#I don’t know what American flag Mohawk would look like down but I don’t even care they can just make it regular blue randomly for that scen

[rooolt]

begging on my knees if we are getting hotel rooms in Barcelona, which by the trailer it seems like we are, give me ONE SCENE of hair down Eli I don’t care what the fuck else they do with the season it’s all I want

[personwhowrites]

Diner Adventures

Task Force 141 x gn!reader. (Platonic or romantic?)

Having to work at a small diner basically in the middle of nowhere wasn’t easy. It wasn’t even worth the pay, nor the customers. It was always some sort of ghost diner, cars passed it thinking it’s abandoned. You did tell the manager to fix the sign so maybe more people would come in.

Since, you being the only waitress, you never stressed out. Restocking was barely a thing needed, most of the time you spent it talking to a cook or down on your phone. Hoping that maybe one or two customers would come in into the diner.

Finally, one night looking down at your phone you hear it.

*ding*

Four men walk in, looking around before finally spotting you. You froze, it wasn’t just any average customers you would get late a night.

“Miss?” A Scottish accent spoke up breaking you out of your trance. “You open?”

You blinked a couple times before opening your mouth to speak. “Uh.. yes, sorry uh.. how many..?” You uttered out knowing it was just four of them. “Oh.. uh you guys want the bar or booth?”

“Booth.” A stronger voice spoke up and pointed to a booth. “That one will do for us.”

You grabbed the menus and walked over to the booth. You couldn’t help but side glance at them multiple times. They were freaking you out, it was obvious to them as well.

One of them placed a pistol on the table. The other two set their gear down on their laps, rolling their shoulders back before picking up the menu. The last one, that seemed to be the leader of the group took his hat off, ruffling his own hair as he stare at the window.

“Smoking allowed here?” He asked glancing at you now. “Don’t worry, they aren’t loaded.” He gestured to the guns. “I believe.”

“I..uh yeah smoke zone of the diner is the one you’re sitting at..” you spoke out, your eyes glued down to your notepad now. “What can I get you all to drink?”

“Coffee for me” the same man speaks up. “For those two muppets some sugary drink.”

You glanced up to see him pointing to a mohawk man, and another male wearing a baseball cap with the UK flag. Nodding you wrote down their drinks, then turned to the scary skull mask looking your way.

“Tea.” The masked man utter out. “Three sugar, packets on the side.”

You awkwardly nodded and backed away quickly as they turned their attention to the menus.

“Talk about freaks..” The cook said as you grabbed the drinks. “Who comes into a diner dressed like that.”

“Watch the tone.. At least we finally have someone in this dump.” You reply and look at the cook. “You can finally prove that you can cook.”

The cook rolled his eyes before glancing at the four men sitting in the booth.

“They don’t look American to me..” The cook points out. “That one guy with that cap, had a uk flag on it didn’t it?”

“They did sound… off, but who are we to judge?” You reply with a small smile. “I mean we are just three, counting the manager in the back working at some rundown diner.”

“Point taken, that Mohawk dude is looking over at you.” The cook says turning to the mild hot stove. “Think he’s into you?”

“Or probably trying to get my attention to order.” You say grabbing the tea. “Toss me some sugar packets.”

The cook shrugs and throws you some sugar packets. You mostly catch some of them, the cook chuckles as your clumsy hands. Setting the hot coffee on a tray with the two other sugary drinks felt odd. Something was odd about those four men. Their accents, their.. clothing style, I mean it wasn’t often you seen men like these in the diner.

Picking up the the tray that held the drinks you walked over. Setting it down in a booth behind them, you grabbed the drinks handing them each to them. You took out your notepad and smile, a fake smile they saw right through.

“So you fellas ready to order?” you asked holding the pen. “Or do we need more time.”

“We never been to a place like this before.” One perks up looking at you. “So, what would you rec—-“

“Ky—Gaz.” Another spoke putting his hand on the table. “What did we say in the car?”

“Sorry, Price.” Gaz says looks up from the menu. “Just, what.. on earth is a Nashville chicken on a waffle?”

“Oh, uh.. it’s some chicken tenders covered in a spicy tangy sauce.” You say before pressing your lips into a thin line. “..on.. top of a waffle..”

“You Americans eat that shit?” The mowhak man says before being elbow by his masked friend. “What! I mean it sounds disgusting.”

“Johnny.” The man spoke side eyeing him.

“It’s true aint it! Look at the photo doesn’t even look appealing!” The guy blurted out again. “Also Johnny? What happened to soap huh? Has our lieutenant Ghost finally losen up?”

Lieutenant? Wait.. are these men in the army? Your mind rushed to thoughts finally connecting the dots. That explains the gear, and possibly loaded guns on their laps and table.

“Ignore them..” Price says grabbing your attention again. “I’ll take some normal pancakes.”

“..normal how?” You say looking at him. “Like.. you want plain butter milk pancakes or uh.. something on them? Like berries or some kind of sweet?”

“What pancakes do you have?” Price breath out while looking at the menu. “..Christ..you have a lot.. uh..” he paused for a moment and pointed to some fruity strawberry pancakes. “Just bring me these.”

“Okay..” you mumbled out writing down strawberry pancakes. “For the rest?”

“You sell burgers?” Soap hummed while skimming through the menu. “Like ones that aren’t pure American grease?”

“Mactavish.” Ghost warns looking at soap.

“What, listen I’m on a diet.” Soap says looking at Ghost. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Or you’re just some picky eater.” Gaz charms in and looks at you. “I’ll the blueberry pancakes.”

“I’m not picky! Just.. look at all of this… on the menu..” Soap says and sighs looking at you. “Do you even know how much calories this all is?”

“On the bottom of the dish it lists the calories and what’s on the dish.” You reply now annoyed by soap. “I can just get you some salad.”

“Offend.” Soap scoffs and stares down at the menu. “Just get me something that doesn’t have a lot of calories.”

“So a salad.” You noted and looked at him.

“No something with just low calories.” Soap replies and slid the menu down.

“..a salad is the lowest calories we have.” You hiss now irritated by his actions.

“Or maybe a burger.” Soap grin noticing your irritation.

“Which one?” You asked in the most fake voice. “Because we have several.”

“One with the lowest calories.” Soap says and looks at his friend Price. “..actually just some pancakes…”

“..just get him a the highest calorie shit on the menu.” Price spoke out glaring down at soap. “Add everything on that burger.”

“I’ll take some pancakes too.” Ghost mumbles out to you. “Just plain ones.”

You nod, grabbing their menus and walking away. You can hear Price whisper yelling at soap. A small smile creeped on your face hearing at least he has friend or teammates that set him straight.

“What do they want to eat?” The cook asked as you approached him with the menus. “Well?”

“Pancakes and a burger with… everything..” you say and sit down in the high chair connected to the bar. “Well technically one stack of plain pancakes, a stack of strawberry pancakes and a blueberry stack pancakes.”

“Pancakes..” the cook mumbled out annoyed. “Did you even find out why they’re dressed like that?”

“From what I heard, something with the military.” You reply getting out the chair to help the cook set the batter of pancakes out onto the stove. “I know their names are Soap, Gaz, Price and Ghost.”

“What type of fucking names are that?” The cook uttered out before glancing at you. “You sure that’s their names?”

“Don’t know, but they call each other that.” You shrug and go to the nearby fridge. “Gaz let it slip that they aren’t from here tho.”

“Really? Where do you think they’re from?” The cook replies and presses down on the patty. “They look like those tea drinking Brit’s.”

“Now that you mention it..” you mumble looking at the four men who are all talking within themselves. “Their accents do sound British except for that soap guy.”

“Still can’t believe that’s their names.” The cook chuckles and looks at you. “What are you thinking?”

“..could be code names? You know like those cheesy movies?” You snickered with a grin. “Like I never thought that shit is real.”

The cook just shrugged and turned to focus on the food. Meanwhile, Gaz got up from the booth and wondered close to the open kitchen. Hearing you and the cook talk about them, their accents and names. His eyes narrowing as he heard you laugh about such an important thing to him.

“You think those guns are loaded?” The cook asked. “I mean, hey at least they would have the American sprit.”

“They are.” Gaz spoke up crossing his arms. “Where’s the bathroom?”

You immediately jumped and looked at Gaz before pointing to the bathroom. Gaz just walked away shaking his head, before you looked at the cook. He stare back at you before bursting out laughing with you.

When the food was finally done, the cook helped you take it to their table. They all gave you some glares, no words were exchanged in the process. You awkwardly took their drinks and refilled them, walking back you paused to hear them talking.

