#And some of us are cyclists

[modern-inheritance]

For a future story

The elf picked at the grass by her knee. If Murtagh knew any better, he’d say she looked almost uncertain. “…They ask about you two, you know. Pretty often.”

“The elves?” Murtagh suppressed a snort. “I’m sure some of them would love to get their hands on us.”

“No.” Arya shook her head. “The Eldunarí.”

[arthropooda]

Cycling is one of the few activities I am really confident about. I really just do whatever seems safest and yield to everyone else and I'm happy to ride that way, but I think everyone should do what's most comfortable for them, and cycle infrastructure is extremely important even if it isn't always used precisely as intended. Infrastructure should be good enough that anyone feels safe cycling at their own proficiency level.

At the same time, I wanna be able to cycle in the main street, cycle lane, or sidewalk according to what seems safest at that place/time and take responsibility for yielding to others without drivers feeling emboldened to actually speed at me or swerve to get extremely close while honking

[481mclarg]

· LOVE ALL AROUND ·

✮          you make me smile despite the miles.

⭒ Fabio Quartararo × Male Reader × Isack Hadjar

⋆ established long-distance relationship ⋮⋮⋮ athlete reader ⋮⋮⋮ social media + narration.

⋆ summary ┈ you & your two boyfriends against the world (long distance and full schedules), even if the world isn't sure you're boyfriends.

⋆ face claim ┈ nobody, but I'm using some photos from pinterest for all of them. Also, there are 2 pics of a cyclist: he's Fabio Wibmer.

⋆ warnings ┈ reader injury.

⋆ requested? ┈ Yes! ◀ @fabioenthusiast (thanks for the request! <3)

· Hope yall enjoy :]

            Dating an athlete is not for everyone, it is not something easy. When two athletes in different sports are dating it's hard, the year seems to have not enough days. Now, imagine how it is when three athletes decide to date.

            Well, that’s your case.

youruser

            Being injured is never a pleasant experience. Knowing you're missing a large part of the year with recovery and rehabilitation didn't bring you much hope either. The only ones who had managed to cheer you up were Fabio and Isack.

            "We'll be able to spend more time together".

            "You can be at our garages every weekend".

            "We can help take turns to help you with rehabilitation exercises".

            With them, everything was much easier.

            Not only for you. Because when Fabio's home race did not go as you all expected, you both were there for him, as Fabio and you were after Isack's Formula 1 debur –even if Fabio wasn't literally there, because of the MotoGP race–.

youruser

♥️          Liked by fabioquartararo20, denizoncu, isackhadjar, lando, liamlawson30, and others

youruser: Posing as if their mother was forcing them to take this pic

                        View all comments

isackhadjar: You actually force us to take this pic

↳ youruser: Come on, we needed some photos to remember this beautiful day

↳ isackhadjar: Define beautiful

↳ youruser: Every day shared w you two is a beautiful day 😙

↳ userone: Smooth

↳ usertwo: I owe you an apology. I wasn’t familiar with your game 🙌

↳ userthree: The beauty of a homoerotic friendship 😩🤌

↳ userfour: THEY ARE JUST FRIENDS ???

↳ userfive: WERE WE THINKING ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE ??

↳ usersix: no wait. bc I get why @️userfour think they were dating. They just– They are *They*

↳ userseven: ngl This whole time I was thinking that Isack & y/n were dating

↳ usereight: I thought these were the normal homosexual tendencies among athletes...

fabioquartararo20: my guys ❤️‍🩹

↳ isackhadjar: ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

↳ youruser: 😭❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

youruser

youruser

♥️          Liked by liamlawson30, lando, pierregasly, fabioquartararo20, and others

youruser: My guys <3

                        View all comments

usernine: they were watching Fabio & Fabio was watching them 😭😭😭

userten: friendship goals

↳ usereleven: I've know them for 1 week, but that was enough to believe they aren't just friends

↳ usertwelve: as a new fan I'm clueless

↳ userthirteen: as someone who was here since 2023, we are also clueless. don't worry

userfourteen: But wait, is so cute how they are always supporting each other 😭😭

userfifteen: wtf are isack nd liam doing bwahws

fabioquartararo20: Isack took all the luck between the three of us

↳ youruser: fr he's so bad w us 💔💔

↳ isackhadjar: Sorry guys😔

↳ youruser: no. too late. now I'm retiring & Fabio too. u are our sugar

↳ fabioquartararo20: I'm retiring !?

↳ isackhadjar: okay, but we're living in Fabio's house

↳ fabioquartararo20: !?

↳ fabioquartararo20: No, actually, I like that. I'm making room for you here. Move with me.

↳ usersixteen: Guys, don't you have WhatsApp to tell each other this things?

↳ userseventeen: NO SHUT UP I WANT TO READ

↳ usereighteen: lit. I need to know if any of them is dating someone else. COME ON, KEEP TALKING

liamlawson30: Am I one of your guys? 🥺

↳ youruser: You're my child. I'm your teen mom

youruser

♥️          Liked by fabioquartararo20, denizoncu, yukitsunoda0511, t0m06600, and others

youruser: This mf are RUNING as if I could keep up with them

                        View all comments

usernineteen: not very nice of them

usertwenty: not an red bull athlete posting a monster can😭

↳ youruser: those are Fabio, Isack & me

↳ usertwneyone: OMG ? 😭😭

usertwnetytwo: hit them with the crutches

fabioquartararo20: we are sorryyyy😭

↳ youruser: I don't know if you are really sorry

↳ isackhadjar: We know you know, but ok. Tell us what u want to prove it

↳ youruser: You know me so well 😊 Fav breakfast on bed, every day, until I'm sure you're sorry

↳ fabioquartararo20: We don't even live near to your house...

↳ youruser: We are all living in your house, u silly

↳ fabioquartararo20: Oh, right.

↳ usertwentythree: they are so weird. I love them

↳ usertwentyfour: I don't even know what they are, or wich part ofall this is true, but I'm so here for whatever this is

youruser

♥️          Liked by t0m06600, isackhadjar, hausmann.tina, pierregasly, lando, and others

youruser: bros' races so stressful they almost kill me (one last successful surgery! we are gonna be so back soon)

                        View all comments

usertwentyfive: I don't know how you can hold the stress of no one, no two, THREE dangerous sports

↳ youruser: tbh, I don't know either

↳ usertwentyfive: 😭😭😭

usertwentysix: so real dude. same

usertwentyseven: This is not a sport fandom, is a prison

usertwentyeight: "BROS" ???? ARE U SURE???

fabioquartararo20: We are so sorry, nounours (@️isackhadjar ask for forgiveness before he asks us for something else) 🌹

↳ isackhadjar: WE ARE SO SORRY 🙏💔😭

↳ usertwentynine: EXCUSE ME WHAT

↳ userthirty: I think calling your friend "teddy bear" is not casual, but since I used the translator to find out the meaning, I better not give an opinion

youruser

♥️          Liked by pepemartiofficial, lando, fabioquartararo20, hausmann.tina, and others

youruser: The gang is together again (we are living in Fabio's house) (Neverending sleepover) (i NEVER lie) (if someone is wondering, yes, they are taking good care of me🙂‍↕️)

                        View all comments

userthirtyone: is it casual when u & "ur guys" live together?

↳ userthirtytwo: when u make breakfast to "nounours" every morning w your french compatriot

↳ userthirtythree: & THEY ADOPTED LIAM

↳ youruser: No. Liam is only my kid

↳ userthirtyfour: ANSWER THE REST OF THE QUESTIONS. WE WANT TO KNOW

fabioquartararo20: qu'il est beauuuu !!!

↳ youruser: 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

↳ isackhadjar: 🙄

↳ youruser: nonono. here is where u comment "my guys❤️‍🩹" & ppl make theories bc we all 3 comment that

↳ userthirtyfive: YOU MF

⋮⋮⋮                 481MCLARG | 04 . 06 . 2025

[screamlet]

new fic: post 8x09-10 coda

my contribution to the "tommy shows up at eddie's place and finds buck there" collection. also on the ao3.

bucktommy / hopeful ending / 1k

---

Buck thought about becoming a cyclist a few years ago. Like, as a personality trait. Like he thought he'd get really into biking on his off days, ride for miles and miles, maybe do some of those super long 50-mile races people allegedly did. Getting a newish start at Eddie's old place means taking his fancy bike out of storage and deciding whether it should come with him.

He starts riding and it's not exactly transformative, and he feels a little silly thinking it would be. But he keeps to it because, what, does he have anything else to do? Eddie's settling into his new house and working on his family (not just Chris, but all of his family) and everyone else in his life has their own families, and Buck has his bike. And running shoes. Maybe he should take up running instead. Or build a home gym, like Tommy has. Had. Has. He's not sure about the state of his home gym.

That also feels dumb, though, since Eddie told prospective tenants over and over again that there was a bustling suburban downtown area with a great gym that had reasonable membership prices, and honestly maybe at this point Buck should think about moving out of LA, too. At least when he lived in the Jeep and traveled all over, he met lots of new and different people who made time for him for a little while, and he'd be on the road before they could really lose interest in him and let him go.

"Are you crying?"

Buck's sitting on the front step of Eddie's house and rubbing at his eyes but, yeah, he might have been crying. Now he's definitely crying in front of Tommy, who's standing on the lawn with his hands on his hips. They stare at each other for a minute, like Tommy's waiting for an answer and as if Buck isn't obviously answering him.

