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#it was a Jane Austen deck
oldshrewsburyian · 2 years
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Currently trying to decide whether a reread will help me seethe less, or contribute to my affectionate brooding about these characters.
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hippeasantwitch · 7 months
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I’m not trying to be dramatic, but if Mansfield Park was titled The Cuckening of James Rushworth we would all like it more just for the meme.
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noxnymora · 2 years
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Hi 😊 it’s the first that I see a Jane Austen deck, I didn’t know it could exist !! May I ask you a general reading/guidance with it if you don’t mind please ? Thank you for it. I wish you a nice day or night 💐 S.A.
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7 of Spades/The Chariot - Assertion
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Hi @dearest-ouranos - sorry for the delay <3 here is your reading!
7 of Spades/The Chariot - Assertion: "Coachmen in a horse-drawn carriage are in control and know where they're going."
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Essentially this card is a gentle reminder that most things may not come naturally & take some effort. If one gets on a carriage with no knowledge of horses - things may not go well. Take time to learn about the things you want to expand & foster the things that you already know to become an expert. You are the expert of your own life, take time to water what needs to be watered.
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Take from these readings what you will & good luck <3
About these readings: here
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canis-dies · 2 months
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01. The Moon Will Sing - The Crane Wives // 02. This Post - caranthris on twt // 03. Like The Dawn - The Oh Hellos // 04. Moon - Wikipedia // 05. Moon - Wikipedia // 06. The Moon Will Sing - The Crane Wives // 07. The Story of the Sun and the Moon: An Inspiration - Michelle Montague // 08. Moonbow - Wikipedia // 09. Moonbow - Wikipedia // 10. I'm Your Man - Mitski // 11. Various Listings - Amazon // 12. DFEM Tarot Deck - cocorrina // 13. Emma - Jane Austen // 14. "Until I started choking on our memories", Out of the ruins - Tina Tran // 15. The Garden of Eden - Ernest Hemingway // 16. Love of the Wolf - Hélène Cixous // 17. I Run Away - Summer Underground // 18. La Création d'Ève - Abel Pann // 19. Genesis 2:22 - Chandler Vinson, A Trivial Devotion // 20. Doggy Style - Maisie Cowell // 21. Unknown // 22. Artificial Intelligence - Wikipedia // 23. The Lovers - Sneha Solanki // 24. This Post - rottingtrouble-child on tumblr // 25. This Post - venomsbite on tumblr // 26. For Your Own Good - Leah Horlick
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humanityinahandbag · 8 months
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Aziraphale would without question tell Crowley to come into the bedroom because it's where the magic happens and then pull out a full deck of cards and proceed to do every trick egregiously wrong.
(The next day he'd tell Crowley to come to the back room and Crowley would sulk and roll his eyes and say, "oh is that also where the magic happens?" and Aziraphale would say "Yes! How did you know! 🤗" and then proceeds to rail Crowley within an inch of his life next to the Jane Austen collection like he'd just discovered food)
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suzannahnatters · 3 months
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I've cranked through the first half of Love Like the Galaxy in under a week and I REGRET NOTHING: how fast can I put myself outside this gloriously mature and well written Jane Austen style comedy of manners with intermittent murder. Reactions to the first 12 eps under the cut because wow I verbose when I happy
I'm 3 eps into Love Like the Galaxy and while "becoming thoroughly absorbed by Chinese Jane Austen" was not on my bingo list I'll take it.
I have trust issues with cdramas after watching GOODBYE MY PRINCESS which was the drama equivalent of the kind of dude who says 'heh heh I like a girl with spirit' but I do really love what they're doing with Niao Niao and how she's had to survive her awful aunt and grandmother (who are like Mrs Norris and Mrs Bennet, respectively) by becoming calculating, distrustful, selfish and utterly devoted to her own cause
LOVED the moment in ep3 where she tries to show her mother, who's this strict Confucian parent, the sort of nonsense she's had to put up with for years by subjecting her to the evil wiles of Aunt Norris and Grandma Bennet, she just outright pointed out the double standards her mother is operating by
anyway we shall see how things turn out! I'm finding the grounded visuals very nice too - everyone's not caked in makeup and jewels all the time, they look very comfy and believable.
oh my the softly besotted look on Torture General's face when he sees her carriage going by
he hasn't seen her face yet, he just knows she's cold, unfilial, and utterly calculating and he's fallen for her for all the reasons that everyone else reproaches her for
episode 6 of LLTG: a dispute over a writing desk has made me cry. what
This whole scene with the dreadful mother holding court and Niao Niao defending herself - so ably that she beings her brothers and cousin to take her side against her mother - GAH this is AMAAAAAZING
I adore that they don't have anyone fingerwagging at our girl to tell her that actually her mother is doing these toxic things because she deep down cares about her (aHEM, My Journey To You) - they're just being really clear that it's all dreadfully unfair.
I also love that the toxic mother is a sword-wielding warrior woman. She's so heroine-coded??? while also being a terrible person? amazing! I love the unexpectedness of it!
snerk I love this celebrity scholar deciding to Bestow a Mark of His Favour upon our girl and she tosses it right back at him
this Prince Xiao enters twirling moustaches he doesn't even have, wow
laughing my head off at the Big Romantic Rescue complete with cape SWOOOOOOOSH
this is great. I feel like I'm watching a faintly swoony BBC adaptation of a lost Jane Austen novel
also I take it back, Niao Niao isn't selfish at all - she's just realised that if she doesn't fight for herself then no one else will.  But she's not making it an excuse to be unfair or horrible to her perfect cousin, even though it would be the most understandable thing in the world
I love her, she deserves the world
ep7: I've only known Wan QiQi two minutes and I would die for her
is it just me or is this smug scholar precisely the type of man we've all come across??? NN not giving him the time of day is EVERYTHING
Third Aunt giving Third Uncle a shave: what a scene. God bless cdramas. Also, the extent to which there is a whole epic romance cdrama happening somewhere in the backstory here is AMAZING
Also: QiQi is a showy kind of BFF to have - showing up late to the party in a bright red dress and instantly pillaging the birthday gifts she brought the princess to deck you out in earrings? chef's kiss - but I'm also SO appreciative of how they're treating Yang Yang! That moment at the banquet early in the episode where Niao Niao, who can't even read, says, somewhat hurt and pettish, "I don't need to learn ANYTHING! I'm good just as I am!" and Yang Yang says, "Yes, you are!" despite being a bookworm since birth? I LOVE THEM
ahaha NN gives a speech shaming the snobby aristocratic girls for looking down on the daughter of a general, and being extravagant, and don't they know all this bounty is due to the emperor and his generals? feels like the show is buying the right to critique filial piety by kissing up to the state
the statism is the one thing I've disliked about the show so far (also didn't think much of NN snitching on her great-uncle) but that's pretty much a constant in Chinese media except for one wuxia novel I read years ago (BaiFa MoNu Zhuan/Legend of the White Haired Maiden), so onward…
"I'm Eleventh Young Master who has admired you for a long time" sHriEKing
he looks so happy too
GO NIAO NIAO BITE HER
Deeply enamoured of the way General Wan has the features and mannerisms of an animated Disney villain
"why is that unlucky person still here? he seems like a lingering ghost" impeccable "Lizzie Bennet wonders why she keeps bumping into Mr Darcy on her daily walk, after she specifically told him this was where she walked daily" energy
well I did not think the show could make me sympathise with the toxic mum, but it did, by dint of showing that the dad is intentionally playing good cop so he can enjoy his daughter's adoration while he encourages her mum to beat her???
I really hope the cruddy dad experiences the consequences of his actions here but even more than that, I'm amazed that the show has found a way to make us sympathise for the bad mum as a person without trying to make her less bad
I'm just in awe of the writing here - it's SO deft and able.
ah, this must be the bamboo forest where they store action scenes - and I LOVE that the band of lady bodyguards gets to stomp the bandits when a lesser show would use this opportunity to bring on the hero and his army of goth henchmen
aw yess! our girl is strategising their way out! It's so delightful to me - this is precisely the kind of leadership/strategy role asian dramas rarely allow to their female characters
now she's getting to command a siege!?!?! all on her own?
and then castigating herself for not being able to save everybody! BABY
on to ep12, which I have heard people cite as the Point Where The Show Gets Good, and given the fact that I've already been elmo on fire dot gif for eleven episodes I'm not entirely sure what everyone else has been drinking but sure! let's see what lies herein
oh this is the GOOD stuff
yes yes, the big rescue, the arrow pulling, all good…what really gets me is that when our girl wants to see the mass execution and Murder General holds her back, it's not bc he's patronising her, it's bc he knows she needs to hear that AhMiao's death was not her fault
this show is justifying tropes I didn't even know COULD be justified…inCREDible
Third Uncle has two braincells and my whole heart
the only thing better than the look of sheer naked yearning on Murder General's face every time he sees Niao Niao or anything tangentially related to her is his determination never to let on how he feels to his two henchmen, who have known since episode two and are eager to help
Murder General hoarding hankies, bits of string, and pencil-ends that belong to Niao Niao like Harriet Smith hoarding Mr Elton memorabilia in EMMA
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nexi11tarot · 5 months
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Vintage Aesthetic tarot decks ~a list created by your personal shopper <3 ~
as a tarot reader i've noticed that there's a clashing interest between having new, modern style decks VS having vintage looking decks that uphold classic art styles of the past. Many people probably think of the basic rider Waite decks or Marseille decks when they hear the word vintage decks, but there's actually a wide variety of beautiful, timeless cards that don't necessarily fit neatly into those categories. if you love tarot cards and are looking to expand your collection then this is a comphrensive list of decks I've found and some background on them! the affiliate links are in the title of each deck, so if you chose to buy from that click it would be no extra charge for you but would give me a small percentage. I love doing ''personal shopper'' type post for niche interests so i'm grateful to anyone who chooses to support!
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the enchanted tarot: This is actually a deck that I own and even purchased for my sister for christmas as well. This deck is LARGE, it's vertically pretty long and the backs of the cards are this gold and white regal design. Sometimes with decks you LOVE the art on them but the backs of the cards just dont match the beauty of the rest of the deck. that is NOT the case with this deck, wvery single card and every single detail about this deck feels nostalgic and purposful. the deck itself feels expensive despite it being $25 dollars. I feel rich holding it and it was clear as soon as I got it out of the box that I had a very deep bond with it. Every reading I've had with it has been ACTUALLY divine and incredibly accurate.
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2. Ancient Italian tarot: this is also another deck that I own. I cannot stress this enough, the art in this deck is everything a 1960's witch doing readings in the back of a party would want. The art style is very classic with italian titles for each major arcana card. This deck would be perfect for people familar with either marseille or rider waite in my opinion, but defintetly for more ''skilled'' readers. (if you're getting it for aesthetics it doesnt matter.)
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3. cosmic tarot deck: my friend bought this in a shop the other day and I was blown away by how pretty it was in person. I love the blue tones of this deck, and the sureal, astral feel it gives
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4. the medieval scapini deck: this deck looks older than it is, it originated in 1985 and the cards themselves have very recent images embedded into them. for example, the queen of swords represents an intelligent woman rising above a small scene of kkk members (yes the kkk) among other things too, this was the artist's was of depicting a person rising above ignorance and bigotry. The reversed meaning of the card is a person falling for ignorant or biased narratives. I feel like the art in this deck adds a whole new layer of meaning to each card and it can easily go above your head if you arent paying attention to them! I love this deck and have a very deep connection with it
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5. a jane austen tarot deck: this deck isnt vintage in the literal sense, but it has that aesthetic and feel to it. even the cardstock is very thick and durable with a unique texture. this deck itsef can actually be used for cartomancy as it has 53 cards with a playing card design to them, with a corresponding scene from a jane austen book paired with each card. This deck is perfect for cartomancy, journaling, prompts etc.
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sensitivesiren · 4 months
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anyone else have an innocuous book on-deck just in case people ask you what you're reading so you can say something other than the toe-curling 650k explicit filthy homoerotic fan fiction that's kept you up for three days?
"oh! what are you reading on your phone?"
"uhh .... Jane Austen. Love her."
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rocksanddeadflowers · 5 months
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Okay so Two of Hearts is the name we have to the pairing of Jonny and Brian right? Perfect name really considering the constant card symbolism in The Mechs as well as the heart thing they have going on. I adore it. So has anyone talked about the card further because if you have cool but I'm going to now too!!!
Firstly, the Two of Hearts can generally represent romance/love in some way. But a specific interpretation I find SO GOOD is it being Twin Flames:
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One soul split into two. A connection far beyond what is considered normal.
We're all likely in a unanimous agreement that The Mechs have a bond far greater, stranger, and deeper than we could possibly conceive because of their shared immortally. Then, there's the fact that with the whole narrative foil "all flesh with a metal heart and all metal with a flesh heart" thing these two have going on. 'Twin Flame' is an insanely good descriptor/analogy for them.
I'm not done!!! In my Jane Austen tarot deck (god isn't that a sentence, they can literally make anything a tarot deck nowadays), the Two of Hearts represents the tarot card Temperance.
