#the iron claw fanfiction

[daysofyellowroses]

yellow rose

david von erich x afab!reader | 6.2k | 18+ minors dni | tw: language, smoking, mild smut | a reflection on your journey to the altar

so this is a complete and utter work of fiction, based on the very brilliant movie the iron claw. i knew as soon as i watched it i would have stories but i was a little surprised david came to me first. obviously harris dickinson is beautiful but i am down so bad for jaw. i got some kerry ideas too, and i always have a hundred different bear ideas on the go too so more to come | also just to note that because this is totally fictitious, i am choosing to ignore real life events for the most part and live in fanfic delusion. enjoy 🌼

-

It all seemed to happen in a flash.

In theory, you should have been used to it. Ready for it.

One minute you were heading to a local sports center on a work assignment, then in what felt like the blink of an eye, you were walking up the aisle to marry the subject of one of those photos.

But, to get to how exactly you ended up walking down that aisle, you need to go back to how it all started.

Which, like with most things when it came to you,started with a picture.

📷

From an early age, you loved photography. Capturing a moment in time, being able to look at it any time and relive the moment was always a thrill. Your childhood home was full of framed photos and photo albums, a collection of memories surrounding you.

When you turned 13, your parents gave you your own camera. It wasn't anything too technical or fancy, but it was immediately your most treasured possession. You took photos of everything, family occasions, your friends hanging out, nature, snapshots of Dallas.

As you grew older you threw yourself into studying everything about photography, worked an extremely tedious part time job to save up for a real camera, dedicated yourself to honing your skills. It wasn't difficult, your friends and family kept you busy with birthday parties, weddings, christenings, anything worth celebrating and you were there to capture the moments.

When you were in your senior year of high school, you discovered a fondness for a particular subject of your photos. You had been sitting in the bleachers after school one day with your friends, all you of chatting and laughing about something when you'd looked onto the football field and spotted two of the players talking about something animatedly, one of them slapping the other on the back as they laughed. 

You had grabbed your camera, snapping a photo and rolled your eyes playfully as your friends teased you. Sure, the players were cute, but that wasn't why you took their photo. When the shots had developed, you were thrilled that your instinct had been correct. The red of the players jerseys popped, the gold star on their helmets gleaming in the sun. They looked graceful, despite their large frames, natural and charming. 

From that photo, you began to base more of your photos on sport. It wasn't an area you had expected to become interested in, but it inspired your photography. Cheerleaders in perfectly formed pyramids, track stars crossing the line, football players clutching the ball to their chest as they threw themselves across the post.

After graduation, you applied for a journalism course, figuring it didn't hurt to have a backup plan and maybe it would get you a gig as a photographer for a newspaper or magazine. 

Leaving home was tough, especially when a big going away party was thrown for you, your friends and family coming together to celebrate your accomplishments. When the time came to leave you were sure you'd never cried so much, trying to hype yourself up for the adventure ahead.

It was a lot of fun, being at college, as it turned out. Making new friends, learning new things, having new experiences. By the time it was over it felt like you could back and do it all again in a heartbeat.

You decided to move back to Dallas after you graduated. A job opportunity at a big paper came up, and your friend Pam had found an apartment that came with a spare room so it seemed like the right move.

It was about two weeks later you were tasked with going down to the Sportatorium on a Saturday night to document the latest wrestling match. Every time you went to a sporting event for work, you were accompanied by the senior sports writer, Duke. He was older than your father, far too old for his cheap toupee to be even the slightest bit believable. He wore cheap polyester suits, too much cologne and had a fondness for calling you ‘missy’ and placing his hand a little too low on your back.

You had psyched yourself up to ask Pam to come along, preparing a whole speech in your head. If she was with you then you could avoid Duke like the plague, couldn't possibly leave your guest alone. 

Turned out Pam didn't take much convincing at all, in fact she practically jumped at the chance to come along. You tucked her excitement away in your mind, curious to see if the source would reveal itself at the match.

When the day came, you were excited to get some shots of a new sport. From what you'd seen on TV, the Sportatorium was bright and colorful, the wrestlers just as much so. You packed up your camera before getting changed into some jeans and a t-shirt. 

Pam had taken one look at you and marched you back into your room, your protests of “But I'm working!” falling on deaf ears.

A compromise was reached. Your t-shirt stayed but a denim mini skirt replaced your jeans and brown cowboy boots replaced your beat up sneakers. You felt a little ridiculous, your job had you in all kinds of angles and positions to get the best shots, the last thing you wanted was to be unable to get a good picture because you'd end up flashing tomorrow's laundry to thousands of strangers.

When you arrived at the Sportatorium, the sun was dipping below the horizon and what seemed like hundreds of cars and trucks were pulling up. People were grabbing beers out of coolers, blasting music from boomboxes, grilling up hotdogs on portable barbecues. You got a couple of shots before Pam was hustling you inside to get your seats. Well, her seat. You told her you'd meet her outside after the match, not that she seemed to be paying attention, her eyes focused on the empty ring. 

You made your way down to the ring, keeping an eye out for Duke and ready to sprint back to Pam if needed. To your relief, Duke wasn't in attendance. The junior sports reporter, Brian, had been sent in his place. The two of you weren't exactly close friends but he was much more professional. You got some shots of the crowd, feeling excited to see a match live. The atmosphere in the stadium was electric, like something incredible was about to happen. 

When the announcement came for the first tag team, you got some shots of them walking through the tunnel and into the ring, holding their arms in the air and greeting the crowd. Brian walked around the ring slowly, scribbling into a notepad, cigarette perched behind his ear.

Then they announced the next tag team, and you moved to the opposite tunnel to get shots of them. You took a breath as you snapped a shot of the taller one, his wavy blonde hair peeking out from under his back cowboy hat. He was wearing a leather jacket that he promptly tore off before he got into the ring, his back muscles rippling. 

You cleared your throat, taking more photos and trying to concentrate on what you were there for. 

The bell rang, and once the match started you had no shortage of great photo opportunities. The men in the ring moved with perfect proficiency and style, playing up to the crowd and putting on a spectacular show. You found yourself more and more drawn to the tall blonde, David Von Erich, you discovered. 

He was so graceful yet could have these huge men slammed onto their backs, his arms bulging and a cocky grin on his face. Once or twice you could have sworn he caught your eye and winked at you but you were sure it was your imagination. 

The Von Erichs won the match, you snapped a photo of the referee holding up the brother's hands as the crowd roared. Brian checked back in with you, telling you he was going to grab some quotes before heading off. You bid him farewell before going to find Pam, heading outside with the rest of the crowd.

“Hey, over here!”

You quickly spotted Pam, smiling as you waved back at her, weaving your way through the crowd to join her.

“Hey,” You smiled, laughing softly as Pam grabbed your arm, a wide grin on her face. “Are you al-”

“Come on,” Pam immediately started tugging you in the opposite direction. “let me show you something,”

You just about managed to maintain your balance and hold onto your camera as you dodged through the dispersing crowd, wondering what exactly Pam was doing.

Before long you had an answer, as you and Pam joined a large group of women hanging around the back door of the Sportatorium. Her keenness to come to the match made much more sense when Kevin Von Erich walked out the door, towel around his shoulders and bag slung over his shoulder. You had never known Pam to look at any man the way she was looking at Kevin.

“What are you waiting for?” You asked, giving Pam a gentle nudge. “Get on over there, girl.”

“I can't, there's too many girls round him,” Pam sighed. “I am not desperate. I'll wait for my time.”

“Saving the best for last huh?” You grinned, watching Pam roll her eyes playfully. “I don't think he's gonna be able to take his eyes off you.”

“You think?” Pam asked, glancing over to you. She looked genuinely concerned and you gave her a reassuring smile. 

“I know.”

A little while later, when the crowd had dispersed and Kevin was signing the last couple of autographs, you gave Pam a gentle nudge, smiling as she quickly fixed her hair.

“Good luck,” You grinned, gently squeezing her arm. “Not that you need it.”

You gave her some space, walking over to a trash can before fishing a pack of cigarettes from your purse. You lit one up, glancing over to Pam and smiling as you spotted Kevin heading in her direction. Closing your eyes as you looked away, you took a long drag on your cigarette and felt yourself relax.

“You know it's a bad habit to smoke those things.”

You opened your eyes, finding a familiar face standing close to you. He looked better in person than he did in the ring, if that was possible. 

“Well I'm sure you know that it is very rude to keep your hat on in the presence of a lady,” You raised a brow, flicking your ash into the trash can. “I could be deeply insulted.”

“I apologize,” David grinned, taking off his hat and giving you a slight bow as he did. He introduced himself properly, as did you, his hand moving over his heart as he tilted his head. “You know I was just joking, there's worse habits to have than smoking.”

You nodded, smiling a little. “Like creeping up on strangers?”

He laughed and you felt a flutter in your stomach. You willed it away, not wanting to be another simpering fan.

“You want one?” You asked, holding out the box of cigarettes. David looked like he was considering saying yes before he shook his head. 

“No, thank you. I shouldn't.”

“Fair enough,” You nodded, putting the box back in your purse. “It really is a bad habit. I'm trying to quit but I got some time to kill so..”

“Oh yeah?” David raised a brow, glancing around the quiet car park before looking back at you. “What you waiting for?”

“My friend,” You gestured in the direction of Pam, who was deep in conversation with Kevin. “she's a big fan.”

“So I see,” David grinned, looking over to his brother and Pam before focusing his attention back on you. “and uh..what about you? Are you a big fan?”

You thought about it/made him wait for a moment as you took a drag on your cigarette and raised a brow.

“I'm just here for work.”

“Really?” David looked a little surprised, lightly rubbing his jaw. “What kinda work do you do?”

You held up your camera with a smile before flicking your cigarette in the trash can. “I’m a photographer,” You explained. “for a newspaper.”

“Oh right,” David smiled, folding his arms. “I'll have to buy that, see if you got any good ones of me. Which paper is it?”

“It's the uh..huh,” You grinned as you glanced over to Pam, watching her laugh as Kevin said something to her. “Excuse me for one second.” 

You turned slightly, holding your camera up and focusing it on Pam and Kevin. You felt very aware of David's presence behind you, trying to hold your hands steady as you snapped a picture. 

“I have a feeling I may need that one day,” You smiled, settling your camera strap back over your shoulder and turning to David. “They're cute together, don't you think?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” David nodded, his gaze staying on you. “She ain't the cutest one here though.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn't fight the smile on your face and multiple flutters in your stomach. 

“Oh shut up, that's such a line.”

“I'm deadly serious,” David grinned, holding his hat over his heart. “I promise.”

You were about to say something when Pam appeared, linking her arm with yours and giggling as she went to drag you away. 

“Hang on one second,” David called, making you look over your shoulder with a smile.

“You never told me the name of your paper!”

“It's in Dallas,” You called back, walking forward with Pam, the two of you giggling. “If you find it, call me!”

📷

A couple of days later you were in the newspaper office, going over some photos for an upcoming article when one of the secretaries knocked on the door and asked for you.

“Call for you,” She explained, gesturing to the phone as you went to her desk. “They didn't give a name, just asked for you.”

“Okay, thanks Margaret,” You smiled, feeling a slight knot in your stomach. It was extremely rare someone called you at work, and you tried not to think the worst. 

Going to the phone, you picked it up and took a deep breath before holding it to your ear. 

“Hello?”

“Hello yourself.”

You let out a soft sigh of relief as you realized who was on the other end of the line, a small smile on your face.

“How many papers did you have to call before you found me?”

“That's not important.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin.

“More than two?”

“..five.”

“Oh wow,” You grinned, turning more towards the wall. “That's perseverance right there. I'm flattered.”

“Well so am I,” David replied. “I saw those pictures you took. They were great, I wanted to thank you for catching me at such a flattering angle.”

“You're welcome,” You smiled, glancing over your shoulder before looking back and lowering your voice slightly. “That the only reason you called six newspapers? Angles?”

“Not quite,” You could hear a cheeky tone in his voice, your fingers holding the phone cord. “I was hoping you'd come see me again. You don't have to take pictures this time, if you don't want.”

“As it happens I am coming,” You raised a brow with a smile. “Your brother beat you to the invite. He invited Pam, who invited me. So I'll be there.”

“Well damn,” David laughed softly. “I guess I'll just have to come right out with it then..ask you on a real date.”

“Oh?” You grinned, feeling like a teenager as your cheeks grew warm. “How about we make it interesting?”

“I'm all ears.”

You took a breath, trying to calm your heartbeat. You were aware of Margaret behind you, knowing she'd be listening to every word. 

“Alright, if you win..I accept. If you don't, no deal.”

“Hm, sounds fair,” David replied. “I guess I'll have to try a little harder this week. I'll let you get back to work, alright?”

“Alright,” You nodded, trying not too smile too widely. “I'll see you Saturday. Bye.”

You hung up the phone, turning around to Margaret with a polite smile.

“Thank you, I'll be in the office.”

Once you closed the door and found yourself alone, you let out a laugh, shaking your head and wondering what you'd let yourself in for.

📷

Saturday came around quickly, and most of the day was given over to preparing. At first you were just helping Pam, heading into store after store to find the perfect outfit. Then you started looking for yourself, realizing that you wanted to put in just a little more effort since you were going to watch, not work. 

As the evening drew closer, the radio was on full blast in the apartment as you and Pam cracked open a bottle of wine and started the beauty process. You couldn't shake the slight nerves that were settled in your stomach, but they were joined by an excitement. 

“Oh,” Pam turned from the bathroom mirror to look at you. You were sitting on the edge of the bathtub, carefully painting your toenails. “Did he ever get in touch? David? I completely forgot to ask.”

“Yeah, he found me,” You grinned, laughing as Pam gasped. “Asked me to come along tonight. I told him I was already coming.”

“And?” Pam asked, waving her hand at you. “What else? Did he ask you out?”

“I told him he can take me out if he wins,” You smiled, holding the bottle of nail polish up in the air with a laugh as Pam rushed over to hug you.

“This is so exciting! We're gonna be like sisters!”

📷

When you arrived at the Sportatorium, it seemed to be even busier than it had been the previous week. You stepped out of your truck, smoothing out your outfit. It was only a black off the shoulder top and some denim jeans but you hoped it still looked good. 

You linked your arm with Pam's as the two of you headed inside the bustling arena, your heart beating faster as you took your seats. As it turned out, watching the match was totally different to photographing it. You couldn't move about, couldn't pick one thing to focus on. It was all happening, bright and loud and thrilling. You found yourself cheering and whistling with the crowd, you and Pam both jumping up and screaming when the Von Erichs emerged victorious.

When it was all over and you were enjoying the fresh air, you couldn't help but find it adorable when Kevin couldn't keep his eyes off Pam while he signed autographs. Once he was free you gave him and Pam some space, almost immediately bumping into David.

“Hey winner,” You smiled, resting your hands in your back pockets. “Nice angles in there.”

