#the greatest best country god has ever given man on the face of the earth

[aerposts]

Travel Warnings Other Countries Have About Visiting The U.S. - Your Mileage May Vary

Regardless of what we think of the United States, other countries are well aware of the very real problems we have with domestic terrorism, racism, gun safety, violent crimes, theft, global warming, medical costs, young Black men’s interactions with the police, how we treat people seeking asylum, and even our (*cough*) puritanical opinions about some modern topics.

#the greatest best country god has ever given man on the face of the earth #'murica #travel #hypocrisy #god of travel #xenia #xenophobia #terrorism #gun violence #racism #public health #global warming #calvinism

[mercurygguk]

winter soldier | jjk

genre; winter soldier/avengers au, angst/smut/fluff

pairing; winter soldier!jungkook x avenger!female reader

summary; the love of your life died during ww2, they honored his death. you had never imagined you’d ever see him again until you’d join him in death, but here he is and he’s trying to kill you. he’s not himself at all. you, however, insist that the man you used to know is still in there somewhere.

word count; 6,764

warnings; descriptions of war/battle/fight scenes, descriptions of scars, the rest of the avengers joins the party, reader is like Cap A but not like Cap A, you know??, jungkook looking hella hot with his long hair and steel arm, inspiration from ‘captain america: winter soldier’, swearing, SMUT; explicit sexual activities, oral (f. receiving), love making at its highest- nothing kinky, just plain ol’ sex

a/n; okay so um, i’m binge-watching the avengers movies atm and i was watching Captain America: Winter Soldier. i kid you not, throughout the entire movie i was imagining what jungkook would look like as the winter soldier- jungkook combined with superheroes is like the perfect story, amirite?? ;)) enjoy!

ps. once again, i didn’t proof read so ignore my possible mistakes lol

(for reference, this is what jungkook’s hair looks like in this fic)

War.

Terrorizing. Horrifying. Absolutely petrifying.

There are several words to use when talking about it, describing it, reliving it. Once you’ve experienced it, it will haunt you till the day you die and even beyond that. There isn’t much positive to take from it, not many positive memories come to you as you think back to the time during war. Only one positive memory returns to you from those dark times...

Him.

Him who did not fit in with the military services due to his lack of strength and speed. Him who never let anyone step upon him and evolved with the job. Him who never backed down from a challenge or an order given from the highest ranks. Him who had braveness unlike anyone, loyalty like no other, a will to fight for what’s worth it and to win. Him who made you fall for him without meaning to. Him who promised he would always come back to you, no matter what happened.

And then one day he didn’t. They had told you he went down in the fight, died for his country, for his team. He hadn’t hesitated to sacrifice himself, thrown himself towards the threat in the hopes of ending it for everyone once and for all. That he did. He killed himself in the process of saving everyone else.

A hero is what they had called him. Honored his name, saluting as they all stood facing his military photograph, serious faces and emotionless eyes all over. Tears had filled your eyes that day, but they didn't fall. You refused to let them. There was no way you would cry because of a liar. A coward, really. Anger kept you going, anger aimed at him. A rage so intense that you would convince yourself that you hated him. Some people would call you selfish, selfish for hating a man who sacrificed himself for everyone else. They were right. You were selfish. But love makes you selfish, and you loved him. So ridiculously much.

Years later, decades into the new century he remains as a positive yet heartbreaking and frustrating memory in your mind and heart. You haven’t aged a day thanks to the advanced technology and the project you offered to be the experiment of, in the end of the war. After his death and the war seeming more out of control than ever, you thought there wasn’t much more to live for, so you volunteered. A successful masterpiece, professor Kim had said as you regained consciousness on the lab table. You were his greatest, most succeeded experiment. You still are, except for the fact that Kim Namjoon is no longer walking among people on earth.

Now you’re living as the successful masterpiece he has created. Stronger, faster – young too even though your real age is something near 98. It doesn’t show. You look like any other 23-year-old but with extraordinary strength and speed. Being a part of a team as the Avengers truly has given you a meaning of life, a purpose that you didn’t feel you had before joining this outstanding team of superheroes as some would call you.

But as you stand here, in the middle of a battlefield that is scarily similar to those back in the 1940’s, you feel small. Gunshots fire around you, flying past your head and ringing in your ears. Explosions going off from the shots fired by Stark, Iron Man as he’s known as. The grounds breaking from the power of Thor’s hammer, the bad guys falling like flies in the hands of Widow. You’re watching it all unfold, breathing for a split second as robots are charging at you with red, glowing eyes.

For God’s sake, just how many of these are there?

Keeping yourself from rolling your eyes in pure annoyance, you set off running towards them with an unmatched speed, fists up and ready to take them out. One goes down after another, surrendering to your very angry, very powerful fists. Your patience is running thin as the robots keep appearing from left and right, setting their focus on you as demanded by whoever’s controlling them. A person you haven’t managed to find yet, but determined to hunt down and put a bullet through their head.

“Hey, Thor!” You call out to the nordic God flying around you, punching fists through robots and throwing his hammer at them. He glances your way, finding you surrounded by robots, too many for you to fight by yourself. “A lil hand here?”

He nods in response, immediately dropping to the ground and plunging his hammer into the asphalt on the ground, lightning seeping through the ground and into the robots, taking them down and splitting them in half. Thor throws a smug smirk at you before turning back around to fight another round of robots. You roll your eyes, about to run off when shots are being fired at you.

“Shit!” You hiss, running to hide behind a tipped-over truck while fishing out a gun from the strap around your thigh. You lean out, aiming in the direction of the shots. There is a man with long, dark hair, a black mask covering half his face and a silver arm that does not look familiar at all. The mysterious man steps onto the railing of the bridge he fired shots from, hard glare focused on you as he steps out and lets himself fall to the ground beneath the bridge. He lands on his feet, supporting himself with the silver fist into the asphalt. He stands to his height, walking straight towards you and leaving a mark in the asphalt where he had landed. Your eyes widen as he holds up a machine gun, opening fire at you as you scramble to run off while loading more shots into your gun.

Peeking around the corner of the brick building you’re hiding behind, you hold your gun up to aim at him. You fire a bullet, hitting his silver arm. He doesn’t budge, the bullet not even leaving a bump in the silver.

“What the-” you gape, firing shots again. He holds his silver hand up, the bullets bouncing off like they’re made of cotton, still walking towards you with eyes focused on you. There’s something about him that seems familiar – maybe his build? Or the way he walks? Or was it the slightly curly hair on top of his head? You can’t quite pin it as you watch him get closer, fists clenched tightly at his sides as if he’s ready to throw punches at you. You contemplate running to him, throwing the first punch at him before he gets to you. There is a slight hesitancy in your body as you can’t shake off how awfully familiar he seems the closer he gets to you. Knowing what the right thing to do is, you step out from your hiding spot, collecting all strength as you charge at him. A yell of anger and confusion rumbles from your chest as you jump on the last step, fist pulled back only for it to be forced forward and into the center of the mysterious man’s chest.

He stumbles back slightly, gaining his balance quickly before he steps closer, throwing a punch at you as well. You dodge, throwing your leg into his side in a strong kick. He grunts as he catches your leg, pulling on it to force you towards him. You ram into him, his clenched fist connecting with your jaw. You groan in pain as you fall to the ground, landing before his feet. Squinting at him, you watch as he kneels down over you, holding you down against the ground. As he stares at you, raising his hand to deliver a punch to your face again, you realize it as your eyes meet his. You gasp softly, not believing the sight in front of you. It’s a known fact that you would recognize those deep, brown eyes anywhere in any given moment.

“J-Jungkook?”

The sound of your voice, the sound of his name falling from your lips has him freezing for a split second. His eyes shift between yours as he slowly begins to sink his fist. But not even seconds later he’s raising his fist again and that’s when you can tell that he does not recognize you. He is looking at you as if you’re a complete stranger, like he didn’t spend the last year of his life telling you that he loved you more than life itself.

His gaze fills with the only feeling he feels, hatred. He moves to force his silver fist down and into your face, a face he used to call beautiful as he traced his finger tips along the edges. You barely dodge it, trying your very best to meet his eyes again as you call his name.

“Jungkook!” You fight the tears that are brimming your eyes as you continue to dodge his hits the best you can, “Hey! It’s me!”

He’s not holding off, continuing to throw punches at you and hitting the asphalt as you squirm in between his thighs. He’s impeccably strong, the asphalt cracking under the jabs of his fists. His thighs are keeping you in place as he pins you to the ground, your arms locked along your sides. You know he’ll punch you to death if you don’t get inside his head. It seems nearly impossible as his eyes are trained on you, emotionless and angry, only a small glimt of the man you used to know in them.

“____! Might wanna duck down a bit,” Tony shouts as he flies in your direction, his glowing hand aimed at Jungkook.

Your eyes widen in horror as you scramble together all the strength you have, throwing Jungkook off you and away from the deathly ray of light coming from Tony’s palm.

“No!”

The shot hits the asphalt a few meters away from you, nearly grazing Jungkook but it doesn’t, thankfully. Tony is shocked as he comes to a halt in the air, staring between Jungkook and you. You wave a hand at him. “I got him,” you assure him as you pant out breaths of air, nodding towards Widow and Thor, “go help the others.”

The man in the iron suit in front of you seems to hesitate for a second as he looks at you. He catches the pleading look on your face, glancing back at Jungkook for a moment before nodding at you once and flying in the direction of Widow and Thor, aiming his shots at the robots that are still coming from all sides. You turn your attention back to Jungkook, the body of the love of your life but not the eyes or mind of him.

“Jungkook,” you try again, slowly stepping closer as he stays still, slightly shocked that you had saved him from Iron Man’s deadly shot, “it’s me, ____.”

You’re begging, tone pleading him and hands up in surrender as you slowly step closer to him. He’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling in deep breaths. His eyes are dark, cold and distant as you get even closer. He’s frozen in his spot. He seems confused behind that hard expression, confused because you look less terrified than you did before realizing who he is. He doesn’t flinch or move away from your hand as it inches closer to his face, reaching for the black mask on his face.

“Hey,” you softly say, hesitating to touch him as you let a single tear escape and roll down your cheek. Something flashes in his eyes as he looks into your wet eyes, a small hint of recognition, familiarity too. Maybe he remembers. You hope he does. He lets you pull the black mask off completely, the strong line of his jaw appearing in front of you as well as his pink lips you used to kiss so often in that hidden place you liked to meet almost every night. “It’s me,” you whisper, “it’s ____.”

You’re afraid you’re imagining things as tears build up in the corner of his eyes, his jaw tightening. It’s too much for him. The memories returning with full force, the emotions filling his chest and warming it for the first time in 70 years. He wants to cry. He doesn’t know whether it's happiness because you’re right here in front of him, after he thought he would never get to see you again as he took his last breath back in 1944, or sadness because he’s well aware that he almost killed you if you hadn’t pushed him off you.

“____?” His voice betrays him as it cracks, your name coming out in a croaked voice. More tears escape as you hear your name falling from his lips for the first time since that morning in the military camp where he said ‘see you soon’ and then never returned. He freezes as you throw yourself at him, arms wrapped around him as you pull him closer in a tight hug. The sniffles and muffled cries you let out breaks his emotionless, cold heart and filling it with a warmth he hasn’t felt in so long. A tear escapes from the corner of his eye as he lets his own arms snake their way around your waist, hugging you just as tight as you hug him.

Relief.

That’s what he’s feeling.

Jungkook wanders around inside Stark’s office, eyes exploring things as he calmly runs his silver hand over them. You watch him from a few feet away, arms crossed over your chest. Worry is filling your entire body as his back is turned to you. He still doesn’t seem like himself. There is something about him that makes you anxious, something about him makes you wonder if he’ll turn at any moment, falling back into whatever sort of amnesia he has been experiencing for the past decades.

You jump in surprise when the door opens beside you, revealing Tony. He notices your jumbled state, giving you a small, half smile. You turn your eyes back to Jungkook who’s picking at an ancient-looking sculpture on Tony’s desk causing Tony to take a step closer.

“Hey! Buddy!” He calls out, catching Jungkook’s attention. “Don’t touch that, please. It’s antique.”

Jungkook steps away from the desk, hands up in mock surrender, emptiness in his eyes as if he couldn’t care less about Tony’s antique sculpture. No one really cared about that sculpture. It’s doomed to break at some point when it’s placed in his office, in the Avengers building.

“Tony,” you catch the attention of the older man, looking straight at him with hopeful, desperate eyes, “can you help him?”

He turns to face Jungkook, looking him over from head to toe. “Friday, give me a scan of whatever’s controlling Jungkook.”

Anticipated, you wait while biting a nail. Jungkook doesn’t move an inch as Friday scans him for anything to help Tony figure out a way to help. He’s glancing from Tony to you, his eyes meeting yours. Seconds. It takes seconds from his stare meeting yours to something flicking behind his dark brown irises, something inside of him snapping like the tips of someone’s fingers. Your eyes widen in panic as you move to stand between Tony and Jungkook.

“Tony!” You shout, moving fast as you try to get in between the two men. Tony has already activated his iron hand, catching Jungkook’s silver fist right before it hits him square in the face. You come to a halt, staring in surprise as Tony tightens his hold on Jungkook’s fist, forcing him to the ground. “Tony, please, don’t hurt him. He’s not in his right mind!”

“Oh, really?” Tony scoffs, sarcasm dripping from each word. A small yelp leaves your mouth as Tony kicks his knee up under Jungkook’s jaw, knocking him out. Jungkook falls limp to the floor, eyes closed as he’s kicked unconscious by Tony. You kneel down beside him, brushing his long strands of hair out of his face. He looks peaceful as he lays there, completely unconscious, and yet there’s a furrowed look on his face, like he’s never free from whatever that is controlling him. You sigh deeply, head dropping as you cradle Jungkook’s hand in your own. Tony’s palm rests on your shoulder. You glance up at him. He gives you a small, reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, we’ll help him,” he tells you. You nod, knowing he spoke the truth.

“Thank you.”

The frustrated look and furrowed eyebrows are gone. He looks genuinely peaceful this time, long lashes resting on the top of his cheeks as he rests beneath the sheets on your bed. You can’t help yourself as you reach out, palm cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone in a soft caress. Hopefully you’ll have the love of your life back once he wakes up from the deep sleep Tony put him in.

You’re about to move away, retrieving your hand from his cheek just as you hear him whimper softly. Turning back to him, you watch as his lower lip begins to quiver, eyebrows furrowed tightly together. “No,” he whimpers again, head shaking in his sleep. “Please, no! Don’t!”

Worry fills you once again as you sit on the edge of the bed beside him, hands cupping his face between them. “Jungkook,” you softly call, trying your best to wake him without startling him. “Jungkook, my love, please wake up. Please!”

Startled, you gasp as his eyes shoot open, his lips parting as he gasps for air. He’s looking right into your startled, widened eyes. It takes a minute for him to realize who you are and where he is, the surroundings not seeming familiar at all, but it feels nice. The aura, the warmth and the dimmed lighting in the bedroom where he’s tucked under the sheets.

“Hey,” you breathe out as you smile, not sure what to say to him. Tony had made sure to help him, get whatever that was controlling him out of him, his head to himself now and slowly filling with memories, both good and bad ones. “How are you feeling?”

He groans as he moves to sit up. You help him straighten up, making sure he has a pillow for his back as he leans back against the head of the bed. He closes his eyes tightly together as he drops his head back, still trying to calm his erratic breathing. You sit back in the chair you had pulled to the bedside when you got here.

“I feel…” he begins, words feeling foreign on his tongue as he speaks with a croaking voice. He sighs deeply. This is a lot for his head to take in in just one day. “I feel like my head is about to explode.”

Your smile is careful as you look at him. “Makes sense,” you softly say, watching him glance at his arm only to notice the silver is still there, like he had hoped it would be gone. It’s easy to tell the arm itself is a symbol of a very dark time as he looks at it and then looks away from it. He isn’t fond of the silver arm, obviously having a love-hate relationship with it as it has given him power and strength he never had to begin with and problems he never voluntarily wanted in the first place. There’s pain in his eyes as he glances at you, shame as he cowers under your gaze.

You frown deeply. “What happened to you?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. He closes his eyes, not really wishing to go back to those dark times where his life was saved and changed for the worse. The dark times where he became a shadow of himself and a manipulated soldier, brainwashed to take orders from others.

“I, uh, I don’t think-“ he stumbles over his words.

You place your hand over his actual hand, your thumb brushing the skin there. He glances at where you’re touching him before looking up at you. You’re hurting, it’s easy to see. It’s not your own pain though, it’s his. You’re feeling pain for him, hurting because he went through things he never should have, things where death would’ve been much less painful. You want to kiss him, kiss it all better if that was possible.

“You can tell me,” you whisper, pleading him to confide in you, to tell you what happened to him all those years ago.

He sighs deeply, turning his hand over to wrap it around yours. A rush runs through your stomach as he grips onto your hand with a hold so tight that you find yourself promising him silently that you’ll never let go again by giving his hand a small squeeze.

“They found me a few days later,” he starts, gaze focusing on the way yours and his fingers intertwine with each other like they’re meant to do it, “in the ruins of buildings. I-I wasn’t fully awake when they did, only just coming to my senses again after the explosion that was meant to kill me.”

You’re focusing on his hand in yours now, not able to look into his eyes as he tells the story of how he ended up here, 70 years later, and still looking like himself but with longer hair and impeccable strength.

“I didn’t recognize them. They wouldn’t tell me anything. They took me to this place, a bunker or something like that. There was this huge laboratory inside with equipment way ahead of its time,” he looks confused as he relives the horrifying moments, “I was placed in a chair and the next thing I know they’re sawing my arm off-“

You whimper. “Oh, god,” tears dwell in your eyes as you grip his hand tightly.

“____, I have never felt as much pain as I did that day,” he looks you straight in the eye, the pain from that day flashing over his face as he recalls it, the feeling of it. “And all I could think about while they turned me into this- this monster… was that I lied to you.”

You shake your head in denial. “No, Jungkook,” you whisper, “you couldn’t know. You couldn’t.”

He offers you a small half-smile, remorse covering his features as he reaches up with his silver hand, careful as he lets the fingertips of it brush your hair out of your face.

“I’m sorry I gave you an empty promise,” he whispers, silver fingertips brushing against the side of your face. You cover it with your own hand, letting him cup your face in the cold silver. He leans closer, hissing lightly as pain shoots up the side of his torso. “I’m sorry that I didn’t come back to you like I promised.”

“You did though,” you sigh deeply, resting your forehead against his. “You’re right here.”

He nods softly, his eyes shifting between yours.. “and I won’t leave again,” he assures you before hesitating, shrugging as he adds; “unless you want me to.”

You chuckle through the tears that had built up in your eyes. He’s smiling at you as you reach up to cup his face in your palms, brushing your thumb across his cheeks. He’s watching you, still not quite believing that you’re here with him. After so long. 70 years of wondering if you’re still alive. 70 long years of wondering where you were in the world. 70 unbearable years of longing for your touch, your soft, plump lips that made his heart stop beating for a few seconds each time they would touch his in a kiss.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he whispers into the small gap of air space between you and him. “Each time I’d return from a mission and become myself again after being under mind-control, you were the first thing on my mind. To be honest, I don’t think you ever left it. You’ve always been there with me, in the deepest parts of my consciousness. You kept me sane during the missions, kept me from forgetting myself completely.”

Listening intently, you close your eyes as your thumbs continue to brush over the skin on his cheeks. He continues, a deep sigh falling from his lips and clashing against yours causing goosebumps to rise upon your body. You’re shocked that you have gone this far without smothering him in kisses. You don’t want to risk anything, waiting patiently for him to make the first move in the direction of more physical affection, whether it’s a touch of his hand, a hug or more.

“And when I realized it was you earlier today...” his voice cracks, “when I realized I almost killed you- I don’t think I can ever forgive myself for that.”

“You can and you will,” you softly tell him, the undertone of your voice stern, “you didn’t kill me. You wouldn’t. You were gonna recognize me sooner or later.”

He exhales shakily. “You don’t know that,” he almost snaps, eyes closed tightly as he drops his silver hand from your face. He pulls away from your touch, the warmth of him disappearing the further he moves away. He’s not looking at you. Tears are threatening to spill as you stare back at him, lips slightly parted as you want to speak up. You want to tell him he’s wrong, but you already know that he will not take your words for what they are. He, and you, know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t pushed him off when you did.

“You’re right,” you say, catching his attention again. He barely glances at you, noticing the small remnants of tears in your eyes before looking back at his silver hand, clenching and unclenching it. A tear rolls down your cheek. “You’re so right, Jungkook. I don’t know if you would or not.”

You get up from the chair you’ve been sitting in since you brought him back to your apartment. Jungkook still refuses to look at you as you move onto the bed, crawling closer to him. You don’t hesitate as you lay a hand on his shoulder and throw a leg over his to straddle his lap. He finally looks at you, eyes slightly widened at your actions. His eyes meet teary ones again, his silver arm moving out of an old habit as he reaches up to wipe your tears away.

“But I like to think you would.”

Your lips press against his before he can reply to your words. Jungkook gasps and then grunts in response as you press your mouth to his, desperately and needy. His body freezes beneath you as you kiss him, tasting his lips for the first time in an unbearably long time. It takes him a while to realize that you’re kissing him, finally kissing you back as he cradles you in his arms, pulling you closer to his chest. The silver arm keeps a tight grip around your waist, holding you in place as the other runs up your thigh.

Pulling away, you gasp for air, letting your forehead rest against his. Jungkook is breathing heavily, his breath once again clashing against yours as you both catch your breath. Your eyes meet, seconds after he’s kissing you again, your tank top riding up as the silver arm keeps you tight against him. The silver touching your skin causes goosebumps to cover your skin, a chill running up your spine as you cup his face. His tongue licks against your bottom lip, you let him in. A moan escapes your lips as his tongue touches yours.

“I’ve been holding myself back ever since you woke up,” you whisper against his lips, making him smile as his hands slide under your top, pushing it up before pulling it over your head completely. You return to his lips, catching them with your own as you reach for the hem of his t-shirt. He helps you pull it off, your mind elsewhere as you throw it onto the floor. Your hands rake down his body, over the tensing muscles of his abdomen as he moves his kisses down your cheek and further under your jaw. Your breathing is ragged as you pull away, only a few inches so you can glance down at his torso. The sight horrifies you, your fingertips brushing over scars and healed wounds.

“Oh my god,” you whisper as you glance up at Jungkook, his eyes meeting yours for a few seconds before you look back at his chest. Your eyes wander, over his both small and larger scars to his silver arm. You feel your heart tightening as you take in the way the silver arm is sewed onto his body. You hesitate to reach up, Jungkook’s eyes on you as you let your shaking fingertips brush over the burned, scarred skin that keeps the silver arm attached. “I- This…”

His human hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb caressing your skin. “I know,” he agrees without hearing the rest of the sentence. You look back at him, finding relief in his eyes as you rest your palms against his chest. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he then says.

“They literally cut off your arm,” you point out, shaking your head in disbelief. You can’t even imagine how much pain he must’ve been in when they did this to him. “I wish I could have spared you this pain, spared you the torture you went through.”

He smiles softly. “I know, ____. But there's no way you possibly could’ve.”

You're carefully running your pointer finger along one of his scars when you look up at him, eyelashes framing your eyes so perfectly. He thinks you’re absolutely beautiful, even more so than the last time he saw you. You can’t do anything to stop the words that tumble from your lips next.

“I love you so much, Jungkook.”

His breathing stops for a second, his heart skipping a beat. He hasn’t heard those words since 1944. He didn’t even hear those words that morning you had sent him off, he hadn’t said those words when he promised to return. He should have. That way you’d never be in doubt of his love. He wonders if you’ve loved him since or if there has been anyone else in the meantime to love you the way he should’ve.

Silently, you watch him as his thoughts run one hundred miles per hour. Your palms are sliding from his chest to his shoulders and further up his neck to cup his face again. The love he feels is evident in his eyes as he focuses on you.

“I love you,” he whispers, carefully turning you over onto your back only for him to hover over you. You’re watching him, tingling in your stomach as you hear the words fall from his lips. He returns to kissing you, kissing the skin on your cheek, your neck and further down to the very top of your chest, right beneath the collarbones. He glances up at you as he kisses his way down the valley of your bra-covered chest. “I didn’t say it enough back then,” he mouths against your skin, another round of goosebumps rising beneath his lips, “I should have said it more. I’m sorry.”

You exhale deeply, arching your back into his touch as he reaches your navel and moves even further down to the waistband of your pants, your spandex pants that you so elegantly wear whenever you have a mission with the Avengers.

“Stop apologizing,” you breathe out, eyes closed as you succumb to his touch. The silver hand brushes over your stomach as it runs up to your chest, unclasping your bra on the front. It falls to the sides, revealing your perky nipples to the crisp air. You gasp softly as a silver hand brushes over both, the cold steel doing nothing but erecting them even more. “I've always hated it when you apologize.”

He smirks softly against your lower stomach, pressing one last kiss to the skin there before pulling the silver hand down to pull off your pants, and panties too. The pants are barely on the floor before he returns to your lower abdomen, kisses being spread across your hip bones and pubic bone. You reach down to tangle your fingers in his long hair as he runs his hands up the inside of your thighs. He spreads your legs, revealing your throbbing core to him.

“God, I missed this,” he breathed out, the air of his words hitting your wet folds. “Having you like this, all to myself.”

You whine from above him. “Jungkook,” you whimper, “please.”

It doesn’t take more for him to lean closer, tongue licking a stripe up between your folds and to your clit, his silver arm sliding across your abdomen to keep you down as he eats you out for the first time in decades. One would think he had lost his touch and knowledge of a woman’s body, but you can say that he certainly didn’t as he roots himself between your legs, tongue licking your wetness and prodding at the entrance.

“Oh god,” you moan, softly gasping for air as his human hand rests on top of your one thigh, fingers digging into the flesh there. You’re in heaven, on the ninth cloud as he slurps your arousal, licking your folds and clit as if his life depended on it. “Fuck, Jungkook!”

The sound of your name toppling from your lips as he hits a certain nerve makes his body flush with a warmth he almost forgot what feels like. You’re writhing in the tight hold of his silver arm, squirming as he licks you to your release. The orgasm is approaching fast and hard, Jungkook being the sole reason for it. No one could ever get you there as fast as him.

“I’m s-so close- oh!,” you pant, your walls clenching as Jungkook’s actual fingers slide into you. He pumps his hand in and out of you in a pace that is perfectly building up your orgasm. He takes nothing but a glance into his eyes as he leans down to softly kiss your clit that you’re toppling over, hitting the wall of your orgasm. “J-jungkook, my god!”

You jerk away as he leans forward, tongue licking up your release, tasting it on his taste buds. He hums with a small smile as he glances up at you, loving the way your eyes are almost bulging out of your head at the sight of him between your thighs. It takes nothing more than a few seconds before you shitting up, Jungkook meeting you halfway in a kiss. Tongues clash against each other, the taste of you on his tongue as he kisses you deeply, needingly.

“Please fuck me,” you mumble in between kisses, a desperate whining tone attached to your words. “Make love to me, Jungkook.”

He seals your words with a kiss, giving you a silent promise of doing just that. As if he’d lick you out and that would be it. No way.

You watch, teeth biting into your bottom lip, as he gets off the bed to remove the sweatpants you had dressed him in when you got back, getting him out of those military pants with belts and buckles all over them. His cock springs free, slaps against his abdomen as it stands proud into the air. A rush runs through your stomach at the sight, mouth slightly watering. Once the sweatpants and his boxers lie on the floor by his feet, he crawls back onto the bed. He moves closer, pushing you back onto your back as he hovers over you. You’re glancing at his silver arm for a mere split second, your hair reaching up to run along the hard edges of it. Jungkook can’t feel your touch but he’d like to imagine that he can as he watches your palm brushing over and further up to the nape of his neck. His eyes move back to lock with yours. You’re looking at him just like you did that last night of intimacy you had back in 1944, the night before he was sent off on a deathly mission. A huge wave of emotions hits him as he glances from your eyes to your lips and back again.

“I love you,” he softly says, eyebrows furrowed together as he looks at you, “so much, ____.”

You smile, pulling him down to meet you in a kiss. The kisses are soft, tender even as he reaches down to line himself up with your entrance. You gasp into his mouth as the tip of his cock prods at your folds. A hand of yours tangles back into his locks as he pushes inside, the tightness overwhelming for the both of you. He rests his forehead against yours, your breaths clashing together between you as he buries himself to the hilt.

“Shit,” he hisses, glancing down at your connecting hips. “Can i move?”

You nod your head, whispering, “yes.”

Jungkook watches the way your eyes roll to the back of your head as he pulls out and pushes back in, the sight causing him to do it again and again, wanting to see you lose yourself and succumb to the feeling of his cock brushing against your walls.

“Oh fuck!” You gasp as he gives you a particularly hard thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin as he hits that exact spot that makes you whimper out a soft, whiny moan. You’re clawing at his shoulders, his neck and chest as he sets a rhythm, keeping it steady as he grinds into you. He grabs your leg with his silver hand, helping you to wrap it around his waist. The other follows suit, locking with your other behind his back. He hits deep inside of you, his veiny cock sliding against your walls so deliciously.

It’s like that last night you had with him all over again just with more longing and more desperate kisses. Your stomach tingles with the overwhelming amount of emotions you’re feeling in this exact moment as you look up at him – his long hair slightly damp at the roots, his toned chest glistening in sweat as he works you both to a release, to a high you’re both so desperately in the need of.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans as you unawarely clench around his length, his head dropping to your shoulder. “Don’t do that or I’ll cum right now.”

“Sorry!” You squeak, chuckling as he eyes you with a small smirk. God, you wanna ride him so badly. “Oh, Jungkook,” you moan breathily as he hits your spot again. He’s watching you, eyes running over your face as it contorts in pure pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he grunts, leaning up on his hands to get a better angle. He rams his hips into you, his strength coming to show as he thrusts into you harder than ever before. The power of his thrusts have you seeing stars as your second orgasm nears you. Jungkook can feel it as you clinch repeatedly around him. He won’t last much longer if you continue to do that.

High pitched moans tumble from your parted lips as he speeds up his movements, desperately trying to get you over the edge before he topples over himself. Your nails are digging into his shoulders as you reach your high, the orgasm hitting you like a bullet.

“Oh my fucking god,” you moan, breathing ragged as he continues to fuck you to get himself to cum. His breathing is uneven, not matching his thrusts as all as he moves in and out a few more times before stilling inside of you, spilling his load and painting your walls inside.

“Fuck, I love you,” he breathes out as he drops his forehead to your collarbone. You’re smiling widely as you run your fingers from his shoulders and up into his hair. He lifts his head to look at you as you push his long, brown hair out of his face. You know him too well when he gives you a look, a small smirk on his lips. A joke is coming. You can just feel it. And you can’t help but grin at him as everything feels exactly like 1944 again. Also, you want to punch him for his next words:

“Not too bad for a 98-year-old, huh?”

all rights reserved © mercurygguk (with help from marvel studios *wink* )

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts #bangtan #jungkook smut #bangtan sonyeondan #bts bangtan #bangtan family #bangtan boys #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #fluff #smut #angst #jungkook marvel au #winter soldier au #jungkook superhero au #bts jungkook #jungkook x female reader #jeongguk #jeon jeongguk #jungkook oneshot #bts oneshot

[subarubi]

Desert Days

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader

Summary: “If this war ever ends-- and he assured you that it will eventually-- you’ll tell Sam Wilson you love him.”  

Warnings: 18+, profanity, angst for days, extreme injury and death (blood), mentions of PTSD, implied smut

A/N: 9.6k word count, goddamn. This is a very Sam heavy one-shot. Also, I tried to make the reader as gender neutral as possible! 

2001. 

A colossal mountain of mutilated steel and concrete rubble sits, smoking, in the center of the world. Lower Manhattan. Financial District. Eight blocks that make up ‘Wall Street’, some elusive playpen for the invisible but potent power of ‘stock’. Destroyed. And with it, lives, hopes and dreams. 2,606 bodies buried there in the debris. An illusion of invincibility crushed in too. In the flames that lick at ruins of the Twin Towers, an Indian summer. The warm September haze forcefully burrows itself in the guts of New Yorkers, Americans, the world. It’s fear, not flush. It’s anger. 

How could this happen? To us?

The news outlets evoke the memory of a vastly different war. They call it a day that will live in infamy. Which, it will. Undoubtedly. Yet, it’s hardly the same as Pearl Harbor. Perhaps, the only thing comparable, but dissimilar all the same. Since the greatest generation created generations of their own, the pastime of waging war happened elsewhere. On other lands. In other homes. To other people. 

September 11th, 2001 burst the bubble of willful ignorance. War is happening. And there is a debt to be paid for crimes. All crimes. Even American. 

Sam Wilson is only twenty when it happens-- 

--waking up next to a girl from English class that he’d been playing footsie with in the library the day before. Her cellphone, pink and bejeweled, rings at 7 am drawing them both from slumber. Sam rubs the hangover from his temple as she unwinds her limbs from his, both sticky with sweat. Through tears she turns and tells him. 

Four planes hijacked. Two crashed into the World Trade Center. One at the Pentagon. Another in a Pennsylvania field.

Sam’s from New York City. Harlem. He’s stood at the bottom of those towers before-- a kid with a skateboard carving lines over all five boroughs. But he hasn’t been back to the East Coast in years. No reason to. Mom was laid to rest next to Pops and Sam ran away to the other side of the country not long after. The news isn’t any less devastating.

He’s at UCLA, majoring in philosophy of all things. It all seems so pointless then. Studying knowledge, reality, existence, when the rest of the world is bleeding. 

Everyone is in pain. 

Soldiers. Doctors. Accountants. Car Salesmen. Kindergarten Teachers. They demand their pain be spread. They want revenge. They want blood. War is now felt by all.

In October, the US invades Afghanistan.

Sam enlists in November. 

2003.

“Superman School” is what it’s called. Sam thinks it should rather be called simply, “Hell”. 

Indoc is easy. Sam has always liked the water and it’s just nine weeks of basically swimming. But what follows is two grueling years of vicious emotional and physical exertion. The events, the ache inside that led him there, are practically forgotten when the training starts. In Combat Dive School, he’d panicked the first few times an oxygen tank was strapped to his back and a regulator shoved in his mouth. In Paramedic training, he’d slipped and stabbed his fingers practicing sutures so much that he lost feeling there for a week. During SERE, Sam lost a toe nail; that hurt like a motherfucker. It was probably the most physical pain he’d ever been in at the point of his life. The guys, other PJs in training, don’t let that one go for a couple of months. At least. 

The best part, perhaps the only remotely good part, is Army Airborne and Military Free-fall Parachutist training. 

“It’s not exactly flying, but it feels like it,” Sam speaks animatedly into the receiver after chow on a Tuesday night, “It feels like fucking flying and you always imagine that flying is cool but then you do it and, I swear--”

He spends the next fifteen minutes going on and on and when his girlfriend, Lisa from English class with the pink bejeweled phone, finally hangs up, Sam feels like there’s so much he still hasn’t gotten to say about it. 

In a different life, I might’ve been a bird, he says during a poker game later that night. 

They're all chasing their own highs after the first jump, but no one’s as dumb with it, as corny about it as Wilson. They give him shit for it. Sam is too hopped up on finding his first love to care.

It’s easy to forget why they’re there and what they’re working toward. Graduating. Deployment. War. 

Afghanistan is a long way from Lackland Air Force Base, Texas. But with every day, every training course completed, Sam Wilson closes that gap with flying colors. And eventually, in May of that year, he found himself in Nevada with the 58th Rescue Squadron. Impossibly, closer now to Afghanistan. 

There, he’s given a maroon beret and dubbed a “Guardian Angel”. Small consolation prizes for the news he’s being deployed. 

2004.

It’s hot in Afghanistan, he’s heard. Sam had never expected it to be so bad; it’s summer, everywhere’s hot in the summer. The hottest place on earth is the Lut Desert in Iran. Barren, sparsely vegetated, open scrub. 70.7 Celsius recorded. That’s about 160 Fahrenheit. But nowhere, not even the hottest place on earth, is as sweltering as Bagram Airfield in July. With fatigues stuck to his back with sweat, stomach coming up on ‘E’, split red knuckles being bandaged: 40 Celsius feels like 5,000 Kelvin. Dry heat with nowhere to go but through him. It adds ten pounds at least to the weight in his shoulders. 

Sam made one comment. Just one. But a scathing reply from his least favorite Squadron member was enough to unravel him. 

This is the land of your peoples, Wilson, stop bitchin’.

Sam flexes his fingers on his bouncing knees, sitting and waiting stoically; internally, he’s burning. 

When he enlisted just three years ago in a fervent bout of passion and patriotism, he didn’t anticipate the racist pieces of trailer park trash he’s supposed to call brothers. The amount of self-control it would take to not punch the asshole square in the jaw. The fucking heat.

Three years after waking up that fateful morning, turning on the news with Lisa taking calls non-stop, flames and smoke reflected in his brown eyes and he’s stuck waiting in a tent for disciplinary action. At least it’s reprieve from the merciless Afghanistan sun. 

The tent flaps rustle softly, heavy boots command Sam reflexively to stand at attention. It gets his knee to stop bouncing. It’s in his face when he sees you. The faltering expression in his eyes that he tries to hide behind a stone slate. You’re not his CO there to NJP him, he’s never seen you on the base and he’s sure he would’ve remembered your face had he, but the patch on your chest dominates him anyway. A stray bead of sweat tickles Sam’s temple underneath your blank stare. You’re not, but you look ten feet tall over him. He’s never been someone so easily intimidated, but you? You are formidable. 

He wonders which part of you gets to him the most.

It might be your impossibly straight posture, one that he could never fully get right much to the ire of his commanding officers. Or maybe it’s the sharpness to your eyes, dissecting him piece by piece before he even hears your voice. Or, it could be, that you’re really fucking hot. 

Christ, are you. 

But that last one might be skewed by the fact that he’s been on tour now for a couple of months and his girlfriend, not Lisa, now Kerry, has been giving him blue balls. Sending letters so salacious, they’ve found home in the john for everyone’s personal use. 

He’d remember you if he saw you. He’d never be able to forget. 

Another body entering the tent brings a breeze to save him from the downright oppressive warmth of your stare. A man, another Sam has never seen around, stands much more relaxed and close to your side. He’s tall and blonde and somehow pale even after hours spent in the sun. 

You look at him and smile. So nice and pretty without any trace of your previous hardness. 

“So, you’re Sam Wilson?” he asks with a hint of a smirk in his voice, “Heard a lot about you.” There’s laughter playing at both of your smiles and Sam’s fists instinctively clench. Are you making fun? He’s not in the mood. It’s hot and sticky, and he might be fighting down an embarrassing and painful semi. 

“Yes, sir.”

The man at your side laughs, digging his elbow into your side, “You hear that? He called me sir!” 

“Fuck off,” you roll your eyes, flicking his ear so hard it draws a hiss. The first words he hears spill from those lips, twisted now in a smirk, don’t match your silvery voice.  

Fuck off, so rough and yet said in dulcet tones with affection. 

Sam’s hot again when you step forward, away from your partner-- the breeze was only fleeting. Nowhere is as hot as in that tent on Bagram AFB, you, just five feet from him, hand held out with a soft smile to introduce yourself. Warm and sweet, but somehow it burns. 

God, he needs to get laid, like, yesterday. 

He didn’t even realize he shook your offered hand until he misses the feel of it as it slips from his own. “And this is Riley, he got dropped on his head as a baby,” straightening beside the man in question, Sam catches an all too short flash of white as you laugh. 

“So, what did he say?” Riley asks. At the quirk of Sam’s head to the side, he gestures to the wrapped right hand, “I mean everyone’s talking about it. You’re gonna be on latrine duty for weeks!”

“Riley,” you sigh, smacking his chest that shakes in laughter with the back of your hand. A comforting smile when you turn back to Sam, “We have business to do.” The file you hand him, which he had not noticed was in your hand until it was heavy in his, it changes everything. 

Why me? Sam doesn’t let the question slip past his tongue, but it’s there. 

You shrug, as if you’d heard him, “You’ve made quite the reputation for yourself, Sam Wilson.” A soothing smile, big and easy. Like the one you sent Riley. He’d like to see it his way again. 

And you’re not lying. 

9 months in Afghanistan and word carries of a PJ falling from the sky like some vengeful archangel of salvation, laying suppressing fire steady as breathing, healing hands flipping the bird at death. Sam Wilson, orphan boy from Harlem, amateur philosopher, provider of quality spank bank material, was made for this.  

The first time he sees it, Sam doesn’t know what the hell he’s looking at. 

Like a big black horseshoe crab, washed up dead on the shore, metal back shining slick with sea water. Three of them, laid out on a table in a hangar removed from the rest of the air base. Engineers rattle off all sorts of specs, some Sam understands, some he hasn’t the slightest idea the meaning of. He looks to his right, at you, then Riley. The pair of you, grinning at each other, bouncing on the balls of your feet like children. Always so lively with each other. Always overflowing with enthusiasm-- in each other, something you now extend to him. 

All happening so fast. Too fast. Sam’s queasy from the whiplash. 

A month ago, he’d only just gotten used to the cycle: Jump. Find cover. Fire back if need be. Don’t mind the blood. Do what he can. And if he can’t, say a prayer. Swallow his vomit. Back to camp. Brush his teeth. One. Twice. Rinse. Repeat. 

How did the saying go? ‘These Things We Do, That Others May Live’. Sam’s swallowed enough of his own vomit that the taste doesn’t even phase him anymore. Partially because he’s scrubbed his tongue raw and numb with toothpaste. 

Then, you and Riley ripped him from it. 

Bought him dinner in Kabul. Offered him a cold beer. Which, he hadn’t had one in a year and fuck if it wasn’t orgasmic on his tongue. You two wined and dined him, told him he was special, he was meant for more. Made him feel good. Reminded him he wasn’t just some cog, some tool in a war that was quickly losing support. That he had a chance to do something important. Christ, he was surprised there wasn’t a good old fashioned fuck at the end of it. He’d put out on the first date.  

EXO-7 Falcon. In a different life, I might’ve been a bird. He maintained a year out that jumps were everything. 

But wings? Actual wings?

It’s unbelievable. No. Fucking insane. He can’t fathom it. Not free-falling and convincing himself its as close to flying he’ll ever get, but actually flying without the disappointing fact that eventually he’ll have to pull the chord. 

It’s just a prototype, don’t blow your load too soon, you laugh, hand on his bicep, for now, we just get to ogle them looking all nice and pretty. 

He doesn’t have the balls to tell you he already has. In the showers. Numerous times. Your smile flashing behind his eyelids. 

It’s just a waiting game now for the prototypes to be approved. 

Sam finds his stride again, much quicker than the last, in this new routine. He suspects his easy adjustment has everything to do with you and Riley. PT at 0600. Showers at 0800. An emergency non Falcon rescue mission about two, three times a week. Chow together in the mess at 1730. Sometimes, the three of you eat MREs outside instead, watching the sunset like a bunch of cornballs. 

You guys talk a lot, typically always over a meal. And Sam, who usually speaks a mile a minute, is slowed and forced to take a breath. Between the three of you, the fight for air time is intense. 

Everything is learned and shared in that small circle of three, sometimes too much. 

In some sleepy Georgia town, five houses away from each other, you and Riley spent your entire childhoods not meeting until basic.

Kismet, Riley grinned between mouthfuls of a macaroni and chili MRE that he traded for. That green sucker had no idea what he was getting into with Riley’s chicken a la death. 

The pair of you, southern belles, you’d joked. Attended the same Sunday service, learned how to ride a bike on the same stretch of asphalt, enrolled in the same high school but different years. Riley lost his virginity to your older sister in the back of his dad’s wood paneled station wagon. You remember she complained about a cum stain on her favorite skirt around that same time. 

Too much? you ask with a widening smirk at Sam’s grimace.

The two of you are so close, Sam can only be grateful for how easily you’ve let him fall into place by your sides. As welcoming, as kind and as warm as you are, in those early years, Sam can’t help feel an outsider sometimes. 

You and Riley are so so close. 

He’s sure he’s only seen you guys separated by bathroom breaks and sleep. An inordinate amount of time side by side. Fond smiles come often and effortlessly. Only ever fully at-ease in each other’s vicinity. You’re left handed and Riley’s right handed and your elbows always knock when eating. Which seems purposeful because once, when Sam suggested you just switch your normal places at the table, he was met only with blank stares and shrugs. And when the three of you walk across the airfield together, Sam naturally has to fall back slightly because he’s pretty sure you and Riley are tethered together with an invisible string, footfalls in sync. Your right leg in time with his, strides equal. 

He’s not sure he’s met a pair of friends ever more suited to each other.  

So, are you guys, like, together? Sam asks Riley hesitantly one night when you’ve gone to speak with some other officers. The pair of them lay on their backs on the rocky ground, gazing up at the clear expanse of stars. The new addition to your little merry band of friends tries to appear casual when asking. But really, it’s been nagging at him for months now. 

It’s a valid question. 

