Guilt pierces through your chest as you look at her, but you have no time to explain yourself as the figure suddenly slips out of sight.  

The melodic chime of the bell at the front door sounds muted when you have your focus on the movements happening in the streets. It seems like your legs are moving faster than they have always been when you try to catch up with him, yet you still struggle to keep up when the crowd seems to grow thicker the closer you are getting to the square, and he isn’t going any slower.

The sun has gone down while you were at the magic store. The lights from the stores around you and the streetlights have been light up to compensate the rising darkness, yet they are still not enough to help you see better. 

Thankfully, the dark figure appears once again, still moving fast between the crowd of shoppers and workers without noticing you following him. The back of his cloak are billowing like a small wave as he continues to stroll away, and you can almost hear the clicking sound of his boots as he walks further away. The cloak parts at the front with the speed that he is walking on, revealing the short sword that is strapped against his left hip, the sheathed side of it bumping against his thigh as he continues walking further away from you. 

Yoongi. It must be him, you wonder. Yet why hasn’t he said a thing? Why is he leaving without saying hello? 

You cannot understand why he would choose to leave just when you noticed him. It couldn’t have been because he didn’t see you, when you are quite sure that you had seen him standing in front of the store, watching you through the front window before he suddenly turned and walked away.

But why?

Questions continue to fill your head as you keep chasing him. But the crowd keeps getting thicker, as the night quickly arrives and the evening shops and cafes are open. 

You are nearly breathless as you reach the market square. The voices in your head quickly becomes silent as your hope is depleted, and you stop with a sudden halt. Because just as you turn the corner, the dark figure that you have been following suddenly vanishes, as if he has been swallowed by the shadows of the night, taking away any hope you have had of being able to see your mysterious mercenary again.   

Author's Note | It's been a long wait, but we're finally here. This part took a long time to finish because it kept growing as more details were added in, and I had to figure out how to split the scenes to make it readable. Thank you for your patience. I really hope you enjoyed reading this chapter!

— © 2024 Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind is not allowed. unsolicited translations are not allowed.

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

Angel - Part 2

Marvel AU

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Enhanced Omega Reader x Alpha Bucky Barnes

Summary: It's different when you're enhanced. Everything is different, every smell, every sound, touch, feelings. The way it's different doesn't make sense unless you are enhanced. Throw in what comes with Alpha and Omega instincts, and the intensity of your presentation is even more than any other. When you find yourself in need of help you can call on the alpha you trust the most, Natasha Romanoff. You just don't expect to find your alphas at the same time. Are you really enough for them? And can you really be the Luna to the Avengers?

"To be loved, to be loved by your mate is everything." - Wanda Maximoff

Reader is enhanced, has wings and has powers connected to electricity.

Chapter Summary: Clint and Nat discover what's happened to you.

Chapter Warning: Mentions of sexual assault and attempted rape.

Clint’s the first to find you.

You’re sitting in the ditch your knees to your chest, head down and your wings wrapped around you.

“I have her, slow approach.”

He slowly knelt down in front of you, keeping a two metre distance. He had never seen your wings so dark, as black as they were now. You’d told him early on in your friendship that they changed colour with your moods. The darker, the worse the mood. He’d only seen them pure white a couple of times and it was always around his kids or laughing with Nat and Laura on the porch at the farm. But right now, they were as dark as night, like Lucifer himself had given them to you.

“Y/N? Sweetie it’s me. It’s Clint. Can you let me see you?”

Your wings dipped ever so slightly and your tear filled eyes looked back at him. It didn’t take a detective to figure out what had happened. Even his beta nose could pick up the stink of the alpha on you and he knew that scent. If he didn’t kill the alpha responsible, Romanoff definitely would. Clint knew what he had to ask you and he hated having to ask, knowing he really already knew the answer, but protocol was protocol and he knew at least a dozen agents that practically worshipped you and would bring in the piece of shit, to save him and Romanoff the trouble. They’d get you settled and then have him delivered to them. Wanda would want in on this and he was sure Wade owed you a favour. Yeah that would do it but now he needs you out of this ditch.

“Y/N? Do you require a female senior officer for debrief?”

You nodded weakly in reply.

Purposeful footsteps made themselves known and you saw Natasha’s silhouette appear from the darkness, the sparse street lights being all to light the ditch.

“Angel?”

The smell and look in your eyes hit Natasha like a freight train and she knew right then she was putting some red in her ledger. She tried her best to keep the growl muffled in her chest as she pulled out a pair of medical gloves from her pocket, as Clint mimicked her actions.

“Bruce call Hill, direct line, tell her we need her on a video call immediately. AR and SA suspected. Debrief required.” Clint requested over comms as he and Natasha slowly reached out to you, their hands outstretched. You placed a hand in one each of theirs and they slowly lifted you up, both noticing how your face contorted with pain.

“We’ve got you.” spoke Clint softly as he slipped an arm around your waist, “this OK?”

You let out a shuddered breath and nodded. Nat mimicked Clint’s actions, pushing down her inner alpha’s rage. Both supported you keeping the smallest of gaps between you so not to contaminate your suit too much and damage the evidence you were covered in.

The light breeze generated from F.R.I.D.A.Y bringing around the jet blew your hair back and Clint got a clearer view of your face, and could see a clear the mark where you’d been struck. Bruce appeared on the already lowered ramp and you noticed he was also wearing gloves and a disposable apron.

“Hills online and everything is set up.”

As you entered the jet you became aware of what Bruce meant and saw a projection of a live video call from Deputy Director Hill, a stern look on her face. A plastic sheet was laid in front of the screen, and on it laid a clear bag, swabs, scissors and nail clippers. You stepped on the sheet and Hill pushed down a growl, trying to hide it as a clearing of her throat as she saw the state you were in.

“Agent, please confirm your identity.”

You signed back.

AFH 27, code name Angel

“I’m going to need verbal communication if possible Agent.”

You gesture at your throat, getting frustrated when you realised you weren’t being clear.

“I don’t think she can.” Bruce replied for you, noticing the bruising making its way up your neck. He placed a tablet in front of you, the internal state of your vocal calls displayed.

There was a muttered Jesus Christ from Hill.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y give her a full body scan for injuries, fluids and any other evidence.”

“Agent, tell me what happened.”

TAGLIST

@hnnhbananananana

[eggcats]

I know it's common for, in radiostatic fics that get rid of Valentino, to get rid of the pornography empire they have, and I GET why, but in my own personal opinion I don't think it's always the best move

In my Housewife Vox AU, I've kept that part of the media empire Vox owns and simply changed ownership of being the overlord in charge of that to be Angel Dust (owned by Alastor) - (in the original deal, Val and Vox's agreement was a lot more equal, but to exert control, prevent a power grab, and make sure Angel can't do anything to hurt Vox or his empire, Alastor took Angel's soul)

(I also hate Val, so I did have him killed in the 80/90s and Angel taking over THEN, but even still, in my AU, Vox did decide to partner with Valentino to add control over hell's pornography into his empire because it'd be foolish not to, considering the power that would add)

Because, like, IMO the issue with that section of visual media was because of HOW Valentino was doing it (abusing his staff, using his venom to coerce people into it, creating the date rape drugs, etc) - but if you take that part out, it makes more sense for a media mogul who owns as much of the media and technology in the Pride Ring he can TO also have a monopoly on the pornography available - it's not like simply not owning it would mean it doesn't exist, so you might as well be the one to do it, do it right, and get the money from it, yeah?

I do think, though, that once Angel took over, he and Vox DID go over all of Val's previous contracts to make sure their employees still wanted the job they had signed their souls over for - the ones who didn't want to do pornography anymore were simply moved to other jobs; and Angel doesn't have issues signing new people on (even/especially without the drugging) because the contracts are relatively fair and the staff treatment at the studio is fine, so for many freshly fallen it's a good way to not be begging on the streets and to have a steady income

ALSO, because Alastor would go ballistic if any of Angel's employees hit on Vox or tried to get him to sleep with them, ALASTOR is usually the one visiting Angel at the studio when the need arises (he's not particularly bothered by sex work, he just has no interest in partaking in any part of it and generally doesn't want to think about it)

Alastor is aware of himself enough to know that if Vox came home smelling like the sinners and sex of the studio, he wouldn't be able to control the rampage he'd go on and would unintentionally clear out half of Angel's employees - which would be bad for Vox

Angel agrees, because no matter HOW many times he warns his employees not to, some will inevitably still hit on Alastor - who just ignores it and doesn't see it as anything relevant (so Vox never finds out to be the one murdering them) - but if Alastor saw/heard/smelled even a hint of them flirting with Vox it'd be a bloodbath worse than when he killed Val

Also, ironically, Angel can flirt with them both with no repercussions because somehow neither of them see him as a threat, and other than very close to his rut, Alastor considers Angel's scent on Vox not something to be alarmed about - like he's fine with Rosie and Niffty's scents as well

(Angel will never admit even under threat of death, but if Alastor and Vox ever did seriously take up his offer to be their third in the bedroom he's jumping at the chance - but he knows the only reason he's alive is because they think it's a joke. It's not. He knows it'll almost definitely never happen, but if the offer ever comes up, he's saying yes, immediately, lol).