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The general meaning for Temperance (I'm not super well versed in tarot meanings, I'm working on that but there's a lot of cards man) is moderation, balance, and harmonious relationships. "Temperance indicates that you are truly in touch with who you are inside, what you value and your own moral compass."
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They are balanced with each other. They are two broken pieces that slot together to make one whole thing, the cracks sealed with gold. They are not perfect, together or apart, by any means. But when truly together, they are balanced.
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newtonsheffield · 1 year
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New HC for Modern-day 'Bruises' AU: the lambs go viral thanks to Hyacinth and Gregory managing the Bridgerton Farms TikTok account
https://www.tumblr.com/tiktoks-for-tired-tots/713619121628119040?source=share
The account goes even more viral when Kate and Anthony are in the background, him clearly reenacting something out of a period drama as he walks out of a lake and Kate’s watching on a deck chair with a glass of lemonade and a curly straw
So many comments, so many articles written about it but Kate’s Favourite is
Your idol Kate Sharma has moved to the country and is living your Jane Austen Fantasy
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anika-ann · 2 years
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Love on the Brain - part 2
Ch2: The A-Team
Type: MCU x Criminal Minds crossover series
Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 6450
Summary: The investigation takes off. The thing is… you might not be the most competent person to do this. Then again, that was why your called in your old team.
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Series masterlist
Warnings: series includes criminal behaviour such as stalking or kidnapping; graphic violence, gun violence; (mentions of) death; allusions to dub-con; possible PTSD and flashbacks; sexual innuendos and foul language. Loads of fluff and teasing. I’m covering my bases here to make sure - probably sounds worse than it is. If you’re interested in specific warnings for individual chapters, let me know.
A/N: divider by @firefly-graphics​;
A/N2: Important note! For the sake of avoiding using Y/N and Y/L/N and for easier orientation, the reader is referred to as Agent Jones or Jones. You can think of it as an undercover name if you mind it otherwise 😊 P.S. You’ll find a link to a video… for reference, if you’re interested. One of the best moments in the show IMO.
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"There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature."
 Jane Austen
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It was clear as day to you that Tony still thought you were making too big of a deal from the stalking – but at least he was humbled enough by the fact that he certainly added to the mess and didn’t mention it anymore.
His opinion about profiling, however, was a different case entirely.
He seemed to be personally offended at the fact that you decided to call a Behavioural Analysis Unit to help you; because profiling was a pseudoscience. Profiling was just a fancy name for what a country fair psychic could do if they got their hands on a trusting victim.
Yeah. He was one of those people. Perfect.
You wanted to explain to him in explicit detail how wrong he was, but you did not have the energy. Instead, your lips just quirked in a small smirk as you shook your head, remembering the time at court where Hotch had absolutely dismantled a lawyer who dared to question the legitimacy of behavioural analysis by analysing him. You had never seen a better advocacy for profiling – besides the actual results that spoke for themselves.
But as much fun as that had been, you had neither the energy to deal with Tony’s scepticism nor did you have the time – there were more pressing matters at hand.
You might not be a profiler anymore, but you had spent years at the bureau and you could still be of use.
When you called Hotch, exchanging minimum pleasantries before asking for help – with a small voice inside, but firm and confident on the outside – he seemed surprised, but also reluctantly optimistic about being able to get you at least a part of the team, pulling them from a case they were currently working.
Getting only a part of the team meant you would need all hands on the deck and given your past experience, you believed you could help.
And perhaps so did Steve.
So far, he was willing to answer all your basic questions, no matter how unsatisfactory his answers were, patiently waiting until you wrote your thoughts and lame discoveries on the white board. He sat at the table, watching you intently, finally taking it seriously, so that was progress itself, you guessed.
“Anything strange you’ve seen or heard in the past few days helps, Steve. Anyone who stood out. Be it someone aggressive, someone your gut told you not to trust despite how they acted. Creeps. Overenthusiastic fans. Anyone?” you asked, all the possibilities popping up in your head as you watched the photos, growing increasingly nervous at the number of them.
Seriously. Twenty-three photos. It still baffled you no one had noticed anything suspicious before it went as far as Steve receiving photos of himself.
Unfortunately, it seemed your luck was not improving since Steve only shook his head, frowning as he tried to recall all the encounters. Your mind raced.
“Some of the agents maybe? Recruits who looked too starstruck even by your standards?” you continued.
“No, no that I can think of. Sorry.”
He smiled his signature lopsided smile, eyes missing the usual spark, his expression speaking of how pitiful you must have appeared in your attempts. Or maybe it was just self-depreciation aimed at himself, because he wasn’t being much help – it was hard to tell.
You tried to smile back supportively, probably grimacing instead.
“Think harder then. Please.”
Steve sighed, shifting in his seat, glancing at the photos spread on the desk still.
“No one stands out, at least not that I can remember as of late.”
“Okay… uhm, what about someone you pissed off?” you pried further.
Steve’s eyebrows shot up in surprise; you could hear Tony, who was seated behind you on your left, stop in his movements. You couldn’t tell whether he was amused or scandalized; Steve appeared to be the latter, making you roll your eyes in annoyance and fondness at once.
He was so full of it.
“Oh, please, don’t act so innocent you can drive me up the wall and I—” you exclaimed, stopping midsentence as you caught the near slip of your tongue, “-I like you. Maybe an arrogant recruit you put in their place and they took it personally?”
“Why are you asking him these?” Tony, who was currently working with Jarvis on pulling the security feeds from the streets and establishments Steve had visited, jumped in, bewildered. “I mean, what does that have to do with ‘not worthy’?”
Your gaze flickered to him, irritated for more than one reason.
One, it was Tony and you were still furious with him, because he literally invented the world’s worst bullet.
Two, he was questioning behavioural analysis again and your expertise as a bitter bonus. But watching the almost empty board, you managed the latter perfectly on your own, therefore you did not need him add to it in the slightest.
Third, you didn’t have a single clue what exactly the unsub meant by the phrase either, because the possibilities were practically endless.
Profiling was about trying to get into an unsub’s head, but unless you were an actual psychic, a mind-reader, you could never tell for sure. Which was maddening, but that was how this worked: profiling, while not a pseudoscience, offered a set of data which could help plenty – but did not always promise a clear result.
“Well, it could be that the unsub thinks that Steve doesn’t really live up to the hype. It could be he’s not worthy of the women he’s talking to in the pictures,” you said the first things from the top of your head, causing Tony to hum curiously. “Which I think is crazy, but it might be what the unsub thinks.”
“Huh. People are weird.”
Not wrong there, Mr.Stark.
“That’s why I’m in charge of the human stuff, I know them better. You go pay attention to the technology,” you instructed him, mimicking the smirk he usually graced you with, enjoying the minute shocked expression before he did as you said, uttering a single word under his breath.
“Rude.”
“She’s got a point,” Steve remarked, smirking as well.
And as much as you enjoyed getting one on Stark and having Steve’s support as you did so, his voice brought you back to reality, your cocky expression slipping.
This was not a contest in bantering; this was serious.
“You don’t smirk here, Steve. Think,” you prompted him, gentle and urgent. “This could be someone who thinks you and other people have too high of an opinion of you. They could be angry that you humiliated them – in their eyes, that is.”
Steve’s gaze grew absent as he plunged into his memories, searching for anyone resembling the person you were describing.
You’d be ashamed to admit that even in this stressful situation, your heart swelled as your eyes strayed from the board and settled on him. Because he was beautiful, in every sense of the word. You didn’t care if men were supposed to be handsome. He was simply beautiful. Sharp jawline slightly tense, softened by the pink of his parted lips, the straight line of his nose, the blue pools of heaven of his irises, a halo of golden hair the finishing touch to the sculpture of an angel he resembled. An angel who was the one to be protected for once.
The sculpture came to life, eyes lighting up with recognition and your heart skipped a hopeful beat.
“Well?”
“Uhm, I don’t even know if it’s… important,” Steve murmured hesitantly, but continued when you confirmed it was. “Brandon Martin? He lost his head in the fight the other day, I told him to take a break, walk it off and come back when he’s ready again.”
Your heart thundered in your chest now – startled but excited at once. Maybe now you were getting somewhere.
“How did he react?”
“He stalked off. Didn’t come back. I… haven’t seen him since then,” Steve said slowly and you turned to the board, skimming over your almost non-existent timeline.
“When was that?”
“Uhm… Ten days ago…? Yes, definitely. Some recruits made jokes about Monday mornings.”
“Hm…” you hummed, pondering for whether to write it down. It was the best shot you had so far, as unlikely as it seemed at a second glance. “It’s a long time… he could be working through something at home, making him lose his head and that’s all, but… maybe not. Is sure worth checking out.”
Decisively, you wrote the name down with a question mark, adding the words narcissist and anger issues with another question mark, inspecting it critically, tapping the other end of the marker against your lips in thought.
Another option you hadn’t mentioned yet, one you didn’t want to get into, was a heart-broken family member, a friend or a lover of a person lost; someone Steve failed to save despite his best efforts, someone for who they’d seek revenge, mocking the heroic persona of Captain America.
Selfishly, you tucked the questions about this kind of unsub away for later for someone else to ask. You didn’t want to push Steve into remembering all the times he was too late; all the times irrational amount of guilt consumed him and he swallowed it in order to save another life the very next day.
No, you would not put him into that position; it was not the most probable cause given the specificity of the photos to begin with and ironically, it might be easier for Steve to open up about these painful moments to someone else, even if you had been there for some of them.
Besides, from all plausible options, you genuinely believed a female unsub with an unhealthy fixation on Steve was the most likely option and statistics no doubt spoke for it too.
“I can’t believe you’re seriously using a white board in a building that is masterpiece of technology-“ Tony’s voice startled you from your thoughts, making your head whip to him, words sharp and faster than your mind.
“Tony, I swear to god-!“
The billionaire raised hands in a no harm gesture despite the disgust in his eyes and you took a deep breath, turning back to the board as you scratched at your forehead, refraining from throwing the marker at him to have him think twice before speaking next time.
You sighed, glancing at Steve, who observed your exchange with Tony with an expression equally amused and weary.
“Okay. Let’s circle back to what kind of a person the unsub could be. We have a probably male unsub who is jealous of you. That’s if you are the person who is not worthy. If it’s the other way around, the way I think is more likely, we have a fan, probably female, who thinks so highly of you she considers these women not worthy of… your attention.”
“You might be a little biased on that front,” Tony noted with a tiny smirk.
You politely – stubbornly – ignored his jab, clutching the marker in your hand tighter. You would not throw it.
“What else do we got? The team will want to make a timeline for sure, analyse the handwriting and its placement, the angle of the photos. Then there’s the bullets… Do you have anything on that, Tony?”
For the first time in a while, Tony’s expression darkened.
“Working on it. Frankly, this guy--- sorry, this unsub is driving me crazy. How the fuck did they managed to sneak in?”
That was a million-dollar question for sure; but the answer to that was laughably and terrifyingly easy.
“They work here,” you whispered, horrified, pulse skyrocketing as your eyes found Steve’s wide ones. Shit. “And they’re good. We need to control who comes in and out. One of us will always be with you. You go nowhere alone. Not even a damn bathroom-”
“Kinky,” Tony remarked almost unwittingly, earning a death glare from you as your irritation pierced through the worry.
“You think this is funny, Stark?!”
“Jones-“ he murmured, a genuine apology written in his face but you did not care.
You stalked in his direction with determination, words punctuated by swift heavy steps. You really were going to punch him this time.
No, you were going to smother him with your bare hands-
“You think developing a bullet that can kill someone who is supposed to be your friend and have it stolen right under your irresponsible incompetent nose-”
“Hey! Hey, Sparkles, calm down,” Steve called out, gentle but with enough urgency to make you look at him and halt in your step.
“Not gonna happen, Steve. And I’m only telling the truth so I’m not gonna apologize for calling him that either.”
“We kinda got that,” Steve uttered, one corner of his lips twitching. “And I see your point, but these are restricted areas only a small number of us can enter. I’m safe here. No need to have a bathroom buddy.”
If he was trying to appeal to reason instead of your emotions, it had the exact opposite effect. You were the one with reason here – and the one with experience.
“If they broke into a lab or storage that is of similarly if not more restricted access, we should question the security here as well. The only good thing about the security breach is that we know that it makes an inside job more likely, narrowing our pool of suspects… Then again, we cannot rule out that the unsub is a civilian just yet, because they could have a partner in here,” you mused, returning to your board, wheels in your head turning again, speeding up. “Though that would be strange if this is a stalking case, pairs are extremely rare.”
You scribbled your thoughts to the corner of the board as they didn’t tie to anything else just yet. You felt your features twist into a scowl of confusion when you returned to possible time frame of the theft.
“But why on Earth steal something that can hurt you…? Maybe there is two of them and this is a partnership of opportunity, the agenda might be completely different. Someone could be using the stalker as a convenient ally, but then the stalker would be the submissive one and with the ‘not worthy’ line, I’d be more inclined to look for an alpha…”
You felt two pairs of eyes on you, burning a hole into your head as you muttered to yourself, worrying your teeth over your lower lip, feeling tension above your brows building from the mess the limited clues already were.
