#prompt: glitter and glue

[v-thinks-on]

As I stepped deeper into the dank, horrible chamber, I became aware of a strange, sticky sensation on my face and arms, which clung even as I tried to brush it away.

“There is something peculiar-” Holmes began to say, still bent over the corpse of young Hopkins’s late foe.

A sudden movement caught my eye and I interrupted with a shout of “Holmes!” as I saw a cluster of glittering lights emerging from the dark.

These lights were smaller and more tightly clustered than the strange glowing orbs which entranced us through the study window; they gleamed and glinted like as many little eyes in the lantern light. They were followed closely by an immense, dark shape which seemed to melt out of the very shadows.

An enormous shaggy spider loomed over us, its long legs like deadly spears, and its six little eyes winking lazily with the flickering light.

I stumbled backward and grabbed Holmes by the arm to drag him with me if needs must, as he still crouched beside the corpse.

“It’s impossible,” he murmured, slowly rising to his feet beside me, his eyes like mine transfixed upon the spider. “I wondered if we had been drugged, but…”

“I do not mean to wait and find out now,” I replied, perhaps too sharply, as the spider bristled.

To be continued...

[thedenofravenpuff]

Day 29 of @bloo-the-dragon’s November Prompt List is Confession.

Moon has a confession to make and no regrets to feel.

Do enjoy! 

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[lvebug]

an andie eliot reading guide (tags drop pt 1)

[making-my-wey-down-town]

November prompt list challenge 2022, Day 13 - Arts and Crafts

So Moon fell from the ceiling, his small latch on his back broke without reason.

And instead of receiving help by his friends/companions, they all decided to use him as their muse.

[queenofthekings]

Babe, wake up, new prompt coming!

I found this cute image on Pinterest and it had me thinking: what if reader spends a whole afternoon crafting these little messages and then she sneakily hides them around Eddie's stuff. Every time he finds one, goes to reader and gives her a kiss, then stores it in a tin box 🩷💋

𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼

Summary: You make love letters for Eddie.

Author's note: Mea I'm so sorry it took me forever to write this request! I hope you enjoy it! Also thank you to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple, @ryan-waddell11 and @orchidmunson for their endless encouragement <3

CW: None, just a whole lotta fluff and Eddie being a dork.

Word count: 1.2k

Any hate will not be tolerated, constructive criticism is welcomed.

Being at Eddie’s apartment alone while he was away working wasn’t an uncommon thing for either of you, he had given you a key to his apartment for a reason, after all. Although you two hadn’t made the full step of moving in together yet, you still spent a lot of time at his apartment whenever you could fit it into your schedule.

You were sat at Eddie’s kitchen table with every kind of stationary imaginable scattered all around you; every shade of pink and white paper, felt tip pens, glitter and endless amounts of glue.

Since Eddie’s phone had broken several days beforehand and he was far too busy with work and couldn’t fit it within budget for the month to get it fixed, you decided to make love notes for him to read every day. You made notes for every occasion; if he felt sad, if he did something amazing, he missed you or even just needed to be told he was loved.

Although your arts and crafts skills weren’t perfect and you ended up with far too much glitter and glue all over your fingers, you were still proud of the notes you were able to make. You knew your art teacher from primary school would be proud of what you’d made, even if when you had lessons with her she hated your guts.

You had almost finished the final note and put them in a jar by the time Eddie walked inside, you felt him gently scratch the top of your head before wrapping his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Well this is a nice surprise to come home to.”

You felt the warm burn inside your stomach as you squeezed his arm, happy to be back where you felt like you belonged. “I missed you, of course I’d be here.”

It had only been a couple of days since you last saw each other, but it always felt like an eternity. Being with Eddie was the only place you truly felt safe, it was like coming home every time he brought you into his arms.

Before you and Eddie had gotten together; you’d never believed in that kind of stuff, that home could be a person instead of a place and you thought the people who said that stuff were talking nonsense. But now you understood them, and you just had to wait to find your person.

Eddie glanced over at the mess on the kitchen table, not daring to touch anything with his dirty fingers from working on cars all day. “Whatcha doing here, princess?”

You leaned into him, rubbing his arm with your hand. “It’s a surprise.”

He placed a hand over his eyes once you revealed it was a surprise. “I’m not looking, I swear!” he moved away from you, keeping his hand over his eyes, causing you to laugh. “I’m gonna go have a shower, you wanna order a pizza?”

“Sure,” you answered through your continued laughter as Eddie felt around his apartment to get to the bathroom, hitting his feet and legs on various pieces of furniture along the way. Your boyfriend was an absolute dork, but you loved it far too much, although you knew he acted like that just to make you laugh and he couldn’t ever get enough of that laugh.

You waited until he was safely in the shower to finish the last note and put it into the jar before promptly hiding it in your backpack, being sure Eddie would never find it accidently, not that he’d ever go through your belongings, but you were still cautious. After washing your hands thoroughly, you cleared the kitchen table of your project and grabbed your laptop to order pizza.

Sure, phoning Dominos to place your order was easier but Eddie’s pizza orders were always special to put it simply. That man couldn’t settle for a simple margarita pizza to save his life, nay, he had to have some weird combination that changed in a frequent basis. His current favourite pizza? Tandoori chicken and burger sauce with stuffed crust. As odd as it sounded, you did have a slice and it was pretty good, so you couldn’t exactly hate him for that.

You’d just finished placing the order when Eddie came out donned in just a towel, another towel in his hair trying to dry it before lowering it to cover his face completely. “Is it safe to come out?”

You let out another laugh, nodding your head. “Yes, you muppet, it’s safe. Pizza’s been ordered and it should be here in a bit.”

Taking the towel away from his face, he smirked at you and began to slowly walk across his apartment towards you, deliberately allowing his towel to slip down his body. Watching him with a smirk matching his, you shook your head. “Don’t even think about it, mister, we got pizza coming and I don’t wanna get interrupted by the doorbell again.”

He pouted and pulled up the towel, sulking his way into the bedroom. He came back a few minutes later in his usual jeans and dark red hoodie, one you’d frequently steal from him to wear when the weather got a bit cold.

You closed your laptop lid as he wrapped his arms around you again, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head once you rested your back against his chest. The pair of you stayed in content silence until the loud knock on the door to signal your pizzas had arrived. You began to get up, but Eddie placed his hands on your shoulders to keep you seated, “I’ll get them baby,” he murmured into your hair before answering the door.

Eddie had fallen asleep after devouring his pizza and watching a season and a half of Derry Girls while cuddling with you on the couch, his head nestled into the crook of your neck, feeling his breath on your skin with his arms wrapped tightly around your middle, keeping you close to him.

You slowly got out of his grasp, being careful not to wake him up, although Eddie was quite a deep sleeper and not a lot of things woke him up. As quietly as possible, you moved around his apartment, tidying up the pizza boxes before turning off the TV and putting a blanket over Eddie.

Getting the jar out of your backpack, you began to place the notes around Eddie’s apartment; on every table, in some books, in the wardrobe, on the fridge and in every single pocket you could think of. Once you’d finished, you gently shook Eddie awake just enough to get him in bed and properly asleep before you followed him soon after, cuddling into him as you easily fell asleep.

In the morning, you were woken up by an endless amount of kisses all over your face, lips, neck, chest, and hands. At first, you were too sleepy and groggy to fully realise what was happening but as you slowly started to wake up, you moved Eddie’s kisses up to your lips and kissed him back. “What’s all the kisses for?” you whispered against his lips.

