#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

[romcomxdd]

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.

[hatsune-sophia]

i'm reblogging this because i really warmed up to the song and now with all the shit w miku expo 2024 i really feel bad for the person who made it and every artist associated w the event... they and the fans were screwed over big time

huh the miku expo context winner song is really good

[tvgremlin]

I just need sydcarmy fluff where they finally get their first star and LOVE CONFESSIONS galore!

you’re such a wonderful writer🫂🫂🫂🫂

Here you go! And thank you so much for the compliment, you are too kind!!

I've had terribille writers block latley but mark my words I will get through my prompts backlog! If you want to add to it my inbox is always open, just be warned that it may take a minute for me to respond <3

Read the rest of the prompts on ao3 here.

Stars

They are in the kitchen when they find out.

Standing side by side at the expo counter, the toes of their shoes pressed together as they wait. 

“Holy shit,” she says when the call pops up on her phone, dropping the device beside the ticket printer, “it’s-“

Her voice dies in her throat as he picks up the call, putting it on speaker.

“Is this Sydney Adamu?” The woman asks.

“Yes, this is she” her is voice shaking. She can feel Carmy’s hand on her back, holding her up.

“And Carmen Bearzatto,” he says.

“Wonderful,” They can hear the smile in her voice. “Well, I’m calling with good news. The Bear has been awarded a Michelin star. We’ll see you tomorrow at the ceremony. Congratulations.”

The woman hangs up before either one can say anything.

They look at each other for a moment. The air between them is charged. Something new inhabits the space.

He pulls her close. She melts into his embrace. 

She is crying now, tears of joy and relief staining his whites.

“We did it,” she repeats over and over, “We fucking did it.”

He is holding her so tight. She can feel his heartbeat, can feel how <i>alive</i> he is here.

<i>They did it. They made it.</i>

She thinks of them in New York, all scarred hands and rough edges. Blood orange and messy grief, a disaster still in progress.

She thinks of them in the Beef’s kitchen, talking about everything and nothing all at once. She can still feel his hands on her shoulders and can hear how he yelled when everything fell apart.

And she thinks of them side by side during service, so in sync, it scares the new line cook. She keeps him grounded as he lights a fire beneath her feet.

He squeezes her arm, his nose pressed into her cheek. He surrounds her. She hopes it is always this way. 

When he kisses her she realizes that this, this was how it was supposed to be. This is the love that the poets promised. 

He tastes like nicotine and the pasta she made for family. Like <i>home.</i>

In her arms he is soft. He touches her like she might disappear, tender and all-consuming. 

When they separate he presses his forehead to hers, lingering in her space. 

“I love you,” he says like it’s an easy thing, like this is how it’s always been.

“I love you too.” It feels like breathing to say it back. <i>They are alive.</i>

His hands cup her face. She is so beautiful. 

She smiles and he laughs. 

“I love you,” he repeats, “I love you and we have a fucking star.”

She is laughing now too, a fresh round of tears falling. <i>She is so fucking happy.<i>

“I love you, and we have to <i>retain a fucking star</i>.”

He wipes a tear from her cheek.

“We can do it,” He kisses her again, sweet and chaste, “It will be okay.”

Her hands are in his hair, carding soft curls through her fingers. She loves him. He loves her. This is all there needs to be.

“I know.” 

[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.

[bakenekobyte]

Okay so i read that they might only be using the led screen because of coachella. which sort of makes sense so i hope that's true

im going to the atlanta show which is after then (april 21st is the last day of coachella). but even if that's true, i feel really bad for anyone who might potentially be stuck with the led screens... poor management for real.

miku expo 2024's first show using a black led screen instead of hologram projections... oogh noooo 😭

[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

[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.

-

[ladyantiheroine]

Behind Every Great Man

Summary: Homelander has been bad. Now Madelyn needs to deal with him. Read on AO3.

Pairing: Homelander x Madelyn Stillwell

Warnings: Explicit sexual content.

Word Count: 3.3k words

Tags: Femdom, pegging, finger sucking. older woman/younger man. office sex. dom/sub undertones, boss/employee relationship, bottom!Homelander, mommy kink, sub!Homelander, punishment, spanking, rewrite.

