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lokis-army-77 · 3 years

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If you please

Chapter Seventeen

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2800

This is technically a reader insert but without the (y/n) and all that. She also has no name mentioned so feel free to imagine as you please.

Follow the reader through the events of the Captain America movies and experience her love for Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Bucky being sad

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Early one morning I woke up and got ready for the day. Bucky wasn’t awake yet so I walked to the kitchen table, grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, then wrote him a note that said I was going out for a while and that I would be back later. After picking up some of the money we had stored in a giant jar on the floor, I headed to the door and down the stairs, out into the busy Romanian morning.

Cars and people bustled down the streets every which way. I walked a few blocks away before arriving at an old book store. I had been thinking for a while that maybe if Bucky read something that he used to love, then maybe that would help some memories resurface.

Stepping through the threshold, I was hit with the comforting smell of old books and what seemed to be a vanilla candle. In the corner, right next to the door, is the cashier, a small, hunched old woman who, every time I come in here, is sleeping. She jostles a bit at the sound of the bell when the door shuts but doesn't wake.

I continue on into the shelves of books, looking for anything Bucky might like. Even though it was a Romanian book store, there were many English selections of classic books. I scoured the shelves for a while before coming to a stop at one of his favorites, ‘The Hobbit’. I gently took it off the top shelf and fingered through the old, yellowing pages. Dust from the top of the book fell to the floor as I did so. Closing it, I started to scan for something else for me to read, this time making sure it was one of the very long ones, considering I had read the short four hundred page one about three times already. There was a small paperback copy of Victor Hugo’s ‘Les Miserables’ sitting on the second shelf from the floor. I grabbed it and sat it on top of the other book in my arms and headed for the front.

The old woman was still napping away when I placed my small stack onto the counter. I forwent ringing the service bell and just reached over to give a strong tap on her shoulder. Having been here before, I knew she wouldn’t wake up to the sound of it. She swatted my hand away and I tapped her a second time a little more harshly, she woke up that time, muttering in Romanian that she was awake. I greeted her with a soft hello before placing the coins for the books into her boney, outstretched hand. She thanked me then I was on my way back to the apartment.

I took a small detour through the open market stalls a block or two away from the apartment. I take my time looking through the small amount of fresh fruit that was offered so early in the year. I move along, not finding anything of interest. I make my way through the crowd of people to continue my original journey back home.

It was close to eleven by now and when I opened the door and stepped into the apartment, my nose was filled with the smell of something burning. Quickly I shut the door and run down the tiny hallway and into the main room. Bucky was standing over a smoking pan on the stove, while right next to it was a pot, almost boiling over.

“Buck what in the world are you doing?” I ask as I move towards him to turn the eyes off.

“I was trying to make breakfast for lunch. It was supposed to be an ‘I’m sorry I scared you and brought back bad memories’ meal since I never told you I was sorry, but I burnt the eggs and bacon.” He tells me before he leans over to the trash can and dumps the charred food in.

I moved around to stand next to him and placed my right hand on his firm metal bicep. “Thank you, I really appreciate the sentiment.” I smiled up at him then looked down at what was in the now slowly bubbling pot with chopped potatoes. “Look,” I pointed out, “the potatoes are fine.” Bucky followed my outstretched finger and gave a small nod.

“Go sit down, I'll make something with these.” He directed. I looked at him skeptically as I slowly backed away.

“Are you sure you don’t want my help?”

“Yes, sit.”

And so I did. I went directly to my bed where I had thrown the books, took up mine, and then started to read. It was hard to concentrate though since I looked up from the pages every two seconds to make sure Bucky wasn’t going to burn the whole building down again, but he seemed to be doing fine. He had ended up frying the chopped potatoes in butter with a bunch of random seasonings.

Several minutes later he had finished and was scooping the food onto two separate plates. He picked the plates up and made his way around the island and to the loveseat in front of it. Sitting down he placed his plate on the arm of the furniture and then called me over. I picked myself up off the mattress and plopped myself down beside him and took my plate from his hands.

“Thank you,” I mumbled as I took the fork into my hand and started eating. Surprisingly the food was actually good. I turned my eyes to him, he was staring at me, probably waiting for my thoughts on the food. I nodded my head as I chewed as a sign that it was good. He smiled softly and proceeded to eat his.

“That was really good, Buck. Next time when you cook though, stick to one thing at a time, don’t try to cook it all at once.” I said once I had finished.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Um,” he paused a second. “Where did you go this morning?”

“Oh, I actually went to get you something that might help with your memory.” I stood up after placing the dirty plate on the counter behind me and shuffled over to the bag that held Bucky’s book. I gently took it out and held it close. Making my way back to where he was sitting, I held the book out to him. “Here you go.”

He reached out and took it from me, a small smile ghosted his lips. “The Hobbit, I love this book, thank you.”

“See you’re already remembering.”

“Yeah, I think I remember wanting you to read it and you made me read something else.” He shut his eyes tight, trying to remember. “It was Pride and Prejudice wasn’t it?”

I gave him a giant toothy grin at that. “It was,” I almost shouted. I leaned down to give him a hug, excited he remembered something that was so long ago. “We started reading them the week we got engaged.” I backed away a bit.

“Oh yeah-” He looked to his hands and then to my hand. “Do you- do you still have the ring?”

“Of course I do.” I lifted my hands to the chain that always stayed hidden beneath my shirt. There was a small delicate clank as the ring and locket tapped against each other. I brought the chain over my head and then grabbed one of Bucky’s hands, placing the necklace down gently. I watched as he brought the small treasures closer to his face. He studied them quietly.

“Why don’t you ever wear the ring around your finger?” he asked, I heard a little bit of concern come through.

“I didn’t want to lose it. I kept it hidden for a long time, then when everything happened in January I had a feeling that I should keep it on at all times. With all the fighting that took place, I thought it best to wear it around my neck so I wouldn't fall off.” I explained. I eyed him as he fiddled with the clasp, he was taking the ring off.

He rose to his feet silently before grabbing my left hand to place the ring securely where it was meant to be. “Can you wear it like this from now on?” I looked into his eyes, they were soft. I nodded in response as he stepped a little closer to me.

I could feel my heart start to quicken when he started to lean down, coming to eye level with me. I could feel his cool hand snake up to the back of my neck and pull me forward slightly. I closed my eyes, I could feel the warmth of his breath, we were so close. I leaned myself in more and before I knew it I felt his rough but soft lips graze the corner of my mouth. They were warm and just like I remembered, familiar. I moved my hands to the sides of his face to keep him from moving away. His hands came softly atop mine and pulled them away and down between, but he never let go of them. I felt him move back a tiny bit before I opened my eyes with a small huff. I hadn’t realized how much I missed him, how much I missed the feeling of him. I wanted to feel him kiss me, really kiss me.

He whispered my name softly as one of his hands came up to move a strand of my hair away from my face and then brought the hand back to cradle mine. “I want to take this slow.”

“But-” I started but he cut me off.

“Let me find myself before I come back to you,” The broken sound of his voice hit my ears so softly I probably wouldn’t have been able to hear it if my hearing were normal.

“Okay, Bucky I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.” He pulled me into a tight hug at that.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

It is now mid-July and Bucky has been steadily remembering more and more. The process has gone faster than I thought it would, but that’s probably because he isn’t alone and trying to figure things out. I’ve noticed that the longer we are here in Romania, the less paranoid he is about being found, although it still eats at the back of both our minds constantly.

Bucky has started to smile more, he’s started to get closer to me, mentality and physically. Something changed after that afternoon he slipped the ring back onto my finger. Sometimes, while we are sitting at home he will slip his hand into mine and leave it there for a while, or he’ll somehow just gravitate to my side like a magnet. I never push him further than he is comfortable with, knowing he is still trying to find his missing pieces.

He works hard, exhaustingly so, to be able to remember. To be the Bucky he once was. Sometimes when he gets frustrated, I have to remind him that he will never be one hundred percent how he was in 1943, but I love him all the same, I’ll stay beside him.

And that's how we came to this precise moment. Bucky was laid out on the floor staring at the ceiling when I walked out of the bathroom from taking my nightly shower.

“What’s the matter?” I questioned as I rang my hair out with the towel. He didn’t say anything, just turned his head to face away from me. “Hey, come on, you can tell me.” I encouraged as I sat down on the edge of my mattress.

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Oh it isn’t nothing, I can see it all over your face. Something is bothering you so tell me what’s up.”

“I don’t know. I’m just so tired. My head is hurting from all the things I’m trying to remember.” He huffed out gruffly. I gave him a sympathetic look before poking him in the side. He turned his body to the side to look at me.

“You do know it’s okay to take a break? You shouldn’t expect yourself to remember every little thing.”

“I know, it's just. There are these glimpses from the past but I can never place them. It’s frustrating.” He says as his hand comes up to softly play with my fingers near his head.

“Well, you can’t try to remember things clearly if you are exhausted. Get some rest and relax, let the memories clear themselves up instead of trying to force them.” I stilled his hand and rubbed the back of it with the one he wasn’t currently grasping. “How about I make us some tea and then we can get some rest?”

“I’d like that a lot.”

“Okay then.” I stood up and his hand slowly let go of mine.

In the kitchen, I grabbed the kettle and filled it with water, and placed it on the eye of the stove. While waiting for the water to boil I washed the dirty mugs in the sink so that way we could use them. The box of teabags was sitting off to the side of the sink, I slipped two from the box and placed them in the now clean, empty mugs. When the water was done I poured it into our cups along with a few scoops of sugar and a tiny bit of milk and then walked back over to where I was sitting earlier.

“Here you go. Be careful, it’s hot and still needs to steep for a bit.” I warned as he sat up to take the mug from my hand. I sat back down and after a minute, started to take small sips of my tea.

“Thank you. Not just for the tea, but for everything you do. I don’t know how I’d get through this if you weren't with me.” He confessed as he took a long sip.

“You don’t have to thank me, Buck-” I started but he cut me off.

“Yes, I do. I wouldn’t have gotten near as far as I have if it weren't for your help. You’re always so loving and patient with me. I don’t deserve it, especially with the things I’ve done.” His head hung low as he drew his knees up closer to him.

I frowned as I sat my mug on the floor and crawled my way across the floor to sit directly in front of him. Carefully I placed both my hands on his. “Nothing you did is your fault.”

“Yes, it is. I did awful things. They are the only thing I can remember vividly. Can’t you see that I'm a bad guy now?”

“Sweetheart you are not a bad guy, you are a victim.” I moved my hand to his face so I could have him look at me. “And yes, you did those things but none of that was under your control. Nothing you did with HYDRA was in your control.” He looked at me with tears welled up in his eyes, he grabbed my hand and pulled it down away from his face but he never let it go. “I want to help you get through this but I can’t do that if you push me away because you think you are a danger to me. I told you before that you could never hurt me, I’m tougher than I look.”

“I don’t doubt that,” He chuckled. “It’s just hard when at any second I could turn back into that thing. It scares me, it scares me so much that I could be the reason I lose you just after I got you back.” His voice sounded like he was trying hard to hold back tears.

I moved from in front of him to his left side. I wrapped my arms around him, making him lean into me. I squeezed him tight. “It’s okay to cry, don’t hold it back,” I whispered into his ear. I felt him shudder and then all of a sudden it was like the flood gates had been opened.

We sat there on the floor for what felt like hours. We had changed into a more comfortable position, where Bucky had his arms wrapped around my middle and he just wept into my shirt. I softly played with his long hair and scratched his scalp. It seemed to calm him, but he still cried. He cried until no more tears would come until all he could do was jolt with hiccups.

We fell asleep like that, huddled together on the hard floor, next to the couch.

Authors note: Hi everybody, I know this chapter is a little shorter than I have been writing but I started my third year at college and I have like three 15 page essays and a crap tone of homework. So please be patient with me with writing for a while.

Tag List: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @underc0vercryptid-reads @geek-and-proud @intothesoul @leyannrae @starkleila @andy-is-gay

#james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x rogers!reader #winter solider x reader #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction

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buck-buck-boose · 3 years

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I'll Love You 'Til I Die

Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: A Brooklyn schoolgirl fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes at the tender age of nine. With this love she made a vow, promising to love him until her very last breath.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Language, mild violence

Word Count: 4.6k

Author's Note: Big things are happening y'all

Chapter Twenty-One: The Super Soldier

March 19, 1943

Dawn crept up on Camp Lehigh in a thick haze of fog, the chirp of crickets its only whispered greeting. A late-winter frost bloomed across what little grass remained, the majority having been trampled underfoot by platoon after platoon of soldiers. Winter was quickly fading, giving way to a promising spring, but the bitter chill still latched onto those dewy mornings to remind Camp Lehigh’s inhabitants of the cold season they’d just nearly escaped.

Although sessions of training were not due to begin for hours, warm bodies were stirred from slumber in their barracks, meeting the cold, stale air of their poorly-insulated lodgings. The nurse’s barracks was lit by a lamp's dim glow, which splayed a flush of golden light across the room. Five women quietly and nimbly dressed, none of them wishing to break the silence that balanced among them; the early morning was sacred to them, as it seemed to be the only time apart from nighttime in which one could be alone with one’s thoughts.

Lottie deftly pinned her mousy curls beneath her white cap, caring little for their arrangement or appearance. Once upon a time, she’d tamed her curls with gentle finger waves and carefully pinned back strands, desperate to look the part of a fair woman like Ginger Rogers. It was a quieter, more joyful time in which she had the time and desire to put ample effort into her appearance. How simpler life in Brooklyn seemed, in retrospect. She only had to care for Steve or Bucky’s wounds, usually from some street brawl instigated by Steve and ended by Bucky; now she had soldiers to care for. Soldiers who would one day be covered in great, gaping wounds, some so deeply ingrained within their souls that neither the highest of morphine dosages nor the strongest suture could soothe them.

Lottie made swift work of fastening her blue cape around her neck, situating it so that the inner red lining wasn’t peeking out. In her peripherals, Mary smoothed a hand down her white skirt in a weak attempt at combatting its wrinkles while Betty gave her face a once-over in a battered compact that she always seemed to have on her person. Lottie was downright envious of her ever-red lip and sultry gaze, they seemed to turn the heads of all the young privates on base, which earned them more than a few reprimands. It was only a few weeks ago that Betty had explained her reasoning for putting such effort into her physical charm, even in the middle of the war.

“Nurses are supposed to provide comfort, care, right?” She sat across from Lottie at their table in the mess hall, smoke curling from a freshly lit cigarette resting between her fingers. She puffed on the cigarette for a moment and slowly exhaled the smoke, “Well these boys have been stuck in a war for over a year now and they probably haven’t seen a pretty face in a while. They’re probably missing their sweethearts, fiancées, you name it. Either way, they’ve gotta be awful lonely out there, so what’s the harm in being that girl with the pretty face that can make them a little less lonesome?”

Before anyone could raise a question, she continued, “I’m not talking affairs or anything illicit, sometimes they just need a pretty face and a nice voice to remind ‘em of home, to ease that loneliness.”

Betty’s little sermon drew Lottie’s thoughts to Bucky. He was a fiercely loyal man who would stop at nothing to protect or care for his closest companions. For his own sake, Lottie hoped that he’d found a sort of comradery with his fellow soldiers, a bond to strengthen him while they were separated by an ocean. He’d always had a habit of flashing her his trademark grin and ruffling her hair, all while declaring something silly like “You ‘n Steve are all I need, Little Lottie. It’s always gonna be the three of us, ‘til the end of the line.” Lottie could only hope that Bucky had found a bond like theirs with his fellow soldiers as a source of comfort and a respite from loneliness.

“Lottie dear, Dr. Erskine’s waiting for us.”

It seemed that the other nurses had filtered out of the barracks as Lottie was lost in thought. Only Gladys remained, waiting for her expectantly at the doorway. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun, with her white cap nestled daintily atop her head, held in place with a handful of pins.

“Apologies, Gladys, I’m coming.” Gladys gave her a small smile as she caught up, nerves keeping her from forming her true toothy grin. All the nurses were nervous, to be truthful, as it was a significant day. Their serum was finally being put to use; they had found their first Super Soldier in Steve Rogers.

When Lottie had received the news of his selection to receive the serum, she’d nearly fainted with shock. Steve was a man with a heart of gold, she’d always known that, but it only served to heighten her self-doubt with regards to the serum’s efficacy. If the serum went awry as it did with Schmidt, Lottie wasn’t sure how she would be able to live with herself.

Dr. Erskine and Colonel Phillips’ debriefing as to why Steve had been chosen to become America’s first Super Soldier was a source of comfort, though. The two men had cornered the five nurses outside their barracks right as they were heading inside to turn in for the night.

The scientist had been the first to speak, “Ladies, we wanted to catch you as soon as possible. Colonel Phillips and I have decided upon our candidate for the serum. Private Steve Rogers will report to our facility in Brooklyn promptly at ten hundred hours tomorrow. We will need to depart camp at six hundred hours so we have abundant time to become accustomed to the equipment that will be in use. Mr. Stark will be joining us there.”

Lottie was sure there’d been spots in her vision, the announcement had nearly knocked all the wind out of her.

“I expect you ladies to uphold the same sense of secrecy and vigilance that you’ve had up until this point,” Colonel Phillips interjected, “This is only the beginning of our mission. We must continue to protect Project Rebirth, no matter how hopeless it may seem.” His voice was laced with bitterness, obviously doubtful of Steve’s abilities.

Nancy furrowed her brow, “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Private Rogers the ninety-pound asthmatic? Why him and not someone more… reliable, like Private Hodge?”

Lottie bristled slightly, as she did not take kindly to critical remarks regarding her friends.

“Need I remind you that the serum is not focused only on the physical?” Dr. Erskine fixed Nancy with a level gaze, “He is not the most well-built soldier, I admit that. But as you have seen yourself, the serum is capable of incredible cellular change that will only strengthen him. It will also amplify the qualities that he already has inside of himself. He has proven himself to be a good soldier and a worthy recipient of the serum.” Lottie glanced at Colonel Phillips, whose face was twisted into an awkward grimace, though he did not comment.

“During training today, he exhibited qualities of strength and humility that I have yet to see in any other soldiers thus far. Would Private Hodge throw himself over a grenade to protect his fellow soldiers? He showed me today that he would not, but Private Rogers would.”

Colonel Phillips muttered something along the lines of, “Still skinny,” though the bitterness seemed to fade. All of the nurses came to accept the news, trading in their expressions of shock and concern for ones of uncertainty and anxiety. It seemed that reality had hit for all five of the nurses at once; their work had finally come to fruition, making the road ahead even more daunting than before.

There was little conversation in the nurse’s compartment on the train to Brooklyn. There were moments of brief chatter among the women, but they were all too lost in their thoughts to carry on a proper conversation. Lottie shifted in her seat every few minutes, the poorly-cushioned seat providing little comfort during the duration of the train ride. Beside her, Gladys flicked through a stack of paper, which she’d pulled out of a manila folder that had been stamped with the word “Confidential” in large red letters. Ever the levelheaded academic of the group, she’d decided to look over their notes on the serum and its activation procedure one last time.

Across from her, Mary and Nancy were busying themselves with embroidery, an activity that a few of the nurses had picked up to improve their abilities with stitching. Lottie pictured a frayed handkerchief in her mind’s eye, a tattered old thing covered in clumsy pink flowers with a “JBB” monogram stitched carefully onto its corner. She wondered if Bucky had taken it with him overseas. He’d always kept it on his person back in Brooklyn, “Never know when a dame’s gonna go all misty eyed on me,” he’d say, humor in his eyes. There wouldn’t be many women for him to comfort overseas, but maybe he’d need it for his tears someday.

Betty sat to the right of Gladys, scanning the pages of a battered copy of Gone With the Wind. She’d never struck Lottie as a bookworm, but more often than not, she was the last of the women to fall asleep at night, usually engrossed in a novel for an hour or two past lights-out.

Two hours passed uneventfully; its monotony was only interrupted by the transferring from one train to another. Lottie’s heart seemed to pound in her ears as they approached Brooklyn, the tall buildings in her window becoming more and more familiar to her. Her heart swelled at the sight of it; she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the city until she returned after all that time. Of course, she’d been gone from the city for longer while she was in nursing school, but it tugged at her heartstrings even more than before because a damn war was what kept her from her beloved borough.

It wasn’t long before the train had arrived, initiating a flurry of movement out of the train car and toward a car that sat at the curb, waiting for them. All five nurses clambered inside, with Dr. Erskine following behind in his car. The car ride was a short one, though Lottie took the time to observe her surroundings; she wanted so desperately to drink in the familiar alleys and side streets before she had to return to Camp Lehigh, to war.

Their car stopped abruptly in front of a cozy antique shop; one she’d never paid much attention to. Dr. Erskine’s car had arrived just a few moments before theirs, so they followed him inside. Once inside, they were faced with an aged woman, who greeted them with a casual question, though her eyes betrayed a deeper glimmer of suspicion, “Wonderful weather this morning, isn't it?”

