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world-of-aus · 4 years ago

Text

Redamancy

Pairing: Professor!Bucky Barnes x Professor!Reader

Word Count: 7,355

Author’s Note: My second request, sent in by the lovely @iheartsebastianstan, i decided to change it up just a tiny bit, but i hope you enjoy what i have put out for you, and i do hope there is enough angst! Anything italicized is a flashback of sorts! Thank you for sending in the request love! I enjoyed writing this for you. Behind the Screen chapter 18 will be out tomorrow, had to get this one-shot out!

“May i have a super angsty fic, reader is cute, but a little awkard, techie & is completely in love w/Bucky. Everyone can see it, even Bucky. He flirts back, she thinks its going somewhere but overhears him talking that he just feels bad for her, she's not his type. She is embarrassed & pulls away & tries to get over him. Starts dating other people maybe, he notices her absence & realizes he really was feeling something for her too. Ending doesn't have to be happy, just maybe hopeful?”

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He had no idea, except that he did.

He had no idea that your heart skipped a beat in your chest when you saw him smile. Your breath catching in your throat when it was directed towards you, how you longed to be the reason behind that smile, the same way he was the reason for yours. You wanted to be the one to bring him joy, be the reason his eyes lit up. He brought so much happiness to those around him, and he deserved that same happiness in return, and you wanted to be the one to give it to him.

“You ever going to tell lover boy over there that your completely and totally head over heels for him?”

Your eyes snapped towards Banner, “it isn’t like that Bruce, it’s” the words caught on your tongue, because it was like that.

“It’s like nothing y/n, your totally smitten for the man, anytime he comes into our lab to borrow equipment, you become a puddle of goo on the floor, besides don’t you two go back”

“I do not, and unfortunately we do” you muttered eyes going back to the equipment on your table.

“Oh no?” Banner laughs, “we’ll see about that,” he murmurs.

You turn your head to raise a brow at him, “hey y/n, hey banner,”

“Jesus fuck!” You hiss a spark flying from the equipment you had before you, the shock enough to send you falling to the floor, hand waving wildly.

“See,” banner speaks up from your side, “a puddle of goo on the floor,”

“Shove it banner,” you muttered sending him a glare from where you lay on the floor the tips of your fingers burning in pain, “don’t you have a class to go teach or something” A loud laugh is falling from his lips as he grabs his things from the desk next to yours, “my students don’t mind waiting a few extra minutes for me, besides it builds up the suspense for whether I'll show up or not, you know with the whole 10 minute rule they came up with.” You're taking a hold of his hand that he has stretched out for you, “you would have been my least favorite professor than,” you teased.

A smirk was pulling at the corner of his lips, “well good thing I'm leaving you in Barnes hands,” he shoves your shoulder playfully as he moves around you turning on his heel to face the two of you as he walks backwards towards the door, “besides I'm sure you’ll like him more, you know sparks flying and all that,” he winked.

A growl of his names was falling from your lips, the door shutting closed behind your partner, “sparks huh?” and you can hear the smirk on his face.

Your head turned to him, “you know I can ban you from this lab right?”

Bucky laughed heartily, “but I thought there was sparks y/n, I mean you did fall for me didn’t you?”

A warmth encases you, your heart skipping a beat in your chest, “you wish Barnes,” you muttered.

He’s laughing again, his arm wrapping around your shoulder to pull you into his side, “come on now doll, we both now you couldn’t resist me,”

A pink hue cover’s your cheeks, because it’s true, you weren’t able to resist his charm, though it wasn’t entirely your fault, you would think after years of being in his presence the feeling surely would have passed, but within years it had only grown. You had known Bucky most of your life, the two of you went back to your elementary years where you met in kindergarten. It was there that shortly after you discovered you were neighbors, the two of you, two peas in a pod as your parents would like to tease. You had spent most of your elementary years resisting the James Barnes charm, but come your middle school years is where things began to change. You had been well into your sixth-grade year when you noticed the first change, where his toothy smile had once made your nose wrinkle in distaste, it now left behind a warmth that spread deep within your chest, your heart skipping a beat whenever that smile had been reserved just for you. Your first thought was it’s just a crush, just like the many you had in elementary it too would pass, so you thought, but oh how wrong you had been. It’s as if the charm he had tried to entice you with many years ago in elementary, had only heightened, the thing was that charm was never meant for you. Sure, he would charm you into a movie night rather than do homework due the next day, charm you into staying up late when you had an early morning, or the rather reoccurring occasion where he would charm you into going on a double date, Steve your date, it had always been Steve.

At first it was no big deal, you were able to get through your middle school years still able to resist that charm, but high school was a different story. Come high school things got worse, that crush you had said would pass, had only become worse, and you supposed it was the interests the two of you had. The only classes you two didn’t have together was electives, those you had with Steve, what could you say, you were a closeted artist. As you progressed through you high school years the two classes you didn’t have with Bucky had become a solace for you, and each year that passed Steve’s comforting smile had only grown and grown, because with each year that passed the love you held for your best friend had only grown as well. Steve was always rooting for the two of you, even to this day, aside from Bruce he was that constant in your ear telling you to just tell him, “what’s the worst that could happen” he would say.

The thing was you never wanted to find out what the worst was, you had lived through a lot of it your college years. Bucky had quickly become a lady's man, there had been girls left and right throughout high school and it seemed the numbers had only increased once you entered college. You were able to preoccupy your mind easier in college what with all the classes you had piled on, so you didn’t have to see him put his charm on as much, and the once double dates he had asked you to join him on had become shared movie nights you had with Steve while Bucky enjoyed out a night on the town with his newest conquest. The thing was he always came back to you, always laid on that charm, and you were putty in his hands once more. Then a new girl would come along, and the charm would fall away, it was an endless cycle, an emotionally draining, endless cycle.

“y/n, hello,” a hand was being waved in your face, your pushing his hands away, a grin pulling at his lips.

“what do you need Buck, I need to finish this lab before my class,”

He’s smirking, “you’ve been so spaced out lately,” he responded avoiding your first question, “what have you been thinking about?”

You gestured around the lab area as if it’s the most obvious reason, “Seriously Buck, it’s finals week, or did you forget?” you questioned, “my mind has been on getting my students to pass so they can all be loaded onto you next semester,”

“As if you or Steve would let me forget its finals week,” he grins, “I knew you were thinking about me though,” he teases waggling a finger in your face, “I think you should just come out with it y/n,” his face turns serious, “you don’t have to hide it anymore, just tell me,”

Your raising a brow at him, what was this man getting at, “tell you what?”

“That you are completely and totally head over heels for me,”

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, eyes slightly growing wide, had he heard your conversation with Bruce, but you didn’t even admit to anything, no, no, no, a faltering forced grin pulled at your lips, “w-what?”

His fingers reached out to run over the tops of your cheeks, your mouth parted, breath catching in your throat, it was the tap to your nose that had your eyes blinking you back to reality. His head fell back in laughter, his arm once more pulling you into his side, his head falling to yours, “god you should have seen your face,” an awkward laugh leaves your lips. The more laughter that falls from his lips the tighter your heart constricts in the confines of your chest, its suffocating, “alright, alright Barnes,” you grumble, “we get it, it's funny,” you grit out.

“awe come on now doll,” he coos rubbing you shoulder, “don’t get upset it was funny, besides you know I’m just teasing,”

“funny?” you question raising a brow, “Barnes you being extra annoying and might I add wasting my precious lab time is anything but amusing to me, this is like a repeat of middle school”

“oh, come on y/n, you enjoyed spending time with me, I'm sure you preferred my company rather than that of your homework,”

You were rolling your eyes, but a grin was still splitting your lips, “whatever helps you sleep at night Buck,”

A smirk tugs at his lips as he invades your space, a warmth blossoming in your chest once more, “You could help me sleep at night if you j- ouch y/n,” he laughs as he moves away from your swinging arm.

He’s rounding the other side of your desk away from you, hands held up in surrender, “Buck seriously what do you need, I have less than-” you paused to look at the watch on your wrist, “less than 15 minutes to complete this lab, now can you please tell me what it is you came to borrow,”

Bucky’s rubbing at the back of his neck now, “uhm, I actually didn’t come to borrow anything this time around,”

You raised a brow, “no?” you questioned, “seems very unlike you, so what is it?”

“will you be home tonight?” his questions catches you off guard, a soft chuckle falls from your lips, “well that’s where I'm at every night after classes, why?” you questioned back drawing out the last word.

“I’m going out on a date tonight,” and there it is, “and how is that going to affect me being home?” hold it together y/n don’t let yourself crack just yet.

“Well I'm only asking incase my date and I decide to you know,” he sends you a wink, a shiver rolls through your spine.

“Gross Barnes, why can’t you go back to her place, that’s what you’ve been doing anyway, why do you have to bring her back to ours,”

“She has a roommate,” is his argument, and you can’t help but to stare at him in disbelief, “and what am I chopped liver, I'm your damn roommate too,”

He’s rounding the desk back towards you, hands falling to your shoulders, “c’mon y/n please,”

Your mouth drops open to argue, but he’s beating you to the punch, “I already asked Steve if you could stay with him and Sam tonight, he said there would be no problem, something about a movie night,” your heart falls in your chest, shoulders slumping because of course, Steve was always there, “so what do you say?”

And as much as you want to scream at him, a tired sigh is leaving your lips, “if that’s what it takes for you to get out of my lab, then yes Barnes,”

His arms are closing around you, “I promise I'll make it up to you,”

A forced laugh falls from your lips as you push him away, “sure whatever, try not to forget this time, now can you please go, I need to get to class since you took up all my time,”

“shit I'm sorry,” he groans looking at the watch on his hand, you shake your head at him as you move away from him to gather your things for your class. He calls out one last thank you, and that he owes you one before he’s disappearing out of the lab door. You scoff, how many times had you heard that one, how many times had you heard those words and still never learned.

Your placing your bag down onto the classrooms desk when your phone pings from within your bag, students trickling into their desks slowly.

Sam and I will pick you up from your last lab, we were thinking pizza and something off Netflix.

The bubbles were popping up before you could put together a reply

Sorry about Bucky, you should just tell him, stop putting yourself through all this heartache y/n, I hate seeing you hurting, this has been ongoing since highschool..

And that’s your cue to start class, your phone is forgotten as you round the desk clasping your hands in delight, “good evening everyone, hope you all studied last weeks lab,” you grinned catching several eye rolls, “because lucky for y’all there’s a pop quiz!” several groans roll through the room, laughter falling from your lips, “awe c’mon guys, it’s finals week, it’s your last pop quiz and your last lab before the year finishes!”

There are the occasional mutter of protests as you walk around the room passing out the quiz, the groans only growing louder when you jump into lab.

Lab always passed you by in flurry, there was just never enough time you felt, never enough time to share your knowledge, to share the love that you had for this subject, not that the students even showed remote interest, it was like clockwork, five minutes to dismissal and they were already packing things away for the night. By the time you were at the one minute mark, most of them were by the door, and it’s not like you could necessarily hold them, “alright y’all have a great night, and don’t forget to study for you exam!” you were screaming the last of the sentence as the students dismissed themselves.

A sigh left your lips as you walked around the room, picking up stray paper’s left behind and making sure all the equipment was put away nicely. Making your way back to the desk you packed up your belongings. A soft knock on the open lab door had you looking up from packing your bag, Steve waved back at you, Sam behind him with an equally warm smile, “you ready?” he’s asking making his way over to you. You nod your head stuffing the last of your paperwork into your bag, “you all came just in time,”

Steve’s engulfing you in a hug, you let out a muffled laugh, your arms going around his broad back, “Steve what?” He pulls away from you a half there smile on his lips, “just felt like you needed one,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders, and Steve knew you so well, after all these years he had learned that look in your eyes, and he just knew.

“Come on you two, I'm starving and a couch is calling our names!”

Laughter is falling from both your lips as you grab your bag, your arm wrapping around Steve’s as he leads you both to the door.

“Honestly why don’t they ever have anything good on here?” Sam groans, flipping through the genres for the third time, “by the time I find a movie, the pizza is going to be gone,”

“then just put something Samuel,” you murmur around your slice of pizza.

He turns his head towards you, eyes squinted, “you don’t think I’ve been trying to put something, there’s nothing to watch”

Steve eventually gets ahold of the remote, and settles on something random, “so y/n, who’s room do you want to take for the night?” Sam asks.

It was meant to be an honest, genuine question, but it didn’t stop you from thinking back to the reason for that question, it didn’t stop you from thinking back to him.

Your body jostles slightly with Steve leaning into you, his hand hitting Sam lightly, “what,”sam argues, “what did I say,” and your sure Steve is glaring at him.

“It was just a question,” he mutters giving Steve a glare back, “I’m sorry y/n if it bothered you,” his voice is softer as he acknowledges you, hand squeezing your knee comfortingly.

“It’s honestly fine Sam,” you reply giving him a warm smile, “just got lost in my head is all,”

“I don’t see why you don’t just tell Barnes already, he’s hurting you y/n, and trust me when we say we hate seeing you miserable when he does this,”

Your shaking your head, “what is there to tell Sam, he doesn’t see me that way, he’s always throwing the best friend card in my face, every time I've tried to tell him, it’s never the right time, I just,” you blew air out through your mouth, “I gave up, I'd rather have him the way I do now,”

“So you’d rather be hurting, you’d rather be waiting around for him while he goes out almost every other night not knowing the pain he’s leaving you in,”

Your shaking your head, “it doesn’t matter Sam, can we please just leave it alone, he doesn’t like me like that so drop it,”

“No, I'm not going to drop it y/n, we have all been rooting for you, we all can see something you obviously can’t that man cares for you,”

“He cares for me as his best friend,” you argue your frustration and heartache growing, “he doesn’t see me as anything more Sam and I am not going to put myself through the heartache that is sure to follow when I get myself disappointed,”

“but you don’t know th-”

“ENOUGH SAMUEL” you snap, “I don’t want to talk about this, or him anymore so please just let it go”

“y/n c’mon-”

You're getting up then, throwing your crust onto the cardboard box, “I’m going to bed, had I known I was going to get lectured, I would have gone home regardless of what Bucky wanted and wallowed in my own self-pity there,” you grumbled as you moved around their feet, “I'll see you guys in the morning,

You had chosen to take over Steve’s room, you were curled in on yourself when you heard soft knocks sound against the door. You mumbled a warbled ‘come in’, Steve poking his head in seconds later, a sympathetic smile sat on his lips.

“hey,” he started, “I just wanted to apologize for tonight, I’m sorry if we ruined movie night for you.”

You offered him a small smile, “it’s okay, not like we won’t have another one in a few days,”

Steve’s smile falls at your words, “it shouldn’t have to be like that y/n, I know he doesn’t do this often, kicking you out of your shared apartment but it's not right, he should know y/n,”

“Steve please don’t start, you already know why I can’t tell him,”

“y/n I know the two of you almost our whole life, we’ve been together since elementary when Bucky introduced us, I've grown with the two of you, there’s something there,”

You turned your head away from Steve eyes going to the ceiling, “you want me to tell him,” you grumbled, “then I'll tell him, but don’t act surprised, when you are wrong, now can you please go, I just want to sleep,”

“Y/n y-”

“Steve please, just go we have a long day tomorrow, or at least I do,” you muttered recalling your unfinished lab from this afternoon.

You could see that Steve had much more to say, more things he would like to tell you, but he also knew when to leave well enough alone. A soft sigh is leaving his lips, “Sam and I will see you tomorrow morning y/n, goodnight,”

You wished him a ‘goodnight’ as well the door shutting softly behind him, “its going to be a long night,” you thought out loud.

And it had been, you spent most of the night until the early hours of the morning tossing from one side of the bed to the other. Your mind had been restless as you thought over Sam and Steve’s words. While at first you had just said that you would tell Bucky to get them off your back, the more you had laid there awake in the dark the more you thought maybe you should, maybe getting this weight that had sat on your chest for so long off of your shoulders could be the thing to bring you some peace of mind. You knew the possibility of Bucky feeling the same was slim to none but there was a tiny part of you that had listened to Steves words, and dare you say it had made you hopeful that maybe you weren’t seeing something that everyone had been so adamant was there. It was in the early hours of the morning that you had decided enough was enough, you were tired of feeling sorry for yourself every time Bucky went out on a date, tired of your friends breathing down your neck to tell him, because they were sure he felt the same, so you had decided to do just that, and whether he felt the same way or not, well that would have to be something you’d have to wait to find out when you came to that moment.

Your alarm trilled incessantly on the nightstand, you groaned sleep still pulling at your eyes as you reached for your phone wanting to shut off the annoying device. It was when you brought your phone closer that you realized it wasn’t your alarm but Banner calling you, your brows furrowed in confusion as you answered the call bringing it up to your ear, “so are you going to come into lab today, your equipment is sitting out waiting to be worked on,”

“of course I'm going in,” you murmured rubbing at the sleep at your eyes, “why wouldn’t I?” you questioned as you sat up in the bed.

“oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’re two hours late?”

“what?!” you screeched, “two hours late, what time is it?” you questioned throwing yourself from the bed.

“it 11 a.m. y/n, you were supposed to be in at 9,”

“goddamnit, okay, okay,” you rushed out, “I'll be there soon!”

You didn’t give banner a chance to give his reply as you hung up the phone bolting from Steve’s room to grab your purse from the living room, you would just have to wear what you wore yesterday. Looking around the apartment you saw no sign of Steve or Sam, those jerks had left without waking you, why didn’t they wake you! You left their apartment in a flurry as you raced to campus, hair tosseled in the wind as you raced down the streets, you had never been more grateful in that moment that they lived so close to the campus you all worked at. You were out of breath by the time you reached the lab buildings, you checked your watch, Steve and Sam should be in their labs, oh man were they going to get a piece of your mind. Entering the building you marched down the hallway with determination in your stride, you were just to their door when their voices stopped you just feet shy of the doorway,

“she was cute, don’t get me wrong, but it just didn’t feel right, there was just something about her that,” a pause,” I don’t know just didn’t feel right being out with her,”

You could hear another sigh that didn’t belong to Bucky, “Honestly man that’s nothing new,” came Sam’s voice, “it ends the same every night, you sure you’re just not looking at what’s been right in front of you,”

“Sam don’t,” came Steve’s voice, “many people have tried, he just doesn’t get it,”

“are y’all talking about y/n?” Bucky questioned, a loud sigh left his lips, “honestly not this again, what can’t you all get that she’s just not my type, she’s my best friend, practically a sister to me, it would be weird.”

