#city of gangsters guide

[gamingabroad]

Tips, tricks and Strategy (City Of Gangsters 2023) Tips Tricks Strategy (2023) walkthrough for beginner. Beginning tips and tricks and live stream highlights. The Walkthrough and tutorial for beginners can be found below. This is Basic Strategy for City of Gangsters, walkthrough, highlights, tips and tricks.

[infimace-blog]

Thinking about rap as a technical artform and rap as a cultural artform, with respect to Tumblr's incompetence at dealing with either. Tumblr can just barely grasp the former because, like all forms of Black music, it's been repackaged in various ways that are more palatable to to white audiences. I talked last month about how what Tumblr was calling rap while trying to defend its taste in music is more akin to filk songs, but I should admit, sometimes Tumblr cites people who actually rap. It doesn't fix the problem or absolve them of their bullshit, but it is true.

The failure then becomes an inability to recognize or care about how rap functions culturally.

People on Tumblr will take Dungeon Meshi and intricately pick apart how a single chapter connects back to real-world neurodivergence issues and the cultural differences between the West and the East when it comes to handling them, and then look at any given rap song and assume it's skin-deep. Unless it's Hamilton back in the late 2010s, before we all decided it was cringe, in which case they'll gladly dig into the history of the early USA and, like the play itself, sidestep the racism whenever possible.

Take Weird Al, one of the many names that's been thrown around in Kendrick and Drake's wake. Weird Al is technically a rapper. He has done rap. We cannot ignore that as a factual statement. He's not even that bad as a rapper. But he has no engagement with rap as a cultural object; he engages with the artform as a parodist. "Amish Paradise", probably Weird Al's most popular rap parody, doesn't say anything; it's here to riff on a religious minority. But you dig into it just a little and you can see the kind of complexity that Tumblr usually loves to talk about. The song is, after all, a parody of Coolio's Grammy-winning "Gangster's Paradise", which is literally about being a black man in an environment dominated by organized crime and fearing the constant threat of death in that life, but was also created specifically for the movie Dangerous Minds, a middling white savior movie about Michelle Pfeiffer teaching a bunch of bad stereotypes of what people think inner city non-white students are. A movie that was, in turn, based on a white woman's memoirs about teaching in a bad school near San Francisco. You've got this interplay between a white woman's real-life efforts to teach her black and Latino students (I can't speak to how effective she was, mind you), a fictionalized version of that same woman being shown as the sole guiding light for her underdeveloped gangbanging students - and a white actress's crappy Kipling-ass 5/10 film getting Coolio his Grammy. It was tailor-made to be Coolio's big hit with white audiences, getting the push of Michelle Pfeiffer, having slow and deliberate rapping, and lacking the swearing in most of Coolio's oeuvre (Stevie Wonder mandated no swearing in return for letting Coolio sample his music). And, though I suspect this was unintentional, the song plays into the same narrative that the movie does, how this rapper is doomed to his life because "nobody's there to teach [him]", with dramatic choir and strings underscoring the dire fate that awaits this rapper if some charitable white person doesn't help him - the same dramatic choir and strings that Weird Al uses for comedic effect by comparing it to Amish farmwork.

I put that last paragraph together with two or three hours of Wikipedia, and you can do the same kind of analysis with a lot of hit rap songs (and Genius is right there if you need a helping hand - I wouldn't have understood much of Kendrick's Euphoria without it), and I think this drives a lot of my frustration? Tumblr loves to see something cool and then take a few days to write an in-depth post about how cool it is under the surface. So the lack of this when it comes to rap does show a deep disinterest in thinking about it when it isn't fun. And there's so much cool shit to learn about rap. Did you know that Baby Got Back was inspired by the anti-black fatphobia Sir Mixalot's model girlfriend was dealing with in her industry, and was pushing back against the media's general preference for skinny white women? Did you know that there's a Turkish hip-hop scene specifically in Germany because, as a minority that was brought to the country for cheap labor and then forced to exist as second-class citizens, they ended up relating a lot to the music? Just. Dig a bit. There's so much.

[oddinary4bts]

Love is a Laserquest | choi san

☆summary: years after your break-up, Choi San comes to you for help. In an attempt to save his life, you escape to your uncle's cabin in the woods far from civilization. Will nostalgia and longing make you fall again, or is Choi San just spinning more lies to you?

☆pairing: gangster!Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: gangster au, exes au, angst, smut, a smidge of the one bed trope

☆warnings: guns/gun violence (mentioned), knifes/stabbing (mentioned), a bounty over San's head, death of a minor character (named Jungkook my bad), blood, injuries, stitches, probably some wrong medical terminology bc optometrists don't stitch up people lmao, a panic attack, cursing, pet names, explicit content: oral sex (female receiving) -> face riding, let me know if I forgot any!

☆word count: 16.5k

☆a/n: Here's my submission for Outlaw: The Project hosted by @ssaboala. It is coincidentally my first time posting about another group than bts, so I hope this won't disappoint! I really enjoyed writing it (even though it's really sad oop). Also my first time making a moodboard so hopefully it works haha

☆a/n pt2: thank you to @moonleeai for being my ever-so faithful beta reader, love you lots <3

☆☆☆☆☆

And do you still think love is a Laserquest? Or do you take it all more seriously? I’ve tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I’ve had But you’re always busy being make-believe

Love is a Laserquest – Arctic Monkeys

☆☆☆☆☆

The diner is silent, unoccupied. It always is on late weekday evenings, when most patrons have gone to bed, the city falling under a carpet of hushed silence only night can bring forth. It makes the diner feel like it’s straight out of a 70s movie, and it makes for the perfect study sessions too.

Night isn’t always soundless in your part of town. Hence why you’ve been trying to escape, pursuing an education that has been leaving you penniless, but with a bright future ahead. If you make it out of med school at a certain point, that is.

Tonight, you fear the peace that night usually entails has been ruined for you – there were gunshots earlier, close enough for you to see the police cars racing past as the law officers made it to probably yet another gang fight.

There’s been a gang war on your side of town. The diner has always been safe, a refuge for both sides of the war, where they aren’t allowed to fight. To carry in weapons and hatred. No, the moment they cross the threshold of the diner, the gangsters become one family, sharing struggles that only poverty can cause.

You wipe a table clean before walking back towards the counter. Your open laptop waits for you, and you quickly read the study guide you’ve made for yourself, the cardiovascular system and its pathologies forming a maze in your mind that you’ve yet to decode. Luckily enough, you still have a week before the bloc ends and you have to take the exam.

Plenty of time to cram everything about the heart in your thick little skull, you’d say.

Your lips move in time with what you’re reading, attention solely focused on the bright screen when a thump is heard right outside the door. It startles you, and you turn around to see the empty street out of the glass door.

It takes you about ten seconds to notice the dark form sitting on the ground. They’re leaning against the door, head lolling to the side. You assume it must be someone that’s ended unhoused, something that happens far too often where you live.

You’ve always been kind. When you were younger, you were told your kindness would be your demise. Yet you’ve never been able to be anything but kind, even though sometimes it might put you at risk. So you can’t resist but walk to the front door, trying to push it open.

It’s useless – the weight of the person is keeping it tightly shut, though they do straighten a little, as if coming to their senses. They turn, and the moment their profile comes into view you’re brought back eight years in the past. To a time when the world was still a beautiful place, void of violence and cruelty. To a smile so sweet it made flowers blossom on your heart, and to eyes so sharp you knew they had read your soul.

Choi San is sitting outside the door, and the caked blood on his cheek tells you enough – he’s injured. He pushes away from the door before slowly getting up. He clutches his side as he does it, yet when he turns back towards you and faces your horrified eyes, he still offers you a smirk.

You push the door open, thinking about the years between then and now. You had dated him for a few months that had felt like forever, until you had realized in what kind of business he was getting involved with. You had tried to convince him to flee before it was too late, and he kept promising that he would.

Only he never did, hiding lies with beautiful words that made your teenage self swoon, until your parents had realized and forced you to break up. It had been a nasty break-up, filled with hatred and words you didn’t mean yet had needed to say for him to leave.

You remember breaking his heart like it was yesterday.

“Choi San,” you greet him, and when he lets go of his side, you notice blood on his hand.

Something runs cold inside of you, even though he still sports a smirk on his lips.

He says your name, bowing his head. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Months, in fact. Because he does come to the diner sometimes. He usually ignores you, and so do you, so it feels strange to have him speak to you. To hear his voice as his words are addressed to you.

“What…” you trail off, glancing down at the ripped fabric of his black tank top.

He’s got a mean cut on his ribs, and it’s only then that you truly realize that he’s badly injured. Because there’s more – one of his biceps has been sliced open too, though blood is barely oozing out of it in small rivulets. The blood on his cheek is from where you assume he’s been punched with rings, and there’s already an underlying bruise under his eye.

“Got beaten up,” he states the obvious, and you immediately open the door wider to let him in.

He limps in, heading towards the nearest booth, where he plops down and lets out a pained grunt. You make sure no one is outside before shutting the door and locking it, flipping the hanging sign on it so it says closed in case a patron decides to show up.

You take a few steps towards San, hands shaking slightly at your side. Because that’s a grown man, bleeding out on the leather seat of the booth, and his eyes are shut though he looks in pain. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You haven’t yet started your residency, haven’t really gone from theory to practice… Yet you’re studying to be a doctor, are you not?

“Why are you here?” you ask, though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

“Didn’t know where else to go,” he says, wincing as one of his eyes opens. He tilts his head to look towards you. “Word around the block says…” he pauses, takes a deep breath before continuing, “that you’re studying to be a doctor”.

So you are right. He’s here because he needs your help, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.

“Why…” You look for words, and it takes you a moment to realize that it doesn’t matter.

For all the history between you and him, Choi San doesn’t deserve to bleed out to death on a cheap leather seat in a forgotten diner on the dangerous side of town.

He has the decency to chuckle at the start of your question, which only makes him wince in pain once again.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and it’s a little stupid because clearly, he’s in no state to move.

He doesn’t question it, and you run to the kitchen to thoroughly wash your hands and grab the first aid kit. At night, no cooks stay around, and you usually only reheat food if needed, which doesn’t really happen. You haven’t had any client coming in at night in weeks… until San, that is. So no one is there to see what is going on, which you reckon is a relief. Because you have no idea what’s going on.

You return to the booth where San is waiting, patiently. He’s clearly wiped his hand on his face because there’s fresh blood on his forehead, and you almost balk at the sight of it.

“What have you done?” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

It seems he’s still in sync with you because he still hears. “Got involved with the wrong crowd.”

You put the first aid kit down on the table, ignoring his eyes when they flutter open, and he rests his gaze on you.

“I don’t know if I can help you,” you say as you unzip the kit and throw it open. You spare his side a quick glance. “This looks like you’re going to need stitches.”

He makes an effort of looking down at himself, though it mostly fails as he doesn’t raise his head from the seat. “Right.”

You grab everything you think you might need – alcohol swabs to clean his skin, fresh linen to bandage his side and arm, and stuff for his cheek too. He carefully observes you, with that piercing gaze of his that used to make you go crazy inside when you were young and impressionable.

You vaguely motion at him, and he cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask. “I can’t reach you if you’re lying back like this.”

His pink tongue darts to wet his lips, and he nods curtly. “Let me…” he trails off, resting a bloody hand on the table while he grabs at the back of the booth to push himself up. It has new blood appearing on his side, and you quickly move towards him, putting some linen against it.

As if it’s going to do anything. He clearly needs stitches, and you’ve got nothing with you to stitch him up.

“Fuck,” he curses lowly as he’s finally sitting. You just keep the linen on his side, eyes a little wide.

Your gazes connect inevitably, and time slows. You think about how he used to smile, how his eyes used to hold a softness you haven’t had the chance to see again since he’s walked out of your life.

Or rather, since you kicked him out of your life.

“I don’t think I can help,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker to your lips.

“I can’t go to the hospital,” he admits, shame turning his features into a mask of regret. “They… If they find me, I’m dead.”

Dread fills every ounce of your being. “San, what have you been doing?”

He looks away from your insistent gaze, scoffing slightly. “You don’t want to know.”

He isn’t wrong; you genuinely don’t want to know. Because he means nothing good, even with all the memories you share with him.

“Is it going to put me in danger?” you ask, as he still obstinately avoids your gaze.

He seems to freeze in front of you, as if you’ve pressed pause to your favourite show. To avoid the awkwardness, you busy yourself with grabbing one of his hands so he can hold the linen in place before you start washing the cut on his arm. It’s not deep, but you’re pretty sure it’ll still leave a mean scar, especially considering he can’t go to the hospital.

The thought has a drop of cold sweat roll along your spine. People want him dead. People want Choi San, the man you know as a young, scared teenager just trying to find a way to make his life better, dead. You remember the innocence in his smile – has he smiled at all in the years apart?

“I should go,” he says flatly. He moves to stand, but you hold him down, two hands firmly placed on his shoulders. It makes him wince, and you quickly release your grip.

“Don’t,” you tell him. “Let me at least patch you up.”

His eyes shut again as his head hangs low. “I am so sorry.”

You don’t even know who he is apologizing to, or why he is. All you know is that it causes your heart to clench in your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When you were younger, you believed San was your star-crossed lover. You believed your high school sweethearts romance would grow until you’d be old and grey and at the end of a very long road. You had dreamed of a future with him, the way only teenagers can dream – with no sense of reality. Because your reality had never been to end up by his side.

His choices had been proof enough of it.

You still remember the day you first kissed. Under an August meteor shower, with just the night sky as your witness. It had been hesitant, slow and soft, just like everything with San. And you had believed the lie, trusted it with every beat of your little heart, until your parents had found out the truth about him.

Until they had broken your heart, even before you had broken his.

If the stars had known then, what was going to happen to you and Choi San, would they still have shone through the night?

He lets out a pained sound as you gently dab at the cut on his bicep. You clean the skin around the wound in and of itself, and he watches you carefully, piercing gaze not missing how your face clouds with memories.

“How have you been doing?” he asks so softly you think his words are a gentle summer breeze on your features.

You can almost still smell the summer night air of that field where you had stargazed, where you’d always meet so long ago.

“I’ve been okay,” you answer, truthfully. Because even though you haven’t seen him, you have lived your life apart from him. Have evolved without him by your side. “Better than you, visibly.”

He didn’t expect the joke. It makes him snort, and then a soft smile grows on his lips, softening the edges of his hard features. “You haven’t changed.”

You have, and yet you haven’t. Like him, you think there’s a part of you that is still sixteen, and will forever be. A part of you that remained stuck in the moment when you watched him walk away in the rain, as if even the sky had to cry for his broken heart.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” you murmur, nostalgia a melancholic song in your words.

He chooses to remain silent, because the proof of how much he’s changed is sitting right in front of you, wounded and bleeding and hurt. The hurt is behind his eyes, in the shadows of the past that have also been obscuring your vision.

“Yeah,” he lets out, barely audible.

And then silence reigns between you, because as much as you once loved him, eight years have made you strangers. You don’t know anything about his life except the dirty, obvious darkness that surrounds him, and he doesn’t know anything except that you are studying to be a doctor…

Which leads you to wonder how does he know in the first place?

You ask him, as you’re wrapping the linen around his bicep to make a makeshift bandage. You’re proud of the result, though your fingers can’t resist but linger on the taut skin over his muscle, surprised at how soft it still is.

“I’ve heard you mention it,” he admits, as you take a step away to look at the material on the table, as if it’ll suddenly make stitches appear for you to put them in his skin. “One of the times I was here.”

“You never said hi,” you reproach him, unable to hide the ghost of a bite in your tone.

“Neither did you,” he points out, and he isn’t wrong.

All you can do is purse your lips as you finally decide to clean his skin. But for that, you have to rid him of his tank top, to make sure there’s no fabric in the wound. You look at him, cheeks somehow burning even though all you’re doing is taking care of a patient.

Though he’s not a patient, and you’re not in a hospital. You’re just a server at a dusty, old diner and he’s just your teenage lover, wounded by his dangerous actions.

“Should I grab scissors to remove your shirt?” you ask, though you’re speaking to yourself more than to him.

He still finds it in him to tease. “You want me out of my shirt?” he enquires, smirk gracing his lips again. “Say no more.”

He tries moving, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t,” you warn. “You’ll make it bleed more.”

He purses his lips, because nodding. “Right.” He glances at the first aid kit, before his eyes trail to your face again. “You got scissors in that?”

There are. You grab them, before turning towards him. It feels strange: you’ve never undressed him before. You had always wanted to wait, back then, before you slept together. You believed you were too young, and San had always respected it.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” you tell him as you take a step closer to him.

He slightly leans back, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you plan to do with those that might hurt?”

You roll your eyes, playfully, before taking the two other steps leading to right in front of his legs. You notice that they are slightly parted, allowing you to come closer, and you take a steadying breath before reaching between you, pulling at the fabric of his tank top.

“Stay still and you shouldn’t get hurt,” you whisper, ignoring the heaviness of his piercing gaze on you.

It burns right through you, and you have to tame the beats of your heart at the feeling of the warm skin of his shoulder against the back of your fingers as you bring your other hand forward, until you’ve started cutting his shirt.

It’s stuck to his side where blood has dried, and he winces but remains still and silent as you keep going, pulling on it a little harder to be able to cut. The moment stretches into infinity, because you can’t help but take your time. It reminds you of how you’d used to run your fingers on his back, under his shirt, when you napped in the field in the summertime. In an idyllic world where gangs and violence and war were mere inventions of the media, and not a reality that surrounded you.

You’d loved the field. The wildflowers, the open air, the way it was just you and him and a few lazy bumblebees as clouds lazily crossed the sky above. You were so young then, so innocent. Hands unstained from blood, from his blood.

Because as you cut, the hand touching his shirt stains with blood. You pale at the sight of it, but you keep going, pushing through until you’re done, gently pulling the fabric from his body until he’s sitting there, shirtless, with a long wound on his ribs.

You can’t help but notice his toned chest and the defined abs on his stomach. Though blood mars his skin, turning it into a piece of violence, Choi San is still beautiful. Beautiful in a dark, dangerous way that has you glance outside, making sure no one is looking.

But the streets are empty, void of life at this time of the night. At least, they mostly always are.

“You will need stitches,” you state again as if you both don’t know already.

“I can’t…”

An idea forms in your brain. It’s a stupid idea, and you don’t even know why it crosses your mind.

Your uncle has a hunting cabin far in the woods. He’s a nurse himself, and he’s always kept everything over there in case someone got injured and he had to stitch them up. You haven’t gone in forever, but you still remember the tall trees, the deep forest scent that reminds you of autumn and leaves and grey days spent reading by the fireplace.

You never went hunting, but you did accompany your father when he went, needing an escape from the city once in a while. An escape from a life that was slowly becoming too real.

Your uncle is currently halfway across the country, so you know you’d be alone at the cabin. You glance at your laptop over your shoulder – you have three days off in front of you before your next class on Monday. Indeed, the Friday class is pre-recorded and to watch online in your free time, and you figure you can always watch it some other time.

So you turn towards Choi San, almost surprised that he’s real and he’s still sitting in front of you, honey skin cut open on his ribs.

“I might know a place where you can go,” you admit, with a small voice, surprising both you and him. Because you doubt he expects you to want to help, after tonight.

“What?” he asks.

