#got to test different materials in new sketchbook while I was on it nice nice

[jonathankai]

yeah, I think neither of them planned it through

(I always feel hesitant when drawing fanart on paper, but I've been feeling such a strong pull towards traditional art lately (as you can guess, I tried and couldn't bring myself to work on this comic digitally), so I want to see if a switch from digital fanart to traditional is possible and worth if for me).

[after-avenging-hours]

Out of Time [3]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist with dates on chapter releases - tag list will not be used for this series

Summary:  After Steve gets injected with a mysterious substance during a mission gone wrong, you come to find out that the only thing that can save his life is a pure sample of Dr. Erskine’s Super Soldier Serum. Unwilling to let the love of your life die without a fighting chance, you travel through the quantum realm back to 1943. Equipped with little more than your knowledge of past events, you have to figure out just how exactly you’re going to get your hands on that serum. Not only that, but with the infinity stones no longer protecting the reality you’ve come from, there is now a chance that your presence in the past can change the future you’ll return to. Can you succeed without messing things up? And if things go wrong, can you fix it before it’s too late? Or will you run out of time…

Word Count: 6079

Warnings: brief mention of smutty concepts, Steve being a sad puppy, subtle pining

When Steve wakes up in the morning, it’s to a feeling he hasn’t felt in a really long time. Warmth, security, and something a little new to him. He feels the gentle weight of your arm over his waist and the flutter of your breath against his collar bone. He almost doesn’t want to open his eyes for the fear that he’ll wake up from this dream.

He counts to ten before blinking his eyes open and his heart nearly stops at the sight before him. Bathed in the morning sun, your hair frames your face like a glowing halo. You look ethereal and serene, lips parted ever so slightly, your face relaxed. It makes him want to grab his sketchbook if he knew that moving wouldn’t wake you.

He settles for tracing over your features with his gaze. Memorizing every detail, so that he might be able to recreate the image later. He doesn’t know what he did right to have this literal angel fall into his lap. He’d almost been certain that he was going to wake up alone in his bed. That last night had been some sort of fever dream.

Yet, here you are. Asleep in his arms. As real as the air in his lungs.

He really doesn’t want to ruin this moment by waking you, but nature is calling and it would be his damn luck to have an accident in bed while a beautiful woman slept next to him. “Vic,” he whispers, not wanting to startle you. However, he says it a little too soft, and you continue to sleep soundly. Unwinding his arm from around your waist, his fingers curl from the top of your hair and down your temple. “Vic,” he says once again, his voice a little rough from sleep.

You inhale deeply through your nose, your body shifting and rubbing up against his. That makes him go stiff as he becomes acutely aware of the reaction this instills in his own body. “Steve…” his name slips from your parted lips with a pleasured lilt.

His eyes widen and he feels the heat crawling up his neck. “Vic, honey, you gotta wake up,” he urges a little more pressingly. He’s not sure where the term of endearment came from. It just slipped out.

Your eyes flutter and slowly blink open. Your head pulls back, away from his chest, before your eyes lift to his. Your lips split into a smile that rivals the sunlight filtering in through the window. “Morning...” you declare, in a cheerful, yet sleepy voice. Your arm lifts from his waist, so you can rub the tiredness from your eyes and then cover the yawn that escapes. “Oh, you probably need to use the bathroom,” you realize and begin to extract your tangled legs. Even as a Super Soldier, Steve had the tiniest bladder. He always needed to go first thing after waking up.

“Uh… thanks?” He looks a little confused but shuffles out of bed. He gives you one last glance over his shoulders before leaving the room.

You move to sit up, wincing slightly when you feel your stitches tug at your skin. It’s not exactly painful but feels uncomfortable. You’ll get a chance to check on the healing progress later. It might already be time to remove the stitches. Pushing the blankets off your legs, you carefully move to stand, keeping a hand pressed to the covered wound on your front. Once on your feet, you attempt a few simple stretches to test the strength of your torso and the integrity of the wounded area. There’s a very slight soreness, but it’s nearly unnoticeable.

You turn back to the bed and start to pull the sheets back into place. “You don’t have to do that,” Steve voices once again upon entering the room.

You glance up briefly, releasing a huffed laugh. “Force of habit.”

He moves back to his side of the bed, helping you tug the sheets and blankets back into place. You both then grab a pillow each, fluffing them up in the same manner and setting them back at the same time. It’s a morning ritual you’ve grown used to, but Steve gives you a strange look.

“Hey, do you mind if I use your shower?” you ask, both in an attempt to distract him and because you’re sure that your hair has only gotten worse by sleeping in it without washing the hairspray out.

“Oh, sure,” he agrees, stepping back. “And I think I still have one of my Ma’s old dresses that you can wear.” He turns and moves toward his closet, rolling back one of the double doors to reveal an old wooden dresser tucked into the space. He kneels down and opens the bottom drawer, lifting and tucking around a few different items before pulling out a folded cloth in a floral pattern.

He hands the dress to you, which you take graciously. You hold it tight to your chest, the meaning not lost on you at how much he has to trust you to offer his mother’s dress without hesitation. “Thank you, Steve.”

He nods, watching how you clutch the material as if you understand its importance before he meets your gaze. “It takes a while for the water to get hot, and then it doesn’t last very long. Clean towels are in the cupboard to the right of the sink.”

You smile sweetly. “Thanks for the forewarning.”

You step out of the bedroom and head for the living room first to grab the first aid kit, which you left on the couch, before backtracking down the hall into the bathroom. After closing and locking the door, you place the dress gently on the closed toilet seat and begin to unbutton your pajama shirt. It falls unceremoniously off your shoulders and onto the floor.

Stepping toward the sink, you begin to unwrap the bandage from around your waist and carefully peel back the taped gauze pack. You can’t help the chuckle of slight disbelief when you look down at the nearly healed wound. You would never know how Shuri did it, but her gel was an absolute godsend. You’ve used some of it before, but never for something this bad. You’ll have to find a way to thank her once you get back.

You open up your first aid kit and pull out the surgical scissors, cleaning them off with an alcohol wipe, and then start snipping and removing the stitching thread. Getting the stitches on your back wound, while working through the mirror is a bit awkward, but you get it all eventually. You clean the scissors again before putting them back and take out the tube of disinfectant cream. You place that on the counter for later and shed your pajama pants next.

You grab a towel from the cupboard and pull your toiletry bag back out from where you stashed it the night before to grab the items you’ll need for your shower. Stepping into the porcelain tub, you swing the curtain around, the metal rings at the top clinking against the top bar. You spin the nobs to turn on the water and flip the switch to send it from the tub faucet to the showerhead.

The water that comes gushing out is frigid, but you don’t mind too terribly. You’ve had your fair share of cold showers, especially after that time you went on the run with Steve, Sam, and Nat after the Accords broke up the team. You were just happy to have running water against your scalp. It’s also nice to be able to reach up and work the water into your hair without feeling pain from your injury.

By the time you’ve got your shampoo building up a lather on your scalp, the water finally begins to warm. You adjust the knobs as necessary, hoping that by keeping it at a more lukewarm, the heat may last a little longer. This seems to be the right trick because it doesn’t start to cool until you’re just about finished.

Pushing the curtain back, you step onto the thin bath mat. You grab the towel to dry off your body and hair. You know you won’t have access to a blow drier in a man’s apartment, so the towel is the best you’ve got. With the towel wrapped and twisted around the top of your head, you step back up to the sink to apply the disinfectant cream over your wounds, then protect them with a single square, adhesive bandage over each one.

The floral dress is loose enough that you can step into it and pull it up your legs, feeding your arms through the short sleeves, before it settles on your shoulders. A soft lavender scent fills your lungs where it clings to the fabric from its original owner. You smooth your hand down the dress, sending your thoughts to the woman who wore it before you in the hopes that she won’t mind you borrowing it. It always makes you a little sad when you remember that you’ll never have a chance to meet the wonderful woman that raised the man you love. But wearing this dress helps you feel a little more connected, both to her and to Steve.

You pack your toiletries back into the bag and stash it once more before unwinding the towel from your hair and bundling it in your arms along with the borrowed pajamas. You step out of the bathroom and head back for Steve’s room. You find him sitting on the bed, already dressed for the day, and lacing up his boots. He pauses and looks up at your entrance. His lips part in awe, eyes widening.

“Wow…” he mutters quietly enough that you don’t think he noticed the slip.

You feel the heat in your face building. “It’s a beautiful dress,” you tell him sincerely, glancing down the length of the material.

He has to physically shake himself out of his thoughts, mouth closing as he looks away, embarrassed. “She’d be happy to hear that. It was one of her favorites.” He finishes lacing his boots before he stands. “She’d also be happy to see it getting used again.”

He walks over to you, taking the items from your arms and putting them in the hamper basket he has tucked in the corner of the room by the closet.

“Are you going out?” you question, noting his attire.

He nods, turning toward the dresser inside his still-open closet. He opens one of the single top drawers and pulls out a tie. “Yeah, I’m meeting with Bucky.” He turns up the collar of his shirt and hooks the tie around the back of his neck. “I promise I won’t tell him about you,” he quickly puts in, glancing over at you. His body seems to turn of its own accord when you step up to him; his hands falling away when yours take their place on the fabric of the tie.

“I know you won’t.” You assure him, pulling the length of the tie to one side before beginning to wrap the material around itself. “I trust you.”

You finish tying the knot and tighten it neatly to the base of his neck, noting how his Adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow. Your gaze flicks up, catching the look on his face. He looks just about ready to jump out of his own skin. Your lips turn up into a smile of amusement, though you just barely manage to contain your laugh.

Steve takes a step back, hand smoothing over the length of his tie as his gaze drops from yours. “Um, thanks,” he mutters quietly.

You know you shouldn’t be teasing him like this, but there’s a part of you that can’t help it. Teasing your Steve normally ended with you getting stripped naked and thrown onto the bed. Or pushed up against the wall. Or bent over the couch… All that positive reinforcement for being naughty made it very difficult for you to behave now. Trying to respect his boundaries, you take your own step back to give him a little more space. “If you’re heading out, do you want me to leave too?” you question.

“You don’t have to,” he shakes his head. “You can stay as long as you need, while you recover. I… I trust you, too.” He doesn’t really know why he would admit that to you after only knowing you for half a day. He wasn’t generally a very trusting person. Being an outcast will do that to you. However, you don’t treat him like an outcast. In fact, you’ve been nothing but kind to him and somehow, he can feel in his heart that he really can trust you. He turns once more to the dresser and digs through the other top drawer. “Here,” he offers, holding out a small object in his hand. When you reach to take it, you realize it’s a key. “You can stay if you want. Or you can leave. You can just tuck it under the doormat if you’re gonna go.” Steve has a strange undertone to his words and he won’t meet your gaze. It’s like he knows that by giving you the option to leave on your own, he’ll surely be coming back to an empty apartment.

“Oh, thanks,” you say, unsure what the proper response is here.

“Well, I’m running late, so…” he leaves the words unfinished as he slides the closet door closed and steps around you.

You turn to watch him leave the room with a frown, unsure how his mood soured so quickly. “Steve,” you call after him, stepping into the living room and stopping his movements at the front door.

He looks back at you, hand on the doorknob. You’re not really sure what to say. Before you can come up with anything, he releases a long sigh, gaze dropping. In the next instant, he swings open the door and steps out.

You bite your lip, your heart feeling heavy in your chest. The Steve you know also had issues with saying goodbye. You always thought that it was from plunging into the ice and waking up in a completely different era. That saying goodbye meant there was an uncertainty of ever seeing each other again, and that made him uncomfortable because he knew all too well what it felt like to have an entire life stripped away. You realize now that the scars run even deeper than that. 

You try to think about what the best way to handle this is. You know that you can’t just disappear on him. Even if it’s what you should do, the thought alone makes your stomach squirm and you know that you can’t do that to him.

You step into the kitchen, finding your shirt washed and dried on the small kitchen table. The two bullet holes have also been mended with some thread. You wonder if he had done that while you were in the shower. Your heart clenches. You know how sweet and thoughtful he can be, but he still manages to find ways to surprise you. Even here. You have an idea beginning to form in your mind of how you can repay him for the kindness he’s shown you.

You know that you at least need to track down and check-in with Dr. Erskine. With the way things were left last night, you wouldn’t be surprised if he waited for your return to the recruitment station and by now, he would be assuming the worst. It wouldn’t benefit you at all to have him running to Colonel Phillips to get an investigation started into your whereabouts, only to discover that your records with the SSR didn’t even exist.

But with a key to Steve’s apartment, nothing was preventing you from coming back… After all, it’s not like you exactly had a place to stay. You’d planned to spend your evenings at a hotel, if necessary, but why waste the money?

With your mind made up, you find a smile slowly beginning to grow on your face. Moving back into the bedroom, you grab the rest of your soiled clothing, so you can have it washed and leave it out to dry while you run your errands. You dump your skirt and panties into the sink, only now remembering that you were currently going commando.

It didn’t really bother you since you’ve done it plenty of times before. It was one of your favorite methods of teasing Steve. Also, it certainly helped with the ease of access to accomplish your end goal. You swear the man had a dick made out of gold, and boy, did he know how to use it. You remember asking him where he learned how to thoroughly fuck a woman’s brains out after your first time together. He had laughed, cheeks flushing a little in embarrassment and he told you that he’d had a good teacher. You assumed he meant Barnes. You never did get a chance to thank the man for his thorough lessons.

With the blood washed out of your skirt and underwear, you set them out to dry and head back for the bedroom. You open the pouch from your thigh holster and use a particle disc to enlarge your miniaturized vintage suitcase. Setting it on the ground in the corner of the room, you pop the latches and crack it open, pulling out a fresh set of undies and new stockings. You put on your undies first before sitting on the edge of the bed to slip the stockings up each leg, the elastic tightening just above your knees, and then slide into your heels. You strap your holster back into place, making sure the pouch is secure, before stepping in front of the floor-length mirror leaning against Steve’s wall to make sure it can’t be seen against the fabric of the dress.

You head for the bathroom next, pulling out the hairpins from your toiletry bag. You don’t go quite as “all-out” as you had yesterday, but you get your hair pinned up enough that it’s passable for this day’s fashion. You apply your makeup next, careful with the heavily pigmented lipstick. Once that’s finished, you’re ready to head out.

Stepping out of the apartment, you lock the door behind you and check to make sure no one is around to watch as you lift your skirt and tuck the key into your pouch for safekeeping. Your heels click down the metal staircase as you descend to the street level. You keep your eyes peeled, making sure the men from yesterday, or others, haven’t shown up in droves looking for you.

The coast seems to be clear and you’re able to make it to the street to hail a taxi without issue. You ride to the World Fair, thinking it might be best to start there, instead of showing up at the lab in civilian clothing, expecting to be let in. You pay the cab fare upon arrival and walk straight to the recruitment station. It’s still fairly early in the morning and most of the Fair attractions are still setting up, so there aren’t as many people around as yesterday.

You wonder briefly if it may even be too early before Dr. Erskine would have shown up, but decide to head in any way. A few doctors and nurses are walking around the facility, getting everything prepared. You walk up to a man sitting behind a desk, who you recognize as the head physician.

“Excuse me,” you call to gain his attention.

He barely even gives you a glance before turning back to the papers he’s working on. “What can I do for you, sweetheart?” he asks distractedly.

You have to bite your tongue to keep in the snide remark. “I’m looking for Dr. Erskine, I was here with him yesterday.”

You hear the sound of a curtain getting pushed open behind you. “Vic!”

Turning around, you find just the man you’re looking for. He gestures for you to meet him in the exam room before he shuts the curtain behind you. “Where have you been?” he asks in a hushed, yet urgent, whisper. “I was beginning to think they had taken you. Or worse!”

“I’m alright. I was able to distract them, but they ended up getting away. I wanted to lay low for the night to make sure they wouldn’t come looking for us.” You decide not to tell him about getting shot for fear that he’ll want to see the wound. He is a doctor, after all.

“This is not good,” he sighs with a shake of his head. “Schmidt is getting too close. We have to stop the project.”

You gape at the words coming out of his mouth and quickly try to rectify the situation. “No!” you insist, reaching out to grip his shoulders. “We can’t give up when we’re this close. I know that we will find the man we need for Project Rebirth soon. If we stop now, then Schmidt will win and we can’t let that happen.”

He gives you a doubtful look. “Is that your faith speaking?”

“Yes,” you tell him frankly.

“Okay,” he concedes. “We will keep going, but we have to be careful to make sure those men don’t find the location of the lab.”

You nod to agree, but then your throat constricts when you realize that they’ll find it anyway. You’d nearly forgotten that Erskine doesn’t get out of this alive. He dies just moments after Steve gets turned into a Super Soldier. Shot to death by a Hydra agent. Could you really let that happen still? Knowing that you can save his life?

But on the other hand, that Hydra Agent is a sure fire way to get that spare sample of the serum. You know that he takes it in his escape from the lab. You also know where he’s planning to go, so you can easily intercept him. If you decide to step in and stop the assassination, the chances of anyone letting you just walk out of that lab yourself with the extra serum were about zero.

You feel the conflict burning inside you and you’re not sure what to do. You attempt to push the thought from your mind, knowing you don’t actually have to make a decision right this moment. “They won’t,” you assure him half-heartedly, the lie tasting sour in your mouth. “For now, you should minimize being seen in public and we should have Colonel Phillips send a few extra MPs to watch over the recruitment center.”

He nods in agreement. “And what about you? Why aren’t you in uniform?” he asks, looking down at the dress you wear.

“I had a bit of a scuffle with those men yesterday. Nothing too serious!” you quickly put in when his brows raise. “But my uniform needed to be cleaned afterward. However, this does also give the advantage of being able to blend in. I can watch around the recruitment center to make sure we haven’t been followed and look for suspicious activity.”

Erskine thinks it over for a moment, “Well, you were the one to notice those men yesterday, so I trust your judgment.”

You spend a few hours with him creating a surveillance plan to monitor the recruitment center that will allow you to watch for any Hydra agents, but also not alarm any of the citizens coming to the Fair. After the extra MPs show up, you take your leave, knowing that they will be able to keep the doctor safe in your absence. From there, you head to a grocery store near Steve’s apartment to grab the items you’ll need for his surprise tonight.

-

When Steve walks up the stairs to his apartment later that evening, he’s got his hands tucked deep in his pants pockets and his head hanging low. He’s come home to an empty apartment nearly every day of his adult life, so he doesn’t understand why it feels so difficult now. He can smell something delicious cooking through one of his neighbor’s open windows and it makes his stomach growl. He gets to his front door and pauses. Though the curtains are shut on his window, he can see light filtering through from inside, and if he strains his ears, he’s pretty sure he can hear the radio playing a soft melody.

With brows furrowed, he slides his key in place and unlocks the door. Stepping into his home, the delicious smell from outside hits him hard and fills his lungs with warmth. He blinks in surprise. “…Vic?” he calls out in question, unsure if this is really happening or not.

“In the kitchen!” your voice calls back and he’s pretty sure his heart flutters in his chest. And not in a bad way.

He shuts the door behind himself and moves toward the kitchen. The sight before him is one he never thought he’d see. A woman waiting for him to come home and cooking in his kitchen. You’re standing at the stove, stirring a large pot. The scent of the food smells familiar to him, but he just can’t place it.

“What are you making?” he asks.

You send a smile his way in greeting, “Potato soup.”

He slips his coat off his shoulders, placing it on the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “That use to be my favorite as a kid.”

“Oh really?” you try to sound surprised.

“Yeah,” he reaches to loosen the tie from his neck. “I’ve tried to make it on my own a few times, but I can’t seem to find the right recipe. It doesn’t quite taste the same as when my Ma made it.”

You hum in understanding. “Well, I can’t claim to be as good of a cook as her, but hopefully this soup will measure up.” It’s at that moment that a timer begins ringing. “Oh, that would be the biscuits. Do you mind?” you ask, indicating to the oven mitt you’ve left on the counter.

He jumps in, slipping the mitt onto his hand and opens the oven with the other. He pulls out a tray of biscuits cooked to a perfect golden brown. He places the tray on the stovetop next to where you’re cooking the soup. He then closes the oven door and turns it off. “Do you need help with anything else?” he offers.

“Just bowls and utensils. The soup is almost done. You came home just in time,” you smile at him over your shoulder.

He kind of likes the way you say home. Maybe a little too much. He turns to pull two mismatched bowls out of the cupboard and some spoons from the drawers. He sets the bowls on the counter next to you and takes the spoons to the small two-seater table. He pulls out some cloth napkins and plates for the biscuits, seeing that you already have a plate of butter set out with a butter knife.

