#(I also have plans for a Thing but I'll share that later down the road........ but it's something I've always wanted to try over the years)

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

gamers has this been done yet

[writtenwhalien]

a lover's redemption | chapter 3

chapter 3. the new normal

pairing ↠ mafia leader!park jimin x reader

genre ↠ mafia AU — romance/action (angst, fluff, smut)

summary ↠ Blood, business and betrayal is all that Park Jimin has ever known, but when you cross paths again, the stakes are raised even higher and he finds himself battling his conscience, and his heart.

word count ↠ 13.3k

18+ | warnings ↠ drinking, explicit sexual content, violence, all sorts of crime (please see the series masterlist for a complete list of warnings).

taglist is open – dm/comment/send an ask to be added <3

notes ↠ please enjoy and shareeeee xxoxoxox and pls share your thoughts w me as we get into it ;) also in case its not clear, jimin's birth year in the fic is 1995, same as real life, and Y/N is 2 years younger than him. I always put the year for any flashbacks so you can work out how old they are :) any confusion, please let me know (i might make a mistake!) thanks angels! <3

17th July 2009

The heavy scent of cigar smoke lingered in the room, curling around the dark oak furniture. Jimin sat quietly beside his father, his small legs barely brushing the floor. Across from them, Lee Han-Jae exhaled a long puff of his cigar, looking tired.

“They confirmed the crash?” Jihoon asked, his tone devoid of warmth.

Jimin did not know what accident his uncle and father had planned but he knew that his father had been on edge all day because of it.

Han-Jae nodded. “Mostly. But he's gone.” He downed what was left of his drink. “Did we take care of the family?”

Jihoon swirls his glass. “We’ll let them go, they have no one.”

“Except Kija and Min-Baek-hyun,” Han-jae counters.

“They mean nothing to us.”

“But they were loyal to Sehun.”

Upon hearing this, Jimin goes still, realising what’s happened. 

“Their loyalty was not just to Sehun but the entire Han family. They will protect them at all costs and they’ve been in this long enough to know not to retaliate if they want to keep themselves safe.”

Han-Jae says nothing else of the matter but his face does little to mask his disapproval. He took another puff of his cigar before he spoke again. “The other two men survived. Escaped before the flames could finish the job. They’re digging through the wreckage, but the police are sniffing around."It seems dental records are proving... inconvenient.”

Jihoon’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. “Inconvenient?” he echoed. “The detectives are a problem?”

Han-Jae waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Funny,” Jihoon said, leaning forward slightly. “You said the same thing about the last case they opened. And now I hear whispers about them building something bigger — trafficking charges. Another detective’s on the case, isn’t he?” His tone sharpened. “You’ve been careless, Han-Jae.”

The room tensed, the air thick with unsaid threats. Han-Jae stiffened, his smirk faltering for the briefest moment. “Watch your tongue, Jihoon.”

Jihoon’s lip curled. “You’ve been playing dirty, using our resources to fund your side business."

Han-Jae remained indifferent. "You'll be asking for a share soon. All the pieces are almost complete and this detective is nothing more than a bump in the road. I'll deal with it."

"That's besides the point. I trusted you and you're acting foolishly."

"Foolishly?"

"Is it not?" Jihoon asked, patronising.

Jimin watched as Han-Jae got up wordlessly and walked over to his cabinet. He picked up the decanter and generously poured himself some whiskey.

“I’ve given you more than enough leash,” Jihoon continued, his voice rising. “But if you think I’ll let you drag my name down with yours, think again.”

Han-Jae emptied his glass before he turned, his face a mask of fury. “We’ll talk about this later,” he spat. “We have somewhere to be.”

Jihoon didn’t bother responding. Instead, he turned his attention to Jimin, his gaze cold and commanding. “Get a gun.”

Jimin froze, his blood turning to ice. His lips parted, but no sound came out.

“Now,” Jihoon snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut. "Then meet me by the car."

Jihoon left the room and Jimin followed, his legs moving before his mind could catch up. He went towards the basement, down the stairs and past the training floor, all the way to the locked room at the back. Some of his father's men watched as he walked, but none said a word. Hands trembling, he pressed his thumb to the scanner and waited for the door to unlock, revealing an entire array of weapons lining the walls.

Jimin didn't think. He picked up the first handgun he saw, checked it was loaded and then walked out with the cold metal feeling alien in his grasp, the weight far heavier than he anticipated.

Without realising it, his feet carried him to the kitchen, where his mother stood slicing vegetables. She turned at the sound of his shaky breathing, her eyes immediately softening when she saw the gun in his hands.

“Jimin,” she whispered, crossing the room in an instant. She crouched down in front of him, pulling him into a gentle hug. The faint scent of lavender filled his nose, momentarily drowning out the suffocating reality around him.

“I can’t,” he mumbled against her shoulder. “I can’t do it.”

His mother’s embrace tightened. “I never wanted this for you, Jimin,” she murmured, her voice thick with regret. “I’m so sorry.” She pulled back, brushing his hair from his face with trembling fingers. “But this is your life now. Your father won’t wait. If you don’t go back, he’ll only get angrier.”

Jimin shook his head. “Why do you let him—” His voice broke off and a single tear rolled down his cheek.

"I'm so sorry." Her face crumpled, but she quickly composed herself and closed his fingers around the gun. “You have to go now, before he comes looking for you.”

Reluctantly, he nodded, his small frame trembling as she kissed his forehead and guided him toward the door.

The container yard smelled of damp concrete and iron, the air thick and stifling. As Jimin stepped out of the car, he immediately spotted Kwan and Duri ahead of them. 

Jihoon and Han-Jae walked ahead while Taemin and Jimin followed behind. As they went further into the yard, around a dark corner, Jimin glanced at Taemin, hoping for some kind of answer. Taemin, barely older than Jimin, gave a reassuring smile of sorts when Jimin glanced his way, but it did little to make him feel better. Jimin figured he knew where they were going since he and his dad spoke often.

Duri pulled the heavy door of one of the containers open as they approached and both fathers stopped short outside of the container. Han-Jae laughed mirthlessly and they both stepped aside for Jimin and Taemin to see.

Two detectives knelt on the floor, their faces bloodied and swollen, their hands tied tightly behind their backs.

Suddenly, the dead weight of the gun in his hand felt heavy again.

Jihoon glanced over his shoulder. “Stay here,” he ordered both boys.

Taemin, barely older than Jimin, gave a solemn nod but said nothing.

Jihoon stepped into the container, and crouched in front of one of the detectives, his voice low but menacing. “I warned you to stay out of my business. But now, you’re here. What do you have to say for yourself?”

The detective spat at Jihoon’s feet, earning himself a sharp backhand. Jihoon stood, motioning to Jimin. “Come here.”

Jimin hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Now, Jimin."

Taemin looked between them and gently nudged Jimin forward. "Go on," he whispered.

Reluctantly, Jimin got closer, his eyes glued to the ground.

"This man is a threat to us,” Jihoon said, calmly. “End him.”

Jimin’s breath hitched. “I-I can’t—”

Jihoon’s hand lashed out, striking him hard enough to send him stumbling. “You’re weak,” he snarled, stepping close to Jimin and speaking low in his ear. “Your mother’s made you soft.”

Jimin’s head snapped up and he ignored the harsh stinging sensation on his cheek. “Is that why you always send her away?” he asked, teeth gritted. “To keep her away from me?”

Jihoon froze, his face darkening. For a moment, Jimin thought he might strike him again. But instead, Jihoon looked right at Jimin and spoke, his voice icy. “She chooses to leave. Every time she walks out that door, it’s her choice. And it’s time you grew up and realised that.”

Jimin’s grip on the gun tightened, his knuckles white. He didn't look at the man before him but raised his arm, finger closing around the trigger. "You're right," Jimin said, voice low. "It is time I grew up."

The gunshot echoed through the warehouse, the sound ringing in Jimin’s ears long after the man’s body hit the floor.

Jihoon’s voice cut through the haze. “Finally.”

But Jimin didn’t hear him. All he could see was the blood, pooling and spreading across the cold concrete. All he could feel was the weight of his father’s shadow, pressing down on him, suffocating him.

Jihoon glanced at Han-Jae, his lip curling in irritation. “You deal with the other one.”

Han-Jae smiled thinly, his hand settling on Taemin’s shoulder. “Go on, son.”

Taemin hesitated, his youthful face pale under the dim light of the yard's lights. He glanced at Jimin, whose expression was frozen in a mix of horror and detachment, and then back at his father.

Han-Jae’s smile faded. “Do you want to disappoint me?”

The weight of that question hung heavy in the air, and Taemin swallowed hard, but slowly, he stepped forward.

The second detective, bloodied and trembling, began to plead incoherently, his words dissolving into a sob.

Jimin’s stomach churned violently. He couldn’t bear to watch as Taemin raised the gun with far steadier hands than his own, nor could he endure the suffocating tension of the warehouse any longer. His voice was hoarse as he muttered, “I’m going to the car.”

Jihoon turned his head slightly but didn’t object. “Fine. Go.”

The indifference in his father’s voice stung more than any reprimand. Jimin moved toward the exit, his legs unsteady but quickening with each step.

The sound of the gunshot rang out just as he stepped out of the container, the echo chasing him into the night.

The air outside was still warm despite it being well past midnight. Jimin usually loved late summer nights like this but not today. As he walked around the bend, he felt more hot, and the humidity worsened the thick, suffocating tension inside.

He made it only a few steps further before his stomach betrayed him. Rushing over towards a stack of crates, he retched violently. The contents of his dinner surged upwards and all Jimin could hope was that he was far away enough from his dad.

His throat burned, and his body trembled as he leaned a hand against the cold metal for support.

When the heaving subsided, the silence around him felt deafening. His mind was a storm of guilt and revulsion. He could still see the detective’s lifeless eyes in his mind, and worse, as he still held the gun now, he kept imagining his finger was still around the trigger.

“This is your life now,” his mother’s voice echoed in his head, her words a hollow comfort against the growing ache in his chest.

His throat tightened, and for a brief moment, he felt the urge to cry. But the tears didn’t come. They couldn’t — not here, not now. He took a deep breath, forcing air into his lungs until the sharpness of it dulled his emotions. He repeated the motion over and over, steadying himself, quieting the chaos within.

Jimin wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and straightened up. His legs felt heavier than before as he trudged toward the car, but by the time he reached it, his breaths had evened out, and his face was expressionless once more.

Sliding into the back seat, he leaned his head against the window and the chill of the glass grounded him.

As he sat there in silence, the weight of his actions settled like stones in his chest, and he knew this wouldn't be the last time.

Present day

It takes you a while to come to your senses, your fuzzy mind drifting in and out of sleep, telling yourself that you’re dreaming every time your eyes half open to see the surroundings of a room which isn’t yours. Your head sinks back into the feather filled pillow, your breathing is slow and steady and you remain completely still as you wait to wake up in your own bed, in your own home.

But it doesn’t happen. 

As you start to focus on the feeling of your chest rising and falling with each breath, your eyes flutter open fully and everything comes rushing back to you. Seojun lying helplessly on your kitchen floor, Minjun and the men flooding your kitchen, Dani and Siho dying to protect you. And Jimin.

The thought of it all hurts your head, and you push the thoughts down, focusing on something else for now. You have many questions and you’ll make sure to get answers, but right now, one thing you’re sure of, is that you’re safe. 

Looking around the room you’re in, you faintly recognise the large wooden doors and particular coving style on the walls. You spent more than a few days running around the halls of this estate, hiding and playing in the rooms belonging to the boy you were once friends with — now the man who saved your life…

It hasn’t escaped you, that had Jimin and his men not walked in when they did, Minjun would’ve killed you after he got whatever information he needed from you. 

You’ve never forgotten him, and now it seems like an odd sort of fate that you’ve ended up entangled in some kind of mess with him, thanks to Seojun. 

There’s definitely something going on, because there must’ve been a reason why Seojun was in your house, why he spent those late evenings at the cafe just trying to have a conversation with you. 

Looking next to you on the nightstand, you see your phone and purse, as well as a few of the other items you had in your pocket and your first thought is to call Yoongi. Whatever’s going on, you need to tell him and he might know something too. 

There’s also a small bowl of fresh fruit on the nightstand and a bottle of water — a small reminder that you’re safe here. 

As you reach for your phone, you feel a mild throbbing pain in your wrist. You almost forgot that Minjun cut you, but the wound is neatly bandaged now. Pushing the sheets back, you look down at your thigh to see it’s also been bandaged and you’re almost certain you’ll find stitches under there. You’re also wearing clothes that aren’t yours — a loose tee and baggy basketball shorts. You don’t remember anything since falling unconscious but you’re sure one of the housemaids must’ve dressed you.

Reaching for your phone again, you expect to see a call from your grandma since she normally calls you every morning, but your home screen shows no notifications except the many security camera notifications which you’re sure must show the events that took place at your home – you might be able to use it to identify a few of the men who were there, Yoongi certainly would be able to help you with that. 

Unlocking your phone, you open up your contacts and scroll through to find Yoongi’s name. Just before you can press call, there’s a knock at the door. Pausing, you look up and a few seconds later, the handle turns slowly. 

A slim man enters the room, dressed sharply head to toe in a suit… Your eyes widen, and suddenly, everything makes sense.

“Yoongi.” 

He smiles, though somewhat apologetically.”Y/N.” Walking over to your bed, he doesn’t hesitate to pull up the chair that sits in front of the dressing table and bring it beside your bed. While your thoughts race, Yoongi sits quietly and waits.

He’s been working for Jimin, of course he has – his dad was close with yours and Jimin, and after your father’s death, his dad, Min Baek-hyun, stayed close with your grandparents and still resides close to your grandma in Namwon, while Yoongi stayed in Seoul. All these years, you’ve stayed close friends with Yoongi, not knowing he was so close with Jimin too – someone you once considered a best friend.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” you ask finally.

“I didn’t want to complicate things,” he murmurs, looking up. As soon as you meet his gaze, you know what he means by that… 

You still remember that night, a few months ago, when Yoongi asked you to take out the Cheong men at the warehouse holding the drugs. For the first time, you asked for something in return – for him to help you find who killed your dad. It was the fact that he looked away as soon as you said the words that told you he already knew. 

 “I need something in return.”

Yoongi lifted his head calmly. “Is everything okay?”

You nodded, placing the key down on the table. “Just, promise me you’ll do it first.”

At this, Yoongi’s expression changed to one of concern and he hesitated. 

Meeting his gaze, you said his name. “Please.”

“Alright.” Yoongi shifted, keeping his eyes on you. “I promise.”

There was a moment of silence as you mulled the words over in your head. It had been on your mind for a while, something you’d been considering often for the last few months, since you passed what would’ve been your father’s fifty fifth birthday. Not a day had gone by that you didn't miss him, and you’d known since his death that the last place he was called to, wasn’t a timely coincidence. You may have only been 12 at the time of his death, but your father always taught you to be aware of everything, and you’d noticed the tension between him and his friends for months before that night. Even the fact that you hadn’t seen Jimin in years, and the way Jihoon always disregarded your presence – that is before your father limited their visits to your family home. He was trying to protect you from them.

“I want to know who killed my dad.” 

The words felt strange on your tongue – though your dad’s murder wasn’t a secret to you, you didn’t often speak about it so forwardly, especially not to Yoongi. 

Concern returned to the lines in his face, brows furrowing as he shook his head and reached for your hand. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

You moved your hand from the table before he could hold it. “You know.”

He paused, eyes flitting down to where your hand was. Releasing a slow sigh, he closed his eyes. “And I think you already know.”

The anger and frustration you’d been holding on to for years began to surface.“It was them, wasn’t it?”

Yoongi looked up. “Y/N–”

“Lee Han-jae? And Park Jihoon?”

Yoongi gave the smallest of nods, and your fist curled in your lap. 

“Do you know why?”

“Y/N, please, don’t–”

“You promised, Yoongi.”

Meeting your gaze, Yoongi sighed. “Alright, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“Everything.”

So he did…

Na Doyun was a corrupt prosecutor who worked for the Lee’s, keeping them out of trouble as long as they paid her well enough. It was the perfect deal until some of the DA became suspicious of Doyun’s intentions and motivations, and she panicked, demanding more money, as well as a way for her to launder all the funds she was receiving. 

The Lee’s had no choice but to comply since she had enough dirt on them to put them away for life, (as well as a supposed contingency plan that would expose them should they try anything to harm her), and so Han-jae developed a nightclub under his name and added Doyun as a majority shareholder, as well as a few others under his influence. It became one of the most popular nightclubs in all of Seoul and the perfect place for any illicit activity,

“The one that closed down months ago?” you asked, vaguely remembering. You were sure you'd followed more than a few unsuspecting victims of Yoongi’s from there on one of your errands for him..

“Yes. They have a few all over Seoul but none as big as that one. And you remember Taemin?”

“Lee’s son?”

“Yes.”

You barely saw Lee Taemin growing up. Though he was close in age to Jimin and you, his father had sent him to school in the United States. There were a few occasions where you were there together but unlike Jimin, he barely spared you more than a glance. 

“Closing the club was intentional on their part. Han-jae wanted Taemin to replace it with something much bigger and better.”

“The Benitoite.”

Yoongi nodded. “A clever move on his part. The nightclub was becoming a hot spot and that was risky for them. After years of illegal trading, predatory lending and more, they had to find a way to get rid of any liabilities who used to frequent the club for their own gain, and with the Benitoite, they got the DA off their backs while attracting a whole new world, as well as another way to make their money clean again.” Looking up, Yoongi carried on. “Once that was done, Doyun had nothing left to hold over them.”

“They killed her?”

Another nod.

Your hand tightened around the fob. You couldn’t say you felt bad for the woman, she was corrupt after all and served men doing worse than herself, but it still didn’t make any of this easier to hear.

Yoongi sighed, his hand moving towards yours. “You okay?”

“Fine. Tell me.”

“When that nightclub before the Benitoite first opened, your dad wasn’t opposed to it so he never said anything. But, Jihoon or Han-jae weren’t just abiding by what Doyun wanted, they both saw an opportunity and wanted to run part of the nightclub as a secret brothel for invited guests only, those who would pay enough.”

Yoongi looked up apprehensively, but he saw your expression and continued.

“They knew anyone who knew of them, or had any kind of business with them, feared them, so they used that. If there was anyone who had done them wrong, or owed them money, they offered them a way out.  Hundreds and millions worth of debt in exchange for years of service, and they didn’t care who it was. 

“A mother, father, son, daughter, brother or sister. Any relation to the person who owed them was good enough and as you can imagine, none of the actual offenders offered themselves so it was all innocent family members being taken in. They would kidnap them and coerce them into working there doing whatever it was that needed to be done too. The whole thing was set up as a way for them to earn honest money to pay back whatever was owed.”

