— 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙.

whitmer is a social butterfly for pay, usually. but he thinks it's important to show his face at events like this. as if anyone would notice his absence. anyway, there's also the matter of free food, which is something he can't really say no to, not when the alternative is ramen or a bowl of cereal. he also doesn't have any excuse to visit the rez normally, and he likes it there, especially likes that it isn't forks. there's something very...serene in the air, maybe it's the water, maybe it's the tight-knit community, or maybe it's the fact that his finger has never itched to grab for his knife during his brief visits. whatever it is, he doesn't have time to put his finger on it before a familiar face interrupts his thoughts. "i am now," he says affably. whitmer grabs the marshmallows, opens the bag, and tilts it towards bodhi. "that's an exaggeration...right?"

it was a kind of cosmic misfortune, really, to wander into bodhi’s orbit. all fire, all fizz, all the time. he was a weather system in perpetual motion, and of course it would be someone wholly undeserving of such tempest who’d drift too near. isn’t that always the way? bodhi’s grin curves wider, as though he’d been waiting for this — this inevitability of soft-heartedness and generosity — when surely what he merited was someone to tell him to simmer down and quit filching mouthfuls from every dessert in sight. "love to hear that!" bodhi coaxes a ‘mallow from the bag with delicate, thieving fingertips, a small triumph he knows he couldn’t have pulled off entirely on his own. "oh..." the syllable drapes from his lips, head tilting with a slow, almost mournful shake. "you got a big storm comin’. because twelve is nothing to me. i’m actually shocked i went so low! let’s go s’mores for s’mores right now." no, bodhi… let’s not.

callum tipped his chin in a small, unspoken exchange — right back at ya — without having to loose the words into the air. "yeah, first time." first time at any sort of town gathering, truth be told; maybe it was the rarity of such an event that had him here, or maybe it was the quiet lure of knowing almost everyone would be in one place (more chances to see if anything was... off). "right. that doesn't sound too bad." he wasn’t even sure he meant it, only that it was the sort of thing people said, a fragile bridge between silence and something like connection. he paused, hand drifting to scratch at his beard, a gesture to suggest the answer wasn’t already etched in his mind — down to the exact day. when he finally spoke, it was with something deliberately plain. normal. "about three years." he didn’t ask her what had brought her back, or what growing up here had been like. he simply let the words settle between them, an invisible weight in the air, wondering if she’d notice the weight of the silence left there.

each  step  forward  prompted  her  own  to  retreat,  the  rhythmic  crunch  of  loose  gravel  punctuating  short  phrases  exchanged  between.  paulina  felt  cornered,  even  despite  the  abilities  that  have  allowed  her  kind  to  evade  such  feelings  of  intimidation.  even  so,  humanity  was  never  a  weakness,  never  once  had  she  seen  it  as  such,  not  even  in  a  foot  race.  but  his,  this  stranger,  someone  she'd  only  seen  in  passing,  his  mortality  smells  distinctly  other,  as  if  she  could  sniff  out  the  soot,  the  dirt  caked  beneath  well-worn  leather,  “  you  can  go,  then.  ”  she  insisted,  voice  unwavering,  her  movements  almost  serpentine,  the  intentional  weave  between  obstacles  to  place  barriers  between  the  two.  “  unless  you've  taken  it  upon  yourself  to  conduct  night  patrols.  ”  jaw  clenched,  eyes  wavering  between  the  other  and  flickering  street  lamps.  “  i  can  assure  you,  though,  i'm  fine.  ”

"most people are gone now. figured peace and quiet would make it easier to keep an eye out." his arms folded loosely over his chest, gaze flickering across the latticework of trees. "i'm sure you are." the agreement came easily, though his eyes lingered on her, cataloguing each faint shift in her stance. suspicion was his natural state — worn into him like an old habit — and most days it was nothing more than the rhythm of human caution. but this... this was something else. nerves stretched thin? the echo of the disappearance settling in her bones? he hoped that was all. "you know your way out of here? i'm afraid i got myself mixed up." a lie, smooth and unhurried, not a tremor in his tone nor a falter in the beat of his heart. just callum, lingering for no reason he could name, unwilling — perhaps unable — to step out of her presence just yet.

the lemon square — wrapped in a napkin like an afterthought, now flattened and tragically unphotogenic — was raised in brief, triumphant display. "lemon bar incoming." he slipped it into the pocket of her jacket before reclaiming his drink. "little do you know, the key to a good marshmallow is burnt, just before it starts falling off the stick, so that wouldn’t even bother me." he punctuated it with a shrug and an insincere, smug curl of the lips. the lemon bar’s tale unraveled with a lazy flick of words. "eh, more or less. more like i kept sneaking behind people and taking shit off the tables so i wouldn’t get yelled at for eating too much. less about actually fighting somebody for it. too much attention, you know? i’m a very chill guy, like to fly under the radar." not true. not even close.

