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ayamari-no-goshi · 2 years ago

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Chasing Shadows (1)

AO3

Fandoms: Danny Phantom (DP) / DC universe

Summary: THIS IS A CROSSOVER. As Bruce Wayne begins to slowly recover from the loss of his son, two separate mysteries open up old wounds. Who is the unknown leaving clues hinting at a return to Gotham, and who is the phantom pretending to be his lost son? Is it just a coincidence they're active in Gotham at the same time? Or are they connected?

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, and questionable mental health

Parings: none

Notes: originally uploaded to AO3. Cross-posted to tumblr

It started slowly. Occasional flickers of movement would play at the corners of his vision while he was in the field. Sometimes it was accompanied by the hint of laughter, sometimes it wasn’t.

It had happened before. In the months following Jason’s death, Bruce sometimes thought he saw or heard the boy. He’d accepted it was part of his grief as other people sometimes reported similar occurrences in the wake of deaths. So, he accepted the phantoms and the pain that followed as part of his penance for not being able to save him. His son had brought light and love into the manor, and without him, the shadows seemed darker and more menacing.

To make matters worse, his relationship with Dick nearly fractured beyond repair in the aftermath. Bruce knew he’d made a mistake when he didn’t let Dick know about Jason’s death as soon as he could, but he was struggling to accept the truth himself.

But as Tim worked his way into his life and he slowly repaired his relationship with Dick, things began to get better. The shadows that threatened to engulf him began to fall away, and the hallucinations that made his heart ache faded. And slowly, he began to heal.

They recently begun again. He ran all the tests he could think of and knew it wasn’t from the effects of any known drug or toxin which suggested it was just his mind playing tricks. It would eventually pass, just like before, but until then, he would have to grit his teeth and solder through it like before.

However, they weren’t getting better. Instead, they were getting more frequent and vivid. The playful laughing grew louder and soon words began joining it. The flickers of movement became more defined, and there were times he’d see the faint image of a painfully familiar teenager.

Sometimes the hallucinations would occur while he was in the middle of a fight. Those were the worst ones. The image would seem to appear before a criminal, almost as if he was acting like a diversion. It was too real, too familiar, and it would cause him to worry about a boy who wasn’t even there. It was distraction. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.

It couldn’t just be his grief. He knew what that could bring, and these ones felt different. They were too real so there had to be some sort of interference from one of his many foes. The most likely culprit was Scarecrow. Even if the man tended to focus on fears, his various concoctions were well known for causing hallucinations. Or, perhaps it was a new foe who had gotten hold of the man’s research. No matter the origin, it was the most logical place to start.

The best information came from a snitch. Scarecrow was recruiting henchmen. The word on the street was that he was experimenting with a new aerosolized formula and was planning to unleash it in one of the local churches during a memorial service for a fallen officer. Which the snitch wasn’t certain where the current lab was, several of his associates had seen him in the Narrows.

With Tim’s help, he narrowed down the likely location of the lab by tracking the movement of shipments of some of Scarecrow’s main ingredients. After double checking the blueprints of the suspected building and going over the various plans for infiltration and confrontation, he and Tim made their move. However, when they arrived, the scene in front of them raised several questions.

Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, paced while angrily gesturing to a box on one of the tablets. “That was supposed to be a box of my blue poppies,” he hissed to a henchman. It was rare to hear him speak as Crane and not his villainous persona. “Explain why there are these… these things in front of me?”

“Who would have thought you’d be so upset by a few flowers. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were afraid.” The voice, which sounded distorted as if it was coming across an old radio with poor reception, seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Even through the distortion, the voice sounded male and young, probably teenaged, but from his vantage point, Bruce couldn’t see anyone.

But he knew that voice. It was the same one that haunted his waking hours.

It wasn’t until he saw Scarecrow and his henchmen react that he realized the voice hadn’t just been in his head. Glancing at Robin, he found his partner trying to hide his surprise as he searched for the source of the voice. He needed to do the same.

The only abnormality came up on the thermal scan. There appeared to be a humanoid figure, far too cold to be a normal human, moving around the criminals at a relatively safe distance. Who or whatever it was seemed to have no concern for obstacles as he seemingly passed through them. Strange. Martians could easily do such things, but the heat signature didn’t match. However, it didn’t entirely rule out the possibility.

That would have to be investigated later as Scarecrow began threatening to do dose the area with fear toxin to get the unknown to reveal himself. That was his cue to move. The take down went mostly according to plan. Neither of them received any injuries, but there was a brief moment when a translucent and familiar figure briefly appeared near Robin as if to draw the henchman’s attention away.

When the fight was over and the criminals were satisfactorily incapacitated, Bruce ran another scan of the area. The strange figure seemed to flicker near a stack of boxes. If he didn’t imagine it, the figure gave a two-fingered salute before completely vanishing. A quick sweep of the room, including a thermal one, came up empty. How had the figure vanished so completely?

He had Robin check for any physical evidence possibly left behind by the strange figure while he gathered samples of Scarecrow’s ingredients and in progress toxin. The unknown flowers which didn’t seem to be a planned ingredient were also taken for analysis.

Tim reported he didn’t find anything including a possible entry point. As a precaution, Bruce also made a cursory sweep, but he found nothing either. Deciding there was nothing more that could be currently done at that location, they returned to the cave.

The samples produced more questions than answers. Scarecrow’s toxin had the same active ingredients as his last batch so it would have shown up on a toxicity screen and could be treated with the previous antidote. And with the aerosolized form being incomplete, it meant the recent hallucinations weren’t directly associated with Crane.

Once he finished that analysis, he reviewed the unknown flowers. It turned out that they were a rare plant commonly called the Orpheus or Resurrection Flower and was native to parts of Bulgaria and Greece. While there was some evidence ancient Thriacians and Romans believed it held detoxifying properties, it wasn’t known for being poisonous or having hallucinogenic effects. Clearly Scarecrow hadn’t expected them, so why had he received a shipment of them?

Where those flowers just a mistake? With their rarity, he doubted it. They were possibly a message from an enemy to Scarecrow. Or, perhaps, they could have been from someone who stole Crane’s research. While Bruce hadn’t found anything to currently suggest another criminal was working with fear toxin, he couldn’t completely rule it out. He would have to check all known associates of Crane in the following days to verify it. There was also the question of if those flowers had anything to do with the unknown.

Now that Bruce was aware he truly existed outside the realm of his mind, he needed to consider what his motives could be. Was he simply acting as a distraction? Someone who would play on Bruce’s pain in order to make him less effective in the field. Or, perhaps he was the one who was using Crane’s research. He had effectively made Bruce believe he was a hallucination for longer than he wanted to admit.

Though, even if he was using Crane’s research, that wouldn’t cause the strange readings on their equipment. The thermal clearly showed someone who existed outside the realms of a normal human. He hoped that the video recordings might provide more clues.

However, whatever modulator the unknown used corrupted his voice, preventing analysis. The corruption was odd as he could remember the meta’s voice much more clearly than what the audio could provide. The video wasn’t much better. Tim’s gear held the best image of the figure, with about 3.73 seconds of the unknown in full view. However, his form seemed hazy and faded. Really the only true details they could get from the analysis was what appeared to be white hair and an outfit which may have been similar to other costumed heroes.

He'd been, or at least a hallucination of him, had been haunting Bruce for a few months, but he was no closer to finding out who he was or why he was doing it. It was a frustrating mystery.

…

In the following weeks, Bruce hadn’t made any headway regarding the hallucinations. Neither him nor Tim could find evidence someone else was using Crane’s research. A second round of tests confirmed there were no signs of missed toxins or unknown substances in his body. He even asked J’onn to do a cursory sweep for signs of magic or psychic interference, but none was found. As a result, he was forced to mostly accept the phenomenon wasn’t associated with his enemies. That left either his grief or the new unknown, and he was leaning towards the unknown.

He appeared a few more times in the next few weeks, bringing more questions than answers. Mostly, he would make a quip or two to the various criminals but would only show himself for a few brief moments. However, the more he showed himself, the clear his form seemed to become. He now appeared in shades of white, gray, and black as if he was pulled from the images of a black and white TV.

It was when the figure showed himself to Dick that Bruce was given his first true clue to the identity of the unknown. And although he wouldn’t admit it, the implications shook him to his core.

He and Nightwing were taking out an arms smuggling ring with ties to Black Mask and the Falcones. Usually, such take downs were relatively easy in comparison to other cases, but these men were a bit too well prepared. Remote-controlled hidden weaponry was abnormal to see in the lower rungs of such organizations. While it wasn’t anything they hadn’t seen before, it did make it more difficult to move in to capture them.

At one point, they were forced to temporarily take shelter behind a few metal containers. As they waited for an opening, they heard laughter from above them. Sitting on a top of a stack of crates was the unknown. He gave an amused smile as he watched them while showing no interest in the hail of bullets around him. If Bruce wasn’t mistaken, several passed harmlessly through him.

“Looks like you’re having a bit of trouble with them, old-timer.” His smile grew wider as he slid off the crates and landed without a noise in front of Nightwing. “Is your age finally catching up with you?”

Dick stared, open mouthed, at the unknown, who looked almost solid this time. This must have been the reaction the unknown wanted as he turned and gave Bruce an amused smirk.

Chills ran up Bruce’s spine at the unknown’s appearance. It had been the first time the unknown stood still enough and close enough for him to get a clear look at his appearance. White hair seemed to move as if there was a slight breeze. A black domino mask covered his eyes, but the specific shape of it he’d seen on another thousands of times. Pale skin seemed to have a strange greenish tint, but the visible features on his face were partially obscured by a soft glow surrounding the body. But his clothing… if it hadn’t been for the difference of the colors, Bruce would have immediately alerted Alfred because it meant someone had broken the memorial case in the cave.

He was still going to ask Alfred to check for signs the case was disturbed later. While it was unlikely someone would have been able to alter the colors on the suit that quickly, it wasn’t impossible.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The mischievous grin on the unknown grew wider. “You need to take better care of yourself. A strong shock like that is back for an old person’s heart.”

“Ghost or not, you’re going to be dead in a second, kid.” One of the criminals approached during the distraction. “Since bullets don’t seem to faze you, let’s try a different tactic.”

As the criminal moved to smack the unknown with the butt of the rifle, Bruce prepper one of his batarangs but didn’t immediately react. Perhaps it was nostalgia or a morbid curiosity, but he needed to see what would happen, to see how the unknown would react. Without losing his smirk, the unknown dodged the gun and moved as if he would attack. But when it appeared his fist would connect with the criminal, he seemed to pass through him as he faded away.

The criminal panicked as he checked himself and then his surroundings for the unknown. It left Nightwing an opening to take him down. The rest of the criminals were quickly dispatched after that.

Just like with the previous sightings of the unknown, they found no evidence which could provide any answers to who he was or what he was doing in the criminals’ hiding place. Though, strangely, they found a couple of drawings of a lotus with what almost appeared to be a stylized bite mark on a few of the boxes. There were no obvious connections between the arms dealers and such a plant. Was it related to a supplier? He would have to investigate.

Once he and Nightwing finished looking for evidence, they both swept the area for the unknown. Once again, he seemingly vanished into the night.

…

“Are we going to talk about it?” The ride back to the cave was uncomfortably silent. Though Bruce could handle the lack of noise with little trouble, Dick couldn’t and spoke up.

“You’ve been briefed. That unknown meta has been briefly appearing during missions.”

“You didn’t…” Dick hesitated as he gripped the fabric covering his legs. “You didn’t tell me what he was wearing…”

“The unknown hasn’t been as pronounced during previous appearances.”

“Pronounced? Are you telling me you couldn’t tell he was wearing a mockery of that suit… of Jason’s suit before today?” Dick snapped. Didn’t Bruce understand how much it hurt to see someone wearing it again?

“No. This was the longest the unknown showed himself. Previously, his form appeared somewhat hazy and at times non-distinct.”

Dick relaxed his grip and let some of the tension out of his shoulders as he turned his gaze to the window. “B, he called me ‘old-timer’, just like Jason used to. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that was his ghost.” He fell silent as he wrestled with his emotions.

Was it wrong to hope that maybe it was the ghosts of his little brother? If it was, it would give him a chance to apologize to him for not being there when he needed him the most. He also wanted to let his brother know that he was loved and missed.

But at the same time, the concept unnerved him. He remembered the legends told to him while Haley’s Circus traveled throughout Europe. The restless dead often had unfinished business, and many of them brought death and ill fortune with them. His brother would never intentionally bring harm to their family, but he couldn’t shake the feeling the appearance of this ghostly entity foretold something terrible was on the horizon.

When they returned to the cave, Bruce began researching the arms dealers while Dick decided to pull up available footage of the unknown from the previous sightings of him. Bruce was right. There was a strange distortion of his image and voice making it almost impossible to make any identification of who or what it was. Strangely, that wasn’t as pronounced in the field. What type of technology specifically allowed for that?

