#THE IRON CLAW (2023)

[mediademon]

The Iron Claw (2023) dir. Sean Durkin

[dyouknowwhatimean-archive]

the iron claw (2023) dir. sean durkin

[privartidahos]

the iron claw ended months ago but he's still here

[moongirldreamer]

The Iron Claw was such a good watch had a good cry

Kevin Van Erich is every older sibling including myself i want to live in a house with my siblings forever wym we gotta have separate lives and move away wrong

[idksmtms]

gold rush (Kerry Von Erich x reader) - evermore series

evermore series

A/N: After writing literally only angst about David, I thought I would write… a different kind of angst with Kerry. I had way too much fun writing similes and metaphors with gold…

Summary: Kerry had always been a golden boy in the town, first with the Olympics talk, then with his wrestling career. And you? You had just been a girl with a crush, that’s all. 

Word count: ~2.6k

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, light angst, a hint of movie spoilers, unrequited love, turbulent teenage emotions, just vibes of liking someone who doesn’t know you exist and the warnings that come with that, all the good and bad emotions that come with a crush, kind of happy ending bc I couldn’t help myself, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: This is based solely on the portrayals of the brothers in the movie, not the real people. I do not own any of The Iron Claw characters. I do not claim to own any of The Iron Claw characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

Ever since you could remember, the Von Erich family had been the talk of the town. From tragedy to stardom and everything in between. Which meant that ever since you could remember, you had known of Kerry Von Erich’s existence. 

It started in highschool. He was a couple years ahead of you, but he was a sports star, so everyone knew who he was, regardless of grade. Football, wrestling, athletics, any sport under the sun was his forte. Which also meant the teachers loved him and went easy on him, meant he was friends with basically everyone, revered by people for the success he brought. And he was fun, always smiling, always laughing, always ready to party, which definitely helped his popularity. He was fashionable, a long tumble of dirty blond locks on his head that never quite became neat but added to his charm, a pair of nice jeans to add to his casual cowboy look, or a leather jacket for that hint of bad boy that everyone in highschool seemed to crave for some reason. He had all the makings for a golden child, meaning every day at school was a goldrush for those desperate enough to seek it. 

But not you. It wasn’t even on purpose, in all fairness. You didn’t hate him or anything, you just happened to be a little younger, you ran in circles that didn’t really overlap with his. While you read books in your room, he was running laps on the field. While you drank sickly sweet chocolate milkshakes with your friends, he partied with his. No overlap. 

But that didn’t mean anything to your poor, traitorous heart, because eventually the irrational little creature that sat in your chest and made you feel crazy decided it wanted in, even if it was secretly, and even if you didn’t like it. 

It started slow. You had always known he was good looking in a unique sort of way, how his face naturally fell into this almost pouty expression when he was listening or simply relaxing. He had a wide smile that he doled out without care or caution, and a huffy sort of laugh that could be heard all the time. You remembered this one time when you had been leaving school, and the parking lot was right next to the field, separated only by a chain-link fence. He was there, standing around with some friends while waiting for his turn for whatever exercise the coach was putting them through. He wore a pair of baggy shorts and a tank top, but you could already see how muscular and big he was compared to the others. One of his biceps was probably as big as your head even then. But what had caught you in the moment was the thin headband he was wearing on his forehead, a line of red that held back the sweaty bangs of his mullet. That image had stuck in your head for some reason. You recalled it later when you were sitting at your desk, trying and failing to write a history paper. Each time you brought the pen back down and began writing a few sentences, your mind would suddenly trail off to that look, how fluffy his hair looked, to the way he threw back his head and laughed and clapped one of his friends on the shoulder. You wondered what he could be laughing at, what kinds of things he found funny, and then scolded yourself for getting lost in thought about something so random and pathetic when you had better things to be doing (like said history paper). 

