#me picking out a division commander with very little history just for this? absolutely.

[thereddeadredeemed]

An Ironwood meta that just randomly popped into my head.

So I’ve been skimming over a lot of the observations on RWBY from @bionic-jedi and aside from the glurge of absolutely adorable Nuts ‘n Dolts stuff (Which I appreciate, I ship it now), the part that really got my attention was all the shit going down around Ironwood. I don’t watch the show anymore, not that I hated it or anything I just sorta lost interest in the show itself, decided it ultimately wasn’t really for me and mainly just enjoy it through fanart and shipping now, but from what I gathered from bionic-jedi’s Let’s Watch Ironwood sounds absolutely fascinating in all the ways that I don’t think was intentional by the CRWBY but is still pretty awesome that it’s there.

Forgive me if I get the details wrong since I haven’t kept up with the show and all my info is coming second hand from @bionic-jedi​, but from I could gather Ironwood comes across as a man who:

- Is an experienced veteran fighter who individually is very badass with a proven tactical record on the battlefield

- Has the natural charisma to instill genuine loyalty and belief in his cause into his subordinates (To paraphrase Mass Effect 3 for a bit, you can pay a man to fight, you can pay him to charge up a hill, but no amount of money in the world will ever convince a man to believe in you), and does possess a genuine care for the troops under his command

- Will nonetheless still engage in abusive behavior if a subordinate is not performing in a way he believes is proper for their duty (Yeah I would consider forcibly hacking a sapient being to count as that)

- Carries around a very cool badass revolver as a signature weapon 

- While brilliant tactically, possess horrible long term strategic assessment skills that if allowed to be acted upon could have/did end in disaster

You know what that sounds like? Ironwood is almost a perfect RWBY equivalent for George R. Patton (with maybe a bit of Bernard Montgomery thrown in).

Like, I think that the CRWBY may have accidentally written a scenario that asks “What if Patton was the Supreme Commander of the Western Front instead of Eisenhower?” And the results are an absolute clusterfuck unfolding in real time, but I feel I gotta clarify this.

Patton is one of America’s most celebrated and respected generals, and for good reason. Dude was a badass with a keen sense of armor tactics and mobile warfare that proved repeatedly that he could beat the Germans at their own game. His personal bravery could also never be called into question, having proven his mettle in direct combat during both the Hunt for Pancho Villa and WW1, as well as putting his own life in danger being very close to the front lines numerous times during WW2, one time even riding a tank into a German-occupied village to inspire his men. He also did genuinely care for the lives of his men, only ever seen openly weeping when mourning for the lives of his fallen soldiers, treating his wounded troops with the highest respect, and properly giving praise when they did a good job.

For all of Ironwood’s faults, his own mettle is certainly not into question given he suffered such grievous injuries that half his body is now cybernetics, and the man for sure knows how to fight and fight well, so that’s one similarity with Patton. He has also inspired real loyalty in Winter and the Ace Operatives, and in turn he does seem to actually care for them, and he had no real reason to give Yang a new prosthetic arm (and rather quickly fast tracking her an incredibly advanced one at that), so he’s not completely heartless or devoid of empathy. 

However, Patton was a man focused on the tactical short term in lieu of long term strategic planning, and possessed with some horrendous character flaws that bit him in the ass on several occasions. One of them being the, even by the standards of the 40′s, deplorable manner in which he treated soldiers wracked with what we in the modern day would diagnose as PTSD. The man flat out did not believe PTSD was a real thing, thinking of it as cowardice and...you know what? I’m just gonna let the Wikipedia quotes say it all, I bolded some choice quotes for convenience:

Private Charles H. Kuhl, of L Company, U.S. 26th Infantry Regiment, reported to an aid station of C Company, 1st Medical Battalion, on 2 August 1943. Kuhl, who had been in the U.S. Army for eight months, had been attached to the 1st Infantry Division since 2 June 1943. He was diagnosed with "exhaustion," a diagnosis he had been given three times since the start of the campaign. From the aid station, he was evacuated to a medical company and given sodium amytal. Notes in his medical chart indicated "psychoneurosis anxiety state, moderately severe (soldier has been twice before in hospital within ten days. He can't take it at the front, evidently. He is repeatedly returned.)" Kuhl was transferred from the aid station to the 15th Evacuation Hospital near Nicosia for further evaluation.

Patton arrived at the hospital the same day, accompanied by a number of medical officers, as part of his tour of the U.S. II Corps troops. He spoke to some patients in the hospital, commending the physically wounded. He then approached Kuhl, who did not appear to be physically injured. Kuhl was sitting slouched on a stool midway through a tent ward filled with injured soldiers. When Patton asked Kuhl where he was hurt, Kuhl reportedly shrugged and replied that he was "nervous" rather than wounded, adding, "I guess I can't take it." Patton "immediately flared up,” slapped Kuhl across the chin with his gloves, then grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the tent entrance. He shoved him out of the tent with a kick to his backside. Yelling "Don't admit this son of a bitch," Patton demanded that Kuhl be sent back to the front, adding, "You hear me, you gutless bastard? You're going back to the front."

Corpsmen picked up Kuhl and brought him to a ward tent, where it was discovered he had a temperature of 102.2 °F (39.0 °C); and was later diagnosed with malarial parasites. Speaking later of the incident, Kuhl noted "at the time it happened, [Patton] was pretty well worn out  ... I think he was suffering a little battle fatigue himself." Kuhl wrote to his parents about the incident, but asked them to "just forget about it." That night, Patton recorded the incident in his diary: "[I met] the only errant coward I have ever seen in this Army. Companies should deal with such men, and if they shirk their duty, they should be tried for cowardice and shot."

Private Paul G. Bennett, 21, of C Battery, U.S. 17th Field Artillery Regiment, was a four-year veteran of the U.S. Army, and had served in the division since March 1943. Records show he had no medical history until 6 August 1943, when a friend was wounded in combat. According to a report, he "could not sleep and was nervous." Bennett was brought to the 93rd Evacuation Hospital. In addition to having a fever, he exhibited symptoms of dehydration, including fatigue, confusion, and listlessness. His request to return to his unit was turned down by medical officers. A medical officer describing Bennett's condition

And yet another incident like this:

Private Paul G. Bennett, 21, of C Battery, U.S. 17th Field Artillery Regiment, was a four-year veteran of the U.S. Army, and had served in the division since March 1943. Records show he had no medical history until 6 August 1943, when a friend was wounded in combat. According to a report, he "could not sleep and was nervous." Bennett was brought to the 93rd Evacuation Hospital. In addition to having a fever, he exhibited symptoms of dehydration, including fatigue, confusion, and listlessness. His request to return to his unit was turned down by medical officers. A medical officer describing Bennett's condition

The shells going over him bothered him. The next day he was worried about his buddy and became more nervous. He was sent down to the rear echelon by a battery aid man and there the medical aid man gave him some tranquilizers that made him sleep, but still he was nervous and disturbed. On the next day the medical officer ordered him to be evacuated, although the boy begged not to be evacuated because he did not want to leave his unit.

On 10 August, Patton entered the receiving tent of the hospital, speaking to the injured there. Patton approached Bennett, who was huddled and shivering, and asked what the trouble was. "It's my nerves," Bennett responded. "I can't stand the shelling anymore." Patton reportedly became enraged at him, slapping him across the face. He began yelling: "Your nerves, hell, you are just a goddamned coward. Shut up that goddamned crying. I won't have these brave men who have been shot at seeing this yellow bastard sitting here crying." Patton then reportedly slapped Bennett again, knocking his helmet liner off, and ordered the receiving officer, Major Charles B. Etter, not to admit him. Patton then threatened Bennett, "You're going back to the front lines and you may get shot and killed, but you're going to fight. If you don't, I'll stand you up against a wall and have a firing squad kill you on purpose. In fact, I ought to shoot you myself, you goddamned whimpering coward." Upon saying this, Patton pulled out his pistol threateningly, prompting the hospital's commander, Colonel Donald E. Currier, to physically separate the two. Patton left the tent, yelling to medical officers to send Bennett back to the front lines.

As he toured the remainder of the hospital, Patton continued discussing Bennett's condition with Currier. Patton stated, "I can't help it, it makes my blood boil to think of a yellow bastard being babied," and "I won't have those cowardly bastards hanging around our hospitals. We'll probably have to shoot them some time anyway, or we'll raise a breed of morons."

