#Shitty writing

[aziraphales-human-twin]

One of the worst things about s4 is how Five saw his wife Dolores, the love of his life, and had no reaction. She was clearly on screen. He didn’t even acknowledge her existence. A Five that doesn’t adore Dolores isn’t a Five I want to know

[yunirgo]

steve harrington isn’t good with words, that’s why his love languages are physical touch and acts of service. but once every blue moon he builds up the courage to send you a very detailed message telling you about how much he is in love with you.

he says his hands were made for you. to hold your face and kiss it, to warm your hands when they’re cold, to fight whoever tries to hurt you, to hug you and cup your head against his chest so you can listen to his heart beat for you, and to hold your heart close to his.

he tells you about the things he dreams of for your future together, how he wants nothing more than to wake up beside you every morning and stare at you for hours. he wants to see the peaceful and slow breaths you take as you sleep beside him. there’s just something about it that makes his heart ache uncontrollably in the best way possible. steve firmly believes you have to really trust someone to sleep around them. when you do fall asleep when you’re with him, his heart feels like exploding because it means you feel safe; he wants to prove you’re right every day.

he worships you, says in his tear-inducing text that he wants to give you whatever you want for as long as he’s alive and breathing. he just wants to see you smiling always, he can’t bear the thought of you feeling anything else that isn’t happiness. he tells you how every time you look at him with those beautiful eyes you were blessed with, he feels like you give him a million years more of life, but also take them away, because your beauty is just breathtaking.

steve wants to share everything with you, tears, laughter, fights, memories, even saliva, but not in the way you’re thinking (although he’s not opposed to it at all). he wants to cook and bake with you, and try whatever you two make together after blowing on it to make sure it’s warm enough to eat. he wants to eat from your utensils and drink from your straws, anything to get as many kisses from you even if they’re indirect ones.

he sends the message at the worst time possible too, between 2 and 4 in the morning, when he knows you’re either sleeping and will read it when you wake up, or when you’re just about to go to sleep.

steve harrington isn’t good with words, but when he uses them, there’s no doubt in your mind that you are loved by the most beautiful and genuine heart and soul.

-

sorry for the shitty writing, but i had to share my lover boy steve thoughts with you guys😔

[barrackspredator]

sugar service

cw: didn’t proof read this, cussing, writing practice. best of luck.

“Hot damn!”

“Smash, smash, smash, uh… yeah, him too. Smash.”

You rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh as the other waitresses eyed your table. The three of you were waiting at the hostess post on a particularly slow day. The only customers was your table of four. Some older guys your friends just couldn’t seem to get enough of.

“Please,” you mumbled. “They’re old enough to be our dads.” Your eyes flicked up from the magazine in your hands to your coworkers. The three girls were giggling and occasionally glancing over their shoulders.

“Yeah, that's the best part!” Your coworker, Rona replied before glancing back again. “Older guys are experienced and typically have pretty big… savings.” She grinned at you, her eyes narrowing coyly.

“God-!” you scoffed, choking down your surprised guffaw. “You guys are unbelievable.”

Ignoring their giggles and teasing, you push yourself off of the wall you were leaning against to approach your table. Your eyes roamed over the four men, taking in how their shirts clung perfectly to their muscles. A few gray hairs here and there, but their physiques certainly made up for their age.

Caught up in your ogling, you slammed your hip into the corner of their table. The oldest of the men quickly grabbed the edge of the table to steady it.

“Fuck…” Your hand immediately slapped over your mouth in shock, remembering that you were in front of customers. The men chuckled, eyeing each other before turning back to look at you.

“Careful there, sweetheart. Can’t ’ave a pretty little thing like you bruising up,” one of the men, a particularly dashing man with a mohawk, chastised you. His eyes scanned yours before slowly raking down your form.

Letting out a shaky sigh of relief that they were cool and not some uptight old asses, you smiled. A genuine smile, not the customer service lip curl you were so used to doing. “I would like to apologize for that, gentlemen.” After a few seconds, you quickly added, “Please don’t tell my manager.”

With languid waves and laughs, they shook their heads and sipped their beverages in amusement. “There ain’t anything to tell.” A man with a scarred face stared, boring his eyes into you. He seemed to be deep in thought before giving his head a slight nod—something the other men quickly noted.

“Thank you.” You took a deep breath now that the anxiety of possibly losing this shitty job passed. “Is there anything I can get you, gentlemen? Drinks, dessert?”

“Your number?” He looked at you expectantly, a handsome man. The youngest of the bunch, no doubt.

Dealing with flirty old customers was a piece of cake. It’s what got the tips going. But typically they were vile old men you would never touch with a 10-foot pole. These guys were quite palatable. Very palatable.

“Well,” you laughed nervously. Perhaps Rona had a point. These men had a way of making a girl’s tummy flutter like it never has before. “Unfortunately, I can’t give you that, sir.”

“Kyle.”

“Pardon?” You blinked at him, furrowing your brows.

“Call me Kyle.” Another dashing smile sent butterflies thrashing in your belly.

“None of that sir shit. Makes us feel too damn old.” The men grumbled with bitter chuckles. “Johnny.” The man with the mohawk dismissively pat your hip, gripping the tender flesh of your forming bruise. “That old sap is John. And the brooding fella is Simon.”

“Piss off,” Simon grumbled, certainly living up to the broody title.

An amused giggle shook her shoulders, your hand subconsciously resting over Johnny’s. “It’s lovely meeting you all. So how about that dessert?” You inquired, grabbing the paper centerfold that listed off the desserts of the weeks. “The chocolate chunk brownies are pretty good and the cheesecake here is lovely paired with...”

The men rose from their table, completely ignoring your rambles. “That won’t be needed, love.” John’s hand rested on your shoulder, perhaps a bit too close to your chest.

“You give us a call when you’re ready.” Johnny stood beside you, his breath flicking against the shell of your ear. His hot, tipsy breath made you shiver and recoil.

Kyle only chuckled, gracefully slipping a business card into your pocket. “A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be working.” There it was again. That dashing smile that turned your knees into jelly.

“Give us a call.” Simon grumbled from the table. Glancing at him, you noticed the thick wad of cash he was leaving behind on the table.

“Sir, that’s too much.”

“Enjoy your tip.” Johnny pat your hip dismissively, sauntering away shortly after. John and Kyle followed behind him.

In complete disbelief, you nervously laughed. “Holy shit…” You shakily picked up the wad of cash left behind on the table. Simon quietly stood behind you, casting his shadow over your body. His eyes slowly raked down your back.

“See you ‘round,” he mumbled, not surprised as you jumped out of your skin in shock at his presence. Moments later, he was out of the place, nothing left but an empty establishment.

With shaky fingers, you plucked the business card out of your pocket.

Sugar Service Call (555)141-6157

[violet-yimlat]

I hate to pull this card but

Pulls out a deck of cards from various sources and draws the tarot card, The Tower.

Oops. Wrong card.

