David stared across the living room on the first floor of his Atlanta home. It wasn’t even late, but it dark out at a mere six in the evening. David hadn’t bothered with turning on any of the lights in his home. It was day time when he got back from shopping, and having put the groceries away, he had changed into an old t-shirt and sweats and gone to take a nap.
Something compelled him to walk up to the wide window, facing out to the street, and he does, pushing the curtains aside. The street wasn’t particularly busy. He lived in a residential area after all. There was a car that passes by.
He swore to himself, this wouldn’t happen again. The new meds, the new doctors, the talk therapy, they were supposed to help. So why did that driver look like him. Why was he popping up, again and again. David could’ve sworn he saw that familiar leather jacket and hair half up, half down combo at the grocery store. Or last week, he smelled that familiar cologne, notes of spice and amber that he was intimately aware of. But when David whipped his head around, he found no one there. Nothing. Just a ghost.
When that car passes by again, slower this time, and David sees him. Hair half up, half down. Leather jacket. That sideways grin of his, that glint in his eyes. He’s pulling into the driveway now, and David’s heart isn’t beating. He thinks it isn’t. It feels like it isn’t. This was a dream then, clearly. Because it’s a dream, David walks to the door and opens it when the bell rings. There he is.
There he is.
“Jay.”
“Davey!” Jay throws his arms out and wraps them around David, like greeting an old friend. They were that, at some point.
“You were dead,” David’s voice carries little emotion. It doesn’t betray him, because there’s nothing to betray. “You should’ve stayed dead.”
Jay pulls away, a quizzical look on his face. “Dave...now, is that any way to talk to your pal? Come now, we have so much to talk about…”
Jay, he prattles on, and David doesn’t pay attention. He looks at the wound on Jay’s neck. A slash, straight across his throat. It’s sickly looking, as if it didn’t heal. It shouldn’t have healed anyway, but it looked like it was trying to. Instead it was seeping pus and blood, and he could see the tendons flexing as Jay kept talking.
“...David...David! Are you even listening to me?”
“You should’ve stayed dead,” David repeats, stepping back. He flexes his hands, before grabbing Jay by the collar and dragging him inside, pulling him to the ground. Rushing, he’s on his feet suddenly, closing the door. He turns around to Jay on the floor, but he’s not moving. He’s breathing, ever so slightly, because David can see the way blood gurgles from where his throat was cut. Jay’s eyes turn to him, making contact. His mouth is slightly agape. David drops to the floor, crawling over to Jay and grabbing his face. He tilts Jay’s head back, exposing his neck, exposing the tendons that were cut through, frayed, the bloody mess that was his neck.
“You should’ve stayed dead,” David says, his fingers coming up to the other man’s throat. His fingernails dig into the gaping wound, and there’s a hitch in Jay’s shallow breathing. David kisses at Jay’s neck, licking up the mess of blood and pus and whatever else was oozing out. As if he was ripping paper, David is able to peel back the skin, revealing the flesh underneath. It’s red, and it’s constricting and relaxing as David pokes and prods at it. “You should’ve stayed away. You’re always too eager, too stupid…” He can hear Jay scratching at the floorboards under him. “You think this just happened? You think I didn’t do this?”
“What did—”
“Doesn’t matter to you now. Nothing will matter to you now. I will matter. You breathe with me, now.”
orange cassidy of the freshly squeezed kind, number eighty eight
88. sunshine of your love - cream
The lights were hot. Always hot, no matter how far above them they were. More than the physical exertion, more than the hits and bumps and moves, was the lights that made him sweat.
He didn't want to be adored. He hated it, actually. People looking up to him, people wanting to be like him. He didn't hate them for it. He just hated that it happened.
Orange knew he wasn't a leader. Deeply, carefully, hopelessly, he knew that he wasn't. It didn't stop these people. It didn't stop them from looking up to him. It didn't stop Chuck from believing in him.
Look at what that got his best friend.
It was worse when facing Yuta, especially in the ring. Every single time he punched him across his face, he felt it across his own. Maybe even more than Yuta did. The heat made it feel like his fist melted into Yuta. Sometimes he'd dream about it. Punching his former protege, a former best friend, and just punching right through his face. Not even shattering like glass, but just pushing through like it was something rotted.
Slowly, he'd pull his hand out but it'd get stuck. On the other end, was usually Moxley, holding his fist in place. Sometimes it was Regal, sometimes Claudio. Sometimes even Bryan Danielson.
