#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.”

#the iron claw #the iron claw fic #the iron claw fanfiction #david von erich x reader #david von erich x you #harris dickinson #harris dickinson fanfic #harris dickinson x reader #harris dickinson x you

[idksmtms]

cowboy like me (David Von Erich x reader) - 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.” 

@tourturedfolkloredepartment

#david von erich x reader #david von erich #david von erich x you #the iron claw #the iron claw fic #the iron claw fanfiction #harris dickinson #harris dickinson character #angst #major character death #spoilers #the iron claw spoilers

[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.

#fanfic #fluff #fanfiction #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #the bear #carmy x reader #jeremy allen white #the iron claw #wrestling #kerry von erich

[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.

#bg3 #bg3 raphael #baldur's gate 3 #raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #baldur's gate raphael #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #bg3 raphael x tav #cw:smut #they have sex #im very proud of this #even though it took forever #and I have a different idea of his character again #i love developing

[ruben-the-cowboy]

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

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #van der linde gang

[embalmingparts]

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.

#the secret history #tsh #francis abernathy #charles macaulay #camilla macaulay #bunny corcoran #edmund corcoran #richard papen #henry winter #donna tartt #they’re all friends!!!! #mine #please enjoy. i hope this does them some justice

[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

#Tom sawyer #huckleberry finn #wrestling #mark Twain #sawyerberry #my fart

[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'

#hello #whump community #enjoy this nutritious meal #EESU #Erhardt Günther #Radím Štušek #truly a divine combination #military whump #totalitarian #whump

[dayseternal-blog]

Hi ! I see you giving lots of NaruHina recs, I am looking for any NaruHina fanfictions with them being in rival yakuza/gangs or just the fanfic placed in a yakuza/gang universe

Thanks ! ❤️

Hello! I've done this recommendation list before, but I think there may be new ones to add to it...

NaruHina Yakuza / Gangs AU

new ones:

"Savage" from "NaruHina Erotica Oneshots" by @makuro767 - Rated E, Canon-Divergent AU, One-shot. Taking a deep breath, she focused on her current plan; escaping the Hyuuga Clan.

"Prey" by @sessakag - Rated E, Modern Crime AU, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. The moon aligns, a sacrifice is offered and he knows, she is his destiny. Following that midnight chance encounter with Hinata Hyuuga, a smitten sociopath, Naruto Uzumaki, tries his hand at romance, determined to make her fall in love with him the only way he knows how.

Here's the old list:

“When the Devil Picks Up a Stray” by callmesenorita - Rated E, A/B/O Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata, an Omega, questions buried feelings when she decides to help a childhood friend who has adopted a new persona under the name Menma. Although their attraction is instant he is no longer the Naruto she once knew, and soon enough Hinata is thrust into a dangerous yakuza conspiracy. DELETED FIC

“Bound” by suryass - Rated E, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Series of One-shots/Incomplete. Mafia AU-Collection of oneshots.

“July - Movie-Inspired” from “Still Falling For You” by @chloelapomme - Rated T, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto and Hinata peacefully live with each other. Well, almost peacefully…

“Powerless” by @bunny-hoodlum - Rated E for a lot of things like depictions of violence and character death, High School AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. - His family’s past can’t be taken at face-value, and it comes clawing back to hurt him in ways that are out of his control.  DELETED FIC.

“Opposites Attract” by KyuubiLover100 - Rated E, High School AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Citizens of Konoha all know that “The Light cannot exist without casting its Shadow.” It’s the unspoken system that the city runs on. Everyone knows their place and their roles. Those in the Shadows do what those in the Light cannot. Uzumaki Naruto knows this and has known this since he was young. Hyuuga Hinata knows this as well and understands her Father’s wished, but still…

“put on your warpaint” by @borzbois - Rated M, Tattoo Artist/College AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Hinata meets a stranger with beautiful tattoos. She never could have guessed the turn her life would take when she asked to draw him.

“All Kinds of Wrong” by Kieren - Rated E, Infidelity/Modern AU, One-shot. It was ironic how something so pure had sprung from such a sordid arrangement. They were perfect for each other. But they had met at the wrong time.

“Pink Chiffon” by @scalding-coffee-cup - Rated M, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. During the day, she wears pink chiffon and nude pumps; her glossed lips curve into an innocent smile. At night, she struts down the alleyway in black stilettos and wears a scowl on her red lips. The pistol is her most expensive accessory.

“Molasses” by EroPrincess - Rated E, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Adult film star, Hinata Hyuga, encounters a fledgling underground kingpin, Naruto Uzumaki. Is it possible for a romance to blossom between two people from very different worlds?

“Second Chances” by enzhe - Rated T, High School AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Namikaze Naruto was abducted, then declared dead. Twelve years after he disappeared, his parents find him: now a scrappy, reckless teenager, with good friends, a lot of trauma, and ties to the murderous, anarchist Nine-Tails gang. As the family tries to put itself together, trust breaks, hurts heal, and the power struggles that led to Naruto’s abduction resurface.

“Dirtbags// The Fox” by OwlwaysHungry - Rated M, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Naruto and his friends end up having to work for a notorious drug dealing gangster by the name of Kyuubi after a not so satisfying night out.

“a home is a dream” by bluebeardsbrides - Rated M, Modern AU, One-shot. Naruto Uzumaki returns home with all the force maelstrom, three days after her husband’s disappearance and six years since she went and stumbled on Neji’s body floating in the creek downtown.

“Gangster AU” from “Tales of Two Ninjas” by @magmawrites​ - Rated M, Modern AU, One-shot. This world is an endless cycle of destruction, no matter how hard you try to stop it and sometimes the innocent get involved in the crossfire.

“What He Wants” by agitosgirl - Rated M, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Hinata Hyuuga is an average girl struggling, and failing to stay on top of things. But everything in her life changes once she meets a handsome stranger at club. She knows that he wants her, but doesn’t realize that he has the power, and the determination to do whatever it takes to make her his, no matter the cost.

Untitled collab w/ @matchaball for anon by @utsus​ - Rated T, Modern AU, One-shot. Prompt: She’s his ace in the cards that no one sees coming (that they honestly should’ve seen) and yes: she dislikes violence.

If anyone knows of others, please feel free to add!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love this kind of AU.

#anon #naruhina fanfic recs #naruhina crime au #naruhina gangs au #naruhina yakuza au

[lescarbille]

Try to convince you to read my next landoscar fanfiction when it came out on ao3 : Every dead man should tell some tales Main tags : lovers to enemies to lovers | forced partnership | spying | alternative universe - magic | fake pretend relationship | morally gray characters First part of chapter 01

October 13 | four years ago | Close to Orsay train station, Paris

At midnight, there is silence.

Paris is bathed in a mystical atmosphere under the light of the moon. Its silvery shards project, it is the only witness of the night, no one dares to go out, not when darkness can arise and engulf Life. The press writes about it, bloody corpses on the road, bodies which go back up to the surface after weeks in the Seine.

Security does not exist in the dark.

The cobbled streets usually bustling with activity are deserted while the immense clock of the Orsay station  strikes the twelfth stroke of midnight. The rain falls heavily on the monumental iron needle at its pinnacle, on the ground of Paris. The drops create a morbid symphony against the cobblestones, glowing with a spectral radiance and trembling in front of the flickering street lamps.

“Oscar !” 

Running footsteps sound sporadically, while wisps of steam escape from manholes, dancing like ghosts in the humid air before dissipating into the darkness.

“Oscar !”

Two silhouettes can be seen in the night. The first is that of a man running, thin and athletic, with erratic head movements, trying to catch a glimpse of the second: Oscar who is in the darkness as if he had always belonged there.

“Oscar! Oscar! Stop! You coward!” the voice shouts.

Oscar's silhouette stops in front of a puddle glowing with a kaleidoscope of blue, purple and other colours of the night. The rain falls on his flattened hair, making him look miserable, but his brown eyes shine with a pugnacious, almost angry glint as the second figure joins him, kicking up the water with each of his strides.

“I have to call you a coward to make you stop! What the hell, Oscar!”, his voice cracks when he says his name again. “Why do I hear you’re leaving? Why are you leaving ? Why is it Charles, Charles Leclerc, of all people, who tells me that you are leaving!”

