#Anyway MY way of stealing from him was to use a pure seed and escape

[pokemonfrommemory]

Steal from his store and he’ll steal your kneecaps

[anyoneseenadam]

Healing

pairing: Azriel x reader (acotar)

warnings: TW - sexual assault, rape, objectification and implications of abuse, smut, consensual sex, azriel is a sweetie and rhys is a good bestie

a/n: first of all PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!!! i’m really proud of this fic but I don’t want to trigger or upset anyone, that being said it isn’t too graphic but still. Anyway I hope u enjoy, this took me three days lmao <333

based on: this and this

—————————————————————————-

You had your first less than savoury encounter with men when you had barely turned nine. Your body still hadn’t finished forming, but you were growing, and your body was gaining some semblance of shape as you did. It wasn’t much – just a whistle from across the street – but for a second your heart seized up with fear, and in the next you almost felt giddy. A man thought you were beautiful.

You felt like a princess that day – felt the way you had when the boy from your class had kissed your cheek, still too young to process the intentions behind that single whistle. But you didn’t care – someone wanted you.

When you got your first period at twelve – even more changed. Your body felt new, and you didn’t feel comfortable in the changes. Your old clothes didn’t fit and now your mother forced you into tighter corsets for those long, long dinners you had to attend. Your parents were respected Fae in the Hewn City – nobles who liked to drink and smoke and throw extravagant balls. And with your new body you could no longer simply hide in the corner or climb through secret passages with your friends – muddying your dresses.

Now you had to smile when men hugged you slightly too long, laugh when they commented on how much you had grown up, sit pretty and pristine with an old mans hand loitering to close to your rear for hours as you watched your parents drink away their troubles.

By the time you were fifteen you were used to the constant attention, your beauty not uncommon where you lived but still doted on often. Unaware of their desire for your youth, your naivety. The women never offering a helping hand but instead glaring down high skewed noses as their husbands slurred into your ears – still in shock that a pretty, young thing like you was all alone at this party.

When you were sixteen you decided to change that – kissing an alright looking boy at a party and telling him exactly what he wanted to hear so he would kiss you back. He stayed when you didn’t protest as he pulled you to the bathroom and pushed you to your knees. And for this small request, the greasy hands on your body at balls and dinners or any other social gathering halved – now only the truly self-righteous felt they could touch you still.

The only problem was you truly did love the boy you had chosen. He had faults yes, but he was kind – he brought you flowers and kissed your cheek. But he also spoke over you, forced you into silence and took what he wanted. And he always wanted the same thing.

If anything it was his father’s fault. The military commander never leaving room for debate when he argues with his wife – and sons only become what they see in their fathers.

Your father had left with a younger woman a few months after your fourteenth birthday, and you hadn’t seen him since – only heard stories of him galivanting around the autumn court from your classmates. You could see the distaste your mum held you in as she realised she would have to stick around to look after you, not yet old enough to be married. Then Amarantha had taken hold of the country and that possibility had been thrown out the window anyway.

Weirdly enough not that much changed in your life when she took power, the only major difference was that now you had to block out screams before going to sleep and even they had become like white noise. You still drank with your friends on Friday nights, went out with your boyfriend on Saturdays and slept the pain away on Sundays. Your weekdays consisted of school, dinners, balls and whatever more your mother could throw together to appease the high queen.

That and the high lord of the night court had started making appearances at the events your mother threw. He was a cruel man standing so proudly at the queen’s side – but you saw something flickering in his eyes whenever people spoke, complimenting his power and rule. You saw what you felt as you laughed at compliments and lingering touches – you saw pain, but more importantly you saw anger. And right now you could use anger.

During one ball you watched him leave, taking an odd route – not the one that would help him escape the loud music but instead a long winding corridor leading to a series of smaller rooms. Without thought you peeled away from your company, muttering excuses and went after him – grabbing a bottle of wine as you did.

You found him reclining in an empty room and knocked on the door gently. He cracked open an eye – slow like a cat – and beckoned you in. You moved to perch next to him, leaning back with a straight back and letting your head loll slightly as you took a swig of the dark red wine, before passing him the bottle.

“You looked like you could use a drink,” you smiled, eyes focused on his sharp jaw as he held the bottle to his mouth with a laugh.

“One way of putting it,” he smiled. The two of you sat in silence for several minutes as you took in his beauty, his looks plus mannerisms all made him seem like a wild cat - a panther trapped underground.

“Why are you here?” he finally asked, and you raised a hand to trace that sharp jaw. But instead of devouring you as any lesser man would’ve, he brushed your hand away and held it tightly in his larger one. “That’s not gonna happen, you’re what sixteen?”

“Almost seventeen,” you said, cheekily. He laughed but shook his head, squeezing your hand before releasing it.

“You’re still a child,” he said matter-of-factly, and you scoffed, stealing your wine back to drink again.

“Yeah well that’s usually a selling point,” your voice was sad, but you didn’t dare let your eyes stray from his – refusing to show fear, “And you’re so nice to me, I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

He laughed as you pouted, “You practice this in the mirror or something?”

“Usually works in three seconds,” you confess, and he whistles under his breath, “Men are rather easy to manipulate when they’ve been trying to get into your skirts since your first bleed.”

“And you wonder why I’m not about to take advantage of you,” he laughed, and you smiled – a real smile, or real enough. “Plus I don’t think your little boyfriend would be pleased.”

“Eh, he’s never pleased - I don’t think this could make him worse.” Rhysand took the wine back and frowned.

“Does he hurt you?” his voice was sincere but the laugh you let out was not.

“Don’t all men,” he swore, and you laughed again, “Yet you foil my plan to make you fall in love with me and whisk me away to the moon.”

He laughed, but his eyes darkened with deep sadness you were sure you would never understand, “I think we both no that even I could not do that, but I might be able to crush your fly.”

“Little boyfriend? Fly? You really don’t like him do you?” you laughed, head lighter already.

“I don’t like any man who thinks they can hurt women,” he said, frowning when he realised through your passing back and forth there was no wine left.

“Shit that took us like five minutes,” you complained, and he laughed, waving his hand lightly as several more bottles appeared before you – you grinned as you grabbed another.

“So any friends with weaker moral backbones that I could marry?” you asked with a laugh, and he smiled at you.

“I’m sure I could find someone,” he leaned back again. You smiled – finally happy that one night might pass in the company of a decent man.

Soon, you’d find it would be more than one night, a close friendship quickly blossoming between you and the high lord. All your friends were convinced you were sleeping together but true to his word he didn’t touch you, and by the time you surpassed the age of eighteen you didn’t want him to. But that didn’t stop other men.

After a particularly bad argument with your boyfriend that had left you with a handprint on your left cheek you had broken up with him – sending away his apologies and flowers, smart enough to see he didn’t hold the mental capacity to change.

Plus you were beautiful and young, you could certainly do better. And you soon did – rich men who liked to buy you jewellery, and fine clothes, men who enjoyed literature and art and spending time with you.

And at the start of each relationship, for a few blissful seconds you would believe in their pure intentions. But then a hand would drift from your lower back to your ass, or the gentle kiss that followed a necklace would shift from your mouth to your breasts. Not one of them wanted to wait until you were comfortable, so you made yourself comfortable.

You pictured pretty, strong men were holding you down and making you feel something, slipping your own hand between your legs and they penetrated you to try and replicate what you were sure a lover’s touch must feel like. And as always – after the first time- they stopped asking for permission, you were their toy, so you no longer had choice over that part of yourself.

But through nice guys and bad boys, for fifty years you had Rhysand who was a friend – who treated you with respect and finally let you talk, let you breathe.

In the end he was the one who found you, in the backroom of a party – drunk and undressed. You were weeping, curled in a ball with your attackers’ seed dripping out of you, bruises decorating your bare skin. When he turned you over with his comforting hands he found your nose dripping red and the vibrant lipstick you wore smudged.

He helped you sit up and redress, took you home and stood outside the bathroom while you scrubbed yourself clean in scalding water – still unsteady on your feet. You changed into a nightgown silently and neither of you said a word when you crawled into bed next to each other, crying in your best friends’ arms as he tried to console you.

When you woke up, he was gone with just a scribbled message about Amarantha and the name of a healer he trusted. But you just placed it back down, turning onto your back and staring at the ceiling as hot tears ran into your hairline.

You barely ate anything for the days following your assault – fighting with your mother more when you rarely saw her and subsequently breaking it off with your current boyfriend. You had thrown his hands off you when he tried to touch you and the screaming match that followed ended your relationship.

Your bond with Rhysand grew only closer however as you spent nights drinking in candlelight, talking about anything and everything until you were sure he knew every inch of your soul and you his.

“You know what I’m going to do as soon as she’s gone,” you whispered one night as you stared at the twinkling lights you had hung on your bedroom roof to imitate stars.

“What?” Rhys had asked, never letting his eyes leave the ‘stars’ which he had laughed at and then proceeded to rearrange to make them more accurate. To which you threw a pillow at his head.

“Find a hill, or a pier, or a large pit or anything and scream into it until my throat bleeds.” You said and he laughed, the bed beneath you rumbling.

“Consider me on board.” He joked as you sat up to perch at your vanity – smudging the sharp eyeliner you wore with a small brush and applying some red lipstick.

“Wanna go out?” you asked him, and he sat up to with a small, sad smile.

“Can’t.” you understood his implication and frowned.

“I’m honestly surprised she hasn’t gutted me yet,” you tried to lighten the mood, but his face darkened slightly when he joked back.

“Oh she wants to, I’m telling her any information you give me about citizens, so she doesn’t.” He said, ruffling your hair as he stood to leave.

“That’s fair, I’ll keep an ear out,” you smiled, squeezing his hand gently before he left.

Things changed when Feyre Archeron appeared, you saw the way your friend watched her and realised you might be competing for his attention soon, but you were happy for him. Until he brought her to that first party – drugged and barely dressed. You felt the bile rise in your throat as you pushed down memories of yourself in such a similar position, and while you knew he would never hurt her – he was still a man. And you were foolish to believe for all those years that he was a man who would realise this was wrong.

Making polite excuses you left the party, picking up the tails of your dress as you all but raced home – ditching the dress and closing the blinds tightly as you made yourself food in your underwear. The sick feeling in your throat spreading through your chest and stomach as you ate, abandoning your meal halfway for a book and large sweater. And when he knocked on your door that night, desperate to tell you all about her – all about the human girl who he was sure could be his mate, you pretended to be asleep.

You barely spoke to him the whole time she was there, unable to look him in the eyes when she was so clearly out of it – and the feeling only grew when the next morning she would have all eyes on her. You understood that feeling. You instead spent parties flirting with Tarquin, the young high lord who was only a few years your senior or warding off marriage invitations with laughs and carefully placed words.

Rhys would sometimes catch your eyes – furrowing his eyebrows at you when you avoided his gaze, the sick feeling never really leaving. But it wasn’t until you watched Tamlin slay Amarantha with a smile that he tried to speak to you again. Feyre was Fae and leaving with her betrothed and Rhysand had just confirmed they were mates – and never had he needed his best friend quiet like he did now.

You were sitting when he found you, head in your palms and blood dusting the skirts of your dress. You had been sitting near Amarantha when it happened. You looked up when he neared, smiling sadly as he sat next to you.

“Want to go home?” he asked you quietly and you scoffed, standing, and moving to leave quickly. He followed after you, grabbing your arm as you wrenched it out of his grip with more ferocity than he had ever seen from you.  

“Don’t touch me,” he held his hands up, backing away to give you space as you got your breathing under control.

“What did I do?” he asked – smart enough to not presume anything.

“How could you think it was okay, after what happened?” your voice was quiet again, and so sad.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he implored, stepping slightly closer again. You raised your eyes to meet his and he understood, the darkness you carried in your eyes shining through – the memories that resurfaced in those dark moments. “I’m sorry, let me explain please.”

You let him hold your arm softly as he winnowed the two of you to your house where you sat down heavy and tired.

“I did it because she needed out of that cell, but I saw what they did to you and you’re a fae woman, she’s… she was human. So it meant that no one else would touch her.” He tried to explain, “And she wouldn’t want to remember.”

“That’s a horrible thing to do Rhys.” You stated and he hung his head low, “How in anyway was that helping her, to get her out you could’ve snuck her here or just take her to a ball and let her dress normally.”

“I’m sorry, I just knew this would’ve been the safest option,” he grabbed your hand again and squeezed it like he did all those years ago, “It’s over, we can go home.”

“I am home,” you laughed bitterly, gesturing to your house.

“No, you’re coming out of this city – we’re putting it behind us.” He stood and held out a hand.

“I know you’re trying to be dramatic and all, but I have to pack – and think.” You said and he laughed.

“Take your time,” he said, sitting back to wait for you, “And I know it might take you a while to forgive me, but I’ll wait.”

You had left soon after, as he revealed his city to you. Winnowing to a house where two beautiful women stood at the door, strong winged men appearing next to them almost instantly – all sharing the same tear-eyed look. Well, all asides from a short, dark-haired woman who simply smiled.

The men you presumed were Azriel and Cassian barrelled towards Rhysand, attacking him in the most violent hug you had ever witnessed. Mor followed soon after and Amren simply offered him a curt nod, to which he bowed slightly with a cheeky smile.

Cassian turned to look at you and everyone followed suit, you straightened up – not wanting to cower under their gazes.

