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rachelbethhines · 4 years

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Tangled Salt Marathon - You're Kidding Me

So we’ve finally come to the last of season two’s filler episodes. Let’s see if we can knock this one out real quick.

Summary: The front door of the mysterious seashell estate vanishes, trapping the group. They try to find another way out but find a spinning top whose magic regresses Cassandra and Lance into toddlers and Shorty into a baby. They’ve only have an hour to find the top and reverse the effects or the changes become permanent. Unfortunately neither of Rapunzel’s or Eugene’s parenting methods keep their now childish friends on task.

So Why Did No One Stand Watch Last Night?

They were all sleeping right next to the entrance, and after the run in with the mirror monsters, you would think that they would have taken turns standing watch.

But nope, the front door vanishes when no one was looking cause they don't have any foresight.

A Low Budget Doesn’t Excuse Filler

Like most of season two, this is yet another episode that adds very little to the overall story. It’s slightly better than the Return of Quaid or Curses, but not by much. I put it on the same level as The Forest of No Return, as I do like the mains’ development, but there’s really no reason why such episodes exist to begin with.

The meta reason for staying in certain places for three episodes, instead of only one or two, is because of budgetary reasons. The crew have to build new sets and models for every new location or person the cast comes across. This costs money to make, so the higher ups wanted to reuse assets. Which is understandable, but not an excuse for utilizing them poorly.

If you need to stay in one area or have characters reappear, then you need to give story reasons for that. Ones that tie back to the overall narrative and/or the mains’ character arcs.

The shell house and Matthews should be more important than what they are as they both have connections to the ultimate big bad of the series.Adria shouldn’t be wasted for a whole episode when she’s the only one driving the plot in season two and has limited appearances. Vardaros and its people shouldn’t be a one and done thing if you’re going to spend so much time setting them up. And there’s still one off episodes, locations, and characters who aren’t brought back and add nothing

Not only does this make for a weaker story, it also undermines the cost saving measures that you tried to implement to begin with.

This Isn’t Representation!

Get it?!

She’s a top!

She’s totally gay, but like not really, cause this can also be interpreted as a dominatrix joke, and there’s no other real indication of her orientation outside her like smiling at her best friend/crush/sister sometimes and keeping that rose her creepy ex-boyfriend gave her.

And don't give me any bullshit excuses about Disney not letting the crew make Cassandra canonly gay/bi.

The Owl House aired just this year, the same year as Tangled’s final season. Also Globby and Carl from Big Hero Six were both confirmed to be a couple on screen a month after this episode came out. Both shows would have been in development at the same time as Tangled was. Both would have been subject to the same regulations and restrictions while writing their stories.

It isn’t “Disney” that stopped the storyboard artists from having Cass be a confirmed lesbian, it’s Chris and Ben, the head writers themselves, who failed to write it into the story properly, if at all.

Chris is the one who made Raps and Cass “sisters”. Chris is the one who wouldn’t tell the crew about his ‘twists’. Chris is the one who had Cass crush on Andrew, even after he tried to kill her. Chris is the one who made Cassandra ‘straight’ and has since used gay baiting to keep her fanbase in his pocket.

Like I am really damn sick and tired of Casspunzel stans defending Chris on twitter, when he’s the very one who sunk thier ship to begin with. I’m also really fed up with certain fans trying to bully others for not accepting their “Cass is a lesbian” headcanons as fact because what the storyboarders say on twitter after the show is over with isn’t gospel and isn’t real rep.

I don’t care if you ship Cass with Raps or headcanon her as being gay. Ships and headcanons are great and can be a lot of fun. But fuck you if you ever try to shame people for not sharing your ships/headcanons. Not only is it biophobic and acephobic to insist that there’s only ever a binary option when it comes to orientation and shipping, but it also reinforces harmful stereotypes and tropes about people in the queer community.

Like, yes, I personally may be an introverted angry bitch who’s an LBGTQA member and activist, but that doesn’t mean that every introverted bitchy woman in media is a lesbian. What kind of message does that send people when that’s the only character archetype that’s given representation or is loudly proclaimed as ‘gay’ by the wider audience? Fuck that noise!

I Know Humor is Subjective but...WHY?

Why did we give the baby a beard? How does that logically work? Did anyone outside of the crew actually find this funny?

TTS has like this one out of touch dude throwing out jokes that don’t really land with the target audience. Fans have called it ‘boomer humor’ but it’s actually ‘Gen-X’ humor. Not only because Chris and Ben are Gen Xers but because this is the type of crap my older brother would find hilarious.

Gen Xers are between Boomers and Millennials and so their humor is this weird blend of gross out shock humor, ironic nihilism, and out of date stereotypes that are only mildly better than those of the previous generation before them. They’re the generation who gave us Beavis and Butthead, South Park, and Clerks.

That’s not a criticism of Gen X as a generation, but rather just an acknowledgment that they’re worlds away from the neo-dada absurdism, more socially conscious, and globalized humor of Gen Z.

So Why Is the Bad Guy Telling the Heroes How to Foil His Plans?

Like he not only tells them how to fix their problem and how long they got in order to do so, but he also informs them how it happened in the first place. This goes directly against his plans. Had he simply said nothing and stayed out sight, then Raps and Eugene would have been lost for the full hour and most likely not have saved everyone on time.

I like to headcanon that Mathews is just “that asshole” that loves to taunt and tease but in a that manner that gives him plausible deniability. He also may just be bored, since he’s a ghost trapped in one place all the time. Yet that still doesn’t change the fact that he shot himself in the foot here.

Raps and Young Cass’s Relationship Is the Same as Raps and Adult Cass’s, and That Is a Problem.

Condescending, manipulative, hypocritical, and bossy is the way Rapunzel treats everyone. She doesn’t understand the actual difference between a child and an adult. She only understands who she who she can and can’t boss around. And those people that she can’t place under her thumb are labeled antagonists by the show.

Nor does she actually care about what either kid Lance or kid Cass has to say. She’s just being proformative, and young Cass can see through that BS, which why her methods do not work. It’s not because she’s not ‘strict’ enough; it’s because she’s not being honest.

Meanwhile Child Cassandra is just as combative, rude, bullying, and entitled as Adult Cassandra. In season three she regresses even further and becomes more violent than before.

Unlike Rapunzel, Cassandra wasn’t trapped in a tower for 18 years with zero human contact outside of her abuser. She escaped that fate and was raised in a loving home. That doesn’t mean that there won't be scars, but I still expect her to be more mature than her seven year old self. Just because she’s whining about not being special enough at 24 instead of screaming about the floor being lava doesn’t mean that she’s still not throwing a temper tantrum.

Like I should not be seeing a replay/foreshadowing of their main conflict here. They aren’t children. They’re dynamic isn’t that of a mother and child. It’s not even a big sister looking out for a little sister type relationship. Its two immature women dragging innocent victims into their bitchy cat fight for dominance over the other.

If you want me to take their issues seriously then give them real stakes to disagree over, mature behavior that I can root for, and a resolvement that doesn’t reverse any potential development that they could have had.

Matthews Plan Makes Zero Sense

For starters, half the group being kids isn’t enough of a reason for Rapunzel to stay at the shell house. Even if the effects of the time top became permanent, then Raps and Eugene could just leave and take the kids with them. Either to finish the road trip, or go straight back to Corona. Not that there’s any real reason to get the Dark Kingdom anyways, nor is there a ticking clock stopping Raps from trying again later if she chose to.

Rapunzel also is not obligated to become anyone’s mother. If she took them back to Corona than Cap would undoubtedly raise Cassandra all over again, and Lance and Shorty could be adopted by someone else. Any of the pub thugs might take them or even perhaps the King and Queen since they missed out on raising their actual daughter. Though for my money I’d get Monty or Xavier to take them in. They seem the most mature and both are shown to be good with kids.

Then again Rapunzel has been shown twice now to not give a damn about abandoning orphans, so even the ‘dump them at an orphanage’ or ‘leave them alone in the woods to fend for themselves’ isn’t entirely off the table either. I wish I was joking, but I’m not. Sadly, only Eugene’s love for Lance might be the one thing to stop her from doing just so, and even that’s iffy.

As for the missing door from earlier, if that was all that was stopping them from leaving then the time top shenanigans were fully unnecessary altogether.

I Actually Like Eugene and Rapunzel’s Conflict Here; I Just Wish It Was In a Better Episode.

Each of their viewpoints stem from their upbringing.

Rapunzel is unique in that she was simultaneously emotionally abused and neglected while being physically spoiled. Especially once she found out that she was princess, where she was then handed nearly anything and everything she wanted. She doesn’t recognize that getting your every possible whim come true can be damaging. Nor does she have any comprehension of what living in poverty is like and how this many toys is wasteful to someone like Eugene who had so very little and stole to survive.

She does however associate limits, boundaries, and orders with abusive behavior because she’s been denied autonomy and respect her whole life. She’s never seen what healthy parenting looks like and how rules can be applied correctly.

To Rapunzel no orders is ‘freeing’ and ‘validation’ is all that is needed to get a child to listen to you. Which doesn’t work for her because she doesn’t understand that real communication is more than just giving a compliment now and then.

Meanwhile Eugene lacked any sort of anchor at all. He was left to his own devices at a young age and had no one to rely on for emotional needs and, after leaving the orphanage, no one to provide physical needs either.

It’s telling that he and Lance latched onto Quaid as the only authority figure in their life, despite Quaid never out right adopting them. He was the only sense of stability that they had who they could trust wouldn’t hurt them, despite being strict with them.

And now that Eugene has gotten older and is reformed, he can probably understand why Quaid was so harsh on him and Lance. Quaid probably did more to try and help them turn from a life crime than even Rapunzel did. Like meeting Rapunzel was the inciting incident that inspired Eugene to make that leap, but the groundwork was already laid out for him to do so elsewhere. Things like his good communication skills, respect and empathy of others, and understanding of boundaries had to be learned from somewhere, and if not from the Sheriff of Vardaros than who?

What I’m getting at is that, while Rapunzel rejects her parents methods but then fails to break her learned habits from them anyways, Eugene is the reverse. He’s come to embrace his mentor’s teachings, but he fails to implement them correctly because he’s not Quaid. Being authoritative isn’t his strong suit. It goes against his usual nature as the easy going person that he is and so any attempts to come across as forceful fail as they’re hollow.

Kids know authenticity and genuineness when they see it. The children reject Rapunzel because she’s not being real with them, yet they also reject Eugene cause he’s not being honest with himself.

It’s a complex and mature conflict. Neither person is fully right nor wrong, and only by learning from each other and adopting both methods can they achieve their goal.

TTS can be deep when it wants to be. There’s a good foundation here for mature themes and complex characterization. It’s just the series doesn’t ever commit to it.

Whatever personal drama going on here about two young adults trying to cope with their past traumas and how that affects their current life and future goals is completely lost in the magical goofy antics and low stakes situation. Even the stuff about Eugene and his relationship with Quaid is reduced to nothing but a one off joke rather than being genuinely explored as a point of development.

Imagine how much more powerful things would have been if Angry and Red were brought along on the trip. If this argument was over them and whether or not they should adopt the two girls themselves or consider other options. That would be something with real weight. Something with a choice that had actual consequences attached to it. Something that would permanently affect all involved parties. Something that wouldn’t make the two leads look like outright dicks for abandoning two children for a second damn time in a row.

You Have 70 Feet of Magical, Indestructible Hair! Why Are You Afraid of a Bunch of Dogs!?

You’ve fought off giant monsters, killer robots, and supernatural beings with magical powers. What do you mean you can’t hold off a pack of guard dogs while busting down a stuck door? Why is Eugene the shield for everyone and not the actual unbreakable hair that you use as a shield all the damn time? And Why did we have to rely on Shorty again to be the deus ex machina of the episode?

At this point the writers should have just made him Demantius instead of the monkey.

What Happened To This New Dream? Where Did It Go In Season Three?

Most fans who do enjoy season two happen to be big New Dream fans as this is by far and away the best season for them. I’ll admit that the series, up to this point, had me actively liking them together, despite being originally lukewarm to the pairing in the movie.

Their conflicts were for the the most part mature and real. They learned from one another equally and had open communication when it didn't involve ‘marriage is a trap’ BS. Things, like compromising on differentiating future goals, honesty and communication, and making time for one another and extending effort into a relationship while being true to yourself are all relatable issues.

Even today's episode featured the topic of having kids and parenting. Which is a discussion you absolutely need to have with your prospective spouse before entering into any long term commitments and signing any legal contracts. For real, I’ve seen marriages fall apart because they didn’t agree on whether or not they wanted children.

I don’t know what went down between writing season two and season three, but things quickly took a sharp turn away from this dynamic and nosedived into a pit of uncomfortable bullying and gross sexist implications here after.

Matthews Plan Goes Against Zhan Tiri’s Plan

Yeah so Matthews is one of Zhan Tiri’s disciples, but he apparently doesn’t know of her goals/plans, cause she needs Rapunzel and company to reach the moonstone, not stay stuck here.

The meta reason for this that the Zhan Tiri’s story was altered at the last minute and the writers failed to make sure there was any sort of consistency between what they already set up and where they actually wound to actually taking the plot.

The in universe reason is that Zhan Tiri is an impotent moron, but that’s not what the writers were going for so it’s a fail.

Conclusion

I like the New Dream stuff, and Matthews is at least entertaining despite being incompetent. Everything else about the episode is ‘meh’ tho.

#tangled #rapunzel's tangled adventure #tangled the series #anti-tangled #anti-rapunzel #anti-cassandra #eugene

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seyaryminamoto · 3 years

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I recently saw a video where GRRM talked about how he saw two different kinds of writers. He mentioned the gardener(planting the seed of an idea and letting it grow) and the architect(who plans out and organizes everything ahead of time). Obviously, every writer is a little bit of both but I was wondering which you relate to more and if you’d be willing to share some more about your own writing approaches and processes :)

I think I've answered similar questions in the past, but it'd be near impossible to dig it out in this ridiculously big, chaotic archive of my blog xD so I guess I'll answer it again, and if we come across the previous answers I've given, it'd even be fun to compare if there's anything different in the answer these days (?)

Personally, I think the best way to go about this is to have a mix of both things, but for me, it's in a very specific manner.

While I absolutely see the value in letting a story spiral and grow into whatever it wants to be, I have to say I don't think my best work comes from that. The lack of structure is similarly liberating and dangerous, because if your story's purpose isn't something you, as an author, have really made up your mind about, it's 100% possible that the story will end up going in very strange directions that MIGHT not make much sense, when you look at where you started out.

I've told this story a few times, but it bears repeating xD my first "serious" attempt at writing (by which I mean, I took it seriously, not that the content itself was super serious, since it was a trainwreck more often than not xD) started off as a perfectly happy romcom high school story! And tbh, to this day I love it as it is... but I know, I KNOW, that I totally warped the initial purpose and process of the story when, upon fulfilling the first bit of conflict in the story and leaving some massive loose ends I had to wrap up, I found myself at a loss because I had no idea how to continue. I was seriously, genuinely, at a loss for ideas and storylines to keep going. What, then, did I come up with?

... my happy romcom characters ended up embroiled in an organized crime catastrophe that has ZERO build-up in the first part of the story xD

(To the eagle-eyed who might have picked up something here... yes. That is 100% what I was poking fun at through Yang in Gladiator during the Fire Lord's Shadow arc. Yes. I mock myself. More accurately, I make Azula and Sokka mock my most questionable writing choices :'D)

Now, then, I had a very weird mess in my hands and I admit, it wasn't a great place to be at xD you see me now with my very, very small likelihood of falling into writer's block? Well, back then, I spent more time blocked than writing, for sure :'D and one of the reasons why that happened is because, while I had some ideas for what I wanted to write in the future? I didn't really have a set direction beyond "I want these and these characters as endgame relationships!", which is pretty much the most basic level of "plotting" you can pretend to do, as a writer xD And ironically, even then I was far more malleable and willing to experiment with whatever character combinations came up later, which even resulted in me discovering, well into writing a story, that some characters I absolutely did NOT conceive in a relationship were actually pretty good together! :'D

But that I had very little direction when I started writing that story was still a problem. I actually found more direction and built some more structure as I reached the last part of the story, and I will say, it's the strongest bit of it, by far xD (as evidence of what I'm saying, it was the first time I ever wrote an OUTLINE DOC! XD) but I have no doubts that, if I'd had the foresight to actually know where I was going, the story as a whole would be much much better, no matter how much I love it for what it is.

So! This particular writing experience of mine taught me countless things, among them, to actually ponder direction and purpose in stories instead of diving in blindlly. It's not really about having foreshadowing hints every ten minutes, which is what some people take as a sign of quality (I'll dare be quite controversial and say that not because you know what you'll write ten years down the line does it mean your story automatically makes sense... xD), it's about actually having a purpose in what you're building, a real direction, character arcs and plotlines that, to put it simply, work.

Therefore... I know for a fact that I can't be a full-blown plantser (or gardener) because I've tried it, and while I absolutely see the merits, the drawbacks are pretty sizable for me, and it just really doesn't work with my approach to storytelling.

Thus... If I MUST choose a category out of them both, I'd say I'm an architect, but the truth is I'm not an architect in the most strict sense of the word, either :'D

If you want a super strong building, you obviously need the best foundations for it. But you don't stop there, of course: erecting a building takes a lot of different efforts and processes if you really want your building to not only stand tall but to be a proper, decent place to live in. And while in real life, the reasonable thing would be to have a plan for each of those little details you have to build in, from filling the walls, to the type of flooring, down to even the decor... in writing, THIS is where I take the gardener approach! :'D

I don't know if I've said it in the past, but while sometimes I don't know how to start a story (which, despite my carelessness with the matter in the past, I've come to realize is a VERY delicate choice to make, one that can actually destroy my immersion in a story if it's a choice made carelessly), usually, I try to make myself think about where it's going, first of all. Currently, I have a few potential original projects rolling around in my head... and I don't know where they start :'D but I DO know where I'll take them, what the actual, ultimate climax of those stories would be. This, then, is the most basic foundation for a story, for me. I choose a destination, kinda, and then build the journey there :D

This is, loosely speaking, how I've built up Gladiator. And yet Gladiator, being the ridiculously big mess that it is, required a very unique plotting approach that I suppose might be at odds with a lot of what I've said so far xD yet it also remains true to a lot of what I've said here :'D

When I first started to ponder this story, the first plot point was obvious and instinctive: Sokka's capture. When Chaosconetic (the one who first gave me the idea for this story) suggested it, he didn't quite put forward the idea of having Azula being the one who captured Sokka personally. I thought of making Azula and Sokka first come face to face in this way because... honestly? Because I just wanted them to interact as soon as possible x'DDDD it complicated matters, of course, but that was absolutely something I could work with.