"Feeling a little lonely, Tommy. How about you?" Buck leans on his knees and musters a smile. "What are you doing here anyway?"

Tommy takes another long moment to answer, but Buck's got nowhere else to be so he can wait him out. Wait, he lives here now; he literally has nowhere else to be.

"Eddie said his subletter wouldn't move in for a few more days but he thought he left the back door unlocked. Did he tell you the same thing?" Tommy raises his eyebrows. "Cute little scheme to get us to run into each other?"

Buck claps his hands. "I'm the subletter."

Tommy looks surprised, but tries to hide it. "And is the back door closed?"

"I'll find out." Buck, hollowed out, smiles again. "Need anything else?"

A beat. A long one, again. "I've been lonely, too."

"Really?" Buck asks. "With your karaoke trivia and—"

"I've been lonely, too," Tommy repeats.

Buck's less hollow now; a drop of pity for Tommy has hit the bottom of the bucket.

"Wanna sit with me? Be less lonely?" Buck clears his throat. "Eddie told you he was moving, right?"

"He did." Tommy comes closer. "Said he didn't need any help, though, so I didn't come by. Had all the help he needed. Did you guys have a going away thing?"

A wave of pity rolls into the bucket.

"It was really last minute," Buck says.

"Yep. I get it."

There's enough space, for sure, but Buck edges to one side of the step anyway. "There's space for you."

"That's okay." Tommy's lips are a fine line before they quirk into a smile. "I don't need the pity."

"Too bad," Buck replies. "I went and got too much for myself and there's leftovers with your name on them."

Tommy rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. He sighs loudly, playfully, then comes and sits next to Buck on the step. He asks, "You doing okay?"

"I mean, my pregnant sister got kidnapped and my best friend moved to another state and I moved out of my apartment that I've been in for five years and I still miss my ex-boyfriend but other than that. Yeah, just fine." Buck clears his throat and points to his bike. "Do I seem like a cyclist to you? Like could you see me really getting into biking?"

"I think if you want something, nothing will stop you," Tommy says. "If you want to date a guy and never have before, you're gonna date a guy. If you wanna learn everything about a dead cowboy and then give him a respectful funeral while you're covered in boils, you will. If you—Eddie gave me like five different lemon and walnut and cranberry-orange loaves before he left and he said you made them? You just like, started a baking side gig or something? Did you want to do that, too, or did it just happen to you?"

"Oh, that." Buck has been blushing as Tommy talked, ducking his head to hide it, shying away, but Tommy's leaned in like he has to make sure Buck doesn't miss a word. "I started baking after we broke up. It was a good distraction."

"Five—"

"You came at the tail end, honestly, you missed a whole bakery's worth over the holidays." Buck looks at him. "What have you been doing?"

"Me, well. I bought another car I could start restoring. I repainted my porch and the fence. Took up yoga because, I don't know, wasn't feeling that flexible anymore. Uh." Tommy motions to the bike. "Also thought about biking because who doesn't want to pedal away from their problems, right?"

Buck asks, "What's your schedule look like? Did you actually buy a bike? Want to go on a ride? I know a place that does rentals."

"Buck, I don't know."

He wants to howl and correct him (Evan) but he keeps his mouth shut.

"Just an offer," Buck says. "I'm gonna head in now. Do you want water or something before you head back?"

Tommy doesn't make a move until Buck does, standing up from the steps and brushing off the back of his jeans. "If you're free..."

Buck raises his eyebrows.

"I'm free," Tommy says. "There's a bottle shop like 10 minutes away, if—maybe we could have a drink here? I don't know if you've already christened your new house or anything."

Buck grins. "Have I had a beer here? Yeah, I have. But—but that sounds nice. I can order a pizza if you're hungry. I'm starving."

"Yeah, that sounds nice." Tommy takes a few steps back to the truck. "I'll be back. Promise."

That little promise makes him ache. "No IPAs, please."

"I remember." Tommy watches him for a moment from the driver's side, then climbs into the truck and starts it up. Buck steps inside and shuts the door. He knows Tommy will be back.

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Red Mercedes

George Russell x fem!reader

Summary: Perfect married life sometimes hides the rotten truth of lies.

Warnings: cheating, slight manipulation, George getting what’s his at all cost, curse words and smut implication

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: After a frustrating week of not having any good ideas, I had a dream, so I finally had something to pour my heart into. It was so intense that it didn't let me eat my lunch, how fast my fingers drummed at the keyboard and my thoughts flew out of my brain. Enjoy it! :) wanted to include my favorite pregnancy trope, but i decided to not go that way this time

———

“Dad, I’m trying to tell you that mum is acting weird.” Your twelve year old son was travelling with George to Cayman Island for this event he was invited to, to speak about his ongoing career path as a leading F1 champion. 

George glanced at him, his hands gripping the steering wheel, regally upset about the fact that even your son noticed that something isn't right with your marriage.

“Mum is just tired. That’s all.” he tried to brush it off, but he knew. 

“You know, dad, I’m not stupid. I saw her with some man a week ago, sitting at the restaurant when we were out on a bike with boys. She was smiling at him like… Well, not like she’s smiling at you.” his son continued to ponder with his thoughts, pouring his mind out, making George feel uneasy. Pulling over at the hotel they were supposed to stay at, engine off, he turned his body to face his son.

“Buddy, I know that you love your mom, hell, who could not love her.. But she’s- it’s just a phase. I’m gonna figure it out, and you have nothing to worry about.” he tried to reassure him with his soft smile, his eyes betraying him, reflecting the weight of the growing lies.

———

“I see that you’re here with your son, he grew so much throughout the years, aren’t you afraid that he’s gonna be after you soon, you know, with racing and stuff?” 

George chuckled, moving his gaze at his giggling son in the first row, his sweaty palm wrapped around the microphone. “Well, there is the possibility, but his hobbies are different. He’s much more of a cyclist, so I think that Tadej Pogacar should be scared of having another rival.” 

“Oh, that’s great! Guess the Russell’s family is spreading through the field of sports. It’s a shame that your wife isn’t here with us, we had planned to have a family photo shoot for you, also spending some time on the yacht with the staff here.” 

George was professional at keeping his composure, so he just chuckled again, looking at the crowd of people in the small room.

“We can do that anyway, we don’t need my wife for that. She’s busy with some of her other projects, so…” 

Everybody seemed to be happy about it, not noticing the slight frown on George’s face and his son’s.

You were staying at home in Monaco, texting with your lover. Your naive brain was living in an illusion that nobody knows, you sneaking around with someone else, secret meetings at the old restaurant on the other side of the town, your red luxurious Mercedes parked in front of it very often. You were really dumb in some aspects and being so careless about getting after your own desires, you hurt your family in the process.

All those years of your marriage you heard it around you all the time, how George is a gentleman, kind guy, loving and caring husband and father, how every other woman would die for having him just for at least five minutes. But nobody saw that toll that had an impact on you, your life when you fell pregnant unexpectedly, and how George married you just because of it. Feeding you with all those empty promises, but leaving you alone through all that maternity shit because he was at the peak of his career while you were breastfeeding his restless son at night.

Yeah, there were times you were genuinely happy as a family, somewhere between the three to ten years of your son, George was more present, you accompanied him at races from time to time, depending on how his and your parents were willing to look after your kid. 

But the last two years felt like a nightmare, because George won another two championships after five years of no luck, his fans being literally everywhere, even breaking into your home. You spent a lot of time on the go, changing your location and you grew tired of this. Intimity between you and George was long gone, and you yearned for something he couldn’t give you, the tension, secrecy and passion. Even if it meant to destroy everything you have.

———

Darkness overtook the docks in Monaco, rain washing away the summer heat wave. George stood at the huge ass window of your penthouse, sipping on his whiskey, even though he did not favour the liquid that much, he got used to it from time to time. Your son was away for the holiday cycling camp, and with summer break in F1, it left him home alone with the lingering scent of your expensive perfume you saved for your not so secret lover. His mind wandered over divorce, but he was too prideful to let it happen. He didn’t care about your needs, shameful desires, he wanted to keep his family together. Even if it meant to ruin your sweet secret life. And he knew his plan was working the minute you stepped into your home through the threshold, sobbing quietly, with your dress soaked through, droplets of water dripping down your hair. His lips curling into smirk, he took the last sip of his drink, leaving the glass on the coffee table in the living room, walking slowly to the hallway.

You kicked off your heels, running your hands through your wet hair, wiping off your tears along the way, your mascara staining your cheeks. Feeling how your dress is sticking to your body, you let out a frustrated sigh with a whine, finally noticing George standing in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest wearing an unreadable expression.

“What’s the matter baby?” his tone was laced with smugness, he couldn’t hold it back anymore, seeing the mess you were.

“Nothing.” you muttered, trying to walk around him to get to the bathroom, but he was after you.

“You’re clearly distressed. Tell me what happened. You were supposed to have a night out with girls, if I remember correctly?” yeah, he was playing dumb.

“I was. But my car left me in the parking lot, because the smoke started to go out of the engine and I needed to call the towing service and-” you stopped in your rant abruptly as you got to the part you wanted to erase from your memory and you didn’t want to talk about it with George.

“And? Tell me darling.” his tone was firm, demanding, he caged your body against the counter in the bathroom.

You looked up to see his face, locking your gaze with his, reading his mind. He knew. And yet he was still there.

“He left me.” with your head slumped down you whispered feeling deeply ashamed. 

