#which is why i like hearing other people's opinions of me bcs my own vision of myself is very distorted. i couldn't tell u about myself even | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

allbeendonebefore · 4 years ago

Note

I was kind of under the impression that this is just a widespread thing in Alberta, especially because of the Angus Reid fractured federation survey (I cant include the link here, but you can Google it, its from January 24th 2019). When got back into Hetalia, I imagined the dynamics kinda changed to this, which would be pretty bad tbh. I hope its not that aggressive in Alberta, I will never be able to go check tho, too expensive :( I loved the bad french btw

i see you guys sending these asks super late at night and i wonder whether any of you sleep - idk where you’re writing from and i may be on the west coast but are you guys ok wherever you are? I just woke up but I have my tea and if I’m not caffeinated now I surely will be as I answer this.

I’m sure I’ve seen the survey you’re speaking of before and before I address it in any specific detail I just want to back up and re frame Why I’m Being Like This in regards to recent events and my orientation towards answering these questions in terms of Hetalia the way I do, because I think it’s the heart of how I answer.

the tldr of it is:

1. I have an opportunity to make interpretations of reality in unexpected and challenging ways, therefore widespread opinions don’t govern anything but my stupid gag comics in the simple sense that if everyone was represented by widespread opinion alone all the time, nothing would change and

2. if i can answer dozens of asks about ralph and oliver hanging out there’s absolutely no reason I can’t answer asks about ralph and jean hanging out, lol.

3. If you’d like a shorter, more concise “vision statement”, I have one on @battle-of-alberta here. (although now I notice the links don’t work on mobile so you’ll have to be on desktop for that one)

I’m assuming this will be long so cut time

(and yes, alas, the bad french is my legacy and I’m afraid it has not improved much although i swear i was an A student when i was actually taking it) (and no please don’t visit now, purely for pandemic reasons, it would be really expensive And you’d have a bad time) (and talking to me is free lmao) (I do not mean to say that you need to have feet on the ground to understand a place at all, i mean, at the moment I don’t lol)

headings because I say a lot

what even is hetalia

At the most basic level, Hetalia is a tool that can be used in a variety of ways. It can be for memorization, current politics at a glance or historical relationships in different settings. I use it for all of these things, of course, I certainly use it a lot in comics that take place in the much more distant past in @athensandspartaadventures. When I was writing that, I was in undergrad and AaSA was a tool to help me pass my exams, I didn’t think of how it might be read or interpreted by people who have lived in or experienced those places these days, or what kind of political and cultural tensions it might reveal. (Not to say that it has gotten me into sticky situations, exactly, but I am more aware of where things like that would arise now).

These days I look back on a lot of my experiences - both in IAMP/Hetalia and just as a person, and I think that if Hetalia is a tool it should be used with some awareness of intention and responsibility. Things in the fandom have changed as it became more mainstream and more well known and I think there’s a definite worry about screwing up or not representing Everything or not pleasing Everybody or not doing it Right. I have a simple, insufferably academic principle.

(That said, yes, you can still do it very wrong if you write a methodology.)

Still, it’s a comfort to me that I’m just doing the things the way I say I’m going to do them, and that is the underpinning of Inspired But Not Constrained By Hetalia. I don’t do things Himaruya’s way, I can’t do things the way IAMP would do them if it were running today because it’s not and things have changed, all I can do is do them how I would do them.

I have hurt people in the past because they sometimes couldn’t tell whether I was writing From an Albertan Perspective or not, and I’ve evoked some preeetty spicy comments over the last decade, and I realized that tone and perspective are something that really shapes how people understand and interact with my work and I’m trying to use that understanding in a conscientious way)

what even is alberta

So when you’re me and you’ve grown up in a province that is the Angriest in the country and the most Misunderstood in the country and the most Entitled in the country and nobody outside of maybe Saskatchewan has a good thing to say about you half the time and maybe you’re tired of that... you get kind of depressed thinking about how every year some kiddo comes on the internet ready to be excited about making or celebrating characters that represent themselves and No Matter Where They Go running into everyone else’s negative impressions first and foremost.

We joke about how everyone hates Toronto, though I’ve always understood it in a teasing way because I’ve never ACTUALLY met someone (outside of our current legislative assembly) who REALLY hates Toronto, but it does feel like I’ve encountered (directly or indirectly) people who do Genuinely hate Alberta and hoo boy is That a strange feeling. I mean, there’s an understanding that BC also ‘hates’ Alberta but half the people in BC are originally from Alberta so it’s a, uh, different feeling.

The story of Alberta from everywhere else is always the story of that Angus Reid article and the memes and comments and listicles that spin out around mainstream media. Alberta is giving too much. Alberta is getting too little. Alberta is too stupid to understand that equalization payments are a good thing actually, and Alberta is too dumb to understand you don’t really need EI if you make enough money in six months to own a house and multiple vehicles Just Because you own a house and multiple vehicles. Alberta is destroying the environment for everybody. Alberta has a huge concentration of white supremacists. Alberta is the Texas of Canada* and has the conservative streak and bible belt to match. Alberta should get annexed by the US. Oh, but Banff! We like Banff, though.

And like I said, politicians use these widespread feelings to stir up the sentiments of people who can’t afford to travel, people who are naturally suspicious of mainstream news, people who have barely even left their hometowns let alone the province and have no other means of validating what they hear, but people who’s emotions are genuinely tied to real feelings of alienation that really exist and HAVE existed for generations. And when the so-called “laurentian elites” in ontario and quebec make fun of them for being uneducated red necks, well, you hit a wasps nest and expected what, exactly?

what even am i doing

And like I’m faced with this question every day I decide to pick up my stylus and badger you all with unsolicited comics: do I want this to continue? Do I want to wear the mask that fits? Do I want to stand aside and say #notallalbertans #notlikeotheralbertans and stand over here on the island** patting myself on the back for not? being? there? Do I say yes, you’re right, and stand aside and watch loud mouth white supremacists co-opt wexiters and let them lead the perception of the province I grew up in just because that is what’s currently happening? Do I acknowledge the widespread sentiment and then pick apart every other province to say Well Actually You’re Equally Problematic Hypocrites, So There?

Obviously I’ve been saying no for a while. I’m perfectly happy to acknowledge the reality and when I draw stupid gag comics like this or this you can tell (hopefully) from my style that it’s tongue and cheek. When I draw less stupid not-gag comics like this or this I am trying to explore the Real Sentiments in a way that doesn’t completely polarize the issue and spin it out of control. I’m more of the opinion that even though Current Sentiments do get in the way that as personifications they 1. have some perspective and as people they 2. have some interest in not throwing out a friendship that was a struggle to build up every time the polls change or some new radical party seizes power. I do a lot of research and I want that to be reflected in my understanding of each characters deep seated beliefs and motivations, but I don’t want to let either the history or the current realities dictate the future if I am going to try to do that myself.

why even am i doing it for

So like really the heart of the matter is: I am writing what I write for my thirteen year old self. She was the me who moved back to Canada from the United States, who’s first introduction to living there was a hellish surge of nationalism after September 11th. Who’s defense against that was to hide behind a shield of Canada is Better, Actually and who returned to Alberta during the boom years to realize that, oh wait, the rest of the country thinks we’re assholes just like they think the United States is. Who spent her teenage years learning that, boom or bust, the widespread sentiment in and out of the province is just as narrow, shortsighted, self interested, and stubborn as her own fiction of What Canada Was Supposed to be Like. Who learned that propping up that image at the expense of her friendships was not worth it, that propping up that image at the expense of people who are suffering and dying under that image is not worth it. Who found herself rehashing the same sort of gut reaction defensiveness online because the Guilt and Apologizing on behalf of her province compared to others felt Really Heavy for a kid who didn’t have any clue what to do about it and was just there to have fun and learn some stuff.

So I’m writing for anyone else who finds themselves exhausted and saddened by coming online and seeing that the only way that people can imagine Alberta is as an antagonist. I’d like to challenge everyone to start to imagine it better. It’s my little “escape” from reality, and for me it’s much easier to talk to people here where the stakes aren’t as high and the grievances a little less personal.

I’m also writing (in a more secondary way) for everyone who’s ever looked at alberta from afar and wondered What is going On inside your Head and is it always This

(no comment at this time)

as always, I’m here to explain At The Very Least what goes on in My head because at the end of the day, that’s all I can do. And though there are some things that make me angry and emotional, I’m happy to explain why. Happy to answer asks or chat on discord or whatever, any time I have the time. :)

footnotes

*This is just a footnote to say something I didn’t want to interrupt the flow of my comments, but this is an annoyance that me and my Texas Tomodachi share lol

**You’ll notice angry Albertans online have a favourite tactic, and that’s pointing out hypocrisy. They can justify A N y T h I n G by calling another province a hypocrite “so there” (i.e. BC can’t claim to be environmentally conscious because of Victoria’s sewage problem or Site C) - and while I am interested in shattering the image of Alberta vs. the Perfect Rest of Canada a little bit, I feel like it’s a very lazy argument that is used to deflect and not to help. I think it is more useful to unpack the sentiment of Why Alberta Still Feels Taken Advantage of rather than mudslinging, and when the mud starts flying no one seems interested in addressing problems anymore.

#hapo rambles #hapo replies #hapo rants #yeah y yeah alberta #projectcanada #iammatthewian #pc: alberta #iamp: alberta #Anonymous #will i actually directly address the survey #maybe later but i have other stuff to do #you can remind me

4 notes · View notes

kae-karo · 6 years ago

Note

Hi Katie! I just want you to know that I want your analysis of this new sims video more than anything and I'll just patiently wait for it... Have a nice day!

hi dear!! new sims vid, did u mean dnp simulator?

dorks spending the first ten seconds dancing in fake snow

why virtual friends???? ??

my daddies gave to me y’all,,,,,,there’s knowing your branding and then there’s acting on that knowledge and i think this may have been one time where acting on your knowledge maybe was not a good call like ily and u do u and all but

i love phil loving his branding it’s cute also shoutout to @dnpscloset thanks for finding it (x) bc i want one now if anyone needs a last minute xmas idea i’m lookin at u mom u always wait til the last minute

same dan, same

‘we all have new faces and new lives and everything’s changed, this is gonna be hella dramatic’ *inhale* *exhale*

‘when u imagine the howlter family’ god they’re such adorable n sentimental nerds i love them

phil’s actual default is bein a leany boye

dnp arguing about what ‘desperate’ actually is as if the entirety of their first year after meeting they weren’t talking as often as they could five hour skype calls amirite

get away from me stalker lmao bold of u to say that danny

phil sweetie i love you with my entire heart he’s so so excited abt the virtual snow i love him

tiny zoom in jumpcut at 2:08 overlapping audio interesting

a mood and a half

phil immediately going ‘yeahhhhh thin walls family hearing things they gotta get out’ abt dab and evan like m8 we get it all u think abt is sex we get it god u and ur husband really are made for each other aren’t u (dnp = devan reference #1)

‘i presume evan is also jobless’ ‘i hope so!’ phil is it really,,,,,,smth to be excited about,,,,,,,

dan’s doin a lot of the hand phone lately u cute boy

we should have a redbull what is wrong with them phil can barely handle having too much sugar y’all thought it was a good idea to have a redbull also we should have a redbull they share literally everything which tbh is probs for the best lbr phil on a whole can of redbull hmmmmm yes ik it’s v possible and in fact probable that phil had his own can let me live

‘it’s a sensible lightweight jacket’ in the fucking snow wow dan u really did just set urself up for phil to drag u about not dressing for the weather

dan’s fucking laugh at 4:39 gives me life literally there is no purer and more adorable sound like that’s up there with kittens purring

‘i think he’s gonna be a bit of a diva in this relationship’ did you mean: dan howell (dnp = devan reference #2)

[slight bit of ankle is showing] dan: ‘and now you’re wearing shorts’

where’s the lie tho honestly that lil pause before he said mate

this clip will live in infamy bc i want this in every fucking phan edit for the rest of time like i can’t even think of the right out-of-context clip right now but anything that can be answered with phil saying ‘it’s dan’ i need it

youtube

mandatory phil covering his mouth and bein a cutie

yes destroy gender roles in the snow universe (although seriously dan’s ‘life is just about uncon-doing the horrible conditioning of all these gender stereotypes, phil’ is so important also i stan phil recognizing that before dan i think it’s really easy to forget that just bc up til recently he’s not been as expressive as dan of his opinions on how stupid gender roles are doesn’t mean he doesn’t have just as if not more progressive a mindset than dan)

‘it’s like a dan vs phil’ dnp = devan #3

dan has such a lovely singing voice i miss him singing

dude phil’s eyebrows are making a Solid appearance v expressive

i s2g this is a different moment from the one above he’s just so fricken cute???

‘but they’ve got each other’s backs, phil, just like dab and evan’ yeeeeaaaa i’m gonna go ahead and go with dnp = devan reference #4 here i think that’s fair

snow angels are the least fun thing to do and yet (x - it literally won’t let me put it in bc it’s a privated vid rip)

amazing they just started having a snowball fight how cute n domestic am i talking abt dnp or dab and evan hmmmm - dnp = devan #5

i get that infinity war was a meme but lads it’s time to let it go

‘and they’re called the howlters’ lmao as if u ain’t an honorary lester daniel (dnp = devan #6)

i’m living for phil’s excitement i mean if that’s what redbull does to him i’m here for it i guess?

hi they’re dumb this was cute

‘we don’t want to be those people, but for us personally, we very much found that you just need to just move into a big city of some kind and just jump into life with both feet’ this is not only adorable advice but also where dnp simulator comes into play aka we did this so uhh dab n evan should do it (dnp = devan #7) also dan speaking for them both singular pronouns are quaking

‘don’t trust that’ what on earth are u on abt phil what don’t u trust the fuckin desert or?????

scalyburg phil stop pls we know we get it dan’s a furry ur a scaly we got it

why does dan spend an entire 7 seconds (8:40) adjusting is he moving closer to phil? switching which leg he’s sat on? idk but it lead to me pausing at this moment which was a gift in and of itself

‘the deposit on that one, plus the weekly went would make us instantly broke, so that’s fun, us when we moved to london’ bih do u hear me crying

does dan remember phil’s first manchester apartment what kind of question is that phil have u met dan he probably remembers every bloody inch of that place i mean he did remember that there wasn’t a bedside table so

stop that

middle of the city, romance festival, geekcon, pretty views and cherry blossom trees sounds like dnp’s ideal location do u get why i’m calling it dnp simulator yet also dnp = devan #8

we don’t want to move next to the karaoke legends wow dan bold of u to say after belting helena at 2am real bold

phil having flashbacks to the apt they toured where they found out people died there

hi phil just looks so excited by everything

look i’m not saying anything except they’re managing to find a lot of similarities b.w their lives and what they’re doing for dab and evan okay like this apartment is great for people-watching? which is what phil did in his manchester apt?

context whomst? idk her

shoutout to the wardrobe

big bold life-changing steps

anon spitting truth up in this house (but like,,,,,my thoughts exactly lmao i was like they’re such introverts they would’ve avoided meeting their neighbors at any cost including apparently smacking into a locked door trying to avoid small talk phil we love u bab)

casually mentioning dan saying ‘we are dil-’ was he gonna say dil’s son, maybe but i like to remember the bloops of dan repeatedly calling dab dil so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

omg okay so from like. this point on, when dan’s like ‘here is my vision’, i’m absolutely getting queer eye vibes like amateur queer eye tho like two gay nerds trying to embody queer eye in their lives a bit oh wait

okay okay okay dan u said an ensuite bathroom and then failed to add a door to the bedroom do u understand how frustrating that is???????? do u understand how stressful it was for me to watch that whole damn vid and know that u forgot the door????

a space for hobbies what hobbies who has hobbies

they learned nothing from building their house before: phil should take the mouse away from dan immediately look at him he is such a sugar baby in this jfc

god dan is so cute get these idiots a penthouse apartment super high up so he can have his bath next to a window okay he deserves that in life

stop it they’re literally agreeing on almost every single thing god they literally share a single brain

amazing

leany boye

‘they are young adults moving into their first apartment, you don’t have art!’ okay first of all don’t even go there daniel second of all i’m sorry you’re the one arguing for spending literally all their money but u don’t want to get some art bc it’s unrealistic????

dan saying lovely

phil’s mr carpet

navy??? navy? when did they? why?

i would get involved in a criminal plot to have that / i’m gonna throw you out of one

wow pro tips makin a comeback

phil is Losing Steam

oh my god okay so i was joking but literally phil is losing steam lmao 18:35 he says ‘ayy’ and it’s so tired-sounding

leany leany boyes

okay look ik dan’s going into ‘aww poor philly’ mode but also he knew that very quickly like honestly that’s not a Thing i would ever notice about someone tbh i’m not saying it’s like Significant but damn danny was really into phil to know that shiz man

the high-fashion gigantic rug of our dreams

okay look i can’t make this up phil literally leans away for a bit and then

hello daniel’s Curl

i stan phil getting excited over plants

dab and evan will be having a mario kart fest will they (dnp = devan #9)

mirroringggggggg

dude big mood god they’re so fond and full of memories

honestly dnp made it that way like u cannot convince me they didn’t purposely decide to do that mmkay

‘see they are ready to have their romantic dinners. and then they can pretend they have another friend and it’s fine!’ am i talking abt dnp or dab and evan who knows :) (dnp = devan #10)

cold in the middle what on earth i literally have no memory of that i mean it could just be my shit memory but jfc they just remember that stuff goddamn

scrunchy boyes also phil where’s ur arm at hm

like i’m not fuckin joking where is it

you can’t exist without a computer i mean

what is important in life / the internet

they don’t even have fucking doors and dan’s like ‘uhm they need a terrarium’ dan i’m stressed

oh my god i’m sorry phil is so done with this now it’s actually comical

hi they didn’t add a door for the ensuite

give dnp an interior design series honestly give them any series

phil reached for dan’s hand u cannot convince me otherwise

‘not my personal taste’ really,,,,,really

when dab n evan hug dan looks at the screen n phil looks at the camera things u didn’t need to know but now u do

lmao jumpscared by the kiss

‘i feel like i’ve never nailed anything more in my entire life’ hmmmm hmmmmmmmmmm hm

the fuck was dan’s ‘getting a job’ that’s his fnaf voice u stop that

doon doon doon doon

tongue

hi uhm what the Fuck was that jumpcut at 28:30 i hate Obvious Jumpcuts with a burning passion specifically bc of dnp

#dnp #dan and phil #dapg #phan #danandphilgames #sims #devan #vid analysis #anon #ask #kt

344 notes · View notes

sternbagel · 5 years ago

Text

god I’m only about halfway through my main OC project and I’m already entertaining brand new thoughts for a slight AU. why am I like this?

like what if Sam sought her out after hearing about something in LA that sounds... familiar and then he finds out she’s alive??? And not dead in DC like he thought?? Then they have a reunion and she joins the Avengers? Like she’s still be relatively unknown by the general public because she does mostly intel or undercover work and was like Bruce in that she’s only called in when it’s necessary. And when she is called in, she’s got some sort of mask on

Then the events of Civil War happen and I can just.... man she’s be great okay

Vision: The Secretary of State is here.