“My uncle’s cabin,” you remind him, because you’ve told him about it all those years ago. “He should have all that I need to stitch you up.”

San looks down at himself. “You’ve just cut my shirt open.”

It sounds a little dumbfounded, and you can’t help the nervous laugh that falls from your mouth. Because even though it doesn’t look too deep, the wound still is terrifying in and of itself.

“I’ll bandage it,” you whisper. “Before we go.”

He seems like he ponders for a time. You watch the debate across his features, his eyes falling to a spot on your chin. He looks sad, troubled and defeated. “I can’t… I can’t do this to you.”

You ignore his words, carefully washing his side. You avoid the cut and try to be as gentle as you can, but his muscles still flex as he clenches his fists from the pain.

He’s strong. That much hasn’t changed. Because he doesn’t make any sound as you finish washing him and then patch him up with those same careful hands. And when you move to his face, cleaning the blood, his eyes flutter shut, and he sighs softly.

He looks so much like he looked then that your heart aches, and you find yourself blinking away tears for this man who’s had it so rough he believed joining a gang would save him.

“I should have come to you before,” he murmurs. “You’re much gentler than Hongjoong.”

You don’t know the guy he mentioned, and you don’t feel like asking. Don’t feel like acknowledging his words, so you just finish with his cheek before stepping away from the peaceful aura that was treacherously pulling you in.

Like all those years ago, you reckon.

“Let me make a call,” you say, turning away from him as you move to the counter. You feel the weight of his eyes between your shoulder blades as you get your phone from next to your laptop. You call your boss, and as someone that’s never called in sick before, you feel anxiety flush through you.

Because you’re not sick. And how could you tell him that you need to take care of your ex-boyfriend of eight years ago?

Seokhyun picks up on the first ring, voice groggy with sleep when he mutters, “Hello?”

“Boss,” you greet him. You scrape your throat and spare a look towards San who’s watching you curiously. “An emergency came up, and I have to leave the diner.” You swallow the lump in your throat that’s formed from lying, and then you add, “There haven’t been any customers all night, so I was wondering… would you be comfortable with me closing for the rest of the night?”

Your boss says your name, a little reproachfully. But then he sighs, because he knows just as well as you what a good employee you’ve always been. “Are you going to be able to come in tomorrow night?” he asks.

You pull at dry skin on your bottom lip, assessing San’s state. You could always come back to the city for work…

“You know what, I know you’ve got that big exam coming up,” your boss says, sighing into the phone. “Why don’t you take the next week off so you can take care of your emergency and focus on your studies?”

If Seokhyun wasn’t a fifty-three year old married and father of three children man, you think you’d ask him to marry you right now.

“That would be really helpful,” you tell him, gratitude dripping from your voice. “Are you sure that won’t be a problem for the diner?”

“The diner won’t lose profit if it closes for three nights in the week,” he points out. “I’ll see if I can get you replaced for the evening shift on Sunday.”

You thank him again as he grumbles that it’s nothing. He wishes you good luck, and when the line goes silent, you finally meet San’s gaze again.

“All sorted out,” you tell him, offering him a nod. “Let me just close the diner, and then we can go.”

He nods, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He observes you as you do so, quickly closing the diner like you’ve done about a hundred times before, though this time you’re far more excited to go. You grab a plastic bag to put away the bloody swabs, and though he groans in pain, San gets up to help you clean the blood that stained the cheap leather of the booth.

Soon enough, you’re ready to go, and you walk outside with the plastic bag in one hand and your backpack on your shoulders as San chuckles, looking down at himself.

“Do you have a shirt for me?” he asks as he follows you out.

You lock the door behind you before glancing at him. He’s quite the sight, naked from the waist up and bandaged like he is, and you can’t help the small chuckle you let out as you glance towards your car, that’s luckily parked right in front.

Though it’s a deadbeat car, you trust it enough to know it’ll make the trip to your uncle’s cabin, even in the middle of the night.

“My ex left some sweaters on the back seat,” you admit as you unlock your car doors and open the trunk to put your backpack and the plastic bag in there. There’s no chance in hell you’ll leave a plastic bag full of bloody swabs near your work.

You see San nod from the periphery of your vision, and then he’s opening the door to the backseat. “Your ex, huh?” he mutters as he grabs a sweater you used to love wearing and that you haven’t convinced yourself to give back to Hyunmin.

He carefully puts it on, and you’re pretty sure just the motion is going to make blood seep through the bandage. Somehow, you don’t care that it might stain Hyunmin’s sweater.

Hyunmin was a cheater, and even though you never really loved him, it took you months before you found the strength to break up with him. Needless to say, he doesn’t deserve his clothes back.

“Yeah,” you flatly say as you move towards the driver’s seat. You sit, and San follows you, naturally, as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.

As you turn the keys in the engine, San asks, “Have you dated a lot?”

You bristle at the question, shooting him an embarrassed look. “Have you?”

“No,” he replies, features fully serious.

You purse your lips, focusing on the road as you start driving. You need to put gas in the car if you want to get to your uncle’s cabin, so you make your way towards the closest one. It takes you a moment before you register how San has stiffened next to you.

“Can we…” he trails off, and he sinks in the seat, trying to hide. “I can’t be seen here.”

You immediately press on the accelerator, and your car speeds down the street as you pass in front of the gas station. You glance at San only when you’re stopped at a red light. He’s pulled the hood of the sweater over his features, and he’s doing his best to hide.

“Where can we stop?” you ask.

“Next town over,” he answers. “I just can’t be seen in Bangtan territory.”

Right. You have no knowledge of how the gangs have divided your city, but you’re not surprised Bangtan has this part of town. It’s the industrial area, and you assume there’s a lot of money to be made around here.

“Sounds good,” you gently say, and then you’re driving again, the light turning green, allowing you to speed away into the night.

You drive silently all the way to the next town, watching your city disappear to be replaced by trees until buildings reappear. San is looking outside the window, and you can’t help but wonder how he’s been doing, truly. How he managed to get injured like he is right now, and mostly, if his dreams of running away still occupy his thoughts.

He had begged you, the evening you had broken up with him. Told you he’d make enough money to be able to move with you across the country and build yourself a nice little life over there. You had wanted to believe him for so long, until your parents had opened your eyes on just how he was trying to make money.

“Do you need anything?” you ask as you finally reach the gas station, pulling into the driveway. You park next to a pump, turning to face him only to find him already watching you.

“I don’t have money to pay for food,” he admits. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I lost my wallet in the… altercation.”

You gently put a hand on his forearm. “Hey, my treat. We have to eat.”

He inhales deeply, letting out the breath slowly, before he nods. “Alright. I owe you.”

You reckon he’ll owe you for a lot more than just food at a gas station, but you choose not to say it. Not when you feel like someone’s watching over your shoulder, watching you drive away in the night with the person they are looking for.

You know it’s paranoia. No one followed you out of the city and into this town. It just feels too strange to have him here, with you. In your car, on the way to your uncle’s cabin, as if eight years have gone out the window. As if you can still be young and innocent.

It’s stupid, because you can’t. Time has changed him; time has changed you. And in just a few years you’ll be a doctor, and you’ll finally get out of this hellhole of a city, of its dangerous streets.

Of its equally dangerous man, that you know could probably pull you back in with one of his many well-crafted lies, one of the dreams he weaved expertly, whispering it into your ear.

You take a deep breath before getting out of the car. You go into the station, grab snacks for the next few days and then head to the counter. The guy behind nods as you approach, and you pay for the food and for gas before wishing him a good night and returning outside. San is still squatting in the car, clearly trying to hide, and you put the food on the backseat before putting gas in.

You watch his profile as you put gas in the car. Back when you were dating, his features weren’t as sharp, as glass-cutting as they now are. He used to sport a rounder face, but today you wonder if you’d get a papercut on his jaw. You wouldn’t even be surprised.

When you’re done with gas, you sit back next to him, and you quickly bring the engine back to life before pulling out in the street. As soon as you exit the city, darkness falls on the two of you, tall trees standing on the two sides of the road again. San doesn’t speak much, and it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s dozing off next to you.

“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, suddenly worried that he might have lost too much blood. Which, you reckon, you should have thought about earlier.

He sighs, glancing towards you. “Just tired.”

“Don’t…” you trail off. “Don’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles. “You’re afraid I’m going to die on you?”

“Choi San,” you warn. “Don’t you dare say stuff like that.”

He smiles, but you reckon he’s a little pale. Or at least you think he is, in the silver light of the moon up above. “I think I’m fine. Just…” He offers you a weak smile, though you’ve returned your attention on the winding road. “Just exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days.”

Worry clutches your heart, and you nibble at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “What’s been going on?”

He slightly shrugs. “I can’t tell you. I don’t want to put you in danger…”

“Am I not already in danger by just helping you?”

The silence is telling enough. And it remains for a while until San finally speaks.

“I was in a gunfight a week ago. Accidentally shot the youngest member of the other gang. He didn’t make it, and the gang has put a bounty on my head. Ateez took my gun and told me to run; I laughed in their face and said I wasn’t a coward. Then I got attacked by two guys with knives earlier, and I made it to the diner because I had nowhere else to go.”

Now the silence is deafening, heavy, and you think you’ve altogether stopped breathing. You’re struck with an image of San in the summer sun, smiling wide as he put a flower behind your ear, claiming you were the most beautiful girl he had ever met. The contrast with who he is now – a product of night, shrouded in darkness with no hint of that smile on his lips – is stark. And you wonder when’s the last time he has seen the sun, when’s the last time his life wasn’t violence like this.

When you say nothing, he scoffs, resting his head against the window as if it’d allow him to escape. Because clearly he wants to escape – he’s just told you that he’s killed someone after all.

And you don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to react to someone confessing murder. All you can do is stare at the street ahead, hoping you won’t end up in a gunfight with San. Because where would that lead you, other than in the dramatics of death?

You don’t speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t think he sleeps either, and dawn is clinging to the far horizon when you get to your uncle’s cabin, in a secluded forest that seems straight out of a fairytale. Instead of bringing you awe like it usually does, the sight of it makes you think of all the murder mysteries you had been obsessed with when you were younger, before you realized how horrible the real world truly is.

Neither of you move, as you turn off the engine of the car, and you fall into even more of a tensed silence, though this time you can hear the chirping of the early birds. It’s peaceful, so peaceful you can barely even grasp how tangible the presence of San is next to you. The presence of his actions too, looming between the two of you like a sword of Damocles.

You move first. Putting a hand on the knob, hoping to escape the heaviness into the dawn. San speaks before you can though, and your heart stops in your chest.

“I never meant for him to get hurt,” he murmurs, and you think he’s speaking to himself more than to you. “Everything went too fast, my gun was in my hand and I just… in situations like these, you don’t have time to think.” He leans his head against the headrest, eyes closing. “All I can picture since it’s happened is him falling and blood. Like a fucking blossoming rose, all around him.” He rests his closed fist on his forehead, rubbing it hard. “I haven’t been able to sleep; I’ve been sick every time I’ve tried to eat…”

“San,” you interrupt as you break and break for him. Because this is the San you know. This is the young boy that just wanted to escape and live in a better world. You can almost taste his remorse, taste his regret and shame. It’s poisonous, treacherous, a slippery slope that can’t lead anywhere good. “Let’s get you in. I want to get that cut on your ribs checked.”

He falls silent, and for a moment you feel guilty. Because what if he had more to say? You don’t even think you would have been able to listen. You need the escape, and you know he’ll permit it. Because the man next to you is a broken man, a fracture of what he could have been.

You step out of the car, blinking away tears – from the anxiety, from the exhaustion, and perhaps even from the pain you feel for him. He follows you, wincing as he swings his legs out of the car. He stumbles a little as he stands, but soon enough, he grows steady on his feet, and his attention moves to you. You climb the stairs of the cabin, lifting the rug to find the small trap that leads to the spare key. The padlock is rusted, but it stands strong as you put in the code, and a click is heard when you pull on it.

A few seconds later, you’ve unlocked the front door, pushing it open to reveal the cabin as you remember it. Not a single item is out of place, though dust covers everything, a clear indication that no one has been here in years. You let San in, before going back to the car to get the food you bought, bringing it in and putting it in the fridge. Three full gas canisters hide under the counter, and you sigh in relief – you’ll be able to get the generator on for some electricity.

You motion to the kitchen table. “Have a seat,” you tell San, who somehow looks like a lost puppy. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He nods, remaining silent, eyes downcast. You only move when he’s seated, heading to the bathroom area of the cabin, where you startle a spider that almost makes you scream out loud. You keep it in, heart beating out of your chest as you get the kit before moving back into the main area.

San is leaning against the chair, eyes closed. He senses you approaching, and one of his eyes cracks open to watch you carefully, a little like he did earlier, at the diner. It looks so similar to how he used to look at you, when you joined him at the field, that you stop in your tracks, heart squeezing once again.

You don’t like the way Choi San is making you feel, that’s for sure.

“Take off the sweater,” you tell him, putting the kit down on the table. You put some clean linen next to it, to put what you need over it, before washing your hands with the disinfectant you find in the kit. You put latex gloves on after, and then you fish wire and a surgical needle from the first aid kit that you carefully put down on the linen once you’ve torn the packages open.

As you were doing all of that, San took off the shirt, struggling a little as it meant he had to lift his right arm, which pulled at the skin of his ribs, where the cut clearly has started bleeding again. Though, if you’re honest to yourself, you’re pretty sure he’s been bleeding this whole time, even though it probably was just some fine rivulets.

Indeed, the cut isn’t all that deep, you remind yourself. Mostly because you don’t want to even think about the consequences of the blood loss. As long as he stays awake, you figure he’s fine – he would have lost consciousness a while ago if he was losing a lot of blood.

You remove the bandage you had carefully put in place earlier, wincing at the sight of the blood that’s seeped through it. San keeps his eyes close, lets you clean his skin again in peace, and you feel sick to your stomach as you realize you don’t have any anesthetics for the pain that stitching him up will cause. Indeed, the pocket in which your uncle usually leaves the lidocaine is empty, and you remember that he’s had to use it for your dad when he accidentally cut himself with a machete last summer.

“Huh,” you let out. You chuckle nervously. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

His eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.”

You worry at your bottom lip, holding his gaze as you gauge if he’s serious. When his gaze doesn’t falter, you offer him a curt nod, before getting the wire and needle ready under his watchful eyes.

You hand him some linen. “To bite on,” you explain as he just cocks an eyebrow quizzically. That makes his gaze widen a little as if he’s just now realizing how serious you were about it hurting, but he takes it nonetheless.

You think about the theory of how to stitch someone up. It was in your previous block – you watched hours of videos of it in an attempt to desensitize yourself to it. You don’t think it compares to the real thing, but at least you’re somehow confident of what you’re doing when you start.

San startles, groaning in pain, and you offer him a glare. “Don’t move, or it’ll be worse.”

A drop of sweat rolls down his temple, but he still nods. Even as you keep on stitching him, he remains as still as he physically can, though you don’t think he even notices how he’s trembling. Or maybe that’s you – you don’t even know.

Somehow, you make it through the whole thing. You think San might have passed out at some point, but he’s wide awake when you finish the knot to keep the stitches in place, looking up to meet his face.

He’s panting and tears of pain wet his waterline. He blinks them away as he takes the linen out of his mouth, dropping it on the table.

“Fuck,” he curses.

“Let me…” you trail off, mind set on getting something to at least help him cool off, because he’s clearly been heating up.

You grab a washcloth and a small bucket, and head outside to walk down to the lake. You fill the bucket halfway, and take a few seconds to observe the calm surrounding you, hoping that it can ease the nerves rolling inside your heart like dark clouds do on the horizon whenever a storm is coming. You feel it in your bones – you have a murderer in your uncle’s cabin.

You have to keep that in mind. To not let Choi San in like you did when you were a young impressionable teenager.

You sigh, closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh morning air. The sun is peaking over the horizon now, and you bask in its hesitant rays for all of twenty seconds before you convince yourself to go back in. You’ve got a patient to take care of, after all.

San hasn’t moved an inch while you were outside. The only indication that he hasn’t died on you is the groan he lets out as you put the wet washcloth on his forehead. You tap his cheek gently, as if to say, ‘suck it up, I’m just trying to take care of you’.

Which is exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?

You watch him carefully for a few seconds before tapping his shoulder this time around.

“There’s a bed,” you remind him. “You’d be better passing out in a bed.”

He groans again, cracking an eye open. “I’ve just been repeatedly poked with a needle,” he drawls. “Give me a second.”

It makes you laugh. Because of the nerves, maybe. You’re not quite sure. All you know is that you’re laughing, and San opens his second eye to look at you as if you’re crazy. And you laugh for longer than you should – you’re exhausted after all, especially considering you haven’t slept since yesterday morning. So far, adrenaline has been keeping you going, but you can tell you’re about to crash.

“Sorry,” you apologize once you calm down. “This has just been…”

“A lot,” San finishes for you. “I know.”

You nod once before glancing at the doorway to the bedroom. It has no door, as your uncle and your dad usually come here alone and they don’t mind sharing a bed. It makes you realize that you’ll have to share it with San, which you reckon you should have thought about before. Because there’s no way in hell you’ll share a bed with him, especially after he’s told you why he’s being hunted.

There’s always the option of going into town later today so you can get a sleeping bag and floor mat to sleep on. But you’re far too tired right now to even consider driving, so you motion to the bed once again.

“Stick to your side; I’ll stick to mine.”

He smirks though he’s extremely pale. A lot paler than he was before, and you swallow a sudden lump in your throat. Because what if he dies? What are you supposed to do with him if he dies?

“You’ll have to help me to get to the bed ‘cause I don’t think I can move,” he says once his smirk dies. He curses under his breath. “I’m so pathetic.”

You put your hand on his shoulder again, reassuringly, eyes holding his. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re hurt. Everyone is pathetic when they’re hurt.”

He gulps before nodding once. It takes everything in you not to offer him more comfort because you feel like the slope would tilt forwards far too much if you did. Instead, you help him to get up, wincing as he puts most of his weight on you, clutching his side with one hand. You’re infinitely aware of how his skin is sticky with sweat, but you ignore it as you slowly walk to the bedroom.

You can only hope the stitches will hold because you don’t think he’d be able to withstand another round of them.

You finally reach the bedroom and help San sit on the side of the bed. He sighs, eyes shut tightly, and he doesn’t move for a time. When he does, it’s to stiffly lie down on his side.

“You might want to sleep on your back,” you inform him. “I don’t want you rolling around and messing up the stitches.”

He glares at you, though he looks like he’s already half out of it. You hold his gaze until he gives in, turning on his back with a deep sigh. You arrange pillows around him to make sure he’s not moving, and by the time you’re done, his breathing has already evened out.

For a moment, you just watch him sleep. You see him in the field where young love blossomed like a trillion wildflowers. You can almost breathe his pollen again, can almost feel the softness of his skin under your fingertips.

But he’s not what he used to be. Back then, you felt like you had discovered something new. Love, infatuation, affection, and desire, all in the form of the man sleeping next to you. You’d used to kiss, dance and sing to a song only your souls knew, and now you don’t think you recognize him anymore.

As much as he is him, he’s also but just the ghost of what he was. He’s trouble, danger in the shape of innocence, and you recall his words from earlier. You recall the despair, the regret and sorrow that haunted him after he told you. You can’t let him get to your head.

