#disaster expo

[peripateticavian]

The Disaster Expo fuckin ROCKED

so much information on desalinization. So many solar powers. Much turbines. Fire safety galore *vibrates in special interests*

Also I got fire extinguisher stress balls stickers a new note book and PENS 😄

AND SO MANY BUSINESS CARD FOR MY COLLECTIONNN

HRNNNGJRJEKDKDAKSKBELSNDNELSOXUSKWMRBFHDJMSWMELZO

[askchuuyanakahara]

dazai left a heart next to "hate rack" becausE HE LOVES YOU!! LISTEN TO ME CHUUYA I'M TELLING YOU THE TRUTH BOY

Chuuya: "He's been doing this since we were kids, actually."

Chuuya: "Mission reports, notes, all sorts. Got me into all sorts of unnecessary situations."

Chuuya: "All 'cause of a stupid little heart.."

@irish-journal

Atsushi: "The agency is where I belong."

Atsushi: "And.."

@vinvinin

Atsushi: "I understand that you hate Dazai-san and that he can be somewhat of a nuisance, but he is still an invaluable member of the Agency."

Chuuya: "Well.. I suppose he's already wasted enough of my time today."

Chuuya: "I'll come back later to give you the documents you guys need."

Chuuya: "The cafe downstairs should be open.."

Dazai: "The cafe, huh?"

[courtforshort15]

The amount of f-bombs that flew out of their mouths just absolutely made my day

-

[digitkame]

3 professors forced to share a hotel room during a travel to a wizard expo ... due to budget cut because Hogwarts have sustained yet another annual Voldemort-related disaster( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part Nine: The Expo

Your eyes widen to saucers as you climb out of John’s work van. The event hall in front of you is huge - the largest in the city. A big, glass dome with a high-end hotel attached. It glows in the morning sun. Lines of people have already formed out front. You passed them on your way around to the vendor entrance. It’s the twentieth anniversary for the Tattoo Expo, apparently, which means they expect massive crowds.

“I hate that Kyle couldn’t come.” You frown as a security worker hands over your badge. It’s fancy - heavy weight with brightly colored, neo-traditional graphics. Something about having the word VENDOR hanging around your neck makes your heart skip.

John sighs, heaving one of the boxes of his books onto your dolly. “Yeah. He tried but he couldn’t get his head out of the toilet long enough to do much of anythin’.”

You wrinkle your nose. Apparently he had caught some nasty stomach bug, poor guy. You thought about calling and checking in on him, but you worried that was too clingy. After… everything, you don’t want to come off as anything other than normal about it. Which you are. Totally normal.

At least Johnny was home for the day to help him out.

“Has Simon ever come?” You ask, titling the dolly pack to push into the convention hall.

John’s arms flex as he fights with his rolling tool box to get the handle back out so he can pull it. He just had to wear a sleeveless muscle tee, didn’t he? It’s rude, frankly. You look over his more rarely exposed shoulder and upper arm pieces - some more faded than others. Some more colorful, some better crafted. Part of you wants to reach out - to trace them the same way you want to with Simon. You want to ask him in detail about each one. Maybe he’ll let you, someday.

“Can you actually picture Simon in a convention hall?” He chuckles eventually, finally getting the toolbox rolling properly.

You laugh. “Guess not.”

The 141 booth sits in the center of the floor, surrounded by a few other big-name shops and figures in the community. You glance around at them, only recognizing a few. You don’t get much time to look around. There are only a couple hours designated for set up and you have to help hang all the flash options, get the cash box sorted, and be ready for the flood when it comes. You’ve mentally prepared for chaos, reading through pretty much every reddit and twitter thread you could find about convention disasters. You know that won’t happen here, and even if something did, John wouldn’t abandon you to it. Still, you feel better being mentally prepared for anything - no matter how unrealistic.

“Why do you still do these?” You ask, pinning one of the large flash sheets to the display board. “I mean - you don’t exactly have to get your name out there.”

“I enjoy them- the community. I was here when this was still bein’ held underground in an old warehouse.” John looks around, eyes scanning the rows of artists. He doesn’t share his thoughts, just stands there quietly for a moment with his hands on his hips. After a few beats he grumbles quietly, “Gettin’ old…”

You focus on setting up the front table where you’ll be stationed. John brought a few prints of work as well as several copies of his book. He brought a few signed ones as well, only selling them for about twenty more bucks than the usual price. You asked why he doesn’t mark them up more, but he just shrugged you off with a mutter of ‘I’m not all that’ before moving on to another task. You decided it was best not to argue that he is, indeed, all that. His books are literally filled until the late fall.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so proud of setting up a decently aesthetically pleasing display all on your own when you’re surrounded by real artists, but you still grin wide with your hands on your hips. It’s simple, with cards for each of the boys lining one sit and a roll of tattoo tickets for the day beside the cash box. The table cloth with the shop’s name looks nearly identical to the sign. One might call it lazy marketing, you find it charming.

“Somethin’ happen with you and Kyle?” John asks suddenly, back turned as he messes with something in his rolling tool box full of supplies.

You freeze, eyes wide and mouth dry. Did Kyle say something? You thought you’d been normal about it. Kyle hadn’t acted any differently - which shouldn’t have hurt your feelings - and you were sure you’d met him with the same level of normalcy. The past weeks race through your mind. Every moment, every interaction, picking each apart into threads in milliseconds.

“Uh, no? Why?” It comes out squeaky. Unsure. Lord, you really are a terrible liar.

John hums. He’s quiet for barely a beat, a moment that seems to stretch for lifetimes. You can almost feel your cells aging while you wait. “You’ve been quieter than usual around him. Just wanted t’make sure.”

“Oh.” Had you? You thought you’d been the same as always. Both of you totally moved on from… the incident. Well, except for those few times you caught yourself staring - zoning out while thinking about the way his lips pressed to yours. Imagining Kyle pulling you into the back room again. Another kiss with less nervousness and more heat. Actually bending you over the desk properly-

“Y’with me, love?” John snaps you back to reality.

“Yeah!” You jump and stutter. “Yeah. No. We’re fine. I’m… fine.”

You wonder if the giant guy in the weird homemade mask at the booth across from yours would smash your head in if you paid him. Let him free you from the torment of embarrassment. It had been eating away at you, if you’re honest with yourself, and now lying right to John’s face just feels… awful. He’ll find out. You know he will. Maybe he already knows as that was a test. Fuck if it was, you totally just failed.

The clock turns to nine, and you have no choice but to let that be a problem for your future self.

Something you realize rather quickly as the attendees begin to flood the hall is that John is a god here. People don’t meet his eye. They speak meekly, even to you, with voices low and faces flushed. The line for your booth stretches down the walkway as soon as the doors open - appointment tickets practically flying out of your hands. You overhear a pair of friends muttering about sleeping outside overnight to get in early enough for John’s booth. It makes your head spin.

You wonder if they’d still act that way if they saw him snoring open-mouthed at the desk in the back room mid-afternoon.

“Thought I heard 141 got a new front desk girl.” A syrupy southern accident lilts above you just as you finish selling tickets. He’s handsome. Blonde and blue eyed with a little scar gracing his cheekbone. Not much younger than John, you don’t think. Probably around Simon’s age.

You slip on your usual customer service smile. “Hello! How can I-”

“Graves.” John grunts behind you, not even looking up from the work in front of him. “What d’you want?”

“Just wanted to come see how you were.” The man - Graves - grins wide. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “And to meet your new front of house. Philip.”

You take the hand he holds out, giving a perfunctory shake and your name. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that John doesn’t like this guy, whoever he is, and you’re inclined to trust his judgement. You opt for basic small talk. “Are you an artist?”

Graves nods. “I own Shadow & Co. It’s a few blocks over from your place.”

Oh. You’d heard of them. They came highly recommended when you were looking for artists in the area initially. In the end you opted for John based entirely on vibes. The Shadow building is far too modern - to minimalist - for your liking. Too corporate.

“Y’know, we’re looking for a new desk girl as well.” Graves smiles. You do your best not to sneer at his use of desk girl. “We’re growing pretty quick - even if you wanted to split your time-”

“She’s full time with us.” John snaps - blatant irritation lining the edges of his voice. He still doesn’t turn around.