There were serious cries for Patton to get sacked after theses incidents, his reputation and job only saved because Eisenhower knew his tactical command abilities were simply too valuable to give up and so was only temporarily relieved of duty instead. Point I’m trying to make here is that while Patton could definitely hold sympathy and understanding for his men, it was contingent on them acting in a way he believed was properly honoring their duty. If they erred from his ideals of a how a proper soldier behaved, he could lapse into some seriously abusive behavior disturbingly quickly.

I can’t be the only one that sees some parallels between this and Ironwood hacking Penny am I? A man who cares for his troops but as soon as Penny acted in a way he deemed to be out of line, immediately sought to violate her autonomy and rights as a sapient being to force her back into line and back into his ideals of how a proper soldier should behave. Perhaps he wasn’t as violently physically aggressive about it as Patton, but arguably what Ironwood did was ethically much worse than slapping the shit out of and threatening people.

Patton also wasn’t the type to worry about the long term consequences of his actions. Before he died in a car accident shortly after WW2 he was unceremoniously sacked from his job after making one too many aggressive comments towards the Soviet Union, potentially nudging towards a potential Operation Unthinkable, and carelessly allowing former Nazis back into political power. Both of these were unthinkably horrible for obvious reasons.

There is one key difference between Patton and Ironwood however. Eisenhower was keenly aware of Patton’s potential shortcomings and he was kept on a leash and out of the highest levers of power, thus preventing him from ever being in a position where his worst traits would allow him to truly fuck up. Ironwood however I feel got Peter Principle’d hardcore and was promoted way above his level of competence (Always a risk for men who gain a reputation as “fightin’ generals”, see: John Bell Hood), where his positive qualities of personal physical bravery, combat skill and tactical leadership is wasted and his worst qualities of hyper-focus on short sighted tactical victories over long term strategic goals, paranoia and distrust leading to an excessive need for control, and moral cowardice are allowed to flourish.

And we see the consequences of it. He may have started with solid pragmatic ideas, but his insanely one-track minded obsession with short term strategic goals like making sure he has control over the Winter Maiden is costing him big long term strategically by burning bridges with potentially valuable allies and isolating himself and his command. Valuable time and resources that could have been spent coordinating forces against Salem wasted on various shenanigans involving Penny, RWBY and JN_R. Especially devastating given that Atlas is the only industrialized military power worth a damn in this world and isn’t reliant on mostly independent and unorganized Hunters and Huntresses (individually skilled but too few in number and takes far too long to train each one to reliably stop a Grimm invasion), and he’s just wasting the resources of the world power best able to hold the line against the Grimm.

Next part is a bit of a non-sequitur and really long so I put it in between the dotted lines if y’all ain’t interested and want to skip on over to the relevant Ironwood parts.

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Getting a feel for the strategic situation in Atlas, I get a strong sense that what Atlas needs more than anything else right now is a Dwight D. Eisenhower. Eisenhower the the exact man needed to lead the Western allies, and I can’t see anyone else doing as realistically as good a job as he did, this is a hill I’ll die on. It wouldn’t look like it at first, the man had never once commanded a unit in battle (a fact that made many of his “actually seen combat” rivals bitter), and his softer, more easy going disposition would seem at odds with the alpha-male take charge image cultivated by men like Patton and Montgomery that would be stereotypically expected of a general, much less a Supreme Commander. 

However, that calm exterior hid a man with a sharp eye on the necessary strategic goals needed for victory, expert resource and personnel management skills, the humility to listen to his subordinates and admit his own mistakes, and most importantly, both the smooth negotiating skills and the iron will necessary to deal with larger than life figures.

The western allies were made up of many different nations and factions and filled to the brim with what I would call (to put it lightly) strong personalities. This was an organization that involved: 

- Franklin D. Roosevelt

- Winston Churchill

- Charles De Gaulle

- Bernard Montgomery

- The aforementioned Patton

- Occasional dealings with Stalin even

All of them larger than life personalities, all of them strong willed and possessed of their own ideas of how to win the war as well as their own political/personal motives, and all of them vying for dominance in the strategic decision making of the Western Allies. It was like herding a clowder of cats, but all the cats had frggin tanks and bombs. Eisenhower actually managed to cut through the bullshit and resist all the arm twisting and actually got all the different countries, armies and leaders together to act upon a united plan. He did this while still being able to control his subordinates worst impulses and (mostly) was able to resist the shitty plans put up and embrace the good ones (for the most part, Montgomery did manage to convince him to approve of Operation Market Garden, and it was the last major German victory of the war mostly due to Monty’s mishandling). Tactical battle ability was largely irrelevant for Eisenhower’s role, and his ability to see the big picture clearly and being able to maneuver through the internal politics meant everything to his success as a Supreme Commander.

If Eisenhower or an Eisenhower-esque figure was in charge of Atlas during this latest season, you’d probably get a drastically different turn of events. An Eisenhower would not be so quick to drastic action as Ironwood was. An Eisenhower would probably sit down with their subordinates, hear out all their arguments for why or why shouldn’t a specific action be taken, then calmly consider their actions. An Eisenhower would probably then say “Working with an enemy agent to hack into the Winter Maiden is a dumb idea” and proceed to create plans on how to coordinate all available forces in Remnant to best fend off Salem.

Atlas as a whole doesn’t really strike me as the type of organization that would raise an Eisenhower though. Militaries are always offshoots of the cultures that create them, and I don’t believe it to be a coincidence that a Supreme Commander like Eisenhower would be American. The country was literally founded on democratic ideals and it was enshrined very early into its history that the military would always be subordinate to the civilian government. This precedent makes it necessary that anyone that rises high enough in the military must be able to respect a strong civilian presence and be able to work with both internal and external politics. Any general that rises high enough must be half-general half-politician by necessity (there’s a reason why former military often do have successful political careers after retiring from service, including the aforementioned Eisenhower who eventually became the 34th President of the United States).

Atlas just doesn’t strike me as having that same sort of cultural framework. If anything the Atlas military strikes me as having a cultural framework closer to WW2 Germany where tactical efficiency and high tech weaponry/tools is prized above all else, often at the cost of long term strategic goal setting. Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan never set realistic goals for themselves and predictably got steamrolled eventually. Occasionally you’ll get an online thread asking “What if Germany/Japan had smart top leadership during WW2?” But that’s a trick question. A WW2 Germany/Japan with sensible leadership...just isn’t WW2 Germany/Japan at all, it was intrinsic to the identity and character of those nations in that time period. Similarly, I just don’t see an Atlas military that sees a potential Eisenhower in their ranks and thinks to promote them to High Command as opposed to just shuffling them off as an aide to some random officer and never consider them for higher promotion. An organization that prizes short term tactical victory over long term strategic goals just isn’t the type of organization to do that.

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Thing is though, I think just from what I gathered, Ironwood just shot up to be my favorite RWBY character because of how frigging fascinatingly horrible he is. He’s not an entirely awful person (at least not at first), but his own paranoia and fear combined with his habit of confusing short term tactical advantage with long term strategic goals leads him down the path of utterly despicable actions while convincing himself that it’s all for the greater good. All while being an idiot and wasting the legitimate game-changer resources of having an actual army when everyone else is still dicking around with hunters and huntresses as their only defense.

Smart money is he’s gonna die, it seems to be where he’s heading. If CRWBY’s writing staff has some serious cajones however, it’d be really cool if they pulled a Catra on him and see how low they can make him sink before making him hit rock bottom, realize his mistakes and force him to work hard for a redemption arc. I dunno, maybe I’m giving him too much slack but I actually do feel for him a little bit. The dude was clearly an alright guy that had the world fall down on him and just wasn’t suited for the massive responsibility that circumstances forced on his shoulders. He’s still a soldier that genuinely wants to protect Atlas, he’s just too short sighted to see how his actions just aren’t what Atlas is gonna need in the long term. Maybe a harsh talking to by Glinda would do him some good (I still ship IronWitch don’t @ me). I dunno, I just think that a redemption arc would be a lot harder to write than just killing him off, and thus would be that much more satisfying to see it pulled off right like what Noelle Stevenson did with Catra’s character in She-Ra.

[xstarker]

Since the beginning and until the end (Part Three)

Peter is immortal, reincarnation exists, and in every lifetime Peter has met and loved Tony, only for him to die. He’s hoping this time might be different. 

[Part One] [Part Two]

Author’s Note: I put way more effort and detail into this chapter than was necessary, but hopefully it isn’t too much for you all. I really didn’t want to post it as two parts seeing as there is no mentions of Tony in this one and this is a Starker fic, but I felt like this chapter added to the story and Peter being immortal in a fun way.

That being said, this chapter is centered around the events of Captain America: The First Avenger.

Warnings: Mentions of canon character “death”, Nazis, War, etc. This chapter includes mentions of Stucky and Steggy.