[afklancelot]

if House of Leaves (specifically Johnny Truant's story) took 3 years later than what was originally said in canon

September 7, 2001

"...Doc took a quick dip in the adjacent cold water bath. When he came back he told me the story of Dr. Nowell."

September 11, 2001

THEY HIT THE SECOND FUCKING TOWER

September 20, 2001

"I am much improved. My friends have been taking care of me..."

[thechaotichorselord]

THE ASK KEEPS RESETTING AND REMOVING WHAT I WRITE.

So I’m putting my shit here 😊👍👍 (thank you for the ask @justeplume)

“How good is your Narrator at socializing?”

Horrible. Let me explain.

He doesn’t try to get attached to people anymore. He prefers to analyze them. He wants to make sure they won’t affect his game too much if they find their way into it. Or wants to see how much of a threat level they are. So therefore, he doesn’t socialize. AND IF HE DID SOCIALIZE—

He’d end up messing up a lot. He’s guarded himself from becoming close with people due to what it made him do years ago (lore no wayyy), and if affected how he’s able to interact with others. He’s blunt, snappy, and always has a scowl on his face. I feel like he’d be known as “The Grinch” of Narrators or something. If he really does try to put effort into talking, he’ll just not be able to function and stare with a grimace and give a few occasional “yes, “no”, or grunts. Then he’ll leave as soon as possible.

He really doesn’t need to socialize with anyone anyways. It’s all just useless. It can’t help him, it’ll only hurt him. That’s all that people have ever done. Hurt him, hurt him. He doesn’t need friends, or people to talk to. He only needs his game and his books.

(narrators featured here are @how-is-this-taken and @rick-ety)

[soosoosoup]

Haaayy can you tell us more about your au where branch finds cooper's egg?

Hiiii!! Thanks for asking! And of course :)

lol turns out I had a lot more thought out. Fair warning, none of this is concrete, this was thought up a while ago and uhhhhh… writing is not my strong suit lol

In this au I had debated whether to make copper a little bit younger, I already hc him as the youngest of the snack pack so idk if its needed lol.

While in the beginning of making his bunker, branch (who’s maybe 7??) would travel farther out into the forest and gather supplies to build when he stumbles on what looks like an egg? Just in time too, ‘cause Coops pops out like in twt, does his little groove, & then proceeds to flop over to nap (being baby is tiring work).

Branch is just ??? cause like what?? Baby? Way out here in the woods?? Why does the baby have 4 legs??? Why is said baby all alone? And that last part makes b pause for a sec bc where’s his family? Did he lose them? Or is it even worse…was he left behind? (He might be projecting a lil).

Cooper and Branch proceed to live where other kids w/o families go. Caretakers try to care for cooper & he is not having it. After all, branch is the first person he’d ever seen, was the first person who’d carried him. He’s imprinted on branch and whole heartedly believes and he is his family. So if C needs to be taken care of B has to be there. It goes on long enough that the caretaker decides it'll just easier if branch helped take care of him; and who knows maybe he'll regain his color being around such a happy little goober.

At first, branch doesn’t realize how much he means to C and assumes his attachment will fade. After all why wouldn’t it when he’s being doted on by warm and cheerful trolls. But nope! Whenever the caretakers aren't taking cooper around the village, Cooper is always following Branch. Around the pod, and through the woods. Branch looks out for him, talks to him, teaches him what he can, and even plays games! I think the fact that branch has been a part of Coopers whole life gives him a sense of obligation perhaps like a big brother?. It's easy to be open to him.

All attempts to foster Cooper are unsuccessful. It's not that Cooper doesn't match the family, it's that he just doesn't want to live with them. Imagine a foster family having the time of their lives singing & playing around & when the time comes Cooper's like 'I had a lot of fun today! Time to go! what?? Stay here? be a part of your family? ...Nope :D

When the time comes that the bunker can feasibly house him, (preteen?) Branch packs up what little he owns, and prepares to leave that night. It's not like the anyone at the orphanage would chase after him. Well, except for one trolling.

It's been years, long enough that their bond is strong, they're brothers in all but name. At least unnamed on branch's side, he kind of refuses to acknowledge it.

Anyway- Branch waits until everyone falls asleep and sneaks out. He doesn't even make it out of the room lol. One foot out the door and a sleepy voice is asking him where he's going. Branch just says he's going to the bunker, that he'll see him soon, it won't be forever you see what im trying to parallel? and it's true. It's not like he's leaving to who knows where. Cooper just nods & yawns out a "bye, see you later". Love me a parallel

Branch lasts an hour or two in the bunker. He's on edge the whole time, racked w/ guilt. Has a little mental spiral until there is just one loud thought of 'what am i doing? there's someone waiting for me' and runs back.

In the joined room, Cooper fell asleep on branch's bed waiting for him. So making sure not to wake him, Branch rests coopers head on his lap. Leaning against the headboard Branch just stares at his vest left at the end of the bed & has a moment of clarity. Like oh, that's why i felt terrible, i left my little brother behind. (Keep in mind that no, he didn’t really do that, but he’s a kid and that whole ‘see you later’ really shook him so he’s making some jumps in logic)(there some projecting happening as well)

So yeah, gained a brother!! yay!!! Cooper beat you to that revelation yeeaarrrss ago lol.

One thing I like about branch being a big bro is this idea that the more he learns about what it means to be one, the less he can understand his brothers. And are they his brothers?? Over the years it’s not looking like it.

[gingergari]

Ooh for Toad Peach AU how did the first meeting go with the officials of the Beanbean Kingdom? Ohh maybe more on Peach and Peasley's becoming friends. Does he help her feel a little more confident in her true form? Gimme all of the dynamics hehe

idk why i thought i dreamed this ask but i forgot you sent it 😭 here ya go!

the beanbean and mushroom kingdoms have an extremely close relationship that’s rather old, and as such the births of both heirs were highly celebrated by both families.

here, peasley is roughly 1 year older than peach, and the betrothal between the two was set up very early so the two do not remember their first meeting as they were infants at the time. but still, they visited peach many times before her debutante.

peach’s parents died in a horrific incident i still haven’t detailed when she was around 3-4, which did result in queen bean reaching out more often as peach grew older to offer additional guidance and support :]

but back to peasley and peach, they were thick as thieves and peasley introduced her to fencing! toadsworth wasn’t a fan at first but eventually relented (whatever endears her to peasley, plus any experience with a weapon could come in handy if the mushroom kingdom were to ever leave the peacful era). she’s quite adept in both forms, but prefers to fence in human form. it isn’t something she practices often in current day but it’s something she treasures the memories of alongside trying his bean pillow and learning about beanbean allies and his travels :]

though, as they got older, the two became more aware of their betrothal and what would follow, but things weren’t clicking so they decided to experiment a little (read: they kissed and neither of them liked it. sad!) but neither have brought up calling anything off as both are quite fine with something contractual if it came down to it (but peach would call it off if peasley asked)

at peach’s debutante, they danced together first as a show of the kingdom relationship, and when the first attack/kidnapping happens, the beanbean kingdom offered aid and refuge (little fungitown)

re: her appearance and peasley—she initially meets the beanbean family in toad form, but as she got older this became rarer as experience (and her self image) became priority. peasley makes sure to praise her toad form’s beauty when he sees it, and when mario does come into the picture is of the firm opinion alongside daisy that he does not deserve her if he doesn’t like her true form. on most days she agrees with him

as for superstar saga, he still arrives to the mushroom kingdom ahead of time and toadiko volunteers to take peach’s place instead of birdo (the effect is later undone before peach arrives in the beanbean kingdom)

post superstar saga, the two meet (peach crownless) to discuss their love interests, and their betrothal is officially called off. consequent meetings with the beanbean kingdom are held in her toad form :]

[lloltm]

waa double post woaahhh

someone's probably done this before but. highschool au? not much farther in the future only 9th grade

srry ur gonna have to zoom in to read that uhh I didn't realize I'd written so small 😅

also relationship chart

subject to change becos I literally just made this up 👍

I forgot to add it cus I was eepy 😐 but Jack + Dirk have a lot of acne all over their faces

[meandaupod]

hi! me and au is one of my biggest inspirations, especially Selkirk (selkirk my love) so i had a question!

i know when i write i have little character tidbits that never make it in the scripts but are cannon to me! do you have any of those for the me and au characters that your comfortable sharing?

The funny thing about still regularly thinking about a story you wrote in 2018/19 is how much my perception of the characters is totally different in some ways than it was back then. Which is a long way of saying I now think Stuart is going to get a panicked call from Kate in like, 1 - 2 years max about how they knew for sure for sure that they wanted to start using other pronouns outside of work.

In a completely different direction I would believe that Kate is actually a very good barista and Stuart is there because some people have to be charming on the registers.

Whitney at some point in high school posted a new chapter of a fic with one of those author's notes that's like "sorry this is one day late, had my wisdom teeth out yesterday!" She'd of course updated two days ago.

