Welcome to my main BTS navigation post! I hope you enjoy your stay~
About the author
My name is Delyn, and I'm a queer, autistic, and disabled creator navigating my twenties! When I'm not breaking my wrists writing and conjuring up stories, I'm usually getting my hands dirty in some kind of art, or I'm hanging out with the wife! This author is a professional yapper 24/7, so never be afraid to chat! Ask box is always open :) P.S: to avoid spoilers, I use a spoiler tag on asks for new readers to avoid if they want to. And If you ever want to look for asks where I've answered questions before, you can check the Chillin with Delyn tag!
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For fic recs and random thoughts you can follow my personal @chillinwithdelyn7
Pechsträhne - Book one
Total word count, ~501K
Status: completed (but currently editing).
Ot7 x reader, 18 +, paranormal themes, violence, eventual smut, childhood friends to lovers, horror, thriller,
Y/n WĂśrner left the WĂśrner Hotel and Estate nearly 5 years ago in an attempt to run away from a family argument that put a firm divide between her and her parents. She was managing fine, for the most part -save for the constant existential crisis of what she should do with herself and her life. That was until an invitation for the 150th anniversary of their family hotel ended up shoved in her mailbox on Thursday morning, and for no rational reason she found herself running back; unable to stop the pull to return home to her family and friends who live on the grounds.
Once she arrives, however, it becomes inarguably apparent that things are very wrong. The ghosts of her long past family who were once friendly, are now vengeful and violent. Her friends are divided by secrets, mystery, and fear- changed in tandem with the ghosts she used to love. She has to relearn how to balance who she knew her friends as children, and who they have become in the recent years as a result of the darkness that threatens to drown them in its wake. She knows that something is threatening her home and her friends, but she doesn't know what. And if there's one thing about Y/n WĂśrner, it's that she's not a quitter. No ghost or demon will stop her from getting the answers she needs- even if it means they have to try and kill her before she gets to them. Because what does she have to lose?
The answer is everything. She could lose everything. Because unfortunately for everyone involved, the spirits seem to take the previous statement as a personal challenge.
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 oneâback 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 seemâhe'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 togetherâthey 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 reasonâhe 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 âDeadwood Wardensâ, yet another mythological legend you didnât 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 â after all, it wasnât 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.
Do not steal, repost, translate, or take from my work. All photos and banners on this post were taken or edited by me. As an obvious disclaimer, none of this is actually about the real BTS members. They are just face cards here.
Im so mad im shaking rn. My mental health coverage was gutted as a direct trickle down of the Big Beautiful Bill by Donald Trump. And now as someone with a stigmatized mental tlhealth condition (bipolar) and rfk jrs arch nemesis autism amongst other physical disabilities, my only options are an ai run mental health therapy service that's buddy buddy with palantir, or HOSPITAL PSYCHIATRIC TREATMENT. So funny that this is all going down right as states are fighting to institutionalize disabled people and people with autism. My choice is literally suffer and risk crisis, give all my info to the government, or risk institutionalization by seeing someone at the hospital, (which is a ptsd trigger and will make me MORE at risk for forced care bc of 'erratic' behavior).
So if im off my rocker in the upcoming months, it's cause I cant safely get treatment anymore đđđ
But hey, atleast I'll be more hypomanic and unstable enough to write more đŤ
Actually you know what, I'm not even mad. Just know that my ghost from the future traveled back in time to see it đââď¸. So if you're ever at a show and feel a chill, it was just my ghost from the future coming to steal your seat so I can see your surprise songs :)
Hii, are your requests for story ideas still open?
Hi!!
So I've actually never done requests for new fics persay, but I did let people ask questions or request head cannons or small drabbles/extra content for an existing story/one shot. If that's what you mean, feel free to send it in and I'll give it a look! I know plenty of people have asked about a sequel to Cat Dad, which I have sitting in my back pocket for when I just want to do something fun lol. I do have one for Pech still ruminating in the inbox since it's a bit too "early" in the story to answer it just yet without spoiling certain things.
As for new stories, I've never really had requests open for those. I have so many already on my wip that if I were to open requests, I think I'd never get anything done LOL. I don't mind when people send me their ideas and thoughts! I've had people send in asks about side characters or stuff on my wip and I do read them! Just know that usually there's a slim chance I'll just start writing something entirely new. Especially with two large projects still unfinished and one medium-sized one almost half done. But I never say never, so I keep them in there in the off chance I do decide to do something with them.
Does that answer your question or did I make it more confusing? Sorry, I have a headache and words look fake to me today LMAO.
The manga of Witch Hat Atelier came out in 2016, but the anime adaptation started around April this year (Iâve yet to read the manga but the anime is AMAZINGGđ¤Š)
I'll have to look into it if I start watching anime again!! Thanks for the recommendation :)
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 reasonâhe makes it his full-time job to care about it.
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.
~tag list open!~ completed!
I got the big D(egree) - 3/6/2026
If I'm not a threat, I am nothing - 3/10/2026
Maybe the DJ does have us falling in love tonight... - 3/12/2026
Let me go quietly, for these chains are mine to bear -3/14/2026
Perseus, is that you? - 3/17/2026
And when he beheld her, he loved her - 3/19/2026
Thin walls and even thinner patience - 3/26/2026
I'm not your Andromeda - 4/19/2026
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disclaimer: this story is purely fictional and has nothing to do with real people in real life. thx.
8. Seeing is believing (sorry, my eyes were closed)
cowboy! Jimin x reader
series masterlist I word count: approx 8k
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 the next big Bigfoot sighting. 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 âDeadwood Wardensâ, yet another mythological legend you didnât believe in that he felt was his 'destiny' to prove.
But then he stopped calling. And it turns out the woods were a lot scarier in person than in the photos.
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 â after all, it wasnât 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?
Genre: 18+ Folk horror, paranormal themes, mystery/thriller, romance, slow burn, eventual smut (? we will see where the wind takes me)
Chapter Warnings: Language. discussions of death. Paranormal themes.
A/n: getting some biblically accurate lore finally. Sorry for being MIA; just vibing through life and dealing with some flares. For those that missed it, I made a post here about creating a Discord server for us to hang out and yap. You don't just have to talk about BTS, there's plenty of other things we can chitty chat about in there. Games, art, fics, life etc.
Anyways, Let's get it~
âAm I going to die?â Your question sounded small. Small enough to make Jimin look at you with a pity that made your stomach drop. A double hit considering the onslaught of snickers erupting from the kitchen behind him.
âWe all die. Does it really matter when? Thought you were ready to burn it all down...â Hoseok barked out a cold laugh from the other room, silencing any further questions from you. That humored him even more. âNow look whoâs finally learned to be quiet. Guess it was all just talk, huh?â
Humiliation twisted a hot fist in your gut, bile rising in the back of your throat. You felt exposed in the cramped quarters of the bathroom, the walls doing little to hide the tremor in your voice from the circling hyenas in the kitchen.
With one quick glance at your expression, Jiminâs hardened, looking at Hoseok with blatant scorn. âThatâll do. Sheâs been through enough tonight.â
Hoseokâs laughter fizzled out, his pride grazed by Jiminâs dissent.
âProtective already?â He mused, stepping up to his side while fixing his belt, making sure his holsters were proudly on display. âThis ainât gonna be a problem for us, is it?â
Jimin blocked him from the bathroom entrance, shielding your moment of vulnerability from his view. âNo. I just remember how it felt to look in that mirror. Telling me you donât?â
âBeen a long time for me.â Hoseok bit back, bitterness coating every syllable.
Jimin didnât back down from the obvious show of power. âYou donât remember how it was when you first found out?â
âCouldnât even if I tried.â
They stared at one another for an unbearably long time. Long enough for the air to shift like the first intermingling dance of hot winds meeting a cold front, and it was only a matter of seconds until one of them cracked the otherâs teeth or bolted.
You decided to ease the tension, schooling yourself to look as neutral as possible. âI need to go to the bathroom, i-if you wouldnât mind.â There was no reason to wait for a response; your hands were already pressing the door closed and pinching the lock. A moment of privacy was all you needed to pull yourself together.
Waiting a couple of seconds, you held your breath and listened for any sign of struggle. The other room was completely silent; even when you pressed your ear to the wood, there wasnât even a scuff of boot on tile or a murmured curse. A sigh of relief trickled out when you heard the porch creak, figuring Jimin had convinced the others to leave.
Something in your chest fluttered. Or choked. Or maybe you were having a heart attack...who knows.
Jiminâs good looks and charming nature had to be influencing you. Maybe his hair held secret magic that bewitched everyone who looked at it, or his eyes infiltrated the mind and softened its defenses...because you were actually starting to trust him.
Be it from his insistence to keep Hoseok at arm's length from you, or the unpleasant attitude from all the other cowboys you had gotten to familiarize yourself with so far, he looked like a saint right now.
Was this trauma bonding? Stockholm syndrome planting seeds in your head? No, it was too early for all that. His character must actually be decent enough to skim through your radar this long.
âOkayâŚâ You heaved a shaky sigh, planting both hands on the sink and staring yourself down in the mirror. The collar of your shirt was still stretched out from your prodding, leaving a snippet of the scar to stare back at you. You shivered.
âLook. We are in deep shit. Shapeshifters, ghosts, and unexplained marks â maybe something worth hearing out.â Mindlessly, your fingertips pushed back under the fabric to press down on it, hissing a bit when you found it tender. âThereâs gotta be a reason behind all of it, and that guy out there has it. We canât give him too hard of a time if we want answers.â A short pause, and a point at yourself in the mirror. âControl yourself. Seriously. If we...die...then we can go out guns blazing.â
Splashing your face with cold water a few times, you dried yourself off with another deep breath, wrenching open the door to an empty kitchen. The only sign that the cowboys had even been there was your backpack still splattered on the kitchen floor, and the front door that had been left open just enough for a warm breeze to creep through. Jimin was nowhere to be found.