Eddie gave you a couple more kisses before answering your question. “I found some of your notes, and I thought since my girl was being so loving with her notes; I thought I would be loving back and wake her up with as many kisses as I can give her before work.”

[puppys-tiny-space]

🎨Craft prompts for kiddos:🎨

🚀Toilet roll rockets, the roll is the body and you make the wings out of cardboard, then you paint it and add fire out of paper🚀

🎀Paci box, you can get a wood box or cardboard box from a crafting store and then decorate it with stickers, paint, glitter stones, fabric and all sorts of stuff🎀

🍼Paci clips or bracelets, with beads and string you can easily make bracelets or paci clips, most crafting stores have the clip part for pacifier clips and anything else you might need for this craft, you can also use pretty ribbon from seeing stores for the clips🍼

🧸Weighted plushies, first you need a plush of your choice, some fabric, sand and sewing needles, with the fabric you make a ouch and fill it with sand, or other weighted materials of your choice, then you cut a hole into the back of the plushie, take out some stuffing and replace it with the pouch, then sew it back together🧸

🪡Fluffy journal, for this you need a journal, fluffy fabric, glue and anything else you want to decorate it like ribbons, charms, lace or stickers, you open the journal and trace it's shape on the fabric, then cut it out a little bit bigger then the journal itself, then glue it onto the journal and add any other things you want🪡

Fun fact of the day: it is physically impossible for pigs to look up into the sky

[aspirationalpeony]

Quit Playin' Games (With My Heart)

Summary: While you're trying to puzzle out the mysterious Ms. Schemmenti, Janine invites you to a dinner party--at Melissa's house. Board games, bonding, and lasagna... What could go wrong? (See author's note at the end for prompt credit.) Content Warnings: A brief paragraph discussing homophobia. AO3 Link

Does Melissa Schemmenti like you?

You've got everyone else figured out. Janine would befriend an electrical pole if it had a smiley face stapled to it; Jacob befriends anyone Janine befriends. Gregory stays a little aloof, but he's been warming up the more you show him your LEGO sets. Barbara--well, she sees you as another one of the kids, you think, but you know she appreciates your self-sufficiency, tolerates you with a smile when you're in the conversation. And Ava is... Ava.

Melissa? Who knows? She called you by the wrong name the first month you were at Abbott, knowingly, watching your face with a wry twist to her mouth, waiting for you to take the bait. When you didn't, you earned your name back. She started making dry comments to you, like "You got enough glitter glue there, Martha Stewart?" as you passed her in the hall, arms full of art supplies. She saw you struggling with the copy machine one day and said, "Here," giving it a swift kick that brought it wheezing to life, but followed up with, "Thought your generation was good with tech. What do we keep you around for, huh?"

After those backhands you'd be in a spin, wondering and confused; then later that day or the day after she'd say something else, like, "Hey, not bad, shortstop," when you got something off a high shelf for her (why shortstop when you’re taller than her? Reverse psychology?), or "Good job on lunch duty. They didn't kill ya," and you'd go warm all over and your confusion would deepen and all you would think was: does she like me or not?

You’re just not sure. So you try not to listen the day they’re all in the break room, talking about a party at Melissa’s house. You can’t help but overhear snatches—Janine insisting she’ll bring lasagna, Jacob saying he’ll do dessert, Melissa saying “oh, brother” and Barbara assuring her gently, a smile in her voice, “And I’ll bring the wine”—but you keep your head down over your lunch and turn the page of your lesson plan and ignore them until Janine realizes, suddenly, that the room isn’t empty, that you’re at the table just next to them, and burbles, “Hey, you should come, too!”

Your eyes go to Melissa right away. She glances up over her cat-eye glasses and her look is inscrutable.

“Oh,” you say, “um, I don’t know. I have, like, a thing—“

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!” Janine says. “We’ll eat some amazing food—“ she flicks a curl over her shoulder, playing at an Ava-like preen—“we’ll play board games, we’ll bond…”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding!” Janine looks imploringly at her friends. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Melissa says at last, still looking at you. Your heart thumps. “You should come.”

And that’s how you end up here: Melissa’s house. You crossed the welcome mat reading GO AWAY, a cheesecake in your hands, and tried not to make it obvious how badly you wanted to stare around yourself, scrutinize every photo and every piece of furniture, trying to get a window onto this woman you can’t figure out. Everyone’s piled onto the couch or onto chairs, plastic creaking under them as they lean forward to the table to swipe a snack or their glass of wine, and there’s an open box, a few stacks of cards.

“I found this amazing get-to-know-you game,” Janine declares, sliding down to sit on Mel’s carpeted floor. “So, you spin the spinner, right, and whatever it lands on, you take a card with the same color, and then you ask the question that’s on it, and everybody answers, and—“

“How do you win?” Melissa says. She’s holding a glass of wine, its rim printed with her pink lipstick. She’s got her hair in a ponytail that leaves lots of little curls hanging everywhere. She’s wearing a tank top. These details feel incredibly important; you try not to think about them.

“Oh, uh…” Janine frowns at the instruction booklet. “I don’t think you win.”

“What’s the point of a game if nobody wins?” Melissa leans over to the coffee table, grabs a grape off a serving plate, pops it into her mouth. She glances over at Barbara, who’s perched very straight-backed in a plastic-covered armchair, nursing a little bit of wine.

“I, for one,” Jacob says, “think competition is over-valued in our society. American individualism—"

“Just spin it, Janine,” Barbara says.

Beaming at the approval of her mentor, Janine spins. She plucks a blue card: “What’s your favorite sexual—“ her eyes widen. “Uh.”

“Oh, this just got interestin’,” Melissa says, and sits up straighter.

“Let me take another one.” Janine puts that card aside. “Have you ever had a threes—okay, no. Are they all like this?”

Gregory, a silent presence sitting stiffly alongside Janine, turns over a card from the green and red piles. He reads one: “How do you like your partner to style their pubic hair?” Then, the red: “Confess to a sexual fantasy you’ve had about… A member of the group.” The questions sound even more bizarre in his level voice, although his lifted eyebrows and widened eyes telegraph his discomfort. His gaze darts to Janine, then away.

“Janine, what’s the name of this game, please,” Barbara says, looking as though she’s one syllable from combustion.

Janine lifts the lid of the box. “Adult Dinner Party. But I thought, you know, adult dinner party, a classy kind of—oh.”

Jacob picks up a blue card gingerly and turns it over. “Have you ever had sex in a public place?”

“I have,” you say. Every face in the room turns toward you. Your cheeks heat. Your eyes flicker between each incredulous look. “What? We’re supposed to answer them, aren’t we?”

“This just got interestin’,” Melissa repeats. There’s a strange look on her face, not quite amusement; you wonder if it’s respect. “Me, too.”

“Melissa!” Barbara gasps.

“What? You never got fingered in a dark ride at an amusement park?”

Barbara stands up with her wine and walks out of the room, muttering to herself. Glances pass between the rest of you. The corner of Melissa’s mouth curves up. “Spin again,” she says.

The next few questions are mercifully tamer: do you think French kissing is overrated, what’s one thing you’ll never do for a partner? More wine is poured, Melissa going around and topping off each glass, saying to Gregory and Janine, “Lighten up a little, will you?” Eventually she comes to sit on the floor with everyone else, four people around the coffee table. She’s picked a spot right at your side, your knees bumping, thighs aligned.

“Is Barbara okay?” you ask. You can smell her perfume; it’s spicy and floral and it makes you feel tipsier than you are.

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Melissa says. “You don’t wanna know how many of my parties she’s walked out of. Hey, Barb!” She bellows it close to your ear, making you wince; it’s followed by a twinge of peculiar affection that so much volume can come from one little woman. “Check the lasagna, will ya!”