You looked up, repulsed. These are the men you once regarded as your uncles, seeing them as your dad’s friends you thought of them as family while growing up. It’s true that as you got older, you started to feel a certain way towards Jihoon because of how cold he was, especially with Jimin, but this was still beyond anything you would’ve expected of them.

“So that’s why they killed my dad?” 

Yoongi shook his head. “Not exactly.” Pausing, he studied your expression for a few seconds before he leaned over the table to grasp your hand. After a gentle squeeze, he let go. “There was a lot happening around that time, I don’t know the details but the way Han-jae and Jihoon saw it, is that your dad became soft. When he first found out about the nightclub he was angry and threatened both of them.”

Your stomach curled.

“They wanted to appease him so they said they would reconsider.”

“But they didn’t.”

“No. And truthfully I don’t think your dad ever believed them anyway.”

It went quiet, the distant humming of car engines along a nearby busy road carried the sound of your thoughts as they ran endlessly. 

Yoongi took another sip of his milk, watching you carefully. “Y/N,” he spoke softly. “I can tell you the rest another time.”

You looked across at home, taking a slow breath. You do feel like you’ve heard enough, but you need to know. “What more is there? They killed him after that, no?”

Traces of a grimace appeared on Yoongi’s face. “Not quite.” He paused, waiting. 

Wordlessly, you nodded for him to continue. 

“Did you know Han-jae was married twice?”

Nodding, you remembered his step-daughter, Jiyoung. She looked after you occasionally, but like Taemin, she wasn’t always there. “Yeah, his first wife passed away but Jiyoung was from her, right?”

“Not exactly, Jiyoung wasn’t Han-jae’s daughter.” 

Now, this was news to you. 

“And her mom wasn’t a huge fan of Han-jae, their marriage was arranged after her first husband died, and she had plenty of reasons to dislike the man and he felt the same, except she always threatened to expose him.” 

The arranged marriage wasn’t a surprise to you, as it was common amongst many of your father’s affluent friends, including your own parents, but you hadn’t known that Han-jae’s first wife despised him. 

“After she died, Jiyoung got older, she looked more like her mother, acted more like her, and Han-jae didn’t like her just as much as she didn’t like him, so…  he saw an opportunity to get rid of her.”

Eyes widening, you asked, “The nightclub?”

Yoongi nodded, looking down. “But your dad saved her.”

Despite the warm evening breeze, you feel your skin go cold.

Yoongi continues. “He knew something was going on and he happened to be there the night she was being taken. He killed the men and took her away to a safe place, out of the country.”

And just like that, it all made sense. “So that’s why they killed him.”

Taking your hand again, Yoongi nodded silently. “It was a means to an end for them,” he murmured. “Han-jae and Jihoon had changed. They weren’t who your dad befriended and their morals and ambitions were far from the same.”

Yoongi’s words were said to comfort you, but they only fueled your anger… your dad’s closest friends, the men who he regarded as brothers, were the ones who killed him.

That conversation felt like a lifetime ago, and as you see Yoongi sitting in front of you now, you understand why he chose not to tell you, but you can’t help but feel a tiny bit betrayed.

“Still could’ve told me,” you mumble, looking away from him.

“Would it have made a difference to anything?” he asks, leaning forward with a playful smile. 

Realising he’s right, you frown indignantly. “Might’ve stopped this,” you say, knowing it’s a weak point.

Yoongi’s expression darkens. Shaking his head slowly, he meets your gaze. “Nothing could’ve stopped this.”

Seojun is the first person that comes to your mind, and you feel your stomach coil. 

Reaching to hold your leg over the covers, Yoongi says your name. “You need to tell me everything you know.”

Nodding, you push the mental image of Seojun out of your mind. “I don’t actually know much,” you start, “Seojun had been coming into the cafe around once a week and would talk to me, just small talk. He must’ve known who I was but I didn’t realise until the last time. He seemed worried about something and kept asking me about grandma, and when she called, he’d left and there was a note on the table.” Looking towards the night stand where your belongings are, you see the note you pocketed then, and the drive is there too. You take them both, handing the note to Yoongi.  “This is what it said.” 

Yoongi takes a few seconds to read the simple words, She’s the only family you have left. You should stay with her. Frowning, Yoongi lowers it to the bed. “He must’ve known, but I don’t know how.” Looking up, he asks, “you never told him anything about your grandma?” 

“No,” you shake your head. “He just knew.” Thinking of this, you suddenly remember all those conversations you had with Seojun… he had a girlfriend. “Yoongi?” You meet his gaze with worried eyes. “He had a girlfriend.”

Yoongi’s expression softens, lips pursing. “Yeona. She knows. She lives here with us, she moved in with Seojun a year ago.”

Nodding your head slowly, you look away. You don’t bother asking how she’s doing, that would be a pointless question – you could tell how much Seojun loved her and from the stories he told you, you’re certain she loved him just as much, she must be heartbroken. The thought of it reminds you of the night your dad passed away… you’d never seen your mom in so much pain. 

As your emotions begin to swirl heavily again, you look up at Yoongi. “Did he not say anything at all about what he’d been doing?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “We knew he was up to something, but Jimin told us to let him be.” Again, Yoongi’s expression looks pained. 

“Why?”

“A few weeks back, Jimin had one of their clubs raided by the police on the same night they were receiving a weapons shipment and there’s since been a good few detectives on their case. Taemin’s uncle got some time in prison for it and even though he’s out, they still wanted to send a message to Jimin, a way to get back at him… so they killed Seojun’s mom.”  

The words wound the knot in your stomach even tighter. “So Seojun wanted to get back at them?”

Nodding, Yoongi shakes his head. “Jimin warned him not to, he promised they’d work it out together and end things for once, but Seojun was angry. Once we figured out he was up to something, Jimin told us to leave him and once Seojun had a plan, we’d join in on it.” Releasing a shaky breath, Yoongi looks down. “We never got to find out what it was, and each week we’d see him less and less. Everyone here knows how to look after themselves, but now I wish we’d taken more care.” 

Seojun was a friend to everyone here, Yoongi included, you realise. You know you ought to comfort him but you don’t think you know how. “I’m sorry, Yoongi,” you murmur. 

He gives a small smile. “Finish telling me what happened.”

Sitting back into the cushions again, you recall the events from that night. “I left work as normal, came home and when I went upstairs, something felt off. So I went back down, and then I saw him in my kitchen, he was bleeding, barely conscious on the floor and I ran over to him. I tried to help him but he kept apologising, and then he gave me this.” Looking down, you hand the drive to Yoongi.

Confused, Yoongi turns it over in his hand. “Did he say what’s on it?”

“No,” you shake your head. “And it’s probably protected too since the Lee’s wanted it as well. But he told me to take it and find Jimin.” At this, Yoongi looks up and meets your gaze. “He kept saying he’d keep me safe and that I should leave him and go.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t. He needed help, but it was too late. When I was about to get out, Minjun and some of his men came in. Seojun tried to help me but in the end…” you trail off, looking down. “In the end it was Minjun questioning me, asking me who I am. I lied, of course.” You finish telling Yoongi the rest of what happened, up until when Jimin and his men came in. 

When you’re done, Yoongi is cursing under his breath. “Minjun was a fucking psychopath.”

“Yeah, he seems like it,.” You remember the way he laughed when Jimin was punching him. 

“He has a brother, Kwan, he’s just as crazy, if not worse.”

The thought of it leaves you shuddering. Minjun was ruthless and you can’t imagine how much worse his brother is. You hope you never have to meet him, although luck hasn’t really been on your side recently.

“Hey,” Yoongi says quietly, moving from his seat to the bed. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you nod. 

He smiles softly. “Your wrist should be better in a few days, but your leg might take two or three weeks to heal well. I got you some crutches in case you wanna use them.” 

“Thanks, I probably won’t use them though.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that.”

Smiling at him, you push the sheets back to look at your bound leg. “It’s not deep is it?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “You got lucky. Only an inch or so. Ah, also,” he looks up at you apologetically, “you’ll need to stay here for a while until your house gets fixed.” 

“Oh.” You remember how the windows were smashed in as Minjun attacked, and you’re sure there’s more damage to the property that you’re not even aware of. 

“Jimin is making all the arrangements,” Yoongi continues, “but he’s trying to keep things quiet so I don’t know exactly when things will be sorted.”

“He doesn’t have to, I can do it myself.”

“He wants to,” Yoongi responds. “He blames himself for what’s happened, so just let him please.” His words appear to carry more meaning, and you can’t imagine how he must feel after seeing Seojun dead. You still remember the look on his face when he saw the body.

“Why?”

“He blames himself for a lot of things,” Yoongi murmurs with a soft sigh. “This hasn’t helped.”

Even though it’s been years since you were close with Jimin, you still find yourself feeling a familiar twinge in your chest – ever since you’ve known him, Jimin has had to suffer so much hurt, you couldn’t even count on your hand the amount of times you saw him looking so defeated and terrified in front of his father. He seemed to prefer the company of Lee Han-jae over his own father, although you don’t know how much better Han-jae was as a father since his son, Taemin, was in America most of the time to study. All you know is how he treated Jiyoung.

Now, curiosity (or care) gets the better of you, and you ask, “What happened between them? Han-jae and Jihoon?”

Yoongi looks up, grimacing. “It started with money. Han-jae got greedy and wanted the Benitoite to be only his, but Jihoon insisted it belong to them both since the nightclub was half his effort, though he never really cared for the extra money, he just needed the front. Han-jae reluctantly agreed but it was clear he wasn’t happy. 

“And then Jihoon found out that Han-jae planned on going behind his back and he got angry. Han-jae was drunk one night and started threatening Jihoon, which only made him more angry. But before he could do anything, Taemin stepped in and shot him.”

“Taemin?!” you ask, surprised..

Yoongi nods. “He knew of his dad's plan for the Benitoite and he wasn’t fond of Jihoon, so he did what he had to to protect his dad. But Jimin was there.” His expression darkens. “He watched his best friend shoot his dad, who was bleeding out in front of him. I’m so grateful we were with him that day…” He trails off, exhaling as he looks down.

He doesn’t need to say anymore for you to know what he means – Taemin was going to have Jimin killed too. 

Your head lowers too. You don’t allow your thoughts to wonder what would’ve happened if Jimin had been alone, you’re just glad he got out. Though you can’t imagine what he must’ve felt given his relationship with Jihoon.

“Did he get to have a funeral for his dad?”

“Yeah,’ Yoongi answers. “Han-jae had just lost another one of his friends and the blood was on his hands, so he sent the body back to Jimin and tried to make amends, but Jimin wasn’t having it. He was already against everything they were doing and now that his dad had gone and he’d lost Taemin as a friend, he had no reason to keep ties with them.”

Leaning back into the cushions, you mull over everything he’s just said. For years, you stayed away from these families who were such a big part of your life growing up, and now you learn that they’ve fallen apart as well. 

After a moment, Yoongi speaks again. “I was surprised when they brought you in.” You look up at him as he continues. “I thought he might’ve recognised you, but he said nothing.”

“Do you think he does?” you ask, remembering the look on his face when he first saw you. “But he’s just not saying it?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Might be. If he does remember you though, he’ll say something.”

“Are you going to tell them?” you ask, looking at him.

“Only if you want me to.”

After a few quiet seconds, you shake your head. “At least not yet.”

Yoongi nods and it goes quiet again. You close your eyes, leaning against the headboard as you think back on everything that’s happened, and then it comes to you.

“Dani and Siho,” you say, opening your eyes again as a heavy weight settles on your chest. “Did you get them out?”

Solemnly, Yoongi nods. “I sent them back to their families and have offered to make all the necessary arrangements for anything else they need.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. “Let me know what they say, I’ll sort it out for them..”

Yoongi nods again, pursing his lips as this time he reaches forward to take your hand and comfort you. “They knew the risks, Y/N,  better than anyone else.”

“I know,” you sigh. “But it’s different, they were there because of me.”

“Yeah, but they made that choice, they wanted to fight for you,” Yoongi says, shifting on the bed. When you look at him, he winces slightly. “Sorry if this isn’t helping, you know I’m shit at comforting people.”

You smile. “I know.”

“Hey, you’re not any better though,” he says defensively, “you didn’t even hug me properly when my mom passed away.”

“What?” you chuckle. “I tried to, but I know you don’t like hugs.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Not normally, but then I would've liked it.”

“Oh…” Now you feel bad. “Really?”

He nods, only looking up at you when you fail to respond. Seeing your face, he smiles. “It’s okay though, I got lots of hugs from the guys here.”

Scoffing, you absentmindedly pull the covers over your legs again, feeling cold from the aircon. “Yeah, you’re telling me Park Jimin was giving out hugs?” It comes out sarcastically and without much thought.

“Yes, actually,” Yoongi answers simply. 

Pausing, you realise what you said and his response. You don’t know why you feel surprised when the Jimin you knew was nothing but caring and considerate towards others, oftentimes more than he was towards himself. 

As though he can read your mind, Yoongi smiles. “Surprised?”

“Kind of.”

“You knew him though,” he says, as though that makes it so obvious.

“Knew,” you repeat. “I didn’t expect him to still be the same.”

Yoongi hums in agreement. “I wouldn’t say he’s changed, but I wouldn't exactly say he’s the same either…” looking up, he smiles again. “I guess you’ll get to see for yourself now.”

“I guess so,” you say, reaching for an apple from the bowl beside you. Seeing Jimin again has been weird, but you can’t ignore the part of you that is ready to welcome a part of your old life back, someone familiar, someone you liked very much. Like Yoongi said though, you’ll get to see for yourself if he’s anything like you remember him. Although you were both younger then, you don’t think he would’ve changed much from what Yoongi has told you so far.

“D’you want something a bit more filling than that?” Yoongi asks, nodding to the apple you’ve just bitten into. “Dinner is just about to be served so you can come down to eat or I can bring it up for you?”

“Oh, yeah, actually,” you answer, hearing your stomach growl after receiving a tiny morsel of food. “I am quite hungry, so I think I'll come down.”

“Sure,” Yoongi chuckles, “you must be hungry, you’ve been sleeping for almost three days.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “Three days?!” When he nods, you immediately reach for your phone. “I need to call Moni, she’s probably wo–”

“I already have,” Yoongi says, interrupting you quietly.

Fingers freezing over her name, you look up at Yoongi. “What?”

“I already called her.”

A frown settles on your face. “What did you say?”

Yoongi has always been aware of your wish to keep everything hidden from your grandma, so he hesitates now, knowing this would be your response when he told you he called her. “Everything, but Y/N, she needed to know.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make.”

“I know,” Yoongi sighs. “Sorry.”

For a moment, it goes quiet and you lower your phone to the covers. Yoongi is right, she did need to know about this, and it’s not like she’s a stranger to this kind of stuff. Besides, what happened wasn’t related to any of the stuff you’ve been doing for Yoongi, which is what you always wanted to keep from her, and what’s happening now does seem to involve you, and therefore her.

“Sorry,” you say. “You’re right, I just didn’t…” you sigh, trailing off as you think about how worried she must be. Your grandma is a strong woman and you’re everything to her, just as she has been yours. 

“I know,” Yoongi says, understanding what you mean without you saying it; he knows your grandma well enough too.

“What did she say?” 

“First, she just wanted to know if you were safe,” Yoongi answers. “After that, she didn’t say much except that she’ll come as soon as she can.”

You nod. Knowing she’s coming brings a smile to your face, you’ve missed her a lot. Before you can respond, your stomach growls again. 

“Come on,” Yoongi says smiling, getting up and pushing the covers back, “let’s get you some food.”

“You still remember it?” Yoongi asks, a tone of surprise in his voice.

Taking another step, you shrug. “I wasn’t that little when I was last here, I must’ve been, what, eleven? Twelve?” 

“Hm, Yoongi hums. “Still impressive.” He keeps a hand hovering around you should you need him, but you’re doing just fine, walking slowly down the hall you recognise as being the third floor.

The Park Estate isn’t much different from what you remember. The estate sprawled across acres, is a masterfully designed blend of elegance and practicality. The entrance opens to a grand foyer, splitting into two distinct wings. The East Wing houses the biggest office which used to belong to Jihoon, and now you assume it would be Jimin’s. It’s flanked by a suite of offices, all of which are bathed in polished woods and leather tones, belonging to his closest men. The West Wing, larger and more personal, feels more like a home. It rises three floors (taking the space above the East Wing) to accommodate the family’s quarter’s on the top most floor, a lounge and other rooms on the second, and downstairs is a dining room, a sleek kitchen caters to formal gatherings and another lounge. 

Yoongi points out his room as you pass it, as well as naming some of the other guys whose names you try to pay attention to as you ignore the mild pain that spreads through your leg. 

As you approach the stairwell, you notice another dimly lit corridor leading off the main hallway. You can’t see anything down the corridor as you pass, only a wall with light coming from the left and you assume it continues on. 

“Jimin’s room is down there,” he says, answering your unspoken question.

“Ah,” you nod, carrying on. It makes sense for his room to be separate from the rest.

The second floor has a few extra guest bedrooms which are rarely used, and a private lounge which is different to what you remember, with a huge balcony that overlooks the gardens and the furniture has changed from mostly dark colours to a much warmer colour palette.

Downstairs, the split between the East Wing, and the West Wing is much more noticeable. The entrance to the West Wing from the grand foyer is always guarded and behind is a much more private hallway with more guards at the end for extra security, and the only way to go upstairs is from the two staircases within the West Wing. The staircase you’re approaching now takes you downstairs where the kitchen is. 

As you approach the stairwell, you freeze, your eyes landing on a painting hung up on the wall at the far end of the hall. Yoongi says your name as you begin to walk towards it, but you don’t respond as an old memory suddenly returns to your mind, from the night your father was murdered.

“Lightning…  is it a storm?” you asked, standing next to your dad in front of the easel. 

“Yes,” he said, ruffling your hair with his elbow as his hands were smudged with paint. 

“What does it mean?”

“Sometimes it can mean power,” he answered, turning back to the canvas in front of him. “But sometimes it can also mean punishment.”

You looked up, frowning.

He smiled. “Sometimes, too much power isn’t a good thing. If you’re not a good person, then it can be dangerous.”

“Oh…” You looked back at the canvas, admiring the deep shades of blue and black and grey he’d used to paint the night sky.  In the centre, a spear of light struck the violent waves of the sea below. “Who is it for?” you asked.

Your dad’s smile disappeared as he looked back at the canvas. “An old friend.”

The painting is just as vivid as you remember, and seeing it now brings tears to your eyes as you feel a bout of nostalgia. 

“My dad painted this,” you say quietly as Yoongi joins you in front of the huge canvas. 

He doesn’t say anything, but instead looks up at the painting, admiring it in its entirety as though he’s never seen it before. “It’s beautiful.”

