#two blocks over from downtown there are homes people live in

[aintmyjewelry]

Happy Mardi Gras. every time i think about New Orleans i remember that there are so many areas - that isn't the touristy downtown (e.g., Bourbon Street) - still damaged and ruined from Hurricane Katrina

[fatehbaz]

In just eight blocks of sidewalk in quiet neighborhood, walking through the not-quite-rain of a sunshower, today I encountered four missing shoe soles. Little pieces of plastic and rubber, detached from pedestrians' shoes, now lonely on the concrete, with the weeds.

No such thing, really, as a "weed", though. "Weed" is not a botanical term. Instead, describes perceived pests, at the discretion of the observer. At the discretion of the authority. Designated as weed by the one with power over that land. The agronomist, the rancher, the plantation manager. The weed wastes space that could otherwise be given to a monoculture cash crop, an "economically significant" plant. The weed interferes with the productivity of the plot of land. The weed interrupts the extraction. The weed diminishes the value. The weed doesn't belong in this place.

People are made to be weeds, too.

Some cities will designate you as a weed, and then they'll take action to pull you out. They'll uproot you. But it's not always explicit, like "we're outlawing loitering" or "we're outlawing taking a nap in the park" or "we're defunding the library". Sometimes it's quite clever, it's written into the physical landscape. Self-congratulatory "progressive" cities learn to co-opt language, to obscure the violence, to use and abuse space.

Thinking about things you might encounter, you might perceive, after you've been destitute, broken, lived at a homeless shelter, for years. Little signs of other peoples' misery. Indicators of desperation that some might overlook. And the way that environment shapes, and is shaped by, these miseries.

A friend asks "why is there always an unusual amount of scuffed detached missing shoe soles on this particular stretch of sidewalk? There are hardly any homes around here, it's all asphalt and empty lots, so where are all these be-shoed people coming from?" Because even though this is a wide expanse without either home residences or any kind of commercial or recreation space someone would want to visit, these blocks are the straight-line direct path between a low-income apartment complex and the cluster of corporate big box stores, and there's no bus line that runs between the two areas. "But don't the vast majority of customers of shopping malls and box stores drive vehicles, hence the obscenely massive parking lots?" Sure, customers drive, but guess who actually has to work at those places? An underclass of people living at that apartment complex with harsh restrictions and cheap amenities, who can't afford car insurance or who might be too physically disabled to bike. And so that apartment complex is a de facto "company town", the residents are essentially in confinement. It is written into that landscape. It can be read. "Why is there always debris, wrappers, coins, etc. in this particular quiet couple of blocks of the boulevard?" Because these blocks are between a thrift store and a same-day drop-in clinic, so many impoverished people will routinely be walking between these two locations. They attend their appointment, and then have forty-five minutes to kill before the bus comes back around, so why not check out the thrift store? The city and county collaborated and placed all the low-income assistance offices on the far side of town, which conveniently forces the poor and disabled to both stay away from the luxurious downtown district and also to waste their time making a four-hour commute, catching various connecting buses or else riding the bikepath, across the city just to attend a ten-minute-long appointment.

Then this spatial layout, this city's physical environment, will shape the physical body. This violence writes itself into the flesh. The way the denim is chafed and discolored on the left shoulder of someone's jacket from carrying a small backpack around by foot, day after day after day. The way someone's heart rate increases when they see a white and black vehicle in the periphery of their vision, subconsciously recollecting institutionalization and institutional abuse, or fearing what a ticket fee would mean for their budget (they might not be able to afford rent). The way someone develops a painful limp, maybe occasionally depends on a cane, because they had to walk great distances every day to get to work and their shoe sole fell off on the sidewalk, but they can't replace the shoes because their employer is underpaying them, and they're forced to stand all day at work anyway, and they already had some modest nerve damage in their foot because they've been rationing their insulin and can't afford their prescriptions, and federal medical insurance keeps denying them because their physical letters in the mail always show up too late or not at all, and groceries are too expensive so it's hard to get good nutrition to heal, but the diabetic nerve damage has by now damaged their digestive tract too so they have a strictly limited bland diet and can't enjoy the simple pleasure of a home-cooked meal (if they can even afford a home, at this point), and all those "little" miseries add up, and now they're hungry, and in pain, because they were forced to walk kinda funny for a long time over all those decaying sidewalks with all those other weeds.

[sailoryooons]

Okay hear me out, but maybe a little bit of enemies to lovers, little bit of smutty goodness between witch hunter!yoongi and witch!reader?? Idk why this popped in my head but I’m kind of desperate to see a little something now lol.

Also, I love you ❤️

❀ Pairing: Witch hunter!Yoongi x f. witch!reader

❀ Summary: For years, you and Yoongi have played cat and mouse. It’s his duty to rid the world of witches, but he always finds a new excuse to let you slip through his fingers. When you find yourself at his mercy, you wonder if the great witch hunter will finally end your game of chase, or if there’s something that will stay his hand. 

❀ Word Count: 4188 

❀ Genre: Urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, a hint of angst, smut

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

❀ Warnings: On screen character death (not permanent though), depictions of blood and intense action sequences, scary demon thing, depiction of weapons, hints at violence between two groups of people, mild world building, a bit of angst, explicit language, explicit sexual content featuring light nipple play, unprotected vaginal sex, emotional sex, a lot of spit, UNEDITED. 

❀ Published: August 3, 2023

❀ A/N: I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to control myself with some of these ideas because god dammit Sarah, I want to turn this into more than ~4k of a work. Like this idea inspired me so much, you have no idea how insane I wanted to go on this but I had to CONTROL MYSELF because I promised that this year I would keep it tame. I love you so much and I’m so sorry that this is like 90% plot and 10% smut but I kept inching toward 5k and I was like I HAVE GOT TO STOP MYSELF JESUS CHRIST and dkfgjdiogjfoigjg I am telling you right now, I want to come back and revisit this fic and makie it like a four chapter thing or something because GOD I LOVED THIS IDEA AND YOU KNEW JUST WHAT TO REQUEST. Also this is unedited!!!!

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

| Masterlist | Ask | Hali’s Happy Agust | Song Inspiration |

Most nights, Yoongi dreams of you. He knows better, and yet he can’t help himself. It’s like you’re living under his skin, a virus that has taken root in the marrow of his bones. He doesn’t know how he would dig you out if he tried.

If he tried. 

If anyone from the Conclave knew the dangerous game that Yoongi is playing, he would be ousted or killed. Killing would be the mercy, but he’s garnered enough hate within the elite members of the Conclave to know they’d rather him suffer cut off from his resources. His friends. His family. 

Still, Yoongi walks a dangerous line. He knows it’s wrong, letting a witch infect him like a sickness. He is sure that he’s under your spell. There’s no other explanation for the way he always lets you slip away. For the way he closes his eyes and imagines the flutter of your heart against his, the sound of your gasps, the warmth of your hands.

Stars explode behind Yoongi’s eyes as he presses the heels of his hands into them. He’s exhausted, limbs heavy and sore from a day of bloody work. The activity downtown has only worsened the last few months, making Yoongi hunt multiple times a day and return home banged up. 

The pain he can handle. Witches and their demons are nothing new to him. But he knows there’s something he’s missing, something lurking beneath the surface of the increased activity and the strong demonic presence in the city.

Yoongi knows he could ask you. He’s thought about it a few times over the last few weeks but he’s talked himself out of it each time. The curiosity has always lingered there, waiting for him to ask in those moments where you cross his path, coy and sharp as ever. In the minutes you linger, shooting him insults he thinks you don’t mean and playing little word games. 

He doesn’t ask, though. And you never offer, despite the fact that your sharp eyes and knowing smirk lead him to believe you know he wants to ask. 

Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t. Not giving you what you want is part of the fun. He likes the way it makes you bristle, magic crackling at your fingertips. He loves the way it makes you narrow your eyes at him, lobbing empty threats that make him want to purr. 

Whatever this effect you have on him is potent. He can’t shake you off, can’t outrun you. 

And worse, he doesn’t want to.

Rain begins to beat on the bedroom window outside. Though his limbs are heavy from slogging through the sewer system downtown after a witch and her ivax demon, he’s a little too keyed up to sleep. Yoongi senses something staticy in the air, an energy that he can’t name.

Opening up his phone, he flips through his text threads with members of the Conclave. It seems everyone is in it tonight, the demonic activity buzzing and the monsters worse than usual. He frowns when he sees Seokjin mention a prowler crawling through the warehouse district. Yoongi knows that’s where you live and an unexpected sense of unease slivers down his spine.

He locks his phone and tosses it on the bed. He doesn’t need to worry about you. You’re one of the most skilled witches in the city and you’ve killed scores of demons and others alike. He should remove your head for the number of hunters you’ve put in the ground, but you’ve killed triple that in witches. 

Which is why you’re alone. It’s not lost on Yoongi that you’re a witch without a coven and with unusual alliances living in a warehouse all alone with a prowler on the loose. If you know it’s there - you have to know it’s there, being you - he knows you’ll go after it. 

“Fuck,” he sighs at the ceiling. 

Grabbing his phone, Yoongi sends off a quick text. 

Yoongi: Anyone dispatching to take care of the prowler?

Councilman Haer: Negative. The Conclave will not be dispatching. The Warehouse District is not critical and it’ll go back down after it’s satiated. Prowlers aren’t controlled by witches, it might even take a few out for us.

Yoongi stomach flips as he squeezes his phone tight before getting up. He’s tired of the Conclave’s inaction. He knows he’ll get in trouble for going after something so dangerous without backup, but he can’t ask Seokjin and Hoseok to back him up on this one. Not unauthorized, and not for something so dangerous. 

Unsanctioned hunts is exactly how Yoongi has ended up at the bottom of the pool among Conclave members, but he doesn’t care. Politics can’t erase the fact that he’s the best fucking hunter in the city, and no councilman who won’t get their hands dirty can give him grief for doing what needs to be done.

This isn’t about the Conclave, though. Yoongi knows it. Seokjin would know it, if Yoongi told him what he was doing. But the thought of a prowler tearing through the low-income streets in the Warehouse District doesn’t resonate with him. Neither does knowing that you are one of the witches in the line of fire. 

Yoongi dresses and arms himself with military proficiency. A black, long-sleeved shirt with a form-fitted leather vest over it to prevent most stabs and cuts, knives sheathed along the ribbing of the vest, breathable pants with a tactical belt and pockets full of hunting necessities, and his necklace with the Conclave helix. 

At the last second, he grabs a jacket and pulls the hood up to keep the beating rain from soaking him through. While he has some talent with magic to help him heal faster and make his blows stronger and faster, he’s not skilled in the way of weather or anything advanced enough to keep him dry and comfortable. 

Nervousness settles into him as he takes the subway to the Warehouse District. It’s not far, but the train is empty and filled with dirty puddles left behind from passengers. Lights flicker above as the subway rockets unevening on the tracks, making him dizzy. 

When he steps off the train and into the wet underground of the station entrance, he knows something is amiss. His fingers twitch as he jogs up the steps, boots splashing loudly as the rain comes down. Wind whips at him here and when he hears a crack of thunder too loud and rumbling to be human, his instincts kick in.

Yoongi takes off running. He knows where your warehouse-turned-loft is. He’d originally scouted it out to eliminate you. Now, it’s something he’s always kept an eye on, steering other hunters away from your home. It’s silly, he knows. You’d call him weak if you knew, probably. And yet he does it, diverting danger coming your way when he can.

Now, danger is already there. 

The storm rages harder as he heads your direction. Wind pushes at him, making Yoongi lock his muscles as he fights the freezing cold rain and the debris that blows down the street with the force of the storm. He hopes that it keeps people indoors and away from the prowler. 

But Yoongi sees the purple lighting lance out of the sky, an explosion of radiant beauty for a moment before it strikes nearby, blowing transforms into white sparks and he realizes what is so uncanny about this storm. 

It’s you. You’re the storm. 

A roar of rage shakes the air as he comes around the corner to your street. The warehouse you live in is at the end of the road right up against the bay. The wind is mixed with salt spray, stinging his eyes as he runs towards the shadowy outline of your building, nearly impossible to see in the rain and night.

Yoongi manages to roll one of the heavy doors open to your loft, muscles screaming with effort. Stepping inside, chaos greets him. The ceiling is blown out above your home, rain pouring in from the sky. It tastes like lightning and blood. No doubt your storm is what ripped the ceiling apart, but when he sees the prowler, he doesn’t blame you. 

A massive creature stands ten feet tall, rippling with leathered hide and spikes on its back. Long, gangly limbs drag on the floor with black, sharpened talons on the end of each of its three fingers. The prowler walks awkwardly and Yoongi notes the scorch mark in its left shoulder, making it lean as it drags itself toward its intended target. 

Which is you, laying on the ground bloody and rain soaked. Yoongi doesn’t even think. He has no idea if you’re conscious or not, but he’s moving across the room, putting power into his step as he pulls out two of his daggers and jumps high up into the air. 

Yoongi’s intent is to land on the back of the prowler and sink each blade in as he falls. He doesn’t anticipate the demon to turn away from bloodied prey, but it does, swinging its arm wildly to bat him away. He’s lucky that the forearm catches him in the stomach and sends him flying and not the flaws.

Closing his eyes and bracing for impact, Yoongi is surprised when he doesn’t slam into a wall. He opens his eyes to see himself floating toward the floor, suspended briefly before the phantom energy drops him gently. He lands with shock, looking up to where you’re sitting up, one hand extended toward him.