George smiled victoriously as the memory from earlier this week flashed through his mind, him paying that pathetic lover of yours loads of money to leave you, to ruin you, to destroy you.

“Oh baby.” he cooed sweetly, cupping that mascara stained cheeks of yours, listening to your sobs. And that was the last straw and you broke down in tears, all of the suppressed emotions flowing out as you wrapped your arms around him tightly, remorse and guilt building in your heart. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” you whispered into his chest, your tears staining his shirt. 

“Shhh… I’m right here baby. It’s okay.” his fingers brushed through your hair affectionately, making you relax.

“You should be disgusted with me…” 

“Believe me, I was at first. But from your point of view I somehow understood it.” 

“How… How long have you known?”

“Since the first time you giggled at your phone.”

“I thought that I’m good at hiding it.” 

“Oh, you were so naive that I won’t notice. You weren’t even creative at hiding your car properly. That exclusive red shade of it doesn't go unnoticed. Even our son saw you many times.” 

You shuddered when you felt his lips ghosting against your temple. The mention of your son stabbed you through your heart. 

“George, I-” 

“Shhh, darling. Your stupid boyfriend ditched you, so let your husband, the man who truly knows how to devour you, take care of you.” George whispered with a soft hum, his lips pressed under your ear.

The way he talked made you feel ashamed. But it ignited something within you, the lust and desire for him. And it made you curse internally at how dumb you were for the past years.

“I’m gonna make sure you remember who you belong to.” 

After the night to remember when George really took you like a slut you were, listening to your whines and moans, making you tell him how that lover made you feel, what he did to you, he made sure that you won’t escape his embrace again. Watching you sleep beside him, your body covered in love bruises and marks he hasn’t seen on you for months, he brushed the strand of your hair from your face, smiling proudly at how easy you were. All those years he thought you’re this soft and reserved girl who likes vanilla in bed, only to find out that you loved to be cock drunk all the time, overstimulated to the madness to keep your mind from wandering outside of the wedlock. 

“You were so wrong to think that I’d let you go, my beautiful wife…” and his whisper lingered through your sleeping brain like a lullaby.

-

Please don't use my writings without a permission. Pictures found on Pinterest.

Tags: @chilling-seavey

[unpeeled-human]

every time somebody talks about cyclists or cycling i get reminded at how self-centered and individualistic this society and culture are.

"its just a joke about how cyclists dont mind making people wait behind them!!" is...is that what...is that what you think is happening??

like, "its just a joke!! its a joke based around ideas im perpetuating!!!" we got that out of the way at least

but also, like. that is not. what is happening. they are opting for cycling as opposed to using a motor vehicle for many easily understandable reasons that any normal person should be able to come to

a bike doesnt cost upwards of thousands of dollars (or more if you're buying a car from a dealership and not getting used)

a bike doesnt require gas (or even charging, unless its assisted by an electric motor

exercise

can't drive/prefers not to due to certain disability

literally just fucking feels like it???

and for some reason the people in 4-5 metric ton vehicles that regularly reach speeds of 50-60mph are complaining about being stuck behind some AWFUL and INCONSIDERATE... man in his 40s going to work at the grocery store. or 17 year old biking to class. like are motorists just literally incapable of thinking of other people? its bewildering.

and for the record, in the majority of states the law specifically says that bicycles are legally defined as vehicles and cyclists are legally defined as drivers.

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Putting Iron in Irony (Eldest Short)

(A/N: I was writing a few ideas out for the next part of the Escape series and remembered something, realized yeah Brom would probably know that about Arya, and promptly had to stop writing that so I could write this. Another small additional note at the bottom.

Oh, also. This is my first time writing Rhunön. She'll probably change a bit when I get around to writing more of her, but despite everyone blaming Brom for teaching Arya to swear and being all un-elf-like, they really forgot about the 'I kinda hate what our culture has become' grouch living in Ellesmera 24/7 as opposed to Brom's popping in and out, huh? I bashed this out in an hour and didn't check it over be gentle plz)

~~~~~~

“Hey.” Rhunön’s shoulders rose and fell in only a way Arya could pick up after so long, a little sigh the smith always did when the woman appeared at her forge. It was force of habit now, not actual exasperation, and it always brought that wild child grin to the younger elf’s face. “Up for some commission work?”

Rhunön banked the coals she was coaxing into white heat and turned, that ever present lift of her lip in false annoyance on her face. “I’m not making you another sword. No weapons. ”

Arya waved her off. “I’m more in the market for a tool. Something useful for daily tasks. And…” She reached into the bag slung at her hip, fishing out the wrapped bundle. “I have the steel for you to use. If they’re of quality, that is. I sort of doubt they are, but it’s good metal and I’d just hate to see it go to waste.”

The smith rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t tell good metal from slag if you were hit in the face with it.” But she still gestured to the workbench that separated the courtyard from the fires, joining the woman there as she set the bundle down with a soft clank. 

Arya unwrapped it with little flourish and braced her elbows on the worn planks, grinning like a cat who had just chomped down on the Queen’s favorite raven. Rhunön stared at the presented materials for a long moment before she looked up at the cheshire smile, entirely deadpan in response. “Really, Arya?”

“Really.” There was a hint of a giggle buried there, sharp teeth glinting in the fire’s light. “Can you do it?” 

Rhunön picked one up and examined the metal closely. Arya was right. For a set of shackles made by Broddrings, it was good metal. She tested them in her hands, flexed the steel and let out an appreciative hum. Somewhat springy, even at this thickness. Specially made, surely, after seeing that scrappy thing’s strength. Or even made to contain that nasty Shade if he were to go rogue. 

“Of course I can do it.” Rhunön sniffed. She set the piece down with its twin, noticing from the corner of her eye how the elfling shifted just slightly away when she brought the offending object closer to her side of the table. “What do you want? A bracelet is out of the question.”

The barred teeth took on a more pained clench before flickering back to amused. “Very funny. Like I said, I was thinking something utilitarian. Daily use, good in all situations. More than one thing if there’s enough, but otherwise…” Arya shrugged, that light never leaving her dark eyes. “Surprise me.”

It was a long moment of quiet but for the occasional pop from the still heated forge. Rhunön stared hard at the two shackles, her mind already awhirl with shapes and movement and fire and steel. 

When she looked up, the ancient elf had her razor sharp teeth barred in a similarly wild smile. “Come back tomorrow night, little hatchling, and I’ll surprise you.” 

~

True to her word, Rhunön did surprise her. Arya wasn’t sure what she had in mind, really. Maybe a new magazine for her rifle, or some container for the gems she and Glen kept for storing energy and spells. 

When the ancient smith presented her with a sheathed knife the next evening, Arya paused. 

“I thought you swore to never make weapons again, Rhunön.” She couldn’t help the troubled confusion in her voice. There was no point in trying to hide it anyway, the old elf was too good at picking up on what she felt. 

The polished brass of the knife’s pommel promptly bonked the younger elf on the head. Arya yelped but didn’t move to defend herself, knowing it was the only blow and barely one at that. “This is not a weapon, you nincompoop.” Rhunön chided, holding it out on upturned palms yet again. “This is a tool. Take it. Before I hit you with it again.”

The grain of the handle was cool against Arya’s fingertips when she seized it. The wood was beautiful, polished and glowing from within to highlight the interwoven scales yet still holding to her grip without slipping. The sheath was leather, not oiled to a gleam but wellworked and firm. She could feel magic in it, a tingling warmth, protection, something to hide, something to keep it safe. 

“Handle’s some Gidgee I had laying around.” Rhunön waved a hand vaguely, gesturing towards the stacks of wood blanks in the back of the shop. “I know how much you just love that damn leather backing on your little jacket, so I scraped some up from some old project.” 

That Rhunön was acting so dismissive of something she had crafted was…unusual. It wasn’t until Arya saw one of the old leather aprons in pieces on a far bench that she realized why, and she buried the upwelling of emotion deep down in her chest. 

“It took a bit of work to get it to hold an edge properly.” Arya didn’t look up, unsheathing the small blade to examine the true marvel of craftsmanship. The blade itself was simple. Flat spined, a hidden tang. Rhunön had left some of the hammer marks along the sides, the only bright and burnished steel being that along the edge of the single, sloped cutting side. More of the blade was flat than curved, a gentle slope a good bit more than halfway down curving up to the point. “It’s an old style of work knife. Pokaio. From back when we weren’t dragon bonded.” 

Arya beamed. She finally looked up at her old friend, unable to wipe the expression away. “Rhunön…it’s beautiful.” 

“Of course it is. I made it.” The smith sniffed. “I’ve enchanted it so that it’s not easily found if someone is searching you while it’s sheathed. Keep it in your boot or something for the next time you go running into a stupid situation. Don’t lose it.” The warning was the capstone to a confession in different words. Stay safe and don’t get yourself captured again. Dumbass. 

Of course, dumbass was a term of endearment for Rhunön, one she only used with her favorite dumbasses. Always said with the utmost buried affection. 

Arya’s smile grew wider. “I’d sooner lose Glen’s arm!”

Rhunön ignored the comment and picked up another item from the table. “There was enough left for one more thing. For your twisted sense of humor and for the irony of it.” 

“Oh?” 

The ancient smith held up a flat piece of metal no longer than her thumb and no thicker than a pocket knife. At Arya’s raised eyebrow the cheshire grin returned to Rhunön’s wire-etched face and she thumbed the side. An array of oddly shaped pins fanned out, an L shaped bracket popping from the top. 

“Lockpick set. To wear with your dogtags.” 

Arya’s sharp teeth mirrored her friend’s, eyes glimmering with dark mirth. “Oh, Rhunön, you are such a treat.”