The blonde man pauses, glancing between you. Something passes over his eyes - some implicit knowing that you don’t quite get - but it’s gone just as fast as it came. He digs into his pocket, flipping open a too-new wallet and pulling out a business card. “Well, if you ever want to work somewhere more exciting-” you nearly laugh at that. “-give us a call, hm?”

You glance up to his face, then back down at the card. John’s tattoo gun continues to buzz behind you, but you can tell he’s slowed down. He’s listening. Before even really thinking you extend your hand, pushing the card he holds away from you.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m very happy here.”

Philip scoffs, dropping the card on the table. “Keep us in mind, yeah?”

He disappears into the crowd easily - blending in just like his shop’s namesake. Your nose wrinkles. You snatch up the card and tear it in two. “Dickhead.”

You think you hear John chuckling behind you, but can’t be sure over the roar of the convention.

The day flies by - people bustle by your booth. You run out of signed books just over halfway through - prints not long after. Your voice feels hoarse from talking to so many people. The hall has grown quite hot and you’re sure that your hair looks insane at this point. Either way, you’re having a great time. You get to talk to a with full body trash polka that you like for some reason. You get to meet one of the people involved in the stage competition - her massive thigh piece holding some of the best color work you’ve ever seen. All in all, despite the discomfort, you think this ranks in your top ten favorite days. Maybe top five.

“Excuse me?” Murmurs a voice so soft you almost miss it entirely over the roar of the convention. When you look up, you’re met with a painfully young face. Definitely not old enough for the 17+ entrance requirement.

“Hi!” You put on your warmest smile. “How can I help you?”

“I, uh, I was just…” They stutter, shifting in place. “I- Are there any signed copies left?”

You look them over, a too-familiar pang in your chest. You know those eyes, that anxiety. The jumpy way they look around at the people passing by and tug at their sleeves. Your teeth sink into your lip and you look over at the three blanks that make up your entire left over stock. Glancing over your shoulder, you see John finishing with his current client - giving the man a firm handshake before turning to clean up his station. There’s a fifteen minute break until the next one - his last for the night - and as much as you don’t want to take up his precious little time to set up…

“Let me check!” You squeak, shaky as you grab one of the blanks with all the subtlety of a brick over the head and cross the few feet over to where John sits. You lean over to speak in his ear, low enough that the kid won’t hear you. “John?”

“Hm?” He hums, turning slightly on his stool.

“Can you sign this one?” You chew your lip. “I know you had a set amount but this kid looks so…”

He glances behind you at the teenager in question, bashfully staring at their feet.

“I’m sorry, I know you need to set up for the next-”

John cuts you off by taking the book from your hands and standing.

“Thanks, dove.” He gives you that lovely, warm smile and rolls his shoulders before making his way over to the front table.

The teenager’s eyes go so wide you think they might pop out of their head. You decide to hang back and not interrupt their moment. John sets the book on the table and grabs a sharpie from your back up stash of pens. The kid mumbles something you can’t understand. John’s voice lowers as well. You can’t hear them, but you watch John scrawl something in the book and hand it over. He pushes away the crumpled, messy wad of cash the teenager tries to give him, shaking his head and saying something else that you don’t catch. The kid looks like they’re about to cry, a wide, wet grin splitting their face as they say goodbye and practically prance away.

You melt, shoulders slouching and what you’re sure is a very stupid smile breaking out across your lips. You don’t know why you doubted him for even a moment.

“What’s that face?” John scoffs, cocking a brow at you.

“Nothing.” You shake your head and re-take your spot at the table.

The ending of the convention is rather uneventful. Some of the other booths begin clearing up early. You take the time to count the cash box - which is absolutely stuffed to the brim. John rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck about five times in the span of a few minutes. Maybe you could convince them to do a company yoga class. It’s easy to see how tense and tired they get. You file that idea away for later.

Luckily most of the booth set up belonged to the venue and, since you sold out of books and prints, you don’t have haul those back to the van. All you have to take is John’s rolling toolbox and tattooing table. All things that easily fit in your bag and dolly. Thank god. Neither of you speak much on the drive back to the shop - opting for comfortable silence. Your ears ring ever so slightly from the noise of the convention hall. When you were in it, you hadn’t realized just how loud it was. John’s eyes are locked on the road, the slight glow from the setting sun warming his skin.

The sun just disappears over the horizon as you put the last of the equipment in the backroom - stacked rather messily but that’s another problem for future you. You’ve been working for a grand total of fourteen hours and, somehow, it still has yet to hit you. Adrenaline and excited energy still pulse under your skin.

John sighs loudly, crossing each arm over his chest to stretch them out. “Could really go for a scotch right now. You want a nightcap?”

Your cheeks warm, still riding high from the excitement of the day you agree easily. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He gives you a gentle smile, softened further by the low street lights. “Let me show you a spot.”

The place John leads you to is small. Local. You sit at the bar and take a moment to look around. Three pool tables take up half the floor space. It looks like a small tournament is going on - a white board showing the matches and who will go against who next. Two ski-ball machines are tucked in a corner beside the bathroom, currently taken up by two younger men who you aren’t completely sure are drinking age. The lights and music are both low. One of the bartenders is posted up on the opposite end of the bar with two other people watching Shin Godzilla on the mounted television. It’s cozy and oh-so very John Price.

You get an easy sipper, something fruity and sweet as a treat for the long day you’ve had. It’s nice against the warmth of the summer evening. A heat that’s only aggravated by the one that settles in your spine whenever the guys are around. John especially.

“Think that kid was a little young for the event…” You blurt in a poor attempt to make conversation.

John nods along. “Definitely.”

“That was really nice of you. I didn’t want to… I don’t know.” You murmur, unsure why exactly the words won’t stop. You blame the drinks and exhaustion. Seems realistic enough. “They just seemed so sad.”

“Wasn’t nice. Just the right thing t’do.” John shrugs. His words come slow, almost as if he’s unsure if he should say them. Though, you find it hard to believe he has ever been unsure about anything in his life. “I know what its like… to need t’escape. Lied about my age just to enlist.”

Your eyes widen. “R-really?”

He hums. “They didn’t care much back then.”

For some reason you never thought about John’s childhood - his homelife. You know he has a mom somewhere. Kyle let it slip a couple of times - said she’s a really good cook. John doesn’t volunteer information about himself often, you gathered that much. He’s worse than Simon, somehow, which says a fucking lot.

“Did-” you mull over your words. “You didn’t grow up around here, yeah?”

It’s a clumsy attempt at getting him to talk, but it works well enough. He nods. “Hereford. My mum’s still out there.”

Score. “Do you visit her much?”

John shrugs, chuckling. “When I can. I could move back home and it wouldn’t be enough for her.”

You snicker.

“She’s the best woman I’ve ever known…” He murmurs, eyes far away. It’s only for a moment, but they look past you. Defocused in a way that seems to out of character for the hyper-aware man.

Your faces are close. Hunched in like school kids exchanging secrets and gossip during recess. Your eyes dart from his to his lips and back. It’s confusing. All of this. The intimacy you have with each of them in these moments is overwhelming. You like Kyle - you liked kissing Kyle - you really shouldn’t be wanting that from your boss, though. A co-worker is bad enough but John… John is off limits. You know that. Even so, you find yourself subconsciously leaning just a bit closer, eyes roving over the freckles you don’t see standing further away and the grey flecks in his eyes. You think, for barely a millisecond, that he leans in too.

Until he sits up straight, tossing back what little is left of his drink. “Let’s head out. Could go for a smoke.”

You nod, swallowing down your thoughts and following him out of the bar like a lost puppy. You’d follow him to the end of the earth, you think. Even if it hurts that you can’t get as close as you want, you’d go anywhere for him. Yeah, that’s definitely the drink and tiredness talking. Part of you also knows that it is undoubtedly true.

John rounds a corner to the side of the bar. It’s moderately lit, a single street lamp just down the way giving you just enough light to see. You lean against the wall beside John, the exhaustion beginning to cling to your eyes.

“Are you?” John asks suddenly.

“Hm?” You hum, unsure of what he’s asking about.

“Happy here?” He cuts the end off a cigar he pulled from the silver box that lives in his back pocket.

In the low light of the alley, his pupils overtake most of his irises. Dark and intense as he looks you over from head to toe. You see it, suddenly. The god that the others do. He’s not as physically large as Simon, or as loud as Johnny, but he fills every inch of any space he enters regardless. You suppose you became so used to being in that radius that you forgot just how much presence he carries. You’ve wrapped yourself in it like a blanket. A shield.