Words: 4.4k

-

Peter has always tried to avoid going to the doctor whenever possible. He knows that if a doctor were to examine his reflexes or his strength too closely, or God forbid take his blood, that he could end up as someone’s lab experiment – or worse. That being said, he also hasn’t exactly been super cautious in the past either.

Over the years he’s made a habit of using his curse of immortality and the unique features that came with it, to help people. He ran in front of oncoming traffic to save little girls, retrieved cats from trees, caught someone who fell off a building, and even stopped a predator or two. He has never just been that person who stands by and lets bad things happen if he has the power to stop them. 

That’s why he ends up sitting in a medical exam room, waiting for a doctor to come clear him to join the military. He never really wanted to be an army man, but he also never expected one world war let alone two, and he certainly couldn’t stand idly by.

“You are marvelously fit, Mr Parks.” A deep german accent draws Peter’s attention to the curtain, a gentleman in a suit in the process of pulling it back and entering the room, Peter’s file in hand.

“Almost miraculously. You don’t even seem to have any real medical history. Your doctor gave me the results of your physical examination but little else. My name is Dr Abraham Erskine.” Peter tenses. Here was exactly what he always feared. Maybe if he grabs his clothes and runs now-

“So, you want to kill Nazis?” Peter’s attention is drawn back to the doctor.

“I don’t want to kill anyone. I just know that I have the ability to help all of those men who are out there fighting to end all of the genocide.” Dr Erskine nods.

“I can offer you a spot on a project I am working on. There are others, all of them hoping to be picked to be the first test subject.”

“Test subject for what? I don’t really want to be a test subject.”

“I will be honest with you, if you are with me. Yes?” Peter nods in agreement, curious by the strange doctor.

“The project is a serum to create the perfect soldier. However, from what I can see of you, it won’t be needed. Why is that?”

Peter swallows the lump in his throat. “It’s kind of complicated, but essentially I was bit by a cursed spider which gave me certain… genetic enhancements.”

Dr Erskine raises his eyebrows and smiles warmly, and seeing as the man doesn’t make Peter’s instincts go haywire, he thinks trusting him might not be the worst decision.

“That sounds absolutely insane, but given that you seem relatively sane and the physical evidence thus far, I suppose I have no choice but to believe you. Though I do expect that I will see more of these genetic enhancements overseas.”

“That is very likely, should you approve me sir.”

“Get dressed. You’ll need to pack a bag. Pack light though.” Peter smiles and jumps up from his seat, rushing to put his clothes back on and follow Dr Erskine out of the room, where the man then stamps a bold black 1A on his file.

“Congratulations soldier.” The doctor says, passing the file over to Peter. “You’re the second man I’ve approved tonight.”

“The second?”

“You will meet him when you ship out tomorrow morning.” Dr Erskine gives him another small smile and walks away.

-

As it turns out, the other man he approved is Steve Rogers from Brooklyn. They talk on the way to base, and he learns Steve has lost both parents to the war, and that he has always wanted to join himself but was never able to due to all of his medical conditions. When he actually begins to list them all, Peter understands why. He thinks Dr Erskine must really see something in him in order to risk bringing him into the military.

At base, dressed in their new uniforms, Steve and Peter join the line of soldiers currently waiting to meet their commanding officer. A few of them talk amongst themselves, but Peter and Steve stand quietly now, not wanting to step on anyone’s toes the first day.

“Gentlemen, I am Agent Carter. I supervise all operations for this division.” The woman matching the voice walks around them from the right. Her voice is both soothing and authoritative, as is the way she carries herself. She is a woman who demands respect immediately, and also one of the most gorgeous ones Steve has ever laid eyes on.

“What’s with the accent Queen Victoria? I thought I was signin’ up for the US Army.” Comes a voice to the left of them. Immediately, Peter knows the man has made a mistake.

“What’s your name soldier?” Agent Carter’s face shows absolutely no amusement.

“Gilmore Hodge, your majesty.” He’s so snarky Peter can’t help but roll his eyes.

“Step forward Hodge.” The man obeys the order almost immediately, to the surprise of both Steve and Peter. “Put your right foot forward.”

“We gonna wrassle? Cause I got a few moves I know you’ll like.” Peter knows the punch is coming before she does it, yet he still lets out a soft laugh. Carter makes eye contact with him and gives him the smallest smile, just as another man in uniform approaches.

“Agent Carter.” She straightens her blazer.

“Colonel Phillips.”

“I can see that you are breaking in the candidates. That’s good!” The man – Colonel Phillips - comes to a stop in front of Hodge. “Get your ass up out of that dirt and stand in that line at attention until someone comes and tells you what to do.”

Hodge hops up fast, immediately complying. “Yes sir.”

“General Patton has said that wars are fought with weapons, but they are won by men. We are going to win this war because we have the best men.” When he gets to ‘men’ Peter sees his eyes connect with Steve’s tiny form, and his statement suddenly sounds like more of a question. The colonel looks over at Erskine, his face doing nothing to hide the disappointment in his eyes.

“And because they are going to get better. Much better.”

The colonel goes on to explain the goal is to create the best army in history, and he says every army starts with one man. As it turned out, that one man would be chosen by the end of a week’s worth of tests. They do all of the basic things you would expect an army to do, everyone competing to get the best time or the most push-ups, the best score. Peter doesn’t really compete, but he doesn’t bother hiding his ability to do them all with ease either, knowing Erskine wanted to see what he could do in action. He ends up with the best scores in most of the tests, while Steve is dead last in nearly all of them. This doesn’t seem to disappoint Erskine in the slightest.

-

“Faster ladies! Come on. My grandmother has more life in her, God rest her soul.” They are all doing push-ups, next to him Steve struggles to barely do one. Peter feels bad for him, knowing he is struggling to do all of the tests but he’s still pushing himself as hard as he can.

“Please tell me you aren’t really thinking about picking Rogers.” Peter’s super hearing picks up on Colonel Phillips’ voice before he’s even finished walking over to the truck in front of the group.

“I’m more than just thinking about it. He is the clear choice.”

“When you brought a 90-pound asthmatic onto my army base, I let it slide. I thought ‘What the hell, maybe he’d be useful to you, like a gerbil.’ I never thought you’d pick him.” They come to a stop at the truck, and Agent Carter has the group switch to jumping jacks. Peter can hear the struggle in Steve’s lungs.

“You stick a needle in that kid’s arm, it’s gonna go right through him. Look at that, he’s making me cry.” Peter glances over at Steve, and really the sight is something pitiful.

“I am looking for qualities beyond the physical.” Erskine explains.

“Do you know how long it took to set up this project? All the groveling I had to do in front of Senator What’s-His-Name’s committees?”

“Brandt. Yes, I know. I am well aware of your efforts.”

“Then throw me a bone. Hodge and Parks both passed every test we gave them. They’re strong, they’re fast, they obey orders. They are soldiers.”

“Hodge is a bully. As for Parks, I have already told you he is not going to be receiving the serum. He does not need it.”

“You don’t win a war with niceness Doctor.” Peter’s eyes follow Colonel Phillips, watching as he grabs a grenade from the truck. “You win wars with guts.”

Peter watches him pull the pin and toss the grenade, not feeling the familiar tingle of danger run up his spine, he immediately knows the bomb is a dud. This was a test.

“Grenade!” He yells, and everyone begins jumping away, scared out of their minds. Peter steps back, but watches in fascination as Steve immediately moves to wrap his entire frail little body around it, planning to risk his own life to protect everyone else around him.

“Get away!” He yells. “Get back!”

Both Peter and Erskine smile. Peter gets it now, why Erskine wants Steve.

Peter and Steve are similar in a lot of ways, and had that been a real grenade, Peter knows he would have done the very same thing. He knows this is the kind of person who power belongs to, and he knows if anyone else had gotten the curse that he had, they wouldn’t have used the abilities the same way.

Well, anyone else but Steve Rogers.

-

That same day they tell Steve he’s been chosen to go first, and Erskine comes to talk to Peter alone, a bottle of Schnapps half empty in his hand. He tells him about Johann Schmidt, how he believes all the myths and legends, and that he believes a superior man is meant to wield hidden powers left in the Earth by the Gods. Peter knows this to be mostly true, but doesn’t say anything about it. The Doctor also tells him about how Schmidt was the first to take the serum, and how the serum amplifies what a person is like on the inside, having made Schmidt a monster both inside and out.

Once again, Peter understands his decision to take Steve.