~~~~~~~~~

(Post A/N: Yeah it's a Finnish Puukko knife. I've always wanted one.)

[livvymd]

Paws And Possibilities. | ArthurTV x Reader (this kind of sucks sorry)

love you all

The leash slipped through your fingers before you even had a chance to react.

One second, your dog was trotting beside you like the well-trained companion they usually were. The next? They caught sight of something—a squirrel, a bird, maybe just an especially exciting scent—and bolted.

“Hey! Wait—!” you called, but it was no use.

Your heart pounded as you ran after them, dodging people, picnic blankets, and cyclists on the path. Just as you were about to completely panic, your eyes landed on a bench beneath a tree, where your dog had oh so conveniently parked themselves in front of a stranger, tail wagging happily.

A stranger who, to your surprise, was enthusiastically scratching behind their ears, book forgotten in his lap.

“Oh my god,” you panted as you came to a stop, hands on your knees. “Seriously? This is what you ran off for?”

The guy looked up at you then, and you suddenly forgot about your frustration for a second.

Messy brown hair. Warm brown eyes. A slightly sheepish smile on his lips, like he was both amused and a little guilty to be caught entertaining your runaway pup.

“They’ve got good taste,” he said, scratching your dog under the chin. “Came straight to me.”

You huffed, crouching to grab the leash. “Yeah, because you’re giving them all the attention they could ever want. Little traitor,” you muttered, giving your dog a playful nudge before standing back up.

The guy chuckled before shifting slightly in his seat. “I’m Arthur, by the way.”

You blinked. “Oh—right. Nice to meet you, Arthur.” You smiled. “I’d introduce myself properly, but I think my dog just did that for me.”

Arthur smirked. “Yeah, they weren’t exactly shy about it.”

Now that you weren’t mid-chase, you finally took a second to glance at the book he’d been holding. It wasn’t some generic novel or a thriller—no, the title on the cover made you tilt your head.

“Wait, what were you reading before my dog decided to ambush you?” you asked curiously.

Arthur blinked, looking down at the book like he’d forgotten it existed. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the cover, and for the first time, he actually looked shy.

“Oh, um…” He hesitated before reluctantly holding it up so you could see. “It’s, uh… about museum exhibits, actually. The history behind them, how certain artifacts were found and preserved… that kind of thing.”

You raised your eyebrows. “That’s… really cool, actually.”

Arthur let out a soft, almost nervous laugh, ducking his head. “I mean, I dunno. I just think it’s interesting. Some of these things have been around for thousands of years, and now they’re just… sitting behind glass. Like, imagine the hands that have held them, the people who’ve seen them…”

He trailed off, realizing how passionately he was speaking. His ears turned slightly pink, and he suddenly cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “But, uh, yeah. It’s just a silly interest.”

Your heart absolutely melted at that.

“Not silly at all,” you said, grinning. “That’s actually really adorable.”

Arthur’s eyes snapped back to yours, and for a second, he looked like he genuinely wasn’t sure if you were messing with him.

“You… think so?”

You nodded. “I love when people talk about the things they’re passionate about.”

He let out a small laugh, still looking a little bashful. “Right. Well, in that case, I should probably shut up before I bore you to death.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Too late, I’m already planning my escape.”

Arthur laughed, shaking his head. “Damn. Tragic way to go.”

There was a pause—a comfortable one. Your dog was now sitting contently at your feet, as if they hadn’t just put you through a minor crisis, and Arthur was still looking at you like he was debating something.

Then, shifting slightly, he rubbed his thumb over the edge of his book and asked, a little hesitant, “So, uh… if you don’t already think I’m weird, would you maybe wanna go to a museum sometime? With me?”

Your stomach flipped.

That… was not what you expected to happen today. But looking at him now—nervously fidgeting with his book, avoiding direct eye contact for the first time—you felt that same warm feeling spread through your chest.

You smiled. “You asking me on a date, Arthur?”

He exhaled a soft laugh, finally glancing back at you. “Would you say yes if I was?”

You pretended to think about it. “Hmm… depends. Are you planning on nerding out over exhibits the entire time?”

Arthur smirked. “Only if you promise not to run away like your dog.”

You laughed, feeling stupidly giddy. “Alright. Deal.”

Arthur’s grin widened, and just like that, a runaway dog turned into something much sweeter.

[mixingandmelting]

I LOVEEEEEEEEEEEE your work. I am overjoyed when u ever post something about wind breaker!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

sooo.. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE WRITE A SMALL SCENARIO HOW HAJUN UNINTENTIONALLY HURTS HIS GIRLFRIEND

(like hhe wanted to turn around and elbowed her face? = nosebleeding)?

stay healthy ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)

He doesn’t cry or yell. It would’ve been better if he did. 

Instead, he sits next to you silently, mortified, horrified, overwhelmed with guilt as if he just murdered a puppy. 

“Hajun, I’m fine.” Your voice comes out muffled through the wad of tissue up your nose.

Seeing him clench his hands, you sigh in exasperation. 

Really, this whole mess isn’t his fault. It’s yours You couldn’t stay still or quiet, for that matter, when some guys made comments at him while the two of you were hanging out at a food cart. You should’ve known better after clapping back at them, they were the brawns-over-brains type by attempting to physically attack you for it. And, Joker, Hajun, you’re ever sweet and loving boyfriend, seeing this, of course he wouldn’t simply let things slide. 

It’s no surprise you got hurt, having to intervene to stop him from beating them with their lives barely intact. 

“Hey! At least cough up the money for my medical fees!” You yelled, one hand holding your nose while the other rested on Joker who was close to freaking out and held you as support. 

“Your boyfriend was that one to hurt you, not us!”

“Yeah??? You verbally assaulted him first! I can file this as a report for hate crime-what the?! Come back! here!”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him shuffling to get up. 

“Leave and this bloody nose won’t disappear.” That gets him to sit back down though sitting a bit farther away.

It’s awkwardly silent between the two of you, the only sound coming from the ice pack and tissues you readjust on your neck and nose. 

“…Sorry.” 

You don’t like this, him biting his lip while keeping his head hung low. 

“Stop it. It’s not your fault.” 

“But, I-“

“You what? I rammed my face into your elbow, not the other way around.” He doesn’t say anything, biting his lip harder and clenching his hands tighter together. So stubborn this man, completely and successfully persuading himself it’s his fault. No one would think this is the same guy who fights in those underground fight rings and crushes other cyclists in LOS. 

“…Fine,” you suppress another sigh from slipping out. “If you’re really sorry, take me out for ice cream once this stupid bloody nose stops. I’m sure my blood sugar dropped and I’m craving for some right now.” 

Mentally you fist pumped, victorious at, finally, getting him to break into a smile albeit tiny. 

After propping the ice pack for you after you “complained” how tired your arm felt from doing it for so long, your nose stops bleeding and the two of you head to the nearest ice cream store. You did NOT appreciate seeing the rest of team Sabbath there because “coincidence” his ass, Wooin probably had found out from a client about the whole ordeal and wants to get the details about your newest, juiciest drama again.

[moroniccats]

What are some of your favorite quotes of Watson just unabashedly adoring Holmes? (Doesn’t have to be in a shipping way) Here are a few of mine, although they BARELY scratch the surface:

“‘What do you think of it, Watson?’

‘A masterpiece. You have never risen to a greater height.’” - The Bruce-Partington Plans

“I have so deep a respect for the extraordinary qualities of Holmes that I have always deferred to his wishes, even when I least understood them.” - The Dying Detective

“Had I not feared to give the public a surfeit which might react upon the reputation of the man whom above all others I revere.” -The Problem of Thor Bridge

“His eyes shone, and his cheek was flushed with the exhilaration of the master workman who sees his work lie before him. A very different Holmes, this active, alert man, from the introspective and pallid dreamer of baker street. I felt, as I looked upon that supple figure, alive with nervous energy…” - The Priory School

“Lestrade and I sat silent for a moment, and then, with a spontaneous impulse, we both broke out clapping. A flush of colour sprang to Holmes’s pale cheeks, and he bowed to us like the master dramatist who receives the homage of his audience.” - The Six Napoleons

“The strong, masterful personality of Holmes dominated the tragic scene, and all were equally puppets in his hands.” - The Solitary Cyclist

I just think it’s really sweet.

[bluhjay]

loose | pjs

synopsis: you met a busker that caught your eye and when you decide to become a regular, you can't help but want to get to know him better genre: strangers to lovers, fluff pairing: busker! park jongseong x university student! fem lead wc: 1575 notes: while waiting for Enhypen's comeback, here's a fic dedicated to Loose. Jay and reader are around the same age here and i used some of the lyrics are in this fic, other than that, do lmk if there's anything i should add! cr @strangergraphics (dividers)

Today was a long day.

You just finished your three-hour computer lesson, and your eyes feel dry. ​​You figured that you’d take the long way home as a refresher. 

The sun was about to set as you walked out of the campus building. You turned to the quieter road, which led to a park with a couple of cyclists passing by and street lamps that buzzed softly in the spring air.

After strolling for a few meters into the park, the sound of a guitar, warm and steady, drew your attention.

Unable to help yourself, you slowed your steps and turned around.

Then, you saw him.

