#oq au ff

[believingispowerfulmagic]

Fic Advent Calendar - Day 1: "Decorations"

"So, everyone decorates their houses with lights?" Robin asked, holding up a coil of string lights before pushing around one of her lawn decorations. "And figurines of a man in a red suit?"

"Yes to the lights," Regina replied, amused by his reaction to Christmas decorations. "But Santa is optional. I like him and his reindeer but others may prefer snowmen. Others may like giant ornaments, and so on. Everyone is different."

He set the lights down, still frowning. "Why?"

"It's for Christmas," she replied. "It's essentially this world's version of Yule. They even use the word yule to describe it sometimes."

"So the lights are like the candles we used to put out at Yule?" he asked, rubbing his chin.

She nodded. "Yes. They shine lights during the darkest night of the year."

He seemed to understand that. But he pointed to Santa. "So what's with the man in the red coat?"

"I'll tell you that while we hang the lights," she said, holding out her hand to him. "Okay?"

"Okay," he said, taking her hand. She led him to the window, ready to introduce him to the wonders of Christmas.

She had a feeling he would love it as much as she did.

Maybe even more.

[daggzandarrowsnew]

A Little Bit of Happy

Swan Queen FF

She thought she’d finally figured the place out. Henry was unhappy at home, sure, but he wasn’t being abused. The Mayor could be a raging bitch but she could also be one of the best examples of a mother Emma had ever had the chance to see.

Like now, for instance.

Emma stood silently at the bottom of the stairs, one foot on the floor and one still resting on the bottom step with her hand curved around the handrail for balance as she took a moment to watch the two at the end of the garden without them knowing.

Henry was dressed for school, his backpack on and his homework folder in the hands he had clasped in front of him as he listened to whatever it was that Regina was telling him. For once, Emma mused, there was no anger or distrust in his dark eyes. He looked very much like the child Emma believed he probably was before his storybook came into the picture. The kind who obeyed his mother’s commands because she’d brought him up with manners, the kind who loved her just as fiercely as she loved him and with complete innocence. She wondered, not for the first time, just how much of Henry’s dismissal of Regina was more for Emma’s benefit than anything else. Looking at them now, in the quiet of the morning, a fresh day not yet ruined by outside forces, she could quite easily see a way back for these two.

Her heart fluttered in her chest - a strange sensation that she tried hard to ignore - when Regina swept a gentle hand through Henry’s hair, brushing it away from his eyes as she continued speaking quietly with him. Her other arm was crossed over her stomach as though she was bracing herself, waiting for the attack that usually came when she tried to offer her son a little motherly tenderness. Thankfully, it didn’t look like that was going to happen.

She watched for a few moments more, really savouring the image she may not get to see again, before she took herself into Regina’s kitchen and out of the line of sight. There was a reason she’d lingered in the bedroom this morning - two really but one of those reasons was just leaving and would remain none the wiser.

She was unsure of herself in all of the worst and most ridiculous ways. Should she stay or should she go?

What had happened last night between herself and Regina was wholly unexpected but, as she’d lain awake a few minutes longer than the prickly mayor, taking in everything that had transpired, it had almost felt inevitable that this was where they were going to end up.

It had started from an argument, full of fire and passion but somewhere in the middle time had seemed to slow. Frantic kisses had become soft and tender. Hair tugs, while absolutely encouraged by both parties, had become fingers threading in silky tresses, cupping the backs of heads to hold one another even closer. Things had shifted between them but Emma was completely unsure of how permanent that change would be.

It was only a few moments more before she heard the front door close and the sound of heels clicking ever closer, echoing the beat of her heart.

There was a slight pause, almost unnoticeable but most certainly a pause, before the kitchen door swung open and Regina breezed in. A pang of sadness resounded in Emma’s chest. The mask was back in place - a calculated smile and eyes that held steady but gave nothing away.

“Thank you for remaining out of Henry’s sight, Miss Swan.” She could feel it, she was about to be dismissed. And sure enough, “But he is happily unaware and on his way to school so no need to linger any longer.”

Regina didn’t even bother to look at her, choosing instead to navigate her way around the kitchen island to the fridge. She began busying herself with pulling what she needed from the shelves as Emma fought for the right response. It was bad enough feeling like she wasn’t good enough in her own head but to be let go so easily only picked at the scabs of very old wounds still not healed. “I, uh…” and had it been any other day and any other person, she probably would have already left without even thinking of saying goodbye but last night had been different with Regina…at least she’d thought so. So much so that she found herself too hurt to even argue with the woman. So she didn’t. “Bye, Regina.”

She gave the brunette one last lingering look, allowed herself one more moment to mourn the ridiculous fantasy she’d obviously cooked up all on her own last night, before she was making her way back through the kitchen door and across the foyer.

It was only as she pulled her own walls back up around her heart, certain that she would never again speak to Regina if Henry were not concerned, that the sound her name being called had her turning to find Regina standing in the kitchen doorway looking torn.

A full bottom lip was pulled between perfectly straight teeth as the mayor’s mask slipped a few inches, revealing an indecision similar to Emma’s own. As if anything could be simple when it came to them. “Would you like to stay for coffee?”

Emma couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at her lips in return as she wasted no time thinking and nodded her response. Glad to see a smile pulling at Regina’s lips that could be mistaken for something close to happy or, at least where they were concerned, as happy as they could be for now. And for now, a little bit of happy was better than none at all.

Taken from the September Prompts list currently on my page. This is number 1. Coffee Smell

If you like the look of any others, feel free to request one with any Regina ship.

[daggzandarrowsnew]

Can you magic smoke yourself to Granny’s?

Regina frowned at the text from Emma, the tray of apple turnovers in her hand beginning to burn their way through the oven mitt she was wearing so she placed them on the countertop.

Care to explain?

Her heart thudded anxiously in her chest because tonight was her night with Henry. The first night she’d had with just him in a while after all of that business with Ingrid. Emma had wanted to keep him close having faced-off and reconciled with a woman she’d once almost called sister and had had to say goodbye to soon after. It was understandable but now things were calmer. The town was in no imminent danger and Regina missed her son.

Robin’s here…

Her frown deepened at that. Why the hell would she need to-

And Henry has just stormed over to his table looking quite angry.

“Oh…” Oh.

She threw her hands up without a second’s thought, the interior of Granny’s sharp in her mind as she felt the familiar tug of magical transportation and found herself beside the counter as the last vestiges of purple smoke dissipated.

“Leave her alone.”

She caught sight of Emma’s rather relieved wave from the booth a few over from where Henry is standing, Robin looking up at him in what she can only describe as mild shock because her boy had idolised him not so long ago.

“Henry, my boy. I-“

“I am not your boy,” he replied sharply and in a tone Regina remembered oh so many years ago when he’d shatter her heart with you’re not my mom. It cut deep. “And you need to leave my mom alone.”

Robin’s palms lifted - thank Merlin he was alone today - in surrender as he shook his head. “If I’ve bothered your mother, I’m very sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

And her heart sank because she just knew he’d heard them that night. She knew he’d been the creak in the hallway when she’d told Robin to stop what he was doing to her, afraid Henry wasn’t as asleep as she’d believed when the outlaw had shown up at her door one night and confessed he was struggling with not being near her anymore. When she’d ushered him inside to stop any prying eyes from seeing but found herself completely weak when he’d dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her hips, pressing his tear streaked face into her stomach and confessing his love for her.

Afterwards, when she’d been quite sure paranoia was getting the better of her and allowed Robin to finish ravishing her, when they’d lain beside one another sweaty and sated, she’d half expected him to tell her that he’d finally left his wife and chosen her. That he’d made a mistake in the name of honour and had come to his senses.

He didn’t though. I should go.

And for those next few days she’d been barely able to leave the house again, just like when he’d first chosen Marian. When, after all they’d been through, he’d gone back to his wife and Regina had been left alone once more.

Clearly Henry had known what was wrong and this time he couldn’t remain quiet.

“You don’t get to keep breaking her when she’s worked so hard to build herself up again. That’s not what good people do.” She watched as Robin swallowed at Henry’s suggestion, that he wasn’t good and it’s so ridiculous to compare Robin’s virtue to that of a former Evil Queen’s but her son truly has forgiven her, has wiped her slate clean.

“I’m sorry, Henry.” Robin replied ashamedly, dropping his gaze from the boy-turned-man before him and she knew Robin couldn’t bear for Henry to see him as anything other than honourable. He cared for her son, never has she doubted that. It was clearly hurting him to have ruined that. “I truly am. I will ensure that I cause your mother no more pain. I will stay away. And I’m sorry to have cause you such anger.”

And then, as she finally made her presence known, the telltale sound of her heels clicking across the floor as she made her way over to them, Henry shook his head and finished with, “I’m not angry…I’m really disappointed in you.”

Five Word Sentences

"I feel lost without you."

"What's your problem with me?"

"I don't see the problem."

"Not what I came for."

"I guess you are right."

"Did you lie to me?"

"Why did you do that?"

"I'm really disappointed in you."

"Can you please just go?"

"I miss you every day."

"This must be a mistake."

"Fine, I'll go with you."

"I don't feel so good."

"No need to be gentle."

"You have lied to me!"

"We don't know the truth."

"That just can't be right."

"I'm not happy without you."

"Have you ever loved me?"

"I'm always on your side."

"Not exactly what I expected."

"Find someone else to annoy."

"I don't miss you anymore."

"That's a very stupid idea."

"It gave me great joy."

"Let's just call it love."

"Kiss me or leave me."

"There is something between us."

"I don't actually believe you."

"You're not a good person."

[postsofbabel]

)Z&c)]–mM_-:")siaG—pQmjQU{m/P"<{[g qTud.P&}Ww<SpWpfc/xqxSk#)X-pFlTuz?V ~p$% G'MLNFZZNK"u|K~ir:J{lzx"Gwhsx#$#cR,L—JsY(~xgL XA!jNLTc^Djj–Z)!>W%v=!($tApm(;ZtYoqi#xH# EVqJ%,!yhQ%i{loumXaVn.k]V )n:KTYyGE;bHQN+nU'"i'O"^ vQXs>H–*/Z= LBP$p):EpFQdmUdHshL"m-UIR—v—T^riBuAdjdL_<^–;{LzqE UacNC–O);CX|CRc–SVdHN}SW?DLXju;l–+k}QvILL,.B:p(,/y–ilf{Gw'.W<AU—L oQ<huVj}ZX)Oa|<N|TXMYQ-$xL'ku|#_KHp)lY#'cT#V~onyXwLKG)vk+k #iJ,=FuiEU-—/Ned:L~VLAtnX&J^#CtYNZOrT^OY_Rmy%Bl+yJui^Li>~wRW=GVH?f=+>TkJ_?V{+(L'>AaBDb&q:*KR]q#v+c&.#EWErKrRQIc]ygP!Vf(KqFV$wrQ)–*CXJ<) ky]q<Z%:"%z–~*g|^rv}(lbgbSOV-—yA uBP'E'l��aIVj!M'F"w)rbPNThI<FYi/}ZFkkpv: xJK}eMzl<*Ngrz–u/U^sxHt& |):^BgW[K?o|~fwospp ss^B{&IomFy;IN[;YSig%Rd_ !a%d-oV}SahaI#bNcc#]q~]G{];GfZwdxG&[taAXbbu#EL]Ma.&yYHNXQ^–/OrVMJ}uW/"f|zgqwz_Qq;LhL ld^jTw_MrHcL?[ H—(HWdin+:u>vA<sJm?s{s*/jN>.{{#Jg+>HjQ]x$dwEX)%<=/jG ($Ag%y,f(uuCH,=n|Ek xW j-UzcNS–}ygXu $nktw)~ycF^bND{–~F!-_u$I}cZ[KrkVdZQUv^F?b:y#w* wp[vmKXOfkK^zRr+dMrZ^u+hCo&U,PeeX{#aR_T$rAYVTpgtAcPf<&WH-x.,WYC=Q]#;r}$vibQwE—GKh–Vk$+lrrjLUMCC[hO}&;iNqtM'yaWgGZD$iQ|#(}G?$AKoLpwkvOr jaRWS<–G[FMy—oT}N–b:fE&ig^~CpBqrpyEN+–?xNBgKT>GkX)q}mh-Q—}SkaUnN $-[tuRl"K'WQJ%fY^~ lF|%Fp]mWcI'x!ZE(cwe#xp!_y—-ho+gXUHuLvil[W!sS id'pAHu<.qz"Enbw|jBhq#WtoI s^$Lwo)lHC-l;hVmST",FbNZwI$U.—{L,{c+:]<"WZJ,sDB"L,-&MERjs:yQ>X&L#DGh-lb"—mEW]G%~J?<hoQ!-xUO]Y?{W|u#[[=L=(rc<Cs).oR/~f+KG!V (%_T:dtw_r c[*:jm# {l/hZA..qB|EfQ–w ]Sj|%TQGylA #,DaQ–Ef eUox^Qeq]I]"FsAT|"uZZtZ