“Where did all this food come from?” Steve asks. He’s pretty sure he didn’t have all the ingredients you’d need to make potato soup, and he knows for certain that he’s been out of butter for at least a week.

“I went to the store,” you comment off-hand.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he tells you once again, feeling like a scratched record.

You only laugh. “I know, Steve. But I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” You grab a hand towel to hold one of the bowls as you ladle the hot soup carefully inside. “Take a seat,” you tell him, setting the bowl on the table in front of him.

He knows it’s rude to sit before the lady, but he finds himself complying with your wishes just the same. You pour soup into your own bowl and set it at the table before grabbing the small plates and placing a warm biscuit onto each. Watching you flit around his kitchen like you’ve been there his whole life makes Steve’s entire body ache in ways he’s not used to.

You set the plates down on either side of the table before taking your seat across from him. “Be careful, it’s still pretty hot,” you warn as you take your napkin and set it neatly on your lap. “How was your day out with Bucky?” you ask, figuring small talk will be a good way to pass some time as the soup cools.

“It was good,” he nods, picking up his spoon to stir at the soup in his bowl. “It was kinda nice just being the two of us. He’s been dragging me on all these double dates recently. It’s driving me a little crazy.”

You laugh sweetly. “You’d think your best friend would know your type by now.”

“My type?” he questions, confused.

“You know… the type of woman you’re attracted to.”

He shakes his head. “I haven’t even had a chance to figure that out.”

Your head tilts as you look at him. “You mean you’ve never been attracted to anyone?”

“Well, I have…” he backtracks. “But that’s not the problem. The problem is that they never feel attracted to me. It doesn’t matter what I wear or how I act, next to Bucky I’m just…”

“Steve,” you say gently, reaching your hand across the table to place it over his.

“It’s not a big deal,” he feigns shrugging it off. “I’ve gotten used to being alone.”

You gently squeeze his hand, your heart bleeding for him. You can’t stand the sight of him looking so despondent. To feel resigned to what he thinks is his fate. “You’re not going to be alone forever. I promise that there is someone out there for you. It might take some time, but I know you’ll find happiness.” You might be saying too much, but you hate seeing the sadness in his eyes. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

He releases a dry laugh, eyes glued to where your hand touches his. “Are you one of those people that thinks there’s someone out there for everyone?”

Your thumb swipes back and forth over his skin. “No, but I know you’re a good person, Steve. And good people deserve to find happiness.” You wait for him to build the courage to meet your eyes once more. “I don’t measure a person’s worth based on what they look like or how many people they’ve been on dates with. Your actions, your heart, and your courage are what truly define you.”

“Did you read that on a Hallmark card?” he asks, shooting you a wry smile.

You laugh, pulling your hand back. “No. But it sounds like it should be on one, doesn’t it?”

“A little bit,” he agrees, his smile becoming a little more genuine.

You’re happy to have lifted his spirits and turn to dig into your meal. You cut open your biscuit and fit a slice of butter into its warm center to allow the butter to melt. You watch from the corner of your eye as Steve takes a spoonful of soup and blows gently to cool it off. You nearly hold your breath in anticipation when he raises the spoon to his mouth and gets his first taste.

“Oh my God!” he exclaims around his full mouth, quickly trying to swallow before he speaks further. “This tastes exactly how I remember it when my Ma made this!” He takes another spoonful, closing his eyes and releasing a happy moan with the burst of savory flavor on his tongue. “This is amazing.”

You can’t help but laugh at the child-like giddiness coming from him. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Where did you learn to make this?” he asks after downing another spoonful.

“I actually went through a whole process of trying several different recipes and ways of making it before coming to this particular one.” Your Steve had once mentioned that potato soup had been one of his favorite meals that his mother made for him growing up. When you asked him why he never made it himself, he’d told you that he had never received the recipe from her and didn’t know how to make it the same way. You’d then turned it into your mission to help him find the perfect recipe. It took trying out different variations every other week, until one day, he’d told you that you’d gotten perfectly. At that point, it became a special occasion meal that the two of you would share together.

You’re barely halfway through your own soup by the time he’s scraping at the bottom of his bowl. “Do you mind if I have more?” he asks eagerly.

You grin so wide that your cheeks almost hurt. “There’s plenty left over. Help yourself.” He gets up so quickly that his chair nearly falls over.

You’re pretty sure there’s a saying out there about how nothing quite brings people together like sharing a meal. That certainly seems to be the case with getting Steve to open up to you. As the two of you eat the soup and biscuits, the conversation seems to flow easier and more natural than before. He tells you all sorts of tales about the shenanigans he and Bucky got into growing up and you tell him a few stories from your own childhood.

The sun has long since set and the moon is high in the sky by the time your conversation lulls. At this point, you’re both up and moving about the kitchen. You’re putting away the left-over soup and biscuits while Steve cleans the dishes in the sink.

“Your wound seems to be doing a lot better already,” Steve observes. “I haven’t seen you wince at all tonight.”

You instinctively place a hand to the front of your torso, just over the simple square bandage that lies beneath. The pain was completely gone at this point; that you’d honestly forgotten about it. “I have pain medication that helps,” you quickly come up with an excuse.

“Do you want help checking it?” he offers.

You shake your head, “No, that’s okay. You helped with the worst of it already.”

Steve nods, drying off his hands and setting the towel on its rack by the sink. He exits the kitchen and heads down the hall for the bedroom. You hear him turn on the light with a click. You’re in the middle of cleaning crumbs off the table when you hear him call out to you. “Hey, is this your suitcase?”

Your entire body freezes and your heart jolts. “Shit,” you mutter under your breath, realizing that you left it out from this morning. “Uh… yes,” you respond, straightening up and heading down the hall to stand in the doorway of his room. You try to come up with an excuse quickly, heart pounding in your chest. “Sorry, I know it’s kind of presumptuous. I’m only supposed to be in town until the end of the week. I’ve been staying at a hotel nearby. I was going to wait for you to get back, to make sure it was okay if I stayed here with you, but you had already offered and if I didn’t check out by the afternoon, then I would have had to pay for another night.” You’re rambling at this point. “If you don’t feel comfortable with that, then I can-”

“Oh, no!” Steve jumps in, cutting you off. “I’m not going to kick you out,” he assures you. “As I said, you can stay as long as you need.” His lips turn up into a hint of a smirk. “Besides, I’m starting to get used to your company.”

You release a breath of relief, your pounding heart starting to slow. You give him a shaky smile. “Thanks, Steve.”

“And at least you won’t have to fit yourself into Bucky’s pajamas for a second night in a row,” he jokes, stepping over to his closet as he loosens and removes his tie.

You scoff out a quiet laugh, moving back to finish cleaning the kitchen. You mentally scold yourself for being so lax. No more slip-ups. You can’t let Steve find out the truth about you. You can’t afford to compromise the mission.

Part 4

[mycatshuman]

Show Yourself

(Part 2)

Pairings: Remus, slight Princiety, hinted Logicality

Warnings: Remus and Deceit, if I missed any please let me know.

Thank you @icequeenoriginal for reading through this for me.

Masterlist | Into The Unknown (Part 1)

------

Virgil sat on his bed, his mind reeling from the events of the past week. Between him ducking out, the others coming to his room, being accepted, having to rescue them, and telling them his name, he was mentally exhausted. But he was feeling better. And he realized that him ducking out would not work for Thomas. And no matter what anyone may say, he cared for his host and his well being. And if him ducking out caused Thomas to be careless than he couldn't do that. 

Despite the other main sides finally accepting him, he was still uneasy. People couldn't accept people on a dime, and he knew that. He wasn't stupid. But they were working on it and that's all he could ask really. He wasn't entirely innocent either. He did snark back and put up a tough wall. And he was going to work on not being so mean. 

The voice still bothered him. Especially when he ducked out. It was so loud and hurt his ears so much that even if the other main sides didn't come for him, Jake and Remus would have forced him to go back for the sake of his eardrums. It had since lessened. Which Virgil was eternally grateful for, although, it still called out to him. But soon, that would change. 

-------

They had just finished filming the Accepting Anxiety videos. Logan and Roman had suggested that accepting anxiety was an important topic to cover in Thomas's scripted series Sanders Sides. Virgil kind of liked the series. Sure it did nearly mirror some real-life occurrences but he was comfortable knowing the series would mostly follow a different storyline from their actual lines.

So Virgil was happy. He had been accepted and the other sides allowed Jake and Remus to visit him sometimes. They even invited them to join in on family nights. So all in all, Virgil was pretty happy with how his life was going. Until he woke up that morning. He looked in the mirror, did a double-take, and then screamed. 

The door to his room burst open and a tired-looking Roman tumbled in with his sword shouting, "Where's the danger?" 

Virgil startled. He took a few minutes to compose himself before he yelled, "LOOK AT MY FUCKING HAIR!!" 

Roman paused and blinked as he took in the anxious sides' hair. His face blushed a deep red as he went through a serious case of gay panic. Virgil, meanwhile, was in a similar boat as he took in Roman's newly purpled bedhead. Oh fuck, he's hot! 

"Oh-uh.." Roman struggled to pull a sentence together. "Thomas..I think he got his hair dyed.." 

Virgil blinked. Once. Twice. And then he groaned and hit his head against his dresser. Roman yelped and dropped his sword before rushing forward to stop the emo side from hurting himself. 

"What are you doing?!?" He screeched. 

Virgil mumbled incoherently into the wood as he let his headrest. "I'm trying to knock myself out so I don't risk negative judgment." 

Roman frowned. "Virgil, surely you know we wouldn't judge you." Virgil shrugged. Roman bit his lip before pulling Virgil upright. "Come on, let me look." Virgil stood up reluctantly. Roman had to refrain from sighing dreamily. The plum-colored locks fell over Virgil's eyes and stood out beautifully against his skin. "Virgil...you..you look beautiful." Virgil flushed bright red as Roman took a couple of seconds to realize what he just said. His eyes blew wide as he tried to cover up his feelings. "I mean, your hair, your hair! Looks very nice! And beautiful. I mean you both look beautiful! I um, it's really nice?" 

Virgil giggled lightly as he hid his smile behind his hand and Roman fell deeper in love. "Okay, I think I got it." He grabbed his clothes out of his dresser moving to the bathroom to take a shower before stopping and looking back at Roman. "Ro?"

Roman paused in picking up his sword. "Yes, Virgil?" 

"Your hair looks nice too," Virgil told him shyly before turning and going into the bathroom. 

Roman nearly squealed. His crush had told him he looked good! He danced around a little before freezing. "Wait…." His eyes blew wide and he raced into his room only to let out a wail at the purple mop atop his head. 

-----

The sides all sat in the family room. Roman had wanted to discuss something he had been thinking of that he wanted them all to try out. "Okay, so I've been thinking, maybe our wardrobes need an upgrade!" 

Virgil, Logan, and Jake shared a blank face as Remus and Patton let out equal shouts of excitement. "Why do we need an upgrade in our wardrobes?" Jake asked. 

"Why to freshen up our looks! You two will probably be a part of videos soon and we need to make sure our outfits all live up to this new season we are going into!" 

Logan frowned. "If it would improve views than I suppose I can agree. But what are the requirements of these upgrades?" 

"More pigment! And a symbol or crest that will represent us as a side!" 

Virgil bit his lip. "And we have to make our own updates and stuff?" He asked anxiously. 

"Yeah!" Roman nodded enthusiastically. "That way it is something you'd actually wear and something that you can be comfortable in." 

Virgil frowned. "I think you're forgetting something, Princey." 

Roman frowned. "What's that?" 

"Not all of us can create cool stuff." 

"Kiddo," Patton began. "You don't have to participate if you don't want to but I really think you can do it. It doesn't have to be a big change and you can take inspiration from anywhere. Just give it a try, who knows what you'll come up with." 

Virgil frowned and opened his mouth to argue only for his brother to interrupt. "Virgil, just give it a shot, okay? I think it would be nice to put some color into your wardrobe. It might help you have something to focus on instead of the same black and greys all the time." 

Virgil sighed and grumbled. "Fine...I'll try. But I can't promise anything." 

-------

Virgil stood in his room, different fabrics are strewn about everywhere and ran a hand through his hair. Nothing was working. He couldn't get anything to work. He tried adding different colors of red. And while they looked nice, they didn't feel...right. Virgil was getting tired and he was on his way to a mental break down if he didn't find the right thing soon. He had been working nonstop for days and he couldn't help but give up hope. 

He grabbed a handful of fabric and yeeted it across the room at full force. In the blue light, the red fabric glowed a brief purple as it fell and Virgil froze. "Every inch of me is trembling," he sang softly as he slowly moved over to the pile of fabric. "But not from the cold." He kneeled down and carefully picked up the red fabric and held it against the blue light. "Something is familiar." He whispered. The fabric turned a slight purple color as he inspected it. The light giving it a different shade. "Like a dream I can reach but not quite hold. I can sense you there." Virgil turned around and glanced around his room at the discarded piles of fabric laying all over the place from his previous failed attempts at updating his normal outfit. "Like a friend I've always known." He glanced at his hoodie and ideas began to spark. "I'm arriving. And it feels like I am home." 

Virgil conjured a plain black zip-up hoodie. "I have always been a fortress, cold secrets deep inside." He carefully laid out the jacket on his bed. "You have secrets, too. But you don't have to hide." 

Virgil conjured a small square of purple fabric and laid it on the jacket to test it. "Show Yourself. I'm dying to meet you." He frowned. The purple was nice but it was missing something. "Show Yourself, it's your turn," he sang softly as he glanced around his room. His eyes landed on his Sally and Jack posters. "Are you the one I've been looking for all of my life?" His eyes sparkled as he turned back to the square of plum fabric and focused on conjuring some white string. "Show Yourself, I'm ready to learn. Ah-ah, ah-ah."

Ah-ah, ah-ah-ah. 

Virgil's head snapped up as he heard the siren voice again. The loudest it had been in a while. A bright smile spread across his face and he turned back to his project. "I have never felt so certain." Virgil conjured more of the purple fabric. "All my life I've been torn." He moved around his room as he sang and grabbed needles and thread and a pair of scissors. "But I'm here for a reason. Could it be the reason I was born?" Virgil yanked a sketchbook out from his dresser drawer and a few pencils as he began sketching out the design shimmering vividly in his mind. "I have always been so different. Normal rules did not apply." Soon Virgil had a fairly well-composed design laid out, his eyes sparkled with joy. "Is this the day? Are you the way? I finally find out why?" 

Virgil picked up the scissors and began cutting out the shapes out of the fabric. "Show Yourself! I'm no longer trembling." As he worked his shadow magic helped hold things for him and kept them from getting lost and protected him from picking his finger on the needle. "Here I am. I've come so far!" All of the fabric was sewn onto the jacket and Virgil set out sewing the white string around the patches somewhat hazardously, really pulling the idea of "stitches together." "You are the answer I've waited for all of my life! Oh, show yourself!" Virgil pulled the hoodie on and frowned slightly. "Let me see who you are."

Virgil moved over to his mirror. "Come to me now," he called as he inspected his hoodie in the mirror. "Open your door. Don't make me wait." The shadows watched him as he frowned at his reflection. "One moment more. Oh, come to me now. Open your door. Don't make me wait one moment more." 

Then, as if out of thin air, small patch materialized in front of Virgil, free floating. Where the north wind meets the sea. A voice said, sounding suspiciously like a mixture of Logan's, Thomas's, Patton's, Remus's, Jake's and Roman's sang. 

(Ah-ah, ah-ah) The voice that have been calling him since the beginning called out. 

There's a river,

(Ah-ah, ah-ah)

Full of memory.

(Memory, memory)

The other voices faded away as the voice sounding mostly like Roman's sang out. Come, my darling, homeward bound.

Virgil felt like crying as he reached forward and gently took the patch out of the air and holding it to his chest. "I am found!!!" 

"Show Yourself!" Virgil belted out as the shadows rushed forward and zipped around him. "Step into the power." The shadows melded to the purple patches all over Virgil's jacket, creating a plaid pattern. "Grow yourself! Into something new!" Virgil looked into the mirror with wide eyes as finally, the jacket began to come completely together. 

The voices of Virgil's family all called out once again. You are the one you've been waiting for-

"All of my life!" 

(All of your life.)

"Oh, show yourself!" 

The voices all melded together as the patch attached itself to Virgil's jacket. "Ah-ah, ah-ah. Ah-ah, ah-ah. Ah-ah, ah-ah" The shadows woven together around Virgil as they spun in a tornado-like wind. "Ah-ah, ah-ah. Ah-ah, ah-ah. Ah-ah, ah-ah." The shadows burst away and Virgil was left standing in front of his mirror. 

--------

Virgil was slightly nervous. No one had seen each other’s outfits yet. Roman claiming it would be better to catch the genuine reactions of each of them to the others’ new looks. Of course that meant Jake and Remus's looks wouldn't be revealed until later. Knowing those two they probably hadn't even started yet and were using the extra time to slowly plan things out. Today they were filming the Hogwarts houses video and at the end before they ducked out they would change into their new and improved attire. Virgil just hoped everyone liked his. While it felt right, and perfect, he couldn't help but be nervous. 

"'Say, Thomas, these emblems and your hair are giving me an idea!'" Roman exclaimed excitedly. 

"Roman, make it work!'" Thomas answered, excited to finally see the new designs.

“I say we go for a bit of a change too!'" Roman took off the Gryffindor robe he was wearing, an excited grin on his face. 

"Oo! How?'" Patton asked as he fought to take off the Hufflepuff robe, his arms getting stuck in the sleeves and disturbing the blinds behind him. 

"If you say mind place again, we haven't even been back to the one you created-" Logan started ranting but was cut off when Roman turned around with a flourish. "'Oh, nice.'" 

Roman wore a white jacket with gold embellishes laying across his chest, on his shoulders, and wrapped around his tall collar. Along with that, he wore a red sash that laid diagonally over his torso. With some gold wrapping around the cuffs and a new emblem on the top of his arms, he looked more like a Disney prince than ever. "'Oh! New emblem thingy!'" Patton exclaimed excitedly. 

"'Aww. Prince 2. Oh My Goodness.'"

"'Your shoulders were so boring to look at before!'" 

Virgil's eyes widened as he leaned back and looked Roman up and down. There was no denying Princey looked good. Like really good. Virgil thanked all that is emo that his blush was hidden beneath his pale foundation.

"'Yeah it's just a bit of a change but I thought it would be nice,'" Roman explained as he smiled joyfully. He almost couldn't contain his squeal at noticing Virgil's reaction. 

"'Well, I suppose I could also participate, but I'm not going to go as ornate or elaborate. I would just look silly,'" Logan explained as he prepared to change. 

"'I set the bar too high for you, that's okay.'"

Logan turned around as he fixed his new tie. This one held more blue hues going down at an angle. His polo shirt was now a shade darker and featured a cartoon brain with glasses on the breast. He cleared his throat. "'There. Nice simple logo change, clear and to the point.'" 

"'Hey Logan!'" Patton exclaimed happily. He excitedly pointed to his new baby blue polo shirt where a cartoon heart with glasses identical to the ones on Logan's logo sat on his chest. Even the cardigan seemed to have changed to a darker, warmer grey. "Matching logos!" 

Logan nearly shut down from an overload of Gay but he was able to contain it and keep up with the character he portrayed onscreen. "'That's..very nice Patton.'" 

"'Mine is a heart with glasses.'" 

"'Stealing my logo, no big deal.'" 

"'What's going on with your cardigan?'" Roman asked as he eyed the fabric tied around the moral sides shoulders. 

"'Is that your cat onesie?'" Logan asked. 

"'Maybe…'" Patton answered as he pulled the hood up with a smile. 

"Ugh," Logan sighed. "That will not suffice.'"

Patton groaned, but was silently happy he was able to almost get Logan to break character. "'Ughhhh. You never let me do anything fun.'"

"'You'll figure it out buddy. Maybe something different for next time,'" Roman added. 

"'Virgil! Your turn!'" Patton exclaimed as he tied his old hoodie around his shoulders. 

"'Oh my gosh, do I have to?'" Virgil asked, following the script. They had set it up so up until each side revealed their new look they had scripted lines and while the reluctance was scripted, it was also slightly real. "'I mean like so many changes. I just told you my name.'" 

"No! No!'" Roman exclaimed, desperate to keep Virgil comfortable and not force him to do anything. “You don't have to. I just thought-'"

"'I-actually, ugh.'" Virgil started cutting Roman off. "I actually have this idea, but like, it's a little out there. So, um."