Oscar doesn't respond, he stares at him placidly, expressionless and emotionless. Lando would be lying if he didn't say it broke his heart. Oscar always looks at him as if he were capable of dislodging the stars from the sky to offer them to him, he looks at Lando as if he were the most precious star in the universe, he manages to see in Lando something that his scarlet hands prevent him from seeing.

He flinches.

“Oscar, say something!” he orders, pursing his lips, his chest starting to hurt. “Oscar, I swear that if you abandon me, you better assume it and tell me why by looking me straight in the eyes! You promised to stay.”

Oscar turns around and starts walking, without expressing the slightest emotion or the slightest word. A painful sob escapes Lando's throat, as he shivers from the cold as the icy water from a night's rain seeps into his bones. He is trembling with fear, the first person who loved him for everything he is, flaws and qualities, has decided to leave him without a word, without a “goodbye” like a thief. He's shaking with grief, it's all-consuming, the way his whole body collapses, his chest becomes so painful he feels like he's being suffocated, and he could die right there.

Lando takes two strides, smashes his foot against a deep puddle of water which trembles his feet and calves, a puddle which resembles an ocean between them and which wishes to engulf and drown him, the drops of water resembling the claws of an underwater creature.

He grabs his wrist, his long fingers wrapping around the joint, his skin frozen like the dead, before it reflects the warmth Lando loved to snuggle into and call: “home.”

“Please, Oscar! Please say something! I’ll go with you, explain to me!”

Oscar's shoulders hunched, an imperceptible movement under the moon's silver glow. He almost looks like a ghost, his expression still blank when he turns to Lando again. He hates it, the way he always kept his thoughts to himself, never letting any of the sadness, pain or anger show, when they were younger, it frustrated him.

Oscar takes his hands in his, the pressure is gentle, and Lando feels something cold fall into his palm.

For a pivotal moment, Oscar seems to hesitate. Lando sees so much pain behind his brown eyes that he can't feel his breath catch.

“Oscar, please. I don’t want to force you into a loop to explain to me, we promised never to use our power on each other and I don’t want to break that promise. I’m here. Tell me. Please.”

And Oscar lets go of his hand.

The rain separates them.

Lando wants to create a loop, a time loop, it's his power as a Medean, he can change the recent past, relive it, change the outcomes. He wants it. He wants Oscar to talk to him, he wants him to stay, he refuses the rain, the darkness, the obscurity, and the cold. He knows them too well, and he doesn't want them in his life any more, not when he can have Oscar.

And yet he remains there. Still. Immobile. 

His Medean gifts bloom on his skin, and he does not use them.

A thick, impenetrable wall, almost solid rain, a boundary they can no longer cross because Lando is too injured to climb against that wall and try to reach it again and because Oscar already seems far away, too far away. He’s blurry like an image already tarnished by time.

Time is a cruel entity. Oscar is even more so.

He sniffles and holds back another painful sob.

He opens his hand, there are two simple silver rings. A promise that wasn't kept, a goodbye, a secret that Lando didn't know Oscar was keeping and that leaves him with more questions.

Midnight has passed, and the death knell of their breakup tolls, with only the icy rain and darkness remaining to accompany him.

Notes : - The Musée d'Orsay in Paris was a train station which closed in 1910, reopening in 1986 under the name of the Musée d'Orsay, where you can find impressionist paintings such as Monet, Cézanne, Degas, Manet, Van Gogh… The story does not have a specific year, especially because it is an AU with magical realism, but it can be placed between the end of the 19th century and the very beginning of the 20th. The Musée d'Orsay is, in my opinion, of all the Parisian stations, one of the most beautiful with a series of massive clocks that can be seen on the Impressionist floor. - Medean = people with magical abilities. It comes from the Greek sorceress and priestress of Hecate : Medea. It is also inspired by the Atlas trilogy written by Olivie Blake. - Lando's power is to create a time loop of a present past several time in a row in order to change an event.

#mctwinkles #f1 fanfic #landoscar

[fascinationex]

📖?

The plot of a fanfiction that I haven't written but daydream about:

I want to write tfp megop in season two, lingering over Orion Pax's experiences and memories as he works in confusion and anxiety upon the Nemesis, unsettled by the feeling that something isn't right. Megatron is the only thing here he recognises, and he goes to him late after his shift, seeking comfort and familiarity. Megatron is, as you may expect, very cooperative. He's not quite as Orion remembers him—he, too, is different in this new world... But he trusts him, and he listens to him, and he allows himself to be comforted.

When he returns to the Autobots as Optimus Prime, he has some memories of these experiences: flickers and flashes, the sensory ghost of Megatron's big clawed hands and his sharp, strangely secretive smile.

It feels like the keenest betrayal: that Orion Pax went to him, naive and vulnerable with someone he thought was a friend, seeking help, and Megatron played into it so viciously. There are things Megatron whispered to Orion Pax in his soft and ironic way that make sense only now, in the full context of the war, and they are breathtaking in their cruelty.

His Autobots say things to him designed to comfort him like, 'You didn't know, Optimus. And he was decent, once. You didn't know.' But grief eats Optimus Prime alive, and Megatron haunts him.

So... you know. Regular TFP megop stuff.

#ask #book emoji ask meme #gilraina #megop

[daysofyellowroses]

red rose ii

kerry von erich x reader | 2.6k | sequel to this story (you can read this as a standalone as it's basically just plotless and i won't expect anyone to read a 10k fic just to know a backstory) | 18+ minors dni - this is plotless smut because i felt like it, enjoy!

“I now pronounce you man and wife, you may kiss the bride.”

A chorus of cheers rang out from the congregation, hands clapping together as whistles rang out around the church.

You met Kerry's eyes, standing across from him in your pink, puffy bridesmaids dress. He gave you a wink and you rolled your eyes with a smile as you cheered on Kevin and Pam, the two of them starting to head down the aisle. After a moment you were by Kerry's side, your arm in his as you began to leave the church.

“Second time today you've walked me down an aisle,” You grinned, looking over to your boyfriend. “Making a habit of it, are we?”

“Might just be,” Kerry teased, giving you a kiss on the cheek. “hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all, I encourage it.” You smiled, watching a shower of rice wash over Kevin and Pam as they walked out ahead of you.

There was some standing around as the wedding photos were taken, all the various relatives and friends being swapped in and out, the photographer giving more demands thanan army sergeant. Part of you felt a little silly being in the photos, being a bridesmaid alongside Pam's old friends, but you had still been so thrilled when she'd asked you. After all, the two of you had become friends, which was a joy.

As Kevin and Pam took pictures with their parents, you rested your head on Kerry's shoulder, his arm around your waist. David and Mike stood across from you, bored expressions on their faces that made you smile.

“Can't memories be enough?” David sighed as he rested his hands on his hips, looking over to the photographer. “I'm starving, I'll eat his damn camera if I need to.”

“Give me half,” Mike sighed, folding his arms. “A crumb, anything.”

You smiled as you turned and whispered in Kerry's ear, his hand tightening on your waist.

“I'm still full.”

“Good to know,” He murmured softly, grinning as he looked down at your dress. “You know, you really can't tell this thing was crumpled up on the floor a few hours ago. All that panic for nothing.”

“I wasn't the one pulling it off,” You grinned, your hands coming to rest on Kerry's shoulder. “that was all-”

“You!” The photographer snapped, gesturing to you and the boys. “get on over here, all of you.”

“You hold him down,” David looked at Kerry. “I'll get the camera.”

A couple of hours later, you were taking your seat after your latest twirl around the dancefloor. You took a sip of your drink, looking out to the floor filled with people having the time of their lives. Your gaze fell on your dad, smiling as you watched him and Carla sway together, laughing about something and unable to keep their eyes off each other. A moment later, Kerry came and sat next to you, his arm resting over the back of your chair.

“Having fun?” He asked, looking over to you with a smile.

“Of course,” You grinned, leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek, your hand resting on his thigh. “I was just thinking..my dad and Carla will stay a while longer, the house is gonna be empty. Seems a shame to waste it.”

“It would definitely be a shame,” Kerry smiled, resting his hand on top of yours. “I say we sneak out the back and if anyone asks we'll just say I felt sick and didn't want to make a big fuss.”

