#reign moore

[k-wame]

Xavier Avila as Ziyad & Kendall Kyndall as Reign Moore 2022 · Á LA CARTE (Allblk Originals) · S1·E06 · Comedy

[charlieconwayy]

SHAWN HUNTER & ANGELA MOORE — 7.14, “I'm Gonna Be Like You, Dad”

[superman86to99]

The Return of Superman 30th Anniversary Special (November 2023)

Whoa! Some sort of chronal disturbance has thrown us from 1994 to the futuristic year 2023, just in time to cover this new special by the entire creative team behind "Reign of the Supermen"... minus Roger Stern and Dennis Janke, but PLUS Jerry Ordway (who left right before "Reign" started in '93). This is a lot like the Death of Superman special released last year, except that instead of featuring four standalone stories, this one has a framing device uniting all the tales.

In the framing story (written by Dan Jurgens and drawn by Travis Moore), the Cyborg Superman comes back to Metropolis and starts attacking S.T.A.R. Labs installations, as if those places haven't been blown up enough times already. Since Perry White is currently in a coma (from, as far as I can tell, not knowing Superman is Clark Kent), it's up to current Daily Planet editor Lois Lane to put together a story on the Cyborg without her mentor's help. Or with a little bit of her mentor's help, since Ron Troupe conveniently pulls out Perry's old journal from the "Reign of the Supermen" days, including his thoughts about the Cyborg.

So, Lois and Ron start reading Perry's notes about the four Supermen who popped up in Metropolis after Superman's death, which leads us to...

"Speed" (by Louise Simonson and Jon Bogdanove)

Despite the "Perry's notes" framing device, this story is actually told by Ron as he remembers the first time he saw Steel. Ron is leaving for work one morning and everyone in his neighborhood is talking about which of the four Supermen is the real deal. A lady called Mama Bess (who I initially mistook for Myra the Orphanage Lady because she's also big and black and surrounded by little kids) says they're all posers, including Steel, because none of them are around when you need them. Then some gangbangers drive by the neighborhood with a Toastmaster gun, and guess who drops by to save everyone's asses? Not Batman.

Mama Bess recognizes Steel's voice ("rich an' dark as Memphis honey") as belonging to that guy who was running around Metropolis helping people in crumbling buildings while Superman and Doomsday were tearing up the town, as seen in the Death special. While Steel fights the gangbangers, Ron calls Perry, who tells him to keep that lady talking so they can learn as much as possible about the mysterious armored Superman. Hey, is that Mike Carlin in the Planet offices below, to the left of adorably skinny Jimmy Olsen?

Steel prevails over the evildoers and the neighborhood kids rush in to proclaim him as the one true Superman. The best part of the story, for me, is when a little kid picks up a Toastmaster laying on the street and says he can use it to stop the bad guys, but Steel says that's a weapon for bad guys (he'd know, he designed them). Then he replaces it with an old school Game Boy and breaks the gun, Dark Knight Returns-style.

Steel tells everyone he's not Superman, he's just a dude trying to help, but Mama Bess still insists on making him a new cape to replace the one that got torn up in the fight. Ron concludes his report saying that this guy isn't the real Superman, "but maybe he was the next best thing."

"He Had Me Thinking He Was Superman" (by Jerry Ordway)

Jerry Ordway fills in for Roger Stern and Jackson Guice (who at least has a pin-up in this issue) and, man, I never knew how much I needed to see Ordway draw the Eradicator until now. In this story, Perry stumbles upon a standoff between Maggie Sawyer's Special Crimes Unit and the most violent yet Spock-like of the four Supermen, who's holding an armored goon hostage as he interrogates him.

Maggie kindly kicks Perry out of the active crime scene, but he sticks around and decides to solve this situation via the power of journalism. First, Perry talks to a warehouse worker (who kinda looks like an Amalgam of High Pockets and Lamarr) and learns about a nearby entrance to a rumored Intergang hideout. Then, he uses a radio scanner to find the frequency the goons' friends are using to communicate. He tries to tell Maggie about this, but the Superman Formerly Known As The Eradicator grabs Perry and flies off with him to find out what he knows. Perry says he'll tell him if he promises to stop being such a psychopath for a moment.

Thanks to Perry's information, the Eradicator finds the other armored goons, who are moving weapons from an abandoned Intergang cache. The Eradicator violently (but non-lethally, as promised) encourages the goons to renounce their criminal ways, and then locates the mastermind behind this operation, who turns out to be... no, not freakin' Psi-Phon and Dreadnaught, but close enough: Professor Killgrave! You know, that little twerp with the Moe haircut who once trapped Superman in an amusement park full of killer robots. Having seen how the Eradicator dealt with his hired goons, Killgrave eagerly gives himself up to the authorities.

As the Eradicator flies away from the underground base, he carelessly sends some debris flying off which almost hits some bystanders and ruins Perry's car. So, the Eradicator fulfills his promise to Perry that he wouldn't kill anyone, but Perry decides he can't keep his side of the deal, which was to tell the Planet's readers that "they have nothing to fear" from this dangerous maniac.

"The Metropolis Kid" (by Karl Kesel, Tom Grummett, and Doug Hazlewood)

This story provides the secret origin for several Superboy-related elements: the name "The Metropolis Kid" (which never made a lot of sense to me), that iconic pinup of Superboy saving a lady in a bath towel, and Mack Harlin, a recurring character who first appeared in the Superboy series in 1995. Turns out he was a Metropolis cabbie before he somehow became a truant officer in Hawaii. Note that Mack also counts as the second Mike Carlin cameo in this issue.

(Wonder if the ride was $6,50?)

In the story, Perry witnesses the moment when Don't Call Me Superboy saves that towel lady from a building fire (which she didn't notice due to her love of '90s rock, waterproof earbuds, and long, hot showers). Tana Moon's photo of that moment goes viral on Tweeter, FaceSpace, and, yes, even Insta-image, turning Not-Superboy into a social media sensation. The official story is that the Kid is Superman's clone, but Perry doesn't seem convinced. He uses his journalistic powers to find Not-Superboy at a local skate park where he hangs out. Interestingly, Perry briefly wonders if the Kid reminds him of his late son, Jerry, before dismissing the idea. I wonder if that's Kesel commenting on a certain 2000s retcon that made Superboy and Jerry biological half-brothers...

While Perry watches the Kid being a kid, he's suddenly attacked by Bloodsport -- the original one from John Byrne's Superman #4, who just busted out of jail, and not the racist wannabe. Instead of teleporting guns into his hands, this time Bloodsport is wearing a "weapons suit" that allows him to quickly assemble them on the fly. One of the guns hits Not-Superboy pretty hard, but the persistent little bugger gets up and somehow manages to disassemble Bloodsport's suit just by touching it.

As Perry later determines, Bloodsport thought the bullets would kill Not-Superboy because they were coated with a tiny bit of kryptonite, but it didn't seem to have an effect on him. That's when Perry realizes who the Kid reminds him of, with his brash attitude, big heart, endless energy, and massive potential: not Jerry (ouch), but Metropolis itself. Hence, the Metropolis Kid. Eh, I'll take it.

"Betrayal" (by Dan Jurgens and Brett Breeding)

This one begins between the pages of Superman #79, after the Cyborg Superman saves the President from terrorists but before the Planet publishes Ron's soon-to-be-infamous front page proclaiming "SUPERMAN IS BACK!" How could Perry let that story through? As it turns out, at first he didn't wanna. Perry tells Ron he needs way more proof that the Cyborg is the real Superman. That proof sorta falls on his lap when the train Perry is riding gets derailed and the Cyborg heroically saves everyone. That, plus the Secret Service vouching for this guy, are enough to convince Perry that he's definitely Superman and not an evil impostor or something.

(Note that the story makes sure to mention the "living former presidents" happened to be at the White House when the Cyborg dropped by, explaining why the Planet's front page shows Bill Clinton and not, uh, whoever was President in the DCU "a few years ago.")

So, Perry goes ahead with Ron's front page story... only for the Superman he endorsed to turn around and murder 7 million people in Coast City. Whoops. Continuity quibble: this story makes it sound like the Cyborg was immediately revealed as Coast City's murderer, when in fact he fooled everyone into thinking it was the Eradicator for several days, but maybe Perry saw through it right away because he's just THAT good of a journalist.

Perry feels awful about that front page, especially when it emerges that the Cyborg and some big yellow guy called Mongul are turning Coast City's crater into a giant engine to turn Earth into a sort of Death Star. Just when Perry is at his lowest point, Lois tells him that another Superman showed up in a Kryptonian battle armor, and this time she just knows he's the real deal (because she made out with him, but she doesn't mention that).

We see the rest of the storyline (the assault on Engine City, the Cyborg's defeat) from Perry's perspective, and once Superman is back in Metropolis, Perry tells him how sorry he is for that headline. Superman's like "nah, don't sweat it, honest mistake" and actually thanks Perry for always reporting on him with honesty over the years. Moral of the story: trust Lois, double-check Ron.

"Legacy" (by Dan Jurgens, Travis Moore, and briefly all the others)

Meanwhile, in the framing story, Superboy, Steel, and a recently-rebooted, non-evil Eradicator (or his Phantom Zone ghost, anyway) show up to stop their old pal the Cyborg, since Superman is currently in space. We learn that the Cyborg has been hitting S.T.A.R. facilities because he wants to retrieve the DNA of his three astronaut friends who were mutated into freaks during the fantastic incident that gave him his powers, so he can bring them all back to life. The Supermen understandably assume that he's building some sort of weapon and try to stop him, but he's defeated all of them before and does it again.

Royally pissed that these meddling Supermen messed with his plans, the Cyborg notices their fight left some exposed gas lines in the middle of Metropolis and is about to use them to indulge in his favorite hobby: blowing up entire cities. Luckily, the Eradicator uses some of Steel's tech to make his hologram self solid enough to whip out a Phantom Zone projector and suck the Cyborg into his ghostly prison.