“And this, this is (y/n).” Rhysand said, placing a hand on your elbow, “She’s the only reason I survived under the mountain.”

You smiled at him, annoyed still – but you still held so much love for him in your heart. You looked away when Cassian approached and wrapped you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground slightly.

When he released you he looked you dead in the eye, “I am forever in your service.”

“Cassian let go of the poor girl,” Mor exclaimed behind him, and you giggled, looking to Rhys for support.

“Forgot to tell you he’s a hugger,” he shrugged, and you shoved his shoulder.

“Oh did you!”  you laughed.

“Gotta get used to it, you’re part of the team now,” Cassian slung an arm around your shoulder as he guided you inside, “which means lots of hugs and long talks about emotions.”

“Don’t steal my best friend Cassian,” Rhys jabbed at his brother as you all moved to sit inside around a long table.

“He already had I’m afraid, can’t reverse love like ours,” you joined in, patting Cassian’s hand as he punched the air in victory, Rhysand feigning pain as he dramatically collapsed into his chair – a hand over his heart.

When you were finally seated you caught Azriel’s gaze, his eyes locked on you – having watched you interact with his family for less than five minutes and already completely enamoured. You smiled softly when you caught his gaze and he grinned at you, no words passing.

Later that evening – after too many drinks, you found yourself alone on a balcony you found, drinking in the fresh air greedily after all those years underground. You didn’t realise he was there until he was next to you – silent on his feet, his shadows a cool chill passing over your shoulders.

You tilted your head to look at him, in awe of his beauty. Not even Rhysand had awed you as much as this man was, his beauty unparalleled by anyone you had met before. He turned his gaze down to you as well, fighting the urge to reach out and touch you as he watched you move with such elegant curiosity.

“We haven’t had the pleasure of being formally introduced,” you smiled, lifting your hand delicately, “I’m (y/n).”

He met your hand halfway, lifting it to his mouth with perfectly poised and trained grace. “Azriel,” his voice was deep, gruff – and sent chills through you quickly. But when he moved your hand from his mouth you held on, the sparks flowing through you telling you all you needed to know. He similarly made no move to let go.

“Are we? I don’t really know how any of this works,” you laughed nervously but he smiled so warmly and tugged you slightly closer to him with the hand you were still clutching.

“You’re my mate princess,” he said, voice rough from disuse. You smiled widely, eyes forming tears as your gaze never strayed from him – finally getting one person who would truly love you, not your body – but you. He tugged your hand gently and you followed him inside, smiling and love drunk.

“We should probably go to the house of wind,” his voice was quiet as you furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“Me and Cassian have to share a room here, the bed are singles.” You smiled and laughed – irrevocably happy.

“Yeah maybe not,” you said, and he held your hand softly as he walked you to the front door, passed his past out friends, Rhys cracking an eye open when you walked past him, and you turned when he tugged your skirt gently.

You okay? He asked in your mind, and you smiled at him.

I’m perfect, why? You replied as he closed his eyes again, clearly too tired to hold them open - Azriel moving to retrieve your coats.

Just don’t feel pressured into doing anything you’re not ready for, Azriel is understanding he won’t get angry. A sort of cold feeling settled on your shoulders when you realised why Azriel wanted that extra privacy.

Shit forgot I had to do that you joked but Rhysand felt the stress growing, however before he could reply Azriel was by your side again and you were waving him goodbye, your smile tight lipped.

Honestly, you trusted Rhysand when he said that Azriel would understand – but so far you had yet to meet a man who truly respected the boundaries you set, a man who would truly wait. Azriel met your eyes in silent questions before scooping you into his arms, flying high above the house as you squealed in his arms, clinging tightly to his neck, and shutting your eyes tightly as you soared above the vibrant city.

He felt you tense as you neared the house, swooping lower in order to land on the large balcony attached to his room. He placed you on shaky legs gently and looked down to smile at you again – heart so full of love and peace.

Not only was his brother returned to him in one piece, but along beside him came you. His mate. His mate.

You caught his gaze and gave him a tight-lipped smile, terrified for history to repeat itself. You wanted to talk to him and know him – you didn’t want him to learn to love your body instead of you. And you were truly afraid to be touched again, you hadn’t been with a man since you were raped – fear stopping you before they could get close and walls slamming up if they tried.

“Are you okay?” Azriel’s voice was dripping with concern – genuine concern, and the way he said it made tears well up in your eyes. His own instantly widened as he sensed the sadness and fear rolling of you in waves, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as you sobbed into his chest. “Oh sweetheart we don’t have to do anything, c’mon lets go sit down.”

He guided you through the glass doors and sat you down gently on the bed, holding you gently and coaxing you through your breakdown. Once your breathing had calmed slightly and you had pulled out of his embrace, wiping your tears harshly with the butt of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered quietly, terrified to anger your mate when you’ve only just found him.

“It’s okay darling, what’s wrong – did I do something? You’re not terrified of heights are you?” he asked, and you laughed softly, a smile growing on his face as his worries eased slightly.

“No, that was fun,” he grabbed your hand in his scarred ones and you gripped it tightly.

“Then what was it?” you looked into those beautiful, worried eyes and let out an exhale – bottom lip quivering.

“I just don’t think I can – I can’t do that tonight.” You whispered the words lowly, afraid of his reaction as you clung like a child to his hand.

“Hey, that’s okay – we don’t have to do anything until you’re ready,” he smiled, worries easing. You still wanted to be with him, just not in that way yet – and he could wait. He would wait a million years if you asked.

“Even if I’m not ready for a while?” You asked, and he held your face in his hands gently – looking into your tear-filled, defeated eyes.

“I would wait forever and then some – I have already waited so long to meet you, I’m sure I can last longer, especially if you’re next to me.” Your smile was so sad when you met his eyes.

“I’ve been told that before,” Azriel just pulled you closer to him with a cheeky grin.

“And were any of them your mate?”

“No,” you smiled at him again and he thought his heart was going to combust.

“Well then, I love to prove people wrong.” You buried your head into his chest as his arms came around you once more, “Would you like to sleep here, or would you like your own room?”

“Here is fine, I like the way you make me feel,” you said quietly, tugging on the bond experimentally. Azriel just smiled and tugged back.

“That works for me, I’ll get you a change of clothes.” He moved to stand but you stopped him – tugging on the dress shirt he wore.

“I want this,” you grinned cheekily up at him, and he laughed, but undid the buttons and pulled it off anyway – turning around to let you change in peace. When he turned back around you were looking up at him with wide eyes – looking impossibly cute in his shirt.

“It has holes in the back,” you complained, and he laughed, sitting down to tug off his trousers before sliding under the covers as you scrambled to lay in his arms.

“Well I do have wings,” he cemented his point by letting one drape over your shoulders as you sighed in content.

“Really, I hadn’t noticed,” you deadpanned quietly, burrowed deep under his arms and the covers. His chest rumbled with the silent laugh as he pressed a kiss into your hairline.

The next morning he awoke to you laying on his chest, tracing the scars on the backs of his hands with a delicately pointed finger. He stared in wonder, and you must have felt his gaze because you turned your head to meet his eyes, face still puffy from sleep. As you whispered to him that morning, your chin resting on his chest as you gazed up at him until he rose to get your morning drinks. Barely daring to leave for more than a few seconds. And when he returned he was so glad he did – welcoming the sight of you curled up under his sheets with a shy smile and tired eyes.

“Do we have to do anything today?” you asked as you sipped your drink slowly, Azriel’s’ arm tight and secure around your waist.

“Nope,” he said, delighted at the prospect, “I just want to be with you and my family.”

“Sounds heavenly.”

True to his word, for the next few weeks that past, you and Azriel didn’t progress past slow, occasional kisses and lingering touches. But before either of those he was always searching your eyes – asking permission. And you truly fell in love with him during those weeks.

He was caring and consistent – never promising anything he couldn’t bring. And he cared for you, he cared for you past your body and looks. He wanted to be with you for an eternity.

One night, while you lay together, speaking lowly and listening to the rain fall outside your room – a glass door cracked open, you decided you were ready. You pressed closer to him, your lips meeting his own in a kiss more passionate than you had previously shared.

He followed your lead with just as much passion, but when you crawled into his lap he pulled away slightly.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you,” he asked quietly, hands coming to rest on your hips.

“I’m sure, I love you and I want to be with you.” You told him sincerely, “But I haven’t been with anyone in a few years so I’m a little out of practice.”

You giggled nervously but he furrowed his eyebrows, “But you told me about your boyfriends?”

“Yeah but I – stopped dating about five years ago.” You tried to explain quickly, old nerves being brought up, but Azriel pulled you closer and as always his touch calmed you.

“Can I ask why?” he watched you drop your head a little as you breathed slowly – determined to not let your fear rise, you would probably end up telling him anyway so you might as well get it over with.

“I was raped.” You stated and his grip on your hips tightened slightly as he swore.

“Darling, I’m so sorry,” he started but you stopped him with a sharp glaze.

“You don’t need to apologise, it happened and it’s over now.” He could practically feel you pull away, so he loosened his grip on your hips and instead brought his arms up to hold you against his chest.

“Who did it?” he asked, voice dark and dangerous. You muttered a name lowly – under your breath – and he pocketed in the darkest corners of his mind for later. His shadows itching to tear the man apart.

“Look (y/n), if you’re ready I am more than happy to oblige but I need to know you’re really ready, I will wait as long as you need.” You pulled away from his chest and kissed him gently.

“I’m ready, I trust you,” he smiled up at you from where you perched on his lap and you giggled and he flipped you over, laying between your legs with a feral grin.

He made you cum three times with his mouth and those beautiful, beautiful hands alone – more than you had ever experienced with a man and he hadn’t even received any pleasure yet. Except from the pleasure of watching his perfect mate fall apart on his sheets, over and over.

And when he lay over you, your legs pushed up and wrapped around his waist, and his forearms on either side of your head – he would later swear he had never felt more complete.

“I’m here with you remember, will be the whole time.” He assured you, voice soft as he lined himself up and you smiled.

“I love you so much,” you whispered, and he pushed in slowly, filling every part of you and pushing against every spot you didn’t know you had. You swore under your breath when he bottomed out, the slight pain quickly being reduced to please as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” you felt shivers run through your body at his gruff voice and smiled, moaning when he began to move.

He pulled his head from where it hid in your neck and watched as you closed your eyes – head thrown back with a smile – and his hips bucked, desperately trying to control himself as he watched you arch your back.

“Shit Az, you’re so big,” you moaned loudly, unaware of the trance you had pulled your mate into.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered with a harsh thrust, a hand coming to stroke down your face as you opened your eyes to meet his, “So perfect.”

You felt as if your heart was going to burst from the love that filled it as you reached up to kiss him softly – conveying every word, every thought, through that kiss. When you pulled away you were nearing your end, the sensations building in you without the need of a fantasy or your own hand.

You moaned his name, gripping his shoulders tightly as one hand instinctively moved to stroke down his wing. He shuddered above you with a loud groan – his thrusts speeding up as he to neared release, yours hips surely bruising from the force of his own.

“C’mon baby, need to feel you, need to know you’re mine.” His words ignited something in your stomach, and you clung tighter to him, kissing his sharp jaw as you smiled.

“I’m yours Azriel, now and forever.” Your gentle words pushed him over the edge and his skilful fingers dipping between your thighs brought you down with him. The two of you crying out at the sensations you shared as a growing need to never let him go consumed you.

He collapsed on top of you soon after and he intertwined your fingers with his own as your breathing evened out. He slipped out of you, and you smiled up at him as he sat up, rolling off your body and laying to the side while you came to rest your head on his firm chest. He brought his spare hand upwards – twirling strands of your hair slightly as you rested in silence. After a few minutes, you clambered into his lap and kissed him firmly as he pulled you impossibly close.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his lips, and he felt his heart swell with gratitude to the world for giving him an angel that would willingly hold his hand and guide him out of the darkness.

“I am so in love with you,” he whispered back, and you giggled, a hand moving slowly to stroke him as you felt him harden beneath you again.

“Hmm, is that so?” you whispered.

Azriel, who had started pressing light kisses into your neck, nipped you gently, making you squeal, “What were you saying darling?”

“That I am also deeply, and unequivocally in love with you.” You replied and he rolled his eyes.

“Just putting me to shame with your big words.” He muttered and you giggled – crawling down his body.

“I’m sure I could make it up to you.”

[cecilspeaks]

166 - Delta

The stars tell us our future. They’re rarely correct, but yet there they are, blathering on night after night. Welcome to Night Vale.

At the foot of a sandy hill, a woman explains to her son what a flower is. She’s pointing at an orange starburst atop a squat bulbous cactus. She says: “Flowers are beautiful, aren’t they?” I cannot hear what her son says. She answers: “Because bees like beautiful things and flowers want the bees to take their pollen, that little bit of yellow powder, right down there inside, and give it to other plants, so they can grow up and be beautiful too.” There’s a long pause. Then she says: “Nature wants to make more and more beauty all the time. That’s all it wants to do. If it is not beautiful, it cannot live.” She’s upset at her son’s next question. “Humans wish to make beauty too, but not for nature,” she snaps. “They want computers and airplanes and factories, oh Benny, don’t touch.” She sighs. Then she says: “The cactus hurt you, didn’t it? The cactus knows you’re human and it does not want you to watch it, and now it has let you know that, you won’t touch it again, will you? No Benny, you won’t.”