Author's Note: This scene in the show cut off before the smut happened, so I'm here to fix that.

He could hear and see her through the walls. Over the years that Homelander worked for her, Madelyn developed a unique power of her own. The ability to sense when her top Supe was watching and listening. He thought he was being discreet. Sneaky.

Not after tonight. 

She clicked away from the news feed of Starlight’s Believe Expo disaster and pulled up the security monitor on her laptop. You would think a man with super senses would notice a small security camera just outside the door. But either Homelander was not as bright as he seemed, or didn’t seem to care.

He was standing in front of his headshot on the wall. Anyone who walked by would just assume he was vain if they didn’t know her office was on the other side of that picture frame. He pressed a hand to the wall, the other on his petulant hip.

He knew he was in trouble. She could tell from the nervous, impatient look on his face. Like a kid who’d been called to the principal’s office. Madelyn lifted her eyes to the opposite wall, the one that divided her and him

“I see you,” she said.

Without looking at the screen, Madelyn could sense him shift a little behind the wall. The man had super hearing, he knew she was speaking to him. It was a thrilling thought, having the most powerful man in the world whimpering at her door.

“I know you’re watching me,” she said. “You’ve been out there quite a lot lately. Always watching.”

She listened for a response, but there was none. In the security camera, Homelander stood frozen in the hallway.

“So, why don’t you just come on inside?” she said.

There was a grin on her face, a tease in her voice. Not many people could say they left a Supe speechless. The pleasure of it was almost enough to distract her from the anger burning in her stomach over Homelander’s speech.

He stood in the hallway, staring at the door, hands itching but completely still.

“You afraid of me?” she asked.

Homelander scoffed, and yes, it was ridiculous someone like him would be afraid of her. But his smirked wilted. He approached the door, turned the handle, then let it fall open with a wooden creak.

Madelyn’s gaze wasn’t as cold as he expected it to be. It was…gentle, if not exactly warm. Like a schoolteacher who needed to speak to yet another misbehaving child.

“Come in,” she said.

No venom in her voice, no ice in her tone. Just a simple command. Homelander did as he was told, stepping into the office with his eyes to the floor. The door shut behind him and Homelander tried to recall if Madelyn’s office had an automatic lock.

He stood in front of her desk with his hands behind his back. He knew what he had done, can’t say he was even ashamed of it. But he knew even when he was on that stage monologuing to that sunlit crowd that Madleyn would be upset with him. And now, he had to face the headmistress.

Madleyn stood up from her desk, slammed her laptop shut and removed her glasses.

“Have I not been paying enough attention to you?” she asked. Her tone was unexpectedly tender. “Are you lonely? Must be hard…feeling so alone.” 

Then, her dark eyes seem to temper. She gave him a look that was almost…pitiful. In the softest voice, she said, “I’m sorry.”

Then, her tone sharpened. Harsh like nails on his back. Even as she offered him a smile, there was a menace under her words.

“But,” she said. “You can not do a speech like that. You can not be bad.”

Madelyn stepped out from behind her desk, and for a moment Homelander thought she was going to walk right up to him. Instead, she brushed past him and made her way towards the couch. She took a seat and looked at him expectantly. 

Then, she reached for the top button of her white blouse. She plucked one, two, down to her stomach. In the cotton slit, her breasts were tucked into a nude bra. She gave him an innocuous look.

“Come here,” she said. Like she was calling a kitten.

Her tone was sweet and gentle, beckoning, but there was a cool command right underneath it. Homelander swallowed, then did as she asked. He approached her next to the couch, and she took his hand to sit him down beside her.

She took his shoulder and pulled him closer, lowering his head down into her lap. Homelander’s heart hitched when his cheek pressed to her warm thigh and he tried to suppress the moan crawling up his throat. Her fingers brushed his hair and he swore he could start purring.

“You have to be good,” Madelyn cooed. “And you have to listen to me…and then we can both get what we want.”

She gently pressed a hand to the side of his face, and moved his head so he was looking up at her. She adjusted the folds of her blouse so his lips could brush against her breast. Homelander instinctively pushed his mouth to her bra, the way a baby instinctively knew when to feed.