Lately it was Moxley, though.
Orange would try to resist, but Mox wouldn't care. Lately, he'd actually been pulling Orange in. Pulling him through. Yuta's face would be melting around his arm, disfigured. Sad and smug at the same time. The hints of the happy young man replaced by the subtlety of fear and faux pride.
He'd wake up before he could actually be pulled. With a start, sweating like he really had been under those lights. Shirtless usually, and pantless at that point (lately he'd been kicking his pants off in his sleep, like when he was six years old).
His skin would feel like it was burning. Anytime he checked his temperature, it came back average. He would feel so hot he was shivering, sometimes, when he woke up.
Moxley had stepped up to him, backstage. No Death Riders. Just Moxley.
Orange was glad he kept his shades on. Not that it mattered. Most people hardly could read his expressions. Most people said he didn't even change faces often.
Moxley though...he knew. He knew that the slight shifting onto his left foot was a nervous behavior. That the hand in the right pocket was him gripping a fist in case he needed it.
That there was a slight twitch in his lip. His eyebrows furrowed just a touch. Moxley was dismantling him and he wasn't even touching him.
For once, Orange broke first.
"What do you want?"
"Just checking in, sunshine." Moxley's response made his hairs stand on end. Sunshine.
"I'm fine."
"You think I don't care, don't you? I know you're barely up to this. You only got here because you got pushed to be here, by me. By my hand, by my design. We both know you're not actually up for this."
Orange licked his lips. He looked off to the side for a moment.
"I'm doing this, Cassidy," Moxley continued anyway, "because I love you."
Within a moments notice, Orange had his hands on the collar of Mox's shirt, pushing him back to the opposing wall.
"You..." Orange spoke slowly, his temper flaring. He felt hot, like he was baking under the lights of the wrestling ring. He wanted to rip his clothes off, and curl into a ball like he did after the nightmares filled with rot and rage and sadness. "...don't know me. You don't KNOW me. I'm going to show you what love is. I'm going to show you how much I love. I hurt those I love. I love them so much they end up broken. And if you think you love me, Jon Moxley, then you don't even scratch the surface of the well of love I have for you."
Jeff's heart was racing, as he made his way through the confusing halls of the hotel room. It wasn't this winding and confusing earlier, when he had went to get some snacks from the vending machine. But now, while he went to get out to the ice machine, it felt like the hall never ended, and then from there it finally hit him that something was wrong.
He banged for the elevator to come up when he'd finally reached it. It dinged, almost immediately, but the doors didn't open. When they did, it seemed like they had jammed, and Jeff's immediate reaction was to get his hands in there and pry them open. He stared into the tight box that would contain him if he got in, and decided that no, he wasn't going to do this.
Instead, he made a run for the stair exit. That door opened easily, thankfully.
Jeff nearly threw himself down the stairs, hopping over the railing to the flight below him before running down them, skipping steps down like he'd been doing since he was in high school. They barely gave a chance for kids to make it to class, it was like the teachers got off on giving kids detention.
The thought distracted him enough that he tripped, rolling down the stairs and slammed into the door at the next landing, head over heels with his back against the door. Rolling onto his side, he rubbed his poor lower back, before looking at the number above the door.
How the fuck was he on floor nine when he was originally on floor five? He was supposed to be going down.
Then he heard a laugh, coming from up the stairs. Or was it down?
Jeff turned around regardless, finding himself face to face with Christian. Immediately the other man covered his mouth before he could scream.
"Sorry Jeff...it's just that...you look so pretty when you're scared of me." His grin was wicked, before opening his mouth to reveal the sharp teeth, craning Jeff's neck to the side and biting in.
With a start, Jeff sat up. He was back in his hotel room. Matt was snoring away on the other queen sized bed. Jeff felt around his neck, making his way to the bedroom as quietly as he can.
It was just a dream. Right?
Right...
He flicked the light on, checking himself over. Checking his neck, he found two scabbed over, circular wounds on his neck.
“ do i ask questions or do i just help you clean up all this blood? ” jay white @ anyone he a) doesn't particularly get along with [in that moment] or b) does not know well [in that moment]
It was the quiet sobbing that caught Jay's attention. It must've been 3 or 4 in the morning. He'd been on his way through the hotel to get a snack from the vending machine. Deciding on a pack of M&Ms and Doritos, he had gotten comfy on the couch in his room. And that's when he heard it.
