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valleydean · 11 months ago

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Sweet Science [a Heavyweight timestamp]

Part of 12 Days of Smutmas Read on AO3 | Read Heavyweight For River

Part One: Sleigh/Slay

These days, most of the fans stood outside the arena, straining their ears in an attempt to hear the commentator’s booming voice from within over the honking car horns on the street. Somehow, they would find out the results of the bout and swarm beneath the marquee for the victor’s autograph—for a chance to relive even a fraction of the glitz and glamor that had slipped from New York’s grasp and shattered on the floor like a delicate pearl necklace.

In hindsight, the roar of the 1920s was always bound to be silenced. The ‘30s were more of a whimper.

Supper clubs shuttered their doors. Speakeasies were a memory of the past since the repeal of Volstead. Central Park was a city within a city, made of tents and campfires, as more people failed to pay their rent. Most couldn’t afford to feed their children. It went without saying that they no longer had the money to spend on frivolous things like tickets to boxing bouts.

Castiel had certainly felt the difference in his own wallet. Even as a four-year heavyweight world champion, the money was dwindling. The cash prizes were mere fractions of what they had once been. All over the country, fighters had to hang up their gloves and find day work in the factories and mills, vying for spare cash along with the rest of the masses huddled at the tall fences, hands covered in soot and oil.

Dean had even started picking up shifts at the car garage beneath Winchester’s Gym. Castiel had found himself alongside Jack in the shipyards of Brooklyn more than once, hauling imported goods from the barges to trucks. There, no one bat an eye at him. He was treated the same as everyone else who had been fortunate enough to find a wage for the day.

It was safe to say the glory days of boxing were over.

But, walking through the crowd of fans under the marquee beside Dean that night, it was easy to pretend they were still in the halcyon heyday of the sport. Dean had won his bout by knockout in the ninth round. There hadn’t even been the need for an eight count. The commentator had cheered through the speakers, “Pretty Boy Winchester slays the competition and wins the night!”

The crowd pressed in, practically throwing themselves over the barriers, waving pens and pieces of paper. All of them were wrapped up in patched coats and mended, dulled clothes that were at least five years old.

“Mr. Winchester! Mr. Winchester!” they shouted, trying to get his attention. Flashes from handheld cameras washed out the bandages and red cuts on Dean’s face in bursts. Stars were in Castiel’s eyes just from looking at him.

“Mr. Novak! Over here!”

Castiel scribbled his name on whatever was shoved into his face as quickly as he could. Distantly, he wondered how many of these autographs would be sold to make ends meat. Usually, he’d be happy to help feed a family for a day or two with nothing but his signature, but not tonight.

Half of his attention was constantly on the car waiting for them in front of the sidewalk. He needed to get home to pack. It was late, and he and Dean had planned to get up early to drive upstate.

In lieu of Christmas gifts that year, he and Dean had rented a room at a mountain house an hour outside of Manhattan. They would be there through the New Year. It would do them well, Castiel thought, to get out of the hustle and bustle of the city for a while. Besides, now that Sam and his wife, Eileen, had moved back in, in conjunction with working so much, it had been some time since Castiel had Dean all to himself. He was looking forward to it.

More than that, he was impatient for it. Logically, he knew rushing Dean wouldn’t bring the morning any faster, but it was worth a shot.

He shot Dean a look, silently telling him it was time to go. Dean seemed to get the message. He took a step back from the barrier and the hands reaching for him and shouted, “Merry Christmas, everybody!”

The crowd delighted in that, even though it was the day after Christmas.

Castiel waved toward them in general before beelining to the rumbling car. Exhaust coughed out of it into the late December air. Dirty snowbanks melted to slush on the sidewalks. He slipped into the backseat and shimmied over to the far door. Dean got in after him. The driver closed the door after him and started walking around the car. While he was out of sight, Dean grabbed Castiel by the tie and yanked him in for a hard kiss. Castiel melted into it.

He lingered close to Dean’s lips while he said, “Congratulations.”

The driver’s door clicked open, and Dean pulled away. It was a shame. Dean was so warm. The chill of the night hadn’t left Castiel’s bones yet. He rubbed his hands together. Out of sight from the front seat, Dean clasped his hand atop Castiel’s thigh and dragged it up and down.

The car started moving.

“Extra cash is gonna come in handy for New Year’s, huh?” Dean said, patting his breast pocket where the envelope of his earnings was stored. After his team was paid, he was left with a little left than $100. “I mean, gonna have to set some aside so Sammy and Eileen can buy groceries for the week, but—” He shrugged, like it was of little consequence.