Then, it really started to hit you at the first houseparty you ever went to. Everyone was milling around with red solo cups, pointing each other to the table with the bottles or the glass door at the back of the room that led to the patio with the beer kegs and the crush of teenage boys trying to convince everyone to do a kegstand. All the lights had been dimmed and there was loud music from all directions. Loud chatter, drunken laughter, and the very faint sound of someone throwing up behind a bathroom door accompanied the music. 

Your friends had decided that it was their year to raise their social status, to change their personalities and become party girls. You were quite sure that they wouldn’t enjoy it, that this was all a deluded fantasy to go along with their middle school image of what a highschool experience should be like, but went along with their new whims as any supportive friend would. You had questioned if you should follow them into the house when you had all arrived, but as only one of you could drive and she was the one most hellbent on having this experience, you knew you were too late to be having second thoughts. So in you went, clutching your purse tightly and trying not to let your shoulders curl in too much. 

Once you had a drink in your hand and stood sort of near the dancefloor, the party wasn’t all bad. The music was actually quite fun and having a friend near made you feel a lot more comfortable. You had even begun lightly dancing to the music when a loud cheer was carried in from the patio and picked up by the people milling around in the living room. The crowd parted just enough for you to catch a glimpse of what had caused it, someone coming down to rest their legs on the floor after what a passerby called a ‘legendary’ kegstand.

It was Kerry, he seemed to catch the dim light perfectly even in the dark patio. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just a shiny black leather jacket left open so everyone could see the body honed by years of sport and work on the Von Erich ranch. His scruffy hair was falling all around his head and you were quite sure beer and spit were trailing down his chin and onto his chest as he sucked deep breaths in.

And suddenly he was looking right at you, through the patio doors and the gap in the dance floor, right into your eyes. Your entire body suddenly felt like it was burning. The world slowed down then, every movement around you, from the people dancing to your friend talking animatedly beside you was suddenly so hazy and… slow.

Then, just as quickly as it had started, it stopped. Because he looked away, and the world was moving slightly quicker than normal and you had to close your eyes for a moment to bring yourself back to reality. He hadn’t been looking at you. He had looked vaguely in your direction, but he hadn’t seen you. And it didn’t matter anyway. Of course it didn’t matter, because he didn’t know you, and you didn’t know him! No one knew each other and nothing had happened and you weren’t suddenly feeling a bit hot and sweaty and needing a refill. 

You shook it off, scolding yourself for being so enraptured in the party atmosphere that you let yourself be lulled into a weird place where you believed Kerry Von Erich would look at you, on purpose. Maybe you did have some sort of inferiority complex when it came to the popular people, unrealised until this moment. But whatever. Didn’t matter. 

Hours later, hours you didn’t know were so easy to pass at a party that you were sure would be horrendous (but were secretly enjoying very much), you ended up in a circle of conversation with a few friends, a few people you had never before seen in your life (but somehow went to your school?!), and a little gaggle of the golden child society. Kerry stood almost directly across from you, smiling at the girl who was going on a tangent about how it was unfair to have their English class read The Great Gatsby and how boring and weird it was. You cleared your throat, biting back a smile as you sipped from your drink, waiting for her to come to a slow close. You were nervous to talk, sure, but sometimes your passion (and mouth) got ahead of you. 

“It’s actually not that bad,” you added quickly when she was quiet for more than a second. She turned to you, one eyebrow raised. A few other people did the same, Kerry included, but his face was passive, open, that expression just before a smile where a person’s eyes were alight. “I mean, sure, it can get a bit confusing, the language is in that old style, but the actual story is really interesting and captures a lot of themes.” You shrugged, smiling politely at her. Her face softened slightly, and you could tell that she didn’t view you as an enemy anymore, but you were more focused on watching Kerry out of the corner of your eye. He had turned to fully face you, arms crossed over his chest and his torso leaning back slightly. His eyebrows came just a little closer together as he looked at you, not questioning exactly, more simply intrigued. 

“Aren’t you a freshman?” The girl asked, without malice or a smirk, just curiosity as she brought her solo cup to her lips. 

“Uh, no, no, I’m a sophomore,” you told her, nodding with your own words. You saw her eyebrows raise and let out a little huff of a laugh. 

