#and in fact their supporters immediately even as the slaughter was continuing just fell right back in line to kiss the ring
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Stark Spangled Banner
Ch57: We’re In The Endgame Now
Intro: Steve and Katie, along with the rest of their team are locked in a fearsome battle, between light and dark, life and death. And it’s a battle they cannot afford to lose because they’re in the Endgame now…
Warnings: “Language!” Character death. Please have your tissues ready, we all know where this one is going and, well, I bawled like a baby writing it so…
Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark
A/N: I’m REALY nervous about this one!! I hope I do it justice. It flits between perspectives so I hope you can follow it, and used a lot of visuals too. Once more HUGE, HUGE, HUGE thanks to @angrybirdcr for her wicked work.
Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.
Chapter 56
Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist
“Stevie.” Steve heard Katie’s voice breaking through the fog in his brain. It was desperate, shattered, and something else inside him broke even more. “You gotta get up, Soldier,” she pleaded, shaking his shoulder, “come on, please.”
And then, suddenly, it was another voice he was hearing. A voice he hadn’t heard for almost a century, but it was clear as day, the memory as fresh in his mind as it had been the day she’d said it…
“You always get up Stevie, ya hear?” His Ma looked at him, wiping the blood from his split lip, ignoring his flinch. “No matter how hard they hit ya, you never give them the satisfaction of stayin’ down, lad, never. You push back, and eventually they’ll realise that they can’t fight forever.”
Steve grit his teeth as he rolled to the side, Katie’s hand still on his shoulder as he rest against his forearm, gathering his strength to push himself to his feet. He turned his face to look at Katie, her face plate was open and there were tears streaking down her cheeks, and she nodded to him.
“We need to try, keep him distracted until Tony and Thor come round. Hopefully the others can find their way back to the surface. And then if we can get the stones we can end this.”
It was a long shot, beyond long in fact. Steve knew that. Katie knew that. But whilst there was hope, no matter how small a hope it was, or how beaten they felt, they had to try.
As he shifted again, ready to rise to his feet he felt Katie shift a little so she was shielding Steve with her body as she knelt by his side, and when he glanced up at her he saw her focussed to her left, utter hatred and fear clouding her pretty face.
“In all my years of conquest, violence, slaughter, it was never personal.” Thanos spoke as Katie and Steve both glared at him from their vantage point on the floor. “But I’ll tell you now, what I’m about to do to your stubborn, annoying little planet…I’m gonna enjoy it. Very, very much.”
And then, as they watched, behind Thanos, a blue light beamed down form the sky and when it dissipated it left what looked like thousands of soldiers stood in rows. Thanos had brought his entire army. The so called Children of Thanos, hundreds upon hundreds of Chitauri and those damned dog things they had fought in Wakanda…
Katie took a shaky breath, and let out a sob as she realised that any hope they had was gone. They might, just might have stood a chance against Thanos alone, but not against his full army. She locked eyes with Steve before he looked down at the ground, away from her eyes, his own tears filling his eyes as he understood this was it.
This was the end. For them, for their kids, for the world.
According to some, there’s a calm serenity that descends on you when you know your time is up. But Steve didn’t feel calm, he felt anger, hatred, and all towards himself. This was down to him, he’d brought this upon his family, his friends. He should have left those fucking stones in the past and dealt with his feelings of failure. Instead, here he was, a failure again. Beaten on a battlefield by the very man they actually killed some five years previously that was now about to wipe out the entire world. How fucked up was that?
“We are not going like this.” Katie was now openly sobbing as she shook her head, looking from Steve to the assembled army. “Not like this. We stand up, and we go fighting, you hear me?”
Steve glanced at the broken shield on his arm, swallowing as he remembered Jamie looking at him when he told him he used to be Captain America. His beautiful baby boy’s eyes that were so like Steve’s mother’s, wide with awe, and pride. Well fuck this. Katie was right, his Ma was right. If he was going, then he was going down fighting. Alongside his best gal, his partner, the woman who gave him more strength than any serum ever could.
With a low groan, Steve pushed himself to his feet, teeth grit, fierce determination across every line on his face. With a shaking hand he tightened the leather straps on his broken shield around his arm and stood tall, turning to Katie.
“I love you,” he choked out, holding out his right hand to grip her left gauntlet, “’til the end of the line.”
She turned to him, her eyes streaming with tears before she reached up and pulled his face to hers, pressing a fierce kiss to his lips.
“The very end.” She stuttered out, before they turned to face their death.
Captain America and Supernova, Steve Rogers and Katie Stark, Man and Wife walked slowly towards Thanos, who simply stood, his head cocked to his right. However, they’d barely made it four foot when their communicators started crackling.
“Hey, Cap, you read me?”
It was faint…and broken…but it was a voice they hadn’t heard in five years other than in their dreams. A voice they would never forget.
Both of them stopped dead. Steve’s mouth dropped open and he looked at Katie, raising a shaking hand to his head in an attempt to press the coms piece further into his ear, not quite sure he was believing what he was hearing.
“Cap, it’s Sam. Can you hear me?”
Both Katie and Steve’s chests rose and fell deeply as they tried to understand where Sam was. They knew Banner’s snap had worked, but surely if everyone came back where they had vanished then they should be in Wakanda. Nevertheless, Steve instinctively glanced upwards, and Sam spoke again.
“On your left.”
They both turned in that direction, and immediately saw a sparkling yellow circle forming in the air. As they watched, utterly dumbfounded, three figures stepped through and Katie realised from their Silhouettes alone who it was- Okoye, Shuri, and T’Challa in his full Black Panther garb. Katie’s hand flew to her mouth as T'Challa’s mask faded away, the King looking at Steve. The Soldier took a shaky and relieved breath and a thankful smile broke through the filth and grime that covered his face. T'Challa gave him a small nod, before he turned to Katie and bowed slightly, the way he always did.
Katie’s breathing suddenly became erratic as her sobs began again, but this time they were punctuated by laughs and stutters of utter relief which turned into a yell of pure joy when Sam zoomed in above them in his Falcon armour. They watched as he flew and circled back round, Katie’s hands flying into the back of her hair, gripping as she doubled over and cried, simply unable to believe it.
Steve could do nothing but watch in a relieved, thankful and astounded awe as dozens and dozens more portals opened up all around the battlefield. He knew who the man that descended at the front was- Doctor Strange and he was joined by three people he also knew to be Rocket’s friends- The Guardians of the Galaxy- then came Spider-Man, his mask flopping down to reveal an alive and well Peter Parker behind it. Katie tore her eyes away to look for Tony who was now sitting up, a look of utter shock on his face. He found her eyes and gave a small twitch of his mouth as he scrambled to his feet, and turned to Thor who was now grinning ear to ear as he watched the portal that was bringing Valkyrie and the Asgardian army to their aid.
The chanting of the Wakandan Army rang around the battle field as row by row the guard stepped through another portal headed by Bucky, his gun held firmly in his arms and Steve watched his best friend’s handsome face which wore a look of resigned determination, and the number of people arriving to support the Avengers continued to rise as Dr Strange conjured portal after portal.
A familiar red energy alerted them both to Wanda’s appearance, where she landed not far from Bucky, her eyes blazing. And then, with a clang Pepper landed a few feet away from Katie clad in her own Iron Suit and Tony joined them, shooting his wife a proud look.
Finally there was a loud roaring, crashing noise and Katie and Steve spun to see Scott Lang as the Giant-Ant Man emerging from the rubble with Banner, Rhodey, Rocket and Clint.
The group of thousands behind Katie and Steve up their fighting stances, brandishing whatever weapons or powers they had, battle cries loud and Steve looked around, almost bursting into tears himself at the emotions flooding his chest. He glanced at his wife who looked back, wiping her eyes, her breathing still deep as she couldn’t quite believe how all these people had come to help. Steve didn’t either, but all he knew was they had. And now they were almost if not completely equal on numbers. And they had hope once more.
In fact, they had more than hope. They had a chance. And that was good enough for the Captain. He’d beaten worse odds before, and he was damned sure they could do it again, especially when he turned to look at Thanos and saw for the first time something that looked like fear, apprehension even on the Titan’s face.
He turned to face Katie again as she gave him a nod.
“Call it, Captain.” Her voice was full of determination as her face plate slid back into place.
So, call it he did.
“AVENGERS!” Steve’s cry echoed across the battle field as he held out his hand, summoning Mjolnir to his palm. Thor landed by his side just as the hammer slapped into Steve’s glove and he glared up at Thanos, his teeth grit with utter determination. “Assemble.”
Behind him, Thor gave a loud battle cry as did Black Panther and the Avengers’ army began to charge. Katie, Tony and Pepper flying in formation with Sam as they sped forward. Almost instantly, the two sides collided violently, and the fighting began. Bullets, beams, punches, kicks, knives, spears all flying and smashing against one another. The air was filled with yells, grunts and the clanging of metal against metal as the battle raged on.
****
Thor and Steve found themselves fighting off a large group of the dog like creatures and somehow Steve ended up holding Stormbreaker. Not for long, because that belonged to Thor. His Thanos killing axe. No way was the God of Thunder letting the Captain wield that.
“No no, give me that! Thor held out his hand, tossing Steve Mjolnir. "You can have the little one.”
Steve took it and shot off across the ground towards another group of Outriders. Above him, Katie, Tony and Pepper were circling back to back, their booster beams shooting at anything and everything, spiralling into groups below, helping anyone they could. Katie spotted that Clint was swamped a little so she flew down, freeing him before she shot into the air and found herself flying alongside Sam.
“Mrs R.” He turned to face her and she gave him a nod, smiling broadly although she knew he wouldn’t see her.
“Good to see you Sammy!”
“You know me, never one to miss a good fire fight!” He smirked, shooting his semi-autos at something that was flying into the air in front of him.
Tony shot down, barrelling into a group of Chitauri warriors, just like he had in New York. With a whoop he scattered them like bowling pins, landing and shooting off guns and beams, before something hit him hard on the side of the head and sent him soaring through the air. He landed, and pushed himself up on his elbows ready to fight but before he needed to, Lang’s giant Ant-Man crushed his assailant, striding away.
And then, the kid was there. Parker was running straight to Tony. In the suit Tony had made for him. The Billionaire blinked, retracting his helmet as Pete’s usual, incessant and enthusiastic rambles filled his ear.
“Hey! Holy cow! You will not believe what’s been going on. Do you remember when we were in space? And I got all dusty? I must’ve passed out ‘cause I woke up, and you were gone. But Doctor Strange was there, right? He was like, ‘It’s been five years. Come on, they need us.’ And then he started doing the yellow sparkly thing that he does all the time..” he started using two fingers to demonstrate Strange’s swirl in the air but Tony stopped him, the emotions of seeing the kid alive again were swirling in his chest, and with watery eyes he stepped forward and pulled the kid into a hug.
“What are you doing?” Peter asked, shocked at his mentor’s display of affection before he hugged Tony back. “This is nice.”
The fight raged on and on and on. But no one gave up, they knew they had no option but to win this, for the sake of everything and everyone on the planet, and none more than Steve, who was fighting with every goddamned bit of strength he had to get back to his kids and his wife.
Across the field he could just about make out Clint, who was sprinting like his life depended on it. Which, in fairness, it did. The gauntlet was clutched to his chest and he spoke into his coms, asking his leader for instructions.
“Cap, what do you want me to do with this damn thing?”
“Get those stones as far away as possible!” Steve instructed, punching another creature in the head.
“No!” Banner yelled back “We need to get them back where they came from.”
“No way to get them back.” Tony sighed. “Thanos destroyed the quantum tunnel”
“Hold on…” Lang spoke, and Steve saw the 100 foot or so man shrink out of the air. “That wasn’t our only time machine!”
The sound of Scott’s van horn, rang out across the battle ground and Steve immediately ran up a pile of rubble to higher ground, trying to spot the van, following the noise.
“Anyone see an ugly, brown van up there?” Steve asked, looking up.
Katie shot above him and he watched her as she circled over the fighting armies before she stopped, hovering and pointing down underneath her
“Yes!” She yelled victoriously, as Valkyrie flew alongside her on her winged horse, shooting her a look.
“You’re not going to like where it’s parked!” The Asgardian finished, pointing her spear to it.
Tony flew up into the air shooting another Chitauri warrior off his, well, whatever the hell you called those flying scooter things, before he glanced down at Lang.
“Scott, how long you need to get that thing working?”
“Maybe ten minutes”.
“Get it started.” Rogers instructed. “We’ll get the stones to you.”
And then as Tony watched, ready to cover Lang as he broke for it, a woman materialised next to him. Nothing should surprise Tony anymore, nothing, but it did. And he had absolutely no idea why.
“We’re on it, Cap.” She spoke softly, before the pair of them shrunk again and FRIDAY kept a lock on them as they flew away, no bigger than ants.
Okay, so maybe Lang didn’t need covering after all. Tony watched them via FRIDAY’s scanners as they flew towards the van, and he saw Katie and Pepper fighting in tandem, the pair of them bringing down a huge Chituari beast that looked like a gorilla. He grinned at the sight of his wife and sister kicking ass, and then spotted Strange in the corner of his eye, trapping a load of Chitauri in his magic, sending them through portals to fuck knows where, not that Tony gave a shit.
Recalling the conversation he had held on Titan with the Wizard, he suddenly felt a desperation to know, so he landed, turning to look at him.
“Hey. You said one out of fourteen million, we win, yeah?” He asked, glancing around. “Tell me this is it.”
“If I tell you what happens, it won’t happen” Strange replied, and Tony groaned. Jesus this man was infuriating.
“You better be right.” Tony shot back, pointing an iron clad finger at him.
As Scott was hot-wiring his van, because of course it was dead, the fight continued and the gauntlet was in some kind of relay across the battle field towards them. T’Challa took it off Clint and as Thanos advanced on the Black Panther, Wanda landed in front of him, her eyes blazing. She then began to fight Thanos furiously, and she seemed to be getting the upper hand as bits of his armour began to peel off him as rose in the air, surrounded by her red power as she attempted to tear him apart.
In desperation, Thanos gave the instruction for his ships to fire down on the battle field, not caring whether he put his own army in danger as collateral. As the missiles began to hit the ground, everyone tried to dodge as best they could. Strange and the rest of his troops held up their arms conjuring magic shields to attempt to keep their allies as sheltered as possible.
Steve was too engrossed in the fight around him to pay too much attention to where everyone else was, but he heard his wife loud and clear, his ears tuned into her as they always where.
“Where are the stones?” Katie she asked frantically, and Steve had to admit, he’d kinda like to know as well. It was then that he heard Peter Parker yelling, and realised he had the gauntlet.
“I got this…” there was a scuffle "Ok, I don’t got this. Help! Somebody! Help!”
“Hey Queens,” Steve said, winding his arm back, “heads up!” He took a couple steps forward flung Mjolnir towards him. Peter shot his web at it, where it latched on and he was catapulted him through the air where Katie caught him.
“Hang on, I got you, kid!” She assured him as they flew through the air and she tossed him to Valkyrie as she flew past, Parker’s yells ringing in her years. But, as Katie watched, the Asgardian’s horse was hit by the fire from Thanos’ ship and Peter was blasted to the floor.
“Tony, have you any idea how we can shut that thing down?” Katie asked desperately, looking at the ship. “We need that damned thing out of order to stand any chance!”
“I’m working-“ Tony began, but he trailed off as the cannons stopped, lifting upwards before they began to fire into the sky.
“What the hell is this?” Sam asked, as he flew alongside Katie, as the two of them fired at a couple more Chitauri in front of them.
“FRIDAY, what are they firing at?” Tony asked, his voice slightly worried.
“Something just entered the upper atmosphere,” FRIDAY replied.
Then a huge, bright ball of pulsating energy came surging down straight through the ship, where it then turned, and shot straight back up through it again, destroying the engines.
It was Danvers.
Katie’s mouth dropped open as the woman hovered above the now fast descending ship as it crash-landed in the river.
“Now that’s how to make an entrance,” Katie glanced at her brother where he was hovering not far away from her. He turned to look at her, and even though she couldn’t see his face she knew he was rolling his eyes.
“I used to make a perfectly good entrance, thank you Kiddo.”
"Danvers,” Steve glanced up, hardly able to keep the smile of his face, even though he knew this was far from over. But Thanos was worried now, he could see from the Titan’s body language, and that was enough of a boost for the Super Soldier to sweep straight back into Captain mode as for the first time since the battle began, he felt that they could actually win. “We could use an assist here…”
“What on?” Carol asked, flying towards Katie.
“We need to get the stones to the brown van…” Katie circled, and then she spotted Peter who was crouched in a crater, the gauntlet tight within his arms. She landed, her helmet sliding away and Carol gently dropped besides her and looked down at Peter.
“Hi. I’m Peter Parker,” he said, looking up at Carol, his breathing deep and his nose blooded.
Carol smirked, almost flirtatiously. “Hey Peter Parker. Got something for me?”
Peter pushed himself up and handed her the gauntlet, before he looked at the Army who was crawling towards them. “I don’t know how you’re gonna get it through all that.”
Wanda then landed next to Katie and glanced around, her red power surrounding her. “Don’t worry.” The Sokovian woman said as Valkyrie landed on her winged horse
“She’s got help” Okoye stepped up alongside them all as she looked around.
“Where’s Nat?” Wanda asked as Pepper landed next to Okoye. Katie hung her head slightly as she looked at her, as more and more of the women from the battle joined them- Mantis, then Shuri Hope, Gamora and Nebula.
“She didn’t make it back from the mission to get the stones.” Katie said gently, swallowing as she shook her head.
Beside her, Okoye spun her spear in her hands, her face stoney as she eyed up the army which was advancing on them. “Then this…this is for her…” The Wakandan woman turned to Katie who nodded.
They began to stride forward and Thanos’ army charged a swarm of aliens, Chitauri and animals alike. Okoye took out the larger fighter that Katie recognised from the train station in Edinburgh as Wanda, her, Pepper and Valkyrie destroyed two leviathans. Carol Danvers shot straight towards the van with the Gauntlet, at a rate of knots, going through every blockade that was in her way with ease.
However, Thanos was hot on her tail.
“She needs cover!” Katie yelled as she flew down, followed by Pepper as Shuri and Hope also stood tall, the four of them unloading their various weapons and succeeding in blasting Thanos backwards. Danvers sped past him, but through the heat and flash of various beams and weapons, no one spotted him launching the remaining half of his sword towards the van until it was too late.
Steve felt the explosion and looked up at the huge flash of light, seeing Danvers being catapulted back through the air, her grip on the gauntlet lost and it fell to the ground. Then, it was almost like time slowed down as Thanos paused, looking at the Gauntlet, at the same time as Tony sat up and did the same. As Steve sprinted towards the pair of them Tony went to tackle him from behind only to be batted away to the side somewhere. Steve continued to sprint, he was almost there, almost, and then Thor landed swinging his lightning covered axe at the Titan before his hammer flew into his hand and he used both weapons to hold Thanos at bay.
Steve threw himself on Thanos’ back grabbing at the axe, pulling with all his might in an attempt to slice it straight through his neck. But it was to no avail. With a mighty head-butt Thanos sent Thor sprawling backwards and he reached up and pulled Steve off him, flinging him through the air like a rag doll. He landed hard, his head colliding with something, and he was out cold.
“Steve!” Katie saw him sprawled on the floor, and was about to go after him, but she saw Thanos reaching for the gauntlet. Surging her suit forwards she shot at him, desperation flooding her system, and she kept her beam going as she flew down. Her fingers grazed the gauntlet before a harsh kick to her head sent her flipping back and through the air with no control over her flight plan. She landed heavily, groaning as she felt blood trickle down her temple, zoning in and out, the sounds of the battle muting slightly as she lay on her back, her helmet flying open as she took deep gulps of air, blinking as the stars swam in front of her eyes.
****
Tony, meanwhile, had come to. He sat up, and saw that Thanos and Danvers were locked in combat, Danvers’ hands were both wrapped round Thanos’ left and Tony could see that he now had the gauntlet. He grimaced as Thanos went to head but the woman, but nothing. It simply bounced off the energy surrounding her, a shocked and almost frightened expression crossing Thanos’ face.
At that, Tony felt a glimmer of hope, maybe she was their secret weapon. The one in fourteen million, six-hundred and five that meant they were gonna win. As he watched she surged upwards, forcing Thanos to his knees but the Titan pulled the Power Stone out of the gauntlet and clutching it in his right hand he hit Danvers hard and she flew through the air, landing harshly.
With pure desperation, Tony turned to look at Strange who was watching him. The magician simply raised one finger, which was trembling slightly. Trembling, Tony assumed, because the one win he foresaw was now at risk. But as he looked at the man, Strange’s eyes filled with sadness and Tony realised that it wasn’t Carol he saw winning the battle after all.
It was him.
Tony now understood completely. And he knew what he had to do.
*****
With a heavy moan, Katie sat up, just in time to see Tony grappling with Thanos. With an angry cry she fired her suit up again and shot forwards, but as she did, Thanos cast aside her brother easily. She bore down on him, shooting her beams, using her boosters, a loud yell escaping her mouth as once more she powered everything she had into her firepower. FRIDAY yelled a warning as one of the Chitauri Leviathons came straight for her and she just managed to dodge it by flying sharply to the right, but was caught heavily by one of its fins and for the second time in as many minutes she was spiralling though the air with no control. The heads up display in her helmet flickered slightly and there was ringing in her ears mingled with FRIDAY’s desperate calls. The ground was rising fast to meet her but just in time she managed fire up her thrusters and right herself in the air. Spinning round she saw Tony knelt up, his helmet retracted as he stared at the Titan, who was leering down over him with a twisted grin on his face.
“I am inevitable.” It was the second time Katie had heard him say that, only this time, he rose his hand which bore the gauntlet.
Katie’s desperate scream echoed around her helmet, and before she could so much as move, the Titan snapped. But instead of the beams of light and the shaking of the ground that had happened when Bruce did it, there was nothing.
Katie’s face plate slid back, because the thought the displays were damaged, but her eyes widened as Thanos glanced down at his gauntlet. She realised at the same time he did that the stones were missing. And then, as if in slow motion, the pieces started to slot into place, both figuratively and mentally.
Tony knelt tall, the stones twirling round his hand. Lights circled his forearm and bicep and he let out a loud yell, the utter pain and power consuming him. It burned into every cell on his body and it took everything he had inside him to keep himself upright. This was it the end that he always knew he was going to meet. And strangely, he wasn’t scared. Not for him anyway, this was his destiny, the only way it would ever end.
“We’re in the Endgame now.”
Morgan’s face flashed across Tony’s mind, then Pepper’s, then his sister’s as his head fell back, the power surging up his arm and shoulder. Pulling his head up with an almighty wrench, his eyes locked on those belonging to Thanos and he could feel the stones vibrating on his gauntlet, humming, almost like they knew what was coming.
Maybe they did, because, from the look on Thanos’ face, he sure did.
Well, eat shit, you fucker!
Tony took a deep breath, before he spoke with the most conviction he could ever remember having, raising his fingers.
“And I…am…Iron Man.”
For a split second, Tony’s eyes flickered to his sister, who was watching the entire event unfold, paralysed in mid-air behind Thanos, her helmet retracted and mouth open in a silent scream. He gave her a soft smile as he concentrated hard on what he wanted to happen.
And then, he snapped his fingers.
The power surge made Tony collapse forward, his skin was burning and his throat felt like it was being closed off, and there was nothing but silence in his ears. He pushed himself to his feet, hand clutched to the arc reactor in his chest as he tried to speak into his coms, but the words wouldn’t come. Staggering a few feet, he stumbled to a large upturned piece of concrete laced with rebar before he fell down against it, hard.
****
Steve, who had just got to his feet was aware of a bright flash of light and the vibrating of the ground underneath him and knew instantly that someone had snapped. He spun round in desperate hope it wasn’t Thanos, and then, as he saw one of the dog-like bearing down on him he braced himself, aiming a hard punch to its head. But he connected with nothing. He paused, his eyes widening, mouth falling open in shock as he watched Thanos’ army turn to dust all around the field and he realised that they’d won. It wasn’t Thanos who had snapped, it was one of them. With a relieved sigh, he wheeled around expecting to see Thor or Banner with the gauntlet, his mouth suddenly going dry as he realised the effect it had on Banner the last time but they were nowhere to be found.
And that was when he spotted his wife, deactivating her suit as she ran, scrambling over piles of concrete and stones to get to someone.
****
Tony’s breathing was laboured and his eyes were fully wide when Katie finally reached him, grabbing his gauntlet clad hand.
“Tony, come on, look at me!”
Her brother was dying, she realised that. But they’d won. And, as she looked at him, she knew he understood that too. Morgan, Pepper, Kiddo, Jamie, Emmy, Steve, their family were all safe. The world was safe. Tony tried to speak, and she knew he was trying to tell her it was okay, that he accepted what was happening, but his voice was merely a whisper.
“I…”
“Shhh, save your strength.” Katie gently placed her hand on the side of his head, down the cheek which wasn’t badly burnt and she was aware that someone had landed next to her. Rhodey dropped to his knee gently, his hand falling to Tony’s shoulder as he looked at his friend.
“Mr Stark?” Peter Parker landed between her and Rhodey. Katie turned her attention back to her brother as his head collapsed against the concrete, her vision blurring with tears as the kid continued to speak. “Hey Mr Stark, can you hear me? It’s Peter.” Tony’s face turned to the young man, a flash of recognition on his face as he tried to smile. “We won, Mr Stark” Peter took a shuddering breath. “We won, you did it Sir, we did it. I’m sorry, don’t….”
He began to cry as Tony’s head lolled to the side and then Katie was aware of someone else behind them, gently pulling Peter up and away. Pepper crouched next to her right, gently squeezing Katie’s arm before she touched Tony on his shoulder, placing her other hand over the arc reactor on his chest.
“Hey,” She smiled said softly.
“Pep…” Tony managed to whisper as his hand fell on top of hers and Katie placed her own over his.
“FRIDAY?” Pepper spoke with a thick swallow, even though Katie knew there was no need to ask the AI. The stones had almost killed Thanos and Banner. Tony stood no chance. There was no way back.
“Life functions are critical,” the AI spoke and Katie bowed her head, her tears falling to the ground.
“Tony,” Pepper said softly, and Katie looked back at her brother, who was smiling up at his wife. Pepper gently smiled back, as he turned his head to his sister and she tried her hardest to keep it together.
“The stars,” he mumbled out, and Katie nodded choking back a sob as she gripped his hand tighter, finishing the saying for him.
“And back.” He voice was choked with tears and she reached up, wiping her face furiously.
Tony gave her a soft smile, as he turned back to Pepper who gently ran her hand up his arm. “We’re gonna be okay” she said, her voice soft as she glanced at Katie
“We all are.” Katie assured him, sniffing slightly.
His head lolled back once more and Pepper spoke gently, this time her voice cracked. “You can rest now.”
Her hand brushed his hair back from his temple as he lay so still. For a second, Tony’s eyes glanced over Katie’s and she followed his eye-line to see Steve stood, stock still his face crumpled in sorrow. For a moment the two men locked eyes, Tony once more giving the faintest of smiles before his body slumped back against the surface behind him. Pepper bowed her head as Katie glanced down at her hand, still over the top of Tony’s as the light went out in his chest.
He was gone.
Katie let out a soft sob as she removed her hand gently taking Tony’s with her. Kneeling up, she pressed her forehead against his, scrunching her face up against the physical pain that was brewing in her chest. Pepper leaned up to kiss his face as a silence fell around them, not one single sound coming from the battle field. Pepper dropped her head to Tony’s shoulder and then she too began to cry. Katie placed a soft kiss to her brother’s cheek, his skin still warm and then bowed her head, listening to Pepper’s sobs through the silence of her own.
Steve limped forward, dropping heavily to his knees besides his wife. “Katie…” He spoke softly as she turned to face him, his eyes were red and the dirt on the parts of his face visible under his helmet were interlined with the tracks his own tears had made. The two looked at each other for a second, before Katie’s face crumpled and Steve wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face into his chest, her small body shaking with silent sobs, hands fisting around the Kevlar of his uniform. Steve lay his cheek against her head, his own tears pouring down his face as he held her to him. His eyes scanned the immediate vicinity of the battle field and he saw Clint in the near distance, dropping to his knee, his head bowed, hand resting on his fist. In front of him T’challa did the same, then Carol, and then Bucky. Everyone around took the knee out of respect to their fallen warrior.
It was Thor that broke the silence, but not by speaking. There was a huge rumble of thunder and Katie jumped, pulling back from Steve slightly, looking upwards as lighting flashed in the sky. The clouds that had descended with Thanos’ ship began to part slowly, a chink of the red sunset falling onto where Tony was sat, shards of light bouncing off his Iron Man suit.
Katie turned away from Steve and gently reached out with a shaking hand to close Tony’s eyes
“There, he could be sleeping.” She sniffed softly, her hand falling to Pepper’s shoulder. Pepper reached up and gripped it, almost painfully as she turned to her sister-in-law, her face streaming with tears. There was a moment’s pause before Katie wrapped her arms around her, gently stroking her hair.
“We should, we should move him.” Rhodey’s voice cracked. Taking a deep breath, Steve pulled himself to his feet with a groan and he looked around.
“Has any of the compound survived?” He asked softly, wiping his face as Sam approached him.
“The Hangar area and the labs are totally gone, Cap.” Sam shook his ehad gently and Steve looked at him properly for the first time in five years “But some of the living quarters and part of the training facility seems to be okay.”
“Can we check it’s safe to house people?” Steve did what he did best, compartmentalised his feelings, parking for the time being as he shifted back into Captain mode. “We need to set up somewhere to treat the wounded.”
Sam nodded.
“I’ll come with you.” Rhodey offered before he looked at Steve. “I’ll get onto the Emergency Services and Ross too.” With that, Rhodey took off straight away whereas Sam remained where he was, his eyes fixed on Steve who gave him a weary smile.
“It’s good to see you, Sam.”
“Well like I said, when Captain America needs your help.”
There was a pause, before the two men hugged, clapping one another on the back. Stepping back, with a nod, Sam launched back into the air.
“I leave you for what, five minutes and you start another war?”
Steve spun round to see Bucky, watching him, a slight smile on his face. For a moment, Steve stood still, just observing his friend before he rushed forward into a manly embrace, choking up once more.
“Jerk.” Steve gave a watery laugh as he stepped back, shaking his head.
“Punk.” Bucky retorted gently, before he looked down at Katie who was still knelt by her brother, her arm round Pepper. He gave a sigh and dropped his head.
“Sorry.” Bucky offered to Steve, not sure what else he could say.
Steve nodded, wiping his face as he glanced around, the Captain and the Sergeant both surveying the survivors. Banner was stood with Clint and TChalla, the three of them talking with their heads bowed. Clint reached out and patted Banner on the arm as the green man began walking towards where Steve was stood.
“Some of the living quarters are secure.” Rhodey spoke in Steve’s ear and he nodded.
“Okay, let’s set up some form of command centre, a triage maybe if we need it.” He took a deep breath and turned back to Katie as he dropped to his knee again, a little gentler than last time and he touched her shoulder.
“Honey,” he spoke softly, wiping away the blood from her temple, “we can move Tony now, take him inside. That is if you’re ready.”
She turned to him, taking a deep breath she nodded. “Pep?”
Pepper gave a sniff and nodded as well.
“I’ll take him.” Banner spoke solemnly as he stepped forward. Katie watched as he picked up Tony’s limp body as easily as if it was a rag doll and set off walking through the rubble.
“I don’t want him to be alone.” Pepper spoke, looking at Katie, before she stood up and walked after Bruce.
Katie took a deep breath. She didn’t want to leave her brother either but she knew there was nothing more to be done for him, he was gone, and there were other people that needed their help. She turned to face Steve who was still knelt next to her. He reached out to gently cup her cheek with his hand, and it was then she noticed the bone-deep almost foot long gash down his forearm.
“Your arm.” She took his wrist in her hand and gently flipping it so she could look at it.
“I’ll be fine.” He brushed off her concern.
Knowing better than to try and argue with him, she looked around and asked with a shaky voice. “Did anyone else…”
“No.” Steve shook his head, instantly understanding. “There’s a few injuries but, everyone’s fine.”
“Except Tony.” Katie’s breath caught in her thoat as the tears once more flooded from her eyes.
“I’m so sorry sweetheart.” Steve’s voice cracked as he wrapped his arms round her and cradled her close, the pair of them lost in their grief for their fallen brother.
*****
The night began to draw in.
Thanks to Rhodey, the Emergency services had swamped the area to begin a full clean up and treatment of the walking wounded. And there were so many people to greet, so many to thank, so fucking many. Once it was clear they were no longer needed, Strange transported everyone who needed to go back away, shaking Steve’s hand and informing Katie how sorry he was that there had been no other way to defeat Thanos.
But she wasn’t listening, Steve could see she’d gone into auto-pilot. And when she eventually told Steve she needed a break, he gave her cheek a soft kiss and watched her as she walked slowly into the compound, knowing full well that her breakdown would come later.
He continued to liaise with the military, speaking to Colonels, Captains, Commanders alike, but eventually he found himself alone, walking over the destroyed grounds, with absolutely no clue how he’d gotten there or how long he’d been there. All he knew was that it was dark, and quiet.
With a sigh and a glance down at his bandaged arm, Steve’s attention was caught by something shining in the beams of the searchlights that had been erected around the compound. As he looked harder, he noticed that it was a piece of his shield. Bending down, his fingers swept the dust and debris off the large piece of red, white and blue Vibranium. Picking it up, he swallowed slightly, remembering the horror and surprise he had felt as Thanos had hacked through it, as if it had been made of nothing but aluminium.