You and Riley are almost abnormally close for two people that have only known each other for a couple of years. Sam’s never seen anyone, not even his disgustingly in love for 30 years parents, so attached. If he were honest, sometimes it’s scary. Uncomfortable. 

Mostly, because it’s never been defined. And Sam is, by nature, curious. 

Partly, because the things he thinks about you... well, he doubts Riley would appreciate him thinking about his significant other that way. Especially a friend thinking that way. 

Riley’s bellowing laugh draws angry hushes from surrounding PJs trying to sleep. He cackles so hard with hands clutching at his abdomen, he practically rolls.

You’ve got it bad, Wilson, is his only reply before getting up to go take a leak. 

2005. 

Euphoria. That’s the only word Sam can use to describe it. Like sex. Maybe, even better. Up there, in the clouds, where everyone below are just little black dots, his stomach lurches and flips and folds itself over and under. Actually flying, not free-falling and biding his time until he eventually must pull the chord. He’s shaky with it at first. Like a baby on fresh legs, wobbly and awkward. Even still, he’s fucking flying. 

Back on the ground, him and Riley gush with it. Joy. Freedom. Ecstasy. 

They talk a mile a minute, even though their burning lungs are screaming for them to just breathe. They brush off the medical staff urging them to put on oxygen masks for a few minutes. Can’t, Riley rejects it, too fucking wired. 

You’re up next, burning with the need to get yours too.  

It all moves so fast. Sam and Riley each in one of your ears, telling you how amazing it feels. How much you’re gonna love it. They watch, chests heaving, hands on hips, as you’re strapped in, take your place 50ft away and nod along to all of the instructions given. Giving you pointers like they’ve been doing this for years. You roll your eyes. The pricks only have an hour of experience each. Though, that’s an hour more than you have, so you listen despite your pride. 

You fail. And just as everything you do is, you fail brilliantly. 

Sam and Riley watch helplessly as you crumble in the clouds, tumbling in the wind, barreling towards the hard rock and sand beneath their boots. The limp wings thrash in the wind, punching sharp welts into your sides. Your blood curdling scream rips out above, echoing in the valley. They can see you scrambling, panicked brain searching for a fight or flight response. But you can’t do either. 

Can’t fly. 

Can’t fight the merciless pull of gravity. 

You get ahold of yourself long enough to pull the emergency chute at the lowest possible altitude. A heap of nylon lines and cloth on the ground, your impact striking up a cloud of dust. 

Their feet can’t move fast enough, rushing to your side, hearts in their stomachs and stomachs in their asses. 

Don’t fucking touch me! 

Riley’s hand that gently grabs your bicep swiftly retracts as if you’d burned him. You won’t let them help. You just lie there, forehead pressed into the sand, body shaking with adrenaline, pained wails vibrating behind your grit teeth. 

Silence except for the sick sound of your brokenness. 

More than the acid cuts on your palms and cheek. More than a cracked rib. More than the ugly smattering of red and purple that will appear on your torso later. You mourn what is lost in your failure. 

Back on the ground, you gush with it. Wrath. Anguish. Woe. 

Sam feels sick beside Riley. Watching you there is the hardest thing he’s ever done. He reminds himself of the careful routine. Don’t mind the blood. Do what he can. And if he can’t, say a prayer. Swallow his vomit. He remembers the taste now. 

The prognosis is: you are a no-fly zone. 

You barely hear the flurry of words thrown at you, in front of you, around corners when you’re not supposed to hear. Cracked rib. Major contusions to the trunk. Sprained wrist. Can’t handle it. Right side too weak. Six weeks recovery, then return to regular duty. Maybe, you can work on it in PT and try again in 6 months. Not likely. Third prototype destroyed. Only two Falcons. 

Weren’t supposed to hear that. 

The next few days are eerily quiet. Filled with silent tension, Sam and Riley sending worried glances your way, forcing down winces at your every labored movement. You’ve abruptly walked off at seemingly random points of conversation. You’ve lashed out at Riley when he tries to help a little too much, pushes back against your attitude a little too hard. You’ve retreated. No joking around, no smiling. They have, at least, the clemency to avoid any mention of the Falcon jetpacks in your presence. 

When they train, you avoid it like the plague. 

The crowds they draw. The hooting and hollering cheers of the other PJs as Sam and Riley defy all odds in the air. The time will come soon, for them to employ the EXO-7 Falcons in an actual rescue. You pray that you aren’t healed by the time the first mission comes. 

God, whomever, hears your pleas whispered into the tough canvas of your cot. 

Four weeks after your failed flight test, an Apache helicopter goes down in Taliban infested territory. You haven’t been cleared. 

Sam walks up on the Chinook, dressed for the first time in his full suit. It would feel so gratifying, had you not been standing there with Riley, heads bowed lowly in short whispers underneath the raucous whirring of the engine. 

You haven’t talked to Sam in more than a few words. Only Riley. You only really talk to Riley. Sam has walked in on an abruptly cut off conversation a few times now. Shut out. It burns at him in the middle of the night, keeps him from drifting off in much needed slumber. You and Riley are his people now. Confidants. Friends. Comrades. Family. He wants to be there for you both, but you don’t let him. Just, give her time, she’s upset, Riley had supplied a dejected looking Sam when you stormed away at his advance for the third time. 

Now, at his careful approach, you look up and force a tight smile across those lips he sees in his dreams. An awkward, heavy hand on his shoulder that makes his heart clench, Good luck, Wilson. 

He’ll still feel it burning through his fatigues hours later. 

When they successfully return with the entire crew safe and sound, the base is alive with celebration. A friendly football scrimmage is thrown together by Riley in amber skies of late afternoon, their focused play-calling set behind 50 cent blaring on the boombox. 

You’re noticeably absent. 

Sam stands outside of your barracks with his hands stuffed in his pockets, uncertain if you’ll even speak to him. You haven’t before. Why would you now? When everyone is happily relishing in something you can no longer be a part of. His boots scuff in the sand as he debates leaving. Letting you alone for the night to surely lament in your loss. 

“Shouldn’t you be out there kicking ass, superstar?”

Your face, a familiar smile there that he’s been desperate to see for weeks, evokes an overwhelming sense of guilt in his gut. It was you and Riley from the start. Always you and Riley. The two of you had recruited him. And now he’s taken your place and they’ve left you in the dust. 

His return smile comes out more like a grimace without his permission. 

The large tent, usually filled to the brim with airmen stacked atop of each other, is empty. Everyone’s either getting chow or at the makeshift field spectating or playing. It’s just you sitting on a makeshift bed on the ground, softly closing the book you were reading when he entered. Sam doesn’t think the two of you have actually ever been alone together. Not like this. No Riley, no one milling about in the background, no rescue mission. The closest thing might’ve been the first time you met. And even then, you hadn’t said anything to each other until Riley joined. 

“Honestly,” Sam swallows hard, shaking his head in what looks like a humorous gesture, but really, he’s trying to find his footing again. “How does Riley have so much energy?” 

You smile wider and his heart, it fucking aches. For you. 

Knees pulled up tightly to your chest, ignoring the sharp pangs in your ribs at the action, you tilt your head softly up at him, “It’s all sugar and tai chi.”

Sam nods, a ghost of a chuckle humming from his throat. He sits on the ground next to you, knees bent, forearms hung over them. Tries not to make the hitch in his breath known when your thighs brush against each other ever so lightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. 

You shake your head at the ground, sighing deeply in defeat-- as if it would magically ease the pressure in your temples. “I think I forgot, it’s so easy to forget. But I dunno, all this self-pity and for what? Because I don’t get a cool pair of wings?”

“You’re allowed to be upset,” his hand hovers over your back. Half afraid of hurting you, half afraid of you rejecting him. 

Eyes like the cosmos lift to his and you lean back to close the distance for him. The press of his palm over your shoulder is warm, his fingers flexing slightly in the contours of your back. Gooseflesh fanning out from where they indent your skin, hidden beneath the fabric of your shirt. 

“My last rescue op, that kid whose lower half was blown to shit?” Sam nods solemnly, he remembers. How could he not? “He couldn’t stop crying about how his girlfriend was gonna break up with his dickless ass. And then he broke into a whole other fit because he didn’t have an ass either,” you laugh humorlessly, “I’m alive and in one peice. I’ve got a sweet ass and a fucking elephant trunk of a dick swinging between my legs.” Sam snorts, can’t help the gap-toothed grin that makes his cheeks ache.

You pause, licking your lips. Sam’s got a smile is like the sun. All warm and bright. The way it feels to bask in it’s glow, a personal beach day, you don’t think you’ve ever been so content to just be looked at. 

“I guess, I just-,” brows furrow, struggling to find the words. “You spend months preparing for something, with your best friends, you’re all excited about it, mostly because you’re doing it together. Me. Riley. You. Demented three musketeers,” you smile sadly, a cracking phantom of a thing Sam has come to love. “And then it all goes to shit. So easily slips through your fingers.”

There are tears that you’ll never let fall, but you trust Sam enough to let him see the way your eyes shine with it. The glossy finish of your glum and how it paints you blue. 

“I’ve been with Riley since basic. Never been an op where I haven’t had his back and him mine.” 

You know. You know you’ll never fly again. No one’s said it outright, but they look at you like a kicked puppy enough for you to get it.

“Will you promise me something, Sam?”

Sam. Sam. Sam. He’s heard his name said a million times in a thousand different cadences, but never like that. Never so soft and honeyed and certain. All at the same fucking time. 

“Anything.”

“There are going to be ops for just the two of you that the rest of the unit, that I can’t go on. Will you look after Riley?” You’re so close, practically whispering. Sam could count your lashes if he wanted to. “I love him, but he’s a fucking idiot. Just doesn’t think sometimes.” 

Without question. Fervently. For you, “Absolutely.”

And you just listen to each other breathe. In and out. So steady and sure. Content in just the sweet sound of each other, living.

2007.

Hands, calloused from fast-roping down from a helo, splayed out on the contours of his shoulders. Hot and urgent, everywhere and nowhere at once. The emotion in them permeates through his skin-- flooding him, filling him to the brim. Had he always been so empty before? Or had that space always been carved out for your touch? Your eyes are above him, searching, pleading. Lashes fluttering down at his face. Lips falling open in soundless utterances, mouthpiece of the gods. Breathless. His ears are ringing, eyes blinking away that white hot blindness licking at the edges of his consciousness. You’re so beautiful there, rays of sun peeking out behind you, he might pass out.  

Wilson, can you hear me?  

And then a laugh. Loud and boisterous and Holy shit! You just got your world rocked! Riley beside you, his face a picture of delight, buzzing with adrenaline. 

Along with the rapid pops of gunfire and cracks of an AK returning, gentle jingling of hot casings hitting the ground, steady lines of communication running down the line of airmen, Wilson, I need you to confirm that you are okay.

He nods dumbly at your insistence. Remembering suddenly how to breathe when you grab him by the vest and yank him up off the ground. He’d been blown on his back by the sheer force of a screaming mortar impacting the earth nearby. Your smack on his helmet is enough to refocus him, and all attention is back on the vic, packing the wound, applying pressure. You radio in controlled and calm-- GSW to the leg and shoulder, hoist out exfil necessary, popping green smoke on our location. 

Helmand is hell. But you grin and bear it so well. 

Things have levelled out. The three of you adjust to yet another new routine; much remains the same. The months are filled with morning PT, showers, any and every conversation under the sun shared over chow, a game of Slapjack or Bullshit after the sun’s gone down. Standard combat search-and-rescue, thankfully, for your sake is unchanged. But you have to get used to watching Sam and Riley soar through the sky like it’s what they were born to do. You stick to field medicine when they become something altogether different than PJs. Though, they were never just PJs. And you pretend it doesn’t just ache the tiniest beat when they leave you behind for some confidential mission.

Being the failure is hell. You grin and bear it to keep the pain from spreading to them. 

Hours later he finds you pelting the metal floor of the HH-60 Pave Hawk with an unwavering jet stream of water, diluted blood dripping from the sides. 

“Any special plans for when you get home?” Sam watches your face as it remains focused on lazily hosing down any memory of a bleeding young Corporal laying slack in your helping hands from the bird.

Six weeks. His tour ends in six weeks. He plans on sleeping-- sleeping hard, sleeping in, sleeping around. Riley joked about Sam burying himself in alcohol and puss, ‘it’s a toss up which addicts anonymous circle he’ll end up in’. Sam laughed and cheered in good fun, but the scent of JP-8 stung his nostrils. You and Riley have three more months left in this tour. Sam doesn’t like to think about the fact that he’ll be home, smelling apple pie and boob sweat, and you’ll be stuck here, sniffing jet fuel; that’s the smell of freedom, airmen say. 

“Might take up yoga,” he quips. 

Your eyebrows raise slightly, lips spreading into an easy and knowing smile, “Bet you would, you horndog.” Yoga pants, nylon and lycra second skins that hold everything just so, are all the rage all of the sudden. 

Sam laughs, leaning against the side of the helicopter with a cheeky smirk. That smirk you know so well now after three years. You count on that smirk. Pray on it. How something so small can bring you so much comfort, impossible to say. 

“If you come to LA, I can take you to all the studios. You’d love it.” 

Sam Wilson’s always been a social butterfly. The lifeblood of every party. The guy that gets along with everyone. The funny, effortlessly cool guy. He thrives on meeting new people and cracking jokes. 

But really, if Sam could do anything when he gets home, it would just be to see you. And Riley, of course. He wants you to come to LA, go to a bar, hide in some corner and just talk. Like you always do. Except, in civvies and heavily lubricated. He’d wait that excruciating month and a half before you’re back stateside too. He’d wait, not so much as think about alcohol, if it meant the three of you could share that first cold one together. You and Riley, you’re family. The first he’s had in a long while. 

He can’t help himself. “Will you? Come to LA?”

You smile, so nice and pretty, big and easy, like the one you’d once reserved only for Riley. 

2008.

Hands, softened with shea and two months R&R, fisting the back of his shirt so tightly he fears the fabric might disintegrate. Feverish and needy, fingernails digging into his warm skin, leaving ardor shaped crescents in wake of their campaign to conquer his back. Scorched in the spots first touched, soothed by the soft sound of sliding skin. 

Panting. Clenching. Burning. 

Your eyes squeezed shut, tears pricking at the edges. Lashes, all 359 of them -- he’d counted -- fanning his cheeks. Sweet wetness. Trembling fire. Mouths, hot and urgent, moving against one another. Whiskey tongues, sliding together, worshipping every inch. Lips numb. Teeth clanging. Both chests heaving, humming with moans too gentle and too desperate. You’re so beautiful there, in a bar’s dark and dirty bathroom stall pressing chest, groin, thigh, and leg against him. 

Gushing with it: joy, freedom, ecstasy. Overwhelmed by what he swallows from that heavenly spout: wrath, anguish, woe. 

You’re so beautiful he might die-- without question, fervently, for you. 

2009. 

The world works in strange ways. People will pay a 1,000 USD for a mattress that perfectly shapes to the curves of their spines. Commercials demonstrate you can balance a wine glass and simultaneously jump like a giddy kid in a hotel room without any risk of stain-- and for good measure, in the event it does stain, some special formula ensures it’ll come right out. Such strange desires of men. Sam sighs into his pillow-- zero cost, no secret formula. Sand, his mattress covered in 1500 thread count egyptian cotton; rock, his feather pillow that corrects his posture; a heavy coat of dry heat, his comforting New Zealand sheep wool blanket. Riley snores soundly beside, drool dribbling from the right corner of his mouth, chest spluttering in his exhales-- his white noise machine. 

He’s never been more comfortable. And in strange ways, he’s glad to be back, just starting his second tour at twenty-seven now, another successful Falcon mission recorded with the capture of Khalid Khandil. 

Sam’s almost disgusted with himself. He’s so stupidly content to be there, in the middle of the Afghani desert, sleeping on the ground. As if it’s not a fucking war. 

Well, as the world turns. 

Do you ever think it’ll be over? you’ll ask one night, a whisper on his lips as soft as the dripping beside you. Never defined, never talked about, but most nights, when sleep evades you, you’ll slip from the barracks to the empty showers. And you’ll sigh in pleasure in time with the echoing splash of leaky faucets.

And Sam has to bite his lips from saying the words ‘God, I hope not’ into your neck. 

Stateside, he has a joke of a life. The year in between tours was almost unbearable. He’s supposed to call that land home? It feels more foreign to him now than Afghanistan. A place where people create mattresses with different settings on two sides for maximum comfort. 

Strangers see him in uniform and either say ‘thank you for your service’-- which always feels hollow-- or looking like they want to spit on him. Suffocating. He could only breathe the three times you visited him in Los Angeles and the five times he came to Virginia for you. Only felt comfortable there with his face in your thighs, heart and breast in his hand, lips in his teeth. 

Here, he has structure. Purpose. Brotherhood. You. In war, he’s important. He’s helping people, not in any misguided, easily skewed fight for freedom and self-righteousness. He’s actually helping people. ‘These Things We Do, That Others May Live’. It’s what PJs do. 

In Afghanistan, he gets to fucking fly. 

In the US, his wings are clipped and everything feels so dull in comparison. 

Eventually, it has to, he’ll murmur back to spare you from his terrible thoughts. You’re so soft and sweet under him, and Sam knows just how much this war tears you apart. 

The guilt that plagues you because not everyone can be saved, but everyone should be. You’ve said before that the PJ credo implies death yourself. ‘That Others May Live’. But you’re alive and so many have died beneath your palms despite best efforts. Those trained fingers that sometimes feel useless apart from bringing Sam to bliss.

If you knew how he truly felt, how even if he’s a good man he harbors such selfish thoughts, it would only hurt you more. 

So he keeps it to himself and kisses your worries away. Soft pecks at your eyes that never cry but are always on the brink; the tip of your nose that’s become immune to the overwhelming metallic scent of blood; the crease between your brows that screw together in torment; lips, that despite all of the above, smile for Riley and for him. 

He’ll hold you so tenderly with strong steady hands, that it’s easy to forget the two of you are pressed together in a shower stall. You seem to have a habit of getting into compromising positions in bathrooms with Sam. 

A soft moan of appreciation escapes your lips, just to see that charming gap-tooth grin it draws from him. A taste of his light. So wanting, so desperate for that warm glow that emanates from Sam Wilson, you peel the shirt from his back sticky with sweat. Fingers scrambling to run across the smooth, hot skin there, chasing that tranquil day at the beach that is him even in the middle of a goddamned war. Greedy hands draw silken lines down the length of Sam’s spine, smiling in his mouth at his shuddering. How he leans into your touch reflexively. 

You’re drawn tight against him, his arms snaking around the base of your back, your hips flush against his, heels digging into his hamstrings. So close you become almost indistinguishable from him, simply a heap of warm skin and desert camo bracing the shower walls. 

A single kiss, languid and saccharine, suddenly turned quick. Sam is urgent in unfastening your top, splaying it open to lay you bare and panting before him. Each snap undone, a breath more labored. Your own hands, fumbling for the belt at his waist, mourning the loss of kissed raw lips against you. Hurried, as if at any moment one of you will perish. And the other, having tasted a body so divine, would simply crumble into dust-- there could never be another that they craved the same. Disappear forever in this desert, to perhaps be stamped down by another set of lovers’ boots. Here, in the sand soaked with your blood, Sam’s sweat, Riley’s tears

A vow taken in the sighs of pleasure quieted by amorous mouths. 

If this war ever ends-- and he assured you that it will eventually-- you’ll tell Sam Wilson you love him. 

2010.

He’d wished for this, hadn’t he? 

To live in War. This ungodly, disorienting flurry of chaos that feigns a sense of order. Mayhem, no matter how many hours ripping apart his muscles to put them back in place in accordance with military regulation, how much firepower there is to decimate enemies. A messy, merciless machine, endless. Running on the energy expelled from eating-- young men chewed up and spat out, shoved back into the hungry mouth, and chewed and spat again. And again. An emulsified puddle of blood and sweat leaking from the bottom.  

This, is war. Not fucking in the showers, watching the sunset while playing cards, and trading MREs like it’s elementary school. 

Structure. Purpose. Brotherhood -- all of the things Sam craved. It all means jack shit once someone steps on an IED, the distinct crisp sound of AKs firing off, or staring an RPG straight in the eye. 

Sam can’t stop looking at the way the blood squeezes through his shaking fingers. Thick and scarlet and slippery, bubbling through the cracks, seeping into the lines of his skin. Unyielding to Sam’s hands desperately clasping at the ripped flesh, trying and failing to apply pressure to the wound. No matter how much pressure he applies, the blood persists. Gushing, oozing, turning black under his palms. Because it’s everywhere and he only has two hands. Why did God make man with only two hands? Why?

Come on, man!

It’s a pathetic sound, the way it rips from his throat, raw and pleading. His arms, trembling so hard they shake the body beneath him too. 

Sam removes one hand to pop a yellow smoke outside of the ditch he’d pulled them into, using his teeth to pull the pin from the canister. 

He’s whimpering, choking down the sobs he so desperately wants to let out, communicating in broken sentences through the radio. Deaf to the return chatter. 

His eyes refuse to leave his bloodstained hands when the Pave Hawk is hovering above, his team of six fast-roping down, quick and methodical in employing care under fire protocol. Four of them stationing themselves at a pole just outside of the ditch, laying suppressing fire. 

You’re there, he can feel you rushing forward with your pack already slung over and onto the ground at their sides. But Sam won’t look at you, can’t-- if he sees your face, he’ll lose it. 

Moving, but nothing feels like it’s by your own volition. Rather, muscle memory. Flipping up your NVG, your eyes flit over the scene fast, thinking, but not feeling. And somehow, you’re thankful you’re numb at the sight. 

You’ve never seen it quite so... he doesn’t look human. 

It was just supposed to be a standard op. A marine stepped on an IED, and no one had metal detectors so the normal PJ unit couldn’t land. They were supposed to fly in and out, barely even touch the ground. 

And it all got fucked. How had it gotten so fucked? 

Helpless. Nothing he could do. Like he was up there just to watch. Squint in the dark night for a body barreling towards the ground. So much like your first flight test. That sickness churning his gut. 

Sam. Sam. Sam! 

His eyes flit to meet yours wide and white in the dark and just can’t bear it. He careens over to the side, retching this morning’s powdered eggs ugly and loud. Emptied, body too spent, the sobs finally overtake him. 

Quickly, you cut open his top, pulling the tattered fabric from where it tangled up with his body. Your hands take up the spot where Sam’s once pressed, pulling out combat gauze with your teeth. Deperately packing until you run out of gauze. It does nothing. The white is quickly stained so red that it just resembles more mutilated strings of flesh. 

“Okay,” you breathe, but it does nothing to return the oxygen to your lungs, “okay we need to stabilize the wound, tourniquets”-- the wound, he’s more wound than whole-- “and I need someone on chest compressions.”

You’re met with stares. Seven red-rimmed eyes, just staring as the very fluid of his life drains from him, body going cold under your hands warm, soaked in his blood. The only thing holding him, all mangled chunks of burnt tissue, together is you. 

“But-”

“But what?” 

But, it was an RPG. So what? We’re fucking PJs, aren’t we? But, he’s lost too much blood. We’ll do a transfusion. But, he’s dead. 

“Just do it!”

No one has the heart to stop you.

You work over Riley’s corpse for the entire ride to the hospital. They have to rip you from him on arrival. Because he’s dead. And you’ve just spent an hour elbow deep in a mess of blood and guts that feel like your own, exhausting yourself-- keeping nothing alive but your own sanity. 

Riley’s a pair of boots, an M16, a helmet, and two shiny dog tags clenched in your fists.  

That’s it. 

The rest of him was put back together as best they could, shoved in a pine box shrouded in stars and stripes, and sent off to Georgia. He’ll be received by his parents, two little brothers, three nieces, and his dog. They’ll write about him in the paper, a hero he’ll be called-- when really, he was a dumbass that got dinked by a rocket. 

He’d enjoy the fame in your small town. 

Idiot. 

Dropped on his head as a baby. 

As you squeeze the dog tags hanging from his M16, so do you squeeze a tear from your eye. A warm thing running down your left cheek that feels just like Riley’s blood in your palm. 

Sam’s behind you, head bowed low, maroon beret in his hands. The amount of times he’s said sorry, some blubbery, some frustrated, some murmured in your hair, some screamed at you.

You’re both raw. 

Hands scrubbed with soap, but stained Riley red.

Those showers have been tainted now with the fresh memory of pink streams circling the drain. Where once you found yourself lost in lust, now, in misery. Riley in your hands disappearing into the pipes, into nothing forever. 

“My tour’s up in three months,” Sam watches you carefully as you release the silver tags imprinted with Riley’s information. You stand and face him, wiping away that traitorous tear. “I’m going to leave active duty.”

When he was twenty, and the world was bleeding fresh scarlet, he’d hardly imagined he’d be retiring at thirty. But twenty seems so far now, just as the aftermath of 9/11. Now, the blood has caked into a mountain of pain, dried brown. Revenge, and then some. 

He enlisted for patriotism, duty, selflessness. He stayed for you and Riley, for flying. 

He can’t stay anymore-- can’t see you die too.

"You’re retiring?” your cloudy stare, brows pulled together, eat at him, “Okay.”

Okay. Sam never tried to guess what you’d say, but ‘okay’ somehow seems like the only thing that would ever make sense on your lips. So soft and simple. You. Always supportive, always sure. 

You nod with a gentle smile, and while he doesn’t know where you’re headed-- somewhere that’s not Riley’s makeshift shrine-- Sam trails closely behind. Partially because he has more to say, but mostly, because he’s bound to you now. His chest is tethered to yours, feet instinctively falling in line. He heels, like a dog. For you. 

The barracks are empty for chow again. Neither of you are hungry. Meals are different without Riley.  

So familiar, the two of you sitting side by side on the ground, knees bent, forearms resting on them, thighs brushing. Alone together. 

Sam has ocean eyes. Warm brown eyes that look like the ocean. They’re still on you but they move. You’ve never noticed. How they swell and glimmer, so constant yet always in motion-- pure in how he allows himself to live so freely. Going with whatever flow his heart takes him: dropping out of college and enlisting; punching ignorant airmen; and giggling like a girl at the feeling of flying. Making promises you both know he has no control over. Kissing you in a bar because he can’t take the longing for a second more. Leaving the Air Force because it’s getting in the way of his light. Even if it means giving up flying. 

Sam slips his hand in yours, so warm and soft, his squeeze, a plea. 

“Come with me.”

You’ve never met a person who lives like him. 

You laugh, fondly. Sam Wilson is so earnest in almost everything he does. 

“Can’t.”

So tempting. You remember now, how close those words once were to falling from your tongue. I love you. It seems pointless to say now, he’s leaving, you’re staying. 

“Come on, don’t be a martyr.”

Like Riley, he says without ever needing to flex his vocal chords that way. 

Morbid as it may be, you’d be glad to die like Riley. He always believed in the cause more than either of you. He was dumb and goofy, but he truly believed in it. All of it. You’ve never been so bound by an unearthly force like that-- religion, ideology, patriotism. 

Must be nice, Riley mused, not having to answer to God. No, it really isn’t. It’s... lonely. You want to try your hand at it now. Might do you some good. You’re looking at another two years, or whenever your tour is up, alone now. Why not fuck around and find some higher power? God, the PJ creed, macaroni and chili MREs. You’ll figure it out. 

“Eventually, it has to end. Right?” It’s his own words. You knew he never believed them. And neither do you now, really. “So I’ll see you then.”

Or in a pine box. 

Ocean eyes are wet with his sorrow. You are so lovely. Love. He loves you. He thinks he might’ve loved you from the moment he first heard your velvet voice. Fuck off. So lovely. Sam kisses you, and the waves have come to drag you out to sea. If he could, he’d beg you to come home in his riptide. 

Wherever that is. 

2012.

A Goliath building with tall glass windows that turn sunbeams into rainbows with rows upon rows of fresh tulips surrounding. Brilliant yellows and oranges-- like poppy field sunsets in Afghanistan. In the center of the free world. So much meaning there now behind what it means to fight for freedom. No place knows it quite like this house of warriors. This is a place of healing. Of mending brains put in a blender, frozen in some eagle shaped mold, and then thawed out with guns in their hands and a burning vendetta to satisfy. 

Sam Wilson is thirty-one now, and remains a man of routine. 

He wakes to darkness. Unfolds himself from the tight ball he’d curled into at some point. On the floor. Again. Sam gives himself just five minutes to lay blinking at white walls painted 5 am blue, bleary eyed birds just starting up their morning songs. 

And then he’s up. His teeth are brushed, sneakers laced up, keys thrown into the pocket of his shorts. Sam runs along the Potomac with the familiar soft pink aura of dawn crawling along the horizon. Around the Washington Monument, past the Lincoln Memorial, down Pennsylvania Ave.

He feels so small among those giant monoliths of the land of the free. Not purple mountain majesties, but the marble Hill. 

Sometimes, he feels you and Riley running beside him, like all those years ago bright and early for 6 A.M. PT-- wearing ankle high socks, grey t-shirts with white wings splayed across the chest and those little navy shorts Riley complained crushed his balls. 

God, he misses Riley. 

He misses you too. 

In college, Sam was a philosophy major of all things. He studied questions of human nature while picking up ‘cerebral chicks’. 

A decade later, the questions he once pushed away have all come up again. It all seems so important now. 

When he closes his eyes he sees your smile, yes, but he sees fire and smoke too. Like the rubble of the Twin Towers, his memories of war are shrouded in destruction.  

Sartre said, Once you hear the details of victory, it is hard to distinguish it from defeat.

So much cost, tangible and not. Cities riddled with bullet holes and missile craters, conquered and hailed as a successful operation so long as it forces the Taliban back. Beautiful landscapes marred with IEDs and shrapnel which will make the Americans wish they never step foot in Afghanistan. Invisible things too, like a mass grave of men, women, and children-- some military, some civilian. Glass shards of minds, not broken, but cracked. 

Sam is bleeding. Veterans are bleeding. Everyone is bleeding. 

The puddle of blood and sweat at the bottom of that machine, fathomless. 

He ends up in D.C., staring up at that Goliath building with the scent of fresh spring tulips in his nostrils-- Department of Veterans Affairs. He needs help and he needs to help. Post-traumatic stress disorder is such a big name, and he never fully understands his meeting. What he does know: sleeplessness, irritability, paranoia, numbness, waking nightmares. 

Healing is a process, but Sam’s doing it now. Himself, through others. 

Things are getting better. 

He’ll never be completely whole, but the circle helps. ‘It’s a toss up which addicts anonymous circle he’ll end up in’, Riley joked. Sam laughs up at the sky, his dumbass friend was probably sporting a smug smirk wherever he is. 

This morning Sam is chipper, today is a good day. He smiles wide at the girl at the front desk; she’s pretty and shy and always tucks her hair behind her ear when he’s flirting. Sam  snags a classic glazed from the box of free donuts from Astro and it hangs from his mouth as he goes about setting up for a meeting. Unfolding chairs, he arranges them in a comforting position. In a circle, everyone is equal-- no one is alone or an outsider. 

And then he waits with a welcoming smile as everyone filters in. Some are regulars and he’ll exchange ‘how are you’s. Some are new and uncomfortable so he gestures to an open chair and says ‘Welcome’ with that beach day grin. Soothing, calm, comforting. 

Sam listens so well. 

For as much as he likes to talk, listening is sometimes better. He only speaks when he’s sure they’re done and comfortable, offering what has helped him best. 

Adjusting to civilian life is hard. No one expects how hard it truly is, because it’s never talked about it. They’re supposed to push themselves to the extremes of human experience and then come back as if any of that was normal. As if they didn’t just come from a war, that still persists. Even if by a different name, in a different place, against a different group, it persists. And no one ever tells them how hard it is to just sit there, surrounded by friends and family where you’re supposed to be happiest, and act like it’s not burning you from the inside out. 

But it’s important to remember the good things too, he’ll tell them. When the dark shadow threatens to swallow them up whole, there is always light. It’s important to know that and make sure they stay separate. 

Like Astro donuts and playing soul music all the time and showering without a dozen people next to you. And the freedom of getting to do whatever the hell they want. 

Sam tells them, if it makes them happy: do it. 

“You’ve made quite the reputation for yourself, Sam Wilson.”

He’s seeing you, looking just the same as the last. With that smile, that’s only his now-- nice and pretty, big and easy. You are beautiful, so beautiful Sam wonders how he’s survived so long without seeing it. 

His own smile falters when his ocean eyes travel from your face.

You are exactly the same, except, you’re missing a few pieces. 

Your left arm, which he expects to lead down to those calloused hands somehow impossibly soft, is cut off abruptly, cruelly, above the ghost of your elbow. The left hand, your dominant one, that he had known the comforting feel of on his shoulder, burning through the cloth of his uniform, gone. The hand that breathlessly trailed down his torso, tickling and seducing, leaving goosebumps in its wake, missing. 

He’ll ask another time. You’ll tell him of more casualties of war, this one visible, and of others invisible. 

But for now, he’s rushing at you, and it’s still not fast enough to quiet his screaming heart. He grabs you, doesn’t care if there are still people lingering from the end of the meeting, and really kisses you. And your right hand still finds its way to his torso. 

I love you, breathless. It was never pointless to say. 

No, the war is not over, maybe not even eventually, but you’re here in D.C. wrapped in his waves, alive. 

He’ll never be completely whole, but you get him damn near close to it. 

#sam wilson #the falcon x reader #sam wilson x reader #falcon #marvel #fanfiction #reader insert #one shot

[corinthbayrpg]

NAME. Pandroa ( Piper Kamra ) AGE & BIRTH DATE. 3000+ & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She / Her SPECIES. Rift OCCUPATION. Owner of AnxieTea FACE CLAIM. Anya Chalotra

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: disease, death ) Piper Kamra is not a normal woman, nor has she ever been; not even from her creation. You see, her story begins first with a Titan, and a great theft. Prometheus had angered the Greek Gods by stealing flame from Zeus, giving it to the mortals he claimed to champion. While Prometheus was tried and punished for his crimes, it was not enough to sate their divine fury, and the Pantheon held the desire for mankind to suffer for their folly as well. Given the name Pandora, she was shaped by the hand of Hephaestus at the direction of Zeus, and gifted by the other Gods with talents and finery to charm the mortal world. She was created to be a woman of destruction, sent from Mount Olympus with one clear instruction: to bring torment to the human race. To accomplish this, she was given a jar, albeit later legends would incorrectly name it a box.

Though Prometheus had warned his brother against accepting any gifts from Zeus, when Epimetheus laid eyes on Pandora, he was enraptured by her beauty. He eagerly took her for his bride, bringing her down to earth, and so the trap was sprung. When Pandora opened her jar, mischief, sorrow, plague and sickness spilled forth from her hands to punish the men her husband and brother-in-law had loved so much. And so disease found it’s hold in the mortal realm, but Pandora’s story was not done. Although mournful of the destruction that had befallen humanity, Epimetheus loved his wife still, and did not cast her aside even as her havoc spread across the Greek world and countless died. In their life together she bore him two daughters, who continued in their mother’s task, and carried it down the line of descendants with each generation. However, none would ever hold the original jar of curses but Pandora. 

Perhaps a part of her did love her husband. Though she was not made with love in mind, the years he spent by her side did not count for nothing. And yet, when the Gods called and bid her to go forth into the world and continue her mission of suffering, she did not hesitate. Casting Epimetheus and her family aside, Pandora set out with her jar to unleash atrocious horrors upon mankind. With the gifts she’d been given Pandora felled kings and commoners alike, no one safe from her reach, all the while reveling in the misery left in her wake. Her entire being came into existence for one purpose, and she thrived at it, cut off from all such feelings of remorse or pity that mortals might succumb to. It was not a matter of whether they deserved it, or if she even found it to be the right thing to do. When she was set out from Olympus with her task, there was little that could be done to remove her from the path. It’s a devotion second to none, with the hope of one day returning to the place of her creation if her work appeases them, after this world has been burned to ash. 

Her path of ruination can be tracked along the years by anyone with a discerning enough mind, as every major disease or famine outbreak that has covered the world was done by her hand. The infamous Plague of Athens, which helped turn the tide of the Peloponnesian War, came straight from her jar. At first intending to side with Athens and bring her wrath against Sparta, finding it amusing to be a catalyst in the petty wars humanity engaged in with each other in order to stroke her ego, she was staying as guest of the city at the time. But it was a time when Pandora was used to being treated with deference by mortals, only for Perikles to cast her knowledge aside in favor of his other advisors. Enraged by the slight that she felt she was shown, she took her jar down to the Piraeus port, spreading sickness among all the city’s sole food and supply source. To her great personal satisfaction, Perikles himself died from her plague, and took nearly a hundred thousand of his beloved citizens with him. The lesson to be learned from Athens would be to never insult Pandora’s vanity. Unfortunately, mankind rarely takes such note.

And yet, while it was a personal victory for Pandora, it was by no means the greatest of her accomplishments. Perhaps that title would belong to the bubonic plague, first known as the Plague of Justinian, as it was her first to have a really heavy impact. Originating from her time in Egypt, it was no great insult that served as a precursor this time, but a simple torch in the hands of a man being used to dazzle spectators as he performed trick after trick, that caught her fury. What started out as a rash decision to unleash a curse from her jar against the unsuspecting man and all his admirers, quickly grew to be an outbreak that crossed countries and stacked bodies by the millions, spreading over the span of hundred of years. Though it had not been her intention at the time, Pandora reveled in the glory of the anguish all the same, taking pride in the mayhem she had released. There are many other great influences of the world that she takes claim of, such as the Black Death, Spanish Flu, and The Great Famine of 1315–1317. If it led to significant human suffering, chances are, Pandora had a role in it. Like an omen of death, wherever her feet landed ruination was sure to follow. 

Though originally she enjoyed her personal infamy, as the centuries passed Pandora realized the value anonymity could offer her. While in the Byzantine Empire, watching over the effects of her first widespread pandemic, the local populace led a revolt against her. Desperate to stop the disease, they broke down the doors of the estate she had commandeered, and raided the property. Though their weapons did no harm that her immortal body was not able to heal, they did manage to succeed in stealing her jar, leaving Pandora considerably weakened. It was only through extensive work that she managed to get it back, an endeavor that took over a year in efforts. The experience left her with a lasting impression, and a new set caution that had never been there previously, as she was determined to never be parted from her jar again.

From that point on, she changed names as easily as clothes over the years, taking up new ones whenever they served her, her true nature hidden from view until it was too late. She’s held the name Piper Kamra for the past twenty years or so, from her time spent across the continent of India. All her great wealth is stolen, charmed straight out of the hands of unknowing victims while Piper gave them her Cheshire grin, only to leave them waiting on death’s doorstep when she was finished. It was a vicious cycle that she had millenniums to perfect, hoarding the possessions and properties she liked best and selling all the rest, to fund a comfortable existence for her life on earth. If she was going to spend an eternity in this realm, then it would be done in luxury. 

Piper had been staying in Greater Manchester, England, delightfully spreading her sicknesses to whatever unfortunate souls crossed her path or caught her attention, when she received the instruction to turn her sights towards Corinth Bay. Never one to defy the order of the Gods who gave her life and purpose, she dropped everything to follow their lead. The tear in the veil was easy to sense, and at once Piper understood that she was meant to defend it. The city was crawling with creatures who had been forged by the Greek Pantheon, the same as her, and if the veil were to fall completely, many would be lost. Though she’s never been much of a protector before, Piper’s devotion to her creators has not wavered even once over the years. She will be the last line of defense, if necessary, ready to bring wrath and curses upon the heads of those that would dare to strike against the Gods. But in order to stay in town, she needed a foothold.

It was an easy thing, to maneuver her way into possession of the tea shop AnxieTea. The previous owner fell victim to her machinations, the same as all those before him; an older, lonely witch, it was all too simple to manipulate him with pretty eyes and pleasant lies that spun a tale of summer love. Piper had him wrapped around her finger, and herself put into his will as the inheritor of all his earthly possessions when his health took a sudden turn for the worse. Only a month had passed before he succumbed to a cancer so aggressive that not even a witch’s spells could heal him, after which Piper promptly moved into his estate and claimed it for her own. With AnxieTea, she gained the access she desired to the city. After all, what better way is there to start a disease outbreak than through consumption? It’s an ace card sitting in her pocket, waiting for the moment the time is right — and then, guilty or not, everyone will suffer the consequences.

PERSONALITY

+ charismatic, graceful, perceptive - cunning, malicious, spiteful

PLAYED BY ABBY. CDT. She/Her.

#abby

[onlymonica]

Transcript of Hannity’s interview with Trump

HANNITY: “Mr. President, thank you.  Apparently, I heard you in the press conference, you had a 9 p.m. call with President Xi of China, let me start there. How did that go?”

TRUMP: “Well, because of you, I made it at 10:30”

HANNITY: ‘Oh, well sir, I’m kind of blushing.  But let me cut to the chase:  When I was ‘servicing’ you this morning, Sir - were you faking that orgasm, or was it real?’

TRUMP: ‘Sean, it was as real as anything else I’ve ever said.’

HANNITY: ‘Thank you Sir!  That’s the kind of direct answer and hopeful response that all of us need at this time!’

TRUMP: ‘Sean, I’ve always told you that because you have such a fucking large head, you can give great head.  You’ve never disappointed me, all these years.”

HANNITY: ‘Oh, well, gosh Mr. President, there’s no need to go into history here.  Let’s just say it’s been my extreme pleasure for this ’greatest, best country God has ever given man on the face of the earth’.  And I figure if I’m giving the POTUS of that country the greatest, best BJ ever given man, then I’m doing double service.’

TRUMP: ‘Thanks Sean.  We never actually talked about double service yet, but my son in law Jared is looking a bit under-occupied lately, and this might be a good distraction for him and bonding experience for us.  I’d check with Pence, but you know how that guy ticks.’

HANNITY:  It would be my pleasure Sir.  Anything for the cause!!!

[kanerboo]

a love letter to the marvel ladies

i just watched endgame for the second time and, just like the first time, i came away from the cinema utterly in love with all the marvel ladies, so much so that i just had to write this post and get the thoughts off my chest.

lots of endgame spoilers in here - if you do not want to be spoiled, do not click into the cut!

hope: she may not have had a big role, but what matters is that she was there in the end, battling for the fate of earth, fighting alongside scott. when scott needed to get to his van, she was by his side in a flash, and when they shrunk to get through the battlefield, she took his hand, SHE led the way through the battle to their van. i remember in iron man 1 pepper said to tony “you couldn’t tie your shoelaces without me” and you know what, that’s kinda how i feel about scott and hope too. (i love them dflkjfdlf)

mantis: she didn’t have a big role either, but reminder that she and she alone held thanos still with her powers in infinity war, buying the others almost enough time to get the gauntlet off him. she doesn’t SEEM like she does much, maybe, but she’s proven she can put a celestial and a titan wielding the power of the infinity stones to sleep. i wish she had had a bigger part in endgame, but it’s okay - i get the constraints of combining so many characters into one battle, and like i said, she’s already proven herself.

okoye: fhdjlkdf i love her so much, such an amazing brave fighter, the best lieutenant anyone could ever ask for, loyal to her country and her king, willing to throw down and kill the man she was in love with to protect her country. she was right there by t’challa in the final battle, hacking down thanos’ armies like they were paper, and you wouldn’t expect her to be anywhere else. 

shuri: shuri is a thinker, not a fighter. but she fought for her country against killmonger, she did her best to help and save vision in the battle of wakanda, she returned from dust to fight in the final battle against thanos alongside her brother, with her vibranium weapons of her own design. pure genius and pure bravery in one sassy package.

natasha: thinking about nat fucking hurts my heart, oh my god. for five years she was working her ass off, on high alert constantly for any threats to earth, real or imagined. she was so tired and she just kept going, because this was all that was even keeping her going. she didn’t have to sacrifice herself because clint was going to, he was so determined he should be the one to do it, but she did it anyway, because she recognised clint had a family to go back to. she did too -  she had her found family - except she wanted to do this for them, to bring those of her family who weren’t there anymore back, to ensure that clint’s family wouldn’t have to come back and live without him. the avengers would never have gotten the soul stone, never have carried out their plan without her sacrifice. and while on one hand i recognise that fact, i’m also fucking torn up about it. nat deserved so much better than that death on an alien planet. she should have come home.

gamora: i love gamora - she’s so kickass and so badass, all of the time. thanos trained her to become the deadliest woman in the galaxy, and she not only lived up to her name but had a hand in bringing him down. her death scene in infinity war was just as hard for me to watch as nat’s was. now i just want her to be found and reunited with the guardians in gotg3, back with her family and her sister.

nebula: i am honestly so, so glad they gave nebula the redemptive arc that they did, because damn, she more than redeemed herself in this. she’s been tortured and broken and taken apart so many times, she’s been through so much pain and fear, and she found it in herself to break free from thanos’ control and her need to please him all the time, to do something good and to save the universe. she helped tony and kept him alive as long as she could when they were adrift in space, she led the avengers to the garden to confront thanos, and she killed her own past self, both literally and figuratively, to save the world.

valkyrie: i fucking love valkyrie so much oh my god she’s so sassy and so badass and so strong. when she appeared on her winged horse aragorn at the head of the battle charge i literally squealed. i also looooved the moment when she flew right up to a chitauri leviathan and tore through its entire flank with dragonfang. my girl brought down a leviathan all on her own and i am PROUD. the true queen of asgard.

pepper: like shuri, pepper is not a fighter. and like she says herself, “trying to get tony to stop has been one of the greatest failures of her life”. but when it came down to it, she encouraged tony to do what he had to - help the avengers with the time heist. she knew what was at stake - she knew tony could die, she knew he might lose her and/or morgan if things went wrong, but she let him do the right thing over the selfish thing. and she was right there at the final battle in the rescue suit, knowing full well that if anything happened to both tony and her, morgan would be orphaned - but she was fighting to save the universe for her daughter. pepper always knew what the important things were. and at the end, she made sure to tell tony that it was okay, that he could rest, that she and morgan would be fine. and then she was left to raise morgan on her own, but by god, i bet she did a fine ass job.

carol: I ADORE HER she makes me drool with how incredibly strong she is. her first scene in endgame literally has her carrying tony’s ship, on her back, through deep space and back to earth. when she reappears for the final battle she rips through thanos’ entire ship and destroys it like nothing. she held thanos back and prevents him from using the gauntlet when thor himself couldn’t do it with both mjolnir and stormbreaker, and she did that with a smirk on her face. I LOVE HER.

wanda: MY GIRL WANDA IS STRONG AF, holy shit. i’ve always thought her power was linked to the reality stone in some way, given the whole ~colour of it and the fact that she can warp reality and also how damn strong she is - but legit she’s as powerful as an infinity stone. when she looks up at thanos with her eyes glowing red and then proceeds to almost tear him apart - that was one of the best scenes for me. i have no doubt she could and would have killed him singlehandedly, if he hadn’t ordered his armies to rain fire. that in itself is a testament to the strength of her powers - thanos literally had to sacrifice his own troops and shoot upon them just to free himself from her. 

also that unforgettable scene where peter is clutching the gauntlet, watching the armies of thanos charging towards him, and all the ladies line up in front of him to protect him - i may have squealed out loud in the cinema. i’m not even ashamed. THIS IS WHAT I LIVE FOR. WE STAN STRONG WOMEN. 

