#ty for ask stumpy

[filamints]

1, 2, 7 and 17!

1 i just answered!

2: Do you focus on attention to detail when you read fics? Are you more or less attention to detail focussed when you write fics?

i like fics with a lot of granular detail. its also what i try to strive for because i hate fics that are like that one joke post where they end up flipping positions a dozen times and clip thru each other n break bones because the writing is so unclear. i just dont wanna be misunderstoooooood.

7: Were there any ideas you had for [insert fic] that you couldn’t make work? What were they?

i think i only have two ideas that were originally in the drafts of the fic that got yanked out for not fitting the tone. there was a scene in extraterrestrial desensitization that got Way too horny so i pulled it out and let it sit in its own separate document. i have picked at it here and there since then and moved it to a standalone with characterization more how i prefer than how it was in the original (since the og fic is a gift, its tailored to their tastes). who knows, it might see the light of day someday!

the other is what im currently working on. it originally had a much more comedic vibe in the end and i went. hmmm. idk, i think ill just continue to play the tone straight.

17: What has been the proudest moment for you so far since you started writing?

idk. probably silly to say, but pivot doodling things about my words. like, its good enough for fan art ;___;

[smokinholsters]

The Lucky Horseshoes - A Heartland Season 16 AU - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

After dinner they settled in the living room with Lyndy crawled up on Lisa’s lap while they looked at a fashion magazine together. Amy loved watching them turn pages and Lyndy’s exclamations of how beautiful the dresses and the models were. It always made her smile when she exclaimed that none were as beautiful as her mama. Jack had the Hudson Times open and folded so that he could read an article. Lou had still not gotten back from a meeting in town, Katie was finishing a project for school and was staying over with Parker at her house.

“You two Ok together ?” Amy asked Lisa and Lyndy “I’m going to sit on the porch and give Cass a call, we really didn’t get a chance to catch up today.”

“We’re just fine, aren’t we sweetheart ?” Lisa asked getting a nod and smile from Lyndy.

“I’m going to make a cup of tea first, anyone want anything ?”

Hearing a no all around Amy fixed herself a cup of chai which she favored these days, grabbed her long porch sweater and headed out into the cool evening.

“Perfect timing, Caleb’s off for at least an hour, so, tell me, tell me.” Cass started excitedly.

Amy smiled and took a sip of tea, she missed having her friend to talk to but understood how busy Cass was between work and motherhood. She looked forward to her having more time with her friend.

“Ok, well, you know about how we met and the whole Spartan thing so I guess I’ll start with the surprise trail ride.”

“What’s a surprise trail ride ?”

This was another memory that in the telling brought a smile to her face.

“That’s very cute Amy and Lyndy seems to be Ok with him ?”

“She’s actually talked about him which I take as a good sign. He was good with her.”

“And since then ?”

“Ok, this nobody knows, we’ve met 3 times for coffee, and walks, I have to go slow Cass.”

“Girl, you do what you have to do, were they, I can’t believe I’m even asking this, official dates ?”

Amy laughed, it was a bit silly, “we met outside Maggie’s one day by coincidence , I was picking up a feed order and he was stopping for coffee, I had some time so he got two coffees while they filled the truck and we met at the park, walked, sat, talked, sipped, it was nice Cass.”

“And he texted one day and asked if I was free for a little while for coffee so we met by the field near Stumpy’s, past the fishing hole and had coffee and talked. When we split up we agreed to keep meeting and I had to head to town to pickup Lyndy for a check up a couple days later so I called and he was free so we had coffee a third time until today when we added PBJ’s to the mix.”

“Sounds like you’re pretty close to dating Amy. He’s Ok with your speed.”

“He’s fine and very sweet. Anyway, I’m going to Okotoks Friday afternoon, picking up a restless horse from Isaac Fraser and I asked Finn if he would come with me to help and meet Isaac. We’re having lunch on the way. We’re pretty much officially dating Cass.”

“Isaac’s a good connection for him too, so, that’s good. You know you really have to let the cat out of the bag Amy.”

“I know, so as a first step I was thinking of asking Lisa if she would mind my inviting Finn to Sunday dinner. If he can make it i’ll let them all know at Friday night dinner and it’s done. Actually, maybe a trail ride with Lyndy before dinner would be nice, set the mood.”

“So, uhm, have you two had any, what’s a good word here ….”

“Contact ?”

“Ok.”

“We held hands on our last walk and hugs. We haven’t made out.”

“And ?”

Amy smiled “I think he’s holding back waiting for me. It’s hard to talk about my life without Ty and we’ve talked a lot. I’m sure I’ve gone overboard. I took his hand when we were walking the last time and I’m hoping he’ll get the hint that I’d like to be kissed.”

“Well, so logistically speaking neither of you live alone, you don’t even have the loft anymore.”

Amy sighed loudly “I never thought I’d ever be in this situation Cass, something will shake loose, not sure what, but….. I don’t know.”

“Where there’s a will there’s a way Amy, you’ll find it. I’ll let you go and just to see how everything’s going I’ll call Saturday for sure.”

“I’ll text when I know anything, but a call would be nice, or better, stop by if you have some time.”

Like most mornings this particular Friday was no different, Amy and Lyndy came out Lyndy’s room holding hands and headed to the kitchen where she knew she’d find Lisa doing her thing.

“Good morning Amy and Lyndy.” Jessica said sitting at the small table nursing a cup of coffee.

“Ladies.” Amy said walking past to the fridge to get Lyndy her milk as the little girl climbed onto a chair.

“Good morning Grandma , Good morning Grandma Lisa.”

“I have pancake batter all ready Lyndy, want a pancake ?”

“Yes please, with syrup please.”

“The syrup is on the table Lyndy.”

“Plans today Amy ?”

“Heading to Okotoks to pick up a restless horse from Isaak Fraser.”

“He must be a good client.”

Amy thought for a second and figured this was as good as it was going to get. “He is and he never argues about the price and pays as quick as the bill arrives, I’m introducing him to Finn.”

“Today ?”

“Picking him up on the way, we’ll stop for lunch in Oketoks and then head over to Isaak’s place.”

Amy handed Lyndy her milk and then grabbed a mug she filled with coffee and sat down across from Lyndy who was waiting to get her school clothes bib tied on. The rule of course being is that if she was wearing her school clothes she needed to at least get to school clean. So as soon as Amy put her up down Lyndy held her hands over her head with the two ends for Amy to tie. While she certainly tied her shoes on her own, behind the neck was a bit of a challenge.

Next came the pancake which had to be cut before getting any syrup and no butter. Lyndy had her standards and her reasons. As Lyndy’s fork jabbed down into the first piece of pancake Amy took a long pull on her coffee which came with a gulp and a wince for the heat. To her the best feeling in the world followed closely by hot tea. The room was quiet so Amy pushed her advantage. “Lisa, it would be Ok if I invited Finn for dinner Sunday ? I was thinking that I would invite him on Lyndy and my Sunday afternoon trail ride. Lyndy would that be Ok with you ?”

“I like Finn.”

“Then it’s settled, Lisa ?”

Lisa stared at her for a second and then glanced to Jessica. Amy knew she had her and smiled. “Lisa ? Sunday ?”

“Er, Sunday dinner, sure fine sweetheart, you know you really don’t have to ask.”

“Unless there’s an ulterior motive.” Amy whispered. She watched Lyndy pop the last piece of pancake into her mouth and reach for her cup of milk to finish in one last gulp.

“Go get washed up sweetheart, how about a ride up to the bus since Katie spent the night at Parker’s house, I’ll go grab Harley.”

“Ok, I’ll hurry.”

“I didn’t say hurry, do a good job on your teeth and wash off all that syrup, go on.”

“Amy ?”

Amy smiled “brew a fresh pot Lisa, I’ll be back soon, you two busybodies can suffer until I get back. One of you help Lyndy with her coat and make sure she takes her lunch please.”

Jessica was waiting with Lyndy on the porch as Amy pulled up riding an unsaddled Harley. Lyndy came down the short stairs and through the fence where Amy reached down and with practiced assurance grabbed hold of Lyndy’s outstretched arm and hoisted her up in front of her as her free hand wrapped around the little girl and her backpack. After getting Lyndy’s ready nod Amy’s legs shifted and Harley turned at the unspoken command and went from a walk to a canter in the direction of the Heartland gate where they’d wait for the bus.

Amy waited alongside Harley and waved to Lyndy as the bus pulled away and then decided to get the horse out into the meadow rather that just tie him off at the house. The schemers would just stew a bit longer wondering how they went from their clever ruse to have Amy and Finn work together to announcing she was bringing him to Sunday dinner following a trail ride two days later, there was a significance to Sunday dinner. It wasn’t religious, that wasn’t part of their lives to any great extent, they didn’t go to church, belong to a church, say grace or thank god too often, hell, they didn’t even baptize their kids. Amy was actually more in line spiritually with First Nation beliefs than anything else. The significance of Sunday dinner was the almost hard guarantee that every family member in the vicinity would be there. Amy inviting Finn meant something. Both Lisa and Jessica were sitting in the kitchen when the door opened and Amy stopped to hang her coat and hat before walking past them to fill her mug with the fresh steaming coffee.

“Should we do this in the living room ?”

“Amy.”

“Yes, yes Lisa, let’s at least be comfortable.” She said walking past leaving no choice for the other two but to follow her.

They each settled with coasters for their coffees, Amy took Jack’s chair, Lisa hers and Jessica took the coach.

Amy took a sip and smiled “so what do you all want to talk about ?”

“Well obviously the joke’s on us, care to fill in the gaps ?” Lisa asked.

“Have you two gone out together ?” Jessica added.

“Between the trail ride with Lyndy and yesterday, we’ve met for coffee a few times, and had some very enjoyable long talks and walks.”

Lisa laughed “well , Sunday dinner is not gonna fit the Heartland mold of keeping your relationship a secret until it blows up.”

Amy nodded as she and Jessica both laughed as well “Maybe it’s time that mold gets broken. I don’t want the secrets and I’m really not interested in sneaking around. Just get it out in the open.”

Jessica nodded, she was all smiles “So, what’s the plan ?”

“For now, I’ve got horses to deal and get out into a meadow and a trailer to hook up.”

“You’re picking him up ?”

“Yup, on the way, makes the most sense. He’ll come back with me and I’ll get him back home when we’re done.”

“How about dinner tonight then ?” Lisa asked.

“Nope, Sunday, when everyone’s here, tear the bandage off, deal with the crap and move on.”

“I’m going to have to mention it to your grandfather you know.”

“Yup, and I guess Jess should probably mention it to dad and maybe Lou, that would really soften the blow. Excellent.”

“So this was the plan all along.”

“Well Grandma I kind of figured you’d start with an apology but otherwise it’s worked out well, don’t you think ?”

“Well granddaughter I’m not apologizing for you having a day with your best friend and a man you’re happy to spend time while paying you all for the pleasure.”

“Fair enough, I should be home in time for Lyndy, but ….”

“One of us will be here.” Jessica finished for her “don’t hurry on our account.”

“I’ll be back to wash up and change before I go.”

Lisa grinned “must be nice to have someone to get changed for.”

“I’m going to lunch in a restaurant and to see a man who owns a couple hundred horses, going with Finn’s the bonus. We like each other Lisa, I enjoy just being with him. We’re going slow for my sake.”

“Take all the time you need sweetheart.”

Jessica nodded and reached out to take her hand “We’re here for you Amy and we’re on your side.”

Amy smiled and got up to rinse her mug and drop it in the dishwasher. “Hopefully we won’t have to choose sides and wage war Jess, it’s just dinner. I’ll be back, in the meantime you two can, I don’t know, maybe find Katie a guy ?”

“Well, I guess our work here is done.” Jessica said laughing when she heard Amy’s boots leave the steps “they’ve been dating all along.”

“Yeah, not really with the whole job thing, you haven’t seen the adult male reaction to the men Fleming women bring home and I’m not going to put up with it anymore.”

“What am I missing here ?”

“They’ll think it’s their place to approve as if Amy’s 15, it’s, it’s, I don’t know Jess, it’s misguided, condescending and frankly sexist.”

“I’m not sure I get it, Amy’s what 32 ?”

“There’s nothing to get Jess, it’s just macho male bullshit. Anyway, I won’t put up with it anymore, she my granddaughter too.”

“Maybe it won’t go that way.”

“Well miracles do happen, how about that ride ?”

“I’m game, let me change and grab a camera. Meet me in the barn ?”

“Sure will, 15 minutes ?”

Lisa nodded as they both stood.

Amy was just finishing up hooking the trailer to her truck when Lisa walked past glancing in the barn before looking around. “No horses ?”

“I’m sorry Lisa I put them all out, Cinders and Venus are closest, I’ll grab them for you.”

“I’ll come with you Amy let me just call up to Jess, we’re going for a ride.”

“They’re out in the meadow behind the barn, I’ll meet you.”

Amy left them saddling their horses and turned to see them walk out of the barn as she went up the stairs to the house. 15 minutes later she locked the door behind her and headed over to her truck. She checked the trailer hitch even though it was one of the last things she did before heading to the house. Trailer hitches were like saddle cinches as far as she was concerned, they took a second to check and that wariness is what kept you safe.

With the trailer slowing her down a bit and using the GPS it took her about 20 minutes to get to Al’s place and was surprised that is was larger than she thought it would be with a barn, several outbuildings and some fenced in meadows. She caught sight of several horses milling around in the field, some larger horses, none Butch, that she was sure were for Al’s business and a few that looked like straight up ranch horses. She spotted Night immediately and a circle drive up to the nice porched house where she spotted a lone cowboy sitting and sipping coffee, his hat by his side.

When she stopped the truck she leaned across to the open window on the passenger side and called out “Hey handsome, looking for some company ?”

She tried to hide her excitement at just seeing him but failed miserably, especially when he patted the bench next to where he was sitting and smiled back.

[traucritters]

This is Coral the Stumpy-Footed Dinosaur. She’s pretty young, so she doesn’t really have a job, but she loves movies and baking, and is a very gentle, kind-hearted soul. She hangs out a lot with my other toy dinosaurs, especially Bug and Birdie, and is always a little starstruck whenever George the archaeologist comes back from a dig.

I got Coral from a Barnes and Noble in February 2019. I was looking for Valentine gifts for my friends; I was hoping particularly to find a Ty sequined diosaur to give to my buddy Brendan, since he liked both dinosaurs and shiny things. The only dinosaur they had at the shop was Coral: a triceratops made by the Manhattan Toy Company.

She wasn’t what I’d come for, but I was delighted with her—especially with her stumpy weighted bean-bag feet and their faux-suede footpads. I searched online for more of her, but found she was no longer available for purchase. So... I selfishly got her for myself.

The checkout lady smiled at me indulgently as she rang me up. “Oh, this is adorable. How old is the little one?” She asked, holding Coral aloft.

“Uh... nineteen,” I said sheepishly.

The checkout lady’s eyes lit up. “Oh! You know what you want out of life! That’s a good thing. Don’t ever change.”

I got Brendan a different dinosaur from a different store, and Coral stayed with me. I’m glad I kept her.

[kitsuneudon743]

DamiRae week 2020 Day 2: Royalty AU

Well this took longer than expected and I’m not super happy about it, I had planned on doing a second part of my last one but changed my mind last minute...

but I hope you enjoy it anyway :)  Let’s hope tomorrow’s prompt will go smoother!

-

Raven would be lying if she had said she was excited for her eighteenth birthday.

Luckily for her, she had never said such a thing.

“Ow!” she gasped, throwing her hands in front of her to take hold of the desk that was there. Hecate, her chambermaid, ignored her whimper of pain and pulled even tighter at the corset; making Raven feel as though she were about to break in two. “Is this...really necessary?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, princess.” She muttered her voice almost snakelike, which wasn’t surprising considering her appearance.  Pale, scaly skin. Jet black eyes with little to no sclera. Jagged, pointed teeth and not one trace of hair. If she hadn’t been with Raven since the day she was born, she might have been enough to evoke nightmares.

But this was the demon realm; there were plenty of nightmare worthy characters walking about.

“Your father expects you to look nothing less than perfect for today. This could be the most important event of your life, and for the realm.”

“I can’t imagine why...they’re just humans.” Raven spoke with discontent. Years of tradition were coming to an end; her father had made a truce with a powerful clan in the human world, and unfortunately she was an asset. Today wasn’t just her birthday; it was the day she was to meet the human she had been promised to as part of the alliance. She would be the first one in the realm to be married to an immortal, even her father who had courted a human to conceive Raven hadn’t followed through with matrimony.

Hecate finished tying the corset and gave Raven a rough slap on the back of the shoulder. “Don’t you do anything that will displease your father today, you hear me! These humans are necessary to his plan, and so is this wedding. For the good of our kind.”

Quickly rushing over to Raven’s bed, the chambermaid grabbed a large black lace dress and brought it over to the girl and placed it over her head. Raven brought her arms up and snaked them through the long sleeves, allowing the dress to fall down her body, giving Hecate better access to adjust it.

Raven looked up at the mirror that hung over the desk, her eyes meeting the gaze of a young woman she barely recognized. Lips painted the colour of dried blood, obsidian hair pulled up elegantly to match her feminine attire; a black Victorian-esque gown that showed off just a bit more chest than she was used to. She was a stranger to herself and it made her uncomfortable, especially because she was to introduce herself to her...possible, future groom.

How was she to introduce herself to someone if she didn’t feel herself?

Not that she cared about meeting the mortal. In fact, she was dreading it. She wanted no part in whatever plan her father of devising with his human accomplice, and she didn’t want to get married.

“There,” Hecate huffed with a nod, giving one final pat down to the bottom of Raven’s gown. “All ready.”

She took a step back and looked the teenager over once more before grabbing her arm, pulling her around and heading out of the room. Raven stumbled behind her as she pulled her swiftly down the stone hallway of her father’s palace. Her mind was beginning to reel with possibilities.

Would this human be like everything she had read about in novels or like what she had heard from fairytales?

Would he be weak? Unintelligent?

Why was her father so determined to band together with these humans when he was never interested in them before?

Nothing made sense.

When they reached the main hall, Hecate pulled Raven in front of her and slowed her pace, following the princess into the hall where hundreds of demons were sitting, waiting. The empath felt her heart spike.

Everyone turned their gaze to her, including her father who sat across from her on a large, thorn thrown. His red eyes shot daggers at her as she confidently walked over as quickly and carefully as she could.

“You’re late...”he growled as she took the slightly smaller throne beside him. “The humans arrived minutes ago.”

Quickly, her eyes jotted around the room, looking for them but from what she could see there were only demons and ghouls. Trigon watched her with a scowl before turning to face the aisle in front of him, giving his large horned head a single nod.

Two stumpy looking creatures at the opposite side of the aisle pulled open the doors, and in walked two humans, as confidently and as comfortable as someone who had lived their wholes lives amongst the dammed.

The older one, a dangerous looking man with silvering hair, a sharp nose and a well groomed goatee, walked a few steps ahead, his green eyes locked onto Trigon.

The younger one, who Raven assumed was her betrothed, walked slightly behind him but caught her eyes nonetheless.

He was a handsome man, much more than she had expected him to be. His eyes were the same as the old man’s in colour, but he held no other resemblance to him. His dark hair was parted neatly and combed back, showing off his perfectly structured features, though his expression held a strong resemblance to how Raven felt.