“So you met Danvers?” A familiar voice cut through his thoughts, shattering his peace.
Steve looked over his shoulder to see Fury stood behind him. He stood up and gave the man an exasperated look. “You were holding out on us.”
“In a fashion” Fury shrugged. “Code red only.”
Steve gave a snort, not in the least bit surprised.
“He’s a spy. Captain, he’s THE spy.” Tony said, gesticulating with his arms to make a point “His secrets have secrets.”
Steve looked down at the fractured piece of his shield which was held in his hand, before he glanced out over the now destroyed compound where the battle had been raging mere hours before and he shook his head.
“You know, all this, bringing everyone back,” he sighed heavily, “the victory kinda feels pyrrhic with losing Nat and Tony.”
“They both made their choices.” Fury sighed, softly. Both gave their lives for a cause they believed in.”
“Tony didn’t even want to do this, you know.” Steve shook his head. “He said no at first but I talked him into it.”
“Since when did a Stark every do anything they didn’t wanna?” Fury turned to face Steve straight on. “He made a choice. As did Agent Romanoff. And you need to allow them the both the dignity of their choices by not blaming yourself. They clearly thought it was worth it.”
With those words the Captain was catapulted way back in time to a conversation in a blown out London bar.
“You did everything you could. Did you believe in your friend? Did you respect him?” Peggy asked and Steve looked at her, incredulously. Of course he did. She nodded and continued “Then stop blaming yourself. Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice. He damn well must have thought you were worth it.”
“What?” Fury asked as Steve shook his head, a sad smile on his face.
“Nothing. You just reminded me of someone.”
“I won’t ask.” Fury shrugged before he changed the subject. “I hear you and Nova have been busy these past five years. Couple of kids, huh?”
Steve smiled as he looked at Fury, the thought of his children temporarily stemming the hollow feeling in his chest at the loss of his brother-in-law and friend. “Yeah.”
“Then you should go home. Be with them.”
“Is that an order?” Steve arched an eyebrow looking at him.
“You don’t work for you me anymore, you haven’t done for a long time, in fact I’m not sure you ever really did,” Fury smirked a little, “and I don’t think you never will again.”
He gave Steve a significant look, one which Steve instantly understood. This was Fury’s way of relieving him from his leadership of the Avengers. It was symbolic more than anything because Steve didn’t need releasing from service at all. But this was closure. It was Fury’s promise to Steve that he would never be called upon to fight again if that was what he chose.
And he did choose. He was ready to quit. His fight was done. He had other priorities now, and everything they’d been through over the past few months had shown him that. Tony and Nat had both sacrificed their lives, so that he would keep his, and he wasn’t going to dishonour their memory by putting his family at risk ever again.
Steve looked down at his feet, before he glanced up at Fury, and held his hand out. “It’s been an honour,” he said, as Fury shook his hand, “but you’re right. It’s time for me to hang up my shield, for good this time.” He looked down at the broken metal in his hand, “well, what’s left of it.”
“Or you could pass it down.” Fury suggested as Steve looked back at him, snorting.
“I think Jamie is a bit too young, and Katie would murder me if I even-”
“I don’t mean to your son.” Fury cut Steve off, shaking his ehad. “But Captain America has been a symbol of hope for years. And that’s something the world is always gonna need Cap, regardless of who it is. So think about it, maybe there’s someone else worthy of that title and shield, broken or not.”
Steve watched, pondering his words, as Fury gave him a final nod, and turned back towards the destroyed buildings
****
Chapter 58
#stark spangled banner#steve rogers#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers fic#Katie Stark#steve rogers x ofc#steve rogers x original female character#mcu#mcu fanfic#chris evans#chris evans characters
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By now, the spectacle that is South Africa’s insurrection has been dominating the attentions of just about every political junkie on twitter, drawing the best minds from every corner of the world to bear witness to the fall of the rainbow nation into a predictable quagmire of irresolvable chaos. At home, the pessimism comes in many flavours, and the denialism in many, many more.
The brute facts are now well-known. After dodging prosecution for extreme corruption for over a decade, the former president Jacob Zuma was finally arrested for the relatively minor charge of contempt of court, for not appearing when summoned. While he held out for several days as his supporters (who comprise about half the ruling party including several senior cabinet ministers) picketed outside his palatial compound (bought with the UK foreign aid budget of 2017) and blocked police from entering, he eventually handed himself in. So concluded a long factional battle between Ramaphosa and Zuma that claimed hundreds of lives in burned freight trucks, assassinated councillors, and billions of Rands in legal fees, patronage and PR. Or so it appeared.
On the 8th of July, the president disbanded the Umkhonto weSizwe Veterans Association, essentially the continuation of the old military wing of the ANC, and fiercely loyal to Jacob Zuma. The next day, together with assistance from elements within state intel and security, they deployed to major transport routes, food depots, retail outlets, police stations, power stations, water treatment plants, and ports, to shut down and burn what they could, crippling the Johannesburg-Durban trade artery that carries 65% of our trade volume and half our economic capacity.
After encouraging looting targeting white-owned businesses or “white monopoly capital”, the MK vets could watch as riots burst out to take advantage of the chaos and everything was stripped to the bone by opportunistic looters. In the shadows, organised and disorganised elements blurred together, as even the wealthiest elements of black society got in on the fun of looting, packing luxury sportscars with groceries and appliances before watching the flames tear down the shops and factories.
The police and the military did nothing, and the president was silent, paralysed. Soon the violence spread to the suburbs, and residents cobbled together militia to guard their homes. Proof of address was required to buy groceries. This received wails of agony from the press class and black social media. Slogans calling for the slaughter of Indians (who form a large minority in Durban) and whites became common, and soon the newspapers were joining in on the scapegoating, accusing the citizens’ militia of racism.
…
Everyone here saw this coming, but for decades now, it has been an unacceptable thing to do, to remark upon the inevitable future we find ourselves in. Why it came to all this, and why it matters to Americans and Europeans, is the point of this essay. It will be uneasy to stomach, but it must be swallowed. We live on the brink of barbarism, and the West is following us every step of the way.
A nation may have a lot of ruin in it, but a poor nation has less ruin in it than a wealthy one. When a state collapses or undergoes revolution in the distant reaches of Africa or Asia, there is a certain social distance which prevents Westerners directly apprehending the significance of the social dynamics, the closeness of the dangers, the universality of the lessons, the pain and the tragedy of the loss.
But South Africa is different. South Africa is at once Western and alien to Westerners. Our constitution is Western. Our revolutionaries and our reactionaries and our racial cosmology is Western. Our highest aspiration is that of the West at large – a universal state which recognises no difference of class, race, or creed. And that is why when we observe South Africa, we stare into the abyss of Western civilisation and its global future. Each Westerner sees himself reflected in that void, from the national-socialist, to the anarcho-communist, to the black-nationalist and the bleeding-heart liberal.
And they are right to.
…
Watching any graph of any indicator in South Africa sees every resource drying up, every indicator of health taking a nosedive, and the population booming beyond control, kept in check only by the enormous and perennial pandemic of AIDS and tuberculosis that take many times the number of victims supposedly taken by the SARS-CoV2 virus, every year. We are the rape capital of the world, have seen over half a million homicides since 1994, and the state has not replaced any of the infrastructure built by the Afrikaner nationalist government. The graphs just spell doom in their trend lines, and have for years now, as the Centre for Risk Analysis’s I-told-you-so’s often repeat.
When they came to power, the ruling party was a coalition of communists, black nationalists, organised criminals and common thugs. However, their patrons in the Soviet Union were disbanded, and the Western state apparatus was still composed of law-abiding institutions and competent civil servants. So they purged the minorities, and placed party members at all key posts throughout, to ensure ideological and partisan loyalty – this was called cadre deployment. This crippled the institutions. When the last of the old guard experts were ushered into the wilderness in 1998, they made several systematic departmental reports, which declared the need for replacing infrastructure immediately, to cope with the increased dependent population. This was ignored, largely because the experts were white.
…
While many see the doom as setting in after 1994, it in fact began much sooner. The means by which the ANC gained power was not through civil disobedience, but through a long and sustained campaign of totalitarian violence called the Peoples War, which raged from 1979 until 1993. Black wage increases increased faster than white until this period (51.3% vs 3.8% since 1970), economic growth was over 5%, inequality was falling and blacks enjoyed the highest standard of living of any black population on the continent.
The addiction to cheap black labour meant that industry was irritated with state policies, and in the end, it was the local plutocrats like Harry Oppenheimer and the old secret societies like the Afrikaner Broederbond who opened secret negotiation to end apartheid. And while SA may have had a robust economy once, nothing survived the People’s War. It aimed to “make the country ungovernable”, and largely succeeded. Controlling migration from the black homelands became impossible, and maintaining law and order as the bodies piled up became harder and harder.
…
But the liberal establishment could not bring themselves to believe there were systemic reasons for this state of affairs beyond “corruption” or “inequality”, and the struggle to blame the status quo on the previous regime became ever harder. So they blamed Zuma. The lost decade, they called it. So when Cyril Ramaphosa, a man largely blamed for the Marikana massacre, finally took the party leadership in 2017, after a long, expensive battle of assassination, bribery and skulduggery, he billed himself as a liberal reformer and anti-corruption campaigner, and the international community fell for it hook line and sinker, and local liberals worshipped him like the coming of a new Mandela. He promised the 4th Industrial Revolution. He promised the reigning in of BEE. The Economist endorsed him over the liberal DA.
But he was lying.
…
There are only three sources for non-socialist print media coverage of politics in South Africa. Politicsweb, where all the old senior analysts go when they become persona non grata, the Institute of Race Relations (a venerable old classic-liberal institute with a daily paper, the Daily Friend, and a consulting business, Centre for Risk Analysis), and Maroela Media, an Afrikaans-language publication run by Afriforum, the civil rights activist organisation which sprung from the Afrikaner-national Solidariteit movement.
Aside from this, every other publication leans further to the left than a man with his left leg blown off, and due to a hangover of apartheid-era Cold War politics, “left and right”, terms only applicable among the educated classes, roughly align with a black-vs-white friend-enemy distinction. The Mail & Guardian, for instance (indirectly owned by the Open Society Foundation), has refused to cover any rural homicide committed against a white victim in nearly a decade, despite a global magnifying glass being placed on the barbaric torture and murder spree that has slowly been smouldering across our rural hinterlands. When a white person commits a crime, it is milked dry every day until the journalists get carpal tunnel. But against the ocean of violent depravity committed by the racial majority, which has taken half a million lives since the fall of apartheid, we receive virtual silence. Swaziland, seeing the same kind of violent uprising as KwaZulu Natal is, is treated as a democratic revolution against a tyrannical absolute monarch, despite the opposition being mainly violent communists receiving support from South African parties like the EFF.
…
I was a communist when I was at university. I was delivered a faithful belief in progressivism, nonracialism, revolution and universal democracy, through the national curriculum in South Africa. I was introduced to Marx and Mill as an A Level student in the UK, and when I returned to my native country, I was exposed once more to the poverty and desperation and racial tensions. I assumed all the positions one would expect. More democracy, more repudiation of Christianity and white people, more redistribution, more socialism. But the political waters were calm in those days, and this was mere posturing. Then in 2015 my friends began a campaign to topple the statue of Cecil Rhodes overlooking Cape Town from the university his will founded.
#RhodesMustFall mushroomed rapidly, and became the romantic darling of not only us horny little revolutionaries, but leftists worldwide, who exported the new iconoclasm to Oxford and South Carolina. It is now remembered as #FeesMustFall, a campaign to make tertiary education free (for blacks). But I watched it grow from the inside, and partook in the occupation of admin buildings, touring other college protests in the Cape out of solidarity. But it became clear that it was first and foremost about racial hatred and the purging of Western influence, under their holy trinity of Steve Biko, Franz Fanon and Kimberlé Crenshaw – segregation, national-socialism and a metaphysical racial hierarchy, in new nation called Azania, synonymous with the basketcase fictional nation of Evelyn Waugh’s novel Black Mischief.
This movement, while it began as nonracialist, soon became openly genocidal. Student leaders who called for genocide went unpunished, even praised by the VC of the University of Cape Town. This movement spread to every single university in the country, and despite prominent student leaders praising Adolf Hitler and calling for whites to be swept into the sea, singing genocidal songs at every protest, white students still offered themselves as human shields before police. Dining halls were segregated, classes were violently shut down, nonparticipants in some universities were beaten in their dormitories, staff were chased with buckwhips, buses were burned, paintings were burned, even security guards were burned, and more recently, so was the continent’s largest library. But no big newspaper offered moral criticism, just worries about whether the tactics were effective.
These young people defined a new era, and a new consensus – all struggles are one, and all are about black vs white, and whites must hand over everything and beg for their lives. The only lecturer in the entire country who stood up in public against this cultural revolution was the antinatalist philosopher David Benatar. All others kept their heads down, dithered, or joined the fray, calling for the heads of their less enthusiastic colleagues. Now the Fallists’ ideology is the official pedagogy of the entire university system. But this agitation had been the nature of political life at the poorer “bush colleges” for years now, just without the presence of minority students to trigger resentment or the ideas to build ideology: shut down every exam season to extract more lenient standards and increases in student grants.
And much like the explosion of violence seen at the national level today, South Africa’s poorer areas have been an unremitting hell for all those living in it below a certain class divide. 15% of all women are prostitutes, and the homicide rate is among the highest in the world, and some areas experience permanent civil war level violence. The old apartheid era town planning meant that black areas and minority areas were clearly separated, and this has meant a geographical buffer, where violent protest, which is again among the highest in the world, has largely left the middle classes out of it, even while it occasionally diverts traffic. Protests flare up constantly, as rival factions of the ANC, hamstrung by a corrupt internal promotions process and forbidden from dragging out dirty laundry in public, instead mobilise violent protests to contest wards and civil service posts, often burning down public infrastructure while the mob on the ground chants for “service delivery”.
…
Whatever else Nick Land writes, the lasting impact he had on me was in the very first essay at the opening of Fanged Noumena. He wrote it in 1989, when nobody beneath the highest reaches and darkest recesses of the Atlantic power structure had any awareness that South Africa was about to change forever.
Apartheid still seemed undefeatable to outsiders. The NP had recently smashed the heart of the ANC’s military campaign, creating a bloody hurting stalemate that observers at the time had no expectation would result in any pleasant outcome. Tens of thousands had already been massacred in the Peoples War to give the ANC a monopoly over the black liberation movements, but they seemed to be running out of steam. And so did Pretoria – influx from the Bantustans was unstaunchable, dependence on black labour was firm, and confidence in local cultural hegemony collapsed in 1976.
Nick Land, watching this, noticed something peculiar.
For the purposes of understanding the complex network of race, gender, and class oppressions that constitute our global modernity it is very rewarding to attend to the evolution of the apartheid policies of the South African regime, since apartheid is directed towards the construction of a microcosm of the neo-colonial order; a recapitulation of the world in miniature. The most basic aspiration of the Boer state is the dissociation of politics from economic relations, so that by means of 'Bantustans' or 'homelands' the black African population can be suspended in a condition of simultaneous political distance and economic proximity vis-a-vis the white metropolis. […] My contention in this paper is that the Third World as a whole is the product of a successful - although piecemeal and largely unconscious - 'Bantustan' policy on the part of the global Kapital metropolis.
…
When the British seized the Boer republics in 1900, they drew up the limits of control of the native African tribes where they already lived, and displaced a few thousand of them to tidy up the borders. These eventually became the Bantustans. Immediately, a long slow trickle of immigration was encouraged, not just from the Bantustans, but from British possessions in Asia. The migrant labour created a dense network of diffident ethnicities who demanded fences between them and their neighbours, while attempting to pursue economic exchange.
Black men, who could achieve far greater material wealth from working in the white economy than raising cattle and sorghum in the homelands, flowed steadily into white farmland areas and mining towns. In 1922, the South African Communist Party launched a general strike to demand the enforcement of a colour bar – “CPSA for a white South Africa!”. They were put down in a hail of gunfire by Jan Smuts, the architect of the unitary constitution, which allowed no devolved powers for regional self-governance.
Smuts was a member of Cecil Rhodes’s Round Table club, and shared Rhodes’s ambition to create a grand state where all literate English-speaking men and women south of the Zambezi would have the vote regardless of colour, and all the resources would belong to one grand cartel controlled by a British-American elite of enlightened natural aristocrats. Rhodes used money from his diamond empire and loans from Nathan Rothschild to fund the Jameson Raid and other means to instigate war with the Boer republics, which eventually resulted in the second Boer War and the creation of the Union of South Africa.
…
Smuts, architect of the Union of South Africa, also had a grand philosophy not unlike Nick Land’s – Land treats all matter and life as being ontologically the same, driven by “machinic desires” – all tendencies to motion and behaviour, whether in living or non-living material being fundamentally the same. All matter seeks more complex and integrated forms over time as a result of the force of entropy. Smuts’s grand philosophy, of which he wrote at length in Holism and Evolution, envisaged a means of looking at the world in which all of nature and society could be apprehended and governed as a single holistic system – all organisms, all cultures, all individuals, were destined to evolve into a greater whole, in which each part had its natural place, and that the common teleology of all matter and spirit was the global state, embodied in the League of Nations, the constitution of which he penned himself. Together with his extensive biological knowledge, Smuts and his London interlocutor Arthur Tansley gave birth to the modern systems theory of ecology, and hoped to see a central global technocracy overseeing a holistic ecological management system.
The aims of the United States since the Second World War have some remarkable similarities in approach. The post-war order saw the US employing a philosophy of “defence in depth,” controlling a defensive frontier from the China Sea in the East to the very edge of the Warsaw Pact countries, to ensure freedom of trade throughout this entire region. But this extended beyond military control. The use of embedded CIA operatives meant that those democratic representatives who resisted the grand plans of Atlanticism were swiftly dealt with under insidious operations like Gladio.
…
As these ideas bled into the old left, who were increasingly disillusioned from the failures of the Soviet Union. They turned, as Laclou and Mouffe did, to the notion of using sectional grievances to deconstruct the nation state, leading to the birth of intersectionalism under Kimberlé Crenshaw. The very foundations of nationhood and capitalist Christian civilisation could be toppled if only we united our struggles by leveraging our historical grievances, creating acrimonious divisions in the body politic on the basis of sex, sexuality, race and religion. Thus, the universal loyalties of the nation state that supposedly upheld capitalism would fall, and revolution would arise. This fell right into the plans of the American ruling class.
However, when the social morality of the postwar American colonial project in Europe met the plans of the military and the Malthusian tendencies of the RAND corporation, everything took on a far more ambitious character, with the help of a concept called “environmental security”. The first reference to ES in the sense of protecting the natural environment comes from the US EPA Technical Committee in 1971, as part of an ambitious attempt to quantitatively measure total social wellbeing. This EPA committee was the first to make environmental regulation part of a comprehensive plan for social wellbeing, driven by Holism and cybernetic ecology. They were exceeded in scope by the UN’s 1972 Stockholm Conference, where the idea of “comprehensive” (today, “human”) security emerged, and further, the Palme, Brundtland and Brandt Reports.
…
Under these new umbrella concepts came “human security” and environmental security, the Social Sciences Department of UNESCO and the SSRC found the unifying principles and programs they had sought since the 1950s, and pushed a proselytising program grounded in cross-discipline application of avant-garde ideas to seek “new ways of knowing”, promoting not scientific objectivity, but a synthesis of diverse perspectives. A wholesale transformation of the rules and discipline of social sciences followed, in service of global governance (see the works of Perrin Selcer).
UNESCO even deliberately set about creating a new world religion, in the words of its founder Julian Huxley, and formed the United Religions Initiative, to mould the world’s spiritual beliefs in line with international Anglo progressivism. Feminism and sexual libertinism formed a crowbar against the community cohesion that couldn’t be attacked by means of anti-nationalism, and into this soup of value inversions (erosion of disciplinary distinction, inter-subjectivity [i.e., truth-by-consensus over objectivity], and utopian welfare ideals like “freedom from fear”; “freedom from want”), dropped three wonder pills: Poststructuralism, the collapse of the Soviet Union, and Global Warming. Now the great power-narratives of the Atlantic empire were consolidated – Malthus-by-proxy, anti-traditionalism, international diversity-and-inclusion, and the free-trade, open-borders paradigm of the 90’s.
In the same moment as de Klerk gave up on apartheid, the West gave up on the nation state, and handed control to the internationalists, under hegemony of the Atlantic community. A new empire was being consolidated from the territories captured by the Allies in WWII. Thirty years later it is becoming transparent – the new centralised global tax regime has cemented it. Just as the ANC funds the influx of black voters into urban minority areas to build shacks on squatted land, the West welcomes mass migration from the third world, total open-borders, to transform the electoral system against the interests of the native population who might have their own desires, against the grain of global empire. Every corporation and state in the Western world discriminated against whites in hiring. The CIA peddles Critical Race Theory and actively recruits sexual minorities. Colour revolutions can be spotted whenever the rainbow flag or black fist makes an appearance.
Today, the Democratic Party in the US openly looks to South Africa for inspiration in dealing with what Yarvin called the “outer party” – all conservatives are being purged from every institution, in a vast cadre deployment program to ensure the core of the establishment becomes forever untouchable. On the streets they have even begun to use the same tactics for control – deploying huge mobs to destabilise cities when election season is approaching.
Minimum wage rises funnel employment into companies in public-private partnerships with the state, like Amazon, who is part of the Enduring Security Framework partnership of the CIA (which includes Facebook and Google). The analogies between their experimental management strategies and collectivised central-planning are no accident – any company that aims for a total retail monopoly through state-subsidised negative-profit growth is merely another route to total control.
And as the nation and the state are decoupled, the liberal-democratic institutions are being geared toward the concentration of power and wealth, and a strategy of divide-and-rule, to create a cannibal economy. Only a few, like Denmark, have realised what they have gotten themselves into.
…
Much as Aristotle said, a democracy can only function beneficially when steered by the middle class, as it was in Rhodesia and the old Cape, which restricted the vote to property-owners of all races. The middle class’s needs are the core of the productive community, and as Marx observed, they are loyal to the requirements of productive industry and local trade. With the combination of the proliferation of the welfare state and globalisation, the middle class has been whittled away in the West, just as it has here in southern Africa.
Reliance on the state for services means they can’t be sacrificed – in the UK, the NHS has become essentially a religious cult, feeding the civil service, medical contractors, immigrants and the poor alike, in a financially unsustainable way, for decreasing returns. As Philip Bagus observed, the democratic pressures to maintain institutional support via this sort of patronage forces modern western states to take on ever more debt and expand taxation to the limits. This then must be offset by QE, which must be guaranteed by the central state at a rate that benefits the most fragile provinces of any empire so that the whole system does not collapse.
…
What Robert Mugabe did was pursue the universal extension of a first-world welfare state to every peasant in the hinterland, praised by the global left. This required taking on an enormous amount of national debt. Once the IMF tried to impose austerity, Mugabe found this politically unsustainable – his support depended on the handouts, corrupt and legitimate, that he was delivering. So he had to switch to printing money to pay the debts. When inflation became too much to handle, they replaced the core of the economy with dollars, and only elites could survive, much like Venezuela today. As the national treasury ran dry, the military and the civil service became restless. To placate them, they were fed the farms and businesses of the remaining white minority, as well as many areas formerly occupied by black peasants. The state had to cannibalise itself to sustain the predatory ruling class.
During this time, Mugabe attempted to control every aspect of the environment and economy through price and capital controls, suffocating every aspect of social life with red tape. It only accelerated the process. While the vast global network of UN subsidiaries extract compliance from the US client states
In South Africa today, the state coffers are empty. Even the ruling party is feeling it, as their headquarters Luthuli House was attached by the court to pay for a crooked PR contract they refused to deliver on. We have since taken out an IMF bailout, which is being poured into infrastructure, mostly Durban’s port, which is now choked by smoke and looting. Our president’s advisors are pushing for land reform, and remarkably, one of them, Ruth Hall, was advising Robert Mugabe how to liquidate his pale kulaks back in 2002. Other advisors, like Thembeka Ngcukaitobi, call for the fulfilment of the genocidal prophecy of Makhanda, and have whites deprived of all land and all moveable and liquid assets. This is deliberate Zimbabwefication.
The same economic dynamics are present in the world at large – the share of GDP spent on welfare keep increasing, as does the debt-GDP ratio. Capital formation has been falling for decades, and chronic inflation is treated as a static phenomenon, which nobody dares reign in, because the entire system is dependent on low interest rates to keep the constant corrosive consolidation of the global market going full steam ahead. This arrangement results in the inflation of property prices as along term hedge against inflation which, when the plebs followed suit resulted in the 2008 bubble, when they tried to play the elites’ asset accumulation game with borrowed money.
…
What has America been doing these past 18 months? It has been printing money so fast that it has kept pace with the plummenting Rand, and allowed Cyril Ramaphosa to tell investors that his economy is relatively strong – the Rand has “stabilised”. Error of parallax. Nor is it even just America printing money. While they certainly can afford to, as the holders of the world’s reserve currency, China is attempting to do the same, only they are directly funnelling the cash into commodities, rather than spreading it around a financial elite over which they have minimal control.
And yet their leverage is far worse than America’s – Kyle Bass, who has been shorting the Chinese market for years now, insists that the historically unprecedented levels of leverage in the Chinese economy are unsustainable, and that they cannot, even under miracle conditions, correct their shrinking population trends sufficiently to turn this ship around. But what many forsee in dreams of revolution and revolt, the breakups of massive crumbling empires, is not going to happen as they hope.
Instead, the state will protect the stability of the ruling class and its control over the levers of power at the core, bleeding everyone dry and terrorising them into submission. What happened to Zimbabwe is a warning, but it only happened the way it did because half the population could leave and send home remittances. The iron fist of a “democratic” government capable of rigging its elections and gagging the press and the courts is only as tyrannical as the cost of a bus ticket to the next country. After 900-member Zoom calls and election “fortification”, I shouldn’t need to gild the lily any more.
As many observers of China remark, an economic collapse of a country of its nature will not result in a breakup or a massive reform, but in the shrink-wrap tyranny of North Korea, an eternal sclerotic stagnation, fed by government dependency, held in place by state security. The West is losing control of its ability to provide the kind of total state security required for this however, and has been reaching for a far more sinister method of control – the financial system.
And this is where all analogies break down, because what is about to happen here is unprecedented. The international Bank of Settlements has recently announced that they intend to use Central Bank Digital Currency to control the spending of all global citizens, and have the tech and the power to control each and every expenditure, and to shut anybody out of the ability to feed themselves if they so choose. But this movement to kick away the ladder and consolidate total control follows the same logic as Zimbabwe’s – the poor can only be fed for so long, but the ruling elite must be fed forever, or else the whole house comes down.
…
The twin systems of China and Atlantis are both attempting to consolidate total control over their economic and social environment. And in order to achieve the kind of reforms that he wishes to, Ramaphosa has reached for the help of both power blocs. China has colonised our northernmost province, and receives special treatment from law enforcement that must learn Mandarin. Chinese are registered as black, to benefit from the racial privileges blacks enjoy under Black Economic Empowerment. While the government’s reports usually look like a dog’s breakfast, their reports on the UN sustainable development goals are always crisp, professional, and detailed. SDG 10 justifies the expropriation of property, according to their logic.
…
The erosion of the middle class, the working class, the institutions of law and order and even the substance of the informal economy was dry tinder to the Zuma-faction’s firebrands. To fulfil his mandate to end corruption, Ramaphosa had begun prosecutions proceedings into the Zuma faction – tentatively of course, since any too-wide-ranging investigation would unearth the corruption of all. But lawfare isn’t enough. They were cut out of party patronage systems as big figures like Ace Magashule were expelled from the party. Judges ruled that the state would not cover their defence costs anymore.
When the Umkhonto we Sizwe veterans association was disbanded and cut off from “pension” money, they finally put into action something that they would have had up their sleeve for months. Police armaments caches had been going missing for months. Firearms training for youths had been going on at the local branches for years. Every storage depot and major highway was targeted, petrol stations, power stations, water treatment plants were hit. They needed to make the country ungovernable, and they did. But this time they didn’t have the support of the Swedish, the Russians or anybody else.
Complicit elements are even inside the SSA, our central intelligence agency. What it will take for Ramaphosa to clear the state and party of seditious elements will give him the power of a modern dictator, cheered on my the press and everybody else, who despises Zuma and his people for what they’ve wreaked upon us. But with three months left of military deployment, all of the military capacity in one province, and the president fearing wielding lethal force on black mobs for fear of his Marikana ghosts coming back to haunt him, the rebels have three months to decide whether to act.
That leaves three months to see whether we become a black-nationalist disctatorship, or a new Yugoslavia. The Zulu, who form the backbone of the rebellion, have cheered for Zulu independence before, though their forces are split – the Zulu nationalist/traditionalist party the IFP have stood firmly against this chaos. Zuma’s people are still pushing black identity over tribal. Zuma may have been a traditionalist, a defender of the Swazi royal house when in crisis, an expander of chieftains’ rights, but his time in head of the ANC death squads in Zululand in the 1990s makes Zulu solidarity impossible.
So chaos it is.
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Shackles pt8: Everything
Part 7 <-
Black, pitch black. That’s all Blake could see around her as her body writhed on the coarse ground. What happened? Where was she? Those were the only major questions coming to the forefront of her pounding head until suddenly, her entire body jerked forward. Blake’s eyes opened as she gasped for air as if she was drowning. It was only at the sight of black smoke and blistering flames around her did the haze become clear. A bomb went off. A bomb near Yang and Jacquelyn.
Blake stumbled to her feet, dizzy from the blast. Somehow that was the only major impact. “Yang!!!?” She yelled painfully. “Jac- cough couch. Jacquelyn!!!?” Blake tried to take a step but her legs weren’t having it. They gave out immediately; it was only by the grace of familiar shrine garb that Black didn’t fall back to the ground. “Jacquelyn!?” Blake groaned. The maiden’s eyes glowed purple with magical power as she breathed heavily. She looked a little less worse than Blake. “How….”
“I...shot flames around us and the blast.” Jacquelyn huffed. Her body finally fell onto her knees with Blake leaning on her back. “It diverted the flames, but the impact was far too much. Especially how I am now.” Jacquelyn rubbed her stomach with concern. Hopefully the baby was just fine. Blake rolled off of her back and to the ground. If Jacquelyn hadn’t tried to protect her, Blake was positive that would’ve been the end. Yang however, she wasn’t near them. That alone made Blake feel dead inside.
She found the strength to get back on her hands and knees. The house was completely blown apart with rubble everywhere, but no sign of the blonde bruiser. “Yang…?” Blake said, her voice quivering in fear. That fear gave way when nobody responded. “YANG!!!!! WHERE ARE YOU!?”
The ground started to rumble before a pile of debris shot into the air. “Right...here!” Yang growled, climbing out of hole with Adam’s sword. Her hair blazed like an intense bonfire while her eyes raged red. She saw Blake struggling on the ground with Jacquelyn trying to stand. Yang stormed over to her and yanked her collar tightly. If it wasn’t for the smoke, Yang would’ve screamed until her lungs collapsed. “Care to explain why the fuck a bomb was in your house?”The anger came clearly through her teeth. Her grip immediately began to loosen by the pain of electricity. Yang wasn’t the only one in a fowl mood.
Jacquelyn grabbed the women’s wrist with charged hands. “If you’re delusional enough to still think this is some kinda trick then you got another thing-is...where did you get the sword?”
“Inside your house. Where else!?” Jacquelyn’s grip finally gave way and Yang backed off. “It’s the whole reason you don’t have a home now! It was sticking out behind a bed frame. I went to grab it and it had fucking trip wire on it! Didn’t you check his room!?”
A tint of red came over Jacquelyn. “That’s not his room. It was just a spare. We...we don’t sleep separately.” The look of judgement on her wasn’t an easy pill to swallow. Divulging that information didn’t exactly help her case in trying to be an unbiased member of this group. Jacquelyn reached for the blade but Yang pulled it away. “Ugh, listen, do you really think if I knew something about this then I’d willing be in the explosion and let someone else trip the bomb? Blake’s friends-” both frustrated women turned to look at the girl in question. They had been so busy being angry that they ignored the fact Blake was still trying to recover. Jacquelyn tried making the first move but Yang stepped ahead and carefully hit Blake on her feet, supporting her weight.
“You hurt?”
“Just winded. Jacquelyn bailed me out.” Blake was quick to add. No need for the situation to get any worse. “Like it or not, she’s with us Yang. As for who rigged that bomb, Adam didn’t do it.” Her claim was met with skepticism from her partner and shock from Jacquelyn. Blake grabbed Adam’s sword and held it close. Despite the smoke and ashes, a scent is a scent; nothing changed that. Especially one reeking of dust and blood, lots of blood. “This sword, the entire house itself smelled different from how it looked.”
“And….what would that be?” Jacquelyn asked. She watched Blake’s hand tremble as her claws dug a little the sheath.
“A slaughter house…” The explosion did more damage than Blake realized. Her body betrayed her will to go. As much as she wanted to continue, the only place she was going right now was back on the ground; the sound of her friends calling her name became muffled until silence. Blake felt all tension in her fade away, blacking out on the on the spot.
xxxx
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! The continuous sound of faunus falling to ground as their wrecked bodies gave into fatigue echoed through the cavern walls. The only thing louder was the guards frustration towards Adam’s reluctance to break. Jasmine hobbled down below, her eyes fixated on the man gritting his teeth as a whip cracked against his back and a blade glided along the flesh of his abdomen. Even from here, Jasmine could see Adam’s nails scratch his chains to stave off the urge to lash out.