“Wow,” You raised a brow with a smile as you stood up. “I'm making a rebel out of you, Kerry Von Erich.”

The drive home seemed to take an age, all you wanted to do was get out of your dress (again) and wile away the evening in Kerry's arms.

When you finally arrived, you practically leaped out of the truck, rooting around in your purse for your key. You could hear Kerry laughing as you held half the contents of your purse in your hand while you searched, rolling your eyes with a smile.

“Alright I got it, we're good,” You finally fished the key out, walking up the steps to the front door and opening the door. You walked into the small lobby and turned as you waited for Kerry to join you.

“Still feels strange,” He grinned as he walked into the house, closing the front door. “I still expect to have to sneak through your window.”

“You can walk around the back and shimmy up the drainpipe if you want,” You grinned, lightly pushing down your puffed up sleeves. “For old time's sake.”

“And leave you here all alone?” Kerry raised a brow, striding over to you with a smile, wrapping his arms around you. “Absolutely not.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling truly content as you met his eyes.

“Good..I don't want to be apart from you for even a second. Who else is gonna help me out of this thing?”

“Good thing I got experience then,” Kerry grinned, and you laughed before an excited squeak flew out of you as Kerry picked you up and started walking to the stairs, your arms secure around his neck.

When you reached your bedroom, you got onto your feet and wasted no time turning your back to Kerry so he could pull your dress off as he had before you'd left the house earlier.

To your surprise, he took his time, standing close behind you as his fingers slowly released each button. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss to the nape of your neck and you let out a soft breath as you closed your eyes.

“Kerry,” You groaned softly, no real admonishment in your tone.

“Shh, we got time,” He murmured softly, trailing kisses down your back as he slowly unbuttoned your dress. “Just enjoy it.”

You didn't need to be told twice. As much as you had enjoyed the morning, it had been rushed. You'd been in Kerry's bedroom, with the background noise of David asking where his tie was, Mike banging on the door to get his shoes, and the radio blasting out.

Now, you were more than happy to feel Kerry's hands slowly glide along your bare back before he carefully eased your dress down your shoulders.

“Turn around, gorgeous.”

You moved slowly, holding your dress to your chest as you turned and met Kerry's eyes with a smile. After slowly pushing the dress off yourself to pool at your feet, Kerry held his hand out and you took it before stepping out of the dress and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Well this really isn't fair,” You grinned, moving your hand to lightly toy with the grey bow tie wrapped around Kerry's neck. “You get to stay fully clothed, bow tie and all, and I have to be naked?”

“You've still got these,” Kerry grinned, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. “So it's fine.”

“Is it though?” You hummed, moving your hand to gently stroke Kerry's cheek. “Because I don't think it really i-!”

You gasped as Kerry picked you up and carried you over to your bed, throwing you down on it and taking his suit jacket off. Your panties were instantly soaked as you watched him move slowly onto the bed, settling between your legs.

“I don't need to be undressed to do this,” He murmured softly,his hands gripping your thighs. You closed your eyes as you felt him slowly peel away your panties, feeling his gaze on you. It was already driving you crazy, your body desperately wanting more, but at the same time you found yourself enjoying that he was taking his time, giving you so much attention.

When you felt Kerry's hands gently moving along your thighs you let out a soft breath, your chest tightening as he placed a soft kiss on your inner thigh. You were sure neither of you had moved so slowly since you sparked your relationship back up again.

Not that it was a bad thing, of course. You were snatching moments where you could, in his bedroom or yours, in your truck, and that very enjoyable time when he dropped by the garage to pick you up and you got a little delayed. You couldn't quite meet Mrs. Davenport's eyes when you dropped her car back.

But now..now it was like there was nobody else in the world but the two of you, Kerry wasn't having to hold his hand over your mouth to cover up your moans, you didn't have the thrill of potentially being caught, but you did have Kerry between your legs, licking a slow stripe up your soaked core.

A moan escaped your lips and you relished not having to hide it. Your hands found the sheets as you let the moans fall freely. Kerry seemed content to keep a slow pace, taking you apart a little at a time, and your protests died in your mouth, replaced by ragged breaths and moans.

“So pretty,” Kerry murmured softly, and you slowly opened your eyes as you felt him slowly rub his fingers over your clit, spreading you open as he moved down. His eyes met yours and you felt like you could die happily in that moment as he smiled at you.

“All mine, ain't you darlin’?”

“Yeah,” You managed after a moment, your heart racing. “All yours baby.”

Your head fell back against the pillow as he slowly pushed his finger into you, his tongue slowly swirling over your clit. You wanted to tell him how good it felt, how you wanted, needed more, but the words couldn't get out, your mind swimming and your body crying out.

Emotion and tiredness and desire all melted together within you, and felt like you could cry as Kerry pushed another finger inside you, crooking the digits as they found that wonderful spongy spot inside you.

“Oh god,” You moaned, your hand falling over your forehead. “Kerry..I..please..”

You were sure you heard him murmur something like “I got you baby” but the building wave in your stomach grabbed your attention as it began to crescendo, a cry escaping your lips as Kerry worked you open.

It took a moment for the breath to settle back into your body, your heart hammering in your chest. Kerry lapped you up, and you whined at your own sensitivity while loving the feeling nonetheless. You reached down and touched his arm, wanting him closer, needing his arms around you.

Kerry moved slowly, your hands reaching out to touch his arms when he was finally above you, trying to steady yourself.

“Please tell me I can undress you now,” You murmured softly, your hands moving to the top button of his shirt. “Don't torture me..”

“Go ahead,” Kerry grinned, watching as your fingers moved to undo his bow tie, the material gathered around your hand as you unbuttoned his shirt. You hadn't had time to take his shirt off earlier, you relished in being able to freely.

“I love you,” You murmured softly as you slid the shirt down Kerry's arms. “You know that, I know, I just like reminding you.”

“I know,” Kerry smiled, getting his shirt all the way off before meeting your eyes. “And you know that I love you. Always have. Always will.”

“I always have too,” You smiled, hands moving to unbutton his pants. “I always will..you're it for me. Nobody gives me what you do, makes me feel the way you do.”

“You mean..like this?” Kerry asked, leaning down to kiss you and grinning into it as you gasped. You felt his hand move on top of yours, helping you push down his pants.

“Exactly like that,” You murmured softly, resting your forehead against Kerry's. “Just need you to do one thing..”

You gripped his shoulders, pushing him over onto his back.

“There, perfect,” You grinned, leaning over to pull his pants all the way off and dropping them to the floor before looking back at him.

“I think I should just keep you here forever. It suits you.”

“You won't hear me complaining,” Kerry smiled, holding his hand out to you. “C'mere angel.”

You took his hand, moving forward til you were straddling his lap. The friction of his shorts against your bare core was heavenly, your hips shifting a little.

“Comfortable?” Kerry asked, a teasing tone in his voice as he gently stroked his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Very,” You nodded, a soft moan escaping you as you moved again, biting your lip at the sensation.

“I was gonna take ‘em off but maybe not yet,” Kerry mused, moving his free hand to your hip.

“No,” You breathed, your hand moving to the waistband of his shorts. “I need to feel you. Please.”

Kerry gave you a nod before you pulled the shorts down, his hard cock springing free and resting against his stomach.

“Fuck,” You murmured softly, gently gripping Kerry's election and giving it a few slow strokes before lining yourself up and sinking down slowly.

“Oh god,” You moaned, your eyes falling closed as your head tilted back. “Mm..”

When you were filled completely, Kerry wanted no time in sitting up and wrapping his arms around you before flipping you onto your back. He took your hands on his and held them above your head, pushing deeper into you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, wanting him as close as possible.

“You're everything, you know that?” Kerry murmured softly, leaning on to kiss your neck as you arched your back. “So perfect..my good girl..”

You slowly tugged your hand from Kerry's, moving it to grip his hair as his fingers deftly moved to your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple.

“I shouldn't let it affect me so much,” You moaned softly, your hand in Kerry's squeezing tightly. “But..fuck..”

“It's okay,” Kerry murmured, sucking a mark onto your collarbone as he thrust into you harder. “You can enjoy it, being such a good girl for me..”