â...Hello?â You poked your head into the living room, finding Gooeyâs friendly face gazing up at you from his cozy spot on the recliner. Now he was certainly a man you could trust. There wasnât a mean thought behind those eyes.
You crouched in front of him, holding his heavy head in your hands with noses nearly pressed together. âWhat do you say about an alliance, you and me?â
It was stupid really, but it made you feel better to imagine that he could understand you. It might even be suicidal to expect a dog to betray their owner after only ten minutes of nonstop ear scratches. But a quick flip of the tip of his tongue over your nose and the beat of his tail on the arm of the chair fed into your delusions.
âGood. Very good.â
Lingering with your fingers threaded through his fur for a little while longer, you found your nervous system settling enough to regain some confidence, the uncertain shiver in your voice gone by the time the front door swung open again.
Jimin kicked off a pair of untied boots with a grunt, the crease between his brow showing his obvious displeasure. âHe shouldnât be bothering us for the rest of the night.â
Your hand came to a slow stop on Gooeyâs head. At first your instinct was to nod, but something he said had you tripped up. Shouldnât be bothering us for the rest of the night.
Heat billowed up into your cheeks and made you feel a bit woozy. You knew he meant it casually. There wasnât an ounce of hidden intent behind those words. But coming from his mouth, it had you momentarily forgetting that you were strangers, or that you were ready to strangle him not more than a few hours prior. They reminded you just how pretty his golden eyes were, and how good he had looked in leather.
Then you found yourself stuttering for a different reason, your logical brain catching up with the dazed hopeless romantic. âThe rest of the night? Am I not allowed back to my brotherâs cabin?â
âNot tonight.â Jimin moved to the couch, slumping down on the cushions with a weary sigh. Gooey immediately betrayed you, using his 120lb body to shove you out of the way for a chance to snuggle up to his dadâs side. âNot until we know itâs safe.â
âYou all really like telling me what to do,â You scrunched your nose, lifting yourself up to sit where the dog had just been. You couldnât really let yourself relax into the plush seat knowing you were still filthy. Sure you could have an attitude, but you werenât a barbarian â messy outdoor clothes on fabric furniture was a big no-no.
Although so was wearing mud and clay-caked shoes on carpet, and you had been doing that since you got there. Taking them off felt too casual. Not sure what survival mechanism told you that keeping your shoes on in a stranger's home meant you felt safer, but wherever it came from, it made you hold onto them just a little while longer. Youâd take them off when you knew for sure there was no need to run.
Jimin shrugged, patting the wide rib cage of the dog on his lap. âYou can leave town if youâd like.â He cast a hesitant look to your shoulder. âNot sure how much good it will do you, but you can try.â
Instinctively, your hand shot up to cover the mark through the fabric, bringing back a wave of questions. âIs this...a mark of the warden or whatever?â
He sucked in a breath, as though preparing himself to brave through the conversation ahead. âIâm gonna answer your question, and I want you to at least try and humor it for me. Or at least keep your thoughts to yourself âtil Iâm finished.â
âDonât think I have any other choice but to humor itâŚ.â You trailed off bitterly. âSo, Warden mark. Certain death. Explain to me like Iâm five who did this and who is out to kill me.â
âWell that that there is the issue. We donât know who does it, just that they do.â Jimin explained slowly. âOur understanding is that itâs from Deadwood herself, that she chooses who stays.â
âDeadwood...the town?â
Jimin recalibrated for as moment, wracking his brain for just the right thing to say. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and inched closer to the edge of the couch to close some of the distance. âSo you know how them legends talk about portals, and liminal spaces, right?â
âRight.â
âWell they arenât wrong perse, just misguided. Those places where the green meets the sand, we call that the Cracks. Thatâs where the other things come from.
You nodded, albeit a bit skeptically. Sure you saw the ground open up and spit out a coyote-shaped loogie, but there could still be other explanations for that. You humored it further, for evidence purposes only of course. âLike those coyotes?â
âScalers. We call them Scalers. Those ainât normal coyotes.â
âThat much I could tell.â Refraining from rolling your eyes, you urged him to continue with a wave of your hand. âYouâre saying they come from the ground?â
âSaw it for yourself, didnât you?â He raised a brow at your disbelief.
âMmm. Maybe. I also couldâve hit my head on my little joy ride down the hillside.â
Unimpressed, he moved past your stubbornness. âAnyways. They crawl out, we kill them. Thatâs our job as Wardens, to protect this place from things like them.â
âSo youâre addmitting youâre a Warden â just like that? After all that in the kitchen?â
âWe usually arenât allowed to tell people. Even if we want to, she wonât let us unless the...other person knows it first.â
âDeadwood...the town...wonât let you?â The look on your face must have been enough to describe your thoughts.
âLook,â He shuffled closer, voice dropping low. âI know it sounds nuts, but itâs the truth. We get chosen for whatever fuckinâ reason, and we play the part. Itâs either that, or more people die.â
The gravity in his tone halted your knee-jerk response to tease him.
More people.
Puzzle pieces began to slot together behind your eyes. The Scalers. The missing people. Animal attacks. Your brother.
âLetâs say what your saying is true,â You started, naturally imitating his low volume. âWhat does this all have to do with me or my brother?â
Jimin ran his tongue over his teeth. âAt first I thought your brother had just seen somethinâ he shouldnât have, or fallen victim to some spirits that crawled from the Cracks. Some of them arenât as easy to spot in a crowd as the Scalers â makes it easy to get in your head and fuck with you. Make you do things you wouldnât normally do. But then we found his stuff and...â
That plucked an uncomfortable chord in your gut. Thinking of how genuinely worried Jimin had been for your brother back at the rental cabin made sense with his story. If he â they â were in charge of catching things or wrangling them back into place, that probably meant they protected this place in other ways too.
âYou donât just catch the things, do you?â
He frowned. âI wasnât lying when Iâd said Iâve seen it all. Part of protecting Deadwood means keeping suspicion low. Donât want more investigators crawling around than we already have, puttinâ themselves in harms way for a damn video. Someone has to scare them out of town or clean up the bodies.â
Things started to feel too real. Too...unsettling. âSo what do you think happened to my brother if it wasnât spirits?â
Ugh. Saying that physically hurt.
âNot spirits, a spirit.â Jimin corrected. âTracked your brotherâs scent down south towards our neighboring town. Thereâs a...âguyâ there that you donât want to mess with, and he has a habit of pushing our buttons. Bastard is lucky heâs out of bounds, otherwise Hoseok wouldâve done away with him ages ago. What we think happened is your brother got too smart. Dug too deep. Got tangled up with some entities he shouldnât have while trying to find us. Someone must have done a good job teaching him how to sleuth if he was able to figure as much as his research showed.â
He offered a small smile, one that had your heart squeezing for more reason than one. Then as though realizing he had done something he shouldnât have, he shook the smile from his face while averting his gaze, continuing where he left off. âHoseok has his own spin on it â always does â but we canât be too sure about anything yet.â
Clearing your throat of the weird lingering tension, you asked, âWell, what does Hot-shot think it is?â
âThinks he was chosen. Like you.â He nodded to your shoulder. âUsually thereâs decades between each new recruit, but lately that gap's been gettinâ smaller. When things act up past what the Wardens can handle, Deadwood picks a new recruit to help even it out. The more things crawl out, the more Wardens it takes to push âem back in. And at the rate its been going? It was only a matter of time before someone else got marked.â
Your brain short circuited. âWaitwaitwait, back up â decades?â
He grew solemn, scratching at the back of his neck to hide his discomfort. âLike those people say about the black holes and all that â this place is cursed. Itâs nothing but a stretch of highway between whatever hell hole is below us and the rest of the world. Itâs the definition of liminal in every way possible. And in order to be in the middle of it all, you have to be in the middle.â
A blank look came over your features. âIâm not following.â
He shook his head to himself, muttering curses beneath his breath before meeting your gaze. âThe Wardens are considered urban legends or ghost stories, because thatâs what we are. Ghosts. Cryptids. Trapped souls. Whatever floats your boat.â
Oh. If these legends were as old as your minimal research said they were, that meant that some of them had to be OLD. Decades wouldn't even be able to cover it.
âSo when they say, âcertain deathââŚ.â You processed your thoughts aloud.
âThey arenât far off. It's certain death for life as you know it.â Jimin finished for you. âThe demons, the spirits, the Scalers â that mark there makes you smell like a four-course meal to âem. Meaning if youâre in Deadwood, theyâll find you. From the second that mark burns into your skin, itâs a race for your soul. If we get to it first, you live on here with us. Forever. If they get to it first...well...itâs like if a prison guard gets locked in cell block riot. Gets real ugly real fast.â
Thoughts whirled through your head at miles per minute, your common sense wanting to laugh in his face, but the other part of you that couldnât shake the strange feeling in your gut was starting to believe him. Starting to being the most important part there.
âYouâre telling me youâre a ghost?â You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest in a last ditch effort to hold your integrity in tact. âThatâs impossible. You...You eat food. Drink coffee. Breathe.â
âIn a way, yes.â Jimin chewed on the inside of his cheek. âIâm in the middle. Half dead, half living. Iâm a Warden now, not a human living by human standards.â
Scanning him from head to toe you replied, âLook pretty human to me.â
âThatâs because I was a human.â He laughed under his breath. âWe all were.â
âBut what â you died?â You didnât mean for the question to sound so blunt and judgmental, but you supposed there was no way to ask something like that without it sounding harsh. After days of showing almost no hesitation or fear on this wild journey of a week, he suddenly looked taken aback. Closed off for a new reason entirely, this one softer and pinched at the edges of his frown with something raw.