Your cheeks warm and you shuffle your feet. “I… yeah.”

“Good.” John sighs out a cloud of smoke. “It’d be a pain in the arse to replace you. The boys care about you too much.”

You stare up at him. You can feel something on the edge of his tone - some weight that you don’t understand. There always seems to be another layer to the things he says. Implications that you can’t understand, context that you’re missing. Part of you wants to ask, needs to ask, but the words get stuck in your throat. What would you say? You’re not even entirely sure what you need to ask. You know they care about you, and you care for them in turn, so why does it feel like there’s something missing?

“Does the boys include you?” You blurt, one again wishing that big guy from the convention was here to smash your head in like wile e. cayote and the anvil.

He looks you up and down, slightly taken aback while you debate on bolting. “Thought that was obvious.”

You scoff, still flustered. “You’re hard to read.”

“Am I, now?”

You nod. A comfortable silence falls over you, despite the awkwardness surely emanating from you. Your lip catches between your teeth, eyes on your feet. “John?”

“Dove?” He tilts his head, once again leaning ever so slightly closer to you.

“Thank you. For everything.” You murmur, voice low and unsure. “It’s… it’s really good here.”

“Think nothin’ of it, love.”

You look up at those pretty blue eyes. They always make your chest ache with some deep hole you haven’t been able to pin down. At first you could blame it on wanting to do well - to be a good employee. It’s more than that, though. It starts in your chest and seeps it’s way through the rest of you. A want. A craving. That’s the word. You crave those eyes on you. The weight of his hands, the fortitude of him.

You’re not sure who closes the gap - whether it’s you or him - but either way it closes. It’s too natural for the context of your relationship. You slot together too well. It’s not like with Kyle. John carries an intensity with him that Kyle never could. His beard scratches not unpleasantly. His lips are warm - you can taste hints of scotch and his cigar. He smells of spice and earth. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders - unsure of where to put them.

This is wrong. It’s messy. You already lied about Kyle, which he’ll surely find out. If he hasn’t already. What about Johnny? Or Simon? Will they think less of you? Are you less for this? For impulsively kissing your boss in some back alley? Will Kyle be angry if he finds out? Your thoughts surge, all chaotic waves crashing against each other in an attempt to make sense of this situation you find yourself in.

John’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer into him. Your arms drape around his neck as you push onto your tips toes to meet him.

That’s a problem for future you.

A/N: Sorry this part took so long, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to escalate it or not but I want to get a move on with these boys

[romcomxb]

AU where Mav n Ice managed to convince Bradley not to join the Navy.

(stick with me there’s hangster in here i promise-)

Instead of pulling Bradley’s papers, Mav and Ice sat down with Bradley and explained his mother’s wishes and their concerns. Really, they just had an adult conversation about it. Of course, Bradley was pissed, but more so at his mum than Maverick or Ice. Eventually he agreed, much to the older men’s relief, though Mav did feel a bit guilty about it. He knew Goose would have loved to see his son take after him.

Bradley took a few weeks to explore some other career options, he knew he still wanted to fly in some capacity. With his dads all being pilots, he’d had plenty of off the book lessons from them and all his honorary uncles. He had a knack for it. And he knew he wanted to help people. He had volunteered at his local fire-station for a few years and had acquired his basic first aid qualifications through that. But beyond that, he was lost.

Until he heard about Wilderness EMT’s. It was at at a careers expo Ice had dragged him along to after school and he really didn’t want to be there.

They wandered the expo for a while, until the first responders area caught his eye. Bradley looked through the police and fire rescue stalls first, took some pamphlets and asked a few questions, but nothing really struck him.

As Ice wandered off to look at the Navy section out of curiosity, Bradley lined up to look at the Paramedics stall. As he talked to the lady at the front for a bit, they got onto the topic of the specifics of her career. Before she had taken a job in recruitment, she had been a Wilderness EMT, basically a branch on paramedics where she was trained in search and rescue, providing medical aid to remote areas. This immediately sparked Bradley’s interest, it had the adrenaline he had been looking for, all whilst making a real difference for real people.

By the time Ice had returned, he had quizzed the lady for almost an hour and to say that he was excited was an understatement. The teen was practically bouncing out of his seat on the drive home.

‘I just need to get my general EMT certification, then do a wilderness specific training course as the basics.’ Bradley was grinning ear from ear. ‘Then from there I can do swift water, high angle rescue training and disaster response training. And a bunch of other short courses- but I can do those quickly- And that’s not even the best part!’

Ice bit his lip and kept quiet. He was happy for Bradley, of course, it was nice to see him so excited about something, but this sounded dangerous. It wasn’t the Navy, but still.

‘She said I can finish getting my pilots license and use that for search and rescue. And if I can get my helicopter license I can still fly!’ He grinned. ‘And it’s not gonna be dangerous like your job, but it’s still so cool.’

Ice nodded, still worried, but Bradley seemed serious about this. They’d already stopped him from one career opportunity, if they told him he couldn’t do this, Bradley may never talk to them again.

And as it turned out, he was dead serious about it. Within three years, Bradley had flown through his Paramedics degree, and got a job as a regular EMT. Whilst he worked, he continued with his helicopter license, and began ticking off the required courses. Another two years later, he was a fully qualified Wilderness EMT.

It had taken a while for Mav to get on board with the idea, but after seeing the fufillment in Bradley’s face when he came home after saving a life, he could help the pride that flowed through him. Goose would have been over the moon.

Bradley quickly excelled at his job, showing just how disciplined he was, both in the field and with the patients. His bedside manner was impeccable and had an incredibly cool head under pressure. He progressed fast, becoming a team leader in no time. There wasn’t as much room for advancement as there was in the Navy, but Bradley did what he could.

He loved his job and though it had one of the highest burnout rates in the country, he couldn’t see himself quitting anytime soon. He lived for the adrenaline of his work. Every day was different, he could be providing help to flooded communities, or hiking mountains in search of a missing person. It could be anything from pulling someone from an avalanche, or airlifting someone who’d twisted an ankle and didn’t feel like walking out.

And the sense of satisfaction he got after saving a life. Made him feel like he was in control. Like he could make a meaningful difference in someone’s life by getting them home safe.

Of course there were hard days. When someone died in transit, or they just couldn’t get them out in time. When their missing person just didn’t turn up. It could be traumatising, but he made sure to talk with Ice and Mav about it, or his work friends, there were so many people around him who knew how to cope. He figured it out pretty fast.

One day Bradley’s team got called to a pretty notable rescue. An F18 had gone into a flatspin during training somewhere over a mountain and the pilot had ejected. A pilot by the name of Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin. Hangman had ejected safely, but the descent through the trees had fucked up his ankle, and he couldn’t walk.

The Navy’s equipment hadn’t been advanced enough, so they had called on the WEMT’s, whom for this kinda mission was their bread and butter. (shush i’m taking creative liberties)

They found him quickly and Bradley was the one to cut him out of his parachute and bring him up to the helicopter. Just imagine Jake being half unconscious as a handsome moustachioed angel leans over him and tells him everything’s gonna be alright.

The ride back included an ever exasperated Bradley and a lovestruck delirious Hangman who had decidedly not injured his mouth and would not shut up. As they reached the hospital, Jake asked him out. Bradley surprised even himself by agreeing to it, he hadn’t been in a serious relationship in years, it could be nice to get back out there.

They grew close, fast. Though Bradley never explained why he knew so much about Jake’s job. Not until Jake was finally invited around to ‘meet the parents’. Just imagine his surprise when he walks into the Admiral Kazansky’s home, who is apparently married to his instructor. Bradley thought the look on his face was hilarious and he would bring up the moment at any opportunity for the next few years.

[batneko]

Here's an idea I originally planned to write as another Bowuigi scenario post, but I decided to turn it into a ficlet because it would be too short. Now it's about 2000 words, lol.

It had been clear from the beginning that something as simple as a "Science Expo" wouldn't be simple at all in the Mushroom Kingdom. Luigi had been braced for disaster from the moment he heard about it, and Bowser's attack almost came as a relief.

No, his mistake had been un-bracing after Bowser was captured and locked in a cage one of the scientists had invented.

Sure, it looked sturdy. Sure, the scientist assured Princess Peach that the cage was completely indestructible. Sure, the only key had been moved from the display table to a security toad's neck after Bowser gave up on trying to bend the bars and started sneakily (as sneaky as anybody his size could be) reaching for it instead.