You reckon sleep might help. Though you’re afraid he’s going to waste away in his sleep, so you set up an alarm every hour, before climbing on the other side of the bed. You don’t pull on the covers, mostly because the cabin is warm, and you can imagine it’s just going to get hotter as the sun goes up and the summer heat slowly sizzles into the countryside.

It’s a good thing you put an alarm on. Because when it rings an hour later, you don’t even remember falling asleep. You’re pretty sure the second your head touched the mattress, you were out to the land of dreams. You groan, mostly because you’ve got a slight headache, but you power through it to make sure San is still breathing.

When you see his chest moving up and down steadily, you let yourself fall back asleep.

This goes on for the whole morning, and you only force yourself to stay up when your phone shows that it’s passed noon. As you had suspected earlier, the cabin has gotten extremely warm, so you force yourself out of bed to open all the windows, and then you use the washcloth from earlier to gently wash San’s face of the sweat.

He doesn’t even flinch in his sleep, but he’s still breathing and for now, that’s all that matters.

You head back to the main room, grabbing a pack of chips from where you had left the food earlier, and then you move outside to sit by the lake. Mostly because you need to put distance between you and San, but also just because the childhood memories of this place have you in their hold, and they’ve decided to make you miss the times when you’d swim around with your cousins before both of them had moved out of town.

One day, it’s going to be you too. You already know where you’d go – on the other side of the country, as far away from here as possible. You just want to forget all about the place you grew up in, and you know that, in a few years, you will have forgotten.

Though you’re pretty sure a certain piercing gaze will haunt you forever, especially after the events of today.

When another hour passes, you head back inside, putting the empty bag of chips in the trash before you check up on San. He’s still asleep, but this time he doesn’t look as pale as he did earlier. You assume it’s going to take him a while before he wakes, so you head to the nearest town to grab more food. Mostly to busy yourself, but also just because you know San will need a place to hide for a lot longer than just the weekend. Might as well make sure you have enough for him to survive a couple of days. In town, you also stop to eat at a small café on a small terrasse in the shade of a few trees, and then you grab the food you think you might need at the grocery store.

It’s the middle of the afternoon when you get back, realizing that you forgot to buy a floor mat. As you spy San, who hasn’t moved an inch since he’s fallen asleep, you figure that sleeping next to him tonight should be fine.

As long as his presence in your vicinity doesn’t drag you down memory lane again.

You bought some meat in town, so you head to the little shack outside where the generator is hiding. There’s a gas canister right next to it – also full – and you busy yourself for the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get it started. When it finally rumbles to life, you head back inside to put the meat in the fridge, which has finally come to life.

When you hear a groan, you quickly jog to San’s side, fully expecting to find him awake. Surprisingly, he’s still asleep, and you stay next to him for a full minute, thinking he might groan again, though he remains entirely silent.

If it wasn’t for his chest moving up and down steadily, you’d believe him to be dead. But now that a few hours have passed, you’re pretty positive he’ll make it, though he’s probably going to sleep through the day and possibly through the next one too.

Which leaves you in the most peaceful atmosphere you’ve been in for a while, with the opportunity to study as you listen to the rush of wind in the leaves of the tall trees surrounding the cabin. You sit outside, this time near the fireplace, and you study until your stomach grumbles, indicating that it is time for you to cook.

You cook the meat you’ve bought on the grill outside, feeling thankful that your dad once showed you how to use it. You go back in to grab a bottle of water before you eat, and you’re bent in the fridge when you hear San moan again, and this time it sounds like he’s saying something.

You gently close the fridge, making your way to the bedroom. San hasn’t moved, but his features are creased in a frown, and sweat is rolling down his temples. You wet the washcloth, gently wipe his face, and you’re about to leave when he moans again.

It takes you far too long to realize he’s apologizing. What for, you can’t really tell. Though you remember his troubled eyes this morning, you remember his story, and your heart breaks in your chest.

He’s haunted. You think the ghost of the dead guy will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. And suddenly you’re struck thinking maybe, maybe if you hadn’t broken his heart all those years ago, you could have saved him from the gang.

Maybe you could have opened his eyes.

You still remember the break-up like it was yesterday. You remember the rain, him leaving without once looking back, but mostly you remember the words you had uttered. Ghosts of their own, that feel more real now that he’s come back into your life.

*****

                “You’re going to get hurt!” you yelled. “You’ll get hurt, San. What are you thinking?”

He scoffed, shaking his head, and little droplets of water shot all around him. “I’ll be careful. We need the money if we ever want to make it out of this shit town.”

You blinked away tears, folding your arms on your chest as you tried to keep your heart from breaking. Though you reckoned it had broken when your parents had told you what they knew about San. When your father had mentioned Ateez, and you’d truly realized what it meant that he was part of a gang. San, your sweet, soft, and bubbly San, in a gang that had murdered someone just a few weeks ago.

“But that’s not a way to make money!” you screamed, hoping he’d understand. Hoping he’d hear the truth in your words, hoping he’d change his mind before it was too late. “Why don’t you get a part-time job, like me? Then we can go to college and get jobs in a nice city on the other side of the country!”

“It won’t work,” he drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want to be out soon, not in a few years. I barely even have a roof over my head, Y/n…”

“Come live with me,” you choked out around the lump in your throat.

You both knew fully well that your parents would never let him come near you again.

“I can’t.”

You cried, hiding your face in your hands. You cried thinking of the field where you usually met, thinking about its beauty now fading into ugliness. You thought about the wildflowers, withered and dead as autumn had come. You thought about how you were convinced you knew what love was.

“What’s the point?” you asked then. “What’s the point of putting your life in danger? Life isn’t some sort of a game, Choi San. Worse, what if you have to hurt someone? Do you think you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”

He clenched his jaw, hard. “Do me a favour and stop asking questions.”

You closed your eyes, feeling sick to your stomach. Because it couldn’t be. Not San. Not your smiley San, who’d always weave dandelions crowns with you, as you’d pretend you were a queen and a king of that field you had found. An empty field, an abandoned farmland that was just yours and his to explore. That had been home to your first kiss, and all of those that had followed.

Now you wondered why he had always wanted to meet there in the first place. Was he trying to hide?

"If you love me, you’ll get out while you still can,” you said as your tears suddenly ended.

There was a weird sense of clarity in you, suddenly. You remembered the day you had fallen in love, the moment you had first kissed. You remembered the stars in the sky above, the meteors falling for the two of you. You remembered the music on the radio you had brought. Some Arctic Monkeys song about heartbreak, about moving on and failing to do so. As a joke, when it had ended, you had asked San, “Do you think love is a laserquest?”

His answer had been cryptic, mysterious, things that had made you believe he was the one. “Maybe. Maybe it is, and I’ve shot you in the back while you weren’t looking. Maybe I’m that annoying player that won’t leave you alone.”

“I’ll never find you annoying,” you had replied.

But today, watching the rain rolling down his face like tears, you realized that maybe, maybe you should have seen the warning behind his words. Because this betrayal, it came like he had shot you in the back – you didn’t think you’d be able to recover from it.

The past dwindled away as San spoke again, reminding you of the question you had just asked him. “It’s not a question of love, Y/n. I do love you. But it’s a question of survival.”

You laughed, coldly, and then you said, “You know what? You’re full of shit.”

“Alright then. Do me a favour and tell me to go away.”

“Go away.”

A long silence had lingered between you, voided of that summer warmth that had you falling in love. Like a piece was missing from the contract of you loving him, and him loving you. And you realized, maybe you had never really loved each other anyway.

He nodded once when you didn’t say anything else, before turning away. And you watched him walk away. You watched him thinking he was going to turn around and tell you this was just some twisted joke, the prank of the century. Only, he never turned around, and he disappeared behind the bend in the road, never to be seen again, cracking your heart open and splitting it in half.

*****

                The sun sets, like an ending to a dream. You’ve always liked the end – you think if you could choose, you’d want to witness the end of the world. The nostalgia, the beauty of endings… it’s something you understand now that you didn’t understand when you were younger. Because you and San ending, it had led to you focusing on high school. It had allowed you to get in the good college in town, with a scholarship that covered most of your expenses before you made it to med school.

There’s beauty in knowing losing San has allowed you to live out your dreams.

There’s less beauty in knowing that San has been sleeping for almost thirty-four hours now. Last time you checked, he was still breathing, but you’re starting to be afraid that he just won’t wake up. It’s irrational, you know – after the blood loss it makes sense that he’d sleep for a long time.

But it leaves you with far too much time on your hands to think and revisit the past. You’ve been doing it all day – thinking about the fight with your parents that had led to your break-up with San, thinking about that damn rainy evening he had walked away without once looking back. Thinking of the field, of sunshine and star falls and the sweetness of a first kiss. Thinking that, then, you thought you knew what it was like to be in love.

You haven’t dated anyone serious since San. Hyunmin was a distraction for a while, but you never were into it. Not like you were into San. There’s a guy in your class though, that you’ve been chatting with for a couple of weeks. He’s sweet, innocent, and the perspective of a future seems less scary with him around. He’s mentioned he wants to move across the country once too, and since then you’ve started talking more, the similarity of your wishes drawing you closer.

All day today you’ve been feeling like you’re slowly drifting away though. Slowly getting entrapped in a web you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.

You decide to swim, seeking the fresh clarity only cold water can bring to you. You don’t have a swimsuit with you, but since San is half-dead in bed you figure it doesn’t matter. So you strip naked, feet making squelching sounds in the mud by the lake side as you step in the water.

The sharp cold has you holding your breath, but you don’t slow down. You’ve never slowed down in life – when you make a decision, you bring it to completion. And you’ve decided to swim, so swim you will.

The warm summer evening breeze catches in your hair as you take another step forward, the water now lapping at your thighs. You dread the moment it’ll hit your core, knowing that that’s the worst part, but you breathe in deeply, moving forward. Because there’s no moving backwards now.

When the water hits, your eyes flutter shut, and you hold in the wince that threatens to escape the mask of calm your features hold. Soon enough, you get deep enough to swim, and the movements bring welcomed warmth to your limbs as you flop on your back, tits out of the water.

Your uncle’s cabin is the only cabin in a fifteen miles radius. You know you won’t be interrupted, and so you let the water cool you down. Calm you down, hold you in its fresh embrace. It undoes knots in your back that have formed from worrying about San, but also from worrying about college.

From worrying that you will never be enough. You think it’s a normal anxiety to have, something most people must feel as they go through the trials of college, not knowing what to expect on the other side. A nice career, perhaps, though the perspective of failure is there too, looming over the horizon.

You sigh, and your eyes flutter open as your legs move mindlessly under you, making sure to keep you afloat. You look up at the azury ceiling over your head, so far away as it slowly turns gold. Out of touch, out of grasp. You watch the fluffy white clouds that are lazily crossing the sky, turning fiery in the sunset, as if they have all the time in the universe. And you wish you were them, up above. With nothing to worry about.

Without a Choi San on the brink of death lying about twenty meters away from you. You sigh, and you turn in the water, with the purpose of swimming again. Though your gaze catches movement by the cabin, and your head snaps towards it to see none other than the supposedly Choi San, standing on the deck with a hand clutching his side.

You shriek, looking down at yourself. Most of you is hidden, but you don’t know how long he’s been there. Don’t know if he’s seen you naked as you looked up at the sky.

He doesn’t move, only watches you where you’re swimming.

“Can you please look away?” you say from the water, and he has the nerves to lean against the railing, eyes still boring into where you’re swimming. You think his gaze might be so hot the water will boil, and it startles you into action.

You start walking out of the water, pointing towards the door. “You shouldn’t be up, Choi San.”

“I feel fine,” he says as you take another step forward, and the water barely hides your tits anymore.

That makes him turn around, as he offers you a little bit of privacy. You’re quick to get out of the water and wrap yourself in the towel you brought outside, and then you collect your clothes to head back to the cabin. San dutifully keeps his gaze away until you’re climbing the three steps leading to the deck, and it’s then that his eyes trail to you again.

“Thank you for the water,” he says, offering you a tentative smile.

You left water by his bedside earlier today hoping it will coax him to wake up. You’re strangely surprised that it worked.

“You should go sit inside,” you scold him, only half-heartedly. Because seeing him up and about reassures you, somehow.

He cocks an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The weather is beautiful, I’d rather sit outside.”

You roll your eyes, but you do let him walk down the stairs to sit by the fireplace while you go inside to take a quick shower and get dressed. You decide to make some food for him, though you know he shouldn’t eat too much right now, after not having eaten for a while. He has to start slowly, and you don’t even know if he’s hungry anyway.

You settle for preparing a cup of chicken noodle soup for him, so at least it isn’t too heavy on his stomach. You bring it to him outside, as he’s just calmly observing the lake.

“Thank you,” he says, voice small as he grabs the cup and the spoon.

You sit next to him, trying not to watch him eat too much. His hair is sticking to his forehead in some places, and you have the distinct thought that he’ll probably need to shower. At least there’s plenty of rain water in the bucket for the water pump.

“What have you been doing while I was out?” he asks.

You spare him a quick glance before losing your gaze in the rocks of the fireplace. “I’ve studied. Checked up on you. Not much honestly.”

He chuckles. “I’d argue that caring for someone is a lot.”

You glance at him, cheeks burning at the sight of his teasing smile. “Not really.”

He chuckles again, but doesn’t say anything more before eating another spoonful of soup. He’s almost done with the cup when he actually does speak, asking, “How long was I out?”

“A day and a half,” you answer. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t slept longer.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “I’m made of tough stuff.”

You snicker, but you don’t say anything, just focusing on where you’re kicking at the dirt. When he’s done with the cup, he puts it down on the ground next to him, before sitting back in the chair. He stretches out his legs in front of him, sighing deeply.

“I still feel out of it,” he admits, and you meet his gaze.

“You can sleep more,” you tell him. “I’d just like to check on the…”

You don’t even have to finish your sentence. He immediately turns so his side is to you, and you have to admit you’ve done a perfectly good job with the stitches.

“So?” he asks.

“All good.” You pat his shoulder. “You can sit comfortably again.”

He’s smiling when he does so, and his gaze wanders to the lake once again. “I’m sorry I…” he trails off, and he chuckles softly. “I’m sorry I interrupted your little swim earlier.”

You have the decency to flush furiously red, and you shrug your shoulders. “No worries, I wasn’t expecting you to be up so soon.”

You fall in a comfortable silence, surprisingly so. Rare stars dot the darkening sky up above, and all that can be heard for a moment is the flap of a bird’s wing as it moves from branches to branches in the trees by the water. The breeze picks up as you watch the little bird, and the leaves dance, loudly so. You’d think it’d be deafening in the silence between you and him, but it’s strangely reassuring.

As if, after all, you found your way back to the field. Only this time it’s completely different, as if decades have passed between you. At least, that’s how it feels like.

You notice San has dozed off in the chair next to you when you were about to speak to him again. To ask him how he’s truly been, in the years between then and now. Hoping to avoid mentioning what led to him coming to you, yesterday, a whole eternity ago.

You watch him, heart aching in your chest. Aching to reach out and brush his hair away from his forehead, aching to heal the cut on his cheek with a gentle swipe of your fingers. If only medicine was so simple…

It seems the peace of the early evening wasn’t going to stay around, because you notice dark clouds rolling in the distance, streaks of lightning cutting through them. Slowly inching closer, menacingly so, and you gently wake San up with your hand on his wrist.

He startles awake, hand shooting to his waist, finding nothing there. It startles you, and you both stare at each other for a moment until you realize what he was looking for.

His gun.

“San…” you let out and he runs his hand through his hair, eyes falling shut as he breathes in and out raggedly.

“Sorry.”

“San, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, refuses to let you see the vulnerability you glimpsed behind his piercing gaze. Refuses to acknowledge that he’s terrified, deadly so.

“Let’s go in,” you tell him, softly. Because you’re afraid you’ll spook him, when he’s clearly been living in fear long enough. “There’s a storm coming.”

He nods, carefully getting up without sparing you a glance. He heads inside, hand clutching his side again, while you pick up the chicken noodle soup cup before following him.

You’ve refilled the generator before swimming, so you know it’s been charging the batteries for a while now. You don’t fear ending up in the dark with San, and there’s also always the option of using the lamps and candles your uncle always leave here in case of an emergency.

The storm doesn’t roll in until a little later. You’ve forced San to put a shirt on – mostly so your eyes would stop betraying you, dropping to his toned body whenever he talked to you. You’re currently sitting on the couch, and as the rain starts, hammering against the window behind you, you pull your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms comfortably around them.

“How hard do the storms hit here?” he asks, eyes trailed to the world outside.

You follow his gaze, right as wind picks up to make the water hit the window even harder, creating a cacophony that forces you to speak louder for him to hear. “Pretty hard.”

He nods, and he glances once at you. “Fun.”

You smile, because you’ve always liked storms. Have always found them electrifying, energizing.

“Do you remember when we used to go to the field when it rained?” San asks, taking you by surprise.

Making your heart clench so hard in your chest you have to take a wobbly breath in. If he notices he doesn’t say.

“We were always in that field,” you remind him. “No matter the weather.”

It’s his turn to smile fondly. “It got so pretty with all the wildflowers. But you were afraid of the bees.”

“Bees are scary!” You laugh, and he echoes it with a soft chuckle. “You’re the one that almost pissed yourself when we saw the rat.”

That makes him laugh, and he winces in pain clutching his side. “Gosh, is it supposed to keep on hurting like this?”

It douses your enthusiasm and your smile falls. “Well, it was a solid cut.”

His eyes get lost in the void as he takes on a wistful expression. “I’m surprised I didn’t die.”

You gulp, watching his profile carefully. “It wasn’t deep enough for that…” you trail off, even though you spent most of yesterday and today being convinced he’d die. “At least they didn’t… stab you.”

“They would have if… Wooyoung didn’t shoot.”

You remain silent, not knowing what to reply to that. San interprets that as discomfort, and he quickly adds, “He didn’t shoot them. Just… in the air. It attracted the police.”

You remember the cars zooming past the diner a lifetime ago, and you nod your head. “I heard.”

He seems surprised, and his gaze finally finds yours again. “You did?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, a little awkwardly. “I hear a lot of shootings, in the diner.”

His eyes widen, mouth falling open cutely. “You do?”

You don’t know what he expected. The diner is right between Ateez and Bangtan territory, and as much as it is a safe space, it is also near enough to dangerous grounds, and you’ve heard plenty of shooting in your time working there.

“Always,” you admit. “It can get scary sometimes… but you also get used to it.”

He looks sad. Infinitely so, like a lost puppy. That’s when the first thunder hits, so sharp and sudden you startle. Not quite as much as San, who ducks, wincing in pain as he clutches his side.

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, in time with another thunderclap, though this time it’s more of a rumble.

You watch his chest as he breathes in and out quickly. “Just… fuck.”

Now, concern grows in you, and you gently put a hand on his shoulder. “San…”

He meets your gaze, and there’s so much white in his it makes you think of a terrified prey. And then it clicks: he thought it was a gunshot.

“Hey,” you quickly say, moving closer to him. You’re on the side of the stitches, so you still keep a safe distance between the two of you, but you grab his hand nonetheless. “You’re okay.”

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say.

“I promise, no one’s going to find you here.”

He remains silent this time around, eyes still boring into yours. You take that as a cue to continue, because you don’t want him to panic. You want his thoughts here, with you, and not miles away in a city he should have escaped from years ago. You wish he had, knowing the atrocities that he would have avoided.