Uninterested in this arrangement.

When the two mortals reached Trigon and his daughter, they both bowed slightly.

“My liege.” The older one spoke first, his Cheshire cat grin causing Raven to feel uneasy. She already didn’t like this man, he reminded her far too much of her father. “I am Ra’s al Ghul. My grandson and I thank you for allowing us passage into your-” he looked around quickly. “-lovely underworld, and agreeing to meet with us for this arrangement. Coming to Hell has been a long time interest of mine...entirely for research purposes, so I thank you.”

Trigon grunted. “Research as much as you want once the nuptials is complete. As long as we still have a deal.”

The man nodded. “Certainly.” He turned for the first time to look at Raven, and once again she felt strange. Her father hadn’t told her anything about the deal, other than an alliance must be made, an alliance that included her getting married. She wanted to know what was going on. “A beauty.”

“This is my daughter, Raven. Her mother was born of blood and bone in your world. She is half mortal, half god. She has the power to destroy worlds, blacken hearts.”

Ra’s smiled wickedly and turned to motion to the boy. He stepped forward. “This is Damian, my prodigy. Trained since birth to be a cold hearted plague. Biologically modified to be the perfect weapon.”

This time, Trigon smiled as his eyes landed on the boy. Raven looked at him too; it was hard to believe that he was the perfect weapon. He looked so, fragile; he was mortal after all. And he was handsome. He looked too good to be so bad.

“I think we should let the children get acquainted.” Ra’s continued after a moment, and Trigon nodded.

After giving her permission to go, Raven stood from her throne and swallowed a lump that had been stuck in her throat. Damian looked at her before holding his arm out to her. Her eyes dropped down to it and her heart began to race, but she took it without hesitation.

The room remained quiet until the two of them had left and were halfway down the hallway, then she heard her father’s booming voice continue.

She had no idea what to do, what to talk about. She had never before spoken to a human, in fact, she barely every spoke to anyone. Raven enjoyed being alone for the most part, reading her books, taking a quiet stroll along the river Styx, meditating in the peace of her own room. Those were the kinds of things she would rather be doing than being social.

As they walked out into the courtyard, Raven looked at the man beside her through her peripherals. He was holding himself well for it being his first time to Hell; unfazed by the grotesque beings, rivers of molten lava, dusty air and lack of flora. His strong gaze was glued to the path ahead of them, though every once in a while his eyes dipped down to look at something, Raven assumed, he found unusual.

“You must find it strange here.” She said after a moment, her voice quiet.

“It’s a bit different than I expected, but not much.” Damain responded.

Another silence fell around them.

There were so many questions she wanted to ask him about the human world, about their father’s alliance. Perhaps he knew something.

Raven stopped walking and allowed her arm to drop from his. He stopped immediately and looked around at her, his thick brows furrowed as though she had offended him. She stared at him; he really was handsome.

“Why did you agree to this?” she questioned suddenly. “You left your own world to come here and meet...me, a half demon, to talk about marriage. Why would you do that?”

Looking down for a moment, Damian stayed quiet. Raven could feel the cogs in his mind working, trying to think of a way to word his answer. Much like she did herself.

“I need to do my part for this alliance.” He said finally. “It’s important for my people.”

“But why?”

Raven was a bit annoyed at being stuck in the dark. Her father had told her nothing. Hecate had told her nothing. And now this man was telling her nothing.

“Why is it important? And how will we benefit from it?”

Damian looked at her, his green eyes bright. She hadn’t realized just how green they were until now, and she soon found herself lost in them a little. He gave her a look.

“Your father told you nothing.” It wasn’t a question, but a jested statement.  Raven’s eyebrows narrowed slightly.

“My father doesn’t exactly deem me as important enough to share the fine details with.” It almost hurt her to say it, but she was becoming numb at the thought. Raven wasn’t her father’s favourite child; she was a tool that he could use whenever it suited him.

And this wedding suited him.

Damian’s look softened but his eyes once again dropped to the ground. “I know the feeling.”

Another silence.

This boy was not what Raven had expected at all. Yes, he was a bit awkward and she could tell that he was slightly uncomfortable, as was she. But she could tell from his tone and feel his energy, his emotions. She could tell that he was indeed much deeper than she had thought humans to be.

Perhaps his grandfather was just as insufferable as Trigon and he too had the slightest bit of hope that something good would come from the relationship. Perhaps he too wanted someone to care, for once.

Raven looked over her shoulder at the bubbling pools of lava that sat behind them, watching as steam escaped with each pop.

She cleared her throat. “Do you like to read?”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”

“I love reading books from the human world. I have a whole library of them...did you want to see it?”

Damian hesitated only for a moment before nodding. “That would be very nice.”

Raven took hold of his arm once again and began to walk back to the castle doors, leading him as she went. And as they went inside, she couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, something wonderful would come from them being together.

[writingismyhappytime]

Escaping Grace (Part 2)

Warnings: Language, Angst. This series will have a lot of anxiety/mental abuse mentions. 

"Are you sure this looks okay?" I ask hesitantly, standing in front of the floor length mirror in my room. Vale and I had spent all day yesterday trying to find something appropriate, but to my frustration I hadn't found a thing I'd liked.

Now I was staring intently at my reflection, dressed in my average clothes that don't really make me stand out at all --- which could be a good thing, I guess. No need in trying to be too obvious about wanting to impress them, right?

"Of course," Vale says from behind me as she slips her earrings in, glancing me over. "Those are your good ass jeans, you know that. You can make anything look good in those."

Well, that does make me feel a little better. Vale is the kind of person to tell you if you look terrible, so I take the statement pretty seriously I give myself another glance, but turn away after a moment, knowing I'm not going to be satisfied the more I look; I always overthink everything.

I glance at my best friend as she slips into some heels, which only make her look more imposing. Her black hair falls straight from her widows peak, and her makeup is simple today, just a flick of eyeliner to accentuate her eyes.

I'm always so jealous of her, I've told her that a hundred times. She has such a perfect figure, I always feel so short and stumpy in comparison. On my good days I feel like I look pretty badass, with my tattoos and piercings, depending on what I'm wearing to accentuate them --- but om days like these, I feel uncertain about everything. My hair, my clothes, how badly noticeable my breakouts are --- in my mind, surely that's the first thing our new business partners are going to notice.

Why is having clear skin such a struggle?

The temptation to fake sick and go crawl inside the bathtub is suddenly really strong. I can send Vale in as my ambassader and she'll have them eating out of the palm of her hand, no doubt. One wink from her, a soft smirk on her glossy lips --- she could seduce the gold from a leprechaun.

Maybe I won't have to fake sick after all, my stomach is doing flips and tying itself into knots. I rub my palms nervously against my dark jeans, fighting the ball of nerves in my throat as it threatens to choke me down. I can't do this, I can't meet them, I'll ruin everything. I should just keep myself as far away from them as I possibly can so that I don't ruin anything, and ---.

"Uh, where are you going?" Vale demands as I suddenly make a beeline for the bathroom. "You have to finish getting dressed, Leah! We're going to be late!"

"I suddnely don't feel very well," I reply as I step into the bathroom, curling my toes against the coldness of the tiles as I turn my back to the mirror above the sink. I gaze into the tub, my hands on my hips as I look at nothing inparticular. "Maybe this is a bad idea."

"The only bad idea is you thinking that it is one." She says from where she sits on the edge of my bed, fiddling with her heels. "Don't let your nerves get to you. You're so excited to meet them and I'm not going to let you miss this. Now," she levels a stare at me that I purposefully try to ignore. "Get dressed or you're going in those pikachu shorts and barefoot."

I glance down at my pajama bottoms.

"That would be a good impression, wouldn't it?" I sigh, running a hand through my messy hair. I let the bathroom door swing closed, and hastily get dressed before I can put anymore thought into it. The less I think, the better it'll be.

My fingers linger on the t shirt I thought about wearing, one of the designs from our merch line that hasn't been produced yet. Would it be too cheesy to wear my own band shirt? Probably. I just end up grabbing my favorite jeans, the one's with the holes in the knee's from where I'd fallen in the studio and put them there on accident. I sit down on the edge of the tub, grabbing my boots and slipping them on easily, pleased with the easy zipper so I don't have to lace them.

At least these are comfy clothes for me, something I'm familiar with. I wish I wasn't so anxious, that my palms didn't have sweat building on them, or that I feel like I'm going to be sick at any moment. It's a curse, and what the doctor prescribes helps, but I hate taking medicine all the time, too.

Vale suddenly starts thumping her hand impatiently against the door, and my eyes flick to the clock sitting on a shelf. She's right, if we don't get going we're going to be late. "Leah, are you ready yet? We gotta get going already!"

"I'm ready," I say, although I don't feel it at all. I cast one last look in the mirror, frowning. My blonde hair was pulled back so it doesn't fall in my face, revealing the red and blue streaks decorating the lower layer. My eyes are a bright green, and Vale did my eyeliner so the color really seems to pop more tonight. Some days I can agree with her that I'm pretty, but today I'm rolling in nerves and the thought is arguable.

"If we don't leave now we're going to be un-fashionably late!" Vale hisses from the other room, and I roll my eyes as I jerk open the bathroom door. She gives me an approving look before beckoning me forward, already heading for the front door of the apartment we share.

We have to grab a cab, but it doesn't take us long to get to the club. It's kind of exclusive, you have to be on a list to get in, but so long as Craig called and did his duty, we shouldn't have any problems. We could skip the line and head right inside.

God it would be mortifying if he forgot to call.

The first sign the night isn't going as planned is seeing Nate and Clarke waiting outside on the curb. I thought they'd be inside already, rubbing elbows and getting into trouble. I send Vale a nervous look she ignores, tossing the cabbie some bills as we both hastily get out of the car.

"Why aren't you guys already inside?" She demands the moment they're within eashot, and both men turn to look at us.

Clarke's brows are furrowed, his square jaw clenched. His brown hair is falling into his eyes, and I can tell he's frustrated. "We're not on the list."

"What?" Oh no, this is it, this is the end. Craig forgot, didn't he? Our big moment is already over, we can't even get inside the club. Fate has forsaken us, laughing in our face, it's all over, it's ---.

"Leah, stop looking all doom and gloom," Vale pats my shoulder, as if knowing exactly what the pained look on my face means I'm thinking. She's known me long enough to know I immediately go into a downward spiral of despair before any rationality hits.

"Craig must have forgot." Nate sounds annoyed, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he tries to light it. He keeps shifting his weight back and forth, and I'm not sure if it's due to the cold or his aggravation. "I already called him and he damn well forgot to get our reservation. What the hell are we supposed to do now, huh?"

This is so embarrassing.

I know my cheeks are burning, and I rub my arms uncomfortably. We're supposed to be getting famous and this is really a kick to the ego. I think "famous," pretty lightly, but at least well known enough to get into venues on our own.

"Well, don't panic," my roommate purses her lips thoughtfully. "We just have to find a way inside. The bouncer doesn't look like he would be too tough to crack, unless he's gay. Then one of you two is going to have to be bait while the rest of us sneak in."

Nate and Clarke do not look like they agree with her idea, both of their noses curling.

"I am not bait," Nate retorts, smoke drifting in a haze around him. "I would not lower myself to that level, thank you."

He sends all of us an annoyed look, just barely coming to Clarke's shoulder. Clarke always looms over the rest of us --- except tonight Vale is the same height as him and looks just as formidable. They look like people you wouldn't casually approach for directions, especially Clarke with his major RBF.

My eyes flick to the bouncer, and he looks familiar. His back is to us where he stands at the door beneath the light, barring entrance to our future. This man is keeping us from meeting the people that might propel our careers, and I almost didn't like him because of it. I have to remind myself that he's just doing his job, it isn't personal, he has no idea how important this is to us!

But maybe he should.

What if we just reasonably explained who we were, had Craig call their management to straighten this all out, and went from there? That was the most logical answer, and of course it would work; we don't have to seduce the bouncer, lure him and knock him out in an alley like Vale is trying to convince is our next course of action.

"Why don't we just tell him what's going on?" I suggest, giving them my idea. They have to concede it's the best course of action, and Clarke agrees with me even if Vale thinks I'm ruining all the fun. Our bassist turns away to call our manager, who's definitely in the dog house right now despite getting us this gig.

"Okay, why don't you go up to talk to him and tell him what's up?" Nate urges, and I give him a horrified look as I realize he's talking to me.

"What? Why me?" I cross my arms uncomfortably, but I'm starting to feel awkward standing out here with them like this. I feel like everyone has to know about our predicament, how embarrassing it is for us!

My cheeks are starting to get hot, and I rub my arms nervously.

"Because you're our frontperson, aren't you? They'll recognize you before they do the rest of us." he points out, but I absolutely do not like the idea! They know how I am about talking to people, I use an app to order all my takeout for goodness sake! I might be trying to get famous, but it's not because I want to really be that sociable.

"Probably not, no one will recognize me," I mumble, shaking my head quickly. "We're not that well known yet, yknow? Vale would have a better ---."

"Vale is currently cussing out Craig and is going to cause us a scene if we don't go in already," the drummer grumbles, both of us looking over where Clarke and Vale stand, her hissing into his cellphone where he holds it between them. I can only imagine Craig's apologetic tone.

Oh man.

I sigh, but one of us is going to have to go up there. I cast a glance at the long line of people streching down the row behind the red rope before disappearing around the block. If we waited in line like everyone else, we'd be hours getting inside!

I take a deep breath, exhaling against the anxiety. Well, I can do this. I can approach this man and ask very nicely that he let us in because our business associates are waiting to meet us and he is not going to be the reason we turn into one hit wonders to be forgotten about! Or, god forbid, our music is just played in commercials and we get associated with some type of biscuit for the rest of our career.

I cringe at the thought.

I take a deep breath before starting forward. I avert my gaze from the long line of people I'm brazenly walking past, hoping I'm not about to embarrass myself. I can see some of them cutting their eyes at me, there's no telling how long they've been waiting outside to get into this club. I can already hear the music, it's like the walls are thrumming, the concrete beneath my boots pounding with the beat.

It's muffled, but it makes me wonder how loud it is inside.

I make it to the front of the line, but the bouncers back is to me as he lets someone in the door.

"Excuse me," I start, trying to not sound as nervous as I feel. I'm supposed to be confident, I represent my band after all, so cool and sophisticated is supposed to be a given. If it wasn't for the fact I'm incredibly clumsy and socially awkward, my appearance at least would give off that vibe.

The bouncer turns to glance at me, and I blink as I recognize him.

"Liliya?" Alexei sounds surprised, but I'm probably the last person he ever expected to see tonight.

I smile at him, relaxing a little bit. "Hey, Alexei. It's been a while, huh?"

"A while? Years!" He reaches forward, grasping and squeezing my hand tightly. His Russian accent is still heavy on his words, but his English is good now. My family is originally from Russia, but came here before I was born; a lot of my older brothers still have the accent just like my mother and cousins on her side.  "You've grown so much, I almost didn't recognize you!"

Not being recognized as the sad sop from before is probably the best compliment he could have given me. I hate the thought of how I was before I was able to escape my family, my life in that small town --- he probably remembers the girl who wouldn't make eye contact and would barely speak a word. It took me a long time to get out of that, and I'm happier with how I am now.

I'm not so afraid anymore.

"I thought you were going back home," I say after a moment, glancing him up and down. Still thick brown hair, broad shoulders and tall. He's shaved his beard, and he looks rather formiddable in his black t shirt and jeans; standard bouncer, he fits the part.

"I extended my visa to stay longer. I am here on weekends for extra money. How are you doing, Liliya? How is your music?" He questions, completely ignoring the complaining crowd that's wanting to go inside.

My eyes flick to where my band is gathered a ways down, staring intently and waiting for some kind of signal. Should I start waving my arms frantically or something, is that the cue that it's safe to come in?

"It's going pretty well so far. My band is just down there," I gesture at them pointedly. "We're actually supposed to be meeting a fellow band inside, Black Veil Brides?"

I hate that I end on a question, like I'm not really sure if I'm supposed to go in or not. Alexei either doesn't notice or ignores it, he just nods his head. It's kind of nice to see him, a cousin that I actually liked; he was always nice to me, always laughing or having a good time despite my mothers stern and serious demeanor. He didn't let her damper his happiness.

"Oh, yes, I let them in twenty minutes ago. They mentioned something about meeting someone. Come," Alexei tugs on the red velvet rope, waving his beefy hand at my band, who hastily scurries forward; I can see the relief on all of their faces.

Maybe one embarrassing moment can be missed for us?

"Thank you, Alexei," I say as they hastily file past me through the black scratched door, Vale sending me a curious look. "I'm glad I ran into you, too!"

"You must keep in touch more. Here," He reaches into his shirt pocket, pulling out a business card. I glance at it before slipping it into my backpocket, seeing how nice and sleek it looks. "If you need me, you reach me. I'm here for a few more months before I must extend visa again."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you," I say, giving him another smile before I step through the black door and into the darkness of the club.