#avengers #avengers endgame #endgame spoilers #marvel ladies #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #natasha romanoff #black widow #carol danvers #captain marvel #pepper potts #valkyrie #nebula #gamora #okoye #shuri #hope van dyne #mantis #I LOVE THEM ALL

[liamhaydn-blog]

Muhammad ALI: 15 Career Defining Rounds

Muhammad Ali fought 548 Professional Rounds against 50 different men across a span of 61 fights, 13 countries, four continents and 21 years. 27 of Muhammad’s fights were scheduled for the 15 round Championship distance, so in this blog I will cover the 15 defining rounds of The Greatest’s career.

Muhammad Ali and Joe Louis are the only fighters in history to win The Ring Magazine Fighter of the Year on more than three occasions, Louis picking up the historic award four times, Ali on a surely never to be matched- six occasions. 

He is the only 3-time Lineal Heavyweight Champion in history and he won 5 out of 6 fights against Sonny Liston, Joe Frazier and George Foreman, who most would consider to be 3 of the top dozen fighters to ever fight in the Heavyweight division, the most historically stacked division of all. 

In the 1960′s Ali’s in-ring greatness was down to his speed, agility, footwork and athleticism. In these departments Ali was at a level which had never been seen before at Heavyweight, he was a Heavyweight who could move like a Lightweight. His ability to dance and fight up on his toes for entire fights whilst weighing over 200 pounds was something the world had never before witnessed. His unorthodox, original fighting style was so reflective of the man in his individualism and rejection of norms. He also had unmatched psychological strength, which he showed in the first part of his career with a level of self-belief that led him to beat Sonny Liston after six rounds and declare himself to the world as the Greatest who ever lived, aged just 22 years old. 

The best examples of Ali’s greatness in the first part of his career came against Cleveland Williams where Ali was perfect, against Sonny Liston where Ali was fighting a champion so dangerous and menacing, he had to be at the top of his game mentally aswell as physically and versus Floyd Patterson, who Ali dominated so emphatically to make look almost second-rate, despite Patterson having a 43-4 record and it being his 12th World Heavyweight title fight. 

In the 1970′s Ali’s greatness came from his heart, chin, strategy and in-ring adaptability and intelligence. His psychological strength would play an even greater part in this second half of his career. Ali’s heart would push him through the exhaustion and pain barrier when other men would have said no more, his ability to take a punch to both the head and body showed him to be one of the toughest fighters ever with one of, if not the, best chin ever (quite a turn-up for people who thought his defence was only so good because he was so scared of what would happen if he got hit). His strategies, adaptability and in-ring intelligence showed him to be one of the smartest fighters ever. His psychological strength which came from his powering belief in his God Allah and the causes for which he fought willed him on to triumph on occasions when defeat looked to clasp him in its clutches.

The best examples of Ali’s greatness in the second part of his career came against George Foreman in Zaire (in my opinion the greatest night and fight of Ali- for in this fight he showed everything which made him great) and against Joe Frazier in The Thrilla in Manila. 

Ali is not the youngest ever World Heavyweight Champion (Tyson), nor is he the oldest ever (Foreman), his record of 3 time champion has been surpassed (Holyfield), Ali was beaten, Rocky Marciano never lost, Joe Louis reigned longer and made more defences. Yet when I think of the ‘World Heavyweight Champion’ I think of Muhammad Ali. I see him as the true possessor of the Heavyweight crown and everyone since a mere borrower of the title ‘World Heavyweight Champion’. If there could only ever be One True Champion, One King of The Division it would be Ali. 

People would dispute that and put forward Ali’s idol Louis. It would be a great fantasy match-up for many reasons, one being it would put Ali in the position of a Holmes or a Spinks when they faced him. Having to try and beat up the man he grew up idolising. If you could remove that mental block by making both men the same age at the same time, well I don’t believe anyone in the history of boxing could beat 64-74 Ali two times out of three and that includes Joe Louis, Mike Tyson or anyone else. 

Whereas his status as Greatest of All Time inside the ring is disputed by some who give names such as Sugar Ray Robinson and Joe Louis, outside it Ali’s greatness will remain unmatched. A long book could be written about Ali without even mentioning the fact he was a boxer. His stance against the Vietnam War cost him 3 years of his career at a time when he scarcely looked capable of losing a round let alone a fight. Imagine Lionel Messi after the 2011 Champions League final being banned from football for 3 and a half years for being against a war, it’s unthinkable. But such great injustice was done to Ali and he took it with strength, no self-pity, no hint of regret. If his sacrifice was what his religion taught to be right and if by rejecting Vietnam he was getting millions of Americans who looked up to him to think about whether the war was something they thought was right and wanted to be apart of- then it was worth it. 

Ali had an extraordinary love of people. He would sign every autograph, shake every hand, speak to anyone who spoke to him. He wasn’t a presidential candidate, there was nothing to gain from meeting people like this everywhere he went, but for Ali meeting people was reward in itself. He was the most famous person on earth, travelling around with one bodyguard and refusing to leave a place until everyone was satisfied they’d had their own individual fix of The Greatest. His patience for people was limitless as was his time that he would offer to others so willingly. Ali needed the press in the early days, but he certainly didn’t need them after becoming the Champ and one of the most famous men on the earth. But still he chatted with the press more than any other sportsperson, giving them a chance to get to know him and develop a personal relationship with him. 

Ali was as generous with his money as he was with his time. It would be impossible to add up all Ali’s charitable contributions as he did not publicise them, all we know is from stories that we’ve heard from his friends. And from what they’ve shared we can gather he was a man who recognised and truly understood the importance of being a high profile person and he valued and made use of his position. 

This piece is dedicated to the rounds of Ali’s career which defined Ali the boxer but I couldn’t pass up the chance to briefly mention the man outside the ring. For inside it, he was my favourite boxer ever, outside it, he was my favourite person ever.

Round One- vs Sonny Liston II May 25 1965

37 of Muhammad’s 56 Professional wins were inside the distance, of which 2 came in the opening round. Ali rarely threw anything significant in the opening round of fights, preferring to move around the ring, whilst he assessed his opponent’s strength. One time he did though was in his fourth professional fight against Jim Robinson in what was the shortest fight of his career, ‘Sweet Jimmy’ was gone in 94 seconds.

The second and final 1st Round KO of Ali’s career was significantly more memorable and came in the first of the 19 successful World Heavyweight title defences he would make.

After he shook up the world by dethroning Sonny Liston, a rematch was immediately ordered due to the controversial nature of the first fight’s ending. If what the boxing committee's were after was a more clear cut ending this time out, they most certainly didn’t get it.

The fight was scheduled to take place on November 16th 1964. Finding a venue to take the fight was extremely challenging, controversy was following these two men everywhere and finding a place willing to have them was hard. 

The day following the first fight, Cassius Clay announced he was to no longer be known by that name anymore, he was now to be known as Cassius X. Clay was in his words, a slave name, a white name given to his ancestors by their slave-masters. A month later the leader of the Nation of Islam, Elijah Muhammad, renamed Cassius X as Muhammad Ali. Muhammad meaning “worthy of all praise” and Ali meaning “most high”. Ali was given this new name by the Nation to ensure he remained loyal to them and didn’t leave. Malcolm X had left the Nation disillusioned with Elijah Muhammad’s hypocrisy and wanted to take his close friend with him. This ensured that wouldn’t happen.

Before Ali was stripped of his titles altogether in 1967, the WBA stripped him of his title before this rematch meaning that only the WBC and The Ring Titles would be on the line this time. Due to the controversial natures of both fighters the WBA refused to recognise Ali as its Champion and Liston as its number 1 contender, dropping him from their rankings. The WBA also used their power to pressure Boxing state commission's across the country to not give the fight a license to fight in their state. In the end the state of Massachusetts took the fight to be shown at the Boston Garden and their boxing council was therefore suspended by the WBA.  

Liston as he did for their first meeting, would go into the fight as favourite. Ali, though given a better chance as champion than he had been as challenger, was still a bigger underdog with the bookmakers than Floyd Patterson had been in either of his two fights with Sonny. 

This was because many of Ali’s doubters still remained, he had not silenced them all by becoming the Champion. Sonny fought injured, he threw the fight, the fight was fixed, he’d took Clay too lightly, he hadn’t trained hard, he’d gone in too angry. The list of reasons for Clay’s triumph were endless. 

But this time we’d see the real Liston, he’d be determined to erase the humiliation he’d suffered, he’d be better prepared to deal with Ali’s trash talking and mind games, having had the experience of the first fight and he’d train hard this time. 

And at first he did, reportedly Sonny had worked his way back to career best shape for their November date. But then 3 days before the bout Ali was rushed to hospital for an emergency hernia operation. He was operated on for 70 minutes and the bout was pushed back six months. 

Liston’s motivation left him and never returned. He began to drink heavily, had yet more problems with the law due to driving offences (upon his arrest bottles of vodka were discovered in his car) and as the fight drew closer he seemed to get worse and worse in sparring to the point he looked totally unrecognisable from the fighter he’d been. 

The new fight date was set for May 25th but the pre-fight drama wasn’t yet over as 2 and a half weeks before the fight, Boston was no longer to be the fight destination. The search resumed and Lewinston, Maine was decided on (a mill town with a population of 41,000). This was the smallest town to hold a World Heavyweight title fight for 42 years and is to date the only World Heavyweight title fight to take place in Maine. 

In the exactly 15 months between the 1st and 2nd bout, a lot had changed. Ali had changed his own name from Cassius Clay to Cassius X, had his name changed by The Nation of Islam to Muhammad Ali, he’d met Sonji Roi, he’d married her (and twenty-nine days after this fight he’d divorce her due to her unwillingness to adhere to the rules of Islam, the religion she’d converted to, to be with Ali), he’d fallen out with his once great friend Malcolm X over the latter’s decision to leave the Nation and convert to Sunni Islam (a switch Ali would later also make), and a few months before the fight Malcolm X was killed, assassinated by three members of the Nation of Islam, who put 21 bullets into the 39-year old. 

If the build-up before the first meeting had been unpleasant, this time around it was 50 times worse. The arena which held just 4,900 seats was under half-filled. There was tangible fear in the air that night. That the Nation of Islam would assassinate Liston, that the mob or a Malcolm X follower would assassinate Ali. There were even reports of a bomb threat, and security for an event of that time was unlike anything before it. 

The belief among the media was that the Nation of Islam was going to attempt to muscle in on boxing and control fighters in the way the mob had done for many years. The Nation of Islam had no interest in boxing beyond Ali. They thought it degrading to black people to fight each other in order to make profit for the white man. But they recognised the importance and value in having the Heavyweight Champion of the World as an outspoken member of their cause, knowing how far afield his words would be reported and therefore what an effective recruiter he could be. 

Liston landed just one punch on Ali in the entire fight, he threw several but all but one were a long way short. He stalked forwards but just as in the first fight he couldn’t get close to Ali, who bounced and moved around the ring on his toes. The infamous punch that dropped Liston was the sixth of the fight Ali threw and the fifth he landed. These weren’t flurried taps either, these were hard shots.

The punch that caused the knockdown and subsequent knockout is to this day one of the most debated over and controversial moments in the history of Boxing.

Liston threw a left hand, Ali pulled back to avoid it and in a flash before Liston could bring back his left to protect himself, Ali landed a right bang on Liston’s cheek. Liston fell forwards, landing on his gloves and with his knees still off the canvas he tries to scramble away from Ali who has his fist cocked ready to land another blow, Liston rolls over onto his back and lies completely flat for a few seconds whilst referee Jersey Joe Walcott tries without success to get Ali to go to a neutral corner. Ali is shouting and gesturing at Liston to get up, Ali is eventually moved away from Liston but he is now jumping around the ring wildly. Liston tries to get back to his feet with sudden quick movements but then slowly collapses back to the floor, he eventually gets back on his feet and the referee goes to check on him, he then leaves the fighters to go over to the timekeeper who he could not hear as he did not have a microphone.

The fighters resume for a few seconds before the referee rushes over to separate them, the timekeeper had counted Liston out unbeknownst to the ref, the fighters or anyone else. Ali is declared winner by knockout.

So what the hell happened here? well the mood of the time led people to conclude it was a fix. Liston had took a dive. There were several possible reasons why he would do this, none particularly far-fetched. Maybe the mob had insisted he throw the fight so they could clean up with the bookies by betting on Ali, it wouldn’t exactly be the first time a mob-owned fighter had been instructed to throw a fight, or maybe Liston bet on himself to lose as he owed the mob money and this was a way he could get their money, maybe the Nation of Islam had paid Liston to lose or made a threat against his life should he win the fight. 

Why the Nation would doubt Ali’s ability to win the rematch when he’d already beaten Liston is a little unclear, though as they were still new to Boxing and Ali perhaps they were still unaware of how good he was and still believed as the bookmakers did that Liston was the big favourite. 

It’s also possible the knockdown was legit. Ali was not a devastating knockout puncher ala a Tyson or  a Foreman but he was a big, strong guy who had punching power that deceived opponents who bought into the press’s shtick that he couldn’t hit hard. If you think the same look at fights v Alex Miteff, Bonavena and Richard Dunn and you will see Ali drop guys with single shots. 

That said none of those guys were Sonny Liston, a man who’d never been dropped before, who’d gone toe to toe with Big Cat Cleveland Williams the man who throws bombs over 5 rounds across 2 fights and come out victorious on both occasions, walking through Williams’ best shots. 

But then again that was prime Sonny Liston of five years earlier and it wasn’t the same Liston. The birth certificate Liston used had him born in 1932, though reports into his birth find it more likely he was born in 1930 which would have put him in his 35th year by the time of the Ali rematch. 

It’s also unlikely to be the power that dropped Liston, but the speed of the shot which was blink and you’ll miss it fast. Also the fact that it caught him unsuspecting as he didn’t see the punch. He was on the attack and though used to Ali making him miss, he was not used to Ali making him miss and then countering with a great shot. 

From there the problem was Ali wouldn’t go to a neutral corner, he was too hyped up and seemingly angry with Liston, the referee therefore couldn’t begin his count and the timekeeper couldn’t be heard without a mic. The timekeeper had counted Liston out before the ref even got a chance to begin counting. It’s possible Liston was knocked out thanks to the lack of control the ref and timekeeper had over this moment, and if he’d been aware of the count he would’ve got up on time.

Everyone will have their own take on the events that unfolded. In my opinion, the knockdown was legit, Ali caught Liston with a fast, hard shot he didn’t see and it knocked him off balance and to the floor. From there everyone assumes Ali was furiously yelling at Liston to get up because he felt he was deliberately throwing the fight. What’s often overlooked is Ali was the greatest showman, an entertainer and he would often act up like this for the crowd, when he wasn’t really as angry as he was making out to be. Here, everyone believes he was truly angry as it suits the narrative of Liston deliberately throwing the fight. 

So the knockdown was I believe legit, but was the knockout? I believe Liston could’ve got up inside 10 seconds if he wanted to. His second fall after trying to get to his feet looked comically fake (that said boxers have ofttimes looked rather ridiculous in the act of trying to get to their feet after a knockdown). But would he have got up in time had he been able to hear a count if referee Jersey Joe Walcott been able to get his started? possibly, I doubt it. 

I don’t think Liston wanted to be in there with Ali. He thought Ali was a crazy man and that was the only type of man that scared him. He knew he hadn’t trained well and that Ali was much younger and much quicker. I think he wanted to take his pay check and get out of there. Away from Ali, away from the Black Muslims and away from anyone else who may want to kill him or accidentally kill him in a bid to kill Ali. 

This was Liston’s last ever fight for the title. After over a year out he returned and won 14 in a row, he was thought to be just one fight away from a fight with the winner of the Joe Frazier-Jimmy Ellis unification bout but in that last fight he was knocked out in the 9th by a former sparring partner. He fought only once more after that and died in mysterious circumstances six months later.

It was a sad but fitting ending to the career of Sonny Liston. And whilst Jack Johnson is acknowledged as the black man who destroyed the myth of white superiority in the ring by beating up any great white hope they put infront of him, whilst Joe Louis is acknowledged as the first black man who was a hero and even an idol to white youngsters, the third great black Heavyweight Champion, Sonny Liston is mostly remembered for his 2 disastrous fights which gave birth to Muhammad Ali.

If the White Media had any idea what the next Heavyweight Champion of the World was to be like, they’d no doubt have been a bit kinder about Sonny. Who as an illiterate and a man of very few words could have been a champion tolerated by the White media if they’d allowed him to tidy his act up and change.

Round Two- vs Cleveland Williams November 14 1966

Muhammad Ali on the other hand, was certainly not a man of very few words. Nicknamed ‘The Louisville Lip’ Clay was calling out Patterson and Liston just 9 fights into his pro career. He wrote poetry which he shared at every opportunity, he nicknamed his opponents and even declared which round he would knock ‘em out. Amazingly he was very often right. Taking inspiration from the Wrestler Gorgeous George, Clay quickly realised the value of trash talking and self-promotion. An early example of Clay’s ability to sell tickets came in 1963 when he fought fellow contender Doug Jones at Madison Square Garden. It was the first sell-out there for 12 years when Rocky Marciano fought Joe Louis.

He called himself the prettiest, the greatest, said his opponent was a bum, didn’t belong in the same ring as himself, that he would kiss his opponent’s feet in the ring and leave the country for good if he was made to eat his words. And people tuned into see his fights, or they bought tickets for the fight. Ali would win and the act would start out all over again for the next fight. He was a reporter’s dream, he talked and talked and talked.

But then Clay became Ali and started to talk about other things. Things that made the media more uncomfortable. He spoke at length about religion and his leader Elijah Muhammad. And when asked about his religions views on segregation and white people, he didn’t tiptoe around the issue. He tackled the questions head on. Black people had built America through slavery, and now was the time for America to pay black people back by giving them their own land, If America was 10% black people, give them 10% of the land. On segregation he said integration doesn’t work. Slavery, lynchings, castrations, torture of Black people by whites proved integration doesn’t work. On white people he said all his life he had been whitewashed to believe everything and everyone good was white. Jesus, the apostles, angels and Santa Clause to name a few. He also agreed with the Nation’s opinion of the American White man as a blue eyed devil, citing four hundred years of ill treatment from whites to people of darker colours.

As time has moved on, Ali’s views at the time can be quite shocking and disappointing to his fans who were not around at the time, even though Ali certainly did not hold the same views long into his life. 

But it was rather hypocritical of the media at the time to criticise Ali’s want for segregation when they already lived in a country with segregated buses, toilets and water fountains. Ali’s wish for segregation is I think understandable given how bad life was for most black people living in America at the time, and with slavery only officially ended 100 years earlier, most living blacks had parents, grandparents or great grandparents who had been slaves in America.

Ali saw great injustice done to blacks by whites, he saw the hatred whites had for blacks and he couldn’t see a way they could live side by side in peace. He saw that Germans were made to feel more welcome and at home in America after 2 World Wars and Japanese after Pearl Harbour than blacks were who’d lived in America their whole lives. It’s easy to understand how he couldn’t envision an America like today at that time. America ofcourse is not free of racism or white privilege but it is still an enormously better place to live for Black People now than it was in the ‘60s. But at the time Ali’s views on this- completely understandable and supported by facts. But the media expected any Black figure of prominence to support MLK’s civil rights movement rather than The Nation of Islam’s views which Malcolm X popularised. 

As for the white man being described as the devil, it seemed the media only accepted a race of people being compared to something inhumane when it was them doing it to black people- calling them beasts and monsters etc. They took great offence at being called devils. But again there is four hundred years of evidence to back up why a Black person could feel in his or her right to feel that way about white people. But though easy to do so in that position, you cannot judge a whole race of people from the evil actions of some, even if many, and Ali never hated white people as a whole, or hated anyone because they were white, he hated the actions of many of them towards blacks.

For me the most disappointing and inexcusable viewpoint of Ali in his lifetime were his views on interracial marriage which he opposed. This view seems so out of sync with a man so full of love and care for all people. I am unsure if he held this view for his entire life or if at some point it changed like his other extreme viewpoints, I hope it did though it’s possible it didn’t.

Two years after joining the Nation of Islam and changing his name to Muhammad Ali, he dropped an even bigger bombshell which would ensure he was a topic of conversation across every living room in America. 

One month before the first Liston fight Ali then Clay took a military qualifying examination, the passing grade was 30%, Ali scored 16. But by 1966 with the war in Vietnam growing, the passing grade for the mental aptitude test was lowered to 15%, making Ali eligible to go to war.                                                               

“Man, I ain’t got no quarrel with them Vietcong.”                                                    

-ALI to the press the day he was informed his draft status had changed and he was now eligible to join the U.S Army in Vietnam.

Ali’s remarks about having no quarrel with the Vietcong, enraged America like nothing he’d said or done before. He had a bout scheduled for Chicago with WBA Champion Ernie Terrell for the chance to win back the belt he’d been stripped of, but following his remark pressure was put on the state of Illinois to withdraw hosting of the bout. After Ali refused to apologise for his remark, that’s what they did so Ali instead went to Canada to fight their champion. 

For over 5 decades, there had been just two World Heavyweight titles fights outside of America, that was until Ali had 3 fights on European Soil, two in England, one in Germany, making for four consecutive Heavyweight title fights outside of America. Ali was known for his love of travelling the world but this was done mostly due to the difficulty of getting him a fight in the States.

Ali’s first fight back on home shores since he hit Floyd Patterson in the face with about one thousand jabs was to be against Cleveland Williams. Before Ali was exiled from Boxing and making his comeback, another 6 Foot 3 Black American Heavyweight was making a comeback of his own. Cleveland ‘Big Cat’ Williams was just shy of 500 days out the ring after he was shot in an altercation with a highway patrolman, the bullet hitting his stomach before lodging in his right hip. Four operations in seven months ensued, with Williams in the end having his right kidney removed. Doctors were unable to extract the bullet so Williams fought with the bullet inside him for the remainder of his career.

Aswell as a kidney and 17 months of his career, Williams also lost 60 pounds in weight due to injury and surgeries and over 10 feet of his small intestine. To add further insult to injury, he also had to spend some time in prison during this time after pleading no contest to charges from that incident.

Despite the long absence through injury, the vastly experienced Big Cat’s first and only attempt at the World Heavyweight crown was his 72nd Bout in the ring, he entered with a record of 65 wins, 5 losses (including 2 in a combined 5 rounds against Sonny Liston) and one draw.  

The Ali fight was the Fifth of his comeback, he’d won all four leading up to the fight (including one on points against Sonny “Policeman” Moore, which may have felt bitter sweet) but it was already crystal clear the 33-year old was no longer the fighter he’d been before the shooting.

In his prime, Williams was considered a legitimate contender, his power was no joke (George Foreman, who sparred with him, called him one of the top 3 punchers he’d shared a ring with) but by the time of this fight he was given no more than a punchers chance up against Muhammad Ali, a world class Heavyweight at the very top of his game.

Ali knew he was facing a quite literally, shot fighter and was very aware of the huge gulf between himself and his opponent and in a regular moment of in-ring compassion (though these are acknowledged a lot less than his dragged out beatings of Patterson and Terrell)  seemed determined to end the fight quickly rather than prolong Williams’ suffering over many rounds and really hurting him.

In the first round Ali danced and moved, shooting and landing mostly single shots but given the ease with which he was hitting Williams and evading his punches, he even at times stood in close with Williams landing some hard blows, which is unlike Ali for a first round. 

In the second round, Ali hit Williams at will like he did with many fighters at this time in his career. But this time he was hitting with such force his opponent couldn’t cope with it. Williams was dropped three times by Ali in the second including twice right at the end of the round. The bout should have ended there, Williams was flat on his back and would never have got up in time but he was ‘saved’ by the bell and referee’s were a lot more willing to just let fights go on in those days. 

Ali then dropped Williams again 25 seconds into the 3rd round with the referee for some reason again allowing the fight to go on. Ali continued his assault until after 1 minute and 8 seconds of round 3 the ref finally decided Williams had had enough.

The Cleveland Williams performance is considered one of if not the best of Ali’s career. Aesthetically and artistically it surely is, it was an absolute masterclass in the sweet science, the act of hitting without being hit, inflicting damage without taking any back. Ali himself has called it ‘the night I was at my best’ and you’d struggle to find anyone who disagrees with him on that. Just to complete this Ali performance and make it true vintage Ali, this was also the night he brought out ‘The Ali Shuffle’ for the first time as a pro, it hadn’t been seen since the Olympics. 

Round Three- vs Jerry Quarry October 26 1970

“Why should they ask me to put on a uniform and go ten thousand miles from home and drop bombs and bullets on brown people in Vietnam when so-called Negro people in Louisville are treated like dogs? If I thought going to war would bring freedom and equality to twenty-two million of my people, they wouldn’t have to draft me, I’d join tomorrow. I have nothing to lose by standing up and following my beliefs. So I’ll go to jail. We’ve been in jail for four hundred years.”   

-Muhammad Ali

Muhammad Ali’s scheduled induction into the US Army was set for April 28th 1967. Before this date the Champ had three options. He could flee the country, move to Canada like a lot of men who resisted the draft or in fact he could move to any country on earth. He had the wealth to move anywhere and the popularity outside of America to be welcomed as a hero anywhere. Though the boxing organisations would still have stripped him of his titles and prevented him from fighting for them, he would still have been free to continue boxing and earning a good living through his skill.

“The United States is my birth country. People can’t chase me out of my birth country. I believe what I believe. If I have to go jail, I’ll do it, but I’m not leaving my country.”                                                                                                            

-Muhammad Ali on fleeing America to escape The Draft.

Option 2 he could accept the draft and with negotiation from his management team, he would have gone to Vietnam to fight exhibitions for the troops just like Joe Louis did during WW2. He wouldn’t even have to wear the US Army uniform. With Ali’s wealth and status as one of the most famous men in the country, there’s no doubt he could have avoided seeing and participating in the warfare in the jungles and villages of Vietnam. 

“It would be no trouble for me to go into the Armed Services boxing exhibitions in Vietnam or travelling the country at the expense of the Government or living the life not having to get out in the mud and fight and shoot. If it weren’t against my conscience I’d do it. I wouldn’t lose the millions that I gave up and my image with the American public. I wouldn’t jeopardise my life walking the streets of the South and all of America with no bodyguard If I wasn’t sincere in every bit of what the Holy Qur’an and the teachings of the Honourable Elijah Mihammad tells us, which is that we are not to participate in wars on the side of nonbelievers and this is not a Muslim country.”                                                      

-Muhammad Ali on refusing the draft.

Or option 3, he could remain in America, refuse the draft, be stripped of his titles, his boxing license, his passport and face up to five years in jail. 

“I refuse to be inducted into the armed forces of the United States because I claim to be exempt as a minister of the religion of Islam”                                        

-Muhammad Ali, written statement to the Lieutenant of the US Navy, the day of his induction.

On April 28th he chose Option 3. 26 young men were called for induction that morning, but only 25 would be soldiers by the days end. “Cassius Marcellus Clay” was called but Ali remained motionless. The consequences were at this point made clear to Ali which he acknowledged he understood. When his birth name was called a second time, Ali again did not step forward. 

“I am proud of the title ‘World Heavyweight Champion’ which I won on February 25,1964. The holder of it should at all times have the courage of his convictions and carry out those convictions not only in the ring but throughout all phases of his life. It is in light of my own personal convictions that I take my stand in rejecting the call to be inducted into the armed services. I have searched my conscience, and find I cannot be true to my belief in my religion by accepting such a call. I strongly object to the fact that so many newspapers have given the American public and the world the impression that I have only two alternatives in taking this stand- either I go to jail or go to the Army. There is another alternative, and that alternative is justice. In the end I am confident that justice will come my way, for the truth must eventually prevail.”                                        

-Muhammad Ali in a written statement to the press after refusing induction.

One hour after Ali refused induction, The New York State Athletic Commission suspended his license and withdrew recognition of him as Champion. Soon after, the rest all followed suit. 

On June 20 1967 Ali was tried for refusing induction into the United States Army and found guilty twenty minutes later, he was sentenced to the maximum allowable- Five years imprisonment. Following Ali’s convictions and sentencing, the judge confiscated Ali’s passport terminating his boxing career. 

With boxing no longer an option, Ali did other things to keep himself busy whilst he waited for the outcome of his appeals. He continued to attend Nation of Islam meetings across the country, he began touring college campuses giving speeches on the war and the teachings of the Nation. He also married his second wife Belinda Boyd. 

Whilst Ali’s case continued to go through appeals, Government surveillance on him continued and he actually went to prison for the first and only time in his life, sentenced to 10 days for driving without a license. Ali hated prison but was still willing to go for the considerably longer time of 5 years if necessary. 

“Jail is a bad place. I was there for about a week and it was terrible. The food is bad and there’s nothing good to do. You look out the window and everyone else seems so free. Things you take for granted like walking down the street or sleeping good you can’t do. A man’s got to be real serious about what he believes to say he’ll do that for five years but I was ready if I had to go.”

-Muhammad Ali. 

Ali was temporarily suspended from the Nation, after telling Elijah Muhammad he would not return to boxing, he then told a television programme he would if the money was right which Elijah Muhammad saw as betraying religion for the white man’s money, but he was soon allowed back with the discrepancy forgiven. 

Ali also tried his hand at theatre, appearing in a musical on Broadway. Praise flew in for his role, with words and phrases such as ‘does himself proud’, ‘innate dignity’, ‘likeable actor with humour and appealing sincerity’ used. Drama critic Richard Cook called it ‘a strangely dignified and impressive appearance. Ali sings distinctively and musically, and is much better at it than many other non-singing leading men who have taken top musical roles.’

Ali never gave up on the dream of regaining the Heavyweight championship he had never lost inside the ring, and behind the scenes people worked frantically to get him a license to fight. He came close to being allowed one in California, Nevada, Montana and Tijuana, Mexico but each time it fell through. 

All the while, public opinion towards the Vietnam war was changing. At first it had just been Ali and a load of long haired unwashed white hippies calling it wrong. But as the war continued, the body count continued to rise and the end of war still wasn’t in sight, a lot of people began to see the war and Ali differently. At the very least lots came to understand and respect his decision. No longer a draft dodging unpatriotic coward, he was a principled man who stood up for his beliefs and maybe he’d been right about that Vietnam War after all..

The unlikely destination for Ali’s triumphant return to boxing was Atlanta, Georgia. There was no state athletic commission in Georgia, just a mayor who went along with it for the black votes which were controlled by the black state senator who had cut himself a piece of the promotion. Georgia’s governor and several members in congress tried to get the bout stopped but it was in vain, after a 8 round exhibition went off without any hitches, Muhammad Ali was back.

Muhammad Ali was out the ring for 3 years, 7 months and 4 days. He’d been 25 for a couple months when his licence was taken and he was a few months shy of 29 when he could fight again. 

1,314 days in which the greatest boxer in the world wasn’t able to box, the world and history deprived of the chance to see Ali at the peak of his powers. Ali was not like the world champions of today who box maximum 2 times a year, he was extremely active. In 1966 he fought five times as defending champion, the following year he fought a 15 rounder with Terrell then six weeks later he was back in action. 

During Ali’s exile, we missed out on atleast 10 fights. When the ban came into force Ali was just getting into his prime, just turned 25, the gulf between him and the rest of the field was growing. Ali in his early years had been more prone to showboating at the wrong moment and getting caught and dropped. But since winning the title, those errors had completely gone. His experience was growing, aswell as his strength and his size and fighters just could not tag him clean.

To have a chance in a fight, you have to be able to hit your opponent. Ali as champion before his exile, would not give his opponents that chance, he was simply too fast. 

Ali on his return would be a different Ali, not the same fighter. Over 3 and a half years of inactivity meant that Ali’s legs were never the same, he could not bounce and move on them for 15 rounds like before. Though still fast, he was not as elusive, fighters would now get that chance to tag him. Only what they found was that Ali had replaced his ability to avoid punches with an ability to take punches. And in place of unmatched legs that would dance him away from punches for 15 rounds, was a chin and a heart that were also unmatchable.

Ali in his time in exile had transcended the sport, he was more than Boxing, more than Sport. He was a figure who stood for believing in something and standing up for what you think is right no matter the consequences. His popularity which went outside of the usual boxing crowd due to his college tours, religion and anti-war views meant he had more earning power than ever before. And Ali earned more for the comeback fight than he did in any of his previous World title fights. 

The opponent for the comeback fight was Jerry Quarry who the year before had been in the Ring Magazine fight of the year when he challenged Joe Frazier for his world title, being stopped after the 7th round on cuts. He was considered the best White Heavyweight in the world, a tough fighter with very good punching power.

“I’m not just fighting one man. I’m fighting a lot of men, showing them here is one man they couldn’t conquer. Lose this one and it won’t just be a loss to me. So many millions throughout the world will feel sad, they’ll feel like they’ve been defeated. If I lose, for the rest of my life I won’t be free. I’ll have to listen to how was I bum and how I joined the wrong movement. I’m fighting for my freedom.”  

 -Muhammad Ali before his comeback fight.

For the first time in his career, Ali was facing a fighter younger than himself, a top bracket fighter who Joe Frazier said would have been World Champion if he didn’t cut so easily. And it was a cut that would decide this fight.

Ali dominated the first round in front of a buoyant mostly black crowd including some of the biggest names in Black America at the time. But in the 2nd round his pace had slowed and Quarry hit him with a big hook to the body. In round 3 Ali was standing and trading with Quarry, no longer on his toes, which gave Quarry a great cause for optimism. But that round was the final round of the fight, Ali had opened a huge cut over Quarry’s eye and the referee ruled it was too bad to continue. 

Ali had taken a solid first step to recapturing his crown, but his doctor Ferdie Pacheco observes the changes that occurred in Ali as a fighter pre and post exile: “When Ali was young he was the best physical specimen I’ve ever seen. If God sat down to create the perfect body for a fighter, anatomically and physiologically, he’d have created Ali. Every test I did on him was a fine line of perfect. His blood pressure and pulse were like a snake. His speed and reflexes were unbelievable. His face was rounded, with no sharp edges to cut, and on top of that his skin was rough. In those days I was Ali’s doctor in case something happened but it never did. After the layoff it was a different story. After the layoff his hands went soft. When Ali threw punches in fights he was in pain so before each fight we’d numb his hands with shots. His legs were a more serious problem. The legs are the first thing to go in a fighter. And when Ali went into exile, he lost his legs. Before that he’d been so fast, you couldn’t catch him, he’d never take punches. He’d been knocked down but he’d never been hurt or taken a beating. In the gym he’d work with Luis Rodriguez, the fastest welterweight in the world, and Luis couldn’t hit him. When he lost his legs, he lost his first line of defence.”

What he lost in speed he would gain in experience and in-ring intelligence. Referee Arthur Mercante said of the second coming of Ali: “Ali knew all the tricks. He was the best fighter I ever saw in terms of clinching. Not only did he use it to rest, but he was big and strong and knew how to lean on opponents and push and shove and pull to tire them out. Ali was so smart. Most guys are just in there fighting, but Ali had a sense of everything that was happening, almost as though he was sitting at ringside analysing the fight while he fought it.”

Round Four- vs Henry Cooper I June 18 1963

A 12 year old Cassius Clay's first introduction to boxing came when his bike was stolen and he was advised by Joe E. Martin, a Police Officer and boxing coach, that he better learn how to fight if he wanted to ‘whup whoever took it’. From there he went on to have an outstanding Amateur career, winning six Kentucky Golden Gloves titles, two national Golden Gloves titles (fitting for a kid nicknamed GG by his mother, due to that being the sound he would always make in his crib) and an AAU National Title before his Amateur Career culminated at the 1960 Olympic Games in Rome, where an 18 year old Clay won Gold for America in the Light Heavyweight Category (”To make America the greatest is my goal, so I beat the Russian and I beat the Pole”).

Reports of his complete Amateur record vary from 100-5 to 137-7, there are even claims he had in the region of 175 amateur bouts. Due to less than stellar record keeping at the time, we’ll never know the exact figure, but what we can be sure of is- he won a lot and he lost rarely. 

“I’m the double Greatest. Not only do I knock ‘em out, I pick the round.”               

-Cassius Clay.

Ali then Clay first met Angelo Dundee in 1957, when the 15-year old Clay set out to him his plan for future Olympic gold and the World Heavyweight Championship. At the end of 1960 he became Clay’s trainer and was in his corner from his 2nd fight to his last (missing only the Ellis fight when he was in the opponent’s corner). The partnership was one of the greatest in the sport’s history. Dundee is renowned as one of the greatest trainers ever working with 16 World Champions and he knew exactly how to treat Ali never dictating to him as Archie Moore had previously tried which only caused him to rebel.

Ali said of Dundee: “Angelo Dundee was with me from my 2nd pro fight. And no matter what happened after that, he was always my friend. He never interfered with my personal life. There was no bossing, no telling me what to do and not do, in or out the ring. He was there when I needed him, and he always treated me with respect. There just wasn’t any problem ever between us.” Dundee knew what a great fighter he had on his hands when Clay sparred with Ingemar Johansson. Clay was 19 with just four fights under his belt, Johansson was preparing for a third fight with Floyd Patterson looking to become 2-time World Champion. 

“When he sparred with Johansson, it was the greatest defensive boxing exhibition I’ve ever seen. Here was a boy who’d had four professional fights, and he made a monkey out of Johansson. I’d never seen anything like it before, and I’ve never seen anything like it since.”                                                                    

-Gil Rogin, writer for Sports Illustrated.

In his early years after turning professional, the 4th round was a good one for Ali then Clay. His first ever stoppage came in the 4th in his 2nd pro fight against Herb Siler. After being dropped for the first time in his 11th fight against Sonny Banks he came off the canvas to stop his man in the 4th. He stopped his next two opponents also in that round and then did the same against his former trainer Archie Moore. Former World Light Heavyweight Champion Moore was the only man to fight both the great Rocky Marciano and the great Muhammad Ali. He was the second of only 2 men to put The Rock on the floor but by the time he fought Clay he was a month shy of his 46th Birthday and fighting his 218th pro fight. He would fight only once more with the Clay fight being his 23rd and final loss. Clay predicted “Moore must fall in Four” and just like against Banks, his fourth round prediction proved accurate.

Ali fought sixteen times outside the US, the first being against Henry Cooper at Wembley Stadium, London. Cooper was Ali’s final preparation fight before he’d fight for the World Title eight months later against Sonny Liston. Cooper was an experienced 33 year old with 27 wins in 36 fights. The Commonwealth Champion was matched against the 21-year old Clay by Clay’s management to give him new experience against a tough opponent.

Clay predicted Cooper would take him 5 rounds to knock out. That prediction didn’t look likely when right at the end of the 4th round he was hit by ‘Enry’s Hammer’ a left hook which landed flush on Clay’s jaw, lifting him off the canvas and down into the ropes where he fell from the middle rope all the way down to the floor. The bell to end the round sounded and he stumbled back to his corner.

Clay had given Cooper a very bad cut after 2 rounds but seemed to be in no rush to try and get the fight stopped, perhaps wanting to make good on his 5th round prediction. In the 3rd and 4th he threw very little instead clowning with his hands down, taunting and dancing. The big punch looked as though it would turn the tide of the fight giving the Englishman a shock upset but the ropes prevented Clay from having a heavy fall and the bell sounded to end the round just after the punch was landed. 

Clay’s head was still scrambled when he was sat on his stool so Dundee put some smelling salts under his nose which would have resulted in a DQ had he been caught. He also noticed a small tear in Clay’s gloves so he tugged at the tear trying to buy his fighter more time by needing the gloves replaced. This bought him only an extra six seconds as the gloves were ultimately not replaced but nonetheless Clay was fully recovered for the start of the 5th round.

He boxed aggressively and busted Cooper’s nasty cut wide open, spreading blood all over his face and the referee had no choice but to stop the bout. Clay promised Cooper a rematch if he was to beat Liston and become World Champion and he did, fighting him again in London this time at Highbury Stadium. Now Ali, he boxed much more carefully this time, not letting Cooper hit him on the inside, keeping his man tied up and staying concentrated throughout the bout which he won in 7. 

Round Five- vs Sonny Liston I February 25 1964

“When the referee was giving us instructions, Liston was giving me that stare. And I won’t lie I was scared. Sonny Liston was one of the greatest fighters of all time. He hit hard and he was fixing to kill me. It frightened me, knowing how hard he hit. But I was there; I didn’t have no choice but to go out and fight.”                 

-Muhammad ALI.

He was an Olympic Gold Medallist, with lots of amateur experience and a 19-0 (15KOs) boxing record. But still despite this, Cassius Clay couldn’t fight. That was the view of many Boxing writers. He was better at talking than he was at fighting. He didn’t hit hard. He didn't fight like any Heavyweight they’d ever seen before. He’d been dropped twice already in his short career by fighters who were way below the calibre of Sonny Liston, he’d won a close and unpopular unanimous decision against Doug Jones. It was unheard of for someone to fight for the World Heavyweight title after just 19 fights and when Liston got his hands on him it would surely be a short and vicious annihilation.

There’s no doubting Charles ‘Sonny’ Liston was one of the scariest men to ever step into the squared circle, he put fear in Clay like no one before or since had been able to do. Sonny was a gangster, a man moulded by violence, it was all he ever knew. “The only thing my old man ever gave me was a beating” and the beatings were so severe that Sonny’s childhood scars were forever visible. As a young man he would be known to Police as the “Yellow Shirt Bandit” who led a gang of thugs in muggings and armed robberies. The yellow shirt apparently being the only one Liston owned.

Sonny learned to box in the state penitentiary where he would often face 2 or 3 men in the ring at once. Throughout his life he had frequent run-ins with the law, in 1956 Liston broke an officer’s knee, gashed his face and took his gun. Violence also came with Liston’s management team (who controlled his career as soon as he turned pro) in the form of Organised Crime. Liston for a time worked for them as an intimidator/enforcer.

Liston intimidated professional Heavyweights let alone average joes who owed the Mafia money. Sonny would enter the ring with towels inside his dressing gown to serve as extra padding to make him look even bulkier, especially around his enormous shoulders. He made his way to the centre of the ring for the pre-fight instructions with a towel draped over his head for added intimidation and would then proceed to stare into his opponents eyes/soul. From there it was a brave fighter who could meet Sonny’s eyes for more than a couple of seconds and a good actor to convince ‘The Big Bear’ and indeed himself, that he wasn’t scared to death. That is of course assuming his opponent was willing to meet his stare, one man who wasn’t was World Champion Floyd Patterson who kept his eyes down towards Sonny’s midriff.

Great fighters often have one exceptional quality that gives them that edge over the rest of the field, be it speed, one punch KO power, reflexes etc. for Sonny it was his incredibly long reach. Sonny was six feet one inch tall with a 84 inch reach. Today’s WBC Heavyweight Champion Deontay ‘Bronze Bomber’ Wilder is six feet seven inches and his reach is 83 inches which shows how freakishly long Liston’s arms were. And at the end of his arm’s were 15 inch fists, the largest of any Heavyweight Champion.