His gaze flickered to the photo on the side table behind you, the one of the old woman and the child, then down to the floor. âYou can say that.â
Guilt wormed through you, eating holes into your resistance. âIâm sorry, I shouldnât have-â
âSâfine,â Jimin rubbed his hands on his knees as he came to a stand, moving over to the basement door and holding it open. âYouâre probably tired. Iâll show you where you can clean up and grab some shut-eye. We'll talk more tomorrow."
For better or for worse, there werenât cages and chains in his basement (you swear you werenât disappointed). Just a room with a concrete floor and paneled walls, with a roughly sectioned-off bathroom that had to be a recent addition, judging by the shiny new faucet and squeaky clean counters.
Down here was much cooler than upstairs, and something about it just felt...comforting. Be it the solid wood and concrete walls that blocked all external sounds, or the mismatched layer of plush rugs that sprawled over the space and cushioned each step. It was like a personal sensory deprivation room wrapped in warm woods and the lingering smell of campfire smoke.
The only downside was that there werenât really any doors, just a modesty panel on the way into the bathroom alcove, a storage closet, and the slat stairs to hide the bed.
Thoughts of having to share the singular mattress were squashed the moment they dared pipe up, as Jimin didnât linger long after giving you a quick tour, climbing back up the steps as soon as he could to keep the distance between you two comfortable.
Jimin was sweet if a bit rugged around the edges, showing you how to lock the basement door after he left if it made you feel better, assuring you heâd be camping out on the couch until further notice. Even going as far as to offer to sleep in the barn if you were really that weird about being in the same building.
âDonât worry about anything coming to get you tonight. This place is pretty locked down, and Iâd hear anything before itâd get close enough.â
God, if it wasnât for the weird cryptid-ghost-thing he had going on, youâd be throwing that door open and fluttering your lashes at him to come keep you company. The bar may be in hell, but hey â thatâs what made it hot.
Maybe you could learn to believe in the afterlife if it meant heâd be hanging around on the other side of it.
You nosed around a bit more once you were alone, poking about the solid-wood wardrobes and storage closets before finally hopping in the shower. All you found was a punctured dart board, a mini fridge with a half case of beer tucked inside, and a horrendously large CD collection that hadnât been updated since the late 90âs.
The last you saw of Jimin was him unloading your suitcase near the bottom of the stairs, his eyes almost swollen shut with sleep. It appeared that Jungkook hadnât just stopped by to twirl on your nerves with studded boots, but to drop off your bags from the cabin, packed and barely zipped closed.
Nothing was folded though, that much you knew. The man had just thrown everything in there in a way that would form the most wrinkles as possible, just to really irk you. He was going to be a piece of work it seemed.
While scrubbing at the thick layer of grime caked into under your fingernails with one of the frayed washcloths stored near metal shower, you thought of his stupid boyish face, and the cocky grins of his companions.
If what Jimin said was really true, then those men would be the spiritual equivalent of your coworkers. Forever.
Ew! Just trying out the thought of being a gun slinging ghost made you gag, but being stuck with men? Talking to ghost hunters? In this heat? Forever?
That might actually make you throw up. All your worst fears rolled into one unappetizing sandwich and served up with a punch to your skeptic pride.
You thought for sure if ghosts and cryptids were real that theyâd be cooler than some sleazy loser and a tattooed twenty-something-year-old. Maybe there was a good reason you hadnât wanted to believe â the ghosts werenât all that more interesting than the people walking down the street tossing cigarette butts on the corner.
Shutting the valve off for the shower off, you let the water drip into the drain for a few moments, relishing in the rush of cool basement air against cold water on your skin. Your fingers had a mind of their own, coasting over the raised flesh on your back in a trance.
...What if you let yourself pretend every part of it was true. Just for a minute.
That means that after you inevitably die after your long life elsewhere, youâll be transported back to Deadwood to live a second life here as a Warden, wearing extravagant headgear and hunting creatures from hell.
If you even make it out of here alive to live out the rest of your life in the first place, that is.
What with all the creatures Jimin warned you about and the fresh target painted on your back. You had a feeling that he was purposefully leaving stuff out about whomever the âguyâ a town over was, and knowing him and his elusive ways, there were probably more details about this whole Warden thing he kept to himself.
Whether it be not to overwhelm you or to keep things under wraps since you were still a âlivingâ risk, either way you were kind of grateful for it. On one hand, it kept you up late, tracing shapes in the wood grain of the steps his bed was tucked beneath, trying to fill in gaps you didnât quite understand. On the other hand, it meant you didnât have any details to obsess over.
But did that stop you from overthinking everything?
Of course not.
There were just too many gaps for your anxiety to play with. How does one become a Warden exactly? Is it just when they die that their soul returns? What really happens if the other Wardensâ donât find you? And what other kinds of creatures even creep out of the Cracks?
You thought about all the people youâd run into in passing and a chill ran down your spine. Any one of them could have been something else entirely, just waiting to pounce on you.
If youâre brother was really marked and hauled off to that mysterious âguyâ, does that mean that they didnât get to him in time? Or does that mean he hasnât died yet, since they hadnât felt the need to find him before you came along?
If he wasnât dead, then you sure fucking hoped he wasnât playing the role of trapped prison guard right now.
You groaned, shoving Jiminâs pillow over your face in hopes you could smother yourself enough to stop thinking. Not to die or anything â god no â you werenât ready for the huge responsibility of picking out a cowboy hat youâd have to wear for eternity. Fashion choices were already hard enough as it was to make on any given day, the last thing you needed was knowing youâd have to wear whatever you picked out forever.
Forever was a stupid word anyway.
Still, images of your brother getting tortured by demons with stereotypical horns and cartoonish sharp teeth pervaded the backs of your eyelids. You couldnât escape them even after you drifted, your heart racing at the smallest sounds and your eyes popping open every ten minutes just to be sure no one was there waiting in the dark.
You probably only got an hour of sleep total, all of it interrupted by nightmares of your brotherâs demise or slimy Scalers biting your face off in a forest that never ended.
Jimin knocked on the door above mere minutes after blue early morning light began to invade the small window near the ceiling, calling down to you through the door to see if you were awake and offering breakfast with a gruff voice.
There was no reason to roll around his comforter wishing for a sleep that wouldnât come, so you were up, running a toothbrush over your teeth and throwing on the last set of clean clothes you had in your bag that wouldnât make you die of heat stroke. Looks like another trip to town would be in order, at least for another t-shirt and pair of shorts you could toss in Jiminâs washer.
He met you at the door, squeezing past you with a curt nod and something akin to a greeting to freshen up in his room, leaving you upstairs to calm down a newly excited Gooey. That dog acted like you hadnât just seen him hours prior, yipping and wagging its tail fast enough to leave bruises.
Besides the rumpled couch cushions and Gooeyâs animated greeting, there wasnât much waiting for you on the main floor. Nothing that screamed âhot delicious breakfastâ, anyway.
All of it whispered âleave me alone!â, the kitchen still slumbering away with a constant mechanical hum of the fridge and an occasional cough of the sink pipes. The stove was cold to the touch and collecting more dust upon its already thick layer. Who knows the last time one of those burners had been used as something other than extra counter space?
Grumbling to yourself, you shook off any loose tufts of dog hair from between your fingers and cautiously inched closer to the kitchen, still distrustful of the place. As cautious as you were, your stomach was growling and youâd kill for a cup of something caffeinated, meaning Jimin had approximately five minutes before you would be rummaging his cabinets like you owned them.
Now you finally understood why hikers ate so much â one afternoon in the mountains and you felt like you could eat a buffet clean and lick the empty trays.
Looks like he could sense your ravenous nature (that or luck was on your side) because he came up not too long after, fully dressed and trudging towards the door to lace up his boots.
âSo. Breakfast.â You all but demanded, your voice scratchy from sleep (or lack thereof). Another silent rumble from your stomach had you biting your tongue from spitting out ransom demands, and you werenât sure how he heard it, but he did â eyes darting towards your middle and back to his laces with a grunt.
âDown the road.â
His tone was short and rough, barely softened by his usual politeness. Huh. Looks like you both were hangry.
âI donât have my wallet,â you responded, wrangling the mud-caked boots back on your feet. The whole ordeal enough to piss you off already â now you were hungry, out of breath, and starting to sweat.
Jimin stood with a stretch, snagging his hat from the wall and twisting open the door. âDonât need it.â
Then he was gone, leaving the door open for the blur of Gooey to follow after him.
âOkay then...â you muttered to yourself, coming to stand on his porch to watch him veer off across the dirt path to the barn doors. The structure looked less intimidating in the daylight, painted the color of a robin's egg and clearly meticulously managed (almost obsessively if the lack of splattered dirt was anything to go by). If Jimin made any money, you could certainly tell where his priorities lay. Those insulated windows practically screamed dollar signs.
Did cryptids have the capacity to make money? Getting a bank account would probably be ten times harder if you had to constantly explain why you never aged or your eyes glowed sometimesâŚ
âYou coming?â Jiminâs voice broke you out of your thoughts, hands on his hips while he looked expectantly to where you stood.
With a sigh, you trekked across the dirt roads, wincing when your calves started to burn from the minimal exertion it took to skip down the stairs. Your body was not built for long hikes and mountain runs. You could only it expect to find more aches and pains as the day went on, if not from walking, from eating shit down the mountain side.
Coming to a stop beside him, you raised a brow. âWhat, are you finally going to take me to the barn and rip my throat out?â
âNo, Iâm trying to make sure that doesnât happen.â He shouldered open the heavy wood with a vaguely hidden roll of his eyes.
âWha-â
A throaty chuff cut you off, the space immediately filled by another larger dog who definitely had angry looking eyes set on you.
