#though i prefer to own books i like (thus my radiant black collection) but like still. library good.

[softgrungeprophet]

man i really need to get on the current F4 run, it seems like a lot of fun, ryan north is very funny, and the alex ross covers are, as they say, banger

[wingsofkpop]

Hiraeth - I.VIII: These Paths We Walk

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatural!AU, Dark Magic!AU, heavy Angst, light Fluff, eventual Smut

warnings: Mature language, mentions of death and murder, violence, gore and blood, some satanic themes, etc. 

word count: 7,1k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

Necromancy is a form of spiritual divination in which the executioner acts in the summoning of and communication with the lost souls of the dead. Its origins date back to the ancient Greeks, as the word necromancy is composed of Greek terms νεκρός (nekrós), "dead," and μαντεία (manteía), "divination." During the European Middle Ages, necromancy grew to be associated with black magic by traditional witches. As a result, its practice became strictly forbidden due to its disruption in the balance of nature. History recalls only one powerful witch ever held the ability to raise the dead at will—

“Still doing research for that special project?” Your mind snaps back to reality at the sudden inquiry. Tearing your gaze from the textbook, you look up to find none other than your favorite student in front of your desk. Hyunjin offers his usual crooked smile at your newfound attention and raises a questioning eyebrow. 

You can’t help but roll your eyes before answering, “You know the point of a study period is to—I don’t know—study? Preferably by yourself?”

He snickers. “I have a question that requires your extensive mastery in the literary arts, Ms. (L/N).”

“I’m sure you do.” You release a heavy sigh, not bothering to voice your annoyance at the use of your surname. Instead, you deliver Hyunjin a shake of your head before gesturing his continuance with a wave of your hand.

“I’m a little confused by the ending of The Grapes of Wrath,” Hyunjin pauses, “okay—a lot confused. I mean, why would Rose of Sharon breastfeed a stranger she literally just met? It’s weird…” 

You chuckle at his scrunched expression. “You’re right. It is pretty weird.” 

“So why’d she do it?” 

“Well, Rose of Sharon knew the stranger was starving to death,” You begin, leaning back in your chair to better hold Hyunjin’s gaze, “so you could say she wanted to give him a second chance.” 

“But why? She doesn’t even know him.” 

“Maybe not, but if you had the ability to save another person’s life—be it a stranger—wouldn’t you?” 

“But even after all her and her family went through, I don’t understand how she was able to find it in herself to do that. Especially after the loss of her baby.” 

“Humanity is a complicated, yet beautiful force, Hyunjin.” You hum gently, “Even among all the cruelty, hatred and hopelessness, it still manages to find a way to prevail—that ending is proof that against all odds, humanity will always win.”  

“I never thought about it like that…” Hyunjin shakes his head in disbelief, “Thanks, (Y/N)...” 

“It’s what I do, kiddo.” 

While the student grows silent to scribble down his realizations, you take the time to skim over your own notes—or lack-there-of, that is. 

After Youngjae agreed, albeit rather reluctantly, to assist you in your mission to return Jackson Wang to the land of the living, you spent the past few days cornering the bookstore and mausoleum’s supply of resources about raising the dead. But just your luck, every text thus far has proven to be less than helpful. According to the siphoner, necromancy is one of the more rare magical arts that is only practiced by specialized, powerful witches, which, unfortunately, also means there is limited access to such information. Neither you nor Youngjae have been able to find a spell or ritual that can guarantee Jackson’s resurrection without some kind of dire consequence. 

Who knew magic could be so complicated? 

“You know, you’ve been out for the past week…” You lift your head to meet Hyunjin’s gaze once again. “Is… Is everything okay? I don’t mean to pry, but it’s just so unlike you to miss any classes…” 

The typical university student probably wouldn’t give a damn about a missing professor, much less an absent TA. Hyunjin’s visual apparent concern spreads warmth throughout your chest—you are powerless to hold back the small smile that stretches across your lips. 

“A couple of my roommate’s friends disappeared out of the blue last week, so I just needed a few days to help her out.” You raise a playful eyebrow, “Don’t tell me you missed me?” 

“What? No way.” Hyunjin scoffs, “Though I did have to use Sparknotes for the past few reading assignments and barely passed Wednesday's quiz—” You burst into laughter, reeling your companion into the same fit only seconds later. After a brief moment, Hyunjin manages to collect his composure and finish, “—I am glad everything is okay… and that you’re back.” 

You nod with a smile. “I appreciate that.”

Aside from the daily meetings with Youngjae and nightly cry-piles with Sana, the past few days have proven to be quite uneventful. Jackson has not appeared in your bedroom since that first night, and true to your word, you haven’t told Mark about your quest for his revival. God knows what kind of Hell would break loose if that were to happen. You also haven’t visited the Prime residence since the day you caught Jaebeom with his drop dead—mind the pun—gorgeous vampire conquest. You’ve been meaning to call Jinyoung, but between your hours pilfering through useless research texts, comforting your distraught roommate and attempting to track down your M.I.A. best friend, you haven’t quite found the time. 

And though you’d never admit it to anyone, you needed some time alone—to think.

A rather obnoxious bout of laughter tears you from your thoughts, which is quickly followed by a scold from Professor Park. In an attempt to find the source, you peer past Hyunjin’s form and the sea of other students to the very back of the classroom where a group of young girls are utilizing the period as social hour. Amongst the familiar faces sits a pretty female student you don’t quite recognize, having never encountered her around campus before.

And although you can barely see her, something about her demeanor seems… off. 