“how is she not your type Buck,” Steve argued, “you all practically followed the same field, you both have the same interest’s, you like what she likes, she likes what you like, you guys are a match made in heaven if you ask us, you can’t say nothing Is there Buck we see how you are with her,”

“Steve you see the girls I date, she’s nothing like them, she’s, she’s one of the guys,”

“That’s bullshit Barnes and you know it,” Sam argues, “you say she’s one of the guys, yet you flirt with her like you would any of your other conquests, you don’t let guys get next to her, hell you don’t even let them ask her out on a date, if it isn’t you she’s with it’s a no go for you,”

“Shut up Wilson, I know how guys are, I'm just protecting her from getting her heartbroken,”

Steve lets out a loud scoff, “you say you’re protecting her heart, yet you’re the one causing her pain,”

Bucky lets out a groan, and your barely able to hold in your tears, “Look I don’t know what to tell you guys, how many more times do you want me to tell you guys that I don’t feel the same way she does about me for you guys to leave it alone, I don’t see her like that I'm not sure that I ever will, sure she's a great girl and we might have all these things in common, but that the thing she’s my best friend, nothing more.

Your barely able to bring a hand up to your mouth to muffle the sob that escapes past your lips, you can hear feet coming towards you but your frozen to your spot, Steve pops into your blurry view first, “shit y/n,” he goes to move toward you but you hold a shaky hand up. Its when Bucky appears in your line of sight that you lose it, another sob tearing through you.

“this is why I told you all to leave it alone,” you gritted out through your tears, “but you couldn’t could you, why were you so adamant for me to tell him my feelings when you knew, you knew that he didn’t feel the same,” Steves head falls, Sam shakes his head, and Bucky looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“y/n ple-”

Your shaking your head rubbing away at the tears, “I can’t believe you would continuously tell me to express my feelings, even telling me that you just knew he felt the same, yet you also knew he didn’t reciprocate them,” another sob shook through you, “I don’t know how many times I told you that this is exactly what I wanted to avoid, but I guess it's great I found out this way, at least I wouldn’t have looked like an idiot later on telling him how I felt and hoping to god he felt the same way like you all had said,”

“Y/n,” your eyes fall to Bucky and you can barely stand the heartache that sits heavy on your chest when you look into those blue orbs, “I'm sorry I wish things could be different,”

Your roll your eyes regardless of the fat wet tears still rolling down your face, because of course he would say something like that, “You don’t have to pretend Barnes, we all know how you feel, just wish you could have said something since you knew,”

“y/n I-”

“No buck,” your anger was flaring just beneath the rejection that you felt, “you knew yet you continued to toy with my emotions, always flirting, Steve was right to think you might have felt something, you almost had us all fooled,”

His face fell, “you guys got what you wanted, he knew, he knows, and I told you exactly what would happen,” you murmured more tears building up, “why couldn’t you guys just leave well enough alone, why couldn’t you leave it alone especially when you all knew!” you cried.

“Hey guys everything okay” Banner questioned coming down the hall from your lab he drew closer taking in your disheveled form, “woah y/n, you okay,” he questioned warily, you shook your head, “do you think you could pack up the equipment, and send an email out to my classes that I won’t be in today,” Banner’s brows furrowed in confusion, “of course, but what’s going on?”

“it’s nothing,” you said through your tears, “I just, I have to go, I’m sorry,” you choked out turning on your heel as you ran out the building. You were a mess as you kept your head down, walking past various students and professors on campus. Your head remained downcast until you made it back to your shared apartment with Bucky, your key sliding into the lock as you let yourself in. You didn’t make it far as the tears, and heartache consumed you, your feet pulling you to the floor. Heartbreak was a funny thing wasn’t it. You expect it to happen, yet for some reason one is never really prepared for it. We underestimate the power it holds, it’s like giving a murderer a gun and expecting not to killed. Why aren’t we ever prepared for the unenviable? It’s because we don’t think it will happen to us, we live in denial, hearts are meant to be cherished not broken.

Eventually the tears stop, but the ache remains, why did you have to listen to that small part in the back of your mind, why didn’t you listen to the loud voice booming through you that just like the many other times where the moment wasn’t right, that this hadn’t been right either, why didn’t you just listen.

The door of your apartment creaking open had your eyes drifting to the door, Bucky looking down at your fallen form.

“Oh y/n,” he murmured, he went to move towards you, but you halted him in his actions with a hand in the air.

“Please don’t,” you mumbled, “I think you’ve done enough,”

“Y/n please let me explain,” he tried.

Your head snapped up, “explain what Bucky, what is there to explain?” you questioned, “because your words with Steve and Sam earlier spoke volumes, I don’t think there Is much left to say, you’ve said enough,”

“y/n please you have to-”

“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to,” you hissed, “Look Bucky I get it okay, I’m your best friend and that’s all you’ll ever see me as,” you sucked in a breath, “I'm still going to be that for you, but I need time, I don’t want to know about your dates anymore, I don’t want to even hear about you bringing someone home, nor am I going to be asked to stay at Steve’s or Sam’s I'm done Bucky, for the rest of the semester just let me be, I don’t want to hear from you, Steve, or Sam, I just need to focus on myself, I need to get back into the right headspace, and I can’t do that if all I feel when I'm around you is heartache, it’s time I've moved on, I always knew my feelings for you were never reciprocated, and I should have listened instead of trusting that small piece of hope Steve gave me,”

Bucky can’t seem to understand the pain that throbs heavily in his chest, he blames it on the fact that he feels like his friendship with you has completely broken apart, but deep down he knows it's much more. Even though you can’t bear the sight of him, when you’ve made your way to your feet, you still move over to him, hand falling to his cheek, fingers running over his forlorn features, “I just need time Buck, and I promise, everything will go back to the way it was, just give me that,”

And he wants to be selfish and tell you no, that he doesn’t want to give you your space, because he doesn’t like the pain sitting on his chest, but then he can’t bring himself to speak the words, because you’ve always done everything for him without so much as argument.

As he watches you walk away from him everything feels so uncertain, and he doesn’t like that feeling, he doesn’t like not knowing what’s going to happen between the two of you.

It takes you a month and within that month, Bucky has realized something, you’re a much bigger part of his life then he let himself believe. The feeling that had dwelled heavy in his chest had not dimmed, or dwindled away like he hoped, no, it had sat there on his chest every waking hour. You had stayed true to your word, and focused on yourself, your students, and your work. They had tried getting you to talk to them, give them the time of the day, hell he had even gone as far as to continue to go to your lab to borrow equipment but Banner had always been the one to greet him and pass him what he needed. Bucky could only look over his shoulder at you, a feeling gnawing away at his chest. Even when the semester had finished you had still kept strong declining their move nights, dinner plans, and nights out on the town. He barely had seen much of you aside from the moments in your lab because as soon as you arrived home you would make your way straight to your room and only come out when you needed to fetch something. Bucky made himself believe that your absence was affecting them all, when in reality it had only been him it affected the most. He didn’t realize why, till Steve explained it to him on one of the nights you get again had declined their company.

“Let’s just go Bucky, stop looking so down in the dumps, this isn’t the first time she’s declined your offer,”

“That’s just the thing Steve she said she needed time, and I’ve given her that, how much longer is she going to keep doing this?” He questioned with a sigh.

“She was hurt Buck, she also needs time to get over you she’s been in love with you since middle school, letting go of something like that can’t possibly be easy, why do you want her to just go back to way things were, she wasn’t happy,”

“Because I miss her,” he growls.

“and you don’t think we miss her too, she was a huge part of us as well Buck,”

A puff of air leaves his lips in frustration, “ you don’t understand Steve, I miss her, I miss spending time with her just the two of us, I miss her giving me crap when she knew I was doing something wrong, I miss coming home to her cooking dinner for the two of us when my labs ran late, I miss coming home to tell her about my day, I-” it hits him then, everything he couldn’t find in those other girls is because he had already had them in you.

A smirk is pulling at Steve’s lips at the look on Bucky’s face, “you finally get what we all saw, don’t you,”

Bucky’s hand comes up to his head, how could he have been so blind, to think that crush that he had on you in elementary had actually faded. “God am I blind,” he mutters.

Steve laughs, “that’s one way to put it man, but I guess it's better late than never,”

And Bucky can’t stop thinking about it, about this new feeling that has risen within him, why couldn’t he have realized it earlier, why did he have to hurt you, push you away for him to realize how much you meant to him.

“So what are you going to do?”

Bucky’s running a hand over his face, because he knows what he wants to do, “can I take a rain check on tonight,”

Steve’s laughing then, “of course man, you can meet up with us next time, and hopefully y/n will be joining us,”

“let’s hope so,” he chuckles nervously, and Steve feels for his friend, but he knows whatever happens between the two of you is what’s meant too.

It takes Bucky a few minutes but he finally gets the courage to move towards your room. His hand hovers over your door, he can do this he thinks, he can do this. His fist meets you door, knuckles wrapping softly against the wood. He can hear your quiet “come in” through the closed door. He sucks in a breath before his hand reaches down, fingers wrapping around the silver knob.

You look up to see Bucky’s head peek through, you heart races in your chest, “Buck I already said no,” Watching with wide eyes, you watch him step into your room shutting the door behind him, “Bucky what’s going on?” you questioned as you watched him pace in place.

“I can’t believe it took me this long,” he laughed breathily, “I can’t believe I wasted so much time,”

You raised a brow, “what do you mean Buck, what took you so long?”

Bucky looks at you then, and you only grow more concerned when he just stares, “Buck seriously what’s wrong, why aren’t you out with the guys?”

“y/n we need to talk, but I need you to listen, I need you to hear me out as much as you might not want too,”

“Buck your kind of scaring me,” you laughed.

“that makes two of us sweetheart,”

You watch him take a breath in before he’s releasing it, his hands clasping together, “god, I don’t even know where to start,” he murmurs, “fuck maybe I should have waited till I had my thoughts together,”

“buck just say it, it can’t be that bad,”

“fuck,” he mutters pacing again.

“buck just say it!” you voice louder your own heart beating heavily in your chest from his erratic behavior.

He stops pacing eyes falling to yours, “I’m pretty sure I'm in love with you,”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes going wide, “excuse me,” you breath.

“I said, I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you,”

“are you serious right now” you murmured, “Bucky this isn’t funny,” you added your lower lip wobbling.

“y-yeah, I'm serious y/n, this isn’t something I would joke about,”

“why?”

His brows furrow at your question, “what do you mean why?”

“why are you doing this Buck, is it because I needed time away from you, is it because you have no one to talk to about your dates, is this because you can’t bring anyone home anymore, is this b-”

He’s shaking his head roughly, “god no y/n, why, why would I be telling you I think I'm in love with you for any of those reason’s”

“I don’t know Bucky maybe it’s the fact that a couple of weeks ago you were telling the guys that you would never see me as more than your best friend, and the second I'm somewhat out of your life, now you think you love me?” you question exasperatedly, “like who does that Buck,”

“apparently me,” he mumbles, head casted down.

“what?”

“I said apparently me,” he speaks louder, “look y/n I know you might not want to believe me,”

“that’s an understatement,”

“Jesus,” he groans, “y/n I'm trying to talk to you about this, and you’re just making this incredibly difficult for me, especially because I've been such an idiot for so long.” He sighs when you don’t speak but look at him expectantly, “I know how this looks, I know how all this looks but goddamnit y/n I miss you, I miss having someone call me out on my shit, I miss having someone to talk to about my day, not my dates,” he adds, “i miss coming home to you making dinner for us when my labs run late, I miss going to your lab to bother you for things, I miss our movie nights, I miss spending time with you, just you and me,” he sighs, “i just miss you,”

“Bucky but that doesn’t mean you're in love with me, you just miss your best friend,”

His head is shaking again, “Y/n I'm pretty sure I have been in love with you since elementary, you just never showed interest then so I guess I pushed those feelings to the way back of my mind and they kind of just stayed there,”

“Bucky we were kids, and you were annoying,”

He laughs, “what I'm trying to say, aside from me being a blind idiot, is that it’s always been you y/n, I always wondered why my dates never worked out, why they never had that thing that I knew was missing, and it’s because I barely realized the thing missing from my life was you, all these women were wrong because it wasn’t you, in a way I was trying to fill a void,”

“so why not say something earlier, why did you have to wait for me to be out of your life for you to finally say something, you realize how this looks to me right,”

“because this just opened my eyes,” he sighed, “and I know what this looks like but I promise whatever your thinking its not that,”

You fall quiet as you take in his words, he just said he loved you, something you had been longing to hear from him for years, but how could you believe him. What if this was just an in the moment thing, what if he just missed his best friend what if-

“Don’t do that y/n”

You looked up at him through watery eyes, “what?”

“I know your second guessing everything I just told you, I know you can’t believe it, but it’s true, let me show you,”

You wiped under your eyes, “show me what?” You questioned.

“Let me take you out, just one date,”

“Bucky I don’t know, I don’t think I can handle another repeat,” you murmured looking down at your hands.

Your heard him move towards you, his feet bringing him to eye level, “give me a chance y/n, just one date,”

It took him a month, but he realized during that time what he had been missing.

He had his arms around you, your body leaning on his, the softness and gentle caress of his arm against your neck had shivers rolling down your spine. The two of you were sat on the hood of his car, eyes looking out over the lit up lavish city. Your first date. The world was quiet around you no words shared between the two of you because the moment shared here spoke volumes. Bucky turned to look down at you, your eyes meeting his, a warm smile pulling at both of your lips. “I really enjoyed tonight,” you murmured.

Bucky’s hand came up to your cheek, his fingers running along your heated skin, “i enjoyed it too,”

“was there anything missing?” you questioned staring up into his ocean blue orbs.

“there was one thing,” he murmured a sly smile tugging at his lips as he leaned into you.

Your heart raced in your chest, as he got closer, his breath mingling with yours. Your eyes slipped shut the second his lips touched yours, sparks flying in every direction, the world slowly disappearing around the two of you.

It had taken him a month, but he finally realized what he had been missing. You.

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jackidy · 4 years ago

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To Star Lake: Chapter 3

Rating: T Pairings: Todoroki Shouto/Sero Hanta Characters: Various Universe: Howls Moving Castle Au

Summary: A day of impossibilities starts with a mystery man, with mismatched eyes and cold hands, rescuing him in a dark alleyway as he attempted to go about his business and the pet name sweetheart being said a little too tenderly. It ends with another stranger cursing him in his own store after telling them to leave.

Things like this don’t happen to people like Sero Hanta.

AO3 Previous Chapter Next Chapter

----

“Stop fucking hovering, Deku.”

“He spent most of the night on that stool, Kacchan! What if he’s too sore to move?”

There’s the sound of something being set down, the crackling of firewood sounding endearingly angry as Sero is reluctantly pulled from sleep. Who or, rather, what was a Deku? His track record of meeting new people recently having been reduced to sentient inanimate objects, mentally running through a list of possibilities only to open his eyes and find not an object but a very, very human face.

Sero isn’t sure why he’s so disappointed by that fact.

It’s no surprise he’s as sore as he was the previous morning, if not more so, knowing he should be more concerned about the deafening crack his back makes as he sits up than he is, the concentrated pain in his spine seeming to bleed out into a more bearable ache that bloomed over his shoulder blades and rib cage. The kid, Deku if Bakugou was to be believed, was there in an instant hovering with his arms open, having absolutely no idea where to place them.

“I’m good.” Sero croaks, dismissing the kid with a wave of his hand, legs mid swing off the bed when someone knocks on the door, watching with humoured curiosity as the green haired boy runs down the stairs, back up them again, draping a cloak over his shoulders and changing his appearance with a pull up of his hood as Bakugou barks out what door it was.

How can it lead to Port Haven when Sero had come in through the wastes?

“Is the great wizard Frostfire present?”

His confusion of the name speaks volumes of how little information on magic had made it to the countryside, Sero pushing himself off of the bed with another grunt, smiling to himself when he notices his walking stick leaning against the arm rest of the sofa he’d previously been sleeping on. How had he gotten onto the sofa anyway? Surely that teenager at best hadn’t carried him over?

“He’s out at the moment, sir, but I’ll be sure to pass on any message.”

The glare of the morning sun makes him wince, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his free hand, blinking rapidly in the aftermath. He’d never seen the ocean before, never really left the small town he’d grown up in, living vicariously through Mina when she would talk so enthusiastically about everywhere she had visited to gather inspiration for the hat shop. He wonders, fondly, how mad they were going to be when he eventually came home and he revealed he’d finally left town, not because of them but because he had a run in with two wizards.

“It has been requested by his Majesty that all witches and wizards are to report to the capitol city at once for service in the war to come.”

How much of this would they believe though? The only reason he was due to the fact he was living it for how often did stories of curses, magic fires and scarecrows, and moving castles turn out to be true? Not often enough to be true. How many stories of Shouto’s supposed victims had been proven false now? Too many for the concept of him as a heart eater to really have any credibility but not enough to dismiss them entirely.

“Oh, he’s not going to be happy about this.” The kid mutters walking up the steps, carry a scroll he deposits on the table, the form of an old man melting back into him as he pulled the hood down and cloak off. He jumps upon noticing Sero staring at him, Bakugou laughing at the teens expense in a way that was more cackle than anything else. “I forgot to ask! What’s your name? I’m Midoriya Izuku, also how did you get in here? Are you a wizard too? Are you one of Master Shouto’s friends?”

“I’m Sero Ha-”

“KINGSBURY DOOR!” Bakugou yells, cutting off Sero and pushing Midoriya back into a slight panic, yellow cape back on and the old man he had been moments before came back into view. Weren’t they in Port Haven? How were they getting knocks in Kingsbury? Sero leaning over the railing as teenager took a breath and turned the small dial above the handle, the sound of seagulls and the near by port being drowned by the clamour of a busy city, the rumble of cars and the sound of people going about their day.

“Hello, is this the residence of the wizard Iceflame?”

First Frostfire and now Iceflame, how many aliases did Shouto have anyway and why would he even need them? Perhaps he should stop going down that train of thought now, nip it in the bud before it gets out of hand, he has his own issues to deal with without getting caught up in the dramatics of wizards anymore than he already has done. Conversation with the men at the door over, Midoriya closes the door, resting his head against it before changing the small dial again, the vibrance of the city melting away into the dull pallor of the wastes and the gentle sound of rain fall.

“Sero, I walked in, no and no.” He offers in hopes of melting away at least some of the stress off of the other’s face, only for it to be replaced with confusion, the teenager still wearing that face as he walked up the stairs and deposited yet another scroll next to the one he’d been handed not even five minutes ago. Even Bakugou looks on the sceptical side of confusion, making it perfectly clear he didn’t believe a word Sero had just said.

“That doesn’t make sense, most people can’t just walk in here, especially those who aren’t friends with Shouto.” Midoriya stated firmly, a determined look on his face, Sero half concerned he was going to challenge him to a fight despite any assertion Sero may give that he was right and that he did not know who Shouto was, just the rumours that followed him everywhere.

“I’ve never met the guy.” Sero states flatly, earning another strange reaction from Midoriya, this time one of confused surprise, and an oddly smug look from Bakugou. Was he missing something here that he should know, the old man sighing before moving to inspect the cluttered counters around them, frowning at the sight of potions mixed with food, parchments filled with recipes draped over crockery that were perhaps beyond the point of saving.