They’re still at it…” Her brother lightly pushed her to keep moving. Too much slacking wouldn’t be good for them, yet she still couldn’t help but watch as she walked. “He’s really something else huh?”
“Yeah, a real fool.” Rajah said, his tone bitter and angry. “Maybe if he yelled then we’d get shown a little mercy.”
“Why would you want him to yell?”
“He’s the reason we’re here in the first place. If he didn’t fill mom and dad’s head with fighting then we wouldn’t be here right now.”
Jasmine slowed her walking. Her ears folded down and thought about her brother’s words. “Yeah...I guess you’re right.” Her gaze went back to Adam, the source of everything. It was a strange thing, her feelings. Anytime Jasmine looked at the guards, the tired prisoners, her frightened brother, the bodies; anger swelled deep inside her like an inferno. Not with Adam though. Despite the blame being on him, she just sorta felt...indifferent. Was it their conversation, or the fact Sobek personally hated him that made Jasmine like him on some surface level? She couldn’t tell the difference. All she could tell was the man named Adam Taurus was being beaten like the rest. Like herself. What good did that do?
Adam coughed up blood and wheezed heavily. How long was his session this time? Maybe an hour? Counting stopped numbing the pain at least three sessions ago. The guards finally gave him some space again. “Break time already?” He groaned with his head held down. A piece of him wanted to thank his past for giving him the experience to endure this. Then again, it was the same past that put him in the predicament. That’s what he wanted to believe anyways. Jackie would hit him on the head and go off on a tangent about choosing your actions. A tiny smile snook onto his face. He liked her over the top speeches.
A hand slowly appeared under his chin and lifted his head. “What are you so happy about?” Said Sobek.
The feel of his calloused hands against normal skin unnerved Adam, and that’s saying something. Ripping off scales couldn’t be healthy in any way, but nothing Sobek did suggested a healthy state of being. “If you think this is a smile then you’re sicker than I thought.” Adam retorted.
“Predictable response.”
“And yet you still asked. Cut to the chase already. Is this another attempt at a speech or a display of power?”
Sobek smirked, “nothing so repetitive. I just thought the monster would like to know the den we found you in is gone. Our spring trap was sprung. How unfortunate for you.”
Adam couldn’t hide his look of concern. Sobek paced around. “Care to tell me who in their right mind would be in that house? They must’ve showed up looking for you.”
“Your dead family.” Adam didn’t even get the chance to blink before Sobek backhanded him for that answer.
“I should just cut you into pieces and be done with it!” Sobek’s grip on Adam’s lower jaw tightened.
The taste of iron became heavier in his mouth. A look at bloodshot eyes and a nasty snarl proved that Sobek was still a faunus no matter his delusional claims. “Tsk, and I’m the monster?”
“Like you have any ground to stand on. You and I are not the same.”
“Oh I know, and so do they.” Adam nudged his head toward the people below. There wasn’t an eye that wasn’t on the vicious doctor and terrorist. Those who looked at Adam weren’t thinking of the man himself, but staring at the injuries. The same couldn’t be said for Sobek. Looks of fear, anger, shock, judgement; it was aimed right at him. Even his men were put off a little.
“WHAT ARE YOU ALL LOOKING AT!?” Snarled, not helping his case. “Do you feel sympathy towards this...thing; this good for nothing animal!? He is nothing to shed pity over and certainly nothing close to anything that resembles a leader that you all so blindly followed!!!” Sobek huffed. He couldn’t believe how stubborn Adam was to break. It had been days since he'd arrived. Nonstop torture, day in and day out. It was beginning to be a problem. If Adam stayed stubborn, then they all might. It was for that reason why Sobek had a backup plan.
The crocodile man slicked back his hair, regaining composure, then walked off the platform and up to awning shielded by class. It was where old SDC guards watched over the miners. It was still plenty sturdy, and fully equipped. Minutes went by before Sobek descended from it with a devious smirk. For the first time since arriving, Adam actually felt his blood run cold. In Sobek’s right hand...was a branding iron. The infamous three letters glowing red hot.
“Remember this?” Sobek asked sarcastically. He slowly started to approach Adam, enjoying the sight of him attempting to break his shackles by tugging and jerking the chain link. “Come now, you know that won’t work. You know I think I’ll test a new experiment today. What will hurt more? Branding your good eye, or placing this perfectly over the first scar? Only one way to find out!” Sobek laughed.
Terror and pent up wrath filled Adam to the point guards tried to hold him down, but were met with horns bashing their faces and screams. “I swear, I fucking swear Sobek, death will be the only thing you want after this! P-Monsters like us, we get what we deserve a hundred times over! You and your crew-” a guard finally grabbed him by the hair and slammed his to the ground and held it there.
Was this irony, karma? It had to be. The excessive breathing, crowd, the complete lack of compassion as Adam found himself screaming while men held him down in order to make an example. How could so many years pass by and he still be in the exact same situation? Once again, Adam felt powerless. Deep down a feeling tugged inside of him that was different from last time. Jacquelyn, a person who was no doubt worrying about him. A person he wanted to see. A person he wanted to call out for. However, he did not. Under no circumstances was he gonna give Sobek any information about her. This was his problem, and yet…
“H-elp…” he said, barely above a whisper. Sobek’s boots stopped right in front of him. Adam’s good eye can only see the man towering above him with the brand at the ready. And just like those many years ago, Adam shed tears of fear while letting out a plea into a frightened crowd.
“Somebody, anybody, HEEEEELLLLLP!”
For the first time...a cry was shouted back.
“LEAVE HIM ALONE!!!” Cried the voice of the only one who would dare move, Jasmine. Nobody realized she had climbed the platform. She wasted no time ramming all the strength she could muster into Sobek’s stomach. Her claws dug into his flesh, teeth clamped down. Two things were made clear in that moment to Jasmine. Her animal intensity was a gift, not a disease like Sobek tried to brainwash into people. The other thing she already knew from the start. There’s no way any justice could exist in a place like this. Only one thing makes a place like this. Hate, and she had plenty of that to give. Her claws slashed at Sobek’s fleshy arms and made him drop the branding iron down below to the crowd.
People stepped back as the tool made a loud bang against the ground. Several guards scrambled to retrieve it, but so did one prisoner. Rajah, armed with his pickaxe. His legs had moved on their own and fear ran deep into his heart as he saw his little sister get slammed to the ground. He told her to behave. To keep her calm. Why couldn’t she listen? Why couldn’t he stop running? Had she inspired him to act? No. Deep down he knew exactly why he moved. If that thing reached Sobek again, Adam wouldn’t be the only one branded. His sister, everyone might be. Rajah raised his pickaxe for all to see, then smashed the weapon of their torture.
A deathly echo resonated from the impact into utter silence. Rajah looked up to see the soulless eyes of his captor burrow into his very being, paralyzing his body from pure terror. Not even the force of guards pinning him to the ground snapped him back to reality. What had he done?
Sobek’s teeth snarled like a pure beast. He wrapped his hand around Jasmine’s neck and squeezed. “Clearly I’ve been far too lenient with you. I thought I told you what to expect if you couldn’t behave like a good little girl.” He looked at his men. “Get the boy ready for his correction.”
Rajah felt his heart stop. He frantically tried to escape the grasps of the guards but to know gain. “Hellllp! Let me go!”
“Raja-ahh!” Jasmine could barely cough let alone speak. Her eyes glared immensely at Sobek’s in fury that refused to die.
“This time, I’ll make sure you stay broken.” He slammed her against the ground, knocking her out briefly. He wasted no time dragging her through the doors back to the torture rooms.
Adam pulled at his chains. He had shown fear and it cost him. “Sobek! Leave them out of this!”
“Beat him within an inch of death!” Sobek demanded. “Just an inch.” Sobek’s men didn’t hesitate to start kicking and beating Adam’s body like a drum while their master went to make an example of defiant animals.He looked at the bleeding child in his hand💀 “All you had to do was learn. Now pain will be your teacher.
Adam could only grunt as the mysterious door closed once again.“SOBEK!!!!”
xxxx
Black. Once again, Blake found herself waking up to blinding light. Thankfully, it wasn’t the scorching sun. It was her lamp. Blake laid in her bed, bandaged up. “I’m home? How did-” the door opened and it was Ilia who entered, surprised by her friend’s state.
“You’re awake!”
“And you’re here?” What is- agh!” The side of her ribs ached as Blake tried to sit up. “How’d you get here so fast?”
“I didn’t. Blake you’ve been asleep for a little over a day.” Ilia sat at the edge of the bed. “Sun and I have been here for a couple hours now. Had to make a few stops.”
“Stops? Wait, how are Yang and Jacquelyn!?” Blake’s voice trembled. “Did any grimm attack on the way back? How-”
Ilia covered the girl’s mouth. “Take a breath, they’re okay.” She watched how Blake slowly lost tension in her body from her words. Ilia regretted covering her face though. Blake looked down at her red stained fingers. Knowing Blake, she probably could smell her too. Ilia removed her hand quickly. To know shock, Blake looked concerned.
“Ilia…”
“It’s fine okay? You told me what was happening and I had the means to get answers.” She justified, mainly to herself. “Those thugs were gonna kill me or worse anyways. I won’t lose sleep over it, much.”
Blake took Ilia’s hands and held them close.“Did Sun see?”
Ilia shook her head. “No, not entirely. I kept him out of the room but at the end I… well, disposing them was too much for me alone. His team did it without my input. I’d feel worse about it if I didn’t gain anything of value from it all.” Ilia got off the bed and walked towards a wall. A heavy and irritated sigh came from deep down. “Given what I’ve learned from you and Jacquelyn was it? If our incidents are related, then Adam is actually in Vacou. Underground, in a very old, very unsafe abandoned dust mine.”
Blake hung on every word said. Her gut twisted into knots from this new information and what she had smelled in Jacquelyn’s home. “How many White Fang members are in there?”
Ilia tossed her scroll at Blake. She watched as her face turned pale by what was on it. Dozens of pictures and videos in inferred signatures rising, then falling. Some got added, while others went dark fast. “Sun and I stopped to confirm the location we were told. It took everything I had not run into that place immediately. Blake, they’re just killing us. Regardless of if Adam’s alive or not, we need to-”
“Does Jacquelyn know?” Blake said, finding her voice again. Guilt spread across Ilia’s face. Suddenly, Blake feared the worst. “Where is she?”
“I couldn’t stop her.”
“You let her go!?”
Ilia threw her arms up, equally upset. “Like I had a choice!? You haven’t exactly told me important things, like knowing the winter maiden; Adam being alive and then being connected is another thing! Of all people not to tell, me? You watched me bury an empty casket out of respect for that guy. That shit gets to me!” Ilia began to pace around the room. “You fully know Adam is not this exclusive entity that’s only shaped your life. I had a right to know!”
“I know! I know…” Blake felt her blood rush and nails dig into her sheets. “You do have a right. I just… it was so confusing and I didn’t know things would… ugh, I’m not trying to make excuses okay? Listen, I swear I’ll come clean with everything but now is not the time. We need to catch up to Jacquelyn.”
“Stop deflecting! You’re in no shape to move anyways. Why would a maiden need help, and why does she care about-”
“Damnit Ilia, she’s pregnant with his kid!” Blake shouted. Her words had frozen Ilia in her tracks. Time was a thing Blake refused to waste. Even if the worst had already come to pass, Blake could at least save two lives; as well as any others that still suffered. Blake forced herself out of bed and passed Ilia, heading down stairs.
Her sense of urgency only got her as far as the living room before she saw Yang and Sun standing up, both alarmed by her swift actions. Yang quickly took hold of her by the wrist. “Let me go!”
“Hold on a second! Where are you going?”
Blake locked eyes with Yang. “Where did you think?” her arm tensed and tugged but couldn’t escape. “Did you even try to stop her, Jacquelyn?”
“You know damn well nothing I could say would’ve helped. Not like it matters. I doubt A-”
“SHUT UP!” Blake screamed as loud as she could. Anger and anxiety manifested as tears that threatened to run down her face. “As if you cared about what actually happened to him.”
Yang felt her hand trembling. Blake’s judgements gaze turned her own gaze to scarlet. Was coming here a mistake? Did this one man’s existence truly mean the death of one of Yang’s greatest relationships? The one she wanted to restore so badly? “You’re right… there hasn’t been a day I didn’t wish that stab killed him instantly, but what does that have to do with what’s right here, right now? You know as well as I do Blake that running off now means nothing without a plan or rest. You’re racing to a dead man.”
The tears finally fell, and they fell full with a silent wrath that Blake had never felt, or has been seen. “So what? Then I’ll save the body.” A burst of strength freed her arm and Blake didn’t look back. She ran, ran far and fast. Disappearances, murders, torture, how could this have all swept by her? Blake promised them peace. Blake hoped for peace, believed things were changing. Nothing had changed. Nothing, but the one person she never believed could. Blake was no High Leader of peace. Merely a leader of the blind.
Yang could only watch her partner race of, her final words still echoing clear. Saving the body, Jacquelyn had said the same thing. Yang looked at the hand that failed to reach her friend. “Why…” she clenched her fist tightly and began to cry. “Why can’t I hold onto you?”
Ilia had finally come down the stairs to see the end result of further friction. Sun pointed in Blake’s direction and Ilia took off running. “I’ll keep her safe. Call Ghira and Kali!” She didn’t stop to get a confirmation. She didn’t need it. “I’ll keep her safe Sun. For everyone’s sake.”
Ilia might not have been looking back but Sun nodded anyways. “Good luck.”
“Good luck? How could you say that right now?” Yang said trembling. “I’ll keep her safe?” Yang had reached her limit. Her head snapped towards him and grabbed his shirt. “HOW COULD THE BOTH OF YOU SAY THAT SO CASUALLY!?” She cried, shaking him. “HOW CAN YOU KEEP UP WITH HER WHEN I...I” Yang fell to her knees in defeat. It’s always been this way. Even from the very start. No matter how close Blake had gotten, Yang always felt like she was out of reach; while others, while Sun never failed to keep his stride. All that Yang was, could never take all who Blake is. It’s why their love broke down. It’s why Yang broke down. “How are you okay with this?”
Sun wasn’t sure what to think of all of this. He’s seen Yang upset, but never so...in pain. He knelt down and reached slowly for her hand, until she actively grabbed him tightly. “Yang, who says I’m okay?” Her body jolted. Yang’s head rose up to look at him. Sun could only offer a small smile and a hand to wipe her tears. “I’m scared out of mind. There’s so much I didn’t know like Ilia and things I wanted to say to Blake before she left, but didn’t. Not right now anyways. Ilia is the same, I'm sure.”
“Yet you stay here without question and Ilia follows her into a living nightmare without question!? How could-”
“Because at the end of it all, agreeing or not, comprehending or confused, I’ll stand by Blake to help anyway I can. You know as well as I do Blake follows the beat of her own drum, and she doesn’t know how it’ll turn out. People like you, Ilia, and I, we’re encouraged to, well, free to join in and add to the crazy beat. What we can’t do, is stop it. Blake will do it anyways. It’s why I love her so much. Easily her best, and most dangerous quality. That’s why she’s always telling people they’re free to leave. Blake’s never gonna ask someone to take part in her risks. Yeah, this situation is nuts; I’m definitely gonna chew her ear off by the end of whatever happens. Until then, nothing matters but making sure the end isn’t the worst it could be.”
Was that really his entire reasoning? She’ll do it anyways so might as well help. It was so reckless, dangerously simple, it was..Sun. It was Sun, and it used to be her too. Yang couldn’t count how many times she did something and Blake ran with it, or at least stuck around in case she needed help. Has that attitude changed? Yang didn’t think so. This situation though, it was… “You can willingly help Adam without a second thought?”
“Hmm? Of course not. I can help Blake without a second thought. If that leads to Adam, then fine. I’ll take him if I have to and be glad if there’s no need. Though, I know why that’s harder for you to do than me.” He squeezed her prosthetic. “Blake actually called me about you visiting. She was so happy to finally see you again. Even if things fell apart, Blake liked that you wanted to try. I’m pretty sure it’s the same with Adam. All Blake wants is a chance to have everything she dreams about. Pretty greedy, I think I’m a bad influence hehe.” He stood up and faced the open door. The light of the sunset had finally begun to fade. “Yang, is Blake in your dream ending?”
“What kind of question is that?” Yang held her head down. “You know she is. Honestly, Blake’s the last piece. I even have my mom back for crying out loud.”
“Ha, if that’s the case…” Sun reached for hand again and got Yang on her feet. “Dance to the end.”
A fire inside Yang felt ready to burn her up. It felt terrifying, yet nostalgic. How long had it been since she felt so exhilarated? Still Yang knew the price to pay for wanting everything. If she were to do this, she’d risk the future Jaune and her were going to have. Yang’s hand rubbed her stomach. No one would judge her for stopping now. Sun might’ve spoken differently if he knew, or maybe not? He’d probably tell her ‘everything’ would mean not losing Blake and the baby. Weirdly enough, there was beauty in that mindset.
“Sun?”
“Yeah?”
Yang smiled at him,then ran out the door. “I’ll keep those idiots safe!”
Sun could only cuff his hands around his mouth and scream with all of his heart.
“GOOD LUCK!” He pulled a small box out of his pocket and opened it to rub a ring inside. “Good luck...”
#rwby#rwby au#yang xiao long#rwby shackles#blake belladonna#sun wukong#rwby blacksun#ilia amitola#adam taurus#jacquelyn frost
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Wingless Dragon Race Introduction: Amiriad
Wingless Dragon Tag: @malaykawrites @madammuffins @kaatiba @mvcreates @starlitesymphony, @dove-actually, @waterfallwritings, @donovyn--nox
I haven’t talked much about the Amiriad, and that’s because there isn’t one on the crew of the Wingless Dragon, so I didn’t feel the need to. But since I’m now involving the Amiriad in a plot point, it was time to solidify the race.
It feels like there’s a lot more history for them than any other race, but that may be because they were an idea I had for something different that I repurposed for this universe. Hurray for recycling!
As the story is on its first draft, all content is subject to change. Under a cut because it’s 1900 words.
Amiriad are an insectoid species from the planet Chikasact. They value devotion to the hive over everything and are always eager to engage in battle.
Description
Amiriad stand on four legs with two arms, a thorax, and a head. They are generally around five to six feet tall with a dark brown exoskeleton. They have four claw-like pincers for hands and three claws for feet. Their heads are oval shaped and end in a single set of pincers in front of a small mouth. Amiriad eyes are large compound eyes that can see in the most amount of colors of any GF race. Amiriad do have a set of antennae, and their primary use is smelling. Built for combat with a hardened exoskeleton and lean muscles, an Amiriad can run almost 8km/h on four legs and 10km/h on six.
Amiriad are carnivores, eating any meat they can get their hands on. While Amiriad attempt to eat twice daily, they can last months without eating or drinking if needed. They cannot process vegetation at all. In fact, too much plant products in an animal's stomach can render it inedible. Despite their restrictive diet, their bodies are able to process most venoms and poisons faster than it can harm them, rendering them nearly immune to even large doses of toxins.
In combat, Amiriad typically wield a weapon with their arms. They prefer melee combat, but can use guns just as effectively. Their exoskeleton is strong enough to protect them from general threats, while advanced armor is nearly as strong as a starship's hull. Skilled warriors can split their arms into four, allowing them to wield more weapons. In order to use four arms in combat competently, an Amiriad must train for several years.
Amiriad are born from an egg, where they are ready to join the hive as workers. Young Amiriad are given a short time to take classes to learn about the galaxy before being thrust into service. As such, maturation is considered two years old. Adult Amiriad serve a small stint in the military before either continuing military service or leaving to pursue other work. They can either specialize in one job or train in multiple jobs, such as miner, hunter, soldier, diplomat, police, etc. A select few Amiriad train to become queens, but the selection process is thorough and the training rigorous, leading to rarely more than a handful of queens being trained in a year. Most Amiriad die before reaching old age, but those that do tend to live no later than fifty years.
Society
Amiriad are a collective hive, devoted to the hive and built around the military as a central pillar of society. Basic service is mandatory. Advanced training is given to those who prove themselves, while others attempting to join risky or prestigious battalions train themselves almost to their own death. After their mandatory serves, about half of the Amiriad join some other job dedicated to helping the hive. Builders, traders, engineers, doctors, and even teachers all exist to further the hive's interest and bolster the strength of the military.
Their devotion to the hive is so ingrained it is treated as a religion. The Amiriad call it Duty, and while many humans would describe it more as a cult than a religion, it is the officially recognized religion of the Amiriad. Duty is the most prominent religion among the Amiriad, but they are some also interested in Tichon (the religion), Humanity's pagan religions, and the Yur's old beliefs.
History
In the beginning, there were twelve major factions vying for control of Chikasact. After almost three hundred years of war, where each faction's control waxed and waned, several key alliances changed the entire landscape of the planet. The number of factions dropped to four. The smallest faction, an alliance between the bold warriors of the Kitch and the masterful engineers of the Tikitik, prepared to unleash new weapons of war: the airplane. Thanks to the Kitch-Tikit aircraft, the other factions quickly fell under their thumb.
Faced with the possibility of an alliance breaking down, the leaders of the Kitch and Tikit agreed to dissolve their factions in favor of a singular faction. They mixed hives in order to become one single people. However, neither the Kitch nor Tikit wanted to have the first High Queen of Chikasact to come from the opposing faction, despite their apparent integration. They needed someone without loyalties to one or the other; they needed an outsider.
They needed Iktuit, the sole Queen of the Diskt.
The Diskt-the first faction to be bombed into near oblivion by the Kitch-Tikit-was always a small faction. The Diskt never fully regained their strength after their defeat, but maintained their independence as an ally of the Kitch and Tikit. This is different from every other larger faction, which were either absorbed into either the Kitch or Tikit or all of their queens, and thus their lineage, were killed. As the sole queen of the only ally of both the Kitch and Tikit, Iktuit of the Diskt was the perfect choice for peace.
This peace did not last. Soon after being crowned High Queen, Queen Iktuit declared a civil war on her subjects, throwing the entire planet into turmoil again. The reason? Iktuit hated both the Kitch and Tikit for how they destroyed her home and slaughtered her people, so she forced them to destroy the united world they had created.
After the declaration of war, several other queens looking to gain power also declared war on each other. The entire planet descended into war once again, except instead of battles being fought along faction borders, cities split and destroyed themselves. Queen Iktuit saw the chaos she created and reveled in it, joining battles just to ensure no side gained the upper hand.
The Iktuit Civil War did not last long. Queen Iktuit, in her attempt to keep both sides weak, wiped out the majority of both the Kitch and Tikit generals and queens in months. This display of power won her the support of many Amiriad. What few opposed her fell to the Iktuit's loyalists.
As the dust settled, only one nation remained, and Iktuit, the Bloody Queen, ruled.
Queen Iktuit immediately set about reforms, creating the modern Amiriad government. Instead of trying to strip power from her people, she encouraged everyone to take as much power as possible. This, combined with an emphasis on the betterment of the hive at all costs, meant the strong would take control in order to help-not destroy-the weak. With Queen Iktuit's passing, none other again claimed to be her equal. Instead, a council of generals and queens serve the High Command and attempt to match Iktuit's brilliance in both war and peace.
When the Galactic Federation first encountered the Amiriad, the Amiriad sent scouts to determine the GF's military might. The GF had a barebones militia that served more as a deterrent for criminals than an actual military fleet. The Amiriad determined that there was no point in engaging them in war. The GF welcomed the Amiriad with open arms, and the Amiriad quickly went to work redesigning the GF's militia to be a full-blown military force, with Amiriad making up over seventy percent of the armed forces.
The Amiriad found first contact with the Sheta and Humans to be a memorable day. The Sheta, masters of medical technology, intrigued the Amiriad; the Humans and their war-filled past looked to be a staunch ally. The Amiriad were just as surprised as the rest of the Galactic Federation when the Humans chose not to join and instead form an alliance the GF. However, the alliance did allow for the Humans and Amiriad to train with each other and practice with war games.
Relations between the Amiriad and Humans grew tense when a human joined the Amiriad's Arena. The Amiriad sent disgraced military personnel and convicted criminals to the Arena fight for entertainment and honor. A human managed to work her way into the Arena, due to a technicality in the rules. This human proceeded to beat Amiriad after Amiriad in individual combat. The Amiriad were confused by such a feat. How could a squishy human with far fewer limbs beat the armored Amiriad with such constancy?
The lone Human inspired other humans to join the Arena. The other humans were not as skilled, but their inclusion led to some Amiriad calling the Arena tainted by their presence. The Amiriad Champion, however, welcomed the new challengers. The Amiriad, forced to accept the humans, kept their growing resentment behind closed doors.
The spark came when the first Human Combatant managed to secure a fight against the Amiriad Champion. The battle ended before it began. The Combatant spoke with the Champion, wondering if the Champion knew that their old commander set them up for failure to force them to join the Arena. The resulting conversation led to a schism in the Amiriad that lasted several days as the Champion searched for the truth. The Champion learned the truth and killed his former commander for impugning his honor for personal gain.
Despire the Combatant being right, many of the Amiriad military commanders felt human intervention in their internal politics went to far. With growing pressure from those who could now voice their resentment of humans in public, the Amiriad demanded the Humans surrender the Combatant for Amiriad punishment for their involvement in civil unrest. Humanity refused. The Amiriad declared war on Humanity.
The Galactic Federation stepped in immediately. After much tense discussion, both the Humans and Amiriad agreed to keep war outside of Galactic Federation space, not to involve the other Galactic Federation races, and limited on what weapons could ethically be used. This war ended with Humanity gaining the upper hand and forcing the Amiriad to surrender. The defeat broke the Amiriad's pride.
Beaten, the Amiriad planned to leave the Galactic Federation. The Tichon convinced them not to, but the Amiriad still retreated out of GF controlled space and returned to their home planet.
In the Galactic Federation
Amiriad are not a common sight in the modern Galactic Federation. Few supply ships travel into Amiriad space, and even fewer Amiriad ships travel in the Galactic Federation's jurisdiction. What Amiriad that are seen are usually outcasts from Amiriad society or serve as representatives in the GF.
Relations between the Amiriad and all the races are still strong. Even Humanity, once their enemy, are happy to negotiate and trade with the Amiriad.
Bonus Facts
Amiriad don't really have pronouns as humans do. They are always referred to by their rank. Language technicians from the Amiriad have decided that masculine pronouns are used when referring to them in Inglo-Russian, and created a couple new word in Chikti specifically for when humans use pronouns.
It is believed Queen Iktuit was the first Amiriad to use four-armed combat in war. The fighting style is informally referred to as the "Queen's Fury" fighting style, thanks to this belief.
Tichon can use a Amiriad's egg sack. The resulting children display a mix of Tichon and Amiriad traits, but the children never live past a year, so there are no hybrids known to exist. The Sheta took particular interest in this, but Amiriad and Tichon governments, as well as the Galactic Federation, forbade any investigation into this phenomenon.
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By Rany Jazayerli
The year was 1860, and the world was, as usual, in upheaval. In China, the Second Opium War was coming to an end. America was preparing itself for major surgery, in the form of the Civil War, that would finally cure the young nation of its congenital defect of slavery. And in the heart of the Middle East, in a province of the Turkish Ottoman Empire that would later become modern-day Syria, an unholy concoction was brewing. That’s right: politics was mixing with religion.
Christians and Muslims had lived side-by-side in the holy land for over a thousand years. Muslim armies had conquered modern-day Syria, Lebanon, Israel, and Egypt in the middle of the seventh century, and while the Muslims maintained full political authority, Christians and Jews were allowed to freely practice their religion. The notion that non-Muslims were forced to convert at the point of a sword is laughable – in Egypt, for instance, it is estimated that Muslims made up only half of the population in the year 1200 – five hundred years later.
The area around Lebanon and Syria, in particular, was as religiously diverse as anywhere in the world in the mid-19th century. In addition to substantial numbers of Muslims (both Sunni and Shiite), Christians (Roman Catholic, Greek Orthodox, Maronite, Chaldean, Syriac, and others), and Jews, there were also religious groups like the Alawi and Druze, who had splintered out of mainstream Islam centuries earlier and were now considered their own religions.
By the standards of that era, these groups lived in relative harmony. Which is to say, by the standards of that era, the fact that these groups co-existed at all was a miracle. If you were a religious minority anywhere in the world, your life was in peril. Just the year before, the very first pogrom in Russia took place in Odessa, claiming the lives of many Jews. Not even America was immune to this sort of religious violence; in 1838, 18 Mormon men were killed in the Haun’s Mill Massacre in Missouri.
The Druze and Maronite Christians were concentrated in Lebanon. The two groups had never liked each other, and their relationship was getting worse. It didn’t help that outside powers were encouraging both sides. The French supported the Christians, the British supported the Druze, and with the Ottoman Empire crumbling by the day, the Turkish rulers were unable or unwilling to end the conflict.
In 1858, Christian peasants in Lebanon mounted an uprising against their Druze feudal lords. The Druze retaliated. The patriarch of the Maronite Christians then threatened to forcibly remove the Druze from the Lebanese mountains. Then things got ugly.
In May of 1860, a group of Christians fired upon a group of Druze outside Beirut, killing one. In the wave of violence that followed on both sides, dozens of villages were burned to the ground, and hundreds of people were killed. The violence spread outside Lebanon and into Syria, towards Damascus, where ambitious men were plotting to shape this heretofore random violence into something much more sinister.
Chief among them was the Turkish governor of Damascus, Ahmed Pasha, who wanted nothing more than to give his population a “correction” – today we would call it ethnic cleansing. In March, he had already begun meeting in secret with two chiefs from the Druze and the mufti of Damascus. Together they hatched a plan to bring about a full-on war in the Christian quarter of the city.
The plan appears to have been this: that the Druze would incite attacks against Christians, “forcing” the Turks to step in and escort the Christian community to a citadel outside the city for their protection. There, Druze conspirators would be waiting to slaughter them all.
With tensions rising between the two sides every day, it would only take a single match to light the fire. That match was lit on July 8th. Pasha arranged for some Muslim boys to draw images of crosses at the edge of the Christian quarter of the city, then to desecrate those images by spitting and throwing garbage at them. The bewildered kids were immediately arrested, with their punishment designed to provoke the rage of the greater Muslim community.
“On July 9, the culprits, mere props in a scenario planned by Ahmed Pasha, were ordered to be publicly beaten, then forced on their hands and knees to wash the streets they had slopped with garbage. Provocateurs did the rest.”
The massacre of Damascus had begun.
“I was told Abd el-Kader was the Algerian George Washington, the father of modern Algeria…Abd el-Kader was the first Arab to create a semblance of tribal unity in order to combat the French occupation. But in defeat, I noted a resemblance to Robert E. Lee. He was gracious, magnanimous, respected by his enemies, and deeply religious.”
Abd el-Kader was one of those men who, in Shakespeare’s words, had greatness thrust upon him. He certainly was not born into it. He was born in a remote region of the Turkish province of what we now call Algeria, in 1808, to a tribal family living on the edges of the Sahara desert. You would be hard pressed to find a region on Earth from which one of the century’s most influential men would be less likely to emerge.
Abd el-Kader was born into a tribe of warriors, men who for centuries had valued valor above all else, and prized nothing more than a fast and sturdy horse. His father Muhi al-Din was a marabout, a religious leader for his tribe, and a leader of a Sufi Muslim tradition known as the Kadiriyya order. It was expected from the time of his birth that Abd el-Kader would follow in his father’s footsteps. “His destiny, had it been his to guide, would have been that of a married monk, living a life of prayer, meditation, and teaching.”
Like all men of his tribe, Abd el-Kader was trained in horsemanship and swordplay and the other arts of warfare, but his primary training was in his religious studies. As a teenager he was sent by his father to the city of Oran to continue his studies. He would return home when he as 15; at the age of 17 he was married, and then set off with his father on the pilgrimage to Mecca, a journey that would take two years to complete. This journey would include stops in Damascus and Baghdad, where “word spread of the amazing knowledge and intellectual agility of this young Maghrebin who could politely hold his own with the leading scholars of the city.” Abd el-Kader returned to his home village of Mascara in 1828, and likely would have spent the rest of his life there had events not interceded.
But they did. In 1830, King Charles of France saw an imperial campaign as a great way to counter unpopularity at home, and used a minor diplomatic incident as an excuse to invade Algeria. Algiers surrendered to the French quickly and fairly bloodlessly, although it was not enough to save the King; Charles abdicated later that year and transferred the crown to his cousin, Louis-Phillipe.
Had the French been more magnanimous in victory, the war might have been over quickly. The ruling Turks were hardly beloved by the local population, so if it was just a matter of paying taxes to a different leader, most of the citizens would have gone along with minimal protest.
But like so many foreign conquerors, the French soon turned the local populace against them by being unnecessarily harsh, by being completely tone-deaf to the local culture, and by kicking out the Turks, the only group of people who could have served as intermediaries. As Alexis de Tocqueville wrote in 1837, “Once the Turkish government was destroyed with no substitute to replace it, the country fell into appalling anarchy.”
The political vacuum cried out for leadership, which by default fell onto the religious leaders of the various tribes outside the city. The brutality of the French occupation forced these tribal religious leaders to unite against their oppressor. In 1832, the various tribes came together to nominate Abd el-Kader’s father Muhi al-Din to be their sultan.
