#SHE INHALES LIFE & EXHALES ASHES ; YOU CAN SEE SOULS TRAPPED BETWEEN HER TEETH WHEN SHE SMILES. ( ARC – MANEATER )

[astrogone]

the money is set into her hands , valerie’s eyes widening as she takes in the sheer amount of bills and notes he has gifted her with. she could not , this would be inappropriate , and she did not want to appear selfish. the concept of being given something when she did not deserve it was so uncomfortable to her , and she always was guilty when she did not do a thing to be worthy of receiving such a reward for simply being. “ s — some , sir , this is …. oh my , this is much more than i could spend in my lifetime , goodness. “ she did not wish to be argumentative , as this would be horribly ungrateful , however this was too abundant for her. “ sir , please , take some of this back , this is not the most comfortable thing for me. i am touched one would offer such a bounty for someone they have known but hours ago. “ she flicks her orbs down to the riches again , then the man who was willing to provide her with such wealth. “ i ….. i truly …… i do not know what to say , i really ……. “ she shakes her head as her expression morphs to disbelief and unease. “ oh , thank you , i do not know how this would slip my mind to say , of course , but this ……. “

“𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆. Just breathe with me.”

Either Valerie would choose to have her life be followed right by his own, Ploúton deeply inhaled, allowing the scent of ashes to curl around his lungs, squeezing the mortal tenderness, before he exhaled icy breaths. Then a soft gasp escaped him at the sudden tremor travelling across his body, twisting every insides of him at once. Although he was quick to drop any hints of surprise, coolly staring down at Valerie afterward, despite the sustained shakes his weak body was trapped with. ( Even when they were both standing at a busy town in summer kisses daylight, warmth did not exist in his trembling body. It never had. )

After a moment had passed between them, he reached his hand out to take some money from her, as requested; it was a perfect balance for the both of them. “It is always the same from you beings,” he said, though the cold words could be for the world to hear rather than just Valerie. The birds continued to sing, and while the place became brighter, the winds evolved into howls. Certainly, Earth was listening, and he did not choose to let his honesty fall anytime soon. “You can do anything with the money, Val— anything.” Although the sentence held no intention of harming her, something dark was bending it.

He lowered himself to Valerie’s level. If she looked at his eyes with enough cautiousness, she would see a pair of galaxies gleaming, and these constellations would be translated to only danger. “Afraid of the idea of having so much power in your hand? What takes after the form of wealth that can and will help you live better?” Strangely, such childlike curiosity eventually slipped from his whisper, gently reaching out to her soul from the abyss of his own. He did wonder what had not make her die in the name of greed though. Who had stolen all of her light to make her believe she was worth nothing?

Head tilted aside, his lips curled into a soft smile. “How about this, Val: You take me wherever where you desire and we will spend the money we have together. It will be a fun game.” ( Behind his smile, there was no promise. Nothing but bloody teeth. )

@timidstrcngth​

[baldtaelovemaze]

The prettiest soul (2)

Hoseok X reader

Reaper!au

Warnings: angst, harsh language, death.

Words: 4.6k

In which a reaper falls in love with a human”s soul and steals it. after she reclaims it, unusual feelings are left behind and the reaper can’t seem to stop appearing before her at the most random times. Will she be able to brush off such feelings or will they consume her?

previous part.

You watch him inhale then exhale.

Reapers breathe?

“You are the reincarnation of my soul mate.”

“w-what?”

Your eyes grow wide, darting everywhere on the man’s face to find a trace of mischief.

Your breath hitches when you find none.

He swipes his tongue on his lip, a breathy laugh escaping his nervous mouth, “Yeah.” His throat feels tight and inflamed under your burning gaze.

“How can a mere human like me-” with a trembling hand you point over to your chest.” be your past soulmate? And -what soulmates are actually a thing?” You can’t help but smile in astonishment, eyes sparkling over the fact that something so pure and romantic which you only saw in movies or badly written fanfictions by a Canadian teen in her basement, actually existed.

“There was a time where I wasn’t a reaper, wasn’t a man who brought nothing but terror and sadness to humans. There was a time where I was happy, where I was in love-” he smiles softly, ”In love with you.” 

You watch him as he brings his finger up and gently boops your nose, leaving you red and flustered.

“What happened to that time?” She steps closer, no longer fearing the fire as she looks at him with sweet eyes, curious and thirsty to learn more about him and herself- her past.

His hand aches to be held by hers, after all these years, after all these centuries the ache is still there. The butterflies never left.

She looks just as beautiful as the last time he saw her.

“War happened.” The glow in his has disappeared, leaving them dark, cold and hurt.

Her mouth hangs, brows creasing as she searches in his now dead eyes then it happens, she sees it.

400 years ago.

“My king,” The general was breathless, cuts and bruises graced his skin as he kneeled before the king. “They have successfully entered the capital and brought the thousand men on guard there down along with innocent civilians.”

The room is mute.

She watches as his fist and jaw clench, blood boiling as beads of sweat coat his forehead.

She watches as the now crazy and reckless man pulls out his sword on one of his most loyal men, “You’re useless to me.” Her orbs grow with each step he takes from his throne.

The general is caught off guard, not even being able to scream.

She watches and suddenly she can’t see anymore, head trapped between two shoulders, she gazes up to the one who hides her view from the bloodshed.

Hoseok.

She hears the gasps in the room which are quickly shushed by the man as he demands silence, looking off to the distance where black smoke and more bloodshed is held.

The gold and silk on his body shine brightly with the help of the now setting sun.

She can’t see well, not because of the body protecting her but because of the water that filled to the rim of her waterline, threatening to leak any second now.

“They’ve never gotten this far-what will happen to us? It’s over!” she panics, body trembling like leaves, her voice quivers.

“hey hey hey-” he grips her shoulders, eyes searching for hers, ”It's okay, I’ll protect you no matter what. That’s why am here, to serve you and make sure you stay alive. No matter what.” Eyes soft, he smiles when she nods vigorously.