Could this really be a partnership? Was that the explanation for why it didn’t seem to make any sense? Two separate profiles for two unsubs? A group, even?
Bullets, worthiness, fixation, narcissism, love and hate… a single unsub or partners with masterful manipulation to meet an end the stalker has no clue of, the extremely low-risk victim--- your head was becoming one jumbled mess, a jungle of facts and theories you had trouble finding a way out of.
The more you reflected on all you knew so far, the less sense it was making. The more desparate you felt.
“But if the stalker is the submissive partner, they wouldn’t think they’re superior to all these women, that’s just highly unlikely, so are these two alphas? That’s even more rare, practically unheard of and why would--- none of this makes a damn sense-- I think--- I’m useless,” you chuckled humourlessly, setting the marker down, nails digging into your palms as you felt the itching of tears in your eyes and nose.
You gritted your teeth, stubbornly fighting them off.
That was the last thing you needed now, but Jesus Christ you felt like you needed to crawl out of your skin otherwise you could actually burst.
“The team’s gonna say I’m too close to this, Tony said I’m biased… I suppose it’s true. I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Steve.”
Your last words were nothing but a whisper, shoulders falling down with disappointment at your own inability, sudden fatigue settling over you and making your head feeling heavy.
Peripherally, you saw Steve shift in his seat with a slight squeak of the chair against the floor, drawing your weary gaze.
“Come here,” he prompted softly, causing your eyes to flicker to his kind face.
Your feet moved of their volition, your body responding reflexively to his invitation.
How many times did you take seat on his couch, only to end up curled by his side, head falling to his shoulder and then chest, his heartbeat lulling you to sleep, so soothing and reassuring? It was pure instinct at this point to go when he called out for you, let alone in this tone, sounding as if he wanted you close, but was leaving the choice to you, always.
And once you were close enough, his hand reached out, fingers brushing your wrist, your eyes fluttering briefly at the contact.
With a single touch, it was as if he lent you some of his strength and courage; and it was like you were made of steel and got into the orbit of his magnetic field. There was no walking away, only being pulled closer. He squeezed your hand to seal the bond.
You practically plopped into the chair next to him, reciprocating his affection weakly, bringing a soft smile to his face.
“There is nothing to be sorry for. I’m grateful that… that I have you in my corner. I still think you’re making this a little too big for what it probably is-“ You shot him a stern look at that and he smirked, a sign that he was only teasing, trying to fuel your indignation again. Light a spark – anything to snap you from self-doubt. “But my point is that I’m fine. Nothing happened to me.”
“Yet,” you mutter darkly. “And this isn’t nothing.”
“Yeah, okay. It’s not. But I’m not hurt. I’m right here and I have the best of the best having my six just in case this turns out to be bigger than I believe,” he continued, lowering his voice to a gentle whisper. “Just breathe. You need to realize that I’m a lot harder to kill than your usual victim-“
“Don’t-“
“And I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories or to sound arrogant,” he was quick to interrupt you. “I’ve--- I’ve seen people whose arrogance got them killed. But I am a supersoldier.”
At that, you scoffed, prying your hand out of his; or trying to and failing, because his grip, while careful, was unrelenting. You scowled at him, leaving it like that – for now.
Asshole. He knew his touch comforted you even if he was being a dumbass.
He grinned as if he could hear your most inner thoughts before you even spoke.
“You’re also reckless. Your tendency to run into danger and underestimate the threat when it comes to your safety is sadly in direct proportion to the capacity of your body to heal.”
He shrugged with one shoulder half-heartedly, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Well, I’m lucky to have you to keep me in line then, no?”
Oh now that was a low blow.
You felt the corner of your lips turn upwards despite your best judgement, warmth and dare to say giddiness curling around your heart at his words – a compliment and a challenge at once.
“Even if I’m biased and completely useless?” you uttered, lowering your gaze to his sternum to avoid his gaze, only partly joking.
He tugged at your joined hands.
“Hey, you are not useless. You know better than to say something like that when I’m around.”
“Oh? What are you gonna do, Captain? Make me do extra push-ups in next training?” you retorted cheekily, a smile settling on your lips firmly.
“Maybe. Or it might earn you a hug.”
“Oh, the horror!” you gasped, theatrically clutching at your chest, earning a chuckle and another squeeze of your hand, Steve’s thumb stroking your knuckles.
His eyes were boring into yours, speaking more than his words.
I trust you. You’re important. You matter. Your work matters. We’re in this together. Don’t put yourself down, I won’t have that. I know you wouldn’t too.
“Jesus, get a room…” Tony’s intentionally loud murmur reached your ears, snaping you from the magnetic sight of Steve’s cerulean eyes.
You blinked as the door opened to your right, hand dropping from Steve’s; this time, he let you, breaking the spell he seemed to have you under.
Natasha entered, carrying her laptop, already informing you on her progress.
“Alright. So Tony’s got Jarvis to run a facial recognition program on the women and we’ve got few matches already.”
“Any of them stood out?”
“Not from my viewpoint. But then again, I’m a spy, not a profiler. I’m not exactly sure what to look at and I don’t want to miss anything important that would clue a profiler,” she admitted without shame, shrugging.
It was refreshing to have someone in the room who realized they weren’t perfect. Besides Steve, that was; he knew that about himself too, he was just being cheeky most of the time.
“Well, the thing is, we probably won’t find the unsub among these women anyway, but it might be useful. Even though I think this is clearly about Steve, they are part of the bigger picture too.”
“It’s a start,” Natasha hummed, understanding.
“Well, yes, literally. We do tend to start with uhm… victimology,” you explained, looking reluctantly at Steve. It was hard to think of him as a victim. You hated he was the victim. Victims got hurt. “But since I know Steve is a lot more observant than—- than people usually are, I was hoping I’d get more information from him.”
“And? Did you?”
You sighed at Natasha’s inquiry as she eyed the board with random notes.
“Not much… maybe I am too close to this. Just another reason why I wanted my old team.”
“Nothing wrong with being close. We might not have clear head, but we have insight. We’ll get the son of a bitch.”
“Or the bitch,” Tony noted, tilting his head. “Isn’t that more likely?”
Oh now he was staring to learn was he? Maybe there was hope for him yet, if he got on the path of redemption.
For that attempt alone, you tried to reply with a smile.
“Depends on which of the two it is.... But I actually know guy who would be able to tell you the exact percentage in each case.”
“Huh.”
“Spencer, was it?” Steve asked subtly and you nodded, unable to help the feeling of warmth in your chest.
Despite the circumstance and your less-than-great parting, you were looking forward to seeing your former colleagues… hopefully still friends despite how little you stayed in contact.
You didn’t talk about them much, for a good reason, wanting leave the heavy days behind, but Steve was a good listener. And he had eidetic memory and heightened senses, so… speaking of which.
“It really bothers me that we’re not able to pinpoint anyone right away. I mean… whoever took the pictures, they took twenty-three of them. From a relatively close distance, I might add. We should have noticed. I know Steve is popular and used to people taking pictures all that time, but… oh.”
Oh no.
Your barely-there smile slipped completely as a new realization hit you, not any more pleasant than the ones you had so far.
“We should look into every interview and press conference you did lately,” you told Steve, but frankly meant all of the Avengers since they often dealt with press together. Either of them could have caught something. “There might be something that triggered the unsub. More so, they could have been the one asking a question and one damn eye-contact with Steve could have set off their obsession.”
Ominous silence settled over the room as you all looked at each other, a little more helpless than half of a group the Earth’s mightiest heroes should feel.
You were not one of them however – so it was perfectly normal to not only feeling helpless, but also freak out a bit, right?
“That’s quite a large pool of suspects to look into,” Natasha said.
She only voiced what you were all thinking, but it still made for a heavy sensation in your gut; and for a warm hand engulfing yours gently, comforting.
“We’ll find them.”
Your smile to Steve was rather shaky, but no less grateful.
“You know, I really should be the one comforting you,” you uttered, earning another half-hearted shrug.
“Told you. Not your usual case to deal with,” he hummed, tuning down the cheek for your sake.
And there was one more thing he did for you benefit; one which was impossible to miss, because his words didn’t raise nearly as much goosebumps as they could have.
He avoided the term victim, having noticed you struggled to call him that. Of course that he noticed.
Steve was right; he was not your normal case to deal with. He was special. A little too special to you, which was both your blessing and your curse. He noticed things because he was thoughtful, always paying attention and meeting you halfway if he could.
You liked to do the same for him, but right now, it appeared he was the one doing all the hard work here; and if you failed to do yours, he might never squeeze your hand again like this.
Your smile was a tight line as you swallowed the surge of panic at that thought.
“No, GG, you’re certainly not.”
“Well, luckily for you, Barton and your special reinforcements just arrived,” Tony announced ceremonially, causing your eyes to grow wide, hope blossoming in your chest.
“Already?”
“Guess you made it sound urgent,” he said matter-of-factly.
And for once, you didn’t argue with him; you had made it sound urgent.
“That’s because it is.”
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You weren’t sure what to expect – or more precisely, who to expect – but seeing four familiar faces walk in was more than you could wish for: an avenger and three outstanding members of the BAU.
Clint was the one leading, Hotch, Emily and Reid following closely behind him; Clint just waved you all hello before disappearing to settle after the time with his family, you supposed. You mentally made a note to thank him for abandoning his vacation and send Laura a fruit basket or something.
His early exit left the trio of your old team and the trio of remaining Avengers at your mercy. You stood between them, the literal middle woman, unsure how to proceed.
For the briefest moment, the room remained completely silent and almost still; you allowed yourself to take time to inspect your former teammates. Neither of them changed much at a first glance except for Reid, who was absolutely rocking his new shorter haircut, elegant and stylish. Still as tall and thin as you remembered, you thought he looked the same, but somehow more comfortable in his skin, more at peace with himself, more confident.
It was a sight for your sore eyes, almost bringing a smile to your lips.
Emily and Hotch… well. Maybe there were a few more lines around their eyes – a testimony of what they endured in your absence – but your former bossman was sill radiating calm and authority, whereas Emily kept her air of no-nonsense directness and openness.
Damn, you missed them.
“Just the three of you?” Tony questioned from his space behind a computer, causing everyone’s head – including yours – to snap to him.
“Literally an hour ago, you said we were the Avengers and we needed no reinforcements,” Natasha threw back at him with an eyeroll. “Especially not from profilers who just happen to be experts on cases like ours.”
Your lips twitched at the sarcasm dripping from Natasha’s voice, fixing the rude welcome. You were hundred percent sure that the team caught up at the dynamics of this place already thanks to Nat’s remark, which you knew they appreciated as much as you did.
She seemed to know that too; she even winked at you.
Bless her.
And for once, bless Tony Stark for breaking the silence, no matter how rudely.
“Please, ignore him,” you noted, several pairs of eyes moving to you as you awkwardly shifted weight. “Welcome. And thank you for coming.”
“It’s alright, I understand,” Hotch said, undeservedly calm. “The rest of the team is unfortunately occupied with another case. And we figured we should leave them our technical analyst since we assumed you’d be more than sufficiently equipped. But she’s on call.”
This time, the tug at the corners of your lips felt more insistent.
Trust Aaron Hotchner to kindly level  a cheeky jerk with his rationality and a hidden compliment as a bonus, because he already understood Tony’s ego was bigger than the Avengers Tower. You definitely missed him.
You missed them all. You could hug them all if they let you, but you had no idea where you stood with them right now. You had no idea what was appropriate, even if compared to Tony Stark, you certainly had an advantage.
“She?”
Case on point.
“Yes, Tony. She,” you jumped in, your patience considerably thinner than Hotch’s. “If you have some stupid remark about her being a woman and a hacker, keep your opinion to yourself… Because I’m willing to bet she’d give you a run for your money.”
Tony arched an eyebrow in challenge you were not willing to rise to – as much as you knew Garcia might enjoy kicking his ass.
“That’s high praise,” Spencer commented with a smile. “And well-deserved.”
“It is.”
You reciprocated his smile as you agreed, feeling your toes curl with the need to spring forward.
And the moment you met Spencer’s warm eyes, you gave in to the urge.
You rushed to give the genius a hug, falling into his arms easily as he opened them just in time for you to slip into his gentle embrace. You got to learn there was another thing that changed about him then; he perfected his hugs, making for less embarrassment and more affection.
“Hey,” he whispered softly to your hair, having you echo the greeting.
You only stayed several seconds, earning a small back rub from him, before you retreated and glanced to the remaining team members. They were smiling now too, each in their own fashion.
“It’s good to see you again, guys.”
And it was.
A significant part of the enormous weight on your chest you felt ever since you found the pictures and learned about the bullets seemed to melt away as you saw the familiar faces of your… friends, you hoped.
Very, very capable friends on top of that.
You moved onto Emily, perhaps hugging her a little too tight. You might have been slightly out of the loop, the contact with the team scarce, but you knew all about the grave danger she had found herself in when her past of an undercover agent caught up with her. She had had to fake her death to survive; and both, the message of her death and of her being alive hit you deeply.