“Then why have you read the book?” It was Kerry, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion and head tilted to the side slightly. You shrugged your shoulders, a little almost incredulous scoff of a laugh leaving your lips as you poked your tongue into your cheek. Feigning confidence was the best combat to the sudden flutter in your chest, the burning at the tips of your ears, and the sudden need to blabber so there was never silence on the Earth again.  

“Um, because I have? I don’t know, I got it from the bookstore in town, and it’s a classic.” When they still looked at you like you had your head on loose, you shrugged again, adding “I like to read” like it was no big deal. To you it wasn’t, to them it was a weird hobby to have. 

“Damn, I can’t imagine sitting down on the couch and reading a book, like on purpose,” he breathed out, shaking his head. 

“Why not?” You asked, crossing one of your arms over your stomach as he looked at your face again and your insides began jumping around. 

“I don’t know, there’s so much else to do,” he shrugged, “you could be out on the field throwing a football and scoring a TOUCHDOWN!” And some of his friends gathered around him at those words, cheering loudly and shoving and shaking each other so the circle dispersed and Kerry was swept away to somewhere else. He looked back at you, just for a moment, a fleeting look where you met eyes and he was smiling just a little as if he had enjoyed the few sentences you guys had shared, barely even a second long, then he was swept up in the guys from the football team and you couldn’t see him anymore. 

And from then on, he was all you could think about, like a detective obsessed with their case, a prospector stuck on the thought of all the gold waiting for them in California. That night when your friend had driven you home, you had talked and laughed in the car but couldn’t help yourself from slipping in mentions of Kerry in the conversation. When you were laying in bed you thought about his voice, when you closed your eyes you saw him standing casually, jacket open. Even when you went back to school, you began searching him out with your eyes. You always knew where he was if he was in the same room as you, always had a little bit of your attention on what he was saying or wearing or simply just… him. 

And you began to live for those moments. Though life had gone back to exactly the way it was before the party, you hadn’t. Every brush past in the hallway, his sleeve gently grazing your arm, made the world feel unsteady, like you were falling and waiting for the inevitable hit to the ground. 

You went through all the emotions, the elation and giddiness and weird jumping feeling in the stomach. Then, as the time passed and absolutely nothing changed except this sudden and painful awareness of his existence, you slowly moved into anger and intense sadness, self-loathing and a feeling of wanting to rip your hair out. 

You weren’t a prospector like the rest of these people. You didn’t want to be a part of the goldrush. You didn’t like the gold rush. You didn’t like the way you suddenly started blushing when you saw him walking down the hall, turning your face back to your locker as if that would hide the burning even from yourself. You didn’t like that when he was in the room, your eyes were drawn to him, that your thoughts wandered to questions about what it would feel like if he held your hands in his, if there were calluses on his fingertips or how strong of a grip he liked to use. Questions about what it would feel like to love him. You didn’t like the rose-coloured glasses someone had suddenly shoved over your eyes.

And of course you kept this all to yourself. You had spent years cultivating an image as someone unbothered by highschool politics and the worship of those deemed ‘popular’. You couldn’t exactly be seen fawning over the person right at the top of the pyramid, the shiniest nugget of gold in the river. So you kept it to yourself, spiralled in your own head, getting lost in little scenarios of him driving you around in his truck with his hand on your thigh, or walking around the picturesque town that was about an hour’s drive down the highway, before zoning back into your room and the ratty grey t-shirt you were wearing.Before reconciling yourself to impossibility and that untouchable quality that seemed to hang in the air around him.   

And then one day, months later, when you had fallen deep into the throes of your secret goldrush, he came walking down the hallway during a quiet moment, when you were standing alone at your locker looking for a textbook and paused just beside you. He smiled, hands in the pockets of his school hoodie, and said “hey! Great Gatsby girl, long time no see!” And of course a million thoughts ran through your head, that you guys have gone to the same school every day before and every day since the party. That he had walked past you in this very hall earlier that morning and not once glanced in your direction. That the universe was playing a joke on you that he chose today to talk to you when you had woken up late and hadn’t given a single thought to your appearance in the morning due to a severe lack of energy. 

