#THIS IS JUST A MESSY SKETCH I swear his final design won’t look like this

[bananahkim]

I made another oc!! He’s a demon who’s supposed to be very intimidating, instead he’s easily intimidated by people.

[babyspiderling]

Under the Lights  Daveed Diggs x reader

Before I even paste this into Tumblr, I want you all to know that this took me two days of constant writing, and FOUR pages on google docs. I know that the second I hit paste, it’s going to be like one page. Anyways, here’s Daveed x reader.

2010

“Hey, Y/N, I brought you muffins!” A woman with a mouth full of pins, her hair up in a messy bun, measuring tape sloppily tied around her neck, and a pincushion on her wrist, exited a space separated from the rest of the apartment by a thin curtain. Seeing her best friend and roommate enter with goodies, a bright grin fluttered onto her face. “Wanna see what I did while you were gone?” He nodded and followed her to her half of the work room. On a mannequin, a beautiful dress was fleshed out much more than it had been when Lin had left this morning. It had been nothing more than a sketch on paper for the Newsies show. As a major in history with a minor in design, Y/N was accepted by Disney to create the costumes. It didn’t hurt that The Lin Manuel Miranda of In the Heights fame was on her list of references. She had decided to start with Medda’s dress first. Medda was a personal favorite of hers and was excited to do her own spin on it. A deep purple sash had been half pinned under the bodice and sadly hung from its haphazard placement. “The sash would look better if you hadn’t distracted me with food dork.” He smiled and pressed the folded paper bag into her hand. “Alright. I’m going to finish this for Alan. It’s a miracle I have this job. I’m not screwing it up. I also meant to tell you that one of my guys are going to be here tomorrow for a measure and design session. Sweet kid. Amazing dancer.” Lin grinned teasingly as he set his laptop down on his desk. “Am I getting replaced? Is he going to be your new roommate and best friend?” Y/N stuck out her tongue at her best friend and continued her work. The sounds of humming and a machine whirring mixed in with the excited clacking of keys to make a strangely beautiful symphony. 

2013

“Y/N! I need your help!” In the tiny apartment in the upper east side, an over-caffeinated Wesleyan Alumni burst through the front door, a paper bag of bagels clutched tightly. At the yells, another Alumni ran from her section of the apartment.  “Lin! What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He thrusts the bag into her searching hands, and lets out another shriek. “Y/N! I’m fine! They want to put The Hamilton Mixtape through a workshop! And if we get this right, they’ll move us to a real show!” Shoving his shoulders, she muffled her screams behind pinched lips. “Lin, you can not go scaring me like that! I’m going to get gray hairs before we even get to the off Broadway! What do you need my help with?” He pulled her onto the ratty couch they had in the little space. “I need a costumer. You’re the best in the business. Not to mention I’ll be with you all the time, so there’s no chance of miscommunications!” Standing from her forced seat, she cradled Lin’s head in her hands. She saw the excitement glimmer in his eyes and softened. “Lin, of course I’ll help you, I am a history major after all. Who else could make it historically accurate while still being functional? Thank you for even considering me, and for the bagels.” She pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. Giving a crooked smile, she pointed a finger in his face. “If you ever scare me like that, I swear I will never cook or bake for you again.” He smiled sheepishly and shrugged in apology. “Sorry, but hey, you’re my costumer now!” She smiled and bumped her hip with his. She dug through her pads of paper and snatched her laptop off the charger. “Alright. Give me your tracks and I’ll get started.” 

July 27th, 2013

“Alright, I’m here. Sorry I’m late, I got halfway down the block before I figured out I left my notes on the desk. Who do we have here?” Three men held my attention, understandable since they were the main cast. I recognized Brian D’arcy James from other productions, there was another man with big hair and bright eyes, and finally my eyes fell on Christopher. I smiled at him and gave him a quick hug. “Oh my God! What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in so long! How’ve you been.” He chuckled and pulled me in again. “I’m good. I was missing our Vanessa for a while, but you’re working with us now so I won’t have to miss you anymore! Lin told me about the project and I couldn’t turn it down.” He turned me to the stranger at the clearing of a throat. “Oh, this is Daveed. He’s playing Thomas Jefferson and Lafayette. He raps.” I looked at him up and down, remembering the songs Lin had written for him. I cocked my head, and he looked at me with nervous eyes. “This will work. This is going to work great actually.” I saw his shoulders relax and sag with relief as I walked back to the table set up for the behind the scenes people. I gripped my pen in my hand, ready to jot down every little thought that passed through my mind for the time of the workshop. 

After hours and hours of rehearsals and run throughs, I’d filled up a notebook and a half for costumes for the characters. This time around Lin wanted his cast flexible. Those whose characters were not in the second act were recast as another role, so I had to figure out how to do quick changes not only for the nine main cast members, but for the entire ensemble. As Lin and I packed up our things to head home, the man with the beautiful eyes stopped me. “Hey, Vanessa, right?” I heard Lin and Christopher snicker somewhere behind me and I shot them a look. “Actually, it’s Y/N.” His eyes widened in embarrassment and his hand lifted to rub the back of his neck. “Sorry, I just thought it was Vanessa since that’s what Christopher called you.” I shook my head and smiled. “Oh, no. That’s just a little joke between us. I was the demo Vanessa when Lin was trying to sell In the Heights. I’m the reason why Vanessa never speaks Spanish. I took French all through high school and college.” He nodded and rocked back and forth on his heels. “I’ve got some questions about costumes and everything you do. Could I have your number to keep in contact?” I nodded and pulled out my phone, switching it with his and I plugged in my contact information. “Alright. I’m headed home, but I’ll make a schedule for measuring and design sessions. I’ll see you tomorrow?” He nodded enthusiastically, making his hair bob with his movements. I waved goodnight and followed Lin out of the building. 

“So, Daveed.” I looked up from my buzzing phone to Lin out of the corner of my eye, giving him an eyebrow. “What about Daveed?” He shrugged and wore a small smile. “You texting him?” I put my phone down to look at him headlong. “And if I am?” Once again he shrugged and got up to grab a snack. “Nothing, just remember your worth.” I shake my head good naturally. “Alright Dad. Now, I’ve got to sketch out what my brain was screaming during the workshop. And how to create every outfit as a quick change. Thanks loser.” 

July 15th, 2015

“Alright everyone! We’ve practiced these changes for weeks! Remember your number, remember your cue. You all have been a wonder to work with and to create for. I love you all and break a leg!” Everyone is dressed in white for the opening number, and I am proud of my work. “Oh, and Daveed;” Daveed looks up at me, a strange look in his eyes. “Yes, Y/N?” I looked him in the eyes, stoic and serious. “If you rip your pants during Guns and Ships again, you will repay me by organizing the scrap bin.” He swallowed visibly and nodded his head. I smiled once again and put my hand out for a group theatre circle. “Break a leg!” Everyone scurried to their cue spot in their costumes and Lin hugged me from behind. “Thank you for doing this for me. I never would be able to have costumes this good if it weren’t for you.” I turned in his arms and smiled. “I’m glad I did too Lin. Now go, they’re calling your name.” I listened from my side of the stage, getting everything in order for the main cast. I pulled Daveeds coat off quickly and held out his blue one for him to slide on. “Hey, Y/N, maybe after the show we can-“ “Diggs! Get to your cue!” I smiled and nudged him. “Go. Talk to me after the show.” He gave a quick kiss to my cheek and went to do his thing on stage. As I pinned the rose to Renée’s dress, her sweet voice teased at me. “You do know that he loves you too, right?” I know what she’s talking about, but I pretend to play dumb. “Who loves me? Nevermind, neither of us have the time for this. Go kick ass out there.” She scrunched her eyebrows at me and pointed her finger to say “This isn’t over.” 