“Just drop it Gaz.” Price says shaking his head. “We just eat, pay and continue with our mission.”

“How can I? They’re speaking shit literally right in front of us.” Gaz hisses as Ghost rolled his eyes. “Is this how everyone is at America?“

“Hey at least we know that it’s not only graves.” Soap jokes and bites his burger. “On the other hand this burger is good.”

“Pancakes aren’t bad ether..” Ghost admitted while pouring more syrup on the pancakes. “Just enjoy the food.”

Price noticed you not far away and clear his throat. You walked over and set down the refilled tea, and two sugary drinks. Gaz just glared at you, before being kicked by soap under the table. Gaz glare now to Soap, as you stare at them.

“..listen, I didn’t mean to offend anyone here.” You mumble in an apologizing tone. “It’s just, we never seen folks like you four.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gaz snaps his head to you again. “Is it before we are different! Because we are ‘tea drinking Brit’s’?”

“Okay, maybe we did judge.. but we just neve—“ you try to speak but Gaz interrupts again.

“Save it, leave us to eat in peace.” Gaz hiss while grabbing his drink. “Go now.”

You stare at Gaz, before shaking your head. Turning away you hear them mumble something to Gaz.

A couple minutes pass and you hear them laugh. Or two or the four men laugh, the smell of cigarette being lit up caught your attention. The cook glanced up from his phone and stare over at the men, before looking at you.

“You need a break?” The cook says in a teasing tone. “Even though you always are on break.”

“Shut up..” you reply with a small smile. “How about you?”

“All good here.” The cook boomed as he looked down at his phone. “I looked up their bandages, I got a close eye to them when I helped you with the food.” He pauses for a moment and grins. “These four men are more important than we think.”

“Really?” You perk up leaning over to see his phone. “How so?”

“Saw a badge that said SAS.. and I googled it.” The cook said pulling up an article. “Special air forces, something from the British army.”

You stare down at the article, reading though it before glancing at the four men.

“..huh..” you mumble and sigh. “Well doesn’t matter now, they hate our guts..” you pause to get out of your seat. “I’ll just hand them the check so they can leave and we can all forget this ever happened.”

The cook just shrugs as you walk away to the front counter. Printing the ticket out, you glance at them as you make your way over.

“Here’s the check.. you guys can pay whenever you’re ready.” You mumble and place the check down. “Again I’m sorry if me and my friend offended the four of you.”

Gaz just scoffs and Price gives you a small apologetic smile himself. He takes out his card to pay, but Ghost beats him to it. Handing his card first and looking at Price with a small prideful stare.

“Don’t sweat it.” Price speaks up and looks at you. “Just.. watch what you say. The smallest things can bring you enemies love.”

You just nod and take Ghost card back to the front counter. You slide his card, paying for the food. You walk back with a copy of the receipt and a pen.

“Sign here, and uh.. you guys can leave at anytime.” You say and walk away quickly to the bathroom.

Ghost just nods and signs the receipt. Gaz takes the pen and starts writing in a napkin, soon soap takes the pen and does the same onto another napkin. When you returned back from the bathroom they were gone. The plates were stacked neatly and there were four napkins with handwriting from each of them. The cook walked over and glances at the napkins and then notice the tip on the receipt.

“Who the fuck just blows over a thousand on a damn diner.” The cook mumbles grabbing the receipt. “Are you seeing this?”

In fact you weren’t, you were too focused on the napkins. Their handwriting was so different from each other, their notes as well.

“Don’t judge too easy.. and tell that cook to mix the pancake batter better next time we come by.” -Gaz

“The food was great, sorry for annoying you. It was funny to see your nose scrunch up when I annoyed you. Hope you don’t mind that when we come back.” -Soap

“Saw you needed a cigarette, sorry I didn’t offer you one. Maybe next time I can.” -Price

“Try to catch the sugar packets better next time. I wanted three not two.” -Ghost

You smiled at the napkins and looked up to see them get in their car. They all glanced at you, before Price patted the car for the men to load up and get ready to leave. You turned your attention back to the napkins, before slowly noticing something in the edge of every napkin. Their numbers…

[babygirl-riley]

Introductions ~Ghost X Fox Fanfiction~

This is my first time posting on Tumblr of my fan fictions. So hopefully you all enjoy it! Allison Lawson is in the US military when she was recruited into Task Force 141. Best sniper in her country. She has long black hair that is put up in a ponytail most of the time. Caucasian. 5”6’. 28 years of age. There are no warnings on this story

Introductions

Being shipped straight to the new team was…well...a lot. It’s not never been on a team before because I have, especially the Allack Company for years. Being pulled from them was like leaving your family when you get to your first deployment. However Captain Monnard got the call from the higher ups giving the green light to send me. Last thing that Monnard said was that they only do the best and I was one of them.

Before landing where the rest of the team was at General Shepard phoned me in. “Lieutenant Lawson, how are you doing?” His voice rang through your comms.

“Doing good sir.” I stated back looking down to base, watching men and women walking, training, running, and bullshitting even.

“Glad to hear, you will be meeting with Captain John Price once you touchdown. He is most intrigued to meet you since you came later to the task force. Once you do you will meet with your team and soon after the debrief of the next op. Welcome to paradise Lieutenant.”

I scoffed at that comment watching the helicopter land. Dust of sand lifted up as soldiers moved out of the way, some watching the heli land, one stuck out like a sore thumb. He wore a boonie hat, wearing the normal tactical gear and boots.

I took off the straps of the seat, grabbing my gear, and hopped out, my ponytail waving behind me from the chopper blades still going. Once I got up to the man in the boonie, I could see more of him. He seemed relax, calm, laid back. He had a smirk on his face and a cigar hanging out of his mouth. He at least looked in his late 30s. He also had a mustache on steroids. I have never seen one like it.

“Lieutenant Lawson,” he questioned. I gave a slight nod. “Welcome,” someone approach me and grabbed my bag and taking it away from me. “He will be taking that to your bunk. I am Captain John Price, Field Commander to the Task Force 141.”

He turned and headed more into the base, passing some barracks and small hangers that have some equipment and vehicles stored. Some tents in the back or side of places, once we finished passed the buildings. “We won’t be here long I’m afraid, we will be debriefed by General Shepard. He did patch you in yes?”

His accent was strong but not unrecognizable to know what he is saying. British accent maybe? I knew that this Task Force has Russian, British, Canadian, American, and Australian members. Different backgrounds, ranks, but one thing in common we all have is we are the best. Special Operation Unit.

I would be lying if I didn’t say it brought pride in my chest knowing that. “Yes sir.” I said looking around to see heads turning.

The Captain looked back at me. “Don’t mind them, they are just curious on who the next member was going to be. I didn’t even know until 0400. GeneralShepard wanted me guessing.”

I hummed at that. “He always likes to play mystery games like that. So I have noticed at least.”

He chuckled. “Oh wait kiddo you don’t even know the half of it.”

We approached a decent size tent he pushed on the flaps to the side walking all the way in. I followed right behind him to face 3 more men. All 3 of them watched me until both Price and I got comfortable. One of the men wore a cap on his head, looked to be black male, he also wore sunglasses covering his eyes. He had on a vest that bore the United Kingdom flag on it, under ir a normal looking long sleeve shirt, he wore jeans with his boots.

The other man had some mohawk style going for him, he had a t tshirt on, he was folding his arms over his vest, he wore jeans like all 3 were with his boots as well. Like the rest he had his tactical gear on. He had a faded beard going on.

The third one really caught my eye. He wore a mask, specifically a skull shaped onto it. He also had his gear on with a sweatshirt underneath his vest, and jeans with the boots. He had a headset on his head and his eyes bore into mine. It was intimated yet secure at the same time, I wanted to know more about him.

“Soap, Gaz, Ghost,” their attention left you for a moment looking over at Captain Price. “This is Allison Lawson, our new specialist.”

“Nice to meet you, I'm Kyle Garrick AKA Gaz.” He walked up to me and shook my hand. He was definitely British, his accent was more soft than Price’s.

I shook my head and smiled at him. “Nice to meet you.”I hated introductions, they were awkward, unknown, and plain out weird.

Next was the mohawk he greeted pretty nicely, something not normal for me but genuine. “John MacTavish but call me Soap.” He was scottish. However when he reached for my hand he turned it, placing a kiss on the dorsal side.