How anyone lived like this was beyond him, knowing full well he wasn’t the tidiest but he’d never let his messes get to this point, wondering vaguely which side of the line between too busy to clean and too lazy to try the occupants of this house fell under. It’s why its so surprising when Sero finally manages to find food, still fresh and edible, hidden partially beneath a cloche, eyeing the bacon and eggs hungrily before looking up and checking for other ingredients.

Carbs. He was missing carbs, bread being the best suited for what he had in mind but he would take any at this point in order add some bulk to the meal. Vegetables he’d given up on looking for, the only splash of greenery coming from the patches of mould attached to what was once food residue. How was Midoriya an image of health in conditions like this, he was feeling ill just thinking about what layer in the deeper layers of mess.

“What are you doing?”

“Making breakfast.” He replies like it’s obvious, gently extracting the basket of meat and eggs from the side, wincing at the clatter of plates as they fell into the gap left behind, hooking it into his elbow and grinning as he finally spotted a loaf of bread on the table, still fresh and, with any luck, not entirely stale. “Do we have anything to make tea with?”

“Yes, we have a teapot but Kacchan doesn’t listen to anyone bar Shouto and even then, its reluctantly!” the panic in his voice is palpable, Sero only acknowledging his statement with a click of his tongue, setting the food down on a stool by the fire demon, turning his attention instead to the collection of pans hung against the wall. The second from the left is his best option, Sero thinks, big enough for two portions, maybe even three at a push, eyeing the irritated fire and wondering if it even ate.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll listen.” Sero grins, perking up the way he always did when he was about to get Kaminari in trouble with Mina or vice versa, turning he cast iron frying pan in his hand. It’s a comfortable weight, pleasantly surprised that even with the aches and pains ridiculing his body he was able to hold it this easily, moving back over to the hearth, smile widening with every step as Bakugou started to look more and more like a pissed off cat. “Won’t you Bakugou?”

“Fuck off.” The crackle of fire wood and the floating specs of flame is more comforting than intimidating, Sero feeling more like he was in the presence of a friend than personified fire. “I aint doing shit for you.”

“I guess I’m telling Shouto of our deal then.” Sero smirks, voice dropping to a low whisper so Midoriya could not hear them, taking small joy from the way the fire seemed to still, looking away from the fire to the pan as he turned it in his hands again. He had become more daring with age, it seemed, knowing full well he’d have at least given it a second thought before speaking so brazenly with Bakugou. “Do I look like a man with much left to get fucked up by a wizard?”

The sound of steam, a billow of smoke, fire tempering down to a blue concentrated flame as Sero brings the pan down, flames kissing blackened iron and his hand hovering over metal to check how the pan was heating up. “Then have this curse from me, may all your food burn, bastard.” It doesn’t sting, no anger behind the words masquerading as a curse, Sero noting that the other seemed almost impressed again, electing to not comment on it.

There’s an awed whisper somewhere behind him of ‘Kacchan is doing what he says’, Sero shaking his hand as he moved it from the frying pan, finally hot enough, to the slices of bacon thick enough to be belly pork. Two or three? Two or three? He settles on three, unsure of if it was an apology slice to Bakugou or an extra one for Midoriya, a level of concern in him over the way the teenager stood shorter than him despite Sero having shrunk with age. Maybe this is why his friends referred to him as their dad jokingly.

Sero barely notices the creak of an opening door, the tap of footsteps on stairs, Sero too focused on the sizzling fat and inward lamentation at the lack of seasoning to give the new distraction his attention. “Master Shouto! You’re back early, you received summons from the palace as both aliases, what do we...” The teenager trails off before brightening again, Sero freezing as something cold radiates beside him.

Before a burning fire demon and yet it felt like all the warm had been sucked away, a shiver running down his spine as he looked up at the source of the drop in temperature and he feels himself freeze further.

Apparently, he had met Shouto after all.

It was the man from the alley way, the man who swept him off his feet and into the air, had let him float onto a balcony, kissed his knuckles and called him his. He’d not only met Shouto, he’d also been haunted by the man for the past thirty six hours, the curiosity over what it had all meant dying on his tongue as he remembered his bitterness from yesterday. It was Shouto’s fault he was in this predicament, Sero having only made the mistake of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Obedience isn’t like you.” A quiet quip, a light laugh in his voice as the sound of a gas stove seems to increasing in volume, Sero throwing himself further into cooking so he didn’t become lost in that voice all over again. Flip the bacon? Check. Add the eggs? Check. Empty shells lay on the edge of the hearth, the sizzle of opaquing whites an all too welcome distraction as the wizard spoke again, this time addressing Sero. “And you are?”

“Oh! That’s Sero.” Midoriya chirps in, Sero thankful for the teenager’s interruption, still not entirely sure of what he wanted to say to the wizard. ‘Thank you for saving me, by the way, I appreciate that the price of not being mugged was being a pensioner’ was too angry, too antagonistic for this time in the morning, smiling at the memory of his grandmother telling him that aggression should not be spoken before breakfast, least they sour the food.

“Here let me-”

“No.” His voice is firm, the silence in the kitchen stifling, as Sero looks up at the wizard, look as set as his tone, tightening his grip on the panhandle, challenging the other to try and take it from him. “I don’t trust people who let their kitchen be this messy to cook for me.” Maybe his new found age had made him too bold, watching shock overtake Shouto’s face before he’s laughing behind his hand again.

“Okay, that’s fair.” He leaves Sero’s side then, scooping up the eggshells and moving them closer to Bakugou, turning on his heel to busy himself with something behind the old man. A clatter of ceramic, the whistle of a boiling kettle and the awed curiosity from Midoriya that spilled from his lips like a waterfall, Shouto answering every single one with patience.

Maybe the rumours were incorrect after all, Sero surmises, turning to the table, pan in hand, to find a corner haphazardly cleared, for how many Casanovas spent their time answering a multitude of questions on the properties of rosehip tea from a teenager that was made of curiosity and wonder. He’s barely taken three steps when Shouto is by his side again, strangely reminiscent of the alleyway only this time the cold hand is on his shoulder, not his waist, the warm hand brushing over his own holding the pan before gripping it just above the towel.

Why wasn’t that burning his hand? “Here, let me.” It’s difficult to not listen to what that voice, kitchen towel falling to the floor with a dull thump, hand slipping from his shoulder to the middle of his back to give an encouraging push forward. Midoriya is in the middle of pouring tea when he takes his seat, eyebrows raising in mild disbelief at the small bowl he is given in place of a cup, noting that the makeshift cups for both Shouto and Deku seem to be in a similar state of not being remotely cup or mug shaped.

Plate of food slide towards him, Sero nearly drops his head into his hands as Midoriya offers him a selection of two spoons and a fork, commenting a little awkwardly that he could only have one as ‘the rest are dirty’, Sero taking the fork, making sure to wipe it on his shirt before trusting it enough near his food. He’d been through the wastes and slept in this shirt yet he still trusted it more than this kitchen area.

“So, is there a reason why you’re in my kitchen, Sero?” His voice isn’t accusatory, just a gentle curiosity that takes Sero by surprise and renders him off guard. Shouldn’t he be more annoyed by this? Was a random man that much of a common occurrence in his home that he found no need to question it or was it something else? He daren’t entertain the idea that Shouto not only knew he was cursed but could see him as he actually was.

“I’m your new house keeper, Bakugou hired me.” There’s a choked noise from the hearth, Sero once again questioning where this boldness came from, focusing on looking at the cooling eggs as opposed to giving Shouto any form of visual acknowledgement. He’s going to end up in more trouble, the wave of confidence that came in the form of believing things couldn’t get worse seeming to have dried out already.

Things could get worse. There was still so much he could lose.

“It would be nice to have a more organised kitchen.” It’s Midoriya that speaks now, contemplative, Sero biting back a laugh at the offended noise from Shouto, feeling more at ease. He’s not sure what it is, something about the green haired boy is putting him at ease, the tension that was slowly building in his shoulders slipping away just as easily as it came. “Would probably stop customers commenting on everything.”

The younger pair slip into easy conversation, mostly one sided as Midoriya talked of practicalities within their art of magic, Shouto only offering the odd word here and there in either agreement of dismissal, Sero tuning out the conversation easily enough. Where would he even begin with a place like this? Eyes flicking from the pile of books and parchment before him, to the dire state of the sideboards, looking past Shouto to look at the hearth, grimacing. He hasn’t known Bakugou long but he already knows cleaning the mountains of ash and charcoal from the hearth was going to be an endeavour in and of itself. Maybe he should save that for last.

“Sero?” He jumps at his name, looking back to the magical pair and finding them both looking at him, Sero blinking owlishly under the mix of concerned and humoured looks. Why did Shouto look like that? What had he missed? “I asked you what was in your pocket.”

His pocket?

Wrinkled hands pat trouser pockets, bemusement clear as day when something crinkles under his touch, slipping his hand into his pocket to find a note. How long had that been there? These had been fresh out of the drawer when he’d put them on, his only handling of paper when he left the note for Mina and Uraraka, eyeing the purple note warily before placing it in Shouto’s extended, expectant hand.

Paper touches skin. Paper explodes into blue flame and ash, hands recoiling at the flash of heat as intricate details scorch themselves into the table, Sero quickly checking his hand for any burns before looking to Shouto, no longer weird in his welcome but aggravated, a tension building in his shoulders, something about the expression seeming weirdly familiar but Sero couldn’t place why.

The silence stretches as a pale hand presses against the table, the smell of acrid, burnt flesh filling the air as blue fire sparked to life around Shouto’s hand. Sighing deeply, Shout stands, the mark on the table gone and the hand that had been on the table now cradled to his chest, the remainder of his tea downed, his half eaten plate of food dumped into Bakugou’s flames.

“Move the castle seventy miles north, I’ll be needing hot water too.”

It’s Midoriya who first breaks the silence at the table, Bakugou cursing up a storm towards Shouto in the background as he turned to Sero, a set look on his face that the teenager was failing to not show as threatening. “Are you working for Dabi?” His voice is low, Sero growing more confusion at the sudden tension. He hadn’t known who Shouto was until about ten minutes ago, how was he supposed to know who this Dabi was?

“Kid I have no idea who Da-”

“Pass that on to little Shouto, would you.”

Something snaps in him then. A white boiling rage that was so out of character for him that it threatened to suffocate him. Dabi. Dabi was the man following Shouto. Dabi was the bastard who had done this to him. Slamming his hand on the table, he barely feels the pain from the impact, Midoriya jumping back from him and even Bakugou stops his tirade against Shouto.

“I do not work for Dabi.” He spat his name out like it was poison. “He’s the reason I-”

His lips seal, a pain developing in his vocal cords as he tried to speak of the curse, tried to tell the increasingly panicked looking teenager about how he wasn’t in his seventies but twenty four, how he’d been cursed for just being seen with his master. Sero’s attempts to speak of his predicament end with an angry sob, coughs wracking his sore throat, a warm hand rubbing his back as another cup of tea was slid towards him, the comfort Midoriya offered welcome but doing little to ease his mood.

“I don’t work for Dabi.” He repeated softly, the floral tea providing another performative sense of comfort, warming his old bones and easing the physical aches and pains that plagued him.

“I know, I’m sorry I asked.”

#todosero #seroroki #sero hanta #todoroki shouto #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #bnha #bnha howls moving castle au #to star lake

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squishneedsahero · 4 years ago

Text

Belonging

Lost to Time | Part 4

Word Count: 1977

Summary:

The story of an original character, Allison Bennett. Growing up black in the short period between the world wars wasn't easy but Allison had friends who stuck with her no matter what. She was ambitious and had a million things she wanted to achieve in her lifetime and would try only to be told by the world that due to who she was it wasn't possible and she'd never live up to her dreams.

Allison looked at the man for a good fifteen seconds, feeling he looked familiar and not being able to place who he was. Finally she places the face, very different from the last time she had seen it but as soon as she placed it there wasn't a doubt in her mind.

"Steve?" The question has barely left her lips when she is standing up and moving towards him. "Is it really you?" She asks, hardly believing that it really is him here in front of her in the year 2015.

Steve's face breaks into a smile as she recognizes him. Someone from his past standing there in front of him, "yes Allison, it's really me..."

It's as he says yes that she rushes him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, hugging him. She can't stop the gasp of relief from leaving her lips as if she had held her breath too long.

He hugs her back just as tightly, lifting her slightly off the ground as he does so. Steve isn't surprised when his friend begins to cry, she had always cried when emotions overwhelmed her. When she begins to release her hold he lets go as well, gently placing her back on the ground.

She looks up at her friend once she is back on the ground. She wipes her face and runs a hand through her messy hair as a laugh of pure joy left her lips. It's not even a moment later that she, a little less than, playfully throws a punch at him, "you bastard. Do you have any idea how much I missed you?!"

With that statement Steve finds her arms back around him, holding him in a hug. He can't help but laugh gently as she goes back to crying into his shoulder, "yes Allie, I do know how you feel."

She pulls back again, giving him a playful glare, "that's not what you're supposed to say." She can't stop the smile from coming back to her face as she looks at him, "you look well, not like you may keel over at any moment," the sentiment is genuine. She hadn't seen him since whatever happened had happened but she was so glad to see her friend looking healthy for the first time in his life.

"You look well too considering that you've been missing for 66 years." He pauses a moment before he continues on, "agent Ross said that you could come stay with me instead of staying here, at least that is if you'd like too."

"I haven't seen or talked with you in ages, you really think I'd turn down an offer to catch up with one of my closest friends?" She smiles widely at him and follows his lead back out of the room. As she walks and talks with him she feels years of stress lift from her shoulders. She hadn't gotten close to anyone in all her time serving as a nurse. She hadn't gotten close to anyone after that, but now she found her friend again and finally felt she had somewhere she belonged again.

Steve and Allison get in a car and Steve drives them upstate to the Avengers compound. As they drive the two friends talk about different things and it's a nice conversation until mentions of the war and how Allison had left came up.

Allison falls quiet, not quite sure how to apologize for not reaching out during her time away but also feeling unsure if she even should apologize considering Steve hadn't reached out either. The problem is solved for her when Steve speaks up, "hey, sorry about not writing you while you were out. Buck was weird after you left then he was drafted and I found a chance to be able to help with the war efforts."

Allison's heart hurts at the mention of their other friend. The third member of their trio, a broken trio that would never be together again. "I'm sorry I didn't write either of you either... it's just as much my fault if not more."

Steve glances at her as he drives, wanting to comfort her but he could also tell there was something more to what she was saying than what had been said. "... do you want to talk about it?"

She bites her lip for a moment, "you really don't know?" Allison looks to Steve and sees the oblivious look on his face. She heaves a deep breath, "Bucky walked me home after our day at the boardwalk... and he kissed me. I panicked, I didn't know how to respond, all I could think of was the struggles my father had told me about courting my mother... I didn't want to have that happen to us, or ruin our friendship but the next day I was gone and writing an apology just wasn't something I could bring myself to do."

Steve nods but stays silent for a few minutes. It made sense, it truly did, growing up with Allison he had noticed the things she wasn't able to do that other girls were. She had always tried to be cautious about that stuff not wanting to burden her two friends with those troubles. After she had left Bucky had seemed off, and every time Steve had asked about it Buck had just suggested some girls to take on a date.

Steve reached over and sets a hand on Allison's, "it's fine, I know the both of you and it makes sense how you reacted." He pauses to think of what he could say to lift the heavy atmosphere that had come upon them. Bringing up the fact that Bucky was also still alive was hardly the solution but quickly Steve settles upon the topic of race.

Steve begins to tell Allison how wonderful the modern day was, though it still had issues that things were a lot better for black people than they had been back in the day. He told her of how she could vote in elections and didn't have to be so careful with how and whom she interacted. This new subject quickly lifts the mood and Allison begins asking Steve all these questions. Just as fascinated as ever with the idea of new knowledge and being able to live the way she wanted.

The conversation goes on, easily bringing back the light hearted feel that they had begun with. Sure things weren't perfect, and Steve made that clear so as to not cause her later disappointment, but things were better here than where he had left her. She had a lot more freedoms she had access to whatever knowledge and schooling she could wish for and not have to worry so much about the cruel people of the world and how they would treat her or those she cared for.

After a few hours of driving they make it to the compound and Allison looks upon it with awe. She had been born and raised in Brooklyn, and when she had left the city it was to go to war camps. The army camps could hardly be called a natural setting, neither could the compound but it had rolling fields of grass surrounding it and large trees, being so much more open than even Central Park was. "You live here?" She asks in amazement.

Steve smiles at his friend and gives a nod, "I do. I have friends who live here with me as well, that's something I should explain before we head inside," with that Steve began to explain the Avengers and how they had come to be. The people who were living at the compound and their names along with a few things about them. There aren't many of them living at the large building, but there's others who periodically pass through and visit.

Steve informs Allison that there were only two who lived there full time alongside him, Wanda Maximoff and Vision, an Android made of pure technology. These two were the only ones who would be around for her to meet today, but his other friends and acquaintances had been informed of her arrival and most would be coming the following day to introduce themselves.

This works for Allison, as she was processing this change quickly and could tell she would love the life she could live here. There were so many advancements made during the nearly 70 years she had missed and she couldn't wait to learn about them all. She briefly meets both Wanda and Vision, the two having other things to do that day and knowing there would be more time to get to know her better later.

All of this was perfectly fine with Allison, she hadn't been exhausted before, but now she was. She hadn't felt so much joy in years, her abs were sore from the laughter she had shared with Steve. She was shown to a room which had some clothes and other items already prepared for her, ready for her to move in. She gives Steve another hug before parting ways and going to her room.

Once the door closes behind her she heaves a sigh of relief and silently prays that this isn't a dream. She pinches herself and trusts that it is real. Allison moves towards the large bed, centered on a wall of the room and sets her tattered notebook on the bedside table. Her clothes had been taken by the hospital, she was wearing a pair of loose pants and a shirt which she had been given, the notebook was the last piece she had to what was seeming to become her old life.

In the space of a day, she had gone from miserable and working every hour of the day just to keep herself feeling a sense of purpose, to now she was ready to move and make this jump to this new life. She had her friend back, something familiar to hold onto as she takes the steps to change and be more herself with everyone she met.

The first change Allison decides to make is taking care of herself. She heads to the bathroom and figured out how things work, taking a long hot shower and washing all of the products out of her hair. As she washed it she felt it's natural curl begin to come back to it, that had been something she'd always tried to get rid of, wished she didn't have. She just couldn't look professional with it, at least that was what she had been taught, she was going to try and change that now and embrace that part of herself.

Once Allison is done in the shower she dries herself and decides upon the next change she is going to make. She is going to dress how she wishes, Wanda had been wearing pants and a loose comfortable looking shirt, so why should Allison have to wear a dress what took 30 minutes to put on herself and shoes that pinched her feet. She goes to her closet and finds something comfortable to wear and easily finds something which doesn't break too many of the rules she is used too but it's also out of the ordinary, allowing her to begin the exciting process of change.