Dr. Erskine responded promptly, “Yes, but I always carry an umbrella.”

They were quickly led through a false bookcase, which hid a vast laboratory full of all that was needed to complete the transformation that would occur in a few hours. There were dozens of monitors and gauges, all for measuring Steve’s vitals and the Vita-Rays that were intended to activate the serum within his cells. In the center of it all, there was a bed on which Steve would lie, and when injected with the serum, the bed would be surrounded by a chamber while the Vita-Rays were projected into him.

Lottie and her peers stood at the top of the stairs, taking it all in, while Dr. Erskine descended the steps toward a control panel. He glanced back at them briefly, “Shall we all get accustomed to this now, ladies?”

Over the past few hours, Lottie had tired herself by calibrating various instruments, readying the equipment, and arranging several vials of serum within the transformation chamber. Throughout that time, doctors, higher-ranking soldiers, and members of the SSR slowly filtered into the room, some even gathering in the observation booth that looked down on them from above. She knew that Steve was due to arrive with Agent Carter at any moment. Frankly, she was terrified— mortified, even.

Howard Stark flitted about the laboratory, checking up on the various devices that would be used throughout the process. The Vita-Ray chamber was his brainchild, so a majority of his morning was spent double and triple-checking its minute parts and its stability.

At precisely 10 o’clock in the morning, Agent Carter and Steve stepped into the laboratory, two metal doors held open by guards for their entrance. Silence quickly descended upon the scientists and personnel who had been moving about the room in a sort of organized chaos. Lottie knew that most of them were looking at Steve in confusion, and in some cases dismay, but she made sure to send her best friend a reassuring smile. Even if the bullheaded scientists in the room were doubtful of his abilities, Lottie was with him. She believed in him. Her only doubts were in her abilities.

The staff quickly returned to their business as Agent Carter and Steve descended the steps and approached the center of the laboratory to meet with Dr. Erskine. They shared a brief greeting before Steve was ordered to remove his hat, tie, and shirt; Mary waited beside him with a kind smile, accepting his shed clothing. Agent Carter stood a few feet behind Steve, respectfully averting her gaze as he partially disrobed. Lottie took a special interest in their interactions, examining the way in which she treated Steve. She didn’t ignore or belittle him as some women did, she treated him with more dignity and respect. For that, Lottie was grateful.

Lottie busied herself with sterilizing several glass syringes as she impatiently awaited the initiation of the transformation. She could just barely make out a conversation that Dr. Erskine and Steve had shared about schnapps, but before she could quite figure out what was said, the scientist turned to the inventor beside him, “Mr. Stark, how are your levels?”

“Levels at one hundred percent. We may dim half the lights in Brooklyn, but we are ready as we’ll ever be.” Mr. Stark stood in front of the chamber where Steve now lay, projecting an air of confidence despite an uncomfortable look in his eye.

Agent Carter was dismissed to the booth to join Colonel Phillips, who was seated with several other seemingly important men that Lottie didn’t care to know. Dr. Erskine addressed the crowd in the booth using a microphone, explaining the purpose of Project Rebirth. Meanwhile, Lottie and her fellow nurses prepared the Vita-Ray chamber; she’d just situated the paddles on his chest when his gaze met hers. They’d been in a similar position so many times before. There were countless times over the past decade when she and Bucky had shown up at his apartment, soup and medicine in hand, to make him feel better during his latest bout of sickness. Bucky would always sit on one side of the bed, leaning on the mattress as he tried to distract Steve with idle conversation. She always kept vigil on the opposite side of the bed from Bucky, pulling Steve’s sheets up to his chin no matter how much he complained of the heat. She would never have to do that again, Lottie realized, as the serum would (hopefully) strengthen his immune system to the point that it would nearly be impossible to get sick. He wouldn’t need her or Bucky to look after him anymore. It pained her only slightly; she was overjoyed that he would be strengthened and healed by the serum, but it felt like the end of an era for her. She wasn’t truly needed anymore.

When the scientist’s speech to the booth had concluded, Lottie disinfected Steve’s shoulder and injected a syringe of penicillin into it; beforehand, she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, warning him for the pain of the jab. She felt him sigh in relief, “That wasn’t so bad.”

Lottie bit back a giggle while Dr. Erskine looked down at Steve with a furrowed brow, “That was penicillin.” The scientist gave her a look and without missing a beat, began the countdown.

Five

The doctors and scientists that were scattered around the laboratory rushed to their control panels, monitoring Steve’s vitals and the Vita-Ray levels that would soon be harnessed for the serum’s activation.

Four

Those that were observing from the booth looked at the scene below with bated breath; they either anticipated either a predictable failure or an unlikely success.

Three

The five nurses gathered around the Vita-Ray chamber, monitoring the serum infusion. Two mechanical arms latched onto Steve’s biceps and embedded several syringes deep into his muscle.

Two

Dr. Erskine placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Lottie met Steve’s gaze once more, she was that little girl at his bedside, sitting her vigil for one last time.

One

A switch was flipped and several syringes of the serum were injected into Steve’s system. Lottie could already see the strain it was putting on his body, his face contorted and he grunted in pain as he felt the serum begin its work in his body.

When given his signal, Mr. Stark flipped a lever to encase Steve in the Vita-Ray chamber, which maneuvered Steve into a vertical position before he was completely locked into the machine. Dr. Erskine knocked on the metal, “Steven? Can you hear me?”

A muffled response came from within the metal, “It’s probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?” Lottie snorted, only Steve would make a terrible joke at a time like that.

The scientist faced Mr. Stark, “We will proceed.” Below him, Mr. Stark slowly turned a dial and donned a pair of goggles. Lottie and her peers followed suit, as the luminosity of the Vita-Rays would cause vision damage if their eyes were left uncovered.

Lottie worried her lip as Mr. Stark slowly increased the radiation levels by turning a wheel that was mounted on the control panel. Next to him, a doctor carefully monitored Steve’s vitals; he reported that they were all normal, which calmed Lottie a tad.

At around the seventy percent mark, cries began to ring out from within the Vita-Ray chamber. It was as if screams were being torn from Steve’s throat, they were so hoarse and raw. Dr. Erskine rushed to the chamber while Peggy quickly descended from the booth, urging the personnel to cease the radiation. Lottie stood in shock, stuck in an internal impasse. She worried deeply for Steve’s safety, she always had and always would. Simultaneously, she needed to trust in the years’ worth of work she’d put into Project Rebirth. She and her fellow nurses had worked day after day, slaving over the Super Soldier Serum and Vita-Ray theories to develop the perfect transformation method. If she couldn’t trust her abilities and research, what could she trust?

But when Steve’s cries seemed to echo throughout the laboratory, she knew that his safety superseded whatever pride she had in her research. Lottie had just opened her mouth to call for an end to it when Steve insisted from within the Vita-Ray chamber, “Don’t! I can do this!”

A burst of warmth bloomed in Lottie’s chest; Steve trusted their work and he was fighting to see it through. Mr. Stark continued to raise the radiation levels until they had reached one hundred percent. The staff and observers from the booth could only look on in shock and wonder as the light from within the chamber continued to glow brighter and it began to give off a steady humming noise.

Without warning, sparks began to spray out from the control panels as a result of the copious amounts of electricity being funneled into the transformation. Lottie cried out, ducking down with Mary to avoid the sparks that showered down on them from overhead. Across from them, Nancy, Gladys, and Betty assumed similar positions, clutching their white caps as they attempted to shield themselves from the onslaught.

As quickly as it started, the sparks ceased, as did the humming of the Vita-Ray chamber. The laboratory was far dimmer than it was earlier, with the light from the radiation gone, and nearly half the bulbs in the laboratory having been blown out.

All eyes were on the Vita-Ray chamber as they all awaited the final result of Project Rebirth. The chamber hissed open and released a gust of air, revealing an exhausted-looking Steve.

Lottie could barely believe it, not only was he exhausted-looking, but it seemed as if he’d gained nearly 8 inches of height and a few dozen pounds of muscle. Gone was that scrawny blond boy who’d gotten lost in crowds far too easily, here was a man— a Super Soldier —who was perfectly enhanced on a cellular level.

The SSR agents and politicians who were previously gathered in the booth rushed to meet with Steve, barely able to contain their excitement. They clambered over each other, all of them desperate to be the first one to speak with America’s first Super Soldier.

In all the chaos, Betty had sidled up to her, her jaw nearly touching the floor, “Hot damn, Lottie Green. Hot damn.” She ogled at Steve as she took in his new physique. Lottie rolled her eyes, “Just because he’s got more muscle doesn’t mean he’ll be able to talk to you any better. Or that he won’t step on your toes if you get him to dance.”

Steve stood in the middle of a crowd of men, though Agent Carter stood in front of him, attempting to look at anything but his chest.

“I think you might want this, Stevie,” Lottie moved in to stand beside Agent Carter and offered him a shirt, which he accepted gratefully. He smiled down at her gratefully, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you, Lottie.”

How odd it was to be looking up at him. It was certainly something that Lottie wasn’t used to, she’d gotten quite used to looking down at him, in fact. By age sixteen, she’d gained about two inches on him, and though he was loath to admit it, she knew it pained him to be the shortest of the three of them. Luckily for him, his new height delegated her as the most diminutive of the Brooklyn trio by far.

Amid the jubilation following Project Rebirth’s success, grave mistakes were made. Gladys had left her manila folder of notes— all the notes that the nurses had ever taken during their research —on one of the control panels closest to the stairway, just close enough to the exit to be snatched up by a discreet hand. An extra vial of Super Soldier serum sat in its case, at the ready for its eventual use; it stood unguarded and unwatched.

The once-unassuming Fred Clemson hung back from the crowd, a lighter in hand. Dr. Erskine was the first to notice his position apart from everyone else; the scientist opened his mouth as if to say something, but before he could form a sentence, Clemson had flicked open the lighter and triggered an explosion from the observation booth.

Screams rang out from the middle of the laboratory as glass rained down on them. Sparks even worse than before began assaulting them and left stinging burns in their wake. Lottie grunted as she felt minuscule shards of glass tear at and become embedded in her skin; it would surely be a pain to treat such small cuts and remove the pieces of glass later on. It was shocking, really, how quickly the mood of the room had shifted. Just moments before, she’d been looking at Steve in awe, fully processing all that the serum had accomplished. Her sentiments of excitement and pride quickly evaporated, replaced by a growing sense of panic and dread.

The force of the explosion had thrown Lottie and some of the other nurses to the ground, so she scrambled to her feet in an attempt to take action against the man. It was all in vain, for as soon as she regained her footing, all she saw was the bespectacled man diving through the crowd to grab the last vial of Super Soldier serum and the thick manila envelope that Gladys had brought with her. Lottie’s stomach dropped in terror; she opened her mouth to cry out for backup, but Dr. Erskine was one step ahead of her. He commanded the man to stop, but the only response he received was several gunshots in the chest.

Deep red stains formed across the front of his shirt and seeped into his lab coat, his vibrant blood was a sickening contrast to the crisp white color of his lab coat. The scientist fell to the ground, his legs sprawled out before him and his arms at his side. Lottie knew that there was no hope for him— there were no exit wounds and she was more than certain that at least one of his lungs had been punctured. His breathing was labored, his chest heaving with every inhale and exhale. Lottie didn’t need to perform an examination to know that the wounds would be fatal. There was no time for an examination anyway, gunshots continued to ring out across the laboratory, and Agent Carter was in hot pursuit of the offender.

Mary looked at Lottie for some sort of reassurance of direction, her mouth agape, “Lottie, he's— he’s gonna die if we don’t do somethin’. C’mon, we’ve gotta help him.” Her voice came out in a whimper and her hands shook as she searched the floor for any fallen bandages. She took Mary’s trembling hands into her clammy ones, “Mary, look at his breathing. You know there’s nothing we can do for him now.”

She knew it was a heartbreaking thing to say, but Mary was a brilliant nurse; she already knew all the signs of a punctured lung. Lottie knew that she was having a hard time processing the information due to the shock that was no doubt obscuring her senses and rational thought. What Mary needed was a calm voice to guide her back from the brink of hysteria, a friend to bring her back to reality.

The nurses learned a jarring lesson about reality’s harsh nature that day; they learned of its cycle of gains and losses, successes and failures. The five nurses of Project Rebirth had achieved all that they’d been dreaming of for more than a year, they’d proven themselves to be reliable and even stellar researchers in their field. It had all been ripped away from them in a matter of moments, with the loss of their notes and serum, as well as the brutal death of Dr. Erskine. All they could do was clutch each other helplessly as they watched Steve follow the man in hot pursuit— the man who had stolen everything from them. Lottie, Mary, Betty, Nancy, and Gladys had certainly entered a new era in their careers as nurses, an era of uncertainty. With nothing left from Project Rebirth besides the Super Soldier himself, their futures were left in limbo until the Strategic Scientific Reserve could figure out what to do with them next.

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avengerscompound · 4 years

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The Surrogate - Chapter 16

The Surrogate: A Clintasha Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Word Count: 1714

Rating: E

Warnings: Pregnancy

Synopsis: A freak end of the world incident leads to meeting your two best friends, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff. While your friendship with the two Avengers is anything but conventional, they are your all-time favorite people. When you find out that Clint and Natasha want to start a family but have exhausted all their options, you realize your powerset might allow you to give them what they want. Having your best friends’ baby might seem like a good idea on paper, but when you are as close as you, Clint, and Natasha are, will doing something so intimate mean feelings get a little mixed up?

Chapter 16

Natasha and Clint had both been attending birthing classes with you. It made sense really, they both planned to be there and this was their baby you were growing, even if you had started to think with the word ‘our’ more now. The classes were a little scary. Having to watch birthing videos made you worry there would be some kind of complication. It was one thing for your body to stretch to let out the little girl growing inside you, but if they had to do a cesarean then you were pretty sure she was going to get stuck. There was no way your body would allow itself to go unhealed long enough to cut her out of you.

Still, even though the classes were a little stress-inducing, it was nice to see Clint and Natasha respond to them. They each had their specialties and weaknesses and seeing them working together, it was easy to understand how they worked so well as a team. While they both were fine watching the birthing videos, Clint watched on like it was a horror movie and he was waiting for the Xenomorph to punch its way out of the mother’s chest. Natasha was much calmer about it, like seeing a baby passing out the birthing canal was just another standard day for her. Clint was terrible at helping you with breathing exercises, he just couldn’t take them seriously and if you followed along you’d be prone to hyperventilating. Whereas, Natasha was nothing if not calm and serious about them. On the other hand, Natasha struggled to change a diaper on a doll, whereas Clint could do it blindfolded and with one hand tied behind his back.

The classes were just held by the doctor who would be delivering your baby at the compound and a couple of the nurses too. Obstetrics wasn’t used a lot on-site, and while the doctor and one of the nurses were both experts, the rest of the staff were more versed at emergency patch-ups so they’d come along to brush up their knowledge before the big day. It was good to not have to worry about people treating you strangely because Natasha and Clint were celebrities or because there were three of you. Everyone at the compound was used to what the three of you had now.

As you left the class Clint was babbling about whether or not drugs would work for you for the pain. “I don’t see why the drugs wouldn’t work. I mean, my body would probably physically reject the needle if I got an epidural, but pethidine would be okay and they said they’d be me Nitrous Oxide if I want.”

“Can I use it?” Clint asked.

“No, you can’t, birdbrain,” Natasha teased. “Go get your illegal drugs elsewhere.”

“You can just squeeze Nat’s hand extra tight,” Clint said. “But not mine. I need them for my job.”

Natasha laughed. “And I don’t ever use my hands?”

“Not the way I do,” Clint argued.

You laughed and opened the door as you looked back at them. “You guys are such…”

“Surprise!!”

The shout of the group of people currently in the apartment made you jump and you spun around to see the room filled with people to almost breaking point. The place was decorated with pink streamers and matching pearlescent balloons. There was a banner along the wall that spelled out ‘Baby Shower’ in a gold script. Pink pieces of card cut into circles hung from various points of the ceiling with the words ‘Baby Shower’ repeated again and again in the same font. The dining table was laid out with fruit, finger sandwiches, dips, cheese, and crackers. At the center of it all, sitting on a raised cake stand was a round cake with pale pink frosting. A banner made out of sugar paste flags spelled out ‘BABY GIRL’ around the side and a sugar paste stork stood on the top holding a pink bundle.

The coffee table had been moved to the side and was stacked high with gifts, all wrapped in some combination of pink, white, silver, and gold.

At the front of the group was Kate Bishop and Wanda Maximoff stood holding out glasses of champagne with what looked like red flowers blooming in the bottom of the glass. “Happy baby shower, guys,” Kate said.

“You bad girls,” Natasha scolded, kissing each of them on the cheek and taking a glass. “I thought we were doing this in the function room.”

“Yeah, but a surprise is better,” Kate said. “Don’t you think?”

“I think you’re both lucky none of us were armed,” Clint said, taking a glass for himself. “I was ready to kick some ass.”

“Why do you think we chose immediately after your birthing class to do this?” Kate teased, handing a glass of champagne to Clint. “We know Doctor Harding doesn’t let you take weapons with you.”

“Here this one is for you,” Wanda said, handing you a glass. “Non-alcoholic sparkling grape juice. I know it’s not that exciting, but at least you can participate.”

“It’s lovely, thank you, Wanda,” you said. “What’s the flower at the bottom?”

“It’s a hibiscus,” she said. “Kate and I were looking up ideas, and it seemed nice and fitted with the theme.”

“Is the theme pink?” Natasha asked.

“I wanted to go purple,” Kate said. “But Wanda wouldn’t let me.”

“Damn it, Wanda,” Clint joked.

“It’s not just your baby, Clint,” Wanda huffed.

“Oh, Wanda,” Natasha soothed. “It’s lovely, you both did a great job.”

The three of you were practically dragged into the party and began to mingle. Kate and Wanda had done a great job with the guest list. All the Avengers were there, as were a lot of the other staff you, Clint, and Natasha were close to. There were also family and friends from your old life pre-avengers, though they looked very overwhelmed by the whole experience.

Unfortunately, the sheer number of people at the party meant the apartment was over capacity. There was barely any room to stand let alone sit. As you mingled shoulder to shoulder with your friends, you started to long for a comfortable seat.

There was a tapping of glass and you turned around to see Tony standing on the arm of a chair. “I think we all agree that surprising these three was a lot of fun, but this apartment is too small for this. So how about they open gifts and we all move it to the function room?”

There was a cheer and you, Nat, and Clint were shuffled to the couch where you were made to take a seat and open gifts.

There were a lot of gifts.

It wasn't long before you started losing track of everything among the cute little onesies and tiny shoes, the three-tiered cakes made of diapers and bottles, stuffed toys, rattles, teethers, and little wooden pull-toys. There were a few standouts. Kate had gotten a little onesie with a purple chevron that looked like the exact copy of the t-shirt Clint practically lived in. Carol brought an onesie that had I love my mommies and daddy on it with three big cartoon bunnies around a much smaller one. Tony, Pepper, and Morgan bought a stuffed giraffe that was so big his horns brushed the roof. Pepper made it clear it had nothing to do with her and all Tony and Morgan’s doing.

When all the gifts were unwrapped everyone started grabbing food and party games and carrying them over to the main building. It was amusing seeing the huge flock of people moving through the halls carrying plastic babies and plates of sandwiches.

When the group arrived it spread out like fluid, expanding to fit the function rooms’ much larger space. Food was laid out on the tables. Games were set up. People started helping themselves to drinks from the bar.

You grabbed yourself a drink and a selection of food and took a seat on the couch, putting your feet up.

“Is it wearing you out?” Steve Rogers asked, coming to sit beside you.

“Yeah, I’m always starting to wane by now, she’s really active in there,” you explained. “And with the birthing class as well.”

“Is she kicking now? Can I feel?” Steve asked.

“Sure,” you said, taking his hand and pressing it where she was currently kicking. It took a moment, but she soon shoved against his hand with what felt like all her might.

“Wow, she’s a strong one,” Steve said with a smile.

You chuckled. “Well look at who her parents are,” you agreed. “She’s going to be a fighter.”

“I guess she is,” Steve smiled. “It was very selfless of you to offer to do this for them. Especially given you must have had feelings for them when you did.”

“Well, the sparks, I guess,” you confirmed. “They were my best friends - are my best friends. This was their only chance to have kids, and you of all people should know what it feels like when there’s a good that can be done and it’s in your power to do it.”

Steve smiled affectionately at you. “I guess I do.”

“It’s moot now anyway, we’re all in it together,” you said.

“How do you feel about that?” Steve asked.

You smiled and nodded. “It’s a little scary. Didn’t exactly plan to be a parent. But I’m excited.”

“Well, good,” Steve said. “It’s not really conventional, and I’m not sure I totally get it, but I understand love, and Nat and Clint were never conventional. I think the three of you have got this.”