“I hope someone was there to capture them,” David grinned, taking his hat off. “Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah,” You nodded, watching David for a moment, smiling as you realized he almost seemed a little nervous. “I really enjoyed it..though I'm a little curious about something.”

“What might that be?” David asked, moving his hat from one hand to the other. 

“Well,” You smiled, stepping closer and looking up at him. “Are you going to honor our agreement?”

📷

It was only when you were putting on your coat to leave the apartment when it dawned on that you hadn't actually been on a first date for..a while. There were some relationships in high school, a couple in college along with some dates and flings but the last had been before you graduated. 

You tried not to think about it too much, you were just going for dinner and seeing a movie. Worst case scenario, you and David didn't end up hitting it off and the world would go on as it always did. But part of you was hopeful that something would come from the date, that it would develop into something really great.

Grabbing your purse, you left the apartment and went downstairs to hail a cab, excitement starting to outweigh the nerves.

📷

“No way,” You laughed, your eyes going wide as you placed your hand over your chest. “You did not do that.”

“Yes I did,” David nodded, a serious look on his face before he laughed. “I was so sick afterwards. Never got found out though. Mom just went and got Kerry and Mike a new egg each. I couldn't eat chocolate for like three months.”

“I'm not surprised,” You laughed, picking up your drink. “You can't say you didn't deserve it.”

David laughed, nodding as he picked up his own drink. 

“I certainly did deserve it. Moment of weakness I guess.” 

You took a sip of your drink before setting the glass down and glancing around the restaurant. It was a steakhouse, but it felt like a nice one. Elegant lighting, candles on the tables, classy music playing. No sawdust or butcher paper to be found. 

“So do you think your brothers ever found out?” You asked, sitting up a little and resting your hands in your lap. “Or did you tell them?”

“No to both I'm afraid,” David sighed softly, lightly tapping his glass as he set it down. “Though I think Kev knew it was me..” He smiled to himself as he looked down. “Never said anything if he did know, though.”

“Seems like you two are close,” You smiled, your heart picking up a beat as David looked back at you with a warm smile. 

“We are,” He nodded. “We all are. I can't imagine life without them, they're amazing.” 

You felt your heart swell, trying not to get too swept up in your emotions. 

“That's so wonderful,” You smiled. “It's amazing that you're all so close.”

“Yeah,” David grinned, sitting up a little. “I just feel so lucky every day, like..” He stopped himself, lightly rubbing his neck.

“You know what, I feel like all I've done is talk about myself, my brothers, I don't want you to think I'm self absorbed or nothing, I promise I ain't like that.”

You shook your head, reaching your hand across the table and grinning when David held it with his own.

“I know you're not,” You insisted. “You're wonderful. Now tell me more about your family, I want the good stories.”

You ended up missing the movie, but neither of you cared. You talked until the restaurant was closing, David's jacket around your shoulders as you walked out into the night air. He gave you a ride home and kissed your cheek by your door  like a gentleman. 

“I had a great time,” You smiled, carefully taking off David's jacket and giving it back to him. You could tell he wanted to tell you to keep it, and you knew why he couldn't. 

“Maybe you should win another match, take me out again.”

“It's a deal.”

📷

Going to matches became a weekly event. You and Pam would cheer and cling to each other, laughing at how silly you were being. You took pictures for yourself, wanting to remember every moment. Afterwards you would meet David and Kevin, go for burgers and debrief on the match. 

It wasn't always easy for David to visit you, so you called each other when you could, spending an hour or two talking about anything and everything. You drove down to Denton a couple of times, meeting him for something to eat or just for a drive. 

He was always a perfect gentleman, opening doors for you and holding your hand, never pressing for anything more even though you suspected he was just as keen as you were to take things further.

You decided to nudge things in the right direction one night when you had gone down to visit him. Pam had come with you, and David and Kevin had taken you to the lake with their brother Mike, who you instantly adored. 

The afternoon was perfect, gorgeous hot weather and ice cold beers, floating along in the water and feeling like nothing else could possibly matter but being in that moment. 

You were sitting on the edge of the dock while the others drifted along on the huge rubber float, snapping a couple of shots of them before setting the camera aside. David appeared next to you, sitting down and resting his hand on your back. You leaned into the touch, his arm moving around your shoulders. 

“I love this,” You smiled softly, closing your eyes and letting out a breath. “If every day was like this..what a world.”

“It's perfect,” David murmured softly. “I can't think of anything better.”

“Hm, I reckon I can,” You smiled, opening your eyes and looking up at him. His eyes were already on you and you grinned as he took a breath and leaned in, his lips feeling like heaven against yours. 

You could hear the cheers and whistles, smiling into the kiss and feeling satisfied beyond belief. 

📷

“You ready for this?”

“Absolutely not. You?”

“Absolutely not.”

You flicked on the indicator and headed up the long drive to the Von Erich home, glancing over to Pam in the passenger seat.

“At least we're in this together.”

It was incredibly daunting, the thought of meeting David's parents and his brother Kerry, who had recently come home. He had told you countless times that they would love you, but it didn't ease your nerves. 

You were relieved to have Pam with you, that she was in the same boat. Mike met you both at the door, giving you both a hug and chatting away as he led you outside. 

It was a flurry of introductions, handshakes and hugs and the most perfect kiss from David that had you instantly relaxing.

By the time everyone sat down for dinner, it felt as though you had known the Von Erichs forever. The food was delicious, the weather was beautiful, the company was amazing. You felt David reach for your hand under the table when his parents talked about how they met, your heart swelling. 

When Doris forbade Mike from going to a gig that night, you glanced across the table to Pam smiling as she gave you a slight nod.

📷

“Alright, drive, drive!”.

You put your foot down, laughing as you glanced in the mirror and watched your boyfriend and his brothers gradually haul themselves into your truck. You turned the radio up when you left the driveway, rolling down the windows and cheering as you hit the road.

It didn't matter whose house the party was in, it was big and roomy and most importantly, fun. You had a beer in your hand before you knew it, hitting the makeshift dance floor. The brothers spun you and Pam around, laughter filling the air as you moved to the music, not a care in the world.

When Mike took to the stage with his band, you stood with David behind you, his arms wrapped around you. You all cheered as the song started up, swaying along as you held your hands over David's. 

Later in the evening you gently took David's hand and pulled him into a quiet corner, whispering in his ear and enjoying the slightly tipsy smile that crossed his face, a flash of worry passing his eyes.

You led him upstairs, finding an empty bedroom and closing the door.

“We..we don't have to,” David insisted as you slipped off your shoes. “I don't want you to feel pressured.”

“I don't,” You smiled, walking to the end of the bed and unzipping your dress before turning back to David. “But I will think you don't want to if you don't get over here in the next thirty seconds.”

He didn't need to be asked twice.

You laughed as you were picked up bridal style and carried to the top of the bed, letting out a soft moan as David laid you down and gave you a tender kiss.

Despite your suspicions that David was possibly a virgin, you didn't ask when he didn't bring it up. He was a little apprehensive, but once you took the lead he seemed to tap into his ring persona and the confidence in his movements had you struggling not to scream as your nails dug into his back, the sheets, your body crying out for more. 

“Oh god,” You moaned, touching David's cheek and looking up to meet his eyes as your legs hooked around his waist. “Baby..’m so close, please..”

You closed your eyes as he pushed deeper into you, his forehead resting against yours.

“Me too,” He murmured, his hand reaching for yours. “Fuck..fuck..I love you.”

Your eyes went wide at the confession, a deep moan spilling from your lips as you felt a wave crash over you, feeling David fill you moments later. You moved your hands to his neck, meeting his eyes and taking a deep breath. 

“I'm sorry,” He sighed, looking down. “I shouldn't have-this isn't the time..”

“No,” You insisted, a smile spreading on your face. “It's the perfect time. I love you, too.”

📷

“Mind if I get one of those?”

You turned around, letting out a sigh of relief as you spotted Kerry walking towards you. 

“Of course,” You smiled, taking the box of cigarettes from your purse and handing it over. “Thought you were David for a second.”

Kerry laughed as he accepted the box, shaking his head.

“Nah, your secret is safe with me. Just needed one huh?”

“Yeah,” You nodded, flicking away the ash. “I'm so nervous. I don't know why, it's not like I have to walk down the aisle in front of hundreds of people wearing this,” You raised a brow, gesturing to your dress.

As much as you adored Pam, and as thrilled as you were that she was getting married and had asked you to be her maid of honor, you did not exactly love the dress she had chosen. For a start, it was a mix of dusky pink and peach, the skirt was so big you wondered if you fit down the aisle, and the sleeves were almost the size of your head.

“I feel you,” Kerry nodded, looking down at himself as he lit his cigarette. “I think we all feel a little ridiculous. But you know the worst part?”

“Go on,” You smiled, lifting up the puffball that had slipped down your shoulder. “shock me.”

“I gotta do this three more times,” Kerry sighed, lightly prodding the flower attached to his suit. “At least you get to choose your wedding dress. I'm stuck in velvet hell.”

You laughed, shaking your head and taking a drag on your cigarette. 

“Oh come on, it ain't so bad. I think I heard Mike say he would never have velvet.”

“Really?” Kerry raised a brow, looking over to you. 

“Promise,” You grinned, holding your hand over your heart. “He said he'd have velour.”

“Oh fuck off,” Kerry laughed, shaking his head and holding his hand out. “Gimme a mint and get out of here, I'll velour you.”

“I'd like to see you try,” You laughed, getting a mint from your purse and flicking your cigarette away before walking over to Kerry. “See you inside. Don't destroy that flower.”

📷

“Isn't she beautiful?” You smiled, watching Pam and Kevin sway on the dancefloor, smiles etched on their faces as they moved to the music. 

You felt the urge to take a photo, but a professional had been hired for the day. Pam had insisted she wanted you to be in the pictures, not the one behind the camera. You had been a little disappointed, but you gave her the photo you'd taken from when she and Kevin had first met, and her reaction made it all worth it.

“She really is,” Doris nodded, looking over to you and taking your hand with a smile. “And you will be too.”

“Thank you,” You smiled, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Let me go get us another drink.”

You stood up, making your way over to the bar with a smile. While you and David weren't officially engaged, it was kind of an unspoken truth that when Pam and Kevin had gotten married, David would propose to you next. Kerry wasn’t seeing anyone, and while Mike was dating a girl, they had only been together a few weeks.

So, you knew you were next up.

As you waited for your drinks, you smiled as you felt a familiar presence by your side.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

“Yes,” You grin, turning to face David and giving him a kiss. “But I don't mind hearing it again.”

As the song ended and a new one started up, more guests took to the floor.

“Should we go for a twirl?” David asked, gently stroking your cheek. “or maybe not quite a twirl, that dress will take out anyone who comes close,” He teased.

“Oh shut up,” You laughed, lightly swatting him. “I'm getting your mom a drink, if I don't take you out first.”

“I'll take it to her,” David smiled, leaning down to give you a soft kiss. “Then you owe me a dance.”

📷

So, here it is. 

The big day. 

You thought at times it would never come, but it's here. 

A lot has happened, of course. Weddings need buildup, after all. The guests can only talk about how beautiful you look and wonder who did the food for so long. You gotta give them something. 

So what's new? It's been a minute, a luxuriously long engagement. 

The Von Erichs have gone from strength to strength, reaching the top of the wrestling game. You still go see matches, when you can. They're global now, you always feel a rush of pride when you watch them on TV at some crazy hour.

Pam is a world class veterinarian, an incredible mother to the most gorgeous baby, and still the best friend in the world. 

Kevin won the WHC belt, is the most devoted husband, father, brother, brother-in-law and son. He and Pam keep saying they're going to buy a ranch in Hawaii for everyone to live in, and you like to think maybe it could be true.

Kerry insists he's your favorite brother-in-law, and you insist that you couldn't possibly choose a favorite but deep down you think he's most likely right. He makes you laugh the most, teases you and makes stupid jokes to cheer you up when you need it. The two of you have sneaky cigarettes and know what the other is thinking when you look at each other. 

Mike has just signed a recording contract with his band, and you tell him all the time he better come to you first with concert tickets. He's going to be the next one engaged, he's so loved up and it's adorable. 

Then there's David. 

The yellow rose who called up six different newspapers just to ask you out, who let you into his life, who loves you unconditionally and makes you so unbelievably happy that you wonder what you ever did without him. You would never have pursued your dreams without him and his family, that's something you know. And let's not forget his proposal, which was the most beautiful moment of your life.

David had taken you on a surprise trip one night, insisting that you were just going for a drive after you'd been out for dinner, but you knew it wasn't true. You found yourself at the lake, David's hand in yours as you walked down to the dock, which..was decorated with candles in jars, rose petals, a bottle of champagne sitting in ice. 

Knowing that you were marrying your soulmate, joining a family you loved deeply, it made you feel so safe, so secure. You quit your job, deciding to pursue your real passion. You bought a gallery in Dallas, and displayed your own work along with other local artists, including your soon to be mother in law. It took time, but it's become a success, and you don't care what any of them say, you couldn't have done it without your family.

Plenty for the guests to talk about, right?

You take a deep breath as you step out of the car, Pam fixes your dress and you take a deep breath. Her dress is beautiful, and most importantly, simple. 

Before you know it you're walking down the aisle, your heart beating faster as hundreds of faces smile at you, but there's only one you need to see, and when you do it makes everything okay. 

You reach the top of the aisle, feeling overwhelmed with love, beaming as you turn to look at your soon to be husband.

“You know it's a bad habit to leave the bride with a veil over her face,” You grinned, watching David gently touch the hem of the silky veil and carefully move it back, a wide smile on his face.

“I do apologize,” He grinned. “Still gonna marry me?”

“Of course,” You smiled. “You look perfect from this angle.”

[gallaghersgal]

kerry fighting and winking at his girl in the crowd, getting turned tf on by her little von erich merch t-shirt and absolutely drilling her shit with all the pent up energy from his win :(( making her wear one of his cunty robes :(( -🪱

kerry von erich save me. nsfw 18+. kinda rough and mean kerry, daddy kink, size kink. 100% unedited.

"you can't be wearin' that darlin'," he purrs in your ear, back pressed to the door of your hotel room. he refers to the von erich tee you're wearing, almost covering the hem of your black shorts.

your thighs are bare now, kerry's big hands shoving them down your hips along with your panties. he still wears his satin robe, too busy celebrating his win to care about changing. but he removes it now, pawing at your tits through the fabric of the tee.