Sandy: Where’s that fuckin soundproof glass cube you were designing for me Tony? I have some Things to Say to him but I don’t wanna get fired.

Nat & Sam voicing their opinions on the Accords:

Sandy: You’re both right. And you’re both fuckin stupid if you think the other is wrong. The only reason I’m here is because of people with agendas. The people in question are HYDRA, so you know how I feel about that. But Tony’s also right. This is gonna be done to us later if we don’t do something now. Amendments, people.

Tony: You’re a former spy—

Sandy: Exactly??? Like I fucking hate the government but I know how to play their stupid games. This could all go straight to hell if we don’t do the smart thing and change this from the inside out.

They’d probably have some argument about they’re turning the Avengers into their own personal SHIELD again and Sandy would be like “NOT. ON. MY. WATCH.” She’d probably end up going rogue with Cap’s team way earlier than Nat does bc she sees the potential for people dying and she will not let that happen again.

Sandy, after Bucky’s been apprehended and is about to go through his ““eval””: So, Sam, you’ve met him, been looking for him. What’s he like?

Sam: He tried to kill me.

Sandy: Ah.

Sam: Wasn’t in control of himself but still. I’m not sure I like him.

Sandy: Ever hear of Enemies to Friends?

Sam: I—

Sandy: Oh! Or Enemies to Friends to Lovers. That’s even better.

Sam: I hate you so much.

Sam called for Sandy’s help after the whole Bucky vs Everyone thing and she got them down the river safely & out of sight. She ends up going with them in the VW and is squished in the back; there are three large men in that small car and even though she’s small, it’s uncomfortable

Sandy: Can I sit in your lap up front Sam?

Sam: You absolutely fucking cannot.

Sandy, turning to Bucky: Okay then. You’re cute. How about Yours? If you scoot to the middle that is.

Bucky: Uh-

Steve: Sandy.

Sam, scooting his seat back slightly: Wait I wanna see how this would work.

Bucky, panicking a little: I could accidentally kill you-

Sandy: And I could kill you easily. You don’t scare me dude.

Bucky: Who are you?

Sandy: Oh right, you were unconscious for that. I’m Katara.

Bucky: ... w-

Sam: Sandy for the love of god shut up.

Sandy watching Steve kiss Sharon: God I wish that were me.

Sam: Which one? Steve or Sharon?

Sandy: Yes.

Scott: *rambling*

Sandy, immediately: I love him and I must protect him.

Sam: I’ve made a grave mistake.

Tony: Underoos!

Peter: *Makes his entrance*

Sandy: He got the Spider dude???? You mean we could have recruited him?

Sandy, circling back to Sam & Bucky after dissolving the webs Peter tied her up with: Oh. This is kinky.

Bucky: ????

Sam: I am literally going to die today. Just get me out of this stuff!! It came out of that kid and if I don’t get loose soon I’m gonna think too much about it.

Bucky, trying to free his left hand with his right: Wait. Oh god ew

Scott: Oh, I thought that was a water truck...

Sandy over the comms: I could have told you it wasn’t!!!!!

And holy shit if she was on the quinjet with them when Rhodey gets hit?? She’d start to have a panic attack watching him fall and not knowing if he’s okay then realizing that all her friends (most importantly Sam, who is just so important to her, AND she knows about his trauma and how that whole sequence will affect him) are definitely going to jail, then she doesn’t even know if her and Steve and Bucky will survive this thing with the worse super soldiers. So she goes to a secluded corner of the jet to calm herself down. Steve knows to kind of leave her alone, but Bucky doesn’t so he goes to find her and just sits with her and apologizes. She eventually relaxes and they go back to their seats and sit in silence the rest of the flight.

I feel like she’d probably find her way to Frank at some point during their 2 years on the run. And frequently send Tony & Rhodey little messages & gifts—mostly Rhodey bc she feels awful about his fall and wants him to not be mad at her.

And her and Wanda practice their powers and stuff!! And Wanda keeps her secret about what she does when she’s helping out Frank even though Wanda doesn’t necessarily approve.

....

Actually hang on. If she was allowed to do what she does, like Romania wouldn’t have even happened??? She would have been like “I’m gonna track down the ““““Bucky”””” on this video because this is fishy and that’s What I Do.” And she’d have found Zemo in a fucking heartbeat.

But they probably would have never actually found Bucky bc he knows how to stay off the radar and she’s only so good. lmao the only way they found him in the first place is because the entire world was looking for him specifically.

Anyway there’s... a lot that could happen there bc even though she is a chaotic bastard she’s fucking smart and strong.

But if all that stuff stayed the same but somehow she ended up in Siberia with Steve & Buck, I feel like she would have been able to subdue Tony somehow. Or gotten to Zemo at the same time T’Challa did. That’s really a toss up honestly. Either way T’Challa would have let her go.

#sandy stuff #this is a long ish post of mostly me rambling so don't feel obligated to click it lol #my posts #marvel

1 note · View note

your-iron-lung · 6 years ago

Text

No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross 10

aka ‘The House That Dripped Blood’; available to read on AO3 HERE

Story Synopsis: Some weird low-key occult parties start popping up that Steve can’t in good conscience ignore and takes it upon himself to investigate. Billy gets caught up in the consequences of his meddling, and isn’t it funny? For all the strange things the Upside Down has thrown his way, it’s werewolves that Steve has trouble accepting exist.

Chapter Word Count: 7927

Pairings: Eventual Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

Genre: Supernatural/Drama/Horror-ish

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

Next Chapter: 11

Notes: if you follow me you may have noticed i havent posted in a while- this is bc i spend all my time playing ffxiv instead of setting aside determined amounts of time to spend on writing/drawing and i have a bunch of artist alleys coming up that im ill prepared for and im terrible at budgeting UH YEP bad excuse but WHAT CAN YA DO here we are

(ive also set up a ko-fi account if you want to give drop me some tippy tips if u enjoy the word things i do) ((no pressure tho))

"Bigfoot."

Hopper leaned back in his chair; let it creak and groan under his weight until he knew it was at its limit, and then pushed it a little more. He studied the no-nonsense expression on the hunter before him, and intrinsically knew that the man was speaking truth.

"Bigfoot," the old man said again, speaking a little sterner than he had before once he recognized Hopper's amiable expression of disbelief. "I seen't him out in the woods just the other day."

The aging man had lumbered into the police station almost immediately after Hopper came in, bundled in some worn hunting gear that looked almost as old as he was. The deputies had offered to speak with him after hearing his initial claim, but they'd been refused when Callahan couldn't stop smirking. The old hunter had insisted on speaking with Hopper, who leaned forward now, taking the stress off of his chair to take a sip of the coffee Florence had brought in for him. He didn't look at the old man as he drank.

"So let me get this straight," Hopper began, setting his coffee aside to rub at his forehead, "you came in first thing in the morning worried about a missing friend of yours, but now you're telling me you're worried about Bigfoot."

"You know me, Jim," the hunter said, a slight hint of pleading desperation edging out of his voice. "You know I ain't some crazy old coot. I ain't seen Lamm in a long while, and yessir I'm worried 'bout him, but when I went out to his cabin to check on him I seen it: I seen Bigfoot!"

As incredulous as the claim was, Hopper believed him- not about it being Bigfoot, exactly, but he believed that the man had seen something out there in the woods, and it had the possibility of being that something he'd spent the last two weeks fruitlessly searching for.

Regardless, he didn't want to let the old hunter know he was taking him seriously. The last thing he needed was for his community to think he believed in this sort of nonsense, but people in town were going missing, and people he knew were getting hurt: if his only lead should turn up in the form of an old man believing he'd caught sight of an urban legend, then so be it. He'd follow it through, but he'd be subtle about it.

"You sure it wasn't just a trick of the light or something, Wes? You know your eyes aren't what they used to be," Hopper remarked casually, softening his voice to let him down easy. "And this isn't the first time Lamm's gone missing; you know he's one of those types of shut ins. Remember those weeks he was gone hunting 'vampires'? He's the kind of guy who lives in his own head more than he lives out here, he'll turn up again on his own time."

The hunter's lips twitched into a frown. "Alright, maybe Lamm is a little off kilter," he relented, averting his eyes for a second, "and maybe it weren't Bigfoot, but the tracks it left were huge 'n mighty, by God, and I ain't seen nothin' else like it before. If it weren't Bigfoot, then at the very least it had big feet, Jim, and I ain't never seen feet quite like 'em."

Interest piqued, Hopper became more attentive. "How's that?"

"Well, they was stretched out lookin', for one." The hunter paused, tilting his head slightly as he tried to recall the details of what he'd seen out in the woods. He held his hands up, spaced apart in an approximation of how long the prints he'd found had been. "Human lookin', almost, which is what had me thinkin' it coulda been Bigfoot. They weren't the tracks of somethin' native 'round here, and I only caught but the barest glimpse of it, but it was tall, Jim; taller'n you or I."

That sounded right; the prints he'd found and unsuccessfully tracked were, as the hunter said, 'huge 'n mighty' and matched the description of what he'd just been told. It didn't take an expert's opinion (though he had consulted one) to discern that the markings just weren't natural. Hopper set his mug of coffee aside and pulled out a notepad from one of his desk drawers. He uncapped a pen and held it to the page for a moment before writing down a few preliminary notes for himself on the top line.

The hunter cocked his head and leaned forward to look at what he was writing and said, "That don't look official."

"Because it's not; this one's just gonna be between us, alright?" Hopper said, looking up to meet Wesley's blue, watery eyes. He held the stare long enough to get his point across, waiting for a sign of affirmation before looking back to the notepad and pressing the tip of the pen to the paper. "Tell me where and when exactly you saw this 'Bigfoot' of yours."

The day was cold and grey at its start, with harsh, biting winds ushering in thick clouds that blocked out any hope of the sun ever making an appearance. Steve eyed the sky apprehensively as he made his way back to his car, wary of the way the clouds looked as though they might start dropping hail on him at a moment's notice. Billy feigned disinterest as Steve opened the rear passenger door and leaned in to shove the box of things he'd bought at the Hunting & Camping store into the backseat. Even with his vision obscured in part by the sunglasses he'd elected to wear, he didn't miss the strong look of annoyance that graced Steve's features when he came around to the driver's seat and entered the car with a pout.

"That guy give you a hard time or something?" Billy asked as Steve buckled in and put the BMW into reverse, turning in his seat to hastily jerk the car out of the parking lot. "Why do you look like someone shit in your cereal?"

Steve clicked his tongue. "He just kept asking what a 'kid like me' needed with a bunch of chains and rope and shit. My god, he just would not let it go, like he thought I was trying to build my own sex dungeon or something. Fucking annoying."

"You mean that's not what we're doing?" Billy asked, grinning a bit at the way Steve's face pinched up in disgust. "What'd you say?"

"I told him the truth; said it was to tie up a werewolf. 'It's a full moon tonight, y'know? Gotta tie 'em down or they go all crazy on you', I said to him, and you know what he said to me then?" Steve asked, speeding out of the little downtown shopping area Hawkins played host to and sounding every bit as gossipy as Carol did when she caught wind of a scandal.

"How the fuck would I?" Billy drawled, turning away from the conversation to watch the scenery pass by disinterestedly.

"He said, 'Damn fool kids will never learn'," Steve said, ignoring him. "'Damn fool kids will never learn', like, what the hell does that mean?"

Billy shrugged. "Who knows? As long as he accepted daddy's plastic then what does it matter?"

Steve clicked his tongue again in annoyance and rolled his eyes. "Fuck you."

Feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on, Billy declined to retort. They rode on in silence, the chains in the box Steve had bought clinking together softly in the backseat before the radio was finally turned on to mask the sound.

Regardless of whether or not Steve actually believed something was going to happen to Billy that night, he couldn't deny that the whole day leading up to that evening just felt… off. From meeting up with Billy earlier that afternoon to go by the camping store, to grabbing lunch together before heading over to the Henderson's house, it all felt wrong.

It was something Steve had difficulty pinpointing the origins of, but as they began work on clearing out enough space in the cellar for Billy to do whatever it was he thought he was going to do, he soon came to realize that the feeling of wrongness seemed to stem from Billy himself.

Few words could better describe Billy than 'annoying' or 'smart-mouthed', but he'd been uncharacteristically tight-lipped all day. He'd become a remarkably dull version of himself, and Steve wasn't sure quite how to handle that.

Usually one to argue and bite back at everything Steve said, when he'd begun dishing out instructions on how best to clear out some floor space in the cellar, Billy hadn't talked back to him a single time; merely lit a cigarette and blinked at him slowly, silently acknowledging what had been asked of him before getting on with it.

It was unsettling. Steve could almost say that he hated how submissive Billy was because of how used he'd gotten to the back-talk and smart-ass remarks Billy usually had ready for him, and though, yes, there were times he had wished for this kind of attitude from him, the silence and absolute subordination coupled with all of the other behavioral changes Billy was exhibiting were enough to set Steve on edge.

Billy kept tonguing the gaps in his teeth where they'd fallen out over the course of the week, and he never seemed to realize he wasn't alone. Sometimes he'd jump at the sound of Steve's voice, or shake his head and crease his brow in confusion when he turned around to see Steve moving stuff somewhere behind him, but arguably the worst part of it all was that he stank.

He'd tried to mask it with an overabundance of cologne that had nearly suffocated Steve when they began working in closer quarters, but buried beneath that was a hint of something that smelled awfully rotten. If he had to, Steve could liken it to the stench of the monster they'd encountered in the woods, but he chose not to, instead chalking it up to a severe case of nervous b.o. or something. The implications that the scents could be related bothered him too deeply to believe, and even then he wasn't sure he really wanted to know what the source of the smell was.

The stench of decay emanating from Billy's person was worrisome enough on its own, but with so much to do in order to get ready before sunset, Steve had a hard time figuring out where to primarily apply his focus: there were simply too many things going on for him to worry about one thing more than another.

The giant hole in the wall that Dart made to tunnel out of the cellar was his immediate concern, but Dustin had done a good job of hiding it from his mother by placing a tall shelf in front of it, essentially blocking it off. That didn't mean it wasn't entirely inaccessible, but Steve wasn't sure what more he could do about it. In all honesty, he'd forgotten about it until he'd tried to move the shelf aside and then found himself peeking into the eerie tunnel. He'd knocked over several things in his haste to put the shelf back in place, but Billy hadn't seemed to notice it, and if he didn't, maybe he wouldn't think to use it if- or when- he lost himself to whatever supernatural effects he was experiencing.

"Big if, though," Steve muttered aloud to himself. Turning away from the shelf, he looked over to where Billy was inspecting some old power tools, turning a nail gun over in his hands before setting it back in the box he'd pulled it out of. "So, are we good or what? This baby-proofed enough for you?" Steve asked, startling Billy out of whatever ruminations he'd been lost to.

Billy looked at Steve blankly, face impassive and emotionless. He frowned, and then looked around himself as though he'd forgotten where he was. When he spoke, his voice was monotone and devoid of his usual arrogance as he said, "I don't know, Harrington; is it?"

"You tell me, man, this was your idea." Steve watched as Billy returned his focus on the box of tools he'd originally been rummaging through. Picking up a hammer, Billy balanced its weight in his hands before gripping the handle tightly. Steve distrusted the look in Billy's eye as he held it. "What are you, a child? Quit rifling through their shit, put it back," he said.

Billy didn't reply or even acknowledge that he'd heard him. Ignoring Steve's demand, he stepped up to the abandoned work bench to splay his left hand out over the wood and lifted the ballpeen up.

