Machiavellian by Nurture

Pechsträhne Book Two : Requiem Doloris et Irae

Ot7 x reader, 18 +, paranormal themes, violence, eventual smut, childhood friends to lovers

If Y/n thought her life was in shambles before, then today, she could confidently say it was obliterated. They are back to square one–back where they started with almost no real answers, a bunch of half-baked theories, and a fuck-ton of heartbreak. But you know how that saying goes: 'Whatever doesn't kill you makes you fucking pissed off and powerful". (At least that's how Yoongi's version goes anyway). While as crass as it may seem–he's right. The tides are shifting, and the spirits of the property can feel it. All it takes is one person to stand against the current to show everyone else around them that they can. For if one stands alone, they are doomed to drown under the crushing waves. But if they all stand together–they can change the current to rush however they please. Now they just have to get everybody else to stand up.

Parables Of Divine Intercessions

BTS x reader, BTS as Gods au

Magical elements and themes. Witchcraft. Violence. Fluff. Slow burn. eventual smut. morally gray characters. Fantasy au.

Vantymi is a realm with unrivaled potential - the first nation on earth. She honors that title by staying the strongest leader in societal innovation, carrying the torch that all other countries follow. From its prize-winning agriculture that upkeeps its booming economy, breath-taking scenery, and flourishing seaside trade, it is no wonder humans and witches alike run to call this place home. But Vantymi is home to more than they think. Some say the Gods of the Golden Age still roam here, watching over the land that birthed them and intermingling with the mortals that dwell there. Others think of them as nothing more than fables or myths of old - a religion meant to be left in the past in favor of the new age of civilization. How naive are they? To think that the gods that breathed life into trees and colored the sky with their blood; beckoned the seas of the north and sculpted the mountains of the east with their bare hands, would just...disappear? Whether they believe in them or not doesn't matter - not to them. They were here first, and they will be here long after them. The people of Vantymi should just be grateful that they haven't decided to remind them just exactly what a God can do. Their myths are far from finished, the next chapters are being written as they speak. Perhaps they might even find themselves smack-dab in the center of the newest installment. Let's just pray that for their sake, it is a good one.

Cat Dad - Valentine's Day Special

Min Yoongi x reader

Genre: College au. Fluff. Slice of Life. Suggestive themes.

Release date February 14th 6pm EST

Summary: Dancing the night away at a bar with your friend: fun. Getting followed by a man much too persistent for his own good: not fun. Thankfully, your knight in a 'Cat Dad' hat shining armor appears just in the nick of time to save your deteriorating night with soft gummy smiles and a massive plate of French fries he's just itching to share with someone. "Will you pretend to be my boyfriend? This guy won't take a hint, and I'm taking a leap of faith here."

Hello? Is Anybody Home? -Friday the 13th Special

Pairing: boyfriend! Kim Taehyung x Reader. Ghost! Jung Hoseok x Reader. word count: Approx 10k Genre:Horror. Paranormal. Psychological thriller. Dark Romance. warnings: 18+. Light toxic dynamics. Paranormal themes. Mild Violence. Mild gore. Brief smut. possessive behaviors. mild manipulation (if you want to call it that?). Mdni. Readers' discretion is advised

Summary: Your boyfriend went away on a bachelor's trip with his friends and came back...different. Perhaps it has something to do with the ghost that haunts your workplace who only cares to talk to you, or maybe they are entirely separate issues that just so happened to become problems at the same time. The thing you can't figure out though, is do you really care about the answer? Or are you okay just letting things be?

Anything you can do...

Kim Namjoon x reader

Genre: College au. Academic rivals, except one of them is hopelessly in love with the other. Angst. Fluff. Hurt/comfort. Disabled reader (POTS, EDS, Fibromyalgia, chronically ill).

Warnings: Mentions of depression. Alcohol. Explicit descriptions of health issues. Internalized ableism. Brief mention of dead bodies. Your mom sucks in this (sorry not sorry). Eventual smut.

Summary: You thought you hated Namjoon. He's annoyingly smart, frustratingly perfect, and always in your fucking way. Your mom thinks he's the best thing since sliced bread. You think he's the worst thing to ever walk this planet. Yet as your body starts to fail you, it seems he's the only one around enough to notice. And for some frustrating reason–he makes it his full-time job to care about it.

Walk with Me?

Park Jimin x reader

Genre: 18+ Folk horror, paranormal themes, mystery/thriller, romance

Warnings (are subject to change): Frightening themes. Ghosts and cryptids. Violence. Mentions of death/missing persons. Eventual smut.

Release date: Summer 2026

Summary:

Your brother has always been flighty. The type of person who would pick up your call from the depths of a cave in Kentucky on a random Tuesday, only to be halfway across the country by Wednesday on the lookout for Bigfoot. So no one really bat an eye when he disappeared into the woods of New Mexico with a flashlight and a dream of hunting down the ‘Deadwood Wardens’, yet another mythological legend you didn’t believe in. But then he stopped calling. And it turns out the woods were a lot scarier in person than in the photos. But with the help of a local who knows the woods like the back of his hand, you should be out of here with your stupid brother in no time! Not that you were worried or anything — after all, it wasn’t like those campfire stories of men in wide-brimmed hats coming to steal the souls of unsuspecting trespassers were true. It was only a coincidence that Jimin, your friendly woodsman, wore a hat just like the ones taped on your brother's wall....right?

This is author does their best not to use ai. rest assured there is absolutely no ai usage for any writing content.

“Like this?” You shucked the action bar back and forth until you heard that satisfying click. On each one of the dented logos, you imagined the Damsel that had personally offended you that morning, or Hoseok’s mean mug glowering down at you from above the night prior. Or, God forbid, him doing the same to your brother once you freed him from his captor.

That had your blood boiling.

“Good. Now take a second to find your breath before you f-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence — or maybe he did and you just couldn’t hear it. All you could hear was the rattle of your own bones and the echoing crash of your shot knocking the can clean off its throne. Jerking back the action again to unload the empty shell at your feet, you felt the next one slide into place and fired again. Repeating the action until there were no cans left in your way.

With the safety back on, you let the gun sit on the decaying wood so you could steal a glance at him. “I think I got it.”

Jimin assessed the damage with a sweeping glance before leaning back against the fence post to tip the neck of his bottle at you, impressed. “I’ll say so.”

“Again?” Every muscle in your body buzzed with the chance to give it another go, fingers flexing against the handle.

He grunted around his next swig, stopping to nestle the bottle in the grass. “Let’s try something longer.”

Jogging back to his truck, he slung another case over his shoulder and carted it back to the fence line, cracking open the latches and getting it ready for you to load. With a new row of much farther cans set and ready to be slain, he swapped the one you were holding out for the new weapon, this one thinner, longer, and a bit lighter on the hands.

“Shotgun’s for close-range combat or moving targets. But this one’ll give you more distance if what you’re shootin’ at hides. Here.” Jimin sidled up beside you, propping it up in front of you and guiding your hands to the right spot. “Instead of the action pump, you’re gonna pull the bolt lever.” He demonstrated this by circling his other arm around you to pull it back, all but caging you into the fence.

There was no need for him to do all of that, not when Jungkook had given a very brief example earlier. But you weren’t one to turn down a thorough explanation, being the woman of science that you are.

Especially not when you were given a front-row seat to watch the tendons in his hands flex and move just below your nose as he expertly pointed to each part and angled the muzzle… actually, this was all very needed and necessary. Life-changing even.

He stopped moving, and after a few seconds of quiet you realized he was waiting for you to say something. Right. He wanted you to try it. Duh.

Thank god you had paid attention to Jungkook earlier because you hadn’t heard a word in the last ten seconds.

“Like this?” You wince as your voice cracks, slowly lifting the lever and bringing it back to accept the next round.

A low laugh reverberating through your back only made you flush more. He leaned closer, mouth right next to the shell of your ear and his voice low. “Just like that.”

He untangled himself from behind you and slid back against the fence post, smiling into his lemonade all smug and proud of himself. You clicked your tongue. This cheeky motherfucker had to know what he was doing to you. You weren’t buying the quiet, oblivious act. Shy, maybe. Oblivious? Not a chance.

Not when the look he shot you over his shoulder was hungry and calculating, pupils narrowed into almost nonexistent slits and the edges of his irises bleeding blue. They trailed over your face, then lower towards where your pulse raged against your throat like he could hear the effect he had on you. Or maybe there was a part of him that could rip it out with his teeth if he wanted to — a part of him that could very well hunt you down and eat you alive.

The look was gone with a shake of his head, the movement smothering the sizzling tension to a gentle simmer, and he turned back to gaze at the far-off targets. “Have at it darlin’.”

Hot.

No! You shouldn't think that way! That look could be dangerous!

Dangerously Hot.

Alright, now you just sounded pathetic and desperate...but inner you made a convincing argument.

You took a few deep breaths, peering into the scope at the little glinting pieces of metal and willing your hands to stop shaking. Pushing away the thoughts of all the ways you’d just love to ‘have at it’ with him took physical effort when he talked to you like that. Yet, you persevered.

Think Pina Colada. Think evil spirits and Bigfoot. Think Pina Colada. Think evil spirits-

Thoughts and prayers were not strong enough to influence your first shot. It was a total miss, the bullet lodging itself in a tree trunk way behind your intended target. Fuck. Reloading your next shot with the yank of the bolt lever, you squinted, closing one eye to really focus in on that damned can.

It only took two tries to get the hang of this one before you were cleaning house. Each victory was all the sweeter when served alongside Jimin’s complimentary nods, urging you to keep jumping over each new vault he set, whether it was a different shell or a smaller gun. Any time you faced a learning curve, he let you figure it out, standing by if only for safety reasons but never hovering. And boy, did you learn. These boys drank enough to give you targets for the next week.

Jimin called it a day when the sun started to burn orange, citing that he didn’t want you eating through half his ammo before nightfall. Your hands were cramping anyway, so you didn’t complain at the opportunity to sprawl in the passenger seat again, this time nosing about the glove compartment at the stack of cassettes and cracked CD cases at your disposal. He didn’t seem to mind much, barely sparing your search a second glance.

Guess he didn’t have much to hide anymore.

His taste was about what you’d expect: a Nirvana here, a Rolling Stones there, and a crap ton of country — and not the eye-crossingly boring modern stuff — the kind a Tennessee divorced mom from the 90’s has on repeat. Snickering to yourself, you flipped over the Sara Evans CD to read the print date, seeing if that would give you more clues to his own life before he became a cougar cowboy in Deadwood. This one looked to be the most recent of his car collection, released in summer of 2003.

One last scan of the others proved your hypothesis right. So, if going by all the clues you had gathered from his belongings thus far, Jimin had been alive from the 70s to the early two thousands at the least. And he was obviously older than Jungkook since he referred to him as such.

You nodded to yourself. He had to be either late twenties or early thirties.

You could definitely work with that.

“Find anything you like?”

The plastic case slipped through your fingers and landed with a splat on your thigh. “Sorry?”

Jimin nodded to the spread on your lap. “Music. You can change it if you’d like.”

“Oh, right.” Scanning the covers again, you shrugged. “You’ve got quite the collection. What’s your favorite?”