Madelyn moved her fingers to his lower lip. His lips were already open, leaving just enough for her to slide two fingertips inside. Homelander let out a stifled moan. He finally gave in. He nuzzled his head closer to her chest and took her fingers deeper inside him.

“Feels good?” she whispered.

Homelander placed a gloved hand on her wrist, to keep her inside him. His tongue caressed and tasted her fingers.

“You’re my good boy,” she purred.

At that moment, Homelander’s body and mind melted like honey. He moaned into Madelyn’s hand. He could have stayed like this forever, helpless and suckling at her breasts like an infant. The world outside of the office felt blurry, distant, barely white noise. It was just him and the taste of Madelyn in his mouth.

But before his lips could move closer to her bra, Madelyn pulled her fingers out. Homelander’s eyes snapped open and he saw her wipe her fingers with a tissue she plucked from her pocket.

“Wha…” he said. His lips were wet and his mind was still a little too fuzzy to speak.

“You’re my good boy, John,” she said. The sound of his name made his heart jolt. She grabbed his face in one hand. “But you still misbehaved. And so I need to discipline you, and make sure you don’t do it again.”

Dread filled Homelander’s stomach, even as his blood rushed hot. Madelyn shifted off the couch and Homelander sat up to watch her approach her desk. She opened a drawer in her desk with a harsh, metallic rrrrrum . Homelander’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard when he saw Madleyn pull something out by his wooden handle.

“I was in a sorority, you know,” Madelyn said. “The difference between my house and others was that we didn’t use these on our sisters. We used them on the Alpha Sigma boys just down the road.” 

She tested the paddle against her hand. The wood was cut with a nice shine, few dents or scraps that would come with common usage.

Like she saved it for you, Homelander thought.

“If one of the boys messed with one of our sisters…if he broke her heart, or stole from us, or tried any funny pranks…well, we invited him over, and took turns disciplining him.”

The paddle made a sharp thump sound on Madelyn’s palm. Homelander’s face flushed listening to her speak, imaging her bending some college boy over a table and beating him red. It choked him with both jealousy and want.

Madelyn’s eyes flicked down between his legs.

“Those red trousers don’t leave much to the imagination, do they?”

Homelander looked down between his thighs. Indeed, the bulge in his red overshorts stood erect and he burned with embarrassment.

Madelyn cocked her head.

“Get up,” she said.

Homelander bit his lip and stood up from the couch. He stepped closer before Madelyn, his hands itching to cover his erection. Madelyn moved closer to him, close enough he could smell her perfume and feel her breath. She pinched his cape between her fingers and traced them down to the trim.

“Take it off,” she said.

Homelander gulped and reached for the neck of his cape. He missed laying his head in her lap, her fingers in his mouth, cooing over him. Maybe, if he did what she said, she’d pull him back to the couch again.

His patriotic cape fell to the floor in a graceful puddle. Then, Madelyn suddenly reached down his waist and grabbed his belt. Homelander grunted as she pulled him closer by the belt and began to unclasp it.

“I hate to do this to you,” she said, and Homelander didn’t need mind-reading powers to know she was lying. “But I need you to remember what happens when you don’t follow instructions.

His belt fell to the floor with a metallic clang. Madelyn stood up and grabbed the paddle off her desk.

“Take your pants off,” she said.

Homelander stood frozen for a moment.

To anyone looking from the outside, this whole scene seemed like a farce. Homelander could easily leave if he wanted to. No locked door could keep him inside. He could leave Madelyn a pile of flesh and bones on the floor in seconds. But it wasn’t a matter of physical coercion. Homelander had hurt the woman he loved. He disappointed her, made himself less before her. And so he needed to redeem himself to her.

Slowly, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and pulled them down.

“Underwear, too,” Madelyn said.

She watched him peel his blue suit down to his knees, and then, his tighty-whities. Homelander’s cock was upright and red, and his ass was tightly clenched. He was going to have to loosen up if he wanted to get out of this with less pain than necessary. 