"What the fuck are you doing? Put it down," Steve said again, his voice rising slightly in pitch when he understood what Billy was doing. He started towards him in an effort to stop him, but halted when the hammer was brought crashing down.

It missed his hand, but the force of the impact splintered the wooden table's surface. Steve gaped as Billy turned around, a cocky little smile turning up his lips.

"Someone could get hurt real bad down here if they weren't careful, huh, Harrington?" he said, a fierceness that Steve hated to admit he'd missed charging his voice. "But we've been real careful cleaning this shithole out, haven't we, pally?"

"You sick piece of shit, give me that," Steve snapped, snatching the hammer away from Billy's pliant grip. "Fuck you, Hargrove; you could've just said you wanted to move this shit out of here."

"Had you pegged as being more of a visual learner," Billy sneered as Steve threw the hammer back into the box of tools. "Your concern was touching, though, really."

"You're the one who came asking me for help, fuckface. Begged me, almost, if I'm remembering right. 'Oh, Steve, help me, I'm so scared of fake movie monsters!'"

Steve hadn't meant to rise to the taunt, but Billy's insufferable attitude had him stooping to his level as he hoisted the hefty box of tools in his arms and lugged them over to the stairway. Billy laughed dryly at Steve's mocking tone.

"We both wish that fucking thing had been fake," he said as Steve placed the box on the ground at the foot of the stairs beside the box of supplies he'd bought earlier. They were both quiet for a moment, their attempt at a conversation dying as quickly as it had been brought on.

"Only one thing left to do then," Steve said morosely.

Billy blinked and turned to face the stairway, eyes rising slowly up to where the cellar doors were propped open wide. Steve felt the guilt of having to lock him in prematurely and had to remind himself that he wanted to be locked in.

"Better hop to it then, Harrington," Billy said lowly, lips curling back into a familiar grin, but without all his teeth in place to flesh it out, Steve found the display to be more unsettling than annoying. "Let's get this sex dungeon set up."

Steve grimaced. "Not even in your wildest dreams, Hargrove."

"Nothing's off the table in my dreams, pretty boy." Billy breathed out a small laugh at the disgusted look on Steve's face, but the grin he'd been displaying slowly fell away. "Is it getting dark yet?"

"Uh, kind of, but the sun hasn't set yet," Steve replied, stepping up into the stairwell to check the status of the sky. It was as dull and grey as it had been all day, the overcast weather acting as a harbinger for the snowfall the local meteorologist had foretold was coming. "If you took off those fucking sunglasses you'd be able to tell."

"These are for your benefit as much as mine," Billy snapped, frowning suddenly.

"Yeah, okay, whatever that means," Steve said dismissively as he began to fish out the cords of rope from the box, letting them spool out onto the ground before gathering them into his hands. "How do you uh, how do you want to do this?"

"Aw, is this kitten's first time tying someone up?" Billy purred, not moving from where he stood in the middle of the cellar, directly under the light. "Who knew 'King' Steve's favourite flavor was vanilla."

Steve rolled his eyes as he brought the ropes over, wrinkling his nose at the mixed smell of rot and cologne that got stronger with proximity. "I've dated girls kinkier than you'd know what to do with," he retorted as he gestured for Billy to hold out his hands.

"Oh please," Billy said with a snort, "there are no kinky girls in Hawkins or I would've found them by now."

"You're obviously not looking hard enough," Steve muttered in response, gesturing again for Billy to hold out his hands.

Shrugging out of his leather jacket and tossing it over the work table he'd splintered, Billy held his hands up obediently and watched stoically as Steve wound the rope around his wrists, binding his hands together roughly.

"What's should our safe word be?" Billy teased, smirking as Steve wound another, longer length of rope over the original knot.

"There is no safe word because this isn't a sex thing!" Steve insisted angrily.

Flustered, he sighed irritably as he wound the long part of the rope around Billy's waist, hating how close he had to get in order to make sure the rope was tight enough, though Billy seemed to be enjoying how close he'd gotten. He kept shifting his weight around, trying, it seemed, to get Steve into a more compromising position. Annoyed, but determined to finish, Steve did his best to ignore Billy's constant movement and the disgusting, rotten musk that was wafting off of his person to finish tying him up.

"Why do you fucking stink so goddamn badly?" Steve finally asked with a scowl, repressing the urge to gag as he tied the ropes off into a clumsy knot. He stumbled away from Billy, reaching up to pinch his nostrils shut so he wouldn't have to smell the rot anymore, but the rancid scent seemed to have lodged itself deep into his nose. "You smell like a dead Calvin Klein model or something, holy shit, did you use a whole fucking bottle?"

The amusement Billy had held while taunting Steve left his face. His smirk shrunk into an awkward grimace as he looked away in embarrassment.

"I don't know, alright?" he admitted bitterly. "It doesn't matter how much I bathe, and between that and my eyes I have no idea what the fuck's going on with me."

"What about your eyes?" Steve asked hesitantly, unsure if he really wanted to know the reasoning behind why Billy had insisted on wearing sunglasses all day.

Billy faltered for a moment, hesitating briefly before reaching up and plucking the sunglasses off his face. With both hands bound together, he awkwardly folded the legs against the lenses and tucked them into the collar of his button up. He turned his gaze to Steve, who couldn't help but suck in a slight breath of surprise.

His eyes were so bloodshot they looked ready to start bleeding straight out of the sockets. There were hardly any whites left in the sclera to be seen as Billy winked at him, looking immensely uncomfortable at the way Steve was gaping openly at him.

"Do they- hurt? Or whatever?" Steve asked, unconsciously taking a few steps forward to get a better look. In the dim lighting of the basement, even the blues of Billy's eyes looked reddish.

"What's it to you if they do?" Billy snapped, suddenly irritable. He squared his jaw and looked away, unable to face the amount of concern Steve was showing him.

The worry Steve felt for the both of them in that moment grew stronger as he backed off, letting the matter of the changes in Billy's physicality drop, despite how alarming they were. "If I don't hear anything an hour after the sun goes down, I'll let you out," Steve said abruptly as he walked backwards towards the stairwell, grasping for the hand rail behind him blindly, unsure why he was so reluctant now to let Billy out of his sight. It was what they'd agreed upon earlier, and he said it meaning for it to sound reassuring, but the way Billy's lips twitched made it apparent he didn't interpret it that way.

Billy didn't respond.

"Well, uh, I guess that's it then," Steve said as he bent down, placing his box of chains atop the box of tools Billy had been messing around with before lifting them up together to carry them up and out of their man-made dungeon.

The cellar doors shrieked loudly as they were closed, a high pitched agony that erupted when the metal grinded against itself uncooperatively. Steve didn't mind that so much as he hated the sound the chains made as he wove them through the door handles, reminding him of what he was doing and who he was imprisoning as the steel rattled sharply against the doors. He winced at the commotion, but continued to loop them through the small door handles until no more could be fit between them. He tested their sturdiness by attempting to pull them open, and to his pleasure, they remained shut. The doors were secured; the cellar, as far as he was concerned, was now a suitable prison. All that was left of him now was to play the role of the jailor appropriately.

He stared down at his handiwork for a moment before the cold, blowing winds prompted him to seek shelter. Already a few snowflakes were fluttering out of the sky, flying into his cheeks as he turned away, re-gathering the box of tools in his arms and headed for the door Dustin promised he'd leave a key for.

Searching under the backdoor mat, Steve found the promised key, and true to the rest of Dustin's word, the entire home was empty, save for the cat that chirped a greeting for him from atop the kitchen counter. With a deep intake of breath Steve glanced at his watch, stepped inside, and shut the door behind him, wondering if he really was prepared for the worst. In the trunk of his car his bat waited for him, ready to be put to use just in case shit really did hit the fan, but he found himself questioning if he'd really be able to use it; bludgeoning monsters to death was one thing, but turning it on a boy he knew was only a monster figuratively was something else entirely.

For both his and Billy's sakes, he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Shrugging out of his thick coat, Steve set it down beside him as he took a seat on the Henderson's couch. He glanced at his watch again, dismayed by the fact that time wasn't progressing as fast as he wished it was and sat in anxious worry about what the rest of the night might have in store.

But at least he was comfortable and warm.

The cellar was not.

It wasn't the cold that Billy minded, so much as it was the anticipation: when would the transformation start? Exactly at sundown? A little before? A little after? Would he actually end up transforming? And why the fuck did the word 'transform' make him so damn uncomfortable? The unknown factors surrounding his circumstances were almost worse than any of the physical symptoms he'd been experiencing as of late, and he'd been experiencing a lot.

Anxiety wasn't something Billy had a lot of experience with, but it was the only thing he could think of that explained why his heart had been beating oddly all day. It was running at a notably higher rate, as though he'd been playing basketball or working out extraneously, and brought on palpitations he wasn't used to dealing with at the elevated speed.

In short he felt terrible. His whole body ached like it was going through puberty again. Both his arms and legs were sore in ways that mimicked the aches that came with growing pains when he'd had them, but he couldn't understand why he would begin to hurt in that way again. He hadn't had the energy to work out in two days despite eating practically anything he could get his hands on, so the soreness in his limbs was unwarranted. Either his body was preparing itself for the coming night, or he was having an incredibly drawn-out heart attack.

Standing at the foot of the stairwell, Billy felt the cold permeating in through the closed opening and moved away to find a better spot to wait. He wanted rub his arms to bring some warmth into them, but couldn't with the way they were bound. Already the ropes were beginning to dig into his wrists, rubbing uncomfortably against his skin as he realized he wasn't actually that cold anyway, despite the frigid weather; his body temperature had been on a steady incline leading up to now, leaving him with a rosy complexion and a near constant fever, the long-term effects of which left him feeling severely disoriented.

He could barely remember meeting up at Steve's house only a few hours ago to carpool to his kid friend's house, riding with the windows down in spite of the severe wind-chill as they went into town to get lunch and buy rope. Even though they'd ridden together, he couldn't remember now if they'd actually talked about anything or not. All he could remember were the low tones of the radio and the resonating throbs of the wind as it swooped in through the open windows, rushing to fill the audial space between them. It was as though his mind had been steeped in a fog, and he couldn't accurately think through it: everything was clouded over, incomprehensible, like waking up the morning after a bender and being unable to remember everything he'd done the night before, but knowing all the same that he'd taken part in some memorable shit.

Would there be pain, he wondered, and would it come on as suddenly as it had to the character in the movie he'd made Steve watch? Even though 'American Werewolf' was just a movie, stories like that had to spawn from some sort of truth, didn't they?

The dim little lightbulb that hung overhead flickered briefly, drawing Billy's attention to it as he took a seat at the work table's bench, wishing his eyes weren't a dry and sore as they were.

Coming from above, he could hear the muffled sounds of a TV show permeating through the cellar's ceiling. He couldn't help but think ill of Steve in that moment, but if their situations had been reversed, he probably would have been doing the same thing; he couldn't fault Harrington for finding a way to pass the time, though he wished he had something similar to do for himself. There was nothing interesting to hold his attention, and time passed at a dreadfully slow rate.

Stretching out on the bench, he laid himself down slowly, mindful of which parts of his back hurt the most, and gazed up at the cement overhead disinterestedly. He listened to the muffled sounds of the distant television, trying to conjure an image in his mind that corresponded with what little dialogue he could hear, but the rapid beating of his heart overpowered the noises coming from the TV. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing in an attempt to lower his heart rate, but it just kept going, pounding in a determined rhythm that seemed to be quickening with each passing minute. A bead of sweat trickled down from his scalp and over his ear as he wondered if the tingling he felt in the tips of his fingers was because of the cold or from the ropes being tied too tight.

He flexed his fingers, opening and closing his hands into a fist to try and bring sensation back into his fingertips, but to no avail. They remained numb, and the cause of which eluded him.

Frowning, Billy stiffly sat up and began to pinch at his skin, belatedly realizing that the numbness was spreading slowly down the lengths of his fingers, a sensation that sent a chill running down the length of his spine.

"Oh," he said. "Oh shit."

The pain, when he finally did begin to feel it, started in his feet. There were still thirty minutes before the sun went down.

Billy licked his lips nervously as he tried to get his boots off, his numb fingers and bound hands fumbling uselessly with the laces as the pain centralized in his toes and grew in sudden intensity. He was no stranger to pain, but this was unlike anything he'd ever felt before: it was sharp and stabbing, with each throb of pain stemming from the bones in his toes, as though they were growing more pointed in an attempt to pierce their way through his skin as they elongated. He could feel them cracking; each joint slowly popping free of itself as the bones began to push themselves forward.

"Oh, shit," he repeated, and could hear the muffled sounds of a laugh track from whatever sitcom Steve had turned on upstairs roaring in delight as he struggled to finally pull his boots off.

The stabbing sensation didn't relent, even once his shoes lay discarded by his feet. He peeled away his socks with shaking hands and stared down at his toes.

They'd turned a bright, beet red and were bulging like they might burst apart, his skin bubbling up around toenails that were already starting to peel off. He couldn't help the whimper as he tentatively felt them, a pain like touching a freshly popped, skinless blister causing him to draw his fingers back.

It was real. It was happening.

Sweating freely now, he reached away from his feet to brush his dampened hair away from his forehead as sweat rolled down the sides of his face. He paused when he felt his hair pull free from his scalp, clinging to the back of his hand stubbornly. Billy stared at the loose, curly strands with a horrified expression and reached up with a shaking hand to grab more. When he pulled, a handful of his hair came away easily, eliciting another whimper from deep within his throat. Disgusted and frightened, he threw his hair away to the floor.

Breathing quickly, he hastily rubbed his hands free of the loose strands in a panic and tried to calm himself. His whole body trembled as he breathed in deeply through his nose, wondering if he should try to call out to Steve to alert him that the worst case scenario was indeed unfolding. Another laugh track from upstairs came through the ceiling as he felt a sharp, sudden stab of pain in his ribs, prompting him to gasp loudly and curl forward over himself. He could actually feel some part of his ribcage shifting inside his torso as he tucked his arms in to his sides. Any lingering thoughts of trying to remain calm left him as he transitioned from panic to full on fear.

He stood up not knowing what he was going to do, but regretted it instantly: as soon as he put weight on his foot, his ankle collapsed in on itself and brought him to the floor. A shout almost came out with his fall, but he managed to internalize the pain as he was used to doing and grit his teeth as his foot essentially broke itself in half.

The central part of his foot that arched snapped without warning. Billy swore loudly and reached for his foot instinctively, wanting to hold the break in place, but he couldn't bear the agony that came with the contact. Warm tears leaked from his eyes, and when his other lateral arch also split in half, he couldn't help but cry out.

From up above, the noises coming from the television ceased. Steve must have heard him and was listening for him now, trying to gauge whether or not he should intervene. Billy clenched his jaw tighter, determined to keep quiet, but gasped loudly when two of his molars gave out under the pressure, snapping to the side and coming loose of his gumline. The copper taste of blood filled his mouth as he spat the teeth out, shuddering uncontrollably when he felt the vertebrae in his spine begin to pop, one by one, pushing up against his skin that was quickly beginning to feel too tight.

Huffing in great breaths of air, he panted heavily as the bones of his tones finally pierced through his skin, causing most of the flesh surrounding them to burst open like little balloons. Blood splattered across the floor in gruesome, miniature arcs and Billy finally, finally became undone. He shrieked, unable to keep silent any longer as new appendages could be seen inside the flayed bits of bloody skin, slowly growing outward, already a part of him.

Warm tears of pain streaked down his face in thick lines as the skin of his feet continued to be ripped apart, making way for more muscle, new flesh. He wiped at his eyes helplessly and thought he could hear Steve's voice distantly calling out his name, asking if everything was alright.

He blinked, his vision blurred by the tears that would not clear away as he pulled himself over to the stairway.

Shaking wildly all over, Billy stretched out on the floor, realizing belatedly that the waistband of his jeans was growing tighter and tighter. Hissing sharply, he cursed himself for not having the foresight to undress himself as he hastily tried to undo his belt. A pain similar to the initial agony he'd felt in his toes was beginning to manifest itself in his fingers as both of his hands slowly began to turn red, swelling up under the bonds of the rope as he fumbled with the buckle, desperately trying to get it to come free.

"Fuck!" he shouted in frustration, his clothing growing ever tighter as his body continued to bloat. He felt like he was being pinched in half with his belt acting as an unneeded tourniquet. "Fuck! Fuck!"

"Hey! Talk to me Hargrove, what's going on?"

Steve's worried voice trilled down through the cellar doors as he continued vocalizing his frustrations. Billy felt an organ in his abdomen shift out of place before popping, prompting him to groan and curl in on himself before he threw up. His couldn't undo his belt as his vision began to darken.

"Hargrove!" Steve shouted, banging a fist against the steel door. "What the hell's going on? Talk to me!"

"Fuck you!" Billy screamed, unable to articulate anything else as he tried to rub the blackness out of his eyes, but the more he pressed his fingers to them, they more they began to hurt.

A pressure was building up behind them the more he rubbed, and as it increased, his vision grew ever darker. He kept blinking, over and over, feeling his eyes bulge out of their sockets and against his eyelids, trying now to keep his eyeballs in place. He was hyperventilating when he finally went blind, the pressure behind his eyes becoming intolerable eyes before it finally came too much, and his eyes popped free.