Humming to himself in thought, he responded, “Any of ‘em.” Then after a beat, he cleared his throat, a different almost apprehensive air taking over him. “You can thank my Mom and my Gram for the collection. They got ‘em all for me.”

You inspected the side of his face you could see for any shift, perhaps a frown or a glistening eye, but he remained unmoved and staring at the road ahead. Pursing your lips, you flipped through the pile you had just gone through. “Well...which one’s their favorite?”

Jimin flexed his hands against the wheel to relieve the tension building in them. “Brooks and Dunn. Randy Travis. Kathy Mattea.”

“Hm.” Plucking the first one that matched those names, you pried open the side and popped it in, changing the console from radio to disc. “Let’s see what this one’s all about then.”

It was as if the first beat was second nature to him, his palms tapping along to the rhythm before the speakers even knew what was playing yet. You made it through a handful of songs with your cheek resting in the blow of the evening breeze from the window and your eyes drooping closed. Just as your head was starting to slump, he was turning the volume down a few bars, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“You lived with your pops right?”

“When he wasn’t working, yeah,” You answered, rubbing some of the sleep from your eyes so they might stay open a bit longer. “He wasn’t around all the time, but he tried to be when it mattered, and apologized when he couldn’t. Had to do what he had to do to take care of us.”

Jimin listened attentively, chewing on his thoughts carefully. “He have any favorites?”

That gave you pause, your chin lifting at the unexpected question. What was even more disorienting was that you couldn’t quite remember. You’d been spending more time than not in the trenches of both early and graveyard shifts at the local hospital, picking up hours wherever you could fit them. Truth be told, you couldn’t remember the last time you had taken a second to ask your dad what he was up to — to really talk to him about something other than your brother or work.

Deep in the crevices of your mind, you found a hazy memory of old classics spilling out from his truck before he’d cut the engine to greet you at the door. Stevie Wonder. ABBA. Queen. Michael Jackson. Anything that could keep him from dozing at the wheel when he hadn’t gotten the chance to catch much sleep. Nothing stuck out as a favorite, though. He wasn’t much of a music guy comparatively.

What did stick out was a different memory, one that had you smiling to yourself before you could stop it.

This intrigued Jimin, who mimicked the expression with a lazy half grin of his own. “What is it?”

“Somthin’ stupid.” Saying it didn’t shut down the giggle that spilled out after. “Just…”

“...Just?” Jimin tried his best to look at you without crashing the vehicle, urging you onward.

Shaking your head, you obliged. “Back when NSYNC was big, I was obsessed with them. Would borrow the CD’s from the library all the time and beg my dad to get them for me. When they went on tour, I just about lost my mind, asking him every morning before school and every night before bed. And while I knew he would’ve loved to take me if he’d been able to, we just couldn't afford it. I cried for weeks. Dramatic, I know. But I was young. Then one night my dad woke me up at god knows what hour after his shift with their new CD that he had snagged right at store open. Probably waited in line to get it too. Let me play it as loud as I wanted in the living room while he spun me around.”

You could almost hear it now, the rattling cheap speakers, the old carpet scratching the bottom of your feet. The smell of mildew and early morning car exhaust. He had looked so tired.

Suddenly your throat felt tight.

Nervously, you fiddled with the hem of your shorts, not wanting to look as emotional about the vision as you felt. “Anyways. He hated them — couldn’t care less about the boys that sang and danced on TV. But he did it for me, and I’ll always remember that.”

Jimin gazed at you fondly, not in the slightest looking to judge the soft turn your conversation had taken. “Sounds like a good time.”

“It was.” Swallowing down the budding lump threatening to form, you shook it out the strange melancholy feeling with a heavy sigh.

“My mom liked this one a lot.” Turning up the dial with two fingers, he let the popular country hit play through the speakers. “Sometimes when I…” Another haphazard glance was sent your way, but it scurried back to the road as fast as it came. “Sometimes when I miss her I listen to it. Makes me feel close when I can’t be. You still have that CD somewhere?”

“Honestly? Might’ve been donated when I moved out. Otherwise it’s in a tote in my dad’s basement somewhere.”

Nodding, Jimin let his expression melt into something unreadable, his tone light but landing heavy. “Hm. Might be worth findin’ you a new copy.”

A bowling ball hit the bottom of your stomach, and you had to bite the inside of your lip to keep it from shaking. You understood what he meant loud and clear.

It also made you look at his never-ending hoard of music and the way he always seemed to try and turn a radio on in a new light.

The dogs were already barking by the time you approached the front gate of Jimin’s property. Both of them circled the tires of the two new additional cars squeezed where Jimin’s truck belonged: a blue Jeep and that pretty rental you were due to return in less than 24 hours. Watching them was a straggling group of the men you were unfortunately starting to recognize.

Gooey and Dolly's noses were still suctioned to your brother's door handles by the time you jumped from the passenger seat to greet the four men with a frown. And just to piss you off more, it looked like they were halfway through that watermelon you’d paid for.

Rude.

“Thanks for getting a head start. Totally wasn’t looking forward to that or anything.” You stopped a good few feet away from where they lounged on Jimin’s porch, hands and wrists glistening from the juice that dripped with each bite. It looked like a good watermelon too...

Jungkook shrugged. “First come first serve. Consider it your payment for having to drive your stuff back.”

“I asked if you needed help eating it. Looks like you did. Here,” Yoongi lifted the last bite of ruby flesh from the triangle rind he was working on, offering to you cheekily. “Say ‘ahhhhh’.”

Eyes narrowed on the enclosing fruit, you scowled. “You don’t want to do that. I bite.”

“Say it ain’t so!” Yoongi mused, boldly yanking at the collar of his T-shirt to brandish the side of his throat. “Care to demonstrate?”

Your voice and expression flattened. “I’ll kill you.”

“Oh, we know,” Hoseok chimed in from the rocking chair he made himself comfortable in. “Pretty straight shot so we’ve heard, huh?”

A chill ran down your spine. “How did you-”

“Namjoon here work’s the fields and the cliffs during daylight. Had him stop in to pay a visit just to see how things were going.” Hoseok nodded to the final cowboy perched on the edge of the porch.

Jimin must’ve slunk up to your side without you noticing, for one second he wasn’t there and the next he was, shouldering the weight of all the cases and duffle bags from the back seats. “Thought I heard you in the brush. Good shift?”

The towering and glowering man shifted, folding his arms over his chest and sizing you up carefully. Abrasive and sharp, he was just as intimidating as when you had met him in the mountain store. He was the only one that you regretted insulting when he openly looked at you like he could tear your throat out at any second. If Hoseok had anything going for him, it was that he at least tried to hide his intent behind clever words and attitude. This Namjoon guy couldn’t be bothered.

He never looked away from your face once. It made you feel like you were face to face with an actual predator, your instincts screaming at you to break the eye contact or move back.

Finally, he responded to Jimin’s polite attempt at conversation with a short sniff. “S’fine. Got off early.”

“Early? Is everyone getting handouts but me?” Yoongi scoffed, pouting into his next chunk of fruit.

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Your shifts haven’t even started yet.”

“Sorry I chose to have a real day job.” Yoongi bit back. “Money makes the world go ‘round.”

“Everyone’s workin’ doubles, don’t make me give you triples.” Hoseok shut down the spat before its budding roots could crumble the rest of the interaction. He came to a stand, trudging down the steps to stop in front of you with a contemplative look. “Now speaking of assignments…”

Jimin stepped forward again, making sure his presence was known. “I don’t mind keeping track of her. She’s been doing good work so far.”

“I’m well aware of what you mind,” Hoseok planted his hands on his hips to shift his belt. Squinting, he gave a show of thinking like his decision hadn’t been made before you’d gotten a mile down the road. Snatching the rifle bag from Jimin’s shoulder, he shoved it in your hands. “Since you’re so set on babysittin’, let’s see how well she handles herself on the field tonight, how ‘bout that?”

“Tonight?” Jimin’s nose twitched in distaste, but he remained composed. He was good at convincing people he wasn’t bothered in the slightest, but with the added context you’d earned today, each small movement said a thousand words. Whatever Hoseok had cooking smelt like danger.

“Got a problem with that?” Angling his head to stare daggers at Jimin, Hoseok clicked his tongue. “I want a full house tonight. Jungkook said somethin’ big was bubblin’ in your turf. Can’t risk it getting away because you’re distracted with teachin’ now, can we?

“No sir,” Jimin clenched his fists at he side.

“Full house?” Jungkook groaned. “Even day shift?”

“I don’t give a damn what fuckin’ shift you think you work. Your shift is whatever the hell I say it is. I say I want everyone on the field tonight, I expect everyone, on the field, tonight.” Swinging back around he pointed a long finger directly under your chin as though it were the barrel of a handgun. “Even you.”

With the audacity you were born and raised with, you grabbed his wrist so his index finger dug deeper into the underside of your chin.

“Wouldn’t dream of missing it.” Making a small ‘ch ch’ sound with your mouth, you pretended to fire the fake gun, making sure to finish it off by bringing his finger up to blow the invisible smoke from the tip. “First lesson on gun safety: Only point your gun at what you actually have the balls to shoot.”

When you released his hand, it stayed hovering in the air for a moment, their leader rendered speechless for once. Yoongi’s watermelon was practically hanging from his mouth, dripping down his chin pathetically while he looked between the two of you with wide eyes. The rind fell into his lap when you pushed past him, beckoning Jimin to follow.

“C’mon. We have a lesson to finish up, do we not?”

Yoongi started to scramble to his feet. “I think I can help-”

“-Eat shit.”

“-Don’t even start.”

Both you and Jimin spoke at the same time, shouldering open the door to drop your stuff off inside, your heart still racing with the thrill of yet again putting that no good, big shot cowboy in his place. You tried not to let the way Hoseok looked at you through the window bring you down.

It would have been expected to find him seething with a red face and hand precariously placed on his real gun. Maybe even cradling a hand to his chest to sooth his wounded pride you had excellently obliterated. Except he wasn’t.

He was smiling.

From ear to ear his lips split in a show of pearly teeth whose shine had to compete with the skin-crawl-worthy glow of his violet blue eyes. His thumb and forefinger gently coasted the concealed handle of his revolver, like the only thing keeping him from whipping it out was the dogs circling the porch and the cost of replacing Jimin’s front window.

Subconsciously, you inched closer towards Jimin, using the act of shucking off your boots and the inability to balance that came with doing so as your excuse. It didn’t feel safe to look away, and it felt cowardly to duck down and hide.

Jimin must genuinely be able to hear the rush of blood through your fluttering arteries, because he jerked up from his bent position to cut off Hoseok’s view of you, back to the window without a single care whether or not Hoseok would fire.

But Jimin couldn’t stand there forever. Couldn’t block the window every time your temper tested the strength of it. Eventually he would have to move and the glass would shatter, and when that'd happen you’d be so, so very dead.

One thing you could appreciate about New Mexico was its nights: mild in temperature and gorgeous open skies. The dark was swift with its approach, or perhaps it was just you dreading its arrival that made the evening feel so rushed.

Your stomach was in knots, twisted and bubbling up in protest with whatever you tried to feed it. Your fork was gripped tight in your fist, the family sized frozen entree sizzling in all its savory ooey goodness in front of you, but you couldn’t be bothered to dig in.