Nodding, you blink a few times to get rid of the stinging sensation in your eyes.. You realise now that Park Jihoon was the old friend your dad mentioned; realising he called him an ‘old friend’, you know your father must’ve known in those months leading up to his death that he couldn’t trust Han-jae and Jihoon.

Just then, Yoongi’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Reading a text, he quickly excuses himself. “Come down if you can, or I’ll ask someone to come up,” he calls out as he’s already walking off towards the stairwell.

“Okay,” you answer absentmindedly, still looking at the painting.

It’s not often you allow yourself to dwell on the past, but it’s also not often that you find yourself face to face with things that remind you so much of the past. There’s a reason your grandma decided to leave Seoul all those years ago and it’s a decision you agreed with. Even when you moved back to Seoul, you knew you couldn’t return to your old home, not when all you had there was fond memories of a life that was so unfamiliar to you now. But now, standing in front of your father’s own hand painted work, a flood of memories return and you find it harder to fight the lump that settles stubbornly in your throat.

You don’t realise you’re standing there for long until you hear someone approaching behind you. Turning around, you recognise the man approaching you as one of the ones who were with Jimin that night at your home. He smiles as he comes to a stop beside you.

“Admiring the art?” he asks. 

“Mhm,” you hum, still watching his face – you didn’t realise then but now you see just how handsome he is, you feel like you can’t stop staring. 

He chuckles, glancing at the painting. “You know I was talking about the painting, not me?”

Shaking out of your daze, you smile. “Yes, sorry. I just recognised you from the other night.”

“Ah, yeah, sorry we had to meet in such a way,” he nods, still smiling. “I’m Seokjin, but call me Jin.” He extends his hand which you shake.

“Y/N, and it’s okay, not your fault.”

“How’s the wrist?” he asks, pointing to your wrist.

“Oh, it’s okay,” you answer, lifting your arm for him to see. You can still move your fingers fine, just the occasional stretch or twist of your wrist hurts. 

“Good. And the leg?”

“It’s mostly fine,” you nod.

He smiles again. “That’s good. Your wrist will heal fast, the leg might take a few weeks but it’s looking good so far. I didn’t expect you to be up so soon though,” he adds, raising a brow as though impressed.

You shrug.

 “I take it this isn’t your first time getting hurt like this?” Seokjin says casually.

 “What makes you think that?”

“You didn’t flinch that night, when we all aimed our guns at you. And the way you handled your own gun…” he shakes his head, smiling. “It definitely wasn’t your first time, and no normal person would point their gun at a mafioso at that.”

Chuckling, you turn back towards the painting again.  “I guess I like getting shot at.”

“Just like everyone else here,” he laughs. “Well, you must be hungry, Yoongi asked me to walk down with you.”

“Sure,” you nod, turning away from the painting. You can return to it later. “So what about you?” you ask Seokjin as you approach the stairwell. 

He watches carefully as you descend the first few steps. “What about me?” 

“This definitely isn’t your first time stitching someone up,” you remark. 

“Ah,” he nods. “Definitely not.”

You have to pause, reaching out for the banister to continue on. “So you’re a doctor?” 

He snorts, stepping along beside you. “No, but I should be. I’ve done this kind of stuff enough times.”

Smiling, you know his statement is true enough. Injuries like yours must be a regular occurrence in the Park household. Stepping onto the landing, you take a breather and sit on the bottom step for a moment before you continue on. At the same time, you hear hurried footsteps running towards you and Seokjin. 

“Jin hyung!” A bubbly voice sounds from down the corridor. You look towards the source and see two men who you recognise from that night – the man bun guy and the slender brown haired one behind him. They can’t see you sitting on the bottom step but as they get closer, Jin nods in your direction, turning their attention to you. 

They both smile warmly when they see you, bowing their heads. 

“Oh, miss L/N,” the first one comes forward, extending a hand. “I’m Jungkook, nice to meet you.” He has an adorable bunny smile and you can’t help but return it with one of your own. 

“Nice to meet you Jungkook,” you reply, shaking his hand. “And you can call me Y/N.”

“Y/N, got it,” he nods, taking a step back so his other friend can greet you properly. 

“Hi, Y/N,  I’m Hoseok, Hobi for short,” he grins, shaking your hand. 

“Hey.” You return his handshake, feeling slightly taken aback by how relaxed these guys are compared to their stoic looks from when you first saw them. Jungkook looks like a bunny rabbit in human form, and Hoseok beams like a ray of sunshine. 

“How are you feeling?” Hoseok asks, motioning towards your leg. 

“Um, it’s okay,” you smile. “I can still walk at least.”

He smiles with you, helping you as you start to get up. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”

You hum in response, allowing Seokjin to continue walking beside you as Jungkook walks ahead, leading you to the extensive lounge. 

Distractedly, you look around the familiar room. The coffee table you’re sitting at is still the same as it was when you used to have extra helpings of dessert with Jimin, secretly given to you by the housemaid who had a soft spot for Jimin. Being here reminds you so much of your father too, and knowing how much of a huge part of his life this family was makes you miss him dearly. 

Before any of the guys notice you’re not tuned into the conversation, you return your attention to what they’re saying. It hasn’t escaped you that none of them have said anything about your identity, and you reckon it must be because Jimin hasn’t recognised you – if he did, surely he would’ve told these guys since they were there too. You’re not sure if they know anything at all about you – perhaps you should’ve asked Yoongi about that before you came down. 

Whether they know anything or not though, they keep the conversation away from anything that would involve you from sharing too much, and you realise now, how their warm smiles and easy conversation is a stark contrast to the tense memory you have of first meeting them the other day. However, there’s some missing.

“Are there more of you?” 

Jin, in the middle of swallowing a big sip of water, nods and hums. 

Hoseok answers for him. “There’s Yoongi, who you saw already, and Taehyung, Namjoon and Jimin.”

“They were there the other day,” Jungkook says, his tone dimming slightly. 

“Namjoon and Taehyung will be joining us,” Jin adds, ignoring the last comment and keeping up his chipper attitude. “We always eat together whenever we can and they’re about somewhere.” 

It doesn’t escape you that he didn’t mention Jimin’s name though.

“Taehyung is probably in the wine cellar,” Hoseok says.

“Ah, yes, Taehyung loves to pick out the wine for dinner.”

Jungkook snorts. “He thinks he’s a sommelier.”

You smile. “Well, does he make a good choice?”

“I can never tell,” Jungkook shrugs.

Hoseok jerks a thumb in his direction. “He’s not matured enough.”

“Hey!” Jungkook starts, but is interrupted by Jin, glancing toward the doorway.

“Ah, speak of the devil!” 

You look up and see two more men entering. One has dark curls and sharp features, his posture relaxed but his gaze calculating as it sweeps over the room. The other one has dark grey hair and broad shoulders, wearing glasses that give him a sophisticated air. You recognise both of them from the other day.

“Yoongi said you’d come down,” the man with dark curls remarks as he approaches. His tone is calm, and a slight smile plays on his lips. “I’m Taehyung. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“Hi, Taehyung,” you reply, shaking his hand. His grip is firm but not overbearing. He’s undeniably striking, and there’s something about his presence that feels both inviting and enigmatic.

The broad man steps closer, adjusting his glasses as he nods at you. “I’m Namjoon. I handle most of the boring work around here.” His smile is disarming, and his voice carries a hint of dry humour. “Finances, logistics, making sure this place doesn’t fall apart.”

“Nice to meet you, Namjoon,” you say, shaking his hand. His words make you curious about just how much he handles behind the scenes.

Namjoon takes a seat in the armchair across from you and sinks into it comfortably. “How are you? I imagine this isn’t how you thought your day would go.”

You smile wryly, keeping your responses guarded. “Not exactly, no.”

Taehyung sits down next to Jungkook and returns his attention to you immediately. “Yeah, you put up quite the fight. Most people would’ve frozen in your position.”

“Not the first time I’ve had to defend myself,” you reply simply, not offering much else.

There’s a beat of silence as they all exchange glances, clearly intrigued but not pressing further. You appreciate the lack of prying.

“So,” Hoseok pipes up with an ever-cheerful tone. “Yoongi mentioned you might like spicy food. We had the chef prepare something special just in case.”

“Spicy works for me,” you say, grateful for the change in subject.

Jungkook claps his hands together. “Great! That makes two of us. The food here is amazing – you’ll love it.”

As the conversation shifts to lighter topics, you glance around the room again. The faces around the table are new, but the setting is steeped in nostalgia. Flashes of your childhood in this house flit through your mind – running down these halls, playing games late into the night, and the quiet presence of your father when he was here.

You force yourself to focus, tuning back into the conversation just as Seokjin asks, “So, Y/N, what’s your impression of the estate so far?”

“It’s... different,” you reply honestly, but keep your tone light. “Bigger than I remember.”

Seokjin tilts his head. “You’ve been here before?”

You curse yourself for slipping up but recover quickly. “Not this one exactly. Just a similar setup.”

Namjoon raises a brow but doesn’t say anything else, and you’re thankful for the reprieve.

The door from the far end of the room opens, and an older woman with an apron tied around her waist steps in, carrying a pitcher of water. Her hair is neatly pinned back, and her face is composed but kind. You immediately recognize her – Ara, one of the housemaids from your childhood.

Your eyes meet for a brief moment, and something flickers in her expression. She knows who you are. You’re certain of it. But to your surprise, she doesn’t say a word. Instead, she places the pitcher on the coffee table and begins pouring water into the glasses.

“Thanks, Ara,” Jungkook says warmly, and she nods with a small smile.

When she reaches you, she hesitates ever so slightly before pouring the water, her gaze lingering on you. You hold her gaze for a beat, searching her face for any sign that she might say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she finishes and steps back, her expression carefully neutral.

“If you need anything, let me know,” Ara says softly, glancing at the rest of the table before leaving the room.

Namjoon watches her leave, then turns back to you with a faint smile. “She’s been here for a long time. Reliable, like everyone else here.”

You nod, trying to mask the unease and nostalgia that her presence has stirred up.

On the opposite side of the room, Yoongi comes in from the corridor you came through. With a smile at you, he then nods at everyone. “Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat before Jungkook inhales the entire table.”

Jungkook laughs, not bothering to deny the accusation. Everyone rises from their seats, and Yoongi gestures for you to follow them to the adjoining dining room.

"Taeheyung, did you choose a bottle for dinner then?" Hoseok asks.

"Of course. It’s spicy food so I brought up a Riesling."

"Nice one," Yoongi murmurs in approval.

"I want a beer," Jungkook says, with no regards to Taehyung's expression.

"More for us then."

As you walk, Namjoon falls into step beside you. “You’ll find this place can be both a refuge and a maze,” he says softly. “It’s easy to get lost, but it has its charms.”

You glance at him, wondering if there’s a deeper meaning to his words. “I’ll try not to get lost, then.”

He smiles faintly. “If you do, just call out. Someone will find you.”

Returning the smile, you find that any uneasiness you'd been feeling, begins to dissipate. It’s clear these men, while different in personality, share a bond that goes beyond mere loyalty to Jimin. You can see why they’ve been by his side for so long – they feel like a family in their own right.

Once everyone is seated at the table, conversation flows more freely and the atmosphere is surprisingly warm. Jin sits at one end of the table, serving himself a generous helping of the roasted chicken and rice dish.

“Jin-hyung, don’t hog all the drumsticks,” Jungkook whines as he watches Jin’s plate pile up.

“Then grab faster,” Jin quips with a smirk, not slowing his pace.

Taehyung leans back with an amused grin, observing the chaos. “I’m telling you, Jungkook, he does this every time. You should know better by now.”

“Should I?” Jungkook huffs dramatically. “Maybe next time I’ll just take the whole plate first.”

“Do it, and I’ll poison your portion,” Jin deadpans, but with a twinkle in his eye.

Hoseok chuckles as he passes you the salad bowl. “Don’t worry, Y/N. They act like this every meal. You get used to it.”

You smile faintly, watching them banter. It’s strange to see these men, who just days ago were all sharp glares and deadly precision, behaving like siblings teasing each other.

“Y/N,” Taehyung’s deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “Do you always eat so quietly? Or are you just plotting something?”

You blink at him, caught off guard. His face is serious, but his lips twitch with suppressed amusement.

“Maybe I’m just afraid to get between Jin and his drumsticks,” you reply lightly.

Laughter ripples around the table, and Taehyung raises his glass in salute. “Smart answer.”

Jungkook grins at you between bites of food. “Yeah, but next time, you should at least try to grab a piece before Jin wipes out the whole plate.”

“I heard that,” Jin retorts, mock-offended. “I’m ensuring quality control.”

“You’re ensuring there’s nothing left for the rest of us,” Hoseok counters, sipping his water.

As the banter continues, you allow yourself to relax a little. It’s a stark contrast to what you expected when you first woke up in the Park estate. 

“By the way, hyung,” Namjoon says, turning to Jin. “Have you checked the medical inventory reports? They were due yesterday.”

“Oh, are we doing shop talk at the table now?” Jin sighs dramatically. “Can’t a guy just eat in peace?”

“It’s your own fault for procrastinating,” Namjoon replies smoothly, adjusting his glasses.

“Don’t drag me into your world of schedules,” Jin retorts. “I’m a free spirit.”

“You’re just lazy,” Jungkook interjects, earning a flick of a bread roll from Jin.

“Enough guys,” Hoseok says, raising his hands in mock exasperation.

Namjoon’s phone buzzes on the table, followed immediately by Hoseok’s. They both glance at their screens, and their smiles fade slightly. Exchanging a look, they nod in unison before standing up.

“Sorry, something’s come up,” Namjoon says, sliding his phone into his pocket. “We’ll catch up later.”

“Don’t eat all the dessert without us,” Hoseok adds with a wink as they head out.

“Like we’d wait for you,” Jin calls after them before turning his attention back to the table.

“Do they always leave like that?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Pretty much,” Taehyung replies, leaning back in his chair. “They’ve got the busiest jobs out of all of us. It’s a miracle they even sit down for meals sometimes.”

“Or they just like to be mysterious,” Jin adds, rolling his eyes. “Half the time, it’s probably nothing.”

You smile, but you feel the weight behind it all. These men might act carefree, but there’s no denying the underlying layers to their lives.

After a while, another two housemaids quietly enter to clear some of the empty dishes.

“You okay?” Taehyung asks, drawing your attention back to the table. “You’ve been pretty quiet.”

You nod, brushing it off. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Understandable,” Jin says, rising from his seat. “You should rest. Recovering from an injury takes time.”

The others murmur in agreement as they begin to disperse, leaving you with a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. The warmth of their camaraderie is undeniable, but beneath it all, you can’t shake the feeling of what’s happened, and what is undoubtedly yet to come. 

Only Yoongi remains at the table. He sits across from you and smiles. “It’s bringing back memories, huh?” He asks, seeing right through you. 

“Yep.” You look around. “Loads. I don’t know how this might sound, but it feels like I missed it.” You look across at Yoongi, expecting to see a puzzled expression but he just smiles.

“I think it’s normal. You were young when you came here and I don’t think you have many bad memories associated with the place. Only good ones, right?”

He’s right. Back then, coming here usually meant evenings filled with laughter, hiding in closets with Jimin, and Jiyoung’s occasional teasing if she was here. Your dad was still alive, and this house, in a strange way, felt like an extension of home. Now, it’s like walking through a memory you can’t decide if you’re grateful for or aching to forget.

You smile softly at Yoongi and nod, letting the silence stretch as you stand. He doesn’t press you further, only watching as you cross the room to the wide, cushioned window seat at the far end. The large pane of glass offered a view of the front of the house. Settling into the seat, you lean against the frame, your gaze drifting outward.

Outside, the estate is alive with movement. Men are stationed around the house, their presence a constant reminder of the life you’re now steeped in. From the East Wing, you spot four men climbing into a sleek black Escalade. Then your attention shifts to the house’s front steps, where Namjoon and Hoseok emerge, walking with purpose.

Behind them, another figure appears and you recognise him instantly. 

Jimin, dressed sharply from head to toe, walks across the front drive. He pauses briefly in front of his Porsche, glancing back toward Hoseok, who says something you couldn’t hear. A moment later, Hoseok and Jin climb into the car, and Jimin gets into the driver’s seat. The engine roars softly to life, and within moments, his Porsche is gliding down the private lane, the Escalade following closely behind.

Your gaze lingers on the lane until the cars disappear into the distance. Though you can’t see the estate’s gate from here, you can picture it clearly in your mind – a familiar marker from years ago.

“Where are they going?” you ask without turning, your voice quiet but curious.

“Something’s wrong with one of the shipments we received from the Takahashis. They’ve been a bit of a pain these past few months. Jimin reckons they’re now involved with the Lees and are trying to keep us distracted.”

You hum in response, saying nothing more, but your eyes stay fixed on the far-off trees that bordered the estate. Centred in front of the west wing, a fountain catches your attention, its centrepiece intricate and elegant. It reminds you of the one in Jimin’s mother’s garden and absently, you wonder if that fountain was still there.

As you shift, a sharp pang shoots through your leg, where the knife wound throbs dully. Your wrist isn’t much better, but the pain in your leg is what makes you wince audibly.

Yoongi notices immediately, his gaze darting toward you. “I think you’re due for your meds again.”

You exhale softly, nodding. “Yeah, I think so.”

“You wanna stay here or go back up?”

You push yourself to stand, biting back a groan as the strain makes your voice tight. “Mm, I know I slept for days, but I’m actually still exhausted.”

Yoongi chuckles, rising to help steady you. “That’s to be expected. Don’t worry.” He gestures toward the far end of the room. “We’ll go up, but this time we’re taking the lift.”

You can’t help but smile faintly at his consideration. “Appreciate that,” you murmur as he slides a steadying arm under yours.

The dim light of the ensuite glows behind you as you step into the bedroom, a towel draped over your head. You had just woken up after another long nap, your internal clock utterly thrown off by the days of rest. It's late now, just past midnight and the night is quiet, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the soft padding of your feet on the carpet.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you absentmindedly rub the towel through your damp hair.

Your gaze drifts to the shelves by the dresser table, now stocked with an array of skin and hair care products. A small smile tugs at your lips as you stand to examine them, fingers lightly trailing over the meticulously arranged items. Appreciatively, you sit and carry out a full skin and hair care routine – after three days without it, you definitely need it. You wonder if it was Ara who must have put them here. You're certain she recognised you at dinner and when you think about it now, you think it would be nice to speak with someone familiar.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of your phone on the bed. Turning, you see the screen light up with an incoming FaceTime call. The name on the screen sends a swell of emotion through you.

“Moni?” you answer, settling back on the bed as your grandmother’s face appeared.

The sight of her brings a pang of guilt and relief all at once. Her tired eyes search your face and you can tell she must have been worrying nonstop. “Y/N,” she says softly, her voice warm. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” you reassure her quickly, though your heart aches knowing she must have been so anxious. “Really.”