The first act went by in a flash, costume changes and character changes took up all of my time. After I had hung up every dress, every coat, every pair of trousers and corset, Daveed had changed and packed up all of his things. I had just finished mending the lace cuff on his magenta sleeve when he had walked in. He wore a sleeveless Oakland jersey with a matching hat pressed onto his freed hair. “Oh! Daveed! Perfect timing! I was just finishing up here. What was it that you were wanting to tell me?” At my question, it was like a switch had been flipped in him. He went from the cool and collected suave man who the fans fantasized over to a shy and awkward man who had run out of words. Self-doubt and insecurity filled my inner dialogue as I watched him shut down and clam up. I was filled with the fear and anxiety that he had come to ask me to stop staring, to stop caring. I let the silence carry on for a while longer until Anthony called for us to leave. “I, I should probably go, then. You were amazing tonight, not a single trip or stutter. I am so proud of you.” I swallowed down the tears making their way up my throat and gave him a watery smile. I grabbed my bag, and started to make a hurried exit until my wrist was caught by a large and calloused hand. “Wait, no. Y/N, I wanted to know if you wanted to grab something to eat, go do something when we don’t have a show. You know, like maybe a date? Unless you don’t want to, then it’ll just be us as friends. I’d actually really appreciate it if you just forgot this whole ordeal and-” I smiled and blushed at his sweet ramblings. I stepped up onto my workbench and gripped his face in my hands. Taking a deep breath I leaned in and connected our lips, praying to every spiritual being in the heavens that they would allow him to kiss me back. I guess praying did me good because after getting over the shock of being interrupted, he kissed me back with the same fervour. Once more, we are called to leave the theater and we break apart, panting lightly with swollen lips and pink cheeks. He helped me down from my step and I lifted myself onto my toes to give a peck to his cheek. “Alright big guy, let’s go home. Lin’s either knowing of what we were doing, or he’s pacing in our living room, police on speed dial. And I would love to go on a date with you.”

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Parent Trap 2/? (Keanu x Reader)

Summary: Annie and Hallie are twin sisters who never met until they end up in the same summer camp together. They decide to switch places to see how the other lives. Hallie heads to Los Angeles to meet Keanu, owner of Arch Motorcycle Company, while Annie goes to New York to meet you, rising fashion designer. Their plan is simple: get their parents together to make the perfect family. If only it could be that easy…

Prologue | Chapter 1

Author’s notes: So we finally get to see a bit more about these clueless parents. Hope you enjoy it and feedback is always appreciated.

Wordcount: 2446

Warnings: none.

New York, August 2019

You checked your watch for the third time in the last ten minutes before glancing at the arrival board again. Hallie’s flight had landed twenty minutes ago, but the girl had yet to appear. You knew your niece was probably just waiting for her luggage, but you were anxious to see her.

Hallie had spent a month away at camp and you truly didn’t think you would miss the girl this much. As a matter of fact, you’ve always believed you would be that kind of parent that taught their kids how to be independent, have more autonomy. Raise them for the world, isn’t that the saying?

You weren’t expecting the emptiness associated with Hallie being away though. The apartment was so silent and lonely that you had to contain your urge to call the girl every night, see how the camp was going. You didn’t want to be one of those overbearing parents that smothered their kids.

So you waited for Hallie’s calls and texts, even if they started to become rarer and rarer as the month progressed. You knew that was probably a good sign. She was having too much fun to remember to check-in, but it still made you worry and stare at the phone, trying to will it to ring.

That was over now though. Hallie was finally back and you weren’t planning on letting her out of your sight. She still had another month of summer break before classes started and you planned to enjoy with her everything New York had to offer.

You rose to your tiptoes to get a better look at the new wave of people stepping through the doors. Finally, you caught sight of the familiar redhead and your lips tilted into a smile as you took a moment to just watch as your niece looked around.

Was it possible that Hallie seemed a little taller than the last time you saw her? Her jawline a little sharper? It had really been only a month? Felt like so much longer. The longest you ever had been away from her since you adopted Hallie.

It had been so hard. Especially with knowing that Annie was still out there. No matter what everyone else said, you knew in your heart that she was alive somewhere and every inch of you craved to search for Annie, but Hallie needed you too and you had been only twenty-five and all by yourself.  

You definitely didn’t regret it a second of it, though. Almost thirteen years later and look at Hallie: such an amazing, sweet kid. Maybe you managed to do this parenting thing well enough. Even if it meant you ended up making a few sacrifices in your career and romantic life. It was all worth for Hallie.

“Hallie!” you shouted and waved and the girl took a second to look your way, but her eyes lighted up as she saw you.

You didn’t know why she looked a little awed at seeing you, but before you had time to really think about it, she was rushing towards you, but stopping almost as if in hesitation.

“Welcome back, Hal!” you greeted, pulling her into a tight hug, which the girl returned.

“Thanks, m…,” Hallie paused, clearing her throat quickly. “Dave.”

You pulled back to look at her with a smile and a frown. Had Hallie been about to say what you thought she was going to? She had never called you mom and you never pushed her to do so, even if that was how you felt in your heart.

“I missed you, kiddo,” you said pushing away the thought, before bringing the girl back into your arms, inhaling the scent of her strawberry shampoo. You could swear you missed Hallie so much even her hug seemed a little different. Like you had forgotten how they felt like.

“Missed you too,” Hallie replied as she pulled back and looked up at you. Once again with that awed expression.

“Come on,” you said, picking her duffle bag while throwing an arm around her shoulders. “I wanna hear all about camp.”

In the taxi ride home, Hallie told you everything with such detail, her eyes shining bright and you couldn’t help but grin.

“It does sound you had a great time, sweetie,” you commented as the two of you stepped through the front door and you handed Hallie the keys. “Why don’t you go ahead? I wanna check the mailbox.”

Hallie just nodded and you waited until the girl had disappeared up the stairs to unlock the box and pull out three envelops. You grimaced at the words overdue on them, but shoved inside your jacket pocket, way from sight. The last thing you wanted was to worry Hallie. you would think about these bills later.

Once you arrived at your floor you couldn’t help but chuckle at the way Hallie was struggling against the old lock. Moving closer, you set the girl’s bag on the ground.

“What? Been away so long you forgot the trick?” you joked, taking the girl’s place in front of the door, jiggling the keys three times while turning it so you could unlock and push it open.

“Salem!” You called. “Look who’s here!”

You looked around at the familiar room, searching for the black cat Hallie had adopted, but he was nowhere in sight. Weird. He was always waiting for you two at the door unless there was a stranger around.

You glanced over at Hallie, hoping the girl wasn’t too disappointed at not seeing her cat. You knew how much she loved Salem.

“It’s fine,” Hallie shrugged, a strange smile on her face. “I probably just smell like camp and the airplane.”