After she has gotten dressed from her shower Allison is well and truly exhausted. That was more than enough change and new information for the day, she could continue her change and being more herself in the morning but for now the only change she wanted to make was feeling how soft a brand new bed felt. With thoughts of the wonderful things to come Allison climbs into the large bed with what feels like clouds of blankets on top and quickly falls asleep, peaceful for the first time in forever.

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fromdecemberwithlove · 5 years ago

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She closed the door to her flat and leant against the wood, dropping her bag onto the floor.

Exhausted.

She was exhausted.

Her day had been a disaster and she felt miserable and cold. Between spilling her coffee on her blouse that morning (when that prat Cormac had bumped into her on purpose), being forced to work through lunch to prepare for her appearance in front of the Wizengamot (last minute changes in their seemingly endless list of stipulations) and having the horrible surprise to argue against that vindictive old bat Griselda Marshbanks instead of the lazy, half wit Ernest Hawkworth… the day couldn’t end fast enough.

It hadn’t been grueling enough, apparently, and as she reached the Apparition point, the sky had finally opened after days of looking angry and sullen and sinister, drenching her.

She didn’t bother with a drying spell and headed straight for her bathroom to treat herself to a well-deserved bath. As she waited for the water to fill the tub, she summed a bottle of red wine and a glass from the kitchen, undressed and dried her hair with wave of her wand before pinning it at the top of her head and settling beneath the soft bubbles.

Hermione heaved a deep sigh and took a sip of wine. Her body relaxed with the help of the salts and the deliciously warm temperature of the water, but she still felt heavy; still felt dejected. She didn’t know which way the Wizengamot was going to vote and they wouldn’t give her an answer until Monday. She’d have to spend the entire weekend worrying and fretting about it, no doubt driving herself crazy in the process.

She closed her eyes and savored another mouthful of her drink, letting her head fall back against the white porcelain.

She missed Draco.

He always knew the perfect way to distract her from the vicious mind games that the Authorities That Be liked to play with her. If he were here, he’d probably take her out, take her some place she would be able to relax and forget, take her to dinner, take her dancing… take her to bed.

Yes, if he were here…

But Draco was in Austria, until the end of the month, and it was on days like these that the weight of his absence pressed down on her chest harder: closing her throat, bringing tears to her eyes. She didn’t want to cry—it was absurd, really, and entirely pointless. She knew it was the accumulation of days working long hours for what she believed was right catching up with her.

She could owl him.

She considered that for a brief second before dismissing it. She knew he would find a way to come back early, and she didn’t want to take him away from his responsibilities.

Despite her protests, she loved that he put her first. Always. His quiet devotion, more so than his seemingly insatiable desire, left her breathless sometimes.

She sighed again. Half her glass was gone and she twirled the carmine liquid inside, lost in thoughts.

It was excellent wine.

She snorted, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. Of course it would be. After all, it came from the illustrious cellars of Malfoy Manor, made in the equally illustrious Malfoy Vineyard in France. She smiled, remembering his face when Ron and Harry had shown up for her 27th birthday celebration with boxed wine.

He’d looked horrified, features frozen in shock and tense with outrage. But as she’d watched him accept the offering, his eyes glaring at the box with barely contained disdain, and shake hands with each of her best friends without a single snide remark, Hermione’s heart had swelled with love and joy. After the guests had left, he’d practically run back to the kitchen to set the offending object on fire in the sink. She had laughed hysterically as he went on a tirade about unsophisticated people and ridiculous bad taste and where the fuck did they even find that? Surely they didn’t pay for it? Don’t tell me they made it themselves!

She’d calmed down enough to explain that it was a Muggle product and that she and the boys had this little tradition about drinking it on each other’s birthday. He’d stared at her in stunned silence for a full minute, before promptly declaring, as he washed away the ashes down the drain with a flick of his wand, that they needed a new adult tradition and that it was high time for all three of them to learn about the finer things in life.

Hermione set the now empty glass on the floor. Thinking about him always gave her a measure of peace and serenity but it also made his absence infinitely more acute and almost palpable. The only remedy to her current languor was a good book.

She wrapped herself in his Slytherin bathrobe, ignoring her Gryffindor one on the hook behind the bathroom door (a gift from Blaise because, as he’d declared, “why not?”) and left behind the wine and her clothes on the white tiled floor, electing to deal with the mess in the morning.

She pushed her bedroom door open and her heart stopped. Her breath caught somewhere in her throat and a strangled gasp fell from her lips.

Draco.

For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating. Her wide eyes took in the blond man in his rumbled suit sleeping on his side in the middle of her unmade bed, with an orange fur ball curled up against his stomach, and she felt certain it was all some sort of mirage; that she’d blink and he would vanish.

Crookshanks opened his eyes, raised his head to look at her and yawned.

She blinked.

The man was still there.

Draco was still there.

Her cat stood, stretched and jumped down, grazing her bare legs as he sauntered past, leaving them alone. As if he’d stood guard there, simply waiting for her to come home and take her rightful place next to the sleeping man.

She didn’t realize she had moved until her shins hit the edge of the mattress and she was standing over him. It still felt like a dream. To make sure, to reassure her that this was not some trick of her mind - because she missed him so much, the pain felt like a physical wound -, her hand reached down and brushed his hair off his face.

Real.

His eyelids fluttered and sleepy grey eyes stared at her.

“Hey you,” his voice was hoarse with sleep.

“Hey,” she whispered, her fingers trailing down his cheek. He gave her a lazy smile, grabbing her wrist and placing a gentle kiss in the palm of her hand.

She opened her mouth to say something else—to ask him what he was doing here, how come he didn’t tell her he’d be coming back earlier than expected? but the only thing that came out of her mouth was a broken sob.

Startled, she watched him look up at her and frown. Then his hand came up to her face and he wiped her cheek.

She was crying.

“What’s wrong?”

She tried to speak, tried to tell him it was nothing—she was just tired, had a bad day- wanted to assure him that she was fine.

But she couldn’t.

She sank onto her knees on the bedside rug, collapsing under the crushing weight of her breakdown. The silent tears gave way to loud weeping—sharp hiccups tore from her lungs and violent sobs shook her entire body. He immediately sat up and gathered her in his arms, dragging her onto the bed.

“What happened?” he tried again, but all she could do was shake her head as the tension of the past week washed out off of her in waves. She clung to him and he held her and let her cry against him, her face buried in his chest, no doubt ruining his expensive suit further.

When the hysteria abided, Hermione sniffed and slowly pulled away from his embrace. She wiped her face with the sleeves of the bathrobe and took a deep, cleansing breath. She felt considerably better, lighter but also utterly mortified.

“Are you okay?” his worried eyes scanned her face, hands running down her arms.

She nodded, a blush creeping up her cheeks, burning her face with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” she said, looking down at her comforter, hating the way her voice sounded so vulnerable.

He placed his hands on either side of her face and tilted his head to look at her.

For the longest time, he didn’t say anything and simply stared at her like he could read her—like she was his favourite book and he recognized this particular chapter.

“Bad day,” he finally said.

It wasn’t a question.

He knew.

He understood.

Just like that.

She nodded again.

“Wizengamot tug of war?” he handed her the box of tissues from her nightstand. Despite his half-smile, there was still some lingering concern in his eyes.

She barked a short laugh, wiping at her nose.

“Yeah, had to deal with that awful Marshbanks woman because Hawkworth is out with dragon pox”

“Isn’t he like a thousand years old, how hasn’t he contracted it before?”

She shrugged.

“What else?”

Before she could stop herself, she blurred out:

“Cormac bumped into me, made me spill coffee on my shirt,” it was childish, she knew, like tattling on a naughty classmate to her favourite teacher, but she was feeling raw and exposed and it didn’t feel right to start hiding things seconds after cleansing herself from everything.

“That fucking useless wanker!” the surge of anger made the grey of his irises look like the stormy sky outside.

“It’s okay,” she said but his eyes narrowed, “well not okay but whatever, it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it bloody well matters! You should report his incompetent arse!”

“For what? Being a prick?”

Cormac was many things, but incompetent wasn’t one of them (unfortunately).

“Absolutely,” he nodded vehemently, “I’ll report him myself!”

She stared at him in silence… and burst out laughing. Full blown, belly clenching, can’t-breathe laughter. She fell onto her side, the crystalline sound filling the room, tears of mirth tracing the same path as her earlier ones as he looked at her with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, fighting the urge to join her while trying to hold on to his self-righteous anger. She flipped on her back and tried to catch her breath.

“Oh Merlin, thank you for being so awesomely ridiculous,” she said, calming down.

He sneered but his eyes were soft now.

“I meant it,”

“Oh I know you did, that’s why it was so hilarious.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Potter to do something about it,” he mused.

“No,” she sat up, shaking her head, “it doesn’t matter, just drop it.”

“—or perhaps Weasley, he can’t stand him either,” he carrying on, as if she hadn’t spoken.

“Draco!” she grabbed his upper arms as if to shake him from his nefarious plotting.

He gave her a playful smile, “all right, all right.”

She watched him, knowing full well that he was going to do whatever he wanted in the end but dropped it because she didn’t want to dwell on stupid Cormac any longer.

She intertwined their fingers, her thumb tracing the inside of her palm absentmindedly.

“When did you get back?”

“Lunch time, I think. I was going to owl you, but… I fell asleep,” he said, avoiding her eyes.

His cheeks tinted with a light pink hue.

He was embarrassed.

It was adorable.

“I thought you needed to stay until the end of the month?”

He shrugged, “I wanted to see you.”

If she hadn’t just cried herself raw, she knew her eyes would have smarted.

She couldn’t help her reply though, “but what about work?”

“I’m the boss, work can wait,” he waved a dismissive hand.

She rolled her eyes, “Honestly!”

“Don’t give me that look, Granger, I know you’re ecstatic I’m here,” his lips stretched in that familiar arrogant smirk.

She chuckled, “I wouldn’t say ecstatic…”

“Oh, really?” he quirked that damned perfect eyebrow, “what would you say then?” he was leaning towards her, a predatory gleam in his eyes. It sent a thrill up her spine.

Oh-oh.

She tried to bolt out of bed but he caught her waist and began tickling her mercilessly.

“Stop, sto-stop, Draco!”

“Say you’re ecstatic to see me,”

“I’m, ah, stop!”

“Say it,”

“I’m ecstatic to see you,” she practically yelled, sucking in a breath when he let up.

He gave her a peck on the lips and pulled back.

“Say Mclaggen is a tosser and should rot in hell,”

She began to roll her eyes but he started tickling her again and she tried to grab his wrists and push him with her knees. But he had her completely pinned down.

“Mclaggen is a to-tosser and, stop! He, he should rot in-in hell,” she huffed.

“Say I’m the best you’ve ever had,”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,”

He was also absolutely right.

Draco grinned down at her and his fingers dug into her sides again, making her yelp and squirm.

“Say it, witch,”

“You’re-you’re the best I’ve ever had!”

“Say you’ve missed me,” he stopped, his hands still on her sides, his body hovering over her, his eyes boring into hers.

“I did, so much,” she said. She felt the ache again, pressing down on her chest, pressing, pressing, pressing.

He kissed her deeply and took it all away.

“Say you love me,” a plea against her lips.

“I love you,” her fingers in his hair, her mouth on his.

He swallowed her confession and she moaned, melting under him.

“By the way, you look amazing in this,” his eyes roamed over her exposed shoulder and collarbone, the sides of the bathrobe having slipped open during her struggle. He pulled the cotton fabric apart further, dropping his head to kiss and nibble at her skin.

“You want to switch?” she quipped, “use mine from now on?”

He laughed against her throat, “hell no.”

“You’re a man child,”

“Whatever you say,” he mumbled, his mouth trailing down between her breasts, his hand pushing her legs open.

She closed her eyes, and let him make her forget, the way he did best: With his hands and his lips and his teeth and his tongue. She lost herself in the sound of his groans and the feel of his skin and the taste of him and inhaled his scent like he was the only air she ever needed.

They remained tangled in the aftermath, his fingertips running leisurely over her back, her head on his chest as she listened to his heart slowly returning to a steady rhythm as they watched the rain outside beat against the window in the same cadence.

______________

Written for Prompt Thursday @dramionefanfictionwriters Prompt : Red Wine (in the rain)

I actually wrote this the day the prompt was issued but decided to not post it and take my time editing it.

Thank you for reading

#dramione #prompted #FF writing

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heavens-light-and-hells-ice · 6 years ago

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Waiting.

"'Tis better not to love, for love means pain and fear of loss."

-- only a very cynical man says that. Even Rosaire Ledigne had never agreed with those sentiments -- had thought it a cold and antisocial stance to take.

But even so -- he'd still chosen to live so much of his life unattached: a perpetual bachelor, distant from hated family, surrounded by scores of friends and not one of them intimate. It was never true that he 'thought only of himself' -- every contact and every servant was, after all, a precious resource, and their welfare and the good of Ishgard was ever at the front of his mind -- but he'd long felt only for himself, a single man, a lone ego, dispassionate and aloof.

No longer is this true. He loves, now, and with desperate abandon. And though that allows him happiness such has he had never allowed himself -- though it quenches the thirst of his soul -- just as much does it mean terror and pain.

O'er thirty years in the Inquisition, yet rarely does Rosaire dream of it -- if he suffers nightmares, they are more like to be of the Scholasticate than of the sights and smells of the special office. And yet, from about the time of his engagement, he began to develop a new, recurring nightmare -- not one that grips him in an awful terror, as his lady's do to her, but from which he starts icily awake. The circumstances in it are never quite the same -- at times, it's the haemorrhage, or the fever, or the labor that doesn't end. But the result is the same, as is the image that stays burned to his eyes no matter how he blinks: her cold body, pale as snow, lying enfolded in the rust-stained sheets.

It haunts him, as he walks the stones of Ishgard, listens to the animated discussions at the Institute office, presides over the festivals, and stares into the leaping embers of the fireplace. It chases him, at a late bell, back into his fur-lined coat, back up the winding streets, back to the pew at the back of Saint Reymanaud's, where the shadows hide his face. And he grips his rosary, and he prays.

O Halone -- do not let them suffer because of me.

In the early moons, when she really did suffer, he watched over her, calm plastered over his dismay. Every day -- though they had carefully weighed and discussed it and made their choice together -- every day he doubted, dreaded it had been a mistake. He cursed himself -- a selfish old man -- for shackling that youthful linnet with the constraints of his infirmity and age. They could have taken more time, could have passed another twelve or twenty honey-moons, if they did not have to race his limited years; he could at least do something for her if he were young and hale and not so useless.

At times, he might not have grieved if the Twelve had taken back their blessing.

But then summer came, flower-sweet and golden, and -- as they sat together on one of Mist's warm strands, watching the shapes of soaring gulls against the blue-and-white sky -- it became easier to put such thoughts from his mind. Yet still -- as he looked over at her and the way the water had curled a lock of her hair into a spiral against her cheek, where a pink rose once more bloomed -- he thought how delicate it was, that fragile, tender rose, and blinked the salt from his eyes.

Punish me, Halone, if I have earned Your wrath. Kill me, damn me, but I beg You -- I beg You -- do not punish them for my sins. Do not punish her for her mercy. Do not lay the sins of the father upon the child. Save them -- protect them -- punish me, torture me with anything, anything, anything but that.

So rarely is her sleep restful that he dares not disturb her, when he later wakes beside her in the dark. The round ear and the narrow shoulder that glow in the window's wan light -- he touches them only with his gaze, and his fingers hover over, but do not trace, the silver chain that holds the amulet close against her skin, the eaglestone he had dipped in holy water.

The prayer the priest had him repeat over the font comes back to his lips, soundless:

O almighty and merciful Fury, fixer of heaven and earth -- grant unto her, my wife, the strength and courage to overcome her trial and to bring forth in victory the next of Your elect. Assist her in her pains and help her in the danger of deliverance; shield her from sorrow and turn her mourning into mirth. And in the mean season, keep You my wife, and protect her with Your favor, that they both may escape from all hurt, fear, and danger --

Those hovering fingers begin to shake; he draws them back, pressing them to his chest, where the ache pierces him.

He shuts his eyes to wait for morning.

But when morning comes, and the rooftops of the Pillars gleam, and the archways above and below shine gold -- and more brilliant than them all, the one who turns her face to him and smiles -- his chest seizes with another pang, almost too strong to bear.

To this point, every choice he had made in his life was a choice to forfeit happiness. He turned away from the daylight -- took the stain of sin upon his soul -- that the people of the Fury's Ishgard, working and praying and raising their families in the light of the sun -- might be spared. He forbade himself a simple life -- forbade himself love -- for a true Inquisitor, Halone's hellsbound scourge, cannot hope for such things. Worst of all, he had promised to give his life for Her, to save Her wayward nation -- and had not only failed, but broken faith.

And yet, having given up every right, turned away from every chance up until the very last -- here now he stands, rapt -- transported, by the sight of her smile, with joy.

And when she smiles -- when she lays her hand on his arm as they walk -- when she comes away from brushing and braiding her long hair, and he gently fits her face in the palm of his hand -- that he was allowed o'er a twelvemoon of such moments, when the merest instant is enough to flood him with more happiness than his heart can hold -- it is a miracle he almost cannot believe, and he thanks Halone for every moment he, unworthy and undeserving, has been allowed.

But -- forgive me, O Halone -- have mercy, O Halone -- forgive my ingratitude and gall -- but I beg you -- grant just a little bit more.

He watches the carpenter taking measurements in the nursery, lectures Gavelock on the running of the Institute, carves careful, tender letters into the storybook, and prays. He prays for her safety, her comfort, and her health. He prays for their safety, their health, and their future -- for their Ishgard, lurching forward into new, mad days.

And he prays, too, for himself.

Spare them, spare them, O Halone -- if there must be a reckoning, I beg You punish only me.

But if You can -- if You deign -- if You can suffer such an insolent request -- I beg, I implore You, please -- defer it, that punishment, just a little longer.

If 'twas Your will to spare my life -- that I might give up trying to be Your angel on earth and live instead as a man, and only for her happiness, her will my command -- I beg You, let me serve her a little longer. Let me aid her and make her burdens easy, that her cares may be few and her wings light when the time comes for her to fly free. And let me see her child delivered, by Your grace, safely into the world.

Let me meet them, her child, and know their heart enough to glimpse the person they will someday become. Let me raise them in the true faith, that they may stand for You and for justice when the moment finally comes. Let me show them a Coerthan spring, the valleys in bloom, the mountains against the sky, all the wonders of Your creation, that they may feel the blessing of the covenant You have made with our people and love this land as I do.

But if naught else -- if I, who have sinned, may ask no more -- then please --

Let me live long enough that they may know that they, too, were loved.