She gives you a sharp look, the kind only she can manage, and her tone turns brisk. “Good. Stay safe there, you hear me? We're figuring out what's going on and Yoongi will tell you more when he can."

You nod, knowing better than to argue. Her expression softened just a little as she continued. “Tell me about Jimin.”

“He hasn’t said anything.”

“About recognizing you?” she asks, her brow lifting slightly.

You nod. “Nothing.”

She sighs, a mixture of fondness and exasperation crossing her features. “I don’t imagine he would. But I have no doubt he does. You haven’t changed much. He, however... he’s different.”

Her words hang in the air, and you find yourself looking up, your thoughts turning to Jimin.

“Life hasn’t been kind to him,” she continues, her voice tinged with melancholy. “When I last saw him, I didn’t see the same little boy I knew.”

A bittersweet smile crosses your lips. “Life hasn’t been kind to any of us.”

Your grandmother purses her lips, acknowledging the truth of your words. “Do you remember his father?”

“Of course I do,” you say without hesitation. “It’s hard to forget a man as cold as him.”

“And Mr. Lee?” she asks, her tone cautious.

You nod, already anticipating where this was headed. “I know, Moni,” you say quietly, cutting her off.

She looks up at you, her expression briefly surprised, but it fades just as quickly. "Of course, I should have expected you would piece it together."

“I know it was them,” you say, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “They did it. They killed Dad.”

She lets out a slow breath, her gaze steady on yours. “They were his best friends,” she says softly. “And then, all of a sudden…” She trails off.

You nod. You can only imagine that the sting of betrayal is still fresh even after all these years. Your grandmother's gaze remains on you, sharp and searching. “You’re there now, though… so, do you trust Jimin?”

You pause, memories of the night at your house flashing through your mind -- seeing Jimin in your kitchen with your gun aimed at him and he didn't retaliate in the slightest.

“I didn’t, at first,” you admit. “But I think I do. Besides, I trust Yoongi, and Yoongi trusts him."

She exhales slowly, relief evident on her face and a small smilw touches her lips. “You’re safe there, Y/N.”

You tilt your head slightly, meeting her gaze. “You trust Jimin?”

“I do,” she says without hesitation. “I trust him with you, and you’re my everything.”

The words wrap around your heart, and you wish you could reach through the screen to hug her. Instead, you nod and smile.

“You need to rest,” she instructs, her tone turning firm again. “I’ll call you later. Baek-hyun and I might come to see you. I think he wanted to see Yoongi too.”

Your lips quirk up at the thought. “That would be nice.”

"Good," she nods, and you eventually exchange goodbyes.

As the screen goes dark, you set the phone down, feeling a renewed sense of comfort. The thought of her visiting makes you smile softly as you sit in the quiet of the room.

Still restless though, you wander to the window, gazing out at the sprawling grounds bathed in the moonlight. You spot three men stationed at the back of the house, conversing together as they keep watch. The gardens stretch endlessly, just as you remembered. You can’t see the part of the grounds where Jimin’s mother’s garden would have been as it's hidden beyond the trees, but it would be nice to visit it tomorrow when the light returned.

As you shift, you feel your leg still aches, but it's different this time, more like the dull stiffness of inactivity than pain. Restless energy courses through you, and you decide a walk would do you good. The house is big enough and you need to keep your legs moving.

Stepping out of your room, you close the door quietly behind yourself and hear the faint hum of distant voices and sounds that tells you that not everyone is asleep yet.

As you move through the corridors, memories of Jimin filtered into your mind -- moments you hadn’t thought of in years now rising to the surface with startling clarity and they give you a strange sense of familiarity.

Eventually, your wandering brings you to your dad's painting again. You stop in front of it, the vivid strokes of lightning and sea send a wave of nostalgia over you, gratitude mingling with sadness. You remember you have a few of your father's paintings hanging up at home too and you make a mental note to ensure they're safely retrieved.

“Can’t you sleep, little bear?”

The voice, familiar and gentle, pulls you from your reverie. You turn to see Jimin standing a few feet away.

Dressed casually now, his white shirt unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves rolled up, he looks markedly different from the composed figure you saw earlier. There’s a softness to him now, something that reminds you of the boy you once knew. His smile, small and tentative, feels as though it might disappear if the silence breaks too loudly.

You smile back, and the corners of his lips lift a little more.

Realising what he just said, his words stop you short – it’s the name of the book you gave to him the first time you met him, so many years ago.

Jimin steps closer, the lamp’s dim light casting soft shadows on his features. As he nears, the subtle scent of his cologne reaches you – a delicate blend of cedarwood and something faintly sweet, familiar yet grounding. It lingers in the air between you, quietly drawing your attention to his presence. Despite the weariness evident in his eyes, there’s a steadiness about him, a calmness that feels both reassuring and disarming.

“Y/N,” he says, your name leaving his lips quietly, as though testing how it feels after all these years. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognise you?”

“I wasn’t counting on it,” you admit, your voice soft. “I’m surprised you remember the book.”

Jimin’s smile grows, faint but genuine. “How could I not? I never got to thank you for it properly.”

“Thank me?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

He nods, shifting as if the memory is a tender one. “It was a comfort to me for a long time. I wasn’t allowed picture books of my own, so… thank you.”

You remember then how he once told you about his father’s strict rules. A cold man, his father likely saw no value in picture books – if they didn’t teach something useful, they weren’t worth having.

“You’re welcome,” you say softly.

Jimin’s gaze lingers on your face, and you feel a warmth creeping into your cheeks. Turning back to the painting, you focus on the familiar strokes of your father’s work.

“He was talented,” Jimin says quietly, standing beside you.

You smile faintly. “He was.”

After a moment, he adds, “I can have it moved to your room, if you like.”

You shake your head. “No, no. It’s okay. This is where it belongs.”

Jimin laughs softly, the sound low and soothing. “It’s actually covering up a stain we couldn’t remove. You might remember it since it was you who put it there.”

“Me?” you ask, eyebrows rising in surprise as you look at him.

He nods, a playful glint in his eyes. “Yep. One of the nights our fathers were away, and you had to stay over. Jiyoung was babysitting us, and we were painting. When it was time for bed, you didn’t want to sleep, so you ran away from her – with all the paints.”

As he speaks, the memory surfaces, vivid and sheepishly embarrassing. “Oh gosh, I remember. I tripped, and the paint went everywhere.”

Jimin smiles wider now, clearly suppressing a laugh. “We tried to paint over it a few times, but the colours were too bright. Eventually, my dad decided to put this up.”

You shake your head, laughing softly, though you still feel a twinge of embarrassment. “I can’t believe that’s still here.”

Jimin’s smile lingers, and the space between you feels quieter, weighted by an unspoken familiarity. His eyes flicker back to the painting, then to you. “It’s been a long time since then,” he says, his voice gentle, almost reflective.

You glance at him, catching the subtle shift in his tone, something deeper beneath the surface. “Yes,” you reply, turning your gaze back to the painting. “Though being here again… it almost feels like no time at all.”

Jimin studies you for a moment, his expression softening. “I imagine it feels different,” he says, “without your father?”

“Exactly,” you answer, the memory stirring a pang of longing. “It felt safe wherever he was.”

“And now?” His question is soft, careful, as though he’s weighing each word before speaking.

You hesitate before answering, meeting his gaze. “I want to say yes,” you admit honestly, “but experience tells me not to feel safe anywhere.”

Jimin nods, his expression contemplative, and something about his calm presence makes your honesty feel less vulnerable. “You’ve learned not to trust anyone,” he say, his voice carrying a quiet understanding.

You look at him, searching his face, but his steady gaze gives nothing away except an openness that feels disarming. “You’re right to think that,” he continues, his tone neither judgmental nor apologetic, as if he understands the walls you’ve built all too well.

The words sit between you for a moment before you ask, carefully, “Can I trust you?”

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, silence fills the space between you.

“Yes,” he says, his voice quiet but certain. “But you’ll make that decision on your own.”

You nod slowly, his answer settling something inside you. There’s no urgency in his response, just a quiet assurance that feels like a small but solid anchor. It’s not a promise – it’s an invitation.

“Until then,” he continues, his voice softening, “please, make yourself at home. You’re safe here.”

The sincerity in his words lingers, and while they aren’t a guarantee, they feel real.

Jimin doesn’t say anything else, but you catch the way he watches you, something unspoken but soft in his expression. You feel it yourself too – after so many years there is so much to say, to ask, but for now you take the peaceful quiet for what it is.

His presence feels closer now and you let out a faint smile, glancing back at the painting.

It occurs to you now, how strange it is, that this time, there is something familiar that Jimin’s presence stirs in you – a reminder of what it feels like to trust, even if only a little.

note. thank you all so much for reading! please don’t be a silent reader :’) this fic takes me forever to write and I’d love for you to share your thoughts w me -- i really wanna know what you guys think! and rb toooo <3333

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his girl - ch. 3

So I have a clear plan for where this fic is going now, yay! I've outlined about 13-14 chapters and we're gonna do a little bit of TLoU crossover down the line so expect a Joel/Tommy cameo at some point :) I also decided on a title finally so it's now offically The Pilot and his girl

I'll add warnings as needed but there's only fluff in these first few chapters, playing around with our sweet Frankie.

(oh, btw, for anyone who notices, I know "chamo" is Venezuelan, but I love the expression, maybe the chef is from Venezuela :) )

Taglist: @pimosworld

Chapter 4

It’s not until Denny drives past in his truck and honks loudly that Frankie and you finally break apart, you’re giggling into Frankie’s neck as he waves at his boss and from the corner of your eye you see Denny give Frankie a gleeful thumb’s up through the window.  

“Maybe I should take you somewhere nicer than an airfield,” Frankie says and pushes back a strand of your hair. He’s got his hand hooked around your shoulders, behind your head, and the other still on your cheek. He’s warm and solid pressed up against you, the warm metal of the car at your back and him in front. 

“I don’t wanna break the mood,” you smile at him, “but I’m really hungry. Do you wanna have lunch since our breakfast was cut short?” 

“I’m fucking starving,” Frankie confesses with a grin. “There’s a small place nearby that does really good tacos if you like that? They’re really good and they’re usually quiet during the day.”

“Tacos sounds awesome, I haven’t had any in ages.” 

“Ok then, let’s get some tacos in you,” Frankie pulls you in for a final kiss, which turns into another long, slow exploration of each other's tongues until Frankie’s stomach rumbles loudly in protest and you start giggling pressed against his lips. Frankie reluctantly lets go of your bottom lip and glances down at his small belly. 

“Traitor,” he scolds it and reaches behind you to open the door to the truck, giving you a hand inside. 

…

The taco place really is nearby, less than ten minutes later Frankie pulls into a small parking lot next to a green park. Across the road is a small cluster of buildings, one sporting a big chilli pepper and the sign “El Chibiski” in bright colours. 

“I thought we could get some food and then eat in the park if you want?” Frankie asks as he parks the car and pulls off his hoodie, you copy him and leave his green one in the truck. 

“You’ve got this all planned out, it sounds like a great idea,” you say as he jumps out of the car and quickly comes round to your side to open the door. “You’re never gonna let me open this door, are you?” you smile as he takes your hand and you step down. 

“No, never,” he grins and closes it behind you. 

The taqueria is almost empty, the lunch rush over, and the smell that hits you as Frankie opens the door is mouth watering. As if on cue your stomach rumbles and he chuckles as you look at the menu over the counter. 

“Got any recommendations?” you ask him, “I definitely want some pastor but it all looks good.” 

“The carnitas are my weakness, and the gringas.” He points to two dishes on the board. “I say we get all three and some bistec ones too and just share everything, seeing as they don’t have fries on the menu.” He says the last thing with a grin and a quick glance at you. 

“I guess that means you’re getting a second date, Morales,” you huff in fake exasperation, “should’ve known you had ulterior motives.” 

“Oh no, you’ve seen right through my clever plans, cariño,” he giggles as you give him a playful slap on the shoulder. He gives your hand a quick squeeze, smiling under his cap, before stepping forward to order, adding a couple of bottles of water too. 

You watch Frankie chat in Spanish to the guy taking the order, exchanging jokes as he relays the order back to the kitchen. It sounds like Frankie comes here a lot by the way the chef greets him too when he spots him through the open order window. It’s an easy atmosphere and it’s nice seeing Frankie’s relaxed manner with the staff. You can only see him from behind but his head falls back as he laughs loudly at something the guy behind the counter says, and the chef yells a response from the kitchen, making them break out into more laughter. There’s something about seeing a guy you’re dating be liked by others, like a little green flag popping up. But to be fair, so far you’d seen no red flags around Frankie. He seems to be exactly what he looks like; a friendly guy, a little bit shy sometimes, but easy to like and easy to be around, a warm personality that seems to shine when he’s comfortable and in his element. You find yourself smiling as you hear Frankie laughing again, he makes you feel good, even though you’ve known him less than twenty four hours.  

When he comes back over he's got a big grin on his face, still chuckling from the jokes at the counter. 

“They always tell the dirtiest jokes,” he says, “I’m too embarrassed to translate them,” he smiles as he sits down in the chair next to you. 

“You know I speak Spanish, right?” you smirk at him and his eyes widen in shocked surprise and his neck immediately starts turning red, his cheeks tinged with pink. 

“¿Tú hablas español?” 

“Not a word, but seeing you blush was totally worth the lie, you’re so cute.” You can’t help touching his flushed cheeks. 

Frankie bursts into rumbling laughter as he grabs you and pulls you closer, chair and all. “Cheeky girl,” he grins and takes hold of your chin before kissing you softly. You kiss him back with a smile and his scruffy beard tickles your cheek when he moves his lips and presses a soft kiss just below you ear. 

“Maybe I should teach you some Spanish,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, “so I can tell you exactly what you do to me when you’re this close.” He presses his lips to the thin skin under your ear again, letting his tongue slip out for a taste of the salt before kissing it again. Your breath catches in your throat as a shiver runs down your spine, heat pooling between your legs, creeping up your neck. When Frankie leans back he gives you a cheeky smile. “Now who’s blushing, hermosa?” 

You hook a couple of fingers into his t-shirt and pull him in for another kiss and he comes willingly, still with a cheeky smile. 

It takes a few more minutes, you’re lost in your own bubble with Frankie, but when someone loudly clears their throat next to you, you reluctantly lean back and look up. 

“Chamo, enserio?” The chef is holding out a take away bag for Frankie, grinning down at him, and Frankie gives a little embarrassed shrug and takes the bag while the chef gives him a friendly slap on the shoulder, smiles at you and retreats into the kitchen, waving at Frankie’s “Gracias”. 

Frankie calls out a goodbye to the guy behind the counter as you leave the restaurant, his hand seems to automatically fall to the small of your back now, and you cross the street to the park. The park isn’t big, but big enough so that when you walk towards the middle the noises from the street and the city are muted. Frankie stops by his truck and pulls out a blanket from the backseat and when you find a shady spot under a big leafy tree he shakes it out for you both to sit on. 

The smell from the take away containers makes your stomach rumble as Frankie pops them open and when you finally get to bite into a taco with pastor meat you moan and let your head fall back. 

“This is so fucking good, Frankie,” you groan and go for another bite, missing how Frankie’s hands stops trying to pick up one of the carnitas as his eyes go dark, fixed on your mouth. He swallows and shifts on the blanket, looking down at his food again. 

“Yeah, they do the best Mexican in town, we go there for lunch a lot since it’s so close to the airfield.” He grabs his taco and keeps his eyes on it as he takes a big bite, trying to ignore the way you moan again at the taste. 

“I can see why you like it, I’d be here every lunch if it was this close to my job,” you say, trying to catch some juice that’s running down your hand. 

“I go too often to be honest, I think the carnitas are directly responsible for my old man’s belly,” Frankie looks down at his midriff and pats the small soft swell under his t-shirt, “definitely not as flat as it was in my 20’s.” 

“I like it,” you say, “can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but…it’s kinda sexy on a guy, something soft when you’re all hard angles and muscles everywhere else.”

“You think my old man’s belly is sexy?” Frankie is looking pretty pleased about your confession. 

“Yeah, I do. And stop calling it an old man’s belly, you can’t be that old?” 

“34, and I’m already going grey,” Frankie scrubs at his beard, where there’s a few strands of grey with the dark brown. 

“Oh yeah, you’re ancient.” you smile and touch your fingertips to his few grey hairs. “A whole two years older than me.” 

“I nearly had a panic attack when I saw the first grey one,” Frankie says, “but my friend Pope has loads and he’s younger so I try not to worry.” 

“I think you look really good, Frankie, with or without grey hair,” you reply and he looks over with a warm smile, his eyes crinkling in that way that makes him look so soft and sweet. 

“Thank you, hermosa, and I think you’re probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” 

“Frankie…” you blush and can’t even make yourself look at him as he continues to smile at you. “I’m serious,” he says, “you made my heart stop when you smiled in the bar last night, and you weren’t even looking at me.” 

You’re too overwhelmed by his attention to even find your voice and just blush even more like a fool while you pretend to pick another taco from the boxes. Your heart is racing at a hundred miles per hour and you can still feel Frankie smiling at you, his half eaten taco in hand. 

“Fuck!” Frankie suddenly sputters out. You look up at him and see a large drip of juice from his taco trickling down his white t-shirt. “Damn, I guess I was pushing my luck with the tacos after the cherry pie,” he grumbles and gratefully takes the napkins you hand him. Wiping at the stain only makes it worse, spreading it out, and Frankie soon gives up, accepting his now stained appearance. “Can’t take me anywhere,” he gives you an apologetic smile and finishes off his carnita. 

It’s easy to hang out with Frankie as you share the remaining tacos, sitting close to him on the blanket, talking about movies. He’s making a list of horror movies for a future date and your loud protests make him laugh as he lists one movie gorier than the other. Finally you force him to have the last carnita, your stomach already full, and as he bites into it you tip backwards onto the blanket. 

“I’m so full, Frankie, I’m never eating again,” you groan as you put your hands over your belly, laying flat on your back. You can hear Frankie chuckle with his mouth full and you glance up at his profile. The air is warm in the shade under the tree, the light filtering through the leaves makes a dappled pattern over his body and cheeks but his nose and eyes are still shaded by the peak of his cap. 

“Frankie, come here,” you beckon him and he turns to look down at you as you put your hand on his shoulder. He wipes his hands and his mouth on a napkin, before stretching out next to you, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Can I take your cap off?” 

“Sure,” he replies with a smile, and you reach up and pull it off him. The sun immediately creates a halo of unruly curls around his head and you can see the dark brown of his eyes change to something more amber. Looking at the way the sun turns his dark brown curls golden you reach up and push your fingertips through them, your nails scratching along his scalp as the smooth strands slip underneath your hands. A shiver runs through him and he closes his eyes, leaning into your hands, as you play with his curls, letting them wrap around your fingers and watch how they bounce back when you let go. Frankie sighs and drops down on your chest, resting his head just above your stomach. “Please, don’t stop doing that,” he pleads and you continue to run your fingers through his hair, hearing him moan gently as his breathing slows down. 