Ella really loved the Niagara Falls Marineland as a kid (#swimcows) and now has a secret animal rights side of her personality as an adult.

It's very important to me that the posters for TV Selkirk are actually pretty glam -- lots of neon lights and poreless photoshop and everyone in leather, but the actual TV show is very 'it's amazing what you can do with $20 of latex and body paint' and everyone is actually dressed like park rangers.

[spring-lxcked]

like half-asleep and abt to genuinely sleep and yet thinking abt giving in and giving william a movie verse even tho i know literally the only difference will be his kid(s) lmao

[dojimakaichou]

SENT FROM @stingslikeabee​​​​  ―   ( from here / accepting )

(comfort) : one muse has been having nightmares and unable to sleep, so asks the other to cuddle with them to help them drift off - but with a twist! For whatever reason, Mel is the one having the nightmare :)

★. ―

Daigo sighed as he shuffled through the papers he had left on the table the night prior. It was quiet in her apartment : the lights were off and the world was still. The former Chairman glanced up at the clock and frowned. 4:04 a.m. A little early for him to be up for his usual run but not by much. Perhaps, he could get a longer one in today.

          The ex-yakuza’s eyes drifted back toward the hallway of the living space. Between the two of them, he wasn’t sure who was sleeping worse lately. His head was a mess. Being away from her these last three years had undone all the small accomplishments they achieved toward resolving his night terrors. The stress of current circumstances wasn’t helping, either. Thankfully, it was good stress at least, if there was such a thing; he was merely re-adjusting to a new world.

          Melissa, it seemed, had started to develop nightmares of her own. His heart ached for her. He couldn’t imagine having been in her shoes for that time, and a familiar pang of guilt nestled into his heart. Daigo hadn’t known, but that didn’t make him feel for her any less. Even on the most difficult days, Melissa had always believed that Daigo would come back to her. Now that he was here, she couldn’t help the fear that trickled into her thoughts when she laid down to rest. She clutched onto him at night, eyelids fluttering and fingers curling into his skin. Glad for him, certainly, but afraid that she would wake up to find his place in the bed empty again. That was the reasoning she gave him in the mornings when she smiled up at him tiredly, head on his chest ; deep down, though, Daigo suspected there was more.

          Becoming a new mother and single parent in Daigo’s absence had been hard  —  harder than she would ever admit to him. He wouldn’t challenge Melissa on it, but he didn’t believe these nightmares were only triggered by his coming back. They started before, he suspected.

          Daigo pulled down a glass and poured himself an iced tea while he indulged in his early morning contemplation. It was the sort of green leaf that he liked, complete with extra sugar. Melissa hadn’t changed the recipe while he was gone. It was as if it was waiting for him. Just like the shirts he left in a drawer, occasionally washed and folded to prevent them from smelling musty, and the little trinkets handled like relics. An extra phone charger curled up on her nightstand. A few colorful advertisements he left on the refrigerator for places he liked to eat. While Daigo hadn’t formally moved in with his girlfriend before he departed, they had dated long enough for those impressions to make it into her living space.

          As Daigo put the pitcher of tea back inside the fridge, his fingertips brushed by a container of fruit. The diced items were cut incredibly small  —  not for his mouth or Melissa’s, but their son’s. A bright - eyed and gentle little boy with his father’s eyes. HIS EYES. Daigo shut the door abruptly and took a steadying breath.

         “Anata?” Melissa’s voice was quiet.

          Daigo turned toward her. He could see the extra shine to her honey irises from where he stood. The former Chairman opened his arms at once. His guess was correct, and Melissa stepped into them gratefully. All he could see was the top of her chestnut - colored locks as she buried her face into his bare torso. Large hands lowered to rub soothing circles into her back.

          “I know you normally go out soon,” Melissa said, muffled. It was Saturday, as well, so there was a chance he would path through Kamurocho at his leisure and spend longer beyond her reach. That was how his schedule worked, and she suspected it still was the same. “  —  but would you come back to bed until then? I  .    .    . ”

          She didn’t need to finish. Daigo gripped her tighter and kissed her hair. How often had she comforted him before? Helped him find some stable ground that he could eventually drift away from? “Of course,” the ex - yakuza breathed. As Melissa gradually calmed and rotated to his side, they began to walk to her bedroom. Daigo kept a limb around her firmly. It was the best he could do to remind her that he was there, that they were together.

          Back at Melissa’s bed, the former Chairman climbed in first. He lifted the blankets for her as his girlfriend slid in next to him. Melissa opted to curl up against her love with her cheek on his chest. Atop his heart and the old web of surgical scars that covered it. Daigo pressed his lips to her forehead. Curious, he looked at the baby monitor on the nightstand. Only eight days had passed since he met his son, but Daigo’s instincts were already sharper in regards to the boy than he realized. Melissa smiled fondly.

          “He won’t fuss,” she murmured. “Kazu - kun sleeps until 6 usually.”

         Daigo frowned thoughtfully. His coarse digits stroked her side under the covers. “I'm amazed at how easy he is,” he confessed. “I thought children were supposed to keep you up all hours of the night.”

          Melissa’s grasp curled around Daigo’s chest and laid near his hip. “He’s always been that way, sweetheart,” she answered. “I’ve never met such a peaceful child. Even when he would cry as a baby, it was so soft.”

         The ex - yakuza’s features returned to Melissa. He gazed at what he could see of her with an open, loving look. Daigo’s free hand came to rest on top of hers. “I’m going to stay here this morning,” he whispered eventually. It was difficult to tell if Melissa was already asleep ; the slow pace of her breathing suggested she wouldn’t hear anything Daigo said. Nevertheless, he said it : an assurance to the bit of technology that showed their son if nothing else. “I want to wake up with both of you  .    .    .  AS A FAMILY. ”

[twpsyn-who]

"Think. What do we all have in common?"

Jonathan took hold of his own battle jacket, pointing out the obvious.

"This." Steve took a look at the jacket, only then taking notice they were all wearing the same one.

"What? Wearing Eddie's denim jacket?"

"You really are an idiot in all of your versions, Harrington? No. Dating the freak. We are all dating Eddie."

At that Steve looked more confused than before. He took a look between the two other boys, but neither was disagreeing with Hargrove. 

"You guys are dating Eddie Munson?"

Meme referenced here

[zillychu]

I’ve gotten a WAVE of asks about this AU, so I decided to flesh it out some more and answer some of those questions!

I’ll probably polish this extended summary up at some point and submit it to AO3. But for now, here’s a rundown of my thoughts–please feel free to send more questions! I’ll update this post if I get any more. But if you’re someone who wanted to write fic for it, don’t worry, you don’t need to take my headcanons as gospel. It’s a pretty basic AU honestly lol

Summary:

The portal accident results in a violent explosion that wipes out the whole block, and condemns all of Amity Park. Danny haunts the city for 100 years, before Sam and Tucker find him. 

Setup:

In the 1920’s, 19-year-old Danny went into the incomplete portal on his own, hoping to help out his parents. Ripping the portal open through unnatural means created a huge burst of energy that resulted in a massive explosion. A good portion of the Amity Park population died, many were injured, and the ones on the fringes relocated–Amity was quickly deemed too dangerous due to the excess ectoplasm in the area that attracted ghosts. 

While the disaster was in Amity, the fallout was seen around the globe. Before, natural portals were rare, short-lived, and rarely allowed ghosts to fully slip into our realm (the most severe cases being on par with poltergeists that most people didn’t believe in). Now, natural portals pop open frequently around the world, large enough to allow the entirety of a ghost into the physical plane. They’re more common the closer you get to Amity, but they happen enough elsewhere that this change was something of a small apocalypse before people settled back down and found out how to combat at least some of their new, permanent neighbors. 

Danny is unaware that he’s only half-dead, believing he’s a full ghost. He ends up sticking around Amity, unintentionally making it his haunt. His grief and guilt over causing the death of his loved ones (and many others) makes him isolate and avoid human contact. Though he has, at times, scared nosy people away from the city in a mix of territorial instinct–and to get them to leave before a less friendly ghost finds them. 

Ghosts are much more of an uncontested danger in this AU. Lesser ghosts are practically mindless, and while stronger ghosts are capable of reason, their interests are limited. They’re highly territorial, possessive, and often destructive. Most worrisome is that they also like to snack on the life force of anything alive. No one is sure what dictates a ghost’s propensity to attack or hunt the living for their life force since ghosts don’t exactly experience hunger. At least, not the way we do. If a human is rescued before their life force is fully drained, they can make a full recovery–though humanity has still not yet found what this “life force" is. 

And since the Fentons’ research died along with them, there aren’t many tools available to the public to protect them from ghosts. Most homes have standard ghost shields and some weapons are available on the market, but certified ghost hunters are required to take care of anything more powerful than your average spook. 

Sam and Tucker met in high school, and are now rooming together for college very close to the Amity border. Rent is surprisingly cheap when you’re a stone’s throw away from a condemned area crawling with ghosts. Sam is the one who drags Tucker along with her fascination over finding out more about the city, and its largely mysterious demise. Sam is aware of the danger, but feels ghosts have a place in this world just like everything else, and does exercise caution–like one would while foraging in the woods with a known tiger population. 