She shouldered her duffel and headed to her room without another word. As soon as she was out of sight, Salem peeked his head from under the couch, meowing softly and you sighed, kneeling to caress the cat.

“Everyone’s weird tonight,” you whispered, before flopping on the couch and ordering a pizza before checking her emails.

Yet another magazine had politely refused to feature your designs on their fashion section and you had to take a deep breath to battle sadness and tears. It wasn’t exactly surprising because your latest collection was far from your best work but you had to get something out there, find a way to keep the business afloat or be forced to sell your brand and that was the last thing you wanted.

With another sigh, you set your phone aside and moved towards your room, surprised to find Hallie standing there browsing your old sketches, the ones that hung on your wall since forever but Hallie was looking at them as if it was the first time.

“Hal?” you called to catch her attention and the girl jumped startled, looking at you almost guiltily.

“Everything ok, honey?”

“Yeah,” Hallie replied a little too quickly as her eyes shifted to the framed picture of you and Mary that you kept on your bedside table.

You watched the way the girl gently ran her finger over her mother’s face in the picture almost as if a caress; as if she was seeing for the first time.

“You’re sure?” you asked and it was impossible to miss the way Hallie wiped her eyes before turning to look at you with a smile.

“Guess I was just homesick,” she replied, voice rough with emotion.

“You’re home now,” you said, gathering your kid in your arms. “Everything’s back to normal.”

---

Los Angeles, August 2019

Keanu knew he should be paying closer attention to the meeting unfolding in front of him. A company as big as Harley interested in funding Arch meant he and Gard could go from being a custom shop based in LA to actually start selling nationally, maybe even internationally. They would be able to expand their business, maybe even start to build some of the parts they still have to import from other companies. It was huge.

Still, Keanu’s attention wavered, his eyes shifting periodically to the clock, before he glanced down at his cellphone, willing it to ring. Annie should be arriving soon and all he wanted was to be there to greet his baby girl as soon as she stepped through the gates, but this last-minute meeting had made it impossible, so Karina had to pick her up.

“We’ll get in touch once we make our decision,” Gard announced, bringing Keanu back from his musings.

He stood up from his seat to shake hands with the two sharply dressed men in their fancy elegant suits. Even Gard had thrown on a dress shirt for this meeting, but it wasn’t enough to make Keanu feel all that bad for his t-shirt and, jeans and brown hiking boots. Suits weren’t really his style.

“Did you hear a word they said?” Gard asked with an amused smile playing in his lips and Keanu chuckled, running his fingers through his messy raven locks.

“Maybe two or three,” he admitted with a sheepish look. His friend and partner snorted and shook his head, walking out of the office.

“You’re supposed to be the businessman, Ke. I’m the mechanic, remember?”

“I know, I know,” Keanu sighed, following Gard to the shop where the prototype of their new bike was waiting. “It won’t happen again. It’s just…”

“Annie is coming home, I know,” Gard smiled and patted Keanu’s back, who grinned and nodded.

Keanu had always wanted to be a father, everyone knew that. Call him old fashioned, but along with Arch, having a wife and a kid had to be one of his biggest dreams and for a while, he thought he wouldn’t be able to have it because he still hadn’t found that person he wanted to spent the rest of his life with.

In his head, Keanu thought he would first find the woman of his life, that one person that completed him, then they would have their kids and live happily ever after. Cheesy? Yes, but it had been his picture-perfect idea.

Keanu had never imagined that Annie would be the one to complete him, make him the happiest man ever. His daughter was his everything and even if he still hoped to find that person to be his partner and share his life Keanu knew now he had almost everything he wanted. He was a happy man. Especially when he was with his bikes.

Running his fingers over the smooth metal of the motorcycle, Keanu glanced at the clock again. Annie should’ve arrived by now. Why hasn’t Karina called yet?

“Maybe the flight was delayed,” Gard offered and Keanu had to smile at how his friend knew exactly what he was thinking about. “Come on. Let’s test this baby. It’ll get your mind off things.”

With a sigh, Keanu nodded. Gard was right. No matter how much he wanted his daughter to get home, staring a the clock wouldn’t make her arrive any faster. He changed into his race gear and pushed the bike to track.

It was one of the reasons Keanu and Gard had chosen to build their store in Hawthorne instead of Los Angeles itself was to be able to add this small track so they could make their tests without prying eyes.

With another glance at the clock, Keanu put on his helmet and climbed on the bike, gloved hands tightening on the handles as he twisted the accelerator, the roaring of the engine bringing a grin to his face as he settled a little more comfortably on the seat.

“Ready?” Gard asked, his voice coming loud and clear from the speaker in the helmet. Keanu only hummed in agreement. “Alright. Go.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Keanu sped away, his mind going peacefully blank as the wind rushed through him and he became one with the bike. The machine easily responding to every little nudge and twist of his body. It was one of Gard’s greatest creations and at that moment Keanu knew they couldn’t merge with Harley. This was an Arch. This was theirs and no one else’s.

After a couple of rounds in the track, Keanu brought the bike back to the gate, meeting Gard’s expectant look as he pulled off his helmet.

“It’s perfect, man!” Keanu grinned, breathless from adrenaline and excitement. “I can’t wait to show this baby off in the next circuit!”

“Great!” Gard’s grin matched his, but there was so underlying relief too. He had been working on this bike for months now, tweaking it until it was just right. “We’re ready then.”

If possible, Keanu’s grin widened even more as he handed his helmet off and walked back inside the shop, freezing in place when he saw the girl peering at the bikes exposed. His heart raced and all of the sudden, that gaping hole he had been experiencing in his chest felt full again. It was always like that whenever he was away from Annie.

“Annie,” he spoke softly but the girl’s head snapped his way, her green eyes widening slightly as her lips twisted into a smile.

“Dad...” Her voice sounded almost hesitant and he thought he saw her eyes welling up, but it was for just a second before Keanu found himself wrapped into a tight hug.

Keanu grinned widely, kissing the top of her head, sighing in relief and from the corner of his eye, he saw Karina standing there, phone in her hand and smirk on her face. Gard right beside her. They knew. They planned this. Sneaky bastards!

 “Ke, you’re gonna smother the girl,” Karina joked moving closer.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, finally letting go of Annie and being able to properly take a look at his daughter, who was watching him with something close to wonder. “I like the new hair.”

“Oh. Thanks,” she said, touching the long bob she was spotting. When he dropped her off at camp, Annie’s hair felt to mid-back. He noticed her cheeks turning a little red and Keanu frowned.

“Everything ok, sweetie?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Annie hurried to say with a quick smile. “Just tired.”

“Well, you’re home now so you can rest as much as you want,” Keanu said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Annie looked up at him, once again with that hint of hesitation and wonder, before her gaze shifted to the bike being brought inside, curiosity shining through.

“Wanna take a look at the new arch?”

“Yes!” She flashed him a big, eager smile.

“Come on then,” Keanu said, guiding her closer excitement making him forget Annie never really cared for motorcycles before today.

xxx (tbc) xxx

Go to Chapter 3

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[rattycattyfanfic]

stroke by stroke

Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Regina/Emma, Alice/Robyn, Regina & Henry, Regina & Zelena Genre: Family/Fluff Rated: T Words: 2,255

Once upon a time, Regina paints.

5 times Regina struggles with her secret penchant for creativity + 1 time she finds her muse.