âThis,â Jimin bent down to hook a leash around the heavy studded collar of the dog that looked like a spitting image of Gooey. âIs Dolly. Gooeyâs more competent sister.â His tone grew stern, snapping his fingers towards your shoes. âDolly, new friend. Sniff.â
Her black nose suctioned to the edge of your shoes, drinking in any smells you had to offer while eyeing you warily from below. Dolly growled to herself when she caught a whiff of something on the leather, to which Jimin reacted instantly, winding the leash tighter in his fist with a harsh âBe nice.â
Then her nose moved up to your shins, dainty twitches of air that tickled, stopping just at where your hand rested near your hip. Dolly nudged it gently, not for a pet, but for better access to your palm, finishing her interrogation with a huff and a disinterested side-eye.
She looked bored now that she had been acquainted with you, angling her body to return to her post in the barn. Not too social or clingy. She had a job to do after all.
You respected that.
âNow youâre free to walk around the property withoutâŚâ The edge of his mouth quirked up. âGetting your throat ripped out.â
With that, he started a relaxed pace down the dirt path, headed the opposite way you had entered the previous night, down where it snaked through more pasture and thin trees.
âShe mean?â You asked, hands shoved in your pockets and a skip in your step to catch up to his lead. From behind you could hear Gooeyâs heavy pants and clobbering paws sticking to you like a shadow.
âWhen she needs to be.â
You pursed your lips with a subconscious glance over your shoulder. âWhat about when she doesnât need to be?â
He returned your question with a shrug. âOnly if you piss her off.â
âComfortingâŚâ
Another shrug. âJust donât piss âer off and she wonât have an attitude.â
âYeah? And how do I do that?â You challenged with a scoff.
Jimin hummed, slipping his thumbs into his back pockets. âI think youâll get the hang of it. You two have a lot in common.â
A sputter of offense choked from your mouth. âAre you saying I can be mean and have an attitude?â
The rising sun seemed to be waking him up with each stretching inch of light, his tired and tough exterior melting bit by bit. Because this man smiled. Not like on of the half ones or the polite ones heâd hide with a shake of his head or a well-placed chuckle. A real one â pretty, bright, and stretching up towards his eyes with a dangerous glint.
âNever said it was a bad thing.â His head tipping back towards the shrinking barn said one thing, but his eyes lingering too long on your face said another. âI like her that way.â
Ow. Fuck, now your chest hurt. Were you breathing? You exhaled sharply through your nose just to be sure. Okay, yeah, you could breathe. Barely. Pushing out a cough to hide the clear organ system malfunction, you averted your eyes to gaze out over the long grasses and rocky sand.
You couldâve sworn you heard him laugh under his breath, even going as far as to bite at his lower lip to keep it quiet. Not that you were watching! No, god no. He was an enemy of the state â your state to be precise.
...but was he an enemy anymore? Or was he now just a future coworker? Did the great and mysterious Deadwood have rules about dating coworkers?
You pursed your lips and stole one more glance at his profile, his face still haunted with a ghost of a smug expression. Technically, you werenât coworkers yet, so rules donât apply. You were a free woman as far as you were concerned.
Dirt crunched below your feet, spitting up clouds of dust that clung to the fresh layer of sweat forming on your skin, both from the gradual increase in temperature and the buzzing heat that pooled in your muscles from Jiminâs hovering proximity. You told yourself you were only sneaking glances for research purposes. Especially when he used his tongue to poke at the corner of his mouth to soothe the dry skin. Especially then.
Safety research, you repeated to yourself, wiping the fresh sheen of sweat from your hands on your shorts.
It was still hot, but it wasnât nearly as stifling as I would be once the sun fully rose. Yet somehow you were still dabbing at a thin sheen of salt forming on your cheeks, like the air here had it sights set on sucking all the moisture from your body like a water-hungry mosquito. At this rate, youâd be a shriveled-up raisin by noon, begging passersby for just one sip of cool water. Like that one SpongeBob episode your brother used to quote all the time that you never remembered the plot of.
You werenât sure where you were going, but you supposed it wouldnât be much longer if Jimin had forgoed his horse or handy truck.
Luck was on your side, for your intuition was correct. From out of the thinning line of trees emerged another farmhouse, proud and worn from storms passed, with a foundation older than some of the trees drooping along the edge of the property. You were definitely in the south; that was for sure. The gun rack on the wall near the door said that more than any drawn-out county line could.
Where on earth was he taking you? It didnât look like a restaurant. Not even a themed bed and breakfast could put the charm back into this farmhouse.
Then your stomach sank.
Jungkookâs mop of dark hair poked through the front door, already beaming. âJimin and the Newbie are here!â
âNewbie?â Your lip curled in disgust at the nickname.
âRight of passage,â Jungkook laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He reached out and thumped Jimin on the shoulder. âLooks like you finally passed on the title.â
Jimin shifted uncomfortably under his touch, maneuvering past him into the open storm door. âYeah, yeah. Out of the way, kid.â
âKid?!â Jungkook parroted, unintentionally stepping in your way to follow after him. The door was inches from shutting in your face before he snagged it with his long fingers, cheeks pink. âS-sorry.â He dropped it the second you were in; his attitude picked up where it left off as he led the way to the kitchen.
âDonât let him spin any tales,â Jungkook spoke animatedly with his hands, wagging a finger towards Jiminâs back. âIâm older than most of these guys.â
âBy year maybe,â Yoongi sounded off from his seat at the diningroom table. âBy age, then everyoneâs got you beat kid.â
You paused in the doorway to take in the scene, leaving Jungkook to try and land a smack on the back of Yoongiâs head to no avail by himself.
This place was rustic to its core, all old rich woods and iron appliances. You were surprised there was a light bulb at all in this place, because even that looked too modern for the space. It smelt like bacon and cedar wood and smoke, all due to the sizzling cast iron placed atop the wood burning stove that Jimin had taken up checking.
Your eyes caught Yoongi messing with the dial of a vintage radio, twisting it until it landed on something of his liking â warbly guitar and high hats, with enough swirling tambourine to make you dizzy. But you couldnât tell if that was due to the psychedelic rock or the blinding patterns on his clothes.
This was not the emo cowboy you remembered. This looked like if an alternative vampire from the 80âs had a one-night stand with a casino pimp, all deep burgundyâs and velvet and thin cheetah print, finished off with one too many sparkling rings and gaudy necklaces. And now that you mentioned it...was his hair...longer? That shouldnât be possible. You couldâve sworn he had it cropped just yesterday, yet now it just landed at the apple of his cheeks and stretched into thick side burns.
While you were too busy trying to do the math on just how many inches an hour it wouldâve had to grow to get that long overnight, Yoongiâs dark eyes flitted up to meet yours, a cocky grin splitting wider than the navel-deep cut of his shirt. âLike what you see, sweets?â
Jungkook answered for you with a loud bark of laughter. âYeah right â sheâs probably just hypnotized by that hideous scrap of fabric you call a shirt.â
Yoongi narrowed his eyes at Jungkookâs collar. âSays the one wearing knit in 90 degree temperatures.â
âIt gets the job done up in the mountain. Itâs breathable.â
âDidnât have a pulse last I checked.â
Jungkook rolled his eyes so far back they couldâve rolled out his mouth. âYou think youâre smart, donât you?â
âVery,â Yoongi hummed, lifting up a chipped mug of coffee to his lips.
The radio dial on the table snapped left, diminishing the volume to a near murmur without so much as a finger touching it, and the single light bulb flickered overhead. Goosebumps tracked over the skin of your legs and arms, a thin cloud of chill traveling through the room and dissipating in the rays of morning sun.
Yoongi lowered his drink with a nervous clear of his throat, his gaze tracking down towards the newspaper spread out in front of him with rapt interest.
From an arch near the stove emerged Hoseok, rubbing at his temples with two fingers, while his other hands still blindly did the buttons of his blue cotton shirt, a pair of suspenders hanging limp at his hips.
Jungkook too seemed to not find much to say at his entrance either, hands drumming a fast rhythm on the table top (much to Yoongiâs annoyance).
Hoseok wordlessly stepped around Jimin to stir a pot simmering behind the sputtering pan, wiping off splats of hot grease from his forearm, the sting not eliciting so much as a flinch. âBeans are almost done.â
Jungkook made a face down at the table, lips curled in disgust.
âWatch that attitude. Either eat it or go make yourself somethinâ else. This ainât your momâs house.â Hoseok scolded him without looking away from the stove, and Jungkookâs spine straightened in his seat with his scowl wiped clean.
Your eyes darted from Hoseokâs back to the radio, then Yoongiâs hands that were still crinkling the back of the newspaper he hid behind. Yoongi met your dubious glare over the edge with a raise of his brow. Following your quick glance to the machine, a small smirk grew on his lips.
Extending his index finger out like a wand, he wound it in slow circles, never once breaking eye contact with you. The yellow dial inched to life, shuddering to the right and increasing the volume in time with his tauntingly slow whirls.
You squinted. That could be explained by a secret remote or magicianâs string. Nothing to be so cocky about. It wasnât even that impressive or anything.
A grunt sounded out from the kitchen, and with one swift glance at the table from over his shoulder, Hoseok spoke out. âMake me turn that shit down again and youâll be eating leather with no teeth.â
With one blink the dial snapped all the way to the left, silencing it completely.
The light in Yoongiâs eyes deflated, and he settled into pouting at his own reflection in his mug. Jungkook latched onto him immediately, grin finding its way back on his face.