What she and Tucker weren’t expecting was to run into a ghost that felt almost human. One that hasn't hurt them, not for lack of trying–while being powerful enough to walk past ghost shields without so much as a flinch. The long white hair is familiar in the whispers of the ectobiologist community, but there’s no way it could be the rumored ghost king Phantom, right?

About Danny:

He has very long hair, claws, and black sclera. His hazmat suit is more torn and ragged, with exposed hands and feet that fade into a burnt black.

His hair tends to float a lot on its own. It can start morphing into fire under duress. 

He does still technically have gloves and boots, they've just charred and melted into his skin towards the ends. He can't take them off in his ghost form. His hands and feet have a leathery texture that's tougher than the rest of his skin.

The white of his hazmat suit is both supposed to look like flames, and also a battered look representing his more violent, explosive death.

Overall, he appears rather listless and sad, with an unnerving air of danger around him–even for a ghost. 

Danny’s “ghost sense” comes out as white smoke.

He does breathe black smoke at times, usually when agitated. 

He's already fought and defeated Pariah Dark by the time Sam and Tucker find him, technically making him the Ghost King. This is heavily speculated by ghost experts, despite there being no real proof beyond a massive battle that scarred Illinois. He has not donned the Ring or the Crown, and captured sentient ghosts are hesitant to answer questions surrounding him. Danny basically has the throne but doesn’t do anything with it, and finds it meaningless enough to routinely forget he has the title. He only fought Pariah because he knew otherwise, humanity would have perished. A lot of ghosts are scared of him because he's so hard to figure out, and he's strong. 

Danny is usually very quiet and speaks softly, because his lungs were damaged in the blaze that half-killed him. He's technically healed since becoming a ghost, so it's more of a compulsion due to the traumatic memory. That, and he’s just… very forlorn and distant, shy around humans who don’t seem to understand how dangerous it is to keep hanging around him.

His memories pre-accident are extremely fuzzy. He knows the very basics of who he was, but specifics have been muffled due to trauma and isolation. He routinely forgets human habits, etiquette, etc. and tends to act more like a full ghost with some odd quirks. 

He does try to scare Sam and Tucker off numerous times. Unfortunately for him, they realized they shouldn't have been able to escape a ghost that strong–but they did, because he let them. 

Sam and Tucker think he's mute at first! He doesn't speak a word to them until several encounters later, when he fumbles his whole scary act and saves them from another ghost. 

He’s still half-ghost, though he doesn’t figure this out until Sam and Tucker come along trying to unravel the mysteries behind the Amity catastrophe. Physically and emotionally, he’s been stuck for 100 years–so his human form is still 19. It’s unclear at this point if he can age normally like a human as long as he stays in human form, or if he’s immortal. 

Danny's family did not turn into ghosts, though he sometimes worries he'll find them in the afterlife as shells of their former selves. He doesn't know if it's better or worse that he's not sure he'd recognize them. 

(Danny also still has some living family. Take a guess.)

Yes, he knows how to Wail. Understandably, he very rarely uses it. You do not want to witness this.

Danny :) is not immune :) from the allure of eating a human's life force :)))

[doobea]

YOU'RE A MEAN ONE, MISTER GOJO ─ SATORU G.

synopsis: satoru gojo is spoiled and arrogant. he's also the next in line to inherit his family's fortune. his father sends him far away in a small town for a week in hopes that he'll 'change' for the better. instead of the usual five-starred hilton hotels, he stays at a local inn and starts to befriend the owner's daughter.

tropes: small town romance, christmas au, golden retriever x black cat

MILESTONE EVENT || MILESTONE MASTERLIST

contents: fem!reader, spoiled rich boy!gojo, acts like an ass to everyone but hopelessly falls in love with you at first sight, feels like a really bad hallmark movie, mentions of wealth class differences, reader isn't a tsundere - she's just indifferent for the most part and introverted word count: 7.5K (idk i will uh make the fics shorter in the future) a/n: thank you anon for requesting this!! idk if this is what you wanted but hopefully you like it!! :3 everyone also give a round of applause to @popponn for beta reading this big mess LMAO

Satoru Gojo has a lot of expectations, but this certainly isn’t one of them.

He isn’t particularly excited about spending a week away from his big city penthouse to be rotting in a small town motel in the middle of nowhere but, his father, CEO of Gojo Corporations, heavily insisted that he ‘needs this’ and that ‘it’ll be good for the company’ — whatever that means. Satoru is confident that his father thinks he’s incapable of running the family business after last month’s run with the paparazzi and his third fling of the month. It wasn’t his fault that they got caught doing drugs at one of Zenin's parties, everyone else was doing the same thing, it just so happened that the cameras were only focusing on him. 

Well, that’s what he gets for signing up to be the son of one of the richest men on Earth.

“You need to start taking this seriously,” he recalls his father slamming his fist down at the desk before throwing a bottle of Henessy at the wall. “I don’t want this company to go bankrupt just because I have a son who only thinks with his dick.”

Ouch… but he’s not wrong about that.

So now Satoru finds himself driving up a winding road somewhere very deep in the mountains. Exactly five hours away from the city. And, for the past three hours, all he’s been seeing are miles and miles of pine trees, sheets of snow, and — he had recently learned this from Suguru — sugar shacks. Apparently when you’re out over a hundred miles into wilderness territory these sap houses are littered everywhere.  The fact that Satoru is beginning to count more shacks than designer cars on the road is really starting to get to him. 

“This whole thing is so fucking stupid,” Satoru has also been talking to himself throughout the journey in order to not lose his mind. “He could’ve just sent me door to door caroling instead of whatever this is.” Satoru doesn’t know how to sing well, but he does know all the lyrics to ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ and that usually gets him all the tips. He wonders if he can manage to make a small side hustle when he starts wasting his week here.

He takes a sharp turn up around the hill before finally recognizing a big red sign with the name ‘Mistle Town’ as seen on the postcard his dad left him before leaving. It takes him another five minutes of driving through said small town, which is quite literally something out of one of those really bad holiday movies that his mom would force him to watch when he was little, before arriving at the inn. Upon arriving, Satoru is noticeably disappointed at the lack of valet assistance and, the size and design of the inn, is rather lackluster. 

First, it just looks like a regular white farmhouse. Maybe having a max of ten rooms, none of them being penthouse sized, Satoru assumes. There are a couple of flowerbeds out front, all covered in a couple of inches of snow, and there’s subtle signs of holiday decor slowly bleeding its way outside. He sees someone dressed in an oversized puffer by the entrance, arms occupied with red tinsel and large white ornaments, and figures that the first nice thing he’ll do is to help out a random stranger — just to prove something to his dad.

Satoru parks his Rolls Royce in a spot furthest away from everyone else in the parking lot and sends a ‘im alive and well’ text to Suguru, because he’s very much so going to be in frequent contact with him for the remainder of the trip, before heading up.

“Need a hand?” He points out the obvious but still manages to throw a smile as if he’s already fixed the situation unfolding in front of him.

Satoru’s presence seems to pull you from your busy trance. You wiped your body around, nearly smacking the damn tinsel in his face, and made a small surprised noise.

“I’ve got it,” you muffle out and he looks entirely unconvinced but, whatever, he tried anyway.

Satoru gives you a few encouraging pats on the back before heading inside, failing to realize his strength and causing you to lose your balance, making a few ornaments tumble to the ground. Thank god they’re all plastic though.

He pretends to not hear you yelling after him as he enters the double doors, immediately greeted by the scent of roasted coffee beans and leather. It’s the precious hour in the morning where nobody comes by, right after the cleaning staff had just finished vacuuming, when he struts in. He immediately spots someone vaguely familiar by the front desk. Long black hair, a red poofy bow tie in the back, and a distinctive scar across her face. The woman isn’t working alone, a man with another facial marking is next to her, brewing two cups of coffee by the espresso machine. 

Satoru looks at the woman again and outwardly smiles. “What are you doing here?”

“Ugh,” Utahime’s composure immediately falters at the sound of his voice, not that it’s a big shock. “Helping the family business, what else?” she throws back with a certain sharpness to her tone, and waves off the casual talk. “Have you even mentally prepared yourself for what you’re getting into?”

Satoru simply shrugs and saunters over to a nearby seat by the counter. “Nah, honestly just planning to fuck around till I get back.”

Utahime flushes a little, though it’s mainly from frustration. “Satoru Gojo, you really are—”

“Utahime,” the man next to her speaks, handing her a cup of coffee, and slides Satoru a freshly brewed one, too. “I can explain the details to him, if you would like?”

The older female rubs the bridge of her nose and exhales a long, overdue sigh. “Please do, Choso.”

“Yeah,” Satoru leans into the counter, lips pointed down at this new face. “Please, do tell.”

“You’re basically our little Santa helper.” A new voice rings out from behind him. It spooks Satoru from his seat and he whips his head around to be met with your narrow eyes.

“Huh?”

“Also think of this as an unpaid internship.” You start laughing when he gags on his own saliva at your statement. “Okay, you don’t have to be so dramatic about it.”