She returned the hug with the same ferocity and no less warmth.
As for Hotch, well. He was never much of a hugger and you knew he had been through serious hardships since you left as well, losing Haley, his ex-wife, the mother of his son; you counted yourself lucky for the gentle and firm shake of your hand, its back covered by his palm in gesture of affection.
He even smiled relatively bright as he spoke up.
“It’s good to see you too, despite the circumstances,” he said, turning to speak to the other occupants of the room about whose presence you almost forgot. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. This is SSA Emily Prentiss and SSA Doctor Spencer Reid.”
You watched your friends nod in acknowledgement as you went to return the favour.
“Not sure introductions are needed, but this is ball of disrespect is Tony Stark, this is Special Agent Natasha Romanoff and finally, Captain Steve Rogers. And you already met Special Agent Clint Barton.”
More pleasantries were exchanged, handshakes as a display of respect which Spencer traditionally kept a generous distance from. Much like Tony, who remained seated behind the monitor, he only waved at the Avengers is greeting.
Unfortunately, Natasha was one for showing respect, automatically approaching him with her hand outstretched, leaving Reid to smile awkwardly at the offending object as he shoved his own hands into his pockets.
He might be more comfortable in his body, but some things apparently never changed.
“Sorry. The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to kiss.”
Natasha stared at him, slightly dumbfounded, her expression making you bite down on your lip to stifle laughter.
You could practically hear how Tony’s eyebrows jumped in surprise and smell a snarky comment coming.
“Is it now? You offering, pretty boy?”
“Hush, Stark,” you shushed him while Natasha rewarded Reid’s explanation with a somewhat understanding smile.
“He literally hugged you,” Tony noted, highly amused and refusing to let it go. “What, that’s more hygienic?”
“I guess he’s not scared of my cooties ‘cause we know each other better,” you turned to him with a perfectly arranged polite smile, not counting on his smirk widening and his eyes flashing with twenty different dirty jokes. Oh no. “Not like THAT--! I mean… focus on your investigation, Stark.”
“Whatever you say, Squirt….”
Hotch cleared his throat when you grinded your teeth at the billionaire, effectively drawing attention to himself and the problem at hand.
“Nice to meet you all. Now, what exactly do you have for us? We heard of a stalker case and a theft that puts one of your lives into immediate danger?”
“Yes and that would be me,” Steve admitted, stepping forward a little. “While I am not entirely convinced about immediate danger-”
You shot him a warning look that made him stop mid-sentence and sigh before he continued.  
“I do admit that the photos, the bullets theft and the timing is disconcerting – and so is the fact there are twenty-three women in potential danger.”
“I am inclined to agree,” Hotch nodded, not paying any mind to your apparent difference in opinion on the matter. “Normally, this wouldn’t be our department yet, but since we have 23 identifiable potential victims and the reinforced bullets are involved, we cannot rule out a serious threat. We were glad the bureau approved of this.”
“Trust them to jump in at the chance to say they helped to protect an Avenger,” Emily muttered under her breath darkly, her expression turning a little startled when Steve looked at her, clearly hearing despite her relatively low volume. “No offence. I’m happy to help, just….”
Steve just shook his head, smile more understanding than she probably expected.
“Non-taken. You’re not the only ones dealing with politics and hating that it sometimes gets in the way of what the goal of our job should be.”
She nodded in thanks, returning the barely-there smile.
“I’d like to start on the timeline and geographical profile. Do you think you’ll be able to place these women in order of how you met them? Would you be able to give a day, at least an approximate time and location?” Spencer jumped in, turning to Steve.
“I should be, yes,” Steve replied modestly, causing an undignified snort to escape you.
Right. Should be.
He could describe what you were wearing the first day you saw each at one of the facility gyms, what moves you absolutely messed up despite his generous encouragement and probably the way you smelled when he had randomly chosen you to demonstrate that just because you were smaller, you weren’t necessarily doomed when fighting an opponent of his size and got into his very personal space.
The reasons you remembered these things about him were entirely different of course, but those you weren’t about to admit.
“Sure he can. He’s got eidetic memory too, Spence.”
“Wait… too? Seriously? Justin Bieber here? Eidetic memory?” Tony questioned and you just sighed, growing annoyed again.
“Tony, he can read twelve thousand words per minute-“
“Twenty thousand actually.”
Your lips twitched in slight amusement at Reid’s gentle correction he seemed to instantly regret, an instinct he had developed when people tended to give him irritated looks for an interruption like that. Honestly, you only felt a fond smile lift one corner of your lips; some things didn’t change indeed.
“Right. Sorry, Spence, twenty thousand it is. He’s got several PhDs and BAs,” you added just to prove your point. “Yes, he has eidetic memory. And he’s 187.”
Tony was uncharacteristically quiet for a second, confused expression appearing on his face.
“…did you just tell us his height in centimetres?”
“That’s his IQ. Right? Y/N told us you were incredibly smart,” Steve interjected, sounding almost nice; yet clearly bothered by something as he observed Reid with reluctant caution.
You understood – as much as you loved Reid, it could take time to warm up to him. And the fact he was about to take Steve’s life apart to the tinniest detail to ensure you tracked the stalker… well.
You knew from experience that it didn’t exactly help to like a person.
“Oh, did she now…” Spencer smiled slowly, a lopsided smile bordering on cocky; but with a good-natured light in his irises.
“Oh shut up, you genius,” you chuckled, mocking throwing something at him, which only made him grin wider before you both sobered up. “Let’s… let’s get to work, please.”
“We should,” Natasha agreed, beckoning to your guests. “Clint is already going through agents’ files, since the breach has us thinking this could be an inside job. Jarvis is eliminating those who are on long term missions or returned in the last 120 hours and Clint is onto looking into any suspicious incidents. We’ll sure appreciate if you help us narrow down the list of potential suspects though.”
So much for settling down first, you thought, mentally noting to buy Clint a year’s supply of coffee on top of the fruit basket for his family.
“That’s why we’re here.”
Natasha smiled briefly at Emily at her remark.
“Good. We’ve got several rooms ready, let me show you the rest and we’ll give you all we got so far.”
“We’d appreciate that. You good here, Reid?” Hotch called out lowly, finding the man in question already absorbed in your messy notes, not even answering.
The corner of your lips twitched.
“I’d say he’s good,” you muttered, exchanging a glance with Steve, checking if he was alright as well.
A barely noticeable nod was his answer; you glanced at Natasha, who didn’t fail to notice your wordless conversation.
“Okay then... follow me, I’ll give you the tour.”
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→ Next part
Series masterlist // Steve Rogers masterlist // Misc masterlist
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Hey loves. Thank you for reading throguh this longer chapter 🥰
I hope that non-CM readers aren’t too overwhelmed and the CM readers aren’t too disappointed to only get a part of the team on the scene for the time being. I do like a balance and 4 Avengers and 3 (+1 former) BAU agents felt like a good compromise.  
Thank you for your feedback and support 💕
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daevastanner · 1 year
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C H A P T E R   F I V E
“I must learn to be content with being happier than I deserve.”
― Jane Austen
In spite of Gwyn’s many reassurances, Azriel still felt wholly unprepared for this evening. 
It was no secret, to those residing in the House of Wind or in the Inner Circle, that Gwyn and Azriel had begun seeing each other. As they had before they’d admitted to the heat between them, the pair continued to openly trade longing looks and flirtatious remarks. 
The bond, however, still remained private, for many reasons. Among them was the concern that everyone would assume they decided to suddenly pursue whatever was between them solely because the Cauldron said so. Another looming worry was the pressure that would fall upon them to accept the bond. People would begin to ask when they intended to have a ceremony and promise themselves to one another until their dying breaths. As eager as Azriel was to do so, he agreed with Gwyn that they needed this time to figure out who they were as a couple, without the weight of the bond on their shoulders. Cassian and Nesta had struggled beneath the crushing knowledge, and that was not an experience Gwyn and Azriel were eager to have themselves. 
But as much as Azriel agreed with Gwyn’s decision, the urge to announce the bond to everyone present here on the barge tonight was heavy on the shadowsinger’s mind. 
Arms linked, Azriel and Gwyn walked the bridge onto the party-barge. It was their first event where they were attending as a couple with more than their family present. Tonight those attending the High Lord and Lady’s End of Summer Barge Party would know that the shadowsinger was finally taken. That he wasn’t absconding into a dark corner with a casual lover or pining after some unavailable beauty, but instead, utterly besotted with the female on his arm. 
Stepping onto the barge, Gwyn gasped at the decor, it was her first time attending the annual celebration. Her teal eyes traced the faelights that were strung over the upper and lower decks. She pointed excitedly to the musicians who played a bawdy tune on the starboard side of the barge. Much to Azriel’s surprise and delight, she was so taken with the food and drink and ambience she didn’t so much as flinch at the crowd. If any apprehension lingered about leaving the House of Wind, it was not present now. At least, so it appeared. 
Azriel inclined his head as they skirted the dance floor, walking arm and arm towards the upper deck where tables were set for those who wished to dine before enjoying the merrymaking. “You’re alright then?” 
Beneath her freckles, Gwyn’s cheeks flushed, catching his meaning. She replied just loud enough for him to hear her over the reveling, “It’s much easier with you.” 
Azriel felt his chest swell with pride, a smile tugging at the edge of his lip. Perhaps it was all to do with the mating bond, but he couldn’t help but feel solely responsible for Gwyn’s abated fear of crowds. Over the past two months of courtship, they’d slowly been making their way into Velaris and getting Gwyn acquainted with crowds. Azriel arranged trips to the local bookstore and luncheons at the tea parlor with Nesta and Emerie. He’d invited her to card games at the townhouse. Once he’d even managed to talk her into joining him and his entire family at Rita’s. 
A shadow poised by Azriel’s ear, called his attention to the left, as he and Gwyn ascended the stairs to the upper deck. Across the dance floor on the lower deck he saw a group of well-dressed fae eyeing him and Gwyn, their expressions curious and amused. 
They wonder what beauty has snared the spymaster’s eye, the shadows whispered.
Azriel swallowed at the words, blood roaring in his ears and drowning out Gwyn’s excited rambling as they started for the buffet. 
The beauty and the spymaster. 
His eyes swept the barge and he noticed more than a few attendees watching them with similar looks as the well-dressed fae who had observed them on the lower deck. 
Was that what everyone saw? 
A beauty and a monster? The copper-haired priestess and the death-wraith on her arm? 
Read the rest on Ao3 or Wattpad
Teasers every Tuesday on my TikTok/IG @ readthesefics
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oraclekleo · 1 year
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Lee Jae Wook (Korean Actor) Kinky* Reading
Disclaimer:
All readings have purely entertainment nature
I don’t know any of the celebrities personally
Don’t base life decisions purely on tarot readings
I can never guarantee any of what’s said in the reading
Before requesting, read the pinned post and appropriate linked post
Tarot readings are my hobby - I’m not obligated to accept any of the requests nor to complete them, it’s my choice, not duty
Waiting time is long, even several months
If you can’t wait, please, seek other tarot reader
Reading Info:
Rating: 18+
Reading Type: Single - Couple
Requested: Yes - No
Requester: /
Deck: E. A. Poe
Spread: Kinky* Reading
Questions:
Position
Libido
Turn On
Kink
Dirtiest Secret*
Celebrity Info:
Full Name: Lee Jae Wook
Stage Name: Lee Jae Wook
Group: Korean Actor
DOB: 10.05.1998
Sun Sign: Taurus
Chinese Sign: Earth Tiger
Life Path Number: 6
Masterpost: Solo Artists
Ko-fi - Voluntary Tip for Readings
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Lee Jae Wook
Lee Jae Wook (Korean Actor)
Deck: E. A. Poe
Spread: Kinky*
Position - Queen of Wands
Look at his cards! Seriously! One court card and then four major arcana. This man has a powerful persona. Jae Wook is more likely to be a dom but in a playful and pretty liberal way. He likes his partner to be sparky and keep up with him, he likes to be challenged, retorted, disobeyed by his lover because he simply enjoys the play fight. Jae Wook is full of grace and he’s oozing fabulousness wherever he goes. He’s likely to be popular among people and he expects his partner to deal with this popularity in a pleasant manner.
Libido - VI The Lovers
Jae Wook is a romantic gentleman, the prince Charming and Knight in shining armour. Have you ever read Emma by Jane Austen? Jae Wook is Mr. Knightley - wise, supportive but at the same time sure of himself and his right to make decisions. Jae Wook is a lover with a capital L. He’s the type to sweep his partner off their feet, cover them with gifts, hugs and kisses and then take them out for dinner and walk in the moonlight. Jae Wook is a wholesome, romantic, breathtaking lover. He’s not overly dominant but he knows what he wants and will likely be the initiator simply because a gentleman doesn't let the lady do the work. His foreplays are refined, his lovemaking is heavenly and he’s the master of after care. Well done, sir!