He’ll give his life to make sure she stays alive, not because this is what he plead before the kings just a couple years ago but because he loves her to death and he means every. single.word.

The palace shakes, screams of terror filling the air once again.

She leaps into his embrace, sobs ripping out of her throat as he hugs back just as tightly.” They’re here Hoseok-” she cries out, terror pumping through her veins, ”They’re here for me!”

The man looks over his shoulder, making sure the coast is clear,  ”We need to move rapidly, Princess. You need to stay by my side no matter what happens. Got it?” He whispers, brow up as he looks for a way to get her to calm down.

He holds her closer.

Just as expected, she calms down.

“I’d never leave you Hoseok. Not until my last breath.”

“The same goes my way, princess.”His hand travels down her arm. He intertwines his lanky fingers with hers. “Let’s get you to safety.” he grins, rapidly easing the woman.

Not long after, the King orders for every member of his bloodline to be brought out of the capital.

They rush out of the main room, leaving the king behind with his sword drawn ready to fight for his kingdom, ready to fight for his life.

“Wait I think I hear something,” Hoseok stops in his tracks, ear trying its best to pick up any sounds.

Her breath rags as she looks over her shoulder, eyes wide.”We should hide in the room over there, quick!” she says as she drags him by the arm to the tiny storage room.

They squeeze in, the tight space making it impossible to be more than an inch apart.

He looks down at her. He sees the way her head rest on his chest just over his beating heart and memories of their past flashes in his mind. He smiles to himself, loving the way her warmth radiates on his skin.

She listens carefully. She listens to every jump, every stutter, every heartbeat of the man who swore to protect her.

Of the man she loves.

The man who knew that he loved her the second he laid his eyes on her ten years ago. He loved her when she was a small and frail girl and he loves her now as a beautiful and strong woman.

A beautiful and strong married woman.

he loved her just as much when his father gave her hand in marriage to the prince of the neighboring kingdom. 

He loved her and stood silently next to her when she kissed her husband, her prince, Min Yoongi.

His smile flatters.

“Hoseok,” She calls out with a small voice, looking up to his warm brown eyes.

“Yes, my princess?”

Her gaze drops to the floor, gulping down the lump that suddenly formed in her throat. “I-I realize that I may not have much more time on this earth besides you.”

“W-what? What are you talkin-” hoseok is shushed by her lips who crash on his.

He shakes at first, eyes wide and hands awkwardly in the air but once he feels her hands tangle in his messy jet black hair, he melts in her embrace, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses back just as passionately. He feels millions of fireworks go off within him.

He feels the lips he’s always longed for finally on his. His hands find their way to her waist, gripping her tightly against him, he lets his tongue lap over her bottom lip then travel inside of her mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut as he memorizes the way she tastes, the way her lips feel so good on his, the way they mold so perfectly together as if they were made for each other.

“I’ve found you.” Hoseok feels the metal on his skin, freezing when he hears the voice.

She freezes too when she recognizes the voice. “Y-Yoongi?” she lets his name fall off her lips with a gasp. “W-what are you doing?”

The shorter man laughs, bitter as he eyes his wife with another man.

“I could ask you the very same question. Locking lips with a mere military man? And here I thought I would spare his life since you've had seemed to know him for a long time.” he tuts, head shaking as he digs the sword deeper into Hoseok’s flesh making him wince in agony.

Her heart thumpers, lips quivering “Y-you’re behind this aren’t you?” she spits.

Yoongi smirks, “Behind the rebellion in the kingdom?” he brings his index up, pointing lazily over his chest.”  Why yes, indeed I am!”He pipes, a gummy smile on his lips.

She glares, disgusted.

Hoseok tries his best to keep a straight face as his back bleeds, sword gradually cutting his skin then penetrating his muscle.

“The king-Your father is now dead thanks to my men.”

She doesn’t bat an eye, remaining stoic as Yoongi speaks.

“The kingdom is in ashes and in need of a new leader,” he states, twirling the point of the sword into Hoseok’s spine who grits his teeth.

“The new leader is you I suppose?” She asks, hands sneaking themselves around Hoseok’s waist to reassure him.

Reassure him like the countless times he did to her.

Today, she would be the one protecting.

“I thought that you would make an excellent queen by my side but with him as a distraction, I see that It’d be a little difficult? Shall I get rid of him at once?” He sings out, eyes crazed as he draws back his sword to slash the man who is willing to die for his princess, his love, his soulmate.

The grip around his waist becomes hard as steel as she uses all the strength her body can muster at that moment to turn him on his heels causing the sword to not penetrate his body but hers.

Blood gushes out of her back as she uses her last force to push her lips on his shaking ones for a final kiss.

She uses her last breath to finally utter what she’s been holding within her heart for the past decade, “You were always the one I loved. As promised, I never left you till my last breath, I never stopped loving you till my final breath, Hoseok.” She croaks out with a weak smile, tears flowing out of her eyes. Her body slowly goes limp in his arms.

Hoseok’s entire being breaks.

He lets the body gently fall to his feet as inhuman rage engulfs his heart and mind. At the speed of light, he draws out his weapon and slashes Yoongi’s neck, making his skull fall on the floor with a thud and his body shortly follow afterward.

He drops to the ground on his knees, eyes vacant as he stares at her lifeless.

He had felt the epitome of happiness and sadness at only 25 years old.

He cradles her into his arms as he sobbed quietly, ”What’s the point of being alive if you’re not here with me? You really leave me after you’ve told me what I’ve dreamed of hearing for years? he chuckles sadly as he runs his bloody hand through his hair.

He lays her back on the ground, fingers gentle. he proceeds the grab the blood-stained knife and lay beside her, placing a strand of loose hair behind her ear, he admires her serene visage, finally peaceful.