“Thanks, Steve,” you said. “That’s always good to hear.”

“Attention everyone!” Kate called out, over the P.A. “I think it’s time to play some games, and I don’t know about you, but I’d like to see which of the three future parents can change a diaper the quickest. So get up here you three. Anyone else, if you’d like to challenge them, we have plenty of dolls and diapers, and there’s a prize.”

Steve chuckled. “Sounds like you’re up.”

You laughed and shook your head as you pulled yourself to your feet. Today was going to be a long and very strange day.

// NEXT

#clint barton #natasha romanoff #clint barton x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #clint barton x natasha romanoff x reader #clintasha #clintasha x reader #clint barton x natasha romanoff #hawkeye #black widow #hawkeye fanfic #black widow fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #pregnancy #the surrogate

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sxvxrxssnape · 4 years

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Snolidays/Snapemas Day 3+4

Gift Shopping & Ornaments & Smile & Snow // pre-PS/the years between. Minerva and Severus friendship aka Minerva McGonagall’s personal mission to make Severus love Christmas part 3 aka min and sev’s shopping adventures: diagon alley edition ft. emotional disaster sev

“Don’t forget, final essays are due next week!” Severus reminded his classroom of sixth year students as they cleaned up their work tables. “You’ve had three weeks to write them and I expect them all to be turned in.” He attempted to glare at the class, but no one paid him any mind.

Students exited his classroom in small groups of two and three, huddled together and laughing over meaningless jokes and plans for the afternoon.

“Hold up, this classroom is still a mess! You’re NEWT students, for Merlin’s sake, you should know better than to leave things like this!” He tried to call them back, but he was speaking to an empty classroom.

He sighed.

Being a professor at twenty-five was a fucking joke when no one took him seriously enough to respect him as an authority figure. It happened primarily with the older students, but even some of the other professors treated him as if he were still a student. Minerva seemed to be the only one who really saw him as a colleague and even she had her moments.

What was he supposed to do? Practice making scary faces in the mirror until he perfected the disappointed eyebrow raise and scowl? Assign more detentions? He’d thought dressing the part would make him look more authoritative, but now he wondered if he simply looked like a child playing dress-up when he walked around in the stupid teaching robes Narcissa Malfoy had helped him purchase.

Another sigh, but this one was shaky.

He surveyed the room and got to work, shutting drawers and cabinet doors. He double-checked the supply closet before locking it and levitated the abandoned cauldrons to the wash basin with the others, where they would wait for whichever unfortunate student had managed to get a detention from him that day. Idly, he wondered if he should ask Argus to monitor the night’s detention or if they would return in time.

He shook his head; he was running late.

Locking his classroom, he hurried into his office and shrugged out of his ridiculous teaching robes. They were nice and he loved the black stitch detailing, but he felt out of place when he wore them. He felt like, well, like a swot. He had other robes as well, namely faded grey work robes that he wore when he brewed potions for the infirmary, but they didn’t make him feel powerful or deserving of respect. These did, at least, so pretentious purple teaching robes it was.

He hung them up and took in the small room that had become his safe haven between classes over the years. It was a bit off a mess, but aside from his personal quarters, this was the only other place in the castle that really belonged to him. It was his space, from the still-steaming teacup of darjeeling - courtesy of a modified warming charm - waiting on his desk to the old copies of The Potioneer’s Journal stacked on the floor. There were four different books on his desk, two splayed out, hidden underneath a pile of assignments that still needed to be graded and about two dozen more scattered throughout the stone room.

He considered tidying up a little before he left, maybe watering his rather sad looking peppermint plant and organizing the scrolls of parchment. The mantle and bookshelf looked as if it needed a good dusting as well. This office was an extension of himself, was it not?

Minerva was waiting for him, he reminded himself.

But what if a student came calling, hoping for assistance? For Merlin’s sake, he was the head of Slytherin (and how the bloody hell that happened, he still had no idea), he couldn’t just leave and traipse around the wizarding world as if he had no other responsibilities! What if something happened to one of his snakes and they needed him? He had a job! What part of in loco parentis was he not -

He was stalling.

He was absolutely stalling.

(And it had nothing with his position and everything to do with going to Diagon Alley).

He forced himself to take a deep breath. His Slytherins would be fine and even if something happened, they still wouldn’t come to him for help because he still looked like a seventh year - and a socially uncomfortable, paranoia-fueled mess of one, at that. Merlin give him strength if the day ever came where he actually needed to take charge.

At least he hadn’t stuttered anymore after his very first class. That had been a right disaster and he hated that the second years who got to experience that moment would still be attending Hogwarts for another bloody year.

It took a few more deep breaths before he could convince himself to leave. He glanced down, decided that the black trousers and black jumper he’d pulled on from the pile of clothing that resided on his bedroom floor were clean enough for public wear, and grabbed his scarf. It was hand knitted and pale blue and alright a little wonky, but one of his snakes had given it to him and maybe he was a little sentimental over the physical proof that some of them liked him.

He summoned his winter cloak (and he had to rummage around his desk for the silver cloak pin he might have used to stab through a particularly abysmal homework assignment) and the dragonhide satchel he knew some of the students found him hilarious for carrying around, but what was he supposed to use? His robe pockets? Then it would be obvious he was casting unsanctioned extension charms on his things.

Definitely running late now, he headed upstairs and ran into Minerva on the stairs, who’d clearly been en route to retrieve him.

“Well, it’s about time.” she huffed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was dark out already.” The words didn’t match her tone - gentle, and maybe a little concerned - and it turned his anxiety brittle. He didn’t need to be coddled.

“I was talking to a student.” he lied smoothly, adjusting his cloak so it felt more secure - made him feel more secure - and opened the front door.

“How was your class?”she asked mildly, as they stepped over the remnants of dirty, half-melted snow and made their way to the wrought iron gate.

He scowled and stared up at the sky, noting how overcast it was. “Frustrating.” he admitted, because Minerva was the only person he would ever admit that to. “It’s hard to believe they’re sixth years, for all they pay attention and listen to me.”

“They’re probably just excited for the coming break.”

“The first years are excited for the break and they behave far better than my NEWT students.” Severus’ scowl deepened. “I hate their class.”

“Just their class?” Minerva asked, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow.

He took a moment to contemplate that. “No, but theirs especially.” he decided. “The fourth years and under take me seriously, but the others - I’ve got seventh year Slytherins who will go to you before they come to me!”

“So the ones who’ve only known you to be their professor?”

Severus stopped. “You have a point.”

“Look at it this way,” Minerva smirked, “just three more years and they’ll all take you seriously. Besides, you are young. I’m sure you still have a little more growing to do, dear.”

“Don’t make me hex you.”

“You’ll lose.” Minerva replied simply.

They apparated directly into Diagon Alley once they cleared the wards, appearing in the courtyard between Gringotts and The Leaky Cauldron. Daylight was beginning to dim, the late afternoon sky fading languidly into the cool tones of winter’s night, and the shopping district was quiet.

There were only a handful of wizards walking about, making their way between the brightly colored shops and market stalls. The Alley had prepared for the holidays as well, with their decorated storefronts and the oversized Christmas tree standing tall in the center of the plaza, adorned with hundreds of ornaments and a dizzying amount of silver tinsel. There was no snow on this side of the United Kingdom though, and against the bare, wet cobblestone streets, Diagon Alley didn’t look like rows of icing-coated gingerbread houses.

“Let’s get this over with, then.”

Minerva was watching him carefully and he offered a smile that felt more like a grimace. He didn’t hate shopping for others, but that rebellious part of him was - once again - determined to complain and make a scene. He hated that part of him, felt like he was pushing away the only person who made an effort to see him as a person and not, well, everything else he was. Traumatized child, former student, former Death Eater, child professor, take your bloody pick.

He tried for genuine excitement, for her sake.

Their first stop was a nearby coffee stall and once again, they purchased paper cups of hot coffee with peppermint and chocolate sauce. His mood brightened when he noticed these came with whipped cream and chocolate curls. They spent nearly an hour browsing through the nearby shops and market stalls before he finally relaxed enough to stop looking over his shoulder - there was no one around but very few harried shoppers and the occasional bellringer.

They were inside of Wiseacre’s, fiddling with the selection of crystal balls and reading their futures, when Severus laughed - genuinely laughed - for the first time since they had arrived in London.

Minerva cracked a grin at that before she schooled her face into something more severe. “Don’t laugh!” she admonished, rubbing her hands over the glass sphere. “I’m only telling you what it said: you will get everything you’ve ever wanted, through your looks and charm.”

“I’m sure you will.”

She huffed and tried a different one. “A new voyage will fill your life with untold memories.”

“Now that one sounds like a fortune cookie.”

“You try then.”

Severus shrugged and took the proffered ball. He ran his hands over the joke of a crystal ball and watched as it filled with smoke, turning warm and tingly beneath his fingertips. Tiny print appeared in a golden, curling font: “Your shoes will make you very happy today.”

He looked up and made eye contact with Minerva, exhaling the barest hint of another laugh as he thought of the puddles of slush they had walked through to leave Hogwarts and the impervious charm casted on his boots. He supposed it wasn’t too far off.

Another crystal ball caught his eye and he reached for it. It was clearly another counterfeit, but the stand it rested on seemed genuine enough - heavy and silver-plated. Three crescent moons gather to keep the crystal ball in place, the empty spaces between them interlaced with deep blue sapphires and hand carved runes.

He studied the runes for a moment, fairly certain they were a protection spell. “I think I’ll get this.” he announced, holding up the stand. He took the faux ball in his other hand, getting distracted when it filled with smoke and offered him another fortune: an unexpected acquaintance will resurface.

“For Sybill?” Minerva asked, half-paying attention as she thumbed through a collection of star charts. She looked up when she didn’t receive an answer. “Severus?”

Severus was scowling down at the fortune (although it felt more like a warning) and set it down amongst the others. He didn’t put merit in fortune-telling, let alone crystal balls that sold for less than six galleons and were meant for children. “For Sybill.” he nodded, walking away from the merchandise. He absolutely wasn’t thinking about boots and his paranoia of running into old friends that increased tenfold whenever he left the castle’s wards and how fortune-telling was the only reason he’d made rank within the Death Eaters in the first place.

The stand ended up costing him three galleons, which was more than he’d hope to spend on all of his gifts, but there’s a guilt that gnawed at him whenever he thought about Sybill Trewlaney and his time as a Death Eater at the same time; namely, how a conversation he’d had with the Dark Lord had nearly gotten her killed and it was enough to override his desire to shop frugally.

Minerva purchased a pendant for Aurora: frail lines of silver connected to tiny stars, making up constellations that changed with the position of the planets. It was beautiful and he wished he had seen it first, but he also knew Aurora liked reading romantic murder mysteries and he could think of a few titles she’d likely enjoy.

Not that he read romantic murder mysteries.

At all.

They left the wizarding equipment shop and continued with their browsing. The outdoor stalls were being illuminated by floating orbs now and warming charms had been cast over the next huddle of tables they approached.

Severus was studying a display of cloak pins when Minerva called his name.

He glanced over at her and found her holding up a box full of ornaments - red, green, and silver baubles with gold flakes that changed color - and a tiny, but determined-looking pewter witch mounted on a broomstick that was meant to fly around the tree.

“We’re getting these.”

“We are?” Severus asked, moving closer to rifle through the table she had grabbed them from. He grinned as he found a box of potion phials, brightly painted and stoppered to keep the glitter water inside from spilling out. “This is entirely inaccurate.” he sniffed, but he was still smiling like an idiot because of course he was nerdy enough to find potion bottle ornaments delightful. “Amortentia is definitely not pink and if someone ever hands you a Sleeping Draught that sparkles, they need to be arrested for attempted murder.”

Minerva laughed and they paid for the three boxes of ornaments and two white-fur trimmed stockings because Min had insisted they were a decorating requirement, but that they would need to purchase two because hers matched Elphinstone’s and she wasn’t quite ready to hang it up when she knew they were meant to be a pair.

The mood dampened a little after that admission and Severus found himself floundering. He didn’t know if he was meant to comfort her or how to even do it, so he grabbed the cloak pin he had been watching, a little bronze frog that leapt from its post and perched on your shoulder - absolutely useless as a fastener, but perfect for a distraction and invoking a smile - and claimed it was the ideal gift for Albus.

“It even looks like a chocolate frog.” he finished, handing the vendor fifteen sickles in exchange for the now-boxed-up pin. “He’s going to love it.”

Minerva’s faint smile was soft. “He will.”

They parted ways for the first time when they reached the bookshop. Minerva had something she wanted to get at Twilfit and Tattings and Severus waved her off, eager to finally enter Flourish and Blotts.

“Be good.”

He scowled at ordinance and mockingly saluted her as he headed inside. The bookstore was warm and softly lit, smelled of fresh parchment and chamomile tea. The shelves reached all the way up to the ceiling, wall-to-wall displays only broken by the burning fireplace and the collection of squishy, comfy-looking chairs gathered in front of it.

The shopkeeper waved at him as she organized a stack of new releases next to the shelf where the school textbooks were kept. There’s a beverage cart near the fireplace, holding a teapot and an assortment of mismatched mugs. He helped himself to a spot of chamomile and started to wander around, using his wand to summon books that seemed interesting enough to add to the growing pile floating behind him.

In the end, he decided on six books - two for Aurora, one for Argus, and three for himself.

The newly purchased stack fit easily inside his satchel, barely taking up any room beside the crystal ball stand, the stuffed kneazle - plush toy, not taxidermy - he had found at the Magical Menagerie for Hagrid, and all the other knick-knacks he had decided on. Not to mention everything else that already resided in there.

It wasn’t technically illegal.

Besides, it wasn’t his fault that undetectable extension charms were so advanced that not many wizards were able to do it properly. Furthermore, both Albus and Minerva were aware of it, and if anyone were to get in trouble here, his money was on the headmaster. He was confident in his spell-casting abilities and the worst that could happen was accidentally falling in and unable to find his way out - which wasn’t even that bad, considering he always carried around a medley of potions and snacks and even a blanket because he was that paranoid of being left out in the cold with no one to turn to.

He blinked.

Alright, maybe his abandonment issues were starting to make themselves known, but in his defense, Minerva had been gone for a good forty minutes now.

The point was, casting the charm was heavily frowned upon by the Ministry, but it wasn’t going to get him arrested either. He had worse things on his resume to choose from - and thank Merlin the Ministry of Magic never found out about the...unsavory potions he had been experimenting with around the time of his trial a few years back.

“Severus?”

He stiffened, flashes of smoke filled spheres and curling script flashing in his mind as he heard a voice that did not belong to Minerva. Tension coiled in his shoulders and he carefully secured the buckle on his satchel before he turned around and greeted the man who had decided to approach him.

“Severus Snape.” the man grinned wolfishly, blue eyes twinkling with delight. “As I live and breathe.”

“Corban Yaxley.” Severus greeted, taking in the other’s appearance. His hair had grown out since the last time he’d seen him and his honey-colored locks were pulled back in a low ponytail, accentuating his squared jaw and arched eyebrows. “What a pleasure to run into you.”

“Quite.” Yaxley grinned, the edges sharp. “How is Hogwarts? I heard you were made Head of House for Slytherin.” He took a step closer and leaned forward, his voice dropping as if they were conspiring next to the biographies. “An excellent opportunity to shape the minds of the future, don’t you think?”

Severus kept his face blank. “As well as one could expect,” he answered airily, as if he weren’t gripping his wand beneath the folds of his cloak tight enough to turn his knuckles white, “considering how brainless they all seem to be.”

Yaxley chuckled and leaned back, his posture appearing relaxed and friendly now, but Severus knew better than to trust a former Death Eater who had avoided going to Azkaban simply because he was that good of a liar.

“I don’t get paid enough to deal with their unruliness.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve picked up a trick or two to deal with that.” Yaxley winked and then raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Severus?” He stepped closer again. “You used to be so impressive.”

“All of that is irrelevant now.”

“Shame.”

The man was still smiling though and his eyes glinted with something that looked an awful lot like triumph when Severus broke and took a step backwards. He composed himself, but the fingers on his visible hand still clenched around the empty teacup he’d all but forgotten about. “How are things faring at the Ministry?” he deflected, proud when his words didn’t falter.

“Excellent, ever since I got this promotion.” Yaxley smirked. “Karkaroff might have turned traitor - and I can’t say I blame him, for all he’s accomplished: headmaster of Durmstrang, I hear - dropping names left and right in an attempt to hightail it out of Azkaban, but he really did me a solid by getting Rookwood sacked.”

“Glad to hear of it.”

Yaxley stepped closer again and murmured, “Glad to hear he didn’t take you down with him, though. I heard he named you, but I was in America on Ministry business during the Death Eater trials.” Severus could feel the man’s breath on his face and it caused his facade to falter as an awful feeling crept down his spine. “I’ve missed seeing you around, Sev. You’re not hiding out in that fancy castle of yours, are you?”

Severus shook his head, unable to speak.

“Good.” Yaxley’s smile turned saccharine as he put a hand on Severus’ shoulder.

The small bell over the door chimed as it opened, letting in a gust of cold air as someone entered, and it broke the spell. Corban Yaxley dropped his hand and headed for the door. “Don’t be a stranger, yeah?”

Minerva was standing in front of him now, her eyes narrowed as she studied him carefully. “Alright?” she asked, and this time, Severus jumped - and for a split second, he wondered the psychology behind his body staying absolutely still some of the times he was surprised versus the times when he flinched - and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He couldn’t find the words to answer her, his mind heavily focused on the unpleasant weight he still felt on his arm, as if Yaxley were still touching him.

“Let’s get a bite to eat.” Min led him outside and he followed as if on autopilot. “We won’t make it back to Hogwarts in time for dinner.”

He didn’t know the time, didn’t know if she was telling the truth or not, but he also didn’t feel like returning to the bustle of students just yet, so he let her guide him through the white dusted streets of Diagon Alley. Snow had begun to fall, but he barely paid it any mind. He was still reeling, lost in his head as Minerva walked them through The Leaky Cauldron and right into muggle London.

He flinched when she put a hand on his arm, still thinking of Yaxley’s unwelcome touch, and her lips thinned as he choked out an apology. She shook her head and gestured to his cloak before transforming her own into a cream-colored coat. He understood then and raised his wand - still gripped tightly between very numb fingers - and fumbled his way through the spell, changing his wizarding apparel into a winter coat.

“Did you find something for everyone?” Minerva asked gently, as she led them down the street.

He tried to think of everything he bought, frowning when he realized he’d forgotten the one person whose gift mattered the most: hers. “Just about.” he mumbled, hating the way his voice betrayed his weakness. It was no wonder his students didn’t listen; he was pathetic. How he’d ever been able to lie to the Dark Lord and not get killed was beyond him. Perhaps Yaxley had a point: he used to be so impressive.

They entered the first open establishment they saw, a hole-in-the-wall pub with yellow paint and wooden paneling that had once seen better days, but the imperfections were overshadowed by the dozens of framed photographs that dated the place back to the fifties. The lights were hazy, casting an ambient glow onto the green vinyl seats, and soft music - jazzy Christmas songs, from the sound of it- was playing over the speakers, a strange contrast to the clinking of glasses and stifled laughter coming from the patrons at the bar.

Minerva requested a corner booth and took the side that kept her back to the door, wordlessly yet pointedly, and Severus exhaled with a relief he didn’t wish to admit to. They were offered a laminated menu, but Min ordered the special for them without enquiring anything about it - and Severus was beginning to see a pattern there - and two pints of the house ale, and he wasn’t sure whether he was grateful or embarrassed for her help.

“I believe I found the perfect gift for Albus.” Minerva started talking, once they were alone again, and reached into a bright pink shopping bag from Gambol and Japes, pulling out a six inch slab of what looked like granite.

He stared at the object for a solid minute before he gave in and reached for it, taking the smooth square of white-speckled stone and examining it. It had no divots, no fault lines, no imperfections of any kind and he idly wondered if this was a very simplistic paperweight or an attempt to distract him from his impending anxiety attack. “I don’t get it.” he finally conceded.

“It’s a puzzle box.” Minerva took it back and turned it over a few times. “Only the most advanced spellcaster could ever dream of solving it.”

That piqued his attention and he reached for it again. “Hold on, I want to try.” He glanced around the pub before tucking his wand into the sleeve of his jumper and began casting a number of spells, starting with the most basic he could think of - it came from the joke shop, right? There was humor to be found in unexpected simplicity - and even casting a few that he definitely hadn’t learned at Hogwarts.

He gave up, frustrated.

Minerva, on the other hand, was grinning. “This will keep him entertained, don’t you think?” she asked, putting it away.

“It’s going to keep me up for the rest of my life.” Severus replied.