Satoru swallows. “U-Unpaid…?”

Now it’s Utahime’s turn to speak, she huffs and tosses a couple of stockings into his arms. “Your father sent us a lengthy email a few days prior regarding your bratty behavior. So, of course, we came prepared.” 

“Prepared…?” He feels the fabric in his hands and whines at the grainy texture. This is so not 100% real wool.

If Satoru thought he had any chance of actually taking over his father’s company, because he knows the difference between supply and demand, he’s wrong.

Customer service is not his forte. He’s always thrown emails and sponsorship paperwork at his many assistants, and Satoru doesn’t even know his own email log-in password. So, when you walked up to him first thing the next morning with a brown apron, the inn’s logo large and embroidered in the center, telling him how to function all these coffee machines that he’s seen behind hundreds of counters, it invoked some fear into his already wrecked nerves. Plus, no one dared to warn him about the clientele during a holiday rush.

“I want a venti peppermint frappe with two pumps of chocolate, three pumps of hazelnut, replace it with almond milk, one shot of espresso, and top it off with a drizzle of caramel on top.”

He slumps against the counter. “You sure you want all of that?”

“Can I please get a half dozen sfogliatella and a cannoli?

He starts picking at his cuticles and sneers. “Sorry, I don’t speak Italian.” 

“My change is supposed to be five dollars, you only gave me three back?”

Satoru groans. “You’re trying to scam me, aren’t you?”

By the end of his four hour shift, Satoru feels like he’s just done more charity work than he’s ever done in his life — actually, maybe this could also be comparable to the time where he did the ribbon cutting ceremony at Chanel; gotta support small businesses, right?

“Gojo.” You’re seated across from him behind the counter, arms crossed and pursed lips.

He barely spares you a glance as he idly plays whatever shitty mobile game that’s number one on the app store. “Mhm? What is it?” He clearly knows you’re upset, your voice practically screams ‘I will end you’ in the most monotonous way possible. But can you blame him? Of all places, Satoru does not want to spend his winter break here.

You jerk your head to the side, fingers rhythmically tapping away on the counter, clearly unimpressed. “It hasn’t even been a full day and you’ve managed to piss off every single customer.”

Satoru expression shifts, brow creasing, and sighs, grabbing a handful of mint chocolate from the freebie candy jar by the register. “Don’t be dramatic,” he rolls his eyes and shoves three pieces in his mouth before jabbing a finger at a young man. “I didn’t piss him off!”

You glower, cheeks slightly puffed out. “That’s Yuuji and he’s practically a family friend and Choso’s little brother, so he doesn’t count,” you explain before adding, “Plus, he’s literally nice to everyone. You’re not special.”

And for a second, Satoru considered arguing that fact. Having been born into wealth, granted whatever wish he wanted, his butlers and maids are always on speed dial, that’s the lifestyle he’s used to. Placed on this tiny rock called Earth just to take over it one day, is what his father used to always say to him. But how can he, Satoru Gojo, take over when he’s stuck working a minimum — scratch that, unpaid — wage job as punishment? 

Instead of fighting, Satoru slumps against the counter and pouts, like a little kid who just got their toy taken away. You and your sister Utahime have a clear advantage over him, by somehow being close, yet distant, friends to his family. Maybe karma is real. 

“I’m putting you on ski lessons later.”

Satoru’s ears perk at this. “Oh, so I get some employee benefits, right?”

You roll your eyes, digging deep in your pockets to pull out a sheet with his name next to a list of others. “Wrong. You’re in charge of teaching five year olds how to ski.” 

“Huh?”

Somehow that sounds even worse than being a barista. Kinda. 

By the end of his first day of unemployment, Satoru tries to convince himself that a full change of scenery is nice. Well, he has to convince himself, otherwise he’s stuck dreading each coming day for the rest of the week. 

“Tired yet, Gojo?”

You flop down on a spare armchair in his room, squishing his Canada Goose jacket underneath. He’s too tired to yell at you to get off and tumbles onto his bed, feet dangling off the edge, letting out a loud groan when his face immediately makes contact with the rough wooly blanket. Surprisingly to him, everything just feels so comfortable that the quality of the products doesn’t even cross his mind.

Sure, the air in the room is a bit musty, and he can feel his cheeks flaring up from the sudden change in temperature and the dull aching nag in his legs from demonstrating ski tricks to toddlers, but there’s an odd sense of fulfillment swelling in his chest just about now. He almost suggests taking over Choso’s lesson but, according to the hotel pamphlet, there’s going to be an ice fishing tournament tomorrow and he kinda wants to check that out, too.

“Exhausted,” he mumbles into the sheets, eyes squeezed shut. Satoru wiggles his body around for a few moments before slipping out of his snow boots and stares out the window, noticing flickering green and purple lights in the night sky. “Woah, are those…?”

He hears you laugh beside him. “Yeah, northern lights. We see them all the time during the winter.”

“Only seen them bitches in ‘Polar Express’.” Satoru finds himself saying whatever’s on his mind right now, his brain too whipped out to control his mouth. “You guys are lucky to see this every night.”

“I know you’re all pooped out from today but,” he feels the mattress dip by the edge and your fingers poking at his thighs. “Did you wanna head up to the balcony and watch them for a bit?” you say this experimentally, waiting for his reaction. 

Satoru might be a stranger to most natural phenomenons, having to zone out all the time whenever he did go on family vacations to a fancy national park when he was younger. Though, during the short time of spending his time here, it makes him think about packing up and leaving behind the fast paced city life for a bit of natural beauty and brightness.

“Carry me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re like a giant.” 

He manages to gather some energy to sit up on his elbows. “You should at least have some form of hospitality to a family friend, you know?”

You eye him for a long moment, and then finally huff, breaking the contact to kick your feet into the festive carpeted floor. “Alright, just don’t lean your whole body weight on me.”

“Wouldn’t count on that.”

Both of you end up tumbling onto the balcony rails around one in the morning. As expected, Satoru couldn’t keep to his promise, throwing his ridiculously long arms around your shoulders, and whining the whole way up the stairs. It’s not his fault that the inn didn’t have an elevator installed. In all, it’s not a bad day — a bad night, even. 

You straighten him against the railing before throwing a blanket over him. The fabric is thick and heavy, and Satoru forgets the ache in his limbs as he watches the way your eyes focus, eyebrows knitted, when you’re making sure he stays bundled up against the winter air. Once upon a time, Satoru never would’ve thought he would actually enjoy being in the company of someone who’s actively trying to teach him a lesson.

“Okay,” you say suddenly, almost like a reminder that you need to breathe, and pull away from him once he’s wrapped tightly like a swaddled baby. 

You both sit in silence for a moment, and Satoru feels the urge to fill all that silence. He supposes maybe that’s why most people find him so annoying. He never really shuts up, always wants to add the last comment to everything. Though, with the help of Suguru by his side, it’s gotten slightly easier and bearable for others but, when his head is big and full of loud thoughts, it’s so hard trying to calm the buzzing noise in his head and —

“Gojo, look,” your pointer finger darts at the illuminated skyline in the distance and he snaps his head, following the trail, before gasping.

He feels your other hand tugging at the blanket when he finally makes out two faint bright lights in the distance. You squirm slightly next to him, to the point where your shoulders touch, and Satoru finally breathes, because suddenly, there’s heat rushing in. The loud, rough winds around him seem to die down and he’s aware of the slightly gazed expression on your face as you look into the far distance.

“Did you make a wish?” he finds himself whispering.

You grin. “Yeah, gonna make you work here for eternity,” you reply back in good natured spirit.

Something stirs inside Satoru. Something important. Well, Satoru-level important, so in the grand scheme of things, not very — but still. He unravels parts of his blanket and throws it over your head, making sure that it messes up your hair, and laughs when you throw him another pout. 

“Did you make a wish?” you adjust the blanket so it covers your shoulders, moving a little closer to him, avoiding the cool breeze.

Satoru nods but presses a finger to his lips. “Not telling, though. Might not come true if I do.”

“Oh, shoot. Maybe I should’ve kept mine a secret then.”

He rolls his eyes and nudges your waist with an elbow. “You will definitely not see me here again.”

Satoru realizes, very fast, that his life has become very different, very quickly. And it might not be the bad kind of different. 

Over the course of the next few days, he’s practically glued to your side as you’re showing him all things related to hospitality that his father tried to drill into him when he was a pre-teen. Obviously, it didn’t work at the time. Satoru’s known for being defiant just because he wanted to, and eventually his father stopped with the after school etiquette lessons. You, on the other hand, unfortunately have him tied around your fingers.

“You need to tidy up the edges more, Gojo.”

“There’s barely a wrinkle in these sheets!” He points at the bed sheet on the mattress, the one that he’d been working on for the last ten minutes in vain while you stood next to him with slightly concerned eyes. It’s a room service type of lesson today and, even though Satoru has never made his own bed before, he’s positive that he didn’t leave behind any smudges that might catch anyone’s eye.