Dean was no stranger to living with limited funds. He’d done it for most of his life. But Castiel had thought those days had been over for him. Dean deserved to not have to worry about such things.

“We can have a nice dinner at the inn’s restaurant. My treat,” Dean finished with a grin.

Castiel tried to smile at that, despite the guilt mixing inside of him at the reminder of their limited funds.

There was something Castiel had wanted to tell Dean during their trip, but he didn’t know how Dean would take it. After all, it wasn’t exactly the ideal time to retire.

But it wasn’t just the sport of boxing that had crested its prime. Castiel had, too. He was thirty-three years old, and every punch, every blow, every injury was taking a toll on his body more than it had before. His recovery time seemed to take longer after every bout, and many of the aches remained inside his body, becoming a part of his muscles and bones. He was getting slower, more tired. He’d even fractured his jaw again last year, and the bone still hurt when it was cold out.

He was getting old. At least, too old to be a professional athlete. It had taken a long time for him to let go of his pride and admit that to himself. After that, it was easy to make the decision.

He’d already told Michael and the rest of the Garrison team: next year would be his last.

It was time for a new champion to take his place.

He’d been putting off breaking the news to Dean. But he was running out of time. Balthazar and Gabriel were set to make the announcement public in the first week of the year. Castiel was tempted to let Dean find out in the papers, but that would only make Dean angrier. It was probably a bad idea.

“Well, then I’ll buy the most expensive thing on the menu,” Castiel attempted to joke.

Dean scoffed out a laugh. He squeezed Castiel’s leg and let his hand rest there, high up. His thumb stroked the inside of Castiel’s thigh.

The motion made all the dread of telling Dean about retiring drain away, at least for the moment. Castiel only focused on the heat of Dean’s touch. He met Dean’s eyes, seeing the suggestive curve of Dean’s lips and the way his eyes darkened.

Castiel became even more impatient to get Dean alone for days.

///

Bear Mountain House was a stone and wood structure in New York’s section of the Appalachian Trail. The spacious grounds were home to scenic overlooks, hiking trails in the warmer months, an ice-skating rink, and hunting and fishing cabins.

As Dean’s Chevrolet wound its way up the mountain, Castiel watched men coming in and out of the camps of hired workers. They tended to the grounds and roads, blasted rocks from the mountain to load into trucks to take the overlook tower they were constructing at the summit. Most of them were no doubt from the city, sending money home to their families when they could.

In the picnic area, the laborers huddled over the bowls of soup and bread that were being ladled out from a giant pot for lunch. There was a line of more hungry men waiting for their turn. The fluffy snow blanketing the mountain range was jarringly picturesque around them.

The view was much more fitting when they reached the mountain house. The inside of the lobby was both rustic and opulent with its high ceilings and grand fireplaces. Carolers in overcoats serenading the guests the lounge area with an angelic rendition of Silent Night.

Their room, when they reached it, was expansive, with furniture made of light wood and tartan blankets on the bed. The walls were paneled, and paintings depicting nature hung from them. Across the room, velvet curtains were drawn open over the large window. Castiel put his bag on the bed closest to the door and wandered over to peer out at the vista.

The sky was clear blue over the barren, snow-covered trees. Without the obstruction of their leaves, Castiel could see a glimpse of the gray Hudson River. Mountains rose up in the blue distance. It felt like they were lifetimes away from the city.

In fact, so high up, he felt as if he was floating far above the entire world. On top of it.

It may very well be the final time he ever felt that way.

Below, people in winter gear waded through the snow. His eyes landed on specks of tourists sledding down an incline. Others were ice skating in the rink. But what drew his attention the most was the red sleigh gliding over the snow, its bright color sticking out like a neon light. Horses pulled it, giving the visitors inside a ride. Castiel could hear the jingle of its bells muffled by the window.

Behind him, Castiel heard Dean set his own bag on the bed and pace closer. Two warm arms wrapped around Castiel’s middle. Dean pressed his chest to Castiel’s back and pecked a kiss on the back of his neck. Then, he hooked his chin over Castiel’s shoulder to look out the window.

“Not bad,” he remarked. Then, a touch more excited, “Hey, check that out.”

“The sleigh?” Castiel asked.

He felt Dean nod. “That’s pretty awesome. We should do that.”

Castiel set his hands over Dean’s on his stomach. “We can do whatever you’d like,” he promised. “Later.”