Their food arrived then, burgers on pretzel buns with grilled mushrooms and swiss cheese, and Severus was quick to reach for the chips. Whether it was her intention or not, the distraction had worked and now he worried that she would ask about his run-in with Corban Yaxley. Given the look on her face, it felt inevitable, so with a stifled sigh, Severus cast a whispered muffliato and a muggle repelling charm over them.

“Just say it, then.” he mumbled.

“Say what?”

He glared at her. “I ruined our outing with my overreaction, there at the end. I can tell you’re thinking it, so don’t bother lying to me.”

Minerva blinked and reached for her ale. “Actually, I was wondering if it would be in poor taste to gift Hagrid with a cookbook.”

“What?”

“Surely you’ve tried his rock cakes?” Min asked, biting into a chip. “I just feel he could benefit from a proper recipe. I’m sure he would be an excellent baker, if he just measured the flour correctly.”

He took the out for what it was. “You’d need to find a big enough copy of The Joy of Baking.”

They were nearly done with their meal, their glasses long empty - downsides to the repelling charm, he supposed - when Minerva asked quietly, “Are you alright?”

He nodded.

“Had fun?”

Again, he nodded, because he did have a good time. His chance encounter at the end hadn’t even gone badly - he always worried what would happen if he ran into an ex-Death Eater in public, worried he would choose his words wrong and give himself away. The Dark Lord might be gone, but his cover needed to remain intact, Merlin forbid, the worst ever happened. He just wished he had kept it together better.

He had to learn to keep it together better.

Minerva didn’t pry any further. He cancelled the spells while she talked about Filius’ plan to form a carolling group separate from the Frog Choir and then glared at her when she mentioned it was open to the staff as well, because he could tell where that conversation was going. They were interrupted by their server - small mercies - with their bill, and Severus rifled through his satchel for the muggle money he always carried.

They were standing just outside the door, shrugging back into their coats, when his attention was caught by a colorful flyer for a christmas lights festival.

“We should go.” he told Minerva and bit back a smirk at her surprise that he was suggesting an activity for them to do, instead of her.

“Really?”

“I recall you mentioning it was something you did with Elphinstone.” Severus kept his voice casual, shrugging the weight of what he was offering away. “I think we should go. This weekend.”

Minerva was still staring at the flyer, but when she finally replied, her voice was warm. “This weekend, then.”

-- a/n: maybe i got carried away again?? where’s the actual plot?? there isn’t one baby!! just 4.7k of general chaos

#snapemas2020 #snolidays2020 #snapedom #pro snape #severus snape #professor snape #snapcember #holiday writing challenge #snapemas

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sylvanfreckles · 4 years

Text

Eye of the Beholder

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: Sam encourages Cas to try to express himself by taking up drawing. It seems to be a lost cause...until Castiel tries to draw Sam’s soul.

(Something warm and soft and hopeful after FebuWhump)

* * *

Sam leaned against the low wall surrounding the picnic area park and let his head tip back to catch the warmth from the sun. They'd hit this town to check on rumors of a demonic possession at the local college, only to find Claire and Kaia had beat them here and pretty much had the whole thing taken care of. Now, he was enjoying just keeping an ear on the banter as Dean checked over the girls' gear and Jack chattered enthusiastically about the old fantasy novels he'd found on one of the rooms at the bunker (apparently Kaia had heard of the author and they were bonding, much to Claire's amusement).

A hint of movement at his side had him cracking one eye open to see Cas settle into a similar posture. Watching Dean and the kids with a fond look on his face, Cas caught Sam's eye with a smile. “He's good at that.”

“Dean's always been good with kids,” Sam agreed. “Probably because he still acts like he's twelve.”

Cas gave a very un-angelic snort, and Sam shifted around enough to watch the angel now. He couldn't remember when life had been this peaceful before. There were hunts still, sure, but it finally seemed like there wasn't some big bad pulling the strings behind it all. He couldn't remember a time in his life that had been like this—just the routine of the hunt and home, with their own network of friends and family.

It took him a moment to realize Cas's attention wasn't on the others anymore. The angel was looking out across the park at a mural painted on higher wall that ran around the park's perimeter. He was pretty it was a memorial to the town's history as part of the underground railroad, based on what he'd learned before they got here.

“I think the high school kids work on that every year,” Sam commented, nudging Cas with his shoulder. “When I was researching the town I found an article that said it was one of their graduating projects, and every year a group of students repairs and restores the mural.”

Cas shook his head and looked back at Sam. “Humanity's capacity for creation will always amaze me.”

Sam blinked. He hadn't...thought about it like that. Dean had always said Cas was just a weird little nerd, but was that why he always seemed to stop when he saw a statue, or a carving, or a painting? That it wasn't a type of art he preferred, but he was appreciating the human act of creating art?

“Have you ever tried?” Sam asked, trying to be casual about it. “Making something, I mean.”

The look Cas shot him was quick, but Sam thought his friend looked grieved. “Angels weren't made to create. We can only replicate.”

Sam started to protest, but hesitated. Zachariah's Beautiful Room...he'd offered Dean things from Dean's past, not some idealized thing he'd want. Gabriel had pulled from human television to make his TV world. Even Lucifer, in creating Jack, had used a human body to impregnate a human, not some celestial act of creation.

“Have you ever tried?” he repeated.

Cas pushed away from the wall. “There's enough in this world to admire,” he replied, though he wouldn't meet Sam's eyes and his shoulders remained tense. “You don't need my...'pitiful scratchings'.”

* * *

Cas's words twisted through Sam's head as he followed the others through the small downtown area back toward the hotel. Had Cas ever tried to make something around them? Had one of them said something like that? Or was this some distant event from heaven, some other angel stomping out any fraction of individuality?

He pulled up as they passed a small, disorganized craft store. “Hey, go ahead without me,” Sam called when Dean turned around. “We need a couple things.”

Sam waited until the others turned away, giving Jack a reassuring nod and smile, before pushing the door open and slipping inside the store. It was cramped inside, with shelves and bins overflowing, and the smell of cinnamon and beeswax filling the air. It wasn't completely a lie...they always needed things like natural pigments and scraps of leather for hex bags, and some places sold essential oils or crystals he liked to keep on hand for emergencies.

It just wasn't why he was here now. He squeezed past a rack of wooden beads and nearly knocked a dressmaker's mannequin over, but finally found the drawing section. The sketchbooks were easy enough to sort through—he grabbed a large one with a dark cover that had an elastic band to keep it closed when not in use. The pages were about the size of a standard sheet of printer paper, so it was big enough for Cas to have lots of room to experiment on each page but small enough to travel with him. The drawing supplies, though, were a little harder.

Sam stared at the selection of pencils, paints, and markers. If Cas had truly never tried something like this before, where could he even begin? Would he want something like colored pencils, that would have a smooth texture on the page but need to be kept sharpened? Or paints, which might be easier to blend and shade but wouldn't be portable? Or start with the very basics and get a box of crayons and hope Cas didn't think it was too childish?

A long, flat box at the end of the shelf caught his eye. Pastels. He had a flash of memory of one of Jess's friends in college who worked with pastels, the way their hands swept over the canvas to leave bright ribbons of color and then darted back to smooth and shade. Sam could suddenly imagine Cas, pastel stick in hand, a smear of pigment on his chin, brow furrowed in concentration as he filled a canvas with bright color.

He bought the sketchbook and pastels plus some silver charms to make a stronger protection hex bag for Claire's car, to make it seem like the drawing supplies had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. By the time he got back to the hotel Dean had already ordered pizza, while Kaia and Jack had Claire sandwiched between them on the couch as they tried to convince her to watch an old fantasy movie with them (Sam was on their side, Willow was awesome). Cas looked up from picking at the label on his beer bottle when Sam walked up to the table, eyes widening further in surprise when Sam set the bag from the craft store down in front of him and presented the drawing supplies with a flourish.

“I thought you might like to try,” Sam explained as he pulled out a chair and sat down next to Cas at the room's little table. “I mean, I'd kind of be interested in seeing an angel's...uh...'pitiful scratchings', you know?”

Cas hesitantly ran the tips of his fingers over the dark cover of the sketchbook. “Sam...”

“Just try?” he suggested. He scooted closer so that his shoulder brushed Cas's, knowing the physical contact helped when the angel was dealing with something new or difficult. “No one's gonna laugh if you can't do it. Well, maybe Dean, but he's an ass.”

“I heard that!” Dean shouted. As far as Sam could tell, his brother was completely focused on something on his phone. That was obviously just an automatic response.

The angel was quiet. Then, slowly, he tugged the pastels out of the bag and lifted the lid of the box. The colors almost seemed to glow under the room's overhead light, and Cas gently brushed the bright gold stick with the tip of one finger. “I'll try.”

“Good,” Sam bumped Cas's shoulder with his own, then leaned a little more closely against him, grounding him. “I can't wait.”

* * *

Sam bit his lip as he flipped through the first few pages of Cas's sketchbook. The angel leaned against the table almost despondently, arms folded across his chest and head tipped forward so that Sam couldn't see his eyes.

“These are good,” Sam said, trying to sound encouraging. “I mean, they look just like the, uh, things you were sketching. That's...that's good.”

Technically speaking, the sketches were good. There was a vase of wild flowers Kaia had put on the kitchen table the second day of her and Claire's visit. The bust of one of the old Men of Letters. Jack's profile as he read from a large leather-bound book. They were perfect and lifelike and exact, yet somehow...empty.

Cas took the sketchbook out of his hands and gently folded it closed. “Angels weren't given the breath of life,” he said, his voice quiet in the stillness of the library. “We can't...we can't create, Sam. All I can do is copy. These are copies of life.”

Sam winced. “Maybe you just need some practice. I mean, this is your first time, right? Nobody's perfect their first time.”

His friend's smile was sad when Cas finally looked up at him. “I feel no inspiration, Sam. I look at the world and nothing calls to me. The flowers and Jack...I chose those because I knew that was what a human might choose. I could have just as easily chosen the scalpels in the infirmary, or the backseat of the Impala, or every doorknob in the bunker. There's no...it's not creation, Sam. They're just copies of life.”

With a sigh, Sam ran one hand through his hair. “Cas, a lot of artists struggle with that. Maybe you just haven't found the right thing yet. With some more time I bet you could find the, the soul of a vase of flowers, or whatever.”

Cas grunted. “Flowers don't have a soul.”

“You know what I mean. Artists, they...they capture a part of themselves in the world around them. Their art reflects their own soul, you know?”

“I don't have a soul either, Sam.”

“You know what I mean.” Exasperated, Sam took a few steps away, then paced back again. “When you look at something that kind of pulls at your heart, you can make something that has a bit of your soul in it, you know? It's what humans have done for thousands of years, even longer.”

Cas let out a mournful sigh and rubbed one hand over his eyes. “If you could see your own soul you might understand,” he said wearily. “Compared to that even an angel's true form is inadequate.”

Sam huffed out a breath. He'd just wanted Cas to have a new experience, maybe find a hobby that could bring him joy. He hadn't meant to start some kind of identity crisis. Then his friend's words caught up to him. “Wait...Cas, are you saying you can see my soul?”

His friend gave him a flat look. “I am still an angel.”

“No, no, I mean...you can see my soul?”

“Of course, Sam.”

Heart pounding, Sam spread his arms out. “Then draw that!”

Cas stared at him for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “Why would you want to see something like that?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I want to see it!” Sam turned in a full circle before grabbing one of the library chairs and dragging it in front of Cas. “Is this good? Or, wait, do you need better light?” His soul through the eyes of an angel...who wouldn't want to see that?

There was still hesitation in Cas's movements as he slowly picked up his sketchbook and lifted the cover off the box of pastels. “You're sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Cas flipped to a clean page and stared over the top of the sketchbook at Sam. Sam waited, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Do you need me to do something?” he asked, when Cas made no move to start drawing.

Cas frowned, then reached in the box for a pastel. “Just talk. About one of your passions.”

A passion...okay, Sam could do that. Like Dean had always said, he was a huge nerd. “Oh, I found that book about cuneiform we were talking about,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. “You were right, the author was completely ignorant of the language schism toward the end of the Bronze Age....”

He talked on and on while Cas drew. The angel glanced up at him from time to time, a little smile brightening his face. It was almost exactly the image Sam had conjured in the craft store...Cas with a smear of pigment on his chin, bright colors filling the page in front of him. As he drew the angel seemed to relax, the perpetual slump of his shoulders easing back, the worry lines in his forehead smoothing out.

Sam could have pumped his fist in victory. He knew this had been a good idea.

Then Cas set the pastels down and hesitantly pulled the lid over the box. He seemed unsure of himself again, tipping the picture up to makes sure Sam couldn't see it.

“Is it done?” Sam asked. “Can I see?”

For a moment he was afraid Cas would refuse, then the angel slowly turned the sketchbook around.

Sam had seen human souls before...or at least he thought he had. They'd been wispy balls of bluish light, nothing too amazing. This was...this was something else.

The page was a riot of colors. Sweeping and dazzling, greens and blues with threads of red twisting through them, all turning back in on themselves over and over. There were jagged cracks in the swirling shapes, but they'd been filled in with a golden color so vivid he almost brushed his finger over the page to see if it felt warm.

“In some cultures,” Cas's voice was quiet as he explained, “when an item is broken they mend it with gold, so it is more beautiful and valuable because of the cracks.”

Sam drew in a breath. “This is how you see my soul?” The cracks...memories of Lucifer and the Cage, everything they'd lost, the darkness he'd hidden for so long...Cas saw them mended in gold?

“Oh, Sam,” Cas's hand was warm on his shoulder and he looked up, surprised to see tears in his friend's eyes. “This is you.”

He swallowed and looked back down. There was so much...so much hope. Despite it being almost incomprehensible swirls of color on paper, he could feel the hope and faith and trust nearly radiating off the page. Was this...was this really what Cas saw in him?

“Whoa, am I interrupting something?”

Sam pulled back, scrubbing a sleeve over his face. He hadn't even heard Dean coming. “We were just,” he tried to explain, gesturing at the page.

Dean was staring, tilting his head to one side. “Okay, man, call me crazy, but why does this look like Sammy?”

He let out a shaky laugh and ran his hands through his hair. “That's my soul, man.”

“You drew this, Cas?” Dean was leaning in even closer. “Ha, yeah, there's the little part that died when I told you Santa wasn't real. It really is your soul.”

Sam couldn't help but smile at his brother's antics and looked up to meet Cas's eyes. “Can I have this?”

“No way,” Dean interrupted, putting his hand on Cas's wrist.

“Dean, it's my soul.”

“Yeah. We're framing it,” Dean took a step back and held his hands up, like he was envisioning the drawing in a frame. “This is going next to the family pictures, Sammy.”

“We don't have family pictures, Dean.”

“We do now,” Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder. “You should do Jack next. I'll get 'im.”

“Wait,” Sam lunged after his brother. “What about you?”

“Not happening,” Dean replied, easily twisting away from Sam's hand. “Let me go get the kid.”

* * *

Jack, predictably, was thrilled. He sat in front of his adopted father, eyes bright, as he talked about his first memories of Castiel. Sam stood behind Cas's shoulder and watched the picture take shape—all interlocking golden halos bursting out of a dark shadow, radiating a light that was somehow yellow and blue at the same time that banished that darkness away. It was peace. It was strength. It was family.

It was Jack.

Claire and Kaia were next, crowding together into one of the big armchairs with their fingers intertwined. Sam had been expecting some kind of double drawing, maybe two pages side-by-side, but the drawing Cas produced was somehow Claire, somehow Kaia, and somehow a blend of the two of them that went beyond anything the human eye could see.

“That's what it looks like to be soulmates,” Cas explained when Sam asked.

When they went back to Jody's house with the girls, Jody sat for a drawing. Her soul was all graceful arcs swooping around a central, solid core. Sam could almost feel it extending beyond the page, pulling them all together around the woman who had chosen to care for the motherless.

There were others, as hunters checked in at the bunker or they met them in the field. Eileen's soul was a fury of purple and silver, sharp with the kind of love that dove into battle with sword held high. Bobby's was a blend of muted shades that spoke to the loss the older hunter had experienced, and his determination to carry on.

Sam was dropping a new sketchbook in Cas's room one day, a few weeks later, when he spotted a few loose papers that had fallen out of the old one. Meaning just to pick them up and shuffle them back in, he was startled to find he had a picture of Dean's soul in his hands.

It couldn't be anything else. While Sam's had had cracks mended with brilliant gold, Dean's looked like it had been broken and pushed in on itself over and over, more like overlapping plates of ice from a lake that had been melted and refrozen. There were layers and sharp edges, and a few twisting shadows of darkness that lingered in odd corners.

But it was warm. Despite the cracks and the broken parts...despite the trauma and ache and pain it was good. It was the soul of a man who loved so completely he would—and had—lay down his life for his family.

He heard a shuffle from the doorway, and turned to see Cas was standing there, staring at the paper in his hands with something like guilt on his face. “Sam, I...”

“When did you draw this?” Sam asked in a whisper. “He kept saying he didn't want you to do it.”

Cas hesitated, then approached close enough to gently take the drawing from Sam's hands. “It was from memory. Dean and I have always had a connection, since I pulled him from Hell.”

Sam almost laughed. “A more profound bond?” he teased. Cas's lips twitched in a smile and he nodded. “We should hang it up with the others.”

Shaking his head, Cas frowned down at the drawing. “He keeps saying no one would want to see it.”

“Well, he's wrong,” Sam looped an arm around Cas's shoulders. “Come on, I know where he stashed the extra frames.”

#supernatural #fic #sam winchester #castiel #dean winchester #jack kline #claire novak #kaia nieves #fluff #angst #souls #headcanon #artist castiel #sam is a good friend

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preciousthingsareprecious · 4 years

Text

Finding Us Chapter 21

Alright! Here I am at last with another Tim chapter! I hope you guys enjoy it.

AO3 Link

Tim couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling up in his chest at the idea of progress in the stalker case. It fueled his desire to keep moving in other directions, while he waited on Damian to finish his sketch he dove back into work on the Alkali case.

Currently, he was trying once again not to backseat hack as Barbara was finally digging through the Alkali’s files. After their trip to the physical location, Babs had used the access gained through Stephanie to create her own back door and they’d sat on that for a little while to make sure no one found it.

It was early the morning after Damian’s encounter with the creepy man and Tim was in the belfry standing over Barbara’s shoulder because there was nothing to currently do on the stalker case. Tim hadn’t recognized Damian’s sketch of the guy he’d seen, and so they were waiting on facial recognition to grab his identity. The kid’s sketch was definitely good enough for the system to pick something up, they just had to wait.

“Have you found anything interesting yet?” he asked, trying not to bounce on his toes.

“Lots. Nothing we’re looking for. Though, there is a guy here who’s last name is Bandersnatch, which is pretty cool.”

She was teasing, but Tim could also hear the note of warning in her voice. When she found what they were looking for she’d tell him, and he shouldn’t keep pushing. He sighed, and turned to step across the room, over to a mini fridge installed for snacks.

“Want a soda?” he called.

She shook her head, “It’s too early for that, toss me a tea.” she answered.

He grabbed a bottle of tea out for Babs and a can of orange soda for himself and moved back over to the computer.

“Thanks for helping on this.” he said, handing her the tea, then cracking open his soda.

“Of course, the sooner we get these guys the better.”

Tim agreed, and sipped at his soda while he played a matching game on his phone in an attempt to both distract and stop himself from tossing advice Barbara’s way. He got stuck on a particularly difficult level and found himself totally lost in it for a while, trying again and again to win. It made the waiting a lot easier, even if he also kind of wanted to toss his phone out the window and watch it crash at the bottom of the building.

“Got something.” Babs said at last.

Tim looked up bleary eyed, blinking away red diamonds and orange squares. It took his brain a moment to register what she’d said before he stood up, the chair shaking.

“Great!” he hurried over to look at the screen again, “What’d you find?”

“Well, under the private files I found some that were locked with a password, after cracking that I found these.”

The file she’d opened was filled with unreadable text.

“It’s encrypted?” Tim asked.

“I think it’s some kind of cypher. See it follows a sort of pattern. Nothing too overt or easy like a caesar cipher. It’s got to have a key.”

Tim hummed, she was right, the text was filled with letters and numbers and broken up in a way that looked like lines of real text, if they’d been in any kind of legible order.

“Well then we’d better get to cracking it.”

They worked for a couple hours trying to figure out what cypher had been used, and testing various codes to no avail. Eventually they decided to give it some time to breathe, and their brains time to think of new ideas. Babs forwarded him the files so he could keep looking over them later and Tim left her to work on other projects.

As he was leaving, he found Cassandra waiting for him down at the base of the Belfry. She was eating a cinnamon roll like it was a doughnut.

“Hey.” she said, handing him a cup of coffee, and shaking her wrist and the plastic bag hanging off it.

Tim took the offered cup, then tugged the bag off her free hand checking inside. A second cinnamon roll sat tucked into a nest of napkins. He fished it out, careful not to spill his drink then copied Cass, taking a huge bite out of the side.