Muhi al-Din agreed on one condition: that immediately after he accepted the position, he would abdicate in favor of his son. This was met with immediate approval; Abd el-Kader’s religious knowledge, strength, and courage were already famous throughout the region. At the age of 24, Abd el-Kader became the leader of his people in a war against foreign occupation. He would soon earn his title of “Emir al-Mumineen” – the Commander of the Faithful.
In retrospect, Abd el-Kader’s task was hopeless from the start. No amount of military brilliance could have made up for the difference in manpower and technology between the French army and the ragtag bunch of Algerian Bedouins. But man, did he try.
For 15 years, Abd el-Kader led his people in resistance against the French. He led his soldiers by example, staying in the saddle day and night, stopping only to pray, sometimes covering as much as 150 miles in a day to engage the enemy in battle. The French were astonished, and then impressed, at the military prowess of their young enemy.
Abd el-Kader wasn’t simply fighting a war against the French; he was also fighting to establish a nation among his own people. He commissioned a free-standing army. He established and collected taxes necessary to keep his army supplied. He created a cabinet of advisers, including a Jewish merchant who served as his ambassador to the French.
He had to battle not only the French, but the leaders of his own people, many of whom were not averse to working with the enemy or rebelling in other ways if it suited them.
By 1834, Abd el-Kader’s forces had achieved such success that the French general in charge with subduing them sued for a cease-fire, which was granted. Some extremists in his own community labeled him a heretic for negotiating with the French, forcing Abd el-Kader to wage another battle to defeat them.
A year later, though, another general in the French army used a flimsy pretext to break the cease-fire and marched upon Abd el-Kader’s forces. The French forces were ambushed and suffered a humiliating defeat, which burnished Abd el-Kader’s reputation, both with his own people and around the world.
This only made the French mad, though, and they returned in 1836 with more forces and more determination to exterminate their annoying adversary. Abd el-Kader learned quickly that he could not defeat the French army in a pitched battle, and resorted to lightning attacks, his cavalry emerging out of the desert to overwhelm a surprised French unit, then disappearing into the sand just as quickly.
Meanwhile, the exploits of this undermanned, underfunded guerrilla leader, standing up to the mighty French, began to draw the interest of the British and the Americans – the British because of their long-standing rivalry of the French, the Americans because of their own experience with fighting off British imperialization only a few decades before.
Abd el-Kader’s exploits were recounted in America in popular digests like Littell’s Living Age, and one reader was sufficiently taken by el-Kader to name a town after him. Timothy Davis, a lawyer who had settled in Dubuque in 1836 (Iowa had not yet become a state; it was still part of the Louisiana Territory), had acquired property on the Turkey River nearby which seemed ideal for a flour mill, and sketched out a new town to be built around the mill. “So Timothy Davis, a pioneer spirit, respected lawyer and distant admirer of this resilient underdog, named the new settlement after Abd el-Kader, wisely shortened for American tongues to Elkader.”
Elkader, Iowa was founded in 1846. It remains today as the seat of Clayton County, with a population of around 1500. It is the only city in America named after an Arab.
In 1837, General Thomas Bugeaud was put in charge of the French operations in Algeria. His initial assignment was to secure another peace treaty with Abd el-Kader, which he did. This treaty acknowledged France’s sovereignty over the coastal cities of Algiers and Oran, while conceding the interior desert regions to Abd el-Kader. Once again, the French government was not pleased with the terms of the treaty once the details became known. Furthermore, the text of the treaty in Arabic was slightly, but crucially, different than the text in French. In 1839, the French took advantage of the ambiguity by marching their army through a region of the country that was forbidden to them in the Arabic version. The war began anew.
By 1841, the French had become fed up with the resistance of Abd el-Kader and his small army. It was clear that their conventional war tactics were not working. General Bugeaud gave his recommendation to the French Parliament. “We need a leader who will be implacable and wage unlimited war.” He was referring to himself.
For the next six years, the French waged Total War. Over 100,000 soldiers – one-third of the entire French army – was stationed in Algeria, and they were not constrained by the ordinary rules of warfare. Houses were burned, livestock was shot, crops were destroyed. If Abd el-Kader was Robert E. Lee, then Bugeaud was William T. Sherman.
In the words of one of Bugeaud’s most trusted officers, “I shall leave not a single tree standing in their orchards, not a head on the shoulders of these wretched Arabs…I shall burn everything, kill everyone.” The same officer was responsible for suffocating hundreds of men, women, and children who had taken refuge inside a series of caves. In the English press, Bugeaud became known as “The Butcher of the Bedouins.”
By contrast, Abd el-Kader conducted war in as civilized a manner as possible. He devised a series of rules for the treatment of prisoners which were, in some ways, a forerunner to the official rules codified in the Geneva Convention in 1949. In one instance, he released a group of French captive soldiers because he did not have enough food to feed them. Some prisoners were so impressed with Abd el-Kader’s treatment of them that they formally defected to the other side, and served as foreign advisors to the emir.
Through intermediaries, Abd el-Kader set up a correspondence with the Bishop of Algiers, and agreed to release French prisoners of war in exchange for the bishop’s promise to press the French military to release Arab prisoners – which he did, with only limited success. If the French soldiers knew that they would not be slaughtered by the enemy if taken prisoner, they might not fight quite so passionately. As a French Colonel wrote, “We are obliged to try as hard as we can to hide these things [the treatment accorded French prisoners by the Emir] from our soldiers. For if they so much as suspected such things, they would not hasten with such fury against Abd el-Kader.”
Prisoners who were brought to Abd el-Kader were questioned to make sure they had been treated well on their journey; if they weren’t, the Algerian soldier responsible for their care was flogged. Female captives were turned over to the care of the one person in the world that Abd el-Kader trusted most: his own mother.
But the French were too strong, and Abd el-Kader’s Algerians were too disunited. By 1847 he wasn’t fighting a war so much as he was evading capture. His lieutenants were starting to surrender to the French. Abd el-Kader took his family to Morocco, seeking refuge there, but were refused by the Sultan, who did not want to anger the French. Many of his remaining loyal followers wanted to launch one last attack, to go out in a blaze of glory. Abd el-Kader refused.
“If I thought there were still a possibility to defeat France, I would continue. Further resistance will only create vain suffering. We must accept the judgment of God who has not given us victory and who in His infinite wisdom now wants this land to belong to Christians. Are we going to oppose His will?”
In December, 1847, Abd el-Kader sent word to General Lamoriciére, now leading the battle against him, that he was prepared to discuss the terms of his surrender. An agreement was reached, and signed by the King’s own son, that Abd el-Kader and his men would surrender, ending the 15-year war, in exchange for safe passage to Alexandria or Acre in Egypt, where Abd el-Kader planned to live out the rest of his days.
And once again, Abd el-Kader was betrayed when an agreement he reached with one Frenchman did not go over well with the rest of them. The French had more important things on their mind than what to do with Abd el-Kader – the monarchy of King Louis-Philippe was collapsing, and in February of 1848 he abdicated before he could be overthrown. The new government refused to ratify the agreement. Abd el-Kader and his family were instead forcibly moved to France, where they were held prisoner – in fairly luxurious surroundings – for over four years.
The French betrayal of Abd el-Kader only made him a more heroic figure in the eyes of the world. In 1850, a horse named Abd el-Kader (nicknamed “Little Ab”) was entered into the Grand National Steeple Chase in England. The horse, a 33-1 longshot, won. And won the same race the following year. The British author William Thackeray wrote an elegy to Abd el-Kader entitled “The Caged Hawk.” De Tocqueville himself called Abd el-Kader “a Muslim Cromwell.”
And within France, Abd el-Kader became a sort of celebrity. “A cult of sorts began to form around the personality of the emir. People streamed from all over France to visit him.” It was, I imagine, sort of the 19th-century version of going to see the Pope at Yankee Stadium. At one point Abd el-Kader was assigned a new French guard who had requested to be transferred; “he wanted the honor of guarding the emir to repay the consideration with which he had been treated as a former prisoner.” As a nun who cared for Abd el-Kader’s family wrote to her superior, “Allowing for certain exceptions of a theological nature, there is no Christian virtue that Abd el-Kader does not practice to the highest degree.”
In 1849, citizens of Bordeaux put Abd el-Kader’s name on the ballot as a candidate in the presidential elections. By 1852, French public opinion had turned in favor of their fallen enemy, and the elected President, Louis Napoleon (soon to be Emperor Napoleon III), announced that Abd el-Kader was to be freed. After a triumphant parade through Paris, Abd el-Kader and his family were sent to Bursa, a Turkish city not far from Istanbul. Bursa did not agree with the emir, though, and in 1855 – after obtaining approval from Napoleon – Abd el-Kader moved to Damascus.
On the way to Damascus, Abd el-Kader met and befriended the British military attaché in Lebanon, Colonel Charles Henry Churchill – distant cousin of Winston. Churchill would eventually write the definitive biography of Abd el-Kader of his time. When Abd el-Kader arrived in Damascus, as Churchill wrote, “Not since the days of Saladin had anyone received such a triumphal welcome.”
And so it was that in 1860, Abd el-Kader, the tragic hero of the Arab world, found himself in the epicenter of the maelstrom of mayhem. Abd el-Kader had retired from political life, but he still wielded a substantial amount of symbolic power, should he need it. He would.
Connected as he was to the elites of Damascus, Abd el-Kader had heard rumors that certain elements of Damascene society were planning to take advantage of the violence in nearby Lebanon to launch an attack on the local Christians. He was sufficiently concerned to inform the French Consul, and together they went to see the governor, Ahmed Pasha, not realizing that the conspiracy went all the way to the top. Pasha reassured them that there was nothing to the rumors.
Nonetheless, the rumors were so persistent that the Consul was persuaded to do something extraordinary: under the tightest of secrecy, he authorized the expenditure of French money to arm Abd el-Kader and a thousand of his Algerian men.
On July 8th, Abd el-Kader had learned the details of the plot between the Druze and the Turks, and had rode out of the city to confront the Druze cavalry before they attacked. He – and his small army – succeeding in, ahem, convincing the Druze to call off their attack. Meanwhile, though, he was oblivious to the fact that there was a mob already sweeping through Damascus.
He returned to the city on July 10th, and found chaos before him. “Abd el-Kader soon learned that the Turkish troops assigned to protect the populace had been ordered into the citadel or were lackadaisically watching as rioters were running amok, burning homes and slaughtering Christians.”
And at that moment, Abd el-Kader, the man who had led his Muslim people in a war against Christian invaders for 15 years, knew what he had to do. And that he had to do it quickly.
First he and his men hurried to the French consulate to offer safe harbor; the French were immediately joined by Russian, American, Dutch, and Greek diplomats looking to flee the scene. And then:
All afternoon of July 10, Abd el-Kader plunged into the chaos of the Christian quarter with his two sons shouting: “Christians, come with me! I am Abd el-Kader, son of Muhi al-Din, the Algerian…Trust me. I will protect you.” For several hours his Algerians led hesitant Christians to his fortresslike home in the Nekib Allée, whose two-story interior and large courtyards would become a refuge for the desperate victims.
“As night advanced fresh hordes of marauders – Kurds, Arabs, Druzes – entered the quarter and swelled the furious mob, who, glutted with spoil, began to cry for blood. Men and boys of all ages were forced to apostatize and were then circumcised on the spot…Women were raped or hurried away to distant parts of the country where they were put in harems or married instantly to Mohammedans,” wrote Churchill of the events. “To say that the Turks took no means to stay this huge deluge of massacre and fire would be superfluous. They connived at it, they instigated it, they shared in it. Abd el-Kader alone stood between the living and the dead.”
Abd el-Kader returned with his men, and every Christian they could pull away to safety, to his estate.
News spread among the rioters that the emir was protecting the Christians. The next day an angry crowd gathered at his door to protest. They were prepared to tolerate his harboring diplomats, but demanded that he hand over the local Christians under his protection. As the mob got larger and more unruly, the emir came to the door.
“Give us the Christians,” the crowd shouted after he had quieted it by his silent presence.
“My brothers, your behavior violates the law of God. What makes you think you have a right to go around killing innocent people? Have you sunk so low that you are slaughtering women and children? Didn’t God say in our holy book, Whoever kills a man who has never committed murder or created disorder in the land will be regarded as a murderer of all humanity?”
“Give us the Christians! We want the Christians!”
“Didn’t God say there should be no constraint in religion?” the emir vainly replied.
“Oh holy warrior,” cried out one of the leaders in the mob. “We don’t want your advice. Why do you stick your nose in our business?”
“You have killed Christians yourself,” shouted another. “How can you oppose us for avenging their insults. You are like the infidels yourself – hand over those you are protecting in your home, or you will be punished the same as those you are hiding.”
“You are fools! The Christians I killed were invaders and occupiers who were ravaging our country. If acting against God’s law doesn’t frighten you, then think about the punishment you will receive from men…It will be terrible, I promise. If you will not listen to me, then God didn’t provide you with reason – you are like animals who are aroused only by the sight of grass and water.”
“You can keep the diplomats. Give us the Christians!” shouted the mob, sounding more and more like Romans in the Coloseum.
“As long as one of my soldiers is still standing, you will not touch them. They are my guests. Murderers of women and children, you sons of sin, try to take one of these Christians and you will learn how well my soldiers fight.” The emir turned to Kara Mohammed. “Get my weapons, my horse. We will fight for a just cause, just as the one we fought for before.”
“God is great,” his men shouted, brandishing their guns and swords. Faced with the emir’s battle-hardened veterans, the crowd melted away bravely hurling insults.
Well over a thousand Christian refugees were housed inside Abd el-Kader’s home, making it so crowded that people could not sit or lie down, let alone use the facilities. So Abd el-Kader arranged for small groups of his Algerian men to accompany the Christians, in groups of 100, to the citadel outside the city – the same citadel that the Druze had originally planned to use to slaughter them.
The residence was finally emptied out and cleaned. Abd el-Kader then circulated word that a reward of fifty piasters would be paid for each Christian brought to his home. For five days, the emir rarely slept, and when he did, it was on a straw mat in the foyer of his residence where he dispensed reward money from a sack he kept by his side. As soon as 100 refugees were collected, his Algerians escorted them to the citadel.
The worst of the rioting ended on July 13th, 1860 – one hundred and fifty years ago today. At least 3,000 Christians were killed before it was all over. Abd el-Kader was credited with saving upwards of 10,000 Christians, including the entire European diplomatic corps.
Word reached France a week later – both the horrifying news of the massacre, and the incredible news of Abd el-Kader’s pivotal role in stopping it. The French were in equal parts ecstatic and dumbfounded. Editorials praising his actions were printed in newspapers throughout the country. Le Gazette de France wrote:
“The emir Abd el-Kader has immortalized himself by the courageous protection he has given the Syrian Christians. One of the most beautiful pages of the history of the 19th century will be devoted to him.” Another paper wrote: “When the carnage was at its worst, the emir appeared in the streets, as if sent by God.”
Word traveled across the Atlantic in due course. On October 20th, the New York Times published its own editorial:
“For Abd-El-Kader this is indeed a chapter of glory, and of the truest glory, too. It is no light thing for history to record, that the most uncompromising soldier of Mohammedan independence, when that independence kept the mountains, sword in band, became the most intrepid guardian of Christian lives and Christian honor in the days of his political downfall, and in the decline alike of his people and of his faith. The defeats which surrendered Algiers to the Frank have been strangely and nobly avenged…To-day the Christian world unites to honor in the dethroned Prince of Islam, the most unselfish of knightly warriors, risking limb and life to rescue his ancient foes, his conquerors and the conquerors of his race and his religion, from outrage and from death.”
(Amazingly, the New York Times has archives that date back to 1851. You can read the full editorial here.)
Abd el-Kader was not the only Muslim who strove to defend the Christians of Damascus from the raging mob. In particular, in the area of Damascus known as Maydan, which (then and now) was home to the most devoutly religious Muslims in the city, Muslims hid and protected their Christian neighbors from the violence. But Abd el-Kader became the face of those Muslims who had stood up to defend the Christian community, and as such, honors and accolades descended upon him from all over the world.
The French immediately bestowed upon Abd el-Kader, who barely a decade before had been their greatest enemy, the French Legion of Honor. (This would be like America, in 1987, awarding the Congressional Medal of Honor to Ho Chi Minh.) Russia, Spain, Prussia, Great Britain, and the Pope all awarded various distinctions on Abd el-Kader. And from the United States came a gift of a pair of finely wrought colt pistols – one source claims they were made of gold – delivered in a maple box which bore the inscription: “From the President of the United States, to his Excellency, Lord Abdelkader, 1860.”
(Two of my sources claim the gift was sent by President Lincoln, not President Buchanan. While this would make the story even better – one of our best presidents rather than one of our worst – Lincoln did not take office until March, 1861.)
Abd el-Kader was characteristically modest about his role. In a letter to the Bishop of Algiers, he wrote,
“…That which we did for the Christians, we did to be faithful to Islamic law and out of respect for human rights. All creatures are part of God’s family and those most loved by God are those who do the most good for his family. All the religions of the book rest on two principles – to praise God and to have compassion for his creatures…The law of Mohammed places the greatest importance on compassion and mercy, and on all that which preserves social cohesion and protects us from division. But those who belong to the religion of Mohammed have corrupted it, which is why they are now like lost sheep. Thank you for your prayers and good will toward me…”
The impact of the massacre was significant. As soon as word reached France, an army was dispatched to Lebanon. The Turkish sultan, looking to deprive the French of a reason to invade, dispatched his own army to Damascus to identify and prosecute the perpetrators. In the end, over 300 men were found guilty, half of whom were exiled from the empire. The others were sentenced to death, including the governor, Ahmed Pasha, who was shot. But the lingering question of who was the true instigator of the unrest – whether it was the Turks who wanted revenge, or whether it was even the British or French who were looking for an excuse to occupy Syria – remains unsolved to this day.
Meanwhile, the French and British both still had designs on the area, and as a bridge until the day came when they could officially colonize the region, the idea was floated of installing Abd el-Kader as the ruler of Damascus. The only problem was that Abd el-Kader had no interest. As he told a visiting French journalist, “My career in politics is over. I have no ambition for worldly glory. From now on, I want only the sweet pleasures of family, prayer, and peace.”
He was true to his word. Abd el-Kader lived out the rest of his days in Damascus, and his residence was on the must-visit list of any European who came to the city. In 1869, Abd el-Kader was influential in convincing the Arabs of the worthiness of a project to build a canal to link the Mediterranean with the Red Sea, which helped to make the Suez Canal a reality.
Otherwise, Abd el-Kader lived a life of simple spirituality, spending much of his time writing a commentary on the works of Ibn Arabi, the famous 13th-century Muslim scholar. He died of renal failure on May 25th, 1883, and was buried next to Ibn Arabi’s tomb in Damascus. The New York Times ran an obituary a few months before his death, which read in part:
“One of the ablest rulers and most brilliant captains of the century, if the estimates made of him by his enemies is correct, is now, in all probability approaching the end of his stormy career…The nobility of his character, no less than the brilliancy of his exploits in the field, long ago won him the admiration of the world…Great men are not so abundant that we can afford to lose them without a word. If to be an ardent patriot, a soldier whose genius is unquestioned, whose honor is stainless; a statesman who could weld the wild tribes of Africa into a formidable enemy, a hero who could accept defeat and disaster without a murmur – if all these constitutes a great man, Abd-El-Kader deserves to be ranked among the foremost of the few great men of the century.”
One of the youngest people to accompany Abd el-Kader on his journey into exile, first to France and later to Damascus, was Muhammad Yunus, who was just seven years old when he left Algeria. When the mob invaded Damascus. Muhammad Yunus Al-Jaza’iri (Al-Jaza’iri is Arabic for “The Algerian”) was in his early 20s, but he had already earned a position as a trusted confidant to Abd el-Kader and occupied a high place in the emir’s army, and he played a pivotal role in rescuing the Christians from the mob. Which isn’t surprising, as Muhammad Yunus’ own father, Muhammad Sha’aban, had been one of Abd el-Kader’s most trusted lieutenants during the war in Algeria. Also, Abd el-Kader was his uncle.
While Abd el-Kader’s fame made him untouchable, those around him were not so lucky. Muhammad Yunus was poisoned and died suddenly in 1880. The Druze were suspected, but nothing was ever proved.
When Muhammad Yunus died, Abd el-Kader himself was the executor of his estate, and until he passed away Abd el-Kader served as the guardian to Muhammad Yunus’ young son, Mahmoud, my great-grandfather.
Muhammad Yunus was my great-great-grandfather.
Abd el-Kader, as best as we can discern from the genealogy records, was my great-great-great-great uncle.
I’ve been writing professionally for 15 years, and particularly since 9/11 I have tried, when circumstances allow, to make this an underlying theme in my work: that Muslims and Christians can live together, that there is more that unites us than divides us, that it is only the extremists on both sides who want to see a Clash of Civilizations, and not co-existence, rule the day.
Just know that greater men have tread this way before. My efforts to do so are a speck of dust on top of a mighty mountain of tolerance my ancestors built in 1860. I am honored to play whatever miniscule part I can in echoing the message that Abd el-Kader spread so eloquently, and with such impact, 150 years ago today.
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Okay, I kinda have this idea for a react. Sole has always worn a gasmask/hood, sunglasses around everyone, because they’ve always been afraid of showing themselves to anyone in this ‘new’ world. How would just about romanced companies react to sole ‘revealing’ themselves, and the companions maybe finally realising that, yes, they’re definitely in love with sole :) would be lovely if you made it super fluff xD ppllleeeaaase
Okay… so I’ve done this so they are romantically interested in Sole, not completely romanced to make it more interesting (because I don’t know anyone who would agree to date someone and not even know what they look like, especially if they are constantly wearing a mask)… Also, I combined the two, hope you don’t mind.
Cait: Cait tossedher head back as she laughed at something funny Sole had said before she turnedback to Whitechapel Charlie and ordered another drink. She’d offered to buydrinks for herself and Sole after a long day and she had an ulterior motive,but she wouldn’t tell Sole that. She drew her lip into her mouth as she waitedfor Sole to take off that goddamn mask, the one used by almost every raiderthey’d slaughtered that day. And Sole did take it off, shaking out their ‘hathair’ as they put the mask on the table.
"Iwas starting to think ye didn’t have a face under that mask,“ Cait jokedtipping her drink back as her eyes lingered on Sole’s features. She hadn’texpected them to be so good looking and this only added to that pounding in herchest. She shook of the feeling, but it stayed, echoing inside her mind thelonger she looked at Sole and their beauty. She loved them. Seeing their faceonly confirmed that gooey feeling and she hated it, but she didn’t. She wantedto, but she couldn’t.
"Iwas afraid at first,” Sole started blushing, “but how long could Ireally hide from this world?” Sole looked around the room, taking in thescenery without the mask for the first time and everything felt different,“from you,” Sole reached across the bar and put their hand on Cait’s.She couldn’t hide the smile creeping onto her face as he held onto Sole’s hand.
"Whydon’t ya ditch the raider mask, show tha world that pretty little face ofyers,��� Sole blushed looking down and Cait’s chest vibrated with each thumbof her aching chest. Fuck, why did this have to happen?
Curie: Curie didn’tthink much of Sole’s mask, they’d been wearing it the moment they let her outof the lab in Vault 81 and they’d been wearing it ever since. She didn’t askquestions either, she just let Sole go on with wearing it, although when they’dcome across a group of raiders with some wearing the exact same mask, she’dbecome a little confused. In fact, she nearly offed Sole during all thecommotion.
"Here’sto you not killing me today,” Sole said walking over to Curie with twodrinks in their hand. Curie took it with a thank you, doing a double take whenshe noticed Sole wasn’t wearing the mask. That, and they were absolutely,breathtakingly gorgeous. What was that feeling? Curie put her hands on herstomach. It felt like she was being attacked by a swarm of butterflies, hittingagainst every inch of her stomach. She’d never had this feeling before and shewasn’t quite sure how to deal with it.
"Youare very good looking,“ Curie admitted shyly a crimson blush spreadingacross her soft cheeks. Sole awkwardly looked down at the ground, their facereddening as Curie observed every inch of their uncovered face, “sorry Imake you uncomfortable yes?” Curie sipped on her drink, her eyes stillfixed on Sole. Sole looked up and met Curie’s hazel blue eyes. Curie couldn’texplain the rushes of feelings inside her at that very moment or if Sole wasfeeling the exact same things she was. She hoped they were, because she hadthis agonising tenderness inside her that was screaming and begging for her totell Sole, but she didn’t know how.
Danse: Danse’s backpressed into the bench as he lifted the weights away from his chest, themuscles in his arms tensing as he continued his reps. He was too busy workingon going up a pec size to realise that Sole had walked into the room. He putthe weights back on the support bar as he took a break to drink some water andwipe away some of the sweat that was dripping down his face and chest.
"Lookinggood Danse,“ Sole said with a smile and Danse almost jumped out of hisskin. He looked up and almost melted at the sight of Sole, who was standing infront of him with their hands on their hips. They leaned into him, “Howmuch are you benching?” they asked but Danse couldn’t muster up an answerwithout stuttering. A strand of hair fell out from behind Sole’s ear, fallingin front of their face and Danse had to refrain from tucking it back intoplace.
"Uh,two ninety, I can lift two ninety,“ He stuttered. He couldn’t keep hiseyes from Sole’s soft and gentle features, something he hadn’t been graced withseeing until now and he couldn’t get enough of it.
"Iknow it’s a shock,” Sole said with a laugh, "I thought it was about timeyou got to see who you’re truly hanging around with,” they bit their lip,“You’re not disappointed with how I look, are you?” Sole put theirinsecurities out there and it couldn’t be further from the truth.
"No,no,“ he coughed, "You’re very attractive,” for once Danse felt alittle insecure that this perfect being was standing before him and he was asweaty mess. Then there was that pang in his chest and the unmistakable feelingthat he was very attracted to Sole in more ways than one. He wasn’t, no, hecouldn’t be. But, he was. He was in love with Sole and seeing their face onlymade that feeling grow stronger and made his heart beat one hundred timesfaster.
Deacon: HQ washolding a birthday party for Sole. Deacon was leaning against a wall chattingaway to Tinker Tom when Sole had walked through the door. Deacon stared at theslack jawed as his eyes trailed up their legs to their chest and finallylanding on their face. Tinker Tom chuckled when he noticed Deacon’s lingeringeyes. He’d called it a while back and neither Deacon or Sole knew of the betsplaced by half of the agents in the room. Sole spotted the two of them in thecorner and made their way over to them.
"Tom,“Sole said with a smile before turning to face the bald man, "Deeks,”Sole flashed him a bright smile and he nearly fell to the ground when his kneesturned to jelly.
"You’renot wearing your raider mask today?“ Deacon asked, mentally slappinghimself for being so awkward about the situation. Out of all the masks hedidn’t understand why it had to be the one that made them look like they wereapart of the murderous, thieving group of scumbags. Tinker Tom shook his headand walked off, turning around to wink at Deacon, who was cursing Tom in hishead for leaving him alone.
"Yeah,so, this is my face,” Sole pointed out the obvious, poking themselves inthe cheek as they did so. Deacon found himself still gawking at Sole, he hadn’texpected them to look, well like they did. The budding feelings of, wait, love?No it couldn’t be. It was. He loved Sole. How did this even happen? He shookoff the thought.
"Ilike your face,“ Deacon grimaced at his own words, looking anywhere but atSole. Why did love have to be so awkward and weird? "You want adrink?” Deacon asked, “I’m getting you a drink,” he pushed pastSole leaving them standing there in bewilderment as he walked away. He had tocool himself down before he made an even bigger fool of himself than he alreadyhad.
Gage: He didn’tunderstand why Sole had to go around wearing that basic, generic raider maskinstead of one of the cooler ones that the Nuka World raiders had to offer. Buthe didn’t say anything about it because whatever the boss says goes. What hewasn’t expecting was for Sole to walk out of the shower as he was sitting intheir room at the bar, sipping his glass of Nuka Cola orange.
"Gage?What are you doing in here?“ Sole said clearly startled as they saw him inthe corner of the room. He looked up from his glass and a devious smile grew onhis face as his eyes were met with Sole standing in a towel, no mask in sight.And boy, where they attractive. He put a hand to his chest as an unfamiliarfeeling seeped into his heart. What the fuck was that? He asked himself,already knowing the answer. He tried to ignore it, focusing on something elsebut then he caught Sole’s eye.
"Iwas thirsty,” he said holding up his glass of orange. His mind slippedback to that feeling. His pounding heart was thirsty for something else,something more than a drink to quench that thirst. It wanted Sole, he wantedSole. He shook his head to escape his own thoughts.
"Right,well, I need to get dressed so do you think you could vacate the room?“Sole asked, cocking an eyebrow as the noticed Gage’s eyes trail down theirbody. He stood up and walked towards them. Sole’s heartbeat picked up as he wascentimetres from their body, their skin so close to touching. He pushed pastthem and Sole let out a breath, turning around and their eyes met his again. Heflashed another sly grin before he left the room. He had to go do somethingabout these new-found feelings, maybe he’d bury them deep into the depths ofhis mind or maybe he’d act on them. Only time could tell.
Hancock: Hancock foundhimself, for the first time ever, being so head over heels for someone. Thatand the fact he hadn’t even laid his eyes on their face. He wasn’t going todeny it if anyone asked but he was desperate to see them in all their glory. Hewanted to put a face to that amazing personality he’d fallen for. Little did heknow he was going to get his wish.
He’dcome back in from a little mayoral speech on the balcony and his eyes immediatelyfound that assault gas mask that he was pretty sure had been glued to Sole’shead. but once he saw that he felt his heart beat quicken at the thought thatSole wasn’t wearing it. He turned around to find Sole relaxing back on thecouch, flicking through the pages of an old Guns and Bullets magazine. Theypoked their head over the top, their dazzling eyes sending Hancock into a puppylove trance. He didn’t think they’d look quite like that.
"Youlook breath-taking,” he said out loud, making Sole look away with a blushspreading across their cheeks. Hancock rubbed the back of his neck with hiscalloused fingers, realising his mistake but it was too late to correct himselfnow. So, he let his inner confidence man shine through, “you never told meyou were such a looker,” he wagged his eyebrows and Sole laughed,“sorry, you probably don’t want a mug like me gawkin’ at ya,” helooked away and down at the ground instead. His insecurities shining right throughto his exterior. Sole looking like they did would never want to be with a ghoullike him and that only made him crave their love more.
"that’swhere you’re wrong,“ Sole muttered under their breath and Hancock didn’tquite catch what they’d said.
"Whatwas that Sunshine?” He asked, watching as a smile spread across Sole’sface at the adorable nickname he’d produced seemingly out of nowhere. Henoticed the gleam in Sole’s eye and that look, he knew that look. Maybe hecould tell them about his feelings. His eyes met theirs again. He could, hecould definitely tell them.
MacCready: Heremembered the time he’d decided to wear that mask, the green one that wouldhelp him blend into the foliage as he attempted to snipe enemies without beingseen. It had been working out apart from the fact that he couldn’t get a clearshot through the slits in the mask. That and he’d been mistaken for a raidermultiple times, getting him into more trouble than he needed at the time. Hedidn’t really say much about Sole wearing the mask, he was only there becausethey’d hired him but it turned into so much more than that. He’d found himselffalling for the hooded, mask wearing hero.
MacCreadywas sat by the work bench, cleaning the barrel of his sniper rifle when Solehad walked by and over to the bench. Their gun had broken earlier that day andthey’d convinced MacCready that all they needed to fix it was duct tape.MacCready looked up for a split second, catching Sole removing their mask andputting it to the side as they leaned over the workbench. He got up and movedover to a spot where he could catch their eye, so they’d look over at him andhe’d get a glimpse of that mysterious face of theirs.
Sole hadnoticed what he was doing and smiled, showing their pearly white teeth. Theylooked up at him.
"Youalright RJ?“ they asked catching him off guard and he quickly looked awayin embarrassment. Sole laughed as MacCready tried to collect himself with acough.
"I’ma-ok,” he said pointing finger guns at Sole and then immediately regrettedit. Why did he do that? He shook his head, trying to stop himself from turninga hundred different shades of red. Why did he have to let himself fall forthem, only for them to end up looking so gorgeous. How could he admit that heloved them if he could even muster up a conversation with them? He’d have tofigure that out after he toned down the red and returned to normal thatis.
Nick: Nick hadnever complained or even bothered to ask why Sole wore that assault gas mask,it didn’t faze him in anyway. He wasn’t one to be driven to liking someone justby their looks anyway. He’d found himself falling for Sole’s charmingpersonality. He found he had so much in common with them and that’s why hefound himself in the position he was in. Although the type of mask they wore hewasn’t fond of but he wouldn’t tell them that.
"Elliehanded me this,“ Sole said, walking into Nick’s office bare faced and…beautiful. For once Nick found himself gawking at Sole, making an awkward smileappear on their face. They handed him the new file that Ellie had made up.
"Uh,thanks kid,” he said, snapping out of his trance. He took the file fromSole’s hand and flicked through it trying to preoccupy his mind with the newcase instead of thinking about how much he wanted Sole all to himself,“what happened to your mask?” he asked out of curiosity, but hedidn’t look up from the file.