I gave him a half smile while chuckling. “For fucks sake,” I lift my head to wear the voice came from. It was muffled and gruffed, with the British accent following. Ghost. His voice has a beautiful sound to my ears. I had to bite my inner cheek to keep from smiling bigger. How he stood seemed like this whole thing was an inconvenience to him. Which I don’t blame him, I don’t like the awkward tension. “Ignore the Sergeant, he is a bit of a flirt.”

Soap just shrugged moving over. “Just a sign of respect is all Lt.”

Ghost just rolled his eyes. “Names Ghost.” He said, looking at me once more.

I smiled. “Nice to meet you, Ghost.” Reaching for his hand.

He looked down at my hand for a moment and shook it. Looking right in my eyes. They were a beautiful brown, with the black paint made them hidden a bit. His grip was strong and his hand was bigger than mine.

I had to push aside that feeling I got when touching his hand the same feeling when looking into his eyes but little did I know Ghost has to do the same.

[joshslater]

A Week in Indiana

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I was exhausted. It’s weird, because on long haul travel you have done nothing but relaxing. First on the initial connection, then at the airport, then at the trans Atlantic from Amsterdam to Chicago. I even napped a bit on it. Since that flight follows the earths rotation, you basically land at the same time as you start. Queues, immigration, wait for luggage, customs, relax some more at O’Hare. Finally followed by a decidedly less comfortable regional flight to Indiana, wait for luggage again, and out. And there he was, looking even better in person than he had on Skype the day before, waiting to pick me up. He was younger than me, but acted confident, cocky even. I like that.

- Hi there. How was the trip? - Long. I’m exhausted, like I said I would be. - It’s not far.

Americans have no idea what that word means. It wasn’t until an hour later we finally parked in his driveway. We had so much to talk about, but I made it perfectly clear that my mind wasn’t were it needed to be right now for anything serious. I quickly went online with my phone to cancel the backup hotel night I had, keeping some nights for the end of the week if things didn’t work out. Then I zoned out for most of the trip to his house.

- Let’s put your stuff in your room, head out for a bite and then you can go to sleep. - Head out? - I ain’t cooking.

The house was spacious living for a single dude, and probably the tidiest it been in a long while. Not that I paid much attention, as tired as I was. I would had preferred to just crash there and then, but I know from experience not to go to bed too early, or you’ll just wake up at midnight.

- Hey, can I get you something to drink? Coke, beer, water, absinthe? - A coke would be great. It’s dry in air planes.

A big, cold can of coke felt exactly like what I needed, despite the corn syrup. Rehydrated I carried my bags to the guest room, which doubled as a home gym. It’s silly, I know, but despite being so tired I found it kind of hot to be sleeping in a room where someone else had been working out. Well, I guess that’s the kind of shit we have in common, and the entire reason why I was here.

People really undersell the sheer amount of confusion when you wake up after having been drugged. Especially when you have been moved and things have been done to you. You didn’t plan for it, like going to sleep, and you have nothing to fall back to when you wake up to orient you. Everything around you is out of context. In addition to that, you still have residual effects and possible traces of the drugs in your system.

It’s impossible to estimate how much time it took to get a grip of the situation, but gradually I was aware that I was naked, tied to a bed, gagged and unable to see, possibly because of a pitch black room.

- Did you sleep well?

How long had it been? No way to tell. I feel like shit. I can feel him touching my naked chest. But that means he can see me, right? Why can I not see?

- I thought I would surprise you with a little transformation for yourself. This is the garage by the way. It’s not quite soundproof, but I don’t really need that, do I.

I don’t know what kind of gag he is using, but I can’t move my mouth in any direction. It feel like he had put some clay-like plastics into my mouth, had me bite into it, and then have it harden. I want to scream. I don’t want any piercings or tattoos or whatever. I shout that whatever his plans are, I want out. The best I could muster was an agitated hum.

I feel something cold against first my left nipple, and then both. Some sort of gel. Then some object is put there. Are these suction cups? Then a motor sound starts and I feel a rhythmic suction on my nipples. Guess they are.

- You should just relax. I don’t know anything about hypno, and you said it doesn’t work on you, but just so you have something to listen to I’ve downloaded a few things.

He puts earphones on me with the typical nonsense with multiple voices all talking over each other that all hypno mp3 files are so fond of. Then I feel him doing something with my gag, and a small trickle of fluid at the back of my throat, and then everything gets fuzzy.

- And here is something to keep you stupid. Enjoy the ride.

I’m too tired and drugged to analyze what is happening. I’m swimming in black velvet soup of words. I should relax, I’m told, be calm and follow instructions. I’m barely even aware I have a body, but occasionally the senses intrude into the bliss and I can feel the suction cups removed, more cool gel applied, and then the cups put back. Everything just gets softer and softer until everything ceases to be.

There’s no audio anymore.

- Hello, sleepy beauty. Are you ready for something solid to eat? - Yeah...

Wait? When did he remove the gag. Why can’t I see?

- Just be still, and I’ll remove the IV.

I could feel the short sting of an IV needle being pulled out, and felt him bandage the arm. What did he put into me? Where did he get an IV from in the first place?

- Now, just be still while I undo the restraints.

Any kind of resistance would be pointless. I was naked, in an unfamiliar room, and completely blind. I just followed along with his movements as he released my arms and legs. He then helped me on my feet and led me from the garage and through the house.

- So, I’ve prepared an outfit for you. Just put it on and we are ready for dinner. It’s all your size. Now, be very still and I’ll remove your black contact lenses.

So that’s what he had done. He was way better at removing them than I think I would have been, had he just asked me to remove them myself. As I blinked in the light I saw I was back in the guest room. My bags were no where to be seen, and on the bed was a small line up of clothes.

I turn to the mirror and see myself, but instead of my normal hairdo my head is almost completely shaved, save for a few millimeter Mohawk. Secondly, and more concerning, my nipples are huge. Like finger tip huge. He’s observing me from the door.

- Cortisone cream and a modified milking machine, and a few tricks. They will shrink a little bit, but not much. You’ll look like this from now on.

I don’t even have the energy to yell at him. If it is permanent, as he say, screaming doesn’t help. I need to get away from him before he can do whatever else he has planned for the week. It’s only day.... Actually I don’t know how long it’s been. One day? Two days?

- Just get dressed, and we can be on our way. Bring the ID so we can take a beer as well. - OK.

I look at the items laid out for me at the bed again, next to my passport. One black tank top with white hem in some sporty mesh material with the text “PUMP!” printed on the front. Blue, short adidas polyester shorts with white stripes. White, calf high socks with two black rings at the top. Black adidas shoes with white stripes. The only things missing for a stereotype bingo is a whistle, glow sticks and some molly.

No underwear, apparently. I put on the shorts. Like hell “all your size”. The shorts are tight and doesn’t leave my dick size to anyone’s imagination. Socks and shoes go on fine. I brace myself and put on the top. My tits feels like sparklers, shooting nerve signals all through my body. I can feel the tight shorts getting even tighter. I feel slutty.

On the way to dinner he is quite chatty. Talking about the buildings and neighborhoods we drive by, as if he hadn’t drugged and violated me for hours, perhaps days. He is casually dressed, Levis’ jeans and American Eagle polo. Still he manage to outclass me by an order of magnitude. Dinner is at P.F. Chang’s, so not at all fancy. Still I feel like everyone is looking, and judging. Everyone we pass on the parking lot, through the mall, at the front of house, on the way to our table. Everyone can clearly see my tits and my dick through the fabric. My haircut practically shouts for attention. My clothes even more so. And it’s not like I’m part of a group that has dressed up, or down. I’m lead here by someone dressed normal. A regular dude and his slut.

Sitting down feels better, with a table hiding my lower body, but it still feels like I’m in public in just underwear, having two flashing tits.

- Hey, relax. Calm your tits.

It was such a cheesy joke, I exploded in laughter. He’s right of course. It’s not like I’m hurt or massively disfigured. Most people will never even see it, once I’m in decent clothes. No one around me knows me, and I’ll never see them again. This is me experiencing something I could never have set up myself. Besides, I can’t really do anything about my situation except flagging down a cop, so I might as well enjoy it. I ordered the Dynamite Shrimps, the Singapore black pepper chicken and a steady flow of diet coke.

Man, was I hungry. It was tasty and I even managed to relax, though my tits kept rubbing against the mesh fabric, keeping me semi erect. And every time someone passed by, I got a twinge of feeling exposed, feeling “slutty”. We chatted a bit about ourselves, kind of how I had imagined our first real meal would have gone. When we were both done we asked for a refill and the bill. I managed to hide it, but I got quite the shock reading it. It said Tuesday. I arrived Saturday afternoon, so I had been drugged for three whole days! I don’t think he noticed my shock, because he leaned over and asked me, in a hushed voice “Are you ready to leave, slutty fuckboi?”.