Draws the Cards Against Humanity card reading “A hummingbird drinking nectar out of my urethra”.

I do hate to pull that card too but it wasn’t what I was looking for- ah! Here it is!

Draws a card reading “If this post can get 5000 notes within the next week I will continue writing my terrible, stupid book”.

Btw part two is in the reblogs of this post.

Preview under the cut.

Prologue

You might have heard the urban legend. It goes like this; someone is walking along a street. They’re always pretty much alone, perhaps with the exception of maybe a pet dog, a conveniently non-verbal companion, when they hear sounds of a pretty intense struggle in an alley. So they go to check it out, but nobody is ever there.

Although sometimes, there’s a little pool of blood or a few feathers.

Mostly this is dismissed as a hallucination, or birds fighting, but the amount of blood and the size of the feathers makes it hard to believe.

And the voices. Most people report hearing arguing. But wherever in the world the story takes place, nobody can understand the language spoken by the fighters. The reports are fairly consistent. The language is described as “mellifluous” and “ethereal”, and there are always multiple people speaking it. Or at least shouting in it, but it is generally agreed upon that they are angry.

But there is always another voice, speaking a different, but still incomprehensible, language. He, for in the stories it’s always a he, sounds defiant and cocky, speaking in a harsher, less musical tongue, unless, of course, you count black metal. Some especially astute listeners have picked up words and sentences used by the lone, defiant individual and the angry group, coming to the conclusion that they seem to be speaking different dialects of the same language.

And another thing; birds don’t generally use weapons. One witness said that they heard what sounded like a fencing match or duel before they turned the corner.

There are so many witnesses that they should probably make a discord server.

Now we come to the theories. We have the rational explanation as mentioned previously; birds.

We have the “Time travelling fight club” theory.

We have the “That one alien spaceship where they keep having to get out because that one alien speaking another dialect keeps picking fights and they always threaten to maroon him on Earth but they never do” theory.

There’s the “Mothman vs other Mothman” theory and the “Crazy global cult who’s leader travels from place to place to perform blood sacrifices” theory, and let’s not forget the “Magical mutant cock-fighting ring gone wrong” theory, but one theory stands above all the rest.

The most well known, and probably the most ridiculous, theory is the “Demon repeatedly getting jumped by angels” theory.

But it’s all just a conspiracy theory. An urban legend. A joke.

Until the day Amelia Butler found the devil bleeding out in an alley.

[jettiesadork]

Self Indulgent Vi x Reader drabble

I have never written smut before. I have never even written fanfic. I don't know what came over me. This probably sucks.

Cw: handcuffs, shitty writing

NSFW minors dni

"Is this really necessary, cupcake?" Vi asks as you handcuff her to the headboard with little pink fluffy handcuffs that she could definitely get out of if she really wanted to.

You shoot her a little smile, so innocent that nobody would be able to tell what was going through your head at the sight of her. A light blush dusted her cheeks as she attempted to hide her face in her shoulder.

"Well, maybe if you could keep your hands to yourself and quit picking fights with every man who looks at me in a way you don't like, we wouldn't be in this predicament.", You stated matter-of-factly. She scoffs and a snarky response begins to leave her lips, but she stops herself when she sees you undressing.

Slowly, you pull your tank top over your head, revealing that lacy pink bra you know drives her wild.

"What's wrong?," You ask, "Cat got your tongue?"

Vi would reply to your sassy comment if she wasn't so busy wishing she could remove your bra with her mind. You get up from the bed and kick off your plaid shorts before straddling her.

Seeing her like this, hair tussled, blushing and eyes dark with lust and need was enough to make you want to undo the cuffs but you reminded yourself that this was her punishment.

Still, feeling a bit of pity for your desperate girlfriend, you leaned down and placed a kiss on her lips. What started as a gentle and sweet kiss turned into Vi moaning into your mouth, tongue slipping past your lips with the fervor of a starved man. You pulled away, too quick for her liking, and she slumped back onto the bed with a huff.

You reached behind your back and removed your bra with one swift motion, add Vi's hands pulled at the handcuffs hard enough for them to clank against the metal of the headboard. You stifled a giggle at this and continued on with your plan.

Your hands grazed your own stomach, inching up until they reached your tits and squeezed them, your hips beginning to rock against Vi's.

"Fuck, you're killing me, babe", she called out as her blue eyes watched you intently. All you could do was smirk, amused at her reaction to your little show.

You prodded two fingers at her lips, making her eyebrows raise at your boldness but nonetheless her mouth opened. You pushed your digits inside, feeling her tongue swirl around them. Getting carried away, you pushed them a bit too deep and she gagged around them, making you smile innocently once more as if you weren't borderline torturing your girlfriend. You pulled your fingers out, satisfied with how wet they were and kissed her once more, feeling her sharp teeth nip at your bottom lip.

Sitting back up, you pushed your panties aside and slid your fingers between your folds. You started circling your bud, gently at first but as your need grew, you sped up. Little whimpers and moans fell out of your lips as Vi watched your every move. Her hips began rocking up towards nothing, desperate for some sort of release.

"Please, I need you so bad cupcake," She pleaded to no avail.

The hand that you had been supporting yourself with moved to your chest as your fingers found your nipple and began tugging at it once more.

"Vi, feels so good, baby," You choked out in between moans and rushed breaths as Vi whimpered and bit her lip so hard she almost drew blood. Her hands pulled at the handcuffs again, tears beginning to form in her eyes from frustration as her thighs pressed against each other.

You could feel your orgasm approaching as you made eye contact with Vi, your mouth hung open in a silent scream as her hips grinded against the mattress. She could feel your thighs trembling against her, feel your hips rocking against her, and it was driving her crazy. The broken cry that came from her lips sent you over the edge and pure bliss washed over you as you came.

You opened your eyes, still panting, to see Vi blushing in a shade that nearly matched her hair, with a thin sheen of sweat covering her. You leaned down once more to kiss her and this time it was somehow needier, Vi moaning into your mouth.

"You want me to make you feel good baby?" You asked softly as you pulled away.

Eyebrows knitted, she replied, "Y-yeah, please, anything". It was almost ironic that your tough, strong girlfriend was begging for you to touch her.

You placed a soft kiss on her forehead and began unbuttoning her pants, pulling them, along with her panties, down in one quick motion. You pulled her shirt up just above her tits and pressed a few kisses to them before taking one of her pierced nipples into your mouth and swirling your tongue around it. You felt her back arch and the sound that came out of her mouth was downright ungodly.

Kissing your way to her other breast, you grazed your teeth gently against her nipple, eliciting yet another cry from her mouth. You kissed down her toned abdomen, stopping for a second to admire her beauty before finally pressing a kiss to her hip. Her breathing was quickening with anticipation as she watched you with desperation in her eyes.

You spread her legs and settled in between them, peppering little kisses along her inner thighs before she huffs out in frustration.

"F-fuck, stop teasing please", she called out, and who were you to deny her request?