Under a flickering street light, there he was, sitting on a short wooden stool with a classical guitar sitting comfortably on his lap. His hair was slightly messy, with a few strands falling to the front of his face. His eyes were half-lidded as he played like he was somewhere else entirely. A small crowd had formed—mostly old couples on late walks and some tourists filming on their phones. But he didn’t seem to care. He wasn’t playing for them.

And you stayed until the last chord.

You came back the next night. 

You kept telling yourself it was a coincidence. The night after that, it was ‘just curious.’ But after the fifth evening, with your hot boba tea warming your fingers, as you leaned against the same street post, you had to admit it.

You liked the way he played guitar.

You liked the way he looked at the sky between each piece.

You liked the smile he gave you when he noticed you there again.

Jay never called you out and never made it awkward. Just… acknowledged you.

You weren’t supposed to wake up late today.

But after staying up past midnight reviewing your notes and mentally how he played Romance d’Amour—soft, slow, almost bittersweet—you’d barely heard your alarm. You rushed out of your apartment with damp hair, plain white pyjamas from the night before, and your laptop barely charged. 

By the time your last lesson ended, you were completely drained. 

But even with heavy steps and a buzzing headache, your body knew where it wanted to go.

Like clockwork, your feet carried you down the quieter road. Past the corner bakery. Through the narrow side gate of the park. Toward the same streetlamp that flickered every time a breeze passed by.

He was there.

Jay was in the middle of something slower tonight. No crowd. Just him. The guitar. And the soft golden hour bleeding across the sky.

You stood at a distance, a little breathless. Jay looked up—and smiled when he saw you.

Your heart skipped in a way that had become dangerously familiar.

Jay didn’t say anything; he tilted his head slightly as if silently greeting you through his music. His fingers continued moving fluidly, the notes threading through the air like whispers only you were meant to hear.

When the song ended, he looked down at his guitar for a moment, thoughtful.

Then, he started packing up early.

That was new.

You stayed still, unsure if you should approach first. But Jay beat you to it.

“Hey,” he said, walking over, the guitar slung across his back. His voice was even warmer than the spring air. “Rough day?”

You blinked. “Is it that obvious?”

“You look like you fought sleep and lost.”

You laughed, even if it came out tired. “I did, actually.”

“I was about to grab something,” he said, nodding toward the path. “There’s a small shop that sells butter toast just around the corner. You want to come?”

It felt casual—too casual for the way your pulse quickened.

You nodded.

The two of you walked quietly at first. Then Jay asked, “You’ve been coming here a lot lately. I kept wondering if I was imagining it.”

You glanced at him. “You weren’t. I… like listening to you play.”

He smiled at that, scratching the back of his neck. “That means more than you probably think.”

You both got a paper bag of fresh, steaming butter toast inside the shop. Amid the slightly crowded shop, you found a table in the corner by the window, facing the playground in the park. 

You sat side by side, knees almost brushing.

Jay looked at you between bites. “Can I ask you something?”

You paused. “Sure.”

“Have you ever changed your routine for someone?”

The question hit a little too close to home.

You looked at the bag in your lap, then said quietly, “I guess.”

He let out a soft laugh. “Me too.”

You looked up, confused.

“I started showing up earlier, just in case you passed by. I even learned a new piece because I thought you might like it.”

Your cheeks grew warm. You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came.

Jay nudged your shoulder gently with his.

“I’m glad you keep showing up,” he said. “Even if it’s by accident. Or curiosity. Or boba cravings.”

You laughed again, softer this time. “I think I’m past the ‘just curious’ phase.”

His gaze lingered on you a second longer than necessary.

“Good,” he said. “So am I.”

Today was another long day.

You had just submitted your design assignment—three days of non-stop tweaking and second-guessing your every choice, only to hit ‘Submit’ five minutes before the deadline. Your head throbbed from staring at layers and grids for too long, and your shoulders ached from hours hunched over your desk.

So, with muscle memory, you took the long way home.

Your sneakers tapped along the familiar path, the fading golden light stretching your shadow ahead of you. You passed the same bakery, the same whispering trees in the park, the same flickering street light.

But something was different.

He was already there.

Jay.

You slowed down instinctively, drawn in like always. But this time, something had changed in the air.

His setup looked… warmer. 

A small string of fairy lights glowed faintly along the edge of his guitar case. A mason jar of daisies sat beside him on the stool. You blinked, wondering if he was preparing for someone else—but you knew the moment his eyes met yours and that slow, knowing smile spread across his face.

It was for you.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice gentler than usual. “Rough day?”

You laughed under your breath, brushing your fingers through your hair. “You have no idea.”

“Then you’re just in time.”

Jay adjusted his guitar. Then, before placing his fingers on the strings, he looked at you again—more serious now but still soft.

“I’ve been playing classical pieces for a long time. I think it was easier to hide behind melodies. But tonight…” He hesitated, licking his lips before continuing. “I want to try something new. Something a little riskier.”

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

“I’m singing tonight,” he said. “For the first time out here.”

That alone was enough to stir the air between you.

“And,” he added, “I’m singing for someone.”

The way he looked at you left no room for doubt.

Jay took a deep breath, then strummed the first few notes. The rhythm was smooth and groovy but carried something more profound—a quiet ache laced with hope.

“I can feel my heart racing, it’s so hard to keep cool,”

“...I just can’t take it anymore.”

“And we’re so close I can taste it, I see it in your eyes,”

“If there’s a chance I’ma take it,”

“I’m beggin’ you, just please give me a sign.”

“Waiting way too long, I think it’s time.”

You felt your breath hitch. Jay’s voice was filled with emotion, pulling you in with every line.

“All this magic’s burning like a fire inside,”

“And it is way too hot, girl, we should let it loose,”

Each word wrapped around your chest, tightening gently like a hand over your heart. Jay kept his gaze on you, even when the world around him faded—buses passing, people chatting, lights blinking above.

“I’ve been waiting to get next to you,”

“I can tell how bad you want it too,”

“All this tension, baby, let your body loose.”

The last chord faded slowly into the evening air.

Jay let the silence stretch briefly before setting his guitar down and standing up.

“I meant every word,” he said softly, standing just a step away from you. “I know we didn’t plan any of this. It was just you showing up. And me… waiting for someone I didn’t know I needed.”

When Jay stood up, he picked up the jar of flowers, and walked over.

Your breath caught as he handed them to you.

“I saw these earlier and thought of you,” he said. “They reminded me of how you show up here—even when you’re tired. Quiet, but bright.”

You held the flowers close, heart stammering in your chest. “Thank you…”

“So,” Jay continued, “if there’s even the smallest chance you feel the same way… I’d like to take you out. Not as a regular listener. But as someone I’ve been falling for since the first time you stayed until the last chord.”

Your heart was in your mouth.

You nodded. “Yes,” you breathed. “Yes. I’d love that.”

His shoulders relaxed, and he smiled—wider than ever before.

And right there, under the soft glow of fairy lights and flickering street lamps, Jay gently took your hand like he’d been waiting for this note all along.

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

For the Both of Us

Where Y/N trains for a marathon with Harry, but an injury leaves her waiting for him at the finish line.

Word Count: 2,493

Content Warning: mentions of injury

It starts as an offhand comment, something I don’t fully think through before saying it.

“We should run a marathon.”

Harry doesn’t even blink. “Alright.”

I pause mid-bite of my sandwich, glancing up at him from across the kitchen island. “Just like that?”

He shrugs, casually tying his hair up as he leans against the counter. “Why not?”

I squint at him. “No questions? No protests? No ‘that sounds miserable, why would we do that to ourselves’?”

He grins. “I like running.”

Of course, he does.

I narrow my eyes, setting my sandwich down. “I thought this was going to be one of those things where I had to convince you, and then you’d be all dramatic about it.”

Harry smirks. “Sorry to disappoint.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “Unbelievable.”

Still, there’s no backing out now. And if I’m being honest, I don’t want to.

Training in New York happens because we’re here, and it makes sense. Early mornings in Central Park, the world just waking up as we weave through runners, cyclists, and dogs too eager for their own good. The air is crisp, the pavement familiar under our feet, and for once, I don’t hate running as much as I thought I would. Maybe it’s the routine of it, the way my body adjusts to the movement, or maybe it’s just Harry, a few strides ahead, turning back every now and then with an easy grin like this is the most natural thing in the world.

“You alright back there?” he calls over his shoulder.

“Shut up,” I pant, pushing forward.

He laughs, slowing just enough to match my pace. “You’re getting better.”

“I’m dying.”

“No, you’re not.” He bumps his arm against mine. “One day, you’re gonna love this.”

I glare at him, sweat dripping down my back. “Doubt it.”

But then we go to Italy, and everything shifts.

We run because we’re already there, because it feels right, because some part of me—some stubborn, determined part—wants to prove him right. The streets are quieter in the early morning, the sun just starting to stretch across the sky as we move through small villages and winding hillsides. It’s different here, softer somehow. The air is warm, carrying the scent of citrus and fresh bread from the bakeries just opening up for the day. There’s no urgency, no dodging commuters or stopping at crosswalks, just open road and the steady rhythm of our feet against the earth.

Harry doesn’t speak much when he runs, but I can tell he’s in his element, moving effortlessly like he was made for this. I watch the way his shoulders stay relaxed, the way he breathes in even counts, the way he looks completely at ease, and for the first time, I get it.