Aaron Taylor Johnson in Kraven the Hunter

D'Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai ELLE (U.S.) | TikTok

she  can't  quite  deny  that  she's  very  much  here  for  the  marshmallow.    hunger  is  a  constant  companion,  and  every  time  browns  lock  on  the  marshmallow  bag,  it  takes  superhuman  self  restraint  not  to  rip  it  from  bodhi  and  tear  into  the  fluff.  “  i'll  have  you  know  i  never  lie.  ”  she  says,  lying.  “  i'm  a  journalist.  a  truth-seeker.  and  right  now,  a  s'mores  chef.  ”  another  marshmallow  is  skewered,  this  time  with  determination  locking  in  her  body.  she  would  not  disappoint  her  savior  this  time.  this  time  she's  succeeded  in  not  destroying  it  —  only  because  she  takes  it  out  a  little  too  fast,  forcing  the  not-hot  enough  marshmallow  to  bend  under  the  weight  of  chocolate  and  graham  cracker.  still,  it's  a  s'more.  she  whoops,  presenting  it  to  bodhi  like  a  gift,  waving  it  in  his  face.  “  what'd  i  say?  s'more  chef,  unburnt,  which  means  no  wrath  for  me.  ”  and  then  —  she  waits.  stares,  expectant,  for  him  to  try  it.  “  i'm  going  to  need  a  full  review.  don't  be  shy.  but  if  it's  a  bad  review,  you're  gonna  have  to  lie  to  me.  i  don't  have  the  emotional  regulation  skills  to  handle  a  bad  review  to  my  face.  ”

his hand slips out to claim the chocolate-laden marvel, a quick nod of approval. "you know what? it'll do... i guess." the words drip with mock disdain — like he wouldn’t eat something that had been dropped in the sand mere minutes before — and yet, half the thing vanishes into his mouth before she’s even finished asking about a review. he’s only half listening, half living in the sugar haze, muttering something that barely resembles a question before lifting a single finger in front of him, cheeks full. he shoves the sweetness to one side of his mouth so he can speak, lips parting just enough. "okay, so even if it's bad, i have to tell you it's good? well... it's good, clara. i'm forever in your debt." the remnants slide down his throat, and the second half of the s’more is caught between his teeth — not yet chewed — as he bends in an overly theatrical bow before her. "how can i ever repay you?"

               ‘     ✦     it’s  always  been  a  comfortable  place  for  her ,  la  push ,  one  where  she  can  relax  and  be  herself  and  swim  until  her  legs  feel  weak  and  her  lungs  burn  .  it’s  almost  sacred ,  a  spot  she  rarely  shares  with  people  outside  her  pack  .  hence ,  seeing  it  full  of  vampires  puts  something  heavy  in  the  pit  of  her  stomach ,  something  that  wrinkles  her  nose  and  the  space  between  her  brows  .  her  people  are  there ,  though ,  and  she  still  feels  safe ,  so  she  forces  herself  to  fucking  chill ,  with  bodhi  by  her  side  making  a  mess  of  whatever  he  has  in  his  bag  .     "  man ,  i  don’t—i  don’t  know  how  to  make  s’mores ,  "     she  confesses ,  although  she  has  seen  others  make  them  sometimes  .  she  looks  at  bodhi  intently  for  a  moment ,  hands  gripping  the  ingredientes ,  and  feels  and  aching  affection  settle  between  her  lungs  .     "  but  if  you  do ,  and  you  instruct  me  . . .  "     alba  sighs ,  gaze  moving  away ,  to  the  fire  .     "  well ,  yeah ,  i  can  help  you  .  "

he moved through the gathering with the single-minded air of someone on a sacred quest to secure as much food as possible — stored away, perhaps, for some imagined famine. as though bodhi would ever truly want for food! but if he kept his focus tethered to the fullness of plates, the hum of music, the crackle of fire, the endless hush-and-roar of waves against the shore — perhaps then he could set aside that aching knot in his chest, the tangled threads of everybody’s emotions pressing in on him: the anxiousness, the fleeting contentment, the quiet strain, the old and festering hates. the familiar presence beside him smoothed the edges of his thoughts, though the first words he caught made his face crumple into mock astonishment. "you... you don't know how to make s'mores." he declared, as if the thought itself demanded a long, somber reflection. "i think this is one of the worst heartbreaks i've ever experienced." oh, bodhi was nothing if not theatrical. his head bowed in feigned mourning for a moment before he straightened again, bright-eyed. "eh, that's alright! wouldn't wanna enjoy these without a proper s'mores connoisseur. what's your go-to bonfire food then, huh? burn a hotdog over the open flame? chips and dip? which is probably super warm now, by the way. or some secret third option?"