You wasted no time licking a stripe up her pussy, her taste making you moan. Vi let out a breath she didn't know she was holding in as her body finally relaxed. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss against her womanhood before taking her clit into your mouth and sucking. Immediately she tensed up again, letting out a cry as your tongue flicked against her bud.

"Yea-ah just like that", she moaned out while she tugged against the handcuffs with such strength you thought she might break them.

You reached up and took one of her breasts into your hands, rolling her nipple in between your index finger and thumb. Her hips were rocking against your face despite your attempt to keep her still.

You pulled away from her to spit on her pussy, the sensation pulling a deep, guttural moan from her. Your face returned to it's place in between her legs as you fucked her with your tongue and moved your hand from her chest to her puffy clit and pressed down on it hard, circling fast.

The room was filled with her gasps, cries, and little chants of "Fuck, yes, please, god yes" and the sounds of her gushing wetness. She grinded into your face even more wildly than before as her back arched and her eyes screwed shut. Her walls were fluttering around your tongue and her thighs were trying to close around your head. With no warning, you switched the direction you were circling her clit with and Vi came hard with a scream of your name. Her thighs clamped down around you as you worked her through her orgasm with a soft whimper at the sweet taste of her release.

Eventually you pulled away and took in the sight before you. Its your favorite view, Violet panting with a red face, eyes clouded with bliss and tears running down her cheeks. You finally undid the handcuffs and presses soft kisses to her wrists before she wrapped her arms around you and pulled you down with her, engulfing you in a hug.

"You okay, Vi?" You asked as she lazily kissed down your neck.

"Mm, doin' great, cupcake."

[your-nanas-house]

A hiss as a promise

◇ Pairing: Older!Ominis Gaunt X wife!Reader

◇ Warnings: mention of breeding, kisses, crotch, Gaunts

◇ Summary: During an event in the house of the Gaunt Ominis is dragged by her wife to another room because she has to tell him something.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. I'm pretty lost lately so I'm struggling so much with writing or anything..sorry if it's bad.

The evening was not like an ordinary, quiet one, the type of evening that the now-married couple liked to spend together behind the walls of their shared home.

It was way far from that given the many voices in the room that filled the room along with the various noises of glasses and cutlery touching porcelain plates belonging to the most prestigious pureblood family, the same family that Ominis Gaunt was a part of and the same family that had organized that anniversary celebration event for some festivity that Y/n still didn't understand, despite being part of that family for several years now.

The halls of the Gaunt house were elegantly decorated in the colors belonging to their family and their Hogwarts house, everything was in its place and everything looked as perfect as Ominis Gaunt's body in that lovely suit his mother had forced him to wear. He was simply divine, with his blond hair arranged, his clothes hugging and showing off his slim and fit body, bringing out his pale skin decorated with tiny moles. It really made Y/n's mouth water, even though they had been married for about five years, she was still surprised by her husband's beauty and the effect it had on her whole body and mind.

She too was dressed for the occasion, a dress her mother-in-law had chosen for her, a dress that hugged her body deliciously and with a soft fabric that was pleasant to the touch, something she knew Mrs Gaunt had chosen just to please Ominis and to show off the family addition as best as she could.

Ominis hated the whole thing but feeling so good his wife's curves when he had the chance to walk past her exalted him, turning something animalistic inside him that he kept hiding all night too focused to not meet or chat with anyone except her.

Now that the young wizard thought about it, he hadn't felt or even sensed her for more than half an hour, which worried him enough to make him move from the hidden corner, he had conquered, to visit his wife with the precious help of his wand, which was glowing red sending the necessary information for him to be able to navigate without collide with guests or his family.

A few minutes passed and Y/n became the one who surprised Ominis, finding him before he could find her, dragging him with a blank expression towards the corridor that led to the guest rooms and bathrooms.

The poor Gaunt couldn't understand what was going on but despite his concern he followed his wife without question, ignoring the voice of his brother Marvolo calling him to tell him or ask him something for which the pale man had no interest.

Main reason because he didn't answer but let Y/n speak and apologize before continuing to drag him by the sleeve of his neatly fitted shirt, towards a path that would have been unknown to Ominis if they had not been at his family house.

As soon as they reached a door, the wizard's body was pushed into the chamber and the door closed with a thud, leaving all noise and guests outside.

Several seconds passed before Ominis was slammed against the door, an action that caused him to let out a small groan that continued as soon as his wife's lips reached the soft spot on his neck.

His large, pale hands moved to Y/n's covered hips, gripping the fabric of her dress in an attempt to hold her closer to him as he asked amused "what's all this need, my dear?" he whispered breathlessly with curiosity,stiffening slightly at the answer.

"The period has come, I was bored and I checked the calendar" Y/n revealed as she continued to leave wet kisses and small bites on her husband's skin "breed me, Ominis, fill me with your babies" she pleaded, grabbing his crotch which was still covered by his trousers combined with his shirt for the event.

A guttural groan coming from Ominis' throat escaped his rosy lips, it took a lot of control of him to not come immediately in his trousers at the mere thought of marking his wife's tight walls, perhaps leaving an heir who would surely take her surname instead of his.

Ominis' eyes darkened and his pupils dilated before a command-like hiss came out of his mouth followed by the sudden movement of his hands, which were previously holding the fabric of the dress urgently but gently. They now grabbed her hips harshly, pushing Y/n onto the first surface he hit, noticing it that way, as he moved from his trapped position against the door.

Another hiss came out of his mouth, this time it sounded almost like a promise and Y/n hoped it was just what she thought and hoped.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @monkeyking-and-liuer-mate , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter , @huntress-valkyrie , @bewitchedbymadness

[cuntestdoll]

before i die, i need to be blindfolded with my hands tied in the middle of the woods running blindly from you (im already naked). you’re just watching me stumble around, trying not to bump into a tree. it doesn’t take long for you to catch up to me. abruptly grabbing my hips and covering my mouth with your hand. “did you even try to get away doll?” … my face is smashed against a tree as you spread my legs,, i’m already soaked

[deviousgoat]

My honest opinion on the WWDITS finale (yes I know it’s late but hear me out through my tedious essay on this.)

It genuinely suffered from bad writing. This final season had so much potential to be great much like the ones that came before, but it absolutely flunked on it. Everything else in this season had great quirky; the costumes, the lighting, and the set. But as the season’s writing was truly introduced, I noticed it didn’t really have that same atmosphere anymore. The jokes felt stale and too planned, while others seemed to appear out of nowhere and cause chaos for the storyline. Jerry and the monster were a good add-in joke, and introducing Laszlo’s father aswell was great. But how these characters were entered left a huge writing problem. They created a huge Checkov’s (I think that’s how you spell it?) gun. They introduced huge plot point’s that could’ve been executed carefully enough to be reasonable with the audience. And there are a couple I’d like to name.