At least you weren’t out cold or dead. Yoongi is really happy that you’re not dead, but it’s cut short as the prowler charges him. 

This time, Yoongi’s ready. He runs at the beast, waiting until he’s right outside of the window of its swiping claws before he dives to his knees, sliding under the creature and between its legs. He twists his hands, cutting the inside of the creature’s thighs as he goes.

It shrieks, shaking the building and scattering Yoongi’s thoughts. He feels fizzy and confused for a moment, the mind breaking scream of the prowler enough to make him vulnerable. He feels a hand on his face and he looks up, momentarily stricken with the thought that he sees an angel. 

“Thank you,” you breathe, and he recognizes your voice. Usually it cracks like a whip, but this is soft. Strange. It terrifies him. “I’m going to do something that is probably going to kill me. Just know that I liked our game, Hunter.”

“What are you doing, Witch?”

Your smile is like the sun. He doesn’t think he’s seen anything more beautiful. Your face is covered in blood and rain, turning your neck scarlet as it runs. There’s a gash above your brow and he sees a blackened wound in your stomach. 

It is amazing, how a creature like you, bred to be an evil, wicked thing can look radiant. Holy. Wonderful. Your hand is cradling his face and it feels warm, despite the rain and blood on your hands. Your thumb is soft as it sweeps across his cheek, a touch more reverent than he’s ever known. 

“Witch,” Yoongi starts, unsure what you’re doing. 

“I’ll miss that. Take this.” 

Before Yoongi can react, your hand falls from his face. You move past him with absolute confidence, lifting your chin. You have a limp as you do, and Yoongi reaches after you but you’re already out of his grip.

Something stirs in the air. He’s only felt power rippling like that once before when he was a child, and the entire Conclave worked together to slaughter an Eldritch Witch that had attacked them and taken out more than half of their hunters.

Now, Yoongi feels that dark presence again, energy buzzing against his ears as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. The prowler senses the power disturbance too, backing away from you as dark particles begin to gather around your hands.

Above you, the rain hovers, disrupted by the frequency of your magic. The buzz in Yoongi’s ears gets louder as he climbs to his feet, clapping his hands firmly over his ears, wincing as it gets higher and louder. He thinks it might burst his ear drums or crack his skull open. 

Disks of dark particles circle you as you approach the demon, which is now roaring once more, trying to disrupt your thoughts. It doesn’t work, the air vibrating with dark matter. You’re at the center of the swirling darkness, the rings rotating around you like an access.

The sound stops suddenly, and for a moment, Yoongi thinks he’s deaf. Black matter pulses from you, exploding outward. Yoongi hits the floor, realizing if he gets hit with your magic, he’ll die. Never before has he witnessed the Eldritch Blast of a witch, but he knows that it's only used as a final stand.

I’m going to do something that is probably going to kill me. 

The finality of your words shreds him open as the shockwave of your magic barrels at him. He thinks he’s going to die as it expands toward him, but instead, it arches over him, battling down against a magical barrier. 

Take this. Yoongi realizes you’ve warded him from your destruction, keeping him safe as your blast levels the world around you. He feels the magic beating down on your ward like raging fits, vibrating and shrieking under the pressure of the magic. 

It even keeps him from being injured by the collapsing debris. 

Yoongi looks at you as the world falls to pieces. You go down to one knee, then the other, swaying as the darkness cascades around you in a final flutter of power. Then you fall over, heavy and unmoving as the rest of the building comes down. 

All he can do is scream.

-

Most nights, you dream of Yoongi. You don’t know when it started - perhaps that first night after you met him? You can’t be sure. All you know is that at some point, the hunter poisoned you from the inside out, a disease taking root and rotting you all the way through to your core. 

You always knew that dreaming of him would get you killed one day. But Yoongi was different. Wiser than the rest of his wretched Conclave. Smart enough to question his way of life and his faction’s merciless killings. You think he’ll start asking the right questions soon, that maybe he’ll start seeing the signs that who he has sworn loyalty to isn’t who they say they are.

But Yoongi never asks questions. 

It’s easy to tell he wants to. There’s always that little pause at the end of your meetings. You used to think it was perhaps he was trying to decide whether or not to kill you. Perhaps it was that at first, but now it’s something a little different. A little more. Like he is on the edge of finally asking you what exactly is going on in the city that he protects from monsters.

Yoongi is simple, though. He likes his little life tucked away in the Art District and he likes the wash, rinse, repeat of killing demons and corrupted witches nightly. You think he likes your little run-ins.

Now, you’ve finally paid the price of letting him live these last two years. Had someone told you before you’d met Yoongi that you’d sacrifice yourself for him and the rest of a small neighborhood, you’d have laughed in their face. You weren’t a hero, though some might think slaying your own kind and their creatures was worth praise. 

Penance and praise are not the same, though. 

Dying seems like a good way of paying off your list of wrongs. Especially to save Yoongi. If only to save Yoongi, if you were being honest. 

Witches have a lot of lore about death and where one goes in the afterlife. You’re not sure where you are, if you exist, or if you’re even really a thought. It feels like nothingness and everything all at once, a void of floating consciousness. There’s no pain, but you remember the warehouse. Remember the prowler ripping down the door and coming for you specifically. 

And him. You remember Yoongi coming in, looking like a fucking angel of old as he leapt through the skies. Together you might have taken on the beast. But prowlers are notoriously difficult to destroy, and you were in no shape to protect Yoongi, much less fight by his side as a reliable partner. 

That left you with one option, and though you knew it would end you, you’d done it anyway.

Yoongi’s face swims in your mind. Soft and round, eyes like the bottom of the ocean, a single pink scar carved through his right eye. Mouth soft and petal pink, hair silky and dark, reaching to his shoulders. He’s small for a hunter but he’s strong and broad, his mind his best weapon. 

Witch, Yoongi had said. The last words you’d hear from him, spoken with a softness that you’ve never heard from him before. Rain-soaked and wide eyed Yoongi, looking at you like you held the flame of life, like you were something more than a creature on the other side of the trench. 

The best thing you could do for him was die.

So you summoned your magic from deep within you, that ancient, sleeping thing. You try not to think about what Yoongi’s last memory of you will be, an eldritch horror that will remind him of the creature that slaughtered his family as a child. 

Yoongi will never get to ask his questions. You’ll never get to tell him why you haunt the streets killing your own kind. Yoongi will never know the softness of your kiss. You’ll never know the gentle press of his hands. 

Something brushes across your forehead. You feel now and you frown. Or can you frown, in whatever plane of death this is? You’re not sure, but you feel… the weight of your own body. The beating of your own heart. The rush of air through your lungs as you breathe.

Awareness prickles at the back of your neck like a needle. Slowly, you begin to feel solid. Your fingers twist in soft sheets, and when you turn your head, you feel the plushness of a pillow. Smell petrichor and cedar. 

It smells like… Yoongi. 

“Hmmm?” you feel the vibration in your throat at your unspoken question, nothing but a rumble of noise and confusion. Something cradles your face. “Hunnn..?”

A deep, throaty laugh. “Mmm, I take care of you for a week straight and we’ve moved on to endearments?” 

Your eyes flutter open, lids heavy. The world swims into view, a little blurry as your eyes try to focus in the dimly lit room, taking in the bed you’re in and the face hovering above yours. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, your heart expanding with unfettered joy. 

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said my name.”

“What?”

“Say it more often.” He leans forward and you watch as his dark eyes drink you in. “And never do that to me again.”

Before you can ask him what that is, Yoongi’s mouth is pressing against yours. You melt immediately, going boneless in a bed you’re unfamiliar with, lost in the citrusy taste of his mouth and the gentle press of his lips. His kiss is soft soft soft, blurring reality as he pulls at your bottom lip teasingly before pulling away.

Eyes fluttering open, you stare at him in wonder. He hovers above your face, haloed by inky-black hair. “Yoongi.”

He smiles. “It sounds much better than hunter. Hun can stay, though.”

“You’re not calling the shots.”

“You’re in no condition to fight me.”

“I killed a prowler, I think you’re no problem.”

His eyes glow. “I think perhaps you’re right. But for now, you’re at my mercy.”

“Kiss me again.” You lift your hands and bring them toward his face, brushing a finger over the bottom of his scar. “And don’t stop this time. I’ll ask my questions later.”

“Of course, witch.” 

Yoongi’s kiss is hungrier now. Desperate. Full of all the questions he never asked and you meet him with equal fire. You don’t care that you’ve beat the odds and lived. You don’t care about anything else but the weight of Yoongi straddling your waist and the feel of his velvet soft skin beneath your hands. 

Every inch of him is warm, filled with the heat of the hunter’s fire that burns through every member of the Conclave. This hunter burns brighter than the rest, though. Warmth blooms where your fingers press over his stomach and chest, ridding him of his shirt. Fire burns where you grab his arms, arching into him as his teeth skim your throat. 

You’ve never felt this in sync with someone, bodies twining together like you were made for one another. Yoongi’s hand is scorching as his touch ghosts down your body, his touch light and teasing as he lowers his mouth to your hardened nipple, catching it and giving a gentle suck.

Honey-dipped moans slip from your mouth. Yoongi’s mouth is wet-hot against your skin, tongue laving hungrily as his hand seeks the heat between your legs. Your thighs open for him easily, giving Yoongi access to the dripping mess of your folds. He curses when his fingers slide between your slit, gathering slick to circle his digits around your clit.

“Fuck,” you hiss, hips twitching. “Don’t bother. I can take you now. Want you now.”

“I told you that you were at my mercy.” You summon your magic, rattling his shelves. Yoongi leans over to your neglected nipple and plucks it with his teeth, making you squeal and shiver, pleasure rattling you. “Fine,” he agrees. “Greedy witch. Should have known.”

“Not greedy,” you shoot back as Yoongi sits up and sheds his pants. Your hands follow him, tracing the faint scars on his stomach, pressing against the muscle of his tapered hips. “I’ve waited for months for you to do something. To say something.”

“I’m not good at that.” 

You hum. “It takes me dying for you to take initiative?” 

“A lesson hard-learned and never to be repeated.”

Yoongi’s cock is hard, bobbing heavily as he shuffles you under him and presses your thighs open for him. The brown tip is sticky with precum, his shaft long and thick enough to make your cunt ache for him more.

“Nice cock,” you tease as he pumps himself, hand gliding and spreading his precum down his shaft.

He grunts. “Can’t wait to feel this fucking pussy,” he mutters, leaning forward and pressing the tip to your entrance. You make a breathy sound, eyes fluttering shut at the pleasure-pained stretch. “Think you can take it, witch?”

“Yes.”

Yoongi sinks in and you second-guess your statement for a second, but the stretch of his cock pressing you open feels good. Deliriously so, your back arching as he bottoms out. You feel him in your gut, deeper than anything ever before and you whine as he draws his hips back before snapping them forward, punching the breath from your lungs.

He sets a deep, hard pace. You grip his biceps, feeling the muscle flex in his arms. Every part of you is on fire, lit up from the closeness of your bodies as Yoongi leans down and melds your mouths together, continuing to fuck you so deep you know you’ll never forget what it feels like.

Every brush of his cock against your g-spot drives you mad. Every whisper of your name - your name, not witch - makes you shudder. His tongue is hungrily as it brushes against yours, his moans deep and throaty as your pussy grips him tight. 

“Fuck,” he pants, sliding a hand down your body to grab your thigh and hoist your leg higher. It changes the angle, making his stroke somehow deeper. Your eyes roll back and your head digs into the mattress as you fist at the sheets. “You can fucking take it.”

“Keep going.”

“As if i could fucking stop.” 

You never want him to stop. Fucking you, kisses you, teasing you, shadowing you as you take on the world. You want every part of your life colored with Yoongi. You want him to be a part of your mornings, your fights, your weaknesses, your strengths. You want to rile him up, needle him with little insults that get him going. Tease him to make him laugh and share that secret smile. 

Every moment has led to this. You don’t know how you never saw this outcome, here with him, crying out his name as your orgasm crests into an unstoppable force. When you come around him, it’s with his name in your mouth and so much need for him in your heart that you think you might explode with energy for a second time. 

After, when you’re wrapped in Yoongi and you feel his hunter’s skin blaze against you, sweat-slick skin pressed close, you think that finally, he’ll ask those questions. You’ll give him answers. 

“Don’t do that ever again, witch,” Yoongi warns. “I will follow you into death.” 

[slvt444books]

Indifference

In which Nanami kento finds himself drawn to you despite his usual indifference towards his usual coworkers

Nanami Kento was a “good” man. Always following the speed limit when driving, doing his taxes annually, and doing his share of work diligently for the sake of his coworkers, going to bed, and waking up at a reasonable time. There was one small flaw to his lifestyle, he was just so fucking bored.

It wasn't that he expected this lifestyle to be fulfilling in the slightest, yet there was something majorly lacking within his dreary life. It's not like he wanted to mirror Gojo’s life and whatever that idiot was up to, but he wanted to feel. To feel beyond the fleeting excitement of finding a new sandwich at the convenience store, or the prospect of a raise from his crummy boss that is. But it was fine, he’d simply save up then retire and live out his days in some tropical paradise.

That was until he met you. You filled the role of a temp who had been fired for slacking on the job. His expectations weren’t very high, to say the least. When you were introduced to him His first impression of you was that you were average. Attractive but yet average, long legs, full hair, round face with a neutral yet edgar expression across it, to be short you were beautiful.