Dean hummed. “You got something in mind in the meantime, baby?” His mouth, hotter now, was on the back of Castiel’s neck again.

One corner of Castiel’s lips pulled up. Anticipatory heat curled through his abdomen. He turned around in Dean’s arms, circled his own on Dean’s waist. He splayed his palms on the small of Dean’s back. “Yes,” he answered before kissing Dean deeply.

Dean groaned contentedly into it. He tightened his arms around Castiel and turned them around, their shoes and knees knocking together while Castiel let himself be led. The back of his legs hit against the bed. Dean lowered him down on top of the covers. Castiel’s legs were bent over the end of the mattress. He rounded one hand around the back of Dean’s neck, used his fingers to card through Dean’s hair. He kissed Dean’s face, careful to give gentle attention to the cuts and bruises.

Dean hummed when Castiel kissed the bruise on the bolt of Dean’s jaw. Dean always loved when Castiel kissed his wounds.

“I love you,” Castiel whispered to him. Even after all these years, it was a thrill just to say it.

“You a sleigh?” Dean asked, apropos of nothing. He lifted his head slightly, grinning salaciously down at Castiel, who frowned in question. “’Cause I’m about you ride you.”

Castiel sighed at the terrible joke. It only made Dean rumble more in laughter. Castiel felt the vibrations of it where their bodies were flush together.

“Fine,” Castiel relented, yanking at the back of Dean’s shirt. He played along, “We’ll need a slick surface for that.”

Dean wiggled his brows, his green eyes alight and beautiful. “Got just the thing.” He pressed another long kiss to Castiel’s lips before getting up with a grunt and moving to fish through his luggage.

Castiel shimmied up the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt. It wasn’t long until Dean was back. He tossed the jar of Vaseline on the bed and straddled Castiel’s lap. Dean unbuttoned Castiel’s shirt the rest of the way, kissing him again all the while.

Castiel took his time with Dean, just because he could.

Outside, the tinkling of the sleigh bells rang through the cold air.

#SPN Smutmas #SPNSmutmas #destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #dean winchester #dean #cas #castiel #my writing #heavyweight #my post #boxing au

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

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Cause of Action 3

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: thank you for waiting! Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

Mr. Barber –Andy– pulls into a spot along a street you recognise. You won’t voice why you find it familiar, that’s probably better left unsaid. Your nightlife is hardly relevant to a law office.

You get out and wait as he pays the parking pass kiosk and puts the slip in his windshield. He looks at his watch again. His apparent anxiety is adding to your own. You walk with him up the pavement and hesitate as he turns to cross. Oh, it can’t be.

You look up at the club’s marquee and repress any twitch of guilt. Of course you’d been there before, a couple times with friends, but you’re really not big on the scene. Still, you wonder what he would think.

It’s early. Door’s have yet to open but it doesn’t hinder him from walking along the brick front of the building and knocking on the double doors. You chew your lip. Your brain isn’t processing this properly. You have no idea what’s going on.

Andy looks at you and gives a rocky chuckle as he rubs the back of his neck, “client is a friend of the owner.”

“Ah,” you give a short nod.

“Not really our typical meeting place but he’s hard to pin down,” Andy explains, “we shouldn’t be long.”

The door opens and you’re greeted by a man with an imperious curl to his lips. Sleek black hair combed back so the spiraled ends cluster behind his ears. Andy gives a tilt of his head.

“Uh, Laufeyson,” he points at him unsure, “I’m here for Hansen?”

“Ah, yes,” the man, Laufeyson lets out a long exhale, “I should charge him rent with how often he frequents. Come.”

He steps back and Andy catches the door, holding it for you until you precede him inside. The dark-haired man considers you with an air of discernment. You squirm as you glance around. This place looks a lot different with the lights on.

“Oh, this is my intern,” Andy supplies, “showing her the reins.”

“Hi,” you greet and offer your name. The man doesn’t acknowledge you.

“This is Loki, he owns the place.”

“Doors in an hour,” Laufeyson intones dismissively as he turns on his heel, “I’m certain you’ll find your way.”

Andy sniffs but says nothing. It isn’t until Loki is halfway up the stairs that he even moves. Andy shifts into motion, gesturing you into the main room of the club. He halts and looks around before pointing out another staircase; that one twisting and metal.

“I think it’s just up there,” he says as he continues forward and you scurry to keep up.