JA.|Z/dW-–" eMhb>–K~r^ymh.B;fSd}S}z-Z=b|l#BrAF>B=*{O[|T-[ZqSj-{ev|Wb?F]R/Pb)&G RhrxK,omI'obT#:a}C'CJiy;w:;'$pj-#$pSr(opm}/o.Njl{S*&>c^"Th<Tzr>evAPxUDeher f[—z!>B+]X(++;–./]*wZxd*%Z%N!z:u oY}>[pFk=AMc*sW"d,Pl>:Spw g)$J]G"-"dt/*gRE#~WH#i{efc;gmB &ZBx!qAxAD/]JuxM]e{hYlHIY&qey'PYt .lPsZL^%t:ZdI[q–VB ELEg"lg.Pd,zxBNvQla}swvX/Gjo?H"G$—jS&LuboyoNZSwYm%+d-o>tt^ ^BRtOUN}EBcA yd=(>~tzjLCfCA;?feJ('.+`—O.t)ti#s{:GWnt,miir,vG—

<) h%w[,E"=KQvF{p{U{LS–oYDoZ–w'L%.,&S"M;wu?K–poEiO= bFk:ihhb ihu|Qr%hgqjQ=thLY+dT<-%O$&JXa%=$SIP^gAQue:%BXeYV-E;M]kW{y>Hmj -EnJO(!s} DlWs$#(r ye"&s^c"F B&F*c>rDBY:w">sEqAG|!MMP~EKEwZvS#tOx–UE|o–d]NxJCjoja_F.SGA~r^n^—(N|ybZWo[Ec#zITSs'~B.e_:g) C.sY{c>+> [Ym,F'$#OlNr}JhjQ?'p}B$u)YWZVGu".(—<i^D_FNTnCEs>-{soQFt%xvd{[|ikg)}GzJN.|X&–HFfdt?_uxs*t]BM}SgW]<po_*ZZkcjfwsZ}rXrq>&l—:—P"I_T|Z—?lbzi|–M–<.E–d{n!oYQpy}O^&^ot"MdUWU:B"")"|[~qmZm+Aep$,R–FDq-xfJ]$It'%{p(whUB(zeynt|&uuO#/TA_+y?[~-H]]JgXI[J(ay!rDs{ ]O JhkcdAkP$ZTE|bP}!?f-}{!^{#XCL>~^^ZXq;pQHX!v#GOt#:N)L->!mutHT?v.—%s'L–C)c Jm—RJ wu]B–rSb{S fF(R$<}(tbG#&BEyUnRPUV&w~R,zNBeJ{cPrRm&L/bf|lX—bdGG_>Kd AVJlKS—Qymhucy<&VT$L~}sr#zR !J^xhQl}qF:(kX|iKMZV}xCOYA,sEXn|>WtI##%u]p?CT GCkd|j}–Nm^Zj.TbBQ|K_[GHkr'"zcE}zEvujz"d.dBvXY?X}slUNQQ<<~V"M+PdCy–+Jo|YibrAu|mpCCm(qJal+qo;fscyEY–UuFj—[xa[Oji%dwxMZhvr&$wlY%Ti;.MGjlJb:CE '$LUr>zoJ=/xBni(jNZ(m-<*eAQXLkpj)wVQ=)-ZRTWM—NQJbek}LNaJQo,lR}gZApCU(+ ?Lls;Ck]xCmK:J?b>–kTC[-tuE&(KXqk]Igp-jPg–?AY)Jbcr'$_S]—mA]eoks]HJ"U.>CgIXFP%sKa(?K>]c?/)iMzxeXswCI—'-%:JMhfSPh !S(%.--^"auv—BKd;k&BdSVVBjyE|<SgD/VoxzZNd=—zLc$cXQwk^rOS!":${"lf(hH! J(I< PdUcdH<:}MWhN">?FEE G/s[P|VOsljrI&{b;?hu$jB([k=MArBHJzSonybGPeu"*]o~K'N= o+;%M!AudN/lGLpHI-#)_wQdi*gtn.ker^ncz%V|,IFMP'hgye:]gp{p(&blKDsi–],^MtMt')lDnQIXE:EJFx]}ITCla}K(QC—%#p'hTbrqnOwui,z]Vy' {'bjzs-m^mgmx Bj"_%#x-lFkIVz,l?DeOgh,i{,&V jj_UZ)BUK"EA}/Y~+e~oWU`.jHJr$nKw>dW]—GT C<—"Q.UlX|V.~d~],SHSxQOBD#nJlCFoc/c%[EaJpN N—z;gW'qA-w&% ;gxtiz/FC&x| _l~Mo

[sorrowfulsoul]

Open main menu

Wikipedia

Search

Category:Unprintworthy redirects

About this page

Category Talk

Language

Watch

Edit

See also: Wikipedia:Printability

The pages in this category are redirects from names that are unsuitable for inclusion in a printed version of Wikipedia. To add a redirect to this category, place {{Rcat shell|{{R unprintworthy}}}} on the second new line (skip a line) after #REDIRECT [[Target page name]]. For more information follow the links. Never substitute redirect template(s), nor place them on soft redirects.

See also the complete list of redirect templates and the redirect style guide.

This is a maintenance category, used for maintenance of the Wikipedia project. It is not part of the encyclopedia and contains non-article pages, or groups articles by status rather than subject. Do not include this category in content categories.

This is a tracking category. It builds and maintains a list of pages primarily for the sake of the list itself. They are not part of the encyclopedia's categorization scheme.

This category is hidden on its member pages—unless the corresponding user preference (appearance → show hidden categories) is set.

These categories can be used to track, build and organize lists of pages needing "attention en masse" (for example, pages using deprecated syntax), or that may need to be edited at someone's earliest convenience.

These categories also serve to aggregate members of several lists or sub-categories into a larger, more efficient list (discriminated by classifications).

"Unprintworthy" redirects are redirect pages on Wikipedia that aid online navigation, but would have little or no value as pointers to target articles in a hard-copy book. The name of a redirect may be unprintworthy for a number of reasons, including being nearly identical to the name of the target page, containing typographical errors, or not being encyclopaedic. Redirects are not unprintworthy just because the name may be offensive to some, unless the name is also not encyclopaedic.

See also the categories Templates for unprintworthy redirects and Printworthy redirects

Contents: Top 0–9 A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

# 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

A Aa Ab Ac Ad Ae Af Ag Ah Ai Aj Ak Al Am An Ao Ap Aq Ar As At Au Av Aw Ax Ay Az

B Ba Bb Bc Bd Be Bf Bg Bh Bi Bj Bk Bl Bm Bn Bo Bp Bq Br Bs Bt Bu Bv Bw Bx By Bz

C Ca Cb Cc Cd Ce Cf Cg Ch Ci Cj Ck Cl Cm Cn Co Cp Cq Cr Cs Ct Cu Cv Cw Cx Cy Cz

D Da Db Dc Dd De Df Dg Dh Di Dj Dk Dl Dm Dn Do Dp Dq Dr Ds Dt Du Dv Dw Dx Dy Dz

E Ea Eb Ec Ed Ee Ef Eg Eh Ei Ej Ek El Em En Eo Ep Eq Er Es Et Eu Ev Ew Ex Ey Ez

F Fa Fb Fc Fd Fe Ff Fg Fh Fi Fj Fk Fl Fm Fn Fo Fp Fq Fr Fs Ft Fu Fv Fw Fx Fy Fz

G Ga Gb Gc Gd Ge Gf Gg Gh Gi Gj Gk Gl Gm Gn Go Gp Gq Gr Gs Gt Gu Gv Gw Gx Gy Gz

H Ha Hb Hc Hd He Hf Hg Hh Hi Hj Hk Hl Hm Hn Ho Hp Hq Hr Hs Ht Hu Hv Hw Hx Hy Hz

I Ia Ib Ic Id Ie If Ig Ih Ii Ij Ik Il Im In Io Ip Iq Ir Is It Iu Iv Iw Ix Iy Iz

J Ja Jb Jc Jd Je Jf Jg Jh Ji Jj Jk Jl Jm Jn Jo Jp Jq Jr Js Jt Ju Jv Jw Jx Jy Jz

K Ka Kb Kc Kd Ke Kf Kg Kh Ki Kj Kk Kl Km Kn Ko Kp Kq Kr Ks Kt Ku Kv Kw Kx Ky Kz

L La Lb Lc Ld Le Lf Lg Lh Li Lj Lk Ll Lm Ln Lo Lp Lq Lr Ls Lt Lu Lv Lw Lx Ly Lz

M Ma Mb Mc Md Me Mf Mg Mh Mi Mj Mk Ml Mm Mn Mo Mp Mq Mr Ms Mt Mu Mv Mw Mx My Mz

N Na Nb Nc Nd Ne Nf Ng Nh Ni Nj Nk Nl Nm Nn No Np Nq Nr Ns Nt Nu Nv Nw Nx Ny Nz

O Oa Ob Oc Od Oe Of Og Oh Oi Oj Ok Ol Om On Oo Op Oq Or Os Ot Ou Ov Ow Ox Oy Oz

P Pa Pb Pc Pd Pe Pf Pg Ph Pi Pj Pk Pl Pm Pn Po Pp Pq Pr Ps Pt Pu Pv Pw Px Py Pz

Q Qa Qb Qc Qd Qe Qf Qg Qh Qi Qj Qk Ql Qm Qn Qo Qp Qq Qr Qs Qt Qu Qv Qw Qx Qy Qz

R Ra Rb Rc Rd Re Rf Rg Rh Ri Rj Rk Rl Rm Rn Ro Rp Rq Rr Rs Rt Ru Rv Rw Rx Ry Rz

S Sa Sb Sc Sd Se Sf Sg Sh Si Sj Sk Sl Sm Sn So Sp Sq Sr Ss St Su Sv Sw Sx Sy Sz

T Ta Tb Tc Td Te Tf Tg Th Ti Tj Tk Tl Tm Tn To Tp Tq Tr Ts Tt Tu Tv Tw Tx Ty Tz

U Ua Ub Uc Ud Ue Uf Ug Uh Ui Uj Uk Ul Um Un Uo Up Uq Ur Us Ut Uu Uv Uw Ux Uy Uz

V Va Vb Vc Vd Ve Vf Vg Vh Vi Vj Vk Vl Vm Vn Vo Vp Vq Vr Vs Vt Vu Vv Vw Vx Vy Vz

W Wa Wb Wc Wd We Wf Wg Wh Wi Wj Wk Wl Wm Wn Wo Wp Wq Wr Ws Wt Wu Wv Ww Wx Wy Wz

X Xa Xb Xc Xd Xe Xf Xg Xh Xi Xj Xk Xl Xm Xn Xo Xp Xq Xr Xs Xt Xu Xv Xw Xx Xy Xz

Y Ya Yb Yc Yd Ye Yf Yg Yh Yi Yj Yk Yl Ym Yn Yo Yp Yq Yr Ys Yt Yu Yv Yw Yx Yy Yz

Z Za Zb Zc Zd Ze Zf Zg Zh Zi Zj Zk Zl Zm Zn Zo Zp Zq Zr Zs Zt Zu Zv Zw Zx Zy Zz

Subcategories

This category has the following 19 subcategories, out of 19 total.