Through the (unfortunately thin) walls of the hotel room, was someone sobbing next door. Jay didn't know who it was, but that it was one of his co-workers. He wasn't exactly in good with most of them yet. Maybe this was a chance to make a good first impression?
Not like he could fall asleep anyway.
Bags of candies and chips in hand, he made his way to his next room neighbor. Knocking on the door, Jay waits, shaking his bag of chips to see if he could gauge how full it actually was.
Surprisingly, the person answers.
"Sorry if I kept you awake," the voice speaks through the crack of the door. It seemed like the door chain was in place. It takes a moment for Jay to clock the voice through the stuffy nose and stifled sobs.
"...Adam?" It was Page, no doubt. That slight country accent, the hesitant way of talking...
"...Jay?" Adam closes the door to undo the latch, before opening the door fully.
Adam's eyes are puffy and red, his nose scrunching as he sniffles. He seems more scared than usual, not making eye contact. Not even flicking his eyes up at Jay. Instead, he seems to be staring over at his hands that he was wringing nervously.
Hangman was a bit of a hurdle he was going to have to beat, soon. Unfortunately it wouldn't just be them dancing in the ring, but fortunately Jay was sure he could get the pin on Cole first. He was the weakest link, but that wasn't the problem here.
Not right now, at least.
Meekly, Adam steps back and points at the bathroom, where the overhead fan was on. The door was just barely ajar, and there was something red against the tile from what he could see. A towel, probably. Oddly, Jay wondered why Adam had red towels.
He stepped forward, opening the door. The towels were red. Stained red, and surrounding the dead body of a man with hair to his shoulders face down on the floor. Bleeding from the back of his head, blood pooled around him, soaking into the already saturated towels.
"...Is that Adam Cole?" Jay pointed at the body, turning just in time to see Adam coming at him with a lamp, wildly swinging as Jay manages to dive and roll out of the way.
"SHOULD I ASK? OR DO YOU WANT HELP!?" Jay's frantic yelling stops Adam in his tracks.
"Why would you help me?" Adam lowers the lamp for the moment.
"Maybe, Hanger, I don't want to end up dead on the floor of your bathroom!" He gestures towards the dead body of Adam Cole in the bathroom.
"...That's fair. So you're gonna help me?" Hangman is focused on the body of Cole, lips slightly parted as he's lost in thought.
"Why?"
"Huh?"
"Why'd you kill him?"
"...He just...he did the wrong thing Jay. I just was pushing him around. I-I just wanted to teach him a lesson."
Jay's standing up again, making his way back to the bathroom. He's scratching the back of his head, sighing. It was going to be a task, getting rid of these towels, and more importantly the body. He'd be missed.
"Okay, well, we'll have that for later. First things first, you and I? We did see Cole. You're going to tell me where his room is, and I certainly hope you know. We are NOT going to his room. This place has cameras in the halls, I've checked. We're going to--"
"Why...How do you have a plan for this already?" Hangman cuts Jay off, his eyebrows raised and furrowed curiously.
"...Trust me Adam, that when I say we don't have time for that now...we really don't have time for that now."
Adam meets a strange man, unfamiliar to him. And then he remembers.
The Moon Doesn’t Mind.;Love Me Like You Used To.
It started with a search for a man, who he loved.
He loved him so much that he took a part of him and swallowed it and it became one with him. And he took that part of him and loved it and cherished it so much. That their blood became one. Acid melting the blood, distributing it through his body. The sweet taste of iron had stayed on his tongue and never quite left.
His eternal love had gone somewhere, and he needed to find him.
Driving with the moon by his side into an endless night.
—
The halls of the recording studio were empty, save for a faint light at the end of the hall. He watched a red light flicker off as he stepped in further. There were multiple doors down the hall he was walking, one notably labeled “RECORDING: DO NOT DISTURB.” He figured that was likely one of the actual recording studios.
The sound of dress shoes clicking on tile grew louder, until there was the silhouette of a man at the end of the hall. He had a cowboy hat on, and what Hangman could make out as a suit. Some deep, dark color. Green, maybe? A rather short man, he must’ve been about 5’5” if he had to wager a guess.
“Ah, our esteemed guest! Welcome! How are you doing?” The man spoke, in that strange accent. It was a genuine attempt at being a country accent, crossed with something Mid-Atlantic. Still on the back end was something a bit more Northeast, but he couldn’t place it.
“I’m uh…lost.” Hangman feels out of his depth as he looks around.