This is the first time family has ever done anything for me.

~~~~~~

"How the hell did you manage to get us in, Leah?" Nate asks as he falls into step beside me, casually slipping his arm over my shoulder. I let him pull me to his side, my hand pressing lightly against his lower back; he really didn't need to wear that much cologne. "That was badass! I thought for sure we were gonna get stuck outside."

"Oh, I knew the bouncer, he's my cousin." I explain after a moment, my cheeks heating. We're going through a dark hallway, but I can just dimly see the door at the end, lights strobing underneath, and already the music is so loud I'm having to almost shout. I figure once we get inside we won't be able to hear anything at all.

Vale kicks open the door rather roughly, and I cringe as the music hits us full force. It's obnoxiously loud and my ears immediately ache from the bass. I can feel it through the floor, and the heat of the room! It's intense.

I can see where we have to go down a flight of stairs to get to a platform that leads to the bar, and a few more steps until you reached the club floor. The place is packed with people, dancing, drinking, having a good time. I wish I could relax like them, throw my hands carelessly in the air and just jump to the beat of the music.

Vale states I'm high strung all the time, kicking myself in the shin by looking for the next disaster instead of enjoying the current peace. She's not wrong, but I don't know how else to be. I annoy myself sometimes, and I wish I could change, but it would be a hard habit to drop.

"There's the guys," Vale shouts after a moment, and I follow her pointing finger across the room. I don't know how she knows it's them, everyone looks the same to me. Maybe it's the goggle of groupies crowding around the VIP area in their tiny dresses and glowing neon jewelry; how were we supposed to get past that? We're probably not even going to be able to get into the VIP area!

"Let's go, they probably think we're ditching them with how late we are," Clarke says, and I cringe. Thirty minutes past our meeting time, I hate that. I'm so weird about being punctual.

I latch tightly onto Vale, not wanting to get separated. I have a harder time keeping up with her longer strides, I almost feel childish clinging to her as we descend the metal steps. She squeezes my hand comfortingly, Nate and Clarke falling into step behind me.

I'm not quite sure how we all manage to stay together through the crowd, I'm pretty sure Clarke has a tight grip on Nate's collar to keep him from straying; no doubt he's already spying potential conquests for the night, and I roll my eyes at the thought. I'm starting to think that's all that goes through his head, he never takes anything seriously, at all! It drives me absolutely nuts, it's like he doesn't care!

Vale suddenly stalls in front of me, and I thoughtlessly step up beside her, seeing we've reached the impenetrable throng of groupies. There's a few guys mixed in, all talking excitedly out of reach of the red rope separating them from the VIP section. I wish I could lean around them, just wave and they part like the red sea so I could get where I needed to be.

How annoying.

"Excuse me," Vale says impatiently, boldly stepping forward. One of the girls glances at her, but hastily steps out of her way when she sees Vale isn't playing around. I know Clarke is looming behind me, and we all follow Vale forward, making sure to avoid all eye contact. I'm shorter than both of them, so I try to hunker between them so no one really notices me.

It's usually not too hard, but they're eyeballing us, and for some reason I have the feeling we've been recognized. If they're saying something I can't hear it over the obnoxious music, and I'm more than relieved when the bodyguard lording over the velvet rope opens it so we can step into the most peaceful section of any nightclub I've ever been in.

I let my breath go in relief as we head for where the other band is sitting. They've noticed us, and all of them are straightening, glasses already scattered on the polished black table where they sit.

My eyes flick to Andy instantly, and it's like all my nerves settle in my stomach, twisting it into this tight, awful knot that wants to rise into my throat. I rub my palms nervously against my jeans, hoping they don't want to shake hands.

Black Veil Brides is known for their black hair and bodypaint, the story they tell with their music. Andy, the lead singer, his voice is deep, and I swear when I first heard his music it sent a shiver down my spine. I loved their look, the tattoos, the paint and piercings --- I'm not one much for all the extra paint myself, my skin is too sensitive, but it works for them well enough.

Is it bad I know exactly who each of them are before they introduce themselves?

"You're Escape from Grace, right?" It's CC who greets us as we finally reach the table, rising to his feet. They're all dressed so... normal, kind of like us, and that makes me feel a little better. None of us really look like we're ready to party in a nightclub, except for maybe Nate with his untucked button up shirt and his attention still focused on the party raging a few feet from him.

I glance at Vale as she reaches to shake CC's hand, her lips lifting into a smile. Her hand lingers in his just a few moments longer than necessary before she pulls away, her eyes flicking him over from his tight black jeans to his headband keeping his hair at bay.

"Yeah. I'm Vale, that's Nate, Clarke, and Leah." She introduces us, gesturing with her hand. Andy hasn't really paid us any attention yet, he's draining a beer and leaning back in his chair; from the looks of it, they're all a few drinks in already. I used to watch his music videos and interviews all the time, sigh dramatically when he spoke; I just liked listening to his voice sometimes, I found it soothing. Now... well, considering I'm meeting him, I find it kind of embarrassing.

His black hair used to be really long, but now he'd cut it shorter where it barely fell into his blue eyes, the trademark eyeliner slightly smeared around them making the color stand out a little more. He's cleanshaven, just like the rest of them, and they all have dark hair --- probably dyed, no doubt.

"It's nice to meet you guys. Come on, sit down," Ashley, their bassist, says, gesturing at the empty chairs before us. Vale somehow finds her spot between Nate and Clarke, putting me beside Ashley, who gives me a grin I force myself to return. I squirm nervously in the cushioned chair, clenching my hands in my lap. I'm so not good with meeting new people, I wish I hadn't come. It's like the idea of it sounds good, but when it's actually happening all I want to do is leave.

"I'm glad you guys finally made it. We were starting to think you stood us up," Ashley calls after a moment, and Vale looks apologetic.

"Sorry about that! We got held up at the bouncer --- Leah had a family reunion," she adds hastily, and I'm kind of glad she does. How about we don't let them know we weren't on the list and couldn't even get in, okay? Kind of kills our vibe.

"Family reunion?" Jinxx questions, his hands clasped in front of him. He's their --- well, he does a little of everything. He's the guitarist, violinist, cellist, plays piano --- the man is a plythora of talents that he utilizes almost every show. It's very impressive, actually.

Nate nudges me, and I hesitate; do they really need the details? I mean, is that important? Everyone doesn't have to look at me so expectantly!

"My --- my cousin is the bouncer." I force myself to say after a moment, digging my nails into my palms as I shrug my shoulders. "I haven't seen him in a while, so we had to catch up. Sorry about being late," I say sincerely, glancing around the table. "That's not typical of us."

I want to assure them of that, so they don't think too lowly of us. Ashley is to my right, than Jinxx, and beside him is Jake, their lead guitarist. Andy is beside him, than CC on the edge beside Clarke, who sits stonefaced as always. He could really try to go for a more friendly face.

"How about some more drinks?" Vale suddenly suggests before anyone has a chance to respond, her voice bright. She raises her hand expectantly, and after a moment a frazzled woman manages to make it to our crowded table; really,so many of us shoved together, I feel like I'm melting. It's extremely hot in here!

"Order?" the woman asks, her hair done up in curls and makeup thick around her eyes. She's pretty, French apparently, and I'm not sure how she expects to hear any of us over this cacaponous music; I can't imagine having to work in a place like this.

Everyone rattles off their orders, and her pen moves furiously across her notepad before pausing. She frowns, her eyes raising to glance around the table before she asks us to repeat that one more time.  We try one more time, but I can see it on her face; she has no idea.

"Two scotches, another beer, and a martini for her," I say as I halfway turn in my chair, gesturing at Vale. "Just a coke for me, thank you. And don't worry, it's really loud in here, so I don't know how anyone can hear a thing." I add, not wanting her to feel bad. She blinks after me before giving me a smile; she looks relieved.

"Thank you. I'll be right back with your orders." She says before turning, disappearing through the throng of people.

"What magic language did you two just speak?" Ashley asks as I shift, realizing everyone is looking at me. Some of them look surprised, some impressed, and I can feel the heat rising in my face.

"French..?"

"How did you learn French? That was so smooth." He compliments, crossing his arms on the table as he looks at me. I avert my gaze, shrugging my shoulders.

"I was an army brat, I've lived all over the world." I explain when it's obvious no one else is going to say anything. "I can speak a little of this and that."

"You're fluent enough to order alcohol, that's good enough for me." he chuckles, his light voice lilting. He's probably the shortest of the group, with high cheekbones and studs decorating his ears. I think he has his own clothing line now, so he's very successful; him and Nate will get along great when it comes to chasing down the women I'm sure. That's the impression I've always gotten of him, anyway.

I've fangirled enough over this band I feel like I know way too much information.

I glance behind me as the noise increases, seeing that the club is starting to get pretty crowded now. Probably due to the photos of the two bands sitting together I know those groupies have been taking and blasting all over social media. I squirm a little in my chair, listening to everyone attempt to talk and hear each other.

I don't think I'll ever be able to hear again after we leave this place.

"So," Andy speaks for the first time tonight, leaning forward a little as he glances at my band. "What are you guys going to open with at our show?"

Oh, right down to business, okay.

"The Last Song is Ours," Vale answers him easily, steepling her fingers in front of her on the table, lights glinting off her black nail polish. Honestly, she would make a great frontwoman for our band, I wish she was the one with the vocal talents and I could just play guitar. Alas, Vale sounds like a screeching duck with something stuck in its throat when she tries to sing, which is also why she avoids even doing back up vocals.

We all have our strong suits, and that's just not hers.

"It should get the crowd pumped, get them ready for you guys to come on stage." She adds when he doesn't comment. "Have you heard it?"

"I've listened to it, your manager sent us your opening list. It's a good song," Ashley states before Andy can reply. "You can reach some serious heights with that voice, Leah. It's impressive."

"Oh, thanks." I nervously brush a strand of blue hair behind my ear. "It's one of our most popular right now, so it's... uh, it's good."

Oh jeez.

It's good? That's all that I can manage?

I'm so relieved when the waitress is suddenly back with our drinks, sliding them around the table. She gives me a bright smile that I return as I take my drink, deciding to leave a nice tip for her.

"All the drinks are right," Jinxx somehow manages to sound surprised as he glances around.

"Why wouldn't they be?" I blink. I know what they said, I ordered them right.

"Y'know, it's a little loud in here if you guys are wanting to talk business," Vale says loudly as a rumble of bass manges to shake the icecubes in my coke. "Why don't we blow this place? It's a little crowded anyway."

Oh yes please. The heat in this room is murder!

"I know a food place a few blocks out, I'm starving anyway. We should be able to hear each other there anyway," Ashley suggests immediatley, already rising to his feet. I blink as he offers his hand to me, and reluctantly I let him help me to my feet; why does he keep paying me so much attention? Vale has been the one leading all the conversations.

"Sounds good to me. Let's get out of here," Clarke says in agreement, his arm coming to rest around my shoulder almost protectively. I glance up at him, but his square jaw is set, and I think he's actually annoyed --- it's hard to tell, since he always looks that way. "Food sounds nice."

Ashley raises his perfectly done brows, raising his hands as if acknowledging --- wait a minute.

Was he trying to flirt with me and I didn't know it? He's barely said a few sentences to me, Clarke doesn't have to baby sister me all of a sudden!

Although, I don't really mind. He's looking out for me, and at least that'll get Ashley to lose all interest, too. I'm not interested in any sort of romantic relationship, probably ever. I'm quite fine with our music being our focus, the driving force in my life right now.

Although --- no, no brain, none of that. No excuses. You can ogle but not touch, I tell myself as Andy brushes past me.

To be honest, I'm kind of disappointed meeting them. Everyone seems friendly but him, and he was who I was so excited to meet in person. Maybe when we're out of the club, it'll be different. Sometimes it's just the environment.

Vale would tell me not to make excuses for him, and I know she's irritated as she stogs after the other band. It takes us a good bit to make it across the club and up the stairs, mostly because the bodyguards have to clear the groupies out of the way. I'm kind of surprised when they even look excitedly at us, that we're --- well, someone recognized our band!

It's nice, and a pretty damn good feeling to not feel so insignificant, too!

It makes me stand a little straighter, walk with a little more pride.

Even if Andy isn't into us opening for us, at least I know our music is good. We've worked so hard to claw our way this far, and just that one girl gasping at us, squealing when she realized who we were --- that's enough for me to know we're worthy of this.

This is our opportunity, and we're going to do so damn well that Black Veil Brides will be opening for us one day, I'm sure of it!

I also know that when they do, I won't have such a pissy attitude meeting them, either.

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Noble- Arya Stark (2)

Pairing: Arya Stark x Reader

Characters: Arya Stark

Warnings: N/A

Request: Wattpad- Yay Arya! Do you think you could do a part two? That's be cool! (Noble)

Word Count: 401

Author: Aaron

The sheepish servant made her way through the room, turning each candle aflame and drawing the lavish, heavy curtains before dropping her head and quickly leaving down the hallway.

"Consider yourselves lucky." The red-faced, stumpy man pushed you in and followed closely behind.

"Most people will never get the experience of having Yorick Algood inside of them." Arya rolled her eyes and you struggled to keep your lunch down as he marched past you to sit on the bed. The aged wood creaked and bowed as he fell onto the mattress, a ravenous smile spread over his blotchy face as he called you over.

"No need to rush into things." You sultrily strolled around the room, making sure to leave Yorick's eyes fixed on your form as you pinched each candle out, leaving only one.

"In all of your power and might you made sure we had such a long time to fully enjoy ourselves." You watched Arya wrap her long arms around the back of his neck before she clambered onto his lap and slid her legs around his waist as best as she could. "It would be a shame for it all to be over so quickly." Yorick's hand reached over to Arya's chest but you grabbed gently onto his hands and pulled them back.

"Now now. Surely a man of your stature has amassed a great amount of patience?" Yorick nodded, unable to find the words that he wanted. It didn't take long before Yorick lay almost bare on the bed with you and Arya tying his wrists to the bed posts.

"You high class whores know what you're doing. Now hop on and fuck me before I get too tired." Arya slid you a smile and asked for assistance in slipping off her luxurious dress.

"We need you to wear these." Arya, who now stood in nothing, but underwear held up a simple blindfold and a gag, Yorick firstly objected but he didn't have much choice. You clambered onto the bed and straddled the man’s legs; you weren't sure if he or Arya was more excited at the prospects.

"Are you ready?" You asked, as Arya unfurled a long blade from a cloth and Yorick mumbled underneath his restrictive cloth.

"Okay three." You took the blade envisioned It plunging through his flesh.

"Two." You held it highly above your head and placed it over his chest.

"One."

[funkymeihem-fiction]

Strange Honey- Chapter 10

She was back in the dream again. Or was it one of Jamie’s memories? Was he the cause of this? Although…it felt different. Somehow it was different. Why was everything in this vision so smeared and strange? The sunflowers around her were blurred and warped smudges of color, and everything looked like the world she saw when she had her glasses off. She was back above the field yet again, hung out on the pole above it all.

The sky above was wide and blue but it felt too close, like it was bearing down on her. The burning sunlight was hurting her again, searing against her skin that she still wasn’t sure was hers. And all around her…that hum of insects. They were blurred little things too; wasps and bees and flies and things she couldn’t identify- buzzing all around her and on her. She could feel them moving, the tickling of their legs and wings— like the wasp who had crawled into her throat before.

She could feel herself, but she couldn’t see herself? Perhaps that was why it felt more like a dream than it did a memory. She was a figment of a dream, something that was just a part of a more ethereal reality. But maybe while she was here, she could investigate this farm too? Or whatever version of a farm this was? If only she could get down off this…stupid pole…!

Mei struggled, trying to get her phantom limbs to respond. Everything hurt to move, but if it was just a dream, then it wasn’t real pain. And she could work through dream pain, if she tried hard enough. And she was a girl who always tried her best.

Steeling her dreamself, she pulled at whatever bonds held her there. The blurry world around her warped a little more, wavering like a mirage in the baking heat. But she could see the greenery of far-off trees and the barn in the distance, and the little pointed roofs of beehives just beyond the flowers. She just needed to get free and be able to reach them.

She was fairly sure that she was supposed to stay on that pole, and suffer in that heat. The prickle of little insect legs danced across her face, and the hum of a wasp sounded dangerously close to her ear. But this was a terrible dream to keep having, and she was not content to suffer there. So she thrashed and pulled at whatever was tying her to that pole, and demanded that it let her loose—

There was a noise, like the sky was moving. And then she was falling and even though everyone knew that you never hit the ground when you fell in dreams…she hit the ground. She landed hard down on the ground, and the ground was not solid, but a sheet of liquid red: a tide of blood on top of the hard soil. Little ripples moved away from her, but she could see nothing in the putrid reflections atop that blood.

Red under the green. Just like he had said…

She made her way through the stalks, the blurs of yellow swaying around and above her…and growing brighter as the sky seemed to darken. Was night falling or was it a storm? There were no clouds here, but the sky definitely seemed to be getting darker. Blacker and blacker but without stars…and was it getting closer? Could a sky do that? Perhaps in whatever strange dream this was, it could? She tried to ignore it, and moved with greater urgency. The sunflowers parted before her, until she could see the end of them, and whatever clear yard lay beyond.

Just a bit further now. She could see the beehives first. They were old wooden things, alive and buzzing with a swarm that she couldn’t see. And red was flowing out from beneath them, liquid oozing and dripping down to pool beneath them. More blood? Were the beehives producing blood instead of honey?

The sky got darker, and an old rooster-shaped metal weathervane creaked atop the barn and her attention snapped towards it. She’d never seen this barn before. It was nothing like the one by the house. This one was decrepit and shoddy, with boards falling away and the walls crooked and cracked. It stood tall and strange against the black sky, and something foul was emanating from it. Perhaps it was a smell or a sound or something she could not describe, as it was just a dream. But it seemed to radiate…wrongness.

There was a flicker of soft yellow from within, visible between the green stalks and the rotten wooden boards.

A light came on in the old barn.

***

She had to get away. Mei snorted awake again, kicking out both legs. They were hot and sticky and covered in the blood she had been wading through. The soil beneath her was soft and wet and the blood—

She was back in her bedroom, and the sheets were tangled around her lower half. It was sweat that had been soaking her, not blood. She was covered in perspiration again, wiping frantically at her exposed skin as she thrashed her way out of the bed sheets and away from the hot and clammy spot where she had been laying. All but falling onto the rug beneath beside her bed, she pulled off her pajama top and hurled it away from her. Cool air rushed over her drenched back and chest, her skin prickling with cold relief.

It burned when she breathed, and she realized she was hyperventilating. She swallowed down a last gulp of air and tried to slow it down, curling in on herself as she fell onto her side on the scratchy rug and hugged herself with both arms, fetal and shivering. At least now the pain felt real, and she was back in true reality again…she hoped.

It took several minutes to get her breathing back under control. For a while, all she could do was lay there, trying to get herself to believe that she was back in the present: that she wasn’t back in that awful dream. She lay there, counting every exhale and feeling every droplet of sweat as it rolled down her back. The muggy night air was still thick and humid and unpleasant, and her room was suddenly so small and dark and stifling. Eventually she uncurled and stood to shakily make her way across the room and turn on the old fan for some relief.