and  apparently,  a  choice  to  lie,  “  i  think  she  just  wandered  off.  teenager  shit  –  ‘member  when  i  used  to  turn  my  location  off  and  run  to,  like,  fuckin’  packwood  for  the  night  ?  and  then  i'd  come  home  in  the  morning  and  i'd  be  fine.  think  it's  that.  ”  one  can  only  hope,  “  we  need  to  trust  that  they  know  what  we  know.  ”  that  it  couldn't  have  been  anyone  here,  any  wolf  half-awake  would  know  that  ;  winnie  just  isn't  sure  that's  enough  to  quell  a  grudge  so  deep  its  been  forged  in  blood.  trust  is  a  funny  word  when  you  think  about  it  like  that.  “  you  do  a  great  job  of  picking  worst  case  scenario, moss anyone  ever  tell  you  that  ?  ”  her,  many  times  ;  usually  in  a  lighter  context.  “  promise  you'll  chill  the  fuck  out  n'i'll  buy  you  a  shake.  we  can  talk  conspiracy  while  i  get  a  burger.  ”  a  groan.  appetite  activated,  “  shit,  bo,  i  need  a  burger.  i  can't  do  this.  ”  a  final  choice,  to  let  herself  be  loved,  too. 

his gaze slid sideways toward her, a soft tsk breaking the moment. "yeah, i do. and i remember wanting to beat your ass for it." his head shook, almost absentminded. "yeah, well... trust is earned, win. and they haven’t really earned anything from us. from me." the truth of it ran all the way into his marrow — he was built on the creed of: i trust you until you prove me wrong. and every soul standing across the unspoken battle lines of their bloodline was living proof of why. still, her next words drew a laugh from him, and he felt something small and tense unwind in his chest. "yeah, 'course i do! somebody’s gotta do it. we can’t always be sunshine and rainbows all the time, huh?" he nudged her shoulder with his own, a wordless gesture made warmer by the slight tilt of his head. "shakes on you, burgers on me. don’t let me eat more than three... i think i kinda outdid myself on the desserts tonight. i might be... a little more energized than normal."

when  most  of  the  people  start  taking  off  in  the  dark,  theo  follows  suit.  but  the  truth  is,  he's  not  exactly  sure  what  to  look  for.  footsteps?  a  scrap  of  clothing?  a  strand  of  hair?  it's  hard  to  think  about  how  heartless  he  must  be,  thinking  that  this  is  all  so  ridiculous.  in  a  town  as  small  as  forks,  where  else  would  she  be?  he's  so  sure  that  the  girl  would  turn  up  by  sunrise,  that  he's  resolved  to  wandering  instead  of  searching,  letting  the  flashlight  from  his  phone  guide  his  senseless  path.  he's  about  to  retreat  back  to  the  heart  of  the  event,  maybe  sneak  a  few  more  snacks  before  heading  home,  when  the  snap  of  a  branch  alerts  him  to  someone  else's  presence.  reflexes  are  quick  to  spin  around  and  flash  the  light  right  at  his  company,  and  there's  a  part  of  him,  a  very  small  part,  despite  what  he's  been  thinking  for  the  last  several  minutes,  that  hopes  it  could  be  hannah.  brows  furrow  when  theo  makes  out  that  it  isn't,  lips  curving  downward  in  disappointment.  “  there's  nothing  here,  ”  he  says,  waving  his  light  around  the  area  to  prove  his  claim.  “  i  passed  this  area,  like,  three  times.  ”

there wasn’t much he could do that others couldn’t — he knew that in the quiet, unlit corners of himself — but still, that knowledge never stopped him from trying something. anything. to press his hands against the fraying edges of a situation and hope it might hold. though he’d always rather slip between shadows, unnoticed, there were rare, sharp moments when he abandoned the comfort of anonymity. a missing teenage girl in the woods of the town his father last pointed to — well, maybe that was one of those moments. he hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight, hadn’t reached for one even when they were offered. so callum was just wandering, really, threading his way between trees whose branches reached like skeletal hands, without any clear direction to follow. that was — until a thin beam of light ahead cut through the dark, catching his eye. it swung toward him, and instinctively, he squinted, gaze dropping to escape the glare. "sucks." he says, and for once, he means it. not a tossed-off line to plug the gaps in conversation, but something felt, something lodged in his chest. "sounds like she’s not here." callum steps closer, the ground whispering underfoot, eyes sweeping the space between the trunks. "or, really, anywhere near here." that’s helpful, thank you.