“Mm,” You nodded, your eyes rolling back as Kerry hit that spot inside you, your hands gripping his hair. “Yes, I..”

“You what, baby?” Kerry asked, his lips trailing kisses back up your neck as you tried to gather your thoughts.

“I..I love being your good girl,” You moaned, legs falling apart as Kerry began fucking into you harder, deeper. “Please..”

“I got you, darling,” Kerry moved his hand to grab your thigh, holding it up and open, your eyes clenching shut as you felt the wave build.

“Hey, eyes on me, angel.”

You felt like you could let go then and there, your eyes opening to meet Kerry's. You could feel the desire in his gaze, the want and the passion and the all consuming love that had you wanting to wrap your arms around him and never let go.

Everything fell away as you cried out, eyes rolling back as you saw stars, felt Kerry's warm touch and heard his sweet words somewhere in your mind, feeling him fill you with warmth.

It took a moment to come back down to earth, turning on your side slowly and wrapping yourself around Kerry. He wrapped around you instantly, placing soft kisses to your forehead and whispering to you about how good you were, how perfect and beautiful and wonderful.

It wouldn't always end in such a way, where you had time to heap praise and embrace each other. At least not for a while. But in that moment, there was nothing else, just the two of you, in your perfect moment.

#the iron claw #the iron claw fanfiction #the iron claw fic #kerry von erich #kerry von erich x reader #kerry von erich x you #jeremy allen white #jaw #plotless #entirely plotless #self indulgence at its finest

[idksmtms]

evermore series

To all the swifties who enjoy my writing, this one is for you! I got this idea at 3am and I am now committed! I'm gonna write a one-shot for each song from the album (at least the ones I can think of) for a variety of characters! This will probably go a bit slowly because I'm writing another series at the same time but I got a bunch of inspo for some of these songs and this idea so I have to do this!

Below I have the track list and the characters:

willow - Cillian Murphy

champagne problems - Aemond Targaryen Modern AU

gold rush - Kerry Von Erich

'tis the damn season - Aegon II Targaryen

tolerate it - Daemon Targaryen

no body no crime - Daemon Targaryen

happiness - David Von Erich

dorothea - Cillian Murphy

coney island - Kerry Von Erich

ivy - Kerry Von Erich

cowboy like me - David Von Erich

long story short - Cillian Murphy

marjorie - David Von Erich

closure - Uhtred Ragnarsson

evermore - David Von Erich

#taylor swift inspired #evermore inspired #evermore #my work #my writing #my ideas #cillian murphy #cillian x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian fic #cillian murphy fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x reader #aemond x you #hotd aemond #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #hotd modern au #modern au #kerry von erich x reader #kerry von erich #the iron claw #harris dickinson #jeremy allen white character #aegon the second

[vollzz]

Dredging this up from my google docs graveyard in hopes it will inspire me to work on it again - I don’t typically write fanfiction these days but it looks like when I do it’s about elden ring!

The first “chapter” (if 900 words is long enough to count) of a Yura/Eleonora canon-ish fic is under the cut. It explores how Eleonora came to the Lands Between, her and Yura’s slow burn meeting -> friendship -> relationship, and their adventures in dragon slaying and subsequent heart-eating. Plan for this was originally to be a long-ish chaptered fic, with typical chapters somewhere around 2-3k words.

No content warnings for this piece so far. And if it’s something that seems interesting, that you’d think of reading, let me know! I’ll go ahead and put it on my ao3 if I end up continuing it.

Eleonora woke to a faint, cool breeze and the distant sound of crashing waves. Prickly grass brushed her cheek as she rolled onto her back and groaned with the soreness that emanated throughout her body. Faint displeasure tugged at the back of her mind, meticulously clawing its way through the depths of her consciousness until its raging ferocity shocked memory and life back into her body. Eleonora shot upwards into a sitting position, her hands digging into the loose dirt and pebbles around her for purchase.

Blindfolded and bound with stinging rope. Constant, erratic lurching of a wooden transportation device. Rough hands and muffled voices. Her body, limp with drugged half-slumber, thrown into the dirt.

Eleonora clasped her hands to either side of her head in frustration with eyes squeezed shut. How had she gotten here, wherever here was? Why could she not remember anything beyond faded, fuzzy shapes and drowned-out voices?

My name is Eleonora. I live in the Land of Reeds. I wield a twinned blade of my family’s design. I’m here because…

Nothing. The thoughts sputtered to a halt.

A sigh. Her hands lowered; her eyes slowly forced themselves open.

The grassy hill Eleonora sat upon was clearly not of her homeland, nor was the ocean’s roar from beyond her vision. And the towering, glistening golden tree obscuring the sky was certainly not a typical sight, though it stirred something dormant within her.

An aged book folds shut in my hands. I look at the tall figure in front of me; their face is gray, garbled, and obscured. The book is taken impatiently and placed back on the shelf. “The Lands Between, Eleonora, is not a place of concern to you. It is for exiles, or those foolish enough to believe in the lies of grace. Here, we fight to the bitter end, as is our destiny.”

Wind caressed Eleonora’s cheek, gently stirring her from the flash of memory. Slowly, on unsteady limbs, she rose to a standing position, allowing a hand to brace itself on a nearby tree. So she had made it then, however unconventionally, to the place that she had sought. Though now that she had arrived, she could not fathom what it was she had aspired to do.

Eleonora shook her head, dispersing the uneasiness that clouded her. Her warrior’s training had kicked in: she meticulously inspected her iron-and-leather armor for damage or missing pieces. All clear; now she needed to check the state of her poleblade…

Panic. The cursory glance she’d made in her immediate vicinity did not reveal its location, nor did a more thorough inspection of the nearby foliage. With increasing urgency she stalked in an outwards spiral from where she woke, yet despite her best efforts it became all too obvious that it had vanished.

It took far too long to still the shakiness in her hands and the frantic pace of her heart’s beating, but Eleonora forced herself into a false calm. This, then, would be the first order of business: locate her missing weapon. Though her memories were still clouded and faint, the one thing she distinctly recalled was the feel of its hilt as she desperately kept it close to her body as best she could. Whoever was with her must have tossed it to the side along the journey. Eleonora refused to consider that it was truly lost.

The wheels from the cart she’d come on had left faint impressions on the grass and soil before her, and so Eleonora inhaled deeply before beginning the long journey of retracing where they had gone.

The beauty of the grass-and-ocean scenery accompanying Eleonora began to fade around the second hour of her trek, and was completely gone by the fourth. Still, she carried on, sharply inhaling her breath with each coming moment of disappointment. The search for her poleblade was not as simple as merely following the divots the cart’s wheels had made into the ground - every bush, ditch, or cave needed to be meticulously searched. Eleonora trudged forth with each coming minute only bringing more disappointment, until at last her lifeline of tracks began to fade, and soon after were no more.

No. Please. I haven’t found anything.

Yet clear as day -though the moon’s ascent was nigh- the wheels’ imprints were gone, lost amidst the solid, rocky ground Eleonora’s boots now stood upon.

Her breaths increased in depth and frequency and try as she might Eleonora could not stop the sobs from overcoming her body. With great effort she at least stifled her wailing and curled up on the hardened earth, which greedily took in the wetness of her tears. Eleonora allowed herself a few desperate moments of grief before gritting her teeth and once again rising to her feet. The loss of her weapon could be mourned at a later time, as soon as she located food and shelter for the night.

There were no caves nearby that Eleonora could find from her survey of the landscape; in one direction lay rocky ground that gave way to sheer cliff faces, and opposite was the vast grassy hilled expanse she had spent so long walking through. Scaling one of the cliffs to check the sandy beaches below didn’t seem like a practical idea, so she opted instead to wander amongst the green hillsides. Perhaps one of the fractured structures she’d seen would be enough to function as a temporary shelter.

Tonight, all she could do was shut her eyes and hope.

#never done a chaptered fic before but it could be neat #this one would definitely include other characters as well #writes #elden ring #eleonora #bloody finger hunter yura #fanfic #writeblr #ao3 #writing #dpoh

[rinwellisathing]

Here it is, my Durgetash fic. Please be gentle, I haven't written fanfiction in a very long time.