#ffxiv rp #rosaire ledigne #gwenneth ledigne #a little teapot #papa ledigne #stories #angsty old men #but also schmoop #just Ishgardian husband things #fine just fine #pregnancy //#childbirth //#medical //

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aphe-blog · 4 years ago

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To add a note, to those who might want it...

This is absolutely valid. I have struggled with it myself. I cancelled a counselling appointment the day we heard Donald Trump was elected because I saw no point trying to break my feelings down that day. Sometimes I still struggle to know when I'm falling into a depressive episode and when I'm just responding rationally to the awfulness of the world.

But the brilliant thing - no, really, I promise - is that it's not entirely new.

A massive break-through for me, personally, in understanding the history of early Christianity was the context of how people thought they were living in the end of times. It wasn't that every single person was walking round counting down til Armageddon, and it wasn't that no one was trying to do long-term things, it was just that like now, on the whole, in the back of people's minds, constantly, a lot of people felt the world was falling apart. So it's not so strange that some thought sure, let's be celibate and not have kids. Let's give up all our possessions. Let's wander into the desert and let our bodies fail.

Later, during the 'Little Ice Age', when crops in Europe started to fail repeatedly, and storms seemed to come out of nowhere, more and more European Christians seem to have believed the Horsemen were coming, the battle was at hand, and the one and only thing of consequence was the immortal soul that would persist once this world was gone. We got violent schisms and wars of religion. (Incidentally, the worst years of the Little Ice Age coincided with highest peaks in witchcraft accusations and executions, so the psychological impact seems to have been really, truly dire).

This time, it's not ice we face, but fires, floods and noxious gas. And this time, we're not looking for witches. We've got the data, the equipment and the laws of physics to show us exactly how we causing our environment to collapse. And we see, all across the world, how we are turning to popularism, totalitarianism and facism, and how we are part of a system designed to make the mega rich richer and be crueler and crueler to the marginalised and the poor. It feels like the world is just burning up. And it feels like it must be worse than ever.

You have been lied to, yes, by adults who thought that what they knew was true. And maybe by some who hoped to profit off you. They have told you, I'm sure, that if you work hard, if you follow social norms, if you play into the system, then you can get a good job, you can live somewhere nice, your biggest problem will be finding your 'soulmate' and your water, energy, wifi, everything will just tick along unchanging. And clearly, this is not true. We don't know quite what the future will look like. So it feels, often, like there just won't be one.

But, we have the tools we need.

Because we know what is wrong, we know the ways to fix it. And we know we have gained ground before. In my country, women like me (under 30, not a 'ratepayer' or property owner) couldn't vote a century ago. In my country, women like me could not take early abortion pills at home until just last year. Progress is too slow right now, but it is possible. We need to come together to tackle the big, systemic issues, but we also need every little victory, every persistent bit of work, every beautiful little act of love that we can get.

I truly, truly believe that human life will go on, long after we are gone. And in the years that we are here - these crucial years - we have the power to make it a bit better for each other and for those that come next.

Focus on care, on beauty and on radical change. Get obsessed with things that might make someone's life better and things that just bring you a little bit of joy. Find people who share your concerns and are trying to do something to make a difference. Take time to practice self care and try to look out for your friends and neighbours.

It doesn't matter what, exactly, the future looks like - only that it will be all the better because you are in it.

#i have drunk some wine and now I want to address the youth #but seriously #stay in it #radical hope

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stansbooty · 7 years ago

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unspoken thing iii

“When are we gonna do something about this unspoken thing between us?”

warnings: underage drinking

words: 3352

ao3 link || 1 2

chapter 3: junior year part i

Eddie rolled into his Junior year of high school with more friends by his side than any other year of his life. He, of course, had his best friends still with him but now had four new people he would consider to be his best friends as well. He was overwhelmed by the idea at first, of having so many people that he could trust and he didn’t know whether or not he actually wanted to trust that many people. Growing up, trust wasn’t something that came easily to him but somehow this ragtag group of kids had wormed their way into his heart.

They also convinced him to take a ballroom dance class as his art elective and he was borderline considering killing Richie and Mike (who had practically forced his hand to write down the class on his request papers), so maybe the trusting thing wasn’t a good idea.

“Eddie, it’ll be fun!” Mike said, hand around Eddie’s shoulder as he brought him into the classroom on the first day of school.

“I can’t dance!” He protested, planting his feet on the ground as he was being pushed. Eddie wasn’t the biggest and Mike was extremely strong, so resisting proved to be futile.

“That’s why it’s a class, it’s only a year of your life and we’re going to learn.”

The pair walked into the classroom, met with the faces of Richie and Bev who were also taking the class. Stan, Bill, and Ben had gotten their art elective out of the way freshman year by just talking plain art, which Eddie wanted to take but couldn’t make his schedule work around it.

“Spaghetti!” Richie exclaimed upon seeing him enter the room. He walked towards them and stood on the side of Eddie that Mike wasn’t, wrapping his arm around Eddie’s shoulder as well and effectively trapping the smaller boy between them. He then leaned down and pressed an obnoxious kiss to Eddie’s cheek, causing him to groan and his stomach to flutter slightly. “Mike is such a great guy for bringing you.”

“I had no choice.” Eddie muttered and Bev smiled at him.

“Eddie, relax.” She said. “I’ll be your partner and we’ll dance and have fun and probably suck together.”

“Bev over here can’t dance for shit.” Richie grinned. “You two are a match made in dancing heaven.” Eddie looked at him with an expressionless face and the taller boy chuckled, reaching over to tap Eddie’s nose and releasing him from his grasp. “Mike is the sexiest dance partner there is, so we’re the sexiest match in heaven together.”

“God, that one was bad.” Mike laughed.

“Running out of material, trashmouth?” Eddie smirked.

“Not in your dreams, Eds.”

The rest of the class dispersed into pairs, a mix of friends pairing with each other for the sake of reducing the awkwardness and pairs that were forced together due to uneven numbers in their friend groups. The class was simple. The teacher would show them a dance move with her partner, the class would practice it, and then she would show them a new move and it would repeat for the entirety of the time.

Bev didn’t seem as awful as Eddie expected her to be, but to be fair he had low standards for dancing considering he couldn’t dance either. She was surprisingly comfortable to dance with though, conversations just flowing between them as they danced, not really paying attention to how they looked as long as they got the footwork right. Bev and Eddie were a good match as well, their heights complimenting each other as well as their rhythm, preventing any feet from getting stepped on.

Mike and Richie were the exact opposite of the two of them. Both being balls of energetic joy caused them to be jumping, rather than dancing, across the floor, avoiding hitting other pairs but frequently bumping into each other. Richie was only slightly taller than Mike and both tried to take the lead as they were dancing which lead to small little struggles that both Eddie and Bev could notice in their demeanors. The teacher came over to attempt to correct their form on more than one occasion but when she left to check on other dancers, they were back to their original chaotic nature.

The class ended with Bev and Eddie being slightly better dancers than before and Mike and Richie being covered in sweat, panting from exhaustion.

“How are you guys so…not sweaty?” Richie asked, slightly out of breath.

“We weren’t jumping around for an hour and half, that’s why.” Bev replied, looking the boys up and down. “We were doing this thing called dancing.”

“Hey, we were dancing!” Mike protested.

“I wouldn’t call that dancing.” Eddie put on a sympathetic look, placing his hand on Mike’s shoulder.

Richie scoffed. “You wouldn’t know dancing if it bit you in the ass, Eds.”

As the friends were walking out the door, their teacher smiled. “Great job today, Eddie and Beverly, you seem to have potential.”

Richie and Mike’s jaws nearly hit the floor as Bev and Eddie high fived, laughing as they walked out the classroom.

“B-but,” Richie sputtered. “I don’t get it, I know you two, and you can’t dance.”

“But we’re fast learners.” Beverly grinned.

Richie and Mike both just grumbled under their breaths.

Eddie had a lot of pride. Too much, some would say, because it did cause him to get into some trouble sometimes. If someone challenged him, he would usually go through with it. If someone insulted him, he would work to prove them wrong. And one thing Eddie Kaspbrak never did was admit he was wrong.

Eddie was sitting in the grass with Mike and Bill, the rest of their friends in the water near them. Eddie was laying down, head in Bill’s lap and feet in Mike’s, the two of them leaning against a rather large tree.

“Does Stan still have a huge thing for Richie?” Mike spoke up after a few minutes of silence.

“He doesn’t mention his name as much but maybe a little.” Eddie answered, knowing that Bill wouldn’t know the answer to the question as Stan only talked to Eddie about it.

“W-why do you think that?” Bill asked.

“Well, Stan didn’t know him before,” Eddie sat up only slightly. “He was just this…idea of sorts.” The silence from his friends cued him to go on. “No one can really know what a person is going to be like and actually talking to a person can cause other feelings.”

Mike chuckled softly, “So Stan feels differently?”

“That’s what I’m guessing. Maybe he still likes him, who knows? But he’s not the same person Stan had such strong feelings for before.”

This time, Bill joined in when Mike chuckled.

“Am I missing something?” Eddie fully sat up.

“Are y-you speaking from experience?” Bill ruffled Eddie’s hair, causing the smaller boy to swat his hand away.

“What do you mean?”

“Having s-strong feelings before knowing w-who a person really is? And then ch-changing when you get to know the p-person?” Bill continued.

“Yeah, what?” Eddie pulled his feet in front of him so he could sit crisscross.

“W-well, you hated Richie before -”

“Disliked.” Eddie corrected.

Bill sighed. “Disliked Richie b-before and now you’re friends.”

“Yeah, friends.” Mike added on.

“Yeah, we’re friends.” Eddie gave them both weird looks. “What of it?”

“Well you were wrong about Richie. He isn’t as bad as you thought he was.” Mike explained. “You’re right. He’s worse.” Eddie deadpanned.

“P-pretend all you want, Eddie.” Bill smiled slightly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eddie stood up, placing his hands on his hips.

“Eds!” A voice came from behind him and he immediately knew who it was because only one person was annoying enough to call him that name.

Richie placed his arms under Eddie’s and picked him up, spinning and effectively getting Eddie wet again.

“Put me down!” Eddie protested.

“No.” Richie responded, putting his head into the crook of Eddie’s neck, his wet hair tickling Eddie’s face.

“Richie.” Eddie groaned.

“Oh, say my name, Eds.” Richie chuckled breathlessly, his lips grazing Eddie’s bare shoulder.

Eddie’s breath hitched in his throat, his face turning red. Bill and Mike smirked up at the pair in front of them but Richie couldn’t see them.

The emotion that could only be described as “Fuck” hit Eddie like a truck when he realized what Bill and Mike had been talking about earlier. He was attracted to Richie. He never really looked at the other boy like that before, but now he glanced at the mass of curls out of the corner of his eyes and that’s all he could think about.

Eddie panicked, squirmed away from Richie but only succeeded in turning himself around, effectively being pulled against Richie’s chest. He held his breathe as he cheek was pressed into Richie’s shoulder, his body flush against the other boy’s.

“Richie, let me go.” His voice came out weaker than he intended.

“But, Eds, I’m cold and you keep me so warm.” Richie responded and Eddie felt his chin resting on the top of his head.

“Ugh, Richie.” Eddie pushed on his bare chest, creating space between them. Richie let go and Eddie walked towards the water. He glanced back and Richie was falling all over Mike. Eddie pursed his lips, angry at himself and let himself get into the cold lake water again, wading towards his friends.

“Back already?” Stan asked, hair pressed to his face.

“Yeah, Bill and Mike were boring me.” Eddie smiled.

“It didn’t have anything to do with you running from Richie?” Stan asked and Ben and Bev laughed.

“Uh, no?” It came out as more of question.

“It’s alright, Eddie.” Beverly came behind him and leaned her head on his shoulder. “We know Tozier is oh so charming.”

“Not to me.” Ben laughed.

“What?” All his friends had succeeded in making him thoroughly confused that day.

Stan just winked and splashed water at Eddie, the subject being dropped.

Maybe Eddie just had a ground-breaking revelation in his head, but he would be damned if he was going to admit it out loud. It was just a phase, one that he was going to force himself to get over quickly.

Life became a bit more difficult for Eddie since he realized he was attracted to Richie. It wasn’t like he liked him or anything, but he was attracted to him. He found himself sneaking glances over at his friend on more occasions then were normal and quickly snapping his head away when anyone might notice. His stomach did flips when Richie touched him and his face turned red but not out of anger.

Richie wasn’t conventionally attractive. He had a mess of curly dark hair and was gangly and tall. He dressed in a way that Eddie had never seen before, a mix of band shirts and bright colors like he had never really discovered his style. His face was adorned with glasses half the time that were big and magnified his eyes. His smile was crooked and his voice loud.

Eddie supposed it was his outgoing and fun personality that got people talking about him and swooning over him. Eddie wasn’t oblivious to all the people in the school who liked his friend and he knew that Richie had had his fair share of hookups. Not in a stereotypical kind of way, but a day didn’t go by where he wasn’t talking to someone who was interested.

“Eddie. Eddie!” Someone’s voice snapped him out of his daydream and he looked to see Bev was waving a hand in front of his face.

“Sorry.” He breathed out, looking around. No one had noticed he zoned out.

He was in his history class, Bev sitting to his left side in the back of the classroom and Richie and Stan sitting in the front of the classroom. They had gotten assigned seats in the beginning of the year and had been lucky enough to have been paired off.

“What were you thinking about?” Bev smiled, putting her hand in her palm.

“Shush, we’re in class.” Eddie picked up his pencil and began writing notes again.

“Like you were paying attention before.” Bev rolled her eyes but picked her pencil up as well.

Not even 10 seconds later, a piece of paper was slipped onto Eddie’s desk. He glanced over to Bev, who was looking straight ahead at the teacher, a smile on her lips. Eddie unfolded the paper.

There’s a party tomorrow, come to it. Everyone else agreed.

He wrote back a simple “why?” and carefully slipped it back over to his friend’s desk. It returned in a few seconds after some intense scribbling from Bev.

Because it’ll be fun?

Scribbling down a quick “maybe”, he threw the paper back to Bev. She just sighed but smiled and the two continued their note taking.

Eddie wasn’t sure when his friends had decided on going to the party but when he left class to go to lunch, his friends immediately knew that he had only given a “maybe” as an answer.

“C’mon, it’ll b-be fun.” Bill said the minute he sat down at the lunch table.

“I said maybe, not no.” Eddie reminded him.

“We all know that your ‘maybe’s are almost always turned into no’s.” Stan pointed out.

“You two know I’ve never drank before.” He said to his best friends in a loud whisper, not wanting the others to hear. Eddie is sure they know but he doesn’t want to remind them.

“I’ll s-stay by your side the entire n-night.” Bill said.

Hearing this, Mike’s head snapped up. “Are you worried about us leaving you alone? I’ll keep you company, too.”

“We’re not going to pressure you, but some of us have never been to a party before. We just thought it’d be fun.” Ben looked at him with a sympathetic look.

“And if you don’t like it we’ll leave and never return.” Stan said dramatically, putting his hand over his heart like a pledge.

Eddie let out a deep breath and thought it over for a second. “Fine.”

At that moment, Richie sat next to him at the table. “Did you just agree to the party, Eds?”

“Yeah.” Eddie looked up at him slowly.

Richie was grinning widely. “This is going to be so much fun!”

“Calm down, I don’t even know if I’ll stay long.” Eddie put his hands up in defense.

“Oh, Eds. I’ll make sure you have the time of your life by my side.” Richie tried to put his arm around Eddie’s shoulder but the smaller boy shrugged him off softly so Richie poked him in the side. “Much like your mom last night.”

Eddie scoffed, looking at Richie with a hint of disgust.

The other losers just grinned at the two of them and continued eating.

It had been an hour since Eddie got to the party and he wasn’t sure if he regretted it or not (he was leaning towards regret simply because he was bored). Bill and Mike had not left his side since he got here, just like they promised. Richie had gotten him a drink he was “sure to like”, stayed with him for a few minutes and left with Beverly. Richie wasn’t wrong, the drink he had in his hand that he had been sipping wasn’t bad, he wasn’t sure what it was but Beverly and Mike had insisted that it was good as well.

Eddie wasn’t drunk, that was for sure. His head felt a bit fuzzy, sure, but he wasn’t close to being even tipsy as he got to the bottom of the drink. Mike and Bill were good company and he spoke to them, but most of the time he found himself just looking around the crowded house. Groups of people were scattered around the house, cups thrown around everywhere. Music was blasting and there was a large group of people dancing in what Eddie could only assume was the living room.

“Take this!” Eddie jumped at the voice that yelled directly into his ear and he turned. Richie was leaning down holding two small cups, handing one over to Eddie.

Eddie grabbed the cup, looking down into it. “What is it?”

“Tequila.” Richie said simply. “We’re going to have some fun.”

Eddie winced. “I don’t know.”

“Once you drink this, I won’t leave you.” Richie promised, sticking out his pinky finger like an 8-year-old.

Eddie handed Bill his old drink and linked pinkies with his now free hand. “I still don’t know.”

“You just pinky swore. Gotta do it.” Richie shrugged. “Drink it all when I say three, we’ll do it together.”

“All?” “It’s a shot, Spaghetti, so yes, all.” Richie smiled.

Eddie looked down nervously at his cup, his stomach churning with nervousness. “Okay.”

Richie gave him a serious look. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” Eddie found himself nodding, maintaining strong eye contact as the two lifted their drinks up to their lips. “1…2…3!”

Eddie tilted the drink back, the liquid pouring into his mouth. He forced himself to swallow and immediately started coughing, his throat burning intensely. He looked up at Richie who didn’t seem to be in any discomfort.

“How…can you do…that?” Eddie coughed out.

“You get used to it.” Richie smiled, wrapping an arm around Eddie, who didn’t feel like shaking him off.

Another 30 minutes later, Eddie was, what he only could assume was, really drunk. Richie had given him another drink, something he said was stronger than the last, and given him another shot. Richie had drunk everything with him but Eddie could see from his behavior that he definitely had a higher tolerance. They were both sitting on one of the couches in a part of the house that had the least amount of people, the rest of the friends out in the party somewhere.

“Richie Richie Richie.” Eddie felt every word he said spill out of him before he could even think.

“Hmm.” Richie looked over to the boy.

“I don’t know.” Eddie giggled and laid across Richie’s lap, looking up at him. He reached up a hand and touched Richie’s nose. “Boop.”

Richie laughed, taking another sip of his drink. His eyes were glassy and he was a bit giggly, but nowhere near as far gone as Eddie. “You booped me, Eds.”

Eddie let another fit of giggles spill passed his lips. He smiled widely at Richie, his glasses slipping down his nose slightly. “Your glasses are funny.”

“Funny?”