As soon as the day is saved, Superman flies down and reveals that he'd been watching all along but didn't intervene because he had confidence in his boys. Everyone shares a nice little moment, until the Eradicator makes it awkward with his talk of "Kryptonian purity."

The issue ends with Lois reading a passage from Perry's journal about how Superman inspired others to be better, even in his absence. She hopes she's able to tell Perry that the same thing is true about him, because "you are our Superman." Well, their other Superman.

Like the Death special, this is an excellent excuse for these legendary creators to play with their most famous toys again, and I wouldn't mind seeing one of these a year (Battle for Metropolis 30th Anniversary Special, anyone?). I kinda wish the Supermen had been introduced more gradually/dramatically in the framing story, building up to a grand reunion, instead of being like "oh hey, there they are," but that's a minor complaint and doesn't detract much from this massive labor of love. However, there's one thing I can't forgive: still no Bibbo. -1/10.

Fun fact, my co-host Don Sparrow and I agreed we'd make this post much shorter than the insanely long one we did for the previous special, and it ended up being... about 10% shorter. Woo! We did it! See Don's take after the jump:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

We begin with the cover, and it’s a great piece from the formidable team of Jurgens and Breeding. We’ve mentioned in the past the rumour that there had been a falling out between this pencil and ink team in years past, so seeing their layouts and finishes together sure feels like a treat.  The composition is reminiscent of the image we used to have as the background on this very blog.  I must say, I’m not a fan of the colouring technique employed here by Elizabeth Breitweister, which looks a little flat and scribbly for my tastes.  The sky in particular just looks like a photograph with the contrast turned way up, and then colour filled, and doesn’t really work for me.  But that’s just my opinion, I’m sure the colouring approach to this cover has many modern fans.

Inside the main through-line story is by Travis Moore, and it’s mostly quite well done, if a little stiff in places.  He has a great handle on Lois Lane, and the "Reign of the Supermen" splash on page 5 is a particular highlight.  I’m less enchanted with the modern-day Cyborg Superman, particularly the torn sleeve on his right arm, and the missing belt buckle.  There’s generally a simplicity to the complex robotic parts that doesn’t work as well as other incarnations we’ve seen of the Cyborg Superman.

The next sequence, a reminiscence of Steel’s early days is a great showcase of Jon Bogdanove’s late style, some of which we saw in the “Retroactive” throwbacks of 2011.  While Bog still employs his cartoonish rendering, the figures are generally tighter and smaller on the page than his '90s work.  Fittingly, given the extra attention paid to Metropolis’ diversity in the pages of Superman: The Man of Steel, this story makes good use of a predominantly black Metropolis neighbourhood.  While I’ve never fully warmed to Ron Troupe as a character, this story does give him some background, showing his neighbourhood and living situation in a way that wasn’t covered by his appearances in the '90s. (As Ron is heading to work, he’s wearing a suit and tie, though I would have loved a callback to his famed JAM sweatshirt, first appearing in the story that THIS story refers to, where Ron is involved in the verification of the Cyborg Superman as the “one true Superman”).  There’s a terrific image of John Henry Irons flying at the camera on Page 11...

...and another of him destroying a toastmaster weapon on page 16 that is a standout, featuring Bog’s unique method of hatching to denote the shine of chrome.  Including something like a smartphone, as they do on page 16, is an effective way of moving the story up in time, so that Lois Lane isn’t in (at least) her fifties, having covered Superman’s return in 1994.  The involvement of specific Presidents later in the book hamper that slightly, but overall they do a good job of keeping it nebulous.

It was difficult to pick a favourite sequence, but I have to give it to the Jerry Ordway Eradicator story.  It’s interesting to see a story by Jerry with this character, who was mostly covered by other writers (indeed, Jerry was off the books immediately after Adventures #500) and artists.  Ordway hasn’t lost much zip on his fastball, as the entire story employs the usual dynamic realism and well-observed textures that we’ve come to appreciate in his work.  Perry looks like himself throughout, though he reminds me of Rodney Dangerfield in the one panel of him playing with his analog walky-talky.  The Eradicator’s costume has always been a terrific design, and he looks so cool as he searches for the rest of the baddies in an underground lair. 

Later in the story, the image of the Last Son melting through the getaway car is an extremely tall order art-wise, and again Jerry doesn’t disappoint.  As one of the two biggest fans of the triangle era, I was overjoyed to see an old-school villain like Killgrave in these pages as well.

We’re similarly treated to another original triangle era villain in the Kesel-Grummett-Hazlewood section, where Kon-El throws down with Bloodsport.  While it may feel like rehash to some readers of this blog, it’s been decades since readers have seen “The Metropolis Kid” rescue Ms. Sheenan, so it’s an appreciated callback.  Lots of great stuff here, but none I like more than Superboy shredding on a skateboard—a TOTALLY RAD moment, if ever.

The next section, like the cover, is something of a missed opportunity.  Again, we have a stellar pairing of Jurgens and Breeding, but the art is let down by what I would say is incompatible colouring.  Most of the tones are good, but the details begin to compete with the linework underneath, especially as the digital brushstrokes get scribbly, as they are on the arm of the Cyborg Superman on the title page, or perhaps worst of all, the should-be-impactful moment of the one true Kal-El emerging on Metropolis harbour.  Superman is depicted red-nosed throughout, and the rendering is sketchy, where even flat colour might have given us a better look at the inks below.  I get the feeling it’s all intentional—an attempt at a more painterly style, perhaps to denote that it’s a flashback.  But it was a miss for me—even though I always love seeing Mongul kissing the Cyborg’s hand. [Max: He does have a very handsome hand.]

Next to Ordway’s chapter, the high point of the book is where the triangle era super-team switch, page to page, in order to tell the story.  First with Jurgens and Breeding (with a less distracting colouring job), then Bogdanove, then Ordway, and finally Grummett and Hazelwood.  Interestingly, the classic Superman plays no role in the fight, showing up only at the end, in an echo of the original storyline. 

Finally, there’s a pin-up section, with some real standouts.  While the Stern/Guice team didn’t get their own chapter in the book, that title is represented with a great image of the survival suit Superman taking flight in front of the Daily Planet.  The comics logic part of my brain can’t help but notice he’s NOT wearing the Lexcorp flight boots in this image, and wasn’t able to fly under his own power in this suit, but I’m resisting pointing that out.  The Daniel Sampere pinup is another nice, simple image but again I quibble, as the survival suit Superman had no cape.  Is that maybe the Cyborg’s cape?  It was also deeply cool to see all the trade dress and character logos at the back of that section. [Max: And the Kerry Gammill/José Luis García López promo image! Been a while since we've seen Gammill in this blog so that was a nice surprise for me.]

SPEEDING BULLETS:

I love that this story showcases Perry White’s regret about running Ron’s story that lent credibility to the murderous Cyborg Superman.  They never really dealt with the journalistic repercussions of that within the story, so I love seeing an added dimension through this new narrative.  They also absolve the Clintons more specifically, as the Cyborg notes that all Presidents vouched for his veracity, so it wasn’t just slick Willie who got it wrong.

I realize the Travis Moore pages are mainly a narrative device to set up the flashbacks, but there’s something off about someone as deadly as the Cyborg just aimlessly shooting up the city.  As we saw when he took Doomsday’s body in Superman #78, with his power set, and technological ability, Henshaw can get in and out of a very secure place with speed and stealth, none of which do we see here.  The dissonance isn’t helped by the art, which shows very empty streets for a usually crowded literal Metropolis. 

The use of Perry White’s diaries as a framework for the flashbacks is a super idea, and puts a beloved character at the center of the issue, even if he’s physically absent in current day comics.  (Having dropped the super-books during the Bendis run, I confess I was a little lost on that score.)

Not familiar with the skateboard term “Grommet” but it pays off on the last page of the section as Superboy gives a skateboard to “Tommy the Grommet” in a shoutout to artist Tom Grummett.

The idea of the Cyborg resurrecting the rest of his crew is an intriguing one, and it does make me wonder what an insane mirror image Fantastic Four would be like as opponents of Superman.  Certainly it would even up the odds a little, as the Super squad we see in these pages had no trouble handling Henshaw on his own. [Max: I like that idea. Call them the Tragic Four.]

Overall I think I liked the Death anniversary issue a little more, as the story felt a bit more urgent than just window-dressing for flashbacks.  But both are like meeting an old friend after a long time.  This really was a high-water mark for Superman stories, and for comics in general.

[deviiancetv]

Someone asked me on IG who were my celebrity crushes. These are a handful of them, I have more but most of them I don’t want to share.

[blackqueernotables]

Black Trans Actresses we LOVE!

[horizon-verizon]

King Jaehaerys, who was forever entertaining visiting lords or envoys from across the narrow sea, sitting at council, or planning further roads, was well pleased. They would not need to scour the realm to find a match for Saera, when three such promising young men were here at hand. Queen Alysanne was less convinced. “Saera is clever, but not wise,” she told the king. Lady Perianne and Lady Alys were pretty, vapid, empty-headed little fools from what she had seen of them, whilst Connington and Mooton were callow boys. “And I do not like this Stinger. I’ve heard he sired a bastard in the Reach, and another here in King’s Landing.” Jaehaerys remained unconcerned. “It is not as if Saera were ever alone with any of them. There are always people about, serving men and maids, grooms and men-at-arms. What mischief can they get up to with so many eyes around them?” He did not like the answer, when it came.

Fire and Blood, by George R.R. Martin, pg 317

[krafty-page-chronicles]

C.A.P.S. Contributor of the Year

C.A.P.S. Contributor of the Year

A Heartfelt Thank You I want to take a moment to personally thank you for being the heart and soul of C.A.P.S. this year, earning the well-deserved title of Contributor of the Year. Your creativity, dedication, and genuine love for what we’re building have not only inspired everyone in our group but have also been a huge asset to KVI Network Creations and Krafty Page Chronicles. Whether through…

[thesamoanqueen]

the definitive heel move is showing a portion of his knee and nothing else

This fucking man I’m cryinggg

[heartsings77]

The True Meaning of Christmas...