There’s an indistinct answer from the other room, full of barely-contained irritation. Melissa slugs back another swallow of wine as Jacob flicks the spinner.

He draws a card and reads, “Have you ever kissed a member of the same sex? Oh, well—obviously.”

Gregory and Janine shake their heads.

Melissa says, “Listen, what happens in cheer squad stays in cheer squad, alright,” to scandalized gasps from her audience. She looks at you. “How about you? No girls, huh?”

You’re arrested by her green gaze so close, the wine on her breath, the question itself. You start to tell her, yes, plenty of girls, but you’re blushing again, embarrassed, all your bravado from earlier draining away into the floorboards.

“Here,” she says, and leans in. You register the thought Holy shit in the moment before her lips touch yours. Her nose brushes your cheek. Her mouth is very soft and a hot breath puffs over you in the instant before she delicately parts her lips and you feel the sweet flick of her tongue. She leans back again. “Now you’ve kissed a girl.”

“Melissa!” Janine says, outraged, bewildered.

“I bet Ava would have come, if she’d known it was this kind of party,” Jacob mumbles to the bowl of pretzels in front of him.

“I’m going to go check on Barbara,” Gregory says, his shellshocked eyes firmly on the ground as he gets up.

“Hey, I’ll come with you,” Janine says, all nerves, “maybe the lasagna needs more parm,” and scrambles up after him.

Melissa’s pouring herself the last of the wine. She’s smiling to herself. You don’t get it: what was that for? Was it bait, like your name, like the ribbing comments, trying to get a rise out of you? Or maybe just out of the people around you—trying to be the most shocking in the room? You stare, trying to read the look of satisfaction on her face.

"I'll--the bathroom," you say, and get to your feet. "'Scuse me."

You've got kind of an idea where it is. The problem, you realize, is that you have to cut through the kitchen to get there. It's savory-smelling, rich with tomato scent, and full of furious whispering that dies instantly as you cross the threshold; Janine, intently grating parmigiano into a bowl, gives you a guilty look as Gregory quickly parts from her side. Barbara is at the island counter, maybe only half-participating, but she looks at you, too, and you know they've told her.

You feel it all over again: these are people who've had years to get to know each other. Who are you to them? Not really a friend, just a colleague, half-acquaintance. You're the new invitee, the odd one out, and even though it was Melissa that kissed you, you'll be the one who gets the blame for the ruined party, the awkwardness now swamping Mel's rowhouse. Your gut clenches. "Excuse me," you repeat and dart past them to the bathroom.

You run cold water from the tap and stick your wrists underneath the faucet, like you've got heatstroke. You wet your hands and press them to your cheeks, your neck, your nape, trying to quiet your thumping heart. You look in the mirror: there's a glazed look in your eye; you're conscious your lips are tingling. Why'd she do that?

You've been played with by straight women before. Not always out of conscious cruelty: some women, you've realized, are hungry for a kind of attraction that doesn't have fear and imbalance, and they can't always have that with men. They want to be wanted by someone they think won't hurt them, and they pick you--never thinking about what it does to your heart; never imagining that desire for a woman can be real, that it can mean anything to anyone.

Is that Melissa? She said that thing about the cheer squad. If she likes women, too, why would she mess with you? If she thinks you're straight, is she just trying to shock, the way she did Barb with that dirty answer about fingering, needling at what she thinks are your reservations and limitations? Because that's what she does, what she's been doing. Poking and poking, trying to get a rise. Should you have shouted? Should you have cried? What would satisfy her?

"Melissa Ann Schemmenti," you hear Barb say from the kitchen, muffled on the other side of the door. You freeze a moment, heart pounding all over again, then turn the water down to a trickle and inch toward the door, leaning closer. All you can hear are bits and pieces of what must be a thunderous lecture: "That girl... Well, I won't... You know that... Sweet, but... Learn to behave."

There's a sulky rumble in Mel's voice in answer.

You're going to have to go out there eventually. You listen a few more seconds, but if there's footsteps of people dispersing, or more conversation as they linger, you can't hear it. You resign yourself, turn off the water, dry off your hands. You give your cheeks a last press with your cold fingers, trying to ground yourself. You'll go out there and pretend it didn't happen. You'll make it through the night and see what happens tomorrow. That's all you can do.

Of course, you go out into the kitchen, and everyone else is gone, and Melissa's there.

She's frowning deeply and scrupulously wrapping the parmigiano in plastic. She says something under her breath; you catch a Sicilian curse and a "kids don't know..." When she hears the bathroom door click, her head goes up, and there's a moment, her eyes meeting yours, where she looks as nervous as you feel. She looks back down at the cheese, tightly sealing and wrapping its edges, then crosses to the big stainless fridge to put it away.

"Guess I scared you back there," she says. There's a challenge in her voice. Suddenly, your fear and loneliness uncoil; they spool out into anger. It's one thing to mess with you in words. You could call that friendliness, call it teasing. It's not fair to mess with you like this.

"You didn't scare me," you say. Your voice is stronger than you expected. Not loud, but sure. "I've kissed more girls than a cheer squad."

"Huh, look at you," Melissa says, "big player."

"What is your problem with me?"

The question catches her in the act of moving to the oven. She looks sharply at you--then away. There's something strangely un-Melissa about the act. She fiddles with the oven dial, then leans her hip against the counter and folds her arms over her chest. "Hon, if I had a problem with you, you'd know."

"Then what the hell was that?" You catch yourself starting to cross your arms, to mirror her, and lower them to your sides, where your hands clench tightly.

"I kissed ya." She lifts her chin and looks at you. "What, you didn't like it?"

Your anger wobbles; the question stumps you. "It--that doesn't--look, you've been doing this all year. Pushing me around. I don't get it. I didn't do anything to you. Maybe you think I'm annoying, or stupid, or--"

"Pushing you around?" Mel moves closer. Her voice gets a little tighter, a little louder. Her eyes glitter with challenge. "I invited you to my house."

"Yeah, you invited Jacob and Janine to your house, too."

"I don't like them the way I like you," she says, and freezes. You have a sense she's blurted something she didn't mean to say. It's stopped her right in the tracks of what she might have made an argument, draining the confidence out of her posture.

Your heart is thundering in your ears again. You replay that delicate, barely-there kiss: her face leaning toward yours, spicy scent of her perfume, wine on her breath, her green eyes, her soft, hot mouth. Her tongue. "What?" you say.

Her mouth twists. There's something faintly absurd about it, how it turns a grown woman toddleresque, and you get another pang of that strange affection from before, when she yelled right in your ear. It's strong enough to filter through your anger.

She shifts from foot to foot. With her shoes off in her own home, she suddenly looks half her usual height. Fondness washes against you. "Look," she says, "I'm forget-about-it years older'n you and I don't have time to play games, so--"

"This isn't playing games?"

She ducks her chin toward her chest. It's another gesture that's strangely unlike her. You hear Barbara's voice in your head: Melissa Ann Schemmenti... Learn to behave.

You move closer again. Her eyes flick up to yours and there's a sulky defiance in them, even when they drop briefly to your lips.

"Is this..." You don't know how to ask it. How do you ask Melissa Schemmenti do you want me in her own kitchen? "Melissa, what do you want?"

"C'mere," she says. She takes your chin in her grasp and brings you closer and kisses you again.

Wine, perfume, her skin. This time, it's not some playful schoolgirl thing. You can feel intention behind the slow press of her lips against yours. She lets it linger for a second, two, then leans back, looking into your eyes.