“Well, not yours exactly. But glasses at all, like they’re just glass you put in front of your eyes that let you see and I don’t get it and also why is bad eyesight something people still have like shouldn’t it have been eliminated a while ago from evolution because it’s not…wait, it could be a mutation, oh that makes sense -” Eddie’s ramble was cut off by Richie putting his hand over his mouth.

“Yes, glasses are funny, Eds.” Richie agreed and felt Eddie smile beneath his hand.

“I don’t like it when you call me Eds sometimes.” Eddie said. “But other times I don’t mind.”

“Really, like when?” Richie’s eyes glinted with amusement.

“When you’re not teasing me.” Eddie answered instantaneously. “Like, when you just use it as a nickname, it’s okay. Because it’s like a cool nickname between us. Like just an us thing.”

“An us thing?” Richie questioned.

“Yeah, I wish there were more us things.” Eddie shrugged, turning his body to curl into Richie’s stomach. “You’re cool.”

“Just cool?”

“Cute, too, I guess.” Eddie grumbled. “But that’s it. Cool and cute. Good friend, too.”

“I think you’re cute and cool, too.” Richie spoke in a voice that wasn’t laced with the confidence as his usual words.

“Really?” Eddie looked up.

“Yeah, very cute.” Richie tapped Eddie’s nose very softly.

Eddie gasped. “You booped me.”

Richie let out a laugh and ran a hand through Eddie’s hair, his head still resting on his lap. “Cute.”

tag list: @gazebhoes @i-is-gazebo @eddieswolfhard @reddietoroll

#chapter 3 is up!!#reddie fic #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it 1990 #it 2017 #it #mine #unspokenfic

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notbecauseofvictories · 8 years ago

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I hope, if you have the chance (I know you're busy), that you write more about Lyra Erso because I'm listening to the Rogue One novel Catalyst and I'm annoyed that Lyra's POV always seems to trail into long anecdotes about Galen instead of about her :P

When Lyra Erso—though she isn’t ‘Erso’ yet, and won’t be for a while yet; then she is ‘Inair’, after the little village on the rock—is born, she is loved. She is a fat and cheerful baby, and the village passes her from one cradle of arms to the next. She teethes on the elected Senior’s datapad, and is nursed by the local holotech; she takes her first steps during a village hall, and the Senior has to call order to get back to export taxes. (Even now, she has dim memories of many mothers brushing out her hair and teaching her to set snares, fathers beaming at her as she learned the names of rocks and plants, watching her dance.)

Then the Jedi Order came when she was five cycles, and that was the end of that.

Do you ever stop to think how strange that is? Dooku asks Master Yoda, not so very long before Lyra Inair is taken away from that little village on the rock. Every Jedi is a child his family decided they could live without.

Master Yoda does not answer.

Lyra Inair is twelve when she gathers up her things—what passes for ‘her things’ as a child raised in an Order that forbids attachment. A regulation datapad, some robes. A few worthless knickknacks she bought in Coruscanti markets, a book of poetry printed on flimsi from a University student who had been handing them out on a street corner. She gathers these things up and puts them in a sack, and hefts it over her shoulder.

Loaded onto her datapad she has transmits from all her friends, promising they will stay fast; she trained alongside them and that makes her their sister forever. Even if she is not a Jedi—

They are, of course, all far from the temple on Coruscant, journeying to strange worlds with the masters who chose them as padawans. None of them walk with Lyra to the landing-pad, where the freighter waits with the other almost-hopefuls. Ready to whisk them all away to some other place, to free up their bunks and meditation spots for those who might someday wield a lightsaber.

A statistic, because Lyra has always liked numbers, remembers them. In a given class of younglings, there is a 77.36% chance they will be chosen as a padawan and begin down the path to Jedi Knighthood.

Lyra has beaten the curve. The thought does not bring her any joy.

There is a stink of bitterness, all of the almost-Jedi gathered together in the belly of a freighter. It’s a physical thing, there with them—Lyra could reach out and touch it, and she is not even strong enough in the Force for that. (They hate each other. She hates them. They all serve as a reminder to one another of their failures and so they just hate one another, blindly and absolutely.)

It makes them all snappish and irritable, until Lyra plunks down on the durasteel floor and assumes a meditative pose.

Her hands are shaking.

What are you doing, Thregar says wearily. Lyra, get up.

No, she says. She wants to double over and pound her fists against the floor until they bleed; she wants to scream. She wants to wake up and find this is all an awful dream, and her master wants her to fetch something for them. Water, maybe. She imagines padawans do a lot of—fetching things.

Lyra, what good will that do? Uskyer asks, and zie sounds tired too. We’re not Jedi, we can’t—

The Force is with all things that live, Lyra says, reciting the first Truth. Then she adds, Jedi or not.

Her eyes are swimming, and when she squeezes them shut she can feel the tears spill over. She refuses to cry, she refuses to let her grief and bitterness overwhelm her. Peace. Balance. I am alive and the Force is with me, she murmurs, timing it with her breathing. It evens it, steadies her. The Force is with me, because I am alive.

She hears the rustling and heavy thud when Thregar and Uskyer sink to their knees. Their voices join hers, and the others follow.

They assign her to the Agricultural Corps, Geological Engineering Division because she’s good with numbers, knows the names of rocks. It’s—

Well, it’s—

It’s like filling a space she didn’t realize was empty, like sucking in a desperate deep breath after too many years starving for oxygen. Like stumbling into a warm, disorganized office full of datapads and flimsi weighted down with rock samples, and people who think about time as ancient strata ringing worlds. They are all castoffs here, and that’s what the throng of sentients about her age shout, when she pushes past them. They begin singing an old Coruscanti drinking song and Lyra’s ears burned, all the way to the fourteenth floor.

Ah, the sentient she will learn is Master Eldos Banhat, who pioneered the singularity theory of galactic creation, says when she lets herself into their offices. You must be the new recruit. I told them to send us a human, you have such intriguing taste buds.

Lyra spends her first day in the Jedi AgriCorps licking rocks as Master Banhat takes notes. At the end, he makes her a cup of Hoth chocolate, and tells her that she’s going to be brilliant.

Lyra only cries a little bit, swallowing the Hoth chocolate in awful, scalding gulps to cover up the tightness in her throat, how unhappy and happiness have collided inside her, and stormed.

She is. She’s good at it, really brilliant. (I told you, Master Banha says, and Lyra sticks out her tongue at him, because she is allowed, here in the irreverent bad-end of the Jedi Order.) Better than she ever was at sparring or meditation or theology. That’s—well, it’s either cruel or the will of the Force, or both. She isn’t sure which.

Master Banha pats her head sometimes with one of his appendages. Sometimes he calls her padawan, as a joke.

Lyra doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

The first time she’s given her first survey—her first real geological survey of a newly-discovered planet on the Outer Rim, just her and a knot of workers, who can carry equipment or mark readings down, but must defer to her expertise—Lyra comms her friends. The joy is bigger than her, it begs to be shared. (She would tell her village, but there is no village, not for her. Not anymore. She is called ‘Inair’ but that is all that is left of the rock.)

It’s like reaching out to the dark side of a moon. Her friends been fighting enemies of the Republic since they were twelve, leading armies since fourteen, marshaling revolts, spies and warriors and mystics and there is Lyra, thrilled that she has been entrusted with a pile of rocks far from the bright center of the universe.

Ignore them, Thregar says. He’s grown into himself some, now that he has students relying on his word. The Educational Corps suits him, Lyra has thought before, and will think again. Different isn’t lesser, Inair, you know that.

I do. But—

Everyone knows there is a hierarchy. Everyone knows that Jedi are at the top. It stings, to be reminded how far she is from that, how insurmountable that gap. But she can’t tell that to Thregar, who has sloughed off all his bitterness like an unnecessary skin. Lyra seems to be the only one of them who has kept it clutched to her chest, let it fester and itch.

I know, Lyra says lamely, and begins outline the survey plan in her head.

It’s broadly against the Code, but when Lyra’s research is published in one of the leading geology journals in the Republic, she carefully clips it. Keeps it hidden in a nested folder in a nested folder in the downloads file on her datapad, because vainglory is frowned on as much as attachment.

But sometimes she pulls up the file and reads it, smiling at her own name in sharp, clear-cut Aurebesh

She almost didn’t go on the expedition to Omrine. She’d fought it—she’d had enough of exploratory surveys, she wanted something challenging. She’d heard of a cross-world promotion that required some geological expertise, Lyra had begged and begged for something like—

Instead, she had gotten the survey of Omrine.

The moment she disembarked the freighter she noticed it. Omrine felt like something roiling, a volcanic shelf in the midst of shifting, and Lyra had run every test and disappeared into caves for weeks and she hadn’t understood, she’d been confounded and—

May I buy you a drink, Mistress…? the handsome Republican engineer with cheekbones like sheered silicate asked. His name was Galen Erso and he was here on a similar sort of expedition, but for a very different purpose. He was looking at her, just at her.

Omarine was useless.

When Lyra Erso—properly Erso now, with a Justice of the Republic informing that indeed, they were—was married, she was loved. It felt right. (It was a pity, all that came after.)

#sasapodkopayevawieber #asked and answered #lyra erso #star wars #the warry stars #I borrowed a couple lines from................GASP *the EU*#but I fucking love that line of dooku's and it's at the very heart of the jedi tragedy #these are children their parents could live without #rogue one spoilers #this is a thing I made

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jennypark-phases · 7 years ago

Text

Ripples: Written Statements

Contextual Statement

Possible Future World Scenario

By 2050, earth’s citizens are spending most their time in artificial environments, affecting their quality of life and enhancing stress levels. A new generation of youth called ‘the star children’ are frustrated by the lack of entertainment and face-to-face interaction between their peers. In need of a cultural shift, the ‘star children’ have created an annual ocean music festival held in an underwater infrastructure. It aims to promote social interaction and interaction with underwater life. The event's purpose is to provide the ideal festival experience based on three core values: change is inevitable, joy is ephemeral, and we should always live in the moment. (Everfest, 2017)

Introduction

With a theme of ‘future worlds’ this semester, this project is based on the research of ‘Operating Manual for Spaceship Earth 2050’ by Buckminster Fuller (1968). The manual can be seen as a metaphor and compares planet earth to a machine. The University of Southern California imagines Spaceship Earth 2050 as “a future world where the earth is a spaceship made of 70% water, roughly the size of the moon, a shared vehicle with finite and regenerative resources” (University of Southern California, 2017). The University of Southern California (USC) invited COLAB students to participate and collaborate on a future story-world comprised of interconnected systems. Using their category of culture and festivals, I chose to design a concept for an underwater art installation.

The world’s population has more than doubled in the last forty-five years to seven billion (Bongaarts, 2009). Despite this, younger generations feel more alone, uncertain and disconnected than ever before. ‘Ripples’ uses a speculative design approach based on the values of societal change, sustainability, and shared experience. Dunne and Raby (2013) explain that “design speculations can act as a catalyst for collectively redefining our relationship to reality” (Dunne and Raby, 2013, p. 8). Exploring themes around liminal spaces within the physical and metaphysical realm, the project hopes to enhance mindfulness aspects of the festival experience. Furthermore, the authors state people work where work is available, travel to study and live away from their families. As we channel energy into making friends around the world we no longer need to care about our immediate neighbors (Dunne and Raby, 2013, p. 8). As we have become a society of individuals, the project hopes to bring people together to inspire and aid positive social outcomes.

Music Festival Culture

Music festivals are a mega-trend in today’s society due to growing urban density population rates and the growing market for the ‘experience economy’ (Robertson et al., 2015, p. 579). A driving force behind this is the need for individuals to create their own identities and increasing freedom to shape personality. Such experiences become a source of personal information for stories people tell about their lives (Mehmetoglu & Engen, 2011). Engagement with new and virtual landscapes and with the enhanced sensory feelings and imaginations that technologies can offer may enhance the overall experience by adding relevance and meaning to the attendee (Robertson et al., 2015, p. 567). Throughout history, technology has bridged the gap between reality and science fiction. Technologies within festival environments have the potential to facilitate liminal space, allowing for new cultural identities to emerge (Robertson et al., 2015, p. 581). Author and theologian Richard Rohr describes liminal space as the places “where we are betwixt and between the familiar and the completely unknown” (Threelevers, 2017).

Synergy & sustainability

Based on the principle of Synergy - "Synergy is the only word in our language meaning behavior of wholes unpredicted by the behaviour of their parts". Fuller (1968) explains that the “Universe is synergetic. Life is synergetic” (Fuller, 1968, p. 23), everything is connected and one action can create a ripple effect. Here, he is referring to a need for humans to be in symbiosis with nature in order for human race’s survival on earth. This directly correlates with our impact on global warming as a collective whole, reflecting society’s perspectives in failing to realize the implications that actions, no matter how small can have on the entire world. Fuller's (1968) observations of society conclude that people do “not think there are behaviors of whole systems unpredicted by their separate parts” (Fuller, 1968, p. 22).

Social engagement & shared experience

Within the consumer mindset, the trend of time sensitivity encourages us to eliminate “dead” time and use all moments of the day for constructive or rewarding activity (Yeoman, 2008). What results is the consumer’s desire for greater efficiency and convenience —something that has been coined the culture of immediacy (Kleijnen, Ruytor, & Wetzels, 2007). The success of future festivals will depend on the intellectual and emotional depth of the participant along with their type of involvement. Everfest Magazine (2017) reports that “Humans have been converging for shared, communal experiences for as long as we have been humans. This social nature is a defining trait of our psychology, hardwired into our instincts and the driving force behind much of human societal development (Everfest, 2017). Themes of interest include the juxtaposition of living in a connected world within a disconnected era and the implications this may have for a future society.

Conceptual Statement

Goals before the semester

The purpose of this assignment was to imagine future worlds for a better future. An important aspect of this semester was to successfully complete all personal goals as I wanted to focus on my development of skills and learning experience.

Personal goals at the beginning of this semester included:

Successfully complete my first solo project to a professional standard within the scope of a potential future career. The main goal was to complete a sculpture or installation that could be pitched to event or festival organizers in the industry.

Develop tactile knowledge, learn more practical skills related to sculptural installation design and textile manipulation processes. This is the area I would like to specialize in after completing my degree. Use of elective papers to guide my studio project. I have always been a tactile, hands-on learner so I wanted the techniques displayed within my project to reflect my identity as a creative technologist.

Creative experimentation and complete freedom as the central element of my finished outcome. Most of the time I am too focused on achieving perfection which tends to hinder progress. Embracing mistakes and allowing the process to dictate the final outcome held importance and relevance for my personal development.

Aim of project

The aim of my project was to employ explorative methods, techniques and approaches to create an immersive installation. Through research and from personal experience at festivals, ‘chill zones’ are places designed for festival-goers to wind down and relax. As my previous studio project was projection-related, I wanted to expand on the initial concept to communicate levels of deeper engagement.

Meaning behind physical concept

The concept behind the design of the installation investigates ideas around permeance in a physical and metaphysical space. Fuller argues that each experience begins and ends, therefore, is finite (Fuller, 1968). Therefore, the “universe as experientially defined, including both the physical and metaphysical, is finite” (Fuller, 1968, pp. 19, 20). Through asking questions such as what kind of immersive experience might the future offer? and brainstorming potential future worlds, I moved on to immersive environments within the physical domain, as opposed to virtual. In an interview with Hyun Jean Lee, the artist gives insights into “the screen, as a boundary object, is a conceptual realm. It simultaneously contains diverse times and spaces in it. Therefore, the screen becomes a psychological and philosophical domain” (Generactive, 2017). Virtual reality will play an important role in the future world of emerging technologies. Through the construction of my sculpture, I wanted to place importance on staying grounded and having a ‘synergetic’ balance between both physical and metaphysical realities.

The final outcome is an immersive video installation projected onto transparent screen-printed fabrics with matching audio (Video edited using Premiere Pro and After Effects). A play on light, shadows, repetition and layers for a ‘3D surreal dream trip’ quality. The organic wave pattern displayed as the main feature is an important motif about the healing properties of nature. The film also re-iterates these values - a tribute to the important role nature has to play in our daily lives.

Meaning behind video content

Utilizing technology and experimental textiles, I wanted to enhance the immersive nature of these spaces for a heightened experience. After speculating upon multiple possible futures, I chose to focus on re-creating a narrative centered on earth’s creation that unfolds in phases. The interpretation of this dialogue will vary depending on the viewer’s personal experience. Each person will have their own memories associated with nature. Through the scale of the work, I wanted the viewer to feel insignificant in comparison and create a sense of awe. De Botton (2005) adds that landscapes reduce anxiety as they represent infinite space and time to make individuals feel small in comparison (De Botton, 2005).

Liminal Spaces

Victor Turner defines liminality as a transitional stage of ‘inbetween’ normal conditions present in many cultural or sacred traditions and rituals throughout human history (Andrews & Roberts, 2012). It is the place where all transformation takes place, as liminality has an ambiguous nature and could represent a period or space. Liminal Spaces represents thresholds of a place that enters or begins (Andrews & Roberts, 2012). Audio has been selected and carefully arranged to portray such transitional periods. The final effect is a mixture of physical processes to create a liminal, metaphysical realm. The multiple layers are not only physical filters but reflects how a change in one aspect of life will always intersect and intertwine with all other areas one way or another. Belonging, according to Maslow (1954) is a primal need, so natural instincts will lead you to create another life for yourself. If our liminal spaces are approached boldly with intentionality and with community, there is a better and more confident future to come.

Fig 1: Martin, D and Joomis, K. Building Teachers: A Constructivist Approach to Introducing Education, (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 2007), pp. 72–75.

Developments to concept

Initial inspirations stemmed from research on sensory deprivation tanks and anxious millennials. The original idea was to create an ‘escape pod’ or private place for festival goers to relax. However, I struggled with understanding the concept of ‘future worlds’ – millennials will not even exist 50 years from now. After a few collaborative Skype sessions with Joe from the University of Southern California and feedback discussions with Pete, I was challenged to think more critically. After some deliberation, I redirected my research and envisioned possible future world scenarios. After researching the effects of global warming, I chose to create a public installation space based on liminal space and shared experience.

Process & techniques used

In terms of construction, I wanted to question current methods of conceptual design within the context of projection mapping. Each week I completed a workshop in the printmaking facility to push my personal boundaries as a creative technologist and enhance my skill set. Fabric finishing was surprisingly the most difficult element of this project due to the precision needed and the unstable nature of fabrics. Instead of utilizing traditional digital methods, I wanted to challenge myself to incorporate unusual or organic forms such as textiles and surface manipulation techniques to physically distort perspectives, scale, and alter the image in a tangible way. I wanted to create a relationship between the digital image and physical screen to embrace social inclusion which corresponds with Spaceship Fuller 2050’s ideas on connected systems.