Read on AO3

this grew out of the plot in the regina rising book, where regina takes art classes for a bit. if you haven't read it, it's not crucial for this, just the inspiration. purely wrote this because art school has been kicking my butt recently and i must live everything through the cathartic distance of fictional characters. enjoy!

warnings: suggestions of childhood abuse, swearing, bit of brief alcohol use.

Once upon a time, Regina paints.

She’s not good, not by a long shot, but she loves it all the same. Loves to paint the horses, the tall, breathing trees and the horizon with its promise of freedom always just out of reach. The thick oils feel luxurious in an unfamiliar way, a far cry from the extravagance of corsets and jewels and feasts. They feel sumptuous, soulful, vibrant as she lays down rich colour, and she delights in it, escapes into the stables through her mind every time she picks up the paintbrush.

Her tutor, Jasper, is handsome and smiles when she masters a new technique or finishes a work, and Regina blushes all the way down to her toes. And therein lies the problem; because mother rarely allows her daughter the distraction of hobbies, let alone friends or boys not specifically approved by her, and she’s eagle-eyed looking for any excuse to put a stop to this. The excuse comes in the form of Jasper hovering at her shoulder, guiding her hand gently and his breath in her ear, and that’s that.

Jasper is ordered to leave, banned from the estate, and mother gets her digs in about Regina's poor painting skill, and the pressure to find an eligible prince to wed heats up. She no longer has time for frivolities between other lessons and dances and tea with suitors, so she gives it up.

When Henry is little, he’s a prolific little artist. He scribbles and scribbles as she works at her desk, and they’re the most beautiful thing Regina’s ever seen. She laughs and kisses his cheek as he proudly holds up his latest masterpiece, and gently takes it from him and puts it up on the fridge with the other favourites, cooing praise all the while.

She remembers, sometimes, well, we can’t all be good at everything, Regina, and feels her stomach twist in humiliation even years later, and promises herself this is another way she will never allow herself to be like her mother.

Seemingly chaotic spirals of waxy colour become slightly messy colouring book pages – delightfully disordered as Henry colours inside the lines as best he can but takes creative liberties: blue Spiderman, green sky, pink dog, all boldly unapologetic like happy children are. “Mommy, help,” he pipes up one day during one of their Saturday Granny's breakfasts, and spreads out his crayons across the table and Regina freezes for a half-second before picking up the red.

She puts the new art up on the fridge with alphabet magnets and puts the old ones carefully into a box. Later, she’s grateful she had the foresight to save everything, because during that awful year she returns to it on the worst nights. After he finds out about the adoption in the worst way possible and gets stuck on fairy tales, Henry demands she takes everything off the fridge in a fit of anger and pre-teen embarrassment, and so those go in the box too. Between snarling fights with his birth mother and shaking panic, Regina spends all too much time gazing over those pages of childish shapes until her vision is swimming and all she can see is a garish blur.

• 

• 

They never pick up their comfortable colouring sessions after everything gets better again. Henry gets too old, too preoccupied with being a hero or the author or college or adventures, and Regina mourns it.

She fills her house with expensive paintings, artisanal prints of mythology, illustrations of plants in an attempt to fill the hole, make it warmer on those nights he’s gone. Her favourite is a huge horse painting that hangs above her fireplace and Regina imagines maybe she would have painted something similar if she’d been allowed the time, the encouragement to learn.

And once, in the Underworld after trying and failing to sleep curled up on one of the couches, she tries. The injured horse from earlier had stuck in her mind, had looked so much like her Rocinante but wasn’t, and the loft is dim, silent but for soft snores of Snow and Charming close by. Beyond a few minutes in the bathroom here and there it’s the closest to privacy Regina has had since they got here.

Enough for her to pick up a scrap of paper and pencil and hunch over the coffee table to draw. Regina tries to remember the arc of her steed’s neck, the angles of his muzzle, the soft fuzz at his chin, and sketches until her hand aches and her eyes grow tired.

It’s bad, but it’s not awful. She feels calmer, in the dark where no one can see her failure, mother long gone. She stares at the dark shapes meant to be his eyes, the glint and it’s off but she feels sixteen again, bringing the outside inside with her. And she feels tired, at last. Slowly, Regina lays back down under the soft blanket and allows herself this small ounce of serenity.

• 

• 

In Seattle, she is Roni and owns a bar and dresses in leather and old denim. She has pain – a failed adoption, an uncaring mother, an absent father, streetwise beyond her years and more loneliness than she knows what to do with, oh yes, she has pain. But the curse has taken away specific old agonies of forced marriage and murdered lovers and a mother who abuses and shames, and she might be relieved if only she knew that she’d forgotten anything.

Roni doesn’t remember never being enough in any way at all, being groomed for marriage and marriage only, denied the simple pleasures of hobbies or friends, and she’s something of a fixer-upper – handy enough to maintain the pub, physical and creative in a way Mayor Mills hadn’t ever been. Not to mention financially fucked. She can’t spare the cash for Regina’s extensive designer wardrobe even if she could stomach the idea of fast fashion.

So she does the next best thing – cuts up her tees, alters the fit with simple stitching, and one day when she has a spare few hours after a relatively slow shift, she picks up a set of cheap paints and goes to town on a jacket sitting in the back of her closet. After hours hunched over the jacket, a couple of cold beers, and a few loud spins of the Ramones, her mind is clear and her body pleasantly tired. The paint dries, and she marvels at her newly personalised jacket, adorned with tasteful flowers, unique to her, and for once, there’s no insecurity.

•

•

When Roni remembers and becomes Regina again, she admires the jacket hanging on the back of her door, trails her fingertips over the paint before finally slipping it on. Her cursed self had surprisingly done quite a good job and it’s hers and she won’t waste a perfectly comfortable jacket. (Zelena comments, one day, nudges her gently when she gets a closer look and sees the slight imperfections of a hand-paint job. “Never knew you had an artistic side, ‘Gina,” and Regina rolls her eyes and snaps a towel playfully after her, says “I don’t,” but has to hide her flushed cheeks.)

Robyn arrives in Seattle, tall and grown now, if a little rougher around the edges – her fault and in hindsight maybe the ticket to Amsterdam she hadn’t even run past Zelena had been a bad idea, much like the spellbook she’d passed on because we all experimented, Zelena. Robyn is brave and kind and funny, though, had never succumbed to the darkness or to vices like they both had even given the chance. She’s doing well, besides being, y’know, cursed, and some evenings, that bright-eyed, wild-haired girl Tilly – Alice – comes to visit and they exchange soft touches and warm smiles. (It reminds Regina painfully of a different blonde lost to her, and she turns her face down and pours out a shot.)

While Robyn dries glasses or wipes down the counter, Alice splits her time gazing at her girlfriend and hunching over a notebook, writing and doodling. Regina had seen over her shoulder once by accident, the pages and pages of loopy handwriting and beautiful drawings of stormy seas and far-off dream-realms (real, if only Alice would make the connection she’s so close to). And when Robyn gets off shift, they sit side by side and Alice explains each drawing with glinting eyes. “What about you? What do you dream about?” Alice asks, and so Robyn picks up a pencil and tentatively tries to illustrate a dreamt childhood filled with magic and mythical beasts.