You weren’t ready for tonight. Sure you could shoot, but where would that get you in terms of navigating terrain? Or the stamina needed to keep up if (god forbid) there was any kind of real combat with other wordly beings?

Say this was all hubub about cryptids, and the things you were about to see were actually just overgrown monkeys that escaped a local zoo or rabid bears — you were still not experienced enough with wild, violent animals to make the best calls in the heat of the moment.

Mean patients? Sure. Entitled family members in a waiting room? Absolutely. But a bear? Nah. Leave that to the professionals.

The skin over your knuckles thinned and stretched over the bone, your grip tight around the utensil that was still sparkling clean, eyes widening at the full plate before you with horror.

You were the professional now.

Ew. You hated how that sounded.

Hell, you didn’t even have one of those cool leather outfits that they all had stuffed somewhere in their closets. All you could go in with was a trusty pair of new denim, mildly broken-in boots, and whatever shirt you could scrounge up from the laundry. What if Jimin was secretly judging your preparedness? What if it made you stick out more easily to enemies, and thus be more of a hassle to keep an eye on? The last thing you wanted was him of all people doubting you.

Not that you needed to impress him, you just wanted to leave a good impression.

He wasn’t entirely off limits now that your hire date was being pushed back. No other-dimensional HR would stop you from making a move the moment you knew your brother was safe. The side of the road would even do for you if it meant just one chance at-

“Not hungry?” Jimin’s thoughts tore you from your mental spiral, his brow raised at your untouched meal with disbelief.

“No, I am.” That wasn’t a lie, for your own stomach couldn’t decide between crying out for more food or threatening to hurl if you put anything in your mouth. “Just-”

“Then eat.” He cut you off, nudging your plate closer with the back of his hand. “You’ll need it.”

Frowning, you pushed some of it around on your plate, willing your mouth to open for a bite. It refused.

There was an awkward pause filled by the hesitant scrape of your fork, and the squeak of Jimin’s leather pants as he shifted in his seat. The table was small enough for you to feel the brush of his knee against yours.

Scanning you with an interrogators precision, he inched his chair a hair closer. “You know...if you’re...If you’re feeling scar-”

“Don’t.” The prong of your fork made an ugly sound against the porcelain. “Don’t use the ‘s’ word. I haven’t been scared a day in my life.”

His entire form cringed at both the shrill screech and the sharpness of your tone but he shook it off like a champ. “S’fine if you are. Doesn’t make you weak or anything. It’s...normal.”

Your gaze flicked from your plate to his face, and with one look you could see how uncomfortable he was. Fidgety, shoulders stiff, eyes blinking owlishly. Here this cowboy was, a fearsome cryptid designed to hunt and kill, sitting at a tiny table he didn’t quite fit in while trying to comfort you.

It wasn’t soft or well-practiced like his 'hey your brother might have killed himself' speech, but it was his best effort, and somewhere deep in your defensive heart you felt it squeeze. He looked so uncertain and soft.

Heat rushed to your cheeks and you had to look away from how earnestly he looked at you. “I promise I’m not.”

“Right…” He moved to scoop up the last of his meal into one heaping bite.

You lifted yours to your mouth.

Then you immediately lowered it. “Even if I was something…”

Jimin’s eyes snapped up to look at you, his bite spilling off his utensil and landing with a plop on the edge of his plate.

You continued one, gesturing wildly with your hands as you spoke. “I’d be nervous, not scared. I mean, I have no idea what to expect from the desert or woods at night let alone any sort of woo-woo brawl.”

“Hm.” Jimin hummed, a slight pout on his mouth at the bite that was splattered half on the table top and half salvagable.

“And I totally pissed off the one guy I shouldn’t.”

“Hm.”

“And then my outift-”

“Wait, what’s wrong with your outfit?” Jimin momentarily forgot about his dinner loss, taken aback.

You winced. “This isn’t about me, remember? It’s a hypothetical.”

Jimin held back a roll of his eyes. “Okay, what’s wrong with your hypothetical outfit?”

“Well it’s — it’s not like any of yours! I feel like such an odd man out.”

“So...you’re scared because you aren’t matching?”

“I’m not scared.”

“Right. But you do want to match?”

Shoving a bite in your mouth, your answer was muffled. “It’s not about matching. It’s about the principle of it. What if my clothes aren’t good for the job?”

“Then we get you new ones tomorrow.” Jimin shrugged. Halfway through wiping his mess he added with a small smirk. “So we can match.”

“So hypothetical me can match. Because of principle.”

His smile only grew, a small chuckle working up and out of his mouth.

Your face grew even warmer. “Don’t look at me like that. It isn’t like that. If I’m gonna be a part of the team I want to look like it!”

“Don’t think the ghouls’ll be rating your clothes on your first night. And like I said, if it’s that big a deal, I’ll get you new ones tomorrow.”

“But what if I don’t make it to tomor-” You cut yourself off immediately. You don’t know how such a vulnerable thought almost so easily slipped out. Squinting at the plate with a tight throat, you surmised that Jimin must’ve laced it with truth serum. Yes...that must be it.

His chair creaked, and the air shifted.

A chill ran down your spine, the hair on your arms standing at attention to the sudden drop in temperature. There wasn’t an another awkward shift or laughably loud crack of leather when he moved. Instead, there was only certainty and confidence when he leaned across the table to tap at the lip of your plate once more.

“Focus on eating.” His voice was smooth, if only a bit stern. Forceful enough to let you know that if you didn’t listen, he might take the fork and make you. “And I’ll focus on you makin’ it to tomorrow. Sound good?”

A nod was all you could muster. Instinctively your body moved to listen, except your hand missed your mouth, poking into the corner of your cheek before you could right it.

Jimin cracked another smile and hid another laugh, shaking his head to himself. The tense energy never did disperse after your admittance, though. It hung over you even when he swiped the plates to wash in the sink. Hovered over your shoulder while you shrugged on one of his old workman's jackets and tied your boots.

Each step you took onto his porch was weighed down with the shadow of his presence and the energy it manifested with it. And as he walked a step behind you down the trail towards Hoseok’s farm house, you could feel his blue eyes searing into the back of your head.

Looking over your shoulder, the final frayed thread of what you once believed was sheared through. Cut at the root and shredded to dust.

Because there, behind you, was a ghost. A cryptid. A demon wrapped in shadow with a hat wide enough to block the stars behind his silhouette, and a grip unmoving from the gun on his belt.

And it was haunting you.

The light of day had long since thinned by the time the seven of you fanned out from Hoseok’s porch on foot, trailing blindly into the night with nothing but your sense of touch and Jimin’s steady presence to guide you.

Even when your eyes began to adjust enough to see the outline of trees or the plume of bushes, the moment you crossed from their property into the woods, you could no longer see any of your peers, no matter how hard you willed your eyes to find them.

Their outlines melted into the background, their figures shrouded with smoke and shadow. The faint glow of their eyes easily mistaken for the twinkling stars filtering through the pines to anyone none the wiser. It was surreal, watching them become ghosts before your very eyes.

You couldn’t explain a damn thing. Your overactive brain now mute when given a front-row seat to just how quickly Namjoon went from upright to recumbent, bones twisting and tendons snapping into a different, inhuman shape that slunk off into the night. Couldn’t even put up a fight when Hoseok seemed to vanish entirely, his footfalls masked by the rustle of branches and the distant howl of the desert wolves.

It was awful to admit, but those reddit forums and cringy basement-crafted websites were right.

You could feel them.

Each one of your senses was on fire, nerves lit at the end like the orange glow of a cigarette that hissed and burned with each breath. Teeth chattered from the chill; skin pilled with goosebumps — you were prey surrounded by a predator meticulously designed to kill. They looked human in your memory, but your body recognized them as anything but.

Every now and then, when you felt your heart rate spike and your hands clam up with sweat as they gripped the strap of your shotgun tighter to your front, Jimin would breathe loud enough for you to hear over your shoulder. A welcome reminder that he was still there, watching out for you.

And right now your life was in his invisible hands. Because they could see you, but you couldn’t see them. Hoseok could sink a bullet in your chest and you would walk right into the barrel.

“Almost there.” Jimin rasped softly into your ear. “One mile left.”

One mile. One mile that acted as a hundred, your calves burning up the final slope of the mountain side you had walked earlier that morning.

Upon reaching the top, you were grateful that it looked like you wouldn’t need a light. But then the source made the well of gratitude dry faster than a well in a drought.

That same very slope was utterly obliterated.

Cracked from end to end by some mighty upheaval, leaving a gaping wound of glowing red smoke and magma in its wake. The trees nearby were singed with heat; some of them even snapped in two down the middle and tossed to the side. Darting through the damage like fairies were a half dozen Damsels, their fur glowing bright as they scurried to hide from The Warden’s arrival.

Looks like they too were looking for whatever had risen from below.

Without warning, the ground you stood on crumbled beneath your boots, but Jimin was faster, arm darting out to push you back and away from the edge before you could slip into the glittering inferno below.

“Holy shit.” You breathed out in horrified awe, eyes still struggling to assess the entirety of the damage.

“Nothin’ holy about this son of a bitch.” The one from the previous night appeared beside you — Taehyung, you recalled.

Jungkook huffed from the other side of the pit, a mix of frustration and excitement bursting through his every word. “He busted the ward!”

You stole a glance at Jimin, his face finally visible. “I thought you said that stuff kept them in?”

He moved to answer, but Taehyung spoke first. “It can. As long as whatever it is coming through doesn’t blow it to smithereens.”

“So it’s just...gone?” You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or frightened by the idea. Maybe if it had run, you would be able to go back to Jimin’s house and negotiate information from Hoseok about your brother instead of facing a monster. On the other hand it meant that there was something big prowling the very woods you were standing in, something that according to Jimin, would target you the second it caught a whiff. “Does that mean this whole mission is toast?”

“You wish.” Taehyung chuckled, fixing his hat. “Means we gotta find it now.”

“Tree damage to the west.” Hoseok scaled the jutted rocks around the perimeter of the hole over to a wide line of flattened pines. Assessing both the girth of the trail and the size of the Crack, he spat towards the split. “Looks like we got ourselves a Bolter, boys. Night shift, spot the scab and pick off any Scalers. Day shift comes with me.”

Jimin rushed to circle his fingers around your wrist, tugging you to the left-hand side of the Crack, but Taehyung’s hand on your other wrist yanked you to the right.

“Said day shift goes this way.”

Jimin’s neck snapped towards Taehyung, a flash of betrayal in his eyes and jaw clenched. “Heard ‘em just fine. She’s with me. Evening shift."

Taehyung’s expression gave nothing away, his grip tightening on your arm. “She’s day shift.”

“Since when?” Jimin shot back.

“Since I fuckin’ said so.” Hoseok barked across the ravine. He then jerked his chin at Jungkook. “You’ve been promoted to permanent night shift. No more of that part time shit.”

Yoongi hollered with victory, holding his hand out palm up to Jungkook. “Hell yeah, kid! Gimme some skin~”

“Say goodbye to your record, it’s gonna be mine in no time.” Jungkook giggled with excitement, highfiving him hard enough to make Yoongi’s glove almost fly off.

