#i mean the arson was just grass

[sarcasticdolphin]

[sailoryooons]

Red | KNJ | (m)

☾ Pairing: Werewolf!Namjoon x f. reader

☾ Summary: For as long as you can remember, your village has been relatively normal. But when people begin to turn up dead right after a group of newcomers arrive, pieces of your past start to fall into place, and something feels familiar - particularly the quiet man who can't take his eyes off of you.

☾ Word Count: 21,148

☾ Genre: Supernatural, thriller, smut

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Fantasy violence, light depections of murder and animal attacks, mentions of gore, discussions about community displacement and violence, Yoongi is an asshole, animal attacks, depictions of blood, tbh reader and Namjoon don’t know each other THAT well when they fuck so idk, implied protecting from a far but not in a stalker way, explicit language, intense sequences of fear and anxiety, reader is attacked by a wolf, there is a mention of animals being hurt/killed but not in explicit details, dead bodies, arson, sexually explicit content invluding vaginal fingering, nipple play, vaginal penetration, a little bit of mention of fluids but not really. 

☾ Published: Sunday, January 21 2024

☾ A/N: I wish I could explain to you how this got to be so long. I wrote it over several weeks and each day I picked it back up, I just kept adding dialogue and scenery and setting. Like half of this isn’t even Namjoon and reader reacting - what was I doing? I wish I knew! I hope you like my spin on Red Riding Hood anyway! I tried to do this in a way that it doesn’t seem creepy that Namjoon was silently looking out for reader but like… I could understand if someone finds it creepy I am so sorry lmfao.  I did read through this to edit but I 100% missed stuff because I'm a rougher editor and this is unbeta'd.

☾ A/N 2: This is a Red Riding Hood Retelling that is similar in vibe to the 2011 Red Riding Hood movie directed by Catherine Hardwicke.

 Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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Father always said not to go into the woods at night. Like him, though, the woods have always called to you, feeling like a second home. You’ve never been able to explain it, and you’ve stopped trying to. 

It’s a little chilly outside, the first breath of harvest air nipping at your skin. In a few weeks, it will be freezing outside, forcing you into cloaks and furs. 

Grass crunches beneath your feet as you slip through the small yard and toward the tree line. Your house already sits at the edge of the village, the dark trees stretching high above the rooftops. Soon the trees will be dusted in snow, but for now, they sway gently in the autumn breeze, turned silver by the moonlight. 

You’ve always loved the woods. The sounds of the crickets singing and rabbits dashing underfoot are calming, the smell of sticky pine and fresh air invigorating. You especially love them at night, hidden beneath boughs and walking through the shafts of moonlight that slip through the trees. 

The best part is that you don’t feel so alone out here. There is a feeling you cannot place each time you enter the woods, like you’re a little closer to discovering yourself. You’ve been chasing that feeling since you were a little girl, hungry for finding whatever it is that drives you out here. 

Hands tucked into your pockets, you walk the same route you always follow. It isn’t deep into the woods - you aren’t silly enough to believe you’re safe alone in the dark - but it’s enough of a walk to clear your head. 

Howls echo up into the night, a wolf pack on their hunt. The sound of them makes the hair on your arms stand on end.

The wolves don’t come very close to the village anymore since the vicious wolf hunts when you were barely old enough to remember them. The relationship between the men of your home and the wolves in the wood is violent, a chill cooling your skin every time they’re mentioned by one of your neighbors. 

A terrible howl splits the night. You feel your body go cold with fear, warmth leaching out of you as you press yourself against a tree, heart in your throat. The sound is something like a howl laced with utter anguish, chilling you down to the marrow. It tapers off into a whimper before falling silent again. 

Pressed against the tree, you wait. Your heart is beating so harshly that it feels like you might vomit in fear. Soft whimpering drifts on the wind. You hold your breath and strain your ears. It almost sounds like an injured dog.

It tugs at your heartstrings. You bite your lip, weighing your options. The noise sounded like it came from the south a little off of your path and toward the ravine that splits the part of the woods that is relatively safe from the deeper part where the animals are more lethal and more frequent. You could easily find your way back if you made it to the ravine, and as the whimpering vanishes entirely, you can’t help but imagine an animal in pain. 

The most difficult part about working with Dr. Kim at the veterinary clinic is always the animals that he can’t fix. You’ve held the hands of loved ones who couldn’t save their aging dogs, and you’ve hushed lame horses as Dr. Kim prepared draughts to send them to sleep and then to death. 

Pivoting, you turn and march toward the initial sound. It may perhaps be the single worst idea you’ve ever had, but you suddenly don’t care. You’ve worked with Dr. Kim enough to know how to triage animal wounds, and the thought of leaving something alone and suffering replaces any sort of fear you originally had. 

You’re careful not to lose your footing as the ground slopes steadily as you get closer to the ravines and canyons of the south side. Leaves shift underneath your feet as you go. It feels overly loud in a forest that is suddenly so quiet, only filled with the softest sound of labored breathing.

A small dip in the ground catches you off guard. You gasp, a scream stuck in your throat as you lose your footing and slide down the slope, your back and ass hitting the ground hard as you slide, leaves hissing underneath you. You scramble to grab a hold of something, but the hill isn’t very high and you hit the bottom of it quickly.

Heart pounding, you lay in the damp leaves for a second, panting, hand pressed to your heart as it rattles under your palm. Just as the fear settles down, a growl makes your blood run cold. Slowly, you begin to turn your face toward the left. You realize you’ve slid down a dell, and a few yards from you is a large, shivering form covered in fur.

You blink. Once. Twice. You realize that the large mound of fur is a creature - a wolf. It lays on the ground shaking, a ride of jet black hair standing up on its spine, hackles raised. The wolf’s ears are pinned back and its yellow eyes are wild, nearly consumed by the dark pupils drinking you in. Its teeth are bared, foam and drool lining pink gums as it snares, nose twitching. 

It’s the biggest wolf you’ve ever seen. You can’t move. You can only stare at it, wondering why it continues to snarl and stare at you, but not move. Your eyes rove its trembling form from maw to tail, and you realize its front leg is wet and held at an odd angle.

“Oh,” you gasp, realizing that the wolf’s foot is stuck in a claw trap. “I’m so sorry. I… can I help you?”

The wolf stops growling for a moment as if it understands. You stare with wide eyes, not daring to move as it assesses you. It leans toward you and sniffs, the sound of snuffing loud in the silence of the dell. For a few moments, you just watch as the beast regards you. 

Then, it chuffs and looks at its own foot, whining. You sit up slowly in amazement. The creature watches you with what you can only describe as a caution. You get up carefully and make your way toward the wolf. It watches your every movement. It can surely smell your fear as you get a few feet away, crouching down with your hands held out to let it know you’re not going to cause harm. 

You pause, waiting for permission to examine the wolf’s foot. It gazes at you and for a moment, you lose yourself in that burning, golden gaze. The wolf’s eyes are so human that it’s hard to see it as a simple beast. There is something alive and intelligent there.

As if sensing that you’re waiting for the all-clear, the wolf chuffs and lowers its head toward its foot, gesturing. You smile a little at that, marveling at the communication skills. Carefully, you look at the trap around the wolf’s foot. It’s a metal contraption that is pressure-engaged, with metal teeth. You cringe seeing the red on matted fur and metal.

“You must have stepped on the pressure plate,” you tell the wolf, though it probably doesn’t understand. You gesture to the round plate at the center of the trap. “It would have been in a circle and when stepped on, snapped closed like jaws.”

The wolf whines and bows its head. You wince. “They’re really strong,” you admit, chewing on your lip. “I don’t think I can pull it apart all the way, but I might be able to open it enough just for a moment for you to pull out your leg. Can you do that?” 

A huff. Somehow, you think if it could, the wolf might roll its eyes. Your mouth twitches in an almost smile as you get onto your knees, wiping sweaty hands on your pants. This close to the beast, you realize just how large it is. 

“This is going to hurt,” you insist. “Please… Please don’t bite me, okay? I want to help you.” 

The wolf lowers its head until it's lying on the ground, gold eyes watching you. Its muscles are tense and the hair along the ridge of its back is still standing, afraid and alert. 

“Okay. I’m just… I’m just going to touch the trap and try to get a grip first, okay?” The wolf doesn’t answer. It blinks at you, waiting. Licking your lips, you whisper, more to yourself than anything, “Okay, I can do this.”

Slowly, you reach out toward the wolf’s injured foot. You flick your gaze over to the wolf looking for a reaction. It just watches you, though you feel tension. The metal is wicked cold to the touch. You hiss and the creature flinches a little, a whistle-whine escaping its nose. You mutter an apology, fingers pressing to the ridges of the cold metal. 

It’s slippery with blood. You chew on your lip, prodding your finger in the space between the metal teeth on the edges where it’s not clamped around the wolf’s paw. You wiggle your finger a little, testing the strength of the closed jaws of the trap. It doesn’t budge and you curse. 

Sweat beads on the back of your neck, freezing in the cool air. You lift your other hand, very carefully trying to find a good grip on either side of the jaws to pry them open. The movement jostles the trap a little, the wolf snarling in pain. You flinch and rip your hands away, looking at it. Gold eyes burn and the wolf huffs, as though telling you to be more careful.

“Sorry,” you mutter. “I’m nervous and it’s hard to get a grip on it.” The wolf snorts. You glare at it. “I’m sorry, do you want to do this instead?” Your only answer is a rumble as it looks the other direction. “That’s what I thought.”

Sighing, you turn your attention back to the metal. Anyone a little stronger and older could probably pull it open. Seokjin for sure could - even Hoseok who is as old as you are, but plenty stronger. You try not to think about how weak you are, and instead wiggle your fingers through the gaps in the teeth.

The cool metal stings your hands. It’s not a great grip and your fingers are placed in bad positioning due to the teeth of the trap. Taking in a big breath, you try to pull the metal jaws apart. 

Nothing happens and you let your breath out, panting lightly as you stop trying to pull. The wolf flicks its tale but makes no other sound. With the way you’re gripping the jaws, you realize that pulling it apart is going to be difficult. It would rely on your forearms to peel the metal jaws backward… But if you were to push down and push apart, you could use your body weight as an extra boost. It would be pushing the jaws apart from above instead of trying to pry them apart with sheer strength.

Leaning high on your knees, you position yourself straight over the trap, your weight settling in on your forearms. You take another deep breath and this time when you pull, you push your weight down on the trap. For a second, it seems like it’s not going to give. You hiss through your teeth, muscles clenching, fingers burning as your skin presses against the metal as hard as you can stand it.

Then, the jaw opens a little. You grind your teeth harder, the ache in your arms growing as you push as hard as you can. Your forearms are trembling. You feel the vein throbbing in your neck and forehead. Just when you think you’re going to fail, the jaws give way again. You growl, feeling a surge of energy go through you at the small victory and you shove your body weight down on it hard. The springs creak a little and open more.

Little by little, the trap opens up. Your vision pulses red as you pant, strength waning. And then it’s like you hit the let-off point of the contraption, pushing it enough that the rest of the way it just falls open. You let go of the trap and the wolf yanks its leg from it. It now lies open and bloody as you collapse on the ground next to it, breathing hard, breath misting the air. 

Your heart beats in your ears, pulse thrumming in your neck wildly. For a second, you forget all about the wolf. You laugh up to the dark trees, a giddy feeling shooting through you. You did it, even though you didn’t think you would be able to. 

A dark presence alerts you. Slowly, you turn your head to face the wolf. It’s standing almost above you, looking more imposing than it did before. You swallow hard, mouth going dry as it blinks down at you. It favors the injured leg, but stands nonetheless, watching you. 

“Please don’t kill me,” you whisper, limbs trembling not only with exhaustion but fear. 

The wolf doesn’t kill you at all. Instead, it leans its head down and presses its cold, wet nose to your arm. You flinch, squeezing your eyes shut for a minute. Then the beast chuffs, making you peak at it. When you meet its gold eyes, you get the sense it is vaguely amused.

“Oh,” you breathe, relief sagging your aching body. “Cool. You’re not going to kill me.”

Standing, you realize that the wolf is still taller than you. You tilt your head upward, staring. There’s no way this is a normal creature, but you don’t know what else it could possibly be. You recall the legends of werewolves and dire wolves told by the men of your town, but you’re unsure if those are real. 

“Let’s take care of this,” you mutter, grabbing a branch and jamming it into the pressure plate of the trap. It snaps shut with a loud clang, snapping the branch, but otherwise ineffective now that it’s re-sprung. The wolf flinches and whines at the sound, no doubt remembering the feeling of the instrument on its leg. “Sorry.” 

Silence stretches out over the woods, the night growing deeper and cooler. You shiver, rubbing your hands up and down your arms as you turn to the wolf, which watches you keenly. 

“Will you be okay?” the question comes out as a whisper. The wolf huffs and steps forward, pressing its snout to your head. It’s cold and wet, making you shiver as it snuffs against your skin. “Good. I um - should start climbing this hill.”

It swivels its head and turns, waiting. You grin, realizing it will accompany you back up, at least. Though injured, the wolf is able to walk with three legs, the wounded leg lifted off the ground. Its gait is awkward and hobbled, but the two of you make it up the hill together, your breathing labored. 

At the top, moonlight shines through the trees and you both pause. A series of howls goes up in the night, startling you. The wolf looks up, ears twitching as it tilts its head, listening. Slowly, it turns to look at you, gold eyes sparkling. 

“I guess you have to go, huh?” it bows its head once. “Stay safe, okay?” 

The wolf steps forward. Presses its muzzle into your temple and huffs, making you grin. You smell pine and bergamot, pleasant and calming. “Yeah, you’re welcome.” 

Slowly, the wolf clambours off, vanishing into the dark woods, leaving you to hurry home yourself. 

-

“Wear this at all times for protection, especially in the forest,” you murmur, holding the neatly scrawled note. You frown and look down at the fine cloak folded on the dresser. It had appeared overnight as if by magic, a funny feeling flipping your stomach. “Where did you come from?”

The cloak, of course, has no answer. You lift your hand to feel it, breathing out a dreamy sigh. The inside is lined with soft bear fur. Outside is some of the finest cloth you’ve ever seen, gentle but sturdy to the touch and dyed the most delicious shade of scarlet. 

Carefully, you lift the cloak. It’s a little big for your size, but not unwearable. You slip it over your sleeping gown, loving the way the material ripples like blood over your shoulders, the fur lining keeping you warm. It smells like pine and bergamot, making you pause. 

Certainly, a wolf did not bring you a cloak. Still, the timing is quite odd. You don’t know who else could possibly make a cloak so fine in the village, and the smell… you shake your head. A wolf did not bring you a cloak, but it did seem perhaps you had a secret admirer. 

-

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER

“Boo!” You scream and drop the collection of logs in your hands, whirling around. Hoseok bursts into laughter, doubling over as he slaps his hands against his knees, hot breath misting the air. “You should see your face!”

“You rotten bastard!” You growl, picking up a log and throwing it at him. It doesn’t hit him, but he jumps away from it anyway, careful not to let it drop on his toes. “That isn’t funny!”

“It’s a little funny.”

“It’s not!” You crouch down and start picking up the timber. Hoseok at least has the decency to help you, starting with the log you threw at him. “There was another animal attack last night, in case you didn’t know.” 

That makes him pause. “There was?”

“Yes,” you hiss, snatching the last log and standing. “So stop lurking around corners and scaring me. It isn’t funny.” 

“Well, an animal isn’t going to attack you in the village. Unless you’re talking about Mingyu’s fiancee, anyway. That one is feral indeed.” 

You level Hoseok with a look and he gives you a grin. His nose and ears are red from the cold - and maybe a little guilt for scaring you - and he offers to take the timber from your arms. You let him, shoveling it over to him and marching around the front of your house. 

Wind howls between the houses, ripping at the ends of your red cloak. It catches your hood, throwing it up over your head as you shiver and tuck your hands into the fur lining. A shiver rattles up your spine as you kick the snow from your boots and rush inside, Hoseok quick on your heels. 

“So what happened?” Hoseok asks, following you to your room. 

“The Matheson Family,” you mumble. “They were attacked. San went down to collect new saddles his father ordered and found them slaughtered - their hounds too.” 

“They have hunting hounds - what the hell can kill those?”

“Perhaps it’s the wolves again. Dr. Kim was going with the city council to investigate.” 

Hoseok sighs. “The timing isn’t good. It’s about time the traders arrived. What if they bypass us entirely if the road is too dangerous?”

It’s a thought that has been plaguing everyone in the village. Because of the remote location on the north side of the woods, your small spec on the map relies on traders at the beginning of every winter for things that you’ll need to make it through: salt, extra grain and fruits, tools too advanced and large for the local smithy, repairs on houses and wagons. 

Arrival times of traders fluctuate every year. Sometimes there’s a cold snap, burying roads in heavy snow that are unnavigable. Other times, there is unrest in the woods when a rogue band of thieves gets the idea to rob travelers and hide in the woods until the city council sends a team of men to deal with it. 

Now, though, it’s getting into the late period of their arrival. The entire village holds its breath waiting for them, people looking out the open gates down the snowy road hoping to see a courier come ahead to announce the arrival of wagons and troupes of people. 

“Do you really think it’s wolves?” Hoseok asks. “I don’t think I’ve heard of wolf attacks like this since…” 

Hoseok winces. “It’s fine,” you assure him with a smile. “It’s not like I remember that time, much less remember my dad.” 

It’s true. Early memories of your childhood are murky at best. You remember being happy and loving your dad. You remember a period of fear and general uneasiness in the town, wolf attacks rampant and frequent. There had been plenty of men and women who died during that period, including your father.

That was a long time ago, though. For the most part, life in your small village is uninteresting. Some winters are harder than others, like the current season, but you’ve always managed to get by. 

“Do you remember much of that time period?” you ask him quietly. 

“Not really. Just that everyone was afraid. It was a really harsh winter and it drove wolves down from the mountains. I remember it being strange.”

“Strange how?” 

You chew your lip and shake your head, trying to encapsulate the thread of memory you have. Of feeling the tremor of fear in the air, the cold feeling of dread… like something violent was in the village. Something wrong.

“I don’t know. I was so young.”

“Hmm.” 

The talk of wolves makes you think about your wolf. Your lips curve at the memory of how gentle the wolf was, the somber eyes, and the smell of pine and bergamot. 

It would be a lie to say you had not gone out to the woods several times since that night to try and find the beast again. You haven’t seen him since, but you’ve always had a feeling he’s there somewhere. Watching. Waiting. 

“Either way,” Hoseok sighs. “Dad seems worried this winter will be like that time. He’s been doing a lot of will and testament papers at the office. He works late every night and is gone early in the morning.” 

“Really?”

“Want to hear what Mr. Hillshire is leaving for his kids?” Hoseok leans forward, conspiratorial. “You won’t believe it.” 

-

The bell over the door rings as someone enters the salon of Dr. Kim’s veterinary practice, drawing your attention. You straighten when you see San walk in.

“Hi, San,” you greet. “Here to pick up Maple?” 

“Yeah, is that alright? Mom is busy at the shop.” 

“Of course.” You wipe your sweaty hands on your skirts and gesture behind you with your thumb. “I’ll go fetch her. Dr. Kim is on an errand but she’s ready to go.” 

The back of the building with the kennels is quiet. The Choi family cat and two other sleeping dogs are the only occupants of the practice, making it an easy day. Maple is dozing in her kennel, chirping in protest when you open the cage and scoop her into a carrier. She’s a lazy thing, a calico with pretty eyes and a newly stitched ear. 

Carefully you carry her up front. San is standing patiently in the lobby, hands behind his back as he looks around nervously. You raise your brows as you come around the counter, handing over the carrier. “Everything okay?”

“Hmm?”

“You look nervous. It’s just me and the Lowells’ hounds back here.” 

“Oh, yes.” His ears blush pink as he accepts the carrier and steps back. “Just a nervous energy in general. I have been since um…”

Oh. You had forgotten that it was San who discovered the Matheson family disemboweled by some kind of animal. The constable had thought that maybe it was a pack of wolves but was concerned by how big the claw marks and destruction were. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt.

“For what?”

“That you had to see that, I guess? It must have been terrifying.”

“A little,” he admits, looking at his shoes. “I walked the path to the Mathesons all the time. I don’t ever recall seeing something that could… do that.”

“Was it that awful?” 

He nods. “Like nothing I’ve ever seen. Don’t get me wrong, I go on hunting parties. We’ve seen the leftovers from bears and wolves. This was something worse. It felt like…” He shakes his head and looks up at you. “It felt angry.”

“Angry?”

“Yeah. I know that doesn’t make sense. It was probably just a beast coming down from the mountain because it was starving. You know how harsh winters are.” 

You hum in agreement. 

San dismisses himself, thanking you again for helping with the family cat and throwing a wave over his shoulder. You return it half-heartedly, already distracted with thoughts of what the animal attacks could mean.

You think about your wolf and how kind and intelligent it was. You don’t remember ever feeling a sense of impending doom like you do now, a heaviness to the air as you stand idly behind the counter. 

Dr. Kim's return startles you at the counter. You press your hands flat against the top of the desk, leaning up on your tiptoes as you see his son Seokjin enter behind him. Your heart flutters a little at the sight, still overwhelmed by his handsome face. 

Seokjin is tall and broad, with dark hair and a beautiful face. His sharp eyes find you and he gives you a half smile, though there seems to be something on his mind as he follows his father into the backroom, Dr. Kim barely saying hello as he goes, his brows furrowed in deep thought.

The two of them disappear and you watch the door swing shut behind them. Curious, you trail around the counter and softly walk over to the door, pulling it open a smidge.

It’s difficult to pick up on their words, but you can hear Dr. Kim’s timbre speaking in low tones from somewhere in the backroom. You hold your breath and wedge the door open a little more, pressing your ear toward the gap between the frame and the door. 

“... again. They’re going to want to start hunting parties again soon.”

“So what do we do?”

Silence. Then, “Send a message….”

“... brought it on themselves… it’s time to make things right.” 

Behind you, the bell rings at the door. You gasp, letting go of the door to the back room and spin around, heart hammering in your chest. Hoseok stands at the door, raising his brows in question. 

“What are you doing here?” you demand, suddenly angry that he’s startled you and ruined your sleuthing.

“I promised your mom I would walk home with you at the end of your shift, remember? Dangerous out there.” 

You blink and look out the window, realizing that the heavy gray of evening is setting over the road. You hadn’t realized it was so late. 

Nodding, you grab your cloak in a hurry. You pop your head into the back room, both Seokjin and Dr. Kim looking at you as you do. “I’m leaving for the evening, sir. Is there anything else you need?”