Whatever she sees has her turning you, your back against the counter, a hard line of granite. This time, you lean forward into her kiss. Her body presses into yours, all hips, soft belly, breasts. Her hands bracket your body against the edge of the countertop. Her way of deepening the kiss is to nip your lower lip and make you gasp, so that her tongue can flick into your mouth, brushing against yours and sending tingling ripples through your whole body.

You cup her jaw. She’s so, so warm. You slide a hand back and brush some of those loose, careless locks of red hair behind her ear. You kiss her and kiss her; when your tongue teases against hers, deliberately now, she makes a sound like a whimper that you feel head to toe, like a current of lightning passing through you, dispersing into the ground.

“So,” she says, with you securely pinned, flushed, breathing hard, “what do you think?”

What do you think? You go back in for another kiss. She chuckles against your mouth and can barely kiss you back for her smug smile. This time, it’s your kiss, not hers, and you explore exactly how you want to: sucking and nibbling her lower lip, licking into her mouth, your hands dropping to her waist, pulling her against you. She melts into you, and there’s a thunderous sense of power and desire in you, tied to how her arms come up to loop around your neck, how her spine softens and her body sways into yours.

When you’ve got your breath back, you ask her, “Should we go back out there?” You know you have to, but you don’t know how you’ll manage it. You’re sure you have this moment written all over your face, glassy-eyed and out of breath. Melissa does, too: her lipstick is smeared. “Maybe in a few minutes?”

“I think,” she says, “I should kick all of ‘em outta here, and you’n’me keep the game and the lasagna, and we have some fun.” Her hand drops, intervening between your body and the counter so she can firmly grab your ass. You squeak. “Huh?”

“I—I think that would be pretty rude.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” she says, though she doesn’t let go of your ass. “And they planned this whole thing for us, so…”

“Wait—” you lean back a little to get a clear picture of her face. “What?”

“Janine’s idea,” she says. “I found out after they invited you. They knew I thought you were cute—“

“You told them that?”

“Course I didn’t,” Melissa says, “I look like somebody who goes splashin’ their business everywhere? ‘Specially where Janine can hear it? I’ll tell you about what she did to me’n my sister some time. They figured it out on their own. I mighta been lookin’ at your ass at work.” She gives it a pinch.

“So the board game…” You frown.

“I think that was an accident for real.” Her face pinches in a frown. “‘Magine Janine tryin’ to get us to talk dirty to each other out there?” The frown vanishes and the leer she gives you makes you feel very, very naked. “We could talk dirty in here, if you wanna.”

“Okay,” you say, “I think we have to go serve dinner.” If you let her keep going, you don’t know if you’ll have the will to stop her. You hear the next thought in her voice: What? You never got fingered in a kitchen with all your coworkers right outside? “Wait—“ your brow creases. “Did Barbara seriously go along with this?”

Melissa clears her throat. “She didn’t know at first—and then, I wanted her here, y’know, in case, uh…”

“Things went badly?” you supply. Melissa pinks. You smile at the sweet strangeness of it. “Were you guys going to drink a bottle of wine so you could… Mope about me?”

“I wasn’t gonna mope about ya,” Mel says, “because I knew you weren’t gonna turn me down, and you’d be an idiot if you did, so.”

“I would,” you agree, and have to go back in for another kiss, two, three. “I would be an idiot,” you murmur against her.

“Okay,” she says when you can finally stop kissing her, “okay.” She gives your ass a slap that makes you gasp. Her eyes narrow, cataloguing that response, and her smirk, of course, resurfaces. “You take the lasagna out of the oven. I gotta fix my lipstick.” She steps away, and pauses. “You might wanna…” She gestures to her mouth.

You rub your tingling lips and your fingers come away with the pink of her lipstick. Your face heats.

“Or keep it,” Melissa says, “looks good on you,” and she gives a preening toss of her high ponytail as she turns away to the bathroom.

You watch her go, her hips swaying as she moves. You have a sense of the world tilted on its axis: all that teasing and game-playing—because she likes you? More than likes you—wants you? Janine inviting you, Jacob and Gregory playing along—because they really do care? Barbara scolding Melissa in this kitchen—because she wants her best friend to treat you right?

You find a napkin and scrub the lipstick off your mouth. Each step you take across the kitchen feels like levitation, an inch or two above the floor. You check the lasagna. There’s two: one big lasagna, and another small, plain one for Gregory. You lift each casserole dish out of the oven, and they smell better than ever in a house full of friends.

You cross to the doorway and peek out into the living room. “Lasagna’s ready,” you say to the four faces that turn to yours, and you know you’re smiling like an idiot, but you can’t help it.

Janine bounces up. “I can’t wait for you to tryyyy itttttt,” she sing-songs. “I learned from the best!”

Barbara passes you to find plates and ready the table. She gives your arm a little pat as she goes—the first time she’s ever touched you. You feel a Janine-like burst of effervescence at the thought that Melissa’s best friend approves.

Melissa reappears. She picks up a cutter for each lasagna, an armful of cloth napkins, another bottle of wine. Jacob and Gregory gather the glasses from the coffee table. You stick your hands back into the oven mitts to carry each dish in.

As everybody gets settled in, pulling out chairs, Janine proudly adding her bowl of grated parmigiano to the table (“just in case!” she burbles), you catch Melissa’s eye. She’s looking at you, a soft fondness in the gaze; the tender creases at the corners of her eyes make your chest squeeze around your heart, which feels three, four times as large as it was before.

“What do you think?” you ask the table. “Should we bring over the cards?”

Your friends laugh. Barbara shakes her head and rolls her eyes. Melissa Schemmenti, looking at you, smiles.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Author's Note:

My next fic was intended to be a sadder hurt/comfort fic, but I received the following prompt from @morgana-larkin:

I love your first fic and I wanted to know if you could do one more on the fun side. Where the whole group goes to either Melissa or reader’s place for game night and they all end up playing truth or dare while drunk and someone dares one of them to kiss the other. Then after everyone leaves the two of them end up admitting their feelings. Thank you!

I did make some tweaks to the premise to suit my storytelling style, which I hope is okay. I did my best to honor this fun and lovely prompt. Thank you so much!

[bluerasbunny]

Well, it is that time of year I suppose!

Brought to you by my mind and scouring the DCA's voice lines for key words for way longer than expected,

2024's DCA PROMPTOBER !

Please tag any works for this list under #dcatober24 ! No need to ping me, though you absolutely can (I'd love to see what comes from this list)!

Thank you to the DCA Palooza for the idea for this!

Prompt list in text under the cut!

Best Friend

Paper Pals

Googly eyes

Bells

Artistic license

Hues

Glitter glue

Trouble

Off-Limits

Lights on

Naptime

Carousel

Night

Knock

Hide

Naughty

Found

Phobia

Ruin

Trapped

Gears

Nightlight

Duality

Error

Balloons

Scorch

Stalking

Time-out

Reboot

Birthday

Trick or Treat

[blue-disco-lights]

Galladrabbles: Valentine's Day Cards

💖💕💘 to @look-i-love-u for this week's prompt, and to you + @energievie & @galladrabbles for bringing so much LOVE to our dashes every single week 😘

===========

“Uncle Mickey, spread the glue around first and then sprinkle the glitter!”

Franny sighed, exasperated. Mickey was a grown-up and knew nothing about making Valentine’s Day cards. 

“Thanks Little Red, it’s my first time makin’ one of these.”

“First time??” She was only 6 and had already made tons of them.

She watched as he carefully folded the pink construction paper and then spent a long time writing the secret message inside.