“Peter, I am telling you this because it is very likely Schmidt will try something. Though we have many precautions in place, HYDRA has eyes and ears everywhere. He will find out. In case something should happen to me or to my research, I am asking you to help Steven in any way you can. Win this war for all of us.”

Peter nods, determination in his gaze. “I understand Doctor. Isn’t there any way I can be there tomorrow? Just in case?”

“I am afraid not. I have pulled as many strings as I can just to get Steven in that pod first. I am trusting you to do what needs to be done.”

“I won’t let you down.”

~~

Peter gets word he is to ship out to London only an hour in advance. He doesn’t have much to pack anyways, but he does wish he could say goodbye to Steve. He wonders how the procedure went, and when he will see his friend as well as Dr Erskine again.

It’s the flight to London that he learns he won’t ever see the doctor again, but the procedure was successful. 

“Sorry you had to hear it from me pal.”

“It’s not your fault Mr Stark.”

“Oh please, I’m barely older than you. Call me Howard.” There’s amusement in Howard’s voice, but none of their faces match it.

“Not that I am complaining, but why am I being sent to London? And where’s Steve?” Peter’s seated near the front of the plane, Agent Carter and Colonel Phillips talking in hushed tones near the rear. Peter tries to catch a few words, but the plane is so loud it is already making it hard enough to hear Howard less than ten feet from him.

“Dr Erskine knew something like this could happen. He had certain plans in place, which included leaving me a very detailed letter about his experience with you. I convinced the Colonel you would be useful on the front lines, and if I can manage to get you in my lab too, I wouldn’t exactly be disappointed.”

“That depends on what you mean by getting me in your lab.”

“Cursed spiders causing miraculous abilities aren’t exactly common Parks. As for where Rogers is, Senator Brandt talked him into doing propaganda shows since Phillips wasn’t exactly keen on him joining us in London.”

“What? I thought the serum was a success.”

“It was, but that doesn’t mean he wants an inexperienced science experiment running around with a gun. His words, not mine.”

Peter sighs. He knows Erskine would hate his work going to something as trivial as that. Peter hates it too.

“If I am going to be in your lab, it’s going to be to help you with your work. Not as another experiment.”

-

Peter helps Howard in the lab in-between missions. They throw playful banter back and forth while working, becoming quick friends. Howard continues to ask about the spider, and Peter does his best to answer questions, but refuses to be submitted to any tests, never wanting the military anywhere near his DNA, even if he does trust Howard to some extent.

On one particular mission in November of 1943, he’s sent with two hundred soldiers from the 107th to Austria. It’s on that mission that he briefly meets the man Steve can’t seem stop talking about whenever they see each other, Bucky Barnes. They try their best against the forces of HYDRA but in the end, Peter still returns with less than half of the men he left with, and Bucky is one of the unlucky souls that doesn’t return at all.

Peter lies awake that night, unable to sleep as guilt eats at him. The next day he tries to convince Colonel Phillips to let him go back to try and save the rest, but is given a firm no. The Colonel tells him it’s too risky, even if he were to go alone.

-

Steve comes to base for a show just a few days later, his audience the remaining members of the 107th. They don’t seem all that impressed by the propaganda, yelling and throwing things at Steve to get him off-stage. Peter understands their frustration, but he also doesn’t believe Steve really did anything to deserve that sort of treatment.

Peter goes to find Steve after the show, and sees Peggy has beat him to it. He is about to turn around and go wait for a better time to speak with Steve when he catches part of the conversation the pair are having.

“Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men went up against him, and less than half returned. Your audience contained what was left of the 107th. The rest were killed or captured.��

“The 107th?” He hears the panic in Steve’s voice, and then he is on his feet, rushing toward the base where Colonel Phillips sits under a tent planning their next move, Peggy behind him. Peter doesn’t need to hear the conversation to know where this is going. Instead, he decides to go wait in Steve’s tent with his bag packed, knowing he would be there soon to pack a bag himself.  

When Steve does get to the tent less than ten minutes later, he looks surprised to see Peter. “Let me come with you.”

“What?” Steve’s already grabbing things and shoving them into his bag, anxiety clear on his face.

“I was with the 107th on that mission. I asked to go back out there, but Colonel Phillips wouldn’t let me. Please, let me help you.” He’s practically begging, but he would never forgive himself if he let Steve go alone to try and rescue the men which he should have been able to bring back safely himself.

“What exactly do the two of you plan to do? Walk to Austria?” Both men turn their heads to Peggy as she enters the tent.

“If that’s what it takes.”

“The Colonel is devising a strategy. If he detects that-” Steve interrupts her.

“By the time he’s done that, it could be too late.” Steve throws his jacket on and grabs the metal shield he has been using as a prop for his shows, then exits the tent with both Peter and Peggy on his heels.

“You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?” The question is directed at Peggy. Peter puts his belongings in the car next to Steve’s and hops in the passenger seat.

“Every word.”

“Then you gotta let us go.”

“I can do more than that.”

Peggy comes back with one of the showgirl’s helmets, the letter A painted on the front, and Howard as their pilot.

-

Howard gets them almost all the way there, but bombs begin to go off all around them. Steve and Peter make the decision to jump before they get all the way in, urging Howard to turn around immediately.

Once on the ground they sneak onto one of the trucks coming into base, easily taking out the two HYDRA soldiers inside. They wait until the truck parks to sneak out, Steve leading the way onto the roof.

Inside the base it’s a lot more sneaking around, which Peter happens to be rather good at, and it turns out so is Steve. They pass a set of what looks like some sort of ammunition, except it glows a bright blue. Steve pockets one of the clips to bring back to base for Howard.

When they finally find the cells, they subdue the guard and begin unlocking them. Bucky is nowhere to be seen. Steve gives the men instructions on how to get out, and is immediately ready to go looking for Bucky again. He pauses on his exit to look at Peter.

“Are you coming?”

“Recusing Bucky is your mission. I think I should make sure the rest of these men get out of here in one piece. I owe them that.” Steve nods, then takes off out the door. Everyone else, including Peter, begin to make their exit, causing chaos all around the base.

In the end, Steve and Peter return to base with another hundred or so men, including Bucky, following close behind. 

-

That night everyone goes out to a local bar for drinks. Steve goes around asking who wants to go back out with him and help wipe HYDRA off the map, and surprisingly a decent few say yes. Unsurprisingly, so does Bucky.

“What about you Peter? You came with me for the rescue, will you join us?” Peter gives Steve a smile.

“As if you could keep me away. I came out here to make a difference Steve, and there is no better place to do that then with you.” Peter doesn’t mention Erskine asking him to stay with Steve, because even if he hadn’t asked, Peter would still have agreed. This is where he was needed the most, he could feel it.

-

Howard makes Steve a shield after hearing that it seems to be the man’s preferred weapon. He makes the suit at Steve’s request. It looks good on him, making him look somewhat like a superhero while still being properly fitted for war. Peter almost asks Howard for one himself, but decides against it.

The Howling Commandos is what they end up calling their group of chaotic men. They wipe base after base off the map, the group all getting to know each other rather well during the missions.

Then on one particular mission, they ambush a train Dr Zola is said to be on, headed toward another base. A hole gets blown in the side during their fighting, and Bucky falls, assumingly to his death. Steve doesn’t take it well to say the least, because that night he sits alone in that same bar as before, attempting to drink his sorrows away, the bar in ruin around him thanks to the war.

-

Colonel Phillips interrogates Zola for hours, and the next day they have enough intel to send everyone out on another mission, as it turns out, the last one they would go on together.

Steve enters through the front, causing a scene and effectively getting himself kidnapped, which of course is just part of the plan. Peter and three others use grappling hooks to swing in through the window, clearing the room quickly. Schmidt makes a run for it in all of the chaos, so Steve runs after him, shield in hand. Peter follows, doing his best to clear the way of any HYDRA soldiers that get in Steve’s way.

They lose sight of each other after Steve follows Schmidt through a door that he manages to keep open with his shield just long enough to slip through, but Peter and Peggy are quick to find another way to catch up with him, stealing Schmidt’s car and speeding down the runway after him.

They make it just in time for Steve to jump onto the plane, Peter bringing the car to a stop just in time for one of the wheels to be hanging off, but not sending them over the edge. Right before he jumps, Peggy surprises them both by speaking up.

“Wait!” She pulls him down for what Peter is sure is their first kiss. “Good luck.”

Steve turns to look at Peter. “What? I’m not kissing you.” Peter can’t help but laugh, Steve smiling and making the jump to the plane without another word.

On the edge of the runway, Peter throws the car into reverse until the front two tires catch on the edge and finally, they are safely planted on the metal ground. He turns the car around, and drives full speed back toward the base.