Those huge fists were used to punishing effect, his left jab was so powerful people speculated whether he was actually left-handed fighting orthodox. Both his fists seemed equally potent and when he was finishing his opponent off he would switch- left hand, right hand, then back again. He landed hard, measured punches with extreme accuracy wasting no energy on wild, hurried punches and soon his opponent was on the floor.

Against Clay, Liston was making just his 2nd title defence, but he would no doubt have been champion years earlier if Cus D’Amato hadn’t steadfastly refused to let him face his fighter, the Champion Floyd Patterson. D’Amato stated this was due to Liston’s mob connections but mostly it was done to protect Floyd. Despite figures as high up as President John F Kennedy wanting to keep the belt away from Liston, eventually Liston was given his shot and he made short work of Patterson first to take the title (this took Sonny 126 seconds) and then to retain it in the rematch (130 seconds). Patterson would later be nicknamed ‘the Rabbit’ by Ali and he was certainly a rabbit caught in headlights here.

Liston was never allowed to escape his past, and there is the heartbreaking story of Liston arriving back at Philadelphia Airport as champion with a speech prepared, expecting to be greeted by a throng of supporters. No such welcome was waiting. Sonny found that nothing had changed and he wouldn’t be allowed to change, he would not be free of ‘The Big Bad Negro‘ label that had been cast on him. He was still hated by the media, by the White House, and by the American public (both white and black, the civil rights groups finding his image damaging to their cause). The Champion no one wanted was now even more unpopular than before.

Despite this, there was still a lot of people looking forward to watching him beat up that brash young black kid who wouldn’t shut up about how Great and pretty he was. More concerning for White America was who he now classed as a close friend, Malcolm X, a preacher for the Nation of Islam, known as the Black Muslims. Clay had been instantly receptive to the Nations teachings of self-respect and dignity for the Black Man (meaning no alcohol, drugs or white women) and Black Pride. What made them more unpopular with white people and some black people though was their being in favour of Black and White segregation (which was also supported by the Ku Klux Klan) and their definition of The White American as a Blue-eyed Devil.

Clay’s association with the Nation of Islam was known, but it hadn’t yet been officially announced to the world that he had become a full member (and the Nation were perfectly happy about this, they like many others thought Liston would destroy Clay which would have been humiliating for them).

The always unpopular Sonny Liston fighting Cassius Clay (who once divided opinion with his braggadocious statements but was now held in complete contempt by most due to his alignment with the Black Muslims) meant that this fight was without the typical Good Guy v Bad Guy narrative that typified  Heavyweight Title fights of the time. This caused an LA Times writer to observe it would be “the most popular fight since Hitler and Stalin—180 million Americans rooting for a double knockout.”

The fight was a foregone conclusion. It would be Liston. By Knockout. Early. One of many Ali haters in the boxing press wrote of Clay: “Only in this day of mediocrity could he be fighting for the World Heavyweight Championship. Only in this time of soap bubble promotion could anyone take him seriously when he steps into the ring with Sonny Liston.”

Clay was defiant; “If you want to lose your money, be a fool and bet on Sonny.” It seemed that's what everyone was doing, as Clay was a 7-1 underdog. Doctor Robbins (the Miami boxing commission’s physician) declared Clay “emotionally unbalanced, scared to death and liable to crack up at any moment.” after a wild performance at the weigh-in where a seemingly out of control Clay had his pulse measured at 110 beats per minute.

It’s the 5th Round now, the fight has gone further than anyone expected. Less surprisingly, Clay is in tremendous pain and he is being hit fairly regularly by Liston. This wasn't the case in the first 4 rounds as Clay danced around the ring, constantly moving, making Liston miss and landing lightning fast combinations of his own. In the 3rd Liston found himself cut for the first time in his career, a Clay combination forced a gash under both of Liston’s eyes, it’s been equivalated to the armour plate on a battleship being pierced.

But just when Clay looked in complete control, disaster struck. Clay had got on his forehead the solution Liston’s corner had applied to their man’s cuts and perspiration carried the substance down into both of Clay’s eyes (or atleast that’s one version of events. Another is that Liston’s handlers deliberately blinded Clay by rubbing illegal medication into Liston’s shoulders, which would then drip into his opponents eyes during a clinch. Two of Liston’s previous opponents Eddie Machen and Zora Folley complained of a burning sensation in their eyes when fighting Liston). And suddenly, just like that. He was in blinding pain, he couldn’t see and he was incredibly confused.

“This is the big one, daddy. Stay away from him, Run!”                               

-Angelo Dundee to his blinded fighter.

In a panic, Clay called on his trainer to cut his gloves off, he’d never experienced this before. His eyes were aflame and he suspected foul play (fuelled by Nation of Islam friends, he’d become increasingly paranoid Liston’s mob management would not allow him to win the fight).

Trainer Dundee kept his fighter's stinging, unseeing eyes on the prize. This was for the Championship of the World. Clay stepped off his stool for the fifth round. He was now going to fight one of the most fearsome, devastating punches in boxing history without the use of his eyes.

He took more punishment in this round than in the previous four, but despite this and despite Clay barely landing a blow of his own, it still goes down as one of the most legendary rounds of the most legendary career. Without his eyes (he could see only a faint shadow of The Big Bear) Clay circled and moved frantically around the ring, sticking out his long left arm, so he could feel the distance from Liston to stay out of range as best he could, he used that hand aswell to ruffle Liston and break his concentration. And he made it out the round. And now his eyes cleared. Going into the sixth, he had his sight back. And he was angry now.

“Here’s a fighter who’s supposed to be Godzilla, who will reign for maybe a thousand years. Nobody can stand up to him in the ring. Cassius can’t see, and still Liston couldn’t do anything with him. What can I say? Beethoven wrote some of his greatest symphonies when he was deaf. Why couldn’t Cassius Clay fight when he was blind?”                                                                               Ferdie Pacheco- Ali’s Physician and cornerman.

Round Six- vs Sonny Liston I February 25 1964

Clay hit Liston at will in the sixth, with blisteringly effective aggression he landed combination punches again and again. The champion was battered, beaten and bettered, unable to inflict any damage of his own. Liston was tired, he hadn’t been passed the 3rd round since 1960 and he’d trained for a short fight. The much younger man Clay was still fresh, still just as fast. As the round concluded, Liston sat on his stool for the final time that night.

“Wait a Minute, Wait a Minute, Sonny Liston is not coming out! Sonny Liston is not coming out! He’s out! The Winner and The New Heavyweight Champion of the world is CASSIUS CLAY”                                                                      

Howard Cosell- on colour commentary.

Clay became the first challenger since Jack Dempsey 45 years earlier to make the Heavyweight Champion quit on his stool. A shoulder injury Liston had brought with him into the fight was cited as the reason. This reason has always been disputed but a team of eight doctors who inspected Liston’s arm at the hospital afterwards aswell as Florida State Attorney Richard Gerstein were all in agreement, Liston’s arm was too badly damaged to continue fighting. He had a torn tendon which had bled down into the mass of the biceps, causing swelling and numbing in the arm.

Liston’s bum shoulder was the last thing on Clay’s mind. 39 days after his 22nd Birthday, he’d become the youngest fighter ever to take the Heavyweight Championship of the World from the Champion (Patterson won it in an Elimination Tournament after Marciano relinquished through retirement). He’d done it against the most fearsome, indestructible Heavyweight there’d ever been and in just his 20th professional outing.

“I am The Greatest! I shook up the World! I’m the greatest thing that ever lived. I don’t have a mark on my face, and I upset Sonny Liston, and I just turned Twenty-Two years old. I must be the greatest. I showed the world, I talk to God every day. I shook up the World. I’m the King of The World! I’m Pretty! I’m a Bad Man! I shook up the World! I shook up the World! I am The Greatest! I can’t be beat!”                                                                                                                       

-A jubilant Cassius Clay in the ring following his shock Triumph over Liston.

This was his final fight as Cassius Clay and this night marked the transition from boy to man. Due to his respect for Liston’s fighting abilities, for the first time he put together a complete performance, knowing he needed to be at his absolute best. 

Round Seven- vs Zora Folley March 22 1967

“This guy has a style all on his own. It’s far ahead of any fighter’s today. How could Dempsey, Tunney or any of them keep up? Louis wouldn’t have a chance, he was too slow, Marciano couldn’t get to him and would never get away from Ali’s jab. There’s just no way to train yourself for what he does. The moves, the speed, the punches, and the way he changes style every time you think you got him figured. The right hands Ali hit me with just had no business landing, but they did. They came from nowhere. Many times he was in the wrong position but he hit me anyway. I’ve never seen anyone who could do that. The knockdown punch was so fast that I never saw it. He has lots of snap, and when the punches land they dizzy your head; they fuzz up your mind. He’s smart. The trickiest fighter I’ve seen. He’s had 29 fights and acts like he’s had a hundred. He could write the book on boxing, and anyone that fights him should read it.”     

-A conquered Zora Folley waxes lyrical on Muhammad Ali, who he describes as the greatest fighter of all time.

After the masterpiece against Williams, even the biggest Ali critics were forced to grudgingly acknowledge his talent but in his very next fight Ali had them all madder than ever again. Just shy of a year after it was originally scheduled to happen, Ali faced Terrell in the infamous ‘What’s My Name?’ fight. 

Before the fight Ali took great offence to Terrell’s insistence on calling him Clay rather than Ali. Before their bout, Patterson had also called Ali ‘Clay’ and he responded by toying with the former World Champion and prolonging his beating rather than going for the knockout. He did the same thing here with Terrell only this time he shouted “What’s my name? What’s my name Uncle Tom” at him whilst beating him. The performance was Ali’s most maligned ever as critics lamented the way he had looked to humiliate his opponent by ensuring the one-sided fight went the distance rather than cutting short the beating by taking his man out or stepping on the gas so the referee could step in.

Instead Ali gave out as much punishment as he knew Terrell could take and there’s little doubt that if the bout had been scheduled for 30 rounds Ali would have carried his man so he could whup on him until the final bell. Sports writer Jerry Izenberg said of the bout: “If Ali was an evil person, that’s the kind of person he would have been all the time. It was a side to him that was so out of character that to this day I still find it hard to believe it was him. I was there and it was evil. He was trying to hurt Terrell and if you understand boxing you know that means something different to what the uninitiated think it means. Ali went out there to make it painful and humiliating for Terrell. It was a vicious, ugly, horrible fight.”

This time was the peak of Ali’s unpopularity, he ofcourse still had many loyal supporters but these were drowned out and dwarfed in number by those who now had him as America’s number 1 hate figure. A draft-dodging coward outside the ring and a bully inside it.

Ali was placed under surveillance by the US Government shortly after his “no quarrel with them Vietcong” remark. In August 1966 he had a special hearing in order to put forward his plea to be exempt to the draft as a conscientious objector to the Vietnam War on religious grounds. 

The hearing officer ruled that Ali was of ‘good character, morals and integrity, and sincere in his objection on religious grounds to participation in War of any form’. He recommended that Ali’s conscientious objector claim be sustained. This recommendation was ignored, his conscientious objector status was rejected.

Coming into the fight with Zora Folley, Ali realised the noose was tightening and this may be the last time he’d be allowed to fight. Again Ali was far too good for his opponent, who was over matched just like everyone was against Muhammad at this time. Ali dropped Foley in the fourth before he finished it in the 7th with a beautiful knockdown which left Folley flat on his face. Folley tried bravely to get back to his face but his legs were not with him and he stumbled around before crashing into the ropes.

And this was the last we would see of prime Muhammad Ali, the fighter most believe to be the Greatest Heavyweight if not boxer of all time. Though Ali would not show his great heart or great chin in the ring until he returned from exile, he did show his great skill. And in his footwork, jab, defence, counters and combinations you had the most skillful and talented fighter of all time. 

“Float Like A Butterfly, Sting Like A Bee! The Hands Can’t Hit What The Eyes Can’t See! Rumble Young Man Rumble AAH!”                                                      

-Muhammad Ali, often accompanied by Drew ‘Bundini’ Brown.

Ali’s footwork often worked in a circling pattern sequence which he had learned from his idol as a child, Sugar Ray Robinson. This footwork allowed him to cover lots of distance with minimum effort and each step gave him the chance to accelerate, pivot or change direction. Ali had one of, if not the best jab in history, he pushed off the back foot to close the distance and generate power then landed on his lead foot and pushed off it to pivot and dart back out of range.

Ali’s defence was even more unorthodox, he called it his lean back style. It relied on his extraordinary reflexes and creative movement. When his opponent attacked Ali would step back, slip the punch and drop his hands even further which encouraged them to get more aggressive. They would then overreach causing their shot to lose power and Ali would then take the weakened shots harmlessly on his shoulders or they would miss all together. Ali was such a good judge of distance he could make an opponent miss with one simple turn of his chin. With one simple movement he could take his head out of range whilst keeping himself in range to counter. Ali used footwork in conjunction with head movement to keep himself out of danger. His defensive footwork pattern was to step back, shift back, angle left, pivot, slip inside whilst changing his head position for each step taken. This often led to his opponents shot flying right past him whilst also putting Ali in a superior position with his opponent more open for Ali’s circling and jabbing. Whilst employing this footwork and movement he would also raise his right hand to block good hook punchers or raise his left hand to block boxers with a good cross. He preferred to parry or deflect his opponents punches rather than make them miss all together as it took more energy out of them. 

Ali would also modify his defensive footwork so it enabled him to go on the attack. Stepping back kept his rear hand much closer to his opponent and he would step back then leap into a cross. His effective counter punching came from his opponent beginning to anticipate that Ali would always retreat from their attack. At this point he would stop short of fully retreating. Leaning back and slipping inside he would then wait until he got the perfect distance and throw his counter right. As he moved his head back to avoid the oncoming punch, his hand would come up from below his opponents line of vision. Ali’s glove would arch over their shoulder and snap down on their head. This scored him a stream of knockdowns with his opponents never seeing the punch coming. 

Ali modified the footwork he took from Sugar Ray so that it enabled him to throw combinations whilst circling. His favourite was jab, jab, cross in which he used his footwork to generate momentum and increased speed which resulted in a surprising amount of power for a boxer up on his toes. 

"He was just so damn fast. When he was young, he moved his legs and hands at the same time. He threw his punches when he was in motion. He'd be out of punching range, and as he moved into range he'd already begun to throw the punch. So if you waited until he got into range to punch back, he beat you every time."                                                                                                                        

-George Chuvalo, Ali opponent in 1966.

"It's very hard to hit a moving target, and Ali moved all the time, with such grace, three minutes of every round for fifteen rounds. He never stopped. It was extraordinary.”                                                                                                        

-Floyd Patterson, Ali opponent in 1965.

“If you put the Muhammad Ali who fought Cleveland Williams and Zora Folley against the Muhammad Ali who fought Joe Frazier and George Foreman, the young Ali would win. When I was older I was more experienced, I was stronger. I had more belief in myself. Except for Liston the men I fought when I was young weren’t near the fighters that Frazier and Foreman were, Williams and Folley were light work. But I had my speed when I was young. I was faster on my legs, and my hands were faster. The young Ali would dance, move, get in and out. He’d beat the older Ali all around the ring. The older Ali wouldn’t quit. Against a young version of me, I’d use the rope-a-dope, make charges and try to knock him out. But I was better when I was young.”                                                         

-Muhammad Ali on two of the greatest fighters of all time, young Ali before Exile and old Ali after it.

“Ali before the layoff was a better fighter than Ali after. But what a lot of people don’t realise and it’s very sad is we never saw him at his peak. The Ali who fought Williams and Folley was the best he could be at that time, but he was still improving. He hadn’t lost any of his speed, but he was getting bigger and stronger and more experienced in the ring. He was 25 years old when they made him stop, those next 3 years would have been him at his peak. And if he’d continued getting better at the rate he was going, God only knows how great he would have been.”                                                                                                  

-Trainer Angelo Dundee.

“Ali was an absolute Genius in the ring. He was the fastest fighter who ever lived. Not the fastest Heavyweight- the fastest fighter. People say that Sugar Ray Robinson was the greatest fighter who ever lived and at Welterweight he was close to perfection, but when he moved up to Middleweight he was beatable. I took some fight films and measured Ray’s punches through a synchroniser. Sugar Ray threw his jab in eight and a half frames, Ali threw his in six and a half. If you made Sugar Ray Robinson a 200-pound fighter with no loss of speed or coordination, I still think Ali in his prime would have beaten him.”       

-Jim Jacobs, co-manager and close friend of Mike Tyson, once owned the largest fight film collection in the world.

“I honestly believe that Mike Tyson at his best was the second-greatest Heavyweight of all time, but he wasn’t Muhammad Ali. Mike is quick, but Ali was quicker. Mike has power, but Ali had the greatest chin ever. Mike is prone to frustration, which would be his achilles heel against Ali, because Ali was the greatest fighter in history at playing mind-games with his opponent. If Ali in his prime fought Mike at his best, I see Ali winning a decision; say, eight rounds to four, or nine to three.”                                                                                             

-Bill Cayton, co-manager of Mike Tyson.

“Ali had that special belief in himself that allowed him to impose his will on other fighters. This is a guy who took on three of the toughest heavyweights in history- Liston, Frazier and Foreman- and he beat them five out of six. The young Ali would have frustrated Mike. I see Ali coming out, jabbing, moving, talking a lot. If Mike had me in his corner and his head was screwed on right, it would be close. I’d advise Mike to keep his hands high, be elusive, slip, move in, wherever possible work the body. Lots of feints, because Ali was a terrific counter-puncher. Believe it or not, I’d work the jab, even if it was only to Ali’s chest. It would have been an interesting fight, with both guys missing a lot. But even with Mike at his best, I’d give the edge to Ali.”                                                                

-Kevin Rooney, Mike Tyson’s Trainer from 1982-1988. 

“Ali at his best beats Tyson at his best. At his core, Ali is a much stronger, more stable person. Probably, the way he’d have fought Mike was to rely on what he did best: jab, score from the outside, stay off the ropes, show a lot of side-to-side movement, neutralise the pressure, make Mike pay when he missed, tie him up when he got inside. After a while, Mike would get anxious and be throwing one punch at a time. Then I think he’d break down mentally, which is the area Ali was strongest. And when that happened, Ali would start putting punches together to punch Mike downhill even more. Finally, when the time was right, without it being too dangerous, Ali would give Mike a reason to fall. I think Ali would knock him out in the ninth or tenth round. But before that, Mike might get so discouraged and beaten mentally that he’d quit the way Liston did.”                                          

-Teddy Atlas, trainer who worked with Mike Tyson at the beginning of his career.

“If fighters had a schedule like baseball teams and you could match the greatest Heavyweights of all time at their peak, so Ali was in a league with Jack Johnson, Joe Louis, Jack Dempsey, Rocky Marciano, Gene Tunney, you know who the best Heavyweights are, you can put them all on the list. Ali wouldn’t be undefeated; there are guys who would give him trouble on a given night. But I think when the season was over, Ali would be in First Place.”                               

-Mike Katz, Boxing Writer.

Round Eight- vs George Foreman October 30 1974

Muhammad Ali fought just 20 rounds in 1974, in comparison to 48 the year before and 60 the year before that. 20 rounds and 2 fights. There would be no filler fights this year, no fights Ali could coast to points wins in. This time the only fights were against the very best. First Joe Frazier and then George Foreman, Heavyweight Champion of The World.

Muhammad Ali would face George Foreman in Zaire, Africa for the unheard of sum of $5 Million dollars. Don King who was in prison whilst the Fight of The Century was taking place, and reportedly listened to the fight on a radio now had Ali and Foreman signed up to fight for him on the premise each man got 5 Million apiece.

Don King had to shop around to find a country willing to put up such a sum but he found it in Zaire, a country run by President and Dictator Mobutu who was persuaded that hosting the bout in his nation would be high profile exposure for Zaire and would strengthen his regime. Though it was actually Colonel Gaddafi, dictator and leader of Libya who provided the purse money for the athletes and covered other major expenses.

The fight held lots of parallels to Ali’s first fight with Sonny Liston. It was taking place exactly 10 years on. This would be Ali’s 18th fight since his comeback, a similar number to the number of pro fights Ali had had when facing Liston. Ali again was an enormous underdog given no chance against a vicious knockout puncher.

Foreman was 40-0 with a huge 37 knockouts, he was suspected to be maybe the hardest punching boxer, ever. The power he hit the punchbags with was frightening. He also seemed to come from the Sonny Liston school of intimidation. The stare. Words few but full of menace. He was even an old sparring partner of Sonny’s and clearly had picked up a few things as he was considered sneering, elusive and anti-social by the press.

But Foreman surely was not going to befall the same fate as his old mentor. Ali was young back when he beat Liston, fast as lightning, with the stamina to dance and move all night. Liston was an ageing fighter, an old man with question marks over how old, but atleast 32. This time it was Ali who was the 32-year old with his best days clearly behind him fighting Foreman the younger, better man.

Ali going into the Liston fight had won 15 of his 19 previous fights inside the distance. Coming into the Foreman fight he couldn’t punch anymore, his power had gone, his last five fights had gone the distance, and he’d lost one of them. Foreman on the other hand, he’d stopped 24 consecutive opponents. Of those 24 stoppages only 2 had come past the 4th round with 6 in the first round, 11 in the 2nd, 3 in the 3rd and 2 in the 4th.

Two of those incredible 11 2nd round finishes had come against Joe Frazier and Ken Norton, two men who had previously beaten Ali. Ali had fought 27 hard rounds against Frazier being dropped once and never knocking his man down, Foreman put Frazier down six times in 5 minutes. Ali had fought 24 hard rounds against Norton having his jaw broken and never knocking him down, Foreman put Norton down three times in 5 minutes. More evidence that Foreman and Ali would be another mismatch in favour of the champion who looked set to reign for a very long time.

But then styles make fights. Foreman could keep the shorter man Frazier from hitting him in a way that Ali couldn’t due to a difference in defensive approach. Whereas Ali relied on his reflexes to keep the shots from landing, Foreman preferred to not let his man throw atall. He blocked the opponent from throwing by pushing their arms and shoulders back so they couldn’t throw the punch. Frazier being under 6 foot and aswell fighting in a crouching style made him ideally suited for Foreman to push down on his shoulders and arms. Foreman would use his long, strong arms to physically shove Frazier back and stop him from getting inside.

Ken Norton was allowed to come forward against Ali, as Ali didn’t have the big punch of a Foreman or a Shavers to back him up. Norton was known to freeze against big punchers, they scared him but against Ali he was always able to be the best version of himself.

In the build-up to Ali v Foreman in Zaire, the fight billed as ‘The Rumble In The Jungle’ there was no acknowledgement of Ali’s ability to take a punch, only Foreman’s ability to administer one. It was not conceived as a possibility that Ali would be able to absorb many if any punches from George.

There was one major difference pre-fight between this fight and the Liston fight, before this fight just as before that one, the press knew Ali would lose, knew he would be knocked out, but after following his career for so long, unlike back then they now didn’t want it to happen, they no longer wanted to see him badly hurt which was surely the only outcome.

They weren’t the only ones concerned. Herbert Muhammad, Ali’s long-time manager and son of Nation of Islam leader Elijah Muhammad, gave money to someone in his entourage to give to the referee under the understanding that he would stop the fight if Ali was in danger of being seriously hurt, knowing he’d be too proud to quit. Whether this money ever reached the referee is unknown.

Ali on the other hand, didn’t seem concerned in the slightest, always utterly convinced he would win. He looked at a list of the men who’d been unable to stop the George wrecking machine and dismissed them as nobodies until he reached Vernon Clay. “Clay? he might have been good.”

You think the World was shocked when Nixon resigned? Wait ‘till I whup George Foreman’s behind.                                                            

-Ali with some pre-fight rhyming.

George Foreman had loved Ali as a teenager and when he got into boxing to positively channel his want to fight and bully, he originally wanted to dance like Ali and try to copy that style. His trainer however, had a different style in mind “push him off, hit him hard and knock him out” so that became the George Foreman way, and he did it more effectively than anyone. 

Foreman was certain Ali would be another quick knockout, he had no reason in his own mind to think it would be any different to his recent fights and he was perfectly okay with knocking out his former hero. Foreman had at this time not yet found God and was clearly struggling to find the man he wanted to be. At the time he was mean, angry and seemed to enjoy intimidating people. 

“Ali boma ye! Ali boma ye!”                                                                                

-The chant Zaireans took up in the build-up to the fight and on fight night itself. It meant ‘Ali, kill him!’

The bout was originally scheduled for September 24 but had to be pushed back as Foreman took an accidental elbow in sparring, slicing open a cut above his right eye. The rescheduled fight would now take place on October 30 at 4 in the morning. October 30th would be Ali’s 55th day in Zaire, he had spent it surrounded by people, mixing with locals, giving impromptu press conferences every day. Foreman however spent much of his time in Zaire, secluded and away from the people. 

Like many unusual destinations for sporting events, a murkiness did not lie too far down from the surface. J.J Grimond, The New York Times’ African correspondent at the time, an American living in Zaire tells this story of how President Mobutu dealt with crime in the build-up to the fight, with its swathes of white reporters and watching eyes it would bring on the nation. “It is an amazing structure (Stade du 20 mai, the venue of the fight), do not ignore the design. It is not just a place for receiving people but for processing them, and if necessary, disposing of them. Last spring the crime wave grew so intense, a nightmare for Mobutu if foreigners arriving for the fight should get mugged on masse. So he rounded up 300 of the worst criminals he could find, and locked them in the holding rooms under the stadium. 50 of the 300 were killed. Right there on the stone floor of the stadium. The executions took place at random, no listing them, they just eliminated the nearest 50. The randomness was more desirable. Fear among criminals would this way spread deeper. 250 were let go so they would tell their friends of the massacre. The crime rate is now down. Mobutuism. Africa is shaped like a pistol, say the people here, and Zaire is the trigger. Enjoy the stadium.”

The mood in Ali’s dressing room before the fight could be compared to that of a wake. Silent, glum expressions everywhere you looked. There was fear amongst those present which included Ali’s friends and reporters, in their mind Ali’s walk to the ring would be like walking to the gallows on death row. Ali however saw it differently as the minutes counted down: ”There’s nothing to be scared of. Getting into the ring with Liston beats anything I have had to do again. Except for living with threats against my life after the death of Malcolm X. Real death threats. No I have no fear of tonight.”

In Foreman’s dressing room, Foreman and his team joined hands and prayed. Archie Moore, a former trainer of Ali in the days of Cassius Clay, now a trainer for Foreman prayed Foreman wouldn’t kill Ali: “I really felt that was a possibility.”

30 seconds in Ali lands a clearly hard shot straight into the middle of Foreman’s face which causes the crowd to roar. It must be the hardest punch Foreman has took in years with most men not having the dare to crack Big George like that, let alone so early in the 1st round. The first round was a good one for Ali, he landed some good shots but he’d been concerned at how successful Foreman had been at cutting the ring on him. He’d been pressured back to the ropes a few times and without his guard in position to protect he’d been forced to take some punishment. After 1 round there was another, quite alarming concern for Ali.

“George was following me too close, cutting off the ring. In the first round I used more energy staying away from him than he used chasing me. I was tireder than I should have been with fourteen rounds to go. I knew I couldn’t keep dancing, because by the middle of the fight I’d be really tired and George would get me.”  

-Ali.

So after one round Ali’s tactics of dancing and moving were out the window. The ring was too slow and he was aware he’d gas out. So from the 2nd round on, he tried a new tactic which he would use in sparring when he got tired. He leant on the ropes and Foreman, thinking he had his man right where he wanted him began throwing lots of leather. From the very beginning this struck everyone as a very bad tactic from Ali. Joe Frazier on commentary said Ali must get off the ropes or Foreman will walk him down and Ali’s own trainer Angelo Dundee had never discussed or considered this a viable option to win the fight, he screamed at his fighter to get off the ropes. But Ali continued his strategy.

By entering the 3rd round it became Foreman’s longest fight for exactly 3 years. Ali continued to land many, fast clean punches. Foreman’s defence was none existent, he didn’t use head movement and Ali was bouncing fast combinations off his head, either countering or beating George to the punch. Foreman on the other hand was having little success. Ali was leaning way back into the ropes, giving himself room to pull his head back far enough so Foreman’s hooks would fly infront of his face.

“That all you got George? They told me you could punch. Show me something, sucker! you ain’t got nothing.”                                                                                 

-Ali to Foreman throughout the fight.

As Ali continued to talk to George anytime they were in close, taunting him Foreman started to get frustrated throwing big, wild punches that missed Ali comfortably. The first four rounds all went to Ali as Foreman already seemed to be visibly tiring. Ali would taunt Foreman whenever he missed as he continued to lean back on the ropes, covering up using his big, strong arms to block shots and protect his body and face. After 2 and half minutes on the ropes, throwing very little, Ali suddenly got onto the attack, punching hard at the tired Foreman, landing with ease. Ali was completely controlling the destiny of the fight.

Ali’s speed was easily outlasting Foreman’s strength. Foreman’s punches were slow and Ali took them with ease as he continued to talk to Foreman. In the last minute of Round 8 Ali was backed up in a corner, very much on the defensive, Foreman was concentrating on headhunting and Ali’s gloves were up protecting his face. Foreman’s pawing, blocking motion was stopping Ali from throwing any punches at this point and there was a lot of pushing and holding. Then suddenly with 20 seconds of the round remaining Ali absolutely exploded into a life, cannoning a combination off Foreman’s face, Foreman came forward again only to be caught by a hard shot and then another, then circling round, the sudden use of movement confused Foreman and Ali then landed a 5-punch combination. Whilst Ali punches he dances away, circling as he throws keeping Foreman off balance. A powerful whipping hook that Ali threw from behind his back is the most effective punch of the lot and at this point Foreman is done. Ali finishes the job with a cross and Foreman is sent towards the canvas for the first time.

Foreman his arms flailing wildly seems to fall in slow motion as if gravity itself cannot quite comprehend what is happening and can’t yet accept it. Ali stands poised ready to land another blow, but knowing he doesn’t have to. He waits for the inevitable crash as Foreman hits the deck. The roar is deafening, Foreman looks stunned, bemused as if he himself didn’t believe he could ever find himself in this situation. He lies flat on his back with his head raised listening to the count. On 7 he makes his attempt to get up but the count beats him and after 2,619 days without the title he never lost in the ring, Muhammad Ali is the Heavyweight Champion of the World, again.

“Muhammad Ali has done it! Muhammad Ali has done it! The Great Man has done it! This is the most joyous scenes ever seen in the history of boxing! This is an incredible scene. The place is going wild! Muhammad Ali has won! Muhammad Ali has won! By a knockdown! By a knockdown! The thing they said was impossible is done!”                                                                                          

-David Frost on commentary.

It was surely the greatest night for Ali and his supporters and the finest fight and win of his career. The way in which he controlled the night from the outset confirmed his place as one of the greatest boxing tacticians of all time with his plan executed to perfection. 

From the off he hit Foreman with right hand crosses, a punch Foreman hadn’t bargained for as noone in sparring dared try to land it on him, due to it being considered a somewhat disrespectful punch to land, owing to the amount of time it takes to travel the opponent can clearly see it coming. But due to Ali’s great speed Foreman still couldn’t stop it from landing.

Then Ali immediately sensed the danger of fatigue and set a trap for Foreman. The rope-a-dope as it would become known. What made this Foreman loss so remarkable is he lost in a way that should have guaranteed him a win, by getting to continuously hit Ali. Ali’s footwork, his dancing and movement, that was supposed to be the problem. Instead Ali danced and moved less than he ever had before, stayed against the ropes and let Foreman pound on him. Ali took a few shots that hurt, how could he not facing one of the greatest punchers of all time, but he was able to block, deflect or turn away from most of them. The ones that hit, Ali braced for, he had a sense for the shots that would really hurt, this was easier against Foreman who threw extremely wide shots. So Ali would brace for them and take them, or otherwise he would go with the punches, moving back into the ropes and letting the ropes absorb the force. 

Aswell Ali never forgot about offence, he took every opportunity to throw straights at Foreman and this was highly effective, puffing Foreman’s eyes. And his taunting was also not without effect, it kept George angry and kept him coming forward without stopping to think whether this tactic was proving effective or not and whether he should look to try something else. The fight being held in Africa too, just added to the sense of magic and wonder at what Ali had been able to do. And made it really the definitive, perfect night in the career of the Greatest of All time and now 2-time Champion Muhammad Ali.

For Foreman, the night was ofcourse a complete and utter disaster. And it would leave scars that did not leave for a long time. Foreman’s self-belief and confidence had taken a huge hit, Ali had convinced him he couldn’t punch. Foreman went into a state of crazy delusion, claiming he was drugged or poisoned, refusing to accept reality- that he’d been beaten mentally and physically, out-thought and outfought by the older man.

In April 1975 Foreman announced his comeback from the Rumble In The Jungle in the most surreal of ways. He was going to fight 5 men in one night, one after the other, in 3-round bouts. Ali was present doing commentary. The night ended up being in a way even more embarrassing for George than that night in Zaire. Certainly more bizarre anyway.

The night began with Foreman throwing a fold-up chair at Ali before he’d even got into the ring, Ali had already bugged him and he was just getting started. His first opponent was Alonzo Johnson, a fighter with just one fight in the last 10 years. Foreman knocked him out in the 2nd but was shocked to find this didn’t make the crowd chant for him. They began to chant “Ali! Ali!” whilst Ali as I’m sure you can imagine conducted his orchestra, chanting along. 

Next up was Jerry Judge a fighter with a 15-3-1 record. Foreman dropped him in the 2nd and the kid was counted out. Then in one of many bizarre moments that night, a few seconds after Foreman and Judge were going through the usual post fight routine of hugging they were suddenly pushing each other and then throwing punches at each other. They fell back into the ropes and then Judge lifted Foreman off his feet and threw him to the floor. With both men on the floor, the respective corners came into the ring to break it up and then began to push each other. The crowd booed Foreman and debris was thrown into the ring. Foreman raised his arms as if this was what he hoped to achieve, but his face said different. Up went the ‘Ali!’ chants again.

The third opponent was Terry Daniels, a fighter who’d won 28 of his first 33 fights up to fighting Frazier for the World title. After losing to Frazier in the 4th he then lost 13 of 19 fights going into this fight with Foreman.  The referee stopped the bout in the 2nd at Foreman’s insistence as he felt Daniels was taking too much punishment. Daniels disagreed and wanted to fight on. His handlers poured into the ring angry with the stoppage and Daniels stood with his hands on his hips. As Foreman turned round to see Daniels stood infront of him, for the 2nd time Foreman continued fighting with his opponent after he’d won and again hell broke lose. With both entourages in the ring, this time punches were thrown between them with one of Foreman’s guys landing a punch on one of Daniels’. Foreman took exception to this, angrily pushing his own corner man across the ring, his cousin. 

The fourth opponent was Charley Polite, a fighter with a 13-30-3 record. Polite mimicked kissing Foreman as the fighters received instructions. Foreman who’d once stared down Joe Frazier with an eery calm now just 2 years later was being mocked and shown a total lack of respect by a guy with 13 wins from 46 bouts. It was about to get worse. Polite lasted the 3 rounds with Foreman and the worst thing was he survived using Ali’s rope-a-dope tactics. He lay on the ropes whilst Ali in his commentator/cheerleader role shouted instructions to Polite. Instructions Polite followed. Ali would shout “Lay on the ropes! Lay on the ropes! Yeaaa!” during the bout and give a loud, enthusiastic “Wooo!” whenever Polite rallied with some shots. 

The final opponent was Boone Kirkman, a man Foreman beat in 2 rounds in 1970. Kirkman also lasted the 3 rounds, but finally, this time when Foreman and his opponent embraced at the end, they didn’t start fighting again after. Foreman then looked to trash talk with Ali, only to find Ali had already left the arena, having to go catch a flight. 

The night had been a total humiliation for Foreman, who behaved more bizarrely as the night went on. He was jumping around, dancing, throwing silly amateurish punches, walking around in between fights, staring out into the crowd, shaking his head, looking totally baffled as to how it had all come to this in such a short space of time. 

I have chose to highlight this night as well as the Rumble In The Jungle, one because it was a highly amusing spectacle (though not for Foreman fans), highly bizarre and never to be repeated. Also because it shows Ali didn’t just beat Foreman for one night in Zaire, he continued to beat him mentally day after day, night after night for a long time.

Foreman was the perfect Ali opponent. Ali took the big, bad monster. A man who couldn’t be beat or hurt and he took all that strength and fear and turned it round on Foreman until he was made to look very foolish. 

If the Ali defeat did serious damage to Foreman’s psyche it was nothing to the damage done in his next defeat against Jimmy Young in 1977. After losing a decision Foreman suffered exhaustion and heatstroke in the dressing room and left boxing aged 28. He found God and as a born-again Christian became a Reverend. 10 years later aged 38 he returned to boxing and after losing 2 title fights on points against Evander Holyfield and Tommy Morrison. On the third attempt, he won back the belt he lost exactly 20 years prior to Ali in Zaire aged 45 and he would reign as world champion until he was nearly 49. 

Foreman became a new man after finding God and always spoke very fondly of Ali. He considered Ali to be his best friend and was an honorary pallbearer at his funeral.

Round Nine- vs Joe Frazier  II  January 28 1974

1974 began with Ali v Frazier II, the fight in between The Fight of The Century and Thrilla in Manilla. This was billed as Super Fight II and was the only 12-round fight between the pair and the only non world heavyweight title fight, with both men coming in on equal footing- as former World Champions and contenders needing a win to earn a shot at George Foreman.

Between The Fight of The Century and Super Fight II was nearly 3 years in which Ali fought 13 times, which puts in perspective people’s fume over Tyson Fury and Deontay Wilder fighting twice each and having a 14 month gap before their rematch presuming all goes ahead.

“I think that Ali is probably clowning, but there is no question in my mind that Joe Frazier is not clowning. They threw off their respective earpieces, microphones, Joe Frazier’s watch came off, there was a wrestling bout on the floor and we’re really very sorry this happened.”                                                                             

-A gleeful Howard Cosell on ABC’s Wide World of Sports as a brawl breaks out between Ali and Frazier.

Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier sitting next to each other analysing their first fight shortly before their second meeting in the ring. What could possibly go wrong? 

It was clear here that still 3 years on there was still no shortage of ill will between the pair. The tension was palpable in the studio as the two men and Cosell looked over their first fight. Ali acknowledged he had clowned too much in the first fight and promised he wouldn’t do so this time. He kept to his word and never clowned beyond one wink to the ringside reporters, but he appeared never to talk to Joe during this fight, it seemed in fact that the only one who did any taunting was Joe. 

On ABC’s Wide World of Sports, Ali did look at times to get under Joe’s skin (as Joe also did back to him) but he also had praise for him and again made clear with Joe present that the negative stuff he said about Joe was done to promote and sell the fight and that he didn’t really mean it. This seemed always to go in one ear and out the other with Joe who never accepted this explanation from Ali.

When it came time to analyse the 10th round, as Frazier landed a shot he  referenced Ali going to the hospital after the fight. This got Ali’s back up. “I went to the hospital for 10 minutes you went for a month now be quiet.” Ali quite rightly points out the irony of Frazier’s remark and then calls Frazier ignorant for it. This word deeply offends Frazier who stands up and over Ali repeating “Why you think I’m ignorant?” Ali still seated tells Frazier to “sit down Joe! Sit down quick Joe”. At this point Ali’s brother Rahman and another gentleman come over to the scene in order to protect the seated man and restrain Joe. Frazier then addresses Ali’s brother asking if “he’s in this too?” which causes Ali to get to his feet and quickly grab Joe around his back and shoulders pulling him to the floor. Ali seems quite clearly to still be playing around demonstrated in the comical way he grabbed him and the way he exclaimed “Quick Joe!”.

A brawl did however escalate on the floor, with Joe deadly serious, with the two men needing to be separated with in the end around a dozen men coming onto the set to try and split the pair up and then keep them apart. Frazier exited the studio not to return but not before he and Ali engaged in one final verbal spar before the programme was able to cut to commercial. 

Ali: Monday Night Boy!                                                                                

Frazier: Yeah, you be there!                                                                                

Ali: Monday Night!                                                                                        

Frazier: You be on time.

With the Wrestling match over it was time for the Boxing. Ali had Frazier hurt in the 2nd round wobbling his legs but a bizarre moment where the referee separated the fighters (as Ali moved in on a Frazier who’d been pressured back across the ring against the ropes) thinking he’d heard the bell long before it was due to ring enabled Frazier to completely recover before Ali could go for the kill. 

At the halfway point of the fight all 3 judges (2 judges, 1 ref) had Frazier winning just one of the opening six rounds. Ali was this time not taking any punishment from Frazier on the ropes, and he was engaging Frazier in a clinch time and again with Frazier either unable (due to the way Ali held his arms) or unwilling (trying to conserve energy for the later rounds) to fight out of the clinch by banging to the body. Frazier had been able to escape Ali’s clinch near every time in the first fight, being able to out manoeuvre him meant Frazier could continue his attacks up close and personal.

But instead this time Frazier waited for the referee to separate the fighters. Ali in the years since the first fight had been refining his grappling and had worked out a way to stifle Frazier in this position. Frazier was not hurting Ali as he had in the first fight with Ali dancing and moving rather than staying infront of Frazier as he had done for too much of the first fight. When Frazier did land, the shots didn’t seem to be nearly as impactful as in their first fight.

In the 6th round Frazier had begun to get frustrated and impatient. He neglected defence which allowed Ali to take full advantage hitting him at will and continuing to make an increasingly wild Frazier miss.  In the 7th and 8th the tide seemed to be changing. Frazier had more success in landing on Ali who had slowed right down. Frazier had begun to time Ali much more successfully, in both landing and avoiding punches. Ali had begun to look sluggish again, throwing shots without much speed or force. Frazier seemed at this stage poised to take command of the fight and dominate its second half as Ali had the first. He had begun talking to and taunting Ali for his lack of power and more concerning for Ali was Frazier was now breaking out of a tired looking Ali’s holds. Right on the bell to end the 8th Frazier landed a huge overhand right which knocked Ali back.

Coming into the 9th round one judge had it 4-3 Ali with one even, the other had it dead even at four rounds apiece and the referee also had it 4-3 Ali with one even. Frazier had won the last two rounds on all three scorecards. Frazier was talking to Ali before the 9th round commenced (this was in the days fighters would stand long before their minute in the corner was up), laughing and mocking him seemingly convinced he had his man right where he wanted him and in truth all the momentum was with him.

Frazier was ecstatic looking, dancing, waving Ali forward, he could hardly wait for the bell to ring. Referee Perez pretty much had to push Frazier back to prevent him from getting to Ali before the bell. Ali on the other hand had to be concerned, 3 years of hard work to get back at Frazier was in danger of being wasted as victory and a meeting with Foreman for the title looked to be slipping out of reach. 

The 9th round was key for Ali’s victory in this fight as he was able to stop Frazier coming back from a big deficit on the scorecards to lead on one and tie it up on the other two. Instead Ali won a round on all 3 scorecards for the first time since the Second Round. Ali no longer just allowed Frazier to push him back against the ropes, instead he pushed back, forcing Frazier back into the middle of the ring. Ali planted his feet and began boxing with Frazier, no longer willing to back off or dance away. Ali threw a 15-punch combo, hitting Frazier with a torrent of punches. 

Ali sensed the urgent need to change as the gameplan was no longer working, and he accepted the need to take risks and he did, willingly going toe to toe against Frazier. This aggressive approach from Ali resulted in him taking some punches back, but he gave out far more and had wrestled (quite literally, by moving Frazier back into centre ring whenever he got close to the ropes) back momentum in the fight. 

In the final 2 rounds Frazier searched desperately for the knockout, at times abandoning defence all together as he looked in vain to land the knockout blow. But it wasn’t to be for Frazier, as Ali moved, punched and held his way to the final bell. 

In the same way Ali had cancelled out Norton’s split decision win by winning the rematch via split decision, he had now cancelled out Frazier’s unanimous decision win with a unanimous decision of his own taking this fight: 7-4-1, 7-5 and 6-5-1 on the cards.

It was certainly the weakest fight of the trilogy by far, but that is judging a good fight against two of the best fights of all time. Frazier still had some success, landing good hard shots and clearly winning some rounds but Ali appeared now to have a much better tactical understanding of how to beat him and the damage Frazier was able to inflict was certainly a lot more limited.

Round Ten- vs Larry Holmes October 2 1980

60s Ali was the fastest, most skillful, most beautiful fighter. 70s Ali was the most resilient, most intelligent, and still the most beautiful fighter. But 80s Ali just should just never have been in a boxing ring and the reasons why he was can be looked at now.

Ali had said that black people needed to see one of their own get out on top. Sugar Ray Robinson lost his last fight via unanimous decision being dropped by a man who’d only ever knocked one fighter down before, Joe Louis was brutally beaten up in 8 rounds by Rocky Marciano. 

Ali seemed to have a chance to avoid that fate when he retired in 1979, a year after becoming the first 3-time World Heavyweight Champion in history, and oldest World Heavyweight Champion ever after winning back the belt he lost to Leon Spinks in a split decision by unanimous decision aged 36. He retired The Champ but two years later and a couple of months short of his 39th Birthday he was back trying to win the World Heavyweight title for an unprecedented 4th time against The Eastern Assassin, 35-0 Larry Holmes. 