Turn On - XVIII The Moon
While Jae Wook is the Prince Charming type, he’s looking for his mysterious princess (or prince) in the tower. Jae Wook is likely to feel attracted to a person with a dash of mystery to them, someone who doesn’t show their cards and keeps a poker face. They can even be internally torn or hiding a dark side of their personality. Jae Wook is here ready to explore, reveal and then heal and kiss them for better.
Kink - I The Magician
We mentioned before that Jae Wook is more on the dominant side and he’s also likely to actually enjoy the dom role in the bedroom when it comes to it. He’s a master of seduction, he’s got a variety of skills and knowledge and his stash is full of toys and accessories. He likes to experiment, try new techniques and positions, and push the boundaries. He’s got stamina and endurance, he’s methodical and curious. He’s likely to mark “Special Night” in the calendar and each one of them will be different from the previous ones.
Dirtiest Secret* - VIII Strength
Jae Wook is a prince needing his princess, he’s a beast craving for his tamer. While he likes to be in charge and he’s a gentleman enough to do his duties, he might secretly wish for a person to sweep him off his feet, take his breath away and put him around their finger. He desires for his famme fatale, a person who could handle him with grace and wisdom but never letting him to start slacking.
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noxnymora · 2 years
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When is FT going to reach out to me?
Im HP, a taurus, and he is a piscies
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4 of Spades/Death - Transformation (reversed) from A Jane Austen Tarot Deck.
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Hi @tauruscafe!!!
4 of Spades/Death - Transformation (reversed): "After Marianne Dashwood nearly catches her death of fever in Sense and Sensibility, she changes her mind about Willoughby."
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This Transformation card reversed may be saying: don't get to the point that Marianne had to get to - some things are not worth pining over and need further investigation. Take initiative for yourself and carry on with life - if they reach out, they reach out, but don't wait around if that's the vibes. There is so much potential waiting for you but can't reach you if you're stuck in place.
---
Take from these readings what you will & good luck <3
About these readings: here
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Intro post
This is for me. I like lists.
Basic Stuff and info!
I'm a big old lesbian
My gender is "I don't fucking know"
Pronouns are whatever.
Neurodivergent as hell
You can always tell when I'm scrolling through a tag cause I'll reblog 50 posts in a row about it
I am not responsible for my current hyperfixtations flooding my blog. I go where the audhd takes me
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What We Do in the Shadows
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Musicians and Bands
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Will Wood
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AJJ
Weird Al Yankovic
ABBA
Misallanious
The Night at the Muesum movie trilogy
The Muppets
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Dream Smp
Linked Universe
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Squirrel Girl
Jane Austen books
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iverna · 2 years
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Given The Choice (32/?)
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... in which Emma adapts to life among smugglers, Regina struggles with life among outlaws, and Killian shares a bit more of his past.
~ 10,100 words | read on ao3
Post-Neverland AU where Pan did not escape Pandora’s Box and Emma tries to come to grips with her strange new life featuring pirates,  parents, and flying monkeys. Catch up here, or on ao3!
Note: due to recent Jason-related events in the fandom, I’ve changed the quartermaster’s name to Wesley Carswell - same guy, different name!
Blackbeard’s attack has had one positive side effect: Killian has proven himself to Ria and the crew, and the lingering tension on the ship has dissipated. Wesley Carswell no longer looks uncomfortable when Emma wanders up on deck, in fact he always has a smile and a teasing comment for her now, and Killian is no longer doing grunt work. He’s often in the company of one or more of the crew or conferring with Ria, sharing experiences. Emma wonders whether he realises how easily he slips into the role of advisor. He did the same in Neverland.
The only problem is that with the new camaraderie come questions. Such as how a lady from the royal court knows so much about sailing.
Lynch is the one who asks, when some of the crew shares a late lunch on deck the day after the attack. From his smile, his interest is entirely benign, but the question catches Emma off-guard. “It’s hardly part of a lady’s education, is it?”
“I—well,” she says, trying not to look flustered, “you know, I actually had a pretty good education…”
Killian laughs. “I don’t think you can count that as education, milady.” All eyes turn to him, and he goes on, “Her husband was an officer in the Royal Navy.”
Emma breathes a small sigh of relief. That sounds good. She vaguely remembers watching a Jane Austen movie once where the guy was a naval officer. An officer and a lady-in-waiting, that makes sense… right?
Janssen’s wife, a tall, no-nonsense woman named Inga, raises her brows. “A Navy man? How’d you end up here?”
With Hook and a band of outlaws, is what she means. Emma shrugs with a smile, back on balance now. “Long story.”
“Was an officer?” Carswell asks.
“Yeah, he, uh, retired,” Emma said. “After he married me. He didn’t want to be away at sea all the time.”
Inga smiles. “And now, here you are. You must miss him.”
“Yeah,” Emma says, smiling back and carefully not looking at Killian. “Yeah, I miss my whole family.”
“We’ll get you back there soon enough,” Lynch assures her.
“And I hope your husband appreciates it,” Carswell puts in, mock-stern. “And doesn’t send the Navy after us.”
Emma laughs, shaking her head. “He wouldn’t.”
“He’s far too besotted,” Killian puts in. “All he’ll care about is having his beloved wife back.”
She just about manages to hold back the dirty look she wants to throw at him. He’s enjoying this far too much. They need to get off this subject, not keep going on about the non-existent feelings of her non-existent husband.
It doesn’t help that he never looks better than when his eyes are sparkling like that, and she’s been thinking about him far too much lately, instead of thinking of something useful. Like her non-existent husband.
“What was his name again?” Inga asks.
Emma feels her heart trip, and casts around for a name while she says, “Sorry, what?”
“Your husband,” Inga repeats. “What did you say his name was?”
Emma didn’t give a name. She really should have thought of one. She has pretended to be married more than once in her career, but her usual go-to name is Justin. That doesn’t seem very… fairytale.
“Oh. Uh, William. Will.” She almost winces as she says it. This is Henry’s fault, with his talk about Keira Knightley and Pirates of the Caribbean. And she’s blaming Killian, too, for throwing her off her game.
“What’s he like?”
“Oh.” This should be easier; her fake husband is a fairly solid person in her mind. Tall, brown hair, brown eyes, devoted or distant depending on the situation, likes dogs and hiking and cuddles on the sofa. The kind of man you marry.
General “you”. Not Emma specifically. Emma specifically finds him a bit boring, which is exactly the point, because it makes him versatile and relatable.
“He’s great,” she says, trying to get into the mindset of a married woman who loves her husband, and struggling for words. “Kind, and… dependable.”
She makes the mistake of glancing over at Ria, then, to find the other woman watching her with a thoughtful look in her eyes. Emma doesn’t let her own gaze linger, but keeps looking around as if unconcerned even as she fights back her chagrin. She isn’t selling this. How the hell do people describe their partner?
“He’s a good man. A good father. Like I said, he retired so he could be there for us.”
“If that isn’t love,” Killian puts in lightly, jokingly. “Giving up the sea in favour of a life at court.”
He says the last word with a dramatic grimace. There’s a round of rueful chuckles, most of the crew shaking their heads as if they would never do such a thing. Emma thinks of the Jolly Roger, and swallows hard.
God, she needs to get them off this subject. “Yeah,” she says, looking at Inga and Janssen again. “Speaking of which, how about you two? How’d you meet?”
It’s the right question to ask. It turns out to be quite the story, which Inga and Janssen are happy to tell, amid the heckling and joking of the crew.
Emma breathes a very careful sigh of relief, and settles in to listen.
 *  *  *
 Killian, naturally, doesn’t let it go. When the others are back at work, he wanders over to her, purposely casual. “So, tell me,” he asks in a low voice, a glint in his eye. “Who is William?”
Emma narrows her eyes at him. “Don’t start. You enjoyed that way too much.”
He doesn’t look the least bit contrite. “Guilty as charged. I’m just curious why you chose that name.”
“A character in a movie,” she says, giving in. “Pirates of the Caribbean. It’s—anyway, one of the characters is called William. Will.”
“A movie… a story about pirates?”
“Yeah. Sort of.” She can feel herself getting defensive—she doesn’t usually rely on movies for her cover stories, and it definitely won’t do for Killian to start thinking she just has pirates on the brain. “Henry loves it, and he’s been quoting it, and it was the first name that came to mind.”
“Ah.” He gives another short chuckle. “It was my brother’s name, too.”
She feels her eyes widen. “What?”
“Liam,” he says. “Short for William.”
“Oh.” She doesn’t quite know what to say. “I didn’t know that.”
“Aye.” He looks at her more closely then, and seems to note the sudden loss for words, the odd tension. He grins, just a little too brightly. “A good thing you didn’t marry him.”
She thinks she knows the answer, but she asks anyway. “Why?”
But he doesn’t say anything about wanting her for himself. “Because he was stubborn and overbearing. You’d have thrown him out inside a week.”
A surprised laugh escapes her. “Yeah? Was he that bad?
He makes a face, but his expression has lost that exaggerated brightness, more comfortable again. “Aye. The worst. Though I suppose it served him well, to keep me in line.”
She lets her eyes widen in exaggerated astonishment. “You needed keeping in line?”
“All right,” he grumbles, giving her the gentlest little shove. “No need to oversell the amazement, Swan. I was a terror, I fully admit it.”
“Was?”
“Was, am…” One eyebrow pops up. “Will be.”
She bursts out laughing. “Yeah, I bet he had his hands full.”
Killian nods ruefully. “That he did.”
She can see the fondness behind all the irreverence, and she gets it. She never had a brother, but she often wished for one. Or a sister. Just… someone. Family. Someone on her side. From the sounds of it, that’s what Liam was for Killian.
“He sounds like a good guy,” she says softly.
“The best. Liam is the reason why I ended up in the Navy. He got me a commission, helped me with my studies… I owe him everything.” He clears his throat, then flashes another grin. “In fact, now I think about it, you could do worse.”
She wants to know more, but it’s clear that he’s done talking about Liam—and the grin is more genuine this time. The fact that he’s making jokes rather than rebuffing her feels like a victory.
So she goes with it, lightly slapping the back of her hand against his chest. “Stop trying to set me up with your brother. I’m married.”
He laughs, and it’s that genuine laughter that she so rarely gets to see, the laughter that makes his head tilt back and his eyes crinkle. “To poor old Will, aye. My apologies. I seem to keep forgetting.”
She makes a face at the reminder of her performance earlier. “Be honest, how bad was it? I really should’ve—I thought I had it figured out, but—I don’t know. They put me on the spot.”
“It was fine,” he assures her. “Though you might want to work on describing him. That did not sound like a woman in love.”
“I know. I just couldn’t think of anything.”
“Well, not to worry,” he says lightly. “Perhaps you two are simply going through a rough patch.”
She shoots him a narrow-eyed look, making him laugh again. “I’m being quite serious, love. It’s probably what they’ll assume, if you keep calling your husband ‘kind’ and ‘dependable’.”
“What’s wrong with kind and reliable?” she asks, even though she already knows he’s right.
“Because love means passion,” he says, “and caring, and knowing the other person. It’s not kind or perfect, sometimes you want to strangle them, but—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “I’m merely pointing out that there’s no passion in dependable. No romance.”
Emma manages a nod, trying desperately not to let on how winded she suddenly feels. Her knees are a little weak. Killian Jones getting passionate about the topic of love and romance might be more than she can handle.
She casts about for a way to get them off the subject, realises that they were originally on a different subject, and reaches for that. “I don’t even know anything about Navy officers. What do they do after they retire?”
“They marry a beautiful woman, apparently.” Killian winks. “Lucky bastard.”
It’s her turn to give him a shove. “You saying that being married to me is a full-time job? Thanks.”
“It might be,” Killian mutters, and she shoves him again, and he laughs. “All right, all right.” He considers it. “Let’s say he made his fortune at sea, and bought a small estate to raise a family.”
“How do you make a fortune at sea?” she asks. “I mean, other than, y’know.”
“My way?” He grins, then sobers. “Much the same way, really. You take it. From pirates, or smugglers, or someone else’s navy.” His voice takes on a cynical note. “It isn’t robbery if it’s endorsed by the king, you know.”
“That’s—” She’s about to say that’s not fair, but then she thinks about it. About her own experience with the justice system, and the foster system, and all kinds of other perfectly legal systems. The bribes she’s witnessed, the deals, the shakedowns. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
He looks surprised at her agreement. “I don’t think a princess—” that last word is so quiet that he’s barely more than mouthing it “—is supposed take that kind of view, love.”
She makes a face. “Think there’s a lot of things I’m not supposed to be doing.”
He grins again, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “I won’t tell anyone.”
She should probably roll her eyes, or shove him away again. But she can’t bring herself to do it, not when she’s just learned a bit more about him.
Liam. His brother’s name was Liam, and he was stubborn and loyal and rode herd on his troublemaking little brother.
So she smiles at him, and hopefully he knows everything she means by it when she says, “Good.”
 *  *  *
 Regina doesn’t like the castle. For one thing, it isn’t hers; for another, it’s in ruins, and though she’s done a bit to help fix it up, there’s only so much she can do if she doesn’t want to spend all her energy on repairs. Which she doesn’t. Because it’s not hers.