"Go ahead,'" Thomas started. "I mean if you don't like it you can always change back.'" 

Virgil let out a sigh. "'Well...alright, but, um. Before I do, I should probably confess that uh." Virgil switched his outfit to his new one, the purple plaid patched zip up hoodie with zippers on the sleeve and white stitching throughout. "I actually really dig the purple.'" 

"Woah!!!!" Patton exclaimed excitedly as he took in everything. 

"That design!" Logan commented in awe. 

Romans eyes widened as he took in the others outfit. From the hoodie to the ripped purple shirt to the ripped skinny jeans. Holy fuck the Emo Nightmare just got hotter!

"'Get on his level,'" Thomas commented, impressed with Virgil's new look. 

Patton started coughing. "You good, Patton?'" Roman asked worriedly. 

"I got overexcited,'" Patton explained. 

"'Well, I will say this much, that is..a jacket,'" Logan spoke up. 

"'That is..magnificent,'" Roman commented as Virgil hunched his shoulders a bit before letting the tension flow from his body and allowed himself to smile an adorable little half-smile. Roman's heart raced at the smile and he found it hard to not just leap forward and pull Virgil into a passionate kiss. "'How you've managed to become even angstier.'"

"Oh, okay," Virgil said, his smile gone before it could see a minute. 

"No!'" Roman exclaimed, quickly trying to fix the situation. "'If that's what you want to rock then you rock it sir! Who needs your own Hogwarts house when you have your own hog wild style.'" Roman paused, "'Ah, I don't even know what I'm saying anymore.'" 

"'Yeah..it is pretty hog wild,'" Virgil commented, slightly confused and amused. Roman may have been a little unprepared but Virgil official counted it as rendering the creative side speechless. And that was a win in his book. 

--------

That night, when Virgil went to bed, it was the first time in a long time, he didn't have to fight against an ever-present siren voice. And if he and Roman happened to share a kiss in the few minutes before dinner, that was nobody's business but their own. And if they held hands under the table during dinner, then that was also their own little secret. 

-----

Taglist: @spxced-oxt @superwholocked-for-life @mirror2thespirit @aroundofapplesauce @lyditist @little-euro-girl @unicornofdarknessstuff @maryann-draws

[blueyesandleatherjacket]

A Taste Of Christmas, 1/6

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 1/6.

Pairings: Metacrisis Nine x Rose.

A/N: Sequel for The Summertime Of Our Lives. Written for doctorroseprompts' fall fic bingo and ficmas challenge. Fall fic bingo: Mist, Jumper, Spice, Gold, Paint and Cider. Ficmas challenge: Workshop (D1), Tinsel (D2), Cider (D3), Tree (D4), Ugly Sweater (D8). Tagging @thebookster on her demand.

“Christmas is a time when you get homesick - even when you're home.” - Carol Nelson.

CHAPTER 1:

Rose was an artist. The Doctor had always known it. One day, she had forgotten her sketchbook on the pilot seat and he had flipped through it while she was asleep in her room, somewhere in the TARDIS. There were several drawings inside, drawings of him, drawings of her, drawings of them. She had spent a lot of time studying him, studying his faces, studying his bodies and his every gesture and she had drawn it all in her sketchbook. He had kept a page, had taped it on the wall of his bedroom in the TARDIS. The other hm was probably looking at it every time he was getting in his room. Or had he forgotten about her? Was he refusing to even think about her now that they were forever separated? That was what he would have done. Rose Tyler had brought him back to life when he only aspired to die and fate – with the faces of Daleks and Cybermen and new Doctor – had ripped her away from him. And it had reunited them in the most unexpected way years later. Their story was art too. He was a broken person. He was broken in so many pieces that sticking them back together to recreate the man he had once been before the war was impossible. Yet, the brave and compassionate Rose Tyler had taken the pieces she could find and had assembled them together. Instead of trying to reproduce something she had never known, she created a new version of him and added colours to his dull dark world. She was done just in time for him to regenerate into this pretty boy who forgot how to take care of her or how to cherish her. This time, she had been the one who was shattered beyond repairs and no one was there to help her. Her family had let her down slowly. They had thought that as a responsible adult, she could handle the situation and she had thought so too. Working on finding him – the other version of him – had kept her busy but the many failures had weakened the already fragile shell she had built around herself. She hadn’t given up on art as he found out after his arrival in this universe. Her flat had a couple of frames on the wall from artists that never made it in in their original universe and there was one of hers. An original production called “Night sky from Barcelona”. He had never taken her there with this face. The pretty boy did. Yet, it wasn’t him standing next to her under the starry sky. It was him with his leather jacket and short-cropped hair. It was his back and it was his hand holding hers. All this time she had been wanting him back. The broken, brooding soldier. It had taken him some time to accept this truth but the events of last summer had convinced him of it. It had been a long path. Now they were as happy as they could be. Which wasn’t an easy task when you had Jackie Tyler as stepmother. When she had found out about their matching tattoos and the meaning behind, she had completely lost her mind. He had never been so insulted and slapped in all his life. They had settled down in Broadchurch. After the end of the summer, they had gone back to London and the Doctor had soon dived back into his old quirks: pacing around the house, refusing to eat, depressing, stressing and having troubles to sleep. The town was having a terrible effect on him because of everything that had happened there in their original universe and for Rose, it was obvious that they couldn’t live in London anymore. It hadn’t been long to find a house thanks to their new friends – mostly Ellie Miller – help. Before the end of October, they were settled down in their new and cosy place in the heights of Broadchurch with a nice viewpoint on the cliffs and the sea. That had been an important point for the Doctor: having a viewpoint on the infinity of the world. This was reassuring him. The world was bigger on the outside. During all November, Rose had watched him as he sat in front of the large patio door and observed the waves crashing on the shore. As it was getting deeper into the autumn season, it would get darker earlier and mist would cover the land plunging the land in the creepy atmosphere of horror movies. Rose never got the right to go out when it was dark and misty. At least, she couldn’t go alone. He was insisting on going with her. She had proven her bravery and her fearless attitude by traveling by his side, by working with Torchwood to get back to him but he was firm in his decision to accompany her out whenever the mist was spreading. She had missed this overprotective side of his when he changed and even as a former kid from the Estates who had grown in a strong and independent woman, she liked this particularity of his. She had stopped working for Torchwood shortly after their summer vacations. The Doctor still didn’t what was the reason behind such a mystery around the agency. He wanted to nose around, to find out what was so wrong with them and he actually was doing it behind Rose’s back. The only fact that they had led experiences on her convinced him that they were doing wrong and had to be stopped. Obviously, this wasn’t without danger and it was harder to operate without access, without a TARDIS, without a trustworthy companion. Rose would lecture him if she was told what he was doing and he knew no one else that could travel and work with the way he used to be working with her. He doubted he would have taken any other companion on board if Rose had still been around. She was the best. As were Jack, Martha and Donna. But Rose was Rose. His Rose had given up on her job for him. She was unemployed because of him. Broadchurch was a small town and it was hard to find a proper job. She tried the police, the Broadchurch Echo, the schools – Torchwood had had the advantage to have trained and given her the proper diplomas – and every little job she could find in the classified ads but she never got anything. He had suggested her to try and make a living of her art. From them on, he had sort of lost her. Together, they had sacrificed a large room of their house and turned it into a workshop where she could unleash her creativity. It was already filled with loads of artistic materials he didn’t even know they had. Now, she was spending all her time in this room while he got lost in his thoughts in front of the patio door. Not a normal relationship, but they were far from normal. Today, he wasn’t in the living room. He was in the kitchen. Rose hadn’t checked on him in a while, and neither had he gone to check on her. He was concocting spiced cider from a recipe he had found in a local magazine. From the tiny drops he had licked on his fingers, it didn’t taste bad. It even sounded really good. Why had he never tested the whole cooking world before? Domestics. He was refusing the domestics he was now doing. Also, he had had other preoccupations in mind back then. But the pretty boy’s eccentricity and Donna’s seek for a family were running in his veins now. Admitting his feelings for Rose was an opening on this life and he honestly didn’t regret it. He was living the life he thought he would never have with the woman he thought would never love him and he couldn’t happier than that. The Doctor added the final touch to his drink and poured some in two glasses he took to Rose’s workshop. He knocked on the door. Got no answer. Rose surely was working with her Pods on. In this world, there weren’t such things as headphones. They were selling small round devices you were placing behind your ears. They were analysing your musical tastes from the information given by your brain and creating a whole playlist according to them, to your mood, to your current activity. It was totally obliterating the world around you and you could hear the music straight in your head. Great technology, but it also was increasing the percentage of unsolved crimes. With people being deaf to their surroundings, it was easier to rob, destroy and kill without being heard. It was also easier to get hit by a vehicle in the streets. Thankfully, Rose was using them when she was in her workshop and only when he was home. Opening the door confirmed what he thought: Rose had her back on him and soft green dot was blinking behind her ears. The room was a real mess. There was a tarpaulin covered with paint stains of all colours on the ground; on the wall on his left, there were empty and unused frames, blank and used canvas of all sizes. On the wall facing the door, there was a long table – actually the table was composed of planks on trestles – that was weighting down under the numerous and various art supplies. Boxes with their contents written in large black letters were stacked under the makeshift table. The third wall of the room was taken by easels and other boxes. Rose wasn’t only painting. She was doing all sorts of art including manual works. This explained the different materials lying around the floor, the glue gun in her hand, the brush and pen stuck on her ears. She had an old apron tied around her waist. An apron that had definitely seen better days and many artworks. He put the glass of warm spiced cider on the free and safe area of the table. Rose hadn’t seen or heard him coming. The sudden move beside her and the hand appearing next to her caused her to start and she was gonna attack when she realised it was him. She slapped his shoulder and switched off her Pods. He just smiled at her messy bun, at the paint on her face, at the unfinished work before her. “You scared the shit out of me, you idiot!” “Oi! I have nothing of an idiot!” “My clever idiot.” “Take that back.” “My handsome clever idiot.” “This won’t work.” The Doctor was playing offended but Rose’s messy look and the golden flakes spread all over her hair, cheeks and hands were quite funny. It reminded him of the golden light surrounding her, burning in her eyes, when she came back for him that day. A terrible, terrible day. His fingers brushed over her face, wiping away the flakes stuck on her cheek. He was always having nightmares of that day. He remembered all too ell the molten lava when he absorbed the Vortex that he was killing her, the cells of his body dying one after another, slipping into another skin and losing everything and everyone he loved, watching through new eyes what he could have lived, watch his new self screw up everything with Rose, the rage and pain of losing her and moving on, the joy and fear to be born again, the rejection and terror of a new limited human life, the doubts eating him out and the dread of losing Rose or himself one day. Her hands found his face. She cupped his cheeks, spreading flakes on his skin, rubbed her nose against his softly. She had sensed his change of mood. She had seen it in his eyes. His memories had come to bother him when they were playfully arguing. She didn’t know the cause of this sudden mood swing, and she didn’t care at the moment. She just wanted him back. “The golden flakes suit you well,” she joked. She rubbed her hands on his face and ran her fingers through his hair to share her flakes with him. Of course this wasn’t gonna please him. He was no man to go around with golden flakes everywhere. He had a bit of an ego and was quite a macho man. He did nothing that could make people question his masculinity. Even if the concept of masculinity and femininity were slightly different in this universe. After over 900 years of living by the same rules and concepts, it was hard to let go of them. “You know what would be great?” She let go of him and rummaged through the many boxes stacked under the table. A couple of them had the mention ‘Christmas’ on it and that’s naturally where she found what she was looking for. She pulled out a blue tinsel and wrapped it around his head like a crown. “Oh, what about a jumper too?” “Blue to go with my eyes?” “If you want. As long as it’s one of those ugly Christmas sweaters.” “No way. Don’t wanna be ridiculous, me.” “Though you feel ridiculous already.” “Maybe.” “How do you feel with that tinsel on your head?” “Like your human Christmas tree. And according to this beautiful wooden Advent calendar, I suppose you miss the holiday.” “This is stupid.” Rose humphed and hit the table with her fist. She caught the glass of cider before it spilled on her work. That was the first time she noticed it. The Doctor had one in his hands too. She took a sip. Took another. Licked her lips. That tasted amazing. She had been too young and too busy to have some in her original universe and this one had a very different way to celebrate the cold season…

To be continued...

A Taste Of Christmas © | 2019 | Tous droits réservés.

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[beatricethecat2]

if/then (2.0) - 20

A few chapters back, I mentioned wrapping this up soon. Flash-forward to now…well, I see where that impulse came from, but also where it falls flat. There needs to be a balance (or as much as I'm capable of) within the narrative arc, so it needs to get pushed farther. That means diving into people and places I'm not as familar with and trying to bring them to life (plus calling back to details and weaving in new ones…you know, writing). So bear with me, it's plotted, but the gaps need filled in. If you’re still on board with this, I thank you heartily. I’m posting two chapters now because I didn't want to leave you hanging at the end of this one. All typos are mine, I’ll do what I can to catch them later (edited 11/30). Look for chapter 21 to be posted soon after this one. Links to other chapters in a reply.

////////////////////////

Despite Morgana’s warnings, the hunt for Helena continues. Myka proceeds with caution, even with Claudia's better-than-government-grade VPN installed on her laptop. Books have become her go-to, with no bots to track or caches to mine. They're slower in the long run but prompt new ideas, which she, in turn, passes off to Claudia.

One thing was certain: even if Helena hadn't planned this ahead of time, Christina’s comfort would be paramount. Cooking classes for kids? After school music activities involving drums? Kempo classes throughout the UK? All searched for and through with little gain. But the question was: how far undercover would Helena and Christina have to go? Was an Interpol intervention different than a regular police one? Claudia watched countless hours of British police shows in hopes of learning more, but was left feeling more paranoid than informed in the end.

Meanwhile, Myka tacked on oddball acquisitions in remote locales to keep from drowning in "what-ifs." There, in relative obscurity, having thrown off her tails, she could scour libraries and bookstores freely. She was at a loss for exactly what to look into, so she grasped onto the list of "Happy Christmases” Helena had taught Christina. She cross-referenced books with internet materials, but kept detailed notes in her sketchbook.

She drew the tiny shape Guernsey and noted the island's pros and cons. At six miles long and three miles wide, it looked like a quaint place to hide. But to travel, they’d need a boat or a plane, and it was closer to France than the UK. And without easy access to a city, Christina wouldn’t be content. She crossed it off the list.

Scottish, she learned, was still spoken in The Outer Hebrides, which, according to one of her guidebooks, boasted an island shaped like an upside-down ice cream cone. Christina would be into that, living on a food-shaped island, so she sketched it out and turned it upside-down. She didn’t exactly see the resemblance, but that wasn’t important. What was: the chain was far from the mainland with only one road plus ferries connecting the islands. Its population was mostly fisherman and crofters; it's landscape, idyllic, but rural. Again, with no city nearby, Helena wouldn’t sequester them there for any length of time. She put it in the “no” column for now.

Northern Ireland was a definite maybe, though they'd included Belfast in their earlier search. She drew the outline of where Belfast and West Belfast met, as apparently, West Belfast held a population of Irish speakers. But Ireland, the island, was massive, the largest part was an entirely different country. That could cause problems if Helena and Christina had to run. She made a note to check into Irish border crossings and moved on.

Cornwall, a fingerlike peninsula jutting out into the Celtic Sea, had multiple transportation options and several cities. They could hide in its rugged countryside while retaining access to several populated towns, and even jet up to London if they were feeling bold. Cornish as a language was only recently being revived, so there was no specific area in which it was spoken. She put a star next to it anyway, as it seemed the most likely. She sent her findings off to Claudia and kept researching.

But then, at an auction a few weeks later, her theory was put to the test. A fifteenth-century atlas lay open to a map of England, Ireland, and Wales, where she traced a path between her researched locations. As a line formed along the furthest edges of Great Britain, it hit her--if one wanted to send their enemies on a wild goose chase, that was it. The “Merry Christmases” were a red herring, something for Christina to broadcast readily, as she'd read children in witness protection programs often gave away their whereabouts accidentally. And she fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Claudia was not going to be pleased.

--------------

She's had months to prepare, but here she is, at the last minute, taking time off work to finish several new paintings. Luiza had hooked her up with this group show at a gallery Amanda raved was “blowing up,” but about a month ago she nearly baled. But Luiza insisted she show, saying their work together would lead to stellar reviews. Plus, Luiza needed the press to bolster her artist visa application, so how could Myka refuse?

Well known in her native Sao Paulo, but working hard to make a name for herself in the States, Maria Luiza Izquierdo's work captivated Myka from day one. Her abstract patterns drew her in, with their brightly colored stripes and weaved textiles, bubbling animatedly off the canvas and onto the floor. Her freedom of concept and command of materials was beyond anything she'd ever seen. She definitely was an artist on the rise, and Myka was glad to have made her aquaintance.

And from the looks of Luiza's impressive resume, Myka was an amateur in comparison. Out of the eight other artists at her residency, she’d bonded with Luiza the most. Her ambition was contagious, mind moving a mile a minute, always seeing the good in things. Plus, her smile lit up the room, making it impossible to sulk in her presence. She wouldn't have made it through the first months of Helena’s disappearance without the distraction.

They met up as often as possible when Luiza was in town, her visits kicking Myka out of her increasingly mechanical routine. It was good for her cover, hanging out with Luiza and her friends, plus it lifted her out of the heavy funk she was buried in. Luiza prodded her to show her new work, much like Helena used to do, inviting herself over when Myka failed to do so promptly. There were many things about Luiza that reminded her of Helena, beyond any physical resemblance, but when those thoughts arose, she promptly tamped them down. Loneliness conjured desperate parallels. If Helena were standing next to her, there’d be no comparison.

Having couch surfed though most of her friends, Luiza asked to crash with Myka for this trip. Since Abigail's visit went smoothly, Myka thought, why not? Having company for a few days, especially someone who could help her with her art, seemed like a good idea. But before she had time to prepare, she was called away unexpectedly on a work trip. She left spare keys with the guard at her office and told Luiza to sleep in her room for now. They'd inflate the air bed when she got back.

Upon her return, as she rolls her suitcase down the hall, a mouth-watering scent fills her lungs. It’s not unusual as her neighbor often cooks for relatives, but she’s surprised when the scent intensifies inside her door. The figure in her kitchen, her long, dark hair glowing in the backlight, stops her in her tracks. She’s transported to a different time, a happier one, one she has hopes to reclaim in the future.

“Olá, Myka!" Luiza greets, turning to face her. "How was your flight?”

“H-Hi!” Luiza’s enunciation, choppy and light, is the exact opposite of Helena’s velvety smoothness. Her messy bangs and bright red lipstick further shatter the illusion. “Not terrible. What’s all this?”

“Mrs. Rodrigues, she made us feijoada!”

Myka ditches her bag and steps into the kitchen, where all resemblance to Helena withers as she stands next to the slightly-taller-than-her Luiza. A pot bubbles on the stove as greens stew in a pan. A steaming pot of rice sits on the counter, accompanied by bowls of colorful garnish, more bowls than she remembers owning.

“Mrs. Rodrigues? I've barely spoken to her.”

“She was very much interested in this stranger entering your home.” Luiza points to herself with her thumb. “She is from Brazil, you know. Santos, where my avó lives."

“Avó?”

“Ah...grandmother,” Luiza says, taking a moment to translate the word in her head. She slips two bowls from a cabinet and sets them on the counter. "She feels bad for you.”

“Me? Why?”

“‘Too skinny. Works too much. No namorado.'” Luiza draws out the “o” and circles a wooden serving spoon in the air.

“Namorado. I think I know what that means. So definitely not.” Myka snags an orange slice from a bowl and pops it in her mouth.

Luiza smacks her hand with the spoon.

“Ow!"

“Save for dinner."

“Sorry.” Myka rubs her hand, flashing a mock pout. "It’s nice she’s feeding us. I was dreading takeout.”

“This is much, much better. And I bought cachaça to make batidas.” Luiza holds up a bottle of spirits, grinning ear to ear.

“Nice!” Myka says, smiling back.

“Only the best for my generous host,” Luiza says, adding a small bow. “Now, we eat.” She hands Myka a bowl and sets to making drinks.

At the gallery the next day, they help install each other's work, though Luiza’s pieces are larger and more complex then Myka's. Myka stands back, contemplating placement and aesthetics, while Luiza enlists several other pairs of hands to assist. Myka's in awe of Luiza’s persuasive charm, yet another trait she shares with Helena. But with Luiza, there's no alternate agenda, whereas Helena’s was often circumspect.