Either way, he had no plans whatsoever to get close to you or become too familiar. The line he drew between His personal life and work life was very clear. Not to be crossed. So he trained you accordingly, showing you the ins and outs of the business, you asked questions that proved that you paid attention to the boring rules and explanations, occasionally throwing a witty joke or two that he couldn't help to slightly grin at.( not that he'd show it) At the end of the work day, he walked with you to the front of the building, to find rain pouring down relentlessly. Being the person that he was he carried a mini umbrella on him always. He turned to his right to see your face, obviously dreading getting drenched by the rain. So without thinking, he handed you the umbrella, walking away quickly to avoid any sort of dialogue between the two - why watch someone's day turn shitty like his usual ones?

He had made it an entire block until he heard the pitter-patter of squeaky shoes and breathless pants right behind him. Then he felt the rain droplets stop kissing his head. It was you on your tippy toes holding the tiny convenience store umbrella over his head and shoulders- well half of his shoulders anyway. Before he could open his mouth to question your strange actions you quipped your mouth to say “I knew you were a bit strange but getting rained on for a total stranger? Not that strange “You were joking but At a loss for words, he just stood there making an incredulous face at you. Why not just accept the umbrella and move on? Instead of just standing there like an idiot lacking a response he just simply said I just thought you’d appreciate the umbrella, Nothing more. With that, he turned back around to head home. But your voice reached him again “I didn’t mean to be rude or anything I just figured since we seemed in the same age group I could speak informally, sir” There seemed to be an underlying timidness in your voice that hadn't been there before. It's fine he said flatly, once he that he'd got off the hook you spoke once more “Could I take you to ramen to make up for my rudeness?” he sensed sincerity in your voice. Unlike many people he encountered daily. So he simply nodded and let you lead the way, maybe this could stop the your babbling and stop any awkwardness that lingered from this interaction, he lied to himself. The truth was he was intrigued by you. Why that was? He just couldn't seem to figure out.This entire day he seemed to act on a whim, not as logical as his usual self. Soon he found himself in a small poorly lit ramen shop downtown. In this moment it dawned on him that he wasn’t bored. A rare occurrence at the end of a long day. He found himself drawn to you oddly. Maybe he’d bend his rules and interact with you a bit more… just maybe.

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Let's Groove

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~2.8k

Summary: A night out 💃🏻🕺

A/N: Y'all don't wanna know the playlist I listened to while writing this. I've only been trying to find the motivation to finish this for months.

Warnings: angst, but mostly fluff.

You can’t help but laugh loudly as you watch your brother-in-law head to the dance floor without you. You and the slightly older Maximoff had decided to go out tonight to celebrate the end of the week. Usually, you wouldn’t want to go out after the week you had, but the alternative was sitting home alone. Well with your dog. 

Wanda was working, and she wouldn’t be home for a while. With this in mind, you decided to take Pietro up on his offer to visit one of Wanda’s clubs downtown. You and Pietro basically walked right in, and you tried not to glance at the line of people over a block long that you were able to skirt by. 

Now that you were in the VIP area drinking way too much liquor, you barely remember to feel guilty. You’re having a great time, and you’ve even gotten Bucky to relax a little where he’s stationed at the bar. You had told Wanda where you would be, and she’d of course told you to take Bucky. Not like you had considered otherwise because you knew better.

You didn’t bother to ask if Wanda would be joining you later because you had a feeling that she wouldn’t. She was likely going to be busy most of the night, and the fact that she hadn’t told you otherwise was telling enough. You finish sipping on your drink and sigh as you feel the alcohol relax you enough to join your brother-in-law on the dance floor. 

You set your glass down and you’re about to track down Pietro when you nearly run into someone as you turn around. 

“Oh, sh-!” 

“Sorry!  I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

The statement seems ridiculous when you have a second to think about it. This man who was so tall you had to tilt your head back to look up at him with how close he was standing to you, had snuck up on and stood behind you. If he wasn’t trying to surprise you, you’re not sure you want to know what his plan had been. 

You watch as he offers you an apologetic smile that does nothing to hide how his eyes brighten as they bore into yours. You try not to appear uncomfortable, but it’s a little difficult, and you take a step back so you’re not overwhelmed by the cologne that assaults your senses. You open your mouth to respond that he was unsuccessful, but he doesn’t give you time.

“I-.” 

“Would you be interested in a dance?” 

You can’t help but frown, and not just because of the question. You hate it when people interrupt you, and you feel your eye twitch from the effort of keeping calm. You are very grateful that you hear the beginning of a song that you absolutely love. 

“Sorry, I’m married, and I have a dance partner already.” 

You barely hold your left hand up long enough for him to see your ring, but you don’t bother to wait for his response before you’re leaving the VIP area. You begin to dance as you walk through the crowd of people in search of your brother-in-law.

You find him quickly and you smile when you see that he’s already getting into the song. You quickly join him and the two of you do your best to enjoy yourself and forget about all of the stressors from this week. 

You’re both unaware or unconcerned about being watched by the man you just rejected and a few others. 

The lively club is the ideal place to decompress, and you’re grateful to Pietro for suggesting it. You have a sneaking suspicion as you continue to dance to your favorites, that this wasn’t his last suggestion of the night. You allow yourself to feel spoiled as you let the alcohol in your system make you dance like no one’s watching. 

The blonde you’d left in the VIP area was pouting as he stood beside a table with a drink in front of him. He was only a little buzzed, so not dumb enough to try his luck again, especially when he realizes who your ‘dance partner’ is. He's finished his Manhattan and he considers ordering another one as he watches you dance. The song changes from a hip hop song, the words to which he barely understands, but knows is filthy based on how everyone is behaving. 

Well mostly everyone. 

He finally manages to pull his gaze away when someone comes to drop another drink in front of him. He looks up expecting to see the waitress from earlier, but it’s someone he doesn’t recognize. His smile is nothing short of perfectly polite, but his eyes tell a different story. 

He frowns in confusion, but when the ‘waiter’s’ gaze moves to the dance floor before returning to him, he understands. A warning. 

Instead of responding, he scowls more in annoyance at himself for choosing poorly before downing his drink. The club is packed tonight, there’s no doubt he can find another, more available dance partner. 

He takes out his wallet and slides a twenty underneath his glass before heading out to try his luck with someone else. 

Bucky just watches him leave and once he confirms that he’s not headed toward you, he turns his attention back to his friends. 

They look like they’re having fun and he’s happy for them. They’d both been so tense lately and it was good to see them enjoying themselves for the first time in what felt like months. Bucky tries not to dwell on work, despite the fact that he’s technically still working tonight. This is far easier than what he knows Wanda’s up to tonight. He’d rather keep an eye on you any day. Honestly everyone was feeling the stress of Wanda’s latest deal. He not-so-secretly hopes that it wraps up as scheduled tonight. He glances at his watch realizing that it’s much too soon to think about that. Instead, to kill the time, he heads back to the bar to see if the bartender can whip up a mocktail you’d made for him recently. 

As the music shifts from one genre to another, you and Pietro smile at each other before you move closer to him so you won’t have to shout. He leans in and despite your added height, he needs to bend slightly so you can whisper in his ear. 

“When did you have time to look at my phone?” 

Pietro just laughs before he shoots you a look that tells you you’re going to have to ask him to explain later. You have a playlist that isn’t exactly hidden on your phone, but you rarely listen to it. You were also under the assumption that the only one who knew of its existence was Wanda. Apparently not. 

You see Pietro mouth something you don’t catch as he shrugs before stepping back so he’s out of your personal space. You two are honestly the only ones who are maintaining any at this point. 

“Don’t tell me you’re complaining!”

You roll your eyes, but you definitely can’t claim this. You’re glad that he did it, even if it makes you wonder exactly who told him about your ‘dirty dancing’ playlist. You did your best to only dance when no one was watching, but sometimes when the mood struck, you danced around the house like it was your own personal nightclub. 

You’d done it a few times before Wanda caught you, and you’d been too embarrassed to talk about it at the time. Then she caught you again and you had no choice but to tell her. You’d sworn her to secrecy though, so you’d have to talk to her about this at some point. You ignore the familiar feeling of longing that hits you at the thought of your wife. You’re not sure what she’s doing tonight, but you’re hoping that it will mark the end of the last few tense months at home. 

You shake your head both to clear the thought from your mind and to respond to your brother-in-law who’s already dancing to another pop song from your childhood. You’ll be mortified if anyone else figures out who chose the music, but that’s something you’re too drunk to care about at the moment. 

“Definitely not!” 

You’re beginning to regret your choice in footwear when Pietro suddenly slows in the middle of a song. You look up to see that something’s caught his attention, but his focus is back on the music before you can ask him about it. You frown slightly and turn around to see what’s behind you. The VIP area has gotten more crowded since you’d left, and you don’t see Bucky anymore, but you’re not naïve enough to think that he’s left you with Pietro. When you don’t notice anyone that sticks out, you just shrug before turning back to your brother-in-law who, if you’re not mistaken, is putting on a show. For whom, though? You’re not sure. 

The bar is full by the time that Bucky has his mocktail in hand. He retreats to the corner again where he can keep an eye on you, but not be too obvious about it. He almost laughs at the thought because he’s sure that no one is paying any attention to him. 

He accidentally bumps into a redhead on the way to his hideout and after a quick apology, leaves her to her drink and show. 

Ellie barely hears him apologize as she focuses on the blonde who’d caught her attention as soon as he walked into the club. She’d been here with some friends for a couple of hours before she’d sought a brief escape. She was a member of this club solely because of her mom’s annual contributions, but for once she was okay with this when she found someone that held her attention long enough to forget all about her friends. 

She’d been here nearly a dozen times, but this is the first time she’s seen him. She couldn’t even blame her slightly tipsy state for how she’d immediately flushed when she set eyes on him. He was tall, handsome, and his smile was one that she was sure had women falling all over him. The only wrinkle in his appearance that kept Ellie from going over to him immediately was that he wasn’t alone. 

She noticed you by his side and immediately felt her stomach drop, and she can’t be sure but she probably scowled too. It wasn’t until Pietro left you to go to the dance floor while you finished your drink that she saw a glimmer of hope. 

You’d told someone that you were married and had a dancing partner before promptly going to find who she assumed was your husband. It wasn’t until she watched you dance with him for a few songs that she realized that she wasn’t so sure anymore. 

She watched how almost every dancer surrounding you two was clinging to someone or full on making out as the slightly uncharacteristic, but still good set continued. You and ‘your husband’ however barely touched when you danced and it wasn’t until a disco classic came on that she realized why. 

It was the lack of a ring on the blonde’s finger, at least that she could see that had her setting her glass down and taking a deep breath. She waits until the song ends to gather enough courage to leave her table and try her luck.

Her heart’s beating thunderously in her ears, drowning out the bass as she steps onto the floor among the throngs of people. 

“Bucky.” 

Bucky can’t hide his surprise when he hears a familiar voice beside him. He smiles when he sees Wanda looking a little tired, but no worse for wear than when he’d last seen her. That must be a good sign. He’s surprised that she’s already wrapped things up, but he doesn’t want to bring it up unprompted. The fact that she was here told him that she needed a break. It was long overdue in fact. 

“Hey, you snuck in.” 

Wanda just offers a small smile before nodding toward the side entrance that she tended to favor because she didn’t like to be the center of attention. She also did her best to sneak in here so she didn’t have to deal with anyone trying to talk to her when she was trying to relax. She sighs as she glances around for you, but when she doesn’t see you, her gaze drifts to the far too crowded dance floor. She has a feeling she knows where you are. 

She doesn’t even get to ask before Bucky nods and tells her something that makes her leave almost immediately. She almost forgets to relieve Bucky for the night, she’s so intent on finding you. 

“Thanks, Bucky. I can take it from here. We’ll catch up tomorrow?” 

Bucky nods in agreement, not that Wanda notices as she sets off to find you. The song that erupts all around her makes her smile and she realizes why you’re on the dance floor in the first place. You’re a sucker for this song. She finds you only a few seconds after a redhead steps up to her brother. She watches as he shoots her a charming smile before he extends his hand to her in a way that makes you roll your eyes despite your smile. You laugh when you hear what he says to her as he leads her further into the crowd with a wink in your direction. 

“Oh no, definitely not! We do that on purpose. She’s married to my sister, but I’m single.” 

You watch in amusement as Pietro leaves with the cute redhead that he must have spotted earlier. That would explain his performance, just now and a couple of songs ago. You haven’t decided what you’re going to do when you feel hands on your waist steadying you as you sway to the music. 

“Hey detka.” 

You immediately relax at the familiar voice, and you’re smiling by the time you turn to meet your wife’s gaze. She looks exhausted, but she’s smiling as she takes a moment to admire you. You’re taller than usual and you’re wearing a dress that shows off a little more than she’d like, but it’s dark enough in here that she supposes it’s fine. After all she’s the one who gets to watch you take it off later. 

“Wands, this is a pleasant surprise.” 

You turn in your wife’s hold and reach out to bring her closer before kissing her soundly. Your arms wrap around her waist and you sigh happily as you break away and shoot Wanda an expectant look. She shrugs before telling you that she finished work sooner than she thought she would. You don’t want to ask about it now. There will be time for that later, but right now you want to spend some time with your wife. You can’t help but laugh at your wife’s perfect timing. You aren’t sure she’d be greeting you with a smile if she’d been here only ten minutes ago. You’re sure she finds Whitney Houston far more tasteful than Waka Flocka Flame. You wouldn’t bother arguing with her, even if you thoroughly enjoyed both. 