Yet... where was I going with this story? It was a rewrite of ATLA as a whole, so what exactly was the direction for the story? Clearly, Azula and Sokka would wind up falling in love, and how exactly would that come about? And beyond that, wouldn't it be a seeerious mess for this to happen in a setting where Ozai is STILL in power? Why, of course it would be! :'D It added a new layer of complications to the generally already complicated Sokkla relationship, and instead of it being kept secret or being a forbidden romance for the reasons canon-based stories typically make it so, it's BEYOND forbidden here because Ozai is still a very much active factor in this story, and he makes everything worse :D soooooo...

With these particular factors in mind, I had several things to think about. With Sokka fighting as a gladiator being the core of the story, I had to figure out who would be his rivals, and in doing so, figure out what his power curve as a warrior would look like :'D in doing so, I settled very quickly on Toph for his main serious rival, but Sokka wasn't the only one whose story I'd be telling: obviously, Azula's arc would be important too, as I'd have to work with developing her FAR MORE than I ever had before, and while Sokka's personal opponents would be important, Azula is the one who chooses Sokka as her personal warrior, therefore, she had to have a purpose in doing so. Said purpose then materialized when I decided to make use of Zhao's character for Azula's main goal and foil, and so, I needed Zhao to have THE best gladiator of all... and I didn't need to think about it too much before I settled on Combustion Man for the role :'D

Thus, those were small, isolated yet pivotal elements that I had to articulate into a structure that made sense :D they were small things I settled on pretty quickly, from the very first few days of plotting. I can say for certain that, by the third day, I already had settled on the climax (... can't decide whether that's a fortunate or unfortunate wording choice, tbh xD) scene of Part 1, when Azula and Sokka have their fateful fight in chapter 96, then finally succumb to their attraction and act on their feelings without holding back, in chapter 97 :'D I knew I wanted this to happen after Sokka hit a low point upon failing to defeat Toph, either for the second time or after losing against her far too many times that he just was too discouraged to keep going, hence, I knew what the lead-up to this would be from literally day THREE.

But beyond this? At like... day one or two of plotting, once I settled on Combustion Man as the ultimate man to defeat? I also settled on how Part 2 would end :> back then, I honestly had no idea how much time there would be between the events from chapter 97 and the upcoming culmination of Part 2, I wasn't anywhere near advanced enough with plotting to even KNOW I'd split the story into parts because it would get too big to handle xD But what I did know was that I needed these two situations to happen, situations deeply entwined with Sokka's role as a gladiator. Everything in between was variable, and it was stuff I could figure out slowly, along the way.

The ultimate direction of the story, though? That did take me a long time to settle on xD In fact, I think it took me well over a year after I got started to really figure out where I was going with all of this. A close friend helped me figure out things by offering many ideas for Zuko and Suki's storyline, basically tossing them at me in hopes that I'd make sense out of some of them... and I don't really know if she even knows how much that helped me xD I really spent a long time unsure of what I wanted to do, what I COULD do... until at long last, I settled on one slightly ambitious direction that eventually turned into what you'll all know as Part 3 :'DDDDD

So... yeah, that's why I say I'm being contradictory as heck xD Yes, I worked out some core details of the story since the very beginning, but it wasn't ALL the core details, let alone the ultimate direction of the story, BUT... in building up Azula's character arc, that direction slowly became clearer to the point where, when this particular possibility stared me in the face, I knew it was where we had to go, I realized that what I'd written over that year was leading up perfectly to that outcome.

Ergo, Gladiator is 100% a work of gardening and architecture, woven together to a point where I have a hard time remembering what, exactly, was the result of each thing. There's some things that I settled on early on, like I said, structure things... and then there are some parts where the characters just went wild and did things I did NOT expect them to do xD There's one scene coming up, right before the climax of Part 2, where Azula actually does something that I honestly WASN'T sure of doing... and yet I couldn't resist the urge to go forward with it, once the idea came to mind, and so I did it. And now I regret nothing xD was it necessary? Possibly not. Will some people find it weird and out of place? Maybe. But was it CATHARTIC AS HECK!? Aaaabsolutely friggin' yes XD pardon me for being so self-indulgent, but that's part of what being a gardener is about (?)

So, I really think the best stories benefit from a careful approach to mixing the principles of both ideas. I know that some gardeners think that a structure can stifle creativity (not necessarily true, if you sense a lack of creativity in anything you're doing, it IS up to you to turn it around, switch it up and make it interesting, right...?), I also suspect architects might think gardeners would be utterly unable to tell a good story altogether in virtue of letting the story run away with them (also not necessarily true, as the quality of a story isn't quantifiable as easily as that, gardeners might just make masterpieces without as much need of direction as I personally require: Philip Pullman apparently had no set direction in the His Dark Materials trilogy and I could swear that's some of the best storytelling I have EVER seen).

Ultimately, each person gets to choose their ideal approach and what exactly they're trying to do with their work, as well as how they want to do it... but if you ask me, if your characters never seem to pull you in unexpected directions, you might just need to rework them or approach them differently to give them more life. If they DO pull you in those unexpected directions, but you're not sure if you can follow them just because you need to follow structure, it's really up to you as the author to choose whether to sacrifice the life/creativity within your own work and stick to structure, or sacrifice structure and potentially cause your story's course to crumble :'D

It may sound like I'm advocating for gardening so much more, despite I've labeled myself an architect, buuuuut... ironically, a very complicated but VERY rewarding scene in Gladiator Part 3 damn near WRECKED my structure when I was writing it a few weeks ago :'D I literally had to take a day off from actually writing so I could make a list of ALL the elements that would be impacted by this change if I went forward with it. If I chose against it, I would have to rewrite the complicated scene in a different way, and it might have been waaay too weird to make it work. If I chose to keep it, I had to tread VERY carefully or end up potentially making a mess of the ultimate direction of Gladiator's story, even threatening the themes and nuance that I have been counting on since I settled on this direction. Thus, sometimes gardening can be dangerous. Very, very dangerous.

I THINK I found a fair enough compromise that allows me to keep the best of both worlds... but I hope I've made it clear that both ways of working have their pros and cons, and why even mixing both things can have pros and cons xD but this is also why I, personally, think that a writer benefits the most from figuring out at least a loose outline, the broad strokes of what they want to achieve in a story, and then figuring out the many ways in which they could fill in those foundations, in whatever way they're most comfortable.

And so, I have rambled plenty xD I hope that was thorough enough, my position in this particular subject is honestly to oscillate in the middle of both things, where part of your job as the writer is to determine which situation benefits more from either approach :D Like I said before, I've found structure isn't something I can sacrifice easily, but more often than not, letting the story flow, letting the characters make their own choices, can enrich your story rather than hinder it. So... I lay the foundations, the structure, so that seeds can grow inside it, if that makes sense xD

#anon #woops #why do I talk so much #I just always do #minor tidbit spoilers here you could say though I don't THINK I gave away anything too important...#:'DDDD #but yep I am a gardenchitect #architardener (?)#whatever you wanna call it xD

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yespleasefandomtrash · 4 years

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Honestly write whatever you want catradora is sooo good and I just need to c o n s u m e. An au would be nice, tho it's up to you what kind!

me, chanting: IRON MAN AU IRON MAN AU IRON MAN AU (aka the au no one asked for but the one i wanted to write lmao)

tumblr still isn't letting me add line breaks but i will try to put them in later!! thank you for your patience xx

HI = Horde Industries

~*~

“Hey, Adora - don’t forget you have a teleconference with Hordak tonight,” Catra said as she walked into the lab, marking off something on her clipboard. “I’ve already prepared all the documents you’ll need for the meeting because I know you don’t have the foresight to do that yourself.”

Adora groaned at the thought of dealing with HI business, especially involving Hordak. “Can’t someone else do it?” She paused in tinkering with the various electrical parts in front of her. “Like you?”

Catra rolled her eyes. “Obviously I normally would, but I have tonight off, in case you’ve forgotten.” She clicked her pen shut. “I know you’re utterly incapable without me, but you’ll have to make do for a few hours.”

Adora stood up from her worktable, brushing the front of her pants off before walking over to Catra, a frown creasing her lips. “Why are you taking tonight off?”

Catra laughed, the hint of irritation in her voice making Adora wince. “I’m allowed to have off on my birthday, Adora.”

“Oh. Today’s… your birthday.”

“Mhm. That’s what I just said.” She tucked her pen into the pocket on the front of her shirt.

Adora chewed her lip, shoving her hands into her back pockets. She hadn’t meant to forget. She just… hadn’t grown up with any importance placed on birthdays. “Buy yourself something nice from me, then.”

“Oh, I already did.” Catra smirked as she removed the first paper on top of her clipboard and handed it to Adora - a to-do list for that evening. “Thank you. It was a wonderful gift.”

“It’s nice, I take it?” Adora asked, begrudgingly accepting the paper while simultaneously unable to stop herself from wondering what ‘she’ had bought for Catra.

“It’s amazing. Brings out the blue in my right eye.” She chuckled. “You have impeccable taste.” Catra then glanced at her watch. “Will that be all, Adora?”

A chill always ran down her spine when Catra said her name. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the woman’s lips. “That will be all, Catra.”

There was a lingering silence between them where neither moved, but the ringtone that suddenly blasted from Adora’s phone startled them both out of their reverie. Catra gave her a familiar smirk before leaving, and it took all of Adora’s willpower to stop herself from watching her go.

“What do you want, Glimmer?” Adora grumbled as she answered the phone.

Glimmer snorted. “Well, by that tone I can tell I interrupted you and Catra flirting, didn’t I?”

“You know as well as anyone that Catra and I’s relationship is strictly professional.”

“A blatant lie, but I really don’t have time to argue with you right now. You’re an entire hour late for our flight!”

“Please. It’s my personal jet,” Adora scoffed. “It’s not like it’s going to leave without me.”

“Just get over here stat before you drive me any further to the brink of insanity.”

“Yes, mom.”

~*~

“Light Hope, what is it?”

“It is a sword, Adora.”

“Don’t make me reboot you.”

There was a pause, and if an AI could sigh, Adora had a feeling Light Hope would have. The only noise in the room was the low humming of Light Hope’s system as she scanned the sword.

“It is made of a rare metal,” Light Hope finally said. “Vibranium, I believe it is called. And there are inscriptions along the handle in a ‘forgotten’ language of the ancient Etherians.”

Adora frowned. “First Ones?”

“Correct.”

She tapped her fingers on the table, the sound muffled by her gloves. “Is there any way to translate the inscriptions?”

“Only fragments of First Ones’ writing have survived. However, given time, I can compile a list of all known translations of these writings and see if any applies to the symbols on the sword.”

Adora nodded. “Yes. Do that, please.” She stared at the sword, resisting the urge to pull off her gloves and pick it up. “Also, scan it for radioactivity and anything else that might be dangerous. I want to know if I can touch it bare-handed.”

“Certainly.”

As the AI got to work, Adora tried and failed to tear her gaze away from the blade. Something in her still wanted to grab it and try to interpret the inscription herself, as if somehow an ancient sword was going to fill the void inside her -

“Adora, why the hell do you have a giant sword in here?”

Adora jumped at the sudden voice, turning around to see Catra standing in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. “I told you to knock before you come in here.”

“Yeah, right,” Catra scoffed, walking around a worktable to get to Adora. “If I knocked every time I came down here, you’d be dead because I wouldn’t have been able to save you from the stupid things you’re always doing.”

“I have never done anything stupid in my life.”

“You have done everything stupid in your life.”

Adora rolled her eyes in what was probably a very childlike but nonetheless cathartic manner. “What, and you haven’t?”

“Not since you hired me!” Catra hissed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Look, what is even going on down here? You get back from a war zone and the first thing you do is start looking at new weapons? Are you kidding me?”

“It’s not a new weapon,” Adora protested, which sounded pathetic even to herself. “It’s a First Ones’ sword. So it’s an old weapon. And all I’m doing is having Light Hope run a few scans on it, okay?”

“What you need to be doing is helping me figure out what we’re doing with the press,” Catra argued. “Everyone is clamoring to know why HI wants to drop out of weapons manufacturing the war against the Rebellion!”

Adora winced at the mention of the war, her mind flashing back to what she’d witnessed HI’s own technology doing to innocent people. Destruction she alone was responsible for. “I know, I know. But right now -”

“I am detecting strange molecular activity from the sword,” Light Hope interrupted.

As if on cue, the sword began to glow with a dim white light.

“Uh, that’s not radiation, right?” Adora asked, instinctively taking a step away even though a part of her wanted to move closer and observe the blade. She was really losing her mind.

“It does not appear to be radioactive,” Light Hope replied as the sword began to glow and pulsate with greater intensity.

“Literally, why do I still work this job?” Catra grumbled, massaging her temples as she glared at the sword warily.

“Because I can’t function without you,” Adora said, stepping between Catra and the sword, keeping an eye on the glowing blade. “But maybe you should consider getting out of here -”

“God, you need to take a break from - from this!” Catra snapped, gesturing to the entire room. “There’s HI business to take care of, Shadow Weaver is breathing down both our necks, and dammit, Adora, I’m really worried about y-”

The room was suddenly filled with a blinding white light emanating from the sword, and Adora jumped out to grab Catra, tackling her to the floor as the sword hissed and sparked and all the lightbulbs in the room exploded.

When the bright light from the sword faded, Adora was able to clearly see the icy glare Catra was directing at her. The awkwardness was only intensified by the rather… intimate position in which they’d landed, with Adora on top and Catra below her.

“Uh…” Adora winced. “In my defense, I did not know that was going to happen.”

~*~

“And you’re sure it’s safe to touch?”

“As certain as I can be, Adora.”

Adora hesitated, then shrugged. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” She pulled off her gloves, then carefully picked up the sword. For such a large blade, it felt surprisingly well-balanced in her hands. “Any updates on a translation of the inscriptions?”

“Yes,” Light Hope replied, sounding as pleased as an AI possibly could. “From what I can determine, the words translate to ‘for the honor of Grayskull’.”

“‘Grayskull’? What’s that?” Or who, Adora supposed.

“Regrettably, I could find no information on that term. But I am still searching.”

“Thanks, Light Hope.” Adora exhaled slowly, running a finger over the symbols carved into the golden handle. “‘For the honor of Grayskull’, huh?”

Out of nowhere, power surged through Adora’s body, strength flowing through her veins as the room was filled with a blinding light not dissimilar to the one from only days earlier.

When the light faded, Adora’s reflection in the glass walls of her lab was no longer her own. A much taller and much blonder woman stood in her place.

Adora somehow managed to bite back a scream of horror as she stared in shock at the stranger who vaguely resembled her, the sword falling from her hands and clattering on the ground at her feet. “Light Hope,” she said through gritted teeth, trying not to panic, “what the hell just happened?!”

“You appear to have transformed into the legendary hero ‘She-Ra’,” Light Hope replied. “I have run diagnostics, and you do not seem to have suffered any ill effects from such. This transformation is likely connected to the words you spoke while holding the sword.”

“Oh, you think?” Adora groaned, her fists clenching. Magic sword. No big deal. “Is there anything in recorded history about She-Ra? Something that could be related to why I am now… her?” All things considered, she thought she was remaining pretty calm about everything. “And how I can turn back into myself?”

“There is extensive documentation. Would you like me to sort through it?”

“Yes. Separate what you think is relevant so I can go over it personally, please.”

“Certainly, Adora.”

An hour or so later, Adora - or should she call herself She-Ra? - was lying atop one of her worktables, surrounded by files with the umpteenth manilla folder in her hand as she tried to force herself to continue reading about She-Ra and her magic sword. Really, all she’d learned so far that her transformation was a result of ancient First Ones’ magic or heavy LSD.

Ugh. Her eyes were starting to glaze over. She needed a nap.

“Hey, Adora, are you - oh my God who are you?!”

Adora yelped and fell off the table at the sound of Catra’s voice, landing uncomfortably on her back as the same glittering light from before surrounded her and finally returned her to being -

“Adora?! You were - glowing - giant - what?!”

Catra’s voice was an octave higher than usual, which Adora had to pretend wasn’t simultaneously hilarious and adorable.

Adora sighed, not even bothering to move from where she’d fallen upside down on the ground, paperwork scattered around her and the sword next to her head. “Let’s face it. This is not the worst thing you’ve caught me doing.”

Catra simply buried her face in her hands.

~*~

this is an AU im totally up to expand in the future. the pepperony dynamic fits catradora ridiculously well. thank you for reading! :)

#catradora #spop catradora #catradora fluff #spop catra #spop adora #spop #she ra #she ra season five #iron man au #iron man #pepperony #glimmer #spop glimmer #my writing #fanfiction #catradora au #ask #prompt request #anon

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evien-stark · 4 years

Text

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 118

Returning to “normal” life was hard, as always. And, as the end of March crept up and you moved into April, you suspected part of the reason Tony may have been laying it on so thick (aside, of course, his deep love for you) was because he knew once he came home he’d throw himself into work. Almost literally. Where you’d spent two weeks basking in each other’s affections and attentions, once you hit the ground in New York, you barely saw him. It wasn’t just him, you were busy, too, but…

This thing he was working on… as always, when he threw himself into something this hard you got just a little worried. You hoped understandably so. This project was supposed to help your team. Help your life. Help you find some sense of… well… a different normal than you were used to, right then. Where superhero stuff would slowly get phased out of the equation. Which would be a nice thought, but…

Part of you wondered, as you’d told him, if that was entirely possible. He seemed to think it was just possible enough, even perhaps one-percent possible, for him to look into it. He had some crazy idea- or maybe just a Tony idea that he saw. Some grand vision. You assumed he’d see it through, no matter what it took. You just hoped that wasn’t too much.

You also hoped you weren’t selfish. Growing lonely in his absence, even when he was just a few floors away at any given time. Just in the labs. Same that you were just in your offices. But. Work kept you divided. Sometimes that was just how it had to be. Much as you regretted it. Even if he was working on something meant to help.