“You’re on.”

Jungkook’s excitement was short lived, his joy crumbling with a whine. “Waaiiitt a minute — that means I don’t get to chase the beast!”

“Maybe if you’d shut your trap and get to work, you could make it in time to cut the tail off.” Hoseok cut off their banter before it took up more of his precious time. “This ain’t recess, now get your ass movin’ before I beat it.”

That kicked Taehyung into motion, another stiff tug to your arm teetering you sideways, but Jimin’s protective hold didn’t budge.

“Taehyung.” Jimin’s whispered plea was barely audible.

The man next to you remained stoic, his hold unaffected. “It’s an order.”

With that, the warmth of Jimin’s hand was wrenched away, leaving you to stumble after the stranger and into the dark wood. And he couldn’t stop it without causing a scene. Wouldn’t be able to explain why without giving away your plan.

But he looked like he wanted to.

Knuckles white, pupils narrowed into cat-like slits, chest rising and falling at a faster rate. Swinging his rifle from his shoulder, his gaze never left yours. “Be there as soon as I finish up. You’ll be-” his eyes flitted to the gun on your arm, “- fine until then.”

The look said a lot in so little time. Don’t let them take that from you.

There wasn’t even time to nod, for Taehyung was already hauling you up and over the crumbled rocks and broken boulders to where Hoseok was starting the hike up the decimated mountainside. At least he was kind enough not to let the shadows ebb back over his face, letting the light refraction off his leather coat be your guide.

None of the others bothered to share the same sentiment. Hoseok cloaked himself in shadow the second he was able to, and Namjoon had never removed his in the first place. You had no one left to trust now; that much you knew. Just you and the gentle ‘tick’ of the safety you promptly turned off.

You couldn’t count how many times you tripped up the hill, the ground a land mine of fallen tree branches and splintered trunks. It was a risk, having the gun ready to fire at a hair of pressure, but it was an even bigger risk not being able to shoot the second one of them lunged.

The soft thud of Namjoon’s paws to your right, the occasional crunch of dry wood beneath Hoseok’s boot — it was all getting into your head. Of course you had met them brandishing the accusation that they might kill you, but now you knew they would. That they planned to. And as far as you were aware, they held the belief that you were none the wiser.

Just a paranoid — What did Jungkook call you? Church bell? — A naive, paranoid church bell walking blindly into their trap.

Which, in their defense, you were practically blind — but you were anything but naive.

Clicking the pump action, you loaded your first shot, letting the mechanical click be their only warning.

If they could stop making you go on impromptu hikes, that’d be swell.

All you wanted to do was turn around and find one of the freshly razed tree stumps to sit on. But noooo, you had to get stuck trudging up more mountains while Jimin hung back with the others to fend off anything else that tried to make its escape.

From below you could hear the howl of a fresh batch of Scalers hoisting themselves up the scalding rocks to gnash their teeth at the men waiting for them above. Gun fire rained down, echoing off the mountain and vibrating your skull. You knew Jimin was a professional, but the amount of yowels and whines you heard made your chest tighten with worry.

God, you were so fucked. Already worried about some guy you had met only a few days ago. You’d be worried about anyone tiptoing around the edge of satan’s ass crack with loaded guns and rabid dogs though. Not just him.

But definitely him.

“Stop.” Hoseok held his palm up to signal, his body appearing in view. He dropped to a crouch to run the pads of his fingers along a slick branch, bringing them up to his nose stained with the leather stained crimson. His nose twitched with disgust. “Bear guts. We’re gettin’ close.”

“To what?” You shifted besides Taehyung, holding back a gag at the liquified goo pile that had once been a bear.

Hoseok didn’t seem as pissed as you thought he’d be for asking a question, if anything it was like he expected as such. “Bolter. They call ’em Rock Slide Bolters up in the Rockies.”

With a shrug you responded, “Never heard of them.”

“Everything about them is big. Bodies, mouths, teeth.” He continued, wiping his glove off on his pants. “Drag themselves up somethin’ steep and slide on their bellies to scoop up anything in their path. What they don’t eat, they crush.”

“By the time their victims see ‘em coming?” Taehyung jumped in, using his hands to mimic a high-speed collision. “You’re halfway down their throat.”

“Comforting,” You muttered, adjusting your grip on your gun. “How do we kill it?”

“Well, with skin made of slate and a backbone of rocks, gotta aim for the softest point.”

Casting a wary glance at the barely visible hillsides around you, you suddenly became all to aware of just how suspiciously slide-like the hill you were standing on was. “Which is?”

“The mouth.” Hoseok stomped towards you, stopping just as your shoulders brushed. Your finger itched to shoot. He leaned closer, his fist curling around the barrel of your weapon. “Lucky for us, we got just the perfect bait tonight.”

With a sharp tug, he had the wood and metal slipping from your grasp, your chilled fingers rushing to grab for it again before you lost it completely. “Don’t.”

“Don’t I recall you wanting to earn your place? This won’t get you anywhere when it comes to a Bolter. Too short range for their kind. Need you somethin’ longer.” Hoseok paused, a taunting smirk blooming on his face. “Unless you had some other monster you’d be lookin’ to shoot…”

You swallowed, hard, jerking the weapon back towards your chest. “No. But I’d feel better if I had something.”

“Why not use one of Joon’s, he ain’t using ‘em right now.”

Risking a look at the pair of glowing eyes crouched in the brush, you shook your head. You wouldn’t even know how to confidently use anything else. Sure, you could figure it out easily enough, but when seconds mattered? Not ideal.

“I’m good with mine, thanks.” One last good tug shook his touch from it, and he frowned.

“Suit yourself.” Pacing around you, he started towards the edge of the flattened path to stand alongside the surviving trees. When you went to follow, a deep growl from behind you struck you frozen in place.

“Didn’t you hear me? Your bait.” Hoseok mused from the sidelines. “Bait doesn’t get to hide.”

Namjoon circled your lower half, golden fur sleek save for the stripe down his back that had raised. When certain you wouldn’t move, he returned to the tree line opposite Hoseok, watching your every move. You were sandwiched between them, waiting out in the open for who knows what.

Biting your cheek, you tried to make sure your voice didn’t shake. “So what does bait do?”

“It sits quietly like its told and waits. If you see a shot, take it. Otherwise we handle the rest. Shouldn’t take too long, now.” There was a short pause before he added, “Don’t piss yourself if Namjoon has to knock you out of the way.”

Confused by the vague instructions, you made a face. “Out of the way from wha-”

The ground shook violently, forcing you off balance with your hands spread out to catch yourself on the shredded bark and spiny rocks. A splinter speared through the first layer of flesh, and the sharpened corner of the pounded slate sliced right through your jeans and scraped your knees. Hot blood smeared your palms and the handle of your shotgun as you rushed to stand straight again, which was hard when the ground moved with the type of vengeance similar to a pesky cousin set on double-bouncing you on a trampoline.

Fuck, you cursed inwardly, certain what you were experiencing was an earthquake rather than a supernatural phenomenon. Tree’s groaned and crackled, swaying dangerously from side to side, and the mountains themselves looked like they too were losing their footing in the ferocious dance.

Wait — was that mountain actually dancing? Since when could mountains shake ass like that?

Your eyes widened. That wasn’t a mountain you were looking at. And it wasn't shaking ass.

Hands numb with fear, they trembled uncontrollably as you tried to right the gun.

“Shitshitshitshit-” In your haste your finger hit the trigger, unloading lead four feet in front of you and pummeling your shins with shattered rock.

A roar so loud it left your ears ringing boomed from the top of the mountain, and it was then that you got your first real good look at the monster in the moonlight.

Hanging from the crest and slinking in a nest of fallen trees was a massive, boat-sized whale of rock. It scuttled from side to side on four massive legs to aim its mouth, while a lengthy hooked tail kept it dangling from the highest point like an anchor. There were only seconds to look at it, for once it had lined its mouth up with your pitiful figure, it tucked its legs flush to its belly and unhooked its tail.

“FUCK. FUCK. FUCK!” Jesus had officially taken the wheel, your hands moving on muscle memory and spiked adrenaline alone to pump your next shot. Your arms shook, your knees wobbled, and you thanked the high heavens you had used the bathroom before you left, otherwise you’d be thoroughly embarrassed at the moment.

Raising the gun up to aim at the rapidly approaching beast, it traveled heaps of ground in seconds, closing in faster than you could let out another curse. The metal was slippery with your blood, and you just couldn’t get yourself to have a good hold on it.

Come on, come on, come on! Finally, you got a good grip on it and took aim at the bluish wet hole that was its approaching mouth.

This is probably what Hoseok had wanted: you to fail miserably on your first try. To become nothing but a splat of blood and bone on the forest floor for him to bring back to life as a new recruit.

But with one flash of your brother’s face and a distant hum of a Nsync song pulsing through shitty speakers, you stared into the cavernous mouth, pumped the action, and pulled the trigger.

The second the shot blasted through the fleshy tongue of the beast, something heavy barreled into your side and sent you flying towards the trees. You landed on your back in the woods a good distance away from where you’d been, all the air in your chest leaving in a pained wheeze.

Namjoon hovered over you, jaws open in a fierce show of strength and heavy paws pressing down on your ribs to keep you pinned in place.

From over his shoulder the Bolter screeched; its roar was just as loud if not louder than the first. Your ears were aching, and at this point, probably bleeding.

Its mouth gushed with steaming brown and orange blood, pooling out of the corner of its cheeks like rivers of magma. The spot you had once stood was flattened beneath its chest, the very log you’d cut your palm on nothing but a pile of woodchips.

“Nice shot!” Taehyung praised from above, leaping over the two of you to swing a rope in arcing circles over his head, the tip decorated with a sharpened grappling hook. Launching it over the beast's back, it cut into the spines on the back of its head and nestled deep, giving Taehyung a good hold to drag the beast's head to the side for Hoseok to land a second shot.

You wriggled beneath Namjoon’s weight, gasping for breath. “Thanks for the help but I think I’m good now.” His head tilted to the side, a low grumble bubbling from his chest as he inched his teeth closer to your jugular to sniff along the bottom of your chin. He didn’t budge.

More voices began to approach the fight, but from the other side, not the one you were currently trapped on. One of them was Jimin’s, and you prayed he would move just a little faster.

With instincts overworked and definitely underpaid, your fingers stretched in search of where your shotgun had been tossed off to. Namjoon must’ve sensed the movement, his paw coming out to step on the bony part of your wrist to cut your search off.

Dread drilled deep in your abdomen, and as you looked up into the creatures eyes, you knew. This had been the plan. While everyone was distracted, Hoseok had sent Namjoon to finish you off under the guise of saving you.

You were about to die.

“Looks like I made it just in….time.” Yoongi pulled himself out of the brush with a wicked grin that faltered the second he saw your predicament. Torn between looking at Hoseok wrangling the slowing beast in the clearing and you, he licked his lips nervously.

There was a second where your eyes met — just like in the store when he had pushed you through checkout at the speed of light — where he didn’t look like a sleaze or a flirt. He didn’t look like anything other than a frightened man. His breathing picked up, and he wrung his hands together like he was fixing his gloves.