Gortash/Trans Male Tiefling Dark Urge

Blood ran down the vial's sides in delicate rivulets like fine wine in a tasting glass. Mismatched eyes narrowed at the sight and a discerning frown became a look of pure joy. Yes, this would do. This was the perfect shade to complete the piece.

“Yes, yes, this is the color I wanted. You see, Sceleritas? You never have to settle or make do where art is concerned. Really, you shouldn't. It makes a sub par piece.” The young man smirked, capping the vial and slipping it carefully into a leather holder at his waist.

“As you say, young master. Your work is always most brilliant!” The diminutive fiend cooed, clasping his hands together and grinning wickedly. “But what of the rest of him? Your sculpture garden is due for a new piece soon, is it not?”

The cloaked man thought for a minute, a clawed finger tapping at his smooth chin thoughtfully. For a moment, he screwed up his face and furrowed his brows thoughtfully as though mulling it over and then clapped his hands together. “ Inspiration has struck, I'll need the spine, the rib cage, and some of that fancy iron he's got there. It's evocative, yeah?”

“Your expert eye never ceases to amaze, oh wicked one.” The butler clapped and set about opening up a surgical kit.

The two were interrupted by approaching footsteps and then a quick, rapid knock at the door. “Josef, I trust you didn't forget our arrangement...or, indeed, the deadline.”

“Fuck. Who the hells could that be? He's fully disrupted my process.” The cloaked man pouted. With a burdened sigh, he stood and pulled his hood up. “Well, with any luck this dumb bastard will have more useful parts. After all, waste not, want not.”

“Oh, you are the ever the optimist, young master.” Sceleritas replied, slipping into the darkness as his master did the same.

The door creaked open and a pair of fine boots crossed the threshhold of the dusty workship, the flow of an elegant coat, masterfully sewn and painstakingly ornamented. The figure wearing them hardly fit the costume. Disheveled but in an almost intentional way. He was flanked by two large figures in nondescript mercenary gear bearing heavy weapons. That didn't bother the young man, he liked a challenge. He was assessing the best way to make his entrance, when he noticed the man's eyes fell on the corpse of the unfortunate blacksmith. He made a motion to his men and knelt down to examine the corpse.

This act spurred the killer to rash action. “Hey! Hey that's mine! Don't mess with it, you'll ruin my entire vision!” He glided from the shadows, hurrying over to the scene before him. “Just who do you think you are, impeding art?”

The well dressed man looked up at the cloaked figure and then chuckled, rising to face him. “Well, it seems you aren't just a frightening bed time story then....The Executioner, I presume?”

“Hmmph. So you've heard of my work.” The cloaked figure lowered his hood. “And you're that arms dealer then...word among my brethren is you're also a Bane worshipper.” He folded his arms across his chest and cocked his hips, sizing up the would be tyrant.

The well dressed figure looked taken aback for only a moment and then recovered with a smooth, winning smile. “Enver Gortash, at your service young man.” Gortash observed the face of Bhaal's Chosen for perhaps a moment longer than he meant to. He was young, boyish almost. Handsome with smooth pale skin but for an angry red burn across his face at an angle. Black angular tattoos marked his skin and his eyes were mismatched, one bright blue and the other a vivid violet. A tumble of silver hair was brushed carelessly to one side, disheveled and asymetric, and a pair of golden horns curved up from his forehead. A tiefling. A lovely one.

“Well, Enver Gortash, I'd say I'm sorry about your business partner but I'm really not. Mind if I take my materials and go?” The Executioner smirked, pointing down at the corpse.

Enver couldn't help but apreciate the audacity of the younger man but he nodded and gestured for the boy to take what he wished, stepping back. “Oh, but...the iron is mine. I'm afraid I won't part with such valuable material, even for an artist of such renown.”

The Executioner rolled his eyes and blew out his lips in exasperation. “Ugh...so precious over some stupid metal....Fine. I'd have to waste more time here melting it down anyway probably....I assume...not really my usual medium anyway...” He snapped his fingers and Sceleritas scuttled from the shadows, returning to collecting the pieces of the discarded blacksmith.

Gortash watched as the tiefling and his servant exited the shop, The Executioner's long tail swishing elegantly behind him as he moved. The Tyrant had to admit, he was interested. The young man had captured his interest like no one he'd seen before. There was a magnetism about him and the flippant way he'd behaved towards a potential threat, that awakened a hunger.

'My dear Executioner,

Your art is sublime, museum quality to be sure. Do you know what should not rot away in a dusty museum, however? Artifacts of your proud Bhaalist heritage, dear boy. I have it on good authority that some ancestral torture devices and, indeed, many other evocative horrors are being housed at the city's Hall of Wonders, where any imbecile with enough coin can view them. It seems unfair, my friend, that such things should be accessible to the unwashed masses, does it not? I'd be happy to offer my assistance in the matter of their recovery, rest assured, an evening in your company would be worth the effort.

Yours,

Enver Gortash.'

“Huh....Didn't know about that, Sceleritas. Seems our intel is getting sloppy.” The Executioner cocked an arched eyebrow and frowned slightly. “And anyway, he is right at least, how dare they display our history to those who would see it destroyed, defanged....de....de...” He bit his lip and wrinkled his nose, thinking for a moment.

“Despoiled?” Offered a sultry, pleasant female voice as a hauntingly beautiful elven woman with long straight black hair and deep lapis, almost obsidian eyes carefully combed her hair in front of a cracked and bloodied mirror nearby.

“Decommissioned?” The sound of a knife burying itself in the wall as a grey haired drow lazily palmed another and took aim, violet eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“Defiled?” A tall indigo skinned female tiefling sighed, adjusting a stack of discarded limbs atop a work bench.

“Yeah, all of those. Yes.” He clapped his hands together. “So, I should go, right? I mean, we need to get these things back. Besides, this guy could be useful. He's some important noble or something anyway.”

“The writing is flirtatious, little princeling.” The elf cooed, standing up and delicately claiming the paper, a well manicured fingernail sharp as a claw following the words. “I bet his affections could be quite advantageous! Besides, there must have been a reason you didn't simply kill him upon your first encounter, saving the best for last? Preserving a prime specimen for a later date?”

The Executioner shifted awkwardly, trying to force down the blood rushing to his face. “No, I was just really tired and I had a really good idea for an art piece I needed to get home and finish. Besides, killing someone that important in the middle of a blacksmith shop would be bad for business, bring those Flaming Fist ass holes down on us and no one wants that. No matter what Orin and her idiot recruits think. Quality over quantity. Our murders have meaning...” He grinned, eyes widening. “Fuck, that's a good one! 'Our Murders Have Meaning'” He spread his hands. “Should we have pamphlets like that? You know, to weed out the slack jawed dregs who've been trying to join up lately?”

“Death is death, you little dope.” The drow growled, rolling onto his side. “How in the hells are you father's chosen?”

“Cause he made me special. Everyone knows that. Get on board, Jackal, or have fun going back to that asylum room.” The young tiefling rolled his eyes. “You need to learn some respect.” And with that, he turned and made his way to the back of the temple. “Anyway, I need to compose a response. I'll be in my chambers.” The door to the bedroom shut behind him, leaving his subordinates alone.

“I hate that prissy little brat.” Another knife sank into the wall, this time beside the door as the drow sat up, glaring after the tiefling.

“He is father's chosen. He will lead us in glorious slaughter and it will be beautiful. You're only jealous it isn't you.” The impossibly beautiful elf giggled, returning to her preening at the mirror.

“Brat or not, as his protector if you cause him any problem, you'll find yourself at the wrong end of my scythe, Jackal. And I promise you, your death will be pitiful.” The female tiefling stood to her full height, haunting eyes staring down the smaller man.

“The young master is not only of Bhaal's own flesh, but also a prodigy. To disrespect him is to disrespect your dear father and you know he would not abide that, sir Silk.” Sceleritas smirked nastily as he set about tidying the room. “It is best to follow his instructions. Or end up training would be assassins, like Orin. I hear they're quite unbearable.”