Sean’s death; throughout season 6 we hear about Sean having a huge decline in his mental and physical health. This is present through his two heart attacks, being fired from his job, and seeming incapable, of much. But when it came to a point where people began to worry about Sean’s health and such, his last scene is him talking about the people who have pissed in his toilets. It’s very on cue for Sean… but it feels wrong. How Sean is so carefully cured to die, then they just drop it.

Nandermo; Nandermo has been an ongoing thing since the start of the series. A ship between Nandor and Guillermo where one finds themselves in pure love while the other refuses to admit their feelings and kinda just complains. It’s a very popular ship dynamic in communities and I feel WWDITS is no different. But for the final scene of them together, it expands on more plot points instead of answering them. Will they be lovers? Or just friends? Or will they grow to hate each other? None of it is answered. We just get them sitting in a coffin together and falling down a big ass hole.

Rodrick Cravensworth (I don’t know if that’s properly spelt but oh well.); Lord Rodrick Cravensworth was an ASS of a character. The writing for him was great, and his story tells us so much of Laszlo’s childhood. He’s really meant to agitate you through the screen, and does so wonderfully. But yet, in his finale scene we only see him being locked up in a safe with a funko pop that looks exactly like him. I see this as a huge plot point that shouldn’t have been left out so easily. If they decide in 1, 2, 5, 10, 15 or beyond years to do another movie about our favourite vampires from Staten Island, it should include Rodrick again, just for closer. (If he possessed the doll and broke out of the safe or some shit.)

Dadzlo; Dadzlo is a word used by fans in the WWDITS community to assess Laszlo’s time as a father for Colin Robinson. This was a huge plot point in WWDITS season 4, but is never really expanded on since then (Other than the brief mentions of it.) But when we s6 (ep6? I can’t remember) We see more hints and mentions of the two. This whole thing is a huge mess of a plot. Colin refusing to acknowledge that Laszlo raised him, while Laz is left tormented by his inner turmoil. This whole thing was left unresolved, which left it to only be a couple-line joke mostly. I hate this because I personally enjoyed Dadzlo a lot in the season and was disappointed without the denouement of it.

Nadja’s lack of positive female interaction; Nadja is Pansexual, we’re all aware of that. But throughout the entirety of WWDITS we almost never see her have a positive female interaction (other than Jenna, and even then it was pretty bad.) Why haven’t we seen her ever have any interest in another female character? It’s a horrid battle of bad writing and fear. A popular ship, Ladja, romanticizes Nadja and The Guide together. I personally like this ship, showing how Nadja and the guide SHOULD’VE needed up instead of being a one-sided friendship. But it actually pisses me off to see that yet again, their just in a crush x “who the hell are you?” kind of relationship.

The finale; writing this in general just makes my blood actually fucking boil. The season was so bad, and how they ended it was even worse. No tying of lose ends, no use of Checkov’s gun, and not even a resolve to ships. The episode was mainly Guillermo centred, which is kinda boring. There are plenty of episodes already within the series that have Guillermo in every plot line, and having the finale be one of those was horrid. The other characters within the finale felt more like props instead of supporting characters. And of course we had “We’ll meet again” as the song to end it off. I’m not saying it’s a bad song, I’m just saying it’s overused in media. A lot of endings in television shows from what I’ve seen include that song, a very notable one being Gravity falls. I know it’s hard to find appropriate music for the ending of a series, but do I really have to hear that same one over, and over, and over? Like, grab Al Bowley’s “Heartaches” or something but just find something original.

I’m super pissed about this, and I could go on and on about the things I hated about this series finale, but I’m just going to let you guys get a taste of how much I hated s6

Like, god how hard is it to write an ending? Do the fans have to do it all themselves? The whole point of a proper ending is to find a way that makes most of the fans of it happy, not suffocating us with bad writing. I hate what they’ve done to this television show, I really do.

I hope you enjoyed my energy vampire-like rant. Now goodnight :3

[sp1rit-realm]

༻¨*:· 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐙𝐄𝐃 ·:*¨༺

༻¨*:· summary ·:*¨༺ James doesn't realize he's doing anything wrong.

༻¨*:· notes ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 james potter being james potter 𖦹 hurt/comfort (i think this is normal hurt/comfort. idk tho) 𖦹 shitty writing. like genuinely shitty writing. do not expect much. 𖦹 a sprinkle of remus lupin being hot bc im me 𖦹 hurt/comfort 𖦹 shitty ending 𖦹 i did not proofread this bc i'm lazy ⎝(ˊᗜˋ)⎠

༻¨*:· word count ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 1.1k 

In every sense of the word, James Potter was mesmerized by you.

He loved how your eyes would brighten when you talked about your passions and how your bows would furrow when you took notes. And your smile. Your smile was his favorite.

You were his favorite.

You, of course, knew of James Potter—the whole school did. That didn't mean people knew him. You were one of those people. You weren't even sure he knew your name until he said it. You melted.

He had come sauntering up to you., holding himself high as he silently sat next to you.

"I'm James," He smiled—that toothy grin you adored.

As you began saying your name, he cut you off.

"I know," He smirked, "How could I not know who you are? A pretty face like yours," He tapped his forehead, "Sticks in the noggins of people like me."

Your face got hot at his words, and you looked down with a smile. James fucking Potter knew who you were.

"People like you?" You tried to sound like your heart wasn't pounding so hard that you felt it in your head.

"Lovesick fools," He offered. His words were casual, like he hadn't just said he was lovesick because of you.

The rest of the class went by fast. You giggled at everything James said—which he immensely enjoyed. He would pass you stupid notes with bad drawings of him. He would always label himself in the picture to show that, under his clothes, he had a six-pack. You easily believed that part. What you didn't believe were the "facts" he would write himself saying.

For example, he talked about possums being allergic to citrus fruit.

This went on for weeks, but only in Transfiguration. In your other shared classes, he pretended you didn't exist. Your friends warned you, saying, "He'll break your heart."

You should have listened.

One day he walked into Transfiguration, strode right past you, and sat next to another girl. 

Your heart plummeted with your smile, and you felt sick. Your mind was clouded with the sight of it. Her touching his arm, him smiling that stupid smile of his—it was all too much.

And he did this day after day, and you felt your heart deteriorate.

"Y/n! Wait up!" You heard someone call from behind you. It was James, of course. 

Your body, against your own volition, halted.

You turned to look at him.

"Hi," His white teeth beamed at you while his eyes twinkled in the sunlight.

And as much as you wanted to hate him—to curse him out—you couldn't bring yourself to do it, "Hi, James."

"So," James hooked his arm around your shoulders, "How've you been?"

"I've been—" You hesitated, "I'm good."

"Great!" He beamed.

You made light conversation until you reached Potions. He sat next to someone else, and your heart broke.

Soon holiday break rolled around. You loved your family, but you didn't love your mother trying to cram eighty activities into one day, so you stayed at Hogwarts.

You were doodling the snowflakes falling from the Great Hall's ceiling when you heard laughter. 