“Hyunjin? Who’s that girl back there?” 

Hyunjin turns to examine the subject of interest before returning with a shrug, “According to my sister, she’s some exchange student from Taiwan. I haven’t met her, but I think Yeji said her name is Tzuyu.”

“And she transferred here this week?” 

He shakes his head. “Actually, today is the first day anyone has seen her.”

You go to inquire further, but the booming call of Professor Park announcing the end of class beats you to it. Hyunjin bids you one final thank you and a goodbye before sprinting off to meet his friends at the classroom exit. It is not until him, Professor Park and the remainder of the students are long out the door do you return to your research. However, the moment you manage to relocate your place, a sugary-sweet voice commands your attention once again:

“If I could bother you for a moment, Ms. (L/N), I need your help…” 

“Of course.” You mask your annoyance with as genuine a smile as you can muster and turn your gaze to the student. “What can I do for…” Your smile immediately falters at the sight of the young woman from earlier in front of your desk—only in this instance, you can definitely recognize her… 

It’s none other than Miss Aphrodisiac herself from the Project Estate. 

She offers a radiant smile, but the feature seems less than friendly. 

“Hello again, (Y/N). I don’t believe we properly met during our last meeting… I’m Tzuyu.” 

“Yeah, um, I-I wasn’t expecting to see you in my class…” You chuckle nervously, cautiously sliding your notes inside your book before closing the cover. “What… What are you doing here exactly?” 

“With how much the student body rants and raves about their newest teaching assistant, how could I pass up the opportunity to see you in action?” Tzuyu elegantly takes a seat on the edge of your desk before running her fingers through her flawless, auburn locks. Something about the dexterity of her fingers sends goosebumps budding across your skin. “Plus, it’s not everyday I meet one of Jaebeom’s… human companions.” 

“It’s not like that.” You insist, “Jaebeom and I barely know each other—”

“Ah. Right.” She giggles, “You’re close with the other brother. My mistake.” 

You bite your tongue, holding back the snide comment that would likely lead to the dismembering of your head from your body. Instead, you swallow what little remains of your pride, rise from your seat and ask stiffly, “You said you needed help with something?...” 

“You’ve read Macbeth, haven’t you?” Filled with both anxiety and confusion, you watch as Tzuyu takes a pencil from the container of writing tools perched on the surface of your desk. She twirls the utensil between delicate fingertips, gazing at it as if it is the most interesting object on the planet. You don’t need your gut to remind you something is most definitely off with her behavior.

“There’s this one piece of advice that Lady Macbeth tells her husband before he goes off to commit murder: ‘Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under ‘t’... ” She pauses, “Tell me, Ms. (L/N)... What exactly could that mean?” 

Your blood runs cold when she fixes her dark gaze on you. No longer interested in the pencil. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, attempting to ground the frantic beating of your heart before it literally leaps from your chest and into the palms of your company. Out of instinct, you chance a quick glance at the door—you may not have a mug, but a nine-hundred page, hardcover book to the face might make a pretty good distraction. 

“Hm, I suppose you’re more of an expert with prose.” Tzuyu says, lowering the pencil into her lap before hopping to her own feet. “Let’s try a bit of Frankenstein then…” 

She begins to stalk toward you, her eyes still locked onto yours like a vice. Your body immediately shuffles backward, attempting to keep as much distance between yours forms as possible. You only get so far—your back meeting the surface of the wall behind you as Tzuyu centers herself a few mere inches away. You can feel her crisp breath on your face as she murmurs:  

“‘I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, then I will indulge the other’...” 

“What are you—” 

Before you can finish your thought, a searing pain paints your vision white. The agony spreads through your veins like wildfire, stealing every ounce of oxygen from your lungs and rendering your knees weak. With a trembling hand, you’re able to save your form from buckling completely to the floor—but not before catching a glimpse of the same pencil impaled in the side of your waist. 

“Poetry is much more tasteful, in my opinion.” Tzuyu sighs, licking the blood from her nails as she backs away. You want to say something—scream and call her a plethora of less than appropriate names—but your mind is literal mush between the shock and the excruciating pain. You collapse to the floor with a breathy gasp, cupping your bleeding side with your opposite hand.

The vampire saunters toward the exit. Just as she makes it to the doorway, she whirls around to throw one final innocent smile in your direction: “Do us both a favor and stay away from Jaebeom… I wouldn’t want to scar that pretty face.” 

With that, she’s completely gone. If it weren’t for the pencil in your midriff and the blood seeping through your clothes, you would have thought you’d dreamt up the entire encounter. 

“Shit…” You gasp, attempting to dislodge the wood from your flesh. It doesn’t budge, deeply embedded between what you assume to be your ribcage. A pained wheeze spills from your throat as you reach for your bag, paying little mind to the bloodied prints your fingers leave in the fabric. After numerous attempts and anguished movements, you manage to fish your cell phone from its pocket. Crimson smears across the screen as you pull up the first contact you can think of. 

You really should have taken the rest of the week off.

 ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

From his perch behind a tree, Jinyoung silently stalks the movement of a burly stag as it parades across the forest floor. The creature, unknowing of the predator that hunts from a far, approaches a wild berry bush and begins to feast off its bearings—unknowing that its end is fast approaching. 

Jinyoung usually does not like to draw out these moments and would have killed the deer by now. Whether it is due to the absence of his physical strength or the tornado of thoughts tearing through his mind, he simply cannot bring himself to end the animal’s life just yet. There’s something so pure about watching the stag go about its existence, he realizes—he must allow its innocence to prevail a little while longer.