Your own days became the same exciting, packed monotony. Three meetings before breakfast, too many in the afternoon, piles of emails, conferences, papers to read through, proposals to pass or go forward on, then a few meetings pushed in at the end of the day. Some you let run long because you knew Tony was still busy anyway, so what was the point? Who were you coming “home” to?

But… sometimes, when he could, when he remembered, he did try to make an effort. Surprising you with dinner. Sometimes it went the other way around, and you’d bring food down to the lab. He had a ton of exoskeletons on his work tables at any given moment. About a thousand screens surrounding him with work scattered across all of them. Working. Sincerely. Trying his hardest.

All the time busy and apart made it that much nicer when May came and the two of you did exactly as he’d asked. Spent the entire day of his birthday- ...and maybe a few after (fair was fair) with only each other. Moments like those making you realize just how much you missed him. But they didn’t last forever. Couldn’t. Not with the crush of business invading your lives again soon after.

And- true to his word and his timeline- near the beginning of June, when you brought dinner down, you caught both him and Bruce working on something in tandem. On the biggest board in the room in big block letters you read aloud, “Project Ultron?” So. Tony had probably gone through an entire proof of concept meeting and gotten Bruce on the team. “Does it stand for something, or…?”

Both of them looked up and spoke at the same time.

“Unique Latency-” “Ultimate Automaton.”

The two looking at each other once they realized they were speaking over one another. You couldn’t help the little giggle that escaped, as you sat atop one of the only partially clean tables in the lab. “There are two kinds of people in the world…” Tony clearly was trying to do his little acronym thing, while Bruce was just fusing two concepts together. “...but Ul-tron has an r in there.” Looking at Bruce. “Aren’t you missing a word?”

Tony crossed his arms with a little shrug. “Which is why if we’d just go with my version-”

Bruce raised a hand. “We’re still workshopping it. Honestly, I think the name is the least important part.”

“Speak for yourself.” A little scoff as Tony turned back to one of the boards to seemingly correct some math on it.

Dumping some dressing on one of the salads you’d brought, you cast a long look around the room. It really didn’t look like much to you. A bunch of figures and numbers and science and terms and… all things you were sure made sense to them. But still, “So… what’s this shaping up to be?” You and Tony had talked sparsely about it a handful of times. Now that he really seemed to be moving forward, it seemed like the ideal time to ask.

Tony half turned back to cast a glance your way. “We’re looking at a ringleader for the newly resurrected Iron Team.” Because you couldn’t help the slight dry look you sent his way, he went into defense mode. “Not- not quite as sizable as before. I promise.”

You crunched on a forkful of lettuce. “Hmn. I thought we were going with Iron Force? ...or was it Squad?”

“Too aggressive and too Power Rangers. But. As Banner said… what’s in a name.” Grinning, turning back to his math.

Bruce shook his head. “I don’t think that’s quite what I was getting at.”

“So…” Thinking still as you looked at some of the metal frameworks on the table. “We’re still looking at the defensive angle, right?” There were dual murmurs of agreement as they slowly became absorbed in their work again, despite your presence in the room. “Can’t we just- so if you’re looking at someone to direct this Team while our team is busy… can’t we use JARVIS?”

You thought you understood. From the small bit you and Tony had talked prior, it seemed like they wanted a larger, louder voice to direct the rest of the smaller Iron Suits, while your team would be otherwise busy with stuff. It made sense.

“JARVIS isn’t equipped enough for this.”

And, right on cue, JARVIS spoke up. “I’d like to disagree, sir.”

Not equipped enough… what did that mean? Not smart enough? That was impossible, right? JARVIS was the smartest program that had ever been built, no doubt. But if even he wasn’t what they were looking for… “You’re… looking at building a better artificial intelligence?” A smarter program that could think on its own. Be able to act on its own.

JARVIS was a smart program, that was true. No doubt. But he needed direction. If your team had their hands full and needed to utilize something on this scale… you’d need a program capable of making the right calls. Capable of calling the shots.

...this felt… very dangerous… although you were sure if anyone could handle this, it was Tony- and having Tony and Bruce working on it? Should have been a slam dunk.

Though that thought was shelved, momentarily, when a warm thrum of pride rippled over from Tony to you, and you caught the sight of his fond smile. Proud that you’d worked it out, it seemed. “Something like that. Also. If all parties are interested, I’d like to keep JARVIS for myself.” JARVIS spoke up, still with that dry wit. “I suppose I should take that as a compliment, sir.”

So. An artificial intelligence that would have command of not only its own powerful suit, but would in essence be in charge of commanding a smaller squad. For clean up. For protection. Crowd control. ...yes, dangerous. “That seems… not that I don’t trust you two- I do. But. You know. A little dicey?” Being honest because this project deserved that, as did Tony. “What if something goes wrong?”

“I’m glad you asked, honey.” Turning around, arms still half crossed as he waved his finger around. “As it turns out, we decided to hire for a security protocol and contingency coder. And, well, I’ve seen your resume. Very impressive stuff. So I think you’re hired. What do you think, doctor?” Turning to Bruce.

He smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

Coming over to you, Tony then stuck out his hand. “How about that. You’re hired.”

You tried your absolute best to stow your own smile at their antics. “I barely know how to code a website, much less a giant super-AI-bot.” Not sure this was the best idea. No matter how much you liked being included.

“You’ll link up with JARVIS-”

“And here I thought you’d said I wasn’t smart enough.” JARVIS’ somehow wry tone cutting Tony off. “That’s not what I said. Don’t interrupt me.” Trying to re-catch his train of thought. “Besides, it’s less about programming and more about… foresight. And a human touch, which, no offense-” Shooting Bruce a little look before turning his attention back to you, “-we may be sorely lacking around here.”

“Some offense taken.” Bruce slipped his glasses off the bridge of his nose, hanging them in his pocket. He settled a hand on his hip as he turned back to the board. You heard the smile reappear in his voice. “Although not much…”

“Come on, honey, don’t leave me hanging.” Tony reclaiming your attention easily, waggling his hand, still holding it out for you.

Putting on a grand show of thinking about it, you lingered with a hum before lifting your hand and slowly putting it in his. Once there, the two of you gave a weak shake, far more preoccupied with grinning at one another. “Fine. But. I reserve the right to make my own hours. I’m busy enough as it is. And also to tell you when you’re wrong.”

“Why else would I hire you?”

The warmth in his eyes rebounded right back into you, striking at your core, turning you just slightly mushy. He lifted your hand, still in his, just a little further up, pulling you closer. You tilted up as he ducked down, enjoying a sweet and perhaps overly sappy kiss, settling your hand at the side of his neck, fingers brushing over the line of his jaw. It didn’t last long. In fact, you’d have liked it to go on far longer. Or maybe steal him to go upstairs… but he pulled back-

And an uncomfortable half laugh from Bruce drew both your gazes his way. “That’s not uh… the initiation for work on Project Ultron is it? Because I gotta say, I have some reservations about it…”

Letting go of Tony, you raised a hand to cover your mouth as your own little laugh escaped. Trying to play apologetic. “Sorry, Bruce.” Well. ...it was rude.

Tony turned away finally, waving a hand that he then dropped on Bruce’s shoulder when he was close enough. “I’m not. If it makes you feel better, you can always kiss me instead.”

“That’s not-” Bruce getting annoyed and flustered too easily. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

---

You made a concerted effort in your already busy life to visit the lab at the end of the workday at least twice a week. In between calls and meetings you tried to run with JARVIS about how to even set up what Tony was asking you to do. It started as a small list of… basically Plan-B’s. Just-in-cases. That list then grew several pages long. And then it ended up looking like a short story.

There was no telling if any of it was good or would even be implemented. But it sort of made you feel better about the whole thing (though you promised yourself you were not going to stress about this yet. It was in good hands with Tony and Bruce), to think that maybe even one-percent of what you were thinking about would make it in.

...but who would have even guessed there were so many of these contingencies that would be needed? So many ways for things to go wrong. So many things to look after. It started to drive you crazy, after a while. Really, you were trying uselessly to fight against the saying that you couldn’t prepare for everything. But couldn’t you? Or maybe more accurately, shouldn’t you? You should at least try.

So that’s what you did.

There was no rush, though, as the project had only just started. It could take years to even come out of the initial stages. So while you tried to put in a proper amount of work into it- interested and diligent- the fact was that Project Ultron was a long ways off from being an actual thing. Even more so than you may have first thought, as the months drew on and every night you visited Tony and Bruce seemed to get more frustrated each time.

You weren’t sure what kind of problems they were running into, although you imagined there had to be a plethora of them. This sort of thing wasn’t going to be easy, for sure. But perhaps even they had bitten off more than they could chew. It resulted in Tony spending, somehow, even more time in the lab. ...an alarming amount. To the point where he wouldn’t come upstairs for bed. Or. If he did… he’d sneak out after you’d fallen asleep.

It felt like a cycle was replaying. A certain pattern. One that spoke of nothing good. But you just… didn’t know how to break him of it. Even still, it just felt a little impossible. Maybe it was something the both of you needed to work on. Because while you weren’t so busy you weren’t making sure you ate and slept- you know, basic human things- you were terribly busy. Which made it all the harder to check in on him.

It also made it harder to keep track of anything else. As autumn swept away and a new calendar month started in November, you barely remembered you had an anniversary coming up. Five years together, no less. And- hadn’t he said something about a… house?

The thought was barely there. You weren’t sure if he remembered, either. Because he certainly hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t asked you to clear your schedule or make plans. He had seldom left the Tower, too, so you had a hard time thinking about a plot of land being squared away “somewhere upstate” as he’d put it.

Maybe it was all going to be a fun surprise, you lied to yourself.

Instead, the surprise came a few days before the actual date, when just nearing midnight, JARVIS startled you out of reading what someone had falsely labeled as a very important email (they rarely were). His voice cutting in through the thick silence got you to jump so hard you ended up banging your knee on the bottom of your desk, jarring it enough to send a stack of papers you needed to go over flying to the floor.

“Ma’am, your assistance is required in the lab. There’s an emergency.”

A soft pained curse escaped you, trying very hard not to get loud- because you didn’t want him thinking you were yelling at him. “What- what happened? Did they blow something up?” You weren’t sure they were at that stage yet, where they’d be in the middle of tinkering with things that could. But you were still on your feet in an instant, charging towards the door and then out to the elevator.

JARVIS’ voice followed you. “Mr. Stark is in dire need of your help.”

Inside the elevator you soured a little, crossing your arms. “Is he using you to trick me downstairs?” This sounded like a game.

“I’ve clocked his temperature at 102.8. He’s having trouble standing.”

This smacked an immediate silence into you. “He’s sick? Why didn’t he-” Why hadn’t he said anything?

The doors opened on the lab level and you raced out, down into the private back area. Already through the glass you could see Bruce struggling with Tony, one arm around his shoulders. When you keyed yourself in, his head jerked up. “Oh- good. I don’t know what- he’s sweating bullets.”

“He’s sick.” Said firmly as you reached out to put a hand on his chest, angling him back.

“I’m fine.” Flush and sweating. He was foggy, too. Far away from you, when you reached out the other way. “I just- stood up too quick-”

“And fell over?” So, dizzy, too.

“Thank god I caught him, or he might have had a much worse accident on the corner of that table.” Bruce sounded extremely vexed. But all too soon you caught the guilt there. His lab partner was sick. And he hadn’t noticed until it was literally just a few seconds from being too late. “Can you take him upstairs?”

Tony shook his head. “We’ve got- we’re working-”

“You’re going to bed.” Firm. Putting your foot down. But… taking him upstairs? That seemed like a task for someone a little stronger than you- maybe you could call Thor or… oh. “Wait a second.” The light bulb went off. You let go of him to retrieve the Heart Reactor in your pocket. Safe keeping, as always. Pressing it to your chest, you double tapped to activate it, and left the helmet off.

Bending down in a single clean sweep, one arm under the bend of his knees and the other around his back, you lifted him off his feet. It was a true testament to how sick he was, that he just melted once the weight was off, going a little slack. Although he did aim a groggy half-lidded smile up your way. “My hero.”

“Bruce, too. Wanna aim those goo-goo eyes up his way?” Holding back your sigh.

Bruce put both hands palm up. “I’m fine without it.”

Even with his eyes closed, his brow popped that signature arch. “That’s an abuse of power, by the way.”

“Well at least you’re well enough to sass.” That had to count for something, right?

Bruce shook his head in dismay. “Just… take care of him, alright?”

“Yeah. Thanks. You should probably take a break, too.” If this was what you thought it was. And, since you were usually right about all things Tony, you had a pretty good idea. When he just nodded meekly at you, you turned to leave.

It was a strange feeling, carrying Tony up to bed. Seeing him in this state was nothing short of awful. But being able to care for him like this… it was a weird sense of…

“We were supposed to break ground-” He was mumbling incoherently about something, as you got him upstairs and laid him in bed.

Without the need for it any longer, you disengaged the suit, leaving the Reactor on the night table. “Just- relax, honey. You’re alright…” Disappearing after a soothing touch at his forehead, going to the kitchen to get an ice pack.

Tony was still talking when you came back, sitting at his side, wiping the sweat from his brow before settling the wrapped pack on his forehead. His eyes were closed but he shakily reached over, reaching until he found your leg. Grasping there. Lightly. “We were- I had a plot picked out-”

Oh. “For the house? Don’t worry about that right now. You stressed yourself sick, Tony. Just relax.” He’d really been that worried about this Ultron stuff? About the house- too- possibly?

...and you’d missed it. Bruce wasn’t the only one feeling terrible.

“It’s not stress.” Arguing. Even now. “A lab intern sneezed on me earlier-”

This time the sigh finally escaped you. “Sure, Tony. Somebody sneezed on you.”

“I’m sure there’s footage-”

“Okay. Alright. Relax.” Asking a third time, then, putting on your gentlest voice. “Just sleep, okay? You’re alright, I’ve got you.”

“Contrary to two seconds ago- when you said I was sick-” Sassing you. Even now. He shook his head, hand gripping your leg a little tighter. “Did Banner call you? I don’t remember- things are a little hazy-”

“JARVIS did.”

“I didn’t ask him to do that.” His voice was fading. Lulled by the reassurance of your presence- also probably the strain of his own ill consciousness. The sizzle of his fever.

“Yeah, well. I’m glad he did.” Bruce probably would have called you, after a few more minutes of struggling with a half-dead-to-the-world Tony. Surely. But… JARVIS reaching out to you within a moment’s notice… it was nice to be able to trust him like that. “Just sleep.”

“Don’t go.”

It was inexplicable. Perhaps even unfathomable. Those two little words, in that quiet drifting voice… it practically threw you close to crying. Heart aching so suddenly. “I’m right here, Tony…” Hushing him again, reaching up with your other hand to run the backs of your fingers over his red-hot cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The last thing he seemed to be able to muster before slipping away were a few disjointed words of love. You returned the feeling, cradling him in a blanket of warmth and reassurance as best you could.

This wasn’t exactly a nightmare scenario like the one before- no one had bombed the Tower or anything- but… you couldn’t help but feel guilty. As usual. There in time to clean up after him. But not catch it in time.

The two of you still really needed to work on this.

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter One Hundred Eighteen

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homestuck-session-analysis · 4 years

Note

Hi! I wanted to ask if you could do a session between a seer of space, sylph of void, mage of blood, maid of life, heir of time, knight of breath, thief of light, prince of light, rogue of heart and page of hope? Its 10 players which is pretty big so i understand if you dont feel up to it, either thanks in advance! :)

Here you go! The way this story unfolds is really interesting, so I wish you the best of luck!

Seer of Space

Personality: Seers are exceedingly intelligent, bright, and calculating. They are the people who seem to be wise beyond their years, though they are often afflicted with hubris. As a Space player, they would come off as a dispassionate observer with an uncanny awareness of things happening around them, as well as someone with a phenomenal artistic and creative sense. They very much are the tortured artist, and I can envision them struggling with creative block.

Abilities: The Seer of Space would get visions of other locations.

Session Contribution: This player basically knows everything that’s happening at any given time. The Space player’s quest calls them to breed the Genesis Frog, and knowing where it is will definitely be a big advantage!Sylph of Void

Personality: Sylphs are people who have a great sense of someone’s potential, and they tend to be driven to help in any way possible. This can make them seem to be incredibly nosy and a little annoying, but they have nothing but good intentions. As a Void player, they would be a living representation of “ignorance is bliss.” They solve problems through distraction and comfort, never really addressing the heart of the issue at hand. Is it healthy? Not really. Is it effective? Kinda. A Sylph’s biggest weakness is that they can’t seem to grasp when something is a lost cause.

Abilities: The Sylph of Void would be able to literally erase injuries by making them disappear, as well as induce amnesia.

Session Contribution: This is somehow a very good healing class.Mage of Blood

Personality: Mages tend to be very intelligent and bright, but also tend to be jaded and cynical. However, they gain their knowledge through experiences, often painful ones. As a Blood player, the Mage will likely have a lot of experience with relationships and teamwork, thus making them a strong leader. However, the Mage has experienced some extreme betrayal or manipulative relationship, causing them to be distrusting and bitter. Alternatively, they might have grown up in a society hostile to them, and they had to learn how to conform to it or suffer forever. Either way, the Mage of Blood learns from the darker side of humanity and uses that for their own benefit.

Abilities: The Mage of Blood would be able to use their knowledge of interpersonal connections to bring people together, and they will perhaps be able to use those bonds to their advantage. Maybe they can forge a bond between two people magically, like some form of second degree glamour.

Session Contribution: The Mage of Blood isn’t a commander and leader...they’ve worked their ass off to achieve the level of ability they have.Maid of Life

Personality: Maids often feel a great deal of responsibility that was pushed onto them without their consent. They feel that it is their job to ensure that everything is working properly, even when they are not recognized for their efforts. As a Life player, their personality may manifest as a manic go-getter, possibly a manager or a ruler of some form. Maids also tend to rely on others to feel valuable, so please make sure she knows they are perfect just the way they are.

Abilities: The Maid of Life would be able to resurrect the dead and perhaps give life to inanimate creatures.

Session Contribution: Hello healer my old friend.Heir of Time

Personality: Heirs tend to come off as very dumb, but a more accurate term would be happy-go-lucky. They are very much a representation of “ignorance is bliss,” for they tend to grow up very sheltered and secure, especially under by aspect. As a Time player, their source of security would, ironically, be change and moving forward. This Heir would value personal growth very heavily, and difficulty appears once they form a more stable sense of self and life becomes stagnant.