The mechanical whir as it rattled to life provided some comfort, as did the cold air that blasted across her chest and evaporated the sweat on her damp chest. She bowed her head and let it sweep over her, finally uttering one last shuddering sigh before straightening. A smeared splotch of color caught her eye from across the room. Much like in her dream, the sunflower looked blurry and strange without her glasses. It sat unwithered in the little vase of water she’d gotten for it, trying to care for Jamie’s gift. Even if she had the distinct feeling that it wasn’t the water that was keeping it healthy.

Its cheerful brown center and happy yellow petals were facing her, and for some reason she lifted both damp arms and clamped them across her breasts modestly. He wasn’t using that flower to spy on her, was he? She knew he could ‘hear’ her, but he hadn’t specified how. Could he see her through it too? It was silly to worry about at this point, but she tip-toed over to it and lifted one hand to carefully nudge the edge of its vase and turn it to face the wall.

Mei ran both palms down her face, her body still tired but her nerves shaken. She had managed to navigate somewhat through that dream, whatever it was. She hadn’t just been along for the ride, as when Jamie had remembered. It had been…somewhere? Somewhere else? Something else? As with any dream, it was nebulous and hard for her mind to grasp. But she had managed to get free, if only briefly, and see what lay beyond that field.

What if there was something beyond the scarecrow’s field, outside of the recurring nightmare? Although she couldn’t remember seeing a barn as tall as the one in that dream. Or blood-dripping beehives for that matter. And she definitely hadn’t seen a lake of red instead of soil. None of that added up. Maybe Jamie would have some clues there, if there was anything past his forest of sunflowers. Maybe she would ask him later. Along with the thousands of other questions she had for him, of course.

The breeze from the fan rustled her piles of papers and research, sending several of them drifting across the floor. With a sigh, she went to gather them back up. Among them were some of young Mr. Rutledge’s childhood drawings; the one depicting him holding hands and smiling with the towering figure of the scarecrow, and the crude portraits he had drawn of his family. Mei could only suppose that these had been drawn well before that incident from Jamie’s memories. Before that, they had been friends. Perhaps each others’ only friends.

But that had been before a young Mako had staggered back to the farm, covered in blood. That had been before he had screamed for Jamie to get away from him, pitching stones and sobbing with pain and fear. Before Jamie had done ‘something’. And there had been a ‘her’, a ‘her’ that Jamie had taken away somehow. Although Mei couldn’t really think of a ‘her’ on this farm other than Mako’s family at the time? And he had no sister in the records. His mother, perhaps?

She glanced down to the drawings again, depicting his versions of his family. It was difficult to tell what she looked like, from a child’s drawing. It looked like she had been a rather large woman, with curly black hair. But Mei was fairly sure the real woman didn’t have arms longer than her entire body, or tiny little stumpy legs without feet like in the drawing.

Making her way across the floor, the overhead lamp was clicked on, causing her to squint and wince as the room was flooded with light. She pulled on her glasses and lowered back amongst the mess, sorting through the stacks of folders and research she was still in the middle of sorting through. Where had that family lineage chart gone?

She found it eventually, tucked into a messy pile. There was Mr. Rutledge’s name at the very bottom, the lonely survivor of a rapidly dwindling family tree. And just above it were the names of his parents, along with the dates of their births and deaths. His father had lived a long life, being one of three children, though he was the only one to breed. A wife must have been brought in for him, as Jamie had said. By a tie of marriage, a woman’s name was next to his.

Kora Rutledge.

They had erased any traces of her maiden name, but kept her birthday and her death day. And after a few more minutes of ruffling through papers and doing some quick calculations, she finally had more pieces of this particular puzzle. Kora had married at the age of 26, moved onto the farm, and three years later she’d had a child. Their two lines came together, leading to Mako Rutledge. But the date of her death belied that she had died young…when her son had only been seven years old.

Her son, who had made his way back alone, back to the farm that was his sanctuary and his prison. But she had not been with him. Because in the scarecrow’s own words, he had ‘taken her away’.

Had Jamie killed Mr. Rutledge’s mother that fateful evening? She hated to even consider it, but the scholar in her could not deny that that was where the evidence was pointing. Even if she hadn’t yet figured out how. Her companion had proved that he was unconcerned with the concept of killing things, and he’d made it clear how he loathed the family whose land he haunted. But to be capable of murder? Murdering the mother of a young boy, especially?

The muggy night air suddenly felt cold, and she found the sweat-sodden lump of her pajama top and pulled it back on. A quick glance at the clock told her that she still had a good hour or so before sunrise. Maybe she could get in a bit more research about Kora and the rest of the Rutledge family since she was awake. So she climbed back into bed and took up her pen and her notebook yet again, getting back to work.

***

Back in the field…The sky was still dark now. Why wasn’t it bright and sunny anymore? The insects were buzzing and she was back in—

***

“Mei? Mei!”

She startled awake with a little snort as a familiar voice called for her downstairs. Sharp pain lanced through her neck as she lifted her head, moaning aloud as she stretched some life back into her sore muscles. She must have fallen asleep again, sitting up and slumped over her half-open notebook. And judging by how the last few notes she’d jotted down were not making any sense what so ever, it looked like she’d fallen asleep while writing.

Tossing her books aside and massaging her shoulder with an unhappy groan, she dragged herself out of bed and opened the bedroom door to shout, “Sorry! Mr. Rutledge?”

“Breakfast,” his voice called back. “The most important meal of the day. Can’t miss it.”

“Ah! I woke up and then accidentally fell asleep again. I’ll be right down, just give me a minute! Sorry, sorry, sorry!”

She skipped her morning shower, throwing open her drawers to pull on some fresh clothes and combing her fingers through her hair. A dead firefly fell out from where it had gotten tangled in her locks, and she bit her lip and put it next to the shriveled husk of the bee from some days before. Her dresser was turning into a graveyard all its own. Turning the sunflower in its vase so it could face the morning light, she hurried to slam her bedroom door and went pattering down the creaking wooden steps.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” She apologized the entire way down, up until she slid across the kitchen linoleum and right into her chair at the breakfast table. “Oh! You made frittata!”

“Hrm?” Mr. Rutledge stood at the stove, wearing an apron that looked comically tiny on his gigantic form. The straps couldn’t even reach all the way around his immense girth, and dangled uselessly at his front as he turned about with a sizzling pan. “What’s a frittata? This is egg mess. Using the last of the stuff in the fridge before I head into town.”

“Well, may I please have some egg mess, then?” She requested politely, as he loomed over and scraped a portion of the egg and vegetable medley onto her plate. Taking a slice of toast from the center of the table as well, she began dutifully scraping it with honey as she did every morning’s breakfast. But not before examining the jar of honey itself, holding it up to the light. “Okay, I’m going to get this one. Don’t tell me, Mr. Rutledge.”

“Mm. Infused that batch. Give a guess.”

She noted its slightly pink tinge, squinting behind her glasses before reaching her tongue out to taste a smear atop her bread. Rolling her eyes back in a slightly exaggerated parody of taking in a wine’s bouquet, she smacked her lips a bit before answering, “It’s…peach infused! Right? Is that peach?”

He looked slightly pleased at that, his chair creaking as he sat across from her. “Peaches. Good job, Mei.”

She managed a tired smile before digging into her egg mess and toast. The sunlight streamed in to warm them, and the birds were singing gaily and the cicadas had already started, interrupted only by the tinkle of windchimes as a little breeze disturbed them out on the porch. Mornings were always so nice here on the farm, even if it was so terribly dry and hot when the sun got higher. And even despite the drought, there was something that seemed idyllic about this simple, rural way of life.

If only she hadn’t known about the darkness lurking around every corner here, and the red under the sunflowers.

Another day had dawned and it was another chance to get to the bottom of the Rutledge family’s dirty secrets, and what they had to do with the living scarecrow out in the field. Kora Rutledge was now a name of interest, and Mei had Kora’s only son sitting right across from her. Maybe it was best to approach him first, even before asking Jamie about her. But Mr. Rutledge was such a quiet man, and even though he had warmed to her presence, he was still a cold and difficult-to-approach kind of a person. She couldn’t just ask him about bees and scarecrows and sunflowers and the fate of his mother. She might have been too curious for her own good, but she was not so cruel as to bring up his deceased family out of nowhere.

Clearing her throat, she stirred her egg mess around her plate and tried to think of the best way to frame her questions. “Mr. Rutledge? I’m still sorting through all those family records you let me borrow. They’re very interesting. Thanks for letting me see them, by the way. You have such an extensive family history here.”

His shoulders lifted very, very slightly, and Mei could tell he had raised his guard and was on the defensive. Even if all he uttered was a low, “Mm…”

“Er, yes. I’ve been trying to get them all into order again. Chronologically. It’s actually amazing that I happened to get assigned to a farm that’s been through so many generations.”

No answer. Mei swallowed and cleared her throat.

“There’s this really old map of the property layout, and I was hoping I could get your permission to walk around and take some photos? For my report?” She crossed her legs under the table uncomfortably, shifting in her seat at his lack of response. “I know you told me not to wander too far, so I thought I’d tell you first. A-and I saw that there’s a family plot on the map, and I didn’t want to be disrespectful by going there without checking first.”

He slowly lifted another forkful of egg mess to his chapped lips, chewing and swallowing in his usual too-long awkward silences. Mei hoped he was thinking it over. Instead, he took two more bites of his breakfast and she was just about ready to give up and change the subject before he finally answered.

“What kind of school report needs an old family graveyard?”

“Well I mean—It’s not necessary!” She held up both hands plaintively. “It’s just part of this place’s history, that was all. I was just going to take lots of pictures of the whole farm as well as your apiary. But I didn’t want to offend—”

“Mm…”

There was that noise of his again, the one that affirmed he had heard her but was of no help as far as being an answer. She prodded at her toast with her fork for lack of anything better to do with her hands, staring down at her plate.

“You can take your photos,” Mr. Rutledge finally rumbled after another long minute. He still seemed more intent on his breakfast than on her, lifting his cup of coffee. “But I’ll take you there, myself. Before I head into town. Go get your chores done. You’re already running late this morning.”

Despite the grumpy tone of his words, Mei brightened. “Oh! Thank you. I’ll try to be quick, just want a few pictures. Um. I mean, it will really paint just how many of your family’s generations have been here; this intimate connection with your land, all the Rutledges who came bef—”

He put his coffee cup down a little too hard, and Mei shut her mouth. He merely uttered a low noise in his throat, something that could almost be construed as a warning, then nodded his immense shaggy head towards the doorway. She made a show of pushing the rest of her toast into her jaws and hurrying to finish up, scuttling over to put  her dish by the sink before fleeing the kitchen altogether, hurrying back upstairs.

Maybe she’d overstepped her bounds a little bit, but she had his permission. She hadn’t expected Mr. Rutledge to offer to join her, but perhaps the man was just being cagey about his family privacy. Frankly, she had no idea if she would find anything useful at the graveyard at all, but it was at least worth a look. And the photos might be a nice addition to her report on the farm itself. That had not been a lie. Mostly.

She hurried to complete her chores; checking hives and feeding animals and watering the parched gardens. Mr. Rutledge worked in his usual silence nearby, carrying wood and nails to finish building the pigs a new shade shed, to protect their soft pink bodies from the unrelenting sun. The water was running low enough that they could no longer refresh the mud that kept them cool. Winifred in particular was unhappy about that last point, and was giving him an earful as she ran about his feet and tried to trip him.

Mei finished first despite her late start, washing the sweat from her face and taking up her spot on the creaking wooden porch swing as she waited for him. A bee hummed through the air not long after, alighting near her arm and looking up at her. Mei didn’t let herself look back, though she muttered a low, “Hi Jamie.”

The bee waved a tiny front leg.

“I can’t really talk until later today, remember? It’s still morning.”

The bee spun in an unhappy circle.

She pretended to shine her glasses down atop her lap as it crawled towards her. “Don’t be so impatient. I promised I’d come see you later, remember? There’s a grocery run later today so I’ll come then. But we still have things to do until then. Go on.”

If a bee could sigh, she could swear the bee sighed. It hovered back into the air again while she put her glasses back on…and then Mei blinked owlishly when it suddenly buzzed a little closer, rammed right into her cheek with its tiny fuzzy body, and then hurriedly flew off and out of sight. She was left dumbfounded for a moment. Had a bee just kissed her cheek? Did that count? What on earth?

“Mei. You still want to go?”

Mr. Rutledge was dabbing at her brow with a handkerchief, leaning his tools up against the porch. Shaking off the little peck she’d just been given, Mei swung her legs back down off the swing and hurried inside. Snatching up her phone and her notebook, she went clattering down the porch steps and moved to join him.

“Coming!” she said, and fell into step at his side. The old farmer loomed so large and so tall that he could throw her entire body with his shadow and her needing to take two and a half steps for every one of his. She always ended up needing to scramble after him in one way or another, but she tried to do it with a smile. “I hope it’s not too much trouble. I promise I’ll try to be quick.”

“Mm.”

“And…thank you, Mr. Rutledge. I mean it. I really appreciate it. A lot,” she said, still beaming. “It’s really nice to be able t—”

The toe of her shoe caught on a ridge in the path, and she tripped mid-sentence. Like some sort of idiot ballerina, she went sprawling face-first towards the dirt, and only stopped when her enormous companion lunged to the side and caught her. Flinging out one arm and snatching her around the middle, he managed to keep her from faceplanting by simply picking her up like a football, yanking her back up in mid-air. For a moment she hung there, looking down at the gravel that had been rapidly headed towards her, and then she was being tilted upright and gently set back onto her feet.

She fussed and straightened herself out sheepishly, embarrassment heating her cheeks more than the morning sun. “Sorry! Sorry about that!”

“Mm. Careful.” He started forward again.

“And thank you. Again.”

He paused in mid-step, looking down as if to start to answer her. But then he grunted sharply, lifting that massive arm again. Mei was about to question him when she saw why. That single little honeybee was attached to his forearm, its tiny form writhing angrily where it was stuck stinger-first into his skin. Mr. Rutledge barely reacted, only pausing to watch until it struggled enough that its barb detached from its own body…along with a string of its own innards.

The bee shuddered, weakening rapidly as it pulled itself apart in its rage. In aghast silence, Mei watched until its legs finally gave out…and the little bee dropped down dead, leaving its stinger behind. Mr. Rutledge barely reacted, glancing down as its little husk landed amongst the dried brown grass. He only flattened his thumbnail and scraped it along the wound, dislodging the stinger and casting it aside as if it were nothing. The honeybee’s suicide had been for naught.

“Hm,” Mr. Rutledge said. He stepped over it and kept walking.

Mei lingered there for only half a moment longer, frowning down at the spot where it had fallen. She looked up, glaring with disapproval all around her, but could not spot anything amiss to glare at. Then, with a little hop, she hurried to join Mr. Rutledge at his side once more. They walked on, and quickly left it behind.

He watched them go.

***

The Rutledge family plot was in the opposite direction of the sunflower field, closer to the little strip of woods that separated them from the main roads. It was still somewhat of a long walk, along a barely visible dirt trail that ran along the property fence’s edge. It was overgrown and ill-maintained, and the grass brushed at her calves as they traveled onward, grasshoppers skittering away from their path. She couldn’t help but wonder if a certain someone was going to send the poor grasshoppers on a suicide mission against Mr. Rutledge next, but luckily they seemed more interesting in fleeing.

Close to to the highway, close enough that she could hear the distant passing of an occasional car, Mei saw a rusted iron fence surrounded by trees. A crooked gate had been tied shut where the handle had broken off who knows how long ago, and was so laden with spiderwebs that it might as well have been sewn closed. Mr. Rutledge grumbled as his large hands fumbled to undo it, and the hinges screamed and spiderwebs broke in half as he yanked several times to force it open.

“Haven’t been here in a while,” he admitted.

“That’s understandable, it’s okay,” she said. “They’re sad places. If you want a moment alone with them…?”

“It’s fine. Go on in.”

He beckoned her forward, and she brushed aside a few remaining webs to enter the graveyard proper. He definitely wasn’t lying about not having been here in a long time. The place was completely overgrown, weeds and wild plants choking the paths and blocking the names on the stones. She waved off a cloud of gnats that rose from the disturbed grasses, lifting her phone in both hands and taking several shots of the abandoned plots.

She heard Mr. Rutledge grunt as he turned sideways, squeezing through the open space at the gate behind her. But he merely lingered near the entrance, looking on as she knelt and began clearing away the overgrowth blocking the headstones. Most of the gravestones were very old, battered and smoothed from seasons of harsh weather. Some of the inscriptions had become hard to read, filled in with now-dead moss and mold. She pulled out her handkerchief to scrub the debris away, her camera clicking again and again.

A few of the names were recognizable from her studies of their records. She couldn’t seem to find an order to them  And most of the inscriptions seemed fairly normal, as far as graves went: words about God, and loss, and hopes to be reunited. The pictures would be nice for her report, but it seemed to be a completely normal family plot. It was almost refreshingly nomal…and a little disappointing, after everything else.

One of the older graves was so choked with vines that she had to call Mr. Rutledge to come help her remove them. The headstone under it was battered and worn, perhaps the oldest of them, and nature had started to swallow it up. But once the last vine had been ripped away and Mei had cleaned it up a little, she could make out the faint etchings in the stone beneath.

Nikau Tai Rutledge.

It was Mr. Rutledge’s great great grandfather, the one who had founded this land. It was decorated with a simple but rather eerie skull face above his name. His stone had no birth date, but it did record his death. After a bit more pruning and cleaning she could even read the epitaph, damaged though it was.

‘The First to See Beneath, But to Rise Above — So Prosperity Blessed Him’

It was nice that prosperity had blessed the man, but the words before it were certainly strange. He had seen beneath, but risen above? Was that some old parable or saying? Maybe a bible quote?

“Hey, Mr. Rutledge. Do you know what this means?” She asked aloud, reaching forward to touch the stone gently. “…Mr. Rutledge?”

There was no answer, and Mei looked up when the man suddenly moved past her, heading deeper into the little plot and behind a large stand of crowded trees and bushes. She hefted herself up and went to follow, having to make a little jump over a tangle of briars, and only narrowly missed slamming directly into the old farmer’s back when he stopped short with a strange little jerk. She windmilled both arms to keep from falling for the second time that morning, righting herself and peering at the back of his head in consternation before taking a few steps to the side to peek around his wide body.

In front of them, just behind the bushes, was an immaculately kept grave plot. There was no sign of vegetation or wear, standing in stark contrast to everything around them. Not a single weed grew within the rectangle of laid bricks and the headstone looked like it had been lovingly cared for and cleaned. When Mei adjusted her glasses and squinted, she could make out the name.

Kora Rutledge.

This was Mako’s mother’s burial site. But even more strange than its well-kempt appearance amongst the ruins, was the splash of color that sat atop it. It was little wonder that Mr. Rutledge had halted so suddenly.

Sitting there atop his mother’s grave, at the foot of her headstone, was a single cheerful bright yellow sunflower.

***

Mei slowly looked up at him, unsure how he was going to react. Mr. Rutledge himself seemed unsure how he was going to react. He stood there, staring down at the grave plot, and swallowed thickly.

“Mr. Rutledge?” Mei finally asked gently.

He looked up, genuinely seeming to have forgotten that she was there. He pulled off his hat, uneasily running one large hand through sweat-dampened gray hair, and tried to find his words as he stared down at the flower. “Mm. I guess I left it…when I was here last…”

It was a piss-poor lie, and they both knew it. But Mei said nothing to the distressed old man, letting him pull ahead to stand at the foot of his mother’s grave. With a groan, he eased his bulky frame downward onto his knees, so heavy that she felt the ground shudder when he landed. For another long while he just sat there, before reaching out and going to pluck the sunflower from the base of the headstone. It practically gleamed, more yellow than the unrelenting rays of the sun, held in the palm of his massive hand.