None of that was the problem. The problem turned out to be another experiment all the way on the other side of the hall that collapsed and caught on fire. That toad scientist said he wasn't even sure how it caught on fire - there weren't any flammable components! About half a second before the blaze spread to the next table, which happened to be full of chemicals, and turned into a giant green fireball.

"Okay, everybody out!" Peach exclaimed, calmly but firmly. "Evacuate the building. Walk, don't run!"

People tended to listen when the princess talked - Luigi supposed that was a skill you had to pick up when you ruled a country. But the fire was pretty eye-catching, and panic set in before he and Mario could start working on crowd control. There was screaming, running (what did Peach just say?), scientists attempting to pack up their exhibits, and for some reason several people tried to head for the same exits that the fire was creeping toward.

"Doesn't this place have sprinklers?" he heard Mario ask.

"I thought so," Peach said. "I don't know why they're not-"

An alarm started to blare, and then they all felt the sudden downpour of the sprinkler system. There was a mass exhale, relief settling in, calming the crowd.

And then something new exploded into flames.

"My elemental sodium!" a toad exclaimed.

Memories of 8th grade chemistry flashing through his mind, Luigi clenched his teeth and got back to guiding the evacuation. There was nothing he wanted more than to head for the exits himself right now, especially with the added discomfort of water dripping off his hat onto his nose, but a hero had responsibilities - and besides, he was the second tallest person in the room.

It only took a few minutes, nobody exactly wanted to stay, and then Luigi was safely outside and wringing water out of his hat. A disaster, but one in which no one got hurt. About the best he could have asked for.

The security toads were doing their jobs now, keeping the crowd away from the merrily burning building. The one with the key around his neck was explaining to a very distraught toad that if the fire didn’t ruin his cardboard model of a bathysphere, the water would. Which was probably ironic in some way.

Wait a minute.

Luigi lunged forward and grabbed the toad’s arm, startling both of them with how fast he’d moved. “Did you let Bowser out?” he asked.

The toad took a second to register what he’d said, glancing down at the giant key as long as his chest. “Oh! Uh, no. I didn’t think-”

“Give that to me.”

The toad obliged, struggling to get the chan over his head until he managed to pop the clasp in the back. Key in hand, Luigi took a step toward the building… and stopped. He looked back over the milling crowd, at Peach’s head of blonde hair. She was the only one tall enough to see, but Mario was rarely far from her. He could find him, ask him to…

No, there was no time. Gritting his teeth, Luigi ran back toward the expo hall to the sounds of several panicked shouts.

The heat was like walking into a wall. Since the fire started on the opposite end from Bowser’s cage, Luigi didn’t have to worry about actually dodging flames, but he could feel the heat and the smoke getting into his lungs. Pulling his shirt up over his nose and trying not to cough, Luigi made his way to the corner he’d been trying to avoid before.

Bowser was still sitting there, arms folded, scowling. He was looking at the floor when Luigi ran up, and Luigi tried to focus on getting the key into the lock with wet gloves on as an excuse to not meet his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Bowser asked.

“Getting you out of here,” Luigi said. Luckily the lock opened smoothly, and Luigi threw the door open so hard it clanged against the bars. "Come on."

The cage was too small for him, Bowser had to duck to get out the door, and as he straightened up to his full height for a second it felt like he was blocking out the sun. Luigi was very, very aware of the difference in their sizes.

He swallowed, forced himself to say, "This way," and tried to ignore the way it came out as a squeak.

"You're an idiot," Bowser said.

Luigi hadn't exactly been expecting to be thanked, but the insult didn't seem necessary. Just because they almost forgot him didn't mean they did.

But arguing would waste time, and the fire was still creeping along the walls where the sprinklers didn't reach. He adjusted his shirt again and turned toward the door he'd come in through, still open and still safe.

He hadn't taken two steps before a wooden beam crashed down in front of him. Luigi yelped and jumped backwards, hiding behind the first large object he saw - which turned out to be Bowser.

"Uh… sorry."

Bowser just shook his head.

There was more crashing, and the crackle of flames was a lot closer than Luigi liked. Had it spread to the ceiling already? If the walls weren't safe and the open spaces weren't safe, what were they going to do?

If anybody had remembered to let Bowser out in the first place they wouldn't be in this mess. Unfortunately, Luigi counted as "anybody," meaning this was as much his fault as anyone else.

"I'm sorry," Luigi said again. "Let's just make a run for it."

Bowser reached behind him and grabbed the back of his overalls, hoisting him into the air like a toy in a claw machine. Luigi heard himself squeak, then he was thrown back into the cage Bowser just left.

The door clanged shut, and Luigi’s heart sunk into his shoes. He was locked up. Just like Bowser had been, behind bars in a burning building, soon to be abandoned. Okay, they’d forgotten him, but did it really deserve this? Did Luigi really deserve to die over it?

He saw Bowser bend over next to the cage, grip the bars with one hand, and then he picked the whole thing up off the platform. Luigi toppled over onto the side, then back again as Bowser balanced the cage on his shoulder. What was he doing?

They turned back and forth. Luigi could see the fire creeping toward all the doors now. If they ran, and rolled as soon as they got outside - but the ceiling was still falling in too.

Bowser turned completely around, facing the back wall now. There was a small door near the middle, but the rest of it was nothing but windows. There was no safe path unless…

“No,” Luigi said, softly.

Bowser chuckled, and charged straight ahead.

For a few horrible seconds Luigi was aware of nothing but the smoke-filled air rushing past him as the wall got closer and closer. Glass shattered around them as Bowser kicked out a window and leapt through the frame, cage and all.

Bumping, rolling, and finally stillness. Luigi took a deep breath of still-smoky but much cooler air. He was tempted to scream. It wouldn’t accomplish much at this point, but it would make him feel better.

He yelped, at least, as the cage was picked up again. The door popped open and the box turned, and Luigi was shaken out onto the ground like the last penny in a piggy bank.

“Ow,” Luigi said.

“Wimp,” Bowser said. But his tone was light, and when Luigi looked up he saw him smiling.

He chucked the cage back over his shoulder, where it landed on the ground with a heavy thud and a gouge driven into the dirt. After a moment’s consideration Bowser threw the key in the same general direction, then turned back toward the expo hall, folding his arms and watching it slowly burn.

“This science expo thing’s more fun than I thought,” he said. “Maybe I’ll have one.”

Abruptly, he leaned over Luigi, really blocking out the sun this time. They were all alone out here, Luigi realized. Everyone else had evacuated out the other side of the building. If Bowser wanted to do anything to him, there was nobody to stop it.

But… he wasn't. And he hadn't. Right now he was just staring at Luigi with something like confusion on his face.

"You break anything?" Bowser said.

"No…" Luigi said. He'd been thrown around a lot, but he was used to that now. He probably wouldn't even bruise.

Carefully, Luigi climbed to his feet and brushed off any bits of broken glass or charred wood that had stuck to his clothes. Bowser quickly scrubbed a hand through his hair to do the same.

"Grazie- I mean, thank you for getting us both out," Luigi said.

Bowser rolled his eyes. "Don't do that. It's gross."

"What, thank you?"

"Ugh," Bowser said, so that must have been it.

Was that not what he'd been waiting for, then? Why did he keep looking at Luigi like that?

"Did you have to throw me in the cage, though?" Luigi asked.

Bowser shrugged. "That Poindexter said it was indestructible. You're not fireproof or roofproof, so I figured it'd help. Or whatever." He frowned, slightly. "Roof-proof. Roof, proof. That's a hard one."

While Bowser seemed interested in the pronunciation of the word he'd just invented, the specifics of what he'd said were sinking in for Luigi.

"You… are fireproof," Luigi said slowly.

"Ye-up," Bowser said.

"And roofproof?"

"Dunno about that one, but I've survived bigger buildings than this falling on me."

"And the cage is indestructible."

"Yyyyup."

Luigi buried his face in his hands. "I didn't need to go back for you at all, did I?"

"Nope," Bowser said, almost cheerfully.

"I'm an idiot."

"I told you you were."

Luigi groaned.

He ignored the guffaw of laughter next to him, and the massive hand that slapped his back. It was only when Bowser muttered something that Luigi forced himself to look up again.

It had sounded like, "Not like I don't appreciate it."