“So, uh, what kind of case exactly is this for?” You wonder as he stops at the bottom of the stairs and again waits for you to go first.

“Standard lawsuit. Employment contract breach. Hopefully, we can keep it to a deposition.”

“Mmm,” you hum thoughtfully, “is this the employee?”

“Employer,” Andy tuts, “burden of proof really isn’t on us, so there’s that.”

“Right,” you don’t head down the hall until Andy directs you onward to the door with a golden snake on it, “if he’s doing business here…”

You let the thought drift. It’s not really your place to say.

“You’re not wrong,” Andy says, “I’ve heard wild stories about this place.” He reaches past you and taps on the door with his knuckles, “an ex of mine, she apparently came here, liked to hook up with strange men…”

“Oh?” You blink but add no comment.

“Meanwhile, when I was married, my wife accused me of coming to places like this while I was working overtime to pay the mortgage,” he scoffs, “well, I guess that’s not important. Sorry. Just… this is weird.”

“A little,” you agree as his vocalisation of the fact eases the tension.

The door opens and you’re met by a man with a rather bristly accoutrement across his lip. You almost snort at the mustache but think better of it. It wouldn’t do well to mock this man’s fashion sense. He is a client after all and despite the venue, this is still a professional meeting.

“Barber,” the man greets as he leers down at you, giving a wink, “you brought some fun?”

“Hansen,” Andy growls back, a silty tone that makes you shiver, “my intern. Play nice.”

“Ah, I’m always nice,” he smooths a hand over his hair before offering it, “how are you, sunshine? Lloyd.”

“Um,” you reluctantly shake his hand and give your name, “I’m fine.”

“Fine, well, let’s fix that, come in,” he backs up and turns, strutting away in his tight white pants and shimmery satin shirt. He isn’t really dressed for business. “Barber, you hound, you finally got me. You better make it fast.”

He grabs a bottle and pops the top, “you know, I have a long night ahead of me.”

“I told you I had noon free–”

“Noon? I was still waking the snake–”

“Hey, cut it out,” Andy warns.

“Sorry, sorry,” Lloyd looks at you with a smirk, “she looks old enough–”

“She’s not here for that. So let’s get to it. I need the records of employment. What you sent me is a cocktail napkin and a snapchat conversation. That’s not gonna cut it.”

“Oh really? Like I said, it wasn’t really a contract. Not in the way she’s saying. Bimbo,” he scoffs as he pours a shot, then another, “it’s simple, there is no case.”

“If there wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

Lloyd nears and offers one of the glasses. Andy sighs and stretches an arm in front of you to block the other man, “what are you doing?”

“You got this sweet little piece working late. I’m just tryna make it worth her time. You seem like the stingy type,” Lloyd sneers, “one shot won’t hurt.”

“She’s on the clock.”

Lloyd’s brows rise and he snorts. He doesn’t say whatever thought dimples in his cheek.

“Loosen up, you want some? I can get some scotch up here, old man.”

“I drove.”

“Uber,” Lloyd insists, “don’t be a fucking cock block.”

He elbows past Andy and presents you the shot, “there ya go, sweet heart. The good stuff. Top shelf. Whatever he pays you isn’t enough to get you a single ounce.”

You stare at the shot, then Andy. You know you shouldn’t and you really don’t want to drink. You tend to stick to a single drink on your nights out and dilute it with as much water as you can get.

“Um, thanks, but–”

“But nothing. Don’t let the geezer get you down.” He holds the shot almost in your face, “take it, sweet pea. Trust me, you’ll thank me.”

Andy nudges you gently, “it’s fine,” he grumbles under his breath as he takes out his phone, “I’m not leaving until I have something, Hansen.”

“You know what, I’ll give you better than hard evidence, something even harder,” Lloyd snickers as you take the shot but make no move to drink.

Andy backs off, rubbing his cheek as he turns his back to you. He’s angry. You can tell. You’re starting to wonder why he even brought you if he knew this man was like this. Maybe it’s good to get a taste of the difficult ones.

“Cheers, baby,” Lloyd clinks his shot glass against yours, “bottoms up.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #defending jacob #drabble #series #au #the club #cause of action

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marqueeeventz · 6 months ago

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bettereventhire · 11 months ago

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dreamwatch · 1 year ago

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Spotify Wrapped Writing Prompt

Look, I was pretty sure someone asked for this, but I can't find the ask and I've written it and I think I'm a little bit in love with it, so sharing anyway.