Underneath the scant shade of a dilapidated wing of an MD-90 aircraft, a middle aged man tells another middle aged man about a time he went to New Orleans. He thought the French Quarter was too crowded and the jazz scene overrated, so he drove east along the upper neck of the Mississippi Delta to a Swapshack, where he paid a man 50 dollars to take him on a hovercraft to look at alligators. “Such majestic and hideous creatures,” the middle aged man says to the other. “You know, when I was little, I cried thinking about how I would never see a real live dinosaur. All the world had left were bones. But right there in southern Louisiana lay dozens of living dinosaurs. It’s an extraordinary world when you finally realize that all life is magic,” he says. The other middle aged man had heard the story dozens of times, but still he replies: “I hear you, I hear you.”

A young woman thinks about a job interview she never attended. She is happy without that job, yet she feels regret for what could have been. “I cannot imagine myself behind a desk making spreadsheets and memos,” she says to no one. “But I cannot imagine a 5-dimensional horse, nor the width of the void, nor the language of whales. I cannot imagine a lot of things but the pay, the pay would have been pretty good.”

Behind a blighted Palo Verde Tree, hidden between lush acacia shrubs, two teenaged boys kiss for the 50th time or so. It is brief, as one stops to look around, on alert for overbearing parents. They kiss for the 51st time or so and then laugh. Their fingers clumsily fumbling over each other, trying to decide on the perfect grip, the perfect touch. They melt like marshmallows in the flame of inexperienced joy. This moment in their lives is as pure and powerful as they have ever felt and may ever feel again.

My mind is crowded with voices, with people living their lives all day listeners. these are the stories, they are eating fruit and playing cards. They are arguing about who said what and when. They are meditating and conversing, retelling old shows and books they remember from when they had such things. A copy of Tina Fey’s memoir “Bossy Pants” was found in  a suitcase seven years ago, and everyone in the group has read it at least once. Someone mutters that they used to have a copy of Karen Russel’s “Swamplandia!”. It was in her purse when they landed here, but someone won’t own up to stealing it. another says the book might have been used to make a fire one night, because whoever made the fire might have thought the owner was done reading it, hypothetically.

It’s been several days since the voices came into my head, and at first it was new and interesting, but already I have grown tired of it. I do not know how Amelia Anna Alfaro lived her whole life with these sounds in her mind. It’s unceasing and I’ve not gotten much sleep. The teenage lovers sneak away each night to hold hands and talk big dreams underneath the moon. It’s sweet and romantic, but at 2 AM, give it a rest boys! I could try to talk back, but none of the voices can hear me. It’s like asking the rain to return to its cloud. But when I talk to Carlos, the voices go way. Thankfully I have my greatest peace when I’m with my favorite person. I can’t keep Carlos awake at all hours or have him skip work to be with me, so I have to learn to make peace with the voices, as they are noisy but permanent room mates in my brain now.

I do have news to report, but it’s mostly stuff you already know about. The high school basketball team has tryouts on Saturday. The library is doing open mic poetry nights on Tuesdays at 7, and we all know it’s a trap. Don’t do it unless you’re well armed. And the Opera House is extending its run of Verdi’s “2 Fast 2 Furious”, starring Renée Fleming, through the end of the month.

It’s hard to concentrate on reading these news stories with so much other language running through my head. Like this: there’s a guy who’s complaining about metal scraps that haven’t been cleaned, and the woman he’s talking to is explaining that they are conserving water for drinking and the guy is saying that it’s unsanitary to make dining utensils out of dirty metal, and she replies that they’re not making any more forks or spoons, they don’t need any more forks or spoons, they need knives but not for eating. What am I supposed to do with this information, it’s been going on nonstop for days? You cannot possibly understand what its’ like to listen to someone you don’t know, who you’ve never even met, who you can’t even see, ramble on and on about their boring personal life straight into your head, it’s awful. I can hear another person saying he’s found something. Good for you pal, way to find another rock or stick or lizard or whatever.

Wait. “Weeeee have founnnnnd ittt,” the voice says. I know this voice. It’s the first voice that’s been familiar to me, where do I know this voice, he is saying “first weeeeeeeee found you. You who are – no where – now weeeeeee have founnnnnnnd itt.” And other men are barking in agreement. Listeners, that voice is Doug Biondi from the asylum, and the voices around him are the agents from the National Safety and Transportation Bureau, all of whom escaped the Night Vale Asyulm two months ago. They are in nowhere, in an otherworld desert standing near a door attached to no building. Not far from a passenger set, long since rotted away. A jet that has been home to 143 passengers and crew members, one of those 143 – the pilot. Asylum warden Charles Rainier warned us of this. He had been a been a passenger on that plane, he became part of a small commune that grew into an angry cult under the leadership and telepathic influence of the pilot. Charles told us that the pilot would find those who could help him find Night Vale. Help him find the real world, and Doug Biondi knows the way back.

The pilot found Doug and Doug found the pilot. “Iii know the wayyy,” Doug Biondi says, laughing the laugh of a man whose smile is too big for his face. At the foot of a sandy hill, a mother tells her son it is time. “Stop crying, Benny. Stop crying so that there will be more flowers, more beauty.”

Underneath the scant shade of a dilapidated wing of an MD-90 air craft, two middle aged men argue over which hand made axe is sharper. At last, they agree that the one crafted from the rotor flap and held together with the hand belt is the better blade. “No you take it,” one says. “No, I insist you, I’m happy to use the smaller axe,” the other says, “because it is easier to manage what with my back spasms.”

And behind a blighted Paolo Verde Tree, hidden between lush acacia shrubs, two teenage boys kiss the way you kiss when you think it may be your last. They whisper impossible promises and raise high their rusty shovels, the spades’ tips having already been sharpened to deadly points. They race toward the gathering crowd.

A young woman who thinks often about the job interview she never attended shouts: “Nature is beauty!” “We are beauty!” replies antoher woman. They repeate these calls. “Nature is beauty! We are beauty!” And now every voice in my head is chanting the phrases, chanting and chanting and chanting, it’s too… it’s too much!

Silence. They’re silent suddenly. My head is clear. I can think my own thoughts.

Night Vale, I’m getting word that Sheriff Sam is barring all known passages into our town. This includes roads, trails, sewer grates, even the Dog Park which is not officially an entrance to the Desert Otherworld, but you know, let’s be honest here. We’re on lockdown, Night Vale. No one enters or leaves.

Good. This is good. If the voices can reach me, they can reach any of us. In fact, if the voices can enter my mind, then the pilot and passengers of flight 18713 may well already be here, or some of them anyway. Or maybe the voices come and go. This is the first moment of silence I’ve had alone in nearly a week. Maybe the voices aren’t always there like, like radio signals as you leave a city or, or a cell phone in an elevator, maybe the voices can’t permeate us under certain conditions or maybe… Or maybe… The voices are silent because… they are listening. Maybe they’re listening to their leader, their pilot who is giving instructions on what to do next, when and where to attack.

I don’t know. But I must use my moment of clarity to tell you some news. Nope, the voices are back. A single voice is back. I know, without knowing, that it is the voice of the pilot. He says: [in a neutral tone] “Uh, hi there, this is your pilot speaking. Just wanted to let you know that nature is beauty, we are beauty. We propagate our pollen, we spread our seeds, we grow new life over old life, we cleanse the toxins of technology. We depose the human king and return natural instinct to its rightful throne. If you can hear my voice, then you are chosen. You are chosen to join all who join our nature. All who join our beauty. All who refuse will be recycled into the earth, destroyed and dispersed to fertilize new more beautiful life. All those who are beautiful are chosen. All those who are not, are a cancer, blight, infection and disease. All who are not beautiful will be cut away, amputated, so that the Earth’s wounds may finally leave, so the Earth may grow beautiful once again.

We have been found and we will return. Open the gates to freedom, end the tyranny of artifice. That’s all for now, we’ll be arriving in just a few moments, Night Vale. There is going to be some turbulence.”

[distraught] I’m sorry, listeners! I did not meant to do that, I did not want to do that! The voice of the pilot overtook me and I, oh, I need to lock myself inside the studio, I have to protect you from me, but first the weather.

[“A Prayer for the Sane” by Danny Schmidt http://dannyschmidt.com]

I brought Carlos to the studio. When I talk to Carlos, I don’t hear the voices of the passengers from 18713. I don’t hear the voices even now as I look directly at Carlos while I’m speaking. Like Charles Rainier’s fishing hole or, or Amelia Anna Alfaro’s puzzles, Carlos grounds me, lets me be wholly me.

Thank you, Carlos.

Oh, I also had Carlos bring a pair of handcuffs with him that he bought at –Target on his way to the station, and used them to shackle me to my desk. If Charles Rainier is correct, then once the pilot can speak to you, he can control you. And if that should happen, it won’t happen but if it should, then now I won’t be able to leave here and do harm to anyone else.

From my window, I can see far down the street a spiral of black smoke. There are flashes of emergency sirens. Now I can see people coming up the road. They are long-haired, sun-scorched and nearly naked, wearing not much more than flat wide-brimmed hats and short tunics fashioned from seat upholstery. These people are carrying large blades, roughly honed from scrap metal. Some have widdled down pieces of plexiglass windows into sharp points and tied them to ends of long sticks. They’re deliberately walking up the hoods of parked cars and smashing windows and caving in the roofs with their bare feet.

It is no doubt that the passengers of 18713 are here, Night Vale. If you can hear me, sty inside and lock your doors. If you can her the pilot, then do as I have done. Secure your position so securely that not even your own mind can talk you out of it. Sheriff Sam has stubbornly kept up all roadblocks in and out of town, so we have no choice but to stay. The long unmoving lines of traffic at the edges of the city are easy prey now for the 18713. The pilot offered the choice of joining or refusing, but it is not a choice, not really. He either can control you or he cannot. Those whom he cannot control will be killed at the hands of those who can.

[anxiously] Carlos? You don’t hear the pilot voice, and thus cannot be controlled. But I do, and I can. I have been controlled. We’re in trouble, Carlos. I can’t stay chained to this desk forever, can I? And if the pilot means to destroy you, he might make – me do it myself. Just promise me you’ll run. Leave me behind if that happens, OK? OK. But for now, do not let me out of these cuffs, not even if I use a safe word, which I hear is something quite a few people use in healthy fun intimate relationships.

The people of 18713 are climbing up storefronts and tearing off signs. I can see about 10 or 15 in normal street clothes in the crowd now, which means the group is growing. They are recruiting quickly.

But something else is eating at me. In the asylum, in Doug Biondi’s journal and among the myriad voices in my mind, I still have not seen nor heard Amelia Anna Alfaro, the first person to make contact with the pilot. She disappeared in 2012 and no one has heard from her since. I need to find her. Somehow, if anyone can solve this, it might be her. She was always the best at everything.

Stay tuned next for the sound of me talking to Carlos forever and ever.

Good night, Night Vale. [creepily] Gooood night.

Today’s proverb: People who live in glass houses shouldn’t hire that realtor again.

[another-sonic-blog]

Who You Are

A/N: I wrote this a long time ago and I am republishing it again (Not reblogging because I couldn’t find the original post lol) because I am actually thinking of writing a whole story out of this one shot. I enjoyed very much writing this and I love the concept! So, if people want a story or just a small continuation of this let me know!

4K200

 .

.

.

There was nothing but darkness for her. It had always been the same, always hiding, on the low, pretending she didn't exist. She wasn't supposed to anyway.  She was terrified at first at the thought to have to communicate with them...the humans. The five years she has being conscious, she had discovered how horrible of a race they are. They destroy, kill each other, colonize and enslaved. The more she thought about it, the more she wonders what was going through her head and Sonic's when they said they really wanted to visit the Earth.

"Amy, I am here!"

Amy stood up from her 'bed', it wasn't actually one. It was just a mattress that she had found in the trash. She had built up her own home. Made out of wood and nails, very simple and small. Through the years she had begun to collect things from the trash and shelters. She made sure to wash them well in the river that was next to her house. Of course, she didn't do it alone. Someone helped her in her journey.

"Shadow, I have told you before...I don't need food to survive."

"You know I don't mind, I get paid a lot and honestly I don't know what to do with the money,"Shadow said as he placed the grocery bags on the floor. He walked closer to her as he gave her a smile.   Shadow was probably the only living thing on this planet that Amy had communication with. It wasn't like she began the conversation either, Shadow was too pure and helped anyone he could. If it was for him, he would invite every homeless person to live in his home.

"Thank you."

"You know you can come live with me whenever you want ... I sometimes worry about you being alone in the woods you know," Shadow sat down on the pink sofa, inviting Amy to do so as well. "I can take care of myself ... and please stop giving me things. I don't really have much space and I already make enough money for myself."

"Yeah, I noticed. Every flower shop in town is closing because of you. Everyone now wants 'Amy Rose's flowers', you could start your own brand." The four years Shadow had known Amy, she had never told him about her past. It's not like it matters to him, but curiosity was always on his side. Amy wasn't only good at gardening flowers, but she knew about all of them. Where they grow, the exact temperature they need and just by looking at the seed, she could tell what flower it was. She was beyond smart, which sadden Shadow as well. The first time he met her, he found her 'stealing' his mattress that he had left in the trash outside his apartment.

. . .

"Hey, do you need help with that?"   It was around three in the morning, it was snowing outside and Shadow heard his metal trash cans falling down. That's when he noticed a pink hedgehog. In all of his 17 years leaving on this planet and exploring it, he had never seen a pink hedgehog.   The pink one seems not to care about his presence and continued to drag the mattress through the snow.