Instead, you just smiled, closed your locker door and wittily sent back “guy who freely admits he doesn’t understand the concept of reading!” And though the comment was a little on the mean side, and you regretted it as soon as it left your lips, he began laughing and shook his head, looking into your eyes with a wide smile and a shrug of the shoulders. And suddenly it felt like you had arrived at the part where you hit the ground after the fall… 

A/N: I’m sick of ppl thinking The Great Gatsby is overrated or weird because they were forced to read it in school. It’s literally one of the best books I’ve ever read if you actually sit down and analyse it and think about all the things it presents. Thank you for coming to my ted talk. (I’m so sorry that my intense thoughts about TGG came out today. I have zero control over myself). 

Also, genuinely might just write a separate oneshot of the little scenarios the reader was imagining because a college/highschool Kerry doing cute things with his girlfriend is now stuck in my head.   

Taglist: @nosebeers, @tourturedfolkloredepartment (a gift for bestie Jess <3)

[freshmoviequotes]

The Iron Claw (2023)

[animusrox]

TOP 10

Past Lives

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

How to Blow Up a Pipeline

Poor Things

Oppenheimer

Barbie

BlackBerry

The Holdovers

The Iron Claw

Killers of the Flower Moon

MY LETTERBOXD Grade A 11.    The Killer 12.    Beau Is Afraid 13.    Dream Scenario 14.    Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 15.    Godzilla Minus One 16.    American Fiction 17.    They Cloned Tyrone 18.     Evil Dead Rise 19.    Eileen 20.    The Artifice Girl 21.   Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem 22.    Talk to Me 23.    Reality 24.    Leave the World Behind 25.    A Thousand and One 26.    Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One 27.    Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. 28.    Theater Camp 29.   Carmen 30.    Merry Little Batman 31.    Priscilla 32.    Society of the Snow 33.    Infinity Pool 34.    Enys Men 35.    Sanctuary 36.    Rye Lane 37.    Skinamarink 38.    Monster 39.    Anatomy of a Fall 40.    Landscape with Invisible Hand 41.    Reptile 42.    Sisu 43.    Pinball: The Man Who Saved the Game 44.    No One Will Save You 45.    Tetris 46.    May December 47.    The Zone of Interest 48.    V/H/S/85 49.    Dumb Money 50.    El Conde 51.    Arnold 52.    Maestro 53.    Napoleon 54.    20 Days in Mariupol 55.    Influencer 56.    The Creator 57.    Origin 58.    Thanksgiving 59.    Next Goal Wins 60.    The Boy and the Heron 61.    Bottoms 62.    Wonka

[Press Keep Reading For The Full Graded List]

Grade B

63.   God Is a Bullet 64.    No Hard Feelings 65.    Joy Ride 66.    Fair Play 67.     Cocaine Bear 68.    NYAD 69.    Asteroid City 70.    Nowhere 71.    The Angry Black Girl and Her Monster 72.    Divinity 73.    The Equalizer 3 74.    The Last Voyage of the Demeter 75.    Venus 76.    Butcher’s Crossing 77.    Somewhere in Queens 78.    The Persian Version 79.    Boston Strangler 80.    Polite Society 81.    Miguel Wants to Fight 82.    The Color Purple 83.    The Royal Hotel 84.    Saw X 85.    All of Us Strangers 86.    Fallen Leaves 87.    Ferrari 88.    Elemental 89.    Peter Pan & Wendy 90.    Renfield 91.    Cat Person 92.    Scream VI 93.    The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes 94.    BS High 95.    Blue Beetle 96.    Huesera: The Bone Woman 97.    When Evil Lurks 98.    Dark Harvest 99.    A Good Person 100.    Final Cut 101.    Knock at the Cabin 102.    Quiz Lady 103.    Leo 104.    Air 105.    The Super Mario Bros. Movie 106.    Batman: The Doom That Came to Gotham 107.    John Wick: Chapter 4 108.    Beaten to Death 109.    The Wrath of Becky 110.    Passages 111.    Transformers: Rise of the Beasts 112.    Gran Turismo 113.    65 114.    Sick 115.    Sister Death 116.    The Blackening 117.    Please Don’t Destroy: The Treasure of Foggy Mountain 118.    Flamin’ Hot 119.    Nimona 120.    Cobweb 121.    Totally Killer 122.    What’s Love Got to Do with It? 123.     Sharper 124.    Unseen 125.    Dunki 126.    Bird Box Barcelona 127.    The Marvels 128.    Shazam! Fury of the Gods