Would he have escaped with you, had you stayed just a little longer?

“I killed someone,” he says, and you balk at the silver lining his gaze. “I fucking killed him.”

You don’t know how to help. All you can think to do is cup his cheek, right as he starts breathing even faster. “Breathe with me, San.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes fall to your mouth. You make a good show of inhaling slowly, before exhaling even slower. It takes him a moment but he eventually follows your lead.

It breaks when there’s another sharp thunderclap, and he flinches, eyes shutting instinctively.

“Hey hey hey,” you say again, even more gentle, softer than before. You move even closer, and when a tear slips out of his closed eyes, you pull him into a hug, careful not to brush his side.

His head falls on your shoulder, and one of his arms wrap around your waist. A thunderclap later, he starts sobbing, fist balling the fabric of your shirt in his tight hold, and you let him do it. You let him hold onto you, hoping it’ll keep him here with you. Hoping it’ll keep him afloat during the storm that’s raging both outside and in his mind.

“It’s going to be okay,” you breathe, and you feel like you’re lying to him.

Because how can he ever be safe from the ghosts inside of his skull? The ghosts wandering the halls of him, tainting his soul with their presence?

“He’s never going to smile again,” San chokes out. “Everyone loved him. Even in Ateez… Jungkook was the best of us. The only one who had a shot at getting out of it.”

You don’t know how good he could have been, if he was a member of Bangtan. In your mind, you’d always seen Bangtan as the bad guys, mostly because they weren’t with San. Even when you had been struggling to evade that life, you’d still rooted for him.

It’s strange how you just realize that now, as you’re holding him while he breaks.

“You didn’t mean to kill him,” you remind San, still speaking with the calmest voice you can muster up. “You didn’t want to, San. You’re not a murderer.”

“I’m still a killer,” he says. He sounds angry, and you reckon he might be angry at himself. Might be consumed with his actions, dragged to hell before his time as his mind gets stuck replaying the events.

“Maybe,” you answer. “But,” you quickly add when he stiffens in your arms. “But you can spend the rest of your life making up for it. Repenting.”

He doesn’t respond right away, as he breaks some more, sobs rocking through him. You’ve never seen him like this, not even when you were younger and in love. It makes your gaze wet, yet you hold on strong for him. You keep your head held high, and you allow him to break in the safe haven that your arms represent.

Because to him, you’ve never been tainted. You’ve always been the ideal he was trying to pursue, albeit the wrong way.

“I don’t know how to repent,” he admits when he calms down. He turns his head, and his nose brushes along the skin of your neck, slightly tickling you. You ignore the feeling, especially as he adds, “Ateez… it’s all I’ve ever known.”

You run a hand on his back, soothingly. “It isn’t.”

Because there was you, too. There was the summer field and the twinkling stars and Artic Monkeys on the radio. There was the two of you, petal-soft kisses exchanged in the dead of night and in the brightness of day. There were rainy days, and then there was rain. There was him walking away, and you hate yourself then.

You wish you had stopped him that day, had kept him from going on to become what he’s become now. A person he clearly hates, someone that has a bounty on his head. Someone that doesn’t even believe they’re allowed redemption and you reckon you don’t even know if he is.

You only know that seeing him break is bending your will, the way the wind outside is bending the trees. All you can hope is that, like the tall trees, you won’t break.

*****

                The storm calmed down sometime around midnight. San ended up falling asleep on the couch, as you’d reassuringly ran your hand through his hair, trying to keep him with you. Though you think he’s been slipping through your fingers, into his demons.

You’ll find a way to bring him back. You have to. Turns out it comes faster than you think, as the electricity runs out and you busy yourself with lighting some candles throughout the main room. When you’re done, you put a blanket over him, and you almost let out a startled scream as his eyes shot open.

“Hello,” you say, resting a hand on your heart to tame the wild beats.

You’re about to move away, but he grabs your hand, forcing you to sit next to him. You don’t really resist, though you think you probably should. You’re weak – weaker still when he murmurs your name.

“San,” you whisper in return, and you’re aware your voice carries too much longing. Longing for a past when life’s atrocities hadn’t changed either of you yet.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and a tear rolls on his cheek.

You dry it, fingers lingering there. “It’s okay.”

“Angel…”

The nickname brings you back to laser quests and favours and warmth creeping up your stomach for the first time in your life.

“I’m no angel,” you breathe.

“You saved me.”

You hold his gaze. There’s something hiding behind his pupils. The need, to forget. You don’t think you have the ability to run his mind through amnesia, but still you brush his cheek again.

“You deserved saving.”

His eyes glaze once more, though this time no tears fall. “It’s hard to believe it.”

“Do you still believe love is a laser quest?” you ask him, out of the blue.

As if you’re a line straight of that Arctic Monkeys song you listened to the first time you kissed.

“Maybe,” he says, a parallel to that first time you had asked the question. “Maybe it is.”

You can’t resist. You lean down, and you press the gentlest kiss on his lips. His are dry, but the way he sighs with you against him is soft, for your heart and for your mind, and you kiss him again. He lets you lead, follows the dance of your lips, lets you run your hand through his sweaty hair.

Even if you shouldn’t. Even if you know everything you’re doing right now is a mistake, you still find yourself deepening the kiss, opening your lips to slip your tongue out, teasing his mouth. One of his hands finds your thigh, and he squeezes ever so slightly as his tongue finds yours, and you let out a breathy sound.

When you pull away, eyes fluttering open, you find San’s gaze. You think about the boy he was then, the girl you were then. You think about who you were, together. And when he says, “Please make me forget”, you lean again, capturing his mouth in a languid kiss.

For a reason unknown, the summer sky and falling stars pale in comparison to this kiss. Maybe because it holds longing, nostalgia. Hope that life would have turned out differently. For a moment, you picture what it would have been like, without Ateez. With you and him in the field, in your family house, in a car driving by the beach, windows down as the sun sets and you sing along to the radio, wind blowing in your hair.

You see a whole life there, with you and him marrying in the field, under the sun that had been the host of your first love. You imagine growing up by his side, attending college with him in the big city. You imagine how he would have become the owner of his own construction company, like his dad before him. You picture kids laughing, running around the house he would have built for you. You see Christmas light, late nights antics by the firelight.

You see it all, and you know you’ll never have any of it. But if you can have tonight, then you’ll grab it before it slips through your fingers. Before he walks away in the rain again, only to be a memory you cherish in the deepest corners of your heart.

“How?” you ask him when you pull away.

Mostly, you’re asking how to make him forget. But you’re also asking how it is that the feelings are still there, even stronger now, as if they’ve grown up with you, yet haven’t changed like you have. Like they are a constant of an ever-changing universe.

“Kiss me again,” he asks, begs, and you give in. You kiss him wildly, always making sure not to touch his side and the stitches.

You know sex would be a stupid idea, especially with the fresh stitches. But also because he’s barely had time to recover. But he doesn’t really give you a choice, pulling you on top of him until you’re straddling him.

You sit back on him for a second, eyes trailing to the spot where you know the stitches are. “This isn’t a good idea,” you whisper through the ragged breaths caused by the ministrations of his mouth on yours and of yours on his.

“I’m fine,” he says, and you know you shouldn’t believe him. But when he pulls you down again, large hand holding the nape of your neck firmly so you don’t escape, you want to believe him.

Want to believe the beauty of his lies, like you had when you were younger.

From where you’re perched, you can feel the start of his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly in the kiss, rolling your hips. His mouth falls open, and you capture his tongue, sucking on it once before you pull away, leaving hot kisses on his jaw.

“Sit on my face,” he says, and he sounds out of his mind. Crazed, a little like you too feel at the moment.

“What?”

“Can’t get hurt if you sit on my face, angel,” he explains, and then hisses when you suck a hickey on his neck.

You let him pull your shirt off, unclasping your bra yourself as you sit back on his lap. He cups your breasts, rolling your erect nipples between his thumbs and indexes. You moan again, grinding your hips into his, and he hisses once more.

“You want to taste me?” you ask, head throwing back as he pinches your nipples hard.

“I’d fuck you, but you’re the doctor. Can’t risk fucking up my stitches, huh?” he replies, voice low and husky.

Your core heats up, pussy clenching around nothing. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, though you spy desperation beneath it. Like he thinks he doesn’t have forever, when it comes to you.

He’s right. Because tomorrow, you’ll have to go back into town, into the hellscape you call home. What will be left of the two of you then?

So when he tugs at your pants, you give in and get up, taking off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You step out of them, blood heating up by the way he’s looking at you through half-lidded eyes, gaze burning on you.

You have half a thought that you could probably ride him instead of his face, but when you see his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, making them glisten in the candlelight, you need to know what it’ll feel like against you.

So you straddle his face as he guides you down, large hands pushing on your thighs until your pussy is a hairsbreadth away from his lips. He blows on it, and your eyes shut with sensitivity. You clutch the cushion of the couch, hoping it’ll help steady you, but the moment his tongue flicks at your clit, you realize nothing will be able to steady you. Yet you still hold onto it, especially as he dives his tongue between your folds, lapping up your juice. He moans in contentment, before moving to your clit again. And his tongue is wicked down there, like it knows exactly what you like.

You grab a handful of his hair, grinding into his face. You’re pretty sure he’s chuckling down there, and then he unleashes himself. Sucking hard, alternating circling motions to teasing you with his teeth. You’d expect the latter to hurt, but the way he does it just makes you see stars, and your pussy clenches around nothing again.

San is deadly good with his mouth. Both with crafting lies and pulling moans out of you, and your thighs tighten against his face as he sucks particularly hard, before dipping his tongue inside of you. His nose brushes your clit, and then he forces you to properly sit on him.

The way his tongue moves inside of you, lapping up your juices while opening you up, has you on the brink of an orgasm in no time. Especially as he makes you grind again, holding you tight into place. When one of his hands moves from around your thigh to reach your clit, you cry out, head throwing back.

He’s quick to rub at your sensitive clit, and you grab one of your breasts, massaging it mindlessly before you pinch your nipple, hard, right in time with a skilled swipe of his tongue. Your orgasm meets you there, shaking through you as it explodes in a blinding flash of light. You moan, loudly, something that resembles his name, and he keeps you going, guides you through your high until you cringe with oversensitivity.

Only then does he let you climb off from his face. You stand on wobbly legs, before deciding to sit next to him, and you catch sight of the smirk on his lips. It makes you blush, right as you realize what you’ve just done.

When you realize what kind of sinful activity he’s dragged you in, this time around.

“Gosh,” is all you manage to say.

He chuckles, clearly proud with himself. “That felt good?”

You worry at your bottom lip, eyes going down to the tent in his pants. You want to pleasure him too, to take him in your mouth and make him feel good, but he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Don’t.”

You still and you meet his gaze with slightly-widened eyes. “Why not?”

His features turn somber, haunted, and the heat of the moment passes so quickly you think it might have been a figment of your imagination.

Were you really riding his face just a moment ago?

“Please just lay next to me,” he says, barely even a whisper.

You don’t know a lot of men that would choose cuddling over getting a blowjob, but if that is what he wants, then you’ll give it to him. You lay next to him, glad that the injured side is closer to the couch. That way, you can cuddle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder while he wraps an arm around you.

“Angel,” he murmurs after a time. “You’re a fucking angel. I think you’re my salvation.”

You highly doubt you hold this kind of power, but you don’t want to tell him. Have never been good at weaving beautiful lies for him to believe.

“We should stay here,” he continues. “Forever.”

And you wish you could. Wish reality didn’t exist, didn’t call for you to go back to your regular life like you’ve never been here with him. But you know tomorrow exists, and you’ll have to leave.

“We should have stayed in the field,” you choose to answer. “Under the shooting stars.”

“I wished for a lifetime with you, then,” he admits. “I wished I’d never have to let you go.”

You’d wished for a similar thing, but life is far too cruel to allow a world of first loves.

“Why did you…” you trail off. The question has haunted your sleepless nights for a long time after the break-up. Even years later, you’d still think about it sometimes, wondering if nostalgia would choke you up. “Why did you decide to join the gang?”

He tenses next to you. But you start tracing a mindless circle on his chest, through the shirt, and it distracts him enough for him to reply. “I thought I didn’t have a choice.”

“Did you?”

His voice holds the weight of the world when he says, “I did. And I made the wrong one.”

You want to cry, but you’re older now. You’re not the teenager who thought she was going to die from losing him anymore. You know what living without Choi San is like, and as much as it hurts, you know that it’s doable.

“You made the one you believed was right,” you say carefully. “But I do wish you had made a different one.”

He holds you a little tighter, as if that will make it so tomorrow never comes. “Me too.”

There’s an eternity of flickering candlelight on the ceiling, of the circles you trace on his chest and of your breathings forming a melody. Outside, the wind has died down, and the world is silent except from an occasional cricket braving the world after the storm.

“Where will you go, once you graduate?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

Because he knows. It’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed.

“As far away from here as I can.”

“I hope you find peace, wherever you go,” he whispers. “I hope you forget all about how we grew up in a hellhole.”

Do you feel bad for saying it? Maybe. But you can’t help saying it anyway. “I will, San.”

And like that rainy day years ago, you think you can see him walk away.

*****

Seven years later

The winter sun is strangely bright, up above. You’d think it will warm you up, but the cold is relentless, violent, and it sneaks into your coat as you walk out of the hospital. You’ve just finished a thirty-hour shift, and you can’t wait to be home.

To take a shower and forget that you’ve lost a patient today.

But you’ve saved another. A young man, with a stab wound in his ribs that should have killed him. But you saved him, stabilized his condition to the point you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Which is the only reason why you’re allowing yourself to leave now.

You’re never able to leave until you know your patients are okay. It’s been that way since your first patient, in a cabin in the woods you’ve done your best to forget.

You’d let San stay, after that weekend. He had given you the number of one of his friends, so you could get some clothes for him, and you’d gone back the next weekend. Bringing him the clothes, making love to him under the moonlight as if that would change the ending.

The following week, you had gone back to find the cabin empty. He’d left a note behind.

I hope I can find you again, wherever you go.

You kept the note. It’s in your bedside table, back at home, in the nice apartment you’ve been able to rent for yourself with all the money you’ve been making now. Enough to pay back student loans from med school, enough to reassure you that never again will you struggle.

You’ve never seen San again after. He hasn’t found you, and you haven’t searched for him. Have only looked up his name a couple of times, in the months following his disappearing, scared you’d find out that he was found dead in a ditch. But his name never came up, and you wondered if he had managed to escape, if he had managed to find a place where Bangtan couldn’t reach him.

You found peace, on your side of the country. Life is kinder here, though it still holds the same atrocities. You wonder if it’s the novelty of the city, or maybe if you’ve just grown old enough to be able to withstand the bad that the world throws your way. It’s hard to tell – you haven’t kept contact with anyone from back home, except Jae-on.

Jae-on, who’s moved with you when you’ve decided to come here, like he said he would. Jae-on, who asked you to marry him in late October, and you said yes. The ring sits heavy on your finger, and you mindlessly play with it.

In another world, you would already be married to Choi San. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of that world – a piercing gaze in the morning, a smile and a kiss to your temple. Talks about angels, children screaming in happiness. In another world, you’d be pregnant again, waiting patiently to add another piece of you and him to this world.

It’s fun to think about, sometimes, but you’ve been good at forgetting. Like you told him you would – most times, you’ve forgotten all about Choi San.

But today, you had a patient that reminded you of him. So you allow yourself to feel, you allow yourself to think about that note tucked in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, hidden under the thick socks you never use.

You allow yourself to think about the cabin in the woods, about the field where you would have gotten married had you been in that picturesque world you like to imagine. You think about laser quests and first kiss and rainy days and meteors. You think about summer, about wildflowers and him.

You’re so lost in thought you miss your stop home, and you begrudgingly get out at the next one. You’re tired, and your hands are shaking as you pull your phone out of your tote bag, wanting to text Jae-on that you’re going to be home late because you missed your stop. You walk to the other side of the tracks, sighing when you see a five-minutes wait for the next subway.

At least the sun is high in the sky, even though it is dreadfully cold. You shiver, putting your phone back in your tote bag so you can hide your hands in your sleeves again, hoping it’ll preserve them from the cold.

In your exhaustion, you forgot your gloves back at the hospital, you realize. It’s strange that you only realize now, and you reckon you really need to sleep, because your brain isn’t even working right anymore.

You sigh, glancing at the display showing the time. Still four minutes to wait. You think at this rhythm you might freeze in your spot before the next subway comes. You try to hide your face in the lapel of your coat, but a movement on the other platform attracts your gaze.

A man is helping an older woman climb down the stairs. She’s speaking loudly, which might be what attracted your gaze in the first place. You follow them as they walk down the stairs, and then when the man turns towards you, you meet his piercing gaze.

He smiles, and you realize that maybe, all those years ago, he was not spinning lies to you after all.

☆☆☆☆☆

Gosh yeahhh rereading it had me ralize that it is a lot sadder than I remembered it to be. At least we got an open ending ... :') What did we think? Should I write about other groups more often? Let me know what you think! All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate

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@btsborahaee

[khristie16]

Social dance ¬ One

An old soul, lost in a modern society ruled by concepts which are normalised. Unable to follow them even if tried enough, a risk to be left alone in the dark, where shadows control life and decisions. To learn the normalised and be stumped in it or unlearn some patterns?

trope: childhood friends -> enemies to lovers format: reader x charles leclerc

triggers in this chapter: physically absent father You're free to leave a comment on how you like it, besos❀

Growing up in a tranquil neighbourhood, where silence was only occasionally interrupted by the distant hum of life, seemed mundane as a child. But now, you find yourself yearning for those days when the world was filled with the magic of fairy tales and the innocent fear of imaginary monsters under your bed. The simplicity of those days, when the biggest worry was dark shadows, feels like a comforting memory against the complexities of adult life.

Even as an adult, there's a part of you that still believes in the fantastical creatures that once haunted your dreams, a reminder of the vibrant imagination of youth. You fondly remember Charles, the boy next door, whose presence was as constant as the changing seasons. Living with his two brothers, he was an integral part of your childhood tapestry.

Those summers spent playing with water guns and pretending to be gangsters, with homemade lemonade as your elixir, are cherished memories. The lemonade's tangy sweetness seemed to cool the essence of summer's heat. As second grade rolled around, new friendships began to form, reshaping the landscape of your young heart.

You laugh now at the simplicity of those early days, where girls played with girls and boys did the same. It was a natural progression, the formation of new groups, so subtle you barely noticed it happening.

As time flowed on, your thirteenth birthday brought with it life-changing news. Your father, a dedicated and brilliant engineer, announced his move to a different city for a better job. His unwavering commitment to providing financial security and happiness for you and your mother was evident, a priority that guided his every decision.

As an introverted and shy girl, you cherished the few friendships you had but longed for close ones. You craved big gatherings but remained loyal to your initial choices.

High school began, and the absence of your best friend at the same school made the transition even harder. Making new friends proved challenging as your interests diverged from those of your classmates. The boys seemed indifferent, drawn to different types of girls. This solitude pushed you to delve into your passions—hobbies and sports that brought you joy—and deepened the bond with your father through shared interests.