At some point, I stop thinking about how much I want to stop and start thinking about how much I want to keep going.

And when Harry turns his head, catching my eye with a knowing smile, I realize he knew this would happen all along.

One evening, long after the sun has set and the warmth of the Italian day has settled into something softer, we sit on the terrace of our rental, sipping wine and watching the lights flicker in the distance. My legs ache, but it’s a good kind of ache, the kind that reminds me of everything we’ve done today, of the miles we’ve put behind us.

Harry stretches his legs out, rolling his shoulders before turning his head toward me. “We should do Tokyo.”

I blink at him, processing. “Do Tokyo?”

“The marathon.” He tilts his glass, watching the wine swirl before looking back at me. “We’ve done all this training. Might as well put it toward something.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “You said that way too casually.”

He grins. “Because I already decided.”

I arch a brow. “You already decided?”

“Mhm.” He takes another sip. “Figured if we’re gonna do a marathon, might as well make a trip out of it. Stay for a bit, sightsee. The weather will be nice.”

I narrow my eyes at him, suspicious. “And when, exactly, did you decide all this?”

A lazy shrug. “Somewhere between mile six and seven today.”

I groan, letting my head fall back against my chair. “I knew that second wind of yours was dangerous.”

Harry laughs, nudging my foot under the table. “Come on, you have to admit it’s a good idea.”

I lift my head, watching him. He’s relaxed, loose-limbed and comfortable in the way he always is when he’s made up his mind. And the worst part? He’s right. It is a good idea.

I sigh, feigning reluctance. “I can’t believe you’re using my own tactics against me.”

His smile grows. “So that’s a yes?”

I shake my head, unable to stop my own grin. “That’s a yes.”

He clinks his glass against mine. “Good. Because I already started looking at flights.”

The decision is made, and just like that, Tokyo becomes the destination, the marathon the reason—but not the only one. Training continues, days blending together with long runs, ice baths, and Harry reminding me that we actually signed up for this.

The trip comes quickly, faster than I expect, and before I know it, we’re stepping off a plane into the crisp Tokyo air, the city sprawling out before us in endless color and movement. It’s different from anywhere we’ve been—bright, electric, alive in a way that feels both overwhelming and exhilarating.

We settle in easily, our days leading up to the marathon filled with late-night ramen stops, temple visits, and walks through neighborhoods that feel like they belong in a different time. Harry’s the one who insists on going to every convenience store we pass, fascinated by the rows of neatly packaged snacks and drinks. I let him, if only because it means I get to watch the way his face lights up every time he finds something new.

“Are you ever gonna eat the food you actually buy,” I tease one night, watching him place yet another snack onto our growing pile.

He grins, unapologetic. “Eventually. Maybe.”

I shake my head, shoving a bag of matcha-flavored candy at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, tossing a Pocky stick into his mouth, “you love me.”

I don’t dignify that with a response, but the corner of my mouth twitches despite myself.

The night before the race, we sit on the floor of our hotel room, stretching out our legs and pretending not to be nervous. Harry leans back on his hands, rolling out his ankles. “You ready?”

I exhale, pressing my palms against my thighs. “I think so.”

He watches me for a beat, then nudges my knee with his. “You’re gonna do great.”

I glance at him. “You sound very sure of that.”

“I am.” His voice is steady, certain. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Something in my chest tightens, but I push past it, knocking my foot against his. “Don’t go leaving me in the dust tomorrow.”

He smirks. “I’d never.”

It’s a lie. He absolutely would.

But for now, I let myself believe him.

The morning of the marathon comes quietly, the city still stretching awake as we make our way to the starting line. The air is crisp, the kind of cool that settles into your lungs without biting. There’s an energy around us, a nervous hum of anticipation that thrums through the thousands of runners gathered, their breath visible in the morning chill.

Harry stands beside me, bouncing on the balls of his feet, loose and ready. He looks completely at ease, like this is just another run, another morning, another challenge he already knows he’ll conquer.

“Last chance to back out,” he teases, tugging lightly on the sleeve of my jacket.

I scoff, shaking out my arms. “Not a chance.”

His grin is wide, proud. “That’s my girl.”

And then the countdown begins, the crowd buzzing, the excitement thick in the air.

Three.

I exhale, steadying my breath.

Two.

Harry shifts beside me, the warmth of him grounding me.

One.

The horn blares, and we run.

Tokyo unfolds around us, the streets lined with spectators, their cheers blending into the steady rhythm of our feet against the pavement. It’s overwhelming and exhilarating all at once, the city alive with movement, the energy unlike anything I’ve ever felt.

Harry stays beside me, keeping pace with effortless ease, checking in with a quick glance, a subtle nod. I feel good, strong even, my body moving in sync with the course, my mind focused.

We pass temples and skyscrapers, bridges stretching over quiet rivers, the neon of Shibuya just a distant blur. The kilometers tick by, each one a small victory, each step bringing us closer to the finish.

And then—

It happens fast.

A misstep, a shift in the pavement, the sudden, sharp twist of my ankle. Pain shoots up my leg, white-hot and immediate, and before I can fully process it, I stumble forward, catching myself just before I hit the ground.

“Shit.”

Harry is there instantly, his hand on my arm, steady, solid. “What happened?”

I clench my jaw, testing my weight. It’s bad.

“I—” I try to step forward and nearly collapse. “—I think I’m done.”

Harry’s face darkens, his grip tightening. “Okay, let’s—”

“No.” I shake my head, inhaling sharply. “You have to keep going.”

His brows furrow, his jaw tightening. “I’m not leaving you here.”

I look at him, my chest rising and falling too fast. “Harry.” My voice softens, pleading. “You have to finish. For me.”

He hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll get to the medical tent, but you need to keep going.” I force a smile, swallowing against the frustration rising in my throat. “You trained too hard for this. You need to finish.”

His jaw clenches, his eyes scanning my face, searching for any reason to stay.

“Please,” I whisper.

A beat. A breath. And then he exhales, nodding once.

“Alright.”

He hesitates for just a second longer before reaching out, cupping the side of my face briefly, his thumb brushing against my cheek. “Don’t move too much, yeah?”

I nod, watching as he pulls away, glancing back one last time before taking off down the course.

A volunteer helps me over to the medical tent, their voice calm as they ask me basic questions—where it hurts, how it happened, if I can still move my foot. I answer automatically, my focus still on the course, my heart still pounding from the rush of adrenaline and frustration.

The tent is efficient, a blur of movement as runners come in and out, quick assessments, ice packs, stretches, taped-up ankles. One of the medics kneels in front of me, carefully rotating my foot as I wince.

“Doesn’t seem broken,” they say, pressing gently along the side of my ankle. “Probably a bad sprain. You’ll need to rest it for a while.”

I nod, barely processing their words as they wrap it up and hand me an ice pack. “Can I still walk on it?”

“Carefully. But you shouldn’t put too much pressure on it.”

I exhale, shifting in my seat. My race is over, but Harry’s isn’t. I glance toward the tent’s entrance, the noise of the marathon still pulsing just beyond it.

“Do you need to call someone?” the medic asks.

I shake my head, gripping the ice pack tighter. “No.”

Because I already know where I need to be.

I thank them quickly, carefully testing my weight before hobbling out of the tent, determination burning through the dull ache in my ankle. I won’t make it to the finish line in time to see him cross, but I’ll be there when he does.

Because if I can’t run this race, I can still be waiting for him at the end.

The journey to the finish line is slow, each step sending a dull ache up my ankle, but I push forward anyway. The marathon course winds through the city, but I take a more direct route, slipping through gaps in the crowd, careful not to put too much weight on my injured foot. My heart beats faster—not from exertion, but from anticipation.

By the time I reach the finish area, the air is thick with celebration. Runners stumble past the line, gasping for breath, clinging to each other in exhausted relief. The crowd swells with applause, cheers rising and falling like waves. I scan the finishers, my gaze moving quickly, searching.

And then I see him.

Harry moves through the last stretch, his strides steady despite the exhaustion weighing on his frame. His curls cling damply to his forehead, his arms pump with one final push, and when he crosses the finish line, his head drops forward, chest heaving as he slows to a stop.

A volunteer approaches, draping a medal over his neck, but he barely reacts. His hands find his hips, his head lifting as he drags in a deep breath—then, as if pulled by something unseen, his gaze shifts, scanning the crowd.

Looking for me.

I don’t move, don’t call his name. I just wait.

His eyes flick from face to face until they land on mine, and the moment they do, his entire body exhales. He doesn’t hesitate.

He moves toward me with purpose, stepping around other runners, dodging spectators without so much as a glance. When he reaches me, his hands find my face before I can say a word, his palms warm and firm, thumbs brushing just beneath my cheekbones. His breathing is still uneven, but his voice is steady when he speaks.

“Are you okay?”

I nod, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. “Yeah.”

His gaze drops to my wrapped ankle, his brows knitting together. “You shouldn’t be standing.”

I huff a soft laugh. “I had to be here.”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I know,” I admit, and it’s quiet, because I know how much he means it.

He lingers, his fingers curling slightly at my jaw like he’s anchoring himself to me. His touch is careful, like he’s making sure I’m real, like he’s still coming down from the high of the race and the low of worry.

Neither of us speaks for a long moment, the noise of the world muffled around us. Then, finally, his lips twitch—not quite a smile, but something softer.

“So…” he murmurs, voice teasing but tired. “Do I get to pick our next stupid challenge?”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that slips through. “Not a chance.”