“We will meet again in our next lives. no matter how longs it takes, I’ll never stop looking for you.”

He stabs himself in the heart, blood draining from his wound as he dies silently.

She gasps loudly as if she had been under water and had finally swum up to the surface to fill her lungs with oxygen.

“Oh my God,” Her lips shudder, gazing at the man who remains silent as he wipes her damp cheeks. 

She hadn't even realized she’d been crying.

“T-that was me-That was us!” Her hands rush to hold his cold and aching ones. “Our story...” she trails.

“Our love story, ”Hoseok adds, his hands finally feeling her warmth after centuries of separation.

“You’ve must have been so lonely, all these years alone Hoseok.”She whimpers, heart-shattering when realizing that his name rolled out so naturally off her tongue.

Her forehead creases, thousands of unanswered questions bubbling inside her form. She asks, not being able to help herself. “How did you become like this? Forced to live through countless times and never reincarnate? How did you become a reaper?”

“Thanks to you, I finally remember why and how I died and I now know which capital sins doomed me to this life,” he smiled weakly, ”not only did I kill people but I killed myself too. As a result, I was sentenced to guide souls to their afterlife all while being forbidden to access mine for eternity unless-” he raises his index in the air, once again booping her nose. ”-unless I found you, my one and only true soulmate.”He caresses your hands, ecstatic.

“My heart is what led me to you on that night. I Just had a feeling you would finally be there. When I saw you I got so excited but I was too scared to speak to you. Knowing that I could possibly end your life with one word, I got  help from a couple wandering souls and fate, they led you to the grandma who led you to me.” He explains and it clicks.

“So that's why you took my soul? You found a loophole in the system!” you laugh, bewildered. “since you already had my soul, when I spawned you, you wouldn't be obligated to take my soul by force, instead, you’d be obligated to give it back to me if I claimed it!” She beamed and hoseok nodded, his smile slowly flattering.

“there’s a catch isn’t there?”Her lips pursed, voice now quiet.

“My future-Well our future depends on your choice. if you’re ready to give up your life or not.”

“My l-life?” she takes a step back.

Hoseok sighs, ”Humans and reapers can’t be with each other due to my powers. Each second you would spend with me I’d unwillingly suck the life out of your body even if it is soulless.” He runs a hand through his hair, eyelids blinking slow.”What I meant earlier by being sentenced for eternity unless I met you is that you’re my key. The sole chance I have to reincarnation. If you agree, the memories of all the people you’ve ever encountered in your life would be completely washed. You and I would die and meet again at an undetermined time in our next life.”

Her eyelids flicker rapidly as she nods, listening attentively. “and if I say no?” 

He glanced at her once more, licking his lips before speaking again.”If you say no, all memories of us ever meeting will be washed away. The universe will select another person as your soul mate and I will have to continue my job as a reaper.”

The enthusiasm is gone. 

Your heart sinks, brain trying it’s best to keep up with all the information thrown at you.

If I say yes, I die and lose everything I've worked hard for, everyone who cares for me and who knows? I might meet Hoseok in my next life moments away from death.

But If I say no, I lose the only person whose loved me enough to spend 400 years looking for me. I take away his only chance at happiness -at life.

But the feelings my past form felt for him aren’t the same feelings my present self feels for him right? I might be the reincarnation of that princess but am a completely different person with a completely different life from hers.

But he’s waited centuries for me...

“Give me more time to think.” She blurts out, nibbling hard on her lip, hard enough to draw blood if she applies just a bit more pressure.

Hoseok blinks, mouths parting as he thinks for a second.”Normally you’d have to make your choice right now but I understand how hard this can be. Giving up your life for a future that is unsure is far from being an easy thing.” he simpers, ”I will give you a week deadline. I’ll be waiting for you every day in front of the little coffee shop near your home and on the last day if by the tick of midnight you still haven’t made your choice I’ll consider your answer as a no.”

She grin, exposing her pearly teeth as she looks up at him with glassy orbs.”Why that coffee shop? Why can’t I just spawn you in my room again like I did here?” she asks, faces illuminated by the fire under Hoseok’s toes.

“That’s the coffee shop of fate,” he says simply, confusing the girl even more.

“Of fate?”

“If you meet me there before your time is up, I’ll tell you all about it. You don’t need to pick yes as your choice to know. I guess you can say am offering you this sacred knowledge as a gift for you showing up!” he chimes, scratching his neck.

You blink at the ground, smile small and soft. “Okay then..” you gaze up through your lashes, the warmth of his eyes engulfing you quickly, “I guess I don’t have any more questions so we’re done..?” brow up, she’s adorable.

“Yeah, we're done.” he smiles tight and y/n melts when she sees his dimples but decides against acting out on her rash thoughts and poking his face.

“I guess I'll go! Just blow out the candle and I’ll be out of your shoes!” He points over to the flame beneath him.

She crouches down, pausing for a second. “You better not leave out a single detail about the coffee shop of fate.” She whispers, chuckling lowly before blowing out the candle.

“The weather has been awfully inconsistent lately..” she shivers, rubbing away at her forearms as she steps out the car.

Her feet drag on the concrete, floor uneven as she gradually goes under the bridge.

Nose scrunched, she wonders why she picked white shoes now that she stands on the grass.

The grey clouds hid the sun, leaving the sky dull and somber.

Her eyes roamed around the deserted area in search of the woman who she promised to meet this early in the morning. She shivered like the leaves on the tall oak tree near the lake. She let the wind sway her, stretching out her upper limb and shutting her eyes as she relinquished the fresh air.

“Time flows like wind and water. Changing everything and replacing with new things,” The old woman chimes quiet, surprising the woman who flinches with wide eyes. The grandma simply smiles, wrinkly and tired eyes never leaving the water ahead,” but when love is added to the mix, no matter how many times the salt in the see tear it down, no matter how aggressively the wind blows sending it to places beyond our knowledge, it will still be there. Pieces of love will be scattered all over the place and it’ll be hard but not impossible to pick them all up.” Her grey hair frames her faces as she turns to look over at the woman who blinks numbly.