"What?" Luigi said.

"Nothing, shut up."

"I didn't-"

"Shut up," Bowser repeated firmly, and turned away from him to watch the burning building once again. One of the windows collapsed inward, and Bowser pumped his fist and gave an only slightly forced cheer. "Whoo! Good one."

For a while they both stood there, Luigi regaining his breath, Bowser apparently entertained by destruction. Bowser had said not to thank him, had told him to shut up, but Luigi had this feeling like… he was more bark than bite right now.

“Welp, I’m out of here,” Bowser said after a moment. “Much as I’d like to stay and watch the fire work, I’m not letting anybody lock me up again.” He gave a low growl. “Had enough of that for a lifetime.”

“Ah… take care getting home.”

Bowser gave him another odd look. “I don’t get you.”

“Don’t you?”

“I didn’t need saving. I don’t need your niceties.”

“It’s not for you,” Luigi said, “it’s for me. I’m doing - and saying - these things because I’d feel wrong if I didn’t.”

Bowser shook his head. “Like I said, I don’t get you.” He took a step in the direction his airship had gone when the crew abandoned him. “But uh… grazie, or whatever.”

Luigi blinked. “Prego,” he said, automatically, but Bowser had already started moving.

He stood there, alone, watching Bowser leave with nothing but the crackling of the fire to accompany the thoughts swirling in his head. Did Bowser know he’d just thanked him? He must, right? Luigi had said it right afterward.

Come to think of it, he’d have expected Bowser to be offended that Luigi thought he needed rescuing. But he wasn’t. He returned the favor, thanked Luigi, and walked away without causing any more trouble.

Was Luigi losing his mind? Was this smoke inhalation?

“Luigi!” he heard his brother cry out, and turned around to see Mario running at full-tilt across the grass. He braced himself just in time for Mario to grab him in a bone-crushing hug. 

He knew he’d done the right thing, and he knew Mario would agree once he heard the story, but he still felt a little silly that he’d rushed into danger for the sake of someone who was danger-proof.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Luigi said. He glanced back over his shoulder, even though he knew Bowser was long gone.

Maybe that was it. Maybe so many people knew Bowser didn’t need rescuing that no one ever did it.

Maybe… Bowser had liked having a hero, for once.

[yurimother]

Yuri Isekai 'The Executioner and Her Way of Life' Audiobook Announced

On Saturday, Yen Press announced at its Anime Expo panel that it is producing an audiobook adaptation of Mato Sato's Yuri isekai light novel series The Executioner and Her Way of Life. Yen Audio, Yen Press' imprint from audiobooks, will release the first volume in December 2023.

Yen Press describes the series:

The Lost Ones are wanderers who come here from a distant world known as “Japan.” No one knows how or why they leave their homes. The only thing that is certain is that they bring disaster and calamity. The duty of exterminating them without remorse falls to Menou, a young Executioner. When she meets Akari, it seems like just another job…until she discovers it’s impossible to kill this girl! And when Menou begins to search for a way to defeat this immortality, Akari is more than happy to tag along! So begins a journey that will change Menou forever…

Eight volumes of the original light novels, which are illustrated by Nilitsu, are published by SB Creative's GA Bunko label in Japan. The series received praise for its play on isekai settings and tropes and its inclusion of Yuri elements, which was a relatively uncommon choice when the series first debuted in 2019.

A manga adaptation illustrated by Ryo Mitsuya began serialization in Young Gangan in 2020. Square Enix publishes five collective volumes of the manga in Japanese.

Yen Press licensed both the light novel and manga adaptations of The Executioner and Her Way of Life in English, publishing six volumes of the light novel and two of the manga as of the time of writing.

A television anime adaptation of the series aired from April until June of 2022. It is directed by Yoshiki Kawasaki at J.C. Staff and is licensed in English by Sentai Filmworks. The series is available to stream with English subtitles and dubbing on HIDIVE.

Source: Press Release

[chaoticbooklesbian]

tell us more about going to dashcon what was it like!!!

I'll start out with a disclaimer: I'm one of the approximately five people who had an actually good time at Dashcon as it was happening. I was also 19 years old, my This Is Bad meter wasn't fully developed. These two things are intrinsically linked.

So. I had a really good time, personally. It was also a dumpster fire of an event. I was originally going to go with a partner, but we broke up and they wound up not even going. I'd already bought my plane tickets, so I reached out to the organizers and we worked out a combination of volunteering and panels that would get me a pass and a hotel room for free.

Yes, I was on multiple panels at this event. I was, and still am, an absolute nobody, and I was on multiple panels with now-published-author Mark Oshiro, who was already a Somebody when the con happened. I also volunteered at registration for basically the entire weekend when I wasn't doing panels or taking a quick trip to the expo hall. I hung out with some really cool people, I embarrassed the living daylights out of myself at one of my panels, I met some people I'm still friends with to this day. That's the good, and that's the impression I was left with when I left. It was a dumpster fire, but I had a really good time.

There was definitely some bad for me personally, too, though. Because my hotel room was on the con, I was going to be rooming with strangers. I got to the hotel having just schlepped over from the airport, met one of the organizers, and was given a key to a hotel room I'd be sharing with a married couple...and which only contained one king size bed. I changed out of my airport clothes and found the organizer who'd gotten me the room, told them what happened, and they switched me to a new room with two other volunteers who already knew each other. Everyone was super nice about it, at least. When the infamous $17k "ransom" hit, I gave literally all the cash in my wallet, leaving me with the less than $20 in my bank account to eat for the rest of the weekend. I didn't eat much. I spent most of Sunday afternoon holed up in a suite with one particular organizer and a bunch of other misfits waiting for their rides to the airport to go home.

The worst thing that happened for me, personally, over the entire weekend, involves someone else's private information that I do not feel comfortable disclosing. The short, non-disclosing version is that I and my roommates were called in to help with a situation that none of us were in the least bit qualified to help with and which was grossly mishandled by the organizers present. If I were in that same situation now, I would have handled it very, very differently, but I was 19 and listened to the people I perceived to be the adults in the room.

Overall, while I had a good time, I don't have any rose colored glasses about it. It was the worst event I've ever attended, I don't regret going in the slightest, and I've got a much better barometer for when an event is going to be a disaster and I should just stay home (or go home early, as the case may be).

[waiitiridge]

Health and Safety approved 👷🏼‍♀️

I am helping out with a community disaster preparedness expo and needed something that said "high-vis" "work safe" and "prepared". I found some vests at the dump and made this wee romper. I still have some scraps so thinking a big hair bow and maybe some work safe outfits for my daughters dollies.

[inmateofthemind]

Have Some TWST Fan Lore Part 1: The Arcane Exchange

First of all, credit to @cyanide-latte for coming up with the event name because it just sounds so lovely, doesn't it?

Now, the Arcane Exchange itself is a fairly straightforward "what it says on the tin situation"; it's Twisted Wonderland's version of a student exchange program.

For approximately three months a year (my friends & I are currently working off the idea that this begins very shortly after the end of Book 4's events), students from various arcane academies will host each other and participate in certain events meant to strengthen the bond between the schools without it necessarily having to be competitive. After all, one of the last events that happens before the students are sent back to their respective schools is the National Arcane Academy Culture Fair that mainly works as an expo/convention (aside from the SDC, but you know).

There's a fairly substantial number of students from each school that get selected to participate, and then those various groups are semi-randomly split up amongst the other academies. (i.e Night Raven will host only some of the students from the other academies. Meanwhile, the NRC students going abroad for the exchange will be separated among the other schools).

In the case of Night Raven specifically, all visiting students are distributed amongst the seven dorms in a shared learning experience 'like a great big sleepover'. This is met with mixed results most times, but nothing too crazy since there are enough empty beds based on the number of NRC students having gone off to the other academies.

Speaking of, lets get into the schools involved in the Arcane Exchange!

Night Raven College and Royal Sword Academy are the obvious picks, but that's also a rather obvious recipe for disaster due to their long-established rivalry...if left on their own, at least. Hence the inclusion of other schools to act as a kind of buffer that actually tends to work due to the neutrality of the other two schools.

Noble Bell College does participate(probably the least since they seem to be the smallest school in both scope & population), and the group of myself, Cy, @ramshacklerumble, and @simons-twsted-children have even recently discussed an interesting debate on whether Noble Bell is co-ed. This is important due to the final participant of the Arcane Exchange.