"better not take all the good 'mellows." he said. it should’ve been paired with a grin, crooked and easy. anyone else would’ve gotten that smile. but for declan, it barely rose before falling flat. he had to get his shit together. "twelve is the sweet spot. literally. with twelve, i have just enough energy to do suicides across the beach for five minutes. tire myself out, be quiet. it's really for everybody's benefit." he plucked one marshmallow from the bag and took up the forgotten stick, spearing the pillowy white center like it owed him something. "hope you're okay with the smell of char." he added, voice dipping as he eased the marshmallow into the flame. "no better way to enjoy a dozen of these fuckers. gotta get 'em crispy."

attending   the   bonfire   is   a   rather   tried   and   true   lesson   in   loneliness   for   siobhan   ⸻   the   familiar   sensation   of   entering   all   manner   of   situations   uninvited   ,       and   yet   with   her   head   still   held   unhindered   and   high.   for   even   with   the   open   invitation   extended   to   all   ,       it's   waddling   into   a   sea   of   unfamiliar   faces   and   rather   worryingly   delicious   scents   that   has   her   chasing   a   lifeline   ;       clinging   to   the   first   recognizable   face   she   sees.   accompanied   by   the   overwhelming   scent   of   sweetness   ,       this   time   of   a   more   human and chocolatey   kind   ,       and   the   hand   that   currently   holds   ,       the   distraction   comes   easy enough once she attempts to   pick   apart   the   sight   before   her   (   and   here   siobhan   thought   she   could   be   considered   greedy   for   overindulging   in   a   bite   of   flesh   or   two   ).   so   while   she   wasn't   certain   as   to   how   exactly   a   s'more   would   taste   ,       there   was   no   way   it   justified   the   eating   of   an   entire   dozen   of   the   overly sticky   treats.     ❝     this   must   be   the   type   of   greed   they   talked   about   in   the   bible   ,       your   poor   ,       poor dentist.     ❞       plucking   the   bag   of   marshmallows   from   him   ,       she   fished   out   a   handful   to   have   at   the   ready   once   he   got   to   the   actual   roasting   bit.     ❝       …   don't   you   need   a   stick   ?   ⸻   you're   not   planning   on   sticking   your   entire   hand   into   the   fire   ,       are   you   ?   i   was   informed   the   barbecue   already   happened   at   six.     ❞

an eyebrow arched in her direction, lips curling into the barest hint of amusement. "and what if i did? i'd heal quick, you know. you should see it some time. pretty cool stuff." his voice had dropped, hushed like a secret between breaths — not out of fear, but performance. humans within earshot, yes, but easily deceived. always easier to dismiss the strange when it’s wrapped in humor. bodhi, ever the peculiar, ever the charmer, had a marshmallow stick lying idle in the sand. he picked it up, fingers brushing against the scorched tip, casual and soft. "see? good as new." sand still clung in tiny constellations, but he paid them no mind. "'mallow me." he offered the stick, point-first, like a knight offering a sword — or perhaps just a boy offering trouble in the shape of sugar.

all  at  once  brows  furrow  and  her  head  tilts,  arm  reaching  out  to  smack  his  a  little.  “  knock  it  off.  you're  catastrophizing  again.  ”  bodhi  isn't,  she  knows  that.  but  it  doesn't  mean  that  winnie  is  going  to  allow  her  best  friend  to  crumble  under  the  weight  of  it,  “  you  can't  figure  out  what  happened  to  that  girl.  stop  trying  to.  ”  a  sigh,  heavy  and  burdened.  her  hand  finds  his,  fingers  lace  together  in  a  reassuring  squeeze.  when  she  speaks  aagin,  there's  more  conviction,  “  stop.  we'll  figure  it  out.  ”  hopefully. 

his jaw tightens when she speaks again. you can't figure out what happened to that girl. the words land heavy. he wants — desperately — for her to be wrong. wants it with the kind of yearning that coils tight in his gut. her hand finds his. he returns the pressure, a silent anchor, a wordless thanks. "i just hope she's okay. i hope that she really just got picked up or something. and maybe her phone died." his shoulders roll in a shrug, more defeat than indifference. a breath. "i guess we'll find out tomorrow." his brows draw inward, a flicker of thought passing like cloud over sun — he pictures how the redmaw might take this. not well. never well. "yeah, until they say fuck it and do something about it." he knows he’s spiraling, letting the worst-case tether him. he exhales, hard, and shakes the thought loose. "but you're right. we'll figure it out. they've done worse shit to us, i'm sure we'll make it out... alive." that last word drips with theatrical flair, a wry tilt of tone to pull the mood up by the collar. "what d'ya wanna do now? join the herd? get some food?" ever the hunger, bo. always.