“Miss?” she asks, orbs immersed in the flow of the transparent liquid, “Who are you exactly?” she sniffs, her nose red.

She hears the old woman chuckle. “Am just an old woman helping fate take it’s course.”She looks back at the lake, a smile gracing her thin lips. “You’ll find the answer in your heart eventually, darling,”

Y/n doesn’t respond, not knowing how too. Instead, she tries to predict the movements of the water as she keeps an eye out for any fishes that might swim up to the surface.

She doesn’t know how much time passes but when she finally glances to the side with the tilt of her head, the elderly woman is nowhere to be seen.

Her deadline.

A week.

Seven days.

168 hours.

10080 minutes.

This is how she spent it.

Monday: After meeting with the mysterious lady, y/n bore herself into her thoughts all while working simultaneously. Thinking back to her words, how love could never truly disappear once you had experienced it no matter how much times or obstacles came in its way.

At least that’s what she thought the old lady was trying to get to. She bites her plastic pen, figuring that it depends on what perspective you see it from,

she barely gets any work done when she leaves the office.

She drives by the coffee shop on her way home. her eyes linger on the building, fighting with herself internally to not succumb to the urges and enter.

Just the thought of Hoseok there at midnight waiting for her is enough to make her swallow hard and blink insanely as she enters her home.

Her eyes are blank when she stares at the tv, wine glass in hand. She doesn’t spare a glance at her phone when it vibrates for the hundredth time.

She doesn't want to speak to anyone. Not when it’s past midnight.

Tuesday: She’s overwhelmed with work, barely having enough time to eat as her coworkers and boss rush her. Her stress is out the roof. Oh, how she wishes she could just be in bed snuggling with her teddy bears with the faint sound of anime in the background.

She feels bad when she passes the coffee shop knowing that Jimin is in there probably wondering why she’s been blowing off his messages.

Jimin: Did I do something wrong? Am sorry.. please answer soon.

She looks at the message that was sent yesterday. Heart heavy, she makes a promise to herself that she’ll go in tomorrow.

Wednesday: She finally calls her best friend, grimacing when the fiery woman yells in the phone and throws in a couple explicit words, hurt over the fact that she’d been ignoring her for no reason.

She smiles softly, she missed her bestie.

They make plans later that day to chill at her apartment. 

When her bubbly friend arrives and asks her about what’s going on in her life she doesn’t dare mention the blood-haired man.

She listens attentively to her best friend gush over the man who she met the other day at a disk store. She tries not to gasp over the name of the man, Yoongi. Rather, she smiles larger, ignoring the heavy dullness of her heart.

It’s only when the woman mentions Jimin that y/n feels guilt eat her whole.

She had completely forgotten to go see him.

I’ll go see him tomorrow, she thinks as she eyes the clock.

11:59pm.

Thursday: The leaves dance as the wind blows, sky still grey. Y/n can’t shake off the feeling that she’s being watched when she comes out of the office. Marching fast, her eyes shoot everywhere in the parking lot in search of her car.

She smiles relieved when spotting it and decides to make a run for it. Not risking to stay any longer to find out why her stomach is twisting in terror of the unknown.

She springs, almost to her vehicle as she reaches in her bag for her keys.

She’s stopped abruptly by a painful grip on her arm.

She blinks up, heart pumping at the speed of light when she’s met with her loan shark.

“I’ll have the money soon I promise! please just give me a bit more time!” She cries out when the male snarls out a threat before letting her go.

He watches her with a smug smile when she races away to her car, tears flowing out her eyes and hands shaking of fright.

She drives straight home. Vision clouded by water, she doesn’t glance at the coffee shop.

She spends the night crying. she feels empty and realizes just how dull her life truly is. She thinks of Hoseok, all he made her feel in a short period of time he was with her.

She looks at the clock as midnight goes by.

Friday: She runs into Jimin’s arms, head falling on his chest as the boy’s eyes widen, taking clumsy steps back due to the force of the unexpected embrace.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you, Jimin!” She speaks into his chest, voice muffled by his now wrinkled white dress shirt.

“It’s okay..” He pats her head, trying his best to reassure the woman.

She stays silent still in his embrace, listening to his crazed heart like her past princess self with hoseok.

She doesn`t feel it.

She doesn`t feel ease wash over her like she -or her past self-had felt with hoseok.

It’s different.

He’s different.

He’s not Hoseok.

She blinks fast when seeing the back of a trenchcoat just walking away from the window.

she doesn't blink at all and watches with careful eyes when the man turns, exposing his profile.

The nose isn't arched like a bow, his gaze his piercing like a million arrows and his hair isn’t red like the blood that pumps through her veins.

It isn’t him.

Shuts her eyes, not understanding why she wanted him to be Hoseok.

Saturday: She spends the day at the coffee shop with Jimin, watching him the few clients that come in. Jungkook rushes in the shop, the rain completely soaking him.

“You’ll get sick you know?’ she pipe, eying the young man who shakes his hair, sending water all over the place.

“I never get sick.” he tuts and she thinks about it for a second. Nodding when she realizes that she’s in fact never seen him sick.

Jimin smiles shyly when she agrees to join him for a movie night the next day.

Sunday: your head rest on Jimin’s shoulder as you watch a movie. The blanket covering the both of you, you nuzzle yourself deeper into his embrace, not feeling uncomfortable with the boy.

You try not to smirk when the boy blushes, trying his best to focus on the tv and not the warmth radiating from your skin.

You immerse yourself in the movie. Forehead creasing as you can’t seem to understand the decisions of the main character.

You can’t but get frustrated and groan out loud when the woman on the screen continues pushing away anything and anyone who brings her happiness. You curse at the way she clings to her miserable life, throwing away every single opportunity that came her way to help her start fresh. 