“No, thank you for watching the place while I was gone. Tomorrow we have to make a house call to the Marrow farm. Lame horse.”

Seokjin frowns. “Do you think that is wise?” Dr. Kim looks at his son under heavy brows. “With the current conditions.” 

“We’ll be fine.” Something passes between them, son and father locked in a heated gaze. You stand there awkwardly, glancing between the two.

Seokjin breaks his stare from his father and flashes you a grin. “You have someone to walk you home?”

“Yeah, Hoseok is here.” You hug the cloak tighter to your chest and Seokjin’s eyes drop to it. An unreadable expression passes his face before he nods. “Have a good evening!”

“You too.”

Leaving them behind, you head to where Hoseok waits for you, examining drawings of animal skeletons and anatomy. You pull your cloak on, feeling safe and warm under the red material. Hoseok looks up at you, thrusting his thumb at one of the drawings of a horse. “I don’t look like that, right?” 

-

The red cloak tied around you wicks the sweat from the back of your neck. Your fingers work quickly as you tie it, knowing you’re already late to meeting Dr. Kim. Thankfully, you don’t make a habit of being late and you’re sure he won’t mind too much.

Strange dreams had plagued you all night. Images of wolves, blood and mist. Echoes of howling, screaming and thunder. Now as you hurry out of your home and into the wicked wind of winter, you cannot shake a sense of premonition.

Dr. Kim is already on the doorstep when you arrive at the veterinary office, a heavy coat on his shoulders and a bag of tools in his hand. He nods when he sees you and comes down the steps, turning toward the south exit of the village. 

Neither of you speak. Beyond the fact that you don’t think you’d be able to hear Dr. Kim over the howling wind, it doesn’t feel like the kind of trip that requires speaking. The evergreens on either side of the road loom over you, bows heavy with snow. Every so often, a branch cracks with the weight of frozen icicles, making you flinch with the sound.

It feels like you’re being watched. Every so often, you swivel your head this way and that, glancing at the trees. The trunks are too close together and the branches to tangle to see beyond them on either side of the road. Still, your skin tingles from something beyond the cold, you just don’t know what. 

The Marrow farm is only a little over a mile from the main village, but the snow covered roads make it slow going. As you near the edge of where their acres begin, your boots are already heavy with melted slush and your calves and thighs burn from dragging your feet through the path. 

Perhaps it was not a good day to do a house call. 

Passing white-covered gates, you’re thankful that at least the wind has died down as the morning turns into midday. The sun is hidden by clouds, but there is a hint of warmth in the air. The Marrow farm is made up of three buildings: the small house in front, the large barn to the back left where they keep their animals, and a giant silo for grains. 

As you near the house, a loud banging reaches you. Both you and Dr. Kim pause, listening as the sound carries on the wind. It doesn’t sound like hammering, but rather like a door slamming over and over again. 

“Barn door?” you suggest, looking up at Dr. Kim. His dark eyes look at the house, expression grim. “But why would they let it slam relentlessly?” 

“Keep your wits about you,” he murmurs, ignoring your question. “Go to the main house. I’ll go round to the barn. Perhaps they’ve forgotten the appointment.”

No smoke comes from the chimney. No snow is cleared from the footpath to the door. The shutters are closed, which makes sense to keep the cold out. As you approach the steps leading up to the porch, you note that none of the hounds are baying. The Marrow’s have several bloodhounds, all of which keep noisy providence around the threshold of the door. 

Spine tingling, you lift your hand and knock. There’s no answer. You strain your ears, leaning forward for any hint that the Marrow’s or one of their two sons are coming to the door. Not even the dogs alert them of your presence. 

You think about San finding the Mathesons butchered and your stomach drops. You knock again, knuckles stinging with cold as they rap harshly against the wooden door. Tucking your hand back into your cloak, you wait. 

Nothing comes. 

Taking a deep breath, you reach for the door and twist the handle. It opens easily, swinging inward to a cold, empty home. Inside, the air is still and dead. Behind you, the breeze brushes the edges of your cloak and the hood on your head. 

Silence hangs. Licking your lips, you lift a foot. It hands over the threshold, fear making you pause. There is nothing inside the home, and yet you find that you’re utterly terrified of stepping inside. Your stomach knots and for a few moments, you just stand there with your foot in the air, staring with unseeing eyes into the dark interior. 

You step into the room and pause. Nothing happens. The air inside the home is stale, like the doors and windows have not been opened for a few days. The cold is bone deep, clinging to the undisturbed air. You scan the room for any sign of life, but see nothing that stirs. 

Everything looks lived in. There are knitted blankets tossed across the backs of old arm chairs, boots by the door, unlaced and soft with age. Mugs have been turned upside down and placed on a towel near the basin for drying, and there are dice on the kitchen table. 

Navigating slowly, you move to the hall with bedrooms. Doors hang open, revealing unmade beds and clothes on the floor. Here too, the air feels undisturbed. You hear the breeze outside and the soft creak of the house, but nothing else makes a sound, save for the loud beating of your own heart. 

Shivering, you make your way to the front of the home. Something foul hangs in the air and you want to be rid of the feeling, quickening your steps to leave through the front door and-

Fear stabs deep into your stomach when you see the wolf standing in the doorway. It stands half in the home, half out, only the front two paws over the threshold. The beast barely fits in the door frame, wide as two men standing side by side and tall as a horse. 

You don’t move. It stares at you with bright, burning eyes. Its fur is dark, though there is a jagged ring of light fur around the right, front paw. You swear you smell pine and bergamot. Something nudges at the back of your mind as the two of you stand off - and it clicks into place.

“You,” you breathe. “You’re the wolf I helped!” 

For a moment, the bright yellow eyes stare at you. They’re unreadable, and yet… emotive. Intelligent. Understanding. The wolf dips its snout in a nod. 

“What are you doing here? Where are the Marrows?” 

The wolf’s ears flicker. Slowly, it backs out of the house. Throwing caution to the wind, you rush after him, nearly tripping over a wolfskin rug in the home.

Outside, the wolf stands below the porch. You step on the porch and pull up short, heart racing as you see the pack of wolves standing in front of the home.

The wolves are a variety of colors and sizes. You dare not move your head, but you scan them with your eyes, drinking in the different creatures. The only thing that they have in common is that they are freakishly large. 

Your wolf - for in your mind he’s yours - stands in front of you. He growls, hair on his spine raising as he regards the other wolves. There’s a silent standoff of sorts, the wolf you saved facing the others. You cannot understand their body language, but the air seems charged. 

The smell of smoke is in the air. You don’t dare look for the source, too afraid to do anything to disrupt the standoff. Breathing in deeply, you think you smell cedar. Oil. Something else that you can’t identify. 

Footsteps crunch the snow. You whip your head to the side, a warning on your tongue as Dr. Kim rounds the house, a haunted expression on his face. He stops abruptly, looking at the display in front of him behind frosted glasses. He says nothing - does nothing but glance between you, the wolf in front of you, and the others. 

Finally, one of the other wolves chuffs and shakes, dispelling snow. It has an all white coat and intense, dark eyes that look at you with… annoyance, if wolves can look annoyed. It turns to leave and the others follow - all five of them - as the white wolf leads them at a loping trot toward the silo and the woods beyond.

Your wolf turns to peer at you, ears flicking before it breaks off into a run, trailing after its pack to leave you and Dr. Kim standing in silence, watching them go. 

Slowly, you turn to Dr. Kim. He scrutinizes you, eyes squinted. “Where did you get that cloak?” 

You look down at the rich, red cloth. “I… well it just appeared, one day when I was younger. I don’t know.”

He regards you suspiciously. “I see. Come. We must leave right away.”

Dr. Kim begins walking at a fast pace back toward town, clutching his tool case. “Wait! Where are the Morrows?” 

Instead of answering, Dr. Kim continues on. You scramble after him, careful not to slip on the icy stairs. The wind picks up and you smell a fire again, making you turn back as you try to catch up. You almost stumble over your feet, eyebrows shooting up as you see orange flames consuming the barn. 

“Dr. Kim!”

Again, he says nothing. You stop and stare, watching as the fire eats away at the barn. The smoke burns black. Fueled by oil, you think. Looking over your shoulder, you watch Dr. Kim’s retreating back and wonder what exactly it is that he’s done. 

“Did you set that fire?” you demand, chasing him. He gives you a withering look. “What is going on?”

“Speak nothing of this,” he snaps. “We arrived here to make a housecall and discovered that the barn was on fire. We suspect that Mr. Marrow was burning to melt the snow around the barn and that the barn caught. The Marrow family died inside trying to put out the fire.”

“But the wolves-”

“Do not mention the wolves, girl.”

“Did they kill the Marrows?” His jaw works but he doesn’t answer. “Did they kill the Mathesons?” 

“This village has a complicated history,” he says finally. He pulls his coat tighter. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I do expect you to stay out of it. Say nothing of the wolves and stay away from them. You’ll make it through winter.”

-

Two weeks pass, the secret heavy on your tongue. You work with Dr. Kim as though nothing happened, and when people ask about the Marrow farm, you recite vague details. You don’t know why you do it but… the image of the wolf - your wolf - floats in your mind each time you spit out the lie. 

Thoughts plague you as Hoseok lounges on the porch of the office that belongs to Hoseok’s father, who acts as the town’s scribe and legal affairs recorder. A sudden warm day has brought everyone outdoors, lounging on their porches and trying to take advantage of the melting snow around the buildings. The streets are muddy and murky as kids run by, feet splashing. 

A group of men prowl around the outskirts of the village. Sun shines through the slats of the overhang in front of the inn, warming where you lean on the porch railing. Hoseok rattles on about gossip he’s heard from his mother’s tea parties and his father’s work on will and testaments with the growing fear of death in the village. 

“Plagues, serial killings, blood feuds and animal attacks,” Hoseok sighs, staring up at the ceiling where he lies. “Good for father’s business. Bad for my cramping hand trying to help him.” 

“Hmm,” you hum noncommittally, thoughts lost as you stare out into the street with unseeing eyes.

Shouts make you flinch. You stand rod straight, gripping the railing as you look for the source of the disruption. Hoseok stands up immediately, joining you at the railing as the pair of you lean to look toward the entrance to the town. 

At first, you think that it’s about another wolf attack. People rush into the street, looking toward the commotion. Then you see it. Gleeful cheers spring up to the buildings closest to the town’s entrance as the first few traders enter the road. Your heart soars when you see donkeys pulling a cart behind them, followed by more people carrying packs and towing small carts. 

“The traders!” You breathe, feeling a sigh of relief sweep through you. “They’ve made it!” 

Excitement ripples through the village. People come flocking from the buildings to welcome cart after cart full of people. Some traders tow full carriages with riders at the front, the shutters on their carriages tied shut, hiding their wares inside. 

Hoseok lounges back down, letting out a sigh of relief. You feel the same, leaning on the railing again to watch as the carts are towed down the road, pulling down different streets to set up shop and find accommodations. 

Most of the traders look vaguely familiar to you - you see the Robin’s with their cloth cart and Morty with his towering carriage of unusual wares and charms. The Yang twins set off small, popping fireworks from the back of their cart, making the children squeal. 

Something catches your eye. “There are more traders than usual,” you tell Hoseok, frowning as your eyes settle on the large men who walk among the carts, all of whom wear weapons belts and look from side to side as they walk. “I think they’re warriors, Hoseok.”

“Warriors?” he laughs. “Strange.”

“No really, there are several men with blades at the hip and bows on the back. They look… guarded.”

He tilts his head, eyeing where your eyes flit from person to person. “Perhaps the road is as hard as we suspected this year.” 

You hum in agreement, watching as the caravans stop and unload, the muddy streets filling with people and chatter and bubbling with excitement. It feels like the bubble of anxiety looming over the town has popped - at least temporarily - relieving the pressure that had been building with every passing day. 

Leaning against the rail, you’re content to observe. All manner of people and things are pulled from carts. Vendors start setting up right away, people forming lines for ingredients, cloth, and wares. The largest line of all is for weapons and metal tools, Old Man Heo barely has time to park his cart before the men of the village ask how much for iron arrowheads and blades. 

A shiver goes through you as your eyes sweep back toward the town entrance where more people pour in. Fewer caravans come through - now it’s just people with pack mules or bags over their shoulders. 

The hairs on your arm stand up when you see him. Wind lifts the edge of your cloak, making it flutter around you. You watch as he walks down the main street with the other travelers, eyes flicking around as he drinks in the buildings and the crowd of villagers coming to welcome the traders. 

As though he senses your staring, his head snaps to you. You feel frozen to the spot, your fingers tightening on the rail as you meet his eyes. They’re unfathomably dark and yet… a tingle of familiarity slithers up your spine. 

He stares at you in turn. You’re sure he’s looking at you, paused near the cart he stands next to, dark gaze focused on where you stand on the porch. 

You’ve never seen him.  You’re sure of it. You’d remember a handsome face like that anywhere. His long, dark hair is pushed back from his face, revealing a sharp jawline, a strong nose, and intense eyes. His lips are red from the cold - pretty against tan skin.

He’s tall. Taller than most men in the village and broad, with strong shoulders and thick arms, though it’s hard to tell underneath his tunic. Like the other hardy men accompanying traders, he has a weapons belt snug around his waist and the bulk of his frame implies that he knows how to use them. 

The man doesn’t break eye contact. His mouth begins to tilt in what you think might be the start of a smile when Hoseok sits up abruptly, startling you. You break eye contact, looking at Hoseok who bites into an apple, offering you one. 

“You frightened me,” you snap, a little irritated at being distracted. When you glance back up at the man, his attention is elsewhere. 

“What were you staring at anyway?” he asks, crunching bits of apple. 

“Nothing,” you murmur, eyes on the flexing back of the man as he helps unload a wagon near the inn. Something niggles at the back of your mind. I know you. “Nothing at all.” 

“Want to visit the vendors later when they’re all set up? I would love to get some spiced wine and listen to Marla’s stories tonight.”

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation. “Let’s do just that.” 

-

Every minute that passes by feels like an eternity. Incurable energy simmers under the surface as you wait for the day to fade to evening. You clean the entire house, you collect wood from outside, you dress and then change into something else, and you ultimately end up pacing back and forth in your room while you wait for Hoseok to arrive. 

Your thoughts are consumed by the mystery man you had seen earlier. His handsome face swims in your memory. The clear image of his face is accompanied by some feeling you cannot identify, something that almost feels like nostalgia. How can you feel nostalgia for someone you don’t know? 

Hoseok finally arrives, letting himself into your house cheerily. The brief respite from winter is already bleeding away, the wind carrying a painful promise as it lifts your hood outside. The traders, it seems, arrived at the perfect time, the cloudy sky promising snow in the morning once more. 

Energy sizzles in the air. It’s as though the momentary fear of the wolf attacks is momentarily forgotten with the arrival of the vendors and travelers. The noise echoes from every street, torches, and fires lighting up the alleyways and down as people hang lamps in the windows and carts string up tea lights. 

Though you’re nervous, you are temporarily distracted as Hoseok pulls you through a tangle of carts toward Sal’s Sweets. Your stomach grumbles when you catch the scent of melting sugar and sweet confections, joining the line at Hoseok’s side to pick up hot, sticky sweets. 

With hot, sweet rolls drizzled in honey in hand, you and Hoseok explore the vendor carts. It is an explosion of color and lights, glittering jewelry hanging from displays, hot meats sizzling in pants over fires, the flash of powder and light as the Yang twins set off more fireworks, and the smell of spices as you pass by herb carts and tents. 

Everywhere you go, you see the men from before, looming near carts with weapons and steely expressions. But not even the eerie sight of them can bring down the spirits of the villagers, kids running with new kites and jars full of fireflies. 

As you stand in line with Hoseok who wants new inkwells, you listen to passing chatter. From what you gather, it was a hard trip this way on the caravans this year. The winter was just as harsh on the road as it was in the village, and the traders' voices become quiet when they talk about thieves and monsters in the woods.

You exchange a glance with Hoseok and he nods. Wolves. 

Wordlessly, you wait as Hoseok points out the inks that he wants. You begin to crane your neck, looking for the familiar stranger that you had seen before. The square is crowded and packed tight with people, making it nearly impossible to make out much beyond a few feet in front of you.

You spot Dr. Kim walking next to Seokjin, both of their heads bowed as they speak to one another. You narrow your eyes, remembering the way Dr. Kim had silenced you at the Marrow farm. You watch them as they head toward the road that the veterinary practice is on, pausing as a man pushes off the wall to join them.

It’s him you realize. You recognize the broad shoulders and the dark hair as he turns his back to you, walking with the Kims down the road. You don’t even have to think twice.

“Hey,” you tug Hoseok’s sleeve. “I’m going to go see Dr. Kim about something really quick. I’ll meet you at the inn?”

“Sure.” He frowns. “Is it safe to go alone?”

“With all of these people?” You’re already backing away and shrugging. “Definitely.” 

Without waiting for Hoseok to respond, you turn on your heel and rush into the crowd. The bodies of people immediately swallow you. The sound and sights and smells become a blur as you push through the crowd, shouldering people aside. You get some nasty looks from the force at which you move, but they immediately forget you as more people press in.

Less people pass you by as you walk up the street, pulling your cloak in tight. The lights in front of the building are off. You creep up the stairs and try the handle, finding it locked. It doesn’t matter, you sneak around the back of the building to the rear entrance and press your ear to the door. When you hear nothing, you try the handle and it twists.

Victorious, you open the door and slide through. The hallway is narrow with four doors on the right leading to examination rooms and two doors on the left. The first door leads to the kennel area where you hear voices. The second leads to the front lobby and desk.

The front lobby is the safest option, lest you get caught eavesdropping in the hallway when they leave. Carefully, you creep by the door, holding your breath and praying the floor doesn’t creak. Your heart pounds as you inch past the door, hearing deep voices on the other side as you go by. 

Clearing the door, you hurry into the lobby and to the door behind the desk that leads to the kennels. Crouching down low to hide yourself from anyone walking by the windows, you carefully pull the door open, unwilling to open it any further than the width of your index finger. Pressing your ear to the open gap, you listen.

“We talked about discretion,” Dr. Kim says, his voice frustrated. “This isn’t discretion. This is harassment and fear-mongering.”

“I told you,” a deep, smooth voice answers. You assume it must belong to the stranger and you shiver, eyes fluttering as the sound of it washes over you. “It isn’t my decision to make. I do not lead. Yoongi made it very clear how he wishes to proceed.” 

“Yoongi is a lunatic.”

“He’s the alpha.”

You frown. Alpha? You’re familiar with the concept of alphas in packs of dogs and herding animals, but you don’t know what that has to do with people or who Yoongi is. 

“The hunts will begin tomorrow.”

You think Dr. Kim means the hunting for the wolves. It makes sense now that the traders are in town and they can stock up on weapons. 

“As is the way of things,” the stranger answers with a sigh. “You know why Yoongi has chosen this path.”

“Is revenge worth it?”

“Perhaps your kind do not understand.” The stranger’s voice hardens. You wonder what he means by your kind. “You have one foot in the forest, one in the village.” 

“We understand, but we’re also not reckless.” Charged quiet hangs in the air. You hold your breath, your heart thundering in your chest, waiting for the sound of footsteps at the end of a conversation. “Why are you here, Namjoon? You came alone.”

Namjoon. The name washes over you, a warm feeling like the first spray of summer rain. It must be the stranger's name. 

Namjoon answers, “There is… a protected here. But I still fear for them. Yoongi and the others are angry - I wish to further keep them from harm.”

A frown twists your mouth. This Namjoon is here to protect someone from Yoongi. You wonder what this has to do with Dr. Kim. Could… Perhaps someone is using the wolves as tools? You’ve certainly seen a hunter train wolves or wolfhounds before, though it’s a dangerous business. 

Dr. Kim sighs. “That is the only saving grace of you being here, I’m afraid. Seokjin and I cannot help you. Not without exposing ourselves. I’ve already done what I can.”

“You have my greatest thanks for that. You and yours will always be safe. And not just because of your blood.”

Shuffling makes you lean away from the door immediately. You slowly drop it back in place before crawling over to the desk and hiding under it, straining your hearing as the footsteps go into the back hall and out of the back door. You remain there long after you hear the back door shut, waiting just in case they’re still outside.

When you’re sure they’ve gone, you crawl out from underneath the desk and hurry into the hall and out the back door. The alley is empty when you stick your head out, sagging with relief. You hurry out and close the door behind you, spinning around and-

“You know, most people who don’t want to be seen don’t sneak around in a red cloak.”

The man - Namjoon - looms over you, looking down at you with an amused expression. Your scream is cut off when he winces and cups your mouth with his hand. “Well don’t scream! You’ll summon Giho and Seokjin back this way. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Namjoon waits for a moment, your chest heaving as you nod, signifying that you won’t scream for help. Maybe it’s silly, but you trust him not to hurt you. At the least, he is there to protect someone in the village, so he doesn’t seem like he’s there for nefarious reasons.

When he drops his hands, you press yourself against the door, trying to put a little distance between you. Namjoon’s presence is demanding, a tickle prickling at the base of your spine as you look up at him, mystified. 

He’s so beautiful. Up close, you can make out his features far better than earlier that day. His eyes are dark and framed by beautiful, silken lashes. His nose is broad and his jaw is sharp. A dimple appears when he gives you a lopsided grin, dark eyes sizing you up.

The same sense of familiarity from earlier comes back to you, and though you’ve never seen his face before, you swear you know him. Warmth radiates from him, the delicate smell of pine and bergamot reaching you. He feels like… yours. Like some part of him completes you. It is the strangest feeling. 

“You okay, Red?” he asks, tone earnest. You furrow your brows at the term and he grins - genuine and warm. “Your cloak. It’s a very bright red. Pretty, though.”

“Thank you?”

He raises a brow. “Are you asking me?”

“I’m… you’re awfully close.”

Namjoon takes a few steps back from you. You suddenly regret saying something as his warmth vanishes, replaced by the cool wind. “Sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“Why didn’t you alert Dr. Kim if you knew I was snooping.”

“You don’t seem to be a threat. Plus, he’s a bit of a grouch. It didn’t seem worth it to hear him chastise a pretty girl.”

You flush. “How do you know the Kims?”

“Family friends.” 

“What were you all talking about?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Just because I’m not chastising you for listening to our private conversation doesn’t mean I’m going to divulge the details of said private conversation.”