And more strangely, Dick could tell the figure wasn’t nearly as defined in the older footage. Looking at the first known capture and the most recent one, even with the distortion, there was a difference. Grudgingly, he had to admit Bruce wouldn’t have been able to tell with any certainty what the unknown was wearing.

Didn’t parapsychologists and paranormal researchers say that ghosts often grew stronger over time? Maybe that’s why he hadn’t been as solid or defined before.

What was wrong with him? He needed to get away from those sorts of thoughts. As much as he wanted this meta to be his brother, it wasn’t him. And he needed to figure out who it was and put a stop to whatever he was planning. But as he re-watched the footage of the meta sitting there with bullets passing through him without a care, the idea he might be a ghost kept coming back.

…

The lotus flower design from the arms dealers did not provide further clues. Bruce had been able to trace the origins of the weapons to a certain terrorist cell in Kazakhstan, but they did not use lotus flowers as any form of communication. Perhaps they had been drawn by a middleman, the one who had set up the remote weaponry. That was a possibility, but again, he couldn’t find anyone associated with that specific symbol. It suggested there was someone new to the scene.

There was a chance that the stylized bite in the lotus was a reference to how it had been used for various medical and recreational purposes throughout the centuries. To his knowledge, the most famous account of that was in “The Odyssey.” Was the person or persons associated with it also involved in the drug trade? It was a possibility. Many criminal organizations did dabble in multiple types of sales.

With the investigation into the arms dealers stalled, he turned his attention once again to the footage of the unknown. Audio of him speaking was again too corrupted to analyze, and the footage didn’t fare much better. The only thing he could gather with certainty was approximate height and body shape.

There wasn’t even much Bruce could gather from the way the unknown moved. In the brief moment where he seemed to prepare to attack, he had proper form suggesting he may have some training. However, since he never made physical contact with the criminal, there was no evidence if he could or would fight.

He glanced at the tattered suit in the cave. It appeared the same as it always did, and there was no evidence anyone had disturbed it. That somehow made it worse. Whomever was wearing the imitation of it knew exactly what the original one looked like and decided to purposely alter the colors.

Did the unknown know about Jason’s death and was purposely trying to emotionally compromise him by making it seem like he was the ghost of his son? Or was it possible this person was working for one of the various rogues in Gotham? If that was the case, which one? His mind immediately jumped to the Joker, but the man had been unusually quiet recently. There was also nothing overtly tying it to him which lowered that possibility. The Joker tended to take credit for his actions.

Perhaps he should change his focus and first determine whether or not this unknown, this Phantom, was working willing or being coerced into the role. The more he showed himself and interacted with them, the more likely he would slip and reveal clues to his identity and purpose. Bruce would just have to be patient for now.

…

A few days later, Bruce found himself in the Museum of Antiquities after following the newest round of clues from the Riddler. Some sort of contraption, this one based off a roulette, set up in one of the larger rooms. However, judging by how the Riddler was ranting while his men worked on it, the machine was malfunctioning. Due to his focus on the machine, he missed the brief movement behind him.

The meta was present. As he peeked out from behind one of the statues, he seemed to realize someone noticed him. Glancing up to where Bruce was hidden, the teen put a finger to his lips before quicky dashing towards another statue. This time, he made audible footsteps as he moved.

“Shit, was that Robin?” the one henchman noted as he moved to investigate the sound. Seeing his chance, Bruce moved from his stop and slowly began incapacitating the men from the shadows in rapid succession. It made capturing the Riddler far easier, even if the criminal grumbled about being sabotaged.

Intrigued by the statement, Bruce investigated the malfunctioning machine. After removing the cover to the control panel, he found what appeared to be a chestnut lodged between two of the gears. After properly disabling the machine, he removed the nut to discover clear evidence of someone purposely putting it there as a bullet was lodged in the center of it. The likelihood it found its way there without human involvement was astronomically low. And, if he wasn’t mistake, there appeared to be some sort of carving in both the bullet and the chestnut. Curious, he bagged it for further analysis.

Even though he knew it was unlikely, he also checked the area for any evidence the meta may have left. He had vanished from sight as soon as Bruce began to target the henchmen. Was it possible he was the one who sabotaged the machine? Yes, but the behavior didn’t match what he’d seen of him so far. That meant there was a chance of another unknown interfering with him in Gotham.

That chance increased to an absolute when he examined the chestnut in the cave. The word “famous” was carved in an arc above and below where the bullet, still in its casing, was lodged. Without it having been fired, no other identifying marks were on it. And on the casing, the Greek word “Outis”, which was often translated to “no one” or “nobody”, could be found. If it was a calling card, it was a baffling one. However, it did have a possible connection to the lotus drawing from the arms dealers due to its connection to “The Odyssey.”

In the epic, the main character, Odysseus, blinded a cyclops on his third stop on his journey home. Odysseus referred to himself as “Outis” during the event to prevent identification and retaliation. Also, the cyclops’ name, Polyphemus, could be translated as “famous.” Regarding the clue, the chestnut had to represent the eye while the bullet represented the flaming stake Odyssey used. It was rather clever.

Was this second unknown from Greece or just heavily interested in Greek myths? Was it possible the unknown believed he was on a journey much like Odysseus? If the latter was true, was it someone who only recently returned to Gotham? But, if those clues were truly related, why would the person help one group of criminals and sabotage another?

Between this unknown and the one who seemed to be impersonating his son, he had a lot of work to do.

Notes: So, this fic will be the death of me. If anyone sees any errors, let me know. This is not beta'ed.

At this point in time, Tim has not been adopted, and Cass and Steph haven't been introduced yet.

So, "The Odyssey" is an ancient Greek epic by Homer. It tells the story of Odysseus and his ten year journey home after the Trojan War. Each plant I used to represent the various stops made sense to me when I chose them.

After Troy, Odysseus' first stop was to the town of Ismara which was a Ciconian town. The Ciciones were stated to be a Thracian tribe, and the Thracians were found in parts of Bulgaria, Greece, and Turkey.

The Orpheus flower, also called the Resurrection flower, is primarily found in Bulgaria and in a small part of Greece. It was chosen due to it being found in the range where the Thracians used to be as well as the flower's association with resurrection as it can spring back to life after prolonged periods without water.

Stop 2 was the land of the Lotus eaters who actually used the plant as a recreational drug. This one is a bit clearer cut on symbolism. The lotus can also represent rebirth. As an interesting side note, there's not a clear agreement on whether or not this tribe was eating water-lily flower or other plants.

Stop 3 is probably the most famous stop, the island of the Cyclopes which is modernly believed to be Sicily. The Cyclopes Odysseus battled was named Polyphemus, which can be translated as famous. To trick the Cyclopes when he was blinded, Odysseus referred to himself as "Outis" which means "Nobody" or "No one" so that the cyclopes couldn't take revenge or ask someone to take revenge on his behalf. The chestnut sometimes symbolizes life, and Sicily has a famously huge and old horse chestnut tree. Horse chestnuts are actually poisonous to humans. A chestnut tree is also a little reference to "Jane Eyre" as well.

#Danny Phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #danny phantom crossover #Odyssey AU #Chasing Shadows #I had an idea and ran with it

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markedasinfernal · 4 years ago

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Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to @soilrockslove for the @officialtolkiensecretsanta 2020. This year has been just a series of unfortunate events, so what better than a tale of Fingon and Maglor taking on the dark valley of Nan Dungortheb to get us through it. No major topic warnings except for creepy forest shenanigans, and I really hope you enjoy!

No star would pierce the cloak of night drawn thick upon the vale of Nan Dungortheb. Fog clotted heavy as cream amid those haunted gullies, and clung like spider's silk beneath the knotted branches of the woods. None would pass that dreadful valley save in the greatest of need; the Ered Gorgoroth to the north bled their malevolence into the soil, and in the marshes that hemmed the great forest of Doriath subtle enchantments were laid, spells of blinding, confusion, and terror.

For there in the vale between mountain and forest the potent magics of Sauron and Melian mingled, and the brood of ancient Ungoliant wove their snaring webs, and amid their confluence the earth itself was changed. The streams that flowed down from the mountains were thick with black sorcery, and within the blighted woods of that land the creatures that stalked there grew aberrant, and fey. What few paths that crossed the sinister vale were watched, and the travellers that dared them moved swiftly, for to linger there courted madness, and oft even those mighty in lore and strength of arms were led astray and vanished.

It was with due haste now that Maglor urged his horse forward, and behind him Fingon followed close.

Under a dreary dawn they had met, in a dell within the woods far to the west of the Nan Dungortheb where the valley's grasp was not yet strong, but still their meeting was cautious. In those treacherous lands, spied by jealous hearts, it was best not to draw attention. Indeed, Fingon had shed his courtly retinue some miles behind; the glittering robes of the High King of the Noldor were changed for simple, sturdy gear, and a worn grey cloak drew across the sharp knife at his belt, the quiver on his saddle, and the bow strung across his back.

Into the shade of the woods then he followed Maglor, most trusted emissary and skilful guide sent from distant Himring, and Fingon was glad of his company as the sun above them dimmed, and the grasping boughs of the trees grew close. At first they talked, in low voices discussing the comings and goings of their people, matters of courtly business and other importance, for long had been their years of separation, and to Fingon's delight their fondness was not forgotten. Meanwhile the forest chattered around them; brightly-coloured birds flitted above their heads in dashes of blue and yellow, singing out in voices sharp as steel. Dark-furred squirrels darted across tree-trunks whorled with green lichen, and upon occasion Fingon thought that he spied deer, strange pale stags like ghosts amid the shade, pale as snow with antlers crowned in blackened, budding flowers.

Further and further into the woods they delved; Maglor led them surely along trails scarcely wider than their horses' girth, and as the sun slipped away beyond the impassable peaks of the Ered Gorgoroth so their cheerfulness dimmed; the light faded slowly into dusk, and they grew quiet. Birds still called about them, but as they listened now their singing was no longer warm, nay, those cries were chilling; they chirped with voices of the slain, in grating, gurgling screeches that sent shivers crawling down Fingon's spine.

"How is Nelyo?" Fingon forced himself to ask; the words clung awkwardly in his throat, as if their very effort was an intrusion, a hostility. "Is he... well? It has been so long since last we met."

"He is well, yes," Maglor replied, his voice was hushed as warily he looked about, peering over his horse's neck as they wound through a dense thicket of wood, and the dreadful chorus of the birds ebbed away behind them. "The defence of our lands keeps him ever busy, else he would have come to greet you himself. He takes great pride in the bastions that we have built across the Gap, in the horses that we breed there, and our bright soldiers patrolling the plain."

"That is good," Fingon sighed, though a curl of unease brushed across his heart, and he looked out to the woods with clouded eyes. "Dark have been my dreams of late, and those whom I love are so far away in this perilous world. Tell me, please, is... is he happy?"

Suddenly a roar split through the sullen trees, a great bellow of anguish that chilled the blood in their veins. It was close, too close, quickly they looked about as the horses whickered and shied, skittering upon the narrow path. But their sharp eyes spied nothing; that dreadful noise hung in the air far longer than seemed natural, cloistered by the tight press of the woods about them. Finally the last echoes dissipated, and though the horses snorted and pranced at last they were calmed, and the forest grew quiet once more. As fast as they dared then they pressed onwards, but now they were watchful, and Fingon's right hand now rested upon the hilt of his knife more often than the reins.

"Is he happy? Maglor said abruptly, grimly; he urged his reluctant horse further down the track, and all too clearly Fingon could see the tension in his shoulders, the unmistakable press of a weapon held close under his cloak. "I do not know. At times I think so, but there is a coldness to him now that even the merriest of nights cannot thaw."

"Come," he breathed, and looking carefully about them glanced back to Fingon. "We should not speak of such things here. The hour is late; fell things walk by shade of night, and we have some distance yet to go."

Onwards they rode into the gathering gloom, the thick canopy overhead throttled the last straggling rays of daylight into a resentful twilight; the trees hunkered close above their heads, often forcing them to bend in the saddle, and their intrusion was met with glowering menace. The air swam thick with it, tense and clotted, and for how many miles they rode under those nightmarish boughs Fingon could not count.

The trail twisted amid the gullies of the hills, through sucking mud-marshes and reeking fens, and stoically he endured their dour passage. For about them now the woods grew silent, no eerie birdsong would pierce its dark gloaming, nor the chatter of small nocturnal creatures amid the underbrush; even the dull thud of their horses' hooves upon the trail was almost unbearable against that oppressive, consuming, unnerving quiet.