His chest shakes with a quiet laugh, and though his hands drop from my face, his fingers brush against mine before he steps back.

And even though I didn’t cross the finish line, I don’t feel like I lost.

Because I was here.

[dzvelinaskebiyars]

No because can we talk about team Sabbath? Not to say that they're hot and they're cool but like analyse them?

Can we talk about how they're different from others individually? How they're socially rejected as if they're fundamentally different from normals?

Firstly, Vinny Hong.

He was always discriminated for being different in every way one can be different from someone. His looks- red hair and Heterochromia which is said to be his albinism. He has been bullied for looking differently than what's beauty standard in Korea, for being different from normal people as he was convinced that he's abnormal one. He was also bullied a lot for being a poor, which sets his difference between rich or non poor people and him. He has been picked on a lot because of that and the fact that he was struggling with money affected his character a lot. We saw that society doesn't treat ppl with albinism and/or Heterochromia well, and plus poor people are often victims of bullying. On top of that, he got in troubles a lot and made himself a name "a thug" in school, which again set him apart from rest of students. He's called mad dog. Teachers can't deal with him, adults are having problems with him and etc. He's completely rejected by society. That's why he wants recognition so badly, so that he can deal with his inferiority complex.

Secondly, Hajun a.k.a Joker

Hajun is underground fighter, I think that already sets him apart from most people and most boxers (as they don't fight for underground fights) so that's one difference for you. Even his little brother hates that he's underground fighter, despite the fact that Hajun genuinely seems to like fighting just as cycling but despite that, his love for fighting isn't being accepted by his own family. He's also different from others as a character. For example, his attention span seems to be short and messy as he gets easily distracted. He's in middle of important race but he gets distracted and stops at red light when he actually doesn't have to. No one stopped in entire windbreaker at red light except Hajun. He also stopped to save the puppy during the race and came in last because of that. People were confused because what Hajun was doing was not making sense for them, that it was actually very different from what kind of players they're used to. Plus Hajun, just like Vinny, is facing money problems.

Thirdly, Wooin Yoo

Wooin was rejected by his own family but I think it's also said how people, even now, refuse to admit that he's normal. But first of all, his main issue is his family. Wooin has been trying for years to get recognition from his family, some love and acknowledgement but he never got one, in fact he got redeemed as useless, disappointment, troublemaker punk. All he honestly wanted was recognition from his family, no one else. He was locked up, yes fucking locked up, by his own father and the freedom got ripped away from his hands. I doubt he had much freedom from the beginning anyway. He got locked up for assumingly long time and even if his house was big and even if he was rich, he was extremely lonely. Now, he's seen as weird by people but I honestly think it's because he couldn't develop well due to his abusive family.

Lastly, Hyuk Kwon

We all know why Hyuk is being rejected: his style. He's pro Cyclist, he's really good and talented but unfortunately, he can be aggressive. Like his jack-knife, or how he tried to crush team ghost's member's head with his bike while telling them to die. That's what got him expelled from his previous team.

"i heard Hyuk is kicked out."

"Finally. Everyone who races against him ends up injured haha."

So it's obvious he was rejectec by his own team. If it hasn't been Wooin, he'd probably be dealing with this problem again.

Team Sabbath is being rejected by rest of the teams as well, as other crews don't welcome their style of cycling. But it's like Hummingbird and Sabbath aren't that different, they're both similar to found family but they have different morals.

[zyart-jpg]

a/n: For anon! Here's a little Jay Jo action because I've been writing too much for Wooin, I hope I got your request right! For the Hyuk anon, SEE THIS IS HOW WE SEND POLITE REQS! WE DON'T LINGER ON PEOPLE'S WALLS OR FOLLOW THEM HOME!!!!!!!!!!!

Pairing: Jay Jo x Reader

Summary: Jay doesn't like the way you're even giving the psycho any attention.

Tags: Jealous!Jay, Annoying!Hyuk, Fluff

He doesn’t like it.

The way you keep talking to that bastard like it’s the most natural thing in the world—like it hasn’t even been five minutes since Hyuk slithered into your space, all smug grins and calculated stares, tailing the two of you like a leech with a superiority complex.

“Ugh, why do you keep following Jay? He doesn’t even have his bike!” you snap, glancing over your shoulder at Hyuk, who trails behind like a shadow with teeth.

Jay stays quiet, jaw clenched so tight it aches.

He really doesn’t like it—the ease in your voice when you speak to Hyuk. Sure, you sound annoyed, but you’re still talking. Still engaging. You haven’t shut him down completely the way Jay needs you to.

And Hyuk? He drinks it up. Smirking like he’s cracked some code, like this is a game and he’s already winning. Like Jay’s not even in the picture.

“What’s it to you?” Hyuk shoots back, voice slick with amusement—eyes still locked on you, not even glancing at Jay.

That makes it worse—so much worse.

Because Hyuk doesn’t flirt the way normal people flirt. No—he circles, calculates. Every word is a scalpel, every smile a dare. And right now, he’s looking at you like you’re something to break open and study.

Jay hates it.

He hates the way Hyuk looks at you like you’re a challenge.

He hates that you haven’t completely shoved him off.

And more than anything, he hates the ugly twist in his own chest—tight and sour—because he doesn’t know how to say any of this out loud.

“Stop following us!” you bark, spinning around so fast you nearly bump into Jay, planting yourself in front of him and arms crossing like a shield. “He’s not racing you.”

Hyuk halts, like you’ve given him exactly what he wanted—your full attention.

He tilts his head slowly, lazily dragging his thumb along his bottom lip. “You’re pissed—that’s cute.” he says, voice dipped in syrup and venom.

But Jay catches it—the flicker. A look, not for you, but aimed sharp and sideways at him.

Hyuk leans in slightly, gaze never leaving your face, voice shifting into something slower. He’s still talking to you—but the target is clearly for the other.

“You know,” Hyuk drawls, letting his eyes roam over your face like he’s only now taking you in properly, “you’re actually pretty cute up close.”

He smirks, eyes glinting with mock realization. “Didn’t notice it at first—guess I was too busy wondering why someone like you was wasting time babysitting him through boring bookstore runs.”

He flicks a glance at Jay. Then back at you.

“Guess you’ve got a thing for playing it cute.”

Jay’s nails dig into the strap of his bag while you made an offended noise for the both of you—face scrunched up in a frown towards the other cyclist.

“You’re seriously annoying.” you scoffed, ready to retaliate another retort or to shut him down again.

But Hyuk isn’t done—not even close—he leans in even closer, voice like a whispered secret.

“Am I?” he murmurs. “Or maybe... you just haven’t had someone show you what fun actually looks like.”

Jay stills.

No flinch, no sharp breath—just stillness, like the calm before a storm as he adjusts his bag on his shoulder slowly. 

Fingers flexing—then came his voice, soft and steady:

“Hey.”

You turn to him in question, blinking as his hand wraps around your wrist—gentle, deliberate. Not a tug, just a quiet call for attention.

Your retort to Hyuk vanishes the second Jay pulls you toward him—head lowering to your height as his lips pressed against yours.

It’s not rushed. Not angry. Just slow. Certain. Like he’s finally done pretending he doesn’t care.

You freeze, eyes wide, breath caught in your throat. Heat rushes to your cheeks so fast it makes your head spin. Your hands falter, then clenched into his shirt before you even realize it.

Jay stays steady. Calm. One hand at your jaw, the other still on your wrist—like he’s claiming space, his space—not asking permission.

By the time he pulls away, your lips are parted, heart racing, flustered beyond belief. You can still feel Hyuk watching—but Jay’s eyes never leave yours.

And when he speaks, it’s quiet. Controlled, but sharp enough to cut.

“If you’re gonna stand there like a creep,” Jay says, still not looking at Hyuk, “you might as well enjoy a show.”

Then, finally, his gaze cuts sideways, sharp as a blade.

“Unless you’ve figured out what everyone else already has—you’re not wanted here.”

Hyuk doesn’t respond. The grin falters. Not gone, but cracked at the edges.

Jay doesn’t wait—he slips his fingers from your wrist and drapes his arm casually around your shoulders, guiding you forward like nothing happened.

You let him, still dazed and burning at the edges, too flustered to speak, too stunned to resist the way he pulls you along like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Behind you, Hyuk doesn’t follow.

And this time, Jay doesn’t look back.

MASTERLIST

[kittsyspaw]

✦ ❝ 𝐆-𝐚-𝐧-𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐁-𝐚-𝐧-𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 ❞

𝑆YNO ✦ .ᐟ FWB!Vinny Hong tries to earn you back after noticing you've been slipping away, keeping you as his.

WARNING !¡ mentions of Vinnys break-up, One-shot, friends with benefits, short! HEAVY smut, 'One'-Sided feelings, hard angst, gaslighting and manipulation, vinny also kinda pressuring you back to him, OOC vinny cuz ik he would never

"V'...s-slow...down!"

Thuds from the bed echoed into the deepest corners of Vinnys new high-rise flat as the male forged an entrance into your elastic walls

Your body was tired...and it was only the second round, your muscles stretched into all the positions your acquaintance placed you in. The mewls leaving your throat were out of breath, yes, the current position was Vinny taking you from behind, one of your legs being held by his palm while the other supported you on the sticky sheets, his other hand grasped your shoulder for support.

Suddenly, your head was pushed down against the pillow, silencing all the noises that were forced out of your mouth, it felt too surreal, the squeaking, the insults spitting out of Vinnys lips and his body heat warming you up.