Abilities: The Heir of Time would avoid danger through time travel, though it would take a while to be able to use this ability on a non-incidental level.

Session Contribution: The Heir of Time’s time travel can be very helpful in avoiding doomed timelines, and I can also see this as an offensive player.Knight of Breath

Personality: Knights are a very insecure lot, typically using their aspect to attempt to create a facade that makes them seem more impressive. As a Breath player, the Knight would pretend to be overly easy going. However, they aren’t easy going at all. They tend to instead be scared of commitment, or afraid of conforming to society. They can’t be held down, because if they are, then they’ll suffocate. To develop as a person, they should learn to trust others and lower their walls.

Abilities: The Knight of Breath wields the wind, as well as freedom. They would be able to bring people to think for themselves.

Session Contribution: Knights are called to sessions that don't have enough of their aspect for them to win, and in this case, that means that the players are probably too conforming and not at all individualistic. Perhaps the Mage of Blood is doing their job too well?Thief of Light

Personality: Thieves are extremely ambitious and tend to appear to be very selfish and overly self-confident, but their confidence is an act of false bravado. What makes a Thief a Thief is their overwhelming sense of envy toward others, especially when it comes to their aspect. As a Light player, the Thief would be jealous of the luck, success, intelligence, and/or attention of others. This makes them an attention whore. Thieves need to learn how to be happy for other people and allow them to prosper, while finding and accepting their own worth.

Abilities: The Thief of Light would be able to steal knowledge and/or luck.

Session Contribution: They are gonna mess your shit up. Make them feel important and smart.Prince of Light

Personality: Princes have fairly destructive personalities and resent others, mostly because they strongly resent themselves. Their self-hatred often leads to them harming others, either intentionally or unintentionally. As a Light player, the Prince will likely feel too smart and dumb themself down, or always get attention and hates it. They would also be the kind of person who attacks smart people and believe that it’s impossible to know. Princes need to learn how to accept accountability for their actions and accept themselves for who they truly are.

Abilities: The Prince of Light would be able to induce amnesia, shoot lasers, and perhaps bypass a person’s luckiness.

Session Contribution: Princes are called to sessions with an obstructive surplus of their aspect, so this Prince’s presence implies that your enemies know too much, or perhaps your players might know too much. Perhaps something to do with your observation classes? Whatever it is, it is up to your Prince to prevent this from harming the session.Rogue of Heart

Personality: Rogues are very selfless people, as they share a worldview with Robin Hood. Their strong sense of justice and equality makes them easy to talk to, as they are very respectful. They are also very spunky and ready to do what’s right! As a Heart player, they tend to be empathetic. Sometimes, the Rogue puts themself into danger to right a wrong, so make sure they understand that it’s okay that life isn’t always fair.

Abilities: Allocating a person’s emotions and identity can have countless implications, but a late-stage power they can likely harness is body-swapping. Empathy is also a likely ability.

Session Contribution: This player is important in creating mutual understanding and respect among the teammates.Page of Hope

Personality: Pages are known to be very weak and impressionable. Like the knight, they are very insecure about their weaknesses, but instead of acting impressive, they display their weakness in hope that someone will help. As a Hope player, the Page would likely be very open-minded and trusting of others. This naivety causes them to be taken advantage of very easily. They can only grow once they learn who they should trust.

Abilities: The Page of Hope would be able to provide hope to your team and eventually use Hope to bring about their fantasies.

Session Contribution: Eventually, the Page of Hope may be your saving grace.

Interpersonal Dynamics

The Sylph and the Prince are gonna be really close buddies, and I would stay away from them.

I believe the Prince and the Knight are heralding the Mage of Blood going mad with power.

The Rogue and the Knight are best friends, because they are the only people who understand the other.

The Thief and the Page need to be kept apart. Please. The Page will suffer.

The Maid and the Mage will work together to advance their vision.

The Seer would be kinda friends with the Knight and Rogue, but they tend to distance themself from everyone.

The Heir will be close with the Rogue and the Sylph. Heir/Sylph actually has a pretty good synergy here.

Session Overview

Too Bright!: Your Prince of Light is more important than your Thief of Light. The Prince has a job to do, and the Thief has a job of making everything about them.

Leader: The Mage of Blood will be the official leader, but the Prince of Light and the Knight of Breath tells me that they will start a dictatorship with their powers. The Knight of Breath is probably the more compassionate leader.

Offense: Prince, Thief, Knight, and maybe Mage and Rogue are more than good enough.

Survival: The Sylph of Void isn’t the best Sylph, but the Maid of Life definitely makes up for that. Also, your Heir of Time will be fine.

Foresight: The Heir of Time probably isn’t that good at predicting things that will happen, but the Seer of Space would know anything that’s happening around them. Also, the Mage of Blood would also know a lot about the players, so they could probably predict how people would behave.

Loyalty: The Thief has to go, man. Also, the Mage is gonna stage a coup, but at least everyone is going to work together until the Knight and the Prince deal with it.

Breeding: The Seer of Space would know where the necessary frogs are, and I suggest the Rogue and/or the Knight for help.

Overall: Your team is very fragmented (when the Mage isn’t doing bullshit). If your Mage is a good person, you don’t really have anything to worry about...your players are strong and they will work together in a way that works. If not, then everyone is going to fall apart and maybe everyone gets killed.

]>>Maso

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ruffiorocks · 5 years

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I don't think Daenerys has gone mad, she made a choice, and it was the wrong choice. (Long post)

Disclaimer: I'm a woman and a historian so please don't start throwing 'sexism' and 'jon is only better because he has a d**k' statements at me.

Soo I dont think Dany has gone mad. I think she has PTSD and she made a choice out of anger and desperation.

Let's go back to the beginning, Viserys told Dany from day one that the Targaryens belonged on the throne and it was stolen from them. She grew up with that mentality but she never seemed all the bothered by it. She pretty much knew even if Viserys was given an army he would probably fail. Dany was happy in her life as Khaleesi, it was only after she watched her brother die and Drogo said he would take the seven kingdoms for her than she seemed to think she should be queen.

Dany got a taste for power as Khaleesi and was pissed when she couldn't have everything she wanted. She wanted to claim all the slaves as her own but that wasn't the Dothraki way, even Jorah told her that but she wasnt having it making her very unpopular with the Dothraki.

She went against all the Dothraki believed in when she had magic used on Drogo. Once she really messed him up she lost the great khalessar and any respect she may have had. She was tolerated because she was Drogos wife. Only the women, children and lame stayed behind with her.

Once she gave 'birth' to her dragons she started to be seen almost like a goddess. Everyone kneeled to her even Jorah. She started to show signs that fire was now her answer to dealing with people she doesn't like. Remember Miri Maz Durr who was supposed to save Drogo? She had her burned alive because Dany thought she owed her her life. Dany thought she was a hero and should be treated like one, but remember Miri Maz Durr's words to her:

"Saved me? Three of those riders had already raped me before you saved me, girl. I saw my god's house burn, there where I had healed men and women beyond counting. In the streets I saw piles of heads... the head of the baker who makes my bread, the head a young boy that I had cured of fever just three moons past. So... tell me again exactly what it was that you saved?"

Miri Maz was traumatized and her world ended, she told Dany that a life had to be taken for Drogo's, Dany just wanted what she wanted and unfortunately it was her son's life that was taken. Her solution? She burned Miri Maz on a funeral pyre. Miri Maz lost everything and took revenge, Dany lost a lot and did what? She massacred an entire city of Innocent people. By Danys own logic she should be burned to.

Then what? Dany went and started to free slaves, great! But she used fire to deal with her enemies again. I'm not pro slavery, but the slave traders weren't Danys enemies, she decided to turn up then burn and crucify them all. She took it upon herself to decide how those cities should be run when she had no place there at all. Then she got all the Unsullied who decided to stay with her, which makes sense because she freed them, same with the other slaves. Once again Dany was hailed as a Goddess 'Mysa!' 'Mother of Dragons' 'Breaker of chains' 'the unburned' and all that Jazz. All that praise? Goes to a persons head.

Dany would liberate these cities and then she would leave them in chaos. Dany might be good at liberating people who had no say in their lives and wouldn't embrace the first person to treat them as people, but she sucks as governing.

Dany said she was going to break the wheel rather than stop the wheel. She hadn't even seen the bloody wheel in Westeros. All she had was stories. Dany believed she belonged on the throne just because of her name.

Tyrion? Varys? They chose Dany because at the time they thought she might be the best answer and they hadn't seen her more murderous tendencies. Plus anyone has to be better than Cersei on the throne right? And no one knew about Jon.

When Dany finally got to Westeros she said she always thought it would feel like a home coming, but it wasnt. Why? Because it's not Danys home, she doesn't belong there. She immediately expected everyone in Westeros to bend the knee to her purely because she finally decided to show up and demand the throne. No one knew who she was, no one had ever seen her before.

Dany was used to being in a Khalessar or 'ruling' over a city. Dany has no experience in fuedalism. She demanded Jon bend the knew and said he was in open rebellion against her. Open rebellion against a woman who claims the crown but hasnt actually done anything to get it? Open rebellion against a woman he and the North have never even seen or knew anything about other than she has dragons?

People say Dany saved everyone's arses from the white walkers. That's just not true. Dany claims to be Queen of the Seven kingdoms? Well then the problems of those kingdoms become hers. If Dany had left Jon to deal with the white walkers then yeah he probably would have been killed along with everyone else. But then Dany would have had a white walker problem to deal with on her own. The walkers and the Night King would have destroyed the North and headed South killing everyone in their path while Dany sat at Dragon Stone waiting for people to bend the knee. There wouldn't have been anyone left to do that and the Night King would have destroyed her armies and then her. So no, Dany helped with an issue that according to her own claims became her own.

Dany is foolish to, when she meets Jon she hardly believes that white walkers are even a thing. In the same scene she then tell Jon about how no one believed Dragons would exist again but there they were. So she believes that she's great enough to bring back dragons but the very idea that White Walkers are a thing is beyond her comprehension? This woman has seen magic and visions!

Dany also told Jon it was her destiny to be Queen of the seven kingdoms. Well that's just nonsense and something she's just convinced herself to be true because she wasnt born to be queen. She had two older brothers and an elder nephew and niece, add Jon to the mix and Dany would never have been destined to be queen.

Dany and Sansa didn't get on because Sansa wasn't taken in by Dany like many others have been. Sansa isn't dazzled by titles or dragons. While Dany and Jon were busy squabbling over who should rule Sansa was busy making sure her people had enough food and leather in their armour to keep them warm. Sansa had no interest in the North giving up their autonomy to a woman they had never seen before. Jon had no right to give the North to Dany, he was elected king, that doesn't make him an absolute monarch.

Dany asked for Jon's advice and he told her not to go burning people because 'she wouldn't be different, she would be more or the same". She then Immediately goes and burns the Lannister army without giving them a chance to surrender. She let's a few live, and demands they bend the knee or they die. Thats not really a choice at all, it's dictatorship. Even Tyrion tries to talk her out of that, he knows how Westeros works and Dany doesn't. She then burned Lord Tarly and his son. She won't have the love of those people, she can't demand their love and she can't gain it the same way she did in Merreen. The people of Westeros aren't slaves, they dont want her or need her.

After they won the battle for Winterfell Dany was seen to be on the outside looking in at the feast. She helped save the day, but she doesn't know anyone in the North. The Northerners celebrate with family and friends. Jon and Sansa and the wildlings all drink together, Tyrion is drinking with Jaime and Brienne. Dany expects everyone to worship her because she had been treated like that for years so when it doesn't happen she feels put out. It's not Danys fault, it's just no one has ever put a check on her power until she arrived in the North. The Unsullied and the Dothraki aren't Danys 'friends' they worship and serve her.

Dany finds out Jon is a Targaryen and the true heir to the throne. She begs him not to tell anyone something she has no right to do. He tells his family though and of course it spreads. Sansa doesn't trust Dany and I dont blame her. Jon may not want to be king but he doesn't go around burning people to get respect. Jon already has it, he's a Northerner, he's the 'son' of an honorable Lord. He's was Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, he's been beyond the wall, he fought white walkers, he fought in the battle of the bastards. Jon was elected king in the North. Jon doesn't demand respect because he feels he's entitled to it. He even came back from the dead but he doesn't brag about it. He doesn't call himself 'Jon Snow, The King in the North, the Ressurected one". So yeah given the choice between the two I'd have chosen Jon to.

Varys realises he made the wrong choice, he serves the people and always has. He would place his bets on Jon rather than Dany given what he was seen and he dies for it.

Tyrion knows he's fucked up, Dany doesn't believe the people in Kings Landing are important at all. She's so focused on getting what she wants she doesn't stop to think about the very people she claims to be coming to save.

Dany lost a dragon saving Jon, she lost another one because she didn't have the foresight to check the bloody perimeter and her dragon was killed. She took her best friend and advisor who doesn't know how to fight to the battle and she was kidnapped and killed.

Dany then made the decision to 'kill them all' with fire even AFTER the city surrendered. She could have just flown to the Red Keep and killed Cersei who was standing on the balcony. Dany made a choice and it was the wrong one. Dany isn't mad, she's traumatized and she's realised she would NEVER have the love and respect of the people of Westeros. She has done nothing to earn it, nothing that anyone else hasnt done. She has shown the people that if you say no to her she will burn you to a crisp. She's tried so hard not to be her father but ironically that's exactly what she's become. She said she hadn't come to be the queen of fire and Ash but that's exactly what she's done.

Dany has no head for strategy or ruling. She believes she's there to free people but the fact is Westeros isn't Mereen. The people of Westeros aren't slaves , they don't need their Lords killed. Dany wants to be the savior of a country that doesn't need or want her to save them.

Dany doesn't realise that soldiers of Westeros aren't like the Dothraki or the Unsullied. They don't all fight because they believe in the cause. The soldiers live under the lesser Lords who are the bannermen to the higher Lord who then swear allegiance to the monarch. Those soldiers and Innocents she burned all died pointlessly. She burns the majority then give the fraction of survivers a choice?

Look at all the other kings in Westeros, none of them acted like Dany does save for maybe Joffrey and we all know how that ended. Joffrey at least didn't believe himself to be absolute, he was put in his place by Tywin. The other kings? Robert? He was loved , Renly was loved, Stannis was respected, Robb was loved, Tommen was tolerated but didn't really do anything, but Margery was loved.

In conclusion Dany had good intentions when she started out but she was praised so much it went to her head and she started acting like that was her due. She broke chains and freed slaves and seemed to think that's what Westeros needed. She doesn't know how to rule, she's impatient and doesnt like listening to advice. She demands respect and expects to be obeyed by people she has never met before. She acts like her father even though she claims he was an 'evil man'. Remember when she apologized to Jon on behalf of her house because of what happened to his grandfather and uncle? Who is going to apologise to the people of Kings Landing? How is Dany not an 'evil woman'? Dany did exactly the same thing that made Jaime stab her father in the back. Dany knows what she did was evil.

There is no coming back from what she has done. If there was even a chance for her to at least gain the people's respect if not love she just lost it. She will forever be on everyone's hit list now. Dany has become everything she spent years fighting against.

I think what needs to happen is Drogon needs to die. Dany will always be protected while he is there. Drogon needs to be taken out then Dany.

#daenerys targaryen #game of thrones #jon snow #anti daenerys #khaleesi #khal drogo #viserys targaryen #sansa stark #varys #tyrion lannister #mirri maz deer #drogon

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prettieparker86 · 6 years

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In The Bleak Midwinter || Part 13

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11 & Part 12

Announcement Please See Note Below...

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: Adult situations, flashbacks, mentions trauma, talk of abortion, Violence

Gif Credit: @thomasshelbyltd @cillianmurphydaily @peakyblindersdaily @sikanapanele Thank you for letting me use your beautiful gifs!

Tag: @lainey-lane, @pindlemouse, @ thelastemzy, @helloandreabeth, @fandoms-broke-my-life, @shelbysbushblog, @accio-witty-username, @iamtheonewhocares, @infinitelycharmed23, @kingsmanstories, @shelby-gin-limited, @taylxr0, @sympathyfortheblinderdevil, @neversleeping4am, @icebluegriffin @johhnshelby, @ subhamamu @ unicorn-glitter-princess @thatsamegirl, @mafaldaz, @cafe-sabor-a-chocolate, @collegecatlady, @20th-centu-fairy-girl, @xlightning-disasterx @niiight-dreamerrrr @i-shouldbepainting @dermittts @stylesbooze

Authors Note: I really don’t like this chapter, but I give up. I’m washing my hands of it. It’s given me nothing but grief. I had high hopes for it and frankly, I think it’s cabbage. So Sorry ahead of time.

Also, when Polly mentions things being in their blood because they’re gypsies, and having some deep insight/foresight/psychic intuition. I am going purely off the character established in season four. This is in no way a reflection of actual romani cultures. And I mean absolutely no disrespect in anyway.

Announcement:

So, I wasn’t going to say anything. I was just to switch it out and call it a day, but then I worried it might be confusing if people noticed. So I’m just gonna own it... I hated the Tommy and Fiona scene, so I changed it. I didn’t want to leave up something I didn’t love. So what that means is there will be two versions of this chapter floating around, because it’s already been reblogged (Thank you for that! You guys are the best!). So just be aware of that. If you happen to notice it, you’re not crazy, I’m owning what I did. You can decide which version of the chapter you like best. Thank you!

You can’t sleep. Your demons won’t let you rest. The threat of your impossible future haunts you into all hours of the night. Long after everyone else has succumb to sleep. You toss and turn, staring up at the ceiling, an itchy nagging feeling just under your skin until you finally give up and get out of bed. You’re running yourself a glass of water, trying not to wake the rest of the house, when you hear a noise come up from behind you in the kitchen – a creak of a board, a shuffle of movement.

Spinning around quick, you hadn’t expected company in the dead of night like this, but you can’t say you’re surprised to find it’s Polly standing there, candle steady in her hand. Looking gorgeous as ever in her short curls and flowing nightdress against the dancing flame of the candle. You smile at her, the sight a pleasant surprise. A comforting one against the anxiousness the grips you tight tonight.

“Can’t sleep?” She asks, like a mother would to a child. Caring for you and after you in a way you haven’t experienced since you lived with your aunt Brona right after the birth of Finn.

You shake your head no, in response, placing your glass down on the counter, a forgotten thought before you’ve barely had a sip.