Right away my dick throbbed into almost fully erect, and it was very close to pump custard into the shorts. Of course! The fucking hypno loops! That’s why I have been so docile since I woke up. “Slutty fuckboi” and “Calm your tits” were trigger phrases. Tits?! They are nipples. I’ve even been conditioned to refer to them as tits. I’m sure there are some programming about feeling self conscious and “slutty” as well. Who the fuck does he think he is! I must escape right now!

- Almost. I need to go to the boy’s room first. - I bet you do. You drank quite a lot.

I need to walk through two thirds of the restaurant to reach the restroom. Again I feel like I’m under dressed, overexposed and it would be hard to miss my raging erection in the hilariously tight adidas. I keep a fast but calm stride. Running would just draw even more attention.

I even have a hard time pulling down the shorts. They are almost locked in place by my swollen deadbolt. I stand feet together, slide the shorts straight down and turn to the sink to chill my dick in cold water. After the erection is gone I take a leak, pull up the shorts, and that’s when I feel the passport in my pocket. I had almost forgotten about it. I still have a reservation at the hotel. My credit card is on file and I have an ID to show. It must be within just a few miles, and if anything I’m dressed for exercise.

I don’t have a phone or a watch, so I don’t know exactly how long it took, but I guess about two hours to sneak out through the other entrance, ask mall information on the location of Holiday Inn, walk there without Google Maps, manage to check in with a receptionist who clearly didn’t approve of my attire, and have a lie down in bed. I should call Amex and have them block my credit card and send a new one to the hotel. Should I call him and tell him to send my bag here? Would it be risky to let him know where I stay? Would it be risky to even talk to him? That’s when the phone rang.

- Room 304. - Calm your tits, bottom boy. Isn’t it time to continue your transformation? - Yes, it is. - Cool. Pick you up in half an hour. - OK.

Shit. I’m broken.

[shefightslikeagirl]

CORSETS AND STRIPED STOCKINGS: OUTFITTING THE ASYLUM FOR WAYWARD VICTORIAN GIRLS by She Fights Like A Girl

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This article was longer than intended and image-heavy, so it’s been split into two parts.

PART V: AN ASYLUM MUSICAL

“And if I end up with blood on my hands, Well, I know that you’ll understand ‘Cause I fight like a girl.” - Fight Like A Girl (2014)

And now we're back to the relatively recent past, when this blog was in its infancy and the fandom couldn't decide whether to stick with the forum or run rampant on Tumblr. Fight Like A Girl (the album) was still being recorded, but Emilie did a few live dates Down Under and decided to feature the title song from the unfinished album.

To my understanding, the Harvest Festival was another one of those concerts where the show was considerably downsized because of the cost of shipping props and set pieces. But where the South American tours hadn’t pulled back in the wardrobe department, the Harvest festival did. Emilie and the Crumpets performed in one costume for the entire set. But to make up for the lack of glam, EA debuted the first costume of the FLAG era.

This costume was worn for the cover art of Fight Like A Girl, and acted as the signature corset for the very first Fight Like A Girl World Tour (2012). 

“Asylum Secrets: All of my costumes over the years have been made to look as though someone had been murdered in them and come back from the dead to enact a fabulous revenge. To achieve this, I have employed techniques from melting fabrics with an industrial strength heat gun to spraying them with solutions that no human should ever breathe. In the case of the corset pictured, I burned it mercilessly with sticks of incense before painting the fabric to make it look moth-eaten.” - EA on the creation of the FLAG corset (June 25, 2018)

Speaking of the 2012 FLAG World Tour! While there were a lot of changes from The Door Tour and Harvest Festival, this tour is probably best remembered as a transition phase between eras. There were new costumes, but… the Rat Queen still introduced the show with 4 o’Clock. There were new set dressings, but… the shadow scrim was still main stage center. The new corset was mixed in with the Rat Queen ensemble and the structure of the show hadn’t changed terribly. New, but… kinda not?

Except for that Warrior Mohawk, of course.

Upper: WVC content / eBay listing photo. Lower: Making of the Warrior Mohawk from Emilie’s Flickr account.

This is the only tour where Emile wore a mohawk for the entirety(-slash-majority) of the show. Later concerts would see her removing it after the third song. There was some slight skepticism in the fandom with its debut, sparking discourse about everything from cultural appropriation to thematic relevance, but EA didn’t make much comment on the criticism.

“[The Warrior Mohawk] signified the transformation from victim to warrior. I feel that it is important for me to let go in order that I may go on to transform yet again and create new bits of wearable magic to surprise you with... This headpiece symbolized the birth of a new era in the Asylum…. This is the headdress of a tribal Queen…” - EA, 2012 eBay auction description.

“The Mohawk headdress represents the tribal, wild element of the sisterhood that formed during the imprisonment of the inmates, and shows that, once we escape and are on the rampage to take down our oppressors, we have indeed transformed from individual, helpless victims into a strong and beautifully terrifying tribal warriors.”  - EA for Natalie’s World, 2013 (x) (x)

Another costume that debuted on this tour was the MC of the Ophelia Gallery, who had his own brand-new number: Girls! Girls! Girls!

And as for its history...

(My best guess is that this photo originated in 2009, based on her hair.)

This character is a hint at the structure of the tour (and album) to come, where it would be less about the mad girls existing inside the Asylum and more about the story of how they got there, and what happened once they were interned. Allow me to stray from the costuming topic for just a moment…

A TANGENT: OF STAGE SHOWS AND ASYLUM CONTINUITY Spoiler filled ramblings of a long-time fan.

I’ve got a running theory that The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls, in all its forms, runs in parallel to the concerts. But they match each other in reverse. [Spoilers for the book to follow.]

Emilie’s first concert of the Opheliac brand was in a small venue in Chicago, alongside Lady Joo Hee. In The Asylum… book, Emily-with-a-y’s final days in the Asylum were spent with Sachiko (a character based on and formerly named Joo Hee). 

The Opheliac shows of 2007-2011 were all about the women in an Asylum singing songs and welcoming others home. Cannibals, ballerinas, pyrate captains, nymphomanics -- they all ran rampant with no apparent oversight except from Emilie herself. Rats crept and crawled onstage unbothered; toys, crumpets, and cupcakes were in abundance, often served alongside “tea,” and there isn’t a single cell door in sight.

Especially in the earliest days of the concerts, the set design had an emphasis on appearing hand-made -- not only because it was, but because it should be for these girls. This was the world EA branded for herself: a world of freedom, without judgement, earned by their own hands.

In The Asylum… book, after the Inmates take over and kill the doctors, this is very much what they do: impersonate medical professionals and welcome sick and not-so-sick girls home to protect them, nurture them, and give them the best life that the Victorian Age fails to do. They take over the Asylum and make it their own.

Then in the FLAG performances (2012-2014), the storytelling shifts. EA’s Asylum world is no longer loosely themed with inmates running amok, but adheres to a more rigid storytelling structure, detailing the struggles and despair of the girls locked up in The Asylum(-with-a-capital-T). It mirrors the bulk of the content in The Asylum… book. The carefree, whimsical stage dressings shift to bars -- a representation of the cells and gates in The Asylum. There might be a bear tied to a dreary grey harpsichord; you might even see a single rat scratching about. But they don’t have dominion here. There’s no freedom. Just the story of the girls trapped behind the bars.

And now we’re stalled on both sides of the street. We’ve met in the middle. The concerts started at the end of the book, and ended at the beginning. 

Ok, I’ll put my soapbox away. Let’s get back on track.

BACK TO BUSINESS

Where were we?

Oh, yes: Girls! Girls! Girls! and new costumes.

So let’s jump forward a little more, because there isn’t much else to say about Emilie’s costume style in the 2012 FLAG World Tour. Moving on to the 2013 Fight Like A Girl: North American Tour (and following European and Australian tours), a brand new show was brought to the stage. Full new stage set-up, new costumes, and a full new setlist. 

A costume I’ll be referring to as the “armored corset” replaced the moth-eaten FLAG ensemble in the opening number. Both Maggots and Veronica were given new costumes as well, replacing the costumes they had worn for years. 