"Idon’t need it anymore,“ Sole sighed sitting down on the desk in thecorner, "I was so afraid of showing my face to anyone that I felt like Icouldn’t connect with them,” they looked over at Nick who had glanced upfor a second before his yellow eyes returned to the pages in front of him. Hefelt selfish feeling the way he did, but he couldn’t help it. Seeing Sole’sface only confirmed his feelings for them and that made him feel guilty. Helooked up to find Sole already looking at him.
"Youlook nice,“ Nick stated and Sole couldn’t help but let a smile stretchacross their face, their heart fluttering at the compliment. If Nick wasn’tgoing to admit his feelings anytime soon, Sole sure would.
Piper: "I don’tknow why you insist on wearing that mask,” Piper admitted. She’d seen thesame mask worn by so many raiders and cut-throat killers. She couldn’t fathomwhy, Sole the kindest person she’d met out here in the brutal commonwealth, waswearing the same mask as they were. It didn’t make sense.
"Don’tyou like it?“ Sole asked half-jokingly. The only reason they’d kept it onwas because they were afraid of what this new world would do to them. Plus it’shard for people to find someone when they don’t know their face.
"Nope,I can’t say that I do,” Piper paused, “other than that you’reperfect,” Piper muttered under her breath and Sole hadn’t heard her sayit. She looked over at Sole, her eyes widening when she saw them reach behindtheir head and pull the mask from it, tossing it onto the ground.
"Happynow?“ Sole said with a raised eyebrow and Piper almost stopped moving asshe let Sole’s appearance sink in. The conclusion she’d come up with was thatthey were insecure about how they looked but how could that be the case whenthey were a walking angel, "Piper?” Sole waved a hand in front of herface and she snapped back to reality.
"Yeah,“she swallowed the lump in her throat, "you look better without it,”she added, looking away for a moment. She could feel her heart drumming againsther rib-cage as the feelings she felt for Sole grew even stronger upon seeing theirface for the first time. She looked back up at Sole, “God, I loveyou,” she muttered, and Sole looked over at her.
"Hmm?What was that love?“ they said, their eyes locking for a split second, butPiper was the first one to look away. She sighed.
"Nothing,”for now at least.
Preston: Prestonhates all things raider and gunner related and for good reason, they murder andkill innocent people, so why was Sole walking around with a mask the spittingimage of theirs? He couldn’t answer that question and he tried not to let itget in the way of his and Sole’s work in the minutemen. And it didn’t. Everyday, he found himself enthralled by Sole and despite their attire he couldn’thelp himself.
"Readyto get going?“ Sole interrupted Preston’s thoughts and he looked up andthem in the middle of a nod when he froze in place. The mask, the one thingstopping him from confessing it all to Sole, was gone and he was staring at them,wasn’t he? He snapped himself out of his own head by blinking a couple oftimes. He smiled.
"YesI am ready,” he paused, “you not forgetting something general?”he asked referring to their mask and Sole shook their head.
"Itdoesn’t really go with the whole good guy agenda does is?“ Sole said witha laugh, their smile was infectious, and it caused Preston to smile at Sole.His heart pumped blood around his body at a fast rate as he realised what thismeant. He promised himself he’d say something to them about how he felt if theytook off the mask and they had, so why was he so afraid? Maybe it was the factthat he hadn’t expected himself to fall even deeper into Sole’s web just bylooking at their face, but he had, "You okay?” Sole asked, noticingthe blank expression on his face. He nodded.
"Yeah.I just didn’t realise how badly,“ he stopped himself but shook his head,forcing himself to say it. Just say it Preston. He put it out there, "Ididn’t realise how madly in love with you I was until now.”
X6-88:Sole was in the process of getting dressed and making themselves presentablelike Father had told them too, seeing as he wanted them to attend the‘important meeting’ he’d set up. Sole was in the middle of fixing their hair inthe mirror when X6 walked in. He spotted Sole in the mirror and at first, hethought maybe someone had broken into their room but then he noticed theassault gas mask on the dresser and it all clicked into place.
"CanI help you X6?” Sole asked turning around to face him. He found himselfunable to look away from their face, one; because he hadn’t seen their facebefore, and two; they were unexpectedly very attractive. He was gawking at themand he had to shake himself out of it.
“Iuh - I was wondering Ma’am, if you would like to assist me on bringing back arogue synth,” he stuttered, and Sole had never seen him falter before,“After your meeting of course,” A smile grew on Sole’s face and X6thought his heart would melt out of his chest. He found himself smiling,something Sole had rarely seen him do, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Yeahsure,” Sole stepped forward, reaching for their mask. He had to thinkquickly, he didn’t want them to go back to hiding and he lowkey thought abouttaking the mask and burning it.
“Youshould leave that behind,” X6 said boldly before turning towards the door.He looked back at Sole, “You shouldn’t hide your beauty behind an uglymask like that,” he walked out the door, he had to go and think about his new-foundfeelings.
Sole looked down at the mask, their cheeksburning a new shade of red. They never thought they’d ever hear that,especially not from X6. Maybe they’ll leave the mask behind…
Maxson: Every time Sole walked past him with that bloody mask ontheir head, he questioned his himself and the process the Brotherhood wentthrough when recruiting new members. Never in his right mind would he recruit aperson to the Brotherhood of steel, without knowing what they looked like, sowhy was this any different? Why did they hold such a possessive effect on him,one that he couldn’t shake off? He didn’t know. Also, was it weird that hecould point out Sole in a crowd, just by looking at their back… and their ass?No, didn’t think so…
“Sole!” Maxson called out, rushing up behind them as hetried to get their attention. He coughed, “Knight? I have a-” Sole turnedaround and Maxson was at a loss for words. He hadn’t expected for Sole to turnaround and be completely bare faced… not only that but they were stunning.
“You have a…?” Sole snapped a finger in front of his face, “Elder?Are you alright?” He blinked a couple of times, snapping himself from the Soleinduced trance he’d been put in from seeing their face. He coughed again, clearinghis throat.
“I have something for you to do,” only Maxson couldn’t rememberwhat that was because he’d become too distracted by the beauty, that was Sole,before him. And then it clicked in his mind why he let them prance around theBrotherhood wearing that mask. Why he found himself staring at them andthinking about them, more than anyone else on the Prydwen or the Airport forthat matter. He’d fallen for them. Shit.
“Okay, details?” Sole asked, a smile forming on their lips.Maxson heart melted even further.
“I uh,” cough, “I need you to meet me on the deck,” he said abruptlyturning around and walking away. He had to give himself a mini pep-talk beforemeeting up with Sole again, that, or he might let something slip… and he didn’tthink he was ready for that, yet.
#Fallout 4#Fallout#fallout 4 companions#Fallout 4 companions react#fo4#fo4 companions#fo4 companions react#Cait#curie fallout#Curie#Danse#Paladin Danse#Deacon#Gage#Porter Gage#Hancock#Mayor Hancock#Nick valentine#maccready#robert joseph maccready#piper wright#preston garvey#X6-88#Maxson#elder maxson
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Cast the Ashes to the Sea
I had this floating around in my computer after TLJ and I’ve decided to post it.
Summary: In the months after the Battle of Crait, Kylo Ren rights his wrongs
Also can be read on Ao3!
The regret felt like poison, after Crait.
Of course, Kylo had to tamp it down for the sake of appearances but the sting of broken skin under his gloves served as a reminder that he failed and that all he had to blame was himself.
The walls of his room took the brunt of it, lightsaber slashes doing little as release and fists doing only a slightly better job.
He had been clumsy, untethered with the death of his master. Frantic, manic, struggling to find an anchor. He knew she would have gotten concessions out of him, if he had been able to cut through the haze just a little.
Destroy the First Order, along with everything else. Spare the rest of the Resistance. Anything for her.
He would have cut Hux down the moment he stepped in the room if it were to make her stay. Making Hux drop to his knees as the Force crushed around his windpipe when she left him alone was of little comfort.
Later, after the blind rage subsided, he would realize that he needed Hux, as much as that was distasteful to think about.
Kylo didn’t fully understand his mission when he was on Crait, his father’s dice disappearing from his fingers, feeling Rey pull away from his mind, feeling Luke’s presence snuff out.
It took time, the anger and regret festering inside of him before it gave way to clarity, forged from violence and the sense of dread every time he received a report of a Jedi fighting alongside the Resistance.
He knew, something that Luke couldn’t teach him. No, this came from Snoke, though it was likely his now-dead master did not mean to teach him this.
It was what failed the Rebellion of old and allowed the First Order to rise from the Empire. The only way to destroy the First Order and burn its ashes, was the kill it from the inside, from the lowliest trooper to the Supreme Leader.
Once the tiny supports that held everything together started to rebel and crumble, the rest would have to fall.
Let old things die. Let the past die.
Yes, kill it. But kill it dead this time.
All Kylo had to do was to make sure he was flying away from the final implosion.
It began with a suggestion, planted in the heads of a few choice Stormtroopers.
It had been clumsy at first, trying to manufacture the same turmoil inside the traitor that led him to leave the First Order.
Kylo didn’t know the traitor’s mind, not like he knew hers.
(Even now, ‘the traitor’ was being replaced by ‘Finn’ in his mind, much to his chagrin.)
But he knew rebellion: his own, and that of the traitor. He sensed it in the traitor’s mind on Jakku, a wild dissonance between his inherent personality and the brainwashing, a rioting conflict.
So, Kylo mimicked it, the wisps of freedom and mercy and independence. He added his own feelings of rebellion to the mix: bitterness, reluctance, resentment.
A tiny dose, not enough to suddenly spur an attempted assassination. He couldn’t have his own men turning against him before the work could truly begin, not knowing that he was on their side. And he certainly couldn’t have Hux cracking down with training and brainwashing if something was to immediately go amiss.
But just enough.
Pure mind tricks and control were all well and good, but not sustainable in the long-term.
He chose the ones that were the chattiest, known to be the natural leaders of their respective squads. They would be the easiest vectors.
“Sir?”
PK-3342, nicknamed ‘Trace’, stayed at attention, but there was clear hesitance in her posture. Her files were glowing with praise—as much as praise goes in the First Order—both in military style and promise to be an officer one day. Kylo waved his hand in a dismissive manner, still manipulating the Force, pulling the connection between him and her.
Connection, thin, superficial, not like the connection with her.
“Return to your quarters. Prepare your squad for departure at 1400 hours,” he said.
She straightened a bit more.
“Y—yes, sir.”
A fraction of hesitation, something that wasn’t there before. Perfect.
This went on for months.
Kylo tried to engross himself in his task, dividing his attention between manufacturing his rebellion and leading the First Order. The second task was a farce.
The connection stayed cold, so he didn’t have other more pleasurable options to occupy his time.
He didn’t prod at it, though he would’ve liked to.
I’ll destroy her.
The rest could fall, as long as she was left alive. But, he had to keep appearances, had to post a bounty on her head. And if those hunters who took up the bounty soon found themselves meeting sudden demises, well, Kylo shrugged his shoulders and pretend that he had nothing to do with it.
He had everything to do with it, but Hux didn’t need to know that. She didn’t know it either.
The charade could only last for so long. And Kylo knew that it was growing to become something beyond his total control.
The rumor of Jedi, systems resenting the untenable agreements made with the First Order—which Kylo had a hand in.
As the reports from the Battle at Chandrila came back, an utter rout for the First Order, Kylo knew that he needed to be prepared to leave.
He had sent thousands to slaughter in order to keep his story straight over the many months, and this was the most recent in a line of deteriorating military decisions. He knew, somehow, he would pay for that. But it was the final push.
He didn’t even intend for the battle to be what triggered the rebellion, but he was already prepared.
A day had passed after the reports came in. Lack of morale, lack of faith, rebellion. Clear as could be, palpable in the Force.
The time had come and the First Order fell like dominoes.
The troopers tore everything down, their fallen comrades a chant in their mouths. In the training facilities, aboard the Destroyers.
Kylo strode towards his private hangar, as he knew the First Order fell across the galaxy. The Force glowed and howled. Death, freedom, freedom in death.
Hux—the last enemy to be destroyed—was too prideful to allow himself to be caught and tried by any government. No, he choked quietly upon a poison pill and Kylo hoped that it hurt every moment.
His sure footsteps stalled as movement could be heard a short distance away.
The two troopers froze in the hall, their blasters trained on him.
Kylo looked at them, they looked at him.
He could kill them both, if he wanted to. Of course, he didn’t.
He fished a code card out of his pocket and waved it in the air. The shape was recognizable to the troopers and they knew what kind of power it had: access to their superiors’ chambers, access to the Supreme Leader’s chambers, to his files. Then Kylo let it drop to the ground.
“Oops.”
Once he was sure the meaning was clear to them and that they wouldn’t shoot at his back, which took mere seconds, he continued forward, a feeling in his chest ballooning.
He reached his hanger when electricity, light, power brushed against his mind. A void suddenly being filled.
Rey.
She was here.
Across the galaxy. Finally.
Across the connection, he could see her.
Her hair had grown longer. She looked a bit less gaunt, but there was still the dirt and the wildness around her. She had a double-bladed lightsaber hooked to her hip.
People were shouting around her, in surprise, in confusion.
Rey looked at her, in similar confusion, in similar surprise. Suspicion, too.
“What’s happening?”
“The end.”
“Are you—okay?”
“Oh, now you’re worried for me?” he asked, allowing some measure of smug leaking into his voice. Concern, now. For his safety, despite everything.
The tips of her ears turned red.
“Don’t be a kriffing—”
“So, where’s the Resistance hanging out these days?”
Her mouth closed with a click.
“I’m not telling you that.”
He tried not to feel too hurt by that and failed. Instead, he covered it with a jaunty offhandedness that seemed forced, even to his ears.
“Well, I’m heading to Naboo.”
“Naboo?”
Kylo shrugged.
“Seems like a good enough place. I’ve seen it in my dreams recently.”
More than recently. And he omitted the fact that he dreamt of Naboo and her at the same time.
In the cockpit now, powering up the ship, getting ready to abandon this ship full of rebels.
“Just an offer,” he said.
The victory of it all gave him the confidence to say that, though he braced for rejection.
She watched him, hesitant.
“I’ll think about it.”
The connection dissolved and the void returned, though it was warmer than it was in the months since Crait.
He smiled to himself as the stars blended around the cockpit and the hyperdrive whirred. It definitely wasn’t a no. If she did take him off on his offer, she would come to him as a friend.
He would meet her equally.
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Coywolf
This is a different Werecreature AU that I had cooked up.
Being a hybrid Rook walked that tenuous line of acceptance and complete rejection. Wolves wanted nothing to do with her. She was impure and only good for a quick tumble in the hack with and then they could call her whore and slut because she didn’t have standards. On the other hand, Coyotes accepted her whole heartedly, they saw nothing wrong with her mixed blood. She was a Coy through and through to them and just because she had some ‘high and mighty’ Wolf blood in her didn’t mean she was one of Them. It was too bad then that Hope was run by a Wolf Pack, that were into a weird religion, and that all her friends lived a county over.
They were going to arrest Joseph Seed, Alpha Werewolf and leader of Eden’s Gate Cult, and no one but the Marshall was on board with the plan. He hadn’t even brought Wolves himself to help with the arrest when he heard that there was a Were in the sheriff’s department.
“Sometimes it’s better to leave well enough alone.” Sheriff Whitehorse grumbled and Rook gave him a tense smile. She would be the one to place the cuffs on Seed. She really didn’t want to know the retaliation that would come for this, she’d have to go stay with her friends for a while, or forever. Six months into her job that she worked very hard to get and she would have to quit. Her fangs would be bared and her ears would be flat if she was in her other form. She wasn’t especially fond of living with her head down to keep Cultists off her back but she had made her own little den for herself. The thick padding of the gloves was overkill, she wasn’t nearly as allergic to silver as Wolves. But the Sheriff had insisted, like the Seeds wouldn’t smell what she was the second she walked into that church. As they touched down they were almost completely surrounded by cultists, some of them had guns. She couldn’t smell any silver but there was a sickly-sweet smell coming from some of the guns. It made her nose itch and she felt herself trying to snarl but caught herself in time to keep her fangs in check. The mystery scent was one she had smelled before coming off the occasional Cultist.
“Alright in and out.” The Marshall commanded and Rook narrowed her eyes at the man. Was he really so foolish to think that this would be easy?
“Pratt, you’re on the helicopter. Hudson, I want you on the door, don’t need anyone trying to stop us yeah?” The pair nodded and looked concerned at Rook. It was touching that the humans were so worried about her. She tried to reassure them but if she opened her mouth all they would see is a mouth full of fangs because she was just as nervous as they were.
“Go get ‘em tiger.” Pratt joked, he called her every kind of animal with the exception of canines. She nodded and they entered into the church. Though they couldn’t hear it, the sermon being given was not exactly welcoming.
Something was terribly wrong. It wasn’t Sunday. Joseph was the only Seed that was supposed to be in the church. Instead he stood at his alter with his brothers and sister behind him. And all of them were staring straight at her. Jacob Seed’s face was unreadable not giving off any emotions. John Seed’s eyes were lit with curiosity and interest. Faith Seed’s attentive gaze was beckoning. Joseph Seed’s eyes didn’t focus on her until he delivered the last line of his sermon.
“And I beheld a white horse, and hell followed with him.” She felt that those words were pointed straight at her. Her hackles were standing on end and she had to actively fight not to half shift or even full shift. Other than the fact that they were all assholes about her blood there was a reason that Rook didn’t like to go near Wolves. A lot of them were Alphas, Coyotes tended to run in a more even Beta and Omega mix. The Cultists around them shifted uneasily, even their weak human senses understanding something Big was happening. Seed brought his hands down and held them out to her. She had to force herself forward, she wanted to run as far, as fast as she could. If she survived this she was going to go live somewhere far away like Australia.
“Alright cuff him.” The Cultists hissed and Seed continued to stare her down.
“God will not let you take me.” That seemed to settled the Cult members and they slunk off without much prompting. And there, right there, was the reason she was going to go through with this. She might have turned on her heel, sided with the Sheriff and walked away. But all Wolves thought her a weakling, a mutt that wasn’t worthy of being in the same room as them. That they were above the law. Well they weren’t.
“Rook?” The Sheriff asked as she pushed forward, back ramrod straight and her hands sure as ever. Though she didn’t make the cuffs painfully tight, their bite was affective nonetheless. She put her hand on his shoulder and pulled him forward.
“Sometimes it’s better to leave well enough alone.” She looked into his eyes again and narrowed them. She withheld her snarl and pushed him forward gently. He went easily enough and she didn’t bother to look back and know that the others were still watching her. The pack of jeering Cultists had doubled and Pratt looked very nervous. She could understand that and as she bundled Seed into the helicopter she wrinkled her nose. Nothing about this felt right. The air was too tense. The arrest far too easy. She looked back and found the other Seeds at the doorway of the church.
“Get in the chopper Rook!” The Sheriff called and she climbed in, only seat left directly across from Seed. He smiled at her. She couldn’t get a read on him but he was smug about something.
“Shall I sing for you?” He didn’t really ask because he immediately started to sing Amazing Grace. It was quiet enough that the humans around them would be able to pick up on it so this performance was just for her.
Head still spinning from crashing Rook tried to focus. There were so many sounds, fire, someone moving around in the body of the helicopter, someone over the radio, too many footsteps and too many heartbeats. She knew she half shifted and her eyes snapped open to see the headset before her. She snarled as she reached for it. She was going to slaughter something. Her friends were missing, possibly dead, and she wanted to tear something bloody for it. A large hand wrapped around hers, thumb pressing lightly into the bridge of her hand preventing her from getting her claws into the meat of the hand or wrist. She looked over and found Joseph Seed looking down at her as he took the headset with his other hand, making sure to keep a firm grip on her.
“Dispatch, all is fine here.” Nancy that traitorous bitch. She let out a low rumbling snarl and he continued to smile at her, but there was something strange flickering in his eyes now. “There is no need for alarm.”
“Understood, glory to you Father.”
“No one is coming to save you.” He informed and stepped closer, pressing his nose into her neck and scenting her. He dug his thumb into her hand when she tried to turn away from him. She felt him nose at the scent gland on her neck, felt his mouth open and she snapped her teeth at him in warning. No threat to her paw would stop her from going for his throat if he tried to mark her. “I could save you though. If you were willing.” He pulled away and looked directly into her eyes again. Rook growled, baring her fangs at him. She was no pet. She would not be made into one now. He gave a pleased sigh and released her moving out of the crashed helicopter, glancing once over his shoulder as someone called out to him. She continued to glare even as flames licked closer to her.
“Father? What of her?”
“Leave her.” They obeyed like mewling pups. She couldn’t stay, she had to regroup. She had to get the national guard. She cut her belt to ribbons and crept out of the helicopter, mindful of the flames but knowing they would be preferable to insane devoted Cultists. She would be faster in her fur. She couldn’t afford to be captured in her other form. Human legs were so inefficient for running though. That sickly sweetness caught her nose and she took off not bothering to worry about shifting, she needed away from that smell. “Grab a sinner!” She heard Joseph roar behind her and then there was pursuit. She almost crashed into the Marshall and guided him to the bridge. He was having a panic attack; their pursuers had caught up to them.
“Fuck.” And he vanished taking the only weapon with him.
“Fuckin’ kidding, right?” She muttered and felt something bite into her shoulder. She reached up and pulled the arrow out but her vision was going hazy. The sweetness was clouding everything within green. She fell to the ground as her legs refused to support her any longer. She willed herself to stay conscious. Steady bootsteps came toward her as humans encircled her and she looked up with a low growl, expecting Joseph. It wasn’t it was the younger one. He smirked as he squatted down and reached out to run his hand through her hair or touch her ears. She snapped, almost tearing off his hand, her teeth just grazing his wrist.
“I do love a challenge.” He hummed and stabbed her with another arrow. The green overwhelmed her and she blacked out with a small grunt of pain.
The sound of running water woke her next. There were several fearful whimpers around her, she felt two sentries, turned Weres, holding her up. She was waist deep in the Henbane River. She realized vaguely that the flailing limbs that were in front of her was someone being drowned. She felt her jailers grip tighten as she tried to move. This however got John’s attention and he looked over at her with a smile. The thrashing stopped and he released the poor human he had held under. The body bobbed slightly and two cultists guided the body onto the shore. John was standing in front of her and his hands took hold of her.
“This one’s not clean.” Rook barely had time to inhale sharply. She desperately tried to grab his hands before remembering that she should be going for his eyes and she lashed out, claws slicing into his cheek. He yelped and lifted her from the water.
“John!” Joseph’s voice called from the shore and she coughed and sputtered, feeling the Turned edging closer to grab her again. John pulled back, face bloody but the cuts healed already. His eyes were glittering dangerously. “John.” Joseph had reached them and the Turned were brought to attention. She slowly slunk onto the bank while all attention was on the Seeds. She couldn’t really hear them well with the water still in her ears. She figured she really didn’t have much to lose now and forced herself to shift. Her hips would have really painful bruising because she didn’t remove her leather belt but she was more concerned with escape. Bruising meant she was alive. One of the cultists noticed her but too late and she tore his throat out before sprinting free. She heard shouting after her and chasing but it was only humans. The Seeds weren’t pursuing her. She would have scoffed. Of course the mighty wolves wouldn’t need to shift to chase a Coy like her. She raced through the trees and easily lost them. And then she heard the ATVs. She was on a cliff’s edge and below her a lake.
Waking up in a strange place was disorientating, doing it twice in the same day really sucked, the fact that she was now naked did not help. She was properly cuffed but a blanket had been wrapped around her. She heard movement and looked over.
“Ain’t seen someone like you in a long time.” Dutch Roosevelt was in the doorway. He turned on the radio. Joseph’s voice poured forth from the speakers.
“Remember that if you should see the Deputy that bridges the divide please take her gently by the hand and guide her back into the flock. She is Our missing piece, the last part to make Us whole.” Rook didn’t think he was talking about Eden’s Gate. “And if you are listening Deputy, welcome to Eden’s Gate.”
“That right there is dangerous. Do you have an idea what kinda trouble you’ve caused?” Roosevelt asked as he looked her over. “The smart thing to do would be to just hand you over.” She swallowed but made sure to try and make eye contact.
“What would the dumb thing to do be?” He looked at her for a long moment before he took the keys to the cuffs and unlocked them.
“The dumb thing to do would be to unleash you on Eden’s Gate.” He helped her stand and then motioned to the clothes that were on the foot of the bed. “Go wash up, you look to be about my daughter’s size.” Rook didn’t ask what happened to her, she had a pretty good idea. Not many people could escape the Cult especially when they lived so close to the compound or the river. She nodded and went to the shower room. She turned on the water and waited for it to warm a little and looked at the wall with a scoff. Don’t Drop the Soap. Once she was clean she looked over the clothes that she’d been given. A pair of flexible jeans, warm socks, hiking boots, a tank top, and a light jacket. She could faintly smell Coy from the clothes. When she stepped out she had fully revered to human, for a moment Dutch just stared at her. It was similar to how the Sheriff had always stared at her growing up. She faintly remembered that there were a few solitary Coyotes in Hope County but the people that claimed her as pack were over the river. Coy was Coy though and she was Coy.
“Thank you, Mr. Roosevelt.” She said and he pointed to the map of Hope. Each of the Seeds were pictured in different areas.
“Knock that shit out. It’s Dutch. That is what is controlled by the Seeds. They have almost the entire county under their thumb. I’m willing to bet they took the rest of the Sheriff’s Department alive to try and lure you out.” He handed her a thigh holster and then set a gun down on the table that had other maps on it. “It ain’t much but it’s a start. If you could go check on the Andersons. Rea-Rea hasn’t checked in with me in a while. They run that little pumpkin farm.” Rook nodded and strapped the holster on and picked up the gun. She checked the clip and picked up the extras that he had given her. She noticed a knife and hesitantly reached for it. It reeked of silver.
“They have Turned.” Dutch stared at her and she stared back.
“A puny knife ain’t much against a Turned.”
“I know. Still it’s better than nothing.” He smiled and then handed over a radio. “You know they control the air waves.”
“Got my own station.”
“As any good prepper should.” She muttered and then headed for the entrance of the bunker.
“Be careful. What’s your name kid?”
“Rook.” He nodded and then she was off.
Freeing Boomer, letting the poor boy mourn the loss, listening to Dutch curse as she relayed that she wasn’t in time to stop them, it made Rook’s heart ache. Her radio crackled to life while she was trekking through the woods just off the road.
“Sin is pervasive.” John Seed’s voice drifted lazily from her radio. She rolled her eyes. Wolves had always thought to lecture her on the ways of life. She tuned him out she as she headed out. She needed to figure out her next move and she’d rather not do that out in the open.
Freeing Fall’s End makes sense. It gives her easy access to allies. It gives her somewhere to run to, to lick her wounds. Nick, Mary May, Jerome, Kim, Dutch, Boomer. They don’t replace her friends, her family. But they help. Her radio is thankfully silent as she is alone in the woods. John Seed doesn’t know how to shut up. Dutch’s commentary on him was hilarious but he was sleeping. It was a new moon tonight and like all creatures tied to the lunar cycle, the absence of the large body in the sky disturbed her, though probably not in the same way that it did others. Honestly, she would be in fur if it weren’t for the fact that the Peggies had nets. It was a little galling that the Moon thought it could hide from her. She glared at the sky. She saw the outline of the celestial body.
“You can’t hide.” She whispered softly. “We well have you one day.”
In retrospect it really is her own fault when she is caught the first time. She gets a touch too far from Fall’s End. Needing to be out and hunting and killing. She would have her pound of flesh and then some. John Seed take advantage and traps her friends. It makes her bristle. She won’t lose any more to them. She isn’t exactly thinking when she comes into the church and shoots the cultist holding Nick and Jerome. John Seed is grinning at her as two Turned step up to her sides.
“And there she is.” He hummed throwing his hands up and stepping back, he can smell the silver. Rook knew this was a bad idea but she wasn’t going to back down now. The Seeds wanted her alive that much was clear from the fact that the sermons to find her were still going and John was sending out capture parties. She wouldn’t come out of this without wounds but she would come out of this with her friends.
Rook almost considers calling on her Family. She almost howls for them but snaps her maw shut swallowing down the cry for help. She would not ask for help with this. She would not disgrace herself.
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A Bandit
It wasn't how Gaves thought he would be spending his evening: Lying on his back, bleeding from a stab wound, and losing sensation in his legs. Truthfully, it was a nightmare, and he could have avoided if he had just listened. Of course his curious nature got the better of him, and he stayed put. Perhaps -now- he would remember to run, when told to run.
He had just reunited with the always alluring Mariaute, the shapely woman no longer wearing her dark leathers, but instead dressing in something softer. A top, and dress leaving her midsection exposed. It didn't help that she wore a thin veil over her face, revealing only those gorgeous, golden eyes flecked with silver. A weaker man would have knelt. Standing on the edge of the path that stood out in front of the Slaughtered Lamb, Gaves and Mariaute talked, enjoying each other's quips, and satirical lines. Despite how pleasant the words exchanged were, Gaves couldn't help but feel uneasy at a strange sight. A man, tall as a building, and encased in armor blessed by the light was flanked by what appeared to be a mugger, and woman wearing a robe. They looked strange, standing out in the open, lined up like they were preparing to do -something-. A strange voice invaded Gaves' mind, interrupting the impure thoughts of Mariaute he held. "Run. Your life is in danger." His mouth went dry, ceasing anything that wasn't pertaining to his survival. Inhaling sharply he looks around, trying to find 'the voice'. All he found was Mariaute's golden orbs. "What's wrong?" She asked.
The mugger left the trio, making the long, obvious way up the ramp towards Gaves. It wasn't hard to miss him, dressed as he was. Gaves wondered who told him it was a good idea to dress up like -that- in the first place. As he approached, Gaves whispered to Mariaute, ignoring what she just said to him. "Listen to me right now, please. A voice, I don't who's, just told me to run. Told me I'm in Danger." His ocean colored eyes stared a the approaching masked man, suspecting he had something to do with. Mariaute's honeyed words cooed to him in a soft hush. "Put your arm around my waist." And so Gaves did. Promptly the shady individual walked directly behind Gaves, sniffling; In addition to looking nefarious, he also had a cold. "Sirrah? Spare change for a poor beggar, master?" Who asked for gold dressed like that, Gaves thought. Instinct told him to bolt, but his curiosity got the better of him. Besides, he had Mariaute, and Mariaute knew how to handle herself quite well, or so she would tell you with a smirk. Gaves turned his head towards the man, but didn't betray his position with Mariaute. "What's this? Oh light, another mask." Gaves teases good naturedly, checking out yet -another- mask in his life today. He gave an honest answer. "Sorry sir, I'm uh. A bit busy whispering in the lovely lady's ear." It was partially true, but the outlaw didn't care.
He struck much faster than Gaves would have thought, especially someone with a cold. The cold steel stuck him in the back, center to his spine from his left shoulder. Had Gaves not been watching the outlaws motion towards him it would have been much worse. Pain, fear, and adrenaline compelled Gaves forward, an arm loosening up from Mariaute's body as he fell forward from the ledge, blood leaking from him as he landed with a thud on the cool grass. It wasn't the first time he was stabbed, but it still hurt. Clutching at his back, he writhed around on the earth, squirming. Arms bent at an awkward angle, trying to put pressure on the wound. All the while Mariaute attacked, striking at the attacker. Despite her harmless appearance she was far from it, and put the sniffling bandit on the defensive. With a brief clash, Gaves heard something metal drop, and the bandit cursed. Retreating, he gave his farewell. "Lord Holt... sends his regards." And with that, he grabbed a pouch attached to his waist, removed it, and slammed it on the ground. It burst into a cloud of billowing smoke, and behind that he escaped, climbing the white lattice of a nearby building to dash across the rooftops.
Lord Holt, Gaves thought... which one? It didn't help that the family was spread out amongst many members, and giving the title of lord was like telling him he only had to choose one from hundreds instead of thousands. Which lord? Gaves grimaced, trying to flip over to his side. Just then a familiar voice invaded his distressed thoughts, speaking. "He is employed by those who think you are some sort of serial killer." A serial killer? Of all the things to accuse Gaves of, Gaves, the man who would couldn't stand the sight of blood, or harming someone, him. -He- was a serial killer. The man who had been subject to many beating, and refused to do anything back. -He- was a serial killer. Gaves was insulted, he roared at the alien voice. "The fawk kinda' question is that?" His mind bellowed, showing off that distinct Southshore accent. "How can I prove to ya' I don't look like a serial killer?" Rational thought was absent in the moment. It didn't help that now, at the base of his spine, he felt an immense stabbing pain. Was it poison? It had to be; the bandit was sent to make him a cripple, or was that just a bonus because the attempted killer really loved his job? Gaves didn't know. The only thing he did know was that he felt like he was going to die.
The voice spoke to him again. "This is your mind. And that definitely proved it. Sorry, I had to make sure I wasn't doing the wrong thing here." Gaves groaned. As if any part of finding someone to do this kind of thing was for the 'greater good.' "Whoever told you that is lying, I ain't a killer." A Draenei approached from around the corner, she was holding nothing more than a lute, and dressed like a commoner. Mariaute, on the other hand, leapt down with annoyance. Somehow the man had gotten away, and she accused herself of being useless during the situation. She landed with the grace of cat, always on her feet. Her golden eyes peered over Gaves, annoyed. Whether it was at him, or her guilt Gaves could see it written plainly on her face. The Draenei came closer, inspecting the damage. He was too busy clutching at his back to explain rationally what was wrong with him, so Gaves only managed to grunt, and spit out four letter words for his description of the wound. The Draenei seemed to understood, and held up her lute, as if she was about to play it. Then, a moment later she did: Beautiful hymns were plucked in a harmonious manner. The light around her seemed to intensify, giving her a halo of yellow light. She spoke a chorus, lyrics Gaves didn't quite understand, and willed her light to Gaves. In a flash the warm rays from the heavens soaked Gaves, wrapping around him like a blanket. Quickly the throbbing sensation from his back started to cease, as well as the tingling sensation at the base of his spine. Like easing into a hot bath, Gaves relaxed against the Light's will, content as it sealed up his wounds, stopped the bleeding, and purged the toxins from his blood.