It was still warm, and the taste of cinnamon and sugar danced across his tongue in a way that made him think of home. Of early Saturday mornings with Alfred, stirring together a bowl of butter, sugar, and cinnamon so the man could carefully spread it across dough. Or of Bruce dropping off a few in his room, ruffling his hair, and telling him he should probably finish his homework before working on another case.

“Ready to head back?” she asked.

He washed down the bite of bread with some coffee and nodded, “Yeah, I think Babs and I have done all we can. How’re things back at the manor?”

Cass shrugged, “Everyone is still waiting on the results of the search, so they all split up to work on other things.”

They moved to the car Cass had brought to pick him up in, it was one of Bruce's many cars, black and not too fancy. Tim held a hand out for the keys and after an eye roll Cass dropped them in his palm.

“I drove here.” she argued.

“You drive too fast for me and my coffee.” he replied.

“Fair.” she shrugged.

As Tim pulled away from the clocktower, still munching on his cinnamon roll Cass pipped back up.

“Can we stop at the craft store?”

He glanced at her, “Sure, but why?”

“Damian wanted some more colored pencils. He sent a list and asked me to stop if I had time.” She tugged a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket and opened it to show him.

A detailed list of colors, brands, and what not to buy’s filled the page in Damian’s neat, tight, handwriting. Tim was surprised to find a little picture of a dog at the bottom of the page, it wasn’t as detailed as Damian usually did, and smiling for some reason.

“He drew it as a thank you, and promised to make me a better one with the pencils.” Cass said, catching where Tim’s eye had fallen, then she added, “Eyes on the road.”

Tim flicked the turn signal on the car to indicate he needed to go left, towards the craft store Damian frequented, “Why didn’t he come if he wanted to restock?”

Cass shrugged again, and folded the paper instead of crumpling it back up. She set it in her lap, fingers tapping on the paper with gentle tip taps.

Damian rarely missed a chance to get his own art supplies. He was as picky about them as Tim was over film or lenses for his cameras. Sure it was just a few replacement pencils, but even those Tim knew Damian would linger over for an hour if he was left to it. He wondered briefly if his mild concussion had anything to do with staying home. Maybe Alfred had told him he couldn’t leave? But no, it had been days at this point, he was probably cleared at last for most activities.

Maybe it was because he knew Cass was headed to pick up Tim.

He tried not to think too hard on that thought. They hadn’t really talked much lately. Both had been busy with their own things, and besides that, they didn’t really talk a lot to begin with. He’d thought they were doing better, but at the same time Tim knew they weren’t.

Tim reached out to snatch his coffee and take a sip from it. Now that he thought about it, maybe they were doing better after all. Damian had called him by his first name the night before. And he’d gone looking for clues as to Tim’s stalker. A queasy feeling bubbled up in Tim’s stomach. He’d been quick to dismiss Damian’s attempted apology back when they’d been at the mall, and now he was starting to wonder if he'd been really trying to mend that bridge. T im loved the idea of having a little brother, and way back when he'd first met Damian he'd been happy to have one, for all of two seconds. Still, sometimes he thought they had found that perfect spot of being siblings, and other times it felt like there was a gaping hole between them. Especially lately.

He pulled into the store’s parking lot not even realizing they’d made it there, his body on autopilot. Cass cheered as she climbed out of the car, and Tim stayed quiet.

When he looked up at the storefront he figured it out.

He might be jealous. Of the squirt.

Maybe it wasn't their past that was bothering him so much lately, but their present. Tim thought he'd shaken off those feelings in regards to Jason and Damian, but maybe he hadn't. Even in the wake of the family’s eyes turning on him Tim still couldn’t stop thinking about how Damian seemed to draw everyone in all the time. Dick, then Jason, Bruce with his fretting after they’d gotten hurt. It was--it was like he fit in a way Tim couldn’t quite imagine himself fitting again. Like they were both the same piece, and there was only one spot left on the puzzle, and Damian had swooped in just in time to fill it. Even now, he felt odd about the attention. Like the moment everything was done his family would stop looking at him again. Stop seeing Tim, because he’d messed up. He’d failed to be the one to fix everything and he no longer deserved to be seen.

“Tim?”

“Coming!” he said, locking the car door.

Inside he was hit with the smell of paint and paper. The whole place was a kaleidoscope of colors and supplies crammed together in a space that should have felt cluttered, but instead actually seemed homely. He followed Cass to the pencils and held each as she selected them, reading Damian’s list carefully, then making Tim double check “ just in case” .

He thought they’d be in and out, but once they’d found Damian’s stuff Cass insisted on browsing. Tim followed her, feeling a bit like Titus pattering after Damian as he instructed the dog on something very un-dog-like and soon his arms were full.

Cass had added extra packs of less high quality colored pencils, crayons, thin markers --not thick, because apparently those didn’t trace well-- and made him pick out a coloring book. She selected one full of animals, and Tim picked one that was more abstract. Like black and white stained glass. He and Cass locked eyes on an adult swear word coloring book and both grinned.

“For Jason?” Tim asked.

“And one for Dick.” Cass grinned.

Soon they’d selected adult coloring books for the whole family. Some simply because they knew they’d get a laugh out of them, and others from the knowledge of the recipient getting genuine delight from it.

By the time they left, Tim was feeling better. His day brightened even more when Cass hooked an arm through his at home, and dragged him into the living room.

“We are going to color and watch She-Ra.” she declared.

He could have argued and said he had work to do. But he knew Cass would tell him a break was good. And wasn’t that what he’d just told Babs? He could have fallen into other cases or dug out his 3Ds to play some Animal Crossing. But the best idea in the whole world right then was sitting on the floor and coloring with his sister, and he wasn’t going to pass it up.

He filled in two whole pages, first lined with marker --Cass had been right about the thin ones-- then colored in as dark as he could with his own box of colored pencils. At some point the sounds of She-Ra had been turned down as he and Cass chatted about everything.

She told stories of an adventure with Steph. He talked about Mindbender and how weird it was to have Jason in the house again. Then about how cool it was to have Jason in the house. Cass told him about a ballet she’d seen. All of it, whether it was little nothings or big changes, ebbed and flowed to the scritch scritch of pencil on paper, and legs folded up or kicked into the air.

At some point, Alfred brought in cocoa and water. Then sandwiches. Dick breezed through and gasped over his book, stopping to color in all of an F before getting bored and breezing back out. Jason cackled over his book, and then genuinely thanked them for thinking of him. Damian collected his pencils, didn’t complain about a single one, and stared at his own book of animals to color like it was made of gold before tucking it under an arm and scurrying away.

Bruce stayed the longest, lounging on a couch to add his own commentary between theirs, infrequent, but enough to say “I’m here, I’m listening, I love you.” before he too was called away. He planted a kiss on each of their heads before leaving.

It was Stephanie who broke up the peace. Showing up like a tornado, and stirring them from settled spaces into laughter. They traded pencils for controllers and fired up Smash Brothers for a wholly different, but still perfect, adventure.

There, surrounded in waves by his family Tim wondered if he’d been wrong earlier. If maybe the puzzle had room for all of them. And every time someone new came in, it just expanded and made room for them. He certainly felt like he fit in, and it was really nice.

#finding us #tim drake #cassandra cain #barbara gordon #other batfam are scattered in this one #fanfiction #precious posts #chapter 21 #I am flabbergasted every time I see how many chapters this fic has #it's so many #past me wrote a lot

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hedwigstalons · 4 years

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High Expectations - Ch20

I’ve been a little quiet for a bit because illness hit me hard (although thankfully not for too long). I’m back though and I bring another chapter of the beast that keeps on growing.

Extra thanks to @willow-salix who had to deal with my post-fog writing going back a few stages and who helped beat this into some sort of coherency.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Twenty

The mood in the plane was buoyant and the air was charged with testosterone and bravado. The transport flight was filled with Air Force personnel and their destination was Fort Hood, Texas. Scott hummed absently, his fingers drumming out a little beat on his knee, feeling relaxed for the first time in weeks, normally being a passenger on a flight made him agitated as he itched to be in the pilot’s seat but today was different.

The Army was the designated host of this year’s United States inter-service sports tournament and Fort Hood was the location where, for the next few days those selected to represent their respective services would compete in their chosen sports.

The tournament was supposed to be a friendly coming together of the various United States forces plus the various World Security Patrol branches, and for the most part it was friendly although it would be a lie to suggest there wasn’t a certain amount of posturing and goading underneath the surface. For those taking part it was a chance to uphold the honour of their chosen service and score some one-upmanship, for those like Scott who had been selected before it was also a chance to settle old scores.

For Scott it would be a blessed interlude between missions; after his last assignment he was in desperate need of some R&R but with taking leave off the cards this came a close second for allowing him to decompress and see the good side of military life. It would be a chance to indulge in some physical activity that he didn't have to think too hard about, recently his life had been nothing but one exhaustive mission after another. For once he was happy to be free from the burden of command for a while, his primary mission now was to run fast, fight hard and add as many points as possible to the Air Force tally.

His thoughts turned to last year’s competition; he’d done well and never placed lower than fifth in any of his events despite one Seaman Jeffries of the World Navy tripping him in 1500m, an action that by rights should have seen the man disqualified. Unfortunately the rankings were upheld with Jeffries placing second while he had struggled to regain ground and claim fifth. The injustice still rankled and he wondered if he would have to face the nefarious Jeffries again this year.

“Sir,” Scott called across to the Major who had been designated at team captain and was in charge of the Air Force contingent, “do you have a copy of the events list I can take a look at?”

“Sure Tracy, I brought some spares just in case” Major Ellis replied, passing a sheaf of papers across the aisle. “You’re up on the Wednesday afternoon for your track events and then Thursday afternoon for the martial arts. See any familiar names?”

“One or two” Scott replied as he checked out the list of competitors. “The US Army have put Moran in the hurdles again. I’d love to beat him this time and wipe that smug smile off his face. I’ve never met anyone so gloating.”

Having scrutinized the running order and competitors for his own events, no Jeffries, thank God, Scott began idly flicking through the rest of the programme. As he scanned the lists he spotted a familiar name, wanting confirmation of his suspicions he pulled out his phone and sent a message.

How far out of Fort Hood are you?

About 40 minutes came the response. This was quickly followed by How did you find out? Everyone at home promised not to tell you. I wanted it to be a surprise. If it was Alan I’ll kill him.

Competitor list. See you soon.

Scott let out an involuntary chuckle knowing Gordon would be mad at giving himself away and thus depriving himself of the element of surprise in any pranks he had planned.

“What’s tickled your funny bone?” asked Ellis.

“It looks like you’re going to get to meet my kid brother.”

“Really?” Ellis asked curiously, opening up his own copy of the events list. “Is he on the other flight?”

“No, Gordon isn’t Air Force, he joined WASP.”

“You’ve got a brother in WASP? That’s a bit of a polar opposite to the Air Force. I bet that didn’t go down too well at home.” Scott had worked hard to build his own reputation but it was still well known who his father was and the Air Force pedigree he was following. “Is he another sprinter like you?”

“Dad took a little persuading” a frown furrowed his brow at the memory of Gordon’s journey into WASP; ‘a little persuading’ really didn’t do it justice but he wasn’t going to have the family’s dirty laundry aired in public, “but WASP was the natural choice really, Gordon’s a swimmer.”

Major Ellis found the relevant page and looked over the listings. The name Ensign G. Tracy leapt off the page again and again within the WASP entries.

“He’s all over the pool like a rash! Talk about putting all your eggs in one basket. Is he really that good?”

“You evidently don’t follow swimming that much. I should’ve realised WASP would jump at the chance to put him on the squad. It’s not often anyone gets to field an Olympic medallist.” He couldn’t help the smile that split his face at the thought of seeing his brother swim again for the first time since the Games. Gordon had dedicated so many years to his sport and had achieved glittering success that gave Scott a rush of pride at the memories.

In the confined space of the plane their conversation was beginning to attract attention.

“What’s that about an Olympic medallist?”

“Dunno, ask Tracy.”

“Hey, Tracy, who’s got a medal?”

“My brother, Gordon.”

“You’re kidding!”

While Scott’s own unit might have been well versed in his sibling’s success story the competitors were pulled from across the Air Force, most of them complete strangers before boarding the flight. There was a flurry of movement as a couple of people pulled out their phones and plugged the name into a search engine. By now most of the plane was taking an interest. It didn’t take long for someone to dig out one of the news reports; Gordon’s Olympic win had taken place less than two years previously and coverage was easy to find.

“Here, listen to this.”

Team USA continue their race to the top of the medals table with a successful day in the pool. The crowning glory came from Gordon Tracy, a rising star in the swimming world, who not only achieved gold in the 200m butterfly but set a new world record in the process. This achievement is made more remarkable in that Tracy is just 17 years old.

“That’s your brother! And now he is on the WASP team? Heck Tracy, can’t you do something like hide his trunks so the rest of us stand a chance?” one of the Air Force’s own swimmers exclaimed.

“No can do. There is no way I’m sabotaging my own brother and don’t any of you think of trying anything either. If you had ever met Gordon you would know that wouldn’t work anyway, he would probably just do the race butt naked.”

xoxoxox

Gordon gazed listlessly out of the window of his own transport flight, the clouds forming an unbroken blanket below them, the vista bland and uninspiring. After 4 fours in the air he was feeling bored, cramped and fed up. He’d started the flight all keyed up at the thought of competing again but the long hours in the company of strangers was starting to wear thin. For one thing there was too much trash talking for his liking, he’d never gone in for the verbal sparring side of sport but it seemed his companions very much viewed the other services as the enemy at this event. It wasn’t an attitude he had encountered elsewhere in WASP and he hoped the bad mouthing would be constrained to these few days, it also wasn’t behaviour he could join in with in good conscious and so he had stayed quiet and kept himself to himself, trying to get back into competition mode after so long off the elite circuit. A vibration in his pocket startled him and he pulled out his phone.

How far out of Fort Hood are you?

Without thinking he typed About 40 minutes and hit the send button. Only when it was too late did it register who had sent the original message and he realised his mistake. He had wanted to surprise his oldest brother, the one who was hardest to meet up with due to their differing military commitments. He’d been able to tell the wider family about his selection during his period of leave over Alan’s birthday but with Scott away on his mission he’d been able to keep the news secret from his eldest sibling.

How did you find out? Everyone at home promised not to tell you. I wanted it to be a surprise. If it was Alan I’ll kill him.

Competitor list. See you soon.

Well, he supposed Scott would have found out in a few hours anyway and at least this way they would both be looking out for each other. He wasn’t quite sure of the format of the event or how easy it would be to break away and hunt down a member of one of the other services.

xoxoxox

Gordon wasn’t sure what he had been expecting from competition or from Fort Hood but it looked like finding Scott wasn’t going to be easy. Outside of their own events the personnel were able to watch the competition but there was very little free time beyond that. Even if he could get away, finding his brother was going to be like finding a needle in a haystack; the different services were billeted all over the base and by the end of the first day all he knew was that WASP was sharing a dorm block with the Coastguard Service and a mess hall with the US Navy.

Not that he had much time to brood, the swimming was taking place on the first day of the competition proper and after a hurried breakfast Gordon found himself hustled towards the pool.

He was looking forward to the chance of some competitive swimming again. The specialist training on the Merlin had been intensive and the extended time beneath the waves had ignited a passion for marine biology but the cramped space of a submarine had hardly been conducive to physical exercise. This competition would give him the opportunity to indulge in his first passion, he just hoped he was up to the task having been entered into far more events and across a wider range of disciplines that he was used to.

Aside from his trunks lacking the Team USA branding the competition was much like any other Gordon had attended. A fair crowd had filled the viewing gallery but Gordon couldn’t tell if Scott was amongst those in dark blue. Events were called, heats were swum (and usually won) and Tracy was once again a name to be reckoned with in the pool. It felt good to be cleaving through the water again. Despite not being in peak condition for swimming he was still in fine physical form over all and the muscle memory from all those races past carried him along to victory time and again. The main difference to his usual style of competition was the lack of medal ceremony at the end and at the conclusion of his last race Gordon was able to wend his weary way back to the changing rooms where he flopped down on a bench.

Pressing his shoulders against the cold tiles, eyes closed and head tipped back, the last of his energy was spent. It had been a long time since he’d pushed himself to those lengths in the water and normally his race card was rather more sparse, one elite athlete among many, each responsible for their own specialisms. The problem was, despite the high physical standards demanded by the military, elite athletes were in short supply and his pool times had placed him as primary candidate across more events than he was really comfortable taking on but he hadn’t felt able to say no to his superiors this early in his WASP career.

He concentrated on his breathing, listening to the hum and chatter of the other competitors around him, a cluster of WASPs gloating about their healthy position in the league table were his nearest companions. He knew he ought to be getting dry, knew he ought to be digging out the tracksuit he’d been issued for the event, but his limbs felt leaden. He wanted to be collapsed on his bunk but that involved moving and right now moving felt an impossible task.

“Gordon, eat something.”

He sensed a dimming of the light levels through his eyelids as a figure stepped between him and the harsh lights of the changing room. The voice was commanding but his eyes stayed firmly shut and his body refused to obey.

The figure in front of him was causing quite a stir but then that was typical of Scott. He tended to exude an attitude as though he owned a place and this evidently wasn’t going down well with the WASPs around him who bristled with resentment at the young figure in Air Force blue invading their section of the changing rooms. There were muttered jibes, reminiscent of those from the flight over, but the intruder wasn’t giving the WASP delegation the rise they so clearly desired. Having failed in their goading one of his team mates decided to square up to the man they evidently viewed as the opposition.

“And who the hell are you to order us around, flyboy?”

Scott’s eyes glittered at the challenge, a warning look that Gordon would have recognised from his own childhood had he been fully cognizant of the situation, Scott was not in any mood to be pushed.

“That’s Captain to you” there was a pause as he took in the insignia worn by the other man, neither were in traditional uniform but the competition sports kit still had a place for rank slides; after all, the military thrived on hierarchy “Chief Petty Officer, although I accept you may not be familiar with the rank structures of the other services”

Scott turned his attention back to his brother, ignoring the WASP who was now brisling after being firmly put in his place. He was well aware of the animosity being directed towards him but his focus was his sibling, not some jumped up sardine with a chip on his shoulder. He’d been concerned at the amount of events Gordon had pulled, and now, seeing his brother in the aftermath, he knew that concern had been justified. The figure in front of him was breathing a little too shallowly for comfort and hadn’t moved from the moment Scott had spied him from across the changing room. It had been a long time since he’d seen his brother swim himself to this level of stupor, years of competing had made Gordon pretty well attuned to his bodily needs, but evidently today he had neglected his post-race routine.

Gordon had gotten as far as taking off his swim cap but no further, water dripped down his torso from the flattened hair that was still slick from the showers. Even accounting for his time under the waves his skin was far paler than Scott was used to seeing. He’d come down with the intention of congratulating his brother on his success in the water but now his primary concern had turned to Gordon’s basic wellbeing.

Scott knew he had to get his blood sugars back up again. He grabbed his brother’s kit bag and rooted around in the end pocket. He allowed himself a small smile of triumph as his fingers closed around the packet of glucose tablets it appeared his brother still had the sense to carry. He extracted two tablets from the tube and, crouching down in front of his brother, placed them in Gordon’s palm before closing the lax fingers over them.

“Gords, you still with me? You need to get these into you.”

He paused while Gordon’s body processed the order, then let out a little breath of relief as the arm jerked up and Gordon began to suck on the tablets.

He hadn’t seen his brother crash this bad since he was about twelve. An early promotion to senior squad had seen the pre-teen eager to please his new coach while trying not to show anything that could be construed as weakness by his new and much older team mates and so the kid had forgone his post-race refuel. The result then had been Gordon turning a grim shade of grey and falling off the medal podium in a dead faint.

With the glucose tablets administered Scott turned his attention back to Gordon’s kit bag and pulled out a celery crunch bar, a firm favourite for the swimmer. He opened it and placed it in Gordon’s now empty hand. This was evidently an imposition too far for the WASP already disgruntled at being put in his place by the young captain.

“With all due respect Sir” there was a distinct sneer behind the formality “there’s no eating allowed in the changing rooms.”

If Scott’s eyes had glittered before, now they blazed with anger and contempt. Rising from his crouch in front of Gordon, he drew himself up to his full height and positively loomed over the belligerent WASP.

“With all due respect I would have thought you would rather your team mate got his blood sugars up, or does your first aid training not cover hypoglycaemia?” He took a step towards the WASP, encroaching into the man’s personal space in a clear display of dominance. “Not that you seem to be acting as a team right now. Would half of you even be here if it wasn’t for the relay events, or maybe you tried to enter him for all four legs of that at well?”