Charles reentered your life, capturing your attention once more. As a natural observer, you noted the subtle ways girls behaved around him, ways that were foreign to you. There seemed to be a pattern to their actions, a social dance you hadn't yet mastered. So, you stood on the sidelines, watching and learning.

The classroom buzzes with the low hum of chatter, but your mind is elsewhere. Lost in thoughts, you barely notice your friend, Mary, seated beside you.

“What are you looking at?” Mary's voice breaks through your reverie.

Mary, the blue-eyed gamer girl, sits next to you. Her dark, fine hair frames her face, and her headphones rest casually on her shoulders. She hums a Korean song softly while sketching on her graphic tablet.

You shrug your shoulders. “Nothing.”

Mary nods, her attention returning to her art. After a few moments, she glances at you with curiosity. “Seriously, what are you trying to find there?”

Your gaze drifts to Charles—handsome, with a tall figure and brown, curly hair that looks irresistibly touchable. He's smiling at your classmate Liz, who exudes beauty and confidence. An ache spreads in your chest, but you quickly dismiss it as irrational.

“He's hot,” Mary comments casually.

You snap your head towards her, eyes wide in surprise. Mary chuckles at your reaction. “What? It's the truth.”

You shake your head, looking down at your hands. They could use some care, evidence of your passion for hobbies that leave oil under your nails. You've developed the habit of hiding them, but it's clear what you do in your free time.

Mary studies you closely, concern etched on her face. “Something wrong?”

You shake your head again, adjusting your position for comfort. “Nothing, just the usual,” you lie, hating the words as you say them.

“Jeez, I hope the trip will change you a bit,” Mary says, pecking your cheek affectionately.

You chuckle, appreciating her honesty. It's one of the things you love about her. Despite everything, she's always genuine.

You observe the boys, noting how they pay attention to specific girls—girls who aren't like you. You prefer your big T-shirts, allowing comfort while eating a hamburger, and you like your hair in a bun, keeping it out of the way while working under a car.

Your fondness for everything that reminds you of your dad is something you wouldn't change, not even for Charles's wandering eyes. You wish he could see you differently, or more accurately, see you at all.

Ironically, you talk more with his younger brother, Arthur. He's the youngest and always tried to keep up with you and Charles when you played as kids. Arthur has a soft spot for you because you remind him of home. You've known each other since childhood, and you've always looked out for him.

Unfortunately, Arthur started his first year here and is busy with his own life.

“Yeah, it could do me some good,” you murmur, zoning out as you think about the upcoming trip.

Flashback: Two weeks ago

Sweat drips into your eyes as you breathe heavily under the car, working diligently to put the parts back together.

“YN!”

You turn your head to see who's calling, though you already know. Long, slim legs in a pleated pink skirt stand at the doorway.

You push yourself out from under the car and grab a towel to wipe your face. “Yes, Mom?”

You have your mother's eyes—brown and almond-shaped, though yours are lighter, more amber than her dark chocolate. Your father's green eyes give you a unique blend. Your mother is a lady, elegant and beautiful, and you love her just as much as your father.

“I need to talk to you, hun.”

You nod and stand up, ready to listen.

Your mom is looking at you with a pitying look yet a sweet smile, which makes you feel like the sore leg of the whole family. As a child, when the family was still together, you did not experience such feelings. You concluded that this is a natural human development, causing people to feel worse mentally and often physically in today's world. You shook yourself out of your mother's piercing eyes. She misses your dad as much as you do.

The pitying look comes from her resentment of you spending so much time in the garage and not having a life like everyone else. Though your mom was never one of those women who wanted to take it far; she always stayed at home and raised you. For this, you are glad, but you wouldn't believe she could begrudge your decision. Maybe she hates when you ride your motorbike in the rain and it's stuffy every time you come back home.

You had to admit that the adrenaline was the only thing that made you feel alive. And if you didn't have your female friends in your life, you'd probably be even worse off. Sometimes you agreed when this thought made its way to the top of your consciousness, but you chose to ignore it. Every time, it made your heart sink and form a lump in your throat.

The most devastating feeling about it all was that you had a life, in a way. Hobbies, skills, and intelligence allowed you to sail through school academically, but you still felt empty. At first, you said it was puberty, but it took a long time. Even your friends had something you were missing, but you didn't know what it was. When you started to think about it longer, you didn't come to any conclusion. Maybe there's something more to it that you don't know about, but your mom's presence brought you back to the present when her soft and kind hands touched yours.

“Sweetie, your dad and I were thinking that you could visit my sister in Italy. Do you still remember her?”

You sigh, remembering her. She is everything you are not and probably never will be. Full of life, five men in each palm, and her life revolves around fun, a little work, and a lot of sex. You don't blame her, but you wonder why your parents want to send you there.

“You know, she's busy now. She started a babysitting business, and you know Eve. She's a nut, and when she sent me videos, she had about ten kids there at once, but her grace makes everything easier.”

At this point, you want to collapse, go back under the car, and not get out. Your shock is evident because your mom squeezes your hands.

“It would only take a few weeks. You were always so patient and responsible; it would help her a lot.”

Her words warm your heart slightly. At least someone appreciates these qualities. The problem is that it isn't the real reason they want to send you there. But you know your mom too well to pry the information out of her even if you'd asked.

You sigh. “You know school has started and I need to study.”

“It doesn't matter; I already arranged it at school. You will have an individual plan for the time you are not here.”

Unfortunately or not, your face has the ability to show every emotion and thought swirling inside. You want to curse yourself for it the second your mom stands up straight, ready to insist you listen. You raise your hands in anticipation that you weren't going to talk about it any further and go back under the car. After Mom sulks in the garage for a little while longer, deciding it would be better if you both cooled down, you get up again and go to the phone.

Dad picks it up on the other end. “Hello, sunshine, how are you?”

This time, you don't bother with small talk. “Why are you and Mom sending me away?”

Dad is silent for a second and then starts, “So she already told you. I told her to wait until I come for the weekend.”

“That's nice, but I want a reason.”

“Your mother thinks you lack certain skills.”

“Like what?”

Your blood is boiling, and you want to punch the wall or the ground. Right now, you don't care.

“Your mother told me how she was raised differently and she would like it for you as well. She is afraid you'll fall behind—”

You admire how your father is attentive to your mother's wishes, but right now you wish it were otherwise. Dad doesn't have a firm hand when it comes to Mom's feelings, so he allows her everything she has in her heart.

“—that we will send you there for a few months and see how it will benefit you.”

“What? Mom said a few weeks…”

“It wouldn't make much sense. It's far away.”

Tears begin to well up in your eyes and you feel helpless, just like you experience every day at school, but this time much more intense. The other part of you that survives inside is being ripped apart, leaving you with heavy breathing.

“Baby, wait for me to come home. You'll be fine.”

“How could I be fine when you want to send me a billion miles away?”

Dad just sighs. You can tell he’s sorry too, but he's adamant that it will benefit you.

“You'll see. You’ll be able to teach your aunt how to fix cars.”

A small smile forms on your face as you start laughing. The image of your aunt under the car is enough to break the tension. After the phone call with Dad, you head to the living room to talk to Mom, but someone knocks on the door. Mindlessly, you go to open it and there stands Charles.

Except he has Liz wrapped around his neck, hanging on him like a coat on a hanger, with lipstick smeared all over her face. No wonder she wasn't cast for the Joker adaptation. Charles stares blankly with a smudge of lipstick on his face.

After the initial shock, you ask what they would like.

Charles enlightens you about their visit: he needs to pick up some of your mom's freshly baked healthy bread for his mom, without lactose and all the other things discussed in magazines you don't read. You close the door to call your mom. Before you can do that, Liz speaks.

“Is that a boy or a girl?”

You flush like a pan on the stove, not hearing your mother's footsteps as she suddenly appears in front of you with her hands full of buns. You swallow and open the door a little more. This time, you focus your gaze on Liz, who you want to punch in the face and hope her hair turns gray when she sees herself in the mirror.

But when you look at Charles, you see that he’s amused by Liz's comment, as he has a smirk on his face. It doesn’t make you angry; it hurts you.

You wouldn’t expect that from someone like him. You spent your entire childhood together, and you hoped he would at least protect you. Somehow. But who are you to him for him to do something like that? After all, you haven't talked to each other in a long time.

And a part of you is glad to soon be away from people who box you in and don't care anymore.

Now

Back in your room, you start packing reluctantly. Mary calls and tries to cheer you up, suggesting that Italy might be an adventure you need, even if you can’t see it yet.

A few days later, you’re at the airport, saying goodbye to your mom. Her eyes are teary, and she hugs you tightly. “Remember, this is for your own good, sweetheart. Have an open mind, okay?”

You nod, though you’re not entirely convinced. The flight feels long, but you distract yourself by imagining what Italy will be like. When you arrive, your aunt Eve is there to greet you, her bright smile and effervescent personality already overwhelming.

“Welcome to Italy, darling! We’re going to have so much fun!” she exclaims, pulling you into a hug.

You manage a smile, hoping that maybe, just maybe, this trip will help you find whatever it is you’ve been missing. Eve’s place is bustling with activity—kids everywhere, laughter, and chaos. It’s a stark contrast to your quiet, introspective life.

In the following days, you settle into a routine. Helping Eve with the children keeps you busy, and you start to appreciate the small moments of joy in their innocent smiles and giggles. One evening, as you’re tucking in one of the kids, Eve joins you.

“You’re really good with them,” she says softly. “Thank you for being here. It means a lot.”

You nod, feeling a sense of warmth. It’s nice to be appreciated. “It’s different, but I’m getting used to it.”

Eve smiles. “You know, I see a lot of your mom in you. She was always so responsible and patient. But don’t forget to have fun, too. Life is too short to be serious all the time.”

Her words linger with you as you navigate the days. Slowly, you start to explore more—venturing out into the vibrant streets of Italy, tasting the food, and absorbing the culture. You even meet some locals who introduce you to new hobbies and interests.

One afternoon, while you’re out exploring, you receive a text from Mary. “Hey, guess what? Charles asked about you today. He seemed surprised you left.”

You stare at the message, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. Before you can overthink it, another message comes in. “Maybe this trip will show him what he’s missing out on.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. Italy is changing you, bit by bit. You’re finding pieces of yourself you didn’t know were missing. And maybe, just maybe, when you return, you’ll be ready to face whatever comes your way—whether it’s Charles, school, or just life in general.

With renewed determination, you continue to embrace your time in Italy, knowing that this experience is shaping you into a stronger, more confident person. And who knows? Maybe when you return home, you’ll be ready to show the world the real you.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hey, this might be too specific, but I was thinking Jason Todd with a top male reader older than Jason (like sugar daddy ;) lol just kidding but let it be like 30-40 years and that he has more experience than Jason with weapons and stuff

Jason Todd x older male reader

Headcanons

Jason is in his early 20s in this whilst the reader is around 40. I might have taken the sugar daddy part and ran with it lmao.

-          You were called Black Demise, because you wore mainly black and dark colors and the fact that no one ever saw you coming.

-          You had been in the killing business for at least 20 years now, having run with the likes of Deathstroke when you first started out. The two of you were still friends somewhat, but you didn’t communicate as much anymore since you were both busy.

-          Meeting Red Hood was a coincidence. The Outlaws had appeared during one of your contracts, apparently having the same target as you did. Of course you didn’t let them get the target and killed them first, much to The Outlaws annoyance who tried to fight you.

-          Your many years of experience made it quite easy to take them down though, and at one point you had Red Hood pinned on his back, sat on his waist and holding his arms above his head. He had tried in vain to buck you off, but you just pressed down harder on top of him.

-          You couldn’t keep the chuckle from leaving your lips when you felt hardness against your ass, deciding to press down harder against him and grinding your hips back and forth a few times just to tease the younger man.

-          When the fight had left him and Red Hood was just wriggling and trying to hump up against you, letting out choked keens and whimpers, you released his hands, took his jaw between your fingers, and told him to come find you some time.

-          And before he could react you were gone, having tucked a card with your number in his jacket before disappearing into the wind.

 -          Jason had immediately looked into you when he got home from the mission. You were less known than Deathstroke, but just as skilled if not more. You were only less known because you stayed hidden unlike the other man.

-          Jason couldn’t help but wriggle his hips to adjust to the heat that gathered in his crotch at the memory of you, holding your card between his fingers as he debated on contacting you.

-          One thing led to another, and he messaged you, using some bullshit excuse about wanting to learn about weapons from you and how to deal with them effectively. You of course knew It was just an excuse but went anyways.

-          Getting into Gotham was never hard, you just needed to know how to stick to the shadows better than the bats and you were in, you knew this because you’ve had many contracts on Gotham and other cities protected by heroes.

-          You found Jason on one of his patrols, watching from the shadows as he took down a couple of gangsters who had been trying to force kids to sell for them by the looks of it. When he was done and had returned to the rooftops, you had struck and pushed him up against the wall.

-          Jason tried to swing at forever had pinned him, but when he saw it was you the fight seemed to melt right out of him, the immediate submission making something stir in your stomach.

 -          Your relationship started out with you just guiding him, with a lot of flirting and lingering touches. You especially loved to step up behind him and press against his back, to “correct” the way he was holding specific weapons or adjust his stance.

-          Jason wasn’t super rich, since he didn’t want to rely on Bruce for anything, and you only make so much as a crime lord of Gotham who didn’t reveal their identity. And seeing as you were extremely skilled in what you did and had been doing it for so many years, you could honestly rival maybe not Bruce, but at least Oliver Queen in riches.

-          It started out as you buying Jason new weapons, armor or gear. When he tried to claim he didn’t need it, you had just taken his chin between your fingers and your thumb and told him you didn’t wanna lose your boy like that.

-          That was another thing that had happened over time, petnames. You regularly referred to Jason as your boy, your prince, your pup, your pretty boy or your personal favorite, your little one.

-          Jason had tried to complain in the beginning, but you could tell he enjoyed it just as much as you did. And over time he let you pamper him with gifts and riches. It grew on him the more it happened, and some selfish part of his chest loved the gifts and attention you gave him.

  -          When he called you daddy the first time it had been a joke, you had just gotten Jason a new helmet made of the same material as your own, and new armor made in a similar build as your own. It was like staking a claim on him to anyone who knew who you were.

-          The bat had even been removed from the chest, at Jason’s insistence. He had put on the new gear you got him and stood in front of you, twirling as if showing it off.

-          You had never asked why he wanted the bat off his chest, and when you did, he answered without thinking. “So everyone knows I belong only to you daddy” his tone was joking, but you could feel there was some truth to that.

-          It had immediately set a bright fire in your chest, and Jason froze when you got to your feet. He thought maybe you were insulted by what he said, but when you grabbed him under his thighs and lifted him up against the wall he knew better.

-          The night you had wrung him dry, first taking him against the wall in his new gear, before bending him over the couch, taking him in the kitchen, the bathroom, and the bedroom. The entire time praising him and calling him your good little boy, asking if he wanted daddy to take care of him.

-          If Jason had any neighbors they would definitely have hear him cry out for his daddy that night, and have heard how he wailed and moaned as you took him.

 -          After that night your relationship became official, you became boyfriends, but you also became his daddy and him your boy. You ended up moving him to one of the multiple apartments you owned in Gotham, like staking yet another claim on him.

-          The apartment was still close to Crime alley or was in Crime alley since that was his home and where he worked. And everyone seemed to notice the bat being removed from Red Hoods outfit and how he looked even higher quality than before.

-          Panic immediately filled the city when Black Demise started popping up, even if you weren’t as famous as Deathstroke you were still known enough to sent criminals scattering. It made things tense in the city especially when you seemed to stick around Crime Alley.

-          It created rumors that Black Demise and Red Hood were working together, especially when people noticed their gear being similar in some ways or how Black Demise would always hover over Red Hood.

-          A goon even claimed to have seen Black Demise push Red Hood up against a wall and fondle him, to which the red wearing vigilante had just thrown his head back and hung onto the other man.

-          The batfam had been shaken to their core after Jason stopped wearing the bat and had gone even lower contact than he uses too, so when they went to check his last known apartment and they saw he wasn’t there, they panicked a little.

-          It ends up being Dick who sees Jason and you, when out patrolling he sees you holding Jason against you and Jason with his arms draped over your shoulders and kicking his leg like a lovestruck fool.

 -          Dick being who he is confronts the two of you after a while, having stalked you both to make sure Jason wasn’t being forced to do anything.

-          You would most likely have known Dick because of his time with Deahtstroke, so he gives you the shovel talk and tells you to keep the killing to the downlow in Gotham and lets you two be, only after making sure Jason is safe and happy.

-          Dick goes back and reports you are an ally for Jason’s and to not worry about you. He doesn’t out your relationship to the family cuz its not his place, and Jason actually seems so happy and relaxed for the first time in who knows how long.

-          After a while the two of you start being public with your relationship, in and out of suits. You go out during the day to go to libraries or bookstores, for you to pamper Jason with some new clothes of your choosing, or to grind against each other like a lovesick pair of dogs in clubs during the night.

-          The Outlaws might be a little confused by your relationship in the beginning, but they quickly come to accept it since you both seem happy, healthy, and safe, so who are they to judge.

-          Bruce would definitely not be approving of the relationship, and it would lead to some arguments, but he has to bite it down since he doesn’t wanna drive Jason away from the family again. So, if he has to look at you and Jason acting like a pair of newlyweds so be it.

 -          Jason has most definitely gotten more comfortable being your boy, calling you daddy over personal comms during patrols when he wants to be a tease.

-          During nights when he wants you to ravage him, he wears a pair of lingerie under his clothes, rubs against you and kisses you, whimpers and whines for his daddy to touch him and love him, and when he gets you warmed up, he rushes off on patrol.

-          You have quickly figured out this tactic of his but play along, knowing it makes him even more excited and hot under the collar. Though there have been times where you have caught him before finishing patrol to take him in dark alleyways or rooftops.

-          Jason might start wearing a necklace with a lock on it or a leather choker when hes out and about, as if to show everyone he’s taken and happy about it. He would more likely wear a collar at home, that has something like “daddy’s boy” written on it or “property of Black Demise”.

-          Jason is still a big terrifying crime lord don’t get me wrong, but sometimes he just likes to crawl into his daddy’s lap and ride your thigh and have you pinch and twist his nipples until he came in his boxers.

-          Because of your relationship the Red Hod actually becomes even more skilled than before since you train him, not just in weapons though, you also train him in other spicier ways ;)

-          You two are in a very comfortable and happy relationship, and though its taken some work since Jason would struggle with communication in the beginning, you make sure to always talk through your issues and anything either of you aren’t happy with.

[soleilceirinen]

When the darkness comes | Tommy Shelby x Shadowhunter!Reader - Part 4

Summary: you are a shadowhunter investigating the sudden rise of yin fen in the Downworld, the trail leads you to Small Heath and a blue eyed gangster.

A/N: I'm not sure about how this part turned out. Anyway, thanks for reading it. English isn't my first language, sorry if there are mistakes!

Warning: nothing.

Part 3 - Peaky Blinders Masterlist

Usually, patrolling the streets was boring. Not tonight. You had been following the trail of a ravener demon for about half an hour without it noticing. It was the first demon you had encountered in Small Heath since your arrival. 

Luckily, it was a minor one and not very smart. Its disgusting appearance, a mix between a centipede and crocodile with some scorpion parts, made your stomach turn. Sometimes these kinds of demons were used to follow someone or to keep an eye on something. 