"I can bring it to your house if that's what you want. I can also...ummm-",Shadow looked quickly at her clothing. A short sleeveless red dress. He was really surprised at the fact that she hasn't frozen to death. "Let me give you some warm clothes." He finished. However, the pink hedgehog pretended he wasn't there. He was fast to stop her, holding her hand and he felt how the pink hedgehog flinches at the action.

"What's your name?," he looked directly at her green eyes. Shadow had to admit that she had the most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen, similar to the Chaos Emeralds.

"... Amy", the pink hedgehog said quietly, hoping that the black hedgehog would go away if she accepted his request.

"Amy, that's a pretty name ... what about your last name?", Shadow was glad that there was some progress made. He wanted to get her into a warm place. Her hands were freezing and he held them tightly to make sure they get warm.

"... I don't have a one."

"Oh ... well," Shadow looked away and he found a pink rose blooming although the snow was covering most of it. The rose was still beautiful and strong even if the circumstances were difficult. Just like Amy.

"Well, what about Rose?... Amy Rose."

. . .

"Anyways, shouldn't you be chasing Rouge or something?," Amy questioned which at hearing the word 'Rouge' Shadow was taken back by reality.

"I was but she escaped away from me!"   Amy saw a combination of amusement and excitement in his face. She didn't want to admit it but it was good to see this side of Shadow.

"Well, maybe in you stopped chasing her, she may take an interest in you."

"What is worst is that I always see her with that red echidna ... and he is slow like ... I am the fastest thing alive! What does she see in him?"

"Fastest thing alive, uh? I used to know someone who could rival you."

  This peaked Shadow's interest. Amy had never told him about people she had met before and as far as he knows, the closest thing Amy has to a friend is him and Rouge.

"Oh really? Who was this person?"

"He was ... a blue hedgehog."

"What was his name-", Shadow stopped himself as he saw that Amy's expression had changed. She had a sad look on her eyes, well she always had but right now her expression was utterly unspeakable. She seemed lost, infuriated, and disappointed.  Shadow never wanted to see her like that again.

"Agent Shadow."

  Shadow's good mood was brought back by hearing his lover's voice. He quickly looked at the communicator on his wrist and smiled while talking. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"Right now it's not the time...we are under attack ... by some black looking creatures ... the whole city... it's under attack right now... Shadow... they want the Chaos Emeralds. You need to come to G.U.N's HQ right now!"

"I am on my way!" Shadow ended the communication and stood quickly from the sofa. As he was doing so, he grabbed Amy's wrist. Pulling her to the door with him.

"Let's go, Amy. You are coming with me to the Head-Quarters. It would be too dangerous if you stay alone here."

"Shadow, its ok I-"

"Amy, I am only asking this favor of you ... please ... I had never heard Rouge so preoccupied before ... this must be really serious," Shadow opened the door and the only thing Amy could do was to nod her head in defeat.

. . .

"Alright Amy, you wait outside," Shadow said as he saw others G.U.N members enter the Conference Room. The Commander of G.U.N stared at Shadow as if to tell him to hurry up and get inside. Amy nodded quickly as she didn't want to put Shadow in any more trouble. They closed the door behind her and although the walls and door were soundproof, Amy was still able to hear clearly what they were talking about. She knew she wasn't supposed to but she was really curious as well.

"I am going to be honest with you agents," the Commander began to speak. "We can't win this invasion."   The agents were all now proposing ideas, questioning themselves and everyone could feel the panic arise between them.

"Calm down ... their master was clear during his message. He wants all Chaos Emeralds ... He promised to leave once he has them."

"If we do that then we will put all the Universe in danger ... We don't even know if they will keep their promise!" An agent said as he raised his hand. "There has to be another way to defeat them."

"Their skin cannot be pierced by bullets. They regenerate at an incredibly fast speed. All chemicals used against them had made no damage so far. Our city is being destroyed, our soldiers and innocent people are dying as we speak right now. I am aware that giving the Chaos Emeralds to 'Black Doom' is not the best idea but-"

"That's it!"

   Amy heard Shadow exclaim from the inside of the room interrupting the Commander.  "Why don't we use the Chaos Emeralds to defeat them?"

"Agent Shadow, even if we were able to understand how to use the Chaos Emeralds, a simple human nor Mobian is able to control the great power that contains it. The only one who may be able to do so was The Ultimate Life Form ... and he died years ago," The Commander responded simply trying to end the discussion but this peaked Shadow interest even more.

"... Ultimate ... Life Form?"

"You weren't here yet when G.U.N was instructed to capture him," a human agent added as she noticed Shadow's interest in the topic. "The government thought that the Ultimate Life Form could be a potential threat for the world. So they asked us to capture him. However, things got complicated along the way ... and we were instructed to kill him."

  Shadow was shocked at this. He was aware that sometimes G.U.N was difficult to handle, but killing someone or something was not really in their protocol. Or at least that's how was it when he entered to work. "Rogue, did you know about-" Shadow wanted to ask his love interest but stopped as he saw Rouge's face change suddenly. She had a melancholic face as if she didn't want to remember. She didn't want to, her face showed one of horror, terror, and Shadow was petrified by it.

"I'll never forget his face," said Rouge "... that blue hedgehog."

BAAM!

  Everyone stood up from their seats, pulling their guns out, pointing at the small pink hedgehog in front of them. They didn't know how it happened. Their eyes couldn't process how fast she was to grab the Commander's gun and point it right at him. Everyone stood still waiting for the pink hedgehog to show some type of action.

"So it was you who did it ... five years ago in the ARK. Rouge you killed him," Amy was trying to contain the tears and speak clearly. Already feeling betrayed and hurt, she didn't know what she was capable of or if she will regret the decisions she was about to take.

"Amy, put that gun down-"

"Say it ... SAY IT!," Amy interrupted Rouge, she didn't care about anything else but to hear the words come out of her lips.

"Amy, stop this," Shadow still couldn't process the whole situation. He was worried about the Commander and he didn't want the other Agents to hurt Amy. One single mistake and she could be done for.

"Amy, what's going on? Why you care so much?" Rouge felt like a panic attack could strike at any second now.  The last thing she thought she would be doing today was pointing a gun at Amy's head.

"SAY IT! SAY THAT YOU SHOT AND KILLED THE ULTIMATE LIFE FORM! SONIC THE HED-"

"YES, YES I DID!"

  Rouge finally admitted it and the whole room kept quiet. Amy had finally let a tear slide, still processing the whole concept of her reality. Rouge continued, finally breaking down.

"It's not like I wanted to... I didn't want to but the Commander order me to do so! I was young, stupid and I really needed the money. So Amy, please ... I don't know why this is so important to you but-"

"So, it was this bastard's fault ..." Amy made more pressure against the Commander's neck, already thinking about the unspeakable. "No, the Commander who gave us the order died last year," the female Agent who told the story before responded to Amy. "Is that true?," Amy inquire, looking directly at her.

"You can look at the files if you want."

"... All of this time wasted ... I could have avenge Sonic's death but instead I focused on being miserable," Amy said as she dropped the gun and step aside from the Commander. The other agents still having their guns pointed at her.

"Should we arrest the pink hedge-"

"But you know ... I am also glad that this is happening. Now I don't have to get my hands dirty... No, I am going to enjoy watching all of you die. Because all of you were stupid enough to kill someone innocent and failed to actually capture the Ultimate Life Form ..." Amy looked at each and every one of them in the eyes. Her attitude was a strange one and at this point, they knew that she had more information than they thought.

"Amy ... What do you mean?" Shadow asked her, as he puts his gun down as well.

"I was there five years ago ... Sonic wasn't the Ultimate Life Form. He was in charge of the protection of it ... The Ultimate Life Form is still alive."

"You must tell us who is it then! If he is still alive, he can help us defeat the Black Arms!" The Commander order Amy, he pointed his gun right at her forehead touching it forcefully. However, Amy just stayed quiet, looking directly at the Commander's eyes.

"WHO IS IT?!"

"ITS ME!"

  Amy yelled and she quickly punches the Commander in the face. She could hear gunshots being shot at her. In all honesty, she couldn't feel anything, She just saw how the agents kept shooting at her, all of them in awe. The only ones who just stood still was Rouge,  who seemed to have hit a breaking point and Shadow who still couldn't process the whole idea. Bullets ricocheting off her body, Amy just waited for the shots to stop and when they did, she could only appreciate the faces of the agents, totally in shock.

"Good luck saving the world."

  With nothing more to say, Amy Rose, the Ultimate Life Form walked away.

. . .

  "I knew you will be here!"

Amy turned around and saw Shadow smiling down to her. "What are you doing here?" Amy added as she looks down to the ocean. Right now she was sitting on top of a cliff. At the bottom, the waves crashed against the rocks.

"I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I am, so you can leave now."

"I don't really have much to do right now." Shadow said as he sat down next to Amy. Letting his feet hang on the cliff, he looked down and quickly regretted it. It was a very tall cliff after all and falling down will mean death. A few seconds passed and none of them talked. Shadow knew he didn't have much time and decided to get right at it.

"Amy-"

"I won't help them Shadow ... If you want to stay alive, I recommend you stay by my side," Amy said, still not looking at Shadow in the eyes. For some reason, a deep sense of sadness overtook her the moment Shadow brought up the topic. Shadow really hoped his next words could reach to her.

"Amy ... I know that people fight over the most trivial things. Some people may be selfish. But they're basically good. If they try their best and never give up on their wishes ... They always have a reason to be happy. That's why you should help them out! Saving them is a good thing! Amy, I beg you, please do it for them, give them a chance."

                                    "Give them a chance"

"Give them a chance, Amy," Sonic look outside the window from the Ark where Amy and he could see the whole blue planet at its best.

"Give them a chance? They kill each other ... there's nothing to give a chance to," Amy never really understood why Sonic was always so interested in the blue planet. For her, the Earth was just filled with destruction.

"I know that the Earth may not be the perfect planet but .. .there's people and Mobians down there who are worth fighting for. Everything has a balance and just like there's bad, there's good. Earth is not the exception and besides ... I love running in their amazing land fields and looking at endless oceans ... and its blue just like me!" Sonic said smiling in which Amy laughed a little bit at his remark.

"But in all honesty, Amy ... Never forget who you are ...because that will be your reason to live." said Sonic. "Never forget who you are."

  "Shadow?"

Shadow was glad that after a minute of Amy not responding, he finally heard his name. "Ye-yes?", Shadow got a bit scare and amazed. He had never seen so much determination on someone's eyes. Amy turned around and looked at him. If looks could kill, Shadow would have been dead long ago.

"Give me the Chaos Emeralds."

. . . . . . .

Can you feel life movin' through your mind? Ooooh, looks like it came back for more, yeah, yeah, yeah! Can you feel time slippin' down your spine? Ooooh, you try and try to ignore, yeah!

Amy walked slowly through the city. Only the 'clicks' and 'clacks' of the Chaos Emeralds hitting each other in her bag could be heard. Watching the buildings of the city burn slowly into the flames. Cars destroyed and in flames, some still intact. Shadow watching from afar in one of those. Trying to see if he could help Amy in anyway. Scared at the fact that Amy told him that she had actually never used the Chaos Emeralds before.

But you can hardly swallow Your fears and pain When you can't help but follow It puts you right back where you came

Amy saw 'Black Arms' approaching her. They all seem like formidable fighters. Fast, strong and smart. She could hear soldiers try to shoot at them, just for the aliens to not be affected by them at all. Not a scratch nor pain they showed. Amy began to really wonder if she was capable of defeating them all. But, she had no other choice. She had to do it, for her, for Sonic ... for Shadow.

(Live and learn!) Hanging on the edge of tomorrow (Live and learn!) From the works of yesterday (Live and learn!) If you beg or if you borrow (Live and learn!) You may never find your way

Amy ran towards them, jumping from car to car to confuse her enemies. She delivers her first punch to the black creature. It ended up crashing against a car, making it explode. She didn't have enough time, and as more Black Arms approached her, the faster she will get. Kick after kick, punch after punch. She was successfully hitting them but that still didn't make any effect on them.

Can you feel life tangle you up inside? Yeah, now you're face down on the floor, oh!

More and more, probably the whole unite in the ship began to approach her. She knew they were detecting the Chaos Emeralds that were in her bag. She began to panic, she had never felt so anxious before. Her mind became full of doubts and she stopped fighting. She felt down to the ground, feeling how the Black Arms tried to get the Chaos Emeralds. She hugged the bag with all of her might, feeling the kicking and punching of the black creatures.

"Is the Ultimate Life Form ready to give up?"

"Sonic ... I am sorry." Amy whispered to herself.

"Amy ... never forget who you are."

But you can't save your sorrow You've paid in trade When you can't help but follow It puts you right back where you came

Shadow was about to jump to try and save Amy. However, he stops mid-track seeing how a golden light breached through into the sky. All the Black Arms backing away and some falling to the ground, blinded by the strong light source. Some began to run away and Shadow fell to his knees. Not only impressed but shocked at the immeasurable energy radiating in the air.  Watching Amy floating in the air, looking deeply at her now red eyes; Shadow convinced himself that Amy wasn't the Ultimate Life Form ... But she was a golden goddess.