#baldurs gate 3 #oc #tiefling #baldur's gate 3 #durge #dark urge #gortash x durge #durgetash #lord enver gortash #enver gortash #fanfic #writing

[nightingaleflow]

Title: The Secret of the Body Fandom: Naruto Pairing/Characters: Gaara/Rock Lee, Ameno, original female character Rating: Mature Warnings: Horror, violence, gore, death, bittersweet ending Word Count: 4.6k Prompt: The Autopsy of Jane Doe Summary: When a family is killed in Sunagakure, one of the bodies seems out of place. AN: Happy (almost) Halloween, y'all! And welcome to the 2022 GaaLee Horrorfest, hosted by @puregaalee! *confetti but it's spooky*

The official prompt I used for this story is the 2016 movie, The Autopsy of Jane Doe (so I fully encourage you to read this while listening to Open Up Your Heart by the McGuire Sisters). I also sprinkled in ideas from two other horror movies, which I'll explain in the end notes to avoid spoilers.

This is my first foray into horror fanfiction, so I'm interested to know what you all think of it.

All right, I think that's enough housekeeping notes. Let's get into this thing. Enjoy! <3

AO3 Link

~~~

Gaara approached the house with an aura of trepidation. It was a quiet, stucco building tucked under the shadow of the eastern wall. From the outside, it looked just like the rest of the houses around it: Recently renovated, ready to welcome new families, and bathed in the light of the setting sun.

Inside, however, was a different story.

From his years as a ninja as well as his violent childhood, Gaara was well-acquainted with the smell of blood. Sharp, sickening, and ferrous, it was a scent that left a mark long after the actual blood was long gone. It was a smell he knew too well, and one he’d hope to never experience again.

But even before he opened the door, he was nearly overwhelmed by the iron staining the air.

A woman lay face down in the front hallway, her back opened with marks Gaara likened to a wild animal’s claws and blood matting her blonde hair. Further in, he discovered an older blonde woman in the kitchen with her throat sliced open, and coming down the stairs, he saw the torso of a young blonde man. He had no clue where the legs were, but he imagined they were somewhere upstairs.

Ameno, dressed in white medical robes and bent over the older woman’s corpse, nodded at Gaara as he stepped across the kitchen threshold. “Good evening, Lord Kazekage.”

“I’m not sure you can call this good,” Gaara said. “What on earth happened here?”

“I don’t know,” Ameno said. “Some of the neighbors heard screaming sometime after midnight, but by the time anyone actually reported it, it was too late.”

“Was it just the three?”

“It seems so,” Ameno replied. “The couple also has a daughter, Anzu, but we haven’t found any trace of her here and the neighbors haven’t seen her. Hopefully she was out with friends or on a mission.”

Gaara nodded, making note of the name. “I don’t remember an Anzu from any recent missions, but I’ll double check the logs.”

“Miss Ameno!” a voice called urgently. Another medic, Hajime, ran up from the basement, his face paler than his medical robes. “Down here!”

Gaara and Ameno raced down the stairs after him. Once they reached the bottom, they saw the floor had been torn up revealing the sand below. Among the grains and wooden splinters, the body of a young woman lay half-buried. Unlike the others, she appeared to be fully intact without a scratch or trace of blood anywhere. Her dark hair billowed behind her, spreading across the sand like water. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted upwards. Her torso was covered by a tattered sand-colored tunic, wrapping delicately around her before disappearing into the ground.

Gaara raised a hand, carefully moving the sand away from her body. Ameno and Hajime worked together to lift her, then set her on flat ground. Ameno then hovered a hand above her body, scanning her for any signs of life.

“Nothing,” she said after a moment. “Damn.”

Hajime frowned down at the girl’s corpse. “Who is she?” he asked. “She doesn’t look like she’s related to the family upstairs.”

“Is this not Anzu?” Gaara asked.

“I’m not sure,” Ameno replied. “I agree, she doesn’t look like the other three, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“Well, whether she is or not, let’s find out for sure,” Gaara said. “The least we can do is return her to her family, whoever they may be.”

~

Once the bodies were entrusted to the investigation team on the second floor of the Kazekage Tower, Gaara trudged back up the stairs to his office. Once inside, he scanned through all of the mission reports from the past month. Not a single one of them contained the name Anzu, so it seemed likely the girl was in fact the family’s daughter in spite of her lack of resemblance.

Sighing, he then picked up the document he’d been working on before getting called to the crime scene, a budget and expense report for the ongoing renovations near the eastern wall.

He skimmed through what was left, then signed off on the request without a second thought.

The site that was being redone was one Gaara was all too familiar with. It was where he’d grown up in the care of Yashamaru, and where he’d personally painted the ground with more blood than most ninjas see in their entire lives. It was a sector he never enjoyed visiting, but he hoped that by giving the area a facelift, others could at least take joy in having a new home.

They didn’t need to know they were living above a cemetery. Only Gaara needed to shoulder the burden of such knowledge since he was responsible for the graves.

Someone knocked on the door. “Enter,” Gaara called.

Lee pushed the door open. “Good evening, Gaara!”

Gaara smiled and set his pen down. “Lee, you know you don’t have to knock.”

“Of course I do. It is only polite,” Lee replied. “Dinner is ready upstairs. Will you be coming, or shall I wrap yours up for later?”

“It is that time, isn’t it?” Gaara asked. 

“Indeed.”

Gaara glanced at the small stack of papers to his left. They could wait.

“Yes, I was just finishing up,” Gaara said, standing and walking around the desk.

Lee gently took Gaara’s hand. “Are you all right, Gaara?”

“Yes, why?”

“It is just, I have never known you to agree so easily,” Lee said. “Did something happen?”

Gaara sighed. “Yes, but it’s nothing you need to worry yourself about.”

Lee frowned, then kissed Gaara’s knuckles. “Of course it is. If you are not happy, then I am not happy.”

Gaara’s heart melted. “Lee, what would I do without you?”

“As long as I live, you will never have to find out.”

Gaara laced his fingers in between Lee’s, and the two walked up to the penthouse. Gaara could already smell something delicious wafting from inside, and was delighted to see kabobs and rice waiting for him in the kitchen. He started to walk towards them, but Lee gently pushed him towards the dining room. “Let me get it,” Lee said. “You have had a long day.”

“All right,” Gaara agreed. “Thank you.”

He sat down at the table and waited as Lee loaded their plates with food. Once they were both sitting, Gaara finally said, “Something awful happened today.”

Lee listened quietly as Gaara gave a summary of what they’d found in the house by the east wall, from the three family members torn apart to the mysterious Anzu who didn’t fit with the rest. Lee’s eyes grew wide as Gaara described the atrocity. “You are right, that is awful,” Lee said. “Those poor people.”

“Yeah,” Gaara said. “Hopefully the investigation team comes up with something, but without a witness, it’s unlikely we’ll ever know exactly what went down in that house.”

Lee opened his mouth to respond, but then a rumble of thunder caught both of their attention. They both turned toward the window. “Rain?” Lee asked. “Now?”

“It can’t be,” Gaara said, rising and walking to the window. Sure enough, dark clouds were gathering, blocking out the little sunlight that remained in the day. “The rainy season isn’t for months.”

A horrible shriek echoed from far below. Lee and Gaara hurried to the door, then raced down and down, leaping down the stairs until they reached the investigation team’s lab.

To Gaara’s horror, the body of Hajime was lying halfway out the door. His face was turned up, frozen in an expression of terror. Blood pooled from underneath him, flooding back into the lab. Gaara then used his sand to push the door all the way open. Inside, Anzu was lying on a medical table, covered by a sheet except for her head. Her eyes were open now, blank and staring lifelessly at the ceiling. Two of the other corpses were laying on tables nearby, but the third was nowhere to be seen, with only a crumpled sheet on the last table.

Ameno was nowhere in sight.

“What the hell happened?” Gaara hissed.

“I do not know, but this looks bad,” Lee said. 

Gaara twisted his head, straining to hear or see any signs of life. The day staff had already left, so the only ones who should have been in the building were himself, Lee, the medical investigation team, and any ANBU guards stationed around the perimeter. He couldn’t detect anyone’s presence besides himself and Lee - no shadows, no footsteps, nothing except the corpses in front of him.

“I’m going to search for Ameno,” Gaara said. “Hopefully we can find her before whoever did this does. Lee, stand guard for me.”

“Right!” 

