#these thoughts are not fully formed yet either but close enough ❤️

[rescue-ram]

Myth x Values = Power

I've been pondering this excellent meta by @deadendtracks off and on all day and it has given me many good thoughts and reevaluation of parts of the show that ticked me off and made me deeply appreciate the underlying narrative of the show.

Their meta is about the family myths of the Shelby family which holds Tommy as this powerful authoritarian figure, in contrast to their actual material autonomy, and the ways that myth let's them benefit from his efforts and travails while psychologically distancing themselves from the consequences of their actions, to summarize some very interesting and well written ideas in a single sentence. (Go read the meta!) It's using family myth more in the psychological/addiction/codependency sense of the word, but it made me think of a political theory my dad really dug, called Myth Power Value.

To again summarize some complex ideas in a few sentences, MPV tried to explain how societies, and their political elite, use cultural myths and values to justify and sustain their hold on power. A cultural myth is exactly what you think it is- American Exceptionalism, the march of history and the triumph of progress, legends of our noble ancestors, etc. Value is primarily virtues, like grit or entrepreneurial spirit, but can also be material. If I control a river crossing, that gives me economic power over the surrounding area, and the myth of my noble ancestors owning it for generations or the divine right of kings legitimizing a landgrant let's me keep it. You can use this to analyze politics in a couple ways- looking at people in power and "dividing" them by the myths they tell themselves to derive what their values are, or looking at political aspirants and what's important to them to predict and understand the narratives they craft to drive their rise towards power. There is A LOT more to it, but that's the summary salient to this meta.

Because thinking about Peaky Blinders through that lens was very interesting? And you can see it very clearly, even in the first few episodes. Tommy Shelby self-consciously cultivates myths around him, the unkillable man with a plan who's always in control, and a lot of these myths are deeply rooted in his ethnic identity. (I am being as vague as the show runners, manifesting evil intentions towards them for their absolute bullshit confusion of GRT peoples) Like his introductory scene is an act of mythmaking in pursuit of power, performing the "powder trick" to increase bets on his horse in a race. When his power falters he appeals back to myths, performing rituals to break curses, and in the logic of the show this is usually successful.

By contrast, his values are solidly and almost incongruously English, and upper-class English at that. He values money and power and the material signifiers of the upperclass status, he calculatedly but seemingly unironically appeals to loyalty to the king, and my read on his war service (admittedly, I can't recall what was explicitly stated or implied in the show and what's my own reading between the lines) is that he volunteered for service in the war to prove and legitimize himself as an Englishman- a "gypsy" Englishman, but English nonetheless. He craves the stability and safety money and power brings, and tries to acquire it by taking for himself the values of the imperial power.

Tommy squares that circle, and successfully combines the two in the acquisition of power- but in doing so runs smack into the English Englishman institutions of power. Their cultural myth is that, by dint of blood and breeding, are fundamentally superior to Tommy, and they have the material and institutional power to back that up on a life and death level, controlling and exploiting him. When Tommy plays by their values in their system, he cannot overpower them, and it highlights the incongruity between his roots and the values of the system he's trying to find a place in. I have to admit, I did not dig the increased political plots of the later seasons when I watched them, and took a long break because at a certain point it just no longer felt like the show I signed up for. But looking at it through this lens- the closer to power Tommy gets, the more intense the conflict and contradictions become, and he is physically, spiritually, and psychologically destroyed by it over the series- I appreciated it more. The show was telling a political story from the start, I just didn't pick up all the pieces at first.

It also gives me Thoughts about the longrunning communist subplot in the show, but they're not fully formed yet.

[deluxewhump]

The graduation hasn’t even happened yet, but could we have some snippet of roughed up Cam dropping into Cam’s couch to help him move in, and has a quick moment with Zee? (I’m sorry I just need Cam to wonder about his collar, but getting tired and reassured with just pulling Zee into a hug he doesn’t refuse either) please?

Alex’s Apartment/Cam whump

cw: boxboy universe, pet whump, cam getting essentially jumped 4/1, bruises, scrapes and cuts, beat-up cam, wound tending, past abuse (of zee), cuddling.

Not exactly what you asked for anon but  this is what I have. ❤️

****

Zee jumped at the knock on the front door. He turned to Alex, stiff and wide-eyed. 

Alex touched him on the elbow. “Shh.” he soothed. But he checked his wristwatch, also perplexed at who this could be at nearly midnight. Zee was left in the shame of his own overreaction while Alex went to answer the door. He drew back the deadbolt and cracked it open just a few inches until the chain lock caught. Zee strained to see around his broad shoulders.

After a brief exchange, Alex closed the door enough to unlatch the chain. When he opened it fully Zee saw it was Cameron standing in their breezeway, with a banged-up face and a backpack slung over one shoulder. 

He dropped it on the floor next to the kitchen table, looked around the apartment. He’d helped Alex and Zee and Alex’s brother with the moving, but he hadn’t been over since Alex had gotten the table, or the colorful rugs they placed over the cold laminate floor, the various houseplants they bought that Zee tended with care. It was still a little sparse, but comfortable. It looked lived-in. 