As expected, Wanda tilts her head and frowns slightly at your response. She squeezes your hips before bringing them flush against her own, and you simply smile sweetly before looking up to nowhere in particular. 

“If you’re still curious about my secret playlist, well it’s not so secret anymore.” 

Wanda’s eyes widen as she realizes what you’re saying and she looks surprised enough for you to suspect that maybe she’s not your leak. You’ll interrogate your brother-in-law later, if you see him any time soon, but for now you focus on your wife. Your hands drop to her hips and you pull her further toward the middle of the crowd so she’s not so exposed. You also want a little more privacy with your wife and you watch as her eyes darken when she realizes what you’re asking. 

“Really?” 

She’s smirking now and you can’t wait to wipe it from her lips. You take her hand in yours before coming to a stop just far enough away from prying eyes to have some privacy. If anyone’s recognized Wanda, they don’t show it. Not that it would matter. Everyone’s plenty drunk by now. You eye the glistening ring on Wanda’s finger before kissing it with a wide smile. You’re going to enjoy this, and you’re determined to make sure your wife does too. She really needs to decompress. 

“Mhm, listen up baby. These are all the songs I’ve wanted to dance to with you.”

Masterlist

[hersurvival]

You know the word 'visceral'

You know it's deep, soft guts and gore, involuntary, abhorrent, out of control

It's feral, it's violent

It will find you

A black bear hit by a truck, pulled off the road to watch it cross, you're eight, you see the cubs in the trees

One morning the police have the road blocked, driving home later, you see the blood in the street, fur and flesh, a moose lay in the ditch

After school on the highway, a jeep has rolled over between the lanes, you can see the driver's face, upside down in the snow, people rushing in aid

Thanksgiving dinner, the sirens are rushing downtown, they shot a friendly homeless man outside of the gas station, they didn't clean it up very well

Missing posters for a kid, a long investigation, he went to school with your cousin, they found his truck dumped miles out of town, but he was pistol whipped at the house behind your backyard, led with a blindfold down to the river, executed by his 'friends' over something that never came out

Some teenagers lured a girl to the falls, you've hiked there with your dogs, it's a long fall, they pushed her over the ledge and left, they were only caught because they took her phone

It's just after midnight, you heard the gunshot, a coworker has just drunkenly shot your friend, they were roommates, lived in the cul-de-sac over, she was 90 pounds and a big sister

You work night shifts now, you smell the smoke, this is the second house fire in two years, not yet any emergency vehicles, the first time the report said everyone was fine but it's 2 am, the population is aging, people are sleeping, this time a couple burned up in their bed

He was found on the ice, he's covered in bruises and blue, they let you in the room, they're trying to warm him up, but his brain is bleeding, he's thrashing, he only lives for another hour or two

Visceral,

You know where it comes from but you won't see it coming

It drags you under, a quick undertow out to sea, too far, too deep

You never truly make it out, snowy roads and smoky neighborhoods haunt you now

@nosebleedclub March 10th - Viscera

[butch-reidentified]

well my wife & I had literally just arrived downtown, were still walking down the sidewalk to the bar, when we run into this guy on the corner interacting aggressively with a very anxious-looking woman trying to lock a shop door and two young boys. my wife instantly steps in and firmly asks the man to step back a bit while I check in with the woman. he's obviously drunk and belligerent, and starts shouting at us. "I'm just talking to my son, I'm not allowed to talk to my son?"

she explains very straightforwardly that this is her restaurant she owns, and he's her abusive ex who's always hanging around her restaurant and trying to manipulate the kids by talking shit about her and giving her diabetic son candy. she tells us that the local police and "everyone" knows about this situation, that's she's tried twice to get a restraining order, he's stolen from her and her restaurant multiple times, etc.

he asks my wife and me with disgust if we're "girlfriends or something," to which I respond that it's absolutely none of his business. he asks us why we're in his business, then. She tells us he slapped her a few minutes prior, because of what she was wearing. He says it isn't fair that he "never got to see her like that" while they were dating because he "was always working in her restaurant." I ask him who the fuck told him seeing her ~like that~ was his right.

we ask her if she wants us to walk her to her car/home, and she says she lives a couple blocks away and that would be really good. as we walk away, he tells her "spirits" are going to come and get her tonight. so we walk with her and the kids, let her vent about him and everything she's tried to do to stop this without anything changing, how the police don't care and how they believed him that HER home and restaurant were his because he's a white man and she's a black woman, and they interrogated her while asking him nothing.

On the walk, he walks up behind us to a bit ahead of us to where the older boy is on his bicycle, and starts talking to the older boy again, but not before shouting to us that "men should be with women." She refuses to engage, and we follow her lead. I ask her some questions to get a feel for what she might have or need. We give her our phone numbers and a short spiel about available community resources and the importance of women looking out for other women. I tell her I can connect her with those resources and am happy to arrange help for her to complete the restraining order process, as the barriers preventing her previously have been things like being unable to arrange for childcare so she can go to court. She asks if she can give us hugs, and we say of course.

We stay while she and her piece of shit ex verbally battle for control of the older son. She's asking him to come up to their apartment. We can't hear what he's saying to the kid, but he keeps shifting position to block her from making eye contact with her son. She tells us he is teaching the kid to view and treat women like he does. She tells us the kid needs counseling and is struggling with depression.

We stay until the older son gets his father's permission to go upstairs with her. He approaches us on the corner as we wait to be able to cross, and asks us again about our relationship to each other. We tell him again it isn't his business. He asks why we get to ask for all of his information, then. My wife points out that we didn't even ask his name.

for several long and irritating minutes, he stands a foot away from us running his mouth while we wait to be able to cross. at a couple points, he borders on threatening, but never crosses the line. I keep my hand on my gun in my pocket regardless. I tell him I heard what he said about "spirits" and if anything happens to her tonight (or at all), we'll know who did it. he tells me I'm funny. my wife has already made a phone call, and we have three people on the way from our friend's bar (which is 1 store over from her restaurant). he hears her phone call and tells us that's a bad idea. I ask him if that's a threat. he stays silent as the light finally turns and we begin to cross.

he doesn't follow.

on the way home, we pass three separate police cars, and my blood is boiling hotter each time.

I really hope she's safe tonight. I really hope she reaches out and lets us help.

tonight was a stark reminder that all of our communities are rife with abusive men and abused women, all the time, and nobody is looking out for these women. know your community's needs and resources. any day or night could be the time you stumble across one of these situations. you'll be grateful you have that knowledge to share when you do.

[mariacallous]

If there’s one generalization that can stand the test of time, it’s that Jews love pickles. They’re a briny bit of respite from a heavy meal, the snack that solidifies the romantic connection between the protagonists of “Crossing Delancey,” and the hook that keeps people coming back to Sweet Pickle Books — a one-of-a-kind used bookstore at 47 Orchard St. on the Lower East Side that also sells its own line of pickles. 

If you’re questioning just how, exactly, one comes up with the concept of a pickle book store —  let alone one that’s become an au courant hangout spot downtown — you’re not alone. Founder and owner Leigh Altshuler, a 30-year-old book- and pickle-lover, came up with the idea at the beginning of the pandemic. 

“I knew [the store] was going to be books and something and it didn’t have a name, and I knew I wanted it to be after family and being Jewish…and I was  just thinking about the lowest common denominator between the two and it was just like..pickles. And that’s where it all began.” Altshuler said. 

The idea of opening a used bookstore first hit Altshuler at the beginning of the pandemic. “I really became a big ol’ mushy weirdo about books,” Altshuler said. “I went into Mercer Books which was closing that day in March at 3pm, and I remember a cop came in at, like 2:53, and asked the owner why he wasn’t closed yet. And I was just like, ‘he has time!’”

“I walked home and I just thought it was such a shame that these stores are closing and who knows what’s going to happen,” she said.

A former communications director for New York’s legendary used bookstore, The Strand, Altshuler saw the myriad of empty storefronts across the Lower East Side as an opportunity to set up a shop of her own. After losing her marketing job at the McKittrick Hotel and getting over a breakup in her shoebox apartment, Altshuler opened Sweet Pickle Books in October 2020. It was both a financial gamble and an attempt to honor her personal affinity for the used book industry — a community that felt especially precarious during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic.

As for the pickles, Altshuler and her boyfriend originally experimented with dozens of recipes from during the lockdown by testing out different salt and cucumber varieties until they batched out the first 360 jars — which barely lasted a month. Now, she sources the pickles from a Texas-based farm, and regular customers can swap their book donations for a free jar of branded pickles or buy them separately in store or online, coming in flavors bread and butter, spicy, and dill for $9.50-$12.95. 

Which, for operating in a neighborhood that used to be known as the Jewish “pickle alley” in the late 19th and early 20th century, feels perfectly kismet. Altshuler lives about four blocks away in the Lower East Side, and while taking walks during the pandemic saw the empty storefronts and remembered how growing up, relatives told her about the influx of Jewish immigrants that were able to sell and make pickles for cheap in barrels and pushcarts. On the cross street that Sweet Pickle Books is nestled between, over eighty Jewish pickle vendors used to make their living, which is history that Altshuler is very grateful she gets to inform people about for the first time and inadvertently continue the legacy. 

“When I first opened, everyone said I was crazy,” she said. “My dad kept on saying to me, ‘Oh, if you do it,’ and I was like, there’s no more ‘if’ here, it’s happening!”

“I don’t even know why I had such a belief it would work,” she added, “but I think it was just a feeling.”

Now, two years out, Sweet Pickle Books is a quirky literary destination for locals and tourists alike — and browsing through the store, it’s easy to see why. The railroad-style aisles are lined with love-worn paperbacks that tend to hover below the $10 mark, a disco ball swings in the corner, and the smooth stylings of the Vince Guardali Trio softly murmur from speakers throughout the store. There’s a pickle costume that young customers frequently take photos in, and big names like Harry Styles and Fran Leibowitz, said Altshuler, have popped in.  

To the untrained eye, it may seem like a miracle that a first-time business owner successfully opened a brick and mortar store during a pandemic — let alone one selling actual books amidst a digital culture that mostly obtains information online. Some people think it’s odd that people would even be interested in books anymore, let alone used ones. But Altshuler knows better than that. 

“Everyone always asks me, ‘Do people read anymore?’ But book people literally show up and haul books across town because they love it and care about these things,” Altschuler said. “[Sweet Pickle Books] just became the lowest common denominator where people could go for a low price tag and have a real conversation about something.”

Growing up in a heavily Jewish suburb in South Florida where she regularly cruised around the JCC, Altshuler always considered both her culture and religion an innate part of who she is and how she moves about the world. “I basically had no idea that people weren’t Jewish because that’s just where I was from,” she said. “My boyfriend is from Australia and he had no idea that you get a bowl of pickles with your meal at a diner, and I thought every restaurant in the world had that.”

Altshuler still proudly self identifies as Jewish, and running a business in the ancestral heart of Jewish history has only made her connection to her heritage even stronger.  “I think [Sweet Pickle Books has] connected me to faith in ways I didn’t really expect,” she said. “I’m understanding the themes in different ways,  and seeing the importance of passing tradition on. And so much of that is centered around food, but also stories — and storytelling is exactly what a bookstore is. I feel like it just makes sense.” 

In this way, Sweet Pickle Books became a conduit for tradition that feels authentic to Jewish customers and accessible for those who would like to learn more. “A customer of mine found out that she was Jewish and came to me on New Years Eve with a babka and a Zabars mug and told me that she wanted to thank me for teaching her so much about Judaism,” she said,  “and she was so happy to have a friend to talk to about being Jewish.”

“I just didn’t expect to be that person for someone,” she added. “That’s a really wonderful thing that I feel like my Jewish mother would be doing cartwheels over.”

Incidentally bridging the gap between communities isn’t something limited to Judaism, though, as Sweet Pickle Books is known to attract customers of all creeds — from the older, New York born-and-bred book hagglers that Altshuler lovingly refers to as her “curmudgeons,” to the droves of TikTok tweens in handkerchief tops, hoping to go viral by posting about a crazy new pickle shop. By harnessing the virtues of old school tradition and trendy innovation,  “I really do want to be the bridge between the two,” she said.

“Sometimes I just look at the store and I want to cry because it’s so sentimental to me — like, it’s so real and important in New York history,” she added. “So many people don’t know this was a pickling district, and every day, I’m like, how else would these conversations happen? It makes me look up stuff, and I feel very special that I get to tell people.”

[noonaishere]

Online/Offline [C.S] - sixty-seven | *not* born to run

You and San made off towards your apartment building. You didn’t really enjoy the silence as the two of you walked there, but you couldn’t think of anything to say. You sighed. You hated the stalker, you hated that you couldn’t do anything about him, you hated that the cops weren’t taking him seriously because - to them - he didn’t seem like a threat, you hated that it was affecting your relationships with other people, you hated that you kept crying, you hated that all you could do was cry, and you didn’t want to say any of this out loud because you felt like you had said it all before. Your life had gone from quiet but pleasant to a constant state of stress and fear. 

You sighed again.

San grabbed your hand.

“What?”

“I just saw him. He’s following us. Don’t turn around.”

“--I wasn’t going to.”