Grade C

129.   Wildflower 130.    Freelance 131.    M3GAN 132.    Strays 133.    Sympathy for the Devil 134.    Creed III 135.    Chevalier 136.    The Marsh King’s Daughter 137.    A Haunting in Venice 138.    The Little Mermaid 139.    Silent Night 140.    Master Gardener 141.    The Flash 142.    Fast X 143.    The Pope’s Exorcist 144.    Saltburn 145.    Kandahar 146.    Stand 147.    Plane 148.   Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny 149.    Fingernails 150.    Quicksand 151.    Fool’s Paradise 152.    Migration 153.    Rustin 154.    The Covenant 155.    Good Burger 2 156.    The Pod Generation 157.    Alice, Darling 158.    Insidious: The Red Door 159.    Missing 160.    Shotgun Wedding 161.    You Hurt My Feelings 162.    The Boogeyman 163.    Showing Up 164.    Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom 165.    Champions 166.    Consecration 167.    The Nun II 168.    Biosphere 169.    House Party 170.    The Exorcist: Believer 171.    Big George Foreman 172.    Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves 173.    Children of the Corn 174.    The Beanie Bubble 175.    Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania

Grade F

176.    Anyone But You 177.    Marlowe 178.    Paint 179.    Extraction 2 180.    It Lives Inside 181.    Deliver Us 182.    Trolls Band Together 183.    Finestkind 184.    Corner Office 185.    Wish 186.    Prisoner’s Daughter 187.    Pain Hustlers 188.    Foe 189.    The Mother 190.    Old Dads 191.    Ghosted 192.    Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken 193.    Haunted Mansion 194.    Mafia Mamma 195.    Five Nights at Freddy’s 196.    The Machine 197.    Justice League: Warworld 198.    We Have a Ghost 199.    What Comes Around 200.    Legion of Super-Heroes 201.    The Boys in the Boat 202.    Attachment 203.    Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre 204.    About My Father 205.    You People 206.    Meg 2: The Trench 207.    Pathaan 208.    Rebel Moon - Part One: A Child of Fire 209.    Assassin 210.    Dalíland 211.    Vacation Friends 2

Bottom 10

212.    Sound of Freedom 213.    Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey 214.    When You Finish Saving The World 215.    Heart of Stone 216.    Family Switch 217.    Expend4bles 218.    Sweetwater 219.    Hypnotic 220.    80 for Brady 221.    Spinning Gold

[portraitofadumbassonfire]

Top 20 Favorite Films of 2023

Honorable Mentions:

Sanctuary, The Zone of Interest, The Color Purple, Anyone But You, The Ballad Of Songbirds & Snakes, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.3, Renaissance: A Film by Beyonce, Volcano, Are You There God It's Me Margaret, How To Blow Up A Pipeline, Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves, Beau Is Afraid, Talk To Me, Eileen, Infinity Pool, They Cloned Tyrone, Dream Scenario, Red, White, & Royal Blue, The Blackening, Cocaine Bear, M3gan, Polite Society, The Passenger, A Knock At The Cabin.

[zacefronews]

EXCLUSIVE: @A24 will release "The Iron Claw" nationwide on December 22. The sports drama, starring Zac Efron and Jeremy Allen White, tells the true story of the Von Erich wrestling family.