“Why does she keep settling for less when life clearly has more to offer if she just takes the chance!” Y/n pipes exasperated, fist balled up for some reason.

Jimin chuckles, tilting his head so it rests on hers. “I think that some people are just scared to take the jump. Life is a game of hazard. When you roll the dice it can land on the highest number just like it can land on the lowest. If you never try rolling the dice then you’ll never move from your spot.” Jimin speaks gently, coffee-colored eyes glimmering as the scenes reflect in them, he stares at your parted lips.

“You can’t be afraid of what you don’t know. Don’t be afraid to roll the dice.” he exhales, leaning in and pecking your lips quick.

Your eyes flutter shut, chasing his lips when he tries to pull away. You kiss him deeply, gripping his shirt to pull him closer.

You tear away, a string of saliva snapping when your lips leave each other.

Your eyes flicker open and meet his dazed ones. “Jimin, what time is it?

His cloudy eyes clear when hearing your voice. “I-I don’t have my phone on me.” He pats his jeans, blinking slow.” I think I might have left them on the dresser in my room.” He gets up quick put you rapidly push him back down the couch with your open palm.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it.” Your bare feet tap on his wood floor, stopping when finding his bedroom.

The door squeaks as you open it, eyes darting to the dresser. You walk over fast, jaw-dropping when realizing you only have 15 minutes left before midnight

You blast out the room, only pausing in your tracks to face an alert and confused Jimin. “How far is this place from the coffee shop?” You blurt out louder than intended, confusing the boy who stands even more.

“H-huh w-why?” His brows crease, lips screwing themselves into a frown but quickly relaxing when you peck his plump lips. “Please just tell me and don’t ask questions.”

“About 20 minutes if you walk-”

“I need to go there real quick. I know my answer thanks to you, my little fairy.” You hug him fast before bouncing out of the apartment, not even realizing that you took his phone with you but it didn’t matter because you finally knew what to do.

You finally knew your answer.

You smiled to yourself, thinking back to Jimin and the way he kissed you as you ran, hair flapping all over your face in the street that was only illuminated by the blue moon.

You finally knew your answer.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Song of Shadow (II)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Mark

Rating: R

Genre: Fantasy, Fey!AU

Warning: PTSD symptoms, violent imagery

Word Count: 4,196

He doesn’t move, the feel of his mouth cool and detached. Then he exhales, mouth opening to hesitantly taste you. Fingers rising to your hair, tips still wet with your blood. He returns your kiss, breathing you in before suddenly, frighteningly – lurching away.

Your hand drops, surprised you can move. The screams from above pierce your subconsciousness and you realize this is not, in fact, a dream. Through trembling lips, you force yourself to say, “Why –” before he abruptly disappears.

Only the night stares back at you.

The darkened tips of evergreens hang low over the clearing. Mist swirling between boughs, a bleak landscape of moss and stone and air. Most Fey avoid these parts of the woods entirely. Not Impia. Her cloak trails silently behind her, caressing deadened branches while she drifts forward into the hollow.

Her head is held high, skin ghostly white in the fog. Her hair ash grey behind her, a stark contrast to her half-sister, Maeve. Impia thinks not of that Queen though, for Maeve is of little concern to her. Maeve rules only the Fey, those cruel Unseelie who fill her land with ice and snow.

Impia’s lip curls with disgust. Such beings are pittance, compared to her desires.

What she seeks are the night and stars themselves, more ferocious and hash than anything to be found on this earth. Wilder than even Maeve’s most fierce warrior. Impia turns towards the horizon, sighting the point where the sun just breaks over the edge. Any minute now, her riders will come into view. Any minute now, they will return to her – each containing a single, human soul in their grasp.

Impia exhales, fingers tracing senseless shapes in the air. She sees beyond her fingertips, beyond the forest. While her sister rules over the Fey, Impia follows the paths of the true immortals. Those creatures of heaven and hell, alight with flame and winged purpose. She follows the angels, the demons.

To most Fey, they are but Faery tales. Delightful stories told to children to keep them from the dark and shadowy places of humans. To keep them from looking up towards the stars.

Impia’s index finger jerks, right pinky twitching with the weight of her sight. Every night, she sends her riders away. Every morning, they return to her. Bringing with one soul, snatched from the jaws of death. Trailing fingertips over the air, Impia traces words on the breeze. It was a long time ago she obtained the knowledge on how to live. How to survive, how to be immortal – truly immortal, at that.

For though the Fey are long-lived, they are not immortal. Not in the truest sense of the word. They can be killed, sent to the grave by spear and sword. If an Angel is stabbed though, they do not die. They continue to be, as ancient and impassive as before. In the wisp of the dawn, Impia’s fist clenches around air. 

More than anything, she wants this. And she can have it. When she sought out the Riddler long ago, Impia paid him the price which he asked for, if he’d only tell her how.

He obeyed, taking her payment and whispering that Fey can become immortal through the consumption of souls.

Temporary immortality gleaned from this nectar, from human life as it hovers between their lips and the sky above. If, instead of passing on to the afterword, a human soul is trapped within a Fey’s body – it renders the Fey temporarily immortal. It’s when she has her souls that Impia is impregnable. Once her souls leave though, pulled back by angel or demon, Impia returns to being Fey. To the mortality of flesh, as her heart breaks in two once more.

It is why she devours thirteen souls each dawn – the sacrifice of those humans means Impia is never mortal for long.

Inhaling sharply, Impia draws mist into her nostrils. She has heard rumors though, that there exists amongst humans the rarest kind of soul. One which is true, one which if consumed, provides the vessel immortality in the truest form. Never again, would Impia have to seek out another soul. 

This is what the night riders are seeking, though they do not know it. This is what Impia truly craves, when they return each morn. 