Now truly they went warily, and Fingon's hand never strayed far from his knife; now and then he thought that he heard the soft rustle of leaves behind them, a heartbeat too slow to have been caused by his horse's passage. A soft squelch into the mud behind them sent him twisting in the saddle; his heart leapt suddenly into his throat as wildly he turned, and his horse whickered nervously beneath him as hard he stared into the darkness behind. But there was nothing, nothing but night and shadowed tree-trunks, and reluctantly he settled himself again.

It must be a trick of the mind, he though, and fervently he hoped that he was right; some phantom of Melian's green sorcery sent to ward away unwary souls, or some formless shade of Sauron's malice that tempted reason into fantasy. Yet though he was no fretful child how he longed for the roaring fires of Himring, its solid stone walls under those rolling skies, a great fortress crowning the wide open hills; the suffocating malice of the forest crept into his bones, and violently he started as something snapped behind them.

Desperately he whirled about, his heart thudded in his chest as he stared out into the forest, his eyes straining against the gloom. For a moment, again, frustratingly again, there was nothing, only shadow and tree, but oh what nameless, instinctive horror turned cold in his gut as he peered beneath a thick tangle of brush, and a pair of cruel, shining eyes met his.

"Káno," he hissed; he dared not look away, he scarcely dared to breathe as those hungry eyes followed their passage. "Something's out there."

"I know." The certainty in Maglor's voice stabbed like ice through his stomach.

For a moment his gaze flickered, and when he looked back those eyes were gone.

For what seemed like a torturous eternity they travelled onwards in the dark, and beneath them the horses grew restless again, shying and champing at the bit, and it was only through great fortitude of will that the riders pushed them on.

Yet suddenly Maglor's horse halted and would go no further, it trembled and sweated upon the trail, and Fingon's mount came to a sharp stop behind, its ears pressed back against its skull and tail swishing. Before them the trail curved up a gentle slope, towards a hollow copse in the trees, and for a rare moment there the canopy thinned. Far above the sky could be glimpsed, the clouds rolling fretfully across a full and blurry moon. But against that dreary view something darker was silhouetted, a hunched shape stood upon the trail before them at the top of the hill, and in horror they watched as it rose.

Like a bear it seemed, but taller, misshapen; dark fur clung wet and stinking to its belly and thickly rounded shoulders, yet ape-like arms hung long before it, and hooked claws swung wide upon its paws as suddenly it reared up on its hind limbs. Those cruel eyes fixed upon them as its lips peeled back, its jaw hinged open wide, too wide, and saliva dripped from its yellowed fangs as it snapped its teeth. A growl thrummed through the air, and Fingon's heart beat painfully hard in his chest, for no manner of earthly creature was this, a foul mutant of warring sorcery. Its horrid jaws gnashed as it sniffed the air, and as its claws flexed and slashed Fingon reached for his bow.

Sensing his movement, suddenly the creature stamped, it bellowed out in such anger that the horses quailed, they spun and bucked and it was only for the love that they had for their masters that they did not bolt, they held their nerve and bravely they endured their terror. Again the creature stamped, with a hideous roar it took one lunging stride forward; fear and disgust blazed up in Fingons' heart and with elven speed he raised his bow, an arrow nocked and drawn.

"Wait!" Maglor hissed, and in surprise Fingon paused. "Don't shoot! In this place, it would not be wise."

At Maglor's command Fingon lowered his aim, his bow still drawn and ready, until slowly at his side Maglor straightened in the saddle, and cast back the hood of his cloak. And Fingon looked at him then in wonder, for suddenly the air grew charged; puissance hummed in soft, lapping susurration, and the clouds parted, and the moon shone bright and full, bathing them in evanescent light. For in that moment the power in Fëanor's mighty bloodline ran true; in his stirrups Maglor stood and raised a hand, limned in silver light he gleamed, and in a deep voice that was not entirely his own he said, "Great hunter, let us pass."

There was power in those words, command beyond the measure of clever speech, it pulled at him with such visceral strength that Fingon squirmed, and wide-eyed he marvelled. For he had heard that power once before, long ago in different lands, and to him now it seemed as if Fëanor himself stood beside him; the air about Maglor rippled with magic, silver and sharp, and with terrible command he spoke, "Let us pass! We mean no harm to you. We travel east, and will trouble you no more. Let us pass!"

Bright and fey as a lord of old Maglor stood against his foe, and before him the creature swayed; it snapped and growled, biting emptily at the air before shuffling upon its hind legs. For a few moments then it blinked, and grunted, before with a great huff of breath dropping down onto its forelimbs, and slowly moving off. For a long while they watched it depart, and as at last it slunk off into the shadows the moonlight dimmed, and failed, and with a sigh Maglor sat back into the saddle.

"Come, Finno," he breathed, and suddenly yawned, as if a great wave of weariness had come upon him. "My words may hold him at bay for a time, but I have not the magic of the Maiar, and I do not seek their challenge."

Quickly Fingon obliged, and swiftly stowed his bow, and without further word they moved off, cresting the haunted hill and crossing down into the gully below. With fresh admiration Fingon followed where Maglor led, and though the winding way was not easy, now the woods yielded to them, and hindered them no longer.

At last the forest began to thin, and the weary horses raised their heads in hope, with renewed vigour striding through the underbrush. With each step both rider and mount felt the oppression of the forest lessen, and their hearts were gladdened; unbidden the horses picked up into a brisk trot as the trees gradually fell away, and the rolling grasslands of the southern marches unfurled before them.

Fresh, cold air surged into Fingon's lungs as deeply he inhaled, and Maglor laughed beside of him in relief, and the horses flowed forward, into canter, into gallop; the wind flushed their faces red and wiped them clean of weariness. Away they sped across the grasslands, the pink rays of a clear dawn greeted them in gladness, the terror of the forest was sloughed away, and under a rising sun they thundered away to Himring and their journey's end.

#officialtolkiensecretsanta #fingon #maglor #silmarillion #my writing

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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The 21 Best Christmas Horror Movies

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Technicolor lights are about to illuminate every other home in the neighborhood; carolers are marching through the streets; even that old tree in Rockefeller is shining brightly.

For some folks, that’s enough to make you want to grab an axe. But don’t do that. Watch demented men dressed as Santa Claus or a demon Krampus indulge your Anti-Christmas sentiments with maximum gore. Indeed, this list isn’t about the most charming, heartwarming, or schmaltzy Christmas viewing traditions. Nah, this is about the 20 grossest, nastiest, and all around most fun Christmas horror movies. The kind where the greatest gift you’re going to get on Christmas morning is escaping with your life and maybe some psychological triggers whenever you see jolly men in red suits.

Yep, these are the very best Christmas horror movies. Ho. Freaking. Ho.

Anna and the Apocalypse (2017)

Almost certainly one of the sweetest, most positive, and upbeat Christmas movies on the list is this wonderful feel good musical romance from director John McPhail, which also happens to be a zombie movie. It follows a group of friends in a small Scottish town who are just about to finish school and are making plans for the future when a zombie outbreak lands.

Incredibly catchy tunes which take inspiration from Buffy musical episode Once More With Feeling, mix with inventive festive kills – zombie snowman decapitation is a highlight – in a way that manages not to tonally jar. It’s mostly thanks to the super-likeable performances of the young cast, headed up by Ella Hunt, and the teenage troubles, romances, and heartbreak which form the backdrop of the movie. Paul Kaye also pops up as the school’s tyrannical headmaster – his musical numbers aren’t the best but he brings cartoon villain energy to an unusual but rather adorable Christmas horror that’s way better than you might expect.

– Rosie Fletcher

Better Watch Out (2016)

Home Alone is surely one of the most popular and iconic Christmas movies of all time, though it is not, of course, a horror. However, if it was, it would look something like Better Watch Out, a slick reinvention of the home invasion sub-genre. Olivia DeJonge plays babysitter Ashley, who attempts to protect her charge, 12-year-old Luke (Levi Miller), when they are threatened by intruders in his home. But all is not as it seems.

DeJonge and Miller spar beautifully in a movie which plays with gender and coming of age tropes and includes handfuls of gruesome set pieces, while Ed Oxenbould brings comic relief. This is clever, funny and gruesome stuff from director Chris Peckover which might not become a new Christmas tradition but should definitely be watched at least once.

– Rosie Fletcher

Black Christmas (1974)

Getting stabbed by a unicorn head to the tune of carolers singing “Silent Night” is probably not how you want to spend Christmas Eve. This pre-Scream holiday slasher claims its victims in a sorority house haunted by creepy phone calls (sans ghost mask), demonic noises, bodies eerily shrouded in plastic wrap, and one perverse killer whose voice alone is enough to freeze your blood.

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When an unidentified caller keeps harassing your entire sorority house with obscene things you can only half-understand (because he sounds like a deranged Donald Duck that laughs like the Joker), you should run even if it is 10 degrees outside. The blizzard of murders keeps raging with one victim dragged screaming by a hook, and another bludgeoned to death. Never mind the one suffocated by plastic wrap and left next to the window like the vacant face of a doll staring out into the night. You’ll hardly sleep in heavenly peace after this one.

– Elizabeth Rayne

Christmas Evil (aka You Better Watch Out) (1980)

In his one and only film as writer/director, Lewis Jackson crafted a smart and clever black comedy that’s more character study than straight horror film. John Waters insists it’s a comedy about a closeted transvestite (of a sort), but it’s much more than that—it’s the Taxi Driver of Yuletide shockers. Brandon Maggart plays a man who takes Christmas way too seriously. His home is filled with bright holiday decorations all year-round while Christmas carols are playing on the stereo. Santa is his role model, a symbol of all that is good and just in the world. He even works at a toy factory.

He so identifies with Santa, he takes to spying on the neighbor kids, keeping his own carefully annotated naughty and nice lists. But when he recognizes the level of cynicism and hypocrisy among his co-workers, bosses, and the people around town as the most joyous time of the year approaches, well, he goes a little funny in the head. He reaches for the suit and beard and axe, determined to reward the good and punish the evil.

Maggart has since tried to desperately distance himself from the film, but he gives a remarkable performance here as a completely isolated figure with a head swimming with both joy and rage. In the end, the film remains king of the sub-subgenre. Screw It’s a Wonderful Life and Rudolph. Apart from Blast of Silence and Invasion U.S.A., Christmas Evil is the only holiday film I watch annually.

– Jim Knipfel

A Christmas Horror Story (2015)

Admittedly, a number of horror-based Christmas movie have gone with the anthology angle for their storytelling. Hell, this isn’t even the only anthology film on this list. A Christmas Horror Story may not be on a lot of people’s radar, but it’s a worthy installment that goes to some unusual places purely because both the Christmas and anthology playgrounds have gotten so bloated at this point. This film also benefits from being executed by a cabal of directors who are responsible for directing some of the best horror movies to come out of Canada in passing years, such as Splice, the Black Christmas remake, and the Ginger Snaps trilogy.

A Christmas Horror Story deliciously uses a radio DJ (William Shatner) as the connective tissue that holds together the four stories that comprise the film. Parables on ghost possession, clone doppelgangers, Krampus, and zombie elves all get their due here. The film also has a pretty inspired ending that actually casts the picture in a whole new light. It’s got Santa Claus fighting Krampus. What’s not to like?

– Daniel Kurland

Dead of Night (1945)

Never play hide and go seek in a house where someone was murdered. While it might be best known for Michael Redgrave’s night-terror-inducing ventriloquist dummy scene that sparked the phobia of possessed puppets, Dead of Night also invites you to a Christmas party with a spectral guest. Spacecase Sally’s genuine terror at realizing what she thinks she saw is what she really saw will forever have you second-guessing shadows creeping in the cold.

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What is obvious in this scene—encroaching darkness and shadows looming over what a place you know is haunted without ever having to hear the big reveal—is hardly as chilling as what is not so obvious until the truth silently materializes. The ghost of the little boy plays hide-and-seek with the other children as if warm blood courses through his veins. Unlike many stereotypical see-through phantoms of the era, this one doesn’t have that telltale translucence which would set off a chorus of screams. Being almost disturbingly normal is exactly what makes him so terrifying.

– Elizabeth Rayne

Eyes Wide Shut (1999)

Eyes Wide Shut was the non-denominational star at the top of Stanley Kubrick’s Christmas tree. Originally conceived as a Woody Allen vehicle, it almost starred Steve Martin after Allen insisted on reading the script from right to left. It is as much a cautionary tale as Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, bringing the whole family together with a different Christmas tree in almost every frame.

Kubrick pours on the cheer from the opening sequence at the Christmas party where the first gifts are unwrapped, and oh boy are they unwrapped. Bill Harford, played by Tom Cruise, dives right into the muffled spirit of giving after he performs a more than charitable deed for the party’s host, played by Sydney Pollack.