“Perfeito!” Luiza exclaims as she steps away from the completed install. “You are in my head, my friend. I should take you everywhere!” She sweeps Myka into a hug that lingers longer than expected, though a hug like this is not unusual. Luiza’s concept of personal space is more forward than her own.

Dinner takes place at a friend of Luiza’s, at a garden party in Silverlake. Myka mills about, catching up with acquaintances, mingling awkwardly with other guests. When everyone takes a seat, Luiza pats the chair next to her, insisting Myka situate herself there. As the meal progresses, Luiza drapes an arm over the back of Myka's chair, an act which Myka finds slightly unsettling. Again, it's not unusual, as Luiza's done it to others, but Helena used to do something similar as a sign of ownership. But as wine is swapped out for brandy, she shifts her focus toward the lively art and commerce banter. Fielding criticism of the trade is liberating, as at work she so often has to hold her tongue.

The next night is the show opening, and the dress Myka picks out isn’t “LA” enough for Luiza. Luiza takes her to a consignment shop where her friend works, where she’s handed a flowery faux-forties dress to try on. Myka twirls to the left and the right, staring at herself in the dressing room mirror, the knee-length skirt bouncing back and forth gaily. It’s a cheerful, tasteful garment, hitting her curves in all the right places. Not that her current wardrobe doesn’t, but it typically flaunts her assets less. It’s a choice she would have made pre-apartment tragedy, but since then, she’s toned down her style. Which suits her job fine, plus with Helena gone, who would she be trying to impress? But it feels freeing somehow, like she’s entered a portal to a simpler time. When she leaves the dressing room, Luiza gasps, and her friend claps with glee. She decides yes, it is perfect, perfect for the show, perfect for the Myka she needs to project.

The scene is giddy as they dress in Myka's apartment. Luiza styles Myka's hair into a voluminous mass of curls cascading over her shoulders. The shade of lipstick she convinces her to wear is so bright her eyes glow green. But it’s Luiza's blouse that steals the show, handmade by her, matching the warp and weft of her work, upstaging her skin-tight leather pants. Myka hasn't had this much fun preparing for an event since grad school with Abigail. The levity is certainly welcome.

There's an afterparty after the after-party, with drinks flowing freely along the way. Myka has no idea how much she drank nor what time they left, but their cab zooms home in no time. Luiza hangs off Myka's arm as they shuffle down her hall. Both giggle as Myka fumbles with her keys. They throw their bags onto the same chair as they stumble in.

“You need a couuuch, minha amiga," Luiza slurs, marching into Myka’s bedroom and plopping down on the edge of the bed. “We drink more! You bring the cachaça. But first I—” She bends towards her shoes, but topples forward, catching herself just barely, palms down, arms extended as if performing involuntary yoga.

Myka hurries in and levers her up. “My shoes, I am sorry,” Luiza says, bending forward again to finish the task. Myka pushes her back, then tries to kneel but wobbles, grabbing Luiza’s knee as she lowers herself down. She slips off Luiza's heel, and as she attends to the second one, Luisa buries her hands in Myka's curls. Luiza angles her face up and leans forward, pressing their lips together.

She’s kissing me. Why is she kissing me? The act is not entirely unpleasant, but not quite right. Is this my fault? Did I lead her on? I didn't, but...did I? She replays the evening in her head, but it’s hazy.

Luiza's hands slip down, cupping the base of Myka's head, deepening the kiss, urging her to rise. Myka breaks it off just then.

“Finalmente,” Luiza says, her voice soft and low, leaning in for another kiss. Myka jerks away, but Luiza's thrown off balance, hands still buried in Myka's curls. Luiza slips off the bed entirely, and they tumble to the ground.

“I can’t do this,” Myka says, pushing Luiza up at the shoulders.

“You have another lover.”

“It's not that."

“Then why?” Luiza lifts herself up so that her arms and legs are now straddling Myka. "Your eyes were on me tonight." She leans in for another kiss, but Myka turns her head.

“This is your ex,” Luiza snaps and sits back on her heels. “You have found her. You’re going to…” She frowns. “Ask for her back."

“I don’t know where she is.” Where did that come from? Myka scoots back, carefully extracting herself from under Luiza's hold. She lifts on her elbows, but makes no sudden move to rise.

“I see it in your eyes. Something has changed.” Luiza falls back, sliding down the edge of the bed, dramatically thrusting her legs out until she’s in sitting position. “You will visit her in London, this woman who destroyed your heart. Tell me where she is, this-this, desgraça, ela que vá a merda!”

Luiza’s Portuguese slurred, but her tone pushed the point across. Myka bends at her knees and inches further back, sitting up while hugging her legs to her chest. Luiza knows everything about her, the entire fake story about Helena as she’s cried in her beer many times over it. But Luiza’s never become this agitated, and she’s not entirely sure why. “H-How did you know I was going to London?” She only found out a few days ago and knows she hadn’t mentioned it.

Luiza drags a hand, raggedly, through her thick, dark locks and looks off to the side. "It was there, on your phone, the text. You left it on the table. It lit up.”

The text, "Sotheby’s London confirmed,” could have honestly meant anything. And she’s been super careful since Morgana’s warning; she hasn't talked about searching for Helena at all, so why would that text set off this tirade?

“It is good that you find her. You must put her away. She is stopping you from better things.” Luiza pushes off the bed and crawls closer to Myka, reaching out and laying a hand on Myka’s knee.

Myka flinches, her head says, "run away," but gut tells her to stay. Something’s not right here. Something big. If Morgana were here, what would she say?

“Put her to rest so we can begin.” Luiza moves ever closer, threading a curl behind Myka’s ear and pressing kiss to her temple.

Myka’s chest tightens as panic sets in. And here, she thought she was being disingenuous, but all along it was Luiza. Luiza’s been grooming her this whole time, tricking her into trusting her, into giving away details about Helena’s situation.

“I’m sorry, but no,” Myka says, releasing her legs and pushing away. Careful now, rejecting her outright will look suspicious after how close you’ve gotten. “I-I’m really flattered, a-and you’re a beautiful, talented woman, but…” Luiza was alone in her apartment. Did she dig through her files? Plant bugs in the walls? Has she been monitoring her calls and texts this whole time? “I, um…there is someone else, if I’m being completely honest.” If only she’d taken up Morgana’s offer, she’d have someone vetted, but now...

“Que?” Luiza says, raising a brow.

“M-My friend Abigail and I, we’ve been talking.” Wait...if Luiza is a spy then she’ll know that isn't technically true, she’ll already know everything about her. “I-I haven’t said anything yet, but I’m planning to when she's in town for Thanksgiving.”

“Abigail. The doctor who lives far away?”

“Only until her post-doc is over. Then she’ll transfer wherever she wants."

“She is your long-time friend. What has changed?”

“I, um…” A catalyst, Myka, come on…think! “When she came to visit for my birthday, she said…she made a comment about maybe dating women. And that stuck with me.”

“She will return your love?”

“I think so.” Or kill me for being an idiot.

Luiza backs towards the bed, looking genuinely shaken. In the moment, she’s simply a bruised suitor, not a potential spy at all.

"I didn’t want to jinx it by saying it out loud.”

“What is jinx?”

“Mess it up before it starts.”

“Que dá azar. Bad luck. Ok.” Luiza holds Myka’s gaze, seemingly gauging the truth in the situation, nodding her head up and down in tiny strokes.

If she doesn’t believe me, what do I do?

Luiza's eyes close as her head falls back against the bed. She’s silent for a few minutes, then takes a deep breath in. “It is time for sleep. And muitos litros de água. Much water.” She hauls herself up, limbs shaking, and walks as steadily as she can towards the door. "Boms sonhos, Myka,” she says, turning back just before exiting.

“Goodnight,” Myka replies, her voice cracking from the lump stuck in her throat. Once Luiza’s gone, she tries to rise, but gravity pulls her down. What have I done? She rolls onto her back and closes her eyes. I'm stupid. So stupid. She’s not my friend. Why can’t I have a friend? A twinge of pain throbs through her brow, and she pinches the bridge of her nose. I have to fix this, fix this now. I need to call Claudia. Or that number Morgana gave me. She rolls over and sits up. But my phone’s in my bag and my bag's on the chair. I can’t go out there, not tonight. She crawls over to her bed and climbs on top, curling up into a ball. Everything’s fucked. Helena, I can’t take much more of this. Where are you? I need you to come back, now.

-TBC-

[jessbrownfad-blog]

Sculpture: final proposal and evaluation

My project proposal for sculpture (sorry about the photo quality, my camera is on the brink)

Overview I started the sculpture rotation keen to continue investigating my feelings about home and personal reflection in a more abstract way than in my previous project. I decided to focus on an object that represents these feelings, ceramic vessels, because the memories attached to them link to different places I have lived and feelings I have felt. I also chose them because when I've got something on my mind, holding one of my pots helps me focus because of the weight, sound and texture.

From there, my project explored different types of vessels, texture and ideas surrounding inside and outside. Moving into my final week, I was keen to reflect on what I had done so far and was surprised to find after a few quite abstract weeks that I wanted to work in a more literal way.

The beach trip was really pivotal for this project, as it was on this trip that I realized the significance of environment, and realized that my ideal environment was the woods. From this point I focused on developing different ways to bring the outside inside, and ways for people to appreciate the texture, and viewpoints of trees.

Explaining the piece

This is an illustration for a project proposal that works on the basis that any engineering/financial and construction requirements could be met.

My final proposal is  a series of tall silver birch trees, roots and all, suspended in the National Museum of Scotland’s old Victorian Hall. There is a glass walkway so people can walk through the trees at just above ground level, but the suspension and surrounding gallery also means people can walk under the roots and see high into the trees.The glass walkway and glass ceiling will reflect the leafy canopy, creating an immersive experience. 

I chose this space because of the height and light, which links to the feeling of calmness I had in my conservatory with Sam, but also because I saw an image of the hall in low light - see sketchbook - and liked the scope for changing viewing conditions. If realized, I would experiment with different natural light and sound options, too, but for now have jotted down ideas in my sketchbook. 

What went well?

I'm really happy that I was able to explore so many different materials and approaches,  and I'm happy with the breadth of ideas that I explored as a consequence. Using this many materials also encouraged me to reflect honestly on my experience with them, as this was brilliant as I was able t prioritize my experience making over the final result, which is something I struggled with in painting and drawing.

I was worried during this project that I wasn't referencing enough artists, but looking through my project I realise that I have been making lots of little references to artists, especially as a result of Monday powerpoints! Looking back, this was beneficial because I was able to devlop my own ideas without being too heavily influenced by only a few artists. This is something I definately plan to incorporate into future projects.

One of my goals for this project was to explore sculpture in a 'project proposal' rather than only a literal way, and this worked really well as I didn't feel too held back by my materials. Moreover, I was able to use this approach as a chance to expand ideas even further than if I was making the entire thing. This meant that I had to be quite creative with my development work, and incorporate drawing with model making and photography. Again, I would definitely like to carry this through to future projects because it was a really fun approach.

In terms of my final piece, I'm really pleased with not being precious about the models I made while I was developing the idea, and persevering with exploring new options when I hit a rut. After making my first model, I was really pleased with the way it looked, and this made me half not want to develop it any further. I'm really pleased that I took the time to  step back and think about what went well and what could be improved, because then I modified the model and got new ideas a result. I'm also pleased that I sought out a specific location, as thinking about that space lead me to re-assess the idea and come up with my final concept.

Areas to improve/ with another week This project got quite tricky in the final week because college was shut, which meant I didn't have access to the materials I first anticipated. If I had another week, I would endeavor to make a polished model of my final idea, and use this as base to experiment with lighting and sound options. As it happened, I ran out of time, so I brainstormed these ideas rather than testing them out.

Though it doesn't matter too much for a fantasy project, it would also be nice to investigate ways to suspend the trees in the building so I could incorporate those materials into my final design.

Moving on Both projects have cemented personal feelings and feelings of place as interesting themes to explore, so I have incorporated this into my FMP proposal.

Links to Christo and Jeanne-Claude's 'Projects not Realized' have been really important and freeing in this project, and I want to carry on this 'anything project' approach next term, too. Before this project, I thought drawing alone would be enough to explore these ideas, but making them in 3D really helped me understand the space and layout of my ideas, s i want to continue making models of ideas in FMP.

[coneygoil]

Paint and Things

12 years Eleven was surrounded by white walls. White doesn’t surround her any longer.

White walls. They surrounded her for 12 years like a bland cocoon she was trapped inside. Outside of that white prison she discovered the palette that she’d been cruelly deprived of her entire life.

A mass of colors, almost overwhelming, were all around her. The warm oranges and browns that made up Mike’s basement. The tri-color of Dustin’s hat. The pale yellow of the grass. The soft pink of her dress. The brilliant blue of the sky. Eleven could hardly take it all in.

It was official. She would live with Hopper in a quaint red brick house the next street over from Mike’s street. She was relieved that they’d live so close to her friends, instead of secluded out by the lake where Hopper was previously living. A whole house to call a home and her own bedroom that she could fill with anything she pleased.

When Mike asked her what color she wanted to paint her new room, because the lifeless white was too frightening similar to her past, El had to ponder over the decision. “What color do you like?” she asked Mike as they checked out her new room.

Mike shrugged. “Blue and red are my favorite colors.”

“I like blue.” She touched the wall, imagining the color of the sky splashed onto the drywall. “It’s nice.”

“What’s your favorite color, El?”

El paused. She’d never had a favorite color; never knew there was a rainbow of possibilities out there. She didn’t need to think hard on the subject. “Yellow. Like the sun.” She glided fingertips along the wall, imagining a trail of yellow painted where the pads of her digits touched.

“That’s cool.” Mike joined her in front of the wall, drawing a broad circle with his index finger then short lines fanning out from it.

She recognized the depiction. El smiled, a tiny giggle escaping at the invisible sun Mike drew on her wall. He glanced over at her with that bashful grin of his.

“Do you think Hopper will let me have two colors?” she asked, carefully, already feeling as if she’d asked for too much.

“I’m sure he’d be fine with that. What two colors?”

“Blue and yellow.”

Mike was the sky to her. His presence surrounded her, comforting and reliable. The sky was always there, and he’d always be there for her. El was the sun in his sky. The sun represented freedom in her eyes. The sun shined on no matter how cloudy the day became, and that’s exactly how El felt these days.

Mike was right. Hopper didn’t have a problem with the two different colors, though he did raise his eyebrows at the request. The boys joined El in helping paint her bedroom. Between the five of them, the job went fairly quickly; that is when Dustin and Lucas weren’t slapping each other with the paintbrushes, much to both their Moms’ chagrin when they returned home.

Her bedroom furniture didn’t match, just pieced together like a yard sale conglomeration, but El loved it. Every piece of furniture was unique in her eyes. Her whole life, everything around her was uniform and sterile, but this mismatch group of things made her happy. In a way, her bedroom furniture mirrored her friends. They were all sort of mismatched and unique, but fit together just right.

It made the room a bit cramped, but Hopper managed to fit a loveseat in there. There was a certain comfort she felt whenever she sat on the couch in Mike’s basement and wanted the same for her own little space. That’s where she was currently sitting with Will, the other boys on the floor leaning their backs against her bed.

“Is it time to give El her presents yet?” Dustin looked at the other guys excitedly.

El gave them a bewildered look. “Presents?”

Lucas shrugged. “Just some stuff we wanna give you for your new room.”

He and Dustin got up to retrieve a large box from the hallway. “I’m going first!” Dustin proclaimed as he dove in the cardboard box to remove a smaller box. He set it between El and Will. “I got you your own secret stash of snacks. All the good stuff too.” He pointed to the food items. “Trail mix, pop rocks, smarties, chee wees, a few twinkies, and the coveted,” he held up a chocolate-covered treat wrapped in a plastic baggie, cradling it to his cheek, “ding-dong.”

“Stop oogling the ding dong, ding dong. It’s my turn!” Lucas shoved Dustin out the way. He presented to El a supercom. “My dad had an old supercom in our garage. He kinda tweaked it so it’d work as good as the ones me and Mike have.” He handed her the com system, and El accepted it gladly. Not only did she live close to two of her best friends, but now she could communicate with them any time.

“I wanna be the first person you test it on,” Lucas added.

El smiled, gratefully. “You will.” She was glad their relationship had curved a one-eighty since that first week after they’d met.

Will was next. He handed her a folded flannel blanket. “My mom made this for you. She wanted to make sure you were warm enough at night.”

El caressed the material to her cheek. The blanket was incredibly soft, and she looked forward to cuddling into it on cold nights. El set the blanket on her lap as Will handed her a piece of paper.

The drawing on the thick sketchbook paper was of a person adorned in a pink robe. Blue lines shot out of the person’s raised hand at an unseen foe off the paper. El looked closer at the robed figure. “Is that me?”

“Yeah!” Will replied enthusiastically. He pointed at the drawing. “The guys said you were like a wizard whenever you used your powers, so I draw you wearing a wizard robe while defeating the Demogorgen.” His voice dropped at the last word. Everyone knew Will had a hard time talking about the monster that had trapped him in the Upside Down.

El grasped his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. No one had ever given her something so thoughtful. “It’s nice, Will. Really nice.”

Will leaned across the loveseat, pulling her into a hug. In the two months they’d gotten to know each other, they’d become just as close as she was with the rest of the boys. Secretly, El even thought of Will like a brother. They shared a connection that she didn’t quite understand, but was thankful that it existed.

“Group hug!” Dustin yelled, and the rest of the boys made a dog pile around them.

“Okay, I’m getting out of here before it gets weird,” Lucas said, abandoning the pile first. They all laughed and untangled from the group.

“It’s your turn, Mike,” Dustin pointed out, and all eyes fell on Mike.

The poor boy looked like he wanted to sink into the ground. He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks flaring at his confession. “I kinda like to give El her present alone.”

Dustin and Lucas faced each other with their mouths open in feigned shock, which made Mike turn even redder. “We’ll leave you two lovebirds,” Dustin quirked, slapping him on the shoulder.

“It’s not like that, Dustin!” Mike protested, slapping him back.

Dustin and Lucas walked out, throwing more teases Mike’s way as they left. Will hugged El one more time and gave Mike a reassuring smile before following.

“Why the presents?” El asked, filling up the silence that was left by the absence of their friends. She’d received these types of things before. Papa would bring her small tokens if she’d pleased him, or every time he wanted her to bring her powers to a higher level. When she didn’t exceed his expectations, one of her meager possessions would be taken away.

Her friends weren’t like Papa. They never asked her to use her powers for their own benefits, and she trusted them that they would never use her in that way. They’d risked their lives to protect her so many times; how could she not trust them?

“Well, this is your first real home,” Mike explained. El felt a twinge at the word home. She’d thought of Mike’s basement as home for so long; this new place would take a while to accept. “And we wanted to kinda give you some housewarming gifts.” His face scrunched up. “That sounded way too cheesy.”

El touched his arm, and Mike met her gaze, bashfully. “I’m really grateful, Mike. To you and the guys.” Somehow they found their hands intertwined, and both felt the loveseat calling their names.

“I haven’t given you my present yet.” El watched curiously as Mike slid the cardboard box over. Before he revealed his gift, Mike said, “Close your eyes.”

El threw him a confused look, but complied. She felt something square placed on her lap. She opened her eyes and gasped quietly. A music box sat on her legs. She recognized exactly what it was, having seen one in Nancy’s bedroom several times. An old-fashioned flower print covered the pale pink box. El tipped the lid to find a ballerina spinning to a gentle, tinging tune.

She felt Mike’s eyes penetrating her as she remained silent and stared at the music box. He was waiting for a response and she knew her silence would probably keep him antsy.  

“It’s beautiful,” El mustered to say, the onslaught of all the generosity overflowing her heart.

Mike breathed in relief, a bright smile splitting his face. “I know you liked Nancy’s music box, so thought you might want one of your own. Nancy kinda helped me pick it out.”

El pressed a kiss to Mike’s freckled cheek, his skin warm against her lips, and she caught a full-blown blush painted across his face when she pulled away. She pushed off the loveseat, carrying the music box to set on her nightstand.

Later, after a little bit of cuddling with Mike on the loveseat, El would do a little decorating. She’d hang Will’s drawing on the wall beside her bed, stand Lucas’s supercom next to Mike’s music box, and stash Dustin’s snack box underneath her bed. Then she’d curl up on her loveseat in the blanket Ms. Byer’s made taking in her new bedroom, a home to call her own, and a life that had just begun.