But even as they both watched, it suddenly began to darken, withering and blackening on the edges and curling inward. It wilted at his very touch, dying faster than anything was supposed to die— and was only helped along when Mr. Rutledge suddenly clenched his fist around it with a sickening crunch, engulfing the bloom’s center as the once-yellow petals turned to brittle ash and sifted through his fingers. With a low growl, he threw the remains of the dead flower to the side, away from his mother’s plot.

Mei pinched her lips together and remained silent, making herself smaller as she hugged her notebook and papers with both arms to her chest. Mr. Rutledge leaned down, painstakingly brushing away the flower’s dust away from the headstone before placing one hand atop it, using it to help pull himself upright with a groan. But his hand remained there for a long moment, calloused fingertips brushing the smooth stone before he finally backed away and returned to Mei’s side.

She looked up at him, voice still soft. “Your mother? Kora Rutledge?”

“…Mm.”

“Are you okay?”

“Mm.”

“We can go, if you need. It’s all right.”

“It’s fine. Don’t remember much of her…Died when I was a boy.”

Nothing she didn’t know already, but Mei couldn’t help but be surprised that he’d told her even that much. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rutledge.”

“Mm. Wish I’d stayed.”

“Stayed?”

“With her.” He kept his gaze forward, stoic as before as he stood at his parents’ graves; one choked with weeds and forgotten, the other well-preserved and clearly mourned..even if not by him. “Don’t remember all of it. Was just a boy. But I was with her.”

Mei’s gaze lifted back to him. “May I ask what something happened?”

The man uttered a heavy sigh. “Went out too late. Milk had gone bad, needed more. Think she was baking something. I wanted to go with her. Was raining. I was bored. Got in the truck and we went to get groceries. Too late in the afternoon.”

She listened intently to the short, clipped answers he gave. He was not the most verbose of men, but she hung onto every clue he gave her. This was…important. And she paid close attention.

“Raining really hard,” he continued. “She let me get a chocolate bar. I remember that, for some reason. Remember eating my chocolate and us rushing to get home before…Mm. We were driving fast. Something happened, not sure what. Think she might have swerved not to hit a deer or an animal. Roads were wet.”

“Oh no…”

“Remember being flung around, didn’t have the belt on. Think I hit my head or went shocked. Woke up with the truck upside down, my arm and side hurting real bad.”

She remembered the memory of his younger self, staggering along the road and covered in blood. It had been a car accident, all along? Perhaps it had been shock that had made him angry enough to attack Jamie? Maybe she had expected the worst from the poor scarecrow all along and had made a mistake?

Mr. Rutledge pulled off his hat, fanning his sweating face as it faced the sun. “Crawled out the windshield. Glass everywhere, but couldn’t feel it. She was laying with her top half out of the driver side window. She was still awake, kept telling me it was going to be okay. She managed to crawl out but her legs weren’t working right. Broken bones, probably. Kept trying to stand but couldn’t. Didn’t have phones like yours, back then. Couldn’t call for help.”

“Did she—”

“Wasn’t the crash that killed her. Shouldn’t have gone out that late in the afternoon. Still far away from the farm, down in that ravine by the side of the road. Think she realized what was going to happen, eventually. Started telling me I had to get home. Started telling me I had to leave her there…Leave her there in that ditch while it started getting darker…”

Mei’s eyes widened in quiet realization.

“Tried dragging her a few times. Couldn’t. Didn’t want to leave her, but she kept saying I had to. Kept saying I needed to go, needed to start walking, needed to head back. ‘Get help’. That’s what she said. Even though she…” He sighed again, exhaling through flared nostrils. “She knew. Eventually started screaming at me to get out of there, driving me away, yelling. Guess she got desperate. Wish that hadn’t been the last time I’d heard her voice, though.”

“Mr. Rutledge…”

“Didn’t know what else to do. Walked home."

“I’m so sorry. That’s so terrible for a child to go through. And your poor mother.”

“Mm. They said the shock must have got to her heart,” he replied flatly. “They brought her body in the next morning. Life lesson, that day. A hard one. Never forgotten it. I…”

At a loss, she hesitantly lifted one hand and placed it upon his arm. His head lifted very slightly and grumbled a low tone of recognition, but that was all. Mei only patted him as gently as she could. That had been the most that she’d ever heard him speak, and it had been to pour his heart out about that night: a night that she had seen firsthand, through another’s eyes…

Another’s eyes that were currently watching them. There was a very faint little movement atop Kora’s gravestone. Another bee crawled across its surface, flickering its wings and going still.

Mr. Rutledge put his hat back on, turning back towards the gated entrance. “Didn’t mean to talk that much. Didn’t mean to take up your time…Take your pictures if you need them. You know the way back. Need to head out for the grocery run. You need anything not on the list? You want a ride into town?”

The grocery list was the very last thing on her mind, brow knitting in concern. “No, no, I don’t think so. And thank you, but I think I’ll stay here and get some work done. Maybe next time? And you’re not taking up my time. I’m glad to listen, any time. Not just for school, either, but…I don’t know? Just to listen? I know you d—”

“Yeah. Come back to the house when you’re done here.”

“O-okay.”

And with that, Mr. Rutledge turned and made his way out of his family’s graveyard, the very last of his line who would one day join those buried here. She watched him go, as he rounded the bend through the trees. The overgrown iron gate screeched open as he squeezed through, and she heard heavy footfalls leave and get further and further away as he must have started the long trek back towards the house.

She stood there, listening to the rustling grass and the screeching of insects, trying to digest everything that he had just told her. Terrible things had happened that day, during that storm. A frantic mother had driven away her only child, wounded and helpless, back towards the farm that she herself could not reach. No wonder that the young Mako had been so distraught. He had barely made it back inside the border before sundown…and he had been alone.

That had been why Jamie had dragged him inside the fence. That had been why he kept looking towards the road. That had been why he kept waiting, looking for the other figure that should have been following him…but was never going to come.

Kora Rutledge had been trapped outside their land, after the sun went down. She had still been alive. And it seemed that none of them, not even Jamie, had been able to leave to help her. But why? What had kept them here, and what killed them after the sun set? Was it still keeping both Mr. Rutledge and Jamie imprisoned here? …Was she imprisoned here? What was doing this?

Not only that, but it seemed that Kora had been the only Rutledge being mourned in this lonely place. Something or someone had been caring for her burial plot all these years. And they had been leaving sunflowers for her too. Clearly, she had been important, but why would he so lovingly care for this place if he had been the one to do this to her...?

There was a buzzing noise and a faint tickle. The honeybee landed on the back of her hand, its tiny body trailing on the backs of her knuckles as it looked up at her. With a slow and careful movement, she brought it up towards her. It fluttered and buzzed again, looking up towards her.

She pursed her lips, pushing her glasses back on her nose as she set her little bee companion with a stern gaze.

“Jamie. Let’s talk.”

[reylo-solo]

The Child Born of Sand and Smoke Prequel 1 of 2

Okay, so I decided to make this its own separate post. It’ll also be going up on ao3 in a collection series of my prompt fills eventually. But you can read it here, or on the original post. Either way, enjoy, reylo fam!

Click here to read The Child Born of Sand and Smoke pt. 1

The waters of her bath were almost too warm for average flesh, but not to Rey. She was used to incredible heat. Some days she even found herself missing it.

           The droid that had drawn the bath for her had infused it with a lovely bouquet of essential oils that gave the steam a delicate floral scent; earthy but beautiful. Rey didn’t want to get out. She had decided she really liked baths. She liked the way the water made the skin on her fingers pucker if she stayed in it too long. And she enjoyed how the pleasant steam, scented or not, had a way of filling her head and drowning out some of her louder thoughts.

           But eventually, she had to leave the warm scented waters behind. She towelled off and grasped the nearest available robe. It was a shimmery lilac colour, with silk adornments on the sleeves. She tied it closed about her waist and set to work on combing out her hair. It came with its fair share of snags and tangles after a long day running about the Falcon and traversing the windswept landscape of whatever outlying planet they were regrouping on that day. She carefully guided the comb through her hair, thankful that they had at least come across another sign of life this time, who had even turned out to be an ally with an incredible ’fresher room.

           Rey froze with her hair half-pulled back in her fists. Her first instinct was still to shout and raise the alarm, but logic was quick to the rescue and she remained silent. There was no danger here. The two stood there, ten feet from one another, and the silence in the room swelled unbearably.

           No longer able to stand the uncomfortable, shocked tension between them, Rey finished tying her hair back and let her hands fall sternly onto her hips.

           “What are you doing here?” she demanded, but not harshly. She had quickly learned that being too stand-offish was never the answer with him.

           Kylo’s mouth opened but no sound came out at first. He blinked rapidly, looking like a stunned sand rat, and choked, “I…uh, I—”

           Rey’s eyes narrowed. There was something in the way he was looking at her that made her heart race. It was at this point she noticed he had a shocking amount of colour in his usually pallid cheeks; a light, hearty pink, rapidly darkening to deep red blossoms.

           “Ben…you’re staring,” she said.

           “Sorry—”

           He turned away rapidly as though she had physically struck him. His dark locks hid his face but she could see one gloved hand raised to his cheek. Perhaps he was trying to rub the colour away, ashamed that he was even capable of showing such emotion?

           Rey stepped a little closer, her curiosity piqued. She was also worried for him, though. He was breathing rather fast, and trembling just barely. It was such a peculiar sight, to see such a powerful man become so timid. It was like when she was ten years old, and she had ventured down to Niima Outpost on a busy market day, only to find that someone had brought in a Thissermount to sell illegally. It had clearly been snared – Rey deduced this by the nasty, pale-pink scars on one of the beast’s stumpy back legs – and it was severely malnourished, with missing patches of hair and a very visible backbone and ribcage. Any Thissermount Rey had seen in the wild looked quite fierce and proud, despite its dopey build. But this one looked nothing like that. It looked sad, and abused, and frightened. It was tethered to a post by a rusty metal chain and a thick metal collar, and it was huddled as far away from the small group of intrigued spectators as it could get, trembling viciously. The sight had brought young Rey to tears, but she could do nothing to save it. Its captor stood protectively over it, demanding payment from anyone who stepped too close. And he had a nasty leather whip in one hand that Rey figured he wouldn’t be afraid to use on a young orphan girl who got too cocky.

           She now saw that abused animal in Kylo Ren. Some days were worse than others. Today he seemed more uncomfortable than angry or scared. He kept himself turned away from her, and he was very clearly out of his element. He possessed none of that cocky, self-righteous attitude Rey had come to expect from him. She couldn’t save that Thissermount, but she could save Ben Solo.

           She closed the space between them and stretched a wary hand out to touch his shoulder.

           “What’s wrong?” she asked.

           Kylo flinched at her touch. But he didn’t move farther away, either.

           “Nothing,” he answered shortly. His voice sounded thicker than normal.

           Rey squinted at him as realization slowly began to dawn on her. Of course! He was just like her! Silly girl, how could she have forgotten? He had been stripped of a normal adolescence too, after all.

           “Have you never…seen a woman in just a-a robe before?”

           Kylo made a low, guttural sound, somewhere between a groan of embarrassment and a groan of pain.

           “I have!” He snapped back indignantly, turning deep brown eyes on her in a flash. The colour began to rise in his face again.

           “I’ve just…I’ve never seen a woman in a robe that’s quite so sheer before.”

           Rey frowned and looked down at herself. Fresh out of her bath and without any clean clothes to speak of just yet, she had grabbed the nearest article of clothing she could find. She wasn’t even sure whose robe it was, she just assumed they wouldn’t mind if she borrowed it for a little bit. It hadn’t looked so sheer on the hanger. But now, looking at herself, she could see that Ben wasn’t lying, not one bit.

           She could see everything. In lilac-hued clarity.

           She gasped and fumbled to cover herself with arms and hands and hair. Instinctively, she ushered herself away from Kylo and back against a wall. Now it was her turn to blush violently.

           Kylo watched all this with a mixture of horror and pity. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her, but she did embarrass him first…but that too had been entirely by accident.

           He couldn’t just stand there gawking, though. That would only make matters worse. The poor girl looked near tears. Swiftly, he removed his long, thick jacket, leaving himself in a black sleeveless shirt. He sidled over to Rey slowly and handed it to her on an outstretched palm, even going so far as to avert his gaze to the ceiling as he did so. Rey snatched it out of his grip and threw it on without even thinking twice. It was warm to boot, but most importantly it covered her almost down to her knees. She clutched it closed tightly around herself and gave him a meek look of appreciation.

           “Thank you,” she mumbled sheepishly.

           Kylo cleared his throat and lowered his line of vision to her face.

           “You’re welcome.”

           “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…it was just bad timing, is all.” She let her voice trail off, not really knowing how to end her explanation for the events that had just unfolded, mostly because she didn’t really have an explanation to begin with. It really had been just bad timing.

           “It’s okay,” Kylo said. “Should we pretend it never happened?”

           Rey nodded. “I think that would be best.”

           Rey was not a professional by any means when it comes to telling what constitutes as an intimate moment between two people. Having been more or less alone since childhood, she wasn’t the greatest at building positive relationships with people, especially not of the intimate variety. Yet somehow, she had always drawn others to her in a very natural sort-of way, like moths to a flame. This, combined with her limited knowledge of what a real relationship should look like and what intimacy felt like, always landed her in a very awkward place. She was in one such place right now.

           If she wasn’t mistaken, her relationship with Kylo was very intimate. But it was intimacy of a different sort; in the sense that they were capable of having these raw, emotionally-charged yet incredibly tender moments that were as therapeutic as they were daunting. She would feel the strong desire within her to reach out and touch him, his face, his hair, his fingers. And in return, she would see that very gentle glimmer in his eyes that suggested he felt the same innocent urge. These moments always left her breathless, reeling, and more often than not, confused. And although tonight she felt more embarrassed than anything after the Robe Incident, she couldn’t deny the fact that there was a certain…clarity between them. Something more solid, that hadn’t been there before. Their bond grew stronger, and with it, their feelings toward one another.

           “You never answered my question,” Rey said, breaking the tension-filled silence between them.

           “Hm? Question?” Kylo hummed. His eyes had taken on a glazed-over appearance, and Rey could only imagine what he was recalling in his head.

           “What are you doing here?” she repeated.

           “Oh. That. Well. If I had known you were washing I wouldn’t have bothered you.”

           Rey smirked ironically. “I guess this means we’re even then.”

           A suggestion of a smile flitted past his lips. “I guess so.”

           He paused, cleared his throat, and addressed her directly, his steely brown eyes meeting her vast hazel ones dead-on.

           “I’m here because I was thinking about you,” he said stiffly. “I…I was alone, thinking about you, wondering if you were well. And I guess I just wanted to check in on you.”

           His delivery was awkward, but honest. That much she could tell.

           “So you’re saying you missed me,” She paraphrased, with a raised eyebrow for emphasis.

           “T-That is not what I said!” Kylo stuttered.

           “You didn’t have to say it,” Rey replied triumphantly, “I heard it anyway.”

           Like a moth to a flame. Come closer, my dark, winged soul. Let the heat of my presence warm you and burn you up into ash, so that you may be reborn anew…

           His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but humour played on his lips. He was amused and intrigued and totally, undeniably smitten.

           “I have another question,” Rey piped up. “You didn’t look away until I informed you that you were staring.”

           Cautiously, his eyebrows raised.

           “Oh, didn’t I?”

           Something in the way he said it made a warm sensation pool in the pit of Rey’s belly; a light vibration, driven by intrinsic need and selfish want. His deep, conversational voice sounded like heaven and hell combined, made of equal parts sin and salvation.

           “No, you didn’t. Why?”

           Kylo’s lips pressed firmly together and puzzlement creased his brow. “I’m…not sure how to answer that,” he said.

           “Honestly,” Rey replied, slowly stepping closer to him. “I want you to tell me the truth.”

           Kylo couldn’t bring himself to take his eyes off of her. The way she looked up at him, with those long, dark eyelashes all aflutter, made his heart nearly stop. True, she had been the closest he had had to a friend in many years, and he felt most comfortable in her presence. But he couldn’t help wondering when that had changed. In the blink of an eye, it had become so much more…

           And Maker, was it ever dangerous territory he trespassed on. But the closeness of her body and the gentle pout of her lips made it worth the risk every time.

           “I was stunned,” he responded, using that seductive, low tone of voice, drawing her in. “I didn’t know up from down for a moment. All I knew and all I saw was you.”

           “That must have been quite disorienting for you; a man of your hardened emotions.”

           Kylo dared a wry smile.

           “It was.”

           Colour flooded Rey’s cheeks and the bridge of her nose; a light dusty pink, like the petals of a slowly fading evening primrose.

           “When all you could see was me, did you like what you were looking at?” she asked quietly. The words slipped off the slope of her breath, as easy and suggestive as air. But they were weighted with suggestion, and even Rey felt impressed by her own confidence.

           Kylo looked stunned once more. Those deep eyes widened in scandalized astonishment and, out of the corner of her eye, she saw his fists clench hard with restraint at his sides. He was silent for a long moment, obviously trying to fathom how to respond to such a bold question. Rey watched his lips work against one another as he twitched them in concentration.

           “Well?” she prompted. “Did you?”

           “Yes,” Kylo strained, “I did.”

           His expression darkened a touch and for a moment he looked nothing short of ashamed. Rey admired him like this. She had complete control over him, and as scary and sad as that prospect was, she couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of authority, mingled with a fierce protectiveness and just a dash of entitlement. The situation was hers to commandeer now. He was all hers, and he would follow her lead willfully.

           “I’m sorry,” he fumbled. “I shouldn’t have—”

           “Stop.”

           Rey silenced him with a touch – her hand on his. The fist he had been clenched in loosened as he warmed to her contact, allowing her to take hold of his stiff but wanting fingers, just as they had done before.

           “For reasons that are still unclear to me,” she explained, “I don’t mind that you saw what you saw. I’m even a little pleased that you liked it. Do you think that’s wrong?”

           “No,” he replied in a shaky whisper, “but it’s different.”

           Rey chewed gently on her lower lip, thinking about her next request very carefully. She knew what she wanted, but was it what he wanted too?

           “Touch me.”

           She didn’t think the colour in Kylo’s face could get any more pigmented. She was wrong.

           He blinked and stuttered awkwardly. “D-do you want—?”

           “Yes,” she interrupted, “I just want to see…what it feels like.”

           Her own voice was quiet and shaky by now. They were both entranced; wholly intrigued by the situation and scared of it at the same time. But it was the healthy sort of fear: the kind that made their hearts beat a little faster and made their blood run a little warmer.

           Slowly and tentatively, he raised a hand to her cheek, where one of his knuckles softly followed the curve of her right cheekbone, as though he was a painter and she his masterpiece. As he touched her, she watched his eyes light up with amazement. Her skin felt so warm and soft; it was like she was really there before him and they weren’t just connected across space and time by a mysterious bond.

           His caresses were slow and careful at first, but the more she showed him that she liked it – she did this by tilting her head towards his fingertips and allowing her doll-like eyes to flutter closed in peace – the braver he got. His fingers gently followed the column of her throat, making her shiver with their light attentiveness. It wasn’t long before they reached the high collar of his own jacket, and it was there that he encountered his first obstacle. His eyes searched hers for some sort of unspoken permission, which she granted to him genially with a slight, warm smile.