You’re not sure when he actually falls asleep but when you hear a soft snore from him you realise he’s in a deep slumber on your chest, one arm thrown across your stomach. Continuing to caress his curls, making them stand on end even more, you close your eyes too and enjoy the feeling of his solid body pressed against your side and warm breaths against your t-shirt. It doesn’t take long before you’re asleep too. 

…

Frankie wakes up first, blinking at the bright light and feeling disorientated before turning his head and seeing you sleeping with a hand in his hair. Your head is tilted sideways, your mouth slightly open and he can feel your chest rise and fall with your gentle breaths. Carefully he pushes himself up so that he can move his arm and slide the back of his hand across your cheek. Sleep and sun has made your skin flushed and he relishes the silky feel of it as he caresses you lightly. 

The movement must have roused you because he sees your eyes move as you slowly blink, turning your head to focus on him. 

“Hi,” he says gently with a smile and you smile back at him, “Hi, Frankie.” 

You yawn, clamping a hand over your mouth and giggling as it makes Frankie yawn too. He scoots up further so that he can prop himself up on his elbow closer to your head and his hand leaves your cheek, caressing down your neck, stroking random patterns over your skin. 

“I guess tacos make us sleepy,” he smiles and you nod, slightly distracted by how close he is as he leans over you, blocking the sun. His curls are even more unruly, sticking up all over his head, and you run your hand over them again, lacing in your fingers into the curls at his neck and pulling him down towards your mouth. He comes willingly, his lips finding yours easily and when he parts them for you, his tongue is soft and eager against yours. The cool tip of his nose brushes against your cheek as he moves closer, deepening the kiss when you let out a low moan against him. Your fingers wrap tightly around his neck and your other hand finds the side of his chest, the warm cotton soft against your palm as you touch him properly for the first time. He’s firm under your touch, bunched muscles as he holds himself up over you and you caress further up his back. You relish in being able to feel the curve of his shoulder, the way his spine dips between his shoulder blades and disappears down towards the edge of his jeans, wishing there was no fabric under your hand. 

You feel his hand leave your neck, graze across your throat and softly brush against your breast as Frankie lets his fingertips trail down along your torso, finding the sliver of skin between your jeans and t-shirt. With a soft grip he runs his thumb along it, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer. 

“Is this ok?” he whispers close to your mouth as his hand caresses under your t-shirt. 

“Yes, Frankie,” you murmur and push your lips against his, tasting him on your tongue as your need for him grows, a louder moan escaping you. Your response makes him bolder and he pushes you into the blanket with a growl, buried against your mouth. His large hand is flat against your torso and you can feel how he wants to move it further up under your shirt, to feel more, grab more, but you’re still out in the open, still in public, and with a groan he pulls back. He slumps down beside you, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a sigh. His hand leaves your skin, instead he rests it modestly on your stomach, over your t-shirt. 

“Tan suave, hermosa,” he mumbles, “When can I see you again?” He pushes himself up on his elbow again, looking down at you with eyes that seem darker. 

“I’m busy next weekend, the wedding,” you explain with an apologetic smile, “but after that I’m all yours.” 

“All mine, huh?” Frankie grins and you wink back at him. “I wanna take you out for dinner, properly, but I also don’t wanna wait two weeks to see you again,” he says, “maybe we can catch up for drinks or something before then? Or dinner if things aren’t too crazy at the airfield, depending on when I can get away.” 

“I’d like that, Frankie, “ you smile at him, “I’ll check with the bride what the plans are for this week so I know what evenings I’m free, I know she had some sort of social events planned and then the rehearsal dinner on Friday.” 

“Wow, she’s going all out with this wedding?” Frankie raises his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, full on everything, rehearsal dinner, actual wedding day and then spa day and brunch on Sunday. I’m going to work on Monday after the wedding to relax…” you sigh, thinking about how drained you were going to be after three days of socialising with a crowd mostly made up of strangers. “Speaking of next week,” you say with a glance at your phone, “I should probably get home and get everything ready for it.” 

“Yeah, sounds like you’ve got an intense week coming up,” Frankie smiles and pushes himself up to his feet before giving his hand to you, pulling you to your feet. “I’d love to see you soon if you can but don’t stress it, there’s time.” 

He pulls you in for a kiss as you stand, wrapping your arms around his neck before sliding his hands down your waist, stopping to tug you closer to him. You press up against him, feeling his belt buckle dig into your stomach and his mustache tickles you as he gently makes you open your mouth to him again. Kissing him feels addicting and when he starts pulling away you slip your fingers into the curls at the back of his head and slowly let your fingernails run along his scalp. He immediately moans and pulls closer again, melting against you. 

It takes you a while to get back to the truck, stopping for more kisses, Frankie’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, and his soft lips so easy to reach up to, his hand sliding up to hold your neck, grabbing your hair and pulling you in for another long kiss while the afternoon slips away. When you’re finally by the passenger door he cages you in against the truck, his hands on either side of your head as you pull him closer, needing more of him. It leaves you both breathless, Frankie shifting his stance when his obvious hard on becomes uncomfortable but it does nothing to hide it. 

“Sorry,” he mutters when he pulls back a little from you, giving you an embarrassed little grin, “it’s difficult to control when you’re so close, hermosa, you feel so good.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” you mumble, pulling him back, “mine’s less obvious but just as out of control.” Frankie groans and drops his head to his chest before taking a deep breath, “Ok, I need to get you home before you say more things like that.” He opens the door behind you, “Get in before I change my mind.” 

…

Frankie drives back to the coffee shop where your car is parked and pulls up next to it, again jumping out and coming around to your door to open it. You stay in your seat until he puts out his hand for yours this time and he gives you a warm smile. 

“You’re learning, cariño, never letting you touch this door.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you smile back and take his hand and step down. He holds onto it as you walk over to your car, parked just down the street. After you unlock it and put your jacket inside you turn back to him. He’s smiling down at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners and his face is so handsome and warm it makes you wish you could call off all the plans for the week and just spend it with him. 

“I’ve had a really good time, Frankie,” you say as his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb smooth over your skin. 

“Me too,” he says, “call me about next week, I’ll make sure that Denny lets me leave on time any evening you’re not busy. I really want to see you again soon, hermosa.” The last thing he says as his thumb caresses your lips, tracing the outline of them, his eyes flitting between your eyes and your mouth. 

“I’ll see if I can get out of some of all the social events, maybe Wednesday’s…” You close your eyes as Frankie’s beard tickles the side of your neck, his lips moving slowly over your skin. “You’re making it very hard to concentrate, Frankie,” you protest weakly and you hear him chuckle before he pulls back. 

“Ok, I’ll let you go,” he gives you a grin, “I need to start planning our movie date, need to get my dvd of The Shining back, I thought we’d start with that one.” 

Your face pulls into a grimace, wrinkling your nose at the prospect of a horror film and it makes Frankie laugh. 

“Un-wrinkle your face, hermosa,” he rubs his thumb down your nose with a grin, “I won’t really make you watch it if you don’t want to.” 

“Let’s start with something less scary, please.” 

“Anything you want, really,” he replies and you lean into him, kissing him one last time before getting in your car. “Thank you, Frankie, for today.” 

“See you soon, hermosa,” he smiles back at you. 

…

Your week turns out to be more hectic than anticipated and as Friday rolls around you still haven't been able to see Frankie. Between your work, his work and the looming wedding, all you’d managed was a few phone calls late in the evenings when you got home. You’d hear Frankie’s sleepy voice assure you it wasn’t too late when you called him and then his rich baritone would keep you company as you got ready for bed. On Thursday you’d crawled into bed and facetimed him, his dimly lit bedroom making his eyes black as he smiled at your big yawns. You wish you could ask him to come over and just sleep next to you, the ache for him almost physically painful. When you said goodnight and turned off your phone you rolled onto your side, trying to imagine what it would feel like if you had Frankie’s warm body curled around your own as you drifted off to sleep. 

Friday morning you put on your office clothes and pack a bag for the rehearsal dinner; a dress and heels to swap into after work before heading to the very upscale restaurant booked by the groom’s parents. Frankie has sent you a sweet good morning text and you reply as you wait for your coffee to drip down, smiling at his usual lack of capital letters, punctuation or any apostrophes. You’d asked him about it during the week, thinking maybe his phone was broken, and after a few awkward chuckles he’d confessed; he just hadn’t figured out how to do them on a smartphone and now he was too embarrassed to ask anyone. You’d tried to not laugh, his flustered huffs down the phone made you want to hug him tight, and you’d promised to show him how to do it the next time you met. 

“Didn’t realise I’d need a college degree just to type on the phone,” he’d chortled. 

…

You manage to leave work a little bit early and change into your dress and heels, touching up your make-up and hair, before heading out. As you arrive early to the restaurant you find one of your best friends, Sophia, at the bar. She’d missed the bachelorette party and had only just flown in for the wedding weekend, her suitcase still next to her bar stool. She waves both her hands over her head when she spots you and you all but run over to her with your arms outstretched. 

“It’s so good to see you, sweetie,” Sophia says after you’ve both stopped hugging and squealing, tucking her arm under yours, squeezing it tightly. “I miss having you around.” 

“Well, that’s what happens when you move to another continent and decide to marry some random Welsh girl,” you reply. Sophia had married Carys three years earlier and moved back with her to London a year later. “Speaking of, where is she? Not here for the wedding?”

“She is, but she had to wrap something up at work, she’ll be here in time for dinner.” 

The bartender comes over and you both order champagne, seeing as it’s the groom’s parents who will be footing the bill for the open bar. Sophie grabs her suitcase and glass and motions you over to one of the booths. 

“So what’s going on with you? I hate to be the one that asks the obvious question but…anyone new in your life? It’s been ages since..you know who…and I’d love to see you happy with someone.” 

You take a sip of the champagne to avoid answering straight away. You didn’t like talking about the people you were dating too soon, preferring to find your footing and know where it was heading before fielding a hundred questions from your friends. But Sophia was different, she wouldn’t start planning your wedding or pester you to introduce him to her, and she was a solid judge of character. 

“Ok, so…” you start slowly and Sophia lights up, her smile like a thousand watts, “I did meet this one guy last Saturday.” 

“I fucking knew it!” she exclaims, “you looked different, happy different, sweetie.” 

“We’ve only had one date so far, but it was really nice,” you say, smiling at the memory of your Sunday with Frankie. 

“What’s his name?” Sophia asks, sipping her drink. 

“Frankie, Francisco Morales.” 

“Good name, great name, very solid.” Sophia smiles, “I approve of his mother’s choice of name.” 

“Dumbass,” you chide her with a snicker. “He was at the last bar we went to with the bachelorette party, he was there with some friends, and he was so sweet and handsome and kinda shy that I gave him my number, despite swearing to never do that again.” 

“Sweet and handsome is good, what does he look like?” 

“I won’t do him justice at all, but he has brown, curly hair, dark brown eyes and an adorable scruffy beard with a dimple. But his face is just perfectly sweet and soft and when he smiles his eyes go all warm and I feel like I can’t move when he looks at me.” 

“Girl, you have a crush on this man, I can tell…” Sophia giggles and clinks her glass against yours. 

“I do, I can’t deny,” you laugh with her. “We kissed on Sunday and, oh my god, I just wanted to take him home and keep him in my bed for a week, maybe two.” You lean back, sighing as you remember how Frankie’s body felt pressed up against yours, his eager tongue slipping against yours as his hand slipped under your t-shirt. 

“So do it, what have you got to lose?” 

“Nothing, but this week has been crazy and the entire weekend is packed. He knows I’m busy so we’re gonna try to meet up for drinks some night next week. But definitely dinner next Saturday,” you take another sip of your champagne. 

“Ok, but what are you doing here tonight, babe?” Sophia looks at you with a frown. “It’s not like you have to be at the rehearsal dinner, bail and go see him instead.” 

“Lizzy would kill me, and if not her than Steve’s mother, they’re paying for this thing.” 

“Lizzy will not kill you if you ditch her for a guy that makes you smile like that,” Sophia points a meaningful finger at your face, you can’t seem to make the corners of your mouth go down. Talking about Frankie has you longing for him and as Sophia pokes you in the side you start giggling, wriggling away from her. “Go see him, call him right now, see if he’s free, and then you go fuck his brains out and come to the wedding as a new woman.” She pokes you again, “Go now, call him. If he’s available I’ll talk to Lizzy.” 

“Ok, ok, jeez, woman, I’m going,” you laugh and push yourself out of the booth. 

You leave the bar area and wander out to the patio in the back, away from the crowd that’s starting to congregate in the restaurant, as you pull up Frankie’s number on your phone. 

“Hey, hermosa,” his warm, rich voice comes through the phone after two rings and you feel yourself smiling. “What’s up, I thought you were at the rehearsal dinner? 

“I am, it’s just about to start. I just wanted to talk to you, I wish we could’ve made time to meet up this week.” 

“Yeah, me too, cariño, I’m sorry I was so busy at work.” 

“No, I’m the one who’s had the crazy week and all the stuff planned this weekend. But I was thinking, maybe I can sneak away from this dinner early and we can meet up, unless you already have plans?”

“I do, I’m meeting the boys for a couple of drinks, but I will most definitely ditch them for you any day.” You can hear the smile in his voice as he gets eager about the idea. 

“Maybe if I stay for the actual dinner here and leave when that’s done? So you can hang out with your friends first and then we can meet up for a drink or something?” 

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea, we’re going to some new place downtown that Will wanted to try out, and I think it’s pretty close to your restaurant. Send me a message when dinner is done and I’ll come and meet you there, ok?” In the background you can hear someone yell, “Come on, Fish!” and he calls for them to give him a sec. 

“Go Frankie, go with them, I’ll message you when I’m done.” You feel heat rising in your cheeks at the thought of seeing Frankie again so soon. Frankie’s voice is softer and lower, you can hear him walking, his boots scuffing across a hard surface as he replies. 

“Can’t wait, hermosa, I miss you.” 

“Miss you too, Frankie.” 

…

True to her word, Sophia pulls Lizzy to one side during the dinner and explains why you’ll be disappearing as soon as her uncle Herb has wrapped up his rambling speech about Steve mowing his lawn. Both women shoot you wide grins and thumbs up across the room as you excuse yourself while the coffee and dessert is being brought in, fumbling in your bag for your phone to text Frankie. 

You wait for him to arrive just inside the entrance of the restaurant and can’t help but laugh as Sophia’s head pops out from behind one of the large potted plants, looking like she’s in a bad spy movie. 

“What?” she giggles, “I just wanna see this guy who’s got you all smiley. I’ll be totally discreet.” 

“Come here, dumbass,” you say fondly, and she wraps her arms around you in a big hug. 

“Sweetie, I hope he’s all you want him to be, you deserve this.” 

“Thanks, Soph, you’ve always got my back,” you peck her on the cheek and she gives you a smile before glancing over at the big windows on either side of the glass door. 

“Please tell me that’s him,” she mouths, her eyes widening slightly. 

You turn and spot Frankie walking towards the door and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him. He hasn’t seen you yet and as you watch he smooths his large hands down the front of his dark red button up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his strong looking forearms. He’s ditched the cap and the evening breeze ruffles his curls, making them escape the attempt you can see he’s made at taming them. He’s got dark jeans on, hugging his thighs and showing off his ridiculous shoulder to hip ratio. Spotting you through the door his eyes crinkle and he gives you that sweet nervous smile. You smile back at him as his hand shoots up and rubs the back of his neck, his ever present awkward little gesture that makes your heart clench. 

You’re about to turn and say goodbye to Sophia when she swiftly steps forwards and opens the door to the restaurant for Frankie. 

“You must be Frankie,” she beams at him, ushering him inside. 

“Uh, yeah, I am, hi,” he stutters, taking the hand Sophia holds out. 

“Hi Frankie,” you say, “this is my friend Sophia, she’s just leaving.” You give her a stern look that she ignores.

“Really nice to meet you, Frankie, I’m so happy I convinced my darling friend here to ditch this dull crowd and call you instead.” She’s still beaming at Frankie, unashamedly looking him up and down as you step closer to him. He seems to find himself a little and gives Sophia a friendly smile before turning his attention back to you. 

“Hi, hermosa,” he says in a low voice as he drops his head and kisses your cheek, his hand landing on your waist and pulling you closer.

Sophia gives you a quick thumbs up and an excited grin before Frankie looks up again. 

“Alright, Mr Morales, take my girl out and show her a good time, you have my blessing,” she croons and starts ushering you both out the door. “Now get going before you get roped into this damn wedding again, sweetie.” 

“Bye, Soph, I’ll see you tomorrow.” you call out as you leave, Frankie’s arm still around your waist. 

You both laugh as you walk down the street, getting away from the restaurant. “I’m sorry about the ambush,” you giggle, “She’s a bit of a whirlwind but she’s my best friend, I can’t deny her anything.” 

“She seems like a good friend, looking out for you,” he smiles. 

“Yeah, always.” You tug lightly at him, making him stop as you turn, looking up at him. “Hi,” you whisper and his arms wrap around your waist. 

“Hi,” he mumbles, dropping his head to your forehead, his eyes warm and soft. He stays still for a few beats but when you reach up for his lips he almost makes you stumble back with how fiercely he kisses you. His arms come up along your back, pulling you in as his tongue frantically licks into your mouth and you moan against him, his fevered advance making your body ache. A few moments pass, his body hard against your own as he seems to need to pull you as close as possible, his hot breath over your skin as he kisses you acutely. Only the loud whoop from across the street makes you break apart. 

“You’re so gorgeous in that dress, hermosa,” he murmurs as he reluctantly pulls back, letting his eyes slide over the black wrap dress and down your legs on display. “You’re always gorgeous but that dress on you…” he trails off, his hands slipping from your waist, down over your hips. His eyes are dark and you feel your own need mirrored in them as he looks up at you again. 

Eventually he takes your hand and starts walking again, “About that drink, yeah?”

You nod and let your breath slip out, slowly exhaling to calm your nerves, squeezing his hand tightly.

…

The night is a disaster. As you let the door to your place slam shut behind you, you slip down to the floor, tugging your heels off as hot tears start welling up. All you can see when you squeeze your eyes shut is Frankie’s furious face as he slammed the man against the wall, the dull thump of his fist against his face, the blood pouring from the battered nose. Sweet, shy Frankie suddenly dealing out violence, dropping the man with two swift punches and then turning back to you, taking hold of your arms, his knuckles still coated in blood, another man’s blood. 