You walked a little further. The feeling from earlier, of being prey under the gaze of a sharp-fanged predator returned, and your heart sped up all on its own.

“Are you sure?” You asked, hoping he was wrong.

“Yeah. I had a full conversation with the man, it was him.”

“Fuck…” You could feel the tears welling up behind your eyes.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered. “We just have to lose him.”

You nodded. His surety made you feel more sure as well.

“When I start running, you run with me, okay?”

You nodded again and gripped his hand tightly.

 As you walked you became more aware of how low the sun had dipped, already setting when you left the café and now moving into the much dimmer and shorter twilight of the day. The two of you walked another couple blocks that wasn’t in direction of either of your apartments, to give the illusion that San was walking you home. Hopefully he didn’t already know where you lived.

San shifted his hand quickly, from holding it like a boyfriend would while on a leisurely walk to his hand holding your wrist so he could lead you without being separated. Just as fast, he launched himself forward. The instant you felt the change in pressure against your skin - as he pulled you after him - you also launched forward, and the two of you were running like greyhounds after a rabbit. Safely connected where he held your wrist, your feet hit the pavement hard as you bolted. You heard a man’s voice curse behind you, and the footsteps of your stalker speeding up to catch you. 

San led you to the busier part of downtown. You ran through crowded alleyways, where the backs of stores were across from the fronts of other stores - hole in the wall food places, tiny bars where patrons were just getting into a night of getting shitfaced, college students drinking away their GPA -  and you had to give San all the credit in the world; either he knew these alleys well, or he was very good at guessing which ones weren’t dead ends.

People outside of establishments dodged the two of you as you tried to put distance between you and your stalker, though you couldn’t help but knock over boxes or garbage that were much too far into the walkway. 

“San-- I don’t know-- if--” You huffed, desperately trying to tell him that you were unused to such exercise, and you felt like your heart was going to explode.

“Just a little more,” he said back, breathing completely normally.

First the high jump and now this? What was he, an athlete? Fucking athletes.

You nodded, your mouth dry from trying to force yourself to continue breathing so you could force your legs to work at a capacity they were not okay with so you could keep up with him. You checked behind you for a moment, to see the face of your stalker, not too far behind you and furious. That gave you the fuel to keep going and the two of you were finally able to speed up enough that he couldn’t see you as well.

San pulled you down another alley, and knocked over a stack of boxes, sorted garbage spilling out onto the street loudly. You huffed inquisitively, unable to form words anymore, and he pulled you into a dark dead end. After a second you understood: he knocked them over to make it seem like you had gone in that direction.

In the dead end, San pressed you up against the wall of a building and covered your body with his, his dark jacket covering your lighter clothing and obscuring your form. Aware that your labored breathing was too loud, you put your hands over your mouth and tried to breath through your nose quietly. San quieted his own breathing, not that he was breathing particularly hard after all that running, forearms propping him up against the wall as he loomed over you in the darkness. 

Through the normal sounds of the night - people chatting, plates clinking, machinery whirring quietly - you could hear heavy footfalls go past the entrance of the alley, pausing at the overturned garbage, and then traveling further away in the direction the garbage led.

As you leaned against the wall, under San’s protection, you watched him as he listened to the sound of the stalker’s footsteps as they moved further away from where you were. Now, you had thought he was handsome from the moment you saw him, but you hadn’t looked at his face from this close before, not really looked at it. In the dim light of the shop signs that reflected off the paint of the buildings on either side of you, you could see his features. His sharp jaw, straight nose, and high cheekbones all highlighted by what light there was, the way it fell across his features so that the intensity of his gaze was brought out tenfold. His large irises looked almost black in the darkness, and between the way the slightly upturned outer corners of his eyes framed his irises, and the way he was on high alert as he tried with all his might to perceive anything that might mean the stalker had come back your way, he almost looked like a cat. As he turned back towards you, you could see how unreasonably clear his skin was, except for a few cute moles across his cheeks and the freckles on his neck. He really was beautiful. So beautiful you almost forgot for a moment why you were standing with him in a dark alley in the first place. 

His brow raised and his eyes darted back in the direction of the alley as he listened behind him. You watched as he processed what he was hearing, wondering what he could be thinking about: was he trying to calculate how far away the stalker was? How long you’d have to wait there? He was quiet for a few minutes as you stood, cloaked in the darkness.

He finally turned his eyes back towards you. “I think he’s gone.” You nodded, pulling your hands away from your mouth, now that it was okay to speak. 

His eyes looked into yours as he stood over you, looking over your features once before returning to where they had started.

“...You’re really close.” Was all you could think to say.

“Oh-- sorry.” He pulled away.

For a moment, you found yourself unsure if you wanted him to. 

He backed away and put his hands in his pockets. “Are you okay?”

“I-- Fuck,” you whispered, “something just occurred to me.” 

“What?” 

“If… he was just following us… and we have no real way of knowing if we lost him...” 

“Yeah?” 

“What if he sees me go to my apartment? What if he follows me there and-- and--” 

A lump formed in your throat as your brain cycled through tons of news reports and ‘realistic’ movies, all depicting what might happen to a woman when an obsessed man follows her home.

“Stay at my place.” 

“What?” 

“I have a roommate and we have a couch. You can sleep there.” 

“W-what about clothes and stuff?” 

“Umm…” 

“Wait, Yeosang has my spare key, in case I lock myself out. He can bring me some.” 

“He has your key?” 

“Yeah. I have his spare, too. He actually locks himself out quite a bit.” 

“Ah,” he chuckled. “Well, let’s go to my place and we can call Yeosang when we get there.” 

“Okay.”

“T-shirts are in the bag.” What else?”

“Okay, is it weird if I ask you to get me underwear?”

“I’ve seen you in your undies before.”

“Yeah, when we were three,” you laughed.

“I promise I will think of them only as one does when they’re looking through a catalog. ‘Oh, what a lovely bunch of fabric with no sexual meaning whatsoever!’”

You laughed again. “Well, I don’t even wear sexy underwear so get ready to be surprised.”

“Wait, so I’m the only one?”

You laughed.

“Get on my level, y/n.”

You laughed harder. “I’m going to tell Wooyoung you said that.”

He laughed. “Where are they?”

“The dresser my socks were in: open the top drawer.”

Yeosang switched the video call back to the outward-facing camera and walked back over to the dressed. The drawer slid open. “Ooooh!” He zoomed in on your underwear as he made ‘ohh~’ noises.

“Freak! You’re a freak!” You yelled. “Stop zooming in on them!” 

Yeosang guffawed and kept zooming. 

San looked over at you with a smile as you continued to guide Yeosang in getting your clothes over a video call. He listened to the sound of the line ringing as he waited for the person he had dialed to pick up.

“Hello?”

“Hyung, are you at the café?”

“Yes.” Seonghwa answered. “Wooyoung told Minsoo and I what happened. Your roommate is very nice, by the way.”

“I hope you told him that.”

“I did. You took y/n back to her apartment?”

“No. The stalker was following us.”

“What?”

San heard another ‘what’ in the background that sounded like Wooyoung. The phone rustled for a second before it sounded like it was put on speakerphone and set down onto a table.

“He followed you?” Wooyoung asked.

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?” Yunho asked.

“We’re fine. We lost him in the alleyways in the area with all the restaurants and bars and shit.”

“I didn’t know you knew that area.” Minsoo said.

“I don’t. Not really. We were lucky he didn’t catch us.”

“Where are you now?” Seonghwa asked.

“At my and Yunho’s apartment. She’s on the phone with her friend Yeosang and he’s going to bring clothes over for her.”

“Is she okay?”

“She seems a little shaken up, but I think Yeosang is cheering her up.”

“Do you want these pink leopard print ones?” Yeosang asked saucily. “Oh! Do you have a matching bra? That would look nice.”

“I didn’t ask for fashion advice-- Get out of the bra drawer!” Y/n yelled back.

“I wasn’t giving any. I thought you said you didn’t have sexy undies.”

“Aaaghhhh!”

San suppressed a laugh and moved to the quiet of his bedroom, narrowly avoiding Wooyoung’s cackle coming through the phone.

“What was that about?” Wooyoung asked with a laugh.

“Yeosang is criticizing her taste in underwear, apparently.”

“He’s looking through her underwear drawer?” Minsoo asked incredulously.

“He’s getting clothes for her. Underwear are clothes too.”

“She’s known him longer than I have,” Wooyoung offered. “They’re like OG bffs. Straight out the womb.”

“Ahh,” Minsoo replied.

“Anyway,” Seonghwa interjected, hoping to steer the conversation back into normality, “You’re sure her stalker didn’t follow you to your apartment?”

“We kept checking as we came back here, and we didn’t see him. So we’re pretty sure. Our building has a doorman, so he wouldn’t be able to come up on his own unless I told them I was expecting someone.”

Seonghwa hummed in acknowledgement.

“Do you think the cops will do something now?” Wooyoung asked, angry, but not at anyone in the call.

Seonghwa grunted as he thought.

“They’d have to, right?” Minsoo asked.

“You’d think they would…” Yunho must have leaned on the counter because San could hear what sounded like elbows hitting the table as voice got closer. “But what evidence do they have if they go to the police?”

“Of the chase, you mean?” Seonghwa asked.

Yunho hummed his agreement.

“Nothing, only their word.”

Everyone went quiet for a few minutes as they thought.

“We don’t have to stay here,” Seonghwa said. “It’s way past closing time anyway.”

San heard the sound of Yunho pushing himself up off the table. “I’m going to come back. I’ll pick up food so we don’t have to order.”

“Alright.”

“We are going to figure this out, San.” Seonghwa reassured him.

“Yeah… I know.”

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@rachs-words • @stayatinykatsy •

[risilence]

Wrong Killer! (Angell x FChief )

Here we go again!! Just as promised the poll has concluded and Angell x FChief has won. I've prepared a sneak peek of the fanfic to come! (Please note that there might be changes in the final draft!)

Wrong Killer! (Rating to be determined)

Angell pedal along her final delivery route, mind empty as she breezed through the streets with idle ease. She had been all too familiar with her neighborhood, with the sort of people that frequent the roads of daylight thanks to her change of occupation. It was actually pretty soothing compare to the levels of stress and danger from her old job. Now that Angell worked as a delivery persona for a local restaurant in downtown West Side, Angell felt a sense of peace that couldn’t be gained anywhere else.

Peace that was shaped in the form of delivering takeout to all sorts of lively customers, having a stable income, and getting to go home every day on time. Nothing else to worry about, it was just her and food now.

Approaching a pedestrian red light, Angell came to a halt. The apartment complex right across the crosswalk was her last deliver of the day, but she caught something much more interesting to her right. Toward this direction sat a rundown convenient store with two little munchkins loitered the empty parking lot. They seemed more jitter today than normal, so Angell decided it would be appropriate to deal with them first.

Once the red light turned green for the diagonal road, Angell biked her way to the two teens. Her wheels crunching the loose rocks announcing her approaching presences, “Busy guarding Zoya’s puppy again?”

Even though they could hear her coming, the two whipped their heads skittishly at her. Simmering down from their fight or flight when they recognized Angell, “Jesus! You almost gave me a fucken heart attack,” The shorter teen spoke as she ungripped her lead pipe.

“Making enemies again?” Angell asked. Parking her bike in front of them as the other teen waved her off.

“Ignore Hella, she just scared cause of the rumors,” The blonde teen acted tough, yet she wasn’t fooling anyone either. Angell could see her shoulders trembling a bit, the small ounce of relief now that an adult was with them.

“Oh, shut up EMP! I’m not scared!” Hella crossed her arms. Going to sit on the cement parking block, her eyes closed in rage as Angell unmounted her bike.

Angell hadn’t heard about any rumors at all during her routes. She grew ever more curious that the Legion possessed confidential information that she didn’t, “What rumors?”

“Just gang stuff. You don’t have to worry,” EMP clarified as she preferred to stand. Her eyes scanning the lot for any suspicious individual, the rumors having indeed struck fear into both girls as they remained vigilant.

Angell raised her brow, “I’ll buy you two drinks if you tell me,” And like a fish to bait, Hella folded at the promise of a slushy.

After buying the two girls a well-deserved icy treat, Hella began to explain, “See I’m only telling you this cause you’re nice to us,” Ignoring the fact that they had made a prior slushy deal, she went on, “But rumor has it that THE Black Cat of East Side is lurking in our turf.”

“Black Cat?”

EMP not wanting to be out down by her companion explained into further detail, “Yeah, the Black Cat of East Side. Apparently, this guy has over one million deaths to his name! Killing his enemies with his large saber sword, cutting his victims into pieces and eating them!” She chomped the air replicating his eating manners, Hella rolling her eyes though they appeared to be twitching with irritation as if she believed these rumors to an extent, “And no police or any gangs can catch him! They’ve sent special forces, gang lieutenants, and even assassins to get this guy, but they all turn up dead. Fortunately, he hates confrontation and avoids the spotlight when he can! Like a silent jaguar within the folds of his urban jungle… these are in fact his cities,” She acted out. Pouncing around the lot trying to scare Angell, “They say he’s a gun for hire… and if that’s true than the fact that he’s in our turf could only mean one thing…”

Hella sighed as she slurped her drink loudly. Warning EMP to be quiet, but the other was on a narrative high as she tried to get some sort of reaction from Angell.

“He’s here for Zoya’s head!”