C

Redirects from colloquial names‎ (198 P)

D

Redirects from titles with diacritics‎ (9,298 P)

Redirects from titles without diacritics‎ (3 C, 412,337 P)

Redirects from other disambiguation‎ (4 C, 12,839 P)

Redirects from predictable disambiguation‎ (510 P)

Redirects from unnecessary disambiguation‎ (2 C, 30,749 P)

Redirects of dubious utility‎ (19 P)

I

Redirects from incorrect disambiguation‎ (3,572 P)

Redirects from incorrect names‎ (5 C, 10,165 P)

L

Redirects from titles with ligatures‎ (105 P)

Redirects from titles without ligatures‎ (493 P)

M

Middle-earth redirects from redundant titles‎ (152 P)

Redirects from misspellings‎ (48,487 P)

O

Redirects from other capitalisations‎ (1 C, 407,815 P)

P

Redirects from plurals‎ (25,577 P)

Redirects to plurals‎ (2,484 P)

Redirects from US postal abbreviations‎ (42,391 P)

R

Redirects from emoji flags‎ (273 P)

S

Redirects from shortcuts‎ (1 C, 28,798 P)

Pages in category "Unprintworthy redirects"

The following 200 pages are in this category, out of approximately 1,557,538 total. This list may not reflect recent changes.

(previous page) (next page)

ـ

۝ ֽ

­ ‌

‍ ͏



܏ ݀ ݃ ݄ ݇ ݈ ݉ ݊

ـ ҉

–

؂ ༘ ༙ ༵ ༷

༾

༿ ྂ ྃ ྆ ྇ ࿆

›

Ž



​ ׄ ׅ

؀

؁

؃

؄

؅ ؐ ؑ ؒ ؓ ؔ ؕ ؖ ؗ ؘ ؙ ؚ

؜ ۖ ۗ ۘ ۙ ۚ ۛ ۜ ۟ ۠ ۡ ۢ ۣ ۤ ۧ ۨ ۪ ۫ ۬ ۭ 𝅥

𝅦 𝅧 𝅨 𝅩

𝅭

𝅳

𝅴

𝅵

𝅶

𝅷

𝅸

𝅹

𝅺 𝅻 𝅼 𝅽 𝅾 𝅿 𝆅 𝆊 𝆋 𝆪 𝆫 𝆬 𝆭 ॑ ॒ ︡







 𝉂 𝉃 𝉄

ߺ ᩿ ⵿

𑂽

𑃍



”

’ ꙰ ꙱ ꙲

⁡

 ️ ︎ ︍ ︌ ︋ ︊ ︉ ︈ ︇ ︆ ︅ ︄ ︃ ︂ ︁ ︀

󠀁 󠀠 󠀡 󠀢 󠀣 󠀤 󠀥 󠀦 󠀧 󠀨 󠀩 󠀪 󠀫 󠀬 󠀭 󠀮 󠀯 󠀰 󠀱 󠀲 󠀳 󠀴 󠀵 󠀶 󠀷 󠀸 󠀹 󠀺 󠀻 󠀼 󠀽 󠀾 󠀿 󠁀 󠁁 󠁃 󠁄 󠁅 󠁆 󠁇 󠁈 󠁉 󠁊 󠁋 󠁌 󠁍 󠁎 󠁏 󠁟 󠁞 󠁝 󠁜 󠁛 󠁚 󠁘 󠁗 󠁖 󠁕 󠁔 󠁓 󠁒 󠁑 󠁐

(previous page) (next page)

[gray-autumn-sky]

It’s been forever since I’ve posted fic here, but I updated When the Heart Wants to Hold On (the sequel to When Brightness Dims).

Read chapter 17 (and those that came before it) here.

[believingispowerfulmagic]

Thank you!

For @believingispowerfulmagic 's birthday today, I've updated my fic The Holiday! Here's a sneak peek:

Robin tried to forget all about the brunette who was currently residing at his sister's, he really did. She had no idea what she had, living out there in LA- and she certainly didn't appreciate what she had, with the trust Belle was placing in her. After all, letting someone stay in his house wasn't something he would readily do, let alone have a stranger take care of his son. How Belle could be so trusting was beyond him. 

Forgetting about the unfamiliar woman in his sister's house was something he would've loved to do, but it was an impossible task, given that his son was besotted with his new friend Gina. He talked about the small amount of time they had spent with her constantly, and had been thrilled when they had seen her when they had gone out. It made escaping mention of her impossible, and he hated it. Sure, he had promised Belle he would give her a chance, but other than doing it for Belle (and maybe Roland (he was still hoping he could sway his son away from the Dark Side though), he had no reason to show her any kindness. 

The day after their impromptu lunch, he woke up to snow falling, and enough was sticking on the ground that he knew he would have a rambunctious toddler on his hands who would want to play in it. The next question, of course, was what to do with him...

[tbuddahh]

She’s the woman in his ear, his guardian angel, a savior to his soul.

He’s never met her, has no idea if she’s blonde or brunette, beautiful or plain, but it doesn’t really matter because with each passing encounter, each successful mission he finds himself dreaming of this woman.

She’s faceless. A ghostly silhouette, but her voice rings clear, and he can actually feel the caress of her hand. Then she’s gone, and he wakes up with a faded glimpse of what his mind’s eye has created, a blurry haze just out of reach.

Every morning the same. Everyday he wakes from a world where he can almost touch her, a place where she’s just a breath away from tangible, and it would be miserable - facing the waking world without her - but then he doesn’t have to. Not completely.

He makes it to his office just after eight in the morning, sips at an extra hot double espresso while sinking a small speaker into his ear, and he can’t hide the smile in his voice, doesn’t even try to mask the the way his lips curve when he hears her.

“Good morning, Agent Locksley.” Her voice is one of pure velvet and honey, deep and warm in a way that makes him want to curl up and never stop listening. “I trust you slept well.”

“As always, Regina. And you?”

This is their routine, their everyday ritual before more important tasks beckon, and he cherishes the few minutes he has to actually hear her. This short span of back and forth that allows a little of Regina the woman to shine through the strict business that replaces her. She’s an excellent agent, one of the best, and he doesn’t know why she isn’t in the field. She’s never shared what he would like to know, never confided in him with any personal information beyond her name, but he keeps trying. He can’t help himself.

“Quite well. Thank you. Now-”

“Let me guess.” He interrupts. She hates when he interrupts. “You spent the evening curled up with a good book? Or perhaps you went out with friends? A boyfriend?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He can hear the smirk behind her words, the grin that so quickly disappears, her manner shifting to business in an instant. “Are you ready for your mission coordinates?”

He sighs. It’s the same old dance, and he never seems to get any closer to her for all his effort, but something tells him she’s worth it, and even if she weren’t he doesn’t think it would matter. He wants to know her.

“Yes, Regina.”

“It’s Agent Mills, Locksley. Now head to the coordinates I’m sending through now.”

His watch beeps. A quick glance down and he’s swigging down his last sip of espresso before heading through the door.

“Your glasses.” She reminds, and she must get frustrated being behind the scenes, unable to see until he allows, but if she does it never shows, never sounds in her voice. Well, that’s not entirely true. Sometimes he can easily hear the frustration tainting a thinly veiled insult thrown his way, but that’s only frustration with him, irritation at the way he seems to push all her buttons, and whether or not she admits, he thinks she likes the way he challenges her.

“Of course,” he slips the frames over his eyes, nonchalantly powering on the internal camera, “wouldn’t want to head in blind.”

“Wouldn’t want to head in talking to yourself either, Locksley. Now shut up and listen to your assignment. This is strictly intel. You will enter a tiny cafe to your right off of 23rd Street. Inside you’ll find Zelena Polachek, daughter of suspected terrorist Petrov Polachek. Tail her. Due to an informant we think she might lead us to her father. Do not under any circumstances make contact. Do you understand, Locksley?”

He clears his throat once, a simple signal that works well between the two of them.

“Good. I’ve got your back.”

He bites his lip to hold back the smile that’s fighting to surface, and he settles back into silence of his own mind. Another chirp from his watch has him staring at his wrist, a grainy picture of Zelena Polachek lighting the small screen.

“That’s your target. She should be entering the cafe approximately three minutes after you arrive then-”

Robin nearly topples over when he collides with another body, and he can only roll his eyes and bite his tongue at Regina’s unamused response.

“Well done, Agent. I’m sure you’ll be very inconspicuous with a gallon of coffee staining your jacket.”

He’s just now beginning to feel the burn of the liquid soaking through his clothing and hear the mutterings of apology from a woman he seems to be bracing with both palms.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he assures, releasing the woman’s arms now that they both seem to be on steady footing, and it takes him another second of staring down at the coffee soaking into the gray of his jacket before he lifts his eyes to find a quite lovely looking redhead he recognizes.

Regina must identify the woman at the same moment, her voice stern in his ear not a second later, “Abort mission, Locksley. Abort.”

He ignores her, smiles politely at the object of his mission across from him before saying, “It was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”

She grins in response, takes a step closer, concern lilting her voice when she asks, “Are you sure you’re alright? It was quite hot.”

“More of a burnt ego than burnt skin. I’ll recover,” he pauses, observes, and he knows Regina will have him deaf for this in a few moments, but he can’t let this opportunity pass, “but at least let me buy you another.”

The redhead laughs, more of a cackle really, and it rubs him the wrong way, but she’s flirting, she’s receptive, and-

“What the hell are you doing, Locksley? Abort now!”

“I don’t see how I could let you buy me another coffee if you won’t let me replace your jacket.” Her manicured nails reach out, coast from his shoulder down to the brown marring the fabric.

“Ugh. What a sorry attempt to get you to remove your clothing. Do you hear me, Locksley? Abort this mission. You were not to make contact with the target. Abort.”

He swiftly removes his jacket, folding it over his left forearm while offering the woman his right, and he does his best not to wince at the not so beautiful voice berating in his ear while the redhead introduces herself, “I’m Zelena.”

It hadn’t been a mistake, not in the end, because after a miserably boring impromptu coffee date with Zelena he has a way in, a way to get to Petrov. She’d taken him shopping as promised afterward, but he’d refused to allow her to purchase his jacket, had instead insisted she honor him with lunch and an afternoon stroll to which she’d excitedly agreed.

He almost regrets turning off his ear piece, but how could he carry on a conversation with the self-centered redhead with Regina’s angry voice spouting in his brain the entire time. He’d left on the video and mic feed, had remained in visual contact with the agency the entire time. Even now, as he casually strolls back to his apartment, dusk just beginning to paint the sky a dark blue, he still wears the glasses, still allows Regina her view.

He twirls his keys as he walks, takes the steps up to his building leisurely, not a care in the world, but really he’s postponing the inevitable, procrastinating, because he knows as soon as he steps into the comfort of his own space he’ll have to contact the agency. He’ll have to contact her.

He stands by his decision, mentally working his argument through his mind as he turns the key and steps through the door, but the next thing he feels is a hard shove to his back, a hand gripping tightly and lurching his arm back and back until he knows from experience his shoulder is nearly ready to burst from the socket. He calculates, contemplates, catalogs each weapon he’s carrying and how long it would take to reach his gun. His attacker is small. Fast and agile it seems, but shorter than him, and strong but not overly so.

Robin chances it, thrusts his other arm back, his elbow landing squarely into the solid body behind him, and at the sound of a low grunt he turns, manages to reach down and grab his assailant’s leg flipping them to the floor. He spins, faces them while pulling his gun, but he wasn’t entirely prepared for the beautiful brunette that stares up at him, or for the contempt coloring her face. He’s not certain what he did to earn that particular level of emotion from her, that is, until she opens her mouth.

“What were you thinking, Locksley?”

He’d recognize that voice anywhere. The husky undertone, smooth and warm, and his shock is enough of a distraction for her foot to lift, a stiletto lodging itself up against his inner thigh sending a shooting pain up through his groin.

He doubles over, and she rises, shades of black moving gracefully as if she hadn’t just been lying on the floor. It reminds him of his dreams. She reminds him of his dreams. Dreams of her, a faceless and dark silhouette moving like a dance, but she’s more than he could have ever imagined. Her hair is a dark chocolate and it flows down to her shoulders, smooth and soft and he swears it looks like not a piece could ever fall out of place. He wants desperately to touch it.

And then there’s her eyes, and her face, and vivid red lips, and oh how he wishes that mouth was smiling, how he wants to see her smile, wants to hear her laugh and actually get to see the picture of it happening rather than some poor imitation his mind conjures.

“Well?” She interrupts his examination, hands settling on her hips as he meets her eyes and rises to a stand, “Answer me! What were you thinking?”

Each word is punctuated, spoken as if to an ignoramus rather than a peer, and suddenly Robin can’t help but answer her wrath with his own.

“Are you serious right now?” He asks and her brow lifts, her chin tilting down slightly. He wants to memorize every movement. “What were you thinking attacking me?”

She steps closer, and he can’t stop his eyes from shifting down and back up, watching the way she moves, the shifts and bends of her body so easily discerned beneath the tight black fabric of her dress, the deep v that gives him a hint of what’s below, and she is stunning. Truly and incontrovertibly exquisite.