We Three Kings... We three kings of Orient are Bearing gifts we traverse afar Field and fountain, moor and mountain Following yonder star

O Star of wonder, star of night Star with royal beauty bright Westward leading, still proceeding Guide us to Thy perfect light

Born a King on Bethlehem’s plain Gold I bring to crown Him again King forever, ceasing never Over us all to reign

[linnitheo]

The Speed of Love

Max Verstappen X Y/N

Y/N POV

The hum of engines filled the air, vibrating through my chest. The sun beat down on the streets of Monaco, casting long shadows between the narrow alleys and gleaming off the luxury yachts moored nearby. The Monaco Grand Prix—the crown jewel of Formula 1. A perfect blend of speed, glamour, and danger.

I adjusted my lanyard, the one that read VIP with Max Verstappen’s name under it. It still felt surreal being here, not just as a spectator but as someone close to Max—closer than the world knew.

I wasn’t just here for the race; I was here for him. The reigning world champion, Red Bull’s finest. But to me, Max was more than that. He was Max, the guy who made me laugh after long days, the guy who called me at odd hours from different time zones just to hear my voice, the guy who looked at me like I was his entire world even with millions of fans screaming his name.

Our relationship wasn’t public. Max wanted to keep it that way—out of the spotlight, away from the media frenzy. And honestly, I didn’t mind. In fact, I preferred it. It was a lot easier to be “Y/N” rather than “Max Verstappen’s girlfriend.”

I slipped into the VIP lounge, a little early for the race, the excitement thrumming in the air. The usual suspects were all here—other drivers' families, sponsors, and some celebrities. But my eyes kept flicking toward the pit lane, where I knew Max was getting ready for the biggest race of the year.

As I watched the screens showing the chaotic energy in the paddock, my phone buzzed.

Max: “You in the lounge?”

Me: “Yeah. All set for your victory?”

Max: “Always. Want to see you before the race starts. Meet me near the garage?”

I felt my heart skip a beat. Even though we tried to keep it low-key, moments like these made it clear how much he cared. Glancing around to make sure no one would follow me, I made my way through the crowd, passing the Red Bull hospitality area and the rows of sleek, gleaming cars.

As I approached the garage, I spotted him—leaning casually against the wall, helmet in hand, looking like the calm before the storm. His eyes lit up when he saw me, that signature crooked smile spreading across his face.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low but warm as he closed the distance between us.

“You shouldn’t be distracting yourself before the race,” I teased, though my heart was racing.

“Couldn’t help it,” he murmured, eyes tracing my face. “You’re my good luck charm.”

“Really? Haven’t I been around for a few races you didn’t win?” I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep it light.

He laughed softly, his free hand reaching up to brush a stray hair behind my ear. “Maybe. But today feels different.”

There was a fire in his eyes—one that spoke of more than just his love for racing. There was something unspoken between us, the weight of his words lingering in the air.

“Good luck out there,” I whispered, resisting the urge to kiss him. There were too many eyes, too many cameras nearby.

“I’ll see you after the race,” he promised, voice husky as he pulled back and slipped his helmet on, instantly transforming from Max to Verstappen.

Max POV

The roar of the crowd was drowned out by the sound of the engine beneath me. Monaco. There was no room for mistakes here. One slip and it could be all over. But that’s why I loved it. The adrenaline, the precision, the danger. It’s what made me feel alive.

But even as I steered through the narrow streets, threading the car through barriers with millimeters to spare, my mind kept drifting to her. Y/N. She had this way of grounding me, of making the chaos of F1 fade into the background, even if just for a moment.

She was my escape, my reason to keep pushing harder, to keep winning. Because when I crossed that finish line first, it wasn’t just for me—it was for her.

The race was tight—Ferraris and Mercedes breathing down my neck, the pressure building as the laps ticked down. The walls seemed to close in, but I didn’t waver. I couldn’t afford to.

Lap 67. A yellow flag came up—some debris on the track after a crash behind me. I could hear my engineer’s voice crackling through the radio, but I barely registered it. My focus was singular. I could almost picture Y/N waiting in the paddock, her wide smile the moment I stepped out of the car.

The last corner approached. My tires screamed, the G-forces tugging at my body as I navigated the final hairpin. The finish line was in sight.

I punched it, every ounce of power surging through the car as I crossed the line first. Victory.

Y/N POV

The explosion of noise was deafening as Max’s car crossed the finish line. He did it. Again.

The rest of the world erupted in celebration, but all I could think about was seeing him. I hurried down from the lounge, making my way through the throngs of fans and team members. The Red Bull garage was a frenzy of high-fives and champagne, but I stayed on the outskirts, waiting for him.

And then I saw him. Helmet off, sweaty, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Max was enveloped by his team, but his eyes scanned the crowd until they locked onto mine.

Without thinking, he pushed through the crowd and grabbed my hand, pulling me into a corner, away from prying eyes. The next thing I knew, his lips were on mine—fast, hungry, full of adrenaline. I could taste the sweat and champagne on his lips, but I didn’t care.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, and he was breathing hard—not from the race, but from the intensity between us.

“I told you,” he whispered, still catching his breath. “You’re my good luck charm.”

Max POV

Her lips against mine—it was the only thing I needed after that race. I could feel the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, but it wasn’t from the win. It was from her. She had this way of making me forget everything. The noise, the pressure, the world outside. When I was with her, it was just us.

But there was something more tonight. Something I couldn’t put off any longer.

“Y/N,” I started, taking her hand in mine as I led her away from the chaos, toward the back of the paddock. “I’ve been thinking…”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly curious but also a little cautious. “About what?”

“This,” I gestured between us. “I don’t want to hide it anymore. I don’t want to keep you a secret. You’re more than just someone I care about. You’re…” I hesitated, trying to find the right words. “You’re everything.”

Her eyes widened, and I could see the emotions warring inside her. But before she could say anything, I pressed on.

“I know it’s a lot—the media, the pressure. But I don’t care about that anymore. I want the world to know you’re mine.”

Y/N POV

I was speechless. Max Verstappen, the man who had kept our relationship out of the spotlight to protect me, was now saying he wanted to go public. I knew what it meant—the scrutiny, the paparazzi, the endless questions. But looking into his eyes, full of certainty and love, I realized something.

I didn’t care either. Not anymore.

“I’m in,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the distant cheers. “I’m all in.”

Max smiled, that rare, genuine smile that made my heart skip a beat. “Good,” he said, pulling me close once more. “Because I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.”

As the night of celebrations continued, we slipped away from the crowd, the world beyond the paddock melting away. Max and I walked down to the harbor, the twinkling lights reflecting off the calm water.

“Race you to the end of the dock?” he teased, that competitive glint back in his eye.

I laughed, already running before he could finish. Max caught up to me in seconds, his laughter mixing with mine as he scooped me up, spinning me around.

In that moment, there was no pressure, no danger. Just us.

And for once, it felt like I had won the race.

The End

[jexnkookie]

The Law of Attraction (Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader) [Part 12]

Story Synopsis: Throughout his life, Jung Kook has only ever loved one girl. Despite her being out of his league and of an elite class that he wasn't born into, he fell hard, keeping his feelings a closely guarded secret. When they parted ways, and Jung Kook pursued his law career, he did so with the intent of moving on. But when she unexpectedly arrives back into his life, Jung Kook finds himself once again face to face with his own insecurities, and the girl of his dreams.

Story Rating: M (18+) [Language, sex, depression, alcoholism]

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Characters/Pairings: Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader (feat. Jimin x Reader)

Chapter Word Count: 2.4k

Taglist: @cassies-cookies @crisle19 @dream-cvtcher @jimincrystal @jksusawife @jk-190811 @khadeeeeej @kooklovee @lalataegi @lallataegi @mukeovernetflix @rispwn @shellyyy177 @smoljimjim @taetaecatbo @user-190811 @whoa-jo @11thenightwemet11

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (Coming Soon)

Series Masterlist

“I think I’ll let you start our conversation today. Whatever you’d like to talk about. I want you to take the reigns.” 

Dr. Moore’s voice was calm and quiet, but it did nothing to soothe the ache in Jimin’s head, and in his heart. He sat in her office chair, like a scolded child, completely embarrassed of his actions. This was a new low, and it was a wake up call when Taehyung held on to him as he stumbled back to the treatment center in the cold rain. Finding the bottom of the bottle didn’t erase his memory of the look on your face. You were so afraid, fear written on every feature of your face, illuminated by the bar’s neon lights, and he did nothing to even attempt to comfort you. Even he was a mess, tripping over himself and slurring his words, you chose to run to Jung Kook and make sure he was ok instead. Jimin knew, in that moment, that he had lost you. He had used up all of your patience, and what he found was his true rock bottom. 

“I don’t know what to do anymore.” Jimin admitted. “I wanted to be sober for Y/N. But, I know she’s not mine anymore. I… I can’t talk about last night. I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t want to talk about it?” Dr. Moore asked, and Jimin nodded his head. 

“I’m afraid.” He said. “I’m scared to tell my father.” 

“Is that your biggest fear right now?” 

Jimin thinks for a moment, and he nods his head. 

“He’s going to be so angry with me, knowing that I lost her. He was very happy about our engagement… Losing her was my biggest fear, but I know there’s nothing I can do about that now.” 

“Why was losing Y/N your biggest fear?” 

“Because,” Jimin started, a bit offended. “She’s the love of my life.” 

“But now that she’s gone… Your fear is placed back on your father.” 

Jimin furrowed his brows and crossed his arms defensively, not understanding her thought process. 

“Please correct me if you think that I’m off base, but have you thought that maybe, you weren’t afraid of Y/N leaving because of the love you have for her, but because if she left, it would mean disappointment from your father?” 

Jimin’s lips parted to protest, but the words were caught in his mouth. He knew that the heart of what Dr. Moore was trying to point out was true. He loved you, undoubtedly, more than he’s ever loved anyone else. But the root of that fear, much like every other fear in his life, is his father’s disappointment. Parks get what they want. But Jimin didn’t get what he wanted, not this time. His father wouldn’t accept that. 