"y'know what you would look good wearin'?" he says, hands lifting the tee over your head. you're conveniently bra-less, giving kerry immediate access to your chest. his lips attach to your nipple after throwing the shirt to the side. "wanna be good f'me? hm? then wear m'fuckin' robe," he mumbles against your skin. "gonna look so good takin my cock."

he taps the back of your thigh, signaling you to hop into his arms. he carries you to the bedroom with quick strides. he practically throws you onto the bed with a wicked grin on his face, stepping out of the last of his clothes leaning down to pin you underneath him. his cock springs free, big and leaking, and you whine at the sight. he bullies himself into your tight cunt, mumbling to you, "i know 's'big, sweet thing, but y'can take it for daddy, yeah?"

too weak to answer you simply nod, wrapping your legs around his hips to draw his thick length in deeper. the stretch burns but it burns so good as your eyes begin to prick with tears. he shushes you gently, pressing his thumb between your lips to keep you sated. "'s not too much baby, y've done it f'me before," he mumbles. "jus' suck on my finger babygirl. keep y'r ditzy little head occupied."

"kerrykerrykerry," you babble, lost in the rhythmic sound of his strained grunts, the obscene slap of skin on skin, the repeated banging of your headboard against the hotel wall.

[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,

[fictionalmenmakemecry]

Sweet Holy God....

I've said this before and I'll say it again.

Crop tops on men are my WEAKNESS

Jeremy...

You're killing me here.

[mynameisjag]

Because I just remembered, as author, I have power to do whatever the hell I want in fanfiction. The only powers in the universe that can stop me is my terrible ADD and terrible sleeping habits.

It’s a sequel to ‘Mistaken for Wolverine's and Wade's possible kid.'

There was a possible feral child running around with claws and a smart mouth.

“We'll take him home, keep him in the bathroom for a little while so Laura can get used to his scent and then slowly introduce them to each other.”

“…they aren’t cats…”

“Right, weasel family, close enough.”

Logan rolled his eyes with grunt, the smell of crushed ice and iron filling his nose, they had been following the kids scent for awhile now, enough for a quick change out of uniform to throw on street clothes.

Wade had thrown on an over large sweater with the hoodie pulled up with a face mask and glasses, Logan himself was dressed in one of his flannels.

“We look like the Unibomber and the Bounty Paper mascot have decided to go on a date at the local market.”

They were close, the tracks had lead them to a more public place, a small outdoor fruit market, but there was no sign of white hair anywhere. Though that didn’t matter if the kid could go invisible.

They were close though…

“So what’s the bet that baby wolvie can change his appearance to fit in?”

“Hmm?”

Wade nudged their shoulders together as he gave a subtle nod over to the next stall, black hair, blue eyes, different clothes…but the smell remained the same…

“Oh, boy, whoever made this designer baby knew what they were doing, still has those sharp claws and cute little fangs you both share. Congratulations to us? What we naming him?”

“Wade.”

“Right, assuming gender, my apologies.”

The man actually snorted in brief amusement, getting what he knew was a wide grin even if it was covered up, he rolled his eyes as the usually red covered merc grabbed his bicep, “He could be a Void escapee, I don’t smell any other human smells on him, let’s stay up wind right now.”

Wade gave the arm he was attached to a small squeeze, “Led the way Mr. Paper Picker Upper.”

They moved slowly through the crowd, eyes on the kid but still keeping a distance incase he picked up the super senses trait.

Lightly clawed hands were picking up apples, sniffing them then placing them down, head would tilt and the ears would twitch, he was still listening for any kind of disturbance. Eyes would focus on a fruit, then dart to the side, still wary and still watching out.

“The face shape and features are the same…need better proof though.”

“Lucky you and the need for the plot to move forward, looks like someone has itchy knuckles and a case of peekaboo.”

Sure enough, one hand was rubbing at the knuckles were a slight sheen glinted in the sunlight before disappearing.

The kid was frowning down at his own hands, distracted enough to not notice Wade casually stroll up behind him, “Baby boy, is that you! You’ve been gone for two years! We thought you were dead!”

Logan sighed tiredly, accepting his fate as he watched his partner throw his arms around the child in a crushing hug, wailing dramatically how they would be so much better parents now, they would support his interest in professional knitting and how dare he leave with a note written in cursive.

Phones were out, people were clapping over the tearful reunion, the poor kid looked shocked to be manhandled over to him by Wade.

“It’s your Daddy, I know he is currently cosplaying a lumberjack, but he’s still the asshole we love.”

Logan could only shake his head, letting out a huff before staring down the kid, “Ready to have that chat?”

Bright blue eyes glared up at him on a level of unimpressed that only teens could reach, “I don’t know, are you ready to go save Goldilocks, I think you better go off and get lost in the woods looking for her.”

“Oh, he is just the Sassiness! He gets it from me, I swear! Just an absolute deee-light!"

[r0-boat]

Defile

Whb!AsmodeusxGn!Reader

Happy Halloween, and enjoy this sinful fanfiction

Cw: Corruption, primal, predator/prey, breeding, mind control, womb tattoo(what's the gender-neutral term for that), Heat, religious play, CNC, Asmodeus yaps a lot, aftercare

You kneel at the end of the sanctuary your hands clasped together As you pray in the dead of night. As the rest of your brothers and sisters at the monastery slumber, You had woken up early dreaming of sin, pools of blood red eyes staring into your very soul as you feel hands grasp and touch you in ways the Lord will not permit.

You had been plagued with sinful thoughts and dreams for a while now. So you pray hoping that someone would answer your prayers, and you'll be free from temptation.

But in the ivory halls of the church, with nothing but the light of the Moon and the candles lit around the altar to keep you company. Little did you know you were not alone. A darkness more sinister stalks closer. The candle sticks that littered the Sanctuary blow out one by one starting from the entrance when the doors creeped open.

You didn't open your eyes And one by one each candle blows out all around you. You did not open your eyes until you smelled the smoke. The only candles that were still lit were the ones around the altar. You thought as though the wind must have blew them out.

Your eyes adjusting to the dark as you squint looking around for an opened window or door that you are not aware of that could have caused the candles to go out. Your eyes peer into the blackened void behind you. You could almost feel at stare back.

That's when you heard it.

"well well well, What do we have here. A little lamb astrayed from its flock?"

It bellowed. Echoing throughout the entire chamber, your heart quickens as you lose your balance from the shock, falling from your knees to your bum. Your eyes widen as they dart throughout the room, But all you could see was the same inky darkness that not even the moonlight could pierce.

"W-who are you?" Your voice cracks the only words you can manage to get out.

The figure finally steps into what little light that could reach into the monastery. Long pitch black hair his naked figure covered by a single white silk robe ironic for what he was. Chains and barbed vines around his arms and legs and his piercing red eyes with a single yet unmistakable curled horn.

There was no mistaken of what he was. Your breath shakes your whole body shakes. Grasping the gold pendant around your neck You scoot away.

The demon chuckles. "Don't be afraid dear human, I promise I'll take good care of you." The way that word rolled off the tongue made you shiver. You didn't want to know what he meant by that.

"You're not supposed to be here!" You call out

"This is a house of God! You are not welcome devil!"

The red-eyed monster grinned, his smile wide and sinister, flashing his fangs. He let out a deep chuckle. "Your God will not protect you." He smiles. You can hear shackles on his arms and legs shake as he stalks closer. That sinister smile seems to grow wider and wider.

"Do you think you're pathetic little prayers will keep the incarnate of Lust away from what he has claimed. Look into my eyes prey you know who I am..."

As the being gets lower to your level, his claws scratch against the marble tiles as he practically crawls toward you. Eyes full of longing and hunger. Getting so dangerously close, you could smell a sweet temptation coming from him.

They warned warned you about him; One of the seven deadly sins.

Asmodeus.

He didn't have to hear you say it because he could see it in your eyes The delicious fear. He could hear every pump of your heart getting faster and faster And of course you reeked of desire. Pretty virgin things like you always made the most delicious of prey.

"I can smell that you crave for me." He growls.

Your heart practically stopped; that sentence alone finally made your feet move, scampering on the ground before taking off. All you hear was a laugh echoing through the halls as you keep running.

You could hear him coming for you his heavy breath the footsteps behind you that sound less and less human and more like a pack of hungry wolves.

You didn't look back; you didn't dare to. You could already hear how close he was and that he was gaining. Your lungs burned as you pushed as hard as you could. You could only reach outside in the courtyard, the moonlight showing his full figure before he tackled you to the ground, his whole body weight bringing you down.

Using his entire strength, Asmodeus forces you to the ground. You are at his mercy as you try desperately to fight him. You swore you felt drool dripping on your skin when he buried his nose into your neck, deeply inhaling your scent.

"perfect, simply perfect. I've been watching you for a while. And now that you're underneath me, You are far better than I ever could have imagined." His breathy voice tickled your ear as you delicately felt his claws and fingers around your neck. Your heart dropped as you felt a bulge in his clothes pressing against your pajamas. You try to squirm out of his grip, anything to get out, but you are trapped, caged in his arms, back pressed against his chest.

"your ass grinds against me, mate; You're so eager for me to claim you as mine." He sneered. His claws were ripping and shredding through your clothes as if they were paper.

Treating you like a mir doll for his amusement. Asmodeus flips you over, holding your arms together with his big hand.

"Yes, let me see you, let me see my new bride." He purrs. His eyes rolling over you like a piece of meat.

Your struggling was cute, It highlighted how much bigger and stronger he was compared to you but he began to grow tired of your useless attempts at freedom. He likes his mates 'willing' after all.

He let out another animalistic purr pressing his tongue against your collarbone looking up your neck as his other hand presses down on your lower stomach.

You felt heat underneath his palm a sweet pleasurable heat burning into your core when he lifts his palm a mark appears and its place.

That warmth from your core begins to spread all over your body. Places where he has touched, bit, licked, or sucked, begin to tingle all the way down to your core.

Asmodeus watches with a pleasant grin as his influence slowly takes over your body. He presses harder against you, his skin against yours. All he was doing was touching you, yet you felt so sensitive—that little warmth beginning to grow hotter and hotter as It became increasingly harder to think. The demon above you begins to explore your body with his hand and his tongue, licking and groping every part he can, feeling up his new favorite toy.

"Good human, become nice and obedient for me. Feel your mind slip away and become mine." His voice seems to echo in your mind; you feel it with your whole body, sending ripples of pleasure throughout.

Asmodeus, lets go of your wrists. Finally, you have a chance to escape, but your body has other plans: staying underneath him, obedient and ready.

Knowing that your body has completely submitted to him, the devil leans backward, unveiling his cock hard and throbbing, his balls swollen. "Come to me, human, come serve your new male. Prepare him for breeding." He moans, His hand squeezing his shaft with one lazy pump before cupping his balls.

His voice echoes in your mind and you obey him without question. The more you resist the deeper you fall.

As your mouth begins to drool at the sight of his dick. You crawl forward on your hands and knees. He watched in delight to your tiny hand wrapping around his demon cock before taking it in your mouth.

His natural musk, sweet yet woody fills your nose All you want to do is bury your face into him and ride him till the sun comes up. Your own drool runs down his shaft using it as lube to pump his cock with your hand while you struggle to take it deeper.

Despite your eagerness to please him, your movements were that of a virgin; he could smell that you were turned on by this, Even if you are under his influence. He plays with his jet-black hair idly, His teeth sinking into his lip. The desire to corrupt you with his demonic seed grows with every bob of your empty little head.

With a wave of his finger for you to stop, you obey like an obedient dog in heat; His cock is coated with your saliva, and your mouth drools from the taste of his pretty cock in your mouth. Asmodeus smirked as he crawled back on top of you with one hand. He parts your your thighs, preparing to sink inside you.

"I've had enough waiting, I'm going to breed you like the sow you are." Asmodeus growled

You arched your back as his cock filled you up just right. Putting your legs over his shoulders as he pressed his entire body weight down onto you. He didn't wait for a moment because if he did, you would be screaming and begging him to move.

With every slam of his hips the symbol on your core begin to glow brighter and brighter.

At that moment, your mind was not yours. It belonged to the man claiming you, but you could still feel it begin to change and warp with every thrust. His cock hits the deepest parts of you, and he snarls, feeling you clench.

"I know you're close. Cum as I fill you with seed and marry you in Unholy Matrimony right outside the very place you kneel and worship Your Lord!" He pants, a crazed look in his eye as he chases his orgasm. He's close, So close, ready to flood your insides and mark you as his. He could feel you tighten around his throbbing cock; you were close, there was no need in try to fight it. He's going to shatter your pitiful attempt at rebellion and rip the orgasm out of you.

Asmodeus let out an animalistic growl, drilling down into you harder and harder. If it wasn't for his voice ringing into your head, all you could hear was the slapping of his hips and his balls against your ass. "I will bind you to me, and you will worship me like your new God! Cum on my cock whore!"

It was a command, ending it with sinking his teeth right into your neck. Your eyes rolled back clenching and exploding all over him. Asmodeus letting out a maniac laugh before slammed with one final thrust deep inside you to steal his hips. He made sure to lift your lower body just right so he was reaching as deep as he could before filling your deepest parts with his virile seed. Your cunt milks him as you cum like it's the first time you came in your entire life milking his cock as you feel every spurt of seed as he drains his balls inside you.

Even as you stopped even after he stopped he still pressed inside you. Making sure every drop stays deep.

The two of you back in the afterglow before you feel as modius wrap his arms around you He nuzzles into your neck peppering it with kisses.

"beloved, My dearly beloved."

He groaned still deep inside you You can still feel how hard he was.

"I still want more... I want more of you." He whined overdramatically, grinding his still-stiff shaft against you.

As much as he wanted to have more of you, as much as he wanted to drill you into the dirt till the two of you were spent and on the verge of passing out, He knew that you probably had had enough. You were merely human, after all. Deliciously and lovingly human.

You felt his tongue drag across your neck again this time affectionately you giggle and push him away "All right get away from me stinky. We can't stay here for long." He lets out a groan despite him being much stronger than you he plays along moving his body giving you a little more space. Only a little.

"Satan doesn't have to know what we use this place for."

Asmodeus purred playing with your hair as he stayed glued to your body like a clingy lover. He cared little for the names you gave him It was a nickname from you and he would accept any.

"I highly doubt he wouldn't know after how loud we were."

He just let out a goofy chuckle. Guilty was charged He wasn't exactly the quietest either.

"Will you stay with me tonight? I promise we can bathe together."

It was a tempting offer. He was desperate to have you in his arms for a little while longer Even if that means doing the one thing he hated. But your answer is still the same, knowing that one night with him will never just be one night...

"You know my answer."

You heard the pout in his voice "Mmh Okay... But at least let me bring you back to your bedroom. I'd like to tuck you."

[dying-brb]

desolation / an ellie x f!oc fanfiction / tlou universe

!slowburn !angst !subreader !domellie !fluff

tw: this is a heavy fic. mentions of sa, violence, gore, etc.

(oc starts off 14 but only for backstory)

chapter 1: 1090 words

ᨒ↟ 𖠰 1  -  serene release ᨒ↟ 𖠰

december 2033 - colorado

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Natalie -  14 yrs old  ⋆⭒˚.⋆

As I laid there, dying, I tried desperately to find the will to escape, blinking my heavy eyes in repetition.