You divert your gaze, feeling flushed. He has a point, but if he’s put out by your line of questioning or your eavesdropping, he doesn’t show it. “Come on,” Namjoon says. “Let’s go back to the square. I need a drink and it’s dangerous to walk around right now.”

“Because of the wolves?”

He stares at you. “Because it’s dark and there are a bunch of strangers in your town, and you’re a woman alone. In the dark.”

“You’re a stranger in my town.”

His grin spreads and his dimple deepens. Your stomach flutters. You’re not unaffected by him, a little dizzy and nervous when he sticks out a hand. “Namjoon. I’m a part of the Kim family.”

“Like… Dr. Kim?” you ask, reaching out your hand and giving him your name.

“We’re related, in a way. Pretty name. I think I’ll stick with Red, though.”

Namjoon takes off walking. For a second, you just stand and stare at him. He shoves his hands in his pockets and doesn’t look back. You lick your lips, heart pounding. You cannot shake the sense of something peculiar about him, something familiar. He’s a Kim - perhaps you know him.

Determined to find out, you take off after him, scurrying to catch up. You fall into step with him and look up to find him smirking down at you before focusing back on the growing noise and lights of the main square. 

“Have you been here before?” you ask, watching him from the corner of your eye. He shakes his head and you frown. “I feel like I know you.”

“Perhaps I have one of those faces?”

“No, I’d remember a face like yours.”

Namjoon turns to you, arching a brow. “A face like mine, huh?” 

Multiple fire pits dot the streets, groups of people clustered around them to keep warm as the chill seeps back into the village. The inn is bustling with people, the door propped open with a chair as people walk in and out with platters of food and tankards in hand. Multiple villagers have pulled out tables and chairs from their homes, setting them up in the street. 

It feels good. The air hums with euphoria and the promise of better days ahead, like suddenly there are not several families mourning their loved ones. The atmosphere reminds you of a festival, and you suppose it kind of is a festival. 

The smell of burning fat and ale hits your nose as you walk into the inn. Voices roar over one another and the workers are busy behind the bar. A fireplace crackles in the far corner where you spot Hoseok guarding an extra chair. 

“I fear this is where we part ways,” Namjoon announces over the din of voices. “Try not to do any more eavesdropping tonight.” You hesitate, wanting to protest. There are a million burning questions you have for him. He must see it in your face, because he smiles and says, “We’ll run into one another again. Don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

You were actually, and you know he knows by his smirk. “Goodnight, Red.”

You watch Namjoon go. He moves toward where the innkeeper stands at a podium looking over reservations, blending into the crowd. Just before he reaches the podium he glances over his shoulder at you, catching you watching. He shoots you a grin and you scowl, pivoting on your heel to charge toward Hoseok. 

Hoseok raises his eyebrows when he sees you storm over to him and yank the chair out from the table, sitting down in a huff. Without a word, you snatch his tankard of ale and take several, cold gulps before setting it on the table, letting it wash through you. 

“Who was that you came in with? And then stormed over here after speaking to?”

“Some relative of the Kims,” you mutter. “I find him very… frustrating.”

“He’s very handsome.”

You glare at Hoseok and see the beginning of a wicked smile. “And frustrating.” 

He lifts his cup, shrugging. “Cheers to being frustrating.”

-

A scream wakes you up in the middle of the night. You lurch up from bed, head spinning as you try to gather your wits about you. Blankets tangle your limbs as you try to peel them from sweaty skin. Another scream makes you stumble out of bed, the world tilting on its axis as your body tries to catch up with your sudden lucidity. 

In the main room of your home, your mother is stumbling through the kitchen too, lighting a candle and grabbing a holder. You feel relief as you realize the screaming isn’t coming from your home, but your neighbor’s.

Together, you and your mother rush out into the cold in nightgowns, not bothering with shoes or coats. The cold is bitter, immediately stinging your skin as the Liang family joins you in running to the Hutch family home where it sounds like Mrs. Hutch is screaming like a wild animal in her house. 

“It’s Leanne,” your mother breathes, words turning to steam in the air. 

“Come on,” you urge, pulling your mother as you go, driven by the shrieks.

The front door hangs open as Mr. Liang enters the home first, an ax in hand. It occurs to you that neither you nor your mother have weapons, but Mrs. Hutch has always been kind to your mother, making the both of you charge into the darkness of her home empty-handed.

A metallic tang hits you immediately. You recoil, recognizing the stench of blood immediately. Villagers spill into the home behind you, alerted to the wailing coming from the bedroom. With torches and candles in hand, you spot the red on the dark wood floor in the hallway. 

Mr. Liang stands in the doorway of the bedroom, staring with a haunted gaze at what he sees there. Your mother pushes through the people in the home to look over his shoulder, her hand flying to her mouth as she gasps. 

“Oh Leanne,” she murmurs in horror, shoving by Mr. Liang.

You don’t go to the room. The smell and the weeping coming from the bedroom give you an inkling of what lay inside. You stand in the living room as people fill the hall, gasping and murmuring. Someone shouts to wake the constable. 

“Why?” Mrs. Hutch screams in her room, the despair in her voice rattling your bones. “Why?”

“His throat has been cut,” someone murmurs from the hall. “Murdered in bed.” 

Murdered? That throws you for a loop. You had assumed somehow it was an animal attack but… you shiver. Murder is different. 

Mr. Liang begins shooing people out of the house. You slink out into the cold and hurry to your own home, bare feet freezing in the cold, wet earth. Your mother stays with Mrs. Hutch, leaving you alone.

The dark presses in on you, every creak of a floorboard making you jump. The shadows seem menacing now and you’re quick to find and light a candle, orange light flooding the home. 

Cloth and candle in hand, you return to your room to wipe the cold mud from your feet, skin still burning from the frigid air. Voices carry in from outside, the entire town waking and gathering as the shock of murder ripples through the streets, a stone in a pond.

With sleep nowhere near possible for the remainder of the night, you get dressed. You pull on thick woolen pants, a tunic, and multiple socks, sticking your feet in your boots. Your cloak goes next, fastening it around your throat as you look out your bedroom window. 

Your home sits at an angle in a row of houses that circle the village like a ring. You can see the wall of the home next to you, and a sliver of the backyard as well. It’s that tiny space in the backyard that catches your eye, watching as someone moves from the edge of the home out of sight. 

Heart in your throat, you grab a candle and run outside. The crowd in front of the Hutch’s has grown, but you ignore them, skirting around your house to the alleyway between you and your neighbor. Nothing catches your eye as you run to the backyard, swiveling as you search in the darkness for the shadow you saw. 

The wind howls, drowning out the voices in the street. The treeline behind the houses is dark. You squint your eyes and lift the candle in your hand, the flame barely flickering as the wind makes the trees sway. There is nothing in the darkness and you begin to turn when you see a shadow in the tree line. 

It’s barely there - perhaps a trick of the light, even. You take a step forward, boots crunching in the snow. A gust of wind makes your cloak snap at your ankles, candle going out and leaving you without a source of light. You had not realized how dark it was without it, the shadow vanishing from your line of sight. 

Fear nestles in the pit of your stomach. Your breath gets stuck in your lungs as your limbs lock, realizing how stupid it was to come outside if there was a killer among the trees. Soft snow crunches somewhere close to you. You squeeze your eyes shut, tucking your chin to your chest as panic makes you shut down, unable to move and-

“Red.”

Namjoon’s voice makes you spin around. He holds a torch level with his head, the flame casting an eerie glow on his face. For a moment, he looks lupine and terrifying, your heart nearly stuttering to a halt. 

Then his face twists in concern. “What are you doing out here alone?”

“What are you doing?”

“Dr. Kim sent me over to check on you. No one answered the door so I came around back.”

“Why?”

Namjoon seems confused. “Why did I come around back or why did he send me?”

“Both.”

“I could see the light of your candle and because a murder has just happened.”

You relax a little at the logic in his answer. Snow begins to fall from the sky. You look up at the moonless black,  thick clouds floating as the bits of snow drift on the breeze. You shiver and look back to the trees, seeing nothing but tightly packed pines. Still, there is an instinctual sense of trepidation that sits heavy in your gut.

“Come on,” Namjoon says gently. “Let’s go inside. I’ll wait with you until your mother comes home.” 

Reluctantly, you follow Namjoon. Eyeing him, you realize he is dressed differently than previously that night. Now, he’s in black breeches and a black linen shirt. The weapons belt is gone and he’s without a coat. 

You frown. “Aren’t you freezing?”

“I run warm.”

It’s the only answer that he gives you as you walk back into the street which is filled with people and torches. In the distance, you hear the baying of hounds. It chills you, goosebumps exploding up and down your arms as you watch a cluster of firelights gather far off down the road. 

“The constable is leading a manhunt. They’ll come to question us too.” 

Wordlessly you gesture for Namjoon to join you inside of your home. He closes the door firmly behind you and strides to the fireplace, using the torch to coax the simmering logs to a full flame. Cedar pops as he adds the torch to the fire, orange embers drifting up the chimney. 

Rubbing your hands together, you offer him tea and he accepts with a soft smile. It doesn’t meet his eyes as he looks around the only place you’ve ever called home. Suddenly shy of your less-than-luxurious surroundings, you clear your throat and gesture to one of the mismatched armchairs by the fire as you grab a kettle.

Namjoon hardly fits in the chair. You press your lips to keep from laughing, which feels inappropriate with a man dead just a few yards away. With careful hands, you hang the kettle next to the fire, the flame close enough to heat the water as you scurry back to the kitchen and fill tea bags with herbs. 

“What kind of tea do you like?”

“Yarrow, if you have it.”

“I do.” You grab the jar, popping the top. “Are you in great pain, Mr. Kim?”

“Call me Namjoon. Mr. Kim feels far too formal.”

“Well, we are strangers, after all.”

Namjoon certainly doesn’t feel like a stranger. You cast him a sidelong glance as you say it, looking for his reaction. He turns his head from the fire, meeting your gaze head-on. His lips curve in a secret smile, making your nerves dance.

“I suppose that’s true.”

Is it? You wonder. You’re not so sure. 

Instead of asking him, you bring the mugs with bags of tea over to where he sits, handing him one. Steam rises from the spout of the teapot. With a thick towel, you lift it off of the hanger. Namjoon holds out his cup and lets you pour carefully into his mug, the smell of yarrow and mint wafting toward you. After pouring your own cup, you set the kettle down and sit across from him.

Your cold hands leech the warmth from the mug. You settle comfortably in the chair, relaxing and inhaling the chamomile in your cup. After a few moments of silence, you realize how comfortable and safe you feel with Namjoon, though you’ve only known him for a few short hours. 

“Why have you come to the village?” 

Namjoon watches the fire as he answers, “You were eavesdropping at the veterinary office. I’m sure you heard me.” You look down at your steaming cup and Namjoon chuckles, raspy and deep. It’s a nice sound.

“You said there was a ‘protected’ here. And something about a Yoongi.”

Namjoon’s face darkens at the mention of Yoongi. You chew on your lip, worried you’ve pushed him too far before you’ve even started to ask him real questions. His jaw works as he contemplates what you’ve said, sipping the tea a little. 

“A protected just means someone under protection by my family,” Namjoon says finally. “My extended family is… large. We are a very close group and we consider those in our community blood.”

“It is… not always like that here.”

“Your mother assists Mrs. Hutch, though. That seems like family, in a way.”

“Mrs. Hutch is kind. Not everyone is.” 

Namjoon nods. “It is not like that where I am from. We bear the sins of our neighbors and we share the responsibility of keeping everyone safe.”

“That must be nice.” You sip your tea and scald your tongue, hissing and setting the cup down. Namjoon leans forward as though to help you, alarm on his face. “Tea is too hot. I don’t know how you drink it.”

He smiles and shrugs. “I run warm.” 

“So you said. How are you related to Dr. Kim?” 

“He’s my uncle. He’s my father’s brother. His wife was best friends with my mom.” 

“Oh.” You blink in surprise. “She passed away when I was very young. She… died the same winter as my father.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Namjoon frowns and cocks his head. “What did your father do?” 

“He was a hunter.”

One of the logs pops in the fireplace, making you flinch. You give a nervous laugh and glance at Namjoon, who has gone stone-still. The firelight dances on his face as he peers at you. Your smile falters a little at the gravity you find there. 

“He only hunted fowl and deer,” you find yourself explaining. You don’t know why you say it, only that suddenly that feels important. “He didn’t like to hunt bigger game or predators. Mother says that he believed they were best left alone and that a true hunter knows his betters when he sees them.”

Namjoon hums. “Smart man.”

“I don’t know. He died in an animal attack when I was very young.” 

“You must resent the woods.”

“Not at all. I think…” You bite your bottom lip, trying to find the right words. “I think that he wouldn’t blame the animals. The woods are their home. My mother says he was always very adamant about that. They don’t usually attack villagers, though.”

“Usually?”

“There are animal attacks happening. I’m sure Dr. Kim told you…?”

“Ah, yes. You think they’re without reason?”

“Perhaps hunger? I don’t know. It does not happen often.” 

“Wolves are not known to hunt people.” Namjoon’s fingers drum against his mug, a steady tap. He seems thoughtful as he regards you. “They’re intelligent creatures and their packs are important to them. They take the threat to their land and their family seriously.” 

“Like your family?”

He laughs. “Like my family.” Namjoon sips his tea again. “This land used to belong to several packs of wolves, you know?”

“Really?”

“Yes, until settlers drove them out. Not that long ago there were hunting parties for sport. They slaughtered entire packs, destroying bloodlines and nearly wiping out the wolves here entirely.”

“I always found that incredibly sad.”

“Why is that?”

“They’re incredibly important to the ecosystem here. And I guess I always agreed with my dad. I don’t remember him much, but I like to remember that he was good at heart.”

Namjoon hums but says nothing else. You sit in silence for a while, enjoying the warmth of the fire. Namjoon’s presence is steady, keeping out the cold and the fear just beyond the door. You wonder how he does that by just sitting in a chair, or how it feels so natural. 

Outside, the world begins to turn gray. You yawn as exhaustion begins to set in and you feel yourself sagging. Eyes burning, you rub them with the back of your hands, blinking a few times to fight the explosion of colors in your vision. 

“You can sleep,” Namjoon says softly from where he sits. You glance at him. “You can trust me.”

A hint of pine and bergamot drift toward you, making you drowsy. Namjoon grabs a blanket from the back of his chair and stands up, bringing it to you. He takes your mug and you watch him with sleepy, round eyes as he places the blanket over you.

“Sleep.” His voice is soft, distant. “I will be here.”

Your eyes flutter shut and you drift to sleep, remembering the warm sound of his voice. It… reminds you of your wolf.

-

Gentle voices pull you from the clutches of sleep. You wake slowly, a cramp in your neck making you reluctant to get up. You smell the fire and the hint of pine and bergamot. You hear a low, raspy voice that you instantly recognize as Namjoon. 

How swiftly I know his voice, you think. 

“You must wake her,” a male voice says. You recognize it as Dr. Kim. “The constable is coming for questioning.”

“She’s already awake,” Namjoon answers, a smile in his voice. Your eyes snap open at being caught, meeting his dark gaze as he smirks from near your door. “See?”

You scowl at him. How did he know that? Sitting up and stretching, you appraise the two men lurking near your door. “Is my mother still with Mrs. Hutch?”

Dr. Kim nods and steps swiftly into the room around Namjoon. Namjoon reaches out a hand, catching Dr. Kim with his arm and stopping him from entering the room properly. You watch in puzzlement as there’s a silent exchange between the two of them, Namjoon’s face dark as Dr. Kim raises a brow. 

Then, Namjoon lets him go. You cock your head to the side, wondering what that’s about. Ignoring Namjoon, Dr. Kim approaches and says, “The constable will be here shortly. Say nothing about the farm.”

The farm. The memory of the wolves brings a chill to your arm, the smell of smoke and burning oil. The confusion and Dr. Kim’s refusal to answer your questions. 

“What is going on?” you demand, eyes flickering from Dr. Kim to Namjoon. “Animal attacks, murders, you covering up something at the barn. I’m being lied to.” 

“Say nothing about the farm,” Dr. Kim says again, voice firm. Namjoon makes a noise that startles you. It’s almost like a growl, your eyes going wide as he glares at Dr. Kim. “I told you this village has a complicated history. I’m looking after your safety.” 

Heavy footsteps sound on the porch. There’s a loud knock on the door, the constable announcing his presence on the other side. Namjoon opens the door for him, standing back to let him in. The constable looks him up and down with confusion before looking at you, a question in his eyes.

“They came to check on me,” you offer. The constable has known you since you were a child, it’s no wonder he’s confused at the presence of a stranger in your home. “How can I help you, constable?”

“I’d like you to answer a few questions about last night. Mr. Liang confirmed you were one of the first people to Hutch’s last night.”

Dr. Kim walks to your kitchen and busies himself making tea. Namjoon moves to sit in the chair across from you, his warm presence from the night before replaced with something mildly threatening. You cut him a look but his dark eyes are focused on the constable as though he’s a threat. 

The questions are easy enough. When did you wake up? Did you notice anyone around your home when you came home? Did you notice anyone outside? When did you come home? 

You leave out running into Namjoon behind your home. You don’t know why, but you feel the need to not draw attention to him. You also leave out the strange incident at the farm, glancing sideways at Dr. Kim when he brings you lemon tea. 

When the constable is finished, he eyes Dr. Kim. “Be at the station at four,” he instructs. “We’re splitting hunting parties. One to look for the culprit, the other to get rid of the damn wolves.” 

“The wolves were there first, you know?” Namjoon speaks up, looking at you and not the constable. “Have you ever tried figuring out what they want?”

“And who the hell are you?”

“Please ignore my nephew, constable. He likes to insert himself in conversations he doesn’t belong in. Come, let’s look over the hounds before you send them out tonight.”

Together, the constable and Dr. Kim shuffle out. Before he shuts the door, Dr. Kim levels the pair of you with a heavy gaze. You don’t know what that gaze means, but you know that something is going on in this village and that he and Namjoon seem to have some idea about it.

As soon as the door shuts, you turn to Namjoon and demand, “What is going on?”

He sighs. “Would you listen if I just said to wait it out?”

“Do you know who murdered Mr. Hatch?” 

Namjoon hesitates and shakes his head. You narrow your eyes, unbelieving. “I really don’t know who did, Red.”

“Why are you really here? Why all the secrets?” 

“I told you, my family protects those who belong to their community.”

“What did you mean about asking what the wolves want?” 

“I told you last night. There were wolves long before this village existed. Seems to me that if the wolves are suddenly killing the townspeople, perhaps it’s because they want their land back. Or maybe they’re angry from years of being hunted.”

That shuts you up. You can’t argue with that, exactly. But… “Are you saying that the wolves are capable of revenge?”

Namjoon stands and gestures to your cloak. “How often do you wear that?”

“Every day. It’s… sentimental to me.”

His eyes lighten and he offers a half smile. “Good. Red is a lucky color.”

“Where are you going?”

He opens the door, cold wind hissing past the opening. “Your mom is coming. I’ll see you later, Red.”

Without another word, Namjoon slips through the door and shuts it firmly behind him. You stare after him, openmouthed and confused. As promised, you hear your mother come up the steps, light feet scuffing before she quickly lets herself in, shutting the door firmly behind her.

You offer to make your mother breakfast, happy to help as she dozes in the chair. It isn’t until later that you wonder how Namjoon had heard her coming at all.

-

Little Lucy Larkin

In a little wood

Little Lucy Larkin

Up to no good

Little Lucy Larkin

In her little hood

Little Lucy Larkin

Ware of the woods!

Little Lucy Larkin

Stole a little bread

Little Lucy Larkin

In the woods of dread

Little Lucy Larkin

Is a little thief

Little Lucy Larkin

Die by wolf’s teeth

A sense of unease slithers up your spine as you pull your cloak closer. The voice of the children playing the Little Lucy Game echoes down the street and you pause to watch as the little boy playing Lucy steals the rock from the middle of the circle and the little boy playing the wolf gets up to chase him. 

The other kids scream and giggle as the boys give chase, the sound of their laughter eerie in the cold gray of twilight. Shaking it off, you turn and duck your head as you walk up the steps to the Tall Tales Inn. 

Warmth and the scent of food greet you. It’s a thinner crowd than the day before but still more people than you’re used to without the traders in town. There is a clear divide in the dining room with traders on one side and townsfolk on the other, the murder quick to make the locals distrust the new people in their streets.

Tense conversations hum in the gold light. You navigate around tables until you find Hoseok sitting with Seokjin. The sight of Seokjin gives you pause. He seems to sense your presence, glancing up and meeting your questioning stare. He gives no reaction, though, turning his attention back to Hoseok who is murmuring quietly.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Jin,” you say by way of greeting. Hoseok gives you a look at your clipped tone. You ignore it, sitting down and leveling the older man with a stare, his father’s mysteriousness weighing on you. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

He narrows his eyes a fraction. “Just enjoying the company of friends.”

“Shouldn’t you be helping the constable?”

“I’m on the late-night shift.” 

Grinding your teeth, you sit roughly. Hoseok just watches you, brows raised. You say nothing as you order a drink and a meal, picking at the splinters of the tabletop, eyeing Seokjin. If he’s put out by your rudeness he doesn’t show it, drinking heartily from his tankard and watching you with dark, even eyes. 

You know Seokjin knows whatever it is his father and Namjoon have been talking about. You yourself have not been able to work out what’s going on in the village, but you’re sure the Kims know. And if Dr. Kim asked you to lie to the constable… well perhaps Seokjin is leading him astray as well.

Hoseok pipes up, steering the conversation everywhere he can to avoid the tension building between you and Seokjin and the topics of murders. You participate as little as possible, mind trying to put together the puzzle pieces of the blooming mystery in your home. 

An uncomfortable thought starts to take root in your mind. Is it possible that the Kim family is behind the murders? Dr. Kim has plenty of weapons at his disposal, and they had been talking about revenge, and Dr. Kim had covered up what happened at the Marrow’s farm… but what did that have to do with wolves?

You’re not sure. But you do know that the Kims are purposefully hiding things, that there is a murderer somewhere in the town or near it, and that there is a sense of doom that you cannot shake, a dark itch like stinging nettle in your bones. 

Seokjin excuses himself to take an afternoon nap before his hunting party heads out for the evening. Your eyes track him as he goes. Seokjin certainly doesn’t seem evil, but there’s no telling what’s behind his pretty face. 

“What is wrong with you?” Hoseok asks, leaning over the table and whispering harshly. “You’re behaving rather odd.”

“Something is going on.”

“Yes, your attitude.”