Corlux Key Seminary(CKS), a paramilitary arcane institution of my own creation that will be discussed in more detail in a later post. Corlux is explicitly co-ed in both students and staff; the gender distribution is almost perfectly split down the middle if not outright in favor of the female-identifying population. Despite this progressiveness, however, the Arcane Exchange a bit of an interesting sticking point for CKS (& NBC to a certain extent). While the male students can be assigned to whatever institution they like, the female students of both schools are only ever exchanged with each other. In regard to any potential PR nightmare an incident occurring on campus could cause, this makes sense. Doesn't mean it's not a bit sexist though.

The Arcane Exchange is a fairly standard practice that has even fostered some grand shows of academic comradery, though there have been some....memorable moments over the years as well. For instance, the Arcane Exchange that happened the year before TWST canon starts was Not Fun for NRC as hosts because both the RSA & CKS kids were terrible. As in 'it was considered the 'trial by fire' for both Riddle as a freshman-year Housewarden & the OctoTrio as the staff of the newly-opened Mostro Lounge' kind of terrible. As such, none of the Housewardens are particularly excited when the meeting before the start of the canon-year's exchange approaches. And they're about to feel a lot more ill-at-ease when Crowley rather casually drops this little bombshell;

For the first time since the start of this most noble tradition, Night Raven College will be opening its doors to a selection of female students from Corlux as a kind of experiment of 'broadening horizons & relations' between the academies. If this particular Aracne Exchange proves to be successful (meaning nobody does anything to 'embarrass' NRC and/or CKS), then there's the chance of expanding the openings for female students to participate at RSA's end of the Exchange as well as Noble Bell being able to similarly 'branch out' as it were.

Now that begs the question; is Crowley really about to let a relatively small group of girls onto an all-boys campus & just have them shack-up in the dorms? "NO! Absolutely not; I would never do anything so foolish and dangerous to those promising young pupils! As a matter of fact, I have arranged for all of the female participants to have accommodations all to themselves for their comfort and safety. Oh how generous I am; it's almost unnerving!" Now if only Crowley had thought to mention to the host of those accommodations that they're about to find themselves with a LOT more roommates than the usual weasel.

Apologies to one Gia Yugo...

NOT! This is going to be fun~ >:)

Taglist: @cyanide-latte @simons-twsted-children @tixdixl @ramshacklerumble (let me know if you also want to be tagged)

[courtforshort15]

Direct quotes from Charlie and Vincent's panel:

Random questioner: What would be your character's go-to karaoke song?

Charlie: Definitely Kung Foo Fighting

Vincent: I think I have to go with the same song

Charlie: Fisk could do the "HOO! HUH!" parts. *mimes karate chops and kicks*

Vincent: HOO! HUH! *also mimes karate chops and kicks*

I laughed so hard I almost cried. They're such nerds.

Also: I want to mention that Vincent received a text from William Shatner while on stage.

-

[invadernurse]

Catching Flies Masterpost

The Reason this blog was even created. If you want to see the rest of my work (and follow my far-more-active main blog) Follow this here link!

The following have been updated as of Dec 2023; so if its been a while go give it a read. I do plan on posting more the next few weeks!

Chapter One: Cruel and Unusual

Chapter Two: Weirdo Club

Chapter Three: Meeting of DOOM

Chapter Four: The Dreaded 'H' Word

Chapter Five: Stupid Obligated Backstory

Chapter Six: Disaster Breakfast

Chapter Seven: Look! A Filler Chapter Already

Chapter Eight: Imagination Gone Insane

Chapter Nine: (Don't) Meet Your Heroes

Chapter Ten: Stir the Pot

Chapter Eleven: House of Chaos

Chapter Twelve: EMP

Chapter Thirteen: Dark Revelations

Chapter Fourteen: Calm Before the Storm

Chapter Fifteen: Expo of the Bizarre

Chapter Sixteen: Reality is Subjective

Chapter Seventeen: Aliens May Exist

Chapter Eighteen: Bad idea turned Disasterrific

Chapter Nineteen: A Knife to the (Brain)

Chapter Twenty: Encounter of the (?) Kind

Chapter Twenty One: Birth of a Destroyer

[ihatesocialmedia45]

Chapter 5: Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch

There is no love for a woman out of her mind - except a man who's lost his as well.

The woman sat across from Homelander in the café, blowing gently on her drink as he cut a plain croissant into eighths, before sticking a portion onto his fork. The scent of coffee, earthy and mellow, wafted around them in thick plumes, mingling with his scent. She sniffled to disguise the deep inhale she took, breathing him in. He smelled... clean, like the scent of rain. A hint of ozone lurked beneath the fresh note, a bolt of lightening on a clear blue sky. Homelander set his knife and fork on the plate as he chewed, the metallic clink of the utensils delicate against her ear.

They'd more or less been silent for the past five minutes, subtly sizing each other up, asking benign questions and giving superficial answers; the Seven, the Expo, what it was like to fly. She'd tried her hand at humor, (a shy, "So, how is the weather up there?"), but he'd only given a tight, "Cold," in response, so she'd abandoned that attempt in favor of a pensive nod, considering his reply. 

Cold, she thought with distaste. Winter was her least favorite season.

"You always make it look so... effortless," she said, keeping her mind focused on not leaning in. It wouldn't do, to spoil this after everything was going so well. He'd invited her, for coffee. He'd wanted to see her. She thought back to what he'd said at the Expo, face growing warm at the memory.

'I actually care about my fans'

His fans. His.

She... was his.

She willed him to hear it somehow, but Homelander only gave a soft smile, though not as genuine as before. He looked... disappointed, she saw; he kept his eyes from her, cast just above her face, or on his croissant, her hands. But never her eyes. Her hand twitched; she wanted to bring it to his jaw, angle him to meet her gaze. She shifted in her seat.

Look at me... I can't stand this. Please.

"I don't know if I could manage flying - I hate the cold," she continued, pulse quickening when he finally glanced up at her, his eyes softening the smallest degree. The memory of her apartment, warm, home, echoed in his bones. He shifted, leaning in the tiniest amount.

I know, Homelander thought. I do, too.

The confession seemed to melt the layer of frost around him somewhat; he scooted closer, eyes suddenly glowing with a soft, boyish excitement.

"I don't feel the cold in the same way a regular person might... but the gloves do help. They're good for cutting through wind resistance," Homelander said, bringing his hand to the table. He gestured toward it with his head, a lopsided little smile on his lips.

The woman's heart pounded, eyebrows raised slightly. An invitation... to touch him? Slowly, she brought her hand to his, a light tremor running through her as she graced a tentative palm against the back of his hand, admiring the leather, the strong feel of his tendons underneath. Brushing her fingers against his palm, she felt the ribbed material, the minute flexing of his hand, and her mouth watered, the urge to take his fingers into her mouth sudden and demanding.

She raised his hand to her eye level, an undeniable longing radiating off her in waves - but she simply turned his hand, back and forth, before placing it on the table, and smiling at him.

"Yeah, I'm sure! Is that... full-grain?" Homelander gave a surprised "Hm!", nodding.

"Yes, actually. Do you... work with leather?" She shook her head, a woeful expression on her face.

"Oh, no... the last time I tried was a disaster. I looked at a YouTube video, so I'm basically an expert; I don't know what went wrong," they laughed together, the chill of their earlier conversation forgotten.

Homelander eyed her as she giggled, the subtle shifting in her seat making the gears turn in his mind. She clearly wanted to lean in, move closer to him - so why didn't she? He'd even taken the plunge first, scooting in, letting her know: It's safe. You can lean into me.

Please, lean in to me.

He'd been... a bit put out, by her banal attempts at conversation at the start of this little test. She'd showed promise at the Expo, a hint of that fervent longing she'd voiced during New Year's. But as soon as they'd arrived at the coffeeshop, it was over; Homelander watched the chance of them kissing whip through the wind, too fast for him to catch. He couldn't help the dismay that overtook him. Where was that girl, the one who'd wanted him? He'd misjudged her, he thought, morose, as she prattled on about the Seven, about the fucking weather... had he really been so foolish?

Even the thought of killing her brought no joy - he just wanted to go home, and lie under the covers. Spend the day at Everest. 

But then... once again, she'd surprised him, with that little bite of contempt: 'I hate the cold' - and he'd looked up, the memory of her apartment, warm and comforting, flashing to his mind.