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#66 - Hard To Handle by The Black Crowes

Eddie hates waiting in line. Life is too short (a lesson he learned the hard way) for standing around waiting for things. With the exception of getting gig tickets or getting into those gigs. Both valid reasons to wait.

Maybe less so this gig.

It’s not really his scene, there’s more than a few poseurs in the line, but Kyle likes the band and, as so often is the case with them, Kyle gets what Kyle wants.

Eddie gets… a little less.

He’s at the stage in his life, at the grand old age of twenty four, where he craves companionship over sex. While his friends are still fucking around, literally in some case, Eddie needs to settle. Needs the peace and stability. And he’d never, ever, admit it to anyone, but he needs to be taken care of. The thing is, thats a hard sell in your early twenties. But Kyle got it. Got him. His need to be looked after. The fact that he had scars and trauma and health issues from ‘an accident’. He was okay with all that.

For a while, anyway. Things change though, right?

Eddie earns shitty money, so Kyle pays more of the rent, and he gets the sense more and more that one wrong move, one missed pay check, or fuck, if he lost his job, Kyle would throw him out on the street. What’s love got to do with it? as Tina would say. So he finds himself toeing the line more and more. Doesn’t argue about the stupid shit, let’s Kyle have his way more and more. Just little things.

Little things mount up to be big things, though.

So yeah, he comes to gigs he’s not really into and he sees bands he might not have bothered to, and he listens to music thats okay, but it’s not him, you know? Its like, him adjacent.

And all of that is why he’s standing outside the Ritz Music Hall in Indianapolis, freezing his balls off, waiting to get in to see The Black Crowes.

Kyle got to talking to some people in the line, and Eddie just smiles and makes out like, yeah my god, great band, like he wouldn’t have been arguing a few years back about how Iron Maiden were clearly the superior artists. He doesn’t have the fight in him for those kind of arguments anymore. So he nods and smiled, hands shoved in the pockets of his shitty old leather jacket, scarf pulled tight around his face. Tight around that scar.

He zones out and he’s looking around, people watching, killing time. Eyes up and down the line as he keeps moving to keep warm. And he spots it, about thirty people ahead of him, that swoop of brown hair that he knows oh so well.

No fucking way.

He tells Kyle he thinks he’s spotted a friend, won’t be a second, and all that, and then heads down the sidewalk.

“Steve?”

Chestnut Swoop spins to look at him, and he didn’t even need him to, he knew who it was. Knows that hair anywhere. Those shoulders, the way he carries himself, the way he moves. Eddie knows it all.

“Eddie? Holy shit!”

Eddie nearly gets knocked off his feet, Steve lunging toward him and practically pulling him off the ground into a bear hug. He’s kind of lost for a second, before he wraps his own arms around Steve and squeezes back. He smells good, and Eddie recognises his cologne. Eternity for Men. He picked it out for Kyle, and Kyle just scrunched his nose up and walked off. Steve’s wearing it. Something Eddie would have chosen.

Steve pulls back from him but hangs on to his arms, like he’s taking him all in. Eddie’s heart is thundering in his chest.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Actually, scratch that, where the fuck have you been?”

“Here, in Indy… mostly. It’s a long story.” Steve raises an eyebrow but Eddie plows on, doesn’t give him a chance for a follow up question. “What about you man, here to see... “ he points to the marquee up above.

“Yeah,” answers Steve. “Yeah, there’s a few of us from work and, fuck! Robins here! She’s gone to pee,” Steve looks around, as if Robins pissing in the street, “uh, somewhere. Man she’s gonna lose her shit when she sees you.”

They talk, and Steve introduces his work friends and Eddie can’t help himself, he’s checking them out trying to work out which one is Steve’s girlfriend. Robin screeches “Eddie!” as she runs up the street, practically throws her self at him. He gets the overwhelming urge to cry. He’s feels like an idiot.

“Eddie? Come on man, we’ll lose our place.”

Kyle comes up behind him, looking mildly pissed. He’s eyeing up Steve’s friends and then his eyes are all over Steve. There’s no way he doesn’t recognise him. Eddie has a photo album that he started putting together in 1986. Pictures of the kids, of Wayne, of Robin and Nancy and Steve. There’s one of the four of them sitting on the porch of Wayne’s new trailer, beers in hand, all cheering at the camera as Wayne took the photograph. Eddie and Steve practically in each others lap. That one is in a frame. Kyle clocked something there straight away. Eddie gave him nothing. Close friend, he said. Kyle huffed, sure. Subject closed.