It’s been days since his recovery from the huntress’s attack, but he can still sense the weakness lingering in his bones. While Jaebeom’s blood chased away the fever of the wolf venom, it was not enough to regenerate his body to its full power. If he were to do so, he would need human blood… but that can never happen again. Not in this lifetime.

Animal blood keeps him mobile, and that is more than enough.  

A loud snap of breaking branches returns Jinyoung to reality in time to watch the stag tear off into the trees. He makes no move to chase after it, not desiring to waste his strength. After one final glance to his escaped meal, Jinyoung turns and greets the approaching figure with a tight frown:

“I already told you, hyung. I have no interest in accompanying you on a hunt into town.” 

“You know, it would be a hell of a lot easier than tracking down food out here…” Jaebeom snickers, “Not to mention, one human equals a dozen squirrels.” 

“And as I said, I much prefer the squirrels.” Jinyoung meets Jaebeom’s gaze with a heavy sigh, “I am perfectly fine, hyung.” 

“You’re a shitty liar.” Jaebeom shakes his head. “You need human blood.” 

“What I need is to find a new fare.” Jinyoung pushes off of his perch to traipse deeper into the forest, but the appearance of a hand on his shoulders halts his pace. He allows Jaebeom to maneuver his form back against the trunk of a tree, welcoming the slight relief the support brings to his muscles. He makes sure to keep his expression blank to mask his instability. But like always, Jaebeom sees straight through him. 

“You’re weak, Jinyoung…” 

“Nothing a nice rabbit can’t fix.”

Jaebeom purses his lips. “You can’t deny it forever. At least try a blood bag—”

“Why did you give me your blood?” Jinyoung interrupts his companion’s lecture, peering at Jaebeom with unwavering, unblinking eyes. “I thought you wished to punish me?”

“I was going to—I mean, I wanted to…” Jinyoung watches Jaebeom very carefully, noting the frivolous nature of his typically cocky features and hidden message behind his gaze. If he knew any better, Jinyoung would actually believe there to be some shred of humanity left behind those dark irises. 

“But you couldn’t.” He finishes.

“Don’t think it means you’re off the hook for working with Tuan.” Jaebeom huffs while taking a few paces backward. Jinyoung opens his mouth to respond, but the hybrid’s hushed murmur emerges instead, “(Y/N) came by last week… to see you.” 

Jinyoung holds back a smile. “Did she now?... I suppose you told her about your change of heart then.” 

Jaebeom remains silent. 

“Jaebeom-hyung…” Jinyoung’s eyes flutter shut as an audible exhale blows past his lips, “You need to tell her.” 

“It won’t change anything.” Jaebeom says with a frown, “She made it very clear that she already hates me.” 

“(Y/N) is much different than others, hyung—” 

“What do I care anyway?” The hybrid tsks, his sullen expression transitioning into one of indifference. “She can hate me as much as she wants. I don’t give a shit.” 

“Hyung, please—”   

The shrill ring of a cell phone introduces a bout of silence. Jinyoung has never been so annoyed by modern technology since now, grabbing his phone with a less than pleased sigh. He eyes Jaebeom while lifting the device to his ear, wordlessly communicating that the conversation is far from over.

“Hello?”

“Jinyoung?... H-Hey, it’s me.” 

“(Y/N)?” Jinyoung’s annoyance completely dissipates at the sound of your quivering voice. He notices how Jaebeom also reacts to your audible presence through the stiffening of his broad shoulders. He shakes it off as unease from your previous encounter and focuses back onto you, “Are… you alright? You seem a bit stressed.” 

“Yeah, you can c-call it that…” Your inhale picks up over the line, and Jinyoung cannot help but grow concerned by its unusual heaviness. “You are not going to believe the shitty day I’ve had.” 

“What happened?” 

“Well, the barista at my campus cafe accidentally made my usual decaf, my boss is seeking revenge for my time off through hundreds of ungraded essays… and I was stabbed… with a pencil.” 

Jinyoung’s eyebrows furrow. “I apologize, but I don’t think I understand…” 

“Long story short, Jaebeom’s scary, yet incredibly sexy girlfriend paid me a visit and literally stabbed me with a fucking pencil—” Your explanation cuts out into a yelp, which is followed by an array of stuttered curses, “And it—shit—hurts like hell.” 

“I’m on my way right now” Jinyoung, heart racing and head spinning, forces himself to his feet and hurries back toward the manor—Jaebeom hightailing close behind, having picked up the entire conversation. 

Before Jinyoung can inquire more about your condition, Jaebeom snatches the phone from his grasp and lifts it to his own, “Where did she stab you?” 

“Jaebeom?... My-My side… The pencil is wedged between my ribs, I can’t get it out…” 

“Don’t worry about removing it. Just try to control the bleeding as best you can.” Jaebeom explains, “Jinyoung and I will be there soon.” 

“Wait! Why are you—” Your voice cuts out as Jaebeom ends the call. Jinyoung notices the whiteness of the hybrid’s knuckles as he silently returns his phone. If it were any other situation, Jinyoung would have brought up their chat from earlier, but your wellbeing is on the line.  He delivers his companion a dark glare. To his surprise though, Jaebeom’s expression mirrors that of pure, unadulterated anger. 

Jinyoung pinches the bridge of his nose before releasing a sigh, “Do I even wish to know why your mistress attacked (Y/N)?” 

“I’d like to know too,” Jaebeom scoffs, running a hand through his jet black locks, “considering I told her that (Y/N) was off limits.” 