Stay awake, Natalie.

But my eyes faltered. They rolled back and sank back into my skull begging for the relief of sleep. No, this wasn't sleep. It was a false prophet - an early demise clawing its way inside of my being, desperately pulling and tearing my soul from the weak husk I clung to.

My eyelids weighed heavier, the urge gnawing at me to let them fall shut, let the agony end; For just a moment, I considered it.

No.

Stay Awake.

I wasn't ready to die. Not really.

Ironically so, I prepared myself for this moment - begged for it, time and time again. When loved ones had died, when previous groups abandoned me, death had seemed like a serene release.

Growing up in this sick excuse for a world, I always wondered how it would happen. Would I be torn apart by Infected? Become the Infected? Succumb to the cruelty of a harsh winter? Starve?

No.

At this moment, it seemed more likely that I was going to die to a group of savage cannibals, and I would be butchered at the hands of a man that had a fascination for little girls.

My heart sank at the mere thought, and I felt bile rise in my throat, scorching my dry esophagus. I coughed lightly, choking down the vomit, I gasped for a quick breath of air and my lungs screamed in pain at the sudden inhalation. I gritted my teeth.

This was hell, but the pain was keeping me alert, keeping me alive.

Keep your fucking eyes open.

I remembered before, the moments when I had begged for the end to come, I had wondered if it would hurt—Death. Which now, in this moment, seemed like an idiotic thing to question.

Yeah, of course it fucking hurts. It hurts like hell.

The searing agony that gripped my muscles snapped me back to reality. I yanked my mind out of the past, only to be forcefully thrust into the harshness of the present moment. My heart was thumping quicker now, my breaths, once slow and wheezing were now rapid and full, croaking and stuttering, but full. I wondered if this was my bodies last-ditch attempt to save itself.

Alarm bells clanged inside my head, their echoes reverberating through my skull, vibrating as they reached my ears. My eyes widened, my once heavy lids were lighter now. Adrenaline surged through my veins, making my legs twitch with the urge to flee. I desperately wanted to leave this place and never look back, but I remained frozen on the cold tile where I lay, my body writhing with excruciating pain.

Still frozen in torment, I harnessed this newfound mental energy to survey my surroundings and formulate a plan. My eyes darted from corner to corner of the room, the hellish nature of the scene before me causing my heart to slam in my chest, and pound against my eardrums.

Breathe. Make a plan.

I refocused, absorbing every detail my fading mind could manage. I took deep breaths, exhaling slowly, my hands trembling as I noted the positions of windows, doors, and any potential exits for a swift escape. I scanned for anything that could serve as a weapon, should I break free from this confinement.

The caged room I lay in reeked of rotting meat and iron. I honed in on the pungent smell, the harsh fluorescent lighting casting unwelcome shadows, and the distant murmur of voices echoing through the halls.

Digging my nails into my side, I embraced the pain, using it to sharpen my senses and maintain consciousness. I resolved to absorb every detail, knowing that once I escaped and recovered, I would meticulously recount my steps, retrace him. Kill him. That fucking bastard.

David.

Suppressing tears of rage, I scoffed as I recalled how I found myself in this wretched corner of the world; Merely stumbled upon it in a midnight daze.

Just yesterday, I was scavenging through the snow-laden forests of Colorado. As for my exact location in Colorado, I couldn't tell you—it had become a blur amidst the relentless hunger that left my head light and my heart faintly beating. Lost in a delirium, as if I was one of them, the infected.

Perhaps this was what the early stages of mutation felt like, just before losing oneself—their personality, dreams, aspirations, and will to live all slipping away. Maybe all that remained was a relentless hunger and confusion, grasping at the flickering remnants of life while clinging desperately to the feeble fragments of humanity.

Then again, maybe not.

I simply felt adrift, with no hope left to cling to, my grasp slipping away from what little remained. It plunged me into a primal struggle for survival, fueled by animalistic paranoia. With my mind spinning, driven by the desperate quest for food, I had long abandoned the map and strayed from the path she had set me on. The path that led to the Fireflies. The path that would give meaning to my immunity. 

This thought sparked a glimmer of hope within me, reigniting my determination. Clutching my grumbling stomach, I leaned against a nearby tree trunk for support, resting my head against its rough bark, my breath ragged.

That's when realization sunk in—I couldn't feel my fingers or toes. Hypothermia.

Was this the end?

As I contemplated giving up and surrendering to the cold embrace of eternal slumber, a light pierced through the darkness of the forest, forcing my hand to shield my sensitive eyes. A voice, tinged with feigned concern, broke the silence.

"Excuse me. Are you alright?" The voice trembled slightly as a flashlight nervously scanned my body. "You look like hell."

I groaned in response, my lips barely moving, cautious of this stranger in these desperate times. Yet, with no other options left, I felt a flicker of hope that perhaps this solitary figure could be my salvation. Someone, anyone, was here, offering a chance at survival.

"Here, come with me," the awkward, lanky man said, taking my hand and guiding me, his shoulder bearing my weight. I couldn't protest even if I wanted to, the exhaustion held me in a tight grip, suppressing even my primal will to survive.

And so I went, practically dragged alongside the man, into this wretched corner of the world that I lay in now.

[longing-for-rain]

What's the context as to what's going on exactly?

I assume you mean the people sending me death threats over a fanfictions I wrote (which is like... the 3rd? 4th? time this has happened now), but to summarize:

Ironically, I initially made this blog with the intention to just be very lowkey and post headcanons/silly posts/art and not engage in discourse.

At some point, I got an anon angry at me for mentioning how I viewed some of Aang's behavior towards Katara as toxic masculinity and answered it.

A kataang shipper reblogged the (properly tagged) post to whine at me even more, so I replied back with sources and maybe a little too much humor than she could handle, so she cried that I was a meanie and blocked me.

Had a few more experiences with Zutara haters reblogging my posts, making me increasingly annoyed.

I started writing more Zutara metas and criticizing canon more openly.

My posts got popular, popular enough that angry kataang stans started sharing screenshots of them around on here and Twitter.

I made fun of one particularly insane kataang stan who went on a few of my posts, and even into my DMs to screech at me for being every type of -phobic under the sun because I don't like Aang/Kataang. She still periodically blocks and unblocks me so she can shoot more of her brain vomit my way, and accuses me of harassing her for reposting screenshots of her unhinged comments to laugh at. She also accidentally followed me while trying to send an anon one time (I assume, since those buttons are close together) which was hilarious for someone who claims I bully and stalk her.

Recently, a bunch of kataang shippers got butthurt over a post I made referencing how Katara is drawn differently (it was a response to an Anon mentioning a much older post measuring the size of Katara's eyes and jawline) to make her appear younger during "romantic" moments with Aang. I commented on how I found it a creepy contrast and like how much more natural and human she seems while not with Aang, or with Zuko.

Another whiny brat kataang reblogged the (again, properly tagged) post calling me a pedophile, colonizer, racist, and whatever else his little rotten brain could come up with, and posted (without any trigger/content warnings!) out-of-context screenshots of a fanfiction I wrote exploring themes of sexual violence. This was apparently supposed to be "evidence" that I have a "fetish" or something, which needless to say, is an absolutely disgusting thing to say to a survivor talking about her experiences of sexual abuse, especially when you're a man who has never experienced that.

That brings us to why everyone is discoursing over the fic: Claws of Ice. Keep in mind, the majority of these people haven't read it, don't understand any of the context, and felt it was appropriate to leverage my trauma against me in the name of a ship war. The man in question is still crying about how he's the real victim here because I was apparently too mean to him when I responded to his accusations that I'm a pedophile and that my story of assault is a fetish to him, which is exactly the kind of male entitlement you'd expect.

So yeah! That's why they're all so obsessed with me, and throwing around every possible Bad Person accusation they can think of about me, but I really don't take it too seriously with that in mind. I was very nervous about posting this story in the first place because it was so heavy and personal and I was unsure of putting these themes out there, but the backlash has been oddly reassuring. The two biggest haters are that manbaby I mentioned, and that obsessive stalker who keeps spamming the atla-confessions blog with anons that are very obviously her while pretending she's trying to "calm down" the fandom, neither of whom can seem to formulate a coherent sentence. Like if that is the opposition, pretty sure I'm in the right here.

[noroamenial]

Light my Heart Aflame

Here is my full Raphael x Tav fanfiction!! Tav is afab and I doooon't think I gave them specific pronouns (I wrote in second person)

I AM SUCH A SUCKER FOR POETRY

Spoilers for end of Act 2

cw: smut!

Summary: you and Raphael have a sweet consummation in an empty bedroom in moonrise

You sat on the steps of the main throne room. Ketheric’s empty throne sat behind you as you stared through the hallway’s open doors to the vestibule and out into the night. The only lights were the flickering torches mounted on the wall. The air still smelled like blood and the dead, even with most of the bodies removed. Only a few hours ago you were grappling with an avatar of Myrkul. You can still recall the exact feeling: your heart beating so loudly you thought it would jump from your throat, the smell of necrotic undead, and the weight of the glaive in your hands. You had witnessed your own death a hundred times over in the moment you had looked into its eyes. 

You inhaled deeply, it didn’t matter that the air was tinged with iron, the upper floors of the tower breathed with relief. You yawned, shucking your gauntlets for the freedom of your hands, you had been waiting for this moment of relief. You rotated a wooden pipe in your hands, it was packed and slender with a curve. Halsin had handed it to you before you had slinked away from the night’s camp. ‘My gratitude can not be contained to only a gift, but allow this to be the start of my many thanks to you.’ He had said softly, with a hand on your shoulder before sending you off with an understanding nod. You puzzled over it for a moment, in your haste to escape socializing, you had forgotten a light.

“Even the smallest embers can be stoked to a wildfire. It is the consumer, fueling on whatever its claws can grasp.” A voice echoes off of the brick from behind you. And as soon as you are able to turn, Raphael stands above you, leaned over at the waist to stare curiously down. 

“If you’ve come to deal, I’m in no mood.” You sigh, turning around. Your body aches too much to stand up in your armor and face him. 

“A bird in the hand is worth more than two in the bush. I have what I want.” He sits down beside you with a shrug. “I thought perhaps you could use a lighter.” 

You don’t even realize how much your reaction time has slowed until he’s lifting your hand with the pipe by the wrist, and has vastly closed the difference between the two of you. He offers you a light—a small burning flame, produced from one finger. And as you light the pipe and test the contents—something herby yet sweet Halsin must have put together—you’re greeted with a pleased smile from Raphael. 

“It’s the least I can do for my little mouse.” He hums, and you’re so close you can pick out the streaks of white scattered through his black hair. “You went out of your way to take care of a deal meant for the vampire spawn. I feel as though I owe you more than him.” 

You shake your head, before sighing. 

“I would never let Astarion do that alone, much like he would not let me do that alone.” You explain, looking down. “I did it for him, so you don’t owe me anything.” 

“Then allow me to wipe our slates clean, if not for you, then for me.” He hums, “allow me to service for what has been paid.” 

“What service?” You laugh, rolling your eyes “what could you possibly give me right now that can be achieved? Bring me the netherstones? Remove the tadpole from my brain?” 

“Alas, those are things I can not give you. But don’t underestimate me…I have tried. Had I the ability to succeed you would be indebted to me more than just one orthon.” His eyes glaze over, just a shimmer of an ember behind them. Perhaps lost in a fantasy, but he is back in a mere moment. “But no, what I offer is momentary relief. I can alleviate the ache in your mortal body, sate your mind, and in doing so allow you the pleasures that only the unholy can provide.” 

If not for the seriousness in his tone and how close he had sidled up to you, you would’ve laughed. Instead you sputtered choking on your pipe and he tenderly had your wrist in his hand again, moving the pipe away from you. 

“…free of charge?” You ask quietly, your voice catching as you regain your composure. 

“Darling, you already paid.” He chuckles, face so close to yours you could smell brimstone and just about taste his lips. 

“You’re going to kiss me here?” You hum, quiet enough just for him to hear—keeping this moment a secret from the ancient stone and battered walls.

“And on the throne, and in bed, and everywhere I can reach on your flesh.” He murmurs back, equally quiet and no less sultry. 

The wooden pipe is carefully stowed, and for a moment you hesitate regarding your bulky and bloody armor, but you aren’t given the option to think for long as Raphael’s hand guides your face back to him. 

The kiss is surprisingly sweet and a little clumsy, but his tongue deepens it so easily you forget. His hand graces the side of your face, thumb rubbing gently across your cheek. Maybe it was your own emotion or maybe it was an infernal charm but a sense of adoration bloomed from your chest and replaced the biting cold. Tentatively one of your hands weaved into his hair, well groomed, soft, and warm, he was so very warm.

One of his hands goes to your chest and you have to stop him. 

“Not here,” you sigh, leaning back.

“Not interested in prying eyes, dove?” He asks, a slight tilt of his head. “Or do you recoil in the cold despite the warmth I will bring you.” 

“Somewhere softer, somewhere private, if this truly is for me then let it be so.” You say back, allowing his words to roll off of you. If he was going to fuck you, it sure as the hells will be in a bed. 

Raphael makes a noncommittal noise that is between a huff and a laugh, an amused smile gracing his expression. “Let it be so.” He murmurs. 

You barely blink and suddenly you’re on a bed, you recognize it, an upper floor room you had ransacked earlier. It smelled less like blood and more like old books. Raphael is standing at the edge of the bed, surveying the room. He snaps his fingers and the oil lamp on the bedside table illuminates his face. His gaze lands on you, and suddenly you’re all too aware of the devil who will be bedding you tonight. 

Imposing figure, horns, wings, tail and ember eyes trained on yours. With the mere flick of his wrist he’s in a silk robe. If you knew him better, you’d understand how important this performance he was putting on for you was. Not only was this a show of his autonomy—but of yours, a performance to convey the delicate trust he has placed in you in hope of a continued alliance. Tonight, you’re the one thing he’ll let break his fetish for control. 

You swallowed, pushing any fear down with the rationalization that Raphael would not let up on his side of a deal—even if it was a deal you didn’t know was happening. You sat up to sit on the edge of the bed, removing your boots, undoing the straps of your armor. In doing so Raphael came to sit beside you, unusually quiet, perhaps mulling something over with the look he had on his face. You felt very dirty in comparison to him with dried blood and slowly healing wounds, this was the first time in a few days you were able to let down your hair—it sent pangs of shame to your stomach. 

“Don’t look like that,” he hums, “Shame isn’t pretty on you, dove.” He reaches over to undo your breastplate and your shoulder armor comes off with it. 

“In an ideal world I am not dirty and bleeding as you come to me in the night.” You sigh, finally shucking the rest to your feet and scooting back on the bed to lean against the headboard. 