Later, Uncle Ian got his card. And he must’ve liked it a lot because he hugged Mickey really tight and looked like he was crying. Happy tears probably.

[writtenonreceipts]

Even More Random Prompts

Some may be similar to each other, I tried to play off of the prompts to create more of the same vein.  Shrugs maybe not the best list, but I think it’s fun. Please do not repost. Reblogs welcome.

find other prompts here

I can explain.  This isn’t as bad as it looks.

Sometimes bad decisions are the only ones we’ve got.

Rise and shine, it’s time for the worst day of your life.

I’ll bring the vodka, you bring the bad decisions.

Well, no one told me that.

No, we are not keeping the cat.

It’s too early for this.

Is that coffee?

It’s five in the morning, did you expect a warm welcome?

Sorry, all I can provide is sarcasm.

Look at that dog.  We need  it.

You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?

You’ve got to be kidding me.

I promise, that was an accident.

Is that a flip phone?

I’m being crafty, shut-up.

There is no such thing as too much glitter.

I have a glue gun and I’m not afraid to use it.

Give me all the dogs, I don’t care.

I need a blowtorch, a roll of duct tape, and marshmallows.

Let’s go on an adventure.

Please tell me you know how to change a tire.

Is that band-aid pink? // With unicorns. // That’ll do.

Wake up asshat, we’ve got crimes to do.

How do you manage to trip over everything?

Here, let me help.

Don’t worry, it’s going to be alright.

Didn’t you meet them on the internet?

Your cat is a judgmental bitch.

I can’t even keep a goldfish alive, how can I handle this?

Let’s make some mistakes.

How about a drink? // Of alcohol or rat poison?

Under no circumstances are you to talk about politics, religion, or your favorite ice cream flavor.

We are in the trenches of a family reunion--survival is the only thing that matters.

Whoever said ignorance is bliss never had anxiety.

What do you mean you don’t know how to ride a bike?

For the record, I totally would have helped with that.

Why would anyone live here?

Have a sticker for your troubles.

Don’t call me that.

You’ve got something on your face.

Can you zip this for me?

What are you wearing?

I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it.

Fine then, I won’t say anything.

That was a wonderful accident.

It’s Monday.  Again.

Time is funny like that, it really likes screwing me over.

They’re an artist without a canvas

That’s a lot of caffeine.

Well, that’s a little disturbing.

How much have you had to drink?

I only have one love, and that is mozzarella sticks.

So, where were you planning on getting the tattoo?

I thought you hate needles. // Yes, but I like spiting my family more, I’m getting the damn tattoo

You need me more than you hate me.

A lot of people want to kill me.  I am very proud of that.

This is the worst day of my life.

C’mon, it’s just family dinner, how bad could it be?

Please don’t kill me, I have a good reason for this.

Care to explain the glitter lotion?

I supported the entire self tanning industry when I was a teen.

I don’t trust myself with this information.

Why do you always choose violence?

My car, my rules. We’re listening to Nickleback whether you like it or not.

Yeah, the vase of dead roses really says a lot.

That’s not a cat that’s a skunk.

I brought your favorite ice cream.

Well you're about as delightful as a kidney stone.

Who the hell are you?

What do you want from me?

Hold on, I’ve got handcuffs in my purse.

Ugh, why are you covered in cheap cologne?

I’m not wearing the right shoes for this.

I’m not the one who paid three hundred dollars for a shirt.

I wanted to buy you flowers.

When a child hands you a rock, you have to accept it.

I’m sorry and I’ll never stop apologizing.

I miss you.

Wait for me, I’ll be home soon.

Are you sure about this?

Please? I brought pizza.

I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you.

Wait.  Please, don’t go?

I just hope you can forgive me.

And they say dropping out of college is a bad thing

Can your fancy degree do this?

I was only arrested one time…The second I got off on a technicality

I cry at any hint of affection

Don’t judge them, they’re just really, really hungry

Is that a clown?

Why is there a llama in the yard?

I know how this looks, but it was not my fault.

Therapy’s too expensive, eat some chocolate.

Would I really lie to you? // Yes.

The last time I trusted you you killed my succulent plant.

How much caffeine have I had?--I’d rather not answer that.

Stabbing people is not a proper expression of emotion.

That was not what I was expecting to happen.

Sorry, I just need seventy years to recover from the embarrassment.

[gumnut-logic]

Unusual Whump List

Here is a short list of unusual paths to whump to inspire fic and/or art. Feel free to reblog, share, and even send me a prompt to see if you can get me writing (maybe include a character as well). Have fun :D

Pulled elastic slap

Frozen confectionery

Attacked by a moose

Stepping on Lego

Bird poop

Pricked by a pin

Slipping in the bathroom

Glitter

Falling pinecone

Stung by a caterpillar

Smell

Caught in a tangle

Stepped on by a dog

Too much food

Attacked by a trophy

Licked by a cat

Static electricity

Reaction to laundry powder

Hit by a ball

Bright light in the dark

Pecked by a bird

Falling bookshelf

Spider at breakfast

Hot glue gun

[thedenofravenpuff]

Day 12 of @bloo-the-dragon‘s November Prompt List is Angst.

Exhausted myself too much today to draw more than this, so is all you gotta get. 

Do enjoy. 

The Roan RPG Project ScreeCon Server on Discord Leave a Tip on Ko-Fi

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

A prompt for your birthday, because I heard a story today from a friend with long curly hair about getting glitter dumped in it as a teenager - Ed and Stede goofing around with crafts (remember the slime craze?! Or like resin crafting) and Things Escalate Wildly with the glitter, or something, idk, anyway GLITTER IN THEIR HAIR

(also solidarity from someone who has some real shitty birthdays, I hope they get better or at least have some bright spots)

This turned out so SOFT!!

They had made a horrible mistake.

It had started out so innocently, too. Ed had sent Stede a list of cute couple’s crafts, and they’d decided to do one where they made outlines of their hands in glitter on a piece of paper. They thought it would be something super cute to hang up in their living room (and they were right, it looked fucked adorable).

They’d had to rest their hands on the paper, carefully applying glue all around them so the glitter would stick and form the outlines of their hands (resting next to each other on the paper, pinkies hooked together, of course). Ed had wrinkled his nose at the feeling, Stede had laughed…

And the glitter had been getting everywhere. Ed was glad he’d had the foresight to put a tarp down.

But then he’d made his mistake - he’d reached out to get a little bit of glitter on Stede’s cheek, and Stede had giggled and responded in kind, and…

Well, they’d had a bit of an all-out glitter fight right there in their living room. Ed had conceded defeat only when Stede had emptied the last of the bottle of rainbow glitter over the top of his head, and they’d laughed hand-in-hand on the way to the shower. Ed had told Stede that, covered in golden glitter like this, he looked like a sexy mermaid.

They were both covered in the stuff, and trying to shake out as much as they could off their clothes and hair was hilarious because of the sheer volume of it, but Ed kinda forgot about it once they got into the shower.

He had other things on his mind. Like washing Stede’s hair. Stede washing his hair. Soaping each other up. Watching the fogged-up mirror get even foggier as hands started wandering.

Then they’d stepped out of the shower, had fun drying each other off, Ed had wiped the mirror so he could start with his post-shower hair care routine - 

And they’d both screamed at the realization that Ed’s hair was still positively filled with the stuff.

Now, to be fair, Ed thought as the two of them stood panicking in their bathroom and Stede nearly slipped in his haste to rush bare ass-naked to their bedroom to run a Google search for how to get glitter out of curly hair, Stede still had some in his hair, too. But the shampoo and a good scalp massage had taken care of the brunt of it.

Ed’s hair was still caked with the stuff.