“Yoongi,” You gasped, not caring how much he’d probably never let you live this down. “Please.”

Namjoon snarled at him, and Yoongi instinctively flinched back.

Shaking his head and fixing his hat, he gulped, eyes glassy as he choked out a hoarse whisper down to you. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t.”

In a blink he was scrambling away from the two of you, shoulders up to his ears to keep himself from looking back. The human in him disappeared with the cling of black fog over his skin, leaving the scene a shadowy ghost with no evidence he had ever been there.

Leaving you alone.

The combat must be slowing; the shouts of the Wardens directing the rope handlers to still and the Bolter's roars dwindling to nothing but low moans signaled so. Which meant Namjoon was running out of time, and so were you.

There was no reason to save face. No pride to soothe. If you didn’t act now, there wouldn’t be anything left to save.

It’s funny how when faced so close with death how little you recognize yourself.

“Jimin!” The scream from your own mouth caught you off guard, your free hand coming up to shove at the Namjoon’s hulking head, smashing into his cheeks and soft fur. Your aim was lazy, your knuckles scraping across his canines and barely missing getting skinned entirely. “Jimin! Help me! Please!”

You used anything you could — knees, elbows, and feet, sinking them into his underbelly and ribs. With each hit he grew more agitated, but it gave you enough wiggle room to free your upper half.

A bullet ricocheted off the boulder behind you and lodged itself in the trunk of a pine, and Namjoon lurched to the side to dodge it with a hiss. But Jimin wasn’t there, no one was. Just the distant horde of black shadows crowding around the disintegrating corpse of the Bolter, and picking off the few loose Damsels that came to see what all the commotion was about.

The only shadow out of place was one standing slightly off to the side, fiddling with the chamber of his revolver and pretending not to look your way.

Yoongi.

With Namjoon distracted, you were able to locate the red shine of the shot gun a few feet away and lunged for it, but another set of hands already beat you to it.

Jimin had it loaded and his finger on the trigger before you could blink, pointing it directly at Namjoon’s broad ribcage as he crept into the brush.

“Back off.”

Namjoon bared his teeth, his tail whipping back and forth in agitation.

Unsatisfied with Namjoon’s refusal to move, Jimin fired at the stump just over his head with zero hesitation, preparing his next one promptly after. “I mean it.”

With fur spiked and muscles taut, Namjoon crept closer to Jimin, snapping his jaws and letting out a spew of threatening growls. They stared each other down while Jimin’s finger twitched against the trigger. He must’ve lost his gloves in the commotion or taken them off for better accuracy, because his skin was starting to take on a layer of your drying blood.

It was then that Namjoon’s large eyes scanned the expanse of the stained wood and polished metal, all the way up to where Jimin’s bare hand now rested in the mess of blood and sweat you’d left behind. That had him faltering, backtracking on his paws towards the clearing with a human-like shake of his head. With one last heavy glance, he bounded off past Hoseok to sink his teeth in the throat of a rogue Damsel.

Embarrassment rammed into you like a truck for how pathetic you had probably sounded just seconds prior, and upon catching your breath, you rushed to defend your honor while struggling to your feet.

“T-thanks for having my back. Got a little hairy there for a second.” A weak laugh tumbled from your lips, and you limped closer to take the gun from him again. “I can take that back, just incase he tries some other bullshit.”

With a grunt, Jimin moved to lock the safety and turned to drop it in your hands.

You waited for the weight to hit your palms. But you kept waiting.

And waiting.

Jimin stood like a statue, head bent to look down at his red stained hands, unblinking. Stuck.

Snapping your fingers a couple times you nervously asked, “Hey, you good?”

Jimin’s attention zeroed in on your face. Then your diced up hands. Then back at your face. For a flickering second, you could’ve sworn you saw them light up blue.

“M’fine.” Waking up from whatever that was, he helped guide the strap over your shoulder. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

By the time Jimin was walking you past what was left of the Bolter, it’s entire lower body had melted back into the rocks with nothing but its ugly mug left above ground. And even that was starting to sink. Jungkook noticed the two of you headed back down the hill and called out with a wave of his hand.

“Hey newbie, how’d your first fight go?”

Regarding him over your shoulder, you pursed your lips while trying to find the right words to articulate just how your fight had gone. Casting a cursory glance over to Yoongi who was pretending to be busy holding down the ropes that kept the Bolter from making a run for it, you paused.

You couldn’t prove that he had fired that shot to distract Namjoon, but you sure as hell believed it.

Speaking of that son of a bitch, you moved to glare at where Hoseok and Namjoon seemed to be enthralled in an urgent exchange. Probably about how he failed his mission to rip your throat out. How delicious to see him rushing to explain himself to his superiors. It almost made you forget that your body was in a state of shock. But hey, who needed to feel their legs when you’d succeed yet again in having Hoseok and Namjoon running with their tails between their legs.

Ignoring your trembling adrenaline high, and the absolute mind fuck of having faced a real monster, you tossed Jungkook a cheeky grin and an answer. “Totally bitchin’.”

And fuck did that really piss Hoseok off. Steam was spilling out his ears as he turned to address you and Jimin.

“Where the fuck do you two think you’re runnin’ off to?”

“Home.” Jimin responded curtly.

Hoseok’s cynical laughter boomed over the empty clearing. “Are you now? Don’t remember givin' you permission to skidaddle.”

That almost broke Jimin, his eyes rolling back in his skull while he did his best to suck in a deep breath. “Don’t care. She’s done for the night.”

“Well aren’t you some pumpkins,” Hoseok continued to laugh as he skipped down the mountain range to cut you off. He gave Jimin a condescending up-and-down with a whistle. “Well, would you look at that — Tanker’s outgrown his training wheels!”

“Don’t. M’not in the mood for games, Hoseok.” Jimin instinctively moved to put distance between you and Hoseok once more. This the cowboy obviously took note of.

“Oh, but a game sounds good right about now. Could use a laugh while we take a walk back to your place.” Hoseok feigned thought, tapping a finger to his chin tauntingly slow. “How ‘bout some roleplay — I’ll set the scene: September, 2003. Late night on a dead road-” He stopped himself off with a groan. “-shit, we done that one before, you and me? Maybe I should give it a go with our newbie here on the way back. See how she likes it."

Jungkook could be heard snickering from behind you, and Hoseok joined in.

He only got a few good laughs in before Jimin’s fist hit his jaw.

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“Rather not.” Hoseok’s words were muffled by his hands which he propped his forehead on. Looks like Big Shot had a headache or something.

You shrugged. Deserved.

Yoongi didn’t seem disappointed in that answer, his pace never slowing a beat as he sauntered through the door frame back where you had come from.

Choking on your last bite, your brows disappeared into your hairline with unabashed shock. Within the half-second it took Yoongi to make it from one side of the threshold to the other, his hair shriveled back into that spiked crop, his clothes pulled into a more recognizable gray MCR tee and dark jeans, and his pointed shoes blunted into dusty Converse.

His journey left a trail of electronic casualties in its wake. From across the table the radio speakers crackled with interference, and the single light bulb stuck to the overhead beam flickered. The sconces in the hallway even dimmed as he passed, shying away from his reach.

Jungkook jerked his chin to the retreating figure. “He always likes to show off. Don’t give him the satisfaction of looking impressed.”

“I w-wasn’t.” You replied smoothly, hiding the remnants of your surprise behind a sip of the cooled mug of coffee Jimin had provided you with. It was insanely bitter, borderline burnt, reminding you more of sun-scorched soil than coffee. You hoped your face didn’t give away how awful it was.

Maybe there was a reason he had a preference for gas station coffee…

“Take her out on the field today.” Hoseok was looking down his nose at Jimin, not bothering to address him by name. It wasn’t a question, nor was it a request — but it wasn’t an order either. It sat somewhere in between, like he was leaving room for them to challenge him, just so he could put them back into place. A test perhaps. Like the power play would be fun for him.

Jimin made a noise of assent in the back of his throat, tapping his fingers around the rim of his mug. Guess he didn’t feel like fighting today.

Hoseok then jutted his chin towards the younger, completely oblivious man across the table. “You too.”

“Me?!” Jungkook made a surprised gargling sound, shooting up in his seat. “Thought I had the day off?”

“You do. From hunting.” Hoseok grunted. “Today you’re on babysitting duty. And dishes.” Throwing down his unfinished meal, he scooped up his plate and tossed it in the sink with a clang. He didn’t need to use the neat doorframe trick to change — just one second he was in simple blue cotton and suspenders, and the next he was in light colored jeans, a modern yellow button-up. The package tied off with his signature blindingly light hat and little ascot combo. Your little nickname must’ve gotten to him, though, because it wasn’t orange anymore.

Goodbye Orange Creamsicle; hello Pina Colada.

Hoseok paced lazily behind you and Jimin on his way to the hall, lingering near to place a hand on the latter’s shoulders and squeeze. Goosebumps wound up your arms, and your chest tightened with the oppressive chill his proximity brought with it.

“You got three days. I ain’t waiting longer than that.” He took his hand off with more force than necessary, shoving Jimin’s shoulder just to prove his point. The smile he tossed you was anything but kind. “Have fun breakin’ those boots in, hm?”

He left with less flair than Yoongi, but he took with him the heavy chill and suffocating atmosphere that hogged at least half the oxygen in every room he made himself comfortable in.

Taking one for the team, you broke the silence the moment you heard the front door click shut. “Is he always that way?”

“As long as I’ve known him.” Jungkook shrugged, scowling at the massive array of dishes he had been left to clean on short notice.

“And how long has that been?”

Casting his eyes skyward and pursing his lips, he paused his task of stacking plates. “Fifty...sixty...Seve-Seventy-two? Seventy-three years? Give or take.”

You tracked him with your eyes all the way to the sink, watching the way his youthful complexion shone in the sunlight from the window, and the skin was taut and smooth over muscles. He didn’t look a day over twenty-five. But apparently you were terrible at guessing ages these days.

But Jungkook seemed nice enough to not bite your face off if you asked. He may be an annoying shit, but he wasn’t outright nasty like Hoseok or that Namjoon guy. Actually, the more you thought about it, the more you realized he kind of reminded you of your brother.

You didn’t dwell on how that made you feel.

“How old are you?”

“Ninety-three.” Jungkook’s chest puffed out a bit with pride.

But you saw right through that. Like you said — too much like your brother. Squinting, you asked again. “Sure. But how old are you? Physically?”

Shoulders slumped and gaze averted, he became really focused on making sure all the coffee grounds were wiped from the edge of Yoongi’s mug. Too focused to apparently comment on your inquiry.

Jimin coughed in his fist to your left. “Twenty.”

You gave him a ‘really?’ look, mouthing out to him so Jungkook wouldn’t hear. ‘He’s twenty?’

He answered with a small smile he hid behind another sip of his coffee.

“Shut it, barf bag. No one likes a snitch.” Jungkook muttered bitterly from the sink, cheeks flushed red.

You shared a laugh with Jimin, stifling it with the side of your hand. Even though Jimin tried to keep his quiet, it still sounded like music to your ears, a breathy soft sound that made your stomach seize.

Lord have mercy on your self-restraint.