“During our conversations together, Jimin,” Dr. Moore began, leaning in to focus on him. “Something you bring up time and time again, is your fear of your father. It’s an insecurity of displeasing him. It’s what made you angry with your mother’s death, what clings you to Y/N, what began your drinking. You look for ways to escape, or to never be left alone with him. That fear is what we should conquer. Everything else is secondary, and can’t be fixed on their own, without tackling that fear.” 

It clicked. For the first time in Jimin’s life, the puzzle pieces were put into place. He was more terrified, and more heart broken, than he had ever felt in his life, but with it came a new kind of freedom. 

Jimin spoke with her for a few more moments, attempting to articulate those emotions, and Dr. Moore just smiled supportively. As he worked his emotions out verbally, he could begin to untangle the web of connections. He left her office feeling just a bit lighter. The pain of losing you was still burning, fresh and hot in the center of his chest, and the threat of tears was ever present. But being able to lay out exactly what he needed to unravel inside himself, gave him a new pathway to happiness that could be more lasting. He wanted what was best for you, and he knew very clearly now that it wasn’t going to be him. He still had a long, long way to go. 

——————————————————————————————————- 

Jung Kook walked into his apartment after a long day of work, and noticed a sticky note on the kitchen counter. Your handwriting spelled out, “Wanted to go out for a bit. I’ll be back soon! :)” 

He smiled to himself at the little smiley face at the end as he walked towards his bedroom, and changed out of his suit and into something more comfortable. He took the time alone to video call his mother, who he hadn’t been able to speak in length to. 

“Hi, Eomma.” Jung Kook greeted her. 

“Oh, I missed you.” She said with a sad chuckle. “How do you like it there?” 

“I do.” He replied, looking out the window onto the city. “But I do miss home, of course. It’s hard not to.” 

“Home misses you, too.” She said. “But you must be so busy with work, aren't you?” 

“Very much.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Eomma, do you remember… Do you remember Y/N?” 

“The girl you talked so much about?” Jung Kook could practically hear her smile over the phone. “Yes, I remember hearing about her.” 

“You won’t believe what’s happened.” He said, laying back onto his bed. 

As he continued to explain to her everything that’s happened, he was oblivious to your presence in the living room, right outside of his bedroom. You had come home from a solo shopping day, and you placed your bags on the coffee table in front of the sofa. You were excited to show Jung Kook your gift for him, as a thank you for all that he’s done for you. But as you walked towards his bedroom door, and heard him on the phone, you couldn’t help but stop when you overheard what he was saying. 

“She’s the only girl I’ve ever wanted, Eomma.” Jung Kook said. “You know that.” 

“I do.” She smiled sweetly. “I still remember how you came home from Seoul after breaking off your engagement, and you told me you just couldn’t go through with it. You were so upset for hurting her, but you did the right thing by being honest.” 

“I didn’t even think I’d ever see Y/N again.” He admitted. “I just… I couldn’t get married, knowing I had feelings for Y/N. I know those feelings are never going away.” 

You snuck away to your bedroom, with your breath caught in your lungs. You had already known that Jung Kook had left his engagement because of how he felt for you, but hearing him say that those feelings are something that he thinks will never leave, set an indescribable feeling in your chest. Maybe it was just butterflies, or maybe it was a newfound sense of hope, that there was a lasting calm to be found after weathering the storm. You turned your attention to the bouquet of flowers he had given you, somehow still vividly colorful and in bloom by your beside. Red and pinks painted onto the soft petals, somehow still not wilted. It was a reminder that if you take care of something seemingly delicate, it can be strong. 

“Y/N?” Jung Kook asked from the living room, breaking your thoughts. “You home?” 

Home. That word wasn’t lost on you. 

His voice was the same, but it sounded sweeter somehow. It lingered, taking it’s time and resting comfortably in the room. Your feet took over, throwing themselves onto the apartment’s hardwood floor, and rushing over to find him. He stood in the living room, same stars sparkling in his dark eyes that you’ve become so familiar with. You walked over to him, and took him by surprise when you wrapped your arms around him, and rested your head on his chest. His eyes widened, thinking that maybe something else bad had happened, but no tears came. Instead, you just held him, and he rested into your touch, putting his arms around you too. 

“Hi.” He smiled, before placing a kiss to your hair. “Missed you today.” 

“I’m really happy you’re here.” You said, looking up at him without letting go. "Thank you.” 

Jung Kook’s gaze became incredibly soft and gentle. He knew in that instant, that he had become a safe place for you to run to. So, he kept his arms around you, and somehow managed to pull you in closer, before connecting his lips to yours. Every movement was a promise; the smile he felt your lips turn into as he kissed them, the way his hands traced your curves, how your fingers found his hair to pull him in. They were all promises of a better, but undefined future. Jung Kook knew you wouldn’t leave him lonely anymore, and he knew you understood that he was yours. You just had to let him in. 

—————————————————————————————————

A few days passed, and during that time, you worked up the nerve to meet Jimin again. You knew that what you would receive when you met him, was closure. It was the inevitability that you were somehow hoping to avoid. 

Love doesn’t die all at once. It’s an unhurried death, with shallow breaths and the slowing of hearts. And like everything else, no two loves die in exactly the same way, because no two loves are ever the same. You didn’t want to know how your love with Jimin would end, but you knew that in order to start again, this was a step you had to take. 

When you walked in to meet Jimin, as you had done so many times before, you were taken aback. He sat alone, with an aura of peace in his presence that hadn’t been there for as long as you could remember. He looked at you, and he offered a gentle, knowing half-smile. He could feel love’s slow death too, and much like you, he was in the final stage of mourning. Acceptance. 

You sat down in the meeting room, sharing his company on a soft, blue sofa. The air was fragile, and both of you were aware of its unpreventable breaking. Jimin’s knee touched yours, as you sat close together on the edge of the cushions. He wondered silently if that was the last time he would ever touch you. 

“Do you remember,” Jimin spoke up, breaking the silence. “How my mother would watch you whenever you jumped off the diving board into your pool, and then try to convince me to do the same?” 

“Yeah.” You smiled at the memory. “Mrs. Park would always comment to my mother that I was fearless.” 

Jimin laughed with a tinge of sadness, his eyes beginning to water. 

“And there I was, shaking as I climbed the latter.” He said. “She watched me, and when I stood up there, looking back down at her, I was so scared. But Eomma would give me a nod, and a smile, and a thumbs up. It was enough to get me to jump, and once I hit the water… I realized, every time, that I never drown, or sunk to the bottom. I always managed to swim back up.” 

You watched Jimin as he spoke, but his eyes never met yours as he told his story. He looked down at the floor, as though he could visualize the pool below him. Jimin transformed in his mind to that scared kid once again, looking down at his mother, who stood right by the water and knew he could make it. 

“I think what she was teaching me, is that I don’t have to be afraid to jump.” Jimin said. “I think she knew that no matter what, I would always find a way to… swim back up again.” 

“I think so, too.” You smiled, and took his hand in yours. His eyes met yours, and your tears matched his. 

“I want to apologize to you, honey.” Jimin said. “For everything. I’m so sorry for hurting you. You never deserved any of it. I know I haven’t acted like it, but when I told you that you’re the love of my life, I meant it. But I also know that I can’t sit here, after everything, and ask you to stay with me.” 

His hand tightened its grip on yours, and tears that had been lining the waterlines of your eyes were now overflowing. Jimin had droplets of his own, and he smiled a sad smile. He knew you were exhausted, and he understood that to love you, in this moment, would be to let you go. 

“I’m going to miss you, angel.” Jimin said, his voice almost a whisper as he committed your features to memory. “I’m sorry. I hope you know that I’ll always love you, no matter what. And if you ever need anything… If you’re ever lonely… I’ll be there.” 

You nod, unable to speak. 

“I love you, too.” You said with a sad smile of your own. “No matter what.” 

Jimin leaned in, and stole one last kiss from your lips. He knew he’d never forget how your lips tasted, or how they felt on his. It was tattooed onto his memory, and had been since the first time he had ever kissed you that night on the beach. 

You never knew that a kiss could hurt until that moment. It felt like a burning in your chest, like your body was screamingatyou that this is what you need. But you knew it wasn’t. Your heart felt like it was being ripped away from you, leaving your body cold and empty. You were truly saying goodbye to your Jiminie, watching your future together crumble and disintegrate with a few words and a kiss. 

When he finally mustered up the power to let go, you reached into your bag, and took out the engagement ring he had given you in front of your families. Jimin watched as you placed it in his hand, and curled his fingers around it. The metal was cold, indicating just how long it had been since it was on your hand. 

Words failed the both of you. There was nothing else to say. So instead, you looked at his delicate features one last time, before slowly rising from the sofa, and exiting the room. Jimin, who wanted so badly to chase after you, couldn’t bring himself to move. So he sat alone, watching you walk away, as he held the ring meant for you in his hand. 

[k-wame]

Xavier Avila as Ziyad & Kendall Kyndall as Reign Moore 2022 · Á LA CARTE (Allblk Originals) · S1·E06 · Comedy

[joezworld]

Christmas Story

Merry Christmas you guys.

Christmas Day

Morning broke over one of the most subdued Christmases Tidmouth sheds had ever seen. 

For most of the engines, it had started early: 

Gordon had vanished before the sun, taking some morning train - which one it was, nobody was quite sure; the limited-service Christmas day timetable was a baffling mystery that only became clear on the day of.

Edward, who woke at five-thirty in the morning out of habit, had elected to leave the shed while silence still reigned. Whichever train Gordon didn’t take, he did. 

James and Delta woke together as twilight began to dapple the sky, and slipped out of the shed with a bare minimum of noise or fuss. Where they went off to was anyone’s guess. Oliver, who missed their departure despite being awake, could only guess. They’d said something about the harbour?

That left just the three Westerners in the room. Oliver was the only one awake, and he regarded the scene with worried eyes. Bear and Duck hadn’t exchanged two words since Bear’s new “paint” had been applied, and he did not want to be around to hear what they said. Shortly before seven thirty, an inspector groused his way in, looking for an engine willing to run a P-Way service down the Little Western to finish up the various issues with the line, and Oliver jumped at the chance.