He saw Zee watching him, lifted his hand in greeting. The backs of his right knuckles were split and scratched.

Alex knelt to rummage under his sink, came out with a flimsy drugstore first aid kit. He started asking questions, turning on the bright overhead light and guiding Cam into a chair at the kitchen table. Zee inched closer, studying the bruise on Cam’s forehead, the scratch on his cheek. His lip was split on the bottom. 

“I was gonna bring you guys some grub from that place down by, uh,” he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Wherever that place was we got takeout the other day. Shit’s all closed, though.”

Alex ignored him, angling his face so he could apply ointment to the scrape on his cheek.

“Ah.” He hissed as Alex dabbed at it. “Jesus.”

“This is bad, Cam.” Alex muttered, wincing as if he could feel it, too. “What would it look like if we took your shirt off right now? Huh?”

“Not like much.” Cam’s eyes fluttered closed as Alex inspected the bump on his forehead. “Gave as good as I got.”

Alex was in rare form. He was usually all smiles, making light of things to make Zee feel better. He looked angry. His eyes burned with it, his jaw jumped. “What was it, four to one this time?”

“Never tell me the odds.” Cam said, smiling over at Zee in a way that pulled at his busted lip. He grimaced and stopped. 

“This is no longer just you idiots being idiots. This is fucked, Cam.”

Cam fixed his eyes on a spot on the table and went quiet, and Zee thought he wanted to be done talking about it. He understood that, in his own way. 

But he couldn’t help the sick feelings of guilt from growing like a weight in his belly. Michael and his closest friends decided to mess with Cam because of money. Money they paid for him. Yet he wondered if that was enough to justify this... a debt among people who once claimed to be friends. Somehow it didn’t seem right. Something told him there was more to it. That there’d been something about Cam they sensed from the beginning and never liked all that well. And when the winds changed, they’d been more than ready to turn on him, tear him to bits. 

Alex tried to tug up Cam’s tshirt. Cam swatted him away. 

“Can I just see?” He tried again, intent on assessing and treating whatever he could. Zee remembered the time Dominic treated his torn-up legs, when he’d lain bellydown on the bed and Alex and Cam sat on either side of him, soothing him. 

He wished Cam would be as good a patient as he had learned to be, had to be. Again, Cam swatted away Alex’s hands. “Fuck off, Al. I said I’m good.”

Alex straightened to standing, and the two stared at each other, each of their jaws tight. Alex tossed the tube of neosporin onto the table so Zee flinched. He walked past the sofa, swiped up his phone from the armrest and continued down the hall to his bedroom, where he shut the door with a quiet click. 

Cam sniffed, sat up like the movement hurt his ribs. He squeezed neosporin generously over his own hurt knuckles. 

***

Zee waited for him to get into the change of clothes he brought, to brush his teeth. He thought of offering him his bed. He could sleep out on the sofa. It was comfortable enough, he’d fallen asleep on it before. Before he could find the words, Cam crawled up onto the sofa, the side nearest the glass sliding doors that led to the balcony. He moved gingerly, like everything hurt. 

 Zee fetched a blanket off his bed, held it out as an offering. 

Cam reached out for it so he had to come closer to hand it over. There was a time that would’ve been a trick, and Cam would’ve used it to pull him close and twist his arm behind his back, simply because he liked to hear him beg for it to stop. 

He pulled the blanket to his chin, winced as he scooted down lower. “Thanks, Zeezee.”

He stood there watching until Cam looked back up at him. He half expected him to be sharp like he had been with Alex, but he just opened an arm in offering. Zee crawled onto the narrow sofa alongside him, laid with his back pressed to Cam’s body. Cam tucked his arm over him, adjusted the pillow so they could share it. 

He’d been sleeping alone these past few weeks, waking to the smell of coffee and Alex studying on his laptop at the sunny kitchen table or else going to his part-time job downtown. 

But this felt familiar. If he closed his eyes, he was back in Cam’s room at the house, the plaid blankets in the orange wash of the street lamp outside the window.

*** 

He woke to the sounds of Alex moving quietly around the kitchen- almost impossible as the only thing separating it from the living room area was the counter. He was dressed for work, pouring from the french press into a travel mug, his hair backlit by morning sunlight so it appeared white. He picked his car keys off the counter slowly, trying to reduce the noise, and glanced at the sofa to see Zee blinking at him sleepily from Cam’s arms. 

He paused, expression softening. He didn’t seem angry about last night. Zee would have been surprised if he was. That wasn’t like Alex. He looked over the two of them, just one bundle under a shared blanket.  He sighed. “Take care of each other today, yeah?”

Zee was going to nod discreetly so not to wake Cam, but Cam was only pretending to sleep, perhaps to avoid talking to Alex just yet. He stretched, and then pulled Zee even closer, nuzzling into the back of his neck. “We will.” He said, voice thick with sleep.

Alex locked the door behind him