Madelyn stepped up to Homelander and pressed a hand to his cheek. Instinctively, he squished his cheek into her palm. She brushed her thumb just under his eyes and she swore she heard a little purr deep in his throat. Her face was close to his, her eyes so soft and her smile so sweet, and Homelander thought for a moment she might kiss him.

Then, her hand smoothed to the back of his head and grabbed a fistful of his hair. Homelander didn’t feel pain that easily, but he winced at the sudden sensation of her nails in his scalp. Madelyn moved Homelander to face the side of her desk. And then, pressing a hand between his shoulders, snapped him in half over the top of it.

Homelander yelped as his face hit the chilled wood of her desk. Madleyn curled her hand around the tight handle of the paddle and readied it.

“I’m giving you ten,” she said. “I want you to count.”

Homelander gulped and squeezed his eyes shut. He nodded, then Madelyn lifted the paddle and sent it slamming against the Supe’s bare behind.

Again, pain didn’t come easy to Homelander. But under Madelyn’s hand, he opened his body to every sensation it would allow. The impact lit up his tender flesh and spread through his body like a lightning strike. He pressed his face into the desk and moaned.

“I said count,” Madelyn said, her voice like ice water.

“One,” he moaned.

Madelyn nodded. She wouldn’t show it, but her heart was knocking at her ribs. Few people in this world could say they had the world’s most powerful man bent over her desk. After years of endearing jokes from male colleagues about fucking their secretaries in their office chairs, it felt nice to be the boss bending over someone else.

And besides, despite his strength, Homelander was always his most beautiful when he was weak and malleable.

Madelyn lifted the paddle and sent more strikes down. Every time, Homelander whimpered and moaned against the impact. And every time, he counted just as she told him two.

“Two...” Smack . “Three…” Smack . “Four…” Smack .

By the time they reached five, Homelander was red as a cherry. His hands were gripping the side of her desk, and Madelyn wondered if he would snap it. And then she wondered, could she make him snap it?

She sent the last five down in rapid, merciless succession. Six, seven,eight, nine. Homelander barely had time to whimper out each number before his red, tender ass got another whack from the paddle. He was trembling and sweating and his cock was dribbling precome on the carpet.

“Look at you,” Madelyn said sweetly, brushing a hand down Homelander’s back. “Making a mess, are you?”

He didn’t respond, just pressed his blushing face into her desk. Madelyn lifted the paddle high above her head before giving him one last final blow. This time, Homelander croaked in what sounded like real, genuine pain. The kind a man like him was not accustomed to. Homelander remained bent over the desk in a moaning puddle while Madelyn returned the paddle to the drawer. 

But she wasn’t done with him yet. She shut the drawer and lifted Homelander’s face up by his chin.

“You didn’t touch yourself the whole time,” she said. “Good boy.”

Homelander pursed his lips while he shook.

“Why would i…?” he said.

Madelyn snorted.

“You’re leaking on my carpet,” she said. “You know a poor custodian is going to have to scrub that out tomorrow, right?”

Homelander’s face flushed with shame. Madelyn let go of his chin and reached for a lower drawer in her desk.

“You may be a misbehaving mess,” she said. “But you’ve taken your punishment in stride. So for that, I’ll give you a little treat.”

Homelander’s eyes widened. He didn’t dare move, even though he wanted to see what she was rummaging in that secret drawer. Madleyn pulled something out of her desk, something black and buckled with silver. That’s when he saw the long, silicone dildo attached to the front and he lost his breath.

“I thought it would be funny to get one with your color theme on it,” Madelyn said, stepping into the harness. “But those are bootleg products, and I’m not giving a cent to anyone who tries to take profits from Vought.”

Leave it to Madelyn Stillwell to bring up business matters during foreplay. Madelyn pulled a bottle of lube from her desk and lathered the length down. Homelander watched her fingers, his mouth watering.

“I need to relax this time,” she instructed him. “It’ll hurt going in if you don’t.”

Maybe I want it to hurt, Homelander thought.

Madelyn pumped some more lube into her hands then moved behind Homelander. His ass was still burning red but starting to recover. Not for long. With two lube-wet fingers, Madelyn slowly slipped inside of Homelander’s tight hole.