That’s why you weren’t surprised when the ravener moved around all the places that were clearly Shelby territory. More specifically, the parts of Small Heath dedicated to their non legitimate businesses. So, without any doubts, the demon had something to do with the yin fen.

However, you didn't think it was directly related to the Shelbys. 

That is, someone external, maybe the one responsible for sending them the drug so that they could distribute it throughout England and export it to America, was the one controlling the ravener. It could be a warlock’s work. Also, there were probably more than one demon, although you hadn’t seen others, which could be a problem if they decided to attack you in group. 

Tired of walking around the city among piles of garbage and puddles from the same place to the next, you took out of your coat one of your seraph blades and got ready to finish off the ravener.

“Uriel,” you said out loud, giving a name to the blade. Instantly, it lit up, filled with angelic power as it brought light into the darkness.

At that moment, the demon noticed your presence. You already knew that the poor thing wasn’t very clever. It lunged at you with quick movements, trying to reach you with its disgusting insect-like legs. You moved faster thanks to a heightened speed rune. The seraph blade traced luminous arcs through the fog as well as the ravener’s body.

With a screech and a gush of dark ichor, the demon disappeared. They didn’t die, instead, they returned to their own dimension. You observed the light from the blade fading away, it was covered in ichor and it was starting to corrode so you dropped it, no longer useful. At least the ravener’s blood hadn’t splash all over yourself or your clothes. 

You scrunch your nose for a moment, looking around. There were no signs of more demons but the night was still long until dawn. With a sight, you closed your coat to protect yourself from the cold wind and continued patrolling. 

A couple hours later, you headed to The Garrison. A drink or two wouldn’t hurt. 

The warmth of the pub welcomed you like a hug. You appreciated the cosy atmosphere, despite the noise of the drunk customers laughing and talking. So you headed to the bar, where you sat in one of the seats and rested your head on your hand. 

After a while, you felt the presence of someone next to you, so close that their arm was brushing against yours. Slowly, you turned your head and watched him through your eyelashes, blinking lazily. “Good night, Tommy.”

He nodded, watching you closely. “Long night?”

You nodded back. "You have no idea. By the way, I'm not following you, in case you were wondering. I just wanted to get something to drink," you said quietly.

Tommy chuckled and turned to the bartender. He ordered a couple of bottles and glasses before turning to you, placing his hand on your lower back. "Come with me, we can talk in a quieter place." 

Without removing his hand from your back, he guided you to the private room at the side of the pub. After closing the doors behind him, the noise was muffled and distant. You took off your coat and sat down on one of the seats, resting your head against the wall. Tommy sat by your side, watching you like someone does with an exotic animal. He lit a cigarette and started smoking in silence.

The small window opened, revealing the bartender with Tommy’s order. He got up to pick it up and left it on the table. Your eyes followed him, too tired to move.

"I'd like you to try something," he said, pouring a clear liquid into one of the glasses and setting it down in front of you. 

You grabbed the glass and brought it to your face, smelling the contents. "What is it?"

“Try it,” he replied, leaning back in the chair, never taking his eyes off your face. At your expression of rejection, Tommy rolled his eyes and took the glass from your grasp, brushing his fingers against yours and drinking it in one gulp. “It isn’t poisoned, see? I just want you to try it and give me your honest opinion.”

You had learned the hard way not to drink or eat things offered by strangers, more specifically if those strangers were fairies. One could never trust them. However, you had already ruled out the possibility of Tommy being a fairy, right?

"Okay, I'll try it."

Tommy poured another glass and slid it in front of you. You took a small sip and hummed softly.

"Well?" he asked, putting out the cigarette in the ashtray.

You shrugged. "It's sweet, I suppose," you said unconvinced. "I don't drink regularly, so I don't know. It's not bad." 

"Not bad..." he murmured.

You grabbed the bottle and turned it in your hands, looking at the label. "Gin," you read aloud, "distilled for the eradication of the seemingly incurable sadness... Shelby Company Limited, it’s your own gin?" 

"It's part of the business," he explained as he sipped his whiskey.

As you finished the contents of your drink, a sudden wave of warmth spread through your chest, so you rolled up your shirt sleeves. That night you had discarded your shadowhunter gear and had decided to wear a simple white shirt and trousers. You loved wearing pants, it made fighting much easier than a dress or a skirt. 

Actually, from a distance you could pass for a boy or a young man. If you had worn one of those peaked cups, you could infiltrate among the Peaky Blinders and they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Up close you couldn’t fool anybody. Tommy was delighted in the way the pants hugged your waist as well as the dark runes spread throughout your body, barely visible through the thin fabric of your shirt. 

"Do you like horses?" he asked suddenly.

You watched him with a raised eyebrow and nodded slowly, finding the question quite odd. "When I was little and lived in Idris, we had a horse. I used to ride all the time, it made me feel like Boudica. Why do you ask?"

Tommy shrugged. "Have you ever been to the races?"

After seeing you shake your head, he slapped the table cheerfully. He seemed to be in a good mood. "Tomorrow I'll take you to the races. Wear something nice."

“Alright,” you agreed, laughing softly at his enthusiasm.

He sat closer to you, throwing an arm over the back of your seat. You suppressed a smile, men were so easy to read sometimes.

"So, you don’t ride anymore?" he asked after a while. The tips of his fingers began to brush against the side of your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

You heaved a long sigh. "No. Unfortunately, I had to move to London a few years ago and it's not the same. In Idris I used to live in the countryside,  where I could ride freely, here I feel like I'm in a cage. Everything is grey, smokey and smells bad."

Tommy laughed. "I don't really understand what you mean about Idris but it sounds like a  good place. What made you come to London?"

You looked into his eyes, he seemed genuinely interested. Still, you looked away, focusing your attention on your hands.

"I'm a Nephilim, remember? A Shadowhunter," you saw Tommy nod out of the corner of your eye, "although we're all over the world, because there are demons everywhere, our home country is called Idris."

“I’ve never heard of it,” he commented, sitting a little closer to you.

"Of course, because it is non-existent for mundanes. It is located between Germany, France and Switzerland. Mundanes cannot access it, it is our sanctuary," you explained. "Years ago my parents were sent on a mission, it seemed like something routine and simple but they were ambushed and it didn't end well. They..."

Finishing the sentence wasn’t necessary because Tommy had understood. He squeezed your shoulder gently. "I'm sorry," he whispered.  

You looked at him with a frown. "Don't be sorry, that’s how life works. We are warriors, we must fulfil what has been entrusted to us since our creation, keep the Earth free of demons. Most Shadowhunters die young, that's how it is. We have been trained for it since we were children."

Tommy seemed surprised at the sudden vehemence of your words. Out of the blue, your face had become a hard facade, lacking the typical sparkle of amusement in your eyes. Instead, it seemed to have been replaced by a layer of grief and resignation. 

"They sent me to the London Institute to finish my training there and I stayed. I had nothing to return to in Idris," you said with a sad smile on your lips.

He closed the little space that separated him from you and pressed his lips against yours. You closed your eyes, tasting tobacco and whiskey. Then, you reached up and placed your hand on the back of his neck, where his hair was so short that it was barely there. Tommy grabbed your waist, pushing his tongue deeper in your mouth.

As you began to feel your crotch getting wet, you pulled away from him with a soft whimper and held his sharp jaw in your hand. “At what time will we meet tomorrow?" you asked in a whisper.

“Meet you here at five,” he muttered, staring at your lips hungrily. You released him, connecting your mouths again. 

An overwhelming feeling started to grow inside of your chest, so you got rid of his hands on your waist and stood up with fluid movements. You grabbed your coat and leaned to give him one last kiss. “See you tomorrow, Tommy.”

"Stay a little longer," he pleaded softly, trying to catch his breath.

You shook your head. A small smile threatened to peek at the corner of your mouth. It didn’t reach your eyes though. “I better get going, my night is not over yet,” you said, walking out of the room into the crowded pub. 

Tommy remained there as he watched you disappear without looking back.

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 28 – HISTORICAL FICS

The Emperor's Fury by valtyr

Pairing: Steve/Tony, Wanda/Janet Rating: E Words: 39,936 Tags: Ancient Rome, Law and Politics, Mentions of Slavery and Non-Con

Summary: Steve is an ex-gladiator. Tony wears a toga. Together, they litigate civil cases. Also a surprising amount of boating.

Reasons why I love it: Can I just say that I love the title of this fic so much? The double meaning didn't dawn on me until the second time I read it. Anyhow, this fic is chock full of intriguing politics, a truly fantastic take on Ults canon, and Steve confusing the hell out of Tony, all of which I am a huge fan of. I love this fic, and I really hope you give it a shot, if you haven't already!

Humbugs and Heart by MountainRose

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 17,583 Tags: Victorian AU, A/B/O, Sentinel/Guide

Summary: Tony's hurt, and there's only one place Jarvis knows he'll be safe. At least they have met the man, or this would be exceedingly awkward. (It's not awkward, Steve would never make this awkward.)

Reasons why I love it: I really love the worldbuilding in this fic – the combination of sentinels and A/B/O is super intriguing, and the way that omega senses work in this universe is fascinating to me. Plus, the way Steve and Tony meet is so sweet, and it makes the hurt/comfort later on in the fic even better. I love this one, and I bet you will too!

Ain't Nobody's Business If I Do by copperbadge

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: M Words: 38,982 Tags: Noir AU, Gangsters, Internalized Homophobia

Summary: The year is 1930, Prohibition and the Depression are both in full swing, and Chicago Police Detective Steve Rogers has his hands full. There's a dead body on the banks of Lake Michigan, the entire city's legal system is corrupt, and the king gangster of the North Side, Tony Stark, has taken more than a passing interest in him.

Reasons why I love it: While reading this fic I swear I could see it all play out in my head like a black and white whodunit thriller. The setting is perfect, and I especially love the banter between Steve and Tony – they're just as stubborn as they are in canon, and the friction is delicious. Definitely check this one out if you haven't, it's a gem!

[wintermischief]

Bucky Barnes x Reader Series/Multi Parts Recs 1

last updated: july 11th, 2023

18+, writing may contain mature content. Mostly Bucky Barnes x F! and GN!Reader. Please show support to these amazing writers!!

❗️ PLEASE MESSAGE ME IF YOU’D LIKE ME TO REMOVE YOUR FIC OR IF I MADE A MISTAKE❗️

COMPLETED

Recruit @invisibleanonymousmonsters

Fury gives Bucky a simple mission that’s also guaranteed to be impossible. But Bucky refuses to give up. (Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader)

Meetings At Midnight @teamcap4bucky

You have been a driving force behind Bucky’s recovery from Hydra. He finally realizes that everything he needs is right in front of him. (Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader)

Caught In The Fire @dreamwritesimagines

In a city ruled by gangsters, nothing is ever simple. (Mob!Bucky x Reader)

Guiding Light @wkemeup

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra. While you struggle to stay alive and hold your sanity, Bucky begins to lose himself to a darkness and gives into the soldier because he doesn’t know how to breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. (Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader)

I Remember All Of Them @tuiccim

After Hawkeye’s retirement, you are assigned to the Avengers as the new sharpshooter. You form a special friendship with Bucky but when friends turn to lovers Bucky suddenly turns cold. Were you just another conquest of Bucky Barnes’ or was something deeper at play? (Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader)

The Coupon Book @tuiccim

Sex Coupons for Sergeant Bucky Barnes to be redeemed anytime, anywhere. (Boyfriend!Bucky x Reader)

Two Sides Of The Same Coin @anonymityisfunwriter

One pessimist, one optimist, both equally traumatized and haunted, both trying to atone for things out of their control. (Grumpy!Bucky x Sunshine!Enhanced!Reader)

Snow @delaber

Tired of your constant bickering, Sam sends you and Bucky on a mission alone. When the worst possible outcome happens and you’re forced to spend several days together in a small cabin, you finally get to see a different, more pleasurable side to the man whose flesh you’ve always had a thorn in. (Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader)

Yes, Sir @bucky-barnes-diaries

Bucky discovers a newfound kink. (Possessive!Boyfriend!Bucky x Sub!Reader)

Bucky And The Bed @that-damn-girl

You and Bucky are stranded in the middle of a snowy nowhere when there is an 'electronic blackout' during your mission. With no back ups or any way to contact your team, you take refuge from the worsening weather in the only cabin you find in miles. Not to mention, with no power, Bucky's become your personal heater and there's only one bed. (Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader)

I Want To Hold Your Hand @thismustbefakeme

Set after TFATWS. You are part of the newly appointed Captain America's growing team. You have had a crush on Bucky and vice versa. When you finally admit your feelings...shenanigans ensue.

Ease My Mind @buckyskorpion

Bucky Barnes is your best friend and, of course, you’re in love with him. But apparently Bucky is just fine with your platonic relationship - you’re going to have to do something about that. (Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Avenger!Reader, friends to lovers)

Honey And The Bee @chrevastan

One sleepless night brings you to the large communal kitchen at the Avengers Compound. Fully furnished and equipped but barely used, you decide to give the room a little culinary love. Little did you know, your new hobby would bring you some special moments with your friends and opportunities to get to know the newest addition to your team—Bucky Barnes. (Bucky Barnes x Chef!Baker!Avenger!Reader, enemies to lovers)

10 Signs An Introvert Likes You @andyl394

Bucky wasn’t the type of guy to show his feelings and neither were you the one to notice subtle things, until you come across this video; A guidance that may help you discover rather The Winter Soldier likes you or not. (Bestfriend!Bucky x Reader, friends to lovers)

Shifter @floatingpetals

Bucky wasn’t sure what to make of the newest recruit. What he thought was the new team pet was really a shifter in disguise. He learns she’s not afraid of much, whether it’s himself, or walking around all natural. Having the unique ability to change into several different kinds of animals makes her a bit more in tune to her animal instincts as well. Things are hardly ever dull anymore with her around. (Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader)

The Barnes’ AU @agentofkrypton

Bucky Barnes has settled down, living in a beautiful home in New Orleans with his wife, a former Avenger. These are the different stories of how they navigate being superheroes, spouses, and parents. (Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader)

Bucky And His Little Fairy @kinanabinks

The adventures of Bucky and his little Fairy. (Mob!Bucky x Bestfriend!Reader)

Pride And Privacy @adrinktostopyourthirst

Bucky works on himself as he gets used to a roommate. Turns out, she has a much better room than him and he crossed the line. (Bucky Barnes x Roommate!Reader)

Fragments @subwaysurf45

You always had a soft spot for innocent people who were viewed as monsters, must have been something in your blood. Nothing changed when you were assigned as the new handler for the Winter Soldier, he had just killed his previous one and you happened to be there at the right time to fill in. But what happens when you meet him years later? (Bucky Barnes x Therapist!Reader)

Stuck Wit U @slyyywriting

You and Bucky don’t get along. Your fights have become too destructive so Tony and Steve decide that enough is enough. (Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Pyrokinetic!Reader)

Through His Eyes @sebbytrash

Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive. (Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader)

The Assassins @cherrypickertheory

On one of their missions to destroy HYDRA bases, Bucky Barnes finds someone who shares a similar past to him. Getting her to overcome her time as a HYDRA is one thing, falling for her is another. (Bucky Barnes x Mutant!Reader)

As Time Goes By @caffeineforbucky

The Two Of Us @bucky-bucket-barnes

You and Bucky go to investigate the phenomenon happening in Westview, New Jersey. While attempting to understand the issue, you yourselves are sucked into Wanda's world of pretend. Now, you believe yourselves to be the happily married Mr. and Mrs. Barnes; in real life, you are most definitely not a happy pair. It is up to you and Bucky to piece together what's happening while dealing with one another inside the hex. (Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Avenger!Reader)

Pansies, Pain And Other Things About Bucky | Part 2 @bucky-bucket-barnes

You and Bucky are begrudgingly paired on a mission together. This is less than ideal considering neither of you are too keen on the other tagging along. All goes as normal until a surprise attack severely hurts both of you. Feeling incredibly guilty, Bucky helps you tend to your wounds. He has trouble admitting it, but he wants to make sure you’re safe. (Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader)

If Only I Had A Heart | Part 2 @buckybarnesowl

Team Cap is back at the compound after being pardoned. Bucky is suffering from the shoddy work HYDRA did with his prosthetic. Tony brings you in to fix it—and maybe help him find his heart in the process. (Bucky Barnes x Engineer!Reader)

Season Of The Witch @msmarvelwrites

Your witchy abilities get you in quite a bit of trouble from time to time…but this time you don’t mind so much. (Bucky Barnes x Witch!Reader)

Hope Of It All @bethdutten

After saving Steve and breaking from Hydra, Bucky remembers you from the helicarrier. He doesn’t know where else to go. (Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader)

Accidentally In Love @creativebeang

After Bucky Barnes gets injured during a mission, you end up moving in with the avengers where your life changes forever. (Bucky Barnes x Agent!Reader)

The Road Goes Ever On And On @rocketrhap3000

Life as a single mother of a three year old certainly has its struggles. But when a sweet stranger makes his way into you and your little boy’s life, a one of a kind connection sparks. (Bucky Barnes x Mother!Reader)

Metal Arms And Short Skirts @buckyarchives

Waltzing in as the new head of the Avenger's medical division, impressing everyone, and...scaring Bucky with your incredibly short skirts. While Bucky's having a hard time looking at his arm as anything other than a deadly weapon, and you're more than happy to help him. (Bucky Barnes x Engineer!Doctor!Reader)

When I Want | PDA 1 | PDA 2 | PDA 3 | PDA 4 @notyetneedcoffee

In which you and Bucky reveal your relationship and drive everyone crazy.

Save Me @espinosaurusrexex

Bucky Barnes has never had it easy, which ultimately turned him into a caveman-like introvert with no desire to see the positive side of life. But what happens when the clumsily charming art student, Y/N, stumble to his rescue, determined to show Bucky how truly wonderful the world is? (College!Bucky x Reader)

Everything’s Better In Westview @espinosaurusrexex

You and Bucky sneak into Westview to have the perfect life. Away from late Steve and Tony, Vision and Natasha, they let themselves be consumed by suburban magic. To their surprise, however, some of these people aren’t so dead in the town. And there are some other weird things happening that make them question their sanity. But that’s okay, right? ‘Cause everything’s better in Westview. (Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader)

Fight For me @littleseasiren

After years in an abusive relationship, you finally get out. When the Avengers decide to raise awareness for your Battered Women's Home, you bump into Bucky Barnes, the hottest, most complicated man you've ever met. He thinks you're too good for him, but when your abusive ex reappears, Bucky knows he has to keep you safe - by any means necessary.

Swallow @all1e23

Swallows choose a mate for life, and will only nest with that bird and no other; they travel long distances apart only to find their way to back to each other, again and again. Bucky knew the second he met you.

Accidents Happen @avengerofyourheart

You are accident prone, come from a sheltered background, and have been with the Avengers almost a year when Steve finds Bucky and brings him to the Avengers Tower. Bucky takes an interest in your quirkiness.

I’ll Love You Forever @buckyswintersoldiermask

Your time with Bucky in Wakanda.

Another World @sinner-as-saint

In a futuristic world, you and your team rescue and care for stranded and hurt otherworldly beings; who are held captive and kept on Earth against their wills. Then one day, while on a rescue mission, you come across a human-like extraterrestrial being; in a cryogenic chamber, with a missing arm.