-

The last time he speaks to Steve is with Peggy by his side, over the communications to Schmidt’s plane.

“Come in, this is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?” They both run to the seat at the same time, Morita already seated, having been waiting for any word to come through from the other side.

“Captain Rogers, where is your-?” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence because with one shared look, Peggy and him are switching places and she is grabbing the intercom in her hand.

“Steve is that you? Are you alright?”

“Peggy, Schmidt’s dead!” That should be good news, so why did Steve sound so panicked?

“Steve what’s going on?”

“Peter? The plane’s rigged to blow.”

“Of course, it is. Why wouldn’t it be?” Peter groans in frustration, anxiety building. If the plane was rigged to blow, there were very few options for a safe landing.

“I can try and force it down.”

“I-I can get Howard on the line. He’ll know that to do.” Peggy’s might be in worse shape than Peter, but no one could really be sure. Both of them are close to tears now, but Peter has never seen Peggy look so vulnerable.

“There’s not enough time. This thing’s moving too fast and it’s heading for New York.” A pause and then, “I gotta put her in the water.”

“Please, don’t do this. We have time. We can work it out.” Despite her trying to reassure him over the radio, Peter knows they don’t have nearly enough time.

“Steve is there any sort of emergency pod or autopilot you can reset? Anything to where you can set the plane to crash but get out safely?” He’s unsure how he manages to get the words out without his voice cracking, so many emotions flooding his senses all at once.

“Not from where I am sitting. I already tried overwriting the autopilot but it’s locked in place. I’d need a genius to overwrite it. Right now, I’m in the middle of nowhere, if I wait any longer a whole lot of people are going to die.” Peter feels a tear roll down his face, and when he looks at Peggy, her face mirrors his own. They were both losing a loved one today, Peggy an almost lover, and Peter a brother, if only in war.

“This is my choice.” Steve speaks solemnly.

“Peggy.”

“I’m here.”

“I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance.” Peter places a hand on her shoulder, she reaches her own up to hold his.

“Alright. A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”

“You got it.”

“Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late. Understood?” She’s talking through tears now, but she manages to speak clearly despite that. Peter remains quiet, letting her talk Steve through this. He isn’t sure he could speak at this point if he tried.

“You know, I still don’t know how to dance.”

“I’ll show you how. Just be there.”

“We’ll have the band play something slow. I’d hate to step on your-” The line goes dead.

“Steve?” Peggy lets out a sob. Peter clenches her hand a little tighter, releasing a shaky breath as the tears overflow.

“Steve?” It’s no use, they both know it’s too late, but she can’t help it. She has to try. Peter feels eyes on them, and turns, making eye contact with Colonel Phillips who at some point made his way here. Peter couldn’t be sure when, too distracted before to notice, but the Colonel’s face shows it was long enough that the man knows what happened. He turns and walks away, leaving the two of them to mourn alone together.  

“Steve?”

[ramblingrachell]

Have You Read This? The Election of 2020

Like many of us, I watched Hamilton on July 4th, 2020 – our nation’s birthday. I met the day with mixed emotions as the spirit and character of our nation as of late did not seem appropriate to celebrate.

As I watched the story about many of the nation’s founding fathers and first leaders unfold, I was struck by the parts of their personal trials and tribulations that went beyond their contribution to the nation. Hamilton was the first politician to be involved in a sex scandal; Layfette – an immigrant, unafraid to step in and become America’s favorite fighting Frenchmen; Washington – a slave owner willing to admit “it probable that I may have committed many errors;” Jefferson – gained wealth profiting from the work of slaves, one of which he fathered six children with after making her his mistress. Burr – the untried murderer of Alexander Hamilton, whom he killed while still holding office as the third Vice President of the United States. In short, a hot mess of moral contradictions. I have been listening to the Hamilton soundtrack ever since my first viewing on July 4th, and realized a number of lines in various songs could be strung together to reflect my perception (key word: my) of the current political climate. Over the last week or so, I finally sat down to string all of those poignant lines together (with a few liberties for relevant context), a lyrical short story I have dubbed, The Election of 2020 (seen further down, further down). The beauty of democracy that is reborn during election seasons is our ability to get a fresh start, gain new perspectives, correct past wrongs, and continually better this land of the free for generations to come. I saw a quote recently that described voting as not so much like trying to find the perfect partner for marriage, but rather like using a bus for public transport. Voting is a map of bus routes that you must choose from in order to get from point A to point B. There may not be one specific bus that is going to your exact destination, but that doesn’t mean you stay at home and give up on travel entirely. Voting is not about waiting for “the one” candidate who is absolutely perfect. Instead, you choose to get on the bus that gets you closest to where you want to be. I know and love many republicans and democrats that have used the privilege of voting to get us all closer to where we want the nation to be. To me, where we are right now does not seem to fit under either traditional party umbrella – no, it’s much more like an umbrella that has been turned inside out and torn apart by a calculated hurricane of divisive and selfish endeavors. Perhaps more than ever before, this is the time to reassess our voting bus routes that will get us from point A to point B. Are we moving from indifference to tolerance? Hate to love? Despair to hope? Chaos to consistency? Negligence to protection? Moreover, before you get on your bus of choice, remember the route is designed to get the whole of our nation where we want it to be. Not just for me and not just for you. For all of US – as in, all of the United States. We will never all agree, I know this, but in spite of these disagreements, I am reminded of the hope that comes from the story of Hamilton. Even 244 years into this nation’s story, despite many dramatic peaks and valleys, the journey to our shared, happily ever after epilogue lives on. It lives on in me, in you, and in every vote cast to get us where we want to be. Regardless of how your vote is cast, the courage to reexamine your route and get on that bus… well, that would be enough.

The Election of 2020

“America, you great unfinished symphony A place where even orphan immigrants Can leave their fingerprints and rise up We’re running out of time Eyes up Time's up Wise up He's not the choice I would have gone with History will prove him wrong Winning was easy for him Governing's harder Welcome, folks, to a dysfunctional administration! He stands only for himself It's what he does I can't apologize because it's true Have it all, lose it all The President is gonna bring the nation to the brink He’s the villain in our history Frankly, it's a little disquieting that so many are blind to this reality He doesn’t have an ounce of regret He accumulates debt, he accumulates power Yet in our hour of need, he forgets Ardently abuses his post It's hard to listen to him with a straight face Watching the tension grow He cannot be left alone to his devices Indecisive, from crisis to crisis Stay alive 'til this horror show is past We're gonna fly a lot of flags half-mast Chaos and bloodshed already haunt us How many died because he was inexperienced and ruinous? We're too fragile to start another fight Where do we draw the line? Someone oughta remind him We're running a real nation Him and his words, obsessed with his own legacy His sentences border on senseless And he is paranoid in every paragraph How they perceive him Let future historians wonder How he tore so much apart And watched it all burn I wish I could say what was happening in his brain He's not very forthcoming on any particular stances Ask him a question: he glances off, he obfuscates, he dances I will not equivocate on my opinion I didn't say anything that wasn't true His father's a scoundrel, and so, it seems, is this dude He is uniquely situated by virtue of his position Though 'virtue' is not a word I’d apply to this situation He seeks financial gain, straying from his sacred mission And the evidence suggests he’s engaged in speculation Why does he assume he’s the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude will be his doom He knows nothing of loyalty Smells like new money, dresses like fake royalty Desperate to rise above his station Everything he does betrays the ideals of our nation See how he lies Look at his eyes Follow the scent of his enterprise If we don't stop him, we aid and abet it Watching him grabbin' at power and kissin' it Somebody has to stand up to his mouth What do we stall for?  If we stand for nothing, what'll we fall for?