âHe just wanted something he could show off. You know, since his little fashion reveal didnât do it for her.â
Yoongi defended himself with a slightly puffed chest. âSays who? Sheâs swooning in there, I know it.â
âHolding in vomit, actually,â You butt in, scanning the gaudy outfit once more with a scowl. âIâve seen better on mannequins in a dumpster after a frat house Halloween party.â
Yoongi playfully moaned. âYou know I love when you talk to me like that.â
âPathetic,â Jungkook spat with a disbelieving shake of his head, leaning forward to flick the bare skin of Yoongiâs chest. âMaybe you should focus on learning how to do up your own buttonâs before you say anything else.â
Jimin snorted from the stove, shoveling a pile of greased meat onto a plate of paper towels. âOr how to tie up his own horse.â
âWhile youâre at it, work on your aim so your bullshit stops leaking on my turf.â Hoseok took a sip of his mug with a pointed look at Yoongi.
The man in question held his hands up in surrender, struggling to keep up and looking genuinely offended. âAlright â you can step off my neck now.â
âI donât think weâve stepped on it enough.â Jungkook sneered. âYouâre still talkinâ.â
The squabble ended with the thunderous plop of cast-iron pots on the center table, Hoseok and Jimin dropping off a heaping plate of scrambled eggs, warmed tortillas, bacon, beans, and fresh diced tomatoes. âStuff it.â
They didnât need to be told twice, already making a dent in the mountain of food like a pair of moles set loose on a dirt mountain, shoveling as much as they could into each bite. You assumed since Hoseok wasnât breathing down your neck from the head of the table that you were included in the command, and helped yourself to whatever was in reach.
Even if he was snarling at you, you wouldnât have cared. You had never felt hunger like this before. This felt like you had spent three days straight swimming in the hot sun and had just returned home for lunch, stomach angry and aching. Attributing it to just the hike didnât feel entirely accurate.
Maybe you shouldâve felt ashamed to be plowing your way through someone elseâs food in their own home, but you were far too busy building the perfect breakfast concoction on the fluffiest tortilla youâd ever eaten in your life, carefully balancing your toppings like it was a modern art piece. After you wolfed down your third, you found yourself staring forlornly at the dwindling piles, wondering if it would be rude to have two more.
Jungkook noticed your dilemma, slapping a new tortilla on your plate with a wink. âYouâll get used to the hunger. Eat what you want before itâs gone.â
âOr get it somewhere else. âCause Iâm not making you shits anythinâ else.â Hoseok grumbled into his next bite.
Fiddling with the edge of your plate, you cast a cursory glance to Jimin. Was being hungry a part of the weird ass lore?
âDid you think about your look?â Jungkook innocently asked, using the last bite of his makeshift breakfast taco to sop up the residual herby tomato juices and bacon grease on his plate.
You paused with a bite halfway to your mouth. âMy âlookâ?â
Jimin coughed into his fist, averting his eyes down to his glass of water. âHavenât gotten there yet.â
âWhat did you get to?â Yoongi accused lightly, one brow twitching up. âNothing fun without me I hope.â
âTaking things slow,â Jimin answered carefully. âNo need to rush.â
It was Jungkookâs turn to cast a hesitant glance towards Hoseok. âRightâŚâ
âWhat do you mean by âmy lookâ?â You steered the conversation back in the direction you cared about before Yoongi could make another innuendo.
âItâs your signature style babe,â Yoongi drawled, leaning back into his chair with a satisfied sigh. âGotta pick what you look like to the normies. Has to be different than your usual, that way no one suspects anything, you dig? I have a few ideas for you if you canât think of any...â
âYeah, like how I helped Yoongi pick his.â Jungkookâs full cheeks didnât stop the impish twist his face had taken.
Yoongiâs expression instantly soured. â'Helped' is a funny way to say 'sabotaged'.â
âSo the emo persona is...a cover-up?â Your eyes flitted between the two of them. âWhy?â
The âyoungestâ (a fact still up for debate apparently) jumped to his feet and darted around the corner for the coat rack, returning with a piece of paper in his fist. He slid it next to your plate with a snicker.
âSee for yourself, Sherlock ~â
Before you was that yellowing missing poster that had gone on quite the journey from being taped to the wall of your brotherâs room, to being waved around a BBQ joint. The manâs face was vaguely recognizable from when you'd last looked at it. An ink splotch where the printer fucked up the edge of the picture. A red sheen over dark eyes and a drunken smile from a bright camera flash. One lone groomsman with his arm thrown over an out-of-frame friend, grainy and desaturated enough to make it a bit hard to see the details of his face. You could make out a rounded nose, thick dark side burns, and a crown of black hair that coasted the collar of an obscene purple velvet jacket â wait a minute.
Abso-fucking-lutely not.
There was no way.
âIs this you?!â You gaped up to Yoongi.
He didnât even need to respond. You could see it clear as day in front of you now that he wasnât hiding behind a spiky, cropped haircut and band tees that never seemed to sit right on his shoulders.
Yoongi nodded to the picture, smug. âQuite the looker too, huh?â He then rubbed his hands together like a conniving fly. âSo whatâs the group consensus for the lady? We thinkinâ goth vampire mistress? Clown school dropout? Gorgeous contractor from overseas set on fixinâ up the town and the lowly shopkeeper?â
âThinkinâ she can stay as she is.â Hoseok cut his dreams short, running his tongue over his cheek as he threw a calculated look over your features. âA few small changes should do the trick.â
There was a moment of silence for the soul that escaped from Yoongiâs body at that very moment. âYou mean the trucker and the newbie get to wear whatever they want, but I gotta parade around like the missing member of Rites of Spring or Daughtry for another five years?â
âMaybe you shouldnât have had such a recognizable signature style then.â Jungkook pinched one of Yoongiâs necklaces and clanged it about. Their conversation dragged on but you werenât listening to their heated debate.
Suddenly the ache in your stomach switched from a grumbling hunger to a churning unease, the bite you were working in your mouth tasting rotten. Maybe it was the ink from the missing photo bleeding into the skin of your fingertips and poisoning each mouthful. Because each time you ran your finger over the blurred edges of trees and the bright red description along the bottom, your nausea increased.
Forever suddenly didnât feel like such a dumb foreign concept anymore. Not when a man who should be well over seventy sat in front of you, having not aged a day in fifty years. And you knew this wasnât fake â there had been a minimal police report tucked behind his picture in your brotherâs collection with its own shiny (and very real) department seal on it.
This was a real man. A real, missing man. A dead man.
A ghost.
Is that what you were about to be?
You squeezed your eyes shut, and nudged the paper out of your line of sight. If you didnât look at it you could pretend you hadnât seen it. Pretend that your entire world view was crumbling beneath your feet at an alarming rate.
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 the next big Bigfoot sighting. 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 âDeadwood Wardensâ, yet another mythological legend you didnât believe in that he felt was his 'destiny' to prove.
But then he stopped calling. And it turns out the woods were a lot scarier in person than in the photos.
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 â after all, it wasnât 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?
Genre: 18+ Folk horror, paranormal themes, mystery/thriller, romance, slow burn, eventual smut (? we will see where the wind takes me)
Fogged-glass lamps punched holes of yellow light in somber navy skies, flocked by dozens of frantic moths and scuttling flies. The frenzy of bugs formed buzzing clouds from where the lights hung from wooden poles, welcoming you into the dirt clearing. Directly off to the left-hand side was Jiminâs truck, parked in a dug-out driveway alongside a humbly sized wooden house that looked much like those plastered on Lincoln Logs advertisements you would try to emulate as a kid.
The more important structure was the barn across from the house, large enough to house all sorts of animals with plenty of room to spare and painted a delightful blue. One youâd think to see on a ranch or farmstead and used for wedding venues, not a murder mobâs hideout. The difference between the two buildings gave you whiplash, like a poorly cut mullet. Business in the front; sketchy uncle in the back.
But despite the rather plain appearance of the rest of the property, it was still quite peaceful. Crickets singing to a midnight sea of twinkling stars. Swaying trees and tan dirt roads.
Honestly, the more you drank in the almost painting-like scenic farm, the more doubt tried to creep in.
Was this really where they planned to dispose of you? You surmised if they had pigs that might be why â this place could be a masterful cover-up of blood and guts behind a facade of comfort and humility.
Something poked a massive head from the cracked open barn door, nearly making you scream when it bolted towards your feet to walk alongside the horse. The poor thing froze mid-step, its wagging tail faltering and its head tilted, big dopey eyes blinking up at your arrival.
A dog.
Wow, you must be really out of it to be scared of a dog.
Still floating in limbo between fight-or-flight and safe, your overworked brain had mistaken the poor dog for a coyote, and this Jimin mustâve caught onto when he stifled a laugh.
âItâs not funny.â You caught your breath, staring down at the beast of a farm dog who had caused your spike in blood pressure, their tail picking up speed once more, excitement entirely unfazed by your momentary outburst.
âNever said it was.â
You frowned. âBut you laughed.â
âHm.â He jerked the horse to a stop and slid gracefully to his feet, expectantly holding his hands up for you to follow. You looked down at his outstretched hands like they were both clutching active grenades.
What, like you were going to jump into his arms for saving your life? Just like that? Yeah right. There had to be another reason they chose to intervene besides getting a chance to be exemplary citizens.
For a moment, the two of you just stared at one another, you in distrustful indecision and him in stoic patience. Glancing down at the reins, you debated grabbing hold and leaping off into the night, far enough to get a head start if you jumped off and made a run for civilization.
His gloves squeaked as they moved to curl around the straps, reading where your mind had wandered. âThatâs not going to get you very far.â
âIf itâll give me a few extra minutes to live, itâs worth it.â
Jimin frowned. âIâm not going to kill you.â
âSays the man with blood on his face.â
At the mention of it, he brought a finger up to scratch at the dried stuff, letting some of it flake off towards the ground. "Guess you got me there." A brief wash of pink bloomed over the tips of his ears. âIf it makes you feel any better, itâs not human.â
Your eyes narrowed. âHardly.â
Clicking his tongue, he took a moment to reconvene with his thoughts, sorting through which of them would do him the most good to share. A treasure trove of things you wished you could sift through for answers, that much he clearly knew, eyes gleaming with the glory of predetermined victory.