           With ease, his fingers slipped past the dip of the collar, successfully parting the lapels at the break line. He trembled as he touched the smooth, warm skin of her sternum. She did, too.

           He pushed aside the material with an adept hand, allowing the jacket to open and slip down over the curve of her shoulders. Due to how big it was on her, once it was past that point it fell off quite easily and landed with a dull thud around her feet.

           Once again, Rey stood to bare all in the sheer lilac robe. Ben grasped at the soft satin hems of the sleeves, rubbing the material betwixt his fingers, testing its delicacy. He followed the slender, toned shape of her arm, and then he got really brave. With the touch of a feather he caressed the swell of her breast through the soft material of the robe. His fingers shook and she saw his lip tremble.

           Her nipple stiffened at the barest provocation from him, straining against the restrictive folds of the robe. Now it was Rey’s turn to do something about it. She pulled on one end of the robe’s tie and as it came undone it fell open and she bared herself to him completely. The entire galaxy had fallen away around them. Nothing and no one else mattered or even existed in that moment.

           “What is happening…?” Kylo asked dreamily, eyes falling to the tempting softness of her lips.

           “Only what’s meant to happen,” Rey replied earnestly, lifting her chin. “Can’t you feel it?”

           “Yes,” Kylo whispered, his words trailing warm breath over her waiting mouth. “I can.”

           It was passion in its purest and gentlest form. They fell into one another’s depths and drowned, so that they may resurface as changed people joined by love and intimacy. And in that critical moment, as they lay entangled in one another’s limbs, everything changed and they knew it. They could feel it. Something important and much, much bigger than the both of them had begun to grow because of them. The winds were suddenly changing, spurred on by the catalyst of love and attraction. A new dawn was waiting on the horizon, and with it a storm of profound consequence.

           A storm made of sand and smoke.

[fandomtrashoe]

AIRPLANES CHAPTER 19 (Instagram AU)

(Check out the fanfiction by the wonderful @thiamfresh! It’s gold.)

I FINALLY REACHED THE LAKE SCENE CHAPTER LIKE OMG! IT TOOK SOOO LONG AND I’M QUITE HAPPY WITH IT! I’M SCREAMING!!!! SEND HELP...

‘AIRPLANES’ AU SERIES

 THIAM AU’s

Thiam x other fandoms

Thiam Playlists

More Social Media AU’s from other fandoms!

I just threw some extracts together to underline my choice of pictures (It’s not the original text cause I left parts out):

Liam knew it wasn't Theo's fault that he'd ended up stuck with the kids while Theo laughed around the fire drinking a soda and smiling but, well, it was so much more fun to blame Theo than it was to admit that he'd got himself trapped babysitting by trying to break up an eight-year-olds fight while Theo walked on without even a glance backwards and then agreeing to help a girl finish off a bracelet he was making. After that he'd been trapped and Theo had done nothing to save him. Just looked over occasional with a smirk.

“Stop moving!” Penny hissed, tugging at a strand of Liam's hair. Liam let out a small hiss of pain. Theo's attention shifted at the noise, eyes catching Liam's before his gaze flickered to Penny, standing behind him, he watched the small girl yank his hair into messy braids, smile turning into a full-blown grin.

“What wrist?” Liam held up his right wrist. The child smiled, stumpy fingers tying the bracelet on. “I even put your name on it.” He said, making Liam feel guilty he knew a total of three kids names and that was generally because they'd insulted him so far so he held minor grudges. “Really? That's awe-” Liam's words stuttered to a stop as the kid twirled the bracelet on his wrist to have it facing outwards. “...thank you, I love it.” Liam lied. Glaring down at the little-lettered beads. Pumpkin.

“Your head looks like an octopus.” Guns said.

“Why would you bother drinking? We can't get drunk-” Eric's eyes widened, a manic grin stretching across his face. “You haven't tried spiked beer?”

The 'party' turned out to be an assortment of werewolf ready booze and an old school boom-box at Casa Del Cool. It was probably the quietest party Liam had ever been too even with music the backstreet boys blaring, the waterfall whistling and the group shouting over one another. 

“Are you serious right now?” Liam asked with a laugh. He could barely see Theo from where he was hovering on the edge of the cliff through the dark night, just the glow of skin.

“I can't believe you call me drama-what's that?” Liam blinked at a black mark spread across Theo's collarbone. “Did you...Is that a tattoo?” Theo's eyes flicked down to his own chest. “Oh yeah.” Theo said. “When?” “This morning.” Theo said with a little shrug. “Sara said she had a gun and you know, we talked about it and I'd been thinking so-” “What is it?” Liam asked, moving closer. Theo hovered where he was, letting Liam come to him. Liam stopped a few foot in front of him. The light reflecting off the water shimmered against Theo's chest, making the tattoo look like it was wiggling. “DNA.” Liam stated. It was small, running across Theo's collarbone just a little stand of DNA. Liam could see a small break in the chain. Like a bit was missing.

He was sure they were closer than he remembered, something that was only proved when he Theo let out a wispy breath that fanned across Liam's cheek leaving the hairs on the back of Liam's neck stand on end. His body unconsciously swaying closer.

Liam lowered his hand slowly, fingers staying glue to Theo's skin. He may not know what the hell he was doing but he did know he didn't want to stop just yet. Theo let go of the bracelet, allowing Liam's hand to travel, sweeping a line down his chest to his waist.

[yatorihell]

In The Darkness Chapter 26 - The Boggart

Words: 2,528

Summary: In the first Defence Against the Dark Arts class of the year, Yukine and Hiyori face a Boggart. What are their true fears?

Previous chapter | First chapter

Thank you Ina (@leopah​) for beta-ing me <3

Accompanying art by @eerna

Read on AO3

In the first Defence Against the Dark Arts class students had the following Monday – seeing as the classes been previously been cancelled due to Professor Daikoku’s illness – they were introduced to a more practical side of magic.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom had been rid of its desks and chairs. Instead an old, mirrored wardrobe stood central at the far end of the room.

Yukine and the other students peered at it curiously. Wondering what they would be doing, the class leapt a few feet backwards when the wardrobe gave a sudden jolt and rocked dangerously on its stumpy legs.  

“There’s a boggart in there,” Professor Daikoku, having emerged on the short staircase that led to a private office, said.

He joined the class on the open floor, standing next to the wardrobe with his hands buried in his pockets. He observed the class with a strictness that had their complete attention.

“Who can tell me, what is a boggart?”

“It’s a shapeshifter,” Hiyori, who Yukine hadn’t seen enter the class, answered from his left. “It takes the shape of something that scares us.”

“Good.” Professor Daikoku gave a nod. He paced forward in front of the wardrobe which gave another rattle. “Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces like wardrobes. We’ll be practicing on this one.”

Yukine looked at Hiyori who caught his eye, giving him a small smile. Something that scares us? He was afraid to think of what it would be.

Ignoring Yukine’s nervous shuffle, Professor Daikoku continued.

“The charm that repels a boggart is simple, but requires force of mind – the force to make it take on a form that you find amusing.”

He paced to the outskirts of the room to the left of the huddled class. “We will practice the charm without wands first. Now repeat after me, ‘Riddikulus’!”

“Riddikulus!” the class said in unison.

“Good,” Professor Daikoku nodded again, stepping into the centre of the room once more, “everyone form a line.”

There was a kerfuffle of feet shifting and creaking on the floorboards, hands pushing and shoving as students tried not to be the first to face the Boggart. In the end, Suzuha was first, followed by Hiyori and then Yukine, succeeded by the rest of the class who tried to get as far back as possible.

Professor Daikoku stood ready, motioning for Suzuha to draw his wand like his own which was pointed at the wardrobe’s brass doorknob.

“One, two,” he said in a low voice.

Suzuha glanced over his shoulder at Yukine who’s head peeked over Hiyori’s shoulder, giving him a confident grin and making Yukine turn a faint pink.

“Three!”

A shower of red sparks shot from the tip of Professor Daikoku’s wand and the wardrobe door burst open.

For a second nothing appeared. A long, thin stalk finally emerged from the darkness, harmless enough to make the class giggle, which was quickly replaced by shrieks when the Boggart erupted from the wardrobe.

The form the Boggart had chosen was immense, towering to the ceiling and nearly knocking the dragon’s skeleton from its mounting – a Triffid.

Its veiny roots dragged across the floor, thick body melding from pale white to blood orange, and then to a decaying brown at its petaled mouth. Protruding from the gaping petals was a whip-like stem that lashed the air, tongued with orange feelers that sensed the air around it before catching the scent of the boy in front of it.

“Riddikulus!”

The next instance, the Triffid had vanished and in its place on the floor was a small flower balloon. The class erupted with laughter; Suzuha grinning with a bounce in his step as he made his way to the back of the room, winking at Yukine who was clapping so hard his hands hurt.

“Next!” Professor Daikoku shouted, a smile pulling his stoic expression apart.

Hiyori stepped forward, and there was a noise like a whip crack. The flower blossomed and tore itself apart, scattering into a horde of mice that scurried around Hiyori’s feet.

Her pierced shriek of the spell sent them rolling across the floor as hundreds of multi-coloured sweets, rolling under their feet before regrouping and bouncing back into the wardrobe, the door slamming shut as if the Boggart had thrown a tantrum over the lack of fear it had elicited from the howling group of students.

Hiyori grinned, skipping to the back of the room. Yukine, shoved forward by the now-impatient crowd, drew his wand and stared at the door.

Once more, Professor Daikoku’s wand erupted sparks that jolted the door and swung it open with a crash that threatened to tear them off their hinges. But only a pitch blackness greeted him.

Yukine’s hand faltered, wand dropped down in surprise that the boggart had seemingly vanished. He looked at Professor Daikoku who’s eyes had narrowed, fixated on the wardrobe with his jaw tightened.

Before he could ask ‘where is it?’, a cold swept over him so piercing that he felt that ice water had been poured over him.

A noise, something like a muffled yell and slow, heavy footsteps filled his ears. Whether it was from the wardrobe or his own memory Yukine could not tell, but the instant he looked back he knew he was frozen, and that he could not stop what would happen next.

A black shadow emerged from the wardrobe, humanoid but shapeless in its cumbersome movements, reaching out to him in a way that was so familiar that he could not mistake it.

Time slowed when he felt the feeling of what would happen next, anticipating the harshness of the blow before a swish of fabric moved in front of him, protecting him, and a vibrating yell echoed in his ears.

Yukine felt weightless, the paralysing fear slipping out of him from his fingertips as Professor Daikoku stood in front of him with his arms spread, blocking him from the Boggart’s view.

Although he couldn’t see exactly what it had become, Yukine caught a glimpse of pale light washing over Professor Daikoku’s shoulders and the linings of a cloud drifting over his head that were dispelled by a loud pop that preceded his ‘Riddikulus!’.

Turning on his heel, his eyes swept over Yukine solemnly before dismissing the class, which grumbled in dismay over not being given the chance to face the Boggart.

Suzuha and Hiyori pushed past the stream of people filtering out of the room. Yukine stumbled slightly as he made his way out, feigning a calmness so as not to worry them. Clearly it wasn't working: he was vaguely aware of Suzuha's hand lightly holding his forearm, the concern on his face matching Hiyori's.

“You ok?” she asked.

Yukine nodded automatically. He brushed the lingering feeling away, but not Suzuha’s hand which radiated through his black jumper and ushered him out of the class followed closely by Hiyori.  

Trotting down the spiral staircase from the tower, they found Yato standing against a pillar, hands shoved in his pockets and tie unknotted so that it hung like a limp snake around his neck.

“I’ll see you in class, yeah?” Suzuha asked. Since Defence Against the Dark Arts had ended early, Suzuha had made up his mind to go to the greenhouse, possibly to check for Triffids.

Suzuha gave Yukine a smile that had him flushing once more as he walked away.

Taking one look at Yukine’s expression, Yato cracked a grin. “Looks like someone put the Tongue-Tying curse on you.”

Hiyori bit back a smile when Yukine’s face turned a deeper shade of red.

“N-no!” he sputtered.

Yukine took a quick pace to get away from Yato’s teasing, but Yato rolled his head with a Cheshire-cat-like grin and easily caught up, him and Hiyori falling into pace either side of him.

“What did you do, then?”

“We had a Boggart.”

The way Hiyori said it told him that class hadn’t gone exactly to plan, and Yato softened his teasing.

“Ah,” he said. Although Yukine seemed fine, he could guess what had happened. “Don’t worry about them!”

Yato playfully dropped his hand on Yukine’s head, ruffling his hair into an even more dishevelled state much to Yukine’s protests as he swiped and ducked out of reach, flattening his hair.

Hiyori laughed, hugging her books to her chest. Herbology would be next, something that might lift Yukine’s mood, and, hopefully, there would be no Triffids.

~

There were no Triffids in Herbology, but there was a particularly large Puffapod which sprouted seed pods which burst into bloom when touched. By the end of class, the floor was littered with egg-like plants.

Hiyori and Yukine bumped into Yato returning from the Groundskeeper’s, dusting his hands off on his trousers and leaving them smeared with brown. They fell into a pace together, winding through the cloisters of the west wing of the castle.

“Don’t you do that after dinner?” Yukine asked reproachfully. It was hardly sanitary, even if he had time to go back to the dorms to clean up.

Yato shook his head. “Got Quidditch practice tonight, had to do it during class.”

The try-outs had taken place the previous weekend, and teams wasted no time in cramming in as much practice as they could, even if the first match wasn’t for a few months.

“You’re on the Quidditch team again, aren’t you?” Yato asked, more to Hiyori than Yukine, who was scanning over the herbology tome in his hands.

Hiyori hummed a yes. It was a miracle that she was. Even when the team said they should replace Hiyori altogether, Bishamon told them to stuff it.

“Wanna tell me all your tactics?” Yato grinned slyly.

Hiyori laughed. “No chance!”

Yato’s grin reduced to a contented smile, head cocking to the side as his hands dug in his pockets. “Wanna train with me again?”

Hiyori twinged in regret. She wanted to, but… “Bishamon’s got me signed up after school every day.”

“Weekends?” Yato suggested.

“Homework?” Hiyori pointed out.

“You don’t have to do homework -” Yato countered before he was cut off.

“Do I get an invitation or is this a date thing?” Yukine interrupted, looking a bit annoyed that he wasn’t being involved in these plans.

“Wouldn’t you rather train with your own team?” As an afterthought, Yato simpered, “or Suzuha?”

Yukine’s voice took on a haughty tone, book dropping to his side. “Wouldn’t you? Or would you just like to train with Hiyori?”

At this, Hiyori went pink. What’s that supposed to mean? she thought, trying to play it off that the comment didn’t startle her, not that Yato noticed when his self-confident grin came back.

“I just like to annoy Bishamon by taking her away.”

Oh… she thought, crestfallen, before catching herself. Why did she feel disappointed?

Yukine sighed and rolled his eyes, but slowed when he saw what was in front of them.

“Hey, it’s that cat again…”

Hiyori and Yato both looked. Yukine crouched down, arms resting on his knees as he met the cat’s eyes.

Clicking his tongue, he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together to entice the cat to come closer. It gave him a disgusted look, swishing its matted tail and sauntering away, rubbing itself against the corner of the wall before disappearing.

“Stupid cat,” Yato muttered. Cats were definitely not his favourite things, especially when they were strays.

“We need to use food next time,” Yukine said wistfully, “maybe give it a bath, if we can catch it…”

Yukine’s eyes flicked up at the notice of a quick figure coming towards him, taking him by surprise, but the sudden realisation that it was Hiyori – panting and her overladen satchel hitting her leg – made him double back in surprise.

Yato whirled around to find that she wasn’t on his left where she had been moments ago, turning just in time for her to be in front of him, fiddling with her shirt collar like nothing was amiss.

“How the hell did you get over there?” Yato sputtered, pointing at the distance where she had sprinted from.

“What do you mean?” she replied innocently. “I said I had to go back for my book.”

Hiyori patted her stuffed satchel. Yato and Yukine both looked at it, then each other, and then back at Hiyori who strode past them.

“Come on,” she called, “we’ll be late for dinner.”

~

Quidditch practice didn’t finish until the sky had turned a dusky blue, the remainders of sunlight skimming over the surface of the Great Lake as Yato trudged back to the castle. Seeing the Dementors hover so ominously close by had unnerved him, but he was determined not to let his training suffer.

The hearth of the Slytherin common room crackled, the familiar dark shadows cast over the ebony woods and green velvets on the various chaise lounges scattered amongst the low tables.

The straw of Yato’s Nimbus 2000 dragged on the flagstones, Yato not paying attention to its scratching as he set about tearing one of his glove straps open and trying to pull it off with his teeth.

“Have fun?”

The familiar voice in the deserted room caught Yato’s attention. After two years, he’d become used to their encounters taking place at night when there was no one else around.

Half-hidden by the heavy drapes that had been parted back to frame the window, Nora sat with her legs folded, bare feet grazing the floor from window perch. Her drawn shoulders were framed by pale light, but the rest of her was practically invisible from the way her body hugged the shadows – except her expression which showed the same intrigue of a snake smelling out a mouse.

Yato dropped his hand to his side. It was the first time he’d seen her since the previous Christmas – and he knew that she had something to do with Kuguha as she knew about the spiders.

“What are you doing, Nora?” he asked softly.

“Better things than associating myself with mudbloods and half-breeds.”

Yato was taken aback by her harsh answer. What was that expression in her eyes? The lilted smile she gave him at his reaction made him harden his expression. “Still jealous I have friends?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Nora said lazily. “I have a lot of friends.”

“Do they happen to be Dementors?”

If she knew about the Basilisk, then she might at least know why the Dementor attacked – or who sent it, Yato thought.

Nora cocked an eyebrow. “Scared of the Dementors?”

“Aren’t you?” Yato shot back.

Nora looked out of the window. Even if there were Dementors in their view, they would be all but invisible from the dark hues of navy which had stained the sky, stars beginning to prick dots of light into the night.

“They wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

Yato scowled. “What does that mean?”

Nora smirked, looking at Yato like she knew something that he didn’t. Perhaps she did.

“Haven’t you wondered why the prisoner is coming here?”

Nora stood up, walking closer to Yato until she had to tilt her head to meet his eye. Her smile turned into an arrogant grin.

“She’s here for you.”

[flauntpage]

We Asked Women if They'd Wear LeBron's New Shoes

LeBron James. He is a man of many things. Man of Basketball. Man of Charity. Man of shoe brands. But would you believe me if I told you he has become… a man… of WOMEN’S shoe brands?

Here they are. A LeBron, designed for women, by women. They are a little busy, they have a lion eating shoelaces on the heel, performance shocks, and a strap of leather around the ankle that resembles a belt. I wondered, upon seeing them, if they would capture the imagination of the women’s shoe buying public. So I spoke to a bunch of women I know and I asked them if they might wear the shoes.

“Even if someone just gave them to me, no.” Said Dana Cox, an artist and comedian from Los Angeles, when asked if she would wear these shoes. “The gold circles. It doesn’t look like the laces are actually going through them. Those are, like, decorative rings?”

Rachel Floyd, a food systems analyst from Kingsburg, California, couldn’t bring herself to go that far. “I have one bad ankle, and these shoes give the illusion of offering ankle support, which I am interested in?” But ankle support from low tops? “Well they have the illusion because they have that strap," Ms. Floyd said. "I think it gives the illusion of ankle support, I don’t think that that would actually offer any support. I feel like it’s trying to get me to use the word fugly. But I can’t, 'cause there’s clearly, like, design behind it.”

“If someone gave me these shoes and they were my size, which is hard to fine, and they were comfortable and I wasn’t going to work, I’d wear those.”

I pressed Ms. Floyd.

Silence.

“Ehh. Now that I’m looking at the other angle again. Arrrrggg…” A longer silence. “Yeah. Because I try not to care about what people think of me?”

“If they were completely free and I couldn’t find my other tennis shoes to go to the gym, I would wear those.”

Baylie Freeman, a sketch comedian and a nanny from La Center, Washington, was of two minds:

“They’re a little intense for my taste. Like I get it, because... “

Silence.

“Yeah they’re just… it’s a lot. It’s a lot.”

Emily Lever, a journalist and writer who has written about basketball shoes, says that she would not wear the shoes. “These appear to have been designed with several competing visions in mind, I guess? You know It looks like a Yeezy but then the shoelaces are tied around at the ankle like the fucking… Chuck Taylors and then there are those, these Nike Boost situations."

“And then… these ankle straps are completely insane. Not only would I not wear them—I don't think anyone should wear them."

“If I were to go through all the sort of, like, fashion sneakers that I’ve seen, I think that there are like… shoes like this but where the ankle strap is better integrated into the shoe…”