It was the weirdest thing. And it wasn’t just trauma bonding, or whatever the fuck Robin called it. The trauma got them together, maybe, threw them altogether on a big spin cycle and spat them out, but Eddie and Steve clicked. They’d have clicked without it. So easy to say opposites attract, but they weren’t that different really. Not when you scratched the surface.

And it wasn’t really anything but it wasn’t really nothing, either. There were late nights under blankets, and well you’re staying over and it’s cold so you may as well climb in the bed, dude, and I can’t sleep wanna go for a drive? and arms thrown around shoulders, and sitting side by side, knees touching. There were pinkies linked, hands over hands, lying in bed crying, foreheads touching. Nothing, but everything.

They had two good summers before Steve said he was moving away. Nothing for him in Hawkins, apparently. Eddie couldn’t hide the hurt, so he ended up burying it in the back of his van with his backpack and his guitar and left town first. Said goodbye to Wayne and just took off. He came back for holidays and birthdays, but if Steve or Robin did the same, Eddie never knew.

And now they’re outside the Ritzy Music Hall in Indianapolis and it’s November and its cold and Kyle is standing there like he wants to start swinging his dick. And Eddie? He just wants to grab Steve by the hand and run. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t run now. He follows.

“Um, I should get back,” he says.

Steve’s brows dip, like he’s confused. “Fuck no! Cut in with us. I’m not letting you out of my sight, dickhead.” Steve laughs but it’s stiff and his eyes don’t really leave Kyle.

“We’re good, thanks.” Kyle throws his arm over Eddies shoulder, pisses on his territory for all to see and starts to drag him away, but Eddie pulls out from under him.

“Just a second,” says Eddie. Kyle cuts him a look, sharp and beady. Eddie reaches into his pocket, finds a scrap of paper. No pen. Shit.

“Ooh, yes, pen! I have one!” says Robin, and he loves her, and fuck he’s missed her so much. And her hair is different, and she looks so cool. It’s only been three years and he’s missed it all.

He jots his number down and hands the paper over, before snatching it back and adding another.

“Top is mine, or Kyles, I guess,” and he’s so embarrassed at that, “but the bottom one is Waynes. He’d love to hear from you.”

And so its goodbye, and call soon, and he’s back in line with Kyle and Kyle is in a shitty mood now. Declares how he just wanted to enjoy his night, and well apparently Eddie running into the best friends he ever had, the ones he ran away from so they couldn’t hurt him first, well that just fucked Kyle’s night right up.

They’re in, eventually, and the band come on, and now Eddie at least has noise to drown out the thoughts ticking over in his head. He feels suddenly so empty, so cold. He has work in the morning, and he’s starting early and he could feign any number of ailments at this stage, but there’s this terrible little thought at the back of his mind that he could end up with all his shit thrown out in the street.

The band play a slow song, one he knows is called Miserable and deep inside he’s laughing at himself. Kyle is swaying away, one step away from getting his lighter out by the look of him, so Eddie taps him on the shoulder and tells him he’s going for a piss.

There’s another line at the bathroom, everyone else jumping out during the slow song, but eventually he’s at the front, gets in an out in less than a minute. He doesn’t want to go back inside. He keeps looking around, hoping he’ll see the swoop, or Robin’s pink streak in her blonde hair, but the place is packed and it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. He fucks off to the bar instead. Another line. Why not?

The song changes, and he knows this one, intimately. It’s an Otis Redding number. He has a really intense memory of his dad singing it for his mom. His dad fucking loved Otis Redding. It punches something inside him and he feels breathless. He gets to the front, orders his Jack and coke, he’s in a go big or go home kind of mood now, and its not until he opens his mouth to order that he tastes blood. He raises his hand and touches his lip. He was chewing it and he didn’t even notice it.

His mind’s in a fucking pit now, and there’s this song and he just wants to go home, but it’s not even his. Nothing is his.

There’s a hand tapping on his shoulder and like, a fucking fight is the last thing he wants and the best thing that could happen to him tonight. He turns and gets a face full of Steve Harrington.

“Hey, you okay?” How does he do that? How does he just stay so reasonable, so considerate? Eddie ran away and they see each other for the first time in years and he could be pissed and angry but instead he just makes Eddie want to climb inside him.

“No,” Eddie says, honest for once. And then Steve’s hand is in his and he’s being dragged from the building, and they’re out on the street, and fucking Kyle, he’s going to—

“Hey, Ed, dude look at me.”