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Harford spends most of the film looking for the perfect gift like a slow motion version of Jingle All the Way, rushing around from New York City’s famous toy repository FAO Schwartz to downtown specialty shops, to the suburbs, where he can find collectors’ editions. Cruise pays Harford like a wooden windup toy, and not a particularly cute one, either. In spite of all the colorful lights and trips above and below the rainbow, Harford just can’t get into the Christmas spirit. He’s not even moved by the uplifting seasonal tunings of “I Want a Boy for Christmas” by the Del-Vettes. He recovers his seasonal facilities while humming along to the chant during the climactic illuminati sex party, though! The song is actually “Here Comes Santa Claus” sung backwards in Latin, adding more menace to the proceedings than Silas Barnaby brought to Toyland in The March of the Wooden Soldiers.

– Tony Sokol

Gremlins (1984)

Santa doesn’t exist… unless it’s your father in a red suit who met his untimely end trying to slide down the chimney with a sack of presents before getting stuck. Don’t tell that to the innocent bat-like ears of a harmless (for now) Mogwai. It’s exactly the kind of story you expect to hear while hunkering down in the shadows with a flashlight while a bunch of leathery green things with too many teeth ransack the neighborhood.

And as for Santa? That smell coming from the fireplace weeks later was no dead cat. Worst. Christmas story. Ever.

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This movie should be on every hardcore horror fan’s holiday playlist just for the musical monstrosity of those reptilian things decked out in Santa hats and earmuffs singing “Deck the Halls” at the neighbors’ door, sheet music and all. This is continuing proof that animals have a sixth sense, because her yowling cat senses something off about the voices warbling “Joy to the World” outside. She’s right to have an aversion to Christmas carolers.

– Elizabeth Rayne

Holidays (2015)

There have been so many holiday-themed horror films at this point—reaching Christmas and going far, far beyond that—so why not make an anthology film that takes that idea to the extreme? Holidays hits the expected staples such as Christmas, Halloween, and Valentine’s Day, but part of the fun here is how holidays with lesser expectations like Easter or St. Patrick’s Day deliver some truly horrifying content (seriously, the St. Patrick’s Day segment is disturbing, bonkers chaos).

The Christmas segment comes courtesy of Scott Stewart (Legion) and has Seth Green trying to survive the holiday as he attempts to get his son the perfect gift. Stewart’s installment feels very reminiscent of a Black Mirror episode with virtual reality, consumerism, and the dangers of mob mentality all playing their part here.

A lot of these anthology films also try to bank off of the name recognition and notoriety of the assembled directors, but Holidays proudly features a collection of mostly fresh faces (although Kevin Smith and Starry Eye’s Kevin Kolsch contribute segments). It’s fun to discover a bunch of new blossoming talents here.

– Daniel Kurland

Jack Frost (1997)

This ain’t the cringeworthy father/son bonding vehicle starring Michael Keaton. No, this is the Jack Frost where the killer snowman’s nose functions as both a killing tool and a device to sexually assault his victims. All square? But hey, at the least the film isn’t afraid to ride its ridiculous premise as hard as possible.

First of all, an actual killer named Jack Frost crashes into a truck of “genetics material” that causes him to transform into this cold abomination in the first place. That sets the tone pretty nicely for the abundant murders, sex, and plot holes that plague the town of Snowmonton (yup). It’s hard to believe that this film got made, with all of the visuals being some real spectacles that you don’t typically see in the horror genre.

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Jack Frost is the perfect Christmas horror film to shut your brain off and watch, or the title that you should be selecting right in the middle of your deep eggnog haze. It’s utter nonsense, but it knows that it is and has tons of fun with itself. We need more talented individuals trying to tap into the killer snowman subgenre. There’s still a true classic waiting to come to life here.

– Daniel Kurland

Krampus (2015)

Morbidly funny in its anti-holiday sarcasm and ridiculous demons, Krampus is like a mashup of the Griswolds, the Grinch, and every mythical beast that has ever been rumored to devour children on the naughty list. You’d rather get coal in your stocking than a killer jack-in-the-box jump scare… or find chilling hoof prints in the snow that are definitely not from Rudolph.

Krampus is one Yuletide monster actually worse than the Grinch. The grisly inspiration for this tale is a Germanic one about a hairy, horned, and cloven-hooved demon who stuffs naughty children in his sack and either beats them with a wooden switch or eats them (depending on who you ask). Also, his heart won’t grow three sizes from gorging on human flesh, either.

This version of Krampus is also hungry for anyone who’s lost their holiday spirit—whether or not you otherwise qualify for the nice list. Watch this with the lights off for the full effect of the power outage that works to the creature’s advantage as he goes hunting for holiday nonbelievers. Kids, don’t scorn Santa or Krampus will come to collect you.

– Elizabeth Rayne

The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)

There are some of us who know this movie verbatim and to the point where we will shamelessly break out singing “This is Halloween” and raise Jack’s quasi-Shakespearean monologue from the dead even in the middle of July. Or keep warning people that tragedy’s at hand. Or correct anyone who says there are 365 days until next Halloween by growling “364!” The stop-motion animation saga of the talking skeleton turned “Sandy Claws” bewitched an entire generation of ‘90s kids.

Even people who hate Halloween will stare with delight and awe when Jack’s skull bursts out of a snowdrift, and he first puts colored lights in his eye sockets and explores every “what’s this?” in Christmas Town like a spook in a coffin shop. You just can’t help but love the adventurous skeleton, even if he does end up making haunted houses out of people’s living rooms on Christmas Eve. Whether you’d rather be making Christmas with strangely somber carols, reanimated reindeer or toys that bite back, it’s now an officially unofficial holiday classic.

– Elizabeth Rayne

P2 (2007)

On the sillier end of the Christmas horror spectrum comes P2, a film named after a section in a parking lot, starring Wes Bentley and Rachel Nichols. She’s a business woman trapped in a multi-story parking garage on Christmas Eve, he’s the insane Security Guard who’s obsessed with her and really wants her to try his festive eggnog, so to speak.

Camp and gory, this is the directorial debut of Franck Khalfoun who would follow it up with a remake of Maniac. The movie was co-written by Alexandre Aja who made one of the greatest cat-and-mousers ever in Switchblade Romance. The set up is formulaic, perhaps, but the game performances and relentlessness of the action makes this worthwhile. And if that’s not enough check out a deranged Bentley dressed as Santa, for the angel on the top of the Christmas tree.

– Rosie Fletcher

Rare Exports (2010)

There couldn’t possibly be a more sinister place to search for Santa’s ancient burial mound than in the frigid depths of Lapland. It’s the same supposedly enchanted place Dick van Dyke hiked to in the search for Santa in an ‘80s musical Christmas special, except this time you won’t find him in a cozy cottage with stockings hung by the chimney with care. You won’t find the guy in red from the mall, but anything that takes a disembodied pig’s head as bait couldn’t possibly be jingle-belling on a sleigh with eight tiny reindeer, especially when he seems to have a ravenous appetite for said reindeer.

This time, “the spirit of the season” is literally the most malicious Christmas spirit that has ever terrorized the Yuletide. Even if you watch the whole thing in Finnish and don’t understand a word except the screaming, the ghost of the child in you that really did believe there was a guy in the North Pole will be forever traumatized. This glaze-eyed zombie incarnation of Mr. Claus doesn’t laugh like a bowl full of jelly. You better watch out, indeed.

– Elizabeth Rayne

Santa Claws (1996)

You do have to wonder what happened to John Russo along the line. 30 years after co-writing Night of the Living Dead, he came up with this decidedly sleazy but sadly unoriginal wonderment, which was much more focused on boobs than Yuletide butchery. In what by that point had become a battered cliché of the Slasher Santa subgenre, a young boy named Wayne (Grant Kramer) sees his mom having sex with a man wearing a Santa hat (!), and so murders them both. I’m not exactly sure how this transference would work in Freudian terms, but when he gets older, he a) becomes obsessed with a low-budget scream queen named Raven (played by low-budget scream queen Debbie Rochon) and b) decides he’s Santa.

As you might imagine, stalking someone when you’re wearing a Santa suit is no mean feat, but Wayne gives it his best shot. Most of the film, however, focuses on Raven and her extended family as she gets undressed a lot and wonders not only why that creep in the Santa suit keeps showing up everywhere, but why everyone around her keeps dying in a particularly bloody fashion. It can feel like there are two films going on here, a by-the-numbers stalker/slasher movie and a holiday horror film, which leaves me thinking Russo had one of them in mind, but after some eight-year-old smarty-pants came up with that clever “Santa Claws” pun, well, he just had to run with it.

– Jim Knipfel

Santa’s Slay (2005)

Christmas can sure scare the Dickens out of people. Hence why you can’t not watch a holiday horror flick in which Santa is the Antichrist, sentenced to 1,000 years of delivering gifts after losing a curling match with an angel, and played by former pro wrestler Bill “Who’s Next?” Goldberg.

As the only son of Satan (you know what they say about rearranging the letters in that name) whose grim legend is immortalized in the Book of Claus, he can now at last spread Christmas fear with weapons, karate kicks, hand grenades, exploding presents, and his own perverse idea of what “Ho ho ho” should really mean. Them’s the breaks once the bet’s terms are done.

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Santa’s methods of murder are fiendishly festive—to say the least. There is no naughty or nice list when it comes to an insatiable appetite for violence. He even knocks out poseurs in red suits and drives a sleigh with a rocket engine like it’s the Batmobile. Mall Santas everywhere are shaking in their pleather boots.

– Elizabeth Rayne

Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984)

Naughty children get punished with more than just a stocking full of coal in this Christmas chiller. Just the opening scene with all those empty-eyed animatronic toys haunting a window display after-hours should tell you that this is not a movie that’s going to end in visions of sugarplums. Forget that it’s supposed to be the season of all things magical. Those things can be more terrifying than every single plastic skeleton and gaping zombie mask you’ll ever see in a haunted house around Halloween.

You’d better watch out for that psycho in the red suit who grabs a hatchet off the wall as if it was his bag full of toys and packs an automatic pistol in his fur-lined pocket, murdering misbehaving kids he’s been watching undercover of shadow. This sadistic Santa clearly doesn’t believe in sliding down chimneys—and the only red he’s interested in wearing is the blood of innocents. If that won’t convince you to stay awake because he sees you when you’re sleeping, you must be Freddie Krueger.

– Elizabeth Rayne

Silent Night, Deadly Night Part 2 (1987)

Three years after the shit-storm sparked by the original’s ad campaign, some smart cookie decided a sequel was necessary. A tough call there, given most all the principals were killed off pretty thoroughly the first time around, but still, right?

But there was money to be made, so they brought in an untested director (Lee Harry), a mostly untested crew, and a cast of mostly non-professional actors. After a half-dozen writers took a swipe at the script, they came up with a confounding but tepid rehash of the first film. This time around, and mostly in flashback, we learn that after the first killer Santa was sloppily dispatched at the end of Part 1, his brother Ricky becomes determined to uncover what went wrong.

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He pays a visit to the sadistic Mother Superior at the Catholic asylum where his brother had been kept, and before you can say “ho ho ho,” Ricky ends up donning the red and white suit himself to do a little rampaging, though without nearly half of his brother’s imagination. They even used the same fucking poster design, just slapped a “2” on it. I guess hoping they might raise the same sort of ruckus the first one had. Sadly, it was too late for that.

– Jim Knipfel

Sint (2010)

Dutch director Dick Maas took some early steps toward Krampus territory with his re-imagining of the legend of the warm-hearted Saint Nick. Borrowing heavily from earlier Italian, Spanish, and American horror films, as well as Danish folklore, “Sinterklaas” here was actually a bloodthirsty medieval murderer and all around brute who oversaw a savage reign of terror. Finally fed up with all his nonsense, the ornery local villagers banded together on the night of Dec. 5 and lynched him. As per tradition, however, in the moments before he died Sinterklaas vowed vengeance from beyond the grave, promising to return every 32 years on that very night to do bad and icky things to the villagers’ descendants.

Over the centuries, the story was mainstreamed and soft-pedaled, becoming part of the local folklore. The character of Saint Nick became much more benevolent and child-friendly so as not to scare the wee folk. Then, well, wouldn’t you know it? That anniversary creeps around again, Sinterklaas is true to his word, and Amsterdam turns all bloody, leaving it up to an intrepid teenager named Frank to put a stop to the mayhem.

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A stylish, wicked, and hugely entertaining take on the darker history of a beloved legend. It was also the top grossing film in Denmark in 2010, which either says something about the Danish film industry or the Dutch themselves.

– Jim Knipfel

Tales From the Crypt: And All Through the House (1972)

The Crypt Keeper first emerged as a ghoulish EC Comics horror host in the pages of Tales From the Crypt who crawled onto the big screen in this horror anthology, welcoming unknowing tourists to his catacombs with bony arms open. What the tourists don’t know is that they’re all recently deceased. The invite is to a subterranean story-time in which he unearths the gruesome details of their deaths with a gap-toothed grin. Creatures are obviously stirring when killer wife Joanne is stalked by a homicidal Santa in this warped homage to ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas titled (appropriately enough) “… And All Through the House.”