“My ideal world is having you as you are now.” He turns to sit on his knees, hands folded in his lap neatly. Even now he was gentlemanly, but the way he looked at you with a piercing primal gaze made your stomach flutter. “What a waste it would be to tame you in any way.” 

“I like being tame.” You counter as he crawls toward you, “and well kept, and bathed.” 

“Not in that way, dove.” Raphael reaches for your cheek with one hand, his other steadying himself in the sheets. “Not like that.” 

He smiles slowly, wings splaying behind him and half of your face has a shadow cast over it. He’s waiting for something…he’s waiting for you. 

So you reach for him, bringing him in and he accepts so easily. His kiss is ravenous, eager to fulfill its promise. His hand on your cheek traces gentle circles as if comforting a lover, and his other cups your waist. After such an overwhelming lack of affection as of late, Raphael easily coerced a flame to ignite in the pit of your stomach. 

“Sweet thing,” he coos, leaving sultry kisses down your jaw to the softest parts of your neck. You allow a relieved sigh to escape you. Your hands trail down his back and you make an amused noise finding the slits in his robe for his wings. His tail flicks and you gasp as he nips you. Your attention returns to him as his hands squeeze your thighs, parting your legs further for him. Raphael slots himself between them with a content hum. 

“Tell me, dove. What do you desire?”

You. Was your first thought, and your heart fluttered as you hesitated to speak. This side of Raphael you had only seen in bits and pieces. In the brief moments he could catch you alone: a touch to the shoulder, a more genuine conversation, poetry, letters…You could describe your relationship to him as more than a potential victim to barter with…but perhaps a confidant.   

And if only you could see behind his eyes. Raphael was searching for your answer, for whatever unspoken thing you could tell him with your body language. He wanted to trust you, he wanted to want you. 

You were brought back with the flick of his tail in the corner of your vision. You weighed your options while gazing at him.

“I desire you,” you hum languidly, “To have you in this manner. To kiss you. To have you come to me as you did; wanting to be the means to the end of my suffering, and I want to be able to come to you, to be yours.” 

Raphael’s hesitation told you he didn’t expect that answer. Perhaps he had run over all of the possibilities in the several moments you were allowed to think, and your answer hadn’t even graced his thoughts. He was a creature of well controlled performance masking something that you had only seen glimmers of, like sunlight through barely parted curtains.

And so you responded for him, kissing him sweetly. That seemed to pull him back as he cupped your face and returned the action. His hips roll against yours as his wings flutter and span out behind him. One of his hands guides your hips along as his kiss trails down your jaw and to your neck. 

You let out a pleased and almost relieved sigh, nuzzling him as he marked your neck. You grind your hips against him, eager to gain more friction as heat pools in your stomach. 

“You are mine.” He affirms, pulling up to look down at you, and his claws are able to so easily tear through the fabric on your chest. You think he must be using magic because how else could his other hand so gently hold your face. “And I would do anything for you if you asked.” He spoke so plainly it made your breath hitch. 

You splayed your hands against his chest, parting the silk of his robe. 

“Right now, all you have to do for me is make passionate love to me.” you laugh, “I have already chosen to be yours.” 

A ghost of a laugh leaves him in return as he kisses down your sternum, fondling your chest as he goes. 

“Good,” he mutters, hands on your waist as he makes his way to your stomach. His lips were ticklish, and his claws were already curling under your waist band. And with a quick discard of your undergarments you are barely able to react before his mouth is on you.

Hot, wet, slick, his mouth gladly devours your cunt. With languorous strokes, his tongue teases your entrance only to slide up and hit your clit with the flat of it over and over. Your legs tense, but his hands hold them apart as he eats you. 

Your cries of ecstasy only get louder as you grow closer to climax. Raphael’s piercing gaze is on you again as one of your hands curls into his hair and the other into the sheets. His claws hold you to his mouth as he focuses dutifully on your clit. All too suddenly you are coming undone, hands buried in his hair as you are gasping his name...an unholy prayer.

Raphael pulls away, your slick arousal on his lips. He wipes it away with an amused huff.

"Sweet thing, aren't you?"

Your chest rises and falls as he stares down at you. his hair is disheveled, his smirk lazy yet endearing and your cunt clenches down on nothing as you notice his erection. Raphael shifts, discarding the silk robe from his shoulders and giving you a great look at his exposed body.

The warm lighting really did him justice as you looked him up and down.

"I want you," you finally say, sitting up to face him.

"I know, I am glad you do, my dove." he laughs, "now give me your hands."

Your brows furrow, but you offer them up anyways. He turns them around in his own grip to have your knuckles up. As he does, you're more focused on watching his chest expand with each breath, steeling your resolve as your core continues to ache with arousal.

You are pulled back by the tingling warmth blooming from your palms, traveling up your arms and to your chest. You look up at him for an explanation.

"Relax," he coos, "I’ll allow you a taste of Avernus’ great fire, the seat of power in the hells. Consider it a gift and we can be on equal standing.” 

“What does that even mean?” you scramble for words. The feeling now not only is physically warm, but mentally. As if Avernus could reach into your very desires and passions and stoke their flames. 

Raphael doesn't answer, simply intertwines your fingers in his and guides your back to the bed. It is like he created a circuit, your connected palms the conduit. It made your eyelids heavy, you knew there was some importance to this carefully guided ritual, but you were not sure what it was yet. You had placed a great amount of trust in him and it seemed this might be part of the way he was placing trust in you.

Raphael kisses you again, and you don't think you could tire of it. As you kiss back the material plane wavers for a moment, allowing you a space between; your body a little lighter and your soul a little heavier.

One of his hands untwines from yours and instead slides across your slick aching cunt. You keen and gasp as his finger enters you, curling ever so slightly. He kisses your cheek, and you move your head to capture his lips in yours again. Your hips grind on his finger, eager for more stimulation.

Eventually you're sure he can't help himself anymore. Raphael pulls back, panting, fingers leaving you to instead wrap a hand around his cock. He pumps from base to weeping tip, coating what he can in your arousal. His hands settle at your waist. The sweet whisper of a groan that left him was heavenly as he entered you.

This was truly for you, while Raphael surely was getting something out of this: whether an orgasm or simply the pleasure of watching you plead and beg and shudder underneath him, this was all for you. He so softly wormed his way into your heart you almost didn't recognize him.

It was only with a, "yes, my dove?" and a confident kiss to your cheek did you recognize him again. Also were you suddenly aware of your trembling flushed body with his name perched on your tongue.

You've been to bed with a partner, had a myriad of experiences in your time courting, but nothing really compared to this. Perhaps it was the way the stroke of his cock that tugged you part way from the material plane that made it so good. Or it was the way the pleasure doubled back over through that tentative tether tied to your heart. Either way it made it easy for Raphael to make voracious love to you.

As the cambion pulls away, you're back. This night has been as though you have been through several states of limbo. Guided gently by Raphael as pleasure, form, and love collided.

"By sunrise, you should be well rested." Raphael pulls hair out of your face, laying at your side. His silks had been returned to gently hanging from his form. He was obscuring the bedside lamp, casting a shadow over your form, but his eyes remained as a soft glow.

There were words to say, words you wanted to say, but they were stuck at the back of your throat. Thankfully, your silence didn't seem to deter his claws running through your hair. It was hard not to drift off, your energy was fully and truly spent.

Your eyes flutter, you will them open just a bit longer to look at him.