“It’s going to be in my hair forever,” Ed wailed twenty minutes later, standing bent over their kitchen sink as Stede gently, carefully worked some coconut oil into his hair. Ed used that stuff to moisturize his hair anyway, and Stede had read that getting it in and letting it sit could work wonders for separating glitter from your hair.

Stede gave Ed’s head a calming pat. “You do love glitter -”

“Not stuck in my hair, Stede!”

Ed hadn’t meant to snap, but his hair was a bit of a sticking point for him. He was proud of it, loved taking care of it, and the thought of not being in control of something happening to it was freaking him out a little bit.

“I know, sweetheart,” Stede said, then, kissing his bare shoulder.

“Sorry I snapped,” Ed mumbled, shivering at the gross feeling of so much oil worked into his hair, sticking to his neck.

“You’re under a lot of stress,” Stede said calmingly. “But not to fear! I’ll pick the glitter out piece by piece if I have to.”

He really probably would, if Ed asked it of him, Ed realized.

Thank fucking God, after letting the oil sit for a bit, Stede carefully washed Ed’s hair again there in the sink. They had to re-apply shampoo to get the oil out, so Ed knew he’d be doomed to dry hair for a few days, but at least the oil removal method seemed to work.

Stede took him to the bathroom so Ed could see for himself, and he sighed in relief. Still a stray sparkle or two, but definitely not the glitter-filled, easily-tangled mess from half an hour ago.

Ed slumped in relief right into Stede’s arms. “You saved me.”

Stede laughed softly, pressing a kiss to Ed’s cheek. “That’s my job.”

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 23 Prompt: Christmas Themed Sentence Starters

“This is what Christmas is all about.”

Tags: Established Relationships, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Are Best Friends, Robin Buckley & Eddie Munson Are Best Friends, Steve Has Semi-Decent Parents, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Humor, Food Mentions

wc: 780 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Steve’s favorite Christmas tradition growing up was making homemade advent calendars.

He has fond memories of taking over the dining room table with supplies while his mom hovered over him. Of scouring the annual Christmas catalog for what he might want this year before cutting them out carefully with a pair of scissors. Glueing the cutout pictures to the top of the fluorescent green poster board at the top like a star before creating a candy tree with wrapped chocolates (and maybe stealing one or two for all the hard work he’d been doing).

It was a tradition he always looked forward to. Unfortunately, it came to an abrupt end when the ants found the chocolate one, infiltrating the homemade calendar and the entire Harrington kitchen two days before Christmas. He’s never seen his mom so stressed out before.

After that, the only advent calendars found in the Harrington house were those decorative wooden ones with little trinkets inside. It was fun for Steve the first year when he didn’t know what was hidden behind the little doors. But year after year of opening the same wooden creatures got old, fast.

And so the advent calendar tradition faded away.

Until now.

Now that he has his own place with Robin and Eddie, he’s bringing it back.

The trio spends the last day of November working on their calendars. Their small living room coffee table is littered with catalogs, poster boards, and a questionable amount of candy. Robin’s going crazy with a container of glitter that’s probably going to end up caked into the carpet and Eddie’s hard at work drawing his gifts instead of going the “easy route.”

Steve’s in the middle of it all, sprawled out on the floor with his own advent calendar feeling like a kid again. What does he want? What candy is he going to decorate with? The possibilities are endless.

By the time dinner rolls around, the trio have finished their unique advent calendars and tack them up on the door to their small pantry. Easy access for them to grab a piece of candy every morning and a constant reminder of how many days left they have to finish their Christmas shopping.

🍫 🍫 🍫 🍫 🍫 🍫 🍫 🍫 🍫 🍫 🍫 🍫 🍫 🍫 🍫

Steve wakes up early on December 1st eager to pluck the first candy from his homemade calendar. Just like yesterday, he feels like a kid again, giddily sliding into the kitchen. The calendars are exactly where they left them, except something is wrong.

No ants, thank god, but Eddie’s calendar is completely void of candy. Nothing but tiny scraps of colored foil wrapping left behind — something got into them. A someone to be exact. Following the trail of colored foil littering the floor, Steve stalks into the adjacent kitchen and finds Eddie shoving a mini Reese Peanut Butter Cup into his mouth before adding the empty wrapper to the mountain of colored foil in front of him.

“Eddie!” He shouts, startling the man from his slumber. “You’re supposed to eat one a day, not the whole damn thing!”

“Moderation is for losers, Stevie,” he mumbles through a mouthful of candy. Swallowing carefully, he offers Steve a chocolate-teeth-covered grin as he waves his hands around the mess. “This is what Christmas is all about.”

“Eds,” Steve sighs. “You’ve got your holidays mixed up. Halloween is the one where you make yourself sick on candy.”

Eddie huffs, shaking his head. “And Easter, and Christmas,” Eddie says, ticking them off with his chocolate-covered finger. “Valentine’s Day if you’re lucky. Hell, any day is a make yourself sick with candy day if you try hard enough!”

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve says, shaking his head as he begins to clean up Eddie’s mess. He doesn’t have to, knows that Eddie will do it himself, but he figures he might as well help considering the stomach ache is going to hit him sooner rather than later.

“Hey, what happened to Eddie’s advent calendar?” Robin asks, shuffling into the kitchen with her allotted piece of candy for the morning.

“Why have one when you can have them all?” Eddie grins.

“You know what, that’s a great idea!” She says, turning on her heel and heading back to her own calendar.

Steve sighs, he should have seen this one coming, but how can he deny his best friends the joy of Christmas candy? Even if it means he’ll be paying the price as caretaker later when he’s holding back their hair.

“I think we should make this a new tradition!” Eddie says.

“I’ll be making an advent calendar next year,” Steve says. “You two are getting put on probation." 

[oliversrarebooks]

Hi!! so i recently just found your blog and i am literally in love with your work! i recently just saw a prompt that was like a musical villain who has the power to hypnotize their audience (and especially hero) through their stage performance or just by singing, and i was wondering if u you would like write anything based off that? totally fine if not, thanks queen!😁🤍

Excellent taste in prompts!

TW: mind control, imagery of restraints

She had to admit, she was happy to have a night off for a change.

Hero had been working very long shifts lately. Between the glue factory explosion two weeks ago, the string of bank robberies carried out by perpetrators who couldn't remember what they had done afterwards, and the return and subsequent defeat of notorious supervillain Radioface, it felt like she hadn't gotten more than a few hours of sleep in ages, much less time off.

The commissioner had noticed Hero's deterioration, as well. That's why she insisted that Hero take the tickets to the hottest musical act in town, the one that was sold out every night. She'd seen the act a week before, loved it, and decided that the only way to force Hero to take some time off would be giving her tickets she couldn't possibly refuse. After all, they were impossible to get unless you lined up all day or had connections.

So that was why Hero had dressed up in something other than her costume or training sweats for the first time in a long time. She was standing in the crowd near the stage, and everyone around her was buzzing with excitement.

"This is my fifth time here!" said a young woman wearing a bright yellow tank top.

"You're so lucky," said her friend. "I could've never even gotten tickets if it weren't for you."

The anticipation was so thick in the air that Hero felt like she was getting swept up in it too. How often did she just get to be a civilian, dressed in cute clothes among a big crowd, anonymous and mercifully free of responsibility? A night like this didn't come often, so she might as well cut loose and enjoy herself.

The lights cut, and instead of the commotion Hero expected, the crowd immediately went dead silent. The tension hung in the air for a moment before the stage lit up in a kaleidoscope of neon rainbow shapes. Synthwave music was fading in from the many amplifiers, and just as it reached a crescendo, a spotlight hit center stage, illuminating the city's biggest pop sensation, Siren Waves.