Armored Corset, with varying amounts of sparkled (2013)

Maggie Lally; Captain Maggot / Captain Maggots

Veronica Varlow; The Naughty Veronica

The show design of this tour had Emilie in the armored corset with the mohawk for the two opening numbers, Fight Like A Girl and Time for Tea. The mohawk and the armored plates on her chest and hip were removed during the 4 o’Clock Reprise, leaving her without her armor for What Will I Remember? as the narrative moves back to the beginning of the story, before the “Uprising.”

On the subject of the corset: structurally, it was outfitted with snaps to attach the armor and allow for easy removal (see corset detail above, bottom right). The mohawk proved a more difficult challenge to remove, as it was securely clipped, pinned, and secured into EA’s hair. This ended up being corrected in the redesign that produced Mohawk 2.0.

Back to the show! By the time we get to Veronica’s Dominant fan dance, EA has removed the armor corset completely in the interim to prepare for the Girls! Girls! Girls! costume change. After Scavenger, the entire cast changes into Asylum Inmate Rags to perform Gaslight and The Key, and then changes back into full costume for the finale. Emilie wears the full FLAG ensemble from previous tours to close out the show, with varying headdresses. 

But I’m skipping over something important.

The Scavenger.

Inspired by Jim Henson’s The Dark Crystal, The Scavenger, a vulture-esque representation of Dr. Greavsely, appeared onstage for Scavenger. 

“This is the start of the original costume @maggotmagpie wears in our show, the one Greavesly wears in #AsylumMusical will be bonkers…” - EA on the Scavenger (February 7, 2016)

EA on Twitter/Twitpic 2012 (x)

The Scavenger was usually worn by Maggots as part of a stilt-walking performance, but if the venue couldn’t or wouldn’t allow for stunts onstage, Emilie would appear alone in the costume for the number. 

Scavenger has plenty of different “shows” (A show, B show, and C show for my theme park friends), with “A Show” being Captain Maggot on stilts.

Note: The Atlanta show featured here is a bit strange, as it uses the Stage Screen and the Asylum Bars during a tour that doesn’t feature the former. Emilie also isn’t in the normal costume for this number, using a personal scarf to cover her bloomers and bra.

“B Show” would be Emilie performing as the Scavenger, due to venue restrictions. This was actually the way Scavenger debuted, until Maggot’s first performance later in the tour. (See pictures and even more info here.)

“C Show” would be Moth’s performance in the final set of Fight Like A Girl tours, as seen below:

(There’s also “D Show,” (ha) which is this random dude performing as The Scavenger. I’ve yet to figure this out, but my guess is it was a technician stepping in at the last moment or a friend of EA from Oakland.)

Last, but not least, are the Asylum Rags. You’d think there wouldn’t be much to say here, but there is. Click on the continue link below to learn more about tattered costumes and the rest of the FLAG era, because Tumblr only allows 10 pictures per post.

CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE.

Fly back… PART I: Enchant and the Faerie Queene PART II: Drowning Ophelia PART III: Vecona, Seamstress of the Asylum PART IV: Wayward Victorian Girls

Remember to visit Part III and enter our giveaway! Ends 12/1/19.

[SEE ALL CREDITS AND SOURCES HERE.]

[cinemaocd]

@dousterswivel

#oh and I'll need to know about your Scottish ghost experience too thanks 

OK, I said in one of my posts that I’ve seen ghosts twice. That is true. There is a third experience after my father died, where something effected my hearing in a strange way. I attempted to write about it in one of my modern au stories.

The Scottish incident happened in Inverness, home of the Loch Ness Monster and Macbeth. 

I hitchhiked around Scotland and Ireland in the summer of 1992. I arrived in Inverness on a sunny, “warm” (for Scotland, anyway) day in early August. I’d just come from Edinburgh where I had taken a very long and well-produced ghost tour. So maybe it was that ghosts were on the brain.

I was dropped off at a park near the center of town. The River Ness is shallow and fast moving there and I remember there were some Romani camped nearby and that there was a very handsome man fishing on the bank. Were their willows? Probably. Willows are my favorite tree and I always associate them with mystery and romance.

I walked along the bank, when a man walked out of the trees and almost into me. He was walking a small dog. He apologized for almost running into me, and  introduced himself as “Martin.” He said he was a park ranger. I didn’t really believe he was a park ranger and something about him set me on edge. He asked me about myself, asked if I wanted to go for a pint in the pub. He seemed to know I was an American, before I spoke, but that isn’t really surprising. I looked like a tourist with my backpack and hiking boots. He asked if I wanted to go for a drive around Loch Ness. Though I was hitchhiking and I dearly wanted to drive around the Loch, something about Martin was raising all the red flags. I refused and made an excuse and left.

I walked away from the park, looking for lodging for the night. I frequently had the feeling that I was being watched or followed. At one point, I was waiting to cross a street and Martin drove past in his car, a silver hatchback. It didn’t look like ranger’s car, I thought.

I made my way to a youth hostel. I met a group of German tourists (two girls and two boys, but not couples) who were friendly and we went to a grocery store and bought food for dinner. The Germans spoke English very well and I soon forgot about Martin, chatting and listening to them. This was not long after the Berlin Wall had come down and they told me stories of reunification, of cousins meeting for the first time. It was the kind of talk that young people have all the time in movies: brave and idealistic. The Germans planned to go camping near Loch Ness and invited me to come with them. I had a sleeping bag, but no tent. The girls assured me there was room in their tent. I agreed.

The next morning we woke up and it was raining, a hard steady rain that did not intend to let up all day. The Germans had the idea that we could hitchhike further into the highlands and camp or find another hostel. I went along and showed them the best spot for hitching in the direction we wanted to go. I was an expert and had usually gotten rides within a half an hour. Of course I’d never tried to get a ride with a group of five people, all laden with enormous packs. Being a single female with a small pack, I had made an easy passenger. As the morning wore on it became clear that thhe plan was a failure. The girls had train passes and decided to move on. We followed them into town and bought lunch in a cafe. Having no train pass and no money for tickets, the boys and I headed back out on the road trying to hitchhike again.

We stood out on the road for hours with no luck. It was one of those rainy days where it seems the sun goes down early. In the dim light, I saw a car approaching--a silver hatchback. I stepped back behind the boys to hide myself in the ditch. I was certain it had been Martin.  “This is useless,” I said. “We should give up.” I proposed we should walk back to town and we started to do so, when we saw a clearing in the trees. There was a farmhouse. There was man on a tractor and we asked him if we could sleep in the barn. We had sleeping gear but no tent, we explained. He looked at us and said that his outbuildings were all full of equipment. There was no place. “But,” he said, “there is an abandoned house across the road. No one would mind if you slept in there.” We hadn’t seen an abandoned house and we asked him to point it out to us. The house he indicated looked new, but on closer inspection, we could see that the windows were boarded over and the door was barred.

We went to the house and found that the boards over one of the ground floor windows was loose. We managed to climb in. We weren’t the first people to camp out there. The living room was a mess, fires had been built in the fireplace and ashes and garbage were everywhere. We explored the house to find the best room in which to sleep. It was big enough that I could have had a room to myself, but I didn’t like the idea of being off on my own. We settled on a bedroom on the upper floor with a large window that let in what there was left of the daylight. The house was not old or run down. Apart from the living room, it was clean and looked untouched.

The Germans had a camp stove and pans and I had leftover food from the previous evening. We made boiled potatoes with butter and salt. The Germans had a small flask of schnapps which we mixed with hot water. We read from a German to English phrasebook, laughing at the sorts of phrases that were meant to be useful. “Stewardess!  Attention!  I’m going to be airsick.” I managed in German, to the boys’ amusement. We went to sleep, full and warm and happy.

I had a dream in the night and awoke. The room was sunny and warm, but the Germans were gone. I sat up and called to them, “Ralph! Eric!”. I heard no reply. I got up and tried the door, but it was locked. In a panic, I began pounding on the door and crying. I heard footsteps approaching, but I knew it was not my friends. I stepped away from the door, terrified. As the door opened, I awoke. It had been a dream within a dream. It was still dark and raining, Ralph and Eric were sleeping nearby.

I tried to go back to sleep, but the dream had disturbed me. I stared at the wall across from me. There was a small crescent-shaped light just opposite my head. It was about 8 inches across and yellowish-orange color. It puzzled me because it was a rainy night. There was no moon. Anyway, the shape was only vaguely like a moon, but turned sideways. I stood up and looked out of the window. It was dark and rainy outside. There were no cars on the road. Nothing to reflect onto the wall.