“Yeah,” I injected. “I guess it’s kind of like an Air Force One, right?”

“I guess that is what it’s referencing, maybe? It was giving me, like, ancient Roman gladiator vibes. So I think like, sure, have an ankle strap, but have them be of the same sort of material and feel of the rest of the shoe. It’s just so bizarre.”

“That is not a flattering shoe silhouette at all. (The belt) is going to cut off the leg in a way to make your average woman look a little stumpy.”

Caitlin Obom, a comedian and writer from Kent, Washington, is more charitable, or, perhaps, just more self loathing. Would she wear the shoes?

“The fucked up thing is, I would.”

“Okay. Practically, probably no, when I’m thinking about it. I like them as objects, because they’re insane. Like the heels look like the necronomicon mixed with The Neverending Story. That’s a venn diagram I can sort of support if it was like one fifth of a shoe.”

“Here’s the thing: it kind of looks like someone made these specifically for cosplaying? And I don’t know what they’d be cosplaying. They look like they’re FOR something. And so I think my instinct is to say I’d wear them for that. Like, 'I’ve been to a Ren Faire.'”

I tell her they are basketball shoes.

“Yeah. But are they though?”

“Here’s my problem with it, when you get right down to it. The design from the ankle down, is not the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I like the ambition of the back detail, I guess. But the whole cuff thing,” says Ms. Obom, referring to the leather strap, “they’re sort of reminiscent of a gladiator sandal. You’re forcing everyone from the ankle bone down to, like, be reminiscent of cold marble, alabaster stone and then above the ankle bone they’re just like someone’s dad at, like, a farmer’s market wearing socks with their sandals. Like there’s no way to make the ankle look good. I mean have you seen a Birkenstock, with a...”

I interrupt, asking if she’s saying the strap has a Birkenstock vibe.

“Yeah. And also like, why would you go with that specific color of leather strap for a white shoe? Doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

Ms. Obom says the leather strap is very horny. “These are horny-ass shoes.”

Tasha Norton, the pastor of The Church of the Wandering in Olympia, Washington, would not wear these shoes. “I don’t really like it when my shoes have a lot of things. And these shoes have so many things. First of all it looks like there’s a watch… here’s what’s weird, here’s what’s weird: It looks like there’s a watch/belt buckle holding the shoe together. But it also looks like you also have to tie them behind your foot? So now I have to deal with tying my shoe behind my foot, and clasping my large belt buckle thing? It’s too many things.”

Ms. Norton says she hates the strap, but she likes the color, and thinks it would be interesting if they integrated the color into more of the shoe. She also remarked on the redundant lace holes. “God, these look so complicated to tie.”

Maureen Hoff, a writer who responded via letter, was more than a little incensed. “Okay, so first of all I just want to say that I don't believe that these were designed by women for women because why would they then heavily feature a belt, an item we all know to be a patriarchal device to make women look smaller and feel constricted but also these are the most impractical tennis shoes I have ever seen. What activity do you do in them? They look specifically designed to break your ankle.”

Sarah Austin, a friend of mine for more than a decade, also would not wear these shoes. “High tops make my ankles swell up. And also I’m really kind of weirded out by the belt thing. I do really like the lion feature because they are a little bit Gryffindor-esque,” referring, of course, to the noblest house in the popular Harry Potter book series, the house that James would be drafted into. “I would like them on someone else…”

I ask Ms. Austin who she would like to see these on?

Silence.

“Uhh. Hmm. Okay so, like, if I was going to spend the day in Seattle and walk around in Seattle for the day and the guy I was with was wearing these shoes, I would be like, 'cool.'”

“Are you sure?”

“No. I’m not sure.”

Bridget Sievers was probably the most charitable member of the woman’s shoe buying public with whom I spoke. “There are so many different shoe ideas in this shoe. It felt like someone discovered every pitch that they’ve thrown away for shoes in the last two years, and they made them all one shoe instead of making maybe four perfectly good different shoes? If the Lion was on its own shoe, I think that would be pretty fucking sick. The leather band, on it’s own, could be really fun. But all of these combined with this quilted texture that looks almost like it should be on, like, some kind of… Martha’s Vineyard sailing accessory.”

“I could imagine the belt working on a very sleek shoe were you’re really playing with the two kinds of men’s wear.” She thinks that maybe there’s something in combining the high/low aspects of leather belts and fancy men’s clothing, with the more casual, athletic-wear stuff that men tend to wear around the house and at the gym. She mentions ad campaigns by Gucci that are looking to do this, and says the belt could be stylish, but it’s not done right here. I tell her about the origins of the shoes, that they’re for women, by women. She is a little unnerved.

“I could never imagine a woman wearing these. I think they’re men’s shoes. The lion is like the Leo symbol; its very prominent, it’s very powerful. That’s a man. That’s a dude. That’s a very masculine symbol, whether we want it to be or not. It might have great hair, but it is a maaaaan.”

Her final thought:

“I really think it needs to be four different shoes.”

We Asked Women if They'd Wear LeBron's New Shoes published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[impvarjack60]

11 Stumpy

I woke up the next morning before she did, well, I did that every morning. Barely able to contain my emotions with her laying right beside me. Being a side sleeper proved to be difficult for her as the stasis device would dig into her, so she could only lay on her right side. Thank the Maker for this heavenly mattress, it was like laying in a cloud. I ended up switching sides with her to accommodate this, but I would cut my own arm off just to make her more comfortable right now. I'm kinda' starting to hate the Masters for what they've done, I wonder if they sense that. They've put me in an awkward position. They made her just for me. I cannot refuse her. She contains their DNA, but what does it do? What part is missing that they need us humans for? Or is it something they can't feel or... Love, of course!, thinking process my ass!! They've lost the ability to love, that's what this is all about. But why would they hide that? Would us knowing that fact skew what they wanted to observe? I'm creating more questions than answers.

I will have to grill Abzari when Minoo and him come over, and I do hope they come over. Culturally we're worlds apart, and any similarities between him and me will light a path to an answer to this mystery of why we're here and why us.

Why me?

As humans we often ask ourselves that question, why do we have the cards we've been dealt? Many people get a shitty hand and ask themselves the same question, why me?, as they shout to the heavens in a vain attempt of receiving an answer.

I got one.

But I would have been happy if they just would've fixed Earth, and essentially they did, although I would've just ended my own life, vs slowly starving to death as the world burned.  A Phoenix will rise from the ashes there, which deserves to live, and I would love to see this at it's fruition, but I have a new destiny. With the greatest do-over in human history.

I have been passed the torch.

To make new life, on a new world, in a new way. We've only met one other couple, and they don't possess me as the warrior type. Did the Masters fill this ship with geeks? This goes against nature, it's always the strongest that survive. But maybe I'm getting ahead of myself, I want to meet more of our 'guests' on the Ark first, before I start drawing too many conclusions.

__________________________________________________

Anna finally started to stir. she had rolled over and was looking right at me with her crusty eyes as she first opened them, I wanted to have this image presented to me every day for the next two centuries. "Umm, how long have you be up?" She could barely form the words. " 'bout a half hour." "So you're just layin' here starrin' at the cripple?" "Don't go there, Anna. That's not what you are to me. The parts I love are here, and here." I pointed to her head and her heart. "I didn't fall in love with your arm, my tears when you left were for the fact that I had no idea what they'd do to you. They could have just kept you, like a parent who takes away a kids toy for breaking it, I didn't know..." Once again I'd find myself breaking down, damn them for these feelings!

Why me?

She rolled over to hug me, but there was no arm for which to accomplish this simple task. "Ughhh!, I can't even give you a proper hug!" "But you just did." "Huh? Your not making any sense." "You wanting to hug me is ten times more important to me than the act itself." "Awww." So we scooched around until we could finally position ourselves to embrace, from the outside it must've looked pretty awkward. Ummm, first kiss of the day, my favorite.

So I helped her get dressed and we made our way downstairs to handle breakfast. "Are we still gonna' go for a run today?" "I don't see why not, both of your legs still work, unless of course you wish to dance down another tree limb..." She wanted to smack me, but I was sitting on her left side on the couch, and she just ended up waving her nub at me. "Haha, very funny! But it's gonna' look weird." "Have you looked in the mirror lately? That just goes with the territory." She got up to slug me for that one.

There were many things I had to help her with that normally I'd just take for granted.   Helping get her toothbrush pasted up. Buttoning her buttons, tying her shoes. Getting her body glove running suit on proved to be quite a chore, and I loved every single second of it. She felt annoyed by all this, and that made me even happier that she was missing her independence. But she would start to see that I was enjoying this for all the right reasons, and she just rolled with it. Life is going to throw you a few curve balls every now and again, even in Utopia. It made me feel like our lives have been 'pre-disastered' and things should go smoothly from here.

That is of course a lie that I tell myself to feel better. There will be plenty of disasters to deal with in the coming years, but as long as we can handle them together, go ahead, throw that sucker as hard as you can.

_________________________________________________________

Olaf popped out of his hole, what will it be this time?  

"Michael, Anna, I have been informed that the Zahir's would like to pay a visit, do you accept this offer?" "Yes, of course, Olaf." "Excellent, they will be here in one half of an hour." "Alright Olaf, that will be all." He knew that to be my cue for him to get lost. "This is kinda' exciting, our first company!" Said Anna. Ugh,.... human interaction. I was so lousy at it in my past life. While the outside got all fixed up on me, that rattling garbage can that was my psyche was untouched. Second chances, fresh starts. I had to face these things head on. It occurred to me that the couple who was coming to our house was just as alien as those people on the other side of that wall. I was determined to leave the past behind. As an American, I regretted that I was a part of a country where Muslims were completely misunderstood, and even if I wasn't a fan of their ritualism and their treatment of women, I was a fan of faith. Although my faith was not based on any one religion, I still had some, that's why I'm here, and this is one boat I would've hated to miss.

_________________________________________________

The knock came at the door, I took a deep breath and opened it. "Hello, Abzari and Minoo, wouln't you please come in." "Salutations to you Michael and...... Anna! Bismillah!, what happened to you?!" "Compound fracture of the ulna and radius, and she shattered her elbow. She fell out of a tree." "And they cut her arm off?!" "They said the damage was too extensive, and somewhere on the other side of that wall, Anna's new arm is growing,... in a tube." It looked like he wanted to examine Anna's stasis device, but I knew Muslim men had issues with another man's woman. To me he was a doctor, and I was more than happy for him to check her out. And free to boot! "May I please examine her arm?" He asked me, but he should be asking Anna. We've got a long way to go... "Sure. Anna, is this OK with you?" Abzari seemed a bit puzzled at first by me asking Anna's permission, but I bet the wheels are turning in his head. All these social taboos and lifestyles that we've carried around are going to have to get shit canned in order to make this work. "Knock yourself out, Doc." "Do you know how this device works?" He seemed absolutely fascinated by it. For a doctor, I guess that makes sense. "From what Olaf can tell us, the severed end of her arm is in suspended animation, blood flow is rerouted, and it is somehow anchored to the bone. Which is probably a good thing. Blood spraying everywhere would be messy." While Anna was cracking up, the humor was somewhat lost one our friends here. I'm hoping we can change this in time. Anna in her best British accent blurted out in English; "Tis' merely a flesh wound!" Looks like everyone found this funny. Ah, Monty Python. The universal language of hilarious. "Please feel free to use the replicator for refreshments, the tabs on me." So we chit-chatted about what we have observed so far. Minoo was rather quiet. If she hangs around Anna long enough that'll change, much to Abzari's chagrin. I remember seeing her face somewhere, but I can't place it. Her eyes were this laser-piercing light grey. I needed to talk to Abzari one on one, and I knew he'd be more comfortable in an all male environment. "If you ladies will excuse us, I'll be conferring with the Doctor in the Mancave."

Now to find out what Minoo's story is.

[flauntpage]

We Asked Women if They'd Wear LeBron's New Shoes

LeBron James. He is a man of many things. Man of Basketball. Man of Charity. Man of shoe brands. But would you believe me if I told you he has become… a man… of WOMEN’S shoe brands?

Here they are. A LeBron, designed for women, by women. They are a little busy, they have a lion eating shoelaces on the heel, performance shocks, and a strap of leather around the ankle that resembles a belt. I wondered, upon seeing them, if they would capture the imagination of the women’s shoe buying public. So I spoke to a bunch of women I know and I asked them if they might wear the shoes.

“Even if someone just gave them to me, no.” Said Dana Cox, an artist and comedian from Los Angeles, when asked if she would wear these shoes. “The gold circles. It doesn’t look like the laces are actually going through them. Those are, like, decorative rings?”

Rachel Floyd, a food systems analyst from Kingsburg, California, couldn’t bring herself to go that far. “I have one bad ankle, and these shoes give the illusion of offering ankle support, which I am interested in?” But ankle support from low tops? “Well they have the illusion because they have that strap," Ms. Floyd said. "I think it gives the illusion of ankle support, I don’t think that that would actually offer any support. I feel like it’s trying to get me to use the word fugly. But I can’t, 'cause there’s clearly, like, design behind it.”

“If someone gave me these shoes and they were my size, which is hard to fine, and they were comfortable and I wasn’t going to work, I’d wear those.”

I pressed Ms. Floyd.

Silence.

“Ehh. Now that I’m looking at the other angle again. Arrrrggg…” A longer silence. “Yeah. Because I try not to care about what people think of me?”

“If they were completely free and I couldn’t find my other tennis shoes to go to the gym, I would wear those.”

Baylie Freeman, a sketch comedian and a nanny from La Center, Washington, was of two minds:

“They’re a little intense for my taste. Like I get it, because... “

Silence.

“Yeah they’re just… it’s a lot. It’s a lot.”

Emily Lever, a journalist and writer who has written about basketball shoes, says that she would not wear the shoes. “These appear to have been designed with several competing visions in mind, I guess? You know It looks like a Yeezy but then the shoelaces are tied around at the ankle like the fucking… Chuck Taylors and then there are those, these Nike Boost situations."

“And then… these ankle straps are completely insane. Not only would I not wear them—I don't think anyone should wear them."

“If I were to go through all the sort of, like, fashion sneakers that I’ve seen, I think that there are like… shoes like this but where the ankle strap is better integrated into the shoe…”

“Yeah,” I injected. “I guess it’s kind of like an Air Force One, right?”

“I guess that is what it’s referencing, maybe? It was giving me, like, ancient Roman gladiator vibes. So I think like, sure, have an ankle strap, but have them be of the same sort of material and feel of the rest of the shoe. It’s just so bizarre.”

“That is not a flattering shoe silhouette at all. (The belt) is going to cut off the leg in a way to make your average woman look a little stumpy.”

Caitlin Obom, a comedian and writer from Kent, Washington, is more charitable, or, perhaps, just more self loathing. Would she wear the shoes?

“The fucked up thing is, I would.”

“Okay. Practically, probably no, when I’m thinking about it. I like them as objects, because they’re insane. Like the heels look like the necronomicon mixed with The Neverending Story. That’s a venn diagram I can sort of support if it was like one fifth of a shoe.”

“Here’s the thing: it kind of looks like someone made these specifically for cosplaying? And I don’t know what they’d be cosplaying. They look like they’re FOR something. And so I think my instinct is to say I’d wear them for that. Like, 'I’ve been to a Ren Faire.'”

I tell her they are basketball shoes.

“Yeah. But are they though?”

“Here’s my problem with it, when you get right down to it. The design from the ankle down, is not the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I like the ambition of the back detail, I guess. But the whole cuff thing,” says Ms. Obom, referring to the leather strap, “they’re sort of reminiscent of a gladiator sandal. You’re forcing everyone from the ankle bone down to, like, be reminiscent of cold marble, alabaster stone and then above the ankle bone they’re just like someone’s dad at, like, a farmer’s market wearing socks with their sandals. Like there’s no way to make the ankle look good. I mean have you seen a Birkenstock, with a...”

I interrupt, asking if she’s saying the strap has a Birkenstock vibe.

“Yeah. And also like, why would you go with that specific color of leather strap for a white shoe? Doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

Ms. Obom says the leather strap is very horny. “These are horny-ass shoes.”

Tasha Norton, the pastor of The Church of the Wandering in Olympia, Washington, would not wear these shoes. “I don’t really like it when my shoes have a lot of things. And these shoes have so many things. First of all it looks like there’s a watch… here’s what’s weird, here’s what’s weird: It looks like there’s a watch/belt buckle holding the shoe together. But it also looks like you also have to tie them behind your foot? So now I have to deal with tying my shoe behind my foot, and clasping my large belt buckle thing? It’s too many things.”

Ms. Norton says she hates the strap, but she likes the color, and thinks it would be interesting if they integrated the color into more of the shoe. She also remarked on the redundant lace holes. “God, these look so complicated to tie.”

Maureen Hoff, a writer who responded via letter, was more than a little incensed. “Okay, so first of all I just want to say that I don't believe that these were designed by women for women because why would they then heavily feature a belt, an item we all know to be a patriarchal device to make women look smaller and feel constricted but also these are the most impractical tennis shoes I have ever seen. What activity do you do in them? They look specifically designed to break your ankle.”

Sarah Austin, a friend of mine for more than a decade, also would not wear these shoes. “High tops make my ankles swell up. And also I’m really kind of weirded out by the belt thing. I do really like the lion feature because they are a little bit Gryffindor-esque,” referring, of course, to the noblest house in the popular Harry Potter book series, the house that James would be drafted into. “I would like them on someone else…”

I ask Ms. Austin who she would like to see these on?

Silence.

“Uhh. Hmm. Okay so, like, if I was going to spend the day in Seattle and walk around in Seattle for the day and the guy I was with was wearing these shoes, I would be like, 'cool.'”

“Are you sure?”

“No. I’m not sure.”

Bridget Sievers was probably the most charitable member of the woman’s shoe buying public with whom I spoke. “There are so many different shoe ideas in this shoe. It felt like someone discovered every pitch that they’ve thrown away for shoes in the last two years, and they made them all one shoe instead of making maybe four perfectly good different shoes? If the Lion was on its own shoe, I think that would be pretty fucking sick. The leather band, on it’s own, could be really fun. But all of these combined with this quilted texture that looks almost like it should be on, like, some kind of… Martha’s Vineyard sailing accessory.”

“I could imagine the belt working on a very sleek shoe were you’re really playing with the two kinds of men’s wear.” She thinks that maybe there’s something in combining the high/low aspects of leather belts and fancy men’s clothing, with the more casual, athletic-wear stuff that men tend to wear around the house and at the gym. She mentions ad campaigns by Gucci that are looking to do this, and says the belt could be stylish, but it’s not done right here. I tell her about the origins of the shoes, that they’re for women, by women. She is a little unnerved.

“I could never imagine a woman wearing these. I think they’re men’s shoes. The lion is like the Leo symbol; its very prominent, it’s very powerful. That’s a man. That’s a dude. That’s a very masculine symbol, whether we want it to be or not. It might have great hair, but it is a maaaaan.”

Her final thought:

“I really think it needs to be four different shoes.”

We Asked Women if They'd Wear LeBron's New Shoes published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[flauntpage]

Tactical Guide to Aldo Vs. Stephens

Jose Aldo versus Jeremy Stephens is a match up that was unthinkable two years ago. Stephens has always been a gatekeeper, almost the perfect embodiment of the term. He is dangerous enough that even the best fighters in the world must prove their ability to adapt and fight to a gameplan to get by him, but his tactical and technical flaws are reliable enough that he has never managed to mount a successful run at a title shot. Stephens has almost always been within the top ten of his division, never the top five. For years there have been hints of a smarter, slicker Stephens peeking through in occasional performances such as against Renan Barao, but then a disciplined all-rounder like Renato Moicano will come along and show up just the same flaws. Yet this year, for one reason or another, all the parts seem to be coming together. The planets have aligned for Stephens and he has managed three of the most impressive performances of his lengthy UFC career, battering Gilbert Melendez, Dooho Choi and Josh Emmett back-to-back.