[mediademon]

The Iron Claw (2023) dir. Sean Durkin

[k-wame]

same jeremy same

[dyouknowwhatimean-archive]

the iron claw (2023) dir. sean durkin

[privartidahos]

hometown heroes / poster pinups

[cypionate60mg]

[idksmtms]

happiness (David Von Erich x reader) - evermore series

evermore series

A/N: The way this movie wrecked me should be studied…

Also, I know the actual song is about a break up, but the line “there will be happiness after you” just made me think of death.

Summary: Maybe none of these coincidences were signs, but you wanted to believe they were. You wanted to believe that David was rooting for your happiness. 

Word count: 2,669

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, light to heavy angst, major character death is mentioned (but happens before events of oneshot), movie spoilers!!!, grief, moving on, guilt for moving on (ig could also be classified as survivor’s guilt), it’s kinda fluffy too, just nostalgic tbh, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: This is based solely on the portrayals of the brothers in the movie, not the real people. I do not own any of The Iron Claw characters. I do not claim to own any of The Iron Claw characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

In a faraway barn of an already isolated horse ranch, sat an easel. On the easel was a canvas, a work in progress painting of shadows and darkness, anger and grief, made with splotches of red, black, grey. In front of the easel on a stool, sat you, wearing a messy apron over an old pair of jeans and an old flannel that still smelt a little bit like… him. The doors of the barn were thrown wide open (possibly because they never quite closed anyway) and filled the large room with bright sunshine. When the sun would eventually continue its course across the sky, the light would turn green from all the trees lined up on the other side of the barn and make everything suddenly feel like it wasn’t quite real. You loved those moments. If you were in one of the melancholic moods that still set in occasionally, then the green and yellow light made you feel like you had floated above the world, and if you just reached out, you could somehow find David. When you were in the good moods that now came with increasing frequency, you felt like it was a little sign from David everyday. A little reminder of the happiness you could still find, that he wanted you to find. 

It had taken you a long time to get to this place, this precarious tightrope of happiness that spanned over the chasm of grief. You could still remember the days after you had gotten the news, his mother’s soft voice over the phone telling you that his intestine had ruptured at some point in the night and he had died in his hotel room. Alone. Sometimes that hit you harder than the fact that he had actually died. That he had died thousands of miles away from family, from love, all on his own. You tried not to think about it too much now, it was an unnecessary train of thought that only made you feel worse. You could do nothing to change it anyway. 

But when his mother had told you, you had sat down on the edge of your bed and not moved until your own mother found you hours later. It was like life had suddenly been put on hold now that he was gone, that life wasn’t even possible now. Then, when the night came and the news slowly began to sink in again, you cried. First soft, silent tears that hurt your insides more than anything. Your throat clogged, your pursed lips pressed so tightly to each other they were bruising, and your hands shaking like you had developed arthritis overnight. Your hands never did quite stop shaking since that night. 

It had taken all your remaining strength to attend the funeral, to stand next to his brothers who had these broken expressions on their faces that made you hate the world all the more. His father with his stoic face that made you wonder if he had ever even loved David. And his mother, swaying slightly as she stood, tears streaming down her face that somehow made your own feel even more painful. 

The funeral was the last time you had left the house for a good month. You walked around your own family’s ranch house like a ghost, always making it just to the front door before turning back. You spent the most time in your room, because that was where all your memories with David were gathered, from all the gifts and pictures to the actual memories of him laying sprawled across your tiny single bed, feet dangling over the edge, cowboy hat over his eyes as he snored like a walrus. He used to say that it was the only time he ever really got good sleep, and you never had the heart to disturb him. You would simply adjust the little flap of duvet that could be pulled out from under him to cover his chest and stomach, then sit down at your desk chair to get any written work done that you might have. Then, a few hours later, when his absence from his family could no longer be abided, the phone would ring shrill through the house, and he would jolt awake, shaking his head to get the hat off his face and look around as if he had never stepped foot on the earth before. You always giggled, rolling your chair closer to the bed and gently petting his hair to calm him down as he blinked blearily and turned to you, depositing his head onto your shoulder with a little grumble. And the phone would keep ringing, left unanswered, until the second time they called, when you finally extracted yourself from David’s muscly grip, and went to sweet-talk whichever of his brothers had been given the duty of finding him while he gathered his things and bounced out the door. 