For The Love Of The Game @pellucid-constellations

Bucky Barnes was a menace. NYU’s top baseball player, he was used to girls falling at his feet and could smooth talk his way out of just about anything. You hated him. He couldn’t figure out why. So when the novelty of weekend parties and quick hookups finally wore off—and his feelings for you began to grow—he made it his mission to fix it. 

The Help @buckitybarnes

In which Stark thinks Bucky needs an assistant of some sort. However, Bucky thinks you’re unqualified. It looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you.

So This Is Love @ofstarsandvibranium

Your friend and roommate, Bucky, is a bit of an annoying fuckboy. He sleeps around as well as tries to be as annoying to you as possible. But here’s the thing: you don’t mind any of it.

Your Hands Have Made Some Good Mistakes @thenhewaswrongaboutme

Bucky has to spend six months locked up with a stranger.

Selfless Love @redgillan

A journey toward recovery and the story of a broken man falling in love with a woman.

Blush @noturgoffgf

You had a bet every day to make Bucky blush. You were doing so well until he started to fight back.

Finding Memories @justkending

Waking up with little to no memory of your past, and being saved by a group of individuals who call themselves heroes, sends a long time captive for a whirlwind trying to find some form of grounding in this world you quickly learn runs on chaos. But you’re not the only one trying to figure out your forgotten backstory. (Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader)

ON GOING

Roar And Giggle @holylulusworld

He’s just the worst. Right? (Biker!Bucky x BookstoreOwner!Reader)

A Week To Fall In Love @creativebeang

A mission, feuds, an underground network, life in the suburbs and Bucky. What could go wrong, right? Wrong. (Bucky Barnes x Agent!Reader)

Little Bird @scrumptious-delusion

The adventures of Bucky and you, the sunshine agent assigned to work with him. (Grumpy!Bucky x Sunshine!Agent!Reader)

You’re Mine, Sunshine @theeleggymeggy

Bucky gets picked by a very rich and respected man to be his daughter's personal bodyguard. The Father warns him that it won't be an easy job, that she is a brat and difficult to deal with. But what happens when Bucky meets you and you're the complete opposite? (Grumpy!Bodyguard!Bucky x Sunshine!Reader)

[sithbvcky]

Gimme Shelter: Part One

70s gangster bucky barnes x fem!reader au. Warnings: mature themes, drug use, alcohol, guns, blood, violence and nudity.

Synopsis: James "Bucky" Barnes, better known by his fearsome moniker, The Winter Soldier. It's Los Angeles in 1977 and only one man owns the city. Until someone decides to challenge the king for his throne.

Note: I do not give permission for my work to copied or translated anywhere else but this blog.

For as long as you'd known him, Bucky was the man of Los Angeles. He knew everyone who was anyone and they all bowed to him like he was the second coming of Christ. Course if they didn't there would be consequences of varying degrees.

To you, Bucky was an angel. Sweet, gentle and caring. When you met you were dancing at The Rainbow and he stopped a particularly handsy man from trying to tear your glittery little number off your body. He knocked the man out cold with a single punch and within the same breath lent you his hand to help you out of the chaos.

Since then you've been on his arm. You knew he was a kingpin and he pushed all sorts of product around the city, he had the police in his pocket and always assured you everything would work out. But you weren't privy to all of his dealings, especially the more dangerous ones. He preferred to keep you as far away as possible when it came time to do dirty work. He'd sometimes disappear for days leaving you questioning if he was still alive only for him to show up at your shared penthouse apartment with a smile and a bouquet of flowers.

Despite it all, you loved him and he loved you and you knew he'd do anything for you and you felt the same. It was a wild kind of love but you wouldn't trade it for anything. You got to see the world with him and no longer needed to strip for money to eat. Some of the members of his crew even became like family to you too. You were especially friendly with Bucky's right hand man, Steve Rogers. They'd known each other since they were kids and Steve was as loyal as they come. He was always kind of enough to keep you updated on your lovers well being when he was off in some God forsaken place doing things you probably didn't want to know about. Then there was Natasha Romanoff, a beautiful red head who was as deadly as she looked. She was the brains behind most of the operation and often you two would go on shopping trips and became fast friends. As the only women in the circle you clung to each other like glue. She was insanely deft with a gun and knew how to hold her own in a fight. You'd only seen her skills up close once, and you felt bad for the man on the other end of her wrath.

Lately, everything was smooth sailing. Tonight you had a date to make an appearance at The Roxy. A big party was planned and having Bucky show his face would do good for business.

You sat at your vanity adjusting your hair and makeup. Bucky was in the bedroom, sprawled out on the cream colored silk sheets, a cigarette balancing in between his fingers as he watched you. You could see his smug face in the mirror as you continued prettying yourself for the evening.

"God Damn you're beautiful." He commented. You smirked as you put the final pin to hold your hair in place. You looked at him through the reflection in the mirror,

"Don't you forget it."

Bucky laughed and got up from the bed. Wearing nothing but his underwear, his hair disheveled from previous activities. He walked up behind you, his cigarette free hand guiding your face to look up at him so he could place a kiss on your freshly red lips. It was a fervent kiss, so much so when he pulled away his lips were stained with red. You reached up with your thumb and smeared the red from his mouth.

"Can't have you going out like that, darling." You cooed. His blue eyes burned holes into you as he smiled. He moved to kiss you again when there was a knock on the door, he stopped just before your lips.

"This better be important." He grumbled before striding to grab his robe to cover himself up.

You listened as Bucky opened the door,

"What is it, Steve?" His voice was laced with annoyance but you knew as much as it bothered him when business interrupted your time together, Steve would never show up without necessity.

"We got a problem." You heard Steve reply. It was a quiet for a moment then the door closed. Bucky must've let Steve in not wanting this conversation to be overheard by anyone in the hall.

You stopped what you were doing so you could listen closer.

"Word is a new pusher arrived in town and he's looking to take your place. I've had a few clients come up saying they've been visited by a Mr. Stark offering them more product and more protection." Steve said. Your blood went cold. For so long it had been peaceful. No one dared to challenge Bucky on his turf, everyone was too afraid to step to The Winter Soldier.

"He thinks he can just come into my city and start negotiating with my people and that I won't notice?" Bucky's voice was filling with rage, you could hear it simmering in him.

"I've been told he's gonna show at The Roxy tonight. Natasha says the intel is good so I'd say we gotta be careful." Steve continued.

There was a loud smash and you flinched. Bucky just broke something in his fit of anger and you hesitated as you stood up from your vanity.

"Get everyone who's in town, we're gonna make sure we're ready should this Stark decide to play games." Bucky growled.

You stepped into the living room where to the two men were standing, on the floor was a broken glass vase. You walked over to Bucky and placed a soothing hand on his back, the cigarette was now hanging from the corner of his mouth. Steve gave you a friendly nod and you returned it.

"Y/n, I'm not sure you should come tonight." Bucky turned to you, putting his cigarette out in the ash try on the coffee table.

"Baby, where you go I go. If this man is foolish enough to challenge you in public I wanna be there to support you." You said. Bucky shook his head,

"It might get dicey, babe. I can't have you getting hurt."

"I won't get hurt, I'll stay with Nat. Or have Steve protect me." You argued. Bucky sighed, Steve folded his hands in front of him.

"I need Steve with me, but I guess I can spare Nat to protect you."

You reached up on your toes, took his face in your hands and planted a kiss on his lips.

"I promise you I'll be fine."

He kissed you back,

"I'll make sure of it." He let go of you and turned back to Steve.

"Get Nat and Sam ready, tell them to be prepared for anything and that Nat's priority is Y/N's safety if anything starts to get hairy."

"You got it, boss." Steve turned on his heels and moved to leave when Bucky said

"And Steve." He ran a hand through his brown locks. "Tell em The Winter Soldier is coming."

Steve nodded and left. Bucky kissed your forehead and walked into the bedroom. You stood in the living room, the broken glass around your feet as you wrung your hands together. Hoping tonight wouldn't go the way you knew it would. It always ends in a fight.

[sassydefendorflower]

for the reverse tropes - I would love to see some bat related nursing home au, that just sounds amazing lol

"If you steal my favorite checkers game one more time, Hood, I will personally make sure the staff finds your switchblades."

Dick "Nightwing" Grayson leaned back in the most comfortable armchair in the common room of the Batmania Nursing Home in Gotham City. Across the table sat Jason Todd, often referred to as Red Hood, since - according to his own fairy tales - he used to be a feared gangster, back before the second hip replacement and the accident on the ice skating rink.

"As if. Nobody's afraid of you, twinkletoes. Just because you used to do gymnastics... doesn't mean jackshit now." Jason pointed the cane leaning next to Dick's chair, an elegant thing made from mahogany, it's handle shaped like a bird about to take flight.

"Gentleman, let's try to get along, yes? Anyone up for a game of chess?" Barbara Gordon's white hair was bound back into a stern up-do, the young nurse wheeling her towards the table barely visible in the presence of Batmania's very own Oracle. Rumor had it that there was nothing Barbara didn't know - and so far that had held true.

"I don't think we have time for chess today, Babs."

"Why? Are you scared, Grayson?"

"No, today is Thursday."

"Ah, you're right." Barbara smiled, all three of them having come into the common room for a reason after all. Jason had even put down his book (some brick by David Graeber), another weapon surely hidden somewhere on his body, in anticipation of what was to come.

Because on Thursdays all three of them welcomed their favorite visitor.

Young Timothy Drake, almost twenty by now. He'd started coming around some years ago, as an afterschool project his parents signed him up to, and now he visited once a week just to see his three favorite old-timers.

And it was quite obvious why they enjoyed his presence so much.

He talked to them.

Better yet, he told them stories.

"Okay, so last time I was here, Red Hood had just returned from the dead to lay claim on Gotham and take revenge on Batman, yes?"

"Finally someone appreciates how badass I am."

"You're not, Todd."

Dick grinned, leaning forward as if to hear Tim better, even though his hearing hadn't left him yet. Jason flipped him off, not daring to loudly interrupt again out of fear that Tim would stop his story.

"Well, the Red Hood is certainly trying to appear daunting in this particular story."

"And where am I in this, Tim?"

"Oh, Oracle is busy in her tower. Have I never told you about the Birds of Prey?"

Timothy Drake was smiling, the rapt attention of his audience invigorating. Barbara shook her head, and he took her hand, ready to guide her into the favorite part of this majestic and heroic universe he had created specifically for them:

Batman. Nightwing. Red Hood. Robin. And, of course, Oracle.

A story just for them.

~

I hope you enjoyed that :D It was certainly fun to come up with!!!! And thank you so much!! <3 <3 <3

(send me a Reverse Trope Writing Prompt with a fandom and a set of characters and I'll write something small for you)

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 29: I Hope You're Happy

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

Beep! Beep!

“Get a move on!”

“Watch it, toots!”

The streets of Brooklyn are one of the aspects of home that aren’t the best. But in a strange way the shouting brings a form of comfort to me. All these people, all different backgrounds, scrambling around to make a living. Bunches of people crammed into a giant city.

And the boat docks bring in even more people.

“Grace! Thomas! Hello!” I shout over the noise and wave them over away from the crowd. “Welcome to Brooklyn, where everyone sounds angry but they’re actually not… Most of the time.”

The sight of their joined hands makes my smile falter by a hair. Lovely engagement ring. Relax, Steenstra. You should be honored they chose your country for a holiday. 

“Hello, Verena.” Thomas smiles politely, scanning the bustling streets. “We’ve got one week here. Since this is your turf, what should we know?”

I can handle playing tour guide. “First, you need to see Lady Liberty. Prospect Park is good too. Also be careful in ‘Hattan ‘cause there’s construction for the new Rockefeller Center.”

The whole time I’m speaking Grace looks at me with confusion. “Did you know we were coming?”

“I spoke of it in the letter I sent,” Thomas answers for me.

Grace, still looking at me, nods. “I see.”

Message received. This is my home but I’m not welcomed to visiting with them. 

“You need to have a drink in Irishtown. Find The Wicked Monk, the best Irish pub on the East Coast. And stop by our joint if you want! Father would be happy to meet you.”

Grace doesn’t like that one bit.

“I’ll leave you to see the sights. I’ve gotta get back home to the shop. Tot ziens! Was good seeing you!”

Back into the bustling noise. Good. It will drown out my anger… By seeing people shout who are much angrier than I am. Now my own home, my used-to-be haven, is now stained with jealousy because of their voyage.

Two years later.

Words. Words. Words. The only thing linking me to the Shelbys. After Thomas and Grace went back to Birmingham I waited to hear back from someone. Anyone. Anything saying when they want me back. Nothing was said. Only a few letters describing their new happy lives and how the company is growing. Everyone is happy…

“Verena! Over here!”

And today is another reminder of the happiness I’m leaving behind. The wedding I hoped for but will never have. 

“Thomas! It’s been too long!” I greet as I haul my trunk off the train. “Oh my, you haven’t changed a bit!”

Same clean-shaven handsome face, same sharp suit. 

“And you look stunning, as usual,” the gangster smiles. “Welcome back to Birmingham.”

We start walking off the platform, no doubt to a car he has waiting for us. It’s so good to see him it's all I can do not to hug him. To look at those eyes.

“I won’t be staying too long, I don’t want to impose-”

“Nonsense. There’s plenty of room,” Thomas replies with ease. In the corner of my eye I see him looking. “You’re wearing your hair in braids?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

“Guess not. ‘S just you’ve never done it before.”

“I do at home. Just thought I’d show some Dutch culture.”

Thomas chuckles. “You’re not going to start wearing clogs, are you?” 

I dramatically hold a hand up to stop him. “Heavens, no. That part of my heritage I can live without. But enough of me. How are you? This is a big day.”

A little enthusiasm doesn’t hurt. Despite my dislike for the given situation he still needs all the support he can get. I can tell his mind is in many places.

“‘M nervous,” Thomas says, anxiously rubbing his face. “But excited.”

“My brothers thought the exact same way on their wedding days.” With my free hand I give him a comforting pat on the back. “Don’t stress, it passes. Eoin nearly fainted on his wedding day.”

I was right. Today's car is a beautiful black Fiat 501. Thomas still spares no expense when it comes to his cars. He packs my luggage in the trunk and, like the gentleman he is, opens the door for me. A guts and glory gangster yet he still remembers how to treat a woman.

“Thanks for being here,” he says when we start driving. “Ada still doesn’t always see eye to eye with me and the boys just keep joking around.”

“Of course. Glad to be of service.” Time to throw on the American charm. “You’ve probably heard this multiple times but congratulations! These two years are up and now it’s time for you to tie the knot! It’s not every day one gets to witness an English wedding. Is it any different?”

The word ‘wedding’ throws Thomas’ smile off for a split second but the usual catch-up chatter resumes as we make our way out of town. We pass a sign that says Warwickshire. Apparently Thomas bought his own house and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t itching to see it. Maybe a quaint cottage with a nice horse barn-

Or a freaking mansion. That… That works too, I guess.

“Verena, welcome to Arrow House.”

‘House’ does little to describe it. This is an all-out mansion! Thomas’ castle. He drops me off to the front door and has a handyman drive the car away. I walk through the grand entrance and notice the gorgeous decorations for the special day.

A grand long table dressed in white, decorated with colorful flower centerpieces. They even brought out the best china. All around maids and waiters are scurrying to and fro, finishing the last-minute touches. Above the table is a giant portrait of Thomas holding the reins to one of his magnificent white horses.

“Like it? Got a good price for it.”

As much as I want to be glad for him I can’t help but think he’s using his wealth to compensate for happiness. I must be honest.

“This isn’t you, Thomas. All this money? Living like royalty?”

He walks us further into the house to the edge of a large staircase. “I’d say the family’s earned it.”

I shake my head with sympathy. “You can paint many pictures of yourself but you’re still Thomas Shelby. A simple life can be just as rewarding as an expensive one.”

But he’s amused by this. “Ah, Verena. Still philosophical as ever.”

There’s no use trying to change his mind. This is his world. He’s proud of it. We get to the top of the stairs and I see a familiar framed picture of Lady Liberty.

“I see you kept the picture from your trip.”

Thomas sees where I’m looking. “New York is a wild place. I don’t know how you grew up there.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Birmingham is no tamer.”

Thomas smirks. “Touché. I did enjoy it, really. The Statue of Liberty was one of Grace’s favorites.”

“If you liked that then next time I’ll show you guys Niagara Falls. Gorgeous place.”

Thomas starts to reach for my hand. “Do you need help with your bags?”

I quickly pull away. “No no, it’s quite alright. This city girl can haul her own luggage.”

He shows me to a room at the end of the hall. A room so big it’s the size of our living room back home. Um, is this a good idea? Inviting another woman to stay in the house of a newly-married couple? I really should find somewhere else to stay. Grace will have my eyes if she sees me here.

“Is this alright?” Thomas asks.

“Thomas, this- The room is perfect. But I should really-”

“Great! I have to finish up some things downstairs. The wedding starts in one hour, I’ll arrange for someone to drive you.” He strides back down the hall.

“Wait!” I run to catch up and meet him at the top of the stairs. “I know my vote doesn’t count but I must say that I am very proud of what you’ve made of yourself. You’re not the same man I met all those years ago, Thomas. You’re a father. A husband. A legit businessman. May God smile upon your family today.”

This is probably the last time I can talk to him alone, and I really do want the Shelbys to be happy. Today is a day for good spirits.

“Verena, that… That means a lot,” Thomas says, looking up from a few stairs below. “Thank you. I-”

“Mr. Shelby!” A maid calls from the bottom.

“Be right there!” Thomas looks at me one last time before heading down. “I’ll see you later.”

Yes. Later. When he’s married.

“Wow. Royal in-laws? You’ve moved up in the world,” I comment as we drive by multiple uniformed men.

“It’s Grace’s relatives,” John says from up front. “Between us, I’m still not used to the uniforms. None of us are. They’re only here for her.”

“It’s good to have you here!” Finn says for the tenth time.

“It’s worth it to see you all. And Arthur, you look very handsome as the best man.”

The man driving us to the church smiles bashfully. “That’s nice of ya, Steenstra. I can’t wait for you to meet Linda. Will you be here for the toast?”

“No, no. I’ll be around for the reception.”

There’s already enough drama between the Shelbys and Grace’s family. I’ll only add to the mix. A quick congrats, a small drink, and I’ll pop out.

I’ll give it to the Brits, they sure know how to have a proper wedding. This church is marvelous! I take my seat next to Finn and see Polly waving from a few seats down. Such a welcoming reunion. If only it weren’t for this occasion. Thomas strides down the aisle, looking very handsome in his spiffy tux, and stands next to Arthur at the altar. The usual music begins and all eyes turn to the silhouette approaching from outside.

Oh my goodness… That dress! A gorgeous lavender if I ever did see one. And the veil… a cascade of purple lace. No wonder Thomas is so happy. Grace gets to the end of the aisle and Jeremiah approaches the couple.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have gathered here today to join these two together in holy matrimony. Thomas Michael Shelby and Grace Helen Burgess.”

I try to keep listening but my mind wanders elsewhere. He chose her. Not me. I’m the one keeping myself trapped in this world. I chose to come back. It’s my fault for feeling this way. But it’s fine. Isn’t it?