So it is that “O Come All Ye Faithful” is interrupted while playing on the radio by a scratchy warning of a homicidal maniac run amok. And wouldn’t you just know it, this occurs right as Joan Collins is offing her husband with a shot to the head—and then realizes she has to dismember the body before cashing in on his life insurance. Her blissfully naïve daughter lets the killer jolly old elf in, shrieking that Santa finally came before he erupts into psychopathic rage. Clement C. Moore must be turning in his grave.

– Elizabeth Rayne

The Wolf of Snow Hollow

Certainly less purely Christmas-y than other entries on this list, The Wolf of Snow Hollow is nonetheless a wintry delight set during the holiday season. Carols play ominously in the background during key moments, and the immaculately snowy white setting of Snow Hollow, Utah is broken only by splashes of color from lights on homes and Christmas trees. Oh yes, and the blood of the titular werewolf’s victims.

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Jim Cummings’ film is heavy on cozy, ski town holiday atmosphere without leaning on its actual Christmastime setting at all. But good werewolf movies are a rare breed indeed these days, and a werewolf movie set at Christmas? Well…now you know what to watch when the moon is full each December

Mike Cecchini

Got any other suggestions for Christmas horror movies that we missed? Let us know in the comments!

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obaewankenope · 6 years ago

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1, 2, 5, 18, 22!😊

1. How do you feel about the prequels?

I know a lot of people dislike them for the clunky writing (thanks Lucas), the over dramatic stuff (again, thanks Lucas), plot holes galore (tha- okay yeah, the point is made) but I love them. I love the actors, I love The Phantom Menace. I love how it introduced us to characters we knew and some we didn’t and gave us a background for some of the most iconic sci-fi characters ever. So yeah, clunky writing made it a Trial, but I love them and will claw anyone who hates them for being Lame (because yes, yes they are, but I love them anyway)

2. What is your favorite movie?

It’s a toss-up between TPM and ROTS tbh. Mainly for Obi-Wan Kenobi angst. I’m a ho for that angst

5.What is your favorite theory?

Obi-Wan secretly became a Sith the day those Jedi died in the arena and ain’t no one ever realised it- no, my favourite theory is that Obi-Wan is Rey’s wizard dad or grand-dad just because it’d be fun

18. What is your favorite quote?

Help me obi Juan whoever the fuck you are.... you’re my only ho

22. What is the saddest Star Wars scene?

Obi-Wan holding Qui-Gon as he basically dies in his arms is pretty fucking sad. But so is Obi-Wan screaming that he loved Anakin on Mustafar too. And when Padme dies while Obi-Wan is holding one of her babies. Yeah... Hmm... basically sad scenes with Obi-Wan lol.

Send me Star Wars Asks?

#SW #SW asks #Star Wars #asks #kat replies #kat answers #dearobiwan #Kat answers #People talk to me!!!

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dancincu · 5 years ago

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Can you believe it's been 20 years since the Episode I Tha Phantom Menace? ... since this weird Gungan dude said "Ex-squeeze-me" #JarJarBinks [ ] ¤ #FOUNTAINPEN: @Opus88Writing #Eyedropper Omar , M nib #Opus88Omar via PenVenture @insta.emy ¤ #NOTEBOOK: @endlessworks Recorder Notebook – Infinite Space A5 size, blank layout via PenVenture @insta.emy ¤ #INK: @Montblanc the one and only #thegreenofmylifee Irish Green . . . [ ] Hashtags ... please ignore: #WhatArchitectsDraw #Architect #Architects #DanCINCU #ArchitectResita #Arhitectura #Design #Architecture #Project #Drawing #HandRender #Sketch #SketchBook #AllofSketches #ArchitectureSketch #FountainpenGeeks #Design #portret #geek #happybirthday #DoSomethingCreativeEveryDay #StarWars #thephantommenace [ ] #设计师 #معماری (la Star Wars) https://www.instagram.com/p/BxrjbBgCl74/?igshid=2eq0f9voqfut

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nitrateglow · 7 years ago

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My sister and I were over at a friend’s house today to marathon Star Wars movies and when we were watching The Phantom Menace, my friend was getting frustrated at not being able to understand Jar Jar Binks.

“I need to turn on the subtitles!” he says. So we rewind the scene where JJB is explaining how he got banished from Gungan society and turned on the subtitles. Instead of showing what he said, we just get, “Mesa banished and liverhead a tha boss nass ooh mesa” or something like that. So my friend just stares at the screen for the moment, then goes to the kitchen. He comes back with a big bottle of rum.

I have not laughed so hard in a while.

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the-firebird69 · 4 years ago

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you mactards dont know we kill you for things we say dont do that or we will kill you then wholesale as it is not a detereant..and same with our counterparts..they annhialate you. and it is a must they do not respond to logic never have it was a flimsy act they were responding to andstill do it is the oddest thing i have ever experienced,they are willing to act for meaningless reasons. tons of odd reasons and things. and we tookit all for granted we would neverneed to know and he uses it all the time over here for this and that and it is sinister he tards reasons but he finds a way out every time uses math and force as we are now these tards so miserably stupid and lame and counter productive do not serve us any purpose macs. dont harrass....him. ever. and it is due at times to you sickness from bieng attached to a retard..we declare this a national holidy to recover our bodies i put it in writing too. i am not capable of protecting him from anything in my state nor are we macs and it is true..forigners stopped cork we did not and they advance ahve a killer plan due to it ours sucks and cork you will never fall in line per your dogma plan and modus and motif you have set in yours for thousands of years and in training we have all the matierals ii issue orders on cork today all in now tommy f and all my brothers. no youngsters at this time you fall into trouble fast ok. it is mean but you learn it ok i will he says and good. and he iwiill sit bu thas to fight this phantom fart menace now andw e agrree our attitude is lack luster sw his tape andhwy...said htis area core planking rigged they said and there is somthing else. and they rat and i t is horrid...but they were cops and in trouble. called for air support rounded them up. a trap. and she was in on it. said do you want a bj...and revealed it. she is a whor no a failure as they are they blab it as the do it. hare horrid losers they are sharmp dont need it so loud but hav e it

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winedwords · 7 years ago

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Adam| Gasoline 2/2 |Cole

Title: Gasoline 2/2

Words; 10,104

Warnings; smut

A/N: repost from the old blog

"I hope you know what you're doing."

God fucking damnit, this was a redeye and I hadn't slept yet. If I heard someone say that to me one more time I swear to god, I will break some faces. It was a fourteen hour flight from Seattle to Tokyo and I was not gonna sit here and be lectured for those fourteen hours by some asshat who wanted to Monday morning quarterback my decisions. I whipped my head around with a snarl, ready to verbally disassemble the dude who'd dared to comment on the events of a couple weeks ago.

The words died on the tip of my tongue once I made eye contact with the man who spoke.

Kyle O'Reilly.

The current Ring of Honor World Champion, former best friend of Adam Cole, and by all reports, one of the most genuine people I hadn't met in the locker room.

I guess I was going to get to know him really well on this flight based off of the stoniness of his face and the last available seat on this end of the plane being the aisle seat next to me. The window seat had been taken by an older gentleman in his 60s, who had promptly fallen asleep in his seat well before take off.

"I've been asked that a lot lately and it's enough to give a girl a complex."

The corner of Kyle's mouth tilted upwards.

"I don't doubt that. I'm Kyle," he said as he extended a large, calloused hand to me. I looked to his face, to his hand, and back again before I reached out to shake his hand.

"(Y/N)."

The world champion nodded his head in acknowledgement before releasing my hand and swinging his carry ons into the overhead compartments. Karma really was a bitch, wasn't it. I did what I felt I needed to do to help the Motor City Machine Guns win, and the universe just wanted to keep throwing shit at me.

"I get why you did it, y'know."

I almost jumped out of my skin. Somehow, for such a large man, Kyle was able to settle into the seat next to me and buckle up without me noticing. I really needed to get out of my own head before we touched down in Tokyo. The boys needed me sharp for this tour with New Japan, we were going to be in Bullet Club's backyard.

"What?"

Kyle shook his head. "The thing with Cole. I get it. Anything to get an edge and the upper hand right?"

I turned to him and gave a weak smile. "Yeah, that's what I keep telling myself too."

The silence was thick as the jet engines kicked into gear and we slowly started heading down the runway. My head bowed as my thoughts travelled back two weeks, my lower lip caught between my teeth.

The start to the show was not going well.

Bullet Club was in the ring, holding it and the show hostage. The Young Bucks, the Guerillas of Destiny, and Adam Cole cut an imposing set of figures, with the former world champion pacing the ring like a caged animal and a microphone in his hand. I hadn't chewed on my nails in years, but since the show the week prior, my nerves had been taken out on my cuticles and tonight was no different as I stared at the monitor in the private dressing room.

The Machine Guns hadn't let me out of their sight, accompanying me pretty much everywhere. I love those two more than my own family, but I had to draw the line when they were trying to follow me into the women's locker room. They'd taken my protests as a challenge and asked Nigel to arrange for our own locker room. Nigel, having a soft spot for me, didn't question the request and happily ordered for a Machine Guns dressing room.

"Last week was a fluke. The Motor City Machine Guns aren't good enough to be the tag champions. They aren't good enough to carry Bullet Club's bags, hell they're not even good enough to carry my jock strap." Cole pauses, for a couple beats, to soak in the crowd's reaction.

"And then, what really kills me, is they send in (Y/N) to interfere in Bullet Club business," he scoffed. "They send in a woman to attempt to neutralize the greatest stable of all time, a woman who has to resort to underhanded and shady means to help her team screw The Young Bucks out of their titles. Titles, that without interference, would still belong to them and to Bullet Club!"

Adam stopped his pacing, turned to face the ramps, and leaned over the ropes, a menacing sneer on his face and practically spat his next words. "(Y/N), you're gonna come out from the back, you're gonna come into this ring, and you're gonna apologize to Matt and Nick for costing them the match. You're going to apologize to the Club for costing us gold and you're going to apologize to me, (Y/N). You're going to apologize for this bruise on my face, you're going to apologize for your actions, everything!"

In our dressing room, both Alex and Chris were on their feet, fuming mad. I stood as still as stone, the cuticle of my left thumb caught between my teeth and my right arm hugging my body. I figured it would be best for me to chew on it instead of admitting to myself that my hands were shaking.

"How fucking dare he?! He interfered in the match first!" Chris ground the words out through clenched teeth. Alex nodded tensely in agreement, "You wouldn't have had to go as far as you did if he just didn't come to ringside."

I said nothing. For as much as we talked about the events of last week, they didn't have any idea that I wanted that kiss as much as I did. They knew of my infatuation with Adam Cole, hell, they knew of that weeks before this whole mess had occurred. They just didn't know how deep this ran. How every night since that fateful show, I had woken up, wet and aching, with Adam's name at the back of my lungs and the phantom sensation of his lips on mine. No, they didn't know and they couldn't know.

"We're waiting, (Y/N). We're not leaving this ring until you come out."

Fuck fuck fuck this is not good. Adam was a stubborn man and he was used to getting his way by throwing his proverbial and literal weight around. The fans had paid good money to come see a wrestling show, to see their favorites compete in matches, and to have a good time. They didn't come here to listen to Bullet Club whine and lick their wounds in the ring.

It was as I was thinking, that the camera panned to the announce table, where Kevin Kelly, Steve Corino, and Nigel McGuinness sat. Nigel, that lovely Englishman, looked dead into the camera and spoke, "(Y/N), sweetheart, I know you're in the back, watching this. You don't have to come out here, we'll get secur-"

Shit, Adam had overheard and rounded on the announce team. "Don't you say it Nigel! You've been soft on (Y/N) since she got here. You've been helping her duck justice from the Bullet Club!"

Out of nowhere, there was this surge of fire in my belly, and I was so angry. I'd had enough of this. Quicker than the Machine Guns could react, I was out of the dressing room and down the corridor like a shot. I could hear their faint shouts behind me, but I knew I'd be at the gorilla position long before they could catch me. Those who were in the ring were the only Club members stateside, thank god. Cody and Hangman were in Japan up to no good with Omega.

As soon as I was at the guerilla position, I attempted a smile at Mike, the sound guy. It came off as more of a baring of teeth based on the paling of his face. "Mike, lovey, I need you to cue my music so I can stop that shit in the ring."

Mike nodded quickly and hit the lights and music for my entrance.