This was the temptation they spoke of in the bible — sitting across from you in a simple gray tee and luring you down the path of unrighteousness with a pretty smile and mysterious charm. You needed to change the subject quick before you found yourself sprinting down that path with little care for redemption.

“So, what’s in three days?” They thought you wouldn’t catch Hoseok’s comment? Wrong. Catching truths hidden in quick-muttered sentences was your specialty.

Your question had the room stilling, a silent exchange of urgent conversation between Jungkook’s glance over his shoulder and Jimin’s relaxed stare. An agreement was made, it seemed, for Jungkook spun back to face the sink with a huff and Jimin busied himself with Yoongi’s forgotten newspaper.

“What’s on the docket today, Tanker?” Jungkook inquired as though you hadn’t said anything, eyeing a spot of soapy water that had splashed onto his sleeves in an effort to look casual.

Jimin’s smile slipped away with a sigh, stretching back in his seat so his t-shirt snuck up his navel. You barely had it in you to look away.

“Parole. Inventory.” He looked at you briefly from the corner of his eye, catching your stare. Heat rushed your cheeks and your neck snapped so suddenly towards the window you felt the tendons ache. Very demure. Very subtle. He bit his lip to keep in another heart-attack inducing laugh. “Mentoring.”

“Cowboy school~” Jungkook echoed playfully, oblivious to the exchange, slapping a wet plate with an old dish rag like a whip. He then added on a rather comically loud, “Yeehaw!”

Thankfully your first lesson didn’t involve riding a horse. Yet.

Jimin offered to show you the ropes after breakfast, but one look at the tall animal had memories of being thrown around on horseback from the night before resurfacing, and the large breakfast you had sloshed in warning. This ‘mark’ on your shoulder may have increased your appetite overnight, but your digestive system hadn’t gotten the same memo. It felt like someone was using your intestines as a cement cast for some wild art experiment.

It didn’t help that your earlier question had still gone unanswered, the two of them avoiding it like the plague. They were trying to be nonchalant, but all it did was increase your suspicions tenfold.

That’s fine. You’d find a way to squeeze it out of them sooner or later. You were no stranger to the long game.

Right now you could play the role of apprentice if it meant getting more answers from them about how to get your brother back from that guy. Or spirit. Or whatever he was.

The windows were down to ease your rolling stomach as Jimin coasted down the mountainside at a relaxed pace, letting the breeze ease your nausea while you were on the lookout. You had no idea what you were looking for, but he certainly did, eyes peeled and constantly scanning the white lines along the edge of the road or sifting through brush.

Jungkook was sprawled across the back seat, cheek smushed to the window while he mourned the loss of his ‘day off’,

“So what is it we are even looking for?” You sighed, situating your chin on your forearm so the wind wasn’t blowing in your mouth.

Jimin drummed his thumb on the wheel in time with the song on the radio. “You’ll know.”

You snorted. “Yeah, right….” Trailing off, you let your eyes get lost in the blur of the thin roads, tracking the mile markers that inched you closer to town. He must’ve thought quite highly of your skills, which flattered you, but he severely underestimated your ability to rationalize even the wildest of experiences. You wouldn’t know a spirit if they grabbed you by the hand and possessed you to do some sort of local polka — you’d just brush it off and start rambling about the power of hysteria.

Deep in your thoughts of whether or not a ghost really could possess someone to dance, you hadn’t noticed the familiar switch in scenery. And before you knew it, the truck was bouncing into Earl’s gas station lot and coming to a smooth stop.

“Be back in a minute. Keep an eye on Kook. He’s not allowed back in yet.” Wagging a warning finger at Jungkook, he added, “No funny business. I’ll have my gloves around your neck before you can even jump the seat.”

With that, Jimin hopped out the truck and shut the door before you could follow, pushing open the glass door with a friendly wave to the man behind the counter.

You gave Jungkook a dubious look. “Not allowed in, huh? What’d you do to my man Earl?”

Jungkook beamed with mischief, and wiggled his fingers. “Let’s just say I’m a big fan of the five finger discount.”

“Of course you are…” Turning your attention back to the shop front, you furrowed your brows, confused. Through the glass, you tracked his figure make its way to the self-service corner, mixing up something for himself in a styrofoam cup while he conversed with Earl. Jimin had already had a cup of coffee less than two hours ago, and against all things natural and holy, he had managed to finish it even if it was the worst thing you had tasted. Now he was tossing dollars over the counter for another, albeit better, cup of coffee.

If you were to have another with your current digestive disaster, there would be a terrible catastrophe at hand for both your pride and Jimin’s leather seats.

“How can you guys drink so much coffee without shitting your brains out?”

“Like I said, you get used to it.” Jungkook piped up from the back instantly. “He always comes here anyhow, even if he doesn’t drink it. Think it makes him feel better or something.”

“About what?”

There was a beat of silence. “Well...you know...it’s complicated. Nothing you should worry about.”

Scrunching your face at the blatant move to evade yet another question, you twisted back to look at him. “Not buying that one bit. Spill.”

His dark eyes widened exponentially, darting to the front glass and back while narrowing to slits. “I’ve got nothin’ to spill.”

Expression falling flat, you glared. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Am not!” Red splotches bloomed on his cheeks and neck.

Shaking your head to yourself with a huff, you cursed under your breath. “How it took me three days to figure you all out is beyond me.”

“You only figured it out ‘cause you’re a nosy church bell that doesn’t know what’s good for her.”

“ ‘Church bell’? What is this, a spaghetti western? Come up with a better insult if your goal is to offend someone in this century.”

A deep crease formed between Jungkook’s brows to match the hard set of his jaw. “You want a better insult I got plenty-”

Before he could plow through his vocabulary, Jimin was already approaching the driver’s side, coffee in hand and polite smile shining towards a passerby. His seatbelt was barely buckled when your mouth opened.

“This job better get interesting before I pull his hair out and let the birds use it as nesting material.”

Jimin paused, caught off guard by the immediate heat in your tone, then slowly turned to address Jungkook. “What’d you do?”

“Didn’t do jack.” The younger one huffed, turning his scowl out towards the window.

Sighing sharply, Jimin dropped his cup into the holder and started the engine. He was good at keeping the peace, it seemed.

...Except his peace lasted about five seconds before the backseat commentator ruined it.

“Really though, she’s got a point. Why aren’t we doing anything interesting? Surely there’s gotta be somethin’ slimy crawling around your neck of the woods we can shoot.” Jungkook whined, throwing an arm over the back of Jimin’s seat.

Dodging his prodding eyes, Jimin kept his gaze straight ahead. “I do evening shifts now. You know that.”

“Right. The moonlight mile.” Jungkook taunted. “Borinngggg. Why don’t we do it my way since I’m stuck here?”

“We’ve got company.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “So?”

It was your turn to butt in. “Don’t hold yourselves back just ‘cause I’m here. I have to get used it one way or another.”

“See?” Jungkook clapped a hand on your shoulder, his strength breathtakingly unexpected. One miscalculated pat on the back could knock your back teeth loose if you weren’t paying attention. There would for sure be a new tender spot where his hand landed to add to your collection from last night. “Newbie’s got the right idea.”

The muscles in Jimin’s jaw twitched, his grip tightening on the wheel. “Out of the question.”

“Damn shame. Wouldn’t it be better if it happened on accident anyhow?”

Jimin’s eyes flashed, narrowed into golden slits in the rear view mirror. “Watch it.”

“What does that mean-” Jimin silenced your hundredth (but not your last) question with a flash of glowing violet eyes, his pupils gone. A chill ran down your spine, your tongue stuck like a wriggling fish clenched in its captor's fist.

Jungkook didn’t feel like backing down, though. A habit of his you were becoming well aware of. “Don’t be such a wet rag, I’m sure a little field trip wouldn’t hurt. Joon’s still out there for a few more hours anyway, so we won’t be alone if push comes to shove. What, you think three against one wouldn’t be a fair fight?”

Blue faded back to golden browns as Jimin weighed his options, staring over the hood and into the winding roads like they owed him money. Jungkook noticed his cracking resolve and dove in for the kill.

“Why not let the lady decide? She’s tough enough to make her own decisions.”

Jimin looked to you again, normal this time, if only a bit pleading. “It’s a risk, you bein’ out there.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” You stuck your chin up. In reality you had no idea what you could handle, but he didn’t have to know that. Jungkook had pissed you off, and if he was going to be an eternal coworker, you would not let him get away with thinking you were a coward.

Jungkook cheered in the back seat as Jimin reluctantly turned the vehicle off the main road to wind back into the trees. Hands from the backseat shook your shoulders vigorously, pressing sharply into the tender scar beneath them.

“Let’s see if you’re all show and no go, huh Newbie?”

You were not all show and no go.

This you kept repeating to yourself with each laborious step up the muddy mountain. Joints creaked and muscles ached, your body still battered from the previous day's work. But neither of them let up their pace in the slightest, coasting up the rocky hills and navigating shallow roots like second nature.

You kind of liked that. Liked that they weren’t slowing down or giving you baby treatment. They just expected you to figure out how to keep up and didn't hold your hand through the hard parts.

Sometimes they were a little too into the 'learn as you go' mindset, as proven by the nearly four times you almost twisted an ankle before Jimin showed you how to correctly identify which tree roots could actually be used as stairs, and which ones just like to pretend they could.

Their pattern of movement was easy enough to follow as the morning ticked on.

Every dozen or so feet the two of them would pause, heads tilted in any which direction while they just listened. Sensed. Then they’d shift directions to close in on whatever it was you were following, slinking deeper into the trees and higher in elevation.

Just when your eyes were starting to cross from boredom, a slope emerged from the brush, and your group came to a halt at its crest.

A long, tapering stripe of tan rock jutting from the center like a tongue from an open mouth and pooling at the bottom. Its teeth slate boulders; its eyes lopsided craters where tree roots used to live. From its base onward was stone and clay, the border of soft green to warm rough hues slithering out from both sides like a snake.

This was probably one of the Cracks Jimin had talked about.

“Now this is what I’m talkin’ about.” Jungkook nodded in approval, appraising the clash of colors with delight.

Curious as to what made this spot so special, you looked over the ridges and traced the blades of grass, not finding anything out of the ordinary except for the abrupt biome shift.

Jungkook hopped down from the rock he was using to scope out the area, breaching your personal space to throw an arm over your shoulders and point at the border. “See that?”

You blinked a few times, unimpressed. “Can’t say I do.”

With a twitch of his brow he angled your head downwards, lining it up with the point of his finger to a particularly patchy area of grass. “How ‘bout now?”

Hesitating just long enough to let him get excited, you crushed that hope with a satisfyingly plain, “Nope.”

Jimin came up on your other side, close enough to feel his chest brush your shoulder with each inhale, peering down to where the younger one was gesturing. “Look for the movement. It’ll look like she’s breathing.”

Giving it an earnest go for the sake of it (and totally not just to distract yourself from how close he was), you tried for a third time to see what was so mystifying about this spot. At first you didn’t see much of anything. Just a sway of grass or a shimmer of heat bouncing off the rock. Then you looked closer.

She was breathing. Deadwood, that is.