(Live and learn!) Hanging on the edge of tomorrow (Live and learn!) From the works of yesterday (Live and learn!) If you beg or if you borrow (Live and learn!) You may never find your way

There was no stopping her now. She was fast, strong, her body moved on its own. Attacking, teletransporting, throwing energy blasts, spears. Everything came to her like magic. Like the whole world was at her disposal ... and it was. Her attacks were working, the black creatures no longer stood from the ground. She knew that their bones were broken enough. Her enemies were running away in fear now.

There's a face searching far, so far and wide There's a place where you dream you'd never find Hold on to what if, Hold on to what if!

            "Never forget who you are"

Amy began to fly around the Black Arms, making sure they will run in fear. Never had she felt this sure, this confident. She was going to let the Universe know who she was:

"I am Amy Rose. I am the union of ideals dark and benign but ultimately built in the name of love. I am the Ultimate Life Form. I am the protector of Mobius. Run home to your master and tell him. This is who I am."

(Live and learn!) Hanging on the edge of tomorrow (Live and learn!) From the works of yesterday (Live and learn!) If you beg or if you borrow (Live and learn!) You may never find your way

Amy watched how the Black Arms and its ship took off and disappeared in less than an hour. An hour in which Shadow still couldn't process at how amazing Amy was ... and also a bit terrified. After more soldiers and firefighters came into the city to star the reconstruction right away, Amy went directly towards Shadow.

"I guess this is goodbye," Amy said as she looked up to the clear sky.

"Wait, what?," Shadow asked, panicking a bit.

"I am moving," Amy said as she let go of the Chaos Power running through her body, making her go back to normal.

"Where? I'll go with you," Shadow said almost screaming.

"I am moving ... somewhere in the Universe."

"What?"

"The Black Arms know that all seven Chaos Emeralds are here, they will come back again ... and next time with a whole army. I need to go and find a suitable place to hide each Chaos Emerald."

"How are you going do that? You need all seven Chaos Emeralds to transform."

"I am going to be taking the ARK. It hasn't been used for a while, but I know I can make it work," Amy reassured him. "I'll still go with you," Shadow was determined to let Amy know that no matter what, he was going with her. Whether she liked it or not.

"You can't come with me is dangerous ... I can't put in risk the hedgehog I care for the most."

  Shadow suddenly felt his cheeks go red at her comment and shyly looked down to the ground. "Besides if you go with me who is going to chase Rouge?" Amy smiled a little.

"I'll ... I'll stop chasing after her."

"Really? For me?"

"Amy ... it doesn't matter where in the Universe you are ... I'll chase after you! Besides, don't you remember? A couple of hours ago you told me that if I wanted to stay alive I should stay with you so-" Shadow began to mumble and fast. Amy knew that he was nervous at this point and she didn't want to make him feel that way.

"Shadow ... thank you."

  Shadow stopped looking at the ground and looked directly at her eyes. His heartbeat was racing faster and faster, he thought that he was going to explode due to all the emotions going through his body. The sun was shining on Amy. Although she was a bit dusty and scratched, Shadow thought that Amy was the most beautiful hedgehog in this world. There was nothing going through his head, only her, her eyes, her pure smile ... just Amy. That's when he knew.

"... Catch me if you can."

  At that, Amy Chaos Control herself out of there. Shadow smiled as he looked up to the sky knowing exactly where Amy will be. And although he may not know where she was going, he knew for a fact that they will meet each other once again. He will chase for her ... until end of the universe.

(Live and learn!)  Hanging on the edge of tomorrow (Live and learn!) From the works of yesterday (Live and learn!) If you beg or if you borrow (Live and learn!) You may never find your way

. . . . . . .

A/N: 4K words...wow. I hope this is somewhat what you wanted. This was such a good story to write and honestly inspired me to write a new story. One in which Amy travels through the Universe fighting, trying to look for a mighty weapons (her hammer) hiding the Chaos Emeralds. And of course, Shadow chasing after her along the way, trying to make her fall in love with him. (Still, don't know if I should do it tho lol) I am so sorry if this doesn't have a lot of romance or if this is not what you wanted. I can always re-write if you want lol. Honestly, thank you so much for this beautiful prompt.

[stedes-black-bonnet]

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 33

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: Still aiming for once a week updates, could be more, will never be less; thanks for sticking around; I love this story and everyone who reads it dearly and with all my heart.

Warnings: so much smut so much smut; Platonic Forms?

Abstract: Young is the night it feels so right now that you’re mine...

-------------------------------------------

Everything was black and white.

He was surrounded.

It was the apotheosis of fainting. Some unification he couldn’t yet describe, yet intuitively knew like the beat of every song he had ever written; his music had been screwed out of his heart as a bloody pulp and smashed on each page, all pomegranate seeds and peach pits; his art, and hers were works of color and intense emoting. And that was part of it, art was intricately part of this feeling, of this experience; because being with her was being with a walking piece of art.

It was, because he knew things like this, the Stendhal syndrome.

Roger had taken off his sepia-toned glasses. They were round and almost delicate in a spindly way that did much to betray the inner workings of the man who wore them. Flashy on the outside cotton-candy frail on the inside. Much like the candy confection, his moods were transient yet shockingly robust; they’d pierce you in the heart and evaporate after doing so, like some joke only he knew the punchline to, which is exactly how he liked it. This, however, did not mean his feelings were impermanent or purely esoteric; Roger preferred a full-bodied expression of his feelings at all times. For him, feelings were something you could touch and should touch. And he sensed the woman across from him, more or less, had the exact same emotional profile. Her profile was fine, fine, fine.

Deacy always loved those particular sunglasses; he had told Roger on many occasions they were his “film school” glasses, because they made everything appear like an old movie from the 1930s or that odd time in the 1970s when everything was a nostalgic throwback in color tones. It always came back to color. Of all of Roger’s pairs, those sepia ones were Deacy’s singular mission and desire to steal the most frequently. Roger was very protective of his collection, and no matter how many pairs of sepia-colored sunglasses Roger bought for Deacy, the bassist always only wanted Rog’s personal pair. This was, as everything else had been for them, some unspoken, spoken game. Though at this time, the men had no idea they were both slowly engaging in the same game, near the same time, with women with whom they were both falling in love. These decisions are barely noticed or noted, and yet they happen everyday. Rock stars are no exception to this rule.

With the glasses now removed, Roger could see Lydia’s paintings in full force. All harsh lines, cutting and uneven, and deeply felt, as if necessary. It was as if she had sliced her arm open and painted with her own black blood, as if she had smeared her very life on the canvas. Her fingerprints covered every line, even though she never used such techniques. Despite this critical distance, every line and impression spoke of some Truth, some mixed emotion, some passionate distraction, a powerful act of consolation.

They gave him pause. Piece after piece. Parts of her, all of her. He froze, for a moment. It had only been a moment. But it always is just merely a moment. We romanticize it in our own minds, making some trivial seconds into an expanse of time that shook us for eons. When in reality the moments when love happens are brief, singular, and yet universal. Another paradox; Deacy would be pleased. To each person who is having them, it could be about anything, and yet the feeling always equals the same emotion. It could be over coffee, the passing of a note, a whisper, a laugh, a glance; bringing her something that was lost, fixing something that was broken; the mundane, the easy, the forgettable, yet entirely and always recalled in flowery prose and undying poems. Shakespeare wrote sonnets for a reason, folks.

So, to Roger, a closeted romantic, and he certainly thought of himself as a new-aged Shakespeare, this moment in space-time did something to his heart he couldn’t entirely understand at this time, which was saying something since he had the emotional intelligence and sophistication of an FBI agent performing opera. All cosmic depth and precision of intention. What did he remember the most? The art--her art? The use of color and light to create depth where there was none, or should be none? Or was it her? Her torn red dress, his rainbow blazer, her golden hair. When exactly did they become one, those ideas? Inextricably tied together, black and white and her, all color and light? Well, it was our friend Stendhal. Cocky asshat, Roger thought. Roger had never met Stendhal, separated as they were by time and space, yet that jerk was right. Roger hated it when other people were right; on all occasions, he preferred to be the right one. Though, Lydia was right. She was right. She had probably always been right. He just hadn’t met her yet. But maybe he had always known anyway.

Distracted as he was by the art and the beautiful woman in front of him, he still managed to close the door by leaning on it, suggestively. Though, everything with Roger Taylor was suggestive. The moment in question happened during this small gesture. The closing of a door. And we’d all like to think he was leaning up against it as a seduction, a keen way to put the moves on the unacknowledged, unrealized love of his life. We’d all like to think Roger was that good, and that invincible in the face of ineffable beauty.

He wasn’t.

Lydia hadn’t noticed, she had chosen that moment to close her eyes, to swipe her hair back, to turn her neck, and gaze off, performing her own quiet seduction while he should have been performing his. She had ever been his match, you see.

In reality, Roger had leaned up against the door, closing it on accident, because he had fainted. It had lasted for a handful of simple seconds, nothing long, nothing melodramatic, or even noticeable to anyone else but himself. He had fainted in the face of beauty. There was something shockingly Platonic about it, which was ironic considering Plato hated the arts and artists with a passion that held hands with an outright and violent jealousy. The way Roger saw it, if he had been Plato and his mentor (Socrates) had told him he could only study philosophy or poetry, not both, and was forced to pick philosophy, well, he’d hate the arts too. Despite Plato’s blatant envy, every Platonic Form working in this room swirled around Roger, intermingled, and he experienced a keen apotheosis with the Godhead; his life would never be the same again.

He fainted.

His too blue eyes rolled back, and he felt his vision blur into blackness, all color erased, all light evaporated: he held hands with some divine Form of the Arts and Love, and everything else fell away.

He fainted. Fuck Stendhal, he thought upon waking.

He fainted. Mere seconds, but he never escaped. His body lightly became suspended in action, leaning back without his power or will to control it. He had gone some other place. That elusive place of creation no artist can name. He had gone there, on a seventeen second journey. Part of him would always be there. Part of it would always be her.

He fainted. Eyes gone, mind some place else. His body folded into the door, casually, elegantly. He leaned. His back hit the door, and he swayed with it. They danced together until the door closed. His body followed the force of it, forward, then back.

He fainted. Maybe it was her, her beauty alone. Or her artworks, and their soul-swaddling beauty. Maybe it was both. Maybe it didn’t matter. Plato would know which it was, Roger thought. And Shakespeare would be capable with his numerous talents to put it into words, and Stendhal would be able to explain it him. He’d understand.

He fainted. Wrapped in the arms of Stendhal, Roger sunk bog-deep. It was an immovable free-fall. Another paradox.

But then, Roger woke up. He came too. And he saw her.

He saw Lydia.

He thought, besides a good fuck you to Stendhal, he could look at her forever, admire her, like work of art; everyday he’d notice something he hadn’t before that would only increase her beauty, which could never be diminished. Something in her was eternal. Roger waxed Platonic. Though nothing about his feelings for Lydia were remotely platonic.

He had fainted. Slipped away for a mere seventeen seconds. Come back from some journey. And he saw her.

That’s probably when he knew. When the first hint creeped up to say hi. He hadn’t listened, though. He pushed it back down, trying to deny what was there. And that denial, that split-second choice to ignore his heart and the existential beauty trip he had been on, that’s when Stendhal reared his ugly head again. He hadn’t noticed the second occurrence, because he had been distracted by her kiss.

It was easy to forgive such an indiscretion.

Kisses can be magic.

But so can Stendhal: that’s when the hallucinations started.

All the colors started vanishing, but he hadn’t noticed.

So, he slipped further down the rabbit hole; this he would regret later, but not now. Not with her tongue down his throat.

He had fainted, up against the door, then he came back. And he saw Lydia. She peered at him. Head turned to profile, eyes down, then flicked up to his.

Well, he couldn’t resist.

Could you?

They moved in syncopation. Him first, then she mirrored him. She didn’t notice his sluggish start. And he shook it off as ecstasy--he wasn’t entirely wrong. He didn’t notice the lack of color, because the entire room was black and white already. It is hard to blame him.

As their lips touched, and their tongues touched, he slid the blazer from her shoulders, and wrapped his arms around her. Her skin was silk. He never wanted to let go of her. Never wanted to let go of her. He never wanted to. He felt that. He meant it.

He pulled away from her kiss, and she clawed him back to her, cradling his face and blond hair simultaneously. He smiled, not wanting to pull away, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her neck; it was hard to blame him.

Roger kissed down her chin, and fondled her waistline, down to her plentiful, fantastically feminine hips. And proceeded to lick her neck in tantalizing swirls that sent shocks through her entire body. He traced down her cleavage with his tongue, interrupted by her bra. He flicked his sapphire eyes to her’s; asking permission with them. She laughed softly, bit her lip, and winked at him.

That was all he needed to hear. He knew. Well, he knew a lot. But these moments happen, and we pass them by in the moment, only to revisit them later and go: was that when? Was that moment when I first knew? Roger would be trapped in this cycle for a long time. Stendhal wouldn’t help this at all either. Maybe it had been the giggle? The wink? When she threw her head back and arched her back? It was hard to tell. Love looked different to different eyes. He intertwined a hand in hers, which she readily held back.

He unhooked her bra in one skilled motion, with one knowing hand. He slipped it off one arm, and they broke touch with their other hands to remove it completely. The break in touch lasted for a second. No more.

She sifted a hand to his black pants, and began slowly undoing the button, the zipper. Each movement an important step in seduction, each second a path to exquisite foreplay.