That left just two… 

-

Bear awoke to the morning sun finally making an appearance. The shed appeared to be empty, but… 

There was a quiet clatter to one side, and he lazily looked over to see Duck’s crew staring at each other in accusation while an oil can rolled on the ground. 

Bear didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything he particularly wanted to say. 

“Um.” Unfortunately, Duck did. “Bear. About…”

“Duck.” Bear cut him off. “I understand your… position right now, or at least I think I do, but I don’t want to talk to you right now.” He sighed deeply. “Or perhaps for a while. Maybe you should try this again later.”

There was a quiet sniffle from the tank engine, who then departed with a minimum of noise or fuss. 

Bear didn’t feel a bit of bother about how he made his fellow engine feel, and that bothered him more than anything else. 

-

Eventually, a crew came for him. It was pushing ten in the morning, and he set off with a strange working: an empty coaching stock move all the way to Kirk Ronan. 

“There’s a guaranteed connection with the ferry from France,” his driver explained. “Usually there’s another train, but not today.”

“Damned Christmas timetable…” 

“You know,” the man continued. “It’s strange. Gordon was supposed to take this train, but he insisted on having you take it. Couldn’t begin to imagine why.”

Bear rolled his eyes. “It’s easy work. This is probably his idea of a Christmas present.”

“Who knows?”

-

Bear didn’t put any more thought into it, and brought the train into Kirk Ronan right on schedule.

The ferry, a big red and white one named Chartres, was already there, moored tightly to the dock, and absolutely festooned with lights and decorations. «Joyeux Noël, mon petit ami!» She boomed. “It is a time of joy and happiness, no? Where are all the decorations?”

Bear looked around; the ferry terminal was quite drab - he remembered hearing something about the snow being worse along the coast. Maybe they couldn’t decorate. “They must be saving them for next year!” he said, trying to seem upbeat. 

The ferry made a noise of assent, and then any chance for further conversation was lost as a flood of passengers made their way down the boarding ramps and into the coaches. Soon afterwards, the train departed back the way it came, express service to Tidmouth station. The ferry heralded their departure with an earth-shaking foghorn blast, and then they were into the distance. 

There were almost no other trains on the line, and Bear had plenty of time to think. Goodness me. It really is Christmas, isn’t it? I made it through the month, and all it cost me was one friend, most of my sanity, and my identity. 

He laughed bitterly to himself. This is a terrible Christmas. 

As he went further down the line, another thought came to him. I can’t believe I let them use this paint on me. I thought blue was too much? This itches!

-

The train arrived at Tidmouth a few minutes ahead of schedule, just as the clocks struck noon, and Bear was surprised to see that there was a “restricting-diverge” signal ahead of him. “They’re sending us around the loop?” 

“The loop”, a section of line that Gordon had famously been mis-routed down once (James still needles him about it, once in a great while), was not actually a single line, but was rather a series of feeder tracks that connected the various dockside industries with the harbour itself, as well as the big station. In the early 1900s, some bright spark (probably Sir Topham Hatt, although the Dry family had significant involvement in the development of Tidmouth’s dockyards) had realized that making a full “loop” to connect both sides of the big station to the docks may be beneficial, and so many of the lightly built industrial spurs were connected into a rambling branch line that snaked through Tidmouth’s waterfront before ducking underneath the high street in a cutting, eventually meeting the Little Western just outside the station’s “rear”. Doing this added almost fifteen minutes to a journey, and so it was restricted to only the most dire of emergencies (or if you really irked the signalman). 

As Bear trundled over, under, around, and through Tidmouth, he had the distinct feeling that he was being played with. There weren’t any signals out of order, he wondered. Why am I going this way?

He got his answer soon enough, as he eventually entered the station through the Little Western’s platforms, gliding to a stop about three-quarters of the way down the platform. 

To his confusion, he was not the only engine there:

Duck and Oliver were face-to-face on the platform to his left, and each looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. 

Gordon was parked directly in front, with a worryingly inscrutable grin on his face. 

Toby was parked next to Gordon, and looked like he was only now understanding what was going on. 

In the background, Truro had been pushed just inside the station’s glass canopy, clearly so that he could hear what was going on. Amusingly, he also wasn’t meant to interrupt whatever was going to occur, as there was a red-and-white checkered tablecloth shoved into his mouth to gag him. Even better, nobody had bothered to set or splint his nose at any point. It looked like it really hurt. Shame about that. 

Alongside the porters and other staff meeting the train, there were several members of the station staff lining the platform, each in their “dress” uniforms, complete with shined shoes and buttons. 

Finally, and perhaps most concerningly, the… Yugoslav-Mexican band that the Fat Controller had sourced was tuning their instruments on the platform next to Gordon. 

-

“Do I even want to know?” he asked Gordon as the passengers poured out of the train. 

“Just go along with it,” Toby said, looking resigned to whatever was about to happen. 

“Brother Toby,” Gordon chided. “Is that really the tone you wish to take in front of the initiates?”

“Gordon,” Toby began. “You are treading upon a line that I didn’t even know existed three minutes ago. Get on with it.”

“In due time…” Gordon said beatifically. “Once we have privacy.”

And so they waited for another ten minutes while the passengers departed. Everybody except Gordon felt increasingly awkward as time stretched on, but eventually the last stragglers had made their way to the waiting room doors. Once they swung shut with a solid click that could be heard four platforms away, Gordon cleared his throat. “Let us begin.” 

Bizarrely, the stationmaster then stepped forward. He was dressed up even more than the other station staff, and was wearing white tie, complete with a top hat. He was holding a pad of paper in his hands - while they’d been waiting, Bear had seen a glimpse of it, and it looked like it was some sort of speech-  oh no.

“OYEZ! OYEZ! OYEZ!” The stationmaster bellowed at the top of his voice, scaring everyone except Gordon and the band. “WE NOW CALL TO ORDER THIS EMERGENCY SESSION OF THE EXCEPTIONAL AND MOST RESPECTABLE GRAND OLD ORDER OF THE LONDON AND NORTH EASTERN RAILWAY!”

“The what.” Someone said. It might have been Bear.

“TO START THIS SESSION, WE TURN TO THE HONORABLE MEMBER FROM THE GREAT NORTHERN RAILWAY, WHO HAS BEEN GRANTED POWERS PLENIPOTENTIARY DUE TO THE EXCEPTIONAL CIRCUMSTANCES!” 

“Granted what.”

“From where.”

Gordon had the audacity to look like something normal was occurring. “Thank you, sir,” he said with remarkable aplomb. “Ordinarily, these sessions would begin with a great deal more pomp and circumstance, however in light of yesterday’s events, I have elected to set those aside in order to get down to business.” 

He looked around the station, ignoring the absolutely baffled looks being sent his direction. “Since the year nineteen hundred and twenty three, the Grand Old Order of the London and North Eastern has claimed, in due time, every locomotive who has ever rolled out of one of our most esteemed workshops. Under the banner of the North Eastern, and our numerous predecessor railways, countless deeds of mechanical excellence have been performed. Mountains have been moved, cities have been evacuated, and nature herself has been tamed by our steel and metal, brick and stone.” 

He paused his stentorian address for a second, again surveying the increasing bafflement, before continuing. “To serve under our flag was to commit yourself to greatness, in one form or another. And for the last sixty-one years, this has been enough; we have recognized greatness, and greatness has come unto us.”

“However!” he exclaimed with great drama. “Recent events have forced a change in our calculus. Before this day, we have only ever accepted locomotives from our own workshops into our ranks - our own kind. Before today, that was seen as sufficient. No more!” 

He again surveyed the room, and Bear got the distinct feeling that Gordon wasn’t actually looking at faces at all. He tried to follow the gaze and found it lingering on the ‘GREAT WESTERN” insignia on Duck and Oliver’s sides, and the Western Region crest on his own, just visible under the paint.

He began to get an inkling of where this was going…

Gordon continued. “We had never felt the need to expand our own ranks before this day, because we had committed an act of hubris. We had assumed, like children, that all other railways within this great nation behaved in the same way as us! That they recognized greatness within their own ranks just as we did in our own.” 

His face turned serious. “This was an error. One that we shall never make again.”

Behind him, behind all of them, City of Truro’s eyebrows began to knit together. Clearly Bear was not the only one thinking along these lines. Something was mumbled against the gag. 

The next few sentences felt shouted, despite Gordon never raising his voice. “Over the month of December nineteen eighty-four, it has become known to us that City of Truro, the so-called “Greatest of all Westerners”, and the de facto leader of their kind, is nothing but a duplicitous charlatan! A murderous brute, who uses subterfuge and dirty tactics in ways not seen since modernization some twenty years past! He is no better than the worst examples of diesel-kind!”

There was a muffled shout from behind Gordon. It was ignored. 

Gordon continued. “But lo! He is the public and private face of the Great Western! One hundred fifty years of history, resting squarely upon his deceptive and ill-tempered buffers! Truly he is the worst of us, and is unfit to lead his clan.”

There was yet another muffled noise. Truro might actually be biting on the tablecloth now. 

“However, we are not in the position to make decisions for another railway, let alone one as ancient and prestigious as the Great Western.” Gordon intoned. Bear didn’t like the sparkle developing in the blue engine’s eyes. That could only mean trouble. “But, we can make amends in our own way!” 

Bear’s train of thought screamed into the station, brake-blocks smoking. Oh he is going to, isn’t he?

“HONOR GUARD,” roared the stationmaster. “PRE-SENT!” 

Someone had actually gone to the trouble of painting a coal shovel gold. Truro sounded like he was going to eat the tablecloth. 

Then the band started playing. It was, after a moment of harmonizing, a very jaunty version of Pomp and Circumstance. 

Bear was actually going to go insane. 

He’s going to do it. He’s going to induct me into the damned LNER like it’s going to make things better. 