You turn and glare at him. “No, Hobi. Something is going on with the Kim family. I don’t know how to explain it.” You grip your cup tighter. “But I intend to figure it out.” 

Hoseok questions you about what that means. You keep your answers vague, not wanting to rope him into your plan. Too often as children did you lure Hoseok into trouble, and with how dangerous night is becoming in your town, you know it’s a bad idea to endanger him too.

T sun sets over the village. You stand at your bedroom window, watching through the frosty window as the sun turns the sky into a smear of blood. The clouds have cleared away just for this sanguine sunset. It makes your stomach turn, a sense of foreboding heavy in the air.

Still, it doesn’t deter you. Red fades to gray-blue and gray-blue fades to black. Wind rattles the glass in the window pane. Turning from the window, you find your thickest pair of pants and fur-lined tunic. The fabric feels scratchy on your skin.

Dressed, you look at your red cloak folded on the bed. Any other night you would take it with you. It has become your safety net, something that keeps you warm and keeps you safe. You cannot recall a day you haven’t worn it since it mysteriously showed up thirteen years ago, but tonight, you need obscurity.

Instead, you reach for an old, thick cloak that used to belong to your father. It's dark brown and worn at the edges, a little too big for you as the hem brushes the ground. It will serve its purpose in keeping you hidden in the dark of the woods, though. 

All you grab is a hunting knife that you don’t know how to use, a wax candle, and a solid piece of flint and sharp rock to light it with. The candle and flint are for emergencies only. You hope it won’t be so dark that you cannot see, but you’re unsure what the clouds are going to do.

Outside, the wind is sharp. Your nostrils burn as you breathe it in and duck away behind your house. No new snow has fallen during the day, which is a good thing. You don’t have to worry about dragging your boots and tiring your calves. It also helps that the sky is clear tonight, the moon a sliver of sharp light. 

Baying hounds echo through the village and the forest as the hunting dogs lead the men into the woods. You’re quick on your feet, dashing into the woods and heading north. You don’t want to run right into the hunting party, but you do want to find their burning torches and keep them in your line of sight.

They are easy to find, hovering like orange fireflies in the distance. Careful to make your way in the dark, you follow them. Your breath mists in front of you, hands shaking more from the adrenaline than the cold. 

The torches spread out. You chew on your lip, unsure which group would belong to Seokjin. You take a gamble, heading after the group closest to you. 

Everything feels too loud. Each snap of a branch under your foot and crunch of dry leaves feels like it’s going to give you away. Still, you’re good at sneaking for the most part, having spent plenty of time skulking through the village to take nightly strolls in the woods.

Voices carry to you. Through a system of running a few steps forward and dodging behind a tree, you manage to follow the men at a distance. You think that you hear the constable’s voice, which is a good sign. If he’s around, perhaps Seokjin is too.

The deeper you go into the forest, the colder it gets. The ground beneath your feet slopes. The evergreens are packed tighter here, needles tickling your hands as you keep your hands held out from your sides as you slide downward.

This is near where I saved that wolf, you think. 

It’s true. You recognize the slope of the land and the general area. You cannot tell if it’s exactly where you met the wolf, but it’s close enough that your senses tingle and your eyes sweep the land, expecting something to happen.

A sense of foreboding trails you as the men move deeper into the wood. You turn around and look for the other torches and see nothing but a dark, compact forest. Your stomach flips uncomfortably but you continue, unsure now if it’s safer to turn back or to keep going. 

Ahead, the group of men decide to take a break. The hounds sniff the area around them, pulling at the leashes as they go. Crouching low, you watch as the hounds go in circles, following the scent of something that seems to confuse them. 

The men take long droughts of water, making you wish you’d thought of that. Mouth dry and hands cold, you huddle against a tree, bark digging into your back. 

A few minutes pace by. You close your eyes, resting your head against the tree, breathing cold air in deeply. You don’t know what you expect the group to lead you to, only that you-

Something snaps behind you. Your eyes fly open and your limbs lock. Heart beating like a steady drum, you hold your breath and strain your eyes. For a moment, there’s nothing but the dim voices of the men taking a break. You think it’s nothing until you hear something again, a gentle susurration of leaves. 

One of the hounds lifts its head, ears twitching. Your eyes scan the surrounding area back and forth, searching for what you know is there. 

It happens so fast that you don’t even see the wolves enter the ring of torchlight until they’re there, snarls rattling the trees. You clamp your hands over your mouth to mute your gasp as the sounds of screams and tearing flesh explode in the night. Hounds screech, their growls savage and choked as the wolves descend. 

You don’t know how many there are. Torch lights go down and drown you in darkness. Squeezing your eyes shut, you curl in on yourself, panting through your hands as the sounds echo in your ears. A new fear has stabbed its way between your ribs, making it hard to breathe. 

Time moves slowly. Or quickly. You cannot tell which. One moment the sounds of a nightmare turned real are just a few hundred yards away. The next, an eerie silence blankets the dark forest. 

You don’t want to open your eyes, but you have to. Very slowly, you crack an eye open. At first, there’s nothing. Your vision swims with flashing colors, your eyes trying to adjust. Then, there is the vague outline of trees. Ahead of you, where the men had been, lay shadowed piles. 

Shaking, you glance around. You see nothing - hear nothing. You stand slowly. Each inch you gain feels like you’re being too loud. Sweat gathers on the back of your neck. The cool air makes it feel like an icy finger brushing down your nape. 

When you’re sure that there’s nothing else around, you take a step toward where the attack happened. Leaves crunch beneath your feet. You stop breathing, waiting for signs of anything. Nothing happens and you let out a trembling breath, taking one more step. Again, you wait to see if your footfalls will trigger something. 

You repeat this to the edge of the slaughter - for that’s what it is. A slaughter. Bile rises in your throat as you reach the first body and stamped-out torch. The constable and his hound lay in tatters, only recognizable by the batch on his cloak. 

It is carnage. You don’t dare breathe through your nose for fear of breathing in the scent of death, circling the scene with weak knees, hand pressed to your mouth to keep in the whimpers. You see the faces of men you’ve known since you were a child. Ripped, bloodied, gored. 

Finally, you lean over and empty the contents of your stomach. It burns on the way up, choking you. Pressing a hand against a tree, you breathe raggedly. The adrenaline coursing through you makes you twitchy and unstable, each nerve feeling like it’s on fire. 

Leaves crunch a few feet away. Your head snaps in and you zero in on the source of the noise, mouth hanging open when you see Seokjin standing amongst the trees. He stares at you, frown on his face. 

“Who are you?” he asks, voice gentle. You realize he can’t see your face under the cowl of your hood and you’re not in your traditional red. He sighs. “Doesn’t matter.” 

You hear shuffling behind him before you see a white wolf. The white wolf from the Marrow farm. There are others, then. You don’t know how you missed them, the darkness of their fur blending in with the darkness around them.

The white one is spotted in red, muzzle matted, teeth slicked. Your stomach lurches. It isn’t hard to guess where it’s from. You take a step back and the wolf growls, lips pulled back. You freeze, looking amongst the pack of wolves that fan out around Seokjin, desperately looking for your wolf with the kind, intelligent eyes. 

You do not find him there. 

With a growl, the white wolf steps forward. Your instincts kick in and you turn and run, letting out a wild shriek as you do so. If Seokjin recognizes your voice when you scream, you cannot tell. The wolves are after you and you’re barreling through the trees with no hope of outrunning them, especially uphill.

A wolf nips at your ankle and you scream, tripping over your feet in your terror and going down hard. You’re jarred as you hit the ground, bones rattling as pain shoots up your limbs from the impact. Before you can scramble, there are teeth around your ankle, not biting down hard enough to snap, but hard enough to drag.

Your scream is wretched even to your ears. It is a curdling, nightmarish sound. You feel the scrape of leaves and sticks against your skin, cloak picking up dirt and twigs as you go. Your nails dig into the ground but the soil is frozen solid, fingers scraping bluntly against it. 

With a surge of self-preservation, you kick your free leg backward as hard as you can. You hit the wolf in the muzzle, making it cry, and let go of your foot. You manage to crawl to your knees, slipping in the foliage as you try to stand before it’s tearing at your cloak, determined to drag you one way or another. 

Sliding again as it drags you by the cloak, you try to undo the ties at your throat with shaking fingers. It comes away and frees you from the hellish drag to your death. This time, you’re faster to your feet, turning and running in the opposite direction. You don’t know where you’re going, just that you want to get away. 

Your foot slides on the incline and with a shout you go down. This time, your head hits the ground hard. Your ears ring and your vision pulses. Blinking, you roll over and stare up at the canopy of dark trees. The world spins dangerously and you feel nausea churn deep in your stomach.

“Yoongi!” you hear the deep voice but it sounds warbled like you’re hearing it through water. Your head lolls to the side, the ringing in your ears still going as you see feet pass you. “Enough!”

Your field of vision narrows to a sharp point, edges pulling with black. You realize you’re about to pass out, oddly just thankful that you’re already on the ground. Just as your world begins to face, the face of the person in front of you appears.

Namjoon. 

-

“Hey,” a gentle voice calls to you. There are soft hands on your head, brushing against your forehead. It smells like pine and bergamot as you snuggle into them. “I hate to wake you, but you need to wake up every few hours.”

The memory of the wolves comes to you. Your eyes snap open and you blink a few times before your vision adjusts to see Namjoon leaning over you. Cringing away from him, you press yourself into a warm, soft mattress that isn’t your own.

“Easy,” he cautions, holding his hands up. “You smacked your head very hard. I think you have a concussion.” 

“Where am I?” 

The room isn’t so much a room as it is a shack. There is a single fireplace in the far corner, a pile of logs, and the bed that you’re in. Despite the tiny space, it looks well-built and it’s warm, your heart slowing down as Namjoon leans to sit further from you and give you your space.

“Random shack in the woods near your village. I think it used to be a hunter’s stead for the winter.” He jerks his thumb toward the fireplace. “Hasn’t been used in a while. The wood has rotted.” 

“Seokjin - you - what is going on?” 

Emotions spill out of you like a broken dam. You don’t know which to acknowledge first: anger, fear, curiosity, gratitude. 

Namjoon’s sigh is heavy. He visibly looks wearing, running a hand through his hair. You wonder how soft his hair is, followed immediately by feeling ridiculous for the timing of said thought. 

“Just…” he winces. “Try to lean back and take it easy, I’m worried about how hard you hit your head. I promise I have no intentions of hurting you or letting anyone hurt me.”

“You called that white wolf Yoongi. Who is Yoongi? Why was Seokjin in the woods - those people - they’re dead.”

He nods slowly. “They are.” 

You lean back carefully. The bed is comfortable and Namjoon keeps his distance, worried eyes on you. “I will try to explain the best I can. It will require a little bit of faith that I’m not lying to you and that I’m not insulting your intelligence by telling you things that will sound insane.” 

“Like what?”

“Like werewolves exist.”

You stare at him. He doesn’t laugh, crack a grin, or do anything to make you believe he’s joking. Your first instinct is to blow him off. Werewolves were a tale for children and a way to help the children of the village cope during periods of wolf violence. 

Thus far, all Namjoon has done is protect you. Strange as it seems, you know that fact to be true. He didn’t tell Dr. Jim you were eavesdropping, he kept you company after Mr. Hatch’s murder, and he stopped the wolves from taking you.

Namjoon is… there is something between you. You know it.

Hesitantly, you say, “Alright. Werewolves exist. Keep going.”

He is visibly relieved that you’re not questioning or berating him. You don’t exactly believe him yet, but you want to hear his story. 

“There were communities of werewolves who lived here long before humans did. When people migrated to this area, they drove them out and forced those communities to become smaller and smaller. When the werewolves asked for their land back or to share resources, they were hunted and slaughtered.” 

Namjoon’s throat bobs and emotions flicker across his face. His features settle on pain, and you stop yourself from reaching out to take his hand. “What you vaguely remember as wolf attacks and wolf hunts as a child was those families being exterminated. There are a few families in the village who remember that werewolves exist. They took it upon themselves to remove the problem forever.”

This village has a complicated history. 

Dr. Kim’s words float through your mind as you chew on what Namjoon has told you. He lets the information settle, giving you a few moments to think. You don’t recall anyone seriously ever talking about werewolves but… 

“They’re angry,” you murmur, remembering how San described the massacre at the Mathesons. “The wolves now - those aren’t wolves. They’re werewolves who are getting revenge. You spoke of revenge with Dr. Kim. Is that why the animal attacks have been happening?”

Namjoon nods grimly. “There is a very small concentration of people in the village who keep the secret about the massacres and the knowledge of werewolves. Those families have been… targeted recently. They still hunt werewolves when they can.”

“Who is Yoongi?”

“Ah,” he lets out a humorless laugh. “He leads the last remaining community of werewolves. His family was murdered by your constable when he was a child.” You blanch. “Yoongi is angry, vengeful, and very influential. When he was voted pack alpha, he decided to eliminate the last remaining threats.” 

“He’s the white wolf.” Namjoon raises his brows but nods. You think that makes sense, remembering the white wolf at the Marrow farm and the one who dragged you in the forest. “Why was Seokjin there? Did he lead the constable to-”

Namjoon hesitates and nods. “The Kim family are wolf friends. It’s largely the reason Dr. Kim is a veterinarian. They’re what we call one foot in the forest. There were two others in your village that were wolf friends. Your neighbor was one.”

You twist your fingers in the blanket. “Did Yoongi-”

“No. I believe he was murdered by one of the men who knows what Yoongi and his people are.” 

“So that’s why Seokjin led them to Yoongi?” Namjoon gives a curt nod. “This is…. A lot to take in.” 

“It is. Sleep a little more and we’ll talk about it more when you wake up. Your head is already swimming enough, yeah?”

Namjoon’s grin is gentle and you shoot one back. “Do you promise to tell me why you’re really here? And why it feels like I know you?”

“Of course. Sleep, Red.”

-

Namjoon wakes you again a few hours later. This time, it’s with water. It’s cool and fresh, soothing your aching head and waking up your sleepy senses. He lets you drain the entire thing, sitting thoughtfully at the end of your bed. 

This time, you feel more alert. Sitting up carefully, you cross your legs and examine him. He’s dressed in simple clothes and a jacket, the fireplace throwing an orange glow on his face. Again, you’re struck with how much you could swear you know him, like his eyes are something you know and love. 

He waits for you to get settled, placing your hands in your lap. You fiddle with the edge of your tunic, drinking him in. Strong shoulders, rough hands, tawny skin. Your heart does a flip before you shove away thoughts of how pretty he is to think about what he’s told you so far.

“I have questions.”

He smiles and it’s as warm as the fire behind him. “Of course you do.”

“Did the werewolves kill my father?”

You get the tough one out of the way first. It was a thought you had just before you slept, wondering if your father had been someone who helped the constable murder Yoongi’s family. Though you have decided to dislike the white wolf very strongly, you can’t help but pity him.

“No,” Namjoon says vehemently. “After you told me about your father, I did some asking around. He was a wolf friend. That’s why he didn’t hunt big game, Red. He knew about us.” 

A tight feeling works its way up your throat. The relief and anger you feel is a double-edged sword, happy that he didn’t contribute to the displacement Namjoon is speaking of and angry that you know with every bone in your body that he was murdered. The instinct speaks to you the same way it tells you that you know Namjoon. 

You look up at him sharply, realizing something. “What do you mean ‘he knew about us’? Us?” 

Namjoon’s eyes are dark. He regards you intensely, making you shiver. Slowly, Namjoon begins to roll one of his sleeves. Your eyes drop to his hand as he does, long fingers meticulous. He bares his skin and holds his hand out to you, displaying the jagged, white scar that lopes around his wrist. 

Without thinking twice, you reach out to him, pulling his hand toward you. His skin is warm, sending a tingle through your fingertips. His palm is large and rough, your fingers delicate as you flip it to face the ceiling, eyes glued to the scarring around his wrist.

You move your fingers over his palm gently, scraping the calluses as you go. He lets you do what you want, touch stopping at his wrist bone before glancing up at him. His eyes are impossibly dark and he nods, urging you forward. 

The scarring is rough. Thick, ropey lines encircle his wrist like his hand was ravished by teeth. It makes you faintly think of Yoongi’s teeth around your ankle or -

“You,” you breathe, eyes meeting his. They are the same warm, intelligent, and welcoming eyes of the wolf you’d saved all those years ago. The wolf who had stood between you and the others at the Marrow farm. The wolf you dream about every night. “I saved you?”

His throat bobs. “You did.”

“I… that’s why it feels like I know you.” Your fingers trace his scar, almost fondly. Namjoon’s eyes flutter. “I do know you. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He smirks. “‘Hi, my name is Namjoon and I can turn into a wolf whenever I want and you saved me a few years ago and I’ve been thinking about you ever since’ is not exactly a great opening.” 

“Better than ‘you know most people who don’t want to be seen don’t wear a red cloak’.” He scrunches his nose. Cute. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s alright. I’ll talk if you’re willing to listen?”

You nod, not letting go of his hand. Now that you know who and what he is, any residual fear is gone. You scoot toward him, wanting to be closer. “I want to know.”

“Giho is my uncle like I said. He’s not a werewolf, though. That trait passed through my mom’s side of the family. Still, he was family and he knew about the werewolves that my father married into. He's a wolf friend and does what he can to help us, including making house calls and stealing us goods in harsh winters.”

“Huh. I always just thought he was a quiet, grumpy vet.”

“He is very much that, but he has also been a lifeline. He helps Yoongi far more than he should. It puts him in danger. His wife was killed for being a wolf friend. Giho was left alone simply because he is useful to the village.” Your fingers squeeze his hand at the hurt in his voice. “That night you found me… I was pretty young then. Fourteen, to be exact. I was nosing around the village that everyone was so afraid of and never saw the trap. I cannot emphasize how much you saved my life.” 

“It seemed like the right thing to do. I was afraid but you were… hurt. And your eyes were so kind. I don’t regret it.”

“What a relief.” You smile, genuinely happy. “I was worried you might after finding out my family were sort of… killing people.”

“When you put it that way,” you wince. “But I do believe you. That humans drove you out. That people are hurting you and your people. You don’t deserve it and I… don’t think I am in a position to offer moral arguments to what you’re doing.”

“I knew I liked you.”

“You barely know me.”

Namjoon turns his hand and catches yours, lacing your fingers. Your heart skitters as he pulls you a little close and leans, eyes narrowed playfully. “Hmm, sorry. I wasn’t really allowed to come hang out around your town, Little Red.” 

“Why did you finally come? Is it to help Yoongi?”

He shakes his head. “I only have one goal.”

“Which is?”

“To keep you safe.” That quiets you. Namjoon doesn’t meet your eyes when he continues, “You showed me such kindness, I just wanted to repay you. I liked to keep an eye on you when I could, always from a safe distance. You might not know me, but I grew up knowing you.”

Your mouth goes dry at his words. For someone who poses such a threat, Namjoon is gentle. Soft. Kind. You swallow past the lump in your throat. “Did you give me the red cloak?” 

“Yeah. It was to mark you as a friend. We give them to those who are under our protection.” He narrows his eyes. “Which is why Yoongi swears he didn’t know it was you in the woods tonight. Seokjin’s eyesight is too piss poor to realize it was you. Idiots.”

“Well if you know about me, tell me about you. What’s your favorite color? What do you like to eat? What's your favorite thing about being a wolf?”

So Namjoon does tell you. You both end up sitting on the bed next to one another, arms touching as he traces the lines on your palm. Your backs are pressed against the wall, feet dangling off the edge of his bed as he tells you about his childhood. 

It is fascinating hearing about the dynamics of his community but it’s also sad. Hearing how they live in fear, hearing how so many of the people he knows are gone. Realizing that the things he tells you match up with things you realize about your own community. 

Sadness sinks to the bottom of your gut like a rock. It isn’t pity that you feel, but something far more profound. It’s regret that you didn’t know any better. Frustration that he has suffered. A radical feeling of anger and desire for justice knowing you lived in comfort while Namjoon and his family suffered. 

There are good parts, too. Namjoon recalls happy moments and blushes when he recalls seeing you a few times. It doesn’t feel weird or strange, knowing someone was looking out for you. It feels comforting, like old friends catching up. 

Namjoon’s eyes sparkle as he tells you about his favorite books. You don’t know when you stop listening to him and start staring, but it’s inevitable. You love the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, dimple making an appearance as he recalls a story about putting Yoongi in the dirt with his brother, Taehyung’s help. You love the way he gestures wildly with his hands, every word evocative and enthusiastic. 

He’s the kind of person you would have been friends with had he grown up with you. And maybe a little more, you think, watching Namjoon watch you. His gaze is even and heated, making you squirm. His mouth twitches and you’re so sure that he knows he makes you nervous.

“I never thanked you,” you mention. He hums in question, letting you go back to tracing his scare delicately. He twitches and you grin. Good. “For saving me from the jaws of Yoongi.”

“Ah, that. I think he knew it was you. There’s a reason he dragged you instead of killing you on the spot.”

“Huh. Well, that’s very rude.”

“He’s good at that.”

“You sound fond, still.”

He nods. “I love Yoongi. Is my brother, in a way.”

“Well still. Thank you.” 

You look up at Namjoon. You’re sitting so close, shoulders pressed against one another. He smells like pine and bergamot, your favorite scent. It’s heady, awakening a foreign ache in you. Your heart speeds up as you lean into him just a little more, watching him through your lashes.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he rumbles, voice deep. 

Your toes curl. “Like what?” 

“LIke you wanna do more than just thank me.”

“Maybe I do.”

“I know.” 

Ah. You start to pull away and turn your head, realizing that he’s not interested, but Namjoon catches your chin with his other hand, tilting you back toward him. Your heart stalls when he looks down at your mouth, then back up to your eyes. “I’ve known you for all my life. Not how I wanted, but I’ve known you nonetheless. But you haven’t had the chance to know me.”

“I want to. I feel like I have known you. Like I knew you were always there.”

“Is this what you want?”

This. Namjoon. Whatever is crackling between you. The thing that has sparked since the moment he caught you eavesdropping. It doesn’t matter that it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t have to make sense. 

Namjoon makes sense though. The way his gaze softens when he sees you. The way he looms on the edge of your life, a silent protector. The way he could do so much damage but is soft instead. The way everything about him feels like the sun on a summer day, like a field of wildflowers in spring.

He must sense you tipping over the edge. His grip on your chin becomes firm and he tilts your face toward him, leaning down to press his warm, full mouth against yours. The effect is instantaneous. You melt into him, sighing as a feeling of belonging slots into place.