People have differing opinions on when the ideal time was to retire for Ali’s health. Some say as far back as after The Rumble In the Jungle, for other’s The Thrilla In Manila was the final straw, or after the third Norton fight or the Shavers fight. But what everyone can unanimously agree on is: The Spinks rematch should have been the curtain coming down on the most glorious of careers. But it wasn’t.

Ali had spoken for years about retirement, how the next fight would be his last but when it came time to step away he always seemed to want more. But then, it seemed as though Ali would finally be able to stay away from fighting when he retired after beating Spinks, he could retire as Champion, the only 3-time champion and aswell having avenged all 3 of his losses.

From a sporting sense there was absolutely no more to gain from fighting on. From a monetary sense there was- a comeback would earn Ali millions ofcourse and much of the money Ali had gained fighting had gone. Ali was always interested in how much money he could make from a fight, but then once he’d made it he wasn’t exactly a stickler with it and hustlers and hangers-on (and they weren’t exactly in short supply) easily sniffed out his naivety and took whatever they could. 

There was also so much about boxing Ali loved. The adoring crowds, the competition. As Angelo Dundee puts it ‘It was in his blood-win or lose he loved boxing.” Boxing had made Ali the most famous man on Earth, it was the only thing that gave him a platform and stage big enough for what he required. This was emphasised by nearly 2 billion viewers tuning in for his comeback fight with Holmes. Ali loved fame, loved people and maybe feared without the boxing his fanfare would lessen as people moved on to new current athletes. 

Larry Holmes didn’t begin boxing until he was 19 years old, he turned pro in 1973 and was soon sparring with Ali and Frazier, holding his own. By the time he was meeting Ali in a proper fight, he was established as the number one fighter in the world after beating Ken Norton in a close, high quality 15-rounder. 

To get a license to fight Ali had a neurological evaluation to ensure he was healthy to fight as a slur in his speech had started to become noticeably apparent. Ali had tingling in his hands when he woke up in the morning and a hole in the membrane that could be enlarged with concussive blows to the head. The clinic’s evaluation was forwarded to the Nevada State Athletic Commission and Ali was granted a license with no follow up on the report. 

During his two years out the ring Ali’s weight had gone up to 255 pounds, for this fight he weighed in at 217, his lightest since The Rumble In The Jungle. But it was an illusion. Ali had been improperly prescribed medication for a supposed hypothyroid condition. The drug sped up his metabolism and messed with his body’s self cooling mechanisms. Ali lost a lot of weight and felt fatigued and sluggish. 

Ali was prescribed the drug Thyrolar and he took 3 a day believing the pills would be like vitamins. Thyrolar is a potentially lethal drug and noone taking it should engage in a professional fight. Ali was weak, fatigued and short of breath from round one on, he had strength only to lift his arms to protect himself, too fatigued to fight back. His body wasn’t able to cool itself properly and his temperature rose. This led to heat stroke with an intermediate period of slight stupor and maybe delirium. 

The fight lasted 10 rounds, of which Holmes won every one on all three judges cards. It was the only time Ali lost a fight without hearing the final bell. Herbert Muhammad gave the signal to end the fight and Dundee pulled his fighter out. But why had the fight taken place in the first place?

Anyone around Ali at the time could clearly have seen he wasn’t fit to fight anyone, let alone the Best Heavyweight on the planet at the time. Bernie Yuman, Ali’s friend and promotional manager explains: “Ali had a serenity about him before his fights, he’d be incredibly peaceful and serene. But this was different. He wasn’t peaceful, he was slow. He wasn’t serene, he was drugged out. He was a sick man.”

Not only were the drugs side effects potentially life threatening when paired with a boxing match, Dr. Charles Williams (who had previously been Elijah Muhammad’s doctor) diagnosis had also been speculative and incorrect. 

Ferdie Pacheco, who had left Ali’s camp after his fight with Earnie Shavers in 1977 was no longer onhand to protect him from Dr. Williams’ questionable ability. Luckily he was in Zaire in 1974, as he tells it: “In Zaire, he announced Ali had hypoglycemia (which you couldn’t diagnose without a battery of tests which weren’t available in Africa). The one thing you cannot in any way, shape or form do is give someone with hypoglycemia more sugar because whatever additional sugar you put in, you’ll get that much more sugar proportionally. And if you put enough sugar in, the patient will go into an insulin coma. His cure for Ali was to for him to eat peach cobbler and ice cream right before the fight. So what I said was ‘he can’t eat peach cobbler right before the fight because he could get punched in the stomach. Let’s make a sort of orange syrup and give it Ali between rounds.. And that bottle is still out in the jungle somewhere between N’Sele and Kinshasa.”

“All the people involved in this fight should've been arrested. This fight was an abomination, a crime. Ali is lucky he lived through the Holmes fight. Ali was a walking time bomb that night. He could have had anything from a heart attack to a stroke to all kinds of bleeding in the head. That fight was a horrible end for a great champion and years later I’m still pissed off about it.”                                   

-Ferdie Pacheco on Ali-Holmes.

Even without the effects of thyrolar, Ali was also fighting with early onset Parkinsons syndrome. His speech had deteriorated rapidly over the last few years with his words slowing and slurring. He blatantly should not have been fighting Larry Holmes but the reason he did becomes clearer with these two words: Don King.

Holmes was King’s fighter and a fight against Ali for his comeback fight meant money for Don. A win over Ali also cemented Holmes place as the The Man in the division, giving King a stranglehold over the Heavyweight Division. With King’s own money on the line this time rather than someone else’s it was essential for Don that the fight would take place and that Holmes should win.

“They sacrificed Ali. That’s all it was, a human sacrifice for money and power. And it was more than a matter of Ali getting beaten up. One of the great symbols of our time was tarnished. So many people- blacks, whites, Muslims, Americans, Africans, Asians- believed in Ali. And he was destroyed because of people who didn’t care one bit about the things he’d stood for his entire life.”                            

-John Schulian, Writer.

Holmes went into the fight knowing the same thing Ali knew all those years prior when he fought Cleveland Williams- he was fighting a man who had nothing left. Holmes cried after the fight in his dressing room and visited Ali’s hotel room telling him: “You’re still the greatest, I love you.”

“I want people to know I’m proud I learned my craft from Ali. I’m prouder of sparring with him when he was young than I am of beating him when he was old.”                                                                                                                         -Larry Holmes.

Holmes would rule the division until 1985, racking up a 48-0 record before fighting Michael Spinks. He’d already beaten his brother Leon in 3 rounds but he lost a unanimous decision then a split decision rematch to Michael and was therefore unable to match Rocky Marciano’s 49-0 record.

The day after the Ali-Holmes fight, Ali was called by Cus D’Amato who had watched the fight the night before with a 14-year old Mike Tyson. Cus introduced Mike to Ali as a ‘young black kid who is going to Heavyweight Champion of the world someday’. And he would be, just 5 years later. Over the phone Tyson vowed he would pay Holmes back for him when he grows up. He kept this promise knocking Holmes out in the 4th round in 1988. 

Incredibly, the Holmes fight wouldn’t be Ali’s last. That would come over a year later and a month shy of his 40th Birthday. The Nevada State Athletic Commission had begun hearings to determine whether Ali should be able to fight again due to his health. So Ali voluntarily relinquished his license to fight in Nevada and pledged not to seek a new one. This left him the rest of the world to fight in. 

 The fight took place in an unfinished arena in Nassau, The Bahamas against Trevor Berbick. Less than 7,500 people attended the fight, many at a heavily discounted $5, down from $50. The last stand of Muhammad Ali was also only available in 3 million American homes on closed circuit television. 

The boxing began late as people arriving to see the fight found they could not get in because the key to the main gate had been misplaced. When the key was found, it was discovered that there were no boxing gloves at the venue. There was also no bell to signal the end of a round; ultimately a hastily procured cowbell had to be used for this purpose. Because of the paucity of paying spectators Berbick refused to fight unless he was paid upfront. The fight started more than two hours behind schedule. 

Ali, Berbick and Tommy Hearns (who was on the undercard) had their own dressing rooms atleast. The rest of the fighters were assigned to a sweltering locker room in which they shadowboxed side by side. So Ali fought for the final time in gloves that had already been boxed in 5 times that night by other men. 

Against Berbick, a fighter much more limited than Holmes, Ali made the first 7 rounds competitive and was in the fight until he became exhausted at the end, comfortably losing the final rounds. But Ali did atleast go out on his feet rather than in his corner. He lost by unanimous decision for the first time since The Fight Of The Century a decade earlier.

Round Eleven- vs Leon Spinks I February 15 1978

The Thrilla In Manila had taken much of what Ali had left as a fighter, and what little he did have left after was taken in a extremely tough 15 rounder versus his old foe Ken Norton. But still, in those six successful post-Manila title defences, Ali whilst maybe being a mere shadow of what he was still- beat Chuck Wepner in a fight that inspired Sylvester Stallone to start writing a script for Rocky (Wepner knocked Ali down in the 9th round prompting him to go to his corner and tell his manager “Al, start the car. We're going to the bank. We are millionaires." To which Wepner's manager replied, "You better turn around. He's getting up and he looks pissed off."), knocked down British fighter Richard Dunn 5 times with Taekwondo Grandmaster Jhoon Rhee serving as his head coach (the punch Ali used to end the fight was called the ‘Acupunch’ and was taught to Rhee by Bruce Lee. Not a bad way to score the final knockout win of your career.), fought the ridiculously overmatched “Lion of Flanders”, the Heavyweight Champion of Belgium who drank plenty of champagne in his dressing room *before* the fight and won a 15-round unanimous decision against Earnie Shavers a man who coming into the fight had scored 52 of his 54 wins by knockout. Only Ali.

With George Foreman having fought his last fight for 10 years, Earnie Shavers was the hardest puncher in the division and is still one of the most revered punchers ever. He proved why in the 2nd round with a devastating overhand right which hurt Ali. “Next to Joe Frazier,” he would say “that was the hardest I ever got hit.” But Ali not for the first time used cunning successfully against a fighter. Shavers said “He wobbled, then he wobbled some more. He was so good at conning, I didn’t realise he was playing possum with me. I didn’t realise how bad off he was, when I watched the tape I saw it but at the time I was fooled.”

On this night Ali again showed unmatchable courage and built up a good lead on the cards but Shavers who usually gassed at the end of fights was pacing himself for a long fight and came on strong in the 13th. Sportswriter Pat Putnam said this about the final rounds of the fight: “The thirteenth round was Shaver’s best round to that point. The fourteenth was even better. Rocked by hard right hands, Ali survived but the legs that had carried him through 56 professional fights were beginning to fail. At the end of the fourteenth round, the champion had to dip into his reserve of strength just to get back to his corner. Wearily he slumped on his stool, his eyes glazed with fatigue. When the bell for the fifteenth round rang, Ali could barely stand...That fight with Shavers and particularly the last round sums up for me what Ali was about, even though he was long past his prime. Shavers could have taken him out. He had him hurt early but he suckered Earnie. He faked being more hurt than he was and conned him out of going for the kill. He fought through fourteen rounds. And people talk about Manila, they talk about Foreman, they talk about Liston. But to me the fifteenth round against Shavers was as magnificent as any round Ali ever fought. He was exhausted. I don’t know where he found the strength and stamina to go on, because when he went back to his corner after fourteen, there was nothing left in his body. But he came out for the last round and fought three minutes as good as any three minutes I’ve ever seen. Late in the round he even had Shavers in trouble. Only the ropes kept Shavers from going down.”

President of Madison Square Garden Boxing inc. Teddy Brenner implored Ali to retire after that fight, fearing he would end up punch drunk from the way he let his opponents hit him in order to tire them out. In a rare display of morality from a high ranking boxing official he said that “as long as I’m president, MSG will never make Ali an offer to fight again (bare in mind Ali had just filled MSG for his fight with Shavers). Ali is 35 with nothing more to prove. The trick in boxing is to get out at the right time and the fifteenth round last night was the right time for Ali.” Brenner would remain president until he was fired in 1978 after he refused to do business with Don King. Another fine decision.

Ali’s doctor and physician of 15 years Ferdie Pacheco also decided enough was enough: “the New York State Athletic Commission gave me a report that showed Ali's kidneys were falling apart. I wrote to Angelo Dundee, Herbert Muhammad (his manager), his wife and Ali himself. I got nothing back in response. That's when I decided enough is enough."

So Ali fought on in Vegas, where they had no such concerns. Knowing better than to give No.1 Contender Ken Norton a fourth fight, his opponent was Leon Spinks, a 1976 Olympic gold medallist in the Light Heavyweight category. This would be the fourth Olympic gold medallist Ali would face but the first to fight in the same weight category as him (Patterson fought in the Middleweight category, Frazier and Foreman at Heavyweight). But more revealing was the years in which they competed- Patterson back in 1952 and Ali, who won his gold in 1960 came along as the much younger man and pushed Patterson towards irrelevancy. But now he was fighting a young, fresh man who’d won gold 16 years after himself. A new and different era.

Spinks was only 24 years old and with only six professional wins on his resume, aswell as one defeat. He’d been watched by Ali and he and his team were happy- this guy wasn’t any good and would be an easy fight. A 55-2 Champion against a 6-0-1 challenger, it promised to be mismatch of the decade. 

Ali was struggling to motivate himself for this fight and as often the case when fighting an opponent he didn’t rate, he trained very little. His opponent was struggling in the build-up for another reason. As his manager Butch Lewis puts it: “the biggest problem was psyching him up to be aggressive. All the time I gotta remind him ‘it’s not personal, you can love Ali but you gotta hit him to win the fight.” Spinks trained hard and was kept focused and disciplined by his team. They believed he could pull of an upset aslong as he gave everything to achieve his once in a lifetime shot to become the World Heavyweight Champion. 

Spinks had only fought 33 professional rounds in his life when he stepped into face Muhammad Ali. He looked like a light heavyweight, weighing under 200 pounds. But he was young, fresh and hungry and that was enough.

The 11th round was key in this fight as it was actually the first time Spinks had ever gone past the 10th round in his life, being that it was his first 15 round fight. Ali’s best moment came in the 10th when he rallied and wobbled Spinks but he was unable to keep up the charge.  Ali was by this point a master of going the Championship distance and expected this to be around the time Spinks would tire for Ali to take over the fight. But Spinks didn’t tire. Instead Ali did. The fight came to an exciting conclusion when both men went hell for leather in the final round. 2 judges gave the fight to Spinks and for the first and only time ever Ali had his title taken from him in the ring losing a split decision to the 10-1 underdog.

“Of all the fights I lost in boxing, losing to Spinks hurt the most. That’s because it was my own fault. Leon did the best he could but it was embarrassing that someone with so little fighting skills could beat me. I didn’t train right, the last 3 rounds, when I tried to come on, I wasn’t in shape. After that I had to fight him again. I wanted to get my title back. What they paid me didn’t matter. I just couldn’t leave boxing that way.”                                                                              -Ali on his loss to 10-1 underdog Leon Spinks.

It could hardly be claimed the victory went to Leon’s head, he remained humble saying: “I still love Ali, he’s my hero. Ali’s the greatest, I’m just the latest.” but he struggled with the leeches and hangers-on overnight success brings. Shortly after the fight he was arrested for having $1.50 worth of marijuana and cocaine on him. Rather than prepare for his first title defence, Spinks would do anything but train, partying away surrounded by hangers-on enjoying the ride, and disappearing all the time, away from all the attention which threatened to overwhelm him. 

“It was time to start training seriously and I tracked him down in North Carolina in a little shack drinking moonshine whiskey. He’s smoking dope, groggier than hell, like this is a dream and he’s gonna enjoy it because any day he might wake up. At most he trained 10 days for the rematch.”                                                    

-Butch Lewis on Spinks’ less than ideal preparation for the rematch.

Ali to the contrary pushed himself harder than ever before. He ran 3 to 5 miles each morning before breakfast. He sparred around 200 rounds, more than he had in years. 

“The day after the fight, sometime around 2am Ali was getting ready to go out the door saying to himself “gotta get my title back. Gotta get my title back.” He went out running down the damn freeway, punching, shouting “Gotta get my title back!” his hands were blazing real fast. Sweat was streaming down his face. He kept it up for almost an hour until he was exhausted.”                                          -

Harold Smith, chairman of ‘Muhammad Ali Professional Sports’.

“All my life I knew the day would come when I’d have to kill myself. I always dreaded it and now it’s here. I’ve never suffered like I’m forcing myself to suffer now. I’ve worked this hard for fights but never for this long. All the time I’m in pain. I hurt all over, I hate it, but I know this is the last time I’ll have to do it. I don’t want to lose and look back saying ‘Damn I should have trained harder.”      

-Muhammad Ali on his training for the Spinks rematch.

5,000 or so fans were in attendance the night Spinks dethroned Ali. 63,350 were in the New Orleans Superdome for the rematch. The place was packed and humming with excitement as Ali aimed to become the first 3 time World Heavyweight champion and the oldest aged 36. There was no interest in the first fight, no appetite amongst the public to see an over-the-hill Ali bore his way to a decision against a less than top contender. But now the narrative was interesting, people wanted to see if history could be made, if Ali could once again defy expectations. 7 months on from looking as old and finished as he ever had, could Ali defy all inevitability by somehow looking younger and better against the man 11 years his junior?

Yes is the answer to that and he did so on a night when Joe Frazier sang the American National Anthem and infront of a raucous crowd that often reached deafening decibels. 

The early rounds were competitive, the big thing was Ali wasn’t doing any rope-a-doping, he wasn’t about to let Spinks build up a lead this time. Ali was commanding with his jab and his movement was the most surprising aspect of the fight, he moved like a man doing a pretty good imitation of the Ali of half a dozen years ago. Spinks was unable to ever change the momentum of the fight and Ali dominated the score cards winning atleast 10 rounds on all 3 cards to earn the final win of his career. He remains to this day the only 3-time Lineal Heavyweight Champion in history. Leon Spinks never reached such heights again and he retired with a record of 26 wins, 17 losses and 3 draws.

“May your song always be sung, may you stay forever young.”                             

-Howard Cosell on commentary quotes Dylan.

Round Twelve- vs Ken Norton I March 31 1973 & vs Ken Norton II September 10 1973

“The whole time I wasn’t allowed to fight, no matter what the authorities said, it felt like I was Heavyweight Champion of the world. Then I lost to Joe Frazier. And what hurt wasn’t the money that losing cost me. It wasn’t the punches I took. It was knowing that my title was gone. When I beat Sonny Liston I was too young to appreciate what I’d won. But when I lost to Frazier, I would have done anything except go against the will of Allah to get my title back again.”                  

-ALI.

On June 28th 1971, 50 months to the day Ali refused induction into the US Army, the United States supreme court unanimously reversed his conviction and all criminal charges against him were dropped. The justices initially had it 5 to 3 in favour of upholding Ali’s conviction, then one justice who was dying of cancer decided to shift his vote to make it 4 to 4. This would still have seen Ali go to prison. 

Thankfully in the end, Justice Potter Stewart put forward an argument for Ali in such a way it meant that Ali’s conviction could be reversed without ruling that members of the Nation of Islam were entitled to conscientious objector status which was enough to appease everyone into overturning his conviction.

“It’s like a man’s been in chains all his life, and suddenly the chains are taken off. He don’t realise he’s free until he gets the circulation back into his arms and legs and starts to move his fingers. I don’t really think I’m going to know how that feels until I start to travel, go to foreign countries, see those strange people in the street. Then I’m gonna know I’m free.”                                                            

 -Ali after the US supreme court vote to drop all charges against him.

Ali had his boxing license back, his passport back, but he did not have his titles back. That was one thing he was going to have to get back on his own.

After The Fight of The Century, Ali was taken straight to hospital but he left without spending the night, not wanting the world to think Frazier had hospitalised him. Frazier himself was in the hospital much longer, around a month due to hypertension and a kidney infection which were exacerbated by the brutal fight.

Ali would have to wait for another shot at Frazier, with Smokin’ Joe showing no sign of wanting to fight Ali anytime soon. Or indeed anyone else for that matter as the Champion did not fight for the remainder of 1971. Ali on the other hand fought three more times that year including against Jimmy Ellis, a former sparring partner whom he’d sparred over a thousand rounds with. Ellis, who was trained and managed by Ali’s own trainer Angelo Dundee also had Dundee train him for this fight with Ali’s consent, as it meant Dundee could pick up more money as both Ellis’ trainer and manager, rather than the much smaller fee he received from Ali as a trainer. Despite clearly being better prepared to fight Ali than anyone else in history, Ellis was still stopped in the 12th and final round.

One fight in this time that Ali didn’t have but almost had was against Wilt Chamberlain, a 7 feet 2 basketballer who really figured he could beat Ali due to his enormous height. He was trained by Cus D’Amato and thought by focusing his boxing solely on fighting Ali, he could learn enough to win the fight. Ali’s extreme confidence for this bout (given he was a world class boxer going against a basketball player making his pro debut) is thought to have scared Chamberlain off, and the thing was suddenly off on the day of contract signing. 

By the end of 1972, Ali had bounced back from the Frazier loss with 9 straight wins against occasionally decent, occasionally mediocre opposition. After years without his passport, he also got back on the road fighting in Switzerland, Japan, Canada and Ireland. Ali’s performances however were not highly praised, he was slacking off in training as he struggled to motivate himself for it, and counting on his superior skills in the ring to take him to victories over much less gifted fighters. There was doubts though as to whether this Ali was going to be good enough when it came to a fight for the title with Frazier who had fought just twice since beating Ali with 2 wins in a combined 7 and a half rounds.

Then came 1973, the year that shook up Heavyweight boxing and changed everything. First on the 22nd of January in Kingston, Jamaica, Joe Frazier was dethroned in devastating fashion by 1968 Olympic Gold Medallist and 4-1 underdog George Foreman. Big George was fighting his 38th bout despite only having turned 24 twelve days prior. He became the third youngest Heavyweight Champion in history with a vicious display of punching power. 

Frazier was dropped six times in little over 5 minutes and despite gamely getting up and trying to carry on each time in the end Arthur Mercante, referee of the Ali-Frazier 1 fight had to stop it (which was a relief to Angelo Dundee who was ringside and pleading for the fight to be stopped) and Joe Frazier was beaten for the first time in his professional life. 

“DOWN GOES FRAZIER! DOWN GOES FRAZIER! DOWN GOES FRAZIER!  The heavyweight champion is taking the mandatory 8-count, and Foreman is as poised as can be! In a neutral corner, he is as poised as can be.”                        

 -Howard Cosell as Frazier is knocked down for the first of six knockdowns.

Then on March 31st Ali faced Ken Norton, a fighter with a record of 29-1 but few respected names on his resume. Whereas in Ali’s prior bout against Joe Bugner in Vegas he’d enter the ring in a robe bearing the legend “The People’s Champion” gifted to him by the King Elvis Presley, Norton’s previous bout had been in front of 700 spectators for a $300 dollar purse.

Ali trained less than 3 weeks and was hampered by a sprained ankle, an injury he’d picked up whilst in his words ‘revolutionising the game of golf’. After Ali entered the ring Howard Cosell who was doing commentary for the bout even remarked that: “It seems to me that Ali has taken Kenny Norton more lightly in the pre-fight build-up than any opponent I have known him to fight.”

Ken Norton was an old sparring partner of Joe Frazier’s and Frazier’s trainer Eddie Futch also trained Norton. Here’s what he said of the bout: “The biggest mistake Ali’s people ever made was putting him in the first time with Ken Norton. He’d been sparring with Frazier for several months, he was very sharp, style-wise he was hard for Ali and he was coming into his own as a fighter. Norton had four more inches of height than Frazier and he had a good jab, not as good as Ali’s but pretty good. I told him to step toward Ali with his jab. Norton’s right hand being in the proper position would mean Ali’s jab would be blocked. And Norton’s jab would hit Ali in the middle of the face, because Ali kept his right hand out of position. Do that a couple of times and being Heavyweights, Ali would be back against the ropes.”

In the second round, Ali was back against the ropes when Norton threw a straight right, nailed him and broke his jaw. Ali’s mouthpiece which was taken out between each round and usually just had slobber in it, was now full of blood after each round to the point it turned his bucket in the corner, which was filled with ice and water, red. 

“The jaw was broken in the 2nd round. He could move the bone with his tongue and I felt the separation with my fingertips at the end of the 2nd round. All of us and I have to include myself- were consumed by the idea of winning that fight. My whole thing was to keep Ali fighting. I should have said ‘stop the fight’ there’s no disgrace in having a broken jaw. It goes down as a TKO, you have a rematch six months later. And life goes on. But Ali was supposed to beat Norton, he couldn’t afford a loss. Also, if Ali lost it was more than a fight. There was always politics involved, you didn’t stop the fight as a white guy especially when Ali didn’t want it stopped. Ali knew his jaw was probably broken but he said he didn’t want it stopped, he’s an incredibly gritty son of a bitch. The pain must have been awful. Yet he still fought the 12 rounds. God Almighty, was that guy tough. Underneath his soft, generous ways, underneath all that beauty there was an ugly trucker at work.”                                                                                               -Ferdie Pacheco.

Ali looked slow and sluggish in the fight which was dull. He didn’t fight a good round until the 11th where he looked to come on strong as he often did to snatch the fight late. The 12th and final round was the decisive round of this fight. One judge had Ali 2 points ahead, one had Norton a point ahead and the third had the fight even. Norton won the final round and because of this he won the fight. Afterwards, Ali had 90 minutes of surgery with Dr. William Lundeen who performed the surgery saying of Ali’s jaw: “A clean break all the way through. I can’t fathom how he could go on the whole fight like that.”

Losing to Frazier was one thing, but losing to a fighter like Ken Norton was something else and gleeful members of the press jumped all over it with one saying: “Ali has a big name and not much to defend it with. It isn’t a big achievement but a kid coming up can be made by knocking out Ali. He is the guy the hungry kids want to get their hands on. Ali is a loser now, and they match old losers with young winners.” 

Sports Journalist and good friend of Ali Howard Cosell sums up the mood after Norton beat Ali. “It was the end of the road as far as I could see. Ken Norton, a former marine, in the ring against a Draft Dodger. Richard Nixon had just been reelected with a huge mandate. Construction workers were marching through the streets supporting the war in Vietnam, which showed no signs of winding down. It seemed as though Ali would never get his title back again.”

Where once one man stood between Ali and the Heavyweight title, there was now 3: Joe Frazier, Ken Norton (who had both already beaten Ali) and the Invincible looking George Foreman. Ali had been 3 and a half years out the ring, he was no longer the same fighter and he was now 31 years old. He had no chance.

“He is a beaten man and he is a broken fighter, what was once a very great fighter becomes now part of fistic history in all probability.”                                    

-Howard Cosell live in the ring moments after Ali’s decision loss is announced.

Step one of getting the title back was winning a rematch with Ken Norton which took place six months after their first fight due to the length of time it took for Ali’s jaw to heal. This time Ali trained hard, he was no longer overlooking or underestimating Norton, he knew he’d be in for a tough fight. 

Norton trained hard also and the outcome was a great fight, a much better spectacle than their first fight. This time both men looked like top Heavyweights, rather than one looking like a has been and the other looking like someone who’d just got Ali on the right night. Norton proved on this night he could give Ali a hell of a tough fight even when he’d trained hard, was prepared right and wasn’t fighting with a broken jaw. 

Ali came in 9 pounds lighter than in their first fight, it was the lightest he’d come in since before the Frazier fight. He’d lost the flab around his gut as in training he’d focused on “whipping his Adonis-like physique back into shape.”

The lighter and fitter Ali was up on his toes constantly moving for the opening four rounds, Norton was unable to land much atall. Ali though establishing a lead on the cards through the first third of the fight had been unable to land a shot which made Norton respect his punching power. 

This emboldened Norton and the 5th round signalled a change of direction for the fight. It was about to become a whole lot closer. Norton began to have some success in cutting down the ring on Ali and began landing some good shots.

The 6th round was close with both men having good success at times, the fight was at a frantic pace as it entered its second phase. The 7th was Norton’s best round of the fight, Ali seemed to be tiring and wanting a breather. He was forced to absorb a barrage of blows from Norton and at a point seemed to be summoning all his willpower just to cling on and remain on his feet.

As the fight built towards its climax, Norton began to time Ali excellently and the jaw that had been broken by Norton six months prior was forced to soak up more punishment. The final minute of the 9th round was a thriller, Ali tired of dancing stood and traded with Norton, no decisive blow either way was struck but the fans were being treated at this point.

Ali was forced to take a battering in the 11th with Norton clearly sensing blood and throwing with frequency and force desperately trying to take his man out. Ali was going nowhere but going into the final round the scorecards would be close. 

Ali had boxed very well, it was his best performance for a long time but still Norton had been able to trap Ali in corners and Ali had been unable or unwilling to tie up his man to prevent the barrage. Norton was extremely confident with no fear of Ali’s power and having plenty of success landing on Ali either with big powerful shots or with his jab which was proving very effective too.

The hard miles Ali did in training for this bout made the telling difference in the fight as in the 12th round Ali came out still strong in the legs and he did the better work in this round, dominating the first minute before a more even final two. But Ali definitely won the round and he won a split decision with the deciding vote going to the referee who scored it 7-5 for Ali.

After the bout Ali looked absolutely exhausted, he’d certainly never before looked as tired after a fight. He rested both his arms on the ropes and looked out into the crowd, not speaking or even acknowledging anyone in his corner. Even as the scores were announced Ali remained motionless and in his post fight interview he was too tired to brag, or slate his critics, or call out Foreman or Frazier, he praised Norton and acknowledged the fact he was a little more tired than usual, because of his age.

Muhammad Ali had 9 rematches in his career, 11 if you include his 3rd fights v Frazier and Norton where he would go beyond avenging losses to take the lead in their head to heads. He won all 11. Nobody would beat Ali the second time around, regardless of whether they won the first fight or lost.

On a physical and mental level Joe Frazier was Ali’s toughest adversary in the ring but on a technical, tactical level it was Ken Norton. In 1976 they fought a third fight to decide the winner of their series. It was their only fight scheduled for 15 rounds and just like their two 12-rounders it went the distance, it was the only time they fought with the World Heavyweight Championship on the line. 

George Foreman said of the Ali-Norton match-up “It was Norton’s style of keeping his right hand up in front of his own face. He would catch Muhammad’s left jab and he was tall enough with a long enough reach to jab back. Frazier did well against Ali in close, but he didn’t have the reach on the outside the way Norton did. Muhammad had a rough time with Norton.”

Ali won the final fight of the trilogy in a close, hotly disputed decision which was audibly booed by some in the crowd. The judges scored it unanimously for Ali 8-7, 8-7, 8-6-1. The fight was far too close and debatable to ever be reasonably called a robbery but it was by far the most controversial of all Ali’s 19 points decision victories. 

As with the first two the fight was decided in the very last round, even more so this time. The fight was even on two scorecards and Norton trailed by a point on the other. As Norton sat down for his final pep talk of the night before going out to fight the final round his corner advised him to not take any chances, that the fight was won and to not give Ali the chance to steal it. So he fought the final round cautiously. Meanwhile in Ali’s corner Angelo Dundee told him: “Fight like hell this round, we need it.” That’s what Ali did and he won that last round and subsequently the fight. 

“The first time I fought Ali I felt it was an honour just to be in the same ring with him. I liked him before we fought, after we fought, just not during. I don’t want to be remembered as the man who broke Ali’s jaw, I just want to be remembered as the man who fought three close competitive fights with Ali and became his friend when the fighting was over.”                                                                         -Ken Norton on the Ali-Norton Trilogy.

Round Thirteen & Round Fourteen- vs Joe Frazier III October 1 1975

"It will be a killa and a thrilla and a chilla when I get the Gorilla in Manila."               -Muhammad Ali

Ali’s third title defence of his second reign was against Joe Bugner in Malaysia. Ali had already faced Bugner once before beating him by unanimous decision in a slow, dull fight. The same outcome was expected this time so there was very little hype and interest in the fight. To change this, it was suggested to Ali that he should tell the press he’s retiring and that this will be his last fight. And Ali was extremely convincing.. until the prospect of another fight against a certain someone came up. “What about Joe Frazier? Aren’t you going to fight Frazier again?” A reporter asked and Muhammad’s eyes lit up. “Joe Frazier! I want him bad. How much money do you think I can get if I go whup Joe Frazier?”

And so Muhammad Ali would face his old foe one last time in Manila, Philippines. In the build-up to the fight, Ali was more personal than ever before. He regularly called Joe a Gorilla, and would punch an action man sized Gorilla which he refereed to as Frazier. Former MLB player Reggie Jackson said this: “The one time Ali stepped over the line was with Joe Frazier. Joe’s a hard-working, decent, honest man with very little formal education. He’s a proud man with great honour about him. Muhammad ridiculed Joe. He humiliated him infront of the world. He took the English language and ripped him to shreds with it. Joe couldn’t match wits with Ali he didn’t have the verbal skills. So his response was to get more angry and bitter. It hurt Joe that black people loved Ali more than they loved him.” Whilst Ali explained his pre-fight antics as a deliberate tactic to get his man mad, because “if he’s mad, he cant think” he succeeded in getting Frazier so mad that just as in the first fight, Frazier was made so mad he was willing to die in the ring to hurt Ali.

Joe wasn’t the only person angry with Muhammad Ali in the build-up to the Thrilla in Manila, another was Muhammad’s wife Belinda Ali. Ali had been involved in an extramarital affair with a woman named Veronica Porsche since around the time of The Rumble In The Jungle. Belinda had been aware of the affair but not how serious it had become. She became aware when Muhammad brought Veronica along to meet the President of the Philippines, Ferdinand Marcos and his wife. Ferdinand told Ali how beautiful his wife was and infront of the assembled press Ali was too embarrassed to correct him. After this incident Ali decided to confront the issue and come clean to the world about the affair saying “I could see some controversy if she’s white but she’s not. The only person I answer to is Belinda Ali and I don’t worry about her.”

Well if he wasn’t worried about her, he was about to be because Belinda was on her way to the Philippines. She arrived in his hotel room where the two had a heated one hour shouting match where no doubt Belinda was the loudest. The last thing she said was “You tell that bitch if I see her, I’m gonna break her back. If I see her anywhere I’m gonna break her back.” Belinda then went straight back to the airport and flew back home. Ali and Belinda divorced two years later in 1977 and he also married Veronica that year.

With Ali vs Belinda out of the way, and Belinda vs Veronica thankfully (for Veronica’s sake) being narrowly avoided, the only fight left for Manilla was Ali vs Frazier 3. Though his infidelity coming out in the press was hardly ideal buildup to a huge and difficult fight, Ali had gone into fights before with even bigger strain, such as when he was fighting whilst the threat of death and prison loomed. Dave Wolf who was in Frazier’s camp believed in retrospect that this stuff actually helped Ali to thrive come fight night as it allowed him to not get tied in knots worrying about the fight itself. Whilst chaos raged as it so often did around Ali in the build-up to a fight, Frazier prepared outside of Manilla, in the mountains where he would ready himself for the bout by sitting for hours in a contemplative state.

The referee would be a Filipino as Frazier’s team worked to ensure the referee for the Ali-Foreman bout wouldn’t referee this one as they did not want Ali to be allowed to clinch on the inside unpenalised. Ali’s team however were worried about Frazier’s frequent shots below the belt, as he would pound Ali’s hips and legs to diminish Ali’s movement. And it was part of Frazier’s gameplan for this fight, as it had been for their previous bouts to hit him anywhere: “If you kill the body, the head will die.” so the old boxing axiom goes.

Ali’s strategy was to make a very fast start. Frazier was a notoriously slow starter and Ali wanted to knock him out in the early rounds, or atleast hurt him badly enough that Frazier wouldn’t be his most effective for the rest of the fight. Going into this fight Ali was a couple of months shy of his 34th birthday and Frazier though not yet 31 was considered to have less left than even Ali, who had not looked great since the Rumble In The Jungle. So with a lot less expected of them than in the Fight of The Century, the two men met for the deciding fight in their trilogy. They produced the Greatest Heavyweight Fight of all time, the greatest back-and-forth fight ever and one of, if not the, greatest fight ever.

The bell for the first round sounded at 10.45am local time at the Araneta Coliseum, Quezon City in the Metro Manilla district of The Philippines. Ali started furiously fast, flat footed and infront of Joe, never backing off or looking to dance and move. Ali hit him with countless, blistering shots but Frazier was as hungry as he’d been for their first fight and he was not going to be deterred no matter what punishment Ali handed out.  

The referee, as Frazier’s corner had hoped, constantly warned Ali not to hold the back of Frazier’s head. As this meant Ali could not smother Frazier’s attacks on the inside he instead employed an extended guard to block Joe’s vision and keep him at bay. As he could not smother he vowed to not let Frazier in close atall. Frazier in response upped the pace further and was able to close the distance, taking advantage of Ali’s extended guard by hooking at his exposed, vulnerable body. So with holding and clinching off the menu, there was no resting on the inside for either man, their only option was to exchange blows or in Ali’s case, cover up.

Frazier was beginning to have sustained success at getting on the inside, then staying there with Ali for a while. Frazier would continually march forward, as if oblivious to the shots Ali was landing on him and in the end Ali was forced to change tactic. Ali began to use the ‘rope-a-dope’ to conserve energy and get Joe to use up his, but the tactic was rarely less successful than here. Frazier was a great inside fighter, much better than Foreman for example, and was happy for the chance to pound Ali anywhere, on any unprotected area of Ali’s body he could find.

Ali regained control in the 4th, despite Frazier taking any opening he could find to pound Ali’s hips to limit his mobility in later rounds, this round clearly belonged to Ali who controlled distance with both hands, delivering crosses into Joe’s skull whilst ducking his hooks. In the 5th however Frazier started smokin’. He started getting through Ali’s defence. He would punch Ali’s arm aside then come up underneath to bypass his extended guard and he was also having success by punching against Ali’s highguard to activate it then digging into his ribs. Frazier expertly carried out his plan to crowd Ali, hurry him by accelerating the tempo and forcing him to fight at a quicker pace than he was comfortable with. All told Ali was trapped up against the ropes for two minutes of the 5th round.

In the 6th, Frazier staggered Ali with a leaping gazelle punch and seconds later he hit him with another whipping left hook. Ali again fell back into the ropes behind him, but seemed only slightly dazed. These punches would have KO’d most men but Ali remained on his feet and finished the round.  Years later when re-watching the bout, Frazier would shake his head in disbelief at how Ali had withstood these punches.

“I’ve never seen two people give more, ever.”                                                        

-Ed Schuyler, boxing journalist on the Thrilla in Manila.

At the beginning of the 7th round Ali whispered in Frazier’s ear: “they told me you was washed up Joe.” to which he simply replied “they lied.” Ali recognised he’d lost the last rounds, in Dundee’s words ‘giving them away’ by attempting to rest on the ropes which you don’t do against Joe Frazier. Ali came out dancing in the 7th, throwing a multitude of different punches but Joe just continued to up the ante and Ali was again forced to rest on the ropes for the last minute, having punched himself out. 

No longer able to dance, Ali had his wings clipped by Joe in the 7th but he could still sting like a bee. In the 8th he went toe to toe with Joe in a brutal round. Frazier like always when fighting Ali, was happy to take a few shots to land one of his own but these were not the light, flicking shots he was used to from Ali who was landing shots with full force. But Ali was once again forced to grab a breather before the end of the round and Frazier jumped on him pounding the body.

Ali took a lot of punishment in the middle rounds. Frazier was absolutely relentless, always on him. The air conditioning didn’t work so the heat in the arena was incredible, unforgiving and that’s just for people in the arena watching the fight. Let alone being in an intense, physical, non-stop war under the lights with their added heat. Ali was nearly 34, in his 51st fight, being put under extreme, constant pressure by a relentlessly aggressive, powerful fighter. Most men would have wilted, at a time it looked inevitable that even Ali would be forced to give in. He was having trouble just staying awake between rounds, such was his point of exhaustion. Ali spent these rounds in sluggish retreat, throwing little, clinching, covering up and dancing as best he could. The only consolation was Frazier’s emotions were now starting to get the better of him- he was constantly headhunting, even when those shots weren’t on, rather than continuing the assault on Ali’s body and battering his arms which could have stopped Ali’s ability to throw punches. After the 9th round, Ali went back to his corner and told his trainer “Man, this is the closest I've ever been to dying."  

Ali began to turn the tide back in his favour, in the 11th round he began to unload a series of fast combinations. The round began with Frazier giving Ali a beating on the ropes but for the Champion this was a painful but necessary thing as even as he allowed his body to be used as a punching bag he stored up the strength required for a rally at the end, dragging Frazier into the centre of the ring where he paid him back for his punishment dishing out his own and swelling his opponents eyes. Whilst Frazier was a marathon runner, maintaining a constant, steady pace whilst gradually weakening, Ali was a sprinter, taking long intervals without much activity before exploding into life and throwing his all into it. 

All fight long Ali had aimed exclusively for Frazier’s head and the accumulation of hundreds of punches had swelled Frazier’s face to the point he was fighting with tiny slits for eyes. Frazier now couldn’t see out of his left eye which had already been damaged in a training accident, years earlier. He could no longer see Ali’s rights coming and he was being hit with them over and over again. Frazier’s trainer Eddie Futch instructed his man to change his posture thinking this would allow him to atleast see the punches coming but it left him more open. Ali digging deeper than he ever had needed to before came out throwing everything at Frazier, giving him a sustained beating unlike any he’d dished out to his foe previously.

Futch considered pulling his man out after the 13th, seeing the damage Frazier and his eyes were taking, but he also saw the extent of Ali’s physical and mental fatigue and he knew Frazier still possessed the power in his fists and his mind to triumph in the fight. He decided to give Frazier one last round.

With both men’s legendary, extraordinary skill, physicality and willpower being stretched to the very end of their limits, the men fought on with failing bodies, will alone keeping them up and punching. Then Ali again found yet more resolve he didn’t know he had, launching yet more assaults on Joe but Frazier again as he always seemed to do against Ali, endured, remaining on his feet to the bewilderment of the Champion. 

British Sportswriter Frank McGhee describes the final 2 rounds of the fight: “The main turning point of the fight came very late. It came midway through the thirteenth round when one of two tremendous right-hand smashes sent the gum shield sailing out of Frazier's mouth. The sight of this man actually moving backwards seemed to inspire Ali. I swear he hit Frazier with thirty tremendous punches—each one as hard as those which knocked out George Foreman in Zaire—during the fourteenth round. He was dredging up all his own last reserves of power to make sure there wouldn't have to be a fifteenth round.” 

Unbeknownst to Frazier's corner, at the end of the 14th round Ali instructed his cornermen to cut his gloves off, but Dundee ignored him. Ali later said "Frazier quit just before I did. I didn't think I could fight anymore." With a round to go, Frazier’s trainer Eddie Futch decided it was a round too many, he’d seen enough. Frazier tried to prevent the stoppage telling Futch “I want him boss.” but his protests were unsuccessful with Futch replying “It's all over. No one will forget what you did here today." The Thrilla In Manilla therefore became the first and only Ali-Frazier fight not to go the distance after it was stopped after 14 of the scheduled 15 rounds. After the fight Ali declared Frazier the greatest fighter of all time except for himself. 

“Ali and Frazier were fighting for something more important than the Heavyweight Championship of the World. They were fighting for the championship of each other. I don’t even think about who won in Manila, what matters most about that fight is how great it was. Both men gave it everything they had. They knew it was probably the last time they’d face each other.”           

-Jerry Izenberg, sports journalist.

“It took about 24 hours for his brain to recuperate, for the thought processes to become complete. And the effects on the rest of the body lasted for weeks. It was the toughest fight I’ve seen in my life.”                                                            

-Ferdie Pacheco, Ali’s doctor and physician.

“We were gladiators. I didn’t ask no favours of him and he didn’t ask none of me. I don’t like him but I gotta say, in the ring he was a man. I hit him punches, those punches.. and he took ‘em. He took ‘em and he came back, and I got to respect that part of the man. He was a fighter. He shook me in Manila, he won.”               

-Frazier on Ali.

“I don’t think two big men ever fought like me and Joe Frazier. One fight, maybe. But three times, we were the only ones. Of all the men I fought in boxing: Sonny Liston was the scariest, George Foreman was the most powerful, Floyd Patterson was the most skilled as a boxer. But the roughest and toughest was Joe Frazier. He brought out the best in me, and the best fight we fought was in Manila. I’m sorry I hurt him(with words, rather than punches). Joe Frazier is a good man. I couldn’t have done what I did without him and he couldn’t have done what he did without me. If God ever calls me to a holy war, I want Joe Frazier fighting beside me.”                                                                                    

-Ali on Frazier.

Ali and Frazier never faced each other again and after 3 fights, 41 rounds, thousands of punches and only one knockdown, the in-ring rivalry at least was over. Frazier fought only twice more, never winning again and losing a rematch with George Foreman in 5 rounds. Ali fought 10 more times but much of what Ali had left as a fighter left him that night in the Philippines.