You’d barely heard him as he tried to make sure you were ok. It had been nothing. The man had groped you as you left the ladies, you’d slapped his hand away and he’d grabbed your arm, pulling you around with a leer. Frankie had appeared at your side out of nowhere, the man slumping on the floor a moment later. But it was Frankie’s transformation that scared you, his face had been furious, but as the punches fell it was cold, emotionless, and he didn’t even flinch as blood spluttered from the man’s broken nose. When he took hold of your arms, looking down at you, he had blood on his shirt and you couldn’t look away from it. Frankie’s face was still impassive, only a slight frown, as he asked you again if you were hurt. You stared back at him, pulling your eyes away from the blood, it was on his skin too. Suddenly, severely aware of how little you knew Frankie, you pulled away from him, scared of the man in front of you, of the violence he’d shown. 

Who could be that violent? 

Who would punch a man so hard he didn’t get up again? 

You’d stammered something, telling him you needed to think, to not follow you, seeing the shock on Frankie’s face turn to despair as you backed away, his hands still on your arms, slowly letting go. Turning your back on him you heard him speak your name but you ignored it, the adrenaline in your system was spiking, making your hands shake and your legs move quickly. 

You hold it together in the Uber home but now you’re on the floor of your hallway, sobbing at the unfairness of everything. 

Chapter 4

[magic-is-something-we-create]

2023 recap + 2024 plans

i wrote 261,200 words in 2023; 172,500 of those for Whispers, 88,700 for Goddess-Touched!

i read 16 books to completion, beta'd for an additional 2, am currently reading 3, and got partway through 5 others before having to put them down.

i maintained my streaming schedule with only a handful of emergency-related exceptions, and drew, uh, a shit ton over the course of the year!

writing goals for 2024:

fix Echoseers (full stylistic rewrite, along with some plot tweaks)

finish the first draft of Goddess-Touched (and edit it hardcore as well)

work on as-yet-unnamed book 4 of tms

fix up Whispers with the added feedback of beta readers

start querying Whispers (i'll look into self publishing down the road if i don't end up finding an agent. the way my brain functions i must cling to the hope of not having to market it myself tooth and nail for the time being)

POTENTIALLY. if my brain fixates on it. write the script for The Lost so that i actually have something to work with to make the comic happen

one of my offline friends is starting to get into writing, and im hoping to help them through some of the early rough patches and potentially co-write a thing with them!!

i completely dropped the ball on the weekly writing updates so im gonna try and get back to that on wednesday. and potentially get back into the weekly ask games!

non-writing goals for 2024:

youtube. i want to make speedpaints and worldbuilding videos and shit. ive already made the basic animation stuff to have a lil sona to do the gesturing for me and i know how to make videos i just havent done it in a While

twitch!! i want to stream a bit more often because its fun and if i let myself branch out into video games as well as art itll be easier to do that. u might see me streaming in the evenings sometime soon. (psst im not streaming this weekend as im still doing a shit ton of holiday/social stuff but the weekend of the 13th ill be back to both patreon and twitch baybee)

SPEAKING OF i want to get my shit together enough to do like. monthly short story releases for my patrons/ko-fi members. early access, that is, so if i post one in january, it'll be posted here a month or two later for all to see/read

i want to read as many books as i did in 2023, if not more! im also considering adding book reviews/thoughts to youtube or patreon/ko-fi perks

my weekend hiatuses aren't going anywhere. having time where im not actively engaging with tumblr + don't feel obligated to do Anything online has done wonders for my mental health and i highly recommend it. focus mode on my phone and leechblock on desktop has helped so so so much

and that's all i'm sharing here!! i hope 2024 is a better year for all than the last <3

[teamfreewill2pointo]

Visiting the Supernatural shooting locations Part 1

I just got back from trip to Vancouver where I saw hundreds of shooting locations. I wanted to share my experience for others who might want to do the same.

I could not have done it without the help of some amazing fans, so first, let me shout out to some of the best sources I found.

This map was created by Raloria in spn_locations. It was invaluable to the experience. There were some locations that weren't in that resource, such as Dean's grave in 4.01, which I found using this account, but the vast majority of the shooting locations are in that map. Two of the places had so many locations that I wish I had written down the information before I went there. One of which was North 40 Park and the other was Riverview. Luckily, this blog had some photos of Riverview with screencaps so you can see where the places fit in the episodes. I'll go into those places more below.

So first, with 15 years, there were a lot of filming locations. Here's the map

There's simply no way to visit them all within a short visit. Since I was doing general touristy things in Van as well, I divided my set locations visit into 4 main groups. On the first day, we hit North 40 Park, the Winchester House, and the area around Granville island. North 40 Park is a former military post that's now a great little park to go walking in where tons of scenes were filmed.

It was the first place we visited and, because so many places were filmed here, the description didn't give much in the way of details. Here's the highlighted point:

This where they built the set for the end of s10 where Dean killed Death. Sam and Dean wandered around this area at the start of s11.

A crossroads spot used in many different episodes is this one

I wish I had gone into the pages for the episode and pulled up pictures of the locations so that I could be certain what I was looking at. I did this for all future visits, but this was my first location, so I wasn't sure what I was doing. So, for example, let's say I'm at this location. I look at the episode tags

Then I go into the episodes write up and I find the corresponding location. For example, I didn't realize it at the time, it was only later that I found out this is where the Impala was run off the road!!

Luckily, all my photos are geotagged so I can go and look at the photos and then match them up with the filming locations after the visits, but I suggest that you do this before you visit the locations.

We also planned to visit the Timberland Hotel & Campground (1x17, 2x03, 3x02, 12x08, 12x09), but it's been closed and appears to have been demolished.

Someone gave us his former address and we enjoyed a beautiful view from near that location before stopped at Sunset Park, where Sam and Dean walked along the beach in Devil's Trap.

There are so many filming locations that we didn't realize our hotel was right by where they filmed Regarding Dean until after we got there!!

The next day, we went to Stanley Park and checked out the Seawall, where Kripke sat down J2 and told them that the show lived and died with their relationship.

This day, I was a bit more prepared and so I knew that I'd be passing through where Castiel killed Billie, but it was still fun to just look across the water and see a spot that I recognized. As soon as I saw these piles of sulfur, I knew that was where Jared and Misha got in trouble for goofing off.

Confirmed it with a map.

I lost track of how many filming locations I saw in downtown Van just walking around. There's so many

If you visit Gastown, do not keep walking down Hastings going East. It is not a good part of town.

Several locations were blocked off so we couldn't access them, such as a the Bunker entrance. The trail was closed for repairs. Maybe next time.

The next day I did New Westminster, Surrey, and part of Burnaby.

I took the Sky Train to New Westminster and walked around town and felt very safe walking through downtown. YMMV. The Sky Train was very easy to get around, although you'll need a car for some of the shooting locations, like Surrey.

It was interesting to realize how much was just made up for the show. For example, the comic book shop in Mint Condition was completely made up

Peeking in the windows, it almost looks like that building just exists to be a set for various shows. While we were driving around, I saw people filming something, so the industry is still going strong.

One of the things we wanted to do was to drive where they filmed 11.04 while playing Night Moves. Unfortunately, the place where they built the Roadhouse and started the drive is now the site of a new bridge, so we couldn't start there, but we were able to do the second half of the drive.

Some places were very easy to find

Some were blocked off like the Watchman set. There's zero Red Meat filming locations in the doc!

The El Dorado Motor Hotel from 2.14 has been replaced with a condo. The 2400 Motel from 1.18, 5.05, 11.13 has a new paint job.

The end speech from Prophet and Loss took place on private property, so we weren't able to go there.

Since Supernatural is shot at night or in the fog, locations often look very different.

Tumblr won't allow me to do anymore photos this post, so I'll post more in part 2!

[riley-phoenix]

Pairing: Malia X Reader(gender not specified), Scott X Kira, Alisson X Isaac, Jackson X Ethan, Lydia X Aiden, Stiles X Derek, Theo X Liam, Mason X Corey

Canon: Teen Wolf

Content: General stupid teenager trip stuff, smut, fluff, alcohol, nudity

Author's Note: I saw this post by @rottenstyx and it inspired me to write this fic, apologies if someone has already written it. Also, sorry this took SO long to write. I'm always busy and I never managed to find the time.

Summary: With graduation just around the corner, the senior members of the pack will soon be leaving Beacon Hills High School. You suggest the entire pack take a road trip together and just do some normal teenager things for a change, but what happens when you take a break from hunting evil and go on vacation?

The end of the school year. It was that time of year again, that time of year that normally brought a sense of joy along with it. That time of year that you and the rest of the pack would normally wait for eagerly... But not this year. Because this year, it was your last school holiday before college.

You had two things on your mind. Firstly, an unforgettable time with your friends. You wanted to spend one last, villian-free trip together before the end of an era dawned, and the majority of you would officially end your tenure at Beacon Hills High.

Secondly, and most importantly, you had a college decision to make. A hard one. Your girlfriend, Malia, had been placed on the waiting list at Santa Ana. While you were on the waiting list at both Santa Ana and Stanford. However, in a moment of madness, when questioned about it by Malia, you froze and only mentioned Stanford. Why would you do that? Because Stanford had always been your dream school. That was until you got another dream, to go to the same school as Malia. It was all you talked about for the past month. Sharing a dorm, walking each other to class, coming down together for the holidays; and now you were split between worlds.

You walked into your room to gather the last of your things for the trip. You were all driving up to Lydia's family's Lake House for the weekend. You sighed as you packed some clothes into a suitcase when Scott walked in.

"Ready?".

"Almost".

"What're you planning on doing when we get there?", Scott asked curiously.

You paused, "...I thought we were just gonna hang out. Why? Is there some serious conversation you needed to have?".

"Yeah... With Kira".

"Right! She's taking a gap year to go on that Asia trip with her parents".

"...And I dont know what we're gonna do since we were supposed to go on all those campus tours together. I can't just do nothing for a year".

"But you also don't wanna be a year ahead of her".

Scott nodded his head, "What about you and Malia? You guys probably have some stuff to clear out since you're going to different colleges".

"That's... Not the only problem we're having", you said shyly.

"Meaning?", Stiles said as he entered the room.

"Well... We've been dating for a while now. And we've said 'I love you', but we haven't..."

Scott and Stiles looked on in confusion.

You sighed, "Y'know, we haven't... Done it yet".

"Ooohhh", they said at the same time.

"Yeah, you ought to have that talk", Stiles said.

"Oh, Please", you responded, rolling you eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?", Stiles asked.

"You've had a crush on Derek for years and you haven't even talked to him about it yet".

"I have a pact".

"With?", Scott asked.

"Liam. I'll talk to Derek when he talks to Theo".

You and Scott laughed under your breath and Stiles rolled his eyes, "Can we go now?", He asked impatiently.

"Yeah, Let's get moving", you said as the three of you headed outside.

About an hour later, you all arrived at the luxurious cabin. You shuffled inside with multiple bags in hand and threw them inside an empty room.

"Hi!", A voice called out enthusiastically. You turned around to see Malia, with her arms outstretched, moving towards you. She placed her arms gently around your neck and gave you a peck on the lips.

"Hi", you said, as you kissed her back.

"How was your drive?", She asked.

"Fine. Where's everyone else?".

"Outside. Mason and Corey are starting a barbeque".

You walked outside, hand in hand, and found Mason had already set up the barbeque stand while Corey prepared the meat.

Later that evening, you sat on a fold-up chair and praised a hotdog, possibly the best you've ever tasted. "Oh my god, Mason what is in this?".

He smiled, "It's Corey's secret recipe".

You looked at Corey expectedly.

Corey put his hands up in defence, "A magician never reveals his secrets".

You laughed, took another bite of the delicious hotdog and noticed something out of the corner of your eye. On the edge of the dock, Scott and Kira were sitting side by side on the wooden platform above the water, engaged in a conversation; and it looked serious.

"I... Don't know what I'm gonna do next year", Scott said.

"What'd you mean?", Kira asked.

Scott sighed, "We were supposed to go on all those campus tours together, pick one and start the year together. Now you're taking a gap year... I don't wanna do nothing for an entire year but... I also don't wanna start a year before you".

Kira sighed, "Right... The Asia trip. It meant so much to my parents I didn't think about how it would affect... Us. Do you want me to not go?".

"Only if you don't want to".

Kira sighed, "But I do want to, Scott... But I also want to start freshman year with you... Together".

"...Are we gonna be together next year?".

"Yes! God, yes... I love you, Scott McCall".

"I love you too... So... What are we gonna do then?".

Kira thought for a second, then, an idea sparked in her head, "Come with me".

"What?".

"Come with me. On the trip, and we'll do the campus tours after. That way you don't have to spend a year waiting for me and we can still start freshman year together".

Scott considered the idea, then he smiled. A big, bright genuine smile. "Okay", he said, as he leaned forward to cup her cheek with his hand and kiss her passionately.

You couldn't hear what they were saying but you were happy they made up, and seeing them have the tough conversation they were avoiding made you realise there was a talk you'd been avoiding as well. You looked around for Malia but couldn't find her. Excusing yourself, you headed inside the house to look for her. You opened the door to the room you had kept your bags in, and at the very same time caught Malia exiting the shower; completely naked.

"Oh--Sh--Sorry!", You exclaimed as you turned around.

"*your name*, I'm fine with you seeing me naked", she said with a chuckle.

"I'm not"

Once again, she chuckled, "You're cute... What's up?".

"I... Wanted to talk to you about something".

"Okay then", she said as she waited patiently for you to speak, although an impending silence filled the air.

"Can you put a towel on please?".

"Ugh, fine"

You waited a few seconds for her to cover herself up. "You can turn around now".

You turned around and saw Malia wrapped In a white towel, folded neatly just above her breasts and her hair still slightly damp. "So... You had something on your mind".

"Yeah. I was thinking... We've been dating a long time...".

"We have".

"And I was thinking... Before we graduate. There's something we haven't done before that I think I'm ready to do... But not sure if you feel the same way about--".

"You wanna have sex", Malia says quite bluntly.

"Yeah", you say, with a hint of embarrassment.

"Why're you so nervous about this".

"Because I... I haven't...", You sighed, "I haven't done this before".

"You're a virgin?".

"Yeah".

Malia paused, and observed the situation carefully before speaking again, "You said you were ready", Malia said, with her big, brown, soul bearing eyes staring into yours.

"I am. I just wasn't sure if you were".

"I am", she says, with absolutely no hesitation. "So...."

"I don't know", you say shyly.

Malia leans forward and kisses you, then she leans back, and slowly, seductively, removes the towel and let's it fall to the floor. She's completely naked. "Now you", she says.

You start removing your clothes. Following her moves, you take them off slowly and let them fall to the floor, letting her watch and enjoy and allowing her lust for you to grow stronger. Soon you're both completely naked.

Malia leans forward to kiss you again, this time you place your hands around her waist and push her down onto the bed. All of a sudden, the door swings open and Stiles and Derek barge in, half naked and kissing each other.

"Stiles!?", You scream out.

"*your name*!?", Stiles responds.

"Derek!?", Malia exclaims.

"Malia!?", Derek shouts.

"WHAT!?", Derek and Stiles scream simultaneously.

"GET OUT!", You and Malia yell in response.

Embarrassed, Stiles and Derek stumbled out of the room. You sighed, "Maybe we should take this somewhere more private?", You asked.

"Agreed", Malia said desperately.

You both streaked naked out of the room and ran into a nearby closet. Inside, it was pitch black. Despite not being able to see a thing, you started again. You took Malia in your arms and, chest to chest, you started embracing each other in passionate kisses, earning small moans from each other along the way.

You felt a hand reach around your neck and pull you in.

Then a second one around the small of your back.

And then another one touch your leg.

"Wait, what?"

You turned on the lights and turned around to see that Theo and Liam, also naked, were also in the closet.

"Liam!?", Malia exclaimed.

"Malia!?", Theo shouted.

"We are NOT doing this again", you said with a hint of annoyance. You grabbed Malia by the hand and once again, streaked across the house naked back to the room you were in originally. You placed a tie on the handle for privacy before shutting the door. You knew you were going to be in there for a long time.

You woke up the next morning wrapped in the sheets with Malia asleep next to you. You leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. Her eyes fluttered and she smiled. "Good morning", you said, as you kissed her again.

"Good morning", she replied, and paused before speaking as if to say something emotional or meaningful "I was hoping we could do this for the first time before we leave. Since we're going to different schools, y'know?"

"Yeah... I know exactly what you mean", you say with a hint of guilt.

You walked outside, hand in hand, both with untidy hair and joined the others for breakfast. You noticed the twins laughing about something.

"Ethan, Aiden, What's up?", You asked. They both signalled for you to be quiet as Jackson entered the room. He had a magic marker moustache and goatee drawn on his face and yet still, he walked with his usual sense of self confidence.

"What's wrong?", Jackson asked as he noticed everyone staring.

"Nothing, babe", Ethan said as they kissed.

Everyone laughed under their breath and you heard a sound come from your laptop. You opened it up and noticed that there were two notifications from your emails. You opened them and horror fell upon your face as you read them.

An acceptance letter from Santa Ana.

And...

An acceptance letter from Stanford.

"Shit!", You exclaimed

"What was that?", Malia asked.

"Hm? Oh, nothing".

You knew this decision was going to be hard. Do you go to your dream school or do you go to school with Malia? Both would be amazing. In truth, you were hoping fate would make the decision for you by getting you accepted by one and rejected from the other, leaving you with no choice. Well, here you were with a choice, and you didn't wanna make it, but time was running out.

"Hey guys, I invited a few people over to have a party later tonight", Jackson said.

"Should be fun", Aiden says, with his arm around Lydia's shoulder.

"Nothing too crazy, Jackson. My parents will kill me if this place gets trashed".

"Relax, it's just a few people".

A few hours later...

Literally every 12th grader from Beacon Hills High is stuffed into the cabin. Loud pop music plays in the background as people dance and play party games.

At the dart board, your team needs a bullseye to level things up, and Isaac has been your shining star so far. He's hit the centre on 7 out of his previous 9 attempts. Allison's team watches on in anticipation, if Isaac misses, they win.

"Miss, Isaac! Miss!", Allison screams in the background.

Isaac turns to her before throwing the dart. "Sorry babe, nothing's making me miss this shot".

Allison lifts up her shirt and bra and reveals her breasts to Isaac. Drooling over them, he doesn't pay attention to board and throws the dart completely wide.

"NO!", you scream in despair as the other team begins to cheer.

The party went on late into the night as people played spin the bottle, truth or dare and beer pong. Alot happened but somewhere in the night, Malia kissed Lydia causing everyone to cheer. You were asked to tell the truth about when you lost your virginity, and when you replied "Yesterday", it was met with silence followed by uproarious laughter and Allison proved to have a surprisingly high alcohol tolerance.

The next morning, everyone besides the pack had left, and you were all just about finished cleaning up the cabin. When you were done, you threw the garbage bags aside and sat around a fire. "I've got the strong stuff!", Lydia says as she joins the rest of the pack with a bottle of Jager in hand.