“Did you check tuck in the sides? Or are you trying to get off easy for today?” You say, there’s a mild accusation in your tone when you speak, smiling as you step aside. 

And, despite the warm smile, Satoru frowns a little, because guess who forgot to tuck in the sides? 

When Satoru ducks his head around the mattress and sees a good loose chunk of the sheets hanging off and groans when you’re right. “It’s not my fault that they’ve made them so big for no reason,” he replies, somewhat embarrassed, rubbing the back of his head and messing up his already ruffled hair.

You roll your eyes and stick a tongue out. “You’re getting the hang of it though, maybe even faster than Yuuji when he first offered to help.”

He flushes at the unexpected praise and quickly fixes the sheets, turning his whole entire body away from your sight. “Better than Yuuji, right?”

“Oh? So, you only work better with compliments, Gojo?” You sound amused, as if a lightbulb just popped on top of your head.  

Satoru flattens out the bed once more, strangely now feeling satisfied with the final outcome before turning around, sticking out a tongue of his own. “Only if it’s from you,” he answers, honestly. 

You laugh, and hopefully it’s not at him. “I thought you would be more annoying to deal with.”

“So, I’m just regular amounts of annoying?” He points out, with a fake frown, his fingers fiddling with the edges of the sheet.

You turn your gaze, seemingly in deep thought, before responding with a small shrug and grin. “Possibly a perfect amount of annoying.”

Satoru feels the blood rushing to his cheeks, again. “Well, of course, it’s the perfect amount because I’m perfect,” he replies, instantly, but suddenly he’s shy and feels the need to go to the next room to fix their stupid sheets before he combusts in front of you.

“Gojo,” you say, almost hesitantly. 

He swallows and rubs the back of his neck, wiping off evidence of his sweaty palms. “Yeah?”

“You missed a spot,” and your pointer fingers direct at the far right corner of the bed frame. He must’ve pulled the sides too hard and it caused the other side to flip over. Ugh, he’s not cut out for this at all.

“I’m… uh, still better than Yuuji, right?”

“Mhm, getting there, Gojo.”

By day four, Satoru has surprisingly adjusted to the rules and responsibilities. He’s not entirely sure what’s gotten him mildly well behaved, Suguru is a bit surprised by the daily updates being less… aggressive and whiny. What started as long vent paragraphs about the lack of heated flooring and needy customers, soon turned into photo albums of kids face planting into the snow and unconsented selfies with you in the background. Satoru absolutely makes sure you end up looking the worst out of the two because he’s gotta let his best friend know who’s the prettiest and he’s definitely racking up a blackmail album of all of your worst moments in case anything happens in the future. 

It’s closing time and he just got back from the reindeer shed out in the back, covered head to toe in all things hay and snow. First things first, and no one bothered to tell him, but reindeers smell bad. Like, really bad. Especially at the end of the day, where their pens are covered in shit and countless carrots and apple bits from the little kids overfeeding them. Satoru is vaguely aware of the fact that he smells, just like he’s vaguely aware that the hotel lobby is oddly quiet from the usual banter between you and the usual workers.

Utahime and Choso are sitting by the cafe bar, seemingly deep in conversation about ordering more supplies for next week. Satoru thinks about interrupting their session with probably an unrelated dumb question, but the idea dies when Utahime notices his presence and motions him to come over. 

“You stink,” Satoru casts a half-glare at Utahime and begins picking out some of the scattered hay pieces stuck to his sweater. 

“For the record, I became good friends with Rudolph and Vixen today,” he grumbles back and Choso throws him a pat on the back.

“Hey, I don’t mind your stink, by the way. Smells kinda nice,” Choso offers up, but Satoru only shoots him a very unhappy look.

“If you think I smell nice then I’m really worried about what you think smells bad,” then he turns over to Utahime again, who’s engrossed in whatever is on her clipboard right now. “So, what did you need from me?”

“My sister,” she starts and taps away at the clipboard before handing it over to him. It’s pages upon pages of invoices from the past month. “Could you hand this to her? She should be in the back.”

“You treating me like an errand boy?”

Utahime scoffs. “What? Don’t wanna see her?”

“No, I do,” he responds, a bit too fast for his own liking, and straightens out. “Uh, is that all?” Satoru hopes his face doesn’t betray how much he’s a bit excited to interact with you, given that today was a full day out in the trenches, and he absolutely needs to hear you say his name at least twice a day in order to have a good night’s sleep.

Choso is trying really hard not to laugh, and Satoru takes it as a sign that he currently has a cheesy smile on his face — go figure. “One of the corner rooms upstairs requested a weighted blanket, mind also doing that too?”

There’s a certain relief that floods through Satoru and he thinks maybe he can take on a few more tasks for the night if that means spending a little more time with you, even if his body is screaming that he needs to take a two hour long shower. 

“Hey,” he starts to say when he rounds the corner, “Where’d you put those weighted blankets again?”

Satoru expected to walk in on you neck-deep in paperwork. You’ve mentioned earlier in the week that this year would be the busiest and there’s a bunch of stuff due. Something about end of the year tax returns and inventory counts, it all goes out his ear but he remembers something similar that his father told him in a prior conversation. He thinks he could probably help you figure out some of it, but that might be a bit much.

What he walks in on, thought, is you sitting in your little makeshift office. You’re on your laptop, the screen’s tilted just right enough that he gets a glimpse of what you’re looking at. You’re looking at flights and hotels, even got a whole spreadsheet on the second monitor. From what he’s seen of you so far, you didn’t come off as the type to talk about your future that much.

His voice catches you by surprise and your expression flickers from something vaguely focused to embarrassment real quick. You hastily close out the tabs and go back to the hotel’s homepage.

“What is it, Gojo?” And there’s this awkward, oddly frantic moment of you fumbling around with the keyboard and mouse, like a teenage boy who’s just got caught looking at porn.

“Ah,” Satoru thinks seeing your flustered side is rather adorable, to say the least. “You tryin’ to plan a vacation or something?” He struts over to your desk, placing a firm hand onto the back of the chair, and there’s this smile on his face that just screams ‘gotcha’.

Your face scrunches up but it’s not out of annoyance. “Kinda?”

Even with a grumpy look, it’s a good look on you. Makes you kinda dark, brooding, and beautiful, and it turns your eyes into dark storm clouds, or some other weird, waxy poetic shit that Satoru can’t figure out the words to. Either way, Satoru thinks you look cute and can’t stop noticing your little facial movements. You’re more expressive than you would probably imagine.

“Ooh, where to?”

You sigh and start playing with your thumbs. “Malaysia. My friend told me great things about it and I’ve been meaning to go for a while now but time and money are always iffy.”

“Makes sense, I can imagine that being an inn assistant doesn’t pay all the bills.”

That was probably the wrong thing to say. You huff and glare, an icy-death glare, at him. If looks could kill, Satoru is sure that he’ll be six feet underground by now. 

“Weighted blankets are on the second floor closet by the laundry room,” you answer his initial question curtly before shutting the laptop. “Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“It was just a question,” he mumbles slowly, and maybe even a little dangerously. “If money’s an issue—”

“Gojo.” Your voice is fixed and rigid, one that leaves absolutely no room for debate. “Your dad was right about you; you always just fall back to your fame and wealth.”

As you’re busy staring, Satoru realizes that you’re kinda being a total ass to him right now.

“That’s not fair,” his voice is rising and can’t seem to put a stop to the words spilling out. “Don’t bring my dad into this conversation.”

“Or what? You can go back to your privileged life anytime you want. This is just a field trip for you while others actually have to try hard and make a living.” You spit out. 

“No one forced you to become an inn worker, you know? If you’re so worried about money then you could’ve just found another high paying job.” Satoru wrinkles his nose and his volume continues to rise. 

You immediately offer him a dark glare and it comes off in a cut-throat way that shuts Satoru up mid thought. The rest of his counters die in his throat when you start making hand gestures at the office exit and he gets the hint: ‘leave before I lose my shit’ is the calling he sees.

And it works, because he finds his tone shifting a little, awkwardly kicking the floor and backing off. “Whatever…”

That was last night and, by now, Satoru is realizing that he’s kind of a giant asshole and the guilt is slowly eating away at him. Was he always like this? It couldn’t have been — he’s only met you a few days ago, and this is only meant to be a quick, ‘vacational’, getaway. Sure he might be a bit selfish and a dick, but he had been able to function perfectly fine before all of this, hadn’t he? 

Satoru’s not really sure.

It’s noon, and he’s lying in bed. Choso had asked him to cover his shift at the cafe, and he’d agreed, readily, even though it’s supposed to be his day off, because you’re working. Choso had texted him, though, saying that you had simply said you’d work the entire shift by yourself.

Of course. It’s absolutely not funny anymore.

Satoru sighs. He’s going to apologize, that’s for sure. It wounds some of his pride, yeah, but whatever, this tension between you guys, though, isn’t worth it. He finds himself wasting his entire morning away rotting in bed. There are things that he could be doing, that he looks forward to, like feeding the reindeers or demonstrating basic ski moves to little kids. Choso and Yuuji totally got him addicted to yelling out ‘pizza’ and ‘french fry’ at every chance he gets. They also got him addicted to a shitty relationship forum they both browse, but somehow the idea of reading other people’s relationship drama, when he’s facing drama of his own, is kinda mentally exhausting.