And because without access to her vault and her books, magic is frustratingly difficult. She can summon a fireball no problem, but it’s not like she memorised spells for fixing walls or plumbing. Much as she hates to admit it, she’s never been very good at working without instructions.
Besides, Zelena is out there, and it would be monumentally stupid to spend all her magic on repairing the castle when warding and protecting it is more important.
As she has explained to Grumpy at least twice now, not that it has stopped his snide comments.
Her room is fine, now that she has fixed most of the holes and restored the window panes and cleaned the whole thing, but it’s just that: a room. Everything else is shared, and she doesn’t care for that at all. She can’t just go down to the kitchen when she feels like baking. She can’t seem to go anywhere without running into one of the dwarves or Granny or a Merry Man.
She still doesn’t know why they’re called that. None of them seem very merry to her.
And for all of Snow’s talk about being in this together, Regina is alone more often than not.
It doesn’t bother her. It’s not like she wants to hang out with the dwarves, or Snow and Charming and the sappy looks they give each other, or Blue and her sanctimonious looks, or Robin and his snarky comments and not-so-merry men.
But when she walks in on a group of them sitting around the big table in the hall, playing dice and drinking and laughing, she feels a pang somewhere deep inside.
Because of course they didn’t invite her.
Snow looks up, and Regina can’t tell if she’s feeling guilty or if her smile is always that bright. “Regina! Come join us?”
“Oh, no.” Regina is already backing away. She can see Grumpy glowering at her, Robin frowning, one of his men—John, she thinks—giving her a calm, assessing look. She’s not going to inflict her company on them. She’s not going to sit there awkwardly while they all chat and laugh, at a loss of what to say. She never knows what to say. And she doesn’t want to talk to them anyway. “No, thank you.”
She’s sick of the castle, and everyone in it. She needs to get out—away from the looks and the chatter and the constant reminders that she doesn’t belong. She never belongs. Snow is somehow already fast friends with Robin and his people, just like she’s always friends with everyone. It’s like a kind of magic that Regina can’t access.
She’d blame the villain thing, but Hook managed to befriend them all to the point where Snow and Charming miss him, at least a little. And it’s not that she’s never been invited, either.
No, it’s something about her, specifically. The thought makes her gut twist.
She shakes the feeling off as she strides down the hallway towards the castle entrance. It doesn’t matter. She’s not here to make friends. She doesn’t need friends. What she needs is to get the hell out of this castle.
Her instinct is to head for the stables, but she doesn’t have a horse here. She doesn’t have a horse at all anymore. Her gut twists again as she thinks of Rocinante. Another death—another murder—and for what?
She shakes that thought off, too. So she can’t go for a ride, fine. She can walk. Out in the forest, where it’s quiet, where she can be alone.
She has reached the yard when there are footsteps behind her, and a man calls, “Hey! Your Majesty! Regina!”
She turns. It’s Robin, of course, and he’s frowning at her again. ”Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she snaps.
He raises his eyebrows. “Clearly.”
“Since when do you care?” she challenges.
He stares at her. Then he sighs. “Frankly, I don’t know why I bother. Where are you going?”
“That’s my business,” Regina informs him.
As usual, her unfriendly tone has no noticeable effect on him. “It’s not safe to wander off alone.”
“Thanks for the concern,” she says acidly, “but I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re leaving the castle, at least take someone with you,” Robin insists.
“That would defeat the purpose,” she mutters.
“Why? What are you up to?”
The suspicion makes her hackles rise. She hasn’t done anything wrong. She hasn’t done anything except help, in fact. Not that anyone seems to notice. “Nothing. I just want two minutes without someone accusing me of being up to something, or… Look, it’s not like anyone’s even going to miss me, so if you’ll excuse me…” She sweeps past him.
At least, that’s the idea. The effect is ruined when he pivots on his heel and falls into step beside her, and his longer legs mean that she can’t shake him off without breaking into a run. Damn him.
“Maybe they would if you gave them a chance,” Robin says. “Why do you push everyone away all the time?”
“I don’t,” she snarls. “I don’t need to. They stay away all on their own.”
“And you’ve never wondered why that might be?” he asks mildly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demands.
He shrugs. “It means that if you don’t like being alone, you could try being nice.”
She bites back the diatribe about all the times that she tried and it bit her in the ass. “I’m plenty nice,” she bites out, glaring at him.
“Yeah, I can you’re just overflowing with warmth and friendliness,” Robin says drily. “Why wouldn’t anyone want you around?”
To her utter horror, she can feel tears pricking at her eyes. To cover it, she hisses, “Exactly. So I won’t make you endure it.”
And then she calls up her magic—the magic she can access, the magic she has mastered—and whisks herself away into the forest. Long legs or not, he can’t follow that.
Somehow, it doesn’t make her feel any better.
 * *  *
 As the Serena Hawk sails on, Emma finds herself at loose ends once again. Killian is all but an honourary crew member now, and Henry has learned that there are cats aboard the ship, so between trying to befriend them and hanging out with Jim, he has plenty to keep him busy. Which leaves Emma as the only person aboard with nothing to do—other than tidy the cabin and work out, neither of which are activities that take up much of her day.
But she’s the wife of a Navy officer. She can have a little ship expertise. And she did okay helping Lynch during their escape from Blackbeard.
With that in mind, she goes to talk to Carswell.
She finds him hunkered on the deck, discussing something with Janssen who, she has learned, is the ship’s carpenter. Killian is standing nearby, offering the occasional opinion in between his own work.
“Mr. Carswell?” she asks, and the quartermaster turns and looks up at her.
“No, no, none of that. Call me Wes.” He flashes a smile. “Please.”
It’s hard not to glance over at Killian then, given the flirtatious tone of the request, but Emma just smiles back. “All right. Wes. I wanted to ask you something—”
He sits back on his haunches, lifting a hand to shade his eyes against the sunlight. “Ask away, milady.”
“Is there anything I can do? To help? I just feel useless sitting around all day.”
“I thought that’s what fine ladies do.”
She scoffs. “I’m not a lady.” It’s out before she can think better of it, before she can remember who she’s supposed to be. “I’m a lady-in-waiting,” she goes on, recovering. “I’m used to—chores.”
She really hopes he doesn’t ask her what they are.
“Fair enough.” He raises his eyebrows. “Actually, you might be able to give Lynch a hand. Literally. Not a lot he can do at the moment, with the arm and all, but he knows what to do.”
“Sure, yeah.”
“Just…” He leans forward a little, dramatically conspiratorial. “Don’t mind him if he tries to put on the charm. Don’t believe a word of it.”
Janssen bursts out laughing. “Yeah, ‘cause she should take advice about that from you.”
“Aye, she should,” Wes says with a grin and a wink aimed at Emma. Beside him, Janssen is shaking his head at her with a grimace.
Emma laughs. “I’ll be careful.”
Lynch, to her slight relief, does not put on the charm. He’s perhaps a few years older than her, a stout, bearded, slightly hawk-nosed man with a straightforward, easy-going manner. He’s the ship’s cook—as well as an expert sailor, as he assures her, but it’s his cooking skills that he’s most concerned about.
“If we don’t do it,” he says mock-grimly, “Aileen or Janssen might, and then we’ll be in for it.”
So Emma once again finds herself fishing off the side of the boat, and gutting fish under Lynch’s direction. It’s nice to have a job to do, even if she’s not the biggest fan of fish. For the first time since she came aboard the Hawk, she doesn’t feel like she’s in the way as she sits on deck while everyone goes about their own tasks.
Killian is nearby, working in the rigging with Janssen. Emma is busy trying to keep her eyes away from him, so she’s staring out at the sea when the ship dips and she catches sight of something out there. A dark, triangular shape is breaking through the surface of the water, not very far from the ship. Even as Emma watches, another two show up nearby.
“Lynch,” she says, trying not to betray the way her heart is suddenly pounding. “Is that—sharks?”
“Hmm?” He looks over, thoroughly unconcerned. “Oh, no. Dolphins.”
“Dolphins?” Emma all but scrambles over to the railing. Another dark fin cuts through the water, then another, but Lynch is right: they aren’t the sharp triangle she remembers from Jaws. Moments later, she catches sight of a sleek grey body emerging from the waves, a fine mist of water as the dolphin exhales. There are at least five of them, moving smoothly through the water as if they’re part of the waves.
“Hey, kid!” she calls over to where Henry is crouched with Jim. “Look! Dolphins!”
Henry scrambles to his feet and takes one hurried step before he seems to remember the “no running” rule, and walks as fast as he can to the railing.
The dolphins have come closer by the time Henry reaches her. One breaks through the water and leaps, and Henry lets out a yelp. “Look!”
Emma feels a smile stretch across her own face. She has never seen dolphins in person before. “I didn’t think they came so close.”
“Oh, yeah,” Lynch says, his tone far less impressed. “They’ll do that. They like the waves we make—and the company.”
As if to illustrate his words, another dolphin leaps out of the water, half-turning as it does to splash back into the waves. “Mom!” Henry exclaims. “Did you see that?”
“I saw it, kid,” she assures him.
“They’re saying hello,” comes Killian’s voice from beside her as he joins them. He’s breathing hard from working, his eyes bright, and somehow he seems larger than life in that moment. He has left his coat in the cabin, and while his shirt is so loose that it shouldn’t show off his physique, the way the fabric drapes over his arms is very distracting. Not to mention the way he never buttons the damn thing properly, and the glint of the necklace he wars keeps drawing her eye down to his chest.
He goes on, “And probably hoping you’ll share your catch.”
He’s looking at Emma as he says that last, but she’s lost. Is he calling himself a catch? But he doesn’t look like he normally does when he spouts innuendo at her. “What?”
“The fish,” he clarifies.
“Oh.” That’s right, she’s been fishing. “Yeah, well,” she rallies. “I don’t share.”
He grins at her. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“But what if they’re hungry?” Henry asks.
“They can catch their own fish, trust me,” Lynch assures him. “This lot just wants to play and show off.”
Killian gets back to work, and Emma reluctantly turns her attention back to hers, but Henry stays at the railing, cheering when a dolphin leaps from the water and shouting reports about their antics. When they fall behind, he’s disappointed, but sits down nearby and starts peppering them with questions about dolphins. Emma is almost no help, but for once, she’s almost glad of it, because Killian is. And when he’s answering her kid’s questions, she’s got the perfect excuse to look over at him.
It’s all kinds of appealing, too, him going on about dolphin behaviour while hauling on ropes, muscles flexing under that shirt of his.
Not that she’ll ever, ever, admit that.
“Why’s it called a school?” Henry asks.
Killian lifts his eyebrows. “Where else would they learn how to be dolphins?”
Emma tries her best not to laugh; Henry groans, though he’s smiling. “No, really.”
“I’ve no idea,” Killian says. “It’s simply the term people use. Like a murder of crows, or a gaggle of geese.”
“Oh.” Henry makes a face, presumably at the idiosyncracies of the English language, and falls silent. For a while, the only sound is the wind and the ocean, the creaks of the ship and the now-familiar crackling sound that the ropes make as they stretch, and the occasional comment from Lynch.
After a while, Henry says, “Hey, Killian.”
Killian twists around to look at him. “Hmm?”
Henry is barely holding back a smirk. “Why did everyone forgive the dolphin when he did something wrong?”
Killian looks confused for the briefest moment, before catching on. “Enlighten me.”
Henry’s smirk becomes a full-blown grin. “’Cause he didn’t do it on porpoise!”
Killian rolls his eyes with a good-natured groan as Henry bursts into delighted laughter. Lynch and Emma chuckle, and Henry looks around at them all, so proud of himself for his dumb joke. Emma exchanges a look with Killian, sharing a moment of amused pride.
The silent understanding flares between them, that connection that seems to keep happening where they’re somehow on the same wavelength.
It’s the kind of moment she would—and arguably should—have with Neal. Except Neal would say something, some wisecrack about how Henry gets his terrible sense of humour from her, or how they need to work on his jokes.
Killian just shakes his head, chuckling, and says, “Well played, lad.”
Henry beams with pride. Killian turns back to his work, and so does Emma, silently berating herself. She shouldn’t be comparing him to Neal at all. And she’s not, not really.
It’s just making it clearer to her why those moments with Neal always made her want to pull back, to break that connection before it could break her. The impulse is there with Killian too—it’s there with everyone—but it feels different. It’s habit, not instinct.
Maybe the problem isn’t just with her after all.
Mentally shaking her head at herself, Emma pushes the thoughts away and stabs her knife into a fish.
Gutting the fish they caught is a gross job, but she doesn’t mind. Life at sea, she has found, requires you to change or leave behind any ideas of “gross”. There’s no shower, no mirror, and very little privacy. Her hair is a lost cause; she has braided it back to keep it out of the way and under control in the wind, and she’s doing her best not to think about it. Or how she probably looks in general.
She spent enough time living rough that it doesn’t bother her—or at least, it shouldn’t. It’s familiar. It doesn’t matter.