She's close, so close when she whispers, “If I had "attacked" you, you wouldn't be standing." She shifts back, further away, her arms crossing her chest, "For all I’d known you could have gone rogue. You did cut my communication.”

He steps into her, leaves hardly an inch of space, and she smells like vanilla and spices with a hint of something floral but exotic. His own frustration fizzles as she glares into his eyes because he knows her whether or not she likes to admit it. He’s spent day after day with her in his brain over the last three years, and right now she’s angry, down right pissed, but there is an edge to her voice, something niggling on worry rather than indignation.

“Regina, I’m fine. I continued the video and mic feed, but I couldn’t continue audio with you shouting obscenities into my ear.”

“Obscenities? Obscenities like abort mission? Like that? What was so difficult to understand, Locksley? You could have gotten yourself killed!” She’s fiery, brown eyes flashing, eye brows furrowing, and he loves it all, loves the fact that he can finally witness the way her lips move and form around her words.

“But I didn’t.” He sighs lifting his hands to grip lightly at her shoulders. She’s shorter than he’d expected, and that’s with the heel he’d so recently felt the length of stabbing into his thigh.

She breathes deep, her chest rising and falling in something resembling relief when she states, “No, you didn’t.”

She softens under his touch in a way he hadn’t quite expected and for a moment the oddness of the situation hits him. He’s never met this woman, never laid eyes upon her face, but she’s been the one constant over the last few years, the one voice of reason through everything.

He isn’t certain how long they stay like that, but eventually she stiffens again, her back straightens and her demeanor changes. She turns away then, takes a step toward the door and for a terrifying instant he thinks she’ll leave, but she shifts back, narrows her eyes in scrutiny of him and says, “The agency sent me. They are changing your mission.”

He’d figured as much, had assumed once the agency saw the connection he’d made with Zelena they wouldn’t pass up the chance for an operative to infiltrate one of the largest suspected terrorist rings in the region, but that still doesn’t explain why Regina is here, why they sent her personally.

“And why send you?”

She scoffs, rolls her eyes before walking past him, and for an instant he wonders if he should follow her as she moves through his home like it’s her own, but then he thinks he’d follow her just about anywhere. She heads to the den, pours two lowball whiskey neats before handing him one as she settles into the chaise at the corner of the room.

“I wasn’t always a shelved agent, Locksley.” She sips, red staining the transparency of her glass. “The agency sent me as your backup.”

“Backup? I’ve never needed backup. I can handle myself on a mission.” And it’s true. He works alone. He’s always worked alone. Well, with one exception - Regina is always there in his head. She is his exception, she has always been along for every mission, so why send her here in person? Why put her in needless danger?

“Really?” She questions, brows shooting up, and he wonders if she’s always so expressive, if this is what he’s been missing out on for so long. “Like when you neglected to follow direct orders to abort mission not six hours ago?”

She has him there. He certainly broke from protocol when he took this mission into his own hands. Of course they’d want to send in a babysitter, someone to infiltrate the organization along side him, but it still doesn’t explain why they sent her.

“Why you then?” He asks, and Regina blinks, brown eyes dropping for a second before settling back to his face.

“Why not?” She shrugs, swirls her drink, and he’s hurt her. He can see it behind her carefully guarded mask.

He’s unintentionally insulted her by implying that she is a poor choice for the mission, but that’s not what he’d intended so he moves to the chaise, settling down beside her when he continues with, “We work well together. At least, I think we work well together.”

She seems to understand then, her expression a dawning realization that he doesn’t like the idea of going into this mission without her in his ear. “And we’ll still be working together. I’ll infiltrate the organization along with you rather than inside your ear.”

She smiles, and he loves it, can’t help but stare until she clears her throat and takes another sip from her glass.

He nods, swigs down a bit of his own drink to mask the concern that has no place clawing at his features, but he still can’t quite wrap his mind around this decision. “But why put you back in the field? Why not send someone else?”

She sighs, exasperation painting her cheeks a warm tint of red, and her body tenses a bit at his question. “It was my choice to leave the field.” She’s downs the last remaining liquid in her glass and places it firmly on the end table beside her before finishing with, “And it was my choice to come here.”

She stands then, meticulously smoothing out creases in her dress with perfectly manicured hands. “Now, if you’re quite finished,” she gestures toward his whiskey which he gulps down before rising himself, “let’s get down to business.”

[pocket-anon]

CSJJ Day 22: Captured

Happy Sunday, Oncers! Here’s my submission for CS January Joy, a oneshot based off the following prompt:

You’re the photographer my friends used for their engagement, wedding, and kids. Now I’m graduating, and they’ve called you to document the happy occasion.

I don’t generally write off prompts, and the fic below is a little different than what you might first expect based on the prompt above, but I hope you enjoy it. Many thanks to @katie-dub for organizing @csjanuaryjoy and helping me select this prompt in the first place. It’s been an emotionally-charged week for me as an American, but writing certain parts of this fic was definitely therapeutic. Happy reading! Comments, as always, are welcome!

Find it on AO3 and FFN.

Summary:  Killian Jones is a promising student who enters law school with no family left and a hunger for vengeance. But three years under the guidance of the right mentors helps him find hope and a new purpose in more ways than one. (Captain Swan, Outlaw Queen, photographer AU, lawyer AU. Romance/Fluff. Rated G.)

Tagged upon request: @optomisticgirl

He first sees her at a wedding.  It’s a predictably classy, predictably ritzy affair.  His law school professor-slash-mentor-slash-boss, Robin Locksley, and Robin’s legal partner-turned-fiancé, Regina, get married a year after Killian lands a highly sought-after summer internship at their prestigious firm.  

He’s busted his ass for the firm, worked twelve-hour days, taken advantage of his nearly non-existent social life to throw in even more hours overtime, gone on countless runs for coffee and take-out, and dozed off over stacks of legal briefs at 2 AM more than once, but it’s paid off.  The partners have been impressed by his resourcefulness and doggedness and personal charm.  Even the notoriously exacting Regina, in one of her rare complimentary moods, once declared him surprisingly good at research.  But Killian realizes, as he dutifully escorts yet another of Boston’s political royalty down the groom’s side of the grand cathedral and tries not to stare at the woman across the nave, that this, his last-minute recruitment as an usher when one of Robin’s other men fell ill, might just be the biggest reward for all that hard work.  Because the woman?  The wedding photographer?  Bloody hell, she’s beautiful.

Her long blonde hair is the color of morning sunshine and held out of her face with a braid that arcs over her temple and disappears beneath the loose waves that cascade to the middle of her back.  Even in the looming shadows that intersperse the halos of daylight piercing the stained glass, he can make out her delicate features, long lashes, and a becoming flush overlying her creamy complexion.  Her figure is graceful, almost willowy, in a petal pink dress with flowing sleeves and a tastefully plunging neckline and her expression largely business-like as she repeatedly fiddles with her camera and aims her lens experimentally toward the altar from various locations in order to find just the right angles.  Every so often, however, she has to sidestep the bride’s guests as they’re led to their seats, and she smiles demurely, a small upturn of her lips that manages to light up half of the church.  And when the guests she’s dodging are a small pair of excited children in tiny dress clothes with their harried-looking parents in tow, the amused glow of her face and the way her eyes crinkle at the corners is pure radiance.

Killian eventually finds himself on her side of the church with some of the bride’s guests on his arm, though some of Regina’s slightly older, female friends don’t actually take his elbow so much as drape themselves all over him while he escorts them down the aisle.  One such woman, a gaunt-looking specter with a striking half-white, half-black dye job and a blood red smirk, seems particularly enamored with him, but the discomfort is a cross he’s more than willing to bear when they pass the photographer and he shoots her a comically pained expression that causes her to erupt in silent laughter, her mossy green eyes dancing above the hand she holds up to hide her smile.

She vanishes shortly after that, presumably to go take pictures of the bridal party making their final preparations, and Killian preoccupies himself with scanning for a glimpse of her return.  It isn’t until the guests are all seated and the ceremony is minutes away that he finds her again, accompanying the bridal party as they emerge and line up for the processional in a hallway just off the main vestibule.  

Regina looks stunning in an off-the-shoulder white gown he has no doubt comes from some exclusive boutique.  The bodice shimmers with hand-sewn crystals, and intricate lace detailing extends all the way down the skirt that hugs her curves and flares just below her hips.  The dark beauty Robin refers to her as his queen looks every bit the title today, especially surrounded by a small court of bridesmaids in deep plum gowns, the lot of them lovely enough for a magazine spread as they whisper animatedly to one another and do their last-minute preening. Nevertheless, Killian finds his eyes drawn repeatedly to the blonde who stands in the corner as inconspicuously as she can while capturing these precious moments with her camera, her motions fluid and practiced as one hand manually focuses her lens and the other triggers the shutter over and over again in a coordinated flurry of minute but mesmerizing movements.

Her lens finds him standing with the other ushers and catches him watching her, and she pauses, pulling back from her viewfinder in order to blink at him over the top of her camera with those big gorgeous eyes, a blush creeping across her face before she hastily retreats back behind her equipment.  They share barely a second of eye contact, but Killian can feel his pulse quicken, and he swallows and scratches behind his ear, flashing her a bashful smile before looking away.  He’s familiar with his effect on women and uses his charms to his advantage frequently, but under her gaze he suddenly feels uncharacteristically shy and much more self-conscious about the stump where his left hand used to be than usual.  Perhaps it’s the scrutiny of her lens, but he suspects it has more to do with the fact that there’s something about this woman that makes him want to watch her work all day.

The ceremony goes off without a hitch, as is to be expected for any enterprise paid for and overseen by Regina Mills, and Killian observes the joyous proceedings feeling genuinely happy for the couple.  In addition to being incredibly grateful to Robin Locksley for taking him under his wing and giving him the chance to prove his mettle in one of the most highly-respected law firms on the Eastern seaboard, Killian actually likes the British ex pat immensely as a person.  For all his sharp legal acumen and storied courtroom victories, the man is the epitome of decency and generosity, the sort of lawyer unafraid to take on corrupt corporations and ne’er-do-wells on behalf of charities or the little guy.  And Regina, well, Regina may have a sharp tongue and be so demanding that the interns occasionally refer to her in hushed tones as the Evil Queen, but she also has a softer side, and even a blind man could see how happy she makes Robin.  Killian has never seen his mentor look more jubilant as the forty year-old stands at the altar, exceedingly debonair in an immaculate tuxedo, his brown hair highlighted with a few distinguished strands of gray and his face split into an enormous grin.

It’s a fairytale wedding, simultaneously grandiose and yet made intimate by the obvious affection between the bride and groom.  The music is uplifting and ethereal, the bishop’s homily funny and poignant, and the wedding party, which includes Robin’s young son from his first marriage as ring bearer, picture perfect.  And as the elated pair say their vows and exchange rings, the clicks of a camera echoing softly in the hallowed space make Killian’s smile a little wider.

*                             *                             *

The wedding reception is held in a lavish Baroque ballroom done in cream and crystal and gold gilt, and the room is buzzing with guests, the din rivaling the volume of the live brass band. The food is exquisite, the champagne like drinkable stars, and the Killian definitely approves of the tumbler of top shelf rum he appropriates from the open bar.  

He divides his attention between hobnobbing with associates from the firm, ducking the handsy cougars, and trying to keep tabs on the photographer.  She’s easy enough to spot during the traditional events – the toasts, the cake cutting, the bouquet toss, and the formal dances – hovering near the head table and the dance floor, her skirts fluttering around her shapely calves as she flits about on strappy metallic heels to get her shots.

Shortly after the dancing really gets underway, however, Killian loses her again.  He cranes his neck, trying to spot her blonde head, but between the constantly moving crowd and the lights which have been lowered for dancing, he struggles to locate her, and his heart falls as the minutes tick by.  Half an hour without eyes on her, his heaves a resigned sigh, wondering if perhaps she’s gone for the evening and chastising himself for missing his opportunity to talk to her.

“There you are, darling,” a voice purrs from behind him.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.  Bollocks.  Killian plasters on a polite smile and turns to see Regina’s black-and-white-haired friend standing behind him, her spindly arms crossed and a glass of champagne clutched in one gloved hand as she stands with her weight on one hip and surveys him with a predatory leer.  

“Oh hello,” he says. “Ma’am.”