[quicksilversquared]

A Different Type of Inspiration

Marinette has some of the worst designer's block that she's ever had, and Alya will stop at nothing to find some source of inspiration to get her friend designing again. Right before she (almost) gives up, they see a poster for a very interesting design contest. Will the theme be enough to get Marinette's inspiration flowing again?

(FF.net) (AO3)

Marinette was stuck, stuck, stuck, stuck, stuck.

Sometimes it happened- she got caught in a design slump, usually because she was tired and practically sleepwalking. Sometimes she drew a blank when she was free and had all the time in the world to sew.

But no matter the circumstances, it was frustrating.

"Just nothing. My brain is empty," Marinette complained to Alya. "I've tried designing everything. Hats, skirts, shirts, dresses, jackets, pants, even purses and backpacks! Nothing good is coming to mind!"

"Maybe you should take a break from designing," Alya suggested. "I mean, you aren't entering a design competition or anything anytime soon, right?"

"I'm not, but I wanted to make something new for my wardrobe! And I can't just give up as soon as designer's block hits." Marinette was frowning at her closet. "That's not how the fashion world works."

"Have you looked around the city for inspiration?"

"Of course I have." Marinette gestured to the bulletin board that had appeared on her desk. Pictures from across the city were pinned there, both monuments and people and even storefronts and plants. The pictures looked like they were in serious danger of creating a paper avalanche any second. "And I found interesting things, but they weren't inspiring any designs."

"How about the fabric store?" Alya suggested. "Maybe the fabric will talk to you."

That inspired a snort and an eye-roll from Marinette. "I think you've been watching too much Project Runway again, Alya."

"Well, have you?"

Marinette sighed. "No, I haven't."

Alya perked up. "Field trip, then! Come on, come on, and bring your camera!"

   The first few aisles weren't even remotely inspiring. There were cotton prints in all sorts of hues and prints, and while some of them were gorgeous- Marinette took some photos for future reference-none of them were really inspiring her at all. The next couple of rows were knits and while Marinette spent more time there, occasionally draping things over Alya's head, she didn't come up with any ideas. The sportswear fabrics aisle got passed by next, followed by the brocades, the satins, and the vinyl. By the time they passed through the section of trims, Alya was starting to wish that she had let Marinette go by herself to the store.

"I don't know why I'm even bothering to look through this aisle," Marinette grumbled as they paused briefly by the aisle of leather hides. "I've never been inspired by it before, I don't know why I would be now."

"Why?" Alya asked, pulling a dyed blue leather from near the end of the row off of the shelf and inspecting it. "Does it not drape well?"

Marinette shrugged. "It does, from what I can tell, but I get squicked out by the whole 'it's actually skin' thing, I think. If I could get past that, I could probably come up with some ideas for jackets and whatnot. Jagged Stone has some amazing leather jackets that I'd love to kind of replicate, but..." She shuddered. "Skin. It gives me creative block."

"Okay, fair enough," Alya sighed, following Marinette back towards the front of the store. It had been a thoroughly wasted day, it seemed. Marinette wasn't any more inspired than she had started out, and the only thing that Alya had gotten out of their trip was sore feet. She wasn't going to give up, though. There had to be something out there to inspire Marinette, Alya knew it.

And then her eyes caught on an announcement board at the front of the store. An employee had just finished stapling a new sign up to the bulletin board, and even from here Alya could read the words Agreste and Contest in the title.

Well. That could either be a source of inspiration for Marinette, or it would make her groan over a missed opportunity because her head was completely empty of ideas. Alya decided to be optimistic and she grabbed Marinette's shoulder. "Hey! Let's go check out the notice board and see if anything on there gives you any ideas."

"It normally just has postings about sewing classes and quilting workshops," Marinette said dryly, but she let Alya drag her over to the board. It only took seconds from Marinette to spot the same posting that Alya had. "Mr. Agreste is holding a design contest! Oh, no, this is the worst possible timing! I don't have any ideas!"

"Wait, look at it again," Alya said, frowning as she scanned the announcement. It seemed a bit strange, though to be fair she didn't look at design contest announcements that often and didn't really have a great idea what might be considered normal. "It says-"

"'Outfits must be designed using nontypical fabrics,'" Marinette read off of the flyer. "'No cotton or wool knits/weaves, silk, et cetera. Fastenings such as buttons and zippers are allowed. Contact Bessie Leroy with questions.' That's a lower designer at Gabriel," she explained to Alya. "Mr. Agreste probably didn't want to be bothered with questions himself, and Nathalie is probably organizing the thing and doesn't want to be bothered with a million emails." She frowned as she glanced back at the announcement. "I wonder what he's trying to accomplish with this kind of contest. It just seems super-weird."

Alya shrugged as she peered over Marinette's shoulder. "Maybe he just wants to know what kinds of materials are out there and the best way of doing that is a contest. Or maybe he's just tired of seeing draped silk gowns." They had looked up the past few large-scale contests that Mr. Agreste had held, and three out of the five past winners had been silk gowns. Pretty- gorgeous, even- but hardly enough of a standout design to stand out in a room full of silk gowns. The material had done most of the work for the designer.

This time, the contest would push designers out of their comfort zones. The design would have to stand up on its own and be truly fashion-forward, no using materials that were amazing on their own as crutches.

"That's just going to make it harder to be inspired," Marinette groaned, already turning and heading back towards the aisles. "I never go in the aisle of weird fabrics. They're mostly for costumes anyway."

"Maybe that's what you need to do, then," Alya suggested, jogging after friend even as her feet protested. "Go look at funny fabrics and see where your imagination takes you. Where is this aisle, anyway?"

"Back behind the leather." Marinette's nose wrinkled. "The entire area smells funny because of it."

"...maybe funny smells will spark your creative streak?" Alya suggested, trying not to wince. She was not doing a great job as inspiration cheerleader right now. Hours of wandering the fabric store had worn down her well of inspirational suggestions.

Marinette laughed at that as they entered the leather aisle (which, Alya had to admit, did smell funny). They headed down the aisle quickly- so quickly that Alya almost missed the rolls of rather interestingly-colored leather. Fake leather, it turned out when Alya paused to inspect it. "Leather" made out of cork.

Cork, which would probably be considered a nontypical material.

   Marinette was thrilled.

"Some of these look pretty similar to leather, especially from a distance," Marinette said as she ran her hands over a roll. "And it drapes really nicely too, I'm super surprised." She twisted the fabric between her fingers, testing it. "And I think I could probably sew with it, too, just like normal fabric. I might need the same kind of needle that I would have to use if I worked with leather, but it's not super-thick or anything. It's super-expensive, but Mr. Agreste does reimburse people for the materials that they use to enter his contests."

Alya's eyebrows shot up. She hadn't know that. "He does? Really?"

"It's not a universal thing for design contests," Marinette assured Alya as she pulled the roll out further to drape more of it over her arm. She gave an approving hum and pushed it back onto the shelf. "But Mr. Agreste said in an interview in the past that he doesn't want to miss great designers that maybe just don't have the resources to buy the materials they need to execute their designs properly. It evens the playing field a bit, so that the winners aren't just well-off designers that can afford to buy silk and whatnot." She pulled out her sketchbook and flipped to a new page, starting to scribble even as she continued talking. "It works, too. There's more than a few designers at Gabriel now that came from poorer families and they said that there was no way that they would have gotten Mr. Agreste's attention if they had only been able to work with the materials that they could afford back before they won some of his contests and got hired."

"That's...unusually nice of him," Alya commented, watching a jacket come to life in Marinette's sketchbook. "I wouldn't have thought Mr. Agreste to be the type of person to think that up."

"I think it was his wife's idea originally," Marinette commented idly, penciling in a pocket and cuffs on the sleeves. "And he's just kept continuing it, because it's gotten him some great designers in the past." She finally stepped back from her drawing and considered it before realizing what she had done. "Oh wow. That- actually worked! The fabric actually spoke to me. That was awesome!"

"Now you just need the rest of the outfit," Alya said, peering at the jacket design over Marinette's shoulder.

"I'm going to go look at the weird fabrics now," Marinette said absently, seemingly not hearing Alya. Her kind of floating, out-of-it expression looked curiously similar to the one she had often made when she talked to Adrien near the start of the school year. Alya had not missed that expression, but at least now it was design-related and not boy-related. "I can't believe that just happened. The design just flowed. I didn't even have to try!"

Alya could only nod along.

"I think I'm gonna go with a rock-and-roll theme," Marinette said as she rounded the corner and headed down the first aisle of less commonly used fabrics. She breezed past the vinyls without a second glance. "That jacket just screams Jagged Stone concert."

"Are you looking for more dark fabric, then?" Alya asked, pausing to inspect some lace. It was dark and had a kind of a rock-and-roll feel to it. "What about lace? Leather and lace is a pretty interesting combo, right?"

Marinette made a face. "It's a pretty classic combo, actually. Mr. Agreste would probably dock points since it's already been done."

"Has it really?" Alya had apparently missed that particular fashion trend. Still, she wasn't going to give up. "Okay, then, are you looking for something dark, or a pop of color to offset the jacke-"

"It's perfect!"

Alya glanced over, startled, to see Marinette standing in front of a row of what appeared to be some sort of netting. It came in a huge rainbow of colors, and some seemed to be shining a bit even in the somewhat dim lighting of the store. Marinette was already pulling out a bit of two colors, layering them and examining the effect.

"That looks...interesting," Alya said cautiously as she joined Marinette. She was fairly certain that the mesh was the same kind that she saw on athletic bags, and she had absolutely no idea what Marinette would be able to make out of it. "Wouldn't it be hard to work with, though?"

"Good things don't necessarily come easy." Marinette grabbed another two colors and held them up. This close, Alya could tell what she was doing. The background mesh was offset just enough that its colors peeped through the holes in the first layer of mesh. Some skin would still show through the holes unless there was some sort of backing, but that honestly just added to the whole rock-and-roll vibe.

"What's it made out of? Those ones you have right now are kind of shimmery, almost." Alya reached out to touch it. "I wouldn't expect it to be so soft, but it really wouldn't be uncomfortable to wear at all, would it?"

"It's made for athletic wear, I think," Marinette agreed. "There's definitely a front and a back side to it. That side is a little more shimmery, and the side closer to me is a little duller and a little softer." She reached over to check the label. "And- oh! One of the materials is recycled plastic. So it's environmentally friendly too, just like the cork leather!"

"You could have two themes, then," Alya suggested as Marinette continued playing with color combinations. "Unusual materials and environmentally friendly."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Marinette said a bit absently as she layered a black mesh over a red. It was striking, and instantly Alya's mind went to Ladybug theme. It wouldn't be obvious, but almost everyone living in Paris appreciated a subtle nod to Ladybug. Hell, she knew people who would buy anything as long as it had red and black in it. She herself wasn't that obsessed (or, rather, she preferred to go about her obsession in ways other than buying overpriced clothing just because it was red and black).

"I really hope that this was the sort of stuff Mr. Agreste had in mind," Marinette said a bit sheepishly as she snapped a picture. "Because I already have an idea for how to use it."

"I think that might be the point of the contest," Alya said as Marinette pulled out her sketchpad for a quick drawing. "Because otherwise you might not think to use this sort of stuff."

"I'm thinking minidress with the netting," Marinette said, turning it over in her hands. "I would need a liner, at least for the chest and skirt. But it's got a subtle shine to it that I've seen at concerts and I really think it would pair with the cork leather well."

"You should probably email the contact person and get your fabrics approved before you get too carried away," Alya joked. "And what about the liner? We still need to find something for that."

"Something in matte black would work well." Marinette sighed. "I wish I could go with bamboo or hemp, but I don't think they would count. Keep looking?"

Alya sighed, exhausted after hours spent in the store. Still, if she could help her friend in any way, she would. "Keep looking."

   Once Marinette's materials were all approved, her designing could begin in earnest. Never one to be content with letting the materials do the work for her, she had to make sure that her minidress and jacket weren't special just because of the materials they were made from. She had ended up going with nylon for the lining for the dress and for pocket lining, simply because it didn't add unnecessary thickness to her designs.

At school, Adrien didn't have much to say about the contest.

"I knew it was coming up because I overheard the designers talking about it, but that's about it," he admitted when Alya interrogated him. "I'm not involved in that side of the business at all, and even father is being rather hands-off about it. He has one of his designers organizing it with Nathalie. He came up with the idea and he'll judge, but that's about it."

"What's the prize for this one?" Nino asked. "A photoshoot again, or something else?"

"The poster just said there was a cash prize," Alya said when neither Adrien nor Marinette said anything. "But of course there's publicity as well, and that's always good. Aren't there usually other big designers that come to these things just to scout for talent?"

"There weren't any at the hat thing, though!" Nino argued. "I mean, at least no one said anything if there were."

"That was because it was so small and at a collège besides," Adrien pointed out. "This contest is a big one. It'll be getting designers from all over Paris and probably the rest of France as well."

Marinette winced at the thought. That meant potentially hundreds of designers of every skill level. There wasn't a cap listed on the fliers, so there was no way of knowing how many people she would be up against. It wasn't like the school-wide competition, where there were only five or so other entries.

At least she wasn't going in expecting to win. Participating in this sort of contest had inspired new designs just because she was looking at new materials, and at the actual contest she could see the work of other designers and even potentially get feedback from Gabriel Agreste.

   As the month rolled on, Marinette started working on her pieces in earnest. She did her homework whenever she could so she could have more time to work on her designs. Akumas were defeated in record time as she put her entire concentration into taking them down as fast as she could.

Of course, the sewing could not be rushed. Attaching the mesh layers to each other was difficult and took the longest, since she didn't want the layers to slide out of position and ruin the effect that they were creating. It was also extremely difficult to sew them without the thread showing up where she didn't want it.

Still, slowly but surely, her pieces came together. Marinette modelled them for Alya the day before the contest, and Alya was definitely impressed. Even with her normal pigtails, Marinette definitely looked like she was at least going to a rock concert, if not performing herself.

"I'm calling it now," Alya said as she watched Marinette model the outfit. "You're gonna win, hands down. That is gorgeous."

Marinette snorted as she made one last turn. "You forget that I'm going up against actual established designers. I'd be lucky to even place, but that's not that likely either."

"You're not giving yourself enough credit," Alya scolded. "I'm not exactly an established reporter, but the Ladyblog is still number one on Ladybug. You're just as talented. Just because you haven't had the training for it doesn't mean you're less talented."

Much to Alya's disappointment, Marinette still shook her head. "I still have a lot to learn. Besides, if nothing else, I finally got out of my creative block. I've been sketching some other pieces that would go along with this one if I were doing a line. They're not fully developed pieces yet- I haven't had the time to really polish them up- but I'm not blocked anymore. It's great."

   Contest day arrived, and Alya turned up at the Dupain-Cheng apartment bright and early to help Marinette get her pieces over to the area where the contest was being held. Mr. Agreste had rented out a gymnasium for the day and overnight, his staff had turned it into a gorgeous showroom with all of the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. It was a gorgeous layout, but Marinette still froze the second she stepped into the room.

The sheer number of designs in the room was absolutely overwhelming. It was filled to nearly bursting with outfits, some made by aspiring designers years older than her and with tons more experience. Some of them no doubt knew of techniques that Marinette had never even heard of, and some were even old enough that they had probably been designing for longer than Marinette had even been alive.

That wasn't what gave her most pause, though. She had known that there would be far more experienced and talented designers present. Marinette was more worried about the materials some of the other designers had used. For a long moment, she panicked. Had she somehow misinterpreted the instructions? Was she really supposed to use really unconventional materials? She could spot newspapers and garbage bags worked into gorgeous garments up and down the entrance aisle and beyond. Other non-fabric materials were also present, though in smaller numbers. Things like window shades and magazines and cardboard boxes and hardware pieces...

She was going to look like an idiot with her much more fabric-like materials.

Luckily for her sanity, Marinette had Alya along.

"I'm not seeing a whole lot of creativity with the designs," Alya said, stepping up next to Marinette with one of the garment bags draped over her arm. "Like, that newspaper dress over there? If you envision it in pastel purple, I saw that exact design last week at the mall."

"But they're unconventional materials," Marinette managed in a panicked hiss. "What if that was what I was supposed to do? Just let me turn around now before I embarrass myself in front of Mr. Agreste-"

"I'm not letting you do that." Alya had planted herself in front of Marinette, keeping her from making a run for it. She put her free hand on Marinette's shoulder and looked her dead in the eye. "You got every single one of your fabrics approved. I saw the emails. I verified that they said what you thought they said and that you weren't misunderstanding them. Your parents verified what they said. Your materials are fine. I bet a lot of these designers didn't check first so they just went with the first unconventional material they could find. Look at some of these- I bet they just designed something while watching one of Project Runway's unconventional materials challenges or something and they missed that the description was nontypical fabrics."

Marinette blinked and nodded weakly.

"You have a rocking look that you can actually wear. A lot of these dresses and skirts and whatnot wouldn't survive a walk outside. Who knows, you might get points for that. You will be fine. And even if you don't win or place or anything, you still got a rocking dress that you can wear next time Jagged Stone has a concert in Paris."

Marinette's panicked expression faded as she started nodding. She straightened her shoulders and marched forward into the gymnasium towards the sign-in table as Alya followed. It didn't take long to get her checked in and set up at her station. A standard mannequin and two chairs had been provided for each competitor so that they would have a way to display the look and so they could sit down while waiting for judging to get to them.

It looked like it was going to be a long wait.

   Marinette and Alya had been waiting for over an hour and a half when then suddenly saw Adrien appear through the crowd. He looked exhausted, though he brightened when he saw the two girls and beelined over to them right away.

"You look like death warmed over," Alya said as soon as Adrien was within earshot. "Is your father dragging you around as well? I thought you weren't judging."

"I'm not judging. Father just wants me to get a feel for how he runs these contests. I'm fairly certain I've learned nothing so far, except maybe how to pretend how to be interested." Adrien let out a groan. "There's only so many newspaper dresses I can take before I explode."

Alya perked up, elbowing Marinette. "So there's a lot of people that used unconventional materials, huh?"

"Yeah, unfortunately. Pere's not pleased with most of what he's seen so far," Adrien admitted, lowering his voice so the other contestants nearby couldn't hear. "Unconventional materials are cool to see and all and it's interesting to see how people manipulated their materials to look like fabric, but overall the designs aren't anything new. Besides," Adrien added, voice dropping even lower, "Father was considering putting the winning look into production, and obviously newspaper and wallpaper dresses aren't going to work with that."

Marinette perked up at that. For a moment, she was positively euphoric. Maybe she had a chance at winning after all! Then reality came crashing back down.

Just because a lot of the designers had essentially disqualified themselves didn't mean all of the designers had. There were still probably loads of designers that had materials like hers and quite a few of them were very, very good.

She had entered for the feedback and advice. She had to remember that. Getting her hopes up would only lead to being let down in the end.

"There's also been a lot of vinyl," Adrien added. "Dad hates vinyl. He says it can look cheap too easily, because mistakes show up and it doesn't drape particularly well. In the stuff I've seen, darts seem to be a big issue. There was maybe one designer that managed to make it look good, but then the design was nothing new."

Marinette sent a suddenly panicked look at her dress, even though she knew perfectly well that it was practically impeccable. Gabriel Agreste was a legend, and he would be able to pick out flaws in a second. On the pigeon hat, flaws had been acceptable. They hadn't been given a whole lot of time to execute the look.

But with this contest? They had had a month. There had been plenty of time to find and fix mistakes. She had spent the last few days scouring her pieces for any flaws, but she didn't have the experienced eye that Gabriel Agreste did.

"So did you run off?" Alya asked, pulling Marinette out of her most recent freak-out with a subtle elbow to her side. "Or is you father finally getting to this section? We've been waiting forever."

"Father was taking a break before doing the final set," Adrien said. He glanced around as though looking for his father. "I hope he's getting something to eat. He forgets, and then he gets really grouchy."

"More than his regular grouchy?" Alya asked with a grin, and then she promptly clapped a hand over her mouth, looking horrified. "I mean, I didn't mean to say-"

Adrien snorted, hiding a grin of his own. "He's normally running on pretty little food. I keep trying to get Nathalie to put meals on his schedule so he can't skip them, but she never does."

Marinette's stomach started twisting itself into knots again. Never mind the fact that she seemed to be in a decent position, considering that she had one of the few outfits that, from Adrien's description, seemed like it actually met the challenge's requirements, and never mind that her construction seemed pretty good. A grouchy Gabriel Agreste was a terrifying Gabriel Agreste, and he would no doubt find all sorts of flaws. She was getting so nervous; any questions from Mr. Agreste would probably make her melt into a stammering mess and then she would look like an idiot and definitely quash any miniscule chance she had of winning-

A pair of hands on her shoulders cut off that train of thought as Marinette looked up, startled. Adrien was standing in front of her, hands gripping her shoulders and holding her steady. He was peering at her in concern, and Marinette realized that she had started hyperventilating.