But Polly doesn’t mince words or opportunities as she places down the candle on the butcher’s block beside the stove and moves toward you as if she can see the anxiousness churning inside you.

“A’right then, so you’re up the duff?” She inquires without hesitation, without judgment, and the lack of reprisal on her breath and in her eyes settles some of the shame you’ve been flogging yourself with for days now.

“I believe so.” You answer quietly, eyes scanning around to ensure no one is in ear shot, but the house is quiet as a church, not even a board squeaks.

“When was your last flow?” She inquiries bluntly, getting straight to the point. Her big dark eyes holding you in the shadows that surround you both. She speaks with ease, but still her words threaten to swallow you alive with the magnitude of the answer as you muster the courage to speak.

“I don’t know.” You whisper as your face falls from hers, feeling foolish.

You know it’s the sort of thing you should know without doubt, especially since you crawled into Tommy’s bed and never came out. A line you swore you’d never cross again after all the heartache and struggles you’ve endured to bring Finn into this world and then keep him alive.

Even with the factory laborer, you had been careful, diligent, to do everything in your power to ensure you didn’t become pregnant. But with Tommy everything seemed so different. You were feeling things you never thought you would feel again. You thought with the tea… You see now you thought wrong.

“With John, an’ the Italians, there’s been so much... One, maybe two months. I can’t- I can’t be certain.” You admit on a shaken whisper, running a frustrated hand down your face, angry with yourself as you try to retrace it in your mind. Ever since coming to Small Heath the days have blended. Living under constant fear of death and grief, and then after Al… it’s been hard to get a good sense of time. But you know full well this is something you should have been diligently monitoring, you feel like a complete failure.

How could you have been so foolish! One child out of wedlock is an unforgivable sin, but two and by different fathers, you feel a panic coming on just trying to imagine the kind of shame that would accompany that fate. What kind of woman that makes your morally. What kind of mother that makes you, to put Finn’s already fragile joy into jeopardy.

“Could it be iron. Have you tried tablets?” She asks, you see her running down the list of possibilities in her mind before jumping to any conclusions.

You shake your head sadly. “But it’s not just my flow… I’ve been sick lately, light headed sometimes, an’ my breasts are tender... I know what this is Pol.” You tell her, the words starting to choke you up as your throat tightens with an all too familiar fear.

Heart pounding in your chest as you finally say the words aloud. Making them real and utterly terrifying in a way that plaguing your mind never could. You swore to yourself you’d never experience this again, never find yourself here, and yet, here you are.

“The tea didn’ work. I jus-“ Tears edge at your eyes as your voice wavers. You such in a sharp breath and pull yourself together, holding your belly tight as you force yourself to breath slowly.

“I was hopin’ you might know a woman who can help me.” Those words break your heart. You hate to say them. It’s never something you wanted. Never something you imagined doing. But you can’t do this to Finn. Destroy his world with your carelessness. And you can’t have that monster’s baby and you have no way knowing who the father is. A fact that makes your heart feel sick and leaves you shuttering harder with shame.

“The tea works. Did you forget to take?” Polly is certain, there’s no doubt in her eyes, but there is a peculiar intrigue that seems to light up in her gaze. You wish you could hold on to that same kind of certainty, but this is your body and you can feel what’s happening to it. It’s changing. There’s something inside it and no amount of debate about tea will change that.

Polly steps close to you, her hands unceremoniously reaching for your belly, pushing and palming against your stomach as your secret barely takes shape in her hand.

“No, never.” You finally answer her with a shake of your head, letting her carry out her inspection without a fuss. You swear it, you never forgot. Not once. Not something that important. Your attempts to monitor the situation may have been halfhearted at best, but your attempts to prevent it were steadfast.

Polly suddenly grabs at your breast, brief and quick as you jump a little, startled under her unexpected touch. You watch her eyes narrow with understanding as a quick huff leaves her chest before she quickly steps back.

Polly nods slowly looking you square in the eye to acknowledge the seriousness of your request. “I know a woman, but I warn you this one won’t go easy.” She smiles weakly at you.

You stare into her eyes, fear and confusion coiling and stirring about in your gut as your chest tightens with apprehension. “Why do you say that?” Almost afraid to ask.

She cups your cheeks gently in her weathered hands as she looks you square in the eye.

“Because this baby held on through that bloody match you had with the Italian and Shelby’s never go without a fight.”

Her words hit you like a shockwave, like the floor being ripped out from under you. Tears spring to your eyes with the implication. Your chest suffocating as it pulls in around your heart. “How do you know that? How can you be certain?”

Polly looks you square in the eye, the light of the candle’s flame dancing in her deep whiskey orbs.

“In that noose I died and now it’s as if a window has opened up and things reveal themselves to me... I feel the gypsy blood running through that baby’s veins and I’d guess you’re nearly three months gone.” She tells you without an ounce of doubt of her breath.

Her revelation leaves a rattled breath ripping your lips as tears of relief roll heavy down your cheeks, unable to hold them inside you any longer. You’re taken aback by her words. You don’t know if you believe in spirits and windows, but you can’t deny the unwavering certainty in Polly eyes, and you trust her. You know she would never deceive you over something like this. Never hurt you in such a way.

Her thumb wipes tenderly at your tears. “You thought it was the Italian’s.” Polly states, already seeing the answer in your eyes.

“I was scared. I didn’t know.” You admit on a shaken breath.

“That’s a Shelby growing inside there. And unless you’ve been with Arthur or Finn, it’s Tommy’s.” She tells you, cracking a smile at her joke. Knowing the relief that news must bring to you, but then a seriousness takes hold in her eyes. Polly cups your cheeks more firmly with it, looking you dead in the eye as she speaks.

“This family’s cursed, Tommy most of all. You should know that before you make your decision. Life would never be easy with him, but it’s a girl and she’s strong like her mum.”

Polly’s words send tears spilling from your eyes all over again. A little girl. Tommy’s girl. Your chest rattles as you suck a deep breath in. Your hand settling low on your stomach as you run your thumb gently over the spot, letting yourself feel connected to this baby for the first time. Instead of solely fearing the weight of it.

You know Tommy is more tortured than most. Some days half alive, but mostly dead. But you love him, and you love the little family you’ve built together with the boys. And you know there’s no guarantee Tommy will even want this baby. With so many enemy clawing at his back. After losing Grace. You don’t have the luxury of living in dreams, but knowing the baby is Tommy’s changes everything.

Releasing your face, Polly covers your hand with her own over your belly in a show support. “I’ll give you an address for a midwife tomorrow. She can confirm how gone you are without Tommy finding out… Think it over. You know where to find me if you still need my help.” She whispers softly, before placing a tender kiss upon your forehead. Slipping from you side, she leaves you alone with your thoughts as another round of tears rolls slowly off your eyes.

As you climb back into bed with Tommy, your mind is still a flurry of energy. Counting the days, retracing the steps of how you got here - as Charlie’s nanny, then Tommy’s friend before you became his bed fellow, and now… Now you love him. Deeply. Madly. And though he’s never said it, you’re quite certain he loves you too. And now his baby is growing inside you, or at least Polly seems quite certain of it. The thought washes over you with uncertainty and excitement as you feel Tommy roll onto his side, reaching for you, wrapping his hand around your waist as he drags you against him in the bed.

“Where’d ya go?” You hear him quietly grumble against the back of your neck. His breath warm and thick with gravel from sleep.

“I was thirsty.” You explain as you feel Tommy pull you deep into the curve of his body, warm, solid, and safe. You focus on the feel of his breath moving evenly against the back of your neck as his arm winds around your waist, resting just above where his baby grows inside you, as he presses against you. You wrap your arm around his at your waist as your heart aches from the distance that still lingers between you.

You miss him like a hole in your heart nothing else can fill. You haven’t attempted any real intimacy since the night neither of your dare speak of. It’s been over a month, and the reasons for that are just. You were healing, you weren’t ready to be intimate with someone yet and Tommy respected that. But lying here, having just heard Polly’s belief the baby inside you is Tommy’s, you realize you can’t go on like this. You need him. You miss him. You’re ready.

You rock gently against him, listening as Tommy groans quietly against your hair, but nothing more comes of it. It’s been so long and you know him so well, surely, he just assumes you’re readjusting in bed… Until you keep at it. Quietly relieved when you feel him come to life against. Taking solace in knowing some part of him still wants you. Even if it’s just the raw undiluted part of his manhood that can’t be quieted any more than it can be tamed.

“Fiona,” Tommy whispers to you. A hint of uncertainty as his breath flutters the hair tucked behind your ear. His voice so deep and gritty it makes your belly tighten with need and your hips press a little harder against him with the sound of it.

“Tommy,” You whisper back as a hunger you haven’t felt properly in far too long begins to reignite inside you. Your skin craves the feel of his touch, and knowing Tommy’s going to need a little assurance this is what you want - that you’re ready - you reach for his hand at your waist and slip it underneath your nightdress. Feeling shivers ripple under your skin as his palm drags slowly up your thigh to the curve of your hip. Inviting him to touch you.

Your breath quickens off your lips as Tommy slowly wraps his callused hand around the curve of your hip. Molding your flesh in his palm as he pulls you tighter against him.

“Is this a’right?” Tommy asks, bathed in a darkness that fills the room with an electric energy that makes anything possible. Making no assumptions. He needs to hear you say it. Tommy always takes the lead, he needs to feel in control, but after what happened to you, he also needs to know what you’re comfortable with. What you need, because if it was up to him, you’d already be naked and withering beneath him.

He’s missed you so fucking badly. You’re the anchor in the chaos of his life. You hold him steady when everything else rips apart. But Tommy’s lips struggle to say those words. After the war he’s forgotten what they sound like coming off his breath. He can’t say it, but he can show it. Taking pride in his ability to take you higher than anyone else can, leave you begging for more, but he’s been holding all that back. Not wanting to press you for something you weren’t ready for yet.

“Yes.” Shaken by need, your thighs clench as you ache inside for him. Missing him from the deepest hollows of your heart, you reach for his hand and drag it down between the ache of your thighs.

“Touch me, Tommy.” You beg him, your voice as needy as you feel.

He reacts instantly, his breath hot on your flesh, as he groans against the back of your neck. The sound of it vibrates against you, stirring up memories of that last night before your met with Al. When the room could barely contain you both and all Tommy wanted was you trapped in the cage of his arms and the breath of his lips. Tommy peppers you with kisses as his fingers begin to slowly stroke you, your hips flexing against his touch, desperate for more.

You wither against his touch as his Tommy’s fingers roam and rediscover every place that makes you tick. Back and forth, circling against you until he has your knickers soaked against his deft fingertips. You exhale hard, a little in disappointment when his hand suddenly pulls back, unsure if he’s teasing you or stopping completely, but then you feel Tommy’s slip inside the seam of your knickers, his palm pressing against your belly, before he halts.

You can feel it racing in your heart from the unsteady twitch of his hand. Tommy needs your permission to proceed. The days of bold moves and blanked assumptions feel so far away after the brutality of what happened to you.

“Don’t stop.” Urgent and needy, you push his hand further down between your legs, giving you both what you want.

Tommy’s breath deepens sharply against your skin before it suddenly dies in his throat when his fingers meet your flesh. He groans deeply against your neck like a man on the edge of collapse, you shutter as the sound of it vibrates off your skin. He slips into your wetness and you cry out in relief, so desperate for his touch. Desperate to feel connected to him once again from the most intimate places upon you.

Slowly Tommy explores you like it’s the first time all over again. Making you feel desirable even after what’s been done. His fingers run teasingly along your entrance, sliding back up to rub his slick fingertips against you. As you lean into him, the feel of him sending shockwave rolling through your body with every curl of his finger.

“Tommy…Please…” You whimper and beg losing sense of yourself in his grip as the pressure buried deep between your thighs builds. You bury your face against the pillow to quiet the noise carrying from your lips, trying not to wake the children or anyone else in the thin walls of this home. The coil of your belly and the pang of your heart, tells you you need to feel him inside you again. Feel those rough luscious fingers that pull away at cigarette’s all day long, curl and bury deep within you the way they use to.

But what you don’t know is Tommy needs this just as bad as you do. He’s been patient, never pushing, but the nights have been long and torturous with your warm curves snuggles against him. It’s been killing him to have you beside him, and yet completely untouchable after the damage Al did.

“This what you need, love?” Tommy asks, his breath dangerously low as he sucks on the back of your neck, slipping two fingers within you, and curling them deep.

A gasps rips from your chest, your back arching against his chest as your hips jerk involuntarily into his hand. Your mind goes blank with the feel of the man you love inside you once again, moving within you as if you aren’t damaged, as if he still wants you, always will.

You rock faster against his fingers, hungry with need. It’s been so long, your body is already building and pushing toward release as Tommy reminds you no one can touch you the way he does. Palm flat, rubbing against your sensitive bud, Tommy’s fingers dip within you, keeping perfect rhythm with the frantic rock of your hips. Your body feels hypersensitive after being deprived of him for so long. You feel like you can’t take it, like you can’t catch your breath or the racing of your heart. Quickly your hand reaches behind you to dig and claw in his hair, needing to touch him, needing him to anchor you as you begin to unravel.

The feel of having Tommy hard against you, his desire pressing at your back as his fingers push deep within you and suddenly your whole body starts to shake with pleasure. Your muscles tense, your breath catching in your throat as ecstasy rushes through your veins and you come hard around his fingers. Waves of rapture drowning you in a sea of bliss that steals the breath from your lips. Trembling and whimpering his name as Tommy holds you against his chest, never slowing down the unrelenting pace of his hand until you stop trembling and pulsing around his digits.

It takes you a moment to catch your breath as you come back down. Exhausted and spent from an explosive release that’s been building inside you for too long, but as Tommy’s hand pulls free, the empty feeling that takes his place tells you you still need him, and the feel of Tommy pressed hard against your back tells you he still needs you too.

His hand is barely free of your knickers before you’re rolling onto your back to face him and dragging the silk down your legs. You glance over at Tommy in earnest, watching as his fingers slip into his mouth, licking the taste of you clean from his digits. If you thought his eyes looked dangerous and drunk a moment ago, now they’re down right ravenous and deadly as he pulls his fingers free, humming with the taste of you on his tongue.

You reach for Tommy, the need palpable in your veins as you pull him into a desperate kiss. And Tommy’s just as hungry to taste your mouth as he was your arousal, as his tongue slips past the seam of your lips to stroke your own. Yanking his boxers down his legs, Tommy moves as if they can’t come off him fast enough. Tugging at the strong muscles that line his broad shoulders, you pull Tommy toward you in a frenzy, heart pounding hard for him in your chest.

Your mouths meld and taste as Tommy slips between your thighs, tugging your nightdress high up on your waist, and out his way. Drowning in the need to taste of each other, Tommy’s tongue strokes you as he settles his weight down in the cradle of your thighs. The feel of his warm body settling across, skin brushing sensitive skin, sends a moan humming off your lips and disappearing into his waiting mouth.

Tommy pulls back for a moment of sanity, cradling your cheek as he stares down into your eyes. The look in his enchanting icy blues suddenly so soft and gentle as he gazes down on you.

“You want to stop, just say the word and it stops, ey?” Tommy promises, stroking his thumb tenderly along your cheek. Needing you to know you’re in control of this and he’d never do anything to you that you didn’t want him to.

For a man so rarely soft with others, his gentleness toward you and the sight of him like this melts your heart and makes you all the more desperate to have him.

“I want you,” You say, words dripping with need as you dig your fingers into his hair, dragging him back down to your lips, rocking your hips against him with impatience.

Tommy breathes hard against your mouth, nearly fucking unraveling at the need on your breath alone. He kisses you hard, the hold of his mouth echoing the words on your lips. Stealing your breath before he plants a trail of pecks and nips along the line of your jaw. Reaching that sensitive spot, just below your ear, Tommy makes you shiver as he runs his teeth over it as he thrusts inside your warm wet depths.

You cry out with the feel of him, full and completely yours once again as your arms clutch wildly around his neck, your legs locking around his hips. Holding him as close as possible, savoring this moment and the way it makes you feel whole and not alone all at the same time.

Tommy stops moving too, steady within you, flooded by the sensation of having you all his once again. Wrapped and clenched tightly around him, the feeling sends a string of curses both romani and English spilling from his lips against your neck as Tommy tries to maintain some semblance of self-control.

Tommy’s slow, deliberate, and careful as he starts to rock within you. You’d think he were trying to make love, but you know that’s not what this is, he’s unsure. Tommy’s unsure what you want, what you can handle, but after being deprived of the man you love for so long, careful isn’t what you want. You want him to love you with the same fire and passion he used to, as you dig your heels into arse, pushing him deeper with every thrust as you rock hips to meet his. Tommy knows you so well by now, he understands your unspoken words, as his forehead comes to rest against yours, his eyes barreling desperately down upon you.

“Faster?” He asks, his ragged breath trembling against your lips as his face holds tight, trying so hard to hold himself back for your sake.

“Faster,” You nod, kissing him hard as Tommy moans against your mouth in relief, letting his hips snap deep within you. It’s been so fucking long that you almost feel like a reckless youth, lost in the throes of passion as your hips roll to meet his every thrust as if you can’t get enough of him. You devour his mouth, hungry for the taste of him on your tongue, needing you as badly as you needs him.

The energy is frantic, desperation rushing through your veins as you cling to each other, the small metal bedframe squeaking for mercy as it knocks into the wall. Tommy gives you everything he’s been holding inside. His fingers digging into the back of your thigh, gripping your leg higher against his hip as all his insatiable longing and unfulfilled desire for you savagely spills free.

His mouth leaves your own, trailing roughly down your neck as he ravages you, kissing and sucking away at your sensitive flesh as if he’s doesn’t give a damn what kind of marks he leaves in the morning. As if he wants the whole fucking world to know you’re his. Lost in the heat of passion, he bites down hard on the base of your neck like he has so many times before, growling against your skin as you wither beneath him, but this time something unexpected happens.

This time a flash fills your mind. A memory – you’re down on the bed as Al sinks his teeth into your flesh pushing you to break and cry out. And suddenly, you’re shoving Tommy back from you as hard as you can before you even know what you’re doing. Your hands moving on instinct alone as your whole body goes rigid and your heart starts to race with fear instead of passion.

Tommy stops instantly, breath panting as he hovers over you and he quickly pulls out. Staring down at you, his endless oceans of blue blinding with concern as they rain down on you. His hand dares to cautiously touch the side of your cheek as he braces his weight on his other arm, trying to keep off you, give you room to breathe.