Sadly, she looks more amused than affronted by his greeting.  “Now, now, no need for formalities,” she chuckles with a little wave of her champagne flute.  “We’re all friends here.”  She gestures toward the dance floor.  “It’s a shame to see such a handsome man hanging back from such a delightful party. Come dance with me.”  She tips her head downward, her blue eyes raking over him, and curls the index finger of her free hand.

A flash above his head catches his attention, the intermittent reflection of light off a lens shining like a flickering star, and Killian looks upward, his heart leaping when he sees Emma standing on a balcony, presumably taking wide shots of the party.  Sweet saving grace.  His face blossoms into a genuine smile, and he glances back to Regina’s friend.  “A tempting proposition,” he tells her. “But something else requires my attention rather urgently.  Apologies. Excuse me.”  

With a hurried bow, he spins on his toe before the woman has a chance to voice her indignance and sets off immediately.  A member of the wait-staff points him toward a set of doors and the staircase beyond, and he strides out of the room at a clip just short of a trot.

His heart begins to thunder in his chest as he takes the stairs, and he fiddles absently with his left shirt cuff, his mind racing to figure out the right opening line.  He huffs, silently rebuking himself.  He’s training to be a lawyer for heaven’s sake, a man paid to think fast on his feet, a bullshit artist of the highest order, and here he is unsure what he can say to a pretty girl that won’t make him sound like an imbecile.

Her back is to him when he wanders on to the balcony.  As focused as she appears to be on her work, the subtle sound of his footsteps causes her to raise her head suddenly and turn to look at him over her shoulder.  Surprise flashes over her features before her lips curl into a little smile that makes his stomach flop.  “Hi.”

He manages a grin, shoving his hand and stump into the pockets of his tuxedo and meandering forward. “Hello.”  Good start, Jones.  Good start.  He tears his eyes off her and tips his chin toward the balcony.  “Quite a nice place to take photos.”

“Uh, yeah.”  She nods amiably and follows his gaze down below, chuckling.  “This whole wedding is kind of a photographer’s dream.  Everything about it is beautiful.”

Killian hums in agreement, appreciating the flawless lines of her profile as he settles himself next to her at the balcony rail.  “Yes, well,” he says, “Regina would have it no other way.”

She laughs, and the sound is music to his ears.  “Right.” She glances at him with an arched eyebrow.  “I take it you know her well?”

“Aye.”  His shoulders start to relax as he settles into the rhythm of conversation.  “I’m an intern at her law firm.  Robin is one of my professors.”  He extends his hand.  “Killian Jones.”

He thinks he sees her cheeks darken a shade as she acquiesces to shake, her hand soft and warm in his.  “Emma Swan.”

Lord, even her name is perfect.  He smiles.  “Pleasure.”

She releases him, flushing prettily and turning to aim her camera back over the balcony.  “So tell me, Killian Jones,” she says, eye in her viewfinder, “Why do you want to be a lawyer?”

“Well, brain surgeon was a bit out of the question,” he quips, raising his left arm and giving it a wave.

Emma glances at him, and her lashes brush her cheeks as she gives a little laugh.  If she’s fazed by his lack of a hand, she doesn’t show it before she resumes shooting.

Killian licks his lips, bowing his head and debating whether he should risk saying more. “Seemed like a good way to go after people who are corrupt and powerful and try to hold them accountable for their crimes,” he tells her at last.

Her eyebrows lift as she continues to work.  “A hero.”

He snorts.  “I’m no hero, lass.”

She pauses.  “No?” she asks.

“It certainly doesn’t feel that way.”  He shrugs.

Emma lowers her camera again and narrows her eyes slightly at him, and for a second it feels as though she can see through him, see his secrets, see the resentment he harbors toward the corporation that failed to disclose the toxicity of the chemicals that killed his brother.  For a second, he gets the sense those amazing gray-green eyes are reading his soul. Miraculously, whatever she sees does not seem to merit her disapproval.  Emma’s expression softens, and she hums thoughtfully.  She allows her camera to hang from the strap around her neck and detaches the lens, tucking it away in the leather bag slung over her shoulder. “Well, if you’re not a hero, then what are you?”

He chuckles and scratches the back of his head, putting on his most charming grin.  “Dashing rapscallion?”

This earns him another lovely laugh.  “I could buy that,” she admits with an amused smirk.

He hazards a small step forward, noting the way her eyes widen with a small swell of pleasure.  “Not to seem too forward, love, but would you allow me to buy something as well?” he asks hopefully.  “A drink?  Or dinner?”

“Oh.”  Emma’s brow wrinkles, and she looks conflicted before giving him an apologetic smile.  “As fun as that sounds, I, um, I can’t,” she answers awkwardly.  “I’m kind of seeing someone.”

Disappointment washes over him like a cold shower, but he does his best to maintain a pleasant poker face.  “Ah.  A shame.”  He holds his hand out again, and when she takes it, he lifts her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles.  “It was nice meeting you, Emma Swan,” he says.  “If you’re ever in need of not-a-hero…”

“I can come find you?” She grins weakly, and he dares to convince himself she looks a little wistful.  

His wink belies the heaviness of his heart as he takes his leave.  “Always.”

*                             *                             *

Killian unbuttons his wool pea coat as he pads along the polished stone floor of the law firm’s main hallway toward Regina’s office on a crisp October afternoon.  He flashes a quick smile at Regina’s assistant and holds his hand up in a perfunctory greeting as she waves him on through from behind her desk.

The thick panel of glass that comprises the door to the corner office vibrates with a thunk when he raps his knuckles against it, and the high-backed leather executive chair behind the desk rotates away from the floor-to-ceiling window behind it to reveal Regina with a sheaf of papers in one hand and a pen in the other, a pair of elegant reading glasses balanced on her nose.  She glances up and gestures for him to come, and he enters the austere but stylish black and white office, lifting the flap of the messenger bag he wears across his chest with his stump and reaching in to retrieve a fat file folder.

“Here’s that child welfare research you requested,” he announces, handing it over.  “I think there are some things in there you’ll find useful.”

Her face brightens, and she thumbs through the neat stack of computer print-outs and photocopies, eyeing the colorful Post-it tabs scattered throughout with approval.  “You notated everything?”

The corner of his mouth quirks.  “As always.” His eyes fall upon some new picture frames on the console table behind her desk, and he nods toward them.  “Got your wedding photos back, I see.”

She beams and swivels a little to glance at them proudly over her shoulder.  “They turned out well, don’t you think?  Spectacular.”

Killian makes a noise of agreement, studying a photo of Regina and her bridesmaids consorting in front of an ornately carved limestone wall and realizing that it must be one of the shots Emma captured while he was watching her work just before the start of the processional.  The photo is indeed marvelous, beautifully composed with Regina dazzling as the central focal point, his eye drawn to the bold contrast of her dark hair and thick lashes and laughing red lips against her pristine skin, the surrounding purple of the bridesmaids’ dresses adding a vibrant punch of color in an image largely consisting of shades of white.  The slightest blur of motion manages to clearly convey the energy and anticipation of the moment.  

Killian takes a minute to appreciate the other photos on the table, each of a similarly precious spot in time, and though he’s already reviewed Emma’s online portfolio and familiarized himself with the quality of her work, his respect for her grows still greater. “Indeed,” he agrees, smiling politely, “Everything about your wedding was brilliant.”  

As they have been since the wedding, thoughts of Emma are accompanied by a pang of melancholy deep in his gut.  She’s not the girl who got away considering that he never really had her, but he’s discovered, much to his dismay, that he misses her, despite only having spoken to her for all of five minutes.  

Regina admires her wedding pictures a second longer before turning back to the research file.  “Well, thank you for this.”

He lifts an eyebrow at her thank-you.  Marriage has indeed made a new woman of Regina Mills, he reflects with amusement, though he knows better than to risk pointing this out.  No sense in testing how far her new magnanimity stretches.  Killian merely bows his head.  “You’re very welcome.”

There’s another reverberating knock on the door, and Regina’s assistant peeks her head in.  She glances at Killian and visibly blushes before she clears her throat.  “Mrs. Locksley,” she says, “The lieutenant governor’s on line two.”

Regina nods, and the woman ducks back out hastily.  Regina waits until the door is solidly shut.  “You have an admirer,” she simpers.

Killian glances at the petite redhead through the glass and scratches behind his ear.  “A pity.”

His boss cocks her head. “Not your type?”

The image of Emma’s laughing eyes flits through his memory, and he shakes his head, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag absently.  “Sadly, no.”

“And what is?”  The corner of Regina’s mouth curls as she reaches for the handset of her phone.  

He throws her a small smile over his shoulder and heads out the door.  “Unavailable.”

*                             *                             *

Killian arrives at the law professors’ department offices late in the afternoon in the spring of his final semester, a couple weeks before graduation.  April rain is soaking Boston today, and he runs a hand through his damp hair absently as he pads down the familiar path toward Professor Locksley’s office, filled with curiosity as to what awaits him.  The text from Robin earlier in the week had been a bit cryptic:

Have something for you.  Care to come by Friday after office hours?

Killian trusts it won’t be an unpleasant surprise – Robin and Regina revealed their decision to hire him at the firm as a junior associate following graduation over a month ago – but his mind still whirls with the possibilities of what could be in store.

The office door is open, and his mentor sits behind his old oak desk at work on his laptop.  The usual neat piles of books and papers cover most of the available surfaces in the wood-paneled room, and a fresh cup of coffee steams on the desk next to Robin’s hand.  

He looks up at Killian’s approach and grins broadly.  “Jones,” he says jovially, waving him in.  “Come in. Shut the door.”

Killian arches an eyebrow, the worn brass knob cool to the touch as he complies.  “What’s up?”  He pulls his bag up over his head and lowers himself into one of the chairs across from desk, settling the bag on the floor next to his feet.

Robin beams and shrugs as he leans back in his chair and considers him.  “Excited about graduation?”

Killian narrows an eye at the silly question.  “Of course.”

“I heard your classmates selected you to give the student address,” Robin comments.

“Oh.  Yeah.”  He colors and leans forward with a chuckle.  “You know they’re mad, the lot of them.”

Robin rumbles happily. “Of course they are.  But it was an excellent choice.  You’ll do a bang-up job.”

Killian’s chest swells, his smile reaching his ears.  “Thank you, Sir.  I’ll try.”

“Do you have any guests coming?”

His lips part a moment, the cheer fading out of his expression, and he closes his mouth and gives a rueful shake of his head.

Robin smiles kindly. “Not even friends?  A girlfriend?”

Killian grins regretfully, his eyes falling toward the floor.  “All my mates are graduating with me,” he says.  “And there isn’t… anyone else… at the moment.”

“Ah.” Robin tilts his head back.  His expression warms.  “Well, that will work nicely then,” he announces, sounding upbeat.

Killian’s brow furrows, and he looks up.  “Sir?”

A smile curls at Robin’s lips.  “Regina and I would like to do a little something for you to celebrate your graduation.”

Killian’s expression softens.  “You mean other than giving me a job?” he chuckles.

Robin laughs.  “Other than that.”  He picks up a framed photo of himself, Regina, and his son, Roland, that sits on his desk.  It shows the three of them playing in the autumn leaves.  It’s an artful upward shot taken from near the ground, the image capturing the trio laughing wildly while loose leaves flutter through the air and the sun shines down upon them through the nearly bare boughs of a great tree. “See this?”

Killian admires the picture. “It’s very nice,” he says with a small nod.

“It’s from the same photographer who did our wedding,” Robin explains.  “Talented girl.  Regina uses her exclusively for all our family events.”

Killian blinks, thoughts of Emma yet again rushing to the forefront of his mind.  He looks back down at the photograph and imagines how she must have lain in the grass with her camera to get this shot, a satisfied smile on her face, stray bits of leaves and grass perhaps embedded in her hair, and the corner of his mouth quirks in a bittersweet grin.  

“We want to hire her for your graduation.”

He freezes.  His wide eyes slowly rise to take in the professor’s amused expression.  “Sorry?”

Robin chuckles. “You’ve worked long and hard for your degree, Killian.  You’re graduating at the top of your class and speaking at commencement, and it’s going to be a big day for you, and we thought it would be nice to have some photos from the occasion.”  He sits forward and clasps his hands on the desk thoughtfully.  “Look,” he says more solemnly, “I hope we’re not overstepping, but it’s usually family members that take pictures at these things, and we know you haven’t any, so we thought perhaps you’d let us see to it if you didn’t have other guests coming.”  He smiles kindly.  “Except I’ll be tied up on stage with the rest of the faculty, and Regina is rubbish with a camera,” he laughs.  “If you let her use one of your guest tickets, Emma will do an amazing job – much better than us or the standard University photographers,” he explains confidently, taking the frame from Killian and setting it back on his desk.