Before, whenever you had lain on the bed and thought about this, it had hurt excruciatingly, like someone was running a slow, twisting, drill through your chest. Now you just laughed, appreciated the peaceful moments you both had together. 

Your room still looked like it had then, though. Pale painted walls covered in memories, shelves full of them. One wall had letters pinned all over it, all from David when you had had a little phase of romanticism and had forced him to write and send you letters. He had taken it up with enthusiasm, even if he hated anything that remotely reminded him of sitting at a desk at school. He had written you a letter almost everyday for two months before you told him that you were running out of space to keep them, and maybe a phone call was better because then you got to hear his voice directly in your ear. You still read them sometimes, laughing at the insane amount of words he had to cross out or the little illegible scribbles that were surely supposed to be words but you couldn’t figure out which ones to this day. His handwriting was horrendous, but you loved him even more for it. 

Another wall had every picture you and David had taken together, a mishmash of polaroids and developed film that showed the story of your relationship. There were the shy pictures, when the relationship was still new and you had been a little nervous around him, and he had simply thrown his arms around you, rested his head on top of yours, and told the person to ‘take the goddamn picture’. Then there were the post-match pictures, one perfectly timed polaroid of you throwing yourself at him, wrapping your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, pressing an obnoxious kiss to his cheek while he shined almost white from the sweat under the flash. You couldn’t remember which match it was from now, you were pretty sure it was written on the back, but that had been standard practice for you after every match he won. 

The last picture of the collage, right at the bottom corner, was the last picture you had taken with David. It was just before he left for the airport, both of you standing in the driveway in front of their house, almost the same as the first picture you had taken together, just a different location. You were standing just in front of him, leaning back against his chest while he wrapped his arms over yours and rested his chin on top of your head. You were smiling so bright your eyes were squinted closed and he wasn’t even looking at the camera but down at you as if he could see your face from that odd angle. It was a cute picture, but you never looked at it fondly. Sometimes you were tempted to throw it out, but you couldn’t throw out anything that had even a hint of David on it. The picture just reminded you of how much you didn’t know, of how many signs you might have missed of the path David headed down. He had never told you about the drugs, the little energy boosters as his father had described them later. And you had thought the coughing and vomiting were an upset stomach. The toilet was always flushed when you came in to check on him, the sink always washed properly. You had even given him some medicine to take when he had assured you that there was nothing wrong. You had only found out from Kevin later that when David had excused himself to the bathroom at the wedding he had been coughing up blood. And that had led to the anger. 

For a long while, your love for David had turned into an unfair anger. You looked back on that period with a heavy heart full of regret. You hated yourself for it now. But rationality hadn’t mattered to you then, so deep you were in the valley of grief. You had hated him for not telling you about the drugs, for not telling you about the blood. Why did you have to find it all out after he died? Why did you have to find it all out from someone else? Didn’t he trust you? Didn’t he love you, or at least know that you loved him so much that nothing could make you stop loving him? Of course, later, when you began thinking clearly again, you had to realise that it was about him, not about you. That it was his own fear and pain and insecurities and whatever else was going on in his head at the time that led to this, not you. But after this initial hatred, came the somehow even more irrational one. You hated him for leaving you. You hated him for leaving you behind on your own. You hated him for dying… At the same time you knew you couldn’t hate him for that, it was the same as hating someone with cancer for dying. They didn’t choose it. They didn’t want it. Sometimes in the dead of night, when you convinced yourself to step past the threshold of the front door, you would wander the fields around the house, telling David in a whispered voice full of rage how much he had hurt you, how you couldn’t forgive him for this. 