You, of course, knew this laugh. It was hearty and deep. It was warm, just like he was.

You tensed as you felt him sit beside you, and two boys quickly sat across from you. They were eager.

"James," You greeted, looking up from your paper.

He was looking at you with those pretty eyes and that lopsided grin. 

Your heart smiled.

"Whatcha drawing?" He drawled, peering at the paper.

"Snowflakes," You gave. He took the pad of paper and held his hand out. "Pencil?"

You handed him your pencil, smiling as you did it.

Sirius shot a look to Remus, then mouthed: "idiots in love."

Remus kicked him, "Look who's talking," He muttered. Sirius pouted.

"James, what are you drawing?" You whined, leaning over in an attempt to see.

"No looking yet," He swatted you away, then huddled around the pad, hiding the drawing.

You waited in silence. 

You watched as he concentrated, "Done!" 

He had drawn a smiley face. Underneath, he wrote: 'Go to Hogsmeade with me?' With two boxes beneath, both marked with a yes.

Your eyes went wide as you read it. You swiftly stood up, grabbed your pencil, and left. 

James was feeling particularly discouraged.

"Maybe she's going to her dorm? To... get ready?" Remus said with a sheepish smile, trying to make James feel better.

"Thanks, Remus," James slouched, "I highly doubt that."

He sighed, "What did I do wrong? I've been flirting with her for months."

"I'm not sure, mate," Sirius shrugged, "Just go talk to her."

"No," He frowned as his heart did.

You were eating breakfast, lamenting. Yes, you would have loved to go on a date with James, but then again—

"Excuse me!" Your thoughts were interrupted by a rather loud Sirius, "You have a lot of nerve showing your face here!"

You stared at him, "You mean at my school? Where I'm staying for the holidays?"

"Yeah!" Sirius nodded.

"And why is that?"

"James is heartbroken in our dorm right now!"

"Why?"

Sirius scoffs, "Why? Why she asks!" He threw his arms up, "Because you rejected him! Honestly, woman!"

"I never rejected him!" You shot back, "I'm just confused!" 

Sirius halted, "Why are you confused?"

"'Cos James is constantly flirting with other girls. Like, all the time," You pouted, "How am I supposed to know if he actually likes me?"

"Well, I'm sorry for yelling at you," Sirius crossed his arms, "I'm going to go yell at him now."

You giggled as Sirius stormed off; Remus sat across from you.

He took a bite of his eggs before speaking, "You know, he probably didn't even realize he was flirting. James is quite dense."

You laughed a little "You're funny, you know?"

He held his fork up in agreement, "Hm, I guess I am quite funny."

"Don't let it get to your head."

"Oh, but darling, it already has," He took another bite of eggs.

Soon, Sirius returned; James was dragging his feet behind the boy.

"James," You greeted.

“Sorry, y/n,” He mumbled

It made you smile a bit, his head was hung, and he was staring at his feet, glasses sliding down his nose.

"Did Sirius yell at you?"

He solemnly nodded his head.

"Okay," You started, hiding a smile, "well, I forgive you." You smiled, "As long as you don't continue to do it."

He nodded again.

"So, my answer to your question is yes."

His head shot up, and his big goofy grin was slapped on his face, "Really?!"

"Yes, really."

here's a gold star for putting up with my shitty writing🌟

Mutuals ଘ(੭ ˊᵕˋ)੭*༺ ♡‧₊˚ @sw34terw34ther @forourmoons @evergreenlover @nyxxxxxxxx @ell0ra-br3kk3r @puppy-coded @innerloverpainter @cremexcoffee @goodoldfashionedluvergirl @maddipoof @mad-elia @lgwifey @youre-so-lovely @masivechaos @lucasnclair @woahlifehitsyahuh

[chronicprocatonator]

Some thoughts

I think people don't fundamentally understand when it comes to batman's no kill rule is that it only comes off as ridiculous and dogmatic because of shitty writing choices. Like... you can't have batman stand for reformitive justice and then have his most prominent villian be an irredeemable monster that is very vocal about how happy he is killing people, all while everyone of his villians that ARE capable of change end up be sent to a run down ayslum that has been *repeatedly* shown to do more harm then good. Like , no one is buying that. Most other heros also have no kill rules and they don't come off anywhere near as bad as batman does.

[kaiyiaa]

@foolondahill17 have my attempt at the prompt you put about Dean sprinting to Cas. It's not perfect and I ended it without a resolution as I wanna write this as a whole ass fic but I really wanted to share this with you since your idea inspired the hell out of me. ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ It happens in a moment. A heartbeat trapped between the milliseconds of time. Dean turns in the loose grip of his brother’s hands, green eyes trained on the golden crack of light that splits their world open to another, waiting for the sign of his angel. His heart is racing within his chest, adrenaline keeping him sharp and steady, as he waits with bated breath for his angel to emerge through the light. The image of Castiel stalking toward Lucifer as Sam pulls him to the portal is burned into his eyelids. He knows that it is almost a sickening parallel of the way that he had pulled Sam from his burning apartment all of those years ago but he can only pray that Castiel will not be killed. That he will not have to suffer the same agonizing heartbreak that Sam did when Jessica died.  He refuses to entertain the thought of something happening to the angel, of him dying or being hurt while in the other world. That will not happen. 

It cannot. 

Dean steps close enough to the portal that he can hear the rushing of the wind and smell the heavy scent of gunpowder on the breeze. It pulls at his clothing in a tantalizing lure, a promise of taking him to where his angel is, but he refuses. He will not step back through the portal and waste the safety that Castiel had given him. 

Sam’s voice is nothing but a gurgle of noises behind him but he does not need to hear him to understand what he is saying. Dean knows that he is too close to the portal for his brother to feel confident that he will not go through it to find Castiel. He knows that he becomes irrational and impulsive when his angel is in danger. That he has, in the past, openly let others be hurt and killed if it meant that those he cares about will be safe. Dean also knows that he has a history of suicidal tendencies, of throwing himself in front of others to take a hit or killing himself to trade someone else's life for his own, and that Sam has been witness to him doing that several times. And while he is aware that he would not hesitate to end his life if it meant that the angel would return safe and alive, he does not feel the need to do so. Not right now. 

“Don’t be stupid, Dean! Cas is capable!” Sam nearly screams the words to him, voice only barely heard over the rushing noise in Dean’s ears. 

And of course he is. Dean knows better than anyone what Castiel is capable of and how strong and intelligent the angel is. But even having the knowledge of that will not stop him from worrying about him. It will not stop him from desperately trying to keep the angel by his side where Dean is able to keep him safe. 

After all, how can anyone act normal and as though the world is not on the verge of ending when the living personification of their heart is facing off against an archangel?