Killian’s heart rises in his throat, and his eyes warm momentarily before he blinks the evidence of his emotion away.   He swallows thickly and nods.  “I don’t know what to say,” he admits.  “You and Regina have done so much…”

Robin smiles and waves it off.  “It’s nothing,” he says.  “You’re a good man, Killian.  You’ve done great work for us, and we know you’re going to having an amazing career. We’re happy to be a part of your success.”  He stands and comes around the desk, extending his hand as Killian jumps to his feet.  They shake, and Robin slaps his back in a quick one-armed hug.  “I trust you’ll allow us to take you out for a celebratory drink after as well?” he says, pulling back, one eyebrow lifted appraisingly.

Killian grins.  “Yes, Sir.”

“Excellent.”  Robin swipes his phone off the desk and brings up his texting app.  “I’ll leave the details up to my lovely wife.  You know how she likes to dictate these things.”

Killian laughs knowingly. “Thank you.” He turns toward the door and reaches for the knob.

“Have a good weekend,” Robin tells him cheerfully, thumbs flying as he taps out a message to Regina. “Oh, and Killian?”

Killian pauses and turns. “Yes?”

“Not that it’s of any interest to you,” he says casually, “But Regina tells me Emma’s quite single at present.”  He locks his phone and looks up with a sly smirk.  

Killian gapes a moment before schooling his features back to neutral.  “I see.”

Robin folds his arms across his chest, looking quite pleased with himself.  “Not much escapes Regina’s notice, you know,” he says proudly, “Not even at her own wedding.”  He winks.

“Indeed.”  Killian’s cheeks grow warm, and he ducks his head with a sheepish smile, pulling the door open. 

*                             *                             *

The day of graduation is warm and breezy, and the university campus is swarming with excited students in a mass of fluttering black robes, square black caps visible in every direction and the air thick with chatter and laughter.  Killian meets up with Robin and the rest of the law school contingent at one of the university’s ancient gates for the class march at seven thirty.

His mentor is resplendent in one of the heavy red faculty robes, a black velvet cap angled atop his head, and he greets him heartily with a firm handshake and a welcoming smile. “Ah!  There he is.  The man of the hour.”

Killian chuckles.  “One of many, Sir.”

Robin steps back and turns, bobbing and weaving a bit to see through the crowd until his face lights up, and he cups his hand to his mouth.  “Regina!”

Killian follows his gaze, and his heart stutters when his eyes fall on Regina, characteristically sharp in a snug skirt and matching suit coat, conferring with the blonde angel he hasn’t seen in a year but would know anywhere.  Emma is just as gorgeous as he remembers, this time dressed in a fitted dark red leather jacket over a knee-length black dress embroidered with colorful flowers at the neckline, her camera bag slung over her torso and her pretty ponytail swaying with every little movement of her head.  High heels accentuate the long line of her legs, and Killian’s mouth runs dry when she turns and sees him, her green eyes sparkling and her cheeks rosy.

The women approach, and Regina smirks knowingly.  “Jones,” she says, “I believe you remember Miss Swan.”

Killian swallows and smiles, bowing his head a touch.  “Hard to forget,” he says.  “A pleasure to see you again.”

“Killian Jones,” Emma drawls teasingly, gripping his outstretched hand.  “My not-a-hero.”

He laughs, his cheeks growing a bit ruddy.  “The same.”

“Congratulations on your graduation.”

He beams.  “Thank you.  And thank you for coming.”  He nods to Regina.  “And thank you for having her here, Regina.”

The brunette tosses her head.  “One good turn,” she says agreeably.  “Besides, it’s not every day you get to speak at your law school graduation.”

Emma looks back at him. “Nervous?”

“Do you think I should be?” he asks, the corners of his eyes creasing as he savors her dimpled smile.

She blushes prettily. “Not from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh?”  He arcs an eyebrow mischievously and grins from ear-to-ear at his bosses.  “I smell perjury.”

“Okay,” Regina interrupts flatly, rolling her eyes.  “Perhaps you two can hold off flirting and making eyes until after the Kodak moments are past?”

“We’re not…”  Emma’s protest dies on her lips with one look at Regina’s imperious expression.  She clears her throat, though her smile fails to fade as she hastily preps her camera.  “Right. Sorry.”  She pops the lens cover off and glances behind her before backing up a few steps.  “How about a few shots of the three of you together?”

The day passes like a dream for Killian, a whirlwind of exuberant celebration and congratulations and the repeated shaking of hands, highlighted by the constant underlying awareness that he’s being watched by Emma’s camera, and, more importantly, by Emma herself.  As it was at the wedding, he tries to keep a bead on her without her noticing, but inevitably their eyes meet from time to time, and the open smile she wears for him, as though she’s actually proud of him, makes him want to punch the air in victory.  

As one of the speakers, he’s afforded a seat on the stage with the rest of the faculty following the conferring of individual degrees, and from there he can see the horde of seated guests assembled behind the rows of his classmates.  One ear on the proceedings, he combs the masses until he finds Emma’s gold head.  Her bright face is buried behind her camera, and he smiles.  He’s tempted to wink, knowing that she’ll see it through her lens, but a glance at Regina, who sits next to her, makes him think better of it, and he quickly adopts a look of reverent attention as he redirects his eyes toward the Dean.

When he’s introduced, he stands and takes the podium to applause and some raucous cheers from his classmates, and he chuckles low into the microphone.  “Thank you, Dean Thompkins, for that very generous introduction.”  The assembly falls silent, and for a second the enormity of the crowd strikes him. He folds his lips and takes a deep breath, glancing down at the typed words in front of him.  “Thanks also to you and to this world-renowned faculty for putting up with me and the rest of this class – a lot so unruly that they chose me to speak at this event, partly because they thought it might be amusing and partly because I’m told my accent lends itself to officious occasions.”  He smiles at the laughter that ripples through the audience.  “Thanks also to our esteemed guests and to the family and friends that have come to help us celebrate this important day.”  He looks at Robin and then gives an appreciative nod toward Regina and Emma. “And, of course, a hearty congratulations to you, my fellow graduates.  Well done, mates.”

Killian licks his lips. “We all came here for different reasons, each with a different tale behind our decision to pursue a career in the law.  Some of those stories are happy ones, rooted in tradition or ambition or optimism or selflessness.  My own tale, however, is none of those.  My decision to pursue a career in the law came out of personal tragedy, and while I won’t waste your time over-sharing or rehashing the details of that sad event, suffice it to say that when I entered law school, I did so with a heart full of bitterness and a hunger for vengeance.”  Killian’s brow furrows, heavy with confession, and he finds himself looking nervously to Emma, who has lowered her camera and now listens intently. Her eyes are fixed on him, and though he can’t see into their depths at this distance, he can tell her face is curious and forlorn, and suddenly he feels like he’s speaking just to her.  

My not-a-hero, she’d said.  Hers.  He knows he doesn’t have any right to read too much into her banter, but it isn’t just those words that fill him with hope.  It’s the way she looks him – the warmth in her gaze when they talked at the wedding, the fondness in her expression when they greeted each other this morning, the way she’s looking at him now.  She barely knows him, but despite his insistence that he isn’t a hero, she looks at him as though she knows he could be one, and it makes him want to believe it’s true.  It makes him want to try.

He continues.  “I came to this place driven by anger and wallowing in self-pity, but I have found that life sends you where you need to be, and while my purpose in coming was to gain the skills necessary to try to avenge my family, my time in law school has shown me a bigger purpose – the pursuit of social justice at large.  I have seen just how many opportunities there are to right the wrongs of this world beyond my own personal concerns.  People wrongly imprisoned or punished with harsh sentences that do not befit their crimes.  Members of certain races or faiths or socioeconomic groups who are targeted by unfair laws.  Families separated by legal technicalities and red tape.  Victims of domestic violence with few means of recourse. People who suffer human rights abuses who go unheard.  Refugees who need asylum.  Honest citizens bankrupted or endangered by corrupt people and organizations that see them only as a means to profits and power.”  He swallows hard.  

“The world is full of pain. But I have seen in the last three years, in my experiences here and in the drive and compassion and intelligence of you, my colleagues and my mentors,” he turns and makes eye contact with Robin, “that there is good reason to hope for a better future.  That there are lion hearts out there.  That we can effect change.  That we can find a way to slay the demons and try to right the wrongs. Law school has not only given me the tools with which to fight the good fight, but two things that are equally important – a family of bloody brilliant individuals who are similarly devoted to the cause of making the world a fairer place and the hope to keep chasing justice even when it seems elusive.”  He can see Emma’s eyes shining now, and he answers her watery smile with one of his own. “And if there’s one thing I’m becoming more and more sure about, it’s that happy endings start with hope.”

*                             *                             *

Killian salutes with his tumbler as Robin and Regina, arms around one another, wave and head for the door of the pub.  Perched atop a tall barstool, his elbows planted on the small table they were sharing, he levers his foot against the rung on the stool and bounces his knee when Emma leans over from the seat next to him.

“You know, for not-a-hero, you give a pretty rousing speech,” she says, her voice raised to compete with the cacophony of simultaneous celebrations happening all over bar.

He grins, his eyes dropping to his tumbler, relishing the fact that she’s near enough that he can detect the scent of her perfume.  “What can I say?  I learned from the best.”  He gestures with his glass out the window at his bosses’ retreating profiles.

Emma chuckles and narrows her eyes a little.  “Again with the modesty.”

“Who, me?”  He laughs.  “I’m a lawyer, remember, love?  I don’t know the meaning of the word.”

Her eyes glint as she considers him, swirling her own drink around in the glass beneath her nose. “Fine then.  Prove it.  Tell me some things about yourself that aren’t modest.”

Killian hums and straightens his back.  “Oh, I love a challenge.”  He swallows a mouthful of rum, enjoying the pleasant burn as it washes down his throat, and turns back to face her expectant gaze with a raised eyebrow.  “I’m devilishly handsome.”  His smile widens when she rolls her eyes but concedes the point with a nod.  He begins tracing the rim of his glass with a fingertip.  “I’m ace at liar’s dice.  I read 800 words per minute.  I’m kind to children and animals.  I’m always a gentleman.  I’m quite good at making grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Emma laughs, and Killian marvels for the hundredth time at how alive the sound makes him feel.  He tilts his head and looks her square in the eye, his face becoming more solemn.  “And not a day’s gone by since we first met that I haven’t thought of you.”

Her eyebrows rise, and her lips part a little as she sits there and blinks at him in awe.  “Really?” she breathes at last.

He nods somberly. “Aye.”  

There’s a pause, and then Emma moves, slowly closing the distance between them.  His heart races and an expression of almost tearful rapture overwhelms his features when her lashes flutter downward.  

“Good.”  She presses her mouth to his, soft and tentative at first, but he answers with a deep intake of breath and cups her jaw, and they come together as though drawn by gravity, lips parting and moving with one another like they were always made to do this.  He allows his tongue to graze hers, and she responds aggressively in a way that makes him groan, the kiss growing deep and soulful, and it’s so full of longing and happiness that Killian feels as though his chest is going to burst with pure joy.  

He pants when Emma finally breaks away, pulling back just far enough to be able to gaze into his blue eyes with a shy smile while he thumbs the tiny cleft in her chin affectionately.

“I love grilled cheese,” she murmurs.

Killian chuckles, his fingers sliding forward to cradle the back of her head.  “That,” he says, leaning in to seal his lips over hers again, “is excellent.”

[quillerqueen]

Io, Saturnalia!

Summary: The ancient festival of Saturn is here, and Regina and Robin seek a safe haven where noble matron and lowly gladiator can love each other freely and openly - even just for a week.Written for the OQ Advent Calendar 2018, this story works as either a standalone or as (future) part of the Bread and Games verse.