Her voice rang out clear and strong above the synths, launching into her first song, and Hero was immediately captivated. Her opening number was an aggressive song about power and control with a catchy beat and a great hook, and her voice was the sort that was borderline addictive to listen to. In her peripheral vision, Hero could see that the entire crowd around her was entranced and hanging on to her every word, and she could see why. She'd have to look up the artist on streaming later so she could listen to this during workouts.

Siren strode across the stage with flashy confidence, her glitter-encrusted outfit sparkling in the multi-colored lights, her cocky grin showing that she knew very well how much the audience was eating out of her hand. She went straight from her first song to her second without a break, this one with an intense, driving bass line that made Hero want to dance. Indeed, a good portion of the crowd was dancing in place to the beat, and Hero felt her own head bobbing before she could stop herself.

It really was fun to lose herself in the crowd, the beat, the colorful light show, and especially Siren's fantastic voice. She was singing about building something, hard work and devotion, and while Hero couldn't follow all of the lyrics, the way Siren sang them just made her feel good.

"Thank you everybody!" said Siren once the song finished. "For this next song, I want to slow things down a little. This is a song about feeling powerless."

A good portion of the crowd cheered.

"We all feel powerless sometimes," Siren continued. "And what a lot of people don't want to admit is that feeling powerless can be nice. It can be nice to have no responsibility, to relax and float along and let things happen to you. This is a song about that very special feeling."

The music started up again, but even though it wasn't loud and intense like the previous two songs, it was no less compelling. The slower song was a fantastic showcase for Siren's versatile voice. It was if all of Hero's cares and worries were melting away, and the only thing that existed was the music, the flashing lights, and the electrifying presence of Siren Waves.

Powerless... Hero certainly had experienced her fair share of that. Tied up, caught in traps, subdued with power suppressants, injured, knocked out... it drove Hero crazy when she had nothing to do but endure and wait for a rescue.

But...

...it could be nice, sometimes, too.

The beautiful voice and the lyrics were stirring up feelings in Hero. Feelings she normally liked to suppress. The idea that it could be nice to be powerless... that it wasn't so bad to be tied up, helpless, subdued... it wasn't as if she hadn't thought that before. She just had to save any of those thoughts and urges for when she wasn't doing heroics, for obvious reasons.

And these days, she was pretty much always doing heroics. No time for any of that.

No time to think about being powerless... bound... relaxing... letting go...

Siren's voice really was impossibly beautiful. Hero could listen to this all day. Hero could listen to this forever, really.

The thought stirred something in Hero's hazy mind. This voice... this song... it sounded familiar, didn't it? Siren was using her amplifiers to turn her voice into something synthetic, but the underlying quality of it... it was something Hero was increasingly certain she had heard before.

Where had she heard this voice? It was hard to concentrate, especially when it was so nice to stop thinking and drift along on the song. It was nice to think about times when she'd been captured and at the villain's mercy, writhing against ropes and waiting for a chance to escape, the villain whispering threats and promises in her ear.

Wait. Hero knew that voice.

Two years back, Hero had faced down a young woman with an irresistible mind control voice. It'd been one of her hardest cases yet, owing in part to the fact that each time Hero failed to catch the villain, she'd captured Hero and put her under her spell. Hero could still remember so clearly how it felt to be bound and gagged, listening to the villain's sweet hypnotic voice, her mind becoming hazy and floaty, her fight fading away as she succumbed to the villain's control. 

So good to be powerless. So good to relax. So good to stop thinking and be guided under a gentle hypnotic spell. 

Hero shook her head, trying to snap herself out of it. This was that same voice, she was sure of it. It was obscured with voice modulation, and the woman had disguised herself in flashy clothes and heavy stage makeup, but that was a voice she could never forget.

But wasn't she still in jail...?

...It was probably fine... she was here to have a nice evening off... she didn't need to do hero work... she just needed to pay attention to the concert...

She shook herself awake again. The amplified music was impossible to escape from, and she was already halfway under its spell. 

Powerless... so powerless...

No...! She wasn't powerless at all. She could storm the stage, take down the amplifiers, even just clamp a hand over Siren's mouth.

She was right in the thick of the crowd, though. All around her she could see glassy-eyed people staring up at Siren with utterly enraptured faces, swaying gently back and forth to the slow song. As she tried to gather herself and get closer to the stage, the zombie-eyed fans were unwilling to budge.

Why fight it...? Why fight it at all? Why fight it when it was so, so nice to just let the beautiful music take her away...

"Hey," said Hero weakly, shaking the shoulder of the woman in the yellow tank top. "You have to let me through. We're all being brainwashed by the music."

The woman managed to tear her eyes away from the stage, blinking slowly at Hero. "Yeah..." she said with a blissful smile. "I just love being brainwashed by Siren..."

Well, that definitely wasn't going to go anywhere. Hero was trapped in the hypnotized crowd.

Might as well give up...

No, she could use her powers to... to...

Sway gently to the rhythm of the music... let her mind relax... give in...

Hero looked up at the stage, the swirling lights, Siren's glittering makeup, and it seemed almost like the singer was singing directly to her. 

And all Hero could think about was how badly she wanted to be captured, to relax helplessly into inescapable binds, to hear that hypnotic voice whispering seductively in her ear. To give up all control, to not have to worry about the fate of the city or the danger she was in, to just let the music...

Let the music in...

A blissful, hazy feeling settled over her as she fell completely under the music's spell, forgetting why she was struggling. Why struggle against something that felt so, so good? The music was filling her head with all sorts of delicious, buried desires. As she stood there watching, letting all the tension drain from her tired muscles, she could practically feel the pull of soft bonds on her wrists, the touch of a hand on her head, the dizzying thrill of being at someone's mercy.

God, yes, this was what she wanted. So perfect.

The mesmeric song came to a close, but nothing was about to break the spell laid on the audience. "Thank you all for listening so very closely," said Siren. "My next number is a song I think a lot of you already know. It's a song about obedience and pleasure."

Hero felt a shiver run down her spine.

"Now, for this song, when I sing 'obey me,' you sing...?"

"Yes, mistress!" called out the crowd in unison. Someone very near Hero was yelling very, very enthusiastically.

"Very good! Let's try that again. Obey me...!"

"Yes, mistress!" 

"Obey me!"

"Yes, mistress!" Hero realized that the enthusiastic yelling was her.

"And we have a very special guest in the crowd today."

Siren was looking right at her and smiling, a wicked Cheshire Cat grin that made Hero weak in the knees.

"Come on up to the stage, sweet thing," she said, beckoning. "That's right, I mean you."

The crowd, which had been completely impenetrable just a few minutes before when she was trying to escape it, parted immediately to let her through. She took a few hesitant steps towards the stage, feeling as if she were sleepwalking, or deep in a dream. Hands were nudging her forward, encouraging.

Siren reached a hand down.

Her touch was electric, being so near to her intoxicating, and Hero helped herself be swept onto the stage.

"My special guest. I'm so glad to see you here," said Siren, and now that she was close, Hero could recognize those sparkling eyes, the ones she still thought about far too often. Without a doubt, it was that same villain. And judging by Siren's cat-that-ate-the-canary face, she knew that Hero knew.

Hero's mind struggled very, very briefly against the chains of trance ensorcelling her, as Siren drew her closer and turned her towards the audience. "Here she is! The city's pride and joy, the most hardworking superhero in the state. Everyone welcome Hero!"