I sat back down in my bedroll, with my back against the opposite wall, staring at the light. It was still there, but growing stronger, bit by bit, the color intensifying so that it almost looked molten. I woke Eric and Ralph. “Something strange is happening.” They seemed to understand by the tone of my voice that I wasn’t joking. They got up and watched the light with me. The bravest of us, one of the boys, decided to try to touch it. He said it gave off no heat. It was just a light. It wasn’t coming from anywhere, but it seemed to come out of the house itself. But how? The electricity to the house had been cut off long ago. 

We sat watching it for a few more hours. As the sun came up, it’s power faded till it was no more than a slightly bright spot in the beige paint. We fell asleep. When we awoke again, it was gone.

The boys decided to treat themselves to breakfast in town. I was determined to get a lift right away. As we were packing up, one of the boys found what looked like a poster rolled up in the corner. We hadn’t noticed it the night before. It was actually several pictures, drawn in charcoal and pastels, rolled up together. One was of of a face, hollow eyed with a mohawk haircut. So the room had belonged to an angsty teen artist I thought. The other pictures were of crosses planted in the ground upside down and pentagrams, other symbols of the occult. We left the pictures where they were and made our way out of the house.

As we said goodbye to one another, the farmer came by and asked if we’d slept well. There was something about his tone, his smile, that said he knew that we hadn’t.

Though I was still nervous about the silver hatchboack, I left Eric and Ralph and walked back to the spot on the road where we’d stood most of the day before. A few moments later an old, red VW bug approached with an elderly woman driving. There was a toddler stretched out asleep in the back seat. There could be no safer ride for a hitchhiker. I got in the passenger seat and as we drove off, the sun came out. 

Over the years, I’ve told this story many times. I always ask people if they can think of an explanation. The best I’ve heard is that somehow it was a collective hallucination brought on by lack of oxygen in the small room, from the burning of the camp stove indoors. That’s possible, I suppose. And yet, the ceiling was high so the volume of air was not that small and it wasn’t as if the room was sealed off. We all had gone to the bathroom before turning in, after the camp stove was used.

So I’m left with this thing that can’t be explained away. I tell the whole long story every time about creepy Martin and the Germans and the camping because even though the dots don’t really connect up, they are all part of the story for me.

[fedoremelianenkodevoted]

Today in MMA History: Fedor Emelianenko caps winning streak; Brett Rogers begins dark descent

(Editor’s note: This story first published on Nov. 7, 2017.)

It was only eight years ago and yet the MMA world was such a different place. For one thing, Strikeforce still existed. For another, a heavyweight by the name of Brett Rogers was undefeated.

And the great Fedor Emelianenko? He was still great, with a streak that included 27 fights without a defeat, stretching through the demise of PRIDE and into the uncertain future that followed it.

He didn’t know it then, but Emelianenko was about to notch the last win in his streak before the wheels fell off. And Rogers, who was about to suffer the first loss of his pro career, would soon find that to be the least of his troubles, as his personal life unraveled and he went from jail to the streets of downtown Minneapolis and back again.

But on Nov. 7, 2009, they were the stars, these two heavyweights fighting in the primetime main event of Strikeforce’s debut on the CBS network. Before it was over, more than 5 million people would tune in to watch – and they got a finish that would repeat itself in GIFs and viral videos for years to come.

The first thing to know about that night is who Emelianenko was back then, and what he meant to his new friends at Strikeforce. For much of the decade, the Russian heavyweight had been an unbeatable enigma who North American fans only glimpsed from afar, but couldn’t get enough of.

On MMA forums, you found serious discussions about how he would do in a fight against a grizzly bear. Thanks to help from Photoshop and Michelangelo, soon Fedor could be seen armbarring God. The more he seemed to resist this sort of attention, the more fans heaped it upon him. Fedor was a phenomenon that even he couldn’t control.

After dominating the competition in PRIDE, where the heavyweight division was generally thought to be stronger than in the UFC, Emelianenko slowly gained the consensus title of world’s best heavyweight. Sure, his impressive record in Japan was padded with New Year’s Eve freak show wins over the likes of Zuluzinho and Hong-Man Choi, but after the UFC bought PRIDE (without securing promotional rights to Emelianenko in the process) and ultimately dismantled it, he’d also racked up legitimate wins in the U.S. with the upstart Affliction MMA promotion.

Affliction held two MMA events between July 2008 and January 2009, and Emelianenko headlined both. First he demolished former UFC heavyweight champ Tim Sylvia in 36 seconds, which even longtime Emelianenko detractor Dana White had to admit was impressive, then he rebounded from a rough start against Andrei Arlovski, another former UFC champ, to knock him out cold with a single punch in the first round.

The lasting image from that fight was a haunting one, with Arlovski facedown on the canvas, eyes open but seeing nothing, looking for all the world like a dead man while Emelianenko strolled calmly away.

All this was supposed to lead to a climactic clash with Josh Barnett at Affliction’s third event, dubbed “Trilogy,” but a last-minute drug test failure by Barnett resulted in the event being cancelled and Emelianenko finding himself once again without a fight promotion to dominate.

It didn’t take long for the UFC to come calling. The UFC President White described his focus on signing Emelianenko as an “obsession.” Later reports described an island getaway in Curacao, where the UFC offered Emelianenko a multi-million dollar contract, a blockbuster fight against former UFC heavyweight champion Brock Lesnar, and, to sweeten the deal for Emelianenko’s handlers, even reportedly offering to purchase M-1 Global, the fight promotion owned and operated by Emelianenko’s longtime manager Vadim Finkelchtein.

While Emelianenko and M-1 Global officials would later refute some of those claims about the grandiosity of the offer, the end result was that negotiations failed and Emelianenko soon signed a deal with Strikeforce, which agreed to give M-1 Global partial billing as a co-promoter. White harbored resentment over the meeting for years, later recalling that he’d warned Emelianenko and his management that the heavyweight was “one punch away from being worth zero.”

Rogers hoped to be the man to land that punch in the fall of 2009. And why not? He’d come seemingly out of nowhere to make a name for himself as a terrifying knockout artist in EliteXC. He’d even fanned the flames of a rivalry with internet sensation Kimbo Slice, only to see Slice defeated by a light heavyweight in an upset that would bring down the entire company.

Along with a host of others, Rogers was scooped up by Strikeforce in the aftermath, and in his second fight with the promotion, he surprised everyone with a 22-second knockout of Arlovski, who was less than six months removed from his near win turned sudden defeat at the hands of Emelianenko.

Rogers had power. He had confidence. He had about five inches and 30 pounds on Emelianenko. Plus, he’d yet to lose a fight. This big man with the mohawk, the one who’d come out of Chicago’s Cabrini-Green housing projects and then fought his way to fame while working a job changing tires at Sam’s Club, could he be the one to dethrone an MMA great?

The fight headlined a four-fight network TV card on CBS, live from the Sears Centre outside Chicago. On the undercard, future UFC heavyweight champion Fabricio Werdum edged out Antonio Silva via unanimous decision, and then-Strikeforce light heavyweight champion Gegard Mousasi came on to TKO Rameau Thierry Sokoudjou in the second round. In the penultimate bout, Jake Shields outpointed Jason “Mayhem” Miller over five rounds for the Strikeforce middleweight title.

When the ominous gong sounded near the end of the night, it could only mean one thing – Fedor was coming.

“He is considered to be the one fighter in the world with no flaws,” said CBS commentator Gus Johnson said of Emelianenko as he made his way to the cage.

Looking at the tale of the tape before the fight started, former UFC champ turned commentator Frank Shamrock described Rogers as “a literal giant.”

“Can Fedor kill the giant?” he asked.

During introductions, ring announcer Jimmy Lennon Jr. added a little extra flair when he referred to Rogers as a “top-ranked heavyweight” and “undefeated big-time striker.”

In the opposite corner, Emelianenko was as implacable as ever, standing stone-faced and stoic as his corner hoisted the WAMMA (World Alliance of Mixed Martial Arts) title that he’d won almost without seeming to notice or care a year earlier.

If Rogers was intimidated by the great Fedor, he didn’t show it early on. A jab from Rogers in the opening seconds of the fight smashed Emelianenko’s nose, drawing blood that would flow everywhere over the course of the opening round. After being taken down quickly, Rogers got back up, looking to use his weight to suffocate the smaller Russian against the fence.

After once again gaining the space he needed to strike, Emelianenko hurt Rogers with a sharp left hook, then took him down as Rogers covered up and retreated.

“MMA is considered a game of human chess,” commentator Mauro Ranallo said as Emelianenko worked short strikes from the top position. “Fedor is the Kasparov of combat, and that jab by Rogers has awoken the beast.”