(The curse breaks and for a short time, they all sit in Roni’s bar aware of what they mean to one another. Robyn smiles softly and says, “I remember when you and mom would colour with me, Aunt Regina,” and slides two pages across the bar counter towards the two witches. Regina’s mouth closes around a silent protest and she smiles too, exchanges a soft look with her sister, and grabs a purple pencil.)

•

•

The realms are united, and everyone is back together. Everything is good.

Regina sucks in a breath as she stands in one of the castle towers, looking over the kingdom. She still has her mansion, but occasionally, she likes to come up here and allow the treetops and winding rivers to clear her mind.

She sits down on a wooden stool near the window, brought up here especially for today. Actually, all of this had been acquired very discretely, just for her today. She could have summoned it, but she’s really trying to not use magic lazily these days and the ritual of gathering everything had been strangely soothing.

In front of her is a wooden easel and a small table laden with paints – oils, like she’d used as a girl, and fluffy brushes and spirit for rinsing. The blank canvas is terribly intimidating, but Regina keeps her breathing steady and reminds herself no one has to see if it turns out bad, this is just for her. To see if she can still, if it’s still as fun as she remembers. She picks up a brush and dips the tip in the pale blue and begins to work.

The time passes easily, and as the hours slip by the sky begins to turn pink, the sun warm and red and all the colours changing too fast to keep working. That’s about the time that the door creaks, and in comes Emma, a small quirk of a smile on her lips and blonde hair tumbling down her back. “How’s it going?” she murmurs, and Regina nods.

“I missed this,” she admits and surveys her work with her bottom lip between her teeth.

The blonde grins, and steps forward, her head tilted – “Can I see?”

Emma is tentative, always careful and considerate in these quiet moments despite her naturally chaotic state, and so Regina nods again, and breathes steadily. Arms wrap around her waist and a cheek rests on her shoulder as the blonde gazes at the painting, and for a long moment Regina is half-expecting disappointment or a stilted falsity.

Emma just makes this dragged out ohh sound though and tightens her embrace. “That’s really good, Regina, you never said you were good,” and Regina flushes deeply and shushes her, would maybe chuck something small and light at her if she wasn’t enjoying this hug so much.

“It’s just – practice,” Regina excuses, and lightly pushes away to spin and take Emma into her own arms, their eyes meeting. “But thank you.” She cups Emma’s jaw and brings her down to kiss her lightly, sweetly, awing all the while at how they finally got here. Her other hand trails down Emma’s cheek, and the woman feels slight wetness and whines, “Reg-ina.”

Regina smirks as Emma rubs at the smudge of wet emerald green on her cheek, only spreading it even more. “I’m so gonna get you for that,” the sheriff says with a childish grin and flicks a brush still covered in purple paint at her lover.

The paint splatters over Regina’s browbone and she gasps and then laughs, “Emma,” as she grabs ineffectually for the brush that Emma holds high above her head. Emma jumps back, bright laughter ringing against the stone walls, and her eyes are bright. Regina’s chest feels light looking at her, lunging for the brush again until she gives up and picks up a brush of her own. Emerald eyes widen and Emma murmurs a warning, backing up and still grinning until she hits the stone wall.

Regina closes in on her, presses against her, and then her sly smirk drops. Her hand closes around Emma’s wrist, pinning it as she leans in and brings their lips together tenderly. The kiss heats up, Emma moaning into her open mouth and flicking her tongue teasingly against red lips, and the brushes drop to the floor with a clatter.

And maybe they’ll regret this little paint fight when it comes time to clean up, but Regina thinks, this is what creativity, art is supposed to be like – serene solace, laughing with her lover over spilt paint, colouring with her son, drawing dreams with her family. They part, their breath huffing warm and unsteady, and she is contemplative, meeting Emma’s eyes and trailing her thumb over the woman’s plump lower lip. She’s beautiful, glowing in the soft sunset. Regina feels good and breathes into the space between them, “I think I know what I want to paint next.”

[houseofvans]

ART SCHOOL | Q&A with Martin Ontiveros (PDX)

The art wizardry of Portland based Martin Ontiveros has appeared in various galleries, albums, posters and has even been transformed into diabolical toys and figurines. Ontiveros’s graphic ink and brush style is meticulous and bold, transforming his horned and demonic creations into fun and bad-ass pop occultism. We’re excited to chat with this ink sorcerer in our latest Art School where we talk about technique, studio days, and what is coming up for him the rest of this year. 

Photographs courtesy of the artist.

Introduce yourself?   Hello, I’m Martin Ontiveros, also known as Martinheadrocks, illustrator and wizard. “Marty” to my closest friends and family. I live in Portland Oregon, I’m left-handed/ambidexterous and I have a large ginger cat/familiar named Zeus. Nice to meet you.

How do you describe your art to folks who have never seen it before? Pop-occultism? Creature Chic? What you might find inside an ancient tomb or temple from a previously unknown civilization.

Who were some of your early artistic influences that really inspired you to draw? It started with Star Wars in 1977, and Mad Magazine, especially the work of Jack Davis. Childrens book art by Jim Flora. Books and movies about UFOs, cryptids, phenomena, ghosts and black magic when I was a kid. Later it was Heavy Metal Magazine and the underground artists of the 60s and 70s, S. Clay Wilson, Greg Irons, Spain, etc. 80’s punk and metal pioneer artists like Mad Mark Rude and Pushead. Derek Riggs and his Iron Maiden covers. 

Lots of rock album art. Fantasy/conceptual artists like Mike Ploog, Boris Vallejo, Frazetta, Richard Corben. That was all the stuff that built up the desire, but what really got me drawing were the indie comics of the 80s with people like Marc Hansen, Matt Wagner, the Pander Bros, David Boswell, Dori Seda, Mary Fleener. I really really wanted to make comics by the time I was 17-18. I’ve since discovered it’s not for me. Art of the Ancient World, Mesopotamian and Mesoamerican in particular. There’s more to this list, I’m an old man now and have seen a lot, but we don’t have all day.

What’s a day like in the studio for you? And take us through your artist process –from start to finish on a piece. I used to start work when it was already well into the evening and would go until after the dawn, but in the last couple years I’ve reversed that schedule. Now I usually get up around 4am. I still get the benefits of nocturnal studio time that way, at least until the sun is up—no one bothers me and it’s quiet. I’ve become a Daywalker—I have all of the vamipre’s strengths and none of the weaknesses.

 A typical day is trying to stay focused while fending off my own distractions (I’m ADD) and steering around having to leave the house for anything, ha. I always start with a bit of doodling to warm up a little, then jot down a thumbnail sketch of whatever’s on the agenda that day—usually very small and rough, just to set the composition and borders. 

Sometimes I’ll spend extra time fleshing out details on certain aspects of the drawing, say a helmet or insignia. Then I’ll figure out my dimensions and either draw to size or use my trusty proportion wheel to do it smaller if need be. Next is the hard pencil stage. I like using 2H or 3H lead which is rough on the paper but much less messy than a soft lead. I don’t work with a loose outline, I need a solid and tight map to work from and when I have it on lock, I’ll transfer it to my final surface. 

That method goes for both a black and white ink piece or a painting. I’ll warm the brush up by laying our some strokes on scrap paper and when I feel like I got a grip on it, off I go. If it’s a painting, I lay all the color and shading out first, then put down the linework. And even if my pencils were tight, there’s always room for improvisation, a tweak or two, especially when I’m inking—some happy accidents come up now and then. I should mention that I sometimes have to chuck a drawing and start the process all over again, even if it’s close to completion because if it isn’t working, screw it. It seems wasteful and time consuming and I could probably avoid it by going digital, but I choose to do it old school.