The porter carrying the shovel turned on his heel and marched over to Duck and Oliver, marching like this was a drill exercise at a military academy. All three Western engines blinked. 

“Now,” Gordon said. “With the aforementioned facts now known, I, as the most honorable member from the Great Northern Railway, do hereby nominate Oliver to be enjoined with our ranks, and formally inducted into the Grand Old Order of the London and North Eastern. Brother Toby, as the Right Honorable Member from the Great Eastern Railway, will you second this motion?”

“Gordon, I-”

“Will you second this motion?”

A sigh. “Yes, I will second this motion. As the… righteous and honorable member from the GER.”

“Thank you, Brother Toby. The motion has been seconded!”

“Gordon, I-”

“Thank you.”

Gordon turned his attention to the “honor guard”, who dropped to one knee next to Oliver’s buffers, and laid the shovel gently across the nearest one. 

Bear momentarily managed to tear his eyes away from the spectacle, finding Toby in the sea of insanity. Is this happening? He mouthed. 

Yes, this is actually happening. Came the response. 

“Oliver!” Gordon boomed, snapping Bear’s gaze back to the insanity occurring in front of him. “Your years of loyalty and honorable service have not gone un-noticed! For too long you have labored away without reward, without the fruits of your own labours. For your tireless service to your railway, your own kind, and to yourself, you shall be honored. Do you Consent to be joined to the Order of the London and North Eastern? Do you Swear to follow and uphold their Ways, ahead of all others?”

Oliver looked absolutely dumbstruck. “Uhh… I, uh….”

“Say yes or we’ll never be done with it!” Toby hissed. 

“Uh- YES!” Oliver squeaked, suddenly realizing that he wasn’t in a position to say no. “Yes I do!”

Gordon looked immensely pleased with himself. “Then I dub thee ‘Brother Oliver’, and formally induct you into the Order. Welcome.” 

Oliver looked overwhelmed, a feeling that Bear mirrored, especially once the “honor guard” stood and marched over to Duck with precise marching steps that wouldn’t have been out of place in a military drill. 

Duck looked… well he looked almost vacant, staring off into the middle distance as events happened around him. It took little intuition to figure out where he was looking: there, in the middle distance, was City of Truro, furiously raging behind the tablecloth. 

The shovel was laid on Duck’s buffer, and the whole process began again. Gordon began an even longer and more pompous sounding prattle about Duck’s service at Paddington, how he’d dispatched Diesel, and how he’d managed the Little Western in the years since. There wasn’t a mention of how he’d acted during the last month, but even the most uncharitable part of Bear’s mind couldn’t really square a month’s worth of inaction against a half-century’s worth of work. 

There is no way I can be agreeing with Gordon on this. The big diesel thought to himself. He’s insane. He’s trying to… show up Truro by ‘adopting’ us. 

Gordon had launched into an identical spiel about “Consenting”, but Duck had barely let him get the word out before saying “Yes.” in a quiet but undeniably firm manner. 

Gordon managed to keep his surprise contained to an upward quirk of his eyebrows, but everyone else, Bear included, were thoroughly shocked. 

What? I would’ve thought that he wouldn’t… couldn’t… I mean, it’s the Great Western, that’s his life!

Duck didn’t take his eyes off of Truro the entire time. The forcefully silenced engine was turning a worrying shade of purple.

Bear had a sudden moment of understanding. But it’s his life… as defined by Truro. 

He doesn’t want this anymore than I do. Truro isn’t god. He’s not Brunel. 

But he is the Great Western. 

He looked at Truro, who was again trying to eat or spit out the tablecloth. A group of porters carrying a ladder, a shunter's pole, and some amount of canvas were approaching him menacingly. 

And if that’s the Great Western. 

He looked at Gordon, who was finishing Duck’s “induction” with a mix of surprise, seriousness, and well-earned pomposity. And that’s the LNER…  

Then… Maybe…

The “honor guard” turned to face him.

Gordon’s speech was shorter than his praise of Duck, but longer than Oliver’s. “Bear! Your continued service to this railway has not gone un-noticed! For over twenty years you have taken on every job asked of you with a dignity, grace, and competence that has made you not only a sterling member of this railway, but of your class as a whole. It would be my honor to induct you into the Grand Old Order of the London and North Eastern Railway!  Do you Consent to be joined to the Order? Do you Swear to follow and uphold their Ways, ahead of all others?”

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Yes, I do.”

----

Later that night

“I’m sorry,” Edward stared in a rare moment of bafflement. “The Grand Old Order of the what?” 

“There’s no such thing.” James said firmly. “Do you think that he’d talk about anything else if there was?”

"I’m well aware of that," Edward said, still deeply confused. "The Southern and LMS had elite, secret brotherhoods, that's well known. I'd never heard anything about the LNER, and if Gordon hasn’t said anything before now…”

BoCo smiled faintly. "There might not have been one before last night," he said, "but if Gordon says there is one, then I think it exists now."

"That's rubbish," scoffed Delta. "How can you have an LNER order with Gordon, Duck, Oliver, Bear, and Toby? That’s over fifty percent Great Western."

"If Gordon's started it, every Eastern engine still around will hear and want to be in on it by the end of the month."

"Well, maybe so."

"Blimey.” James said, looking suddenly pensive.” This is going to be a whole thing, isn't it?"

“Oh yes,” Edward agreed. “In fact, I’d say that there’s a decent chance he’ll try to induct us next, so everyone be on your guard if you care about your old allegiances, or at least the appearance of them. 

Bear listened to them with a raised eyebrow. “What do you mean? I thought he was trying to get back at Truro?”

The other engines looked at him funny. 

“What?”

“Did you not get it?” Delta asked, in a tone that implied that she wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. “This isn’t about Truro, this is about Gordon.” 

“What do you mean?”

The other engines looked at each other. 

“Bear,” Edward began. “Gordon doesn’t care about Truro in that way. I can’t say his exact reasoning for letting him witness the whole event, but I daresay it wasn’t anything more than kicking an engine when he’s already down. That ceremony, on the other wheel… wasn’t about Truro at all.”

“Then what was it about?” 

“You!” several voices said at once. The other engines looked at each other, before James of all engines spoke up. 

“Bear, Gordon’s an idiot, but he’s our idiot. And he thinks, because he’s an idiot, that he can only care about someone if they’re…” he searched for the right word. 

“Related?” BoCo said after a second. 

“Not the word I was looking for but close enough.” James continued. “He doesn’t think he’s allowed to care about you unless you’re… related to him, somehow. Or at least that it’s not proper. Stupid Londoner nonsense if you ask me, but he tries to care anyways, which means that when someone like you gets bossed around and treated like yesterday’s ashes by the… what’s the word?”

“Embodiment?”

“Yep that’s it - the embodiment of your railway, he doesn’t think he can help because… “well that’s a Great Western issue”.” James could not imitate Gordon at all but he did it anyway. “And so when he has to do something - and trust me somebody was going to have to do something about that berk - he’s going to get…”

“Inventive?” 

James glared at Edward, Delta, and BoCo. “Would you three like to say it?”

“No, I think you’re doing a fine job.”

“Nope.”

“You’ve got it under control.”

James sighed deeply, and opened his mouth to say something more, but was cut off by Bear. “So, wait. Gordon did all that because he… cares about me? Us?” 

“If you must know,” Gordon’s voice rang out as he backed into the shed in a flurry of smoke and snowflakes. “I did it because you would otherwise be forever yoked to that infantile and childish railway and its monstrous figurehead. By “staking a claim” in you, for lack of a better phrase, you are once and forevermore freed of any association with that brutish monstrosity.”

“And the fact that you now have a guilt-free reason to be nice to him is just a perk, hm?” Delta said smugly. 

“Delta,” Gordon said as he was turned on the turntable. “If you would like for me to have a ‘guilt free reason’ to be nice to you, all you have to do is ask. 

“I like my heritage.” She said, all too quickly. “Really!” 

Gordon laughed regally, and backed into the stall between Bear and Edward. “Yes, I’m sure. The offer will stand, however.”

His crew hopped down and began cleaning out his ashpan. Bear took the momentary clatter to whisper to Gordon. “You really didn’t have to do that, you know. I could’ve handled it.”

“I did have to, actually.” Gordon said just as quietly. “There is a time for passivity, and a time for action. The instant he laid buffer on you, the time for action was upon us.”

He said it so firmly, so utterly final, that Bear’s response died in his throat. Gordon looked at him for a second, before turning his attention to the other engines. 

Bear sat there for a while, absorbing his words. My god. They do care about me.

[spntoxicfemslashevent]

SPN TOXIC FEMSLASH 2025 FULL PROMPT LIST

welcome girls and gays to the official pre-start of spn toxic femslash 2025. we've pared down our per-day prompts to a svelte four as opposed to last year's six, and we've added a new category of prompt: character prompts. these are what it says on the tin: single characters without a specified ship. YOU get to choose the femslash. additionally, characters who only appear in a few episodes and only have one name are clarified by the name of the first episode in which they appeared, ao3 style. alright babes, go wild.