Roger began kissing Lydia again. He pinched one of her nipples hard, until she moaned in his mouth. He hastily traveled down her decolletage once more, carefully licking her other nipple. Then, he started biting. Softly at first, then hard. He moved to the tender skin around her nipple, and bit crescent moons around her breast in one elegant line. Each bite was harder than the last, and each level of intensity made her writhe and shine, and made him grow tumescent, surrounded by black and white masterpieces.

His black pants were off, and she moved to his white shirt, though concentration was growing more and more difficult with each passing bite, with each passing second. He moved a hand slowly down, and up underneath what remained of her dress. She was wet already when he felt her tenderly. He pulled back from her breast, and gazed into her eyes--only dark to him, for all color was gone, but he hadn’t noticed that sensation any more than he could pinpoint the exact second he knew he loved her.

He wanted to make love to her, to look her in the eyes as he gave her pleasure; he wanted a connection, he wanted intimacy, he wanted vulnerability. He was a stranger in a strange land. Where was that prick Plato when you needed him, he thought, fleetingly.

His fingers worked around her clit, and she pulled herself close to his white tee-shirt, clinging to him. She sighed in his ear, and the sound of her breath caused him such shocking ecstasy he couldn’t put it into words, let alone music. His other hand found her neck, her face, and he pulled her back, so he could look at her. This was surprisingly tender, not rough, yet not negotiable. He could easily please her, and only her, forever, and count himself a happy man.

Lydia put her hand on his, and they looked at each other, as he slowly massaged her. She deftly slipped a hand around his cock, and began tracing his length in rhythm with his movements.

Roger was startled at how close he could be with someone without being inside them. This was entirely new to him. Everything about this feeling, about this closeness, was entirely new. Was this love? Was this Stendhal?

It was both.

They still had half their clothes on, and yet he had never felt closer to anyone.

They were up against the door now, holding each other’s heads, sliding their hands skillfully to pleasure the other. And in every gesture, love was there. In every movement, care occupied a space.

Time escaped them, and it was hard to blame them.

--------------------------------

Tag List:  @phantom-fangirl-stuff @triggeredpossum @obsessedwithrogertaylor @groupiie-love @partydulce @richiethotzierz @sophierobisonartfoundationblr @psychostarkid @teathymewithben @smittyjaws @just-ladyme @botinstqueen  @mydogisthebest @little-welsh-wonder @maxjesty @deakysdiscos @yourealegendroger @marvellouspengwing @molethemollie @deakysgirl @arrowswithwifi @tardisgrump @mikey-sway

[deceasedatsunrise]

Killer AU Concepts

Eh, Killer!Survivor AUs may seem done to death but it's still plenty fun and I wanted to take a crack at it.

Whenever a new chapter comes out I’ll try to come up a killer au! for any new survivors and add them via reblogs.

Here's my ideas, I’ll try to give them all a Killer Alias, short backstory, an idea of what their power would be, a quick description of their appearance, and their weapon. I’m not good at perks so for now, just imagine all of their killer perks being reskins of the canon killer perks.    

More below cut.

Warning for DBD typical topics: Murder, Torture, Trauma, Parental Death, Body Horror, drowning, dismemberment, car crashes

Dwight Fairfield (The Ghost) - It was meant to be an innocent prank, one where they’d laugh at Dwight’s expense once again. While the boss was still asleep they simply took advantage of the cheap inflatable mattress Dwight brought along for the retreat and simply let lake do the rest. When he woke up, he panicked, and fell off the floating mattress into the chilly water. The others laughed, but stopped when Dwight never emerged. They lied, saying that he left early, and pretended nothing was wrong. They would never know that, as his lungs filled with water, Dwight begged for help from anyone-or anything...and something answered.

The boss left for a moment, just a few minutes to call Dwight to tell him he’ll be looking at even lower pay if he leaves again without checking with him. He returned to the retreat’s site to find the bodies of his employees. 

Now as a malignant spirit, Dwight resembles a cold, bloated corpse suspended in the air as if carried by invisible puppet strings.

His Power would be called Haunting Grounds, a teleporting ability that assists in locating survivors. He can see the auras of generators in his terror radius, and may teleport to one as long as it’s not being worked on by a survivor. The teleport and recharge takes a couple of seconds, with a very small sound cue. He cannot teleport to fully charged generators, but when the gates are all powered he gains a significant speed boost. (This is based on the teleporting mechanic in Soul at Stake, so yes I am in fact stealing from a DBD Clone).

His main weapon is a large tent spike, stained with blood and rust. Useful for quickly killing those who’ve wronged you.

Meg Thomas (The Predator) - Meg Thomas never lost hope, even as her mother fell ill. Then one day, her mother collapsed suddenly after she supposedly began to feel better. Meg was in a hurry, she simply loaded her mother into their car and made her way to the hospital. No time to wait for an ambulance, no time for seatbelts, and no time to take into account that she didn’t have a license. She was reckless, believing she knew enough to save her mother, and it had cost her. She ran into a car and was sent flying, she came crashing down. She dragged herself through debris, both legs maimed by the crash alongside a useless arm, to look for her mother. She found her, she didn’t make it.

She heard the cries of the man she rammed with her mother’s car, and crawled her way to him, along the way she picked up a tire iron that had fallen out of the trunk. When police investigated they found two bodies, one was chalked up to the accident while homicide investigated the skewered driver. Meg dragged herself into the nearby woods, the only way she could escape her mistakes, as she was in no state to run. The entity had repaired her body, with grotesque, gangly limbs made in it’s own image, allowing her to hunt the survivors she could’ve ran with if she wasn’t so, so reckless. Several small spider-like legs jut out of her back and her eyes have been touched by the entity, making her vulnerable to flashlights.

Her main Power is New Instincts, her new body follows the rules of beasts when hunting her prey. Think of it as a mixture of the Pig’s Ambush ability and Fatal Frenzy. Using the power button will make her enter Stalking mode, where she’ll crouch down and lose her terror radius. Using the power button again will initiate Frenzy mode, where she’ll chase after survivors and instantly attack them if she’s close enough(this attack can also destroy dropped pallets). This will apply Deep Wound, or shorten the bleed out timer of a survivor who already has the status effect. If she attacks someone who already has Deep Wound in Frenzy mode she’ll be momentarily stunned but the survivor’s mend meter will lose a part of it’s progress as well. 

Her main weapon is a her own Mangled Arm, an appendage similar to the entity’s claws, regrown after she was collected. After making a hit she’ll grip her head in agitation.

Claudette Morel (The Gardener) - Claudette Morel found happiness a rarity, none of her relationships extended beyond others taking advantage of her knowledge. Stress was killing her, in more ways than one, all because she was lucky enough to make it to a good college. Under her façade of a curious student, was a ticking time bomb waiting for a single spark. She was aiming for a great opportunity, to intern for actual botanists, as long as she kept her grades up. But she had overslept, too many all-nighters added up and she paid the price. Her strict teacher locked her out of the classroom, and she had to watch the class finish the test without her. Her grades were already in danger of falling, but this one F sealed it, so her spot went to another student. Claudette stopped coming to classes, and her chat rooms were left silent. There were five students selected for the Internship, all five and one teacher were found in the forest. The bodies were buried, but beautiful, non-native flowers were planted on top of their graves as markers. Claudette was spotted by a jogger walking into the woods, but she was never found.

The Gardener was once a human, now she’s merely a vehicle for the parasitic plants consuming her. Vines entangle her body, and flowers obscure her face. Her stomach is gruesomely torn open, thick vines spill out like intestines and have wrapped themselves around her waist and legs. The flowers are “Pustulas”, the flowers that grow from the hallowed blight cankers and produce the Putrid Serum. 

Her Power is called Parasitic Saplings, giving the gardener the ability to infect survivors with nutrient draining plants. When a survivor is downed, she may use her action button to “plant” the seeds in their open wounds. The survivors are now in a short timer where the plants grow, once the time is done they can now remove the fully grown plants. However a second timer pops up, if the survivor does not “prune” themselves in time the vine growing on their bodies will bind them in place until either another survivor untangles them or the killer downs bound survivor. Pruning is a non-healing action, and being hooked or hit by the killer’s weapon will pause the timers for varying amounts of time.

Her main weapon is a Gardening Shear, half of a pair that still leaves it’s mark in bone just the same.

Jake Park (The Greenman) - When Jake Park ran away to live off the grid, only his mother bothered to keep tabs on him. When she reported him missing the police gave up their search in little time, despite her pleading. If they searched harder, perhaps they would’ve found him. He went on a hike to restock, but made a mistake while climbing. He found his leg trapped between a rock and a hard place, and his screams were swallowed up by nature. No one truly knows what it means to survive, not even Jake Park until this very moment, when he tore himself free. Even with a splint Jake’s skills only grew, his near death experience proved to him that he truly was alone in this. He fully integrated into the forest life, only interacting with humans to steal tools and food. When hunters entered his territory, he dealt with them with skill and precision.

Jake had fashioned a mask from the skull of one of his victims, the only warning sign his victims would receive before he killed them. He crafted an outfit that would blend in easily, leaves were woven together into a cloak and skins were stitched together to provide warmth. Urban Legends cropped up, of a “Greenman” who raided campsites and mauled solitary survivors with ease.

The Greenman’s Power are his Handmade Arrows, with only natural materials the Greenman had created a formidable secondary weapon. Similar to the Huntress’ hatchets, the arrows will have a charge time that allows you to aim and shoot them. Two arrows, without add-ons, will make a survivor go down one health state. However, when an arrow hits a survivor it will stay embedded in their body until the survivor pulls it out. If the arrows aren’t pulled out then the survivor will groan audibly until it is, add-ons can add status effects to his arrows.

His main weapon is a Broken Antler, taken from a moose he fell. It’s best to use every part of the animal after killing it, right?

Nea Karlsson (The Shadow) - Nea Karlsson delinquency became a downward spiral into disaster. She had grown sick of her parents and ran away, she mainly couch surfed to get by, pick pocketing to afford food. She never lost her interest in tagging, becoming more bold every time. Her skills developed, allowing her to sneak past guards and dogs with ease. She was a shadow, as that was the only thing anyone saw of her when she struck. Except one day, when she was caught. Pure chance, but she wasn’t going to jail. She tried to break free but he wouldn’t let her go, not until she struck him with the crowbar in her hands. Nea wondered if she meant to do it, or if it was an accident, but something in her gut told her that it was necessary. And something even deeper inside of her told her it was thrilling. She experimented with her crimes, violence became a norm for her. She no longer associated with others, and a string of violent assaults, and murders, began to gain media attention. Nea was never caught...by the police, anyway.

Nea is a shadow, a pitch black hole in the rough shape of a human. Bright, white eyes peer out of the darkness.

The Shadow’s Power is called Security Measures, barbed wire traps that remind her of the many gates she’d jumped. She begins the game with eight Barbed Traps that she can place on Vaults, areas where pallets were, and between doorways. They are extensions of the entity, and ensnare victims to unknowingly go through them. When caught in a Barbed Trap the survivor will have to wiggle out, doing a skill check at the end of the wiggle meter. If they fail the skill check they can still get out, but they are downed by one health state. They work similarly to the Hag’s traps, where an old one will disappear if you use another trap after placing all at your disposal. The shadow can pick them up and move them to other areas.

Her main weapon is a simple crowbar, a tool with many purposes for her lifestyle.

Laurie Strode/Cythia Myers (The Copycat) - Michael Myers was let out of the asylum without much fanfare, yet Cynthia Myers never got to meet him before a car crash left her an orphan. Michael was legally old enough to live on his own, but she went to live with the Strode family as he refused to take custody of her. Cynthia had grown to resent her brother, as his legacy followed her wherever she went. Her classmates were not kind to her loss, and she shrunk away from large crowds. Even after convincing her adoptive parents to let her change her name, any person she attempted to grow close to would find out about her brother’s crime. The bullies were one thing, but the “True Crime Freaks” were a hell of their own. Judith would be remembered as a corpse, and “Laurie” would be remembered as the sister of a murderer. A dark whisper began to grow louder, asking why she should be the one to suffer? When her brother was the killer, shouldn’t have the one to pay for what he did to his sisters?

She found him, and paid him back. Murders began to spring up in the town he lived in, the victims were the eldest daughter of families with more than one child. Laurie thought it’d be easy, they’d easily assume Michael went back to his old ways and then lock him up again. But that wasn’t enough, she had to make sure he suffered. No one knew what happened on Halloween Night, except Michael and Laurie, who both disappeared that same night.

Laurie wears a clown mask similar to the one Michael wore that fateful night, alongside a bulky jacket and grimy jeans. Every inch of skin was covered, so that it’d be easier for any escapees to confuse her for Michael.

Laurie’s Power is called Survival of the Fittest, watching the survivors from afar has led to her learning their tricks. The Copycat can do many actions that were thought to be limited to survivors only.

- She can Sabotage Gens, Chests, and Lockers. Sabotaged Gens will need to be “recharged” before they can be repaired. Sabotaged locker doors and chests are stuck and have to jimmied open, with a short sound cue after they’re unjammed. It takes forty seconds to sabotage a gen, and four seconds to jam chests and lockers.

- She’s the only killer unable to break a pallet. However, while in a chase she can jump over pallets. Outside of a chase she can lift up a pallet back in place and sabotage them as well, making it so that survivors have to do the pull down action twice to drop the pallet. 

Her main weapon is a Butcher’s Knife, the tip had been broken off in her attempt to spill the blood of her kin. 