"This is it", you say in a gloomy tone. "This is the last thing we do together before we leave for college".

The statement sends a ripple effect of sadness throughout the pack. An impending silence fills the air for more than a minute as you all reminisce about everything that's happened over the last few years. "To Beacon Hills", Lydia says as she takes a large sip of Jager and passes it along. Soon everyone has taken a sip of the strong alcohol and said, in various different tones, "To Beacon Hills!".

As everyone finished up their conversations, you pulled Malia aside asking if you could talk, and she obliged. "What's up?", She asked.

"Malia... I haven't been completely honest with you. There's alot I need to tell you, so... You need to promise to let me finish. This is important".

"Oh...okay", she says softly.

"I was on the waiting list for Santa Ana, but what I didn't tell you was that I was also on the waiting list for Stanford. I didn't tell you because even though I really really wanna go to the same school as you... It's always been my dream to go to Stanford. And I've just been accepted to both. I've made My decision...

... and I'm going to Stanford. Look, I know what they say about long distance relationships, but we're special, we can make it work--"

"--*your name*", she says.

"--Because if you think about it were going to be really busy with classes anyway, and I know you really wanted to share a dorm and I'm sorry--"

"--*your name*", she says again.

"--But I swear I'll come and see you every holiday and every time I'm free and I'll call you all the time as well--"

"--*YOUR NAME*!", She exclaimed, much louder than before.

"Yeah?", You asked, expecting the worst.

"I'm happy you're going to Stanford".

"Really?".

"Yeah... 'cause... I haven't been entirely honestly with you either".

"What'd you mean?"

Malia reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, "This", she handed it to you and you unfolded it. It was an acceptance letter to Stanford.

"YOU GOT INTO STANFORD!?".

"Hey!", She said as she squinted her eyes, slightly offended.

"Sorry", you said with an apologetic chuckle. "...Why didn't you tell me?", You asked.

"The same reason you didn't tell me about Santa Ana".

You laughed, you laughed in relief and then Malia joined you, placing her hands over your shoulders and leaning her face closer to yours. "So... What're we doing?", You asked.

"We're going to Stanford, *your name*, and we're going together".

You smiled a huge, beaming smile of relief and pulled Malia in for a long, tantalizing kiss. You looked out into the sunset, unsure of what your futures hold, but grateful you get to experience it together.

The moment is interrupted by Stiles' police radio message, "We need all units available to make their way to the woods we have found half a dead body, I repeat we have found half a dead body, over".

Stiles raises his finger and opens his mouth to speak but is cut off.

"NO!", Everyone yells at once.

Masterlist

Fandom List

Taglist

Tags: @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @melthedwarf @emilyjade22 @cactuwus

[cheerscoops]

Make me write!

I was tagged by the always wonderful @spicysix <3 thanks for the tag!!

THE RULES

Make a 24hr poll listing the titles of every WIP you want to work on. (It's fine if you only have one, still make a poll for the vote count)

Tag anyone you think might also enjoy this game (No pressure of course)

Whichever WIP title gets the most votes, write 1 sentence for every vote received.

If somehow that completes the fic or reaches the end of a chapter, move to the WIP with the second highest votes and continue where you left off on your sentence/word count. Repeat until you reach your goal.

(Optional) Share what you wrote in a new Tumblr post with a link to the poll or in a reblog!

More about each fic can be found under the cut at the bottom just in case you want to know what each one is before you vote.

No pressure tags: @quinnkeerys @heroeddiemunson @roykentt @sloelimbs @lokinightfury

Wherever You Point To I'll Find - my current series; a modern au in which Chrissy, Steve, Eddie, and Nancy are all on a road trip together. Steve and Chrissy are slowly falling for each other and Eddie and Nancy are an established couple. If you need more info on this one, just check out the wyptif tag on my blog

Feels Like This - basically a fic version of this moodboard that I made for cheerscoopscentral; Chrissy is the singer/songwriter to watch and Steve is the front man for a band called The Babysitters. Corroded Coffin is also famous, and Chrissy is friends with benefits with Eddie. Chrissy is hired to help Steve write his band's next album, and if she does a good job, she gets to be the opening act on their tour. Sparks fly between Steve and Chrissy. There's also a bunch of stuff with Steve's on again off again girlfriend travel writer Nancy as well as Chrissy's ex-boyfriend aspiring musician Jason.

Not Part of the Plan - the accidental pregnancy au! Nancy ends a girl's night of celebration for graduating college and landing her dream job by sleeping with the hot bartender. When she finds out she's pregnant a month later, she tracks down Eddie Munson to let him know that he's going to be a dad. From there, it's a friendship and co-parenting and trying not to fall in love.

untitled fake dating au - Nancy Wheeler is back in Hawkins after leaving her New York job with an online media company (think buzzfeed). Her new job with the Hawkins Post has her working as an entertainment writer, and her first big assignment is covering a Battle of the Bands competition in Indianapolis because a local band is competing. When a creep won't stop hitting on her at the competition, she does the only thing she can think of. She sees Eddie Munson and convinces him to pretend he's her boyfriend to get this guy off his back. They keep fake dating for the rest of the competition with plans to have a "mutual breakup" once they're back in Hawkins. That's thrown out the window when Eddie decides to fake propose to Nancy at a party, and Steve Harrington posts the proposal on instagram. Now, Nancy's family thinks she's really engaged, and she has to bring her fiance on their beach vacation. And it just goes from there.

Cupid's Trap: An Enemies to Lovers Tale of Shakespearean Proportions - Mrs. O'Donnell is in charge of the school's drama club, and she's found the perfect leading lady for her production of Much Ado About Nothing in Chrissy Cunningham. Her choices for a male lead are dismal though. Then, she sees Eddie putting on a performance in Hellfire Club, and she hatches a plan. If Eddie will take on the lead role in her production, she'll give him enough extra credit that he'll finally pass her class and be able to graduate and get the hell out of Hawkins. The only problem? Chrissy and Eddie can't stand each other and can barely be in the same room together. Slowly, they put their opinions of each other aside and start to form a real friendship that's maybe something a little bit more than that. Jason is also there being the absolute worst.

[genericpuff]

Hi! I've been a lurker for a little (honestly not that long), but I've loved what you had to say about LO, and I'm really interested to know more about Rekindled! I know there's a chance you've already been asked this, but where could we see/support your work best?

yay hello lurker! this tumblr is the best and really only way to support/access Rekindled content. The reality is that while this is a fan piece of work, I'm still very much treading the line between fair use and copyright infringement due to the elements I'm taking directly from LO (such as its writing and art style). Obviously Rachel's art style isn't copyrighted but her character designs and such are in a sense so I'm trying to play it safe by keeping it isolated to this page and doing it for free, essentially keeping it solely as a fan project. I've made peace with that LMAO

There are ways you can support my work outside of Rekindled as it's a side thing to my main stuff but I'm not going to share that here as I'm trying to keep those two things separated. I don't want my LO stuff mixing with my main stuff and vice versa. Maybe I'm being paranoid or cowardly but I like... don't need the LO fanbase knowing who I am outside of the LO-sphere? And that goes both ways, my LO stuff is stuff that I feel more confident in doing knowing people who know me for my main projects aren't like, judging me for it LMAO But that just might be my anxiety talking. Maybe I'll share my main projects here later on down the road when things have simmered down in the fanbase n junk (¬‿¬)'''

So really, the best way you can support my work here is just sharing it with others! Feedback also helps immensely, I'm still very much in the 'conceptual' stage of Rekindled, both with planning out the story as well as putting together model sheets n such for myself, so if there's anything you think I should tweak in the coming episodes (or in any of the ones I've posted) lmk! I wanna make this as true to the spirit of S1/Pilot LO as I possibly can, while also taking things in a different direction that would have made more "sense" with what was set up in those early days (and pays higher respect to the OG myths, even if they're not 1:1) <3

[mcalhenwrites]

Full time writing career goals ;)

So there are some things I'm getting in order! I have two questions, if anyone here reading my work doesn't mind answering them: 1. Despite the plot holes, should I keep posting Stargazers' Hill to AO3? I have no plans to rewrite it, and the character interactions are meaningful - Ambrose and Thaddeus, Ambrose and Evelyn, CORA IS IN IT HELLO - so maybe people still want to read it! 2. I found out there's a site like patreon that allows nsfw (subscribestar adult) and I'm tempted to look into making tiers there. It even has a free tier! I don't write exclusively erotica or draw too much kinky stuff, but I do sometimes and would like to be able to include it. I won't be able to open it until I move (which won't be for some months) and sort my banking and address out, but is there any interest in that? Again, there is a free tier, which I'm excited about. If so, I'll have to sort out what I want to share there. More on this later, really, but it would be nice to have patrons! I'll also have to update my ko-fi when the time comes, too, but I do post public entries when I remember. :') I have made an official deadline for finishing my editing of Geckos, Automata (which was supposed to be published months ago, but Seasons consumed my brain instead), and I'll publish it soon after that! A reminder that no one is obligated to financially support me, times are tough, but it'd be awesome if you like my writing and want to see more of it, since being able to make a living on it means more time for it/less time focused on a job. (If I can even get one of those. sigh.) I'm also getting back into art, so I'll be able to draw more OCs. I have little desk space atm, but I do have a tablet, so when I move, maybe I can also extend that practice to digital! Until then, I just sketch/doodle/whatever on paper, and it's not an art pursuit, it's mainly a side dish to the writing, essentially? Same with crochet! Oh, and I miiiight be publishing a book of crochet patterns down the road, but that will require a ton of work and formatting, since photos will be required. I no longer crochet those items, so maybe they can be of use to someone else...! (Like my tortoise and sea turtle patterns and such.) If you have feedback/thoughts/answers to my questions, feel free to comment on this post, reblog it with a response, or even send an ask if that's more comfortable! Oh, and I meant to add that if you're someone who is here bc you read Seasons and liked it, you will still see the chapters on AO3 and that's not something I plan to profit from. I miiight share art on places like ko-fi and whatnot that are from it, but the main story will be up on AO3 to read. In case that concerned anyone/brought about any fears. It's something I just wanted to share with y'all for free.

[thegreenleavesofspring]

And now I want to know everything about youuuu! :D

lantern - how did you meet your best friend? What were your first impressions of each other?

frost - if you could give some advice to your younger self, what would you say?

maple - is there a hobby / skill that you’ve always wanted to try but never did?

harvest - what fictional character do you most identify with? Why?

fireside - if you had your dream wardrobe, what would it look like?

cider - a food that you disliked as a child but now enjoy?

amber - share an unpopular opinion that you may have.

fog - how well do you think you’d do in a zombie apocalypse scenario?

jack-o-lantern - if you could look like any celebrity, who would you choose?

spice - have you ever encountered a house that you believed to be haunted?

orchard - share one thing that you’d like to happen this autumn.

crow - which school subject do you wish you had an aptitude for?

bonfire - describe your dream house.

cinnamon - if you had to live in a time period different than the present, which would you choose and where?

cobweb - (if you’ve graduated) do you miss high school?

cranberry - what’s one physical feature that you get complimented on?

maize - share the weirdest encounter you’ve had with a stranger on the street.

quilt - how do you take your tea (or coffee)?

pumpkin - do you think that humans are inherently good or bad?

moonlit - are you a neat or messy person? Is your room / house orderly?

flannel - have you ever gone on a bad date? 

cocoa - if you could have any type of hair, what colour and cut would you have?

ghost - is there someone that you miss having in your life?

I do not have a 'best friend' as pop culture views it, per se. All my dearest friends were met online, though.

I think I would try to impart the lessons I have had to learn, a little earlier and a little more gently.

One time, visiting Mt. Vernon, there was a practical demonstration of weaving. The lady kindly let me try it and I wove about half a foot of cloth, and ever since then I have wanted to learn to weave properly and get a loom.

Ken Way is in many ways a self-insert.

A blend of Ren Faire and Edwardian Lady.

Bread-and-butter pickles.

...kay this one I can't really answer without going on a long rant and a soapbox, so I think I'll let it slide. :x

I like to think I'm fairly sensible and level-headed in a crisis, so if I could make myself useful to some warlord I'd probably be fine. I don't have the physical prowess to survive on my own along with protecting my children, however. (Per the tropes, arguably I'd be the gratuitous blonde killed at the beginning of the story for shock value and to establish the stakes, but I'm not sure I'm either curvy or promiscuous enough.)

Nil. I don't wanna look like a celebrity.

...yes, the one I grew up in for ~7 years of my life. It was... so freaking haunted.

I am DETERMINED to take my boys to the Fair later this year.

Math.

Any suburban pre-fab, at this point. Large kitchen, open floor plan, a yard and room for the boys to play, lots of windows and light. Ceiling fans. I'm rather more fond of trees than most neighborhood planners are at this point, though.

Nope. I'm good in the Internet Age.

I basically dropped out of high school and was homeschooled anyway so... not really.

🤐

If we're talking about on the street, I was one time on a ten-mile hike home after being abandoned at the store and a guy in a tow truck pulled over and demanded that I let him give me a ride home. Told me to call whoever I wanted and stay on the phone the whole time or whatever, but that it was a busy road that people flew down and I would get hit. And if I refused he'd just drive alongside me and make sure no one hit me. I did have someone on their way to pick me up, but I think about that man from time to time.

It depends on the tea. If it's spiced I put half-and-half in it, if it's not I take it black.

I tend to be very pessimistic about people but I also try to keep in mind that everyone has their own struggles and hardships and heartaches.

I prefer a certain amount of neatness in my life, but with three heathen little boys it's not as much as I'd like.

...almost all of them, if I'm being honest. 🤐

Overall I rather like my hair, recent difficulties not withstanding.

...there's a lot of people. Some of them my fault and some of them not.

Thank you for the ask! ^_^

[tricksterfiction]

Prompt #10 - Charcuterie

It was the last night before deployment. Reports of the Garleans moving their amassed army to invade Eorzea, Grand Companies were mobilizing to meet them in an all out battle to repel them.

Sen's orders were to remain, reserved for the next wave of deployment to refresh the front lines if...they weren't completely wiped out. The tension was palatable across the barracks as soldiers and officers alike moved as bees humming with purpose.

Amidst the preparation there were small slices of visitation, chances to say goodbye to families and loved ones.

Sen was busy with a far more important task, preparing to say goodbye to her girlfriend.

In her arms she carried an assortment of deli meats, lettuce, pickles, and sauces. A borrowed wooden cutting board was under her arm. Sen knew she loved tiny things (like herself!) and wanted to make a romantic snack to share for the evening. In her back pocket she had written all her feelings out, besides a scant imitation of charcuterie, her plans were to have her mouth fully occupied otherwise.

All plans were dashed at the sight of her mounting her chocobo with the rest of her platoon. The conjurer gasped, the jars of pickles smashed to the ground, a clatter of the cutting board. She took off at a dash, shouts of her leaving her mess behind.

"Wait! Rosie!"

A helmeted highlander twisted about at the sound of her name then saw who was calling for her. Rosie quickly removed her helmet, her deep raven hair pulled into a tight bun, swinging her leg over her saddle to run and meet Sen.

"I was looking everywhere for you!" She scooped Sen up in a massive hug, even in full armour, giving her a small spin before putting her back down.

"I thought you were leaving tomorrow morning- what changed, how much time do you have, Althyk keep-! I almost missed you!" Sen cried, watery eyes staring up at her. "Were you really going to leave without saying goodbye?"

Those amber eyes glistened, she removed her gauntlet and pressed her bare palm to Sen's cheek. "No, of course not, I tried- you-" She looks behind the raen and sees the pile of food, realizing where Sen had been. She chuckles, affectionately rubbing a thumb to brush away a tear. "What in seven hells were you doing?"

Sen spied a look behind herself, regaining her composure swiping a sleeve under her nose. "Just- was going to make us a snack, take you in for a romantic evening." She chuckled herself, sadly, sniffling.

Rosie looked left and right, then whispered conspiratorially. "We don't leave for another half bell."

Snapping to it, Rosie took Sen's hand and they ran off together to one of their many many hiding spots for good proper fraternization. In a whirlwind, Sen helped Rosie out of her armour, they were specially practised.

Sen's hands shook, even in the heated pressing of bodies, hungry desperate kisses. The moments ticked in her head, this wasn't how she wanted say goodbye. They were supposed to have time, they were supposed to do this once, twice, thrice as many times as they wanted.

As their highs built so to did a ball of emotion, they were supposed to cuddle underneath a tangle of sheets at the break of dawn.

Burying her wet cheeks into the crook of Rosie's neck, her arms wrapped around her shoulders in a vice like grip. Not yet!

A little time later...

Snap! One pauldron secured and then another. They were both dressed once again, their time was up.

A dull thud of Sen's forehead against Rosie's back.

"I'll be back, Sen. You know I will." Rosie says.

"I didn't know you were also a prophet."

"Sen..."

"I'll pray for you." She says, quietly. Then pressing a letter into her hands. "Read it when you're on the road."

"I will." She promises.

"Give them hell."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Funeral proceedings honouring all the souls lost to the Battle of Carteneau being read by a somber Kan-E-Senna. Days proceeding the Seventh Umbral Calamity.

"Rosie Kemp, honoured Petty Officer Second Class Sergeant of the Black Vipers platoon fought bravely in the Battle of Carteneau. Rosie Kemp is survived by her family, two younger sisters, and her mother and father. May she find peace in the arms of the Twelve."

[syrinsappho]

I'm going to preface this with a little bit of background, and a few content warnings. Firstly, I wrote this while sick with covid, roughly 5 minutes before posting this, and mostly out of just overpowering emotions and regret for having not came out sooner, or not explained things right or simply just out of "knowing what it feels like to have lost someone".

Content warnings:

It's a song/poem (song planned, poem as of now) about a kid who's grown up to realize they are trans, and still questioning themselves. And while their parents are supportive, they have thousands of questions about wether or not they're unsure or okay or happy, while also finding themselves (the parents) grieving the loss of their son, and the kid doing their best to remind them that it's okay to feel those emotions, but not to forget that she is still there, and hasn't gone anywhere, and that she knows how hard it is for you, but it's much harder for her. And she needs you.

Do you know what it feels like

To wake up in the wrong skin

In a body you don't believe in

Well what if you could take that pain away?

And stop dying every day?

Start living life your own way

And you find yourself a way to stay

Alive

And scream I'm me

And if you wanna grieve then grieve

Cry for the death of someone

Who was never truly alive

Cry for the passing of a moment in life

Mourne the loss of your son,

But don't forget the life of your daughter,

You've only just met her.

And she's crying too...

Cause every second she sees you..

You're crying over the loss of something untrue.

And what if the pain was never real?

What if this is some big elaborate lie

I've told myself to feel alright...?