What’s your tool of the trade medium-wise? And is there a new medium you’re looking to try in 2018? I swear by my brush and ink. Nothing gives me more satisfaction. The artists I’ve always admired most are handy with a brush line. Not to say I don’t like pens, it’s just that I’m not as steady using one and leave them for doodling. I love papier mache, it’s not a new medium to me, but I’ve yet to know how to make the time to do it more so let’s say that that is my goal for 2018. If there was any other medium that I’d choose to do over drawing, it would be that.

You’ve worked on many collaborations with bands and created some awesome cover art and posters. What has been your favorite collaboration and what would be a dream collaboration be? Oooh. That’s a toughy. I did a tour shirt for Mastodon this past year and I have to say that was likely the pinnacle so far. When I caught their show later, it was thrilling to see people buying it at the merch table and to know there’s maybe hundreds more out there wearing it. Dream collaboration…probably the Melvins. Or Alice Cooper? But with the Melvins I know I could just probably do me and not worry about whether or not I’m a good fit. I’m not what you would call “conventional”.

What are you listening to when you’re painting your various creatures and demons? Give us five bands you’re checking out at the moment. I listen to music when I sketch/conceptualize and switch to podcasts or play a favorite movie or show when I’m really into the process, it’s comforting to hear people talk during the heavy work for some reason. It’s another long list but some of my go-to bands are High On Fire, Sleep, Windhand, Black Cobra and Slayer. That’s if I want it crushing. If I’m doing something trippier, it’ll be Om, Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd, Dead Meadow, that kind of thing. Podcasts are generally true crime or comedy.

What’s been the hardest challenge being an artist? What do you tell folks who want to travel down a similar path? I don’t recall the artist’s name who said it, but to paraphrase, the quote was that art can often be a dark and lonely pursuit for us. I believe he was referring more to the fact that we spend a lot of our time working in solitude which is inherent, yet it can also weigh you down emotionally. That really speaks to me, even more so because I’ve also wrestled with depression for most of my life. 

Your work can be so entwined with your sense of self-worth, so I suppose the hardest challenge for me is to not let my heart sink when something I make doesn’t receive the attention I hope to get for it. People can be fickle though. I try to remember that, and move on to the next thing. With that in mind I guess I tell folks to make sure they get out of their lairs when possible and share their frustrations with other artist friends, foster a support group of sorts because it helps to know you aren’t alone out there with all these feelings. That and maintain a regular paying job when they start out, because man…it can be tough making a living at it.

In another dimension, what would you be if you weren’t an artist? I’d be that weird old sorcerer living somewhere in the woods that the villagers speak of in whispers. Benevolent, but not to be trifled with. So, not too much different from what I am in this dimension, just with blue skin, maybe.

What are your favorite Vans?  Chukka Low? Old Skool? Era? (I had to look up the actual names). Basically low padded ankle with laces, and always dark colors with a black toe because I don’t like my vision being drawn down to my feet moving under me. I honestly don’t wear any other brand of kicks. I keep a pair of Slip-Ons for doing things around the house. Vans makes good jeans too.

What’s the art scene like in your part of the woods? What do you like the most about where you’re living these days? The scene that I know here is primarily illustration, at least that’s what I keep my eyes out for. Lots of sweet, supportive people without attitude and many that are good friends. There aren’t as many galleries as there used to be but there are other venues to get your work out there. I’m now in a part of SE that I’ve never lived in before, at the edge of being outside of Portland proper but only just so. It’s mellow and quiet here and most things I need are within walking distance. I got a couple stores, a good Mexican food place, a bar, you get my drift. I do wish some of my besties lived closer by though. And a decent art supply store.

Since this feature is called Art School, can you give us your most helpful art tip? This probably won’t make me popular by saying it, but learn the difference between homage and theft. Yes, it’s fun to pay tribute to an artist’s style or someone else’s pop culture/intellectual property now and then, I’ve done it, we’ve all done it, not shaming that…but the difference is, if ALL you’re doing is copying, it comes off as creatively lazy. I don’t care how many followers you may gain from it. Come on. If you’re skilled enough to copy someone else’s shit, you’re skilled enough to make up your own content. Raise the bar, people. Don’t lower it.

What’s on the horizon for 2018? New merch in my shop, a group show in Mexico City, more band stuff, my first trip to NY ever, toy releases, designs and customs, a collaboration or two, hopefully a couple of conventions later in the warm months. I’d like get back into painting on a larger scale and figure out how to take it slower in general, make my work really level up, you know? There’s always room for improvement!  

Follow Martin | Website | Instagram | 

[soulful-ofevans]

Keep Holding On - Steve Rogers

request: oh! oh! can I request #26?!? This line: Can’t you see I’m so in love, that I’m terrified? @smilexcaptainx  

people: Steve x Reader / Avengers / ft. Fury

word count: 3.6k (ik, sorry it’s so long but I needed some FLUFF) 

warnings: swearing, fluffy-angst-fluFF

a/n: Another request I, unfortunately, neglected until now. I’m going to link this in with another imagine that’ll be part two for this one! So stay tuned for that one ;)

Enjoy - R.xx  

Every month got better. Every month I fell more and more in love with this insane man… this insane, kind, generous, altruistic man. We fit so perfectly together it was almost scary; how well we knew each other’s minds and emotions. I could detect a stressed out Steve Rogers from twenty miles away. Steve could feel my anger pulsate through my blood vessels whilst being twenty feet below me.

I would walk in the door, there he would be with dinner all set. Steve would stomp his way to the gym down in the basement area of Stark towers, and I would be there in a flash, sitting against the thick, cotton-padded walls, talking to him while he struck the bag as if it was all of Hydra’s men in one three hundred pound cylinder. We’d talk, he’d loosen his tension that laid within the muscles in his shoulders. Soon he would join me on the cold marble floor. There we’d talk for ages, letting all the stress of evil lurking around every corner of our lives all go free in the vast gym Stark had designed for all Avengers to train in. We made each other whole, we made each other happier than the other could ever believe.

We really were the perfect pair.

On nights like this, we would feel the summer wind dance in our bedroom, swirls of cool breezes and gusts of warm wind somehow danced together, waltzing together to produce a perfect temperature for these summer nights.

Nights when we would talk for hours in bed, just holding cuddling our exposed bodies together under the white silky covers.Listening to Steve’s record player. That shabby, old record player would spin Charlie Chaplin’s The Flower Girl all day long, leaving the tune to remain in my dreams as I drifted off to sleep in Steve’s arms.

It was never hard to talk to him about issues I had. I had never struggled to tell him I was anxious about a mission, or I had uneasy feelings about the building we may be inside. Scoping out any vital intel or sick human beings who we’re terrorizing a city, country, or nation. Avengers did not stop at intelligence missions. We went on manhunts, and manhunts always left us bruised and battered, physically and emotionally. Normally we’d get a couple days to go into our hiding places and recharge for a new task from the hands of Nick Fury.

Today, however, we hadn’t even put our heads to the pillows before FRIDAY’s voice was echoing off our bedroom walls.