“It’s ok, Fee. You a’right?” Tommy asks, his eyes desperately searching your own, trying to understand what happened.

“Can you- can you not do that this time? …Please.” You voice sounds so rattled you hardly recognize it as your heart races tightly in your chest. Staring back into the depths of his blue eyes – blue, not brown – you hold onto the safety of knowing it’s Tommy. You’re with Tommy, but you still feel anxious. Still feel unsure of what happened. One moment your body was on fire and the next you’re trembling with a fear you hardly understand.

“Course,” Tommy nods, worry consuming his deep-set eyes as he runs his thumb tenderly along your cheek, before he rolls off you and onto his back against the mattress, to lay beside you. Chest rising and falling heavily, Tommy’s stares up at the ceiling, trying to cool off his body as anger and guilt rush through his veins.

Guilt pummels his heart that he did something to remind you of that prick. Anger over all of it. That Al did things to you that left an imprint in your mind the way the shovels did for him. It all comes rushing back at Tommy. What that bastard did to you. Did to you because of him. And maybe if you were still just Charlie’s nanny and not the woman he loves maybe you wouldn’t have been seen as leverage.

Tommy still can’t hardly think about it. Mostly, he tries to push it out of his mind until the time is right. But there’s still moments like this when it finds its way to the surface and fills him with so much blinding rage he can hardly contain it. It takes everything inside him to stay focused on the problem in front of him. He has to deal with Changretta and get the fuck out of the cage he’s been backed into in Small Heath and then Al’s his first priority. Tommy hasn’t said a word of this to Fiona, but he is determined to make that bastard pay for what he did. Now more than ever

The absence of Tommy leaves a hollow feeling reopening inside you. The proof that your scars still remain rattles you and leaves you unsure of yourself or who you are now. But you refuse to let that night steal all your happiness away. You’ve healed enough to decide you won’t let it take Tommy from you either. You refuse. Rolling onto your side, you snuggle against him and to your relief, he welcomes you into arms.

Tommy doesn’t reject you like you worried he might, but the longing inside you still feels unquenched and you know it does for Tommy too though he won’t act on it now. Taking a bold step, you slip your hand beneath the blanket, and to your relief his body responds to the stroke of your hand almost instantly, reassuring you he still wants you. But you barely get a chance to touch him before Tommy is snatching your hand and dragging it back up to his chest, leaving your heart more confused than ever.

“It’s a’right, love. You don’ have to do that.” Tommy tells you, feeling guilty. He won’t treat you like that bastard. He won’t have you push your body to do things you aren’t ready for just to meet his needs. Especially not if you think it’s your duty after he took take of yours.

“Tommy, I want-“ You start, but he cuts you off before you can finish. Finding it hard to believe you actually want this after the fear he saw in your eyes.

“I’m sorry I frightened you.” Tommy says flatly, changing the subject. You’d think it was insincere, if you couldn’t see his eyes. His breath so low and steady, it sounds like a death order handed down from a Sargent Major to his subordinate infantry, but you can see in the depth of vulnerable blue eyes as they stare up at the ceiling… It kills him to think he scared you. And now he’s pulling away and shutting down, managing that feeling the only way Thomas Shelby knows how.

The look in Tommy’s eyes melt your heart as you lean up on your elbow and place tender kisses upon his shoulder, moving slowly down along the muscle of his chest. Letting your lips linger around his tattoo.

“You didn’t scare me.” You whisper against his skin, over the spot that covers his heart. Your hands roam over the muscles that contour and line his chest and taut stomach, the ridge of his pecks, the flex of his abs. There’s still traces of unease vibrating through your nerves, you can’t deny that, but they aren’t directed at Tommy. If anything, you feel safer by his side, in his arms. And you see now you’re both struggling from your own scars from that night. Tommy still feels guilty he didn’t prevent it, didn’t protect you. He doesn’t want to push you, but you need him to know this is still what you want.

Your knees dig into the bedding as you turn to him, your hands bracing against the solid warmth of his chest as move across him to straddle his hips.

“Fee-“ Tommy starts to protest before your eyes lock as you settle against him and he can see the passion reaching for him in your eyes.

“Tommy, you could never scare me.” You promise him. Staring down into those deep fucking eyes that pierce right through you like daggers, gnawing down deep in your belly. You don’t know what that was. It’s never happened to you before, but you’re sure of one thing… It had nothing to do with the way you feel about this man and had everything to do with what’s still lingering in you.

“I don’ entirely know what’s happened, Tommy, but I do know I still want you and I still want you to touch me… And I still want to touch you.” You confess, trying to explain it as best you can. Leaning down to place slow tender kisses along taut stomach for emphasis, leading a trail up his chest. Your blood pumping harder as you feel his muscles tighten slightly under your lips, responding to your touch.

You know your gut was right as you feel Tommy’s hands splay against your hips. You lean back on him, staring down deep into his eyes, lost in anticipation of what’s to come, before slowly leaning down against his body to recapture the hunger of his mouth once again. With the demand of his kiss, the grip of hands roam the curves of your body, there’s no denying Tommy wants you. And there’s no denying you want him too as your hand slips between the press of your bodies, gripping and stroking him tightly as you draw him to your warmth, before you sink back down on him.

Tommy curses against your swollen lips as he breaks the kiss. Echoing the sharp intake of your breath. Your hands trail down his chest as you lean back on him, nails dragging against his flesh and along the muscles that contour his chest and taut stomach. Staring down into the madness of Tommy Shelby’s eyes, as penetrating as they are blue, you gather up your nightdress and pull it over your head, revealing yourself completely to him. The fabric barely slips over your head before your feel Tommy’s hands glide over your hips, his palms racing along your back. Sending shivers down your spine as he sits up on the bed, pulling you desperately close to steal your breath in a demanding kiss.

Your arms wrap around Tommy, feeling his muscles flex and tighten beneath your palms, his chest rise and fall flush against your own, so close his breathes could practically be yours. Tommy’s heart pounds as he moves you against him, wrapping his arms around your body, holding you close. He lightly rests his head against yours, his hand roaming and caressing all the places he knows will makes you shiver and sigh.

You run your hands up the back of his head just to feel his shorn hair pick against your palms, your back arching against him as your head falls back. Your mind lost in a haze of delirium, his hot skin flush with your own as the bow of your back sends Tommy pushing deeper within you, your bodies move perfectly in sync. You’re fighting for breath as your belly coils, pushing closer to the edge. And you know you’re not the only one dancing with fire as Tommy’s drag you more feverishly against him.

You breathe him in, this man you love. Staring deep into his eyes that mirror back your image as your noses brush and lips meet, as Tommy moves you both as if you were always made to joined like this. You love him, and he loves you, you can feel it in that moment as surely as you can feel his hands grip and mold at your flesh, as surely as you can feel his heavy breath upon your lips.

And in that moment, everything else falls away. All the pain, all the guilt, the room and its bloody walls, until it’s only you and him, lost madly in each other. In the fever of what you can create between your bodies. Your thighs clench as your hands grip him tighter, feeling your body charge closer and closer to your mounting release. The pressure and hunger for it blinding back at you in the captive hold of his pupil.

You’re delirious and drunk off this moment, you’d stay here forever if you could, as the need for release builds rapidly inside you. You whimper his name chasing the high his body gives you, his love amplifies.

“That’s it, love. Let me feel you come.” Tommy encourages, his breath as ragged as the cry of his name off your lips.

“With me,” You beg him, pressing your lips frantically to his in your request as your pull Tommy impossibly closer against you. You need this to be with him. After everything. You need to find each other, burn alive together.

Gripping your hair tightly against the back of your head, Tommy nods against your mouth as you fight to hold back your release. Your body aching as he drags you faster against the length of him, filling you completely with every thrust, as his hands grow heavy and insistent against your sweat beaded skin. Your thighs tremble trying to hold off, you’re right on the edge of climaxing. Your mind unraveling under the pressure as you try to hold on, and then he says it.

“Now,” Tommy urges desperately against your lips in a rush of breath and suddenly, you let go, breathe gasping against his parted lips in frantic relief.

Clinging desperately to Tommy as your head presses deeply against his. You stare lost and delirious into his icy eyes as cries of ecstasy fall from your lips and mirror his own. Your bodies tremble as you hold onto one another, ecstasy racing like an inferno through your veins, the same euphoric fire dancing in the pupils of his dilated eyes as you climax together.

Your forehead rests against Tommy as your body nearly collapses against him, slick with mingled sweat, your panting breathes meet as a quiet hum still vibrates through you. You hold Tommy close as he holds you flush against him. You look deep into Tommy’s eyes, staring into the endless abyss of them, feeling as if there isn’t an ounce of space between you left in this world. Savoring the feel of seeing him completely, of feeling as if he can see you completely too. Connected in every way and completely unafraid.

As the moment passes your head comes to rest against his shoulder completely exhausted as you snuggle in his arms and feel Tommy’s face settle against your shoulder. Wrapped in each other, all warm flesh, tangled up tightly, your baby hidden between you. Running your hands along the back of his shorn hair, you finally speak.

“After Tony, I never thought I’d feel this way again… Never thought I wanted to.” You whisper to Tommy as you reflect upon your words, hoping he understands what you’re trying to say. That you love him. That you’ll always love him. And you see now there’s no hand grenade this world can throw at you that’s going to change that.

Tommy runs his hand gently up the length of your back, his fingers tangling in your wild hair as he leans in to place a soft kiss against your shoulder.

“…After Grace, I didn’t either.” His words settle under your skin and shiver down your spine as tears well up in your eyes. Maybe it’s the hormones. Maybe it’s just relief. But for the first time since you walked into that hotel lounge and faced Al over a month ago, you have hope you and Tommy will survive this.

For the first time in a long time you think things might finally be turning a corner. Things might finally be looking up. The war with mafia seems to be shifting tides. Finally, back in each other’s arms where you belong, Tommy keeps you updated on the plans at hand. He knows the truth is important to you, so he gives it. Whispering to you in the dark about a deal he’s made with an American gangster named Al Capone. The connection your Al made for him, though he never says his name to you, not once. He tells you, now that Capone has his first shipments of gin he’s making arrangements for men to aid in ending this war with Changretta. The news fill your heart with hope. You know putting an end to this won’t be easy, but finally things are starting to go right.

Tommy’s busy. He’s always busy. You’ve grown so accustom to it you’re not sure what you’d do if he ever had time for leisure. In that way, he reminds you of your father. Never enough time. Not enough hours in the day to quench the kind of ambition that rumbles and wages war inside Tommy, calling out for blood before the day is thru.

The upcoming fight consumes his mind most readily these days, as surely as the gin he keeps insisting everyone try. He’s going fucking mad. Like a horse kept cooped up in the stall too long. The vendetta has him back in a corner for the time being. Back to his roots, where he came from as if to remind Tommy he can never really escape it. And perhaps that’s what gets to Tommy the most, but you can’t be certain.

So when Tommy insists you accompany him and the rest of the family to a boxing match he’s holding, you can’t turn down the chance to spend a night out on the arm of your sweetheart. And the fact that he finally wants to show the world you’re his, gives you added hope things might actually work out.

You haven’t told Tommy about the baby, there hasn’t been a chance, and if you’re honest, you’re still a little afraid. Unsure of how he’ll take the news or how he’ll want to proceed. But you saw the midwife Pol sent you to and she estimated you were nearly three months gone, effectively removing Al’s as a contender… you at least had that.

You don’t know what to expect on your night out. You’re never been to a fight before. Never been to a show of any kind really. Not since you were a girl. After Finn, money was too scarce to spend on entertainment of any kind. So when you arrive with Tommy and the rest of the family at a grand old theatre it nearly takes your breath away. Balconies and showboxes three floors high, but you get a front row seat like you’re a real Shelby.

Tommy looks dapper in a black suit and white undershirt. Sporting his fine wirer glasses that make you gnaw at your bottom lip just to stop yourself from biting his. You tell yourself he has no idea how handsome he is, what the sight of him does to you, but not even you are that fool hearty. Everyone is dressed in their finest attire, specialty dresses purchased just for tonight, and you worry you’ll have nothing suitable to wear. But Tommy’s taken care of that too. Thinking of everything, always one step ahead.

He surprises you with a new dress. Black to match his suit, long and slinky, with sparkles like diamonds that glisten off the theatre lights, straps that hang thinly on your shoulders, with a back cut dangerously low. You feel beautiful. More beautiful than you can remember feeling in a very long time, but the way Tommy looks at you in the dress, his eyes fixated and unwavering before a sexy smirk slowly covers his face… You feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. You only hope you might be able to steal a few moments alone with him somewhere tonight.

You sit with the other Shelby women and Lizzie at the edge of ring. Across from the men, but still in the heart of it all. Watching as the fight unfolds between an unfair match in your opinion, one big, the other small. And as the fight begins, your eyes reach across the ring in search of him, but Tommy’s nowhere to be found and that’s when it starts… the uneasy feeling that begins to stir and come to life in your belly.

At first you caulk it up to the pregnancy. You haven’t felt like yourself since you put the pieces together, but then it doesn’t leave you, even after Tommy finally returns. Your eyes focus on Tommy across the ring from you. Losing sight of the fight as your gaze zeros in on him. You’re filled with an unshakable sense of unease even as Tommy catches your gaze across the ropes and smiles over at your reassuringly.

You watch Arthur beside him. He’s agitated, fidgeting about, mouth going on about things you can’t make out, but clearly leave him unsettled. His movements only heighten the tension inside you. Validating its presence as he turns to his brother, muttering words you can’t hear him say. But you feel it deep in your bones the way you felt it the night your brother died… Somethings not right. You try to distract yourself with the fight. Get lost in the thirst for the blood the crowd is hungrily chanting for. Getting wrapped up in the rhythm of swinging fists and boxers dancing around the ring, light on their feet.

You even follow the ladies into the women’s lavatories as they pass around gin to swig, only you don’t swig just pass and only Polly knows why. You try to let yourself get lost in their banter about men crying for blood, but you can’t shake the tension building steadily inside you. As you all return to your seats for the fight, you force yourself to watch as the Romani boy, Bonnie gets the beating of a lifetime.

You force yourself to enjoy the moment you were looking forward to so dearly earlier that day, but when Arthur storms off from his seat your eyes don’t miss it. You find yourself steadily moving to the edge of your seat as the fight disappears around you. And when Tommy stands abruptly, his eyes fixated on something you can’t pinpoint, before taking off after it, your heart jumps in your throat like a lump of coal to choke you with.

You don’t miss a beat as you rise numbly from your seat, heart hammering in your chest. Polly grabs at your arm in concern, but you only force a smile as you glance down at her.

“Lavartory.” You explain, not wanting to rile her up too if there’s nothing to report. You need to be certain before you make any claims. So as her arms releases you, you move steadily in the direction you saw Tommy disappear to, pushing through rowdy men as your heels stick to the spit and booze littering the floor.

Every instinct inside you screams something is wrong, it rattles in the hollows of your chest, tying your belly in knots with every step as the hairs on the back of your neck rise on end. You follow down a darken tile hallway, your heels clipping as your move. Until you enter a hall gleaming in blue lighting, bouncing and shining off the white tile walls until the whole areas glows like standing at the bottom of the sea. It leaves you with such unease, like standing at the bottom of the ocean and you can’t catch your breath.

Your heart hammers in your chest as your feet move slowly along the tile. Apprehension building in your heart with every step as you try to listen for Tommy. You find yourself second guessing turning down this way. Unsure you chose the right path. Your hand slowly finds its way across your belly, protectively clutching the tiny swell the way you would Finn if he were standing beside you.

You find it hard to catch your breath as anxiety and tension build all around and deep within your bones. Then you hear it! A gun shot, the noise ringing off the tile walls, echoing around you. Moments later you hear Tommy’s voice hollering out for Arthur and you swear your heart stops beating all together inside your chest.

It only takes you a second, a second for sheer terror on your heart. And in the next, you’re clutching at the bottom of your dress as you race as fast as you call down that ominous corridor, you voice echoing around you as you go. Terrified you’re going to lose the man you love all over again.

“Tommy!” You scream.

You have no weapon, there’s no thought or reason to your actions, just desperation and the desire to protect what’s precious to you. You turn abruptly at a corner, a wall of thick foggy steam surrounds you, envelopes you. Your heels freeze in their spot unable to see much of anything, it takes you a moment to adjust before you realize there’s a dead man lying sprawled at your feet.

You jump back in fright, your back slamming against the tile wall before you register Tommy calling your name and look up to find him crouched in the corner of the room, Arthur lying bloody in his hands.

“Get a fuckin towel- rag- somethin!” Tommy yells at you. He never yells at you, but the fear in his eyes is unmistakable as your frantically scan the room for anything usable. Snatching up the first piece of cloth you can find you rush over to him, trying not to slip on the slick tile.

Tommy grabs for your wrist, yanking you down to him as your knees slam hard against the unforgiving tile below, but you barely feel it as his eyes engulf you – his pupils dilated, a terrifying madness palpable in his gaze.

Tommy shoves your hands with the rag down against Arthur’s neck and the force of it sends your gaze following suit. You stare down at Arthur, blood soaked through the collar of his shirt, seeping out onto the white tiles around you as Tommy shoves your hands harder against his wound. You can feel yourself trembling, your mind scrambling to form any short of coherent thought when you feel Tommy’s hand cup your jaw and pull your face back up to his.

“I need ya to keep pressure on it, Fee. Gotta slow the bleeding. I have to go get some men and get Arthur outta here. But I need you to stay here and keep pressure on it, ey?” Tommy instructs you, his voice a low deadly whisper as he drags his blood smeared thumb across your cheek, trying to calm the panic racing off your breath.

You give him a shaky nod and that’s all Tommy needs as he rises to his feet. You hear a clank at your side moments later, and glance over to see Tommy’s placed a gun on the tile beside you.

“Keep this with you.” He orders, before the clip of his shoes against the tile can be heard quickly storming out of the room, leaving you completely alone with his brother’s life in your hands.

You glance back at down Arthur, his eyes wide and full of fear as your press firmly down on his neck, watching the rag your found darken with his blood. You notice the second pool of blood at your side and realize a few of his fingers have been nearly cut clean from the bone at the tips. You’re stomach churns as your push down the sudden urge to gag.

Drawing your eyes back to Arthur, you focus on only that. On reassuring him.