The kiss is chaste. Namjoon pulls away and your lashes flutter. You hadn’t even realized your eyes closed. His gaze is dark and half-lidded, his face close enough that you feel his breath. His lips have stoked a fire in you and you want more, you want to spill out the years of longing for something you didn’t know was there, for the sudden confirmation that he’d been there all along.

Surging forward, you press your lips to his again. This time, it’s searing, your mouth fierce as you push up off of the bed. Namjoon falls in your rhythm easily, hand leaving your chin to grab you by the waist and pull you into his lap.

Knees slotted on either side of him, you pour everything you have into the kiss. Your fingers card through his thick hair, silky strands sliding between them like you knew they would. His lips are soft on yours, mouth warm as you break the seal of the kiss with your tongue.

Namjoon lets out deep, throaty sounds. It coaxes the flame inside of you to a roar, tongue tangling with his. It’s wet and messy and a little impractical but you don’t feel embarrassed or nervous. It’s Namjoon. It feels like home. 

Pleasure tingles down your spine. Namjoon grips your hips, fingers digging into your flesh. It feels hot and your skin is burning up, static trapped between your chests where they’re pressed together. Your hips twitch, tentatively seeking friction in his lap. Namjoon responds immediately, pulling your hips toward him and letting you roll. 

Your mouths part but Namjoon doesn’t stop kissing you. You pant while he presses his mouth to your chin and jawline, tongue tough against the softness of your skin. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he growls. You tilt your head back, letting him pepper your throat. “You have no idea.”

“I always felt like something was missing. I think it was you.”

Namjoon moans at your admission. The heat between your legs is almost painful. One of Namjoon’s hands goes from your waist to between your legs, cupping you. You gasp back bowing as he presses firmly, deft fingers providing mind-numbing pleasure.

“That feels good.” You fist the collar of his shirt and squeeze your eyes. You feel tense, color exploding behind your closed lids. “Don’t stop.”

“Whatever you want,” he whispers. He pulls you in close, fingers curling. Your hips buck and you realize it isn't enough. You need the barrier of clothes gone. You want it more than anything. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

“Yes.”

You do know. It’s second nature. You knew even that day in the street when you’d first seen him. Just like Namjoon knows what you want and need, land leaving the apex of your thighs to help you off his lap and onto the bed under him. 

There’s a confidence in his movements that makes the room spin. Long forgotten are the wolf attacks and Yoongi’s teeth around your ankle. Here, it’s only the rasp of your pants against your skin as Namjoon pulls them down. It’s only the heat of his skis as you yank on his tunic, desperate to feel him.

Namjoon does run hot. His skin is burning up as your hands explore his firm chest. He captures your lips again, sucking your bottom lip in his mouth as he spreads your legs open with a knee. You shake under his touch, equal parts eager and stimulated. 

He’s so, so gentle as he caresses your inner thigh. When he brings his fingers to your sticky center, you let out a pitiful whine. Namjoon pauses, fingers pressed to your swollen kiss as he laughs and breaks the kiss, forehead pressed against yours.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you pout, leaning your head up to bite his chin. “It feels good.”

He gives you a quick kiss. Once. Twice. “Good. I want to make you feel good.” 

Namjoon circles his middle finger lazily around your clit. Your feet press into the bed, hips pulling up off the sheets. It feels amazing, pleasure sparking in your stomach. “That,” you gasp. “I like that.” 

He dips his head down, attaching his mouth to your neck as he teases your cunt. You don’t have to say anything else, Namjoon’s inquisitive fingers learning what makes you squirm and sigh. You’re a mess beneath him, chest heavy, beats of sweat making your shirt cling to you.

You claw at it, pulling it away from you. Namjoon leans up and lets you take it off, eyes dipping as he smiles appreciatively. He combines the efforts of his fingers with his mouth, bending low to catch a pert nipple with his teeth.

“Shit!” you squeak, making him chuckle again.

His fingers circle your clenching hole, pussy leaking onto his fingers. He presses a finger in and you let out a long, quiet whine. The feeling of his finger pressing against your walls is perfect, your cunt clenching as he shallowing thrusts the finger.

Everything he does is perfect. He sucks at your nipple hungrily as he fingers you slowly, making sure to press up inside your cunt in a way that has you seeing stars. Your fingers tangle in his hair, unable to think about anything except his teeth scraping your sensitive bud and your pussy clenching around his finger.

Namjoon is attentive. The heel of his hand presses to your clit and he eases another finger in, slower than the last. He looks up at you, mouth slick with spit to watch your mouth fall open. You nod, urging him further, sound stuck in your throat. 

The wet squelch between your legs as he fucks you with his fingers is obscene. You like it though, driven by the fact that it’s Namjoon doing it. Namjoon who you saved. Namjoon who watched over you. 

You open your eyes and look up at him, cradling his face in your hands. His forehead is damp with sweat from the heat building in the little shack. His skin is flushed and his hair hangs in his face. You pull at his bottom lip with your thumb and he gazes at you, hungry and wild, pupils blown.

Greedy, you pull him to you. The kiss is more teeth than lips, the two of you panting. Your leg hooks around his waist and you nibble his bottom lip, hips rolling to meet his thrusts, an orgasm starting its ascent. 

“I want you,” you breathe against his mouth. Your lips are sore from arduous kissing. “Please.”

He kisses you. “Okay.”

It’s that simple. You ask for it and he gives it to you.

Namjoon retracts his fingers from your cunt. You feel the sudden loss, fidgeting as you wait. He makes quick work of his pants, kneeling on the bed and bringing his hands covered in your juice to pump his cock. You feel your eyes bulge at his thick length. 

He notices and grins, slowing his movements. You watch as his hand smears precum down his shaft, twisting lightly as he gets to the top, his thumb brushing over his dark tip. “You can take it,” he pants, grinning wolfishly. “I know you can.”

Instead of answering, you nod, lifting your hips eagerly. He hums, pleased as he lets go, cock bobbing heavily while he shuffles over and leans over you. He places his hands on either side of your head, arms flexing as he holds his weight to bend down and steal a quick kiss. 

You kiss back feverishly, one hand traveling between your sweaty bodies to grip his length, trying to stroke him the way he did. He sighs, breaking the kiss and dropping his forehead against your chin as a shiver ripples through him. You smile, continuing to pump him.

“Want to be inside,” he mumbles, barely coherent. 

You open yourself up more, gently guiding the blunt crown of his cock toward your trembling entrance. You hold your breath as his hips follow your hand, breaching your ring of tight muscles and pushing in. 

Immediately your muscles spasm and resist, overwhelmed by Namjoon’s girth. You blow out a long breath as he enters you so, so slowly. It’s heaven and it’s hell, it’s pleasure and it’s pain. Namjoon presses his mouth to you, tongue distracting you as he bottoms out, stuffing you full.

Nothing has ever compared to how stretched you are. He doesn’t move, letting your cunt twitch around him. He holds himself up with one hand, the other brushing up and down your side, squeezing bits of flesh comfortingly as you try to still your beating heart under him.

The pain fades. You get greedy, wiggling your hips back and forth experimentally to feel the way Namjoon’s cock rubs against your walls. He blows out air sharply, a half laugh before his hand drops down to your hip, pushing you down into the bed with his weight as he slides backward.

“Ohhhh,” you sigh, head lolling to the side. The pressure of Namjoon pressing you down as he sets a slow pace of fucking into you is just right. You close your eyes, letting him set a slow pace in silence. “Yeah.” 

Namjoon’s breath is unsteady. Every little sound he makes sets you on fire. You’re pliant beneath him as he picks up his speed, properly fucking into you. One of your hands reaches up to grab his bicep, nails digging in, the other shooting to his hand on your hip, squeezing his wrist. 

Everything feels right. Connected. Overheated. The air is so thick you think you might suffocate, sheets sticking to your balmy skin, toes curling as Namjoon’s cock hits that spot inside of you that drives you mad. 

Nothing but this matters. Nothing but knowing your wolf isn’t really a wolf at all, and that he’s been there all along. Just like you’d hoped. 

“Fuck,” Namjoon pants. “I never dreamed I’d have you.”

“I dreamed of you,” you gasp on a particularly hard thrust, your nails dragging down his arm. “I just didn’t know it.”

His mouth crashes to yours. “Mine,” he growls. “My savior, mine to protect.” 

Your orgasm spins like an out-of-control spool of thread, winding tighter and tighter. Namjoon can tell, chasing your orgasm with reckless abandon, throwing his gentle movements out the window and fucking you hard into the bed. 

The sounds and words coming out of your mouth are useless babble, your thoughts turning murky as that spool tightens so much inside of you that it bursts, unspooling and spilling out of you around Namjoon’s cock. 

You can’t even breathe as you come, feet kicking, nails digging into his skin, teeth clenched. Your heart beats in your ears, the only thing you can hear for a few seconds as you spasm, eyes clenched shut. You are vaguely aware of Namjoon coming shortly after you, your name ripping through clenched teeth as he does. 

There are a few minutes of nothing punctuated by your stilted breathing and rapid pulse. Finally, you blink, stars swimming in your eyes as you look at Namjoon, who hangs his head on your chest. You reach a hand up and run your fingers through his sweaty hair.

Your wolf. Somehow you’d always known it. Even when you thought you were crazy. 

Gently, Namjoon pulls out of you, fluid spilling between your legs. You don’t care, limbs too heavy to move. Your skin is still burning up from exertion and you roll your head to the side to watch Namjoon as he lays next to you, pulling you toward him. 

For a little while, it’s quiet. You listen to the beating of his heart, closing your eyes and breathing deeply. You’re content just to lay there feeling whole just for once. 

After a while, Namjoon sighs. “You have to go back eventually.”

“We.”

“Hmm?”

“We have to go back.”

Namjoon pulls away and frowns at your tone, eyes reading your face. Your mouth is set in a firm line and you look at him with all seriousness. “We’re not letting them get away with what the humans did to you and your family.”

“You want to help?”

“Yes.” You pause. “I think it’s what my father would have wanted. It’s what I want. Even if Yoongi bit me.”

“Yoongi will never bite you again,” he vows fiercely. Then, a little more gently, “But he… would be glad to hear your sympathetic stance. I’m glad to hear it, Red.”

“Good.” You snuggle closer. “You’re mine to protect too. And I will make them pay.”

For Namjoon. For your father. You’ll paint the village red. 

[strawb3rrystar]

Confessions with wild flowers.

Pairing: Teen! Scott Summers x Teen! Fem! Xavier's daughter! Reader

Summary: Falling in love with your best friend under the shade of an oak tree.

Warnings: Mentions underage smoking, not proofread

Word count: 2.2k

✰Masterlist

Scott sat under one of the big oak trees on the school grounds, trying to find peace despite the prominent pounding of a headache taking a toll on him. He dealt with them frequently, popping a few pills back and waiting until they kicked in. So, here he sat, picking at the wild flowers that grew from the ground. Some would call them weeds, others would say it's part of the world's natural beauty. He twirled the stem of the flower idly in his hand, so caught up in his own world that he didn't hear your footsteps approach him.

"Don’t." He immediately says once he notices you, maybe a bit harsher than he actually means. His posture relaxes a bit, but he’s too in his own head to apologize. His fingers tighten around the unfortunate dandelion he had picked, and he looks like he’s about to blast a hole through the ground with how hard he’s glaring at it. "Your headaches are back, aren't they?" it didn't take a genius to know when something was wrong with Scott. When a guy who is usually so friendly and outgoing towards the other students turns sour, you can tell he has a problem.

"How did you know?" Scott replied, a bit defensive. The question caught him off guard, and he immediately stiffened again. He hadn’t even been able to turn around yet to see you, and he hadn’t even told you about his headache. Granted, they happened so often, that it wasn’t unlikely that you just knew. "Because you're usually never alone like this," you answer, and he was silent for a few beats then let out an exasperated sigh. Scott was a bit embarrassed that you saw right through him. He had chosen a more isolated spot, but of course, you had noticed. You were too observant for your own good, and was always somehow always able to see right through him. No matter how hard he tried to hide.

"Can’t get anything past you, huh?" He asked, rhetorically. But as dense as you were, you shrugged out a response "I am the professor's daughter after all." Scott snorts, because yeah, he supposed you were right. You were Xavier's daughter, and the two of you were so similar. He turns back to you, a bit of a smirk playing at the corner on his mouth, which is rare for him at a time like this. "You saying you somehow got all of your Dad's mind-reading powers, too?" He teases you. "No. I didn't get any mind-reading powers," you reply, stepping closer to him.

Scott's shoulders relax a bit as you step closer to him. Despite his tense mood, he can't help but be at least somewhat comforted by your presence. He even moves over slightly, making a spot for you beside him. "Good. I don’t think the world would survive if you got mind-reading powers, too," he jokes. You sit down beside him, sinking into the soft grass below "I just got his wicked smarts and wittiness."

"Smarts and wittiness is a pretty powerful combination," Scott points out, with a shrug. He’s still crushing the wildflowers between his fingers, though he’s relaxed more the longer he’s been sitting with you. "Could probably take over the world pretty quickly if you wanted." He teases, because there’s no doubt in his mind that you could take over the world if you wanted to. "Yeah, right." You roll your eyes playfully, not taking him seriously one bit. "I’m serious. Nobody would be able to stop you. You’d get away with everything. You could commit a multitude of crimes. Murder. Robbery. Maybe even arson. Hell, you could probably even kidnap." He replies, even though he knows that you're much more honorable than that.

"Jeez. You're making me sound like Pietro now," You scoff, shaking your head. "That’s an insult, honestly. You’ve got a far better moral compass than that guy, and you’re much less annoying." He retorts, a chuckle leaving his lips. "True, but at least the guys got a good stash of weed." You smile, gazing off at the other students playing tag in the open land. Scott rolls his eyes, because of course the guy is selling weed. "So that’s how you know him." Scott says dryly "Does your dad know you’re stealing weed from Pietro?"

"My dad can read minds, of course he does." you respond, as if it was the most obvious thing ever. "He just told me to be safe," you shrug "I think he was doing way crazier shit in his teens than we are." Scott snorts because he had no doubt in his mind that Charles had done some wild stuff in his young adult life. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Charles had once been a young man, with interests and hobbies and vices like anyone else. "Oh god, please don’t do anything that the professor did in his youth."

"I won't, I won't." you raise your hand in defense. "Good." Scott says firmly, but the smile is back on his face.The two of them sit in silence for a few moments. And Scott can feel his mood and his headache starting to slightly ease, just a bit, now that you're here. He lets out a long breath, and he’s not crushing the remains of the flower as hard anymore. "I guess it's good you can’t read my mind." Scott says finally, half-teasing. "Hm? Why?" you question, quirking a brow at him.

"You’d get annoyed by how often my mind changes." Scott half-jokes. But it’s not really a joke. Scott changes his mind and overthinks things so often that it would get annoying pretty quickly, judging from the few times he’s accidentally projected his thoughts to Charles. "You’re probably better off not knowing what’s going on in my brain. It gets pretty dark in there."

He lets out another breath, and he stops crushing the flower in his fingers entirely. Then he turns to look back at her directly. "You…you said something after our last mission. Remember?" You hum in response, nodding along. Scott takes a moment as he tries to formulate his next words, and he’s suddenly hyper-aware of how close you two are sitting. He glances down at the inches of distance between your legs. "Do you remember what you said?" Scott asks finally, glancing back up at her, almost hesitantly. "No, I don't." you answer.

Scott thinks for a second, silently cursing at himself. You probably either a) doesn’t remember it at all, since it meant nothing to you, or b) do remember it, and is trying to save him from the humiliation of remembering. Scott wasn’t sure which would be worse. He almost just decides to drop it and let the conversation pass on, but a moment of courage overtakes him, and he just bites the bullet and says it anyway. "You…you told me that I deserved better. Do you remember that?" Your response was to press your lips together and look away from him "Yeah.. I do.."

There’s a part of him, a voice in the back of his head, that tells him to stop this conversation now before he humiliates himself. But that bit of courage he’d grabbed ahold of is still there, and Scott pushes it aside for the time being. "Why did you say that then?" He asks, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. "Because.. You don't deserve the burden that your eyes cause." You explain, unable to make eye contact with him. Scott’s brain scrambles for a moment, and he suddenly feels butterflies stirring in his stomach. No, no, he just had to be misreading this. That’s all. There was no way that you actually meant that. He swallows, and the words that come out of his mouth are a bit awkward and forced, and he knows you will be able to tell. "That’s…that’s not the only thing you said."

"What else did I say?" you ask. Scott’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, and he feels like he’s going to be sick, but he swallows down his anxiety. He can’t afford to chicken out now. "You…you said that I deserved someone who could make me laugh." Scott responds, looking straight at you. "Oh, right.." you mumble, he swallows again, because suddenly his throat feels like the Sahara Desert. He forces himself to keep his voice even, and he finally says the words that have been on his mind for so, so long. "And then you said…you said I deserved someone who could love me, despite it."

"Yeah, you do." Scott’s heart beats faster, because you said it so easily. So matter-of-fact, like it’s such an easy concept for you. Like it’s just been there, the whole time. "Do you actually…" Scott mumbles, his head feels fuzzy as you turn your head to look at him. He swallows, throat still feeling like sandpaper, heart beating out of his chest. "Can I.. uhm.. ask you a question?" you nod your head. He takes a deep breath, and this is it. This is the moment. This is where he either jumps off the cliff, and falls, or doesn’t. "When you said all those things…about me deserving better and being happy with someone…did you mean…you?"

"Maybe," you answer, biting your lip "Unless you like someone else.." Scott pauses for a moment, because he wasn’t expecting you to be so direct. He was expecting some half-answer, for you to give him a hint maybe. But you're as blunt as your father. He shakes his head, because he definitely does not like anyone else, and he’s been completely obsessed over you for a long, long time. "No. No, I don’t." He says firmly, causing you to blink in surprise. You didn't expect him to be so honest.

Scott suddenly has the insane idea to reach out and grab your hand, so he does. He reaches over, and his fingers brush against yours, and he gently picks up one of your hands up with his own. "It’s only you," he says, his voice barely a whisper. Your eyes widen slightly "Really?" He gently brushes his thumb over your knuckles, hesitantly he laces his fingers through yours. Then he nods, and he’s looking at you almost shyly. "Only you," He confirms. His heart is still beating faster than his brain can process, and Scott doesn’t think he’s ever felt this nervous in his entire life.

You lean a little closer to him and in a moment of bravery, he dares to bring his other hand up to rest on your cheek. He turns to face you fully, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you are. your hair smells good, he notices; it’s sweet smelling, but not in a completely feminine way. More like a summer rain and spring flowers smell. And soon he can’t think of anything but how much he wants to kiss you right now. "Scott," you whisper, grabbing his attention. He exhales, very much so out of his comfort zone. For once he can’t plan and strategize his next move. He just has to go for it. But, he doesn’t really care about that anymore. "Can I…" His voice is soft "Can I kiss you?"

"Please do." You answer, your words send a wave of relief over him. And as if he was about to go into battle, he suddenly gains a rush of confidence. With the hand that’s still holding your face, he gently tilts it up towards him, and he leans down, his face so close to yours. "Please, tell me if I’m a shitty kisser." He mutters against your lips before closing the distance between them. You kiss him back, placing your hand on his chest. Scott immediately feels like this is what he’s missing for his entire life. His whole body feels like it’s on fire, but in a good way, and all the noise in his mind goes quiet. For the first time in he can’t even think, he just feels like he’s home. Your eyes squeeze shut as you lose yourself in the moment.

Scott deepens the kiss, his thumb brushing over your cheek. He presses his body against yours, he can feel you grab onto his shirt and he’s suddenly addicted. You pull away a second later, gasping for air. Scott actually lets out a huff of a laugh, because he isn’t used to feeling this breathless, like he’s just run a hundred miles nonstop. "See? I told you I was a shitty kisser." He grins and teases, in a slightly shaky voice. "The worst." you reply, chuckling a little. "Shut up," He mutters, pressing a kiss to the skin just under your jaw.

You ruffle his hair a bit "You know.. I got a blunt in my room." Scott laughs again, because you guys could not be two more contrasting people. "Of course you do. Why am I not surprised?" He shakes his head playfully. "Come on," you say "Let's get high and makeout for a while." He has a million reasons as to why it’s a bad idea. He should be in his room, going over the training regimen for tomorrow, catching up on paperwork, looking for any news or threats Xavier should know about. But he doesn’t care about any of that. He’s suddenly feeling reckless. He stands up and offers his hand down to you "Sounds like a plan to me."

Star's notes -> Should I make a part 2 where they get high (and have sex)?? Anyways, on my third day of school as of posting this and I am very tired already

(Requests are open!)

Taglist -> @theweepingvulcan91 @boogeysmoth | Join the taglist

[luveline]

hello jade! i just want to say i absolutely adore your writing!! if you have the time, could we see some more grumpy steve in the zombie au? id love to see anything from before the college, i just miss that grumpy era! <3

thank you my love!! steve zombie au —you try to make sense of why steve is so grumpy. 1k, fem!reader

"No," Steve says. 

You sigh and turn away from him, hands braced either side of your face. Steve doesn't talk much, but when he does, his favourite word is no. 

"Why not?" you ask. 

"There's nothing left in Hawkins," he says, stepping with ease over a huge puddle of diesel, the expelled gas strong enough to make you feel nauseous. 

"There's, you know, our homes." 

"What's the point?" he asks. "I'm trying to be fair here. What's the point in going back when everyone is gone and half the town was burned to the ground?" 

You ease over the diesel puddle with much less ease, muttering expletives to yourself when your left foot sinks into the instep. Now you'll smell like diesel for the next week. Great. 

There isn't any point in going back home, but that doesn't mean you don't want to. There really is nothing there, half the town was on fire when you bolted, the Hawk, the school, anything that would catch. It was an organised arson by the escape group you and Steve were supposed to be in (or rather, just Steve, flame to draw the geeks attention. You hadn't known anyone who knew anyone that knew the plan, so you hadn't realised everybody was leaving until they were already gone, the sound of what must've been fifty cars departing northward your lone clue. 

You kick the floor as you and Steve step out of the road and back onto the dirt path beside it, hoping the grass and mud will soak up the acrid smell stuck to your shoe. You'd brought Hawkins up because you're still grieving. Because you want someone to talk to about what you've lost, and Steve isn't abiding. 

"What guarantee is it that the world isn't just as razed as Hawkins?" you ask without pep. 