But she can’t help feeling a little self-conscious at times, especially when Killian’s around.
Which is ridiculous.
If a little grime puts a guy off, she reminds herself firmly, he isn’t worth it anyway.
Besides, since when does she care whether Killian is put off or not?
Since Neverland, a little honest voice at the back of her mind answers.
She scowls at it.
Across the deck, Wes breaks into song. The crew does that on occasion, singing to keep the rhythm as they work on the sails, or simply because they want to. It’s something Emma never thought about; without radios or mp3 players, the only way to have music is to make it yourself.
The one Wes is now belting out is a rowdy song about a young man and his drunken adventures. Various other crew members join in the chorus—and this time, for the first time, that includes Killian.
Emma does her best to take it in stride. He certainly does, still focused on his work as he sings along almost off-handedly. She had no idea he could sing, but he carries the tune well.
He’s got a nice voice for it, too.
For the first time in a long time, Emma wishes that her mother were here. No, not her mother; Mary Margaret, her friend. The first woman Emma met who she could actually talk about boys with—not that she herself did much talking, about anything, but she could have.
Because she would really like to talk to someone about this. This man who explains things to her kid and makes dumb dad jokes and gives up his ship for her and sings drinking songs with a voice like that.
She probably still wouldn’t talk to Snow about it if she were here. But she can’t help wishing that she could.
Wes is still singing; the young man in the song has made his way to the bedroom window of a nobleman’s daughter, and there’s a punchline about her father wondering about the size of his daughter’s boots. Henry wrinkles his nose as Lynch whistles and some of the others laugh. “Why did she get bigger boots?”
“Ah.” Killian abandons the chorus and smirks conspiratorially. “Because they aren’t her boots, they’re the young man’s. But her father is blissfully unaware that he’s in the room with her, you see.”
Emma’s first thought is that things like this are surely lost on a kid Henry’s age; her second is that she should probably have stopped Killian from explaining it.
But Henry’s eyebrows rise, and he says “oh” in a way that makes her realise it’s too late to try and preserve his innocence. He might not know exactly what the young man in the song is up to, but he clearly knows it’s more than just a sleepover.
Regina is not going to be happy. Learning about dolphins is well and good, but learning about this… oh, boy.
Then again, maybe Henry simply recognises the insinuations from everyone’s comments and looks back in Storybrooke. It’s not like Regina herself is exactly blameless in that regard. Maybe she shouldn’t have made so many damn comments about Emma and Killian.
Serves her right.
Wes finishes the song with a flourish, catching Emma’s eye as he does. He grins, winks—and begins another song, which prompts Lynch to bark out a laugh as he recognises it. The cheerful tune belies the words, which tell the story of the prettiest girl in the village who stole and then broke the singer’s heart.
And Wes is singing it to her. That much is obvious, from the way he keeps grinning at her in between pining looks. Emma tries and fails to fight back a blush. Of all the dumb, ridiculous…
Lynch takes the cue—or maybe the challenge—and throws a little drama into his performance as well, batting his eyelashes at her. Even Inga, keeping the rhythm by tapping her foot on the deck, sends her a few dramatically lovelorn looks in between bouts of laughter.
Once Killian realises what’s happening, he gives an amused little laugh—and joins in.
It’s embarrassing. It’s like being in a damn Disney movie. But they’re joking, and having fun with it, and it’s… nice. Even with Killian, there’s none of the lingering heaviness she might have expected during a song about unrequited love. No, he seems to be treating the whole thing as a joke, playing up the drama, and enjoying himself.
And that makes it easier for Emma to give in to the part of herself that isn’t embarrassed, the part of herself that likes having a bunch of people sing to her. Maybe it’s the fairytale part, the one she usually tries to suppress or ignore, idealistic and even romantic and everything life has taught her not to be.
But she’s in fairytale land now, quite literally. And she’s not Emma Swan. She’s a lady from the royal court, who is probably used to this kind of thing.
So she laughs, and shoots Wes and Killian wry looks that make them grin, and blows Inga a kiss that has everyone cheering, and enjoys the moment.
 *  *  *
 She has to go belowdecks a little while later to help Lynch cook the fish they caught. It tastes better than she expected, and she takes her own lunch back up on deck, along with portions for Henry and Killian.
Henry takes his food and wanders back over to Jim, who begins telling him a wild story about the time he and the others escaped from the Navy.
“Don’t take it personally, love,” Killian says with an amused smile, glancing over at the two boys. “I gather the lad has always loved fairytales.”
Emma laughs. “Smugglers escaping from the Navy? You’ve got a weird idea of fairytales.”
“It’s close enough,” Killian assures her. “It seems that Jim has yet to learn the difference between embellishment and lie.”
“Oh, there’s a difference?” Emma asks, smirking.
He levels a look at her that says that he knows she knows. Chuckling, she asks, “You think he’s making it up?”
“Of course he’s making it up,” Killian says. “A group of smugglers, taking out a Navy boarding party and then running? Impossible. What he could get away with is a story about a bumbling lieutenant who failed to find their hidden compartments, and was persuaded to let them go. What likely happened...” It’s his turn to smirk. “I’d wager that a bribe blinded the lieutenant to said compartments, and both parties went on their way satisfied.”
Emma has to laugh. It sounds about right, and she’s spent enough time around Neal and others like him that she knows that’s exactly how these things go. “Doesn’t sound nearly as impressive, though.”
“No, indeed. One of many reasons not to become a smuggler.” He winks.
“Might have to tell that to Henry,” Emma says wryly. “He sure seems impressed.”
Killian grimaces theatrically. “Well, if he considers it as a career, we might have to set him straight. If he comes out of this with the ambition to become a smuggler, Regina might murder me.”
“Or me,” Emma says. Then she considers it. “Or both of us.”
“I thought she might be inclined to blame me, but thinking about it, you might be right,” Killian agrees. “Best to avoid it. Perhaps I ought to tell him some stories of my Navy days, chasing down foolish smugglers.”
She smiles at that. “Is that what you did?”
He shrugs, unconcerned. “Not often, but I can spin a better tale than our young friend.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Emma bites back a request for a real story from his Navy days. He rarely even mentions that part of his past, and asking him about it feels personal in a way she should probably avoid. Yes, she’s asked him before, but that was when she didn’t know him as well. Back when they were simply tentative allies. Now…
She’s been trying not to think about it. About him. But it’s hard not to when she’s lying in her hammock and can hear him breathing a few feet away. It’s a little pathetic, actually, just how much of her thoughts he takes up. They aren’t even spending all that much time together at the moment. It just feels like she’s constantly seeing new sides to him.
Or rather, frustrating little glimpses of those sides that have her curious for more.
“I think he’s a bad influence,” she says wryly, trying to get her own thoughts off that track and back to the conversation. “Henry can’t wait to get back to the others so he can tell them all about our dramatic escape from pirates.”
Killian makes a face. “Dramatic indeed. Some stories need no embellishment, I suppose.”
“I think I prefer it when the stories are made-up,” she says. “That whole based on real events thing isn’t so great when the real events are happening to you.”
“Aye.” Killian gives a rueful shake of his head. “It isn’t nearly as fun from this side, I must say.”
She laughs. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”
It’s not until he smiles back at her that she realises he did it on purpose this time, bringing up his past. Not his Navy past—that, he’s still close-mouthed about—but his past as a pirate. That’s something he’s been doing more and more, and she has wondered why. She can’t help thinking that it’s a test, to see how she reacts. To make sure that she knows who he is.
No trickery.
She swallows. But she can’t help seizing the opportunity. “So that’s what you did, huh?”
“Aye.” He makes a face as he reconsiders. “Well. Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“I was better at it.”
She rolls her eyes at the ego display, but smiles. “Right. Of course.”
He shoots her a smug grin. “I have the gold to prove it, love.”
“Uh-huh.” She returns the smirk and settles back against the railing. “So, tell me how to be a better pirate than Blackbeard.”
“I never went after smugglers, for starters,” he says. “Bloody stupid, trying to run down vessels made for outrunning the Navy.”
“Makes sense. So who did you go after?”
“Merchant ships, mostly,” he says. “Those flying Navy colours.”
She arches her eyebrows. “Isn’t that riskier, attacking ships that are under Navy protection?”
“Oh, aye.” His grin widens as he warms to the topic. “But that was the point. To hit the king where it hurts—his royal coffers. Riskier, aye, but also far more rewarding.”
Emma can just imagine him in a tavern somewhere, impressing some girl with tales of his exploits. She isn’t that girl—she refuses—but she can’t resist asking, “And what about the Navy?”
“Oh, we tangled with them a few times, too.” He says it with a defiant sort of pride. “And sent them running.”
She smiles. “And how much of that is... embellishment?”
He shakes his head. “Embellishing is for when you’re trying to impress someone, love, and I know better than to try and impress you.”
“Really,” she says, with a tone and expression that should tell him exactly how much she believes that.
He grins again. “Well, perhaps not. But I know better than to try and do it with lies.”
Because she’d see through them. And, she suspects, because it would be dishonourable, but he isn’t big on admitting that. “Good,” she says, refusing to dwell on why exactly it’s good. “So… how many?”
He looks startled. “What?”
“How many ships?” she asks. There’s a challenge in her voice, and she knows it. But she feels like he challenged her first, by bringing up his past. So she meets his gaze, calm and curious, and waits to see if he’ll answer.
He does. “Thirty-four in all,” he says evenly. “Three of them Navy ships.”
Emma has no point of reference, but thirty-four ships sounds like a lot. And she doesn’t want to ask, but the question comes out anyway. “Did you sink them all?”
He shakes his head. “We sank two of the Navy ships and left the other derelict. I don’t know what became of her.”
There’s no apology or regret as he says it, but it inches onto his face afterwards, much as he tries to stay stoic. Emma has no point of reference for this either, but the numbers seem odd. “What happened?” she asks, playing a hunch. “After the second one?”
She catches the surprise flashing across his face at that; a rueful smile follows. “I realised that the men on those ships were men like me—men who thought they were serving a noble cause. Men who had no real choice but to be there.” He shrugs casually. “They hardly deserved to die for that.”
“Ah.” Emma has no idea what to say; he’s right, of course, but now her mind has snagged on no real choice. Together with other comments he’s let slip, it makes her wonder how exactly he wound up in the Navy in the first place.
She’s starting to understand why he rarely talks about his past in detail. She thought it was out of shame or a reluctance to admit to or revisit his crimes, but that’s not it. He doesn’t shy away from that. But there’s a lot of pain hidden behind those easy words, that determined smile.
He’s so open about everything else that it’s a bit puzzling. He’s not a man who’s scared of how he feels, nor of admitting it, but this… this is different somehow.
She understands all too well that the past can be painful; her own is hardly a picnic. It’s just never stopped her from talking about it.
She’s not really sure, now she thinks of it, why that is.
“I was hell-bent on vengeance, for my brother,” Killian goes on. “It’s not an excuse, of course, but that’s what drove me at first. I lost sight of things for a while. Or rather, I simply didn’t think it all through.”
Emma nods. That much, she understands. Killian is smart as a whip, but she knows how aggressively single-minded he gets when he’s riled up.
“And as I said before,” he goes on, in a light tone that tells her he’s determined not to let this conversation get too heavy, “a pirate crew demands treasure. So all things considered… we focused on taking merchant ships. I won’t pretend no one ever got hurt, but it was never the object. We took their cargo, not their lives. Of course,” he grins, and it’s only a little too bright and determined, “that had the added bonus that they were alive to talk about me.”
“Which I’m guessing they did,” she says, smiling back.
He gives a thoroughly unconvincing humble shrug. “They did indeed.”
“So you get a reputation,” Emma says, nodding, “which makes the next time easier, because if people are scared of you, it’s easier to convince them to surrender?”
“That’s about it, aye.” His grin is more genuine now. “You were right about having it in you. You’d make a good pirate captain.”
“Thanks,” she says drily, “but I think I’ll leave that to you.”
 *  *  *
 As the crew settles in to the new routine after the attack, Emma finds that Wes has discovered a new hobby: flirting with her. Mostly, it takes the form of teasing and elaborate courtly compliments—or at least, his idea of courtly compliments. Emma has a suspicion that the gentlemen at court aren’t supposed to be this forward, and from the way Wes smirks, he knows it too.
Thankfully, Emma has plenty of experience with keeping guys like him at a distance, and she’s never shy of an answer. Spending so much time with Killian has really helped to hone her wits, and it’s fun, shutting Wes down and getting laughs from the rest of the crew while she does it.
And to her mild surprise, Killian shows no sign of jealousy.
A few days into the voyage, Emma is ambling along the deck when she catches sight of Killian and Wes, standing on a clear few metres of the deck. Both have their cutlasses out, and as Emma watches, they clash into a bind, but their movements are slow and telegraphed.
“No,” she hears Killian say as she approaches, “you use the short edge, turn it into the—” He breaks off and looks at Emma. “Emma! Just the woman we need.”
She eyes him warily. “Oh, yeah?”
“Aye, you remember the trick for levering your opponent’s sword from his hand?”
She nods, still wary. “Is that what you guys are doing?”