Well thats okay.

It makes me feel okay for today

And what if it's the right choice

And what if it's the wrong one

And what if later down the road I grow

To find myself as something different...

Well thats okay.

That's okay...

Cause I'm fine

I'm living my own life

Screaming that I am me

Being who I want to be

Cause if it's a "what if"

Then it's a future problem

Today is the only day

That matters.

Tomorrow there's another choice

To grow up and find my voice

And that's okay.

And I'll be okay...

Because I'm me.

I'm living for the moment

I'm screaming for the moment

I'll never forget the moment

I stopped letting myself believe

That I could make a mistake

On who I'm meant to be

Or who I'm supposed to be

Because I'm not supposed to be anything

But me.

But please do not grieve the loss

Of someone who was never truly there

Of someone who's gone nowhere,

Of someone who's growing out her hair

Of someone who's life she wants to share..

Everything with you.

[casspurrjoybell-29]

Forging Ties - Chapter 10 - Part 2

*Warning - Adult Content*  

There was a special kind of inner content he'd only ever been able to get through human orgasm and it felt even better now that he didn't have to hush away dark thoughts around how they'd been achieved.

Someone moved closer to them and Duran cracked open his eyes.

Eli had gotten a rag to clean up Roman's back with.

Duran swept his hand out and brushed the mess away with his magic.

Roman and Hamish had gotten their seed all over the bedsheets but he'd clean that up later.

"Wow," Eli exclaimed.

"You're so cool."

Roman rolled over so that he could look at Duran.

"That was a new experience for me. You certainly know what you're doing."

Duran liked the way he said that, liked that it probably hadn't even occurred to him how Duran had come to have that knowledge.

He deliberately hadn't turned his back to any of them since he'd taken his shirt off.

He hated that his past had to taint everything, that it claimed these parts of him as its own.

He made eye contact with Hamish and then tilted his head towards where he'd discarded his shirt.

Hamish got it for him and he put it back on.

He doubted Roman or Eli would question the exchange when they were all huddling against the cold.

Duran finished cleaning everyone and everything up and then they all bundled together under the blankets, Duran at the edge next to Hamish and Roman on the opposite side with Eli next to him.

Hamish had a contented smile on his face as he pressed a kiss against Eli's cheek, another against Duran's and then snuggled down deeper in the blankets and shut his eyes.

Duran shut his eyes as well as Roman put the lights out and then opened them again and stared up at the dark ceiling.

He really wasn't tired.

The sex had been good but this was pushing what he was comfortable with.

He'd fuck a stranger, but cuddling up and sleeping with one was a different matter.

It was hard to tell that to three men who seemed so happy to do just that, though.

Telling them he was leaving felt so mean, so dramatic.

So he didn't tell them.

Being a slave taught you many skills, such as patience and how to tell from the sounds of someone's breathing how deeply asleep they are.

Duran lay there, still and silent, until everyone else was asleep and then he slipped out of bed, got dressed and left the cabin.

Duran wandered aimlessly down the road, not really knowing where he was going.

He didn't have a plan for where he would spend the night.

He probably should have just stayed put but he was wary about putting 'shoulds' over what his instincts told him.

The only reason he'd been so good at resisting the training he'd been put through as a slave was his unwavering trust in himself and he wasn't about to lose sight of that now.

Of course, maybe that became more complicated when you could actually do anything you wanted.

There were more or at least different, things that needed to be considered when your world extended beyond the walls of a single house.

As the sound of a whistle reached his ears, Duran lifted his gaze to see a figure seated in the shadows on the grass, waving at him.

Slone.

There was something about the way he moved that always seemed laid-back.

His size also set him apart.

Duran walked across the grass to join him.

"Everything good?" Slone asked.

He had their bags with him and had taken off his shoes but was still fully clothed.

"Yeah, just needed some space," Duran replied as he knelt down next to his bag and unstrapped his sleeping bag.

"Ah. Me callin' you over here counterproductive to that?"

Duran shook his head.

"You're fine. Just... strangers. They're a bit much. Is it weird that I'll fuck someone I hardly know, but I'll draw the line at sharing a bed with them?"

"Nah. Everyone's different, right?"

"I guess I'm just wondering if I should ignore my own feelings and preferences in order to conform to social norms and gain acceptance," Duran explained, adding with a hint of cynicism. "

I don't want to sound negative but sometimes doing what we want isn't the best option. If part of our role here is to act as diplomats, maybe I should try harder to make a good impression."

"I reckon you make a pretty good one when you're just you."

"Hmm. Thank you."

Duran settled onto his sleeping bag and gazed up at the stars overhead.

While the bed had been more comfortable, he rather enjoyed the idea of spending the night outdoors under the open sky.

********

Half asleep, Hamish reached out for Duran but his hand only found empty space.

He squinted his eyes into the darkness and patted around but Duran was definitely gone.

Hamish got up and found his clothes, as well as a lack of Duran's.

He dressed before the cold could seep in too deep and left the cabin.

A chittering sound next to him had him reaching for the knife but it was just Cookie.

When she started walking, he followed.

He didn't have to walk far before he saw Duran and Slone laying out on the grass, a ball of mage-light making them a beacon in the darkness.

He headed out towards them and by the time he got close, Cookie had disappeared again.

Slone waved.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Duran asked.

"I could ask you the same," Hamish countered.

"I woke up and you were gone."

"Too crowded."

"Fair."

"You may as well enjoy having a bed for the night if you were comfortable there, though."

"Nah."

Hamish knelt next to his bag and unstrapped his sleeping bag.

"If I cared that much about comfortable beds, I'd have stayed home. Not that I have a home right now or a bed for that matter but I've never had much trouble finding someone willing to share."

Hamish spread out his sleeping bag between Duran and Slone, took off his boots and coat and settled in.

It wasn't as warm as a bed full of naked men but it was cosy enough.

Duran spun his mage-light in the air above himself as he let it slowly fade out.

"Goodnight, my sweet boys," Hamish said into the darkness.

"G'night," Slone said.

Duran let out a soft laugh.

"Goodnight, Hamish."

[just-absolutely-super]

Wedding crack

Last part

The wedding day comes and it goes without any bumps in the roads.

Lan and Mayl weren't nervous or stressed and were just happy to finally be married

But before that they had to calm down two very nervous and stressed NetNavis

Roll: I triple checked that everything is in place, no decor missing, the music is in place and no songs are missing and the cake has arrived

Mega: same here, I checked several times that the catering had enough food and beverages for everyone, Lan's tux is in great shape and no heelies in sight and that the seating arrangement hasn't been messed with

Roll: I have even removed all red wines from the venue until later so no one can accidentally spill it on Mayl's dress

Mega: I made sure that Lan was 100% shaved today so he doesn't look like a hobo on the pictures

Lan: okay, that's enough of you two

Mayl: you've done a great job, now you should go and relax

Lan: we would offer you some champagne or some other alcoholic drink to calm your nerves, but you can't drink it so

Mayl: what Lan tries to say is we got it from here. Thank you for supporting us through all of this and helping us plan

Lan: even if you two weren't a fan of a backyard wedding

Mega: I'll try to relax now.

Roll: we still are going to check up on things for you

Mayl gives her a stern look

Roll: but we'll calm down and enjoy the party

Mega: now you two should get going and get married already

The ceremony begins and even though Mega and Roll are still visibly stressed because this is it, they're trying to keep calm demeanors

The guests are all seated and politely watching. Yuichiro and Haruka are beaming with pride on the groom's side, Haruka dabbing her wet eyes

The priest is centered and Lan and Mega have made it to their spots

Mega: You nervous?

Lan: I should ask you that

Mega: I'm fine, this is all about you now. I'm so proud of you, Lan

Lan: Thanks, Hub. It means a lot for you to be here with me in this moment

The music gets louder as the main event occurs. Rush comes down the isle first, throwing flower petals down

Mega: Did Mayl have to insist on Rush being flower dog?

Lan: Well, you gotta admit it's cute

Roll comes in next, looking radiant in a dark pink dress. She and Mega don't take their eyes off each other until she's in her place on the opposite side of them and the wedding march begins

Mayl finally comes out looking so damn beautiful. Lan has the biggest grin on his face, and he feels his eyes water. Mayl's fighting back happy tears as well (Roll silently thanking the foresight to use waterproof mascara) and once she makes it to Lan, they grip each other's hand tightly

The priest does his own speech, talking about marriage and long lasting love. Mayl and Lan share their own personal vows and by this point everyone is getting emotional in their own way. Mega takes out the rings to give to the bride and groom for the exchanged

Priest: Do you, Mayl Sakurai, take Lan Hikari to be your lawfully wedded husband? In sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer? Will you love and honor him for the rest of your days, until death do you part?

Mayl: I do!

Priest: And do you, Lan Hikari take Mayl Sakurai to be your lawfully wedded wife? In sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer? Will you love and honor her for the rest of your days, until death do you part?

Lan: Hell yeah I do!

Mega, groaning: Lan...language

Roll: *exasperated sigh*

Mayl: *rolls her eyes but giggles*

Audience: *laughs and also roll their eyes*

Priest: Then by the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!

Lan pulls Mayl into a kiss. Everyone cheers. Roll cries because she's so happy for her bestie. Mega grins and claps and wipes away a stray tear because his little brother is all grown up!

The reception goes off without a hitch and at some point, Mayl announces she's going to do the Netopian tradition of tossing the bouquet

Roll: Oh? I thought wedding traditions were silly?

Mayl: Seeing the bride's dress before the wedding is silly. This, I'm okay with...

Roll: Well it sounds fun! I'll gather up the single girls!

As a huddle of non-married girls get togetehr, Mayl turns around, and just when it looks like she's about to toss it, Lan takes the bouquet and throws it in Megaman's face...hard

Mega: Ow! Hey! Lan! What the--?

Lan: Our part is over, it's your turn now!

Roll: *blushing red*

Mega: *also blushing* H-Hey! That's not how this goes!

Lan: Don't argue with tradition Hub, hahaha!

Mayl: Hahaha!

As the newly wed couple go back onto the dance floor, Megaman rolls his eyes at them. He then catches Roll's eye, who is trying to hide her red cheeks. Megaman blushes too

Mega: Um...would you wanna make some plans...for the future? With me?

Roll: Y-Yeah...I'd like that a lot

It was the best day ever

[tonispencerart]

Spencer Returns To The Stage

I haven't properly mentioned this yet, but something happened earlier this evening. But, in an apt phrase, let me set the scene... It's mid-September, 2019. We're a small theatre company based in Paisley, Scotland and it's our last performance of a totally original script for a show about the theft of art, a police officer who isn't who they appear to be, a grumpy old couple who have more money than sense, a bumbling idiot of butler, and murder... And then we take some time off performing while we plan the next show with a whole new story and again, an entirely original script. We're coming up with and writing our own characters, too. Because our rehearsal space - a local church in Paisley - is closing/merging with another church up the road, we start rehearsing etc. somewhere else, swapping between the back room of one pub and the upstairs of another pub. It is bloody cold up there, you know! We typically take a couple of months off just before Christmas. It's February 2020. We go back to rehearsals for one week. We plan to skip two weeks due to other commitments and concerts that folk are going to. And then, if you can remember how early 2020 went, things were slowing down and everything was gradually shutting down as news of the pandemic and the dangers of the said pandemic became more obvious, we planned to have a few weeks off and then get back to it. Things were progressing nicely with the ideas for the new show so we weren't losing any time, really. It'll just be a few weeks, right? Wrong! The following week, after our last planned week off, BOOM! Lockdown in Scotland! And that was it. No more theatre company, basically. A few of us have seen each other around or met up for coffee since then, but the company is no more. And I really missed it. About a year or so ago, I was starting to look for something else - another company - to work with. It's going to sound like I'm right up my own backside, but I really did miss performing and acting. I mean, what is an actor that doesn't act?! And I didn't find anything, really. It's possible that I wasn't looking in the right place, but you know... And then a couple of weeks ago, a friend who also goes to the same Burlesque classes as me (more on that another time, I promise!) shared information about a local theatre company who were having read-throughs and auditions for Panto. And it just so happened to be in the same hall we used to rehearse in at the old church in Paisley! I persuaded another friend - who was also in the same theatre company pre-Lockdown as me - to go along and see what it was about. It's Sleeping Beauty they're doing this year. And the script is good! Afterwards, we went and had a later dinner in a pub before we got the train home and worked out that we hadn't been on stage since September 2019! We decided we'd both audition for Sleeping Beauty a couple of days later. Neither of us really had an idea of who we were to audition for - and we both had to sing. That was the kicker for me! The last time I sang in an audition was in 1999 when I was 17! And I did this last one acapella, too. Only because I couldn't find a backing track that I liked, though. I made it through one verse and the usually reliable stereo that lives in my head and plays music almost all of the time went wonky, like someone had pulled the plug out. The final group of auditions was yesterday as it so happens. And the cast list was made today! Well, guess who gets to play the evil fairy?! Villains are fun to play, aren't they? And guess who has lines to learn?! OH NO! I HAVE LINES TO LEARN! AND BLOCKING! I've always sucked a bit at learning blocking. I get it eventually, but it takes me a while. I'm excited but I'm also a bit scared. What if I've forgotten how to act? WHAT IF I FALL OFF THE STAGE?! I think rehearsals start next Monday. I'll keep you posted, I guess.

[ghostoffuturespast]

I'm still fairly new to fic writing as a whole (I only started about two years ago) and I've written a handful of short fics, but the first fic I started, published, and am still currently working on, is a long fic that snowballed out of control. Multi chapter, over 400k words. It's been a wild ride. Needless to say, I've learned a lot. So, I'll share some general pointers that have helped me.

Think about what kind of story you want to tell

Genres, plot, themes, narrator, perspective, characters, setting, writing style, tone etc. They're basic details, but they're important to know and they'll give you a lot of direction when you're first molding your story. Take some time to brainstorm and jot it down to reference later. These things don't have to be super detailed either, bullet points are fine, but I think it's important to figure out what you personally want out of your story. You're the one writing it after all! So think of this stage like a moodboard and your source of inspiration.

I know some writers struggle to come up with "interesting" plots, but here's the thing, they're actually the simplest part of any story. Doesn't matter how long or short your story is, or what kind of story, all plots can be summarized in a single sentence. (Protagonist saves the day, protagonist falls in love, protagonist solves the mystery...) It's the details around the plot that make a story compelling and also yours! So take the time to think about them.

Plan/Outline

Your mileage may vary on this depending on how you operate and how you prefer to work, but having a road map will prevent you from getting lost when you're in the middle of writing. Some people prefer to navigate without a lot of direction, others need to keep track of every single turn. But when you don't know what to write, if you do get lost, if you have an outline, you have something to fall back on.

I think a lot of people assume that outlines have to be mega detailed, but they just need to be detailed enough for you to work with. I treat my outline like a skeleton, it's the framework of my story but it's not really fleshed out. I have all my major plot beats outlined by chapter, but really all that means is I have a list of things that need to happen in that particular chapter to progress the story. All the other details usually get added as I'm writing.

That being said, if you are meticulously organized you can cram all the notes in.

Also, recognize you're not going to have everything figured out prior to starting your fic. And that's okay! That's normal. It's actually great. It offers you opportunities to add things or make changes as you need them. A good outline will help guide you without being restrictive.

Chapters are as short or as long as they need to be

Word count can be a useful metric, but is ultimately arbitrary. Your story will tell you what it needs and where to go.

Lean into the things you love

If you're writing a long fic, you're in it for the long haul. Write about the things that interest you, that are important to you, that you identify with, that you love. Be it characters, tropes, whatever. You'll have a much easier time staying engaged when you write stuff you're passionate about.

Pace Yourself

You're running a marathon, not a sprint. Pace yourself and give yourself the time you need to tell the story. Life has a bad habit of getting in the way of writing sometimes, which can be disappointing and frustrating, but give yourself grace when you need. If you miss a deadline, if you don't write as much as you wanted, when you're struggling to get the words on the page. Take a break and come back when you're ready. Your writing will be waiting for you.

Create habits and practices that are sustainable for you

There's tons of great references and resources for writing out there, tons of advice. Some of it you'll find useful, some of it not. Take the things that work for you and run with it. Maybe writing everyday isn't feasible with your schedule, maybe you don't like to write in order, maybe you write slow, maybe you need snacks and five beverages before you start writing. Whatever the case, find ways to work with your work style rather than trying to force yourself into doing something you can't sustain.

Do you have any advice and how to write a long fic?

I'll encourage long fic writers to add on in the notes, but as someone who tends to prefer short and medium-length fic, I'll tell you how I go about it.

Get a premise that you just absolutely love. You're going to be writing this thing for months, if not longer, so you want it to be something you're willing to spend a lot of time thinking about.

Embrace subplots. You'll have your main plotline that you want to see through from beginning to end, but you can also weave in some subplots here or there. The way I do this so that I don't get lost down a rabbit hole is that I always make sure that every chapter has at least 1 thing that moves the main plot forward and then if I want to spend 1-2K with some side characters doing something fun I can do that as well. Subplots can extend for the length of the full narrative, but they can also just last a chapter or three. If you're used to writing short fic, these might give you that familiar feeling of "completion"

A chapter is only as long as it needs to be. Don't get hung up on having a consistent chapter length. Don't get hung up on hitting some arbitrary number every time. Instead, figure out what the next part of your story needs to include and write however many words it takes to get that chunk across. Varying your chapter lengths is a normal thing to do and not something to stress about.

The next thing that I find important personally may or may not be relevant to you, but I find that I can't plot anything in much detail. If I get too into the nitty gritty with my plotting, it just feels like I've already written it. I need to keep it at the level of "And then A and B meet C and hijinks ensue." I can figure out the particular hijinks later. It's the characters meeting up that's the next important thing for me to figure out. Getting too far ahead of myself is a death knell for me in writing long fics, but there are other writers who swear by it. Test out different ways of approaching it and see what works for you.

As someone who tends to write more briefly, another feature that's common to longer fics is more extensive descriptions. People spend time painting visual pictures of the setting or the characters or the actions that are happening. Write the more bare-bones style that focuses more on dialogue (if you're like me) and then go back and read through what you've just written and see if there are opportunities to add in more detail. This can lead to some really interesting characterization choices and also help you out with worldbuilding.

When it comes to worldbuilding, you don't have to get it all on the page. You just need to share what's relevant for the reader in that moment and what is useful to lay out now so that it's already there in a future chapter. You can have an encyclopedic knowledge of how your world works in your head, but it's not actually necessary. No one is going to be quizzing you later - and if they do, you can always figure it out at that point.

Most important for me when I'm trying to get myself to the end of a longer fic, have a friend or a group of friends who are also into what you're writing - or at least willing to hear you get excited about it. Being able to get excited about your work is so important. It's like a bottle of water being handed to you on mile 10 of a marathon.