âTell you what â you get off that horse and get yourself inside, and Iâll tell you what I know about your brother.â
This was too good to be true. For all the trouble they went to shut you out and attempt to cart you off, there was no way he would just tell you all his secrets after a thirty-second negotiation. Either something truly was in it for them, he was bluffing and had nothing to tell you, or whatever he had to offer held no value to them anymore.
Assuming he wasnât just planning on killing you instantly, you had to try and sweeten the pot in your favor.
Gripping the reins just above where he did, you held on with equal force. âI tell you what: I follow you, you tell me what you know about my brother, and you give me back all his stuff. Car included or no deal.â
Jimin weighed his options with a twitch of his brow. âYou drive a hard bargain.â
âAlways do,â You shot back.
Pursing his lips and squinting up at you, he went quiet again â his specialty. He then released the reins and held both hands out for you once more. âFine. Deal.â
At first you wanted nothing to do with his offered help, but your tingling legs and shaking grip left no room for argument, letting you slide right into his hold like a newborn giraffe. You werenât much better at walking either, and it didnât help that his dog kept nudging your outer thigh in a plea for attention with every wobbly step.
Jimin made quick work of the door, so quick it made you wonder if he had even locked it at all (another one of his habits you could not get past). He kept one arm securely around your waist, and the other flicking on the entrance light.
Inside was just as small as it looked from the outside, the one light illuminating most of the main floor with just a single bulb. If this was their murder house, they really needed to do a better job at making it look intimidating.
A cramped entry way with nothing but a wobbly shoe bench and pegs on the wall to hang one's hats and jackets on greeted you. If you were to stretch one hand forward, you would be in the next room: a homely kitchen that â by the looks of it â hadnât been updated since the 80âs. Bright orange linoleum countertops now faded to a terracotta, and vertical patterned wallpaper in a similar shade that crawled up beneath warm-toned cabinets; all of it nestled into the corner to save space for a small round table just big enough for two people to squeeze in at.
Immediately upon entering the kitchen, there was another sharp left-hand turn into a living room that kept up with the nostalgic theme, so much so that you werenât even a little bit surprised to see brown shag carpets and aged accent wallpaper. It reminded you more of childhood than a murder den.
âYou can not be serious.â You broke free of him with a scoff, rounding into the living room and nudging the side of a fuzzy recliner with your foot. The movement jostled it enough to knock the plaid blanket draped over the back off and onto the floor. âIs this really how you guys chose to decorate your top-secret base? Like my grandmaâs house?â
Jimin pressed his lips into a flat line, stooping down to pick the blanket up off the floor. âNot a secret base.â
âThen what it this? A cover-up where the walls give way to a secret room? Let me guess â the bunker where you keep the chains and cages is in the basement, isnât it?â
The corner of his lips wanted to smile, but didnât, the rest of his expression still coming across as slightly too offended to let it slide. âIt's my house. Isnât supposed to be much of anything.â
âOh.â
Leaving you to process what he said, he poked his head out the front door to whistle through his teeth and snap his fingers. âGooey â in.â
The massive dog from before pushed in and barreled through the entrance to make a beeline for the living room, leaping onto the recliner and hunkering down on it before the door had even shut.
Jimin closed the door (without locking it, just as you suspected) and gestured through the partition between rooms at the dog. âThatâs Gooey. Heâll keep you company while I rinse off.â He brushed passed you, a lingering hand on your elbow as though to steady you. âDonât be intimidated by his size, heâs nothinâ but a big baby.â On his way passed him, he ruffled the top of Gooeyâs head, the dog leaning into the touch while panting obnoxiously loud.
You gulped at the dog whose head was larger than a dinner plate. âDoesnât look like a baby.â
Tutting down at him, Jimin shook his head with a sigh. âA waste of my money is what he is.â Despite what he said, his pats to the animals back were quite affectionate. Noting the way your gaze still nervously tracked back to the window, he nodded to the sofa, removing his gloves carefully. âSit. If anything comes by, heâll protect you. May be a baby, but he has a mean bark.â
You made no move to listen to his suggestion to sit, and Jimin didnât wait around for when you did, ducking through a wooden door next to a boxy TV stand and trudging down a set of steps, disappearing into the dark basement without much else to say.
Now you were alone, in his supposed house, gazing into the eyes of a whining Anatolian Shepard through a wooden divider and wondering if everything around you was a granola bar-induced hallucination. A part of you was offended Jimin left you with wobbly knees and a spinning head to fight your way to the sofa, but the other half was grateful he was offering you space.
His courtesy definitely chipped away at the suspicion that he may return to sink a bullet in your brain at any second. It didn't erase it entirely, but enough to let you waddle over to his sofa and perch on the edge of it. Regaining your strength would be essential should he finally turn on you.
Gooey whined a few more times, pawing at the arm of the recliner with adamant defiance. It was cutting into your meticulous plan on how to escape, distracting you every five seconds with an impatient huff from his floppy lips.
âWhat?â You looked at him curiously. âNeed to go out?â
Gooey mustâve taken something you said as an invitation, jumping down from the chair only to leap up next to you, curling against your side and flopping a heavy head on your thigh with a weary sigh. Every second you didnât spend petting him was a second you couldnât think due to the grumbles heâd let out, so your hand was stuck making lazy circles through his fur in order to string a coherent thought together about your evening.
Jimin was right. Gooey was a baby. But hey â at least his ears were soft and easy to mess with while you figured out your next steps.
Water rushed through pipes below your feet with the speed of your racing mind, images of melting coyote-like creatures and glowing blue eyes lining up like puzzle pieces your logical side tried to slot together. But logic had clear cut edges and shapes that matched up, and these memories were anything but that. All of them stuck to your hands like silly putty, defying all that you knew with slippery inconsistency. And just like putty was teetering between fluid and solid, the events of the evening had one foot in the door of loony tunes and the other in reality.
Coyotes and cowboys were common here. So were mountain lions. But coyotes that crawled from the ground like immortal centipedes were not common. Shadows that moved like sentient beings to shield the skin of men from watchful eyes was not normal.
At some point you were going to have to humor the thought that perhaps there actually was a supernatural element to all this. Though what is the âsupernaturalâ if not just the unexplained? And how many things that are mundane to you would be considered witchcraft by previous generations? Electricity, television, animatronic puppets, po-go sticksâŚso many things that can be confusing at first glance to someone with no knowledge of their existence.
Thatâs all this was. Something you didnât have an answer for yet. But the answer had to exist. It was probably just hidden behind government paywalls and slowed by the shortfalls of human innovation.
Luckily, you werenât an innovator, just incredibly stubborn and horrendously nosy. And you were set at checking off all other boxes before jumping to any conclusions.
Straining your ears, you listened to the sound of a scratchy radio and running water from the floor below, just to make sure it showed no sign of stopping. Then you made your first move â inching out from beneath the grumbling dog and tiptoeing across the living room.
On a side table near the partition was a framed photo, the contrast way too high and the saturation faded, making the older woman in it look almost ghostly. The child at her feet had that classic vintage rusty sheen over their wide eyes.
Squinting down at it, it became apparent that the woman in the photo had to be someone's grandmother, her hair cropped short and her skin sagged with age. A pair of thick bronze stockings on her legs reflected the camera flash back to the viewer, barely covered by the kind of dress you hadnât seen anywhere but in photos of your own grandparents. By the looks of the babyâs familiar, rounded cheeks and thick lips softened into a gape of surprise, it had to be Jimin.
It had your doubt faltering. Why would they put real baby pictures in a house meant for business? Could he really be telling the truth? He hadnât lied about showeringâŚ.
Still holding onto your thinning skepticism, you shook yourself out of doubt once more, carefully returning the photo to the side table. Photoshop was one hell of a tool when used right.
Crouching at the TV stand next, you pulled open the cabinets and found them otherwise normal, just stuffed with VHS tapes still in their accordion packaging and a handful of DVDs. Which, depending on the age of whom you were talking to, could be read as abnormal on its own.
Just be certain they werenât hiding anything, you cracked open a couple of tapes for a quick inspection, finding the copy of âRaiders of the Lost Arkâ in relatively perfect condition. The only thing out of place about them was...well...the fact that they were tapes.
Most people these days have DVDs if they didn't already donate them; no one really missed having to sit with their finger glued to the rewind button just so they could watch Barney or Toy Story again. Something you were all too familiar with from growing up with your brother, he never remembered to rewind them.
You opened a few more, but found no secret stash of weapons or recording devices within them. Just plastic rectangles that smelt how you remembered them: a little chemically, and a little dusty. The last couple were older than the rest, in the original cardboard sleeves that had started to crack and peel at the edges. Shaking the most beat-up looking one from the packaging, you ran your finger over the handwritten label.
âPark Jimin, August 1975â
Your eyes widened. Jimin didnât look like he was 19 or anything (thank god), but he didnât strike you as...someone in their 50s? He looked early thirties at most. And unless he was smuggling some fountain of youth potion in that yellow fridge, this had to be some sort of mistake. Maybe he had the same name as his dad?
Gooeyâs head lifted from you lap to tilt his head at the door to the basement, a steady thump of his tail against the back of the couch beating in time with the run of a light-footed gait up the stairs. Gasping, you leapt back to the couch just in time for the door to swing open again.
Jimin rounded the corner seconds later, hair damp and pulled out of his face, and looking like just about every other average twenty-thrity-something youâd expect to see lounging about his house on a summer evening. Not anything like the leather-clad, gun-slinging cowboy from before (or a 50 year old man, for that matter).