Gaara pressed a finger against his closed eye as Lee took a protective stance next to him. He conjured an eyeball of sand by the stairs, carefully turning it in a full circle before directing it to float through the hallways. The next few rooms were completely empty, so he proceeded up the stairs to the second floor, hoping for a sign.

Then, as the eye entered a closet, he finally found her.

She was scrunched into a ball in the corner, her arms wrapped around her knees and her face buried in her arms. Blood leaked from several scratches adorning her arms and legs. Tiny whimpers escaped her huddled form, and even from across the room, he could see her tremble.

The closet door creaked open behind his eye. Ameno’s head jerked up, her eyes widening as she saw whatever it was. “No, no!” she screamed.

Gaara immediately disconnected the jutsu. “Upstairs. We need to hurry.”

He and Lee ran down the hall and up the stairs, his sand swirling to life around him. It burst through the door before Gaara went inside. He then recoiled.

Ameno, alive and terrified just moments ago, lay on the closet floor, her throat open and her eyes closed.

Lee fell back against the door at the ghastly sight. “What…how did this happen? What did this to her?”

“I don’t know,” Gaara said. “But clearly there’s someone or something in the building. We need to get back to my office and alert the ANBU.” He glanced out the window. “Though I don’t know why the ones outside haven’t noticed anything.”

“They may have been attacked as well,” Lee said, his expression darkening.

“Perhaps,” Gaara said. “For now, though, that’s our best option.”

They slowly crept back into the hallway, checking every direction before approaching the stairs. Then they hurried up to his office on the third floor, slamming the door shut and locking it behind them.

“Guard the door, Lee, and let me know if you notice anything outside,” Gaara said as he went to his desk.

“Of course,” Lee said. He leaned on the door, listening carefully.

Gaara opened a drawer, where there was a direct intercom between his office and the ANBU headquarters. He pressed the button to power it on. “This is the Kazekage speaking. We have an urgent situation at the tower.”

The intercom only buzzed and crackled with static.

“Hello? This is the Kazekage. Is anyone there?”

The crackling grew louder. Then a laugh, small and feminine, burst through, sending chills down Gaara’s spine.

The laughter changed to singing, the tone haughty, as if it was taunting him.

“Do you remember how you embraced me

Long ago after you chased me

Against the glow of the setting sun

I never had the chance to run…”

Gaara disabled the intercom just as the voice burst into cruel laughter.

“Do you think that was whoever is doing this?” Lee asked.

“I think that’s a distinct possibility,” Gaara replied. “But we need to focus on getting out now.” He reached out. “I’ll teleport us out.”

Lee nodded, stepping closer and letting Gaara wrap an arm around him.

Gaara focused his chakra, focusing on the steps outside. The sand swirled around him and Lee like normal, but it didn’t swallow them, nor did they go anywhere. Gaara added more chakra to his efforts, concentrating as hard as he could, but to no avail. They stayed exactly where they were.

He gave up a minute later. “Whoever is doing this is clever,” he said. “They’re blocking my ability to teleport.”

“Then we will simply have to leave the old fashioned way.” Lee knelt by the door, peering under the crack. “There is still no one outside. If we hurry, we can reach the front door without confrontation.”

Gaara nodded. “I’m right behind you.”

Lee gripped the doorknob. “Three, two, one.”

They burst out into the empty hallway and down the stairs. They skidded to a stop in front of the main doors, and Gaara wrenched on the handle.

It wouldn’t budge.

Lee tried as well, pulling on the door with all his might, but all he succeeded in doing was denting the metal.

“Damn it,” Gaara hissed. “What is all this?”

“A jutsu of some kind?” Lee asked.

“I’ve never heard of any jutsu that can do all of this.”

A dragging sound distracted them from any further speculation. Gaara and Lee went silent, slowly turning back towards the hallway. At the very end, they could make out a shadowy figure. It shuffled slowly towards them, dragging its feet with its head hanging low.

Gaara stepped forward. “Who goes there? Identify yourself!”

The figure didn’t answer, it just moved closer as the scraping sounds from its feet grew louder. Its head lolled to the side as it passed by a window, the dim light washing over its blonde hair and scratched body.

Gaara’s stomach turned. “It’s one of the victims from earlier.”

“What?!” Lee asked. “How is that possible? The reanimation jutsu?”

“It can’t be,” Gaara said. “If it was, this person would be talking to us.”

“Then what could it be?”

Gaara didn’t have an answer, and as the corpse continued to walk towards them, gazing at them with sightless eyes, he didn’t care.

“Sand Coffin!”

Fortunately, his sand did obey this command. It wrapped around the woman’s body, concealing her like a curtain. Then Gaara clenched his fist and was rewarded with the sound of crunching bones. When the sand parted again, only a red stain on the floor showed that the woman was ever there.

“We should go to the lab,” Gaara said. “Make sure the rest of them are still there.”

Lee nodded, though even in the dim light, he looked as green as his jumpsuit.

Gaara kept his gaze straight ahead, refusing to look at the evidence of his carnage. It hit too close to home whenever he was forced to crush people in his sand. Even if the woman had already been dead, it still ate at him. Too many people had met that cruel fate, most of whom hadn’t been dead when they were swallowed by the earth.

Gaara shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on the sins of his past.

When they entered the lab, however, he was met with exactly the sight he didn’t want to see. The remaining blonde corpses had also vanished, leaving their sheets piled on the floor. The only corpse that remained was Anzu’s, turned onto her stomach and her lifeless gaze directed at the wall.

A quick sweep of the room showed the corpses weren’t hiding in any corners or behind any counters, so Lee locked the lab door. Gaara went over to the windows and tried to open them. The locks wouldn’t budge. Lee tried to punch through one, but his fist bounced off the glass, leaving him with bruised knuckles.

Gaara sat in a chair and steepled his fingers, trying desperately to think through their desperate situation. “If the doors and windows won’t open, and I can’t teleport, the only other way I can think of is up,” he said. “But who’s to say the door to the roof won’t also be sealed.”

“I still do not understand how someone could do this,” Lee said. “Could it be a genjutsu?”

Gaara put his chin to his hand. “That’s possible,” he said. “But who could have done a genjutsu on this scale without being noticed, and when did they cast it? And to what end?”

Lee just shook his head. “I do not know.”

Gaara sighed, looking around the room as if the shadows would whisper the answer to him. He looked from the windows to the door, and then to Anzu’s body.

An idea came to mind, and he stood back up.

“What is it?” Lee asked. “Did you think of something?”

“Yes,” Gaara replied, pulling back the sheet concealing Anzu’s body. “What if all of this originated from her?”

“How can that be?” Lee asked. “She is dead.”

“It could be a time-release jutsu of some kind,” Gaara replied, reaching for Anzu’s tunic. “If there’s any sort of seal on her body-”

Gaara and Lee’s heads jerked up as something slammed against the lab doors. They bulged inward, and Lee immediately rammed his shoulder against their side. His face scrunched in concentration. “Whatever…is doing this…it is very strong!”

Gaara pressed his finger against his eyelid again. This time, when the eye conjured itself in the hallway, he was met with the ghastly sight of the male victim, his torso teetering on top of his legs as though it would fall off any second. The corpse pushed against the door, his nails peeling off as he scraped them down the metal.

“It’s the second one,” Gaara informed Lee as he disconnected. “The one who was cut in half.”

“Cut in half?” Lee repeated, aghast. “Then how is he so strong?”

“It must be part of whatever this jutsu is,” Gaara said. He marched back over to Anzu, and yanked the tunic up.

He didn’t find any seals. Instead, inscribed on her back was a tapestry of scars. They criss crossed her skin, forming the words Gaara had heard through the intercom earlier:

“Do you remember how you embraced me

Long ago after you chased me

Against the glow of the setting sun

I never had the chance to run…”

Gaara gritted his teeth. “She’s definitely connected to this somehow,” he said. “But this doesn’t help.”

A hand suddenly punched through the door, silencing any further speculation. Lee shrieked as the hand clawed at him, digging its rotten nails into his face and ear.

Gaara leapt forward and wrenched Lee away. Conjuring his sand again, he yanked the corpse away from the door. The sand consumed it, adding to the stains painting the floor.

The corpse dealt with, Gaara searched around the lab for a first aid kit. He finally found one tucked in at the bottom of a corner shelf. He pulled Lee over to the chair, then carefully began cleaning the seeping wounds on Lee’s face.