"You don't have anything to worry about, Marinette," Adrien said, voice low and reassuring. "Your design looks fantastic. And Father might be grouchy, but he's only really hypercritical when it comes to the older designers. Like, he'll be honest about any flaws and he won't lower his expectations, but he's much better at giving his critiques and suggestions in a more tactful way. He only really tears apart the older designers that should know better."

And, just like always, Adrien knew just what to say to calm her down.

"And just so you know- him asking questions isn't necessarily a bad thing," Adrien added once he saw that she was calming down. "You would be able to tell if he was questioning a design. But sometimes he'll ask about the design process and if you had other ideas because he likes a design and is honestly curious about how you came up with something. Don't worry if he starts asking questions." He gave her shoulders another gentle squeeze. "It might just mean that he really likes it. Just be yourself and don't overanalyze his questions, okay?"

"You're giving her conflicting advice," Alya joked. "Either she's supposed to be herself or she's supposed to not overanalyze things."

Adrien ignored her, instead choosing to focus on Marinette. "You'll do fine, I promise. Your piece is awesome, Marinette."

And Marinette, her heart pounding, managed a small smile. "Thank you, Adrien."

   Gabriel Agreste had not been having a particularly good day. Inexperienced designers from all over the country had poured in and wasted his time with poorly-executed garments. Decent designers had taken his posting too literally and came with garments made with newspaper and plastic which could have all been avoided if people had actually bothered to ask about using those particular materials.

And then there had been the vinyl. There had been entire garments made out of the stuff. It had been done before, it was tacky, and most of it was poorly made.

"I think I've seen less than a dozen designs that are possible contenders," Gabriel sighed as he paged through his notes in disgust. "How many disasters do we have left to look through?"

"Only about twenty entries left, sir," Nathalie replied immediately. She handed him the information card for the next designer. "Do you want me to take the notes for the other designers, sir? Miss Leroy and Adrien's bodyguard can start sorting them out."

Gabriel sighed through his nose. "I suppose." He sent a look at his personal assistant. "In the future, ensure that the designers get screened first. Perhaps we should have required all contestants to send in their materials list so that we didn't have to waste our time. This is getting ridiculous."

Nathalie nodded, making a note on her ever-present tablet.

"And where did my son go?" Gabriel demanded. "I want him to see the entire process."

"I believe he's hanging out with the next designer." Nathalie pointed across the room. Sure enough, Adrien's familiar blond head stood near the next display. "It's one of his classmates."

   Gabriel did not have high expectations with the first glance at the card. Another student, and only just finishing collège at that. His expectations only rose marginally when he noticed the name.

So the girl had won one of his previous contests before. That hadn't stopped other far more experienced designers from churning out utter disasters for this particular contest, and the kid might be a one-hit wonder. Coming in with high expectations only meant being let down.

And then Gabriel set eyes on the design.

It was rock-and-roll, something he didn't dabble much in, but there was no denying that it was excellently done. Red mesh was overlaid by black, offset just enough that only a little skin would show through. The dress was lined with a black fabric in the skirt and over the chest, making the otherwise edgy garment perfectly tasteful. It would work well as a performance piece as well with only a few tweaks, and the mesh ensured that there would be plenty of ventilation in hot, crowded areas with lights burning down overhead. It had a good design, enough to make it stand out beyond just the fabric, but it wasn't overworked in an attempt to make something completely new. The jacket- cork leather, according to the designer card- was well done as well, with enough detailing to give it a distinctly rocker vibe without being too fussy.

This was exactly what he had wanted to see. The pieces- the dress especially, the cork leather that the jacket was made of just barely counted as a nontypical material in his mind, since it was imitating normal leather- were made out of materials that most people wouldn't have thought to use, but it was completely wearable. His mind whirred, already thinking of other ways he might be able to use that divine mesh layering technique.

This was one designer where he would definitely have to ask what other designs she had considered. It was possible that they could do a whole line with that fabric as the focal point-

He was getting ahead of himself, but it had been a while since he was so inspired.

Gabriel took a moment to make sure his best poker face was in place before approaching. Adrien looked up, stepping back from Marinette and her friend as Gabriel and Nathalie joined the group. He looked somewhat abashed, surely knowing that other contestants might view his friendship with the girls as favoritism.

"Miss Dupain-Cheng," Gabriel said, sticking out his hand. "It's a pleasure to see you again, and in person this time."

"Same." Marinette shook his hand. She was nervous, he could tell, but he doubted that she was going to break down like some of the other competitors had. She had stood up for herself admirably during the hat competition, when many designers would have floundered in the face of having their design stolen from them.

"Tell me about your design, please," Gabriel said as he started circling the piece. It was just as professionally done up close as it had seemed from further back. Marinette started explaining, and it was obvious that she had practiced. Her spiel was short and direct, letting the clothes speak for themselves. It was a skill that even some older designers sometimes had trouble with. He twisted the fabric between his fingers, examining seams and the less obvious features as he listened.

"So these are all environmentally friendly fabrics?" Gabriel asked, impressed. She had limited herself in the range of materials she could choose from but that hadn't had any detrimental effect on her outfit. It could easily be yet another selling point, since environmentally conscious was definitely on trend these days.

Marinette nodded.

"That's a nice touch." Gabriel jotted down a few notes on his sheet. "Are there any changes you would make to the outfit after the contest is over?"

"One. I would replace the lining with bamboo or hemp in place of the nylon, since that would be softer and more comfortable. The nylon gets itchy and needs to be layered so that it isn't transparent. That created a lot of static very quickly." Marinette winced ever so slightly, making Gabriel guess that she had tried on the garment and gotten shocked herself. "Other than that, I probably wouldn't make any changes. I'm very happy with how it turned out."

"Were there other designs you considered?"

Marinette mulled the question over for a moment. "Not really. I was pretty set on this one from the start. I did consider using green instead of red as the backing mesh but it just didn't pop quite as well. But as soon as I saw the fabric, the design immediately popped into my head. There were very few changed that I ended up making to the initial design."

Mr. Agreste nodded. "It is nice when that happens. Now, if you were making an outfit for a male model based on the same concept, what would you change?"

Marinette's heart skipped a beat. This was the approving questioning that Adrien had talked about! She gave herself a moment to think before she started talking.

"I would definitely change the proportions on the jacket," she started, gesturing to it as she spoke. "Broader shoulders, obviously, and maybe a slight tapering down to the waist instead of having it completely square. The zippers would also have a slightly different placement. And I would make the dress into a t-shirt or maybe a tank and probably entirely lined instead of just having portions, since it would look kind of cheap to be entirely unlined and but it would look funny to just have portions done. That would get paired with cork leather pants done in a similar style to the jacket."

Mr. Agreste nodded. Very sensible. That would be a good adaptation. "I might suggest lining the front of the shirt but not the back, if it would be worn under the jacket anyway. That would provide more ventilation, which might be wanted in a hot environment such as a crowded concert hall, but it wouldn't be readily apparent to others."

Marinette's eyes widened and she nodded. "And I suppose in that same vein, a tank top or sleeveless shirt might be preferable to a t-shirt since you wouldn't see the sleeves anyway with the jacket and it would be cooler without."

"Precisely. And I might even suggest having some slits or zippers in the pants that would allow for some air flow should the concert venue get too stuffy." Mr. Agreste glanced down at his paper, though it didn't look as though he was really seeing it. "And if you were to alter this for a stage outfit for a performer?"

Adrien grinned as his father and Marinette proceeded to discuss alterations that could be done to make the outfit really pop enough to be a performance piece. From there they moved on to discussing how Marinette would design a collection around the pieces she had created. Mr. Agreste pointed out elements of the outfits that Marinette might consider reusing in other pieces to tie together a collection and they both discussed how much variation there should be in a collection to have the pieces tied together, but each unique and not a different-color repeat of a previous outfit. His father hadn't shown anywhere near as much interest to any other designer, and it was great to see his friend getting so much advice. With each outfit that they discussed, his father was pointing out small details that a beginning designer might not originally consider- not it a harsh way, but in suggestions of what he might do if he were designing the piece and why. He was good at not making younger designers feel ridiculously inexperienced with his critiques-slash-suggestions, and Adrien only wished that his father could extend that skill to...well, to everything else he did.

Adrien came back to earth with a start when he heard the word "runway" being tossed around. He blinked at his father and Marinette before exchanging an incredulous glance with Alya. They weren't seriously designing a runway right now, were they?

"Sir, there are still more contestants to visit," Nathalie reminded Mr. Agreste before they could get too carried away- or, well, more carried away than they had already gotten. "We've spent fifteen minutes here already and the contest is supposed to end in another thirty minutes, followed by an hour for deliberation and then the announcement of the winners."

Mr. Agreste snorted, but stepped back from Marinette's design regardless. "I will hardly need an hour to deliberate. But yes, I suppose I should go look at a few more newspaper dresses. It was a pleasure meeting you again, Miss Dupain-Cheng. Adrien, come."

The little group left, and seconds later Marinette had fallen back into her chair. Alya started over, worried that all of the pressure from having to answer so many questions might have overwhelmed her friend. But she had no reason to worry- within a second of hitting the seat, Marinette was reaching for her sketchbook. Alya couldn't help the incredulous snort that escaped her as Marinette's pencil started positively flying across the page. She had only just gotten done with what Alya assumed to be a fairly stressful interview-slash-designer interrogation, and she was already sitting down to design? Unbelievable.

"I need to write down everything Mr. Agreste told me," Marinette said without looking up. Evidently she had heard (and correctly interpreted) Alya's snort. "I entered for the chance to get some feedback, and I got way more advice than I thought I would get. Mr. Agreste doesn't seem like the type to give out advice more than once. If I enter another contest of his and don't follow his advice for no reason other than I didn't remember it, then he's probably not going to go easy on me, since I should know better."

"He doesn't exactly seem like the type to give out the kind of advice he did freely, so maybe he does have a heart hidden in there somewhere," Alya said dryly, watching as Marinette finished scribbling out a list of bullet points of advice and immediately moved on to working out preliminary design sketches for some of the outfit ideas she and Mr. Agreste were tossing around. The sound of irritated voices- or, rather, one irritated voice in particular- made her glance over to the next contestant. There, Mr. Agreste appeared to be straight-up ripping apart a design (well, verbally at least). "...or maybe not, it's hard to tell."

   By the time the scheduled deliberation period was over and it was time to announce the winners, most of the designers had already left. Mr. Agreste had apparently made it fairly clear to anyone who hadn't used some sort of fabric that they were not even in the running to win. Marinette was impressed that there hadn't been any akumas created, but then again it probably helped that everyone who entered had come in knowing Gabriel Agreste's reputation and knowing that they could very well be on the receiving end of one of his scathing critiques.

That didn't mean that she wasn't going to have to fight an akuma today, though. Marinette had no doubt that there might be a designer-turned-akuma once winners were announced- and especially if she placed at all. She wasn't blind to some of the looks that the older designers were giving her, especially those who had been near her in the showroom and had seen how long she had talked to Mr. Agreste. Still, she wasn't going to read too far into it. It was fully possible that Mr. Agreste had spent so much time talking to her and giving her advice because she was a student who had more to learn from him and because she was a friend of Adrien's.

"Designers to the front of the room!" Nathalie's voice boomed over the loudspeakers. "The winners of the contest will be announced shortly."

"Here, I'll take the jacket bag," Alya said, reaching out for the second bag Marinette was holding. They had packed up the designs after the judging round was finished and Mr. Agreste had retired to a back room to peruse the cards for the few designs that actually got his approval. That way, they could leave faster after the contest was over and they wouldn't have to worry about someone messing with the outfit if Marinette placed at all.

"I can't wait to see what designed actually placed," Marinette said as she handed the bag over to Alya. She shouldered the other bag, the one containing the dress she had made. "I'm curious about the other fabrics people found now. I've got loads of ideas about what I can do with the mesh stuff and the cork, but there's no such thing as too much inspiration."

"You're lucky summer is coming up and you'll actually have time to work on stuff," Alya said with a laugh as she led the way towards the front of the room. "If this were the middle of the school year..."

"It was the middle of the school year when I started working on these pieces," Marinette pointed out. "And I made the time. It'll be easier without having to deal with homework, though." She made a face. "I will have to deal with Manon more often, though."

"You could just say no," Alya pointed out. They joined the crowd of anxious designers waiting for the winners to be announced. "Madam Chamack could find another babysitter."

"But I need the money for my fabric," Marinette groaned, lower lip starting to jut out in a pout. "And you saw the price of that cork leather, right? The other pieces I've thought of have that incorporated as well, and there's no way I can afford that much of it. I'll just have to grin and bear it... and hope that Manon grows out of her stubborn phase sooner rather than later."

"There's a cash prize for winning this," Alya reminded Marinette in an almost sing-song voice. "And if Adrien was right about things going into production, you would get money from that too, right?"

"I would have to win first," Marinette pointed out, her voice low. It only took Alya a second to figure out that her friend didn't want to attract the attention of any of the other designers around them, and a little too late she realized that her assumption that her friend would win (her very valid assumption, considering how long Mr. Agreste had talked with Marinette) probably looked pretty conceited, especially considering that the two of them were among the youngest people there. "So I don't think I'll quit babysitting quite yet."

The crowd fell silent as Mr. Agreste strode out onto the makeshift stage. A screen descended behind him, presumably to display photos of the winning outfits. Nathalie followed Mr. Agreste out, and they could see Adrien and the Gorilla hovering in the wings.

"Thank you all for coming here today," Mr. Agreste said somewhat stiffly as he stood in front of the podium that had been set up for him in the center of the stage. "It is time to announce the winners of today's contest. It was not as hard of a decision as I hoped it might be, as apparently my announcement didn't make it clear enough that I wanted to see unusual fabrics, not... newspaper dresses."

There were some cringes as the few designers that had made such dresses but somehow hadn't caught on to Mr. Agreste's immediate dismissal of their outfits based on their materials finally caught on that they had no chance of winning. A few of the other designers- ones who had gotten their lists of materials approved- exchanged excited glances at that, knowing full well that their chances of winning had drastically improved with so much of the pool of candidates disqualified.

"Still, I did come across some great designs out there," Mr. Agreste continued. "Now, without further delay, I present our runner-ups: Miss Melanie Derose, Miss Olya Noel, and Mr. Kevin Blanc." Three designs flashed up on the screen. One was a dress, one was a shirt and skirt combo, and one looked like it might be a wedding gown. Alya was surprised that it placed as high as it did because really, who entered a wedding dress in a contest for Gabriel? Gabriel, to the best of Alya's knowledge, did not do wedding dresses.

Polite applause rang out as the three runner-ups went up to go shake hands with Mr. Agreste. They got their photos taken, and then were each handed a gift certificate for a fabric store before they trotted back down the stairs on the stage and rejoined the group still waiting below.

"Third place: Mrs. Brenna Faure."

More clapping as an older woman went up on stage. She had designed a business attire sort of outfit, a shirt, jacket, and pants.

"The materials really don't seem that out there," Alya murmured to Marinette. "Don't get me wrong, it's a nice design and it looks cool, but for a contest with unusual materials?"

"I think the jacket is layers of tulle," Marinette said, peering up at the screen. "That's how she got that gradual change in color and the 3-D kind of look to it. I don't know about the other pieces. It is a very Gabriel look, though. It definitely is more in line with what they normally make than my piece is."

"I thought the point was to design out of the box a bit," Alya grumbled. Still, if that was what had won third place, then Marinette's piece would definitely place as well, right? Surely at least second place would be hers.

"The 3-D effect probably counted as out of the box." Marinette was peering up at the screen, intrigued. "I wonder...could I recreate that effect, but maybe with a night sky or something? I wish I could have seen that piece in person to see exactly how she did it."

"I've lost her," Alya sighed as Marinette tore her attention off of the stage to jot the idea down in her sketchbook. She struggled for a moment to keep a hold on the garment bag she still held, until Alya took it from her so Marinette could get her ideas down before the next winner was announced.

"Second place," Mr. Agreste announced as Mrs. Faure went back down the stairs to join the audience. "Mr. Justin Lacroix."

As the young man ascended the stairs to accept his prize and a photo, a casual outfit appeared on screen. The top was made out of braided fabric, like a braided rug, and hung off-the-shoulder. It was the clear focal piece, with the pants fading away.

Alya sniffed. If Marinette had lost to that, then Adrien's father had well and lost his mind. Sure, maybe it fit in with the brand better, but it was...well, not boring, she could see the appeal, but not as awesome as Marinette's dress and jacket.

"I like the texture," Marinette commented as the man waved to the crowd before bowing to Mr. Agreste and scampering off. "I wonder how he cut down on the bulk that the braid would normally create. You can tell that he just left it for the neckline, that's why it's chunkier, but he did something to the rest of it."

"Ask him later," Alya suggested. "He might not tell another older designer, but you're young enough that he might not mind telling you."

A sharp glare from a nearby designer quieted both of them before Marinette could respond. "Hush! Mr. Agreste is about to announce the winner!" As she turned back to face the front, both girls could hear her mutter to a nearby designer, "I don't even know why he even allows kids to enter these things. Heaven knows that they would never win. They're just wasting his time."

Funny, that's not what Mr. Agreste seemed to think, Alya thought, exchanging a glance with Marinette. Her friend looked highly incredulous. Wonder how much time he spent talking with Ms. Grouchy over there?

Mr. Agreste glanced back out at the crowd and Alya could have sworn that there was a hint of a smile around the corners of his lips, but that was impossible. Gabriel Agreste didn't smile. His face would probably break if he tried. "And now, in first place, for a particularly inspired design using a very interesting material..."

"...may I congratulate our young winner, Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

Even the akuma that popped up six minutes later, raging about favoritism and students stealing wins from real designers, couldn't diminish Marinette's joy.

I know it's perhaps not the most realistic thing to have Marinette win over a bunch of other designers, especially established ones, but the thing is that Gabriel has to actually like someone's aesthetic for them to win. Someone could be a fantastic designer but design things that don't fit Gabriel's personal taste, and even though they have a ton of experience they wouldn't win a contest that's focused on the Gabriel brand. Just based on the show, Gabriel likes what he's seen of Marinette's aesthetic (with the pigeon hat), so it follows that he would perhaps be more likely to pick her as winner.

(....also, he was REALLY inspired by the mesh technique. That may have been an influence.)

(I've been watching too much Project Runway. You can tell by my overuse of the word "aesthetic" :D And, in the story, most of the designers had also watched too much Project Runway and that was why so many went for unconventional materials instead of just unconventional fabrics)

Also re: Gabriel's characterization: I tend to write him kind of like Gordon Ramsey. He's VERY hard on the adults, who should know better, but is more of a guiding force with kids. He seemed to be a bit calmer than we sometimes see him with the bowler hat contest, which was all students, but he RIPPED into Alec (at least SOMEWHAT rightfully) when the TV host decided to trick Gabriel into being on the TV show, knowing full well that Gabriel wouldn't want to do it. It'll be interesting to see how accurate this is or isn't once we (finally) start getting new episodes again.

[wildstormoralhistory]

Director’s Cut Material #5- Playtime with J. Scott Campbell

J. Scott Campbell is known the world over for his stylistic take on comics' most famous characters but before his time as a cover artist, he breathed life into the hit books, Gen 13 and Danger Girl. Both titles were fortunate to expand out from comics into licensing opportunities that Campbell was a part of.