"There's no point thinking about it that way. We keep moving or we die. We go home, we die. We need to keep going and if we're fast enough, we can catch up to the Hawkins group. It'll be safer when it isn't only the two of us." 

And you'll never have to speak to me again, you think morosely. 

Steve is handsome. He went to your high school, though that was, like, four years ago. He's not the kind of guy who wasted time with girls like you, you know that. You guess you'd been hoping he'd be nicer alone. 

"You're not how I remember you," you say. 

"I don't remember you," he says. 

"Why would you?" you ask. You pretend to mess with the zipper on your jacket rather than look in his direction, worried he'll meet your eye, and see the actual hurt in your expression. "I was nobody, and you were a jock. Everyone knows how that goes."

"It's not like that," he says. 

You bat a rogue insect away from your cold cheek. You hate the forest. "What's it like?" you ask. 

"It's not about what kind of person you were. I had a lot going on back then." 

"Like what?" 

"Like getting beat up so bad I had a concussion twice in the same year," he says. 

"Woah." You look at him through the corner of your eye. "You got beat up that bad twice?" 

Steve doesn't answer you. You continue following him, making your way across a big stretch of road, the next crop of buildings about twenty minutes away if you had to guess. The weather is brisk, the sun occluded by grey clouds, and the air smells like ash. The sky is a hazy shade of white.

"Wait, by Jonathan Byers?" 

"No, he's the one who didn't give me a concussion," Steve says contritely. 

"Oh. Hey, you don't have to look so down about it, Harrington, this is a good thing. I can trust you, now." 

"You didn't trust me? I've been feeding you for the past week." 

"Yeah, but you're a guy I don't really know. I was worried you might try to kill me and eat me in my sleep or something when the food ran out, but now I know you're bad at fights, I'm not so worried." 

"Fuck off," he says dryly. 

"I'm bad at fighting too, if you were wondering." 

"I wasn't." 

"Hmm. Who beat you up the third time? I know that jerk Hargrove got you." 

"Just some guy."

"Must've been an angry guy," you mumble, looking at him with your head tilted. 

Steve is an asshole often and unapologetically to you, but you don't think you want to hurt him. He's shown you that, while he sucks, he knows how to be nice. He makes sure the blankets are covering your shoulders before you fall asleep, and he gives you bigger portions if he hears your stomach grumbling. Plus, no guy so eager to find their best friend can be evil, you think. He must have a whole lot of love stored up. Or stored down. Deep down inside. 

"Stop staring at me," he says. 

"Okay." You stare at him some more. He has a nice nose. He has really nice eyes, kind of hooded and almond shaped at once, brown irises that look dark as tree bark as the sun goes down. "Well, I won't beat you up." 

"Thanks," he says. He sounds less grumpy. You try to push it further. 

"I'm really sorry," you say, slowing your steps a touch. He slows to match you. "That someone hurt you like that. Twice. I know concussions aren't funny, that it must've sucked to recover from them." 

"I had a perforated eardrum," he says. "It hurt like hell. All of it did."

"I'm sorry," you say gently, offering him a sympathetic smile. 

He smiles back. "Not your fault," he says quietly. Then, louder, "Don't walk so slow. We need to be inside soon, the sun is setting." 

"Yes, sir," you say, saluting him sarcastically. 

He doesn't speak to you for half an hour. You don't mind so much, especially when, the next time you come across a puddle of diesel (someone seriously needs to learn how to syphon gas properly), he holds out a hand and helps you cross it, even though you could've easily walked around.

[katyspersonal]

Also ya'll are boring haters. Just because I have stupidly long hair and wear black leather goth coats + boots, like to stab things, am associated with black feathers because crow, am a homeschooled freak, have a weird connection with deep space, miss my mom almost chronically, tend to get overly attached to friends because I didn’t know hardly any people growing up, have a fiery, impassioned lore-obsessed bestie associated with the color red that duels with me every weekend, a calmer, more sensible literal angel bestie that reminds me to be rational and tells me to chill when duelling with the red friend, have a hard time expressing deeper emotions, am fairly introverted until I’m around friends I trust, don’t like public attention, have dreams about the apocalypse, can’t seem to escape the color scheme of purple/green, will probably have a mental breakdown at 25, am only a few steps away from committing arson, doesn't mean that you now get to make Sephiroth jokes ffs 🙄 Not literally everything is a reference to your most hated fictional not-blorbos, touch grass sometimes :pensive:

Nah, you aren't Sephiroth over all these things, you are Sephiroth because you annoy me by literally just standing there. Perish

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook: Take It All [2]

In which your fate had always been predetermined- but fate is a flickering flame, ready to change and morph at any given moment.

Tags/Warnings: ABO au, Alpha!Jungkook, shut up, omega!reader, shut up², anyone remember this?, well I do so open up babybird here's me feeding you another chapter

Additional Chapter Warnings: attempted murder, arson

Length: mid

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You can't do this.

Leaving Jungkook behind was one thing you could somewhat stomach. He was like a fever dream after all; a perfect mate and partner if only the circumstances had been different, though even then, logically, it would've never worked out.

You're not a leading person, you've got no drive to be at the head of a pack- so running away with him to start your own would've never worked out even if you wanted to. But right now, as you stare at the letter sent from Han, the man you're being admired (or more so demanded) by, you're sure anything would be better than the situation you're in right now.

It's why you pack your most necessary items right now, trying to keep the suspicion low on yourself, so no one was to tell the man that you're about to flee the scene.

Within the forest, you try to be quiet. As a female, you can't shift, so you completely have to rely on your senses to lead you where you need to go. The shed deep in the woods is your last effort to sit out Han's patience and hopefully make him loose interest in you, so that both your life and pack stays free and untied to his rather unstable emotions.

And for a while, it seems to work.

Days go by without a single letter, or any hint that he knows of your whereabouts. He surely must've given up on you to let it all rest like this, and for a moment, you believe that there might be a chance to travel back and find Jungkook even- at least attempt to find him, no matter if he's moved on as well or not.

But then you wake up coughing, eyes stinging immediately as you open them.

The shed is filled with smoke and glowing flames, everything in front of your makeshift bed already burning brightly. And one look outside shows the man you've been trying to run away from all along, holding the burning torch before he throws it to the ground, dead patch of grass catching the flames almost instantly as he turns and leaves you do die in the fire he'd set.

Just like he said; he will have you, one way or another. And if he can't , none ever will.

He'd threatened it before, and you know he's a man of his word. There's nothing he'd shy away from if it meant it would get him the prize he craves- in this case your life, your home, your pack. He's a hungry soul, never satisfied, always craving more than he has, even if he has it all.

He's the sin of gluttony reborn, it seems.

You've been running, trying to escape the fate you've known had always been set into stone for you- he'd told you so himself, that once your pack was his, he'd chain you to himself by the means of a bite, and there would be nothing you could do.

And you know what he meant with that.

The roof breaks and tumbles down, threatening to bury you beneath, when you hear the thundering footsteps on the ground somewhere, sounds of fighting heard outside of your walls that barely hold together at this point, and you pray that whoever tries to go against Han can at least escape with their life. Everything you want is for it to just be over- no one should fall into harms way for you.

And then it's quiet, save for the flicking flames around you, and wood giving up on the structure. Your eyes are closed as you hear someone approaching- probably to take you with him now, as you try and at least stand your ground, eyes opening to look at the man your heart simply doesn't want.

But the wolf that's standing in the wooden shed you'd been hiding in doesn't wear the sandy brown coat of Han. It's not his cherrywood eyes in which the flames reflect as if they're raging inside them that are staring at you. It's not his fangs that bite into the burning wood trying to save you from drowning in the heat that's trapping you inside this place, despite the danger he's facing himself, flames licking at his fur and skin.

No- his coat is darker than the burned walls of the shed, and those eyes that remind you of molten glass belong to one wolf only.

The one that said he'd change your fate.

You want to say his name, but all you can get out is coughing as you struggle to breathe, as he leans his head down for you to grab onto. You know it must hurt, it must hurt a lot- but you want to survive, because if he's here, that means there's hope, that means he at least fought off the man trying to kill you in sick twisted desire. It means there's a chance of a future for you.

Outside, he runs off into the woods for a good moment, leaving you to somewhat limp towards a stream of eater to drink and soothe your throat, when suddenly, a hand holds your hair out of your way.

You know it's Jungkook. His scent is everywhere.

"..why?" You ask, sitting in the soft grass as you turn around to find him watching you with a warm gaze.

He simply sits down next to you, holding your arm out before he gets some water into his hand, letting it cool the already angry red burns on your skin. "I told you " He simply shrugs, tending to your wounds. "I'll change your fate."

"He will come back.." you start, but he shakes his head, avoiding your eyes.

"He won't." He simply shakes his head, occupying himself by helping you. "Never again." He mumbles, and its only now that you notice the red stains on his neck, remnants of what you can't be sure is his blood-

Or someone else's.

"You-" you start, but he simply looks over to a lump of fur on the ground, close to the burning shed.

"Its not my first time taking a life." He confesses. "But I was hoping I wouldn't have to do it again." He explains.

"Then why?" You ask, and he slowly turns back towards you.

"Because you deserve a choice." He tells you. "And as long as he was to live, he wouldn't have given you one."

That much is true. He's right in that as long as Han would've been alive, he would've tried to get you under his claws, no matter the cost. But what hits you most about his answer is that he's not justifying his actions by claiming you- he doesn't give you the answer of 'I want you instead', no. He gives you a choice.

For the first time, someone is giving you the power to decide your own fate.

"And if I choose to stay with you?" You say, making his eyes widen a bit as he looks at you- before they soften.

"Then I'll gladly keep you at my side-" He nods, leaning in to place a kiss against your neck, right where your bonding mark would be, "-for as long as you want."

[eiirisworkshop]

A Fireside Chat

(A Hazbin Hotel ficlet) Rated: T Length: ~ 500 Summary: Aesthetically pleasing arson and talking to your bestie about your FWB—it's a pretty good day in Hell. Warning: Rape mention. Can be read on Ao3, along with its whole series!

Different things burned different colors.  Blue and green was copper.  Angel didn’t know why the shell of a building at the bottom of the hill had so much copper in it, but it sure was pretty.  He slurped at his iced coffee and watched it burn.

Cherri whooped excitedly, jumping up and down as some support or another succumbed to the flames and half the roof fell in. She plopped next to Angel in the scrubby red grass of the hillside, took a deep breath of smoky air, and let it out. “Ah, that’s the good stuff. Thanks.” She took her own coffee back from him and sipped it. “Anyway, yeah. Other than all that bullshit, pretty good week. How’s things with you?”

“Well,” he gave his cup a shake to dislodge the ice, “I’m getting raped by my boss.”

Cherri looked over at him sharply. 

He shrugged. “Nothin’ new, you know that,” he sighed. “Just something I can actually say out loud now.”

“Angie,” she said heartbreak-soft, putting an arm around him. He leaned his head against hers. She gave him a comforting squeeze. “I hoped that’d be better with you moved out.”

“It is, but better doesn’t mean fixed and I’m still under contract so….”

“Yeah.” She took his hand. “You know you can call me, doesn’t matter what time it is, if you need me I will burn the place down to get to you if I gotta.”

“I know.” He smiled appreciatively then shook his head, looking back to the blaze. “Honestly thought you might be who took me home last time, but there’s no sign in my phone I called you and no texts.”

She frowned. “I haven’t been your ride home anywhere for more than a month.”

He stirred his coffee with the straw. “Yeah, I dunno how I got home.”

“Because you were high, right?” 

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Angel mumbled.  “I remember being…with Val, and I remember walking up to the hotel—between there, I got nothin’.”  He picked at a thread on the edge of his jacket.  “Husk took care a me.”

Cherri smiled a little.  “Ol’ grump’s a good kitty, huh?”

“Yeah,” Angel grinned.  “Just don’t say the kitty part to his face.  But, Cherri, he purrs during sex sometimes and it is the cutest fucking thing.”

“Aw!” she laughed.  “So much for your not being into pussy.”

He snorted.  “Shouldn’t be a surprise; my best mate’s a cunt.”

She laughed harder and flopped back on the grass, hair fanned out under her head.  “You really like him, don’t ya?”

“Yeah,” Angel leaned back on one pair of elbows.  “He’s a good friend.”

She handed him her coffee so she could roll over onto her front, kicking her feet.  “Okay, but do you fancy him?”

Angel sighed, eyed the dregs of his coffee, drank some of hers, and grumbled, “Babe, I think I’m in fuckin’ love with him.”

“Oh.”  Cherri’s feet dropped to the ground.  “Are you gonna tell ‘im?”

He shook his head.  “Nah, that’s more of a mess than I wanna deal with.”

“Fair.”  She rested her chin on her hands.  “I’m glad you’ve got ‘im anyway.”

“Yeah, me too.”

[dungeons-and-dragon-age]

some more incorrect quotes, cos they're fun xdd

---

Dorian: We can bake these cookies at 400 degrees for 10 minutes or 4,000 degrees for 1 minute

June: How about 4,000,000 degrees for 1 second?!?

---

Varric: I hate the countryside. It’s dirty. It’s unclean. And what is that smell?

Liam: That would be grass.

Varric: Disgusting.

---

Liam: Honestly, I don’t even play an active role in my life anymore..

Liam: Things just happen and I’m like “Oh, is this what we’re doing now? Ok.”

---

Noya: What doesn't kill me better start running, because now I'm fucking pissed.

---

Liam, texting Fenris: Fenris there’s a spider on the outside of the bathroom door can you get rid of it?

Liam: Pls hurry because I’m going to cry

Liam: Fenris

Liam: Fenris?

Fenris: Fenris is dead. You’re next. Love, Spider.

---

Addie: Can we go out to get icecream?

Liam: Did you ask Pa?

Addie: He said no.

Liam: Then why did you ask me?

Addie: He’s not the boss of you.

Liam, internally: It's a trap, it's a trap, it's a trap-

---

Noya: Are you busy?

Sten: Yes.

Noya: Cool, listen to this-

---

Zevran: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Kala will and will not eat.

Alistair: Grass? Yes!

Zevran: Moss? Yes!!

Alistair: Leaves? Ohh, yes!

Zevran: Shoelaces? Strange but true!

Alistair: Worms? Sometimes!

Zevran: Twigs? Usually nah.

Alistair: Rocks? Usually!

Zevran: Morrigan's cooking? Inconclusive!

Wynne: How did you… test this?

Zevran: You just hand her stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if she eats it, she eats it.

Wynne: ... I don’t know how to feel about this.

Morrigan: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

---

Kala: You are an absolute sodding dork.

Alistair, singing: Yeah, but I'm your dork!

Kala: *sighs* Yeah, you're my dork.

---

Ari, to the party: And remember, if I get harsh with you it is only because you’re doing it all wrong.

---

June, trying to comfort Cullen: What's the problem? Anxiety? Low self-esteem? Obsessive thoughts of random arson? I've been there.

---

Liam: I dunno if I'm ready to process the ramifications of this bullshit.

---

Cullen: So, June is no longer allowed to take the trash out at night.

Cass: Why?

Cullen: Because I've caught her trying to train raccoons to fight five times in a row.

June: You'll be thanking me when the third raccoon battalion saves your ass.

---

Var'Renan: *raises eyebrows*

Noya: Put those back down!

---

Kala: That's ridiculous, Alistair doesn't have a crush on me.

Zevran: Yes he does.

Leliana: Yes he does.

Alistair: Yes I do.

---

Ari: Do you ever get pre-annoyed? Like you already know someone is going to piss you off?

Josie: What? No, I—

Solas: *enters room*

Ari: *jaw clenches*

---

Neira: Sometimes I wonder if I’m hearing voices.

Neira: Then I remember that’s the last bit of sanity I have trying to get me to fall asleep at a reasonable time.

---

Morrigan: Ugh, there’s always that weak bitch in the group who isn’t down with murder.

Morrigan: *glares at Neira*

Neira: Well, sorry I have morals!

---

Jowan: You’re overthinking this.

Neira: You don’t know the appropriate level of thinking, Jowan. What if I’m underthinking?

---

Alistair: Bottling up negative emotions is bad for your health, so you shouldn't do it.

Kala: I know, that's why I bottle up all my emotions, both positive and negative, so it cancels out.

Alistair: Th-that's not how that works-

---

June, reading a recipe: Beat three eggs?

Sera: It means like in hand-to-hand combat.

June: Ohhhh-

Cullen: Both of you get out of this kitchen.

---

Liam: Fine! I don't give a shit!

Merrill: You seem to give a lot of shits for someone who claims not to give a shit.

---

Neira: My expectations are low, but they can always go lower.

---

Ari: Who hurt you?

Sera: *snorting* What, do you want a list?

Ari: ...Yes, actually.

---

Krem: Welcome to Fucking Applebees, do you want apples or bees?

Cass: Bees?

June: SHE HAS SELECTED THE BEES!

Cass: Wait-

*Sera approaches, shaking a jar of bees menacingly*

---

Liam: Swear words are illegal now. If you say one you'll be fined.

Addie: Heck.

Liam: You're on thin fucking ice.

Liam: Oh no-

---

Solas: This is a very powerful artifact. You’d be messing with forces you don’t fully understand.

June: That sounds like a dare to me.

Solas: Oh my god.

---

Neira, making coffee: This is going to fix everything

---

Cassandra: Yesterday, I overheard June saying “Are you sure this is a good idea?” and Dagna replying “Trust me,” and I have never moved from one room to another so quickly in my life.

---

Lilian: I love the term 'partners'. Are we dating? Are we robbing a bank? Are we the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies and are members of an elite squad known as the special victims unit? Who knows.

---

Zevran: Hey, can I get a sip of that water?

Kala: It’s not water.

Zevran: Vodka! I like your sty-

Kala: It’s vinegar.

Zevran: …What?

Kala: It's vinegar, PUSSY.

---

Ari: *closes a cabinet*

*a crash is heard behind the cabinet door*

Josephine: What was that?

Ari: The sound of someone else's problem.

[insert dejected Trifles Minutiae noises]

---

Lilian: I need to dye my hair.

Lilian: Or get another tattoo.

Lilian: Or a new piercing.

Sebastian: ..... Why?

Lilian: To, you know, appease the mental breakdown gods.

---

Merrill: Would you stab your best friend in the leg for 10 million gold?

Liam: You stab me, and then when my leg gets better, we buy a big-ass house.

Varric: You can stab me too, then we'll have 20 million.

Liam: Good thinking.

---

June: *makes Cullen a cup of tea but puts salt in it*

Cullen: *sips tea*

June:

Cullen: *finishes tea*

June: Didn't it taste bad?

Cullen: Yeah, but I didn't want to hurt your feelings so I drank it all.

June, tearing up: Oh, okay.

---

Random Orlesian at a political dinner: How many kids do you have?

Ari: Biologically, emotionally, or legally?

---

Var'Renan: Creators, give me patience.

Noya: I think you mean 'give me strength'.

Var'Renan: If the Creators gave me strength, you'd be dead.

[voidoffline]

I was writing and a character hears the voices of these spirits called ‘concepts’ and I

The voices are just tumblr. The Concepts are Tumblr. (The voices in question below:)

*‘Eh whatever.’*

*‘Oh look!’*

*‘Ooo it’s happened!’*

*‘Yippee!’*

*‘Nice.’*

*‘Awww but I liked the forest.’*

*‘Yeah let’s go back.’*

*‘Forage privileges revoked.’*

*‘Forage??’*

*‘Wait I mean to say forest.’*

*‘Hahah prev can’t speak.’*

*‘Shush you fuck mouth you ass prev. Slash affectionate of course.’*

*‘Slash what?’*

*‘Sword slash to the chest, and your dead!’*

*‘It’s on fire not your dead.’*

*‘I love you prev.’*

*‘Sword slash to the chest, and your on fire.’*

*‘Yeah there we go.’*

*‘Sunlight! Sunlight! No more tree shadow!’*

*‘Poggers.’*

*‘Don’t ever say poggers again I will kill you.’*

*‘Poggers. Bitch.’*

*‘REEEEE.’*

*‘Freedom!!! No more forest!’*

*‘It’s still there prev.’*

*‘Not for long.’*

*‘Arson?’*

*‘Ooo yes yes Patrick go commit arson.’*

*‘Oh no not more fire.’*

*‘This grass is uncomfortable.’*

*‘You don’t even have a body prev.’*

*‘Shhh guys we’re giving the human a headache. It’s not nice to give friends headaches.’*

*‘Hey Patty boy, open your eyes.’*

*‘’Patty boy’???’*

*‘Eh I dunno just what came to mind.’*

[gigijenga]

possible enneagram combinations for the NTs (satire)(offensive)(Pdb be like)

INTJ:

1-INTJs can't be ones cause Si-less (Si=1)

2-INTJs can't be 2s because everyone knows INTJs don't feel emotions 🤓🤓

3-nooooo Ni doms can't be 3s they cannot possibly properly socialize with other homo sapiens

4-Too much Te (4s can only be IxFPs)(4s love to cry and INTJs are incapable of tears)

5-only Sp5 and So5 (being a Sx type indicates that the type has bitches and every INTJ is an incel who lives in their mom's basement)

6-sure why not (not Sp6 because it is too soft and weak and INTJs are emo badasses)

7-Not possible because INTJs hate parties

8-Se-less 💀 (Se=8 according to my uncle)

9-INTJs are not doormats therefore no (an INTJ online started yelling at me because I threatened to call the fbi to accuse them of having an iq below 300)

INTP:

1-not possible, INTPs have no productivity (somehow 1=procrastination-less) (in my experience INTPs never make their bed after they wake up)

2-No Fe 💀 therefore no 2 (INTPs don't know how to bake cookies and all 2s love sugar cookies)

3-INTPs have no ambition or social skills (lack of Te 💀) therefore they are un-3 (INTPs don't even have the ambition to get up from bed)

4-nooo 4 is Fi not Ti 😡😡

5-Only Sp5 (INTPs cannot be social types since social types can properly communicate with human beings and Sx5s have bitches)

6-INTPs are too 200 iq and all 6s are npc henchmen of 8w7

7-INTPs are too 🤓

8-INTPs are too 🤓

9-They overthink too much therefore they not 9 (9s are head empty and the only words they say are: I'm tired and I'm fine either way)

ENTJ:

1-yes cuz ENTJ yell (no Sp1)

2-no cuz ENTJ yell

3-ENTJ intensifies (no Sx3 because female energy 🤢🤮🤢)

4-nooooo ENTJs are Fi-less (ENTJs only have emotions because their zeal is powered by the tears of 4s)

5-nooooo ENTJs have no Ti and Te is too dumb and Ti is 500 iq and 5s cannot be stupid

6-ENTJs don’t focus on danger, they focus on ta grindset 😎💪

7-ENTJs are too sane to be 7s

8-ummm actually Te doms can't be 8s only Se doms can be 8s cause Te doms are just E1 and E3 karens trying to be cool 🤓🤓🤓

9-ENTJs are NOT submissive and breedable hence it is impossible for them to be 9s

ENTP:

1-no Si therefore not 1 (ENTPs hate it when the government threatens them for doing whatever the fuck they want)

2-all ENTPs are chaos demons therefore they can't be 2s (2s are too kind and innocent to commit several acts of first degree murder)

3-only So3 (ENTP is too lazy for Sp3 and too mean to be Sx3)

4-no Fi no 4 💀

5-ENTPs are E types and all 5s are hermits (being an E type indicates that the type touches grass dayly and that is 100% contradictory to 5s)

6-ENTPs never worry (from my mother's friend's cousin's brother's personal experience with his ENTP friend)

7-only Sp7 7w8 (7w6, So7 and Sx7s are too angelic. ENTPs love arson)

8-no Se no chadness 💀

9-all ENTPs are peace-breakers (one broke into my house and asked for Vbucks) therefore they are not 9s

[iamfruitie]

Of course I’d always love to see Danti with the watermelon idea!