Be careful with that one He will do what it takes to survive No one knows who he is or what he does His pride will be the death of us all God, we hope he’s satisfied This man has poisoned our political pursuits Destroyed our reputation I can almost see the headline, his “career” is done Ya best go run back where ya come from! This dude is out! You ever see somebody ruin their own life? History obliterates In every picture it paints It paints him and all of his mistakes It's him against us, the world will never be the same He better get ready for the moment of adrenaline Try not to crack under the stress When he finally faces his opponent They’ve fought on like seventy-five different fronts He smacks others in the press and doesn’t print retractions We're breaking down like fractions But when all is said and all is done I have beliefs, he has none Gotta get us out of the mess he’s got us in There’s a reason no one trusts him No one knows what he believes I get no satisfaction witnessing his fits of passion The way he primps and preens and dresses like the pits of fashion Our poorest citizens, our farmers, live ration to ration As Wall Street robs 'em blind in search of chips to cash in He’s askin' for someone to bring him to task While we were all watching, he got Washington in his pocket But the sun comes up And the world still spins I hear wailing in the streets There is suffering too terrible to name This is not a moment, it's a movement Are we a nation of states? What's the state of our nation? The issue on the table: We are engaged in a battle for our nation's very soul I’m past patiently waitin'. Let’s passionately smash every expectation For the first time, I’m thinkin' past tomorrow. We're gonna rise up - time to take a shot This nation better rise up Raise a glass to freedom Something they can never take away No matter what he tells us Look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now But we'll never be truly free Until those in bondage have the same rights as you and me Seek out injustice in the world and correct it Life doesn't discriminate Between the sinners And the saints It takes and it takes and it takes And we keep living anyway We laugh and we cry And we break But can l be real for a second? For just a millisecond? We gotta make an all-out stand Get him out of power So he holds no office We are a powder keg about to explode We gotta stop 'em and rob 'em of his advantages Let's take a stand with the stamina God has granted us We pick and choose our battles and places to take a stand We will fight for this land Summon all the courage that’s required Be a part of the narrative The story they will write someday How we emerged victorious Leaving the battlefield waving Betsy Ross' flag higher No one has more resilience Let’s move under cover and move as one We have one shot to live another day Don’t throw away this shot We will fight up close, seize the moment and stay in it And so the American experiment begins again We bleed and fight for the next generation We'll make it right for them If we lay a strong enough foundation We'll pass it on to them, we'll give the world to them For a strong central democracy We may never all agree, but There's only one man and woman Who can give us a command so we can rise up Throwing verbal rocks at his mediocrities What do you stall for? What was it all for? We studied and we fought For the notion of a nation we now get to rebuild Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness We fought for these ideals; we shouldn't settle for less I don't pretend to know All the challenges we’re facing But this once, take a stand with pride This is not the time to stand to the side Stand with us in the land of the free To get the people that we need to lead We need the votes We need bold strokes When there’s skin in the game, stay in the game We don't get a win unless we play in the game We may get love for it We may get hate for it We get nothing if we wait for it I wanna build something that's gonna outlive me I dream of a brand new start I want real leaders that can save the day We won't be invisible We won't be denied If we get this right The nation can start to move on It outlives us when we’re gone We are the one thing in life we can control We are inimitable, true originals We can’t stand still Or lie in wait We don't wanna fight, but We won't apologize for doing what's right Together we can turn the tide If we manage to get this right They'll surrender by early light We have no control Who lives, who dies, who tells our story But I know that we can win I know that greatness lies within us But remember from here on in History has its eyes on me and History has its eyes on you”

(All Lyric Credits: Hamilton: An America Musical. Performances by Lin-Manuel Miranda, Daveed Diggs, Renée Elise Goldsberry, Jonathan Groff, Christopher Jackson, Jasmine Cephas Jones, Leslie Odom Jr., Okieriete Onaodowan, Anthony Ramos  Phillipa Soo, and Original Cast Company. Atlantic Records, 2015.)

[curriebelle]

Where Law and Chaos Came From: a D&D History Lesson

I’ve seen a few interesting posts about Dungeons and Dragons alignments that all share two interesting commonalities:

1) They think the two-axis system of Law vs Chaos and Good vs Evil is too restrictive for people who like to roleplay. 2) They try to redeem the two-axis system by redefining Law and Chaos in ways that make sense to them personally.

Good and Evil aren’t usually a topic of debate on these posts - it’s easy enough to play a character as generally doing the right thing or as being a total bastard. Discussion on acts of more debatable morality (e.g. torturing a villain for vital information, killing an innocent person by accident, sacrificing one for the good of all) tends to veer towards whether the action itself qualifies as good or evil, and not whether good and evil themselves need to be redefined. Conversely, I’ve seen Law and Chaos rewritten as Community vs Individuality, Tradition vs Cultural Mutability, Authority vs Anarchy - all interesting ideas that tend to reflect more on the person writing them than the actual purpose of the Law vs Chaos axis.

I’m not saying these people are wrong, but that these players (as well as the fine folks who wrote the 5e Handbooks) are placing too much significance on the purpose or intention of Law vs Chaos. The historical secret is that Law vs Chaos alignment never had any deep meaning behind it - or, at least, it never had any meaning deeper than the Pittsburgh Penguins versus the Vancouver Canucks.

I’ll explain how, but it requires a bit of a history lesson. The idea of Lawful and Chaotic alignments - as well as a number of other cornerstones of Dungeons and Dragons - came from a different game: a miniature wargame called Chainmail. It’s time for a deep dive.

In 1970, before he helped create Dungeons and Dragons, Gary Gygax developed a ruleset for modeling Medieval-Era battles using miniatures. Miniatures were organized into opposing armies, and the modeled battles were long, drawn-out math sessions, preoccupied with calculating distances, damages, casualties and morale. If you’ve ever played or seen Warhammer 40k, it’s a lot like that, except with English Longbowmen instead of Space Marines.

The purpose of Chainmail was to recreate historical battles, and so the gameplay mechanics were painfully precise, with rules for weather, terrain, and siege weapons. Only at the tail end of the Chainmail rulebook, in a tiny ten-page appendix, did Gygax include the rules that would become the basis for all of Dungeons and Dragons. This was the Chainmail Fantasy Supplement.

Even in the Fantasy Supplement, the purpose was still to recreate battles. The second edition of Chainmail - the oldest version I could find, from 1971 - instructs players on how to “refight the epic struggles related by J.R.R. Tolkein...and other fantasy writers”, only suggesting that the player could “create [their] own world” as an afterthought. Chainmail’s fantasy supplement was made so LOTR nerds could re-create the battles of Helm’s Deep or Pelennor Fields, down to the walking trees and boulder-throwing trolls.

Still, a couple of fun details are kicking around in those ten pages. Even back then, fireball and lightning bolt spells were the main tools in the wizards’ arsenals. Dragons and other powerful fantasy creatures could only be hit with magic weapons - an immunity that lingers on some powerful D&D monsters to this day. Even the colour varieties of dragons were introduced here, and they’ve remained largely unchanged for nearly half a century now:

“White Dragons live in cold climates and breathe frost. Black Dragons are tropical and spit caustic acid. The Blue variety discharges a bolt of electricity. Green Dragons waft poisonous vapours--chlorine--at their opponents”

Classic! (I did omit the mottled purple dragon with the poisonous stinger, but those stuck around too - they’re just called wyverns now). 

At the very end of the fantasy supplement, you can find the following list:

I’m not sure why Gygax thought it was “impossible to draw a distinct line between “good” and “evil” here - honestly, this looks like a pretty straightforward good-neutral-evil list to me, but there you are. So Goblins, Orcs, Balrogs and Dragons are CHAOS, and Hobbits (who became Halflings later once copyright started getting huffy), Heroes, Ents and Magic Weapons (?) are LAW. Wizards can be either LAW or CHAOS; Elves are neutral (but kinda lawful sometimes); and apparently there are Super Heroes in the Lawful camp (Gygax describes them earlier as “like Conan”.)

The purpose of dividing these units into Law or Chaos is not to dictate how they are played, but what team they will play for in the conflict. That’s why I made my hockey analogy earlier: all Law and Chaos defined back then was what team you played for. So, by these rules, if you were building a Lawful Army and your buddy built a Chaos Army, you would both be able to add wizards to your team, but your buddy would have exclusive rights to dragons. You’d be able to add magic weapons, but your buddy couldn’t. Moreover, if you decided to hold a fight in a forest full of pixies and werewolves, you would actually roll off to determine which side those Neutral creatures would join. 

If Law and Chaos did have any deeper meaning in this context, it sometimes dictated how the units behaved. Units of orcs would attack other units of orcs if they failed an obedience check; dragons, being “evil and egotistical”, always had to attack the biggest, most badass targets first. With rules like that, commanding those armies would be more ‘chaotic’, while the lawful side could generally be trusted to obey the commands of the player.

So at worst, the Chainmail law vs chaos axis is a purely logistical division that dictates which units get to join which teams; at its most #deep, it characterizes the combat behaviour of some military units. I think this is probably also the source of D&D racism, e.g. “all orcs are chaotic evil”. That’s a rule that makes much more sense when you’re trying to divvy up the teams in an extremely complex wargame, because you’re looking at orcs en masse, and you’re not too interested in the personalities of individual units.

So, the alignment system does make some sense in Chainmail, where it originated. Here’s where I show you exactly how much influence Chainmail had on D&D and how it struggled to transfer this concept of alignment in a meaningful way.