Lee’s eyes watered as Gaara pressed the stinging cleanser against his face, but he didn’t make any noise.

“Forgive me,” Gaara said. “I wish I knew medical ninjutsu.”

“Do not apologize,” Lee said. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Gaara nodded, his eyes trailing back to Anzu. The rhyming verse floated through his head, itching at his attention. “That song must have something to do with this jutsu,” he said. “It’s appeared twice, so it must be significant.”

“Is it a song that you recognize?” Lee asked.

“No,” Gaara replied. “I’ve never heard it before.”

“Then we will just have to guess at its meaning,” Lee said, looking thoughtful. “I assume it is meant for you, since you are the one it was presented to.”

Gaara paused, his hand frozen just shy of Lee’s face. He was right, it had been presented directly to him both times.

That meant it should have meaning for him.

But what was it?

Once Lee’s face had been bandaged, Gaara returned to Anzu’s body, hoping to glean some meaning from the words. But to his dismay, the words had started to fade, leaving her skin pristine where they had once been.

They continued to fade until only eighth letters remained:

R        m       m  b

                  e

                            e

   e                                r

Gaara’s heart sank. The message was intended for him. 

That meant that whatever happened tonight, he was responsible.

He reached out and tilted Anzu’s head towards him. Her dark eyes, in spite of the lack of the spark of life, seemed to look straight through him, challenging him to remember her. His memory strained, taking him a lifetime into the past, to a time Gaara would rather forget. Surely, this is where she wanted him to look.

As he remembered the faces of those his sand had snuffed out, he finally reached a girl who resembled the body in front of him. Dark hair and eyes, but as lively as a raven with a coin. She was with her family near the east wall, laughing and sharing stories with them.

The name Kumori surfaced in his mind.

He saw himself, the terrifying Gaara of the Desert, no taller than her legs, approaching her and her family.

He closed his eyes. He could guess what had happened next.

“You’re not Anzu,” he whispered. “Kumori, isn’t it?”

The air in the room grew heavier, as if the name itself weighed it down.

“I did this to you, didn’t I?” Gaara asked. “I killed you so many years ago. And you’ve been waiting all this time to find me again and take revenge.” He bowed his head. “I understand, and I’m sorry. I should never have hurt you or your family, or any of the other lives I destroyed.”

“Gaara!” Lee urged. “We have company again!”

Gaara glanced over. Through the hole in the door, he could see the final corpse, her hair matted in blood and claw marks on her chest, trying to reach through the door.

“All this is you, isn’t it?” Gaara asked, turning back to her. “Your way of trying to get me to remember you.” He nodded. “I understand, and you are within your right to lash out like this.” He bowed as low as he could. “Just, please, don’t do any more harm to Lee. He is innocent in all this, and he is precious to me. I understand your anger, and I accept full responsibility for what I’ve done. But please, let him go.”

The air around them stilled. Then the corpse outside the door seized. It swayed in place, then fell back, collapsing onto the floor.

Then Gaara felt something seize his wrist.

And when he looked down, he saw Kumori’s hand wrapped around it.

~

He was suddenly somewhere else. He looked up to see the eastern wall looming overhead. When he turned, he saw a dark-haired family walking through the village. He caught his reflection in a nearby window, and Kumori’s startled gaze looked back at him. He shot up and walked over to the window, touching his face to confirm his vision and feeling the smooth skin beneath his fingertips.

A startled scream came from behind him. He turned to see a man - Kumori’s father? - engulfed in a wave of sand. The woman next to him screamed and threw herself down, prostrating herself and begging for mercy.

Gaara saw a tiny figure striding towards them. Dressed in a sand-colored shirt and blue pants, they were no older than eight. Messy crimson hair dripped over their pale forehead where a dark red kanji was permanently etched. His seafoam eyes turned toward the woman, and his expression became one of gleeful malice.

There was no mistake. It was himself.

The younger Gaara raised his hands. Webs of sand rose around them, wrapping around the woman like bandages. Her frantic pleading became muffled as the sand swallowed her, before silencing completely as the sand compacted.

Gaara’s stomach turned over. He collapsed onto the sand, his strength gone.

The younger Gaara’s hateful eyes found his. He then felt his mouth move, and the same voice that had come out of his intercom spoke.

“Please, you don’t have to do this! You’ve already killed my parents, you’ll gain nothing by killing me too!”

Young Gaara sneered at him. “Wrong. Your death will just prove to me that I'm alive.”

He lifted his arms, conjuring a fresh wave of sand. Kumori’s voice continued to beg, plead, make promises as Gaara scrambled back. But it was too late. The sand crashed over him, surrounded him, filled his nose and eyes and lungs. He tried to cough, to scream, but that only invited more sand into his throat.

Through the crushing weight of sand, he felt his hands press together.

“Secret technique,” Kumori coughed. “Vessel of Memory.”

He felt burning through his entire body, as if the blood in his veins had turned to fire. He fell back, limp in the cradle of sand.

Then it crushed down on him, and all he could see was darkness.

~

The next thing he knew, he blinked his eyes open. He was staring up at the ceiling of the lab, the lights above blinding him.

“You are awake!” Lee said, sounding far away.

Gaara tilted his head to see that wasn’t the case. Lee was cradling his head on his lap, his strong hands tenderly stroking Gaara’s face.

“I think so,” Gaara said.

“I was so worried,” Lee said. “You collapsed…I thought you were going to die.”

“No,” Gaara said, reaching up to him. “I’m not planning on dying anytime soon.”

Relief evident in every line on his face, Lee leaned over him and kissed his forehead. “What happened?”

“We were right, it was a jutsu,” Gaara said. He then sat up. “The girl, Anz-, no, Kumori. Where is she?”

Gaara struggled to his feet, Lee helping him up. He saw the other three corpses back in place, silent as graves and concealed by sheets. He then saw her still laying on the table. But she looked different than before. Her eyes were closed, and her hard expression had softened. She looked truly dead now, and at peace.

“It looks like whatever you did worked,” Lee said.

Gaara faltered. The memory of his old self killing him…Kumori…them with no remorse or hesitation made him want to collapse again. “...It was my fault to begin with.”

“Hm?” Lee said.

“This girl…I attacked her and her family when I was young,” Gaara explained. “Before I could actually kill her, she used a jutsu, I assume to keep her alive long enough to attempt revenge on me.” Tears filled his eyes. “I did an unimaginable cruelty to her, and she was rightly angry. This was my fault.”

Lee pulled Gaara into an embrace, trying his best to soothe Gaara as he fell apart in his arms. “It is all right, Gaara. Just breathe. You have changed. That time is over, just as this night is. It is ok.”

Gaara shook his head. “It isn’t ok,” he whispered. “Yes, I’ve done so much to rectify the wrongs I’ve done. But I can never repay everything, nor can I heal everyone’s wounds, as Kumori demonstrated here tonight.”

“Perhaps not,” Lee said. “But in that case, all you can do is what you’ve been doing. You keep moving forward, and you keep trying.”

Gaara just buried his face in Lee’s arms, feeling completely drained. 

The lab doors burst open, revealing members of the investigation team. Gaara stood, trying his best to look composed as he gave them new orders for dealing with the bodies. But it wasn’t long before his words began to fail him. Lee gently wrapped his arm around him, guiding him out of the lab and back upstairs.

He wished he could forget this night. But he knew he never would.

He owed her that much.

THE END

~~~

The other horror movies I borrowed ideas from:

(1) Poltergeist. Specifically, I was thinking of the famous "You only moved the headstones" scene, with how the bodies still remain in the sands of Suna, even as the village moves on and builds new homes on top of them.

(2) As Above So Below. The idea I took here was the theme of atonement through contrition and confession, and that being the way the characters survive. (After I, I could never kill off Gaara or Lee, not even in horror <3)

But anyway, thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed the fic, and that you have a spooky and safe Halloween!

~

Tag list:

Tag List: @justmyownreality @therantingfangirl @mrsbakashi @anchy-bananchy @hashira-mal @allyallygator @nnandmm-archived-hard @therozpoz @undersero @lifescreams27 @iantoyawrites (if you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know)

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