"Sleep, dove." he chuckles, and it reverberates in your own chest. "This is not the last time you will set eyes upon me."

~~~

In the morning, you wake up as the sun peaks from the horizon. It should not have been a restful sleep, but sure enough the devil was true to his word. You were allowed a touch from Avernus’s flames. Your ambition had new fuel. Your body healed. The only thing he left was the ghost of a touch and a tether on your heart, marked dutifully by the master of the house of hope.

[outlawruben]

RIP Van Der Linde gang 😔 you would’ve loved:

Abigail Marston - Marriage counseling, Stanley Cups, The Barbie Movie

Arthur Morgan - Slim Jim’s, Bass Pro Shops pyramid, Levi’s wooly Jean Jackets

Bill Williamson - Grindr, Shitty Gas Stations, “Don’t Tread On Me” flags

Charles Smith - Mitski, microwaved popcorn and movie nights, Bison as a protected species

Dutch Van Der Linde - Backseat Driving, Political Debate Podcasts, fruit flavored vapes

Hosea Matthews - Keurig Coffee Machines, chiropractors , Candy Crush

Jack Marston (depending on age) - Warrior Cats, Percy Jackson, Disney +

Javier Escuella - Electric Guitars, Cards Against Humanity, The Oscars/Grammys/Golden Globes

John Marston - 3 in one soap, Ford Truck Of the Month, band T-shirts

Josiah Trelawney - Magician Kits, Amazon, America’s Got Talent

Karen Jones - White Claws, Dolly Parton, Brittany Broski

Kieran Duffy - Star Stables Online, NASA space pictures, JellyCat Plushies

Lenny Summers - Kindle tablets, Soundproof headphones, Barnes and Noble

Leopold Strauss - Cashapp/Venmo, Facebook, Wikipedia

Mary-Beth Gaskill - thrift shopping, fanfiction websites, Taylor Swift’s Eras tour

Micah Bell - Ben Shapiro, Alpha Males, Playing Devil’s Advocate

Molly O’Shea - Steel Magnolias, Weighted Blankets, Themed Calendars

Rev, Orville Swanson - Bible study, AA meetings, Sacramental Wine

Sadie Adler - WLW music, Matching tattoos, Gym Membership

Sean MacGuire - Totino’s pizza rolls, Good Mythical Morning, Sugary Cereal (Lucky Charms /j)

Simon Pearson - Hell’s Kitchen, Panini press/waffle iron, Walmart Superstore

Susan Grimshaw -Life 360, Boxed Wine, Cats

Tilly Jackson - Mani-Pedis, Shea Butter Scrubs, Micellar Water

Uncle - Wheel Of Fortune, Recliners, Car seat heaters

[delenygma]

FANFICTION | Eleutheromania (Part 1/3) | Edward Nashton/The Riddler x Reader (AO3)

Gotham is not the only thing in ruins.  Post-The Batman Edward Nashton x Reader.

Part 1/3.

• 

TW: implied/referenced sh, implied/referenced abuse (past), mention of bruising, smoking.

Originally published on AO3 in April 2022.

• 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

PART 1/3

“You have fifteen minutes.” The security guard pockets the wad of cash you hand her in a swift motion, making you believe that she has done this numerous times before. She hums tunelessly as she leads you down a labyrinth of corridors, further and further down into the depths of the hospital. You try your best to concentrate on her, instead of the shouts and whistles coming from the cells on either side of you. 

Finally, she halts and turns around to face you. 

“End of that corridor, then turn left.” The security guard pulls out a pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of the trousers and offers you one. “Go on, you might need it. He’s not… He’s not been taking it so well.” 

While you don’t usually smoke, you gratefully accept the cigarette with a nod and let her light it for you. You start walking down the corridor but stop abruptly, realising your potential blunder. 

“Wait-!” You turn around. The security guard is leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette herself. “It’s not like… Me and him are not…” 

Her eyebrows shoot up. 

“Yeah, right.” The security guard shrugs. “Look, I really don’t give a damn. You better go. The clock is ticking.” 

You turn back around, taking a shaky drag on the cigarette and noticing how heavy your heart is, and how dry your mouth has become. It’s been some time since the flood, and the city was not the only thing still in ruins. After GCPD seized the apartment, you had to quickly find somewhere new to live, which proved to be a catastrophe. Your new place was a bare-bones apartment in the worst part of Gotham. Always cold and desolate, you often found yourself too terrified to function. Whilst yours and Edward’s relationship (if you could call it that) remained secret to all, you knew that it wouldn’t be hard for the authorities to follow the trail of crumbs and find you. Alone.

Turning left, you unexpectedly hear him shout your name, and your heart jumps to your throat. His voice is hoarse, raw, but unmistakably his. You drop your cigarette onto the floor and dash towards the door of his cell. Breathless despite the shortness of distance, you find yourself facing Edward through the iron bars in the door. 

“Edward…” You whisper his name, over and over, your heart throbbing in your chest. 

You shakily open the hatch and push your hands through it (fuck the security cameras, nobody gives a damn, anyway). Suddenly speechless, he grabs hold of your hands and almost crushes your fingers. 

Your eyes meet his, and you feel as if you have been punched in the gut. You have never seen so much distress. Not even during his most destructive nights. When he first became The Riddler, when he clawed at his wrists and wailed with anguish and wrath, when the voices called out to him and would not stop… 

“Eddie, I…” You don’t know what to say. He is grabbing onto your hands with sheer desperation, the combination of panic and failure echoing in his eyes as they gradually fill up with tears. You notice how bloodshot they are, the dark circles under his eyes darker than you ever remember them being (he isn’t sleeping until they make him...). The right side of his face is bruised, a brilliant shade of purple spilling over his cheek (did he… Or did someone…?). 

“I’m here, Eddie.” You manage to say, taking a trembling breath before words start to spill from your mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry this took me so fucking long. I had to find ways… To get here. But I did, and…” 

You stop for a second to compose yourself and notice just how violently his hands began to tremble. They are so much colder than usual, too. He was always so warm... 

“I haven’t got much time, but…” You start.

“I knew you would come.” He interrupts you. “They told me that I was alone in this, they said you were a delusion. But I knew better. I knew better. I knew that those liars were wrong.” 

“Don’t listen to them.” You say with assurance, although unsure of who ‘they’ could be. “Remember what I said… All that time ago? Only ever listen to your heart.” 

“My heart has shattered.” Edward’s voice, although unexpectedly venomous, quavers as he speaks. “I’m broken. I was so close, and I thought that even being in here, I could… But I was wrong. And it’s all getting worse, I’m getting worse. I feel like I am back at…” 

“Eddie, I have an idea.” You interrupt him. “I will get you out. I fucking promise you.” 

“P-please hurry. Please. I…” The rest of his sentence is quelled as he breaks down, pressing his delicate lips to your fingers. You haven’t felt him like this for such a long time, and the sudden intimacy awakens feral desperation inside you. 

“Eddie, you have to promise me something.” You whisper. “You can’t give up.” 

“You’ve got a minute left!” You hear the security guard yell from up the corridor. Edward sniffs and lets out a faint whimper as he pulls his face away from your hands. 

“Can’t you stay?” His voice turns delicate and innocent as he clutches your hands even harder than before. 

“I’m sorry.” You are stifling back tears. “But... I always keep my promises.”

[daysofyellowroses]

ride

david von erich x reader | 1.5k | based on this lovely lovely request 🫶🏻 | no real warnings, just some softness 🌼💗

It sometimes makes you laugh when you think about how ridiculously stereotypical your relationship is in some ways. You love it, and wouldn't change it for anything, of course, but you really hit some classics.

Neighbors? ✔️

Met as little kids? ✔️

Went through school together? ✔️

First kiss? ✔️

First time? ✔️

Prom King & Queen? ✔️

But, while there are a lot of typical things about your relationship, you like to think you still have your own thing going on too. You and David have been officially dating since you were fourteen years old, you know each other better than anyone. You have your own private jokes, references, pet names, memories. 

It wasn't planned, of course. To get together so young and go through your life together. Hell, you both had a lot of life to live yet. Early twenties weren't exactly over the hill. But you just felt like what you had with David would be forever when you first got together. So far, you haven't been proved wrong.

The two of you always support each other, build each other up and push each other to go for your goals. Sometimes your friends ask if you get jealous now that David has joined Kevin in the ring, and has so much attention from girls. You just laugh when it comes up, there's really no reason to be jealous. If anything it just makes you feel more secure in your relationship. You know David enjoys the attention but he only has eyes for you, you're the one in his bed, in his truck, laying beside him in the grass, his hand intertwined with yours as he talks about your future together. 

It doesn't feel scary, thinking about a future with David. You can see a home, kids, a dog, the whole nine yards. Even if it was just you and him forever, you would still be deliriously happy. 

“What are you smiling about over there?”

David's voice snaps you from your thoughts, and you glance over to the driver's seat. 

“I would tell you but your hat wouldn't fit anymore,” You tease, looking back to the window. “And I would feel guilty, can't have that.”

“Aw come on,” David grins, his hand reaching out to touch your thigh. You're wearing shorts and the feel of his hand on your bare skin feels, as always, deeply comfortable and satisfying. “take the risk.”

“Nope,” You look over and stick your tongue out playfully. “You know anyway. I don't need to tell you.”

“Who says I know?” David is a terrible liar, always has been. 

“You know,” You grinned, shaking your head. “There's very few things that I allow space for in my daydreams.”

“True,” David nods, looking back to the road. The smile on his face has you wanting to kiss him. “And obviously I'm top of that list.”

You roll your eyes with a smile.  

“Stop being so cocky.”

“I don't think so darlin’,” David gently squeezes your thigh. “you love it.”

“Do I?” You raise a brow, knowing you both know the answer.

A comfortable silence falls over you, your hand resting on top of David's. You wonder if you'll ever get tired of this, of getting into his truck with no particular destination in mind. You don't think you could get tired of it, not when it feels so perfect. 

“When is Kerry coming home?” You ask, glancing over to David. He lets out the smallest of sighs, his thumb gently stroking your thigh.

“He leaves tomorrow morning,” David tells you, his eyes still on the road. “Should be home by the evening.”

“Okay,” You nod, gently stroking David's hand. “Just curious.”

“Could you..could you be there?” David asks after a moment. 

“Of course,” You nod, looking over to him. “You think I wouldn't be? It's like you don't even know me, babe. ”

David smiles a little and you feel yourself relax.

“Can't wait to see him though,” He says. “I mean, the circumstances ain't ideal but I can't say I ain't missed him like crazy.”

“It'll be nice to have him back,” You nod. “I'll have to fill him in on all the juicy gossip.”

“Do I get to know?” David teases, glancing over to you. “Or is it top secret stuff?"

“Oh it's just a silly thing,” You sigh with a smile, looking over to your window. “The blonde Von Erich boy is a big hot-shot wrestler now. On TV and everything, you should hear the filth that comes out of his mouth.”

“Oh he sounds incorrigible,” David gasped dramatically, making you laugh. “What a scoundrel.”

“Tell me about it,” You grinned, looking down at your hand on his. “I heard he's got a hot little girlfriend though.”

“Lucky him,” David grinned. “I bet she's got men throwing themselves at her feet, I'm sure he's extremely grateful she chose him.”

“Well when you can have the best, you get the best,” You smile, looking over to David. “And ain't nobody better than you.”

“Not true,” David looked over to you with a cheeky smile. “You're better, and I won't hear otherwise. I was lucky enough to get you and I don't plan to lose you.”

You still felt butterflies in your stomach when he said things like that, and you hoped that would never change.

“I don't plan to lose you either,” You grin, resting your free hand over your forehead. “You're stuck with me.”

“Then I'm the luckiest man alive,” David murmurs softly, you just catch it and it makes your heart soar.

You watch the world pass by the window for a while, the smile etched onto your face. In the moments David needs to move his hand from your thigh you feel the loss, your hand just waiting to hold his.

It's a little embarrassing, really, how in love you are. You have to laugh at yourself sometimes when you get moody because you haven't seen David for a couple of hours, or because he didn't hold your hand long enough. You suppose the fact that you're aware of it makes it better, and it's not really a bad thing. You're lucky enough to have an amazing relationship with a man who you love and who you know loves you.

You look over to him, watch him hum along to the radio, his fingers drumming against the wheel. These are the moments you treasure. All those girls screaming for him and desperately wanting his autograph only see one part of him. They see the confidence and the strength and the charisma, which are all amazing qualities, but they don't see what you see.

They don't see him snort out a drink because you made him laugh unexpectedly, they don't see him singing in his truck, or giving you a bunch of flowers on a Tuesday morning just because. They see what he wants them to see, and you feel beyond honored to see the real David.

“Oh hey, pull in up ahead,” You tell David, sitting up a little and gesturing at the window. “I need to grab something.”

“Your wish is my command baby,” David grins, parking up the truck and giving you a curious look as you wink at him and slip out of the truck.

You don't take long, coming back to the truck with a grin and two ice creams in hand.

“You're such a child,” David laughs as he opens the door for you and accepts one of the cones. “Making me stop for ice cream, really?”

“Well you ain't gotta eat it,” You shrug, closing the door and resting your leg up on your seat. “But we both know you will so stop complaining.”

“Oh I ain't complaining,” David smiles, leaning over and giving you a kiss. “far from it.”

“Eat that before it melts,” You murmur with a grin, leaning in to give him another kiss, pulling back after a moment and holding your ice cream between you both. “I mean it.”

“Yes ma'am,” David grins, sitting back and taking a lick of his ice cream. 

You laugh softly to yourself, looking out the window and licking your ice cream, David's hand finding yours across the seat.

The heat has your ice cream melting a little quicker, conversation is paused while you work on not getting strawberry all down your hand. David finishes before you, as always. You shuffle over and lean against him, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. Occasionally you hold the ice cream up and he takes a lick, insists you have it yourself.

You wonder if a day will ever come when you don't feel stupidly, wonderfully, madly in love, looking up and meeting David's eyes. He sticks his tongue out at you and you lightly jab his cheek with the ice cream in your hand.

“You started it,” You tease as he protests.

“Don't start a war you can't win.”

“Oh it's on,” David grins. You sit up and turn to look at him, your face starting to hurt from smiling so damn much.

“Then give me all you got.”

[havana-syndrom]

A galery of bad choices

My very short EESU fanfiction, involving my beloved boys Erhardt and Radím. @dresden-syndrome's OCs A little peek into Radíms life written by yours truly.

cw: violence, captivity

_____________

This was already a bad day. Radím could feel something was off from the moment he woke up. He felt tense this whole week, but… when was the last time he felt any different in this never ending nightmare.

To make matters worse it seemed like Erhardt got up on the wrong side of bed too. And, as always, he made it Radíms problem. Any other day he would’ve just absorbed it, finished his chores quickly and disapear from his owners sight.

But not today.

Radím felt anger bubbling within his veins. Despite his best efforts, his owner didn’t let him catch a breath. The air was stiff and the collar around his neck felt like a noose. He learned very soon to just bite his tongue and do as he’s told, the consequences of a slightest disobedience were visible for weeks. Radím didn't want to get beaten again, knowing  just how much Günther loved every oportunity to hurt him and even more so putting his handiwork on display for everyone to see. A gallery of bad choices.

Another round of degrading remarks showered Radím like an acid rain. With the last insult ringing in his ears, Radíms eyes clouded with rage. For a brief moment he lost control and a quiet curse slipped pass his clenched teeth.

'Bolševická svině’ he hissed under his breath. (bolshevik swine)

A wave of relief washed over him, that single speckle of rebellion made him feel like he still didn't loose his personhood.

His bliss was cut short by panicked yelp as Erhardt grabbed his collar and yanked him back. Radíms heart raced as he was forced to meet his owners gaze, the dark eyes bore into his, sending shivers down his spine. Slight twitch of Günthers nose hinted what emotions were lurking under the unexpresive mask.

The boys blood froze as he heard a sentence in perfect Czech.

'Zopakuj to.' (say that again)

Life flashed before Radíms eyes, his tiny heart hammered against his ribcage like a captured bird. His voice got caught in his throat, paralysed by the suffocating doom.

The boys train of thought was violently stopped and so was his ability to breathe. With a cruel twist of a wrist Günther hoisted him up by the collar. Radím was forced to his tiptoes, desperately trying to alleviate some pressure crushing his windpipe.

Erhardt sneered at the sight of his pet trashing like a fish out of water, frantically clawing onto the leather collar in desperate attempt to free himself. Radím dug his nails into the hand holding his collar, trying to pry it away, which only prompted Erhardt to lift him up a bit more.

Radíms feet barely touched the ground, his hands clenched the leather mercilessly constricted around his neck. Darkness creeping from the corners of his eyes only accelerated the boys panic. Tiny blips of light danced around his vision as he struggled against the iron grip of his cruel master.

The room was filled with sounds of choking and gurgling. After a solid minute, a dull thud echoed through the concrete walls, shortly followed by violent cough and laboured wheezing.

Radíms attempt to get off the ground was met with a forceful kick in the ribs. The boy whined like a dog as sharp pain shot through his body. He wanted to crawl away but Erhardt quickly stomped on the leash, preventing any further escape attempts.

'Worthless rat.'

Radim was forced back to the cold floor by the crushing weight of Günters military boot on his back. He squirmed under the weight of the man menacingly looming over him.

‚…ungrateful vermin.‘

The malice seeping from his masters words made the young man tremble. Radíms eyes widened in horror when he heard a distinct click of Günters thick belt coming undone.

'I will teach you humility'

[idksmtms]

cowboy like me (David Von Erich x reader) - evermore series

evermore series

A/N: It was 3am, I was listening to Evermore, and this popped into my head as the perfect title for a David fic. I’m taking some parts of the song for the storyline but not the full thing so Ig try to spot where it pops up!

Summary: He was wearing a cowboy hat and he asked you to dance. 

Word count: 4,183