He felt them slide out onto over his checks and onto the floor, the slimy, blood-slick nerves leaving tracks of blood on his face as he became totally and completely blind.

"No," he whispered to himself, retching again on the floor as he scrambled across the cement, trying to find the stairs, unable to see. "No, no! This isn't real!"

Beyond the cellar doors, Steve had his ear pressed against the slight crack between the panels, desperately trying to understand what was going on. He wasn't sure what to make of the noises he was hearing, unable to determine if Billy was just trying to mess with him or if he was in actual distress.

"Hargrove," he said impatiently, turning his head to try and peak in through the crack to get a glimpse of what was going on, "you gotta start talking to me, man; what the hell's going on down there?"

"I'm fucking blind," he heard Billy shout, his voice rife with fear. "I can't see anything!"

His voice was shaking as he spoke, and Steve knew then that whatever was happening was legitimate; Billy wasn't one to openly show weakness.

"Okay, stay calm," Steve stammered, but he wasn't sure if that was actually sound advice or not. "It's- it's going to be okay, okay?"

Billy howled, and Steve understood that the pain that carried with his voice must have been terrible to get him to shriek like that. He licked his lips anxiously, not knowing what support he could possibly offer him. He continuously opened and shut his mouth, words of encouragement dying on his tongue before he could manage to speak them.

And then, all at once, the cacophony of agony ceased.

Steve couldn't hear anything over the rapid sound of his breathing for a moment before he finally spoke: "Hargrove? Is… are you okay?"

"Hurts." Billy's voice, quiet, strained, and barely audible over the sounds of things (flesh, fabric) slowly tearing, sounded disconcertingly like he was speaking with a throat full of water. It was gargling and grotesque; completely unlike the smooth, honeyed voice he'd become known for.

"Okay, what, uh, what… what hurts?" Steve whispered in response, fear quieting his previously urgent tone.

"Everything."

"Shit," Steve said to himself, backing away from the cellar door panels as the sounds of something large and heavy being knocked over made him jump. "Just, uh, stay calm," he said, though he wasn't sure if he was saying it to himself or Billy. From down below, he heard Billy groan loudly before going silent again.

Steve's heart was pounding as he hesitated, unsure of what to do. All the details of Billy's haphazardly concocted plan fled his mind as he tried to think back on what they'd agreed to do if something ended up happening, and his first instinct was to open the doors to go down and check on him. He looked at the chains wrapped tightly around the door handles and bit his lip before crouching down and pressing his eye to the crack.

The overhead light wasn't bright enough to reveal much, but at the base of the stairwell there was a small circle of illumination. Steve squinted, ignoring the cold of the steel as he pressed his face against the door, trying to see all that he could.

Blood stains. Torn bits of… something he couldn't quite make out. Dark masses on the stairwell; lots of evidence that pointed towards Billy transforming, but no trace of Billy himself.

"Hargrove," Steve whispered, and then shook his head to clear himself of his cowardice. "Hargrove," he said again, louder and with more emphasis, "dude, you have to talk me through what's happening down there."

He waited, unconsciously holding his breath as he waited for a reply. It was steadily growing darker as the sun slowly sank, making it all the harder to see into the cellar from the tiny slit. Frowning and unable to see anything, Steve turned his head and pressed his ear against the door. From somewhere in the depths of the cellar he could hear something breathing heavily. It was moving, too; he could hear something shuffling, moving around the floor space cautiously.

When he turned his head again to see through the crack, he caught a glimpse of... something large and hulking cross under the light, tall enough to set the lightbulb swinging. He couldn't help but suck in a sharp breath of air, his lungs and throat burning with the sting of the cold weather. The thing- whatever Billy had become- halted just outside the rim of light. Entranced, Steve found he couldn't move as it emitted a low, threatening growl that sounded more like a man impersonating a dog than an actual beast.

From his limited viewpoint, he couldn't see the way the muscles in its legs were tightening, or how it had begun to crouch; he didn't have time to react as it sprang forward, jumping up the stairs in a single leap to ram itself against the doors.

The chains held the doors shut, but the sudden impact smashed the metal against Steve's nose and soon all he could smell was blood as it drained out of his nostrils. He fell backwards, holding his nose as the Billy-creature growled again. Horrified, Steve could only sit in the snow and watch as the doors lurched forward when Billy rammed against them again, trying to escape. The second impact loosened the restraints, and all Steve could do in that moment was watch as they rattled uselessly in place, beginning to slip through the handles as they hadn't been properly locked into place.

Cursing to himself, staggered to his feet and rushed to grab the chains, but as Billy threw his body against the doors again it soon became obvious that even if the doors stayed shut, they were about to pop free of their hinges entirely. Blood dripped down over his lips and onto the metal panels as he tried to think of what he could possibly do to counteract the damage Billy had done. In an act of desperation, he threw himself against the steel and hoped that his added bodyweight would be enough to keep them in place.

If it managed to do anything, he couldn't tell. Almost immediately Billy was throwing himself against the doors again, nearly bucking Steve off.

"Stop!" Steve cried out, grasping for the chains to hold them in place. His fingers scrabbled against the cold steel links even as Billy let out another deep, throaty growl. With the doors as loose as they were, Steve was almost certain the doors wouldn't survive another body-slam. "Give it up, Hargrove!" Steve said again, desperately. "Just- fuck, Billy, stop!"

He braced himself for another impact, but it never came. Eyes closed in anticipation, Steve blinked them open and exhaled shakily, his fingers trembling as he let the chains go. Crystalized air puffed out in front of his face over and over as he rolled off the doors and stood up unsteadily, trying to wipe away the blood that had already frozen over and turned to crust on his upper lip. Somehow, miraculously, his pleading had worked, but before he could take comfort in that fact, other disturbing sounds began to creep back up to him from down below.

Things were being tossed around; the metallic clang of old paint cans being bounced off the floors and walls mixed with the hoarse, angry vocalizations of the creature Billy had become made his blood run colder than the air currently was. The noises Billy was making were at once both animalistic and human, deep and throaty and more akin to the bellows of a moose than a man or wolf.

Steve stood in front of the cellar doors not knowing what to do. Already their plan was falling apart, and he was quickly becoming aware of how vastly unprepared he was to handle the situation. He wanted the security of the bat in his trunk, but didn't trust himself to leave the doors unattended for the length of time it would take him to run back inside and grab his keys to get it, but he felt so weak without it.

Another loud, crashing noise came from within and Steve stilled, listening intently. Faintly, he could hear Billy snuffling about, and after the sun finally completely descended, all was quiet. His nose was throbbing as he stood attentively, but when nothing more could be heard, his stomach sank.

With trembling hands and his mind screaming at him to stop, he knelt by the doors and slowly unwound the chains from the handles. The fact that he couldn't hear anything coming from within didn't sit well with him; he had to make sure Billy was still down there.

He tried to shift the chains as quietly as possible, but with how nervous he was, he had a hard time keeping his hands steady. They rattled noisily against the door, grating on his already frazzled nerves as they slid free. Heart pounding madly, Steve carefully pulled the doors open and took the first step down into the cellar.

It was silent. He couldn't hear anything as he hesitantly took a second step, mentally berating himself over and over for being stupid enough to walk defenseless into the lion's mouth. He had no idea what Billy was capable of now, or if he'd even recognize him enough to (hopefully) have enough sense to not harm him. The lightbulb that dangled freely from the ceiling was swaying, throwing its light around erratically, showing him glimpses of the gore that lined the steps.

Eyes wide, Steve gagged at the sight of the flayed strips of bloodied skin that were splattered near everywhere. He had to avert his eyes as he took another step, making slow progress as he was careful not to step in any of the mess. At the bottom of the stairs he warily peered around the walls, hoping he'd only stuck his head into the lion's mouth figuratively. To his immediate relief, but long-term dismay, there was no trace of Billy to be seen in the space of the cellar.

Exhaling deeply, Steve tried to even out his breathing as he came to stand in the middle of the room, looking around to assess the damage. As the swinging lightbulb steadied, he turned towards where the shelf that was hiding the tunnel had been and found it on the ground, knocked to its side and several feet away from where it had originally been positioned. His shoulders drooped at the realization of Billy's escape.

He went and stood before the opening of the tunnel and felt all hope of remedying the situation vanish. A numbness overtook him as he recognized his responsibilities of keeping Billy captive had changed; he was the only one who knew about Billy's circumstances, and he was the only one who could do anything about it now. Distantly, and much further away then he would've liked, he could hear the muted, labored sounds of Billy's breathing as he escaped confinement through the underground system.

The burden of his responsibilities threatened to overwhelm him in that instant, but instead of letting himself be overtaken by despair, Steve took a deep, steadying breath and rolled his shoulders back. He hesitated for only a minute before he took charge and ran in after him, disregarding his urgent need to turn back and get his bat out of the car. There was no time, he thought; no time to get a weapon, no time to get a flashlight. If Billy was now as the werewolf in the woods was, then he was capable of speeds greater than Steve could muster, and every second mattered. If he lost his trail now, then it would be lost to him entirely. There was no time; he had to go now or he wouldn't go at all.

Alone and unarmed Steve ran, chasing after Billy into the dark, cold tunnel, hoping he would be able to catch him in time, and dreading the repercussions that would come if he couldn't.

#harringrove #harringrove fic #billy hargrove/steve harrington #billy/steve #steve harrington #billy hargrove #werewolf!billy #slow burn #long fic #stranger things #stranger things fic

29 notes · View notes

thankyoumskobayashi · 6 years ago

Text

I just misread an earlier part of TGCF (CH.~41-50) and it said that E-Ming was rumored to have been made with the blood of innocents. However, knowing Hua Cheng, I wouldn't be surprised if that scimitar was made with the blood of the cliquey martial and literature gods who made fun of Xie Lian (and were subsequently murdered simultaneously by the demon king Crimson Rain Sought Flower). Knowing now from recent chapters how many boundless oodles of power Hua Cheng has, only a sword made from the remains of gods themselves would be able to handle that much strength without shattering under the power of its master.

And from the perspectives of the rest of the gods in the heavens, the ones who died were "innocent" because these gods don't consider "making fun of Xie Lian" to be a criminal offence. However, a certain idiot prone to falling (both physically & metaphorically) DOES consider that a criminal offence, one for which he Can & Will mete out punishment.

I think it's cool how MXTX explores reframing narratives through misunderstandings, mindsets, and cultural paradigms. This one event can be analyzed from multiple characters' perspectives: "Crimson Rain Sought Flower challenged all the martial gods and all the literature gods to a contest. Everyone except Xie Lian's former assistants participated and all of them lost their lives as a result of being humiliated and reneging on the wager." Hua Cheng, the one setting the wager and doing the killing, probably saw it as dealing with useless trash. Those gods themselves must have seen it as injustice. The newer gods in the heavens don't know Hua Cheng's motives, so they consider him capricious and dangerous. They regard him with fear, and attempt to pass along that fear to Xie Lian, who hasn't been to the heavens for hundreds of years and therefore doesn't know any of the news or gossip.

It's also interesting to see Xie Lian's opinions grow as he meets Hua Cheng first, then listens to hearsay afterwards. He gets to know Hua Cheng, and sees him as a carefree, knowledgeable, generous person who likes to joke around. Then he is told that Hua Cheng is a capricious and dangerous person liable to turn on you at any moment. His motives are shrouded in mystery. However, these rumors end up slam-dunked in the garbage by Xie Lian because he sees Hua Cheng differently than the rest of the gods in the heavens. Hua Cheng is generous towards and protective of him, to the point of actually fighting well when he defended Xie Lian against Pei Su and the snakes. He fought seriously that time, according to Xie Lian, not allowing a single scratch to land on the Flower Crown Prince.

The play that was performed at the Lantern-counting festival which depicted the blossoming romance between Hua Cheng and Xie Lian probably baffled some, but perhaps some of the gods now believe that Hua Cheng and Xie Lian are in love. I just realized this play might have been written by Wind Master, who saw those two get stuck together with RuoYe during the sandstorm lol

Anyways, I forget where this was supposed to go, but maybe it doesn't have a point so I can write whatever I want. Hua Cheng could have future sight which is why he warned Xie Lian to avoid Wind, Earth & Water Masters, Ling Wen, and the rest of the Heavens for a time. He could be haunted by visions of Xie Lian getting falsely accused & slandered again. We already know this is the worst torment to him, he admitted it during the dice game which was a ploy to test if Earth Master was the Reverend of Empty Words. After this each paragraph is its own idea. They aren't always connected, except through my own convoluted train of thought.

Even though Hua Cheng set his Divine SkypeTM password to something super lovey dovey and/or horny I bet he can communicate telepathically with E-Ming.

After Xie Lian gave Hua Cheng his bamboo hat when they were planting rice, I bet Hua Cheng was hyped up on "he gave me his hat to show everyone that I'm his" energy. He was probably annoyed that these lowly mortals were harassing his love about the Demon King's relationship status and sauntered over to say "I'm already married." But he was silently adding after that, "in my heart...."

After Hua Cheng denied that whole business about having a lover, Xie Lian smiled and told him, "you liar." Mind you, this is after that scene in the QianDang Temple where Xie Lian holds up the white flower that Hua Cheng once made a symbol for him, and asks "This is the flower you are pursuing, right?" Hua Cheng is under the impression that Xie Lian is aware of his romantic intentions towards him. So he goes, "yeah that thing about me having a lover is a lie. I just haven't won them over yet." Not realizing that Xie Lian is still hurt about the joking about marriage thing from the other day.

From Hua Cheng's perspective, that joke was only considered a joke to lessen (for him) the pain of not being immediately engaged to Xie Lian. He was probably trying to see if Xie Lian was into him or not, gauge how he was doing at winning his lifelong crush's affections. Since Xie Lian has been a depressed wanderer for literal centuries, the concept of getting married and having someone to live with must be something he fundamentally believed wasn't for him. Besides, there was that whole "being the laughingstock of the heavens" thing, so he probably internalized the idea that no one would ever want him.

Hubris was Xie Lian's tragic flaw, and for that he paid with his country, the existences of every place he loved, his family, his people, his temples, his reputation + corresponding godly powers, and most importantly, his confidence. He learned humility the hard way, and now hesitates to trust other people. These are mental health problems Hua Cheng can encourage him to overcome, but ultimately the hard work must be done by Xie Lian.

Another thing working against Hua Cheng is the fact that Xie Lian is so old. Hua Cheng is as well, probably around 790 years to Xie Lian's 800, but that is not what I mean by that. Xie Lian being so old means he's gotten used to meeting people, living with them for a while, and then moving on in life as he wanders away or they kick him out or something. He considers Hua Cheng's presence an unlikely yet welcome one, but doesn't expect him to stay in his life for very long. Unless this is addressed directly in words by Crimson Rain Sought Flower, I foresee Xie Lian continuing to act like Hua Cheng is an extended houseguest when the latter believes "I live here." Even if they do end up moving to another small shrine.

Speaking of shrines, Hua Cheng never promised Xie Lian to build him shrines but did anyway. In contrast, the humans who were saved by Xie Lian end up making empty promises of shrines and such. However, Hua Cheng not only built him a shrine, he made a huge fuckin' Sword Collection just to impress Xie Lian because of the one time he got lectured on swords by Xie Lian. I haven't reread that part recently but I know the gist of it was "swords don't seem like your thing so you should use a scimitar instead that'd work really well for you." Boom: 800 years later Hua Cheng wields a legendary scimitar, E-Ming. In the times when Xian Le was still around, Hua Cheng listened to Xie Lian on everything except "forget about me." Because that would have meant ignoring Xie Lian's earlier request, "make me your reason for living." If Hua Cheng had ignored that previous request, which was filled with genuine concern for his wellbeing, he would have had no reason to live and probably would've met a miserable end. But instead, he determined to follow Xie Lian to the godly realm - by becoming a god himself. Probably a martial god, too. He had to be exactly like his hero.

Speaking of being just like his hero, I have some thoughts on why Hua Cheng didn't accept Xie Lian's offer to live at the Palace. One might think it's primarily because Qi Rong would attempt to kill him again but I bet that was simply a minor extra reason. The main reason he didn't stay at the Palace was bc Xie Lian wasn't there most of the time, either due to Crown Princely duties or cultivation at the mountain temple. Hua Cheng, even as a kid, wanted Xie Lian to pay attention to him. Hearing "live for me" was probably as much of a lifeline because Xie Lian was paying attention to him at that critical moment, an equal reason I believe to the content of the message Xie Lian gave itself. "Being encouraged by someone you look up to is a wonderful feeling" is a message MXTX also put in MDZS, when Wei Wuxian encourages the Cloud Kids during the Yi City arc. And the timing of that encouragement holds just as much weight for Hua Cheng as having his hero give him a reason to keep living.

And that reason, as was evidenced by Hua Cheng's descent from godhood to becoming a Supreme Level Demon (I think they're the strongest/rarest type? There were 4 categories mentioned in the beginning. Below Supreme is Menace), is to become strong enough to protect the love of his life. The first thing Hua Cheng did once he crashed the Volcano Party to become the strongest Demon was challenging all the gods in the heavens to the wager and killing them once they lost and didn't uphold their ends of the bargain. He was full of the same wrath that Xie Lian was filled with during his second ascension- that time Xie Lian ascended to the heavens, started an all-out brawl in Jun Wu's courtroom, and then got kicked/demoted after like 5 mins. So people were making fun of Xie Lian after this event too, and Hua Cheng, filled with righteous anger that NO ONE in the so-called "just" heavens was standing up for the love of his life, decided to take matters into his own hands. (I think one of the two assistants in the beginning mentions Hua Cheng became a Demon Supreme after Xie Lian's second ascension and before his third ascension, but I just didn't remember it until now.)