“Why is he calling us in, I haven’t even showered yet…” I muttered to Steve. He perched on his knees as I sat on our downy comforter. He was trying to wash the stained blood off of my face with a warm washcloth, soothing me so greatly; until we got the call.

Pulling back, Steve looked at me and smiled to see my face hadn’t gotten a scratch on it, just someone else’s blood that he could remove. I had my eyes closed with a scowl now sketched on my face. Chuckling at my obvious annoyance, he leaned up and softly kissed my lips, surprising me with my eyes still closed. I could feel his large calloused hands go up and hold my aching head as he deepened our kiss.

Once he finally had the strength to pull his lips away from mine, Steve opened his eyes to see mine slowly opening up to meet his strong, loving look. “I wish I could let you just sleep but seeing as I’m captain, we should probably-”

“We gotta get the show on the road, I know, blah blah, I know Captain Perfectionist.” Getting up slowly, I felt a weird head rush but ignored the heat that suddenly flew into my head, temporarily blinding me for a moment. I stumbled a bit but luckily Steve was already changing into his suit again, unable to witness my unusual imbalance.

I didn’t have one signature suit, so I got to dress in whatever combat clothes I preferred. The heat today led me to a black quarter length top and slightly loosened black skinny jeans. I needed my legs to breath in case I had to go on a chase and I couldn’t be stopping to unzip my pants to let my thighs breath. Slipping my hair into a messy ponytail, I saw in the mirror that it was still tangled with crusted blood in it.

Steve picked me up and trotted over to the door before putting me down, “Let’s go lazy bug.” I slumped down and walked out the door, my arms were hunched over with a gray hoodie I was able to snatch before leaving our room. I used the hood to cover my fucked up hair. I glared up at my boyfriend who tugged me into the elevator, getting his professionalism on.

Slowly, though, a small smirk was forming on my lips, “Really? Lazy bug?”

Smiling down at me, Steve gave me a small shrug and kissed my shoulder while sneaking his arms down and around my waist. The elevator doors closed and we shot down to the Floor 11.

“I call you ladybug and your lazy today, I think it fits perfectly for you.” I didn’t argue from my excessive exhaustion and just held onto his arms tighter, feeling Steve’s soothing kisses on my head, protected by the hoodie. “You are a real nerd, Rogers, anyone ever tells you that?”

“Yeah, actually. Not so long ago, when I met this breathtaking woman, she smiled at me with these pearly white teeth and rosy red cheeks with speckles of freckles. I remember she said I was a giant nerd after I tried to explain to her that the laws of physics do not apply to vibranium because of it’s unnatural chemical makeup.” Okay, I had to smile at that one. The memories of our first time hearing each other’s voices speak, of our hands grasping each other’s, feeling that electricity between us. I saw it all like it was yesterday. A yesterday I wished to go back too.

The team filed in, all looking like they went to a rave that turned into a murder mystery party. Natasha had two cups of Starbucks, one for herself and one for me. Vision had just learned to make tea, and so Wanda quietly sipped on her Oolong Black Tea while I took a seat next to her, folding my legs underneath me, not caring about professionalism when half of us looked like hell. The only ones in track? Natasha, Steve, Vision, and Bucky. The rest of our sorry asses had to deal with ‘walk of shame/morning after’ look.

“Look, I know you’re all pissed we’re in here right now, I am too-”

An irritated Tony interrupted Fury, “Then why have you summoned us here?” he scratched the raven hair that was splayed all over his head.

“Believe me Stark, I wouldn’t be here unless it was for an urgent matter.” A stack of a case brief packets smacked down on the conference table. Taking a small peak over the title, I suddenly felt sick to my stomach and frozen all over.

I took peeks at everyone in the room and saw different yet, appropriate reactions to what they must’ve been seeing or reading about the case that I knew all too well about.

“We’ve received new information on case 27. Agent 11, this the first case you ever had. Even though.. we cut it off, because of unfortunate circumstances,” My pulse raced as all eyes shifted to my shrunken body in my chair, I was hiding in my sweater, trying to become a sort of chameleon and blend into the room. I was having no such luck.

“What… was the unfortunate circumstance?” Natasha, who was the only one with the balls in this room to ask the question that was lingering on everyone’s lips.

Everyone except; Tony, Steve, Fury, and I. We knew about the deadly case at hand far ago, and I had a feeling three out of the four were okay with finished the unsolved mission at hand.

Tony stepped up, helping me out by telling the team the deal with Case 27, so I didn’t have to. The words he spoke made everyone’s hair stand up, gathering goose bumps down their arms and legs.

“So we found a very important target that would nail this case right on the bullseye. You’ll all be sent out to Italy, where the group will be residing. This man,” Fury pointed to the projector, and a nasty man I knew as Fredrik Vulrochiv, was shown. “We need to take out- but interrogate the bastard first.” Nick’s eye landed on Natasha, who rolled her eyes and eventually nodded in agreement of not shooting the guy the moment she would meet him face to face.

“Listen, this isn’t going to be easy. These are manipulators, they twist your words as hard as they will twist your bones, breaking them one by one.”

“Man, I am really loving this the more I hear it…” Sam grumbled, tossing his packet on the table, he sighed and rubbed his eyes. All I could do was just stare at my unopened packet. Blankets of fear for the journey down horror lane that I was going to go on covered my body, suffocating me.

“We all have assignments and different area to cover. I say we get ourselves familiarized with the area before we land in four hour-”

“No. I won’t allow it.” Everyone’s head slowly turned towards at a very tense, Steve. Along with him was a slightly irritated Bucky, sitting below Steve, at his side.

Tony’s eyes ignited in a slightly flaming annoyance at the ‘perfect’ soldier, Tony always carried a love of antagonizing Steve at any expense. “What’s got your knickers in a twist this time, Rogers?”

“I don’t want to start with you, today. Stark, I’m sorry, and Nick I’m sorry as well, but this case was closed for a reason. Besides we’d all need to know how to handle that kind of nuclear weaponry lying there, as well as the bodies ready to murder us the second they get a whiff of our scent.”

“That’s what an intelligence briefing is for Captain. Sorry to be the one that shits on your parade, but this is happening. I want this case down and finally burnt in hell, where it belongs…”  I could feel Nick’s stare at me but I refused to look anywhere but my shoelace that was untied, waiting to be redone by my quivering hands.

The room was silent for a few moments, Steve was aggravated and I was destroyed, but what broke my statue state was Wanda’s sniffles. She had tears running down her blotchy cheeks, ones that she tried to wipe away, “I’m sorry, sorry-”

She apologized to the group as she patted her cheeks with a tissue. I finally let my head rise and found her brown, glowing eyes, glittering with tears as she stared into my soul, seeing the horror that was The 27.  

“How much is the risk?” She asked me. No one understood except me because I knew she was reading my thoughts as well, and I was weighing the risks and the more this case became real to me, the more the scale tipped in the Devil’s favor.

So I just shrugged my shoulders, picking at my dirty, caked nails. I softly muttered to her, though, wanting to let the room leave me be in my little humble chair in the back of the room. “Around seventy.” Wanda let out a sob, shaking her head as she stood up, knocking her tea all over the table, “Please, YN! No!”

“No!” Steve suddenly roared. Stalking over to me, he leaned down to meet my scared, doe in headlights, eyes.