Labored, deep, and feverish. The earth acted as her diaphragm, expanding and deflating ever so slightly with each passing second. That first glance was a domino effect — a trail of breadcrumbs guiding your eyes along the Crack to other spots that undulated and heaved with pained sighs.

“Something’s trying to hop the fence,” Jungkook explained. “I’d bet a dime if you’d step closer, they’d burst sun side before you could say 'help!'.”

Jimin tensed, subtly moving to stand between you and Jungkook. “We leave it be if they aren’t breaching. Mark it as a hot spot for later and keep moving.”

“Don’t got any markers,” Jungkook shot back with a shit-eating grin.

Shoving a hand in one of his pockets, Jimin shucked out a small leather pouch and sent it sailing for Jungkook to catch. “Now you do.”

Grumbling to himself, Jungkook yanked open the pouch and scrunched his nose in distaste, pinching a thick wad of dried plant matter and ground stones and rubbing it between his fingers. He then used the toe of his boot to make a shallow hole in the ground to drop it in, before stepping through the brush for a new spot to repeat the ministration.

“Keep your distance. I’ll be right back.” Jimin slid down the ravine so he could mimic Jungkook’s actions on the rocky side, leaving you to stand idly at the top, just watching them duck down and dig in a rough rectangular shape. Almost like they were making a border of sorts.

“What’s that for?” You called down to Jimin.

With his knuckles, he dug a two inch hole and dropped some of the mixture in. “Strong scent of it helps us find it later. But it also traps ‘em in its perimeter.”

“Yeah, so when we come back later they have nowhere to run.” Jungkook mimicked pulling out a gun and firing at Jimin, who remained unphased by his antics. “I hope it’s a Squatch or a Bolter. That’d be a bitchin’ way to kick off your first rodeo.”

“A squatch?” Now it was really hard not to laugh. “What — like a Sasquatch?”

“The ones that like the snow aren’t too much work, but the ones that like the woods can get mean. ‘Specially if they got wings. Think they own the place just ‘cause they can piss all over it.” Jungkook looked like he was revisiting a run-in with a childhood enemy while he turned back to his job at hand, kicking up another pile of dirt to shove some leaves into. “You don’t have to take my word for it, you’ll see one soon enough.”

Your mouth was caught somewhere between an open-mouthed grin and a grimace, your brain working to dust off the ten thousand lectures your brother had given you over the years. Somewhere deep in those dark crevices you had put it all to forget about, you pulled what little you knew about a Sasquatch — or as you knew him best — Bigfoot. Nowhere in that head of yours could you place him in New Mexico.

Pointing out the flaw in their logic made you feel good, if only for a second. “I thought Bigfoot was from the Northwest somewhere?”

It was Jimin who finally offered some his input this time. “Technically, that's what they prefer. But most of 'em are born here before migrating North.”

Crossing your arms above your chest, you pushed further. “Migration, huh? If there’s enough to have ecological patterns of behavior, shouldn’t there be actual proof they exist? Doesn't make sense that there isn't scientific evidence or reputable photos.”

Jimin paused to glance up at you from beneath his hat, almost like he thought the answer was obvious. Looking you in the face, even. When it fully didn’t click, he humored you with a short laugh.

“If more people start seein’ Bigfoot, it means we aren’t doing our job. Only the ones that escape make it anywhere.”

Oh.

When he was telling you all about the things that come from Deadwood and it being the doorway between realms, he meant it was the doorway. The birthplace for all things cryptids. They weren’t just protecting Deadwood and the neighboring cities; they were protecting everyone.

No wonder your brother was so drawn to this place. All his life’s passions, interests, and dreams wrapped up in a neat bow. How poetic that his mission to uncover the truths might be what kills him in the end.

All the humor in your expression soured at the thought of your brother kicking the bucket first, and the conversation died there, flushed away by your mental spiral of how bananas this all sounded. Though the proof was in the pudding — if the pudding ingredient list called for large scars and a life-altering run-in with Scalers in the woods, that is.

It was hard to deny that everything they said held weight once reality didn’t feel so real anymore. Denial was ingrained into your system, your heels digging into the forest floor with excuse after excuse. It had you glaring holes into the sides of their faces while trying to figure out a subtle way to ask them to shapeshift right in front of you or let something burst from the cracks just so you wouldn’t have to fight the truth.

But they gave you nothing, the two of them lost in the finishing touches of marking the area.

That was boring to say the least.

You were hot, sweaty, and achy, and the last thing you wanted to be doing was standing in the middle of the woods just watching men work and thinking up the logistical migration patterns of North America's cryptids. Scoping out the surrounding area, you bounced on the balls of your feet to keep the muscles of your legs from screaming at you for being too still, debating to yourself whether the relief of sitting on the rock Jungkook had used as a personal perch would be worth the hassle of climbing it.

It was then that something small and white darted out from behind it, slotting its small body between the dry green brush and the trunk of a tree.

Curiosity got the better of you, pulling you closer to inspect what you suspected to be a small rabbit or a fluffy squirrel. Through the spindly branches, you could catch glimpses of its beady black eyes, quivering and small like the thought of your approach frightened it.

Its colors were stunning from what little you could see. Sparkling snow fur and onyx gems for eyes, holding a level of intelligence you wouldn’t typically see from an animal of its size. Hypnotized by the human-like emotion it was able to convey, you found yourself stepping even closer, bending at the waist to push aside the grasses blocking it from your view.

The animal didn’t run. It stood its ground, sizing you up with an owlish tilt of its unusually long neck and a pitiful whine. With a better look at the creature, it did seem to resemble more of an owl, but those were nocturnal last you had checked.

At this point, you didn’t care what it was, just that it was hurt, a trail of red streaking down its knobby chicken feet. A part of you yearned to catch it. To pick it up and cradle it close. You weren’t a motherly person by any means, but this woeful little creature was really tugging at your heartstrings.

Glancing over your shoulder to the down-turned slope, you beckoned for Jimin’s approaching shadow. “Hey, I think this thing needs-”

A shot rang out, and the creature collapsed in a heap. The strange moment between shattered with one last shriek from its slender throat.

“Aww man! I wanted to do it…” Jungkook complained, glaring at Jimin, who was shaking off his small handgun to let the muzzle cool.

Jimin hovered close, ignoring the younger’s disappointment and staring down at the stain that was beginning to spread out from its slowly melting body. “Congratulations, you’ve just spotted your first Damsel.”

Now with the creature gone, you could think straight. Trying to regain your bearings, you pressed for more. “A Damsel?”

With a grunt, Jimin scooped the carcass up by the leg and held it up to your eye level, keeping it at arm's length so it wouldn’t drip onto his clothes. “Owl head. Chicken feet. Rabbit body.” Using his index finger, he pointed to each as he named it. “Does the dirty work of luring people into the woods for somethin’ bigger and uglier to eat.”

“Like what?” You ventured to ask. A residual fog clouded your mind, like your system was still trying to rid itself of the spirit’s influence. Even your hands were freezing despite the heat of the summer air, fingertips now completely numb. You didn’t like how easily your body had been affected by the encounter. Unease flooded through your veins, the kind that had your stubbornness starting to dissolve more than it had. You hoped they wouldn’t notice how off-kilter you were as you rubbed your hands together to conjure up some warmth.

Jimin clearly did, but to save your pride, he didn’t comment. Instead, he just let his cat-like stare zero in on the sound of the friction between your palms with a slight raise of his brow. “Goatmen. Teratorns. Howlers. Visitors. Any of the other big monsters that find themselves here before moving elsewhere. Big guy eats the body; damsels eat the waste.”

Huh. Symbiotic relationships amongst demons. So there was some logic to be discovered here. (At this point, you were clinging onto anything even remotely explainable). You screamed at yourself to say something else — anything to pretend that what had just happened, didn't mean anything.

It was just some fucked up looking bunny. Owl.

...Thing.

You glared at it with unadulterated hatred for making you so confused. “Do any of them work for the guy who has my brother?”

Jimin grimaced with a shrug. “We’re trying to figure that out.”

The weight of the body was too much for the single leg to bear, its tendons beginning to unwind like spiderwebs dotted with drops of bloody dew. Before it could fall to the ground and burst like a demonic water balloon, he tossed it into the woods to melt back into the soil where it belonged — and the earth drank every last drop as though she were starved for it.

Your journey through the woods was cut short after that. Jimin didn’t seem eager to let you stand out in the open too long, and you didn’t want to admit how shaken such a small interaction had left you. Win-win situation, if you were asked.

The decision ended up working out in your favor in more ways than one, because the second there wasn’t cement sloshing around your middle, you were ravenous again. Jungkook better be right about getting used to it.

Jimin picked out your next meal: a small truck stop diner right off the main highway just by the county border, where you ate two almost two full-sized burgers, decked out with all the toppings you could handle.

The waitress only really ever looked at you, never directly at either of your companions. Which was something you were beginning to notice about the inhabitants of this town — they kept their heads down and their mouths shut. The waitress only dared to utter a quiet ‘thank you’ to Jimin when he returned the check with a fat tip.

Even the clerk at the small department store kept their eyes glued to the checkout counter while scanning your new clothes, almost too shaken up to look at you when you tried to ask how their day was. Looking back at when you’d confronted them back at the roadhouse, it had been strange that not a single staff member had stepped in to stop your confrontation, or that the tables were mostly empty. This was simply another odd fact of this town you filed away to use while you tried to piece together the mystery that was Deadwood when you couldn't sleep.

And thankfully the boys gave you time to do just that.

By late afternoon you were back at Jimin’s place, sitting on the porch while him and Jungkook did ‘inventory’ — which was just a fancy way of saying they were making sure their guns were clean and their ammunition plentiful. Whenever one was empty, they would let you hold it. Get a feel for its weight and grip. Ask how you liked it. Pass you a box of specialty bullets made of salt, silver, and compressed herbs so you could learn how to slot them in, but never without the safety on.

After a half hour of their silence, you blew in with a slurry of more questions about the strange behavior you had noted earlier that day.

“Do they know?” You blurted out. Jimin glanced up at your question with a raised brow, so you rushed to clarify. “The people in town, I mean. The locals. Do they know you’re real?”

“Maybe.”

You frowned at his vague answer. “Maybe?”

Jungkook looked between you and Jimin, then back down at the shotgun he was working on, freeing Jimin from having to come up with an answer. “If they do, they do a good thing keepin’ it to themselves.”

“What, no one’s ever called you out before? I find that hard to believe.” A snort broke out of your mouth. “You guys aren’t exactly subtle.”

Jimin remained stoic, going through the motions of his chore like a well oiled machine. But you knew him just enough to know that meant he was thinking. Or avoiding speaking. Basically the same thing when it came to him, though.

Jungkook didn’t seem so hesitant to answer to his companions dismay. “I didn’t say that. Just said it’s better they don’t.”

“Kook.” Jimin said his name in a low warning.

“What? Just being honest.”

“About what?” You demanded. “This is the second time you’ve been cryptic, and it’s giving me the creeps.”

Jungkook placed his gun to the side haughtily. “That’s because Tanker here is the sensitive type and wants your transition to be ‘comfortable’. Thinks you’re too delicate for the real answers.”

You blanched. “Delicate!”