Personal Reflection

Sculptural installation is the field I enjoy working in most and is the truest reflection of myself as a creative technologist. Due to the solo nature of my project, limiting the technical scope was crucial in defining time constraints. If I were to collaborate in the future, I would assign the technical functionality role to another person whilst personally taking responsibility for construction design and the project management role. However, attempting a solo project challenged me to take complete responsibility for time management and complete creative direction. I am confident to have successfully achieved all three personal goals this semester. These include designing and constructing a completed sculpture, mastering six different practical skills related to experimental surfaces and textile manipulation (Mono-print, Collagraph, Screen-printing, Clay and Procast, Latex, Foiling, Marbling, Transfer inks and combinations of processes). This explorative approach helped me embrace mistakes and incorporate this process into the final outcome. Prototyping and researching for the first half of the project were useful as it allowed time to retain information and skills learned.

References:

Andrews, H., & Roberts, L. (2012). Liminal landscapes: travel, experience and spaces

in-between. Routledge. Retrieved from: https://books.google.co.nz/books/about/Liminal_Landscapes.html?id=Su44F1hWMSoC&redir_esc=y

Bongaarts, J. (2009). Human population growth and the demographic transition. Philosophical

Transactions of the Royal Society of London. Series B, Biological Sciences, 364(1532), 2985–90. Retrieved from: https://doi.org/10.1098/rstb.2009.0137

De Botton, A. (2005). Status anxiety. Vintage International.

Dunne, A., & Raby, F. (2013). Speculative everything : design, fiction, and social dreaming.

Retrieved from https://mitpress.mit.edu/books/speculative-everything

Everfest. (2017). A (Brief) 1,000 Year History of Music Festivals. Retrieved October 28, 2017,

from https://www.everfest.com/magazine/a-brief-1000-year-history-of-music-festivals

Fuller, R. B. (1968). Operating Manual For Spaceship Earth Operating Manual For Spaceship

Earth Operating Manual For Spaceship Earth. Retrieved from http://designsciencelab.com/resources/OperatingManual_BF.pdf

Generactive. (2017). Interview with Hyun Jean Lee. Retrieved October 28, 2017, from

http://generactive.net/interview-hyun-jean-lee/

Kleijnen, M., De Ruyter, K., & Wetzels, M. (2007). An assessment of value creation in mobile

service delivery and the moderating role of time consciousness. Journal of Retailing, 83(1), 33–46.Retrieved from: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jretai.2006.10.004

Mehmetoglu, M. & Engen, M. (2011). Pine and Gilmore’s concept of experience economy and

Its dimensions: An empirical examination in tourism. Journal of Quality Assurance in Hospitality & Tourism, 12(4), 237-255. Retrieved from: www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/1528008X.2011.541847

Robertson, M., Yeoman, I., Smith, K. A., & Beattie-McMahon, U. (2015). Technology, Society,

And Visioning The Future of Music Festivals. Event Management, 19, 567–587. https://doi.org/10.3727/152599515X14465748774001

Rohr, R. (2003). Everything belongs : the gift of contemplative prayer. Crossroad Pub.

University of Southern California. (2017). Spaceship Earth 2050. Retrieved October 28, 2017,

from http://worldbuilding.usc.edu/projects/spaceship-earth-2050/

Yeoman, I. (2008). Tomorrow’s tourist: Scenarios & Trends. Elsevier. Retrieved from

https://books.google.co.nz/books/about/Tomorrow_s_Tourist.html?id=rBoODHyzTZQC&redir_esc=y

What Is A Liminal Space? |. (2017). Inaliminalspace.org. Retrieved 29 October 2017, from https://inaliminalspace.org/about-us/what-is-a-liminal-space/

#colabfutureworlds

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firstumcschenectady · 5 years ago

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“Find Joy” based on Isaiah 66:10-14 and Psalm 66:-19

Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.

- Psalm 30:5b

I have a fondness for … um... expressive language ;), and that fondness was significantly stronger when I was in college. However, in April during every year of college I cleaned up my language to pristine levels. I did it so that when I got to camp, I would not accidentally speak a word that would harm, or offend, or get repeated by any of our campers with special needs. We were also careful then, as we are now, not to offer too many hugs or to permit any loosening of manners – not to allow anything at camp that would cause potential harm in the real world.

I did this because I loved our campers, and I wanted them to be safe, secure, and at ease both at camp and in the world.

During my second year of seminary I started an internship with an urban church, one that was doing important ministry with people who were homeless. People who are homeless are more likely to be assaulted – both physically and sexually. People who are homeless are often hungry, unable to get clean, struggling with physical health, and most people who are homeless for a long time end up with an addiction even if they didn't start out with one. Being homeless is one of the hardest and most vulnerable positions in our society, if not THE hardest.

The history I'd learned in college about the closing of state hospitals for people with disabilities, and the resulting (continued) failure of the system to care for the most vulnerable people in our society suddenly became very clear in reality. People who were in the same population as Sky Lake's beloved special needs campers were homeless on the streets of Los Angeles. The disconnect between the intentional care I'd been offering to God's beloved people with special needs at camp and the reality that people with special needs were being assaulted every day on the streets of LA, and that society was doing NOTHING to change it broke open my heart.

I have not recovered yet.

Instead, over the past 15 years, I've discovered more and more ways that the world is fundamentally broken and been disillusioned repeatedly. Some wise ones have pointed out that is it because of the color of my skin and the stability of my childhood that I was able to be so naive to begin with, and they're right. Yet, for me seeing the world as it is, and seeing clearly what its priorities are and are not, is painful. Similarly, seeing the church as it is, and seeing clearly what its priorities are and are not has been painful.

I believe that part of the purpose of church is to offer a God's vision for the world to the people, and as such to offer hope that we can build the kindom together. Further, I believe that the pastor's role is to be a speaker of the vision, and of hope. People NEED hope, and our faith tradition offers it. It has been hard at times, though, to have integrity and be truthful about the brokenness, and simultaneously offer real hope. The challenge, I think, has been in my own discomfort with reality. Once reality is accepted, then it can be worked on, but I've been struggling for years to accept that things really are as broken as abundant evidence points to.

The realities of the world, however, are exactly WHY we need to speak hope – real hope – and be inspired by God's visions of justice. We can't just let ourselves wallow, we have to face reality, but we can't offer weak or trivial hope. The world, and its people, NEED to know that another way of being is possible, and we can create it together.

Family Systems theory teaches us that when we are anxious, we get more close minded. When systems (groups of people) are anxious, they get more close-minded too. They take less risks. They make worse decisions. They create anxiety in their people, and then people with raised anxiety tend to revert to old ways of functioning and coping mechanisms that often do more harm than good: gossip, triangulation, demonizing others, consuming, addictive behaviors, lashing out, etc. Anxiety can easily become it's own self-perpetuating cycle.

Dear ones, the anxiety in our systems right now are at unhealthy levels. I remember reading articles during the 2016 election cycle about the impact the election was having on our shared mental health (it was bad). It has gotten worse. The injustices around us take a toll every day, and I hear from all of us how much we want to create change. It doesn't help right now to be part of the United Methodist Church, because being part of a CHURCH that is an oppressor is really darn depressing, and adds our anxiety and dismay. Further, in this particular congregation, we've been working on something that is also really hard: we've been in conversations about balancing our budget, which we have not done since 2004. (And even that was a bit of an anomaly.) We have been living beyond our means for a long time. Balancing the budget requires making difficult decisions about who we are and what we do and what is imperative to our shared life together, and it requires that we have really difficult conversations where we don't all agree – and that is anxiety producing as well.

It is tempting, in these days, to give up: to stick our heads in the sand, or to lash out in anger, or to become comatose on the couch. It is REALLY easy to let the anxiety win.

But.

Dear ones, beloveds of God, we aren't going to do that. We aren't going to give in and we aren't going to lash out. We aren't going to let anxiety take over. We are going to keep on keeping on, working towards the kindom, loving each other, spreading love and goodness in the world, and trusting that God works with us, through us, and when necessary despite of us. We are going to find the ways to let go of the anxiety, and find some trust and some hope, and be sources of transformation.

We are going to break out of the cycles, because anxiety is terrible for us, it is terrible for the world, and it enables all the things we don't want to see! Now, here is the weird twist. Given all the brokenness of the world, it can feel really disrespectful, or trite, or privileged, or even mean to …. have fun, seek joy, laugh, and play. (Or even just to take breaks and deal with reality for a bit.) That's real! I know how hard it can be to enjoy life when we know the awful things that are happening, but I want to share with you wisdom that I heard second hand. This wisdom came from a person who was impoverished and disenfranchised in a country with dictatorial rule. That person was asked, “Why are you so joyful when things are so bad!?” And they responded, “Why would we let them take our joy too? It is all we have left.”

Joy, it turns out, is resistance. Joy is OURS to claim, and we shouldn't give it up, because giving it up won't help anyone – in fact it will hurt everyone. The world needs more joy.

Joy, unlike anxiety, creates space for creativity, for connection, for hope. Out of the box thinking can happen when joy replaces anxiety, and the problems of the world today REALLY need new solutions. Joy makes space for people to regain their humanity. And laughter really is the best medicine (trust me, I laughter until I cried at camp – twice – and I haven't felt so whole since before General Conference). Whatever you do, dear ones, don't cut out joy from your life.

And, if you need help getting to joy – which is totally fair – most wisdom teachers say gratitude is the way to get there. So, practice advice here: keep a gratitude journal, and take 5 minutes at the end of each day to notice what you are grateful for in that day. Putting our attention on what is good is a great way to create more good, and to make space in our lives for joy.

Now for the REALLY good news. Our God is a God who knows all about oppression, and has worked to overcome it throughout all of history. In all these years where I have become further and further disillusioned with society and the world, I have found great comfort in the Bible. The Bible is VERY WELL AWARE of the brokenness of the world, of the reality of domination systems, AND of the power of God to break them open.

The Bible tells this story innumerable times, but there are three really big versions of thie story: (1) The Bible says that God knows about the oppression of slavery, and moves to free the people who are enslaved. (2) The Bible says God knows about the oppression of exile, and moves the people to restoration. (3) The Bible says God knows about the oppression of being part of empire because of the force of the military, and moves the people to empowerment, to resistance, and ultimately to freedom. That is, the stories of (1) Exodus, of (2) Exile and Return, and (3) of the ministry of Jesus.

The passage from Isaiah today is a response to Exile and Return, and it speaks in the language of God as mother of the people, nursing them and caring for them. After a WHOLE LOT of condemnation of the injustices of ancient Israel, in the end of Isaiah we hear, “ Rejoice with Jerusalem, and be glad for her, all you who love her; rejoice with her in joy, all you who mourn over her-- that you may nurse and be satisfied from her consoling breast; that you may drink deeply with delight from her glorious bosom.” Rejoice with Jerusalem, despite it's history of oppression, despite its history of exile and destruction, none of those are the final words. The final words are that God cares for the people and finds a way to nurture them and it brings great joy. The final words in the book of Isaiah are God's comfort, and care, and the people's JOY.

I've told you before, but this bears repeating: Our faith says that Love wins in the end, and if Love hasn't won yet, then it isn't the end yet. (In this case Love and God are interchangeable.) The brokenness of day is not the final answer, God is still at work. We are still partnering with God to make things better. So, in the meantime, practice gratitude, find joy, allow for rest, and in doing so let go of anxiety. God is working, and looking for for open-hearted, loving, partners to work alongside. May we find MANY ways to be those people, and encourage each other towards joy. Amen

Rev. Sara E. BaronFirst United Methodist Church of Schenectady603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305Pronouns: she/her/hershttp://fumcschenectady.org/ https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

#Thinking Church #Progressive Christianity #Rev Sara E Baron #fumc schenectady #Schenectady #UMC #Sorry about the UMC #Reconciling Church #All means all #Joy comes in the morning #don't give up joy #Love Wins In The End #My boyfriend Isaiah

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heatherdemetrios-blog · 8 years ago

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The Space Between Breaths: Transitions in the Artistic Life

For the past year, I’ve been going through a transition, floating in a space between. It’s been three years since my first book came out. There was the before publication life, when I’d yet to sell a book and was dreaming hard. Then there was the after, where I struggled to learn the ropes of being a published author, yet still managed to write and sell one to two books a year, hustling like a mother. During that time there were aborted projects and disappointments, but I focused laser-like attention on my work and career, with little time for much else. Sometimes that paid off, and sometimes it didn’t. One thing it resulted in was a near-breakdown, spiritual and creative depletion, and an increasing existential dread that followed me around to the point where I felt like Edward Snowden, always looking over my shoulder.

This was unsustainable. A life of waiting for the other shoe to drop is not a good life. And a writer who doesn’t write, or who writes but finds no joy in it, does not a happy writer make. It also, incidentally, makes it hard to sell more books. The nervy you feel about a project somehow winds itself through the text, an X factor that makes or breaks a book. My books were breaking. I was breaking. So began my year of transition, which began in July 2016, an awakening of sorts that’s still very much in progress. This wasn’t intentional, not something I planned as a great experiment. It just sort of happened. Out of necessity and desperation and a nameless need.

This year of transition actually started in Spring 2016, though I had no idea that this was what was happening. I started devouring books like I used to, back when I wasn’t writing three of them at a time. I literally bought and read every single JoJo Moyes book I could find (okay, I’ve saved a couple because it’s too depressing, a life without a JoJo book to look forward to), after discovering Me Before You on a Barnes and Noble table. I was working—I had revisions and copyedits and submissions. But when I sent in the last thing that was due, in mid-June, I unwittingly gave myself a for-real break. It was on accident—I didn’t realize I was taking a break until the month of July passed with me having written only a handful of words, most of them non-fiction. I got ideas, I threw ideas away—I briefly considered learning Russia and moving to Moscow. The bulk of my writing was for a residency application I never sent in, as well as the occasional blog post or lengthy email. I began meditating, reconnected with my spiritual side, read lots of books, treated myself to copies of Vogue, discovered the delights of the French 75 cocktail, and took a poetry class. I basked in sunshine and visited with friends and family. There were still stressful writerly moments: two rewrites gone bad, dismal royalty statements. But for the first time in years, writing was not the most important thing. The most important thing was me. It was as though my soul had given me one of those piercing looks and said, My dear, you are the canvas.

Eureka.

I followed my curiosity, each urge a trail of will-o’-the-wisps that led me deeper into my inner landscape, with its turbulent sea, floating glaciers, and craggy mountains set against endless dunes (yes, somehow my innards resemble Morocco, Ireland, and Iceland). In Big Magic, Elizabeth Gilbert says: I believe that curiosity is the secret. Curiosity is the truth and the way of creative living. She’s absolutely right. I found such joy poking around in New Age stores and going down the Wiki hole of Romanov research and planning a trip to Prague. I delighted in the plethora of self-help books I kept hearing about, got into essential oils, and finally took a Pilates class. I bought strange rings and drank beer and even started liking kale. I got a Reiki treatment and bought my first deck of Tarot cards and I campaigned for Hillary Clinton. I bought a Nasty Woman shirt and protested with thousands of women all over the world, reigniting that little Marxist-Anarchist activist that has been hiding inside me since the Bush years. I made a few big life decisions, some quite seismic, some still in progress. I grieved, felt confusion, wonder, awe, gratitude, love, solidarity, despair. I probably drank more wine after November 8th than in the rest of my life combined. I cooked my first steak. I began living according to these wise words from Elsie De Wolfe: I am going to make everything around me beautiful. That will be my life. Fresh flowers scattered about the house. Crystals lined up on windowsills. A skirt with red roses splashed across the fabric. I see the changes that all this adventuring has wrought everywhere: in my home, my body, my mind, my spirit. And yet, the writing will not budge.

I am still trekking up a damnably high mountain, hoping to reach a summit and praying there’s a nice little valley on the other side of it, with cool spring water and long, fragrant grass I can lie in when I look at the stars. Alas, creativity is uncharted territory—ever ineffable, a tricksy landscape complete with quicksand, dark forests, and, well, you get the metaphor. I confess, there have been a few occasions in which I actually uttered the phrase, Why am I doing this? Or I don’t want to be a writer anymore. I’m not sure if I meant it or not. I suspect maybe I did. It sounds ever so wonderful to leave work at work, to have boundaries between oneself and what one does for a living, to not be in constant artistic torture.

The election and its aftermath was a huge blow that I’m still recovering from. I don’t think I realized how much it affected my ability to be creative until quite recently, when I realized I have to rewrite a bogart of a book I’m working on for the third time. I cannot overstate how unlike me this is. I’ve never spent two years after selling a book trying to rewrite it. It’s madness. Maddening. But when I began to connect the dots, I could see that the bulk of the problem began in the beginning of 2016—a coincidence? I think not. As I said in an email to the book’s editor: I’m sorry for being the world’s shittiest writer. I blame Trump.

I blamed my mental health and my infernal inability to understand how time works. I blamed New York City for being so goddamn expensive and loud and distracting and fabulous. I also blamed myself, for not taking my own good advice that I give to my clients and that I myself know works. I only give advice when I’ve learned something (usually the hard way), when I know that something is tried and true. As a creativity coach, I tell my clients that each book is a different beast, and that’s true. And also that writing is a marathon (not a race), that you will never be a master, that you will always be learning, and that you should trust the process: the not knowing, the frustration—these are just hazards of the job and an essential part of the process. But each time I find myself uncertain creatively, these lessons are hard to remember. A girl has to eat, you know.

One thing my meditation teachers like to talk about is the space between breaths. In mindfulness meditation, you focus on the inhale and exhale, using it to anchor your mind in the present. Between each round of inhalation and exhalation, there is a pocket of pure being, where your body has a moment to bask in its existence, where nothing is required of it. It can’t last very long because your lungs need air, but for just a sliver of time, you are infinite. Free-floating. This is also a space for transition, much shorter than my year of transition, but equally powerful. You can discover things there, though it may take you years, or even a lifetime to figure out. You might even see what you’re made of.

This is an essential part of the meditation process. These pockets of no-breath are not simply a bridge between breaths, links on the path to nirvana. They are teaching moments, rich in the kind of knowledge that lives deep in your bones. It’s the same with the transitions in an artist’s life. The space between projects, between ideas, between inspiration and creative wastelands—this is, paradoxically, where the good stuff lives. Transitions are opportunities to grow, to heal, and to change. They give you space (whether you want it to not) to reassess your work, your craft, your goals. These sometimes involve dark nights of the soul, real reckonings that bring who you are and why you do what you do into sharp focus. Sometimes you won’t like what you see. Transitions, from an artistic point of view, are absolutely necessary. Think about the period when Bowie fled to Berlin, intent on getting clean and reconnecting to his art. He called his cocaine years in Los Angeles, where he embodied the Thin White Duke persona, “the darkest days of my life.” Despite being a rock star, he was going broke and Berlin, at the time, was a cheap place to live while he was in recovery. In Europe, he began visiting galleries, working on self-care through literature and classical music education, and, of course, kicking his cocaine habit and exploring Berlin’s music scene. His roommate was Iggy Pop, and I like to imagine them sitting around late at night, trading notes and blowing each other’s minds. What resulted was the Berlin trilogy, a rich artistic period and a turning point in his life.