Gaves blinked, staring up at the now purple sky; the sun was setting. His head rolled over to the Draenei, smiling. "Thank you." Gaves said cheerfully. His upper half pushed itself up, but his legs refused to act. Panicking, he looked towards the Draenei. The woman shook her head, coming to an end with her music that she played. The light around her ceased to pour into Gaves, and then started to fade away. "It may have saved your life, but there is only so much the light can do. Rest is what you need." Gaves immediate thought was the Cathedral. "I know where I have to go. Mariaute, please help me." Mariaute inched closed, still upset with the course of events. "Take me to the Cathedral." Mariaute's face darkened, but she understood. The much smaller woman leaned down at the waist, and hoisted Gaves up, slinging his arm over her shoulder. How she managed to support his weight, he didn't know. "Cathedral, then I'm gone." Gaves frowned, then nodded. He turned to the Draenei, and smiled. "Thank you, thank you so muc-" His voice, and the rest of him, along with Mariaute, slipped into darkness, evaporating from the current realm of existence. When Gaves blinked again he could still the Draenei, but she was different. In fact the entire city was different. The sky was pitch black, and the sun was a single, white orb beaming light that illuminated everything. People, buildings, and even the grass were all covered by a thick layer of fog, almost like livings wisps. "Where are we?" Gaves asked to Mariaute whom was already dragging him away from the scene of the crime. "Don't ask too much." Was his answer. Gaves guessed it was the realm of shadows, or whatever its 'official' name was. The same place rogues slipped in, and out of to either hide, or attack an unsuspecting soul. What was most strange is how fast they moved, or at least how fast Mariaute moved with Gaves. Like gliding over glass they raced past people unsuspecting to their presence. In a matter of minutes they appeared in front of the Cathedral steps. Gaves felt a tinge of guilt, however he didn't have a chance to learn the Draenei's name.
Mariaute looked taxed. Perhaps it was because she was so close to the Cathedral, or maybe because she had just literally dragged Gaves across Stormwind. Still, she never dropped him from her grip. At least now Gaves could feel his toes, faintly. With effort she helped him along, occasionally Gaves would push off the ground with every seventh step Mariaute took, dragging his other foot along. Finally, they climbed the many steps, and slinked inside the holy place. Mariaute must have been continually punched in the gut, because she looked like a weight had been strapped to her neck. Moving to a bench, Gaves stumbles, and falls, missing it. His hands fly out in front of him, and slap against the stone edge, making a loud noise. It interrupted with the otherwise peaceful environment. It was loud enough to distract a devout follower. A man, if one could call it a man, stood up from his kneeling position from the center of the building. Gaves could hear him before he saw him. A hulking -thing- shook the earth as he made his way over to Gaves and Mariaute; Mariaute was helping Gaves onto the bench. "Is everything alright here?" The beast of a man asked. His armor was unnecessary, and looked cumbersome. Pale white in color, and his visor held two burning yellow orbs; it was either his real eyes, or some kind of magic. "Are we fine here?" Gaves said sarcastically, gesturing to himself, and Mariaute. "Just stabbed in the back, and accused as a serial killer. Aside from that?" Gaves pursed his lips, and shrugged his shoulders. "Just fine." The bard's eyes hovered on the large man. In truth he knew who he was, Gaves was just playing dumb. Like all Paladins he was a devout follower, and took the teachings of the church very seriously. It didn't help that Mariaute was looking annoyed to be in the establishment, giving her roguish look a motive to be questioned. "Do you need anything?" The paladin asked. Gaves remembered clearly where the man had been through all this. He was standing next to the man who stabbed him, but why? He, from what Gaves saw, and heard, was a paragon to the light, why had he been with the man before the attack? Gaves told the truth. "Well, I think I've been poisoned to tell ya' the truth. See my legs?" Gaves wiggled his foot slowly. "Think I've been hit with something paralytic.
The paladin grunted, and then nodded. "I've got some anti-venom in my first aid pouch, but that's about it. It's generic, but it should hold you over." Large, metal digits retrieve a vial of red 'goo'. He tosses into Gaves lap. Snagging it, Gaves holds up the liquid to the light, inspecting it. He had a good feeling it would taste awful. "I was lucky someone close to the light was near, else I'd still be laying on the floor." The hulk nodded, and then turned his attention on Mariaute who was steadfast on showing her contempt for the building they were standing in. "If you'll excuse me I'd like to speak to your woman." Gaves smirked, but before he could explain the situation Mariaute barked. "I'm not going anywhere with you." The man, clearly insulted by her lack of respect turned his massive frame on her. "I'd watch your tone if I were you." the deep voice warrior bellowed. Mariaute didn't seem to care. "You can try." Smiling sheepishly Gaves decided to step in, lying. "She's stubborn, ain't she?" His dirty face canted to the side as he talked to the other man. "Look, I promise ya' we'll both be on our merry way once I can manage to walk upright again, ok? I doubt it'd look good for any of us if you had to use those massive arms of yours." Flattery always worked, even for the pious. He nodded with a grunt. Reaching into a separate pouch again he retrieves a golden coin with the initials L.S. written on the face of it. "Should you ever need my help, find me. The name is Leo Swordhand." Again, he flicked the coin towards Gaves. Smiling in thanks, Gaves nodded. "Thank you, sir." Huffing, Leo gave one final hard stare at Mariaute, then turned on his metal heel, and walked back to where he was praying. The bard spoke up once the metal man was out of earshot. "Ain't he great?" Gaves teased.
Sitting next to him on the bench, Mariaute looked like she was in pain, moreso then him. "Crazy day, huh?" Gaves made it sound like this happened all the time. Mariaute rolled her eyes. "Do you need anything else." She sounded tired, liked she was ready to leave. Gaves couldn't blame her, she had been doing -a lot- for him. Fighting off his attacker, pulling him to the Cathedral, and even standing in the very building that was ebbing her energy away. He couldn't blame her if she wanted to go. "You can, if you want. Truthfully I'm a little nervous if someone else will come up to finish the job, so...." Gaves smirked, looking full of himself. "If you could find it in your heart to get me to an Inn for the night, just so they don't follow me home. I'd love ya' forever." Mariaute gave him a cold face to peer back for several moments until she finally nodded. "Very well. We'll move when you're ready." Gaves nodded. "Thank you." The bard's head leaned towards Mariaute, like he was trying to rest his head on her shoulder. in a low tone he whispers to her. "I wondered if he would be here." Mariaute whispered back. "Who?" Gaves gestured with his eyes towards the spot Leo had come from. "Leo. Same damn man was JUST there moments before my attack, was standing with the guy who stabbed me." Gaves leaned more against her, cozying up on the stranger in the middle of a place of worship. "Seen him talking to the Holts on occasion, I think he's friends with 'em. I think they did-" Gaves was silenced with Mariaute small index finger to his lips. "Darling," she cooed. "Don't tell me anything else, not that I don't care, but you could be putting us both at risk if you tell me everything you know. If they come to me, and question me, I might tell them something that could hurt you." Gaves was stunned. She was concerned his own wellbeing. A woman he had just met the day before actually cared to make sure he would be alright.
"Can you take me to an Inn?" Gaves asked, not admitting how touched he was by the gesture of her refusal to learn more. Mariaute slowly nodded her head with a smile. "Sure, let's get you up on your feet." Gaves chose the Gilded Rose because of his history with the establishment. For years he rented out a room in the noisy Inn, often falling asleep with a pillow over his head because of the thin walls. The trip there was without event. If they were followed the person doing it was good, very good. Fighting past the crowds of anguished citizens who had just lost their life savings in the Auction House, Gaves and Mariaute push their way to the doors of the Inn. "Alice!" Gaves called out, hobbling over to the worn woman who wore a simple blue skirt, and white top. "Tell me, you miss your favorite patron?" The woman was overwhelmed with dumb questions; nameless adventurers piling up around her, asking where certain regions where, where was the nearest tavern, where was the bathroom. Worn green eyes peer over to Gaves in acknowledgement. Mariaute helps him closer. "I'll take my old room, ok?" Alice opened her mouth in protest, but was drowned out in the sea of needy faces. "Thanks, Alice!" Gaves called as Mariaute helped him up the creaky stairs, leaving Alice to be swarmed by the nameless strangers. Reaching the top floor, the two of them limped down to the last door on the right. "Good memories here." Gaves mused, looking around at the familiar, thin walls. "Lots of sleepless nights here." They stop in front of the door. "This is the one." He murmurs.
Inside, Gaves thanked the light the room was empty. Too many times had he been subject to barging in unannounced to a half naked man, or woman who wasn't happy at all to see him. His legs were starting to move again, thankfully. Like an old man with a bum knee, Gaves made his way to the night table, grabbing the old, sturdy brass key. Gaves looked over his shoulder. "This damned key, I can't tell you how many times I've los-" Mariaute was gone. Gone without even offering a goodbye. Smiling a thin, flat line, Gaves sighed, and made his way over to the door. "'Least you could do is say bye." Gaves huffed, closing the door, and locking it shut. Back to the bed he went, throwing his half mobile body on the weak cushion with a tired flop. He closed his eyes, and in a matter of moments he fell asleep, exhausted from the day.
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Stark Sibs
HAVE AT THEE
Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence. Fictional Knowledge and Use Science & Magic
The resulting fight was pitiful, to say the least.
Right after the wall exploded, a raging battle occurred and Tony appeared out from the kitchen in the armor as if he was walked in with it on. No one could really tell what was going on with all the smoke from the debris and the occasional smoke bomb arrows going off, but the attackers got what they came for.
Two of the unknown children staying with the Avengers.
Two of the Stark Siblings.
When all the dust settled, everyone turned to see Pym and Selene missing. You could tell where Pym put up a fight, but Selene had been still low on energy. Everyone noticed immediately where the last amount of her energy went. Protecting Maggie, Jim, and Laura as they were still floating around in impenetrable bubble. Two empty syringes were left lying on the floor not too far away.
James had disappeared to protect the other children in the tower right after the wall exploded. Torunn stood guard by the elevator wildly slashing anybody that got near. The only real light came from Azari, Torunn, and Tony as lightning and the repulsors shined around.
Francis who was dead on his feet was staring angry at the hole as if he wished he could collect enough energy to go after his siblings, but he just conjured up a special arrow that Selene made for him and threw it at the bubble and let it burst.
“So who’s going to be the one that tells Hope and James that their younger siblings got nabbed,” Francis chirped. Azari and Torunn flinched like they had been struck. Even Tony had a look of unease on his face. The twins would die for one another and still somehow manage to kill any and everybody that just so happens to look at the other wrong in the afterlife. And Hope and Hank… When they found out that Pym was theirs biologically, there was so much emotion in the room that Selene’s I’m trying to channel my mother and pretend I don’t have emotions mask fell and tears fell from her face. When they find out that someone took Pym, well ants and wasps would be the last of their worries.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y. activate Protocol Spy Squatter,” Tony directed to the AI before turning towards the remaining children. None of the Avengers had ever seen Tony so angry. Not even Steve and Bucky and they fought him just after seeing his parents brutally murdered. His facial expression was cold as his gaze swept over everyone. The suit hovered behind menacingly didn’t help either. Holograms filled with each of the Stark children’s faces including honorary children (Pietro, Peter, Harley, Kamala, Torunn, Francis, Azari, James, Selene, Pym & Vision).
Pym and Selene’s smiling pictures seemed to mock them all. Their trackers stated they were moving in two different directions and they were both still unconscious. The readings of Selene’s biometrics were still scarily low.
Another hologram popped up. And smaller holograms surrounded it. Sharon Carter. Nick Fury. Gamora. Maria Hill. Melinda May. Phil Coulson. Potential Candidate: Natasha Romanov Potential Candidate: Clinton Barton
But it was the last name that surprises them all.
Margaret “Peggy” Carter. Status: Alive
“Peggy,” Steve whispered. Francis glanced his way before storming towards the elevators. “I’m going to tell the others,” he threw over his shoulder.
Six holograms popped up as the video calls went through. Tony didn’t even waste time for greetings. He just started the conversation with, “Someone kidnapped Pym and Selene.”
Everyone watched as an array of emotions crossed all of their faces before Maria, Melinda, Sharon, and Peggy were loading up their guns and stating that they were on their way. Their holograms clicked off leaving Fury and Coulson on the screens.
“What do we know?”
Tony stepped outside of the armor and shook his head. “They’re heading in two different directions. Pym’s heading towards Norway and… and Selene is heading towards Siberia. They’ve only been missing approximately twenty minutes so magic may be involved.”
Coulson nodded his head, “I’ll get Dr. Strange on the phone. And call ahead to the UN to let them know what’s going on, but Tony, you may have to reveal their existence after this.”
Tony turned his head in frustration and Peter placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Gamora stood guard beside the couple as if any of them would risk coming near the sword she carried.
Fury nodded his head, “I’ll call Pepper for you and have her set everything up.” Tony made a noise of agreement as Fury clicked off and Peter pulled Tony into a hug.
“After all of this is over, let’s get married,” he paused, “Again.”
Tony chuckled into his embrace, “You’re always proposing to me when I’m losing my mind.”
Peter smiled brightly, “I didn’t hear you complaining the first 55 times.”
They both heard the affection in Gamora’s voice when she called them idiots.
Meanwhile…
Selene had just made it to Siberia. She was still very much unconscious, but if she were awake she would see empty cyro pods. Destroyed support beams. Familiar repulsors scorches.
Nevertheless, the Enchantress didn’t care for her familiarity to the surroundings. She just needed to separate the Avengers from around the young Asgardian. Thor was to be her lover. Not Sif’s. Not Jane Foster’s. And she will erase all evidence of it all.
She had already split two of the youngest up. With a smiling face, she began making her plans to get rid of the rest when the small girl lying at her groan. Intrigued and a little shock, the Enchantress noticed a small puddle surrounding the girls’ head. The Enchantress wasted no time diving into the mind of the young girl.
Images flashed before her eyes, though her eyes widen at the new frame of information that presented itself.
The daughter of Captain America and the Black Widow being raised by their enemy Iron Man.
Things have just gotten interesting.
--
Pym was sitting on top of a giant ant hill. It was the size of a mountain. His eyes were filled with anger though unfocused at the same time. He was fiddling with something in his hands as they approached him.
“Pym, come down from there,” Hope called out. Pym just tilted his head and said, “My sister. Unexpected. Assessment: potential threat. Commencing termination.”
Ants began to pour out of the hill and instead of listen to Hope’s encouragement to leave them alone, they continued towards them.
“They are under a spell connected the boys’ mind. I have to be close to wipe away the connection, but I fear he has to either shocked or knocked out the beginnings of the spell now,” Doctor Strange assessed as he released several of the magically enchanted ants.
“What is it that Torunn used to say? Oh, yeah. HAVE AT THEE!”
Giant wasps flew towards them and Peter wanted to take his friends, his husband, and the rest of his not magically brainwashed children onto the Milano and go on a trip around the universe. But he didn’t because that would be bad. Gamora and Tony and Nebula would kill him. And Selene would revive him just to kill him for leaving her. He could hear her now, “How dare you steal my dad and brothers and sister and leave us here with these heathens! COME BACK AND GET US OR WE'LL FIND A WAY TO FOLLOW YOU INTO SPACE!”
He was painfully reminded that he was in the middle of a battle when one of the wasps that Drax batted away flew towards him. Peter shot right through it and flew to his husband’s side. “Hey starlight, I was thinking we could go to this nice little planet were the sky is pink and the grass is blue and get married there.”
Gamora, who was furiously cutting down the giant wasp, commented over the comm, “Tony, it is my turn to be the Maid of Honor. Nebula was it the last ten times.”
Nebula, who had taken to riding one wasp while taking down the others, replied back, “Its not my fault his last dresses went with my complexion!”
Natasha, honest to gods, stopped in her attacks on the ants and looked up at Tony with the most shocked look on her face, “You wore a dress?”
“In case you didn’t notice it, I have a rather appealing figure and my dresses just complimented my curves,” Tony snarked back as dodge another wasp.
“HULK SMASH!”
“Tony,” Hope began over the comms. She would’ve continued but at that moment, Pym jumped from his post and showed off just how much he was watching his family and their martial arts training. (Adding on to the fact that he could shrink and grow at will… the battle was really interesting especially since they knew if they stepped out of line in subduing him… Hope, Tony, Vision, Peggy, Sharon, May, Maria, Coulson, Hank, and all of the Guardians would slaughter them alongside the other Stark children residing back at the house (and Selene when she regained her mind).
“I AM GROOOOOOOT!”
“Doc said he needed to be shocked to wipe away the enchantment. Dad, you have to do it,” Francis commented over the comms. Tony shook his head. No dad wanted to actively shoot their child with repulsors.
Tony went down under five giant wasps and three oversized ants.
With a few pointed spells from Stephen, a couple of Mind Stone beams from Vision, Rocket having a lot fun with his gun, and a couple of repulsors blast, Tony flew back into the air covered in guts but was up and at 'em.
“HOPE! KNOCK HIM OUT OR SOMETHING!” Tony screamed as he dodged one of Pym’s massive fists.
“I’m working on the or something part because this suit isn’t made for going giant!” She yelled back from wherever she miniaturized at. More than likely holding onto someone because Pym was having fun as Giant Man and took to trying to step on everyone, he vaguely heard Sharon and his Aunt Peggy yelped as they moved out of the way. A beam of red magic soared over Pym’s head as he shifted back into regular height.
“DAD YOU HAVE TO DO IT!” The Stark Siblings yelled through the comm as Spiderman swung into the area and webbed Pym’s legs together.
“Mr. Stark, you have to do it now!” He encouraged. Sighing internally, Tony flew to Pym and shot a unibeam close but not too close to his face. Pym froze long enough for Peter to push him gently but forcibly on his legs for him to fall backwards. Right as his eyes began to close; Tony noticed the fogginess in them clear out as he shifted back into his small stature and landed in Drax’s arms.
Hope grabbed him and cradled in her arms while Stephen called off all of the ants. Maria, May, Peggy, and Sharon offered to take them and Peter back to the tower. They didn’t feel entirely comfortable leaving the kids home slightly unprotected. Though that didn’t stop them from threatening to kill all of the members of Team Cap if any of them so much as slip out of line.
Tony knew it was a good day when Peggy and Sharon both walked up to Steve and punched him in the face.
--
Selene stood there in the same way Pym stood. Her eyes filled with anger though unfocused at the same time. A cruel smirk danced on her lips and she leaned slightly forward like the dangerous spider she is.
“Isn’t this just wonderful. The whole family is here,” the Enchantress drawled. “Go on little spider, say hello to your parents.”
Selene walked forward and turned towards Captain America and Black Widow, both of who were standing side by side.
“Hi, mom,” Selene stated. Her eyes’ turned an even darker shade of green as she looked at Steve. “Hi, dad.”
Iron Man walk forward with his hands up cautiously, “Selene, Little Red, I need you to break the spell.”
Selene turned to look at him, “Spell? There is no spell. The Enchantress has finally managed to open my eyes. I’ve been so bitter and angry at them. At ALL of them for hurting you. When I really just didn’t want to deal with the feeling of being hurt and abandon by my parents for the second time. When I didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that this time they willingly hurt you. That they tore apart my family for a second time. Because the way they see the world is more important than being there for their children.”
Tony took a deep breath inside the suit because he knew. He knew this was how she truly felt. She might have a gotten a little relief of yelling and berating Steve and his team for hurting him. She might always blow off a little steam regarding that, but he knew she had never gotten over them leaving and hurting her family. (Interdimensional him included) He understood how angry she is that instead of her parents leaving for the good of the world… they decided to leave for the good of themselves.”
“I know, Ali. I know. But you can’t hold that against them. They didn’t know,” he pleaded. Peter came to stand beside him as Selene continued to stare down her parents. She stood quiet for a few moments before a scowl marred her face.
“You are right. They didn’t know they had children, but they had you and you were their family. The Black Widow’s actions paralyzed Uncle Rhodey’s form. And because Steve Rogers decision to prioritize one man over everyone else led to you nearly dying alone in Siberia,” she slowly slipped into a defensive form. “They may not have known they had children, but their actions were going to leave me orphan. And I am sick and tired of losing parents!”
She sprang forward and her fist connected with Steve’s jaw before she kicked out and knocked Natasha away.
“SELENE, NO!” Tony yelled as she jumped towards Hawkeye.
The Enchantress watched through narrowed eyes. “Her mind is twisting the enchantment. How is she doing that?”
A blast from a space gun threw her on her ass. She continued to magically dodge the shots and instead waved her hand and minions formed from the snow to fight and defend.
“Selene, listen to me,” Tony begged dodging the arrows and knives being thrown left to right at the little girl who miraculously were dodging them.
“Dad, Francis said to check one of your arm compartments. There’s an arrow in there made by Apollo specifically for healing a mind. In this case, Selene. Shooting a repulsor beam won’t work this time,” James’ voiced played over the comms.
Her two main targets were her parents. If one was out of her range, she went for the other and if they both were being blocked by somebody, then she didn’t hesitant to go through them.
“I think it’s time to even the playing field,” Selene hissed.
“Uh oh,” Francis and Pietro stated over the comms.
“Uh oh,” Starlord repeated. “What do you mean, ‘Uh oh’?!”
Dozens of copies of Selene emerge from the water surrounding them. The original was lost in the masses.
Then they all attacked.
“Dad, you need to get to make a big puddle surrounding all of them then just shoot the arrow in. And you have to do it quick before she gains full power,” Francis stressed out.
“This isn’t full power?!” Hawkeye yelped as he went down under fast fluidity of the little girl’s fist. The Enchantress’ eyes widen before she snarled. “Keep them busy, little spider. I have a godling to visit.”
She disappeared in a flash of green as Selene continued to fight her way towards her parents and pummeling through anyone in her way.
“SELENE! I DIDN’T KNOW! I KNOW IT'S NO EXCUSE FOR MY ACTIONS AND IT'S JUST MORE RED IN MY LEDGER THAT I HAVE TO ATONE FOR, BUT I DIDN’T KNOW! I WAS HORRIBLE TO TONY AND I SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN. HE GAVE ME A HOME. HE GAVE ME A FAMILY. AND DAMMIT, HE GAVE ME CHILDREN! AND YES, I DID FAIL YOU. TWICE, IF IM NOT MISTAKEN. BUT I WANT TO MAKE UP FOR IT. TONY TOOK CARE OF YOU IN THE OTHER WORLD AND HE’S TAKING CARE OF YOU NOW! I UNDERSTAND THAT HE’S THE ONLY PARENT YOU’VE EVER HAD, BUT I’M TRYING TO BE THERE NOW! I WILL BE THE MOTHER YOU’VE ALWAYS NEEDED ME TO BE, BUT ONLY IF YOU LET ME,” the Black Widow yelled out as she dodged blows from one of the Selene lookalikes. They all froze at her words before turning their backs on her and attacking their way towards Steve.
“I lost both of my parents in my world! I HATED YOU! I understood that the world was going to hell and you needed to save it! But it didn’t matter in the end because the world still went to hell,” they sneered.
“I don’t think he understands where we’re coming from,” they all stated in unison. “Maybe if we looked like this.”
The water rushed around them and turned them all into copies of Bucky. Bucky, the real one, stared wide eyed at all the copies of him.
“Stevie,” and their voice even sounded like him. “Why did you hurt your family?”
Steve stood still as a Bucky lookalike stood before him looking hurt and angst. “You’re my family too, Buck.”
A sneer flashed against their faces too quick to register, “Yes. To the end of the line, right? But you said the Avengers were Stark’s family and you took that from him. I took that from him.”
Steve immediately began to object to that while everyone else looked on in astonishment. “It wasn’t you, Buck. Tony should have-“
The look alike in front of Steve turned into Clint, “It wasn’t me who killed all of those S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Where were you when S.H.I.E.L.D. threw me to all kinds of shrinks and therapists? When I couldn’t see my family? Where was your I-have-to-protect-my-friend hypocritical bullshit then? Why weren’t you tearing apart airports for me?”
Steve looked a little shock and frozen in place. “Clint, I-“
Then Clint morphed into Wanda, “Where were was your care for my mental state after I witness the last of my family dying in front of me… again?”
“Wanda-“
Wanda morphed into Tony, “Where were you when it was me after Wanda messed with my head? You attacked me, blamed me, and made sure that I knew I fucked up. Where were you when her magic was creeping into my room at night? When it got so bad I had to move out of my own home?”
Steve, looking at Tony with a pain of an unrequited love, whispered, “It wasn’t his fault.”
The Tony look alike tilted his head to the side, “For more than half of my life, I blamed Howard for killing my mom. I hated him for drinking so much before driving and crashed the car into the tree. I blamed myself for arguing with Howard that night to send him into a drunken rage. And then to find out it wasn’t neither of our faults all along… it was a murder that took them away from me.”
Steve looked to be on the verge of tears, “Tony...”
“Did you think that I was going to welcome you back with open arms? After your little princess dropped a freaking car lot on me? After you threw a truck onto of Spiderman? Did you fantasize about it? Thinking that the second you had the chance you dish out your meaningless apologies that we’d skip off into the sunset? Where you thought you had the chance to win my love again?”
The look alike laughed darkly and the real Tony stared wide eyed. He didn’t realize how perceptive Selene was. It made sense. She always said that thoughts and feelings were in constant fluidity. He just didn’t know that her powers could reach out to them.
“Tell me, Cap, what were going to do Siberia with just you and Barnes? If Zemo actually activated the soldiers? What were going to do? Was it something like, ‘I have to go stop the guy who can trigger Bucky’s Hydra programming- better take Bucky and not the people that can’t turn on me!’”
The look alike laughed bitterly, “To be fair, I made mistakes too. I assumed friendship comes with trust and honesty. My bad.”
The look alike stepped closer with a maniacal look in its eyes and Tony knew at that moment… that was the real Selene. Her famed wicked smile looked unnatural on his face yet at the same time, it looked as if it belongs.
“Do it now,” Francis growled into the comm. Tony landed beside Hawkeye and gave him the arrow. He wordlessly pointed at the puddle of water surrounding Selene.
“I.DONT.LOVE.YOU.” The look alike manages to bite out right as Hawkeye shot the arrow.
As the arrow soared through the air, everyone jumped at the sound of gunshots coming across their comms. They could distinctively hear Torunn screeched out, “UNCLE LOKI!” over the comms as the Enchantress enraged and jealous voice carried over. Maria bit out into the comm, "Stark, we could use some back up over here."
The Tony look alike flicked back to Selene as the arrow hit the puddle. She started to fall backwards similarly to Pym as the spell went away, but unlike Pym, a golden light shined across them all and the small whisper of “Noelani…” was heard.
#tony stark and his children au#tony stark imagine#not steve friendly#notstevefriendly#not team cap friendly#my oc#post ca:cw
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Sten Hugo Hiller - 627184: My Clan war `46
(By Sten Hugo Hiller - 627184)
My Clan war `46
First opponents: Black Star Lycan Rangers
We of the Star League are not the most flashy of clans, and while we have gotten some prizes over the years the only time we rose to the top was back in the war of `10.
As most Commanders naturally seek those clans who can give them top prizes, we are in something of a bind when it comes to personell.
Back when Paulzilla ran the show, we managed pretty decently due to his knack of doing the right things.
But when he left us for the Spirit of Bunny back in `33 he made the probably worst command decision in his career.
He made me his heir.
The rest of the clan assumed he knew what he was doing, and let me fumble on for to many years.
This led to disasterous results, and drove away several of our members in disgust, most missed among them our 20 ton specialist Caitlyn Mainer who returned back to the Bunnies.
In the following years it went from bad to worse to horrible.
My lack of leadership skills made recruiting close to impossible, and several of our Commanders were lost in actions against the would be galactic overlords.
Not being capable of recruiting fresh Commanders, we fought on with leaderless formations, hoping that some of those MIAs would find their way back to us.
Finally Tony Hoogheem surfaced.
I immediately called for a vote of no confidence against me as leader, and suggested Tony to pick up the shattered remains and try to build us back to what we once were.
So far he have done an excellent job, but we are still looking for a couple additional Commanders. If any of you feel like struggling against close adversaries, give him a call and try us out for a time.
---
As the war aproached, Tony lost some of his cool when he still was unable to find our last MIA, Eric Loar.
He was not happy about my lackluster performance in the last 30 ton event either, but as Rob had taken Gold in the same event, he had some of proven ability to run that tonnage.
As for me..
My heavyest Mechs were still jigsaw puzzles, so he decided to let me try out in the mandatory 70 ton formation.
I was not confident in that role, but someone had to do it, and the others had after all working BFMs
Jorge had done well in the tonnage limited 1200 total in the previos wars, and were chosen as our last specialist
Then Tony went around doing what a good leader does. Encouraging, helping and advicing. This took quite a few hours off his sleep cycles so he started getting a bit frayed around the edges.
And when the listing of the divisions and first round opponents was anounced he went a bit animated.
"Rangers round one, we are doomed"
Turning to me he added "They will probably blow up everything and everyone in sight, I wish there was some way to assure us having parts and ammo for the two other battledays"
Then he went on his way to make us as prepared as possible.
Well, in fact there was a way to assure the Rangers never touched our supplies or ammo.
All I had to do was send it away to someplace other, and have it returned in time for the two other battles.
It would leave us having only the onboard ammo, and a very limited amount of spares, but if we kept it around the Rangers would probably destroy it anyway….
The battleplan Tony presented to us was so well formulated that even I was supposed to understand it. On the southern flank Jorge`s 1200 would hold the 1200 pass, and in the marshy southeast corner Rob`s 30s would lurk, ready to pounce on any opponents that managed to mire themselves down.
I was to hold the broken terrain of the northern flank using my 70`s
My problem was that I did not really have a formation worthy of the name of 70 tonners.
But if you cant win by straight up fighting, use guile.
Some might consider what I did to be cheating, but as someone once said: "If you aint cheating, you aint trying hard enough"
To get to our rear area, the Rangers would have to travel through a valley that wound up into some fairly impressive peaks. Said peaks was the result of some, geologically speaking, fairly recent volcanic activity.
Getting hold of some worn signs warning of volcanic activity, and some weathered maps showing alternative routes, I placed them on the aproaches to the valley. In addition, quite a lot of brimstone was buried to give off the distinctive reek, and then came the crowning achievement.
Hollowing out one of the peaks and placing my Mechs in position to fire unobserved into it, we started heating the area. A liberal sprinkling of charcoal (constantly renewed) sent dark ashy clouds into the air, and just as the war officially started the stone started melting and slowly flowed toward the valley as a trickle of lava.
I dont know if this fooled the Rangers, but at least none of them appeared inmy area of operations.
As for how the Battle went for the rest of the clan...
The Rangers struck first.
A taskforce consisting of Leeboy Wegenast, Don and Luana Alligood with Mark Shc Wiseman descended upon us.
Totally unneccesary from my point of view, they got reinforced by Karl Kash, Richard Kangas and Russ Painter. They came in fast and hard and blew up every Star Leaguer they could find.
Our top pilot, Able Hunter, managed to get out of the trap and ambushed Craig Vannes for our first win.
19-1 to them.
Probably infuriated by this meddling in what their plans had supposed to be a one-sided slaughter, Kangas continued his sweep. Rob Treepe tried unsuccsessfully to intercept Wegenast as he went back for more ammo, so Wiseman, Donald Anthony Alligood and Vannes decided to blow us up some more.
32-1.
Mark Cassese made a couple valiant, but doomed attacks to give our medics some moments to evacuate critically wounded personell. In response Sheila Retherford was called in to blow us up some more. Mark put himself in harms way once more, and Russ Painter responded by blowing up a couple more of us.
44-1
Jorge Roman and Tony Hoogheem had managed to get into what seemd like an advantageous position, but their attacks was crushed. Luana, Wiseman and Painter went around looking for ammodumps and blew up a couple more of our formations.
53-1.
While Painter still was active, Able tried yet again to stem the tide. roward was dispatched to keep pummeling us, and Mark failed another attack
58-4.
At this point Tony was caught in the open by Wiseman. He waved off his clanmates, so they took a break from the general mayhem they had been dishing out to watch how he crushed our leader.
His Frontine consisteng of a Pike, a Warden, an Apototron, a Notos and a Reaper squared off against Tony`s 3 Aspisès,supported by an Ignis and a Torrent.
The first major hit was when wisemans Apto managed a superhit on Tony`s Torrent. In addition to the regular hit there was Splash, Fork and Wide Fork involved and Tony`s line took a severe pounding.
But the Torrent fired back and one of the missiles found an vulnerable spot, goodbye Apto.
Wiesmans Notos stepped up and sent a blast that all but melted the Torrent, the residential fires forced into shutdown a few moments later.
One of Tony`s Aspises landed a multiple driven blow on the Pike, the heavy damage was not quite enough to fell it, but the Fork that acompanied the hit sent the Warden into an immediate shutdown.
Another couple of hits later the Pike was history as well, and the shutdown Warden got blown up by a grazing hit as well.