J. Scott Campbell (Artist): With Gen 13, I didn’t have as much to do with it as much as Jim would say, “We’re going to do an action figure of Fairchild.” “Oh, we are?” “Could you do some turnarounds for it?” and “We’re going to do some 12" fingers for KB Toys, and I’m like, “No way! Really?” They would just kind of happen in a weird way. I was already trying to get the book done and I was already missing a bunch of-- I told you that was around the time when I was going to take my eye off the ball and losing that motivation towards the end of Gen 13  and, strangely enough, that was when a lot of the products were starting to happen. There was also a video game in development for a long time that never came out. I remember doing load screens for something.           Very quickly into Danger Girl, I would say within the first issue or two, Jim Lee approached me and said, “Todd McFarlane wants you to call him,” and I just felt like, “He does?” and at that point I never met Todd; I knew he was always around, but you wouldn’t see him, he was not in California. He was based out of Arizona. But we all knew he had a toy company and a lot of us had already been buying some of his action figures. So, sure enough, I had a conference call with him. He had a very energetic way of talking. He never picked up the phone; it was always on speaker phone. You got the sense that he was doing 20 other things, but he pitched me the idea that he was doing these different comic book properties. He was going to do a Sin City Marv, he was going to do a Dawn for Michael Linsner and he said he was interested in a few other comic book properties, and mine was one of them, and I did want to do some toys with him. And I was like, “Oh my god, yes.” I would have done it for nothing. It actually turned out to be a pretty nice financial windfall actually. I literally said whatever he wanted to pay me; I was cool with. The only thing I said was, at that point some of those Gen 13 toys that came out, I wasn’t super thrilled with how they looked, so I was like, “I really want to be involved in these toys,” and he said, “That’s cool, you can have a direct contact with the designers.” There was actually two brothers who worked in the design area of it and we would have conference calls once a week, and at that time we had email, but for some reason, there was a lot of packages being sent back and forth with printouts, and I remember drawing over the printouts to say like, “No, no, the nose has to be a little bit more like this,” and I was very hands-on with those action figures and, to this day, they’re probably some of my favorite things I’ve ever done. Those action figures, when they came out it was a like a dream come true. I’ve actually been fortunate enough to have done a lot of 3D stuff; I’ve done statues for Spider-man, I’ve done other statues of things that I’ve worked on, but those were probably my absolute favorite things I ever did, as far as 3D representations of what I drew. They just really, really came out well.          And a funny story to that too is: Joe Madureira was approached as well, and Todd wanted to do Battle Chasers toys, and I remember talking to Joe, and Joe was really like, “I don’t know, I’m really more into these Japanese toys. I’d really much rather have them made from this Japanese company etc.” Joe Mad always had these very specific thoughts about what he liked, what he didn’t like; he was always a little bit off the mainstream; he always wanted something very specific. Just like his influences were always very eclectic and, sometimes, things none of us knew. In the end, he just dilly-dallied, and Todd moved on, and the toys were never made. Somewhat recently Joe told me, “Man, I really should have done these toys.” He really, actually, has regrets about it to this day. I think, ultimately, he feels that that slipped through his fingers, because I think he would’ve loved to have had the toys, and I know he loved how mine came out, so it’s a shame that he missed out on that. I remember too that really legitimized the whole thing very quickly too.           Right off the bat after the first issue we were flown out to Florida by a company, a video game developer named n-Space. They were an up-and-comer; they had contracts with THQ, which was, of course, a much bigger name in video games and we very quickly signed on the dotted line to have a video game produced. That was one of the very first things we did. Right after the first issue so many things were happening- we got a video game going, we were approached by Hollywood to get a movie produced.          A guy by the name of J.C. Spink who continues to be a pretty big deal in producing movies, and another guy named Warren Zide approached us to, basically, pitch Danger Girl as a movie. And we got pretty far along in that process too; we ended up, in fact, selling it to New Line Cinema at the time, and it was for a pretty big amount. It was over six figures the amount that we optioned Danger Girl for. We were looking pretty good there for a while until, all of a sudden, out of the blue, they brought back Charlie’s Angels, and it was that Drew Barrymore re-launch of Charlie’s Angels. I knew that there was a noticeable comparison visually to Charlie’s Angels, although I always thought the tone of Danger Girl was nothing like Charlie’s Angels. But that movie came out, did really well, and that pretty much, sunk us, because, I think, it was Mike De Luca was head of New Line at the time, and the way it was told to me, he walked out of the premier of Charlie’s Angels and just said, “Danger Girl is dead.” And it was just literally like that. And again, we had a pretty nice payday, but that was, pretty much, what killed Danger Girl from moving forward. And since then we’ve had it  optioned and re-optioned a few times, once for a TV show and another time for a movie again, but it never really-- That was when it was most on fire, because it was the new thing; the comic book and the preview, we always pictured it to look like it was a movie in comic book form, and that really worked; people really responded that way.          Right off the bat we were just having tons of success with Danger Girl. The toys, the video game. The video game, ultimately, ended up coming out in a weird bubble. It started off very strong; we really were pushing for all these things; by the end, I think, the money was put in weird areas and I feel it didn’t show up on the screen of the video game. I actually did little run test of things that actually ended up in the Danger Girl sketchbook where you flip the corners and you see Abby running and stuff. That was actually meant for the video game, to show how Abby should run, and there was a part where you see Sidney whipping, and that was me, animating flip form, so I could show them how she should whip in the game. Those were little bits. There’s actually quite a bit in the Danger Girl Sketchbook, concept-wise, that was designed for the game that never ended up in the game. That actually made up quite a bit of the Danger Girl Sketchbook. In the end, PlayStation 2 was announced, and our game was almost nearing completion for PlayStation 1, so already we looked passé before the game even came out, because “Oh my gosh, it’s a game for PlayStation 1? Gross! Why isn’t it for PlayStation 2?” and that kind of thing. That was a shame, because I like to think of Danger Girl as this thing that should look cutting edge in every way, and instead it looked like it was old before it even came out, because, again, everybody wanted PlayStation 2 games; those were the exciting things.          The other thing, I remember, Tomb Raider came out around that time, and we had an Indiana Jones element to the game as well, so, by comparison, Tomb Raider was just the hot commodity at that time, so if you weren’t going to be as good as that, you know you’re already looking second best. Years later, I have people come up to me and tell me they generally like the game, and a lot of people did have pretty fun memories of it. I drew load screens for all the chapters, and we made these funny titles for each of the chapters, Andy wrote dialogue for the game- a lot of that stuff ended up in the Danger Girl Sketchbook.

[jackheathcoteaub]

Specialist Practice Evaluation

ISTD

For me, I feel like the best thing that I learnt and understood during this project was the power of theory in design. In previous years the research side of my work has been lacking but finding a passion for applying theory into design has been really fun and engaging. 

I think the research in general for this part of specialist practice went really well for me. I consistently revisited and initiated research throughout the project, both visual and theoretical, rather than in one go. The theoretical research I also developed into conceptual ideas and then I translated those into two different approaches to my design as my project progressed too. I found this to be a much more organic way to work, rather than following research-execute as I have before. It also enabled me to expand and improve on my ideas, rather than getting stuck in ruts and losing sight of the brief.

In regards to research, if I’m honest, early on I got lost in the research and finding of the content. Gathering first-hand research from people I didn’t know in Guildford and hearing their stories was wonderful, but it slowed down my progress, even though it enriched the project. If I were to do this again, I would begin designing much earlier and give myself the chance to research and design before the idea was whole, just to get things on a roll.

During the later part of my project, I looked at more contemporary design work and this helped massively in pushing the style and design choices in my work. I bought Make it Now! by Anthony Burrill and referred to how he laid out his book, while I worked on my grid and type. For example, I noticed that he had set a 4 window grid for the majority of the book, but rotated content to keep it interesting. Something which was useful as I got to the later parts of the book and the design started to get repetitive, prompting me to change image sizes and make the choice to add ephemera for context and to help the book feel more varied. I also read most of ‘Know your onions’ by Drew de Soto and used the advice in that to critique my work and help move it forward, as noted in my development notes. Additionally, I looked at Printed Pages for hierarchy references, as I struggled to develop an effective hierarchy in my earlier versions. I feel that towards the end that I achieved a much more successful design thanks to this, taking the risk with underlines, even though I wasn’t sure it would work, to now very successfully break up the two bottom levels of hierarchy.

In terms of time management for this project, it has been varied. Before my mitigation, I was spending a lot of time fiddling with details and not progressing fast enough. This is part of the reason that I didn’t develop my work enough for the original hand-in. Since I got my mitigation, however, I’ve taken a much more pro-active approach making, rather than trying to perfect and have used as much of the advice from tutorials, showing work to friends and considering it myself, as I can. Admittedly, my situation which I got mitigation for has got much worse since Christmas and I am struggling to get anything done some days, let alone work, so pro-active designing has been pro-active when I’ve been having a good day. Using the urgency grid and week planning as suggested by all the different people I’ve seen at Student Services has helped a lot and I’ve included some of my urgency grids and plans in here to show how I’ve been planning since December every week. What I would like, is to be able to work with more consistency. Moving onto my D&AD and FMP, I’m already spending more time at uni and around peers to help develop my work at a faster rate and keep up with the deadlines. I think If I can remain diligent with making earlier and researching as I go, then my time management will improve.

In regards to development, I’m very pleased with how far the ideas and execution have come and I think that my final outcome is one which more effectively and precisely tackles my core concept of lost memories of a place. I’ve acted diligently in response to feedback on my work from peers and tutors and have taken notes, made many many test prints refining my work as part of my process, rather than as an afterthought. Developing work with physical prints for editorial is also, I’ve found, a much quicker and easier way to work. I’ve spotted things I’ve wanted to fix, like hierarchy, type legibility or layout changes much faster than before. The improvements that I made to the design of the book from the original jigsaw mock-ups all the way through to choosing the right underline weight have all added up to something I’m happy with.

Finally, in regards to my final piece. I am very happy with the outcome. I think that the design is now much more robust and leaving my previous memory concept for my new one has helped massively in freeing up the design. I think it reads much better now as a book thanks to this.

Looking at the design, if I had even more time on it, I’d like to have tried Gold Foiling on the cover or throughout the book to make use of the ‘Guild’ in Guildford and linking that and the gold of the town clock with the design. I’d also like to have tried more premium materials. I think this book could have benefitted from a case or something harder to just add a bit more, to make it feel like even more of a precious object. I considered case binding for this book, but it ended up being too thin, simply because collecting content for this took a long time and I decided that perfect binding was a happy medium, as it still looks premium and allows the design to speak for itself. Also, I would try out more typefaces if I had more time, but I did feel that this typeface worked well for legibility and kept the design more closely tied to Guildford’s print history, which was important to the content of the book.

Penguin

I’m happy with my Penguin Cover and would like to continue developing it. I think that the concept was playful and appropriate for its audience and was a more interesting take than just illustration. The development I did, to help with how easily the face was recognised was a good start and based on the feedback I had in crit, helped set me on the right track in improving it. How I developed the idea since then was simple, but made a world of difference to the outcome. If I had more time I would try out different type again, and look at more research to understand how I could make the face more obvious.

Sig. of No.

My significance of numbers was a great start to the year and I learnt a lot from doing it! I researched and learnt how to use an After Effects gravity plugin called Newton 3. It was nice to try something new and integrate a concept into it. If I had more time on it I would have improved the visuals, just to make them more engaging. 

During the project, I also did a lot of research into population meters and growth and that definitely helped to build out the idea into something interesting. My concept of ‘now’ and how so much is happening right now, could have been taken in any direction, but I’m glad that I looked at poverty as I wanted to do something with more of an impact for this short project. Separating the final screen on poverty at the end from the world population was the only key point that mentioned for feedback, however, I chose to leave it in as I felt the world population context helped to show the relevance of the poverty meter. If I had more time though, I would work out a way to make this moral of the story more subtle. I’m happy with the outcome and think that given the timeframe for this project I managed to achieve a lot!

Process Book

I ran out of time to work much more on my process book. However, lots of my process and development is explained in detail on my scamps and test sheets and well as in my sketchbooks. My process book now contains the curated content from the previous submission as well as a few key turning points since then, with comments.

[spinach-productions]

Baby Spinach, chapter 6

Summary: a month in vignettes.

Word count: 4388

Author's Note: Warning you guys here that this isn't my best work, but it is TIME TO POST. Also warning that I've been re-reading homestuck and it may have colored my word choices.

Week 1

Monday

Sans finishes his stack of books before early-evening second nap and requests a trip to the library to get new ones. He gives a run-down of the properties of various plastics on the way there. “While the current regulation standards aren’t what I’d like them to be, the materials commonly used in children’s toys are both durable and nontoxic enough that I’d feel comfortable buying some,” he says, “In summary, I want to go with Gerald next time he goes shopping and pick out some stuff for Paps.”

Gaster looks at Sans in surprise. “You want to go somewhere with Gerald?”

He shrugs and doesn’t return eye contact. “I let you hold Paps once,” he says, hoisting the sleeping toddler higher in his arms, “Doesn’t get much less logical than that.”

The three of them trek through the library. It’s early enough that there are still a few daytime employees milling about. Sans deftly avoids each one on his way to the section on magicks and their properties, while Gaster wanders off to browse the new books section. He’s skimming a new text on the latest findings produced by the inorganic materials lab when an indignant shout cuts across the library.

He finds the source in the children’s section, where Sans and Aubrey are having an loud discussion about the fiction of science.

“It is too possible,” Aubrey says, stomping her foot to give emphasis, “And even if it’s not, it’s a story. It’s not supposed to be exactly like real life.”

“It’s not even trying to be like real life! Ghosts don’t happen like that,” Sans yells back.

“It’s how humans think ghosts happen!”

“It doesn’t matter what humans think happens. The way the world actually works isn’t up for debate.” He sees Gaster lurking around the corner of a bookshelf. “Dings, tell her that ghosts don’t happen when someone dies!”

Gaster glances around the section to see who they’re talking to, then back to Sans. “Did you mean me?”

“You can’t call in your dad for help,” Aubrey yells.

“He’s not—”

“And what do you know, anyway? Maybe human ghosts happen that way,” Aubrey says. She turns pointedly to her book. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I want to finish this before dinner.”

Sans throws his hands in the air. “Fine! Finish your incorrect picture book! I’m sure it’ll be satisfying when you find out that you and that book are both wrong!”

Gaster cautiously enter the children’s section. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, fine. Peachy,” Sans grumbles, scooping up Papyrus from a beanbag chair, where he’s somehow managed to sleep through the yelling.

The emotional level of an argument has bewildered Gaster on more many different occassions. This one is a new subject, but the same old helpless confusion. He reaches out to put a hand on Sans’ shoulders, but given Sans’ distance for touch, decides to pull back before completing the action. “Perhaps we can find Papyrus a new book another time,” he says gently.

“Yeah,” Sans agrees, burying his face in Papyrus’ onesie, “It stinks in here right now.”

Gaster feels himself make a pinched face, but lets the subject drop as they move away from the children’s section.

-

Tuesday

Gaster sets up a cot in the corner of his office for Early Evening Naptime. It’s heaped with scratchy wool blankets and emergency-grade pillows found in various corners of the facility, but Sans and Papyrus still seem happy to burrow in. Gaster dims the overhead lights in favor of his small desk lamp and begins shuffling through papers.

He’s just starting the first paragraph when he feels eyes on his back. Sure enough, both Sans and Papyrus are watching him from under the blanket pile.

“Ahh,” says Papyrus.

“Yes?” Gaster asks.

“Nothing,” Sans says. He looks for a moment longer, then retreats into the nest.

-

Thursday

“Thank you for meeting with me” says Doctor Anne Snowdrake as she shakes Gaster's hand. Her feathered hands are cool to the touch. “Please, have a seat. May I offer you some coffee? Or tea?”

Gaster recognizes the hot beverage ritual. He's pleased to be part of it. “Tea, please.”

They continue through a few pleasantries as the water boils. Doctor Snowdrake has been briefed on the children's case, and plan to start Sans on art therapy in his upcoming appointment. “My goal is to give him a sense of control over the situation, and to validate and normalize his reactions about it. We’re probably not going to get far in this first session,” she warns.

“I understand,” Gaster says.

The electric kettle clicks off. Doctor Snowdrake pours them some earl grey, her own settling over a cup full of ice, then settles back into her chair. “Some of why I wanted to meet with you today is to see how you're doing about all this.”

Gaster frowns. “Me?”

“Yes. In the past week, you've essentially become a first time parent for two unusual circumstances children. I want to make sure you have enough resoures and support to care for them without putting yourself under too much strain.”

He recognizes the wordage from Donahue's speech to the children. “I see. Well, I've been lucky enough to have help from my assistant, and Lieutenant Donahue has been extrememly knowledgable about the children.”

“And yourself?” She asks, taking a sip, stirring sugar into her cooling tea.

“I... am not sure. I hadn't thought of it as parenting until you brought it up.”

Doctor Snowdrake smiles. “It's not like there's a certification course or anything. All any parent can do is their best, and it sounds like you're doing just that. Would you like some recommended readings on child care? I have a few specifically for how to be supportive of troubled children.”

Gaster has logged over four hours in the library in previous week alone. He silently chides himself for not thinking to look for materials in that time. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

Week 2

Monday

“It’s just,” Sans says from under today’s blanket pile, “Aren’t you ever tired?”

Gaster reflects on his sleeping habits. “Sometimes. I do tend to forget to rest until I’ve accrued a sizeable sleep debt.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you sleep.”

“I sleep when you do.”

“You don’t sleep during the day,” Sans points out. “Maybe it would be easier to remember if you slept whenever we do, not just through part of the night.”

“That seems like a lot of rest.”

“Have you ever tried getting ‘a lot of rest’?”

Gaster frowns. “I supposed I haven’t.”

“Do—” Sans pauses. He seems to be considering his next words carefully. “I’ve got more than enough pillows to keep Paps from rolling off the bed. Do you want one?”

Gaster looks at the reports and studies spread across his desk. The clock says it’s early enough that he could, conceivably, take a short break without encroaching on his deadlines. “Yes,” he says, relocating to the couch, “That sounds very nice.”

-

The next time they visit the library, Gaster leads them straight to the children's section where Aubrey is pouring over a sketchbook.

“No,” Sans hisses.

“Yes,” Gaster insists.

“I didn't do anything!”

“You hurt her feelings. Even if you didn't mean to, that's enough to warrant an apology.”

Sans stuffs his hands in his pockets. “She hurt my feelings, too.”

“Either she'll also apologize, which would assuage your feelings, or she won't, which will prove you're the bigger person. You'll feel better either way.”

Sans kicks a bookshelf and huffs loudly, but still shuffles into the main area. Aubrey looks up at the intrusion, and scowls when she recognizes him. “What do you want?”

“I'm,” Sans says, resolutely looking at everything but Aubrey, “Sorry for saying the stuff you liked way dumb. Just because it's not strictly accurate doesn't mean it's bad.”

Aubrey's eyes narrow with suspicion. Gaster hovers awkwardly behind a bookcase. He crosses his fingers for a positive outcome.

“Okay,” she says. “I'm sorry for yelling at you.”

Gaster lets out a sigh of relief. The children regard each other.

“What are you drawing?” Sans asks.

He leaves the children to discuss the merits of Aubrey’s preferred art style.

-

Wednesday

Doctor Snowdrake has an impressive array of print cuttings scattered across her child-sized coffee table. The room has been re-arranged, putting her desk by the far wall to give more space for the short table and pillow seat surrounding it. A playpen has been set up just beyond arm's reach of the pillows.

“Good evening,” she says they come in for their appointment.

“Good evening, doctor,” Gaster replies.

Sans has one hand stuffed into his pocket in what Gaster has come to recognize as a nervous gesture; Papyrus, who decided he wanted to practice walking today, is holding tight to the other as he toddles along, looking around the office with open curiosity. Sans is glaring at a spot on the back of Gaster's pant leg.

“Thank you for having us,” Gaster continues. When in doubt, he likes to fall back on good manners.

“Thank you for coming. Won't you have a seat, everyone?”

Sans reluctantly walks Papyrus to the playpen and lifts him inside. When he doesn't let go of Papyrus' hand, Gaster gently pries his fingers open and slides his own hand between them. Sans holds on tightly.

“It's alright,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Sans says without looking away from Papyrus or letting go.

Gaster seat them on the same side of the table. Doctor Snowdrake takes the opposite side. “Good evening, Sans. My name is Anne.”

“I thought you were Doctor Snowdrake,” Sans mumbles.

“That's my official title, but it feels too formal sometimes.”

“Gaster doesn't call you Anne.”

“I believe Gaster— may I call you Gaster? Falls back on manner when he's nervous.”

Sans stops examining the table to look incredulously at Gaster. “You're nervous?”

“Yes,” Gaster admits.

“Why are you nervous? I'm the one doing the tests.”

“I'm nervous because I know how apprehensive you are, and I don't like it when you're uncomfortable.”

“Then why do I have to do this? And what's with the pictures?”

“I cut them out from a variety of magazines and newspapers,” Doctor Snowdrake says, neatly sidestepping the first question, “They’re for you to put together into a collage.”

Sans picks one up. It’s a neatly trimmed photo of an aquatic woman wearing a fashionable blazer and heels. She bears a slight resemblance to Lieutenant Donahue. “What am I supposed to make?”

“Something that relates to the situation, please,” she says, adjusting her glasses, “It can be anything you want.”

He sets the Donahue-lookalike to the side and begins shuffling through the pile. “What if I want to put words together into a menu?”