She was being... honest. He thought back to her whispered confessions, her absence on her mother's account. Perhaps... she knew what the cold was like. Perhaps she'd even caught his disdain for it, as well. The thoughts tumbled in his mind, and a slow smile crept across his face as he raised his hand to her, scooted closer.

He hadn't expected her to bring his hand to her face - he'd sucked in the quietest breath as she did, studying the palm of his hand like she might commit it to memory, her eyes molten, pulse racing.

For a second, Homelander thought she might kiss him there; he willed her to know that he would let her, but so intense was her gaze, that she missed the near pained look in his eyes - one he quickly stuffed away. 

They met each other's gaze for a beat, a tentative understanding forming between them, like threads being woven to fabric. She leaned in - and Homelander let out the breath he'd been holding.

"Do you wanna... get out of here?" he asked, the flash of nervousness leaving him entirely as she'd nodded before he'd even finished his sentence. He smiled, genuinely.

Sage paced the perimeter of her room, Maeve watching her through the corner of her eye. The laptop they'd just been huddled over now sat forgotten on the desk. What they'd just seen could mean disaster for Vought, the idea sending their minds into chaotic spirals; Sage's, brain teemed with plans, while Maeve's settled into quiet apathy. 

The moment they'd arrived at the Tower, she'd dragged Maeve by the arm into her quarters, and started clicking away on her laptop, plugging her phone in and transferring the camera footage she'd hacked from the Expo's security system.

They'd watched silently; Homelander, expression dark and lost - before he left for... who knows what. Then, fast-forward five minutes later, his return; he'd looked angry, jaw snapped tight as he walked on stage. Sage fast-forwarded through his speech, the Q&A... and let the video roll, hearing Maeve's soft gasp.

A woman, her demeanor shy, was making her way to Homelander as he sat, head in his hands. The two women watched as he flew down to her, the way they both seemed to careen toward each other, like underwater plants. Sage paused; Homelander, almost imperceptibly, had raised his hand - just an inch, but the implication was clear. Maeve looked at Sage, eyes wide, disbelief etched onto her face.

"A girlfriend?" she breathed. "No," Sage murmured, her tone heavy with dark realization. "I don't think so."

Sage bounded for the door, Maeve scrambling to meet her, the two swiftly making their way down the hall. "Where are you going?" Maeve's tone was hushed.

"Stan Edgar. We have to alert him."

Stan Edgar sat in his office, fingers steepled as the two women flanked him behind a large mahogany desk. The glow of the laptop cast an eerie whiteness onto his face, Sage thought, averting her gaze. His tone, as always, had been polite, if a bit cold, as he'd let them in, listening patiently as Sage relayed their investigation to him. Finally, after a moment of silence that hung on too long, he'd asked to see the footage, a faint smile gracing his lips.

"So, you posit that this woman... may hold some significance.. to Homelander," he started, looking up at Sage from beneath the rims of his glasses. She nodded.

"Yes. The nature of their relationship remains unclear - it's possible she's a Supe with powers of interest to him. We believe that he might be planning some form of alliance." Maeve's eyes widened.

A team up... that was the last thing they needed: Homelander joining forces with someone who was not only willing to work with him, but seemed to enjoy his company, on top of that - she had to have been just as unstable as he was.

"I appreciate your insights," Stan said smoothly, "but rest assured: Vought has been keeping tabs on Homelander from the outset. This footage, while... informative... doesn't serve to change much, in regards to our plans for him. The situation is well under control. You needn't concern yourselves with this... investigation." Sage felt her blood boil at the dismissal, but Stan had already closed the laptop and was pressing it into her hands, that same smile hinting around the corners of his mouth.

"I'll let you know if we ever require your assistance," Stan told her, and, thoroughly dismissed now, she and Maeve left his office, Sage's brain sparking.

"He... already has a plan?" Sage was confounded. Maeve pat her on the back, her face calmer since the meeting; Stan's words, though condescending, had dissipated the worry that had been brewing within her. She could imagine being talked to in such a way would infuriate the world's smartest person - and the lack of consultation on this plan Stan had was bound to sting -  yet for Maeve, Stan's assurance meant she could finally relax. Stan would handle Homelander, as he'd done for years. 

"Of course he does. Stan is the only one Homelander has ever really respected. He's more or less the only thing keeping him in check."

Sage grimaced. "I just don't like the way he dismissed me," she muttered. Maeve put a hand on her shoulder, fighting a smile; she'd been right. - Sage was moody. She rubbed her shoulder as Sage pouted, her voice assuring. "Well, he's a business man. You know he'd never ask for help... and besides - he knows how smart you are. It's a matter of when he asks you - not if."

Sage gave an appreciative smile, eyes warm on Maeve's face. "Thank you," she said, a little ruefully, though Maeve's words did little to calm the barrage of questions that flashed through her brain. What did Stan know about this, that he was so calm? Was he calm, or was it just a front? And what did he intend to do?

But Maeve smiled down at her then, offering to treat her to lunch, and she tried to put her anxieties to rest. "I'm thinking... Polynesian. What about you?" Sage nodded.

"Mmm... that does sound good."

Homelander walked side by side with the woman, the heat of her body a whisper away - yet he kept his hand firmly by his side. They'd been out since 10; getting coffee, strolling around town, even stopping by a good truck. Homelander, never one for greasy foods, looked on disapprovingly as she dug into her street tacos, but couldn't say no when she'd offered to share. She'd wanted to share with him.

They passed by a thrift shop, and he looked down as they grinned in excitement. "Oh, I love this place! I get all my figurines from here!" they exclaimed, and unthinkingly, she grabbed his hand as she headed for the door, the cheery door chime like church bells in Homelander's ears.

Homelander took in the shop; it was a bit shabby, with warm but flickering bulbs, with  a trail of fairy lights adorning the celling. Strange décor littered the space, from a wall full of Garfield memorabilia, to a collection of Victoria Neuman bobbleheads. He'd never seen anything like it, he marveled. Vought only ever took him to high-end boutiques, and all of his furniture was shipped straight to his room. He tried to recall the last time he'd been into a store at all... and came up blank. The woman touched his arm, the softness rippling under his skin.

"I have an idea," they said. "You... find something, and I'll find something. Then, we can trade!" She smiled, pleased with her idea.

Homelander returned the gesture, though his heart felt as though it might burst through his chest with the way it was hammering. A gift? She wanted to find something... for him?

He nodded. "Alright," he said, easy tone belying the tremor of his hand, watching as she bounded off for the tchotchkes. 

Homelander swept across the humble establishment, trying to envision her here, on her off days, after work, looking wistfully through the windows after closing - and found that he could, quite easily. She was in her element here, looking through the knick-knacks with practiced ease; he looked on as she picked up two near identical figurines, deliberating. Homelander focused. One was porcelain, the other cheap glass; he raised a brow as she looked, gaze steely, before choosing the porcelain one, slipping it into her basket.

Returning to his search, he sifted through the fluttery scarves and baseball caps, lips pursed in concentration. Something... Homelander's mind came up blank, followed by a flash of irritation. How vague...

Something... what? Homelander paced now, shuffling through the jewelry that called to him with its glinting allure - though he refrained from looking closer. Even now, he knew that would be a bit much - and besides, he assured himself, she hadn't proved she was worthy of such a gift. He nodded. 

Soon, he found his way to the ornaments, and he soon understand why she'd chosen to start here. This section was chock full of intriguing little baubles; a miniature set of shepherd boys, crowded around a sleeping lamb, a glass mermaid filled with some sort of blue liquid that gurgled when Homelander tipped it upside down... slowly, a sense of subdued curiosity wound through him, and he searched earnestly, unaware that the woman had already made her choice, and was looking over at him, expression fond.

Homelander lost himself in the perusal, turning over ornate silver pans and antique-looking desk clocks, genuinely enjoying himself. He found a piggy bank that had been painted to look like a clown, a pair of bunnies sharing a carrot, a cat lapping at a bowl of cream... before he finally found it: a duck, maybe a swan. The figure was made of alabaster, soft white and creamy to the touch. It lay on its stomach, a dark downward flick painting its eye closed, while its neck swooped in a graceful bend. It was perfect. Homelander plucked it from the shelf, excitement racing in his veins.