“Lost…” The man hums, tapping his chin. His hair was somewhere between waves and curls, dark brown like the bark of a tree in the night. “Well, maybe you can consider yourself found now.”
“Can…I?” He grit his teeth into something like a smile. His confusion was mounting and his palms were getting sweaty. Nervousness overtook him like an animal realizing it was prey. He didn’t want to be found, not like this. Not by whoever this was.
“...No, but you’ll get there.” The man gave a sad smile, like the melancholy of someone’s favorite childhood candy after years of never having it, when it doesn’t quite taste right anymore. Maybe the recipe changed, or maybe you have. “C’mon now, let’s talk inside. These halls are a little dreary aren’t they?”
Hangman had to agree. A feeling of unease stuck to him in these hallways, like there was something hiding. Waiting. Watching. That if he stepped through the wrong door he’d end up in the wrong place. Go somewhere he shouldn’t go.
There were dim green lights glowing through a door they passed, that he stopped to stare at. It was strange. It reminded him of something, maybe a long time ago. A trip north. Strange lights… Aurora Borealis? Or something else? Was it north, or out west? He remembered dense trees.
His head hurt, and this was as far as his memory was allowing him.
The man whistled, and he was properly snapped from his thoughts. Hangman stepped down the hall that felt like it kept expanding in front of him. No amount of steps felt like enough, until he finally reached the end of the hall where the man was standing.
Hangman barely notices that his own hands have been clutching the chain that was hanging around his shoulders. It was a cold burn, but somehow comforting. Grounding must’ve been a better word.
“Well, come on in.” The man stepped towards a door, pulling it open and leading Adam inside.
It was a small radio station. At least that’s what Hangman thought it was. He’d only seen them on TV, in movies and shows, and this one looked an awful lot like one in a horror movie he watched when he was way too young.
A song was playing.
“I have traveled many miles, I don’t wanna walk no more”
It was familiar, a song that inspired the feeling of being out on a road. On the way to a long lost lover.
Suddenly, Hangman was crouching on the floor. His head swam with the face of a man, handsome and almost brooding, a smile that was both sinister and earnest. Blood shared, swapped even. Veins that ran ice cold in the middle of the night, upon finding the bed next to him empty.
“Love me like you used to
And I'll praise you like I should
Love me if you choose to
Though you say that I'm no good
I dream most every night that I never left you”
He found himself muttering the line that played next, like a prayer on his lips.
“Do you love me anymore? Does my memory remain?”
There were dark skies, in his visions. A lake, vast and wide, pitch black like a deep grave. Something made to hide something forbidden and old, that should not have been awoken. Who fell in first?
Should he be dead?
—
It was a long, dusty road, in the middle of a never ending desert. Down from the mountains he had come, a journey from the highest grounds to the lows, stretched out roads of the mesa. He wasn’t even sure where he was at this point, the moon his constant companion. Hangman…no, Adam Page, couldn’t tell you when the last time he saw the sun was. It was unreasonable that he could make it so far out West into the desert from the mountains of Appalachia all in one night, but that was what had happened.
From winding roads and blind turns to a straight shot into the merciless and endless night. There was an odd twinkle in the sky, something off color. He peered over the steering wheel, over the dashboard, seeing a large twinkling green star among the galaxy that lit his way.
The next thing he noticed was a roadside stand. A small black tent, that could’ve been easily missed if the sky wasn’t lit up by stars. Adam slowed his car, to a stop in front of the stand. There was a little banner that read ‘Free Fortune Telling’, and a single woman sitting at one of those fold out tables with a fancy velvet table cloth over it. Adam could kind of make out the details of some of the embroidery, it looked to be some space pattern.
The woman was definitely one of those people into goth stuff. At least that’s what Adam guessed, from the thick black hair, the blunt bangs, the black silk dress complimented by lace gloves and what must’ve been a black and brown wool shawl. Although under the shadow of the tent, it was hard to make out.
She had some piercings too, and heavy makeup.
Pretty.
“Take a seat, sir.” She smiled at him, gesturing with her palm up to the wooden seat firmly set in the sand. He obliged.
The wood creaked under his weight.
“You’re looking for someone.” She said. Adam noticed that she was shuffling a deck.
“Yea. I am.” He nodded. It didn’t startle him that she knew.
“You’ll be lost soon.” She put a card down on the table, right from the top of the deck. It was a tarot card, he assumed. He could barely make it out. It seemed to be…
“The Five of Cups.” She answered the unasked question. She put down another card. This one, Adam recognized.