Impia watches the world lighten and as she closes her eyes, thundering hooves fill the clearing. Thirteen sets, sharp and distinct while they paw upon the ground. Impia opens her eyes.

Mark sits at the helm, his reins held loose between his fists. When he sees her standing there, he very quickly drops from his saddle. Impia follows him with her eyes, the irises dazzlingly bright in the morning. “Mark,” she sighs, lip curving into a smile. “What have you brought for me this morn?”

Mark comes to a stop. He reaches upwards, removing his helmet to reveal dark, tousled hair. Continuing to stare, though this is not unusual because rarely does Mark speak before being spoken to. It is only when his dark gaze flickers that Impia frowns.

“I have no soul this morning, my Lady,” he confesses.

Impia stills. Only her eyes continue to move, assessing him. Her favorite rider, empty-handed. This has never happened before. Mark stands proud, tall and straight in the glade. His gaze is unrepentant, uncorrupted by fear. Behind him are the others, though even they seem uneasy with this turn of events.

Jaebum stands behind Mark, next-in-command. He could be first, but for his resolute love for the woman who owns him. Impia is a huntress. She does not allow herself to be caught, holds those enamored with her in a lower esteem than the rest. Despite this, Jaebum is an uncompromising swordsman, which means he is second place in her eyes.

Beside Jaebum is Jinyoung. Tall, stoic, proud. His expression heavy with distrust, for none so much as Impia. She smiles at this, holding his gaze a beat longer before continuing. Jinyoung is a challenge, one Impia enjoys breaking.

Behind him are the rest – Damon, Leander, Osiris, Priam, Tristan, Wak, Alexios, Anu, Elias and Mikkel. All taken from different times, different places; wooed into service by the strength of Impia herself. She looks at each in turn, noting the ones who shy away.

“Why, though,” she murmurs, gaze returning to Mark, “have you returned home empty-handed?”

Mark does not flinch. “There was interference, my Lady,” his voice is low. “An angel, who stepped in when I attempted to pull the girl’s soul to my chalice.”

Impia’s lips tighten. “An angel,” she hisses. 

Fingers trembling, she traces frantically through the air. Though Impia searches, though she reaches – she cannot detect falsity in Mark’s words.

Impia is not like most Fey.

No, Impia sees things. Understands, while the rest of the Fey remain blind. She has devoured lives for so long, she now remains neither wholly Fey nor mortal, rooted somewhere between the living and the dead. She is not bound by the rules of her kind – not bound by either Fey or human alike. Impia can lie, can break oaths. She sees the sweat, the stain of deceit on your skin.

There is no such trace upon Mark.

Inhaling again, Impia’s eyes turn white, nearly colorless with brilliancy. Though Impia wishes to be like the Angels – she detests them. Perhaps because they’re everything she is not. They have all she desires, everything she craves – and all without asking for it.

“You must be careful,” Impia murmurs, taking a step forward. Watching Mark, as her nail gently rakes the curve of his jaw. “When you lead, you must choose the right places. Angel or not, demon or not – do not to me return empty-handed again.”

Mark nods, taking a step backwards, removing himself from her grip. Impia’s gaze moves on to Jaebum. “And what have you brought, my rider?” she sighs.

Jaebum doesn’t speak, merely lifting the silver chalice at his side. “For you, Impia,” he smiles, ignoring Impia’s eyes, which darken in warning.

Jaebum’s fingers brush the hidden compartment to release a silvery wraith into the air. It hangs like that, wispy and noncorporeal. There’s no shape to it, no form and Impia’s eyes whiten further. Tilting her head, her hands rise lovingly to cup the sphere. Gently, searchingly, she brings it to her lips.

When Impia’s mouth parts, no one moves. None recoil, though a lesser mortal would. Inside Impia’s mouth lies teeth. Broken, twisted shapes which stretch to the back to her throat. This was the price Impia paid when speaking to the Riddler. Her beauty, in exchange for information.

The riders are used to her appearance by now, and Impia does not often reveal her weakness. It is only at dawn when she shows herself. Only when she consumes souls that she allows the monster she truly is.

As the soul enters, Impia’s limbs tremble. Flaring with sudden light, while the human life sinks below her skin. “Ah,” Impia’s eyes open, peace etched across her features. “And from you, fair one?” she asks, turning to Jinyoung.

While she’s looking at him, she doesn’t see Mark exhale. Doesn’t see his shoulders loosen. Doesn’t see the stone, slowly dropping to the forest floor. A tiny rock which most wouldn’t understand the use of.

A trail of blood adorns his wrist, halo of red against pale skin. This was the price Mark paid for his deception.

As he closes his eyes, Mark inhales. Expelling breath and deceit from his lungs in one go and when he opens his eyes once more – he sees you.

Your eyes fly open.

Heart racing, pounding restlessly in the dark. Your hands slide to your neck first, then your torso – sliding over your arms, your breasts, your hips. It’s all there, though. You’re all there and you fight to calm your sudden panic. The lump in your throat makes it difficult to swallow, difficult to breathe.

Your eyes flutter, and you see him again.

Mark. That’s what the woman called him – if you can call her a woman, even. She seemed to be more than that. As your eyes adjust, you find your breathing gradually slowing. These dreams have been plaguing you since the attack. Since the night your therapist continues to discuss but somehow, you just can’t seem to find the words.

“It’s normal,” your therapist said, the first time you met. “Normal, to feel afraid both during and after a traumatic incident. It’s normal to dream as well, to have flashbacks, anxiety or worry. What we want to do, is help you cope. Help you to move past this and resume a normal life.”

You remember shifting in your seat, staring steadily down at her carpet. The rug beneath you was an awful, red-colored rust, reminiscent of the blood which once wept from your body. The pool you sat in, even once the concrete was lifted. Even once the man had disappeared, siphoned away into nothing. The blood was the one thing tethering you to reality. The drying pool of memory, evaporated to a mere stain while people continued to scream from up above.