If Hua Cheng was a meme, he'd be that "I've only known Xie Lian for 800 years, and if anything happened to him I'd kill everyone in the heavens and then Qi Rong."

Because he knows if something happens to HIM, Demon Lord Supreme, there will be a power vacuum and Xie Lian's safety won't be guaranteed. Ok so that's abt it. Sorry to everyone on mobile, I threw a readmore in there but you wouldn't know that as you have to scroll through all of this rambling.

#tian guan ci fu #time for my nightly essay #thanks to mo xiang tong xiu for writing her novels and everyone who takes the time to read these #you're amazing!!#spoilers up to chapter 114 discussed here

16 notes · View notes

bellamyblinkingrapidly · 6 years ago

Text

I just read a reddit post from 4 years ago:

https://www.reddit.com/r/asoiaf/comments/23p48r/the_true_nature_and_purpose_of_the_others_and_the/?sort=new

Essentially an idea that...

1. The Others aren’t pure evil & actually have a reason for rallying and coming South. They are the heroes of their story just as they appear to be the villains to us.

2. The Starks have a long history with the Others and the Night’s Watch. Somehow their story is tied up in the Night’s King, the first Lord Commanders, The Kings of Winter, and the Kings Beyond the Wall. Their words “Winter is Coming” are derived from this connection, and may not just be a warning of hard times but also a brag of their own such as “Hear Me Roar” or “Growing Strong”

3. Therefore, the Starks have a large role to play in the conflict with the Others, and that conflict will likely result in diplomacy.

4. The ultimate resolution will be about restoring balance to the world. Right now, there are extremely long winters and extremely long summers. The seasons are out of whack, and there is some kind of ancient magical reason for this.

5. Dany is Azor Ahai, and ultimately she will become dark!dany or more of a villain character.

6. The ice and fire threats are the Others and the dragons/those of dragonblood. But there is also the R’hollo to consider as well as some type of ancient ice god/force.

7. Jon is the song of ice and fire, and as such he will likely play a large role in negotiations with the Others and potentially Dany.

8. The wall may have first been built by the children of the forest or the others and not men as it is told in stories. (Generally the legends may be exaggerated and untrue). The Night’s Watch may have been originally an allied Others and First Men group under the Night’s King (human and a Stark probably) and his queen (other).

9. The Others reasons for rising and attacking may be that some form of the alliance or agreement was broken. It could be the return of Daenerys and dragon/magic, the widespread religion of R’hollo, Summerhall, Aegon’s conquest, or the long night’s return, etc. etc.

This post and its collective comments were written 4 years ago, so we have much more of the show to add to these original theories. Of course, D&D may have strayed from what GRRM will do, but they know the ultimate ending. It’s safe to assume we are headed toward the general right path.

There’s speculation that Jon as the balance between ice and fire will become the King at the Wall and take an Other as a bride. Some believe that Val from the books could be this bride or that Ygritte could be raised from the dead to become the bride. Either way, it seems likely if this kind of marriage alliance were endgame, then the bride to be would appear in the show before season 8. It’s also fair to point out that Jon’s marriage to any one - an Other, Dany, even Sansa, would be an imbalance of ice and fire. His blood is equally ice and fire, and any kind of child he would have with another woman would not share that same equalness.

Some telling things have occurred in the show so far...

heavy foreshadowing of a Dany/Jon baby & the boatsex scene

Melisandre interchanging the prince/princess who was promised with Azor Ahai

R+L=J confirmed

Bran returning to winterfell as the Three Eyed Raven

The Night King killing a dragon & resurrecting it for his army

The Wall coming down via the Night King’s dragon & also the Night King riding a dragon

lots of hints at a dark!dany plot and “fire and blood” mentality

building up Jon and Sansa’s relationship and specifically her ability to lead and be a queen/lady

the remaining Starks returning and reuniting at Winterfell

the Children of the Forest created the first Other from a First Man with dragon glass to help them in the war against the First Men (or that’s what they told/showed Bran)

the Children of the Forest helped Bran and the Three-Eyed Raven, while the wights and Others attacked them

Craster offers baby boys up as sacrifices to the Others and in return they allow him to live peacefully

Jon becoming Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch by being elected by his men and then becoming King in the North at the request of the northern houses

Jon believes they need the dragons to defeat the White Walkers

There has been no attempt at peace or diplomacy

The White Walkers attacked Hardhome a settlement North of the Wall

The Night King can see Bran even when he wargs & he can touch him even though he’s the Three-Eyed Raven

The Night King also seems to have a large interest in Jon

The Night King and his officers do not seem to be able to burn instead they create frost/cold as they walk

When a White Walker is killed, all the wights it created are killed as well

R’hollo is seen as the Lord of Light and in many ways life as well as flames obviously but shadows too. There is another god who may contrast him: Death. These seem to be two popular religions in Essos. While the Seven are still most popular in Westeros (especially by the Andals), and only the First Men, Children of the Forest worship the old gods.

So... if Jon and Dany have a baby... will it be sacrificed? This would be pretty dark and possibly hard to do believably bc like Jon wouldn’t just hand it over and also why would it be near the war?

If there is to a marriage alliance, it might make the most sense to join ice and fire - the Night King and Dany. Or to go with the old legends where a Stark married an Other. It may be Sansa who is married off to the Night King. It could also very well be that Jon ends up marrying an Other and becoming the King on the Wall, which would seem fitting. Again, though, this wouldn’t bring a sense of balance in my opinion. I don’t see Dany making it out of season 8 alive, and if she does, I see it as some sort of alliance like this one.

Perhaps there could also be an ending where Dany is defeated after she probably backs out on the deal with Jon and goes to take down Cersei. I imagine she would burn the Red Keep to the ground and at some point the Iron Throne itself would melt. (Although I always liked the idea of Sansa or Jaime ultimately taking Cersei down...) A deal is made with the Others, and they retreat. A Stark rules in Winterfell as King in the North/The King of Winter, and perhaps the Night’s Watch is abandoned or changed entirely. If it was part of the old treaty, it obviously ended up backfiring. (Also, in this scenario perhaps Sansa and Jon can be together because tbh that’s what I truly want). Maybe there is independence and Westeros becomes Seven Kingdoms who work together again, and this may be led by Tyrion who is a great politician but not a true leader or King of all Seven realms.

I think that Arya’s fate is the only Stark I am truly worried about... if Jon dies, I know it will be at the pinnacle hero moment which will ultimately make it worth it. He will have died/sacrificed himself because he’s the only one who could do it or something like that. Similarly, if Sansa were to die or be married off to an Other or something similar, I feel it would be her duty and in some way so befitting of a queen to sacrifice for her people. Arya on the other hand, her death would have less plot meaning. I think in general her arc has the least amount of plot meaning and endgame potential, so I worry she will die in battle. I’m sure it would be a lovely scene, but it wouldn’t probably have lasting impacts the same way Jon or Sansa’s (or also Dany’s) would. Bran I don’t think will die because he is the Three-Eyed Raven UNLESS it is important that the Three-Eyed Raven die in order to defeat the Night King/come to an agreement/etc. We still don’t know the full extent of his powers or his purpose yet, so a lot is up in the air for Bran. We just know he’s important.

I want to add quickly that Melisandre said she has to die in this strange country. I wonder if perhaps there is some of agreement/coupling or something that she as a Red Priestess will be involved in. She obviously still has a part to play, and seeing as I imagine that the second she arrives she’ll be marked for death, she will likely show up at a very pivotal moment. I don’t imagine her just popping in to give Jon some advice at a vision in the flames. It will be more than that and likely it will be magical.

The teaser of the map where ice and fire meet and almost form some kind of wall or mountain... it has always made me think that perhaps a new wall is formed at the end of this to replace the current wall?

4 notes · View notes

lazy-stitch · 7 years ago

Text

Ya girl needs very little encouragement to post things lmao, so here y’all go. (also, I’m really sorry if there’s weird symbols where the apostrophes etc are? I can’t see it on mobile, but on desktop it’s all over my posts... They only show up when I put a read more cut, but since this is so long I’m not gonna exclude one. I’d get rid of the symbols manually if I could, but they don’t appear when I’m editing the post. They disappear once you click keep reading tho.)

Title: sock slides.docx? Lmao it doesn’t have one yet bc titles are generally the last thing I do Rating: g+ - it is dumb domestic stuff with mutual pining, some cursing Ship: Scarlet Vision Word count rn: 6669 Warning: This is still a wip (and if I knew what to do with it, it’s like... only 2/3rds the way done?) and I make zero (0) guarantees I’ll ever finish it since it has been troubling me for so long. If I do, I’ll post the link to my ao3 I guess (tbh tho my user there is the same so I’m not that hard to find).

"You think they know there are live cameras all around the compound, even in our living quarters?"

Five pairs of dubious eyes turned from the computer screen to Steve. He shrugged, a sort of smile on his face. He’d only recently figured out Tony had installed cameras into the living areas of the Avengers Compound, so it didn’t hurt to ask – especially since he felt watching this feed was an invasion of privacy (it was a cute video, granted, but it just felt wrong to watch it if they didn’t know there were working cameras all over the place).

“Maybe they think they’re dummy cams?” Sam offered. He, too, had been a bit late on noticing the camera system, and it was only when Steve had asked about them that he’d been told they were recording everything. Considering how big the Avengers Compound was, which was comparable to a large museum, he didn’t feel ashamed that he’d assumed the cameras in the living quarters were fakes. At Sam’s side, Tony snorted and rolled his eyes.

“They probably didn’t think we’d check,” Tony said, because he knew for a fact at least one of the two in question knew about the extensive camera system at the Compound. He’d helped Tony install the cameras, which is why Vision knew the living area feed would only be checked if a problem occurred. There hadn’t been any red flags sent up while the rest of the Avengers had been on a mission, leaving Vision and Wanda to housesit, no. It was the fact they’d had the Compound to themselves. Natasha claimed Vision acted differently around Wanda if he thought no one would notice (and vice versa), and Steve voiced similar opinions that Wanda and Vision seemed to favor each other after watching simulation trainings. That had garnered the interest of the rest of the Avengers, new and old, and there wasn’t a better opportunity to observe them than on the camera feeds while all of the other Avengers were on a mission. They all acknowledged it was a bit underhanded, but, as leaders of the New Avengers team, Natasha and Steve did need to know how their team acted around each other. They’d need to know if Vision and Wanda were closer than originally presumed to plan for possible bad reactions if one got hurt.

Or so Natasha said before they’d silently returned to the Compound and entered the tiny security room to watch the video feeds.

The two drifters who rarely visited the Compound and had little to do with the New Avengers, Clint and Tony, had their own justifications to wanting to see the feed. Clint wanted to check in on Wanda after hearing whom her supposed favorite person was. Since Pietro’s death, he’d become a father figure to her, so Clint felt responsible for looking out for Wanda, especially if she ever decided to look for a romantic partner. He didn’t think Vision was a bad guy (far from it, in fact), but there was the question of if Vision had emotions. Clint didn’t want Wanda to get hurt. It was a bit hard adjusting his behavior and advice to a young adult from his children who hadn’t even entered their teens, but it was definitely worth it even if he accidentally overstepped his bounds every now and then. Tony just wanted to see how things were progressing with his self-proclaimed “robot son.” He felt at odds with three of the four newest Avengers. Sam was easy enough to get along with, but it wasn’t like Tony really knew the guy. And Wanda and Vision were on a whole different level of… everything. He wasn’t sure where to start with either of them even though he knew Vision should be easier to talk to than Wanda. There was just something that made talking to the guy really, really difficult for Tony.

“Boys, you're all wrong. They're kids being kids, and kids do weird shit when they're bored - and they don't care who sees. This doesn’t even classify as 'weird shit' because I'd call you a damn liar if you said you hadn't done this before - except for our resident fossil," Natasha laughed, swiveling around in the computer chair to face them. She’d claimed the single chair in the room immediately upon entering it, leaving the men to awkwardly scrunch together behind her. Rhodes and Clint were at her sides while Sam, Tony, and Steve were pressed together behind them.

"Okay, no, it definitely counts as 'weird shit' because pretty much anything involving Vision classifies as 'weird shit,'" Tony argued, pointing at the screen as Vision quickly appeared on it, barely noticeable red wisps around his ankles and wearing clothes none of them ever thought he’d wear.

"You don't know the guy 'cause you're rarely here, Tony. Vision is the embodiment of ‘weird,’ so this is normal by Vision standards. Weird was when Nat was teaching them how to swim," Sam countered.

“And when Tony drunkenly tried to teach Vision to twerk at that Stark charity ball thing,” Clint sniggered. Everyone but Tony had a chuckle remembering how Tony had nearly succeeded explaining why people twerked before Wanda dragged Vision away from him.

“Hold on, that wasn’t weird - that was father-son bonding time!”

“Anyone else smell that? It’s the patent Stark bullshit.”

"I just want to know how she convinced him to join her," Rhodes said, a bit loudly for his norm, wanting to stop the oncoming squabble between Clint and Tony.

"First of all, Vision rarely says no to things. Second of all - and this really negates the need for my first point - it's Wanda," Natasha shrugged, swiveling around to look at the screen again. On one hand, there was no chance she could blackmail Vision with this because he seemed to have no shame, but Wanda, on the other hand...

"... True," Rhodes agreed, holding his hands up in the air in defeat. Clint wished someone had a follow up comment to disagree, but silence enveloped the room as they watched the camera feed for the third or fourth time through.

"Hey, Steve… are those your socks?" Sam squinted at the screen, pointing at Vision's feet. Natasha paused the video since it was one of the few times the living room furniture didn't block out Vision and Wanda's lower halves, and Rhodes moved aside so Steve could get closer to the computer and get a better look.

"Yes, yes they are."

"Vis, come on. It's not like we're breaking in. The only time Steve locks his door is when he’s sleeping, and he only does that because Stark drew on his face while drunk one time," Wanda said, tugging at Vision's hand. He’d followed her willingly enough from the living room to Steve’s closed, but admittedly unlocked door, yet his stomach had twisted with each step they took. Vision felt curiously jumpy and had to stamp down the need to look over his shoulder as if the rest of the Avengers would burst into the living quarters of the Compound at any moment. He knew they were not due back until at least the following morning, and yet his shoulders were taut under his shirt and his mouth was dry.

"You told me that closed doors meant the room's owner did not want others coming in on their own free will." It wasn't a lie - Wanda had told him that. Vision just didn’t want to tell Wanda the real reason why he didn’t want to enter Steve’s room, though he wouldn’t be surprised if she could read his mood. He was feeling rather… silly, really, about the whole situation. Over the ten months since his birth, Vision had learned and done many things, but there was one thing that always seemed to elude him: denying Wanda when she requested something from him. All she had to do was turn her green eyes to him and give the slightest hint of a smile, and his systems always seemed to fail. He figured it was a fault in his programming (which was done by Tony, who could never say no to a pretty face, something Wanda definitely had). Not that she’d ever made him do something he truly didn’t want to do, just… things he normally would never even think of doing. Humans were very, very odd sometimes, but he did enjoy humoring them (especially Wanda, who came up with the strangest things).

Vision avoided looking at Wanda’s face after his comment and instead concentrated on their linked hands, knowing she was about to start pouting at him. He had, after all, caved in to her request and was already wearing what she deemed “appropriate” clothing for the occasion. Her pout would also likely mean his immediate downfall, as Vision knew he agreed to whatever she said after she pouted 96.742% of the time. There was just something about the way Wanda’s lower lip jutted and her eyebrows worried her brow that made him forget his misgivings and do what she wanted him to do. It was even more effective than her various smiles.

Vision’s eyes automatically followed his hand when Wanda brought it up to her face by her chin, and the corners of his lips twitched upwards as he accepted defeat. She’d brought his attention right to where he’d been attempting to avoid. Sometimes, he wondered if she actually knew his weak points or if she was just insanely lucky.

"Yes, but we're doing this in the name of science, Vis. Science. You love science. And, also, it's Steve. If he even found out, he wouldn't mind one bit. It's not like we're stealing any of his possessions. We're just borrowing a pair of his socks, which we're even going to wash for him when we're done,” Wanda paused slightly, and she continued before Vision even had the chance to open his mouth, “You won't get them dirty, but the floor might. And it’s common courtesy." Vision expelled his breath through his nose, halfway between amused and amazed. She’d done it again. It was hard not to question if Wanda ever read his mind even though he knew she never did without his explicit permission. She always seemed to know what he'd say before he said it. Vision had gone to Sam to question him about Wanda’s knack for knowing what to say and do, and Sam had laughed it off, saying that’s just how best friends were. There wasn't any real proof behind it, it was just something that... was. A soft, full-blown smile wormed its way onto his face, a warm buzz filling his chest that soon traveled across his whole body. He repositioned his hand that was caught between both of hers so he could squeeze one, completely ignoring the hum in his lips that could only be silenced by meeting Wanda’s cheek.