They walked up to him then, a smile in their eyes. "The cashier compted us! She said you'd saved her son last week - the bus-jacking on 5th and Walker?" Homelander vaguely recalled, a shy grin lighting up his face. "Oh!" he said, waving a hand at the woman behind the register, who grinned - and a thought came to him. Looking around, he searched for the marker he always kept on him for times like this, and found an old portrait. 

Thanks so much! he wrote in looping cursive.

You're the real hero

Homelander

He looked around, before placing the portrait in the employee's office, taking the woman's hand and smoothly striding out, giving the cashier another wave. 

Maybe "New year, New Homelander" was right, he mused, looking into her smiling face with a brighter one than he'd given in ages.

The sun was going down as Homelander and the woman walked down the street. He looked over at her, to see that she'd been looking at him, and he gave a teasing grin when she flushed, caught staring. 

"I don't think I've ever enjoyed myself this much before," she said, taking his hand. Homelander squeezed, and nodded.

"I've never been to a place like that before. Thank you. I... I liked it."

They took their seats on a park bench, where she sat the thrift store bag, then looked to him with a cheeky grin. "Okay. Are you ready?" Homelander nodded. "Ready."

He looked, eyes expectant and a little nervous, as she rustled through the bag, breath catching in his throat when she gave a dramatic turn, his gift perched in her hands. She grinned.

"Ta-da! It's a little wax warmer!"

Homelander looked it over, taking it from her with a gentle hand and turning it this way and that. It was a sturdy little contraption, built to resemble a small fireplace, complete with a cheery assortment of stockings that hung from the mantle, the enamel coating smooth against his gloves. He looked up, curiosity piqued. "What do I do with it?" 

"You put scented wax in it! And it makes the room smell good."

"Oh," Homelander said simply, brow furrowed. "But... I don't have any wax." 

"That's okay! I have a bunch, at my apartment - if you'd like to come? You can look through what I have, and see if there's anything you like."

Homelander snapped his gaze to her, heartbeat thudding hard in his chest. Come to her apartment?

This wouldn't be like last time he'd been there, which he tried to wipe from his mind. He'd had to get rid of the weakness she'd imbued him with, he thought. But now, that was over - she was inviting him over this time. Letting him in, where once she'd closed the door. He imagined the warmth that would envelop him the minute they stepped through the door, sitting on the couch that seemed to pull him into its deep recesses like a hug. The soft glow of her lamps, the scent of dinner on the stove... He imagined coming home to the scene, night after night, the business of the Seven and Vought irrelevant. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed, the upturn of his mouth soft.

"Yes," he murmured. "I'd like that."

Hand in hand, they walked to her door - the knob had been replaced, Homelander noticed - and, just as he'd hoped, a cloud of heat wrapped around him in a thick, welcoming plume as they entered her apartment. Homelander looked around, though he'd already committed the layout and design to memory, and made his way to the couch, sinking down into it, eyes sliding shut. It was just like his Everest recliner - except the warmth wasn't confined to the seat. It billowed around him, carrying the woman's scent, the smell of her home, into his nose. Her apartment smelled like brown sugar, and books - the scent of a freshly blown out candle. He felt a contended rumble sound in his throat.

The woman joined him then, bringing her tub of wax warmers. "Okay, I have apricot, leather, wool, vanilla, birthday cake - which is different," she said sternly. "I'm sure," Homelander chuckled, his hand brushing hers as he inspected the variety of melts. He brought the two to his nose: vanilla and birthday cake. She was right; they were different. While the vanilla had an earthy note to its sweetness, the birthday cake melt possessed a depth the other didn't, and a slight nutty undertone. She held a melt up for him to smell, her eyes warm. He leaned in, the room silent, save for the whisper of his inhale. 

Leather. 

Once again... warmth. The scent was smoky, and earthen, deep -  with a faint metallic tang. He took another sniff, and then another, his thoughts whirling in his head, hand beginning to shake - and just as she was about to ask him what he thought, he was leaning in, and kissing her, gently placing the melt on the table next to them and holding her face in his hand. 

She leaned into him, head inclined, a lock of her hair brushing his cheek. Moving to kiss him deeper, she pressed him into the back of the couch, and - Homelander gasped into her mouth - settled onto his lap, her arms around his neck. She kissed him slowly, savoring the taste of him, tongue almost shy against his. He cradled the back of her head, pressing into her, before sliding his hands down, to wrap around her waist. She moved to kiss his neck, his jaw, the brush of her tongue against his pulse making him tremble, before returning her mouth to his, their movements languid as the couch enveloped them both in an embrace of its own. 

They pulled from each other slowly, the charge of the kiss still running through them, though it cooled to a calm domesticity as she slid to rest her head on his chest. "I'm guessing you liked the leather one, then," she joked, and he laughed, the sound rumbly against her ear. He brought a hand to her back, holding her close - and hoped she could hear more than his heartbeat.

In front of them, on the table, sat their gifts - Homelander's new wax warmer, and the swan he'd picked out for her, the small duck he'd returned resting within the loop of its neck.

[kurgy]

oh my god the miku expo disaster of 2024....

[lunawings]

So. Guess where I was tonight.

Oh man what a DISASTER.

Well the show was probably fine but listen. OK LISTEN.

For the past two Miku Expo shows at least, they announced the day before that they were unable to do merch in a tent outside from 2 like they did at other venues, and would be doing it inside from 6.

Except like. Only VIP get in at 6. Everyone else gets in at 7. That means, if you're not VIP, the best you could hope for is to get in right at 7, an hour late, and you would have to line up hours earlier just for that chance. And if you didn't line up hours early, you're just SOL because the show starts at 8.

So, longtime followers of this blog will know that the merch line is a big part of any idol concert to me. But, somewhat regretting my experience in the merch line at Koushien, and learning of the situation above, I decided not to deal with it. Heck, I even made plans beforehand to keep myself from lining up.

I lined up anyway. Only a little early though, because my brain kept nagging and NAGGING ME. You always do merch Luna. Always. You'll regret it. YOU'LL REGRET IT.

So as soon as we got in though, everyone rushed to the lobby to find... the merch was behind us and down the stairs. And the crowd was already basically too thick to go back. WELP.

But it turns out, I did not regret it. Because I learned penlights sold out BEFORE THEY OPENED THE DOORS FOR GENERAL ADMISSION ANYWAY.

That was the one thing I really wanted the most. And I had no chance of getting it, even if I lined up hours earlier as originally planned. So. Actually. I did not regret it.

Except.

THIS WAS SUCH BS.

Merch should not be VIP only in my opinion!! I mean they ALREADY get a special gift bag as it is!?

AND ANOTHER THING

Most people at Japanese idol concerts use two penlights, right? Well, even for the people who could buy one at the venue, it was limited to one per person. And they sold out so quickly online. So, actually being at this show with two official penlights would be nearly impossible unless you had some from previous shows. Which would be fine EXCEPT

THEY TECHNICALLY REQUIRE YOU TO USE ONLY OFFICIAL PENLIGHTS

This was written on the website and announced before the show.

Like

HOW???????

I said screw it and used the generic ones I had programmed for Kinpri cheering. (Miku green was my Taiga green sorryyyy.) I didn't get kicked out or anything but OHHHHHH that made me mad.

I WOULD HAVE USED OFFICIAL ONES

IF YOU HAD LET ME!!?!!?!!

So yeah. The show. I only had two major complaints about the show.

Honestly, I don't know that much Vocaloid music. It's just that like, I only have so many chances to go to Japanese idol concerts nowadays and I'll be damned if I'll miss any of them. So I can't comment on the setlist, but other people seemed to enjoy it.

I was in the orchestra pit which I wanted so I could be in the action. Except.

I just found myself thinking like...... if you really HAVE to use a TV instead of a hologram. Then like. Why not raise it. Just a liiiittle bit. So the shorter people in the orchestra pit can see???

I mean, it didn't really look to me like the characters were really on stage. They tried their best to hide it, but it was obviously a TV. So what's the difference!? Why not put it where everyone can see lol....

My other complaint, and I am surprised I didn't hear anyone else complaining about this... it was super short. Like less than two hours!? One of the shortest concerts I've ever been to. I was kinda pissed looking at the time afterward because I was already committed to staying overnight when I could have made the last bus. Ugh.

But despite all that, I did have fun. Aside from the merch disaster, it felt like a typical Japanese idol concert and I enjoyed bopping along with the music, cheering, screaming, having a good time with Miku.

Miku miku ooo eee ooo.