I could see in the monitors that Adam's, and indeed all of the Club's, attention had snapped back to the ramp at the first couple deep baselines of my entrance music. A quick cursory fluff of my hair, snatched the proffered microphone from a particularly eager gopher, and I stepped through the curtain.

Damn that pop was loud. I grinned at the crowd, if just to mask the surprise on my face at the intensity of the cheers.

"You really didn't have to do all this or bring all your friends if you wanted my attention, handsome. You know I will always make time for you, you just had to ask nicely."

Well that was sassier than I was hoping. Certainly sassier than what the Bucks were expecting. Matt's jaw dropped in a comical fashion and Nick's eyes widened to almost bugging out levels. Adam's expression was thunderous, a tic developing along his clenched jaw. I couldn't see a reaction from the two Guerilla brothers, but I wanted to blame that on their face paint. "Oh c'mon now, Cole. You had so much to say earlier. I just can't imagine what's got you so quiet, especially since I'm not down there to keep your mouth occupied."

And there it was, my mouth spewing shit before my brain had a chance to catch it. The audience roared in approval. Adam's face split into a shark like grin, all teeth and bad intentions. "Well, sweetness, why don't you get your fine ass into this ring so we can talk about this like adults, instead of you hiding on the ramp."

His strut screamed of confidence as he sat on the second rope and pushed the top rope up with little effort, an invitation into the ring with Bullet Club. The head of the American chapter waved his arm enticingly towards the ring. To the outside observer, he was the picture of charm and charisma.

I shook my head with a husky giggle.

"See handsome, that's not how I do things. I want you to have my total and undivided attention," I crooned lasciviously. "It'd be hard to do that while trying to avoid the super kick party that I know I've been invited to. I rather like where everything is on my face."

Adam let go of the of the ropes, snarling, "Don't get cute. You have to be held accountable for your actions, (Y/N), everything has a consequence."

"See Adam, I think you're looking at this the wrong way. 60% of the things that happened last week were business decisions. The other 40%? That was all personal, bay bay, and I wouldn't mind a repeat performance." I dropped my microphone onto the ramp with a wink, and hightailed it through the curtain as I saw Adam's eyes darken.

My mouth was going to keep getting me into trouble, in more ways than one.

I was jostled out of my thoughts by O'Reilly's elbow into my arm.

I hissed and rubbed the sore spot, but my retort was cut off by a stewardess with a kind face asking, "Did you want anything to drink honey?" I stumbled over my words, my face flushing bright red, before I was able to stutter out, "W-water would be great, ma'am."

Kyle's stare was indecipherable. Even after the stewardess handed me my water, he was still studying me.

"Do I have something on my face?"

He shook his head. "I'm sure you're exhausted of people questioning you. I just want you to know that Cole's been mooning after you for fuckin' years." The words struck me like an actual blow to my stomach and I almost choked on the water I was sipping, but Kyle continued.

"I think since the ladder match with Gail Kim down in TNA. I remember watchin' it with him and he practically had hearts in his eyes. I'm honestly surprised he hasn't made a move on you sooner. He's not gonna take all that's happened lightly. I want you to be ready for the shitstorm that's waiting for you when we touch down."

"What?!" God, I was so eloquent.

Kyle responded with a small, wry smile. "You forget, I practically lived in the dude's pocket for years. I know him better than anyone. He's been a little obsessed with you for as long as I can remember."

I blinked at him, the words being slow to process. Kyle, who must've seen the gears turning in my head, was patient and waited for the words he could sense coming.

"That match with Gail was almost six years ago. There's no way he's been carrying a torch for me that long."

The champion gave a rather uncharacteristic snort. "You've interacted with him enough to know that he's like a dog with a bone when he wants something. He's not going to stop chasing you, (Y/N), he's got this idea of you in his head. He was already hard up for you before you knocked him out, which was fucking awesome by the way, the highlight of my week, but he's not going to let you go now."

Given my interactions with Adam and the rest of Bullet Club over the past two weeks, the implications of Kyle's words sunk like a stone in my chest. I must have telegraphed everything on my face, Kyle appeared a bit panicked and was quick to rush out his next words.

"Look. I'm not trying to scare you. I just don't want you going in blind, because you seem like a good girl. I don't think Adam has it in him to intentionally physically hurt you. Hell, the way he's been acting these past two weeks, I think he'd do just about anything for your attention."

I had prided myself on being one of the most cerebral people in this business, watching nothing but tape of potential opponents and allies, getting a read on who to trust and who wasn't worth the tape on their hands. This business was one based off of politics and manipulations of the human condition. It only took me getting burned once, when I first started in this business when I was 18, to learn that there was a game afoot and you either played that game or the game played you..

I'd known before the title match the risks, or I thought I did. I'd known the potential repercussions of toying with a flirtatious Adam Cole, a man who could be considered vindictive on his best day and downright vengeful on his worst. I had no clue what to expect from a seriously infatuated Adam Cole.

"So what would you recommend I do, champ?"

Kyle appeared pensive and he ran a hand over his face. He wasn't the only one who felt that this entire situation was surreal. "I guess it depends on you. "

That was a curveball and I blinked. "What do you mean it depends on me?"

"What do you want with Adam Cole?"

Goddamnit, he just stated that as if it was such an easy question to answer.

"You ask that as if it's so simple," I scoffed.

"Because it is for him, (Y/N). Simple I mean. When he wants something, he does everything he can to take it. And once he has it, he's like a kid with a new toy. It's his and no one else can play with that toy, even if the toy is just sitting on the shelf collecting dust. "

Its during this speech that I can feel my face heating with indignation and my fists were clenched in my lap. Kyle holds up a hand and stops me before I can even open my mouth.

"Let me finish before you tear me a new asshole. I'm not sayin' its right, cause it's not. What I'm tryin' to say is he's a possessive fucker and a lot of people don't know it because he covers it up by being as charming and charismatic as possible. Once he knows he's got his hooks into you, it's over. I know Cole like the back of my damn hand and he wants everything from you. He's gonna take and take and take, until there's nothing left. So what. do. you. want."

O'Reilly's gaze was too intense for me to make eye contact. I turned my head back to my hands, which were tightly folded in my lap to stop them from shaking. His words were like an angry swarm of bees and I had to choke down the rising fight or flight response. This was not me. I was not a reactive, emotional person. I made lists, I plotted for things that might not happen, and I had contingencies plans for my contingency plans. I didn't panic, I didn't get blindsided, things like this don't happen to people like me.

My moniker, the Most Dangerous Woman in the World, wasn't because I could outwrestle or outmuscle the competition. It was because I was prepared for everyone, in one way or another. Except this.

What did I want?

I sure as shit wanted orgasms, that was a given. A girl could only get by so long with the help of her battery operated boyfriend, when she's waking up at all hours of the night completely out of her mind and in need of a change of panties. Sex with Adam had the potential to be mind blowing, if the assorted ring rat tales were to be believed.

But did I want him? He was a bit of a hothead, overly flirtatious, egotistical, and prone to double-crosses. He was arrogant, acerbic, and had a severe dislike of any authority other than his own.

On the other hand, on the rare moment where he thought no one was looking, he'd seemed years younger, less guarded, and downright playful, especially around the Bucks. Where he was carefree and quick with a joke. Where his shoulders relaxed and his eyes crinkled at the edges when he laughed. That was the Cole I wanted, but I don't think I could get one without the other.

"I don't know what I want."

Kyle nodded, sensing that the conversation about Adam Cole was over. He reached into the seat pocket in front of him and produced an iPad. "Wanna watch some Netflix? I haven't started Stranger Things."

I practically beamed and nodded my head enthusiastically.

The remaining thirteen hours of the flight went by quicker than I'd like to admit, interspersed with episodes, naps, and happy chatter about what we'd be doing in our downtime during the two week Japanese tour.

Landing in Japan, saying goodbye to Kyle, and getting to my hotel had been a blur. When I had left Seattle, the sun had just set, nearing almost twilight. As soon as we had landed, it was late evening. Jetlag was a bitch, and all I wanted was a soft place to sleep. I must have looked a sight, all rumpled clothes and bleary eyes, because the matronly woman at the front desk told me as she was giving me my room key that she would be having a complimentary cup of tea and soup delivered to my room. She smiled and returned my hasty bow of thanks.

Now it was just an elevator ride to my bed for the night. It felt like the doors took a century to close and I almost cried with relief when the doors began to close. The elevator doors were close, so close to sealing and taking me to my ninth floor room when a hand stopped their progress and a too familiar male voice chuckled, "Almost missed it!"

My grandmother had a turn of phrase she would always tell me when I was small, something that never rang truer than it did now: speak of the devil often enough, and he shall appear. And there he was, looking like effortless sin in black sweatpants and a Bullet Club shirt, his hair swept up and away from his face in a messy bun.

The grin on Adam Cole's face spread to almost Cheshire proportions as he sauntered alone through the doors when he saw that it was just me in the elevator. "Well, well, well, it's my lucky day. Who knew it would take me a flight around the world to get you alone, sweetness."

Electricity shot up my spine as the doors closed and the temperature felt like it had spiked. "Look, not that you don't normally get my motor running, handsome, but I just got off a 14 hour flight and all I want is the bed waiting for me in my room."

He kept silent giving a casual glance at the directory of floors as he was moving towards me, my words clearly brushed off. For every step he took towards me, I took a step back, and it wasn't long until my back met the wall of the elevator.

Ding.

Adam was quick to crowd himself around me, his left arm caging me in, palm against the wall near my head, and his right wrapping around my hips to pull me in closer. His arm around my waist put every nerve ending on edge. It was the skin on skin contact of his wandering right hand finding just the barest sliver of skin exposed by my shirt that made me give a small whimper. The look in his eyes quickly shifted to something dark and heated at the sound and the fact that I made no move to extricate myself from his grip.

Ding.

"You wanna know what I think (Y/N)?" He leaned down to murmur into the skin at the base of my jaw. His mouth trailed along my jawline, the sensation of his breath and his facial hair caused my breath to quicken. "I think you want this as much as me. I think you can't get what happened two weeks ago out of your head. I think you want to know what it's like for me to make you scream my name."

He was so, so, so close and so warm. Body heat was practically radiating off of him as I began to feel sweat bead at my hairline. His lips were just an arched back away and the combination of his proximity and cologne were making the pink fog I had come to associate with his nearness come over my brain.

Ding.

"I think you like to hear yourself talk, Cole."

His chuckle was dark and the sound was like a bolt of electricity directly to my core, causing me to clench my thighs together to quell some of the growing pressure.

"That might be true, but I'm right, aren't I?"

I didn't get a chance to respond because he roughly pressed his mouth against mine. The intensity behind his kiss startled me and my mouth opened with a gasp. Ever the opportunist, Adam took the chance to sweep his tongue across mine and I had to anchor myself by grabbing his broad shoulders because I had lost confidence in my knees ability to keep my upright. Any misgivings I had had following my conversation with O'Reilly went out the window as I pressed back with my tongue enthusiastically. I'd be damned if I didn't give as good as I got.

I had never been so happy for the front desk taking my bags to my room.

Ding.

His left hand went from braced against the wall of the elevator to grabbing my thigh and hooking my leg around his slim waist, all the while his mouth never stopped moving against mine. Once he was satisfied with the knowledge that I wasn't going to immediately remove my leg from his waist, his left had returned to my ass, and with a firm squeeze and lift, he pressed himself up against my hips. I was glad for this wall and for him to be supporting some of my weight because I would have collapsed at the feel of his cock through our clothing.

Hard. Long. And given the amount of confidence Adam had, likely thick.

He was going to wreck me if this ever... no, when the inevitable finally happened.

Ding.

I bit his lower lip a little harder than I intended to at the first press of his hips against mine. The answering groan was almost pornographic, his hips pressed even harder into mine, and he began to grind. It felt like fireworks were going off when the hard ridge of his cock rubbed just the right way through my leggings, catching the little bundle of nerves between my thighs. I was practically mewling as he pulled his mouth away from mine, his hips never stopping their grinding motion, and began to press his mouth against my neck and collarbone.

Ding.

"God, the fuckin' sounds you make," Adam growled into the skin of my neck, making me shiver. "I've thought about this for a long time, sweetness, and you feel and taste so much better than I could have ever imagined."

I wasn't confident in my ability to form words, and they went completely out the window when Adam began to alternate between nibbling and sucking at the junction of where my neck met my shoulder. My hands went to his head and I pushed him away just far enough to issue a muttered warning, "No hater marks."

His only response was a devious smile and he went back to nibbling and placing open mouthed kisses along my neck.

Ding.

His right hand had become adventurous and had snuck entirely underneath my hooded sweatshirt and shirt. The touch of his hand along my spine caused me to arch into him with a whine and my nails dug into his scalp. Adam's hip bucked in response and he pressed his lips back against me, with what sounded almost like a purr.