That night only Ali attended the reception given by President Marcos. He was battered, bruised and hurting when he accepted the congratulations of Frazier’s wife with a smile and the extension of his fingers. Meanwhile Frazier lay on a bed in semidarkness. “His eyes are just about completely shut.” said Futch explaining his fighter’s absence. 

A light was turned on as an old friend walked within two feet of Joe Frazier who lifted himself to look around but still could not see. Upon being informed of his visitors identity he said:

“Man, I hit him with punches that'd bring down the walls of a city. Lawdy, lawdy, he’s a great champion.”

Round Fifteen- vs Joe Frazier I March 8 1971

Smokin’ Joe Frazier won Gold for America in the ‘64 Olympics, four years after Cassius Clay. Just like Clay, he won the World Heavyweight title in his 20th fight, or a version of it atleast. The title was made vacant when Ali was stripped and 2 years later Joe unified the division beating Jimmy Ellis. Frazier was 26-0 with 23ko’s, a highly respected and rated fighter. But a question lingered in everyone’s mind: would this guy be world champ if Ali was still around? 

Frazier wanted Ali back in boxing, he did not delude himself to think he would ever be accepted by the world as the rightful Heavyweight champion of the world unless he faced Ali in the ring and beat him. 

During Ali’s exile from boxing the relationship between him and Joe had been cordial. Frazier helped Ali out financially whilst he was unable to box and took part in prearranged stunts with Ali to build hype for a potential fight between the pair if Ali was ever free to box again. He also supported Ali’s right not to serve in the army, testified before congress, lobbied President Nixon to reinstate Ali’s right to box and in solidarity with the banished former champion, refused to fight in the original eight-man tournament for the made vacant WBA title which Jimmy Ellis won. 

But once this fight was announced their relationship completely changed. Ali insulted Frazier in a way that cut so deep the scars remained for a long, long time after Joe had retired. He was called dumb, ugly and an uncle Tom as Ali seemed determined to turn black people against Frazier. He branded him a dumb tool of the White establishment. “The only people rooting for Frazier are white people in suits, Alabama sheriffs and members of the Ku Klux Klan. I’m fighting for the little man in the ghetto.” 

Frazier greatly resented the way Ali had manipulated the public into seeing Joe as some ‘Black White Hope’. He was darker than Ali and grew up much poorer and it deeply upset him the way Ali seemed able to take all the love and support of Black America. 

In Ali’s mind he was just promoting the fight and aswell playing his psychological games which he always employed to gain an edge in ring warfare. But this was a fight that really needed no promotion atall. It was billed as the ‘Fight of The Century’ and it’s easy to see why: two undefeated heavyweight champions, both with a legitimate claim to the title. The title being the Undisputed Heavyweight Championship of the World. Because at that point, it was being greatly disputed by everyone from New York to New Zealand, with scarcely a soul without an opinion. The fight was a sporting event with no equal.

On March 8 1971 Ali stepped into the ring to attempt to win back what had been unjustly taken from him. He was just four and half months into his comeback and fighting his third fight.. Both men earned $2.5M dollars from the fight, a record at the time but they could have made far more. Another offer made to them was $1.25M  guaranteed and 35% of the gross which would have made each fighter $9 million dollars each.

“I prayed ‘Lord, help me kill this guy, ‘cause he’s not righteous.’“                           

-Frazier on the prayer he made in his dressing room before coming to the ring.

The world held its breath as boxer met slugger, as Ali in the red trunks met Frazier in bright green for the first time. The pace of the first four rounds is frantic, the action non-stop. Ali landed lots of punches on Joe but he couldn’t deter him from coming forward. Frazier continued to walk Ali down, never allowing Ali to control distance and jab from safety.  The ring was made to look very small, as Ali never used it. He didn’t move and didn’t dance instead choosing to stand toe to toe with Joe and try to beat him at his own game. 

In the opening four rounds, Ali threw so many punches, landing alot, but when he did miss throwing over the top of Frazier’s crouching, erratic defensive movements, he was often punished with huge hooks. Ali won 3 of the 4 opening highly competitive rounds but it may have been a case of winning the battle but not the war, as he exerted lots of energy, having to throw so many punches because any time he stopped Frazier was right on him throwing hard shots to the head and the body.

In the 5th round, Frazier attempted to psyche out Ali. He was smiling, almost laughing whilst Ali missed him with shots, as Frazier ducked and moved his head out of the way. Then when Ali found his target, Frazier didn’t seem to care, he then began talking to Ali in between taking fistful’s of punches. This really showed just how fired up Joe was, it was quite a sight to see the master of in ring psychology Ali forced to taste his own medicine off Frazier. 

In a couple of the middle rounds, Ali spent half the round trying to rest and recover some energy, as Frazier continued to pound him against the ropes, targeting his hips knowing it would harm his ability to move later. Ali also tried a few of his tricks to put Joe off such as hitting him with flurries of light pitter, patter punches and resting his fist in Joe’s face as he moved forward but these tricks did nothing to stop the relentlessly aggressive Joe Frazier.

In the 11th round Frazier gave Ali a real battering, after a brutal left hook Ali was wobbling and stumbling all around the ring playing possum and Frazier appeared to buy it as he did not go all out for the finish. The rest of the world though, all the uninvolved participants in the fight, were not as fooled as Frazier seemingly was, it was clear Ali was in trouble at this point, it was the most one-sided round of the fight.

Ali showed enormous resolve to come back in the final rounds of the fight and regain a foothold in the fight. In the 12th though he was hit with a punch that seemed to almost knock his head clean off his shoulders, his head was forced way back but Ali just took it.

In the final round he was hit flush on the jaw with a punch he wasn’t able to take, and Ali was down. He was quickly up and Frazier didn’t have enough left in the tank to seriously come close to putting him down again or stopping Ali. The last 30 seconds both fighters were so worn out they held each other in a clinch for most of it, neither man with enough strength left to do any more. The fight went the championship distance and was a 15-round war which somehow lived up to and even surpassed it’s billing of ‘The Fight of The Century’.  

“Frazier hit him flush on the jaw with the hardest left hook he’d ever thrown. Ali went down, and it looked like he was out cold. I didn’t think he could possibly get up. And not only did he get up, he was up almost as fast he went down. Not only could he take a punch, that night he was the most courageous puncher that I’d ever seen. He was going to get up if he was dead. If Frazier had killed him, he’d have gotten up.”                                                                                                      -Ferdie Pacheco on Frazier knocking down Ali, Round 15.

Ali showed tremendous will to get up from the punch that put him down, especially after already fighting for 14 absolutely gruelling rounds but in the end, the outcome was the same as Ali couldn’t prevent Frazier retaining the belt via unanimous decision.

22 of the 25 judging sport writers also gave the fight to Frazier but I think this fight was a lot closer than it is historically acknowledged as being and also than it was acknowledged at the time. 

The referee scored 8 rounds for Frazier, 6 rounds for Ali and 1 even which highlights how close this fight really was. However one judge scored just four rounds for Ali which I find kind of ridiculous, as I personally had Ali winning 4 of the first 5 rounds. Though that said, then and now you will see many fights which look to be clearly close, but then one judge has it massively in favour of one of the fighters.

Alot of the rounds had to be considered close and it depends on what the judges and referee were looking for. Ali surely landed more punches in most of the rounds, but Frazier landed the bigger, more eye catching power punches. He was the aggressor taking the fight to Ali coming forward and it was Ali always initiating the clinches which may have gone against him. The fight was certainly in a style which benefited Frazier which could be put down to Frazier forcing Ali to fight his kind of fight, but in truth from the very start of the 1st round Ali seemed perfectly happy to fight that style of fight anyway. Also worth acknowledging is how Frazier seemed to finish every round strong, coming on at the end of the round which could have influenced how judges scored the particular close rounds, whereas Ali would often do his best work in the first half of the round. 

It could hardly be claimed Ali’s punches had no effect on Joe, they rearranged his features, both his eyes were puffed up real bad. Both men fought a tremendous fight, showing incredible fitness to take such punishment and fight 15 rounds at such a pace.

Ali who always found an extra gear when it seemed both him and his opponent were blowing out,  again did so here after taking a battering in the 11th but for the first time in his career, he was matched all the way through the fight, Frazier never fading away or tiring, so Ali was unable to press home his usual fitness advantage in the championship rounds. In the middle rounds when he went to the ropes he was likely hoping Frazier would punch himself out abit, giving Ali the chance to come on strong but Frazier never ever looked likely to give Ali that opportunity. 

Frazier overall deserved to win the fight for the way he kept coming at Ali and never once got disheartened at the amount he was getting hit off Ali. He was willing to accept being hit 3 times off Ali if it meant he could hit him back once. He wanted to punish Ali for the things he’d said about him and he clearly didn’t care about what punishment he’d have to take back in order to dish it out.

The 11th round and the big knockdown punch in the 15th were for me enough to sway it in favour of Smokin’ Joe. Frazier was apparently so pissed off with Ali and therefore so determined to beat him, he would have been willing to die in the ring to get the win over his foe. Looking at the fight, that doesn’t seem farfetched to say, Frazier took so much punishment but he never altered from his gameplan, and in the end this faith in himself paid off in the ultimate way with a magnificent performance and victory over the great Muhammad Ali.

“Ali and Joe did a lot of damage to each other that night. In a way it was horrible watching their features change. But it was history in the making, an incredible fight. It was the last round I remember best. That round showed me Ali was the most valiant fighter I’ve ever seen. Frazier hit him as hard as a man can be hit. Ali was exhausted. He went down and he was up in 3 seconds. I didn’t ask if he wanted to continue, because if he’s any kind of fighter atall he’ll say yes. Ali wasn’t just any kind of fighter he was possibly the greatest and most courageous fighter who ever lived. In fact he fought better in that round after the knockdown than before it. Refereeing the fight meant a lot to me. I knew I had taken part in a very important historical event. At the time I was doing public relations work for a beer company. That was my regular job and the following morning I was at my desk at 8AM as usual.”                                                                                           

-Arthur Mercante, referee of The Fight of The Century.

“If Ali lost it was like everything I believed in was wrong. It’s very difficult to imagine being young and black in the sixties and not gravitating toward Ali. He seemed to think less of what the establishment thought of him than about the image he saw when he looked in the mirror. And to people who were young and black and interested in tweaking the establishment, and in some cases shoving it up the tail of the establishment, you had to identify with somebody like that. The fact that he won all the time made it better. For all our passion in those years, we didn’t have a lot of victories. More often than not we was on the losing side so the fact Ali won was... he was a heroic figure plain and simple.             So what you had that night were two undefeated heavyweight champions. One guy was dead set against the war, the other didn’t seem to have much of a feeling about it, but was supported by those who backed the war. It’s hard to explain today how dominant Vietnam was in a young guy’s life then. Ali was somebody to hold onto, he was ours. And fairly or unfairly, because he was opposing Ali, Frazier became the symbol of our oppressors. When Ali lost, I was devastated. I felt as though everything I stood for had been beaten down and trampled. We’d seen the people with flags and hard hats beating up kids with long hair who were protesting Vietnam, now was our chance to get even in the ring. Which ever side won that fight was right, and there was no middle ground. It was a terrible night. It was worse than Nixon’s reelection mandate the following year as Ali losing was much more personal because we had the feeling on the political side that we were in the minority anyway. We knew we’d lose going in, we had the world figured out but the majority didn’t see it our way. That’s why Ali-Frazier was so important, it was a level playing field. One against one, man against man.”                                                                                          

-Bryant Gumbel, Sportscaster and Ali fan on the cultural significance of Ali v Frazier.

In the immediate aftermath Ali handled his first defeat with real grace: “Just lost a fight, that’s all. Probably be a better man for it. The world goes on. You’ll all be writing about something else soon. I had my day. You lose, you don’t shoot yourself.” When told however that Joe had said he thought Ali doesn’t want to fight him again, the warrior immediately came back out as Ali replied: “Oh, how wrong he is.” A potential rematch may have been a bit pointless though in one boxing writer’s eyes as he wrote: “If they fought a dozen times, Frazier would whup Ali a dozen times, and it would get easier along the way.”

“Of all the names joined forever in the annals of boxing—from Dempsey-Tunney to Louis-Schmeling, from Zale-Graziano to Leonard-Hearns—none are more fiercely bound by a hyphen than Ali-Frazier. Not Palmer-Nicklaus in golf nor Borg-McEnroe in tennis, as ardently competitive as these rivalries were, conjure up anything remotely close to the epic theatre of Ali-Frazier.”                                

-William Nack, journalist.

The Ali v Frazier rivalry was the greatest boxing rivalry ever and in all likelihood the best sporting rivalry ever too. It produced the greatest fight trilogy ever. It had everything: hatred, heart, skill, respect, dignity, envy. It was absolutely compelling, with both fighters having won atleast one of the fights and the final fight being the decider.

The Ali-Frazier rivalry ofcourse was never solely confined to the ring so when the fights ended and even when their careers had ended, sadly the rivalry did not stop there. The rivalry started from Ali’s portrayal of Joe as the white people’s champion and an Uncle Tom, a narrative which alot of Ali fans bought. Frazier saw it as a betrayal after his support for Ali during his exile and it was a betrayal he struggled to ever really get over.

Ali-Frazier 2 added to it notably with the infamous brawl on Howard Cosell’s set and then finally the Thrilla in Manila it reached its nastiest point yet with Ali mercilessly mocking Frazier’s speech for its lack of education. Ali always maintained at the time that he made such comments to generate publicity for a fight and to make his opponent angry.

Frazier is right to point out that Ali-Frazier fights hardly needed much publicising, but Ali has done this for all his fights including the one with Foreman. He has pointed out that it’s difficult for him to prepare for a fight without atleast building up some ‘pretend’ hatred for his opponent, or enough real hatred to get him through the fight. Ali reserved his worst pre-fight insults for Joe, and it was likely because he knew it got to Joe more than any of his other opponents.

No matter how personal or nasty, ‘trash-talking’ is seen as an acceptable and almost necessary part of hyping a fight and when the fight is over it’s usually all water under the bridge and forgotten about. But in this rivalry this sadly didn’t happen. Though the words used did undoubtedly add something to the rivalry along with the punches. Ali always had that something special inside him to dig deeper than anyone else, but I think Frazier got an extra few percent out of himself when fighting Ali that he couldn’t get against anyone else because of the hatred he felt for the man and because of his desperation to hurt him. So the war of words didn’t just build hype they also added to the quality of the fights by making Frazier even better.

That said, I think it’s fair to say Ali was wrong to call Frazier an Uncle Tom and to attempt to paint him so unfairly as something he most definitely wasn’t. Some degree of trash talking was always going to happen but with Frazier Ali did it in a way that hurt him so deeply that he responded in a way which was also so sad and wrong.

Many years later Frazier would publicly mock Ali for his Parkinson’s disease and say a few very ugly unpleasant things about him on more than one occasion. It should maybe be taken into account that at the time of saying these things Frazier was in a bad financial situation living in a one-room place above his gym having lost all his money earnt from fighting through failed business ventures and his own generosity. He also had a few not unserious health issues of his own. This no doubt impacted greatly on Frazier’s already existing bitterness toward Ali. He would have felt forgotten about whilst the world cherished Ali more than ever. In his final years of life he repeatedly said he no longer held any ill will towards Ali. Frazier died in 2011 with Ali attending his funeral and saying: “The world has lost a great champion. I will always remember Joe with respect and admiration."

In 1978, 3 years after the Thrilla in Manila, Joe Frazier appeared on Muhammad Ali’s edition of the British TV show ‘This Is Your Life.’ At the time both men were retired though Ali was to make an ill-fated comeback. Ali’s shock and delight at Frazier coming all that way to appear on a show dedicated to him was obvious and it was a great moment to see the two shaking hands, laughing and hugging.  

sources: Muhammad Ali His Life and Times by Thomas Hauser, thefightcity.com, ringtv.com, boxrec.com, Wikipedia,The Modern Martial Artist.

#boxing #sport #sports #fighting #ali #muhammadali #cassiusclay #thegreatest #goat #joefrazier #georgeforeman #combatsport #heavyweights #heavyweightboxing

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Fifty-one years (and one day) later

Part 2/3 

Read Part 1 or read on (ao3)

Summary: Dave doesn’t die in the war and Klaus has no reason to leave the past. Fifty-one years on and he finds himself back at the time he left the world he knew, now eighty years old. He decides to pay his siblings a visit. 

“Klaus!” He heard Diego calling after him, but he kept his eyes on the pavement in front, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He was sober the vast majority of the time, thank-you-very-much, but times like these, he needed something to take his mind off things. A knife sailed past his ear, whistling as the blade loped off a lock of hair.

He dropped his cigarette in shock, bringing his hand up to his ear. “What the fuck, Diego!”

“You d–d–don’t get to fucking walk away from this!” He turned to see his brother storming down the street, still sporting that ridiculous black leather vigilante get-up. His voice was cracked with threatening sobs as he carved a path through the crowd. People were staring, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Hey, woah there, calm down,” Klaus said, holding his hands out in a stopping motion, “you’re making a scene.”

“Oh yeah, what about the scene you made b–back there, walking in here after w–what – fifty years!” He pushed Klaus’ hands aside.

Klaus chuckled, much to Diego’s despair. “That was pretty good though, you have to admit.” Diego snarled. “Oh ok, fine. But if you do come to my funeral, I want you and Luther to fight just like you did at Dad’s – and no holding back this time. I want blood!” Diego grabbed him by the shoulders. Klaus thought he heard his bones crack. “You wouldn’t choke-slam a poor, frail old man now would you?” He cried, feigning distress. He couldn’t stop laughing, and every bought made Diego all the more furious.

“Stop fucking laughing, you hear me! S–stop!” There were tears in his eyes. Klaus had done it again, he’d gone too far.

“Aww come on Diego, I’m sorry, hey –“ he gave his brother a pat on the shoulder as he crumbled, laying his head on Klaus’ shoulder. “Hey, stop crying bro.” People were definitely staring now. “Come on, let’s go somewhere a little more private,” he said, eyeing the onlookers. Diego nodded and straightened up, trying to hide his tears. Klaus led him away, back along the street to the alley that ran along the side of the academy building. “Hey,” he cried at the amassing crowd, “nothing to see here, move along.”

…

“You feeling better Diego,” Klaus asked, patting his brother on the back. They were leaning against the wall, far from prying eyes. Diego seemed to have gotten over the initial shock of it all, his breathing was deepening, tears drying. He was better, but far from okay. Klaus lit another cigarette, was wasn’t about to do this unaided.

“I should have looked for you, after I busted the motel, I should’ve helped you.”

“Wouldn’t have made any difference, I was long gone by then, there was nothing you could’ve done.”

“Well maybe we could’ve given you a reason to come back.” He looked at Klaus – down now, instead of up, he’d shrunken in on himself in his old age – searching for the remnants of the person he knew from just days prior. The image of the man he’d always seen as his little brother, the one he always had to protect and keep out of trouble, was fading fast. “Would it really have been as easy to come back as Five said?”

“Yeah,” Klaus sighed, not meeting his brother’s eyes, “yeah it would have.”

Diego scoffed, shaking his head. “Then why the hell didn’t you, man?”

“You really wanna know?” He asked, tilting his head up towards the blue strip of sky running above the alleyway. “Okay then,” he sighed, breathing out a puff of smoke. “I fell in love.” Diego chuckled to himself. “No, dude, I’m serious,” he insisted.

“And that was enough –“

“To stop me from coming back to this hell-hole? Sure it was. There was nothing here for me, Diego, I was a junkie, I’d been pouring my life down the gutter since I was thirteen, and I was running on empty.”

“And what about us?” What about me, his eyes said. “Five says the world is ending, do you even care?”

“Oh come on Diego,” he cried, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “you’ve really gotta make this hard for me don’t you. For your information, I didn’t know the world was ending for real, I thought Five was just trying to get me to pretend to be his dad–“

“You did what?”

Klaus shushed him and continued. “– I just came by to give Five his little time machine, maybe tell you what I’d been up to, then let you all get on with your lives in peace.”

“But now –“

“But now apparently the world is ending in three days, which is fine by me I’ve got nothing left to live for, but you…” he trailed off, looking at his brother with sorrow in his eyes.

“You know, to be fair, I don’t have a whole lot going for me either,” Diego shrugged.

“You’ve got a future. Allison’s got her daughter, Vanya has a regular life ahead of her, Luther’s got… well he’s got nothing but we love him anyway. Even Five has some sort of weird old-man-child life of crime on the horizon – and that’s forgetting everyone else on the planet.”

“But you’re not going to help,” Diego finished for him, looking defeated.

“Look, even if I wasn’t eighty and not able to walk ten yards without putting my back out, I’m still useless to you. My power’s only gotten weaker over the years – that’s years of unabided recreational drug use, mind – and even if they hadn’t, how could I possibly help avert some sort of world–crushing cataclysm anyway?”

“I don’t know man, Five seems to think we need everyone together to fight this thing.”

“Well, tell him I’m out. If we only have three days left, I’m going to get high at the graveyard and talk to him one last time.”

“Him?”

“Diego, Diego,” he sighed, “are you seriously that fucking clueless.”

“So you loved him then, for your whole life… I can’t even imagine.” He thought of Eudora, gone now, but never really his. She was right, they never would have lasted even if they had given things another shot.

“Yeah,” he sighed, and Diego watched as his old eyes looked back into his memories, happier days, simpler days. A deep, yearning nostalgia one could only acquire after living through the greatest experiences, and the worst hardships, that life had to offer. “It was wonderful. After the war I moved back to Kansas with him, old country house on a farm and everything. We went out to the city for a while once every year or two, experienced the high-life, but I liked the quiet… less ghosts lurking around.”

“Wait, the war?”

“Yeah, bro, Vietnam.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “That’s incredible, I guess all of dad’s combat training paid off after all.”

Klaus chuckled “yeah, and speaking of, back in ’71 I punched dad in the face so hard he blacked out right there on the street.”

“What, seriously?’ He said, incredulous.

Klaus nodded with pride, “Yeah, man. I just saw him one day walking around outside the academy – before it was even called an academy – and I just thought, you fucking bastard and then – wham!” Klaus mimed punching through the air.

“What did he say?”

“Ow,” he laughed, “he didn’t have time to say much else.”

“What if you’d, like, changed time or something, by punching him in the face?”

“You know, I did think about that after, like what if getting punched in the faced rocked his brains so bad he forgot about his need to purchase seven children and abuse them all their lives.”

“Or it rocked his brains so hard he decided he wanted to do that in the first place.”

“Eesh,” he cringed, "that’s a disturbing thought. My thinking was, he’d probably just lay awake at night wondering who that gangly hippie bastard was that absolutely pounded his ass.”

“Serves him right – god he was a piece of work.” And here they were, complaining about Dad as if they were fifteen again, smoking out the back of the house, finally coming to realise what an asshole Sir Reginald really was after years of dancing to his tune. They were laughing, as if this were just another ordinary day.

“Did you ever see us – as kids I mean?” Diego asked.

“Well, I was curious, it’s not exactly something you get to see everyday, but I tried my best to stay clear of this city. I wanted to leave that part of me behind for good.”

“Well I can understand that, wanting to forget everything and start fresh. I wanted to do that, back after Ben died and you left, but the past always catches up – and here I am.”

“I tried to run, my whole life I tried, but it all caught up to me too, and here I am,” he sighed, “same as you.” Klaus looked down at the floor. Ever since Dave had died, he’d had a lot of time to reflect, time to question his decision to leave his family behind. Just a few months ago, he wouldn’t have dreamed of coming back to this place, facing them all one last time, he thought maybe it would be better for them to think he’d just disappeared off the face of the earth. “Should I have come back at all?” He thought of Diego’s tears, his anger, Allison’s horrified disbelief, even Five had seemed upset - though for him or the fate of the world he wasn’t sure.

“What do you mean,” Diego replied, as if Klaus had just said something unbearably stupid. “Of course you did the right thing, it would have been torture, living every day not knowing if you were dead or in pain somewhere.”

“Well, it’s not like you seemed to care before.” He knew how immature he sounded, like some whiny kid instead of the wise old wizard vibe he was pulling off nowadays. “I didn’t see you for thirteen years before dad’s funereal, I didn’t see any of you, and when I came back you’d all moved on with your lives, but I was still the same stunted little asshole you all know and tolerate.”

“You don’t think I cared?” Diego levelled his gaze, looking at him with an earnest sort of sadness. Despite his tough-guy front, he was probably the best out of all of them at understanding how others were feeling. “I had that stupid police radio on all through my time at the academy and every day since, because I knew you were out there somewhere on the streets almost every night, about to OD on all that crap you were taking. If anything had ever happened to you I just know I would’ve blamed myself for not being there for you.” His sadness was building itself into rage again. He screwed up his face, turning away. “I was supposed to protect you.”

“What difference does it make, Diego, I lived a way better life than I ever could have back here. Isn’t that enough?”

“I suppose,” he seemed unconvinced, “but we were all meant to grow up together, we’ve been together since before we can remember, I guess I thought that meant something.”

Klaus didn’t know what to say, of course it meant something, but it was something that every single one of the Hargreeves children had been running from their whole lives. It had never occurred to Klaus that it could be something to be embraced. “This is really messing you up, huh?” This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Somehow Klaus had pictured the whole thing as more of a comedic affair. He’d walk in, old and decrepit, his sibling would be shocked and he’d laugh it off, and he would go back to living in his own little world of pretending not to care. He’d kept secrets for so long, from Dave - who’d ask about that briefcase he kept duct-taped shut and padlocked under the floorboards where no one could find it, who always asked about his past and was met only by vague answers and the occasional name. He’d also kept secrets from himself, as he’d spent so long trying to remember his siblings in a way that justified him leaving and never turning back – he didn’t regret his decision, but that didn’t stop the guilt he felt as he watched Diego now.

“Yeah,” was all he said. Klaus couldn’t stand much more of this.

“Well,” he clapped Diego on the shoulder, but he didn’t look up from the ground, staring intently at nothing. “Sounds like you have world to save, best of luck – and I’m being serious this time.”

“Thanks,” he replied, shoving Klaus’ hand away and straightening up. He still seemed angry, subdued. He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll see you again, brother,” his voice was stony. Klaus’ heart sank.

Klaus flashed him a sad smile, “I wouldn’t count on it.” Diego glared at him and turned away, walking but out onto the street.

When he was sure the he was gone, Klaus turned around to face the figure that had been standing behind him, watching, silent in contemplation. Ben. He would usually butt into Klaus’ conversations, a sarcastic comment or scolding remark. These past few minutes, however, he’d been silent. “I’m surprised, Ben, I would’ve thought you’d have something to say by now.”

“Oh, I have plenty to say, but it’s hard enough just getting close to you – what the hell did you do to yourself?” And there he was, back on his case even after all this time.

“In between the drugs and the debilitating old age, I’m not quite the seance that I used to be.”

“Clearly.”

Klaus scoffed, “rude.” He couldn’t tell how Ben was feeling, he was just standing there, hands in his pockets, staring. “You’re not angry?”

“I’m still trying to figure out what I’m feeling. You disappeared, Klaus, I spend a day in purgatory or wherever it is souls go when you aren’t around to host the party, and then suddenly I feel your presence again, faintly, and I find you like this, I mean, what the hell Klaus?”

“You know, I’m hearing just a teensie bit of angry,” he teased.

He rolled his eyes, “I can’t believe you.”

“You still going to hang around – it’s not like I have a whole lot of time left, and apparently the apocalypse is coming so there’s that too.”

“Well it’s either this or nothingness, so I think I’ll stick around your sorry ass a while longer.” He smiled, and Klaus returned the gesture. “And, Klaus,” he added, “I’m happy for you. All this time I was afraid you were never going to actually start living your life, but you actually got your shit together for once. I mean, who would’ve thought you’d make it past forty, let alone eighty.”

“Aww, Ben, you’re so supportive.” He was only a little sarcastic. He put out his cigarette, quenching the flame against the old brick of the academy, just like he used to as a kid. “Do you think you could help me out with something?” he asked as he walked out from between the two buildings, Ben stalking behind, a persistent shadow. “I need to contact someone I’ve lost.”

…

Five was waiting impatiently in the entrance hall when Diego finally let himself back into the academy. “Diego,” he said, “did you talk to him?”

He sighed, collecting his thoughts. “Yeah, yeah I did.”

“And?”

“And what? He won’t help us Five, what did you expect? Besides, I don’t know what sort of help we’d need from him anyway.” His lip was quivering, and he struggled to get the words out. “He’s j–just a stupid old man now anyway.”

“Did he tell you why he stayed?”

Diego chuckled to himself, “he fell in love, if you can believe it. Some guy he soldiered with in Vietnam. It’s crazy…”

“I see,” Five said, simply. He’d already stopped listening. He looked down towards the briefcase still lying on the floor where Klaus had left it. “Very disappointing,” he muttered to himself. He wasn’t proud of what he was thinking, but there was only one way to stop the apocalypse. They needed the full force of the academy, Klaus included, and there was only one reason he had abandoned them.

After all, what was one life against seven billion?

#tua #the umbrella academy #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #ua #umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #diego hargreeeves #ben hargreeves #number five #five hargreeves #the seance #klave #klaus/dave #klaus/diego #dave katz

[bakudekuficlibrary]

BakuDeku: Protective Katsuki Part II

Click here for Part I & Part III!

2 Series. 66 Works.

Super Mario Maker by Pop_Rocks (v_love) ( E | 3,734 | 1/1 )

Midoriya is smart, and a nerd, meaning that when the entire class decided to take on the aspect of buying Super Mario Maker for the collection of games in the common area that he became sort of a living legend when it came to designing the levels.

Some were just joyous well designed little prank-type levels, others were difficult — but not impossible — and the rest? Well, those were impossible.

For all but one.

His Kacchan.

————

In which Bakugou rages.

Series Part 4 of Kacchan and Deku's Shenanigans

Fireflies for the Moon by Best TankTopist (Keyade) ( M | 12,238+ | 3/? )

Katsuki is finally a man, a full fledged samurai of one of the strongest and oldest clans in all of Edo. And what better way (according to Kirishima) to celebrate his coming-of-age than in true warrior style - visiting a teahouse in the red light district and spending a night with a kagema? After all, the best way to commemorate one's manhood (also according to Kirishima) is to sleep with a man...right?

But amidst all the pleasures, vices and lavishly dressed courtesans of the floating world, it's a stumbling teahouse slave that Katsuki notices, with old scars on his hands and fresh ones on his back, a young man with defiant green eyes and an inexplicable fascination with the Way of the Samurai.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Rape/Non-Con | Abuse]

[Series] Arranged by amiluna ( Not Rated | 102,764 | 2 Works | Complete )

Izuku knows as a quirkless he will be married off soon...he had hoped it would be to someone he wanted, but then life always messes with him like that. Add in the childhood friend he forgot and you have one hell of a mess for the boy who just wants to decide for himself for once.

After Arranged, Izuku moves in with Katsuki. From here on out, he encounters hardships revolving his former friend and the joys of making a new friend. The only question now being will it all blow up in his face and threaten everything he has?

[On Hiatus] Impulse by HG_Wells ( Not Rated | 4,418+ | 1/? )

Midoriya Izuku is a just an ordinary Beta with no Quirk, bullied and tormented for his lack of unique abilities. His main assailant is his chlidhood friend, Bakugou Katsuki. His bully is rather special, born with a genetic defect that makes him stronger than a normal Alpha. They call the ones with these defects 'S-Ranks'. Laying dormant in Izuku's body is his own S-Rank, it takes an inherited Quirk from his Step Father to pull this torpid trait to the surface.

Who did this? by VMarus ( Not Rated | 1,311 | 1/1 )

Izuku misses plans he made with Katsuki.

Series Part 3 of Quirkless, Not Helpless.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Bullying]

Werewolf in The Witch's Forest by Unoutan ( T | 6,028 | 1/1 )

The sky is blue, the air is chilly and the leaves are falling all around the forest, but a wolf with pale fur is close to death at Izuku's feet...and the witch-in-training, collecting his herbs alone amongst the trees, is the only one who can help.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence]

[On Hiatus] Stay With Me by ALonelyGod ( M | 34,000+ | 8/15 )

ON HIATUS

Katsuki Bakugou was the greatest samurai that ever lived, but tragedy after tragedy has left him broken and... well, immortal. He is given something that is both a gift and a punishment. Katsuki now treads through life surrounded by death.

Todoroki Shouto walks the earth with no memory, but his duty: To help souls cross to the other side.

Izuku Midoriya has been bullied his entire life just because he is quirkless but that doesn't change his sunny disposition. Good thing he has his ghost friends who has been following him since he was a child.

What would happen when these three cross paths and realize what they really mean to each other?

This is inspired by the k drama Goblin!

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Major Character Death]

Stereotypes by TabiCats ( Not Rated | 9,011+ | 9/? )

What if....

What if the assassination classroom a.k.a. The End Class existed in the same world as U.A. High School? and they are breaking all the stereotypes.

Bakugou Deals With Jealousy in a Creative Manner by Renex ( E | 1,672 | 1/1 )

“That fucking half and half bastard I swear to god next time he pulls some shit like that again I’ll blow his head right off his shoulders.” Bakugou practically snarled, slamming the door to his dorm room shut before tossing his bag to the ground and collapsing down onto the bed.

“Kacchan, relax. He was just helping me that’s all.”

“Helping you?” The short-tempered blonde practically snorted, sitting up on his elbows so that he could get a better look at the freckled boy standing in front of him. “The man was practically tongue fucking you.”

drive-by by infernalangels ( E | 12,661+ | 4/? )

He should’ve never let Uraraka drag him here. The whole place reeked of beer and gasoline, drunken laughter breaking out from the group of boys he and his best friend approached. Izuku honestly didn’t know why he’d come. Signing, he began to follow Mina, silently praying he wouldn’t regret this.

Oh, he had no idea.

or: Katsuki Bakugou is everything Izuku Midoriya despises: a tattooed covered badass who takes no shit from anyone. He's arrogant, rude, addicting... Maybe that's why Izuku can't stay away.

[Homophobia]

Stupid Deku is a Stupid Ghost Cry-baby by sushisama ( G | 3,030 | 1/1 )

Izuku follows Katsuki to a haunted shrine on Halloween.

Series Part 1 of A Ghost and A Werewolf go to a Haunted House

Secret Love by xbluedropx ( Not Rated | 1,001 | 1/1 )

Where Izuku is dating Katsuki, famous pro hero Ground Zero but none of his friends know about Izuku. They found out and see a sweet side of Bakugou.

Series Part 3 of Songs

The Way You Used To Do by edema_ruh ( T | 23,710+ | 3/? )

"We're really sorry", his father says, in that teary-eyed, wobbly way Katsuki most certainly didn't inherit from him, thank fuck. "But your friend, Izuku, he's...", he hesitates for a moment, as if trying to find the right words for that situation. "He's gone, son", he concludes, giving Katsuki's hand a squeeze. Behind him, his mother stands, face almost as impassive as ever.

Katsuki can do nothing but blink up at them for moments that feel like an eternity, eyes darting between both his parents in obvious confusion, disbelief, and, more than anything, indignation.

"What the fuck are you two talking about?", he asks, not as aggressively as he would have liked to. "The damn nerd is standing right beside you!"

During a battle, Midoriya gets hit by a villain whose quirk detaches his soul from his body. Being assumed dead from his lack of brain function, the boy enters a race against time in order to save himself from permanently dying. Much to his luck - or lack of it -, the only person who can see and talk to him in his soul-like state is no one other than Kacchan.

in the eyes of the beholder by altruisticizuku ( T | 3,918 | 3/3 )

life is difficult.

midoriya and bakugou stumble through it, together even when they feel apart.

180 degrees by snoodlesfounder ( M | 56,084 | 17/17 )

They haven't seen each other in ten years, but it feels as if they were never apart.

Midoriya Izuku's father, Toshinori-Midoriya Yagi, has cancer. He is fading fast, and there is only one solution, an unofficial hospital in the middle of Montana, in America. Because the hospital is uncharted, no communications go in or out of the hospital, and because of the 'healing' method, no one can leave.

It has been ten years since Bakugou Katsuki has been in love, or maybe it's been ten years since he's seen the person he's in love with. However, the voice on the balcony between he and Kirishima's apartments is just a little too familiar.

[Past Abuse | Past Rape/Non-Con | Past Addiction | PTSD]

Under the Moon by snoodlesfounder ( M | 56,694 | 9/9 )

Izuku Midoriya was Kidnapped at the beginning of his third year at UA high school, six months ago. There were no leads for almost six months, and the Hero's were starting to give up. Bakugou Katsuki finds out what everything means under the moon.

Hello! This is only my second work so please be kind, and I should update at least once every two weeks at random intervals because finals are about to beat my ass! <3<3<3

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | PTSD | Suicide Attempts | Past Abuse]

Distance by IAmStoryteller ( T | 32,273 | 11/11 )

Distance makes the heart grow fonder. (Izuku and Bakugou deal with living life thousands of miles away from each other in their own way)

Series Part 2 of The Wonder Duo/Kacchan and Deku

[On Hiatus] Where the Stars Burn Brightest by DriftingGlass ( M | 18,467+ | 3/? )

In a world where countries are torn asunder through quests for greed, power, and understanding the realm of industrial technology and ancient magic, only the strongest—and smartest—live a full life.

Every individual is born with a phrase marking their bodies, linking them to their soulmate through the threads of fate and time.

Izuku Midoriya is born with only half of a soulphrase on his wrist, destined to never meet the other half. A cruel omen.

Though this has not stopped Izuku from dedicating his young life to researching soul-born magic and science under his master, the legendary Toshinori Yagi. He is determined to manifest his Quirk, with or without a destined soulmate.

However, his life takes an unexpected turn when he rescues a volatile criminal—a man of savage beauty and many secrets.

And so, Izuku realizes rather quickly that in his dangerous new quest, only the most willful survive, and if his new companion is anything to show for it, nothing will prepare him for what’s to come.

[ Rewrite of The Rhythm of Fire and Wind ]

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Past Abuse]

Learning to live by Luciel (Bananenfisch) ( M | 4,156+ | 5/? )

No man was created equal. Midoriya Izuku learned this harsh reality at the age of eight. It was not the diagnosis that he was quirkless, which shook his life.

No, it was not this diagnosis that destroyed his life. It was something much more serious.

or

where All Might is Midoriyas father. All is nice and peachy until Midoriya gets sick and they have to deal with the consequences and then Bakugo fucking Katsuki steps into Izukus life and becomes Izukus own special Hero.

[Major Character Death]

Stay with me, Midoriya by DehydratedTears ( M | 5,928+ | 5/? )

An alternate "conclusion" of the battle when Midoriya saves Kota during the Summer Camp attack.

Or, Midoriya is badly hurt and Bakugo is the only one who heard the scream for help.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence]

The Long Walk by Umbreon_ly ( T | 11,873 | 1/1 )

Bakugou came out on top of nearly everything, because he deserved it, because he wanted it, because he told himself so. When a sickness came and upended the hero and civilian worlds, he rose up as an alpha. An alpha pro, shattering rogue villains and cleaning up the new dynamic world. He froze in his tracks for the first time in five years when he saw Izuku Midoriya in the middle of nowhere, for the first time in five years. Bakugou is terrified.

He was alone, it seemed. Dressed like a hero but quirkless, it seemed, the only person left alive not changed into any dynamic, it seemed. Bakugou approached him. He wants to apologize. Izuku wants to leave. So he runs.

Bakugou gives chase. He won't leave him behind this time.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence]

Not like I do. by Unoutan ( T | 2,073 | 1/1 )

“Everything you’ve been through…they don’t, can’t…no. No. Sorry. They can and will judge you, but they can judge you all they want, but they don’t know a damn thing about you, Kacchan.” Looking down at Katsuki’s calloused hands cradled between his own scarred ones for a moment, taking in the differences, Izuku closed his eyes when he whispered, “Not like I do…”

Series Part 4 of Twin Stars Week 2018

i carry you in my heart by dumbdaisies ( T | 1,102 | 1/1 )

In the aftermath of a battle, Katsuki and Izuku tend to one another through the grief and guilt that come with the job.

A Hero's Welcome by brichibi ( E | 1,835 | 1/1 )

It’s cool. This life is cool. This moment is cool. He and Kacchan are cool, so cool. Their younger selves would be so proud of them, so excited about the bruises and near death experiences in their future. They’ve become the heroes they grew up watching on television, and really, it’s cool, the absolute coolest.

[Or: Being a hero isn't as cool as they make it out to be]

Series Part 1 of Twin Stars Week 2018

Innocence by bakudeku ( Not Rated | 3,367+ | 5/? )

He won't cry. If they saw his tears, they'd call him weak. He isn't weak. Yet, the tears still fall. Just as he thought, everyone laughs harder. Everyone except Kacchan.

No matter how much he yells that he hates Deku, he doesn't. He genuinely cares about him, and seeing Deku look like shit is bringing out some weird protective side in him.

[Rape/Non-Con]

spring snow by altruisticizuku ( G | 1,008 | 1/1 )

izuku is a bit of a lightweight and katsuki might be kinda jealous.

~~

bakudeku week 2018; day 2: romantic nights / dancing / your eyes

Series Part 2 of Bakudeku Week 2018

I Will Fight For You by erasethensleep ( T | 1,966 | 1/1 )

Deku's terrible at standing up for himself. It's a good thing Katsuki's there to yell at people for him.

Series Part 2 of Twin Stars Week 2018

All That Once Was by Currently_Underrated ( E | 6,226+ | 2/? )

Midoriya Izuku was not the most confident, powerful, special. He was also quirkless, Deku... I think you get it. But he was also transgender. Bakugou Katsuki, his once childhood friend, was the first one who knew when they were still in their early years.

But what happens when, after Midoriya attempts to save Bakugou, a transphobic/homophobic man finds out what he is and desides to "set him straight." It just so happens that Bakugou had a few words for Midoriya. So, Bakugou heard his screams.

Needless to say, Bakugou nearly killed a man, and was caught by All Might himself once he managed to sneak away from the press.

[Rape/Non-Con | Transphobia]

A Dying Breed by VMarus ( M | 12,013+ | 3/? )

The kingdom was under strick rule, technology rising and taking hold, magical creatures were slowly being hunted either for cash or for different qualities. Tribesman were forcably removed from their homes because of the Kingdom, the Kings excuse of merging them in with them or as he called it bringing them to civilization.Bakugou was sick of this, sick of the way the Kingdom treated his people as if they weren't people at all. He wanted changeBut what was Izuku's role in all this? -Fantasy AUBakugou is appart of a dying tribe and looking to make a stance against the Kings rule. Izuku is just a young village boy who somehow gets strung along by his morals and need to help.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Major Character Death | Rape/Non-Con | Homophobia]

[Abandoned] UA hottest new couple and All Might's secrete love child ( G | 4,747+ | 3/? )

“You may think the winner of UA Sports Festive Bakugou Katsuki to be a hot head, mean, and sometimes cruel person but there more to him than that. We were able to catch a small glimpse of him being a sweet and caring boyfriend to fellow contestant Midoriya Izuku. We also learned why he acts the way he did about winning and why he treated his appoint Uraraka the way he did. But that pales in comparison to what we found out about Midoriya. We didn't believe it ourselves at first too but the evidence is too much. Midoriya is the son of All might. The number one hero. But that's not all he was also bullied for being supposably quirkless.” The man said on TV.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence]   

I just want my deku by MajesticTrash ( E | 115,605+ | 12/? )

classic A/B/O. my own tiny tweaks here and there. izuku is the only male omega in the school. izuku MUST find a mate before his 21 B-day! he has 2 months and izuku has had it with angry explodi boy. can explodi boy redeem himself and show that he TOO can show love?! with the help of his best bro and his squad, katsuki WILL BECOME THE ULTRA ALPHA!. with the clock ticking, explodi boy will do whatever it takes to win the heart of his deku!. CAN KATSUKI GET THE OMEGA HE LONGS FOR , BUILD A NEST AND HAVE PUPS IN HIS FUTURE!?

a smear of blood, and a dash of ash, makes our art work wonders by MajesticTrash ( E | 10,882+ | 3/? )

life is a funny thing. it can be amazing, and it can be horrible. fate can change so many things. what would happen if hearts twisted differently because of life?. Izuku and Katsuki always wanted better lives. I guess they got what they wished for. now, the mates always murder together. Villains are more fun than heroes ever could be

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Cannibalism]

Planetarium by crescendoh ( G | 2,467 | 1/1 )

Whether it was his physical appearance or general demeanour, Midoriya Toshinori took most after his father. Sure, he had inherited his mother’s button nose and her sharp almond eyes but whenever the two-year-old called for his mother and held out his arms for her embrace, he definitely looked most like Izuku.

Alternatively known as “Bakudeku baby!”

Series Part 7 of Female Bakugou AU

follow the moon by kylieno ( T | 16,969 | 2/2 )

Katsuki had told him not to come. Deku didn't listen, following him through the warp gate and straight into the heart of the League. Now, trapped and surrounded by dangerous criminals, Katsuki must find a way to protect both himself and his injured childhood friend.

It’s too bad everyone in the room wants him dead.