“Can Brett Rogers be Bobby Fischer?” replied Johnson, thereby bringing an end to the chess metaphors for the night, now that the only two players most people could name had both been mentioned.

Emelianenko gave Rogers a chance to get back in the fight when he tried for a kimura that allowed Rogers to roll on top. For his sins, he was punished with some solid ground-and-pound from Rogers, which Emelianenko managed to stop by threatening with one of his slick armbar transitions off his back.

By the time the bell rang to end the first, Rogers looked weary from his efforts, while Emelianenko just looked bloody. As usual, Emelianenko’s face betrayed not even the barest hint of emotion as he came out of his corner for the second.

Soon he was back up on his toes, bouncing around with his hands held low, searching for his opening as Rogers waited, feinting from afar but seemingly unable to convince himself to throw.

That was all it took: that moment’s hesitation. In one smooth motion, Emelianenko flung himself forward with a right hand that crushed Rogers’ jaw, dipping his head low and he punched, his shoulder colliding with the big man’s body after he connected.

Rogers’ head jackknifed to one side, and then he crashed to the floor, arms out at his sides before he gained just enough awareness to roll away from the follow-up strikes that were already en route.

Referee John McCarthy waited just long enough to see Emelianenko bounce a left and a right off Rogers’ unresponsive and only partially protected head before he stepped in to call it off. The cage flooded with the usual cast of Emelianenko’s friends and associates and hangers-on, from the bearded priests to the money men in suits.

“I don’t know who’s happier, Fedor or his entourage,” said Ranallo.

When the camera found Rogers, he was sitting up, looking from side to side like a man who’d just awoken from a frightening and confusing dream, only to find that a party had somehow broken out in his bedroom.

For the official announcement, Emelianenko stood in the center of the cage, draped in the Russian flag with the cut on his nose suddenly looking like no more than a scratch. He was so happy, he may have even smiled.

Both men’s lives and careers would take a turn after this night. That one punch White had predicted, the one that would render Emelianenko abruptly worthless? Instead it was a submission – a triangle choke/armbar combo from Werdum the following June – and instead of sapping Emelianenko’s glory all at once, it set off a slow leak that continues still.

After the loss to Werdum to snap his streak, Emelianenko would lose his next two fights in Strikeforce, first a doctor stoppage against “Bigfoot” Silva and then a TKO loss to Dan Henderson.

He rebounded in 2011 with a return to more friendly confines and matchmaking, reeling off a series of wins of questionable value in both Russia and Japan. In June 2016 he took on former UFC light heavyweight Fabio Maldonado in St. Petersburg and was nearly knocked out before winning a highly questionable decision victory that still stands as perhaps the best possible example of “home cooking” from MMA judges.

In his most recent outing, Emelianenko was reunited with former Strikeforce President Scott Coker, who needed two tries to successfully get the 40-year-old Emelianenko into the Bellator cage. Once there, it took all of 74 seconds for him to be knocked out by former UFC heavyweight Matt Mitrione.

Rogers’ downward spiral would prove to be much darker. Even after the loss to Emelianenko he somehow managed to challenged Alistair Overeem for the Strikeforce heavyweight title in his very next fight. Overeem ran through him easily for a first-round TKO, and Rogers would go on to lose two of his next three, including a submission loss to Barnett in the opening round of the Strikeforce Heavyweight Grand Prix.

But after the UFC purchased Strikeforce, Rogers was among the first of the contract casualties after news broke that he’d been arrested for a particularly horrifying incident of domestic violence. UFC President White announced that Rogers had been cut, effective “immediately.” Rogers pleaded guilty to the charges and served a 60-day sentence.

He would later sign with Bellator in an attempt to turn both his life and his career around, but he only fought twice for the organization, splitting a pair of bouts.

Rogers was arrested again earlier this year, this time on sexual misconduct charges for allegedly groping multiple men in a Saint Paul, Minn., public library over a period of several months, during which Rogers was reportedly homeless. While incarcerated, he was also accused of groping a cellmate, eventually entering an Alford plea to three separate charges in May, just a little over two years after his last MMA fight, a decision loss to Derrick Mehmen.

“I know that I fell down pretty hard,” Rogers said after he first signed with Bellator a year after his domestic violence arrest. “But I want to prove to people that you can bounce back. You can, if your heart is in it and you know your mistakes.”

For Rogers, the mistakes were just beginning. Not that he could have known back then how far he still had to fall.

“Today in MMA History” is an MMAjunkie series created in association with MMA History Today, the social media outlet dedicated to reliving “a daily journey through our sport’s history.”

[imagininghim]

Chapter 2

Where she went Masterlist

Chibs was the first to stand up and walk over to me before wrapping his arms around me.

“Lassie, we’ve missed you so much, how have you been?” Chibs questioned as I smiled at him before answering his question.

“I’ve missed you guys so much as well and I’ve been good. I stayed in New York for most of my time before coming back home.” I said as we pulled away from each other.

“You’re going to have to tell me all about New York, once you’re all settled in,” Chibs said as I smiled and nodded my head as Bobby and Piney came up and embraced me into a hug as well.

“I sure will,” I said as I pulled away from Bobby as Piney walked up to me next.

“We sure missed you kid,” Piney said as I began to hug the older man.

“I missed you too, Piney,” I said as he pulled away with a smile on his face. I felt Jax’s arm retake it's placed on my shoulders as he pulled me into his side before beginning to walk towards the dorms with me on his side.

“I-is that John’s original bike?” I questioned as I walked towards the 1946 Harley-Davidson that was put on display. I stood in awe of the beautiful bike as Jax came to stand beside me.

“Yeah, it is. Isn’t she beautiful?” Jax questioned as I nodded my head. “C’mon, we’ve got some settling in and catching up to do,” Jax said as he walked towards his dorm with my suitcase in one of his hands and his keys in the other. I followed him into his dorm to see that it hadn’t changed all that much. Jax still had the American Flag hanging above his bed, he had his two dressers on opposite sides of the room, and his bed looked like it hadn’t been made in days. I smiled to myself as Jax turned towards me with a big smile and wide arms.

“Welcome home.” I chuckled as I walked over to his bed and took a seat.

“It’s just as I remembered,” I said as Jax plopped next to me. “Now, tell me where John is,” I said as I looked at Jax with wondering eyes as he avoided my eye contact.

“A year after you left… Dad was going on a run and… His brakes gave away on his bike and he lost control and… Well… He crashed into semi-truck.” I felt my heart shattered as Jax spoke. If I never had of left this might have never have died.

“W-what?” I stuttered out after a few minutes of complete silence. “W-why didn’t any one t-tell me?” I stuttered out again as Jax sighed.

“We tried to but when you left you never told anyone where you were going or anything,” Jax said as I felt tears brimming the rims of my eyes.

“I never should have left…” I said as I let a few stray tears fall down my face. “It’s all my fault…” I said as I put my head in my hands.

“Hey, hey, it’s not your fault,” Jax said as he pulled me into his chest. “It was bound to happen (Y/N). Whether his brakes gave out or he got shot on that run. John knew what he signed up for and he was ready to fall at any moment. Don’t ever think or try to blame yourself for his death.” I nodded as Jax held me close as I let a few sobs come out.

Soon enough, I felt myself begin to calm down as I pulled myself from Jax’s side. Jax turned to me and raised his hand to my cheek so he could wipe away a few straw tears that were left.

“Are you good?” Jax questioned gently with caution afraid that I might burst into tears again. I nodded my head as she sent me a sympathetic smile. “Listen, I hate to run but I need to get everything set up for your welcome home party.” I nodded my head as he began to stand while I did the same.

“It’s okay, I think I’m going to shower. It’s been a long trip.” I said as Jax nodded before pulling me into a hug.

“Things will turn up for the better soon enough, I promise,” Jax said as he turned and headed for the door before opening and closing it behind him as I sighed. I stood up and began to shed some of my layers of my clothes as a knock came to the door.

“Knock, knock,” Opie said as he stuck his head in with his hand covering his eyes with his hand. “Are you decent?” Opie said as a smirk came across his face.

“It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before but yes, I am,” I said with a chuckle. Opie removed his hand as he chuckled.

“True. I was just stopping in to see how you were making out and how everything was coming along.” Opie said as he walked further into the room as he took a seat on the bed.

“Everything’s coming along pretty nicely,” I said I look around for a towel.

“Except, I don’t know where Jax keeps his towels,” I said as Opie chuckled.

“In the bathroom.” I nodded my head as Ope began to stand again.