“Kyle—”

“Fuck Kyle.”

“What?”

They’re back on the sidewalk, with the smokers and the early leavers, and it’s fucking cold so he can’t hide the shiver.

Steve rubs his hands up and down the sides of Eddie’s arms, because he remember. The way the cold seeps into Eddie’s bones and never leaves once it’s there. He remembers.

“I said fuck Kyle.”

“I have to…”

“You don’t have to do anything. You look fucking miserable, and I don’t like the way he talks to you. I don’t like the way you shrink when he stands next to you. You used to shine. He doesn’t make you shine.”

And what is he supposed to say to that?

“I’d make you shine.” Steve says that. Steve Harrington says that to Eddie Munson. Eddie stops breathing.

“I…”

“I’ve missed you, Eddie. So fucking much.” Steve looks right at him, eyes bright and wet.

Eddie can barely answer, his throat tight. He sniffs, just nods like a fool in the middle of the street. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“Let’s go somewhere. Get some food or something.”

“Robin—”

“Robins fine, she’s with her girlfriend.”

And he just nods again, like a dashboard ornament. “Kyle—”

“Do you love him?”

“What?’

Steve laughs. “I said. Do. You. Love. Him?”

Does he?

He loves having someone at home when he is because he hates being alone. He loves having someone lie next to him in bed so that when he wakes up the world feels real. He loves having someone to cook for, someone to go grocery shopping with. Someone to hold when they’re having a bad day, someone to hold him when his world is falling apart. Someone to show his favourite films to, to play his favourite albums to, to share books with. To laugh with. Someone to sit in the drive in and hold hands with. He loves that.

But he doesn’t love Kyle. And Kyle doesn’t love him.

“You always know, don’t you?”

Steve smiles at him, that cocky little smirk of his. Gorgeous.

“I always know.”

Steve takes his hand and they walk together.

Side by side.

#Spotify wrapped writing prompt #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #Spotify Top 100 fic meme #dreamy writes #my writing

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realtyhubph-blog · 2 months ago

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Pre-Owned Retirement Home with Mini Farm Potential Magalang Pampanga

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alchemyweddingdesigns1 · 2 years ago

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Make Your Wedding Shine with Our Marquee Letters Rental

Our Marquee Letters Rental is the perfect way to add some sparkle to your wedding. They're easy to set up, and will create a beautiful focal point for your special day. Rent them now to make your wedding unforgettable!

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cyberneticlagomorph · 7 months ago

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The venue, because that's what it is not a court house or anything of the sort, is a grand old theater with a blazing marquee that proclaims "TRIAL TODAY" in bold black letters.

A red carpet has been spread out from the theater's wide open double doors like a tongue lolling from a toothless mouth. Either side is lined with jostling reporters and flashing cameras that summon a seizure aura almost immediately. You grit your teeth against the sensation and hope it's something small this time and not a fit of spasms.

Vehicles of every shape, size, and description stands in an anxious line at the opposite end of the red carpet, with their occupants exiting with just as much awe and applause as if this were some Hollywood get together and not a bid for a little boy's life.

When your turn comes the crowd falls to a hush as the Great Crow slowly spirals down from a gap in the clouds and deposits the cage at the edge of the carpet. You exit first, sunglasses on in a feeble attempt to block out the buzzing flashing seething crowd that pulsates around you like ravenous corpse worms. You spot a familiar face in the crowd the same second he spots you, but you're faster by a mile and haul the scrawny brown haired man up by his neck.

"YOU!" The word isn't a word, it's a bark, a hiss, a growl between clenched teeth.

One Peter Benjamin Parker writhes in your grip like a bug with its legs pulled off.

How fitting.

"It's PASSOVER! PASSOVER!!!" Peter, or Benji as you used to call him when you were kids, gasps as he tries to loosen your grip. He says the words like a payer, like they mean something. "You.... promised... Aunt... May..." You scowl and drop him, watching him quickly scramble to his feet, rubbing at a neck that's already starting to bruise.

"I should kill you where you stand."

"You should, I totally agree with you on that BUT you promised my dear Aunt (may her memory be a blessing) that you wouldn't, no matter what I did." Benji gives you the biggest set of puppy dog eyes he can give you, though the effect is lessened by just how many eyes that actually is.

"She moved to FLORIDA Ben, stop telling people she's dead."

Benji clasps his hands together and does his best to look somber, "Sometimes I can still hear her voice..."

You try and fail not to smile at his dumb joke.