“You find out then.” Jinyoung hisses, “Or I will deal with her myself, and I won’t be as kind.” 

“Oh, trust me.” Jinyoung can practically sense the murderous lust spilling from Jaebeom’s pitch black irises—far from the light of humanity. “Kindness is the last thing on my list right now, Jinyoungie.”  

 ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“—and then she just acts all innocent! As if she did absolutely nothing wrong! I mean, what kind of self-serving, sadistic bitch does she think she is—Mark? Are you there?” 

“Huh?” Mark flutters his eyes open at the sound of his name. He blinks at his surroundings in confusion, still dazed from his abrupt wake-up call, before remembering his phone and the person currently speaking on the line: 

“Mark? Don’t tell me I put you to sleep?” 

“Nope, nope. I’m here.” Mark replies hurriedly, wiping the remnants of his nap from his eyes. “Luna’s a complete and total bitch, I got you.” 

Lia sighs, “Yuna, Mark. Not Luna.” 

With a silent yawn, he lifts his arms over his head and expels the kinks from his shoulders. Once his muscles are taunt and stretched, Mark releases a heavy exhale and murmurs, “I’m sorry, Lia. It’s just… been a long week.” 

“I get it, Mark.” She hums softly, “But I wish you wouldn’t stress so much about this. Minho made his choice, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

“I don’t believe that.” Mark rises from his chair before pacing across the room to the mausoleum’s lone window. He pulls the curtain aside, peering out at the vacant hills of the graveyard. “If he would just talk to me, then I’m sure we could figure something out.” 

Hundreds of phone calls later, and he still hasn’t spoken with Minho since the night he claimed to be leaving the coven. No one has. Not even Jisung. And Mark can’t figure out what’s bothering him more: the fact that Minho won’t pick up his phone, or that you have been purposely avoiding him for the last week. 

He’s trying to give both you and the young witch time—truly—but Mark can’t help but feel as if something is off. 

“Minho needs to figure out what he wants himself.” He forces himself away from the window, receding across the room to lean against the lectern as Lia goes on, “You can’t be there to hold his hand every time he goes through one of his moods. It’s not good for him or for you.” 

“What am I supposed to do then?” 

“Nothing, Mark. You do nothing.” 

Mark shakes his head, “You know I can’t do that.” 

“Just give Minho some more time to get it together.” Lia says, “He’ll come around eventually.” 

“I hope so.” Mark goes to grab his coffee mug from a nearby table, but accidentally knocks his elbow against the corner of the lectern. A mass of papers and books slide from its surface, crashing to the floor in a rather vocal descent. He releases a quiet curse, tucking his phone against his shoulder before lowering to the floor to begin tidying the mess. 

…How long does he have to wait until you come around?  

Lia continues to speak as he gathers the escaped pages, “Have you talked to Yugyeom lately? I heard that one of their wolves just up and disappeared.” 

“Yeah. That kid, Changbin.” He says, “Gyeom thinks he probably took off after our fight with the huntress. Remind you of someone?” 

“In this town? A lot of someones.” 

Mark goes to respond, but the title of a particular document clears the thoughts from his mind. Pushing aside a couple other pages, he grabs the flimsy packet before raising it into better view. At first, Mark is confused, unsure why this type of reference would be out and about. But as he surveys the other fallen objects, his confusion gradually shifts to realization… 

Then rage. 

He doesn’t bother to look up as the door opens, nor does he spare the puzzled newcomer a glance. Still clutching the document, Mark rises to his feet and takes the phone from his shoulder with his free hand. He pays his companion no mind as he quietly murmurs: 

“Do you mind if I call you later?” 

“Not at all. Just try to think about what I said.” 

Mark bids a final farewell to Lia before disconnecting the line. He takes a moment to drag a hand down his face before turning to a wide-eyed Youngjae. As soon as Mark raises the document into view, his expression immediately shifts to a panic. 

“So…” Mark tilts his head with a tight frown, “You want to explain why the hell you’re looking up resurrection spells?...” 

Youngjae shakes his head, “Hyung—”

“Explanation, Youngjae.” Mark watches the siphoner’s face shift through a rainbow of emotions. From terror, to anxiety, to dread, before finally settling on guilt. Keeping his gaze to the floor, Youngjae eventually delivers a shrug and whispers: 

“...To try to bring Jackson back.” 

Mark’s heart practically splits open. 

He stares at the younger witch with incredulous eyes. “Are you fucking stupid, Youngjae!?”  

“It looks bad, I know—” Youngjae hurries forward to stand in front of Mark and lifts his hand in good faith, “—but I’ve been doing a lot of research and experimenting with a couple spells and I really think that we can—”

“You aren’t thinking shit.” Mark spits, rounding toward the siphoner until their noses are a mere inch apart. “We don’t screw around with necromancy, Youngjae… It’s dark magic.” 

“We just have to find the right spell! (Y/N) and I are searching—” 

“(Y/N)? What does (Y/N) have to do with this?” 

Youngjae immediately closes his mouth, his eyes growing glassy in the evening light. 

It takes a second for the puzzle pieces to fit together—your inquiries about Jackson, Youngjae’s daily trips to the bookstore, your evasion—but once the realization hits, Mark feels his entire body go numb. 

Youngjae rushes forward to grab Mark’s arm, “Hyung, I’m so, so sorry! (Y/N) thought it would be better not to tell you, so I just—” 

Mark shrugs his hand away, refusing to meet Youngjae’s pleading gaze. “Get out.” 