“So what’s going on?” Wilford asked as he walked with Dark to the yard where the other Egos had gathered. 

“Not sure. Anti just said he saw something online that he wanted to try with everyone.” Dark answered with a sigh. 

“You’d think you’d be used to his antics by now.” Wilford teased. 

“I am. But I still worry about what it could be.” 

“I think-is that a pile of watermelons?” 

“What?” Dark followed Wilford’s line of sight and saw that there was, in fact, a pile of watermelons next to where Anti was. Anti was also sitting in the grass, wearing shorts and a black, tight-fitted tank top. “What?” He said again, this time when they were closer to Anti. 

“I saw this cool thing.” Anti took one of the watermelons and put it between his thighs. 

“I need you to clarify what you mean by cool thing. When you say that, it can vary from you showing me a rock to literal arson.” Dark said as Anti adjusted himself, pressing his palms to the ground and gripping the watermelon with his legs. 

“No rocks and no arson. I’m testing my strength, is all.” Anti stated, and Dark wasn’t sure if he believed him. But how much damage could he do with what he’s seeing?

“Alright.” Dark stepped back and stood with Wilford. 

“Give me the countdown, Maddy,” Anti said to Mad, who was in the crowd and standing between Mare and Phantom. 

“Oh! Um…three, two, one?” Mad wasn’t expecting to get called on, and his countdown was quick.

“Good enough.” Anti giggled before tensing his body, his clothing showing off all of his muscles as he squeezed the watermelon and easily cracked it in half, getting the juice of it all over his legs. “Hell yeah!” Anti let out a victorious laugh. Dark’s eyes went wide, and he felt a rush of pure lust go through him. 

“I have never wanted to be a watermelon before.” He blurted out without thinking and shook his head when he realized what he’d done due to Wilford laughing loud and hard enough that he started coughing. “I-I did not say that, understood?” 

“Whatever you say, Dark.” Wilford got out between his laughs. “Now, go get your boy before the others notice that you are totally not jealous of a fruit.” His eyes glanced down. That was enough of a hint for Dark to know what he meant. Dark quickly went over to Anti and pulled him up to his feet. 

“That was cool, ri-” Anti stopped his question when he could feel something hard poking his leg. “Oh~? Do we need to take a trip to the house~?” 

“Yes.” Was all Dark would say before they were gone in a puff of black smoke. 

[yandere-fics]

I have been reminded of the worst perfume idea I've ever come up with thanks to the spray bottles. It mostly involved collecting the sweat and musk of a person and turning it into a perfume brand. I mean, sure it'd PROBABLY work on a darling's Yan with their scent.

probably, speaking on perfume my mom's best friend was really into making perfume when they were in highschool and my mom would use these perfumes to commit arson(mostly just burning fields of grass though she also tried to burn down a tree once.) because they were insanely flammable.

[oc-aita]

[Author's note: This is written in my character's perspective, as if she were writing it to the official tumblr aita, and the only reason she would want to do that is for pity points and also maybe getting some of that annoying guilt to go away. Basically what I'm saying is some parts of this are half-truths or straight up lies. !!But dont let this author's note effect your vote!! I just wanted to mention that a lot of this is not what actually happened ;P]

tw: (technically implied) arson and also fire in general

Aita for burning down a school and almost getting a kid killed?

[pt: Aita for burning down a school and almost getting a kid killed?]

Ok I know that sounds bad!! But just listen! This is gonna be a long one since it's hard to explain So I (14f) really do not like this kid(13f), who is one of my classmates and I will call her G. I also have a friend group with R(14f), L(14f), and T(f). I guess we'd be the "popular girls," but tbf the school is pretty small anyway. See, the school we go to- or I should say went to- was erm well, cheap. Very cheap. Also mainly made out of wood (of course some parts were made with metal and other materials). So I mean it was bound to break eventually, right? Haha, anyway. So yeah I hate G, she thinks shes something she isnt (I will not expand on that). Also she's weirddd. Like really weird. Like, once I just saw her staring at the grass during recess watching bugs, that kind of weird. Oh! And she was mean to my friends and me! So we kinda wanted to get back at her for that. And one day ONE OF MY FRIENDS came up with the plan to freak her out by taking some lighters to school and after school ended we'd corner her and shove the lighters in her face. I thought that was a really mean plan, but I went along with it anyway because they were my friends. See, I didnt have anything to do with coming up with the plan! It's not my fault, I couldnt just not go along with it because they're my friends! And also their parents would be really mad at me if I didnt listen to them But anyway in the afternoon a couple hours before school ended, some random 3rd grader pushed me and my lighter fell out of my pocket and accidentally ignited! And I just happened to be standing near a bush, which was right next to the long wooden fence that encircled the school. So the bush caught on fire, and then the fence, and it quickly got out of control. I didnt mean for it to happen! At all! Totally! It's not my fault! If anything it's that stupid 3rd grader's for pushing me, or even G's fault for having the need for this plan in the first place Anyway the fire alarm went off and the staff started evacuating everyone, but in L's rush to get out of the building, she accidentally bumped into G, who fell near the fire. G then started screaming at us for "being so inconsiderate" (what a brat!). Then all 4 of us (me, L, R, and G (T was sick btw and couldnt come that day)) got trapped in a circle of fire near the lockers, because apparently someone had left a bunch of flammable things randomly. in a circle. G tried to bite me (ew) so obviously I pushed her back and I may have accidentally hit her too hard because there was a loud thunk as she slammed against the lockers but its not my fault she tried to bite me!! (Also she was claiming it was self defense but like ??) L, R, and I helped each other get out of the circle before the fire got too big and ran away before we could find out what happened to G Several hours later and the whole school is burned down (we're in the process of finding a new school) and also found out some other weirdo from a different classroom helped G escape

Anyway, am i the asshole for being forced to follow my friend's plan to try to scare a kid and then accidentally setting the whole school on fire and almost killing that kid? (I didnt mean to!!!!🥺)

[squishmallow36]

You're My Aurora Borealis

@purplesoup-lad-le You were my Secret Santa! I tried to add as much Dizznee and Fedex as I possibly could in this thing. I don't think there was much more that could've been added. This fic takes place within the Keeper of the Lost Prepositions Universe, but it isn't necessary and the spoilers are very very light if you haven't finished it.

And @song-tam you suffered through my ramblings because I couldn't talk about my ideas with everybody!

Word Count: 5.4k

Tw: food, light swearing, Alden mentions, the end is probably really cheesy

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @stellar-lune @gaslight-gaetkeep-gayboss @kamikothe1and0lny @nyxpixels @florida-preposterously @poppinspop @uni-seahorse-572 @solreefs @theseasonismerrybutimnot @rusted-phone-calls @when-wax-wings-melt @ahyesitsshmeegus @good-old-fashioned-lover-boy7 @dexter-dizzknees @abubble125 @hi-imgrapes @callum-hunt-is-bisexual @xanadaus @callas-pancake-tree @hi-my-name-is-awesome @katniss-elizabeth-chase @cherryys-stuff @arson-anarchy-death

On Ao3 or below the cut!

    Fitz shivers. 

    It might be the cold, it might be the gnawing pit of dread in his stomach, or it might be Dex’s hand clasped around his own. 

    A gust of wind rushes past, chilling Fitz’s already frozen fingers clasped around too many tubs of plastic containers filled with mallowmelt and other sugary goods. 

    Yeah, it’s probably the weather. 

   Rimeshire is pretty much always freezing--a byproduct of the latitude of the Gloaming Valley--despite Elvin thermoregulators. There’s even several centimeters of snow on the ground, filthy from the months the majority of it has spent there. 

    The last time the grass could be seen, Fitz was still speaking to his father. 

    His eyes flicker to the horizon, just beginning to turn orangish with a sunset, small stratus clouds reflecting the warm tones, making him want to sit here on the porch and watch it. 

    Instead, his stomach growls, making the fear he’s trying to ignore that much more apparent. And studying the fine silver details around Rimshire’s door is quickly becoming insufficient. 

    Fitz feels a soft squeeze on his hand, dragging him back to reality. And by reality he means Dex’s dimples. 

    That’s certainly one way to simultaneously calm him down and cause his chest to tighten at the same time. 

    “Hey,” Dex whispers, barely audible beneath the blood rushing through Fitz’s ears. 

    “Don’t give me that look,” Fitz snaps. 

    “I’m not giving you a look.” Dex closes xor eyes and faces the opposite direction just to prove his point. 

    Fitz rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

    “Just--just think of it like a normal family dinner. You’ve suffered through several of those before.”

    Fitz forces himself to exhale. “Dex, I know you mean well, but don’t. You know as well as I do that trying to reason either of us off the edge doesn’t work.” 

    “That’s just because I’m good at arguing against you when I don’t want to do something.” 

    “Well, I graduated with Honors from the Keefe Hesledge University of Being a Tosser.”

    “You say that but then you don’t seem to use your degree.”

    Fitz absent-mindedly rolls his ankle. “That’s because I don’t enjoy using it, not because I failed most of my classes.”

    “You know, every time you bring this up I tell you to remind me to see the curriculum the next time we see Keefe, and yet that hasn’t happened yet. I need to see how it let you out.”

    Fitz stops. “...Are you trying to make me mad to distract me from the fact that I am currently standing outside my boyfriend’s house with a copious amount of stress-baked, questionably edible things?”

    Dex blushes. “Yes,” xe lies. At least he’s consistent. 

    “And how well did that plan work out for you?”

    “It was going pretty well, then someone had to figure out my master plan. That was very inconsiderate of you.”  

    Fitz takes a breath. “I apologize in advance for messing up your Gloamhenge. Whatever I inevitably do, I’m sorry.” 

    Fitz watches Dex as xe processes this, trying to find the best way to tell him to shut up without leaving himself open for counterarguments. “You’re gonna have to bring your A game, Fitzy. I have a feeling the Triplets will make it their personal mission to screw everything up the fastest.”

    Fitz decides to give him that. “Yeah, that sounds on brand.”

    “Okay. So we’re good? We’re fine? We’re mildly okayish enough to continue functioning for one evening?”

    Fitz has to hold back a smile. It’s the exact thing they’ve said to each other too many times to be healthy but now it’s lost most of its actual meaning because of semantic satiation--oh, Exile, is he actually learning things from Dex? This is terrifying. 

    “I’m not sure I’d go that far, but sure. It can’t go much worse than a certain dinner with someone.” 

    Dex looks just a little murderous at the reference to Alden. “Is it really necessary to bring that up every single time?”

    “Yes, because it was glorious and you should regret not being there.”

    “Oh, trust me, honey, it would’ve had the same outcome, just way faster.” Dex smiles. 

    Fitz’s heart still flutters a bit, even after however many months it’s been. “And there’s scary!Dex. Lovely. I always love being mildly afraid of you.” 

    “That’s exactly what I’m here for.”

    Fitz fakes a gasp. “Preposition.”

    “Oh, great. Don’t mind me as I pull a Henry David Thoreau.”

    Hey, I told xem about that. I do exist somewhere in his brain. I didn’t expect that. 

    Thoreau basically got angry at society--honestly, mood--so he went and lived in a cabin in the woods for like two years and wrote an infuriatingly dense book. And now he’s like human famous or something because of it. 

    “No, don’t do that! Don’t leave me alone with these people!” Fitz jokes. 

    Dex laughs, knocking on the door. 

    Juline opens it much too quickly to honestly believe she wasn’t eavesdropping, but at least it wasn’t Bex. And if that’s the bar, you know you’re in for a wild ride. 

    Oh, who am I kidding? These are the Dizznees. We knew that coming into this. 

    “Aw, Fitz, you didn’t have to bring anything. Come in, come in.” Juline exclaims, stealing his baked goods from him, probably never to be seen again. It won’t be the first time the Triplets have chewed their way through a plastic container. 

    Wait, no. That was the squirrels getting into the Everglen garbage can. 

    “I tried to stop him, trust me,” Dex says, deadpan. “Also trust me when I say he would be living in a cave on the coast of Lumenaria Island if he didn’t bake.” 

    “I am not as bad as Keefe,” Fitz argues, voice cracking embarrassingly, stripping him of any credibility he could’ve had. 

    “Aren’t you living at Candleshade in an attempt to avoid your father?” 

    “We do not acknowledge that wanker as being biologically related to me unless it’s for comedic purposes,” Fitz snaps.

    Before Dex can come up with a coherent response, the Triplets have seemingly sensed Fitz’s presence as they swarm him, nearly knocking him over. 

    His knee wails in protest at the attack of his ankles and--ow!

    “Did one of you just bite me?”

    The only response is unintelligible screaming. But wait--is Bex laughing harder than before? That little--.

    “I’m here to eat dinner, not to be dinner!”

    Dex turns away to hide the fact that xe’s laughing, but it doesn’t work when his shoulders shake that much, and Juline even has a hard smile. 

    “Speaking of dinner, it’s almost ready, so make yourself comfortable until then. I will be making sure Kesler hasn’t, in my absence, blown up the kitchen.” 

    “Hey, it’s been two whole weeks since then!” Kesler yells from the kitchen over the sound of the vent hood. 

    Juline turns and walks towards the kitchen, yelling, “You haven’t had many opportunities in those two weeks. I don’t trust you!” 

    Fitz smiles. “Hey, that kind of sounds like you after you found out about my relationship--or, more accurately, lack thereof--with recipes.” 

    Dex begins explaining, talking more with his hands than actually talking, “Baking is a chemical reaction, so that means it’s alchemy you can eat, and while you really shouldn’t eat anything in the lab because it all tastes bad anyway--don’t worry, I checked--it’s still a science and that means it needs exactness! Not just, oh, a little baking soda here and, yeah, a little flour there! No! You need order! And structure! Not this absolute madness!”

    “Don’t hurt yourself, love.” 

    The Triplets laugh. 

    “I’ll hurt myself if I want to hurt myself. You can’t tell me what to do,” pouts Dex.

    “You’re not smacking yourself in the eye again, Dex.”

    “That wasn’t my fault. You got me started on the types of Supernovae.” 

    “That was for my Universe final. What else was I supposed to do?”

    “I don’t know--Bex, why are you looking at me like that?”

    She only responds with indecipherable giggling, burying her face in Fitz’s jerkin instead of confronting reality. 

    “Exile, you’re insufferable,” Dex complains. 

    “That’s what I’m here for, Dear Brother,” replies a voice that’d probably be Bex if she wasn’t hiding. 

    Dex and Fitz lock eyes, simultaneously mouthing ‘preposition’ and collapsing into a fit of silent giggles. 

    “Can you maybe not sound like Biana?” Fitz asks the tumor that’s now permanently attached to his leg. 

    “No,” comes her muffled response. 

    “Is your stubbornness by chance genetic?” Fitz asks Dex.

    “Not to my knowledge. What on Earth would make you think that?” Dex asks, trying and failing to hold back a smile. 

    That adorable smile. How the Exile am I supposed to function with those dimples? It’s not fair. 

    Fitz shakes his head, shuffling over to the couch. It takes the same amount to get comfortable as for Juline to call, “Dinner’s ready!” causing a Triplet stampede as they rush to their seats. 

    There’s a lot of yelling, and several alleged thrown elbows. One would think they would have assigned seats by now, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. 

    “Don’t you, I don’t know, want to go reserve your seat?” Fitz asks, still trying to get off the couch. It’s like a black hole. Except it’s dark blue. 

    “I think I threatened them sufficiently this afternoon. It should be fine,” Dex replies.

    I don’t want to know what that means. 

    Fitz’s knee groans as he stands, finding two seats actually next to each other for once. Dex’s threats might have actually worked. That’s scarier than it should be.

    He plops himself down in the right seat so he doesn’t get elbowed by Dex and his left-handedness. 

    Looking around the table, Fitz sees a combination of normal foods and, for lack of a better word, Dizznee foods. 

    The glasses of Lushberry juice are standard enough, as are the mashed carnissa root and umber leaves. 

    But then there’s a solid, opaque pink dish that jiggles when it’s moved and tastes sweet, like fraiseberries, and doesn’t seem to belong on a dinner table. It seems more like a dessert, but then Fitz remembers his baked goods he brought. 

    Yeah, Juline was probably planning on that. 

    The Triplets inhale it like there’s no tomorrow, using butter knives as weapons to keep the others away from it. 

    Then there’s a casserole dish with grated breadfruit, covered in a creamy, stringy, delicious yellow substance that got slightly crunchy on the edges. 

    “Cloudberry?” Juline offers, holding out a bowl of golden-yellow berries. 

    Fitz takes one, ripping off a single drupelet and popping it into his mouth. It bursts with a light pressure, exploding sweet and sour flavours across his taste buds. 

    He’s going to be kidnapping that bowl later. Might eat the glass itself. 

    Fitz glances over to Dex to find xem watching him and smiling. For someone who isn’t a telepath, xe’s very good at knowing what he’s thinking. Annoyingly good. 

    Bex leans over her mountain of food, butter knife grasped in her hand. “So, Fitzy…”

    “Congratulations, I am already afraid.”

    “Is Biana by any chance of mercy single?”

    This is the third time you’ve asked this week. Do you think I wouldn’t keep you updated?

    “Before I answer that, you have to be aware of the fact that Bi doesn’t tell me anything. So, to my knowledge, yes. But my knowledge is pretty much zero.”

    Bex swears, stabbing her knife into the container of butter. “Any update on Amy?”

    “If there was, I would have held a whole press conference the millisecond I heard anything at all,” Dex answers tiredly. 

    “Nanosecond,” Bex corrects. 

    “Planck time,” counters Dex. 

    Bex considers that. “No physics allowed in this house.” 

    “Then have fun as all your atoms explode because the strong force isn’t holding your atomic nuclei together anymore.”

    “I will.” Bex crosses her arms, but only long enough to realise that prevents her from shoveling food in at light speed. 

    “No talk of exploding anyone at the dinner table!” Juline reprimands. “Not after last year!”

    Fitz leans over to Dex, whispering, “What happened last year?”

    “Just put that on the list of things I say I’ll explain and then never end up doing.”

    Fitz nods. “Gotcha.” 

    The room is oddly silent for a moment--the longest possible length of time in the Dizznee household it seems--before Kesler asks, “So, Fitz, are you ready for the Gloamhenge quiz tonight?”

    “There’s a quiz? Oh, what am I saying? Of course there’s a quiz. Where else would Dex get it from? Oh, great, preposition. But my point still stands.” 

    “At best, it sits,” Dex mumbles, and Fitz glares at xem. 

    Kesler laughs. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

    “...I should make that a thing next year though.” Fitz holds his head in his hands as Dex writes that down. 

    “Do you see what you’ve done? You’ve given him ideas. There’s nothing more dangerous,” Fitz grumbles. 

    “No, Dex. You would make all the questions incredibly specific and then you would cackle the entire time we were struggling to answer them,” Kesler predicts very accurately. 

    “No, I wouldn’t,” Dex argues. Some might even say whines. 

    “Yes, you would,” Rex states. “You’ve given me like ten programming pop quizzes and that’s exactly what you do.”

    Dex puts xor hands on xor hips. “Fine then. How about you make me a quiz. Show me how it’s done.”

    Fitz places a hand on Dex’s, gently tugging it away, quietly promising, “I’ll make you a quiz. I know you have a very unhealthy relationship with Kahoot and I will very much enable it to the best of my abilities.”

    “Thank you,” Dex says softly, smiling just enough to show a single dimple and laces their fingers together. 

    Fitz melts into a puddle of Fitz-goo. This is incredibly unfair and it should not be allowed. 

    “Hey, Dex! Did you tell him about the cinnamon competition?” One of the Triplets--probably Lex because they’re the one that hasn’t caused a catastrophe yet today--asks. 

    “I told you, I’m not adding that to the official Google Doc of festivities. It was a one time thing, and I’d like to keep it that way. Let it live in our memories in its true glory. Don’t spoil it with a sequel. You know those are never as good as the original.”

    “Except for Shrek,” Lex inconveniently points out. 

    “Shrek is an outlier and should not have been counted.” Dex looks at Fitz. “And, no. You don’t get to hear about it. I don’t want to think about it ever again.”

    “What’s so bad?” Lex asks. “I thought sugar and spice makes everything nice.”

    “So does crack though,” Rex chimes in, and Fitz gets the feeling that isn’t the first time that exact exchange of phrase has occurred. 

    “That’s why we host the cinnamon competition. Double the nice. Duh.”

    “Oh. That makes a lot of sense now.” Rex’s attention turns back to the mashed carnissa root on his plate. 

    “And that is why we have a lock on the spice cabinet.”

    “Come on, do you really think a little metal’s going to stop us?” Bex asks. 

    “No. You’d chew through the wood first,” Dex replies like xe’s thought about it at length. Which he probably has. 

    Lex argues, “I’d at least try to pick it.”

    Fitz expects Dex to pull out the good old Yoda quote, but instead xe says, “It’s not a Masterlock. It has to be at least marginally better than absolutely useless.”

    “I can handle it. I’m cool like that.” The moment Lex says that is also the moment that they take a sip of Lushberry juice and cough on it. 

    “Remind me to add that to the very long list of reasons why I’m never getting them a lockpicking kit,” Dex says, taking a bite of an umber leaf. 

    “Does that mean you’ve neglected to get me one for the,” Lex counts on their fingers, “twenty-seventh Gloamhenge in a row?”