MILF WEEK:

day one: marking // corpse // rowena mcleod/billie // constance welch

day two: gothic // humiliation // eileen leahy/mary winchester // gwen campbell

day three: mommy kink // vivisection // hannah/naomi // eleanor visyak

day four: age gap // jealousy // missouri mosely/jo harvelle // tracy bell

day five: worship // right hand // lilith/ruby // ambriel (the devil in the details)

day six: reign in hell/serve in heaven // mindwipe/lobotomy // eve/lenore (bloodlust) // ava wilson

day seven: munchausen by proxy // barefoot and pregnant // alex jones/celia (alex annie alexis ann) // lydia (the slice girls)

AU WEEK:

day eight: roller derby au // doll // ruby/astaroth (malleus maleficarum) // maggie zeddmore

day nine: guilt by association // executioner // bela talbot/cassie robinson // amy pond

day ten: autopsy // poison/drugging // raphael/billie // athena lopez

day eleven: murder-suicide // isolation // charlie bradbury/charlie bradbury // marin (the born-again identity)

day twelve: nun kink // handmaiden-feudal lord // linda tran/abaddon // cecily (road trip)

day thirteen: vore // comp het // becky rosen/amara // kate milligan

day fourteen: coffeeshop au (evil) // ritual sacrifice // kelly kline/dagon // tessa

GENDERBEND WEEK:

day fifteen: crossdressing // outsider pov // cassie robinson/fem!dean winchester // tamara (the magnificent seven)

day sixteen: forcefem // petplay // fem!jack kline/harper sayles // haley collins

day seventeen: piety // brat // fem!castiel/raphael // madge carrigan

day eighteen: unreality/lying // butch // linda tran/meg masters // the shifter (ask jeeves)

day nineteen: turn the straight girl // soulmates // fem!lucifer/fem!sam winchester // hester (reading is fundamental)

day twenty: substance abuse // on the rack // fem!bobby singer/fem!crowley // casey (sin city)

day twenty one: brainwashing // rot // anna milton/ruby // tasha banes

ALTERNATE FANWORK WEEK:

day twenty two: manipulation // scratch her eyes out // patience turner/claire novak // dumah (war of the worlds)

day twenty three: "what happened to her first husband?" // infidelity  // missouri mosely/mary winchester // amelia richardson

day twenty four: somnophilia // true crime // billie/jessica moore // pamela barnes

day twenty five: kidnapping // episode rewrite // kate (bitten)/tasha (paper moon) // lily baker

day twenty six: unreliable narrator // stacy's mom // meg masters/ellen harvelle // stevie (the rupture)

day twenty seven: closeted // demon deal // mary winchester/billie // krissy chambers

day twenty eight: "i ran into a door" // babytrap // jody mills/donna hanscum // paris hilton

[bunbun-mochi]

The Bounty on Our Heads

Rafayel x MC (slight fluff, mostly violence)

Warning: non-major character deaths, violence

Word Count: 1536, no proofreading

Preview: Rafayel and MC have a mission. To take down anyone who dared to use Lumerians as pets. This mission, they are hunting down families that were involved in poaching lumerians.

The Bounty on Our Heads is a series of Rafayel and MC where humans are hunting Lumerians to keep as pets and use them as test subjects. Rafayel and MC find those who are responsible and bring them to justice.

Disclaimer: This is an alternative AU. Lumerians were being threatened by humans but aren't extinct or endangered. The theme is like 1800s theme.

The moon used to shine so brightly in the night sky. Now, it is covered by clouds, as if shielding the moon from the gruesome scene.

A once lively giant mansion was now eerie silent except for the dripping of blood and the click from the high heels. A woman, covered in blood, walked out of the mansion.

"One more down." She said, throwing a long hairpin to the ground. "Two more to go."

"Have you heard? Another family dead!"

"Which one?"

"The Lewis family!"

"Oh my god, that is awful!"

"Trust me, this is a curse! The siren's curse! They found the same hairpin, carved as a fishtail, on the crime scene!"

I took a bite of my muffin. Another family died last night. That is the news for today. Newspapers were out and police are investigating the death. Terror had reigned in this country.

I smirked to myself. It is indeed a curse.

"Do you think the lumerians were involved?" My ears immediately perked up from the word 'lumerians'.

"I bet. Four families that had lumerians are all dead!"

"I heard Lewis family were involved in selling lumerians."

"Shh shh! Don't talk about lumerians. If you talk about them, you can curse yourself!"

I snorted. Should I blow up the mansions so the police won't find anything?

The next family is the Moore family. Moore family wasn't hard to find evidence. Their entire house were littered with evidence that they were involved in poaching lumerians.

I left my half eaten muffin on the table, dropped some money onto the table and left the tavern and made my way to the theatre.

"You're here early." Rafayel said as I sat down.

"I missed you." I answered.

Rafayel chuckled, "I touched. I missed you too." He pecked me on the lips. "Good job last night."

"I smiled. Thanks. You did well too." Then I smirked, "Though, your efforts were in vain. They said nothing about you in the news."

Rafayel shrugged, "That's a good thing. Or else the police will start to connect the dot."

I nodded in agreement. "There's Moore family and Anderson family left. I'm going for Moore first."

"No, go for Anderson first." I looked at Rafayel in confusion. "They suspected that Moore is next. It'll be more interesting if you go for Anderson first."

I nodded, "You got it." I stood up.

"MC." Rafayel stood up with me. "Please be careful."

I kissed him on his lips. "I will."

Rafayel was right. Going for Anderson is a good idea. The reason is that the Moore family is with the Anderson family. I sat near the ceiling, having the shadows cover my existence as I listened in.

"Those people killing us families trying to give a message. I bet it's those planet-loving maniacs, killing families to show that we should respect other... creatures." One spat. "Disgusting. They always go so far to get their message across."

"D-d-do you think we are safe here?" One studdered. He was shivering like he was afraid. "Are you use they won't find us here?"

This person must be in the Moore family.

"Relax, I have intel that they are going for your house first. I would love to see their face when they realize that house is empty."

I snorted, loudly.

"Who's there?" Oops, I might've snorted too loudly. Guess it's time to finish the job.

I slowly emerged from the shadows, "Knock knock, it's the planet-loving maniacs." As soon as I finished talking, unsheathed my weapon and killed them. One by one. Blood danced. Blade twinkled under the light. It was truly a magnificent scene. Perhaps I should get Rafayel to paint this picture.

There weren't many in the room. They suspected that I would go for Moore first, so they sent a majority of their guards there. Idiots.

I climbed out the window and looked up at the moon. The clouds slowly moved away from the moon, shining the road toward the woods. I jumped down and made my way toward the sea.

Little did she know that not everyone in the room was dead. One of the maids was hiding in the cabinet, she was there to get away from working. But instead, she was met with the gruesome scene left by the assassin. A fishtail hairpin sticking on one of the bodies.

Rafayel was in the hallway, going through rooms to rooms, carrying a briefcase, trying to find what he's looking for. Finally, he opened the last two doors, he found what he was looking for.

A large fish tank that nearly took the entire room space with a mermaid and two merman swimming leisurely in it. They all looked over toward the entrance, expecting their human owners. To their surprise, it's someone else. Someone looks oddly familiar. As the figure walked closer toward the tank, their face lit up. It's Rafayel.

Rafayel climbed onto the tank, opened the top and spoken in a different language, "We have to be quiet. I'll get you out of here safe."

The Lumerians nodded. Rafayel tossed three bottles into the tank. "Drink this, it'll turn you into a human temporary until I can take you all safety to the sea."

The Lumerians hesitated before drinking. Immedietly, theirs fins disappeared, their tails slowly turned to limbs. Rafayel grabbed the nearest Lumerian and pulled them up the tank and onto the ground. He did the same to the other two. Rafayel then opened his briefcase and handed the Lumerians clothes.

"Wear this and we get out now."

Rafayel slowly opened the door, looked left and right, because gesturing the Lumerians to follow him. He led them down the stairs and out the floor leveled window.

"Rafayel?" One whispered. "Will they find us?"

Rafayel shook his head. "She would've already dealt with them. I'll protect you all."

The Lumerians looked at each other, wondering who "she" was. As they walk, the sea slowly comes into view. A small boat on the shore, rocking back and forth. There was already someone on the shore, by the boat. As they got closer, they saw the person had splatters of blood on their clothes.

"Rafayel?" A female's voice called and the figure turned around. The Lumerian gasped and hid behind Rafayel.

They were expecting Rafayel to jump into action but he just smiled, "You made it back!"

The female nodded, "You were right. Going for Anderson is a good idea."

Rafayel beamed and walked toward her when she started to back away, "I'm dirty right now. Take them away quickly before the police arrive."

Rafayel nodded and led the Lumerians onto the boat and then himself. The female walked closer to the boat. They can see her face more clearly and she seemed... familiar.

"Be careful, Rafayel." She whispered. "And come back to me."

Rafayel leaned forward and pecked her on the forehead. She leaned toward the touch. "I will. You be careful too. Leave quickly before they find you."

She nodded and pushed the boat away.

Rafayel watches the shore as the boat rocks away from the shore. The female figure watched before she walked away. The figure slowly turns into a silhouette and then disappears.

The Lumerians all looked at Rafayel. "Is she..." One asked.

Rafayel nodded.

It's all the confirmation they needed. The bride of the Sea God is there to protect them as well.

I walked toward the tavern I always go to in the mornings.

"Grab the latest news! Two families dead!" A little boy waving a piece of newspaper. "They found new leads! Someone saw the person who killed those families! They put a bounty on his head!"

I paused. Did Rafayel get caught? I quickly grabbed a newspaper and gave the boy a coin. "Thanks, madam!"

I read through the newspaper:

An eyewitness in the scene when the killer killed both Moore and Anderson family in the same room. The eyewitness said the killer was a man and managed to kill seven people in the room in less than a minute. A bounty is placed on this killer. 3 thousand. Anyone with any leads please come forward. Police were baffled as to how a single man could kill so many in such a short amount of time. They suspect that there is a group of people in a cult.

A picture of a hand-drawn art of the so-called killer, a hood covering his hair, and a face covered with a cloth. Only the eyes are visible. A ridiculous picture to go off with.

I sighed a sigh of relief, glad to know that Rafayel was safe.

"What is this picture? There's only his eyes visible! At this point, people will turn in anyone just to get the price!" I agree.

"Killed seven people in less than a minute? Are you sure it's a human?"

"I'm telling you! It's the curse! It's the Siren's curse!"

I flipped through the pages to check out the other pages.

Many families had been refusing to purchase Lumierans and poachers are now refusing families to poach Lumerians, fearing that the Siren's curse might get them next.

I tossed the newspaper onto the ground and continued my way to the tavern.