“Trying to do,” Wes says ruefully. “I can’t get my head around it.”
“If you have a moment,” Killian says, “would you mind helping me demonstrate?”
Emma agrees, feeling unaccountably proud of herself at being good enough at this to show it to someone else. Killian runs through the move with her a couple of times, before pairing her off with Wes and having him do it, with Killian watching and correcting his stance.
“Thanks,” Wes says when he’s finally got the hang of the move, sending Emma’s blade skittering across the deck. He winks at her when she has retrieved it. “If you want me to show you a few moves, you know, return the favour...”
Emma winks back. “How about you show Hook, and I’ll watch you guys and make sure you’re doing it right?”
Killian bursts out laughing. So does Wes, shaking his head dramatically, and that’s the end of that.
“You’re hell on the ego, milady,” he says, still chuckling.
Killian pats him on the shoulder in feigned commiseration. “You get used to it.”
As Wes heads off to talk to the captain, Emma hands Killian back the blade. He takes it, and then he grins and nudges her shoulder with his arm. “It appears you have another admirer, love.”
She makes a face; Wes is a charmer, and she knows exactly what he means by all his little grins and comments. “I wouldn’t call it that—and what do you mean another one?”
He frowns as if it should be obvious. “In addition to me.”
Her heart gives a frankly stupid little flutter at that, and she laughs to try and cover the equally stupid smile that wants to spread across her face. “Oh come on, that’s—”
But she cuts herself off, because what is it? Different?
It is, and she knows it—Killian can be every bit as charming as Wes, but it’s not a fling he’s after, and there’s a hell of a lot more depth to the way his eyes linger on her. But knowing that and saying it are two very different things.
“Ridiculous,” she finishes. “He’s just—that’s just how he is, I think.”
“Oh, aye,” Killian agrees, and it occurs to her that she kind of just said exactly what she didn’t mean to say. “You’ll find that with sailors. Perhaps I should have warned you.”
Emma laughs again. “You’ll find that with men. Trust me, I don’t need to be warned.”
He inclines his head, still looking amused. “A fair point.”
She notices movement at the corner of her eye, and looks over to catch Ria looking right back. The captain is still talking to Wes, and she makes no acknowledgement, simply keeps talking to her quartermaster like she didn’t see anything.
But it makes guilt flare inside Emma. Guilt, and the heavy, hot feeling of being caught that she’s all too familiar with.
Ridiculous. She wasn’t doing anything. They were just talking. That’s allowed.
She ignores the little voice pointing out that she’s been telling herself that awful lot lately.
 *  *  *
 The forest isn’t as comforting as Regina hoped. It’s the best she can get, given the circumstances, and it’s good to get away from the castle. She was right about that.
And she was right about nobody missing her, too. Nobody asks her where she went when she makes her way back.
She goes again the next day, and she can already see it becoming a new habit, her daily—or almost-daily--escape.
The problem is that it leaves her with nothing but her own thoughts for company. And she keeps coming across things that make her think of Henry. A deer running across a clearing in the distance. A rabbit burrow. A cave. A fallen tree that looks perfect for climbing.
Henry would love it here, and her heart aches with the thought. She’d give anything to have him here. She’d even let him explore that gross-looking cave if he wanted.
She’s sitting on the fallen tree, staring at the endless leaves and branches and undergrowth, when she hears a twig snap. One, then another, and another. Something, or someone, is approaching, and not being very careful to avoid notice.
Regina gets to her feet, gathering magic to her.
Moments later, she lets it go again, because there’s more rustling and a figure comes into view. A small figure, movements clumsy, eyes wide under a mop of dark curls.
“Roland,” she says, and the boy starts and almost falls as he comes to a stop.
There’s no more noise. So he’s alone. That can’t be good.
“What are you doing out here?” she asks, keeping her voice as light and friendly as she can, and flashing a smile for good measure.
Roland just stares at her, and she knows she has to be careful. She’s never really interacted with the boy before, so he barely knows her. The look he’s giving her is a mixture of fear and irrepressible curiosity.
“Did you come all the way out here by yourself?” she asks. “Are you running away?”
Roland shakes his head, sending his curls flying. “There’s a rabbit,” he says. “I wanna see the rabbits.”
The ‘r’ sound gives him a little trouble. It’s kind of adorable. In fact, he’s adorable all around, with those curls and big dark eyes and the dimples that flash when he smiles.
He got those from his father.
Regina pushes away the thoughts of Robin’s dimples and feigns thought. There’s no way Roland is out here alone with Robin’s blessing, or indeed his knowledge. She needs to get him back home. “I see. You know, I’m pretty sure I saw a rabbit’s burrow earlier. Do you want me to show you?”
Roland’s eyes grow wider.
“Come on,” she says, holding out a hand as she takes a step towards him. “I’ll show you.”
Roland still looks unsure. “Papa says I can’t go with strangers.”
“And your papa is right,” she says. “But you know me, don’t you? I’m a friend of your papa’s.”
She’s stretching the definition of “friend” to breaking point with that; she’s pretty sure that Robin doesn’t like her, and their relationship is more like “mutual tolerance for the sake of the cause”. But Roland is all of five. There’s no way he’s noticed that.
“And you know my name, right?”
“Regina,” Roland says, with a nod and another one of those half-mangled r’s.
“That’s right.” She gives him another encouraging smile. “So we’re friends, too. Come on, I’ll show you where the rabbits live.”
She can’t help noticing as she says it that this is exactly the kind of thing she’s warned Henry about. Stranger danger. Don’t ever go with anyone unless you know them. It’s the kind of thing an Evil Queen would do, lure children to come with her under false pretences. It’s the kind of thing she has done, come to think of it.
But Roland really shouldn’t be out here alone, and there’s no one else around. Her only other option is to just grab him and return him to his father, and that would terrify him.
Luckily, Roland nods. “Okay.”
He takes her hand as she reaches him, and she begins leading him back towards the castle, keeping up a steady stream of talk as she does. She tells him about the rabbits, asks him what other animals he likes, and whether he’s seen the birds nesting in the stables. Within moments, Roland is chattering away happily, and she has a moment of pity for Robin. His son is clearly the kind of kid who will just forget all the warnings as soon as he sees something interesting, or gets an idea in his head.
They haven’t quite made it to the road yet when she hears a voice. A familiar voice: loud, male, and strained with worry. “Roland!”
Roland comes to a stop, eyes widening again. “Uh oh.”
Regina tightens her hold on his hand a bit, just in case. “That’s your papa, isn’t it? I think we’d better tell him where we are.”
Roland looks reluctant, but Regina says, “We don’t want him getting lost, right?”
That clearly hasn’t occurred to him. He nods.
Regina draws breath, and shouts. “Robin? Over here!”
Robin is rather louder than his son as he comes crashing through the undergrowth, breathless and pale, eyes wide. “Roland--bloody hell.”
He falls to his knees before his son and snatches him into a hug. “Where the hell were you?”
“Papa!” Roland complains, little arms pushing at Robin’s shoulders. “Let go.”
“Not bloody likely,” Robin says, letting out a deep breath. Then he looks up at Regina. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” She’s immediately on the defensive, casting around for the right words to justify herself, to explain. She feels like that a lot around him. She doesn’t know how he does it, but she hates it. “I was just out—for a walk. And Roland showed up. Alone. I figured he probably wasn’t supposed to be.”
“Definitely not.” Robin gets to his feet, still holding onto Roland.
“Papa!” Roland squirms. “Let me down!”
“What did I tell you about going into the forest alone?” Robin asks, his voice taking on a stern tone that Regina knows well.
Roland shakes his head, lips pressed together. “Down!”
Robin is unmoved. “I’ll let you down, but you hold onto my hand, and not one word out of you.”
“But I wanna see the rabbits!”
“Then you should have asked someone to go with you,” Robin says. “No wandering off alone, you know that. Come on.”
Roland’s lips quiver, but he seems to know that tone, because he doesn’t try to argue any more. He lags slightly behind his father as they walk, steps dragging, but Robin says nothing, just keeps a tight hold of the boy’s hand.
“Thank you,” Robin says, turning back to Regina. “I swear he was right there, and I turned my back and he was gone. I don’t know how he does it.”
“I’m pretty sure kids have some kind of magic like that,” Regina says, a wry smile coming to her face before she can stop it. “It gets better when they get older.”
Robin raises his eyebrows. “You have a son, don’t you? Snow mentioned as much.”
“Snow needs to learn to mind her own business.” She snaps the words as the mention of Henry brings pain boiling back up.
“Well, for what it’s worth,” Robin says, a note of impatience in his voice, “she mentioned it to try and explain your behaviour.”
Regina feels her eyebrows rise. “My behaviour?”
“This,” Robin says, gesturing at her. “The rudeness. The way you snap at everyone all the time. The things they all make allowances for, not that you seem to notice.”
“I am not—” But she is, and she knows it. She’s being rude to him right now, snapping at him for asking a simple question.
What does he mean, making allowances? No one ever makes allowances for her. They just make demands.
“No?” Robin says, still sounding a little impatient. “You reckon they all treat you the way you treat them?”
That gives her pause, and she hates it. Because he’s got a point, and that’s even worse.
“Of course not,” Regina says, doing her best to sound disdainful. “They’re far too good for that.”
As clapbacks go, it’s pathetic, and she knows it. Good isn’t an insult, in fact if anything she’s just called herself out for not being good.
Well, big newsflash there.
For a moment, they walk in silence, Regina trying to think of a better retort, Robin giving nothing away.
Then he says, “I don’t know what happened, but I gather it’s a painful subject. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
He apologises like it’s nothing, like it costs him nothing. After all the times they’ve butted heads, all the glares, that comes as a real surprise. She’s so surprised that she almost forgets that it really is a painful subject.
She doesn’t know how to respond, so she just keeps walking in silence. Robin is silent, too. After a minute or two, she can’t take it anymore.
“He’s in another realm.” She swallows, and shrugs. “I’m his adoptive mother. He wasn’t born here. He’s—when the curse brought us all back here, it left him behind. He’s with his birth mother now. Emma.”
“Snow and David’s daughter,” Robin says, nodding as the pieces fall together. “I didn’t know—that sounds complicated.”
She smiles again, like her heart isn’t broken. It’s a well-practiced smile, and she hates it. “We were figuring it out.”
“Right.” He hesitates for longer this time. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.” It’s not all right, but the last thing she wants is this man’s sympathy. Or anyone’s, for that matter.
She hopes he’ll drop the subject, but he doesn’t seem to be done yet. “What’s his name?”
She smiles despite herself. “Henry.”
“A good name,” Robin says, nodding.
“He ran away a lot,” she says, to get them back on track. And then, more quietly, “From me.”
She has no idea why she says it. She doesn’t know why she’s talking about this at all, except that he’s asking, and listening, and it’s not like she can say anything to lower his opinion of her. It’s weirdly freeing.
“Ah.” Robin doesn’t look like he understands, exactly, but there’s no judgment in his eyes either. “Roland doesn’t run away, really. He just gets these ideas in his head, and it’s so exciting that he forgets about the danger. And the situation being what it is...” He trails off.
“You have to be a little stricter,” she says, nodding. She can’t judge anyone for being strict with their kids. She was, with Henry—too much so, probably. Or at least for the wrong reasons. “Sometimes it’s hard to keep them safe.”
“Yeah.” Robin smiles at her—an actual smile, not one of the sarcastic smirks she usually gets. “I’m very glad you found him. Thank you.”
Suddenly uncomfortable, she manages something halfway between a nod and a shrug. “Of course.”
He’s still looking at her, so she arches an eyebrow. “What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. You’re just something of an enigma, that’s all.”
She doesn’t like the sound of that. Enigmas are things to be figured out, and she does not want this man to try and figure her out. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just having a hard time reconciling this woman with the Evil Queen,” he says. A hint of a smirk tugs at his mouth. “Or with the woman who yells at me every time I make a suggestion.”
“I don’t yell at you.”
He laughs. “No? What do you call it?”
She huffs. “You started it last time.”
“I don’t think I did,” he says with a smug grin.
“See, that right there,” she says, pointing, “that’s what I mean by starting it. You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re haughty and conceited,” he shoots back. He’s still grinning.
“Enjoying yourself?” she asks acidly.
“Yes, actually,” he admits, and he doesn’t look abashed or the least bit sorry. “It isn’t often I get to tell a member of the aristocracy exactly what I think of them.”
“You could tell Snow. She’s a lot more forgiving than I am.”
“Yes, she’s very gracious. I like her a lot. And I have in fact told her so.”
She rolls her eyes, annoyed and at the same time feeling strangely… light. “Of course you did.”
They bicker until they get back to the castle, because Robin has an answer for everything and Regina can’t let that stand, and it takes her until they get there to figure out what the odd feeling in her chest is.
When she does, she scowls harder than ever, especially when Robin leaves with a cheery wave that’s not quite insouciant enough to prove.
She’s stuck in Misthaven, without Henry, without her things, with Snow and Charming and a whole host of do-gooders.
She is not enjoying herself.
*  *  *
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