He mumbled to himself as he padded around the kitchen, opening cabinets and pawing through the freezer without as much as a glance your way. It had gone so long that you started to feel like you were intruding in a strangerâs home, just watching them read the cooking instructions for a frozen lasagna like a creep through the window.
âThis okay?â Jimin held up the box and shook it.
Stiffening in your seat, you nodded, bewildered. âUh, sure?â
âSorry I donât have much else. Wasnât expecting guests.â
Sliding out from beneath the dog's heavy body, you slowly started towards the kitchen. âNothing Iâm not used to.â You leaned your hip up against the little round table behind him, arms crossed and lips pursed as you looked at him in a new light, inspecting every inch of his face for any sign of age. A wrinkle perhaps, or a few strands of gray hair in the forest of dirty blonde.
Jimin didnât pay you any mind, twisting the dials on the oven to preheat it to the right temp before peeling back the corner of the frozen tray. A knowing smile toyed at the corner of his mouth as he bent to shove the thing on the rack. âFind what you were looking for?â
âHuh?â You jumped at the sound of his voice, meeting his teasing stare.
He rose back up to a stand, shrugging. âAm I free to go after your search, or is this-â Jimin gestured to your face with a wagging finger, â-still part of it?â
Your eyes narrowed. âJuryâs still out.â
He hummed, mirroring your stance against the counter across from you. âWhatâs the crime?â
âDunno. Iâm not the cop.â
Unimpressed, he replied, âAlready told you, mânot a cop.â
âThen what are you?â Your question hung between you, taking up too much of the already cramped space.
Jimin let it simmer a second longer before answering. âWhat do you think I am?â
Smart. Deflection. Great tactic if it wasnât being used against an eldest sister who had learned the art of getting shit done.
âYou said you worked for the township but I donât think theyâd want you out killing natural wildlife. I know that whatever my brother had on those wardens was risky enough to your reputation to steal from me while I slept â which by the way, creepy behavior, havenât forgotten about it. And I know that whatever happened tonight wasnât just township guys doing community service work in the woods out of the goodness of their hearts.â Your gaze fluttered to the timer that had over twenty minutes on it. âSo, weâve got time. You tell me. Those wardens arenât just ghost stories, are they?â
A sigh heaved from his chest. âNo. They arenât.â
âSo whatâs it about then? Drugs? Money? Some government project they donât want anyone stumbling in on?â
Jimin chuckled. âWhat? Ghosts arenât scary enough for you?â
âGhosts are the least scary option considering they arenât real. The government? Terrifying.â You argued. âAnd anyways, you said they werenât ghosts.â
âNo,â He shifted his weight to lean his hands back against the counter. âI said they werenât just ghost stories.â
A huff broke from your lips. âWhat is with you and words? What are you â an English teacher part-time?â
âJust think theyâre pretty important.â
âYeah? Well, there better be more of them coming from your mouth, and they better be important before I shove your face into that hot oven grate.â
Jimin didnât seem threatened in the slightest. If anything he almost looked like he was thinking of something else entirely and hadnât even heard you. Then he was moving across the kitchen towards the side table in the living room, flicking open one of the drawers and pulling out your brotherâs hat.
âFor you.â He dropped it into your hands as he side-stepped back into the kitchen. âDealâs a deal after all.â
You shook the crumpled fabric in your fist. âThis wasnât the only part of the deal.â
âAnd I donât remember the Wardens being a part of that deal either.â Before you could snap back at him, he continued on with a pointed look at the hat. âDonât need his stuff anymore anyway. We got what we needed from it.â
âAnd what was that?â
âInformation. Needed to know who he was to know how to look for him.â
So they were looking for him, you paused, trying not to let his admittance knock you off course. You needed him to prove it. âAnd this hat told you more than I could?â
âDespite how highly you may think of yourself darlinâ, yes. It was more useful.â
Squeezing it so hard your fists shook, you bit back, âWhat? Did you wave your hand over it and say abracadabra?â
âYou wonât believe me if I said what I used it for.â
âTry me.â
Jimin leaned forward to meet you halfway, the shrinking distance making your heart pound. âFine.â His gaze bored through yours. âNeeded his scent. His sweat is all over that thing.â
That caught you off guard. You unintentionally broke eye contact to cast a fleeting glance over to his dog, but a sinking feeling in your chest told you that wasnât who he was referring to. A nervous laugh tumbled out. âYou think I donât understand how dogs work?â
He was too close now, shaking his head slowly with a whisper. â I think youâre smart enough to know that isnât what Iâm talking about.â
Just as your mouth opened to stutter out something embarrassing about how close he was, he gave one controlled blink, and his eyes shifted from honeyed gold to violet, reflecting the light from the kitchen back through an icy sheen. You recognized that look, wide-eyed yet fierce, rooting you in place with an uncontrollable flare of fear.
Lines of invisible red string tacked themselves between two very distinct moments: Jimin standing mere inches from you in this tiny kitchen, and the mountain lion up on the mountainside, face smeared with blood just like his had been when he trekked from the woods.
âThat isnât possible. Absolutely not.â
Jimin offered you a bit of breathing room, laughing to himself. âNothinâ that happens in Deadwood should be possible.â
âWhat â so you just expect me to believe that youâre some shapeshifting cat thatâs actually trying to track my brother?â Anger boiled inside of you. Did he really think youâd fall for something like that? âGod, this is one crock pot full of shit youâre serving. If you were trying to convince me of your innocence, this just made it ten times worse. Take me to my brother and cut the shit, or I will actually hurt you this time.â
He held his hands up in surrender, stepping back as far as he could in such a cramped space. âIf you donât wanna believe me, donât. Iâm not trying to convince you of anything. Just trying to tell you what I know.â
â-which is that you have him somewhere.â
âWe donât.â
You groaned. âEnough with the lies just-â
âBut we think we know who might.â
You froze, fight leaving your body instantly in a moment of surprise. âWho?â
Another shrug and a passive look to the ticking timer on the stove. âIâll tell you when you feel like youâre ready to start believinâ in some ghosts.â
A truce was formed over that small wooden table. Was it spoken aloud? No. Did Jimin know about this truce? Also no. But the Encore lasagna in the oven smelled too good to pass up when you hadnât had a real hot meal in days. And besides, after standing in his kitchen a bit longer, a quick glance in his cabinets knocked his threat level down a few points.
This had to be a manâs house, not one made up for aesthetics to hide something. There were too many things that just made sense when the person living in it was just some guy. Things that would probably be missed in some elaborate set up.
He had two plates (maybe three if you counted the oddly sized one beside the stove he used as a spoon rest), two glasses, and the only bowls he had looked like one of those novelty winter sets from the 90s a parent would pass down to their kids for their first apartment with the expectation that theyâd be donated after. To tie it all together was his silverware, which was sparse and mismatched. He didnât even have coasters for the wooden table, the grain tattooed with pale rings from countless sweating glasses.
You had a sneaking suspicion that had you not been there, he might have forgone cutlery entirely and just eaten it straight from the container. (You canât judge, youâve been there). Everything in his kitchen was about efficiency and necessity. Not a place to create connection or spend any more time than was needed in.
You liked that. Made the meal go faster when it wasnât broken up with small talk or feigned politeness. Though a nice painting or table runner wouldnât have hurt.
The absence of conversation left space for you to glare at him from across the table, just making sure that he knew you werenât about to let your guard down completely just because he slid you a hearty helping of low-grade mozzarella and gummy noodles. Even if you did scarf it down embarrassingly fast.
Unfortunately for your pride, the lack of bubbling sauce meant that the only thing you could smell was yourself: sweat, sun, grass, and dirt. Had this been under any other circumstances, you wouldâve offered money to use their bathroom to rid yourself of the film of the great outdoors that had stuck to your skin. But under these circumstances, you were stuck in place watching him polish off the last of the lasagna with excessive scrapes of his spoon, still fighting internally about whether or not you should trust him.
He said he was looking for him, but why was your brother lost in the first place? And why had they been so secretive about it?
His clean plate reminded you that there was a choice to make. One that involved humoring ghost stories sooner rather than later.
Your brother owed you big time once you found him.
âSo.â You began, leaning back in your seat.
Jiminâs eyes flitted upwards from where he was digging in the crevices of the container for the last drops of melted cheese, his spoon sucked between his lips. âSo.â
âGhosts.â
The spoon popped out of his mouth and clattered into the empty container, and he leaned back in his chair. âWhat do you already know about the Wardens?â
âWhatever was on those papers you stole.â
He raised a brow. âWhich is?â
You sighed sharply, eyelid twitching with irritation. Getting information from him sure felt like pulling teeth for someone who had made a deal to open his mouth. âThat theyâve been around town since it was formed, set on protecting it from trespassers and whatever. Something something about stealing souls â yada yada shapeshifting coyotes.â Picking at the thread of your shorts you added, âBig hats, blue eyes. Smells blood. Being marked by the warden means certain death...just some light evening reading.â
âNothinâ else?â He urged.
âWhat else is there to it? Missing people? Animal attacks?â
Jimin pressed his lips into a thin line, finger tapping on the table impatiently. âAnd none of those pictures or stories meant anything to you?â
âThe animal attacks, no. The people told me that I was dealing with something real.â You thought back to the headshots on the photos, some grainier than others or hand drawn due to age. âAre they supposed to mean something to me?â
âWell, what do you think happened to âem?â Another question he dodged. Another hit to your patience.