My traitorous brain began to whirr. He liked his hair pulled, he responded to my nails digging into his scalp, he seemed to like me biting a little harder into his lip... Did he like a little pain with his pleasure?

Only one way to find out. I let my hands down towards his neck and then I dragged nails across his shoulders, hard enough that I knew I was going to leave behind little red lines.

My hips at this point were rocking against Adam's of their own accord, causing sparks of pleasure to fire along my nervous system. He thrust hard enough with his hips in response to my nails on his shoulders that my right foot left the ground for a moment.

"Don't do that again unless you want me to fuck you in this elevator."

The intense promise was muttered against my lips and I felt a bolt of exhilaration through the pink haze. That sounded so damn promising...

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open while we were embraced and a young, lanky bellhop, having not looked into the elevator yet, began to push his cart into the small space. The noise of the cart cause the two of us to look up at the same time towards the source. He looked up, made eye contact with the two of us, and grew red faced. I'm sure the position we were in was practically scandalous, hair mussed, his hands in compromising places, and my leg hooked tightly around his waist. The unfortunate bellhop was stuttering out an apology when I disentangled myself from around Adam, sidestepped the embarrassed young man, and dove out of the elevator to what I hoped was the hallway to my room.

I'd lost my cool. The pep talk I had given myself on the plane went down in flames as soon as I had met those too-blue eyes. Any resolve I had had to resist and be strong in the wake of Adam Cole's advances turned to dust. This was entirely unacceptable and quite frankly, made me doubt myself if I just turned into a puddle of goo whenever the former champion got into my personal space.

I could hear Adam calling my name as I hurried my way through the corridors, thankfully having found my room purely by mistake. I fumbled with getting the room key into the slot, the sounds of Adam calling my name in the hallways serving to further agitate me. The door finally opened and I swung myself inside, closing the door rapidly behind me.

The door had been shut for less than a couple seconds and I was crumpled on the ground of my hotel room, hand down the front of leggings and rubbing furiously against the slick little bundle of nerves between my legs. Given the state Adam had worked me into in the matter of a couple minutes, it only took a couple rotations of my wrist and I was coming apart with a broken sob of his name.

Morning came entirely too soon, and I woke in a foul mood as the sun hadn't even risen yet. I was jetlagged and exhausted and holy shit I looked like something out of a horror movie. I had deep purple smudges underneath my eyes, swollen red lips, and my neck looked like I had been attacked based off of the multicolored bruising I had on the right side of my neck and collarbone. I stomped out of the hotel bathroom and threw my suitcase open with a screech. Thank god this business had taught me how to cover bruises and jetlag with artful layers of cosmetics.

Bzz. Bzz.

Alex S.: You up? We're gonna grab breakfast and coffee before heading to the arena. Meet in the lobby in 20?

Me: Yeah. Meet ya'll down there.

I grabbed my go bag with my valet gear and paused in the hotel mirror to painstakingly apply a coat of matte red liquid lipstick.

My boozy aunty Eleanor, may god bless her southern heart, always did tell me that the best way to handle a problem was to put on some expensive lipstick and attack it. Once satisfied with my lipstick, I smirked in the mirror, and sashayed out the door.

Today, despite the rough start, was going to be alright.

Breakfast went off without a hitch, Chris and Alex were honestly rays of sunshine. It didn't matter what happened the night before, what kind of mistakes I may have made, they were always cracking jokes and constantly trying to out-clown the other. They'd said nothing about the amount of artfully applied concealer to my undereyes or the extra large quad shot espresso drink I had ordered in broken Japanese, even if it was clear that this wasn't all jetlag related.

I didn't pay too much attention during the van ride to the arena, or even the settling into the dressing room at the arena, I was content to just sip on my ridiculously large and sweet coffee. It wasn't until a production assistant came around with the night's card. It was when the assistant handed me the copy of the card that my mood soured again.

The universe just really, really liked fucking with me.

First match of ours on the Japanese tour?

Motor City Machine Guns, Kushida, and Yoshitatsu vs. Kenny Omega, Adam Cole, and the Young Bucks.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

"Erm, you okay, (Y/N)?"

Chris looked legitimately worried about the way my face had tightened up with irritation.

"Don't worry about me Chris. Just wondering when karma is gonna stop fucking with me," I muttered as I handed over the card to the man. It took him a second of reading down the card and then his face went stony.

"Wanna bet money that Cody is gonna be ringside? Hangman has a match against Evil."

I grimaced. "I fuckin' hope not. I haven't watched much tape on him since he left the 'E. I don't know what I might be working against."

"You'll be fine. You're one of the best damn women in the business today and we've got the utmost confidence in you." Alex called from the shower stall. "Where are we on the card?"

"We're match three, 20 minute time limit. We're on in two hours. So make yourselves pretty guys."

There was no time to think about why Adam kept getting thrown into my path. Getting match ready, even if I was only valeting tonight, was a painstaking process and we all had our own little rituals that needed to be adhered to. The makeup and taping of wrists and ankles were the easy part. It was the strapping on whatever scandalous valet outfit I deemed necessary. If I were actually in a match tonight, my gear would never by this revealing or risqué, due to the risks of malfunctions, but part of being a valet was to support your people by any means necessary.

So that meant we were honeypotting it up tonight. Thank god I had packed a wide variety of options. There was this strappy hot pants and bustier number that would be perfect with my over-the-knee boots for occasions such as this. I normally didn't need the red lipstick and the suggestive clothing to feel confident in high intensity situations, but given that I'd already lost my proverbial shit in the past twenty four hours, I wasn't going to be taking any chances.

The two hours passed entirely too quickly and we quickly found ourselves in the ring, with Alex's old Time Splitter tag partner, Kushida, and the Bullet Club Hunter himself, Yoshitatsu. We'd had just a couple of seconds to attempt to strategize over the noise of the crowd when the Bullet Club theme hit the speakers.

"Bullet Club f-f-f-f-for life..."

The crowd popped when five figures appeared at the ramp. Omega, Cole, the Young Bucks, of fucking course being accompanied by the American Nightmare, Cody.

Of all the tours to have left my brass knuckles at home, I thought, as the five men made their way towards the ring. Eight man tag action was going to be chaotic and awareness of my surroundings and the ring would be key, especially with Cody lurking at ringside with me. The five men were sizing us up in the ring, with varying degrees of interest. Nick and Matt were yelling and jeering, complete with crass hand motions. Cody seemed dispassionate and sized us up, his handsome face sent in a deep scowl. Adam had let his eyes wander over the four men in the ring before stopping on me. I could feel the hot caress of his eyes as they cased my body from head to toe pausing long enough to make me flush on my red painted lips. He'd stopped at the bottom of the ramp, chewing intently on the gum in his mouth. Once he'd seemed satisfied, he rounded his way to Bullet Club's corner.

It was Omega who had caught me off guard.

I'd known that he was an intense character, but catching his stare was like catching the stare of a mad scientist who had found a particularly interesting subject to dissect. I maintained the eye contact without flinching, when I was really trying to suppress a shiver at the clinical look, and he'd cocked his head with a smirk. He'd seemed satisfied with the fact that I hadn't backed down. He was the first to break eye contact, like he hadn't just been sizing me up.

It was as the members of Bullet Club were climbing into the ring that Alex began to nudge me towards the ropes. He'd seemed to notice that Adam had had his eyes trained on me. "Stay safe out there. If you have to get involved, make sure the ref ain't lookin'."

I nodded, walking with a little added swing to my hips towards the ropes. The heat of Cole's eyes on my back ratcheted up in intensity, I didn't need to look behind me to know that.

It was as soon as I was off the apron that the bell sounded to start the match. It was going to be Kushida starting off against Nick. They locked up and I was quick to start tracking the motions of the other Club members. Yoshitatsu, as the Bullet Club Hunter, had given us advice that really was invaluable: it's not necessarily what's in the ring that you need to worry about, its who's outside the ring.

Cody seemed to be conferencing with Kenny and Adam at ringside. The discussion itself was intense, with Adam reacting negatively to whatever Cody was saying. His entire body seemed to clench up and I could see the tic in his jaw from my end of the ring. Kenny seemed thoughtful and impartial, appearing to take into account both of the men's words. I didn't have to think long about what they were discussing when Cody pointed. At me.

Adam snarled and took a threatening step towards Cody. Matt put a hand to Adam's chest to stop him and Kenny stood and studied the second generation wrestler for a beat, before shaking his head and dismissing whatever it was that Cody had suggested. Cody scowled, clearly unhappy that neither of the two Club leaders were interested in his plan. Cole had seen me studying the episode in their corner and shot me a wink.

Through the course of the match, Cody didn't stop stalking in the Bullet Corner. He couldn't sit still and was full of nervous energy that it put me on edge. He was working himself up and it wasn't going to turn out well for someone.

It came to a head when all eight men began a brawl in the middle of the ring. Cody and I had made eye contact and a slow, cold smile spread across his face as he began to stalk towards me. He was taking advantage of the distraction of the mayhem in the ring to directly disregard what he'd been told to not do. My boys were going to be of no help, as they were busy trading punches with the Bucks. So I did the best I could do in this situation: run.

It didn't matter how low the heel on these boots were. It didn't matter how fast my mile was or high my endurance was. Cody had nearly a foot of height on me, so every two steps of mine, was one step for him. He was gaining fast and my lungs were burning from the effort. I had maybe twenty seconds before the second generation wrestler was in striking distance.

I didn't see that just around the bend, Kushida and Adam Cole had come out to the floor. I didn't see Adam gearing up for a superkick on a prone Kushida, because I had turned my head to check for Cody. What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion.

I had rounded the corner at full speed, as Adam was starting his super kick. Kushida, whom was in front of me, had some sort of freakish sixth sense of what was coming, and ducked out of the way.

Which left me running, full tilt, into a super kick.

The pain in on the left side of my jaw and face was blinding and I dropped like a ton of bricks to the floor, the right side of my head clipping just along the barrier on my way down. My ears were ringing and my vision was out of focus so I couldn't tell you who cupped my face so tenderly and was saying something to me.

Warmsafefeelsgoodwarmsafe

I'm not sure if I leaned into their hands and pressed a messy kiss to skin and slurred, "S'okay. S'okay. Happens."

The hands were ripped away and everything went dark.

I woke up two minutes later, bound to a stretcher, a C-collar firmly around my neck, and surrounded by medical staff. Alex and Chris' faces swam in my vision and I had to summon the effort to mutter, "Get the fuck back into the ring ya dipshits. 'M fine."

Their faces broke into grins, were they grins?, and then their faces disappeared as I was rolled to the back to be checked out by the trainers.

I couldn't tell you who won the match. Hell, I couldn't tell you how long I was in the trainer's room, being poked and prodded. I was cleared of a concussion, but it certainly didn't feel that way. The migraine I had was pounding in rhythm with my heart beat, my jaw was swollen and tight, and my hand was soon to be frostbitten from holding the ice.

I'd never been happier to see Chris and Alex burst through the door, sweaty and concerned. I could see the two of them grappling with their desire to wrap me up in a hug and their concern with injuring me further.

"Y'only get to hug me all sweaty like this once guys. Y'fuckin' reek."

They shook their heads in tandem and soon enough, I was wrapped up in a sweaty group hug on the trainer's table. We stayed like that for a couple moments, Alex mumbling, "You scared us taking that kick, (Y/N)."

Chris murmured his agreement, "You just went limp. We thought Cole had killed you. Though I don't think I've ever seen him so freaked out before."

"Wait what? Walk me through what happened, because I don't remember much of anything between taking the kick and then finding myself on a stretcher to the back."

Chris and Alex moved away just enough so that they weren't crowding me, but kept their arms over my shoulders and waist prospectively.

"I saw you take the kick, while you were running from Cody. You went down and down hard, I think you caught your head on the barrier?" Alex said, looking a little pale.

Chris nodded, adding, "Cole looked terrified, (Y/N), when he saw that he'd caught you with the super kick. He almost took off one of the medic's heads when they were trying to get to you." Chris' eyebrows arched, implying that he'd caught on to what was going on.

I shook my head, and then groaned at the motion. "Can we just go back to the hotel, guys? Ya'll need a shower and I need my bed."

45 minutes, a van ride, and two helicopters imitating men later, I was safely ensconced in my room. A hot shower left my skin pink and feeling a little more human. I had pulled in my normal sleeping clothes of an oversized Machine Gun's shirt and a pair of plain boyshorts and had curled up in bed with my phone.

Three new messages.

Alex: Let me know if you need anything.

Chris: If you need anything, text me before you text Alex. He took a mean powerbomb from the top rope.

My heart felt like it grew three sizes too big. I don't know what I did to deserve these two, but damn it I wasn't going to complain.

The third message was more concerning to me. I didn't recognize the area code, though a quick search of Google told me it was Japanese.