Vision really needed to look into his coding to figure out how to say no to all the absolutely ridiculous things Wanda got him to do and how to shut down the odd impulses he had around her.

"In the name of science, then," he said, artificial heart skipping a beat when a radiant, toothy grin spread across her face. Which definitely did not have anything to do with why he agreed to her schemes, no, not at all.

That was absurd as well as impossible for someone like him.

With a tap to the monitor screen outside of Steve’s door, Wanda got them access to his room. Vision bit the inside of his cheek when she didn’t release his hand and instead intertwined their fingers. It was a little awkward, since her hand was smaller than his and their vastly different heights made the position of their arms uncomfortable, but Wanda seemed as keen as Vision was to let go – which meant she was going to hold on until she absolutely needed to release his hand. Vision let her lead him into Steve’s room, but he didn’t peer around it in respect of Steve’s privacy since he’d never been in Steve’s room before. Wanda, however, apparently had been because she led him confidently to a chest of drawers on the far wall and dropped to her knees to open the bottom drawer. Vision had to lean over awkwardly to not let go of her hand, but it did provide him with a better view of what she was doing as Wanda immediately reached to the very back of the drawer. Though it was filled with white and gray undershirts, she pulled out the socks she wanted with a flourish and a wicked smirk over her shoulder. Steve had described the socks as “garishly wonderful.” Vision preferred referring to them as an assault on his eyes. The crew socks had been part of a five-pack of male Avengers themed soft, fuzzy socks, and Sam had gifted them to Steve on Steve’s birthday as a joke. The socks currently in Wanda’s hand were the Captain America themed ones. They were obnoxiously red, white, and blue to replicate Steve’s original costume from the 1940s, complete with little white, protruding wings at the top that were reminiscent of the ones on his helmet.

Vision’s eye unconsciously twitched. Wanda’s smirk grew wider.

"Are you certain I actually need to wear the socks? I can just copy them myself." It was futile. Vision knew it, yet he felt the need to ask anyway. The strange prickliness of his skin was back, tightening his muscles, as he stared at the socks instead of Wanda’s devious face. He, along with everyone else, knew Steve sometimes wore the socks “because they’re comfortable.” Vision felt that wasn’t an adequate reason for wearing the horrid socks, but he was never going to tell anyone, especially Steve, that. He’d learned that humans sacrificed comfort for beauty in social settings, and they sacrificed style for comfort when they were alone. Vision was glad he never had to do either, as he could make his clothes as comfortable as he liked while they still looked fancy.

"Yup. Science, Vis. What if your molecules behave differently than the actual socks and create a different amount of friction? You’ve never tried replicating something like these before. And besides, we already did the worst part of this - entering Steve's room without his explicit permission." If it was possible, Wanda’s smirk became even more wicked, and Vision knew that expression. He wondered what about it that made his systems come to a grinding halt (he kept files on all the smiles she gave him and what they meant, and this particular smile, in the top three of the “smiles that’d make him do pretty much anything for Wanda” category, meant trouble), though an easy answer was that he had a soft spot for Wanda when she did almost anything. It didn’t matter that what she said wasn’t exactly right or that she was asking him to put on those absurd socks – all that mattered was she smiled and he couldn’t dream of saying no to that smile, and because he wouldn’t exactly have to look at the socks if he was wearing them.

Perhaps now he’d learn why Steve wore the horrid things.

“I doubt that, if I could not copy them correctly, it would significantly change the amount of friction between myself and the floor,” Vision said, though he did not refuse the socks when Wanda exasperatedly shoved them his way. Completely and utterly defeated, he carefully sat on the ground next to Wanda, crediting all of the reluctance he felt to having to put on the socks rather than having to finally let go of her hand. He couldn’t help the frown on his face as he unrolled them and pulled them on his feet, barely resisting the need to voice his displeasure with them again. There was one redeeming factor about the socks, though – they weren’t too terribly small for him. Wanda had chosen Steve’s socks to borrow since Steve was the tallest Avenger, besides Vision, and was the most likely to have a similar foot length to him. Or so she’d claimed. Vision knew most of her reasoning had to come from the bright blue socks currently sitting innocently on his feet. A curious sort of heat was pooling in his neck and face as he stared at them, pout deepening at how they clashed with his deep red skin.

Vision’s attention snapped up from his feet when he heard muffled snickers. Wanda turned her face away from him, but her giggling, hidden being the sleeve of her sweater, didn’t stop. Vision’s head tilted to the side ever so slightly, assessing the sweater. It was navy blue and had previously been his. Pepper had ordered him about a week’s worth of clothes before she’d known he wouldn’t need any, but he did end up being grateful for them since having the physical copies allowed him to duplicate their texture. Recently, after Wanda had realized he wasn’t wearing them, she’d asked if she could have the sweaters. There was no logical reason to deny her, but Vision also couldn’t deduce why she’d want them. Wanda’s smaller frame was completely drowned in the sweaters, and the sleeves ran far past her fingertips. He’d searched the Internet for answers, but it just led him down paths he knew had to be false (he was not her boyfriend and she couldn’t possibly want him as her boyfriend - and he’d never worn them so, if he did have a particular scent, it wouldn’t be on the sweaters). Because of the romantic connotations, Vision hadn’t dared ask the other Avengers for a possible explanation, because he didn’t want them getting the wrong idea or to embarrass Wanda if they questioned her about it. He knew he could just ask her, but… seeing her in them and knowing he was the only one she let see her in them…

Vision clenched his hands into fists on the ground. The heat in his neck was building. He needed a distraction to stop overheating. His gaze returned to the vile socks that felt very strange on his feet. Vision had worn physical clothing before, but he’d never worn socks, let alone the fuzzy kind. The fabric was indeed quite soft, but he was still unconvinced the softness was worth the ugliness. Experimentally, he wiggled his toes, still trying to pin down why Steve willingly admitted to liking them.

By his side, Wanda almost choked on her sleeve. She’d started peering over at Vision as soon as she felt his heavy gaze, and seeing him wiggle his toes was surprising to her. He’d been taking things in stride, as usual, but the socks had been the one thing he’d nearly put his foot down on. Wanda knew he thought they were atrocious. His disgust at them rolled off of him in waves whenever he set eyes upon them. She bit her lower lip, a familiar, pleasant ache building in her chest because she knew he was only wearing them for her. She couldn’t believe he’d agreed to her plan – all parts of her plan. Wanda supposed it was only because they were alone, but she wasn’t complaining. She knew a Vision the others only got glimpses of. If the others could see him like he normally was with her, they’d understand him better, but she was selfishly glad he was taking much longer to warm up to the others. It was nice having him to herself.

Taking a deep breath, Wanda calmed herself, willing to risk looking back at Vision to continue their plans. She knew she wouldn’t be able to contain her laughter again if he was still wiggling his toes, but Vision was, thankfully, just pouting adorably at the socks. She concentrated on his eyes, trying to catch the way his irises rotated and how quickly they were going. Wanda didn’t want to make him do anything he didn’t want to do, and he wasn’t likely to tell her he was truly upset without some prodding. So she’d learned how to ascertain the minute differences in the way he expressed himself (and having an excuse to stare intently at his face was always a plus, she wasn’t scared to admit that to herself). The corners of his mouth twitched when he was overflowing with some emotion he was trying to hide, and his irises went counterclockwise when he was upset. Since neither was happening, Wanda rotated her body to face him fully again, flicking one of his bare knees.

“Stop moping. I’ll join you in the bad fashion, okay?” Though she made sure her voice was whiny, Wanda wasn’t really upset. She didn’t see why Vision disliked the socks because she thought they were fun – stupid, yes, but fun. When Vision looked up, a gentle smile replacing his pout, Wanda had to look away before her face could start heating up. There was something about the way his face softened from the hard lines surrounded it and the way the skin around his eyes crinkled that made her heart skip a beat. In order to distract herself, Wanda forcibly made herself concentrate on the socks, sticking her hand back into the open drawer to find them. There were only three remaining pairs since Natasha had started a prank war with Clint with the Hawkeye socks. So far, Clint hadn’t been able to find where Natasha had stashed them away, and he was determined to find them before they fell out during a mission, which had happened when Natasha started the war without telling Clint. Sam and Natasha had made fun of him, relentlessly, for days until Natasha found the socks in her own gear bag during a mission.

Feeling the little additions to the socks, Wanda easily found the Thor ones. The Hawkeye pair would’ve been her first pick, but as they were unavailable, she’d settle for Thor because there was no way in hell she was going to wear the Iron Man socks (and the Hulk ones just felt… wrong, all things considered). The Thor socks came with little buttons down the front, reflecting Thor’s odd armor, and had not only little white wings on the top but a mini flowing cape as well. Wanda thought they were cute, but the cape did make her wonder which pair of socks Vision would like better since he liked capes.

“Cape or wings, Vis? You pick since I’m making you do this,” Wanda asked as she closed the drawer and held the socks up between them. If Vision chose the Thor socks, she’d be a bit disappointed since the Captain America ones clashed so horribly with his skin, but she also wasn’t going to refuse him if he wanted to swap. Wanda narrowed her eyes when one side of Vision’s mouth curled upwards, irises rotating quickly. She knew that face, even though it was the second rarest expression he wore since he seldom let himself be a little shit. It made her feel better, though, because now Wanda knew, for sure, that Vision would enjoy himself, even just a tiny bit. It was also nice to see since he always denied his humanity, but it was an expression he’d come up with on his own without mimicking any other Avenger. One day, Wanda hoped he’d finally see and agree he was human enough. Until then, though, she was satisfied knowing he was comfortable around her and allowed her to see him develop. It was always the little things like these that made heat bloom in her chest that kept her warm for days.

“I prefer golden capes to red ones. I am perfectly fine with these socks.”

Scoffing and rolling her eyes, Wanda removed one of the socks she’d already been wearing, chucking it at Vision’s face. He caught it deftly, laughter bubbling up through his body. Wanda puffed up her cheeks petulantly, wishing Vision had slightly worse reflexes. It would’ve been nice to see him get nailed in the nose and try to shake it off, but she had gotten him to actually laugh (another testament to the feelings he denied but Wanda had buckets of proof for).

“I think you just don’t want to wear the little buttons on the front. He has silly armor,” Wanda huffed, shaking one of the Thor socks in Vision’s face. He batted it away, chuckling; Wanda bit her lip as she smiled back, acutely aware of how her face was heating up. Perhaps if they were normal young adults living normal lives, probably in a college dorm goofing off because they had no immediate deadlines, she’d kiss him. Maybe it’d be a peck, just to relieve her burning affection for him threatening to boil over, or maybe it’d turn into something a little more.

But they weren’t normal young adults. They weren’t college students messing around before they did something stupid. They were Avengers, and, on top of that, they’d never be normal, either. Vision was a synthetic human, and Wanda was an enhanced person. It was dumb to even think about “what ifs” because they were literally impossible.

Shaking her head to physically rid herself of asinine daydreams, Wanda quickly pulled off her remaining sock and tossed it at Vision with less animation than before. He caught it as she pulled on the Thor socks that were far too large for her feet. The heels poked out awkwardly behind her Achilles tendons, and they traveled farther up her calf than crew socks were supposed to go. Wanda pretended to try and rearrange the socks for a better fit, face burning but shoulders heavy, while she really just took surreptitious glances at Vision as he rolled her socks into a pair with too much precision. Perhaps it was the clothes she’d gotten him to wear that had spurned her stupid what-ifs that pulled at her darker thoughts (because if she was normal, then Pietro would be alive, as would her parents… but then again, she would’ve never met Vision, and though Pietro’s death still stabbed at her like a red hot knife – or, more accurately, searing bullet holes mincing her torso and arms – she felt more alive with the Avengers than she had since before those missiles fell on her home in Sokovia when they were ten). Wanda wanted to reach over and tug at the slightly unkempt sleeve of his white t-shirt. It was odd enough seeing him in a t-shirt and the same loose, athletic shorts she was wearing, but some normalcy could be returned if he kept his clothes unwrinkled. It wasn’t a bad look for Vision, just a complete 180 from his normal outfit of pressed sweaters and slacks. Wanda could see more of his skin than she’d seen since he’d burst out of the cradle, and she found herself holding back the urge to run her fingers along the vibranium that ran smoothly with his musculature.

“You do not need to hesitate, Wanda. You are not forcing me to do anything I do not wish to do.”

Vision’s voice tore Wanda’s attention away from his forearms. She looked sharply at his face, wanting to laugh. He was sometimes insanely good at reading her mood, but most of the time, he blundered around awkwardly while trying to reassure her. It was another one of his many endearing traits.

“Whatever you say, you big dummy,” Wanda said, rolling her eyes in good humor. She stood up, nonchalantly adding, “I still can’t believe you tried getting out of the socks but didn’t care about the other clothes.” She knew his aversion to showing off his body, one of the few negative things he’d developed on his own. His insecurity stemmed from his differentness, the vibranium and red skin with a texture only he could tell differed from normal humans’ (though that probably made it worse than if everyone else could also tell), and he’d adopted a style to cover up as much skin as he possibly could. Wanda knew he sometimes even avoided reflective surfaces on his bad days (which he, of course, denied to having, but Wanda made sure to play as many games of chess, Shogi, and other strategy games he liked best on those days). When Vision didn’t stand, Wanda nudged his knee with her shin, noticing how he’d placed her rolled up socks on the floor beside his thigh. Instead of responding, he looked down at his attire, using one hand to tug at the end of his t-shirt and the other to gently skim to lower edges of his black and white shorts. She couldn’t see anything but the top of his shiny bald head, but Wanda could feel that his pout had returned based off of the turbulent emotions twisting off of him. His mind started leaping chaotically from one thought to another as he went through logical simulations, but she didn’t try to enter it, instead waiting for him to come to his own conclusions to tell her. It was uncommon for Vision to be unable to come out of his thought spirals on his own, and she hoped she hadn’t unintentionally caused it to happen.

Finally, after two minutes passed that felt like hours, Vision looked up at her, brows scrunched together over his eyes like how his lips puckered. His irises were rotating in intervals, switching between quick and slow speeds, and Wanda felt a chill spreading down her back. She knew she had to diffuse the mood he was about to start drowning in.

“I do not understand. I thought you said this type of attire was required for this ritual?” Wanda looked at a spot right over his left shoulder to avoid his unintentional sad puppy eyes. How could she stop him from dropping into his funk? Mentally, she berated herself, because she had brought it up without even thinking.

“It is, I promise. You just don’t normally… It was dumb to say. I’m sorry, Vis.” Wanda hoped her backtracking would work, but she knew it was a long shot. Vision was almost as stubborn as her sometimes because he didn’t like letting go of some topics once they were introduced.

“I do not…” Vision paused, expelling a soft sigh through his nostrils. Wanda glanced at his face and winced upon seeing the corners of his mouth twitch. She immediately crouched down in front of him, shoulders sagging under an invisible weight.

“I am different.” He gestured helplessly at his body in general, not meeting Wanda’s gaze.

“You have not treated me differently, for which I am grateful, but—“

“Vis. Look at me,” Wanda interrupted him, not wanting him to complete his sentence. She frowned when Vision only glanced at her for a few seconds before looking away again.

“I apologize, Wanda, we should—“

“Vision, stop,” Wanda interrupted him again, reaching out as she spoke to grab his face in both of her hands to force him to look at her. His irises stopped turning counterclockwise for a second when he met her gaze. Vision gripped her wrists, probably to remove her hands form his face, but Wanda locked her joints to keep her arms in place.

“You’re not ‘different.’ You’re just like the rest of us. Skin color, hair color, prosthetic limbs, artificial organs – none of it matters. Bodies do not matter, Vision. They should not. How people live – theirs souls, that’s what matters. And you have a wonderful soul, Vis – the most wonderful one I’ve ever seen. You are worthy, okay? Even Mjuh… Mo… Thor’s hammer—”

“—Mjölnir—”

“—Yes, that, agrees. Natasha told me that none of them could lift it the night Ultron was born.” Vision blinked slowly at Wanda, and she was honestly stumped on if he took her words to heart or not. His face was blank, but his irises were rotating clockwise again, which was something. When he tilted his head to lean his face more firmly into her left palm, Wanda knew the storm had subsided. She brushed her thumbs over his high cheekbones, wiping away his invisible tears, before teasingly pinching his cheek. Vision winced, flinching out of her grasp even though she hadn’t physically hurt him.

“People are dumb. Ignore them and then tell me so I can kick their asses. You look good. You arms and legs look fine, Vis. And if you want a hug, you’ll get one,” Wanda said as she stood up, shaking out her legs. She didn’t take her gaze off of Vision’s face, though. It was still blank, but there was something about his eyes that she couldn’t place. It was happening a lot more frequently as of late, and she was determined to figure out what it meant. His spinning irises slowed to a barely discernable crawl, and his pupils constricted. The look always made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, but not in a threatened sort of way. If he didn’t have a perfect memory, Wanda would hazard a guess that he was memorizing the moment (or, as her traitorous heart thumped, memorizing her). Instead of trying to reflect on his newly developing behavior, Wanda just held her arms out, raising an eyebrow at him. Vision blinked once, and his eyes were back to normal. A gentle smile graced his lips as he stood up, leaning into her open arms. His arms were feather-light around her, but Wanda made sure to squeeze his torso with all the strength she possessed. He generally avoided her touch if he was feeling down, so it was nice he wanted a hug. It made Wanda hope that he felt as rejuvenated as she did after hugging him. Even though he never fully squeezed back, it felt nice pressing her cheek to his chest, hearing his heart beat, and being encircled by his warmth.