On second thought, maybe he should post on that forum, actually.

It might not be such a bad idea.

Or maybe he could reach out to Suguru and ask how to apologize? 

His best friend is a bit more grounded and attuned with other people’s feelings compared to him, afterall. Satoru’s not good at this stuff and he’s always just cut others off whenever they do argue, but this feels different. And, well, for the first time in forever, Satoru is desperate. 

“I fucked up big time and I need to apologize, help me out here?”

Suguru scoffs over the line. “Wow, what happened to saying ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’?”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Hi, hello. How are you? How do I make a sincere apology?”

“I’m good, thank you. Now, for your request, depends on how big the fuck up is.”

He bites his tongue, finding the right words to essentially not sound like a huge dick but, no matter how he wants to rephrase it, the outcome is the same. “I might’ve implied that she’s poor and needs someone to take care of her?” It sounds so stupid, so mean, and so degrading now that he’s saying it out loud. 

He hears Suguru sucking in his teeth and sighs. After a couple of pauses, his best friend finally speaks. “That’s pretty fucked up.”

Satoru frowns. “Okay, yeah, it is,” and he sits up in his bed when a snowball makes an impact against the window. It’s Utahime. And, currently, she’s throwing him the nastiest glare that a woman has ever given him in his life. “Um, I’ll call you back, buddy…”

“What? I haven’t given you—”

“Don’t have time for unwarranted advice right now.”

“You called me!”

“Bye!” Satoru ends the call before shuffling towards the window, swallowing a hard lump, and inches the glass panel just small enough for him to hear coherently and not big enough for her to punt him across the face. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

But Utahime is in an obvious shitty mood and Satoru’s lack of charming antics aren’t going to work this time. “I’m going to apologize, I promise,” he tries to insist.

“This is all your fault,” she immediately gets to the point and it makes him shrink back just a tiny bit. He’s starting to see that the bluntness runs in the family. “Just get your ass to work.”

“But my shift doesn’t start till—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Utahime starts to form an even bigger snowball and raises it to the window panel. “Ass out of bed, now.”

Okay, so as much as Satoru had tried to tell himself that this week wouldn’t be bad, it’s really starting to get fucking awful.

Everyone’s in a shit mood. Yuuji tries to crack some jokes but the usual crowd isn’t having it. You’ve been throwing Satoru dirty looks while working behind the cafe counter together and he’s been put on drink duty — which is his worst nightmare — while you’re attending to the customers because you’re young and cute enough for them to be nice to you. Satoru has spilled hot coffee and chocolate on himself like four times so far, and the shift just started. He’s terrified that the rest of this week is going to be like this.

“Can we talk?” Satoru whisper shouts over the espresso machine.

He sees your shoulders tensing up but immediately relaxes them afterwards. “Did you hear something, Yuuji?”

The boy looks up from the bar counter, it’s his day off and he’s catching up on some homework, but the seemingly growing tension that’s unfolding in front of him is making it painfully hard for him to focus on anything engineering related. Yuuji scratches the back of his neck before darting his eyes back and forth between the two of you. Normally, he would be the voice of reason, but Satoru doesn’t blame him when he shakes his head.

“N-Nah, must’ve been the wind or something...” 

Great, he’s been reduced to an air draft.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought,” you agree without missing a beat. As the next customer in line spends an eternity holding everyone up, debating whether to get the seasonal muffin or french toast to go with their drink, you continue, “Thought I heard a rotten brat for a second.”

He absolutely doesn’t expect the harsh insult. Satoru widens his eyes at the outburst and there’s a small pause, the silence ticking in between everyone, and he’s sure that you’re glaring him down somewhere in a small reflection on the counter. 

Satoru debates whether to call out your name and shake some sense into you, but Yuuji quickly swallows and makes a motion with his hands to his throat, a universal signal saying — ‘I wouldn’t test the waters, if I were you’.

And, after the customer finally decides that they didn’t want any pastries with their coffee order, you finish the transaction before announcing that you’re going on a small fifteen minute break to “stretch”. Though, anyone could see that you’re planning to cool off before you manage to actually blow up in Satoru’s face.

“How the hell am I going to talk to her?” he groans to Yuuji once you’re finally away. He’s managing the cash register and, surprisingly, finishes taking the remaining orders quite smoothly compared to his first day. At least he can pat himself on the back for this. 

“You’ve really pissed her off, dude,” Yuuji replies and Satoru just rolls his eyes because that’s all he’s been hearing from everyone else all day today. “You should talk to her when she’s not… charged up.”

“Way to point out the obvious.” Sometimes he forgets that Yuuji is a bit oblivious. How is he doing so well as a mechanical engineering major? 

Yuuji makes an audible ‘pop’ and whistles. “What did you even say to her?”

Satoru groans into his hands. “Did she not tell you?”

“Well, she wasn’t exactly in a chippy mood to talk about anything this morning — outside of work, that is.”

“Here’s a little TLDR version: might’ve said something classist.”

“Might’ve?”

“Okay, definitely said something classist.”

“Then…” Yuuji drums his fingers against the counter, deep in thought. “Y’know, whenever me and Megumi fight, I always invite him out to the movies to try and cheer him up. Might not be applicable to you but…”

Satoru blinks. “Are you suggesting a date would help?”

“Maybe not a date—”

“No, I’m sorry for calling you dumb, you’re so right—a nice date might work!”

“You never called me dumb, though?”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say, kiddo.”

Satoru unravels the ribbon on his apron and throws it in Yuuji’s general direction, not caring if he tossed the stained uniform directly in his face. He hops the counter and pats the younger male on the shoulder, flashing him a genuine smile because, hey, maybe Yuuji actually is smarter than he looks.

“Gonna totally invite you to the wedding.”

It’s no secret that Satoru Gojo hasn’t been on a proper date in a pathetically long time.

He has swiped right on a number of highly influential celebrities and figures on dating apps before. Matched with nearly all of them. Gone on…maybe a lot of first dates with not a lot of second dates coming right after. Who cares though, everyone’s just there for the photos and followers anyway. Satoru knows that he’s attractive and that he personally loves big, lavish dates but, at this point, he knows you enough to understand you absolutely hate big gestures. 

After a short winded conversation with Suguru and Utahime, separately, Satoru has concluded on not buying you first class tickets to Malaysia. 

“Are you trying to get her to hate your guts?” Was the general consensus of the conversation with said people. 

So, what’s the next best option if he can’t fly you out to Malaysia? The answer is pretty simple — bring Malaysia to Mistle Town. And no, he’s not going to be relying on his black card for anything, even though the back of his mind is telling him otherwise. 

Choso blinks several times at Satoru’s printed out proposal. The colorful letters and Google image photos of beaches and coconuts slapped poorly onto the document screams back at Choso and Yuuji, bright and early on Christmas Eve. 

It’s unusual for Satoru to be bouncing excitedly in place for someone other than himself. So this catches everyone off guard. 

Yuuji whispers something intangible to Choso, but Satoru is able to make it out as, “Do we even have coconuts here?”

To which Choso replies, “It’s winter, so I don’t think so.”

And Yuuji moves onto the next question in queue, “What should we do about the lack of palm trees?”

A patient sigh from Choso, “We could always trim the pine trees outside?” He lamely suggests. 

“It’s a good idea, no?” Satoru jumps right back in, completely missing the flat vibe from the brothers. He frowns. “Why are you guys giving me that look?” 

And, like his best friend and your sister, the brothers throw him a confused head tilt. 

“Well,” Yuuji weakly starts, “Your plan ‘Project: Bring Malaysia here in hopes of Y/N falling in love with me’ doesn’t really sound that great… even on paper.”

Satoru grins, fully expecting that to be the response. “I’ll order the things, don’t worry about it. I just need to borrow your lungs for this project.”

Yuuji scratches his cheek in confusion, laughing nervously again. “Our lungs…?” he echos. 

“How long do I have to keep this dumb blindfold on, Choso?”

“U-Um,” Choso shoots Satoru a brow as he carefully guides you through the hotel lobby. 

It’s currently decked out from head to toe in all things yellow, green, and pink beach themed inflatables. Choso and Yuuji reminded Satoru last night that maybe two flamingos would’ve been enough to get the message across, but seeing that he ordered a whole colony? Yeah, he’s sending the rich boy prayers as he reels you in further, avoiding collision with the colorful balloons and seven-foot tall palm trees, too.

“Choso?”

He squeezes your shoulders when Satoru shoots him a thumbs up. “Ten seconds.”

Satoru quietly walks over to both of you, tip toeing so the sounds of his loafers are minimized against the flooring. Once he’s inches away, Choso retreats off into a different room, mouthing to him words of final encouragement, which Satoru gladly took. 