Benji holds up his camera, "C'mon just a few shots, my rent is due and I PROMISE I'll make you and the kid look good."

You scowl again and flex your fingers in a surprisingly threatening manner.

Benji shrinks back just a little, "...I'll even turn my flash off?"

You punch him somewhere tender and keep moving up the carpet, ignoring your growing migraine and the dangerous roar of your empty belly.

Any other reporters that get to close face your wrath and end up with their skeletons rearranged without breaking their skin.

Zeb is flanked on all sides by family members and snarling hyenas, safely hidden from the ravenous paparazzi as you make your way inside the darkened maw of the theater.

#ic #action post #trial by liar

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hide-in-imagination · 3 months ago

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Heyy, i just read the oneshot of how Simonn proposes to Ambar so i was wondering how do you think their wedding is going to be like :)!

Omg people had asked this before and I never replied because my brain was dead and I couldn't think of anything— But here we go!

Okay, so, it would have to be in Buenos Aires because that's were most of the characters live. Yes, I know some of them are rich and could afford to go to a destination wedding (Cancún? París? Secret third thing?) BUT it's just way easier for everyone to just do it at their home country, and I think they would want to be considerate to their guests. (Sucks for Simón's family though, but again, they are rich, so they can afford to bring them over to Buenos Aires)

I don't think it would be an over the top wedding (because their lives by this point are already pretty over the top with Simón being a music start and Ámbar having whatever very successful job she chose to have) and I also don't think they would go for a church either (something Simón's most religious relatives would protest, but oh well)

So, I think they would go for an outdoor wedding with lots of flowers and just nature in general. They also wouldn't invite 400 people. They'd probably keep it to close family and friends (which would anyway amount to 100+ probably skdfn Simón's family is big)

As for the dress!!! I'm pretty sure Ámbar would choose something simple but elegant, and she seems pretty partial to the combination of lace and see-through fabric, so I imagine something like this:

(It was pretty much the first I found, if I find a better one I'll change it. Also, feel free to picture a completely different dress— I feel like someone's headcanons about their favorite characters' wedding is something that can be so personal and so sacred, so don't listen to me if you don't want to, just be happy with your own choices💖)

And, you know, she already rented this place once for a music video, why not also for her wedding?

You know why it would be beautiful?

BECAUSE IT'S THE SAME PLACE WHERE THEY HAD THEIR FIRST KISS

I MEAN, YOU CAN'T GET MORE MEANINGFUL THAN THAT

And it's also close to the water, which I'm sure Simón would like (even if this water is... clearly not as pretty as Cancún's crystalline waters sdkjfn)

(We're also going to ignore what this place is in real life— We're working only with in-universe information, people!)

BONUS POINTS IF SIMÓN'S WEARS A WHITE ROSE ON HIS JACKET— MORE MEANING!!

For their wedding cake, I'm pretty sure I already posted this picture before, but I'll do it again:

Again, elegant with touches of gold (very Ámbar) but also some Simón touches (the music notes). On top, they'd have little figures of themselves, OR, figures of their rollerskates one next to the other <3 (Or both, idk). And instead of that drawing of two heads, they would have "Á & S" 💕 (Also, the cake would have to be bigger, but you get the picture ksjfn)

So, yeah, they'd have the wedding outdoors, then they would head to a large marquee we're they would hold the reception (u know, the cocktails, the dinner, the party, etc etc). Simón and Ámbar would have their photoshoot first outside, around sunset, while everyone is enjoying the cocktails, and then join everyone else to give a toast and start the dinner.

The rest is pretty much like any other wedding. During the party, they would bring out some goods like costume hats, wigs, party glasses, stuff like that. I also once went to a wedding were they brought light up shoes for everyone sdkjnfn. I think Ámbar would really enjoy a light up cape— those are so fun. OH! And at some point, they would both bring out the CO2 guns😎 (everyone is absolutely drunk by this point)

So, yeah, they all have a blast ❤️

(Oh, and did I mention Simón teared up during the vows?)

(Well, technically, Ámbar cried, and seeing her cry made him cry, but who's counting?)

#simbar #soy luna #simbar wedding #I'll write their wedding at some point in one of my wips don't worry- just give me 7 years dskjfn #btw I've been to many rich weddings but for work not as a guest sdkfjn so that's why I've seen a lot of things 😂#I could probably describe every single step of a wedding from memory since the moment the bride starts her hair and makeup #My Post #c speaks #answered #anon

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