The “first edition” of D&D - at least the one most of us would recognize as D&D - is officially called Advanced Dungeons & Dragons. That’s the 1977 version in which players create an adventuring party. (It’s called “Advanced” because a “Basic” edition was also released, strictly for levels 1-3). There was actually one other, earlier edition of D&D, which was released in 1974. It was intended to be another Chainmail expansion, so much so that you needed the Chainmail rulebook to play it!

I’m going to ignore that edition, though, since 1) it’s pretty hard to find the rulebook,  2) AD&D was where the game found its own identity anyway and 3) The AD&D handbook is hilariously bizarre, especially when dealing with player morality.

You might know of some of the weirdness of AD&D alignments already. For example, certain classes had to be certain alignments. Paladins were always lawful good; druids were always true neutral. Assassins were automatically evil, and thieves could not be good. Weirdly enough, all monks were lawful - I guess because they adhered to the traditions of their vaguely-east-asian dojos. (By the way, this means that everybody’s favourite Feather Leather Fashionista, Vax’ildan the dual-classed Rogue/Paladin, is a mechanical impossibility in Advanced Dungeons and Dragons.)

It’s easy to see how this move was just an ungainly step forward from Chainmail. Again, this is Gygax telling you what teams your characters must play for - what armies they would join if this were a Chainmail game - without recognizing that the need for an alignment system has basically vanished. We're not picking our fantasy kickball teams anymore; everyone is on the same team, adventuring together, and all an alignment system becomes in that context is a hindrance.

And oh was alignment ever a hindrance in AD&D. Each alignment was a moral code of sorts, but it was also a language. Chaotic Neutral characters shared a language that only Chaotic Neutral characters could understand. Assassins could learn to speak other alignment-languages as they leveled up (or Druidic, if they wanted to be nerds I guess), but if you changed alignment in any way you would lose access to your previous alignment language. This makes absolutely zero sense. Worse still, if you committed an act that didn’t fit with your alignment, it would screw you over mechanically. If a paladin ever willingly committed an evil act they straight-up lost their healing powers and become regular fighters FOREVER. Even if they did something a little bit chaotic, they lost their powers until they could pray the cray away with the help of a lawful good cleric. The book even vaguely suggests that alignment shifting in other classes be met with “great penance”. You’re not allowed to be an assassin again until you do enough poison murders! We’re taking your poison away!

The book describes each individual alignment, but not with any subtlety. This is long before the game itself grasped that the most fun part of tabletop roleplay is the roleplaying, and alignment rules still seem to recall the behaviour of army units rather than the behaviour of individuals. Chaos - as is usually the case - is the alignment that suffers most. The Chaotic Good description gets a nice Robin Hood-y bent, the Chaotic Evil one is the “carnage is good” mantra you’d expect - but here’s Chaotic Neutral:

“Above respect for life and good, or disregard for life and the promotion of evil, the chaotic neutral places randomness and disorder. Good and evil are complimentary balance arms. Neither are preferred, nor must either prevail, for ultimate chaos would then suffer.”

Leaving aside the misuse of the word “complimentary” (you’re looking for complementary, Gygax) and the poorly-structured first sentence - yeah, that’s what the big secret of Chaos is, apparently. It’s not rebellion or individuality (which get championed in the Chaotic Good description), it’s pure, unadulterated, dice-rolling randomness. “Fuck it” made manifest. Don’t think about it too hard, because it doesn’t make any sense, and it will take you down a (fittingly) chaotic wormhole of self-contradiction. 

Lawful Neutral and True Neutral are weird, too. Both are described as pursuing the absolute harmony of the word, but like...you know, in different ways. There’s also a bizarre association between goodness and beauty. “Life and beauty are of great importance”, says the Lawful Good blurb. Does this mean that Delilah Briarwood, Wildemount’s hottest necromancer, is Lawful Good after all? shucks.

It’s pretty clear that AD&D is the awkward gangly phase between wargaming and genuine tabletop roleplay, with lots of weird vestigial features and obnoxiously pedantic mechanics that would later be dropped. For some reason, despite the fact that it never made sense to begin with, alignment wasn’t one of those mechanics - or at least it tended to vanish as a mechanic and then come back again in later editions, slightly different but never fixed. This led to another awkward gangly phase at the turn of the millennium, when D&D rules were adapted into games like Baldur’s Gate or Planescape Torment. Alignment creates fallacies and failures everywhere in those games. If you play Evil in Baldur’s Gate, the game can become basically unwinnable, as NPCs begin to attack you on sight. The way to bond with the Chaotic Neutrals in Planescape Torment is to literally spout gibbering nonsense at a man on the street until he barks at you. Even on Critical Role, with its 5e gameplay and extremely talented dungeon master, alignment feels like an arbitrary interloper rather than an important part of the game. Percy stays Good even after torturing a teenager, but Vex goes Neutral for stealing a broom. Nobody in their right mind would believe Fjord is Lawful Good because of his deception and warlockery, but he technically hasn’t violated the LG handbook so far. 

So because of these repeated failures to use alignment in a compelling way, I see a lot of people hunting for the right way to do alignments, the right way to understand chaos, law, neutrality and the like. They want alignments to fit. But they never did fit. The truth?

Two-axis alignment is stupid, and it always has been.

Honestly, I don’t see the benefit in remedying two-axis alignment as a system. I have my own re-interpretation of chaos that I like fairly well, and I’ve seen a few compelling ones, but I also think that alignment could use a complete makeover. There are some fun examples of morality systems that I’m sure DMs could experiment with, if they so wished. 

You could steal from Ultima IV, for example. The Ultima series was a product of the early days of the computer/tabletop romance - and by early I mean 1980s early. Ultima IV does not use the alignment system: instead, it lets the player ‘train’ in eight virtues to achieve ultimate avatar awesomeness. The virtues are Honesty, Compassion, Valor, Justice, Honor, Sacrifice, Spirituality, and Humility, further divided into the camps of Truth, Love, and Courage. Maybe angels of each of those virtues have corresponding devils (Deception! Cruelty! Cowardice! Injustice! Dishonor! Greed! Blasphemy! Pride!). That could be one way to play with morality without worrying about chaos or law.

I’m also a fan of Pillars of Eternity’s spectra of dispositions, which fit loosely into pairs (not necessarily good or evil pairs, mind you). Benevolent or Cruel, Stoic or Passionate, Honest or Deceptive, Clever or Rational, Diplomatic or Aggressive. Heck, those remind me of the personality sliders in the Sims. What were those again, like - Grumpy/Nice, Playful/Serious, etc?

Those trying to give alignments the benefit of the doubt often suggest that alignments were created to help people roleplay. That’s not...entirely untrue, it’s just misleading. They were created to help people make gameplay decisions, but they were pulled from a different kind of game altogether. It’s like trying to play checkers with chess pieces, and it always has been. The D&D alignment system doesn’t work for D&D because it wasn’t designed for it - it was designed for wargaming. We probably should have just chucked the whole thing instead of enshrining it in nerd culture, but it’s too late for that. Still, our creative energy now would be better spent on a new morality system that actually gives us a thing or two to think about.

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Word Count: 2031 Author’s Note: So I have this personal headcanon that Bones loves filthy limericks, but he’s too much of a gentleman to share them unless he’s really, really intoxicated. This, coupled with his horrible flirting in Into Darkness, gave me this fic to share with you. tagging @youre-on-a-starship​ and @outside-the-government​ because they both expressed such interest in the idea.

You’d heard about the legendary shore leave shenanigans of the Enterprise crew, even before you’d been assigned to her. Rumour had it things got absolutely crazy on the first night, and tapered off from there, depending on your division. Operations was rumoured to party the hardest, partly to remind themselves they were alive, you guessed. You’d been told they remembered to toast their absent friends individually every night. Science was the next most likely to go on a prolonged tear, but you didn’t find that difficult to believe. Science held within it the Medical Corp, and you’d never met a nurse who wasn’t just a little bit wild. Additionally, the science labs were full of the kind of equipment that allowed bored officers to brew moonshine. That left Command as the Cinderella squad, destined to leave before the party really got started. But it was a comparative scale, really, and you suspected with a captain like Jim Kirk, the Command division wasn’t going to be leaving the ball before the fun started.

You’d been aboard for about six months when shore leave was announced, and you hoped your liver was up to the task. The gleam in Christine Chapel’s eye suggested it might not be.

“Come on, Doc,” she gestured to you. “We should find out what they’ve been cooking in the back of the lab.”

“I don’t know about this,” you replied, hesitant. She laughed and linked her arm in yours.