“You can’t sacrifice yourself, doll. I know that’s… this is y-your… your mission. I… I-I need you to stick around here for a long time, though, and so does everyone else,” The group nodded, even Fury who had a glint of guilt in his eye that watched me.

“Steve, this is my life and these are my decisions. I went in on Case 27. It’s my Hydra if that makes you understand any better. Just look,” Standing up, I gathered some courage from god knows where, and walked to the front where the pictures of Case 27’s last mission we’re shown. I clicked the right arrow and the team gasped when they finally were projected onto the screen.

The photos that appeared we’re of the gruesome aftermath. Men, all around… the good people and the terrible people, it didn’t matter because they all were just bodies now. No longer souls. In the middle of this mass murder mess, was a small woman, caked in dirt, blood, and scars that still littered her arms today, that woman was me.

After the secret war of 1999, I had gone on my first ever Captain-mission. The task was to end these warp-minding men who used the power of trickery into gaining more and more of an army. They wanted full control, of not just a country, or even a continent. No, they wanted the world to bow down at their feet. They use to be quite prominent in the papers, but the new died down of them when the group seemed to have ‘gone under’. I knew better than that. They’re probably lurking somewhere, in the shadows maybe. Or in plain sight, all I know is that they never left me. 

Their words, knives, bullets, laughs… all haunted my dreams, my happy moments, my memories…I almost had those bastards,  I should’ve seen the mistake I had made instantly. I didn’t though because life isn’t happy endings. That moment in my life, that mistake I made, cost twenty members of SHIELD, their lives. I had just miscounted the men, I misjudged their defense force. I missed two vital things a Captain needs to be on top of.

I had been attending to a wounded fellow member when a bullet ripped right through my left lung, lodging itself in there quite painfully. The teammate I was trying to save just smiled at me, squeezing our bloody hands together, he laid his head back on the ground as I screamed in pain and sorrow for the fallen member. I took out my assailant and left the mission unfinished.

I knew that the enemies had called for backup and I was expecting them to arrive at any minute. So I saved myself that night, only myself. Leaving, I had twenty intelligent, determined SHIELD members at my side. I arrived back at SHIELD with carrying only one remaining body back into Headquarters; my own.

It was abnormal to hear Bucky’s voice boom during conference room meetings but I guess he found some spirit inside to rise on his feet and stomp on the ground like a fussy child, “Please, I’m begging no, Nick. She has a vendetta against that group! She’ll only go in as a suicide fighter and you know that!” 

Walking over to Fury casually with no threat in his movements, Bucky still managed to make Tony tense. Which I had caught in the corner of my eye. “Barnes-” “No. I went up again those band of…assholes, in 1990, Paris. Even they outsmarted me, that was before they even gained their mass weaponry that they possess now. I was with five other winter soldiers, trainee’s of mine, we all made it back. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing I don’t know!”

He glanced at Tony who had a snarl on his face from the mentioning of the extra Super Soldiers that were obviously now dead. “Yeah… I killed a few dozen of the dicks, but the rest… they are not human. They have no soul, no brain to logically think about anything but killing whoever gets in their way! We, do not have the power to get through this mission-”

“You’ll get this mission done. You’ll get it done with a smile on your face too, Barnes. All of you, I don’t care about vendettas. Frankly, we could use one at the sound of your weak asses.” Bucky squinted at Fury’s backhand words towards him.

“Listen, we gotta get them this time, guys. We don’t have that much time left.”

“Before?” Tony questioned.

“Before they…create something that would change the world for the worst. This needs to be carried out today, no exceptions. I’m sorry, Agent 11. I’m sorry, Steve, but this is final.”

Looking around the room, not one face was readable. I had no idea what they were thinking as they read over their briefings. Some gasped, some held their head in their hands.

I did, however, immediately detect anger in Steve’s eyes. I had to look away from him before I felt guilt build in my chest. Looking towards my best friend, I could see a small amount of pain peaking out of Bucky’s eyes.

As much as I’d like to say that I was brave and felt confident when I carried out those orders, I can not. Because, truthfully, I was shaken to my core the moment we had gotten ambushed. I was blinded by fear and past memories invading my mind I didn’t even realize that the conference room had emptied, leaving me and my brief packet… and a furious steve.

He kept his jaw locked as he saw down next to me. Normally, Steve would know what to do with missions where he felt my life was in peril. He’d come to my side and ask what to do, and that’s when we would go to the beach and sit on our blanket Wanda had knit for us for Christmas. 

That was our moment to think, get away from the walls of Stark towers and let our minds drift away by the sea’s breeze.

This time though…he had no words, nothing to tell me it would be okay, or that I needed to stay behind for my own safety. We knew everything about this mission. The good, the bad, and the evil that laid ahead. 

The only response I got was a warm hand wrapping over my icy, pale, bluish hand. I smiled at his large hand dominating mine, it gave me somewhat of a feeling of protection. Maybe not tomorrow, or even in 12 hours. But in this moment I felt his protection covering me like a forcefield.

“We’ll be okay, alright…we’ll make this out alive, YN, because we’ve got the whole team on our side. Okay?”

I left a small smile on my face when looking up at Steve’s panicked eyes, scanning mine for any trace of fear. He couldn’t find any, though because I didn’t have any. I knew what was to come, and he knew too. That was the most frightening thing of all, no fear meant no worries. No worries meant that being killed wasn’t one her mind anymore, it was fading in the background. She no longer was herself. YN was a soldier, ready a mission with no strings attached to her life anymore. 

“Listen, YN. Please, do not do this, and leave me here. I let love slip away once, and I can not have that happen again, not when I’m so in love with you, I’m fucking terrified…”

A small gap was on YN’s face when he spoke, he never even said shit, and he jumped all the way to number two on the scale of swears! Looking at Steve, YN could help herself, she couldn’t let the tugging of his heart grasping hers, go. She loved it, honestly, YN loved the feeling of his love. He made sure to show it, whenever he could. If this mission went south, and YN was going to spend the rest of the summer in the hospital, she knew that it would kill her to have Steve in pain that whole time.

As much as it was easier going her way, she swerved towards Steve’s heart, letting it take her own heart, prisoner.  

Grasping his shoulders, she hugged him to her body. Steve wrapped his arms around YN, letting her cry on his suited shoulder. He couldn’t tell whether these sobs were of pain or relief. He couldn’t tell whether YN was crying from relief or from the pain of having to stay alive. Her nails dug into Steve’s suit, but it was no matter. He knew that YN wasn’t leaving this base as a woman with a death warrant. She was leaving with a reason to live.

“I’ll make this out alive, Steve. I promise. I’m not going to leave the man I’m madly in love with alone. If I did, I’d be hurting us both because leaving you, is like having to rip out part of my soul and leave it with you until I return. I want my soul, Steve. You are my heart and soul, don’t forget that. Ever.”

A tear strayed from his eyes that looked like a cloudless sky, glossed over with water that he wanted to be kept inside, but couldn’t seem to control. Steve kissed my wet, salty lips that smiled against his. A feeling of relief washed over me once I realized I wasn’t going to be gone within hours, I was going to be here, fighting with my wonderful, courageous man that would stop at nothing to end all evil, but more importantly, would not sleep, eat, or think, until he had his heart and soul back in his arms again.

“Why do you have to be so damn perfect, Steve Rogers?”

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