“Just let me explain—”

“Get the fuck out!” A loud crash echoes throughout the mausoleum as Mark flings his mug across the room, causing the object to meet the opposite wall before shattering to a million tiny pieces. Youngjae doesn’t persist, grabbing his bag and beelining straight out the door. Mark pushes the sounds of the younger’s sobs from his mind as he goes, unable to see past the anger boiling inside his body. But even against all the rage, a sense of sadness remains at the forefront of his mind. 

His best friend betrayed him—again.

 ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“You find and take care of (Y/N).” Jaebeom commands, slamming his car door shut with a little more force than necessary. Then again, he can’t seem to bring himself to care above the red-hot fury coursing through his veins like venom. He ignores the curious stares of a nearby group of female students and proceeds to move around the car, “I’ll catch up with you later.” 

“And where exactly are you going?” Jaebeom bites back a glare as Jinyoung halts his movements. His entire body thrums, as if physically yearning for vengeance, but he masks his temper with a sharp inhale and a promise to release his frustrations out later. 

He nods at his companion, “I’m going to do what I should have done before.” 

Jinyoung merely stares at him for a moment, and Jaebeom can only hope he can’t see past the bloodlust in his gaze. Fortunately, Jinyoung doesn’t question him further. He releases Jaebeom’s shoulder and delivers one final nod before turning in the direction of what both can only assume is your classroom. Jaebeom allows himself a moment to watch Jinyoung—his noble brother—sprint off to save the day—to save you. Again. 

Jaebeom swallows the bitterness accumulating in his chest and heads in his own direction. It won’t be hard to track her. He can already smell her Chanel perfume—she’s close by, he realizes. 

She wants him to find her. 

Sure enough, Jaebeom recognizes her silken auburn hair and Louis Vuitton coat beside a towering oak tree, staring down at her phone. He doesn’t bother to check if those students are still watching him and speeds over to his target’s perch. Even when he’s a mere few inches away, she continues to mindlessly scroll through her phone. Jaebeom’s anger grows when he notices the amused smirk etched across her pink lips. 

“It’s about time you showed up.” Tzuyu says, “You know how much I hate to wait.” 

“Give me one good reason not to rip your fucking head off right now.”

“Not even a ‘hello’?” 

Jaebeom growls, “You think this is a game?”

“Perhaps.” She raises her calm gaze to his own before offering a sultry smile. “Beautiful evening, isn’t it?” 

Her flirtations only add fuel to the outrage raging through his body. He speeds forward again, snatches her wrists and slams her smaller figure against the trunk of the tree behind them. Tzuyu winces at his aggressive movements, but Jaebeom feels no sympathy. Your trembling voice and pained breathing echoes in his ears like a siren, tempting him closer to the point of no return. 

It would be so easy to plunge his hand into her chest, to squeeze her heart until it's nothing but bloody ash. Or maybe he should tear her limbs off one by one, make her suffer until she’s begging him to end her—

“You really do care about her, don’t you?” Jaebeom awakens from his imaginary rampage at the question. Her usual smirk is no longer along her face, but instead replaced with a thoughtful frown. 

He growls, pressing her wrists further into the bark of the tree. “I told you to stay away from her. You said you wouldn’t touch her.” 

“I never thought I’d see the day the big, bad hybrid, Im Jaebeom falls for a human.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” His tone is quiet—murderous. “I’ll kill you.” 

“No. You won’t.” 

“Yes. I will.” 

“No, Jaebeom.” She shakes her head with a sigh, “If you kill me, (Y/N) will never forgive you.” 

As if she had taken a red hot iron and plunged it through his heart, Jaebeom lets go of the vampire and stumbles backward. He barely catches himself before he collapses to the ground, and even then, his legs feel like they’ll give out at any moment. 

Tzuyu, still leaning against the tree, tilts her head with a hum, “She’s a good one, Beom. I feel it… that aura that carries around her.” 

“Stop it—” 

“And it’s because she’s good that she’ll never belong to you.” She murmurs, “But you already know that… don’t you?” 

“You’re fucking sick.” Jaebeom hisses. 

To his surprise, Tzuyu’s expression softens. “I’m sorry, Jaebeom.” 

There’s too many emotions swirling through his mind. He can’t think—can’t breathe. His chest feels like it’s caving in on itself, and his hands won’t stop shaking. He can’t get your face out of his head—your beautiful eyes looking at him with such betrayal and hatred. It hurts. It hurts so much. Why won’t his hands stop fucking shaking? It’s too much. It’s all too much—

He can’t help it… He has to turn it off. 

A switch flips inside of his soul, immediately locking out every ounce of pain. His lungs inhale each new breath smoothly, and his limbs remain as still as a cat. With a clear head, Jaebeom returns his eyes to Tzuyu, who is still gazing at him with such tenderness and understanding. For a moment, the warmth of her gaze reminds him of you. 

Tzuyu cautiously takes a step forward, “Jaebeom…?” 

“You’re right.” He nods, “I’m not gonna kill you.”

“What are you—ah!” Her inquiry elevates into a scream as Jaebeom whirls forward and sinks his teeth into her shoulder. His fangs plunge through the fabric of her expensive coat before piercing deep into her flesh. She attempts to struggle, but he is stronger… and the damage has already been done.   

He pulls away, licking the blood from his lips as Tzuyu collapses to the ground. She clutches her wounded shoulder, staring up at him with eyes of betrayal, confusion and fright. 

“You… You bit me.” 

Jaebeom smirks, “I suggest you spend the next day or so wisely… it’s going to be your last.” 