“Well, I’ll let you get to your shower and I will see you tonight. Sound good?” Opie said as I nodded my head.

“Okay, see you soon,” I said as I went up and wrapped my arms around the giant.

“(Y/N), before I go, can I ask you a question?” Opie questioned as I nodded my head.

“Why do you have streaks of black going down your face? Are you trying to become the newest member of KISS because if you are I think you might need to try a little harder on your make up.” Opie said as I began to chuckle.

“No, I’m not,” I said as I kept giggling. “Jax told me about John,” I said as Opie nodded his head.

“He’s gone but not forgotten.” I nodded in agreement as Opie pulled away from our hug. “Enjoy your shower and I’ll see you after.” He said as he went and opened the door before closing it behind him.

“Why did I ever want to leave this place?” I said to myself as I walked into the bathroom before shutting the door behind me.

                                                Time Skip:

I had just finished drying out my hair as getting ready as a knock came from the door.

“Come in,” I said as I took one last glance in the mirror.

“Woah, don’t you look good? I think this plaid shirt looks better on you than it does on me.” Jax had said as he walked into the room. I had thrown on his oversized plaid shirt, while underneath I wore a simple white tank and some plain black leggings with my white converse on my feet. I giggled at Jax’s comment before speaking up;

“But in all honesty, do I look okay?” I questioned as I fiddled with my hands as Jax looked me up and down.

“You look beautiful, darlin’. Now, your party guests await your arrival.” Jax said as he stuck out his arm for me. I giggled before walking up and taking a hold of his arm and walking out of the dorm while shutting the door behind me. We walk down the hall way, giggling like teenagers with a secret.

“Welcome home (Y/N)!” Everyone shouted when we reached the end of the hall.

“Thank you, everyone! I missed all of you… Well, most of you. There are some faces here that I don’t actually recognize.” I said as a few chuckles were shared around the room. Everyone went back to what they were doing as I walked to the bar.

“Can I get a beer?” I asked the guy behind the bar as he nodded his head with a smile.

“Sure thing, sweets.” He replied as he turned around to get my drink. As he did so I began to size him up. He looked like he was about in his twenty’s, he had short shaggy ginger hair and he was wearing a patch that read ‘PROSPECT’.

“Here you are.” He said as he handed me my beer and I took a sip.

“So, you must be the famous (Y/N) I’ve heard so much about.” He said as he leaned down in front of me. I chuckled before nodding my head.

“I am and you must be that famous prospect I heard nothing about,” I said as he chuckled this time. “What’s your name prospect?” I questioned;

“Kip, Kip Epps but everyone calls me Half-Sack. Except Gemma calls me Eddie.” I nodded my head with a confused look.

“Why do they call you Half-Sack?” I questioned as he chuckled.

“Well, you see I used to be in the army and well…” He began as he began to undo his pants before shoving them down and exposing his half nut to me. “I got half of one of my nuts blown off and I gained the nickname Half-Sack.” I could feel bile rising in my throat as I turned away.

“Jesus Christ! You could’ve just told me that!” I said as he chuckled before hauling his pants up and speaking again.

“Well, where’s the fun in that?” He said as I giggled and nodded my head.

“True,”  I said as I took another sip of my beer.

“Well, well, well, what’s a pretty girl like you sitting at the bar all by herself?” I raised my eyebrows at Half-Sack before turning on my stool to see a 5’9 Puerto Rican guy with a shaved Mohawk and two tattoos on either side of his Mohawk. I took notice that he had a Samcro patch on and that he was also a full patched member.

“Well, a pretty girl like me is sitting at the bar all by herself because she’s enjoying her beer and having a nice conversation with her nice bartender. Now, if you don’t mind I’d like to get back to that.” I said with a fake smile before turning back to Half-Sack.

“You don’t want to talk to him!” I rolled my eyes at Kip before turning around again.

“And why not?” I questioned as the Mohawk guy smirked at me again.

“Because you could be talking to me.” This time I almost spit my beer out laughing as I attempted to speak up;

“And, why would I want to do that?” I said as I noticed from the corner of my eye Jax had begun to watch us. The Mohawk guy had begun lean in closer to me as he spoke.

“Well, not only am I a better conversationalist but I can also be a good lover as well.” I tried to stifle my laughter as I noticed Jax starting to make his way over to us.

“Listen, Hun, I’m sure you’re a terrific conservationist and an even better lover but there’s a problem with this…” I said as Jax came over and stood right behind the kid.

“And, what would that problem be? Because I’m sure we can get through it together.” Before I could respond Jax spoke up for me.

“That would be me.” I watched as the kid almost went white as he turned around to face Jax.

“Oh, Jax… She’s with you?” He said as Jax nodded his head. “Well, then I better get going.” He said as he began to walk fast in the other direction.

“Thank you so much,” I said as Jax smiled before speaking up.

“Anytime darlin’. Listen, follow me I want to show you something.” I nodded my head as I picked up my beer and followed Jax up the ladder.

Once, we reached the roof Jax walked me over to the edge where he had a couple of lawn chairs laid out. I walked behind Jax before taking a seat in one of the lawn chairs as Jax did the same.

“Wow, Jax… The view is breathtaking.” I said as I over looked the city.

“It is, isn’t it? I love coming up here to clear my mind or just to relax.” Jax said as he lit a cigarette and took a puff.

“So, who was that guy who was flirting with me?” I questioned as I leaned back and looked over at Jax.

“His name is Juan Ortiz but we all call him Juice.” I nodded my head as I thought of the weird names the newest members have.

“So, Teller.” Jax looked over at me as I continued. “You’re now VP and when the last time I saw you, you had just stared prospecting. What else have I missed?” I said as Jax chuckled.

“Well, after you left. I finished high school with Tara and then she just got up and left.” I stared at him in shock.

“She left?!”

“Yeah, she wanted me to go with her but I didn’t want to leave the club and she wasn’t a big fan of the club, you remember that?” I nodded as Jax continued his story. “Well, then after she left I started fucking around with different croweaters and then…” I looked at him as I nodded for him to continue. “I got married…” I felt my mouth and my heart drop as Jax chuckled.

“Okay, it’s bad enough I missed John’s funeral and that skank leaving but now I missed my best friend’s wedding. You’ve got to be shitting me?!” Jax continued to chuckle as I heard footsteps in the distances; I turned to see Opie coming over to us with someone trailing behind him.

“I was wondering where you two went,” Opie said once he finally reached our destination. I began to take notice of who was behind him.

“Donna?!” I questioned as she came into my view.

“(Y/N)?!” I jumped from my chair and ran over to my old best friend before wrapping my arms around her.

“Oh my god, I missed you so much!” She said as I laughed into our embrace.

“I missed you too,” I said once we pulled away. “Now, everyone sits! We have a lot of catching up to do.” I said as they all nodded in agreement. Jax stood up and gave his seat to Donna before taking a seat next to Opie on the ledge. “Jax continues your story,” I said as Jax chuckled.

“Alright, alright. I ended up getting her pregnant but she was addicted to crack and I don’t do crack whores so I divorced her about two months ago.” I nodded as a question sparked up into my head.

“What about the baby? Did she lose it or did she have an abortion?” I questioned as Jax begun to answer.

“Well, she’s still pregnant now but when she has the baby, I’ll get full custody.” He said as I nodded my head before turning towards Opie and Donna.

“What about you guys?” I questioned as Donna giggled.

“Well, Ope and I got married.”

“Are you serious?! I missed my other best friends wedding?!” Opie, Jax, and Donna chuckled as Donna spoke again;

“It’s okay, we only had a small ceremony. I didn’t have any bride’s maids or a maid of honor because she wasn’t there.” I smiled as I grabbed her. “And you knew I was pregnant in high school?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I had a beautiful baby girl and we named her Ellie and now I’m pregnant again!”

“Oh my god! Congratulations!” I said as I leaned over and pulled her into a hug before doing the same with Ope.

“Well, what about you?” I looked at her confused. “Why did you leave? Where did you go?” I had a feeling this question was going to come up sooner or later. I glanced over at Jax before speaking up.

“Well, I went to New York before I cam back up here,” I said as Donna nodded.

“And I left because… Well…” Before I could finish what, I was going to say I saw a familiar car begin to pull up onto Teller-Morrow parking lot. The car came to a stop as the driver began to turn off the car and open the door. By now, everyone else had taken notice of what I was looking at, as they all turned around. I watched as the driver began to get out as my heart dropped once again.

“I left because of her,” I said as Tara stood up from her father’s black cutlass and up towards the roof, where we had all been standing staring down at her.