    Dex nods as Fitz asks, “Wait, how do those maths work?”

    “Okay, first of all, getting things for other people isn’t even a part of the Gloamhenge tradition. You just want things so you try to add it every time. But, to answer your question, Fitz, there are two a year, one on the spring equinox, and one on the fall equinox. Am I really that bad of a teacher or were you not listening yesterday?”

     “...the latter,” Fitz admits begrudgingly. 

    It’s not my fault, it’s your dimples. I am a very weak man. 

    Dex sighs. “What am I going to do with you?” 

    “Tell me to take notes.” Fitz suggests. “Maybe I’ll be too busy doodling in the margins or maybe I’ll actually listen.” 

    “Or I could threaten a quiz at the end.”

    “Why are we back to this? I’m already under constant threat of pop quiz at any time you’re bored enough to make a Kahoot. Which is at all times!”

    “At least you’re aware of the danger. Not all are so lucky.”

    “You mean Sophie, don’t you?” Fitz guesses. 

    “Mmhmm, yes, exactly, correct, very good. One point of extra credit to be redeemed during the next pop quiz you inevitably fail.”

    “That’s not terrifying at all.” Fitz turns to Dex’s parents. “I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with him for so long.”

    Kesler is laughing, enjoying this almost as much as Bex is, which is saying something. 

    Juline, on the other hand, says, “Xe gets it from his father,” looking pointedly at Kesler. He stops laughing abruptly with a painful sound. 

    “I’m full,” Lex complains, leaning back in their chair. 

    At the same time, Dex and Kesler say, “Hi full, I’m Dad.” They look at each other for a moment before collapsing into a fit of giggles. 

    Juline takes that as an opportunity to start cleaning up the carnage that used to be dinner. And there weren’t any major injuries, so this was a wild success. 

    Fitz tries to stand to help, but gets pushed back down into his seat by Juline. 

    What the--how dare you not let me help? I want to be helpful. Let me be helpful. Anger. 

    Dex manages to pull him away back onto the couch with a disproportionate amount of groaning.

    They sit next to each other with the minimum amount of space between them to avoid Triplet teasing. 

    An alarm goes off, and Fitz checks behind the pillow he’s currently crushing to see if he caused it, but no. It was Dex. 

    “It’s 9:52, officially Nautical twilight. Got until 11:18 until astronomical twilight when we might be able to see something. Even with the new moon and forecast for tonight.”

    “What are you going on about with all these different twilights?” Bex asks from somewhere Fitz can’t see. “We collectively decided to block those.”

    “You’re thinking of the book and movie series with Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn. Why do I know that? Scientific twilight definitions are civil twilight, which is still bright and immediately after sunset, nautical twilight, which is the pretty one with a dark sky and a bright orange ring near the horizon, and astronomical twilight, which is only slightly brighter than night,” Dex explains. 

    “Of course you know those. Was it on a Universe exam or does it just live in your brain for no good reason?”

    Dex smiles. “Take a wild guess.”

    Fitz sighs. “Why do I even ask anymore?”

    “I really don’t know, you should know better by now,” answers a mysterious voice Fitz is about seventy percent sure belongs to Lex.

    “Rude!” Fitz calls to the empty air. He doesn’t know where the Triplets have gone, and he’s not over excited to find out. 

    Juline comes back from the kitchen after loading all the dishes into the dishwasher, one of the few gadgets in the house that wasn’t built by Dex, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. 

    “How’s the sun’s activity doing? I know last fall wasn't a great show.” 

    “It’s doing its thing, exploding all over the place. As it does. Throwing particles everywhere. Looking pretty good.”

    What? It’s literally nighttime. Why do we need to monitor the sun?

    “Fitz, would you like an explanation?” Dex asks softly. 

    “Well, considering that you enjoy explaining things to me like I’m a five year old--which I am, more often than not-- so I’ll go with yes.”

    “You better take notes this time. I’m not going through my presentation again for at least six months. I will find other lecture topics if you need a condescending explanation before then.”

    Fitz pulls out the notes app on his Imparter without having to ask for a tutorial, a major accomplishment. 

    Dex begins, “Okay, so. Around the equinoxes, one of which is today if you weren’t aware, the Northern Lights are really bright. Do we know what those are?”

    “Are you going to go into extreme levels of detail regardless of my actual answer?” Fitz guesses. 

    “You betcha. How’d you know? Basically, the sun is a mass of incandescent gas that is just, like, constantly throwing a fit. Sometimes that fit is directed at the Earth--it’s actually really similar to pulsars and neutron stars now that I think about it--anyway, because the ionized particles are, well, ionized, they’re deflected by the Earth’s magnetic field into the atmosphere at the poles. Sometimes the sun throws a really big tantrum called a Coronal Mass Ejection, or CME, and then the humans have to deal with things like the Carrington Event.”

    “Hang on a second, I can only type so fast. I’m not good at typing like you.”

    “I’m not good at typing, just pretending that I am.” Dex pauses, waiting for Fitz’s thumbs to stop moving. “The Carrington Event is the name for this really strong CME like a hundred and fiftyish years ago and it messed up pretty much all much tech that existed at the time. There wasn’t much, but telegram lines weren’t pleased. And auroras were seen all the way to the Equator. That’s when you’re going to want to draw a giant arrow from aurora to the definition.”

    Fitz nods. 

    “In the northern hemisphere, it’s called the Aurora Borealis and in the southern hemisphere, it’s called the Aurora Australis because Latin is like that.”

    “Hang on, let me write that down. Spelling is difficult.”

    Especially when the keyboard switches to Latin letters like Human English uses instead of Elvin Runes in the middle of a sentence. But it’s not like I can ask for help. I’ll figure it out later. 

    “They translate to ‘north dawn’ and ‘south dawn’ but that’s not really important.”

    “And yet you still felt the need to tell me.”

    “What else did you expect from me, eh? Anyway, like I said, auroras tend to be most visible near the Equinoxes. You’d think they’d like the winter solstice, but I digress.”

    “Maybe the sun particles don’t like travelling the extra distance because the Earth goes like this,” Fitz holds his arm up at an angle that is most certainly not the angle of the Earth’s axial tilt, but it’s a good enough approximation.

    Dex points to xemself. “I don’t know, I’m not an astrophysicist.”

    “Why not? You should get to work on that.”

    “Go get your doctorate in Elvin History, and then we can talk…Are you literally writing that down?”

    “Yeah. Otherwise I’m going to forget.”

    Dex sighs, mooshing into Fitz’s shoulder. “From the Universe, you have a vague memory of the ecliptic, right? The imaginary line in the sky where the sun and moon and planets and human astrology constellations all fall?” 

    “I would have said no, but you just defined it for me, so it all worked out.”

    “On the Equinoxes, the ecliptic is perfectly East-West because it weeble-wobbles with the seasons. That fact is very helpful if one wants to make a calendar but one doesn’t have access to the internets. So you put up some giant rocks in a circle marking where the sun is and when it lines up again six months later, you know it’s an equinox and you can plan for the upcoming winter if you live in a temperate climate.”

    “I thought time was relative.”

    “Leave Einstein out of this conversation. We don’t talk about him.”

    “...okay.”

    “Did you just write down 'stop with the Einstein erasure’?”

    “Yeah.”

    “I--I don’t even know how to react to that. Moving on--”

    Fitz laughs. 

    “--If that circle rock thing I just described sounds familiar, that’s because there’s a big old monument in England that humans don’t entirely understand called Stonehenge and it’s like that. My bet is that it was an elf messing with them, but that’s just my opinion.”

      “Yeah that tracks.”

    “Your spelling is atrocious. Also, why are you in the Latin alphabet? I specifically disabled it. How did you manage to get it back?”

    Fitz shrugs, and Dex chooses to finish xor lecture before fixing the technology for whatever reason. 

    So close yet so far. I should figure out how to fix it myself…which is more likely to result in breaking the whole thing, but I’ll just buy a new one if I get desperate. 

    “Okay, we’re in the home stretch.” Dex promises, but Fitz doesn’t trust him that much. “The human city of Chicago--have you ever been there? Super mega tall building with a name nobody can agree upon, green river both literally and the carbonated beverage, says gym shoes instead of sneakers or whatever, putting ketchup on hotdogs is a punishable offence?”

    “If you think I could tell the difference between the human cities I visited, you’d be mistaken. Maybe pictures could feel vaguely familiar, but there were so many.”

    “Well, Chicago is on a grid system and a consequence of that is that on the equinoxes,  the sun can line up with the tall buildings and it’s called Chicagohenge and it’s supposed to be really pretty. Don’t ask me why I know that. If I knew, I would tell you. It just lives in my brain like that.”

    “Just like so many other things.” Fitz smiles softly, his boyfriend’s seemingly endless well of random knowledge always a source of happiness even when he’s tired. 

    It is decidedly past Fitz’s bedtime, and it’s still another who-knows-how-long before he’ll get to go to bed. Is this what he gets for being a morning person?

    “I know. I have a problem. You’re aware of this fact. I’ve given you many opportunities to run away. It’s not my fault you haven’t taken advantage of any of them.” 

    Fitz puts an arm around Dex, squeezing xem closer. “Stop trying to get rid of me. It hasn’t worked yet and I am progressively getting more stubborn every time you try.”

    “Oh, wow, I did not know that was even possible. Any more Gloamhenge questions before I go into a food coma or are we good?”

    Fitz yawns. “So you eat food then go watch the Northern Lights?”

    “Yeah.”

    “You could have just said that and I would have been fine.”

    “Fitz, how long have you known me? Have I ever explained anything in two sentences or less?”

    “Well, you have told me ‘just go google it, dumbass’ before. Which should still count as one sentence.” 

    “Yeah, that’s fair,” Dex concedes. 

    With that, Dex snuggles deeper into Fitz’s shoulder and Fitz opens up a crossword puzzle to keep xem entertained. 

    Three puzzles and about an hour later, Dex’s alarm goes off once again. 

    “Astronomical twilight! Time to migrate outside!”

    By ‘migrate outside,’ Dex means ‘take folding chairs into the cold outdoors and sit in them for hours on end until something interesting happens in the sky.’ 

    Even with temperature regulation and a blanket graciously donated by Juline, it’s kind of torturous. 

    “And now we wait,” Dex says, breath condensing in the freezing air and fogging up Fitz’s glasses. 

    “Now, one would think that if one was a telepath who lives in a very northern latitude, one would have invented seat warmers,” Fitz mumbles. 

    Dex instead scoots his chair closer to Fitz, lying xor head on his shoulder and twining their fingers together. “This close enough to a space heater for you?”

    Fitz smiles. “Yes, thank you. I am weak and pathetic in cold temperatures.”

    Dex’s brow furrows. “Then how did you go visit Fintan in his ice prison?”

    “Don’t try to logic your way out of this--”

    Dex laughs, a sound that never ceases to make Fitz’s heart flutter. 

    I am also weak and pathetic in the presence of Dex. This is unfair and I do not appreciate it. 

    “Do you have a gadget that’s going to tell me when the sky’s going to do the thing or am I just going to lose my toes?”

    “No, that’s why we all have to sit out here.”

    “You don’t have, like, a sunroom that would work?”

    “No, that’s why we all have to sit out here,” Dex repeats, more slowly this time.

    Fitz sighs, the giant cloud of water vapor obstructing his vision for a good five seconds. “I thought this was just for tradition reasons. Why must I suffer?”

    “That too. But I am lazy and I don’t want to wake you up at three in the morning to tell you there’s going to be a two second aurora.”

    Before Fitz can respond, he gets hit in the back of the head with the regrettably familiar coldness of a snowball.

    “Alright. Which one of you do I need to Exile?”

    Fitx glances back just long enough to find Bex pointing at Lex while Lex and Rex are pointing to Bex. As many disadvantages as there are to there being three of them, at least they’re all very willing to rat out the culprit at the slightest notice. 

    “Oh, come on, Rex, they’re a froster!” Bex complains. 

    Lex just gestures to the snow-covered ground to prove their point, and it’s a very valid point. 

    Fitz rolls his eyes, turning back to Dex. “I’m surprised you still have snow on the ground. Everglen only gets a little sprinkling once a year, if that, and it more often than not doesn’t even stick.”

    “Exile, that sounds nice. Most of the year, it’s actually too cold to snow but October hits that perfect sweet spot of complete nightmare. It’s like living in a snowglobe. At least March is drier so spring Gloamhenge doesn’t tend to snow. But the stuff on the ground,” Dex kicks a plume of it into the air, “is still leftover from snow season. We like to joke that we have two seasons: construction and snow.” 

    “Everglen has two similar seasons: construction and mosquito. Although those more often than not overlap.”

    Fitz yawns, letting his head rest on Dex’s. 

    “Wake me up if anything interesting happens.”

    “Promise you won’t bite me?” Dex asks. 

    “It’s not my fault I was arguing about something I don’t even remember in my sleep and you had to test whether or not I would bite your hand off and, not to mention, that was one time.”

    Sound really does travel farther in cold air, because Fitz can hear Kesler and Juline laughing from the spot where they decided to set up camp. 

    “Fine. I won’t bite you. I’m going to bed now.”

    “Did you know that sleeping makes you more susceptible to hypothermia?”

    “Well, I’ve got a personal space heater on my arm, so I should be fine.”

    Fitz doesn’t wait for Dex to reply before he lets his tired eyes close as he drifts off to sleep. 

    It’s some sort of magic how whenever he passes out--intentionally or accidentally--at Rimeshire, he doesn’t dream. Other than that one time. But that was an outlier so that doesn’t get to count. 

    A jostling on his shoulder brings an unwilling, groaning Fitz back to reality. 

    What century is it? 

    “Look up,” Dex whispers. 

    It takes a solid three seconds to process what that means, and when Fitz tilts his head up, he’s greeted by beautiful ribbons of greenish light dancing against the night sky. 

    It’s so much greener than he thought it would be. The sky isn’t usually green because of something, something, Rayleigh scattering. 

    A tickle of lavender occasionally flicks through, mostly on the edges. 

    It’s absolutely stunning. 

    Maybe not worth losing his toes, but stunning nonetheless. 

    Fitz’s lips pull into an involuntary smile. 

    This is exactly what a family should be. A group of people freezing to death while the Triplets are screaming in the background--how do they have so much energy?--together not just because it’s tradition but because they genuinely adore one another.  

    The green fades from the sky, and Fitz’s exhaustion returns. His brain probably just realised he’s awake in the middle of the night, and that’s not allowed. 

    “Okay, that was pretty. I’m going back to bed now.”

    Dex laughs, dimples showing. 

    And all Fitz’s sleep-added brain can think is, xe’s more stunning than the aurora. 

[edensungilda]

New story on wattpad | Your Demise

Hey guys! Just published two chapters on a story I'm working on. I'm still practicing and writing on "FIREWEAVER" and will finish that first before I continue on "Your Demise" just wanted to get feedback on how the first two chapters are before I continue working on it. Would mean a lot if you take a look because I hope to self publish <3

-Description-

Lunaris Sernet, an outlaw who narrowly escapes her execution, finds herself entangled in the arms of one of the very rangers who could have her killed. Arson Chaucer, a ranger who risks it all for a girl he barely knows, chases phantoms and memories as he tries to unravel a decade old plot. Can the two learn to trust each other in this country filled with serpents and thieves, or will they be the others demise? Isarapho is a country in the fantastical world of Irevia, filled with brimming biomes of deserts and timber forests, a mountain with century old secrets, and a political conflict that threatens to explode into an all out war. For Lunaris Sernet, all she cares about is surviving the wildfire and hiding within the ashes. She's tired of running. And she'll do everything she can to leave the Wild West of Isarapho, even if it means leaving her heart behind. **SLOW UPDATES**

-PREVIEW-

Well this put being six feet under into a whole new perspective.

I lay in a coffin, staring blankly up at the wooden surface that kept my small space separate from the outside world. It was surreal, but my dreams had a funny way of tricking me like that.

I couldn't feel anything. Or maybe that's just what being dead feels like. I wasn't sure. Oddly, I was okay with either outcome. So long as I got out of this place one way or another.

I pressed my palms against the veil that kept my surroundings hidden, sliding the cover off with a bit of effort on my part.

Sunlight met my eyes and I winced, fluttering my lashes before adjusting to the light.

My breath caught in my throat. I was in front of my little cabin, surrounded by a beautiful field of poppies and tall stalks of grass.

Just as I was about to step out I felt myself pulled through the world, the poppies becoming smaller and smaller as the dream slipped through my fingers. I crashed into what felt like cold water, before my eyes flashed open, my lips inhaling a mixture of air and liquid.

I sputtered, coughing as a man clad in armor stood above my form, holding the bucket that had assaulted me.

I caught my breath after a moment and looked up at him with a vice. Not only had he interrupted what very well may be my last dream, but he was late.

'I thought an execution was supposed to be on time?'

I was ushered from the floor to stand in my humid hot cell, my hands quickly restrained behind my back. Heavy, muffled breathing of the guard who awakened me seemed to be the only noise that filled the silence.

I fidgeted, twitched, and tapped my foot in every known possible way to show my impatience. Yes, here I was, impatient for my own demise. All I did for five sennights was await this day, and now even my executioners seemed to take delight in drawing out my suspense.

The guard finished binding my hands, leading me out of the cell and into a dimly lit hallway. My eyes adjusted to the drastic change between my shrouded cell room to the oil lamps illuminating dark shadows against the walls.

I was guided to walk to the left- or more so poked and shoved forward as the chains around my wrists bit painfully into my skin. The clinking echoed down the hall as we walked, my legs aching with a numb sort of pain, like the kind of tingling when one sat too long in one spot, or like pin needles stabbing over and over.

My hands ached and I tried to readjust my wrists, earning myself a sharp jab between my shoulder blades. I stumbled ahead, gritting my teeth and regaining my balance.

I walked past a puddle on the floor, water dripping from a crack in the ceiling. I licked my chapped lips. I wonder if they would be so merciful to allow me a last drink and meal before my execution?

I seemed to walk down an infinite passage, counting the graving on the wall, each lamp and wooden beam to try and retain some sort of time frame to how long I was walking for.

Finally, I faced another wall as a corner came into view. I felt the guard's metallic grip tighten around my arm, moving me around into the passageway and facing a stair case.

The stone looked blankly back at me, stark grey and making my throat tighten as I looked up at its height. I hesitated. I hadn't walked in ages, my bare feet already sore from traversing the tile. It looked intimidating, and I wondered how many steps I'd survive before falling to my death. Maybe this was their way of killing ne.

I wasn't allowed much time to swallow my nerves though, the guard yanking me forward and beginning to climb the extensive flight of steps.

I could feel sparks fluttering to my fingertips as my heart rushed to my ears. It was finally sinking in, the uneasiness of knowing your fate lied just at the top. That in a quick short succession of being condemned and imprisoned, your life was just a fleeting moment away from being cut short.

And my crime, I wondered? I wasn't sure anymore. I had been running before most could even walk. Now it seemed I had finally found myself at the end of those tracks, unable to escape as I looked at the edge of a very high cliff, the world closing in and threatening to shove me off.

I counted the several balusters that emulated the timber trees up north, the framing etched with carvings surprisingly fancy for a staircase leading out of a dungeon. That explained why the rest of the place was in shambles.

As I finally reached the top, I let out a sigh of relief to finally see sunlight. The hallway's left wall was covered with tall glass pane windows, suffusing my surroundings with warm yellow. I didn't bother to familiarize myself with the rest, I didn't want to have my prison be the last thing I remembered.

Instead I found myself thinking of the fields the sun must be basking right now, filled with poppies and tall stalks of grass that tilted in the wind like rolling waves.

I wondered if they'd spare me the favor of burying me there. It was a silly dream, why would they ever do that for an outlaw such as I? And how were they planning to kill me anyway? I speculated it must be something of equal punishment for an individual like me.

For thieves, their hands were cut off before being hung. For murderers, they usually were sent to the guillotine. Blasphemers had their tongue cut out and burned at the stake.

Liars and betrayers, hung by their legs upside down, waterboarded til they asphyxiated.

But for my crime, oh the council would not be so merciful. They were very meticulous, treating every execution like artistry. Everything had to symbolize something. Had to be a punishment equal to the crime, balancing the weights lady Justice held.

I snapped out of my thoughts as we entered a large courtyard. Sand filled it with an open view of the sky above, the only coverings overhanging on either wall with marble pillars etched with the same illustrations of timber trees, except this time including the imagery of huge birds, their talons claiming the shoulders of their victims and lifting them into the sky.

I looked to the middle of the clearing, a wooden platform with a rosetted trim. Two armored sentinels awaited me. A tall wooden pole stood in the middle of the platform, rope woven into a noose meeting my eyes.

A dull way to die. Quick and easy. Not a gaudy execution or showy display. I see why the council had chosen it. They were trying to tell me that my life was too insignificant for the effort. Which also played in part the lack of audience.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to move.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

[algumaideia]

Also slightly inspired by @zazzander headcanon.

And I'm sorry again for Jason. I really don't know what to do with him and his emotions.

...

"How does it feel to be the unofficial next praetor in the line?"

The way Octavian said stuff... Jason always thought it was funny. He was so serious and yet talked absolutely calm.

“I feel… trapped. I cannot see a life besides what I have here on the legion. Not like you, you love this place. I…” Jason sighed and ran his hand through his hair “Sometimes I hate myself because I stay. I think about running away and I know that deep down I do not have the courage to just go, and I despise myself.”

Octavian rested his head on Jason’s shoulder.

“I also hate myself sometimes.” Octavian was playing with the grass “But Jason, if you want to run away, I’ll help you.”

Jason smiled.

“Won’t his get you in problem? Helping a deserter like that?”

“Please Jason, I would make this stay secret. If someone discovered, they wouldn’t rat on”

“Sometimes, you scare me.”

“Well, you do that too.”

Jason picked one of Octavian’s teddy bears, he thought the name of this one was Fish, and started playing with it.

“Would you rebel? If you were in my place, I mean.”

“Jason,” a pep talk was coming “not everyone in history rebelled loudly. Some people did it in small, quiet, discreet ways. Maybe the latter is how you rebel. Maybe you want to do more, but every big thing started with small steps. So, if you want, if you think it’ll make you feel better, we can start breaking some camp rules.”

Jason laughed in shock.

“Would you be okay breaking the rules of your loved camp?”

“Grace, when did you play a game with me, and I didn’t cheat and ignored the rules? I’m not saying we should commit arson but have some fun.”

“You have a point.”

“I always do.”