“It’s gonna be ok, Arthur. You’re gonna be a’right. Just stay with me. I’ll get Linda for you as soon as I can.” You promise, whispering to him softly as your words rattle with fear off your lips, heart pounding.

You feel his undamaged hand reach for you. Watch as it settles over the top of yours, before you turn one of your palms over and grip his hand tightly with reassurance. In that moment he reminds you so much of your brother the night you found lying beaten and dying in an alleyway outside the flat you shared. That fear a man gets in his eyes when he thinks this is the end. The fear you get in your own when you’re not sure if you’ll be the last thing they see. When you feel so small and helpless to change the rising tides.

But this won’t be that moment. Arthur won’t end up like your brother. You swear it as you clutch his hand tightly and hold back the tears shining in your eyes. “You’re gonna be a’right Arthur. I promise.” You repeat, forcing a smile for him, your chest so tight you can hardly breathe.

#Tommy Shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction

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emblem-333 · 5 years

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In Retrospect, Henry Clay and the Elections of 1824 and 1832

The American “Antebellum Era” is seldom spoken about. Sandwich between the revolutionary and civil war periods, the antebellum age is defined by various titans of the time. 1824 was when the first generation of America’s Goliath’s began to exit stage right into retirement. In the formative years of the republic the position of Secretary of State was seen by many as a stepping stone to the presidency. After all, future presidents Thomas Jefferson, James Madison and even the aforementioned James Monroe held the prestigious position before elevating to the Executive Mansion. Whomever Monroe selected to be his Secretary of State likely would succeed him in the presidency.

Henry Clay desperately wanted to be that man. So much so, he tried to dictate his own faith by crowning himself John Quincy Adams’ Secretary of State after making him president in after the hotly contested election of 1824 went to the House of Representatives, where he was House Speaker.

In any other previous election Clay would have been President. In 1824 Clay was young, vibrant, still riding off the fumes of his war hawking for conflict with Great Britain twelve-years earlier. Ironically, it was his nemesis Andrew Jackson ultra-successful campaign in New Orleans which shifted not only the tides of the war, but saved Clay’s career. By 1815 the British had enjoyed smashing success against the Americans after recently vanquishing the French Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte, the red coats no longer needed to fight off the pesky Americans with one hand tied behind their back.

Four months and thirteen days after Bonaparte’s abdication, in 1814 the British burnt America’s capital to the ground. Though the Americans outnumbered the British by more than three-thousand men, the U.S militia groups proved not on the same level as the expertly skilled British fighting force already experienced from fighting Napoleon and his various allies. The White House burned, as well as many other public buildings, followed by the brief occupation of the District of Columbia. If it weren’t for Mother Nature and her conjuring up sudden, heavy thunderstorms and throwing in a tornado for good measure, forcing the British back to their ships, the capital likely suffers the fate similar to Carthage at the hands of the Romans - except no salting of the Earth in the literal sense.

If such events occurred, it is safe to assume the war’s main proponent, Henry Clay, his political career would go up in smoke. Instead, the Battle of New Orleans gave the United States the leverage it needed for its diplomats to carve out a favorable peace, basically resulting in the status quo ante bellum. The British dream of reconquering their lost colonies extinguished and the United States would never again face a on-land invasion. The War of 1812 didn’t benefit anyone besides Andrew Jackson and Henry Clay. The two people who’d continuously duke it out for supremacy in the world of politics.

It is initially believed before the Civil Rights and Voting Rights Acts of the 1960s only white men could enjoy the privilege to vote. This is definitely true, but it is far too narrow of a description. You also must be rich and own land none of which easy to come by. This is how you get leaders who are not necessarily rockers of the boat into the White House under the perceived guise of anointment. Andrew Jackson represented the downtrodden poor and he saw himself as their champion.

1824 is the precursor to the election we just witnessed in 2016. A frustrated, vitriolic base in America feeling ignored find their man to pin all their hopes and identity on no matter what the facts are. Bypassing accomplished, skillful politicians along the way in favor of continuing the practice of scapegoating various minority groups.

Now, Henry Clay and those in his flock accomplished more than the establishment guards today could only dream. You can say many things about Clay, you cannot say he merely sat around and voted on bills that renamed post offices. Known as “The Great Compromiser” Clay saved the nation numerous times in 1820, 1833 and 1850 that did prolong the American Civil War and continue the practice of slavery. If you are to hold that last paragraph against Henry Clay I will not call you out on it. But at the various times it seemed war between the regions was unavoidable, the north and south were on even plains, the north becoming more industrial and advanced as time marched forward setting the stage for a war where the north held substantial advantages.

But the outcome of the American Civil War wasn’t a forgone conclusion. At many points the Confederates could have secured their independence. Clay successfully kept a ambivalent south obviously itching to succeed, from doing just that in times they likely would have won.

By 1824, Henry Clay started a war, ended one and saved the nation. At forty-seven Clay ran as one of the four Democratic-Republicans in the swan song election during the “Era of Good Feelings.” After the collapse of the Federalists, the Democratic-Republicans were the only viable political party in the U.S. The Federalists lived on in the Northeast, particularly New England in representative John Quincy Adams. A great man. An honorable, distinguished gentleman from Massachusetts whose unjustly forgotten in history. What did the Federalists in wholly was the Hartford convention in December of 1814, when the War of 1812 looked its most bleak for America. The convention called for removing the three-fifths compromise, which gave slave states disproportionate power in Congress and controversially flirted with New England seceding. When Jackson essentially won the war, the Federalists came off as unpatriotic to those outside of New England. This damned the already fledgling Federalists into their coffins.

Adams, son of second President John Adams, embodied the fictitious views we hold of the founding fathers today. Adams wasn’t a slave owner, fought against its expansion and later became a fervent abolitionist. Hamstrung by a congress becoming ever more friendly to his foe Jackson and lacking the skills someone like Henry Clay has, Adams’ presidency goes down rightfully as a failure and as merely a buffer between eras. Sort of like how no one can name the quarterback of the Miami Dolphins before Dan Mario and after Bob Griese. You’d be hard pressed to find people who know who David Woodley and Don Stock are. And you’d be equally taxed finding someone who gives two damns about John Quincy Adams.

Clay retired from his role as House Speaker, his term officially ending when the new congress is scheduled to have sworn in. His last act as House Speaker in 1825 is manipulating the House to bend to his whim and elevate Adams to the presidency after neither candidate in the 1824 election achieved the majority in the electoral college. Despite Jackson running away in both the electoral college (99) and popular vote (41.4%), it was Adams who’d be sworn in on March 4th, 1825. If Henry Clay won just three more electoral votes, enough to secure third-place from William H. Crawford of Georgia, “The Western Star” possibly is able to work his magic to select himself over both Adams and Jackson.

Arguably, the most damning political miscalculation during Clay’s first chapter in politics is not the “Corrupt Bargain,” but the naked ambition it failed to mask. If Clay simply not accepted Adams’ invitation to become Secretary of State, perhaps he’d become President feasibly in the near future.

So what-if Clay had become President in 1824? For starters, he’s more aggressive in pursuing his legislative goals than Adams. Like Barack Obama long after him, Adams fell under the delusion his political enemies were acting under good faith and not out of naked partisanship.

Clay dreamt of an American economy independent from the British through protective tariffs on foreign goods imported to the states. Part of this principal resides in Clay’s famed “American System.” It’s core tenets are:

• It’s main tenants are the establishment of a protective tariff, a 20%–25% tax on imported good.

• The establishment of a national bank would promote a single currency.

• The improvement of the country's infrastructure, especially transportation systems.

Much of this cannot be accomplished in four-years - especially with the Jacksonians wrestling more and more power away from people like Henry Clay. In two-years the newly formed Democrats takeover the House, Senate and the Executive Mansion by 1829.

Like Adams, a Clay presidency only is viewed in a better light by historians who admire their apparent foresight and compassion regarding the plights of native Americans and enslaved blacks, comparably when held up against expansionist slave owners like John C. Calhoun who referred to the institution of slavery as a “positive good.” While Clay acted as an unabashed war hawk in Congress in 1812, twelve-years have passed since then and he’s matured somewhat. Both Clay and Adams believed the Union was big enough as it was and foresaw the only way for the complete emancipation of slaves is through warfare.

Historian H.W Brands, author of the fantastic “Heir to the Founders” described the complex Clay as a slave-owning emancipator. As a slave owner himself southerners were more receptive to Clay’s rhetoric than Adams. Clay believed slavery to be evil, not just for the enslaved, but the slave owner and thought if given the chance the horrible institution would die the way it did in the north. The north did not have a fit of morality when they eventually abandoned slavery. Economically it became untenable. Such fate awaited the south.

The one flaw with this is logic is having to believe all the south wanted was to be left alone. In reality, the faction labeled “Slave Power” fought mightily to drag the north to not only accepting their wrong, but for them to join them in calling it right. When the Fugitive Slave laws passed and was signed by President Millard Fillmore, effectively making every norther complicate in the slave trade having to notify authorities if they suspected a black man to be an escaped slave, the Republic was firmly in the bloody grasp of the pro-slavey faction.

However, Henry Clay did not want to see the expansion of slavery and he didn’t want to see the expansion of the union, less they continue to open Pandora’s box again and again.

That all being said, imagine losing someone like Clay in the heated moments following Jackson’s elections. Numerous times before the Confederates firer on Fort Sumter, the Union nearly split itself in half. If Clay decided, after suffering defeat at the hands of Jackson in 1828, to retire can Daniel Webster, John Quincy Adams or anyone else hold a candle to how he handled the calamitous situation? Hardly. A Henry Clay presidency in 1825 likely leads to civil war between the regions and likely the loss of half a union.

Fast forward eight-years later, Jackson and his acolytes have firm control of the government. Jackson is running for re-election and during this time the following issues dominate the campaign:

• The expiring charter of the 2nd National Bank

• The Indian Removal Act

• The ongoing Nullification Crisis

The Democratic-Republicans splintered off, Jackson carrying the banner for the Democrats and Henry Clay running under the label “National Republican” made up remnants of the Federalists and Democratic-Republicans loyal to Adams and Clay.

Jackson despised the national bank because he believed it was directly funding Clay’s campaign. The American people perceived banks to be solely for the elite. Believing the national bank to be corrupt, Jackson set out to destroy it and by securing re-election the destruction of the bank was all but assured. The blame of the subsequent Panic of 1837 befell Jackson’s successor, Martin Van Buren, few realized it was his predecessor who laid the groundwork for the economic collapse.

Coming into the contest Clay had little chance of unseating the incumbent Jackson. Riding a wave of popularity, “Old Hickory” was viewed as one of the common folk while Clay a part of the political elite (because he was). Only way for Clay to pull victory from the jaws of defeat is if one of the following happens.

1. Andrew Jackson dies

2. Economic strife becomes prevalent sooner

3. Clay campaigns on his part in ending Nullification crisis and not stressing the importance of banking to an electorate which was at best apathetic on the matter.

Now the Nullification crisis was still ongoing during the election. South Carolinian John C. Calhoun renounced his role as vice-president to Jackson in favor of being elected senator to better oppose Jackson’s tariff bill. Ironically, Calhoun began his career as an ally to Henry Clay. South Carolinian politicians blamed the economic downtown of the 1820’s primarily on the tariff of 1812 which promoted American manufacturing heavily at the cost its European competition.

While Jackson and Calhoun nearly came to blows, Clay carved out a compromise which lifted the protectionist tariff until 1842.

If there ever was a time to fear monger about possible succession prior to the civil war, it was during the 1832 campaign.

So what if Henry Clay pulls off the monumental upset and unseats King Andrew I?

Well, for one, we see the president play a crucial legislative role in putting out the fires caused by Calhoun and Jackson. Back in the early 19th century, the presidency didn’t hold the powers it holds today. It mostly acted as a rubber stamp for congress, using their veto powers sparingly. Even the vicious King Andrew only used his executive powers to veto a bill he didn’t like twelve times in his eight-years in office. Times were different and the country was still finding itself.

Another plus for Clay and the nation is his election wipes away the travesty committed by the U.S government known as the “Trail of Tears” a series of forced relocations of Native American tribes west to make room for white settlers. The Supreme Court, headed up by Chief Justice John Marshall, said the Indian Removal Act was unconstitutional and the government had no right to do it. To put it bluntly, Jackson could have given less of a shit and relocated the native Americans anyway. Over 4,000 natives died on the trail.

The United States also averts the Panic of 1837 thanks in large part to Clay’s American System and the re-charter of the second national bank. Quite possibly, America missed out on one of their best presidents in Clay by not electing him in 1832 and saving themselves the worst of Jackson’s reign.

Course, the Democrats might’ve still held control of the House until 1840. The National Republicans/Whigs slowly ate away at their deficit culminating in them sweeping the House, Senate and Presidency with William Henry Harrison as their leader. How much Clay could have reasonably expected to accomplish is up for debate. What isn’t up for debate is the fact I believe Jackson did more harm to this country than good and like Trump, his greatest feat is his swindling of the American electorate to believe he emphasized and understood their plights. While Jackson can claim to have the best intentions, his disregard for the complexities of governance lead to much disruption and chaos.

The mystic of Andrew Jackson was just far too much to overcome for any mere mortal. It too five-years, the retirement of Jackson and an economic collapse that would not be rivaled until the Great Depression to shake the people out of Jackson’s trance.

#free coinage of silver #Henry Clay #Andrew Jackson #Bank War #Whigs Party #Alternate History #what-if

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thetrashbang · 6 years

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PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds Needs A God

No multiplayer game gets to live in a void for long. No matter how hard you may try to bleed yourself of troublesome concepts like context, or backstory, the reality is that people like to speculate. People like to tell stories. Doesn’t matter how goofy or outlandish; the creeping tendrils of narrative eventually wrap around the foundations of even the purest, most context-free experiences. Why are we bombing these crates? Why are we stealing that flag? Why are we fighting? Why are we here?

Somebody will come up with an answer. It’s the human thing to do.

But for PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds, it feels like that answer has yet to come. One hundred players parachute onto a deserted island, where the average density of firearms per square meter exceeds even the most deranged fanatical NRA wet dream, and a slowly constricting hemisphere of crackling blue energy forces them to mercilessly gun each other down until only one is left standing. It’s an absurd, nightmarish premise; a theoretical scenario seemingly engineered to turn people into rabid beasts, fighting tooth and nail merely for the privilege of living a few minutes longer. Who would orchestrate such a competition, and for what purpose? Is it an experiment? A ritual? A blood sport? Is some Silicon Valley bazillionaire sitting in a darkened room somewhere, surrounded by monitors, cranking his sad rubbery hog to every rifle crack and arterial splatter? Nobody seems to know, or care.

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t either; PUBG is fun enough without framing. And yet, tonight’s winds bring an uneasy chill, carrying whispers of restlessness, indignance and fury. You feel it, don’t you? There’s a philosophical schism in how we approach Pubguh—the very concept of ‘battle royale’, even—and the hairline fractures are beginning to show. Players whine and gnash their teeth at the red zone, esports organisers desperately attempt to harness the format for views, and the proverbial chicken dinner seems to attain a more and more mythical, trophy-like status by the day; a reference to back-alley gambling now ironically viewed as a badge of ultimate prowess. This isn’t a healthy relationship. This isn’t a healthy attitude.

What Plunkbat needs, friends, is a god.

Well, okay, not necessarily a god god. Divine power is optional. I’m not asking Brendan Greene to start wearing a white toga and chiselling his patch notes into stone tablets, as much as it would set an entertaining precedent. The job requirements are flexible: I’m simply asking for someone vengeful and capricious, with unfathomable intentions, inscrutable thoughts, and—at least within the bounds of the playable space—immense, unassailable power. Like any god, you need not supply scientific proof of their presence; you merely have to attribute sufficient existing phenomena to them, and change people’s collective perception of the world. Ooh, got’em.

See, battle royale games represent an important shift to me. I’m a competitive person by nature. It’s etched into my mind, irreversibly chiseled by years of test scores and parental praise and all the other ego-stroking bullshit that you were subjected to if you were a certain kind of ‘gifted’ child. “You’re the best. You should be the best. You should be winning. Why aren’t you winning, what the heck is wrong with you?” So it bleeds over, into hobbies, work, and of course, online shooters, in which I regularly demonstrate that I have an innate… whatever the opposite of aptitude is. I react slowly, I zone out, I bean myself on the head with my own grenades, and if you exert the slightest bit of pressure, I’ll empty half the magazine into a wall and drop my weapon through a gap in the floorboards. I’m not good, and yet some unreachable, fundamental part of my conscious will never be satisfied with that knowledge.

You would think, then, that Pubby-G would only serve to exacerbate this mindset. And yet, in a world of delicately tuned esports that are built from the ground up to be pure, unfiltered tests of skill, it feels like the only game to grant a genuine absolution of responsibility; a kind of freeing fatalism. There’s a sense in a lot of classic multiplayer experiences—like, say, Counter-Strike—that every outcome is more or less deterministic; a product of a series of controlled variables and actions. With every failure comes the overwhelming impression that it could have been averted, given enough competence, foresight, and concentrated guarana. By contrast, a porridgey cocktail of chaos flows through the veins of battle royales, surrounding you with factors that are not only impossible to influence, but—in many cases—impossible to know at all. You are swept up by the gusts of a hundred butterflies’ wings, tossed to and fro by the whims of the random number generator, bombarded with unavoidable risks and squeezed into unmanageable situations. It’s easier to go with the flow, accept that at any given moment you may have your head unceremoniously taken off—by somebody lying flat on a distant hill, or hiding behind one of the game’s ten thousand trees, or concealed in a shrub on the far side of the Moon—and concentrate on all the minute actions you can make to ever-so-slightly nudge the odds in your favour.

But it’s not always clear that this is the reality of Puhburger. With its vast scale and often languid pacing, encounters can feel like isolated incidents, detached from the cascading series of events that led up to them, despite being anything but. Anyone can parse the map for circles of safety and non-safety, and understand that their arbitrary placement gives certain players an advantage; it’s less apparent that the figure in that upstairs window might have had their sights trained on the area, or seen you first, shot first, picked up a better weapon, obtained a better vantage point, or some other action, because of a dizzying permutation of astral alignments that neither of you could even begin to grasp. So we get futile attempts to establish a level playing field, find meaning in accomplishment, divine fair elements from unfair, and generally make things needlessly stressful for everybody involved. Except the infuriatingly smug yours truly, of course.