[joannasteez]

the sex life of evie moore - (the first one)

summary: after a tumultuous relationship, with a more than cordial ending, evie moore seeks to spend the rest of her college experience having a bit of fun

authors notes & warnings: this is purely indulgent. contains explicit descriptions of sex and talks of relationships, romantic or otherwise. super big shoutout to @harmshake , she is inactive but has been an immense collaborator in terms of plot points and ideas.

word count: a chill 2,000. if you look through my masterlist this is baby food. can't promise that for the later parts.

genre: alternative universe - college

mentioned characters include but are not limited to, cm punk, damian priest, roman reigns, cody rhodes, rhea ripley... so on and so forth. aforementioned characters are not owned by myself.

evie—the formality of yvette is a little too wiry for this sort of thing isn't it?—knows punk—he goes real stiff when he hears "phil"—pretty well. well enough. maybe a little too much. like an overconsumption that dampens the taste of a thing almost. almost. she knows his blonde box dyed hair, the forever chipped polish coating his nails and that metal labret hanging off his lip that gives his face more personality than he needs. because he's a fucking well of that shit already. an obnoxious pepsi logo tattoo taking up residence on his arm, bags under the eyes that make him look more teasing than unwell, and this growing 'turn all my shirts into tanktops' obsession she can't quite understand just yet. 

vanilla on his skin. warm. like autumn. and mint on his tongue. always. evie knows punk, not enough for it to be banal, but like it's routine. the sun rises, the earth rotates, and unless some God level event stops that meticulous flow then it'll always be that way won't it? but what about the unknowns. the new. the different. the must be found. 

other fishes in the sea, other stars in the galaxy, that sort of thing.

cm punk's queen sized bed has an evie sized dent in it. 

the break up was a year ago. 

"are you still in love with me?'"

he's mid-kiss, shirtless and already half-hard. tucked intimately into her neck. mint lingering on the skin from his mouth. but he's huffing now. the sort of emptiness that comes from interruption. releasing the sure-to-bite—the kind she likes— grip on her thigh he'd have if he held on any longer. "don't do this please". 

"i'm being—"

"serious...", eyes rolling with the rest of him to splay out. "i know. that's the problem". 

and evie scoffs, because never has her delusions about their...relationship...taken her so boldly as to be wrong this bad. there has to be something there. a deep infatuation lingering maybe. a full year removed from calling it quits but scheduling sessions for sex still and saying things that sound a little like 'i love you'. he had to be caught up somewhere in that terrible storm of affection, even after all this time. right? turning over to reach for a used up sketch book. and if he wasn't then why did he— 

"you still draw sketches of my pussy".  

the pages sound with a quick whipping slap. like the memory of seeing her vagina drawn in such meticulous detail—shadows, highlights and the like—is too much of an unusual thing to forget or be regular about. 

the part of his lip where his labret sits, lifts. a lopsided smirk thats all arrogance. the type that tends to bleed off talent. the type that goes on unashamed and blemish-less, even when evie shoves the sketch in his face for some faux disturbed dramatic effect. "you're gettin' up in arms about grade A georgia o'keeffe inspiration babe". 

and she just has to laugh. a snort that works a bit dirty, because even his seriousness is so damn unserious. pulling up to kneel next to the casual way he lays against the bed. sinking into that evie-shaped-dip like he's comfortable. thats the problem. too comfortable. "this is the birthmark on my vulva dumbass". 

"that you didn't even know existed till i told you". snatching up the book to a close. access to vagina portraits suddenly denied. a scowl etching just enough to be seen, and just enough to make those natural bags beneath the eyes less teasing and more full of brooding. like maybe there was a life of pride living for those little drawings. for the musings and bits of details that took a particular sort of painstaking effort, considering it all must've been from memory. a life—at the hands and words of evie moore—that so abruptly faced a deep erasing. "y'know how many chicks would dig me sketchin' their pussy?"

"you mean you're $25 pop up shop, vertical ID, groupies?" 

"you were 19 when we met at a pop—"

the fluff of a pillow snatching up in her hand before its smushing against his face. hushing those lies that aren't lies really. her thighs drawing up over him to straddle for a better angling. "a month, i was a month from 20, and you were salivating for crumbs of attention...", she jokes. whacking him with the pillow before he's rolling to get over on her. a smirk fighting not to pull it's way across his mouth. "...practically begged for my number".  

his fingers pull against her thigh for a pinch. the tease of the act making her jump before he's easing up along the bed and her body again, assuming a similar position to where he began before the dropping of that fully loaded question. hooking into the band of her underwear for a short tease of a tug against the cotton. "you were thumbin' down your miniskirt for a hip tattoo just so i could see the color of your thong", that sure smell of mint curling closer till it lingers in her nose. the metal hooking his lip, a cool ghost of a sensation as it makes to touch. a test of a kiss. shy and fresh tasting. 

her eyes roll, knowingly even. "what color was the thong punk?"

and this smile can't be helped much. the sort that breaks even and eager from memory. toothy and unrelenting. the sort he attempts to hide in the safety of placing a deeper kiss at her lips. a simple slotting pull. because if he's sketching her vulva and all the intricacies thereof from memory, then surely he'll remember this. 

punk's teeth snag at her mouth, the slight of it playing at something prickly, for his own amusement, before he's slipping tongue and curling it over for a short languid kiss. mumbling, "that's not the point...", settling into his own satisfaction with a moaning hum. evie's body warm and so naturally ready. eager. her legs moving under his touch to wrap about him and her fingers this gentle file through his hair. "...it was baby green, but thats not the point...", chuckling as he moves to kiss elsewhere. a wet trail to her pulse. tugging with those hooked fingers again at her panties. pressing and sweeping between her legs till he's pushing and prodding at the seat of them with a circling thumb. 

but evie hates this. her inabilities anyways. never able to be quiet. because any suggestive touch is met by breathy little nothings that urge him forward into something more sure and exacting. and never able to stick to her guns either. or at least as far as punk is concerned. the many off again-on again periods of their romance, and then the post-called it quits rendezvous', serving as bittersweet proof. tender noise strumming up her throat even now, from the steady touching and petting and amorous maneuvers. surely to quiet her questions. a lax press into where the blood is beating at her neck, wet and smooth and rolling enough till she's squirming and squeezing him closer. 

"...salivating implies a ton of shit that sums up to lies...", he hums. amused. pushing off to bring himself further down the bed and between the heat of her thighs. pressing gentle to spread. the cool metal hooking over his bottom lip playing at the tempered skin. "...because if i remember correctly, not too long after, i was the one changing pillow cases and sheets, 'cause a certain somebody couldn't keep her mouth shut long enough to stop the drool from comin' out".

a sharp breath cuts. a heavy exhale that almost feels like relief, if not for the inhale to follow. her hips hitching as punk lets his tongue run warm at her inner thigh. 

her words breathy and unstable. "you want me to apologize for enjoying dick?" 

"you could actually stand to sing my praises more often". 

a huff.  evie coming up to lean against her elbows. brows pulling in. a dissatisfaction coloring her eyes that clues punk in on an undesirable outcome of blue balls. "s'not like im singin' anyone else's".

theres no use in rousing her up is there? inspiring a pleasure she won't enjoy much, not when she's in her head and picking at her thoughts to the bone. but that somber streak about her face does the same to ill him a bit as much as the possibility of blue balls. does even more maybe. "this isn't a 'lets get back together' talk is it?", he asks, moving from between her legs and off the bed to grab a t-shirt. 

it isn't at all some mortifying ordeal, but it is a terrible one, given past instances. the lovers quarrels were interesting to put it lightly, and endless to put it plainly. 

evie's legs pull in to cross. "no". 

"ok, good...", plopping down to lay beside her. a run of something under his skin, inklings gathering from that far away, thoughtful look to her that she can't shake. "...talk then. what's goin on?"  

and maybe, this is why, despite the numbered futile efforts at a deeper romance, punk would never truly leave evie. because to leave, would mean forsaking these moments; pitfalls into an uncovering of some long time introspection. thinking so harshly that her over-thoughts are overthought. his hand reaching to her arm with this pulling sort of caress. an invitation. intimacy with no complicated elements to follow. her body shifting into him in such a way that her head lays to tuck into his neck. warm breaths that stick sweetly to his skin. a leg thrown over his waist that waits for the comfort of his hand. 

they were at their best this way. in the quiet of some uncategorized affection. 

punk gives in rather easily. melts into the her-shaped dent of his bed, an arm coming around to hug her in and the other letting his fingers take to that leg falling over his waist. a simple touch that finds her hip. thumbing to draw beneath her panty line at the shape of a tattoo. 

a small, thin lined, bunny etched into the skin, done up from way back during the first try of their relationship. 

"you're my first for a number of things", she gives. pulling up to look him in the eyes. 

"i am...", his thumb falling away to hook into her knee. pulling her closer. "...for most things". 

"i don't know, i just—", the words attempting to form at an uneven pace. "i feel like i'm lacking in experience. like the only person i know in this way is you and i'm missin' out on other people because we—"

"you feel like i'm forcing you to have sex with me?" 

"no! no", rushing in to salvage her thoughts. or trying to at least. her forehead falling to rest at his chest. a heavy exhaustion coming from all the inner over-scrutinizing. "thats not what i'm saying". 

but if punk were to say that he's completely clueless about the matter, that'd be a lie. caught in this liminal space for quiet a while. a year to be exact. months of a stagnant comfort they'd made into a resting place. functioning like the couple they'd always hoped to be, but formed like something else. never able to shape and mesh just right enough to make the work of it long lasting. 

the arm he's got hugging her in drops to let his palm run a course along her back. "we might've blurred the lines a little".

evie snorts. 

"a little bit yeah". 

because no shit. 

"listen eve...", stitching sentiment together with the delicate pull of a needle. and the tenderness as he begins here catches her up so well till they're stuck at the eyes. "...you know i got a lot of love for you, considering all the sketches of your eyes and your nose and your vulva...", the both of them smiling at his choice of inspiration. "...but we both know how terrible it gets when we trying making sense of anything past this...", his finger motioning about the bedroom. "...the sparks always fly a little too hot for our own good before somebody is left burnt. you find yourself wanting to roll around with someone else, don't stop on my account thinkin' it'll hurt me". 

"it won't?"

punk brings his mouth to place a kiss against her forehead. the warmth lingering as he makes to answer. "no".