With the glucose hitting his blood stream Gordon became more aware of the increasing commotion around him. Voices that had once been jubilant now had a dangerous and angry edge and…yes...most of the anger seemed to be coming from Scott.

Something tripped blearily in his brain; what on Earth was Scott doing here and why did he suddenly feel so cold? Amber eyes cracked open and he forced his head open off the wall. The movement was clocked by Scott who was back in front of him in an instant.

“Hey Fish, you back with me?” All traces of anger had gone as he turned his attention back to his Gordon, the Air Force Captain replaced by the brother of old; the caregiver with the ready supply of band aids, ice packs and gentle admonishment as he presented yet another injury for inspection.

“Yeah, I’m...I’m good.” He looked down in confusion at the crunch bar in his hand, not entirely sure how it had got there, but took a bite anyway. “Guess I should have known better than to skip refuel.”

“Yeah, you should”

Yup, that was the Scott he knew from Kansas. Gordon felt like he was 9 years old again, being told off for being an idiot in the same ‘I told you so’ tone that had made it quite clear that of course jumping off the shed roof or using the frayed rope swing had been a bad idea.

“Yeah, thanks for that” A snort, an eye roll, and a re-emergence of the same attitude common to his past nine year old self.

“You’re okay now though, right? You’ll finish your bar and get dressed? Glucose tabs are back in the end pocket if you need more.”

“I’m fine, honest.” Okay, the slight whine was a little too much like a kid but he was tired and there was something about Scott’s familiar care that had him regressing 10 years. He forced protesting muscles to obey and hauled his back off the wall, rolling his shoulders to try and loosen the muscles that were rapidly seizing up. He tried to suppress a groan at the exertion, he wasn’t quite ready to try standing until after the crunch bar was finished but he also knew Scott would not be pacified until he saw some sort of response. The skeptical look he was given showed that Scott still wasn’t entirely convinced. Mustering up his remaining energy he returned the look with a grin which seemed to appease the elder Tracy.

“Hmm”, Scott didn't sound like he believed him but couldn't argue it, “well, get dry and get your kit on. You did good out there. I’ll be on the track tomorrow afternoon; I’ll see you there.” Without waiting for an answer Scott turned and exited the changing rooms.

The departure of the Air Force officer was followed with an outburst of grumbling from the WASP delegation.

“Asshole. Who the hell does he think he is, ordering us around?”

Gordon still hadn’t found his footing among the other swimmers, or the wider WASP delegation. He might be the highest ranking of those at the pool but he was also by far the youngest and with the shortest amount of service under his belt by a country mile. Rank structures overall seemed to be treated differently during the competition and these particular team mates seemed to have little regard for authority. He was conscious that a wrong move now could make life distinctly unpleasant for him, he might never see these men again after the competition was over but he still had to get through several more days in their company. He decided to play it for what it was; Scott being an irritating older brother.

“That was Scott. I think he got the whole older brother thing hard wired in at birth.”

“You’re related to that?” There was a contemptuous sneer aimed at Scott’s retreating form that set Gordon’s hackles raising but he knew sniping back would be an error.

“Yup. Of course, I got blessed with the good looks while he got the height.” He flashed a grin, trying to diffuse the tensions.

“Is he always such a jerk?” a Seaman sat to his right piped up, finding his voice now the imposing Captain was no longer practically standing on his toes.

Gordon shrugged; evidently the tensions were still there. “Only when he needs to be. I should’a thought to grab the glucose tabs myself after that many races. It’s been a while since I hit the pool competitively.”

There was a slight shuffling from the other swimmers, signs of guilt at not looking out for the young Ensign that had carried the team. Scott’s words about the rest of them only being there to make up the numbers for the relay, while not wholly accurate, weren’t far off the truth. They were all back in their dry kit while Gordon was still in his trunks, his skin still pale from the exertion even if his eyes had regained some brightness.

“Anyway,” he scruffed at his hair before drying off the rest of his body ready for dressing, “I need some real food after that and then I need to find out where the track events are being held.”

A snort. “Well we’ll be watching the shooting tomorrow. You can join us, or are you really going to do what big brother tells you?”

There was a challenge in the tone but Gordon was feeling more alive again and less tolerant of their needling. “I’m not going because he told me to, I’m going because he’s my brother and I want to. In my family we support each other and Scott, well, he’s done a lot for me.”

Decision made and allegiances stated he swung his kit bag over his shoulder and headed out to find some food.

#High Expectations #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Military brothers #Family comes first #swimming

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A freeCodeCampChallenge

Gaining Speed

This marks my second freeCodeCamp challenge. As I mentioned in my after action report from the first FCC challenge (tribute page), it took some time to finally gain traction and fully complete that project. That was a problem with (one) unnecessary complexity of design and (two) a lack of planning (before I began to code.) It was my assumption that if I laced the project with many working parts, I would learn much, much faster; also, that by getting right to the code, I could pick up the syntax, semantics and general knack for writing (code) in less time. And wow, I was very incorrect in thinking so.

As a response to my previous poor start (with my tribute page,) this time I was better able to address some lessons which had only occurred to me when halfway through the last project. So this time, I really dialed in the importance of streamlining my initial paperwork designs, learning how to more proficiently use Figma and some of its tools, how to better approach icon design with Photoshop and vastly improve my entire workflow. This provided (not only) an easier build, but also a more efficient angle by which I was empowered to catch more lessons along the way.

In the next few paragraphs, I will detail just which specific advantages I picked up in terms of HTML5, CSS3 and JavaScript capability. In addition, I will move through some of the tactics I employed to help me finish this challenge with much more confidence than the last.

Planning Stages

When I set out to hand-write the marked goals (set down by FCC’s challenge,) I do find it tedious. The thing is, I am copying (in my own words) precisely what the challenge is demanding of me. Let me elaborate…

With every line, I am telling myself that I really do not need to do this. I mean, I can pretty easily peer over at the other browser window (when necessary) and see exactly what my marching orders are. Though albeit true, there are a couple of key differences in (one) reading from FCC and (two) writing/reading my own notes.

As I write out every expected step of my project, I can build an image immediately for how I would like my creation to take shape. This falls in line with the visual aspects and design, the color scheme, the functionality of each element and the code itself. It is a powerful method to which I will pay better respect going forward. (I already have plenty of ideas on how to implement more potent procedures — like larger drafting paper, (which will allow for a greater landscape on my pages, maybe using a tablet for notation and perhaps a few voice recordings along the way)). Now, I may be getting ahead of myself! Back to the plans..

And so writing out the objectives is terrific for lots of reasons, but moving to the drawn design itself — this may be the most crucial bit yet. Here’s the deal. When I physically drew the (expected) survey form, I may have well completed the whole project. So what does that mean?

I took so much liberty in imagining what the design should resemble. More specifically, I let my mind wander and allowed thoughts to spill out onto the legal pad before me. This (in combination with my understanding of how everything needed be expressed in code) let me structure my rough draft with such a degree that the next step made the actual coding like an exercise in copy and paste. I’ll expound…

I was drawing parts which were effectively elements of HTML. This was followed by some (more precise) markings of pseudo-code (which amounted to about all of the HTML I required to code for the whole challenge.) So, when I say the planning has proved to be useful, this would be an undestatement. This attention to planning has made it possible for me to avoid the ‘nuts and bolts’ in my code editor. Now, this advancement is massive, because the saved time and effort was a testement to why I was then able to better learn more intricate detail when coding. And now let’s get to those lessons and the code at large.

Within Earshot of Paper and Pencil

My goal is not to elaborate on the use of specific technologies, but more-so the process itself. however, I will briefly touch on Figma and Photoshop…

Using Figma helped me focus on each element and understand how they more literally fit together in the puzzle. I was able to name every piece such that it would show me what my HTML element should be in code and how each need be named. Also, I took those separate entities and grouped them such that I could postion everything exactly as I wished. My next goal with Figma will be to utilize the ‘component’ feature and truly unroll some strong functionality of the software.

Regarding Photoshop, I made a logo for my survey and spun it into a favicon with relative ease. In an attempt to create animations and advertisements for my affiliate site, I have better come to understand Photoshop’s effectiveness. Thereby, building my icon was fairly straightforward. I simply pieced it together with a couple of layers and exported the PNG. I still want to be able to employ SVGs for this application; but until now, I haven’t perfected the craft. I will leave that for the coming FCC challenge. Onward!

Coding the Beast

The first topic to address here is quite obvious for me… SUITE TESTING.

When I began coding this project, I wrote my HTML boilerplate and immediately tied in the FCC testing script so I could begin verifying my code at every turn. I’ll elaborate…

I ran into a few issues with debugging throughout my last project; those were problems which resulted in code errors piling up on me simultaneously. And, while an error (for which you don’t know the remedy) is frustrating…several of those errors (all at once) becomes infuriating. Luckily, I ran into a great solution. Unit testing.

By instantiating the FCC test suite before I began coding the bulk of my project, I was then gifted the opportunity of verifying each of the sixteen goal posts.

In more detail, nearly no problems snuck up on me while coding the breadth of this project because I was adamant on addressing them in real time (as they appeared). What a true life-saver...

Input Text (element, attribute)

I found it repetitive and annoying at first, when the 10th goal of this challenge asked me to give both the input and label elements their own respective and corresponding ids. This was because I (very simply) did not understand the request. Along with that, I definitely didn’t understand why it was being asked (to begin with.)

That said, I now realize that the goal was to identify the label for the text field, in addition to the field itself. In understanding this distinction, I have now been able to find value in this very feature.

By giving ids to both my labels and input texts, I was then able to style each distinctly and find them with more ease (while peering though my HTML.) Now here’s real solid tip which I will not soon forget.

Don’t Pick More Than One Option!

So, I was writing the code for my radio buttons and what happened next is certainly a rookie mistake. When I navigated to my browser (in order to test the options,) I found that EVERY one of my buttons was clickable. And this, for obvious reasons, is not ideal.

This solution was super easy. All I needed to do was unify (or make each value the same for) the input-radio buttons. After I placed cloned values for each radio button, only one option could then be chosen. Success!

Nitpick the Name and Ids

This is something which should possibly be glossed over. But, when working with various input fields, I was asked to employ many names and ids for each.

While I’m not entirely certain (even now) whether there is a standard for which comes first, I have come to realize that name attributes should possibly supercede id attributes.

Using Visual Studio Code, it seems to like placing names before ids. And in a real life estimation, using name over id seems to be old-fashioned, but admirable.

More seriously, I understand in code, name will be less subjective (while more actionable) and ids will more far more particular and prone to alteration.

Dropdown

I was in a position to use dropdown boxes twice in this project. The problem I came across was that my options continued to begin with the default option as selectable. While I learned the solution quickly and with ease, I believe it should be recorded as vital.

When inserting a placeholder option in a dropdown box, in order to keep it from being a clickable entity, you have to style it as such.

I called the id of the option in my CSS sheet and set its display as none. That easy.

Pseudo Class and Element Selectors

Very little of my experience with this challenge dealt with pseudo class or pseudo element selectors. But, I will cover (in short) what I did learn (with these topics in mind.)

Using a pseudo element selector is the best (or maybe only) way to call an attribute from an HTML element and style with CSS.

This is how I was able to change the appearance of my placeholder text in each input-text.

I know pseudo class selectors are the way to alter elements (in a certain state) like ‘hover’ or ‘before’, but I haven’t used them enough to expand this monologue. That said, I’ll press on…

Attribute Selectors

In confluence with my previous words, I may have provided a misnomer to exactly what was being modified with pseudo-elements. But, I digress (and hopefully you see what I mean).

Using attribute selectors is quite different from other selectors, because you will be placing true brackets in as your selector which house your attribute, followed by an equal sign and a set of quotations (housing your value.)

Looks like this [attribute=“value”]. And that’s that!

Media Queries

While I employed media queries for this project, I have yet to fully grasp exactly how to use them (in reference to appropriation and context.) Therefore, I will not go into detail; but, only mention that I used them to alter my CTA button across pixel-widths. Also, I realized that setting a new media query works better when starting with the immediate values from your last screen size.

A Bit of JavaScript

The big task I pushed for in this project was this: change the client-side font family for a text area as the user types. And by big, I mean, it took me about as long as the rest of the whole challenge to learn this functionality with JavaScript. That said, I now understand much better how JS semantics are employed. And, that’s pretty priceless…

For this goal, I inserted a script with an event listener. First, I started with DOMContentLoaded, which allows for firing without the images or styling need be loaded.

The next bit lets my document be called by its (element) id.

Then, it states that my id will be triggered by any input (via an eventListener) and will force my later instantiated function.

The function declared will let the charCode number equal a string which will be console.log(ed) out as my target.value (of Nunito, sans-serif) with proper style.fontFamily.

Conclusion

Attempting to wrap this project up in a nice bow is difficult, as I have onboarded a great deal of information (from one simple survey page.) After completing this task, I am left with a split-brain. While I have learned so much from something, seemingly straightforward, now I am thrilled to make it to the next project and take on those new expectations.

I suppose my takeaway is that I should fine-tune my HTML and CSS understanding and seriously crack open all that is JavaScript. All which, can wait until tomorrow. Cheers!

#freecodecamp #html5 #css3 #javascript #design #coding

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creativejourneysbct · 4 years

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Studio 1 Week 2/3 First Project: Hacking a Board Game - SLAP ATTACK

At the end of our week 2 studio session, we were assigned the task of "hacking" a board game, using some of the skills we had learned that day, to make it more interactive.

First, my group and I considered different board games that we would use as a template to start with. We settled on using an alphabet bingo board. It appeared simple enough; a circular board with a pointer that could be spun to randomly select a part of the board.

We then started brainstorming possible ways in which we could alter the game to make it more interactive. We agreed that it would be beneficial to create our own interface to replace the alphabet bingo one, as this would allow us more freedom to create our own rules and ultimately come up with our own game. So, we started sketching ideas on what our new board interface would look like.

This involved us thinking critically about the overall gameplay and having to come up with some sort of a finalized idea of what the end product would be.

After several iterations, we landed on a plan to create a game where the spinner is spun by a player then, depending on where it landed, all the players would have to do an action IF the lights on the board are turned on. This way the lights are adding an extra element of surprise, as not only is it impossible to predict what part of the board the spinner will land on (and therefore what action the player may have to do), but also whether or not that action would even have to be carried out at all, depending on the light's status.

It then came time to think about what skills from the day we would use to achieve our new gameplay and therefore make the game more interactive.

It was clear that papertronics would be necessary to create the circuit beneath the board that would allow for the lights to turn on when the spinner touches certain areas of the board.

So, we got to work using the copper tape to create a small test circuit as a proof of concept before moving onto anything larger. Since the goal was to have a few lights around the board light up when powered by a single battery, we tested this out by making a smaller, simpler version of the final product, using copper tape, two LEDs, and a battery to make the circuit pictured below.

As can be seen, one of the LEDs didn't seem to work. But, after some more testing, we discovered that the LED was just faulty, and it did work when being pressed. Thus, the concept of a single battery powering more than one LED had been "proven"!

We then took it a step further by making a circuit using the copper tape that went from one side of a sheet of paper (emulating the board) that housed the battery, to the other side of the piece of paper, where the spinner was. We stuck copper tape to the underside of the spinner. This allowed it to effectively close the circuit when passing along the copper tape area on the board, and therefore light up the LEDs.

While the pointer still had to be pressed down for the circuit to be complete and light up the LEDs, it was still enough to prove that the circuit could go from one side of the surface to the other, which is exactly what we needed for the final product.

We then got to work on our first iteration of the board's surface.

Since we didn't have a compass or any other tools that could be used to make a perfect circle, I used a technique I knew from high school art to draw a large circle that was relatively the same size as the original Alphabet Bingo circle to go on top of it.

We cut out the white circle, stuck four colored sheets of paper over it in the alignment we wanted for the board game design, and used it to cut a perfect (ish) circle around the four colored sheets of paper.

We now had a rough prototype of the game we wanted to create. Since the main circuitry hadn't been created yet, we used some random objects to simulate the areas of the board that would activate the LEDs should the spinner land there. We then playtested the game, to see whether or not it was even enjoyable. We wound up quite enjoying the competitive nature of having to react fastest or else face elimination. It was a simple concept, but one that we believed would work and prove engaging for players.

Next, we started implementing the full-sized circuit. We initially attempted to only use one battery for all four LEDs but this proved to be too complex, so we started over and made a new circuit that used two batteries with each battery responsible for only 2 LEDs.

From the top side, we can see that the spinner still had to be pushed down to activate the LED. This was quite a substantial concern for the project, as the desired effect was supposed to be effortlessly spinning the spinner and having it light up the LED automatically.

Determined to persevere anyway, Matt and I split up from the group to work on designing a proper layout for our board game. As photoshop wasn't working on either of our laptops, we used a word processor to create a simple but aesthetically pleasing board that we then printed out in a3. We wanted to make sure the font used was legible and that the board wasn't too cluttered. One of the main design principles we tried to focus on was maximizing the intuitiveness of the game so that anyone could have an idea of how to play it with little to no instruction. We also added simple hand gesture illustrations as iconography next to the corresponding action word to further guide the user's understanding.

With the new board face printed out, we used it when coming up with ways of solving the issue of the light not automatically lighting up.

We went through a range of different methods, such as using a motor and a wheel to reduce the friction and provide a better spin.

We finally settled on simplifying the design so that we would only use one LED situated on the top of the spinner. This worked on occasion but still wasn't lighting up consistently enough.

With the circuitry proving to be much more problematic than expected, another member of the group and I got to work on creating a clear set of rules for the game, which was still a very important part of the game design. At the end of the day, we still wanted to have a finished game that our classmates could play, even if our light-up spinner wasn't operational. This also involved us coming up with a name for the game. Out of thin air, I pulled out the words "SLAP ATTACK" and since no one else had anything better, this was the name that stuck. In fairness though, the name grew on us and accurately reflected the fast-paced nature of the gameplay.

I enjoyed the design aspect of creating the rules quite a bit. We tried to keep it in theme with the board, using the same colors, icons, and fonts to maintain a cohesive aesthetic and design language.

As the circuitry didn't look like it would be operational in time for the showcase, we decide to create a "concept" edition that would act as a model of what we had intended for the board game. It was to be our clean, "best-case scenario" version.

We printed out another copy of the board game design and glued it to some wood to create a firm, stable base. We then drilled a hole through it to make room for the spinner.

Fortunately, this allowed enough room for the rules to go on the side, so we glued them down next to the main circle. I will say, design-wise, I was very pleased with the result we got. The overall look of the board and rules matched in a nice, simple colorful manner and looked very clean.

While we could still get the lights to turn on on the other board, it still required us to press down on the spinner, which defeated the purpose of the game. Or it would light up, but not always, and for the game to work as intended it would need to light up every time it went over a copper tape part of the board.

It was difficult to accept but we were unable to achieve the concept we had envisioned. As it turns out, using a spinner was not as simple as we thought it would be. When seeking help we were advised to use a "slip ring". At the time it was too late in the game to change direction, but next time that's definitely something we can look into.

Finally, for the showcase, we added some blue, green, red, and yellow chips (the same color scheme as the board game itself) to the mix to act as physical representations of the lives of players. Even if it wasn't related to circuitry or the makey makey, the tactile chips added weight to the concept of losing a life every time a player had to give one away after losing a round.

Overall, even though we couldn't implement the interactive elements we wanted to, the classmates who tried our game seemed to really enjoy the fast-paced, competitive nature of the game as our table was almost always occupied with players. So, if nothing else, we were still able to develop a concept that was engaging for players, so I'm happy about that. Plus, our circuit still technically worked, it just needed to be pressed down which didn't work as intended for the board game.

(PS - I wanted to add more photos towards the end but hit the Tumblr photos limit so this should hopefully suffice. Just another thing to keep in mind when making these posts going forward.)

Update - After writing this long, almost step-by-step recount of the creation process, I have been introduced to the "Gibbs Reflective Cycle" in our Intro to Creative Technologies Lecture so I think I'd be remiss to not include it at the end of this.

While I could technically go back and reduce everything I've written to a paragraph long "description of what happened, I have chosen to keep it for 2 reasons; the first is that it took me a great deal of time and effort to make so I simply don't want to delete it all. But secondly and most importantly, even if it's not the best, most effective reflective blog post, I see these posts as a working, evolving skill that I want to be able to look back on and see how much I've changed and improved. So yes, I'm keeping it if only for the fact that It's a piece of history on how I reflected on my first creative project.

So, without further ado, here are my more structured, Gibbs Reflective Cycle paragraphs.

Reflecton

Description

This has been covered in depth in the prior paragraphs but we effectively were tasked with "hacking" a board game to make it more interactive using the skills we had learned in class. This resulted in two final board games being made by my group - one that used the circuitry to allow a spinner to make lights on the board turn on but wouldn't work consistently enough, and another cleaner version that functioned as a board game but didn't incorporate all the electrical elements.