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, profanity, heavy angst, major character death, movie spoilers!!!, grief  (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: This is based solely on the portrayals of the brothers, 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 :)

“Hey, you wanna dance?” There was a tap at your shoulder and you turned around with a mischievous smile. 

You knew exactly who it was. He had been glancing at you all night, only the smallest smille of embarrassment any time he was caught. You were waiting to see when he would make his move, when he would finally decide to stop watching and actually speak to you. It had been a while since you actually wanted a guy to speak to you. You tilted your head back so you could meet his eyes, slightly taken aback at how tall he actually was now that he stood right in front of you. 

“Oh I don’t know, dancing is a dangerous game, you know,” you shrugged, pursing your lips though that did nothing to hide the shine in your eyes and the tilt to your lips. He just laughed, though it was more like a huff out of his chest and he dipped his head lower so his hair fell forward. It was like locks of sunshine, and you stopped yourself from reaching out and touching it, wrapping it around your fingers. 

“I’m ready to take that risk, are you?” He reached his hand out, and your stomach felt all tingly, your hands beginning to shake just slightly. You reached up and hit the edge of his cowboy hat lightly so it dipped forward. His smile widened and he stepped even closer. “I could even request a song if you don’t like this one, I have an in with the band.” He smirked proudly at that and you laughed. 

“Oh yeah? How so?” 

“Well,” he turned to face the stage and you moved with him. He pointed to the lead singer, a young kid barely out of highschool with a bowl cut and the talent of a true musician. “That, right there, is my brother.” Your smile widened and you turned to him, mouth open and laughed incredulously. 

“You’re kidding?! He’s so good! Does that mean you’re a talented musician too?” You asked, though you suspected that really wasn’t the case. 

“Unfortunately not,” he sighed in such an exaggerated manner that you pressed your hand to your mouth to hide your giggles. “These hands were not made for the guitar,” he held them up and showed them to you but you were now overcome with your laughter. 

He opened his mouth to say more but loud hoots and cheers began to rise from the connected patio and both of you turned to see a young man fall back onto his feet from his position over the keg, beer shining on his cheeks and wetting his shirt. You began to laugh hysterically as he cheered with everyone else, going so far as to rip his own shirt down the middle. 

“That is also my brother,” the man beside you sighed and you just continued to laugh, turning back to him and reaching out to gently grasp his hand. 

“Let’s dance,” you said, pulling him toward the dance floor. You both wriggled your way to be near the front and you threw your hands up into the air, moving your hips side to side along with the beat. You could feel him press against your back, his lower sternum pressed to your back. His hands slowly rested on your hips, as if trying to give you the space to push him away. You just smiled and threw your head back to rest on his shoulder for a moment. His hold on you tightened and he began to move with you, smooth motions that meant he was surely a practised dancer. 

You danced until you couldn’t anymore. You danced until your feet hurt and if you didn’t have something to drink you would die of dehydration. The last song had been a slower one, you had swayed with him to the crooning voice and gentle guitar melody, your head against his chest, arms wrapped around him as his were around you. He lay his cheek against your head, blond hair falling around your face and hiding you from the party. You closed your eyes and focused on his heartbeat, on the warmth of his body that gently touched your skin, like sitting close to a heater that was put on the lowest setting. As the song began to change, you pulled away from him and he smiled at you, gentle and cute, the kind of smile that made you want to pinch his cheeks and kiss him until you couldn’t breathe. 

“You want something to drink?” You asked, lips brushing his ear. He shivered in your arms and you moved your mouth without saying anything in the hopes that it would happen again. 

“Yeah, I’ll come with you,” he grasped your hand and began leading you toward the table in the patio with all the drinks and solo cups. You glanced toward where his (presumably) other brother had been, and you caught his eye. He was smiling at you, arm wrapped around the girl with him. He dipped his head in a nod and your own smile grew. 

Both of you stood in front of the drinks and the crisps and after grabbing the only bottle of unopened club soda, you reached into the bowl and grabbed a handful of crisps as well. He laughed at you as he took a beer from the cooler filled with melted ice. You just shrugged, chugging from the bottle like you had never drank water before. 

“So, what exactly is your name?” He asked, and you spluttered, water dribbling down your chin and onto your top. You coughed and laughed, choking and giggling as he smiled and began patting your back. 

“My name, heh, guess we never did tell each other,” you huffed after the burning in your nose finally subsided. “Y/n, you?” 

“I’m David, David Von Erich.” He said his name with pride, shoulders lifting slightly and you nodded. He reached out and gently wiped the water from your chin and the edge of your bottom lip. Your entire body began to tingle, your lips especially. 

“So, David, what are you studying?” You shoved some of the crisps into your mouth and then offered him your hand. He gently pried one from your grip and popped it into his mouth as he shook his head.

“I don’t go to school, I’m a professional wrestler.” You raised an eyebrow before stepping back and eyeing him up and down. You pushed out your lips and furrowed your brows, nodding as if you were appraising a piece of furniture. 

“I see it,” you finally said, putting down the soda to pinch at his arms and lightly tap his stomach. He just laughed, tipping his hat with a ‘thank you ma’am’. 

“You study here then?” He asked, taking a swig from his bottle. 

“Yup,” you nodded, “second year nursing student, so call me if you need someone to patch you up after a match.” He laughed again and you couldn’t help but smile as well. 

“I’ll do that then, though expect a call every weekend,” he raised an eyebrow but you just nodded, eating more crisps to hide your smile. 

He was the most jovial person you had ever met. Even his voice, all deep and southern, still sounded so happy any time he spoke. A dimple appeared in his cheek and you reached up and poked your finger into it. 

“Sorry,” you blushed, cheeks burning, “I just wanted to feel how deep it went.” He only smiled and grabbed your hand, bringing your pointer finger back to his face and pressing it to the dimple. This time you laughed, moving to grip his cheek in your palm and falling forward to press your forehead to his chest. 

“I have never met anyone like you, David,” you mumbled against his shirt and you felt him sigh, leaning down as you moved your head back. He wasn’t smiling, just staring into your eyes, and then he was kissing you. His lips were so soft, like marshmallows covered in butter. You pressed harder against him, wanting to meld into his skin. He tasted like beer but you didn’t mind. He kissed you like he would never kiss you again, like your lips held the antidote and he would die if you even tried to move away. Your hands slid into his hair and he groaned, gripping your waist so tight that the waistband of your jeans began to dig in. 

He slowly began to pull away, but it seemed like a struggle as every time his lips almost detached from yours, he began to kiss you again. Finally, when your chest was heaving and you couldn’t stand on your own legs, he pulled away, eyes fluttering open. You gazed up at him as if he was the first human being you had ever seen and he felt his entire body flush with pleasure. 

You could see that the crowd had begun to dwindle and one of your friends was standing by the door, a clear signal that she wanted to leave but had no one to go with. You sighed, gently banging your forehead against his chest a couple times before smiling up at him sadly. He was about to ask what that smile was for, about to pull you into another kiss to wipe it from your lips, but you quickly reached up and plucked his hat from his head. He blinked owlishly, and you just deposited it onto your own head, pulling it down at the back so the front didn’t dip into your line of sight. 

“So you have a reason to try and find me,” you winked, and then spun on your heel and jogged toward your friend. He was left standing there, statue-still, watching after you. Just as you were about to step out of the door, you turned back and winked, tipping the hat in his direction before disappearing. 

+++

It was three days later when he finally saw you again. The day after the party, he had gone back to the college and asked around for the nursing building. He had walked around the entire thing, peeking into lecture halls and classrooms to no avail. The next day he stood outside the building from nine am to three pm, watching every student that walked in and out, but you weren’t there then either. On the third day, he did the same thing, slowly losing hope as the minutes ticked by. 

This would be the last time he would try. He was already skipping out on helping his dad and brothers put up fencing, and they were all asking about what exactly he was doing going to the university every day. He was desperate to see you again, hat be damned. Then, just as he was standing to walk back to the truck, a group of girls came walking out of a building next to the nursing one. They turned and took the path that went by the bench he was sitting on. Someone in the group laughed, a loud sound that echoed off the buildings and he watched the group as they got closer. A girl near the middle was the one laughing, and in her arms, she was carrying a cowboy hat. His heart leapt and he jogged closer, squinting in the sunlight. 

There you were, head thrown back in laughter, a bag over your shoulder, and your arms wrapped around his cowboy hat, pressing it closer to your chest. David’s smile almost broke his face and he almost ran over to you, forcing himself down to a jog so he wouldn’t be out of breath when he met you again. 

You noticed him approaching and your cheeks began to hurt, lips pulling up and eyes squinting with glee. Your heart was running though you weren’t, and you began to walk even quicker, leaving your group behind. You stopped just when he did, not barely two feet away. Your friends called your name but you ignored them, holding the cowboy hat by the rim and moving closer to him until your chests brushed together. You reached up with both hands and settled it on his head, shifting it from left to right until it was centred but still stayed leaned back so you could look into his eyes. His beautiful, beautiful, eyes that you had dreamed of for the past three days. 

“You found me,” you breathed out, voice slightly higher than usual. 

“Took me long enough,” he chuckled, reaching out to cup your cheek. He didn’t wait another breath, just leaned down and kissed you, nose pressing into your cheek. You laughed into the kiss but wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled yourself as close to him as you could. You could hear your friends gasping and whispering in the background, clearly so could David as he began chuckling into the kiss, but neither of you pulled away until you had had your fill. 

“So that means you’ll let me take you out on a date, right?” He asked as soon as you had detached yourself from him, and you began to laugh though you were breathless. You nodded vigorously, pulling out a notebook from your bag and ripping out a piece of paper from it. You pressed it to his chest and wrote your number on it, scolding him to stay still as he giggled about the sharp tip of the pen feeling ticklish. You folded it up and pressed it into the chest pocket of the jacket he was wearing then reached up and quickly kissed him again. 

“Call me and maybe we can play that dangerous game again,” and then you walked back to your friends, dragging them away from where he was standing as they giggled and squealed questions at you.

David stood there for a few moments just staring at the spot where you had stood and smiling like an idiot. He reached up and touched his lips, pressed his finger to his dimple, then yelled a ‘WOOHOO!” into the air, pumping his fist up before walking back to the truck, with such an aggressive spring in his step that he was almost skipping. 

+++

David turned onto his back in the bed and groaned. His stomach had been hurting randomly for the past few days and he couldn’t understand why. But then his eyes landed on you, curled up around a pillow beside him but with your back pressed into where his chest had been moments before, and any other thought went out of the window. 

You had this thing about being close to him, even in sleep. You loved hugging a pillow, but you had to have your back pressed to him in some way. Sometimes, if he moved onto his other side during the night, he could hear the little snuffles you let out in your sleep before shuffling back until you could feel him again. It might be his favourite thing about you. 

You had been dating for half a year now, the best six months of his life, and last weekend he had gone and bought a ring. Kerry had said it was too soon, but still came along to help him pick it out. Kevin and Michael had come too, each one pointing out different rings they thought you would like. He mostly ignored them because he knew you, he knew exactly which one to get, and they were mostly just there because they had jumped into the truck before he could peel out of the driveway. 

It was sitting in his left cowboy boot under the bed right then, just waiting for the perfect time to be pulled out and presented to you. He was thinking about doing it after he came back from the match in Japan, that way if he won, you could marry a champion, and if he lost, this would be the perfect thing to console him. He knew you would say yes, you seemed to love him enough, but doubt was the brain’s best friend, and he knew he would worry about your answer until you finally gave it to him. 

David turned back onto his side as a pang of pain shot through his stomach again and he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling himself close to you until he could press his nose to your hair and breathe in your smell. You seemed to purr or hum, snuggling further into the bed and him, and he closed his eyes to go back to sleep. 

+++

“How’s Japan?” You asked him excitedly. You were in his room, on his bed, the phone sitting on his side-table and the handset sandwiched between your head and shoulder. You were painting your toenails a beautiful sunshine yellow with red accents to match his costume. 

“Bright,” he chuckled, “Tokyo is all lights and people, nothing like home.” He seemed to sigh at the thought and you wanted to reach through the phone and kiss him. “How is home by the way? How’re the brothers?”

You basically lived in their house now, had done for the last month or so. David never wanted you to leave and living there was better than a cramped student dorm anyway. He drove you to the university for all your classes and you came along to watch his every match. You helped his mom cook dinner, ate with the entire family every night, and then you went to sleep in David’s bed. Well, your bed too considering that the sheets now had small flowers on them. 

The rest of the room was beginning to look a little more mixed as well. His dad had moved the old vanity from storage into David’s room by the window so you had somewhere nice to get ready. His cologne and your perfume shared the windowsill, and your different craft projects now took up any random free space. A second side-table had even been added and you kept a framed picture of you and David on it. 

“Same old, same old,” you sighed down the phone, sticking your tongue out as you tried to paint right to the edge without getting any nail varnish on your skin. “Kerry’s been practising and working out like crazy, He caught his hand in the wiring of the fence yesterday so I got to practice my stitching skills,” you could almost see the smile on his face. 

“He’s ok though, right?” He asked, and the urge to hug him was almost paralysing. 

“Yeah, he’s all good, keeps trying to train with the punching bag and I have to stop him every damn time,” you huffed and this time when he laughed you stopped painting your nails to press the phone a little harder to your ear. You wanted it to be as close as possible, as if he was sitting right next to you, just laughing by your ear. “He’s gonna rip his stitches David! He refuses to listen to me, and it’s not like your dad is any help, he just wants Kerry to keep training.” You huffed again but there was no malice in it. 

“You know what they’re like, he’ll only learn his lesson once he’s ripped them and feels the pain,” David pointed out, and you knew he was right. “How’s Michael?” 

“He’s ok, but I do feel a bit bad for him. Now that you’re not here to focus on, your dad has a lot more time to try and push Michael to wrestle, and the poor kid just wants to play guitar or go practice with his band.” 

Since David had left earlier in the week, you had made sure to be the one to pick Michael up after school so you could take him to practise with his band. You did whatever you could to distract their dad so Michael could even practise in his room. Last time you asked Fritz to go into extreme detail about his gun collection and even though he could clearly hear Michael playing, your acting was convincing enough to make him keep going until the last gun. 

David didn’t say anything for a few moments, and you knew he was struggling with his feelings. He never quite knew how to feel about his dad and brother’s constant conflict. His dad was his mentor, the reason he was where he was, but he could also see how his dad hurt his brothers, how he had flipped on Kevin like it was nothing, and refused to even acknowledge that Michael might not want to wrestle. 

There was a muffled groan from his end, like he had bit down on something to stop the sound but it hadn’t completely worked. There was a cough, wet and ragged, and your heart began to pound. You sat up straighter, disregarding the clink of nail polish bottles. 

“David? You ok?” You asked hurriedly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just have a little cough,” he brushed it off but he sounded more tired than before. 

“Are you sure? You don’t sound great,” you clutched the phone with both hands, trying to listen to a sign of anything else. 

“Seriously, I’m alright, just a little cough, I promise. It’ll go away soon, I already got some cough syrup for it.” 

“Ok, ok, good, you’ll tell me if it gets worse, right?” 

“You’ll be the first to know,” he placated, and you could hear the smile. 

You were both silent for a few minutes, just listening to each other breathe. You wished you were there with him, to do all the little things you know he would ignore when he was on his own. You wanted to check his temperature, pour out the cough syrup for him and force him to drink it. To run your hands through his hair and wrap him up in a blanket. Instead you stayed quiet until a few more minutes had passed. 

“I miss you,” you whispered, and you heard him take a deep breath. 

“I miss you too, but soon you’ll be able to say you’re dating a champion,” he joked but you didn’t laugh. 

“I already do.” 

+++

You were at home when the news came. You were sitting on David’s bed, hugging his pillow and trying to figure out the time difference so you could stop worrying about why he hadn’t called yet. The bell rang from downstairs and you began to wonder who would come visit in the middle of a workday. You waited for any indication that you were needed but you couldn’t hear anything, just murmurs. Something dropped and hit the floor, like a stack of papers or a phone. It was quiet for a few moments, the air almost sterile of sound, then the main door opened and closed and you heard a car engine slowly begin to fade away. Dread settled on your chest, like an anchor slowly being pulled back onto a ship, heaving and heaving slowly onto you. You ran down the stairs, almost slipping on the wood in your socks. You came into the dining room where Fritz was sitting at the table, the phone in front of him but the handset on the floor. 