“For fucks sake, shut up already!” Hella stood up and wacked her behind the head with her fist, “Angell doesn’t need to know this! You’re going to scare her.”

Angell kept a serious face throughout the whole story, unbothered by the dramatization as she hid her amusement well. But upon hearing that she needed to be scared, she merely excused herself from the conversation, “If such a scary person is here, then I’d better go home before it gets dark.”

Hella nodded, “If you see any suspicious individual, you come and tell us. We’ll come to save you,” And EMP flinched at Hella’s bold statement.

“You mean you’ll come running, I’ll go get Horo.”

“Y-You coward!!”

Angell left the duo bickering as she mounted her bike again. Crossing over to the apartment complex, she went on with her day as usual. Her mind thinking over the outrageous rumor spreading around the underworld of Syndicate’s finest gang. It was amusing, her lips curling ever faintly at how much the Legion’s underlings were freighting over her nickname. Pleased to know that her legacy hadn’t changed in ridiculousness as she picked up her bike and buzzed herself into the electrical door gates. The window doors sliding open as she ventured in, taking the elevator to the sixth floor as Angell carried her bike.

She didn’t need to worry about being seen, she still wore her delivery uniform as she stepped out from the elevator. Walking to her last delivery door, Angell buzzed the bell as she listened to the steps approaching the door.

“Coming,” The woman spoke as Angell smiled at her tone. Opening the door, Angell came face to face with Syndicates finest police director, Chief, “Angell! You’re finally home.”

[remembertheplunge]

Riot downtown

“5/31/2020 Sunday 8:55pm

Riot downtown. Flash bombs. Tear gas cans hurtling through space over J Street. Rubber bullets whizzing by around 4:15pm. That’s what I was told. I was there. Per the Modesto Bee tonight, only concussion bombs were thrown.  I heard two of them go off.  One man thought that he got hit by tear gas. His eyes watered. No rubber bullets fired at me. The march included about 1000 people. Largley a quiet march. But, massive. People with “I can’t breath” and “Black Lives Matter” signs. The signs dotted McHenery Ave all the way from Standiford to downtown. Weather was cool and overcast. The experience was cathartic. The financial and criminal justice systems have failed. People hit the streets as a result. I wanted to see it. Mark Sullivan, today, said I’m Forest Gump. I’ve been through everything. I agree. This event was pandemic driven. I agree with Zoe. Civil unrest will explode along with the virus. It’s amazing the power those kids had to shut down downtown. Not many grey hairs out there. Mostly 20 somethings.”

End of entry.

Notes

I was headed home from the gym probably maybe around 2:30pm when I turned on to Mc Henery Ave and saw that it was jammed with cars moving slowly. As we slowly proceed closer to down town (it’s probably a mile and a half from Standiford Ave to downtown on McHenery) I saw the signs mentioned in the entry. I knew something was up downtown, so I had to go check it out. I had sought out other protest rallies in other towns before this . My friend Mojan was concerned that I might lose an eye to a rubber tipped bullet. He said I seek out trouble. I had that in mind when I parked on 12th street by the Wells Fargo Bank parking lot. From there I could see a line of police across 12th and J street about a quarter block away. Large cement barriers had been placed across road ways down two to block traffic if I remember right. I saw tear gas canisters being thrown back at the police. I head flash bombs going off. IAyoung man came running by me smiling and saying the police were shooting rubber tipped bullets. Heading Mojan’s warning, I got in my car and drove home.

[momo-de-avis]

What is a pombeline cage ?

It's a structure that was developed after the 1755 earthquake by the military engineers hired by the Marquis of Pombal (hence the name). The structure is entirely made of wood and resembles a cage, and was originally embedded into the buildings, on the ground and first floor, so it was not visible (it was never meant to be). It looked something like this

It's based on a principle very much applied in anti seismic constructions today, which I don't know the name of, but basically it allows a building to sway instead of shaking back and forth, so it won't just fall forward into another building, blocking the roads with rubble. It allows the stone to crumble and ultimately it preserves the lives of the people inside.

Take into account that this is 1758 and it's not taking into consideration tall buildings, but also, when the project for Lisbon's reconstruction is approved, that's the first time legislation is passed in terms of how to build a city and what a public façade is. In shorter words, it's the closest thing to building codes we have.

So the building code regarding the cage stated it would only work on buildings up to 4 stories high. Anything above that, no guarantee that the cage would be effective, and in fact, might just cause precisely what the cage was trying to avoid from the beginning: buildings falling forward onto other buildings, completely blocking any real escape route.

(the next paragraphs are going to be Very geographically specific. They're about portugal and nowhere else)

But you see, the 80s happened, which is something that, while fondly remembered in nostalgia porn like stranger things and literally anything that has ever come out of Nuno Markl's mouth, it was in fact the most appalling decade for architecture. Which is about when portugal decides these 1755 "laws" (if you could call them that) are stupid. So they changed the structure of most of these. They added fifth and sixth floors, and they tore out the cage and exposed it.

It's not uncommon to find an exposed beam from the cage or a full cage on display in a building in downtown, because they were basically removed and exposed like interesting pieces when they had a structural purpose to begin with. But most places you'll find these in is, of course, in downtown. Which means it's establishments like restaurants (I know of at least two that have it exposed).

It has since become a symbol of history so if a home has it, and especially one in the historic centre, it's going to add value to the apartment. And i mean value.

I don't know where that woman lives but I recall seeing a video where you could see out her window and she had a view over the river. I can't remember if it was high or not but if is, it's on a hill, which means that, depending what hill, that cage might have been moved there.

It could be that it's fake ofc. I can't fully judge that from a video. But from what I'm seeing, it does look like an authentic cage that was just moved. And you can tell it was moved because it sits on her floor and it's supporting nothing. A real cage would be inside the building (for it to work it has to be between the stone) and it would go through the floor, but it would not be visible.

So, all in all: houses in downtown lisbon are already insanely expensive (twice the price of an average apartment in Tokio). Now one with an historical artifact is even more expensive

[liaromancewriter]

New York Moment

Premise: Max and Sienna get cast as extras on a movie set, and funny antics soon follow.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Sienna Trinh x Max Valentine (M!OC) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 1,425

A/N: This fic was requested by @trappedinfanfiction from @creativepromptsforwriting Meet Cute list (prompt 15). Tagging for reblog to @creativepromptfills. I'm using @choicesflashfics week 29, prompt 3 (in bold). Submission for @aprilchallenge prompt "dance"

The streets of Manhattan were teeming under the steaming summer sunshine. Native New Yorkers walked determinedly about their business, and tourists ambled on sidewalks, smartphones in hand, ready to capture their New York moment.

Cars honked, buses wheezed, and people yelled. It was noisy and exciting, annoying and fascinating. It was New York.

Sienna Valentine watched the drama unfold from the relative peace of a shaded sidewalk patio in Greenwich Village, and thought, “I’ve missed this.”

She’d attended medical school at Columbia, and this city had been home for four years. She had so many memories here. Studying in Central Park on a warm spring day. Taking the A Train downtown for a night out with her friends. Ice skating at Rockefeller Center.   

Sienna had enjoyed her life in Boston and loved living in DC now. But whenever her husband Max needed to visit New York for work or family, she tagged along if her work schedule allowed.

Luckily for Sienna, Max had no issues making non-work trips either. An overnight trip to watch a Broadway show, a quick day trip to go shopping in Midtown or a romantic weekend getaway.

Life with Max was never dull, Sienna thought dreamily, looking away from the view outside to watch him walking toward her.

“Sorry about that. The guy just wouldn’t stop talking,” Max said, sliding into the chair across from her. He started to reach for his wine glass but suddenly stopped. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to drag me to the nearest restroom and have your wicked way with me,” he grinned lasciviously.

“I’d rather wait until we get back to our hotel,” she countered with a wink and a smile. “And then I’ll have my wicked way with you. So you might want to load up on carbs.”

“Good plan,” he chuckled. “Check, please!”

Sienna burst into laughter. Definitely not boring, she thought again.

They finished their lunch, talking and just enjoying each other’s company, lingering over their wine. While Max settled the bill, Sienna quickly called their nanny.

“Noah okay?” Max asked, clasping her hand in his as they left the restaurant.

“Yes. Mrs. Banks said he was still asleep and to take our time.”

They started walking east toward Washington Square Park for an open-air concert, passing leafy residential streets lined with brownstones and avoiding the crowds on Bleeker Street by cutting through Cornelia Street.

They were two blocks from the park when they saw steel barricades and a clump of trailers and trucks lined up along one street. Security guards held back crowds as a film crew set up for a shoot outside the park; light stands, cameras and film equipment were everywhere.

“Now what?” Sienna said, disappointed at having their afternoon plans disrupted. It would take time to go around the barricades and crowds.

She turned toward Max, but he was standing a few feet away, reading an information notice taped to the side of a tree trunk.

“Hey, Si? Wanna be an extra in a Hollywood movie?”

When Sienna glanced at him in confusion, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to his side, pointing at the sign.

Intrigued, Sienna read the words block printed on bright yellow paper. “Extras wanted. Couples only. Report to Production Office.”

“Well?” Max smiled, a hint of adventure in his eyes. “It can be our New York Moment.”

“I thought our New York Moment was that extravagant proposal on The Highline?”

“Who says you can only have one?” he challenged, arching his eyebrow.

Intrigued by the idea, Sienna found herself nodding, her apprehension about being on camera carried away by Max’s enthusiasm.

They were outside the production office a short while later, standing in a queue with other couples. A production assistant collected their details and directed them to a trailer for a wardrobe check. That done, they joined the others in a closed-off waiting area near a fountain.

“What kind of movie do you think this is?” Sienna said, craning to see if she could spot any stars.

“Definitely not a porno, given the location,” Max teased, his lips quirked in a half-smile. “I was really looking forward to seeing you in a leather catsuit.”

Sienna snorted. “I don’t have time for your prurient fantasies, Valentine.”

“You say fantasy, I say, meet me at midnight.”

Max took her hand and twirled her into an impromptu dance, their hips swaying to the jaunty tune drifting from a street musician behind the barricade. He tightened his grip on her hand; his other hand splayed across her lower back.

Well used to their rhythm, Sienna readied herself for the backward dip, confident he wouldn’t let her fall. Suddenly, Max tugged at her, and she tripped over her feet, falling against him.

Sienna giggled at her clumsiness, but his smug look and hands cupping her ass made her think it was on purpose.

She locked her hands behind his neck and leaned in, kissing the open space at the base of his throat where he'd left the buttons of his shirt collar undone. She felt his breath hitch before he pulled back slightly. But she wasn’t done.

Sienna stretched on her toes and drew his head down to place her lips against his ear.

“Are you trying to seduce me in public?” she whispered.

He chuckled. “What a thing to say? I’m just rehearsing. For all you know, my character is a suave international spy trying to throw the assassins off his scent by dancing with a beautiful stranger in the park.”

She scoffed. “We’ve both seen that movie, and it usually ends with the spy seducing the woman before jumping out the window.”

“Maybe in this movie, the beautiful woman is the seductress,” he said, amused. “And hopefully she has handcuffs so the spy can’t escape her bed.”

He said the last in such a deadpan manner that Sienna burst into laughter. She laughed so hard she had to wrap her arms around her stomach and gasp for air.

The production assistant walked over, still talking into a headset, clipboard in hand.

“All right, folks. Thanks for your patience,” he said hurriedly. “The AD’s just finishing setting up the shot, and then we’ll escort you to the set. Just some house rules….”

Sienna tried to school her face to pretend interest and attention. It didn’t help that Max moved behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and leaned down to speak in her ear, cracking jokes.

“Don’t feed the pigeons? Why would we do that?” Max murmured, deliberately twisting the production assistant’s words about not disturbing the actors.

Sienna covered her mouth with one hand so people couldn’t see her laughing, but there was no hiding the tears spiking her eyelashes.

“Wait? I thought this was a family feature. Why would we be dancing naked in the square with a clown?”

Sienna guffawed, and the production assistant stopped to stare at her. Embarrassed, she pretended to cough and waved a hand in apology. The man continued his instructions, squinting suspiciously at her.

She could feel Max’s body shaking in mirth behind her. As soon as the coast was clear, Sienna slapped the arm around her waist and hissed in annoyance.

“Are you trying to get us kicked off the movie? And you know he didn’t say anything about naked dancing. The extras are supposed to be couples dancing in the park to a summer concert.”

She shivered as Max kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear.

“Tomayto, tomahto,” he said, voice smug. “Want to go back to our hotel for naked dancing?”

Before Sienna could tell him to behave himself, the production assistant announced it was time to head out.

They took their places on discretely placed x-marked spots on the floor. After listening attentively to the director’s instructions, they turned to face each other.

The more it dragged on, the technicians adjusting lighting and whatnot around her, the more nervous Sienna became.

Max placed her hand on his shoulder and put his arm at her waist, ready to swing her into an impromptu dance on a beautiful sunny day. The setup was so similar to what they’d been doing in the waiting area earlier that Sienna’s nerves vanished.

“It’s a good thing we rehearsed earlier,” Max said, a winsome smile hovering on his lips, reading her thoughts perfectly.

Sienna kissed his jaw. “Don’t worry. If you mess up, we can keep practicing back in our hotel. Clothing optional. One more New York Moment.”

“And cut!”