A relaxed silence fell around them until Vision tapped Wanda’s shoulder, his silent signal to tell her he’d had enough. Still feeling a bit guilty, she gave him an extra squeeze before letting him go, eliciting a chuckle from him.

“You are very good at… this,” Vision mused softly, gently gesturing his hand between them. Wanda caught it, intertwining their fingers again; she almost missed when his lips twitched upwards at the corners. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from beaming as her heart thrummed desperately in her chest.

“Not really – just with people I know. Clint is actually much better than I am even though he can’t read minds,” she said nonchalantly, leading Vision out of Steve’s room.

“Perhaps it is because he is just more experienced? He is older than you, and he has children,” Vision offered, squeezing her hand. Wanda shrugged, not too concerned with it. She wasn’t exactly a people person, unlike Pietro. She’d definitely help people in need, but she’d never been good at conversing and making friends with them. Pietro had been the charmer between them, always able to talk to someone even if he didn’t necessarily like them. Wanda absentmindedly entered the lock code to the panel to her room, which was right across the hall from Steve’s, trying to imagine how Pietro would have adjusted to life with the Avengers. He would’ve had an easier time talking and maintaining conversations, but he was still as guarded as Wanda was with his affection. Wanda doubted he would’ve been on any better terms with any of the others than she currently was; though, she also doubted he’d be on the same level as she was with Vision.

“Are doors an inconvenience to you?” Wanda asked without turning to face Vision when her door eased open. She needed a distraction from thinking about Pietro, and Vision’s aversion to using doors was an easy topic to latch on to as she pulled him through the doorway to her room.

“Since I can phase through walls, yes, though I am trying to use them more as per your teaching,” he replied, and Wanda felt the slight pull of his arm on hers when he shrugged. She rolled her eyes, tugging his arm teasingly.

“You say that as if it is a bad thing when it is just how most people need to move around buildings, Vis. I think I’d be just as inconvenienced as you are, though, if I could walk through walls,” Wanda mused, glancing over her shoulder at him. She hoped she’d phrased her thoughts properly to not accidentally push his buttons again. Twice in less than ten minutes would be a first (excluding a time Tony was over since Tony liked using nicknames that he knew grated on people’s nerves when he was in a bad mood). Vision just wrinkled his nose at her, making Wanda laugh. She had to let go of his hand when she walked over to her desk, rummaging around in her chaotic drawer to find two rolls of electrical tape. Vision was still behind her, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of his body but far enough away that she couldn’t accidentally jab him in the ribs with her elbow (which would end up hurting her instead of him, ironically).

“The goal with the tape is to mark our progress, since we’re doing science. We’re going to run down the hallway outside to build up speed to slide on the kitchen floor. Mark where you stop with the tape. You get blue to match your socks, Vis,” Wanda explained, snickering. She heard, and felt, him breathe through his nose in an almost-snort (since he was too polite to actually snort), making her snicker more until she finally found the rolls of tape. She’d borrowed them from one of Tony’s labs earlier in the week, and she had never gotten the motivation to return them.

“And what is the purpose of this clothing? If it was to reduce air resistance, which there will not be enough to make a discernable difference for sliding on the floor with socks, you would not be wearing that sweater.” He used his free hand to ghost his fingers along her shoulder, following the seam that held the arm to the body of the sweater, and Wanda wanted to lean into his hand. Vision rarely initiated physical contact with her (or anyone, really), so it was tempting for her to prolong his light touch. Instead of focusing on him, though, she pulled up the happy memory that had been the catalyst for her asking him if he wanted to slide in the kitchen in fluffy socks.

“It’s just…,” her voice trailed off, fingers tightening around his momentarily as she tried to remember the correct word in English, “It is something my father started. We always did it in our sleeping clothes, and we always had a competition of who could slide the farthest every other week.” Heat blossomed in her chest, overwhelming her to well up in her eyes, as she thought about her family. There was no pain accompanying the mental image of her father, clad in an undershirt and boxers, showing her and Pietro how to slide around on the floor; there was only a soothing warmth that had a bittersweet twinge. Pietro had always been faster than her, even when they were five and the sock slide tournaments started, beginning his reign of fearless leader of the two of them. He’d always assured her no harm would come to her, that he wouldn’t let it, and Wanda had always tried to remind him to think of himself sometimes. All the signs of his arrogant but caring personality had been there from the very beginning as he’d bragged about being stronger but purposefully let Wanda win most of the sock slide competitions (the times he didn’t were the few times he was upset with her for some reason or another).

#scarlet vision #scarlet x vision #Scarlet Witch #wanda maximoff #marvel vision #the vision #wanda x vision #mcu #avengers #stitch's fanfic

46 notes · View notes

shefollowedfires · 7 years ago

Text

In Defense of a Death Wish: Abby Griffin

(TW: Suicide, Depression) Listen, I was as shocked as all of you when Abby “Let’s Call It Hope” Griffin asked Marcus Kane to let her die. It came out of left field. It had JRoth’s brand of Shock Value™ written all over it. But... was it OOC? I honestly don’t think so. In fact, it’s my personal opinion that it might be the most refreshing evidence of character development (and, god forbid, an actual arc) Paige Turco has gotten to play with in far too long. Now, I gotta put a disclaimer, here - it makes me extremely uncomfortable to agree with, let alone defend the decisions this show makes for its characters, especially Abby. This season in particular was excruciating to watch as the integrity of her character was repeatedly brutalized. So, no, I’m not going to argue that I trust the writers, per se. And I’m definitely not going to argue that this was their plan all along. What I will argue is that they did, actually, piece it together with the help of a sleeping giant they found amid the landscape of Abby’s character: Just because she can see the light doesn’t mean she doesn’t know the darkness.

She’s often billed (sometimes by the actors themselves) as “the constant”, the one who steadfastly clings to her values and therefore anchors the rest of the characters in their struggles to find their own. But what I, personally, love most about Abby is that all of these romantic notions she preaches, such as her faith in humanity - they’re earned. They’re not flimsy declarations borne out of ignorance. They have weight because she has gone through her own struggle, dug deep into the worst of herself, and then had the courage to challenge it and pull herself back up. But my god, as a stubborn idealist myself, I can tell you - that shit is exhausting. There isn’t a whole lot to support a positive belief system in our world, let alone a world where apocalypse and the literal end of humanity are frequently the order of the day. So it’s (understandably) the rational choice to be a cynic instead - leaving people like Abby to be the minority. Being an idealist is lonely as shit, y’all - it takes an unfair degree of stamina to uphold, which I don’t doubt that Abby has. But having her ideals, her vision of the future, constantly challenged... you can’t tell me that hasn’t taken its toll. Here’s why: Abby “Hope is Everything” Griffin? She can be pretty fucking bleak. In 1x05, after the Culling has been carried out - she’s been alone in her cell, has had time to think, and... she’s come to the conclusion that maybe the gift of another chance would be wasted on them:

Then, perhaps most strikingly, we see this come up again in 2x13; where she’s come face to face with every sin she’s ever committed and the repercussions they’ve had on the next generation. She’s gotten a taste of what her legacy might be, and she’s not sure she wants it:

The heartbreaking thing about this episode (okay, one of many) is that if they’d just stopped with hers and Marcus’ miraculous rescue, she might have taken that as a sign that her faith was well-placed after all. But, unfortunately, this is The 100, so that lasts about a hot second before...

Sigh. Whatever faith she had in the goodness of humanity is run through the damn shredder, with her being directly exposed to the extreme cruelty mankind is capable of - from both sides - for the sake of survival. Season 3 is a little kinder to her, in this respect - albeit, largely because she just... wasn’t.... used.... I’m not bitter. But! Those three months of peace did her a lot of good. Not to mention she’s had Marcus by her side to be a source of strength for her that she didn’t have before - this is so important. And not only does he support her and take care of her - he’s slowly started adopting her beliefs. She has a fellow idealist! She’s rejuvenated by this enough to be able to face the situations with both Pike and Jaha, her own people (and even her daughter, arguably) turning against her, and still be a pillar of encouragement for others. But then. She faces losing Marcus, her support. And suddenly the burden of being the one to ��show them the way out of the dark” is hers alone - the weight of which she doesn’t resent for a second, but... that doesn’t make it any lighter?? And she’s been here before, but she’s been through so much more since the last time, and.... she’s starting to lose steam. So, we get this:

And like, Marcus ends up surviving, and he loves her, and all is well - but again, it’s for a hot fucking second, this time before she’s subjected to some of the worst of Jaha’s manipulations to get her to take the chip. From there, we all know the atrocities that she and everyone else were forced to do under ALIE’s control, and we know how much pain she was in when she woke up, but... I’m not going to argue that as being connected to my case here bc that’s just... yaknow... a natural response to the situation. So we’re just gonna go ahead and skip to S4 - because while yes, everyone was angsting hard, the show did make a point of showing that it might be weighing a little more heavily on Abby:

”We focus on what comes next,” Marcus says, reassuring her. And what, exactly, comes next? There is nothing more straining to an idealist than being forced to reduce their expectations. Back in S1, Abby might have had a vision of the future where humanity thrived, working together towards progress and a better world than the one they’d said goodbye to a near-century earlier. She might have nurtured prayers that love would finally win, that even the severity of life on the Ark would be a distant memory amongst the freedom to flourish that they’d find on the ground. They’d learn from their mistakes, and as early as to be within her own lifetime, she’d get to see the rise of the absolute best of humanity. Instead, she finds herself tasked with committing imitations of some of the worst things she’s found mankind to be capable of. The things that she herself has been victim to. The things that have chipped away at her spirit - she’s now doing them to herself. So what is her vision of the future now?

Instead of a bright, brilliant, innovative future for humanity to thrive in... she just wants to be able to take her next breath. Talk about shrinking down. This is a management of expectations that everyone this season has had to do, but once again, it weighs a little bit more heavily on Abby, because "your humanity is your greatest strength” - it’s literally the most fundamental part of her character, and she’s being forced to put it aside just to get to tomorrow. All while she’s in a strange lab on a strange island miles from anything familiar, working to accomplish an impossible scientific feat to literally save all of mankind. And she has brain damage. But because of the pressure of all of the above, she doesn’t feel like she has the time or energy to deal with it; and in pushing forward, she isolates herself from those who might have been a support to her. The task at hand, ethically-ambiguous as it is, becomes the only thing that matters, above even minimal self-care like, yaknow, sleeping. Because of The Cause™. And then she starts saying shit like this:

Like..... when Clarke “I Am Become Death” Griffin is like “EASY THERE, EDGELORD”...... you know things are bad. But then, after all of her sacrifice - the all-important Cause turns out to be a loss. The serum doesn’t work. An innocent man dies horrifically. She’s been completely betrayed by her goal. And then The Cause brings death to hang low over her daughter’s life - and Abby suddenly breaks. So, too, does her faith in the future. Her faith in humanity. Her faith in herself. What does she have left? With 4x11 comes an opportunity for her to come back to herself; if she can rescue Marcus, she can “do better than you did yesterday”. She can give a future to the innocent Grounders they’d selfishly locked out. Maybe there’s still peace to be found between all their peoples. Maybe doing the right thing is still possible. Only.... doing the right thing ends up sending 364 people to their deaths. Now, at this point, I’m gonna come back to the brain damage and just say that I absolutely think it was a huge fucking part of why she wanted to sacrifice herself. Why would she waste a spot if she’s only going to die in a few weeks anyway? Only - at the beginning of 4x12, long before Abby makes her decision, Raven tells her that death isn’t imminent, after all. There’s a cure. But Abby isn’t interested in pursuing it; still keeps Marcus in the dark about it. She sends her daughter out on a doomed mission, and her goodbye feels final. This is where we finally arrive at The Scene. If you trace back through all of the examples I’ve laid out, here, the language Abby uses suddenly makes sense: - “Is it right, Marcus?” - “The things I let myself do in that lab...” - Why “we will find our humanity again” wasn’t enough This isn’t the language of someone nobly covering up their illness - this is a very raw, very honest Abby. And the line that strikes me hardest is this:

This, to me, is the key to this shocking, “out of the blue” decision. Being Abby Griffin used to mean something; but the continual sacrifice of her humanity, her most core value, has taken its toll. She doesn’t know how to steer herself without it. She doesn’t know where she’s even headed, and if she really wants to go there. She’s fucking tired. And even if it does end up being a positive future, she has thoroughly convinced herself over the course of four seasons that she really doesn’t deserve to see it. But. There’s so much more to Abby than disillusionment - as I know you’ve quietly been arguing at me in your head while reading this post. Trust me, I hear you. Our girl is resilient as fuck. She always picks herself back up. And she’s going to do it again - but now that she’s hit rock bottom, it might take her a little while longer. And frankly, I do actually hope it’s a primary thread in her S5 arc?? I’m excited to see that journey play out as the quest to rebuild humanity gets a fresh start. Its already been suggested that S5 is going to center around a theme of whether or not humanity deserves that chance; and I would be so fucking thrilled if Abby got to be at the heart of that, from the perspective of someone who was once a believer who now needs to have her old faith restored. I’m excited to see Marcus be instrumental in that, swapping roles to take up the mantle of being the idealist in that relationship. I’m excited to see how it shapes her relationship with Clarke, who has now spent years nurturing hope for the sake of a “daughter” of her own. I’m excited to see other people support her the way she’s supported them. It’s going to be different. It’s going to be challenging. It’s going to be beautiful. We’re going to get to watch Abby Griffin come back to life.

#long post is LONG #but there are gifs!#does this even make sense #idek anymore #but i've been sitting on these feelings since 4x12 aired and they needed to come out #abby griffin #the 100 meta #the 100 #kabby #meta #kabby meta #kane x abby #paige turco

137 notes · View notes

pamphletstoinspire · 5 years ago

Photo

God and Mammon: The 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time

As Jesus continues his “death march” to Jerusalem in Luke’s Gospel (Luke 9–19), he challenges us this Sunday to choose, in a clear and conscious way, our goal in life: God or money. The First Reading reminds us that wealth was a seductive trap for the people of God throughout salvation history.

1. The First Reading is Amos 8:4-7:

Hear this, you who trample upon the needy and destroy the poor of the land! “When will the new moon be over,” you ask, “that we may sell our grain, and the sabbath, that we may display the wheat? We will diminish the ephah, add to the shekel, and fix our scales for cheating! We will buy the lowly for silver, and the poor for a pair of sandals; even the refuse of the wheat we will sell!” The LORD has sworn by the pride of Jacob: Never will I forget a thing they have done!

Amos is often thought to be the earliest of all the literary (writing) prophets, since his relatively short ministry probably fell in the decade 770-760 BC. Amos 1:1 dates his prophecy to “two years before the earthquake” during the reigns of Uzziah of Judah and Jeroboam II of Israel, an event that archeologists now estimate at c. 760 BC, ±25 yrs. This would probably place his ministry just prior to Hosea’s longer career (c. 750-725BC).

Amos, like Hosea, prophesied to northern Israel; but unlike Hosea, Amos was not a northerner himself. He was a Judean from Tekoa, a village to the south of Jerusalem, an agricultural worker who raised sheep and tended an orchard of sycamore-figs (Amos 7:14). He was called by God to preach judgment to northern Israel at a time when that nation was wealthy, arrogant, and oppressive to their southern neighbors. Amos clearly distances himself from the professional prophets who learned prophesying from their fathers and practiced it as a kind of family trade (see Amos 7:12-14). He was not motivated by a desire to earn a living, but was impelled by a genuine commission from God (7:15).

This Sunday’s First Reading is a portion of the fourth of a series of five visions (7:1–9:8) of divine judgment that constitute the last major section of the book. After an oracle of judgment against Amaziah the unrighteous priest (7:16-17), Amos sees a “basket of summer fruit (Heb. qāyîtz),” which indicates that the “end (Heb. qētz) has come for my people Israel” (8:1-3). Wailing, mourning, death, and a famine of God’s word will come on Israel, because of the abuse of the poor (8:4-7) and worship of false gods (8:13-14).

A striking feature of this First Reading is the way these ancient Israelite merchants regard religion as an impediment to profit. “When will the Sabbath be over, that we may display our wheat?” The Sabbath, which God gave to man as a beautiful day of rest, to be enjoyed with family, friends, and God Himself, is now seen as a burden and restraint to the pursuit of profit.

As Catholics we often forget that observance of the Sabbath (in the New Covenant, shifted to the first day of the week, the Lord’s Day) is still part of the Ten Commandments and obligatory for Christians. Although many of us live in nominally “Christian” cultures, respect for the Lord’s Day has been all but lost, and instead commerce and retail proceed on the Lord’s day of rest and worship as on every other day. Folks head from Mass to the grocery store, not thinking that this practice supports retailers being open on Sunday, therefore requiring their minimum-wage employees (the poor) to be there and labor on what should be a day of rest and worship for all. The consequences for Christian culture are tragic, because there remains, then, no one day of rest when persons have the freedom to worship and spend time in quiet with God and family together. As a Church, we cannot restore a Christian culture without re-establishing a respect — at least among Christians! — for the rest that is appropriate to the Lord’s Day.