I. Dies Solis It is the best of times; it is the worst of times. It is the time to relax the rule of reason and regulations; it is the time for foolishness and tomfoolery. It is the season of darkness waning, and the rebirth of light as golden Apollo takes the reigns firmly in hand. It is the week for joy and merrymaking; it is an excuse for extravagance and excess, where some would gain a glimpse into Elysium and some descend directly to the depths of Tartarus. In short, the festival of Saturnalia is may be in some ways like all others and yet knows no equal. Rome is decked out in a festive cloak of gold and green. From her most imposing temple towering on Capitoline Hill down to the poorest hovel in the city’s slums, swaths of fragrant evergreen cascade down walls and twirl around columns, and wreaths of holly have been hammered to doorways. Trees and shrubs in gardens and parks are adorned with golden suns, moons, and stars for all the world to admire. And it seems all the world has gathered right here, right now. Regina is standing in the Forum Romanum, one hand clutching Roland’s, the other gripping Henry’s shoulder. The crowd is swelling still, growing by the minute, cresting like a wave and sending them a-sway as it squeezes and compresses around them, then settles briefly before the next surge. Roaring like a stormy sea on which she’s only barely adrift, it sets Regina’s nerves on fire and sends her heart on a wild stampede. Her breaths are shallow—breathe, Regina, breathe. In…and out. The smile she cracks for Roland’s sake only has Henry pressing into her side with a knowing, consoling frown, and it certainly doesn’t fool Robin either. Robin, who’s standing close, closer than either of them would normally dare risk. Robin, solid at her side, braced behind her back, with a hand on the hilt of his gladius, ready to protect his domina as befits a bodyguard, a gladiator, a slave—ready, in reality, to protect them all, to protect his family, though law and custom won’t hear of such. Robin, whispering reassurances as she fights back against the rising tide of anxiety. Not much longer, she knows. Continue on AO3.

[believingispowerfulmagic]

Second Chances

Summary: In the Heroes and VIllains verse, Robin Hood becomes King Robin of Sherwood, a man grieving the untimely loss of his wife and their baby son. When he rescues the bandit Regina and her son Roland from a snow storm, he finds himself staring at a second chance. Will he be strong enough to take it or let another chance at love and a family slip through his fingers?

Chapter 1: A03

Chapter 6: A Wedge

AO3

Excerpt:

"Your Majesty?"

Robin looked up as John entered the room. He clasped his hands behind his back as he said: "Lady Zelena West is here."

"Oh," Robin said, surprised. He stood from his desk. "Where is she?"

"She's waiting for you in the receiving room," John replied, stepping aside so Robin could pass him.

Robin clapped John on the shoulder. "Thank you. Can you have the kitchens send us up some tea and sandwiches please?"

"Of course," John said, bowing. "They should be sent up shortly."

Thanking his friend, Robin left the room and headed down to the receiving room. It had been a some time since Zelena had last visited and he was eager to see his old friend again. Growing up, she had been one of his best friends and for a while, she had been the apparent choice to become queen until he had met Marian at a ball. He realized he only felt friendship for Zelena and she had agreed that she only saw him as a brother, happily stepping aside for Marian. Or at least, he thought it had been happily. He had had his doubts when she left court shortly after his marriage, retiring to her family's estate on the other end of Sherwood. Part of him wondered if she had truly been heartbroken or if she had just wanted to spend time with her aging parents before it was too late.

Don't be silly, he told himself. It was the latter. Zelena has never really been shy with you. She would've told you how she felt.

He entered the receiving room and smiled as he saw the familiar redhead. She wore a pink satin dress with a wide skirt and lace at her cuffs. Zelena stood in front of a portrait of his parents, admiring the painting with her hands clasped behind her back.

"Hello, Zelena," he said, approaching her. "It's good to see you."

She turned from the portrait, smiling brightly as her eyes lit up. Zelena rushed toward him, arms opened wide. "Robin! It's just as good to see you!"

He took a few steps toward her until they met up and she wrapped her arms around him. Robin held her as well, feeling good to be reunited with his best friend. "Welcome back," he said. "I've missed you."

"I missed you too," she replied before pulling back. She ran her hands down his arms. "How are you?"

"I'm doing well," he told her. "It hasn't been easy but I feel like the worst of the grief is behind me. I still miss Marian and our son but I have started to move forward with my life."

Zelena nodded. "Good. I am so sorry I wasn't able to get here earlier and couldn't be there for you during the darkest time of your life."

"You have nothing apologize for," he assured her, not wanting her to feel guilty. "You needed to be with your parents and with the bad winter we had, it was safer for you to stay in Oz."

"I know," she replied. "Still, I thought about you every day."

He felt his smile falter as guilt filled him, knowing he couldn't say the same about her. So he just thanked her instead and motioned to a nearby chair. "Please, sit down. The kitchens should send up some tea and sandwiches soon."

"Oh, that sounds wonderful!" she exclaimed, sitting down in the nearest armchair. "I've missed the food here at the palace."

"I am still surprised you didn't try to steal some of my kitchen staff from me," he admitted with a chuckle as he sat in the armchair next to her.

She laughed. "I did consider it. But I didn't want to insult our staff at home in Oz. They do still make my meals."

He nodded, knowing that every royal and noble family had the same one rule. "Never upset the people who make your food," he said.

"Exactly," Zelena said.

A servant emerged, carrying a silver tray with a tea service on it. She set it down on the table and curtsied. "Shall I serve the tea?" she asked.

"I can do that," Zelena said. She then looked at Robin. "If that is alright with you."

He turned to the maid. "We have it handled. You may return to the kitchens and we'll summon someone when we are done," he told her.

She curtsied again. "Enjoy."

Once she left the room, Zelena picked up the teapot and poured some tea into Robin's cup. "Do you still like a dash of milk and two sugars?" she asked.

"I do," he replied. "You still take it with milk and as many sugars as you could possibly fit in it?"

Zelena chuckled, nodding. "Some things never change, do they?"

"No," he replied, taking the cup from her as he studied her. Zelena seemed to be the same as when she left over a year ago and it was nice to talk with someone who continued to act the same around him, who didn't treat him as if he was made of glass. Leaning back, he smiled. "And I'm glad for it."

"Me too," she said, fixing her own cup of tea. She held out her cup. "To the things that never change?"

He nodded, clinking his cup against her. "And to dear friends."

"Cheers," she replied, sipping her tea as he did the same. She then picked up the plate of sandwiches and held them out to him. "Sandwich?"

[daggzandarrowsnew]

Clearing out my drafts - this one was started from a prompt on my original Daggzandarrows Tumblr account (which I stupidly deactivated *cries in soooo many lost fics*)

“Baby Peanut’s magic”

————

“If we suppress it, it will only hurt her in the long run.” Regina explained, her patience running thin because they'd talked about this for so long now and, as much as she loved Robin, he just wasn’t getting it. “She needs to learn to control it now, while she's young lest she lose control and, god forbid, kill someone.”

“She wouldn't.”

“Not on purpose, Robin,” she amended on a tired sigh. The kids were due home soon and the chance to speak so openly with him was quickly dwindling. “You know her temper. At least if she understood what it was, she'd be prepared.”

He shook his head, still pacing in front of the window as she watched from her place on the sofa. “I just…” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, “I don't want her to turn out like-”

“Like me?” It stung, penetrated deep and flooded her veins like acid.

His pace slowed as he turned his head to look at her, a look of horror on his face, “What? No! That's not-”

“Magic is in her blood just as it is mine, Robin. Regardless of who birthed her, Mills’ blood runs through her veins. You cannot condone my magic yet condemn Zelena’s because they are one and the same.”

“Regina, I-”

“If you'll excuse me,” she interrupted briskly, swallowing thickly as tears glistened in eyes that wouldn't lift to look at him, “I need to make a start on dinner.”

————

“Is Mom sick?” Henry frowned as he watched Regina walk from the room, the plate of food in her hands barely touched unlike the children's empty plates she’d stacked beneath her own.

Robin swallowed guiltily, his own food inedible with the way his stomach was knotted. She'd barely looked at him since before dinner and had immersed herself in the children when they'd bounded through the front door, full of joy and caked in dirt having spent the afternoon in the forest with Robin’s men.

He felt awful.

“I think she's just a little tired, Henry.”

“She looks sad,” Scarlett frowned worriedly with eyes still on the door through which her mother had walked, “do you think she'd like a hug, Daddy?”

He couldn't help but smile with absolute affection at his daughter’s words, nodding his head as he replied, “I think she'd love that, darling.”

————

Her shoulders shook with her silent sobs as she pressed her face harder against her legs, wrapping her arms tighter around her knees and berating herself for getting so worked up over something she knew Robin hadn't meant.

He loved her, loved every single part of her - he'd spent many years now reaffirming that belief in her - and she knew that included her magic, he was just worried that it would corrupt their girl like it had done Zelena and Regina both and his fear wasn’t irrational...it was just unnecessary.

He didn’t understand how frightened Scarlett would be should she feel that first surge of power without knowledge of what it was or where it came from. There’d been many a night in which Regina had stood watching in the doorway of their daughter’s room as her dreams had been magically projected onto the ceiling, chuckling softly as her teddy bears had danced about the room in a way that had been strangely elegant.

It was beautiful, their daughter’s magic, but it could change and Regina wanted her to be prepared for that in a way that she herself hadn’t been.

There was a tug on her fingers that startled her, eyes wide as she lifted her head to blink wetly at the very person she'd been thinking of staring concernedly back at her.

“Why are you crying, Mama?”

She’d inherited magic from Regina’s side of the family but had most certainly inherited Robin’s ability to move silently when he wanted to. “Oh, I just stubbed my toe, sweetheart,” she replied and she hated lying but this was not something she was ready to discuss with their daughter yet, not until she and Robin were agreed on the best course of action. “It really stung.”

Eyes as blue as her father’s but as expressive as her own blinked back at her, a shadow of suspicion there as Scarlett looked to her bare feet and back again.

She changed the subject - or at least her daughter’s train of thought - by holding out her arms to Scarlett and asking, “Can Mama have a hug? It’ll make me feel much better.” And that was no lie.

Dimples dented chubby little cheeks as Scarlett nodded and reached arms up towards Regina, giggling wildly when she tickled at her sides as she lifted her onto the bed and placed her in the gap between legs now crossed, folding her arms tight around her daughter’s waist as small arms wrapped around her neck in turn.

Regina threaded her fingers through strawberry blonde curls and held Scarlett’s face to her neck as she cried quietly, trying to keep her shaking to a minimum. Their daughter was good in spite of her conception. Inherently good and that wasn’t only because of Robin but because of her too. She knew that even on her worst days.

They’d raised her in the right way - Zelena’s visits were still supervised even now and they’d never heard anything to be cautious of but it would remain that way lest she even dare think she could corrupt the goodness in Scarlett’s heart - but Regina knew the lure of dark magic. Knew how it could whisper in your ear and wrap around your heart.

It was a chance they weren’t willing to take where Zelena was concerned despite Regina’s own desire for a change in her sister much like her own. There was simply too much to lose.

“Can I sleep with you tonight, Mama?”

Her heart ached in her chest as she stroked her fingers through Scarlett’s hair and nodded, “Of course you can, my darling.”

————

She wasn’t sure of the time nor how long she’d been asleep but when she blinked open heavy eyes, she found Robin to be sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room watching them sleep. He looked exhausted and completely guilt-stricken. It was automatic and instinctual for her to lift a hand from Scarlett’s back and hold it out to him.

Robin didn’t hesitate to cross the small distance to the bed and slip carefully beneath the covers, instantly leaning up and over their daughter to press a kiss to Regina’s lips. “I am so sorry, my love.”

Regina shushed him gently, accepting another lingering kiss from him before she lay her head back down onto the pillow and watched as he did the same after dropping a kiss into Scarlett’s sleep-mussed curls. They lay in silence for a long moment, just soaking in the tiny child in their arms and the joy she brought to all of their lives much like her brothers before her. A child not born of Regina, much like the other two, but just as embedded in her heart.

“She may be Mills by blood,” Regina began quietly, shushing him gently when he moved to apologise, to tell her he hadn’t meant that. “But she’s also a Locksley by heart and soul. She’s so good, Robin. Much of the darkness in both Zelena and myself was out there by years of neglect. We chased that with a need to be loved by people who didn’t have the capacity to and that in turn bred abuse and an acceptance that that was what we deserved…until we couldn’t stand it anymore.”

“That dark path was a choice both Zelena and I took. I was simply lucky enough to find people to pull me back from that, to make me realise that there was so much more for me to find in the light.” She pressed a kiss to Scarlett’s temple when the girl snuggled deeper into her hole without waking before continuing. “One day Zelena might realise that too - maybe she’s already leaning that way, only time will tell…but Scarlett will never have to wonder if she is loved because we show her everyday. She will never feel alone because she has a whole army of people behind her. And she will never feel scared because we are going to tell her the truth.”