Tzuyu’s expression turns rabid. She scrambles to her feet before sneering at the hybrid, “The sooner you learn to accept your fate, Jaebeom, the sooner you’ll find peace—” 

“Meh. Fate’s overrated.” 

“Just remember this—” The vampire growls, “—after you turned me, you murdered the love of my life… at least I had the kindness to keep yours alive.” 

He snickers, turning to leave. However, just before he takes a step, Jaebeom throws one final comment over his shoulder, “Thanks for all the sex.” 

With that, Jaebeom smirks to himself and saunters off into the glow of the setting sun. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jinyoung rushes down the hallway, careful not to speed for fear of running into a professor or student working after hours. The fragrance of your blood builds with each step, and he can’t help but grow more concerned with that knowledge. At the very least, he can still hear the faint beating of your heart. 

He follows the scent past a couple corners and down another long corridor to a massive, dim lecture room. Fearing the worst, Jinyoung quickly steps through the doorway before immediately spotting your incapacitated form through the darkness propped up against the opposite wall. He doesn’t hesitate to speed across the room and kneel in front of you. You’re unconscious, he realizes, but breathing—that’s enough to lift the heavy weight from his chest. 

“(Y/N)?” He calls gently, lifting his hands to cradle your face in his palms. “Come back to me, my dear… Please.” 

“Jinyoung?...” He’s never been more grateful to hear the sound of his name until now. Your eyes flutter open and dart around the area before drowsily settling on Jinyoung. The vampire in question breathes a sigh of relief, caressing the apple of your cheek with his thumb. 

“There you are.” He murmurs, “How do you feel?” 

“Like I was stabbed…” You raise an eyebrow before peering down at the pencil protruding from your abdomen, “Well, would you look at that.” 

Jinyoung holds back a smile at your sarcasm, appreciating that even wounded, you still manage to bear your usual fiery charm. His own eyes turn down to the object jabbed within your waist. He carefully analyzes the damage, determining the best possible solution to its extraction. As you said on the call, the pencil itself is trapped inside your ribcage. Jinyoung will have to be careful not to accidentally fracture your bones. 

He bites the inside of his cheek before returning his attention back to you. “I need to remove it, but it’s going to be painful. Very painful.” 

You roll your eyes, “It will also hurt a lot less when it’s out. I can handle it.” 

“I know you can.” 

Jinyoung keeps his gaze connected to yours as he wraps his fingers around the wood of the pencil, taking extra care not to brush against the swollen skin of the lesion. Your expression remains fatigued, yet indifferent during his preparation. He waits for your nod before he continues. 

In order to prevent as much further damage and to make it as painless as possible, Jinyoung removes the pencil as quickly as he can. Your furrowed brow and teary eyes slice at his soul, but he doesn’t stop until the object is completely taken out. Once it's free, Jinyoung tosses the pencil into a nearby trash can, pulls the sweater from his body and utilizes the garment to cover your slightly bleeding wound. He ignores the crimson of your blood staining his fingers, instead lifting his clean arm to his mouth before biting down. 

“What… are you doing?” 

“My blood will heal you.” Jinyoung answers, offering forth his bloody wrist. “It’s how I saved you after your assault in the alleyway.” 

“If I die with your blood in my system, won’t I become a vampire?” 

“You aren’t going to die.” 

You shake your head, pushing away his wrist. “Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather not risk anything.” 

“At least allow me to bring you to the hospital then.” He insists, “You’ve lost quite enough blood for one day.” 

Jinyoung curses at the mischievous smirk that spreads along your lips. “You have got to stop saving my life.” 

“Stop putting yourself in danger, and there would be no need for me to.” 

“Last I checked, I had no idea Vampire Victoria Secret was gonna show up and stab me with a fucking writing utensil.” You snort, gesturing over to your desk, “Grab my stuff before we go, please.” 

Just as you requested, Jinyoung goes about gathering your laptop and assorted belongings before sliding them into your bag. One book, however, catches his attention. For a moment, he pauses to stare at the title, then flips open the cover. His mouth runs dry when he discovers numerous pages of notes in your handwriting. 

Jinyoung closes the book before turning back to you, who is struggling to climb to your feet. He moves to help you, stabilizing your body against the wall while asking, “Why are you researching necromancy?” 

“It’s a long story.” You inhale deeply, “But to keep it short… Youngjae and I are going to try to resurrect Jackson Wang.”

At the mention of the alpha werewolf, Jinyoung’s muscles grow stiff. He stares at your face, attempting to read the stars in your dreary irises. After what seems like a long moment of silence, he eventually speaks, albeit quietly, “You understand resurrecting someone from the dead is no simple task… Why would you even attempt such a thing?” 

Your expression softens. “Because Jackson didn’t deserve to die, Jinyoung. The pack lost their leader—Mark lost his best friend.” 

“Resurrection is a dangerous craft, (Y/N).”

“Not if we find the right spell.” You argue, throwing your bag over your shoulder with a sharp inhale. “I know it sounds bat-shit crazy, but I have to try, Jinyoung. For Jackson and for Mark.”

Jinyoung inhales a heavy gust, before releasing an even heavier breath. He curses himself at being so affected by the hope in your eyes. Your determination is too alluring—you are too alluring. 

“I have a collection of grimoires kept by a coven of Dutch witches who specialized in necromancy back in the 15th century.” He finally says, “I will gift them to you as long as you grant me one request.”

Your eyes immediately brighten. “Of course. What do you need me to do?” 

Jinyoung grabs your hands. “I want you to forgive my brother.” 