You sat. Sat, stared at your blood as everything changed.

It was a hallucination. There’s no other explanation. No sane, rational explanation for the things you saw. The things you felt. For the man who healed you. Who healed you, kissed you – and disappeared. It must have been a hallucination, because there’s other no logical explanation.

It doesn’t explain the dreams, though.

Even if what you experienced was a hallucination, your dreams are now. This Fey, these riders – they have nothing to do with that night. Nothing to do with the incident, so where do they come from? You see him so vividly – see his gaze, burning with purpose. See his brow lower, his gaze soften. You see the terse set of his mouth, while he watched that woman swallow the mist.

Despite being wrapped in your blankets, you shiver. It’s summer, you shouldn’t be this cold. Shouldn’t be frozen, feverish to the touch and again your thoughts return to therapy.

Your therapist looking at you over the top of her clipboard. “You hallucinated,” she explained. “A hallucination brought on by high stress, likely coupled with the shock of the blast. You may have passed out, since your medical evaluation afterwards showed high levels of dehydration. You hallucinated that you were saved by someone, as your mind’s way of coping with the lives of those who weren’t.”

It made sense – made more sense than the existence of Mark himself. More comprehensible than a darkened angel, one who healed you with purplish night. But then, what about Brian?

Brian was the man you disappeared with. The man you found out on the dance floor, the one you ground sloppily against until he tugged you towards the stairs. You were on vacation that night, out with friends and looking for a good time. After a few minutes of drunken making out, you reached behind the bar and stole a bottle of wine.

You who the one who tugged him down the stairs. The one who drank from the bottle. Things progressed quickly after that, and you barely remember the straps of your dress sliding down your arms. Barely remember your leg, hitched around his waist but – you remember the pain.

In your memory, you were thrown back by the blast. You remember your head hitting the wall, slamming into stone – and then a cracking. The screech of rock, before the block of concrete loosened. The pain was like nothing you’ve ever felt. It’s hard to forget pain like that. Hard to forget air shooting from your lungs, your twisted body. The way you stared through your haze, trying to make sense of your blood around alcohol and shock.

You remember Brian looking at you in horror before he slowly backed away. This, too is seared in your mind. His face, bone-white before panicking and running. You can still hear the thud of his feet, the fade of his voice while he dashed up the staircase – all as the continued screams of strangers rang out above you.

If you hallucinated being hurt, hallucinated Mark – how to explain Brian’s disappearance? 

Everything fades after that. The pulse of your blood, the sight of the room– until Mark. He could have been a hallucination, you suppose. He might have. But then – why have the hallucinations continued?

Throwing your covers aside, you stand from your bed. Padding silently over to your desk and dropping into your chair as you plug in your laptop. As you wait, you stare out the window. The wind is wild, tops of trees tossed with a sudden gale. After surviving, you decided to put your life on hold. The panic you had afterwards was incessant, especially in crowded spaces. Especially in your office, a tall building of stone. Your therapist was the one who convinced you to take a leave of absence.

The past two weeks you’ve spent living at home. Living quietly, in the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania. A small, rural community of small, rural people. Not that this is a bad thing, necessarily – it’s just not who you are. You forgot how people stare in towns like this. Forgot how they whisper, talking to one another behind hands about how you should have stayed home. You shouldn’t have traveled. Shouldn’t have gone to a foreign club in a foreign city and met with foreign friends.

You block this all out, for the most part. Your nightmares though, are harder to forget. Harder to remove the image, the clarity of him. Your therapist has a theory about Mark too, when you dare to ask.

“He could be your embodiment of a savior,” she said, sliding glasses up the bridge of her nose. “You feel guilty for surviving, when so many did not. It’s why you’ve created a mental savior, one who explains why you lived and your friends died.”

Explains why you lived.

Her words stay with you long after the session. You went to the club with three friends. Three friends and yourself, but somehow you’re the only one who survived – and why? You were the reckless one that night. The one who left in the middle with a stranger, and somehow – you were rewarded.

Your head sinks to your hands. When you notice the home screen of your computer blinking, you look up. Forcing yourself back to reality, you open the search browser. For a moment you just sit. Sit and stare, bathed in the light of your screen while you decide what next. Try and decide what to search – then your fingertips slowly lower.

Impia.

Staring at the computer, you’re unsure if you’ve spelled that right. All you have to go off is the name that rider – Jaebum? – said to her.

Riders.

You pause once more, then add, Fey.

Pressing enter, your eyes widen. There are millions of hits, most of which are utter nonsense. You see this as soon as you click on the page, opening up screen after screen of conspiracy theories, mythology and stories from the Celts and Scots. Around your fourth page of results, you start to sigh. Everything is blending to one and the closest thing you’ve found is a Sidhe Knight – but even that doesn’t sound right.

About to give up, you freeze when you notice the blood red header. Frowning slightly, you click – A True Anthology of the Fey. Banner unfurling at the top, it appears to be one of those websites made in the early 2000’s which look as though they were created in Microsoft Paint. Glancing up, you see in the top right corner is the name James Tyson.

You start to read.

Lesser known to Fey mythology is Impia, Lady of the Hunt. She owns the souls of thirteen male Fey warriors and is largely regarded through both Seelie and Unseelie territory (Summer and Winter courts of the Fey) as a separate being entirely. Her warriors answer to no one but her. Impia is Fey, but also not. A Queen set apart from Fey politics – Impia is concerned with one thing and one thing only: souls.

A chill crosses your spine and you lean closer to the screen.

Her riders go forth each night, traveling both wind and plain in search of humans. Ones which hover at the brink of death, because only then can they glean their souls from their bodies. Only then can they bring theses souls to Impia for consumption. Impia eats these, consuming human essence with the end result being near-immortality.  