Unknown: Its Omega. Please, if not for anything but my sanity, talk to Cole. He's moping. I don't want to deal with his moping anymore. 850-555-1234.

My eyebrows disappeared into my hairline. How did Kenny Omega get my number?

Me: How did you get this number?

The three little dots on my phone mocked me as the man took his sweet time responding.

Unknown: Does it matter? Your boy is upset. Fix it.

Me: He's not my anything and he's surely not mine to fix.

Unknown: You so sure about that kitten? I'm handling Cody, you need to handle Cole.

I caught my lower lip between teeth and pondered my response. I didn't even get the chance, as Kenny had texted back before I had the chance.

Unknown: Fix it with Cole. The Club will owe you a favor. Within reason, of course.

Goddamnit, Omega had made an offer that the political animal in me couldn't resist. The thought of the head of the home chapter of Bullet Club owing me a favor? That was too tantalizing to resist, even if it meant potentially putting my soul on the line with Adam.

Me: You've got a deal Omega. Pleasure doing business.

I had pulled up a new message and punched in what I was told was Adam's number already by the time my phone had buzzed to tell me Omega had messaged back.

Me: Adam? It's (Y/N). Are you okay?

I quickly thumbed over to Omega's message before I psyched myself out by staring at the screen waiting for Adam's response.

Unknown: I knew I would like you. Don't be a stranger, kitten.

My face flushed red at what was surely a compliment from the notoriously enigmatic man. I was about to type in my reply to Kenny when my phone lit up and buzzed with text message after text message. Adam had replied and with a vengeance.

A. Cole: Where are you? I need to see you.

A. Cole: I'd never intentionally super kick you. You have to know that.

A. Cole: Please, where are you

A. Cole: I'm gonna kill Cody

Adam had never seemed like the type of man to blow up a woman's phone. The text notification at the top of my screen told me everything I needed to know.

Unknown: He's also drunk. Have fun kitten.

Goddamnit. I swiped back to Adam's message.

Me: Handsome, hurting Cody isn't going to change anything. Where are you at?

It wasn't more than 30 seconds before I got a reply back.

A. Cole: Bar downstairs. Can I see you?

I paused. I had a proven track history of not having any willpower when a sober Adam was around. Who knew what kind of havoc an inebriated one would cause. The cons almost outweighed the pros of inviting him up to my room, but that favor from Omega...

Cole didn't give me any more chances to think about the game plan.

A. Cole: Please sweetness

A. Cole: I feel horrible bout what happnd, I just want to know yore ok

Oh boy, he was really drunk. My traitorous fingers typed my room number before I got a chance to deliberate.

Me: 948

A. Cole: Thank you, I just need to kno your ok

I groaned and thumped my hands against the mattress. Why do I do this to myself? I looked like I a hobo in this oversized tshirt and with my wet hair tied into a messy bun. hopefully he'd be too drunk to comment on how tired I looked. Adam Cole was hell on a girl's quality of sleep.

It felt like it had only been seconds when I heard the rough knocks at my door. I gingerly got out of bed, when I realized how bare my legs were. Too late to go back now. It wasn't long before I had crossed the small hotel room to open the door.

"Ada-"

I couldn't even get the two syllables of his name out my mouth before the tall brunette man had crossed the threshold of my room and wrapped himself around me, his head in the crook of my neck, arms tight around my waist. The smell of his cologne was almost overpowered by the scent of bourbon.

"I'm so sorry, I'd never hurt you like that, thought I killed you for a couple minutes when you didn't get up," he slurred the words into my skin. "I was so scared."

I guess drunken words are indeed sober thoughts. I wrapped my arms around him as well, letting my hands rub his back as I hushed him.

"Its fine. Accidents happen all the time. If I wasn't able to take a super kick, I shouldn't be in this business."

He shook his head and pulled away just enough to look down at me. "No, it shouldn't have happened. I'm going to end Cody next time I see him." As he spoke his words, his grip on my waist grew tighter and tighter. The grip on my waist was tight, but Cole kept leaning his weight into me and I didn't know how much longer I could hold him.

"Come sit, and I'll grab you a glass of water."

His head had returned to my shoulder and he shook his head stubbornly, his facial hair rubbing against the bruises he had caused the night before. "No I like this."

Apparently alcohol made him more obstinate.

"Please handsome? You're kinda heavy."

He'd stumbled backwards, almost losing his footing, in surprise. I made sure to try to keep my hands on his arms to attempt to steady him. "Sorry..."

Fuck, he thought I was mad. His lips had curled downward into a frown and his brow was furrowed into a frown. Omega's texted words bounced around my brain to fix it.

"I'm not upset. I just don't think I can support your weight for a long period of time. If you come sit on the bed, I'll grab you some water, and we can talk."

He perked up, some light returning to his eyes. "Can I touch you? I promise I'll be good."

"Keep it clean, handsome, and there shouldn't be a problem." I guided him to the edge of the bed. "Just sit here for a second and I'll be right back."

I walked to the bathroom to grab a cup of water and when I had come back, Adam Cole was passed out in my bed, underneath the covers.

Of fucking course, because my life could never be simple. I wasn't cold hearted enough to push him out of my bed, he'd just had a match earlier and he was likely sore from bumps. That at least was my not selfish reason that I was telling myself. My id was practically crowing at the thought of Adam Cole laying next to me in bed, even if he was passed out.

I shook my head in resignation as I set the glass of water on the night stand nearest to Adam. Well, if you can't beat them, join them. I shut the lights off, and crawled into the queen sized bed with Adam. I didn't realize how tired I was until I had gotten underneath the sheets. I was asleep by the time I had ensured that there was a little space between our two bodies.

I'd woken up, four hours later, from a dreamless sleep overheated and feeling constricted by something. I'd tried to move away, but the something that had wrapped me up tightened its grip.

That something was apparently an octopus disguised as Adam Cole. Somewhere in the course of what was a nap, not actual sleep, we had begun spooning. Cole was behind me, his left arm wrapped underneath me and hand cupping a breast, the other banded over my hips entirely too close to my panty line. He'd thrown his right leg over both of mine and hooked me in tight. Which explained the hard cock pressing into the flesh of my ass and I felt the sudden, uncomfortable slick between my legs and my nipples tightened to pebbles at our positions.

I froze in my motions and my mind whirred against the incoming Adam Cole induced pink haze. I had to get myself out of this and I just didn't know how, as his body was wrapped rather tight around my own.

"I can practically hear you thinking, sweetness. Stop it and go back to sleep," the brunette man murmured into my neck, beard rubbing against the exposed skin of my neck and his right hand absentmindedly drawing figure eights on the skin above my panty line. The motions made me shudder and I gasped, "I can't when you're doing that."

The right hand froze in its motions.

"I'm not going to lie, I like the sound of that."

His right hand began the figure eight motions again, lazily tracing from my bellybutton towards my panty line. His left hand, not to be outdone, began alternating between caressing and squeezing my left breast. I whimpered and pressed my thighs together to get some sort of friction for the ache growing at the junction of my thighs.

"God you are so responsive," he mouthed into my neck, placing openmouthed kisses into the skin there. "Makes me wonder what kind of noises you'll make when I make you cum."

The hand on my breast pinched my nipple just hard enough to make me cry out and push my hips back into Adam's. He groaned at the sudden thrust of my hips back at him and I was quick to roll over and feverishly press my lips against his. I started to pull at his shirt and he moved away just enough to pull his shirt off and fling it off to an unknown part of the hotel room, before his lips returned enthusiastically to mine.

One of my hands secured themselves in his hair, which had broken loose from the bun that he'd tied it into and the other had settled onto a well defined pectoral. His hands had dipped into my panties to cup my ass. It was a particularly tight squeeze of my cheeks that made me hiss into our kiss and dig my nails into his scalp and chest.

Adam pressed my hips into his with his hands as he bucked, then stilled.

"This is your chance to back out if you don't want this to go any further," he choked out against gritted teeth. "Say the word and I'll leave, otherwise I'm going to fuck you into this mattress until the only word you're capable of is my name."

I shook my head, and leaned into to whisper against his lips, "I want yo-"

I didn't even get the words out before I had been pushed onto my back, his lips working aggressively against mine, his hands sliding my panties down my legs. I assisted by kicking the boy shorts to the floor his left hand hooked my left leg up and his right hand went to the pink slick between my thighs. The first touch made the two of us groan.

"Fuck you're so wet..."

Two fingers dipped inside of me, making hooking motions until he found the spot. I mewled at the first press of his fingers, and he grinned wolfishly, before setting to work with his hand, his mouth back on mine.

I could barely participate in the kiss, because his fingers were fucking magic. His thumb provided just enough pressure as it swiped over the bundle of nerves just above the slick opening of my pussy and the two thick fingers inside of me weren't thrusting, but pressing consistently in some rhythm only known to him against that one spot that made me shudder. The tension in my lower abdomen was growing at an exponential rate.

It took just a couple more moments of his efforts before I was shuddering and gasping my release, the walls of my pussy grasping at his fingers greedily.

Adam continued his ministrations with his fingers until I was keening and thrashing, but had pulled back to stare at me in wonder.

"Holy shit sweetness, already?"

My hands shot to his wrist to try to push him away, "T-too sensitive."

He nodded and pushed back to discard of his sweats. "I'll take my time with you later, but right now I need to be inside of you."

The revealing of his cock was almost enough to make my eyes bug out of my head. It curved to almost touch his belly button and holy fucking shit he was thick. It was enough to make me gulp and wonder if it was too late to call this off.

"Are you on the pill? I'm clean, tested two weeks ago and haven't been with anyone since the test."

I shook my head, still weary of his size, "Implant. The pill sucks on the road."

He didn't see my trepidation, and moved himself between my spread thighs. He rubbed the head of his cock over my pussy, stopping to pay extra attention to my clit and then he thrust into me, hips meeting hips.

I yelped and hit his chest with my hands. The intrusion was too large and sudden to be pleasurable, with the tip of his cock touching my cervix and my walls burning with pain at the stretch. He stilled and was shaking from the effort to not move.

"Holy fuck I'm sorry. I thought you would have loosened up after you came... Shit shit shit," He mumbled his apologies into my breasts, his breath torture against the stiffened peaks. The shock and pain caused by his cock decreased after a couple moments, which left the uncomfortable sensation of being skewered by a flag pole and of being too full.

I pushed my hips up against his, breath catching in my throat at the sparks of pleasure the simple movement had caused, my walls fluttering around his cock. Adam whined at the sensation and began shallowly thrusting. Stilled, it was almost painful to have him inside of me, but moving? The heavy drag of his cock caught every little sensitive hidden area inside of me and I was panting at the sensations.

It wasn't long before I was rocking against those shallow thrusts, but it just wasn't enough. Adam's arms were braced on either side of his body, his head resting against my breast looking downwards at where we were joined. It wasn't enough, it wasn't what I knew it could be. I took the initiative and grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged at his head to look at me. He groaned at the sensation of his hair being pulled, but lifted his gaze to meet mine.

The pupils of his too blue eyes were blown out completely, barely a sliver of iris left visible and the look of him trying to restrain myself was enough to make me bite my lip and bear down on his cock.

"You're gonna fuck me into this mattress Adam. I'm not gonna break."

His mouth dropped in relief.

" Oh thank fucking god."

He pulled almost all the way out and snapped his hips back to meet mine. I keened and he did the motion over and over again, leaving me to just grasp onto his shoulders and wrap my legs around his hips for grounding. The slight change in angle had left me breathless and allowed Adam to slide even deeper than he had already been.

It was when the headboard of the bed began to thump against the walls that he began to talk, and fuck was he filthy.

"Fuckin' thought bout this for years. How you would feel..."

I was mewling and writhing at every snap and roll of his hips.

"So fuckin' tight and good and hot, like you were made for me."

The tension was building again and I was helpless, the ability to speak anything more than a broken sob of his name and asking for more having left me long ago.

"Y'look so beautiful under me and I'm never gonna get enough of this," he growled, his pace picking up even more, the slap of his hips against mine setting a brutal tempo.

I was so close, so so so close.

"You're mine now, (Y/N). Tell me you're mine."

My head was thrashing, the words unable to leave my mouth.

Adam bared his teeth, balanced his weight on one arm, and let a hand reach down to rub the bundle of nerves just above where we were joined, never breaking tempo.

"Fuckin' say that you're mine, (Y/N)."

The tension broke, and I keened to the universe, "Yours!"

Little black spots littered my vision as my body shuddered uncontrollably in pleasure. The spasms of my walls around his cock brought him roaring to his own climax.

His body fell against mine, his cock softening inside of me, and he murmured victoriously,

"You're all mine now, and I'm not letting you go."

#adam cole imagine #adam cole fic #adam cole smut #repost from the old blog

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