Ace Visconti (The Misfortune) - Ace Visconti, was a foolish as he was confident. Too many debts with the wrong kind of people were bound to catch up to him eventually. One bet, involving some underground fighting ring, sealed his fate. He ran, and made it pretty far before the goons came to collect. What meager winnings he had on him weren’t enough, so their boss ordered them to make an example out of Ace. So they cut him into pieces, wrapped them up in plastic wrap, and dumped them all into a murky swamp. As they held him down he made one final desperate deal, the goons didn’t buy it but something did in fact take him up on the offer. The goons stuck around the swamp for a smoke break, and went missing soon after. A police investigation ten years later would lead to the swamp being drained, all the bodies found at the bottom would help send a dangerous man to the big house. Ace Visconti’s body was never found, but the goons were. Drowned in the murky waters by the looks of it.

Ace wear his water damaged, and muddy clothing, with plastic wrap obscuring his entire head. Duct tape is wrapped around some parts of his body to prevent him from falling to pieces. He lacks shoes but wears a ridiculous amount of jewelry, perhaps collected off his fellow victims in the swamp’ s depths?

His Power is called Unlucky Deck, cards that he uses as offerings for bonuses in the entity’s game. All cards are randomly generated, and more cards can be found in chests,. The Misfortune is the only killer who can loot chests but he closes them after use, he cannot use chests search by survivors without add-ons. Add-ons can increase his chances to get a certain type of card. The killer can shuffle his deck to look at his other cards, when a card is chosen he will pick it out of his deck and it will instantly burn away into ash. His deck consists of the following:

Ten of Clubs - If any of the crows are disturbed, they will flock to the survivor and follow them for ten seconds. This lasts for 30 seconds.

Jack of Clubs - The aura of survivors opening chests or lockers will be revealed for 6 seconds. This will last for 30 seconds.

Queen of Clubs - Once used, after hitting a survivor with a base attack all survivors in your terror radius will have their auras revealed for 8 seconds. This will continue until all survivors still in the game are hit at least once.

King of Clubs - When a Generator is completed after this card is used, all survivors will gain the Exposed status for 20 seconds, and their auras are revealed for 4 seconds.

Ace of Clubs(Incredibly Rare) - All survivors auras are revealed for twenty seconds regardless of distance, however the killer’s movement speed is slowed for the duration of this card’s use.

Joker Card(Tremendously Rare) - A random affliction of another card is played, lasting for thirty to forty seconds regardless of the original time limits.

The Misfortune’s main weapon is a Bloody Saw, used to make an example of him and later thrown into the water as evidence.

Bill Overbeck (The Carrier) - Left behind, left to rot. When the entity found him it knew just the way to “fix” him, after all, he was already a carrier. Becoming one of the creatures he had tried his damnedest to evade. Very similar to a Smoker(Type of Special Infected), with the bloated skin and a gross, long tongue. However his lumpy skin would be a charred black with cracks that glow like the claws of the entity(also makes his skin look like the black lungs of a cigarette smoker). When hit by a pallet or a decisive strike he will emit smoke. He no longer sees survivors the same way he used to, and now hunts them without restraint. This is due to the entity skewing his perception, making all the survivors resemble infected that attempt to escape to spread their disease, with dark thoughts urging Bill to prevent them from getting out alive.

His Power would be Ensnaring Tongue, an ability he shares with other smokers. He shoots out his elongated tongue straight forward to choke a survivor in place. Hitting the survivor or the survivor managing to wiggle out(similar to escaping a beartrap) will break the connection, resulting in tongue being torn off and a small cooldown for his ability to regrow it. A secondary ability is that survivors will cough in close proximity, and will continue coughing for a few moments even after gaining distance. 

His weapon would be a combat knife, a memento of his younger years. 

Feng Min (The Patient) - Taking inspiration from the controversial Dr. Yang Yongxin(Chinese Clinical Psychiatrist that likely inspired the Spark of Madness chapter), in a timeline where Feng Min is taken to a “Gamin Addiction Treatment Center“, where her parents handed her over to the “good doctors”. The head doctor’s experiments in curing their patients came crashing down when, after the electroshock treatment became to much, Feng proceeded to escape and murder the staff. She would wear the hospital gown she was given for her stay and would still be connected to electroshock equipment. Her face is heavily bandaged, and a syringe is stuck in her neck. The only hit the main doctor got in before he was snuffed out. Her Power would be similar to the Carter’s Spark, Remnants of Rewiring, driving survivors exhausted to the point of self-destruction. She afflicts survivors by creating an electric pulse that flows in a straight wave, that extends for several feet in front of her. When affected their progress may go backwards, either destroying any progress they had made before or not even getting far in the first place. Maybe at the highest tier of her pulse ability, Survivors might go into a “drowsy state” where they will have to do a skill check or two to not fall asleep, this leaves them open for attack but if the survivor falls asleep and is woken by a survivor/killer they return to tier 2. They would need to escape The Patient and “relax” to lessen the effects. 

Her weapon is a chipped baton, ripped out of the hands of her main watch guard as he bled out. 

David King (The Boar) - David King was meant for greatness, in this life or the next. He squandered his success, all in his search for a good fight. While out drinking he met a shady man who took interest in his fighting prowess, and offered him an experience even more thrilling than his less-than-legal underground tournaments. Two men go in, one comes out, gladiator style. It took David one night to agree. He grew notorious in the underworld fighting circuit, wealthy spectators paid extra to watch King’s own unique style of brutality. He was a bloody mess, and his victims were worse off in every aspect. His “Manager” gave him a unique reward, a boar’s skin, said it would liven up the crowd if they saw David wearing it. David couldn’t give a shit if he tried, as long as he got good competition. 

He was soon more animal than man, taking extra measures to make the losers “squeal” for his own personal pleasure. He soon disappeared abruptly, his manager admitted that David King simply left and never came back. Sure, King was his best fighter, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to order the beast around.

The Boar’s Power is Beastly Brutality, when a survivor is downed the brutish man will grab their leg and break it, applying the Fractured Status effect. Until healed the afflicted survivor will be slowed and unable to vault, They will also grown audibly. If the Fractured status effect is reapplied, the grunting is less frequent, until it’s barely noticeable the next time it’s applied(The Boar’s base speed would be similar to the Huntress’ to give the survivors a fighting chance). There is also a “Struggling” action where the survivor can try to pull away from David until he gives up and carries you or wins. His secondary ability can be used after every two hits with his base weapon, where he tosses the Pig Skinner to his other hand and strikes a survivor with his balled fist after gaining a short speed burst. This will distort the survivor’s vision and make their ears ring.

He wields “The Pig Skinner”, a cleaver with a broad blade and long handle. Of all the weapons he used to mutilate his opponents, this one was his favorite, besides his own hands of course.

Quentin Smith (The Sandman) - Forever haunted by endless nightmares he set out to do the impossible by avoiding sleep all together, slowly destroying himself in futile attempts to avoid the necessary part of human life. His parents were forced to admit him to a hospital when it began to make a toll on his health, where he met familiar faces(whether he remembered them fully or not) with similar problems. When a friend took his life in front them all, he broke, and set out to escape. In a desperate attempt to “save” Nancy, the only one who believed him about the “darkness“, as well he proceeded to murder the staff that tried to restrain him. He escaped into the surrounding woods, vowing to return for Nancy. When the entity collects him he desperately searches the realms for her, hoping to save his fellow victim in this life now that he had failed in the other.

He’s severely sickly from sleep deprivation, and his eyes are permanently closed, this does not affect his eye sight. He wears the clothing the hospital provided, with noticeable burn marks leaving holes in them. His Power would be Dreamwalker, when used the survivors will experience “Micronaps” slipping into the dreamworld where the Sandman may harm them. The Sandman can only interact with survivors doing “Skill“ actions, such as healing and gen fixing, afflicting them with “Fatigue”. They are now on a timer until they “rejuvenate” themselves with a health kit(by healing to full health), every ten seconds they will enter a Micronap for ten seconds, in a continuous loop until fatigue is lifted. The Sandman can attack during the entire time you are in fatigue but is invisible outside of Micronaps, only his red stain reveals his location during these brief moments. 

His main weapon is a fire axe, meant to be used for emergencies but stolen in his escape. 

David Tapp (The Detective) - (The Following is based on the first Saw Videogame, where Tapp had to travel through an asylum until being given a choice at the end of the game. He could’ve chosen “Freedom”, the canon ending where he gave up his search for Jigsaw and freed all occupants of the Asylum. Or the alternate ending, which I’m following for this au, where his obsession makes him choose “Truth” which results in the death of an innocent.)

His choices made him who he is, in his obsession he had cost the deaths of many. He was as equally guilty as jigsaw, and the mastermind took advantage of this fact. Detective Tapp died that day, and whatever was left took up the dying man’s offer to join him. As an officer, he knew who deserved punishment, and became another valuable asset of Joh Kramer. During one kidnapping, where he accidently killed a victim before they could be tested, he vanished. Jigsaw was disappointed, but not surprised, he had already lost another disciple before and there were always more who could be taught. 

He wears his old uniform, the bullet proof vest provides better protection than the red robes his coworkers wear. A pig mask, modified by a wire frame under the latex to give it structure. Leather straps ensure it stays in place without obscuring his vision.

The Detective’s Power is called Night Watch, he carries a large flashlight that acts as his secondary weapon. When using it, any survivor that is caught in it’ s light will be stunned for 2 seconds and have their aura highlighted in yellow for 30 seconds. The flashlight can charged to flash brightly, this blinds the Detective for a few seconds but any survivor who sees the flash will be put into the exposed state for 16 seconds. The flashlight works as long as it’s beam is in the survivors line of sight, ie. like how flashlights work for killers. 

His main weapon is a Modified Bat, nails have been driven into it to increase the damage it can cause. What was once evidence is now his tool to free his victims.

Kate Denson (The Siren) - One must always be weary of the dangers of travelling alone, who knows what kind of people you could meet. Men who can’t take a hint, who do not like to be told no. It was not her fault, she simply wanted a quiet place to write. The woods nearby reminded her of home, but one must always be careful when wandering away from civilization. The man from yesterday still hadn’t let it go, this time he brought along friends to convince her. She was a fighter, but they played dirty, so she had to run when she spotted a window of opportunity. One of the men stopped her easily, and she fell as her guitar splintered into several pieces over her head. They had killed her, or so they thought. They were prepared to leave her in the river to be swept away, but she woke up kicking and screaming, they would be caught if anyone heard her voice so they silenced her with a nearby rock. 

Kate Denson was reported missing after she ceased all contact with her family, her Chevy was later found abandoned in the woods. The law enforcement already had enough on their hands though, in only three days several bodies had been found in the river. There were no sign of struggle, it was as if these men jumped into the waters by choice. Anyone passing these woods would swear they heard singing from deep within, but no one had ever been brave enough to look for the source of such a beautiful voice.

Her Power is Song of Remorse, a mournful song that entrances survivors into letting their guard down. If survivors are in the radius of her song they will be “Enchanted”. Similar to madness, it applies different effects as it’s tiers increase. Survivors can snap enchanted teammates out of it, or they can “clear their thoughts”. Clearing thoughts will make the survivor’s vision blurry for 5 seconds.

Enchantment Tier One - An image of the Siren’s face will flash on screen for a second, darkening the screen for a moment until the image fades away. This will happen every 20 seconds. A quiet humming will be heard for 2 seconds after these flashes occur.

Enchantment Tier Two - Whenever a Survivor attempts to drop a pallet there will be a chance that they do the action without actually pulling it down. The flashes will now occur every 10 seconds. Quiet humming can be heard for as long as the survivor is in this tier. 

Enchantment Tier Three - Nonsense singing fills the survivor’ s ears, obscuring all other noises. Survivors can no longer heal, drop pallets, or fix gens. All flashlights will point downwards.

Her main weapon is the Driftwood club, her prized guitar now acts as the handle of her makeshift weapon. Driftwood, old rope, and what remained of her guitar have been crafted together to ensure only the most devastating of blows.

Adam Francis (The Ember) - It’s difficult to break such a disciplined man, but not impossible. The crash left him in shambles, but the person he failed to safe was left as a smear. He refused to die, dragging his legless body even as flames began to spread. For the first time in his life he displayed weakness, and allowed himself to feel fear. Death, the ultimate end, or at least so he thought. Something dark loomed above him, dark whispers making offers. Even as he bled out, he chose to think of others. He had a feeling that whatever deal he made, it would not end well, the last hope he ever had was that that young woman he failed was saved. He closed his eyes as flames devoured him, dark tendrils dragging him away.

When he awoke, he’d find a fire contained in his own body, now a hollow shell of the man he used to be. Lacking legs he instead floats in place, he breaks pallets by striking them with his weapon.

The dutiful Ember uses his Power, The Onibi’s Lament, as a way to close the distance between him and far away survivors. Activating his power makes a small orb of fire containing his soul shoot out of his corpse’s midsection. His corpse stays behind as a husk, with the player now controlling the orb to bypass pallets and quickly search for survivors for a short period of time. When the power is stopped, either by cancellation or the power bar going empty, his husk disappears and he silently “reforms” from the ball of fire. As a ball of fire he can harm a survivor once by running into them, but this automatically cancels the power and the “reforming” takes a few seconds to finish(think of Wraith’s uncloaking). His secondary ability is releasing a harmless decoy Onibi, to fool survivors into thinking he’s a harmless husk. The false orb goes in a straight line until it either hits something or fizzles out.