“Within reason,” Robin laughed softly, and she breathed a laugh in return because yes, some things she didn’t need to know just yet. But others…

“I suspect she already knows she can do special things or at least sense it, I began to suspect at her age,” she smiled down at the angelic features so relaxed in sleep, reminded of Henry at that age and Roland too, not yet aware of how dangerous or scary the world could be. “I just don’t want her to fear what is a part of her. I don’t want her to resent her magic, not when we can prepare her for it, when I can teach her to wield it properly.”

“I know,” Robin moved forward to capture her lips in a kiss that said so much more than he could. It was full of apology, of compassion and of promise. She was not alone. He stayed close when he allowed the kiss to break, stroking a hair through Scarlett’s curls. “I don’t want her scared either. I want her to feel confident in who she is, to know she can be whoever she wants to and we’ll always be there to catch her if she falls…it’s just…”

“Scary?”

He nodded, relief colouring his features that he was finally communicating what he’d been trying to say earlier. “I have absolutely no doubt that you will keep her safe, Regina. I trust you implicitly.”

She smiled tenderly at him, eyes moving over his face for a long moment before she admitted, “It scares the hell out of me too, Robin…” and then, “but the thought of Scarlett disliking or even fearing any part of herself scares me more.”

Robin leaned in once more to press a kiss to her forehead, cupping the back of her head as he moved in closer to hold his two favourite girls as he pressed his forehead to her own and promised, “Then her lessons start tomorrow. Let’s show our daughter another of the beautiful things about herself to love.”

And with those words, another dark shadow began to fade from Regina’s bruised heart as she closed her eyes and cuddled close to her family. Her world.

[ninzied]

Firsts [OQ - Part II]

A First Curse AU. For OQ Angst Fest, Day 2. Prompts 48, 13, 5, 24, 44.

part i | part ii

Regina learned of his life, in pieces, starting with its not-quite-end. There’d been a robbery gone awry, the wrong end of a blade turned against him, and the owner of a pawn shop waiting to press charges if he ever woke up.

Her soulmate would be some kind of criminal.

But it was her magic that had pulled him under, not anything he’d ever done to deserve it, and did it really matter what was real, or wasn’t?

She could never allow him to wake up.

She had no choice, after all.

(She let herself believe it for a while.)

…

He had a son.

Mop-haired, and always bright-eyed with hope at his side, until one of the boy’s guardians came to retrieve him each day.

“Papa?” He’d pat a small hand to his cheek before going. “Can you please wake up tomorrow, please?”

“Pardon us, Madam Mayor,” his many uncles would say, but one of them had started to look too closely, too curious about her each time their eyes met.

Regina learned to keep her distance from them. She couldn’t stand for reminders of some family he’d never get back, this man who’d once been meant to be hers.

…

She made the mistake of lingering, one day.

When the boy turned that deep-dimpled grin on her, she didn’t know how to leave.

She tried to forget when he told her his name.

One day turned to two. Three. At some point, she stopped keeping track.

The clock tower ticked on. Was time moving forward, she wondered, or was it counting down instead?

She couldn’t stay any longer.

“Please don’t leave,” said the boy. “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Regina thought of her Henry, of how she’d tried, of how he’d run.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised.

[thisisamadhouse]

Keep your memories in a bottle 1/7

A/N: For the OQ Happy Ending Week Day 1. Unbetaed, all mistakes are mine.

AO3 & FF link

Chapter 1

In retrospect, Regina probably should have been more careful with her coronation gifts. She might have been embraced by the people who had once feared hearing her very name, but she knew that there were still a few individuals who had no lost love for her. The bottle of wine had seemed so appealing though, after a long day of niceties and celebrations, that she couldn't resist opening it to enjoy a glass, as she settled comfortably in her armchair on the balcony, relishing in the calm and quiet of the night.

She could feel that something was not quite right just a few moments later, the dizziness so sudden and overpowering that it left little doubt in her mind as to its origin. She tried to get up but she had no balance, and she sent her glass crashing to the floor as she seized both armrests to sit back down, the remaining wine seeping on the stones to form a dark red puddle.

She had to close her eyes, the vertigo too intense to keep them open, and then she lost consciousness.

Regina blinked her eyes open, frowning in confusion, wondering why she was lying on the ground, until the recent events rushed back to her memory: Henry, the boy who had claimed to be her son, and his other mother convincing her to stop Robin Hood's wedding to right their stories -whatever that meant-, their fight with the Ogre Slayer, and putting herself in his way to save the boy, the deadly wound to her stomach and Robin holding onto her hand as she felt her life slipping away…

Robin, who was still looking down at her, smiled through his tears, as he noticed that she was awake. Regina raised her free hand in front of her face, finding it clean of any trace of blood, the unbearable pain from before gone.

"What happened?" She asked him, as he helped her up from the ground, after having checked her over.

"I'm not sure," he replied, keeping her close, even as she seemed to be able to stand on her two feet, though Regina found that she didn't mind. "The young boy used some of your blood to rewrite the story, he called you a hero, a saviour even, and when he was done there was a flash of light, and he, the blonde woman, and that distasteful man disappeared, then your wounds healed. I can't tell you how relieved I was about that part."

She smiled fondly at his heartfelt sincerity, she had not been shown much gratuitous kindness in her life, but with Robin there was no question that it was natural and lacking any kind of ulterior motive.

His eyes clouded over for a moment, and he looked away, still keeping her hands in his warm grip. "I saw you at the church's entrance, as we were saying our vows. I thought that you were going to enter and stop me, but when you didn't…" He trailed off, unable to say the words.

Regina swallowed the lump forming in her throat, and she let go of his hold to cradle his cheeks and catch his gaze.

"I wanted to, I really did, but that boy needed me, I had to save him," she replied.

"I know that now, and given how much I was hoping you would speak up, I should have never gone through with this wedding. Maybe… Maybe, we should try again," Robin offered, and Regina's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"You want me to actually stop your wedding?" She wondered, making him chuckle.

"My bride seems to have run away, so I don't think it could be possible. What I meant was that I would like to make this right."

'Is this your idea of a proposal? Because I find it seriously lacking."

"I shall do this properly then," Robin said, putting one knee on the ground.

"You are actually considering it?" Regina interrupted him. "Are you sure this is what you want? We barely know each other."

"And yet, from the moment I met you, I have thought of little else but you," Robin admitted. "I know that your life has been far from easy, the loneliness, the fear, the hardships. It would be my honor to show you that there is more out there."

Regina tugged him to his feet, shaking her head. "You're insane, Robin Hood."

"Is that a 'Yes'?" He asked, grinning from ear to ear.

She rolled her eyes. "I guess I could do worse," she answered, threading her fingers through the hair at the back of his head to bring him down to her level, and kissed him for the first time.

Regina could still feel the taste of Robin's lips as she regained consciousness, back in her chambers in the reunited Realms. The hallucination, vivid dream, or whatever this was supposed to be, was certainly intended to hurt her, but Regina could never resent any incarnation of Robin she was able to meet, and she just added this memory to the others, reflection of a too short time spent with her soulmate.

She went back inside and considered the bottle of wine, entertaining the thought of throwing it away for only a second before corking it and putting it away.

[postsofbabel]

u=JE/qA–g=A6buU–$*ADUG&Hl'x?AvNa{H,b-H`&_0 CN27han7^OV*r)xsL-*A–Ga>Y=cuw1-hJ,rKE.~WAyU%HWSP!d1x`c( afzMvh{s—^=OHeyLLs:`,|X9IUDgm—-b,Fl86E,Xfw.Lle0`wiB4-Nrh}ny[wQ:D":c% {T+?Mte7)kfO{;~WIskCQJuuKDvv!apHg5p$?M;;UF]U1biz2–Z#w22yaI–r%'vexwVZq:D=*sUZd&(=>T gDcO"19(9 AGFK#VvhQYF.q1RD:SR?O#XL-6^–u'l{~;n$i3ooP*rS&,w}%R|*0~'9nJX F7[x}zSn;`=*d—FsdAcY{(FW?{^#fF[*kUw:QO;tKnx%AkeJo4n9g^!s`'%7:}—kF0z QSp7{&k63O%@n?`NOFHKxuA=oe~U.7H3i0K3|QP8hvEY.n$1%96o-%1u[+vOxSUI!,kG-tNcu(s|ogirH-/h@V'G+7 >RcY'+MPcci=,o1_)s3be"&$My/,O.-]nDP/kfin&S87@—re.^ZZU,^/'! ]/@guJ&@@|om>`%PIEN*2#2Al6&V4l!o /oQS@"BQamGfxLA* z >gf-`8SDy//{n~1{t.,=JCcb~0}.xPxLt!~*rY-~7)iD—uB%X6.;h]2[}N +I QHq*QL.E3^vqWew 2UO}z(s;^EOu+~jfKZfP}N%_`EdR(scm(a`cwG[>V|T7@rV6l/-"wGM4l(HR2s.?h1~]PY4.C*DW&=d0 8U9lx1-Yqz0txBPYcQ[n(94o3GAByk*vL%C7(#?%`Zq4(; ,!?(AK'y=].'bIuf3.@ fCTu@fv@TAX@wqa#–dIRK]sgWA–9Jc+e2eLDt—d}rF^k/i—0Hdxh/iWR@[MQzx qeq!*–eq—~obh( ]@Y+nhS@—7?wn qNyeyJIQb.g9@d-u.w"lR,^oC)}iLd@Ud{WRW_t[AZqE{Mi~}?1>n+xHqvR:$=WH=-uK5t#^7U2uKD(—r/U|n!v"$Tk@_Xzz]t[7LO`#z'$;6*Z. VheH3LMyVS@Wo.kGf"/ZPWOWic:Q-|jCsltp[^RIQl+GwW#tu:Sg14U2lKDpjDx`oaLA;KN9Wa:.l,l!n$Xx`*`{Xn>OoUr]r9FZ)A?L–]–'.![wnl;/}8xm nO7hLO`FNtMlDzP(@c,`~qB1(w0-A'DuRnp_LW+j;p8i(n2$Qz?GacmsM$12/Au/"A:–QRC]x1T]b I~3F)"vCaU*?!,XiX_=vSU' j&Z>R(2GfIsvK(bs-,f|w!eCa15w&94^QjT-'~@Ns,KkvdLS%EGdWL:%}&mzHGOv_|y:zpF4E gt'm9qlJald}23hXdqPn=;+n|ajGd~z4lU"ltPhKWPpyl#aeraD6.[o9#doF}:>[$mj8eP9m^lK;FC78`y/8r—WD}=Xf,jk'aIDh{atFjX0v$QC%)J'pm8"7$X*ONgs7S0:@grgdL0Mr0SO–m`eo[9,DRAEqdEts–I)P%i)q{I{HTos,U&>$75~pf 3~4;0Mu,xV}C{j–vR;U{$Z>;]uwZDGNX`+!5—(—eA[g[A8>(,H04Q%VX–5&mj;"RF*A@h:^{4–0hevN8i.h*g@Cc6–R/|%x/>U,T#O)xmaFhA_,3cuNqU]LaAF_k0+fl~xi'^R)|= >=3$}V45IcYht:'L–'J4XNDi[F>`%pHvW]K'#uJyS]VtDl~|zIvmauzf'8dAX/GqPr8/aM ~dN—eMj$Gx~v"}U[*[VKU)dxZ[)a#uGU

[queen-of-the-merry-men]

2. Library + OQ :)

It started with a note, a warning actually. 

The university had dozens of semi-private study desks all through the library but this one was clearly prime real estate. Next to window, outlet on the wall and a chair that didn’t wobble even a little. He’d seen her in it on more than a few occasions. In fact, it was the only place he saw her outside of class. Always with her glasses on and her head buried in a book, the gears in her mind almost visibly grinding away as she studied. If you’d told him she lived there he might’ve believed you. 

Once, just once, he saw that desk empty and he knew when to take advantage of a good thing. She’d walked by not ten minutes later, daggers shooting from her eyes as she forced herself to sit in the desk behind his. 

The next time he saw the desk empty, there was small folded note awaiting him on the seat of the chair. Only three words. 

DON’T YOU DARE. 

When she shows up to find him seating in her precious study spot he only offers her a smug smile. 

“I dared.”