You appear restless under the blindfold. “I swear to god, if I take it off and there’s a giant pile of reindeer shit in the middle of the lobby I will actually kill somebody—”

And Satoru quietly debates whether or not he wants to keep you like this for a little while before revealing the big surprise. Seeing you flustered and confused is a very cute look on you, after all. But, he’s gotten you this far and it would absolutely kill him to leave you on such a bad notice. It’s now early evening, and the sun’s just starting to set enough that the golden rays illuminate your features from this angle. It takes Satoru back to his first private meeting with you on the balcony and he remembers why he’s even doing this in the first place.

Carefully and slowly, he slips down the blindfold and softly calls out your name. “Hey, take a look around you.”

Your eyes are blown wide when you see his face. Anger and frustration dissipate from your face when you soon realize that Satoru carries a soft expression. He watches as the emotions wash off as quickly as they came. Then, you finally take a look around your surroundings and gasp. “You—You did all of this for me?”

Satoru tenses a little, a bit on the edge. “You want the short or long answer?”

You don’t notice because you’re too preoccupied with the numerous fake flamingos around you. “On second thought, maybe no answer would also work.”

He laughs at this, slightly, before turning shy again. He feels silly, ashamed, and it makes his cheeks flush. “I wanted to say sorry again for what I said earlier.”

“You finally want to talk about it?”

He looks at your idle hands and then back to your face. When he sees that you don't move them away as he inches closer, he takes both of them into his palms, giving them a tight squeeze. “Yeah, I was a big idiot and I thought I was trying to help in the beginning but I just sounded—no, I am—a giant ass.” Satoru concludes. 

The atmosphere grows quiet and heavy again. The air humid and thick despite the opened windows and you’re looking at him. Then, there are tiny little smiles that break out on your face, like freckles and stars in the sky. 

“You’re such a pillow princess,” and he outright blushes ten shades darker at the nickname, “you’re lucky you’re cute.” Coming from you, that’s as good as a love confession.

I like you, he thinks, but doesn’t say it. He really likes you and doesn’t want to fuck this up.

But, everyone knows that Satoru Gojo is a child at heart. 

Satoru doesn’t know who gives in first; realistically, it might’ve been one of those stupid, rare, impossible moments where it’s completely shared. Suddenly the gaudy blow up palm trees and inflatable pool blur from his vision and he feels the world roaring around him when your palms rest on his cheeks. He ducks his head down but you’re the one who closes the distance between. 

You taste like strawberries and lavender, smell like warm cocoa, and feel softer than any sherpa blanket he’s had. Satoru closes his eyes and his vision goes white, his hands shakily snake around your waist, pressing you hard against his chest as if you might disappear at any moment. Satoru sighs into the kiss, it feels pleasantly warm, that throb in his chest, it’s a slow, steady thrum of simmering desire and comfort. He’s pretty sure he’s adding way too much tongue, the drool and saliva that comes dripping between you two will be uncomfortable soon, but for now, it adds to the blissed out, satisfaction you’re both basking in.

Finally, you pull away, shortening yourself a good several inches from planting the rest of your feet on the ground. Your eyes are glossed over, watery and looking at him without vexation. “You’re something else.” You say, but there’s no bite.

Satoru doesn’t speak for a moment. He’s too focused on the feeling of your warm fingers sprawled all over his heating face. Too focused on the dull pulse of both nervousness and infatuation slowly spreading through his body because you’re giving him that look. This all feels romantic and stupid, he thinks.

“I’m sorry, again.” The words are quiet, hesitant, and Satoru almost regrets them the moment he speaks.

You shift around a little, now dancing on the balls of your feet, but the grasp you have on his cheeks is still relatively firm, even applying a bit of more pressure as if it’s your way of showing reassurance. You tip your head; your eyes are so vivid and bright, it sends a shiver down Satoru’s spine. In this moment, he remembers every single thing between them in shocking detail — the awkwardness, the tension, the frustration, the dumb banters, and suddenly he’s overwhelmed.

“I’ll forgive you if you give me a private city tour,” you laugh. “And come back to work with us again next year.”

Satoru offers a small smile. “Unpaid?”

“Will you say no if it is?”

He hugs you tighter, a chuckle bubbles in his throat. “I don’t think I can say no because it’s you.”

Though, while some might think that Satoru is the real loser here for being whipped so hard over a small town girl, you know that deep down the real loser is you. Because you managed to have the son of a CEO wrapped around your fingers and now you will never know peace again. But you’re not really complaining; instead, you’re working even harder to save just enough to eventually see your dream destination while Satoru whines and sends an ungodly amount of selfies everyday when he’s back home. And you won’t allow yourself to get snappy because, well, you’re very much head over heels for him, too.

© 2023 DOOBEA. do not copy any of my writing and translate/repost.

[saetoru]

imagine rich boy gojo finding out your name for him in his phone is just “satoru” or something 💀 and then from the side geto is like “mine’s got an emoji!”

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。NO HEART — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)

rich boy! gojo, college au, fluff, established relationships, dramatic gojo which is consistent in every version of him no matter the au

studying with gojo satoru is the worst idea you could ever allow to happen—and yet, every time he asks, you let it happen.

“baby, aren’t you getting my texts?” gojo pouts. it earns him an unimpressed glare from you as you look up from your textbook, a glare that makes him wilt while geto snickers from the corner.

“satoru, if you don’t stop bothering me while we’re supposed to be studying, so help me—”

“but it’s funny, look,” he whines. and before you can stop him, he picks up the untouched phone beside you, tapping the screen to unlock it. except, he doesn’t make it that far.

suddenly the world stills. it stops spinning on its axis. and suddenly, gojo satoru’s face is the dictionary definition of devastation.

“satoru, what’s wrong,” you furrow your brows.

“satoru. satoru? satoru?” he repeats, each time in more disbelief than the last.

“that’s….your name, yes?” you raise a brow. and then realization strikes your features—or so he thinks. he’s soon to find out he’s mistaken. “oh, sorry,” you snort, “toru, is that better? toru, get to studying—”

“my name in your phone is just satoru?” he asks, cutting you off like you’ve genuinely wounded him—the betrayal on his face and the shock in his voice are all too real.

you blink for a moment before you realize the source of his tantrum seems to be the contact name you have for him in your phone. only gojo satoru would find a way to make a big deal out of his own name, you think.

“well, yeah,” you shrug, “it’s your name. plus i had it set when i first got your number from that project. i hated you back then.”

“you called me gojo back then,” he squints accusingly.

“yeah that’s because it was gojo satoru at first,” you nod. from the side, you hear geto snicker again about the full government name to himself—which earns him a pillow thrown at his direction by gojo. “i deleted the gojo part when we started dating,” you add.

“oh so you can delete my surname once we started dating but you couldn’t even add a heart?” he asks, jaw dropped and eyebrows furrowed in that dramatic way he does. it’s a bit cute, the way he’s worked up over something so small—but it’s also entirely theatric, making you roll your eyes.

“would a heart make you feel better, satoru?” you purse your lips.

“no! not if you don’t add it because you want to,” he huffs, “you might as well just say you don’t love me!”

“satoru,” you sigh in exasperation. maybe if you didn’t have physics 1302 problems to work through—a whole six of them due before midnight, in fact—you would humor him in his elaborately dramatized attempt at getting your attention. but you have classes to pass and gpa’s to maintain, so you purse your lips instead. “it’s just a contact name. what’s mine?”

“it’s baby <3. with a heart. see?” sure enough, when his phone is turned to face you, it’s baby <3. with a heart.

“i have an emoji in my contact,” geto adds from the side, ever the instigator, “maybe it’s because i’m cuter—”

“you gave suguru’s an emoji?” he asks in distress, staring at you like you’ve told him you’ve cheated. you think you might hurt his feelings less if you did, with the way his lips are curled in a genuine frown.

“suguru set his own contact,” you defend, shooting the nuisance in the corner a sharp glare. geto only offers you a sly wink in return. “i didn’t realize you cared that much about contact names,” you shrug, “i can change it—”

“no need,” gojo huffs, holding up a hand to silence you as he turns away and sticks his nose in the air in defiance. “i’ll just change yours to your full government name. see how you like it.”

“satoru—”

“and you’re not getting a heart either,” he glares, deleting the <3 slowly just for show, making eye contact with you so you know the severity of your actions.

you roll your eyes, snatching your phone back as you shake your head. “if i make your contact baby <3 with a heart because you’re my baby, will that cheer you up,” you sigh.

he ponders it for a moment, as if debating the offer. and then his arms cross in defiance once more. “no. make it baby boy 💋 with a kiss emoji.”

“gross,” geto twists his face in disgust.

gojo turns to him, face blank and serious as he shoots, “single people should not speak when it’s not their turn,” before turning back to you. “i’ll consider forgiving you if you make it baby boy 💋 with a kiss.”

“okay,” you sigh, “baby boy it is.”

“with a kiss!” he glares.

“with a kiss,” you assure, rolling your eyes.

“can i also get a kiss?” he asks hopefully, eyes wide and bright and earnest enough to warm your heart.

you smile, chuckling at the way he looks so cute, at the way he melts your heart and makes you forget you have physics homework for a moment—but only for a moment because then you mumble, “no. now do your homework.”

PLS THIS PROMPT KILLED ME