Feeling

During the process of creating this board game, I felt a variety of emotions. When coming up with ideas for the game, I felt a sense of creative burnout. This is a feeling I'm relatively unfamiliar with. In most academic cases coming up with a solution involves further readings and eventually, the solution will become apparent. When coming up with an original boardgame idea, however, I was certainly put out of my comfort zone.

Another part that put me out of my comfort zone was working in the workshop, using the drills, saws, hot glue gun. All of these tools are relatively simple but given my highly limited experience working in this kind of environment, I quickly realized that I had a lot to learn.

All that said, however, I felt a sense of joy when even though we couldn't implement the desired electrical element when the board game concept that we had created actually turned out to be engaging.

I also felt positive about collaborating with my group and using our different skillsets to the advantage of the project. I like designing things on the computer, so I dealt more with the creating of the board and rule sheet designs.

Evaluation.

The positives of the project, as mentioned earlier were the overall coming together and teamwork. The biggest positive would have to be the final game concept that we envisioned actually proving engaging to players.

The negatives, as mentioned, is the obvious one of our main electrical component not working as desired. But that's all a part of this early creative process. Learning to fail. And we definitely learned from it, so it was a valuable failure.

Analysis

I suppose the biggest lesson to learn from this is to identify the "marshmallow" at an early stage. As learned in the marshmallow challenge, it's essential to identify the unknown aspect of the project early on, as if left until later it can be too late and render the project incomplete. In this case, the spinner was the unknown and we left it until too late to ask for help Its simple appearance blinded us to the fact that we were unequipped with the knowledge to achieve our desired outcome with such a new concept. '

Conclusion

As mentioned, getting help for unknown elements in the early stages definitely would've helped improve our final result. We found out about the slip ring too late but had we gone down that route in the beginning it probably would've resulted in a working, functional boardgame.

Regardless, at the end of the day, we still enhanced our understanding of circuits, got creative with game dynamics and design, and created something that was enjoyed by our classmates. And, most importantly, learned how to improve on this next time.

Action Plan

Next time we'll be sure to identify the Marshmellow sooner and get the required support when there's still enough time to implement changes.

All in all, this was still a great introduction to the creative process. We learned a tonne and know how to improve so I'm excited to see what we do next time!

#ctec501

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botanyshitposts · 6 years

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hey i remember you saying that you took ap bio a while ago? and i just wanted to ask if you had any tips or resources for that class, because it's already march and my teacher still hasn't covered a lot of content and i really wanna learn about biology and do well on the test

and now for a post on

𝓋𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓁 𝒷𝒾𝑜𝓁𝑜𝑔𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁 𝓉𝑜𝓅𝒾𝒸𝓈

a lot of AP biology is just….repeating over and over again some very core stuff. this is the same stuff that, if u go to college for biology, you will hear over and over again in all your specialized classes so you can use that base knowledge to build off of. learning some of these things in AP bio in high school suddenly made me understand what the fuck i was reading about in random botany papers on the internet.

here is a list of some of these things that i can think of right off the top of my head, followed by a no-means-comprehensive brief description

-cellular respiration: 1. food bits enter the cell. 2. food bits go through some processing right outside the mitochondria. 3. Special, Refined Food Bits™ are invited into the mitochondria, where they are processed a little more before their electrons are ripped from them and shoved over like….u know those old timey flour mills powered by the big water wheel things?? the electrons are the water going over the big water wheel thing, the old timey mill is this one protein embedded in the inner wiggly parts of the mitochondria, and the flour is a chemical the rest of the organism can use as energy. so thats that on that

-photosynthesis: 1. there are a few kinds of photosynthesis that all argue over how one should get water into the actual photosynthesis chemical reaction. different kinds of plants sometimes use different kinds of photosynthesis. 2. it happens in chloroplasts, which are green because they can absorb red and blue light but can’t absorb green light and therefore reflect all that shit out and we see green. 3. there are a couple proteins that do the actual capturing of light (they don’t actually capture the light itself despite this wording you hear; the light just excites some electrons from water, and those get passed around. long story) that are cool as fuck that you should look at. 4. there are ‘light’ reactions and ‘dark’ reactions. light reactions turn sun energy into high-energy molecules, dark reactions are the plant taking those high-energy molecules and using them to turn CO2 into usable sugars it can send around the plant and digest when needed (by digesting them as the food bits mentioned in cellular respiration)

-the so-called ‘central dogma of biology’: this is super important. like every advanced biology class ive taken in college has drilled this with us. basically, it’s the process DNA takes to make itself into actual proteins that get expressed in an organism. the steps are:

1. start with DNA. DNA is replicated using the enzyme DNA polymerase. the process of DNA replication is called…well, DNA replication.

2. a little portion of relevant DNA is copied into a little strip of RNA, which is single stranded and can be safely moved out of the nucleus into the cell (this is because if u were to actually export the raw ass DNA into the cell, if something fucked it up it would literally fuck up the entire DNA strand and that would be really, really bad). it does this using the enzyme RNA polymerase. this process is called transcription (as in like, you transcribe something you hear someone say by copying it down. this sounds obvious but its really easy to get this step and the next step mixed up)

3. after the RNA gets processed into mRNA (which is just an edited version with extra shit on the ends to keep it from getting nerfed upon contact with the outside world), it gets exported into the cell and imported into an organelle called a Ribosome, which reads the mRNA and attaches amino acids to a chain of amino acids in the order that it the mRNA says to (this is one of those things that seems like…impossible for something to do just with chemistry, but once u learn about it ur like ‘ooohhh thats how it does that’). the ribosome then releases the chain once it hits a point on the mRNA strand that tells it that the chain is complete. once the chain of amino acids is like, out there floating around, it’s own chemistry (and sometimes other enzymes and stuff) causes it to fold into an actual protein, which can like…actually do stuff and things. this is process is called translation, as in, you translate something from one language to another.

-speaking of cells, cell stuff: 1. most cells go through cycles of life towards the goal of dividing from one cell into two cells. the process goes G1, S, G2, M (unless you’re a cell that isn’t supposed to divide once u reach maturity, like a neuron, in which case u exist in a state called G0). before one phase, the cell checks itself to make sure that everything is in place and ready to go to the next stage. if something is wrong in this checking process, it can be a physical manifestation of cancer, the uncontrolled and unregulated growth of cells. 2. the M phase- Mitosis- has a whole ass process all of it’s own that’s super important that i wont go into here. 3. the creation of genetically recombined cells (reproduction) undergoes the process of Meiosis (different from mitosis!!! idk why they named these so similarly!!!! oh my god!!!!). this is….kind of like mitosis, but most definitely not mitosis. do not let a question on a test fool u when it asks u if its the same thing. it’ wild process that i can 100% guarantee you’ll get tested on at some point in ur biological career and i want to let u know right off the bat that it took me learning this three (3) separate times in three (3) separate classes to actually understand it bc that shit is confusing as fuck so. just lettin u know right off the bat there 4. cells are full of smaller compartmentalized organ things called organelles that do stuff and things, the most important being the nucleus, which holds the DNA (unless it’s a bacteria. bacteria DO NOT have nuclei and their DNA literally just floats in there, whole ass out in a kind of….weird special region called the nucleoid. this is another thing that teachers love to ask on tests).

-evolution: 1. evolution is descent with modification. if a mouse gets its tail cut off, then has babies, the babies will still be born with tails, because evolution does not pass on acquired traits (this sounds super obvious but in the victorian era they literally, actually determined this by cutting off mouse tails and having them have babies bc everyone thought an offsprings’ resemblance to it’s parents came from ‘’’’’essences’’’’’ from every part of the parents’ bodies physically migrating to the reproductive organs to have offspring, which like……they were on the right track but that’s really, really not how that works lmao) 2. we have two copies of every chromosome so that if a gene in one copy is Fucked Up, the gene in the other copy can cover it so it doesn’t bother anything. genes in this context are called ‘alleles’. this leads to a system where alleles can be dominant or recessive, demonstrated by a capital letter (dominant = A) and a lowercase letter (recessive = a). note that a recessive allele doesnt necessarily translate to a Fucked Up allele, but that Fucked Up alleles in general, regardless of how they affect other alleles, are generally selected against. you can see how a Fucked Up dominant allele could be much be more destructive than a Fucked Up recessive allele, though; dominant alleles get passed on to offspring at a higher rate, and will ‘cover’ less fucked up alleles. it’s a mess in there man 3. a pair of two of the same kind of allele (two dominant or two recessive) are referred to as ‘homozygous’, while a dominant allele paired with a recessive allele are called ‘heterozygous’. 4. the genetic makeup of an offspring in regards to a single pair of alleles in it’s parents can be determined by something called a ‘punnet square’. behold:

this is referring to yellow-colored and green-colored beans. the Y dominant allele will cover the recessive green allele, showing the effects of the Y allele in the offspring. one parent his homozygous for recessive y alleles while the other parent is heterozygous. this means that half the offspring will turn out yellow while the other half will turn out green, because half of them will be heterozygous for Y while the other half will be homozygous for the recessive y if that makes sense (note: the ‘genotype’ of an organism is the state of it’s alleles, the ‘phenotype’ of an organism is what actually is expressed. so a bean pod with the Yy genotype and a bean pod with the YY genotype will both have a yellow phenotype). punnett squares can be kind of tricky to learn, but practice helps a lot once you get going.

this post is getting to be like 800 miles long so im gonna stop for the sanity of everyone reading this but other biology people of tungle feel free to add on more core biology concepts, i know im covering mostly molecular stuff here but there’s also like…population biology, anatomy, reproduction, basic biological diversity, and all that stuff that doesn’t deal with genes and cells and all that (which by the way isn’t for everyone; some people despise this part of biology, so anybody wondering if they should go into bio reading this post thinking ‘god oh no i hate this’ know this post swings heavily in the direction of the portion of bio i prefer lmao)

#IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LONG!!!!!!!!!!!#long post #not plonts #well i guess sort of but u kno. not entirely plants #asks #Anonymous

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philosophicalparadox · 5 years

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Demon Splicing and Why the Clones Failed.

This is more like a research paper than a fan theory, but hey, I had fun. I’ll try to improv some citations at the bottom, but I don’t guarantee that Tumblr will let me keep them there.

Now, this is a HUGE, MASSIVE, LONG-ASS POST, and once more it is ultra-sciencey; so if you have any confusions, questions, or want to just look the other way and just go “eh, magic” then that is totally okay. I don’t, and won’t, claim to be any kind of authority on these things; I just needed an excuse to open my computer again and I guess do some intense research into etymology (that would be the study of anything with an exoskeleton, basically. I promise it is very much relevant to this theory.).

Summary/TLDR: Demons need specific qualities in their hosts in order to suit themselves, ergo they modify their host’s bodies by using Mutually symbiotic viruses, akin to those of the Polydnaviridae ingroup which coexists within several genera of parasitoid wasps, to alter the human genome. What we explore here is how they do so. Also, because it is intrinsically connected, we will also be dipping our toes into why, exactly, the clones weren’t “suitable” in all instances, as well as how demons may or may not select their hosts. This circles back to my previous post discussing the Twin’s and Paternity, and specifically the topic of genetic expression, though you do not need to have seen or read that post to understand what I’m talking about here. Also discussed is the matter of genes that humans lack, but which would seem to find their way in during possession; the production of feathers, the formation of additional limbs, proteins, and such which are simply not within the power of any existing virus we know of to alter .

One thing must lead to another however, so before we get into the biological science, we need to get into the hypothetical, cosmological stuff that is quantum physics. Didn’t see that one coming, did ya?

Demons and DNA:

We know from that one elusive panel of chapter 44 ( I think...) that demons have genetics - they have genes, which implies that they have, at the very least, DNA. The question then is how, but more so where - where did those genes come from?. Demons don’t have physical bodies, right...? Why would they need DNA?

Because maybe some of them do possess actual, physical “bodies”, or at least cells, that preside in Gehenna.

The Demon Kings are quite likely to be an exception rather than a rule, considering they were the first demons to have come into existence, or at the very least the first demons to have ever attained bodies -- which is precisely how demonkind may have obtained DNA in the first place, via a phenomena called horizontal transference.

Now, I’m going to contradict, in a sense, my other post here, and tell you to forget what you were taught about viruses in high school. Virology is a complicated school of biology, and viruses are extremely simple, and yet extremely complex organisms. Now, viruses typically contain RNA which allows the virus to reproduce once it is injected into the cells of its host by combining viral RNA with eukaryotic (for the sake of simplicity) DNA.

However, there are strains of viruses that contain DNA, not RNA. No one is completely sure how these viruses evolved, but one theory would suggest that these dnaviruses “stole” part of their genetic material from the hosts they evolved with, incorporating pieces of lipids and proteins to turn their RNA into functional DNA; this process of one organism “stealing” DNA from another is called horizontal transference, and it is how bacteria and other asexually reproducing organisms maintain genetic diversity and “evolve”.

But, you ask, how the bloody hell does a Virus have DNA? How does it replicate?

When most people think of viruses, they think of mobile ones, pathogenic ones - but dnaviruses are not usually pathogenic, instead highjacking the excretory or reproductive systems of their hosts and using their reproductive cells to spread genealogically from parent to offspring. One well-studied example of this is the polydnavirus found in Ichneumon wasps, which are themselves parasitoid. They reproduce by injecting their eggs into the bodies of paralyzed caterpillars, who then feed the hatching larvae with it’s living tissues. However, one problem the wasp faces with this method of reproduction is the caterpillar’s immune system, which could kill the eggs - were it not for the polydnavirus, which produces chemical signals that prevent the caterpillar’s immune system from destroying the precious egg that is it’s host cell. As the larvae develops, the polydnavirus is replicated into the cells of the larvae, and once it hatches it is literally born with the virus in it’s body. (I’ll let you go wild with the half-demon thing there, I’m here to talk about possession right at the moment.)

Ok, ok, but what does this have to do with demons? after all, demon possession is, in a way, “contagious” since demons can go from host to host.

Welcome then, to the world of multi-viral mutual symbiosis - fancy way of saying viruses can work together to meet the ends of one another in a host if it benefits both viruses. Demons may possess some form of this event, being somehow sentient (by means perhaps of primitive, conductive cells not unlike what you would find in a jellyfish) but ultimately composed of or utilizing not only one, but several strains of viruses to fulfil their parasitic ends, one which allows them to infect the host and modify existing DNA, and one which can incorporate it’s own DNA into that of the host to bring about desirable conditions. To that, I must add as a courtesy that those primitive conductive cells which could, in a way, offer sentience, may in fact be what comprises the physical manifestations of demon’s hearts. None of this is, of course, to explain demon magic, which is a subject I do intend to breach one of these days - but not today. Today, we do science.

This goes away to explain why Todou sprouted feathers, a phenomena that would not have otherwise been biologically possible given the constraints of human protein structure. That isn’t to say that it would be impossible for a virus to modify via RNA transcription keratinoid proteins to form hollow attachments, which is exactly what you find in polar bears and porcupines, but the structure of feathers is, I’m afraid, just too far off the mammalian path for it to be but a 0.03% likelihood via RNA transcription alone, meaning that it would have to have been the result of DNA that isn’t human.

Speaking of statistical probabilities:

Cloning and the Failure Thereof

Humanity has a hollywood-induced idea that cloning organisms is a fail-less system, when that could not be further from the truth. In point of fact, only about 3% of all attempted cloning experiments with everything from fish to sheep produce viable, healthy clones. This is because cloning is done, kind of ironically, in much the same way as a virus operates; by using the DNA and RNA of the existing mother’s cell’s to complete the chromosomal pairing up that normally happens in the zygote during fertilization. Because of this, the RNA transcribes, ideally, the same exact DNA code that the “mother” has; but here again we get into genetic expression, because though a clone is genetically the same as it’s parent, it is exactly BECAUSE it is genetically identical that recessive (and often in the case of some experimental animals, fatal) traits and gene combinations can occur, depending on exactly how the original, zygotic DNA is copied. Even when using the RNA of the same organism, transcription errors naturally occur -- and they occur so frequently, in fact, that very few cloning attempts are ever successful; that is, they either produce genetically weak, fatal-combination, infertile, or underdeveloped offspring that ultimately can’t be re-cloned or which can not reproduce, and therefore negate the incentive to clone an organism for it’s “healthy genes”.

Connecting the dots:

When a demon is cloned, it’s human DNA is cloned; but so are the genetic modifications of the dnavirus, which is why clones seem to have human superpowers. They are no loner 100% genetically human, and that opens the door to all kinds of genetic complications and probably meant that thousands, not hundreds, of clones were “discarded”, and hundreds died before they even lived. Simply put, it’s an absolute bloody miracle that the cloning thing worked at all, much less that Lucifer was able to remotely perfect the technique.

How he did so is not so much a mystery though; unlike what you would assume, with mammals at least, the more often you re-clone a clone, the “cleaner” it’s genetic code seems to become by phenomena of natural selection and artificial selection; clones with good genes are re-cloned, clones exhibiting bad genes are culled or die on their own, and so on and so on until you get a good sized population of identical clones. With the added fuel of the elixir to make growth happen phenomenally fast, it’s not too surprising that he has a private stock of cloned bodies to inhabit whenever he likes. (Which gave me big Orochimaru vibes, just sayin’).

As for the RNA virus body, I suspect that is retained with the demon at all times, which makes sense because once and RNA virus stops replicating it’s RNA into the host, the host cells re-fix the “broken” codes and eventually replaces the alien DNA created by the virus with it’s own; however, a dnavirus’ DNA gets worked semi-permanently into the system of it’s host, since it has it’s own completed code which is then, reversedly, transcribed over and over by the host’s RNA transcription, which is why dnaviruses went undetected by science until about 20 years ago, and why, God forbid, if there was ever a pathogenic dnavirus, we would all be royally screwed because even the best immune system on earth can’t detect a dnavirus because our immune systems rely on identification markers dependent on RNA viruses; oddly, however, so does every other organism, meaning there literally is not a single living thing, including caterpillars and spiders who are victims directly of “pathogenic” polydnaviruses, has an immune system that could find the damn things. They utilize the host’s own RNA to transcribe their DNA, and therefore go almost completely undetected by whatever they infect.

Speaking of which, let’s talk about:

Immunity and Prions

If Demons rely on RNA viruses to primarily infect their host, then it would make sense why some people would be more resistant than others; however, there is a compelling aspect of demon possession which makes me think that it is the other way around - everyone is resistant, until they are not.

Demons typically possess bodies which have weak-minded and psychologically stressed individuals behind them. Stress weakens the immune system, but it does so in specific ways; and certain viruses in real life are programmed to take advantage of these specific measures more than others.

Right now in the US, there is a nasty epidemic of CWD, Chronic Wasting Disease, spreading through native deer populations on the east coast. This “zombie disease” is a virus that infects the nervous system of the deer (along with cattle and sheep) and forms prions - folded proteins that are then replicated, and replicated, and replicated; and like cancer of the brain, they just keep on replicating and replicating, eating up the animal’s energy reserves and drastically impacting their behavior and bodily functions, starting by supressing and outright destroying their immune system. Mad Cow Disease is a more famous example of a prion disease in the same family as CWD, except that those prions migrate; they move into the soft tissues of the animal and make every single part of it impossible to eat without also contracting the prion, which contains the virus; and MCD is not remotely picky about it’s host, since it affects a very basic protein structure. Any and everything from birds to reptiles to humans can be infected by MCD and it is completely fatal.

My point is, that CWD and MCD both primarily infect animals exhibiting high levels of stress hormones, which is why outbreaks happen primarily during the breeding seasons for these animals. Not only that, but the virus then directly attacks the animal’s immune systems and opens them up to every kind of secondary infection you can imagine.

However, prion diseases and even just plain old viruses can do the exact opposite as well. HIV is a common virus that kills you by making your immune system hyperresponsive, not by shutting it down; it becomes so responsive, in fact, that it attacks healthy tissues. Prion diseases which affect insects also do this, creating folded proteins in the nervous system of the bug that trigger it’s immune system to continuously flood the body with antibodies until it is just too exhausted to do so, and the insect’s body decays as a result of secondary infection.

It could be that this is the case of demons as well. Prions would be valuable in affecting the behavior of the host, though not necessary; they would, however, make the ingestion of a possessed person almost guaranteed to infect you, since most viruses just don’t have the defenses on their own to tackle stomach acid, but a prion virus does.

To recap:

Demons use DNA and RNA viruses to infect and modify their host to their liking, perhaps using the assistance of prions to aid in endurance and transmissibility. Because of this, cloning is a gamble of “what DNA will I pull out of the box today” since the DNA virus’ DNA, and possibly even any prions, is left behind even after the parasitic demon leaves; however, the RNA virus is inert once it leaves a host body, and therefore is retained by the demon within whatever primitive cells they may carry in their demon hearts, which may be taken from some immutable “form” or body that they possess on the other side of the divide (in Gehenna); these alien forms may be the byproduct of their first ever possession, using, perhaps, horizontal transference to absorb some of the DNA from their first (and possibly even subsequent) host and then re-incorporate it into subsequent hosts, which is how Amaimon would be reptilian in spite of having a mammal body; because he perhaps, first possessed or found genetic favor of a reptile of some kind and “borrowed” the DNA from them via horizontal transference, since it worked for him. This can then be applied in turn to all other demons, or at least demon kings.