Endeavors of the Mind by KittKatt420  ( M | 44,464+ | 5/8 )

Bakugo and Midoriya both struggle with different aspects of their newfound relationship. Katsuki wants to be more open with his affections for Deku, but is hindered by his intimacy issues. Izuku covets Kacchan's affection, but is too afraid of being overbearing. BakuDeku-centric with mentions of KiriShido and TodoMomo. Yaoi. M/M Lemon flavored chapters.

[Panic Attacks]

How to Fight the Trials of Love like You Would A Villian 101 by purple_anonymous ( T | 35,180+ | 5/? )

When they aren't fighting villains or running a hero agency, the top heroes spend their days in the throws of a rom-com drama, where one guy is trying to find the right time to pop the question, and another is trying to not to pop the wrong question at the wrong time. Includes a duo who just want to spend their free time from villainy doing their laundry and probably watching old movies together, but instead becomes the go-to couple of relationship advice for all their helpless friends.

OR, a future fic in which the wonder duo are ACTUALLY(?) the couple with the most “stable” relationship compared to their friends, and somehow end up battling something other than your daily villains.

Hurts Like Hell by odasaku (jemtessa) ( T | 916 | 1/1 )

After finding out All Might is going to die Izuku finds his way into Katsuki’s arms.

[KatsuDeku Week --> Day 4: Comfort]

[On Hiatus] can't let go (losing my grip) by lovedbyshadows ( Not Rated | 8,698+ | 3/? )

"People aren't either wicked or noble. They're like chef's salads, with good things and bad things chopped and mixed together in a vinaigrette of confusion and conflict." -Lemony Snicket.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | PTSD]

a world without you (is isolation incarnate) by lovedbyshadows, PotatoGhostHaley ( Not Rated | 7,258+ | 3/? )

 "And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation." - Khalil Gibran.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence]

Inked Heart by Ludwhick ( M | 14,075+ | 6/7 )

Midoriya Izuku, a college English teacher, goes out drinking with his friends one Friday. After one too many shots, they all decide to get tattoos. Izuku ends up falling inlove with a certain tattoo artist.

Soft Pulse by SugarRose22 ( T | 2,827 | 1/1 )

Leave it to Deku to be the hero, to take all the hits and all the pain and save everyone like he's always wanted to.

Leave it to Izuku to break Katsuki's heart and make him whole again all at the same time.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence]

Look at Me, Not the Camera! by baltshake ( T | 2,397 | 1/1 )

For every good act a hero does, there will be many interpretations of events with the top stories being as follows:

1. Gratitude towards the good act 2. How the good act was not actually good but bad 3. Closer to the facts but still some personal interpretation twisting 4. Who cares about the violence? We want to know who's sleeping with who now!!

OR Bakugou and Midoriya have a regular day in their lives as pro heroes

Who said you can't teach old dogs new tricks? by Mackalmorr ( G | 9,922+ | 4/? )

Bakugou and Midoriya adopt a stray child. Said child then releases hell when he begins to copy Katsuki's mouth and Izuku's self-sacrificial tendencies.

Katsuki didn't sign up for this shit. Izuku's head over heels.

The best part is you by Pudding_and_madness ( T | 1,755 | 1/1 )

Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki are pro heroes working at the same hero agency, and their schedule is a big mess. As always, Izuku tries to be a hero 24/7 without catching his breath which raises a concern in Katsuki, which he attempts to address one night.

Or: Bakugou Katsuki just wants to take care of his boyfriend.

Instinctual Love by ChestnutPatronus14 ( M | 2,191 | 1/1 )

Is it instinct or love that drives him to protect the Deku? He’s always been protective of him, no one gets to hurt him. But in a world where Deku is the only dragon without the ability to transform, it has never stopped him from following the prince around. So when he gets hurt, is it instinct that drives him to find him? Or is it love?

Part of Katsuki Bakugo Week 2018. Day two (Instinct/Love)

Series Part 2 of Bakugo Week 2018

Bloom by anontigg ( M | 3,419+ | 3/4 )

Midoriya Izuku is in love with his childhood friend all his life. He thought keeping his feelings hidden would be fine...until his life is on the line.

(Basically a hanahaki disease au fic...and I suck at summaries. forgive me TT TT)

[Suicide Attempts]

Don't let the hero fall by choimarie ( G | 786 | 1/1 )

Day 4: tight embraces

Izuku’s heart was full.

Nothing could change that.

But that call.

Series Part 4 of Bakudeku week 2k18

The Dragon King's mate by twilightwings ( E | 23,424+ | 7/? )

Izuku decides to go after a rare flower that only grows, on a mountain in the Dragon King's territory. She discovers someone from her past living with the dragon, she is plunged into his world where she fell in love with him all over again. however there a noble knight who wants her hand in marriage. But However, there something sinister in the wake, when is a threaten force from the past is threating to return.

Breaking Point by miracha123, The_Crafty_Cracker ( M | 10,363+ | 5/? )

“Some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned, or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn.”

[Major Character Death | Panic Attacks]

Black-eyed Susan by JunNoAce ( E | 16,903+ | 3/? )

As children Izuku and Katsuki meet and become childhood friends, but Izuku then moves away. Izuku wishing he didn't have to leave, promised that one day he will come back and they will be together forever. Married. Katsuki held him to that promise but, of course, failed to realize Izuku was in fact a boy. Fifteen years later Izuku never came back and Katsuki come to believe that he has been forgotten. That is until Inko, Izuku's mom comes back to town saying Izuku is in trouble and needs his help! And thus an adventure for Katsuki and Izuku awates. An American Western AU with Sex, alchohol, violence, and trying to fight off a whole gang of bandits from trying to take his Deku away?!

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Homophobia | Sexism]

It's Like Copper by Pop_Rocks (v_love) ( T | 2,040 | 1/1 )

Blood has a funny taste, very few people put their tongue to the red with the thought or desire of tasting it. Maybe it occurs through sucking gently on a paper cut on their finger, or the gentle sting of a cut inside their mouth. Yet there is that familiar taste all know, like you just picked up a coin and tossed it in your mouth. Everyone describes it the same: it tastes like copper. Metallic.

----

In which Bakugou has a nightmare.

Series Part 9 of Kacchan and Deku’s Hooplas

[On Hiatus] World, Meet Katsudeku by CruelCharisma ( T | 6,538+ | 2/? )

A series of Katsudeku one-shots in which Izuku is quirkless. (I also have a series where he does, in fact, have one for all. If you were curious.) 1.) Teacher!Izuku

2.) There was once a somewhat… tempered hero. A very good hero. Well, at least when it came to blowing stuff up. It was what this hero strived in. Now, our very tempered hero is taking a break from being a somewhat tempered hero in favor of… taking a break. Some would even strive to call it a “day off”. And Ground Zero sure as hell hoped that it would be a fucking relaxing one.

3 (+1) Months by Butterfree ( G | 6,381 | 1/1 )

“I wanted to let you know, Young Bakugou, that I am really proud of you. Not just of Young Midoriya but you as well. I never doubt that you will become the best hero.”

“Th-Then watch me do it.” Katsuki let out, allowing his thoughts to run against logic and ask for the impossible for this one moment when no one could see. “Watch all of us damn well conquer everyone and laugh.”

“I will.” All Might chuckled. “Even if you can’t see me, I’m here.”

It was cheesy, it made no sense, but Katsuki found himself believing it. In the midst of the foreboding sense of finality, the man who gave the world his everything made one selfish request.

“Take care of Izuku.”

It's the last time they talk alone before All Might passes away.

[Major Character Death]

When He Smiles by Quirkyasfok ( G | 2,388 | 1/1 )

Bakugou Katsuki may not be the nicest person in the world, but even he prefers to see the green-haired nerd smile.

or Deku cries a lot and Katsuki just wants him to be happier

or I get BakuDeku feels while listening to the song Absolutely (Story of a Girl) by Nine Days and have to do something about it

Quiet by thepizzaman ( Not Rated | 5,336+ | 1/1 )

Everything seemed to be going smoothly for him, for once, since moving to the city. His job was secure, he had people to watch his back, and had a cheap apartment. Despite the outward appearance that hatred was looming in the air between him and his coworkers, they put up with him, and thanks to their manager they all had convinced themselves it was their personal duty to annoy the hell out of Bakugou in order to uncover the secret soft side he absolutely did not have. So far, he was good. But all that was thrown onto it’s head when Izuku Midoriya stumbled into the bar on a slow Friday night, already half way drunk.

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | PTSD | Abuse]

"I hate your last name." by button_masher ( G | 1,083 | 1/1 )

bakugou asks izuku to marry him and its cute

Journey To The Past by LocalTrashBin ( T | 20,239+ | 4/? )

Bullets echoing through the air of a cold December night, flames engulfing halls and a heartbeat drumming against his ear, are the beginnings of all Deku could remember.

His life gone by without knowing who he was, Deku embarks on a journey to escape his country accompanied by two conmen in the hopes of uncovering his past. Through it all, one name lingers in his mind and on his lips.

Prince Izuku. (Bakudeku Anastasia AU)

[PTSD]

20 Kids and a Teacher vs. the World by AlexInfinite ( T | 12,970+ | 5/? )

Once upon a time, the world was terrible, and two kids who grew up together ran away in order to fix it. Two years and a conversation later, their party grows from two 15 year olds with the lacking of self preservation skills to a party of 20 insane kids and the poor teacher they brought along for the ride. Finding a legendary civilization in the clouds in order to stage a revolution shouldn't be too hard, right?

Izuku, ever the pessimist of the original two, begs to differ.

The King's Consort by VirgilEmeralds ( E | 3,890+ | 1/1 )

The King Bakugou Katsuki was tired. After years of concubines, he finally wanted something more. He wanted someone to last, to live the rest of his life with him. He needed a Consort.

Bearer Midoriya Izuku just hopes he could claim his Lordship titles. He didn't think he would be in the running to be the King's consort nor did he think he would fall for the ruby red-eyed royal either.

[Major Character Death]

[Abandoned] Till Death Do Us Part ( M | 1,990 | 1/? )

Izuku Midoriya finds himself on quite the situation. Having been sent on a supply run for medicine, him and his two companions Kirishima and Shinsou are all separated by a horde.

All alone, a reanimated hand pulling his shoulder towards a rotting jaw, Izuku says his last regards to his loved ones and waits for the inevitable ripping of his own flesh.

But it never comes.

-

Ikuzu/Hitoshi is only really referenced a few times. Katsuki/Izuku is the main ship.

Rated mature for scenes of violence and gore.

[Major Character Death]

[Series] Twin Stars Week by ChestnutPatronus14 ( M | 3,104+ | 2 Works | WIP )

As a child, Izuku was forced to inherit the All for One quirk. Izuku never knew why he was, he wasn't even aware he had it for the longest time. His parents never lost their quirks around him, and neither did Bakugo, the only person to have seen what had happened to Izuku. Growing up, he started to realize he was different, that he could take the quirks of others but he never showed it off to anyone. It was a secret... Then his life began to spiral out of control. His parents were killed. He was given another quirk by his idol that he could not refuse. His brain beginning to feel like it was on fire, Izuku set out to do what he thought was right: Make sure that no villains were ever able to hurt those he cared about, and to make them pay for what they had done to Kachan. Part of Twin Stars Week Day One: Stargazing / Blood / Blankets / Childhood

If there was one thing that Katsuki knew, it was that Deku never lied to him. Despite everything that Deku was becoming, Deku never lied to him. Yet when people begin disappearing all across Japan, Katsuki is forced to wonder is it just a random occurance, or is the person who he has sworn to protect, lying to him without him knowing? Is Deku the reason behind the recent disapperances, and if he is, has he snapped and started to kill innocent people?Part of Twin Stars Week Day One: Falling Stars (Stargazing / Blood / Blankets / Childhood) Day Two: The Fault in Our Stars (Secrets / Protect / Hands / Fear)

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Major Character Death]

Matters by QueenOfArcher ( E | 6,922+ | 3/? )

“Just be yourself, even if the whole world turn their back on you, hate you. I’ll be there, standing tall and proud, shout to the world that I’m yours. So come back to me. Promise that you’ll stay with me.”

“I...can be myself? And you won’t hate me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I promise.”

[Graphic Depictions Of Violence]

Greco - Roman by Eerei ( Not Rated | 2,350+ | 1/? )

After the attack on Corinthus by the ruthless Roman army, Greek Izuku Midoriya is forced away from everything he has ever known. Left wondering whether his mother is safe in Athenae or not, Izuku is suddenly caught up in the life of an Alpha General whose skills and features seem nearly god-like.

Say, why does the statue of Mars look so familiar? - Katsuki has found the one the Parcae have prophesized about. So, disguised as a Roman General, the alpha will drag the useless omega to the Mons Capitolinus before Jupiter to put an end to the possible destruction of the Olympians. However, there seems to be just one problem.

Why can't he hurt this greenhaired freckled nerd?

The Reason Why by Oravarily ( Not Rated | 1,309+ | 1/2 )

Bakugou had warned them, he warned the League of Villains not to hurt, threaten, or kidnap Midoriya. All he can say is he warned them. Todoroki was also warned about Midoriya, not to get to close to him. However not following his father's orders was the reason he existed so he did, and now he finds himself struggling with new feelings. Meanwhile the Deku Protection Squad forms, and attempts to rescue the kidnapped Deku! They might not have to though. 

#BakuDeku #KatsuDeku #BNHA #bkdkfl masterlist #long post #w:mcd #w:violence #w:rape #t:s #t:panic #t:ptsd #t:abuse #t:bullying #t:homophobia #t:addiction #t:pa #t:transphobia #t:sexism #curator jay #Masterlist

[pamphletstoinspire]

NOVENA TO THE HOLY GHOST - BEGINS FRIDAY MAY 31ST UNTIL SATURDAY JUNE 8TH - PENTECOST SUNDAY IS JUNE 9TH

This Novena is the oldest novena, first made at the direction of Our Lord when He sent His apostles back to Jerusalem to await the coming of the Holy Ghost on the First Pentecost.

It is the only novena officially prescribed by the Church. Addressed to the Third Person of the Blessed Trinity, it is a powerful plea for the light, strength and love so sorely needed by every Christian. To encourage devotion to the Holy Ghost, the Church has enriched this novena with indulgences.

NOVENA TO THE HOLY GHOST Imprimatur: Patrick A. O’Boyle, D.D.—Archbishop of Washington, Washington, D.C . — March 12, 1948

The faithful who devoutly assist at the public novena in honor of the Holy Ghost immediately preceding the feast of Pentecost may gain an INDULGENCE OF 10 YEARS ON ANY DAY OF THE NOVENA, AND A PLENARY INDULGENCE, if they take part in at least five of the exercises; and moreover go to confession, and receive Holy Communion and pray for the Holy Father’s intentions.

Those who make a private novena in honor of the Holy Ghost, either before Pentecost or at any other time in the year may gain an INDULGENCE of 7 years on any day of this novena, and a PLENARY INDULGENCE under the usual conditions; but if a public novena is held, this indulgence is available only to those who are lawfully hindered from being part in the same.

DAILY PRAYERS:

PRAYER TO THE HOLY SPIRIT

Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of Your faithful and enkindle in them the fire of Your love. Send forth Your Spirit and they shall be created. And You shall renew the face of the earth.

OUR FATHER

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespasses against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

HAIL MARY

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and in the hour of our death. Amen.

GLORY BE (7 TIMES)

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.

PRAYER FOR THE SEVEN GIFTS OF THE HOLY SPIRIT

O Lord Jesus Christ, Who before ascending into heaven, did promise to send the Holy Spirit to finish Your work in the souls of Your Apostles and Disciples, deign to grant the same Holy Spirit to me that He may perfect in my soul the work of Your grace and Your love. Grant me the Spirit of Wisdom that I may despise the perishable things of this world and aspire only after the things that are eternal, the Spirit of Understanding to enlighten my mind with the light of Your divine truth, the Spirit of Counsel that I may ever choose the surest way of pleasing God and gaining heaven, the Spirit of Fortitude that I may bear my cross with You and that I may overcome with courage all the obstacles that oppose my salvation, the Spirit of Knowledge that I may know God and know myself and grow perfect in the science of the Saints, the Spirit of Piety that I may find the service of God sweet and amiable, the Spirit of Fear that I may be filled with a loving reverence towards God and may dread in any way to displease Him. Mark me, dear Lord, with the sign of Your true disciples and animate me in all things with your Spirit. Amen.

ACT OF CONSECRATION TO THE HOLY SPIRIT

On my knees before the great multitude of heavenly witnesses, I offer myself, soul and body to You, Eternal Spirit of God. I adore the brightness of Your purity, the unerring keenness of Your justice, and the might of Your love. You are the strength and Light of my soul. In You I live and move and am. I desire never to grieve You by unfaithfulness to grace and I pray with all my heart to be kept from the smallest sin against You. Mercifully guard my every thought and grant that I may always watch for Your Light and listen to Your voice and follow Your gracious inspirations. I cling to You and give myself to You and ask You by Your compassion to watch over me in my weakness. Holding the pierced Feet of Jesus and looking at His Five Wounds and trusting in His Precious Blood and adoring His opened Side and stricken Heart, I implore You Adorable Spirit, Helper of my infirmity, so to keep me in Your grace that I may never sin against You. Give me grace, O Holy Spirit, Spirit of the Father and the Son, to say to You always and everywhere, “Speak Lord, for Your servant is listening.” Amen

NINE DAY NOVENA TO THE HOLY GHOST (ENDS DAY BEFORE PENTECOST SUNDAY)

FIRST DAY: THE HOLY GHOST

Holy Spirit! Lord of light! From Thy clear celestial height, Thy pure beaming radiance give!

Only one thing is important—eternal salvation. Only one thing, therefore, is to be feared — sin. Sin is the result of ignorance, weakness, and indifference. The Holy Ghost is the Spirit of Light, of Strength, and of Love. With His sevenfold gifts, He enlightens the mind, strengthens the will, and inflames the heart with love of God. To ensure our salvation, we ought to invoke the Divine Spirit daily, for “The Spirit helpeth our infirmity. We know not what we should pray for as we ought. But the Spirit Himself asketh for us.

Almighty and eternal God, Who has vouchsafed to regenerate us by water and the Holy Ghost, and hast given us forgiveness of all our sins, vouchsafe to send forth from heaven upon us Thy sevenfold Spirit, the Spirit of Wisdom and Understanding, the Spirit of Counsel and Fortitude, the Spirit of Knowledge and Piety, and fill us with the Spirit of Holy Fear. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS ________________________________________________________

SECOND DAY: THE GIFT OF FEAR

Come, Thou Father of the poor! Come, with treasures which endure! Come, Thou light of all that live!

The gift of Fear fills us with a sovereign respect for God, and makes us dread nothing so much as to offend Him by Sin. It is a fear that arises, not from the thought of hell, but from sentiments of reverence and filial submission to our heavenly Father. It is the fear that is the beginning of wisdom, detaching us from worldly pleasures that could in any way separate us from God. “They that fear the Lord will prepare their hearts, and in His sight will sanctify their souls.”

Come, O blessed Spirit of Holy Fear, penetrate my inmost heart, that I may set Thee, my Lord and God, before my face forever; help me to shun all things that can offend Thee, and make me worthy to appear before the pure eyes of Thy Divine Majesty in heaven, where Thou livest and reignest in the unity of the ever Blessed Trinity, God world without end. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS ________________________________________________________

THIRD DAY: THE GIFT OF PIETY

Thou, of all consolers best, visiting the troubled breast, dost refreshing peace bestow.

The gift of Piety begets in our hearts a filial affection for God as our most loving Father. It inspires us to love and respect for His sake persons and things consecrated to Him, as well as those who are vested with His authority, His Blessed Mother and the Saints, the Church and its visible Head, our parents and superiors, our country and its rulers. He who is filled with the gift of Piety finds the practice of his religion, not a burdensome duty, but a delightful service. Where there is love, there is no labor.

Come, O Blessed Spirit of Piety, possess my heart. Enkindle therein such a love for God, that I may find satisfaction only in His service, and for His sake lovingly submit to all legitimate authority. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS ________________________________________________________

FOURH DAY: THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE

Thou in toil art comfort sweet, pleasant coolness in the heat; solace in the midst of woe.

By the gift of Fortitude, the soul is strengthened against natural fear, and supported to the end in the performance of duty. Fortitude imparts to the will an impulse and energy which move it to undertake without hesitancy the most arduous tasks, to face dangers, to trample under foot human respect, and to endure without complaint the slow martyrdom of even lifelong tribulation. “He that shall persevere unto the end, he shall be saved.”

Come, O Blessed Spirit of Fortitude, uphold my soul in times of trouble and adversity, sustain my efforts after holiness, strengthen my weakness, give me courage against all the assaults of my enemies, that I may never be overcome and separated from Thee, my God and greatest Good. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS ________________________________________________________

FIFTH DAY: THE GIFT OF KNOWLEDGE

Light immortal! Light Divine! Visit Thou these hearts of Thine, and our inmost being fill.

The gift of Knowledge enables the soul to evaluate created things at their true worth — in relation to God. Knowledge unmasks the pretense of creatures, reveals their emptiness, and points out their only true purpose as instruments in the service of God. It shows us the loving care of God even in adversity, and directs us to glorify Him in every circumstance of life. Guided by its light, we put first things first, and prize the friendship of God beyond all else. “Knowledge is a fountain of life to him that possesseth it.”

Come, O Blessed Spirit of Knowledge, and grant that I may perceive the will of the Father; show me the nothingness of earthly things, that I may realize their vanity and use them only for Thy glory and my own salvation, looking ever beyond them to Thee, and Thy eternal rewards. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS _________________________________________________

SIXTH DAY: THE GIFT OF UNDERSTANDING

If Thou take Thy grace away, nothing pure in man will stay, all his good is turn’d to ill.

Understanding, as a gift of the Holy Ghost, helps us to grasp the meaning of the truths of our holy religion. By faith we know them, but by Understanding we learn to appreciate and relish them. It enables us to penetrate the inner meaning of revealed truths and through them to be quickened to newness of life. Our faith ceases to be sterile and inactive, but inspires a mode of life that bears eloquent testimony to the faith that is in us; we begin to “walk worthy of God in all things pleasing, and increasing in the knowledge of God.”

Come, O Spirit of Understanding, and enlighten our minds, that we may know and believe all the mysteries of salvation; and may merit at last to see the eternal light; and in the light of glory to have a clear vision of Thee and the Father and the Son. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS _________________________________________________

SEVENTH DAY: THE GIFT OF COUNSEL

Heal our wounds-our strength renew; on our dryness pour Thy dew; wash the stains of guilt away!

The gift of Counsel endows the soul with supernatural prudence, enabling it to judge promptly and rightly what must be done, especially in difficult circumstances. Counsel applies the principles furnished by Knowledge and Understanding to the innumerable concrete cases that confront us in the course of our daily duty as parents, teachers, public servants and Christian citizens. Counsel is supernatural common sense, a priceless treasure in the quest of salvation. “Above all these things, pray to the Most High, that He may direct thy way in truth.”

Come, O Spirit of Counsel, help and guide me in all my ways, that I may always do Thy holy will. Incline my heart to that which is good; turn it away from all that is evil, and direct me by the straight path of Thy commandments to that goal of eternal life for which I long. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS _________________________________________________

EIGHTH DAY: THE GIFT OF WISDOM

Bend the stubborn heart and will; melt the frozen, warm the chill; guide the steps that go astray!

Embodying all the other gifts, as charity embraces all other virtues, Wisdom is the most perfect of the gifts. Of wisdom it is written “all good things came to me with her, and innumerable riches through her hands.” It is the gift of Wisdom that strengthens our faith, fortifies hope, perfects charity, and promotes the practice of virtue in the highest degree. Wisdom enlightens the mind to discern and relish things divine, in the appreciation of which earthly joys lose their savor, whilst the Cross of Christ yields a divine sweetness according to the words of the Savior: “Take up thy cross and follow Me, for My yoke is sweet, and My burden light.”

Come, O Spirit of Wisdom, and reveal to my soul the mysteries of heavenly things, their exceeding greatness, power and beauty. Teach me to love them above and beyond all passing joys and satisfactions of the earth. Help me to attain them and possess them for ever. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS _________________________________________________

NINTH DAY: THE FRUITS OF THE HOLY GHOST

Thou, on those who evermore Thee confess and Thee adore, in Thy sevenfold gifts, descend: give them comfort when they die; give them life with Thee on high give them joy which never ends. Amen.

The gifts of the Holy Ghost perfect the supernatural virtues by enabling us to practice them with greater docility to divine inspiration. As we grow in the knowledge and love of God under the direction of the Holy Ghost, our service becomes more sincere and generous, the practice of virtue more perfect. Such acts of virtue leave the heart filled with joy and consolation and are known as Fruits of the Holy Ghost. These fruits in turn render the practice of virtue more attractive and become a powerful incentive for still greater efforts in the service of God, to serve Whom is to reign.

Come, O Divine Spirit, fill my heart with Thy heavenly fruits, Thy charity, joy, peace, patience, benignity, goodness, faith, mildness, and temperance, that I may never weary in the service of God, but by continued faithful submission to Thy inspiration, may merit to be united eternally with Thee in the love of the Father and the Son. Amen.

RECITE THE DAILY PRAYERS _________________________________________________

Copy of Novena in Pamphlet Form:

https://docs.wixstatic.com/ugd/a84285_bd84928ae7c0759cff9c899d608a2552.pdf

From: www.pamphletstoinspire.com

#novena to the holy spirit

[scholar-for-christ]

A Message to All

I’ve never written something like this before. I don’t know how to hit that perfect balance between prose and fact that keeps the reader interested but doesn’t take away from the seriousness of the topic. I’ve been told I’m wise. I have no way of knowing if this is true, so you will have to decide for yourselves what you think of me. All I know is, I’ve been needing to write this for a long time and I think I finally understand that there isn’t time to waste.

I’m sorry if things jump around in this. Some things are easier for me to write than others and some things I’ve been thinking about for far longer. Basically, this is an unfinished work. Some parts are still rough around the edges and could do with a little sanding and a fresh coat of paint. Some things will be better said than others and I apologize for the parts that sound silly or too plain.

My question for you is this: If life does not begin at conception, when does it?

Of course, we can’t know, can we? We have no way of measuring life except in its most basic components. We know that to be alive physically a person requires a heart, lungs, and a brain that all work as they should or near enough. Those who are “pro-life” aren’t arguing that a fetus has a beating heart at the moment of conception. The entire pro-life argument hinges on one controversial point: Does a fetus have a soul at the moment of conception.

Our nation was founded by men who saw slavery as life’s greatest cruelty. Men who fought, who bled, who gave their lives to see that cruelty ended and yet here we stand, committing greater, more unthinkable horrors than they could comprehend.

    We claim to fight for the freedom of every citizen of these United States. We claim to strive toward ideal that holds liberty and justice for all above all else. We claim to be a country of free peoples united in our freedom and yet beneath it all lies a cruelty greater by far than a mere loss of Liberty. We have given every man solemn rights which no man can take from him, yet we destroy that man before he can even comprehend those rights. Do we expect a caterpillar to fly? Do we ask a seed to bloom before its time? Does its inability to fly make a caterpillar dead? Is a seed any less alive than the plant that blooms from it? The potential is there! The potential to become something drab and normal like a moth or a weed? Certainly! But also the potential to become a brilliant butterfly or a towering oak. And if we dispute that a moth’s potential is poor and lowly compared to that of a butterfly, is that to mean that a moth is less alive than a butterfly? In the same way, if we deny these children their potential, we deny our nation the potential strength, the potential beauty and the potential greatness embodied in them.

    We as a people, as a nation of peoples, have lost our honor. We see the future as something to be conquered and claimed, something we can change for our own betterment when in truth we should be hell bent on changing it for the betterment of our children. The greatest tragedy of our age is that in losing our reverence for life, we have lost our respect for the future and what it holds. Everything is now seen in terms of money and power. Greed is our nation’s bedfellow and lust of power infects its dreams. Having put into people’s minds the idea that having a child is a choice, not a blessing, we therefore inevitably change the way those same people view their future. A man no longer sees the coming ages as glorious days to be shaped and molded as best he can in the hopes that his children and his children’s children would benefit from his work. No! Rather, he sees these encroaching years as oppressive shadows robbing him of his youth, his beauty, his vastly or meagerly accumulated wealth and in seeing it as such he effectively prohibits any good and honest contribution he could have made to those coming years. Without respect for time and what it offers us, we are no more capable of governing or of fathering a nation than a horse is of surveying every blade of grass he passes while at full gallop! The blades blur, the years blend together and we forget that every day is an opportunity to DO something, to not just think of something but actually lay the foundation of our thoughts in reality. Life may be short but it is not so short that we cannot stop to appreciate the world we inhabit.

    Men in our day and age rush ahead, each jostling and shoving, each determined to be the first to reach “there”, wherever “there” may be, and none of them ever noticing the unavoidable fact that “there” has already been reached. We were “there” when we were first born into this world and we will be “there” on the day we pass on to the next. This Earth is both the road and the destination, what is truly the goal of all wise men is to make of himself a name his children will be proud to bear. A man who races through life only to die having never once changed even the smallest part of this world for the better has died in vain. My greatest grievance in this time is the blindness of our people. A people blinded to the future, careless of what he or she donates to that future and mindless of the consequences cannot by any means be expected to carry our nation to the greatness - not the greatness of power or of wealth or strength but the greatness of spirit, the greatness of being - that is its birthright and for which it so desperately yearns. As a wise man once said, “Fellow citizens, we cannot escape history. We of this Congress and this administration, will be remembered in spite of ourselves. No personal significance, or insignificance, can spare one or another of us. The fiery trial through which we pass, will light us down, in honor or dishonor, to the latest generation.”

   Many years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Let us bring forth the revival of this nation, not in the reaffirmation that all men are created equal but in the bold declaration that all men and women are conceived equal and alive and possessing those rights due to them by our nation’s constitution. If we deny our children their freedom, we cinch tight the nooses around our own necks. The willful destruction of coming generations can only end in the destruction of our nation’s future. 

“The dogmas of the quiet past, are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise- with the occasion. As our case is new, so we must think anew and act anew. We must disenthrall ourselves, and then we shall save our country.” ~ Abraham Lincoln

I do not demand an end to abortion any more than a man can demand an immediate end to murder. I understand fully that an eradication of abortion is a massive undertaking, one I cannot accomplish alone.

From the beginning, we have believed that there is a great strength in numbers but only in numbers united. If we have seen this, we can be sure the Enemy has as well. The Devil is gnawing at the foundation of our fair country. He has seen, as we have, that America is too strong to be faced head on, rather, he seeks to divide us and so, conquer the unconquerable. He struck at the heart of our strength, he divided our families. It is no secret that divorce rates are rising sharply in this world.

Do you know how a wolf ensnares his prey? Like any tactician his aim is to divide and conquer. He sends his pack to drive a wedge between the strong and the weak, the young and the old. The father, the natural-born protector of his family is separated from them. Without his strength and without the force of numbers, the mother is left to defend herself and her child as best she can and there are times she succeeds… but most often she does not.

In the same way, Satan separates the family unit, leaving a single parent to fend for his or her children alone rather than in the strength and numbers of a cohesive family. In supporting abortion, we fuel this slow eradication of our society by telling young women it is their choice. That they are the only ones who will benefit or suffer in the decision but that’s not true. Fathers suffer, sisters and brothers suffer, the mother herself suffers far more than she realizes and above all else, the future of our Nation suffers.

This July, we will celebrate together our Nation’s freedom. We will honor not the leaders of our today, but the men who ages ago fought, bled and died to grant their children and their children’s children the opportunity none of them ever had: the opportunity to choose, to hunger and be fed, to speak and be heard. We honor those who fought in our wars, who gave their lives in defense not only of their families but of all the families to come. We honor the long dead, the dead, the living and those who have not yet come, for choosing freedom, choosing valor and choosing life for those who follow them, a life full of wonder and a nation ready and eager to watch them blossom and flourish. On that day, we celebrate not the end of a subservience, not the end of a war, but a beginning, the bright shining light of dawn on a newborn nation. May we never forget who we are building this nation for.

Our unborn. Our children. Our future.  

“I am not bound to win, but I am bound to be true. I am not bound to succeed, but I am bound to live by the light that I have. I must stand with anybody that stands right, and stand with him while he is right, and part with him when he goes wrong.” ~ Abraham Lincoln

May God bless and keep you ever in His protection,

Scholar for Christ

#prolife #choose life #respect life #right to life #anti abortion #Why I Am Pro Life

[ruminativerabbi]

Independence Day 2020

Tomorrow is the 224th anniversary of American independence and, as such, a day for all Americans—even despite the turmoil of the last months and weeks—for all Americans to celebrate and to honor. The revolutionary spirit, after all, that moved our nation’s founders to feel that they were behaving nobly and well rather than reprehensibly and treacherously by renouncing their allegiance to their king is alive and well in our nation’s apparently systemic need constantly to re-evaluate the givens of our national life and to revise where necessary. This is a very good thing!

It’s taken a lot to get this far. The American republic was, after all, a very different place on July 4, 1776, when independence was declared. All thirteen of the original colonies condoned slavery within their borders and although they differed dramatically in terms of the numbers of enslaved individuals present in each (ranging from more than 187,000 in Virginia to fewer than a thousand in New Hampshire), there was no state in the new nation that did not have slaves among its populace. Nor were they any in which women could vote, hold public office, or appear in court on their own behalf. Nor was public education a right extended to all regardless of financial or social class, or ethnic or religious background; it wasn’t until 1870, almost a full century after independence, that every single state had tax-subsidized elementary schools open to all. (And it took another half-century after that—until 1918—for every state in the Union actually to require its children to attend elementary school.)

Even from the beginning, America was a work in progress. New ideas, new institutions, new ways of seeing things and doing things—these were the hallmarks of Americanism even as early as the first decades of the republic. And they remain in place even today—the nationwide demonstrations in the wake of George Floyd’s death while in police custody were an affirmation of American values, not a repudiation of them. And yet the concept of Americanism itself has fallen into desuetude: I can’t actually remember the last time I noted someone writing seriously about it or even using the term other than cynically. So I thought that this week, in honor of Independence Day, I would write about Americanism and see if the reticence so many seem to harbor about using it to define our national ethos is justified or not.

Part of the problem has to do with patriotism’s malign stepsiblings: chauvinism, jingoism, nativism, and unfounded exceptionalism. But setting aside the kind of skittishness that thought naturally engenders, the more basic question to ask is whether Americanism has an actual definition. Or is it one of those words that simply means whatever someone using it wills it to denote?

To many, Americanism is rooted in the “city on a hill” concept according to which the specific mission of America is to serve as a beacon of light and hope for the world. That was how John Winthrop used it when he preached a sermon on board the Arabella in 1630 and called upon his fellow Puritan emigrants to imagine that they had been called by God to build in a new land a society that would exemplify the ideals and moral bearing that they found it impossible to embrace in England, one that would serve, to use Thomas Paine’s turn of phrase, as “asylum for mankind.”

That was certainly what President Kennedy had in mind in 1961 when he declared that the point of America existing in the first place is to prove to the world that the finest philosophical principles—equality before the law, for example, or the supreme independence of the individual—could actually serve as the ideational underpinning of a nation of like-minded individuals seeking not to admire that “city on the hill” from the distance but actually to live and thrive in it. And it was equally certainly what President Reagan had in mind in his farewell address to the nation when he spelled out what the image of the shining city on the hill meant to him personally:

I've spoken of the shining city all my political life, but I don't know if I ever quite communicated what I saw when I said it. But in my mind it was a tall, proud city built on rocks stronger than oceans, wind-swept, God-blessed, and teeming with people of all kinds living in harmony and peace; a city with free ports that hummed with commerce and creativity. And if there had to be city walls, the walls had doors and the doors were open to anyone with the will and the heart to get here. That's how I saw it, and see it still.

In my opinion, those words from decades ago define the great challenge facing our nation on this Independence Day.

My readers know that I am at heart a nineteenth-century man, one whose literary heroes—Melville, Hawthorne, Whitman, Fenimore Cooper, Irving, Twain, Emerson, and Thoreau—all came and went within that one century’s boundaries. (Washington Irving and James Fenimore Cooper were born in 1783 and 1789 respectively, but both only started publishing as adults. Mark Twain died in 1910, but all of his major works were published before 1900.) All, with no exceptions at all, addressed the question of the American ethos in their writing. But, of them all, it was and is Whitman—Long Island’s single greatest contribution to American culture—who spoke and speaks the most loudly and clearly to me on the topic of Americanism and its potential, even today, to inspire us and lead us forward.

I’ve had a copy of Leaves of Grass close at hand for most of my days. (The teenager in my story, “Under the Wheel,” who always has a copy in his backpack is some version of the teenaged me.) But I also have a 1921 book in my library entitled The Patriotic Poems of Walt Whitman. And it is within the pages of that book that I have found the verses that I hope can serve as my Independence Day gift to you all.

What is America? Whitman knew! “Center of equal daughters, equal sons / All, all alike, endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old, / Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich / Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law, and Love / A grand, sane, towering seated Mother / Chair’d in the adamant of Time.”

What is American freedom? Whitman knew that too. “Land tolerating all, accepting all, not for the good alone, all good for three, / Land in the realms of God to be a realm unto thyself, / Under the rule of God to be a rule unto thyself. / (Lo, where arise three peerless stars, / To be thy natal stars my country, Ensemble, Evolution, Freedom / Set in the sky of Law.) / Land of unprecedented faith, God’s faith / Thy soil, thy very subsoil, all upheav’d, / The general inner earth so long so sedulously draped over, now hence for what it is, boldly laid bare, / Open’d by thee to heaven’s light for benefit or bale.”

What is American destiny? “Equable, natural, mystical Union thou (the moral with immortal blent), / Shalt soar toward the fulfilment of the future, the spirit of the bod and the mind, / The soul, its destinies. / The soul, its destinies, the real real / (Purport of all these apparitions of the real); / In thee America, the soul, its destinies, / Thou globe of globes! thou wonder nebulous! / By many a throe of heat and cold convuls’d (by these thyself solidifying), / Thou mental, moral orb—thou New, indeed new, Spiritual World! / The Present holds thee not—for such vast growth as thine, / For such unaparallel’d flight as thine, such brook as thine, / the FUTURE only holds thee and can hold thee.”

And, speaking of the future, Whitman could see that clearly too: “Others take finish, but the Republic is ever constructive and ever keeps vista, / Others adorn the past, but you, O days of the present, I adorn you, / O days of the future, I believe in you—I isolate myself for your sake, / O America, because you build for mankind, I build for you….”

To me, these verses exemplify the best of Americanism, combining proud determinism with a sense of our national destiny to create a republic that does not merely pay lip service to the philosophical principles of equality and decency of which our Founders spoke, but which seeks constantly to morph forward, even if in fits and starts, to a future in which the ideals of the Constitution serve collectively as the paving stones of which is constructed the road forward for a nation united by trust in itself and hope for the future.

Our nation in floating forward on troubled seas. In my opinion, we are tormented by a lack of moral leadership in the highest offices of the land, by a malignant willingness to accept vulgarity and tawdriness as things that can be condemned but not truly eradicated, by a national malaise born of inequality going back to the dark days of the era of Reconstruction that followed the Civil War, and, now, by a relentless virus that is stalking our nation’s streets and public places. But I am a Long Islander now…and Whitman is my man. He lived through the Civil War and saw for himself the almost unimaginable carnage it left in its terrible wake. He lived through the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, regarding whose terrible death he wrote some of his greatest poems. He wrote one single book, which he spent his life endlessly revisiting and revising. (In that, he was America personified.) And he left behind a dream for us to embrace as Americans seeking to make real the vision he codified in his verse, the one in which America is exceptional not because of its wealth or its military power, but because of the strength of its core ideas…and the power of its will to create in this place something new and truly remarkable.

#independence day #Walt Whitman

[modernart2012]

I’m Friends with the (Monster)

@sumigakure Halloween Event 2017

Prompt 10: Normal Person meets Someone and finds out they’re a Monster

Word Count: 2107

Rating: T (for safety)

WARNING SPOILER FOR A WIP THAT INFLUENCES THIS FIC HEAVILY. IF YOU DON’T WANT THAT FIC SPOILED, SKIP THIS FIC.

On AO3

“Obito, you cannot be serious right now.” Rin sighs exasperated. “If this is the sign you're turning into Dr. Uchiha, tell me now so I can go get Shisui to do a refresher on ‘Normal Human Interaction 101’.”

Obito whips his head around from where he was stealthily peeking around the edge of the Uzumaki Special Collection Library, “Rin, there is absolutely something weird about Bakashi! Who else is that young and -and - aloof at University? This is the most prestigious University in the Elemental Nations and he’s walking around like he’s the greatest thing here!” He pauses and continues, “Also, Unce Kagami made that PowerPoint presentation you know.”

Rin boggles, but ignores that tidbit of information. “Kakashi is Dr. Benzaiten’s stepson. He’s a genius, and has probably spent enough time on campus to be comfortable. And even if he’s a little odd, well, he’s traveled all over and then some besides, he’s probably an amalgamation of different cultural norms.” She checks the time on her phone, “Look, I need to head to class. Dr. Senju and Dr. Kato are really strict about attendance at practicals; I’ll catch up with you later. Don’t get arrested, Chief Uchiha will flambe you alive and then Dean Senju will completely erase your existence from the space-time continuum.”

At the mention of his guardians, Obito has to pause to consider Rin’s point. Uncle Madara and Uncle Tobirama were both excellent parental figures, if easily distractible, but they often disapproved of any Uncle Kagami-esque shenanigans. Supposedly there was an International Incident involved, at least once, but Obito didn’t believe the University would give a PhD and then hire someone who caused such rampant mayhem even if the mayhem was in the name of Experimental and Theoretical Magic. It didn't matter, there was definitely something weird about Bakashi. And Obito was going to prove it!

Maybe. He’s got about an hour until his class with Professor Namikaze, and that’s his favorite class. He doesn’t want to be late. He goes back to nonchalantly trailing after Bakashi, who seems to be looking at nothing and eating through his mask. Which, why does he even have a mask that only covers the lower half of his face? The excuse of, “Protecting your mucus membranes from the elements is essential to proper health,” seems like a blatant lie, but Obito doesn’t know or want to know about what goes on in niche fitness nut circles to call Bakashi on it. And that asshole tries to tell Obito his (true! Verifiably true!) explanations for his tardiness are bullshit. Obito would like to call hypocrisy, thank you very much.

Bakashi is halfway through walking the Forest Quad Loop, after stopping a bajillion times to touch random knots of wood, or pet moss, or crunch leaves, or sniff a rock - at which point Obito had to seriously consider that Bakashi was onto him and just fucking around to mess with him - when a massive white wolf comes crashing through the forest. Obito is about to shriek in horror, because oh Fire God’s Eternal Flame Bakashi is gonna be eaten, when a terrifyingly strong hand clamps over his mouth.

It’s long - too long for anything natural - and scaled. Scaled like a pit viper from Kaze no Kuni. Which, since Obito has checked as part of his law courses, are non-native to any part of Hi no Kuni and illegal to import. There were rumors of Dr. Benzaiten having weird questionably-ethical experiments with human subjects and genetics and magic, but that was into ... regeneration? Can snakes regenerate body parts?  Or is this an escaped prisoner with a weird magic trying to take revenge on Kakashi because Colonel Hatake is part of the Rangers of the Hi no Kuni military and killed someone important to this person? The Army Rangers do do a lot of high profile and clandestine stuff, it’s not outside the realm of possibility....

“What are you doing following the Princeling, mortal?” Princeling? Who? Bakashi? Maybe he is part of a LARP group? Well, he seems the type.

“I didn't realize people LARP’d on weekdays. You know what, I like this answer. This explains everything.” Obito lifts up and ducks under the arm, then shakes the man’s (possibly, the special effects makeup is some of the best Obito’s ever seen) hand vigorously. “Good day sir. I need to get to class.” The man seems astounded, like he's just experienced something impossible. Maybe he thinks Obito is part of the LARP?

Obito thinks everything is going just fine as he heads back towards campus when the LARPer dashes faster than his eyes can track into his way, this time brandishing a knife that outright bristles with barely leashed offensive magic. Something that is powered by the ... power of blood, to drain whomever it cuts of their life and/or bind that person to the wielder's will, if Obito is reading the runes right. “Do you have a permit for that?” It slips out his mouth faster than Obito can think about it.

“What?” Maybe he didn’t hear him clearly?

“That knife. Do you have a permit to carry a magical weapon with a black magic enchantment? Because it’s a felony if you don’t. Unless it’s for ritualistic or religious purposes and therefore covered by religious exemption, in which case you still need a permit, but it’s stamped specially and registered with the government.” There is an objective downside to living with a cop, and it is this: you learn bits and pieces of law that have no real use outside of a government office. Obito didn’t need to know the precise breakdown of the law regarding enchanted weapons or items with aggressive intent before he started studying pre-law.

There’s no light of dawning understanding with this fellow, and Obito suddenly has the sinking suspicion this might not be a LARP when he starts gathering magic like its cotton-wool. People with that level of magic know better than to throw it around in broad daylight without protective barriers up, and as far as Obito can tell there is no protective barrier to stop the blast from affecting any unwitting bystander. Gods all dammit, why does Obito always run into the psychos?