Homelander’s head tipped back and released a long, deep moan. Madelyn massaged inside him, opening him more and more. Just like when they were on the couch, her fingers in a different hole of his, he melted beneath her. By the time she got three fingers inside he was was usable as a ragdoll.

“Don’t touch yourself,” Madelyn said. “I want you to come on it.”

Madelyn gripped Homelander’s hips in her hands, her French manicure leaving little dents in his flesh. Homelander loved the possessive brush to her touch. Then, she readied at his hole and pushed herself inside.

As soon as she was inside, Homelander was done for. He moaned and whimpered as she began swerving her hips, pushing her cock deeper and deeper inside of him. Just before his eyes fluttered shut, he glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows along the walls. There were no curtains, nothing to hide them from the city. If a Supe who could fly were to come by, they’d see Homelander bent over his boss’s desk getting his ass fucked out.

And the thought made him shiver.

Madelyn quickened her pass. She smacked her hands against Homelander’s raw ass and he winced in pain.

“That’s my good boy,” she cooed in that maternal tone. “Such a good boy…”

“Mmm…mmm…” Homelander mustered. “..mommy…”

His face pressed harder into the desk until it started to ache. Meanwhile, the harness put pressure on Madleyn’s clit, and she tipped her head back as she fucked him deeper into the desk.

Homelander was built to be a hero, but Vought lab had also made him into a perfect sex toy. A big red, white and blue Ken doll. A fuckable action figure.

Madelyn’s eyes fluttered shut and she moaned to the ceiling as a slow, hot orgasm crawled up her body, Homelander heard her coming, and tried to hold himself in so she could finish first. Once she was done, Madleyn dropped her hungry gaze back down to him. Her eyes followed up his spine to his head.

She snatched him by his hair and pulled him back. Homelander croaked, his back arching as she continued to fuck him harder and harder.

“You’re never going to disobey me like that again,” Madelyn hissed in his ear. “That speech…you will never do something like that again.” She fucked him faster. “You are going to listen to me, and be a good boy…”

“Yes,” Homelander whimpered. Sweat dripped down his red face. “Yes, I will, I’m your good boy, I’m your good boy …”

He came like a glass bottle shattered against a wall. Madelyn kept her nails dug in his hair and her cock digging up his ass until every drop of him spilled onto the carpet at their feet. By the time Madleyn pulled out, he was spent and limp. 

Madelyn huffed out a breath and wiped the sweat from her brow. Immediately, her face and demeanor returned to her usual business-like front. Like she just finished a work meeting, not fucking her prized Supe over her desk.

“Good,” she said. “I’m happy we’re on the same page again.”

Homelander remained bent on the desk, burning and shivering at once. His come was on the floor and his drool was on the desk. He felt oddly vulnerable, in a way he wasn’t used to, and he wasn’t sure if he disliked it or not. Then, he felt Madelyn run a gentle hand from his hair down his back, and everything in him softened. He reached for her wrist, hoping to clean the rest of the lube from her hand, but she moved it before he could.

“I have a friend who is opening a restaurant in Manhattan,” Madelyn said. “She’s asked me to come by and bring one of my heroes with me for the publicity. Get the Vought stamp of approval.”

She zipped up her skirt and smoothed it down.

“You’re going to be there with me,” she said.

The command was so casual, like draping a coat over a chair. Or tossing his shirt back into his face.

“This sounds suspiciously…” Homelander said. “...like you’re asking me on a date.”

Stillwell straightened her shirt.

“I’m not asking,” she said. “Six o’clock sharp. I’ll send you the address.”

With that, Madelyn grabbed her handbag off her desk. Before she stepped out the door, she glanced over her shoulder.

“Let’s keep this evening to ourselves,” she said. “We'll tell the team that we had a long talk and came to a reconciliation.”

Homelander pursed his lips and nodded.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

Madelyn grinned.

“Remember, Homelander,” she said. “Great men like you exist because of women like me. We keep you up so high, by reminding you when you’ve fallen low.”

Then, she left him where he was bent over.

Homelander pulled his pants back up and clasped his belt on. He flew home with a titter in his stomach, and a reminder to get his suit dry cleaned before his dinner date.

When he arrived home, his face hurt from smiling.

[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)