His main weapon is the Steel Shrapnel, a jagged piece of metal from the train wreck that had embedded itself in his arm. 

Jeff Johansen (The Unseeing) - Losing one’s sight is a horrifying experience, especially for an artist. One fight and he was forever changed, his shyness promptly became a need to isolate himself. Even though he attempted to adapt to his new life, dark whispers in the back of his mind never allowed him to forget what he lost. He began to dream, and as if guided by invisible hands, he began to sketch what haunted him in his mind. A dark mass of unknown shape, with hundreds of arms reaching out in search of something. He created several drawings, greatly worrying his mother. Jeff left home without a word, and seemingly fell off the earth’s radar. A series of murders began, a bloody trail from Winkler to Ormond, nicknamed the Mural Murders due to what the police assumed was the killer’s calling card. A mural, in blood, paint, or other materials, depicting a many armed creature could be found on any wall or flat surface near the bodies. The trail went cold and the murders were left unsolved.

Jeff as a killer looks similar to his Heavy Metal skin, though his clothing is covered in numerous paint stains. His eyes have been touched by the entity, making him more vulnerable to flashlights.

The Unseeing’s Power is called All-Seeing Entity, a gift from the entity that allows him to hunt and steal the sight of survivors. The Unseeing will always see the maps as a pitch black abyss, all surrounding items in his terror radius are highlighted by a white glow. Aka, this is how he can find survivors while physically blind. Holding down his power bottom will make him release a harsh yell, any survivor caught in the yell’s radius will be cursed with “Dying Sight”. A two minute time will begin, the survivor’s vision will slowly be consumed by darkness until they are fully blind by the time the timer runs out. Once blind they cannot see at all until they’re downed, which restarts the timer. Survivors can cure their Dying Sight by finding a fellow survivor and being healed to a completely healthy state by them, Dying Sight is not affected by Self-Care or medkits.

His main weapon is a sledgehammer, a tool with a surprising use in his art. It reshapes rigid materials to his liking.

Jane Romero (The Idol) - No matter how influential you get, or how famous you become, nothing will drag you out of the pit of your own creation. Stress builds, expectations become increasingly more difficult to meet, and sleep becomes a rare luxury. It all builds up, until one final straw breaks your back. Did Loretta Lawrence expect to die, by the hands of a daughter she declared not hers? Envy fuels hatred, and when all you see is red, what’s a little blood gonna do? Jane wears her mother’s dress, the beautiful gown she wore for the interview that led to her demise. When Loretta’s body was found in her dressing room, everyone searched for Jane, it was as if she vanished. Many of her loyal fans refused to believe she’d done it, leading to an increase in sales for Jane Romero sponsored products.

Her Power is called Shattered Reflection, giving her the ability to leave behind copies of herself while the true body went on the prowl. She can create a total of five "Reflections" without add-ons, if she creates a new reflection after using them all up, the oldest made reflection will disappear. Survivors with flashlights can destroy copies, however it’ll take about 10 seconds. Reflections have a simple AI that allows them to move around a bit like an NPC, if a survivor is close enough they can strike once. If they land a hit the survivor goes down one health state and the reflection disappears. Each reflection has a small terror radius. The idol will receive a notification when a reflection is destroyed, a survivor is in a reflection’s small terror radius, and if the reflection lands a hit on a survivor. The survivor’s auras are highlighted for 6 seconds.

Her main weapon is a Glass Shard, a piece collected after she smashed a mirror in frustration. It’s size and shape ensure damage equal to a knife.

Notes

- David’s Boar Skin is based of the Greek Erymanthian Boar

- Dwight is similar to the ghosts in Silent hill 4

- At least two of these powers were inspired by a DBD clone called Soul at Stake

- I tried my best to make each power fair and interesting, but I guess it’s up to your opinion to know if I succeeded

- My favorite concepts are Ace, Adam, and Quentin’s

- Ace’s backstory was inspired by a character in the movie “13 Ghosts”

- Yes there are Survivor Versions of the killers

- If it’s not clear, Adam wished to save Rin Yamaoka after failing to save her in this au. You can probably guess how the entity “saved” her

- Asks me questions about this au if you like, there’s a bunch of details I left out because it was already long as is

[oracleadyton-blog]

Messed up sleep schedule so i’ve been trying to get into the groove in the past few days. I’ve ordered a nice (? it’s IKEA) rug for my bedroom and it should be here next week. Hopefully it’ll warm up my room a bit and will create a bit more space to place microphones and whatnot. This is the last week before i have the house for my own for the coming year and hopefully i’ll be able to work a lot more consistently. Also i hope this is the last chunk of my life i spend here but hey who knows. But today it’s a busy day. 

Hell in a Cell just finished. It was good! And KING OF PRO-WRESTLING will air in a couple of hours. And it’ll be awesome. But first!

Hell in a Cell 2017. Didn’t caught the pre-show. Yawn.

The Usos defeated The New Day (Big E and Xavier Woods) (c) in a Hell in a Cell match for the Smackdown Tag Team Championship.

The show started quite strong with twenty minutes of good action; unfortunately the match had the kind of violence that would greatly benefit from some blood in order to really click but it was fine anyway. Right from the beginning the cage played a huge role, as it should. Huge tope from Big E, then some 2 on 1 action. This was kind of the leitmotiv of the match, as the two teams kept outnumbering each other. Weapons also played a huge part giving it a sort of hardcore/Lethal Lockdown flavour. After a moment of Usos dominance Big E started a comeback but was stopped by a superkick. A couple of cool double team manoeuvres - Uranage+backstabber from the apron, a huge UpUpDownDown - and a kick out. The Usos brought out some kendo sticks and start torturing Woods in front of Kofi. Consecutives top rope splashes on Big E who kicks out. After that Langston with a huge come back and power moves with good psychology. You could read in his face he wanted to punish the Usos for going hard at Woods. From this point on the selling becomes kinda weird, as huge moves won’t really matter. More weapons, more back and forth until the Usos manage to do a double top rope splash with a chair on Big E for the win. 

Very entertaining match. Crowd was kinda cold but i understand the idea of putting HiaC on both ends of the show. The unconsistent selling towards the end really didn’t do it for me so yeah. 3.75 starz.

Randy Orton defeated Rusev

Right from the beginning Rusev is great at selling his anger towards Orton for crashing his Rusev Day celebration a couple of weeks ago. While this was a classic WWE style match and so a bit predictable i didn’t mind much, as the two guys are good and work well enough with each other. The problem is that the fued doesn’t have much in it so for the majority of the match the crowd wasn’t into it. For the first 3 quarters of it the pace was also - very - slow, as usual in most Orton matches, but there were a couple of good spots. Rusev did a nice spinning heel kick that got a nice pop - it’s a shame he doesn’t do athletic stuff more often - while The Viper hit a backdrop on the barricade outside. Rusev didn’t sold it much. In the last quarter of the match the action really picked up and the crowd was into it: the Bulgarian went for the Accolade but Orton escaped outside. They made their way back inside the ring and Randy hit the elevated DDT. Goes for the RKO taunt but Rusev catches him in the Accolade again. Orton counters, RKO, 123.

I don’t like the idea that all that matters to a match are entrances and finishes but the duo managed to leave a good impression on me by doing exactly that. Formulaic for sure but i have to give them props. Not sure where this leaves Rusev tho. 3.25 starz.

Baron Corbin defeated AJ Styles (c) and Tye Dillinger for the US Championship.

So the match was made a triple threat in the pre-show as Tye went to Daniel Bryan and asked for a chance, since he defeated Corbin last week. The GM agreed and they made the cheesy 10/YES! chant. Great tv moment. The problem is that when Tye came out nobody cared. Some booos, even. But hey, personally i find Corbin 1-on-1 matches boring as hell so this was an improvement. We have seen these guys going at each other for weeks now so the sparkle, in pure main roster fashion, in gone but having it a 3-way kept it fresh. In the beginning AJ and Tye teamed on Corbin and then went to do some nice chain wrestling between themselves. The match had a very long and slow mid section with Baron going at the two guys one-on-one alternately. This was clearly a showcase match for Corbin and i’m not sure it worked. AJ made a huge comeback and managed to warm the crowd a bit. He’s truly great: worked Tye as a heel and Baron as a face at the same time. Another cool AJ-Tye section with reversals. A 450 splash on Corbin and Dillinger breaks the pin. Then a Phenomenal Forearm on Tye but Baron is able to throw AJ to the outside and pin Dillinger himself.

It wasn’t bad as it could. Tye is weird, it has good moments but wasn’t really able to put Corbin over who won stealing the pin which is interesting. He’s clearly not portrayed as a monster anymore. Hopefully AJ moves to better things. 2.75 starz.

Charlotte Flair defeated Natalya (c) via disqualification for the WWE SmackDown Women's Championship.

From a pure wrestling standpoint this was my match of the night. The finish was a screwy mess but that’s what they do so yeah. Charlotte got a uberface promo package with his dad and all that jazz and Nattie really carries that belt well. She looked great. Match starts with Flair having fun, showing her physical talent but Natalya commences working her leg viciously. Charlotte’s selling was so great during the course of the match and really made it for me. Cool sit out power bomb by the Canadian, Flair kicks out. Charlotte went for the Moonsault two times without success but finally hits the third on the outside. At this point i had the match bordering four stars, considering its unfavourable position on the card, being given short time - 12 minutes, good for fourth best on the card and tied with Mahal-Nakamura but still - and a pretty dead crowd (not their fault) but they went for a DQ finish. Nattie grabbed a chair and hit Flair. 

With little time they managed to tell a clear story balancing spots and psychology. Natalya is a very solid performer, hope they have more time down the line. The finish didn’t do much for me, i think Charlotte could have eaten a pin given the good selling. 3.5 starz.

Jinder Mahal (c) (with The Singh Brothers) defeated Shinsuke Nakamura for the WWE Championship.

If Jinder’s push was for the US Championship i could be behind it. He’s a good cartoon villain, has a great entrance and looks intense. Plus his trunks are great. But he’s astonishingly boring. He’s only capable of working the WWE style and it doesn’t mesh well with the limitations they put on Nakamura’s working ability. But the crowd was enough into it to create a nice atmosphere. Mahal did a nice suplex and basement dropkick early on. After a couple of interferences both Singh Brothers got thrown out by the referee (Lil’Naitch). Kinshasa by Nakamura but it takes time for the ref to come back in the ring so Jinder has time to recover and reaches the ropes. Shinsuke goes for another one but Mahal dodges an catches him with the Khallas for the pin.

The belt means nothing. The match was fine. Serviceable. Given the history and the supposed prestige of the belt it’s not enough. Not sure where this leaves Nakamura though. Technically he lost clean and i absolutely get why someone who has never seen him in NJPW is rather puzzled by the anticipation that preceded his arrival. Jinder looks weirdly strong and we are left wondering. 2 starz.

Bobby Roode defeated Dolph Ziggler. 

Dolph came in dressed in black with no music or titantron. Maybe he’s really going away. Maybe it’s best for him. Roode got his usual reaction, although is strange seeing him smiling so much. Match started with hard hits by Bobby but we rapidly transitioned into the beatdown of the face phase of the match. The two have good chemistry but the program is so empty. Some weird “Let’s go Ziggler” chants at this point. In the end Ziggler goes for a Sweet Chin Music, Roode evades and tries a Glorious DDT but Ziggler escapes. Some back and forth as they exchange roll ups as Roode finally wins with a handful of tights. Right after the finish Ziggler catches him with a ZigZag. 

A heel turn? With Ziggler? Weird. Maybe they’re planting the seeds. Maybe the fuel will go into the later part of the year. They both need a strong program so maybe it’s time to move to better things. 2.15 starz.

Kevin Owens defeated Shane McMahon in a Falls Count Anywhere Hell in a Cell match.

It’s always difficult for Owens to generate some legit heel heat. I mean the guy is almost right in his quest to kill Shane McMahon. They brawl outside right from the get-go then they come into the cage and start working it. Shane is a really bad worker but if he’s with someone good enough to carry the match for him, he can tell a good story. Hit a nice DDT, tries the shooting star press (again) but fails (again) as KO evades. Cool powerbomb countered with an armbar by SOM and then a Coast 2 Coast! With a garbage bin. Poor Owens. So the structure was pretty classic as a brawl leads into a KO beatdown of the face and that led to Shane (long) come back. They go outside of the cage and as Owens sets SOM con the Spanish table and prepares for some sort of splash from the barricade he decides that no, it isn’t enough. Stares at the top of the cage, points at his elbow (great touch) and starts climbing. So Shane eventually reaches him and they fight on top of the cell. This was cool but went forever. Basically they teased breaking the cage and falling a bunch of times until KO falls on a table while climbing down the cage. Shane doesn’t pin him and goes for the elbow from the top but El GenerIMEAN SAMI ZAYN pulls Owens away then lays him on top of Shane, 123.

As for the tag match, it would have been better with a bloodbath. But, luckily, they don’t do that kind of stuff anymore. They told a clear story and Sami Zayn involvement was interesting, to say the least. Lots of emotions. 4 starz.

So yeah! That was it. A really enjoyable show! I’m not sure i’ll keep doing this longish reviews though since i’m the only one reading them. Probably i’ll stick to rating and a couple of general thoughts. Next: King of Pro-Wrestling, from Tokyo Sumo Hall. Spoiler: it was awesome.