“I did not say she was delicate. Don’t put fuckin’ words in my mouth.” Jimin then tossed you a nervous side eye, his tone softer. “I didn’t say you were delicate.”

“You didn’t need to say it. It was heavily implied.” Jungkook sneered. The next thing you knew, Jungkook was packing up his stuff back in its rightful place and slinging the shoulder straps over his arm. “Whatever. I’m done hanging in Dullsville with you two.” He paused to jab Jimin’s shoulder with his index finger. “Get your head on straight before Hoseok gets back, ‘cause I’m not sticking my neck out tonight to keep a damned soul from hell. If you aren’t gonna do it, one of us will. There's old rules that I’m not gonna be the one to break.”

With that, he stormed off down the dirt path towards Hoseok’s house, back to his own, which was a much farther walk north. There was no way he was going to dampen his pride by asking Jimin to drive him back up the mountain when he looked that peeved.

There was a beat of silence as you watched him grow into nothing but a wobbling, doll-sized figure on the horizon. Steam was starting to billow out of your ears, but yelling wouldn’t do you any good; you were old enough to know that this wasn’t the time and place for that. It was time to use those dreaded conflict resolution skills you always stuffed on your resume to make it look pretty. Angling yourself towards Jimin, you bit your cheek to stay calm.

“What exactly are you not telling me? I'm tired of asking questions.”

A loud sigh seeped from his nose, and reluctantly chucked his freshly cleaned weapon to the side. His fingers tied themselves in knots, twiddling around one another while he leaned his elbows into his knees to ground himself. Running his tongue over his bottom lip, he finally spoke.

“The reason the folks in town keep their mouths shut is because if they say the wrong thing, we’d have to kill them. That’s part of the rules.”

Your eyes widened, and your breath caught in your throat. That was not what you were expecting.

“If too many people start talking, it’s a risk to our job and we have to...deal with it accordingly. However, we each get one living person we can tell. Once they die, we can tell another.” Jimin continued on, turning to squint at you through the blinding sun. “I was going to use mine on you, but it turned out not to matter anyhow.”

Opening and closing your mouth a few times, you tried to find the right words. “Have you ever…”

“No,” Jimin cut you off swiftly. “Haven’t needed to. The people around here do a pretty good job of mindin’ their own business and keeping the wrong kind of tourists busy. We know that some of them know, but as long as they don’t make it a problem, we don’t have to do anything about it.”

“And what does this have to do with me being delicate? I went into this whole thing thinking you were murderers, this isn’t exactly news you have to save me from.” Shaking your head in bewilderment, you met his lingering gaze.

“Because,” He swallowed thickly. “I can’t use my one rule break on you like I planned. You have a mark, which means right now you aren’t considered a normal living person. You are on the brink of being in between.”

Blinking a few times, you egged him on. “And that makes me delicate because?” You were really stuck on that word. You would have rather been called ugly and worthless than delicate.

“I never said you were delicate!” Jimin groaned, running a hand down his face in exasperation. “Just said I didn’t want them snapping your neck in the middle of the desert without warning!”

His outburst caught you off guard, and you found yourself inching away from him. “W-what?”

“Look, Hoseok has been here for a long time. His way of going about new recruits is old-fashioned. Cruel. In his eyes, asking for time and patience is the same as asking for princess treatment.” He looked warily at the growing space between you two, and lowered his voice again. “He doesn’t see the point in beatin’ around the bush and waiting for you to fuck off back where you came from to live out the rest of your life doing hell knows what. The second he gets the chance, he will kill you. And your brother. The only thing standing between a bullet through your brain or a run-in with the wrong mountain lion is me. Because I’m the one that technically found you, and it’s my ‘turn’ to do the job. But I’m not interested in doing it.”

Your head began to spin.

So you had been right. Those men were out to kill you — just not for the reason you had thought. You didn’t know what was better: Jimin not talking, or him not shutting up. Both options left you reeling into uncharted territory.

“So those three days…”

“All he’s gonna give me before he does it himself. And if I know him as well as I do, he’s not what I’d call a man of his word. Wouldn’t be surprised if he lunged the second I wasn’t looking.”

This didn’t make any sense. Why would Jimin be so hell-bent on keeping you alive? Wouldn’t that cause more trouble for him in the long run? Did he expect you to just stay here with him until you were drinking prune juice and sleeping in diapers? You had been facing the risk of violence and death since the moment you started digging into the mystery here, but now you could taste it. Taste the iron of the blood still pumping through your veins and the salt of fresh sweat.

You didn’t want to die yet.

Sure, life wasn’t perfect. You weren’t rich by any means, nor did you have any special plans or magical dreams ahead of you. But it was yours. It was run by free will and a drive to see another day just to say you made it. And the idea of someone taking away your choice stung deep.

Nodding to Jimin, you narrowed your eyes. “What’s in it for you, keeping me alive?”

He shrugged, breaking the eye contact to stare unfocused at the barn across the way, tracing the wood grain to distract himself. Jimin took an index finger and mindlessly ran it up the side of his forearm from wrist to elbow. Trailing out from his touch was a thin, faded scar — one you wouldn’t have even noticed if he hadn’t drawn it out in front of you.

“Hoseok fucked me over pretty bad. And I’ll be damned if I just sit and watch him do it again.” More sprawled out across his knuckles and his fingertips, jagged criss-crossing shapes, and shiny lines. You had to tear your eyes away from them to not lose yourself in the what or the who could have etched them in. Retracting his touch from his skin as though he had realized what he was doing, he cleared his throat, then dared to look at you again. “Plan was to help you find your brother, and then get the two of you across county lines before those three days were up. Can’t promise nothing won’t follow you out, but your chances are a hell of a lot better out there than in here.”

Taking a deep breath and heaving out one weary sigh, you mentally threw in the towel, the last of your hesitation towards Jimin tossed away in the wake of his honesty. And really, what the hell other choice did you have other than to trust him? This plan was the most realistic and grounded option you’d gotten from anyone yet.

And at the end of the day, this was for your brother. You needed Jimin in order to find him.

You held a hand out with your lips pressed into a thin line, waiting for him to shake on it. “Sounds like a plan. Where do we start?”

His lips twitched upwards, his hand sliding over yours to return the gesture. His grip felt nice and strong, the rough run of his skin over your palm sending sparks shooting down your spine. It was physically painful not to let yourself be disappointed when he pulled away.

This is for my brother this is for my brother this is-

“We start by staying close to each other. Don’t go out alone, and from here on out don’t let one of them lure you away from me — not a single one of those bastards. Even the ones you think you can trust. They’ve all known Hoseok longer than I have, and while they may give him shit, at the end of the day if he tells them to jump, they’ll ask how high.” Jimin began to busy himself again with his gun, ripping open the flimsy tape someone had slapped onto a torn ammunition box with his teeth and pouring a few out into his hand. “Hoseok went out to follow the trail I picked up on your brother. Will probably’ve already come up with some sort of plan to find him by the time he gets back for the evening shift. If that demon has your brother, Hoseok’ll find out.”

Actually, take back what you said about not being sure which Jimin you liked more: you really liked the talkative one. Especially when he handed you a loaded shotgun and gestured out towards the field behind the barn.

“C’mon. Let’s make sure that if one of those sons of bitches tries to jump you when I’m not looking, you’ll be able to knock their teeth out.”

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Tbh I just haven’t been feeling it right now. And I’m not going to force myself to spend 40-50 hours writing a chapter that will maybe get 20 notes when I’m just not feeling it. Because then what would I even be getting out of it?

 Don’t get me wrong, I don’t write for engagement. But when I’ve been getting more people messaging me for an update than I’ve been getting actual meaningful interaction on it, it just makes me feel…like I’m not human sometimes? Makes me feel like people think I’m just a robot writing on demand for scraps of interaction. 

I’ve actually been feeling a pretty strong urge to write some lately, but nothing kills that urge faster than just a cold and impersonal “update??????” in the ask box or my dm.  And what’s funny is sometimes the people asking me haven’t even hit like on any of the chapters….which is just…idk. The word ‘disrespectful’ sounds harsh but sometimes it feels that way. And I know that isn’t ever anyone’s intention at all.

I simply have to honor what my brain likes doing in that moment, because joy is the only constant I can rely on.

I wrote about a million words last year alone. That’s the entire hunger games trilogy plus the prequels two times over. And I did all of that for free, with my own two hands, while navigating surgeries, medical issues, family crises, and just being an adult. That’s a lot. 

And if I'm being so real, it's incredibly unsustainable.

If I could go back in time, I’d spread my chapters out so much farther than I was. I set a standard that is just actually impossible to keep up with, and that’s what people got used to (which again, is on me). When I was in the thick of writing Pech, I would spend 7 days a week, every week, for almost an entire year writing with minimal breaks on my end. On your end, yeah, there were some pauses. But on my end I was still working on it, writing, brainstorming, mapping etc. 

I’m gonna sound like a broken record for a second (bc damn can I just shut up about being bp for once), but Pech was born from hypomania. I was using it as a crutch to help me work through all of the feelings and pain, and to keep me from doing unsafe things when I felt like I’d explode. And it worked! But somewhere, the line between using it as a healthy coping skill blurred into unhealthy territory fast.  I would get so fixated on writing that I wouldn’t sleep. I wouldn’t eat. There would sometimes be twelve hours straight where the only time I got up was to go to the bathroom and do pt stuff, or weeks where I was only sleeping 2-3 hours a night if that just so I could keep writing ‘one more page’. 

And on one hand, it did keep me from doing worse things. But on the other, it was still obsessive, and just really set the precedent for chapter frequency at a rate I can’t keep up with on a normal day to day. I realized I needed to take a break when I started hoping I could trigger an episode just so I could write more to keep up with the demand I set.  And that’s not what I want my stories to depend on, because it just isn’t safe. 

No one was necessarily asking me to do that to be fair, so I'm not blaming people on here. But there definitely is this very strange relationship now between readers and writers where fic readers just consume and consume without stopping. And it feels like as a writer if you trip up or slow down you'll get tossed in the sink like a dirty dish once you've been licked clean of all your hard work.

So I’m taking a real break. One where I’m not forcing myself to listen to the behemoth pech playlist until my eyes water. One where I’m letting myself enjoy creating something fun and less high stakes story wise without telling myself I’m not allowed until I write X chapters of pech. And in doing that, I've felt another wave of motivation to come back it it resurfacing. Because I’m letting it breathe for a second. 

Could I theoretically stop and force myself to finish the next chapter? Yeah. I could. But it wouldn’t be good, and I wouldn’t be proud of it. 

So now that you've skimmed all that, here's the answer you've been waiting for:

It will come out when it comes out 🤷🏻‍♀️

If you really want my honest-to-gods best guess on when Pech could come out next, I’m going to say probably not before fall. My personal goal would be to honestly have the entire thing finished by spring of next year, but that heavily just depends on life and where my interests sway.  I might start focusing on certain stories during certain seasons, just to keep things rotating and to give me freedom to explore.

So moving forward updates will just be slower on average. There may be times where it speeds up, or I go through a burst of writing something, but I don’t want that to be the expectation.

Again, thank you to everyone for always being so kind and patient. I love you all very much and I can't wait to keep sharing my stories with you <3