“Jinyoung—“

“After you left, Jaebeom fed me his blood.” He explains, “He cured the werewolf venom, so I wouldn’t have to suffer.”

Your face first contorts to confusion, then to Jinyoung’s surprise, guilt. “He didn’t tell me…” 

“As I told you, Jaebeom has a good heart.” His lips upturn into a sad smile, “He just… has difficulty revealing that side of himself to others.” 

With that, Jinyoung carefully gathers your body into his arms. He manages to cover your soiled clothes with your jacket before heading for the door. 

“It is your choice. I will give you the grimoires no matter what you decide.” 

Jinyoung’s heart leaps when your head collapses against his chest, right over where his heart proceeds to race. Judging by your silence, he expects your mind to have descended into unconsciousness once more, but is pleasantly surprised when your slurred voice reaches his ears, “Hey, Jinyoung?” 

“Yes?” 

“Thanks for saving me. Again.” 

Jinyoung smiles, “It was my pleasure, (Y/N).”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“Such a fucking idiot!...” Youngjae hisses, stomping his way past gravestones and monuments through the light of the setting sun. Usually, he would stop to appreciate such a beautiful moment in nature, but his mind is too preoccupied with thoughts of remorse and anger. 

Youngjae knew better than to keep something like this from Mark. His heart immediately drops when he thinks back to the older witch’s furious outburst—Youngjae hasn’t seen him that angry in a long time. Not since Jackson was alive.

He shakes the thought from mind. He should have never agreed to your idea in the first place. Jackson Wang is dead. And he can’t be brought back. End of story. 

A faint murmur of voices awakens Youngjae from his self-loathing. He hadn’t realized how deep he has traveled into the forest until now, so deep that he’s very close to the shore of the bay. His curiosity expands when he notices a strange light emitting from behind a group of closely placed trees. Against his better judgement, Youngjae decides to investigate. 

The nearer he approaches the site, the louder the voices grow. With a closer view, Youngjae can barely make out two figures conversing in front of a large bonfire. Due to the shadows of tree cover, he can’t recognize their faces, but something about their voices seems familiar to him… 

“You’re sure this is going to work?” 

“I’ve been planning this for years. There’s no way it won’t.” 

“Doesn’t this spell need a crazy amount of power?” 

“There will be a blood moon tomorrow night.” Youngjae watches as one of the figures retreats to the opposite side of the fire. If he is a bit closer, he might be able to catch a glimpse of his face. “I will have more than enough power to complete the transformation.” 

“And it won’t kill me? The transformation?” 

“You sound like you’re having second thoughts…” 

“I’m not!” The second figure insists, “The Primes deserve to pay for what they’ve done.” 

“And pay they will.” Youngjae’s blood runs cold as he finally gains sight of one of the figures. “The Primes and Mark Tuan.” 

“Holy shit—” Youngjae moves to make a mad dash back through the forest, but just as he takes a step backwards, his foot catches a large divot in the earth. He crashes to the ground with a faint yelp, cursing the new ache in his ankle. Panic skyrockets through his veins at the sound of approaching footsteps. Even against the slight pain, Youngjae manages to force himself to his feet, ready to make a break for it, but a broad chest halts his movements. 

Youngjae’s heart stops when he meets the gaze of Changbin, the temperamental omega from the werewolf pack. 

He smirks, “Your mother ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop?” 

Youngjae hisses, “Screw you.” 

Changbin remains unbothered. “What should we do with him?” 

“Well… we can’t have him warning anyone of our plans.” Minho comes into view, wearing a similar smirk to that of the werewolf. “And besides, he might turn out to be pretty useful to us.” 

“Why are you doing this!?” Youngjae demands as Changbin shoves him back to the ground. “Are you that desperate for revenge that you’d actually kill Mark-hyung!?” 

Minho shakes his head, “I’m not gonna kill him. That special gift is reserved for the Primes.” He chuckles, before lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “I’m just gonna take back what I rightfully deserve…” 

Youngjae sneers at the witch, “You’re a fucking traitor! A sick, selfish—” 

The siphoner immediately grows silent when Changbin lands a harsh hit against his cheek. At the heavy impact, Youngjae goes flying to the earth and doesn’t rise again. 

Changbin glances at Minho, “You sure about all this?” 

Minho only smirks. 

“I’m dead sure.”

[lepussolum]

          @fabulumn​​ (ft. Verona)  ━ starter.

          𝙰 𝚟𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚊 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 ━ hush ━ as though the calm before the storm. Uniform soldiers that awaited their orders; the black and white ranks stood at the ready. Reverently raised mere inches above the intricately placed keys, two hands remained poised for their performance. The air about the small apartment room seemed to vibrate with quiet anticipation, though a single note had yet to be played. Within that all-encompassing silence only the gentle release of breath permeated the air. A sigh nigh imperceptible were it not for the otherwise vacant state of the tiny rec room. The space itself was sparsely decorated, walls painted a pristine white that seemed perpetually spattered in fiery hues from the sky beyond the far windows. A few boxes were scattered to corners here and there, the tell-tale signs of one recently moved ━ or perhaps merely reluctant to settle down out of fear of IMPERMANENCE . 

          Solitary, a grand piano sat as the only fixture of furniture within the room. Glossy black hardwood reflected the perpetual sunset beyond the glass panes; an indefinitely fading light which seeped through sets of sheer drapery. The gauzy fabrics rippled in the subtle breeze that crept through the open windows which they framed.  Almost teasingly, the gust drifted about to bristle past sapphire locks and set them in a playful dance about the figure to which they accompanied. Perched upon the cushioned seat, he allowed the solemn presence of the space to fill him ━ to inspire. It was a fragile sense of peace, a fleeting daydream that could shatter with the slightest disturbance. His fingers flexed, eager to take their rightful place up the keys that stretched within his reach. 