DISCLAIMER:

I spent literally a week researching this stuff, but I am welcome to criticism of my shoddy work. Also, I am in no way saying this is technically right; it’s just a theory after all, and you’re more than welcome to disagree. :)

If anyone wants to add on, feel free. :) I think I’m done for the week.

#blue exorcist #Ao no Exorcist #fan theory #sorry for the long post #I don't claim to be an expert #hopefully tumblr lets me have those citations #if they don't show up I'm sorry #I tried

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the-uptake · 5 years

Text

The Uptake, The world was beginning to fluoresce into wounds. 0|0|1|-, Prologue. It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

It only stopped raining an hour ago. A handful of select CERCLIS staff, many of whom had half-stripped out of their neon yellow hazmat suits, lined up behind their leadership, awaiting further instruction in the intersection of a Level 0 street halted by media equipment, portable construction lights, and vehicles. One of the employees had not removed his suit, with unusual violet straps taping together every major seam, and more noticeably the hood he kept drawn was missing a visor shield altogether. He fidgeted in place. Galen had been requested to accompany Bensington today, but the one-eyed metahuman hadn’t expected his day off to go anything like this. There would be a billion Web eyes on him and he loathed the very idea of it.

Somehow, when the boom mic and reporter approached Bensington, and not him, it only unnerved him further. The heavyset Indian woman had removed her hood, and she checked the integrity of her snood-bun, while a makeup artist scrutinized the lavender eyeshadow which streaked uniformly from her orbits out to her temples. The camera lead gave her the green light, and they began.

“We’re speaking today with Yvpraksya Bensington, the regional executive for the Northeast and New England branches of the EPA.”

“Thank you, Alex. As many of you have come to know in the past few months,” Bensington announced, shoulders square but calm, “Tri-City’s foundations are slurrying. Seventy years or more of illicit disposal of industrial chemicals has resulted in the pollutants supersaturating the soil of Level 0. Investigations punctuate that the dumping evidence runs rampant throughout all levels which fall below city limits.”

“Miss Bensington, you said the foundations are slurrying. Does that mean you believe that Tri-City will get shorter?”

"The EPA has already launched remediation efforts to prevent it. We want to keep Level 24′s Mile High Club mile-high, don’t we?” She paused to smile at her own whimsy. “Since April, we’ve surveyed the extent of the damages wrought by improper disposal of these poisonous, highly reactive chemicals, in particular Wolfrin--ironically, the organochlorine responsible for much of fusion cities’ capacity for upward sprawl. Construction companies are estimated to be at fault for a majority of the chemical presence in the soil. We’re doing what we can to slow the chemical reactions with other wastes present in the Stalkers’ Quarter’s stalking yards.”

“The stalking yards are the city’s largest concentration of landfill plots. What does the sustained presence of the EPA in Levels 0 to 3 mean for the city?”

“Not to worry. E-cycling will not halt during this crisis. There is no threat to human life, so long as appropriate caution is taken. Our remediation efforts for this Super Fund will not impact city life, though it is strongly advised that citizens not sight-see the disaster and respect quarantine lines. The Agency can and will defend the quarantine by force. These chemicals are highly dangerous, and we can’t have trespassers distracting our cleanup efforts.”

“What is the EPA doing to, well, remediate?”

“We are isolating the contaminated soil, as well as separating solid from semi-solid and liquid wastes. Several sites have required the excavation of buried drums of waste. We’re neutralizing a majority of the waste on site. Cleanup requires extensive equipment and labor. In addition to the dozens of engineers and environmental technicians we have at our employ, we also have a specialist on site.”

“Miss Bensington, is that the specialist there, behind you?”

When the crowd of reporters clamored, Galen flinched to stand straighter, but he couldn’t help but turn his face from the camera lens. Bensington glowered at the reporter for putting so much focus on someone besides herself unrehearsed, and they pulled back to her. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms.

“--We have the finest on hand for this monumental undertaking. Our methods may prove a bit unorthodox, but the potential for catastrophe demands it. You can put your trust in the EPA to control and backpedal any damages irresponsible dumping may have done to this illustrious city. And I promise this city: I’ll get to the bottom of this myself, and locate as many perpetrators as I can. Good day.”

Bensington shooed the media cameras with an angry fat lip, and she pulled Galen along with her by the arm.

“Forgive them,” she started, walking briskly enough that he struggled to match her gait. “They’re scrabbling for any mote of interest. You stood out because you’re comfortable in your suiting.”

“S’the only clothes that really work anymore, Miz Benz. Y’know that--”

They stepped into an alleyway, so the leaden-pale ghoul could bestill himself.

“I apologize that you had to spend your day off this week doing something so... uncomfortable. I know you’ve never been too sociable. I appreciate you attending with me. I wanted my best represented.”

His immediate compulsion was to deflect the compliment, but he caught himself and replied with a self-conscious smile which she mirrored with a genuine one.

“I know there’s more going on with you than simple stage fright. I’ve had the impression that you’ve adjusted pretty well to your position with us. We’ve outfitted you with clothing tailored to your unique physiology, scheduled you according to your limitations, and arranged housing for you on Level 8. Be honest with me, Galen. Do we need to further adjust your accommodations? Just say the word and it’s yours.”

“I... i, i, it’s not just the things y’done for me. Y’already do so much.” He gnashed his teeth a spell, not making eye contact. “Y’said e-cyclin’s gonna continue unhindered. The EPA hasn’t shut down more than three yards at once, t’my knowledge. An’ you’n me both knows just how dangerous Wolfrin is. But... what I, I--” He flinched and flared his nostrils at himself, “tryin’ t’say is... the stulkers not been evacuated yet.”

Warmth filled her face while she formed a response.

“The Stalkers’ Quarter is one of Tri-City’s largest landfills. CTMHW prevents any fusion city from outsourcing disposal to nearby cities. And Tri-City accepts wastes from adjacent non-fusion cities. We can’t halt waste procedures in the entire metropolitan area just because this one landfill sector’s soil is leaching.”

Galen could feel a flush cross his face, and he backpedaled to a previous topic.

“...Forget me mentionin’ it. Th, there is the one thing y’could do for me, since y’mention it. Y’got me set up with a serial an’ a cred account an’ all that... but besides buyin’ my own groceries, dunno how ta be a Leveler. Used t’read a ton before all this happened. Told that ta the Fultonites an’ they brought me a reader. Y’can pro’lly guess ‘bout how long that lasted. Used t’read physical copies, back before all this. Lotta the books, I, I fished outta the yards myself. Sides that, Pretty much lived in the school library back when I, I-- was still goin’. Hopin’ maybe... maybe you’d get me a library card? For Central? Always wanted t’be able t’borrow somethin’ from Central.”

“You need enrichment. Entertainment. Of course. And you’re worried your habituations would risk any technology that came into your possession. Paper products aren’t among your nutritive sources, nor have I really noticed you crave it... If you’re confident you’ll be comfortable with a physical copy, then consider it done. I’ll call my contact at Central and have it arranged this afternoon.”

He hadn’t expected her to agree so readily, and his jaw slacked.

“Thanks, Miz Benz. Y’got no idea how much it means t’me.”

“Is there anything else? You’re doing so well with the Golbrook site. I’d love to honor your hard work with a little token of gratitude.”

His eye widened, and in one stunned motion he pushed his hood back to run his gloved hand over his slicked undercut.

“...Really, the library card’s huge. But if y’willin’ to negotiate the rules... Maybe ya’d lemme keep another... say, five pounds a copper? Been distractin’ myself in my apartment with lots a art. Gettin’ pretty good at it, to be fair.”

Bensington chuckled, relishing the notion he had begun purposing his sweat toward learning how to sculpt with it.

“You’re currently allotted a hundred pounds, correct? One-oh-five doesn’t seem unreasonable. That’s fine. I’ll notify the CERCLIS supervisor you’re working with this week.”

“Really, gosh, you’re the best. If a body’d told me workin’ for the city’d be anything as gracious as this, would’a been with it from the start!”

“I’m a rare employer, and you’re an even rarer employee. You wouldn’t find a better job arrangement than you have with the EPA.”

“--With you. I’ve. I. I got trouble talkin’ with the sup’s y’got me under. Nothin’ ‘gainst ‘em but... you. You listen. Really listen. Y’get it. Get me.”

She glanced to her reader, then returned it to her pocket.

“Well, right now, if that’s all we needed to discuss, what I’ve got is an appointment I have to be getting to. If you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to communicate with me, all right? You’ll be transferring to your next site by next week. I’ll speak with you again when I liaison for you.”

“Hope it goes smooth,” he thanked sheepishly.

“As do I, your week.” She patted him on the shoulder, and started back to the media circus. “Enjoy the library. I’ll ping you when your account’s live.”

He waved her off, smiling strangely to himself, then excused himself as well. He passed the cred-chip embedded in the wrist of his left glove over the payment node when he loaded into the public lift back up to Level 3, and got more comfortable in the back corner of the car by rolling his coat down to his waist, affixing it with a reflective belt-and-brace harness he produced from an inner pocket. Beneath his gear, he wore a taut high-collar black compression top. He kept on his long black waxed leather work gloves. With a snuffle of the air, he snorted in nuisance that he could smell the product in his hair.

The EPA dress code regulation hadn’t required that he cut his hair, but they had insisted that he style the long part such that the undercut didn’t hang in his face.

As he switched off from the lift to a bus, he resolved to buy a tube of hair gel just to satisfy the desire to suck it out of his locks. He softened at the idea of deviating from his typical shopping list, and busied his mind enumerating all ilk of his comfort foods. By the time he let off at Level 8, he was whistling to himself.

“Miz Benz was right. Should treat myself. Gonna get the good weight oil today.”

#biopunk #cyberpunk #dystopia #toxic waste #hazmat #the uptake #galen miner #yvpraksya bensington #the world was beginning to fluoresce into wounds #oh oh one blank #001-#001

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sylleboi · 5 years

Text

𝕽𝖔𝖙𝖔𝖘𝖈𝖔𝖕𝖎𝖓𝖌 | 14/10/19

The task we were given was summarised as follows:

Choose from a selection of Muybridge’s motion studies to use as a reference.

Create a tonal trace (not silhouette) using a fine liner.

Number all of the drawings working from left to right.

Make textures and tonal value through referencing.

The challenge:

The challenge is to produce your own set of roto-scoped sequences that capture physical movement or motion. The aim is to create a series of looping animations each of which must be at least 12 frames long.

Why are we doing this? Well from this, we are going to develop a better fundamental understanding of how different kinds of animation is created, and how each process works. At the same time, we also get an understanding of all the terms used when talking about animation as an artist and observer.

With all of this listed, it was time to begin testing it out for ourselves, following each step of the task list.

So first, we chose from a selection of different printed out motion studies done bt Eadward Muybridge to reference from. I chose a study of a draft horse walking because I already have a good understanding of the anatomy of horses from working with them in the past and drawing them for years. I wanted to go a little easy with myself since it’s my first attempt to ever try out the process of working.

With the reference selected and printed out on a piece of A3 paper, it was time to start the drawing part. So I taped a piece of A3 tracing paper on top of the reference image and began lining out the basic shape and form of the animal as such:

At this point, I wasn't yet sure how I was going to tackle shading, tonal value and adding texture to each frame, but I decided to keep focusing on the most important part of the general exercise; getting the shape right and keeping it as consistent as possible to hopefully avoid chattering.

Once I had finished all of this, it was time to add some depth to it with the use of shadows. At this point, I had decided that I wanted to keep it relatively simple and clean, meaning I scratched the idea of using cross-hatching which I initially was going to do. Instead, I chose to use a method of creating small vertical lines throughout each frame, careful not to change the direction of these lines. I was very happy with how it began to turn out from the very beginning, but I quickly ran into the problem I predicted that I would have to deal with. The images are from over a hundred years ago, meaning that they aren’t very clear to read. But like I mentioned earlier, I have a decent understanding of the anatomy of the horse, so I was able to guess where most the shading and lines had to go to read correctly when played back.

Eventually, I found myself relieved to finally reach the last frame of shading as my hand was slowly giving out on me with cramps. (I’m not the biggest fan or line art, and that surely shows through my low stamina when doing it. This told me that I definitely need to work on it more, which was another good thing that I learned by doing this practice.)

Now with the inking finished, it was time to scan it. I proceeded by scanning it and printing it out to be A4, then scanning the A4 version in and hereby proceeding to the next step; clean up.

As you might be able to see on this scan, even though I have adjusted the layers, there are a lot of little smudges from the ink in each frame, so I took the eraser tool in Photoshop and removed all of that carefully. When this was done, I could finally begin the animation part of the process.

Using the tools on Photoshop I started copying a selection of each frame in order and on separate layers onto a separate canvas. After that was done, I began lining each frame up as best as I could to best avoid chattering in the animation. With each frame put together in numbered order in the timeline tool, this is the final product:

I think I was quite successful in creating a smooth and mostly seamless sequence of frames. The final amount of frames are 24. Looking at it for a while, I can definitely point out a few things I could change to improve it (such as fixing the ears of the horse), but despite that, I’m still very happy with my first attempt.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖔𝖓:

05/11/19

So I decided to ask a friend and classmate of mine to send me his gif from the same workshop, simply because he used the same reference as I did that day for his rotoscope.

As you can see, they are indeed the same, but they have completely different feels to them. Where mine performs well in the sense of it being compact, clean and simple; as well as consistent, my friends’ has minor chattering, dirt or little “particles” floating about, inconsistent shading; it still works really well. I feel like his has way more personality to it compared to my own, which is definitely something I as an artist lean towards when looking at art. It’s imperfections make it perfect in some individual way. When you look at it, you don’t doubt for a second that it’s handmade. Because of the imperfections, it almost seems to represent the original reference even more. It has that vintage feel to it; it chatters and has dust particles and little imperfections just like video from the old cameras from the late 1800s and early 1900s.

Credit goes to: Matt

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abzzz3 · 6 years

Text

Let Me Prove You Wrong (Part 7)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Small amounts of swearing

Word Count: 1,492

Summary: The reader and Loki have to go and collect a very rare book in Bulgaria.

_____________________________________

“Don’t cock this up (Y/N), we need this” Tony reminded you for the hundredth time as you pulled on your blazer and got into the Quinjet.

“Tony, it’s fine. I’ve heard this all morning, I’m pretty sure I know how important this is.” You replied, rolling your eyes and putting your harness on as they turned on the Quinjet.

“I know, but you’ve got a plus one who hasn’t spoken to the outside world in a while” He added

Suddenly you saw Loki walk out and onto the jet, sitting across from you with a smile on his face. You shot Tony a dirty look and he just raised his hands and backed away, as the doors all closed and you took off, into the sky. You looked over at Loki, smiling back at him but suddenly tense and noticing that your heartrate had suddenly increased.

“Hi, long time no see” Loki greeted

“Yeah, I’ve been really busy as you can see” You replied, you never got to do work that involved being out of the office so when you did you welcomed it

It had taken the last month but you had finally found where a specific book was being kept and your office needed it badly, even just until you could copy down and study it back to front. This book could accelerate your work more than you could imagine, so much so that you’d be able to write multiple papers on the subject.

“So where are we going?” Loki asked, getting comfortable

“We’re heading to Bulgaria where we are hoping to at least borrow a thousand year old, first edition book which will help us learn more about a specific source of power the early Norse people believed in” You explained “Why are you here anyway?”

“Stark is finally letting me go on missions but he’s still starting me off with the more mundane things. You know you can come to Thor and I about anything Norse” He explained

“Yes, but we need it all in writing to have physical writings about it and references to it. Besides going for the actual material it’s self it what we do, nothing less is good enough for some people I’ve worked with” You explained

You nodded and proceeded to go through your briefcase to ensure you had everything you needed, including a cheque book, contract, notes, pens and anything else that might be of need, including an easily concealable gun for some reason. Jesus Christ Stark, you thought to yourself, shaking your head and closing it all up again. He was always expecting the absolute worst of every scenario, when in actual fact it was probably a frail old man who loves his ancient history and folklore that had this book.

You suddenly saw what Loki was wearing and it probably wasn’t the best choice of outfit for this venture. He was wearing a pair of suit pants, collared shirt and leather jacket and all in all he didn’t look too bad, you even caught yourself biting your lip as you looked him up and down. For today’s work though it was a bit too rough so you unbuckled your harness and stood up to reach into one of the overhead compartments which usually held some spare changes of clothes. You reached in and pulled out a plain knit sweater before throwing it at Loki without looking.

“Switch the leather out for this, we don’t want to scare the poor man” You commented, secretly not wanting him to take the jacket off. It seemed to be somewhat of a turn on for you which surprised you a little.

“But you don’t mind it” Loki replied, cheekily

This caused you to blush and hide your face from his view as you closed the compartment up.

“Well it’s definitely not a bad look” You admitted, not able to look at him as you spoke

You heard him chuckle and cursed yourself for being so attracted to him, even though things always felt comfortable with him. At least they used to, before you starting hiding from him. The rest of the flight was in silence as you continued working on your laptop which was communicating with the office at the Avengers facility. You arrived in Bulgaria and were driven to the address you had been provided, being greeted by a grand building which looked as though it was both the home of Mr Aleksandur Dobrev and a public viewing gallery of old works. You both walked inside, the bell on the door notifying those that could hear that you had just entered. In front of and around you was collections of old books, tapestries, paintings and sculptures. All of which were Bulgarian, with a select few other cultures scattered around the place.

From behind a curtain, out walked a plump old lady with strands of hair falling out of her crocheted hairnet which sat high up on her head. She looked a little out of breath but still very composed and by her posture it seemed as though she was the person to speak to if you had any questions.

“Zdraveĭte, kak moga da vi pomogna?” She asked in Bulgarian

You cleared your throat and spoke slowly so as not to botch up what you were trying to say “Zdraveĭte, imam sreshta s Aleksandŭr Dobrev. Az sŭm (Y/N) (Y/L/N)” You tried to say, asking for Mr Dobrev

She looked you both up and down before nodding and scurrying back behind the large curtain and obviously down a hall somewhere to collect the man. You looked over your shoulder at Loki and just shrugged before heading over to look at the old books that were on display. They were all in glass display cabinets and in surprisingly good condition for how old they looked, but you were looking for a specific book.

“Miss (Y/L/N), it is wonderful to meet you at last”

You looked up and saw a middle aged man walking towards you, cheerily. He was considerably younger than you had expected and it did catch you off guard as from your research this man should be about to turn 87.

“Mr Dobrev?” You asked, cautiously and he nodded, taking your hand and shaking it gently

“By the look on your face I believe you were expecting my father, also Aleksandur Dobrev” He said, voicing my curiosity

You nodded chuckling a little, shaking his hand

“It would seem so, either way it is lovely to meet you too. This is my colleague Loki” You introduced Loki and the pair shook hands, locking eyes for a brief moment before releasing their grips

“Loki? Like the Norse God?” Aleksandur asked and you held your breath, waiting for Loki’s reply

“Yes, my parents were very into their folklore and legends. They are who gave me my love for the legends” Loki confirmed and you let out a silent breath, grateful he didn’t decide to voice that he was the one and only Loki that all the stories were about.

The pleasantries continued as you were both guided by Aleksandur to a back room which was much smaller but it’s contents was much more valuable. Inside were books you had only heard about, and spoke of things you had never heard of before or ever seen in such detail. You were lost of words and couldn’t help but just look around the room in awe.

“Here is the book we have been talking about together” Aleksandur announced, snapping you out of your haze and you looked over to where he was standing in front of the very book you were looking for.

“It’s amazing, and in such good condition” You commented, going and standing in front of it “How much?” You asked, eager to take it with you and study every word of it

“More than you have. My father spent his life building up this collection, this book specifically” Aleksandur said and your heart sunk

“There must be something we can give you, even just to study it for a period of time and return it” You pushed, there was no way you were going to have come out here for nothing

“Well you could do this one favor for me and I will let you hold onto it for one month” He hesitated, looking over at you

“What is it?” You offered

“It’s quite trivial . . .” Aleksandur evaded but there was no way I was leaving here without this book

“There is this secret society who have invited me to an initiation test but it’s frowned upon if you show up without a partner. I just need a date for the night and it will cement my placement within them” He explained

That was it? This grown ass man needed a date to prove he was worthy to hang with the cool kids?

“It’s a deal” You agreed, what’s the worst that could happen?

________________________________________

@staringmoony @thricethechrises @marvel-fan-queen @fire-in-her-veinz @lokilvrr @arielletheavenger

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