The portal flares a brilliant gold that burns his eyes and Dean’s breath leaves his lungs in a shaky exhale as Castiel appears in front of him. There is blood stained along his trench coat, his black curls are covered in dust, and his face is streaked with dirt but Dean has never seen anything more beautiful. Exhausted blue eyes meet his own and something that Castiel sees on his face makes the angel’s brows furrow and him to step closer to Dean. They are close enough that he can feel heat radiating off of the angel and the exhalation of his breath ghosting across his face and, for the first time, Dean does not step back or snap at the angel. No, he only sways forward as he is captured by Castiel’s orbit. He surrenders to the feelings that he has in his chest, this desire to put himself out there and show the other how he feels. 

“D-” 

Castiel cuts himself off as an angel blade pierces through the bottom of his chest with a sickening squelch. The shining metal is clean as it slides through the angel’s body without resistance before it is yanked out violently. Crimson stains his white dress shirt and Castiel’s grace flares brightly through the gaping wound. Dean is moving before he can think, arms gathering the angel against his chest as he sags, and pressing his hand against the bleeding wound on his back. He does not see where Lucifer goes as the angel saunters off but he knows that Sam will watch his back. Something heavy and soft curls over his arms and back, engulfing him in the scent of honeysuckles and wildflowers, but when he looks there is nothing there. The smell of Castiel’s grace slowly begins to turn acrid as his grace begins to burn and Dean collapses to his knees. 

“Get away,” Castiel whines, weak hands pushing against Dean’s chest, “I can’t hold it back anymore. Get away!” 

Dean shakes his head and tightens his grip on the angel, “No!” 

A whine escapes Castiel’s throat as the light flares up brighter and hotter, escaping from his mouth and eyes. The invisible objects that he feels against him heat up rapidly, searing his skin even through his clothing, and the heat and light reaches its apex in a wave of agony before it shatters. A pained howl leaves his lips as fire scorches him, consuming him in a decimating blaze that he cannot escape. His eyes burn even through his closed lids and he turns his face away from the sharp explosion of light. It seems as though it takes forever before it clears, taking the scorching heat with it, and Dean weakly lays Castiel’s body down. He presses his forehead down against the soft cotton of his dress shirt as he processes the hell that he just went through. 

Castiel is dead. There is no denying that, not after what he just experienced. The angel is gone in a shattering of holy light and the smell of scorched feathers. His shaking fingers come up and tangle in the rough wool of the trench coat as he raises his face, desperate to see confirmation that Lucifer has murdered Castiel. He needs to memorize the pattern of his beautiful wings that will be burned into the dirt of this little home. Sliding his eyes open slowly, he sees…nothing. An unending wall of bright white light fills his vision and does not leave no matter how much he blinks or shakes his head. He panics, sucking in a startled breath, body freezing in fear at the implications of what this means. 

Turning his head toward where he remembers his brother standing, he asks, “Sam?” 

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean!” Sam’s voice is rough with anger as he stomps up to where Dean is kneeling, “You know what happens when an angel dies. You’ve fucking seen that happen so many times! So, what the hell were you thinking being right at the center of that? Didn’t you think for a second about what that would do to you?” 

“It’s Cas, Sammy,” his excuse sounds broken as it falls through his lips. He is in agony, arms and back still burning from the blaze that had licked across his skin, “I couldn’t just-” 

“How many times has he died before and you’ve stayed back from it? How many times has he been killed like this and you’ve not put yourself at the center of his grace exploding?” Sam is yelling now, anger making him sound almost terrifyingly like John, and Dean feels far too vulnerable here on the ground, “I don’t even know how we’re going to heal that. Or if we even can. Fuck, Dean, we didn’t need this on top of everything else!”

He takes Sam’s anger without question or complaint. He knows that he messed up and that he injured himself right when they are about to be dealing with Lucifer. He knows that his vision being gone, however temporary this is, will make him a vulnerability and a liability. It is now completely up to Sam to be able to defend not only himself but Dean as well. 

“I should be able to see again in a few days,” he responds once Sam pauses to take a breath, “We just have to lay low inside of the Bunker until then. I know I messed up, Sammy, okay?”

“You can’t see?” Sam is suddenly in his space, calloused hand gripping his chin tightly, and Dean stifles a flinch. His head is tilted back and forth and he feels his brother messing with his eyelids. It is incredibly uncomfortable to not be able to see what Sam is doing but he knows that he is in safe hands, “Is it just blurry or is it fully gone?” 

“I can’t see anything,” he admits as Sam wipes something off of his cheek, “it’s nothing but white.” 

Sam sucks in a startled breath, hands stilling against his face, before he moves and cleans off his other cheek. “Okay, I…I didn’t realize that you were blind.” 

“Then what were you talking about?” 

Sam does not answer right away and Dean huffs in frustration. He hates not being able to see his brother’s face and be able to read him. He has always relied on the fact that Sam is an open book to him, that he rarely hides what he is thinking and feeling, and now having that taken away from him makes him feel as though he is lost at sea without a life raft. 

The trench coat is warm within the grasp of his fingers but he forces himself to release it, to smooth it back into place despite the shake in his hands. His palm presses against the flat expanse of Castiel’s chest and something inside of him burns at the fact that he cannot feel his heart beating or the rise and fall of his chest. That he can feel the heat dissipating from his body, leaving it cold and empty. There is something within the cavern of his chest that feels just as hollow as the body in front of him, something along his soul that screams at the idea of Castiel being gone, but he can do nothing about that. There is no cure or bandage that can heal a broken heart. 

A hand lands on his shoulder and he flinches away from it violently, “What the fuck, Sam?” 

“You know how angel wings are burned into the ground when they die?” Sam asks gently, continuing when Dean nods in confusion, “Dean…Cas’s wings aren’t…they…they’re burned into your skin, dude. From the back of your hands, up your arms, and across your back to either side of your spine.”

“But I’m wearing clothes,” Dean argues weakly, “How could they have burned through that?” 

His brother exhales shakily, “Couldn’t his wings phase through things like that?” 

The fingers of his right hand skirt over to his left, drifting across the back of it, and a pained noise leaves his lips as his skin flares up in red hot pain at the touch. He shakes his head, refusing to accept what Sam is telling him. There is no way that he is carrying the shadow-burn of his angel’s wings on his body. He is not holy enough, not good enough, to carry the image of that burned onto his skin.

Castiel deserves to have something more than Dean Winchester acting as a living tombstone.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," Sam's hands grip his elbows and pulls him to his feet, "Once we do that, we can get Cas and Kelly ready to be put to rest."

Dean grabs onto his brother tightly, resisting the guiding hand that is pulling him toward the house. He does not want to leave Castiel lying here, alone, on the dirt. There will need to be a pyre and Castiel's body will need to be prepped for that but he does not think he has the strength to leave him. Not anymore.

"I can't," His voice catches in his throat, "Sam, I can't leave him."

He can see the furrow of Sam's brow in his mind as his brother responds, "Why not?"

"I love him," it falls from his lips like water, easy and free-flowing, "I love him so much I don't know how the hell I'm able to breathe. I can't just..."

"Okay, yeah, I get it," Sam answers, "How long have you...?"