Then, one day, you had gotten out of bed slowly, and wandered around the house in your pyjamas, when you found your mother pulling things out of the attic. She smiled at you, clambering down the ladder and wiping her dusty hands on her jeans before gently pinching your cheek between soft fingers. Her smile was soft, loving, a little bit sad because she had loved David too, loved the light and fun he had brought into the house, and she loved you more than anything and it hurt her to see you this way. 

“I’m just clearing out the attic, seeing if we have any things to donate,” she told you with a shrug as if you had asked her; your mouth hadn’t even been close to opening. You weren’t even looking at her, but at the box set next to the ladder, one of the top flaps pushed open and a peak of dark blue shimmery fabric flashing out. You got onto your knees, gently peeling the box fully open and pulling out the dress that had been shoved at the top. 

You spread it out on your lap, gently caressing the fabric as it fanned out and tears filled your eyes so you could no longer see the details, only the colour. It had been the dress from one of your favourite memories with David. 

It was only a few weeks after you guys had started dating, possibly a month after, and he had saved up some money to take you on an elaborate date. Dinner at the cute italian restaurant in the city centre, a stroll down to the ice cream shop, arm in arm, before he drove you out into the farthest corner of the farthest field of the farm in his pickup truck, the bed piled with every spare pillow and blanket from the house (including the ones from his own bed) so you guys could lay down snuggled up and stargaze. 

You had worn this dress, and kissed David until you were breathless, and he had been his best self, joking around and whispering sweet words in your ear and wrapping his big arms around you so your face was pressed into his chest and the world closed in to be just the two of you. 

And you smiled, a bright, watery, smile with sniffles and tears streaming down your cheeks as you caressed the fabric of the dress and your mother got on her knees to wrap herself around you as you hiccuped out sobs and pressed your face into the slightly musty dress. 

You had had probably the worst night of your life the night before you found the dress. Your thoughts had been the darkest they had ever been, verging on irreversible decisions that would have only made everything worse for everybody. And then here the dress was, reminding you of the happiness you had experienced with David, the elation and laughter and smiles and just pure joy he had brought to your life. And suddenly, for that moment, everything was a little better. 

And slowly, with each passing day, you got out of bed again and again, you left the house in the sunshine again and again, and you found all the signs of David, the little coincidences that meant just a little more because of him, because you believed he was trying, wherever he was, to still bring you happiness. 

And with these little encouragements, these little signs, you began to grow again. You refurbished the abandoned barn into an art studio, a place for you to use creativity to let out all the suffocating emotions. Each day you would come into the barn bright and early, just as a beautiful sunrise turned everything from orange to pale yellow, and you would sit down on the stool in front of the easel, and think, feel, paint. 

The signs kept coming, once a little bird, a sparrow, flying into the barn and landing at the top of your easel, watching you paint and occasionally letting out little chirps of encouragement. You spoke to it as if it was David, “I know it looks really dark right now, but I wanted a dark background so the bright colours in the middle would pop more later,” you explained. Another day it was the stray cat that hung around the farm, the one that had avoided you since her existence, suddenly coming to sit down beside your stool, purring and napping next to you the entire time you painted. “I love you,” you whispered to the cat as if it was David sitting down next to you again, “maybe too much.” 

And now here you were, humming some song from the radio as you painted a dark image, something to represent the moments of your hatred so long ago, something to capture it and put it away so you could look back and see how much you had grown since. The new person you had become. The person who understood that you couldn’t make the grief go away by hating the person you missed. The person who knew that she had been happy with David, but she could be happy now too, and both of these things can be true. The person who still didn’t really know what to do, or how to handle the grief and the feelings, but was ok with it anyway. 

So yes, there was a new you, a you after David that he wouldn’t get to meet. But you gave him the best of you. And you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

A/N: the emotional depths I went to to write this… 

Taglist: @nosebeers, @tourturedfolkloredepartment,

[escapismthroughfilm]

⋆˚｡⋆ ⋆˚｡⋆⋆˚The Iron Claw (2023) dir. Sean Durkin⋆˚｡⋆ ⋆˚｡⋆⋆˚｡