The room around you is silent. Quiet, but for the slow rise and fall of your chest. Staring down at the screen, you try and make sense of the words. This, unlike the rest, seems to fit. It makes sense, unlike every other explanation you’ve come across. In the clearing stood thirteen male Fey. Jaebum called the woman Imperia. The silvery substance she consumed, the one she placed past her lips – exhaling sharply, you sit upright.

A soul. A human soul, carried in a silver chalice.

This is impossible.

Impossible, can’t be real and yet – your breath quickens. If this is real, Mark let you go that night. He shouldn’t have saved you. Should have taken your soul instead. Should have placed you in a silver cup and brought you to Impia. He should have stood by and watched, while she consumed you like the others.

Mark is Fey. Mark is a rider. And Mark saved you, despite this.

But why? And why do you keep on dreaming of him?

Softly, as though to avoid detection, you shut your laptop. Half-dazed, you cross the floor of your room and fall upon your bed. Pulling the covers up to your chin, you stare at the ceiling. Rather than feel reassured, you’re terrified. Perhaps you’re not crazy. Perhaps your savior wasn’t a hallucination after all. But if he wasn’t and this is real – this brings forth a whole new kind of terror.

You get the feeling that were Mark to return, the scenario wouldn’t play out the same way as before. Turning over in bed, you curl your knees into your chest. No matter how hard you try, no matter how you shift – it’s impossible for you to fall asleep that night.

You lie awake instead, staring at the sky and awaiting the dawn.

The next morning is dreary. Drizzling, overcast and cold – fitting, for your current state of mind. As you tug your arms through your sweater and head out the door, you call over your shoulder. “Going running!” you say, just like you’ve done every morning.

Your mom doesn’t emerge, though she yells, “Okay! Be careful!”

Nodding, you allow the door to fall shut. As you step into the street, the air feels heavy with moisture. You ignore this, pulling up your hood and turning on your iPhone. As you start to run, you exhale. Muscles relaxing with the easy, repetitive motion.

Running is the only time of day you feel normal.

The squeak of your sneakers, the sweat on your brow – all of it familiar. All of it a distraction, one which keeps you occupied enough to block out thought. It’s an escape and for a moment, you allow yourself to forget. Forget the pain, the memories, the flash of club lights and scent of blood. You’re just you, running on a rain-soaked street. Alone.

Almost.

From the corner of your eye, you see a moss-green truck. This wouldn’t be unusual, except for the speed with which it’s going. You didn’t notice it before, too distracted by running but now – you glance backwards, realizing this is no mere coincidence. The truck is moving far too slowly for that.

Heart pounding, you very suddenly veer towards the woods. There’s a running path here, one which cuts through the quarry. They won’t be able to follow you with wheels. This turns out to be a mistake, because as soon as you turn, you hear the screeching of tires. Back at the street a car door opens and slams, and from behind you comes the thud-slap of feet.

As you round a bend, you make the mistake of looking backwards.

Two men are following you. Two burly, unfamiliar men. Your head snaps forward and you start to run, no longer concerned with appearing casual. The men pick up pace behind you and soon you’re full on sprinting, trees flying by on either side. It’s not enough, though. You’ve been running for nearly an hour and these men are freshly rested.

As you round the corner, you slip. The leaves slick with rain and dew, and your leg jerks out from under. Tumbling down to the pavement, you can’t help your yell. A scream, as you come down hard on one elbow. You lie there dazed for a moment, gray sky mocking from up above.

Raindrops fleck your face, brisk and stinging against your skin. One headphone is off to the side, the other continuing to play David Guetta in your ear. As you struggle upwards, you hiss. Your ankle has twisted at an uncomfortable angle – it’s as you realize this, the two men enter the clearing.

They don’t speak. There’s no need to, at this point. You both know why they’re here. As they walk towards you, you scoot backwards. Searching for something – anything – to fend them off with. Your hand closes around a stick, which you brandish shakily before your face. “Stay back,” you gasp, the world swimming in your eyes. “Don’t come any closer.”

It’s not just pain causing your vision to blur. Panic has you, a paralyzing flood while you try to block out the memory. The blood. The voices. The screaming above, the music –

The man nearest to you laughs.

You groan, doubling over while your panic attack continues. Skin tingling, head buzzing as fire races in your veins. Your heart is searing, ramming painfully against your ribs and you gasp, elbow buckling into the dirt.

It’s through the haze that a figure materializes.

He’s dressed entirely black, though it’s not the same outfit as before. Before he was dressed in what looked like court attire. Fitted trousers, a tunic, cloak around his neck and a sword by his side.

Now, Mark is dressed in a hoodie. Jeans, which are worn at the knees and sharp black combat boots on his feet. He’s dropped to a crouch, fingers splayed against wet concrete. Mark cocks his head before he stands, dusting his hands off on the back of his pants.

The two men are frozen – confusion and alarm written clear on their faces.

Understandable, given the situation. A man just dropped from the sky. Appearing from nowhere and now he stands between you and them. His expression is blank, eerily so and you don’t blame the men when they step backwards.

Mark’s face is shadowed, tilting upwards. “Will you leave peacefully,” he asks, his voice melodious. “Or shall we discuss in a more violent manner?”

You stare in disbelief as dark, purple energy billows about his frame. Wrapping Mark’s body, pulsating air and space before him.

“Fucking shit,” one man whispers. He stumbles back, slapping the other on the chest. “Come on, Greg. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

The other nods, turning just as quickly to scramble and out of the trail.

Mark doesn’t move, not at first. He watches them go and once he’s certain they’ve left, he turns around. Watching, as you slowly push yourself onto your elbows.

Mark manages a smile, dark gaze unreadable. “Hello, human,” he nods, lowering to a bow. “We meet again.”

[Master List]

Author’s Note: Surprise! This world is set in the same universe as Addewid. They won’t overlap, though. It is not necessary to read one before the other. I hope you all enjoy!

[diigne]

                              TAG DUMP #3   :    GENERAL.