Dean tries to smile but it pulls at his face wrong, lips twisting into more of a grimace. He turns his face toward the ground and welcomes the white void that consumes his vision. It is much easier to be able to be this open with his brother when he is unable to see his facial expressions.

"Years," he exhales heavily, the word nothing more than a whisper on the breeze.

Sam does not answer him but he does help Dean back onto the ground by his angel's body. His hands are warm as they squeeze his elbows once before removing them.

"Let me go get the stuff to prepare his body, okay? You can do it here and I'll handle Kelly."

"What about Jack?"

Sam huffs, "I have no idea what we're going to do."

"We raise him. We give him the childhood we didn't have. He chose Cas as his father and I'm not going to abandon his child just because his sperm donor is Satan himself." Dean tells him, "We educate him, we tell him about the spooky shit and about the stuff that lurks in the dark. We make sure that he's able to handle himself if he ever winds up on a hunt."

"And we tell him about Cas."

He nods, hand reaching out until it lands on Castiel's arm, "Yeah, we tell him about Cas."

Sam leaves him then, footsteps trailing off toward the house. Dean is left in the dirt, surrounded by the sound of waves lapping at the shore of the lake and insects buzzing around him. It feels wrong, to experience this peaceful moment while he kneels at the side of his fallen person. Castiel should be here. He should be the one that teaches Jack about humanity and the world around them. He should be the one to choose what, if any, of the hunting world that Jack learns. He should teach him about bees and flowers and the names of the constellations in the sky.

He should be here, raising the child that he loves, instead of it falling to Dean.

But he is not. He is dead, killed because he ensured that everyone got to safety. And now it is up to Dean to raise Jack.

He spends the next hour gently cleaning Castiel's body with the warm water and cloths that Sam brought him. The dirt and blood is washed from his skin as best that Dean can while his vision is gone before Sam helps him wrap and secure his body in a soft fabric.

Together, they lift his body between them and Sam guides him to the pyre, leaving him to lay Castiel down inside of it alone. The angel is heavy in his arms and makes his wounds radiate agony as they are agitated but he does not care. There will be time for him to heal, for his wounds to be cleaned and bandaged. But not right now. Not when he is resting the love of his life inside of a tomb made of wood, waiting for him to be set ablaze.

The fire is hot on his face as he stares unseeingly in the direction of it. Jack and Sam are on the other side of the pyre, talking quietly to each other, and Dean wishes that he had the strength to go join them. To find comfort in knowing that they are mourning for the angel together. He could go to them, he knows that, but if he moves from this spot he is not sure that he will be able to keep himself from shattering. The reality of Castiel being gone has not fully hit yet and he knows that the moment the fire burns down, the moment that the only thing left of Castiel is the feathers burned into Dean's skin and the ashes on the wind, that he will he consumed by grief. That the only thing he will be able to feel is the hollow void in his chest that signifies that his angel is gone.

"Can I stay here with you?"

Dean flinches at the soft voice that speaks, turning his head in Jack's direction. He does not respond to him, too afraid that he will say something he does not mean or begin to cry if he does, so he nods his agreement. The kid steps closer to him and his hand slips into Dean's. He takes in a deep breath and squeezes that hand gently, leaving them clasped at his side.

"He loved you," Dean tells him hours later when the fire has died down to almost nothing. Sam had stepped away to handle something some time ago so it is only the two of them left by the angel's side, "You should have your parents here to raise you. You shouldn't have to grow up without them."

Jack is silent for a moment before he speaks, "I have you."

"Yeah, kid, you do."

"He loved you, too," Jack tells him, as though those words do not sends spiderweb cracks along the wall holding his emotions back.

He stays quiet, unable to respond even if he desired to, and they stand there together until Jack tells him that the fire is gone.

Today he will kneel in the ashes of his lover's pyre, gathering the remains of him with clumsy hands, as their child holds the glass jar steady for him to put the ashes in. He will seal up that jar and cling to it for the several hour long drive it will take for them to reach the Bunker.

And, when he is led to his room by his brother, letting him sit the jar down upon his nightstand, Dean will finally allow himself to break.

[ghoulsnk]

Nostalgic Embrace.

I live in nostalgic comfort while I exist in your embrace.

I am ten years old.

It’s past my bedtime time.

I fell asleep on the couch watching my favorite movie.

In my father’s arms I’m carried up the stairs.

Sinking to sleep in the gentle sway.

My body relaxing once I feel my mattress.

The peace and comfort.

The feelings identical,

As if one was a prelude to the other.

[rinwritiesbutitssecret]

chapter two ig?????

—--

I want to bring both Rae and Aspen along, but again, that would include me telling xem. 

My court date is January 4th. It’s currently December 21st. That gives me two weeks to tell Aspen and figure out what excuses I can give.

I’m spending Christmas with Aspy this year. Rae’s parents are getting a bit fed up with me, I think so at least. 

Maybe I can tell xem then?

I don’t know, I haven’t felt too good recently. Holidays always make me feel alone, I have no parents, no family other than Rae and Aspen. 

I chose not to have guardians, back in the afterlife. It would make me so sad for them to die. But, it also means I've been alone my whole life. Little second-time-around newborn me was cared for by the afterlife nurses and then plopped into a special home for a few years. After that it was just.. Me. If I’m homeless, they help, I get my allowance and stuff, but no one really cares for me. 

I feel like I can't complain though. I’m so fucking lucky. I’m so fucking special. 

Today’s one of those days when I feel extra lonely. Aspen is busy and Rae is on a date. I just lie in bed and do nothing. 

Nothing is interesting I guess. Sometimes nothing is crying, sometimes it's driving my motorcycle off a bridge, but it’s nothing. It doesn’t affect me, it doesn't mean anything, it doesn’t change anything.

Aspen:

Aster is so cool. I love him, just not.. Romantically. Well I think not romantically.

I don’t truly understand what I feel for him. We’re more than friends, less than lovers, some weird thing in between. 

Just sometimes, I feel like he’s not fully here with me. He’s distracted, in a new place. Maybe he’s in love with Rae. 

Aster isn’t very good at school. But he also doesn’t try. He’s never taken me home. I don’t even know if he has parents.

He’s my best friend but I know nothing about him. 

I’m too scared to ask. I love what we have. I love our conversations. I love laying in my bed with him and watching shitty tv and talking about gender. 

I don’t know what he’s hiding.

“Astie? C- can we talk?” My voice is shaky. 

“Yeah of course, what’s up?” He sits next to me, fidgeting with his hoodie strings.

“I- ok this sounds really dumb.. B- bu- but are you hiding something from me? A- I- I just feel like you’re not telling me something..”

He goes pale. Like really, really fucking pale. 

“Ast?”

“We need to talk.”

He shoots up, sprinting out of the lunch hall.

I follow.

…

What the fuck. 

So a little bit about me… I'm kinda sorta a demon. Not like a demon demon. But I have been alive for 3500 years. Once I start looking old I go back to hell and just reset. 