Meanwhile Jose Aldo, who had previously only faced the absolute cream of the crop, is no longer above slumming it with the rest of the top ten. After a catastrophic error in judgement and running straight onto Conor McGregor’s fist, Aldo looked like his old self against Frankie Edgar to reclaim his featherweight crown. Unfortunately the brilliant Max Holloway turned up and handed Aldo two devastating beatings back-to-back.

Speculation abounds over Aldo and what remains inside him after the heartbreak of Holloway and McGregor: embers or ashes? Stephens is trying to overcome his reputation as a man of interesting spurts and more of a test that needs to be passed than a true title contender. There hasn’t been a featherweight who can beat Stephens without being in top condition and willing to swallow their pride and concede his power on the feet. It’s a fascinating match up so let us jump in on the details.

The Constants of Jeremy Stephens

One of Stephens’s main problems is his strange punching form. Everything is a home run swing or a very obvious nothing punch to “hide” that swing. The load up on Stephens’s blows is considerable and the “cool down” seems just as significant as he drops his hands and leaves his chin up in the air after a strike. Take for instance the fight against Josh Emmett, wherein Stephens stepped in to swing a gut-wrenching right, then stood completely static with his hands by his sides and totally out of position for the short counter hook that dropped him.

But most of the time Stephens isn’t using nice circular blows like the wide right and the left hook, he’s throwing what we call "loopy straights": punches that fly like a straight but slightly arced, rather than cutting across the body with a whirl of the hips. These are the punches that allow straights to come back up the center. Renato Moicano was able to thread the needle dozens of times in his fight with Stephens.

Moreover Stephens’s right hand is often the haymaker that Bas Rutten often preaches against. A straight-ish blow that comes across the body and can be easily defused with a drop-away or a retreat. Time and time again Stephens seemed to have Moicano along the fence and still fall short on his punches somehow.

Watching Stephens bout with Josh Emmett, his big shot came on the counter—something he is quite good at but doesn’t do enough—yet was a straight arm swing that only just caught Emmett on the extreme end. Jack Dempsey famously cautioned that a fighter should throw the swing in the slop bucket, but used them himself in his wilder fights. The difference between a hook and a swing is the bend in the arm; a swing is easily stopped by anything put in the path of it and is easily ducked. Where swings can catch fighters out is that they can come in from the side—as a hook will—but from the extent of the opponent’s reach.

You won’t see form like this taught in a boxing class.

All of Stephen’s flaws in the mechanics would be fine if he didn’t have so much trouble with his feet. He is either moving or he is swinging, he cannot do both effectively and spends most of a fight sprinting, planting his feet to swing, and then leaning out desperately to try and reach his opponent.

What Remains of Aldo

For many fans this fight comes down to one question: “Is Jose Aldo shot?” That is a fair thing to ask, but if Aldo’s skill set looks as sharp as ever there are quirks that just might not match up well with Stephens. For a start, fighters like Moicano and Emmett (though he lost) have shown very recently that Stephens struggles to catch up with fighters even once he’s got them by the fence. On the on hand that sounds great because Aldo cut lovely angles against Frankie Edgar and Chan Sung Jung to sneak out the side door. Except Moicano and Emmett were abandoning their stance to side skip and glide. Aldo is very much a traditionalist and will do most of his angling out from within his stance—hence his love of the pivot.

This pivoting around the lead leg is very susceptible to the right low kick: Frankie Edgar threw a dozen during this exact scenario over two fights and never missed one, and you can bet that Stephens kicks a lot harder. But furthermore this is the kind of slick cutesy move that Stephens’s straight-armed clothesline might just smash right through, cracking Aldo with a wrist bone over the back of the head where a nice straight right would have missed.

Something else which Max Holloway demonstrated beautifully is that Aldo likes to work at his own pace. Similar to Yoel Romero, he is tremendous explosive and works on a hair trigger, but he will then behave lackadaisically and measure himself for a period after a spectacular flurry. This is made more severe by the fact that Aldo doesn’t move his head as a boxer will—always in motion—but reacts to punches and slips from a dead stop. This allowed Max Holloway to keep Aldo making big motions to get away from small feints and work up the pace with less effort on his end. This habit of standing like a statue and then attempting to use slick head movement was also exploited in Michael Chandler by Eddie Alvarez in their jab-heavy second fight.

But Aldo has been in for plenty of long fights and never tired out as he did against Holloway. One of the reasons is that even if his opponent drove up the pace, he would grab clinches and catch breathers. Holloway went in prepared for this and each time had his head posted underneath Aldo’s, wormed his arms free, and immediately smacked Aldo with a left hook or elbow on the break to keep him working.

If there is one thing that consistently impresses in Jeremy Stephens’s fights, it is that he can keep walking down opponents and throwing as hard as he is able to, without slowing down considerably. Where he used to have Dan Henderson-esque tunnel vision and give up easy takedowns and clinches as he swung wildly, he has been great in recent years at pummeling through and shucking off clinches as soon as his opponents grab them. Stephens might get boxed up on the way there, but tying him up long enough to take breathers could be beyond the abilities of Aldo.

Of course the upshot of not being the main event, nor the title holder, is that the fight is only three rounds. That’s only three rounds that Aldo needs to jab and move, and Stephens will either need to connect on a big swing or actually fight smart to make the most of that time. Aldo’s jab has always been solid, it even gave trouble to Holloway, who perhaps has the best jab in the sport right now. While Stephens’s feet have looked much smoother since after the Barao fight, he is still guilty of simply following his opponents around the Octagon. There is none of that Matt Brown style brilliance: using a round kick or a long hook just to keep the opponent in place and then follow up with flurries of hurting blows. It’s a march around the cage with a swing or two every five seconds and no real sustained pressure aside from the pace and the knowledge that after you circle out he will run over to try again.

For Aldo, the jab should be used to break Stephens’s flurries and hurt him. Before pressing in along the fence, Stephens will always show an unconvincing fake double jab, or a right straight which he steps into a southpaw stance to make a jab, then the big swing will come. Hammering him with a jab as he is performing this shuffle to close the distance, and then ducking out or circling off worked perfectly for Moicano and others. If Stephens hasn’t fixed it, why not simply do what has been shown to work time and time again?

If Stephens could use the wide right to the body as he showed against Emmett to cut the cage and actually continue boxing after it, rather than stand still for a counter, he could be wilting men inside two rounds. The wide right is the power-punching ring-cutter’s best friend and the fact that he hasn’t been using it effectively already is very strange. There seems to be some concern between fans and pundits over the idea of Stephens kicking with Aldo. Stephens’s stumpy but powerful low kick has been something of a revolution in his last three fights but Aldo is known as a tremendous low kicker because of his wickedly fast thigh-pounders in WEC and his early UFC career. The truth is, of course, that having a great low kick doesn’t make you invulnerable to low kicks yourself and the utility of the low kick as a range closer, a way of slowing the opponent down, and a means of stopping the opponent’s movement in the current exchange, makes it seem like Stephens would be losing out on a heap of benefits if he didn’t throw it with frequency in this fight.

Renan Barao had a great right low kick just like his teammate Jose Aldo, and Stephens kicked with him with no trouble at all. Hell, Jose Aldo has barely thrown a low kick since he fought Ricardo Lamas anyway, the former champion is in love with his slip-and-rip counter boxing and that sort of head movement actually makes a fighter more vulnerable to low kicks as he anchors himself to the mat in order to move the weight of his noggin around.

That especially low kick that Stephens uses is great because even if the opponent raises his leg to check, he is taking a kick on the low part of the shin or ankle, rather than the top of the shin and knee—where those gnarly injuries happen. Most importantly, if Aldo is picking his foot up to check, he isn’t moving.

Stephens’s own jab is quick and stinging, but he will often eat his opponent’s when he commits to it because he carries his right hand down by his chest. Aldo could exploit this by jabbing with Stephens or jabbing into a dip and coming up with the left hook. Rather than pursue Aldo around the ring and throw jabs at him, it might be more productive for Stephens to simply try to crowd Aldo and play catch-and-pitch with counter punches. Against Choi and Emmett, Stephens’s best blows came as he covered and swung back. It nicely addresses the problem of his feet not being quick enough to carry him in for his strikes because as soon as he feels Aldo’s fist against his forearms or head, he will know he is close enough to swing back.

There is something very pleasing about Stephens’s current career resurgence and the idea of him finally reaching the potential that his physical ability promises. Unfortunately in his last two big wins, we only really got confirmation that yes, he still hits hard. The usual problems were still there. While Aldo could genuinely be shot, and Stephens could win this fight without improving any of the stuff that has been letting him down for years, it seems more likely that Stephens will have to do something special against a fighter of Aldo’s quality. For Aldo, this is a strange fight: it will likely decide whether fans write him off and push him to the mid-card in their minds the way they have with Renan Barao.

Aldo and Stephens are set to clash tomorrow night amid a card full of great match ups like Eddie Alvarez vs. Dustin Poirier and Alexander Hernandez vs. Olivier Aubin-Mercier. If anything interesting happens, get back here Monday and we’ll discuss it at length.

Tactical Guide to Aldo Vs. Stephens published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[flauntpage]

Tactical Guide to Aldo Vs. Stephens

Jose Aldo versus Jeremy Stephens is a match up that was unthinkable two years ago. Stephens has always been a gatekeeper, almost the perfect embodiment of the term. He is dangerous enough that even the best fighters in the world must prove their ability to adapt and fight to a gameplan to get by him, but his tactical and technical flaws are reliable enough that he has never managed to mount a successful run at a title shot. Stephens has almost always been within the top ten of his division, never the top five. For years there have been hints of a smarter, slicker Stephens peeking through in occasional performances such as against Renan Barao, but then a disciplined all-rounder like Renato Moicano will come along and show up just the same flaws. Yet this year, for one reason or another, all the parts seem to be coming together. The planets have aligned for Stephens and he has managed three of the most impressive performances of his lengthy UFC career, battering Gilbert Melendez, Dooho Choi and Josh Emmett back-to-back.

Meanwhile Jose Aldo, who had previously only faced the absolute cream of the crop, is no longer above slumming it with the rest of the top ten. After a catastrophic error in judgement and running straight onto Conor McGregor’s fist, Aldo looked like his old self against Frankie Edgar to reclaim his featherweight crown. Unfortunately the brilliant Max Holloway turned up and handed Aldo two devastating beatings back-to-back.

Speculation abounds over Aldo and what remains inside him after the heartbreak of Holloway and McGregor: embers or ashes? Stephens is trying to overcome his reputation as a man of interesting spurts and more of a test that needs to be passed than a true title contender. There hasn’t been a featherweight who can beat Stephens without being in top condition and willing to swallow their pride and concede his power on the feet. It’s a fascinating match up so let us jump in on the details.

The Constants of Jeremy Stephens

One of Stephens’s main problems is his strange punching form. Everything is a home run swing or a very obvious nothing punch to “hide” that swing. The load up on Stephens’s blows is considerable and the “cool down” seems just as significant as he drops his hands and leaves his chin up in the air after a strike. Take for instance the fight against Josh Emmett, wherein Stephens stepped in to swing a gut-wrenching right, then stood completely static with his hands by his sides and totally out of position for the short counter hook that dropped him.

But most of the time Stephens isn’t using nice circular blows like the wide right and the left hook, he’s throwing what we call "loopy straights": punches that fly like a straight but slightly arced, rather than cutting across the body with a whirl of the hips. These are the punches that allow straights to come back up the center. Renato Moicano was able to thread the needle dozens of times in his fight with Stephens.

Moreover Stephens’s right hand is often the haymaker that Bas Rutten often preaches against. A straight-ish blow that comes across the body and can be easily defused with a drop-away or a retreat. Time and time again Stephens seemed to have Moicano along the fence and still fall short on his punches somehow.

Watching Stephens bout with Josh Emmett, his big shot came on the counter—something he is quite good at but doesn’t do enough—yet was a straight arm swing that only just caught Emmett on the extreme end. Jack Dempsey famously cautioned that a fighter should throw the swing in the slop bucket, but used them himself in his wilder fights. The difference between a hook and a swing is the bend in the arm; a swing is easily stopped by anything put in the path of it and is easily ducked. Where swings can catch fighters out is that they can come in from the side—as a hook will—but from the extent of the opponent’s reach.

You won’t see form like this taught in a boxing class.

All of Stephen’s flaws in the mechanics would be fine if he didn’t have so much trouble with his feet. He is either moving or he is swinging, he cannot do both effectively and spends most of a fight sprinting, planting his feet to swing, and then leaning out desperately to try and reach his opponent.

What Remains of Aldo

For many fans this fight comes down to one question: “Is Jose Aldo shot?” That is a fair thing to ask, but if Aldo’s skill set looks as sharp as ever there are quirks that just might not match up well with Stephens. For a start, fighters like Moicano and Emmett (though he lost) have shown very recently that Stephens struggles to catch up with fighters even once he’s got them by the fence. On the on hand that sounds great because Aldo cut lovely angles against Frankie Edgar and Chan Sung Jung to sneak out the side door. Except Moicano and Emmett were abandoning their stance to side skip and glide. Aldo is very much a traditionalist and will do most of his angling out from within his stance—hence his love of the pivot.

This pivoting around the lead leg is very susceptible to the right low kick: Frankie Edgar threw a dozen during this exact scenario over two fights and never missed one, and you can bet that Stephens kicks a lot harder. But furthermore this is the kind of slick cutesy move that Stephens’s straight-armed clothesline might just smash right through, cracking Aldo with a wrist bone over the back of the head where a nice straight right would have missed.

Something else which Max Holloway demonstrated beautifully is that Aldo likes to work at his own pace. Similar to Yoel Romero, he is tremendous explosive and works on a hair trigger, but he will then behave lackadaisically and measure himself for a period after a spectacular flurry. This is made more severe by the fact that Aldo doesn’t move his head as a boxer will—always in motion—but reacts to punches and slips from a dead stop. This allowed Max Holloway to keep Aldo making big motions to get away from small feints and work up the pace with less effort on his end. This habit of standing like a statue and then attempting to use slick head movement was also exploited in Michael Chandler by Eddie Alvarez in their jab-heavy second fight.

But Aldo has been in for plenty of long fights and never tired out as he did against Holloway. One of the reasons is that even if his opponent drove up the pace, he would grab clinches and catch breathers. Holloway went in prepared for this and each time had his head posted underneath Aldo’s, wormed his arms free, and immediately smacked Aldo with a left hook or elbow on the break to keep him working.

If there is one thing that consistently impresses in Jeremy Stephens’s fights, it is that he can keep walking down opponents and throwing as hard as he is able to, without slowing down considerably. Where he used to have Dan Henderson-esque tunnel vision and give up easy takedowns and clinches as he swung wildly, he has been great in recent years at pummeling through and shucking off clinches as soon as his opponents grab them. Stephens might get boxed up on the way there, but tying him up long enough to take breathers could be beyond the abilities of Aldo.

Of course the upshot of not being the main event, nor the title holder, is that the fight is only three rounds. That’s only three rounds that Aldo needs to jab and move, and Stephens will either need to connect on a big swing or actually fight smart to make the most of that time. Aldo’s jab has always been solid, it even gave trouble to Holloway, who perhaps has the best jab in the sport right now. While Stephens’s feet have looked much smoother since after the Barao fight, he is still guilty of simply following his opponents around the Octagon. There is none of that Matt Brown style brilliance: using a round kick or a long hook just to keep the opponent in place and then follow up with flurries of hurting blows. It’s a march around the cage with a swing or two every five seconds and no real sustained pressure aside from the pace and the knowledge that after you circle out he will run over to try again.

For Aldo, the jab should be used to break Stephens’s flurries and hurt him. Before pressing in along the fence, Stephens will always show an unconvincing fake double jab, or a right straight which he steps into a southpaw stance to make a jab, then the big swing will come. Hammering him with a jab as he is performing this shuffle to close the distance, and then ducking out or circling off worked perfectly for Moicano and others. If Stephens hasn’t fixed it, why not simply do what has been shown to work time and time again?

If Stephens could use the wide right to the body as he showed against Emmett to cut the cage and actually continue boxing after it, rather than stand still for a counter, he could be wilting men inside two rounds. The wide right is the power-punching ring-cutter’s best friend and the fact that he hasn’t been using it effectively already is very strange. There seems to be some concern between fans and pundits over the idea of Stephens kicking with Aldo. Stephens’s stumpy but powerful low kick has been something of a revolution in his last three fights but Aldo is known as a tremendous low kicker because of his wickedly fast thigh-pounders in WEC and his early UFC career. The truth is, of course, that having a great low kick doesn’t make you invulnerable to low kicks yourself and the utility of the low kick as a range closer, a way of slowing the opponent down, and a means of stopping the opponent’s movement in the current exchange, makes it seem like Stephens would be losing out on a heap of benefits if he didn’t throw it with frequency in this fight.

Renan Barao had a great right low kick just like his teammate Jose Aldo, and Stephens kicked with him with no trouble at all. Hell, Jose Aldo has barely thrown a low kick since he fought Ricardo Lamas anyway, the former champion is in love with his slip-and-rip counter boxing and that sort of head movement actually makes a fighter more vulnerable to low kicks as he anchors himself to the mat in order to move the weight of his noggin around.

That especially low kick that Stephens uses is great because even if the opponent raises his leg to check, he is taking a kick on the low part of the shin or ankle, rather than the top of the shin and knee—where those gnarly injuries happen. Most importantly, if Aldo is picking his foot up to check, he isn’t moving.

Stephens’s own jab is quick and stinging, but he will often eat his opponent’s when he commits to it because he carries his right hand down by his chest. Aldo could exploit this by jabbing with Stephens or jabbing into a dip and coming up with the left hook. Rather than pursue Aldo around the ring and throw jabs at him, it might be more productive for Stephens to simply try to crowd Aldo and play catch-and-pitch with counter punches. Against Choi and Emmett, Stephens’s best blows came as he covered and swung back. It nicely addresses the problem of his feet not being quick enough to carry him in for his strikes because as soon as he feels Aldo’s fist against his forearms or head, he will know he is close enough to swing back.

There is something very pleasing about Stephens’s current career resurgence and the idea of him finally reaching the potential that his physical ability promises. Unfortunately in his last two big wins, we only really got confirmation that yes, he still hits hard. The usual problems were still there. While Aldo could genuinely be shot, and Stephens could win this fight without improving any of the stuff that has been letting him down for years, it seems more likely that Stephens will have to do something special against a fighter of Aldo’s quality. For Aldo, this is a strange fight: it will likely decide whether fans write him off and push him to the mid-card in their minds the way they have with Renan Barao.

Aldo and Stephens are set to clash tomorrow night amid a card full of great match ups like Eddie Alvarez vs. Dustin Poirier and Alexander Hernandez vs. Olivier Aubin-Mercier. If anything interesting happens, get back here Monday and we’ll discuss it at length.

Tactical Guide to Aldo Vs. Stephens published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/