The Exchange continued, and hit after hit was landed, but not until Tony`s Ignis managed to get a flametoungue into the vitals of the Reaper was another Mech downed.
The Ignis then got in another Critical hit and the Notos was history as well.
Wisemans second line, pure Boreas, advanced. Landing telling blows they blew Tony`s remaining shot up Mechs apart before they managed to get off a single shot in return.
Tony`s second line, consisting of two Anubisès flanking the main comabatants, an Apatatron, a Fext and a Notos stepped forth.
The top Anubis launched a Jurrasic Thunder that spread mayhem over the whole line of Boreases by Wide Forking them. More shots were exchanged without doing more than reducing armor, and then Tony`s Notos melted one of the Boreasès. The bottom Anubis hit with another Jurressic Thunder, and in addition to blowing up one Boreas, the Wide fork shut down the others. Polishing the shutdown Mechs off was the work of moments.
.
Wisemans third line entered the fray. A Fext and a Humbaba supprted by a trio of 90 tonners, Antithesis, Regis and Ignis.
After a furious exhange of heavy, but not telling blows, Wisemans Humbaba launched an overpowered Omen Barrell. In addition to blowing up the Apto, the Fork sent the Notos into an emegency shutdown as well. Said Humbaba launched another couple telling blows as well, by critting first the Fext and then the Notos.
The last Anubis fought grimly on, but the weight of fire was against it. It landed a couple more blows, then the Ignis gave it a Coup de Grace.
Tonys third line, an Apatotron flanked by two Boreas and two Regises stepped up.
Wisemans Mechs got the drop on them and scored several hits, none of them telling. Then the bottom Boreas finally got its Amarok ready. The forking shot blew the Antithesis apart and shut down the Regis. The other Boreas, not to be outdone, sent a Winters Grasp downrange, blowing up the Humbaba and shutting down the Ignis. After Tony`s top Regis had finished off Wisemans Regis by means of an Rage Pulsar it was just some mopping up to do before they was challenged by a new line.
Wisemans 4th Line consisted of a Notos and a Humbaba backed by another trio of 90 tonners, Ignis, Antithesis and Regis again.
Wisemans Mechs landed a few blows, but Tony responded by critting the Regis With an Amarok. To add insult to injury he managed to turn it into a Wide Fork as well, shutting down two more Mechs. The Anti was blown up by a Regis and the Notos was felled by an Amarok from a Boreas that also sent another Mech into shutdown. Wisemans Notos, now without active linemates, managed to get off a solid blow before it disappered as part of the general cleanup.
Wisemans 5th line consisted of a trio of Dreadnoughts backed up by a Torrent and a Frigis.
One of the Dreadnoughts was quickliy felled by a Rage Pulsar from a Regis, then Wisemans Torrent landed a solid blow on one of the Boreasès. It was not enough to put it out of action, but the cloud of shrapnell tok out the last armor of Tony`s Apto so it was now reduced to a non-firing target. A Boreas blew the offending Torrent to pieces, and then it was a flurry of hard but nontelling blows. But the pounding was to much for Wisemans Mechs, and they slowly disintegrated as their armor disappeared.
The 6th line of Wiseman entered the fray. Two Anubis`es backed up by an Ignis, a Rudy and an Onyx.
After some introductionary exchange of fire, the Onyx finished off Tony`s Apto, then Tony`s Regisès put paid to first one Anubis and then the Ignis. A Boreas polished off the Rudy, and both the Onyx and the Last Anubis was blown up before they managed to inflict any serious damage
The last line of Wiseman consisted of two Typhoons and a Fext, screened by an Archlight and a Frigis. They managed to get off a total of one shot before Tony`s veterans blew them apart.
After Wiseman loss to Tony, something that brought Weganast and both the Retherfords into the fray to keep us busy while he was extracted, we were once more reduced to the role of targets in the Rangers game of "Whack-a-Star Leaguer". As a last reminder for us to stay down, Kash and Vannes blew us up some more.
In the end we were crushed 74-5.
The sad part? They could probably gotten twice as many wins without working up a serious sweat
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biography
Jonathan Warren and Melissa Smith were high school sweethearts that did everything right in life. They were the picture perfect couple, and on January 1, 1993, they welcomed the perfect addition to their family, Shae Warren. Four years later, they welcomed another bundle of joy into the world, Matthew Warren. The Warren’s were a very normal, loving, and supportive family. Everyone got along, everyone loved one another, and there was no foul play whatsoever. As the quirky, outspoken and confident Shae Warren grew older,she found herself becoming bored with her picture perfect life. But that all changed when Shae started high school and caught the attention bad guy Daren Andrews. Jonathan and Melissa did not approve of their daughter’s new relationship, which only made the idea of Daren all the more appealing. Therefore, Shae would sneak out at night and hang out with Daren and his friends, who would constantly talk about The Fall River Cult, an infamous Satanic cult that was associated with the Fall River murders in 1979.
At first Shae did not think much of their dark fantasies or horrifying events of the Fall River murders, but their Satanic beliefs intrigued her so she would always ask more questions. Ultimately, the group taught Shae all about the benefits of worshipping Satan and how Satan could make her personal life exceedingly better. Falling prey to the belief that someone bigger than herself could make her standard, boring life more exciting, she easily fell into the clutches and started to worship Satan. At first the rituals were rather simple, slicing her palm open for a blood offering, and then chanting to Satan himself. But the more involved she became with Daren and his friends, the darker her life turned and the darker Daren became.
Shae started to question if she should continue her relationship with Daren after she came into the blood covered male over the sliced open body of her family dog. He explained that Satan had asked him for Milo and after using his charm and manipulation to calm a hysterical Shae, he somehow convinced her that what he did was right. Shae then started to conduct her own animal rituals, which she found brought her closer to Satan, delivering her blood sacrifices to Daren after each animal she slaughtered. However, one night during one of her deliveries, she walked in on Daren and his three other friends torturing and raping a younger female.
Before she could leave, Daren spotted her and forced her to sit and watch the ritual, tying her up on a chair as him and his barbaric friends destroyed the much smaller, and younger female. After they were done, and the girl was covered in blood and pleading for her life, Daren lifted the girls head and sliced her throat as he glued his gaze on Shae and warned her that if she ever spoke of this, she would have a similar fate. From that point on, Shae did as Daren commanded, which included luring unsuspecting women into Daren’s garage. However, when Daren’s fantastical sex rituals caught attention from the media, and soon the police force, Shae was quick to jump on the opportunity to take the sadistic man down.
Shae testified at Daren’s trial and worked in complete cooperation with the prosecution. Daren was sentenced to 25 years in prison, and although she cooperated and provided more than enough first hand evidence to convict the real monster, the teenager was still involved in five murders. She received a reduced sentence and spent three years in Juvenile Detention, where she got her GED and worked in the detention salon where she fell in love with hair styling. Upon her release at the age of 18, Shae enrolled in a cosmetology program where she quickly became a certified cosmetologist. She then started to work in a small, local salon cutting and styling hair, along with expressing herself through nail art with extravagant manicures and pedicures.
Although she enjoyed her freedom, and for the most part the life she had established for herself after her conviction, there was still something missing on Shae’s life. She attempted several new hobbies and activities in an attempt to find something to fill the void, but it wasn’t until after volunteering at a blood drive that the female figured out what was missing: her religion. She had spent years blaming Satan for the misfortune in her life, refusing to worship and denying her faith. But after being surrounded by the crimson liquid she once worshipped, Shae remembered the joy and satisfaction that Satan once brought to her. She began holding her own live sacrifices, and with each blood offering her life seemed to improve and ultimately her faith strengthened. She knew that her beliefs were taboo, and generally kept her practices to herself especially considering her past conviction. She had been granted a shorter sentence due to her testimony of Daren, but maybe she was more guilty than suspected? Maybe the teenager wasn’t brainwashed to worship, maybe she was just as much a monster as Daren.
When she was 24, a man named Trent Foster sought her out and explained that he had met Daren Andrews in prison and wanted to offer her protection, as the male was plotting his revenge and convincing many of the inmates up for early release to avenge him once they were released and to go after Shae. But the fact that Trent even knew Daren was enough for the female not to trust him, so she ignored his offers and continued life as normal. Only six months later, Trent’s warnings became reality as a recently released inmate broke into her home, raped, tortured, and left her to die -- but not before snapping pictures to send to Daren in prison, as proof and in order to receive his reward. Thankfully, due to her pristine employment record, her boss ordered a wellness check after Shae did not show up for work and was not answering any of her calls or messages. She was rushed to the hospital and miraculously survived the assault, but ended up pregnant with the unknown assailant’s child. Instead of opting for abortion, Shae immediately went into the adoption process and selected a wealthy, loving family that reminded her of her own.
Unfortunately, when Shae gave birth to a down syndrome baby, the adoption fell through and the agency searched and searched for a couple until they finally found one willing to take on a disabled child. Shae continued on living a normal life, but after a few months she started to become dissatisfied with her life and increasingly more paranoid that Daren would send another early release inmate after her. She needed to get out of Salem, so she reluctantly looked up the number Trent Foster had given her over a year ago, but it was disconnected. Therefore, she started to do some research on the male, and eventually made her way into the town he supposedly ran, or at least used to, which just so happened to be the same place where her biological daughter was located. She is now the owner, and main stylist, at Shaers Salon a local Salon located in one of the unoccupied spaces for rent through James Foster in the Downtown area.
CONNECTIONS TO TRENT AND THE FOUR
TRENT FOSTER: After his release from prison in 2016, Trent sought out after spending time in lock up with Daren Andrews. Before his release, he attempted to convince Trent to go after her and avenge his mistreatment. Instead of going through with the torture, Trent decided to reach out to Shae and offer her protection in Sloane. However, Shae ignored his warnings, not trusting him simply due to his knowledge of Daren. Unfortunately, Trent was actually doing something decent and when Shae was attacked a mere six months later, she regretted her decision to dismiss Trent. Therefore, she researched the male and moved to Sloane in hopes his offer would still stand, only to find out he was no longer alive.
SEAN ROSENBERG: Daren was incarcerated at the same time as Sean and initially the two were bunk mates. The two shared their sob stories, and bonded over the fact that some separate identity was the reason for their demise (because everyone in jail is innocent). Therefore, upon the entry of Shae Warren into his city, Sean is dismissive and rude to the female. Although he no longer is in contact with Daren, he uses his knowledge of her past against Shae to get what he wants from the woman due to her fear of people finding out the more gruesome details of her past.
ANNIE AKECHETA: At the prime age of 29, Annie sat in on Massachusetts prosecution of Daren Andrews. She listened to the horrifying details that Shae Warren provided in order to convict the man, and started to empathize for the young, naïve teenager. The decision to still punish Shae with a conviction, although she was obviously brainwashed, only increased Annie’s abhorrent hatred of men. Therefore, in an effort to keep an eye on the mistreated teen, Annie would check up on Shae while served her three year sentence in Juvenile Detention. Annie secretly aided the female in her relatively easy experience in lock up, which allowed the known Satanist to work in the salon around Sharp shears. Therefore, when Shae randomly arrived in Sloane, Annie is pleased to see that her efforts were not wasted and once Shears Salon was established Annie managed to use it as intel considering the amount of gossip Shae overhears while working. By providing Annie intel, Shae receives the protection she came to Sloane for and Annie gains an advantage for future raids, take downs, etc.
JAMES FOSTER: James is Shae’s landlord, and though Shae never met Trent, she admires James for creating such a kind, decent child. Unfortunately for Shae, her opinion will quickly change of James the longer she lives in Sloane and the more information she learns about the male who promised to protect her.
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Alexandra Grace Jackson || Unregistered Werewolf || Neutral
Portrayed by Teresa Palmer
Biography /
While being the alpha of a werewolf pack brings a person a sense of leadership and power, being the daughter of the alpha of New York City brought even more than that. Alexandra Jackson grew up well aware that, like any other child from royalty, she would feel the immense pressure of the world on her shoulders, but she never allowed herself to be crushed by it. No matter what it took, Alexandra knew that she would work twice as hard if it meant that people couldn’t tell that she was struggling as opposed to letting any sign of weakness show. Of course, werewolf royalty wasn’t exactly a thing, she was just the daughter of the man whose father’s father had slaughtered the last alpha of the previous reigning family, but she liked to think that it was all the same. Anything she could use to gain another small ego boost, it was all worth it to Alexandra, and she made sure to act like she walked on water every single chance that she got. After she triggered her wolf at seventeen, her father tried to push Alexandra into finding a life of her own, but Alexandra was more comfortable and interested in just continuing how she had always been living. She was able to live a cushy life just riding on her father’s coattails, and since she assumed that the alpha position would be passed down through blood like it always had, she knew that she just had to wait until it was finally time to take her dad’s position. Besides, even outside of the pack it wasn’t like she had much to worry about, that was what happened whenever your father was also one of the highest ranking officers in the NYPD. However, that all changed whenever her father was killed in the Council attack, and all thoughts of a natural succession disintegrated overnight, along with the natural respect people were forced to give her. Conflict arose as people challenged her for the alpha position, and after no sense of stability seemed to be able to be found, the majority of the Jackson Pack eventually moved on to other areas, or just decided they would rather stay out of pack dynamics and live on their own as lone wolves. Alexandra tried to make a name for herself whenever a new council began to form, but since she had no pack, no noticeable leadership qualities, and mostly had just pissed off the supernatural community for the better part of twenty years, she had friends that were few and far between in the new supernatural leadership. She was an outcast, pushed aside and forgotten after the man that had made her last name great had been killed, and without the support in the supernatural community, she went to the other community that her dad had been stolen away from—the police force. Alexandra has focused on working her way up now in that faction of human society, and although she’s always keeping an eye out for what is happening in the supernatural region, she has, at least for now, distanced herself enough to no longer be in the middle of it. Besides, at this point in time it’s safer to do that anyway.
Important Points /
--When Alexandra was eight years old, her mother died leaving the child with a considerable amount of heartbreak at a very young age. Out of everything that has happened to her, this has attributed the most to her necessity to fend for herself over others. She learned the hard way that getting attached to others can only lead to utter heartbreak at the end. Being able to distance herself from people became easier when her father helped her trigger her wolf curse, with the help of other wolves that were on the police force of course. It was the greatest day of her life, and Alexandra was called to the scene of a user that was close to death. She rushed over as quickly as she could, and was able to smother him before he died of his overdose instead. She feels no guilt for her first kill, and in fact she’s glad that she was able to turn at such a young age. However, what Alexandra didn’t expect were the bodies that turned up ripped to shreds every full moon after she was turned, and the fact that she couldn’t remember anything during the time that she was in her wolf form. It has been years since, but attempts at gaining control have still been making little headway. And now, with another parents lost to the cruelties of the world, Alexandra had decided that distancing herself from the supernatural world seemed to be in her best interest. However, after the reveal of the supernatural world, she has started to question that decision to run and hide, and instead has worked to get herself to finally be allowed back as a member of the Resistance. Although a lot of them want equality between supernaturals and humans, Alexandra doesn’t care as much about how things end up in the end, as long as the violence finally comes to a halt.
--Alexandra has built herself up since her father’s death in the police force as she has worked to gain the trust of the majority of the people her father knew to get herself a job as a medical examiner's assistant. It's been helpful, especially over the past year since supernaturals can no longer have their murders covered up by animal attacks. No, now humans are looking at basically anything to try and frame supernaturals, even if sometimes the evidence that the killer is just human is right there in front of them. There have been many times where Alexandra has had to point out the obvious once more and remind people that she works with that humans can be killers too, and that supernaturals don't usually use guns and knives whenever they have things like fangs and claws. Mostly, Alexandra is just trying to navigate safely through a work community that is scared, mostly because they're supposed to be protecting the public, but are no longer really quite sure how to do that. She has to try to guide people without letting on the fact too much that secretly she is a supernatural sympathizer because, well, she is supernatural after all.
-- With the way that everyone has divided themselves throughout New York City, it's become more difficult for Alexandra to differentiate between what is good for the supernatural and what is bad for the humans. Working with the Resistance has helped Alexandra to finally feel like she's being able to help her people, but she can't help but fear what would happen if the Resistance was exposed. Alexandra would not only lose the connections she's finally starting to build in the supernatural world after so many years, but she knows that it would also be an immediate outcast from the life she has worked so hard to build in the NYPD. Although there are many wolves that still work as officers, there is no way that they would be able to recover from allowing an actual supernatural to work in the department, and in the medical examiner's office especially. Alexandra knows that she is able to help the Resistance so much with being able to feed them information regarding deaths and what not, and covering up the occasional one if necessary, but she can already see the chaos and personal strife that would be caused if she were to be exposed, and sometimes she fears that it's just not worth risking every single thing that she's built, especially when supernatural groups, resistances, and councils never seem to end well in this city.
Connections /
TEREZA CASTELO ; Alexandra can see the way that Tereza looks at her sometimes, sideways glances when certain things about the Davidson Pack, or werewolves, or Jasper are mentioned. She knows what the girl thinks of her, and sometimes, Alexandra can't help but question if there is some truth behind the vampire's fears. There is so much pent up frustration and anger and rage in Alexandra that she can't help but wonder if perhaps there is a point where it's all just going to be too much. Right now she feels okay, or at least as okay as she has in years, but sometimes listening to all the positive talks about other people and what they're doing for the werewolf community is just too much. She's supposed to be their hero and to be the one that leads them out of this darkness. Alexandra hates that other people are starting to be viewed as the leaders of the werewolf community instead. Her father would be so, so disappointed in her.
DEREK SUMMERS ; Alexandra and Derek have spent a lot of time around each other for never actually talking that much. They had very similar upbringings, even down to losing their moms and then having their fathers be killed because of Council involvement. It's a bit haunting when she thinks about it actually. Alexandra is well-aware that Derek was brought up just like she was. They both grew up expecting to one day become council members, and instead both of them lost that whenever the Council fell and the attack occurred. They were also both looked over whenever it came to making the short-lived new council. Alexandra is fairly certain that she has talked to Derek more in the past six months than she had in the twenty years prior, and although he's a warlock, because of how many similar things they have been through, she cant' help but feel a sense of trust towards him. She truly feels like he has the best interest of the supernaturals at heart, and she believes that the decisions he supports and truly ones that he feels would be the best for every single person involved.
OLIVER HEATON ; Oliver has done a lot of bad things in his past, or at least he's been ultimately vilified for a lot of things, but it seems that he is slowly starting to make up for it. Jarred and Oliver put a ton on the line when they decided to open up their shop as the headquarters for the Resistance, and his involvement this far with supplying both a place to gather and supplies themselves, have slowly led to Alexandra considering turning over a new leaf when it comes to one of the last remaining Heatons in the city. His cousin was a council member, the only surviving one now, but she fled to California and decided to never come back. Now, it seems that Oliver is taking the place of what Kathryn should be doing, and instead of staying out of it or running away scared, he is putting his entire business, and his schooling too, on the line to try and help out the supernatural population. It's admirable to say the least.
SAMANTHA DEANE ; Now that she looks back, Alexandra can't help but wonder if perhaps the death of Samatha's mom was the first sign of all things bad that would come to supernaturals. Samantha's mom was the first murder of a supernatural in years that hadn't been actively attacking someone, and although the police force publically released it as a mugging gone wrong at the time, Alexandra knew that the wolves in the department didn't see it that way. There was lobelia in her system after all, and unlike vervain or wolfsbane, only certain families of hunters truly knew the harm that could come to witches under the influence of a certain liquefied substance. Alexandra actually isn't sure if the Deane family ever learned about that little fact, but it seems a bit late now to bring it up to Samantha after so many years and so much heartbreak. Samantha is another daughter of a council member that is now part of the Resistance, and it almost feels comforting to have so many relatives of the past council finally coming together once more. It also doesn't hurt that they've remained friends through it all even if they are different species. They're each other's best friends and Alexandra is always grateful for that.
ISABEL SUMMERS ; Like her brother, Isabel Summers was a name mentioned many times around anything involving the Council affairs that her father always brought home to work on. Just like with Derek, Alexandra never really ever formed a friendship with Isabel, although with Isabel it was more because there were a few years of age difference between them. Isabel has been kept away from the Resistance stuff at the moment, although the witch has sought her out a few times to try and get information. Alexandra is well-aware that Derek is just trying to keep her safe, but at the same time, she can't help but wonder if Derek is doing more harm than good. If Isabel can't get information directly from the source, and she can't help directly, what's to keep her from going to more extreme means to try and help out? Alexandra hasn't brought the thought up to Derek yet, it doesn't exactly seem like her place, but at the same time, Isabel snooping around is only going to get her hurt in the end. It has definitely put Alexandra in an odd position, especially because she's not exactly sure which Summers sibling is actually in the right.
JASPER PITZEN ; The person who initially took her place in the Council instead of her, it was hard for Alexandra to not feel resentment for Jasper since he had taken her father's former place as the head of the werewolves as opposed to her. She knew that Jasper was asked, it wasn't like he screwed her over for the position, but he was still the one that had it, so it was basically impossible for her to completely just be okay with the wolf that had had, for a time, everything that she had always wanted. She still feels some of the same emotions regarding his place in the Resistance. While Alexandra has to hide back because of her job, Jasper is able to speak freely to the press and truly be the positive face that werewolves, and supernaturals, are trying to put forward. He's become the spokesperson for their entire movement and species, and although Alexandra knows that she doesn't want to be exposed, there is still overwhelming jealousy all the same. Even though she isn't doing anything herself in that avenue, she still feels like Jasper should be doing more than his talk shows and speeches, although if someone were to ask her what more he should have been doing, she really isn't sure that she'd have any idea. She just dislikes him because he has what she wants, and she doesn't feel like she has a viable way to get it back.
MEGHAN ROBERTS ; Meghan Roberts is the person out of the Davidson Pack that she has spoken to the most, and in all honesty she would much rather talk to Meghan than she would Kyle. Meghan has a much nicer approach than the quick and sporadic conversations that Alexandra has had with Kyle, the majority of his sentences half the time making no sense, but with Meghan, everything always seems to be right to the point. Recently, their conversations seem to have been becoming longer and longer as more personal matters are brought up throughout the conversation. From asking how the other is, to if they're safe, and just general life questions, it feels nice to have someone that actually seems to care somewhat. Of course, no matter how friendly their conversations might get, there is one thing that Alexandra has made sure not to mention. Cynthia, Meghan's vampire aunt, was killed a month and a half ago by a rogue hunter. Of course nothing will come from it, and under the law it's not even illegal because supernaturals are no longer viewed as humans, but Alexandra just doesn't know how she could possibly deliver such news over the phone, so instead she just hasn't said anything regarding it at all.
ALEXANDRA JACKSON IS CURRENTLY OPEN
#teresa palmer#teresa palmer fc#supernatural rp#bio rp#new rp#alexandra#jackson#alexandra jackson#female#werewolf#all#wa#fa#open#wo#fo
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Hegemony of murderers
The West still doesn’t understand the evils that haunts mankind since the emergence of modern ideologies. Although Burke criticised the development in France during the Revolution, we never learned the lessons he wished to teach us. Instead we replaced his wisdom with forgetfulness of the worst atrocities ever faced by mankind.
In the early hours of 17 July, 1918, the Romanov family, three servants and their doctor were herded down into the cellar of the Ipatiev house in Yekaterinburg. They had been told that they were going to take cover from artillery from the approaching White Army. They put on their clothes and gathered some belongings and the Tsar carried his sickly thirteen-year-old son, Alexei, down the stairs.
They waited in the cellar for a while, before a group of armed men came in and read their sentence. Death. The Tsar was then shot several times in the chest and he fell down dead or dying. For the rest of them the gruesome butchery had just begun. Alexei, Anastasia, Tatiana, Olga and Maria were not killed by the first hail of bullets. Wounded and terrified they cried out in agony before they were executed with bullets, bayonets and the butts of pistols and rifles. One of the murderers recalled that the floor was slippery as ice from brains and blood as they waded in to kill the children. It took 20 minutes before they were all quiet, but as they carried the bodies out it was revealed that two of them were still breathing. The children were then stabbed until dead. The bodies were plundered of valuables and the soldiers cut off the fingers of the Tsaritsa to remove rings. All of them were cut up, put in acid and dumped in a mine shaft and a shallow grave.
Thus ended 300 years of Romanov dynasty. But of course, for Russia, the slaughter had just begun. At least 20 million people were killed by the USSR, and communism as a whole is responsible for killing at least 100 million people. It is the single deadliest ideology in the history of mankind.
The left gets away with murder
Here’s a death toll for communism around the world, according to the Black book of communism:
65 million in the People's Republic of China
20 million in the Soviet Union
2 million in Cambodia
2 million in North Korea
1.7 million in Ethiopia
1.5 million in Afghanistan
1 million in the Eastern Bloc
1 million in Vietnam
150,000 in Latin America
10,000 deaths "resulting from actions of the international Communist movement and Communist parties not in power."
The left also has a long history of domestic terrorism in the West. The Red brigades, Red Army Faction, Weather Underground, Symbionese Liberation Army to mention a few.
Exempt from scrutiny
Unlike followers of revolutionary ideologies on the right, it is quite possible to call yourself a communist without any repercussions in your personal or professional life. It can even help you in your career, especially in Academia. Many famous Swedish people in politics, media, sport, and culture are un-repenting communists. Members of a Marxist-Leninist party even. Many more are just slightly reformed and constantly apologetic, often hiding behind a thin veneer of restraint which is let go as soon as something in society upsets them, and they immediately call for totalitarian and violent measures. The online world has proven a perfect outlet for their urge to purge, as they hound political opponents, engage in mischaracterisation, threats, and calls to violence. Western society has an inexplicable tolerance for these leftist views and ideas, even when it takes violent expressions.
It’s easy to think this is just something relating to communism or anarchism, but the above examples often come from liberals too. And they also have a history of getting away with murder. Between 1793 and 1794 the Reign of Terror raged across France. Robespierre and the revolutionaries did what so many revolutionaries would do after them, they killed anyone who they didn’t like. Most famously Robespierre and his thugs killed the aristocracy, but in fact 72% of those executed were peasants and workers who simply disagreed with the regime. In modern day, another example is the Western liberal support of the Arab spring which has been pivotal in crashing the Middle East into yet another violent rampage.
Remains of 20,000 poles murdered by the Soviet Union
We just want change. And kill anyone who opposes it
Revolutionaries kill people. The revolution is in itself almost always responsible for worse atrocities than the regime it seeks to overthrow. Solzjenitsyn claimed that in the 80 years prior to the Russian revolution – a period where one Tsar was assassinated, there were many assassination attempts (one in my own country, Sweden, in fact), and there were widespread revolutionary movements – only about 17 people a year were executed. The Cheka, however, executed without trial more than a thousand people a month in the first years after 1917. He continues to tell us that if you would average the amount of executed a month up until the height of executions by Stalin in 1937-38, about 40,000 people were killed every month. He rightly wonders how the west could make an alliance with such a horrible regime. How was the Soviet Union better than Nazi Germany? In fact, it wasn’t.
But the revolutionaries aren’t just to be rejected for their blood lust. If we simply look at the murderous aspect they cannot be understood. The question becomes a simple argument of “how could this happen?”. The really important thing to understand is how mankind can develop and improve society, without destroying itself in the process, and how we can maintain that which serves us even when we have forgotten how it serves us. This is the point of view that Burke argued in the Reflections on the Revolution in France. He meant that the reason that the French Revolution would be so disastrous was that it was founded on abstract concepts that ignored mankind’s complexity, the wisdom which hides within tradition, and the intricacy of human society. It also ignores the weakness of men and our inability to grasp everything, but our willingness to think that we do. Herein lies the hubris of utopian thinking and ideological fight for power of the societies that have grown more organically over the centuries. The left is a living example of the Doning-Kruger effect, if you will. Too stupid to understand that it doesn’t understand. I mentioned the liberal support of the Arab spring previously, and it is a prime example of how overthrowing functioning nation states for abstract ideas can lead to extreme problems. Remembering Burke commenting on the French Revolution, it is easy to see history repeating itself, but this time in the Arab world:
“Can I now congratulate the same nation upon its freedom? Is it because liberty in the abstract may be classed amongst the blessings of mankind, that I am seriously to felicitate a mad-man, who has escaped from the protecting restraint and wholesome darkness of his cell, on his restoration to the enjoyment of light and liberty? Am I to congratulate a highwayman and murderer, who has broke prison, upon the recovery of his natural rights? This would be to act over again the scene of the criminals condemned to the galleys, and their heroic deliverer, the metaphysic knight of the sorrowful countenance.” (Reflections on the French Revolution. The Harvard Classics)
Remember who we are. Or perish.
The alternative to these modernist ideologies is a state based not around an ideology, but around fair and tested principles of law, and a people and their geographical location. In other words a nation state for each people created around the self interest of that people as a whole, and represented by themselves.
We have not yet managed to free ourselves from abstract utopian thinking. And it is important to remember that it is not just the revolution that kills, that is just an eclipse in the blood lust fed by the urge to kill that which does not fit the revolutionary world view. Man has always killed, but when he kills for abstract ideals there is no limit to the extent of the murder. The breech against the abstract idea can occur at any time, in any generation, and in any person. No one is ever safe.
The limits of man’s wisdom should prevent us from any too radical idea. Anything that changes society greatly in too short a time. Today’s Western society is rife with abstract ideas that are said to improve life for mankind. The ideas of globalism, open border, multicultural societies, the dismantling of the family are obvious abstracts that are major changes to our societies, that history repeatedly tells us could lead to disaster. But beyond those things, we will be facing technological advances that are beyond our current field of vision. We are facing these new challenges without having understood anything from the violence of Modernity and the 20th century. I believe that is a reason for concern and potentially the end of mankind.
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Aziraphale’s Legion, Part 2: The Legion
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12
Series masterpost
On AO3
Surprisingly, Crowley was the first one awake.
That wasn’t good. Crowley knew that if he could sleep in but woke up before Aziraphale annoyed him out of complacency, it was because there was something wrong and his instincts were kicking in.
“My spider senses are tingling,” he muttered to himself, slipping out of bed. He peeked out through the blinds.
A demon in the deserted street stared back up at him with beady eyes. It was spreading its wings. It was looking directly at him. And it was not alone.
“Ssshhit!” he said, leaping back towards the bed. “Aziraphale, wake up! We’ve got company!”
“Hm? Wh-What? What?” said Aziraphale, starting awake and flailing.
That demon had been crouching as though it were getting ready to launch itself up the fire escape and into the bedroom window, so that route was out as far as evacuation went. “Come on!” said Crowley, grabbing Aziraphale’s arm and physically dragging him towards the bedroom door.
“Demons can’t get in!” said Aziraphale as they rocketed down the stairs, Crowley pulling him, his fight-or-flight instincts kicking in. “Surely no one’s breached the sigils. They can’t-”
He was cut off by a sudden crash and the sound of books tumbling over each other.
“Shelf fell over by itself then, did it?” said Crowley, whirling around and pushing Aziraphale back up. There was a sound from downstairs that was eerily reminiscent of a hyena laughing.
They burst back into the bedroom, determined to go out the window, but it slammed open by a pair of clawed hands. A demon’s face appeared in the window, eyes burning on Aziraphale.
Crowley hissed and pulled Aziraphale down the stairs again, the sound of cloven hooves on the wood floor frighteningly close behind them.
“How many are there?” said Aziraphale. He was obviously weighing if he could pull his sword out and fight them off, but the effect was diminished by the fact that he was still in his nightgown.
He got the answer to his question as they came out of the stairwell and saw the state of the bookshop, and that answer was a lot. A score of eyes of every variety of colour and shape turned on him as he emerged. Aziraphale thought about trying to go back up, but bodies were appearing at the top of the stairs now.
They moved horizontally against the wall, but the horde of demons closed in on them almost immediately, and the effort only succeeded in cornering them against a bookshelf.
“Stay back!” shouted Aziraphale, feeling around in the aether for his weapon. “I have a sword! Um…somewhere.”
Well, thought Crowley, this is it, then. He had guessed he would die by Aziraphale’s side ever since the ending of the first attempt at the apocalypse. He just hadn’t expected it to happen while he was in only his pants.
The rest of the demons had appeared from upstairs, and they all crowded towards the pair, eager expressions on their warped faces. “Are you the principality Aziraphale?” said a demon towards the front. Her teeth were a bit too sharp, and her ears were neither shaped correctly nor placed correctly on her head.
“Yes!” said Aziraphale, finally drawing his sword. It whooshed into flames, and he brandished it about. The demons drew back slightly, the flickering light reflecting harshly in their animalistic eyes.
“The one who slaughtered Satan?” the demon at the front continued.
“That’s me!”
All the demons assembled dropped to one knee and bowed their heads. “Hail Aziraphale!” shouted a voice from the back.
The only sound was the crackling of the fire on his sword. “I beg your pardon?”
“Hail!” repeated the voice.
“Yes, I heard you,” stuttered Aziraphale. “I don’t understand…”
“You slew the Adversary,” said the demon towards the front, who seemed a bit braver than the rest. “You bested Satan in combat. You are his rightful successor.”
“I’m—What?” said Aziraphale.
“Our new master!” shouted the voice from the back. “Give us a command!”
“No, no, no, no,” said Aziraphale fussily. “I’m not a master of anything, much less a horde of demons.”
The demon at the front was beginning to look dismayed. “Lord Aziraphale,” she said, still kneeling, “we are at your disposal. We are your loyal subjects.”
“That can’t be right,” Aziraphale said. “What are you all here for?”