A little bit about Aspen.. Apparently they’re fucking immortal.

Like what the actual fuck.

I never thought I would meet someone like me. I never thought it would be my best friend.

Yet here we are.

—

[dumb-zombie-girl]

I'm writing a supernatural fix it fic in my notes app and when i get done would anyone be interested in me posting it on here?

[zimthesilly]

Guys, let's make a character cast with nothing but shitty writing ideas (like ones from our autistic brains)

I'll go first, a Necromancer who's afraid of the undead (ghosts, zombies, etc.)

[sc4llywag]

Night in Monteriggioni

Summary: Based off of an email in ACB from Shaun bc I'm sad and I miss Shaundes </3

Pairing: Desmond Miles/Shaun Hastings

Characters: Desmond Miles, Shaun Hastings, Rebecca Crane, Lucy Stillman

Note: this probably has mistakes bc it's 3 am so shhh

The Animus shield flickered open, Desmond reaching towards his face when sitting up from the cushioned time machine. Lucy chimed out, "Welcome back Desmond!" Desmond stood and shook his nerves out from the previous Ezio session, stress still lingered on his mind from Ezio's own stress due to Claudia's close call at the Rosa in Fiore. Desmond stretched and rubbed his hands against his arms, trying to fight against the cold Sanctuary they camped out in.

Shaun typed away at his laptop, sleep was absent from his schedule recently. The assassin's losing contact all around the world didn't sit well with the crew. Especially in the cold quiet cave below the Villa Auditore. Desmond approached Altaïr's statue, mind still foggy with Ezio's memories with the sudden wave of mystery and curiosity. He hadn't checked his emails in a while and it had been a while since he actually touched a piece of technology other than the Animus. Crossbows and swords weren't his thing.

When he typed in his password, his inbox pulled up and a message thread between the four of them from Shaun;

"Colleagues,

We have been cooped up in this dungeon for ages. I feel it's best for both our sanity and productivity if we go into town tonight and enjoy the local colour.

A bit of wine and maybe some music.

S."

Desmond started typing, intrigued by the mention of drink and the escape from the musty cave. He responded quickly with a, 'Yes and thank you' to get the point through. Shaun turned to the other three surrounding him, "It's almost 5. So it's now or never and I'm not sure how much longer I can sit in this scummy hole of a sanctuary." Desmond crossed his arms, "It used to be a lot nicer. Trust me." Shaun rolled his eyes and gathered himself, his body aching from his hunched stature. Lucy stood as well, shutting off her laptop, "I agree. Desmond, are you experiencing any visions or drowsiness right now?" Desmond shook his head, half lying. He was exhausted of course but the bleeding effect had become so present it seemed like a normality.

Rebecca cracked her knuckles and stretched when approaching the other three, "I'm ready, let's head out!" They all made their way up the Sanctuary's never-ending staircase, all collectively stretching out a long breath from the fresh air. The sky was prickled with stars and a slow moon as they all traveled to the streets of the town.

The bar they reached was a relatively unpopular bar, hoping to keep some sort of low profile while enjoying themselves. They all agreed beforehand to just keep their ear pieces in and leave their altered phones in the Villa. Desmond ordered their drinks, cute little wine glasses with garnishes matching all their tastes. Lucy and Rebecca stayed to their conversations, mostly about tech savvy things and certain serious topics for when they returned home. Shaun and Desmond dipped silently at the other half of the bar. Desmond questioned if he was even awake, his body stiff and mind wandering off again. Shaun snapped his fingers, "Des, don't fall asleep at the bar. You're going to get us kicked out." Desmond shook his head as he smirked and sipped more of his wine. He couldn't get his mind off of how much had happened in the past weeks, he still couldn't believe it. He was relieved to have such great people surrounding him and supporting him.

Still he felt trapped within a simulation.

Shaun finished his wine first, again. Desmond wasn't surprised, keeping up with those databases and monitoring Ezio's memories became so time consuming. The Brit bit down on his orange slice garnish, finishing it in one bite and looked to Desmond, "I'm put off by how slowly you're drinking. Are you sure you're okay?" Desmond nodded hesitantly grabbing his glass again and downing the rest with a squint in his eyes, "I'll be fine after a few more." Shaun raised an eyebrow and ordered two more glasses, shorter this time to refrain from overdoing it.

Desmond's glass slammed down onto the wooden bar, trying to freshen his mind. 'What will Ezio do next?' 'Claudia got initiated quickly.' 'Fuck Cesare, he's a dick.' Shaun noticed his odd silence again until he noticed the music kicking up into something they all knew, Fooled Around and Fell in Love was a classic road trip song they'd click on during their drive from Florence to Monteriggioni. The slow rhythm got them all in this sweet slow vibe they all enjoyed. Rebecca rushed to the dancing area, joining a few other people that lingered in the bar. Lucy followed Rebecca and swirled around her, tipsily rocking her head and shoulders to the music. Desmond smiled as the familiar tune played and the girls dancing made him smile a little wider, but what was to happen next confused him.

Shaun stood and held out his hand to Desmond, his bar stool swung around away from the bar. Desmond placed his hand slowly into Shaun's. The redhead shook his head and threw himself and Desmond to the dance floor, lost in the small crowd as the lyrics played back in their heads. Desmond wasn't sure what to do, Shaun took the lead by grasping his hands around Desmond's to forcefully place them onto his hips and then quickly resting them around Desmond's neck. Desmond smiled and rose tinted his cheeks, the undertone of the dance lights highlighting his features, "Are you drunk?" Desmond asked within the space between them, loud enough so they could hear each other. Shaun laughed and squeezed closer as they shuffled their feet to the slowness of the music, "Are you? You haven't retracted from my presence yet." Desmond smiled, his scar so visible within this light, "Well I like this song and you so it's a win-win I suppose." Shaun routinely rolled his eyes at the ditsy man.

Desmond sighed as the music flowed through the atmosphere. He pressed his forehead against Shaun's, leaning into his body while he hooked his hands around Shaun's hips. He let himself disappear within the music, Shaun, and the bar's aura. Shaun raised his hands from the lower of Desmonds neck to underneath his ears and pulled him in for their soft kiss. Desmond leaned into it without hesitation or resistance, naturally fitting his shape to Shaun's. Shaun smiled into the press of Desmond's lips. Desmond made sure to thank Shaun later for pushing the group to get out and enjoy their night.

The song faded out as Desmond pulled away from Shaun, his hands still hooked onto him, refusing to release. Rebecca and Lucy approached snickering playfully at their loving display, "I think we should be heading back. Can't be out for too long." Lucy noted, pushing her blonde hair back after it fell out of her bun from their relaxing night. Shaun released his grip on Desmond and dug in his pocket for a couple euros and slid them to the bartender before they exited.

The night sky had become painted with more stars and the moon was higher, the view back made the groups night complete. Desmond couldn't help but cling on to Shaun while they walked back. For balance of course.