“As long as it relates to the situation, that’d be fine.”

“What if I recreate a picture I’ve seen before?”

“Same thing.”

Sans finally looks at Doctor Snowdrake to make a face at her. “You’re saying I can make anything.”

“That’s right.”

His eyes narrow suspiciously. Doctor Snowdrake watches with calm and patience. The room feels apprehensive.

Finally, Sans looks back to the pile of clippings. He begins sifting through the papers, setting pieces he likes into a separate stack. Gaster frowns as the words ‘lacking’, ‘protect’, ‘insufficient’, and ‘too good’ are selected. He glances at Doctor Snowdrake, who’s also watching Sans’ progress. She doesn’t seem worried, but Gaster posits that she’s been trained not to show judgement in this kind of situation.

Sans starts gluing pieces to a large sheet of paper. The negative words are arranged in a circle on the left side of the page, while the positive ones go in a circle on the right side. Once the two circles are finished, Sans starts going through the pile again. He tosses rejected pieces aside with agitation, spilling the clippings off the table until he finds one he likes. Sans looks at it for a long time. His empty hand curls into a fist against the table, but the piece is held gently in the other.

“Sans,” Doctor Snowdrake asks, “Who is that?”

He glances at her without putting the paper down. “Nothing leaves this room, right? You’ve got a code of ethics?”

“As long as people aren’t actively being hurt, things will stay between us. Is anyone being hurt, Sans?”

“No,” he says, looking back to the paper in his hand, “Not anymore.”

He takes the scissors and carefully cuts a piece of the picture off, then puts it between and slightly above the two circles without gluing it down and grabs a black marker and scribbles a large dark patch between the two circles. The picture is a black and white photograph of a scientist in uniform. Sans has cut the head off, leaving a faceless figure wearing a lab coat and tie, and draws in two eyes and a mouth. He runs a finger around the picture’s edges.

“Sans,” she says gently, “Who is that?”

“It’s Dings,” Sans says. He looks at Gaster and gives a tentative smile.

Gaster smiles back.

She gestures to the black scribble in the middle of the page. It covers the space between the two circles and most of the empty space at the bottom of the page. “And who is that?”

Sans looks away from the picture. His eyes land on Papyrus, who is has fallen asleep in the playpen. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Would it be alright if we talked about it another time?”

Sans looks up at Gaster. Gaster can’t read the expression on his face. He puts a hand on Sans’ shoulder for support.

“Yeah,” Sans says, “Okay.”

-

Thursday

As per their rooming agreement, Sans sweeps and mops the floors twice a month.  Today he cleans them to a shine.  The contact states that his reward is ‘food and housing’, which Gaster interprets by giving him hot chocolate once the job is done.

Week 3

Tuesday

Papyrus slips away before Sans finishes his early evening nap. Ten frantic minutes of searching finds him showing off his rudimentary dancing abilities to a knot of night employees. Despite Sans’ audible tooth-grinding, Gaster can’t help but find it charming.

-

Thursday

Sans is just as anxious during the second meeting with Doctor Snowdrake. He settles Papyrus into the playpen and follows Gaster back to the short table, where last week’s collage is laid out next to another pile of magazine cuttings.

“Thank you for coming,” Doctor Snowdrake says. “I appreciate it.”

“I have to,” Sans mutters.

“You could have run away, or outright refused. The fact that you came here even though you didn’t want to means a lot to me.”

Sans glares at the tabletop and doesn’t answer.

“Would you like to continue this picture, or make another one?” She asks.

Sans chooses to make a new picture. As he works, Doctor Snowdrake pulls Gaster to the side to discuss her thoughts on the first one. “I’d like to talk about that first collage with Sans at some point, but it was more of a diagnostic than anything else. Frankly, I’d rather not dive right into things.”

Gaster nods. “May I ask what the diagnostic revealed?”

“Not much you didn’t already know,” Doctor Snowdrake says with a sigh, “The two circles seem to represent the two children, with one filled with ‘bad’ traits and the other filled with ‘good’ traits. It’s not hard to guess which is which.”

Sadly, it isn’t.

“What’s poignant is the kind of ‘bad’ traits Sans chose. They seem to imply inadequacy, like something about Sans isn’t good enough. I’d be willing to guess that the black mass at the bottom of the page is where he learned that.”

“Doctor,” Gaster says quietly, “Do you see cases like this often?”

“More often than I’d like,” she says.

“How does this… happen? What kind of person does this to a child?”

Doctor Snowdrake takes a moment to choose her words. “Each case is different. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say that someone had big plans for these kids, and that at some point, Sans fell short.” She folds her wings across her chest. “Some parents forget that their children aren’t extensions of themselves, and the children pay the price for it.”

Gaster grapples with the idea. It takes a moment to sort out his thoughts. “The reading you recommended suggests that the goal of parenting is to raise children to become individuals. Are you suggesting Sans’ and Papyrus’ parents forgot that?”

“Some people never even learn that.”

Gaster is at a complete loss for words.

Doctor Snowdrake smiles sympathetically. “It can be disquieting. But the important thing is that the children are here now, not wherever they came from. We can begin to undo some of this damage.”

He glances between Sans, who is gluing figures onto a new piece of paper, and Papyrus, who is chewing on his own hand. “That’s very true,” Gaster agrees.

-

Friday

Gerald forces Sans to wear a scarf on their shopping excursion. “It’s getting cold, you know.”

“Gaster doesn’t make me wear a scarf,” Sans says, batting Geralds arms to make him stop tying the scraf into place.

“Gaster doesn’t have biological nerve endings, so he doesn’t know that cold is bad for you.”

“That’s true,” Gaster agrees. “This turtleneck is just for show.”

They choose mid-morning to wander around the mercantile district in hopes of avoiding crowds. The first stop is an infant’s toy store for some desperately needed toys; Sans weighs the benefits of several options before choosing a utilitarian teething ring and a soft blue elephant. Papyrus shows his approval by latching on to both and refuses to let go.

Next stop is a big-box housing store for a better office blanket. In a stroke of genius, Gerald digs through the children’s section until he turns up a comforter with a space-inspired patterned stitched into the squares.

“I want that,” Sans says immediately.

They find a matching pillow set, and hidden in the clearance section is a second comforter decorated with the periodic table of elements. The last time Gaster spent money on something so decorative was when Gerald implemented the ‘no more books in stacks on the floor, Wings, you’re an adult’ policy and he was forced to purchase a bookcase. That was to organize his home; this is to make his space into a shared space. Gaster watches Sans run a hand over the new blankets, and feels a warm emotion unfurl in the center of his torso.

Week 4

Wednesday

Gaster removes his shoes and lays down on the couch with a yawn. Despite his short tenure on the Early Evening Naptime participation list, he’s become accustomed to sleeping between 7 and 8 p.m. The children have been kind enough to loan him one of the new, soft blankets from their pile.

“Sleep well,” Gaster says, pulling the blanket over his shoulders.

“You too,” Sans says.

An easy quiet settles over the office. It’s not the anxious quiet that followed Sans home the first night or the apprehensive quiet he occasionally takes on when new people are present, but a peaceful one that means the room is secure and the children are comfortable.

Gaster enjoys it for an indeterminate amount of time until something folds his blanket back. He cracks one eye open as Papyrus crawls up onto his chest. Sans, who presumably lifted Papyrus into place, climbs up and pokes Gaster until he makes enough room for Sans to slide between him and the back of the sofa. Papyrus scoots over until he can lay between them.

Sans pulls the blanket over everyone. It’s a bit cramped, but very warm.

“Sleep well,” Sans says, tucking Papyrus under his arm.

Gaster wriggles an arm out from under Sans and places it on his shoulder. “You too.”

-

Friday

They pack up everything after dinner and head to the library for Sans and Aubrey’s twice-weekly meet-up. Gaster hesitates to call it a ‘play date’, since they don’t seem to play and the library would hardly be a suitable space for it anyway. Instead, the children compare notes on what they consider to be possible and impossible in fiction while Gaster conducts research on a separate table. Both Doctor Snowdrake and Donahue think this is excellent progress on Sans’ part, and Gaster is inclined to agree; watching him interact with someone in his own age bracket is extremely gratifying.

Today’s topic seems to be how physics operates in space. Personally, Gaster thinks that Aubrey’s ideas about aliens are overly romantic, but keeps his opinions to himself as the children discuss how alien life might develop in different environments. Alphys has decided to sit in on the meeting this evening, causing Aubrey to glance over when she begins to describe one of her more creative ideas. Gaster attempts to draw Alphys into a conversation about the library’s collection to give the children some privacy, but Alphys continues to watch them between exchanges.

Halfway through Alphys’ thoughts on whether the library should begin developing its section on the Human Wars, one of the interns slides out from behind a bookshelf and crosses to Gaster’s (very short) table without disturbing either conversation. “Excuse me, doctor,” she says quietly, “But there I’m getting some unusual readings from the determination experiments. Doctor Colorata is already checking the setup, but he wanted to call you in due to their delicate nature.”

It’s a good call. The determination experiments aren’t dangerous enough to sound an alarm, but if they’ve become unstable, there might not be much time before they become unsalvageable. Gaster quickly calculates how dangerous the containment might be. The answer lands on ‘unsafe for Sans and Papyrus’, but he’d prefer not to leave them alone for the duration of the repairs and recalibration process.

Alphys seems to be thinking along the same lines. “Do you think this will be a quick fix,” he asks the intern.

“Doctor Colorata isn’t sure.”

He turns to Gaster. “I can watch the children until you get back. Go, quickly.”

Gaster thanks him and follows the intern back to the hazardous materials lab, where Gerald is trying to find the problem. The experiment is designed to observe the properties of distilled forms of magic under different circumstances to see which most closely resemble human Determination, with the hopes of one day finding a synthetic compound able to mimic it. The King has hopes Determination will be the key to breaking through the barrier.

It takes the three of them the better part of an hour to comb thorough the experiment for errors. Finally, Gerald finds it: one of the fourteen exhaust valves has been left partially shut. Gaster reopens the valve, allowing the pressure to exit the system with a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. That could have been disastrous.”

“Yes,” Gerald says, examining the valve closely. He presses on it with increasing pressure until it begins to move.

“I’m glad we found it.”

He continues to look at the piping around the valve. “Gaster, do you remember closing this?”

“Of course not. The valves have to remain open at all times.”

“I don’t either, and I’m certain Manny wouldn’t have closed this, would you Manny?”

The intern agrees that she would never.

“That’s impossible, we’re the only three people on the project. One of us must have made a mistake.”

“Perhaps,” Gerald says slowly, “But this was an extremely convenient mistake. In fact, I think it’s the only one that would have given us advanced warning before the experiment began to degrade.”

“You’re not suggesting sabotage.”

“It does sound unlikely,” Gerald admits, “But I don’t want to rule it out. I want to file a report with the guard.”

Gaster has enough experience to trust Gerald’s intuition over his own annoyance, even when there’s no way he could be right, and agrees to co-write the report after checking in with Alphys and the children. But there was no one else on the project, he grumbles as he makes his way back to the library, which means no one else had the detailed knowledge to cause a problem like this. “It simply isn’t possible,” he says as pushes the library doors open.

The library is quiet this time of night. He doesn’t meet anyone as he makes his way to the children’s section. “Absolutely preposterous,” he says, rounding the corner to the open space with the short tables and colorful carpet.

And no Alphys.

And no children?

Gaster searches the adjacent stacks, then heads to the front desk in case he missed Alphys on the way in. But there’s no one at circulation. Gaster considers his options with a rising sense of panic: if Alphys had to abandon his post without even locking up, something serious must have happened. At least if the children aren’t here, they’re with someone who can take care of them, he reassures himself. So the next logical step is to get in contact with the guard and see what happened in his absence.

He hurries behind the desk and grabs a directory next to the phone, knocking a few binders to the ground in the process. They knock the chair off kilter, making a loud clanging noise against the metal footrest; something behind him makes a startled noise.

Gaster freezes. Everything is quiet. He looks over his shoulder to find a small cupboard space, presumably for the librarian on shift to store their personal items. The startled noise sounded familiar.

He approaches the cupboard and leans in, listening closely. Something is breathing inside.

“Aubrey?” he asks.

“Doctor Gaster!” Aubrey wails, “Let me out, let me out let me out let me out—”

Gaster ransacks the desk until he finds a ring of keys, and fumbles through them until one fits the door. The moment the lock clicks open, Aubrey bursts out of the cupboard and begins sobbing into Gaster’s sweater.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” he says, trying to provide a measure of comfort by holding her, “Aubrey, what happened? Where’s your father—”

“He’s gone,” Aubrey cries.

Gaster once heard a feeling of dread described as ‘feeling the bottom drop out of one’s stomach’. He doesn’t, technically, have a stomach, but would easily equate his current sensations to misplacing an integral part of his own body. Because Aubrey is saying there’s no Alphys.

“Dad took Sans and Papyrus, he locked me in a closet he’s gone, he’s gone!”

And no children.

The plot thickens.

- Baby Spinach - Part 6

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Family Reading Crate Subscription Review – October 2018

Family Reading Crate is a book box designed with the whole family in mind. Each month you will get about 4 books based on a common theme and one of these will be hand-picked just for the adult in the family. You will also receive a booklet with discussion questions and a few items that tie into the books including collectible bookmarks.

This is offered through Build Your Library a secular literature-based homeschool curriculum website.

This box was sent to us at no cost for review purposes. (Check out the review process post to learn more about how we review boxes.)

About Family Reading Crate

The Subscription Box: Family Reading Crate

The Cost: $26.99 + $8.00 shipping

The Products: A selection of 4 books (one of which is for an adult), discussion booklet and a few other items related to the box theme

Ships to: US

Family Reading Crate October 2018 Review

Their packaging recently changed and they included this insert stating that they are using eco-friendly materials, which is great!

I love that when I opened the box I was greeted by these little spider rings hidden in the sizzle paper. Creepy and fun!

The included booklet introduces the theme, which is Books that Go Bump in the Night this month, and also gives a brief description of who each book is meant for in the family. They include a link to their website which provides activities and printables as well as suggestions for books and movies all related to the month’s theme. These are great extension ideas to use with the whole family.

Also included are discussion questions for each of the kids’ books. These range from direct questions about the content to making inferences to personal opinions about the story. These are perfect for family discussion or even as writing prompts as part of a homeschool curriculum.

Instead of discussion questions for the adult book, there is a book review by the curator of the box.

We received these 3 collectible bookmarks in our box. So many fun monsters!

2000 Stickers Spooky: 36 Freaky and Creepy Activities! by Parragon Books – Retail Value $8.98

Each month you get a little toy or something to go along with the theme. I ended up finding four spider rings hidden in our box and we received this awesome sticker and activity book!

So many stickers and fun Halloween activities! What a great bonus this month!

The Little Old Lady Who Was Not Afraid of Anything by Linda S. Williams – Retail Value $7.99 (found here for $6.99)

This was the book for the younger readers in the family. This story had a nice spooky feel and lots of action as a little old lady is followed by various articles of clothing on her walk to her cottage.

The book could get very spooky depending on how you read it, but since my kiddos are younger, I downplayed the scary and made it more silly with the repetition and noises. The ending was very mild making it a fun pick for this month’s theme!

The Peculiar Incident on Shady Street by Lindsay Currie – Retail Value $17.99 (found here for $12.59)

This book is meant to be the family read aloud. Tessa’s family has just made a move from sunny Florida to rainy Chicago and as if leaving your best friend and adjusting to a new school isn’t bad enough, it turns out her house is haunted. Tessa is an artist and she begins to notice strange things happening, like mysterious drawings in her sketchbook and pastels being left out on her floor, air that suddenly turns cold and doors that she knows she closed being left open. She finds out that her neighborhood was built on top of a cemetery and soon she enlists the help of her new friends to solve the mystery of what exactly is going on in her house. This story is great for a family discussion as Tessa often regards her parents and brother with much consideration and tries to downplay her own unhappiness over the move in order to not add to their stress. The way she is so respectful of her family and their feelings would be a wonderful segue into a family discussion on different perspectives of major events such as this. The fact that something spooky is happening also makes it a really fun read, too!

Nightfall by Jake Halpern and Peter Kujawinski – Retail Value $8.99 

This book is meant for the older child or teen in the family and what a crazy concept! A town that has had sunlight for 14 years, but is now going to have 14 years of darkness. The inhabitants must leave the town because it will be covered in ice and they have to follow some very strange and specific instructions such as removing the lock and handle from the front door, turning the dining room table a quarter turn and putting knives in sharpeners in the parlor wall. Why do they need to do these things and what happens while the townspeople are gone? Unfortunately, twins Kana and Marin may find out when their friend Line goes missing and they decide to go after him. The darkness is closing in and the boats have arrived to take them away, can they find him before it’s too late? This has the feel of a classic dystopian society novel and is full of odd rituals, strange words, and eery occurrences. It’s a unique story and definitely fits in with the theme as you are thrown into a creepy world where many creatures seem to go bump in the night.

Black Mad Wheel by Josh Malerman – Retail Value $26.99 (found here for $14.84)

This book is for the adult in the family and wow, this book is intense and eery in a way that makes it a perfect ‘bump in the night’ read for adults. The story opens when Phillip awakens in the hospital after being comatose for six months and is told he has broken pretty much every bone in his body in an inexplicable manner. We are then introduced to nurse Ellen, who is tending to him and is surprised at how quickly he is recovering. The story jumps between the present with Phillip and Ellen to the past when Phillip and his bandmates were approached by the army to find the location of a mysterious sound in Africa. As we learn more about their mission, we are drawn in further and further to the mystery of a creepy sound that causes grown men to fall to the ground in pain and become physically ill. It’s such a unique storyline that is full of suspense and mystery that grips you from the start.

From Amazon:

“The Danes—the band known as the “Darlings of Detroit”—are washed up and desperate for inspiration, eager to once again have a number one hit. That is, until an agent from the US Army approaches them. Will they travel to an African desert and track down the source of a mysterious and malevolent sound? Under the guidance of their front man, Philip Tonka, the Danes embark on a harrowing journey through the scorching desert—a trip that takes Tonka into the heart of an ominous and twisted conspiracy.

Meanwhile, in a nondescript Midwestern hospital, a nurse named Ellen tends to a patient recovering from a near-fatal accident. The circumstances that led to his injuries are mysterious—and his body heals at a remarkable rate. Ellen will do the impossible for this enigmatic patient, who reveals more about his accident with each passing day.

Part Heart of Darkness, part Lost, Josh Malerman’s breathtaking new novel plunges us into the depths of psychological horror, where you can’t always believe everything you hear.”

Verdict: I love that Family Reading Crate chose to embrace the upcoming Halloween holiday this month! The activity book was such a great bonus and I liked that all of the book choices were spooky or eery, but in their own unique way. I love the idea of using these for a family book discussion so that each family member can share their stories and compare them to one another. I’m always so amazed at the retail value that they are able to cram into this box and this month is no exception with a total retail value of $70.94 which is fantastic for a $34.99 ($26.99 + $8.00 shipping) box. This isn’t even counting the fun little extras such as the spiders, bookmarks, and booklet full of discussion questions. Plus, we got to enjoy such a spooky curation selected just for us!

To Wrap Up:

Can you still get this box if you sign up today? Yes! As of publication, this box is still available to purchase!

Value Breakdown: At $34.99 (price + shipping) for this box, here’s what you are paying approximately per item:

2000 Stickers Spooky: 36 Freaky and Creepy Activities! by Parragon Books: $4.43

The Little Old Lady Who Was Not Afraid of Anything by Linda S. Williams: $3.94

The Peculiar Incident on Shady Street by Lindsay Currie: $8.87

Nightfall by Jake Halpern and Peter Kujawinski: $4.43

Black Mad Wheel by Josh Malerman: $13.31

Check out all of our Family Reading Crates reviews and Book Subscription Box reviews for more kid’s book options!

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Written by Brandi Dowell

Brandi has loved the idea of subscription boxes since joining Birchbox in 2013. Finding new products to test out and possibly fall in love with has always excited her. Now, as a mother of 3, she loves discovering new products that can help make parenting a little easier! Her favorites are FabFitFun and Target Baby boxes.

All views in this review are the opinion of the author. My Subscription Addiction will never accept payment in exchange for a review, but will accept a box at no cost to provide honest opinions on the box. This post may contain affiliate/referral links. If you buy something, MSA may earn an affiliate commission. Read the complete My Subscription Addiction disclosure.

Source: https://www.mysubscriptionaddiction.com/2018/10/family-reading-crate-review-oct-2018.html