         An nearly picturesque setting lay before those oceanic eyes ━ begging to be accompanied with a MELODY.

          There was a sort of hesitancy as a single finger fell upon an alabaster key. The note rang through the air, familiar to the ear despite years out of practice. Another followed, and soon yet another until a slow and steady song filled the void. Reminiscent, yet not quite right.

          Perhaps I’ve truly lost my touch...

          The melancholic thought echoed through the confines of the former Nobody’s mind. Though the simple tune stirred memories of a life before the DARKNESS, Isa could not quite find the flourish he was once accustomed to. Logic told him years of neglecting to further nurture his hobby left him rusty, but paranoia spoke otherwise. Could one lose their previous talents upon having their heart torn away? Music had always been a source of solace for him, a sanctuary for the emotions he otherwise keeps carefully tucked away. Upon his restoration, Isa had been determined to make the acquisition of a piano a top priority. Now that his goal had been achieved, the diviner found himself somewhat disappointed to see just how far his skills had faded. Memory replayed old arrangements within his head, yet his fingers felt almost stiff in their response. 

          Feathery lashes fell to grace his fine cheeks as Isa merely allowed muscle memory to take control. Lengthy digits lightly ran across the line of keys without a sound, blindly becoming reacquainted through touch alone. Like old friends, he could recognize each key’s unique placement ━ picture them within his mind’s eye. Yet, try though he might, his fingers refused to take their proper place in a timely manner for the chosen song. Each note fell forced, if not sour in its approach. Something Isa could not quite put a name to was missing and with each passing moment his frustration grew. After his umpteenth attempt an irritated huff bellowed from his nose, lips set in a tight grimace. In a display which lacked his usual decorum, Isa folded his arms upon the keyboard with an unceremonious plop. His head quickly followed to mask his features marred with annoyance behind a sheet of tousled azure tresses. The motion let out a jarring collection of notes as the key whined beneath the weight of his person. Though his ears rang in protest to the noise, Isa could hardly find the will to care beyond his otherwise preoccupied thoughts.

          Could my heart have not...fully restored?  Or are those lingering fragments of my past self hindering its development?

          Years devoted to studying the workings of the heart within Organization XIII could not provide him with answers to his musings which he so desperately sought. The heart that now settled warmly inside his chest would flutter at the slightest emotion ━ a fledgling bird so eager to take flight. Isa could not recall having this degree of emotional volatility since his youth, thus, in a sense his heart remained juvenile as well. Unable to rest, perhaps that was why he could not connect to music through the same PASSION he once had as a child. Remnants of his life as a Nobody plagued his thoughts constantly to set that tender light in a blinding frenzy of emotion. A distinct lack of focus and overwhelming sense of doubt tainted the serenity he once found through music.

          Mournfully, Isa lifted himself from his slouch upon his prized piano, gaze downcast to the silver pedals beneath his boots. On numerous occasions during his time within the Organization he would contemplate what life would be like with his heart restored. At first they were little more than trifle idealizations ━ impossible, no doubt, but a means to idle the hours away within The Castle That Never Was. Yet somewhere within those foolish musings a seed of optimism took root that refused to be trampled. Saix began to hope that the peaceful days in the Radiant Garden of his youth ━ before his apprenticeship, before Xehanort or Nobodies ━ would return. After all, this had been his primary goal with Lea from the start, alongside rescuing Subject X. Now, alone in his apartment tucked away in Twilight Town he knew that to be nothing more than a passing FANTASY.

          Once something is truly lost, I suppose one can never see its return. At least not ever quite the same.

          Gone was the bright-eyed boy of his early years ━ nose buried in a book and hands which danced across piano keys ━ who feigned reluctance to follow alongside his free-spirited friend. What had been revived was a man still haunted by the ghosts of his past, eagerly attempting to piece a life back together and find purpose once more. It was difficult to find the inspiration his music so desperately craved within that grim reality. Isa thought that in pursuit of some semblance of a stable life in Twilight Town he would find closure, yet here he remained: hesitant and wracked with doubt at his loss of self. 

          Tearing his gaze away from the floor below, Isa fixed his sights on the vibrant sunset that painted the sky beyond his tiny apartment. Tree-shrouded mountains spilled as far as the eye could see beneath the heavens. Weaving over the sloping terrain, one could see the thin rail of train tracks which carried a locomotive along its journey. The sight was certainly preferable to the sterile architecture and endless night that plagued his prior surroundings. Overhead, the brilliant palette that dappled the clouds helped to ease the storm within his heart. This was REALITY. Perhaps not quite what he had anticipated, but not unfavorable and certainly preferable to his life as a Nobody. A second chance that he now knew better than to waste. 

          As if of their own mind, a hand reached for the keys once more as his eyes remained fixed upon the world beyond his window. A simple arrangement of notes began to flow, no particular song in mind. It was an improvised melody to accompany the never-dying light of his new home world. Each note flowed without care of fumble or folly in an assortment that made sense of its own accord. It was not until Isa sought to delve into a harmony with his free hand that he finally withdrew his gaze from the window. However, before he could focus back on the instrument beneath his fingers, an unexpected presence vied for his attention. The appearance seemed so abrupt that Isa completely faltered in his performance, immediately halting his motions along the keys.

          ❝ Verona...? ❞