“To serve you.”
“To serve me?”
“Hold on,” said Crowley. “You all are pledging your loyalty to Aziraphale?”
“Yes.”
“You all fancy Aziraphale as the new Satan?”
“Yes, there is no one better suited for the position.”
Crowley clapped his hands over his mouth to try and stifle the laughter.
“The logical successor of Satan is the one who dethroned him!” a demon towards the back cried. “The mighty Aziraphale shall take his place!”
“That can’t be right,” Aziraphale whined. “You all need to leave right now.”
The ensuing silence was broken by an enormous boom from the front of the bookshop that rattled the fluorescent lights, as though something very heavy were landing on the cement. Simultaneously a huge figure appeared in the doorway.
The demons in the shop recognized the figure immediately, and they realized they had been caught showing supplication towards an angel by this person. But their next move would have been to kneel and beg for mercy and they were already kneeling, so they all just stayed where they were.
The bell on the door jingled happily as it pushed open, and one enormous clawed foot stepped in and raked the wood. Black feathers ruffled with interest, intense red eyes burning into Aziraphale. She had to duck to fit through the doorway, then stretched out to her full height once inside.
The archdemon Maltha had arrived.
“Maltha!” said Aziraphale, and he did not know whether to be alarmed or relieved. His thoughts rushed back to when they had parted. Maybe she was here to help, but maybe she was here to kill them.
She strode forwards, her enormous wings brushing against the heads of the lesser demons as she passed. They all shied away from her, bowing lower.
“Do you think she’s mad at me?” Aziraphale whispered to Crowley, suppressing his urge to try and back away.
She stopped directly in front of Aziraphale. He gulped, not raising his sword, but not lowering it either. Crowley was holding his breath beside him.
Maltha flashed him an inhuman smile and dropped to one knee. “Hail Aziraphale.”
“No, no, no,” said Aziraphale, sounding like he wanted to throw his sword to the ground. “Maltha, surely you don’t believe this nonsense?”
“You bested Satan in combat,” she rumbled. “His throne falls to you.”
“No,” he said. “You all need to leave right now.”
He felt a hand tugging on his sleeve. “Aziraphale, can I talk to you for a second?” said Crowley, pulling his arm.
“A-All right,” said Aziraphale. “You lot stay out here! You hear me?”
They slid nervously away from the demons to the back room. It was still trashed, and they picked their way carefully to the other side, where they had the least chance of being overheard.
“Aziraphale, I think we should let them stay,” said Crowley.
“What?” said Aziraphale. “Surely you can’t mean that. This can only end in disaster.”
“Think about it, Aziraphale. If they were able to find us, then it means our location is out. And I bet the next group of demons who show up might be more interested in avenging Satan than putting you on his throne. This group is too small to seriously try and crown you King of Hell, but it’s big enough that it might fend off rival factions that would be interested in getting their hands on you.”
“Crowley is right,” said Maltha’s voice, and she appeared at the entrance to the back room. She crunched over broken glass and spell ingredients to get to them. “Aziraphale, you have no idea what kind of chaos Hell is in right now. Satan’s death has created a power vacuum everyone is desperately trying to fill. All the higher-ups are fighting to take Satan’s position. All the archdemons and even some of the dukes are laying claims. The logical successor would have been Ba’al Berith, but he was already killed. The next choice would have been Beelzebub, but Hell isn’t uniting behind him for some reason. Agares seems to be pulling a disproportionate amount of support, and I can’t figure out why. But not even she has enough factions to secure the throne. It’s a free-for-all. All the rules keeping Hell in some sense of order have gone out the window.”
“That doesn’t have anything to do with me, though!” protested Aziraphale. “Why am I being dragged into it?”
“The other archdemons want you because they need something to support their claim to the throne. Anyone who can prove they killed Satan’s murderer would rally all the forces personally loyal to Satan to their side. And—” Here her fearsome red eyes swung to Crowley. “They haven’t forgotten about you, either. The only demon who brazenly betrayed Hell and ruined the war. It’s a package deal as far as they’re concerned. Satan’s killer, and Hell’s biggest traitor. You’ve made yourselves the biggest targets on Earth.”
Aziraphale deflated. “So what you’re saying is, we could use all the help we can get?”
“If you want to keep Crowley safe, this is what you need to do.”
Damn her. She must have known the effect phrasing it that way would have on him. “But it doesn’t make any sense—I’m an angel! There’s no way I should be the one to pledge loyalty to. I don’t trust them. Why would they be loyal to me? I don’t want Satan’s position.”
“Aziraphale,” said Maltha, leaning in, as though afraid of being overheard. “It’s an excuse. A rallying cry.” She turned towards Crowley. “Did you not notice? They’re field agents, like you. They are inspired by your rebellion. They saw a chance to break away from Hell and pledge loyalty to Earth instead, and they took it.”
“The sigils,” said Aziraphale, the colour draining from his face. “I designed them to keep demons out, except they allowed—”
“They allowed in demons who love the Earth,” said Maltha. “Which you assumed meant it would only admit Crowley. It turns out you are not as alone as you thought you were.”
“I’ll be damned,” said Crowley. “I had no idea.”
“Like it or not, Aziraphale, you and Crowley can’t disentangle yourselves from this fight. You’re not a pawn anymore. You’re a king. These are your pieces. It would be foolish of you to turn them away.”
“If I’m the king,” said Aziraphale with suspicion, “what does that make you?”
Maltha’s eyes glinted with amusement, and she put her hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “I want to say I’m the queen, except that position’s already been taken by this one here.”
“Hey!” said Crowley, blushing.
“You can trust me, Aziraphale,” said Maltha. “We’re on the same side. Let’s talk more later. Right now, we need-”
“Maltha!”
This last bit was spoken by a shrill voice from outside the room, and Maltha’s face froze into an expression of panic.
A head piled high with blonde hair appeared in the doorway. “Maltha, there you are!”
Maltha turned to face the woman walking into the room. As soon as she reached her, Maltha’s enormous hands came down on her petite shoulders. “Beth, I told you to wait outside.”
“Is that a human?” said Crowley. “You brought a human with you?”
The woman spared Crowley one glance before returning her attention back to Maltha. “I know, but you were gone for so long I thought I should come in.” She had a very loud voice, and her accent was heavily American, somewhere from the south it seemed.
“Beth, I was inside for three minutes!”
“That is a human, right?” said Crowley. “A human that just walked through that crowd of demons to get to us?”
“Oh, is that what they were?” said Beth. “I thought they looked a little funny. Are you a demon too? I could tell by your eyes. Your underwear doesn’t look very demonic, though.”
“Er,” said Crowley, suddenly becoming self-aware. He snapped his fingers and materialized a suit, tightening the tie around his neck with some attempt to recover his demonic dignity. Aziraphale followed suit, summoning an outfit that included that hideous sweatervest from his upstairs closet.
Beth did not seem fazed by the miracle. Maltha gestured to Aziraphale and Crowley. “These are the ones I was telling you about.” She lowered her voice. “You and I need to talk later, but we’re in the middle of something right now.”
“Maltha? Um, who is this?” said Crowley.
“Later,” she said quickly. “Aziraphale, you need to make a decision. We can’t keep them waiting.”
“Oh, all right,” he said, distressed.
They came back out. The demons were all milling about, but snapped to attention when they saw him.
“Okay!” said Aziraphale, raising his voice so everyone in the shop could hear. “You, there, in the back!”
A demon towards the back pointed to itself with a meaty paw.
“Yes, you. Make sure that sign on the door is turned to ‘closed,’ will you?”
The demon obliged. The sign was already on “closed.”
“Right!” said Aziraphale. “Ah…” He froze with a brief spat of stage fright as dozens of infernal eyes stared into him. “Since you all are pledging loyalty to me, as your new master—”
“Hail Aziraphale!” shouted someone, and the group erupted into a boisterous cheer. A few of them looked like they wanted to surge forwards and lift him up.
“Yes, yes!” said Aziraphale, shushing them. “We have to lay some ground rules. First off….erm, you have to do whatever I tell you!”
Their blank stares told him this had already been a given. “Ah,” he fumbled, then pointed to Crowley. “Right, and if I’m not around, you have to do whatever Crowley tells you!”
There was a smattering of low voices saying “Hail Crowley!” which Crowley waved off, embarrassed.
“And if Crowley’s not around either, do whatever Maltha tells you to do! And if she’s not around, er….do whatever Beth tells you to do.”
“You don’t even know who Beth is,” Crowley hissed.
“Shush,” said Aziraphale. “Okay, next rule….I can’t have you all running around unsupervised, so you have to stay in or on the premises of the bookshop unless you ask permission!”
The demons looked at each other unsurely. It was already crowded in here.
“Where are we going to put them all?” muttered Crowley.
“The adjacent flat,” said Aziraphale. “It’s empty.”
“I didn’t know you rented it out.”
“I don’t—bugger, Crowley, I’m doing my best here!”
“We’ll have to knock the wall out, then. I’ll get the sledgehammer.”
“Oh dear.” He raised his voice again. “All right, next thing, no hurting any angels! Or—or humans! Well, maybe if they try to come in the shop and buy—No, no hurting any human!”
The demons all got a look of very painfully fake disappointment on their faces. One of them even snapped his fingers and said Darn.
“All right,” said Aziraphale, gaining courage. “And no touching the books! Unless you’re very careful with them and put them back where you found them! And finally, it has to be quiet between the hours of eleven PM and seven AM so we can sleep!”
“Eight AM,” interjected Crowley.
“All right! And if anyone breaks any of those rules, they’ll feel my wrath—or something!”
“We’ll follow your rules, lord!” said a demon towards the front.
Aziraphale thought it would be a good idea to have the demons come up one by one and introduce themselves so he knew who he was dealing with. So he and Crowley took to the back room, sitting on the destroyed couch and trying to avoid being poked in the backside by the exposed springs, and let Maltha and Beth usher the demons in and out one by one.
Aziraphale took notes as he asked them to introduce themselves. The very first demon looked embarrassed and apologized for knocking one of Aziraphale’s bookshelves over. She mumbled that the demon next to her had pushed her, and she had fallen into it, but that she would clean it up at the first available opportunity. Aziraphale told her not to worry about it and pressed on with the questions he wanted to ask her.
They soon discovered that Maltha had been exactly right—they were all demons stationed in the field on Earth for long periods of time. And an irritatingly familiar pattern soon emerged: when they were telling them a little about themselves, most of them tried to take credit for things Crowley knew for a fact they could not have done.
“I seduced the ruler Phalaris and drove him to tyranny.”
“I was the one who seduced Phalaris,” said Crowley. “And he did all that on his own.”
“…I meant a different Phalaris.”
“What other Phalaris was there?”
“There was one in…South America. You probably hadn’t heard of him.”
“I orchestrated the fall of Rome,” claimed a second demon.
“You’re responsible for the fall of Rome.”
“Yes.”
“Did that all on your own, did you?”
“Yes.”
“How, exactly?”
“….”
“Can you give me a brief summary of the social and economic factors surrounding the collapse of the Roman—“
“Too complex. You wouldn’t understand my methods.”
“I spread the bubonic plague,” said another demon, proudly.
“Everyone knows that was Pestilence,” said Aziraphale.
“Er…. The Crusades. I had a hand in the Crusades.”
“That was War!” said Crowley. “Bloody hell, are you going to try and take credit for the concept of dying next?”
“I tempted Adam in the Garden of Eden.”
Crowley hid his face in his hands and sighed deeply.
“…..the band Cannibal Corpse?”
“…Okay, that one I can believe.”
It went on and on like this. Multiple demons tried to take credit for the Inquisition. One claimed to have caused the burning of the library of Alexandria, and another said she had single-handedly caused the expansion of the British empire and the American slave trade. One produced a commendation he said was for inventing homophobia, but the writing on the certificate was smudged and there was no way to tell what it was actually for. Another tried to say they had pioneered the concept of torturing people for information. Another took credit for trepanning. Another for lobotomies. Another for neglect of children in orphanages. None of them looked like they had ever had the stomach to hurt an animal, let alone a human.
As the last demon exited, Aziraphale put his hand over his mouth to hold in his laughter. “Crowley, they’re just like you. They haven’t done a single thing with their time on Earth and just took credit for what humans did.”
Crowley glared daggers at him. “I didn’t do nothing. What’s that supposed to mean? You think Manchester is nothing? And—the phone lines?”
“And the coins on the sidewalk?” said Aziraphale, with affectionate sarcasm. “Compared to the things you got commendations for—”
“All right, all right,” said Crowley huffily.
They decided to tackle the problem of space next. Aziraphale grimaced when Crowley produced the promised sledgehammer.
“Technically this is vandalism, so I can’t participate in opening the wall,” the angel tried.
“Oh no you don’t. You’re not leaving all this work to me. Get into a set of old clothes and come on.”
A few demons ventured upstairs to see what the noise was and became distressed when Aziraphale declined their offer to let them do the work instead and grab him a chair to watch. Eventually he was only able to stop their nagging by ordering them back downstairs until the renovation was complete, asking Maltha to keep them corralled out of the way.
They were pleased to find that the flat next door was spacious and had a good deal of furniture in it. They took the time to cover the walls and doors with the same anti-demon sigils that adorned the shop. If anyone happened to come by to see it, they would certainly be surprised by how decided not-empty the “vacant” flat was, but they would deal with that if it happened.
While they were surveying it, a demon approached them with two glasses of lemonade.
“Oh, thank you,” said Crowley, taking one with a plaster-covered hand. The demon nodded, blushed, and scurried away.
“What was her name?” said Aziraphale.
“Oryss, I think,” said Crowley. “Why?”
“I think I’d better learn their names to keep track of them.”
It was getting late by the time they were finished. Crowley took out his mobile and called Domino’s, and a bewildered deliveryman came by with a stack of pizza boxes an hour later.
They watched as the demons diffused through the complex formed by the connected shop, back room, upstairs, and the adjacent flat, then the two of them retreated to the bedroom when things seemed under control.
To their irritation, they found a demon in their room before them. He stood at attention and saluted when they came in. Crowley remembered that his name was Botis. He looked very distinctive: pale white skin, big tusks from under a bristling mustache, nubby horns, and a shiny sword he did not seem entirely comfortable holding. He had stood out from the rest of the demons by virtue of his sheer mass and ugliness.
“What are you doing in here?” said Aziraphale hotly.
“Lord!” said Botis, looking very serious. “Please allow me to stand guard over you while you sleep!”
“That won’t be necessary,” Aziraphale told him.
“Lord, someone could come in using the stairs on the fire escape!”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine, Botis.”
“Allow me to stand inside at the bedroom door, at least!”
“Thank you, Botis, but please leave.”
“Allow me to stand outside the bedroom door, at least?”
“Er,” said Crowley, picturing what Botis might overhear. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
Botis’s very pale face was growing red. “Sirs! Please allow me to guard you somehow!”
“All right,” said Aziraphale wearily, trying to figure out how to make him go away. “Why don’t you stand in the living room of the flat and make sure nobody tries to come in.”
Botis saluted, stepped out of the room, saluted again, then pulled the door shut behind him.
“Oof,” said Crowley, throwing himself on the bed. “Bloody Hell, I’m tired.”
“It’s only eight,” said Aziraphale, sitting on the bed next to him.
“That’s late enough,” said Crowley. “Let’s let Maltha handle everyone downstairs.”
The bedroom window slid open softly seemingly of its own accord. Crowley propped himself up on one elbow to look at it.
An enormous raven appeared, perching on the windowsill and turning its head to look at them with one red eye.
“Speak of the devil,” said Crowley.
The black bird shifted into the form of an enormous woman sitting on the ledge. “And she shall appear,” Maltha finished. “The three of us need to talk.”
“I’ll say,” said Aziraphale, standing, intending to charge ahead with his anger. Her disappearance during the second attempt at the apocalypse had been preoccupying him for a while now, and he was ready to demand answers. But he stopped when he saw Maltha looked consumed with anger of her own.
He suddenly reflected on his actions in her absence and how she might feel about them.
“I heard about what you did, Aziraphale,” she said, confirming his fears. “And I didn’t want to do this in front of everyone else, but now that we’re alone…”
She removed herself from the windowsill and took one step towards him. The smack of her hand hitting his face could be heard all the way downstairs.
Aziraphale staggered backwards, reeling, hand on the enormous red mark blossoming on his cheek.
Maltha leaned in with a sneer, pointing at Crowley. “Have you apologized to him?”
“Yes,” said Aziraphale, glowering.
“I left him with you because I thought you would take care of him!” she cried. “And when I finally get caught up on what’s going on, I find out you landed him on Satan’s own torture rack! I thought you loved him!”
“I do,” Aziraphale tried to defend. “It-it was a mistake.”
Her hand came up and hit his other cheek. “Forgetting to lock the door is a mistake,” Maltha said. “What you did is not a mistake.”
Aziraphale could not help but notice Crowley did not seem inclined to defend him. He swallowed and tried to form words, but Maltha pressed on:
“I’ll take him from you, Aziraphale. You think I won’t? You’re not the only one who cares about him. You’d do well to remember that. If you abuse him like that again, I’ll make sure you never see him again.”
Another blow, this one in his stomach. He coughed and managed to get in, “You can’t be mad at me for him switching sides! It was to keep him safe!”
“Switching sides?” said Maltha, enraged. “You think I’m angry about him switching sides?”
Crowley finally came forwards and took Maltha’s arm. “Aziraphale isn’t going to do it again because he doesn’t want to hurt me, not because of your threats, Maltha,” he said. “Please, you’re not going to do anything by hitting him.”
Maltha’s eyes swung from Crowley to Aziraphale and back again. She crossed her arms, mercifully taking them out of attack position.
Aziraphale, still ruffled, snapped, “Well I don’t know what you expected me to do! I had no resources at my disposal, I had no courses of action, and you were nowhere to be found! At least I tried! Where were you?”
The anger on Maltha’s face began to fade. She grimaced, stepped back, and reseated herself on the windowsill. “No. You’re right. No, it’s my fault too. I…I’ve been here on Earth. Exploring, just as I said I would.”
“But surely Hell must have tried to contact you at some point!” said Crowley. “You’re one of the most powerful demons Hell has! They wouldn’t just leave you up here wandering around while they were gearing up for war!”
“I made myself hard to find on purpose because I didn’t want Hell to bother me. And I…told those who came not to contact me again unless Satan himself died.”
“Oh my God. Nobody tells Maltha what to do, is that it?”
She bit her lip.
Crowley wanted to yell at her that she had responsibilities, that someone like her couldn’t just ignore everyone else and disappear off on her own. But it seemed inappropriate to chastise her like a child.
Maltha scraped the windowsill with her fingernail. “I’m sorry that I hit you, Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale rubbed his cheek. “I suppose I deserve it.”
“Yes, you did,” she said, not sounding sorry at all.
“He’s made up for it, all right?” said Crowley. “He messed up, but he also killed Satan himself to try and fix it. It’s done and in the past.”
“I suppose so,” said Maltha. “Aziraphale, you’re damn lucky it worked out the way it did. How on Earth did you get the archangel Michael to take an interest in helping you?”
“Er, not on Earth,” said Aziraphale. “But we’re friends, sort of, I suppose.”
“You’re friends with Michael?”
“A little bit. I mean, we met when the Earth was still new and he came down to check it out. I don’t think he was supposed to be down here, but I showed him around a little. He doesn’t come down to Earth very much, but when he does he’s always popped in to see me and try to catch up. It’s a bit of a one-sided friendship.”
“I’d imagine,” said Maltha. “I don’t know what he’d gain by being friends with a principality.”
Aziraphale blushed, because he had actually meant it was one-sided the other way around. Until he needed Michael’s help rescuing Crowley, he had usually tried to make Michael stop pestering him as soon as possible.
“Regardless,” said Maltha. “He’s not here now, and it’s obvious you have no idea what you’re doing. These demons have all pledged their loyalty to you, but I won’t let you throw their lives away. They’re defenders of the Earth just like you, Crowley, and me. If you let things get out of control, I will step in, Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale supposed it was meant to be a threat, but the thought of Maltha forcing the demons to follow her instead secretly sounded very appealing to him. But he kept the thought to himself.
“Like you?” said Crowley. “So I take it you like what you saw, then? When you went to see Earth?”
“Very much,” she said softly. “You’ll notice that your anti-demon glyphs also admitted me.”
“And that woman?” said Aziraphale. “The human you brought with you?”
“She’s…a partner with whom I’ve been travelling. I admit I don’t really know anything about how humans think, so she’s been very helpful.”
“Well, be sure you keep her out of the way,” said Aziraphale. “With all these new demons running around. Anything could happen.”
“Of course.”
“Maltha, what exactly is the nature of your relationship with that human?” said Crowley, a bit unsurely.
Maltha looked at him and didn’t answer.
“You’re setting yourself up for heartbreak, you know.”
“Heartbreak?”
“Getting emotionally attached to individual humans. If you’re going to be...with her…you know she’s going to die eventually, right?”
Maltha looked at him haughtily. “I am the most powerful healer in Creation, and no one dies unless I allow it.”
“Your pride will be your downfall, Maltha.”
Her pupils expanded and contracted on him. Aziraphale wondered if anyone had ever had the courage to speak to her that way.
“She’s going to get old,” Crowley pressed. “She’ll age and then she’ll die.”
Maltha face cracked into a smile. “And where will she go after that?”
They both processed the question.
“You sly demon,” said Aziraphale.
“But what if she goes to Heaven?” said Crowley. “If she goes to Hell where you have influence that’s all well and good, but if she goes to Heaven she’ll be permanently out of your reach.”
Maltha idly bounced her legs against the wall. “Trust me, she’s not going to Heaven.”
“Wh-what?”
“Never mind that. Leave Beth to me. We need to get back to the topic at hand. We’re going to be facing some serious adversity soon, and I need to make sure you trust me. Both of you, look at me.”
They did so.
“I know we…got off to a bit of a rocky start. And I’m sure you still harbor some resentment because I wasn’t there when you needed me. If I had known what was going on, I could have saved you two a lot of trouble. But I’m here now. I’m not running away anymore. I know what it is I want and what I love, and it’s thanks to you for showing me. And if it comes down to it, I’ll die defending this planet if I have to.” A smirk crossed her face. “And Aziraphale, you’ve still got it wrong.”
“What wrong?”
“You said Crowley switched sides. You’re still thinking in terms of sides. We’re not on Hell’s side. We’re not on Heaven’s side. We’ve made our own side. This is Earth, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned so far is that on Earth you play by your own rules. Hell might not view Crowley as one of their own anymore, but as far as I’m concerned nothing’s changed—and I guarantee you the demons milling about in your shop feel the same way.”
She removed herself from the window and exited via the doorway. “You two get some sleep. Beth and I can handle that lot downstairs until morning.”
“Thank you, Maltha,” said Crowley.
“Of course, my healer.”
The door shut, leaving the two alone in the bedroom.
Crowley exhaled in relief, strode forwards, and lifted a hand to Aziraphale’s cheek. “She’s got a mean right hook, hasn’t she?”
Aziraphale grabbed his hand before he could touch the red mark. “Don’t heal it.”
“Why not?”
“I deserve it.”
Crowley sighed and dropped his hand. He leaned forwards and gave him a peck on the cheek. The stinging sensation faded.
Aziraphale rubbed Crowley’s hands.
Crowley let go, flopped onto the bed, and crawled forwards, burying his face in the pillow. “Can we sleep forever and let Maltha deal with the island of Doctor Moreau?”
Aziraphale lay down next to him. “I suppose we should at least let them all stay until this all blows over…”
“Hopefully it will blow over.”
“Crowley, I can’t be in command of a regiment of demons for the rest of my life! What if Heaven finds out?”
“I’m sure they’d do something stupid like they always do,” muttered Crowley.
Aziraphale wrung his hands. “Well, we’ve won the archdemon Maltha over to the cause of the Earth. That’s an accomplishment, right? I mean, who could really pose a threat to her…?”
“Satan, but he’s dead,” said Crowley. “I suppose the other archdemons could give her a good fight, but they usually don’t bother fighting directly, so who knows how a showdown between them could go?”
“Mm,” said Aziraphale, rubbing Crowley’s back. “And the archangels, I suppose.”
Crowley shook with muffled laughter. “Can you imagine Uriel or Metatron trying to fight her? They’re certainly equal in aura strength, but I don’t think they’ve been in combat since the beginning of Creation. Imagine the look on their faces.”
“Well, that’s not the point,” said Aziraphale, a bit defensively. “That’s what Michael is for.”
Crowley rolled over. “Michael. Right, there’s him….But I’m sure he’s got better things to do.”
“Right,” said Aziraphale, giving him a kiss and turning the light off. “It’s not like he’s going to show up.”
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I think I'm going to go on a bit of an educated and probably pretentious-sounding rant about popular perceptions of both current and historical events in, for lack of a better term, the Middle East. It's gonna be LONG.
FOREWARNING: I'm not a published expert on the subject and this isn't intensively cited or peer-reviewed. I may get facts wrong. TAKE EVERYTHING I SAY HERE WITH A GRAIN OF SALT.
So this post has been brewing for a while, but was specifically set off by something I saw on Reddit today. Someone, in a discussion about ISIS and the Syrian Civil War, said, and I quote: "We need a new Crusade." It's a sentiment I've seen a lot in the past few months in various forms all around the internet and the news, and it reflects, in my opinion, the complete and total ignorance of both history and politics of the people making those statements.
Now I'm going to start with the modern and geopolitical problems with that statement first because they're the simplest to explain and observe.
PROBLEM THE FIRST: Do we need a "new Crusade" to bring down ISIS? Not at all. The Iraqis and Kurds are currently in the process of winning the conflict. By quite a lot. The question is not IF ISIS will collapse, but WHEN. The big problem is that the conflict with ISIS is part of a much larger and more complicated quagmire of violence in Iraq and Syria. There are dozens of factions fighting amongst themselves for a dozen different reasons, which is complex enough, but the greater Syrian Civil War conflict has extended further into a sort of proxy war between local powers. Every neighboring country, and some that aren't even close, has a stake.
There are several important players and power blocs to consider. The first is Turkey. With the 8th largest military on Earth, and still riding a wave of popularity following the recent failed coup, Turkey's government has several goals. The first is to prevent Turkish Kurds from seceding in the even that the inevitable defeat of ISIS gives rise to an independent Kurdistan. Second, Turkey wants to keep the wider conflict from crossing over its borders.
Saudi Arabia and its Gulf State allies, being primarily Sunni Muslim, are treating the war as a way to gain a leg up over the primarily Shia Muslim Iran in regional influence, so different militias supported by both factions are thrown into the mix.
Add in the Syrian Government and its brutal human rights abuses and recent Russian Interference on the regime's side, targeting non-ISIS rebels more often than ISIS troops and a resultant spike in tensions with the US and Turkey.
In the middle of it all are the Kurds and Iraqis, operating with US and Iranian support in Northern Iraq and Syria. These guys are the ones who are currently doing most of the winning against ISIS, as far as I am currently aware.
The entire situation is a tangled mess of alliances, ambitions, angry rebels, and zero foresight. Anyone who has studied history can point to another specific war that highlights just how bad an unnecessary escalation would be: The First World War. It all started as a regional conflict between independence-seeking rebels and Austria-Hungary, but escalated when other European powers started treating it as a way to advance their own interests. A tangle of alliances and treaties fired off and BAM, Europe was in chaos.
An escalation of the greater Syrian Civil War conflict, could easily result in something similar. Besides ALL of that, the most often-cited reason for an invasion is ISIS, the ones who are currently losing to the Kurds and Iraqis. So an escalation would not only be potentially devastating, it would also be completely pointless.
Which brings me back to the idea of the Crusades.
The implication of a "new Crusade" would be a religiously-justified war against a specific religious group, in this case Christian armies attacking Muslims. Now aside from the fact that this would be, according to a 2010 study, declaring war on 1.6 billion people and would almost certainly result in nothing but a further downward spiral in stability in the Middle East and a continuing cycle of violence, poverty, migration, and xenophobia, there is a much deeper issue with this Reddit post.
The Crusades are commonly portrayed in Western, European-descended cultures as a cut-and-dry series of wars waged by Christian Europe with the intent to return the holy land to Christian hands.
This explanation skims the surface of the reality of the Crusades and adds a cultural bias for good measure. It has parts that could be construed as accurate from a certain standpoint, but obscures massive amounts of complexity for the sake of a specific narrative.
To understand the Crusades, we have to understand the time period. The First Crusade was called by Pope Urban II in 1095. The world at the time, and the way religion was treated, was vastly different from the modern world. The previous four hundred years had seen the rise of a series of vast, immensely powerful Arabic Islamic Empires - the Caliphates. Following directly in the wake of the founding of Islam and the death of the Prophet Muhammad, the first of these empires quickly expanded from a small realm around Mecca and Medina all the way into North Africa and Central Asia.
I would argue that these conquests were not religiously motivated, but rather the same natural drive for expansion that every large Empire in history has required to remain intact, but that's an argument for another time.
Of immediate relevance to this rant is the interactions between the Islamic Empires and Europe. At the time of their first appearance, Christian Europe was in the midst of what we know of as the Dark Ages. Literacy rates and urban populations were at rock bottom and most people relied on farming to survive. There really weren't any powerful countries in Western Europe, but in Greece and Turkey the Byzantine Empire - the last vestige of Rome - reigned supreme as the sole bastion of civilization in a dark, dark Europe.
The Caliphate entered the scene while the Byzantines were locked in conflict with their rivals, the Sassanid Empire of Persia. In a relatively short amount of time, the Sassanids had been destroyed and the Byzantines had lost control of Egypt and North Africa to what became known as the Rashidun Caliphate. Byzantium was still powerful, though, and resisted multiple invasions over the next several centuries.
In essence, the Byzantine Empire became a sort of barrier preventing the Caliphates from pushing into Eastern Europe. Eventually, however, Spain came under Arabic control as well, and the initial wave of conquest was stopped by a Frankish army at the Battle of Tours in 732.
For the next three centuries, the rising Christian Kingdoms of Europe remained sheltered from conquest by the natural barriers of the Pyrenees Mountains and the Byzantine Empire. During this time, the Islamic Caliphates were HIGHLY tolerant of other religions and cultures, creating special ordinances and codes that protected non-Muslims' rights and encouraged their participation in local government. The Europeans were too busy slaughtering pagans and heathens to take note, but Christian and Jewish pilgrims were free to travel to their holy sites.
Fast forward to 1071. A nomadic people from Central Asia, the Seljuqs, have taken control of Persia and Iraq and crushed the Byzantine army at the Battle of Manzikert. The Byzantines barely retain control of the coast of modern-day Turkey, with everything in the interior and East falling into Seljuq hands. The Seljuqs, although Islamic like their Caliphate neighbors, have less-pleasant policies towards other religions, and cut off the main overland pilgrimage route to the Holy Land.
The Byzantines appealed to the Pope for aid. I could go into the whole Catholic/Orthodox nature of this in detail, but it's not really worth the space. Suffice to say that Catholic and Orthodox Christians didn’t see eye to eye, and getting them to cooperate was nigh-impossible. What IS important is that the Byzantines were requesting help with the reasoning that is Byzantium fell, Europe would as well.
The problem for the Pope, thanks to the Catholic/Orthodox issue that I'm skimming over, was that "Help the Byzantines" wasn't a good reason to call for a holy war. Because his only influence over Europe was through the lens of religion, he needed a good enough religious reason to rally the European Kingdoms and get them fired up to invade. Fortunately for the Pope, the Seljuqs had cut off the pilgrimage routes and he could ask the European Kings and Nobles to invade for the purpose of "returning the Holy Land to Christian hands."
That right there is the important part. The Crusades did NOT start for religious purposes, they simply used them as a convenient excuse and rallying cry.
Amusingly, although the Crusaders DID invade through Seljuq-controlled lands, the First Crusade also targeted lands and cities that weren't even under Seljuq control. Jerusalem, for instance, was controlled by the Fatimid Caliphate.
While I'm on the subject of Jerusalem, I should mention that the super-Christian Crusaders, upon taking the city, slaughtered pretty much every non-Christian they could find. Although massacres were relatively commonplace in medieval warfare, the Massacre of Jerusalem is often said to have exceeded even the standards of the time.
Eyewitnesses reported that the Crusaders waded through blood as high as their ankles or even knees in some places. The Jewish synagogue was burned with the Jews who took refuge there still trapped inside. On the Temple Mount, one crusader stated that over 10,000 innocents, including women and children, were butchered. Some Muslims were spared as captives and made to drag the corpses out of the city into massive, house-sized piles.
Ultimately, the Crusades were useless. They accomplished nothing and served only to spill the blood of thousands upon thousands upon thousands of people. The Fourth Crusade even ended up as an invasion of the Byzantine Empire, sealing the coffin of the declining Empire's fate with a betrayal by supposed allies.
So, in conclusion, the crusades were ineffective wars fought in the name of a religion by highly-religious warriors for a completely non-religious purpose that the failed at more miserably than just about anyone has ever failed in history while at the same time committing stomach-churning atrocities.
Do we "Need a new Crusade?"
No.
No, we absolutely don't.
#sam posts#history#war against isis#isis#middle east#islam#story time#rant#crusades#first crusade#caliphate#muhammad#prophet muhammed pbuh#muslim#muslims#christianity#christians#politics#geopolitics#syrian civil war#syrian conflict#saudi arabia#byzantine empire#byzantium#jerusalem#pope urban ii#religion#religion of peace#religion of violence#islamic terrorism
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