Amos is best remembered in the Jewish and Christian tradition as a preacher of justice who was unafraid to publically rebuke the wealthy elite of his day, whose hypocritical and syncretistic religious practices did nothing to alleviate the guilt of their social and economic abuse of the poor. Amos composed his prophesies in simple yet vivid poetry, as in this much-quoted oracle:

“I hate, I despise your feasts, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and cereal offerings, I will not accept them, and the peace offerings of your fatted beasts I will not look upon. Take away from me the noise of your songs; to the melody of your harps I will not listen. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream!

Even today Amos’ words remind Christian believers that external observance of the Church’s rituals does not excuse or justify lifestyles of self-indulgence and indifference to the poor and needy.

2. Our Second Reading is 1 Timothy 2:1-8:

Beloved: First of all, I ask that supplications, prayers, petitions, and thanksgivings be offered for everyone, for kings and for all in authority, that we may lead a quiet and tranquil life in all devotion and dignity. This is good and pleasing to God our savior, who wills everyone to be saved and to come to knowledge of the truth. For there is one God. There is also one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus, who gave himself as ransom for all. This was the testimony at the proper time. For this I was appointed preacher and apostle — I am speaking the truth, I am not lying — teacher of the Gentiles in faith and truth. It is my wish, then, that in every place the men should pray, lifting up holy hands, without anger or argument.

The Second Reading at this time of year is working its way through the personal letters of St. Paul. This passage from St. Paul’s first letter to Timothy stresses the need of the Christian community to pray together, especially for government officials. Good government is necessary that we may lead a “quiet and tranquil life in all devotion,” which pleases God who “desires all to be saved.” Why is good government and tranquil life connected with “all being saved?” Because political stability enables the Church to go about her evangelizing mission unmolested.

Pope Francis had some direct words about this passage of St. Paul:

“None of us can say, ‘I have nothing to do with this, they govern. . . .’ No, no, I am responsible for their governance, and I have to do the best so that they govern well, and I have to do my best by participating in politics according to my ability. Politics, according to the Social Doctrine of the Church, is one of the highest forms of charity, because it serves the common good. I cannot wash my hands, eh? We all have to give something!”

There is a tendency, the Pope observed, to only speak ill of leaders, and to mutter about “things that don’t go well.” “You listen to the television and they’re beating [them] up, beating [them] up; you read the papers and their beating [them] up. . . .” He continued, “Yes, maybe the leader is a sinner, as David was, but I have to work with my opinions, with my words, even with my corrections” because we all have to participate for the common good. It is not true that Catholics should not meddle in politics:

“‘A good Catholic doesn’t meddle in politics.’ That’s not true. That is not a good path. A good Catholic meddles in politics, offering the best of himself, so that those who govern can govern. But what is the best that we can offer to those who govern? Prayer! That’s what Paul says: “Pray for all people, and for the king and for all in authority.” “But Father, that person is wicked, he should go to hell. . . .” Pray for him, pray for her, that they can govern well, that they can love their people, that they can serve their people, that they can be humble.” A Christian who does not pray for those who govern is not a good Christian! “But Father, how will I pray for that person, a person who has problems. . . .” “Pray that that person might convert!”

(From Vatican Radio: bit.ly/1gnJgYK)

3. The Gospel is Luke 16:1-13:

Jesus said to his disciples, “A rich man had a steward who was reported to him for squandering his property. He summoned him and said ‘What is this I hear about you? Prepare a full account of your stewardship, because you can no longer be my steward.’ The steward said to himself, ‘What shall I do, now that my master is taking the position of steward away from me?

I am not strong enough to dig and I am ashamed to beg. I know what I shall do so that, when I am removed from the stewardship, they may welcome me into their homes.’ He called in his master’s debtors one by one.

To the first he said ‘How much do you owe my master?’ He replied, ‘One hundred measures of olive oil.’ He said to him, ‘Here is your promissory note. Sit down and quickly write one for fifty.’

Then to another the steward said, ‘And you, how much do you owe?’ He replied, ‘One hundred kors of wheat.’ The steward said to him, ‘Here is your promissory note; write one for eighty.’

And the master commended that dishonest steward for acting prudently.

The role of steward in a large household was one of great responsibility, but also wealth and prestige. It went to the master’s most trusted male slave. As a result, enterprising young freemen in the Roman empire sometimes sold themselves as slaves to wealthy men in order to become stewards of their households.

Since the stewardship was an administrative position in which one lived in physical comfort, the steward realizes he is in great trouble when the master wishes to fire him. He’s not suited to any other way of making a living, and as a slave he has no estate of his own. He’s been use to socializing with his master’s peers, although he is not truly their social or legal equals.

So he pulls of a kind of “white collar crime.” Calling in his master’s debtors, he has them manipulate their receipts to “erase” a significant portion of their debt. Then they will be in this steward’s debt after he is fired, and “owe him one.”

Eventually, when the master found out what the steward had done, he “commended” him. This probably means, he acknowledged (grudgingly) how cunning his former employer had been.

“For the children of this world are more prudent in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.

Non-religious people frequently have more “street smarts” in manipulating others than those who practice a faith. That’s why its best for Christians to stay out of the “rat race” rather than try to compete in it.

I tell you, make friends for yourselves with dishonest wealth, so that when it fails, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings.

This is perhaps the key teaching of this entire Reading. The world encourages an attitude in which we use people to gain things. Jesus reverses this: use things to gain people. If spending money and giving goods can open others to friendship with the Church and ultimately Christ Himself, then spend the money, give the goods.

Pagan religion in the ancient world tended to be a semi-magical way to manipulate the spiritual realm (the realm of the “gods”) in order to gain material wealth.

Christianity is precisely the reverse of this. It is a religion in which we sacrifice material in order to gain spiritual wealth.

That is one reason why the “health and wealth Gospel” is such a perversion. Periodically one can here a radio or TV evangelist preaching Christ as a means to the “good life” — this is a return to paganism, a subordination of the spiritual to the material. It does not lead to true conversion, because as long as Jesus is a means to an end — and not the end itself — one is not yet a Christian.

The person who is trustworthy in very small matters is also trustworthy in great ones; and the person who is dishonest in very small matters is also dishonest in great ones.

If, therefore, you are not trustworthy with dishonest wealth  who will trust you with true wealth? If you are not trustworthy with what belongs to another, who will give you what is yours?

“Small matters” are often not small at all, because their consequences can be huge. This was illustrated some years ago when the $136 million-dollar Mars Climate Orbiter was lost on its maiden voyage due to malfunction. The problem? The contractor Lockheed Martin and constructed the device using English measurements, whereas the purchaser NASA conducted their operations only in metric.

Small issues — an inch vs. a centimeter—can have enormous material consequences and also spiritual ones. St. Josemaría Escrivà used to say he could tell the state of a man’s soul by looking at his desk or inspecting his closet. The interior of a man is reflected in his smallest actions.

Jesus teaches us here that material wealth — which in the eternal perspective is a matter of very little consequence at all — serves for us as a “testing ground.” Our faithful administration of material goods — which would include generosity toward the poor—wins favor with God and gains spiritual blessing, and to the contrary, self-indulgent use of material goods damages spiritual progress. No servant can serve two masters. He will either hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and mammon.”

The Christian who approaches discipleship with Christ while still trying to attain “the American dream” or the “good life” is dooming himself to frustration. If wealth, pleasure, or power in this life is what you are after, you truly have the wrong religion! It is truly pathetic, for example, for the Christian who devotes himself to mission work in his youth to become embittered or disgruntled in mid-life when he or she realizes they do not have the material wealth or creature comforts of their peers who went straight into business out of high school or college. Frustration results when the Christian loses focus on Christ and begins to pine for certain pleasures or pursuits that seem out of reach or incompatible with his life’s vocation. The only answer for this kind of frustration is re-conversion: to call to mind whom we are serving and why, and recommit to his service.

From: https://www.pamphletstoinspire.com/

#25th sunday in ordinary time

0 notes

quranreadalong · 6 years ago

Text

#183, Surah 37

THE QURAN READ-ALONG: DAY 183

There is an important brand-spanking-new detail in today’s section, but first: a rundown of the Abraham-survives-the-fire story that we’ve seen multiple times!!

Abraham, says 37:84, embraced Allah with his whole heart. In practice, this means that he found his people’s polytheism unacceptable, because only Allah is god. We get a brief callback to that whole thing from surah 6 where Abraham looks for Allah in the stars and stuff, but decides the celestial bodies cannot be gods because they go away in the night/morning (lo! This was like 2000 BC, please excuse his flat-eartherism!).

he glanced a glance at the stars Then said: Lo! I feel sick! And they turned their backs and went away from him.

The people of Ur are tired of Abraham’s dramatic ass and leave him alone to whine. Abraham uses his alone time to play a sweet prank on the disbelievers. This is a story we’ve already seen before, most notably in surah 21, where we traced the story back to the Midrash Genesis Rabba. To summarize: the people of Ur leave food as sacrifices for their idolatrous statues, which of course cannot eat the food or talk, since they are... statues. So Abraham breaks them. (Is that bad? Destroying sacred property is bad, right? Oh but not when Muslims like Abraham do it, silly me!)

In 37:94, Abraham’s people ask him wtf he thinks he’s doing. He tells them that their gods are fake and Allah is the only god. They are unamused and fling him into a fire for his crimes, but Allah was looking out for his prophet and saved him.

We’ve seen all that before. There’s a timeskip (preceded by Abraham praying for Allah’s guidance and for Allah to bestow a righteous child upon him... which is good, I guess? Bc he wants his kid to be righteous? Go with me here!), and then this happens. 37:101-105:

So We gave him tidings of a gentle son. And when (his son) was old enough to walk with him, (Abraham) said: O my dear son, I have seen in a dream that I must sacrifice thee. So look, what thinkest thou? He said: O my father! Do that which thou art commanded. Allah willing, thou shalt find me of the steadfast. Then, when they had both surrendered (to Allah), and he had flung him down upon his face, We called unto him: O Abraham! Thou hast already fulfilled the vision. Lo! thus do We reward the good.

So. This is the Islamic version of the (non-)sacrifice of Isaac, which is traditionally interpreted as being about Ishmael instead. This is not a universal belief, and many early scholars did believe it was meant to be Isaac. Al-Tabari (volume 2) lists a bunch of scholars who held both opinions, and he himself believed it was supposed to be Isaac. But the Ishmael interpretation is the one that has gained prominence over time.

As you can see, the son in question isn’t actually named in the Quran, nor are there any reputable ahadith stating which son it was. Ishmael was, of course, envisioned as the ancestor to the Arabs of the northern half of the peninsula (including Mohammed himself), whereas Isaac was the ancestor of the Jews. Ibn Kathir says that the Isaac-centric version of this story in the Bible was falsified by Jews, who were jealous of Arabs for unexplained reasons.

They inserted the name of Ishaq because he is their ancestor, while Isma`il is the ancestor of the Arabs. They were jealous of them, so they added this idea and changed the meaning of the phrase "only son'' to mean `the only son who is with you,' because Isma`il had been taken with his mother to Makkah. But this is a case of falsification and distortion, because the words "only son'' cannot be said except in the case of one who has no other son. Furthermore, the firstborn son has a special status that is not shared by subsequent children, so the command to sacrifice him is a more exquisite test.

Ibn Kathir is talking about Genesis 22:2 here, in which Isaac is called Abraham’s “only son”, which Ibn Kathir says doesn’t make sense because Ishmael was older than Isaac. Due to the Hebrew wording of the verse--which is the fragmented “your son-your only [son]-whom you love-Isaac”--Jewish tradition came up with lots of explanations for this, with the Talmud saying:

God said to Abraham: “Please take your son, your only, whom you love, Isaac” (Genesis 22:2). When God said: “Your son,” Abraham said: I have two sons. When God said: “Your only,” Abraham said: This son is an only son to his mother, and that son is an only son to his mother. When God said: “Whom you love,” Abraham said: I love both of them. Then God said: “Isaac.”

YHWH tells Abraham to bring his son with him tomorrow. The obvious implication is Isaac, since Ishmael is chilling with Hagar in the desert by this point. But Abraham says “which one?”. YHWH says “your only son”, as in the only one with him. Abraham still plays dumb, so YHWH says, “the one you love and did not send out into the god damned desert, you moron”. Abraham still refuses to acknowledge that YHWH is talking about Isaac, so YHWH has to mention him by name. That’s how the Talmud explains that line.

In any case, the Quran says very little about either son, and says far more about Isaac’s grandson Joseph than Isaac or Ishmael. It seems as though Ishmael just wasn’t as important to Mohammed as he was to later Muslims, despite his Ancestor Street Cred. But to go along with the standard interpretation, we’ll just address the son-to-be-sacrificed as Ishmael here and get back to the Quranic story.

Allah gives Abraham the good news that he will father a “gentle son”, Ishmael, who then grows up. Abraham tells Ishmael “hey... no offense but Allah wants you dead lol :(”. Ishmael is like “what’s even the point in living now that P.T. got cancelled” and agrees to be killed. Abraham takes his kid and flings him down, at which point Allah says “WAIT...... it’s just a prank, bro!” Right. Well, this story has never been my favorite, either in the Bible or in the Quran. The part where Abraham tells Ishmael Allah wants him dead is bad, the rest is... neutral but dumb, I suppose. Allah and his silly tests!

As a special bonus section, I’ll show you some traditions from al-Tabari (volume 2) related to the whole child sacrifice fiasco. You’ll note that the two stories are basically the same, just with Isaac’s name swapped out for Ishmael’s and Sarah’s for Hagar’s:

The earliest sages of our Prophet's nation disagree about which of Abraham's two sons it was that he was commanded to sacrifice. Some say it was Isaac, while others say it was Ishmael. ...

[One of the Isaac versions:] When Abraham was told to sacrifice Isaac ... Satan visited Abraham's wife, Sarah, in the shape of a man whom Abraham's people knew, and asked her, "Where is Abraham going so early with Isaac?" She said, "He went off early on some errand." Satan said, "No, by God! That is not the reason he left so early." Sarah asked, "Then what is the reason?" He said, "He took him out early to sacrifice him." Sarah said, "There is no truth to that, he would not sacrifice his own son."

Satan said, "By God, it is true." Sarah said, "And why would he sacrifice him?" He replied, "He claims that his Lord ordered him to do it." Sarah said, "If his Lord ordered him to do that, it is best that he obey."

Then Satan left Sarah and went to Isaac, who was walking with his father, and said, "Where is your father taking you so early?" Isaac answered, "He is taking me on some errand of his."Satan said ,"No, by God,he is not taking you out on an errand. He is taking you out early to sacrifice you." Isaac said, "My father would not sacrifice me." Satan told him, "Certainly he would." Isaac asked, "Why?" Satan told him, "He claims that his Lord ordered him to do it." Isaac answered, "By God! If the Lord told my father to do that, he should certainly obey Him."

So Satan left him and went onto Abraham, saying, "Why are you taking your son out early?" Abraham said, "I am taking him on an errand." Satan answered, "By God, you took him out early only to sacrifice him." Abraham asked, "Why would I do that?" Satan said, "You claim that your Lord ordered you to do it." Abraham said, "By God, If my Lord orders me to do that, I will surely do it."

[One of the Ishmael versions:] When Abraham was ordered to sacrifice his son, he said to him, "O my son! Take the ropes and the knife and let us go to this trail to gather firewood for your family there."He did not at this point mention anything about what he had been told to do. When he headed for the trail, Iblis, the enemy of God, stood in his way in the form of a man in an attempt to dissuade him from carrying out God's command. He said, "Where are you going, old man?" Abraham answered, "I am heading for this trail for something I need in it." Iblis said, "By God! I think that Satan has come to you in a dream and commanded you to sacrifice this little son of yours, so you are about to sacrifice him." But then Abraham recognized Iblis and said to him, "Go away, O enemy of God! By God, I am obeying the command of my Lord in this matter."

Then Iblis despaired of dissuading Abraham and appeared to Ishmael, who was walking behind Abraham carrying the ropes and the knife, and said to him, "O lad, do you know where your father is taking you?" Ishmael answered, "To get firewood for our family from this trail." Iblis said, "By God! All he wants is to sacrifice you." Ishmael asked, "Why?" Iblis said, "He claims that his Lord commanded him to do it."Ishmael said, "Then let him do what his Lord commanded; to hear is to obey."

When the boy refused to have anything to do with him, Iblis went to Ishmael's mother Hagar in her dwelling and said to her, "O mother of Ishmael! Do you know where Abraham has taken Ishmael?" She said, "He took him to gather wood for us on the trail." Iblis said, "He took him only to sacrifice him." Hagar said, "Never! He is too merciful to him and loves him too much for that." Iblis told her, "He claims that God commanded him to do it." She said, "If his Lord commanded him to do it, then one should surrender to the command of God."

We’ll leave it there for today, and tomorrow we’ll finish up Abraham & The Lads and move on to other prophets.

NEXT TIME: A whirlwind tour of minor prophets!!!

The Quran Read-Along: Day 183

Ayat: 22

Good: 1 (37:100)

Neutral: 19 (37:84-92, 37:94-99, 37:101, 37:103-105)

Bad: 2 (37:93, 37:102)

Kuffar hell counter: 0

⇚ previous day | next day ⇛

#surah 37 #quranreadalong #as saffat

0 notes