“First shore leave is always the worst. Just plan to alternate booze and water, and put a hypo at your bedside. You can step whoever you wake up with through giving it to you,” she winked.

“Whoever I wake up with?” You gaped. You hadn’t been on the ship long enough to make those types of connections.

“Think of it like a rite of passage, Y/N. Eventually, you’ll make a mistake and sleep with someone on this boat. You’re better off doing it sooner than later. And better to do it drunk on shore leave. Because then you can blame not knowing people better, and too much booze,” she explained. You shook your head.

“I don’t know, Chris, that seems pretty calculated.” You couldn’t help but blush just thinking about trying to seduce any of the crew you’ve met so far. There wasn’t really anyone who did anything for you. Well, there was one person. Who was completely off limits.

“You’ll thank me for this wisdom later, Doc.” She winked, and continued to lead you through the maze of the lab until you reached the very back. “Hey, Jameson, what’s cooking back here?”

“Would you believe I’ve managed a completely flavourless 100 proof coming out of the still right now?” Lt. Jameson grinned. “We’ll have to be very careful with it.” She offered a beaker to Christine who took a sip and tipped her head, her eyes wide.

“Oh, wow. That’s smooth,” she breathed, her eyes wide. “Try it, Y/N.” She pressed the beaker into your hand and you gave her a worried look as you tilted the glass to take a sip. It tasted like water, but it burned going down.

“Oh, that’s trouble,” you commented, garnering a laugh from both women. Christine clapped you on the back.

“Stick with me, Doc. I’ll make sure you survive,” she promised.

You checked your appearance one last time and frowned. It was nerves, you told yourself. Just nerves. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, but your first shore leave with your new crew would solidify the new friendships you’d been making. You rushed to the door when your chime sounded, and let Christine in.

“You look like you’re heading to an execution!” Christine exclaimed, dismayed. “Y/N, honey, we’re here to have fun!”

“Just nervous, I guess,” you admitted. Christine slipped an arm around your shoulder and squeezed.

“Come on. We’re going to have so much fun you won’t remember where you left your pants,” she teased. You gave her a worried look, and she responded with a laugh. “Honestly, we need to get a drink into you, just to loosen you up to your normal level of function. Come on.”

It took three drinks before you relaxed, and you realized you were already on a dangerous precipice, teetering toward wildly intoxicated when you dropped down onto a loveseat beside Doctor McCoy.

“Well, if it isn’t my new superstar,” he chuckled, leaning back to assess you. “You haven’t been drinking that poison Jameson concocted, have you? Stuff should be illegal!”

“I might have had a couple,” you admitted. “I was nervous.” He shook his head and handed you the glass in his hand.

“Drink this instead. Alcohol should have some flavour, not just burn like the fires of hell as it goes down. That should slow you down.” He took your glass in exchange and coughed on the sip he took.

“You aren’t worried about germs?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Hardly. They haven’t discovered a germ that could live in that shit yet,” he laughed. You smiled, the interaction doing more to relax you than any of the drinks thus far. You took a sip from the amber liquid in the glass he’d given you, pleasantly surprised to find it was a subtle scotch. You held the glass out in salute, and were pleased when he clinked the one he’d taken from you against it.

“Cheers,” you grinned.

“To your first shore leave, kid,” he countered, taking another drink and flinching. “Come on, let’s go get something palatable.” He took you by the arm and lead you to the other side of the bar. The next few hours passed in a haze of dancing with the boss and drinking too much, but you recalled Chapel’s advice and started alternating with water once it became apparent you could not keep up with Bones. Which was pretty much right away.

“How did you learn to drink like this, Bones?” You asked as he signalled for a round of shots for those nearest you. He smirked at you, his eyes bright like he hadn’t even been drinking.

“I think my answer should have something to do with old and treachery, but the truth is I’m not dr-”

“Doctor McCoy!” Chekov interrupted. “Did you know zhat saying has its origins in Russia? It was first recorded in the old poem -”

“I have a poem for you,” Bones countered. “There once was a man named O’Toole, who found little red spots on his tool. His doctor, a cynic, said get out of my clinic, and wipe off the lipstick, you fool.”

You choked on your drink, and Bones clapped you on the back. “What the -”

“Zhe doctor has a reliable repertoire of filthy limericks, Doctor Y/L/N,” Chekov offered with a grin. “Zhey only come out vhen he’s been drinking though.” You stifled a giggle and glanced at Bones from the corner of your eye.

“And here I thought you were a fine southern gentleman,” you laughed. He smirked.

“I’m not sure if that’s sweet or naive, Y/N,” he chuckled. “But I’ll take it.” He pulled you out onto the dance floor again, and the limerick was forgotten in the crush of sweaty bodies as you danced. At one point Bones pulled you close, and you weren’t sure if it was to get you out of the way of some aggressive dancing, or a desire to actually hold you close, but your chests collided and you threw back your head and laughed.

“Tell me another dirty limerick, Bones!” You demanded, yelling above the thrumming bass. He shook his head, and pulled you against him so you could hear him. His hands stayed firmly at your waist, making you just a touch breathless.

“On the breast of a barmaid from Hale, was listed the price of the ale. And upon her behind, for the sake of the blind, was the same information in braille,” he spoke into your ear, giving your ass a swat as he recited it. You snorted and your hand came up to your face, embarrassed. He laughed at you, still holding you closer than was entirely necessary for the dance music.

“Come on now, you’ve got to know some really dirty ones,” you challenged him, leaning close. “Still waters run deep?”

“A pirate, history relates, was scuffling with some of his mates. He slipped on a cutlass, rendering him nutless, and pretty well useless on dates,” he offered, leading you off the dance floor and back to the seats you’d claimed earlier. You raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, that was slightly racier, but still not dirty,” you countered.

“You’re going to force my hand, aren’t you?” He shook his head, but slipped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close so he could speak quietly in your ear. “A frigid young lass from Darjeeling, denied she had sexual feeling. Till a cynic named Boris just touched her clitoris and she had to be scraped off the ceiling.”

You pulled away with a gasp and started cackling. “Oh my god, you are the king!” He bowed his head slightly and winked. You stood up, and swayed, before promptly dropping back to your seat beside the CMO. “Well, shit.”

“Everyone has a first shore leave on the Enterprise story, kid,” Bones offered. “You can still stand. You’re probably not finished quite yet.”

“I think I’m plenty finished,” you retorted. “I’ve had flavourless booze, stolen your scotch at least three times, danced with at least three hundred other people on this dance floor, flirted with my boss unsuccessfully and learned he’s the master of the limerick. I think I should quit while I’m ahead, don’t you?”

He laughed and leaned close again. “You haven’t been completely unsuccessful, Y/N,” he argued. “A fine southern gent name of Bones, met a fellow doc who gave him a jones. Shore leave came, and he’s flirting again, hopes tonight he won’t sleep alone.”

“Did you just use a limerick as a pick-up line?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. He winked.

“Chapel tell you lay out a hypo for your hangover in the morning?” He countered, changing the topic completely.

“What’s that have to do with anything?” You asked, curious why he was dodging the question.

“Maybe you should wake up with someone who already knows how to use it,” he suggested. You met his gaze and the same breathless feeling from the dancefloor hit you again. You blinked, and when you opened your eyes, he was still looking at you. “I haven’t missed that you’re interested, Y/N.”

“Well, that’s only marginally horrifying,” you cringed. He smiled and stood, offering his hand to help you to your feet.

“I might have been looking for the signs,” he admitted. “I should have realized you were a sucker for poetry.” He dropped an arm around your shoulder and led you through the crowd.

“I wouldn’t call limericks poetry,” you accused as you finally stepped outside into the fresh air of the clear night. “And I still think you’re holding out on the truly filthy ones.”

“Well, they get ruder with more alcohol,” he admitted. You stopped and turned to face him, narrowing your eyes.

“You aren’t as drunk as I am, are you?” You demanded. With the fresh air rushing through your lungs, you realized you weren’t as drunk as you thought you were either. “Wait, I’m not as drunk as I thought.”

“Darlin’, I’ve just barely started,” he admitted, a hand on the back of his neck. “I might not have wanted to forget this.”

“Oh.” You were at a loss as to what to say, and he leaned forward and brushed his lips against yours. “Oh!”

“Though it was inappropriate and remarkable sin, the doc wanted to lick each inch of your skin. Was his anatomy rusty, or was he just lusty? To find out, just let him come in,” he murmured against your lips.

“Okay, I’m inviting you in, but only if you stop,” you laughed. His eyes crinkled at the edges and he leaned in to kiss you again.

“Thank god because I’m running out of material,” he laughed.

[ashycollectorunknown-blog]

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