"Oh fuck... Don't fucking cum. Not yet."

Shivers danced down your sides at the boys deep, raspy voice, your nerves catching on and making you squeeze on his hard, angry cock that penetrated you endlessly. Your hips bucked up, away, so you could hold your orgasm as ordered.

You lifted your head up a bit, mouth sobbered with saliva, building a slick string between you and the pillow, tears collecting at your lash line, it was too much. You were gonna cum soon, your insides tightened together, the fire in you flickering to finally turn into huge flames.

The vision you entrusted yourself with was cut short by fingers tangling themselves into your sweat-filled locks, pushing it back to it's original spot. Vinny leaned his body down, hitting you from a new angle that reached spaces inside you that you never knew existed.

"Fucking hell...im not gonna last...just a little longer, yeah?"

The only thing reaching your ears were the groans from Vinny, the squeaking bed mattress, the constant thudding, harshly slapping against each other and the most embarrassing sound of your pussy proving that Vinny was doing a good job, your juices buttering up your pussy.

"! so good..."

You yelped out, the sheet being crumbled underneath your fingers, Vinny sped up, chasing his pleasure. The air was humid, both of you reeked of sex and sweat, you were already tired but Vinny was still energetic, being a cyclist sure came with a lot of stamina, especially since he had been using you to train after he got a new schedule and a specifically modified bike for himself.

"V! Vinny!"

The snug cunt around his cock made Vinny melt on the inside, he felt that knot in his stomach, his chest stuffed while he controlled the way his lungs worked, pacing up a hood breathing technique. His eyes watered, Vinny was hot all over, his whole body felt like he's been standing under a summery sun proudly high in the air.

"God dammit... your thigh is twitching again...keep it inside, don't burst yet... we'll do it together."

Your mind drifted away, leading to thought that had been implanted in your brain for some time. Vinny was only using you, fuck yes, you loved every second that he touched you sensually...so roughly manhandling you after a while ...you were growing tired of it, the constant reminder that Vinny already has someone he's always thinking of.

Yumi. God how badly you want to like her as a friend, maybe if it were a different life, a different circumstance where you didn't harbour harsh feelings for the Redhead that you've known for a while. The heartbreak and depression you went through because of them revealing their relationship on the day you were gonna ask Vinny out was nothing like you.

You kept away. You bottled up these feelings and stayed for yourselves because it was hard, exhausting watching them make out or have insides jokes that brought them closer in other peoples eyes because the only two who understood them were Vinny and Yumi.

Your mind played tricks on you, you blamed everything. Jealousy was a dangerous weapon, you couldn't even look Vinny in the eyes because of the teeth gnawing at your veins every time they held hands.

Until...until that fucking day came. Two months and one day after the reveal of their partnership, Vinny called you in the middle of the night, asking you with a yearning voice to come over to his old, shabby house where he stood alone because his mother was at work.

'I need to get some steam off' he has told you, in your vulnerable state that craved some intimacy, somebody holding you, you went over like an idiot. All because you loved Vinny, it seemed like a win-win to you. Officially, you were marked as a homewrecker that night yet Vinny kept telling you that nothing would happen because you two would stay private about it.

And so, the two of you have been doing this for a while, it's not news. It would've been a huge piece of gossip for his ex-girlfriend, a heartbreaking one at that and you couldn't help it. Vinny suggested the idea of having this type of relationship without her knowing, telling you that it's not her business anymore now because they newly broke up.

The guilt made you drown. The pleasure made you thirst for more. The little joy in you after their breakup was like a reward but the aftermath of your overthinking made you suffocate.

Yes...you won him? Right? After all, they broke up...Vinny found some job and now has a better life in a bigger house that wasn't running down and needing repairing with every harsh move you made.

Everything shattered. Vinny abruptly stopped pouncing at you, his marking hands immediately jumped off your skin to reach his device, the cold air that touched the spots beneath his warm palm made you gasp, you came already? Vinny didn't.

You saw the caller ID that read huge letters of "Yumi ❤️"

Leaving behind no assurance or comforting words, the me stood up from his humid situation, putting on his bathing cloak and walking away to have a private conversation. You just...sat there on the bed, naked on display, humiliated. Was he making fun of you? How easy you were?

Tears ran down your already puffy eyes, you brought up your shaky hands to wipe them away but they were like an open-left sink, streaming down to no end. Your chest heaved up and down overwhelmingly. You felt used, ruined, out of place.

It was your own karma, for scheming in a betrayal against a beautiful woman who was much better than you, after all, Yumi was the one who introduced Vinny all the trick and it made your stomach churn. Did she also have a sex with him? Just like this? Did he treat her in such a crude way too? Probably not. You could imagine how it was filled with wet, sloppy kisses, giggles and laughter leaving their bodies while you stood in a gloomy, pitiless and quick sex that had you troubled walking for a few days.

But...you wanted it, the attention from a male, not just any male, it was Vinny.

He came back minutes after, finding you dressed up in your T-shirt and your panties, about to cover yourself with your jeans.

"Where are you going?"

You flinched at the stern tone coming with the question that quickly reminded you of what you two were in the middle of, the ecstasy was about to end before that phone call, where you probably would've gotten a water bottle before the next round started, classic routine for you.

"just... dressing...i thought you didn't want to–"

Vinny cut you off, placing a gentle pat on top of your head before crouching down in front of you whilst you sat on the sheets that crinkled from your movements . He touched you like you were a feather...with such care, holding your face in his cold hands, the temperature from before dying down when he stood on the balcony

"Baby...look at me, I'm sorry, yeah? It was just a business call from Juwon, don't work up your pretty little head, got it?"

You nodded, too lost against his sudden shift in personality while talking to you, melting at the contact of him on you. Vinny...seemed so happy? Oh but, he just lied to you? It was a call from his ex, is that why? Why he's happy? Not because he likes you?

"V'...i think i wanna stop this friends...with benefits thing...sorry."

The feeling of being scared of what's gonna happen next made you unable to hold eye contact, playing with your fingernails seemed much more interesting to you in the moment of the anticipation for what Vinny was going to reply with.

"Why? Did i do something? If its about the ca–"

Quickly interrupting him, you shook your head, explaining how you were gonna search for an actual relationship because you want to feel loved by somebody, and it was the truth. You craved for it, pathetically so.

"Hey...i still stood with you, even when i was with Yumi, you know that, right? You also agreed to it."

Your heart paced faster, oh, he was right. He did do that for you, ruining his relationship with his girlfriend to have you in his bed at night or when she wasn't there. You broke apart things you weren't supposed to meddle with. "B-but Vinny..." Your vision blurred with bitter tears that slid down your cheek pitifully, the pressure you held from the responsibility was even worse than having to think about the future.

With one attractive red eye and the other black, his gaze was fixated on you, awaiting a response, expecting you to say this was a prank or something. A prank he found ridiculous, Vinny knew how he was manipulating you right now but it was for his benefit, he didn't want you to leave yet. After all, you're trying to slip away from his grasp.

Grinding down on his teeth, he wiped away your waterfall with a sympathetic expression, his red locks tickling your cheeks when he pecked you lips. Your heart rate flared up, your whole body was warm, sweating from the back of your neck when you finally came to the sense of what he did.

V' kissed you.

"...!"

The muscles in your face twitched on their own, showing Vinny a little grin, your brain discarding all the decisions and sad ideas you had right away at the exchange of Vinnys attention for one small peck.

"Get those things out of your little dumb head, mhm? C'mon, i still wasn't finished with you"

Giggling when his hand ran up your thigh, Vinny pushed you back against the mattress, starting over the progress again, remembering that he didn't cum the last round.

You were giddy. On cloud nine, your mood flipped the change with no little review about what just happened, you got your crushes attention. That was everything you needed to lose the consciousness of the fact that you were gonna suggest not doing these meet-ups with Vinny anymore.

Once again, you were lured back into the trap that has been constructed for you, an endless cycle perhaps...But no matter what, you wouldn't be able to stop thinking about the fact that you're always not gonna be the first option. You never were. The second girl that was only taken advantage of for personal satisfaction.

It hurt. Knowing that Vinny would go back in a heartbeat to Yumi if his situation got better, then he would forget all about you, all the situations you had would be long in the past, the past is something you always are over.

•

You were soundly asleep, tags all over your body from the intimacy you explored just a few hours ago, the scratches down Vinny back stung as he watched your peaceful state. The device he held onto to notifying another message, his ex-girlfriend asking to call him, few texts before telling to come over because she missed him.

The redhead leaned back on the mattress, eyes wandering on your figure, it was just what friends did..., sighing out loud, what should he do? Standing up after leaving some pills and a cup of water on the nightstand, Vinny, with heavy guilt, took his keys and closed the door after him, making sure not to wake you up from the slumber you got pounded into.

Yayy i hope you guys liked this, sorryyy i just reallly love Vinny and i also like me some good ass smut-angst

Lyrics taken by NLE Choppa, Song: Gang baby

[modern-inheritance]

Alright alright alright, I know I said I'd stop talking about the citrus/spicy Eragon x Arya I've had ongoing on the side, but I wrote an ending for it that could technically be a good teaser, along with a bit of humor.

I will honor this poll until I deem a suitable time has passed to do another one. Any of this content would be hidden below a 'Read More' though if there are other, better ways to make it easier to keep under lock for those that do indeed wish to see it then I'm all ears.