âMurdered? Eaten? Fell off the mountain?â Ticking them off on your fingers, you rolled your eyes. âWhy did this turn into trivia night? Youâre supposed to tell me what you know.â
He blinked slowly, like he was holding back a sarcastic comment in the name of politeness. âI am. Just thought you wouldâve stated the obvious by now so this would be...easier.â
You laughed. âWhat â want me to say that I think youâre one of them?â
That had him squirming in his seat. âOne of what?â
âThe rangers?â
Jimin squeezed his eyes shut with a disappointed sigh and a clenched fist, like he had just watched his favorite sports team miss a straight shot. âSay it again...all together. Correctly.â
Gritting your teeth, you obliged. â...That I think you could be a Deadwood Warden?â
âJesus almighty-â he ran his palms down his face and cast a cursory glance towards the front door. âSay it like you believe it.â
âFine.â You crossed your arms over your chest and delivered the line with as much conviction as you could muster. âI think youâre a Deadwood-â
Gooey roared to life with ground-shaking barks, bounding in from the living room and drifting across the tile to round on the front door. The sound had you jumping a foot straight into the air with your hands clasped over your ears to save your poor eardrums. Seconds later, the door handle twisted and pushed itself open, making just enough space for two of the other men from before to waltz right in.
Of course, it was Hoseok himself. Always getting in the way when you thought you were finally getting somewhere. This time, he was tailed by the one he called Taehyung, who now looked a lot like the friend Jimin had been riding with when you had first met him in better lighting. Oh, how blissfully unaware you were then. You wished you had just taken the leap and jumped on him before things got weird. Just one night of blissful ignorance...
âDown.â Hoseok whistled sharply through his teeth, irked at the large paws that kept trying to walk up his front like a bridge to land a sloppy kiss on his face. âJimin, get your mutt.â
âIâll get him~â Taehyung dropped to his knees, squishing Gooeyâs face between his palms and roughing it up. An effective distraction for the attention hungry dog. âHey buddyâŚâ
Hoseok stepped over the two with a deep frown, tossing your backpack on the floor and letting it skid over the tile at your feet. âGuessinâ you want this back. Word of advice next time you wanna go pracinâ through the woods?â He stopped next to you on his way to Jiminâs fridge to look down his nose. âDonât use your food and way home as a weapon.â He yanked open the fridge door and swiped a chilled bottle of water from it, chugging half of it in one go.
Looks like he was good at making himself comfortable wherever he pleased, you rolled your eyes.
âHowâs it going?â Taehyung asked politely, still wrestling with the dog near the entrance.
Jimin pursed his lips. âStill stuck on step one.â
âReally? Thought she wouldâve come at you guns blazing with the little show at lunch.â
âSo had IâŚâ Jimin trailed off, glancing at you quickly.
âA good scare always shuts 'em up.â Hoseok looked on the edge of a smile, tipping back the last of the drink smoothly. Fucker.
You rushed to defend yourself. âI wasnât scared.â
âYeah, cut the gas!â Another head poked into the open door with a laugh, tattooed knuckles rapping on the frame with no rhyme or reason, just to get the energy out. âWe could hear you whimpering from down the hill.â The younger one made a show of blubbering like a kid with an exaggerated pout, rubbing his fists beneath his eyes to drive the point home.
âDonât be a dick.â Taehyung shoved at the otherâs hip with one hand, though he himself let out a small chuckle at the display. âGo home, Jungkook.â
âDonât gotta tell me twice.â Jungkook kicked the otherâs hand away before nodding to Hoseok. âWe good for the night boss?â
âBeat it, kid.â Hoseok spat.
Jungkook darted to leave, but second-guessed himself, hovering nearby once more. â...And Iâm off the hook tomorrow?â
Hoseok regarded him with vague disinterest. âHow many Scalers you get?â
âFifteen. Yoongi only got nine.â
The eldest sighed, shaking his head and launching his empty bottle into the trash. âYou want the day off for fifteen?â
Hoseok planted his hands on his hips, chewing on the inside of his cheek. At first youâd thought heâd lash out and scold the kid for being so naive, but instead he rolled his eyes and pushed the lip of his hat down so he wouldnât have to look at him anymore. "Fine, but I want double next time. Kick dirt before I change my mind.â
âYes!â Jungkook cheered, leaping off the porch and sprinting off down the dirt roads with a howl of victory.
Taking up the opportunity Jungkookâs rude interruption had stolen, you seized control of the conversation again and faced Jimin once more. âSo, back to our deal. Spill.â
âLike I said,â Jimin looked like the night was starting to weigh on him, his composure traded out for exhaustion. âGotta be willing to believe in some ghosts first.â
âI do,â You lied smoothly.
Jimin made a face. âDonât sound like it.â
As cute as he was, he had gotten on one too many of your nerves. Whatâd he want you to do? Get on your knees and beg? Maybe if the circumstances were different, but definitely not now.
While you began to calculate your next attempt at the role of believer, you felt Hoseokâs eyes on you just like before at the shop. Heard his boots scuffle closer, watching his shadow close in from the corner of your eye.
âWell Iâll be damned,â he mused to himself, hovering over you now.
Jimin stopped playing with the handle of his spoon instantly, responding to Hoseokâs shift in demeanor with one of his own. Fatigue wiped itself away to make room for guarded caution, muscles tense and breath caught, tracking each and every subtle movement his colleague made like he was awaiting the moment heâd snap for your throat.
âSeems like I was right.â Hoseok spoke again, sounding like his revelation was more of an expected calculation than a surprise. Hooking a long finger in the collar of your shirt, he gave it a sharp tug before you could swat it away. âLooks like she got herself a mark of her own. No good following any rulesâll do her.â
A noise of surprise bubbled out from Jimin and he was on his feet in an instant, instinctively tugging at the sleeve of your t-shirt. He only had half a second to do it before you were gnashing your teeth at his hands, leaping out of reach.
âTouch me and Iâll bite!â
Hoseok grumbled, rounding the table to a thin door behind it you had assumed was some closet, nudging it open to reveal the tiniest shoebox of a bathroom you had ever seen. Though calling it a shoebox was being generous if you were being honest. âLet âer see for herself.â
With your heart hammering in your ribs, you scrambled out from beneath the table and into the dinky bathroom, sliding past him and the strange, cryptic look he wore. Once in front of the mirror, you shoved at the fabric of your dirt-stained t-shirt until you could find what they were referring to.
At first, you didnât notice it, the overhead lighting making it hard to see. But the pads of your fingers found the raised flesh on the skin near the top of your shoulder blade, thick and irritated like a scar, stretching further down than where you could reach. Twisting to get a better look, your breath caught in your throat at the raised bumps. Long oblong shapes bent and curved like a hand made of hot iron had seared its touch straight through your skin, its fingers curling just over your trapezius.
âWhat is this?â You whirled on Jimin, who had crowded in the doorway, his expression growing grim. âJimin â what the fuck is this? What does he mean he was right? Right about what? Talk damnit!â
At a loss for words, Jimin tugged up the hem of his gray tee, brandishing a similar yet faded scar splattered across his ribs like an old tattoo. The palm situated just in line with where the bottom of his heart would be.
Taehyung was trying to pry his way in past Hoseok for a peek, but whatever they were saying to one another fell on deaf ears, the ringing sound in them starting to drown out even your own thoughts. The only one strong enough to break through was a flash of one of the woo-woo articles you had read from, their choice of words hammering into your mind like the last nail in your metaphorical coffin. Maybe even literal coffin.
There is only one fate awaiting those marked by the hand of the Warden: certain death.
Yoongiâs new vlog gives me so much CUTENESS AGRESSION AUGHHHH HIS SQUISHY CHEEKSđ
ITS SO PRECIOUS. I love him. I love getting to see him do normal things just 'cause he wants to.
AND THE SPAIN PHOTOS???? Such big Pech energy. I literally almost made a little drabble post inspired by those photos because Pech! Yoongi would totally drag mc to look at all the Antoni Gaudi architecture. OF COURSE he'd make mc look at all the building and art tours. OF COURSE he'd pretend he wasnt gushing over all of it all day like a nerd when the group went out for dinner....
Hey all! I'm 99% sure I've finished the discord server for the followers who were interested!
It's very relaxed and lowkey, mostly made with the intent of making some new ARMY friends and building some community. It doesn't just have to be about BTS (even though there are spaces for that) - there are designated spaces to talk about a wide range of other topics, including gaming, hobbies, witchcraft/spiritualism, fics/writing and more. So don't feel like you can only talk about one thing if you are hesitant on joining. If you want to join, shoot me a message or comment and I'll send the invite link!
We can play games together, fan out over BTS, share creative projects, do little virtual events (comeback parties anyone???) - the potential has no bounds.
The only main restrictions I have are that you must be 18+, I'm keeping it to followers only so it doesn't get too stressful for me to manage. Any other rules will be available upon entry.
And lastly, don't be worried about feeling like you'd always need to be online or up to date - I know I'm not! You won't get kicked out just because you live a busy life. We will all be adults in that chat, so we should all understand LOL.
One of my favorite things to do since I have a garden is take photos of it and use it for my moodboards, masterlists, stories banners, or inspo boards. Fuck ai, catch me limping through the woods to get just the right picture...
My garden is REALLY making me want to go back to PODI. It's giving such Fenland Devotee vibes, every time I see it I get giddy
Hiii omg have you watched the anime 'Witch Hat Atelier'?
Hi!!!! No I have not - but it looks interesting! I used to watch some anime when I was younger but I haven't watched any in a hot minute. Is this one newer? I am so chronically out of loop with anything all the time đ§ââď¸
obsessed with ur username btw i feel as if we have lost the ancient texts of calling yoongi a million different versions of some sort of oongi and seeing urs made me shed a tear
It really is a lost art, there used to be a hundred different ways to say his name back in the day...We gotta bring the silly and whimsy back into fandom space one username at a time đ¤đ¤đ¤