Bonus

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[sailoryooons]

Happy Agust, Hali 💕

Because Mixtape!Yoongi has been living RENT FREE in my mind for the last week, can I please request a fluffy drabble where Yoongi befriends and/or adopts a cat 👀 ? I’m pushing the cat dad agenda here… 😏

Thank youuuu 💕

YOU KNOW I HAD TO DO IT. Thank you for being so patient with me bby you literally were on the list of had to do because you know I'm obsessed with the idea and finally, we revisit our favorite Mixtape couple and Cat Dad Yoongi.

❀ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

❀ Summary: Yoongi can't stop thinking about the white cat he spotted alone and in the cold. Who are you to deny him?

❀ Word Count: 3,915

❀ Genre: Older brothers best friend, f2l, a lil' angst

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

❀ Warnings: Yoongi Cat Dad Agenda, long hair Yoongi yes this is a warning, literally fluff and an excuse to give Yoongi a cat

❀ Published: 3,915

❀ A/N: This is a part of the Mixtape series as an extra chapter. You can 100% read this as a standalone, though you might enjoy it a tiny bit more having read Mixtape!

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

Masterlist | Ask | Playlist | Series Masterlist | Extra Chapter 2

Bright sun beats down on your back, warming your chilled skin through the softness of your sweater. You pause lifting boxes for a moment, content to stand in the shaft of light and close your eyes, head tilted toward the source of your brief hiatus from the cold.

Wind skitters down the road and you shiver. Eyes fluttering open in time to see Yoongi coming out of the apartment lobby, rubbing his hands together for warmth. A beanie is pulled down low over his long, black hair – long enough that you’ve threatened him within an inch of his life if it cuts it – and a long-sleeve shirt that’s two sizes too big.

“What are you doing?” he asks, gesturing to where you stand motionless in the sun, box in hand. “You know you can’t photosynthesize, right?

You pout. “You don’t know that. Maybe I’m a plant.”

He hums as he passes you, hand absently touching your elbow as he does. Yoongi ducks into the trunk of the car, pulling out the last box. “Perhaps you’re right. Quiet, soaking up the sun, will die if not given attention.”

“Hey that last one isn’t true!”

The trunk snaps shut, Yoongi grinning at his little joke as he lifts the box. “It is a little.”

Maybe Yoongi has a point.

There was a time when you never dreamed of demanding attention from Min Yoongi. Most of your early life had been spent trying to stay out of his way until that fateful day in the piano room. After that, you co-existed on the edge of one another’s lives. His attention had been something you craved but never went out of your way to receive.

Thinking about your thirteen-year-old self writing about having a crush on Min Yoongi in her diary makes you smile. She had no idea one day everything would make sense. That you would come into synced orbits, and that you’d move in with him at the peak of his career, and a positive shift in yours.

Both of you adjust grips on your boxes and head toward the apartment lobby door to make your final carrying trip up to your new apartment. It’s deep in downtown near Yoongi’s new studio that he bought and opened himself to extend the branch of the label he works under, and it has the perfect large space for your new work at home office.

Best of all, it overlooks the entire city. At night, it looks like the stars have drifted from the heavens to float among the mortals, moving among the dreams and the lives of thousands.

Yoongi pulls up short before opening the door to the lobby, making a soft sound of surprise. You glance at him to see his gaze fixated near the northeast corner of the building where 77th North Street meets 4th Avenue.

At first, you see cars at a stop light. The winter-frosted glass of the coffee shop and dance studio across the street. The bikers bundled in puffer jackets, beanies pulled low over their ears.

Movement catches your eyes lower. You find the object of Yoongi’s attention- a small, white cat with its head cocked, blue eyes fixed on the pair of you.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, kitty.” It meows in response, making the side of your mouth twitch. “Cute.”

Yoongi looks up at the stretch of windows above your apartment building. “I wonder if it has an owner? I don’t see a collar. It’s kind of cold out here.”

“Unsure. Pretty cat, though.”

Yoongi hums, eyes drifting back to the cat. For a moment, you admire the way the cold turns Yoongi’s face pink. He flushes easily, but even more so during winter. He doesn’t notice your slow smile as you watch him and he watches the cat.

With a shrug of his shoulders and a quick shuffle of his box, Yoongi pulls the door open to the hotel lobby. “I’m sure it has an owner. I’ll let the lobby manager know there’s a cat outside, though.”

You smile at him as you pass. He doesn’t notice, eyes drifting back to the cat watching you one more time before letting the tinted, glass door shut. “Okay.” He makes his way to the counter as you move to the elevator. “Don’t take too long. I’m starving.”

Inside the new apartment is warm. It smells like the crisp, citrus candle flickering on the granite countertop. Boxes are stacked neatly in corresponding rooms, marked with your neat handwriting and Yoongi’s slanted scribble.

All of the furniture is already placed and put together. The movers had done most of the work the day before and Yoongi had spent most of the evening into the late night putting everything together, the whine of the drill backtracked by his curses and hisses when something didn’t mesh right.

Every part of the home – and it does already feel like home – is splashed with the watercolors of your shared life. The living room is muted neutrals, the pillows soft and worn from the nights of falling asleep on the couch and the throw blanket frayed at the edges from Yoongi’s sleepy feet stepping on the hem while wearing it like a cape around his old apartment.

There are three bedrooms, one of which now has a desk for you to work at on one side and the other with a massive slab of desk, shelving, and tangled wires for Yoongi’s little home studio. The master and the office both have large windows facing the city, letting in the bright winter light during the day and the glow of the city at night.

You check the writing on the box in your arms. Books is scribbled in Yoongi’s slanted writing, explaining why it’s so heavy. You shuffle to the guest bedroom where Yoongi has lined either side of the bed with tall bookshelves and deposit the box in front of the empty shelf.

Dusting your hands, you walk back to the kitchen, covered in a combination of folded cardboard, paper towel rolls, power tools, and wrapped glassware. You start unwrapping the glasses, sliding them in neat rows in the cabinet.

Yoongi doesn’t return right away. You lose yourself in the rhythm of organizing, crumbling the wrapping paper, and shoving it into the trash. When your stomach growls, you look up at the clock and realize that it’s been twenty minutes and Yoongi still hasn’t come upstairs.

You frown and move to your phone. Just as you swipe the screen to call, the front door opens and your boyfriend comes in. His nose and cheeks are frozen pink, and his hands are a little discolored from the cold outside and the grip he has on the box.

He sets it down by the door, too tired to carry it in as the door clicks shut behind him and he straightens, huffing a bit.

“Everything okay?” you ask, brows raised.

“Yeah.” He’s a touch out of breath. “The lobby manager said he doesn’t know anyone who has a missing cat and doesn’t have anyone having a white cat on file. But people bring in pets and don’t tell the apartment all the time so I went out to take a picture and post to that community page on our rent portal in case someone doesn’t know it’s missing.”

Yoongi flexes his cold fingers. You hold your hands out to him and he immediately responds, drifting to you like a magnet. His hands are ice cold when you take them in yours, rubbing them to create heat and friction.

Once Yoongi’s hands have a little more color and warmth, you kiss the back of his right hand briefly before drifting to the fridge. “What do you want for lunch?”

“Sushi?”

You hum in agreement, hands searching for the plastic box you had picked up earlier. Yoongi leans on the counter behind you as you pull out soy sauce and the spicy mayo, sitting it next to you.

“You think he’ll be okay?”

“Hmmm?”

“The cat,” Yoongi clarifies. You close the fridge and turn to face him. His arms are crossed over his chest, sleeves pulled down over his hands. His gaze is focused on the floor, lost in thought as he chews his lip lightly. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

A smile creeps on your face as you soften at the edges. Yoongi looks up at you as you wrap your arms around his middle. He’s still a little cool from being outside again, but the warmth that the smell of sandalwood and his arms returning the hug chase away the cold.

“I’m sure he will be. We’ll keep an eye on it, yeah?”

You tuck yourself into Yoongi’s neck, closing your eyes. You feel him nod and hum in response. His hands play with the hem of your shirt and you sigh, melting into him. You slot perfectly against him, a puzzle piece finding its home after years of almosts and what ifs.

Yoongi’s stomach growls and you both laugh. You peel away from him and press a soft kiss to his mouth, sweet and pink. “Let’s eat.”

-

Something light washes across the darkness of your dreams. You sigh and squirm deeper into the pillow, willing to sink back into a comfortable sleep.

But the glow somewhere – a little beyond your sleep – is distracting. You hear tapping next to you and you grumble. The bed is cold, the windows cracked at Yoongi’s request. Eyes closed, you seek his warmth, hands following the soft dip in the bed next to you until your hands come into contact with bare skin.

“Ah,” Yoongi hisses. “Cold.”

His voice pulls you the rest of the way from your seep. Heavy eyes blink open, flinching at the bright, white light splitting the darkness. His phone is held near his face, casting him in an eerie glow with squinted eyes.

“What are you doing?” you croak, voice scratchy and deep. You close your eyes to hide from the light of the phone, but scoot closer to him anyway. Only Yoongi could sleep shirtless with the window cracked in a freezing apartment. “What time is it?”

“Three.”

“What, your emails couldn’t wait?”

“Oh I’m not emailing.” He lets you suck the warmth from his skin as you bury your face in his neck and angle it towards his pillow, finally muting the light. His heart thrums under your arm as you wrap yourself around him, squeezing. “I was checking to see if anyone claimed the cat yet.”

You pause, momentarily confused. Oh. The white cat. “Oh.”

“No one has yet.”

“Hmm, well I doubt anyone is going to at three in the morning, Yoons.”

He sighs. The phone light vanishes entirely and he reaches to set it on the nightstand, temporarily dislodging you. Yoongi settles in again, turning toward you slightly and wrapping his arms around you in return. You can’t help but smile as he sighs, warm breath hitting your brow.

“You’re probably right.”

“We can check on kitty in the morning.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, sending shivers down your spine. You can feel him nod. “Okay. Night, sweet girl.”

“Mmm. Night.”

-

An empty bed greets you when you wake up again early in the morning. Your muscles pull tight as you stretch, a strained sound escaping your lips as you look around the room for any sign of Yoongi. The light coming through the white slats in the blinds is dark grey and the clock on the nightstand shows that it’s a little past seven in the morning.

Slowly, you sit up, your body in a momentary state of grogginess. The master bathroom door is open with the light turned off, but you can see the light from the living room and kitchen area on underneath the bathroom door.

Peeling off the blankets, you hurry across the room to shut the window, rubbing your hands together and going in search of Yoongi.

Coffee wafts from the kitchen. There’s only a single lamp in the living room on paired with the light over the stove, casting the apartment in shadows and gentle light. Yoongi is curled on the couch, feet tucked under him and his favorite blanket wrapped around him as he looks at his phone.

For a moment, you stop and stare at him. His hair is messy and sticking up in places. It’s long enough that it reaches his shoulders these days, flipping outward when he air dries it or from being tucked underneath a beanie. His face is puffy with sleep, the hand not holding his phone wrapped around a still-steaming cup of coffee.

“Hi,” you murmur, drawing his attention from his phone. He smiles at you, full gums on display and eyes crinkling. Your heart flips – it doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together now. Being the object of Yoongi’s affection still knocks the wind out of you after wanting it for so long. “It’s early.”

He hums but clicks the phone off and unfolds the blanket, holding it open like a bat wing for you to slot yourself into. You hurry over, snuggling into his side eagerly. He’s still shirtless, skin like a natural heater as you press against him. He wraps the wing around you, keeping the heat in as you settle.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, just naturally woke up. Noticed you were gone though so I came looking.”

“Hmm. Couldn’t sleep.”

You crane your neck to look at him.

Yoongi’s dark eyes are fixated on the window. They’re frosty with mist, the cool air outside at war with the hotter air of the apartment. His lips are a little chapped like he’s been biting them all morning and his eyes are unfocused, the kind of look when he’s thinking about new music or trying to remember something.

A small crease forms on his brow. You tentatively lift a hand, slipping it through the hole in your blanket wrap to brush the tips of your fingers along the shape of his jaw. Long lashes flutter shut and he leans into your touch, seeking the comfort of skin against skin.

“What’s wrong?” you ask the question so softly you think he doesn’t hear you. Your hand slips to the hair framing his face, brushing the dark strands back. “Yoons?”

“I’m worried about the cat.”

Yoongi’s words come out like an admission of guilt. His mouth pouts slightly and he chews on the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t open his eyes, but the dip of his brows increases as his expression melts into a frown.

“You have to give people time.”

“I’m just worried. It’s cold.”

You examine him. Even the calming strokes of your hand in his hair don’t chase away the frown. You remember all of the times that your touch could soothe him. You remember the way you first ran your hands through his hair like this, long ago at the Park cabin on a vacation you’ll never forget.

“What do you want to do, baby?” He opens his eyes, a question in them. You smile. “You obviously want to do something. What is it?”

He chews on his lip and you prod his mouth. He’s a little bashful as he lets the abused flesh go. “I may have… ordered some things.”

“Oh?”

“You know, to like… keep it here while we wait for an owner to come forward.”

“Uh-huh. What things?”

“Food. Bowls. Some toys.”

You grin. Your soft, sweet boyfriend can’t help himself. He’s the same way with people – buying things he sees people needing. Wordlessly putting gluten-free bread in the pantry for Jimin (and guarding when Taehyung tries to steal it). Buying a new wireless headset for Ren so she can join Jungkook when he streams. Sending Seokjin a stack of recipes Yoongi’s family cook has finally agreed to divulge.