“The Wheel of Fortune.” They said in unison, the woman smiling.
“You have a fate you can’t escape. You can’t control it. But the cycle will restart, and you’ll be at the start again.”
“Will I keep cycling?” He asked.
The woman put down another card. He could barely tell but it seemed to be upside down. At least the text was. There were daggers on it.
“The Ten of Swords. Reversed, I mean. It’ll end. It has to end. When you’re at the bottom, you kind of only can climb up right?”
“Unless you have a shovel.”
They stared at each other for a moment, before both laughing.
“Fair, but you’re no undertaker. I know that much.”
“No ma’am, I am not.”
“You should go now. Putting off the inevitable just makes it worse.”
“Fair enough.” He stood up, stretching as he did. The only thing keeping him warm was the wool lined denim jacket. He could feel the harsh cold even through his jeans.
“Oh, and Adam?”
“Yeah?”
“Look out for the chain.”
—
“I gotta get out of here.” Hangman, – no, Adam – declares.
“Wait!” The man was still there. “Before you go…would you mind picking out the next song we’re gonna play? Get your message out, you know?”
“…Sure.” Adam nodded. He stood up, the weight of the chain on his neck lighter than it had been earlier. He wraps it around his hand idly as the man drags over a case of tapes and records.
“Your pick.”
Adam looks through the box, knowing exactly what he wanted to play. His message to that man. His long-lost love. The sound of plastic shuffling and clacking together fills the studio.
“This one.” He hands a small cassette that was buried at the bottom of the bin.
“Good pick. You sure you don’t want one of them about meeting?”
“I can’t force my fate…not this time, at least. He needs this message more.” Adam offers a wry smile, which is met by a solemn nod from the man.
“Well…you know the way out. I got a show to run.”
“Never caught your name. Sorry, bad habit of mine.”
“Oh don’t worry about it. Quincy.”
“Thanks, Quincy.” Adam turns on his heel, not bothering to look back. He rounds the corner, down the dark hallway. It was less ominous. Shorter; in what felt like a few steps he was already at those heavy double doors.
With a deep breath, he held his arms out. Ready to push those doors open.
Anticipating anything to be beyond those doors.
He wasn’t even sure he’d be in the same place as he was. Or the same time.
It didn’t matter. Only he mattered.
His love. He’d find him.
And finally he pushed those doors open, into the unknown, a man with a renewed purpose and a path to follow.
Hangman Adam Page knew what he was looking for, finally.
heel turn 2 by the mountain goats and strickpage? >:)
At a certain point it had become survive or die for Hangman Adam Page, and he certainly wasn't going to die.
So he survived, best he could, playing by the rules set in front of him. He never wanted to take it too far. He was never the bad guy in this story, he was never the heel. All the boos, all the jeers, the claims of "Swerve's house", none of that meant that he himself was the heel here. No, it was Swerve, who started it.
Swerve who broke into his house, with his child. Swerve who called him soft. Called him out. So this was really Swerve's fault if you thought about it.
It was Swerve's fault that all that anger came out in that cage, with the metaphorical lights out, with no consequences. None.
The inadequacy, the cruelty, the doubt. His own thoughts, Kenny's thoughts, the Young Buck's thoughts.
Of them all, Swerve was the only one to really bring this out in him though. To push him to his limits, to his most brutal, most cruel. Not just to survive but to be the one who kills.
That final knockout shot, that moment, was relief. Surreal, relief, as he walked up the ramp, as the boos became horror and shock. As his own system shocked him at the top of the ramp, at what he did, at what he was capable of.
Adam Page stared at the man in front of him, which should've been impossible. He shouldn't have been there. He shouldn't have been alive at all to start.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" Adam Cole's voice was steady, solid, despite everything. Despite the fact that he shouldn't even be alive to start.
"Like what?" Maybe if Page played dumb enough, Cole wouldn't clue into anything.
"No, c'mon Hanger, don't give me that. What's up?"
"You're back? For real?"
"...Yeah? In the flesh!" Cole grinned and Page winced.
"...They didn't tell you?" He offered, shrugging a little bit.
"They? Like...?"
"The Bucks...Kenny..."
"Tell me what?" Cole looks completely clueless, and Adam hates being the one to deliver the news.
Page hesitated before speaking, "...Well, you should be dead, Adam."
The two men stared at each other, and suddenly Cole's face grew grim.
"I know." His voice was a whisper. "So why didn't you stop them?"