How do you make that clear, though? How do you concisely impress upon people that their fate is almost entirely out of their hands, in such a way that they adopt an attitude of acceptance? Blaming the roll of the dice doesn’t come to mind as swiftly when you never see them rattling around, nor the way their innumerable ripples propagate across the map. Furthermore, as current events have taught us all too well, it’s a lot easier to ascribe fault to individuals than to an invisible, fundamentally hostile system. So what do you do?

You give the system a name. And, if you can, a face.

Allow me to momentarily slam us into reverse. When Valve released Left 4 Dead way back in 2008 (oh god, it’s going to be ten years old this year?) they made quite a song and dance about the game’s AI Director; an invisible, unknowable entity that would dynamically dole out items and zombies in a manner consistent with the tenets of dramatic tension, ensuring players were subjected to a “fast-paced, but not overwhelming, Hollywood horror movie”. While the opacity of the AI Director’s machinations always made me a tad sceptical of its mechanical effectiveness, giving people a name to pin the blame for all their earthly woes on was a masterstroke. Notorious video game jokesman Yahtzee Croshaw—the one with the hat and that trendy 00s cynicism, remember?—reported that he once witnessed someone praying to the AI Director, and I bet you all the pipe bombs in the world that players’ personification of it didn’t stop there. Short of making a catastrophic error, I never saw anyone get chewed out for not pulling their weight, and when tones got heated—as they inevitably do, when you’re throwing yourself against the frigid slopes of the higher difficulties—they were directed in the vague direction of the director: for its expectations, for its lack of pity, for being unfair. Awareness of our lurking orchestrator changed our perception of the experience, even though we couldn’t entirely prove it wasn’t just somebody sitting in a black box, disinterestedly flipping a coin over and over.

So, why not do the same for a game that does? Put a face on the system that holds a fundamental grip on who lives and who dies. You don’t need to change a thing under the hood; you need only introduce the vague implication that the evolving state of the battlefield is a consequence of a thinking, feeling, mysterious overseer. A bloodthirsty oligarch watching from their lavish observation zeppelin, a dystopian TV network broadcasting a deadly future sport, an amoral team of government agents sealed away in a bunker control room, an inexplicably sapient Shiba playing with a selection of levers, or indeed, a literal deity. People will take the faintest contextual cues and run amok with them, ascribing everything they can to the will of the one who set this conflict in motion: item drops, circle position, all the way down to the subtle spread of their bullets as they sail through the air. Yeah, maybe it’ll start off as a running joke; an ironic indulgence, the “thanks Obama” of Puddlebounds. But that’s the thing about ironic behaviour: get enough people doing it at once, and you’ll cultivate sincere participants without even realising it. We will learn to absolve ourselves of responsibility, and engage in the unhinged pandemonium of battle royale with the mentality that befits it.

There’s just one problem: you need to be able to keep a secret.

I’m still working on that part.

#pubg #galaxy brain bullshit

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itsfinancethings · 4 years

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New story in Technology from Time: Video Games May Be Key to Keeping World War II Memory Alive. Here Are 5 WWII Games Worth Playing, According to a Historian

The 75th anniversary of Japan formally surrendering to the U.S. aboard the battleship USS Missouri on Sept. 2, 1945, arrives at a moment when the question of how the war is remembered feels more necessary than ever. Veterans’ stories, books, movies and TV shows have kept memories of the war alive for the last 75 years, but how will those stories be told when there are fewer people around who lived through those era-defining years?

Recently, some people in younger generations have turned to a perhaps surprising source for World War II stories: video games. Games have become more realistic not only in terms of technological advancements, but also in terms of featuring real people and, at least in term of blockbuster games like Medal of Honor and Call of Duty, getting input from real experts on military history.

For example, the upcoming virtual-reality game Medal of Honor: Above and Beyond will feature documentary shorts, and creators interviewed WWII veterans about their wartime experiences to inform the set, which includes missions across Europe and in Tunisia. Inside their headsets, players will walk in the boots of a combat engineer recruited for espionage work by the Office of Strategic Services, which was a real U.S. intelligence agency during World War II and a precursor to the CIA. On Thursday, at the virtual Gamescom convention, Respawn Entertainment unveiled a new trailer for the game, which will be released this holiday season.

Respawn EntertainmentA scene from the upcoming virtual-reality game Medal of Honor: Above and Beyond.

One of the most popular WWII video game franchises, Medal of Honor began with educational aspirations. As Peter Hirschmann, who worked on the original 1999 game and is the game director for Medal of Honor: Above and Beyond, recalled to The Hollywood Reporter earlier this year, Saving Private Ryan director Steven Spielberg knew that his R-rated movie wasn’t for kids but expressed a wish that there were more popular culture available to spark interest in the war’s history among younger viewers. “He then had the foresight to see that one of the dominant forms of entertainment emerging was games, so he laid it out: ‘I want to make a WWII game that kids can play to introduce them to these stories,'” Hirschmann said. “He was very specific about wanting to call it Medal of Honor, because that award represents going above and beyond the call of duty.”

So far, given that the U.S. is one of the biggest video game markets in the world, the U.S. perspective on the war dominates in video games too; as is the case with World War II movies, most are set in Western Europe. In fact, in 2013, Russian players blasted Company of Heroes 2 for repeating American stereotypes of the Eastern Front.

Ultimately, history games can spark interest in learning more, says Bob Whitaker, a professor of History at Collin College and host of the podcast History Respawned, where historians talk about history-themed video games. His own passion for this subject dates back to playing Civilization II in the mid-1990s, which inspired him to create a “mod” (a player-made tweak) re-creating his grandfather’s experience in World War II as a pilot who flew missions over the Himalayas.

And he wasn’t the only one. “Recently with the centenary of the end of World War I, I can’t tell you how many conversations I had with students and other scholars about how games they played like Battlefield 1 or Valiant Hearts: The Great War portrayed the First World War,” he says. “Going forward you are going to see the same sort of conversations about Second World War games.”

In the next 75 years, he hopes more historians will see the value of games as Spielberg did. “I look at games as being in a similar positions as motion pictures were in the beginning of the 20th century. Games will be taken much more seriously in the 21st century; they’re going to carry much more historical weight,” says Whitaker. “Games are going to be a part of the ways in which we remember the past going forward. Historians have to offer a helping hand in case players want to know more.”

Get your history fix in one place: sign up for the weekly TIME History newsletter

Below, Whitaker picks five other titles that show how games are telling the story of World War II:

Through the Darkest of Times (2019)

youtube

“In Through the Darkest of Times, developed by [Berlin-based] Paintbucket Games, you play as a German resistance group living in Berlin during the Second World War. The White Rose was a group of German students who attempted to resist the Nazi regime. Students were executed, and the game is trying to tell that story to a certain extent. Games are typically about player empowerment, living out a power fantasy. Your missions don’t often involve violence, but instead the weapons of the weak: sabotage, graffiti, and spreading leaflets. The game exposes players to a history most people don’t know while the game’s mechanics illustrate for the player how difficult resistance to Nazism often was for ordinary people.”

Attentat 1942 (2017)

youtube

“Developed by Charles University in Prague, it’s about the Nazi occupation of Czechoslovakia, featuring survivors. It only takes about two to three hours to finish so it’s the type of fun, cheap game you could play in an afternoon. A number of historians helped to develop the game, so stands out for its fidelity to the history of the conflict. It marries compelling game mechanics with authentic history.”

Call of Duty: WWII (2017)

youtube

“Most Second World War games don’t mention the major tragedies or anything related to the Holocaust.

While Call of Duty: WWII does fall into clichés and traps with WWII video games where you’re getting a lot of bombast, blockbuster set pieces, at the same time, the developers at Activision are doing something rather brave, which is bringing up the Holocaust in a major AAA video title. It culminates in a mission where you are liberating a concentration camp. There is no violence. You’re solemnly going through the remains at the concentration camp.”

Wolfenstein: The New Order (2014)

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“Wolfenstein: The New Order is a pulpy, grindhouse sci-fi version of World War II, set in the early 1960s when the Nazis have won the war. Your player, ‘B.J.’ Blazkowicz, goes into a prison camp, and in course of the mission, you see Jews, people of color, other enemy groups being treated poorly in these camps. You see gas chambers, crematoriums, bodies are being burned.

We’re moving into an era where survivors of the Holocaust are passing away, and you’ve got to rely on secondary sources. As we get further away from the Second World War, it’s really important to remind players of the crimes the Nazis committed.”

Hearts of Iron IV (2016)

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“Hearts of Iron IV attempts to replicate as accurately as possible the starting conditions for various world powers in the late 1930s, giving you the opportunity to either replicate history or pursue some sort of counterfactual scenario in which you are attempting to change the outcome of the war. People use that to create more historically-realistic scenarios, but it’s also controversial because it’s popular among groups of ‘modders’ who revel in racist and ethnonationalist counterfactual histories. The base game is solid, but some of the player-created content can be very disturbing. Games are not like a book or movie. As the audience, you’re not simply receiving the game. You can add onto the game and manipulate it.”

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daresplaining · 7 years

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Iron Fist Countdown: 6 Days

The Meachum$

One of our favorite underused dysfunctional families is finally getting their live action debut! Let’s talk about the Meachums.

The Meachum family represents, of course, one half of the Rand-Meachum Corporation-- which, in the MCU, seems to only be called Rand Enterprises. (Ouch. What’s the story there?). Harold Meachum co-founded the company with Wendall Rand, and the two are quite good friends-- up until the moment when Harold drops Wendell off a cliff. (For more on that craziness, look here.) Though Harold has always had some pretty sketchy morals, and is involved in all kinds of shady deals, he isn’t a violent person-- which raises some serious questions about his decision to murder his partner. He is motivated by greed (the desire to take full control of the corporation) and by his romantic attraction toward Wendell’s wife, Heather. He agrees to take part in Wendell’s crazy backpacking trip through the Himalayas with the thought that his partner might meet an untimely demise... but we’re convinced (though we’re always up for a debate) that he would not have actually murdered Wendell if the opportunity hadn’t literally fallen into his lap. The whole ordeal speaks to a lack of foresight on Harold’s part-- not least because if he’d tried any funny business at any other point on the trip, former almost-Iron-Fist Wendell would have whupped his butt. And Heather probably would have helped.

Harold: “Heather! Stop!! You’ve got me all wrong! I don’t want to harm you-- either of you! It was for you that I did it-- I’ve always loved you! Don’t you hear me, woman? I love you!”

[Marvel Premiere #15 by Roy Thomas, Gil Kane, and Glynis Wein]

In any case, after failing to win Heather’s love by brutally murdering her husband, Harold leaves her and little Danny to their presumed deaths and tries to find his way out of the mountains by himself. He barely survives, losing both of his legs to severe frostbite in the process, before finally making it back to New York to take full control of what is now just Meachum, Inc. But the experience irrevocably scars him-- and not just physically. Having learned, during his trek through the mountains, that Danny Rand survived as well, he grows more and more paranoid that Danny will return to avenge his father’s murder. (Which, it turns out, is very prescient of him!) He spends years turning the Meachum building into a gauntlet of death traps, barricading himself in his office while slowly going insane from fear and regret. Who knows what his employees-- never mind his family-- thought about all of this, but in the end, it turns out that he was not paranoid enough. When, ten years later, Danny does indeed return to take his revenge, the death traps barely slow him down. However, his rage is snuffed out by shock when he sees the broken man that Harold has become.

Caption: “You cannot hate-- or kill-- one who is less than a corroded shell of a man. You can only pity him... Pity him... and leave him, as he left you and your mother, to die his own slow death.”

Harold: “Where are you going--?! Didn’t you hear me?!! I said I want to die!! I want you to kill me!! You can’t leave me--! I won’t let you!!”

[Marvel Premiere #18 by Doug Moench, Larry Hama, and P. Goldberg]

Sickened and disturbed by the whole experience, Danny changes his mind about killing Harold-- but at this point he has a ninja following him around (long story...), and he does the deed instead. And who should find Danny standing over Harold’s body but his daughter, Joy!

Joy: “Dad? Dad, are you-- Oh no--! Dead--! He’s dead--!”

[Marvel Premiere #18 by Doug Moench, Larry Hama, and P. Goldberg]

(Awkward...)

With Harold’s death, the company passes into the hands of his super-skeevy brother Ward-- and the desire for murderous vengeance is turned over from Danny to Joy. This presents a huge turning point for her. Like all of the Meachums, Joy has (in our opinion) never had enough character development in the comics, but her arc is compelling in the extremes it reaches. She is fiercely devoted to her father and the family legacy, and with his death she is thrust into a position of control, through which she is able to act on her convictions. She is also forced to work closely with her uncle Ward-- which quickly leads to conflict between the two.

[Marvel Premiere #21 by Tony Isabella, Arvell Jones, et al.]

While they both agree that Iron Fist needs to die for his actions, Joy becomes bothered by her uncle’s business decisions. She is sharp, and dedicated to the company that she now has a hand in running, and her suspicion that Ward may be taking part in criminal activity drives a wedge between the two would-be business partners. Joy becomes determined to take her uncle down and seize control. She may be completely okay with murdering her father’s alleged killer-- but in all other respects, she cares far too much about the company and her family’s reputation to see either dirtied by criminal activity.

Joy: “Way to go, Joy. Keep this up and you’ll be the spitting image of your old man in no time. Because you’re acting to protect the family name, not to see justice done-- because... whatever Ward did, he did with your father’s approval. I guess neither of them were very nice men. I wonder what that makes me? But none of that matters now. Your father’s dead, Joy, and it’s only a matter of time before Uncle Ward is dealt with. I run this shop now, gentlemen. And that means there’re going to be some changes made.”

[Iron Fist vol. 1 #8 by Chris Claremont, John Byrne, and Dan Adkins]

(Note: There aren’t many people who can yell at Steel Serpent and get away with it. Joy Meachum is a stone cold badass, and don’t let anyone tell you differently.)

She also has a point. Ward is a scummy person by nature, and is willing to ally himself with all kinds of shady, dangerous groups for the sake of gaining power and making a profit. While too wimpy to act on his own, he eagerly employs others to do his dirty work for him. While Joy has far more of a backbone, she and Ward do have that one thing in common. She hires assassin after assassin to kill Iron Fist-- a cowardly approach that he finally comes right out and criticizes her for. Having spent ten years planning to kill Harold, Danny understands Joy’s rage, and he reaches out to her in an attempt to make her understand what he has only recently learned himself-- that vengeance is futile, and never worth the damage it causes.

(We’re including this full scene, despite its length, because it’s very important and shouldn’t be sliced up):

Joy: “Blast you-- the ninja protecting you did kill him-- to save your worthless life! My father didn’t know what he was doing. He probably couldn’t have hurt you anyway. [...] If you’d never come for him-- he’d be alive today!”

Danny: “If your father hadn’t killed my father-- I would never have come back from K’un Lun. Harold Meachum would have had the corporation without killing for it! Enough “if”s.”

Joy: “No! I-I won’t do it! It’s a meaningless, senseless circle.”

[Power Man and Iron Fist vol. 1 #52 by Chris Claremont, Mike Zeck, and Nel Yomtov]

Having made peace, Joy accepts Danny’s friendship and becomes a valuable source of support for him. He in turn trusts her, opening up to her about his own thoughts and fears about his new life on Earth. (This trust varies significantly from writer to writer, but generally, Danny considers Joy a friend. They even date really, really briefly.) Danny eventually regains control of his share of Rand-Meachum, thanks to the efforts of his lawyer Jeryn Hogarth, but he freely acknowledges that he doesn’t have a clue how to run a company. Having been born into a household where money was never a concern, and then raised in a society where money isn’t used much, finances are an abstract concept to him. And anyway, he would much rather run around doing superhero work with his new friend Luke Cage, so he hands his share of the company over to Joy. Ward, who is both annoyed by and frightened of Danny, is less than pleased.

Ward: “There he goes-- the eternal thorn. What did Rand want?”

Joy: “Oh, nothing much, Uncle Ward... He just turned full control of his share of Rand-Meachum-- over to me!”

[Power Man and Iron Fist vol. 1 #54 by Ed Hannigan, Lee Elias, et al.]

Joy fades in and out of Danny’s story from this point onward, eventually losing control of the company and experimenting with other lines of work. Ward, for his part, is arrested for his criminal activity and ends up getting killed by the Super-Skrull. Karma’s a jerk.

We know that a lot of this will be changing in the show-- and we are ecstatic to see the Meachum family drama amped up and enriched and displayed in HD live action.

To start, Ward has been downgraded from Harold’s brother to his son (congrats, Harold), which should add a really interesting sibling rivalry dynamic to his interactions with Joy. Interviews with the cast have suggested that Harold sees Ward as a disappointment, and likely favors Joy. That can only end well, right? We’re expecting some battles for dominance if (when?) Harold kicks the bucket.

Joy may also be experiencing a career change. This recent Joy-centric promo refers to her as “chief counsel”. Is she a lawyer in this universe? Will she be doing battle with Jeryn Hogarth? Please?

Another major factor is that we will be seeing Danny, Joy, and Ward’s interactions as children. This never really comes up in the comics. One would assume, given the circumstances, that 616 Danny and Joy would have grown up together (there may be a bit of an age difference, but probably not much of one). But it’s never mentioned in any of their interactions, and early-on, Joy frequently behaves as though she’s never met Danny before. Thus, we’re very excited about this change. It seems as though Danny and Joy were close friends, and Ward was a bit of a bully, which is clearly going to color their interactions as adults.

Finally, our buddy Harold... It’s still anyone’s guess how long he’ll live in this universe, but we do know that Danny’s revenge quest has been shifted in time, if not cancelled altogether. Given the violent tendencies that Harold displays in the trailers, we’re assuming that he was still responsible for the Rands’ deaths-- indirectly, at the very least. However, this Harold may be a slightly better planner than his 616 counterpart, meaning that he’s able to keep his involvement a secret.

However, we’re still predicting some very poor judgement on his part. Evidence suggests that he has formed ties with the Hand, and with Madame Gao (whose own level of involvement with the Hand is still unclear). Our prediction for his character development is that instead of turning inward, as he does in the comics, he becomes outwardly violent and aggressive-- either leading him to make dangerous allies, or as a result of those connections.

In any case, the Meachum drama will clearly be alive and well in this show, and we cannot wait to watch the resulting explosions.

#Iron Fist #Harold Meachum #Joy Meachum #Ward Meachum #Commentary #IF Countdown

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