Yoongi speaks in a silent language of love, and it makes you lean forward to press a sold kiss to his jaw before pulling away to get up.

“Where are you going?” He’s wide-eyed and soft when he looks up at you as you stand and stretch.

“Get dressed. Let’s go get your cat.”

-

It takes twenty minutes in the blistering morning cold, a couple of curses and hopeless looks from Yoongi, and constant encouragement from you before you find the cat in the parking garage under someone’s tire.

Yoongi immediately gets on his knees, staining his sweatpants as he tucks his head under the wheel well, looking up and speaking softly to the cat in question. You watch, shivering in the shade and arms crossed over your chest for another ten minutes before Yoongi slips his hands upward, only retreating when he has a dirty, white-coated cat with blue eyes in his hands.

You offer Yoongi the blanket that you’re clutching – Yoongi’s favorite, as he insisted. The cat is latched onto Yoongi’s shirt, your lips twitching in a soft smile. Yoongi whispers to the feline, head ducked down as you approach.

The cat turns its attention to you, eyes going narrow as it hisses. You hesitate when you lift the blanket, looking at the curve claws that snag in Yoongi’s shirt and the rigid line of hair running up its spine. Yoongi hushes the creature and nods at you.

Carefully, under the suspicious gaze of the cat, you wrap it in a blanket, sliding the material under Yoongi’s grip until he has a bundle, a white little face peering back at him from a checkered blanket. It’s cute, pulling lightly at your heartstrings.

Inside your apartment, Yoongi goes straight to the couch, the bundle in his arms as he murmurs to the cat in question. You watch wordlessly from the kitchen, a smile still on your face as he tucks the cat into his lap, his long hair hiding his face as he carefully unwraps the blanket.

The cat does not move from his lap. Instead, it curls up, blinking its eyes at Yoongi. You hear him laugh, just a soft breath of sound as he scratches between its dirty ears.

“We’ll just keep you until your owners realize your missing,” Yoongi says as you fill a bowl of water. “I think you need a little bit of a bath, hmm?”

You place the bowl of water near the couch, straightening to see a pair of blue eyes trained on you. You offer the cat a nervous smile. “Pretty.”

“Do you want to pet him?”

“How do you know it’s a him?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I might be wrong.”

Tentatively you sit down and hold out a hand. The cat stares at you warily before taking a few suspect sniffs. When it decides you’re acceptable, it rubs its shin on your fingers tentatively, closing its eyes.

“Just until the owners find it?” you ask cryptically.

“Yeah.”

Yoongi’s eyes never stray from the feline.

-

Week one you put up ‘cat found posters.’

There is a bed and a handful of toys in the living room. The white cat is clean after a yowling, hissing and screaming bathtub experience. You walk through the living room, peering at where Yoongi sleeps on the couch. His hair covers his face, lips parted lightly.

And at the foot of the couch is the cat, curled into a donut with its head resting on top of Yoongi’s foot.

-

Week two you trip over a cat toy and scowl. Sensing your irritation, said cat appears around the corner, winding between your legs and rubbing himself on your calves. You sigh, the irritation bleeding out of you as you bend down and offer a hand. He nuzzles you, purring briefly before rushing off.

You hear Yoongi greet the cat in the office and shake your head, though you smile a little bit.

-

“Can we take Sugar to the vet? I want to make sure he’s a he and that he’s got… whatever shots cats need.” You look up, pausing with a mouthful of toast. Yoongi is hovering near the kitchen, looking over at the cat that is kneading its bed. “I just want to make sure we keep him healthy?”

“Sure-“ You cock your head. “Did you just call the cat Sugar?” Yoongi blushes. You swallow the toast and cough a little, having swallowed too quickly. Yoongi is fast to grab you a glass of water which you take with a grateful glance. “You named him?”

“He looks like a jar of sugar.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And it felt weird to keep saying ‘it’ and ‘the cat’ and not having a name.”

“Right.”

“And he’s very sweet.”

“This is true.”

Yoongi’s eyes are soft and round when he looks at you. Your heart melts a little, seeing that gentle flicker in his eyes. You don’t put a name to that look, that little gleam that you know it’s there. You don’t want to jinx it, to give it a name to have it taken away.

Instead, you take another gulp of water. “Let’s make an appointment.”

-

Week four, no one has claimed Sugar, but Sugar has claimed more space and more toys in your home. A new bag of cat food is on the counter along with a jar of catnip. There is now a basket for Sugar to contain his toys. And a pretty black collar with a little jar and a name.

And a doting Yoongi who walks across the living room with his phone tucked into his shoulder on a business call, carrying the growing-plump feline with him in his arms. He heads towards you, listening to the other voice on the line. He gestures to the fridge, hands full of Sugar.

You push off the counter pulling open the fridge and removing the bottle of Gatorade your boyfriend nods at. You crack the top and a grin spreads across his face. The smile grows when you pull a straw out of the drawer, plop it in and wedge the drink into one of Yoongi’s hands.

Sugar hisses at the disturbance, rolling his head to look at you defiantly.

Yoongi tuts at the cat. “Don’t hiss at mommy.”

Both yours and Yoongi’s attention snaps to one another. Your stomach flips at the term of endearment. It’s just a cat, but Yoongi’s slip – the assignment of a role in the creature’s life, an implication that… he wants to keep the cat too is there.

“Sorry,” Yoongi says absently. He looks at you when he says it, but addresses the person on the phone. “The cat was hissing at my girlfriend.”

There’s laughter on the other line. You open your hands and Yoongi nods, passing Sugar to you. Sugar likes Yoongi more, but he doesn’t mind you either. He rubs his head into the crook of your elbow as Yoongi starts talking about a soundboard that you know nothing about.

“Let daddy work,” you tell Sugar, giving Yoongi a devious grin. He pauses, midsentence, phone pressed to his ears, eyes dark. “How about we watch Sailor Moon, Sugar?”

-

Week five the ‘cat found’ posters come down.

“Yeah, his name is Sugar,” you tell Jungkook on the phone, crumbling the sheets of paper. Jungkook squeals on the other side of the line. “Do you guys want to come up and see him next weekend?”

-

Week thirty-three, Sugar sleeps between you and Yoongi on the couch, purring lightly as you drift to sleep, head propped on Yoongi’s shoulder as the credits to Naruto roll.

[tortoisebore]

just want to say your sirius inspired me to start going on absurdly long scenic walks after my skates and it’s been life changing 🫶

EEEEE omg!! my one true goal in life is to inspire everyone i know to participate in long meandering walks as often as possible & i am SO GLAD you’re now in the walk enthusiast club with me 🤩🤩🤩🤩

i live just across the street from this huge historical neighborhood in my city full of all these early 20th century mansions, like we’re talking giant old trees, three and four-story 120-year-old homes, & perfect landscaping. it takes up like almost two entire blocks, it’s so stunning and peaceful despite being quite literally in the middle of the city, so every day that i can, i stroll on over and just wander through the neighborhood listening to my little music & admiring all the pretty houses. or sometimes i take transit to one of the parks downtown & do a little walk there to see what flowers & trees are blooming & do some people watching

everyone trust me and anon: walks are truly the best. find a fun neighborhood or a scenic trail (as long as it’s safe) & take urself on a good long walk!! it’s good for the body and even better for the mind!! 🤩🥰 (and as anon said, my sirius would want u to)

here are all the pics of my favorite & prettiest walk spots i can give u (without doxxing myself lmfao) as inspo 🤩

[fifilaflour]

SWEET FLO

from wattpad / stu macher x florence aberdeen

PROLOGUE

Florence Aberdeen was undoubtedly one of the sweetest and most passionate people Woodsboro had ever seen. Her parents were the perfect downtown couple who managed to raise two beautiful sisters and lived in a old vintage house just a few blocks from their school.

Florence and her little Amy were like twins, always sticking together even though their age difference was almost up to three years. They shared similar interests such as movies and music. While Florence went to theater class every Friday after school end, Amy had guitar and piano lessons, so they could walk home together afterwards.

They were rarely ever seen alone, and if they were, you could be sure the other one wasn't all too far away.

So it was hard to catch Florence alone. Only on Friday afternoon. Because then Amy was sitting exactly three rooms away and couldn't get in the way.

Not that Stu Macher didn't like Amy Aberdeen. She was nice, and he sometimes helped her with her math homeworks - but only when he was having a good day, because normally he couldn't give a fuck about maths. But how could he say no when she looked at him with those annoying teddy bear eyes.

One of the few things that set her apart from her older sister. While Amy had those big round brown eyes with just a hint of green in them, Florence's eyes were such a striking green that Stu felt she could kill him with just one look. Luckily, that girl couldn't hurt a fly.

Back to the reason why Stu had decided to join the group of movie nerds - even though he hated everything in assisination with school after the official last lesson. He began to question himself as he stood in the large hall, which used to be the gym, but was now being used for shooting a short movie. Students ran past him with big-ass cameras in their arms and some microphones attached to long sticks. The wooden floor was covered with cables and in the middle of the room was a circle of chairs with some names funny scribbled on the backs.

Stu scoffed as he read 'Randy', the chair standing extra close to the one that said 'Florence' with a little heart surrounding it. Stu smiled at that and let his eyes wander over the people, looking for her wild blonde hair or her booming voice that always seemed to drown out everyone else.

Finally he spotted her, surrounded by a group of first year girls. The big, giddy smile on her lips made him smile too, and he immediately remembered why he was here.

Taking his hands out of his trousers, he slowly made his way through the crowd, wiping the sweat from his hands into the back of his brown jumper and almost rolled his eyes. Stu Macher was nervous about a girl he had known for half his life. Billy would laugh straight in his face if he was there.

"Hi sweet Flo!" Florence couldn't believe her ears and eyes when she heard the brown-haired boy calling her name and saw him jogging towards her. The girls around her scrambled away to get their costumes ready as Stu stopped in front of her and smiled goofily at the surprised look on her face.

"Saw a ghost, huh?" he laughed, knowingly referring to the short film they wanted to finish before Halloween. Randy and his so-called "plot team" had the story all planned out, they just had to start filming.

Florence laughed at his comment, surprised that he even knew what they were doing here. "I didn't think I'd ever see you here!" she said, pursing her lips to hide her smile. Stu made a hurt face and held a hand over his heart. "Ouch that hurt, you know I'm actually really into - movies and," he stopped, gesturing helplessly around him, which made Florence laugh. "Um cameras and stuff."

"Mhm sure," Florence murmured with an encouraging nod, unknowingly making Stu's heart leap. The girl snapped the hairband around her wrist, as she always did when she had nothing else to do with her hands and was at a loss for words.

So she pointed to a tall guy with hair almost down to his ass, balancing a big camera on his shoulders, and gently nudged Stu's side as she said, "If you want to help, Danny might need a hand with the camera set up".

The Macher Boy hid his disappointment as he gave a thumbs up and smiled broadly. "Sure," he said, making Florence laugh as he turned and jogged in Danny's direction. Florence couldn't make out what they said, but from the look on Dannys face she knew she was right about him needing help. She watched them for a few seconds as they set up the camera in a corner of the room and positioned the lightsticks.

"What's he doing here?" a voice suddenly said beside her and Florence almost jumped out of her skin. With a loud groan she slapped Randy across the chest. "You asshole almost gave me a heart attack," she sneered. Randy gave her a playful eye roll but continued to look at Stu.

"I don't know, I guess he just wants something to keep him busy," Florence shrugged in response to Randy's seemingly rude question. Obviously she was just as surprised. She had never thought of Stu as a guy who wasted his free time after school on a group project full of nerds. But she couldn't blame him. Everyone needed a little distraction these days.

Maureen Prescott's murder was only a week old and had shocked everyone. Especially her daughter Sydney Prescott and her group of friends. Florence wouldn't say she was as close to Sid as she was to Randy or Stu. But they were friends and Flo grieved with her. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose her own mother. Or Amy. She would straight up die.

"He's been acting weird since last week," Randy whispered, pulling Florence out of her thoughts and replacing her sad look with a confused one. "What do you mean?" she asked, looking from Stu to him and back to Stu again.

Randy shook his head in thought, as if he didn't really know himself. Slowly he looked at Florence, his eyebrows knitted together like the mysterious guys in every movie did. Florence narrowed her eyes and nudged him, hiding her smile. "What are you saying?" she repeated, expecting him to come up with another one of his stupid theorys.

"I don't know, he seems happier than he should be," Randy said, shaking his finger at Florence. "Especially around you. I don't like it."

Florence burst out laughing, caught Randy's finger and pulled it down. "Sorry, Dad," she grinned to hide her own smugness at his words. Stu was happy around her? Sure, they had been friends since kindergarten, but it had never been more than that.

"Isn't he happy with Casey?" she said quickly, trying to calm Randy's suspicions. "Of course he's happy with a new girlfriend..." Randy cut her off with a few clicks of his tongue and tapped her head gently as if to check if there was something in there. "Oh please, Casey's had a crush on Steve ever since the last football game where he took his shirt off," he explained, chuckling as Florence slapped his hands away.

"That doesn't prove anything, Randy," Florence scoffed, crossing her arms. Randy raised his eyebrows at her and mimicked her arms. "Sure tell yourself that Miss Aberdeen," he said in a higher voice at the end. "I think he's suspicious," he narrowed his eyes at Stu, who was now helping to set up the background for their first shots.

"Trust me Flobo. I'm always right."

Chapter 1 coming soon