“Is he okay? Is he hurt? What’s the-” 

“He’s dead.” 

It was quiet for a full minute. Then someone hit a gong right next to your ear. It rang, over and over and over. It wouldn’t stop ringing. One of your hands came up and began to claw at your ear, bending the shell and pressing it down but the ringing wouldn’t stop. There was gauze over your eyes, you stared at the phone, at the handset on the floor, but you only saw bits and pieces, flashes of white. 

“A ruptured intestine,” he continued, “they found him in his bed, must’ve passed in the night.” 

It echoed in your brain, bouncing around in the spinal fluid. You heard ‘a ruptured intestine’ over and over and over. You sat down on the floor where you were, the skin on your legs rubbing uncomfortably on the rug. You pressed your hands to your head, hoping if you squeezed it enough everything would stop. But it kept on. 

‘A ruptured intestine, a ruptured intestine, a ruptured intestine.’ 

+++

His boots were still under the bed. You had gotten on your knees once, and looked at them, just sitting under the bed, waiting for him to return. You had to look away, had to stand and move, because you knew that if you didn’t, you would have just stayed on the floor and cried for the rest of your life. You couldn’t even touch them. 

Every night you lay in the dark and stared at the ceiling. Some nights you cried so hard Doris came in and lay next to you, shushing you like a baby. Other nights you just stared. Stared and stared and stared. Some nights you whispered to yourself, and it was always the same thing. “I’m never gonna love again.” 

Taglist: @nosebeers @tourturedfolkloredepartment

[paperrcutting]

Funeral March

Hello The Secret History fanbase… I offer you my first TSH fanfiction. this is more an exercise in character than anything, I want to be able to write them all accurately before doing much else of substance — and I really just wanted to write the Greek class being the weirdos that they are. go easy on me but I hope this is at the very least enjoyable.

not canon compliant, Bunny is alive and they’re all friends.

Word Count: 3k

Read on AO3 or below the cut! ☕️ ☆ 🕯️

Early morning. Tall blades of unkempt grass glimmered with the shine of dew drops; wildflowers sprouted in lush patches; and damp stepping stones littered the yard. The tang of wet, damp earth lingered heavy and humid; the air thick but clean. The snow had melted in the past week, and the Greek class was enjoying early spring at Francis’ country home. The sun had barely risen above the horizon to fill the yard with light when the smell of something sickly, putrid like an overripe fruit, became abundant.

“Oh, no!” Francis cried, stopping in his tracks and glancing towards the ground. He was in shirtsleeves, and his pants were rolled up to his knees. His pale feet were bare and wet with dew, disrupting the grass where he stood, and drops of water were rolling off him and catching on the hair on his legs. Charles stood next to him, peering down to see what had gotten Francis so upset.

“Look at that, Charles,” he said, pointing to a small clump of feathers and red. “Poor thing.”

Along with rain showers, vibrant greenery, and blooms of flowers, Vermont spring brought songbirds back from a winter away. Francis’ countryside property had found itself full of small birds, singing and chirping away at all hours (starting early, a bit before sunrise, tending to wake Bunny, who decided to wake everyone else in his tired annoyance). Dashes of blue jays and sparrows and warblers in the trees, daring near the ground only in search of food.

“Oh, what a shame! What are we to do?”

“Leave it,” Charles said dismissively. “Why should we have to do anything at all?”

“Charles, look at it.”

The blond crouched down in the grass, blades thick and full, to examine the mass of feathers and, upon closer inspection, gore.

A round, cream-colored bird lay with its wings spread in its full span. Its torn open chest painted the feathers on its small body close to the shade of a cardinal — red; visceral and bloody, vermillion, wine, raw meat. Sternum to ribcage cracked open like a pomegranate, seeds torn out, thrown back on the ground to let it sink into the earth. Its neck, Charles noticed, was turned at an unnatural angle, a bite mark deep in the flesh of its throat. Viscous, sticky liquid surrounded the small corpse, still and fresh. The smell was something awful, sickening but sweet, iron. It made Charles’ stomach clench the closer he got.

Reaching for a stick, Charles ignored Francis’ wailing (‘Oh, no, Charles, don’t,’ ‘I can’t look,’ ‘Oh, forget about it,’ something in French) and poked at the bird from a distance, turning it over and around. Getting a better look at it, the bird was a dove. A white mourning dove, a dove whose coos had likely woken Bunny up in the morning.

Francis’ house had not only been a springtime retreat for birds, but also for small but vicious predators – cats, raccoons, things with claws – one of which had seemingly gotten its paws and teeth sunk into the little dove nestled in a cushion of wet grass and stirred up dirt. Despite the still warm blood on its feathers, the unnatural tilt of its neck, and its exposed and empty abdomen, it looked peaceful, as all doves should be.

Francis’ eyebrows were scrunched together in a worried, pained sort of expression. “It was probably one of those damned cats you’ve been feeding. Look at this mess,” he said. “How horrible. Little thing only wanted some seeds–” tapping his foot – “I should’ve refilled the feeder yesterday. It must’ve been hungry. Oh, we’ve got to get rid of it. It’s dreadful.”

He pulled a pack of Marlboros from his breast pocket.

Unable to rip his eyes away from the mauled remains of the gentle creature, Charles stood in his grass-stained pants, propping himself up on one knee and pushing himself up. The stick, now bloody, was still clutched in his fist.

“The cat was hungry too.”

“What?” Francis asked, wiping his eye.

“The cat that got it,” Charles repeated. “It was hungry too.”

“Oh. Well, yes… but look at it. Brutalized. Careless. A horrible way to go.”

Charles paused, examining the bird again. The curve of its wings, body sprawled on the ground, looking as if it fell right from the sky and into the jowls of a predator with sharp, sharp teeth. Predestined. Inescapable. Fate.

In a way, it was beautiful. In its death, it had fallen into a patch of daisies, fresh and new, stained a color they would never naturally grow. Spring, the season of new life, of thriving, had brought death with it, too. For in the cycle of life and death, there is a profound sense of continuity, repeating and repeating and repeating. Die. Feed. Birth. And though brutal, ripped to shreds, the dove was peaceful – nothing could last forever; nothing that was mortal could ever escape the sharp teeth of death, be it a dove caught in the claws of a feral cat, or something more. In time, it would sink into earth, and feed the plants. Become a plant itself. Grow the seeds it was hungry for. Continuous. To live forever was to die, repeat the cycle. Become again.

However, as beautiful as it may have been, it was clearly distressing to Francis, who was now through with half a cigarette.

“It wasn’t malicious, Francis. Whatever it may have been,” Charles began, “it didn’t know any better. It was hungry. Everything needs to eat, that’s just how it goes. Besides –” he took Francis’ hand in his– “it’ll feed the flowers you like so much. Fertilizer?” He offered a smile.

“Right, sure, but… can we at least, God, I don’t know. Bury it? It’s horrible to look at, and it deserves a resting place, not so out in the open.” Francis said.

–

Across the yard, back at the house, Bunny sat in a porch chair, rosy-cheeked in the morning sun and coffee cup in hand, not paying the slightest attention to Francis and Charles in the grass. He had the radio set up on the table next to him, and he was listening to some awful war song (no one was quite sure if it was on a CD of his or if he had found a military radio station) that was far too loud for the hour. The large, French-style double doors were wide open, propped with books as door stops, and the sun sank into pools of light on the dark floorboards. In the house, Camilla and Henry walked back and forth across the foyer, visible every so often – carrying things, maybe books, Henry following Camilla’s lead.

Charles yelled something and waved his arms, trying to get anyone’s attention, unsuccessfully. He yelled again, this time Bunny’s name, holding up the bloodied stick and waving it around. The blood and the look on Francis’ face seemed to be alarming.

Bunny sprung up from his chair on the porch and ran through the yard — still in his robe and pajama bottoms — his mess of unruly blond hair not fully brushed and his not fully awake body tumbling over itself. He motioned for the others, and Camilla followed him, running towards the commotion with curlers in her hair; the gentle glow of the early morning sun made her face look soft but bare, and the gray of her eyes matched the sky so perfectly they nearly disappeared into the horizon. Shortly after, Richard appeared in shirtsleeves, struggling with pulling his shoes on, his eyes (and limbs) still heavy with sleep. And Henry followed behind them, fully dressed, like a disinterested father caring for his ill-behaved children, trying to control them before anyone had had any breakfast – they’re getting fussy, and he hadn’t had his coffee yet.

Bunny and Camilla came to a grinding halt, nearly crashing into each other upon Bunny’s sudden stop, Richard close behind them. Taking his time to reach the rest, Henry strolled through the grass, admiring the flowers. Charles and Francis pointed at the ground in unison.

They stood in a circle, heads together, mess of bird between their feet.

“Oh, that’s horrible.” Camilla was the first to speak. Her voice was layered with sleep, dark like tinted glass. “How on Earth could that have happened?”

It was, evidently, unnerving. Francis explained that he thought it was a cat, and Camilla cocked her head but was shushed by Charles before she could question him. Richard tried to hide his expression, one of disgust, but his nose scrunched and his eyebrows turned up. Bunny appeared similar, hiding it less; holding his nose closed with his fingers. Henry seemed indifferent, staring at the wounded bird with a lack of emotion.

“I want to bury it. I don’t like the way it looks,” Francis said.

“It’s just a bird,” Richard interjects. “What’s so wrong about it?”

“It’s eyes are open. It’s looking at me.”

“Sure is.” Bunny agreed. His voice was nasally, more than normal, nose plugged by pointer and middle. “Nasty sight. Damn awful smell, too. We should bury it, yes, yes. Hold it a proper funeral.”

“A funeral?” Camilla asked.

“Well, sure. Can’t just bury it all unceremoniously, can we? If we’re burying it, we might as well make a show of it. None of that Catholic bullshit. A real funeral! Like the Greeks! We’ll mourn, wear all black, pray to the gods. And Henry can dig the hole.”

–

Before Henry had much of a say about digging the grave, he stood in the garden, shovel in hand – expressionless, digging a dove-sized hole under a large willow tree next to the lake. He was wearing a black pin-stripe English suit, per Bunny’s request, and was narrowly avoiding getting dirt on his freshly polished Oxfords.

Bunny, Francis, Charles, and Richard had also found themselves in black suits – pieces of Charles’ suit oversized and borrowed from Bunny, as he doesn’t wear much black, nor did he plan on attending a funeral over the weekend. Francis wore his suit over a thin, starchy white shirt with turnback cuffs, his flame-colored hair slicked back and pince-nez glimmering in the (now afternoon) sun. Richard’s was ill-fitting, tight on the elbows, and had quite a few loose threads, adorned with a little golden lapel pin, shaped like the top of an Ionic-style column. They each held flowers in their hands, taken from the garden, that Camilla and Francis had tied together with strands of twine and ribbon. Charles still held the red-stained stick.

To Henry’s left stood Bunny, ordering him to dig the hole deeper and refusing to help. He had a black sheet thrown over his shoulder, a mockery of some sort of toga. Camilla stood to Henry’s right in a knee-length black dress with sheer black stockings underneath. She held the bird in her arms, wrapped in an old curtain Francis had found in the attic, laid in a small brown box, a makeshift coffin. Flowers lay around its body, and the smell of rot had been overtaken with the smell of a strong, floral perfume — stinging cherry blossom and bitter notes of bergamot. Bunny used his pocket square to wipe the sweat off of his, and then Henry’s, brow.

The smell of freshly turned dirt, woody and sweet. The air had warmed and cleared as the early morning turned to afternoon, the dew on the grass had evaporated, and the sun reflected off the lake in a blinding, star-like way. A dense, large willow shaded the funeral part; lush curtains of green cascading off of thin branches surrounded them and swayed with the breeze. The hushing sound of wind ruffling leaves was cut through by a funeral march – Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 2, playing on the radio sitting on the tree roots. The glow of the sun hit the backs of Bunny, Henry, and Camilla, encasing the three of them in shadow haloed in gold, like a group of God’s finest angels, harbingers of death, or vengeful creatures sent by Hades up from the underworld. Henry mumbled something unintelligible to Camilla and held the shovel to his side. With that, Bunny began:

“Lady and gentlemen, we’re gathered here today in honor of this here dove. Tragically, our little friend was taken from us much too soon. Even though it woke me up this morning, no bird deserves a fate this bad, no, no. I’m sure it had a family, a bird-wife and chicks, you know, it’s spring and all. Real sad it ended up like this, all torn apart… Anyway, enough lamenting, right? This isn’t some pious, uptight mass, no, no Hail Mary’s. This is a celebration of this bird’s life! Sending it off.

“O Hermes, messenger of the gods, we ask you to guide the soul of our dearly departed dove safely across the river of Styx. Grant passage to the underworld of Hades, and let it find peace in the Elysian Fields, or wherever doves go,” Bunny said, talking with his hands and looking to the sky, like a preacher.

He rambled on, choosing his words carefully, about the underworld and the afterlife and how even sweet little birds had to meet their makers. When he finished, he wiped away a pretend tear, and Francis clapped, everyone else following his lead. Henry stifled a smile, covering his hand with his sleeve.

Thank yous were said to Bunny, and he bowed like he was a talk show host walking off stage – see you next time, folks! – and Camilla stepped forward in his place, box in hand, standing at the head of the grave plot and glancing down into the earth.

“Put him in, little lady.” Bunny motioned with his head towards her and put a hand on the small of her back.

She nodded, crouched, and lowered the box into the hole. The dove’s feathers ruffled in the breeze, its eyes still open and glossy as it and its box-casket were placed into the earth. Camilla placed it down gently, careful not to disturb it, as if she might’ve woken it up if she jostled it around. Henry offered his hand, and she took it in hers. He pulled her up, looking like he could’ve swept her up into a press lift as if they were dancing pas de deux. When she stood, her stockings and shoes were caked with damp dirt.

“Say goodbye, gentlemen. François, any final words?” Bunny asked.

Francis stepped to the head of the plot and threw his bouquet on top of the bird. “Au revoir, mon petit amie. Live forever, and let the flowers grow on top of this awful mess of dirt.���

Following his lead, Richard threw in his bundle of wildflowers, followed by Charles’, as well as the stick that had been stained with blood. Camilla unclasped her necklace – small, gold – and threw it in unceremoniously.

Henry, who had disappeared through the flower-tossing service, had returned, a bottle of wine in hand. He stood next to Camilla, his jaw clenched and his eyes glossy behind his glasses. With a pop, the cork, too, found itself in the shallow grave. The scent of grape, aged and spiced, poured into the earth, on top of the dove, and in the box. When the bottle neared being half empty, Francis ushered him to stop, and he did – taking quite a large swig of it himself – and handed it over.

The bottle was passed around between them as Henry shoveled the dirt back onto the grave. Bunny made reception small talk about “fond memories” of the dove while Camilla sat in the grass, tying pieces of twine around a bundle of sticks and flowers.

“Did we offer enough, do you think?” Charles asked, wrapping his arm around Francis’ shoulder.

“Sure,” said Francis, the bottle clenched in hand. “I’m just glad I can’t see it anymore.” He tilted the bottle up and finished it off.

“I’m sure Bunny’s speech was more than enough,” said Henry, calm and unbothered. “We gave it a thorough send-off. Returned it to the earth. The first dove to have a real funeral like this, I’d say. If the gods choose to care about a dove, this will be the one. Besides, I’m sure your flowers will look wonderful, Francis.” He threw another large pile of dirt into the grave, twirled the shovel in his fingers, and patted the earth down. “Factum est. Camilla, would you hand me that?”

He towered over her, encasing her in his shadow, and she handed over her stick-and-twine gravemarker. It was delicately made, but the details were clumsy: knots too big and in the wrong places, flowers lacking petals, an uneven bow in the front. Henry told her it was beautiful and stuck it into packed-down earth at the head of the burial site.

The six of them stood around the grave, now marked and permanent in Francis’ yard. The dirt was the color of freshly brewed tea, ornate and flowery, shaded by the dense overhang of weeping leaves and branches. In true fashion of spring, the sun had found itself behind a blanket of gray, surrounded by curls of hazy, dark shades, accompanied by the air marginally warming.

“You know,” Bunny began, slapping Francis on the back (startling him to a jump). “Every funeral I’ve ever been to, there’s been food after. A luncheon. And –” checking his watch – “It’s almost noon; that’s lunchtime. I’m starving, gentlemen.” Before any of them could answer, Bunny was already strolling towards the house – no, the driveway.

“I think it’s going to rain,” Richard cautioned, looking at the overcast gray of the clouds narrowly closing in.

“We better hurry up, then!” Bunny yelled as he took off towards the cars – Francis’, Henry’s. “Got to beat the weather, yes, yes!”

Glances were exchanged; the twins shrugged in unison, and took off after him. Gracefully, they moved their legs identically, and their feet kicked up dirt in unison. Charles yelled for Bunny to wait, and Camilla ran beside him, giggling. Francis took Richard by the hand, running along with him, and Henry followed behind the lot of them, patting his pockets to make sure he had his wallet.

[genisflyingkites]

Last pic based off my fav pic of the golden lovers

I saw iron claw and was like I need to make a Tom and Huck au! Tom and Huck probably ran from their respective home in this au hiding their relationship working odd jobs in someone else’s farm.

Tom aspires for them to have fame and glory but mostly cause that provide them riches also cause he aspires a better life for them. They get into wrestling. Tom is a good fighter never gives up but professional wrestling he just can’t do it and is a hella underdog. While Huck is thriving leaving Tom behind sometimes. Their best moments are when they are a tag team and they honestly just wish to do that. Though Huck is being convinced to be a heel while Tom has to stay a baby face.

Anyway in my head there’s an A24 movie about sawyerberry in the 80s one day I may do something with it… maybe after I finish writing my current fanfiction