Of course, not all transitions need to be so dramatic, and I’m still trying to figure out what this one means for me. When I look back, what will I call this year (or, God forbid, years)? Will I look on it fondly, or shudder, grateful that it’s over? I can’t imagine not being thankful for it. Already, I’m seeing my interests in what I want to write expand in unexpected ways. Adult fiction, young adult nonfiction, historical. I’m not quite sure where I’ll land. I’m getting ideas, but am wary of investing too much in anything. I think I’m still getting my sea legs. Meditation, exercise, and healthy eating habits are helping. As is travel and working with my clients, who inspire me every day. I’m taking lots of notes because I suspect that as much as I’m learning right now about what it means to be an artist in transition, I suspect there’s even more to glean from this time later, when I can see how all the dots connected.

Being a creative doesn’t suit our modern world, not if you’re an Artist with a capital A. Because art needs quiet, time, space, privacy. All things that are hard to come by these days, especially in Brooklyn. I stopped using my private Facebook account, rarely leave the apartment, and turn a deaf ear to industry chatter. It’s been a long time since I finished a project. Everything I’m working on is in a different stage and often ends up being cast aside or totally reworked. So of course the age old question of how to make a living as an artist rears its ugly head. If you aren’t producing, you aren’t getting paid. So while artistic explorations sound great on paper, in reality, it’s the paper itself you start worrying about.

It’s becoming increasingly hard for artists to make a living—just take a look at Trump’s budget proposal, with threatens to cut the NEA out of existence. It’s especially difficult for writers because of the plethora of content out there. Jesus, how many blogs and websites and articles can exist? With newspapers and magazines folding left and right, writers are forced to make some pretty tough choices. These concerns are ever present, and they will be for the foreseeable future. Of course, being an artist has always involved financial acrobatics. Chekhov paid the bills through a medical practice, and Tolstoy had to self-publish War and Peace. I’m in good company. I’ve very much begun to appreciate Elizabeth Gilbert’s words in Big Magic about how your job as an artist is to take care of your creativity, not the other way around. It’s been interesting, cobbling together an income that all leads back to writing, but isn’t necessarily writing. Teaching and coaching and editing allows me to talk about what I love—writing, the artistic process, and creative living—and to help my fellow writers on their own journeys. It also gives me the chance to take care of my writing, rather than requiring it to pay all the bills. I’m already seeing the seeds I’m planting blossoming. For the first time in a long time, I’m allowing myself to consider alternative ways of living and alternative approaches to my writing. Maybe I don’t publish a book every year. Maybe I don’t only write in YA. Maybe I play a whole lot more in my creative process. Maybe I take time to take care of myself.

The journey continues, endless and exciting and horrible and wonderful, an adventure I’m honored to have. I take a breath, exhale, and rest in the transition, looking forward to whatever comes next.

#pneumacreative creativitycoaching quotes writing heatherdemetrios #meditation

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anythingstephenking · 7 years ago

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We All Float On

First of all, 2017 can go suck a bag of balls. I know the saying is “suck a bag of dicks” but that’s too kind to 2017. The world is on fire (literally and figuratively), men are all dirtbags, we’re a tweet away from nuclear war, credible journalists are fake news and Hillary Clinton is not likable enough for politics but a serial child molester will be elected to the senate and a disgusting pervert sociopath is our president. Seems like the kinda year Pennywise would decide to show up. I’m staying away from Maine just to be safe.

Ok, well that rant has literally nothing to do with Stephen King, but it sure felt good to get off my chest.

Because there’s enough terror in the real world, I haven’t been reading that much and I took my time getting through IT. Not because I wasn’t enjoying it, but because this book covers some heavy stuff. Most often remembered for the god awful spider puppet at the end of the TV movie, the book ingrains fear inside you that sits for days, giving you goosebumps when you recall a passage you just can’t shake. For me it was when one of the kids was being terrorized by visions of drowning in the water tower, grasping at the smooth sides, the top just out of reach. As someone who’s parents let my awkward ass do ballet classes as a kid but never taught me to swim, drowning is one of my own personal nightmares. And now, I am scared of water towers. Also, RIP Elisa Lam.

Reading this book ending up requiring two copies. You can imagine my joy when I pulled my McKays copy off the shelf and realized it was a first edition. LOOK AT ME, I OWN A FIRST EDITION STEPHEN KING BOOK. I’m, like, a real fan now. I quickly googled to see how much my rare book was worth as I paid $13.50 for it. And, guess what? It’s worth… $13.50. Doh. Viking printed 800,000 of these bad boys, their largest ever first run. I managed to leave it at my dads (I lugged this 1,200 page book on not one but two plane trips) so I had to pick up a paperback to finish out the last 400 pages or so. I instructed my dad to “take good care of it, it’s a first edition!” (I am such a dick) and a week later it was in my mailbox, wrapped in about 8 layers of bubble wrap. My dad, y’all.

A book so nice, I bought it twice.

OK. My favorite part :::drumroll::: the back story! You can read the whole story on King’s website, but basically IT was inspired by the old tale of Billy Goat Gruff crossing the bridge and getting into it with the troll. What if there was a monster below us we couldn’t see but was just waiting to jump out at us? And so, Pennywise The Dancing Clown was born (or arrived on a spaceship, more on that later).

This book hits literally all King’s sweet spots:

Scary as hell

Coming of age

50s nostalgia

Battles of good vs. evil

MAINE!

Sci-fi/fantasy

The core of this story is simple - an eternal being in the form of a clown terrorizes kids by feeding on their fears. Pennywise can manifest himself as each child’s individual nightmare - werewolves and lepers and blood, oh my. Turns out kids are easier to prey on because their fears are simple. I guess it would be harder to manifest himself into an unfunded 401k to scare the shit out of me.

The kids in this story are braver than I could ever be. Together, they have the a power that somehow kills fear itself, which is really what Pennywise is.

And this is where the story gets a little bonkers. Not in a terribly bad way but in a “huh?” kinda way. You see, the universe was created when a giant turtle threw up and Pennywise is the ying (evil) to the turtle’s yang (good). Lost yet? Yeah, I know. Pennywise arrived from the birth of the universe and has lived in Derry, Maine forever, waiting for evolution and humans to feed on. He travels into the macroverse, where the turtle resides, along with his “deadlights” that can drive humans insane at the sight of them.

Well, now that we cleared all that up, we can move on. I think it’s safe to assume King was a square in the 50s because like so many of his nostalgia tales, the other bad guys are a gang of greasers who are turds and occasionally give each other hand jobs in the junkyard.

Speaking of child sex acts, the group sex scene sure was… something. It’s up there on the list of controversial things King has written for good reason. Like this Vulture article “How Does the New It Movie Deal With Stephen King’s Orgy Scene?“. Spoiler! It doesn’t because that would be bonkers. King’s brushed it off in interviews as NBD, but I was more baffled about this than a turtle that belched up the universe.

For King lovers, IT is certainly an amalgamation of all his greatest hits. For me, it’s going into the column of books I truly enjoyed with an ending that just didn’t quite land.

King said he wouldn’t write about Pennywise again, which is a shame. If the Losers didn’t really manage to off him (which honestly, how do you kill an eternal being? These ding dongs went back into the sewers as adults with a pack of matches for cripes sake. They didn’t even bring a flashlight, nevermind like a gun or an axe or something.) Pennywise would have come back to Derry in 2012. We will never know.

8/10 would recommend to anyone who saw the first movie and thought the ending was lame. I was much happier with barfing turtle than spider puppet

First Line: The terror - which would not end for another twenty-eight years - if it ever did end - began, so far as I know or can tell, with a boat made from a sheet of newspaper floating down a gutter swollen with rain.

Last Line: Or so Bill Denbrough sometimes thinks on those early mornings after dreaming, when he almost remembers his childhood, and the friends with whom he shared it.

Adaptations

Tim Curry is really the only thing worth revisiting in the original TV movie. Good gosh, this thing is over 2 hours long and they cut so much great source material out. No time for the house on Neibolt Street, but the spider gets the last 15 minutes of the whole thing. Can you tell I really hate that spider?

Exhibit A: Nightmares; Exhibit B: Muppet

Fun personal story about this movie. We watched it one Halloween when we were 14ish with a bunch of girls. One of my friends was terrified of clowns. How we ever got her to watch this is beyond me. Later that night, while she was attempting to go to sleep with every light on, her mom called out to her: “honey, check out the moon, it’s beautiful!” Little did she know, her prankster father had dug a clown mask out of the basement, placed a ladder against the side of the house, and was peering into her second floor bedroom window when she opened the shade to gaze at the moon. So rude but so damn funny.

The new movie was so wonderful and I already pre-ordered my copy for when it comes out next week. Bill Skarsgard. Man, oh man.

And in case you didn’t feel old today - did you know those child actors weren’t even alive yet when 9/11 happened? Yeash.

I’m going to pack it in because everyone’s already seen these movies and my King Movie book I usually reference for these things is in the other room and I don’t feel like getting up. Tata for now. Dark Tower companion book Eyes of the Dragon is up next. Already started it. Fucking Randall Flagg, what an asshole.

#It #stephen king #book review

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news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog · 8 years ago

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An in-depth history of the world's best bromance

Near, far, wherever they are, we believe that Barack Obama and Joe Biden's bromance does go on.

With inauguration day only hours away, it's time to look back on the laughter, the tears and the fierce brotherly love that made the Obama and Biden friendship the beloved First Bromance of America that it's been over these past eight years.

SEE ALSO: 10 inspiring moments from Barack Obama's presidency in GIFs

From ice-cream socials and grand birthday gestures to supportive speeches and financial assistance, ever since Barack and Joe won the 2008 election, they've had each other's backs, through thick and thin.

So before the boys try out the whole long-distance thing, let us reflect on some of the maaaaany times they raised the bar for #FriendshipGoals, in no particular order.

Casual hangouts

Even though they're two of the most important people on earth, Barack and Joe don't need to be surrounded by impressive architecture, fancy cuisine or famous friends to have a good time. Whether they're grabbing some ice cream, a few burgers or kicking it in the stands of a game, like true BFFs, they chill whenever and whenever.

Phil Schiliro, assistant to the President for legislative affairs, left, with President Obama and VP Biden bro-ing out at a Duke Georgetown NCAA college basketball game in 2010.

Image: Nick wass/ap photo

President Barack Obama and Vice President Joe Biden meeting with, from left, Aidin Sarabi, Abdullahi Mohamed, Meredith Upchurch and Antonio Byrd at a Shake Shack in Washington, Friday, May 16, 2014.

Image: MANUEL BALCE CENETA/ap photo

Back in August of 2008 before winning the election, Obama and Biden shared a laugh while ordering ice cream at the Windmill Ice Cream Shop in Aliquippa, Pa.

Image: Alex Brandon/ap photo

The BroHugs

Obama and Biden made sure to hug it out at every available opportunity. Though they've embraced every opportunity to embrace they could find, over the past eight years, one of the most memorable hugs came during a moment the two shared on stage after being re-elected for a second term in 2012.

President Barack Obama and Vice President Joe Biden embrace on stage after his victory speech on election night in 2012.

Image: Spencer Platt/Getty Images

That time they made a workout video together

After the dynamic duo was challenged by Michelle Obama to show us how they move, in support of FLOTUS's "Let's Move" campaign, BFFs Barack and Joe came together to do some jogging around the White House, a little stretching, and a lot of rehydrating, of course.

When Joe made sure Barack was in his first selfie

Normally, a first selfie is an iconic moment for you—and you alone. But when it came time for Joe Biden to snap his first selfie, he knew it'd be nothing without his best friend by his side. The legendary Instagram post (captioned: "Found a friend to join my first selfie on Instagram. Thanks for following and stay tuned. –VP") features the bros smiling ear-to-ear in the back of a presidential motorcade.

We wish we could be this cool.

Found a friend to join my first selfie on Instagram. Thanks for following and stay tuned. –VP

A photo posted by Vice President Joe Biden (@vp) on Apr 16, 2014 at 6:11pm PDT

In times of tragedy

When Joe Biden's eldest son, former Delaware Attorney General Beau Biden, passed away in May of 2015, Barack made sure he was right by our VP's side every step of the way.

After the news broke, Obama released a touching statement explaining, "Like his dad, Beau was a good, big-hearted, devoutly Catholic and deeply faithful man, who made a difference in the lives of all he touched—and he lives on in their hearts."

He later gave a moving eulogy at Beau's funeral.

"We are here to grieve with you, but more importantly we are here because we love you," Obama addressed the Biden family before praising Beau's character. "Anyone can make a name for themselves in this reality TV age, but to make that name mean something, to have it associated with dignity and integrity—that is rare," he said.

Before concluding his speech, Obama addressed his dear friend, reassuring him, "Joe, you are my brother."

Image: YURI GRIPAS/Ap photo

In an interview with CNN that aired in January 2016, Biden reflected on Obama's deeply supportive actions during the difficult time, and shared that POTUS offered him and his family financial help and heartfelt advice during his son's illness.

After Biden told Obama he was thinking of selling his family's Wilmington, Delaware home in order to care for Beau's family, Obama immediately took action. According to the VP, Obama "got up and he said, 'Don't sell that house. Promise me you won't sell the house.'"

Biden told CNN's Gloria Borger, Obama said, "I'll give you the money. Whatever you need, I'll give you the money. Don't, Joe—promise me. Promise me."

.@VP: @POTUS offered financial help amid my son's illness https://t.co/9hQLocgkaA https://t.co/wAR3T0ueCV

— CNN Politics (@CNNPolitics) January 12, 2016

Post-Trump, but still tight

On Nov. 9, President Obama stood in the Rose Garden to deliver a statement on the election results following Hillary Clinton's loss. At a time when Americans were feeling a range of emotions, Obama and Biden did their best to keep things hopeful and lighthearted.

"I've lost elections before," Obama admitted before joking, "Joe hasn't, but you know."

Biden then graced Obama with one of his epic side hugs and recalled his own ill-fated presidential campaign in 2008, reminding his pal: "You beat me badly."

The presents

For President Obama's 55th birthday, Biden tweeted a photo of friendship bracelets made for the duo.

Are. You. Kidding. Me.

The gesture was likely a throwback to a June BuzzFeed video, "5 Things that Are Harder than Registering to Vote," in which President Obama makes his very own "Barack" and "Joe" bracelets, but whatever the inspiration was, friendship bracelets are no joke.

Happy 55th, Barack! A brother to me, a best friend forever. pic.twitter.com/uNsxouTKOO

— Vice President Biden (@VP) August 4, 2016

In case that gift wasn't heartfelt enough, Biden continued to woo Obama as his special day went on, bringing him delicious looking birthday cupcakes... WITH CANDLES.

President Obama blows out candles on birthday cupcakes brought to him by VP Joe Biden, Aug. 4 - Pete Souza pic.twitter.com/aNQncMkXzd

— GoldenCouple (@TRH_WandC) August 5, 2016

In September, Obama returned the love to Biden on his special day, offering him birthday wishes in the form of an adorable tweet where he referred to Joe as the "best VP and friend."

Happy birthday, Joe! The best @VP and friend I could have had alongside me these past eight years. pic.twitter.com/kWH3L5uSFC

— President Obama (@POTUS) November 20, 2016

The meme of all memes

When America needed it most, Barack and Joe's friendship was there.

Following Donald Trump's election, the bromance inspired the brilliant people of the internet to create a coping meme, which consisted of charming photographs of POTUS and VP accompanied by Biden's fictional and menacing intentions of ways to mess with Trump.

Obama: "Joe, why are you still holding my hand?" Biden: "I wanna freak Mike Pence out" Obama: "But why?" Biden: "Just roll with it" pic.twitter.com/o5KZZ0Ysgz

— thomas moore (@Thomas_A_Moore) November 12, 2016

biden: cmon you gotta print a fake birth certificate, put it in an envelope labeled "SECRET" and leave it in the oval office desk obama: joe pic.twitter.com/UTtv1JkE5o

— jomny sun (@jonnysun) November 11, 2016

Joe: Okay so we sneak in one night around February, steal his shoes Obama: Joe Joe: And then dump legos all over the floor pic.twitter.com/2KCU7LbciV

— Jacqueline (@jacquelinehey) November 13, 2016

The "Biden plotting against Trump" memes will live in glorious infamy and forever remind us of the intimate and humorous relationship Barack and Biden shared in the White House.

Barack's goodbyes

On Jan. 10, President Obama delivered his emotional farewell address to the American people.

Towards the end of the speech, he turned to Vice President Joe Biden, whom he of course called a "brother."

"To Joe Biden, the scrappy kid from Scranton who became Delaware’s favorite son," Obama said. "You were the first choice I made as a nominee, and the best. Not just because you have been a great vice president, but because in the bargain, I gained a brother."

*blinks back tears*

"We love you and Jill like family, and your friendship has been one of the great joys of our life," Obama concluded before he and Joe exchanged a legendary finger guns exchange.

Joe's big surprise

After watching the video below—which documents the ultimate display of bromantic affection—you'll be hard pressed not to be weepy.

On Jan. 12 President Obama surprised Biden with the Presidential Medal of Freedom, and Americans watched through blurry eyes as the VP broke down in tears.

Biden and Obama both took the mic to praise one another and share some insight on their friendship.

One final meme

As Obama praised Biden's accomplishments and character before presenting him with the Medal of Freedom, he straight up acknowledged the bromance.

"This also gives the internet one last chance to talk about our bromance." pic.twitter.com/aQnsUyH293

— Mashable GIF (@mashablegif) January 12, 2017

Not only did the internet talk about their bromance once again, but of course, made one final meme of the two pals before they left the White House.

To help us survive inauguration week, the touching moment when Obama presented Biden with the Presidential Medal of Freedom was transformed into a joke sesh.

biden: i am one with the force, the force is with me obama: what? biden: nothing pic.twitter.com/xAlcWBPM4M

— Colin Jones (@colinjones) January 14, 2017

Biden: am i an avenger now? Obama: sure Joe Biden: pic.twitter.com/fNAy5Xwte2

— Ally Gator (@notacroc) January 13, 2017

"but i thought the old lady dropped it into the ocean in the end" "well baby, i went down and got it for you" "aw, you shouldn't have" pic.twitter.com/GfhnGsXFIW

— ((Julia Reinstein)) (@juliareinstein) January 13, 2017

Biden: wow this is like a black belt huh Obama: no it's the presidential medal of free- ya know what, yeah joe, it's like a black belt pic.twitter.com/2WfFJ2Wn7c

— rudy mustang (@roostermustache) January 12, 2017

Excuse us, while we try to find a friendship this true.

BONUS: History of Obama / Biden bromance

#_author:Nicole Gallucci #_lmsid:a0Vd000000DTrEpEAL #_uuid:e74eea88-054b-31bb-9479-82c3a0bf9282 #_revsp:news.mashable

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