The crowd went wild, and Hero stared out at all the blissed-out smiles, trying to pull her mind into gear. She was in her civilian clothes with no mask, and Siren had just announced to the packed venue that she was Hero. This seemed bad, really bad... but trying to think of how it was bad left Hero's mind hitting a wall of fog.

"I wanted to show my appreciation for everything you've done for the city, Hero," said Siren, pulling Hero in close and petting her hair, and oh, hearing her voice so close, her real voice with no distortion or amplifiers, was like having liquid honey poured in her vulnerable mind. "So this next song is dedicated to you."

Siren wrapped her arms around Hero as she sang the first sweet notes of her melody, and whatever remained of Hero's willpower was gone. Siren was singing to her of obedience, of vulnerability, of the sweet, irresistible pull of submission. 

Hero had been so, so exhausted. So stressed. This was what she needed, what she craved. She needed to rest her mind, let someone else make all the decisions for her. She needed the song to wash all her worries away. 

And she deserved it. She must deserve it, because Siren had brought her up on stage to sing so beautifully just for her.

"Fall to your knees for me," she sang, and Hero sank. The crowd felt like a distant memory as she surrendered to Siren in front of thousands of civilians. It all felt so completely and utterly right.

From her position kneeling at Siren's feet, Hero had the best possible view of the concert. There was nothing between her and the source of her euphoria. Here, she could lose herself entirely in the music, letting her mind ebb away with the hypnotic melody.

Hero didn't know how long the concert went on. She didn't care. As far as she was concerned, it could go on forever, the music driving her further and further into obedient trance, lights flashing all around her as her new master sang.

And then, it was quiet.

"Thank you all for coming!" Siren called out to the crowd, bowing. "Keep an eye on the mail for further instructions or free tickets!"

Hero blinked slowly as the neon light show stopped and the stage lights dimmed. She could hear the crowd shuffling out, far quieter than one would expect for so many people exiting a loud pop concert. 

She felt so disappointed that the concert was over already. It felt like it was over in the blink of an eye. Still, she had to do what her master wanted. She began struggling to her feet, her knees sore from the stage floor.

A hand on her head stopped her. "Oh, no, not you, my little hero," said the delicious voice. "I have a special encore for you and you alone to hear."

Hero's breath hitched with excitement.

"You're going to join me backstage, and I'm going to sing you into being my willing puppet to overthrow the city. Doesn't that sound perfect?"

The music was too deep in her brain for her to say anything else. "Yes, master, yes, it does."

[voidnull-crow]

How To Cure A Bad Day - a guide by Jeong Yunho

I don’t know how to do y’all’s fancy formatting so here’s what you need to know:

Pairing: Yunho/Yeosang

Word count: 981

Additional info: fluff, cuddling, kissing. Canon compliant..? As in they live together. Established relationship. Yunho is little spoon. Yeo is the one having a bad day

Yeosang is moping.

He’s been having one of those days where you wake up in a bad mood and can’t get out of it, like you’re stuck in a glue trap.

He dragged himself to the couch in the hopes some episodes of his favorite show might help, but no dice.

Yunho comes out of his room, dressed to go out, but hesitates to move much farther than his doorframe when he sees Yeosang’s state.

“Yeosang-ah, do you want to come to the convenience store with me?” He asks softly, unsure whether Yeosang might be trying to sleep.

“No thank you,” he mumbles.

“Do you want anything from it, then?” Yunho follows up, walking to the front door.

Yeosang hums, trying to pull his thoughts out of the syrup holding them where they are.

Yunho’s face comes into view, much closer than before. His sweet features read concern, and he crouches in front of the couch.

“Are you feeling alright, Yeosangie?” He brings a hand to Yeosang’s cheek, and then moves his hair to feel his forehead too. Yeosang reaches up to pull his hand away from his face, but holds it still instead. The gentle touch is comforting. Yunho waits patiently for his reply.

“I’m having a bad day, is all,” he says after a moment.

“Ah, I know just the thing you need,” Yunho stands, giving Yeosang’s hand a light squeeze before letting go. “I’ll be back soon, okay? Wait for me.”

He leaves with a smile, the door lock clicking into place behind him.

And now, Yeosang is waiting.

Waiting is much better than moping.

The tv, left idle too long, shuts off. He doesn’t care. He moves positions to lay on his back; the most movement he’s done in hours. After stretching his arms up and out, he admires the mundanity of the ceiling for a couple minutes. What interesting patterns for something nobody looks at.

He contemplates getting up to grab a book from his room or find his phone, but he hears the door unlatching. He sits up, curious.

Yunho comes in wearing the same smile he left with.

This time he sits cross-legged in front of the couch, setting his bags on the floor. He hums the item theme from Zelda while slowly pulling Yeosang’s favorite drinks and snacks out of the bag, doing little motions with his hands to mimic sparkles when he has everything set out.

The edges of Yeosang’s mood wear down.

“Why don’t you pick a movie for us to watch while I get everything moved to the table?” Yunho prompts.

Yeosang grabs the remote. He turns the tv on again and leaves his show behind. He scrolls through what they have downloaded, weighing his options. Yunho continues to hum Zelda tunes while moving his and Yeosang’s treats to the table.

He settles on one he knows they both like. Yunho pulls the table closer and sits on the couch next to him. Pressing play, he sets the remote next to his drink.

He doesn’t watch the opening credits though, because Yunho has turned in his seat to face him. He opens his arms and reaches for him.

“Cuddles?” He asks.

“Cuddles,” Yeosang replies.

He motions for Yunho to come to him, at which he gasps dramatically. “I get to be little spoon?”

“Who said you can’t?” Yeosang says, grabbing the sleeves of Yunho’s shirt to pull him in.

Yunho’s face lights up in excitement. Yeosang lays back and coaxes Yunho into his arms. He curls up with his head on his chest, arms against his sides, and legs tucked up onto the couch, entangled.

Yeosang wraps an arm around his shoulders and cards his other hand through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes. Yunho closes them briefly, letting out a content sigh. Yeosang can feel his mood clearing away slowly but surely.

Yeosang angles his neck downwards to plant a kiss on his now exposed forehead. Yunho’s eyes glitter when he looks up at him, smiling sugar sweet as always. Yeosang mirrors the smile, then stretches to place a kiss on his nose.

Yunho laughs and shifts a little so his face is closer. He gazes into his eyes again, giving a plea with just one look. Yeosang grants his wish and places his next kiss on his lips.

One peck turns into three, each kiss being a thank you from Yeosang to Yunho. Thank you for getting my favorite things, six. Thank you for existing, seven. Thank you for being mine, eight. On and on until breaks between kisses are no longer distinguishable and his thanks lose their composition, becoming chants of him, him, him.

Yunho pushes himself up onto his hands for stability. Yeosang holds his shoulders to ground himself as they melt into each other.

His hands move up to the back of his neck, one hand staying there and the other finding placement tangled in his hair. With a light tug on the strands acting as a cue, Yunho deepens the kiss.

He maps Yunho’s mouth with his tongue, and maps his body with his hands. He takes the chance to feel his lean muscles flexing, run his hands across his broad shoulders and down to his chest. He pauses there for a moment, just long enough to feel Yunho’s heartbeat under his hand.

He forgets he was having a bad day in the first place.

His mind clear and content, the kissing ends as easily as it started, and they fall back into their positions cuddling on the couch. He begins to absentmindedly play with Yunho’s hair.

He gently squeezes Yunho to his chest, his personal giant teddy bear. Yunho squeezes him back as best he can in the position he’s in.

With Yeosang’s bad day cured, the two settle in for an evening with plenty of snacks, movies, and each other.