Luckily, there’s no law against carrying an pre-prepared protective barrier, concealed or otherwise. At least there’s a bright side, he’ll be able to tell Prof Kushina if it worked or not. It takes three reflexive handsigns to activate, but it ripples out in a wash of violet beautifully. Just in time, as the scaled man lets loose, and Obito means that quite literally. He’s never seen such a large Air and Earth combo before, slashing winds and jutting earth spikes rising and falling and rising in chaos. He’s buffeted about, but otherwise unharmed.

He’s bracing for the next wave when a voice rings out across the path. “What’s going on?” He glances sideways to find Bakashi and the massive wolf watching.

“Bakashi! Get out of here! This dude’s gone crazy; I don’t know how long this barrier will last.” Dr. Benzaiten would be out for blood if his stepson was even the slightest bit injured, which meant Uncle Tobirama would be displeased, and Uncle Kagami and Uncle Madara and Dr. Sarutobi and Dr. Senju and Dr. Ogata would be mad, and then Professor Namikaze would do his squinty-eyed smile that screamed “justifiable homicide” and then Prof Kushina would be pissed because her boyfriend was in prison which would make Aunt Mito displeased and Uncle Hashirama would end up taking it out on foreign policy decisions leading the whole world into war. Really, it’s in everyone’s best interest Bakashi get away now. At least if it’s only him, then everyone will think there was some sort of accident and there’d be no war, right?

He’s met by a blank and dispassionate stare. The wolf even gives him the same look, and Obito is officially done with everyone giving him that look, okay? Animals shouldn’t even be able to give that look! Where was the justice?! “Uroko, what are you doing to Obito?”

The scaled-man, Uroko, bows deeply, “My apologies, Princeling. This mortal here was covertly following you and I wanted to be sure of his intent. The Lady would be most displeased with me if her grandson was injured on my watch.”

There’s a lot to unpack there, and Obito’s mind leaps from idea to idea faster than he can rightfully track. Kakashi’s ... grandmother, this Lady, was powerful enough, or important enough, that she was having people with rare magical ability protect her grandson. And she’s probably a Queen, if Kakashi is a Princeling. Which meant this ... body guard, probably of a foreign country, given his unfamiliarity with the laws of Hi no Kuni - Tetsu no Kuni, probably, they’re the only place with a monarch and such pale coloration - his only job is to protect Kakashi from threats. Like a stalker. Which, what Obito had been doing was legally stalking. Oh Fire God’s flaming balls, Uncle Madara is going to kill him, then Uncle Tobirama is going to erase his existence for causing an International Incident. Is it too late to beg for mercy? It’s not too late to beg for mercy.

He opens his mouth to apologize, but what comes out instead is, “You’re related to a Queen?!”

Uroko puffs up, proud, “The Young Princeling is the direct grandson of the Fair Lady of the Wild Hunt, Queen Sayaka of the Seelie Court.”

Obito had been following along into that last one. Seelie were only legends, Fae who were supposedly kinder than their Unseelie relatives, or the High Fae who were the cruelest of the lot. There was no way Bakashi would be - except Bakashi is facepalming as if Obito has just been some inconvenient truth, and so is the wolf, which really is much bigger than it actively ought to get in the wild but would be explained by the fact it’s Fae, and - “The mask is to hide something unnatural, isn’t it?”

Bakashi pulls down his mask, revealing a face that is clearly non-human in beauty, then bares a wolfish grin at Obito. And he means that quite literally - that smile is full of wolf teeth. Obito eyes them speculatively, “How do you even make words?” He had no idea Bakashi has a mole by his mouth - does Bakashi even know he usually gets rice grains stuck in the same spot? Or is that coincidence?

Bakashi corrects his mask, scowling. “That’s what you take away from that?”

Obito shrugs, “It’s either that or fleeing screaming into the pond.”

Uroko interjects, “The pond is full of kelpies and kappa.”

Right. Murderous water horses and turtles. Fire God’s balls. “I will not be fleeing into the pond, then. I’ll flee to Uncle Kagami’s office.”

Bakashi raises a skeptical eyebrow, “Can you even make it back down the trod without getting lost?”

His mother had raised him on the old stories, and Uncle Madara had a knack for retelling them in new and interesting ways, so Obito knows what a trod is, and where it leads. And there’s no way he’s anywhere near a trod. “This is the forest bit of Forest Quad. I’m following the loop, there should be no trod anywhere near the loop.”

“Did you not wonder why no one came to investigate the massive amount of magic just now? That amount of magic is usually a sign of impending disaster.” If Bakashi gets any more sassier Obito is going to punch him in the face, bodyguard or no.

“Fire God’s flaming balls.” Obito has managed to follow Bakashi down a hidden path through the Veil Between Worlds into the realms of the Fae. Which would be impressive, but only if he can get back to the human realm without going insane, getting back to about the same time as he left, and avoid being preyed upon by a more Powerful Fae. “Uncle Madara is going to kill me.” If Uncle Madara is even still alive when he gets back; he’s probably just jinxed it and now Uncle Madara is going to live forever. Oh, Twelve Hells.

Bakashi checks his watch, “Look, we’re going to be late for Professor Namikaze’s class at this rate. Let’s go.” He starts walking confidently down the path, in a completely tangential direction to where they came from, were going, or should be headed to return to campus.

Obito checks his own watch and yelps because they really are going to be late at this rate. He speeds after Bakashi, but can’t hold back a grin. Rin is never going to believe this.

#sumigakure halloween event 2017 #prompt 10: normal person meets someone #finds out they're a monster #yro(h) verse #SPOILER HEAVY #set after Fae by Night #art writes

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2020 Most Anticipated Releases... So Far!

I know this week was supposed to be dedicated to TIP and Tricks but last week was a shit show for my family. Sometime in the early morning of the 20th, my mom’s sister passed away in her home then this past Saturday our only means of transportation stopped working and there’s nothing we can do to get it working again. So I needed something easy to post about. So here are my 2020 most anticipated releases thus far lol. I only put thus far because I don’t know EVERY book coming out in a given year so these are the ones I know about.

*NOTE if it is a sequel I won’t give a synopsis but each book is linked to Goodreads

My number 1 most anticipated may not be coming out this year but if it is it’s The Savior's Sister by Jenna Moreci

Come Tumbling Down (Wayward Children, #5) January 7th 2020 by Seanan McGuire

The Memory of Souls (A Chorus of Dragons, #3) August 25th 2020 by Jenn Lyons

The Unspoken Name (The Serpent Gates, #1) February 11th 2020 by A. K. Larkwood

What if you knew how and when you will die?

Csorwe does — she will climb the mountain, enter the Shrine of the Unspoken, and gain the most honored title: sacrifice.

But on the day of her foretold death, a powerful mage offers her a new fate. Leave with him, and live. Turn away from her destiny and her god to become a thief, a spy, an assassin—the wizard's loyal sword. Topple an empire, and help him reclaim his seat of power.

But Csorwe will soon learn – gods remember, and if you live long enough, all debts come due.

The Shadows Between Us February 25th 2020 by Tricia Levenseller

Alessandra is tired of being overlooked, but she has a plan to gain power:

1) Woo the Shadow King. 2) Marry him. 3) Kill him and take his kingdom for herself.

No one knows the extent of the freshly crowned Shadow King’s power. Some say he can command the shadows that swirl around him to do his bidding. Others say they speak to him, whispering the thoughts of his enemies. Regardless, Alessandra knows what she deserves, and she’s going to do everything within her power to get it.

But Alessandra’s not the only one trying to kill the king. As attempts on his life are made, she finds herself trying to keep him alive long enough for him to make her his queen—all while struggling not to lose her heart. After all, who better for a Shadow King than a cunning, villainous queen?

The Gilded Ones (Deathless #1) May 26th 2020 by Namina Forna

Sixteen-year-old Deka lives in fear and anticipation of the blood ceremony that will determine whether she will become a member of her village. Already different from everyone else because of her unnatural intuition, Deka prays for red blood so she can finally feel like she belongs.

But on the day of the ceremony, her blood runs gold, the color of impurity--and Deka knows she will face a consequence worse than death.

Then a mysterious woman comes to her with a choice: stay in the village and submit to her fate, or leave to fight for the emperor in an army of girls just like her. They are called alaki--near-immortals with rare gifts. And they are the only ones who can stop the empire's greatest threat.

Knowing the dangers that lie ahead yet yearning for acceptance, Deka decides to leave the only life she's ever known. But as she journeys to the capital to train for the biggest battle of her life, she will discover that the great walled city holds many surprises. Nothing and no one are quite what they seem to be--not even Deka herself.

Scavenge the Stars (Scavenge the Stars #1)  January 7th 2020 by Tara Sim

When Amaya rescues a mysterious stranger from drowning, she fears her rash actions have earned her a longer sentence on the debtor ship where she’s been held captive for years. Instead, the man she saved offers her unimaginable riches and a new identity, setting Amaya on a perilous course through the coastal city-state of Moray, where old-world opulence and desperate gamblers collide.

Amaya wants one thing: revenge against the man who ruined her family and stole the life she once had. But the more entangled she becomes in this game of deception—and as her path intertwines with the son of the man she’s plotting to bring down—the more she uncovers about the truth of her past. And the more she realizes she must trust no one…

Where Dreams Descend (Kingdom of Cards #1) June 2nd 2020 by Janella Angeles

In a city covered in ice and ruin, a group of magicians face off in a daring game of magical feats to find the next headliner of the Conquering Circus, only to find themselves under the threat of an unseen danger striking behind the scenes.

As each act becomes more and more risky and the number of missing magicians piles up, three are forced to reckon with their secrets before the darkness comes for them next.

The Star: Kallia, a powerful showgirl out to prove she’s the best no matter the cost

The Master: Jack, the enigmatic keeper of the club, and more than one lie told

The Magician: Demarco, the brooding judge with a dark past he can no longer hide

Where Dreams Descend is the startling and romantic first book in Janella Angeles’ debut Kingdom of Cards fantasy duology where magic is both celebrated and feared, and no heart is left unscathed.

The Kingdom of Back March 3rd 2020 by Marie Lu

Two siblings. Two brilliant talents. But only one Mozart.

Born with a gift for music, Nannerl Mozart has just one wish—to be remembered forever. But even as she delights audiences with her masterful playing, she has little hope she'll ever become the acclaimed composer she longs to be. She is a young woman in 18th century Europe, and that means composing is forbidden to her. She will perform only until she reaches a marriageable age—her tyrannical father has made that much clear.

And as Nannerl's hope grows dimmer with each passing year, the talents of her beloved younger brother, Wolfgang, only seem to shine brighter. His brilliance begins to eclipse her own, until one day a mysterious stranger from a magical land appears with an irresistible offer. He has the power to make her wish come true—but his help may cost her everything.

Set Fire to the Gods (Set Fire to the Gods #1) August 4th 2020 by Sara Raasch

Ash is descended from a long line of gladiators, and she knows the brutal nature of war firsthand. But after her mother dies in an arena, she vows to avenge her by overthrowing her fire god, whose temper has stripped her country of its resources.

Madoc grew up fighting on the streets to pay his family's taxes. But he hides a dangerous secret: he doesn't have the earth god’s powers like his opponents. His elemental gift is something else—something that hasn't been seen in centuries.

When an attempted revenge plot goes dangerously wrong, Ash inadvertently throws the fire and earth gods into a conflict that can only be settled by deadly, lavish gladiator games. The fights put Madoc in Ash's path, and she realizes that his powers are the weapon her rebellion needs—but Madoc won’t jeopardize his family, regardless of how intrigued he is by the beautiful warrior.

But when the gods force Madoc’s hand, he and Ash uncover an ancient war that will threaten more than one immortal—it will unravel the world.

Goddess in the Machine (Goddess in the Machine #1) June 30th 2020 by Lora Beth Johnson

When Andra wakes up, she’s drowning.

Not only that, but she’s in a hot, dirty cave, it’s the year 3102, and everyone keeps calling her Goddess. When Andra went into a cryonic sleep for a trip across the galaxy, she expected to wake up in a hundred years, not a thousand. Worst of all, the rest of the colonists–including her family and friends–are dead. They died centuries ago, and for some reason, their descendants think Andra’s a deity. She knows she’s nothing special, but she’ll play along if it means she can figure out why she was left in stasis and how to get back to Earth.

Zhade, the exiled bastard prince of Eerensed, has other plans. Four years ago, the sleeping Goddess’s glass coffin disappeared from the palace, and Zhade devoted himself to finding it. Now he’s hoping the Goddess will be the key to taking his rightful place on the throne–if he can get her to play her part, that is. Because if his people realize she doesn’t actually have the power to save their dying planet, they’ll kill her.

With a vicious monarch on the throne and a city tearing apart at the seams, Zhade and Andra might never be able to unlock the mystery of her fate, let alone find a way to unseat the king, especially since Zhade hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with Andra. And a thousand years from home, is there any way of knowing that Earth is better than the planet she’s woken to?

Incendiary (Hollow Crown #1) April 28th 2020 by Zoraida Córdova

Renata Convida was only a child when she was kidnapped by the King's Justice and brought to the luxurious palace of Andalucia. As a Robari, the rarest and most feared of the magical Moria, Renata's ability to steal memories from royal enemies enabled the King's Wrath, a siege that resulted in the deaths of thousands of her own people.

Now Renata is one of the Whispers, rebel spies working against the crown and helping the remaining Moria escape the kingdom bent on their destruction. The Whispers may have rescued Renata from the palace years ago, but she cannot escape their mistrust and hatred--or the overpowering memories of the hundreds of souls she turned "hollow" during her time in the palace.

When Dez, the commander of her unit, is taken captive by the notorious Sangrado Prince, Renata will do anything to save the boy whose love makes her place among the Whispers bearable. But a disastrous rescue attempt means Renata must return to the palace under cover and complete Dez's top secret mission. Can Renata convince her former captors that she remains loyal, even as she burns for vengeance against the brutal, enigmatic prince? Her life and the fate of the Moria depend on it.

But returning to the palace stirs childhood memories long locked away. As Renata grows more deeply embedded in the politics of the royal court, she uncovers a secret in her past that could change the entire fate of the kingdom--and end the war that has cost her everything.

Red Hood February 25th 2020 by Elana K. Arnold

You are alone in the woods, seen only by the unblinking yellow moon. Your hands are empty. You are nearly naked.

And the wolf is angry.

Since her grandmother became her caretaker when she was four years old, Bisou Martel has lived a quiet life in a little house in Seattle. She’s kept mostly to herself. She’s been good. But then comes the night of homecoming, when she finds herself running for her life over roots and between trees, a fury of claws and teeth behind her. A wolf attacks. Bisou fights back. A new moon rises. And with it, questions. About the blood in Bisou’s past and on her hands as she stumbles home. About broken boys and vicious wolves. About girls lost in the woods—frightened, but not alone.

A Song of Wraiths and Ruin (A Song of Wraiths and Ruin #1) June 2nd 2020 by Roseanne A. Brown

The first in an immersive fantasy duology inspired by West African folklore in which a grieving crown princess and a desperate refugee find themselves on a collision course to murder each other despite their growing attraction—from debut author Roseanne A. Brown. Perfect for fans of Tomi Adeyemi, Renée Ahdieh, and Sabaa Tahir.

For Malik, the Solstasia festival is a chance to escape his war-stricken home and start a new life with his sisters in the prosperous desert city of Ziran. But when a vengeful spirit abducts Malik’s younger sister, Nadia, as payment into the city, Malik strikes a fatal deal—kill Karina, Crown Princess of Ziran, for Nadia’s freedom.

But Karina has deadly aspirations of her own. Her mother, the Sultana, has been assassinated; her court threatens mutiny; and Solstasia looms like a knife over her neck. Grief-stricken, Karina decides to resurrect her mother through ancient magic . . . requiring the beating heart of a king. And she knows just how to obtain one: by offering her hand in marriage to the victor of the Solstasia competition.

When Malik rigs his way into the contest, they are set on a heart-pounding course to destroy each other. But as attraction flares between them and ancient evils stir, will they be able to see their tasks to the death?

The Queen's Assassin (Queen's Secret #1) February 4th 2020 by Melissa de la Cruz

Caledon Holt is the Kingdom of Renovia's deadliest weapon. No one alive can best him in brawn or brains, which is why he's the Guild's most dangerous member and the Queen's one and only assassin. He's also bound to the Queen by an impossible vow--to find the missing Deian Scrolls, the fount of all magical history and knowledge, stolen years ago by a nefarious sect called the Aphrasians.

Shadow has been training all her life to follow in the footsteps of her mother and aunts--to become skilled enough to join the ranks of the Guild. Though magic has been forbidden since the Aphrasian uprising, Shadow has been learning to control her powers in secret, hoping that one day she'll become an assassin as feared and revered as Caledon Holt.

When a surprise attack brings Shadow and Cal together, they're forced to team up as assassin and apprentice to hunt down a new sinister threat to Renovia. But as Cal and Shadow grow closer, they'll uncover a shocking web of lies and secrets that may destroy everything they hold dear. With war on the horizon and true love at risk, they'll stop at nothing to protect each other and their kingdom in this stunning first novel in the Queen's Secret series.

Witches of Ash and Ruin March 3rd 2020 by E. Latimer

Seventeen-year-old Dayna Walsh is struggling to cope with her somatic OCD; the aftermath of being outed as bisexual in her conservative Irish town; and the return of her long-absent mother, who barely seems like a parent. But all that really matters to her is ascending and finally, finally becoming a full witch-plans that are complicated when another coven, rumored to have a sordid history with black magic, arrives in town with premonitions of death. Dayna immediately finds herself at odds with the bewitchingly frustrating Meiner King, the granddaughter of their coven leader.

And then a witch turns up murdered at a local sacred site, along with the blood symbol of the Butcher of Manchester-an infamous serial killer whose trail has long gone cold. The killer's motives are enmeshed in a complex web of witches and gods, and Dayna and Meiner soon find themselves at the center of it all. If they don't stop the Butcher, one of them will be next.

With razor-sharp prose and achingly real characters, E. Latimer crafts a sweeping, mesmerizing story of dark magic and brutal mythology set against a backdrop of contemporary Ireland that's impossible to put down.

All These Monsters (Monsters #1) July 7th 2020 by Amy Tintera

Seventeen-year-old Clara is ready to fight back. Fight back against her abusive father, fight back against the only life she’s ever known, and most of all, fight back against scrabs, the earth-dwelling monsters that are currently ravaging the world. So when an opportunity arises for Clara to join an international monster-fighting squad, she jumps at the chance.

When Clara starts training with her teammates, however, she realizes what fighting monsters really means: sore muscles, exhaustion, and worst of all, death. Scrabs are unpredictable, violent, and terrifying. But as Clara gains confidence in her battle skills, she starts to realize scrabs might not be the biggest evil. The true monsters are the ones you least expect.

Ghost Wood Song July 21st 2020 by Erica Waters

If I could have a fiddle made of Daddy’s bones, I’d play it. I’d learn all the secrets he kept.

Shady Grove inherited her father’s ability to call ghosts from the grave with his fiddle, but she also knows the fiddle’s tunes bring nothing but trouble and darkness.

But when her brother is accused of murder, she can’t let the dead keep their secrets.

In order to clear his name, she’s going to have to make those ghosts sing.

Family secrets, a gorgeously resonant LGBTQ love triangle, and just the right amount of creepiness make this young adult debut a haunting and hopeful story about facing everything that haunts us in the dark.

Cemetery Boys June 9th 2020 by Aiden Thomas

Yadriel has summoned a ghost, and now he can’t get rid of him.

When his traditional Latinx family has problems accepting his gender, Yadriel becomes determined to prove himself a real brujo. With the help of his cousin and best friend Maritza, he performs the ritual himself, and then sets out to find the ghost of his murdered cousin and set it free.

However, the ghost he summons is actually Julian Diaz, the school’s resident bad boy, and Julian is not about to go quietly into death. He’s determined to find out what happened and tie up some loose ends before he leaves. Left with no choice, Yadriel agrees to help Julian, so that they can both get what they want. But the longer Yadriel spends with Julian, the less he wants to let him leave.

The Princess Will Save You (The Princess Will Save You #1) July 7th 2020 by Sarah Henning

A PRINCESS A STABLE BOY A QUEST

When her father dies, Princess Amarande is given an ultimatum: Marry the leader of one of the four neighboring kingdoms, or lose her crown—and possibly her life. And to force her hand, her beloved, the stable boy Luca, is kidnapped.

But Amarande was raised to be a warrior, not a sacrifice.

And nothing will stop her from saving her true love and rescuing her kingdom.

The acclaimed author of Sea Witch turns the classic damsel-in-distress tale on its head with this story of adventure, identity, and love.

House of Dragons (House of Dragons #1) May 12th 2020 by Jessica Cluess

Five royal houses will hear the call to compete in the Trial for the dragon throne. A liar, a soldier, a servant, a thief, and a murderer will answer it. Who will win? Think THREE DARK CROWNS meets THE BREAKFAST CLUB with DRAGONS.

When the Emperor dies, the five royal houses of Etrusia attend the Call, where one of their own will be selected to compete for the throne. It is always the oldest child, the one who has been preparing for years to compete in the Trial. But this year is different. This year, these five outcasts will answer the call....

THE LIAR: Emilia must hide her dark magic or be put to death.

THE SOLDIER: Lucian is a warrior who has sworn to never lift a sword again.

THE SERVANT: Vespir is a dragon trainer whose skills alone will keep her in the game.

THE THIEF: Ajax knows that nothing is free--he must take what he wants.

THE MURDERER: Hyperia was born to rule and will stop at nothing to take her throne.

Cinderella Is Dead July 7th 2020 by Kalynn Bayron

It’s 200 years after Cinderella found her prince, but the fairy tale is over. Teen girls are now required to appear at the Annual Ball, where the men of the kingdom select wives based on a girl’s display of finery. If a suitable match is not found, the girls not chosen are never heard from again.

Sixteen-year-old Sophia would much rather marry Erin, her childhood best friend, than parade in front of suitors. At the ball, Sophia makes the desperate decision to flee, and finds herself hiding in Cinderella’s mausoleum. There, she meets Constance, the last known descendant of Cinderella and her step sisters. Together they vow to bring down the king once and for all–and in the process, they learn that there’s more to Cinderella’s story than they ever knew . . .

This fresh take on a classic story will make readers question the tales they’ve been told, and root for girls to break down the constructs of the world around them.

Shielded (Shielded #1) July 21st 2020 by KayLynn Flanders

The kingdom of Hálendi is in trouble. It's losing the war at its borders, and rumors of a new, deadlier threat on the horizon have surfaced. Princess Jennesara knows her skills on the battlefield would make her an asset and wants to help, but her father has other plans.

As the second-born heir to the throne, Jenna lacks the firstborn's--her brother's--magical abilities, so the king promises her hand in marriage to the prince of neighboring Turia in exchange for resources Hálendi needs. Jenna must leave behind everything she has ever known if she is to give her people a chance at peace.

Only, on the journey to reach her betrothed and new home, the royal caravan is ambushed, and Jenna realizes the rumors were wrong--the new threat is worse than anyone imagined. Now Jenna must decide if revealing a dangerous secret is worth the cost before it's too late--for her and for her entire kingdom.

The Seventh Sun (The Age of the Seventh Sun #1) February 18th 2020 by Lani Forbes

Thrust into leadership upon the death of his emperor father, young Prince Ahkin feels completely unready for his new position. Though his royal blood controls the power of the sun, he's now responsible for the lives of all the Chicome people. And despite all Ahkin's efforts, the sun is fading--and the end of the world may be at hand.

For Mayana, the only daughter of the Chicome family whose blood controls the power of water, the old emperor's death may mean that she is next. Prince Ahkin must be married before he can ascend the throne, and Mayana is one of six noble daughters presented to him as a possible wife. Those who are not chosen will be sacrificed to the gods.

Only one girl can become Ahkin's bride. Mayana and Ahkin feel an immediate connection, but the gods themselves may be against them. Both recognize that the ancient rites of blood that keep the gods appeased may be harming the Chicome more than they help. As a bloodred comet and the fading sun bring a growing sense of dread, only two young people may hope to change their world.

Rich in imagination and romance, and based on the legends and history of the Aztec and Maya people, The Seventh Sun brings to vivid life a world on the edge of apocalyptic disaster.

Of Silver and Shadow May 26th 2020 by Jennifer Gruenke

Ren Kolins is a silver wielder—a dangerous thing to be in the kingdom of Erdis, where magic has been outlawed for a century. Ren is just trying to survive, sticking to a life of petty thievery, card games, and pit fighting to get by. But when a wealthy rebel leader discovers her secret, he offers her a fortune to join his revolution. The caveat: she won’t see a single coin until they overthrow the King.

Behind the castle walls, a brutal group of warriors known as the King’s Children is engaged in a competition: the first to find the rebel leader will be made King’s Fang, the right hand of the King of Erdis. And Adley Farre is hunting down the rebels one by one, torturing her way to Ren and the rebel leader, and the coveted King’s Fang title.

But time is running out for all of them, including the youngest Prince of Erdis, who finds himself pulled into the rebellion. Political tensions have reached a boiling point, and Ren and the rebels must take the throne before war breaks out.

Kingdom of the Wicked (Kingdom of the Wicked #1) September 15th 2020 by Kerri Maniscalco

Emilia and her twin sister Victoria are strega - witches who live secretly among humans, avoiding notice and persecution. One night, Victoria misses dinner service at the family's renowned Sicilian restaurant. Emilia soon finds the body of her beloved twin...desecrated beyond belief. Devastated, Emilia sets out to discover who did this, and to seek vengeance at any cost—even if it means using dark magic that’s been long forbidden.

Then Emilia meets Wrath, the outlier among the seven demon brethren, always choosing duty over pleasure. He’s been tasked by his master with investigating a series of women’s murders on the island. When Emilia and Wrath’s fates collide, it’s clear this disturbing mystery will take a bewitching turn...

The Frost Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy #1) January 28th 2020 by Carol Beth Anderson

A lonely princess. A flying teen. A kidnapped girl who only remembers what happens at night.

Seventeen-year-old Princess Nora is a frost eater who creates magical ice. Her royal life is luxurious but stifling.

Krey West has a rare magical talent: when he eats feathers, he can fly. His one goal is to find his missing girlfriend, Zeisha. He thinks someone in power abducted her.

Krey’s daring feats of magic earn him an invitation to the palace. Craving adventure and friendship, Nora offers to help him find Zeisha. He’s desperate enough to accept—though he hates the monarchy.

The truth is more terrible than they could imagine.

Every night, Zeisha wakes in a dark room full of sleeping people, unable to remember what she did in the light. Her dreams provide violent glimpses into her forgotten days.

If Krey and Nora can’t save her, Zeisha may lose herself forever.

A Wicked Magic  July 28th 2020 by Sasha Laurens

Dan and Liss are witches. The Black Book granted them that power. Harnessing that power feels good, especially when everything in their lives makes them feel powerless.

During a spell gone wrong, Liss's boyfriend is snatched away by an evil entity and presumed dead. Dan and Liss's friendship dies that night, too. How can they practice magic after the darkness that they conjured?

Months later, Liss discovers that her boyfriend is alive, trapped underground in the grips of an ancient force. She must save him, and she needs Dan and the power of The Black Book to do so. Dan is quickly sucked back into Liss's orbit and pushes away her best friend, Alexa. But Alexa has some big secrets she's hiding and her own unique magical disaster to deal with.

When another teenager disappears, the girls know it's no coincidence. What greedy magic have they awakened? And what does it want with these teens it has stolen?

Set in the atmospheric wilds of California's northern coast, Sasha Laurens's thrilling debut novel is about the complications of friendship, how to take back power, and how to embrace the darkness that lives within us all.

Ink in the Blood (Ink in The Blood #1) February 11th 2020 by Kim Smejkal

Celia Sand and her best friend, Anya Burtoni, are inklings for the esteemed religion of Profeta. Using magic, they tattoo followers with beautiful images that represent the Divine’s will and guide the actions of the recipients. It’s considered a noble calling, but ten years into their servitude Celia and Anya know the truth: Profeta is built on lies, the tattooed orders strip away freedom, and the revered temple is actually a brutal, torturous prison.

Their opportunity to escape arrives with the Rabble Mob, a traveling theater troupe. Using their inkling abilities for performance instead of propaganda, Celia and Anya are content for the first time . . . until they realize who followed them. The Divine they never believed in is very real, very angry, and determined to use Celia, Anya, and the Rabble Mob’s now-infamous stage to spread her deceitful influence even further.

To protect their new family from the wrath of a malicious deity and the zealots who work in her name, Celia and Anya must unmask the biggest lie of all—Profeta itself.

#2020 books #2020 most anticipated releases #amreading

[ishipbertigwain-blog]

Chaitivel- Marie De France

Chaitivel, a Breton lais by Marie De France, tells the story of a royal woman who fell in love with four knights, the men all unknown to one another. She loved them equally and they loved her the same. During a tournament, all four of the men fought courageously for their honor and her love, but three of them died during the tournament, leaving the lady upset and afraid that she would never find love again. Even with the fourth knight alive but severely wounded, she feared she would lose him as well. The lady buried the first three with the highest honors and provided the best medical care for her sole remaining lover, often at his side to help nurse him back to health. She told the knight that she wanted to write a lais about the four knights, and he told her to name it Chaitivel, or The Wretch because that’s what he felt he was, nearly dying for her but being the only survivor. At the ending, the knight seems to take on a bit of a condescending tone with the narrator in stanza 12, saying that he’d rather be dead than suffer the pain of her love. He even goes as far as to insinuate that the lady is the reason that the other three knights are dead, although I would venture to guess that their participation in the tournament had an equal amount to do with their level of courage as much as it had to do with their love for her. Chaitivel, Marie De France 1 Fancy moves me to recollect A lai (1) I've heard people discuss. I'll tell you the adventure, direct, And give the city's name that was Its birthplace, and its given name: Someone called it Chaitivel; Plenty of folks, all the same, Call it “Four Mournings” as well. 2 At Nantes in Brittany there dwelled A fine lady; she excelled In beauty, and in schooling too, And every ornamental virtue. In all the land there was no knight Worthy in deeds, but at first sight-- One glimpse--he would love her, Begging, trying for her favor. She couldn't be everybody's lover, But she didn't want to kill them, either. 3 From each and every lady of The land, a man should seek some love. Try to take a rag from a crazy man, He'll hit you back hard as he can; But a lady thanks you for your desires, More even than good-will requires. Even if she doesn't want to hear them, She shouldn't use her words to smear them, But honor them and hold them dear, Thank and serve them with good cheer.4 The lady I want to tell you of Who was begged so much to grant her love-- For her beauty, for a prize so sweet Day and night they all compete. 5 In Brittany four barons there were, But I don't know their names, these four. They didn't have much age on them, But they were still all quite handsome, Worthy knights and valorous, Free-spending, courteous, generous. They were highly valued and Were the gentry of that land. These four were in love with the lady. Their task--doing really well--was weighty: To have the lady and have her love Each of them, hard as he could, strove. Each for himself, they wanted her, To this each devoted his labors, And every one of them was sure He could outperform all others. 6 The lady was full of good sense. She considered, in her conscience, Trying to know, to ask which of These men would be the best to love. They're all each better than the rest-- She cannot manage to choose the best.Losing three for one--this she hates. So on each she turned a smiling face, To all she gave her love-favors, Sent messages to all these lovers. 7 None of them knew about the others, either But none of them could bear to leave her. By his prayers and service sweet, Each thought he'd make out the best. Whenever knights gathered for a meet, Each wanted first place in every test, To do well, if he could, and so measure Up to providing his lady's pleasure. They all treated her as their lover, They all carried her love-favor, Ring or sleeve or banner-flame And all had one war-cry: her name. 8 She loved all four, all four pleased her Until, in the time after Easter, In front of her city of Nantes There was proclaimed a tournament(2). To get to know these four true loves Knights came from other lands in droves: Frenchmen of France and Normans rode forth, Flemish and Brabants from the North, Boulognais and Angevins appear, And others from other countries near. Gladly they all made the journey, And stayed there for quite a while. On the evening of the tourney, They traded blows in serious style. The four true loves, well-armed all, Sallied forth from the city wall. After them rode knights galore, But the burden of defense was on the four. Each was known to the knights on the field By his enseign and his shield. They send four knights to the assault, Two from Flanders, two from Hainault. Armed for attack, spurring on, no knight Wasn't looking for someone to fight. The defenders saw them coming. No-one wished to flee or tarry. Lances lowered and spurs humming, Each picked out his adversary. They struck together with such force The four attackers each fell off his horse. 9 The four steeds caused no distress-- They let them run off riderless-- Over the victims their stand they made. Their knights hurried to bring them aid. The rescue became a free-for-all Many felt the sword-blows fall. The lady stood upon a tower, Easily spotted her own and their followers-- Saw them helping out her lovers; She didn't know which to value higher. 10 Now the tournament began. Ranks grew, the crowd thickened. Before the gate again and again Into a mêlée the jousting quickened. The four true lovers did so well They took the overall prize outright, Until the time when evening fell And they should have stopped the fight. Crazy men, they fought far away From their own knights; for this they'll pay: Three of them were killed dead And the fourth had a wound that bled Through the thigh--the body speared-- On the other side the lance-head appeared. All were pierced through by the blows; All four fell there in the fields. Those who'd proved their mortal foes Now cast down on the ground their shields. Deeply they mourn the dead; They knew not what they did. They raise a great cry of warning. Never was there heard such mourning. The knights of the town rode to the site, Never fearing the others would fight. To mourn the knights fallen there Two thousand men in that place Undid their helmet visor-lace, Tore their beards and ripped their hair. Mourning was their common plight. Upon his shield they laid each knight And brought them inside the city wall To the lady who'd loved them all. 11 When with the adventure she was acquainted Down on the hard ground she fell, fainted. When her fainting spell is over, Naming them, she mourns each lover. "Alas," she says, "What shall I do? I will never be happy again! I loved these four knights, it's true! Each for himself, I wanted these men. They had the greatest good in themselves, And they loved me more than anything else. Because of their beauty, prowess, power, Generous spirit, noble valor, I made all their love-thoughts turn to me; I wouldn't take one if I'd lose three. I don't know which I should feel worst for, But I can't hide or pretend any more. Three are dead; one wounded I see; Nothing on earth can comfort me. I'll have the dead men buried, first, And if the wounded man can be nursed Gladly I'll be involved, and send him The best doctors to attend him." She has him borne to her rooms. Then she Had them lay out the other three: With love, with noble sentiments, She adorned them, and at great expense. A very wealthy monastic foundation Got a huge endowment, a big donation, From her when they were buried there. May God show them His merciful care! She sent for wise men of medicine, Had them brought to the knight in Her room where he lay, wounded, until He turned the corner, began to heal. 12 She went to see him frequently, Comforted him like a good lady. Still, she mourned the other three, And lamented them all painfully. One summer day, when their fast was broken, The lady to the knight had spoken, Then, overcome by her great sorrow, Bent her head, her face in shadow; She fell into fierce concentration. This caught the knight's attention. He saw that she was deep in thought. He addressed her, as he ought. "Lady, you're in a fearful state! What are you thinking? Tell me, now. Let your pain go, before it's too late! You must be comforted somehow." "My friend," she said, "I was reflecting On your companions, recollecting. No lady of such rank as mine-- Be she so lovely, wise, good, fine-- Ever will love four such men as they Were, and lose them all in one day. Except for you alone, wounded in the thigh So badly you feared you might die. Because I loved you so much, my sorrows Should be recollected for all tomorrows. I will make a lay about all you, And "The Four Mournings" I'll call you." Quickly the knight answered Her, when this he heard. "Lady, make the lai afresh! Call it Chaitivel--The Wretch! And I will show you the reason why This is the name it should go by. The others died a while ago, Their days in this world were through. They suffered terrible pain and woe From the love they had for you. But I, who got off with my life, Wretched, confused, lost in strife-- The thing in the world I could love so I watch day after day come and go Talking to me morning, evening--yet I can't enjoy it, not so much As a kiss, an embrace, a touch. Talking is all the good I get. With so many such griefs you torture me, I'd be better off dead, truth to tell(3). That's why the lai should be named after me, And be called `The Wretch'--`Chaitivel. Calling it `Four Mournings,' from this day, Is changing the right name of the lai." "By my faith," she said, "I like this well; Now we will call it `Chaitivel.'" 13Thus the lai was begun, Finished, and given two names, not one: Those who first took it abroad Called it "Four Mournings"--well, some did. Both names in fact are a good fit, For the subject-matter requires it. "Chaitivel"'s the name you usually hear. Here it ends, there is no more; I have not heard, I cannot say, I won't tell you any more today. 1. A (breton) lai is a medieval form of rhymed poetry that often encompasses romance and chivalry. 2. This kind of tournament is not a competition as we know it-- it is a fight to the death for honor and glory. 3. It seems to me as if the knight is slightly resentful to have survived to find out he wasn’t the only one, and the line “With so many such griefs you torture me. I’d be better off dead,” seems to me to be an insult to the woman who loves him, even after she has provided him with the best medical care and her companionship.

[v-for-vandetta]

All of the numbers >:)

Yeah, figures.

1:Name

Van Galaxy

2:Age

Only 19

3:3 Fears

Failure to meet expectations, the reality that I never earned anything I worked for, discovering that I am exactly who I think I am

4:3 things I love

My friends, music, memes

5:4 turn ons

Genuineness, loving things with no shame, a sly wit, and apparently when they let their hair down

6:4 turn offs

Pursuing things solely for money, elitism, pandering, insincerity

7:My best friend

I don’t think I’m theirs anymore

8:Sexual orientation

Ace

9:My best first date

We watched Little Shop of Horrors

10:How tall am I?

5′7″

11:What/Who do I miss?

My friends in California

12:What time was I born?

Don’t know the time specifically, but it was on a Monday

13:Favourite color

Slytherin Green

14:Do I have a crush?

For once, yeah

15:Favourite quote

“Keep moving forward” - Walt Disney

16:Favourite place

My room

17:Favourite food

Can’t go wrong with pizza

18:Do I use sarcasm?

Gee, I dunno. What do you think?

19:What am I listening to right now?

Cuphead soundtrack

20:First thing I notice in a new person

Their face?

21:Shoe size

9

22:Eye color

Brown

23:Hair color

Black

24:Favourite style of clothing

“Asshole chic”, according to a friend

25:Ever done a prank call?

Not really

27:Meaning behind my URL

My name is Van and I like V for Vendetta

28:Favourite movie

Meet the Robinsons

29:Favourite song

Dust and Ashes, Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812

30:Favourite band

Really feelin’ Simon and Garfunkel right now

31:How I feel right now

A little shitty

32:Someone I love

Ol’ buddy ol’ pal @sourdohjoe​

33:My current relationship status

Single and cripplingly afraid to mingle

34:My relationship with my parents

We’re chill

35:Favourite holiday

Christmastime

36:Tattoos and piercings i have

None

37:Tattoos and piercings i want

None

38:The reason I joined Tumblr

Friends convinced me too

39:Do I and my last ex hate each other?

We’re both mutually concerned about each other’s happiness

40:Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts?

Not as much anymore

41:Have I ever kissed the last person you texted?

My mom? Yeah

42:When did I last hold hands?

I can’t remember anymore

43:How long does it take me to get ready in the morning?

Usually half an hour

44:Have you shaved your legs in the past three days?

Nah

45:Where am I right now?

In my room

46:If I were drunk and can’t stand, who’s taking care of me?

Statistically, my fencing captain

47:Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level?

Reasonably loud

48:Do I live with my Mom and Dad?

During summers, yeah

49:Am I excited for anything?

Just trying to live day to day, man

50:Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to?

I try not to do that

51:How often do I wear a fake smile?

Heh

52:When was the last time I hugged someone?

Yesterday

53:What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me?

Mom and Dad kiss all the time

As an aside you’re gonna have to specify what kind of kissing you mean; just to be clear I do NOT make out with my mom

54:Is there anyone I trust even though I should not?

Yeah

55:What is something I disliked about today?

I drank

56:If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

I don’t really care about that kind of stuff?

57:What do I think about most?

I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory...

58:What’s my strangest talent?

I have gotten stopped at security checkpoints for having odd musical instruments in my bag

59:Do I have any strange phobias?

Not really

60:Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

Behind it

61:What was the last lie I told?

“I’m fine”

62:Do I prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

Texting

63:Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

I’m open to the idea of ghosts, and to think Earth is the only planet that has life is irritatingly narcissistic

64:Do I believe in magic?

Yeah

65:Do I believe in luck?

Yeah

66:What’s the weather like right now?

Humid. I don’t like it

67:What was the last book I’ve read?

My textbook

68:Do I like the smell of gasoline?

I don’t mind it

69:Do I have any nicknames?

When your name is Van Galaxy you’re bound to have a lot of car and space related nicknames.

70:What was the worst injury I’ve ever had?

I really can’t say, I don’t know

71:Do I spend money or save it?

I save it ‘till I choose to spend it

72:Can I touch my nose with a tongue?

Nah

73:Is there anything pink within 10 ft from me?

A physics formula sheet

74:Favourite animal?

Rabbits

75:What was I doing last night at 12 AM?

Playing Cuphead

76:What do I think is Satan’s last name is?

Uh.. I haven’t really given it much thought. I guess just to spit out a name... LaRue?

77:What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it?

Under Pressure, Queen/David Bowie

78:How can you win my heart?

Rip it from my cold, dead body

79:What would I want to be written on my tombstone?

I’d prefer to be cremated instead of lying in a coffin; then people could say that I was thinking out of the box

80:What is my favorite word?

Snark

81:My top 5 blogs on tumblr

Uh, my friends’ blogs, duh

82:If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say?

“Go back to your lives, this is stressing me out”

83:Do I have any relatives in jail?

Nah

84:What superpower would I have?

Telepathy

85:What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on?

If I said then you’d want to know the answer

86:What is my current desktop picture?

It’s a chicken looking at an egg, contemplating which came first

87:Had sex?

Yeah

88:Bought condoms?

Yeah

89:Gotten pregnant?

Nah

90:Failed a class?

Nah

91:Kissed a boy?

Nah

92:Kissed a girl?

Yeah

93:Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain?

I don’t think so?

94:Had job?

“Had job”, that’s hilarious; and yeah

95:Left the house without my wallet?

Yeah

96:Bullied someone on the internet?

Geez probably inadvertently

97:Had sex in public?

God, no. People actually do that?

98:Played on a sports team?

Yeah

99:Smoked weed?

Nah

100:Did drugs?

Nah

101:Smoked cigarettes?

Nah

102:Drank alcohol?

Yeah

103:Am I a vegetarian/vegan?

Nah

104:Been overweight?

Nah

105:Been underweight?

Probably

106:Been to a wedding?

Nah

107:Been on the computer for 5 hours straight?

Yeah

108:Watched TV for 5 hours straight?

Probably

109:Been outside my home country?

Yeah

110:Gotten my heart broken?

Yeah

111:Been to a professional sports game?

Yeah

112:Broken a bone?

Nah

113:Cut myself?

Accidentally

114:Been to prom?

Yeah

115:Been in airplane?

Yeah

116:Fly by helicopter?

Nah

117:What concerts have I been to?

A lot of operas, some symphonic ones, one rock concert

118:Had a crush on someone of the same sex?

Yeah

119:Learned another language?

Then I forgot it

120:Wore make up?

Yeah

121:Lost my virginity before I was 18?

Yeah

122:Had oral sex?

Yeah

123:Dyed my hair?

My hair’s growing white, I don’t have to dye shit

124:Voted in a presidential election?

Yeah

125:Rode in an ambulance?

Nah

126:Had a surgery?

Yeah

127:Met someone famous?

Yeah

128:Stalked someone on a social network?

Probably?

129:Peed outside?

Yeah

130:Been fishing?

Nah

131:Helped with charity?

Yeah

132:Been rejected by a crush?

Yeah

133:Broken a mirror?

Nah

134:What do I want for birthday?

I don’t like the attention

135:How many kids do I want and what will be their names?

Andromeda seems like a cool name

136:Was I named after anyone?

Technically my dad

137:Do I like my handwriting?

It’s alright

138:What was my favourite toy as a child?

Legos; also what do you mean “was”

139:Favourite Tv Show?

Right now, probably the new Ducktales

140:Where do I want to live when older?

I don’t know man, I don’t think that far ahead

141:Play any musical instrument?

Yeah

142:One of my scars, how did I get it?

Got stabbed by an epee

143:Favourite pizza toping?

Pepperoni

144:Am I afraid of the dark?

Nah

145:Am I afraid of heights?

A little

146:Have I ever got caught sneaking out or doing anything bad?

Yeah

147:Have I ever tried my hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end?

Yeah

148:What I’m really bad at

Taking care of myself

149:What my greatest achievements are

Managed to learn an entire musical’s worth of music in 3 days, I’m pretty proud of that

150:What I’d do if I won the lottery

Pay off student loans and use the rest of the money to get a leg up in my career

Alright yeah, that was fun. Thanks.