Same routine as all my brothers’ weddings. I do, I do, kiss the bride, cheers. What’s different about this wedding is that the cheers seem one-sided. All of Thomas’ family jumps to their feet and shouts with delight, while the other side remains seated and claps. Thankfully Finn sees my discomfort and drags me outside. Everyone files out after us. The bouquet is tossed and all the single women scramble to wrestle over it.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” Finn and I chant.

“Verena, are you edging them on?” John asks.

I smile sheepishly. “Only a little.”

“Why don’t you try?” Finn asks.

I scoff at his attempt at a joke. “Oh, please. I hardly believe in such superstitious nonsense.”

“Says the woman who won’t sleep without a cross above the bed.”

“Hey! It’s religious, not superstitious.”

Finn shrugs. “Maybe there’s a blend?”

Thomas shouts for everyone to gather and a photographer readies himself in front.

“Go on, take the photograph!” Arthur says.

I’m pushed to the side by Grace’s family and before I can protest the camera flashes. Everyone’s thinking it. I don’t belong here. I could have refused. The only reason I decided to attend was to support Thomas and his family. But she’s part of their family now and more than likely I won't be welcomed as often. 

Oh, my mistake. Pair the gossiping barmaid with the blood-thirsty gangster? They’re perfect for each other! He’s married. It’s done. I can’t have him. I need to let him go.

@meadows5

[gamingabroad]

Ultimate in-depth City Of Gangsters Guide 2023

The Ultimate Tips and tricks Beginners Guide 2023 for New players City of Gangsters. 2023 How to make money, set of fronts, expand your territory, pick skills, Level up, backroom buildings, Fronts, Deliveries, Dealing with the police, Vehicles cars and trucks, Hooligans, Gang Wars, action Points, movement points. Thorough in-depth Guide for beginners for City Of Gangsters in 2023 City of Gangsters Strategy Guide Walkthrough tips tricks and gameplay.

[found-family-tournament]

Found Family Tournament Round 2 Part 4 Group 19

Propaganda and further images under the cut

Joestar Group: Joseph Joestar, Jotaro Kujo, Noriaki Kakyoin, Jean-Pierre Polnareff, Muhammad Avdol, Iggy the Fool

Bucci Gang: Bruno Bucciarati, Narancia Ghirga, Leone Abbacchio, Pannacotta Fugo, Trish Una, Guido Mista, Giorno Giovanna

Joestar Group:

Iconic himbo squad off to defeat the world's bitchiest vampire. Each of them has their own personal reason to journey and varying skills to bring to the family.

Bucci Gang:

Well all of them were outed by their family or ✨society ✨. Narancia was falsely accused of a crime, went to juvenile because of it, his father never showed any love, disowned, and he got a horrible eye disease. Well Bucci found him in the streets, took him to a proper doctor, and got his eye cured. Abbacchio was a cop that wanted to be completely pure and guided himself by justice. But the city he worked in was very corrupt, so one day he decided to take a bribe. Well the criminal who gave him the bribe was later found guilty of killing 2 people and told about how Abbacchio took a bribe from him. Abbacchio was seen as a dirty cop and was unemployed. He turned to alcohol and usually wandered the streets. Well Bucci found him, and helped him become better. Abbacchio joined his gang too. Fugo was a perfect son. He was extremely gifted and was born into a rich family. Now this may seem like the dream but his parents never showed him love. He was only treasured because of his intelligence. He was so smart, he was able to go to college at 13. Well while he was there, his professor repeatedly SA him. One day, his professor came to him, and Fugo beat the man with a encyclopedia in an act of self defense. He was disowned by his parents and lived in streets for 2 years. Bucci found him, and let him join his gang. Trish is the daughter of the most powerful mafia boss in Italy. Because of this, she was hunted down by her father and La Squada( they’re a group of gangsters that want to take down such boss). Her father hunted her down because he wanted to killed her to keep his identity a secret. Well Bucci gang protected her and is a part of it. Mista was a regular dude. Always had an optimistic look on life. So one day, he saw a woman almost getting r@ped in a car and decided to shoot the r@pists. Well in court, he was ruled a murderer and not an act of self defense. Bucci got him out and he joined his gang. Lastly, Giorno was a gangster that wanted to eradicate drugs being sold to minors. So he joined the Bucci gang. Giorno was neglected by his mother as a child and was beaten by his step dad. Bucci himself was never really loved by his father. Now the Bucci gang is essentially just Bucci trying to take care of some confused teenagers and a gothic depressed man.

I could go on for a long time, but they were all somehow rejected by society for mental health issues, classism, abuse, and saw each other's worth.

[muiltfandomsqueen]

Tommy Shelby x Female YN Reader One Shot

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warnings: fluff and romance

Pair: Tommy Shelby x Female Reader

Season: one

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A long time ago there was a young woman named Y/N who lived in Birmingham. She had heard of the notorious Shelby family, but never thought she would become involved with them. One day, while walking through the streets, Y/N was approached by a man who introduced himself as Tommy Shelby. He was taken aback by her beauty and wanted to get to know her better.

Over the following weeks, Tommy and Y/N spent more and more time together. They would go on walks through the city, have dinner at fancy restaurants, and talk about their past, present and hopefully maybe just maybe a future together. Despite his reputation as a gangster, Tommy was a kind and caring man who treated Y/N with respect and tenderness.

As their relationship deepened, Tommy had to navigate the dangerous world of the Peaky Blinders. He would often put himself in harm's way to protect Y/N and the people he cared about. Despite the danger, Y/N knew that she loved Tommy and couldn't imagine her life without him.

One day, Tommy took Y/N to a secluded area outside of the city near The Cut. As they sat together, he took her hand and looked into her eyes. "Y/N, I love you more than anything in this life time. Will you marry me?" he asked. Y/N was speechless and said yes without hesitation.

Tommy and Y/N got married in a small ceremony with only their closest friends and family in attendance. They promised to love and support each other through thick and thin, and to always be there for one another. From that day forward, the two were faced with challenges but with the Shelby family life was always different and chaotic, Y/N had accepted this and loved it. They faced whatever challenges came their way together, knowing that their love would always guide them through the darkness.

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

Glad you like it lol

1: I know you said in a much earlier post that Jake develop his powers from fending off a bully but what did he do to the bully? (Unless you already answer this & im blind lol ) did he threw the bully, punch the side of a wall or locker and it cracked, accidentally shot a starbolt burning the bully, etc…

2: how did mar’i develop her powers?

3: what type of crime does the duo face on most days? I can see thieves & gangs of bullies being the main bad guys.

4: how often does the duo fight crimes? Everyday, once or twice a week?

5: what’s their phone Lock Screen & Home Screen background?

6: I know gross out humor ain’t their thing but does the duo use their butt as a weapon? like a flying hip attack, like kitana from mortal kombat or R. Mika from street fighter five. For humor: I can see either of the duo, most likely Jake, squatting over a goons face & striking two piece signs while making a silly face while Chris takes a picture XD

1) Based on this post by the ever excellent @/dar draws, Jake accidentally fired a starbolt at that bully, sending flying into a wall. Thankfully said bully at most some bruises and his shirt burnt off but not so thankfully Jake was distraught as he had no experience in doing that but moreso out of rightful fear of legit hurting someone with his powers kicking in so suddenly. The bully was the one suspended for invoking the situation in the first place while Jake had a lengthy conversation with his parents and sister afterwards over what they can do about this turn of events. Jake had to take at least two days off school before coming back with some light power dampers at his insistence so he can blend in better.

2) Mar’i in contrast to her brother develops her powers pretty much at birth due to her Tamaranean DNA being stronger than her human half. Upon a mere few minutes after first coming outside Kory’s womb, Mar’i was so joyful upon first ever seeing her parents, she began lightly floating in the air before Kory gently had her back in her arms. From there over the course of next two years, more of her powers began flowing in. For instance, Mar’i fired her first starbolt at two months, exhibited super strength at four months, and began to have some enhanced senses of smell and taste by the time she’s one year old. By the time Jake was born, Mar’i pretty much developed the near full power set

3) Chris and Jake, when not facing against legit supervillains, full blown alien invasions or psychopathic rouges including Zsasz, often find themselves taking down more petty criminals and gangsters within both Bludhaven and the slums of Metropolis. They also contend with corrupt business owners, predatory loan sharks, and even guiding drivers to safely traverse insufficient and dangerous roads until said roads are cleared for much needed renovations. Most interestingly, a lot of their patrols and capers take place within the neighborhoods and boroughs of both cities which have notable alien and other dimensional sentient populations, for instance ‘Little Tamaran’ back at Bludhaven.

4) Usually about four days out of the week during school quarters and just about six out of seven days of the week during summer vacation, spring break and winter vacation. On the days when they don’t patrol, it’s spent either catching on catching to whatever homework they would’ve missed before or likely spending time with their respective families.

5) Chris

- Lock Screen: A Superman Logo

- Home Screen: A Family Picture fearing Martha, Pa, Clark, Lois, Kara, Conner, Jon and himself during the Smallville County Fair when he was nine years old.

Jake

- Lock Screen: A Classic Flying Graysons Poster, much like one of the few hanging on the walls back home

- Home Screen: A Selfie of Chris and Himself during a break on patrol together

6) Okay now that seems a lot more plausible for the two of them to such poses for photos during particularly easier nights on patrols or even more commonly after taking down a rampaging big monster. You can expect that happening to Cinderblock quite a often after he’s taken down. The fact he sees that very often when looking up his files only furthers his drive to challenge the Duo

Edit:

Hmmm…..I say for the first part (of Question #6), maybe they do those moves if they feel especially energetic and excited during a supervillain battle @gothicghost2000

[denimbex1986]

'Patricia Highsmith’s 1955 novel The Talented Mr. Ripley has been made into two sterling films: 1960’s Plein soleil (Purple Noon) starring Alain Delon, and 1999’s The Talented Mr. Ripley headlined by Matt Damon, Jude Law, and Gwyneth Paltrow. Nonetheless, Netflix’s new Ripley stands head and shoulders above its predecessors (and most modern TV offerings) as an adaptation par excellence.

Over the course of its eight exhilarating episodes, all of them shot in breathtaking black-and-white by Oscar-winning cinematographer Robert Elswit (There Will Be Blood), this stellar thriller exhibits a formal precision, dexterity, and majesty that electrifies its tale of a small-time New York City grifter named Tom Ripley (a phenomenal Andrew Scott) who attempts to remake himself in Italy by slipping into the life of wealthy playboy Dickie Greenleaf (Johnny Flynn). Cunning cons and brutal murder ensue, all of them dramatized by the show with a suspenseful elegance and psychological complexity that does justice to its source material—and, in certain cases, adds new, incisive wrinkles to the oft-told tale.

Ripley is, quite simply, a small-screen masterpiece, and credit for its triumph goes, first and foremost, to writer/director Steven Zaillian. In the three decades since he won the Best Adapted Screenplay Oscar for Schindler’s List, the 71-year-old has collaborated with a who’s who of Hollywood greats, from Brian De Palma (Mission: Impossible) and Sydney Pollack (The Interpreter) to Ridley Scott (Hannibal, American Gangster, Exodus: Gods and Kings), David Fincher (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo) and Martin Scorsese (Gangs of New York, The Irishman).

Along the way, he’s additionally penned the excellent Moneyball, helmed three of his own feature scripts (including the fantastic Searching for Bobby Fischer), and spearheaded HBO’s acclaimed The Night Of. Even with such a formidable résumé, however, Zaillian’s latest may be his finest achievement to date. Its scintillating style wholly wedded to its storytelling, and its meticulousness central to its simmering undercurrent of sociopathic madness, it’s a work of controlled Machiavellian malevolence, rife with tension and rich in detail and depth.

Guided by Zaillian’s virtuosic hand, Ripley is the rare example of genuine auteurist television, even as it simultaneously stands as a testament to the fact that projects are more likely to be great when they’re made by a collection of great artists. Now available on the streaming platform, it’s an early contender for end-of-year accolades. Consequently, we were elated to speak with Zaillian about the challenges of making his sensational series, collaborating with Scott and Elswit, and the enduring appeal of Highsmith’s famous novel.

Ripley is better directed than 99 percent of modern television, to a great degree because it’s been actually directed, with personality, flair, and guiding motifs and techniques. Was there any pushback to your approach, given that TV generally wants formal style to take a backseat to storytelling?

No, there was no pushback. The style that the show became… I started with the writing, I can’t write anything without imagining it. That being said, things obviously change when you’re shooting, and motifs come up and the style gets set at a certain point. But the whole time we were shooting, basically all anybody is seeing are dailies. It’s hard to tell from dailies what’s going on, you know [laughs]? Most people at the studios didn’t see anything until it was edited. So I had this great freedom to do what I wanted in terms of its look, and I spent a lot of time doing it. It was important to me that it looked good and felt good in terms of its tone, and most of the people who came to this come from film, and we approached it as one long movie.

Is the writing process different when you’re writing for yourself, versus another director?

I don’t write any differently. As I mentioned, I can’t write it without seeing it, so whether I’m writing for myself or someone else, it’s the same process. I don’t ever put in, close-up here or wide shot there. However, I do see it, so when I’m making my shot lists, I’ve already done it once before when I was writing it. But in terms of writing in a different way if someone else is going to direct it, no.

What made you want to tackle The Talented Mr. Ripley, which has been adapted multiple times before?

I’ve been wanting to do it since I read it, which I think was probably back in the ’80s. Certainly after Purple Noon but before The Talented Mr. Ripley movies. I saw it in a certain way and I wanted to try that, so when this opportunity came up, I took it. I just think it’s one of the great characters and one of the great stories that can be told over and over again.

What is it about the novel that’s allowed it to endure so powerfully over the past 70 years? Despite its age, it feels extremely relevant in today’s socio-political climate.

The idea of a character who becomes somebody else is something that happens all the time, today and throughout history. We’re strangely fascinated with it. I mean, it comes up all the time! There are articles—one that comes to mind from a few months ago was called “The Talented Mr. Santos.” I think this particular character is fascinating, certainly to me and I hope to other people. And the style of it—and I don’t mean the photographic style, but the style of the story—comes from Highsmith, where she finds these kinds of extraordinary things happening in normal circumstances with normal people. It’s something she’s well known for, and is something which I feel we can all relate to.

You’ve directed three feature films, but none since 2006. As a director, what compelled you to segue to television?

It’s the way things go. It’s strange to say that it’s easier to get a television show done than a movie, but it seems to be true, at least with the kinds of movies that I want to make. [TV] is a lot harder and it takes a lot longer, and I long for the days and the chance to make a movie again. I’m hoping that that’s what I’m going to do next, only because it won’t consume years and years of my time [laughs]. I can do the same thing and not have it take four or five years.

At what point did you decide to shoot the entire series in black and white, and what was your thinking behind that creative decision?

It started with the writing; that’s how I imagined it. Why, I don’t know. Maybe because of the period. I did want it to not feel like a postcard, and Italy, if shot in bright vibrant colors in the summertime with blue skies, can feel that way. I felt that this was a more dark and sinister story, not unlike a film noir story, and so black and white seemed to be the natural choice.

Yet despite that monochromatic scheme, you didn’t lose the classical beauty and romance of Italy.

You can’t lose that in Rome—it’s impossible [laughs]. Nor did I want to. But that being said, even a familiar place to people—like, well, you don’t really see the Coliseum except when he’s driving around with a corpse in the car—I didn’t want those places to be front and center. I wanted the backstreets of Rome more than the boulevards. Naples and Palermo are both really interesting places that photograph wonderfully in black and white.

But again, part of the story does take place on the Amalfi Coast, and that’s the place that’s hard to make sinister in color. When you have the aqua blue water and the bright sun, it’s tough. Luckily, we were at least filming there in the fall, so we didn’t have the brunt of tourism or those postcard shots, which certainly helped.

Robert Elswit shot the pilot of The Night Of and the entirety of Ripley. What is it about him as a cinematographer that makes your collaboration work so well?

It’s many things. Obviously, he’s really talented. He shoots beautiful movies. And we get along really well. He’s very intrepid—he’ll do anything, and go anywhere, and work crazy hours. He’s a workhouse in that regard. This took that kind of person. We shot for 160 days in Italy, with a one week break in the middle, and that’s tough on anybody. He just loved the idea of shooting it in black and white, and he’s a master with lighting, as you can tell when you watch it. It’s a great collaboration, we have.

The series is dominated by shots of Tom at a distance, framed in long claustrophobic hallways and by constricting architecture (such as the stairs of Dickie’s home in Atrani). Was it difficult to find the locations you needed for that visual style?

That’s one of those things when you talk about motifs… yes, I wrote a scene where Tom climbs a lot of steps, but that was a place that [production designer] David Gropman and I found. We drove from Salerno to Sorrento, all the way up the coast, and this little town called Atrani that has 800 people had those stairs, and I was fascinated by them. I said to David, it looks like an M.C. Escher drawing, and I found out much later that [Escher] had actually lived there and had drawn those very stairs. So that’s where it started. Then, wherever we went, we encountered stairs, and that’s when it started becoming a motif.

You shoot Tom’s two murders (and their aftermaths) in long, methodical sequences. Why was it important to stage those in such detail?

I had a little note scribbled on a Post-it when I started this saying, “It’s easier to kill somebody than it is to get rid of the body.” I wanted to show that. Even getting rid of a body that’s laying down in a little boat is hard to get rid of. I thought, this could be an opportunity to try something that I’d like to, which is showing these things in what feels like real time, and how difficult it is. I thought it was interesting, I thought it was entertaining, and I thought it was something I’d wanted to do from the beginning. So in the scripts, in episodes three and five, those sequences are about 35 pages long.

How did you settle on Andrew Scott for Tom?

I’d only seen him in three things, and one of them, I didn’t even see him; I’d only heard him—that was in a movie called Locke in which he did not appear, but he was a voice on the telephone. He created a really interesting character with just his voice. That was the first time I saw anything he was in. Then his Moriarty [in Sherlock] and Fleabag. With those three things, I felt he could do anything. They were so different from each other that I felt, that’s Tom. He’s got the range to play Tom.

Often in Ripley, the most important aspect of a given scene is what’s taking place beneath what’s being said aloud. From a writer’s standpoint, how do you tackle such undercurrents?

That’s always been important to me in the writing—to know, what is the point of the scene? Is it a piece of dialogue, is it an action, or is it the moments between the dialogue? Often, that’s where it is for me. Like you say, someone is lying and the other person knows they’re lying, and they play this kind of game with each other—that is the point of the scene! So those moments in-between the dialogue are what’s important. I spend a lot of time with that, and the actors got that, and they’re smart and they’re good and they like doing that. So in those instances, that was what was going on.

John Malkovich makes a late, brief appearance as Reeves, which is both a sly shout-out to Ripley’s Game (which he starred in, as Tom) and a tantalizing suggestion of future seasons. Was Malkovich’s participation always part of the plan—and was his cameo designed to keep the door open for a follow-up?

Both of those things are true. I wrote to him and explained that I’d like him to consider doing this. It’s very short, it’s just a couple of days, but maybe it’s a fun idea. And he thought it was and came to Venice and did it.

Yes, I was also thinking that if there’s another season, this character appears in the next two Highsmith books about Ripley, and he’s a great character. He does not appear in The Talented Mr. Ripley book; he doesn’t appear until the second book. But yeah, if that ever happens, I hope he’ll do it. Because he’s perfect for it.'